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-george esmond, when this little matter was referred to him, and his mother vehemently insisted that he should declare himself, was of the opinion of mr. washington and mr. draper, the london lawyer. the boy said he could not help himself. he did not want the money; he would be very glad to give the money to his mother if he had the power. but madame esmond would not hear of these reasons. here was a chance of making harry's fortune--dear harry, who was left with such a slender younger brother's pittance--and the wretches in london would not help him; his own brother, who inherited all his papa's estate, would not help him. to think of a child of hers being so mean at fourteen years of age!
-into this state of mind the incident plunged madame warrington, and no amount of reasoning could bring her out of it. on account of the occurrence she at once set to work saving for her younger son, for whom she was eager to make a fortune. the fine buildings were stopped as well as the fine fittings which had been ordered for the interior of the new home. no more books were bought; the agent had orders to discontinue sending wine. madame esmond deeply regretted the expense of a fine carriage which she had from england, and only rode in it to church, crying out to the sons sitting opposite to her, "harry, harry! i wish i had put by the money for thee, my poor portionless child; three hundred and eighty guineas of ready money to messieurs hatchett!"
-"you will give me plenty while you live, and george will give me plenty when you die," says harry gaily.
-"not until he changes in spirit, my dear," says the lady grimly, glancing at her elder boy. "not unless heaven softens his heart and teaches him charity, for which i pray day and night; as mountain knows; do you not, mountain?"
-mrs. mountain, ensign mountain's widow, who had been a friend of rachel esmond in her school days, and since her widowhood had been madame esmond's companion in castlewood house, serving to enliven many dull hours for that lady and enjoying thoroughly the home which castlewood afforded her and her child. mrs. mountain, i say, who was occupying the fourth seat in the family coach, said, "humph! humph! i know you are always disturbing yourself about this legacy, and i don't see that there is any need."
-"oh, no! no need!" cries the widow, rustling in her silks; "of course i have no need to be disturbed, because my eldest born is a disobedient son and an unkind brother; because he has an estate, and my poor harry, bless him, but a mess of pottage."
-george looked despairingly at his mother until he could see her no more for eyes welled up with tears. "i wish you would bless me, too, o my mother!" he said, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. harry's arms were in a moment round his brother's neck, and he kissed george a score of times.
-"never mind, george. i know whether you are a good brother or not. don't mind what she says. she don't mean it."
-"i do mean it, child," cries the mother. "would to heaven--"
-"hold your tongue, i say!" roars out harry. "it's a shame to speak so to him, ma'am."
-"and so it is, harry," says mrs. mountain, shaking his hand. "you never said a truer word in your life."
-"mrs. mountain, do you dare to set my children against me?" cries the widow. "from this very day, madam--"
-"turn me and my child into the street? do," says mrs. mountain. "that will be a fine revenge because the english lawyer won't give you the boy's money. find another companion who will tell you black is white, and flatter you; it is not my way, madam. when shall i go? i shan't be long a-packing. i did not bring much into castlewood house, and i shall not take much out."
-"hush! the bells are ringing for church, mountain. let us try, if you please, and compose ourselves," said the widow, and she looked with eyes of extreme affection, certainly at one, perhaps at both, of her children. george kept his head down, and harry, who was near, got quite close to him during the sermon, and sat with his arm round his brother's neck.
-from these incidents it may be clearly seen that madame esmond besides being a brisk little woman at business and ruling like a little queen in castlewood was also a victim of many freaks and oddities, among them one of the most prominent being a great desire for flattery. there was no amount of compliment which she could not graciously receive and take as her due, and it was her greatest delight to receive attention from suitors of every degree. her elder boy saw this peculiarity of his mother's disposition and chafed privately under it. from a very early day he revolted when compliments were paid to the little lady, and strove to expose them with his youthful satire; so that his mother would say gravely, "the esmonds were always of a jealous disposition, and my poor boy takes after my father and mother in this."
-one winter after their first tutor had been dismissed madame esmond took them to williamsburg for such education as the schools and colleges there afforded, and there they listened to the preaching and became acquainted with the famous mr. whitfield, who, at madame esmond's request, procured a tutor for the boys, by name mr. ward. for weeks madame esmond was never tired of hearing mr. ward's utterances of a religious character, and according to her wont she insisted that her neighbours should come and listen to him and ordered them to be converted to the faith which he represented. her young favourite, mr. george washington, she was especially anxious to influence; and again and again pressed him to come and stay at castlewood and benefit by the spiritual advantages there to be obtained. but that young gentleman found he had particular business which called him home or away from home, and always ordered his horse of evenings when the time was coming for mr. ward's exercises. and--what boys are just towards their pedagogue?--the twins grew speedily tired and even rebellious under their new teacher.
-they found him a bad scholar, a dull fellow, and ill-bred to boot. george knew much more latin and greek than his master; harry, who could take much greater liberties than were allowed to his elder brother, mimicked ward's manner of eating and talking, so that mrs. mountain and even madame esmond were forced to laugh, and little fanny mountain would crow with delight. madame esmond would have found the fellow out for a vulgar quack but for her son's opposition, which she, on her part, opposed with her own indomitable will.
-george now began to give way to a sarcastic method, took up ward's pompous remarks and made jokes of them so that that young divine chafed and almost choked over his great meals. he made madame esmond angry, and doubly so when he sent off harry into fits of laughter. her authority was defied, her officer scorned and insulted, her youngest child perverted by the obstinate elder brother. she made a desperate and unhappy attempt to maintain her power.
-the boys were fourteen years of age, harry being now taller and more advanced than his brother, who was delicate and as yet almost childlike in stature and appearance. the flogging method was quite a common mode of argument in these days. our little boys had been horsed many a day by mr. dempster, their scotch tutor, in their grandfather's time; and harry, especially, had got to be quite accustomed to the practice, and made very light of it. but since colonel esmond's death, the cane had been laid aside, and the young gentlemen at castlewood had been allowed to have their own way. her own and her lieutenant's authority being now spurned by the youthful rebels, the unfortunate mother thought of restoring it by means of coercion. she took counsel of mr. ward. that athletic young pedagogue could easily find chapter and verse to warrant the course he wished to pursue,--in fact, there was no doubt about the wholesomeness of the practice in those days. he had begun by flattering the boys, finding a good berth and snug quarters at castlewood, and hoping to remain there. but they laughed at his flattery, they scorned his bad manners, they yawned soon at his sermons; the more their mother favoured him, the more they disliked him; and so the tutor and the pupils cordially hated each other.
-mrs. mountain warned the lads to be prudent, and that some conspiracy was hatching against them; saying, "you must be on your guard, my poor boys. you must learn your lessons and not anger your tutor. your mamma was talking about you to mr. washington the other day when i came into the room. i don't like that major washington, you know i don't. he is very handsome and tall, and he may be very good, but show me his wild oats i say--not a grain! well, i happened to step in last tuesday when he was here with your mamma, and i am sure they were talking about you, for he said, 'discipline is discipline, and must be preserved. there can be but one command in a house, ma'am, and you must be the mistress of yours.'"
-"the very words he used to me," cries harry. "he told me that he did not like to meddle with other folks' affairs, but that our mother was very angry, and he begged me to obey mr. ward, and to press george to do so."
-"let him manage his own house, not mine," says george very haughtily. and the caution, far from benefiting him, only made the lad more scornful and rebellious.
-on the next day the storm broke. words were passed between george and mr. ward during the morning study. the boy was quite disobedient and unjust. even his faithful brother cried out, and owned that he was in the wrong. mr. ward bottled up his temper until the family met at dinner, when he requested madame esmond to stay, and laid the subject of discussion before her.
-he asked master harry to confirm what he had said; and poor harry was obliged to admit all his statements.
-george, standing under his grandfather's portrait by the chimney, said haughtily that what mr. ward had said was perfectly correct.
-"to be a tutor to such a pupil is absurd," said mr. ward, making a long speech containing many scripture phrases, at each of which young george smiled scornfully; and at length ward ended by asking her honour's leave to retire.
-"not before you have punished this wicked and disobedient child," said madame esmond.
-"punish!" exclaimed george.
-"yes, sir, punish! if means of love and entreaty fail, other means must be found to bring you to obedience. i punish you now, rebellious boy, to guard you from greater punishment hereafter. the discipline of this family must be maintained. there can be but one command in a house, and i must be the mistress of mine. you will punish this refractory boy, mr. ward, as we have agreed, and if there is the least resistance on his part my overseer and servants will lend you aid."
-in the midst of his mother's speech george esmond felt that he had been wronged. "there can be but one command in the house and you must be mistress. i know who said those words before you," george said slowly, and looking very white, "and--and i know, mother, that i have acted wrongly to mr. ward."
-"he owns it! he asks pardon!" cries harry. "that's right, george! that's enough, isn't it?"
-"no, it is not enough! i know that he who spares the rod spoils the child, ungrateful boy!" says madame esmond, with more references of the same nature, which george heard, looking very pale and desperate.
-upon the mantelpiece stood a china cup, by which the widow set great store, as her father had always been accustomed to drink from it. george suddenly took it, and a strange smile passed over his pale face.
-"stay one minute. don't go away yet," he cried to his mother, who was leaving the room. "you are very fond of this cup, mother?" and harry looked at him wondering. "if i broke it, it could never be mended, could it? my dear old grandpapa's cup! i have been wrong. mr. ward, i ask pardon. i will try and amend."
-the widow looked at her son indignantly. "i thought," she said, "i thought an esmond had been more of a man than to be afraid, and--" here she gave a little scream, as harry uttered an exclamation and dashed forward with his hands stretched out towards his brother.
-george, after looking at the cup, raised it, opened his hand and let it fall on the marble slab before him. harry had tried in vain to catch it.
-"it is too late, hal," george said. "you will never mend that again--never. now, mother, i am ready, as it is your wish. will you come and see whether i am afraid? mr. ward, i am your servant. your servant? your slave! and the next time i meet mr. washington, madame, i will thank him for the advice which he gave you."
-"i say, do your duty, sir!" cried mrs. esmond, stamping her little foot. and george, making a low bow to mr. ward, begged him to go first out of the room to the study.
-"stop! for god's sake, mother, stop!" cried poor hal. but passion was boiling in the little woman's heart, and she would not hear the boy's petition. "you only abet him, sir!" she cried. "if i had to do it myself, it should be done!" and harry, with sadness and wrath in his countenance, left the room by the door through which mr. ward and his brother had just issued.
-mr. ward came out bleeding from a great wound on his head, and behind him harry, with flaring eyes, and brandishing a little ruler of his grandfather, which hung, with others of the colonel's weapons, on the library wall.
-"i don't care. i did it," says harry. "i couldn't see this fellow strike my brother; and as he lifted his hand, i flung the great ruler at him. i couldn't help it. i won't bear it; and if one lifts a hand to me or my brother, i'll have his life," shouts harry, brandishing the hanger.
-the widow gave a great gasp and a sigh as she looked at the young champion and his victim. she must have suffered terribly during the few minutes of the boys' absence; and the stripes which she imagined had been inflicted on the elder had smitten her own heart. she longed to take both boys to it. she was not angry now. very likely she was delighted with the thought of the younger's prowess and generosity. "you are a very naughty, disobedient child," she said in an exceedingly peaceable voice. "my poor mr. ward! what a rebel to strike you! let me bathe your wound, my good mr. ward, and thank heaven it was no worse. mountain! go fetch me some court-plaster. here comes george. put on your coat and waistcoat, child! you were going to take your punishment, sir, and that is sufficient. ask pardon, harry, of good mr. ward, for your wicked, rebellious spirit. i do, with all my heart, i am sure. and guard against your passionate nature, child, and pray to be forgiven. my son, oh my son!"
-here with a burst of tears which she could no longer control the little woman threw herself on the neck of her first born, whilst harry went up very feebly to mr. ward, and said, "indeed, i ask your pardon, sir. i couldn't help it; on my honour, i couldn't; nor bear to see my brother struck."
-the widow was scared, as after her embrace she looked up at george's pale face. in reply to her eager caresses, he coldly kissed her on the forehead, and separated from her. "you meant for the best, mother," he said, "and i was in the wrong. but the cup is broken; and all the king's horses and all the king's men cannot mend it. there--put the fair side outwards on the mantelpiece, and the wound will not show."
-then george went up to mr. ward, who was still piteously bathing his eye and forehead in the water. "i ask pardon for hal's violence, sir," he said in great state. "you see, though we are very young, we are gentlemen, and cannot brook an insult from strangers. i should have submitted, as it was mamma's desire; but i am glad she no longer entertains it."
-"and pray, sir, who is to compensate me?" says mr. ward; "who is to repair the insult done to me?"
-"we are very young," says george, with another of his old-fashioned bows. "we shall be fifteen soon. any compensation that is usual amongst gentlemen--"
-"this, sir, to a minister of the word!" bawls out ward, starting up, and who knew perfectly well the lad's skill in fence, having a score of times been foiled by the pair of them.
-"you are not a clergyman yet. we thought you might like to be considered as a gentleman. we did not know."
-"a gentleman! i am a christian, sir!" says ward, glaring furiously, and clenching his great fists.
-"well, well, if you won't fight, why don't you forgive?" says harry. "if you won't forgive, why don't you fight? that's what i call the horns of a dilemma." and he laughed his jolly laugh.
-but this was nothing to the laugh a few days afterwards, when, the quarrel having been patched up along with poor mr. ward's eye, the unlucky tutor was holding forth according to his custom, but in vain. the widow wept no more at his harangues, was no longer excited by his eloquence. nay, she pleaded headache, and would absent herself of an evening, on which occasions the remainder of the little congregation were very cold indeed. one day ward, still making desperate efforts to get back his despised authority, was preaching on the necessity of obeying our spiritual and temporal rulers. "for why, my dear friends," he asked, "why are the governors appointed, but that we should be governed? why are tutors engaged, but that children should be taught?" (here a look at the boys.) "why are rulers--" here he paused, looking with a sad, puzzled face at the young gentlemen. he saw in their countenances the double meaning of the unlucky word he had uttered, and stammered and thumped the table with his fist. "why, i say are rulers--rulers--"
-"rulers," says george, looking at harry.
-"rulers!" says hal, putting his hand to his eye, where the poor tutor still bore marks of the late scuffle. "rulers, o-ho!" it was too much. the boys burst out in an explosion of laughter. mrs. mountain, who was full of fun, could not help joining in the chorus; and little fanny mountain, who had always behaved very demurely and silently at these ceremonies, crowed again, and clapped her little hands at the others laughing, not in the least knowing the reason why.
-this could not be borne. ward shut down the book before him; in a few angry but eloquent and manly words said he would speak no more in that place; and left castlewood not in the least regretted by madame esmond, who had doted on him three months before.
-when the lads returned home at the end of ten delightful months, their mother was surprised at their growth and improvement. george especially was so grown as to come up to his younger-born brother. the boys could hardly be distinguished one from another, especially when their hair was powdered; but that ceremony being too cumbrous for country-life, each of the lads commonly wore his own hair, george his raven black, and harry his light locks, tied with a ribbon.
-now mrs. mountain had a great turn for match-making, and fancied that everybody had a design to marry everybody else. as a consequence of this weakness she was able to persuade george warrington that mr. washington was laying siege to madame esmond's heart, which idea was anything but agreeable to george's jealous disposition.
-"i beg you to keep this quiet, mountain," said george, with great dignity. "or you and i shall quarrel, too. never to any one must you mention such an absurd suspicion."
-"absurd! why absurd? mr. washington is constantly with the widow. she never tires of pointing out his virtues as an example to her sons. she consults him on every question respecting her estate and its management. there is a room at castlewood regularly called mr. washington's room. he actually leaves his clothes here, and his portmanteau when he goes away. ah, george, george! the day will come when he won't go away!" groaned mrs. mountain, and in consequence of the suspicions which her words aroused in him mr. george adopted toward his mother's favourite a frigid courtesy, at which the honest gentleman chafed but did not care to remonstrate; or a stinging sarcasm which he would break through as he would burst through so many brambles on those hunting excursions in which he and harry warrington rode so constantly together; while george, retreating to his tents, read mathematics and french and latin, or sulked in his book-room.
-harry was away from home with some other sporting friends when mr. washington came to pay a visit at castlewood. he was so peculiarly tender and kind to the mistress there, and received by her with such special cordiality, that george warrington's jealousy had well-nigh broken out into open rupture. but the visit was one of adieu, as it appeared. major washington was going on a long and dangerous journey, quite to the western virginia frontier and beyond it. the french had been for some time past making inroads into our territory. the government at home, as well as those of virginia and pennsylvania, were alarmed at this aggressive spirit of the lords of canada and louisiana. some of our settlers had already been driven from their holdings by frenchmen in arms, and the governors of the british provinces were desirous of stopping their incursions, or at any rate to protest against their invasion.
-we chose to hold our american colonies by a law that was at least convenient for its framers. the maxim was, that whoever possessed the coast had a right to all the territory in hand as far as the pacific; so that the british charters only laid down the limits of the colonies from north to south, leaving them quite free from east to west. the french, meanwhile, had their colonies to the north and south, and aimed at connecting them by the mississippi and the st. lawrence, and the great intermediate lakes and waters lying to the westward of the british possessions. in the year 1748, though peace was signed between the two european kingdoms, the colonial question remained unsettled, to be opened again when either party should be strong enough to urge it. in the year 1753 it came to an issue on the ohio river where the british and french settlers met.
-a company called the ohio company, having grants from the virginia government of lands along that river, found themselves invaded in their settlement's by french military detachments, who roughly ejected the britons from their holdings. these latter applied for protection to mr. dinwiddie, lieutenant governor of virginia, who determined upon sending an ambassador to the french commanding officer on the ohio demanding that the french should desist from their inroads upon the territories of his majesty king george.
-young mr. washington jumped eagerly at the chance of distinction which this service afforded him, and volunteered to leave his home and his rural and professional pursuits in virginia, to carry the governor's message to the french officer. taking a guide, an interpreter, and a few attendants, and following the indian tracks, in the fall of the year 1753 the intrepid young envoy made his way from williamsburg almost to the shores of lake erie, and found the french commander at fort le boeuf. that officer's reply was brief; his orders were to hold the place and drive all the english from it. the french avowed their intention of taking possession of the ohio. and with this rough answer the messenger from virginia had to return through danger and difficulty, across lonely forest and frozen river, shaping his course by the compass, and camping at night in the snow by the forest fires.
-on his return from this expedition, which he had conducted with an heroic energy and simplicity, major washington was a greater favourite than ever with the lady of castlewood. she pointed him out as a model to both of her sons. "ah, harry!" she would say, "think of you, with your cock-fighting and your racing matches, and the major away there in the wilderness, watching the french, and battling with the frozen rivers! ah, george! learning may be a very good thing, but i wish my elder son were doing something in the service of his country!"
-mr. washington on his return home began at once raising such a regiment as, with the scanty pay and patronage of the virginian government, he could get together, and proposed with the help of these men-of-war to put a more peremptory veto upon the french invaders than the solitary ambassador had been enabled to lay. a small force under another officer, colonel trent, had already been despatched to the west, with orders to fortify themselves so as to be able to resist any attack of the enemy. the french troops greatly outnumbering ours, came up with the english outposts, who were fortifying themselves at a place on the confines of pennsylvania where the great city of pittsburg now stands. a virginian officer with but forty men was in no condition to resist twenty times that number of canadians who appeared before his incomplete works. he was suffered to draw back without molestation; and the french, taking possession of his fort, strengthened it and christened it by the name of the canadian governor, du quesne. up to this time no actual blow of war had been struck. it was strange that in a savage forest of pennsylvania a young virginian officer should fire a shot and waken up a war which was to last for sixty years, which was to cover his own country and pass into europe, to cost france her american colonies, to sever ours from us, and create the great western republic; to rage over the old world when extinguished in the new; and of all the myriads engaged in the vast contest, to leave the prize of the greatest fame with him who struck the first blow!
-he little knew of the fate in store for him. a simple gentleman, anxious to serve his king and do his duty, he volunteered for the first service, and executed it with admirable fidelity. in the ensuing year he took the command of the small body of provincial troops with which he marched to repel the frenchmen. he came up with their advanced guard and fired upon them, killing their leader. after this he had himself to fall back with his troops, and was compelled to capitulate to the superior french force. on the 4th of july, 1754, the colonel marched out with his troops from the little fort where he had hastily entrenched himself, and which they called fort necessity, gave up the place to the conqueror, and took his way home.
-his command was over, his regiment disbanded after the fruitless, inglorious march and defeat. saddened and humbled in spirit, the young officer presented himself after a while to his old friends at castlewood.
-but surely no man can have better claims to sympathy than bravery, youth, good looks, and misfortune. mr. washington's room at castlewood was more than ever mr. washington's room now. madame esmond raved about him and praised him in all her companies. she more than ever pointed out his excellences to her sons, contrasting his sterling qualities with harry's love of pleasure and george's listless musing over his books. george was not disposed to like mr. washington any better for his mother's extravagant praises. he coaxed the jealous demon within him until he must have become a perfect pest to himself and all his friends round about him. he uttered jokes so deep that his simple mother did not know their meaning, but sat bewildered at his sarcasms.
-meanwhile the quarrel between the french and english north americans, from being a provincial, had grown to be a national quarrel. reinforcements from france had already arrived in canada, and english troops were expected in virginia. it was resolved to wrest from the french all the conquests they had made upon british dominion. a couple of regiments were raised and paid by the king in america, and a fleet with a couple more was despatched from home under an experienced commander. in february, 1755, commodore keppel, in the famous ship "centurion," anchored in hampton roads with two ships of war under his command, and having on board general braddock, his staff, and a part of his troops. mr. braddock was appointed by the duke. a fleet of transports speedily followed him bringing stores, and men and money in plenty.
-the arrival of the general and his little army caused a mighty excitement all through the provinces, and nowhere greater than at castlewood. harry was off forthwith to see the troops under canvas at alexandria. the sight of their lines delighted him, and the inspiring music of their fifes and drums. he speedily made acquaintance with the officers of both regiments; he longed to join in the expedition upon which they were bound, and was a welcome guest at their mess.
-we may be sure that the arrival of the army and the approaching campaign formed the subject of continued conversation in the castlewood family. to make the campaign was the dearest wish of harry's life. he dreamed only of war and battle; he was forever with the officers at williamsburg; he scoured and cleaned and polished all the guns and swords in the house; he renewed the amusements of his childhood and had the negroes under arms, but eager as he was to be a soldier, he scarcely dared touch on the subject with george, for he saw to his infinite terror how george, too, was occupied with military matters, and having a feudal attachment for his elder brother, and worshipping him with an extravagant regard, he gave way in all things to him as the chief, and felt that should george wish to make the campaign he would submit. he took note that george had all the military books of his grandfather brought down from his book-shelves, and that he and dempster were practising with the foils again; and he soon found that his fears were true. mr. franklin of philadelphia, having heard that madame esmond had beeves and horses and stores in plenty, which might be useful to general braddock, recommended the general to conciliate her by inviting her sons to dinner, which he at once did. the general and the gentlemen of his family made much of them, and they returned home delighted with their entertainment; and so pleased was their mother at the civility shown them that she at once penned a billet thanking his excellency for his politeness, and begging him to fix the time when she might have the honour of receiving him at castlewood.
-madame esmond made her boys bearers of the letter in reply to his excellency's message, accompanying her note with handsome presents for the general's staff and officers, which they were delighted to accept.
-"would not one of the young gentlemen like to see the campaign?" the general asked. "a friend of theirs, who often spoke of them--mr. washington, who had been unlucky in the affair of last year--had already promised to join him as aide-de-camp, and his excellency would gladly take another young virginian gentleman into his family."
-harry's eyes brightened and his face flushed at this offer. he would like with all his heart to go, he cried out. george said, looking hard at his younger brother, that one of them would be proud to attend his excellency, whilst it would be the other's duty to take care of their mother at home. harry allowed his senior to speak. however much he desired to go, he would not pronounce until george had declared himself. he longed so for the campaign that the actual wish made him timid. he dared not speak on the matter as he went home with george. they rode for miles in silence, or strove to talk upon indifferent subjects, each knowing what was passing in the other's mind, and afraid to bring the awful question to an issue.
-on their arrival at home the boys told their mother of general braddock's offer.
-"i know it must happen," she said; "at such a crisis in the country our family must come forward. have you--have you settled yet which of you is to leave me?" and she looked anxiously from one to another, dreading to hear either name.
-"the youngest ought to go, mother; of course i ought to go!" cries harry, turning very red.
-"of course, he ought," said mrs. mountain, who was present at their talk.
-"the head of the family ought to go, mother," says george, adding: "you would make the best soldier, i know that, dearest hal. you and george washington are great friends, and could travel well together, and he does not care for me, nor i for him, however much he is admired in the family. but, you see, 'tis the law of honour, my harry. i must go. had fate given you the benefit of that extra half hour of life which i have had before you, it would have been your lot, and you would have claimed your right to go first, you know you would."
-"yes, george," said poor harry; "i own i should."
-"you will stay at home, and take care of castlewood and our mother. if anything happens to me, you are here to fill my place. i should like to give way, my dear, as you, i know, would lay down your life to serve me. but each of us must do his duty. what would our grandfather say if he were here?"
-the mother looked proudly at her two sons. "my papa would say that his boys were gentlemen," faltered madame esmond, and left the young men, not choosing perhaps to show the emotion which was filling her heart. it was speedily known amongst the servants that mr. george was going on the campaign. dinah, george's foster-mother, was loud in her lamentations at losing him; phillis, harry's old nurse, was as noisy, because master george, as usual, was preferred over master harry. sady, george's servant, made preparations to follow his master, bragging incessantly of the deeds which he would do; while gumbo, harry's boy, pretended to whimper at being left behind, though at home gumbo was anything but a fire-eater.
-but of all in the house mrs. mountain was the most angry at george's determination to go on the campaign. she begged, implored, insisted that he should alter his determination; voted that nothing but mischief would come from his departure; and finally suggested that it was his duty to remain at home to protect his mother from the advances of colonel washington, whom she assured him she believed to desire a rich wife, and that if george would go away he would come back to find george washington master of castlewood. as a proof of what she said she produced part of a letter written by colonel washington to his brother, in which his words seemed to the romantic mrs. mountain to bear out her belief. this fragment, which she had found in the colonel's room and with none too much honesty appropriated, she now showed to george, who after gazing at the document gave her a frightful look, saying, "i--i will return this paper to mr. washington." mrs. mountain was thoroughly scared then at what she had done and said, but it could not be taken back, so she was obliged to adjust herself to taking in good part whatever consequences might come of her dishonest act.
-on the day set for madame esmond's entertainment to general braddock the house of castlewood was set out with the greatest splendour; and madame esmond arrayed herself in a much more magnificent dress than she was accustomed to wear, while the boys were dressed alike in gold-corded frocks, braided waistcoats, silver-hilted sword, and wore each a solitaire.
-the general's new aide-de-camp was the first guest to arrive, and he and his hostess paced the gallery for some time. she had much to say to him, and also to hear from him a confirmation of his appointment as aide-de-camp to general braddock, and to speak of her son's approaching departure. at length they descended the steps down to the rough lawn in front of the house, and presently the little lady re-entered her mansion, leaning upon mr. washington's arm. here they were joined by george, who came to them accurately powdered and richly attired, saluting his parent and his friend alike with respectful bows, according to the fashion of that time.
-but george, though he made the lowest possible bow to mr. washington and his mother, was by no means in good humour with either of them, and in all his further conversation that day with colonel washington showed a bitter sarcasm and a depth of innuendo which the colonel was at a loss to understand. a short time after george's entrance into the colonel's presence harry answered back a remark of george's to the effect that he hated sporting by saying, "i say one thing, george."
-"say twenty things, don enrico," cries the other.
-"if you are not fond of sporting and that, being cleverer than me, why shouldst thou not stop at home and be quiet, and let me go out with colonel george and mr. braddock? that's what i say," says harry, flushing with excitement.
-"one of our family must go because honour obliges it, and my name being number one, number one must go first," says george, adding, "one must stay, or who is to look after mother at home? we cannot afford to be both scalped by indians or fricasseed by french."
-"fricasseed by french," cries harry; "the best troops of the world are englishmen. i should like to see them fricasseed by the french! what a mortal thrashing you will give them!" and the brave lad sighed to think he should not be present at the combat.
-george sat down to the harpsichord and was playing when the colonel re-entered, saying that his excellency's coach would be here almost immediately, and asking leave to retire to his apartment, to put himself in a fit condition to appear before her ladyship's company. as the widow was conducting mr. washington to his chamber, george gave way to a fit of wrath, ending in an explanation to his astonished brother of the reason of it, and telling him of mrs. mountain's suspicions concerning the colonel's attitude towards their mother, which he confirmed by showing harry the letter of colonel washington's which mrs. mountain had found and preserved.
-but to go back to madame esmond's feast for his excellency; all the birds of the virginia air, and all the fish of the sea in season, and all the most famous dishes for which madame esmond was famous, and the best wine which her cellar boasted, were laid on the little widow's board to feed her distinguished guest and the other gentlemen who accompanied him. the kind mistress of castlewood looked so gay and handsome and spoke with such cheerfulness and courage to all her company that the few ladies who were present could not but congratulate madame esmond upon the elegance of the feast and upon her manner of presiding at it. but they were scarcely in the drawing-room, when her artificial courage failed her, and she burst into tears, exclaiming, "ah, it may be an honour to have mr. braddock in my house, but he comes to take one of my sons away from me. who knows whether my boy will return, or how? i dreamed of him last night as wounded, with blood streaming from his side."
-meanwhile mr. washington was pondering deeply upon george's peculiar behaviour towards him. the tone of freedom and almost impertinence which young george had adopted of late towards mr. washington had very deeply vexed and annoyed that gentleman. there was scarce half a dozen years' difference of age between him and the castlewood twins; but mr. washington had always been remarked for a discretion and sobriety much beyond his time of life, whilst the boys of castlewood seemed younger than theirs. they had always been till now under their mother's anxious tutelage, and had looked up to their neighbour of mount vernon as their guide, director, friend, as, indeed, almost everybody seemed to do who came in contact with the simple and upright young man. himself of the most scrupulous gravity and good-breeding, in his communication with other folks he appeared to exact, or, at any rate, to occasion, the same behaviour. his nature was above levity and jokes: they seemed out of place when addressed to him. he was slow of comprehending them: and they slunk as it were abashed out of his society. "he always seemed great to me," says harry warrington, in one of his letters many years after the date of which we are writing; "and i never thought of him otherwise than as a hero. when he came over to castlewood and taught us boys surveying, to see him riding to hounds was as if he was charging an army. if he fired a shot, i thought the bird must come down, and if he flung a net, the largest fish in the river were sure to be in it. his words were always few, but they were always wise; they were not idle, as our words are; they were grave, sober and strong, and ready on occasion to do their duty. in spite of his antipathy to him, my brother respected and admired the general as much as i did--that is to say, more than any mortal man."
-mr. washington was the first to leave the jovial party which were doing so much honour to madame esmond's hospitality. young george esmond, who had taken his mother's place when she left the dining-room, had been free with the glass and with the tongue. he had said a score of things to his guest which wounded and chafed the latter, and to which mr. washington could give no reply. angry beyond all endurance, he left the table at length, and walked away through the open windows into the broad veranda or porch which belonged to castlewood as to all virginian houses.
-here madame esmond caught sight of her friend's tall frame as it strode up and down before the windows; and gave up her cards to one of the other ladies, and joined her good neighbour out of doors. he tried to compose his countenance as well as he could, but found it so difficult that presently she asked, "why do you look so grave?"
-"indeed, to be frank with you, i do not know what has come over george," says mr. washington. "he has some grievance against me which i do not understand, and of which i don't care to ask the reason. he spoke to me before the gentlemen in a way which scarcely became him. we are going to the campaign together, and 'tis a pity we begin such ill friends."
-"he has been ill. he is always wild and wayward and hard to understand, but he has the most affectionate heart in the world. you will bear with him, you will protect him. promise you will."
-"dear lady, i will do so with my life," mr. washington said heartily. "you know i would lay it down cheerfully for you or any you love."
-"and my father's blessing and mine go with you, dear friend!" cried the widow.
-as they talked, they had quitted the porch and were pacing a walk before the house. young george warrington, from his place at the head of the table in the dining-room, could see them, and after listening in a very distracted manner for some time to the remarks of the gentlemen around him, he jumped up and pulled his brother harry by the sleeve, turning him so that he, too, could see his mother and the colonel.
-somewhat later, when general braddock and the other guests had retired to their apartments, the boys went to their own room, and there poured out to one another their opinions respecting the great event of the day. they would not bear such a marriage--no. was the representative of the marquis of esmond to marry the younger son of a colonial family, who had been bred up as a land surveyor--castlewood and the boys at nineteen years of age handed over to the tender mercies of a step-father of three and twenty? oh, it was monstrous! harry was for going straightway to his mother, protesting against the odious match, and announcing that they would leave her forever if the marriage took place.
-george had another plan for preventing it, which he explained to his admiring brother. "our mother," he said, "can't marry a man with whom one or both of us has been out on the field, and who has wounded us or killed us, or whom we have wounded or killed. we must have him out, harry."
-harry saw the profound truth conveyed in george's statement, and admired his brother's immense sagacity. "no, george," says he, "you are right. mother can't marry our murderer; she won't be as bad as that. and if we pink him, he is done for. shall i send my boy with a challenge to colonel george now?"
-"we can't insult a gentleman in our own house," said george with great majesty; "the laws of honour forbid such inhospitable treatment. but, sir, we can ride out with him, and, as soon as the park gates are closed, we can tell him our mind."
-"that we can, by george!" cries harry, grasping his brother's hand, "and that we will, too. i say, georgie--" here the lad's face became very red, and his brother asked him what he would say.
-"this is my turn, brother," harry pleaded. "if you go to the campaign, i ought to have the other affair. indeed, indeed, i ought." and he prayed for this bit of promotion.
-"again the head of the house must take the lead, my dear," george said with a superb air. "if i fall, my harry will avenge me. but i must fight george washington, hal; and 'tis best i should; for, indeed, i hate him the worst. was it not he who counselled my mother to order that wretch, ward, to lay hands on me?"
-"colonel washington is my enemy especially. he has advised one wrong against me, and he meditates a greater. i tell you, brother, we must punish him."
-the grandsire's old bordeaux had set george's ordinarily pale countenance into a flame. harry, his brother's fondest worshipper, could not but admire george's haughty bearing and rapid declamation, and prepared himself, with his usual docility, to follow his chief. so the boys went to their beds, the elder conveying special injunctions to his junior to be civil to all the guests so long as they remained under the maternal roof on the morrow.
-the widow, occupied as she had been with the cares of a great dinner, followed by a great breakfast on the morning ensuing, had scarce leisure to remark the behaviour of her sons very closely, but at least saw that george was scrupulously polite to her favourite, colonel washington, as to all the other guests of the house.
-before mr. braddock took his leave he had a private audience with madame esmond, in which his excellency formally arranged to take her son into his family; after which the jolly general good-naturedly shook hands with george, and bade george welcome and to be in attendance at frederick three days hence; shortly after which time the expedition would set forth.
-and now the great coach was again called into requisition, the general's escort pranced round it, the other guests and their servants went to horse.
-george warrington watched his mother's emotion, and interpreted it with a pang of malignant scorn. "stay yet a moment, and console our mamma," he said with a steady countenance, "only the time to get ourselves booted, and my brother and i will ride with you a little way, george." george warrington had already ordered his horses. the three young men were speedily under way, their negro grooms behind them, and mrs. mountain, who knew she had made mischief between them and trembled for the result, felt a vast relief that mr. washington was gone without a quarrel with the brothers, without, at any rate, an open declaration of love to their mother.
-no man could be more courteous in demeanour than george warrington to his neighbour and name-sake, the colonel, who was pleased and surprised at his young friend's altered behaviour. the community of danger, the necessity of future fellowship, the softening influence of the long friendship which bound him to the esmond family, the tender adieux which had just passed between him and the mistress of castlewood, inclined the colonel to forget the unpleasantness of the past days, and made him more than usually friendly with his young companion. george was quite gay and easy: it was harry who was melancholy now; he rode silently and wistfully by his brother, keeping away from colonel washington, to whose side he used always to press eagerly before. if the honest colonel remarked his young friend's conduct, no doubt he attributed it to harry's known affection for his brother, and his natural anxiety to be with george now the day of their parting was so near.
-so the party rode amicably together, until they reached a certain rude log-house, called benson's, where they found a rough meal prepared for such as were disposed to partake.
-a couple of halkett's officers, whom our young gentlemen knew, were sitting under the porch, with the virginian toddy bowl before them, and the boys joined them and sent for glasses and more toddy, in a very grown-up manner.
-george called out to colonel washington, who was at the porch, to join his friends and drink, with the intention of drawing mr. washington into some kind of a disagreement.
-the lad's tone was offensive, and resembled the manner lately adopted by him, which had so much chafed mr. washington. he bowed, and said he was not thirsty.
-"nay, the liquor is paid for," says george; "never fear, colonel."
-"i said i was not thirsty. i did not say the liquor was not paid for," said the young colonel, drumming with his foot.
-"when the king's health is proposed, an officer can hardly say no. i drink the health of his majesty, gentlemen," cried george. "colonel washington can drink it or leave it. the king!"
-this was a point of military honour. the two british officers of halkett's, captain grace and mr. waring, both drank "the king." harry warrington drank "the king." colonel washington, with glaring eyes, gulped, too, a slight draught from the bowl.
-then captain grace proposed "the duke and the army," which toast there was likewise no gainsaying. colonel washington had to swallow "the duke and the army."
-"you don't seem to stomach the toast, colonel," said george.
-"i tell you again, i don't want to drink," replied the colonel. "it seems to me the duke and the army would be served all the better if their healths were not drunk so often."
-"a british officer," said captain grace, with doubtful articulation," never neglects a toast of that sort, nor any other duty. a man who refuses to drink the health of the duke--hang me, such a man should be tried by a court-martial!"
-"what means this language to me? you are drunk, sir!" roared colonel washington, jumping up and striking the table with his first.
-"a cursed provincial officer say i'm drunk!" shrieks out captain grace. "waring, do you hear that?"
-"i heard it, sir!" cried george warrington. "we all heard it. we entered at my invitation--the liquor called for was mine; the table was mine--and i am shocked to hear such monstrous language used at it as colonel washington has just employed towards my esteemed guest, captain waring."
-"confound your impudence, you infernal young jackanapes!" bellowed out colonel washington. "you dare to insult me before british officers, and find fault with my language? for months past i have borne with such impudence from you, that if i had not loved your mother--yes, sir, and your good grandfather and your brother--i would--" here his words failed him, and the irate colonel, with glaring eyes and purple face, and every limb quivering with wrath, stood for a moment speechless before his young enemy.
-"you would what, sir," says george, very quietly, "if you did not love my grandfather, and my brother, and my mother? you are making her petticoat a plea for some conduct of yours! you would do what, sir, may i ask again?"
-"i would put you across my knee and whip you, you snarling little puppy! that's what i would do!" cried the colonel, who had found breath by this time, and vented another explosion of fury.
-"or give us the reparation that is due to gentlemen," continues harry.
-the stout colonel's heart smote him to think that he should be at mortal quarrel, or called upon to shed the blood of one of the lads he loved. as harry stood facing him, with his fair hair, flushing cheeks, and quivering voice, an immense tenderness and kindness filled the bosom of the elder man. "i--i am bewildered," he said. "my words, perhaps, were very hasty. what has been the meaning of george's behaviour to me for months back? only tell me, and, perhaps--"
-the evil spirit was awake and victorious in young george warrington; his black eyes shot out scorn and hatred at the simple and guileless gentleman before him. "you are shirking from the question, sir, as you did from the toast just now," he said. "i am not a boy to suffer under your arrogance. you have publicly insulted me in a public place, and i demand a reparation."
-"as you please, george warrington--and god forgive you, george! god pardon you, harry! for bringing me into this quarrel," said the colonel, with a face full of sadness and gloom.
-harry hung his head, but george continued with perfect calmness: "i, sir? it was not i who called names, who talked of a cane, who insulted a gentleman in a public place before the gentlemen of the army. it is not the first time you have chosen to take me for a negro, and talked of the whip for me."
-the colonel started back, turning very red, and as if struck by a sudden remembrance.
-"great heavens, george! is it that boyish quarrel you are still recalling?"
-"who made you overseer of castlewood?" said the boy, grinding his teeth. "i am not your slave, george washington, and i never will be. i hated you then, and i hate you now. and you have insulted me, and i am a gentleman, and so are you. is that not enough?"
-"too much, only too much," said the colonel, with a genuine grief on his face, and at his heart "do you bear malice, too, harry? i had not thought this of thee!"
-"i stand by my brother," said harry, turning away from the colonel's look, and grasping george's hand. the sadness on their adversary's face did not depart. "heaven be good to us! 'tis all clear now," he muttered to himself. "the time to write a few letters, and i am at your service, mr. warrington," he said.
-"you have your own pistols at your saddle. i did not ride out with any; but will send sady back for mine. that will give you time enough, colonel washington?"
-"plenty of time, sir." and each gentleman made the other a low bow, and, putting his arm in his brother's, george walked away. the virginian officer looked towards captain benson, the master of the tavern, saying, "captain benson, you are an old frontier man, and an officer of ours, before you turned farmer and taverner. you will help me in this matter with yonder young gentleman?" said the colonel.
-"i'll stand by and see fair play, colonel. i won't have any hand in it, beyond seeing fair play. you ain't a-goin' to be very hard with them poor boys? though i seen 'em both shoot; the fair one hunts well, as you know, but the old one's a wonder at an ace of spades."
-"will you be pleased to send my man with my valise, captain, into any private room which you can spare me? i must write a few letters before this business comes on. god grant it were well over!" and the captain led the colonel into a room of his house where he remained occupied with gloomy preparations for the ensuing meeting. his adversary in the other room also thought fit to make his testamentary dispositions, too, dictated by his own obedient brother and secretary, a grandiloquent letter to his mother, of whom, and by that writing, he took a solemn farewell. she would hardly, he supposed, pursue the scheme which she had in view, after the event of that morning, should he fall, as probably would be the case.
-"my dear, dear george, don't say that!" cried the affrighted secretary.
-"as probably will be the case," george persisted with great majesty. "you know what a good shot colonel george is, harry. i, myself, am pretty fair at a mark, and 'tis probable that one or both of us will drop--i scarcely suppose you will carry out the intentions you have at present in view." this was uttered in a tone of still greater bitterness than george had used even in the previous phrase, and he added in a tone of surprise: "why, harry, what have you been writing, and who taught thee to spell?" harry had written the last words "in view," in vew, and a great blot of salt water from his honest, boyish eyes may have obliterated some other bad spelling.
-"i can't think about the spelling now, georgy," whimpered george's clerk. "i'm too miserable for that. i begin to think, perhaps, it's all nonsense; perhaps colonel george never--"
-"never meant to take possession of castlewood; never gave himself airs, and patronised us there; never advised my mother to have me flogged; never intended to marry her; never insulted me, and was insulted before the king's officers; never wrote to his brother to say that we should be the better for his parental authority? the paper is there," cried the young man, slapping his breast-pocket, "and if anything happens to me, harry warrington, you will find it on my corpse!"
-"write, yourself, georgie, i can't write," says harry, digging his fists into his eyes, and smearing over the whole composition, bad spelling and all, with his elbows.
-on this, george, taking another sheet of paper, sat down at his brother's place, and produced a composition in which he introduced the longest words, the grandest latin quotations, and the most profound satire of which the youthful scribe was master. he desired that his negro boy, sady, should be set free; that his "horace," a choice of his books, and, if possible, a suitable provision should be made for his affectionate tutor, mr. dempster; that his silver fruit-knife, his music-books, and harpischord should be given to little fannie mountain; and that his brother should take a lock of his hair, and wear it in memory of his ever fond and faithfully attached george. and he sealed the document with the seal of arms that his grandfather had worn.
-"the watch, of course, will be yours," said george, taking out his grandfather's gold watch and looking at it. "why, two hours and a half are gone! 'tis time that sady should be back with the pistols. take the watch, harry, dear."
-"it's no good!" cried out harry, flinging his arms round his brother. "if he fights you, i'll fight him, too. if he kills my georgie, he shall have a shot at me!" cried the poor lad.
-meanwhile, mr. washington had written five letters in his large resolute hand, and sealed them with his seal. one was to his mother, at mount vernon; one to his brother; one was addressed m.c. only; and one to his excellency, major-general braddock. "and one, young gentlemen, is for your mother, madame esmond," said the boys' informant.
-it was the landlord of the tavern who communicated these facts to the young men. the captain had put on his old militia uniform to do honour to the occasion, and informed the boys that the "colonel was walking up and down the garden a-waiting for 'em, and that the reg'lars was a'most sober, too, by this time."
-a plot of ground near the captain's log house had been enclosed with shingles, and cleared for a kitchen-garden; there indeed paced colonel washington, his hands behind his back, his head bowed down, a grave sorrow on his handsome face. the negro servants were crowded at the palings and looking over. the officers under the porch had wakened up also, as their host remarked.
-there, then, stalked the tall young colonel, plunged in dismal meditation. there was no way out of his scrape, but the usual cruel one, which the laws of honour and the practice of the country ordered. goaded into fury by the impertinence of a boy, he had used insulting words. the young man had asked for reparation. he was shocked to think that george warrington's jealousy and revenge should have rankled in the young fellow so long; but the wrong had been the colonel's, and he was bound to pay the forfeit.
-a great hallooing and shouting, such as negroes use, who love noise at all times, was now heard at a distance, and all heads were turned in the direction of this outcry. it came from the road over which our travellers had themselves passed three hours before, and presently the clattering of a horse's hoofs was heard, and now mr. sady made his appearance on his foaming horse. presently he was in the court-yard, and was dismounting.
-"sady, sir, come here!" roars out master harry.
-"sady, come here, confound you!" shouts master george.
-"come directly, mas'r," says sady. he grins. he takes the pistols out of the holster. he snaps the locks. he points them at a grunter, which plunges through the farm-yard. he points down the road, over which he has just galloped, and says again, "comin', mas'r. everybody a-comin'." and now, the gallop of other horses is heard. and who is yonder? little mr. dempster, spurring and digging into his pony; and that lady in a riding-habit on madame esmond's little horse--can it be madame esmond? no. it is too stout. as i live it is mrs. mountain on madame's grey!"
-"o lor'! o golly! hoop! here dey come! hurray!"
-dr. dempster and mrs. mountain having clattered into the yard, jumped from their horses, and ran to the garden where george and harry were walking, their tall enemy stalking opposite to them; and almost ere george warrington had time sternly to say, "what do you here, madame?" mrs. mountain flung her arms round his neck and cried: "oh, george, my darling! it's a mistake! it's a mistake, and is all my fault!"
-"what's a mistake?" asks george, majestically separating himself from the embrace.
-"what is it, mounty?" cries harry, all of a tremble.
-"that paper i took out of his portfolio, that paper i picked up, children; where the colonel says he is going to marry a widow with two children. well, it's--it's not your mother. it's that little widow custis whom the colonel is going to marry. it's not mrs. rachel warrington. he told madame so to-day, just before he was going away, and that the marriage was to come off after the campaign. and--and your mother is furious, boys. and when sady came for the pistols, and told the whole house how you were going to fight, i told him to fire the pistols off; and i galloped after him, and i've nearly broken my poor old bones in coming to you."
-"what will mr. washington and those gentlemen think of my servant telling my mother at home that i was going to fight a duel?" growled mr. george in wrath.
-"you should have shown your proofs before, george," says harry, respectfully. "and, thank heaven, you are not going to fight our old friend. for it was a mistake; and there is no quarrel now, dear, is there? you were unkind to him under a wrong impression."
-"i certainly acted under a wrong impression," owns george, "but--"
-"george! george washington!" harry here cries out, springing over the cabbage garden towards the bowling-green, where the colonel was stalking, and though we cannot hear him, we see him, with both his hands out, and with the eagerness of youth, and with a hundred blunders, and with love and affection thrilling in his honest voice, we imagine the lad telling his tale to his friend.
-there was a custom in those days which has disappeared from our manners now, but which then lingered.
-when harry had finished his artless story his friend the colonel took him fairly to his arms, and held him to his heart; and his voice faltered as he said, "thank god, thank god for this!"
-"oh, george," said harry, who felt now he loved his friend with all his heart, "how i wish i was going with you on the campaign!" the other pressed both the boy's hands in a grasp of friendship, which, each knew, never would slacken.
-then the colonel advanced, gravely holding out his hand to harry's elder brother. but, though hands were joined, the salutation was only formal and stern on both sides.
-"i find i have done you a wrong, colonel washington," george said, "and must apologise, not for the error, but for much of my late behaviour, which has resulted from it."
-"the error was mine! it was i who found that paper in your room and showed it to george, and was jealous of you, colonel. all women are jealous," cried mrs. mountain.
-"'tis a pity you could not have kept your eyes off my paper, madame," said mr. washington. "you will permit me to say so. a great deal of mischief has come because i chose to keep a secret which concerned only myself and another person. for a long time george warrington's heart has been black with anger against me, and my feeling towards him has, i own, scarce been more friendly. all this pain might have been spared to both of us had my private papers only been read by those for whom they were written. i shall say no more now, lest my feelings again should betray me into hasty words. heaven bless thee, harry! farewell, george! and take a true friend's advice, and try to be less ready to think evil of your friends. we shall meet again at the camp, and will keep our weapons for the enemy. gentlemen! if you remember this scene tomorrow, you will know where to find me." and with a very stately bow to the english officers, the colonel left the abashed company, and speedily rode away.
-we must fancy that the parting between the brothers is over, that george has taken his place in mr. braddock's family, and harry has returned home to castlewood and his duty. his heart is with the army, and his pursuits at home offer the boy no pleasure. he does not care to own how deep his disappointment is, at being obliged to stay under the homely, quiet roof, now more melancholy than ever since george is away. harry passes his brother's empty chamber with an averted face; takes george's place at the head of the table, and sighs as he drinks from his silver tankard. madame warrington calls the toast of "the king" stoutly every day; and on sundays when harry reads the service, and prays for all travellers by land and by water, she says, "we beseech thee to hear us," with a peculiar solemnity.
-mrs. mountain is constantly on the whimper when george's name is mentioned, and harry's face frequently wears a look of the most ghastly alarm; but his mother's is invariably grave and sedate. she makes more blunders at piquet and backgammon than you would expect from her; and the servants find her awake and dressed, however early they may rise. she has prayed mr. dempster to come back into residence at castlewood. she is not severe or haughty, as her wont certainly was, with any of the party, but quiet in her talk with them, and gentle in assertion and reply. she is forever talking of her father and his campaigns, who came out of them all with no very severe wounds to hurt him; and so she hopes and trusts will her eldest son.
-george writes frequent letters home to his brother, and, now the army is on its march, compiles a rough journal, which he forwards as occasion serves. this document is read with great eagerness by harry, and more than once read out in family councils on the long summer nights as madame esmond sits upright at her tea-table; as little fanny mountain is busy with her sewing, as mr. dempster and mrs. mountain sit over their cards, as the hushed old servants of the house move about silently in the gloaming and listen to the words of the young master. hearken to harry warrington reading out his brother's letter!
-"it must be owned that the provinces are acting scurvily by his majesty king george, and his representative here is in a flame of fury. virginia is bad enough, and poor maryland not much better, but pennsylvania is worst of all. we pray them to send us troops from home to fight the french; and we propose to maintain the troops when they come. we not only don't keep our promise, and make scarce any provision for our defenders, but our people insist upon the most exorbitant prices for their cattle and stores, and actually cheat the soldiers who are come to fight their battles. no wonder the general swears, and the troops are sulky. the delays have been endless. owing to the failure of the several provinces to provide their promised stores and means of locomotion, weeks and months have elapsed, during which time no doubt the french have been strengthening themselves on our frontier and in the forts they have turned us out of. though there never will be any love lost between me and colonel washington, it must be owned that your favourite (i am not jealous, hal) is a brave man and a good officer. the family respect him very much, and the general is always asking his opinion. indeed, he is almost the only man who has seen the indians in their war-paint, and i own i think he was right in firing upon mons. jumonville last year."
-"colonel washington has had the fever very smartly, and has hardly been well enough to keep up with the march. when either of us is ill, we are almost as good friends again as ever, and though i don't love him as you do, i know he is a good soldier, a good officer, and a brave, honest man; and, at any rate, shall love him none the worse for not wanting to be our step-father."
-"'tis a pretty sight," harry continued, reading from his brother's journal, "to see a long line of red coats threading through the woods or taking their ground after the march. the care against surprise is so great and constant that we defy prowling indians to come unawares upon us, and our advanced sentries and savages have on the contrary fallen in with the enemy and taken a scalp or two from them. they are such cruel villains, these french and their painted allies, that we do not think of showing them mercy. only think, we found but yesterday a little boy scalped but yet alive in a lone house, where his parents had been attacked and murdered by the savage enemy, of whom--so great is his indignation at their cruelty--our general has offered a reward of £5 for all the indian scalps brought in.
-"july 4. to guard against surprises, we are all warned to pay especial attention to the beat of the drum; always halting when we hear the long roll beat, and marching at the beat of the long march. we are more on the alert regarding the enemy now. we have our advanced pickets doubled, and two sentries at every post. the men on the advanced pickets are constantly under arms, with fixed bayonets, all through the night, and relieved every two hours. the half that are relieved lie down by their arms, but are not suffered to leave their pickets. 'tis evident that we are drawing near to the enemy now. this packet goes out with the general's to colonel dunbar's camp, who is thirty miles behind us; and will be carried thence to frederick, and thence to my honoured mother's house at castlewood, to whom i send my duty, with kindest remembrances, as to all friends there, and how much love i need not say to my dearest brother from his affectionate george e. warrington."
-the whole land was now lying parched and scorching in the july heat. for ten days no news had come from the column advancing on the ohio. their march, though it toiled but slowly through the painful forest, must bring ere long up with the enemy; the troops, led by consummate captains, were accustomed now to the wilderness, and not afraid of surprise. every precaution had been taken against ambush. it was the outlying enemy who were discovered, pursued, destroyed, by the vigilant scouts and skirmishers of the british force. the last news heard was that the army had advanced considerably beyond the ground of mr. washington's discomfiture in the previous year, and two days after must be within a day's march of the french fort. about taking it no fears were entertained; the amount of the french reinforcements from montreal was known. mr. braddock, with his two veteran regiments from britain, and their allies of virginia and pennsylvania, was more than a match for any troops that could be collected under the white flag.
-such continued to be the talk, in the sparse towns of our virginian province, at the gentry's houses, and the rough road-side taverns, where people met and canvassed the war. the few messengers sent back by the general reported well of the main force. it was thought the enemy would not stand or defend himself at all. had he intended to attack, he might have seized a dozen occasions for assaulting our troops at passes through which they had been allowed to go entirely free. so george had given up his favourite mare, like a hero as he was, and was marching a-foot with the line. madame esmond vowed that he should have the best horse in virginia or carolina in place of roxana. there were horses enough to be had in the provinces, and for money. it was only for the king's service that they were not forthcoming.
-although at their family meetings and repasts the inmates of castlewood always talked cheerfully, never anticipating any but a triumphant issue to the campaign, or acknowledging any feeling of disquiet, yet it must be owned they were mighty uneasy when at home, quitting it ceaselessly, and forever on the trot from one neighbour's house to another in quest of news. it was prodigious how quickly reports ran and spread. for three weeks after the army's departure, the reports regarding it were cheerful; and when our castlewood friends met at their supper their tone was confident and their news pleasant.
-but on the 10th of july a vast and sudden gloom spread over the province. a look of terror and doubt seemed to fall upon every face. affrighted negroes wistfully eyed their masters and retired, to hum and whisper with one another. the fiddles ceased in the quarters; the song and laugh of those cheery black folk were hushed. right and left everybody's servants were on the gallop for news. the country taverns were thronged with horsemen, who drank and cursed and brawled at the bars, each bringing his gloomy story. the army had been surprised. the troops had fallen into an ambuscade, and had been cut up almost to a man. all the officers were taken down by the french marksmen and the savages. the general had been wounded, and carried off the field in his sash. four days afterwards the report was that the general was dead, and scalped by a french indian.
-they followed the northward track which the expeditionary army had hewed out for itself, and at every step which brought them nearer to the scene of action, the disaster of the fearful day seemed to magnify. the day after the defeat a number of the miserable fugitives from the fatal battle of the 9th of july had reached dunbar's camp, fifty miles from the field. thither poor harry and his companions rode, stopping stragglers, asking news, giving money, getting from one and all the same gloomy tale. a thousand men were slain--two-thirds of the officers were down--all the general's aides-de-camp were hit. were hit--but were they killed? those who fell never rose again. the tomahawk did its work upon them. oh, brother brother! all the fond memories of their youth, all the dear remembrances of their childhood, the love and the laughter, the tender romantic vows which they had pledged to each other as lads, were recalled by harry with pangs inexpressibly keen. wounded men looked up and were softened by his grief; rough men melted as they saw the woe written on the handsome young face; the hardy old tutor could scarcely look at him for tears, and grieved for him even more than for his dear pupil, who, he believed, lay dead under the savage indian knife.
-at every step which harry warrington took towards pennsylvania the reports of the british disaster were magnified and confirmed. those two famous regiments which had fought in the scottish and continental wars had fled from an enemy almost unseen, and their boasted discipline and valour had not enabled them to face a band of savages and a few french infantry. the unfortunate commander of the expedition had shown the utmost bravery and resolution.
-one of them--but which? to the camp harry hurried, and reached it at length. it was george washington harry found stretched in a tent there, and not his brother. a sharper pain than that of the fever mr. washington declared he felt, when he saw harry warrington, and could give him no news of george.
-mr. washington did not dare to tell harry all. for three days after the fight his duty had been to be near the general. on the fatal 9th of july he had seen george go to the front with orders from the chief, to whose side he never returned. after braddock himself died, the aide-de-camp had found means to retrace his course to the field. the corpses which remained there were stripped and horribly mutilated. one body he buried which he thought to be george warrington's. his own illness was increased, perhaps occasioned, by the anguish which he underwent in his search for the unhappy volunteer.
-"ah, george! if you had loved him you would have found him dead or alive," harry cried out. nothing would satisfy him but that he, too, should go to the ground and examine it. with money he procured a guide or two. he forded the river at the place where the army had passed over; he went from one end to the other of the dreadful field. the horrible spectacle of mutilation caused him to turn away with shudder and loathing. what news could the vacant woods, or those festering corpses lying under the trees, give the lad of his lost brother? he was for going, unarmed, with a white flag, to the french fort, whither, after their victory, the enemy had returned; but his guides refused to advance with him. the french might possibly respect them, but the indians would not. "keep your hair for your lady-mother, my young gentleman," said the guide. "tis enough that she loses one son in this campaign."
-when harry returned to the english encampment at dunbar's it was his turn to be down with the fever. delirium set in upon him, and he lay some time in the tent and on the bed from which his friend had just risen convalescent. for some days he did not know who watched him; and poor dempster, who had tended him in more than one of these maladies, thought the widow must lose both her children; but the fever was so far subdued that the boy was enabled to rally somewhat, and get on horseback. mr. washington and dempster both escorted him home. it was with a heavy heart, no doubt, that all three beheld once more the gates of castlewood.
-a servant in advance had been sent to announce their coming. first came mrs. mountain and her little daughter, welcoming harry with many tears and embraces; but she scarce gave a nod of recognition to mr. washington; and the little girl caused the young officer to start, and turn deadly pale, by coming up to him with her hands behind her, and asking, "why have you not brought george back, too?"
-dempster was graciously received by the two ladies. "whatever could be done, we know you would do, mr. dempster," says mrs. mountain, giving him her hand. "make a curtsey to mr. dempster, fanny, and remember, child, to be grateful to all who have been friendly to our benefactors. will it please you to take any refreshment before you ride, colonel washington?"
-mr. washington had had a sufficient ride already, and counted as certainly upon the hospitality of castlewood as he would upon the shelter of his own house.
-"the time to feed my horse, and a glass of water for myself, and i will trouble castlewood hospitality no farther," mr. washington said.
-"sure, george, you have your room here, and my mother is above stairs getting it ready!" cries harry. "that poor horse of yours stumbled with you, and can't go farther this evening."
-"hush! your mother won't see him, child," whispered mrs. mountain.
-"not see george? why, he is like a son of the house," cries harry.
-"she had best not see him. i don't meddle any more in family matters, child; but when the colonel's servant rode in, and said you were coming, madame esmond left this room and said she felt she could not see mr. washington. will you go to her?" harry took mrs. mountain's arm, and excusing himself to the colonel, to whom he said he would return in a few minutes, he left the parlour in which they had assembled, and went to the upper rooms, where madame esmond was.
-he was hastening across the corridor, and, with an averted head, passing by one especial door, which he did not like to look at, for it was that of his brother's room; and as he came to it, madame esmond issued from it, and folded him to her heart, and led him in. a settee was by the bed, and a book of psalms lay on the coverlet. all the rest of the room was exactly as george had left it.
-"my poor child! how thin thou art grown--how haggard you look! never mind. a mother's care will make thee well again. 'twas nobly done to go and brave sickness and danger in search of your brother. had others been as faithful, he might be here now. never mind, my harry; our hero will come back to us. i know he is not dead. he will come back to us, i know he will come." and when harry pressed her to give a reason for her belief, she said she had seen her father two nights running in a dream, and he had told her that her boy was a prisoner among the indians.
-madame esmond's grief had not prostrated her as harry's had when first it fell upon him; it had rather stirred and animated her; her eyes were eager, her countenance angry and revengeful. the lad wondered almost at the condition in which he found his mother.
-but when he besought her to go downstairs, and give her a hand of welcome to george washington, who had accompanied him, the lady's excitement painfully increased. she said she should shudder at touching his hand. she declared mr. washington had taken her son from her; she could not sleep under the same roof with him.
-"no gentleman," cried harry, warmly, "was ever refused shelter under my grandfather's roof."
-"oh, no, gentlemen!" exclaims the little widow; "well let us go down, if you like, son, and pay our respects to this one. will you please to give us your arm?" and taking an arm which was very little able to give her support, she walked down the broad stairs and into the apartment where the colonel sat.
-she made him a ceremonious curtsey, and extended one of the little hands, which she allowed for a moment to rest in his. "i wish that our meeting had been happier, colonel washington," she said.
-"you do not grieve more than i do that it is otherwise, madame," said the colonel.
-"i might have wished that the meeting had been spared, that i might not have kept you from friends whom you are naturally anxious to see, that my boy's indisposition had not detained you. home and his good nurse mountain, and his mother and our good dr. dempster will soon restore him. 'twas scarce necessary, colonel, that you who have so many affairs on your hands, military and domestic, should turn doctor too."
-"harry was ill and weak, and i thought it was my duty to ride by him," faltered the colonel.
-"you yourself, sir, have gone through the fatigues and dangers of the campaign in the most wonderful manner," said the widow, curtseying again, and looking at him with her impenetrable black eyes.
-"i wish to heaven, madame, someone else had come back in my place!"
-"nay, sir, you have ties which must render your life more than ever valuable and dear to you, and duties to which, i know, you must be anxious to betake yourself. in our present deplorable state of doubt and distress castlewood can be a welcome place to no stranger, much less to you, and so i know, sir, you will be for leaving us ere long. and you will pardon me if the state of my own spirits obliges me for the most part to keep my chamber. but my friends here will bear you company as long as you favour us, whilst i nurse my poor harry upstairs. mountain! you will have the cedar room on the ground floor ready for mr. washington and anything in the house is at his command. farewell, sir. will you be pleased to present my compliments to your mother, who will be thankful to have her son safe and sound out of the war?--as also to my young friend, martha custis, to whom and to whose children i wish every happiness. come, my son!" and with these words, and another freezing curtsey, the pale little woman retreated, looking steadily at the colonel, who stood dumb on the floor.
-strong as madame esmond's belief appeared to be respecting her son's safety, the house of castlewood naturally remained sad and gloomy. to look for george was hoping against hope. no authentic account of his death had indeed arrived, and no one appeared who had seen him fall, but hundreds more had been so stricken on that fatal day, with no eyes to behold their last pangs, save those of the lurking enemy and the comrades dying by their side. a fortnight after the defeat, when harry was absent on his quest, george's servant, sady, reappeared, wounded and maimed, at castlewood. but he could give no coherent account of the battle, only of his flight from the centre, where he was with the baggage. he had no news of his master since the morning of the action. for many days sady lurked in the negro quarters away from the sight of madame esmond, whose anger he did not dare to face. that lady's few neighbours spoke of her as labouring under a delusion. so strong was it that there were times when harry and the other members of the little castlewood family were almost brought to share in it. no. george was not dead; george was a prisoner among the indians; george would come back and rule over castlewood; as sure, as sure as his majesty would send a great force from home to recover the tarnished glory of the british arms, and to drive the french out of the americas.
-as for mr. washington, she would never, with her own good will, behold him again. he had promised to guard george's life with his own, and where was her boy.
-so, if harry wanted to meet his friend, he had to do so in secret. madame esmond was exceedingly excited when she heard that the colonel and her son absolutely had met, and said to harry, "how you can talk, sir, of loving george, and then go and meet your mr. washington, i can't understand."
-so there was not only grief in the castlewood house, but there was disunion. as a result of the gloom, and of his grief for the loss of his brother, harry was again and again struck down by the fever, and all the jesuits' bark in america could not cure him. they had a tobacco-house and some land about the new town of richmond, and he went thither and there mended a little, but still did not get quite well, and the physicians strongly counselled a sea-voyage. madame esmond at one time had thoughts of going with him, but, as she and harry did not agree very well, though they loved each other very heartily, 'twas determined that harry should see the world for himself.
-accordingly he took passage on the "young rachel," virginian ship, edward franks master. she proceeded to bristol and moored as near as possible to trail's wharf, to which she was consigned. mr. trail, who could survey his ship from his counting-house windows, straightway took boat and came up her side, and gave the hand of welcome to captain franks, congratulating the captain upon the speedy and fortunate voyage which he had made.
-franks was a pleasant man, who loved a joke. "we have," says he, "but yonder ugly negro boy, who is fetching the trunks, and a passenger who has the state cabin to himself."
-mr. trail looked as if he would have preferred more mercies from heaven. "confound you, franks, and your luck! the 'duke william,' which came in last week, brought fourteen, and she is not half of our tonnage."
-"and this passenger, who has the whole cabin, don't pay nothin'," continued the captain. "swear now, it will do you good, mr. trail, indeed it will. i have tried the medicine."
-"a passenger take the whole cabin and not pay? gracious mercy, are you a fool, captain franks?"
-"ask the passenger himself, for here he comes." and as the master spoke, a young man of some nineteen years of age came up the hatchway. he had a cloak and a sword under his arm, and was dressed in deep mourning, and called out, "gumbo, you idiot, why don't you fetch the baggage out of the cabin? well, shipmate, our journey is ended. you will see all the little folks to-night whom you have been talking about. give my love to polly, and betty, and little tommy; not forgetting my duty to mrs. franks. i thought, yesterday, the voyage would never be done, and now i am almost sorry it is over. that little berth in my cabin looks very comfortable now i am going to leave it."
-mr. trail scowled at the young passenger who had paid no money for his passage. he scarcely nodded his head to the stranger, when captain franks said: "this here gentleman is mr. trail, sir, whose name you have a-heerd of."
-"it's pretty well known in bristol, sir," says mr. trail, majestically.
-"and this is mr. warrington, madame esmond warrington's son, of castlewood," continued the captain.
-the british merchant's hat was instantly off his head, and the owner of the beaver was making a prodigious number of bows, as if a crown-prince were before him.
-"gracious powers, mr. warrington! this is a delight, indeed! what a crowning mercy that your voyage should have been so prosperous! you have my boat to go on shore. let me cordially and respectfully welcome you to england! let me shake your hand as the son of my benefactress and patroness, mrs. esmond warrington, whose name is known and honoured on bristol 'change, i warrant you. isn't it, franks?"
-"there's no sweeter tobacco comes from virginia," says mr. franks, drawing a great brass tobacco-box from his pocket, and thrusting a quid into his jolly mouth. "you don't know what a comfort it is, sir; you'll take to it, bless you, as you grow older. won't he, mr. trail? i wish you had ten shiploads of it instead of one. you might have ten shiploads; i've told madame esmond so; i've rode over her plantation; she treats me like a lord when i go to the house. she is a real-born lady, she is; and might have a thousand hogsheads as easy as her hundreds, if there were but hands enough."
-"i have lately engaged in the guinea trade, and could supply her ladyship with any number of healthy young negroes before next fall," said mr. trail, obsequiously.
-"we are averse to the purchase of negroes from africa," said the young gentleman, coldly. "my grandfather and my mother have always objected to it, and i do not like to think of selling or buying the poor wretches."
-"it is for their good, my dear young sir! we purchased the poor creatures only for their benefit; let me talk this matter over with you at my own house. i can introduce you to a happy home, a christian family, and a british merchant's honest fare. can't i, captain franks?"
-"can't say," growled the captain. "never asked me to take bite or sup at your table. asked me to psalm-singing once, and to hear mr. ward preach: don't care for them sort of entertainments."
-not choosing to take any notice of this remark, mr. trail continued in his low tone: "business is business, my dear young sir, and i know 'tis only my duty, the duty of all of us, to cultivate the fruits of the earth in their season. as the heir of lady esmond's estate--for i speak, i believe, to the heir of the great property?"
-the young gentleman made a bow.
-"i would urge upon you, at the very earliest moment, the duty of increasing the ample means with which heaven has blessed you. as an honest factor, i could not do otherwise: as a prudent man, should i scruple to speak of what will tend to your profit and mine? no, my dear mr. george."
-"my name is not george; my name is henry," said the young man as he turned his head away, and his eyes filled with tears.
-"gracious powers! what do you mean, sir? did you not say you were my lady's heir, and is not george esmond warrington, esq.--?"
-"hold your tongue, you fool!" cried mr. franks, striking the merchant a tough blow on his sleek sides, as the young lad turned away. "don't you see the young gentleman a-swabbing his eyes, and note his black clothes?"
-"what do you mean, captain franks, by laying your hand on your owners? mr. george is the heir; i know the colonel's will well enough."
-"mr. george is there," said the captain, pointing with his thumb to the deck.
-"where?" cries the factor.
-"mr. george is there!" reiterated the captain, again lifting up his finger towards the topmast, or the sky beyond. "he is dead a year, sir, come next 9th of july. he would go out with general braddock on that dreadful business to the belle riviere. he and a thousand more never came back again. every man of them was murdered as he fell. you know the indian way, mr. trail?" and here the captain passed his hand rapidly round his head.
-"horrible! ain't it, sir? horrible! he was a fine young man, the very picture of this one; only his hair was black, which is now hanging in a bloody indian wigwam. he was often and often on board of the 'young rachel,' and would have his chests of books broke open on deck before they landed. he was a shy and silent young gent, not like this one, which was the merriest, wildest young fellow, full of his songs and fun. he took on dreadful at the news; went to his bed, had that fever which lays so many of 'em by the heels along that swampy potomac, but he's got better on the voyage: the voyage makes everyone better; and, in course, the young gentleman can't be forever a-crying after a brother who dies and leaves him a great fortune. ever since we sighted ireland he has been quite gay and happy, only he would go off at times when he was most merry, saying, 'i wish my dearest georgie could enjoy this here sight along with me,' and when you mentioned t'other's name, you see, he couldn't stand it." and the honest captain's own eyes filled with tears, as he turned and looked towards the object of his compassion.
-mr. trail assumed a sad expression befitting the tragic compliment with which he prepared to greet the young virginian; but the latter answered him very curtly, declining his offers of hospitality, and only stayed in mr. trail's house long enough to drink a glass of wine and to take up a sum of money of which he stood in need. but he and captain franks parted on the very warmest terms, and all the little crew of the "young rachel" cheered from the ship's side as their passenger left it.
-again and again harry warrington and his brother had pored over the english map, and determined upon the course which they should take upon arriving at home. all americans of english ancestry who love their mother country have rehearsed their english travels, and visited in fancy the spots with which their hopes, their parents' fond stories, their friends' descriptions, have rendered them familiar. there are few things to me more affecting in the history of the quarrel which divided the two great nations than the recurrence of that word home, as used by the younger towards the elder country. harry warrington had his chart laid out. before london, and its glorious temples of st. paul's and st. peter's; its grim tower, where the brave and loyal had shed their blood, from wallace down to balmerino and kilmarnock, pitied by gentle hearts; before the awful window at whitehall, whence the martyr charles had issued, to kneel once more, and then ascended to heaven; before playhouses, parks, and palaces, wondrous resorts of wit, pleasure and splendour; before shakespeare's resting-place under the tall spire which rises by avon, amidst the sweet warwickshire pastures; before derby, and falkirk, and culloden, where the cause of honour and loyalty had fallen, it might be to rise no more: before all these points in their pilgrimage there was one which the young virginian brothers held even more sacred, and that was the home of their family, that old castlewood in hampshire, about which their parents had talked so fondly. from bristol to bath, from bath to salisbury, to winchester, to hexton, to home; they knew the way, and had mapped the journey many and many a time.
-we must fancy our american traveller to be a handsome young fellow, whose suit of sables only makes him look the more interesting. the plump landlady looked kindly after the young gentleman as he passed through the inn-hall from his post-chaise, and the obsequious chamberlain bowed him upstairs to the "rose" or the "dolphin." the trim chambermaid dropped her best curtsey for his fee, and gumbo, in the inn-kitchen, where the townsfolk drank their mug of ale by the great fire, bragged of his young master's splendid house in virginia, and of the immense wealth to which he was heir. the post-chaise whirled the traveller through the most delightful home scenery his eyes had ever lighted on. if english landscape is pleasant to the american of the present day, who must needs contrast the rich woods and growing pastures and picturesque ancient villages of the old country with the rough aspect of his own, how much pleasanter must harry warrington's course have been, whose journeys had lain through swamps and forest solitudes from one virginian ordinary to another log-house at the end of the day's route, and who now lighted suddenly upon the busy, happy, splendid scene of english summer? and the high-road, a hundred years ago, was not that grass-grown desert of the present time. it was alive with constant travel and traffic: the country towns and inns swarmed with life and gaiety. the ponderous waggon, with its bells and plodding team; the light post-coach that achieved the journey from the "white hart," salisbury, to the "swan with two necks," london, in two days; the strings of pack-horses that had not yet left the road; my lord's gilt post-chaise and six, with the outriders galloping on ahead; the country squire's great coach and heavy flanders mares; the farmers trotting to market, or the parson jolting to the cathedral town on dumpling, his wife behind on the pillion--all these crowding sights and brisk people greeted the young traveller on his summer journey. hodge, the farmer's boy, took off his hat, and polly, the milk-maid, bobbed a curtsey, as the chaise whirled over the pleasant village-green, and the white-headed children lifted their chubby faces and cheered. the church-spires glistened with gold, the cottage-gables glared in sunshine, the great elms murmured in summer, or cast purple shadows over the grass. young warrington never had had such a glorious day, or witnessed a scene so delightful. to be nineteen years of age, with high health, high spirits, and a full purse, to be making your first journey, and rolling through the country in a post-chaise at nine miles an hour--oh, happy youth! almost it makes one young to think of him!
-and there let us leave him at castlewood inn, on ground hallowed by the footsteps of his ancestors. there he stands, with new scenes, new friends, new experiences ahead, rich in hope, in expectation, and in the enthusiasm of youth--youth that comes but once, and is so fleet of foot!
-and still more glad would he have been had he known that the near future was to verify his mother's belief; to restore to him the twin-brother now mourned as dead. and glad are we, in looking beyond this story of boyhood days, to find that though in the revolutionary war the subjects of this sketch fought on different sides in the quarrel, they came out peacefully at its conclusion, as brothers should, their love never having materially diminished, however angrily the contest divided them.
-the colonel in scarlet and the general in blue and buff hang side by side in the wainscoted parlour of the warringtons in england, and the portraits are known by the name of "the virginians."
-becky sharp at school
-while the last century was in its teens, and on one sunshiny morning in june, there drove up to the great iron gate of miss pinkerton's academy for young ladies, on chiswick mall, a large family coach, with two fat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate of four miles an hour. a black servant, who reposed on the box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his bandy legs as soon as the equipage drew up opposite miss pinkerton's shining brass plate; and as he pulled the bell at least a score of young heads were seen peering out of the narrow windows of the stately old brick house. nay, the acute observer might have recognised the little red nose of good-natured miss jemima pinkerton herself, rising over some geranium-pots in the window of that lady's own drawing-room. "it is mrs. sedley's coach, sister," said miss jemima. "sambo, the black servant, has just rung the bell; and the coachman has a new red waistcoat."
-"have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to miss sedley's departure, miss jemima?" asked miss pinkerton, that majestic lady, the friend of the famous literary man, dr. johnson, the author of the great dixonary of the english language, called commonly the great lexicographer.
-"the girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister," replied miss jemima; "we have made her a bow-pot."
-"say a bouquet, sister jemima, 'tis more genteel."
-"well, a booky as big almost as a hay-stack; i have put up two bottles of the gillyflower-water for mrs. sedley, and the receipt for making it, in amelia's box."
-"and i trust, miss jemima, you have made a copy of miss sedley's account. this is it, is it? very good--ninety-three pounds, four shillings. be kind enough to address it to john sedley, esquire, and to seal this billet which i have written to his lady."
-in miss jemima's eyes an autograph letter of her sister, miss pinkerton, was an object of as deep veneration as would have been a letter from a sovereign. only when her pupils quitted the establishment, or when they were about to be married, and once, when poor miss birch died of the scarlet fever, was miss pinkerton known to write personally to the parents of her pupils; and it was jemima's opinion that if anything could have consoled mrs. birch for her daughter's loss, it would have been that pious and eloquent composition in which miss pinkerton announced the event.
-in the present instance miss pinkerton's "billet" was to the following effect:
-the mall, chiswick, june 15, 18--.
-madam: after her six years' residence at the mall, i have the honour and happiness of presenting miss amelia sedley to her parents, as a young lady not unworthy to occupy a fitting position in their polished and refined circle. those virtues which characterise the young english gentlewoman; those accomplishments which become her birth and station, will not be found wanting in the amiable miss sedley, whose industry and obedience have endeared her to her instructors, and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her aged and her youthful companions.
-in music, dancing, in orthography, in every variety of embroidery and needle-work, she will be found to have realised her friends' fondest wishes. in geography there is still much to be desired; and a careful and undeviating use of the back-board, for four hours daily during the next three years is recommended as necessary to the acquirement of that dignified deportment and carriage so requisite for every young lady of fashion.
-in the principles of religion and morality, miss sedley will be found worthy of an establishment which has been honoured by the presence of the great lexicographer, and the patronage of the admirable mrs. chapone. in leaving them all, miss amelia carries with her the hearts of her companions, and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who has the honour to subscribe herself, madam, your most obliged humble servant,
-this letter completed, miss pinkerton proceeded to write her own name and miss sedley's in the fly-leaf of a johnson's dictionary, the interesting work which she invariably presented to her scholars on their departure from the mall. on the cover was inserted a copy of "lines addressed to a young lady on quitting miss pinkerton's school, at the mall; by the late revered dr. samuel johnson." in fact, the lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this majestic woman, and a visit he had paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her fortune.
-being commanded by her elder sister to get the dixonary from the cupboard, miss jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the receptacle in question. when miss pinkerton had finished the inscription in the first, jemima, with rather a dubious and timid air handed her the second.
-"for whom is this, miss jemima?" said miss pinkerton, with awful coldness.
-"miss jemima!" exclaimed miss pinkerton, in the largest capitals. "are you in your senses? replace the dixonary in the closet, and never venture to take such a liberty in future."
-"well, sister, it's only two and nine-pence, and poor becky will be miserable if she don't get one."
-"send miss sedley instantly to me," was miss pinkerton's only answer. and, venturing not to say another word, poor jemima trotted off, exceedingly flurried and nervous, while the two pupils, miss sedley and miss sharp, were making final preparation for their departure for miss sedley's home.
-now, miss sedley's papa was a merchant in london, and a man of some wealth, whereas miss sharp was only an articled pupil, for whom miss pinkerton had done, as she thought, quite enough, without conferring upon her at parting the high honour of the dixonary. miss sharp's father had been an artist, and in former years had given lessons in drawing at miss pinkerton's school. he was a clever man, a pleasant companion, a careless student, with a great propensity for running into debt, and a partiality for the tavern. as it was with the utmost difficulty that he could keep himself, and as he owed money for a mile round soho, where he lived, he thought to better his circumstances by marrying a young woman of the french nation, who was by profession an opera-girl, who had had some education somewhere, and her daughter rebecca spoke french with purity and a parisian accent. it was in those days rather a rare accomplishment, and led to her engagement with the orthodox miss pinkerton. for, her mother being dead, her father, finding himself fatally ill, as a consequence of his bad habits, wrote a manly and pathetic letter to miss pinkerton, recommending the orphan child to her protection, and so descended to the grave, after two bailiffs had quarrelled over his corpse. rebecca was seventeen when she came to chiswick, and was bound over as an articled pupil; her duties being to talk french, as we have seen; and her privileges to live cost free, and with a few guineas a year, to gather scraps of knowledge from the professors who attended the school.
-she was small, and slight in person; pale, sandy-haired, and with eyes almost habitually cast down. when they looked up, they were very large, odd, and attractive. by the side of many tall and bouncing young ladies in the establishment rebecca sharp looked like a child. but she had the dismal precocity of poverty. many a dun had she talked to, and turned away from her father's door; many a tradesman had she coaxed and wheedled into good-humour, and into the granting of one meal more. she had sat commonly with her father, who was very proud of her wit, and heard the talk of many of his wild companions, often but ill-suited for a girl to hear; but she had never been a girl, she said; she had been a woman since she was eight years old.
-miss jemima, however, believed her to be the most innocent creature in the world, so admirably did rebecca play the part of a child on the occasions when her father brought her to chiswick as a young girl, and only a year before her father's death, and when she was sixteen years old, miss pinkerton majestically and with a little speech made her a present of a doll, which was, by the way, the confiscated property of miss swindle, discovered surreptitiously nursing it in school-hours. how the father and daughter laughed as they trudged home together after the evening party, and how miss pinkerton would have raged had she seen the caricature of herself which the little mimic, rebecca, managed to make out of the doll. becky used to go through dialogues with it; it formed the delight of the circle of young painters who frequented the studio, who used regularly to ask rebecca if miss pinkerton was at home. once rebecca had the honour to pass a few days at chiswick, after which she brought back another doll which she called miss jemmy; for, though that honest creature had made and given her jelly and cake enough for three children, and a seven-shillings piece at parting, the girl's sense of ridicule was far stronger than her gratitude; and she sacrificed miss jemmy as pitilessly as her sister.
-then came the ending of becky's studio days, and, an orphan, she was transplanted to the mall as her home.
-the rigid formality of the place suffocated her; the prayers and meals, the lessons and the walks, which were arranged with the regularity of a convent, oppressed her almost beyond endurance; and she looked back to the freedom and the beggary of her father's old studio with bitter regret. she had never mingled in the society of women: her father, reprobate as he was, was a man of talent; his conversation was a thousand times more agreeable to her than the silly chat and scandal of the schoolgirls, and the frigid correctness of the governesses equally annoyed her. she had no soft maternal heart, this unlucky girl. the prattle of the younger children, with whose care she was chiefly entrusted, might have soothed and interested her; but she lived among them two years, and not one was sorry that she went away. the gentle, tender-hearted amelia sedley was the only person to whom she could attach herself in the least; and who could help attaching herself to amelia?
-the happiness, the superior advantages of the young women round about her, gave rebecca inexpressible pangs of envy. "what airs that girl gives herself, because she is an earl's granddaughter," she said of one. "how they cringe and bow to the creole, because of her hundred thousand pounds. i am a thousand times cleverer and more charming than that creature, for all her wealth. i am as well bred as the earl's granddaughter, for all her fine pedigree; and yet everyone passes me by here."
-she determined to get free from the prison in which she found herself, and now began to act for herself, and for the first time to make connected plans for the future.
-she took advantage, therefore, of the means of study the place offered her; and as she was already a musician and a good linguist, she speedily went through the little course of study considered necessary for ladies in those days. her music she practised incessantly; and one day, when the girls were out, and she remained at home, she was overheard to play a piece so well that miss minerva thought, wisely, she could spare herself the expense of a master for the juniors, and intimated to miss sharp that she was to instruct them in music for the future.
-the girl refused; and for the first time, and to the astonishment of the majestic mistress of the school. "i am here to speak french with the children," rebecca said abruptly, "not to teach them music, and save money for you. give me money, and i will teach them."
-miss minerva was obliged to yield, and of course disliked her from that day. "for five-and-thirty years," she said, and with great justice, "i never have seen the individual who has dared in my own house to question my authority. i have nourished a viper in my bosom."
-"a viper--a fiddlestick!" said miss sharp to the old lady, who was almost fainting with astonishment. "you took me because i was useful. there is no question of gratitude between us. i hate this place, and want to leave it. i will do nothing here but what i am obliged to do."
-it was in vain that the old lady asked her if she was aware she was speaking to miss pinkerton? rebecca laughed in her face. "give me a sum of money," said the girl, "and get rid of me. or, if you like better, get me a good place as governess in a nobleman's family. you can do so if you please." and in their further disputes she always returned to this point: "get me a situation--i am ready to go."
-worthy miss pinkerton, although she had a roman nose and a turban, and was as tall as a grenadier, and had been up to this time an irresistible princess, had no will or strength like that of her little apprentice, and in vain did battle against her, and tried to overawe her. attempting once to scold her in public, rebecca hit upon the plan of answering her in french, which quite routed the old woman, who did not understand or speak that language. in order to maintain authority in her school, it became necessary to remove this rebel, this firebrand; and hearing about this time that sir pitt crawley's family was in want of a governess, she actually recommended miss sharp for the situation, firebrand and serpent as she was. "i cannot certainly," she said, "find fault with miss sharp's conduct, except to myself; and must allow that her talents and accomplishments are of a high order. as far as the head goes, at least, she does credit to the educational system pursued at my establishment."
-and so the schoolmistress reconciled the recommendation to her conscience, and the apprentice was free. and as miss sedley, being now in her seventeenth year, was about to leave school, and had a friendship for miss sharp ("'tis the only point in amelia's behaviour," said miss minerva, "which has not been satisfactory to her mistress"), miss sharp was invited by her friend to pass a week with her in london, before becky entered upon her duties as governess in a private family; which thoughtfulness on the part of amelia was only an additional proof of the girl's affectionate nature. in fact, miss amelia sedley was a young lady who deserved not only all that miss pinkerton said in her praise, but had many charming qualities which that pompous old woman could not see, from the differences of rank and age between her pupil and herself. she could not only sing like a lark, and dance divinely, and embroider beautifully, and spell as well as a "dixonary" itself, but she had such a kindly, smiling, tender, gentle, generous heart of her own as won the love of everybody who came near her, from miss minerva herself down to the poor girl in the scullery and the one-eyed tart woman's daughter, who was permitted to vend her wares once a week to the young ladies in the mall. she had twelve intimate and bosom friends out of the twenty-four young ladies. even envious miss briggs never spoke ill of her: high and mighty miss saltire allowed that her figure was genteel; and as for miss swartz, the rich woolly-haired mulatto from st. kitts, on the day amelia went away she was in such a passion of tears that they were obliged to send for dr. floss, and half-tipsify her with salvolatile. miss pinkerton's attachment was, as may be supposed, from the high position and eminent virtues of that lady, calm and dignified; but miss jemima had already whimpered several times at the idea of amelia's departure; and but for fear of her sister would have gone off in downright hysterics, like the heiress of st. kitts.
-as amelia is not a heroine, there is no need to describe her person; indeed i am afraid that her nose was rather short than otherwise, and her cheeks a great deal too round and red for a heroine; but her face blushed with rosy health, and her lips with the freshest of smiles, and she had a pair of eyes which sparkled with the brightest and honestest good-humour, except indeed when they filled with tears, and that was a great deal too often; for the silly thing would cry over a dead canary bird; or over a mouse that the cat haply had seized upon; or over the end of a novel, were it ever so stupid; and as for saying an unkind word to her, were any persons hard-hearted enough to do so--why so much the worse for them. even miss pinkerton, that austere woman, ceased scolding her after the first time, and, though she no more comprehended sensibility than she did capital algebra, gave all masters and teachers particular orders to treat miss sedley with the utmost gentleness, as harsh treatment was injurious to her.
-so that when the day of departure came, between her two customs of laughing and crying, miss sedley was greatly puzzled how to act. she was glad to go home, and yet most woefully sad at leaving school. for three days before, little laura martin, the orphan, followed her about like a little dog. she had to make and receive at least fourteen presents, to make fourteen solemn promises of writing every week.
-"send my letters under cover to my grandpa, the earl of dexter," said miss saltire.
-"never mind the postage, but write every day, you dear darling," said the impetuous and woolly-headed, but generous and affectionate, miss schwartz; and little laura martin took her friend's hand and said, looking up in her face wistfully, "amelia, when i write to you i shall call you mamma."
-all of these details, foolish and sentimental as they may seem, go to show the extreme popularity and personal charm of amelia.
-well then. the flowers, and the presents, and the trunks, and bonnet-boxes of miss sedley having been arranged by mr. sambo in the carriage, together with a very small and weather-beaten old cowskin trunk with miss sharp's card neatly nailed upon it, which was delivered by sambo with a grin, and packed by the coachman with a corresponding sneer, the hour for parting came; and the grief of that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable discourse which miss pinkerton addressed to her pupil. not that the parting speech caused amelia to philosophise, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument; but it was intolerably dull, and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes, miss sedley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to any ablutions of private grief. a seed-cake and a bottle of wine were produced in the drawing-room, as on the solemn occasions of the visits of parents, and these refreshments being partaken of, miss sedley was at liberty to depart.
-"you'll go in and say good-bye to miss pinkerton, becky!" said miss jemima to that young lady, of whom nobody took any notice, and who was coming downstairs with her own bandbox.
-"i suppose i must," said miss sharp calmly, and much to the wonder of miss jemima; and the latter, having knocked at the door, and receiving permission to come in, miss sharp advanced in a very unconcerned manner, and said in french, and with a perfect accent, "mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux."
-miss pinkerton did not understand french, as we know; she only directed those who did; but biting her lips and throwing up her venerable and roman-nosed head, she said: "miss sharp, i wish you a good-morning." as she spoke, she waved one hand, both by way of adieu and to give miss sharp an opportunity of shaking one of the fingers of the hand, which was left out for that purpose.
-"come away, becky," said miss jemima, pulling the young woman away in great alarm, and the drawing-room door closed upon them forever.
-then came the struggle and parting below. words refuse to tell it. all the servants were there in the hall--all the dear friends--all the young ladies--even the dancing master, who had just arrived; and there was such a scuffling, and hugging, and kissing, and crying, with the hysterical yoops of miss schwartz, the parlour boarder, from her room, as no pen can depict, and as the tender heart would feign pass over. the embracing was over; they parted--that is, miss sedley parted from her friends. miss sharp had demurely entered the carriage some minutes before. nobody cried for leaving her.
-sambo of the bandy legs slammed the carriage door on his young weeping mistress. he sprang up behind the carriage.
-"stop!" cried miss jemima, rushing to the gate with a parcel.
-"it's some sandwiches, my dear," she called to amelia. "you may be hungry, you know; ... and becky--becky sharp--here's a book for you, that my sister--that is, i--johnson's dixonary, you know; ... you mustn't leave us without that! good-bye! drive on, coachman!--god bless you!"
-and the kind creature retreated into the garden, overcome with emotion.
-but, lo! and just as the coach drove off, miss sharp suddenly put her pale face out of the window, and flung the book back into the garden--flung it far and fast--watching it fall at the feet of astonished miss jemima; then sank back in the carriage, exclaiming: "so much for the 'dixonary'; and, thank god, i am out of chiswick!"
-the shock of such an act almost caused jemima to faint with terror.
-"well, i never--" she began. "what an audacious--" she gasped. emotion prevented her from completing either sentence.
-the carriage rolled away; the great gates were closed; the bell rang for the dancing lesson. the world is before the two young ladies; and so, farewell to chiswick mall.
-cuffs fight with "figs"
-cuff's fight with figs, and the unexpected issue of that contest, will long be remembered by every man who was educated at dr. swishtail's famous school. the latter youth (who used to be called heigh-ho dobbin, gee-ho dobbin, figs, and by many other names indicative of puerile contempt) was the quietest, the clumsiest, and, as it seemed, the dullest of all dr. swishtail's young gentlemen. his parent was a grocer in the city: and it was bruited abroad that he was admitted into dr. swishtails academy upon what are called "mutual principles"--that is to say, the expenses of his board and schooling were defrayed by his father in goods, not money; and he stood there--almost at the bottom of the school--in his scraggy corduroys and jacket, through the seams of which his great big bones were bursting, as the representative of so many pounds of tea, candles, sugar, mottled-soap, plums (of which a very mild proportion was supplied for the puddings of the establishment), and other commodities. a dreadful day it was for young dobbin when one of the youngsters of the school, having run into the town upon a poaching excursion for hardbake and polonies, espied the cart of dobbin & rudge, grocers and oilmen, thames street, london, at the doctor's door, discharging a cargo of the wares in which the firm dealt.
-young dobbin had no peace after that. the jokes were frightful and merciless against him.
-"hullo, dobbin," one wag would say, "here's good news in the paper. sugar is ris', my boy."
-another would set a sum--"if a pound of mutton-candles cost sevenpence-halfpenny, how much must dobbin cost?" and a roar would follow from all the circle of young knaves, usher and all, who rightly considered that the selling of goods by retail is a shameful and infamous practice, meriting the contempt and scorn of all real gentlemen.
-"your father's only a merchant, osborne," dobbin said in private to the little boy who had brought down the storm upon him. at which the latter replied haughtily, "my father's a gentleman, and keeps his carriage;" and mr. william dobbin retreated to a remote out-house in the playground, where he passed a half-holiday in the bitterest sadness and woe.
-now, william dobbin, from an incapacity to acquire the rudiments of the latin language, as they are propounded in that wonderful book, the eton latin grammar, was compelled to remain among the very last of dr. swishtail's scholars, and was "taken down" continually by little fellows with pink faces and pinafores when he marched up with the lower form, a giant amongst them, with his downcast, stupefied look, his dog's-eared primer, and his tight corduroys. high and low, all made fun of him. they sewed up those corduroys, tight as they were. they cut his bed-springs. they upset buckets and benches, so that he might break his shins over them, which he never failed to do. they sent him parcels, which, when opened, were found to contain the paternal soap and candles. there was no little fellow but had his jeer and joke at dobbin; and he bore everything quite patiently, and was entirely dumb and miserable.
-cuff, on the contrary, was the great chief and dandy of the swishtail seminary. he smuggled wine in. he fought the town-boys. ponies used to come for him to ride home on saturdays. he had his top-boots in his room in which he used to hunt in the holidays. he had a gold repeater, and took snuff like the doctor. he had been to the opera, and knew the merits of the principal actors, preferring mr. kean to mr. kemble. he could knock you off forty latin verses in an hour. he could make french poetry. what else didn't he know, or couldn't he do? they said even the doctor himself was afraid of him.
-cuff, the unquestioned king of the school, ruled over his subjects, and bullied them, with splendid superiority. this one blacked his shoes, that toasted his bread, others would fag out, and give him balls at cricket during whole summer afternoons. figs was the fellow whom he despised most, and with whom, though always abusing him, and sneering at him, he scarcely ever condescended to hold personal communication.
-one day in private the two young gentlemen had had a difference. figs, alone in the school-room, was blundering over a home letter, when cuff, entering, bade him go upon some message, of which tarts were probably the subject.
-"i can't," says dobbin; "i want to finish my letter."
-"you can't?" says mr. cuff, laying hold of that document (in which many words were scratched out, many were misspelt, on which had been spent i don't know how much thought, and labour, and tears; for the poor fellow was writing to his mother, who was fond of him, although she was a grocer's wife, and lived in a back parlour in thames street). "you can't?" says mr. cuff. "i should like to know why, pray? can't you write to old mother figs tomorrow?"
-"don't call names," dobbin said, getting off the bench, very nervous.
-"well, sir, will you go?" crowed the cock of the school.
-"put down the letter," dobbin replied; "no gentleman readth letterth."
-"well, now will you go?" says the other.
-"no, i won't. don't strike, or i'll thmash you," roars out dobbin, springing to a leaden inkstand, and looking so wicked that mr. cuff paused, turned down his coat sleeves again, put his hands into his pockets, and walked away with a sneer. but he never meddled personally with the grocer's boy after that; though we must do him the justice to say he always spoke of mr. dobbin with contempt behind his back.
-some time after this interview it happened that mr. cuff, on a sunshiny afternoon, was in the neighbourhood of poor william dobbin, who was lying under a tree in the playground, spelling over a favourite copy of the "arabian nights" which he had--apart from the rest of the school, who were pursuing their various sports--quite lonely, and almost happy.
-well, william dobbin had for once forgotten the world, and was away with sindbad the sailor in the valley of diamonds, or with prince ahmed and the fairy peribanou in that delightful cavern where the prince found her, and whither we should all like to make a tour, when shrill cries, as of a little fellow weeping, woke up his pleasant reverie, and, looking up, he saw cuff before him, belabouring a little boy.
-it was the lad who had peached upon him about the grocer's cart, but he bore little malice, not at least towards the young and small. "how dare you, sir, break the bottle?" says cuff to the little urchin, swinging a yellow cricket-stump over him.
-the boy had been instructed to get over the playground wall (at a selected spot where the broken glass had been removed from the top, and niches made convenient in the brick), to run a quarter of a mile, to purchase a pint of rum-shrub on credit, to brave all the doctor's outlying spies, and to clamber back into the playground again; during the performance of which feat his foot had slipped, and the bottle broken, and the shrub had been spilt, and his pantaloons had been damaged, and he appeared before his employer a perfectly guilty and trembling, though harmless, wretch.
-"how dare you, sir, break it?" says cuff; "you blundering little thief. you drank the shrub, and now you pretend to have broken the bottle. hold out your hand, sir."
-"hold out your other hand, sir," roars cuff to his little school-fellow, whose face was distorted with pain. dobbin quivered, and gathered himself up in his narrow old clothes.
-i can't tell what his motive was. perhaps his foolish soul revolted against that exercise of tyranny, or perhaps he had a hankering feeling of revenge in his mind, and longed to measure himself against that splendid bully and tyrant, who had all the glory, pride, pomp, circumstance, banners flying, drums beating, guards saluting, in the place. whatever may have been his incentive, however, up he sprang, and screamed out, "hold off, cuff; don't bully that child any more, or i'll--"
-"or you'll what?" cuff asked in amazement at this interruption. "hold out your hand, you little beast."
-"i'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life," dobbin said, in reply to the first part of cuff's sentence; and the little lad, osborne, gasping and in tears, looked up with wonder and incredulity at seeing this amazing champion put up suddenly to defend him, while cuff's astonishment was scarcely less. fancy our late monarch george iii., when he heard of the revolt of the north american colonies; fancy brazen goliath when little david stepped forward and claimed a meeting; and you have the feeling of mr. reginald cuff when this encounter was proposed to him.
-"after school," says he, "of course," after a pause and a look, as much as to say, "make your will, and communicate your last wishes to your friends between this time and that."
-"as you please," dobbin said. "you must be my bottle-holder, osborne."
-"well, if you like," little osborne replied; for you see his papa kept a carriage, and he was rather ashamed of his champion.
-yes, when the hour of battle came he was almost ashamed to say, "go it, figs"; and not a single other boy in the place uttered that cry for the first two or three rounds of this famous combat; at the commencement of which the scientific cuff, with a contemptuous smile on his face, and as light and as gay as if he was at a ball, planted his blows upon his adversary, and floored that unlucky champion three times running. at each fall there was a cheer, and everybody was anxious to have the honour of offering the conqueror a knee.
-"what a licking i shall get when it's over," young osborne thought, picking up his man. "you'd best give in," he said to dobbin; "it's only a thrashing, figs, and you know i'm used to it." but figs, all whose limbs were in a quiver, and whose nostrils were breathing rage, put his little bottle-holder aside, and went in for a fourth time.
-as he did not in the least know how to parry the blows that were aimed at himself, and cuff had begun the attack on the three preceding occasions without ever allowing his enemy to strike, figs now determined that he would commence the engagement by a charge on his own part; and, accordingly, being a left-handed man, brought that arm into action, and hit out a couple of times with all his might--once at mr. cuff's left eye, and once on his beautiful roman nose.
-cuff went down this time, to the astonishment of the assembly. "well hit, by jove," says little osborne, with the air of a connoisseur, clapping his man on the back. "give it to him with the left, figs, my boy."
-figs's left made terrific play during all the rest of the combat. cuff went down every time. at the sixth round there were almost as many fellows shouting out, "go it, figs," as there were youths exclaiming, "go it, cuff." at the twelfth round the latter champion was all abroad, as the saying is, and had lost all presence of mind and power of attack or defence. figs, on the contrary, was as calm as a quaker. his face being quite pale, his eyes shining open, and a great cut on his under lip bleeding profusely, gave this young fellow a fierce and ghastly air, which perhaps struck terror into many spectators. nevertheless, his intrepid adversary prepared to close for the thirteenth time.
-if i had the pen of a napier, or a bell's life, i should like to describe this combat properly. it was the last charge of the guard--(that is, it would have been, only waterloo had not yet taken place); it was ney's column breasting the hill of la haye sainte, bristling with ten thousand bayonets, and crowned with twenty eagles; it was the shout of the beef-eating british, as, leaping down the hill, they rushed to hug the enemy in the savage arms of battle; in other words, cuff, coming up full of pluck, but quite reeling and groggy, the fig-merchant put in his left as usual on his adversary's nose, and sent him down for the last time.
-"i think that will do for him," figs said, as his opponent dropped as neatly on the green as i have seen jack spot's ball plump into the pocket at billiards; and the fact is, when time was called, mr. reginald cuff was not able, or did not choose, to stand up again.
-and now all the boys set up such a shout for figs as would have made you think he had been their darling champion through the whole battle; and as absolutely brought dr. swishtail out of his study, curious to know the cause of the uproar. he threatened to flog figs violently, of course; but cuff, who had come to himself by this time, and was washing his wounds, stood up and said, "it's my fault, sir--not figs's--not dobbin's. i was bullying a little boy; and he served me right." by which magnanimous speech he not only saved his conqueror a whipping, but got back all his ascendancy over the boys which his defeat had nearly cost him.
-young osborne wrote home to his parents an account of the transaction:
-sugarcane house, richmond, march 18--
-dear mamma: i hope you are quite well. i should be much obliged to you to send me a cake and five shillings. there has been a fight here between cuff & dobbin. cuff, you know, was the cock of the school. they fought thirteen rounds, and dobbin licked. so cuff is now only second cock. the fight was about me. cuff was licking me for breaking a bottle of milk, and figs wouldn't stand it. we call him figs because his father is a grocer--figs & rudge, thames st., city. i think as he fought for me you ought to buy your tea & sugar at his father's. cuff goes home every saturday, but can't this, because he has 2 black eyes. he has a white pony to come and fetch him, and a groom and livery on a bay mare. i wish my papa would let me have a pony, and i am
-your dutiful son,
-george sedley osborne.
-in consequence of dobbin's victory, his character rose prodigiously in the estimation of all his school fellows, and the name of figs, which had been a byword of reproach, became as respectable and popular a nickname as any other in use in the school. "after all, it's not his fault that his father's a grocer," george osborne said, who, though a little chap, had a very high popularity among the swishtail youth; and his opinion was received with great applause. it was voted low to sneer at dobbin about this accident of birth. "old figs" grew to be a name of kindness and endearment, and the sneak of an usher jeered at him no longer.
-and dobbin's spirit rose with his altered circumstances. he made wonderful advances in scholastic learning. the superb cuff himself, at whose condenscension dobbin could only blush and wonder, helped him on with his latin verses, "coached" him in play-hours, carried him triumphantly out of the little-boy class into the middle-sized form, and even there got a fair place for him. it was discovered that, although dull at classical learning, at mathematics he was uncommonly quick. to the contentment of all he passed third in algebra, and got a french prize-book at the public midsummer examination. you should have seen his mother's face when telemaque (that delicious romance) was presented to him by the doctor in the face of the whole school and the parents and company, with an inscription to guielmo dobbin. all the boys clapped hands in token of applause and sympathy. his blushes, his stumbles, his awkwardness, and the number of feet which he crushed as he went back to his place, who shall describe or calculate? old dobbin, his father, who now respected him for the first time, gave him two guineas publicly; most of which he spent in a general tuck-out for the school: and he came back in a tail-coat after the holidays.
-dobbin was much too modest a young fellow to suppose that this happy change in all his circumstances arose from his own generous and manly disposition; he chose, from some perverseness, to attribute his good fortune to the sole agency and benevolence of little george osborne, to whom henceforth he vowed such a love and affection as is only felt by children, an affection as we read of in the charming fairy-book, which uncouth orson had for splendid young valentine, his conqueror. he flung himself down at little osborne's feet, and loved him. even before they were acquainted, he had admired osborne in secret. now he was his valet, his dog, his man friday. he believed osborne to be the possessor of every perfection, to be the handsomest, the bravest, the most active, the cleverest, the most generous of boys. he shared his money with him, bought him uncountable presents of knives, pencil cases, gold seals, toffee, little warblers, and romantic books, with large coloured pictures of knights and robbers, in many of which latter you might read inscriptions to george sedley osborne, esquire, from his attached friend william dobbin--which tokens of homage george received very graciously, as became his superior merit, as often and as long as they were proffered him.
-in after years dobbin's father, the despised grocer, became alderman, and colonel of the city light horse, in which corps george osborne's father was but an indifferent corporal. colonel dobbin was knighted by his sovereign, which honour placed his son william in a social position above that of the old school friends who had once been so scornful of him at swishtail academy; even above the object of his deepest admiration, george osborne.
-but this did not in the least alter honest, simple-minded william dobbin's feelings, and his adoration for young osborne remained unchanged. the two entered the army in the same regiment, and served together, and dobbin's attachment for george was as warm and loyal then as when they were school-boys together.
-honest william dobbin,--i would that there were more such staunch comrades as you to answer to the name of friend!
-george osborne--rawdon crawley
-rebecca sharp, the teacher of french at miss pinkerton's academy for young ladies, and intimate friend of miss amelia sedley, the most popular scholar in miss pinkerton's select establishment, left the institution at the same time to become a governess in the family of sir pitt crawley. amelia was the only daughter of john sedley, a wealthy london stock broker, and upon leaving school was to take her place in fashionable society. being the sweetest, most kind-hearted girl in the world, amelia invited becky to visit her in london before taking up her new duties as governess; which invitation becky was only too glad to accept.
-now, miss sharp was in no way like the gentle amelia, but as keen, brilliant, and selfish a young person of eighteen as ever schemed to have events turn to her advantage. these characteristics she showed so plainly while visiting at the sedleys' that she left anything but a good impression behind her. in fact, her visit was cut short because of some unpleasant circumstances connected with her behaviour.
-from that time she and amelia did not meet for many months, during which amelia had become the wife of george osborne, and rebecca sharp had married rawdon crawley, son of sir pitt crawley, baronet.
-the circumstances of amelia's life during these months altered greatly, for shortly after she left school honest john sedley met with such severe losses that his family were obliged to live in a much more modest way than formerly. because of this misfortune, the course of amelia's love affair with young lieutenant osborne did not run smoothly; for his father was far too ambitious to consent to his only son's marriage with the daughter of a ruined man, although john sedley was his son's godfather, and george had been devoted to amelia since early boyhood.
-lieutenant osborne therefore went away with his regiment, and poor little amelia was left behind, to pine and mourn until it seemed there was no hope of saving her life unless happiness should speedily come to her. then it was that major dobbin, george osborne's staunch friend of schooldays, and also an ardent admirer of amelia's, saw how she was grieving and took upon himself to inform george osborne of the state of affairs. the young lieutenant came hurrying home just in time to save a gentle little heart from wearing itself away with sorrowing, and married amelia without his father's consent. this so enraged the old gentleman that he refused to have his name mentioned in the home where the boy had grown up; the veriest tyrant and idol of his sisters and father.
-to brighton george and amelia went on their honeymoon, and there they met becky sharp and her husband. though the circumstances of the two young women's career had altered, amelia and becky were unchanged in character, but that is of small concern to us, except as it affects their children, to whose lives we now turn with keen interest, noting how they reflect the dispositions, and are affected by the characters of their mothers.
-as for little rawdon crawley, becky's only child, he had few early happy recollections of his mother. she had not, to say the truth, seen much of the young gentleman since his birth. after the amiable fashion of french mothers, she had placed him out at nurse in a village in the neighbourhood of paris, where little rawdon lived, not unhappily, with a numerous family of foster brothers in wooden shoes. his father, who was devotedly attached to the little fellow, would ride over many a time to see him here, and the elder rawdon's paternal heart glowed to see him rosy and dirty, shouting lustily, and happy in the making of mud-pies under the superintendence of the gardener's wife, his nurse.
-rebecca, however, did not care much to go and see her son and heir, who as a result preferred his nurse's caresses to his mamma's, and when finally he quitted that jolly nurse, he cried loudly for hours. he was only consoled by his mother's promise that he should return to his nurse the next day; which promise, it is needless to say, was not kept; instead the boy was consigned to the care of a french maid, genevieve, while his mother was seldom with him, and the french woman was so neglectful of her young charge that at one time he very narrowly escaped drowning on calais sands, where genevieve had left and lost him.
-rebecca, her friend, my lord steyne, and one or two more were in the drawing-room taking tea after the opera, when this shouting was heard overhead. "it's my cherub crying for his nurse," said his mother, who did not offer to move and go and see the child. "don't agitate your feelings by going to look after him," said lord steyne sardonically. "bah!" exclaimed becky, with a sort of blush. "he'll cry himself to sleep"; and they fell to talking about the opera.
-mr. rawdon crawley had stolen off, however, to look after his son and heir; and came back to the company when he found that honest dolly was consoling the child. the colonel's dressing-room was in those upper regions. he used to see the boy there in private. they had interviews together every morning when he shaved; rawdon minor sitting on a box by his father's side, and watching the operation with never-ceasing pleasure. he and the sire were great friends. the father would bring him sweet-meats from the dessert, and hide them in a certain old epaulet box where the child went to seek them, and laughed with joy on discovering the treasure; laughed, but not too loud; for mamma was asleep and must not be disturbed. she did not go to rest until very late, and seldom rose until afternoon.
-his father bought the boy plenty of picture books, and crammed his nursery with toys. its walls were covered with pictures pasted up by the father's own hand. he passed hours with the boy, who rode on his chest, pulled his great moustaches as if they were driving reins, and spent days with him in indefatigable gambols. the room was a low one, and once, when the child was not five years old, his father, who was tossing him wildly up in his arms, hit the poor little chap's scull so violently against the ceiling that he almost dropped him, so terrified was he at the disaster.
-rawdon minor had made up his face for a tremendous howl, but just as he was going to begin, the father interposed.
-"for god's sake, rawdy, don't wake mamma," he cried. and the child, looking in a very hard and piteous way at his father, bit his lips, clenched his hands, and didn't cry a bit. rawdon told that story at the clubs, at the mess, to everybody in town. "by gad, sir," he explained to the public in general, "what a good plucky one that boy of mine is. what a trump he is! i half sent his head through the ceiling, and he wouldn't cry for fear of disturbing mother!"
-sometimes, once or twice in a week, that lady visited the upper regions in which the child lived. she came like a vivified picture, blandly smiling in the most beautiful new clothes and little gloves and boots. wonderful scarfs, laces, and jewels glittered about her. she had always a new bonnet on; and flowers bloomed perpetually in it, or else magnificent curling ostrich feathers, soft and snowy as camellias. she nodded twice or thrice patronisingly to the little boy, who looked up from his dinner or from the pictures of soldiers he was painting. when she left the room, an odour of rose, or some other magical fragrance, lingered about the nursery. she was an unearthly being in his eyes, superior to his father, to all the world, to be worshipped and admired at a distance. to drive with that lady in a carriage was an awful rite. he sat in the back seat, and did not dare to speak; he gazed with all his eyes at the beautifully dressed princess opposite to him. gentlemen on splendid prancing horses came up, and smiled and talked with her. how her eyes beamed upon all of them! her hand used to quiver and wave gracefully as they passed. when he went out with her he had his new red dress on. his old brown holland was good enough when he stayed at home. sometimes, when she was away, and dolly the maid was making his bed, he came into his mother's room. it was as the abode of a fairy to him--a mystic chamber of splendour and delight. there in the wardrobe hung those wonderful robes--pink and blue and many-tinted. there was the jewel case, silver clasped; and a hundred rings on the dressing table. there was a cheval glass, that miracle of art, in which he could just see his own wondering head, and the reflection of dolly, plumping and patting the pillows of the bed. poor lonely little benighted boy! mother is the name for god in the lips and hearts of little children; and here was one who was worshipping a stone!
-his father used to take him out of mornings, when they would go to the stables together and to the park. little lord southdown, the best natured of men, who would make you a present of a hat from his head, and whose main occupation in life was to buy nicknacks that he might give them away afterwards, bought the little chap a pony, not much bigger than a large rat, and on this little black shetland pony young rawdon's great father would mount the boy, and walk by his side in the park.
-one sunday morning as rawdon crawley, his little son, and the pony were taking their accustomed walk, they passed an old acquaintance of the colonel's, corporal clink, who was in conversation with an old gentleman, who held a boy in his arms about the age of little rawdon. the other youngster had seized hold of the waterloo medal which the corporal wore, and was examining it with delight.
-"good-morning, your honour," said clink, in reply to the "how do, clink?" of the colonel. "this 'ere young gentleman is about the little colonel's age, sir," continued the corporal.
-"his father was a waterloo man, too," said the old gentleman who carried the boy. "wasn't he, georgie?"
-"yes, sir," said georgie. he and the little chap on the pony were looking at each other with all their might, solemnly scanning each other as children do.
-"his father was a captain in the--the regiment," said the old gentleman rather pompously. "captain george osborne, sir--perhaps you knew him. he died the death of a hero, sir, fighting against the corsican tyrant"
-"i knew him very well, sir," said colonel crawley, "and his wife, his dear little wife, sir--how is she?"
-"she is my daughter, sir," said the old gentleman proudly, putting down the boy, and taking out his card, which he handed to the colonel, while little georgie went up and looked at the shetland pony.
-"should you like to have a ride?" said rawdon minor from the saddle.
-"yes," said georgie. the colonel, who had been looking at him with some interest, took up the child and put him on the pony behind rawdon minor.
-"take hold of him, georgie," he said; "take my little boy around the waist; his name is rawdon." and both the children began to laugh.
-"you won't see a prettier pair, i think, this summer's day, sir," said the good-natured corporal; and the colonel, the corporal, and old mr. sedley, with his umbrella, walked by the side of the children, who enjoyed each other and the pony enormously. in later years they often talked of that first meeting.
-but this is anticipating our story, for between the time of their first ride together, and the time when circumstances brought them together again, the little chaps saw nothing of one another for a number of years, during which the incidents of their lives differed as widely as did the lives of their parents.
-about the time when the little boys first met, sir pitt crawley, baronet, father of pitt and rawdon crawley, died, and rebecca and her husband hastened to queen's crawley, the old family home, where rebecca had once been governess, to shed a last tear over the departed baronet. rebecca was not bowed down with grief, we must confess, but keenly alive to the benefits which might come to herself and rawdon if she could please sir pitt crawley, the new baronet, and lady jane his wife, a simple-minded woman mostly absorbed in the affairs of her nursery. this interest aroused becky's private scorn, but the first thing that clever little lady did was to attack lady jane at her vulnerable point. after being conducted to the apartments prepared for her, and having taken off her bonnet and cloak, becky asked her sister-in-law in what more she could be useful.
-"what i should like best," she added, "would be to see your dear little nursery," at which the two ladies looked very kindly at each other, and went to the nursery hand in hand.
-becky admired little matilda, who was not quite four years old, as the most charming little love in the world; and the boy, pitt blinkie southdown, a little fellow of two years, pale, heavy-eyed, and large-headed, she pronounced to be a perfect prodigy in size, intelligence and beauty.
-the funeral over, rebecca and her husband remained for a visit at queen's crawley, which assumed its wonted aspect. rawdon senior received constant bulletins respecting little rawdon, who was left behind in london, and sent messages of his own. "i am very well," he wrote. "i hope you are very well. i hope mamma is very well. the pony is very well. grey takes me to ride in the park. i can canter. i met the little boy who rode before. he cried when he cantered. i do not cry."
-rawdon read these letters to his brother, and lady jane, who was delighted with them, gave rebecca a banknote, begging her to buy a present with it for her little nephew.
-like all other good things, the visit came to an end, and one night the london lamps flashed joyfully as the stage rolled into piccadilly, and briggs had made a beautiful fire on the hearth in curzon street, and little rawdon was up to welcome back his papa and mamma.
-at this time he was a fine open-faced boy, with blue eyes and waving flaxen hair, sturdy in limb, but generous and soft in heart, fondly attaching himself to all who were good to him: to the pony, to lord southdown, who gave him the horse; to the groom who had charge of the pony; to molly the cook, who crammed him with ghost stories at night and with good things from the dinner; to briggs, his meek, devoted attendant, whom he plagued and laughed at; and to his father especially. here, as he grew to be about eight years old, his attachment may be said to have ended. the beautiful mother vision had faded away after a while. during nearly two years his mother had scarcely spoken to the child. she disliked him. he had the measles and the whooping cough. he bored her. one day when he was standing at the landing-place, having crept down from the upper regions, attracted by the sound of his mother's voice, who was singing to lord steyne, the drawing-room door opening suddenly discovered the little spy, who but a moment before had been rapt in delight and listening to the music.
-his mother came out and struck him violently a couple of boxes on the ear. he heard a laugh from the marquis in the inner room, and fled down below to his friends of the kitchen, bursting in an agony of grief.
-"it is not because it hurts me," little rawdon gasped out, "only--only--" sobs and tears wound up the sentence in a storm. it was the little boy's heart that was bleeding. "why mayn't i hear her singing? why don't she ever sing to me, as she does to that bald-headed man with the large teeth?" he gasped out at various intervals these exclamations of grief and rage. the cook looked at the housemaid; the housemaid looked knowingly at the footman, who all sat in judgment on rebecca from that moment.
-after this incident the mother's dislike increased to hatred; the consciousness that the child was in the house was a reproach and a pain to her. his very sight annoyed her. fear, doubt, and resistance sprang up too, in the boy's own bosom.
-he and his mother were separated from that day of the boxes on the ear.
-lord steyne also disliked the boy. when they met he made sarcastic bows or remarks to the child, or glared at him with savage-looking eyes. rawdon used to stare him in the face and double his little fists in return. had it not been for his father, the child would have been desolate indeed, in his own home.
-but an unexpected good time came to him a day or two before christmas, when he was taken by his father and mother to pass the holidays at queen's crawley. becky would have liked to leave him at home, but for lady jane's urgent invitation to the youngster; and the symptoms of revolt and discontent manifested by rawdon at her neglect of her son. "he is the finest boy in england," the father said reproachfully, "and you don't seem to care for him as much as you do for your spaniel. he shan't bother you much; at home he will be away from you in the nursery, and he shall go outside on the coach with me."
-so little rawdon was wrapped up in shawls and comforters for the winter's journey, and hoisted respectfully onto the roof of the coach in the dark morning; with no small delight watched the dawn arise, and made his first journey to the place which his father still called home. it was a journey of infinite pleasure to the boy, to whom the incidents of the road afforded endless interest; his father answering all questions connected with it, and telling him who lived in the great white house to the right, and whom the park belonged to.
-presently the boy fell asleep, and it was dark when he was wakened up to enter his uncle's carriage at mudbury, and he sat and looked out of it wondering as the great iron gates flew open, and at the white trunks of the limes as they swept by, until they stopped at length before the lighted windows of the hall, which were blazing and comfortable with christmas welcome. the hall-door was flung open; a big fire was burning in the great old fireplace, a carpet was down over the chequered black flags, and the next instant becky was kissing lady jane.
-she and sir pitt performed the same salute with great gravity, while sir pitt's two children came up to their cousin. matilda held out her hand and kissed him. pitt blinkie southdown, the son and heir, stood aloof, and examined him as a little dog does a big one.
-then the kind hostess conducted her guests to snug apartments blazing with cheerful fires, and after some conversation with the fine young ladies of the house, the great dinner bell having rung, the family assembled at dinner, at which meal rawdon junior was placed by his aunt, and exhibited not only a fine appetite, but a gentlemanlike behaviour.
-"i like to dine here," he said to his aunt when he had completed his meal, at the conclusion of which, and after a decent grace by sir pitt, the younger son and heir was introduced and was perched on a high chair by the baronet's side, while the daughter took possession of the place prepared for her, near her mother. "i like to dine here," said rawdon minor, looking up at his relation's kind face.
-"why?" said the good lady jane.
-"i dine in the kitchen when i am at home," replied rawdon minor, "or else with briggs." this honest confession was fortunately not heard by becky, who was deep in conversation with the baronet, or it might have been worse for little rawdon.
-as a guest, and it being the first night of his arrival, he was allowed to sit up until the hour when, tea being over and a great gilt book being laid on the table before sir pitt, all the domestics of the family streamed in and sir pitt read prayers. it was the first time the poor little boy had ever witnessed or heard of such a ceremonial.
-queen's crawley had been much improved since the young baronet's brief reign, and was pronounced by becky to be perfect, charming, delightful, when she surveyed it in his company. as for little rawdon, who examined it with the children for his guides, it seemed to him a perfect palace of enchantment and wonder. there were long galleries, and ancient state bed-rooms; there were pictures and old china and armour which enchanted little rawdon, who had never seen their like before, and who, poor child, had never before been in such an atmosphere of kindness and good cheer.
-on christmas day a great family gathering took place, and one and all agreed that little rawdon was a fine boy. they respected a possible baronet in the boy between whom and the title there was only the little sickly, pale pitt blinkie.
-the children were very good friends. pitt blinkie was too little a dog for such a big dog as rawdon to play with, and matilda, being only a girl, of course not fit companion for a young gentleman who was near eight years old, and going into jackets very soon. he took the command of this small party at once, the little girl and the little boy following him about with great reverence at such times as he condescended to sport with them. his happiness and pleasure in the country were extreme. the kitchen-garden pleased him hugely, the flowers moderately; but the pigeons and the poultry, and the stables, when he was allowed to visit them, were delightful objects to him. he resisted being kissed by the misses crawley; but he allowed lady jane sometimes to embrace him, and it was by her side that he liked to sit rather than by his mother. rebecca, seeing that tenderness was the fashion, called rawdon to her one evening, and stooped down and kissed him in the presence of all the ladies.
-he looked her full in the face after the operation, trembling and turning very red, as his wont was when moved. "you never kiss me at home, mamma," he said; at which there was a general silence and consternation, and by no means a pleasant look in becky's eyes; but she was obliged to allow the incident to pass in silence.
-but the greatest day of all was that on which sir huddlestone fuddlestone's hounds met upon the lawn at queen's crawley.
-that was a famous sight for little rawdon. at half-past ten tom moody, sir huddlestone fuddlestone's huntsman, was seen trotting up the avenue, followed by the noble pack of hounds in a compact body, the rear being brought up by the two whips clad in stained scarlet frocks, light, hard-featured lads on well-bred lean horses, possessing marvellous dexterity in casting the points of their long, heavy whips at the thinnest part of any dog's skin who dared to straggle from the main body, or to take the slightest notice, or even so much as wink at the hares and rabbits starting under their noses.
-next came boy jack, tom moody's son, who weighed five stone, measured eight and forty inches, and would never be any bigger. he was perched on a large raw-boned hunter, half covered by a capacious saddle. this animal was sir huddlestone fuddlestone's favourite horse, the nob. other horses ridden by other small boys arrived from time to time, awaiting their masters, who came cantering on anon.
-tom moody rode up presently, and he and his pack drew off into a sheltered corner of the lawn, where the dogs rolled on the grass, and played or growled angrily at one another, ever and anon breaking out into furious fights, speedily to be quelled by tom's voice, unmatched at rating, or the snaky thongs of the whips.
-many young gentlemen cantered up on thoroughbred hacks, spatter-dashed to the knee, and entered the house to pay their respects to the ladies, or, more modest and sportsmanlike, divested themselves of their mud-boots, exchanged their hacks for their hunters, and warmed their blood by a preliminary gallop round the lawn. then they collected round the pack in the corner, and talked with tom moody of past sport, and the merits of sniveller and diamond, and of the state of the country and of the wretched breed of foxes.
-sir huddlestone presently appears mounted on a clever cob, and rides up to the hall, where he enters and does the civil thing by the ladies, after which, being a man of few words, he proceeds to business. the hounds are drawn up to the hall-door, and little rawdon descends among them, excited yet half alarmed by the caresses which they bestow upon him, at the thumps he receives from their waving tails, and at their canine bickerings, scarcely restrained by tom moody's tongue and lash.
-meanwhile, sir huddlestone has hoisted himself unwieldily on the nob. "let's try sowster's spinney, tom," says the baronet; "farmer mangle tells me there are two foxes in it." tom blows his horn and trots off, followed by the pack, by the whips, by the young gents from winchester, by the farmers of the neighbourhood, by the labourers of the parish on foot, with whom the day is a great holiday; sir huddlestone bringing up the rear with colonel crawley; and the whole train of hounds and horsemen disappears down the avenue, leaving little rawdon alone on the doorsteps, wondering and happy.
-during the progress of this memorable holiday little rawdon, if he had got no special liking for his uncle, always awful and cold, and locked up in his study, plunged in justice business and surrounded by bailiffs and farmers, has gained the good graces of his married and maiden aunts, of the two little folks of the hall, and of jim of the rectory, and he had become extremely fond of lady jane, who told such beautiful stories with the children clustered about her knees. naturally, after having his first glimpse of happy home life and his first taste of genuine motherly affection, it was a sad day to little rawdon when he was obliged to return to curzon street. but there was an unexpected pleasure awaiting him on his return. lord steyne, though he wasted no affection upon the boy, yet for reasons of his own concerning only himself and mrs. becky, extended his good will to little rawdon. wishing to have the boy out of his way, he pointed out to rawdon's parents the necessity of sending him to a public school; that he was of an age now when emulation, the first principles of the latin language, pugilistic exercises, and the society of his fellow boys would be of the greatest benefit to him. his father objected that he was not rich enough to send the child to a good school; his mother, that briggs was a capital mistress for him, and had brought him on, as indeed was the fact, famously in english, latin, and in general learning; but all these objections were overruled by the marquis of steyne. his lordship was one of the governors of that famous old collegiate institution called the white friars, where he desired that little rawdon should be sent, and sent he was; for rawdon crawley, though the only book which he studied was the racing calendar, and though his chief recollections of learning were connected with the floggings which he received at eton in his early youth, had that reverence for classical learning which all english gentlemen feel, and was glad to think that his son was to have the chance of becoming a scholar. and although his boy was his chief solace and companion, he agreed at once to part with him for the sake of the welfare of the little lad.
-it was honest briggs who made up the little kit for the boy which he was to take to school. molly, the housemaid, blubbered in the passage when he went away. mrs. becky could not let her husband have the carriage to take the boy to school. take the horses into the city! such a thing was never heard of. let a cab be brought. she did not offer to kiss him when he went, nor did the child propose to embrace her, but gave a kiss to old briggs and consoled her by pointing out that he was to come home on saturdays, when she would have the benefit of seeing him. as the cab rolled towards the city becky's carriage rattled off to the park. she gave no thought to either of them when the father and son entered at the old gates of the school, where rawdon left the child, then walked home very dismally, and dined alone with briggs, to whom he was grateful for her love and watchfulness over the boy. they talked about little rawdon a long time, and mr. crawley went off to drink tea with lady jane, who was very fond of rawdon, as was her little girl, who cried bitterly when the time for her cousin's departure came. rawdon senior now told lady jane how little rawdon went off like a trump, and how he was to wear a gown and little knee breeches, and jack blackball's son of the old regiment had taken him in charge and promised to be kind to him.
-the colonel went to see his son a short time afterwards, and found the lad sufficiently well and happy, grinning and laughing in his little black gown and little breeches. as a protege of the great lord steyne, the nephew of a county member, and son of a colonel and c.b. whose names appeared in some of the most fashionable parties in the morning post, perhaps the school authorities were disposed not to look unkindly on the child.
-he had plenty of pocket-money, which he spent in treating his comrades royally to raspberry tarts, and he was often allowed to come home on saturdays to his father, who always made a jubilee of that day. when free, rawdon would take him to the play, or send him thither with the footman; and on sundays he went to church with briggs and lady jane and his cousins. rawdon marvelled over his stories about school, and fights, and fagging. before long he knew the names of all the masters and the principal boys as well as little rawdon himself. he invited little rawdon's crony from school and made both the children sick with pastry, and oysters, and porter after the play. he tried to look knowing over the latin grammar when little rawdon showed him what part of that work he was "in." "stick to it, my boy," he said to him with much gravity, "there's nothing like a good classical education! nothing!"
-while little rawdon was still one of the fifty gown-boys of white friar school, the colonel, his poor father, got into great trouble through no fault of his own, but as a result of which mrs. becky was obliged to make her exit from curzon street forever, and the colonel in bitter dejection and humiliation accepted an appointment as governor of coventry island. for some time he resisted the idea of taking this place, because it had been procured for him through the influence of lord steyne, whose patronage was odious to him, as he had been the means of ruining the colonel's homelife. the colonel's instinct also was for at once removing the boy from the school where lord steyne's interest had placed him. he was induced, however, not to do this, and little rawden was allowed to round out his days in the school, where he was very happy. after his mother's departure from curzon street she disappeared entirely from her son's life, and never made any movement to see the child.
-he went home to his aunt, lady jane, for sundays and holidays; and soon knew every bird's-nest about queen's crawley, and rode out with sir huddlestone's hounds, which he had admired so on his first well-remembered visit to the home of his ancestor. in fact, rawdon was consigned to the entire guardianship of his aunt and uncle, to whom he was fortunately deeply devoted; and although he received several letters at various times from his mother, they made little impression upon him, and indeed it was easy to see where his affections were placed. when sir pitt's only boy died of whooping-cough and measles--then mrs. becky wrote the most affectionate letter to her darling son, who was made heir of queen's crawley by this accident, and drawn more closely than ever by it to lady jane, whose tender heart had already adopted him. rawdon crawley, then grown a tall, fine lad, blushed when he got the letter.
-"oh, aunt jane, you are my mother!" he said; "and not--and not that one!" but he wrote a kind and respectful letter in response to mrs. becky, and the incident was closed. as for the colonel, he wrote to the boy regularly every mail from his post on coventry island, and little rawdon used to like to get the papers and read about his excellency, his father, of whom he had been truly fond. but the image gradually faded as the images of childhood do fade, and each year he grew more tenderly attached to lady jane and her husband, who had become father and mother to him in his hour of need.
-as for george osborne, the little boy whom rawdon crawley had given a ride on his pony long years before, the fates had been much kinder to him than to rawdon. he had had no lonely childhood, for although he had no recollection of his handsome young father, from baby days he was surrounded by the utmost adoration by a doting mother. poor amelia, deprived of the husband whom she adored, lavished all the pent-up love of her gentle bosom upon the little boy with the eyes of george who was gone--a little boy as beautiful as a cherub, and there was never a moment when the child missed any office which love or affection could give him. his grandfather sedley also adored the child, and it was the old man's delight to take out his little grandson to the neighbouring parks of kensington gardens, to see the soldiers or to feed the ducks. georgie loved the red coats, and his grandpapa told him how his father had been a famous soldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and others with waterloo medals on their breasts, to whom the old grandfather pompously presented the child; as on the occasion of their meeting with colonel rawdon crawley and his little son.
-old sedley was disposed to spoil little georgie, sadly gorging the boy with apples and peppermint to the detriment of his health, until amelia declared that georgie should never go out with his grandpapa again unless the latter solemnly promised on his honour not to give the child any cakes, lollipops, or stall produce whatever.
-amelia's days were full of active employment, for besides caring for georgie, she devoted much time to her old father and mother, with whom she and the child lived, and who were much broken by their financial reverses. she also personally superintended her little son's education for several years. she taught him to read and to write, and a little to draw. she read books, in order that she might tell him stories. as his eyes opened, and his mind expanded, she taught him to the best of her humble power to acknowledge the maker of all; and every night and every morning he and she--the mother and the little boy--prayed to our father together, the mother pleading with all her gentle heart, the child lisping after her as she spoke. and each time they prayed to god to bless dear papa, as if he were alive and in the room with them.
-besides her pension of fifty pounds a year, as an army officer's widow, there had been five hundred pounds left with the agent of her estate for her, for which amelia did not know that she was indebted to major dobbin, until years later. this same major, by the way, was stationed at madras, where twice or thrice in the year she wrote to him about herself and the boy, and he in turn sent over endless remembrances to his godson and to her. he sent a box of scarfs, and a grand ivory set of chess-men from china. the pawns were little green and white men, with real swords and shields; the knights were on horseback, the castles were on the backs of elephants. these chessmen were the delight of georgie's life, who printed his first letter of acknowledgment of this gift of his godpapa. major dobbin also sent over preserves and pickles, which latter the young gentleman tried surreptitiously in the sideboard, and half killed himself with eating. he thought it was a judgment upon him for stealing, they were so hot. amelia wrote a comical little account of this mishap to the major; it pleased him to think that her spirits were rallying, and that she could be merry sometimes now. he sent over a pair of shawls, a white one for her, and a black one with palm-leaves for her mother, and a pair of red scarfs, as winter wrappers, for old mr. sedley and george. the shawls were worth fifty guineas apiece, at the very least, as mrs. sedley knew. she wore hers in state at church at brompton, and was congratulated by her female friends upon the splendid acquisition. amelia's, too, became prettily her modest black gown.
-amidst humble scenes and associates georgie's early youth was passed, and the boy grew up delicate, sensitive, imperious, woman-bred--domineering over the gentle mother whom he loved with passionate affection. he ruled all the rest of the little world round about him. as he grew, the elders were amazed at his haughty manner and his constant likeness to his father. he asked questions about everything, as inquiring youth will do. the profundity of his remarks and questions astonished his old grandfather, who perfectly bored the club at the tavern with stories about the little lad's learning and genius. he suffered his grandmother with a good-humoured indifference. the small circle round about him believed that the equal of the boy did not exist upon the earth. georgie inherited his father's pride, and perhaps thought they were not wrong.
-when he grew to be about six years old, dobbin began to write to him very much. the major wanted to hear that georgie was going to a school, and hoped he would acquit himself with credit there; or would he have a good tutor at home? it was time that he should begin to learn; and his godfather and guardian hinted that he hoped to be allowed to defray the charges of the boy's education, which would fall heavily upon his mother's straitened income. the major, in a word, was always thinking about amelia and her little boy, and by orders to his agents kept the latter provided with picture-books, paint-boxes, desks, and all conceivable implements of amusement and instruction. three days before georgie's sixth birthday a gentleman in a gig, accompanied by a servant, drove up to mrs. sedley's house and asked to be conducted to master george osborne. it was woolsey, military tailor, who came at the major's order, to measure george for a suit of clothes. he had had the honour of making for the captain, the young gentleman's father.
-sometimes, too, the major's sisters, the misses dobbin, would call in the family carriage to take amelia and the little boy a drive. the patronage of these ladies was very uncomfortable to amelia, but she bore it meekly enough, for her nature was to yield; and besides, the carriage and its splendours gave little georgie immense pleasure. the ladies begged occasionally that the child might pass a day with them, and he was always glad to go to that fine villa on denmark hill, where there were such fine grapes in the hot-house and peaches on the walls.
-miss osborne, georgie's aunt, who, since old osborne's quarrel with his son, had not been allowed to have any intercourse with amelia or little georgie, was kept acquainted with the state of amelia's affairs by the misses dobbin, who told how she was living with her father and mother; how poor they were; but how the boy was really the noblest little boy ever seen; which praise raised a great desire to see the child in the heart of his maiden aunt, and one night when he came back from denmark hill in the pony carriage in which he rejoiced, he had round his neck a fine gold chain and watch. he said an old lady, not pretty, had been there and had given it to him, who cried and kissed him a great deal. but he didn't like her. he liked grapes very much and he only liked his mamma. amelia shrunk and started; she felt a presentiment of terror, for she knew that georgie's relations had seen him.
-miss osborne,--for it was indeed she who had seen georgie,--went home that night to give her father his dinner. he was in rather a good-humour, and chanced to remark her excitement "what's the matter, miss osborne?" he deigned to ask.
-the woman burst into tears. "oh, sir," she said, "i've seen little georgie. he is as beautiful as an angel--and so like him!"
-the old man opposite to her did not say a word, but flushed up, and began to tremble in every limb, and that night he bade his daughter good-night in rather a kindly voice. and he must have made some inquiries of the misses dobbin regarding her visit to them when she had seen georgie, for a fortnight afterwards he asked her where was her little french watch and chain she used to wear.
-"i bought it with my money, sir," she said in a great fright, not daring to tell what she had done with it.
-"go and order another like it, or a better, if you can get it," said the old gentleman, and lapsed again into silence.
-after that time the misses dobbin frequently invited georgie to visit them, and hinted to amelia that his aunt had shown her inclination; perhaps his grandfather himself might be disposed to be reconciled to him in time. surely, amelia could not refuse such advantageous chances for the boy. nor could she; but she acceded to their overtures with a very heavy and suspicious heart, was always uneasy during the child's absence from her, and welcomed him back as if he was rescued out of some danger. he brought back money and toys, at which the widow looked with alarm and jealousy; she asked him always if he had seen any gentleman. "only old sir william, who drove him about in the four-wheeled chaise, and mr. dobbin, who arrived on the beautiful bay horse in the afternoon, in the green coat and pink neckcloth, with the gold-headed whip, who promised to show him the tower of london and take him out with the surrey hounds." at last he said: "there was an old gentleman, with thick eyebrows and a brown hat and large chain and seals. he came one day as the coachman was leading georgie around the lawn on the grey pony. he looked at me very much. he shook very much. i said, 'my name is norval,' after dinner. my aunt began to cry. she is always crying." such was george's report on that night.
-then amelia knew that the boy had seen his grandfather; and looked out feverishly for a proposal which she was sure would follow, and which came, in fact, a few days afterwards. mr. osborne formally offered to take the boy, and make him heir to the fortune which he had intended that his father should inherit. he would make mrs. george osborne an allowance, such as to assure her a decent competency. but it must be understood that the child would live entirely with his grandfather and be only occasionally permitted to see mrs. george osborne at her own home. this message was brought to her in a letter one day. she had only been seen angry a few times in her life, but now mr. osborne's lawyer so beheld her. she rose up trembling and flushing very much after reading the letter, and she tore the paper into a hundred fragments, which she trod on. "i take money to part from my child! who dares insult me proposing such a thing? tell mr. osborne it is a cowardly letter, sir--a cowardly letter--i will not answer it! i wish you good-morning," and she bowed the lawyer out of the room like a tragedy queen.
-her parents did not remark her agitation on that day. they were absorbed in their own affairs, and the old gentleman, her father, was deep in speculation, in which he was sinking the remittances regularly sent from india by his son, joseph, for the support of his aged parents; and also that portion of amelia's slender income which she gave each month to her father. of this dangerous pastime of her father's amelia was kept in ignorance, until the day came when he was obliged to confess that he was penniless. at once amelia handed over to him what little money she had retained for her own and georgie's expenses. she did this without a word of regret, but returned to her room to cry her eyes out, for she had made plans which would now be impossible, to have a new suit made for georgie. this she was obliged to countermand, and, hardest of all, she had to break the matter to georgie, who made a loud outcry. everybody had new clothes at christmas. the other boys would laugh at him. he would have new clothes, she had promised them to him. the poor widow had only kisses to give him. she cast about among her little ornaments to see if she could sell anything to procure the desired novelties. she remembered her india shawl that dobbin sent her, which might be of value to a merchant with whom ladies had all sorts of dealings and bargains in these articles. she smiled brightly as she kissed away georgie to school in the morning, and the boy felt that there was good news in her look.
-as soon as he had gone she hurried away to the merchant with her shawl hidden under her cloak. as she walked she calculated how, with the proceeds of her shawl, besides the clothes, she would buy the books that he wanted, and pay his half year's schooling at the little school to which he went; and how she would buy a new coat for her father. she was not mistaken as to the value of the shawl. it was a very fine one, for which the merchant gave her twenty guineas. she ran on, amazed and flurried with her riches, to a shop where she purchased the books georgie longed for, and went home exulting. and she pleased herself by writing in the fly leaf in her neatest little hand, "george osborne, a christmas gift from his affectionate mother."
-she was going to place the books on georgie's table, when in the passage she and her mother met. the gilt bindings of the little volumes caught the old lady's eye.
-"what are those?" she said.
-"some books for georgie," amelia replied. "i--i promised them to him at christmas."
-"books!" cried the old lady indignantly; books! when the whole house wants bread! oh, amelia! you break my heart with your books, and that boy of yours, whom you are ruining, though part with him you will not! oh, amelia, may god send you a more dutiful child than i have had! there's joseph deserts his father in his old age; and there's george, who might be rich, going to school like a lord, with a gold watch and chain round his neck, while my dear, dear, old man is without a sh-shilling." hysterical sobs ended mrs. sedley's grief, which quite melted amelia's tender heart.
-"oh, mother, mother!" she cried. "you told me nothing. i--i promised him the books. i--i only sold my shawl this morning. take the money--take everything--" taking out her precious golden sovereigns, which she thrust into her mother's hands, and then went into her room, and sank down in despair and utter misery. she saw it all. her selfishness was sacrificing the boy. but for her, he might have wealth, station, education, and his father's place, which the elder george had forfeited for her sake. she had but to speak the words, and her father was restored to comfort, and the boy raised to fortune. oh, what a conviction it was to that tender and stricken heart!
-the combat between inclination and duty lasted for many weeks in poor amelia's heart. meanwhile by every means in her power she attempted to earn money, but was always unsuccessful. then, when matters had become tragic in the little family circle, she could bear the burden of pain no longer. her decision was made. for the sake of others the child must go from her. she must give him up,--she must--she must.
-she put on her bonnet, scarcely knowing what she did, and went out to walk in the lanes, where she was in the habit of going to meet georgie on his return from school. it was may, a half-holiday. the leaves were all coming out, the weather was brilliant. the boy came running to her flushed with health, singing, his bundle of school-books hanging by a thong. there he was. both her arms were round him. no, it was impossible. they could not be going to part. "what is the matter, mother?" said he. "you look very sad."
-"nothing, my child," she said, and stooped down and kissed him. that night amelia made the boy read the story of samuel to her, and how hannah, his mother, having weaned him, brought him to eli the high priest to minister before the lord. and he read the song of gratitude which hannah sang; and which says: "who is it who maketh poor and maketh rich, and bringeth low and exalteth, how the poor shall be raised up out of the dust, and how, in his own might, no man shall be strong." then he read how samuel's mother made him a little coat, and brought it to him from year to year when she came up to offer the yearly sacrifice. and then, in her sweet, simple way, george's mother made commentaries to the boy upon this affecting story. how hannah, though she loved her son so much, yet gave him up because of her vow. and how she must always have thought of him as she sat at home, far away, making the little coat, and samuel, she was sure, never forgot his mother; and how happy she must have been as the time came when she should see her boy, and how good and wise he had grown. this little sermon she spoke with a gentle, solemn voice, and dry eyes, until she came to the account of their meeting. then the discourse broke off suddenly, the tender heart overflowed, and taking the boy to her breast, she rocked him in her arms, and wept silently over him.
-her mind being made up, the widow began at once to take such measures as seemed right to her for achieving her purpose. one day, miss osborne, in russell square, got a letter from amelia, which made her blush very much, and look towards her father, sitting glooming in his place at the other end of the table.
-in simple terms, amelia told her the reasons which had induced her to change her mind respecting her boy. her father had met with fresh misfortunes which had entirely ruined him. her own pittance was so small that it would barely enable her to support her parents and would not suffice to give george the advantages which were his due. great as her sufferings would be at parting with him, she would, by god's help, endure them for the boy's sake. she knew that those to whom he was going would do all in their power to make him happy. she described his disposition, such as she fancied it; quick and impatient of control or harshness, easily to be moved by love and kindness. in a postscript, she stipulated that she should have a written agreement that she should see the child as often as she wished; she could not part with him under any other terms.
-"what? mrs. pride has come down, has she?" old osborne said, when with a tremulous voice miss osborne read him the letter. "reg'lar starved out, hey? ha, ha! i knew she would!" he tried to keep his dignity and to read his paper as usual, but he could not follow it. at last he flung it down: and scowling at his daughter, as his wont was, went out of the room and presently returned with a key. he flung it to miss osborne.
-"get the room over mine--his room that was--ready," he said.
-"yes, sir," his daughter replied in a tremble.
-it was george's room. it had not been opened for more than ten years. some of his clothes, papers, handkerchiefs, whips and caps, fishing-rods and sporting gear, were still there. an army list of 1814, with his name written on the cover; a little dictionary he was wont to use in writing; and the bible his mother had given him, were on the mantelpiece; with a pair of spurs, and a dried inkstand covered with the dust of ten years. ah! since that ink was wet, what days and people had passed away! the writing-book still on the table was blotted with his hand.
-miss osborne was much affected when she first entered this room. she sank quite pale on the little bed. "this is blessed news, ma'am--indeed, ma'am," the housekeeper said; "the good old times is returning! the dear little feller, to be sure, ma'am; how happy he will be! but some folks in mayfair, ma'am, will owe him a grudge!" and she clicked back the bolt which held the window-sash, and let the air into the chamber.
-"you had better send that woman some money," mr. osborne said, before he went out. "she shan't want for nothing. send her a hundred pound."
-"and i'll go and see her to-morrow?" miss osborne asked.
-"that's your lookout. she don't come in here, mind. but she mustn't want now. so look out, and get things right." with which brief speeches mr. osborne took leave of his daughter, and went on his accustomed way.
-that night, when amelia kissed her father, she put a bill for a hundred pounds into his hands, adding, "and--and, mamma, don't be harsh with georgie. he--he is not going to stop with us long." she could say nothing more, and walked away silently to her room.
-miss osborne came the next day, according to the promise contained in her note, and saw amelia. the meeting between them was friendly. a look and a few words from miss osborne showed the poor widow that there need be no fear lest she should take the first place in her son's affection. she was cold, sensible, not unkind. miss osborne, on the other hand, could not but be touched with the poor mother's situation, and their arrangements were made together with kindness on both sides.
-georgie was kept from school the next day, and saw his aunt. days were passed in talks, visits, preparations. the widow broke the matter to him with great caution; and was saddened to find him rather elated than otherwise. he bragged about the news that day to the boys at school; told them how he was going to live with his grandpapa, his father's father, not the one who comes here sometimes; and that he would be very rich, and have a carriage, and a pony, and go to a much finer school, and when he was rich he would buy leader's pencil-case, and pay the tart woman.
-at last the day came, the carriage drove up, the little humble packets containing tokens of love and remembrance were ready and disposed in the hall long since. george was in his new suit, for which the tailor had come previously to measure him. he had sprung up with the sun and put on the new clothes. days before amelia had been making preparations for the end; purchasing little stores for the boy's use; marking his books and linen; talking with him and preparing him for the change, fondly fancying that he needed preparation.
-so that he had change, what cared he? he was longing for it. by a thousand eager declarations as to what he would do when he went to live with his grandfather, he had shown the poor widow how little the idea of parting had cast him down. he would come and see his mamma often on the pony, he said; he would come and fetch her in the carriage; they would drive in the park, and she would have everything she wanted.
-george stood by his mother, watching her final arrangements without the least concern, then said a gay farewell, went away smiling, and the widow was quite alone.
-the boy came to see her often, after that, to be sure. he rode on a pony with the coachman behind him, to the delight of his old grandfather, sedley, who walked proudly down the lane by his side. amelia saw him, but he was not her boy any more. why, he rode to see the boys at the little school, too, and to show off before them his new wealth and splendour. in two days he had adopted a slightly imperious air and patronising manner, and once fairly established in his grandfather osborne's mansion in russell square, won the grandsire's heart by his good looks, gallant bearing, and gentlemanlike appearance. mr. osborne was as proud of him as ever he had been of the elder george, and the child had many more luxuries and indulgences than had been awarded to his father. osborne's wealth and importance in the city had very much increased of late years. he had been glad enough to put the elder george in a good private school, and a commission in the army for his son had been a source of no small pride to him; but for little george and his future prospects the old man looked much higher. he would make a gentleman of the little chap, a collegian, a parliament man--a baronet, perhaps. he would have none but a tip-top college man to educate him. he would mourn in a solemn manner that his own education had been neglected, and repeatedly point out the necessity of classical acquirements.
-when they met at dinner the grandfather used to ask the lad what he had been reading during the day, and was greatly interested at the report the boy gave of his studies, pretending to understand little george when he spoke regarding them. he made a hundred blunders, and showed his ignorance many a time, which george was quick to see and which did not increase the respect which the child had for his senior.
-in fact, as young george had lorded it over the tender, yielding nature of his mother, so the coarse pomposity of the dull old man with whom he next came in contact, made him lord over the latter, too. if he had been a prince royal, he could not have been better brought up to think well of himself, and while his mother was yearning after him at home, he was having a number of pleasures and consolations administered to him which made the separation from amelia a very easy matter to him. in fact, master george osborne had every comfort and luxury that a wealthy and lavish old grandfather thought fit to provide. he had the handsomest pony which could be bought, and on this was taught to ride, first at a riding-school, then in state to regent's park, and then to hyde park with martin the coachman behind him.
-though he was scarcely eleven years of age, master george wore straps, and the most beautiful little boots, like a man. he had gilt spurs and a gold-headed whip and a fine pin in his neckerchief, and the neatest little kid gloves which could be bought. his mother had given him a couple of neckcloths, and carefully made some little shirts for him; but when her samuel came to see the widow, they were replaced by much finer linen. he had little jewelled buttons in the lawn shirt fronts. her humble presents had been put aside--i believe miss osborne had given them to the coachman's boy.
-amelia tried to think she was pleased at the change. indeed, she was happy and charmed to see the boy looking so beautiful. she had a little black profile of him done for a shilling, which was hung over her bed. one day the boy came galloping down on his accustomed visit to her, and with great eagerness pulled a red morocco case out of his coat pocket.
-"i bought it with my own money, mamma," he said. "i thought you'd like it."
-amelia opened the case, and giving a little cry of delighted affection, seized him and embraced him a hundred times. it was a miniature of himself, very prettily done by an artist who had just executed his portrait for his grandfather. georgie, who had plenty of money, bethought him to ask the painter how much a copy of the portrait would cost, saying that he would pay for it out of his own money, and that he wanted to give it to his mother. the pleased painter executed it for a small price, and old osborne himself, when he heard of the incident, growled out his satisfaction, and gave the boy twice as many sovereigns as he paid for the miniature.
-at his new home master george ruled like a lord, and charmed his old grandfather by his ways. "look at him," the old man would say, nudging his neighbour with a delighted purple face, "did you ever see such a chap? lord, lord! he'll be ordering a dressing-case next, and razors to shave with; i'm blessed if he won't."
-the antics of the lad did not, however, delight mr. osborne's friends so much as they pleased the old gentleman. it gave mr. justice coffin no pleasure to hear georgie cut into the conversation and spoil his stories. mr. sergeant toffy's lady felt no particular gratitude when he tilted a glass of port wine over her yellow satin, and laughed at the disaster; nor was she better pleased, although old osborne was highly delighted, when georgie "whopped" her third boy, a young gentleman a year older than georgie, and by chance home for the holidays. george's grandfather gave the boy a couple of sovereigns for that feat, and promised to reward him further for every boy above his own size and age whom he whopped in a similar manner. it is difficult to say what good the old man saw in these combats; he had a vague notion that quarrelling made boys hardy, and that tyranny was a useful accomplishment for them to learn. flushed with praise and victory over master toffy, george wished naturally to pursue his conquests further, and one day as he was strutting about in new clothes, near st. paneras, and a young baker's boy made sarcastic comments upon his appearance, the youthful patrician pulled off his dandy jacket with great spirit, and giving it in charge to the friend who accompanied him (master todd, of great coram street, russell square, son of the junior partner of the house of osborne & co.), tried to whop the little baker. but the chances of war were unfavourable this time, and the little baker whopped georgie, who came home with a rueful black eye and all his fine shirt frill dabbled with the claret drawn from his own little nose. he told his grandfather that he had been in combat with a giant; and frightened his poor mother at brampton with long, and by no means authentic, accounts of the battle.
-this young todd, of coram street, russell square, was master george's great friend and admirer. they both had a taste for painting theatrical characters; for hardbake and raspberry tarts; for sliding and skating in the regent's park and the serpentine, when the weather permitted; for going to the play, whither they were often conducted, by mr. osborne's orders, by rowson, master george's appointed body-servant, with whom they sate in great comfort in the pit.
-in the company of this gentleman they visited all the principal theatres of the metropolis--knew the names of all the actors from drury lane to sadler's wells; and performed, indeed, many of the plays to the todd family and their youthful friends, with west's famous characters, on their pasteboard theatre.
-a famous tailor from the west end of the town was summoned to ornament little georgie's person, and was told to spare no expense in so doing. so, mr. woolsey, of conduit street, gave a loose rein to his imagination, and sent the child home fancy trowsers, fancy waistcoats, and fancy jackets enough to furnish a school of little dandies. george had little white waistcoats for evening parties, and little cut velvet waistcoats for evening parties, and little cut velvet waistcoats for dinners, and a dear little darling shawl dressing-gown, for all the world like a little man. he dressed for dinner every day, "like a regular west end swell," as his grandfather remarked; one of the domestics was affected to his special service, attended him at his toilette, answered his bell, and brought him his letters always on a silver tray.
-georgie, after breakfast, would sit in the arm-chair in the dining-room, and read the morning post, just like a grown-up man. those who remembered the captain, his father, declared master george was his pa, every inch of him. he made the house lively by his activity, his imperiousness, his scolding, and his good-nature.
-george's education was confided to the reverend lawrence veal, a private pedagogue who "prepared young noblemen and gentlemen for the universities, the senate, and the learned professions; whose system did not embrace the degrading corporal severities still practised at the ancient places of education, and in whose family the pupils would find the elegances of refined society and the confidence and affection of a home," as his prospectus stated.
-georgie was only a day pupil; he arrived in the morning, and if it was fine would ride away in the afternoon, on his pony. the wealth of his grandfather was reported in the school to be prodigious. the reverend mr. veal used to compliment georgie upon it personally, warning him that he was destined for a high station; that it became him to prepare for the lofty duties to which he would be called later; that obedience in the child was the best preparation for command in the man; and that he therefore begged george would not bring toffee into the school and ruin the health of the other pupils, who had everything they wanted at the elegant and abundant table of mrs. veal.
-whenever mr. veal spoke he took care to produce the very finest and longest words of which the vocabulary gave him the use, and his manner was so pompous that little georgie, who had considerable humour, used to mimic him to his face with great spirit and dexterity, without ever being discovered. amelia was bewildered by mr. veal's phrases, but thought him a prodigy of learning, and made friends with his wife, that she might be asked to mrs. veal's receptions, which took place once a month, and where the professor welcomed his pupils and their friends to weak tea and scientific conversation. poor little amelia never missed one of these entertainments, and thought them delicious so long as she might have george sitting by her.
-as for the learning which george imbibed under mr. veal, to judge from the weekly reports which the lad took home, his progress was remarkable. the name of a score or more of desirable branches of knowledge were printed in a table, and the pupil's progress in each was marked by the professor. in greek georgie was pronounced aristos, in latin optimus, in french très bien, etc.; and everybody had prizes for everything at the end of the year. even that idle young scapegrace of a master todd, godson of mr. osborne, received a little eighteen-penny book, with athene engraved on it, and a pompous latin inscription from the professor to his young friend. an example of georgie's facility in the art of composition is still treasured by his proud mother, and reads as follows:
-example: the selfishness of achilles, as remarked by the poet homer, occasioned a thousand woes to the greeks (hom. ii a 2). the selfishness of the late napoleon bonaparte occasioned innumerable wars in europe, and caused him to perish himself in a miserable island--that of st. helena in the atlantic ocean.
-we see by these examples that we are not to consult our own interest and ambition, but that we are to consider the interests of others as well as our own.
-george sedley osborne.
-athene house, 24 april, 1827.
-while georgie's days were so full of new interests, amelia's life was anything but one of pleasure, for it was passed almost entirely in the sickroom of her mother, with only the gleams of joy when little george visited her, or with an occasional walk to russell square. then came the day when the invalid was buried in the churchyard at brompton and amelia's little boy sat by her side at the service in pompous new sables and quite angry that he could not go to a play upon which he had set his heart, while his mother's thoughts went back to just such another rainy, dark day, when she had married george osborne in that very church.
-after the funeral the widow went back to the bereaved old father, who was stunned and broken by the loss of his wife, his honour, his fortune, in fact, everything he loved best. there was only amelia now to stand by the tottering, heart-broken old man. this she did, to the best of her ability, all unconscious that on life's ocean a bark was sailing headed towards her with those aboard who were to bring change and comfort to her life.
-one day when the young gentlemen of mr. veal's select school were assembled in the study, a smart carriage drove up to the door and two gentlemen stepped out. everybody was interested, from mr. veal himself, who hoped he saw the fathers of some future pupils arriving, down to master george, glad of any pretext of laying his book down.
-the boy who always opened the door came into the study, and said: "two gentlemen want to see master osborne." the professor had had a trifling dispute in the morning with that young gentleman, owing to a difference about the introduction of crackers in school-time; but his face resumed its habitual expression of bland courtesy, as he said, "master osborne, i give you full permission to go and see your carriage friends,--to whom i beg you to convey the respectful compliments of myself and mrs. veal."
-george went into the reception room, and saw two strangers, whom he looked at with his head up, in his usual haughty manner. one was fat, with moustaches, and the other was lean and long in a blue frock coat, with a brown face, and a grizzled head.
-"my god, how like he is!" said the long gentleman, with a start. "can you guess who we are, george?"
-the boy's face flushed up, and his eyes brightened. "i don't know the other," he said, "but i should think you must be major dobbin."
-indeed, it was major dobbin, who had come home on urgent private affairs, and who on board the ramchunder, east indiaman, had fallen in with no other than the widow osborne's stout brother, joseph, who had passed the last ten years in bengal. a voyage to europe was pronounced necessary for him, and having served his full time in india, and having laid by a considerable sum of money, he was free to come home and stay with a good pension, or to return and resume that rank in the service to which he was entitled.
-many and many a night as the ship was cutting through the roaring dark sea, the moon and stars shining overhead, and the bell singing out the watch, mr. sedley and the major would sit on the quarter deck of the vessel, talking about home as they smoked. in these conversations, with wonderful perseverance, major dobbin would always manage to bring the talk round to the subject of amelia. jos was a little testy about his father's misfortunes and application to him for money, but was soothed down by the major, who pointed out the elder's ill fortunes in old age. he pointed out how advantageous it would be for jos sedley to have a house of his own in london, and how his sister amelia would be the very person to preside over it; how elegant, how gentle she was, and of what refined good manners. he then hinted how becoming it would be for jos to send georgy to a good school and make a man of him. in a word, this artful major made jos promise to take charge of amelia and her unprotected child before that pompous civilian made the discovery that he was binding himself.
-then came the arrival of the ramchunder, the going ashore, and the entrance of the two men into the little home where amelia was keeping her faithful watch over her feeble father. the excitement and surprise were a great shock to the old man, while to amelia they were the greatest happiness that could have come to her. of course the first thing she did was to show georgie's miniature, and to tell of his great accomplishments, and then she secured the promise that the major and her brother would visit the reverend mr. veal's school at the earliest possible moment. this promise we have seen redeemed. major dobbin and joseph sedley, having become acquainted with the details of amelia's lonely life, and of georgie's happy one, lost no time in altering such circumstances as were within their power to change. jos sedley, notwithstanding his pompous selfishness and egoism, had a very tender heart, and shortly after his first appearance at brompton, old sedley and his daughter were carried away from the humble cottage in which they had passed the last ten years of their life to the handsome new home which jos sedley had provided for himself and them.
-good fortune now began to smile upon amelia. jos's friends were all from three presidencies, and his new house was in the centre of the comfortable anglo-indian district. owing to jos sedley's position numbers of people came to see mrs. osborne who before had never noticed her. lady dobbin and her daughters were delighted at her change of fortune, and called upon her. miss osborne, herself, came in her grand chariot; jos was reported to be immensely rich. old osborne had no objection that george should inherit his uncle's property as well as his own. "we will make a man of the fellow," he said; "and i will see him in parliament before i die. you may go and see his mother, miss osborne, though i'll never set eyes on her"; and miss osborne came. george was allowed to dine once or twice a week with his mother, and bullied the servants and his relations there, just as he did in russell square.
-he was always respectful to major dobbin, however, and more modest in his demeanour when that gentleman was present. he was a clever lad, and afraid of the major. george could not help admiring his friend's simplicity, his good-humour, his various learning quietly imparted, his general love of truth and justice. he had met no such man as yet in the course of his experience, and he had an instinctive liking for a gentleman. he hung fondly by his god-father's side; and it was his delight to walk in the parks and hear dobbin talk. william told george about his father, about india and waterloo, about everything but himself. when george was more than usually pert and conceited, the major joked at him, which mrs. osborne thought very cruel. one day taking him to the play, and the boy declining to go into the pit because it was vulgar, the major took him to the boxes, left him there, and went down himself to the pit. he had not been seated there very long before he felt an arm thrust under his, and a dandy little hand in a kid-glove squeezing his arm. george had seen the absurdity of his ways, and come down from the upper region. a tender laugh of benevolence lighted up old dobbin's face and eyes as he looked at the repentant little prodigal. he loved the boy very deeply.
-if there was a sincere liking between george and the major, it must be confessed that between the boy and his uncle joseph no great love existed. george had got a way of blowing out his cheeks, and putting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, and saying, "god bless my soul, you don't say so," so exactly after the fashion of old jos, that it was impossible to refrain from laughter. the servants would explode at dinner if the lad, asking for something which wasn't at table, put on that countenance and used that favourite phrase. even dobbin would shoot out a sudden peal at the boy's mimicry. if george did not mimic his uncle to his face, it was only by dobbin's rebukes and amelia's terrified entreaties that the little scapegrace was induced to desist. and joseph, having a dim consciousness that the lad thought him an ass, and was inclined to turn him into ridicule, used to be of course doubly pompous and dignified in the presence of master george. when it was announced that the young gentleman was expected to dine with his mother, mr. jos commonly found that he had an engagement at the club, and perhaps nobody was much grieved at his absence.
-before long amelia had a visiting-book, and was driving about regularly in a carriage, from which a buttony boy sprang from the box with amelia's and jos's visiting cards. at stated hours emmy and the carriage went to the club, and took jos for an airing; or, putting old sedley into the vehicle, she drove the old man round the regent's park. we are not long in growing used to changes in life. her lady's-maid and the chariot, her visiting book, and the buttony page became soon as familiar to amelia as the humble routine of brompton. she accommodated herself to one as to the other, and entertained jos's friends with the same unselfish charm with which she cared for and amused old john sedley.
-then came the day when that poor old man closed his eyes on the familiar scenes of earth, and major dobbin, jos, and george followed his remains-to the grave in a black cloth coach. "you see," said old osborne to george, when the burial was over, "what comes of merit and industry and good speculation, and that. look at me and my bank account. look at your poor grandfather sedley, and his failure. and yet he was a better man than i was, this day twenty years--a better man, i should say, by ten thousand pounds." and this worldly wisdom little george received in profound silence, taking it for what it was worth.
-about this time old osborne conceived much admiration for major dobbin, which he had acquired from the world's opinion of that gentleman. also major dobbin's name appeared in the lists of one or two great parties of the nobility, which circumstance had a prodigious effect upon the old aristocrat of russell square. also the major's position as guardian to george, whose possession had been ceded to his grandfather, rendered some meetings between the two gentleman inevitable, and it was in one of these that old osborne, from a chance hint supplied by the blushing major, discovered that a part of the fund upon which the poor widow and her child had subsisted during their time of want, had been supplied out of william dobbin's own pocket. this information gave old osborne pain, but increased his admiration for the major, who had been such a loyal friend to his son's wife. from that time it was evident that old osborne's opinion was softening, and soon jos and the major were asked to dinner at russell square,--to a dinner the most splendid that perhaps ever mr. osborne gave; every inch of the family plate was exhibited and the best company was asked. more than once old osborne asked major dobbin about mrs. george osborne,--a theme on which the major could be very eloquent.
-"you don't know what she endured, sir," said honest dobbin; "and i hope and trust you will be reconciled to her. if she took your son away from you, she gave hers to you; and however much you loved your george, depend on it, she loved hers ten times more."
-"you are a good fellow, sir!" was all mr. osborne said. but it was evident in later events that the conversation had had its effect upon the old man. he sent for his lawyers, and made some changes in his will, which was well, for one day shortly after that act he died suddenly.
-when his will was read it was found that half the property was left to george. also an annuity of five hundred pounds was left to his mother, "the widow of my beloved son, george osborne," who was to resume the guardianship of the boy.
-major william dobbin was appointed executor, "and as out of his kindness and bounty he maintained my grandson and my son's widow with his own private funds when they were otherwise without means of support" (the testator went on to say), "i hereby thank him heartily, and beseech him to accept such a sum as may be sufficient to purchase his commission as a lieutenant colonel, or to be disposed of in any way he may think fit." when amelia heard that her father-in-law was reconciled to her, her heart melted, and she was grateful for the fortune left to her. but when she heard how george was restored to her, and that it had been william's bounty that supported her in poverty, that it was william who had reconciled old osborne to her, then her gratitude and joy knew no bounds.
-when the nature of mr. osborne's will became known to the world, once more mrs. george osborne rose in the estimation of the people forming her circle of acquaintance; even jos himself paid her and her rich little boy, his nephew, the greatest respect, and began to show her much more attention than formerly.
-as george's guardian, amelia begged miss osborne to live in the russell square house, but miss osborne did not choose to do so. and amelia also declined to occupy the gloomy old mansion. but one day, clad in deep sables, she went with george to visit the deserted house which she had not entered since she was a girl. they went into the great blank rooms, the walls of which bore the marks where pictures and mirrors had hung. then they went up the great stone staircase into the upper rooms, into that where grandpapa died, as georgie said in a whisper, and then higher still into george's own room. the boy was still clinging by her side, but she thought of another besides him. she knew that it had been his father's room before it was his.
-"look here, mother," said george, standing by the window, "here's g.o. scratched on the glass with a diamond; i never saw it before. i never did it."
-"it was your father's room long before you were born, george," she said, and she blushed as she kissed the boy.
-she was very silent as they drove back to richmond, where they had taken a temporary house, but after that time practical matters occupied her mind. there were many directions to be given and much business to transact, and amelia immediately found herself in the whirl of quite a new life, and experienced the extreme joy of having george continually with her, as he was at that time removed from mr. veal's on an unlimited holiday.
-george's aunt, mrs. bullock, who had before her marriage been miss osborne, thought it wise now to become reconciled with amelia and her boy. consequently one day her chariot drove up to amelia's house, and the bullock family made an irruption into the garden, where amelia was reading.
-jos was in an arbour, placidly dipping strawberries into wine, and the major was giving a back to george, who chose to jump over him. he went over his head, and bounded into the little group of bullocks, with immense black bows on their hats, and huge black sashes, accompanying their mourning mamma.
-"he is just the age for rosa," the fond parent thought, and glanced towards that dear child, a little miss of seven years. "rosa, go and kiss your dear cousin," added mrs. bullock. "don't you know me, george? i am your aunt."
-"i know you well enough," george said; "but i don't like kissing, please," and he retreated from the obedient caresses of his cousin.
-"take me to your dear mamma, you droll child," mrs. bullock said; and those ladies met, after an absence of more than fifteen years. during emmy's poverty mrs. bullock had never thought about coming to see her; but now that she was decently prosperous in the world, her sister-in-law came to her as a matter of course.
-so did many others. in fact, before the period of grief for mr. osborne's death had subsided, emmy, had she wished, could have become a leader in fashionable society. but that was not her desire: worn out with the long period of poverty, care, and separation from george, her one wish was a change of scene and thought.
-because of this wish, some time later, on a fine morning, when the batavier steamboat was about to leave its dock, we see among the carriages being taken on, a very neat, handsome travelling carriage, from which a courier, kirsch by name, got out and informed inquirers that the carriage belonged to an enormously rich nabob from calcutta and jamaica, with whom he was engaged to travel. at this moment a young gentleman who had been warned off the bridge between the paddle-boxes, and who had dropped thence onto the roof of lord methusala's carriage, from which he made his way over other carriages until he had clambered onto his own, descended thence and through the window into the body of the carriage to the applause of the couriers looking on.
-"bother your french!" said the young gentleman.
-"where's the biscuits, ay?" whereupon kirsch answered him in such english as he could command and produced the desired repast.
-the imperious young gentleman who gobbled the biscuits (and indeed it was time to refresh himself, for he had breakfasted at richmond full three hours before) was our young friend george osborne. uncle jos and his mamma were on the quarter-deck with major dobbin, and the four were about to make a summer tour. amelia wore a straw bonnet with black ribbons, and otherwise dressed in mourning, but the little bustle and holiday of the journey pleased and excited her, and from that day throughout the entire journey she continued to be very happy and pleased. wherever they stopped dobbin used to carry about for her her stool and sketch book, and admired her drawings as they never had been admired before. she sat upon steamer decks and drew crags and castles, or she mounted upon donkeys and descended to ancient robber towers, attended by her two escorts, georgie and dobbin. dobbin was interpreter for the party, having a good military knowledge of the german language, and he and the delighted george, who was having a wonderful trip, fought over again the campaigns of the rhine and the palatinate. in the course of a few weeks of constant conversation with herr kirsch on the box of the carriage, george made great advance in the knowledge of high dutch, and could talk to hotel waiters and postilions in a way that charmed his mother and amused his guardian.
-at the little ducal town of pumpernickel our party settled down for a protracted stay. there each one of them found something especially pleasing or interesting them, and there it was that they encountered an acquaintance of other days,--no other than mrs. rawdon crawley; and because of becky's experiences since she had quitted her husband, her child, and the little house in curzon street, london, of which he knew the details, major dobbin was anything but pleased at the meeting.
-but becky told amelia a pathetic little tale of misery, neglect, and estrangement from those she loved, and tenderhearted amelia, who quivered with indignation at the recital, at once invited becky to join their party. to this major dobbin made positive objections, but amelia remained firm in her resolve to shelter the friend of her school-days, the mother who had been cruelly taken away from her boy by a misjudging sister-in-law. this decision brought about a crisis in amelia's affairs: major dobbin, who had been so devotedly attached to amelia for years, also remained firm, and insisted not only that amelia have no more to do with mrs. crawley, but that if she did, he would leave the party. amelia was firm and loyal, and honest dobbin made preparations for his departure.
-when the coach that was to carry old dob away drew up before the door, georgie gave an exclamation of surprise.
-"hello!" said he, "there's dob's trap! there's francis coming out with the portmanteau, and the postilion. look at his boots and yellow jacket--why--they are putting the horses to dob's carriage. is he going anywhere?"
-"yes," said amelia, "he is going on a journey."
-"going on a journey! and when is he coming back?"
-"he is--not coming back," answered amelia.
-"stay here," roared out jos.
-"stay, georgie," said his mother, with a very sad face.
-the boy stopped, kicked about the room, jumped up and down from the window seat, and finally, when the major's luggage had been carried out, gave way to his feelings again. "by jove, i will go!" screamed out george, and rushed downstairs and flung across the street in a minute.
-the yellow postilion was cracking his whip gently. william had got into the carriage, george bounded in after him, and flung his arms around the major's neck, asking him multiplied questions. william kissed georgie, spoke gently and sadly to him, and the boy got out, doubling his fists into his eyes. the yellow postilion cracked his whip again, up sprang francis to the box, and away dobbin was carried, never looking up as he passed under amelia's window; and georgie, left alone in the street, burst out crying in the face of all the crowd and continued his lamentations far into the night, when amelia's maid, who heard him howling, brought him some preserved apricots to console him.
-thus honest dobbin passed out of the life of amelia and her boy, but not forever. gentle amelia was soon disillusioned in regard to the old schoolmate whom she had taken under her care, and found that in all the world there was no one who meant so much to her as faithful dobbin. one morning she wrote and despatched a note, the inscription of which no one saw; but on account of which she looked very much flushed and agitated when georgie met her coming from the post; and she kissed him and hung over him a great deal that night. two mornings later george, walking on the dyke with his mother, saw by the aid of his telescope an english steamer near the pier. george took the glass again and watched the vessel.
-"how she does pitch! there goes a wave slap over her bows. there's a man lying down, and a--chap--in a--cloak with a--hurrah! it's dob, by jingo!" he clapped to the telescope and flung his arms round his mother, then ran swiftly off; and amelia was left to make her peace alone with the faithful major, who had returned at her request.
-some days later becky sharp felt it wise to leave for bruges, and in the little church at ostend there was a wedding, at which the only witnesses were georgie and his uncle jos. amelia osborne had decided to accept the major's protection for life, to the never-ending satisfaction of george, to whom the major had always been comrade and father.
-immediately after his marriage colonel dobbin quitted the service and rented a pretty little country place in hampshire, not far from queen's crawley, where sir pitt and his family constantly resided now, and where rawdon crawley was regarded as their son.
-lady jane and mrs. dobbin became great friends, and there was a perpetual crossing of pony chaises between the two places. lady jane was godmother to mrs. dobbin's little girl, who bore her name, and the two lads, george osborne and rawdon crawley, who had met so many years before as children when little rawdon invited george to take a ride on his pony, and whose lives had been filled with such different experiences since that time, now became close friends. they were both entered at the same college at cambridge, hunted and shot together in the vacations, confided in each other; and when we last see them, fast becoming young men, they are deep in a quarrel about lady jane's daughter, with whom they were both, of course, in love.
-no further proof of approaching age is needed than a quarrel over a young lady, and the lads, george and rawdon, now give place forever to men. though the circumstances of their lives had been unlike, though george had had all the love that a devoted mother could give, and all the luxury which money could supply: and rawdon had been without a mother's devotion; without the surroundings which had made george's life luxurious,--on the threshold of manhood we find them on an equal footing, entering life's arena, strong of limb, glad of heart, eager for what manhood was to bring them.
-clive and ethel newcome
-when one is about to write the biography of a certain person, it seems but fair to give as its background such facts concerning the hero's antecedents as place the details of his life in their proper setting. and so, having the honour to be the juvenile biographer of mr. clive newcome, i deem it wise to preface the story of his life with a brief account of events and persons antecedent to his birth.
-thomas newcome, clive's grandfather, had been a weaver in his native village, and brought the very best character for honesty, thrift, and ingenuity with him to london, where he was taken into the house of hobson brothers, cloth-manufacturers; afterwards hobson & newcome. when thomas newcome had been some time in london, he quitted the house of hobson, to begin business for himself. and no sooner did his business prosper than he married a pretty girl from his native village. what seemed an imprudent match, as his wife had no worldly goods to bring him, turned out a very lucky one for newcome. the whole countryside was pleased to think of the marriage of the prosperous london tradesman with the penniless girl whom he had loved in the days of his own poverty; the great country clothiers, who knew his prudence and honesty, gave him much of their business, and susan newcome would have been the wife of a rich man had she not died a year after her marriage, at the birth of her son, thomas.
-newcome had a nurse for the child, and a cottage at clapham, hard by mr. hobson's house, and being held in good esteem by his former employers, was sometimes invited by them to tea. when his wife died, miss hobson, who since her father's death had become a partner in the firm, met mr. newcome with his little boy as she was coming out of meeting one sunday, and the child looked so pretty, and mr. newcome so personable, that miss hobson invited him and little tommy into the grounds; let the child frisk about in the hay on the lawn, and at the end of the visit gave him a large piece of pound-cake, a quantity of the finest hot-house grapes, and a tract in one syllable. tommy was ill the next day; but on the next sunday his father was at meeting, and not very long after that miss hobson became mrs. newcome.
-after his father's second marriage, tommy and sarah, his nurse, who was also a cousin of mr. newcome's first wife, were transported from the cottage, where they had lived in great comfort, to the palace hard by, surrounded by lawns and gardens, graperies, aviaries, luxuries of all kinds. this paradise was separated from the outer world by a, thick hedge of tall trees and an ivy-covered porter's gate, through which they who travelled to london on the top of the clapham coach could only get a glimpse of the bliss within. it was a serious paradise. as you entered at the gate, gravity fell on you; and decorum wrapped you in a garment of starch. the butcher boy who galloped his horse and cart madly about the adjoining lanes, on passing that lodge fell into an undertaker's pace, and delivered his joints and sweetbreads silently at the servant's entrance. the rooks in the elms cawed sermons at morning and evening; the peacocks walked demurely on the terraces; the guinea fowls looked more quaker-like than those birds usually do. the lodge-keeper was serious, and a clerk at the neighbouring chapel. the pastor, who entered at that gate and greeted his comely wife and children, fed the little lambkins with tracts. the head gardener was a scotch calvinist, after the strictest order. on a sunday the household marched away to sit under his or her favourite minister, the only man who went to church being thomas newcome, with tommy, his little son. tommy was taught hymns suited to his tender age, pointing out the inevitable fate of wicked children and giving him a description of the punishment of little sinners, which poems he repeated to his step-mother after dinner, before a great shining mahogany table, covered with grapes, pineapples, plum cake, port wine, and madeira, and surrounded by stout men in black, with baggy white neckcloths, who took the little man between their knees and questioned him as to his right understanding of the place whither naughty boys were bound. they patted his head if he said well, or rebuked him if he was bold, as he often was.
-then came the birth of mrs. newcome's twin boys, hobson and bryan, and now there was no reason why young newcome, their step-brother, should not go to school, and to grey friars thomas newcome was accordingly sent, exchanging--o ye gods! with what delight--the splendour of clapham for the rough, plentiful fare of the new place. the pleasures of school-life were such to him that he did not care to go home for a holiday; for by playing tricks and breaking windows, by taking the gardener's peaches and the housekeeper's jam, by upsetting his two little brothers in a go-cart (of which injury the baronet's nose bore marks to his dying day), by going to sleep during the sermons, and treating reverend gentlemen with levity, he drew down on himself the merited anger of his step-mother; and many punishments. to please mrs. newcome, his father whipped tommy for upsetting his little brothers in the go-cart; but, upon being pressed to repeat the whipping for some other prank, mr. newcome refused, saying that the boy got flogging enough at school, with which opinion master tommy fully agreed. his step-mother, however, determined to make the young culprit smart for his offences, and one day, when mr. newcome was absent, and tommy refractory as usual, summoned the butler and footman to flog the young criminal. but he dashed so furiously against the butler's shins as to cause that menial to limp and suffer for many days after; and, seizing the decanter, he threatened to discharge it at mrs. newcome's head before he would submit to the punishment she desired administered. when mr. newcome returned, he was indignant at his wife's treatment of tommy, and said so, to her great displeasure. this affair, indeed, almost caused a break in their relations, and friends and clergy were obliged to interfere to allay the domestic quarrel. at length mrs. newcome, who was not unkind, and could be brought to own that she was sometimes in fault, was induced to submit to the decrees of her husband, whom she had vowed to love and honour. when tommy fell ill of scarlet fever she nursed him through his illness, and uttered no reproach to her husband when the twins took the disease. and even though tommy in his delirium vowed that he would put on his clothes and run away to his old nurse sarah, mrs. newcome's kindness to him never faltered. what the boy threatened in his delirium, a year later he actually achieved. he ran away from home, and appeared one morning, gaunt and hungry, at sarah's cottage two hundred miles away from clapham. she housed the poor prodigal with many tears and kisses, and put him to bed and to sleep; from which slumber he was aroused by the appearance of his father, whose instinct, backed by mrs. newcome's intelligence, had made him at once aware whither the young runaway had fled. seeing a horsewhip in his parent's hand, tommy, scared out of a sweet sleep and a delightful dream of cricket, knew his fate; and getting out of bed, received his punishment without a word. very likely the father suffered more than the child; for, when the punishment was over, the little man yet quivering with the pain, held out his little bleeding hand, and said, "i can--i can take it from you, sir," saying which his face flushed, and his eyes filled, whereupon the father burst into a passion of tears, and embraced the boy, and kissed him, besought him to be rebellious no more, flung the whip away from him, and swore, come what would, he would never strike him again. the quarrel was the means of a great and happy reconciliation. but the truce was only a temporary one. war very soon broke out again between the impetuous lad and his rigid, domineering step-mother. it was not that he was very bad, nor she so very stern, but the two could not agree. the boy sulked and was miserable at home, and, after a number of more serious escapades than he had before indulged in, he was sent to a tutor for military instruction, where he was prepared for the army and received a fairly good professional education. he cultivated mathematics and fortification, and made rapid progress in his study of the french language. but again did our poor tommy get into trouble, and serious trouble indeed this time, for it involved his french master's pretty young daughter as well as himself. frantic with wrath and despair at the unfortunate climax of events, young newcome embarked for india, and quitted the parents whom he was never more to see. his name was no more mentioned at clapham, but he wrote constantly to his father, who sent tom liberal private remittances to india, and was in turn made acquainted with the fact of his son's marriage, and later received news of the birth of his grandson, clive.
-old thomas newcome would have liked to leave all his private fortune to his son thomas, for the twins were only too well provided for, but he dared not, for fear of his wife, and he died, and poor tom was only secretly forgiven.
-so much for the history of clive newcome's father and grandfather. having related it in full detail, we can now proceed to the narrative of clive's life, he being the hero of this tale.
-from the day of his birth until he was some seven years old, clive's english relatives knew nothing about him. then, colonel newcome's wife having died, and having kept the boy with him as long as the climate would allow, thomas newcome, now lieutenant-colonel, decided that it was wise to send clive to england, to entrust him to the boy's maternal aunt, miss honeyman, who was living at brighton, that clive might have the superior advantages of school days in england.
-let us glance at a few extracts from letters received by colonel newcome after his boy had reached england. the aunt to whose care he was entrusted wrote as follows:
-with the most heartfelt joy, my dear major, i take up my pen to announce to you the happy arrival of the ramchunder and the dearest and handsomest little boy who, i am sure, ever came from india. little clive is in perfect health. he speaks english wonderfully well. he cried when he parted from mr. sneid, the supercargo, who most kindly brought him from southhampton in a postchaise, but these tears in childhood are of very brief duration!...
-you may be sure that the most liberal sum which you have placed to my credit with the messrs. hobson & co. shall be faithfully expended on my dear little charge. of course, unless mrs. newcome,--who can scarcely be called his grandmamma, i suppose,--writes to invite dear clive to clapham, i shall not think of sending him there. my brother, who thanks you for your continuous bounty, will write next month, and report progress as to his dear pupil. clive will add a postscript of his own, and i am, my dear major,
-your grateful and affectionate,
-in a round hand and on lines ruled with pencil:
-dearest papa i am very well i hope you are very well. mr. sneed brought me in a postchaise i like mr. sneed very much. i like aunt martha i like hannah. there are no ships here i am your affectionate son clive newcome.
-there was also a note from colonel newcome's stepbrother, bryan, as follows:
-my dear thomas: mr. sneid, supercargo of the ramchunder, east indiaman, handed over to us yesterday your letter, and, to-day, i have purchased three thousand three hundred and twenty-three pounds 6 and 8, three per cent consols, in our joint names (h. and b. newcome), held for your little boy. mr. s. gives a favourable account of the little man, and left him in perfect health two days since, at the house of his aunt, miss honeyman. we have placed £200 to that lady's credit, at your desire. i dare say my mother will ask your little boy to the hermitage; and when we have a house of our own i am sure ann and i shall be very happy to see him.
-and another from miss honeyman's brother, containing the following:
-my dear colonel: ... clive is everything that a father's and uncle's, a pastor's, a teacher's, affections could desire. he is not a premature genius; he is not, i frankly own, more advanced in his classical and mathematical studies than some children even younger than himself; but he has acquired the rudiments of health; he has laid in a store of honesty and good-humour which are not less likely to advance him in life than mere science and language ... etc., etc.,
-your affectionate brother-in-law,
-another letter from miss honeyman herself said:
-my dear colonel: ... as my dearest little clive was too small for a great school, i thought he could not do better than stay with his old aunt and have his uncle charles for a tutor, who is one of the finest scholars in the world. of late he has been too weak to take a curacy, so i thought he could not do better than become clive's tutor, and agreed to pay him out of your handsome donation of £250 for clive, a sum of one hundred pounds per year. but i find that charles is too kind to be a schoolmaster, and master clive laughs at him. it was only the other day after his return from his grandmamma's that i found a picture of mrs. newcome and charles, too, and of both their spectacles, quite like. he has done me and hannah, too. mr. speck, the artist, says he is a wonder at drawing.
-our little clive has been to london on a visit to his uncles and to clapham, to pay his duty to his step-grandmother, the wealthy mrs. newcome. she was very gracious to him, and presented him with a five pound note, a copy of kirk white's poems and a work called little henry and his bearer, relating to india, and the excellent catechism of our church. clive is full of humour, and i enclose you a rude scrap representing the bishopess of clapham, as mrs. newcome is called.
-instead then of allowing clive to be with charles in london next month i shall send him to doctor timpany's school, marine parade, of which i hear the best account; but i hope you will think of soon sending him to a great school. my father always said it was the best place for boys, and i have a brother to whom my poor mother spared the rod, and who i fear has turned out but a spoiled child.
-i am, dear colonel, your most faithful servant,
-but with that fidelity which was an instinct of his nature, colonel newcome thought ever of his absent child and longed after him. he never forsook the native servants who had had charge of clive, but endowed them with money sufficient to make all their future lives comfortable. no friends went to europe, nor ship departed, but newcome sent presents to the boy and costly tokens of his love and thanks to all who were kind to his son. his aim was to save money for the youngster, but he was of a nature so generous that he spent five rupees where another would save them. however, he managed to lay by considerable out of his liberal allowances, and to find himself and clive growing richer every year.
-"when clive has had five or six years at school"--that was his scheme--"he will be a fine scholar, and have at least as much classical learning as a gentleman in the world need possess. then i will go to england, and we will pass three or four years together, in which he will learn to be intimate with me, and, i hope, to like me. i shall be his pupil for latin and greek, and try and make up for lost time. i know there is nothing like a knowledge of the classics to give a man good breeding. i shall be able to help him with my knowledge of the world, and to keep him out of the way of sharpers and a pack of rogues who commonly infest young men. and we will travel together, first through england, scotland, and ireland, for every man should know his own country, and then we will make the grand tour. then by the time he is eighteen he will be able to choose his profession. he can go into the army, or, if he prefers, the church, or the law--they are open to him; and when he goes to the university, by which time i shall be, in all probability, a major-general, i can come back to india for a few years, and return by the time he has a wife and a home for his old father; or, if i die, i shall have done the best for him, and my boy will be left with the best education, a tolerable small fortune, and the blessing of his old father."
-such were the plans of the kind schemer. how fondly he dwelt on them, how affectionately he wrote of them to his boy! how he read books of travels and looked over the maps of europe! and said, "rome, sir, glorious rome; it won't be very long, major, before my boy and i see the colosseum, and kiss the pope's toe. we shall go up the rhine to switzerland, and over the simplon, the work of the great napoleon. by jove, sir, think of the turks before vienna, and sobieski clearing eighty thousand of 'em off the face of the earth! how my boy will rejoice in the picture galleries there, and in prince eugene's prints! the boy's talent for drawing is wonderful, sir, wonderful. he sent me a picture of our old school. the very actual thing, sir; the cloisters, the school, the head gown boy going in with the rods, and the doctor himself. it would make you die of laughing!"
-he regaled the ladies of the regiment with dive's letters, and those of miss honeyman, which contained an account of the boy. he even bored some of his hearers with this prattle; and sporting young men would give or take odds that the colonel would mention clive's name, once before five minutes, three times in ten minutes, twenty-five times in the course of dinner, and so on. but they who laughed at the colonel laughed very kindly; and everybody who knew him, loved him; everybody that is, who loved modesty, generosity and honour.
-as to clive himself, by this time he was thoroughly enjoying his new life in england. after remaining for a time at doctor timpany's school, where he was first placed by his aunt, miss honeyman, he was speedily removed to that classical institution in which colonel newcome had been a student in earlier days. my acquaintance with young clive was at this school, grey friars, where our acquaintance was brief and casual. he had the advantage of being six years my junior, and such a difference of age between lads at a public school puts intimacy out of the question, even though we knew each other at home, as our school phrase was, and our families were somewhat acquainted. when newcome's uncle, the reverend charles honeyman, brought newcome to the grey friars school, he recommended him to my superintendence and protection, and told me that his young nephew's father, colonel thomas newcome, c.b., was a most gallant and distinguished officer in the bengal establishment of the honourable east india company; and that his uncles, the colonel's half-brothers, were the eminent bankers, heads of the firm of hobson brothers & newcome, hobson newcome, esquire, brianstone square, and marblehead, sussex, and sir brian newcome, of newcome, and park lane, "whom to name," says mr. honeyman, with the fluent eloquence with which he decorated the commonest circumstances of life, "is to designate two of the merchant princes of the wealthiest city the world has ever known; and one, if not two, of the leaders of that aristocracy which rallies round the throne of the most elegant and refined of european sovereigns."
-i promised mr. honeyman to do what i could for the boy; and he proceeded to take leave of his little nephew in my presence in terms equally eloquent, pulling out a long and very slender green purse, from which he extracted the sum of two and sixpence, which he presented to the child, who received the money with rather a queer twinkle in his blue eyes.
-after that day's school i met my little protege in the neighbourhood of the pastry cook's, regaling himself with raspberry tarts. "you must not spend all the money, sir, which your uncle gave you," said i, "in tarts and ginger-beer."
-the urchin rubbed the raspberry jam off his mouth, and said, "it don't matter, sir, for i've got lots more."
-"how much?" says the grand inquisitor: for the formula of interrogation used to be, when a new boy came to the school, "what's your name? who's your father? and how much money have you got?"
-the little fellow pulled such a handful of sovereigns out of his pocket as might have made the tallest scholar feel a pang of envy. "uncle hobson," says he, "gave me two; aunt hobson gave me one--no, aunt hobson gave me thirty shillings; uncle newcome gave me three pound; and aunt ann gave me one pound five; and aunt honeyman sent me ten shillings in a letter. and ethel wanted to give me a pound, only i wouldn't have it, you know; because ethel's younger than me, and i have plenty."
-"and who is ethel?" i ask, smiling at the artless youth's confessions.
-"ethel is my cousin," replied little newcome; "aunt ann's daughter. there's ethel and alice, and aunt ann wanted the baby to be called boadicea, only uncle wouldn't; and there's barnes and egbert and little alfred, only he don't count; he's quite a baby, you know. egbert and me was at school at timpany's; he's going to eton next half. he's older than me, but i can lick him."
-"and how old is egbert?" asks the smiling senior.
-"egbert's ten, and i'm nine, and ethel's seven," replied the little chubby-faced hero, digging his hands deep into his trousers, and jingling all the sovereigns there. i advised him to let me be his banker; and, keeping one out of his many gold pieces, he handed over the others, on which he drew with great liberality till his whole stock was expended. the school hours of the upper and under boys were different at that time; the little fellows coming out of their hall half an hour before the fifth and sixth forms; and many a time i used to find my little blue-jacket in waiting, with his honest square face, and white hair, and bright blue eyes, and i knew that he was come to draw on his bank. ere long one of the pretty blue eyes was shut up, and a fine black one substituted in its place. he had been engaged, it appeared, in a pugilistic encounter with a giant of his own form whom he had worsted in the combat. "didn't i pitch into him, that's all?" says he in the elation of victory; and, when i asked whence the quarrel arose, he stoutly informed me that "wolf minor, his opponent, had been bullying a little boy, and that he, the gigantic newcome, wouldn't stand it."
-so, being called away from the school, i said "farewell and god bless you," to the brave little man, who remained a while at the grey friars, where his career and troubles had only just begun, and lost sight of him for several years. nor did we meet again until i was myself a young man occupying chambers in the temple.
-meanwhile the years of clive's absence had slowly worn away for colonel newcome, and at last the happy time came which he had been longing more passionately than any prisoner for liberty, or schoolboy for holiday. the colonel had taken leave of his regiment. he had travelled to calcutta; and the commander-in-chief announced that in giving to lieutenant-colonel thomas newcome, of the bengal cavalry, leave for the first time, after no less than thirty-four years' absence from home, he could not refrain from expressing his sense of the great services of this most distinguished officer, who had left his regiment in a state of the highest discipline and efficiency.
-this kind colonel had also to take leave of a score, at least, of adopted children to whom he chose to stand in the light of a father. he was forever whirling away in post-chaises to this school and that, to see jack brown's boys, of the cavalry; or mrs. smith's girls, of the civil service; or poor tom hick's orphan, who had nobody to look after him now that the cholera had carried off tom and his wife, too. on board the ship in which he returned from calcutta were a dozen of little children, some of whom he actually escorted to their friends before he visited his own, though his heart was longing for his boy at grey friars. the children at the schools seen, and largely rewarded out of his bounty (his loose white trousers had great pockets, always heavy with gold and silver, which he jingled when he was not pulling his moustaches, and to see the way in which he tipped children made one almost long to be a boy again) and when he had visited miss pinkerton's establishment, or doctor ramshorn's adjoining academy at chiswick, and seen little tom davis or little fanny holmes, the honest fellow would come home and write off straightway a long letter to tom's or fanny's parents, far away in the country, whose hearts he made happy by his accounts of their children, as he had delighted the children themselves by his affection and bounty. all the apple and orange-women (especially such as had babies as well as lollipops at their stalls), all the street-sweepers on the road between nerot's and the oriental, knew him, and were his pensioners. his brothers in threadneedle street cast up their eyes at the cheques which he drew.
-the colonel had written to his brothers from portsmouth, announcing his arrival, and three words to clive, conveying the same intelligence. the letter was served to the boy along with one bowl of tea and one buttered roll, of eighty such which were distributed to fourscore other boys, boarders of the same house with our young friend. how the lad's face must have flushed and his eyes brightened when he read the news! when the master of the house, the reverend mister popkinson, came into the lodging-room, with a good-natured face, and said, "newcome, you're wanted," he knew who had come. he did not heed that notorious bruiser, old hodge, who roared out, "confound you, newcome: i'll give it you for upsetting your tea over my new trousers." he ran to the room where the stranger was waiting for him. we will shut the door, if you please, upon that scene.
-if clive had not been as fine and handsome a young lad as any in that school or country, no doubt his fond father would have been just as well pleased and endowed him with a hundred fanciful graces; but, in truth, in looks and manners he was everything which his parent could desire. he was the picture of health, strength, activity, and good-humour. he had a good forehead shaded with a quantity of waving light hair; a complexion which ladies might envy; a mouth which seemed accustomed to laughing; and a pair of blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence and frank kindness. no wonder the pleased father could not refrain from looking at him.
-the bell rang for second school, and mr. popkinson, arrayed in cap and gown, came in to shake colonel newcome by the hand, and to say he supposes it was to be a holiday for newcome that day. he said not a word about clive's scrape of the day before, and that awful row in the bedrooms, where the lad and three others were discovered making a supper off a pork pie and two bottles of prime old port from the red cow public-house in grey friars lane.
-when the bell was done ringing, and all these busy little bees swarmed into their hive, there was a solitude in the place. the colonel and his son walked the play-ground together, that gravelly flat, as destitute of herbage as the arabian desert, but, nevertheless, in the language of the place, called the green. they walked the green, and they paced the cloisters, and clive showed his father his own name of thomas newcome carved upon one of the arches forty years ago. as they talked, the boy gave sidelong glances at his new friend, and wondered at the colonel's loose trousers, long moustaches, and yellow face. he looked very odd, clive thought, very odd and very kind, and like a gentleman, every inch of him:--not like martin's father, who came to see his son lately in highlows, and a shocking bad hat, and actually flung coppers amongst the boys for a scramble. he burst out a-laughing at the exquisitely ludicrous idea of a gentleman of his fashion scrambling for coppers.
-and now enjoining the boy to be ready against his return, the colonel whirled away in his cab to the city to shake hands with his brothers, whom he had not seen since they were demure little men in blue jackets under charge of a serious tutor.
-he rushed into the banking house, broke into the parlour where the lords of the establishment were seated, and astonished these trim, quiet gentlemen by the warmth of his greeting, by the vigour of his handshake, and the loud tones of his voice, which might actually be heard by the busy clerks in the hall without. he knew bryan from hobson at once--that unlucky little accident in the go-cart having left its mark forever on the nose of sir bryan newcome. he had a bald head and light hair, a short whisker cut to his cheek, a buff waistcoat, very neat boots and hands, and was altogether dignified, bland, smiling, and statesmanlike.
-hobson newcome, esquire, was more portly than his elder brother, and allowed his red whiskers to grow on his cheeks and under his chin. he wore thick shoes with nails in them, and affected the country gentleman in his appearance. his hat had a broad brim, and his ample pockets always contained agricultural produce, samples of bean or corn, or a whiplash or balls for horses. in fine, he was a good old country gentleman, and a better man of business than his more solemn brother, at whom he laughed in his jocular way; and said rightly that a gentleman must get up very early to get ahead of him.
-these gentlemen each received the colonel in a manner consistent with his peculiar nature. sir bryan regretted that lady ann was away from london, being at brighton with the children, who were all ill of the measles. hobson said, "maria can't treat you to such good company as lady ann could give you; but when will you take a day and come and dine with us? let's see, to-day is wednesday; to-morrow we are engaged. friday, we dine at judge budge's; saturday i am going down to marblehead to look after the hay. come on monday, tom, and i'll introduce you to the missus and the young uns."
-"i will bring clive," says colonel newcome, rather disturbed at this reception. "after his illness my sister-in-law was very kind to him."
-"no, hang it, don't bring boys; there's no good in boys; they stop the talk downstairs, and the ladies don't want 'em in the drawing-room. send him to dine with the children on sunday, if you like, and come along down with me to marblehead, and i'll show you such a crop of hay as will make your eyes open. are you fond of farming?"
-"i have not seen my boy for years," says the colonel; "i had rather pass saturday and sunday with him, if you please, and some day we will go to marblehead together."
-"well, an offer's an offer. i don't know any pleasanter thing than getting out of this confounded city and smelling the hedges, and looking at the crops coming up, and passing the sunday in quiet." and his own tastes being thus agricultural, the worthy gentleman thought that everybody else must delight in the same recreation.
-"in the winter, i hope, we shall see you at newcome," says the elder brother, blandly smiling. "i can't give you any tiger-shooting, but i'll promise you that you shall find plenty of pheasants in our jungle," and he laughed very gently at this mild sally.
-at this moment a fair-haired young gentleman, languid and pale, and dressed in the height of fashion, made his appearance and was introduced as the baronet's oldest son, barnes newcome. he returned colonel newcome's greeting with a smile, saying, "very happy to see you, i am sure. you find london very much changed since you were here? very good time to come, the very full of the season."
-poor thomas newcome was quite abashed by his strange reception. here was a man, hungry for affection, and one relation asked him to dinner next monday, and another invited him to shoot pheasants at christmas. here was a beardless young sprig, who patronised him and asked him whether he found london was changed. as soon as possible he ended the interview with his step-brothers, and drove back to ludgate hill, where he dismissed his cab and walked across the muddy pavements of smithfield, on his way back to the old school where his son was, a way which he had trodden many a time in his own early days. there was cistercian street, and the red cow of his youth; there was the quaint old grey friars square, with its blackened trees and garden, surrounded by ancient houses of the build of the last century, now slumbering like pensioners in the sunshine.
-under the great archway of the hospital he could look at the old gothic building; and a black-gowned pensioner or two crawling over the quiet square, or passing from one dark arch to another. the boarding-houses of the school were situated in the square, hard by the more ancient buildings of the hospital. a great noise of shouting, crying, clapping forms and cupboards, treble voices, bass voices, poured out of the schoolboys' windows; their life, bustle, and gaiety contrasted strangely with the quiet of those old men, creeping along in their black gowns under the ancient arches yonder, whose struggle of life was over, whose hope and noise and bustle had sunk into that grey calm. there was thomas newcome arrived at the middle of life, standing between the shouting boys and the tottering seniors and in a situation to moralise upon both, had not his son clive, who espied him, come jumping down the steps to greet his sire. clive was dressed in his very best; not one of those four hundred young gentlemen had a better figure, a better tailor, or a neater boot. schoolfellows, grinning through the bars, envied him as he walked away; senior boys made remarks on colonel newcome's loose clothes and long moustaches, his brown hands and unbrushed hat. the colonel was smoking a cheroot as he walked; and the gigantic smith, the cock of the school, who happened to be looking majestically out of the window, was pleased to say that he thought newcome's governor was a fine manly-looking fellow.
-"tell me about your uncles, clive," said the colonel, as they walked on arm in arm.
-"what about them, sir?" asks the boy. "i don't think i know much."
-"you have been to stay with them. you wrote about them. were they kind to you?"
-"oh, yes, i suppose they are very kind. they always tipped me: only you know when i go there i scarcely ever see them. mr. newcome asks me the oftenest--two or three times a quarter when he's in town, and gives me a sovereign regular."
-"well, he must see you to give you the sovereign," says clive's father, laughing.
-the boy blushed rather.
-"yes. when it's time to go back to smithfield on a saturday night, i go into the dining-room to shake hands, and he gives it to me; but he don't speak to me much, you know, and i don't care about going to bryanstone square, except for the tip (of course that's important), because i am made to dine with the children, and they are quite little ones; and a great cross french governess, who is always crying and shrieking after them, and finding fault with them. my uncle generally has his dinner parties on saturday, or goes out; and aunt gives me ten shillings and sends me to the play; that's better fun than a dinner party." here the lad blushed again. "i used," said he, "when i was younger, to stand on the stairs and prig things out of the dishes when they came out from dinner, but i'm past that now. maria (that's my cousin) used to take the sweet things and give 'em to the governess. fancy! she used to put lumps of sugar into her pocket and eat them in the schoolroom! uncle hobson don't live in such good society as uncle newcome. you see, aunt hobson, she's very kind, you know, and all that, but i don't think she's what you call comme il faut"
-"why, how are you to judge?" asks the father, amused at the lad's candid prattle, "and where does the difference lie?"
-"i can't tell you what it is, or how it is," the boy answered, "only one can't help seeing the difference. it isn't rank and that: only somehow there are some men gentlemen and some not, and some women ladies and some not. there's jones now, the fifth-form master, every man sees he's a gentleman, though he wears ever so old clothes; and there's mr. brown, who oils his hair, and wears rings, and white chokers--my eyes! such white chokers!--and yet we call him the handsome snob! and so about aunt maria, she's very handsome and she's very finely dressed, only somehow she's not the ticket, you see."
-"oh, she's not the ticket?" says the colonel, much amused.
-"well, what i mean is--but never mind," says the boy. "i can't tell you what i mean. i don't like to make fun of her, you know, for after all she's very kind to me; but aunt ann is different, and it seems as if what she says is more natural; and though she has funny ways of her own, too, yet somehow she looks grander,"--and here the lad laughed again. "and do you know, i often think that as good a lady as aunt ann herself, is old aunt honeyman at brighton--that is, in all essentials, you know? and she is not a bit ashamed of letting lodgings, or being poor herself, as sometimes i think some of our family--"
-"i thought we were going to speak no ill of them," says the colonel, smiling.
-"well, it only slipped out unawares," says clive, laughing, "but at newcome when they go on about the newcomes, and that great ass, barnes newcome, gives himself his airs, it makes me die of laughing. that time i went down to newcome i went to see old aunt sarah, and she told me everything, and do you know, i was a little hurt at first, for i thought we were swells till then? and when i came back to school, where perhaps i had been giving myself airs, and bragging about newcome, why, you know, i thought it was right to tell the fellows."
-"that's a man," said the colonel, with delight; though had he said, "that's a boy," he had spoken more correctly. "that's a man," cried the colonel; "never be ashamed of your father, clive."
-"ashamed of my father!" says clive, looking up to him, and walking on as proud as a peacock. "i say," the lad resumed, after a pause--
-"say what you say," said the father.
-"is that all true what's in the peerage--in the baronetage, about uncle newcome and newcome; about the newcome who was burned at smithfield; about the one that was at the battle of bosworth; and the old, old newcome who was bar--that is, who was surgeon to edward the confessor, and was killed at hastings? i am afraid it isn't; and yet i should like it to be true."
-"i think every man would like to come of an ancient and honourable race," said the colonel in his honest way. "as you like your father to be an honourable man, why not your grandfather, and his ancestors before him? but if we can't inherit a good name, at least we can do our best to leave one, my boy; and that is an ambition which, please god., you and i will both hold by."
-with this simple talk the old and young gentleman beguiled their way, until they came into the western quarter of the town, where hobson newcome lived in a handsome and roomy mansion. colonel newcome was bent on paying a visit to his sister-in-law, although as they waited to be let in they could not but remark through the opened windows of the dining-room that a great table was laid and every preparation was made for a feast.
-"my brother said he was engaged to dinner to-day," said the colonel.
-"does mrs. newcome give parties when he is away?"
-"she invites all the company," answered clive. "my uncle never asks any one without aunt's leave."
-the colonel's countenance fell. "he has a great dinner, and does not ask his own brother!" newcome thought. "why, if he had come to india with all his family, he might have stayed for a year, and i should have been offended had he gone elsewhere."
-a hot menial in a red waistcoat came and opened the door, and without waiting for preparatory queries said, "not at home."
-"it's my father, john," said clive. "my aunt will see colonel newcome."
-"missis is not at home," said the man. "missis is gone in carriage--not at this door!--take them things down the area steps, young man!"
-this latter speech was addressed to a pastry cook's boy with a large sugar temple and many conical papers containing delicacies for dessert. "mind the hice is here in time; or there'll be a blow-up with your governor,"--and john struggled back, closing the door on the astonished colonel.
-"upon my life, they actually shut the door in our faces," said the poor gentleman.
-"the man is very busy, sir. there's a great dinner. i'm sure my aunt would not refuse you," clive interposed. "she is very kind. i suppose it's different here from what it is in india. there are the children in the square,--those are the girls in blue,--that's the french governess, the one with the yellow parasol. how d'ye do, mary? how d'ye do, fanny? this is my father,--this is your uncle."
-the colonel surveyed his little nieces with that kind expression which his face always wore when it was turned toward children.
-"have you heard of your uncle in india?" he asked them.
-"no," says maria.
-"yes," says fannie. "you know mademoiselle said that if we were naughty we should be sent to our uncle in india. i think i should like to go with you."
-"oh, you silly child!" cries maria.
-"yes, i should, if clive went, too," says little fanny.
-"behold madame, who arrives from her promenade!" mademoiselle exclaimed, and, turning round, colonel newcome beheld, for the first time, his sister-in-law, a stout lady with fair hair and a fine bonnet and a pelisse, who was reclining in her barouche with the scarlet plush garments of her domestics blazing before and behind her.
-clive ran towards his aunt. she bent over the carriage languidly towards him. she liked him. "what, you, clive!" she said, "how come you away from school of a thursday, sir?"
-"it is a holiday," said he. "my father is come; and he is come to see you."
-she bowed her head with an expression of affable surprise and majestic satisfaction. "indeed, clive!" she exclaimed, and the colonel stepped forward and took off his hat and bowed and stood bareheaded. she surveyed him blandly, and put forward a little hand, saying, "you have only arrived to-day, and you came to see me? that was very kind. have you had a pleasant voyage? these are two of my girls. my boys are at school. i shall be so glad to introduce them to their uncle. this naughty boy might never have seen you, but that we took him home after the scarlet fever, and made him well, didn't we clive? and we are all very fond of him, and you must not be jealous of his love for his aunt. we feel that we quite know you through him, and we know that you know us, and we hope you will like us. do you think your papa will like us, clive? or, perhaps you will like lady ann best? yes; you have been to her first, of course? not been? oh! because she is not in town." leaning fondly on clive's arm, mademoiselle standing with the children hard by, while john with his hat off stood at the opened door, mrs. newcome slowly uttered the above remarkable remarks to the colonel, on the threshold of her house, which she never asked him to pass.
-"if you will come in to us about ten this evening," she then said, "you will find some men not undistinguished, who honour me of an evening. perhaps they will be interesting to you, colonel newcome, as you are newly arriven in europe. a stranger coming to london could scarcely have a better opportunity of seeing some of our great illustrations of science and literature. we have a few friends at dinner, and now i must go in and consult with my housekeeper. good-bye for the present. mind, not later than ten, as mr. newcome must be up betimes in the morning, and our parties break up early. when clive is a little older i dare say we shall see him, too. goodbye!"
-and again the colonel was favoured with a shake of the hand, and the lady sailed up the stair, and passed in at the door, with not the faintest idea but that the hospitality which she was offering to her kinsman was of the most cordial and pleasant kind.
-having met colonel newcome on the steps of her house, she ordered him to come to her evening party; and though he had not been to an evening party for five and thirty years--though he had not been to bed the night before--he never once thought of disobeying mrs. newcome's order, but was actually at her door at five minutes past ten, having arrayed himself, to the wonderment of clive, and left the boy to talk to mr. binnie, a friend and fellow-passenger, who had just arrived from portsmouth, who had dined with him, and taken up his quarters at the same hotel.
-well, then, the colonel is launched in english society of an intellectual "she loves you."
-"marie? loves me? yo're crazy!"
-"oh, am i? if she hadn't loved you do you think for one minute she'd come riding all the way out here to give you a warning?"
-"marie and i are friends," he admitted. "but there ain't any law against that."
-"none at all." molly's eyes dropped. her head turned back. she resumed her operations with a spoon in the bowl.
-"lookit here, molly--"
-"don't you call me molly." her tone was as lacking in expression as was her face.
-"but you've got to listen to me!" he insisted, desperately. "i tell you there ain't anything between marie and me."
-"then there ought to be." thus molly. womanlike she yearned to use her claws.
-"oh, i've heard all about your carryings on with that--creature; how you talk to her, and people have seen you walking with her on the street. i saw you myself. yesterday when mis' jackson drove out here to buy three hens she told me when the girl was arrested and fined for trying to murder a man you stepped up and paid her fine. did you?"
-"i did. but--"
-"there aren't any buts! you've got a nerve, you have, making love to me after running round with that wretched hussy!"
-"she ain't a hussy!" denied the exasperated racey, who was always loyal to absent friends. "she's all right. just because she happens to be a lookout in the happy heart ain't anything against her. it don't give you nor anybody else license to insult her."
-this was too much. not content with confessing his friendship for the girl, he was standing up for her. molly whirled upon him.
-"go!" tone and business could not have been excelled by peg woffington herself.
-"what's the matter?" queried a sleepy voice from the doorway giving into an inner room, as racey's spurred heels jingled past the washbench. "what's goin' on? who was here? what you yelling about, anyway?"
-"racey was here, ma," said molly.
-"seems to me you made an uncommon racket about it," grumbled her mother, plodding into the kitchen in her slippers.
-"make me a cup o' coffee, will you, molly?" said mrs. dale. "my head aches sort of. i hope you didn't have a fight with racey dawson."
-"well, we didn't quite agree," admitted molly, snapping shut the cover of the coffee-mill and clamping the mill between her knees. "i don't like him any more, ma."
-"and after he's helped us so! i was counting on him to fix up this mortgage business! whatever's got into you, molly?"
-"he's been running round with that awful lookout girl at the happy heart."
-"is that all?" yawned mrs. dale, greatly relieved. "i thought it might have been something serious."
-"it is serious! what right has he to--"
-"why hasn't he? you ain't engaged to him."
-"i know i'm not, but he--i--you--" molly began to flounder.
-"has he ever told you he loved you?" mrs. dale inquired, shrewdly.
-"not in so many words, but--"
-"but you know he does. well, so do i know he does. i knew it soon as you did--before, most likely. don't you fret, molly, he'll come back."
-"no, he won't. not now. i don't want him to."
-"then who's to fix up this mortgage business with tweezy, i'd like to know? i declare, i wish i'd taken that lawyer's offer. we'd have something then, anyhow. now we'll have to get out without a nickel. oh, molly, what did you quarrel with racey for?"
-merely because he believed that the well-known all was over between molly dale and himself, racey did not relinquish his plans for the future.
-he rode to marysville as he had intended. that is, he rode to the vicinity of marysville. for, arriving at a hill five miles outside of town in the broad of an afternoon, he stopped in a hollow under the cedars and waited for night. daylight was decidedly not appropriate for the act he contemplated.
-"i wonder," he muttered, as he lay with his back braced against a tree and stared at the bulge in his slicker, "i wonder if i ought to use all them sticks at once. i never heard that miner man say how much of an argument a safe needed. i s'pose i better use 'em all."
-luke tweezy was a bachelor. his office was in his four-room house, and he did not employ a housekeeper. further than this, racey dawson knew nothing of the lawyer's establishment. but he believed that his knowledge was sufficient to serve his purpose.
-about midnight racey dawson removed himself, his horse, and his dynamite from the hollow on the hill to where a lone pine grew almost directly in the rear of and two hundred yards from the residence of luke tweezy. he had selected the tall and lonely pine as the best place to leave his horse because, should he be forced to run for it, he would have against the stars a plain landmark to run for. he thoroughly expected to be forced to run. six sticks of dynamite letting go together would arouse a cemetery. and marysville was a lively village.
-racey, taking no chances on the lainey horse stampeding at the explosion, rope-tied the animal to the trunk of the pine. after which he removed his spurs, carefully unwrapped the dynamite and stuck three sticks in each hip-pocket. the caps, in their little box, he put in the breast-pocket of his shirt. with the coil of fuse in one hand and the bran sack given him by lainey in the other he walked toward the house of tweezy.
-the house was of course dark. nor were there any lights in the irregular line of houses stretching up and down this side of the street. the neighbours had apparently all gone to bed. through an opening between two houses racey saw a brightly lighted window in a house an eighth of a mile away. that would be judge allison's house. the judge, then, was awake. two hundred and twenty yards was not a long distance even for a portly man like judge allison to cover at speed. and racey had known judge allison to move briskly on occasion.
-racey, moving steadily ahead, slid past someone's barn and opened up a view of the dance hall. it had previously been concealed from his sight by the high posts and rails of three corrals. the dance hall was going full blast. at least all the windows were bright with light. he was too far away to hear the fiddles.
-the dance hall! he might have known it would still be operating at midnight. but it was almost twice as far from the tweezy house to the dance hall as it was from the judge's house to tweezy's. that was something. indeed it was a great deal. but he would have to work fast. all the neighbours would come bouncing out at the crash of the explosion.
-racey paused to flatten an ear at the kitchen door. he heard nothing, and tiptoed along the wall to the window of the room next the kitchen. the ground plan of the house was almost an exact square. there was a room in each angle. the office, which racey knew contained the safe, was diagonally across from the kitchen.
-racey, halting at the window of the room next the kitchen, was somewhat surprised to find it open. he stuck in his head and saw a faint glow beyond the half-closed door of the office. the glow seemed to be brighter near the floor. racey listened intently. he heard a faint grumble and now and then a squeak.
-he crouched beneath the window and removed his boots. then he crawled over the sill and hunkered down on the uncarpeted floor. the floor boards did not creak. still crouching, his arms extended in front of him, he made his way silently across the room, skirting safely in the process two chairs and a table, and stood upright behind the crack of the door.
-looking through the crack he perceived that the glow he had seen from the window emanated from a tin can pierced with several holes. the dim, uncertain light revealed the figure of a tall and hatless man kneeling beside the safe. the man's back was toward the lighted tin can. one of the tall man's hands was slowly turning the knob of the combination. the side of the man's head was pressed against the front of the safe near the combination. racey could not see the man's face.
-across the window of the room two blankets had been hung. the door into the other front room was open. then suddenly the doorway was no longer a black void. a man stood there--a fat man with a stomach that hung out over the waistband of his trousers. there was something very familiar about the figure of that fat man.
-the fat man leaned against the doorjamb and pushed back his wide black hat. the light in the tin can illumined his countenance dimly. but racey's eyes were becoming accustomed to the half darkness. he was able to recognize jacob pooley--fat jakey pooley, the register of the district, whose home was in piegan city.
-"you ain't as fast as you used to be," observed fat jakey in a soft whisper.
-"shut up!" hissed the kneeling man, and turned his face for an instant toward fat jakey, so that the light shone upon his features.
-it was jack harpe.
-"what's biting your ear?" fat jakey asked, good-naturedly.
-"i've told you more'n once to let what's past alone," grumbled jack harpe.
-"hell, there's nobody around."
-"nemmine whether they is or not. you get out of the habit."
-"rats," sneered fat jakey.
-"what was that?" jack harpe's figure tautened in a flash.
-"rats," repeated fat jakey.
-"i thought i heard something," persisted jack harpe.
-"you heard rats," chuckled fat jakey. "you're nervous, that's what's the matter, or else you ain't able to open the safe."
-"i can open the safe all right," growled jack harpe, bending again to his work.
-"i wonder what he did hear," racey said to himself. "i thought i heard something, too."
-whatever it was he did not hear it again.
-"there she is," said jack harpe, suddenly, and threw open the safe door.
-it was at this precise juncture that a voice from the darkness behind fat jakey said, "hands up!"
-oh, it was then that events began to move with celerity. fat jakey pooley ducked and leaped. jack harpe kicked the tin can, the candle fell out and rolled guttering in a quarter circle only to be extinguished by one of fat jakey's flying feet.
-there was a slithering sound as the blankets across the window were ripped down, followed by a scraping and a heaving and a grunting as two large people endeavoured to make their egress through the same window at the same time.
-"so that window was open alla time," thought racey as he prudently waited for the owner of the voice in the other room to discover himself. but this the voice's owner did not immediately do. racey could not understand why he did not shoot while the two men were struggling through the window. lord knows he had plenty of time and opportunity.
-even after jack harpe and fat jakey had reached the outer air and presumably gone elsewhere swiftly, there was no sound from the other room. racey, his gun ready, waited.
-at first his impulse had been incontinently to flee the premises as jack and jake had done. but a saving second thought held him where he was. it was more than possible that the mysterious fourth man had designs on the contents of the safe. in which event--
-racey stood pat.
-he heard no sound for at least a minute after jack and jake had left, then he heard a soft swish, and a few stars which had been visible through the upper half of the window were blotted out. the blankets were being readjusted.
-a match was struck and a figure stooped for the candle that had been dashed out by the foot of fat jakey pooley. a table shielded the figure from racey. then the figure straightened and set the flaring match to the candle end. and the face that bent above the light was the face of one he knew.
-"molly!" he whispered, and slipped from his ambush.
-at which molly dropped candle and match and squeaked in affright. but her scare did not prevent her from drawing a sixshooter. he heard the click of the hammer, and whispered desperately, "molly! molly! it's me! racey!"
-he struck a match and retrieved the candle and lit it quickly. by its light he saw her staring at him uncertainly. her eyes were bright with conflicting emotions. her sixshooter still pointed in his general direction.
-"put yore gun away," he advised her. "we've got no time to lose. hold the candle for me! put it in the can first!"
-automatically she obeyed the several commands.
-he knelt before the open safe and, beginning at the top shelf, he stuffed into his bran sack every piece of paper the safe contained. besides papers there were two sixshooters and a bowie. these he did not take.
-when the safe was clean of papers racey tied the mouth of the bran sack, took molly by the hand, and blew out the candle.
-"c'mon," he said, shortly. "we'll be leavin' here now."
-towing her behind him he led her to the window of the rear room. holding his hat by the brim he shoved it out through the window. no blow or shot followed the action. he clapped the hat on his head, and looked out cautiously. he satisfied himself that the coast was clear and flung a leg over the sill.
-when he had helped out molly he gave her the sack to hold and pulled on his boots.
-"where's yore hoss?" he whispered.
-"i tied him at the corner of the nearest corral," was the answer.
-"c'mon," said he and took her again by the hand.
-they had not gone ten steps when she stumbled and fell against him.
-"nothing," was the almost breathless reply. "i'm--i'm all right. i just stepped on a sharp stone."
-"yore shoes!" he murmured, contritely. "i never thought. why didn't you say something? here."
-so saying he scooped her up in his arms, settled her in place with due regard for the box of caps in his breast-pocket, and plowed on through the night. her arms went round his neck and her head went down on his shoulder. she sighed a gentle little sigh. for a sigh like that racey would cheerfully have shot a sheriff's posse to pieces.
-"i left my shoes in my saddle pocket," she said, apologetically. "i--i thought it would be safer."
-there was a sudden yell somewhere on main street. it sounded as if it came from uncomfortably close to the tweezy house. then a sixshooter cracked once, twice, and again. at the third shot racey was running as tight as he could set foot to the ground.
-encumbered as he was with a double armful of girl and a fairly heavy sackful of papers he yet made good time to the corner of the nearest corral. the increasing riot in main street undoubtedly was a most potent spur.
-"which way's the hoss?" he gasped when the dark rail of the corral fretted the sky before them.
-"you're heading straight," she replied, calmly. "thirty feet more and you'll run into him. better set me down."
-"ah-ugh!" guggled molly, squirming on the ground, for she had struck the pit of her stomach on a round rock the size of a football and the wind was knocked out of her.
-racey scrambled to his feet, and knowing that if molly was able to wriggle and groan she could not be badly hurt, picked up the sack and scouted up molly's horse. he found it without difficulty, and tied the sack with the saddle strings in front of the horn. he loosed the horse and led it to where molly still lay on the ground. the poor girl was sitting up, clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth and fighting for her breath with gasps and crows.
-"hang onto the horn," he ordered, "and for gosh sake don't make so much noise!"
-at the pine racey slipped to the ground and ran to untie his horse.
-"can you hang on all right at a trot if i lead yore hoss?" he queried, sharply, his fingers busy with the knot of the rope.
-"i cue-can and gug-guide him, too," she stuttered, picking up her reins and making a successful effort to sit up straight. "lul-look! at tut-tweezy's huh-house!"
-he looked. there were certainly three lanterns bobbing about in the open behind the house of luke tweezy. he knew too well what those lights meant. the marysville citizens were hunting for a hot trail.
-he swung up with a rush.
-"stick right alongside me," he told her. "we'll trot at first till we get behind the li'l hill out yonder. after that we can hit the landscape lively."
-she spoke no word till they had rounded the little hill and were galloping south. then she said in her normal voice, "this isn't the way home."
-"i know it ain't. we've got to lose whoever follows us before we skip for home."
-"of course," she told him, humbly. "i might have known. you always think of the right thing, racey."
-all of which was balm to a hitherto tortured soul.
-"that's all right," he said, modestly.
-"and how strong you are--carrying me and that heavy sack all that distance." both admiration and appreciation were in her tone. any man would have been made happy thereby. racey was overjoyed. and the daughter of eve at his side knew that he was overjoyed and was made glad herself. she did not realize that eve invariably employed the same method with our grandfather adam.
-he reached across and patted her arm.
-"yo're all right," he told her. "when we get out of this yo're going to marry me."
-her free hand turned under his and clasped his fingers. s6 they rode for a space hand-in-hand. and racey's heart was full. and so was hers. if they forgot for the moment what dread possibilities the future held who can blame them?
-"but what was yore idea in coming to marysville a-tall?"
-"to get that release father signed--i thought it might be in his safe."
-"anybody give you the idea it might be?"
-she shook her head. "nobody."
-"you've got more brains than i have, for a fact. but how were you figuring on getting into the safe?"
-"oh, i brought a bunch of keys along. what are you laughing at? i thought one might fit."
-"keys for a safe! say, don't you know you don't open safes with keys? they've got combinations, safes have."
-"i didn't know it. how could i? i never saw a safe in my life till i saw this one to-night. i thought they had locks like any other ordinary--oh, i think you're horrid to laugh!"
-"i'm not laughing. lean over, and i'll show you.... there, i ain't laughing, am i?"
-"not now, but you were.... not another one, racey. sit back where you belong, will you? you can hold my hand if you like. but i wasn't such a fool as you seem to think, racey. i brought an extra key along in case the others didn't fit."
-"surely--seven sticks of dynamite, caps, and fuse. chuck had a lot he was using for blowing stumps, so i borrowed some from his barn. he didn't know i took it."
-"i should hope not," racey declared, fervently. "you leave dynamite alone, do you hear? where is it now?"
-"oh, i left it on the floor in tweezy's house when i found i didn't need it any longer."
-"thank god!" breathed racey, whose hair had begun to rise at the bare idea of the explosives still being somewhere on her person. "what was yore motive in hold in' up jack harpe and jakey pooley?"
-"was that who they were? i couldn't see their faces. well, when i had broken the lock and opened the back window and crawled through, i went into the front room where i thought likely the safe would be, and i was just going to strike a match when i heard a snap at the front window as the lock broke. maybe i wasn't good and scared. i paddled into the other front room by mistake. got turned around in the dark, i suppose. and before i could open a window and get out i heard two men in the front room i'd just left. i didn't dare open a window then. they'd have heard me surely, so i just knelt down behind a bed. and after a while, when one man was busy at the safe, the fat man came into my room and sat down on a chair inside the door. lordy, i hardly dared breathe. it's a wonder my hair didn't turn white. once i thought they must have heard me--the time the fat man said 'rats'. honestly, i was so scared i was almost sick."
-"my gawd, girl, you might 'a' been shot!"
-"i had a sixshooter," she said, tranquilly. "but i wouldn't have shot first," she added, reflectively.
-willy-nilly then he took her in his arms and held her tightly.
-"but i don't see why," he said after an interval, "you had to go off on a wild-goose chase thisaway. didn't i tell you i was going to fix it up for you? couldn't you 'a' trusted me enough to lemme do it my own way?"
-"we had that--that quarrel in the kitchen, and i thought you didn't like me any more, and--and wouldn't have any more to do with me and that it was my job to do something to help out the family.... please! racey! i can't breathe!"
-another interval, and she resolutely pushed his arms down and held him away from her with both hands on his shoulders.
-"tell me," said she, her blue eyes plumbing the very depths of his soul, "tell me you don't love anybody else."
-he told her.
-later. "there was a time once when i thought you liked luke tweezy," he observed, lazily.
-"how horrible," she murmured with a slight shudder as she snuggled closer.
-and that was that.
-"i think, dearest," said molly, raising her head from his shoulder some twenty minutes later, "that it's light enough now to see what's in the sack."
-so, in the brightness of a splendid dawn, snugly hidden on the tree-covered flank of one of the frying pan mountains, they opened the bran sack and went through every paper it contained.
-there were deeds, mortgages, legal documents of every description. they found the dale mortgage, but they did not find the release alleged to have been signed by dale immediately prior to his death.
-"of course that mortgage is recorded," said racey, dolefully, staring at the pile of papers, "so destroyin' that won't help us any. the release he's carrying with him, and i don't see anything--"
-"here's one we missed," said molly dale in a hopeless tone, picking up a slip of paper from where it had fallen behind a saddle. the slip of paper was folded several times. she opened it and spread it out against her knee. "why, how queer," she muttered.
-"huh?" in an instant racey was looking over her shoulder.
-when both had thoroughly digested the meaning of the writing on that piece of paper they sat back and regarded each other with wide eyes.
-"this ought to fix things," breathed molly.
-"fix things!" cried racey. "cinch! we've got him like that."
-he snapped his fingers joyfully.
-molly reached for the bran sack. "you only shook it out," she said. "i'm going to turn it inside out. maybe we'll find something else."
-they did find something else. they found a document caught in the end seam. they read it with care and great interest.
-"well," said racey, when he came to the signatures, "no wonder jack harpe and jakey pooley wanted to get into the safe. no wonder. if we don't get the whole gang now we're no good."
-"and to think we never thought of such a thing."
-"i was took in. i never thought anything else. and it does lie just right for a cow ranch."
-"of course it does. you couldn't help being fooled. none of us had any idea--"
-"i'd oughta worked it out," he grumbled. "there ain't any excuse for my swallowing what jack harpe told me. lordy, i was easy."
-"what do you care now? everything's all right, and you've got me, haven't you?" and here she leaned across the bran sack to kiss him.
-she could not understand why his return kiss lacked warmth.
-"sun's been up two hours," he announced. "and the hosses have had a good rest. we'd better be goin'."
-"what are you climbing the tree for, then?" she demanded.
-"i want to look over our back trail," he told her, clambering into the branches of a tall cedar. "i know we covered a whole heap of ground last night, but you never can tell."
-apparently you never could tell. for, when he arrived near the top of the cedar and looked out across a sea of treetops to the flat at the base of the mountain, he saw that which made him catch his breath and slide earthward in a hurry.
-"what is it?" asked molly in alarm at his expression.
-"they picked up our trail somehow," he answered, whipping up a blanket and saddle and throwing both on her horse. "they're about three miles back on the flat just a-burnin' the ground."
-"saddle your own horse," she cried, running to his side. "i'll attend to mine."
-"you stuff all the papers back in the sack. that's yore job. hustle, now. i'll get you out of this. don't worry."
-"i'm not worrying--not a worry," she said, cheerfully, both hands busy with luke tweezy's papers. "i'd like to know how they picked up the trail after our riding up that creek for six miles."
-"i dunno," said he, his head under an upflung saddle-fender. "i shore thought we'd lost 'em."
-she stopped tying the sack and looked at him. "how silly we are!" she cried. "all we have to do is show these two letters to the posse an'--"
-her face fell. "i never thought of that," she admitted. "but there must be some honest men in the bunch."
-"it takes a whole lot to convince an honest man when he's part of a posse," racey declared, reaching for the bran sack. "they don't stop to reason, a posse don't, and this lot of marysville gents wouldn't give us time to explain these two letters, and before they got us back to town, the two letters would disappear, and then where would we be? we'd be in jail, and like to stay awhile."
-"let's get out of here," exclaimed molly, crawling her horse even quicker than racey did his.
-racey led the way along the mountain side for three or four miles. most of the time they rode at a gallop and all the time they took care to keep under cover of the trees. this necessitated frequent zigzags, for the trees grew sparsely in spots.
-"there's a slide ahead a ways," racey shouted to the girl. "she's nearly a quarter-mile wide, and over two miles long, so we'll have to take a chance and cross it."
-molly nodded her wind-whipped head and racey snatched a wistful glance at the face he loved. renunciation was in his eyes, for that second letter found caught in the bran sack's seam had changed things. he could not marry her. no, not now. and yet he loved her more than ever. she looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back--crookedly.
-"what's the matter?" she cried above the drum of the flying hoofs.
-"nothing," he shouted back.
-he hoped she believed him. and bitter almonds were not as bitter as that hope.
-then the wide expanse of the slide was before them. now some slides have trails across their unstable backs, and some have not. some are utterly unsafe to cross and others can be crossed with small risk. there was no trail across this particular slide, and it did not present a dangerous appearance. neither does quicksand--till you step on it.
-racey dismounted at the edge and started across, leading his horse. twenty yards in the rear molly dale followed in like manner. at every step the footing gave a little. once a rounded rock dislodged by the forefoot of racey's horse bounded away down the long slope.
-the slither of a started rock behind him made him turn his head with a jerk. molly's horse was down on its knees.
-"easy, boy, easy," soothed molly, coaxingly, keeping the bridle reins taut.
-the horse scrambled up and plunged forward, and almost overran molly. she seized it short by the rein-chains. the horse pawed nervously and tried to rear. more rocks skidded downward under the shove of the hind hoofs. to racey's imagination the whole slide seemed to tremble.
-molly's face when the horse finally quieted and she turned around was pale and drawn. which was not surprising.
-"it's all right, it's all right, it's all right," racey found himself repeating with stiff lips.
-"of course it is," nodded molly, bravely. "there's no danger!"
-"no," said racey. "better not hold him so short. don't wind that rein round yore wrist! s'pose he goes down you'd go, too. here, you lemme take him. i'll manage him all right."
-racey turned and went on. it was not more than a hundred yards to where the grass grew on firm ground. racey and his horse reached solid earth without incident. then--a scramble, a scraping, and a clattering followed in a breath by the indescribable sound of a mass of rocks in motion.
-racey had wasted no time in looking to see what had happened. he knew. at the first sound of disaster he had snapped his rope strap, freed his rope and taken two half hitches round the horn. then he leaped toward the slide, shaking out his rope as he went.
-twenty feet out and below him molly dale and her struggling horse were sliding downward. if the horse had remained quiet--but the horse was not remaining quiet and molly's wrist was tangled in the bridle reins.
-in the beginning the movement was slow, but as racey reached the edge of the slide an extra strong plunge of the horse drove both girl and animal downward two yards in a breath. molly turned a white face upward.
-"so long, racey," she called, bravely, and waved her free hand.
-"grab the rope above my hand!" he yelled, although by now she was not a yard from him.
-racey was closer to the end of his rope than he realized. at the instant that her free hand clutched at the rope it tightened with a jerk as the cow pony at the other end, feeling the strain and knowing his business, braced his legs and swayed backward. molly's fingers brushed the back of racey's hand and swept down his arm. well it was for him that he had taken two turns round his wrist, for her forearm went round his neck and almost the whole downward pull of girl and horse exerted itself against the strength of racey dawson's arm and shoulder muscles.
-molly's face and chin were pressed tightly against racey's neck. small blame to her if her eyes were closed. the arm held fast by the bridle was cruelly stretched and twisted. and where the rein was tight across the back of her wrist, for he could reach no lower, racey set the blade of his pocket-knife and sawed desperately. it was not a sharp knife and the leather was tough. the steel did not bite well. racey sawed all the harder. his left arm felt as if it were being wrenched out of its socket. the sweat was pouring down his face. his hat jumped from his head. he did not even wonder why. he must cut that bridle rein in two. he must--he must.
-snap! three parts cut, the leather parted, molly's left arm and racey's right fell limply. molly's horse went down the slide alone. neither of them saw it go. molly had fainted, and racey was too spent to do more than catch her round the waist and hold her to him in time to prevent her following the horse.
-smack! something small and hot sprinkled racey's cheek. he looked to the left. on a rock face close by was a splash of lead. smack! zung-g-g diminuendo, as a bullet struck the side of a rock and buzzed off at an angle.
-racey turned his head abruptly. at a place where trees grew thinly on the opposite side of the slide and at a considerably lower altitude than the spot where he and molly hung at the end of their rope shreds of gray smoke were dissolving into the atmosphere. the range was possibly seven hundred yards. the hidden marksman was a good shot to drive his bullets as close as he had at that distance.
-straight out from the place of gray smoke four men and four horses were making their way across the slide. they were halfway across. but they had stopped. the down rush of molly's horse had apparently given them pause. now two men started ahead, one stood irresolute and one started to retrace his steps. it is a true saying that he who hesitates is lost. straight over the irresolute man and his horse rolled the dust cloud whose centre was molly's horse. when the dust cloud passed on it was much larger, and both the man and his horse had disappeared.
-the man who had started to retreat continued to retreat, and more rapidly. the two who had held on did not cease to advance, but they proceeded very slowly.
-"if that feller with the winchester don't get us we're all right for a spell," racey muttered.
-he knew that on their side of the slide for a distance of several hundred yards up and down the side of the mountain and for several miles athwart it the underbrush was impenetrable for horses and wicked travelling for men. there had been a forest fire four years before, and everyone knows what happens after that.
-in but one place, where a ridge of rock reared through the soil, was it possible to cross the stretch of burned-over ground. naturally racey had picked this one spot. whether the posse had not known of this rock ridge, or whether they had simply miscalculated its position it is impossible to say.
-"those two will shore be out of luck when they get in among the stubs," he thought to himself, as he waited for his strength to come back.
-but youth recovers quickly and racey was young. it may be that the lead that was being sent at him and molly dale was a potent revivifier.
-certainly within three or four minutes after he had cut the bridle racey began to work his way up the rope to where his patient and well-trained horse stood braced and steady as the proverbial boulder.
-monotonously the man behind the winchester whipped bullet after bullet into the rocky face of the slide in the immediate vicinity of racey dawson and the senseless burden in the crook of his left arm. nevertheless, racey took the time to work to the right and recover the hat that a bullet had flicked from his head.
-then he resumed his slow journey upward.
-ages passed before he felt the good firm ground under his feet and laid the still unconscious molly on the grass behind a gray and barkless windfall that had once been a hundred-foot fir.
-then he removed his horse farther back among the stubs where it could not be seen, took his winchester from the scabbard under the left fender and went back to the edge of the slide to start a return argument with the individual who had for the last ten minutes been endeavouring to kill him.
-hue and cry
-"did you hit him?"
-"i don't think so," replied racey without turning his head. "keep down."
-"i am down."
-"how you feel?"
-"yes," said she in a small voice, "it was a close squeak. you--you saved my life, racey."
-"shucks," he said, much embarrassed, "that wasn't anythin'--i mean--you--you know what i mean."
-"surely, i know what you mean. all the same, you saved my life. tell me, was that man shooting at us all the time after i fainted until you got me under cover?"
-"not all the time, no."
-"but most of the time. oh, you can make small of it, but you were very brave. it isn't everybody would have stuck the way you did."
-smack! tchuck! a bullet struck a rock two feet below where racey lay on his stomach, his rifle-barrel poked out between two shrubs of smooth sumac--another bored the hole of a gray stub at his back.
-he fired quickly at the first puff of smoke, then sent two bullets a little to the left of the centre of the second puff.
-"not much chance of hittin' the first feller," he said to molly. "he's behind a log, but that second sport is behind a bush same as me.... huh? oh, i'm all right. i got the ground in front of me. he hasn't. alla same, we ain't stayin' here any longer. i think i saw half-a-dozen gents cuttin' across the end of the slide. give 'em time and they'll cut in behind us, which ain't part of my plans a-tall. let's go."
-he crawfished backward on his hands and knees. molly followed his example. when they were sufficiently far back to be able to stand upright with safety they scrambled to their feet and hurried to the horse.
-"i'll lead him for a while," said racey, giving molly a leg up, for the horse was a tall one. "he won't have to carry double just yet."
-so, with racey walking ahead, they resumed their retreat.
-the ridge of rock cutting across the burned-over area could not properly be called rimrock. it was a different formation. set at an angle it climbed steadily upward to the very top of the mountain. in places weatherworn to a slippery smoothness; in others jagged, fragment-strewn; where the rain had washed an earth-covering upon the rock the cheerful kinnikinick spread its mantle of shining green.
-the man and the girl and the horse made good time. racey's feet began to hurt before he had gone a mile, but he knew that something besides a pair of feet would be irreparably damaged if he did not keep going. if they caught him he would be lynched, that's what he would be. if he weren't shot first. and the girl--well, she would get at the least ten years at piegan city, if they were caught. but "if" is the longest and tallest word in the dictionary. it is indeed a mighty barrier before the lord.
-"did you ever stop to think they may come up through this brush?" said molly, on whom the silence and the sad gray stubs on either hand were beginning to tell.
-"no," he answered, "i didn't, because they can't. the farther down you go the worse it gets. they'd never get through. not with hosses. we're all right."
-"are we?" she stood up in her stirrups, and looked down through a vista between the stubs.
-"are we all right?" she persisted. "look down there."
-at this he turned his head and craned his neck.
-"i guess," he said, stepping out, "we'd better boil this kettle a li'l faster."
-she made no comment, but always she looked down the mountain side and watched, when the stubs gave her the opportunity, that ominous string of dots. she had never been hunted before.
-they crossed the top of the mountain, keeping to the ridge of rock, and started down the northern slope. here they passed out of the burned-over area of underbrush and stubs and scuffed through brushless groves of fir and spruce where no grass grew and not a ray of sunshine struck the ground and the wind soughed always mournfully.
-but here and there were comparatively open spaces, grassy, drenched with sunshine, and sparsely sprinkled with lovely mountain maples and solitary yellow pines. in the wider open spaces they could see over the tops of the trees below them and catch glimpses of the way they must go.
-a deep notch, almost a cañon, grown up in spruce divided the mountain they were descending from the next one to the north. this next one thrust a rocky shoulder easterly. the valley where the horsemen rode bent round this shoulder in a curve measured in miles. they could not see the riders now.
-"there's a trail just over the hill," said racey, nodding toward the mountain across the notch. "it ain't been regularly used since the daisy petered out in '73, but i guess the bridge is all right."
-"and suppose it ain't all right?"
-"we'll have to grow wings in a hurry," he said, soberly, thinking of the deep cleft spanned by the bridge. "does this trail lead to farewell?"
-"same thing--it'll take us to the farewell trail if we wanted to go there, but we don't. we ain't got time. we'll stick to this trail till we get out of the frying-pans and then we'll head northeast for the cross-in-a-box. that's the nearest place where i got friends. and i don't mind saying we'll be needing friends bad, me and you both."
-"suppose that posse reaches the trail and the bridge before we do?"
-"oh, i guess they won't. they have to go alla way round and we go straight mostly. don't you worry. we'll make the riffle yet."
-his voice was more confident than his brain. it was touch and go whether they would reach the trail and the bridge first. the posse in the valley--that was what would stack the cards against them. and if they should pass the bridge first, what then? it was at least thirty miles from the bridge to the cross-in-a-box ranch-house. and there was only one horse. indeed, the close squeak was still squeaking.
-"racey, you're limping!"
-"not me," he lied. "stubbed my toe, thassall."
-"nothing of the kind. it's those tight boots. here, you ride, and let me walk." so saying, she slipped to the ground.
-as was natural the horse stopped with a jerk. so did racey.
-"you get into that saddle," he directed, sternly. "we ain't got time for any foolishness."
-foolishness! and she was only trying to be thoughtful. foolishness! she turned and climbed back into the saddle, and sat up straight, her backbone as stiff as a ramrod, and looked over his head and far away. for the moment she was so hopping mad she forgot the danger they were in. they made their way down into the heavy growth of engelmann spruce that filled the notch, crossed the floor of the notch, and began again to climb.
-an hour later they crossed the top of the second mountain and saw far below them a long saddle back split in the middle by a narrow cleft. at that distance it looked very narrow. in reality, it was forty feet wide. racey stopped and swept with squinting eyes the place where he knew the bridge to be.
-"see," he said, suddenly, pointing for molly's benefit. "there's the daisy trail. i can see her plain--to the left of that arrowhead bunch of trees. and the bridge is behind the trees."
-"but i don't see any trail."
-"grown up in grass. that's why. it's behind the trees mostly, anyhow. but she's there, the trail is. you can bet on it."
-"i don't want to bet on it." shortly. she was still mad at him. he had saved her life, he had succeeded in saving the family ranch, he had put her under eternal obligations, but he had called her thought for him foolishness. it was too much.
-yet all the time she was ashamed of herself. she knew that she was small and mean and narrow and deserved a spanking if any girl did. she wanted to cuff racey, cuff him till his ears turned red and his head rang. for that is the way a woman feels when she loves a man and he has hurt her feelings. but she feels almost precisely the same way when she hates one who has. truth it is that love and hate are close akin.
-down, down they dropped two thousand feet, and when they came out upon the fairly level top of the saddle back racey mounted behind molly.
-"he'll have to carry double now," he explained. "she's two mile to the bridge, and my wind ain't good enough to run me two mile."
-it was not his wind that was weak, it was his feet--his tortured, blistered feet that were two flaming aches. later they would become numb. he wished they were numb now, and cursed silently the man who first invented cowboy boots. every jog of the trotting horse whose back he bestrode was a twitching torture.
-"we'll be at the bridge in another mile," he told her.
-silent and grass-grown lay the daisy trail when they came out upon it winding through a meagre plantation of cedars.
-"no one's come along yet," vouchsafed racey, turning into the trail after a swift glance at its trackless, undisturbed surface.
-"bridge is just beyond those trees," said racey in molly's ear.
-"the horse is nearly run out," was her comment.
-"he ain't dead yet."
-they rocked around the arrowhead grove of trees and saw the bridge before them--one stringer. there had been two stringers and adequate flooring when racey had seen it last. the snows of the previous winter must have been heavy in the frying-pan mountains.
-molly shivered at the sight of that lone stringer.
-"the horse is done, and so are we," she muttered.
-"nothing like that," he told her, cheerfully. "there's one stringer left. good enough for a squirrel, let alone two white folks."
-"i--i couldn't," shuddered molly.
-they had stopped at the bridge head, racey had dismounted, and she, was looking down into the dark mouth of the cleft with frightened eyes.
-"it must be five hundred feet to the bottom," she whispered, her chin wobbling.
-"not more than four hundred," he said, reassuringly. "and that log is a good strong four-foot log, and she's been shaved off with the broadaxe for layin' the flooring so we got a nice smooth path almost two feet wide."
-"i cue-can't!" breathed molly. "i cue-can't walk across on that lul-log! i'd fall off! i know i would!"
-"you ain't gonna walk across the log," he told her with a broad grin. "i'll carry you pickaback. c'mon, molly, slide off. that's right. now when i stoop put yore arms round my neck. i'll stick my arms under yore legs. see, like this. now yo're all right. don't worry. i won't drop you. close yore eyes and sit still, and you'll never know what's happening. close 'em now while i walk round with you a li'l bit so's to get the hang of carryin' you."
-she closed her eyes, and he began to walk about carrying her. at least she thought he was walking about. but when he stopped and she opened her eyes, she discovered that the horse was standing on the other side of the cleft. at first she did not understand.
-"how on earth did the horse get over?" she asked in wonder.
-"he didn't," racey said, quietly, setting her down, "but we did. i carried you across while you had yore eyes shut. i told you you'd never know what was happenin'."
-she sat down limply on the ground. racey started back across the stringer to get the horse. he hurried, too. that posse they had seen in the valley! there was no telling where it was. it might be four miles away, or four hundred yards.
-"c'mon, feller," said racey, picking up the reins of the tired horse. "and for gawd's sake pick up yore feet! if you don't that dynamite is gonna make one awful mess at the bottom of the cañon."
-he did not hurry the horse. he merely walked in front holding the bridle slackly. the horse followed him as good as gold--and picked up his feet at nearly every spike. once or twice a hind hoof grazed a spike-head with a rasping sound that sent racey's heart bouncing up into his throat. lord, so much depended on a safe passage!
-for the first time in his eventful life racey dawson realized that he possessed a full and working set of nerves.
-when they reached firm ground racey flung the reins to molly.
-"unpack the dynamite," he cried. "it's in the slicker."
-with his bowie he began furiously to dig under the end of the stringer where it lay embedded in the earth. within ten minutes he had a hole large enough and long enough to thrust in the whole of his arm. he made it a little longer and a little wider, and at the end he drove an offset. this last that there might be no risk of the charge blowing out through the hole.
-"there!" he exclaimed. "i guess that cap will stay put. you and the hoss get out of here, molly. go along the trail a couple of hundred yards or so. g'on. get a move on. i'll be with you in a minute. better leave my rifle."
-racey with careful caution stuffed the dynamite down the hole and into the offset. then he shovelled in the earth with his hands and tamped it down with a rock.
-was that the clack of a hoof on stone? faint and far away another hoof clacked. he reached up to his hatband for a match. there were no matches in his hatband. feverishly he searched his pockets. not a match--not a match anywhere!
-he whipped out his sixshooter, held the muzzle close to the end of the fuse and fired. he had to fire three times before the fuse began to sparkle and spit.
-clearly it came to his ears, the unmistakable thudding of galloping hoofs on turf. the posse was riding for the bridge full tilt. he picked up his rifle and dodged in among the trees along the trail. forty yards from the mined stringer he met molly riding back with a scared face.
-"what is it?" she cried to him. "i heard shots! oh, what is it?"
-"go back! go back!" he bawled. "i only cut that fuse for three minutes."
-molly wheeled the horse and fled. racey ran to where a windfall lay near the edge of the cleft and some forty yards from the stringer. behind the windfall he lay down, levered a cartridge into the chamber, and trained his rifle on the bridge head.
-the galloping horsemen were not a hundred paces from the stringer when the dynamite let go with a soul-satisfying roar. rocks, earth, chunks and splinters of wood flew up in advance of a rolling cloud of smoke that obscured the cleft from rim to rim.
-a crash at the bottom of the narrow cañon told racey what had happened to that part of the stringer the dynamite had not destroyed.
-racey lowered the hammer of his rifle to the safety notch just as the posse began to approach the spot where the bridge had been. it approached on foot by ones and twos and from tree to tree. racey could not see any one, but he could see the tree branches move here and there.
-the sun was near its rising the following day when racey and molly, their one horse staggering with fatigue, reached the cross-in-a-box. racey had walked all the distance he was humanly able to walk, but even so the horse had carried double the better part of twenty miles. it had earned a rest.
-so had racey's feet.
-"my gawd, what a relief!" racey muttered, and sat back and gingerly wiggled his toes.
-"damn shame you had to cut 'em up thataway," said jack richie, glancing at racey's slit boots. "they look like new boots."
-"it is and they are, but i couldn't get 'em off any other way, and i'll bet i won't be able to get another pair on inside a month. lordy, man, did you ever think natural-born feet would swell like that?"
-"you better soak them awhile," said jack richie. "c'mon out to the kitchen."
-"shore feels good," said racey, when his swelled feet were immersed in a dishpan half full of tepid water. "lookit, jack, let miss dale have her sleep out, and to-morrow sometime send a couple of boys with her over to moccasin spring."
-"whatsa matter with you and one of the boys doing it?"
-"because i have to go to piegan city."
-"yep--piegan city. i'm coming back, though, so you needn't worry about losing the hoss yo're gonna lend me."
-"that's good. but--"
-"and if any gents on hossback should drop in on you and ask questions just remember that what they dunno won't hurt 'em."
-jack richie nodded understandingly. "trust me," he said. "as i see it, miss dale and you come in from the north, and--"
-"only me--you ain't seen any miss dale--and i only stopped long enough to borrow a fresh hoss and then rode away south."
-"i know it all by heart," nodded jack richie.
-"in about a week or ten days, maybe less," said racey dawson, "you'll know more than that. and so will a good many other folks."
-"mr. pooley," said racey dawson, easing himself into the chair beside the register's desk, "where is mcfluke?"
-mr. pooley's features remained as wooden as they were fat. his small, wide-set eyes did not flicker. he placed the tips of his fingers together, leaned back in his chair, and stared at racey between the eyebrows.
-"mcfluke?" he repeated. "i don't know the name."
-"i mean the murderer jack harpe sent to you to be taken care of," explained racey.
-mr. pooley continued to stare. for a long moment he made no comment. then he said, "still, i don't know the name."
-"if you will lean back a li'l more," racey told him, "you can look out of the window and see two chairs in front of the kearney house. on the right we have bill riley, a wells fargo detective from omaha, on the left tom seemly from the pinkerton agency in san francisco. they know something but not everything. suppose i should spin 'em all my li'l tale of grief--what then, mr. pooley?"
-"still--i wouldn't know the name mcfluke," maintained mr. pooley.
-"i'm sorry, mr. pooley," said racey, rising to his feet. "i shore am."
-"don't strain yoreself," advised mr. pooley, making a brave rustle among the papers on his desk.
-"i won't," racey said, turning at the door to bestow a last! grin upon mr. pooley. "so long. glad i called."
-mr. pooley laughed outright. "g'by," he called after racey as the door closed.
-mr. pooley leaned far back in his chair. he saw racey dawson stop on the sidewalk in front of the two detectives. the three conversed a moment, then racey entered the kearney house. the two detectives remained where they were.
-mr. pooley arose and left the room.
-"you gotta get out of here!" it was mr. pooley speaking with great asperity.
-"why for?" countered our old friend mcfluke, one-time proprietor of a saloon on the bank of the lazy.
-"because they're after you, that's why."
-"racey dawson for one."
-mcfluke sat upright in the bunk. "him! that ----!"
-"yes, him," sneered pooley. "scares you, don't it? and he's got two detectives with him, so get a move on. i don't want you anywhere on my property if they do come sniffin' round."
-"i'm right comfortable here," declared mcfluke, and lay down upon the bunk.
-"you'd better go," said mr. pooley, softly.
-"not unless i get some money first."
-"so that's the game, is it? think i'll pay you to drift, huh? how much?"
-"oh, about ten thousand."
-"is that all?"
-"well, say fifteen--and not a check, neither."
-"no," said mr. pooley, "it won't be a check. it won't be anything, you--worm."
-so saying mr. pooley laid violent hands on mcfluke, yanked him out of the bunk, and flung him sprawling on the floor.
-"not one cent do you get from me," declared mr. pooley. "i never paid blackmail yet and i ain't beginning now. i always told harpe you'd upset the applecart with yo're bullheaded ways. you stinking murderer, it wasn't necessary to kill old man dale! suppose he did hit you, what of it? you could have knocked him out with a bungstarter. but no, you had to kill him, and get everybody suspicious, didn't you? why--you, you make me feel like cutting your throat, to have you upset my plans this way!"
-mcfluke raised himself on an arm. "i didn't upset yore plans none," he denied, sulkily. "everythin's comin' out all right. hell, he wouldn't play that day, anyway! said he'd never touch a card or look at a wheel again as long as he lived, and when i laughed at him he hit me. whatell else could i do? i hadda shoot him. i--"
-"shut up, you and your 'i's' and 'he wouldn't' and 'i hadda!' if you've told me that tale once since you came here you've told me forty times. get up and get out! yore horse is tied at the corral gate. i roped him on my way in. c'mon! get up! or will i have to crawl yore hump again?"
-"i didn't do it, gents!" cried mcfluke, thrusting out his hands before his face as though to ward off a blow. "i didn't kill him! i didn't! it's all a lie! i didn't kill him!"
-fat jacob pooley whirled to face three guns. his right hand fell away reluctantly from the butt of his sixshooter. slowly his arms went above his head. racey dawson and his two companions entered the room. the eldest of these companions was one of the piegan city town marshals. he was a friend of jacob pooley's. but there was no friendliness in his face as he approached the register, removed his gun, and searched his person for other weapons. jacob pooley said nothing. his face was a dark red. the marshal produced a pair of handcuffs. the register recoiled.
-"not those!" he protested. "don't put handcuffs on me!"
-"put yore hands down," ordered the marshal.
-"look here, i'll go quietly. i'll--"
-"put yore hands down!" repeated the inexorable marshal.
-jacob pooley put his hands down.
-racey and the other man were handcuffing mcfluke, who was keeping up an incessant wail of, "i didn't do it! i didn't, gents, i didn't!"
-"oh, shut up!" ordered racey, jerking the prisoner to his feet. "you talk too much."
-"where's yore wells fargo and pinkerton detectives?" demanded mr. pooley.
-"this gent is the wells fargo detective," replied racey, indicating the man who had helped him handcuff mcfluke. "there ain't any pinkerton within five hundred miles so far as i know.... huh? them? oh, they were just drummers from chicago i happened to speak to because i figured you'd be expectin' me to after i'd told you who they were. the real wells fargo, mr. johnson here, was a-watchin' yore corral alla time, so when you got a friend of yores to pull them two drummers into a poker game and then saddled yore hoss and went bustin' off in the direction of yore claim we got the marshal and trailed you."
-"you can't prove anything!" bluffed mr. pooley.
-"we were here beside the door listenin' from the time mcfluke said he was too comfortable to move out of here." thus the marshal wearily.
-mr. pooley considered a moment. "who snitched where mac was?" he asked, finally.
-"nobody," replied racey, promptly.
-"somebody must have. who was it?"
-"nobody, i tell you. mcfluke had to go somewhere, didn't he? he couldn't hang around farewell. too dangerous. but the chances were he wouldn't leave the country complete till he got his share. and as nothing had come off it wasn't any likely he'd got his share. so he'd want to keep in touch with his friends till the deal was put through. it was only natural he'd drift to you. and when i come here to piegan city and heard you had hired a man to live on yore claim and then got a look at him without him knowing it the rest was easy."
-"but what," inquired mr. pooley, perplexedly, "has wells fargo to do with this business?"
-"anybody that knows bill smith alias jack harpe as well as you do," spoke up mr. johnson, grimly, "is bound to be of interest to wells fargo."
-the last trick
-"i'd take it kindly if you gents would stick yore guns on the mantel-piece," said judge dolan.
-jack harpe and luke tweezy looked at each other.
-"i ain't wearing a gun," said luke tweezy, crossing one skinny knee over the other.
-"but mr. harpe is," pointed out judge dolan.
-jack harpe jackknifed his long body out of his chair, which was placed directly in front of an open doorway giving into an inner room, crossed the floor, and placed his sixshooter on the mantel-piece.
-"what is this," he demanded, returning to his place "a trial?"
-"not a-tall," the judge made haste to assure him. "just a li'l friendly talk, thassall. i'm a-lookin' for information, and i've an idea you and luke can give it to me."
-"i'd like a li'l information my own self," grumbled luke tweezy. "when are you gonna make the dales vacate?"
-"all in good time," the judge replied with a wintry smile. "i'll be getting to that in short order. here comes kansas and jake rule now."
-"what you want with the sheriff?" luke queried, uneasily.
-"he's gonna help us in our li'l talk," explained the judge, smoothly.
-"i think i'll get my gun," observed jack harpe.
-he made as if to rise but sank back immediately for racey dawson had suddenly appeared in the open doorway behind him and run the chill muzzle of a sixshooter into the back of his neck.
-"never sit with yore back to a doorway," advised racey dawson. "if you'll clamp yore hands behind yore head, jack, we'll all be the happier. luke, fish out the knife you wear under yore left armpit, lay it on the floor and kick it into the corner."
-luke tweezy's knife tinkled against the wall at the moment that the sheriff, his deputy, and two other men entered from the street. the third man was mr. johnson, the wells fargo detective. the fourth man wore his left arm in a sling and hobbled on a cane. the fourth man was swing tunstall.
-"what kind of hell's trick is this?" demanded jack harpe, glaring at the wells fargo detective.
-"it's the last trick, bill," said mr. johnson.
-at the mention of which name jack harpe appeared to shrink inwardly. he looked suddenly very old.
-"take chairs, gents," invited judge dolan, looking about him in the manner of a minstrel show's interlocutor. "if everybody's comfortable, we'll proceed to business."
-"i thought you said this wasn't a trial," objected luke tweezy.
-"and so it ain't a trial," the judge rapped out smartly. "the trial will come later."
-luke tweezy subsided. his furtive eyes became more furtive than ever.
-"go ahead, racey," said judge dolan.
-racey, still holding his sixshooter, leaned hipshot against the doorjamb.
-"it was this way," he began, and told what had transpired that day in the hotel corral when he had been bandaging his horse's leg and had overheard the conversation between lanpher and jack harpe and later, punch-the-breeze thompson.
-"they's nothing in that," declared jack harpe with contempt, twisting his neck to glower up at racey. "suppose i did wanna get hold of the dale ranch. what of it?"
-"shore," put in luke tweezy. "what of it? perfectly legitimate business proposition. legal, and all that."
-"that's a damn lie!" cried tweezy.
-"i suppose you'll deny," said racey, "that the day i saw you ride in here to farewell--i mean the day jack harpe spoke to you in front of the happy heart, and you didn't answer him--that day you come in from marysville on purpose to tell jack an' lanpher about the mortgage having to be renewed and that now was their chance. i suppose you'll deny all that, huh?"
-"yo're--yo're lyin'," sputtered luke tweezy.
-"am i? we'll see. when playin' cards with old dale didn't work they caught the old man at mcfluke's one day and after he'd got in a fight with mcfluke and mcfluke downed him, they saw their chance to produce a forged release from dale."
-"who did the forging?" broke in the judge.
-"i dunno for shore. this here was found in tweezy's safe." he held out a letter to the judge.
-judge dolan took the letter and read it carefully. then he looked across at luke tweezy.
-"this here," said he, tapping the letter with stiffened forefinger, "is a signed letter from dale to you. it seems to be a reply in the negative to a letter of yores askin' him to sell his ranch."
-the judge paused and glanced round the room. then his cold eyes returned to the face of luke tweezy who was beginning to look extremely wretched.
-"underneath the signature of dale," continued the judge, "somebody has copied that signature some fifty or sixty times. i wonder why."
-"i dunno anything about it," luke tweezy denied, feebly.
-"we'll come back to that," the judge observed, softly. "g'on, racey."
-"i figure," said racey, "that they'd hatched that forgery some while before dale was killed. the killing made it easier to put it on record."
-"looks that way," nodded the judge.
-"lookit here," boomed jack harpe, "you ain't got any right to judge us thisaway. we ain't on trial."
-"shore you ain't," asserted the judge. "i always said you wasn't. this here is just a talk, a friendly talk. no trial about it."
-"here's another letter, judge," said racey dawson.
-the judge read the other letter, and again fixed luke tweezy with his eye.
-"this ain't a letter exactly," said judge dolan. "it's a quadruplicate copy of an agreement between lanpher of the 88 ranch, jacob pooley of piegan city, and luke tweezy of marysville, parties of the first part, and jack harpe, party of the second part, to buy or otherwise obtain possession of the ranch of william dale, in the northeast corner of which property is located an abandoned mine tunnel in which jack harpe, the party of the second part, has discovered a gold-bearing lode."
-"a mine!" muttered swing tunstall. "a gold mine! and i thought they wanted it for a ranch."
-"so did i," racey nodded.
-"i know that mine," said jake rule. "silvertip ransom and long oscar drove the tunnel, done the necessary labour, got their patent, and sold out when they couldn't get day wages to old dale for one pony and a jack. but dale never worked it. a payin' lode! hell! who'd 'a' thought it?"
-"old salt an' tom loudon got a couple o' claims on the other side of the ridge from dale's mine," put in kansas casey. "they bought 'em off of slippery wilson and his wife. them claims oughta be right valuable now."
-"they are," nodded judge dolan. "the agreement goes on to say that jack harpe found gold-bearing lodes in both of slippery's old tunnels, that these claims will be properly relocated and registered--i guess that's where jakey pooley come in--and all three mines will be worked by a company made up of these four men, each man to receive one quarter of the profits. this agreement is signed by jack harpe, simon lanpher, and jacob pooley."
-"and after pooley was arrested," contributed racey dawson, "the piegan city marshal went through his safe and found the original of this agreement signed by tweezy, lanpher, and harpe."
-luke tweezy held up his hand. "one moment," said he. "where was the agreement signed by harpe, pooley, and lanpher found?"
-"in yore safe," replied racey dawson.
-"did you find it there?"
-"what were you doing at my safe?"
-"now don't get excited, luke. i happened to be in the neighbourhood of yore house in marysville about a month ago when i noticed one of yore back windows open. i snooped in and there was jack harpe working on yore combination with jakey pooley watchin' him. jack harpe was the boy who opened the safe.... huh? shore, i know him and jakey pooley sicked posses on my trail. why not? they hadda cover their own tracks, didn't they? but that ain't the point. what i can't help wondering is why harpe and pooley was fussin' with the safe in the first place. what do you guess, luke?"
-evidently tweezy knew the answer. with a yelp of "tried to cross me, you--!" he flung himself bodily upon jack harpe.
-in a moment the two were rolling on the floor. it required four men and seven minutes to pry them apart.
-the end of the trail
-molly dale looked at racey with adoring eyes. "how on earth did you guess that the bill smith who robbed the wells fargo safe at keeleyville and killed the agent was jack harpe?"
-"oh, that was nothing. you see, i'd heard somebody say--i disremember exactly who now--that jack harpe's real name was bill smith, that he'd shaved off his beard and part of his eyebrows to make himself look different, and that he'd done something against the law to some company in some town. i didn't know what company nor what town, but i had somethin' to start with when mcfluke was let loose. i figured out by this, that, and the other that jack harpe had let mcfluke loose. aw right, that showed jack harpe was a expert lock picker. he showed us at marysville that he was a expert on safe combinations. now there can't be many men like that. so i took what i knew about him to the detective chiefs of three railroads. he'd done somethin' against a company, do you see, and of course i went to three different railroad companies before i woke up and went to the wells fargo an' found out that such a man as jack harpe named bill smith was wanted for the keeleyville job. so you see there wasn't much to it. it was all there waitin' for somebody to find it."
-"but it lacked the somebody till you came along," she told him with shining eyes.
-"no shucks about it. that we have our ranch to-day with a sure-enough producing gold mine in one corner of it is all due to you."
-"shucks, suppose now those handwritin' experts judge dolan got from chicago hadn't been able to prove at the time that the forgery and the fifty or sixty copies of yore dad's name were written by the same hand, ink, and pen? suppose now they hadn't? what then? where'd you be, i'd like to know? nawsir, you give them the credit. they deserve it. well, i'm shore glad yo're all gonna be rich, molly. it's fine. that's what it is--fine--great. well, i've got to be driftin' along. i'm going to meet swing in town. we're riding south arizona way to-morrow."
-"yeah, we're going to give the mining game a whirl."
-"why--why not give it a whirl up here in this country?"
-"because there ain't another mine like yores in the territory. no, we'll go south. swing wants to go--been wanting to go for some time."
-"bub-but i thought you were going to stay up here," persisted molly, her cheeks a little white.
-"not--not now," racey said, hastily. "so long, take care of yoreself."
-he reached for her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then picked up his hat and walked out of the house without another word or a backward look.
-"what makes me sick is not a cent out of old salt," said racey, wrathfully, as he and swing tunstall walked their horses south along the marysville trail.
-"what else could you expect?" said the philosopher swing. "we specified in the agreement that it was cows them jiggers was gonna run on the range. we didn't say nothin' about a mine."
-"'we?'" repeated racey. "'we?' you didn't have a thing to do with that agreement. i made it. it was my fool fault we worked all those months for nothing."
-"what's the dif?" swing said, comfortably. "we're partners. deal yoreself a new hand and forget it. tough luck we couldn't 'a' made a clean sweep of that bunch, huh?"
-"oh, i dunno. suppose peaches, nebraska, and thompson did get away. we did pretty good, considerin'. you can't expect everything."
-"alla same they'd oughta been a reward--for jack harpe, anyway. wells fargo is shore getting mighty close-fisted."
-"jack did better than i thought he would. he never opened his yap about marie being in that keeleyville gang."
-"maybe he didn't know for shore or else knowed better. bull was in that gang, too, and bull got his throat cut. if jack had done any blattin' about marie and keeleyville he might 'a' had to stand trial for murder right here in this county instead of going down to new mexico to be tried for a murder committed ten years ago with all that means--evidence gone rusty with age and witnesses dead or in jail themselves most like. oh, he'll be convicted, but it won't be first degree, you can stick a pin in that."
-"i wonder if he did kill bull."
-"i wonder, too. didja know who bull really was, swing?... marie's brother. yep, she told me about it yesterday."
-"her own brother, huh? that's a odd number. alla same i'll bet she don't miss him much."
-"nor nebraska, neither. he'll never come back to bother her again, that's a cinch. who's that ahead?"
-"that" was molly waiting for them at a turn in the trail. when they came up to her she nodded to both men, but her smile was all for racey dawson. he felt his pulse begin to beat a trifle faster. how handsome she was with her dark hair and blue eyes. and at the moment those blue eyes that were looking into his were deep enough to drown a man.
-"can i see you a minute, racey?" said she.
-swing immediately turned his horse on a dime and loped along the back trail. left alone with racey she moved her horse closer to his. their ankles touched. his hands were clasped on the saddle-horn. she laid her cool hand on top of them.
-"racey," she said, her wonderful eyes holding him, "why are you going away?"
-this was almost too much for racey. he could hardly think straight. "i told you," he said, hoarsely. "we're goin' to arizona--minin'."
-she flung this statement aside with a jerk of her head. "you used to like me, racey," she told him.
-he nodded miserably.
-"don't you like me any more?" she persisted.
-he did not nod. nor did he speak. he stared down at the back of the hand lying on top of his.
-"look at me, boy," she directed.
-he looked. the fingers of the hand on top of his slid in between his fingers.
-"look me in the eye," said she, "and tell me you don't love me."
-"i cuc-can't," he muttered in a panic.
-"then why are you going away?" her voice was gentle--gentle and wistful.
-"because yo're rich now, that's why," he replied, thickly, the words wrung out in a rush. "you've lots o' money, and i ain't got a thing but my hoss and what i stand up in. how can i love you, molly?"
-"lean over here, and i'll show you how," said molly dale.
-the lost naval papers
-i a story and a visit
-ii at close quarters
-iii an inquisition
-vii the marine sentry
-viii trehayne's letter
-ix the woman and the man
-x a progressive friendship
-xi at brighton
-see is to believe
-xii dawson prescribes
-xiii the seen and the unseen
-xiv a coffin and an owl
-the captain of marines
-xv dawson reappears
-xvi dawson strikes
-xvii dawson telephones for a surgeon
-a story and a visit
-at the beginning of the month of september, 1916, there appeared in the cornhill magazine a story entitled "the lost naval papers." i had told this story at second hand, for the incidents had not occurred within my personal experience. one of the principals--to whom i had allotted the temporary name of richard cary--was an intimate friend, but i had never met the scotland yard officer whom i called william dawson, and was not at all anxious to make his official acquaintance. to me he then seemed an inhuman, icy-blooded "sleuth," a being of great national importance, but repulsive and dangerous as an associate. yet by a turn of fortune's wheel i came not only to know william dawson, but to work with him, and almost to like him. his penetrative efficiency compelled one's admiration, and his unconcealed vanity showed that he did not stand wholly outside the human family. yet i never felt safe with dawson. in his presence, and when i knew that somewhere round the corner he was carrying on his mysterious investigations, i was perpetually apprehensive of his hand upon my shoulder and his bracelets upon my wrists. i was unconscious of crime, but the defence of the realm regulations--which are to dawson a new fount of wisdom and power--create so many fresh offences every week that it is difficult for the most timidly loyal of citizens to keep his innocency up to date. i have doubtless trespassed many times, for i have dawson's assurance that my present freedom is due solely to his reprehensible softness towards me. whenever i have showed independence of spirit--of which, god knows, i have little in these days--dawson would pull out his terrible red volumes of ever-expanding regulations and make notes of my committed crimes. the act itself could be printed on a sheet of notepaper, but it has given birth to a whole library of regulations. thus he bent me to his will as he had my poor friend richard cary.
-the mills of scotland yard grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small. there is nothing showy about them. they work by system, not by inspiration. though dawson was not specially intelligent--in some respects almost stupid--he was dreadfully, terrifyingly efficient, because he was part of the slowly grinding scotland yard machine.
-as this book properly begins with my published story of "the lost naval papers," i will reprint it here exactly as it was written for the readers of the cornhill magazine in september, 1916.
-i. baiting the trap
-it was in the latter part of may 1916. cary was hard at work one morning in his rooms in the northern city where he had established his headquarters. his study table was littered with papers--notes, diagrams, and newspaper cuttings--and he was laboriously reducing the apparent chaos into an orderly series of chapters upon the navy's work which he proposed to publish after the war was over. it was not designed to be an exciting book--cary has no dramatic instinct--but it would be full of fine sound stuff, close accurate detail, and clear analysis. day by day for more than twenty months he had been collecting details of every phase of the navy's operations, here a little and there a little. he had recently returned from a confidential tour of the shipyards and naval bases, and had exercised his trained eye upon checking and amplifying what he had previously learned. while his recollection of this tour was fresh he was actively writing up his notes and revising the rough early draft of his book. more than once it had occurred to him that his accumulations of notes were dangerous explosives to store in a private house. they were becoming so full and so accurate that the enemy would have paid any sum or have committed any crime to secure possession of them. cary is not nervous or imaginative--have i not said that he springs from a naval stock?--but even he now and then felt anxious. he would, i believe, have slept peacefully though knowing that a delicately primed bomb lay beneath his bed, for personal risks troubled him little, but the thought that hurt to his country might come from his well-meant labours sometimes rapped against his nerves. a few days before his patriotic conscience had been stabbed by no less a personage than admiral jellicoe, who, speaking to a group of naval students which included cary, had said: "we have concealed nothing from you, for we trust absolutely to your discretion. remember what you have seen, but do not make any notes." yet here at this moment was cary disregarding the orders of a commander-in-chief whom he worshipped. he tried to square his conscience by reflecting that no more than three people knew of the existence of his notes or of the book which he was writing from them, and that each one of those three was as trustworthy as himself. so he went on collating, comparing, writing, and the heap upon his table grew bigger under his hands.
-the clock had just struck twelve upon that morning when a servant entered and said, "a gentleman to see you, sir, upon important business. his name is mr. dawson."
-cary jumped up and went to his dining-room, where the visitor was waiting. the name had meant nothing to him, but the instant his eyes fell upon mr. dawson he remembered that he was the chief scotland yard officer who had come north to teach the local police how to keep track of the german agents who infested the shipbuilding centres. cary had met dawson more than once, and had assisted him with his intimate local knowledge. he greeted his visitor with smiling courtesy, but dawson did not smile. his first words, indeed, came like shots from an automatic pistol.
-"mr. cary," said he, "i want to see your naval notes."
-cary was staggered, for the three people whom i have mentioned did not include mr. dawson. "certainly," said he, "i will show them to you if you ask officially. but how in the world did you hear anything about them?"
-"i am afraid that a good many people know about them, most undesirable people too. if you will show them to me--i am asking officially--i will tell you what i know."
-cary led the way to his study. dawson glanced round the room, at the papers heaped upon the table, at the tall windows bare of curtains--cary, who loved light and sunshine, hated curtains--and growled. then he locked the door, pulled down the thick blue blinds required by the east coast lighting orders, and switched on the electric lights though it was high noon in may. "that's better," said he. "you are an absolutely trustworthy man, mr. cary. i know all about you. but you are damned careless. that bare window is overlooked from half a dozen flats. you might as well do your work in the street."
-dawson picked up some of the papers, and their purport was explained to him by cary. "i don't know anything of naval details," said he, "but i don't need any evidence of the value of the stuff here. the enemy wants it, wants it badly; that is good enough for me."
-"but," remonstrated cary, "no one knows of these papers, or of the use to which i am putting them, except my son in the navy, my wife (who has not read a line of them), and my publisher in london."
-"hum!" commented dawson. "then how do you account for this?"
-he opened his leather despatch-case and drew forth a parcel carefully wrapped up in brown paper. within the wrapping was a large white envelope of the linen woven paper used for registered letters, and generously sealed. to cary's surprise, for the envelope appeared to be secure, dawson cautiously opened it so as not to break the seal which was adhering to the flap and drew out a second smaller envelope, also sealed. this he opened in the same delicate way and took out a third; from the third he drew a fourth, and so on until eleven empty envelopes had been added to the litter piled upon cary's table, and the twelfth, a small one, remained in dawson's hands.
-"did you ever see anything so childish?" observed he, indicating the envelopes. "a big, registered, sealed chinese puzzle like that is just crying out to be opened. we would have seen the inside of that one even if it had been addressed to the lord mayor, and not to--well, someone in whom we are deeply interested, though he does not know it."
-cary, who had been fascinated by the succession of sealed envelopes, stretched out his hand towards one of them. "don't touch," snapped out dawson. "your clumsy hands would break the seals, and then there would be the devil to pay. of course all these envelopes were first opened in my office. it takes a dozen years to train men to open sealed envelopes so that neither flap nor seal is broken, and both can be again secured without showing a sign of disturbance. it is a trade secret."
-cary smiled. "i have often felt," said he, "especially in war-time, that it was most useful to be well known to the police. you may ask me anything you like, and i will do my best to answer. i confess that i am aghast at the searchlight of inquiry which has suddenly been turned upon my humble labours. my son at sea knows nothing of the notes except what i have told him in my letters, my wife has not read a line of them, and my publisher is the last man to talk. i seem to have suddenly dropped into the middle of a detective story." the poor man scratched his head and smiled ruefully at the scotland yard officer.
-"mr. cary," said dawson, "those windows of yours would account for anything. you have been watched for a long time, and i am perfectly sure that our friend hagan and his associates here know precisely in what drawer of that desk you keep your naval papers. your flat is easy to enter--i had a look round before coming in to-day--and on wednesday night (that is to-morrow) there will be a scientific burglary here and your notes will be stolen."
-"oh no they won't," cried cary. "i will take them down this afternoon to my office and lock them up in the big safe. it will put me to a lot of bother, for i shall also have to lock up there the chapters of my book."
-"you newspaper men ought all to be locked up yourselves. you are a cursed nuisance to honest, hard-worked scotland yard men like me. but you mistake the object of my visit. i want this flat to be entered to-morrow night, and i want your naval papers to be stolen."
-for a moment the wild thought came to cary that this man dawson--the chosen of the yard--was himself a german secret service agent, and must have shown in his eyes some signs of the suspicion, for dawson laughed loudly. "no, mr. cary, i am not in the kaiser's pay, nor are you, though the case against you might be painted pretty black. this man hagan is on our string in london, and we want him very badly indeed. not to arrest--at least not just yet--but to keep running round showing us his pals and all their little games. he is an irish-american, a very unbenevolent neutral, to whom we want to give a nice, easy, happy time, so that he can mix himself up thoroughly with the spy business and wrap a rope many times round his neck. we will pull on to the end when we have finished with him, but not a minute too soon. he is too precious to be frightened. did you ever come across such an ass"--dawson contemptuously indicated the pile of sealed envelopes; "he must have soaked himself in american dime novels and cinema crime films. he will be of more use to us than a dozen of our best officers. i feel that i love hagan, and won't have him disturbed. when he comes here to-morrow night, he shall be seen, but not heard. he shall enter this room, lift your notes, which shall be in their usual drawer, and shall take them safely away. after that i rather fancy that we shall enjoy ourselves, and that the salt will stick very firmly upon hagan's little tail."
-cary did not at all like this plan; it might offer amusement and instruction to the police, but seemed to involve himself in an excessive amount of responsibility. "will it not be far too risky to let him take my notes even if you do shadow him closely afterwards? he will get them copied and scattered amongst a score of agents, one of whom may get the information through to germany. you know your job, of course, but the risk seems too big for me. after all, they are my notes, and i would far sooner burn them now than that the germans should see a line of them."
-dawson laughed again. "you are a dear, simple soul, mr. cary; it does one good to meet you. why on earth do you suppose i came here to-day if it were not to enlist your help? hagan is going to take all the risks; you and i are not looking for any. he is going to steal some naval notes, but they will not be those which lie on this table. i myself will take charge of those and of the chapters of your most reprehensible book. you shall prepare, right now, a beautiful new artistic set of notes calculated to deceive. they must be accurate where any errors would be spotted, but wickedly false wherever deception would be good for fritz's health. i want you to get down to a real plant. this letter shall be sealed up again in its twelve silly envelopes and go by registered post to hagan's correspondent. you shall have till to-morrow morning to invent all those things which we want fritz to believe about the navy. make us out to be as rotten as you plausibly can. give him some heavy losses to gloat over and to tempt him out of harbour. don't overdo it, but mix up your fiction with enough facts to keep it sweet and make it sound convincing. if you do your work well--and the naval authorities here seem to think a lot of you--hagan will believe in your notes, and will try to get them to his german friends at any cost or risk, which will be exactly what we want of him. then, when he has served our purpose, he will find that we--have--no--more--use--for--him."
-dawson accompanied this slow, harmlessly sounding sentence with a grim and nasty smile. cary, before whose eyes flashed for a moment the vision of a chill dawn, cold grey walls, and a silent firing party, shuddered. it was a dirty task to lay so subtle a trap even for a dirty irish-american spy. his honest english soul revolted at the call upon his brains and knowledge, but common sense told him that in this way, dawson's way, he could do his country a very real service. for a few minutes he mused over the task set to his hand, and then spoke.
-"all right. i think that i can put up exactly what you want. the faked notes shall be ready when you come to-morrow. i will give the whole day to them."
-in the morning the new set of naval papers was ready, and their purport was explained in detail to dawson, who chuckled joyously. "this is exactly what admiral ---- wants, and it shall get through to germany by fritz's own channels. i have misjudged you, mr. cary; i thought you little better than a fool, but that story here of a collision in a fog and the list of damaged queen elizabeths in dock would have taken in even me. fritz will suck it down like cream. i like that effort even better than your grave comments on damaged turbines and worn-out gun tubes. you are a genius, mr. cary, and i must take you to lunch with the admiral this very day. you can explain the plant better than i can, and he is dying to hear all about it. oh, by the way, he particularly wants a description of the failure to complete the latest batch of big shell fuses, and the shortage of lyddite. you might get that done before the evening. now for the burglary. do nothing, nothing at all, outside your usual routine. come home at your usual hour, go to bed as usual, and sleep soundly if you can. should you hear any noise in the night, put your head under the bedclothes. say nothing to mrs. cary unless you are obliged, and for god's sake don't let any woman--wife, daughter, or maid-servant --disturb my pearl of a burglar while he is at work. he must have a clear run, with everything exactly as he expects to find it. can i depend upon you?"
-"i don't pretend to like the business," said cary, "but you can depend upon me to the letter of my orders."
-"good," cried dawson. "that is all i want."
-ii. the trap closes
-cary heard no noise, though he lay awake for most of the night, listening intently. the flat seemed to be more quiet even than usual. there was little traffic in the street below, and hardly a step broke the long silence of the night. early in the morning--at six b.s.t.--cary slipped out of bed, stole down to his study, and pulled open the deep drawer in which he had placed the bundle of faked naval notes. they had gone! so the spy-burglar had come, and, carefully shepherded by dawson's sleuth-hounds, had found the primrose path easy for his crime. to cary, the simple, honest gentleman, the whole plot seemed to be utterly revolting--justified, of course, by the country's needs in time of war, but none the less revolting. there is nothing of glamour in the secret service, nothing of romance, little even of excitement. it is a cold-blooded exercise of wits against wits, of spies against spies. the amateur plays a fish upon a line and gives him a fair run for his life, but the professional fisherman--to whom a salmon is a people's food--nets him coldly and expeditiously as he comes in from the sea.
-shortly after breakfast there came a call from dawson on the telephone. "all goes well. come to my office as soon as possible." cary found dawson bubbling with professional satisfaction. "it was beautiful," cried he. "hagan was met at the train, taken to a place we know of, and shadowed by us tight as wax. we now know all his associates--the swine have not even the excuse of being german. he burgled your flat himself while one of his gang watched outside. never mind where i was; you would be surprised if i told you; but i saw everything. he has the faked papers, is busy making copies, and this afternoon is going down the river in a steamer to get a glimpse of the shipyards and docks and check your notes as far as can be done. will they stand all right?"
-"quite all right," said cary. "the obvious things were given correctly."
-"good. we will be in the steamer."
-cary went that afternoon, quite unchanged in appearance by dawson's order. "if you try to disguise yourself," declared that expert, "you will be spotted at once. leave the refinements to us." dawson himself went as an elderly dug-out officer with the rank marks of a colonel, and never spoke a word to cary upon the whole trip down and up the teeming river. dawson's men were scattered here and there--one a passenger of inquiring mind, another a deckhand, yet a third--a pretty girl in khaki--sold tea and cakes in the vessel's saloon. hagan--who, cary heard afterwards, wore the brass-bound cap and blue kit of a mate in the american merchant service--was never out of sight for an instant of dawson or of one of his troupe. he busied himself with a strong pair of marine glasses, and now and then asked innocent questions of the ship's deckhands. he had evidently himself once served as a sailor. one deckhand, an idle fellow to whom hagan was very civil, told his questioner quite a lot of interesting details about the navy ships, great and small, which could be seen upon the building slips. all these details tallied strangely with those recorded in cary's notes. the trip up and down the river was a great success for hagan and for dawson, but for cary it was rather a bore. he felt somehow out of the picture. in the evening dawson called at cary's office and broke in upon him. "we had a splendid trip to-day," said he. "it exceeded my utmost hopes. hagan thinks no end of your notes, but he is not taking any risks. he leaves in the morning for glasgow to do the clyde and to check some more of your stuff. would you like to come?" cary remarked that he was rather busy, and that these river excursions, though doubtless great fun for dawson, were rather poor sport for himself. dawson laughed joyously--he was a cheerful soul when he had a spy upon his string. "come along," said he. "see the thing through. i should like you to be in at the death." cary observed that he had no stomach for cold, damp dawns and firing parties.
-"i did not quite mean that," replied dawson. "those closing ceremonies are still strictly private. but you should see the chase through to a finish. you are a newspaper man, and should be eager for new experiences."
-"i will come," said cary, rather reluctantly. "but i warn you that my sympathies are steadily going over to hagan. the poor devil does not look to have a dog's chance against you."
-"he hasn't," said dawson, with great satisfaction.
-cary, to whom the wonderful clyde was as familiar as the river near his own home, found the second trip almost as wearisome as the first. but not quite. he was now able to recognise hagan, who again appeared as a brass-bounder, and did not affect to conceal his deep interest in the naval panorama offered by the river. nothing of real importance can, of course, be learned from a casual steamer trip, but hagan seemed to think otherwise, for he was always either watching through his glasses or asking apparently artless questions of passengers or passing deckhands. again a sailor seemed disposed to be communicative; he pointed out more than one monster in steel, red raw with surface rust, and gave particulars of a completed power which would have surprised the admiralty superintendent. they would not, however, have surprised mr. cary, in whose ingenious brain they had been conceived. this second trip, like the first, was declared by dawson to have been a great success. "did you know me?" he asked. "i was a clean-shaven naval doctor, about as unlike the army colonel of the first trip as a pigeon is unlike a gamecock. hagan is off to london to-night by the north-western. there are two copies of your notes. one is going by edinburgh and the east coast, and another by the midland. hagan has the original masterpiece. i will look after him and leave the two other messengers to my men. i have been on to the yard by 'phone, and have arranged that all three shall have passports for holland. the two copies shall reach the kaiser, bless him, but i really must have hagan's set of notes for my museum."
-"and what will become of hagan?" asked cary.
-"come and see," said mr. dawson.
-dawson entertained cary at dinner in a private room at the station hotel, waited upon by one of his own confidential men. "nobody ever sees me," he observed, with much satisfaction, "though i am everywhere." (i suspect that dawson is not without his little vanities.) "except in my office and with people whom i know well, i am always some one else. the first time i came to your house i wore a beard, and the second time looked like a gas inspector. you saw only the real dawson. when one has got the passion for the chase in one's blood, one cannot bide for long in a stuffy office. as i have a jewel of an assistant, i can always escape and follow up my own victims. this man hagan is a black heartless devil. don't waste your sympathy on him, mr. cary. he took money from us quite lately to betray the silly asses of sinn feiners, and now, thinking us hoodwinked, is after more money from the kaiser. he is of the type that would sell his own mother and buy a mistress with the money. he's not worth your pity. we use him and his like for just so long as they can be useful, and then the jaws of the trap close. by letting him take those faked notes we have done a fine stroke for the navy, for the yard, and for bill dawson. we have got into close touch with four new german agents here and two more down south. we shan't seize them yet; just keep them hanging on and use them. that's the game. i am never anxious about an agent when i know him and can keep him watched. anxious, bless you; i love him like a cat loves a mouse. i've had some spies on my string ever since the war began; i wouldn't have them touched or worried for the world. their correspondence tells me everything, and if a letter to holland which they haven't written slips in sometimes, it's useful, very useful, as useful almost as your faked notes."
-half an hour before the night train was due to leave for the south, dawson, very simply but effectively changed in appearance--for hagan knew by sight the real dawson--led cary to the middle sleeping-coach on the train. "i have had hagan put in no. 5," he said, "and you and i will take nos. 4 and 6. no. 5 is an observation berth; there is one fixed up for us on this sleeping-coach. come in here." he pulled cary into no. 4, shut the door, and pointed to a small wooden knob set a few inches below the luggage rack. "if one unscrews that knob one can see into the next berth, no. 5. no. 6 is fitted in the same way, so that we can rake no. 5 from both sides. but, mind you, on no account touch those knobs until the train is moving fast and until you have switched out the lights. if no. 5 was dark when you opened the peep-hole, a ray of light from your side would give the show away. and unless there was a good deal of vibration and rattle in the train you might be heard. now cut away to no. 6, fasten the door, and go to bed. i shall sit up and watch, but there is nothing for you to do."
-hagan appeared in due course, was shown into no. 5 berth, and the train started. cary asked himself whether he should go to bed as advised or sit up reading. he decided to obey dawson's orders, but to take a look in upon hagan before settling down for the journey. he switched off his lights, climbed upon the bed, and carefully unscrewed the little knob which was like the one shown to him by dawson. a beam of light stabbed the darkness of his berth, and putting his eye with some difficulty to the hole--one's nose gets so confoundedly in the way--he saw hagan comfortably arranging himself for the night. the spy had no suspicion of his watchers on both sides, for, after settling himself in bed, he unwrapped a flat parcel and took out a bundle of blue papers, which cary at once recognised as the originals of his stolen notes. hagan went through them--he had put his suit-case across his knees to form a desk--and carefully made marginal jottings. cary, who had often tried to write in trains, could not but admire the man's laborious patience. he painted his letters and figures over and over again, in order to secure distinctness, in spite of the swaying of the train, and frequently stopped to suck the point of his pencil.
-dawson did not come out of his berth at euston until after hagan had left the station in a taxi-cab, much to cary's surprise, and then was quite ready, even anxious, to remain for breakfast at the hotel. he explained his strange conduct. "two of my men," said he, as he wallowed in tea and fried soles--one cannot get dover soles in the weary north--"who travelled in ordinary compartments, are after hagan in two taxis, so that if one is delayed, the other will keep touch. hagan's driver also has had a police warning, so that our spy is in a barbed-wire net. i shall hear before very long all about him."
-cary and dawson spent the morning at the hotel with a telephone beside them; every few minutes the bell would ring, and a whisper of hagan's movements steal over the wires into the ears of the spider dawson. he reported progress to cary with ever-increasing satisfaction.
-"hagan has applied for and been granted a passport to holland, and has booked a passage in the boat which leaves harwich to-night for the hook. we will go with him. the other two spies, with the copies, haven't turned up yet, but they are all right. my men will see them safe across into dutch territory, and make sure that no blundering customs officer interferes with their papers. this time the way of transgressors shall be very soft. as for hagan, he is not going to arrive."
-"i don't quite understand why you carry on so long with him," said cary, who, though tired, could not but feel intense interest in the perfection of the police system and in the serene confidence of dawson. the yard could, it appeared, do unto the spies precisely what dawson chose to direct.
-"i did not want to go to holland," said cary to me, when telling his story. "i was utterly sick and disgusted with the whole cold-blooded game of cat and mouse, but the police needed my evidence about the notes and the burglary, and did not intend to let me slip out of their clutches. dawson was very civil and pleasant, but i was in fact as tightly held upon his string as was the wretched hagan. so i went on to holland with that quick-change artist, and watched him come on board the steamer at parkeston quay, dressed as a rather german-looking commercial traveller, eager for war commissions upon smuggled goods. this sounds absurd, but his get-up seemed somehow to suggest the idea. then i went below. dawson always kept away from me whenever hagan might have seen us together."
-the passage across to holland was free from incident; there was no sign that we were at war, and continental traffic was being carried serenely on, within easy striking distance of the german submarine base at zeebrugge. the steamer had drawn in to the hook beside the train, and hagan was approaching the gangway, suit-case in hand. the man was on the edge of safety; once upon dutch soil, dawson could not have laid hands upon him. he would have been a neutral citizen in a neutral country, and no english warrant would run against him. but between hagan and the gangway suddenly interposed the tall form of the ship's captain; instantly the man was ringed about by officers, and before he could say a word or move a hand he was gripped hard and led across the deck to the steamer's chart-house. therein sat dawson, the real, undisguised dawson, and beside him sat richard cary. hagan's face, which two minutes earlier had been glowing with triumph and with the anticipation of german gold beyond the dreams of avarice, went white as chalk. he staggered and gasped as one stabbed to the heart, and dropped into a chair. his suit-case fell from his relaxed fingers to the floor.
-"give him a stiff brandy-and-soda," directed dawson, almost kindly, and when the victim's colour had ebbed back a little from his overcharged heart, and he had drunk deep of the friendly cordial, the detective put him out of pain. the game of cat and mouse was over.
-"it is all up, hagan," said the detective gently. "face the music and make the best of it, my poor friend. this is mr. richard cary, and you have not for a moment been out of our sight since you left london for the north four days ago."
-when i had completed the writing of his story i showed the ms. to richard cary, who was pleased to express a general approval. "not at all bad, copplestone," said he, "not at all bad. you have clothed my dry bones in real flesh and blood. but you have missed what to me is the outstanding feature of the whole affair, that which justifies to my mind the whole rather grubby business. let me give you two dates. on may 25 two copies of my faked notes were shepherded through to holland and reached the germans; on may 31 was fought the battle of jutland. can the brief space between these dates have been merely an accident? i cannot believe it. no, i prefer to believe that in my humble way i induced the german fleet to issue forth and to risk an action which, under more favourable conditions for us, would have resulted in their utter destruction. i may be wrong, but i am happy in retaining my faith."
-"what became of hagan?" i asked, for i wished to bring the narrative to a clean artistic finish.
-"i am not sure," answered cary, "though i gave evidence as ordered by the court-martial. but i rather think that i have here hagan's epitaph." he took out his pocket-book, and drew forth a slip of paper upon which was gummed a brief newspaper cutting. this he handed to me, and i read as follows:
-"the war office announces that a prisoner who was charged with espionage and recently tried by court-martial at the westminster guildhall was found guilty and sentenced to death. the sentence was duly confirmed and carried out yesterday morning."
-two months passed. summer, what little there was of it, had gone, and my spirits were oppressed by the wet and fog and dirt of november in the north. i desired neither to write nor to read. my one overpowering longing was to go to sleep until the war was over and then to awake in a new world in which a decent civilised life would once more be possible.
-in this unhappy mood i was seated before my study fire when a servant brought me a card. "a gentleman," said she, "wishes to see you. i said that you were engaged, but he insisted. he's a terrible man, sir."
-i looked at the card, annoyed at being disturbed; but at the sight of it my torpor fell from me, for upon it was written the name of that detective officer whom in my story i had called william dawson, and in the corner were the letters "c.i.d." (criminal investigation department). i had become a criminal, and was about to be investigated!
-at close quarters
-dawson entered, and we stood eyeing one another like two strange dogs. neither spoke for some seconds, and then, recollecting that i was a host in the presence of a visitor, i extended a hand, offered a chair, and snapped open a cigarette case. dawson seated himself and took a cigarette. i breathed more freely. he could not design my immediate arrest, or he would not have accepted of even so slight a hospitality. we sat upon opposite sides of the fire, dawson saying nothing, but watching me in that unwinking cat-like way of his which i find so exasperating. many times during my association with dawson i have longed to spring upon him and beat his head against the floor--just to show that i am not a mouse. if his silence were intended to make me uncomfortable, i would give him evidence of my perfect composure.
-"how did you find me out?" i asked calmly.
-his start of surprise gratified me, and i saw a puzzled look come into his eyes. "find out what?" he muttered.
-"how did you find out that i wrote a story about you?"
-"oh, that?" he grinned. "that was not difficult, mr.--er--copplestone. i asked mr.--er--richard cary for your real name and address, and he had to give them to me. i was considering whether i should prosecute both him and you."
-"no doubt you bullied cary," i said, "but you don't alarm me in the least. i had taken precautions, and you would have found your way barred if you had tried to touch either of us."
-"it is possible," snapped dawson. "i should like to lock up all you writing people--you are an infernal nuisance--but you seem to have a pull with the politicians."
-we were getting on capitally: the first round was in my favour, and i saw another opportunity of showing my easy unconcern of his powers.
-"oh no, mr.--er--william dawson. you would not lock us up, even if all the authority in the state were vested in the soldiers and the police. for who would then write of your exploits and pour upon your heads the bright light of fame? the public knows nothing of mr. ----" (i held up his card), "but quite a lot of people have heard of william dawson."
-"they have," assented he, with obvious satisfaction. "i sent a copy of the story to my chief--just to put myself straight with him. i said that it was all quite unauthorised, and that i would have stopped it if i could."
-"oh no, you wouldn't. don't talk humbug, mr. william dawson. during the past two months you have pranced along the streets with your head in the clouds. and in your own home mrs. dawson and the little dawsons--if there are any--have worshipped you as a god. there is nothing so flattering as the sight of oneself in solid black print upon nice white paper. confess, now. are you not at this moment carrying a copy of that story of mine in your breast pocket next your heart, and don't you flourish it before your colleagues and rivals about six times, a day?"
-alone among mortal men i have seen a hardened detective blush.
-"throw away that cigarette," said i, "and take a cigar." i felt generous.
-our relations were now established upon a basis satisfactory to me. i had no inkling of the purpose of this visit, but he had lost the advantage of mysterious attack. he had revealed human weakness and had ceased for the moment to dominate me as a terrible engine of the law. but i had heard too much of dawson from cary to be under any illusion. he could be chaffed, even made ridiculous, without much difficulty, but no one, however adroit, could divert him by an inch from his professional purpose. he could joke with a victim and drink his health and then walk him off, arm in arm, to the gallows.
-"now, mr. dawson," said i. "perhaps you will tell me to what happy circumstance i owe the honour of this visit?"
-he had been chuckling over certain rich details in the hagan chase--with an eye, no doubt, to future enlarged editions--but these words of mine pulled him up short. instantly he became grave, drew some papers from his pocket, and addressed himself to business.
-"i have come to you, mr. copplestone, as i did to your friend mr. cary, for information and assistance, and i have been advised by those who know you here to be perfectly frank. you are not at present an object of suspicion to the local police, who assure me, that though you are known to have access to much secret information, yet that you have never made any wrongful use of it. you have, moreover, been of great assistance on many occasions both to the military and naval authorities. therefore, though my instinct would be to lock you up most securely, i am told that i mustn't do it."
-"you are very frank," said i. "but i bear no malice. ask me what you please, and i will do my best to answer fully."
-"i ought to warn you," said he, with obvious reluctance, "that anything which you say may, at some future time, be used in evidence against you."
-"i will take the risk, mr. dawson," cried i, laughing. "you have done your duty in warning me, and you are so plainly hopeful that i shall incriminate myself that it would be cruel to disappoint you. let us get on with the inquisition."
-"you are aware, mr. copplestone, that a most important part of my work consists in stopping the channels through which information of what is going on in our shipyards and munition shops may get through to the enemy. we can't prevent his agents from getting information--that is always possible to those with unlimited command of money, for there are always swine among workmen, and among higher folk than workmen, who can be bought. you may take it as certain that little of importance is done or projected in this country of which enemy agents do not know. but their difficulty is to get it through to their paymasters, within the limit of time during which the information is useful. there are scores of possible channels, and it is up to us to watch them all. you have already shown some grasp of our methods, which in a sentence may be described as unsleeping vigilance. once we know the identity of an enemy agent, he ceases to be of any use to the enemy, but becomes of the greatest value to us. our motto is: ab hoste doceri." he pronounced the infinitive verb as if it rhymed with glossary.
-"you are quite a scholar, mr. dawson," remarked i politely.
-"yes," said he, simply. "i had a good schooling. i need not go into details," he went on, "of how we watch the correspondence of suspected persons, but you may be interested to learn that during the three weeks which i have passed in your city all your private letters have been through my hands."
-"the devil they have," i cried angrily. "you exceed your powers. this is really intolerable."
-"oh, you need not worry," replied dawson serenely. "your letters were quite innocent. i am gratified to learn that your two sons in the service are happy and doing well, and that you contemplate the publication of another book."
-it was impossible not to laugh at the man's effrontery, though i felt exasperated at his inquisitiveness. after all, there are things in private letters which one does not wish a stranger, and a police officer, to read.
-"and how long is this outrage to continue?" i asked crossly.
-"that depends upon you. as soon as i am satisfied that you are as trustworthy as the local police and other authorities believe you to be, your correspondence will pass untouched. it is of no use for you to fume or try to kick up a fuss in london. scotland yard would open the home secretary's letters if it had any cause to feel doubtful of him."
-"you cannot feel much suspicion of me or you would not tell me what you have been doing."
-"you might have thought of that at once," said dawson derisively.
-i shook myself and conceded the round to dawson.
-"i can see the possibility, but a practical method of communication looks difficult. how was it done?"
-"in the most absurdly simple way. real ingenuity is always simple. i will give you an example. an english prisoner in germany has, we will suppose, parents in newcastle, by whom food has been sent out regularly. he dies in captivity, and in due course his relatives are notified through the international headquarters of the red cross in geneva. he is crossed off the newcastle lists, and his parents, of course, stop sending parcels. now suppose that some one in birmingham begins to send parcels addressed to this lately deceased prisoner, his name, unless birmingham is very vigilant, will get upon the lists there as that of a new live prisoner. the parcels addressed to this name will go straight into the hands of the german secret service, and a channel of communication will have been opened up between some one in birmingham and the enemy in germany. prisoners are frequently dying, new prisoners are frequently being taken. under a haphazard system of individual parcels, despatched from all over the british isles, it has been practically impossible to keep track of all the changes. for this, and other good reasons, we have had to make a clean sweep and to take over the feeding of british prisoners by means of a regular organisation which can ensure that nothing is sent with the food which will be of any assistance to the enemy."
-"that is a good job done," i observed. "have you evidence that what is possible has in fact been done?"
-dawson's rather metallic voice became almost sympathetic, and i was pleased to observe that his harsh profession had not destroyed in him all human feeling.
-"after this you may suppose that the parcels addressed to our poor friend the late lieutenant were very eagerly looked for. the alleged sender, whose name and residence were written upon the labels, was found not to exist. both name and address were false. it was a hot scent, and i was delighted, after a week of waiting, to see another parcel come in. this would, in all probability, contain the 'important naval news,' and i took its examination upon myself. i reduced the bread and the chocolate to powder without finding anything."
-"excuse me," i cried, intensely interested, "but how could one conceal a paper in bread or in chocolate without leaving external traces?"
-dawson handed me a stiff piece of paper, slimy to the touch and smelling strongly of white lead. upon it were two neatly made drawings and some lines of words and figures. "it is just what i should have expected," said i.
-"you recognise it?"
-"of course," said i. "we have here a deck plan showing the disposition of guns, and a section plan showing arrangement of armour, of one of the big new ships which has been completed for the grand fleet. below we have the number and calibre of the guns, the thickness and extent of the armour, the length, breadth, and depth of the vessel, her tonnage, her horse power, and her estimated speed. everything is correct except the speed, which i happen to know is considerably greater than the figure set down."
-"you have not by any chance seen that paper before?" asked dawson, with rather a forced air of indifference.
-"this? no. why?"
-"i was curious, that's all." he looked at me with a queer, quizzical expression, and then laughed softly. "you will understand my question directly, but for the moment let us get on. what sort of person should you say made those drawings and wrote that description?"
-i am no sherlock holmes; but any one who has had some acquaintance with engineers and their handiwork can recognise the professional touch.
-"these drawings are the work of a trained draughtsman, and the writing is that of a draughtsman. one can tell by the neatness and the technique of the shading."
-"right first time," said dawson approvingly. "at present i have that draughtsman comfortably locked up; we picked him out of the drawing office at ----" he named a famous yard in which had been built one of the ships of the class illustrated upon the paper in my hands.
-"poor devil," i said. "what is the cause--drink, women, or the pressure of high prices and a large family?"
-"none of them. his employers give him the best of characters, he gets good pay, is a man over military age, and has, so far as the police can learn, no special embarrassments. he owns his house, and has two or three hundred pounds in the war loan."
-"then why in the name of wonder has the schweinehund sold his country?"
-"he declares that he never received a penny for supplying the information upon that paper, and we have no evidence of any outside payments to him. he did not attempt to conceal his handwriting, and when i made inquiries of his firm, he owned up at once that the paper was his work. he said that for years past he had given particulars of ships under construction to the same parties as on this occasion. he admitted that to do so was contrary to regulations, especially in wartime, but thought that under the circumstances he was doing no harm. i am not exactly a credulous person, and i have heard some tall stories in my time, but for once i am inclined to believe that the man is speaking the truth. i believe that he received no money, and was acting throughout in good faith."
-"i am more and more puzzled. what in the world can the circumstances be which could induce an experienced middle-aged man, employed in highly confidential work in a great shipyard, not only to break faith and lose his job, but to stick his neck into a rope and his feet on the drop of a gallows. reveal the mystery."
-"you are sure that you have never seen that paper before?" asked dawson again, this time slowly and deliberately.
-"of course not!" i said. "how could i?"
-"that is just what i have to find out," said dawson. he stopped, took out a knife, prodded his nearly smoked cigar, puffed once or twice hard to restore the draught, and spoke. "that is what interests me just now. for, you see, this very indiscreet and reprehensible swinehound of a draughtsman, who is at present in my lockup, declares that he was without suspicion of serious wrong-doing, because --because--the particulars of the new battleship upon that paper were supplied to you."
-"you are a queer customer, mr. copplestone. i confess that the whole business puzzles me, though you and your friends here seem to find it devilish amusing. when i told the chief constable, the manager of the shipyard, and the admiral superintendent of naval work that you were the guilty party, they all roared. for some reason the admiral and the shipyard manager kept winking at one another and gurgling till i thought they would have choked. what is the joke?"
-"if you are good, dawson, i will tell you some day. this is november, and the rampagious--the ship described on your paper--left for portsmouth in august. in july--" i broke off hurriedly, lest i should tell my visitor too much. "it has taken our friend who put the paper in the sardine tin three months to find out details of her. i could have done better than that, dawson."
-"that is just what the admiral said, though he wouldn't explain why."
-"the truth is, dawson, that the admiral and i both come from devon, the land of pirates, smugglers, and buccaneers. we are law breakers by instinct and family tradition. when we get an officer of the law on toast, we like to make the most of him. it is a playful little way of ours which i am sure you will understand and pardon."
-"you know, of course, that i am justified in arresting you. i have a warrant and handcuffs in my pocket."
-"admirable man!" i cried, with enthusiasm. "you are, dawson, the perfect detective. as a criminal i should be mightily afraid of you. but, as in my buttonhole i always wear the white flower which proclaims to the world my blameless life, i am thoroughly enjoying this visit and our cosy chat beside the fire. shall i telephone to my office and say that i shall be unavoidably detained from duty for an indefinite time? 'detained' would be the strict truth and the mot juste. if you would kindly lock me up, say, for three years or the duration of the war i should be your debtor. i have often thought that a prison, provided that one were allowed unlimited paper and the use of a typewriter, would be the most charming of holidays--a perfect rest cure. there are three books in my head which i should like to write. arrest me, dawson, i implore you! put on the handcuffs--i have never been handcuffed--ring up a taxi, and let us be off to jail. you will, i hope, do me the honour of lunching with me first and meeting my wife. she will be immensely gratified to be quit of me. it cannot often have happened in your lurid career, dawson, to be welcomed with genuine enthusiasm."
-"why did that man say that he prepared the description of the ship for you?"
-"that is what we are going to find out, and i will help you all i can. my reputation is like the bloom upon the peach--touch it, and it is gone for ever. there is a faint glimmer of the truth at the back of my mind which may become a clear light. did he say that he had given it to me personally, into my own hand?"
-"no. he said that he was approached by a man whom he had known off and on for years, a man who was employed by you in connection with shipyard inquiries. he was informed that this man was still employed by you for the same purpose now as in the past."
-"your case against me is thinning out, dawson. at its best it is second-hand; at its worst, the mere conjecture of a rather careless draughtsman. i have two things to do: first to find out the real seducer, who is probably also the despatcher of the parcels to the late lieutenant of northumberland fusiliers, and second, to save if i can this poor fool of a shipyard draughtsman from punishment for his folly. i don't doubt that he honestly thought he was dealing with me."
-"he will have to be punished. the admiral will insist upon that."
-"we must make the punishment as light as we can. you shall help me with all the discretionary authority with which you are equipped. i can see, dawson, from the tactful skill with which you have dealt with me that discretion is among your most distinguished characteristics. if you had been a stupid, bull-headed policeman, you would have been up against pretty serious trouble."
-"that was quite my own view," replied dawson drily.
-"who is the man described by our erring draughtsman?"
-"he won't say. we have put on every allowable method of pressure, and some that are not in ordinary times permitted. we have had over this spy hunt business to shed most of our tender english regard for suspected persons, and to adopt the french system of fishing inquiries. in france the police try to make a man incriminate himself; in england we try our hardest to prevent him. that may be very right and just in peace time against ordinary law breakers; but war is war, and spies are too dangerous to be treated tenderly. we have cross-examined the man, and bully-ragged him, but he won't give up the name of his accomplice. it may be a relation. one thing seems sure. the man is, or was, a member of your staff, engaged in shipyard inquiries. can you give me a list of the men who are or have been on this sort of work during the past few years?"
-"i will get it for you. but please use it carefully. my present men are precious jewels, the few left to me by zealous military authorities. what i must look for is some one over military age who has left me or been dismissed--probably dismissed. when a british subject, of decent education and once respectable surroundings, gets into the hands of german agents, you may be certain of one thing, dawson, that he has become a rotter through drink."
-"that's it," cried dawson. "you have hit it. crime and drink are twin brothers as no one knows better than the police. look out for the name and address of a man dismissed for drunkenness and we shall have our bird."
-"the name i can no doubt give you, but not the address."
-"give us any address where he lived, even if it were ten years ago, and we will track him down in three days. that is just routine police work."
-"i never presume to teach an expert his business--and you, dawson, are a super-expert, a director-general of those of common qualities--but would it not be well to warn all the post offices, so that when another parcel is brought in addressed to the lieutenant the bearer may be arrested?"
-"do you know, dawson," i said, as he went upstairs with me to have a lick and a polish, as he put it--"i am inclined to agree with cary that you are rather an inhuman beast."
-my wife, with whom i could exchange no more than a dozen words and a wink or two, gripped the situation and played up to it in the fashion which compels the admiration and terror of mere men. do they humbug us, their husbands, as they do the rest of the world on our behalf? she met dawson as if he were an old family friend, heaped hospitality upon him, and chaffed him blandly as if to entertain a police officer with a warrant and handcuffs in his pocket were the best joke in the world. "my husband, mr. dawson, needs a holiday very badly, but won't take one. he thinks that the war cannot be pursued successfully unless he looks after it himself. if you would carry him off and keep him quiet for a bit, i should be deeply grateful." she then fell into a discussion with dawson of the most conveniently situated prisons. mrs. copplestone dismissed dartmoor and portland as too bleakly situated, but was pleased to approve of parkhurst in the isle of wight--which i rather fancy is a house of detention for women. she insisted that the climate of the island was suited to my health, and wrung a promise from dawson that i should, if possible, be interned there. dawson's manners and conversation surprised me. his homespun origin was evident, yet he had developed an easy social style which was neither familiar nor aggressive. we were in his eyes eccentrics, possibly what he would call among his friends "a bit off," and he bore himself towards us accordingly. my small daughter, jane, to whom he had been presented as a colonel of police--little jane is deeply versed in military ranks--took to him at once, and his manner towards her confirmed my impression that some vestiges of humanity may still be discovered in him by the patient searcher. she insisted upon sitting next to him and in holding his hand when it was not employed in conveying food to his mouth. she was startled at first by the discussion upon the prisons most suitable for me, but quickly became reconciled to the idea of a temporary separation.
-"colonel dawson," she asked. "when daddy is in prison, may i come and see him sometimes. mother and me?" dawson gripped his hair--we were the maddest crew!--and replied. "of course you shall, miss jane, as often as you like."
-"thank you, colonel dawson; you are a nice man. i love you. now show me the handcuffs in your pocket."
-we were sitting upon the fire-guard after luncheon, dallying over our coffee, when jane demanded to be shown a real arrest. "show me how you take up a great big man like daddy."
-then came a surprise, which for a moment had so much in it of bitter realism that it drove the blood from my wife's cheeks. i could not follow dawson's movements; his hands flickered like those of a conjurer, there came a sharp click, and the handcuffs were upon my wrists! i stared at them speechless, wondering how they got there, and, looking up, met the coldly triumphant eyes of the detective. i realised then exactly how the professional manhunter glares at the prey into whom, after many days, he has set his claws. my wife gasped and clutched at my elbow, little jane screamed, and for a few seconds even i thought that the game had been played and that serious business was about to begin. dawson gave us a few seconds of apprehension, and then laughed grimly. from his waistcoat pocket he drew a key, and the fetters were removed almost as quickly as they had been clapped on. "tit for tat," said he. "you have had your fun with me. fair play is a jewel."
-little jane was the first to recover speech. "i knew that dear colonel dawson was only playing," she cried. "he only did it to please me. thank you, colonel, though you did frighten me just a weeny bit at first." and pulling him down towards her she kissed him heartily upon his prickly cheek. it was a queer scene.
-the door bell rang loudly, and we were informed that a policeman stood without who was inquiring for chief inspector dawson. "show him in here," said i. the constable entered, and his manner of addressing my guest--that of a raw second lieutenant towards a general of division--shed a new light upon dawson's pre-eminence in his service. "a telegram for you, sir." dawson seized it, was about to tear it open, remembered suddenly his hostess, and bowed towards her. "have i your permission, madam?" he asked. she smiled and nodded; i turned away to conceal a laugh. "good," cried dawson, poring over the message. "i think, mr. copplestone, that you had better telephone to your office and say that you are unavoidably detained."
-"what--what is it?" cried my wife, who had again become white with sudden fear.
-"something which will occupy the attention of your husband and myself to the exclusion of all other duties. this telegram informs me that a parcel has been handed in at carlisle and the bearer arrested."
-"excellent!" i cried. "my time is at your disposal, dawson. we shall now get full light."
-i had asked for five minutes, but two were sufficient for my purpose. the draughtsman had been obstinate with dawson, seeking loyally to shield his wretched brother-in-law, but when he found that i had the missing thread in my hands, he gave in at once. "what relation is ---- to your wife?" i asked. he had risen at my entrance, but the question went through him like a bullet; his pale face flushed, he staggered pitifully, and, sitting down, buried his face in his hands. "you may tell the truth now," i said gently. "we can easily find out what we must know, but the information will come better from you."
-"he is my wife's brother," murmured the man.
-"you knew that he was no longer in my service?"
-"yes, i knew."
-i might fairly have asked why he had used my name, but refrained. one can readily pardon the lapses of an honest man, terrified at finding himself in the coils of the police, clinging to the good name of his wife and her family, clutching at any device to throw the sleuth-hounds of the law off the real scent. he had given his brother-in-law forbidden information from a loyal desire to help him and with no knowledge of the base use to which it would be put. when detected, he had sought at any cost to shield him.
-"i will do my best to help you," i said.
-his head drooped down till it rested upon his bent arms, and he groaned and panted under the torture of tears. his was not the stuff of which criminals are made.
-i found dawson's chuckling joy rather repulsive. i felt that, being successful, he might at least have had the decency to dissemble his satisfaction. he might also have given me some credit for the rapid clearing up of the problem in detection. but he took the whole thing to himself, and gloated like a child over his own cleverness. i neither obtained from him thanks for my assistance nor apologies for his suspicions. it was dawson, dawson, all the time. yet i found his egotism and unrelieved vanity extraordinarily interesting. as we sat together in his room waiting for the carlisle train to come in he discoursed freely to me of his triumphs in detection, his wide-spread system of spying upon spies, his long delayed "sport" with some, and his ruthless rapid trapping of others. men are never so interesting as when they talk shop, and as a talker of shop dawson was sublime.
-"if," said dawson, as the time approached for the closing scene, "our much-wanted friend has himself handed in the parcel at carlisle--he would be afraid to trust an accomplice--our job will be done. if not, i will pull a drag net through this place which will bring him up within a day or two. what a fool the man is to think that he could escape the eye of bill dawson."
-dawson began once more to descant upon his own astuteness, but i was too sick at heart to listen. i remembered only the visit years before which that man's wife had paid to me. "will you not open the parcel?" i interposed. he fell upon it, exposed its contents of bread, chocolate, and sardine tins, and called for a can opener. he shook the tins one by one beside his ear, and then, selecting that which gave out no "flop" of oil, stripped it open, plunged his fingers inside, and pulled forth a clammy mess of putty and sawdust. in a moment he had come upon a paper which after reading he handed to me. it bore the words in english, "informant arrested: dare not send more."
-"what a fool!" cried dawson. "as if the evidence against him were not sufficient already he must give us this."
-"you will let that poor devil of a draughtsman down easily?" i murmured.
-"we want him as a witness," replied dawson. "tit for tat. if he helps us, we will help him. and now we will cut along to the admiral. he is eager for news."
-we broke in upon the admiral in his office near the shipyards, and he greeted me with cheerful badinage. "so you are in the hands of the police at last, copplestone. i always told you what would be the end of your naval inquisitiveness."
-dawson told his story, and the naval officer's keen kindly face grew stern and hard. "germans i can respect," said he, "even those that pretend to be our friends. but one of our own folk--to sell us like this--ugh! take the vermin away; dawson, and stamp upon it."
-we stood talking for a few moments, and then dawson broke in with a question. "i have never understood, admiral, why you were so very confident that mr. copplestone here had no hand in this business. the case against him looked pretty ugly, yet you laughed at it all the time. why were you so sure?"
-the admiral surveyed dawson as if he were some strange creature from an unknown world. "mr. copplestone is a friend of mine," said he drily.
-"very likely," snapped the detective. "but is a man a white angel because he has the honour to be your friend?"
-"a fair retort," commented the admiral. it happens that i had other and better reasons. for in july i myself showed mr. copplestone over the new battleship rampagious, and after our inspection we both lunched with the builders and discussed her design and armament in every detail. so as mr. copplestone knew all about her in july, he was not likely to suborn a draughtsman in november. see?"
-"you should have told me this before. it was your duty."
-"my good dawson," said the admiral gently, "you are an excellent officer of police, but even you have a few things yet to learn. i had in my mind to give you a lesson, especially as i owed you some punishment for your impertinence in opening my friend copplestone's private letters. you have had the lesson; profit by it."
-dawson flushed angrily. "punishment! impertinence! this to me!"
-"yes," returned the admiral stiffly, "beastly impertinence."
-dawson showed no malice towards the admiral or myself for our treatment of him. i do not think that he felt any; he was too fully occupied in collecting the spoils of victory to trouble his head about what a scribbler or a salt horse might think of him. he gathered to himself every scrap of credit which the affair could be induced to yield, and received--i admit quite deservedly--the most handsome encomiums from his superiors in office. during the two weeks he passed in my city after the capture--weeks occupied in tracing out the threads connecting his wretch of a prisoner with the german agents upon what dawson called his "little list"--he paid several visits both to my house and my office. his happiness demanded that he should read to me the many letters which poured in from high officials of the c.i.d., from the chief commissioner, and on one day--a day of days in the chronicles of dawson--from the home secretary himself. to me it seemed that all these astute potentates knew their dawson very thoroughly, and lubricated, as it were, with judicious flattery the machinery of his energies. i could not but admire dawson's truly royal faculty for absorbing butter. the stomachs of most men, really good at their business, would have revolted at the diet which his superiors shovelled into dawson, but he visibly expanded and blossomed. yes, scotland yard knew its dawson, and exactly how to stimulate the best that was in him. he never bored me; i enjoyed him too thoroughly.
-one day in my club i chanced upon the admiral.
-"have you met our friend dawson lately?" i asked.
-"met him?" shouted he, with a roar of laughter. "met him? he is in my office every day--he almost lives with me; goodness knows when he does his work. he has a pocket full of letters which he has read to me till i know them by heart. if i did not know that he was a first-class man i should set him down as a colossal ass. yet, i rather wish that the admiralty would sometimes write to me as the severe but very human scotland yard does to dawson."
-"does he ever come to you in disguise?" i asked.
-"not that i know of. i see vast numbers of people; some of them may be dawson in his various incarnations, but he has not given himself away."
-"good. i should love to score off dawson. he is an aggravating beast."
-"study his ears," said i. "he cannot alter their chief characters. the lobes of his ears are not loose, like yours or mine or those of most men and women; his are attached to the back of his cheekbones. my mother had lobes like those, so had the real roger tichborne; i noticed dawson's at once. also at the top fold of his ears he has rather a pronounced blob of flesh. this blob, more prominent in some men than in others, is, i believe, a surviving relic of the sharp point which adorned the ears of our animal ancestors. dawson's ancestor must have been a wolf or a bloodhound. whenever now i have a strange caller who is not far too tall or far too short to be dawson, if a stranger stops me in the street to ask for a direction, if a porter at a station dashes up to help me with my bag, i go for his ears. if the lobes are attached to the cheekbones and there is a pronounced blob in the fold at the top, i address the man instantly as dawson, however impossibly unlike dawson he may be. i have spotted him twice now since he bowled me out, and he is frightfully savage--especially as i won't tell him how the trick is done. he says that it is my duty to tell him, and that he will compel me under some of his beloved defence of the realm regulations. but the rack could not force me to give away my precious secret. cherish it and use it. you will not tell, for you love to mystify the ruffian as much as i do."
-"i will watch for his ears when he next calls, which, i expect, will be to-morrow. thank you very much. i won't sneak."
-"remember that nothing else in the way of identification is of any use, for i doubt if either of us has ever seen the real, undisguised dawson as he is known to god. we know a man whom we think is the genuine article--but is he? cary's description of him is most unlike the man whom we see here. i expect that he has a different identity for every place which he visits. if he told me that at any moment he was wholly undisguised, i should be quite sure that he was lying. the man wallows in deception for the very sport of the thing. but he can't change his ears. study them, and you will be safe."
-our club was the only place in which we could be sure that dawson did not penetrate, though i should not have been surprised to learn that one or two of the waitresses were in his pay. dawson is an ardent feminist; he says that as secret agents women beat men to a frazzle.
-shortly before dawson left for his headquarters on the north-east coast he dropped in upon me. he had finished his researches, and revealed the results to me with immense satisfaction.
-"i have fixed up menteith," he began, "and know exactly how he came into communication with the german secret service." the contemptuous emphasis which he laid on the word "secret" would have annoyed the central office at potsdam. i have given the detected british spy the name of menteith after that of the most famous traitor in scottish history; if i called him, say, campbell or macdonald, nothing could save me from the righteous vengeance of the outraged clans.
-"it was all very simple," he went on, "like most things in my business when one gets to the bottom of them. he was seduced by a man whom the local police have had on their string for a long time, but who will now be put securely away. menteith was a frequenter of a certain public house down the river, where he posed as an authority on the navy, and hinted darkly at his stores of hidden information. our german agent made friends with him, gave him small sums for drinks, and flattered his vanity. it is strange how easily some men are deceived by flattery. the agent got from menteith one or two bits of news by pretending a disbelief in his sources of intelligence, and then, when the fool had committed himself, threatened to denounce him to the police unless he took service with him altogether. money, of course, passed, but not very much. the germans who employ spies so extensively pay them extraordinarily little. they treat them like scurvy dogs, for whom any old bone is good enough, and i'm not sure they are not right. they go on the principle that the white trash who will sell their country need only to be paid with kicks and coppers. menteith swears that he did not receive more than four pounds for the plans and description of the rampagious. fancy selling one's country and risking one's neck for four measly pounds sterling! if he had got four thousand, i should have had some respect for him. his home is in a wretched state, and his wife--a pretty woman, though almost a skeleton, and a very nicely mannered, honest woman--says that her husband unexpectedly gave her four pounds a month ago. he had kept none of the blood money for drink! curious, isn't it?"
-"it shows that the man had some good in him. it shows that he was ashamed to use the money upon himself. we must do something for the poor wife, dawson."
-"she will easily get work, and she will be far better without her sot of a husband. she did not cry when i told her everything. 'i ought to have left him long ago,' she said, 'but i tried to save him. thank god we have no children,' that seemed to be her most insistent thought, for she repeated it over and over again. 'thank god that we have no children.'"
-"i hope that you were gentle with her, dawson," said i, deeply moved. long ago the wife had come to me and pleaded for her husband. she had shed no tear; she had admitted the justice, the necessity, of my sentence. "can you not give him another chance?" she had asked. "no," i had answered sadly. "he has exhausted all the chances." when she had risen to go and i had pressed her hand, she had said, still dry-eyed, "you are right, sir, it is no use, no use at all. thank god that we have no children."
-"i hope that you were gentle with her, dawson," i repeated.
-he astonished me by the suddenness of his explosion. "damn," roared he--"damn and blast! do you think that i am a brute. gentle! it was as much as i could do not to kiss the woman, as your little daughter kissed me, and to promise that i would get her husband off somehow. but i should not be a friend to her if i tried to save that man."
-so dawson had soft spots in his armour of callousness, and little jane's instinct was far surer than mine. she had taken to him at sight. when i tried to get from her why, why he had so marked an attraction for her, her replies baffled me more than the central fact. "i love colonel dawson. he is a nice man. he has a little girl like me. her name is clara. her birthday is next month. i shall save up my pocket money and send clara a present. i like colonel dawson better even than dear bailey." i tore my hair, for "bailey" is a wholly imaginary friend of little jane, whom i invented one evening at her bedside and who has grown gradually into a personage of clearly defined attributes--like the "putois" of anatole france. dawson and "bailey"; they are both "nice men" and little jane's friends; she is sure of them, and i expect that she is right. children always are right.
-dawson, after his outburst, glowered at me for a moment and then laughed. "i am a man," said he, "though you may not think it, and i have my weaknesses. but i never give way to them when they interfere with business. menteith is in my grip, and he won't get out of it. but he is a poor creature. he handed over the description of the rampagious, saw it hidden in the sardine tin, and was ordered to take the food parcel to the post office. the german agent who used him had no notion of risking his own skin. then followed the discovery and the arrest of the draughtsman who had drawn the plan. those who had seduced menteith forbade him to come near them. they slipped away into hiding--which profited them little since all of them were on our string--after threatening menteith that he would be murdered if he gave himself up to the police, as in his terror he seemed to want to do. when nothing happened for two weeks, the vermin came out of their holes, made up the last parcel, and forced menteith to go to carlisle in order to post it. all through he has been the most abject of tools, and received nothing except the four pounds and various small sums spent in drinks."
-"you have the principal all right?"
-"yes, i have him tight. the others associated with him i shall leave free; they will be most useful in future. they don't know that we know them; when they do know, their number will go up, for they will be then of no further use to us. it is a beautiful system, mr. copplestone, and you have had the unusual privilege of seeing it at work."
-"what will your prisoners get by way of punishment?"
-by this time it had become apparent even to my slow intelligence why dawson told me so much about himself and his methods. he had formed the central figure in a real story in print, and the glory of it possessed him. he had tasted of the rich sweet wine of fame, and he thirsted for more of the same vintage. he never in so many words asked me to write this book, but his eagerness to play dr. johnson to my boswell appeared in all our relations. he was communicative far beyond the limits of official discretion. if i now disclosed half, or a quarter, of what he told me of the inner working of the secret service, scotland yard, which admires and loves him, would cast him out, lock him up securely in gaol, and prepare for me a safe harbourage in a contiguous cell. so for both our sakes i must be very, very careful.
-"you have been most helpful to me," he said handsomely at parting, "and if anything good turns up on the north-east coast, i will let you know. could you come if i sent for you?"
-"i would contrive to manage it," said i.
-the telegram was from dawson himself. it ran: "they say i'm beaten. but i'm not. come and see."
-"the deuce," said i. "sabotage! i am off."
-when at last i arrived at cary's flat it was very late, and i was exceedingly tired and out of temper. a squadron of zeppelins had been reported from the sea, the air-defence control at newcastle had sent out the preliminary warning "f.m.w.," and the speed of my train had been reduced to about fifteen miles an hour. i had expected to get in to dinner, but it was eleven o'clock before i reached my destination. i had not even the satisfaction of seeing a raid, for the zepps, made cautious by recent heavy losses, had turned back before crossing the line of the coast. cary and his wife fell upon my neck, for we were old friends, condoled with me, fed me, and prescribed a tall glass of mulled port flavoured with cloves. my stern views upon the need for prohibition in time of war became lamentably weakened.
-by midnight i had recovered my philosophic outlook upon life, and cary began to enlighten me upon the details of the grave problem which had brought me eagerly curious to his city.
-"i expect that dawson will drop in some time to-night," he said. "all hours are the same to him. i told him that you were on the way, and he wants to give you the latest news himself. he is dead set upon you, copplestone. i can't imagine why."
-"am i then so very unattractive?" i inquired drily. "it seems to me that dawson is a man of sound judgment."
-"i confess that i do not understand why he lavishes so much attention upon you."
-"your remarks, cary," i observed, "are deficient in tact. you might, at least, pretend to believe that my personal charm has won for me dawson's affection. as a matter of fact, he cares not a straw for my beaux yeux; his motives are crudely selfish. he thinks that it is in my power to contribute to the greater glory of dawson, and he cultivates me just as he would one of his show chrysanthemums. he has done me the honour to appoint me his biographer extraordinary."
-"i am sure you are wrong," cried cary. "he was most frightfully angry about that story of ours in cornhill. he demanded from me your name and address, and swore that if i ever again disclosed to you official secrets he would proceed against me under the defence of the realm act. he was a perfect terror, i can assure you."
-"and yet he always carries that story about with him in his breast-pocket; he has summoned me here to see him at his work; and you have been commanded to tell me everything which you know! my dear cary, do not be an ass. you are too simple a soul for this rather grubby world. in your eyes every politician is an ardent, disinterested patriot, and every soldier or sailor a knightly hero of romance. human beings, cary, are made in streaks, like bacon; we have our fat streaks and our lean ones; we can be big and bold, and also very small and mean. your great man and your national hero can become very poor worms when, so to speak, they are off duty. but i didn't come here, at great inconvenience, to talk this sort of stuff at midnight. go ahead; give me the details of this sabotage case which is baffling dawson and the naval authorities; let me hear about the cutting of those electric wires."
-"it is, as i told you, in my note, a queer business. the antinous, a fast light cruiser, came in about a fortnight ago to have some defects made good in her high-speed geared-turbines. there was not much wrong, but her engineer commander recommended a renewal of some of the spur wheels. the officers and crew went on short leave in rotation, a care and maintenance party was put in charge, and the builders placed a working gang on board which was occupied in shifts, by night and by day, in making good the defects. when a ship is under repair in a river basin, it is practically impossible to keep up the beautiful order and discipline of a ship at sea. men of all kinds are constantly coming and going, life on board is stripped of the most ordinary comforts and conveniences, there is inevitably some falling off in strict supervision. lack of space, lack of facilities for moving about the ship, lack of any regular routine. you will understand. just as the expansion in the new army and the new navy has made it possible for unknown enemy agents to take service in the army and the navy, so the dilution of labour in the shipyards has made it possible for workmen--whose sympathies are with the enemy--to get employment about the warships. the danger is fully recognised, and that is where dawson's widespread system of counter-espionage comes in. there is not a trade union, among all the eighteen or twenty engaged in shipyard work--riveters, fitters, platers, joiners, and all the rest of them--in which he has not police officers enrolled as skilled tradesmen, members of the unions, working as ordinary hands or as foremen, sometimes even in office as "shop stewards" representing the interest of the unions and acting as their spokesmen in disputes with the employers. dawson claims that there has never yet been a secret strike committee, since the war began, upon which at least one of his own men was not serving. he is a wonderful man. i don't like him; he is too unscrupulous and merciless for my simple tastes; but his value to the country is beyond payment."
-"but where in the world does he raise these men? one can't turn a policeman into a skilled worker at a moment's notice. how is it done?"
-"he begins at the other end. all his skilled workmen are the best he can pick out of their various trades. they have served their full time as apprentices and journeymen. they are recommended to him by their employers after careful testing and sounding. most of them, i believe, come from the government dockyards and ordnance factories. they are given a course of police training at scotland yard, and then dropped down wherever they may be wanted. dawson, and inspectors like him, have these men everywhere--in shipyards, in shell shops, in gun factories, in aeroplane sheds, everywhere. they take a leading part in the councils of the unions wherever they go, for they add to their skill as workmen a pronounced, even blatant parade of loyalty to the interests of trade unions and a tasty flavour of socialist principles. dawson is perfectly cynically outspoken to me over the business which, i confess, appals me. in his female agents--of which he has many--he favours what he calls a 'judicious frailty'; in his male agents he favours a subtle skill in the verbal technique of anarchism. and this man dawson is by religion a peculiar baptist, in private life a faithful husband and a loving father, and in politics a strict liberal of the manchester school! as a man he is good, honest, and rather narrow; as a professional detective he is base and mean, utterly without scruple, and a jesuit of jesuits. with him the end justifies the means, whatever the means may be."
-"and yet you admit that his value to the country is beyond payment. dawson--our remarkable dawson of the double life in the two compartments, professional and private, which never are allowed to overlap--dawson is an instrument of war. we do not like using gas or liquid fire, but we are compelled to use them. we do not like espionage, but we must employ it. as one who loves this fair land of england beyond everything in the world, and as one who would do anything, risk anything, and suffer anything to shield her from the filthy germans, i rejoice that she has in her service such supremely efficient guardians as this most wickedly unscrupulous dawson. there is, at any rate, not a trace of our english muddle about him."
-"ours is a righteous cause," cried poor cary desperately. "we are fighting for right against wrong, for defence against aggression, for civilisation against utter barbarism. we are by instinct clean fighters. if in the stress of conflict we stoop to foul methods, can we ever wash away the filth of them from our souls? we shall stand before the world nakedly confessed as the nation of hypocrites we have always been declared to be."
-"we shall know something soon," i said, "for, if i mistake not, here comes dawson." the electric bell at the front door had buzzed, and cary, slipping from the room, presently returned with a man who to me, at the first glance, was a complete stranger. i sprang up, moved round to a position whence i could see clearly the visitor's ears, and gasped. it was dawson beyond a doubt, but it was not the dawson whom i had known in the north. so what i had vaguely surmised was true--cary's dawson and copplestone's dawson were utterly unlike. dawson winked at me, glanced towards cary, and shook his head; from which i gathered that he did not desire his appearance to be the subject of comment. i therefore greeted him without remark, and, as he sat down under the electric lights, examined him in detail. this dawson was ten years older than the man whom i had known and fenced with. the hair of this one was lank and grey, while that of mine was brown and curly; the face of this one was white and thin, while the face of mine was rather full and ruddy. the teeth were different--i found out afterwards that dawson, who had few teeth of his own, possessed several artificial sets of varied patterns--the shape of the mouth was different, the nose was different. i could never have recognised the man before me had i not possessed that clue to identity furnished by his unchanging ears.
-"so, dawson," said i slowly, "we meet again. permit me to say that i congratulate you. it is very well done."
-he grinned and glanced at the unconscious cary. "you are learning. bill dawson takes a bit of knowing."
-"have you any news, mr. dawson?" asked cary eagerly.
-"you say that the antinous is all right now?" i observed.
-"yes. i saw her towed out of the repair basin an hour ago, and she must be away down the river by this time. it is not of her that i'm thinking, but of the other ships which are constantly in and out for repairs. there are always a dozen here of various craft, usually small stuff. while the man who cut those wires is unknown i shall be in a perfect fever, and so will the admiral-superintendent. we'll get the beauty sooner or later, but if it is later, there may be had mischief done. if he can cut wires in one ship, he may do much worse things in some other. the responsibility rests on me, and it is rather crushing."
-dawson spoke with less than his usual cheery confidence. i fancy that the thinness and whiteness of his face were not wholly due to disguise. he had not been to bed since he had been called up in the middle watch of the night before last, and the man was worn out.
-his dull, weary eyes lighted as if under the stimulus of champagne, and he turned upon me a look which was almost affectionate. i really began to believe that dawson likes me, that he sees in me a kindred spirit as patriotically unscrupulous as himself.
-i led him to the door and put him out, and then turned to cary with a laugh. "and i, too, will follow dawson's example. it is past one, and my head is buzzing with queer ideas. perhaps, after all, the germans have more imagination than we usually credit them with. i wonder--" but i did not tell to cary what i wondered.
-we were sitting after breakfast in cary's study, enjoying the first sweet pipe of the day, when the telephone bell rang. cary took off the earpiece and i listened to a one-sided conversation somewhat as follows:--
-"what! is that you, mr. dawson? yes, copplestone is here. the antigone? what about her? she is a sister ship of the antinous, and was in with damage to her forefoot, which had been ripped up when she ran down that big german submarine north of the orkneys--yes, i know; she was due to go out some time to-day. what do you say? wires cut? whose wires have been cut? the antigone's? oh, the devil! yes, we will both come down to your office this afternoon. whenever you like."
-cary hung up the receiver and glared at me. "it has happened again," he groaned. "the antigone this time. she has been in dry dock for the past fortnight and was floated out yesterday. her full complement joined her last night. dawson says that he was called up at eight-o'clock by the news that her gun-wires have been cut exactly like those of the antinous and in the same incomprehensible way. he seems, curiously enough, to be quite cheerful about it."
-"what is your idea? tell me quick."
-"no, thank you, dr. watson. we amateur masters of intuition don't work our thrilling effects in that way. we keep our notions to ourselves until they turn out to be right, and then we declare that we saw through the problem from the first. when we have been wrong, we say nothing. so you observe, cary, that whatever happens our reputations do not suffer."
-cary tried to shake my resolution, but i was obdurately silent. while he canvassed the whole position, bringing to bear his really profound knowledge of naval equipment and routine--and incidentally helping me greatly to realise the improbability of my own guesswork solution--i was able to maintain an air of lofty superiority. i must have aggravated him intensely, unpardonably, for i was his guest. he ought to have kicked me out. yet he bore with me like the sweet-blooded kindly angel that he is, and when at the end it appeared that i was right after all, cary was the first to pour congratulations and honest admiration upon me. if he reads this book he will know that i am repentant--though i must confess that i should behave in just the same abominable way if the incident were to occur again. there is no great value in repentance such as this.
-we reached dawson's office in the early afternoon, and found his chief assistant there, but no dawson. "the old man," remarked that officer, a typical, stolid, faithful detective sergeant, "is out on the rampage. he ought by rights to sit here directing the staff and leave the outside investigations to me. he is a high-up man, almost a deputy assistant commissioner, and has no call to be always disguising himself and playing his tricks on everybody. i suppose you know that white-haired old gent down here ain't a bit like bill dawson, who's not a day over forty?"
-"i have given up wondering where the real dawson ends and where the disguises begin. the man i met up north wasn't the least bit like the one down here."
-"one might make a good story out of that," i observed to cary.
-"i don't understand," said he. "mr. dawson told me once that i knew the real dawson, but that few other people did."
-"if he told you that," calmly observed the assistant, "you may bet your last shirt he was humbugging you. he couldn't tell the truth, not if he tried ever so."
-"what is he at now?" i asked.
-"i don't know, sir. and if he told me, i shouldn't believe him. i don't take no account of a word that man says. but he's the most successful detective we've got in the whole force. he's sure to be head of the c.i.d. one day, and then he will have to stay in his office and give us others a chance."
-"i don't believe he will," i observed, laughing. "there will be a sham dawson in the office and the genuine article will be out on the rampage. he is a man who couldn't sit still, not even if you tied him in his chair and sealed the knots."
-we spent a pleasant hour pulling dawson to pieces and leaving to him not a rag of virtue, except intense professional zeal. we exchanged experiences of him, those of the chief assistant being particularly rich and highly flavoured. it appeared that dawson when off duty loved to occupy the platform at meetings of his religious connection and to hold forth to the elect. the privilege of "sitting under him" had been enjoyed more than once by the assistant, who retailed to us extracts from dawson's favourite sermon on "truth." his views upon truth were unbending as armour plate. "under no circumstances, not to save oneself from imminent death, not to shield a wife or a child from the penalties for a lapse from virtue, not even to preserve one's country from the attacks of an enemy, was it permissible to a peculiar baptist to diverge by the breadth of a hair from the straight path of truth. hell yawned on either hand; only along the knife edge of truth could salvation be reached."
-"he made me shiver," said the chief assistant, "and he drove me to thinking of one or two little deceptions of my own. when dawson preaches, his eyes blaze, his voice breaks, and he will fall on his knees and pray for the souls of those who heed not his words. you can't look at him then and not believe that he means every word he says. yet it's all humbug."
-"no, it is not," said i. "dawson in the pulpit, or on the tub--or whatever platform he uses--is absolutely genuine. he is the finest example that i have ever met of the dual personality. he is in dead earnest when he preaches on truth, and he is in just as dead earnest when, stripped of every moral scruple, he pursues a spy or a criminal. in pursuit he is ruthless as a prussian, but towards the captured victim he can be strangely tender. i should not be surprised to learn that he hates capital punishment and is a strong advocate of gentle methods in prison discipline."
-the chief assistant stared, opened a drawer, and pulled forth a slim grey pamphlet. it was marked "for office use only," and was entitled, "some notes on prison reform," by chief inspector william dawson.
-i had begun to read the pamphlet, when a step sounded outside; the assistant snatched it from my hand, flashed it back into its place, and jumped to attention as dawson entered. he surveyed us with those searching, unwinking eyes of his--for we had the air of conspirators--and said brusquely: "clear out, wilson. you talk too much. and don't admit any one except petty officer trehayne."
-"the antigone!" cried cary, who thought only of ships. "the antigone! is she much damaged?"
-"no. whoever tried to cut her wires was disturbed, or in too great a hurry to do his work well. the main gun-cable was nipped, but not cut through. she will be delayed till to-morrow, not longer. i am not worrying about the antigone, but about the new battleship malplaquet, which was commissioned last month, is nearly filled up with stores, and is expected to leave the river on saturday. we can't have her delayed by any hanky tricks, not even if we have to put the whole detective force on board of her. still, i'm not so anxious as i was. this antigone business has cleared things up a lot, and one can sift out the impossible from the possible. to begin with, the antinous was in for repairs to her geared turbines, and the antigone for damage to her forefoot. engineers were on one job, and platers and riveters on the other. different trades. so not a workman who was in the antinous was also in the antigone. we can rule out all the workmen. we can also rule out my lieutenant r.n.r. with the german name who has gone to sea in the antinous. the care and maintenance party in the antigone was not the same as the one in the antinous, not a man the same."
-"you are sure of that?" cried i, for it seemed that my daring theory had gone to wreck. "you are quite sure."
-"quite. i have all the names and have examined all the men. they were all off the ship by eleven o'clock last night. i hadn't one of my own men among them, but, to make sure, i sent petty officer trehayne on board at eight o'clock to keep a sharp look-out and to see all the harbour party off the vessel. he reported a little after eleven that they were all gone and the ship taken over by her own crew. the damage was discovered at four bells in the morning watch."
-"six o'clock a.m.," interpreted cary.
-"it looks now as if there might be a traitor among her own crew, which is her officers' job, not mine. i wash my hands of the antigone, but it is very much up to me to see that nothing hurtful happens to the malplaquet. the admiral has orders to support me with all the force under his command; the general of the district has the same orders. but it isn't force we want so much as brains--dawson's brains. i have been beaten twice, but not the third time. i've told the yard that if the malplaquet is touched i shall resign, and if they send any one to help me i shall resign. between to-day, thursday, and saturday i am going to catch the wily josser who has a fancy for cutting gun cables or dawson will say good-bye to the force. that's a fair stake."
-the man swelled with determination and pride. he had no thought of failure, and drew inspiration and joy from the heaviness of the bet which he had made with fortune. he took the born gambler's delight in a big risk.
-"then you think that the antinous and the antigone were both damaged by the same man, and that he may have designs upon the malplaquet?" said i.
-"i don't propose to tell you what i think," replied dawson stiffly.
-"still," i persisted, passing over the snub, "you have a theory?"
-"what are you going to do?"
-"this is thursday afternoon. i am going to join the malplaquet presently, and i'm not going to sleep till she is safely down the river. i'm going to be my own watchman this time."
-"how? in what capacity?"
-dawson gave a shrug of impatience, for his nerves were on edge. for a moment he hesitated, and then, recollecting the high post to which i had tacitly been appointed in his household, he replied:
-"i am going as one of the marine sentries."
-"it's no use, dawson," protested i emphatically. "you are a wonder at disguise, and will look, i do not doubt, the very spit of a marine. but you can't pass among the men for half an hour without discovery. they are a class apart, they talk their own language, cherish their own secret traditions, live in a world to which no stranger ever penetrates. you could pass as a naval officer more easily than you could as a pongo. it is sheer madness, dawson."
-he gave a short laugh. "much you know about it. i have served in the red corps myself. i was a recruit at deal, passed two years at plymouth, and served afloat for three years. i was then drafted into the naval police. afterwards i was recommended for detective work in the dockyards, and at the end of my marine service joined the yard. my good man, i was a sergeant before i left the corps."
-"i give up, dawson," said i. "nothing about you will ever surprise me again. not even if you claim to have been a cabinet minister."
-a queer smile stole over his face. "no, i have not been a minister, but i have attended a meeting of the cabinet."
-cary interposed at this point. "yours is a fine idea, mr. dawson. as a marine sentry you can get yourself posted by the major wherever you please, and the guard will not talk even though they may wonder that any man should want to do twenty-four hours of duty per day. the marines are the closest, faith-fullest, and best disciplined force in the wide world. bluejackets will gossip; marines never. you will be able to watch more closely than even trehayne, who, i suppose, will also be on board."
-"yes. he is coming up soon for instructions. it's his last chance, as it is mine. he sees that he must be held responsible for the wire cutting in the antinous, and to some slight extent also in the antigone, and that if anything goes wrong with the malplaquet he will be dismissed. i shall be sorry to lose him, for he is an exceptionally good man, but we can't allow failures in petty officer detectives any more than we can in chief inspectors."
-"where does trehayne come from? his name sounds cornish," i asked.
-"falmouth, i believe. he is quite young, but he has had nearly three years in the vernon at portsmouth and in the torpedo factory at greenock. a first-class engineer and electrician and a sound detective. he has been with me for some twelve months. you will see him if he calls soon."
-i had been thinking hard over the details of dawson's plans while the talk went on, and then ventured to offer some comments.
-"it is fortunate that you have grown a moustache since you were in the north; you could not have been a marine as a clean-shaven man."
-"i often have to shave it," said dawson, "but i always grow it again between whiles. one can take it off quicker than one can put it on again. false hair is the devil; i have never used it yet and never will. so whenever i have a spell of leisure i grow a moustache against emergencies--like this one."
-my next comment was rather difficult to make, for i did not wish either cary or dawson to divine its purpose. "if i may make a suggestion to a man of your experience it would be that none of your men here, not even your chief assistant or trehayne, should know that you are joining the malplaquet as a marine. two independent strings are in this case better than a double-jointed string."
-"i never tell anything to any one, least of all to pudden-headed wilson. he is loyal, but a stupid ass with a flapping tongue. trehayne is close as wax, but, on general principles, i keep my movements strictly to myself. he will be in the ship, but he won't know that i am there too. the commander must know and the major of marines, for i shall want a uniform and the free run of the ship, so as to be posted where i like. the marine sergeants of the guard may guess, but, as mr. cary says, they won't talk. you two gentlemen are safe," added dawson pleasantly, "for i've got you tight in my hand and could lock either of you up in a minute if i chose."
-a peculiar knock came upon the door, a word passed between dawson and the police sentry outside, and a young man in the uniform of a naval petty officer entered the room. he was clean-shaven, looked about twenty-five years old, was dark and slim of the latin type which is not uncommon in cornwall, and impressed me at once with his air of intelligence and refinement. his voice, too, was rather striking. it was that of the wardroom rather than of the mess deck. i liked the look of petty officer trehayne. dawson presented him to us and then took him aside for instructions. when he had finished, both men rejoined us, and the conversation became light and general. trehayne, though clearly suffering from nervous strain after his recent professional failures, talked with the ease and detachment of a highly cultivated man. it appeared that he had been educated at blundell's school, had lost his parents at about sixteen, had done a course in some electrical engineering shops at plymouth, and when twenty years old had secured a good berth on the engineering staff of the vernon. he could speak both french and german, which he had learned partly at school and partly on the continent during leave. dawson, who was evidently very proud of his young pupil and assistant, paraded his accomplishments before us rather to trehayne's embarrassment. "try him with french and german," urged dawson. "he can chatter them as well as english. but he is as close as wax in all three languages. some men can't keep their tongues still in one."
-i turned to trehayne and spoke in french: "german i can't abide, but french i love. my vocabulary is extensive, but my accent abominable--incurably british. you can hear it for yourself how it gives me away."
-"it is not quite of paris," replied trehayne. "mais vous parlez francais tres bien, tres correctement. beaucoup mieux que moi."
-"non, non, monsieur," i protested, and then reverted to english.
-"now," said dawson, when trehayne had left us, "i must get along, see the commander of the malplaquet, and draw a uniform and rifle out of the marine stores. it will be quite like old times. you won't see me until saturday, when i shall be either a triumphant or a broken man. what is the betting, mr. copplestone?"
-i could not understand the quizzical little smile that dawson gave me, nor the humorous twitch of his lips. he had contemptuously disclaimed all use of theories, yet there was more moving behind that big forehead of his than he chose to give away. did his ideas run on parallel lines with mine; did he even suspect that i had formed any idea at all? i could not inquire, for i dislike being laughed at, especially by this man dawson. i had nothing to go upon, at least so little that was palpable that anything which i might say would be dismissed as the merest guesswork, for which, as dawson proclaimed, he had no use. yet, yet--my original guess stuck firmly in my mind, improbable though it might be, and had just been nailed down tightly--i scorn to mystify the reader--by a few simple sentences spoken in french.
-the marine sentry
-"if you can manage that, cary, you will have my blessing."
-he did manage to work the luncheon part by telephoning to the yard where the malplaquet was fitting out, and we left the rest to our personal charms.
-cary was right. the commander was a very fine fellow, an english naval officer of the best type. he confirmed the views i had frequently heard expressed by others of his profession that no hatred exists between english and german sailors. they leave that to middle-aged civilians who write for newspapers. the german navy, in his opinion, was "a jolly fine service," worthy in high courage and skill to contest with us the supremacy of the seas. he had been through the china troubles as a lieutenant in the monmouth--afterwards sunk by german shot off coronel--knew von spee, von mueller, and other officers of the pacific squadron, and spoke of them with enthusiasm. "they sunk some of our ships and we wiped out theirs. that was all in the way of business. we loved them in peace and we loved them in war. they were splendidly loyal to us out in china--von spee actually transferred some of his ships to the command of our own senior officer so as to avoid any clash of control--and when it came to fighting, they fought like gentlemen. i grant you that their submarine work against merchant ships has been pretty putrid, but i don't believe that was the choice of their navy. they got their orders from rotten civilians like kaiser bill." imagine if you can the bristling moustache of the supreme war lord could he have heard himself described as a civilian!
-our guest had commanded a destroyer in the jutland battle, and assured us that the handling of the german battle squadrons had been masterly. "they punished us heavily for just so long as they were superior in strength, and then they slipped away before jellicoe could get his blow in. they kept fending us off with torpedo attacks until the night came down, and then clean vanished. we got in some return smacks after dark at stragglers, but it was very difficult to say how much damage we did. not much, i expect. still it was a good battle, as decisive in its way as trafalgar. it proved that the whole german fleet could not fight out an action against our full force and have the smallest hope of success. i am just praying for the chance of a whack at them in the malplaquet. my destroyer was a bonny ship, the best in the flotilla, but the malplaquet is a real peach. you should see her."
-"we mean to," said cary. "this very afternoon. you shall take us back with you."
-the commander opened his eyes at this cool proposal, but we prevailed upon him to seek the permission of the admiral-superintendent, who, a good deal to my surprise, proved to be quite pliable. cary's reputation for discretion must be very high in the little village where he lives if it is able to guarantee so disreputable a scribbler as bennet copplestone! the admiral, fortunately, had not read any of my works before they had been censored. when printed in cornhill they were comparatively harmless.
-i must not describe the malplaquet. her design was not new to me--i had seen more than one of her type--but as she is now a unit in beatty's fleet her existence is not admitted to the world. as we went up and down her many steep narrow ladders, and peered into dark corners, i looked everywhere for a marine sentry whom i could identify by mark of ear as dawson. i never saw him, but trehayne passed me twice, and i found myself again admiring his splendid young manhood. he was not big, being rather slim and wiry than strongly built, but in sheer beauty of face and form he was almost perfectly fashioned. "do you know that man?" i asked of our commander, indicating trehayne. "no," said he. "he is one of the shore party. but i should like to have him with me. he is one of the smartest looking petty officers that i have ever seen."
-we were shown everything that we desired to see except the transmission room and the upper conning tower--the twin holy of holies in a commissioned ship--and slipped away, escaping the captain by a bare two minutes. which was lucky, as he would probably have had us thrown into the "ditch."
-the end of the day was as weariful as the beginning, and we were all glad--especially, i expect, mrs. cary--to go early to bed. that ill-used lady, to whom we could disclose nothing of our anxieties, must have found us wretched company.
-we had finished breakfast the next morning--the saturday of dawson's gamble--and were sitting on cary's big fireguard talking of every subject, except the one which had kept us awake at night, when a servant entered and announced that a soldier was at the door with a message from mr. dawson. "show him in," almost shouted cary, and i jumped to my feet, stirred for once into a visible display of eagerness.
-a marine came in, dressed in the smart blue sea kit that i love; upon his head the low flat cap of his corps. he gave us a full swinging salute, and jumped to attention with a click of his heels. he looked about thirty-five, and wore a neatly trimmed dark moustache. his hair, also very dark, was cropped close to his head. standing there with his hands upon the red seams of his trousers, his chest well filled out, and his face weather tanned, he looked a proper figure of a sea-going soldier. "mr. cary, sir," he said, in a flat, monotonous orderly's voice, "major boyle's compliments, and could you and your friend come down to the police station to meet him and chief inspector dawson. i have a taxi-cab at the door, sir."
-"certainly," cried cary; "in two minutes we shall be ready."
-"oh, no, we shan't," i remarked calmly, for i had moved to a position of tactical advantage on the marine's port beam. "we will have the story here, if you don't mind, dawson."
-he stamped pettishly on the floor, whipped off his cap, and spun it across the room. "confound you, mr. copplestone!" he growled. "how the--how the--do you do it?" he could not think of an expletive mild enough for mrs. cary's ears. "there's something about me that i can't hide. what is it? if you don't tell, i will get you on the regulation compelling all british subjects to answer questions addressed to them by a competent naval or military authority."
-"you don't happen to be either, dawson," said i unkindly. "and, beside, there was never yet a law made which could compel a man to speak or a woman to hold her tongue. some day perhaps, if you are good, i will show you how the trick is done. but not yet. i want to have something to bargain with when you cast me into jail. out with the story; we are impatient. if i mistake not, you come to us dawson triumphant. you haven't the air of a broken man."
-"i have been successful," he answered gravely, "but i am a long, long way from feeling triumphant. no, thank you, mrs. cary, i have had my breakfast, but if i might trouble you for a cup of coffee? many thanks."
-i cut dawson short. he tended to become tedious.
-"quite so," i observed politely. "and to revert to one big female creature, let us hear something of the malplaquet."
-"you at any rate are curious enough for a dozen. it would serve you right to keep you hopping a bit longer. but i have a kindly eye for human weakness, though you might not think it. i joined the ship on thursday afternoon, slipping in as one of a detachment of fifty r.m.l.i. who had been wired for from chatham. they were an emergency lot; we hadn't enough in the ship for the double sentry go that i wanted. all my plans were made with the commander and major boyle, and they both did exactly what i told them. it isn't often that a private of marines has the ordering about of two officers. but dawson is dawson; no common man. they did as i told them, and were glad to do it. i had extra light bulbs put on all over the lower decks and every dark corner lit up--except one. just one. and this one was where the four gun-cables ran out of the switch-room and lay alongside one another before they branched off to the fore and after turrets and to the port and starboard side batteries. that was the most likely spot which any one wanting to cut the gun-wires would mark down, and i meant to watch it pretty closely myself. we had double sentries at the magazines. the malplaquet is an oil-fired ship, so we hadn't any bothering coal bunkers to attract fancy bombs. i was pretty sure that after the antinous and the antigone we had mostly wire-cutting to fear. when a man has done one job successfully, and repeated it almost successfully, he is pretty certain to have a third shot. besides, if one is out to delay a ship, cutting wires is as good a way as any. i had an idea that my man was not a bomber."
-dawson frowned. "shut up, copplestone," snapped cary.
-"we were in no danger from the lighting, heating, and telephone wires, for any defect would have been visible at once. it was the gun and gunnery control cables that were the weak spots. so i had l.t.o.'s posted in the spotting top, the conning tower, the transmission room, the four turrets, and at the side batteries. every few minutes they put through tests which would have shown up at once any wires that had been tampered with. after the shore party had cleared out about nine o'clock on the thursday, no officer or man was allowed to leave the ship without a special permit from the commander. this was all dead against the sanitary regulations of the harbour, but i had the admiral's authority to break any rules i pleased. by the way, you two ought never to have been allowed on board yesterday afternoon--i saw you, though you didn't see me; it was contrary to my orders. i spoke to the admiral pretty sharp last night. 'who is responsible for the ship?' says i. 'you or me?' 'you,' says he. 'i leave it at that,' says i."
-"one moment, dawson," i put in. "if the shore party had all gone, how was it that i saw petty officer trehayne in the ship?"
-"i started my own sentry duty in the dark corner i told you of as soon as i had seen to the arrangements all over the malplaquet, and i was there, with very few breaks of not more than five minutes each for a bite of food, for twenty-six hours. two marine sentries took my place whenever i was away. i had my rifle and bayonet, and stood back in a corner of a bulkhead where i couldn't be seen. the hours were awful long; i stood without hardly moving. all the pins and needles out of redditch seemed to dance up and down me, but i stuck it out--and i had my reward, i had my reward. i did my duty, but it's a sick and sorry man that i am this day."
-"there was nothing else to be done," i said. "what you feel now is a nervous reaction."
-dawson stopped and pulled savagely at his cigar. he jabbed the end with his knife, though the cigar was drawing perfectly well, and gave forth a deep growl which might have been a curse or a sob.
-"it was petty officer trehayne," said i calmly--and waited for a sensation.
-"i am not saying that he wasn't," snapped dawson, whose nerves were very badly on edge. "he was obeying the orders of his superiors as we all have to do. he gave his life, and it was for his country's service. nobody can do more than that. don't you go for to slander trehayne. i watched him die--on his feet."
-cary turned to me. "what made you think it was trehayne?" he asked. this was better. i looked at dawson, who was brooding in his chair with his thoughts far away. he was still seeing those eyes fading out under the glare of the electrics between the steel decks of the malplaquet!
-"it was a sheer guess at first," said i, preserving a decent show of modesty. "when i heard how the enemy plotted and dawson counter-plotted with all those skilled workmen in his detective service, it occurred to me that an enemy with imagination might counter-counterplot by getting men inside dawson's defences. i couldn't see how one would work it, but if german agents, say, could manage to become trusted servants of dawson himself, they would have the time of their lives. so far i was guessing at a possibility, however improbable it might seem. then when dawson told us that he had sent trehayne into the antigone and that he was the one factor common to both vessels--the workmen and the maintenance part were all different--i began to feel that my wild theory might have something in it. i didn't say anything to you, cary, or to dawson--he despises theories. afterwards trehayne came in and i spoke to him, and he to me, in french. he did not utter a dozen words altogether, but i was absolutely certain that his french had not been learned at an english public school and during short trips on the continent. i know too much of english school french and of one's opportunities to learn upon continental trips. it took me three years of hard work to recover from the sort of french which i learned at school, and i am not well yet. the french spoken by trehayne was the french of the nursery. it was almost, if not quite, his mother tongue, just as his english was. trehayne's french accent did not fit into trehayne's history as retailed to us by dawson. from that moment i plumped for trehayne as the cutter of gun wires."
-dawson had been listening, though he showed no interest in my speech. when i had quite finished, and was basking in the respectful admiration emanating from dear old cary, he upset over me a bucket of very cold water.
-"very pretty," said he. "but answer one question. why did i send trehayne to the antigone?"
-dawson pitched his cigar into the fire, got up, and walked away to the far side of the room. i had never till that moment completely reverenced the penetrative, infallible judgment of little jane.
-dawson came back after a few minutes, picked up another cigar from cary's box, and sat down. "you see, i have a letter from him. i found it in his quarters where i went straight from the malplaquet."
-"may we read it?" i asked gently. "i was greatly taken with trehayne myself. he was a clean, beautiful boy. he was an enemy officer on secret service; there is no dishonour in that. if he were alive, i could shake his hand as the officer of the firing party shook the hand of lody before he gave the last order."
-dawson took a paper from his pocket, and handed it to me. "read it out," said he; "i can't."
-i took the letter from dawson and glanced through it. the first sheet and the last had been written very recently--just before the boy had left his quarters for the last time to go on board the malplaquet; the remainder had been set down at various times; and the whole had been connected up, put together, and paged after the completion of the last sheet. trehayne wrote a pretty hand, firm and clear, the writing of an artist who was also a trained engineer. there was no trace in the script of nervousness or of hesitation. he had carried out his orders, he saw clearly that the path which he had trod was leading him to the end of his journey, but he made no complaint. he was a latin, and to the last possessed that loftiness of spirit wedded to sombre fatalism which is the heritage of the latins. he was at war with his kindred of italy and france, and with the english among whom he had been brought up, and whom he loved. he was their enemy by accident of birth, but though he might and did love his foes better than his german friends of austria and prussia, yet he had taken the oath of faithful service, and kept it to the end. i could understand why dawson--that strange human bloodhound, in whom the ruthless will continually struggled with and kept under the very tender heart--would allow no one to slander trehayne.
-cary was watching me eagerly, waiting for me to read the letter.
-to chief inspector william dawson, c.i.d.
-i spring from an old italian family which has long been settled in trieste. for many generations we have served in the austrian navy. with modern italy, with the italy above all which has thrown the holy father into captivity and stripped the holy see of the dominions bestowed upon it by god, we have no part or lot. yet when i have met italian officers, and those too of france, as i have frequently done during my cruises afloat, i have felt with them a harmony of spirit which i have never experienced in association with german-austrians and with prussians. i do not wish to speak evil of our allies, the prussians, but to one of my blood they are the most detestable people whom god ever had the ill-judgment to create.
-i was born in trieste, and lived there with my parents until i was eight years old. in our private life we always spoke italian or french, german was our official language. i know that language well, of course, but it is not my mother tongue. italian or french, and afterwards english--i speak and write all three equally well; which of the three i shall use when i come to die and one reverts to the speech of the nursery and schoolroom, i cannot say; it will depend upon whom those are that stand about my deathbed.
-when i was eight years old, my father, captain ---- (no, i will not tell you my name; it is not trehayne though somewhat similar in sound), was appointed austrian consul at plymouth, and we all moved to that great devonshire seaport. i was young enough to absorb the rich english atmosphere, nowhere so rich as in that county which is the home and breeding-ground of your most splendid navy. i was born again, a young elizabethan englishman. my story to you of my origin was true in one particular--i really was educated at blundell's school at tiverton. whenever--and it has happened more than once--i have met as trehayne old schoolfellows of blundell's they have accepted without comment or inquiry my tale that i had become an englishman, and had anglicised my name. among the peoples which exist on earth to-day, you english are the most nobly generous and unsuspicious. the prussians laugh at you; i, an austrian-italian, love and respect you.
-when i was sixteen, after i had spent eight years in devon, and four of those years at an english public school, i was in speech and almost in the inner fibres of my mind an englishman. your naval authorities at plymouth and devonport, as serenely trustful and heedless of espionage as the mass of your kindly people, allowed my father--whom i often accompanied--to see the dockyards, the engine shops, the training schools, and the barracks. they knew that he was an austrian naval officer, and they took him to their hearts as a brother, of the common universal brotherhood of the sea. i think that your navy holds those of a foreign naval service as more nearly of kin to themselves than civilians of their own blood. the bond of a common profession is more close than the bond of a common nationality. i do not doubt that my father sent much information to our embassy in london--it was what he was employed to do--but i am sure that he did not basely betray the wonderful confidence of his hosts. our countries were at peace. my father is no prussian; he is a chivalrous gentleman. i am sure that he did not send more than his english naval friends were content at the time that he should send. for in those years your newspapers and your books upon the royal navy of england concealed little from the world. i have visited dartmouth; i have dined in the naval college there with bright sailor boys of my own age. it was then my one dream, had i remained in england, to have become an englishman, and to have myself served in your navy. it was a vain dream, but i knew no better. fate and my birth made me afterwards your enemy. i would have fought you gladly face to face on land or sea, but never, never, would i have stabbed the meanest of englishmen in the back.
-when i was sixteen years old i left england with my parents and returned to triest. i was a good mathematician with a keen taste for mechanics. i spent two years in the naval engineering shops at pola, and i was gazetted as a sub-lieutenant in the engineering branch of the austrian navy. my next two years were spent afloat. although i did not know it, i had already been marked out by my superiors for the secret service. my perfect acquaintance with english, my education at blundell's, my knowledge of your thoughts and your queer ways, and twists of mind, had equipped me conspicuously for secret service work in your midst.
-as a youth of twenty, in the first flush of manhood, i was seconded for service here, and i returned to england. that was five years ago.
-it was extraordinarily easy for me to obtain employment in the heart of your naval mysteries. few questions were asked; you admitted me as one of yourselves. i took the broad open path of full acceptance of your conditions. i first obtained employment in a marine engineering shop at southampton, joined a trade union, attended socialist meetings--i, a member of one of the oldest families in trieste. though a catholic, i bent my knee in the english church, and this was not difficult, for i had always attended service in the chapel at blundell's. to you, my friend, i can say this, for you are of some strange sect which consigns to the lowest hell both catholics and anglicans alike. your heaven will be a small place. from southampton i went to the torpedo training-ship vernon. again i had no difficulty. i was a workman of skill and intelligence. i was there for more than two years, learning all your secrets, and storing them in my mind for the benefit of my own service at home.
-it was at portsmouth that there came to me the great temptation of my life, for i fell in love, not as you colder people do, but as a latin of the warm south. she was an english girl of good, if undistinguished, family. though in my hours of duty i belonged to that you call the 'working classes,' i was well off, and lived in private the life of my own class. i had double the pay of my rank, an allowance from my father, and my wages, which were not small. there were many english families in portsmouth and southsea who were graciously pleased to recognise that john trehayne, trade unionist, and weekly wage-earning workman, was a gentleman by birth and breeding. in any foreign port i should have been under police supervision as a person eminently to be suspected; in portsmouth i was accepted without question for what i gave myself out to be--a gentleman who wished to learn his business from the bottom upwards. i will say nothing of the lady of my heart except that i loved her passionately, and should have married her--aye, and become an englishman in fact, casting off my own, country--if war had not blown my ignoble plans to shatters. there was nothing ignoble in my love, for she was a queen among women, but in myself for permitting the hot blood of youth to blind my eyes to the duty claimed of me by my country. when war became imminent, i was not recalled, as i had hoped to be, since i wished to fight afloat as became my rank and family. i was ordered to take such steps as most effectively aided me to observe the english plans and preparations, and to report when possible to vienna. in other words, i was ordered to act in your midst as a special intelligence officer--what you would call a spy. it was an honourable and dangerous service which i had no choice but to accept. my dreams of love had gone to wreck. i could have deceived the woman whom i loved, for she would have trusted me and believed any story of me that i had chosen to tell. but could i, an officer, a gentleman by birth and i hope by practice, a secret enemy of england and a spy upon her in the hour of her sorest trial, could i remain the lover of an english girl without telling her fully and frankly exactly what i was? could i have committed this frightful treason to love and remained other than an object of scorn and loathing to honest men? i could not. in soul and heart she was mine; i was her man, and she was my woman. with her there were no reserves in love. she was mine, yet i fled from her with never a word, even of good-bye. i made my plans, obtained certificates of my proficiency in the vernon, kissed my dear love quietly, almost coldly, without a trace of the passion that i felt, and fled. it was the one thing left me to do. my friend, that was two years ago. she knows not whether i am alive or am dead; i know not of his life would have naturally attracted him. but he was well aware that this was his misfortune, not his fault; and he did like her--he did respect her.
-how strange it was to know that in her well-shaped little hand there lay such immense potential power! varick fully intended that that little hand should one day, sooner rather than later, lie, confidingly, in his. and when that happened he intended to behave very well. he would "make good," as our american cousins call it; he would go into public life, maybe, and make a big name for himself, and, incidentally, for her. what might he not do, indeed--with helen brabazon's vast fortune joined to her impeccable good name! he did not wish to give up his own old family name; but why should they not become the brabazon-varicks? so far had he actually travelled in his own mind, as he escorted his young lady guest about the upper rooms and corridors of wyndfell hall.
-as he glanced, now and again, at the girl walking composedly by his side, he felt he would have given anything--anything--to have known what was behind those candid hazel eyes, that broad white brow. again he was playing for a great stake, and playing, this time, more or less in the dark....
-his mind and memory swung back, in spite of himself, to his late wife. milly fauncey had liked him almost from the first day they had met. it had been like the attraction--but of course that was the very last simile that would have occurred to varick himself--of a rabbit for a cobra. he had had but to look at the self-absorbed, shy, diffident human being, to fascinate and draw her to himself. the task would have been almost too easy, but for the dominant personality of poor milly's companion, julia pigchalke. she had fought against him, tooth and claw; but, cunning old dame nature had been on his side in the fight, and, of course, nature had won.
-miss pigchalke had always made the fatal mistake of keeping her ex-pupil too much to herself. and during a certain fatal three days when the companion had been confined to her hotel bedroom by a bad cold, the friendship of shy, nervous milly fauncey, and of bold, confident lionel varick, had fast ripened, fostered by the romantic italian atmosphere. during these three days varick, almost without trying to do so, had learnt all there was to learn of the simple-minded spinster and of her financial circumstances. but he was not the man to take any risk, and he had actually paid a flying visit to london--a visit of which he had later had the grace to feel secretly ashamed--for it had had for object that of making quite sure, at somerset house, that miss fauncey's account of herself was absolutely correct.
-yes, the wooing of milly fauncey had been almost too easy, and he knew that he was not likely to be so fortunate this time. but now the prize to be won was such an infinitely greater prize!
-he told himself that he mustn't be impatient. this, after all, was only the second day of helen brabazon's stay at wyndfell hall. perhaps it was a good thing that her cantankerous old uncle had betaken himself off. misfortune had a way of turning itself into good fortune where lionel varick was concerned; for he was bold and brave, as well as always ready to seize opportunity at the flood.
-when, at last, they had almost finished their tour of the house, and he was showing her into the haunted room, she clapped her hands delightedly. "this is exactly the sort of room in which one would expect to meet a ghost!" she exclaimed.
-the room into which she had just been ushered had, in very truth, a strange, unused, haunted look. very different from that into which helen had just peeped. for miss farrow's present bed-chamber, with its tapestried and panelled walls, its red brocaded curtains, and carved oak furniture, the whole lit up by a bright, cheerful fire, was very cosy. but here, in the haunted room next door, the fire was only lit at night, and now one of the windows over the moat was open, and it was very cold.
-helen went over to the open window. she leant over and stared down into the dark, sullen-looking water.
-"how beautiful this place must be in summer!" she exclaimed.
-"i hope you will come and see it, this next summer."
-varick spoke in measured tones, but deep in his heart he not only hoped, but he was determined on something very different--namely, that the girl now turning her bright, guileless, eager face to his would then be installed at wyndfell hall as his wife, and therefore as mistress of the wonderful old house. and this hope, this imperious determination, turned his mind suddenly to a less agreeable subject of thought--that is, to bubbles dunster.
-had he known what he now knew about bubbles' curious gift, he would not have included her in his christmas party. he felt that she might become a disturbing element in the pleasant gathering. also he was beginning to suspect that she did not like him, and it was a disagreeable, unnerving suspicion in his present mood.
-"what do you think of bubbles dunster?" he asked.
-"oh, i like her!" cried helen. "i think she's a wonderful girl!" and then her voice took on a graver tinge: "i couldn't help being very much impressed last night, mr. varick. you see, my father, who died when i was only eight years old, always called me 'girlie.' somehow that made me feel as if he was really there."
-"and yet," said varick slowly, "bubbles told you nothing that you didn't know? to my mind what happened last night was simply a clever exhibition of thought-reading. she's always had the gift."
-"the odd thing was," said helen, after a moment's hesitation, "that she said my father didn't like my being here. that wasn't thought-reading--"
-"there's something a little queer--a little tricky and malicious sometimes--about bubbles," he said meaningly.
-helen looked at him, startled. "is there really? how--how horrid!" she exclaimed.
-"yes, you mustn't take everything bubbles says as gospel truth," he observed, lighting a cigarette. "still, she's a very good sort in her way."
-as he looked at her now puzzled, bewildered face, he realized that he had produced on helen's mind exactly the impression he had meant to do. if bubbles said anything about him which--well, which he would rather was left unsaid--helen would take no notice of it.
-the party spent the rest of the morning in making friends with one another. mr. tapster had already singled out bubbles dunster at dinner the night before. he was one of those men--there are many such--who, while professing to despise women, yet devote a great deal of not very profitable thought to them, and to their singular, unexpected, and often untoward behaviour!
-as for sir lyon dilsford, he was amused and touched to discover that, as is so often the case with a young and generous-hearted human being, helen brabazon had a sincere, if somewhat vague, desire to use her money for the good of humanity. he was also touched and amused to find how ignorant she was of life, and how really child-like, under her staid and sensible appearance. of what she called "society" she cherished an utter contempt, convinced that it consisted of frivolous women and idle men--in a word, of heartless coquettes and of fortune-hunters. to helen brabazon the world of men and women was still all white and all black. sir lyon, who, like most intelligent men, enjoyed few things more than playing schoolmaster to an attractive young woman, found the hour that he and miss brabazon spent together in the library of wyndfell hall speed by all too quickly. they were both sorry when the gong summoned them to luncheon.
-after a while varick had persuaded miss burnaby to put on a hat and jacket, and go for a little walk alone with him, while blanche farrow went off for a talk with young donnington. bubbles was the subject of their conversation, and different as were the ingenuous young man and his somewhat cynical and worldly companion, they found that they were cordially agreed as to the desirability of bubbles abandoning the practices which had led to mr. burnaby's abrupt departure that morning.
-"of course, i think them simply an extension of the extraordinary thought-reading gifts she had as a small child," observed blanche.
-"i wish i could think it was only that--i'm afraid it's a good deal more than mere thought-reading," donnington said reluctantly.
-luncheon was a pleasant, lively meal; and after they had all had coffee and cigarettes, bubbles managed to press almost the whole party into the business of decorating the church. their host entered into the scheme with seeming heartiness; but at the last moment he and blanche farrow elected to stay at home with miss burnaby.
-the younger folk started off, a cheerful party--james tapster, who, as the others realized by something he said, hadn't been into a church for years (he said he hated weddings, and, on principle, never attended funerals); sir lyon, who was always at anyone's disposal when a bit of work had to be done; helen brabazon, who declared joyfully that she had always longed to decorate a country church; bubbles herself, who drove the donkey-cart piled high with holly and with mistletoe; and donnington, who pulled the donkey along.
-suffolk is a county of noble village churches; but of the lively group of young people who approached it on this particular christmas eve, only donnington understood what a rare and perfect ecclesiastical building stood before them. he had inherited from a scholarly father a keen interest in church architecture, and he had read an account of darnaston church the night before in the book which dealt with wyndfell hall and its surroundings.
-they were met in the porch by the bachelor rector. "this is really kind!" he exclaimed. "and it will be of the greatest help, for i've been sent for to a neighbouring parish unexpectedly, and i'm afraid that i can't stop and help you."
-as the little party passed through into the church, more than one of them was impressed by its lofty beauty. indeed, the word which rose to both sir lyon's and donnington's lips was the word "impressive." neither of them had ever seen so impressive a country church.
-when lifted from the donkey-cart the little heap of holly and other greenery looked pitifully small lying on the stone floor of the central aisle; and though everyone worked with a will, there wasn't very much to show for it when mr. tapster declared, in a cross tone, that it must be getting near tea-time.
-"i shouldn't mind coming back," exclaimed helen brabazon. "i've enjoyed every minute of the time here!"
-but bubbles declared that she didn't want any of them but bill. all she would ask the other men to do would be to cut down some trails of ivy. she explained that she always avoided the use of ivy unless, as in this case, quantity rather than quality was required.
-so they all tramped cheerfully back to wyndfell hall.
-tea was served in the library, and the host looked on with benign satisfaction at the lively scene, though blanche farrow saw his face change and stiffen, when his penetrating eyes rested in turn for a long moment on bubbles' now laughing little face. perhaps because of that frowning look, she drew the girl after her into the hall. "come in here for a moment, bubbles--i want to speak to you. i've just heard helen brabazon say something about raising the ghost. no more séances while i'm in command here--is that understood?"
-and bubbles looked up with an injured, innocent expression. "of course it's understood! though, as a matter of fact, miss burnaby has already asked me to give her a private sitting."
-"you must promise me to refuse, bubbles--" miss farrow spoke very decidedly. "i don't know how you do what you did last night, and, to tell you the truth, i don't care--for it's none of my business. but there was one moment this morning when i feared that horrid mr. burnaby was going to take his sister and his niece away--and that really would have been serious!"
-"serious?" queried bubbles. "why serious, blanche? we should have got on very well without them."
-her aunt looked round. they were quite alone, standing, for the moment, in a far corner of the great room, near the finely carved confessional box, which seemed, even to blanche farrow, an incongruous addition to the furniture.
-"you're very much mistaken, bubbles! lionel would have never forgiven you--or me. he attaches great importance to these people; helen brabazon was a great friend of his poor wife's." she hesitated, and then said rather awkwardly: "i sometimes wish you liked him better; he's a good friend, bubbles."
-"i should think more a bad enemy than a good friend," muttered the girl, in so low a voice that her aunt hardly caught the ungracious words.
-that was all--but that was enough. blanche told herself that she had now amply fulfilled the promise she had made to lionel varick when the two had stood speeding their parting guest this morning from wyndfell hall. even quite at the end mr. burnaby had been barely civil. he seemed to think that there had been some kind of conspiracy against him the night before; and as they watched the car go over the moat bridge, varick had muttered: "i wouldn't have had this happen for a thousand pounds!" but he had recovered his good temper, and even apologized to blanche for having felt so much put out by the action of a cantankerous old man.
-the others were now all streaming into the hall, and bubbles would hardly allow the good-natured sir lyon and bill donnington to finish their cigarettes before she shooed them out to cut down some ivy. varick looked annoyed when he heard that the decorations in the church were not yet finished. "can't we bribe some of the servants to go down and do them?" he asked. "it seems a shame that you and donnington should have to go off there again in the cold and darkness."
-but in her own way bubbles had almost as strong a will as had her host. she always knew what she wanted to do, and generally managed to do it. "i would much rather finish the work myself, and i think bill would rather come too," she said coolly.
-so once more the little donkey-cart was loaded up with holly and trails of ivy, and the two set off amid the good-natured comments and chaff of the rest of the party. james tapster alone looked sulky and annoyed. he wondered how a bright, amusing girl like bubbles dunster could stand the company of such a commonplace young man as was bill donnington.
-as they reached the short stretch of open road which separated wyndfell hall from the church, bubbles felt suddenly how cold it was.
-"i think we shall have snow to-morrow," said donnington, looking round at his companion. he could only just see her little face in the twilight, and when they finally passed through the porch in the glorious old church, it seemed, for the first few moments, pitch-dark.
-"i'll tell you what i like best about this church," said the girl suddenly.
-"for my part," said donnington simply, "i like everything about it."
-he struck a match, and after a few minutes of hard work, managed to light several of the hanging oil lamps.
-"what i like best," went on bubbles, "are the animals up there."
-she pointed to where, just under the cambered oak roof, there ran a dado, on which, carved in white bas-relief, lions, hares, stags, dogs, cats, crocodiles, and birds, formed a singular procession, which was continued round the nave and choir.
-"yes, i like them too," assented donnington slowly. "though somehow i did feel this afternoon that they were out of place in a church."
-"oh, how can you say that?" cried the girl. "i love to think of them here! i'm sure that at night they leap joyfully down, and skip about the church, praising the lord."
-"bubbles!" he exclaimed reprovingly.
-"almost any animal," she said, with a touch of seriousness, "is nicer, taking it all in all, than almost any human being." and then she quoted in the deep throaty voice which was one of her greatest charms:
-"a robin redbreast in a cage puts all heaven in a rage."
-"the one i should like to see put over every manger is:
-"a horse misus'd upon the road calls to heaven for human blood,"
-"oh!" she cried, "and bill, surely the best of all is:
-"a skylark wounded on the wing, a cherubim doth cease to sing."
-donnington smiled. "i suppose i'm more practical than you are," he said. "if i were a schoolmaster, i'd have inscribed on the walls of every classroom:
-"kill not the moth or butterfly, for the last judgment draweth nigh."
-they worked very hard during the half-hour that followed, though only the finishing touches remained to be done. still, it meant moving a ladder about, and stretching one's arms a good deal, and bubbles insisted on doing her full share of everything.
-"let's rest a few minutes," she said at last, and leading the way up the central aisle, she sat down wearily in one of the carved choir stalls.
-then she lifted her arms, and putting her hands behind her neck, she tipped her head back.
-the young man came and sat down in the next stall. bubbles was leaning back more comfortably now, her red cap almost off her head. there was a great look of restfulness on her pale, sensitive face.
-she put out her hand and felt for his; after a moment of hesitation he slid down and knelt close to her.
-"bubbles," he whispered, "my darling--darling bubbles. i wish that here and now you would make up your mind to give up everything--" he stopped speaking, and bending, kissed her hand.
-"yes," she said dreamily. "give up everything, bill? perhaps i will. but what do you mean by everything?"
-there was a self-pitying note in her low, vibrant voice. "you know it is given to people, sometimes, to choose between good and evil. i'm afraid"--she leant forward, and passed her right hand, with a touch of tenderness most unusual with her, over his upturned face and curly hair--"i'm afraid, bill, that, almost without knowing it, i chose evil, 'evil, be thou my good.' isn't that what the wicked old satanists used to say?"
-"don't you say it too!" he exclaimed, sharply distressed.
-"i know i acted stupidly--in fact, as we're in a church i don't mind saying i acted very wrongly last night."
-bubbles spoke in a serious tone--more seriously, indeed, than she had ever yet spoken to her faithful, long-suffering friend. "but a great deal of what happens to me and round me, bill, i can't help--i wish i could," she said slowly.
-"i don't quite understand." there was a painful choking feeling in his throat. "try and tell me what you mean, bubbles."
-"what i mean is clear enough"--she now spoke with a touch of impatience. "i mean that wherever i am, they come too, and gather about me. it wasn't my fault that that horrible thing appeared to pegler as soon as i entered the house."
-"but why should you think the ghost pegler saw--if she did see it--had anything to do with you? wyndfell hall has been haunted for over a hundred years--so the village people say."
-"pegler saw nothing till i came. and though i struggle against the belief, and though i very seldom admit it, even to myself, i know quite well, bill, that i'm never really alone--never free of them unless--unless, bill, i'm in a holy place, when they don't dare to come."
-there was a tone of fear, of awful dread, in her voice. in spite of himself he felt impressed.
-"but why should they come specially round you?" he asked uneasily.
-"you know as well as i do that i'm a strong medium. but i'll tell you, bill, something which i've never told you before."
-"yes," he said, with a strange sinking of the heart. "what's that, bubbles?"
-"you know that persian magician, or wise man, whom certain people in london went cracked over last spring?"
-"the man you would go and see?"
-"yes, of course i mean that man. well, when he saw me he made his interpreter tell me that he had a special message for me--"
-bubbles was leaning forward now, her hands resting on bill's shoulders. "i wonder if i ought to tell you all he said," she whispered. "perhaps i ought to keep it secret."
-"of course you ought to tell me! what was the message?"
-"he said that i had rent the veil, wilfully, and that i was often surrounded by the evil demons who had come rushing through; that only by fasting and praying could i hope to drive them back, and close the rent which i had made."
-"i shouldn't allow myself to think too much of what he said," said bill hoarsely. "and yet--and yet, bubbles? there may have been something in it--."
-he spoke very earnestly, poor boy.
-"of course there was a great deal in it. but they're not always demons," she said slowly. "now, for instance, as i sit here, where good, simple people have been praying together for hundreds of years, the atmosphere is kind and holy, not wicked and malignant, as it was last night."
-she waited a moment, then began again, "i remember going into a cottage not long ago, where an old man holds a prayer meeting every wednesday evening--he's a dissenter--you know the sort of man i mean? well, i felt extraordinarily comforted, and left alone."
-"to avoid what?" he asked.
-her voice dropped. "i've been in old houses where i seemed to know everything about every ghost!"--she tried to smile. "people don't change when they what we call die. if they're dull and stupid, they remain dull and stupid. but here in wyndfell hall, i'm frightened. i'm frightened of varick--i feel as if there were something secret, secret and sinister, about him. i seem to hear the words, 'beware--beware,' when he is standing by me. what do you think about him, bill? there are a lot of lying spirits about."
-"that doesn't mean much," she said dreamily. "blanche doesn't know anything about human nature--she only thinks she does. she's no spiritual vision left at all."
-"i'm sorry you have that feeling about varick," said bill uncomfortably.
-"varick is never alone," said bubbles slowly. "when i first arrived, and he came out to the porch to meet me, there was something standing by him, which looked so real, bill, that i thought it really was a woman of flesh and blood. i nearly said to him, 'who's that? introduce me.'"
-"d'you mean you think you actually see spirits, even when you're not setting out to do so, bubbles?" asked. bill.
-she had never said that to him before. but then this was the first time she had ever talked to him as freely and as frankly as she was talking now.
-"yes, that's exactly what i do mean," she said. "it's a sort of power that grows--and oh, bill, i'd do anything in the world to get rid of it! but this woman whom i saw standing by lionel varick in the porch was not a spirit. she was an astral body; that is, she was alive somewhere else: it was her thoughts--her vengeful, malicious thoughts--which brought her here."
-"i can't believe that!" he exclaimed.
-"it's true, bill. though i never saw an astral body before, i knew that thing to be one--as soon as i realized it wasn't a real woman standing there."
-"what was she like?" he asked, impressed against his will.
-"an ugly, commonplace-looking woman. but she had a powerful, determined sort of face, and she was staring up at him with a horrible expression: i could see that she hated him, and wished him ill--"
-"have you ever seen the--the thing again?"
-yes, of course i have. the same astral body was there last night. it was from her that his mother was trying to shield him."
-"but you've never seen this astral body--as you call it--excepting on those two occasions?"
-bubbles hesitated. "i've only seen her clearly twice. but during the week that i've been here, i've often felt that she was close to lionel varick."
-"and what's your theory about her? why does she hate him, i mean?"
-"my theory--?" the girl hesitated again. "i should think it's someone he was fond of when he was a young man, and whom he treated badly. she's ugly enough now--but then women do change so."
-"bubbles," he uttered her name very seriously.
-"surely you can stop yourself seeing these kind of strange, dreadful, unnatural things?"
-bubbles did not answer all at once. and then she said: "yes--and no, bill! it sometimes happens that i see what you would call a ghost without wishing to see it; yet i confess that sometimes i could stop myself. but it excites and stimulates me! i feel a sort of longing to be in touch with what no one else is in touch with. but i'll tell you one thing"--she was pressing up closer to him now, and his heart was beating.... if only this enchanted hour could go on--if only bubbles would continue in this gentle, sincere, confiding mood--
-"yes," he said hoarsely, "what will you tell me?"
-"i never see anything bad when i'm with you. i think i saw your guardian angel the other day, bill."
-he tried to laugh.
-"indeed i did! though you are so tiresome and priggish," she whispered, "though often, as you know, i should like to shake you, still, i know that you've chosen the good way; that's why our ways lie so apart, dearest--"
-as she uttered the strange words, she had slid down, and was now lying in his arms, her face turned up to his in the dim light....
-their ways apart? ah, no! he caught her fiercely to his heart, and for the first time their lips met in a long, clinging kiss.
-then, all at once, he got up and pulled bubbles on to her feet. "we must be going back to the house," he said, speaking with a touch of hardness and decision which was rare in his dealings with the girl.
-"watch with me, and pray for me," she muttered--and then: "you don't know what a comfort you are to me, bill."
-a wild wish suddenly possessed him to turn and implore her, now that she was in this strange, gentle, yielding mood, to marry him at once--to become his wife in secret, under any conditions that seemed good to her! but he checked the impulse, drove it back. he felt that he would be taking a mean advantage if he did that now. she had once said to him: "i must marry a rich man, bill. i should make any poor man miserable."
-he had never forgotten that, nor forgiven her for saying it--though he had never believed that it was true.
-almost as if she was reading into his mind, bubbles said wistfully: "you won't leave off caring for me, bill? not even if i marry somebody else? not even--?" she laughed nervously, and her laugh, to donnington a horrible laugh, echoed through the dimly lit church. "not even," she repeated, "if i bring myself to marry mr. tapster?"
-he seized her roughly by the arm. "what d'you mean, bubbles?" he asked sternly.
-"don't do that! you hurt me--i was only joking," she said, shrinking back. "but you are really too simple, bill. didn't it occur to you that mr. tapster had been asked here for me?"
-"for you?" he uttered the words mechanically. he understood now why men sometimes murder their sweet-hearts--for no apparent motive.
-"he's not a bad sort. it isn't his fault that he's so repulsive. it wouldn't be fair if he was as rich as that, and good-looking, and amiable, and agreeable, as well--would it?"
-they were walking down the church, and perhaps bubbles caught a glimpse into his heart: "i'm a beast," she exclaimed. "a beast to have spoiled our time together in this dear old church by saying that to you about mr. tapster. try and forget it, bill!"
-he made no answer. his brain was in a whirlwind of wrath, of suspicion, of anger, of sick jealousy. this was the real danger--not all the nonsense that bubbles talked about her power of raising ghosts, and of being haunted by unquiet spirits. the real danger the girl was in now was that of being persuaded into marrying that loathsome tapster--for his money.
-he left her near the door while he went back to put out the lights. then he groped his way to where she was standing, waiting for him. in the darkness he looked for, found, and lifted, the heavy latch. together they began pacing down the path between the graves in the churchyard, and then all of a sudden he put his hand on her arm: "what's that? hark!" he whispered.
-he seemed to hear issuing from the grand old church a confused, musical medley of sounds--a bleating, a neighing, a lowing, even a faint trumpeting, all mingling together and forming a strange, not unmelodious harmony.
-"d'you hear anything, bubbles?" he asked, his heart beating, his face, in the darkness, all aglow.
-"no, nothing," she answered back, surprised. "we must hurry, bill. we're late as it is."
-it had been bubbles' happy idea that the children of the tiny hamlet which lay half-a-mile from wyndfell hall, should have a christmas tree. hers, also, that the treat for the children was to be combined with the distribution of a certain amount of coal and of other creature comforts to the older folk.
-all the arrangements with regard to this double function had been made before the party at wyndfell hall had been gathered together. but still, there were all sorts of last things to be thought of, and lionel varick and bubbles became quite chummy over the affair.
-blanche farrow was secretly amused to note with what zest her friend threw himself into the rôle of country squire. she thought it a trifle absurd, the more so that, as a matter of fact, the people of wyndfell green were not his tenants, for he had only a life interest in the house itself. but varick was determined to have a good, old-fashioned country christmas; and he was seconded in his desire not only by bubbles, but by helen brabazon, who entered into everything with an almost childish eagerness. indeed, the doings on christmas day brought her and bubbles together, too. they began calling each other by their christian names, and soon the simple-minded heiress became as if bewitched by the other girl.
-"she's a wonderful creature," she confided to that same wonderful girl's aunt. "i've never known anyone in the least like bubbles! at first i confess i thought her very odd--she almost repelled me. but now i can see what a kind, good heart she has, and i do hope she'll let me be her friend."
-"i think you would be a very good friend for bubbles," answered blanche pleasantly. "you're quite right as to one thing, miss brabazon--she has a very kind, warm heart. she loves to give people pleasure. she's quite delightful with children."
-the speaker felt that it would indeed be a good thing if bubbles could attach herself to such a simple yet sensible friend as was this enormously rich girl. "and if you really like bubbles," went on blanche farrow deliberately, "then i should like just to tell you one or two things about her."
-helen became all eager, pleased attention. "yes?" she exclaimed. "i wish you would! bubbles interests me more than anyone i ever met."
-"i want to tell you that i and bubbles' father very much regret her going in for all that--that occultism, i believe it's called."
-"but you and mr. varick both think it's only thought-reading," said helen quickly.
-blanche felt rather surprised. it was acute and clever of the girl to have said that. but no doubt miss burnaby had repeated their conversation.
-"yes; i personally think it's only thought-reading. still, it's thought-reading carried very far. the kind of power bubbles showed the night before last seems to me partly hypnotic, and that's why i disapprove of it so strongly."
-"i agree," said helen thoughtfully. "it was much more than ordinary thought-reading. and i suppose that it's true that she thought she saw the--the spirits she described so wonderfully?"
-"i doubt if even she thought she actually saw them. i think she only perceived each image in the mind of the person to whom she was speaking."
-"i suppose," asked helen hesitatingly, "that you haven't the slightest belief in ghosts, miss farrow?"
-"no, i haven't the slightest belief in ghosts," blanche smiled. "but i do believe that if a person thinks sufficiently hard about it, he or she can almost evolve the figure of a ghost. i think that's what happened to my maid the other night. pegler's a most sensible person, yet she's quite convinced that she saw the ghost of the woman who is believed to have killed her little stepson in the room next to that in which i am now sleeping."
-and then as she saw a rather peculiar look flit over her companion's face, she added quickly: "d'you think that you have seen anything since you've been here, miss brabazon?"
-helen hesitated. "no," she said. "i haven't exactly seen anything. but--well, the truth is, miss farrow, that i do feel sometimes as if wyndfell hall was haunted by the spirit of my poor friend milly, mr. varick's wife. perhaps i feel as i do because, of course, i know that this strange and beautiful old house was once her home. it's pathetic, isn't it, to see how very little remains of her here? one might, indeed, say that nothing remains of her at all! i haven't even been able to find out which was her room; and i've often wondered in the last two days whether she generally sat in the hall or in that lovely little drawing-room."
-"i can tell you one thing," said blanche rather shortly, "that is that there is a room in this house called 'the schoolroom.' it's between the dining-room and the servants' offices. i believe it was there that miss fauncey, as the people about here still call her, used to do her lessons, with a rather disagreeable woman rejoicing in the extraordinary name of pigchalke, who lived on with her till she married."
-"that horrible, horrible woman!" exclaimed helen. "of course i know about her. she adored poor milly. but she was an awful tyrant to her all the same. she actually wrote to me some time ago. it was such an odd letter--quite a mad letter, in fact. it struck me as so queer that before answering it i sent it on to mr. varick. she wanted to see me, to talk to me about poor milly's last illness. she has a kind of crazy hatred of mr. varick. of course i got out of seeing her. luckily we were just starting for strathpeffer. i put her off--i didn't actually refuse. i said i couldn't see her then, but that i would write to her later."
-"lionel mentioned her to me the other day. he allows her a hundred a year," said blanche indifferently.
-"how very good of him!" in a very different tone of voice she said musingly: "i have sometimes wondered if the room i'm sleeping in now was that in which milly slept as a girl. sometimes i feel as if she was close to me, trying to speak to me--it's a most queer, uncanny, horrid kind of feeling!"
-blanche and bubbles knew from experience that christmas day in the country is not invariably a pleasant day; but they had thought out every arrangement to make it "go" as well as was possible. they were all to have a sort of early tea, and then those who felt like it would proceed to the village schoolroom, and help with the christmas treat.
-an important feature of the proceedings was to be a short speech by lionel varick. blanche had found, to her surprise and amusement, that he had set his heart on making it. he wanted to get into touch with his poorer neighbours--not only in a material sense, by distributing gifts of beef and blankets; that he had already arranged to do--but in a closer, more human sense. no one she had ever known desired more ardently to be liked than did the new owner of wyndfell hall.
-the programme was carried out to the letter. they all drank a cup of tea standing in the hall when dressed ready for their expedition. everyone was happy, everyone was in a good humour--excepting, perhaps, bill donnington. the few words bubbles had said concerning mr. tapster had frightened, as well as angered him. he watched the unattractive millionaire with jealous eyes. it was only too clear that bubbles had fascinated james tapster, as she generally did all dull and unimaginative people. but donnington, perforce, had to keep his jealous feelings to himself; and after they had all reached the school-room of the pretty, picturesque little village, he found he had far too much to do in helping to serve the hungry children and their parents with the feast provided for them, to have time for private feelings of fear, jealousy and pain.
-a small platform had been erected across one end of the room. but the programme of the proceedings which were to take place thereon only contained two items. the first of these took most of the wyndfell hall house-party completely by surprise; for bubbles and her aunt had kept their secret well.
-tables had been pushed aside, benches put end to end; the whole audience, with lionel varick's guests in front, were seated, when suddenly there leapt on to the platform the strangest and most fantastic-looking little figure imaginable!
-for a moment no one, except bill donnington, guessed who or what the figure was. there came a great clapping of hands and stamping of feet--for, of course, it was bubbles! bubbles dressed up as a witch--red cloak, high peaked hat, short multi-coloured skirt, high boots and broom-stick--all complete!
-when the applause had died down, she recited a quaint little poem of her own composition, wishing all there present the best of luck in the coming year. and then she executed a kind of fantastic pas seul, skimming hither and thither across the tiny stage.
-everyone watched her breathlessly: donnington with mingled admiration, love, and jealous disapproval; james tapster with a feeling that perhaps the time had come for him to allow himself to be "caught" at last; helen brabazon with wide-eyed, kindly envy of the other girl's cleverness; varick with a queer feeling of growing suspicion and dislike.
-finally, bubbles waved her broom-stick, and more than one of those present imagined that they saw the light, airy-looking little figure flying across the hall, and so out of a window--.
-the whole performance did not last five minutes, and yet few of those who were present ever forgot it. it was so strange, so uncanny, so vivid. bill donnington heard one of the village women behind him say: "there now! did you ever see the like? she was the sort they burnt in the old days, and i don't wonder, either."
-after this exciting performance the appearance of "the squire," as some of the village people were already beginning to call him, did not produce, perhaps, quite the sensation it might have done had he been the first instead of the second item on the programme. but as he stood there, a fine figure of a man, his keen, good-looking face lit up with a very agreeable expression of kindliness and of good-will, a wave of appreciation seemed to surge towards him from the body of the hall.
-poor milly's father had been the sort of landowner--to the honour of england be it said the species has ever been comparatively rare--who regarded his tenants as of less interest than the livestock on his home farm. what he had done for them he had done grudgingly; but it was even now clear to them all that in the new squire they had a very different kind of gentleman.
-varick was moved and touched--far more so than any of those present realized. the scene before him--this humble little school-room, and the simple people standing there--meant to him the fulfilment of a life-long dream. and that was not all. as he was hesitating for his first word, his eyes rested on the front bench of his audience, and he saw helen brabazon's eager, guileless face, upturned to his, full of interest and sympathy.
-and then, all at once, he realized that bubbles was among his audience after all! she was sitting by herself, on a little stool just below the platform. he suddenly saw her head, with its shock of dark-brown hair, and there came over him a slight feeling of discomfort. bubbles had worked like a trojan. all this could not have happened but for her; and yet--and yet varick again told himself that he could very well have dispensed with bubbles from his christmas house party. there was growing up, in his dark, secretive heart, an unreasoning, violent dislike to the girl.
-all these disconnected thoughts flashed through his mind in something under half-a-minute, and then varick made his pleasant little speech, welcoming the people there, and saying he hoped there would ensue a long and pleasant connection between them.
-there was a great deal more stamping of feet and handclapping, and then gradually the company, gentle and simple, dispersed.
-miss farrow still had long and luxuriant hair, and perhaps the pleasantest half-hour in each day had come to be that half-hour just before she dressed for dinner, when pegler, with gentle, skilful fingers, brushed and combed her mistress's beautiful tresses, and finally dressed them to the best advantage.
-on christmas night this daily ceremony had been put off till miss farrow's bed-time, when, after a quiet, short evening, the party had broken up on the happiest terms with one another.
-as blanche sat down, and her maid began taking the hairpins out of her hair, she told herself with a feeling of gratification that this had been one of the pleasantest christmas days she had ever spent. everything had gone off so well, and she could see that varick had enjoyed every moment of it, from his surprise distribution of little gifts to his guests at breakfast, to the last warm, grateful hand-shake on the landing outside her door.
-"were you in the school-room, pegler?" she asked kindly. "it was really rather charming, wasn't it? everyone happy--the children and the old people especially. and they all so enjoyed miss bubbles' dressing up as a witch!"
-"why, yes," said pegler grudgingly. "it was all very nice, ma'am, in a way, and, as you say, it all went off very well. but there's a queer rumour got about already, ma'am."
-"a queer rumour? what d'you mean, pegler?"
-"quite a number of the village folk say that mr. varick's late lady, the one who used to live here--" pegler stopped speaking suddenly, and went on brushing her mistress's hair more vigorously.
-"yes, pegler?"--miss farrow spoke with a touch of impatience. "what about mrs. lionel varick?"
-"well, ma'am, i don't suppose you'll credit it, but quite a number of them do say that her sperrit was there during this afternoon. one woman i spoke to, who was school-room maid here a matter of twenty years back, said she saw her as clear as clear, up on the platform, wearing the sort of grey dress she used to wear when she was a girl, ma'am, when her father was still alive. none of the men seem to have seen her--but quite a number of the women did. the post-mistress says she could have sworn to her anywhere."
-"what absolute nonsense!"
-blanche felt shocked as well as vexed.
-"it was when mr. varick was making that speech of his," said pegler slowly. "if you'll pardon me, ma'am, for saying so, it don't seem nonsense to me. after what i've seen myself, i can believe anything. seeing is believing, ma'am."
-"people's eyes very often betray them, pegler. haven't you sometimes looked at a thing and thought it something quite different from what it really was?"
-"yes, i have," acknowledged pegler reluctantly. "and of course, the lighting was very bad. some of the people hope that mr. varick's going to bring electric light into the village--d'you think he'll do that, ma'am?"
-"no," said miss farrow decidedly. "i shouldn't think there's a hope of it. the village doesn't really belong to him, pegler. it was wonderfully kind of him to give what he did give to-day, to a lot of people with whom he has really nothing to do at all."
-and then there flashed across her a recollection of the fact that bubbles had been there, sitting just below lionel varick. strange, half-forgotten stories of indian magic--of a man hung up in chains padlocked by british officers, and then, a moment later, that same man, freed, standing in their midst, the chains rattling together, empty--floated through blanche farrow's mind. was it possible that bubbles possessed uncanny powers--powers which had something to do with the immemorial magic of the immemorial east?
-blanche had once heard the phenomenon of the vanishing rope trick discussed at some length between a number of clever people. she had paid very little attention to what had been said at the time, but she now strained her memory to recapture the sense of the words which had been uttered. one of the men present, a distinguished scientist, had actually seen the trick done. he had seen an indian swarm up the rope and disappear--into thin air! what had he called it? collective hypnotism? yes, that was the expression he had used. some such power bubbles certainly possessed, and perhaps to-day she had chosen to exercise it by recalling to the minds of those simple village folk the half-forgotten figure of the one-time mistress of wyndfell hall. if she had really done this, bubbles had played an ungrateful, cruel trick on lionel varick.
-blanche at last dropped off to sleep, but pegler's ridiculous yet sinister story had spoilt the pleasant memories of her day, and even her night, for she slept badly, and awoke unrefreshed.
-there are few places in a civilized country more desolate than a big, empty country railway station: such a station as that at newmarket--an amusing, bustling sight on a race day; strangely still and deserted, even on a fine summer day, when there's nothing doing in the famous little town; and, in the depth of winter, extraordinarily forlorn. the solitariness and the desolation were very marked on the early afternoon of new year's eve which saw varick striding up and down the deserted platform waiting for dr. panton, and dr. panton's inseparable companion, a big, ugly, intelligent spaniel called span.
-varick had more than one reason to be grateful to the young medical man with whom fate had once thrown him into such close contact; and so this last spring, when panton had had to be in london for a few days, varick had taken a deal of trouble to ensure that the country doctor should have a good time. but his own pleasure in his friend's company had been somewhat spoilt by something panton had then thought it right to tell him. this something was that his late wife's one-time companion, miss pigchalke, had gone to redsands, and, seeking out the doctor, had tried to force him to say that poor mrs. varick had been ill-treated--or if not exactly ill-treated, then neglected--by her husband, during her last illness.
-"i wouldn't have told you, but that i think you ought to know that the woman has an inexplicable grudge against you," he had said.
-"not inexplicable," varick had answered quietly. "for julia pigchalke first came as governess to wyndfell hall when my wife was ten years old, and she stayed on with her ultimately as companion--in fact as more friend than companion. of course i queered her pitch!"
-and then, rather hesitatingly, he had gone on to tell dr. panton that he was now paying his enemy an annuity of a hundred a year. this had been left to miss pigchalke in an early will made by his poor wife, but it had not been repeated in the testatrix's final will, as mrs. varick had fiercely resented miss pigchalke's violent disapproval of her marriage.
-panton had been amazed to hear of varick's quite uncalled-for generosity, and he had exclaimed, "well, that does take the cake! i wish i'd known this before. still, i don't think miss pigchalke will forget in a hurry what i said to her. i warned her that some of the things she said, or half-said, were libellous, and that it might end very badly for her if she said them again. she took the line that i, being a doctor, was privileged--but i assured her that i was nothing of the kind! still, she's a venomous old woman, and if i were you i'd write her a solicitor's letter."
-that little conversation, which had taken place more than six months ago, came back, word for word, to varick's mind, as he walked sharply up and down the platform, trying to get warm. it was strange how miss pigchalke and her vigorous, unpleasant personality haunted him. but he had found in his passbook only this morning that she had already cashed his last cheque for fifty pounds. surely she couldn't, in decency, go on with this half-insane kind of persecution if she accepted what was, after all, his free and generous gift every six months?
-the train came steaming in, and only three passengers got out. but among them was the man for whom varick was waiting. and, at the sight of the lithe, alert figure of dr. panton, and of the one-time familiar form of good old span, varick's troubled, uncomfortable thoughts took wings to themselves and flew away.
-and panton did think it very jolly of varick to have left his guests, and come all this way through the cold to meet him. it was good of him, too, to have let him bring his dog.
-as they drove slowly through the picturesque high street of the famous town, varick's friend looked about him with keen interest and enjoyment. he had an eager, intelligent, alert mind, and he had never been to newmarket before.
-once they got clear of the town, and were speeding through the pleasant, typically english country lanes which give suffolk a peculiarly soothing charm span (who was a rather large liver-and-white spaniel), lying stretched out sedately at their feet, varick suddenly asked carelessly: "no more news of my enemy, miss pigchalke, i suppose?"
-panton turned to him quickly in the rushing wind: "yes, something has happened. but i didn't think it worth writing to you about. an extraordinary advertisement appeared about a month ago in one of the popular sunday papers, and mrs. bilton--you remember the woman--?"
-varick shook his head. he looked exceedingly disturbed and annoyed, and the man now sitting by his side suddenly regretted that he had said anything about that absurd advertisement.
-"mrs. bilton was the woman whom i recommended to you as a charwoman, soon after you were settled down at redsands."
-"yes, i remember the name now. what of her?"
-"she came up to see me one evening about a month ago, and she brought the paper--the news of the world i think it was--with her."
-"yes," said varick shortly. "yes--go on, panton. what was in the advertisement?"
-"the advertisement simply asked for information about you and your doings, past and present, and offered a reward for any information of importance. it was very oddly worded. what i should call an amateur advertisement. mrs. bilton came up to consult me as to whether she should write in answer to it. of course i strongly advised her to do nothing of the kind. as a matter of fact"--dr. panton chuckled--"i have reason to believe she did write, but i need hardly say that, as far as she was concerned, nothing came of it!"
-"i wish you could remember exactly how the advertisement was worded?" said varick. it was clear that he felt very much disturbed.
-"i'm sorry i didn't keep a copy of it; all i can tell you is that it asked for information concerning the past life and career of lionel varick, sometime of redsands and chichester."
-"chichester?" repeated varick mechanically.
-the name of the sussex cathedral town held for him many painful, sordid memories. his first wife, the woman whose very existence he believed unknown to everyone who now knew him, with the exception of blanche farrow, had been a chichester woman. it was there that they had lived in poverty and angry misery during the last few weeks of her life.
-"yes, that's all i remember--but i've put it more clearly than the advertisement did."
-"what an extraordinary thing!" muttered varick.
-"i don't know that it's so very extraordinary. it was that woman pigchalke's doing, obviously. as i told you the last time we met, i felt that she would stick at nothing to annoy you. she's quite convinced that you're an out-and-out villain."
-dr. panton laughed. he really couldn't help it. varick was such a thoroughly good fellow!
-"i wonder," said varick hesitatingly, "if i could get a copy of that sunday paper? i feel that it's the sort of thing that ought to be stopped--don't you, panton?"
-"i'm quite sure it didn't appear again in the same paper, or i should have heard of it again. that one particular copy did end by going the whole round of redsands. i went on hearing about it for, i should think,--well, right up to when i left home."
-a rush of blind, unreasoning rage was shaking varick. curse the woman! what a brute she must be, to take his money, and go on annoying him in this way. "i wish you'd written and told me about it when it happened," he said sombrely.
-the doctor looked at him, distressed. "i'm sorry i didn't, if you feel like that about it!" he exclaimed. "but you were so put out when i told you of the woman's having come to see me, and it was so obvious that the advertisement came from her, that i thought i'd say nothing about it. i wouldn't have told you now, only that you mentioned her."
-varick saw that his friend was very much disturbed. he made a determined effort over himself. "never mind," he said, trying to smile. "after all, it's of no real consequence."
-"i don't know if you'll find it any consolation to be told that that sort of thing is by no means uncommon," said panton reflectively. "people, especially women, whose minds for any reason have become just a little unhinged, often take that sort of strange dislike to another human being. sometimes for no reason at all. every medical man would tell you of half-a-dozen such cases within his own knowledge. fortunately, such half-insane people generally choose a noted man--the prime minister, for instance, or whoever happens to be very much in the public eye. if the persecution becomes quite intolerable there's a police-court case--or the individual is quite properly certified as insane."
-and then something peculiar and untoward happened to lionel varick. the words rose to his lips: "that horrible woman haunts me--haunts me! i can never get rid of her--she seems always there--"
-had he uttered those words aloud, or had he not? he glanced sharply round, and then, with relief, he made up his mind that he had not uttered them, for the man sitting by his side was looking straight before him, with a pleased, interested expression on his plain, intelligent face.
-varick pulled himself together. this would never do! he asked himself, with a touch of acute anxiety, whether it were possible that he was losing his nerve? he had always possessed the valuable human gift of being able to control, absolutely, his secret feelings and his emotions.
-"did i tell you that miss brabazon is here?" he asked carelessly.
-and the other exclaimed: "i'm glad of that. i formed a tremendously high opinion of that girl last year. by the way, i was surprised to hear, quite by accident, the other day, that she's a lot of money. i don't quite know why, but i formed the impression that it was her friend who was well-to-do--didn't you?"
-"i never thought about it," said varick indifferently. "by the way, miss brabazon's old aunt, a certain miss burnaby, is here too. it's rather a quiet party, panton; i hope you won't be bored."
-"i'm never bored. who else have you got staying with you?"
-varick ran over the list of his guests, only leaving out one, and, after a scarcely perceptible pause, he remedied the omission.
-"then there's miss farrow's niece; she was called after her aunt, so her real name is blanche--"
-"'known to her friends as bubbles,'" quoted dr. panton, with a cynical inflection in his voice.
-"how do you know that?" exclaimed varick.
-"because there was a portrait of the young lady in the sketch last week. she seems to be a kind of feminine edition of the admirable crichton. she can act, dance, cook--and she's famed as a medium in the psychic world--whatever that may mean!"
-"i see you know all about her," observed varick, smiling.
-but though he was smiling at his friend, his inner thoughts were grim thoughts. he was secretly repeating to himself: "chichester, chichester? how can she have got hold of chichester?"
-dr. panton went on: "i'm glad i'm going to meet this miss bubbles--i've never met that particular type of young lady before. though, of course, it's not, as some people believe, a new type. there have always been girls of that sort in the civilized world."
-"it's quite true that the most curious thing about bubbles," said varick thoughtfully, "is a kind of thought-reading gift. i fancy she must have inherited it from an indian ancestress, for her great-great-grandfather rescued a begum on her way to be burnt on her husband's funeral pyre. he ultimately married her, and though she never came to england. bubbles' father, a fool called hugh dunster, who's lost what little money he ever had, is one of her descendants. there's something just a little oriental and strange in bubbles' appearance."
-"this is 'curiouser and curiouser,' as alice in wonderland used to say!" exclaimed panton. "do you think i could persuade miss bubbles to give an exhibition of her psychic gifts?"
-the speaker uttered the word "psychic" with a very satiric inflection in his pleasant voice.
-varick smiled rather wryly. "you're quite likely to have an exhibition of them without asking for it! the first evening that my guests were here she held what i believe they call a séance, and as a result miss brabazon's uncle, old burnaby, not only bolted from the room, but left wyndfell hall the next morning."
-"what an extraordinary thing!"
-"yes," said varick, "it was an extraordinary thing. i confess i can't explain bubbles' gift at all. at this séance of hers she described quite accurately long dead men and women--"
-"are you sure of that, varick?"
-"of course i am, for she described my own mother."
-there was a pause.
-"being a very intelligent, quick girl, she naturally helps herself out as best she can," went on varick reflectively.
-"then you're inclined to think her thought-reading is more or less a fraud?" cried panton triumphantly.
-"less, rather than more, for she's convinced me that she sees into the minds of her subjects and builds up a kind of--of--"
-"description?" suggested the doctor.
-"more than that--i was going to say figure. she described, as if she saw them standing there before her, people of whom she'd never even heard--and the descriptions were absolutely exact. but if you don't mind, panton--"
-he hesitated, and the other said, "yes, varick?"
-"well, i'd rather you leave all that sort of thing alone, as far as bubbles dunster is concerned. both miss farrow and i are very anxious that she shouldn't be up to any more of her tricks while she's here. people don't half like it, you see. even i didn't like it."
-somehow it was a comfort to varick to talk freely about bubbles to a stranger--bubbles had got on his nerves. he would have given a good deal to persuade her to leave wyndfell hall; but he didn't know how to set about it. in a sense she was the soul of the party. the others all liked her. yet he, himself, felt a sort of growing repugnance to her which he would have been hard put to it to explain. indeed, the only way he could explain it--and he had thought a good deal about it the last few days--was that she undoubtedly possessed an uncanny power of starting into life images which had lain long dormant in his brain.
-for one thing--but that, of course, might not be entirely bubbles' fault--milly, his poor wife, had become again terribly real to him. it was almost as if he felt her to be alive, say, in the next room--lying, as she had been wont to lie, listening for his footsteps, in the little watering place where they had spent the last few weeks of her life.
-he could not but put down that unpleasant, sinister phenomenon to the presence of bubbles, for he had been at wyndfell hall all the summer, and though the place had been milly's birthplace--where, too, she had spent her melancholy, dull girlhood--no thought of her had ever come to disturb his pleasure in the delightful, perfect house and its enchanting garden. of course, now and again some neighbour with whom he had made acquaintance would say a word to him indicating what a strange, solitary life the faunceys, father and daughter, had led in their beautiful home, and how glad the speaker was that "poor milly" had had a little happiness before she died. to these remarks he, varick, would of course answer appropriately, with that touch of sad reminiscence which carries with it no real regret or sorrow.
-but during the last few days it had been otherwise. he could not get milly out of his mind, and he had come to feel that if this peculiar sensation continued, he would not be able to bring himself to stay on at wyndfell hall after the break-up of his present party.
-this feeling of his dead wife's presence had first become intolerably vivid in the village school-room during the children's christmas day treat. at one time--so the clergyman had told him--milly had had a sewing-class for the village girls in that very room; but the class had not been a success, and she had given it up after a few weeks. that was her only association with the ugly little building, and yet--and yet, once he had got well into his speech, he had suddenly felt her to be there--and it was not the gentle, fretful, adoring milly he had known, but a presence which seemed filled with an awful, clear-eyed knowledge of certain secret facts which his reasoning faculties assured him were only known to his own innermost self.
-a turn in the road brought them within sight of wyndfell hall, and--"what a singular, wonderful-looking old place!" exclaimed dr. panton.
-and, indeed, there was something mysteriously alluring in the long, gabled building standing almost, as it were, on an island, among the high trees which formed a screen to the house on the north and east sides. it was something solemn, something appealing--like a melodious, plaintive voice from the long-distant past, out of that old country which was the england of six hundred years ago.
-"you've no idea how beautiful this place is in summer, panton--and yet the spring is almost more perfect. you must come again then, and make a really good, long stay."
-"span will enjoy a swim in the moat even now," said the doctor, smiling. they were going slowly over the narrow brick bridge, and so up to the deep-eaved porch.
-a butler and footman appeared as if by magic, and the sound of laughing voices floated from behind them. there was a pleasant stir of life and bustle about the delightful old house, or so it seemed to the guest.
-he jumped out of the car behind his host, then he turned round. "span!" he called out. "span!"
-but the dog was still lying on the floor of the car, and he made no movement, still less any attempt to jump down.
-"what an extraordinary thing!" exclaimed span's master. "come down, span! come down at once!"
-he waited a moment; then he went forward and tried to drag the dog out. but span resisted with all his might. he was a big spaniel, and panton, from where he stood, had no purchase on him. "there's something wrong with him," he said with concern. "wait a moment, varick--if you don't mind."
-he got up into the car again and patted span's head. the dog turned his head slowly, and licked his master's hand.
-"now, span, jump out! there's a good dog!"
-but span never moved.
-at last panton managed to half-shove, half-tumble the dog out. "i've only known him behave like this once before," he muttered, "and that was with a poor mad woman whom i was once compelled to put up in my house for two or three days. he simply wouldn't go near her! he behaved just as he's doing now."
-span was lying on the ground before them, inert, almost as if dead. but his eyes, his troubled, frightened eyes, were very much alive.
-varick went off into the house for a moment. he had never liked dogs; and this ugly brute's behaviour, so he told himself, annoyed him very much.
-panton bent down. "span," he said warningly, "be a good dog and behave yourself! remember what happened to you after the poor lunatic lady went away."
-and span looked up with that peculiar, thoughtful look which dogs sometimes have of understanding everything which is being said to them.
-span had been beaten--a very rare experience for him--after the mad lady had left the doctor's house. but whether he understood or not the exact reference to that odious episode in his happy past life, there was no doubt that span did understand that his master regarded him as being in disgrace; and it was a very subdued dog that walked sedately into the hall where most of the party were gathered together ready to greet the new-comer.
-miss farrow was particularly cordial, and so was helen brabazon. she and dr. panton had become real friends during mrs. varick's illness, and they had been at one in their affection for, and admiration of, lionel varick during that piteous time. to the doctor (though he would not have admitted it, even to himself, for the world) there had been something very repugnant about the dying woman. though still young in years, she might have been any age; and she was so fretful and so selfish, hardly allowing her husband out of her sight, while utterly devoted to him, of course, in her queer, egoistic way--and to miss brabazon, her kind new friend. the doctor had soon realized that it was the pity which is akin to love which had made helen become so attached to poor milly varick--intense pity for the unhappy soul who was going to lose her new-found happiness. milly's pathetic cry: "i never had a girl friend before. you can't think how happy it makes me!" had touched helen to the heart.
-standing there, in that noble old room hung with some beautiful tapestries forming a perfect background to the life and colour which was now filling it, panton was surprised to find how vividly those memories of last autumn came surging back to him. it must be owing to this meeting with miss brabazon--this reunion with the two people with whom he had gone through an experience which, though it so often befalls a kind and sympathetic doctor, yet never loses its poignancy--that he was thinking now so intensely of poor mrs. varick.
-it was helen brabazon who had introduced the new-comer to miss farrow, for varick had disappeared, and soon dr. panton was looking round him with interest and curiosity. most of the people whom he knew to be staying at wyndfell hall were present, but not the girl his friend had described--not the girl, that is, whose portrait he had seen in the sketch. just as he was telling himself this, a door opened, and two people came through together--a tall, fair, smiling young man, and a quaint, slender figure, looking like a child rather than like a woman, whose pale, yet vivid little face was framed in thick, dark brown, bobbed hair, and whose large, bright eyes gleamed mischievously.
-bubbles had chosen to put on this afternoon a long, rose-red knitted jumper over a yellow skirt, and she looked as if she had stepped out from some ancient spanish religious procession.
-"bubbles," called out her aunt, "this is dr. panton. come and be introduced to him."
-then something very odd happened. varick joined his new guest at the very same moment that the girl came forward with hand outstretched and a polite word of welcome on her lips; but, before she could speak, span, who had been behaving with so sedate a dignity that the people present were scarcely conscious of his existence, gave a sudden loud and horrible howl.
-his master, disregarding bubbles' outstretched hand, seized the dog by the collar, rushed with him to the door giving on to the porch, and thrust him out into the cold and darkness.
-span remained quite quiet when on the wrong side of the door. there might have been no dog there.
-"i'm so sorry," said panton apologetically, as he came again towards the tea-table. "i can't think what's the matter with the poor brute. he's almost perfect manners as a rule."
-he turned to miss brabazon, who laughingly exclaimed: "yes, indeed! span's such an old friend of mine that i feel quite hurt. i thought he would be sure to take some notice of me; but i didn't even know he was there till he set up that awful, unearthly howl."
-"i think it's very cruel to have turned the dog out into the cold," bubbles said in her quick, decided way. "there's nothing about dogs i don't know, doctor--doctor--"
-"--panton," he said shortly.
-"oh, panton? may i go out to him, dr. panton?" there was a challenge in her tone.
-panton answered stiffly: "by all means. but span's not always pleasant with complete strangers; and he prefers men, miss dunster."
-"i think he'll be all right with me."
-bubbles went and opened the door, and a moment later they heard her low, throaty voice talking caressingly to the dog. span whined, but in a gentle, happy way.
-"he's quite good now," she called out triumphantly.
-varick turned to the company: "will you forgive me for a moment?" he said. "i forgot to say a word to my chauffeur about our plans for to-morrow." and as he went through one door, bubbles, followed by the now good and repentant span, appeared through another.
-"he's a darling," she cried enthusiastically. "one of the nicest dogs i've ever met!"
-she sat down, and endeared herself further to span by giving him a large piece of cake.
-and dr. panton, looking at the charming group--for the lithe, dark-haired girl in her brilliant, quaint garment, and the dog over which she was bending, made a delightful group--told himself grudgingly that miss bubbles was curiously attractive: far more attractive-looking than he would have thought her to be by the portrait published in the sketch--though even that had been sufficiently arresting to remain in his mind for two or three days. was there really something eastern about her appearance? he would never have thought it but for those few words of varick's. many english girls have that clear olive complexion, those large, shadowy dark eyes, which yet can light up into daring, fun, and mischief.
-but, alas! the story of span--even this early chapter of the story of his stay at wyndfell hall--had not a happy ending. as varick came forward again among his guests, span once more set up that sharp, uncanny howl, and this time he cringed and shivered, as well as howled.
-span's master, with an angry exclamation, again dragged the now resisting dog across to the door which led into the outer porch. after he had shut the door, and span's howls were heard subsiding, he turned to the others apologetically. "i'm really awfully sorry," he exclaimed. "if this sort of thing goes on i'll have to send him home to-morrow."
-poor panton looked thoroughly put out and annoyed. but bubbles came to his rescue--bubbles and the young man whom the doctor now knew to be bill donnington.
-"come on, bill! we'll take him round to the kitchen. you don't mind, do you?"
-span's owner shook his head; devoted though he was to his dog, he felt he could well do without span for a while.
-after bubbles and donnington had disappeared together, their eager voices could be heard from the paved court-yard which connected two of the wings of wyndfell hall. span was barking now, barking eagerly, happily, confidently. and when the two young people reappeared they were both laughing.
-"he's taken to the cook tremendously," said bubbles. "and he's even made friends--and that's much more wonderful--with the cat. he went straight up to her and smelt her, and she seemed to be quite pleased with the attention."
-she turned to dr. panton: "i'll go out presently and see how he's getting on," she added.
-he looked at her gratefully. she really was a nice girl! he had thought that she would be one of those disagreeable, forward, self-sufficing, modern young women, who are absorbed only in themselves, and in the effect they produce on other people. but miss bubbles was not in the least like that.
-helen brabazon whispered, smiling: "isn't bubbles dunster a dear, dr. panton? she's not like anyone i ever met before--and that makes her all the nicer, doesn't it?"
-about an hour after dr. panton's arrival, the whole of the party was more or less scattered through the delightful old house, with the exception of lionel varick, who had gone off to the village by himself.
-but the four ladies finally gathered together in the hall to put in the time between tea and dinner.
-miss burnaby was soon nodding over a book close to the fire, while helen brabazon and blanche farrow had brought down their work. this consisted, as far as helen was concerned, of a complicated baby's garment destined for the queen's needlework guild. blanche, sitting close to helen, was bending over a frame containing the intricate commencement of a fruit and bird petit-point picture, which, when finished, she intended should form a banner screen for this very room.
-three seven-branched silver candlesticks had now been lighted, and formed pools of soft radiance in the gathering dusk.
-after wandering about restlessly for a while, bubbles ensconced herself far away from the others, in the old carved wood confessional, which had seemed in donnington's eyes so incongruous and unsuitable an object to form part of the furnishings of a living room.
-to blanche farrow, the confessional, notwithstanding the beauty of the carving, suggested an irreverent simile--that of a telephone-box. she told herself that only bubbles would have chosen such an uncomfortable resting-place.
-but when stepping up into what had once been the priest's narrow seat, bubbles called out that it was delightfully nice and quiet in there, as well as dark--for there still hung over the aperture through which she had just passed a curtain of green silk brocade embroidered with pale passion flowers.
-there followed a period of absolute silence and quietude in the room. then the door leading from the outside porch opened, and varick came in. "i hope i'm not intruding," he exclaimed in his full, resonant voice; and the ladies, with the exception of bubbles, who remained invisible, looked up and eagerly welcomed him.
-during the last few days he had made a real conquest of miss burnaby, who, with the one startling exception of the emotion betrayed by her at the séance, secretly struck both him and blanche farrow as the most commonplace human being with whom either had ever come in contact.
-"i'm quite warm," he said, in answer to the old lady's invitation to come up to the fire. "i had to go down to the village post office to see why the london papers hadn't arrived. but i've got them all now."
-he came over to where she was sitting and handed her a picture paper. then he retreated, far from the fire, close to a table which was equi-distant from the confessional and the door giving access to the staircase hall. bringing forward a deep, comfortable chair out of the shadows, he sat down, and opening one of the newspapers he had brought in, began to read it with close attention.
-on the table at his elbow, there now stood what looked to helen's eyes like a bouquet of light. but this only made the soft darkness which filled the further side of the great room seem more intense to those sitting near the fireplace.
-and then, not for the first time in the last few days, the aunt began considering within herself the problem of her niece. blanche had begun to like donnington with a cordiality of liking which surprised herself. his selfless love for the girl touched her more than she had thought it possible for anything now to touch her worldly heart. and whereas she would naturally have considered a marriage between the penniless donnington and brilliant, clever, popular bubbles as being out of the question, she was beginning to feel that such a marriage might be, nay, almost certainly was, the only thing likely to ensure for bubbles a reasonably happy and normal life. blanche farrow knew enough of human nature to realize that the kind of love bill donnington felt for her strange little niece was of a high and rare quality. it was very unlike the usual selfish, acquisitive love of a man for a maid. it was more like the tender, watching, tireless devotion certain mothers have for their children--it was infinitely protecting, infinitely forgiving, infinitely understanding.
-blanche sighed, a long, deep sigh, as she told herself sadly that no one had ever loved her like that--not even her old friend mark gifford. he had loved her long; in fact he rarely saw her, even now, without asking her to marry him. also he had been, in his own priggish way, a very, very good and useful friend to her. but still, blanche knew, deep in her heart, that mark gifford disapproved of her, that he often misunderstood her, that he was ashamed of the strength of the attraction which made him still wish to make her his wife, and which had kept him a bachelor. as long as this old friend had known her he had always written her a christmas letter. the letter had not come this christmas, and she had missed it. but mark had no idea of where she was, and--and after all, perhaps his faithful friendship had waned at last from lack of real response.
-and then, while thinking these rather melancholy, desultory thoughts, blanche farrow suddenly experienced a very peculiar sensation. it was that of finding herself as if impelled to look up from the embroidery-frame over which she was bending.
-she did look up; and for a moment her heart--that heart which the way of her life had so atrophied and hardened--seemed to stop beating, for just behind lionel varick, whose head was still bent over his newspaper with a complete air of unconcern, interest, and ease--stood, or appeared to stand, two shadowy figures.
-she shut her eyes; then opened them again--wide. the figures were still there, and they had grown clearer, more definite, especially the countenance of each of the two wraith-like women who stood, like sentinels, one on either side of the seated man.
-blanche gazed at them fixedly for what seemed to her an eternity of time. but even while, in a way, she could not deny the evidence of her senses, she was telling herself that she was really seeing nothing--that this extraordinary experience was but another exercise of bubbles' uncanny power.
-and as she, literally not believing the evidence of her senses, stared at the two immobile figures, her eyes became focussed on the face of the woman standing to varick's right. there was a coarse beauty in the mask-like-looking countenance, but it was a beauty now instinct with a kind of stark ferocity and rage.
-at last she slowly concentrated her gaze on the other luminous figure. though swathed from neck to heel in what blanche told herself, with a peculiar feeling of horror, were old-fashioned grave-clothes, the second woman yet looked more real, more alive, than the other. her face, if deadly pale, was less mask-like, and the small, dark eyes gleamed, while the large, ill-shaped mouth seemed to be quivering.
-and then, all at once, the form to varick's right began to dissolve--to melt, as it were, into the green-grey and blue tapestry which hung across the farther wall of the hall.
-but while this curious phenomenon took place, the woman swathed in her grave-clothes remained quite clearly visible....
-suddenly helen brabazon started to her feet; she uttered a loud and terrible cry--and at that same moment blanche saw the more living and sinister of the two apparitions also become disintegrated, and quickly dissolve into nothingness.
-lionel varick leapt from his chair. his face changed from a placid gravity to one of surprise and distress. "what is it?" he cried, coming forward. "what is it, miss brabazon--helen?"
-the girl whom he addressed fell back into her chair. she covered her face with her hands. twice she opened her lips and tried to speak--in vain. at last she gasped out, "it's all right now. i'll be better in a minute."
-"but what happened?" exclaimed varick. "did anything happen?"
-"i think i must have gone to sleep without knowing it--for i've had a terrible, terrible--nightmare!"
-miss burnaby got up slowly, deliberately, from her chair near the fire. she also came up to her niece.
-"you were working up to the very moment you cried out," she said positively. "i had turned round and i was watching you--when suddenly you jumped up and gave that dreadful cry."
-"do tell us what frightened you," said varick solicitously.
-"please don't ask me what i saw--or thought i saw; i would rather not tell you," helen said in a low voice.
-"but of course you must tell us!" miss burnaby roused herself, and spoke with a good deal of authority. "if you are not well you ought to see a doctor, my dear child."
-helen burst into bitter sobs. "i thought i saw milly, mr. varick--poor, poor milly! she looked exactly as she looked when i last saw her, in her coffin, excepting that her eyes were open. she was standing just behind you--and oh, i shall never, never forget her look! it was a terrible, terrible look--a look of hatred. yet i cared for her so much! you know i did all that was possible for one woman to do for another during those few weeks that i knew her?"
-lionel varick's face turned a curious, greyly pallid tint. it was as if all the natural colour was drained out of it.
-"where's bubbles?" he asked, in a scarcely audible voice.
-he turned and walked quickly over to the carved, box-like confessional, and drew aside the green-embroidered curtain.
-yes, the girl lay there asleep--or was she only pretending? her breast rose and fell, her eyes were closed.
-varick took hold of her arm with no gentle gesture, and she awoke with a cry of surprise and pain. "what is it? don't do that!" she said in a hoarse and sleepy tone.
-and then, on seeing who it was, she smiled wryly. "is it forbidden to get in here?" she asked, still speaking in a heavy, dull way. "i didn't know it was,"--and stumblingly she stepped down out of the confessional.
-varick scowled at her, and made no answer to her question. together they walked over to where the other three were standing--miss burnaby still gazing at her niece, with an annoyed, frightened expression on her face.
-as bubbles and varick came up to her, helen got up from the chair in which she had sunk back. she held a handkerchief to her face, and was making a great effort to regain her self-control and composure.
-"please forgive me, mr. varick. i oughtn't to have told you what i thought i saw--for i'm sure it was only a dream, a horrible, startling dream. but--but you made me tell you, didn't you?"
-"you didn't sleep very long," said her aunt dryly--"not half-an-hour in all. i should advise you, bubbles, to follow miss brabazon's example--go up and have a good rest, before getting ready for dinner."
-bubbles turned away. she walked very slowly, with dragging steps, to the door; and a moment later miss burnaby also left the room.
-varick walked over towards the fireplace. he held out his hands to the flames--he felt cold, shiveringly cold.
-he turned, as he had so often done in the past, for comfort to the woman now standing silent by his side, and who knew at once so much and so little of his real life.
-"i wonder what really happened?" he muttered. "it was a most extraordinary thing! i've seldom met anyone so little hysterical or fanciful as--as is miss brabazon." and then: "why, blanche," he exclaimed, startled, "what's the matter?"
-there was a look on her face he had never seen there before--a very troubled, questioning, perplexed look.
-"i saw something too, lionel," she said in a low voice; "i--i saw more than helen brabazon admits to having seen."
-"you saw something?" he echoed incredulously.
-"yes, and were it not that i am an older woman, and have more self-control than your young friend, i should have cried out too."
-"what did you see?" he asked slowly.
-"what i think i saw--for i am quite convinced that i saw nothing at all, and that the extraordinary phenomenon or vision, call it what you will, was only another of bubbles' tricks--what i saw--" she stopped dead. she found it extraordinarily difficult to go on.
-"yes?" he said sharply. "please tell me, blanche. what is it you saw, or thought you saw?"
-"i thought i saw two women standing just behind your chair," she said deliberately.
-varick made a violent movement--so violent that it knocked over a rather solid little oak stool which always stood before the fire. "i beg your pardon!" he exclaimed; and, stooping, picked the stool up again. then, "what sort of women?" he asked; and though he tried to speak lightly, he failed, and knew he failed.
-"it isn't very easy to describe them," she said reluctantly. "the one was a stout young woman, with a gipsy type of face--that's the best way i can describe it. but the other--"
-she waited a full minute, but varick did not, could not, speak.
-she went on:
-"the other, lionel, looked more like--well, like what a ghost is supposed to look like! she was swathed in white from head to foot, and she appeared--i don't quite know how to describe it--as if at once alive and dead. her face looked dead, but her eyes looked alive."
-"had you ever seen either of these women before--i mean in life?"
-he had turned away from her, and was staring into the fire.
-"no; i've never seen anyone in the least like either of them."
-varick moved a few steps, and then, as if hardly knowing what he was doing, he began turning over the leaves of the picture paper miss burnaby had been reading.
-"do you suppose that helen brabazon saw exactly what you saw?" he asked at last.
-"no, i'm sure she didn't; for the younger-looking woman had already disappeared, it was as if she faded into nothingness, before helen brabazon called out,"--there was a hesitating, dubious tone in blanche's voice. "but of course we can't tell what exactly she did see. she may have seen something--someone--quite different from what i thought i saw."
-varick began staring into the fire again, and blanche felt intolerably nervous and uncomfortable. "i think, lionel, that i must speak to bubbles very seriously!" she said at last. "i haven't a doubt now that she really has got some uncanny power--a power of stirring the imagination--of making those about her think they see visions."
-"but why should she have chosen that you should see such--such a vision as that?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
-"ah, there you have me! i can't imagine what should prompt her to do such a cruel, unseemly thing."
-"you think it's quite impossible that bubbles personated either of these--these"--he hesitated for a word, and blanche answered his only half-asked question very decidedly.
-"if there'd been only one figure there, i confess i should have thought that bubbles had in some way dressed up, and 'worked it.' you know how fond she used to be of practical jokes? but there were two forms--absolutely distinct the one from the other."
-lionel varick took a turn up and down the long room. then he came and stood opposite to her, and she was shocked at the change in his face. he looked as if he had been through some terrible physical experience.
-"i wish you'd arrange for her to go away, at once--i mean, to-morrow. forgive me for saying such a thing, but i feel that nothing will go right while bubbles is at wyndfell hall," he exclaimed.
-blanche looked what he had never seen her look before--offended. "i don't think i can get her away to-morrow, lionel. she's nowhere to go to. after all, she gave up a delightful party to come here and help us out."
-"very well," he said hastily. "perhaps i ought not to have suggested anything so inhospitable"--he tried to smile. "but i will ask you to do me one favour?"
-"yes," she said, still speaking coldly. "what is it?"
-"i want you to ask miss brabazon and her aunt to keep what happened this afternoon absolutely to themselves."
-"of course i will!" she was relieved. "i don't think either of them is in the least likely to be even tempted to speak of it."
-but even while varick and blanche farrow were arranging together that this disturbing and mysterious occurrence should remain secret, helen brabazon was actually engaged in telling one who was still a stranger to her the story of her amazing experience.
-perhaps this was owing to the fact that the door of the hall had scarcely shut behind her when she met sir lyon dilsford face to face.
-almost involuntarily he exclaimed, with a good deal of real concern in his voice: "is anything the matter? i hope you haven't had bad news?"
-she said, "oh, no," and shook her head; but the tears welled up again into her eyes.
-when an attractive girl who generally shows remarkable powers of quietude and self-control breaks down, and proves herself a very woman after all, the average man is generally touched, and more than a little moved. sir lyon felt oddly affected by helen's evident distress, and an ardent desire to console and to help her rose instinctively in his mind.
-"come into the study!" he exclaimed in a low voice. "and tell me if there's anything i can do to help you?"
-she obeyed him, and, as he followed her in, he shut the door.
-she sat down, and for a while he stood before her, gazing sympathetically into her flushed, tear-stained face.
-"i'm afraid you'll think it so absurd," she said falteringly. "even i can hardly believe now that what happened did happen!"
-"don't tell me--if you'd rather not," he said suddenly; a very disagreeable suspicion entering his mind.
-was it within the bounds of possibility that james tapster had tried to--to kiss her? sir lyon had a great prejudice against the poor millionaire, but he instantly rejected the idea. if such a thing had indeed happened to her, helen brabazon was the last girl ever to offer to tell anyone, least of all a man.
-helen all at once felt that it would be a comfort to confide her strange, terrifying experience to this kind new friend.
-"i'd rather tell you, i think."
-she waited a moment, and then came out with a bald statement of what had happened. "i was sitting knitting, when something seemed to force me to look up--and i saw, or i thought i saw, the spirit of a dear, dead friend."
-sir lyon uttered an exclamation of extreme astonishment.
-"yes, i know it was only my imagination," helen went on in a low, troubled voice. "but it gave me a most fearful shock, and i feel that, however long i live, i shall never forget it!"
-"i wish you would tell me a little more about it," he said persuasively. "i don't ask out of idle curiosity. i was very much impressed by what happened on the first night of our visit here--i mean at the séance."
-"so was i," she said reluctantly. "but, of course, this had nothing to do with--with anything of that sort. in fact, bubbles (as she has asked me to call her) was sitting, asleep, i think, in that curious old carved confessional box. my aunt and mr. varick were reading--mr. varick had just come up from the village with this morning's london papers; miss farrow was doing her embroidery, and i'd just been counting some stitches in my knitting, when i looked up and saw--"
-she stopped, as if not able to go on.
-"was what you saw, what you took to be an apparition, close to the confessional?" asked sir lyon abruptly.
-"no, not so very close--still, not very far away. it--she--seemed to be standing behind mr. varick, a little to his left, on the door side."
-"i suppose you would rather not tell me who it was you saw?"
-sir lyon thought he knew, but he wished to feel sure.
-"i don't see why i shouldn't tell you," yet she hesitated. "it was poor milly, sir lyon--i mean mrs. lionel varick. she and i became great friends during the weeks preceding her death. she even told me that, apart from her husband, she had never cared for anyone as she grew to care for me. and yet--oh, sir lyon, what was so very, very terrible just now, was that i felt her looking at me with a kind of hatred in her dead face," and, as she uttered these last words, an expression of deep pain came over helen brabazon's countenance.
-sir lyon then asked a rather curious question: "how was the apparition clothed?"
-"in her shroud. a woman in redsands made it. i saw the woman about it--perhaps that impressed it on my mind," her mouth quivered. "the figure standing there was exactly like milly dead, excepting that her eyes seemed alive, and that there was that dreadful look of anger on her face."
-"how long did the vision last?"
-"oh, not a whole minute altogether! when i first saw it i got up, and without knowing what i was doing, i screamed; and then she, milly, seemed to fade away--to melt into the air.
-"did anyone else see anything?" asked sir lyon eagerly.
-"no, i don't think so. in fact, i'm quite sure not. my aunt was sitting with her back to mr. varick."
-there was a pause. and then helen asked: "you don't believe that the dead can appear to the living--do you, sir lyon?"
-"i've never been able quite to make up my mind," he said slowly. "but i do believe, absolutely, in what is now called materialization. i must believe in it, because i've witnessed the phenomena a number of times myself. but, of course, always under a most carefully prepared set of conditions. i wish you'd tell me," he went on, "exactly how the figure struck you? can you describe to me in greater detail the appearance of what seemed to be the spirit of your friend?"
-helen did not quite understand what he meant, but she answered obediently: "it's very difficult to describe more exactly what i did see. as i told you just now, the eyes alone seemed to be really alive in the pale, waxen-looking face, and i thought the mouth quivered."
-"i know," he interjected quickly.
-"but the rest of her poor, thin, emaciated looking body seemed to be so stiff and still, swathed in the long, white grave-clothes--and i can't express to you the sort of growing horror of it all! i knew it was only a few moments, yet it seemed like hours of time. i felt as if i must call out and indeed i did. but before i could go on to utter her name, miss farrow spoke to me, my aunt got up from her chair, and mr. varick rushed forward! of course it all happened in much less time than it takes to tell."
-she looked at him earnestly. what a kind, dependable face he had!
-"have you, sir lyon, any explanation to suggest?" she asked.
-"i don't suppose," he said slowly, "that you would accept my explanation, miss brabazon."
-"i think i would," she said simply. "after what happened that first night i feel that anything is possible. i am sure my dear father's spirit was there."
-"i am inclined to think so too. but as to this instance i am not so sure that what you saw was your dead friend. unless--"
-"unless?" repeated helen questioningly.
-"you told me that during her lifetime you were on the best terms of friendship with this poor lady, and yet that on her dead face there was a look of hatred? how do you account for that?"
-he looked questioningly, penetratingly, into the girl's distressed face.
-sir lyon had always prided himself on his self-command and perfect self-control, and yet he would have given almost anything for a really honest answer to this question.
-and poor helen did give him an honest answer--honest, that is, from her own simple-hearted point of view. "i can't account for it!" she exclaimed. "but i am sure it was there. i felt the hatred coming out from her towards me. and oh, sir lyon, it was horrible!"
-"try and think it was not mrs. varick's spirit," he said impressively. "try and tell yourself that it was either a dream, a waking phantom of your brain, or--or--"
-"or what?" asked helen eagerly.
-but there are thoughts, questions, suspicions that no human being willingly puts into words.
-during the last few days sir lyon had become convinced that lionel varick had resolved in his powerful, unscrupulous mind to make helen brabazon his wife. it was in vain that he argued with himself that the question of miss brabazon's future concerned him not at all. he found himself again and again, when watching those two, giving a great deal of uneasy thought to the matter. now and again he would remind himself that varick had been no greater an adventurer than many a man who, when utterly impecunious, has married an heiress amid the hearty approval and acclamation of most of the people about them. and varick could not now be regarded as impecunious; he was a man of substance, though no doubt even his present income would seem as nothing compared with the brabazon fortune.
-sir lyon was ashamed of his growing distaste, even dislike, of his courteous host. it was as if in the last few days a pit had been dug between them. it was not pleasant to him to be accepting the hospitality of a man whom he was growing to dislike and suspect more and more every day. and yet though he could have made a hundred excuses to leave wyndfell hall, he stayed on, refusing to inquire too closely into the reason.
-at times he tried to persuade himself that he was keenly interested in the problem presented by bubbles dunster. the girl was beyond question a most rare and exceptional medium. at one time he had made a close study of psychic phenomena; and though he had come to certain conclusions which had led to his entirely giving up the practices which had once seemed to him the only thing worth living for, he was still sufficiently interested in the subject to feel that bubbles' powers were well worth watching.
-sir lyon would have given much to have been present at what, if helen's account were correct, had been an extraordinary example of what is called materialization.
-had this terrible vision of mrs. varick been an emanation of helen brabazon's own brain--some subconscious knowledge that she, helen, was now the object of varick's pursuit? or was this woman, whom they all called "poor milly," an unquiet spirit, wandering about full of jealous, cruel thoughts, even with regard to the two who had evidently been so selflessly devoted to her--her girl friend and her husband?
-and then, suddenly a queer feeling of intense relief swept over him. whether a sentient being or not had appeared to helen brabazon, there could be no doubt that what had just happened would make the course of varick's wooing more arduous. he was ashamed to find that this conviction made him suddenly feel oddly light-hearted--almost, so he told himself, a young man again!
-as he walked into his bedroom, which was pleasantly warm--for there was a good fire, and the curtains across the three windows were closely drawn--dr. panton told himself that he was indeed beginning the new year very well.
-half-an-hour ago the whole party, with the exception of miss burnaby, who had gone to bed at her usual time, had stood outside the front door under the starry sky while the many clocks of wyndfell hall rang out the twelve strokes which said farewell to the old year, and brought the new year in. then they had all crowded back again into the hall, and, hand in hand, sung "auld lang syne."
-as everyone had shaken hands and wished each other a happy new year, many and sincere had been the good wishes felt and expressed. even james tapster had looked genial and happy for once. he was beginning to feel as if he would, after all, throw the handkerchief to bubbles (his own secret, graceful paraphrase for making an offer of marriage). but as yet dr. panton knew nothing of this little under-current in the broad stream which seemed to be flowing so pleasantly before him. had he done so, he would have been startled and distressed, for he had already, with a shrewd medical man's judgment, "sized up" his fellow guest, and found him very much wanting.
-thus not knowing or divining anything of the various human under-currents, save, perhaps, that he guessed donnington to be in love with bubbles, dr. panton went off to bed in a very cheerful and contented state of mind. so contented was he that as, with leisurely fingers, he lit the candles on his dressing-table, he incidentally told himself that wyndfell hall was the only house in which he had ever stayed which, lacking any other luminant but lamps and candles, yet had amply enough of both!
-lighting a pipe--for he didn't feel in the least sleepy--he drew forward a deep, comfortable armchair close to the fire, and took up a book. but soon he put it down again, and, staring at the dancing flames, his mind dwelt with retrospective pleasure on the last few hours.
-seated between helen brabazon and bubbles dunster, he had thoroughly enjoyed the delicious new year's eve dinner composed by varick's chef. miss brabazon had admitted to having a headache this evening, and she certainly looked very far from well--less well than he had thought her to be when they had first seen one another again, after so long an absence, this afternoon.
-and yet, as is sometimes the case, a look of languor suited her; and he thought she had grown decidedly better-looking in the last year. at redsands miss brabazon had been a little too buxom, a little too self-possessed, also, for his taste. and yet--and yet how wonderfully good she had been to poor mrs. varick! with what tender patience had she put up with the invalid's querulous bad temper, never even mentioning it to him, the doctor, who so often received painful confidences of the kind from those who were far nearer and dearer to a dying patient than helen had been to querulous milly varick.
-as for miss bubbles, he felt it would be easy to lose one's heart to that strange, queer young creature. they had made real friends over span. and, apropos of span, dr. panton frowned to himself. he feared that the dog was going to be the one blot on this delightful visit. span had been very, very badly behaved--setting up that unearthly howl whenever his master brought him in contact with the rest of the party. yet he was quite good in the servants' hall. "it is clear that, like so many cleverer people than himself, span likes low company," bubbles had whispered mischievously to span's master. "i daresay they're all very much nicer than we are, if we only knew it!" she had gone on, but dr. panton had shaken his head. he had no great liking for the modern domestic servant. he was one of the many people who consider that the good old type of serving-man and waiting-woman has disappeared for ever. to-night, remembering bubbles' words, he gave a careless, rueful thought to the question of how varick, who was always generous about money, must be cheated--"rooked" was the expression the doctor used in his own mind--by these job servants who were here, so his host told him, just for the one month. still, they were all fulfilling their part of their contract very well, especially the chef! everything seemed to go on oiled wheels at wyndfell hall. but this might be owing to clever miss farrow, for varick had told him that miss farrow was acting as hostess to the party.
-panton didn't much like that composed, clever-looking lady. she made him feel a little shy, a little young--a sensation he didn't very often experience nowadays! she treated him with a courtesy which, if elaborate, was also distant. it was odd to think that miss farrow was the unconventional, friendly bubbles dunster's aunt.
-sir lyon dilsford, on the other hand, he liked very much. he smiled a queer little smile as he thought of this new acquaintance. he had looked up in the middle of dinner, and caught a rather curious look on sir lyon's face. it was a thoughtful, considering, almost tender look. was sir lyon attracted to helen brabazon? well, miss brabazon, with her vast wealth, and sir lyon, with his fine old name, and agreeable, polished personality, would seem well matched, according to a worldly point of view. but panton told himself that he would far prefer lionel varick were he a young woman. but he feared there was no hope of such a chance coming miss brabazon's way. varick's heart--his big, sensitive heart--was buried in the grave of his wife....
-how strange to think that "poor milly"--for so had even her doctor come to call her in his own mind--had been born and brought up in this delightful old house! she had once spoken to him of her unhappy girlhood, coupling it with an expression of gratitude to her husband for having so changed her life.
-"poor milly" was very present to dr. panton to-night. he, who had hardly given her a thought during the last twelve months, found himself dwelling on her to an almost uncanny extent. he even recalled some unusual features of her illness which had puzzled and worried him greatly. he dismissed the recollection of certain of her symptoms with an effort. there is no truer saying--at any rate from a doctor's point of view--than "let the dead bury their dead." he had done his very best for mrs. varick, lavished on her everything that skill and kindness could do, and she had been extraordinarily blessed, not only in her devoted husband, but in that sudden, unexpected friendship with another woman--and with such a good, conscientious, sweet-tempered young woman as was helen brabazon....
-half-past one struck on the landing outside his room, and dr. panton got up from the comfortable easy chair; time to be going to bed, yet he still felt quite wide awake.
-he walked over to the window nearest to the fire-place, and drew back the heavy, silk-brocaded curtain. it was a wonderful night, with a promise, he thought, of fine weather--though one of the men who had stood outside with him had predicted snow. what a curious, eerie place this old suffolk house was! probably the landscape had scarcely changed at all in the last five hundred years. below he could see gleaming water....
-he let fall the curtain, and, blowing out the candles, got slowly, luxuriously, into the vast, comfortable four-post bed.
-as he composed himself to sleep, broken, disconnected images floated through his brain. bill donnington--what a nice boy! and yet not exactly, he felt, in sympathy with any of the people there. he wondered why bill donnington had come to spend christmas at wyndfell hall. then he remembered--and smiled in the fitful firelight. what a pity there wasn't some nice, simple, gentle girl for young donnington! that was the sort of girl he, panton, would have chosen for him. miss bubbles, so much was clear, rather despised the poor lad. she had implied as much in her clever, teasing, funny way, more than once.
-and the thought of bubbles unexpectedly brought up another image--that of james tapster. of the little party gathered together at wyndfell hall, tapster was the one whom the doctor felt he really didn't like. he couldn't imagine why varick had asked that disagreeable fellow here!
-while the men were still in the dining-room, and varick had gone out for a moment to look for some very special, new kind of cigarette which had come down from london a day or two before, tapster had spoken very disagreeably of the richness of the french chef's cooking. he had seemed to think it an outrage that something of a special, very plain, nature had not been provided for him every day, and he had hinted that perhaps the doctor could suggest some antidote to all this richness! there was another reason, so panton's sleepy mind told him, why he didn't like his sulky, plain fellow-guest. it became suddenly, unexpectedly, clear to him that tapster was much taken with miss bubbles. the man had hardly taken his eyes off her during the whole of dinner, and it had been a disagreeable, appraising look--as if he couldn't quite make up his mind what she was worth! he told himself, while remembering that look, that tapster was the kind of man who is always hesitating, always absorbed in some woman, and yet always afraid to try his luck--in the hope that if he waits, he may do better next time! miss bubbles was a hundred times too good for such a fellow, however rich the fellow might be....
-and then, all at once, his senses became keenly alert, for a curious sound became audible in the darkening room. it was without doubt a sound created by some industrious mouse, or perhaps--though that idea was a less pleasant one--by a greedy rat. swish, swish--swish--just like the rustling of a lady's silk dress!
-it might have been a moment, it might have been an hour, later, when there came a sudden, urgent knocking at his door. he sat up in bed.
-"come in," he called out, now wide awake.
-the door opened slowly--and there came through it a curious-looking figure. it was james tapster, arrayed in a wonderful dressing-gown made of persian shawls, and edged with fur. he held a candlestick in his hand, and the candle threw up a flickering light on his pallid, alarmed-looking face.
-"dr. panton," he whispered, "i wish you'd come out here a moment."
-and the doctor, cursing his bad luck, and feeling what he very seldom felt, thoroughly angry, said ungraciously: "what is the matter? can't you tell me without my getting out of bed?"
-last night's excellent dinner, which couldn't have hurt any healthy man, had evidently upset the unhealthy millionaire.
-"can't you hear?" whispered tapster. his teeth were, chattering; he certainly looked very ill.
-"hear! hear what?"
-tapster held up his hand. and then, yes, the man sitting up in the big four-post bed did hear some very curious noises. it was as if furniture was being thrown violently about, and as if crockery was being smashed--but a very, very long way off.
-this was certainly most extraordinary! he had done tapster an injustice.
-he jumped out of bed. "wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "i'll get my dressing-gown, and we'll go and see what it's all about. what extraordinary sounds! where on earth do they come from?"
-"they come from the servants' quarters," said tapster.
-there came a sudden silence, and then an awful crash.
-"how long have these noises gone on?" asked panton.
-he had put on his dressing-gown, and was now looking for his slippers.
-"oh, for a long time."
-tapster's hand was trembling, partly from excitement, partly from fear. "how d'you account for it?" he asked.
-"one of the servants has gone mad drunk," replied panton briefly. "that's what it is--without a doubt! we'd better go down and see what can be done."
-and then, as there came the distant sounds of breaking glass, he exclaimed: "i wonder everyone hasn't woken up!"
-"there is a heavy padded door between that part of the house and this. my room is on the other side, over what they call the school-room. i left the padded door open just now when i came through--in fact i fastened it back."
-"that wasn't a very clever thing to do!"
-the doctor did not speak pleasantly, but tapster took no offence.
-"i--i wanted someone to hear," he said humbly; "i felt so shut off through there."
-"still, there's no use in waking everybody else up," said panton, in a businesslike tone.
-he didn't look forward to the job which he thought lay before him; but, of course, it wasn't the first time he had been called in to help calm a man who had become violent under the influence of drink. "go on," he said curtly. "show me the way! i suppose there's a back staircase by which we can go down?"
-he followed his guide along the broad corridor to a heavy green baize door. stooping, he undid the hook which fastened the door back. it swung to, and, as it did so, there came a sudden, complete cessation of the noise.
-"hullo!" he said to himself, "that's odd."
-the two men waited for what seemed to panton a long time, but in reality it was less than five minutes.
-"would you like to come into my room for a few moments? i wish you would," said mr. tapster plaintively.
-unwillingly the doctor walked through into what was certainly a very pleasant, indeed a luxurious room. it was furnished in a more modern way than the other rooms at wyndfell hall. "there's a bath-room off this room. that's why varick, who's a good-natured chap, gave it me. he knows i have a great fear of catching a chill," whispered mr. tapster.
-"we'd better go down," said the doctor at last.
-"d'you think so? but the noise has stopped, and, after all, it is no business of ours."
-dr. panton did not tell the other what was really in his mind. this was that the man who had now become so curiously quiet might unwittingly have done a mischief to himself. all he said was: "i have a feeling that i ought to go down, at any rate."
-the words had hardly left his lips before the noises began again, and, of course, from where the two men were now, they sounded far louder than they had done from the doctor's bed-room. heavy furniture was undoubtedly being thrown about, and again there came those curious crashes, as if plates and dishes were being dashed against the wall and broken there in a thousand pieces.
-"i say, this won't do!" quickly he went towards the door, and as he reached the corridor he saw the swing door between the two parts of the house open, and miss farrow came through, looking her well-bred, composed self, and wearing, incidentally, a short, neat, becoming dressing-gown.
-"i can't think what's happening!" she exclaimed. she looked from the one man to the other. "what can be happening downstairs?"
-as panton made no answer, mr. tapster replied for them both: "the doctor thinks one of the servants got drunk last night."
-"yes, that must be it, of course. i'll go down and see who it is," she said composedly.
-but dr. panton broke in authoritatively: "no, indeed, miss farrow! if it's what i think it is, the fellow will probably be violent. you'd better let me go down alone and deal with him."
-there had come again that extraordinary, sudden stillness.
-"i think i'd rather come down with you," she said coolly.
-all three started going down the narrow, steep wooden staircase which connected that portion of the upper floor with the many rambling offices of the old house.
-tapster and blanche farrow each held a candle, but dr. panton led the way; and soon they were treading the whitewashed passages, even their slippered feet making, in the now absolute stillness, what sounded like loud thuds on the stone floor.
-"listen!" said blanche suddenly.
-they all stood still, and there came a strange fluttering sound. it was as if a bird had got in through a window, and was trying to find a way out.
-"d'you know the way to the kitchen? i think that the man must be in the kitchen, or probably the pantry," whispered the doctor to his hostess.
-"i think it's this way."
-miss farrow led them down a short passage to the right, and cautiously opened a door which led into the kitchen.
-and then they all three uttered exclamations of amazement and of horror. holding her candle high in her hand, their hostess was now lighting up a scene of extraordinary and of widespread disorder.
-it was as if a tornado had whirled through the vast, low-ceilinged kitchen. heavy tables lay on their sides and upside down, their legs in the air. most of the crockery--fortunately, so blanche said to herself, kitchen crockery--off the big dresser lay smashed in large and small pieces here, there, and everywhere. a large copper preserving-pan lay grotesquely sprawling on the well-scrubbed centre table, which was the one thing which had not been moved--probably because of its great weight. and yet--and yet it had been moved--for it was all askew! the man who did that, if, indeed, one man could alone have done all this mischief, must have been very, very strong--a hercules!
-the doctor took the candle from miss farrow's hand and walked in among the débris. "he must have gone through that door," he muttered.
-leaving her to be joined by the timorous james tapster, he went boldly on across the big kitchen, and through a door which gave into what appeared to be a scullery. but here everything was in perfect order.
-"where can the man have gone?" he asked himself in astonishment.
-before him there rose a vision of the respectable old butler, and of the two tall, well-matched, but not physically strong-looking footmen. this must be the work of some man he had not yet seen? of course there must be many men employed about such a place as was wyndfell hall.
-he retraced his steps. "i think you and mr. tapster had better go upstairs again, and leave me to this," he said decidedly. "i'll have a thorough hunt through the place, and it'll probably take some time. perhaps the man's taken refuge in the pantry. by the way, where do the servants sleep?"
-"oddly enough, they're none of them sleeping in the house," said blanche quietly. "they're down at what are called 'the cottages.' you may have seen a row of pretty little buildings not very far from the gate giving on to the high road? those cottages belong to mr. varick. they're quite comfortable, and we thought it best to put all the servants together there. when i say all the servants"--she corrected herself quickly--"the ladies' maids and mr. tapster's valet all sleep in the house. but mr. varick and i agreed that it would be better to put the whole of the temporary staff down together in the cottages."
-"in that case i think it's very probable that the man, when he realized the mischief he'd done, bolted out of doors. however, i may as well have a look round."
-"i'll come with you," said blanche decidedly. she turned to mr. tapster: "i think you'd better go upstairs, and try and finish your night more comfortably."
-she spoke quite graciously. blanche was the one of the party who really tolerated mr. tapster--blanche and mr. tapster's host.
-"all right, i think i will. though i feel rather a brute at leaving you to do the dirty work," he muttered.
-he set off down the passage; and then, a few moments later, he had to call out and ask miss farrow to show him the way--he had lost himself!
-it took a long time to search through the big commons of the ancient dwelling. there were innumerable little rooms now converted into store cupboards, larders, and so on. but everything was in perfect order--the kitchen alone being in that, as yet, inexplicable condition of wreckage.
-but at last their barren quest was ended, and they came up the narrow staircase on much more cordial and kindly terms with one another than either would have thought possible some hours before. then the doctor, with an "allow me," pushed in front of miss farrow in order to open wide the heavy padded door. "i wonder that you heard anything through this!" he exclaimed.
-she answered, "i was awakened by mr. tapster talking to you. then, of course, i heard those appalling noises--for he had left the padded door open. i got up and, opening my own door, listened, after you had both gone through. when there came that final awful crash i felt i must go and see what had happened!"
-"spirits? what absolute bosh! miss bubbles has been pulling your leg, varick. and yet one would like to know who has been at the bottom of it all--whether, as you say the butler evidently believes, it is the chef himself, or, as the chef told you, one of the under-servants. in any case, i hope no one will suppose that that sort of thing can be owing to a supernatural agency."
-"yet john wesley did so suppose when that sort of thing happened in the wesley household," came in the quiet voice of sir lyon.
-the three men--dr. panton, sir lyon, and lionel varick--were taking a walk along the high road. it was only eleven o'clock, but it seemed much later than that to two of them, for all the morning they had been busy. an hour of it had been taken up with a very close examination of the servants, especially of the respectable butler and of the french chef. they had both professed themselves, together and separately, as entirely unable to account for what had happened in the night. but still, it had been clear to the three who had taken part in the examination--blanche farrow, varick, and the doctor--that the butler believed the chef to be responsible. "it's that frenchman; they're tricky kind of fellows, ma'am," the man had said in a confidential aside. and, though the chef was less willing to speak, it was equally clear that he, on his side, put it down to one of the under-servants.
-then, quite at the end of the interrogation, they had all been startled by not only the chef, but the butler also, suddenly admitting that something very like what happened last night had happened twice before! but on the former occasions, though everything in the kitchen had been moved, including the heavy centre table, nothing had been broken. still, it had taken the chef and his kitchen-maids two hours to put everything right. that had happened, so was now revealed, on the very morning after the party had just been gathered together. and then, again, four days ago.
-miss burnaby, who had slept through everything, exclaimed, when the happenings of the night before were told her by mr. tapster, "the place seems bewitched! i shall never forget what happened yesterday afternoon to helen." turning to dr. panton, she continued: "my niece actually believes that she saw a ghost yesterday!"
-helen said sharply, "i thought nothing was to be said about that, auntie."
-meanwhile the doctor stared at her, hardly believing the evidence of his own ears. "you thought you saw a ghost?" he said incredulously.
-and helen, turning away, answered: "i would so much rather not speak about it. i don't want even to think about it ever again!"
-an hour later, as panton and sir lyon stood outside the house waiting for varick, the doctor said a word to the other man: "a most extraordinary thing happened here yesterday. miss brabazon apparently believes she saw a ghost."
-"did she tell you so herself?" asked sir lyon quietly.
-"no, her aunt mentioned it, quite as if it was an ordinary incident. but i could see that it was true, for she was very much upset, and said she would rather not speak of it."
-they had then been joined by their host, and when once through the gate, the doctor's first words had proved that his mind was still full of all that had happened in the night.
-"surely you don't put down what happened last night to a supernatural agency?"
-he was addressing sir lyon, and though he spoke quite civilly, there was an under-current of sarcasm in his pleasant, confident voice.
-"at one time i was very deeply interested in what i think one may call the whole range of psychic phenomena," replied sir lyon deliberately, "and i came to certain very definite conclusions--"
-"and what," said varick, with a touch of real eagerness, "were those conclusions?"
-till now he had not joined in the discussion.
-"for one thing, i very soon made up my mind that a great deal of what occurs at every properly conducted séance can by no means be dismissed as 'all bosh,'" answered sir lyon.
-"do you consider that the séance which took place the first evening you were here was a properly conducted séance?" asked varick slowly.
-"yes--as far as i was able to ascertain--it was. i felt convinced, for instance, that laughing water was a separate entity--that was why i asked her to pass me by. to me there is something indecent about an open séance. i have always felt that very strongly; and what happened that evening in the case of mr. burnaby of course confirmed my feeling."
-varick uttered under his breath an exclamation of incredulous amazement. "d'you mean that you believe there was a spirit present? it would take some time to do it, but i think i could prove that it was what i took it to be--thought-reading of quite an exceptional quality, joined to a clever piece of acting."
-"you'd find it more difficult than you think to prove that," said sir lyon quietly. "i've been to too many séances to be able to accept that point of view. i feel sure that miss bubbles was what they call 'controlled' by a separate entity calling herself 'laughing water.' but if you ask me what sort of entity, then i cannot reply."
-panton turned on him: "then you're a spiritualist?" he exclaimed. "of course i was quite unaware of that fact when i spoke just now."
-there was an underlying touch of scorn in his voice.
-"no, i do not call myself a spiritualist. but still--yes, i accept the term, if by it you mean that i believe there is no natural explanation for certain of the phenomena we have seen, or heard of, in the last twenty-four hours."
-he purposely did not allude to what had happened between tea and dinner in the hall last evening, but he felt certain that it was very present to varick himself.
-"i spoke just now of the curious occurrences in the wesley household," he observed, turning to the young doctor. "that, of course, is the most famous case on record of the sort of thing which took place in the kitchen last night."
-"but why," cried varick, with a touch of excitement, "why should all these things happen just now at wyndfell hall? i know, of course, the story of the haunted room. but most old houses have one respectable ghost attached to them. i don't mind the ghost pegler fancies she saw--but, good heavens, the place now seems full of tricksy spirits! still, it's an odd fact that none of the servants, with the one exception of miss farrow's maid, have seen anything out of the way."
-here the doctor broke in: "that's easily accounted for!" he exclaimed. "i understand from miss farrow that her maid--a remarkable person without doubt--has held her tongue ever since she saw, or thought she saw, a ghost. but if the other servants knew everything we know, there'd be no holding them--there'd be no servants!"
-"of course, i admit that in the great majority of instances those who think they see what's commonly called a ghost probably see no ghost at all," said sir lyon thoughtfully. "they've heard that a ghost is there, and therefore they think they see it."
-"then," said varick, turning on him, "you don't believe pegler did see the ghost of dame grizel fauncey?"
-sir lyon smiled. "i daresay you'll think me very illogical, but in this one case i think pegler did see what is commonly called a ghost. and i'll tell you why i think so."
-both men turned and looked at him fixedly, both in their several ways being much surprised by his words.
-"i have discovered," said sir lyon in a rather singular tone, "that this woman pegler saw nothing for the first few days she occupied the haunted room."
-panton stared at the speaker with an astonished expression. "what exactly do you mean to imply?" he asked.
-sir lyon hesitated. he was, in some of his ways, very old-fashioned. it was not pleasant to him to bring a lady's name into a discussion. and yet he felt impelled to go on, for what had happened in the hall yesterday afternoon had moved and interested him as he had not thought to be interested and moved again.
-"the woman saw nothing," he said, slowly and impressively, "till miss dunster arrived at wyndfell hall. i take that to mean that miss dunster is a very strong medium."
-"a medium?" repeated the doctor scoffingly. "who says medium surely says charlatan, sir lyon--not to say something worse than charlatan!"
-sir lyon looked thoughtfully at the younger man. "i admit that often mediums are charlatans--or rather, they begin by being mediums pure and simple, and they end by being mediums qua charlatans. the temptations which lie in their way are terrible, especially if, as in the majority of cases, they make a living by their--their"--he hesitated--"their extraordinary, as yet misunderstood, and generally mishandled gift."
-"do you mean," asked varick gravely, "that you believe bubbles possesses the power of raising the dead?"
-sir lyon did not answer at once, but at last he said firmly: "either the dead, or some class of intermediate spirits who personate the human dead. yes, varick, that is exactly what i do mean."
-all three men stopped in their now slow pacing. dr. panton felt too much surprised to speak.
-sir lyon went on: "i think that miss bubbles' arrival at wyndfell hall made visible, and is still making visible, much that would otherwise remain unseen."
-as he caught the look of incredulous amazement on the doctor's face, he repeated very deliberately: "that is my considered opinion. as i said just now, i have had a very considerable experience of psychic phenomena, and i realized, during that séance which was held the first evening i spent here, that this young lady possessed psychic gifts of a very extraordinary nature. there is no doubt at all, in my mind, that were she a professional medium, her fame would by now be world-wide."
-perhaps it was the derisive, incredulous look on the young medical man's face which stung him into adding: "if i understand rightly"--he turned to varick--"something very like what i should call an impromptu materialization took place in the hall yesterday--is that not so?"
-there was a pause. twice varick cleared his throat. who had broken faith and told sir lyon what had happened? he supposed it to have been miss burnaby. "though i was present," he said at last, "i, myself, saw absolutely nothing."
-"i, too, have heard something of it!" exclaimed dr. panton, looking from one of his two now moved, embarrassed, and excited companions to the other. "and you were actually present when it happened, varick?"
-as the other remained silent, he turned to sir lyon. "what was it exactly miss brabazon thought she saw?"
-sir lyon, after a glance at varick's pale, set face, was sorry that he had mentioned the curious, painful occurrence; and, though he was a truthful man, he now told a deliberate lie. "i don't know what the apparition purported to be," he observed. and he saw, even as he was uttering the lying words, a look of intense relief come over varick's face. "but to my mind miss brabazon evidently saw the rare phenomenon known as a materialization. miss bubbles was lying asleep in the confessional which is almost exactly opposite the door through which one enters the hall from the house side, thus the necessary conditions were present."
-"i wish i had been present!" exclaimed the doctor. "either i should have seen nothing, or, if i had seen anything, i should have managed to convince myself that what i saw was flesh and blood."
-as neither of his two companions said anything in answer to that observation, panton went on, speaking with more hesitation, but also with more seriousness than he had yet shown: "do i understand you to mean, sir lyon, that you credit our young fellow-guest with supernatural gifts denied to the common run of mortals?"
-"i should not put it quite that way," answered sir lyon. "but yes, i suppose i must admit that i do credit miss bubbles with powers which no one as yet has been able to analyze or explain--though a great many more intelligent people than has ever been the case before, are trying to find a natural explanation."
-"if that is so," asked the doctor, "why have you yourself given up such an extraordinarily important and valuable investigation?"
-"because," said sir lyon, "i consider my own personal investigations yielded a definite result."
-"and that result--?"
-"--was that what i prefer to call by the old term of occultism makes for evil rather than for good. also, i became convinced that the practice of these arts has been, so to speak, put 'out of bounds'--i can think of no better expression--by whatever power it be that rules our strange world."
-he spoke earnestly and slowly, choosing his words with care.
-"if your theory contains a true answer to the investigations which are now taking place," exclaimed the doctor, "there was a great deal to be said for those mediaeval folk who burnt sorcerers and witches! i suppose you would admit that they were right in their belief that by so doing they were getting rid of very dangerous, as well as unpleasant, elements from out of their midst?"
-the speaker looked hard at sir lyon. nothing, as he told himself, with some excitement, had ever astonished him, or taken him so aback, as was now doing this conversation with an intelligent, cultivated man who seemed to have broad and sane views on most things, but who was evidently as mad as a hatter on this one subject.
-and then, before sir lyon had perchance made up his mind what to answer exactly, varick's voice broke in: "yes," he observed, smiling a little grimly, "that's the logical conclusion of your view, dilsford. you can't get out of it! if a human being really possesses such dangerous powers, the sooner that human being is put out of the way the better."
-"no, no! i don't agree!" sir lyon spoke with more energy than he had yet displayed. "everything points to the fact that those unfortunate people--i mean the witches and sorcerers of the middle ages--could have been, and sometimes were, exorcised."
-"exorcised?" repeated panton. he had never heard the word "exorcised" uttered aloud before, though he had, of course, come across it in books. "do you mean driving out the devil by means of a religious ceremony?" he asked incredulously.
-"yes," said sir lyon, "i do exactly mean that. as you are probably aware, there is a form of exorcism still in common use. and if i were our host here, i should have wyndfell hall exorcised, preferably by a roman catholic priest, as soon as miss bubbles is safely off the premises."
-the doctor again looked sharply at the speaker--but no, sir lyon evidently meant what he said; and even varick seemed to be taking the suggestion seriously; for "that's not a bad idea," he muttered.
-the three men walked on in silence for a few moments.
-"it would be interesting to know," observed sir lyon suddenly, "what miss farrow conceives to be the truth as to her niece's peculiar gifts. i fancy, from something she told me the other day, that she hasn't the slightest belief in psychic phenomena, i wonder if she feels the same after what happened yesterday and last night?"
-"i can tell you exactly what miss farrow thinks," interposed varick. "i had a word or two with her about it all this morning, after we'd examined the servants in the white parlour."
-"what does she think," asked sir lyon. he had always been interested in blanche farrow, and, in a way, he was fond of her.
-"she thinks," said varick, a little hesitatingly, "that bubbles, in addition to her extraordinary thought-reading gift, has inherited from her indian ancestress a power of collectively hypnotizing an audience--of making people see things that she wants them to see. that's rather awkwardly expressed, but it's the best i can do."
-"i quite understand," broke in the doctor. "you mean the sort of power which certain indian fakirs undoubtedly possess?"
-"yes," said varick. "and, as i said just now bubbles has got indian blood in her veins. one of her ancestors actually did marry an indian lady of high degree, and bubbles is descended from one of the children of that marriage."
-"i think that may account for the potency of her gift," said sir lyon thoughtfully, "though, of course, many europeans have had, and now possess, these curious powers."
-"but though, in a sense, spiritualism is no new thing, even those who believe in it admit that it has never led to anything," observed varick musingly.
-"very rarely, i admit; but still, sometimes even a dream has contained a revelation of sorts. thus it is on positive record that a dream revealed the truth as to what was called the murder of the red barn."
-"can i take it that you do believe the dead return?" asked the doctor abruptly.
-"i think," said sir lyon deliberately, "that certain of the dead desire ardently to return--not always from the best motives. as to whether they themselves are permitted to come back, or whether they are able to use other entities to carry out that purpose, i am still in doubt."
-as he spoke he saw a curious change come over lionel varick's face. the rather set smile with which he had been listening to the discussion gave way to an odd expression of acute unease. but at this particular moment it was not varick with whom sir lyon was concerned, but with the frank, eager, pleasant-faced, young doctor, in whose estimation, as he realized, he was falling further and further down with every word he uttered.
-"to tell you the honest truth," he went on, "even in the days when i did little else than attend séances and have sittings with noted mediums, not only in this country but also on the continent, i could never quite make up my mind whether the spirit with whom i was in communication was really the being he or she purported to be! there was a time," he spoke with some emotion, "when i would have given anything--certainly most willingly twenty years of my life--to be so absolutely convinced. but there it is," he sighed, and was himself surprised at the feeling of depression which came over him. "even the most earnest investigation of the kind resolves itself always, after a while, into a kind of will-o'-the-wisp that leads no-whither."
-"not always," exclaimed panton sharply. "last year i had a patient who'd become insane owing to what i suppose you would call an investigation into psychic phenomena."
-"and yet," said sir lyon rather sternly, "to your mind, dr. panton, a pursuit which you admit was capable of leading one unfortunate human being into insanity, is 'all bosh'!"
-"of course i could only go by what the poor lady's friends told me," panton said uncomfortably. "she was not under my care long. but i need hardly tell you, sir lyon, that any obsession that takes hold of a human being may in time lead to insanity."
-"i suppose that, according to your theory"--it was now varick who was speaking, speaking rather lightly, twirling his stick about as he spoke--"i suppose," he repeated, "that, according to your theory, if bubbles dunster left wyndfell hall to-morrow, the spirits would cease from troubling, and we should be at rest?"
-"no, that doesn't exactly follow. i once heard of a case which interested me very much. a house which had never been haunted before--as far as anyone knew--became so, following on the sojourn there of a professional medium, and it remained haunted for four years. then, suddenly, all the psychic phenomena stopped."
-"what a strange thing," said panton, with an under-current of irony in his voice; "but doubtless the owner had had the house exorcised, as you call it?"
-"no," said sir lyon thoughtfully. "no, the house had not been exorcised. as a matter of fact, the medium was killed in a railway accident."
-they walked on, and fell to talking of indifferent things. but though sir lyon had at one time held many such conversations with sceptical or interested persons, this particular conversation will never be forgotten by him, owing to a strange occurrence which happened in the afternoon of that same day. but for two fortunate facts--the bravery of young donnington, and the presence of a clever medical man--the pleasant comedy in which they were each and all playing an attractive part would have been transformed into a peculiarly painful tragedy.
-while three members of the party had thus been walking and talking, the principal subject of their discussion, bubbles dunster, had gone through an exciting and unpleasant experience.
-when starting out for a solitary walk to give span a run, she saw, with annoyance, james tapster following her, and to her acute discomfiture he managed to stammer out what was tantamount to an offer of marriage. though, in a sense, she had certainly tried to attract him, she felt, all at once, miserably ashamed of her success. so much so, indeed, that she pretended at first not to understand what he meant. but at last she had to leave such pretence aside, and then it was she who surprised mr. tapster, for, "you must let me have time to think over the great honour you have done me," she said quietly. "if you want an answer now, it must be no."
-he protested sulkily that of course he would give her as much time as she wanted, and then she observed, slyly, "i am sure that you yourself did not make up your mind to be married all in a minute, mr. tapster. you weighed the pros and cons very carefully, no doubt. so you must give me time to do so too."
-bubbles' measured words, the feeling that she was, so to speak, keeping him at arm's length, took the hapless tapster aback, and frightened him a little. he had felt so sure that once he had made up his own mind she would eagerly say "yes!" often, during the last few days, he had told himself, with a kind of mirthless chuckle, that he was not going to be "caught"; but when, at last, he had made up his mind that bubbles would make him, if not an ideal, then a very suitable, wife, it seemed strange indeed that she was not eager to "nail him." that she was not exactly eager to do so was apparent, even to him.
-calling span sharply to her, the girl turned round, and began making her way towards the house again; finally she disappeared with span in the direction of the servants' quarters.
-james tapster, walking on by himself, began to feel unaccountably frightened. he asked himself, uneasily, almost uttering the words aloud in his agitation, whether, after all, he had been "caught"; and whether bubbles was only "making all this fuss" in order to "bring him to heel"? but two could play at that game. he toyed seriously, or so he believed, with the idea of ordering his motor and just "bolting"; but of course he did nothing of the kind. the more bubbles hung back, the more he wanted her; her coldness stung him into something nearer ardour than he had ever felt.
-and bubbles? bubbles felt annoyed, uneasy, even obscurely hurt. it often happens that an offer of marriage leaves a girl feeling lonely and oppressed. deep in her heart she knew she would never, never, never, become mrs. tapster. on the other hand, she was aware that there were many people in the london set among whom she now lived and had her being, who would regard her as mad to refuse a man who, whatever his peculiarities, possessed enormous wealth. if only she could have had a tenth part of james tapster's money without james tapster, what a happy woman she would have been!
-as it was, bubbles told herself fretfully that she had no wish to be married. she was not yet tired of the kind of idle-busy life she led; it was an amusing and stimulating life; and though she had her dark hours, when nothing seemed worth while, up to the present time there had been much more sunshine than shadow. the girl was sufficiently clever and sensitive to realize her good fortune in the matter of bill donnington. sometimes, deep in her heart, she told herself that when she had drunk her cup of pleasure, amusement, and excitement to the dregs--perhaps in ten years from now--she would at last reward donnington's long faithful love and selfless devotion. and rather to her own surprise, during the half-hour which followed tapster's uninspired proposal, bubbles thought far more of donnington than she did of the man who had just asked her to become his wife.
-sitting all alone in the hall, crouching down on a footstool close to the fire, for somehow she felt tired--tired, and exhausted--she made one definite resolution. she would give up, as far as she was able, the practice of those psychic arts which she knew those who loved her believed to involve a real danger to her general well-being. what had happened the afternoon before had frightened her. she had been entirely unconscious of the awful phenomena which had taken place, and she was becoming seriously alarmed at her own increasing power of piercing the veil which hangs between the seen and the unseen. what she had told donnington during their talk in the old darkened church had been true: she often felt herself companioned by entities who boded ill, if not to herself, then to those about her. since yesterday, also, there had hung heavily over her mind a premonition that she, personally, was in danger. now she told herself that perhaps the peculiar, disturbing sensation had only been a forerunner of james tapster's unexpected offer of marriage.
-"what would you say to our all going out for a walk?" luncheon was just over, and varick was facing his guests. the only one missing was dr. panton, who had gone up to his room, saying he had some work to do.
-"i'm afraid it must be very wet and slushy," said blanche farrow dubiously. it had snowed in the night, and now a thaw had set in.
-she had an almost catlike dislike of wet or dirt; on the other hand, she was one of those people who are generally willing to put aside their own wishes in favour of what those about them wish to do; and she saw that for some reason or other lionel varick wanted this suggestion of his to be carried out.
-"i can take you to a place," he exclaimed, "where i think we shall find it dry walking even to-day. it's a kind of causeway, or embankment"--he turned to helen brabazon--"which some people say was built by the romans."
-"i think a walk would be very nice," she agreed.
-helen did not look like her usual cheerful, composed self. the experience which had befallen her the day before still haunted her mind to the exclusion of everything else. perhaps a good long walk would make her feel a different creature, and chase that awful image of milly varick in her grave-clothes from her brain.
-and so in the end the whole party started off, with the exception of miss burnaby and dr. panton. bubbles tried hard to get out of going on what she frankly said seemed to her "a stupid expedition," but donnington had a theory that the open air would do her good, and as for varick, he exclaimed in a good-humoured but very determined tone: "if you won't come, bubbles, i give the whole thing up!" in a lower voice he added: "naughty as you are, you're the life and soul of the party."
-and thus it was to please varick, rather than donnington, that bubbles started on what was to be to all those that took part in it a memorable walk.
-poor donnington! the young man felt alarmed and perplexed concerning bubbles' general condition. he knew something that had shocked and startled her had happened the day before, but when he had tried to find out what it was, she had snubbed him.
-like so many people wiser and cleverer than himself, donnington found it impossible to make up his mind concerning psychic phenomena. when kneeling by bubbles' side in the dimly-lit church he had accepted, almost without question, her own explanation of her strange and sinister gift, but by now he had argued himself out of the belief that such things could be in our work-a-day world.
-there was someone else of the party who was also giving a great deal of anxious thought to bubbles' uncanny powers. blanche farrow, like helen brabazon, could not banish from her mind the experience which had befallen her in the hall last evening. every time she looked at lionel varick there rose before her that terrible vision of the two unquiet spirits who had stood, sentinel-wise, on either side of him....
-again and again in the long watches of a wakeful night, blanche had-assured herself that what she had seen was no more real than is a vivid dream. she had further told herself, taking comfort in the telling, that the power possessed by bubbles was now understood, and accounted for, by those learned men who make a scientific study of hypnotism. yet, try as she would, she could not banish from her mind and from her memory the unnerving experience.
-they were crossing the moat bridge when there came a shout from the house. they all stopped, to be joined, a minute later, by dr. panton. "it's an extraordinary thing," he exclaimed, "i fully intended to give up this afternoon to writing, but somehow i suddenly felt as if i must look out of the window! you all looked so merry and bright that i have thrown my work to the winds, and here i am, coming with you."
-"i was rather counting on you to keep miss burnaby company."
-varick's tone was not very pleasant, and panton for a moment regretted he had come; but as he had passed through the hall he had seen the old lady nodding over a book, and he was well aware that had he stayed indoors, it would have been to work up in his own room.
-bill donnington suddenly discovered that bubbles was wearing absurd, high-heeled, london walking shoes. "go back and put on something more sensible," he said shortly; "i'll wait for you--we'll soon pick up the others."
-but bubbles answered sullenly: "my heavy walking boots got wet this morning."
-even as she spoke, she stood irresolute. why not make her unsuitable foot-gear an excuse for staying at home? she told herself discontentedly that she hated the thought of this walk. but donnington would have none of it. "never mind," he said firmly, "you can change your shoes and stockings the minute you come in."
-bubbles submitted with an ill grace, and after the whole party were clear of the islet on which stood wyndfell hall, she refused pettishly to walk anywhere near him. she hung behind, even rejecting the company of james tapster, to whom, however, she was for the most part fitfully gracious; and when, at length, the whole party were sorting themselves into couples, she found herself walking last with varick, the others being all in front of them.
-varick was disagreeably conscious that with his present companion his charm of manner--that something which drew to him all women and most men--availed him not at all. still, to-day, he was determined to get on good terms with bubbles. so well did he succeed that at last something impelled her to say rather penitently: "i want to tell you that what happened yesterday afternoon was not my fault, and that i'm very sorry it happened, lionel."
-donnington, who was just in front, heard varick answer, lightly: "you can hardly expect me to believe that, bubbles! but i would give a good deal to know how you do it?" as she made no answer, he went on: "it's a remarkable thing to be able to will people into seeing something which is not there!"
-donnington strained his ears to hear the low, defiant answer: "i give you my word of honour that i knew nothing, nothing, till you came and woke me up!"
-what was it that had happened yesterday? the young man felt almost unbearably anxious to know. all he knew was that it had greatly affected, surprised, and disturbed those who had been there.
-suddenly varick's tones floated again towards the listener: "i'll take your word for it, my dear girl. after all, it's all in the picture. what with our ghosts, our practical jokes, and so on, we're having a regular old-fashioned christmas! still, when i heard miss brabazon give that dreadful cry, i did feel that one could have too much of a good thing."
-even donnington detected the false bonhomie in varick's voice.
-bubbles laughed back, not very pleasantly. "i did you a good turn when i got rid of mr. burnaby. i thoroughly scared him! your nice young doctor's a very good exchange for that disagreeable old man."
-"yes, and panton's a very clever fellow, as well as one of the best," said varick heartily. "i am glad he managed to get out this afternoon."
-"i thought you didn't want him to come," said bubbles sharply.
-"i knew he had some important work to finish."
-varick felt annoyed. somehow bubbles always seemed to be convicting him of insincerity.
-they were now close to the embankment, of which their host had drawn an attractive picture. but blanche looked up at it with some dismay. the scene under the wintry sky looked wild and singularly dreary. many of the fields were under water, and stretches of the marshy land were still covered with wide streaks of snow. across the now sullen-looking, cloudy sky there moved a long processional flight of cawing rooks.
-the whole party closed up for a few moments. then they walked up the steps which led to the high causeway along which varick had promised his friends a dry walk. sure enough, once they had reached the top, they found that the melting snow had already drained off the narrow brick path. even so, it was slippery walking, and for her part blanche farrow felt sorry that they had left the muddy road.
-the party soon separated into couples again, miss farrow and dr. panton leading, while bubbles and varick came last, behind all the others. "we must look just like the animals going into the ark," said the girl disagreeably.
-whatever the others might be feeling, dr. panton was thoroughly enjoying this muddy walk. he found it singularly pleasant to be with agreeable, well-bred people, who were all so fit that not one of them, with the exception of james tapster, had even asked him a question bearing on health--or the lack of it. it had been pleasant, too, to meet miss brabazon again, for they had become friends, rather than acquaintances, over poor mrs. varick's deathbed.
-behind dr. panton and miss farrow--for the brick path which formed the crest of the embankment only held two walkers comfortably--were the least well-assorted couple of the party, bill donnington and james tapster. they just plodded along side by side, now and again exchanging a laconic word or two. tapster's half-formed hope had been that he would walk with bubbles this afternoon; but, when it came to the point, he had made no real effort to secure her company.
-the unfortunate man was feeling very nervous and uneasy--afraid lest he had been too precipitate in his wooing, for bubbles frightened as well as fascinated him. even he half realized that, as her husband, he would be tolerated rather than welcomed in a world of which he was anxious to form part, though in his heart he at once despised and feared its denizens.
-at times he was even tempted to wish that she had said "no" at once--and that although he knew that he would have been very surprised and disappointed had she done so. on the whole he thought that after a period of maidenly hesitation she would say "yes"; and, having inherited from an acquisitive father a positive, concrete kind of mind, as he trudged along he began ruminating over the question of bubbles' marriage settlements. on one thing he was determined. nothing should induce him so to arrange matters that in the event of his death bubbles should be able to dower some worthless fortune-hunter with his, tapster's, wealth! he felt certain that her father's solicitors would try and arrange that this might come to pass--"lawyers are such cunning devils"--and he grew purple with rage at the thought.
-how surprised donnington would have been could he have looked into his dull companion's mind!
-in addition to dr. panton, two other people were really enjoying this uncomfortable walk, for helen brabazon and sir lyon dilsford had plenty to say to one another. it was very seldom that sir lyon found a young woman interested in the subjects he himself had most at heart. he found it a curiously pleasant experience to answer her eager, ignorant questions on sociological and political subjects. it was clear that miss brabazon only regarded herself as the trustee of her vast wealth, and this touched her companion very much. also, what had happened yesterday--that sudden, intimate confession of what had taken place in the hall--had made their relations to one another much closer. but neither of them had alluded to it again.
-as for lionel varick and bubbles dunster, they were now lagging some way behind the others. more than once the girl suggested that she should slip away and go back to wyndfell hall alone, but her host would not hear of it. he declared good-humouredly that soon they would all be homeward bound; so, apathetically, bubbles walked on, her feet and her head aching.
-the old roman embankment now formed part of the works connected with a big reservoir, and at last the walkers reached a kind of platform from whence they could see, stretching out to their right, a wide, triangular-shaped piece of water.
-blanche farrow was for turning back; but helen brabazon, sir lyon, and varick were all for going on, the more so that varick declared that at a cottage which formed the apex of the reservoir they would be able to get some tea. so off they started again, in the same order as before, to find, however, that the narrow brick-way, instead of being drier--as one would have expected it to be above the water--was more slushy and slippery than had been the path running along the top of the older part of the embankment. yet the steep bank leading down to the sullen, half-frozen surface of the reservoir had been cleared of the grass and bushes which covered the slopes of the rest of the causeway.
-they had all been walking on again for some minutes when donnington turned round. "take care, bubbles! it's very slippery just here."
-"i'm all right," she called back pettishly. "mind your own business, bill. i wish you wouldn't keep looking round!"
-donnington saw varick put out his right hand and grasp the girl's arm firmly; but even so it struck him that they were both walking too near the edge on the side to the water. still, he didn't feel he could say any more, and so he turned away, and again began trudging along by the silent tapster's side.
-for a while nothing happened, and then all at once there occurred something which donnington will never recall--and that however long he may live--without a sensation of unreasoning, retrospective horror welling up within him.
-and yet it was only the sound--the almost stuffless sound--of a splash! it was as if a lump of earth, becoming detached from the wet bank, had rolled over into the deep water.
-at the same moment, or a fraction of a moment later, varick laughed aloud; it was a discordant laugh, evidently at something bubbles had just said, for donnington heard the words, "really, bubbles!" uttered in a loud, remonstrating, and yet jovial voice.
-and then, all at once, some instinct caused the young man to wheel sharply round, to see, a long way back from the others, varick standing solitary on the brick path.
-"where's bubbles?" shouted donnington.
-but varick, still standing in the middle of the path, did not look as if he heard donnington's question. the young man set off running towards him.
-"what's happened?" he cried fiercely. "where's bubbles, varick?"
-varick was ashen; and he looked dazed--utterly unlike his usual collected self.
-"she stumbled--and went over the side of the embankment. she's in the water, down there," he said at last, in a hoarse, stifled voice.
-donnington turned quickly, and stared down into the grey water. he could see nothing--nothing! he threw off his coat.
-"was it just here?"
-he looked at varick with a feeling of anguished exasperation; it was as if the horror and the shock had congealed the man's mental faculties.
-suddenly varick roused himself.
-"can you swim?" he gripped donnington strongly by the arm. "if not, it's--it's no good your going in--you'd only drown too."
-donnington wrenched himself free from the other's hold, and, rushing down the bank, threw himself into the icy cold water....
-suddenly he saw, a long way off, a small, shapeless, mass rising ... he swam towards it, and then he gave a sobbing gasp of relief. it was bubbles ... bubbles already unconscious; but of that he was vaguely glad, knowing that it would much simplify his task.
-very soon, although he was quite unaware of it, the affrighted, startled little crowd of people gathered together just above the place where he was painfully, slowly, swimming about, looking for a spot where he could try and effect a landing with his now heavy, inert burden.
-dr. panton threw himself down flat across the path and held out a walking stick over the slippery mud bank, but the stick was hopelessly, grotesquely out of donnington's reach.
-all at once blanche farrow detached herself from the others and began running towards the cottage which formed the apex of the reservoir. "i'm going for a rope," she called out. "i'll be back in three or four minutes." but, thanks to dr. panton's ingenuity, the man in the water had not to wait even so short a time as that.
-"have any of you a good long scarf?" asked the doctor, and then, quite eagerly for him, james tapster produced a wonderful scarf--the sort of scarf a millionaire would wear, so came the whimsical thought to sir lyon. it was wide and very long, made of the finest knitted silk. when firmly tied to the handle of the walking stick, the floating end of the scarf was within reach of donnington. with its help he even managed to secure a foothold on the narrow one-brick ledge which terminated the deep underwater wall of the reservoir.
-the doctor called down to him with some urgency: "i wish you could manage to hoist her up, donnington. time is of the utmost importance in these cases!"
-but donnington, try as he might, was too spent to obey; and it seemed an eternity to them all before blanche farrow reappeared, helping an old man to drag a short ladder along the muddy path.
-and then, at last, after many weary, fruitless efforts, the inert, sodden mass which had so lately been poor little bubbles dunster was pushed and hoisted up the slippery bank, and stretched out on to the narrow brick way.
-mr. tapster, who had shown much more agitation and feeling than any of those present would have credited him with, had taken off his big loose coat and laid it on the ground, and at once varick had followed his example. but as bubbles lay there, in the dreadful immobility of utter unconsciousness, both blanche farrow and helen brabazon believed her to be dead.
-a tragic, fearfully anxious time of suspense followed. blanche looked on, with steady, dry eyes, but helen, after a very little while, turned away and hid her face in her hands, sobbing, while the doctor was engaged in the painful process of trying to bring the apparently drowned girl to life. more than once blanche felt tempted to implore him to leave off those terribly arduous efforts of his. it seemed to her so--so horrible, almost degrading, that bubbles' delicate little body should be used like that.
-everyone was too concerned over bubbles to trouble about her rescuer. but all at once varick exclaimed: "we don't want you down with rheumatic fever. i'll just march you back to the house, my boy!"
-"not as long as she's here," muttered donnington, his teeth chattering. "i'm all right; it doesn't matter about me."
-he alone of the people gathered there believed that dr. panton's perseverance would be rewarded, and that bubbles would come back to life. it did not seem to him possible that that which he had saved, and which he so loved and cherished, could die. though he was beginning to feel the reaction of all he had gone through, his mind was working clearly, and he was praying--praying consciously, in an agony of supplication.
-and at last, with a sensation of relief which brought the tears starting to his eyes, dr. panton saw that his efforts were to be successful; bubbles, after a little choking gasp, gave a long, fluttering sigh....
-it was then that the doctor had to thank sir lyon and helen brabazon. one of them, or both of them together, had thought of going back to the house and of getting an invalid chair which helen remembered having seen in a corner of one of the rooms when she had been shown over the house by her host.
-even so, it was a very melancholy little procession which followed the two men carrying the chair on which bubbles now lay in apathetic silence.
-but everything comes to an end at last, and, after having seen bubbles put to bed, dr. panton turned his attention to donnington, and he did not leave his second patient till the young man felt, if still shivery and queer, fairly comfortable in bed. then the doctor went down to find the other three men in the dining-room, having hot drinks.
-of the three varick and sir lyon showed on their faces traces of the emotion and anxiety which they had been through; but james tapster looked his normal, phlegmatic self.
-"i wonder what exactly happened?" exclaimed panton at last. "i suppose the whole thing was owing to these high-heeled shoes which women will wear."
-"it was a near thing," went on the doctor thoughtfully. "she was very far gone when we got her out at last. i don't mind admitting now that, when i began, i had hardly any hope of being able to bring her round."
-he waited a moment and then added, as if to himself: "in fact, there came a time when i would have left off, discouraged, but for the look on that boy's face."
-"what boy?" asked tapster, surprised.
-"donnington, of course! i felt i must bring her back to life for his sake."
-james tapster opened his mouth. then he shut it again. he told himself that it would, of course, have been very disappointing for donnington to have plunged into that icy water all for nothing, as it were.
-the four men remained silent for awhile, and then varick said slowly: "she can't have been in the water more than a minute before donnington was in after her--for of course i gave the alarm at once."
-sir lyon looked at him quickly. "i thought donnington turned round and missed her?"
-"donnington must have heard me call out." varick was lighting a cigarette, and sir lyon saw that his hand shook; "and yet when i saw her roll down the bank i was so paralyzed with horror that my voice seemed to go."
-he looked appealingly at his friend panton.
-"yes, i can well understand that," said the doctor feelingly. "i have known shock close the throat absolutely." he added: "did you see her sink and rise again twice before donnington got at her, varick? i have always wondered whether drowning people always come up three times--or if it's only an old wives' tale."
-"yes, no, i can't remember--"
-varick put his hand over his eyes, as if trying to shut out some dreadful sight. then he groped his way to a chair, and sat down heavily.
-"i say, varick, i am sorry."
-dr. panton looked really concerned. "we've been thinking so much of miss bubbles and of her rescuer that we have forgotten you!" he exclaimed.
-their host leant forward; he buried his face in his hands. "i shall never forget it--never," he muttered brokenly. "the horror that seized me--the awful feeling that i could do nothing--nothing! i felt so absolutely distraught that i seemed to see myself, not bubbles, floating down there--on the surface of the water."
-he looked up, and they were all, even tapster, painfully impressed by his look of retrospective horror. dr. panton told himself that lionel varick was an even more sensitive man than he had hitherto known him to be.
-dinner was to be half an hour later than usual, and dr. panton, as he went off to his comfortable, warm room, felt pleasantly, healthily tired.
-he had gone in to see his patients for a moment on his way upstairs, and they were both going on well. bubbles was beginning to look her own queer, elfish little self again. she was curiously apathetic, as people so often are after any kind of shock, but it was clear that there were to be no bad after-effects of the accident. as for donnington, the young man declared that he felt quite all right, and he was even anxious to get up for dinner. but that, of course, could not be allowed.
-"all's well that ends well," muttered the doctor, as he threw himself for a moment into a chair drawn up invitingly before the fire.
-he did go on to tell himself, however, that he now felt a little concerned over lionel varick. varick now looked far more really ill than did either bubbles or bill donnington.
-the doctor recalled a certain terrible day, rather over a year ago, when varick had broken down utterly! it was the afternoon that poor milly was being put into her coffin; and, by sheer good luck he, panton, happened to call in. he had found varick sitting alone, looking very desolate, in the dining-room of the commonplace little villa, while from overhead there came the sounds of heavy feet moving this way and that.
-all at once there had come a loud knock at the front door, and varick, starting up, had uttered a fearful cry. then, sitting down again, he had begun trembling, as if he had the ague. he, panton, had been so concerned at the poor fellow's condition that he had insisted, there and then, on taking him along to his own house, and he had kept him there as his guest till the day of mrs. varick's funeral.
-as these memories came crowding on him, the door of his room opened quietly, and the man who was filling his mind walked in.
-varick was already dressed for dinner, and, not for the first time, the doctor told himself what a distinguished-looking man his friend and host was.
-"panton," said varick abruptly, "i have something on my mind."
-the doctor looked up, surprised. "what is it, my dear fellow?" he asked kindly.
-"i can't help thinking that in some inexplicable way i pushed bubbles dunster over the edge of that embankment. has she said anything to you about it?"
-dr. panton got up and came over to the speaker. he put his hand heavily on varick's shoulder, and almost forced him down into the chair from which he had himself risen.
-"look here," he exclaimed, "this won't do at all! pull yourself together, man--you mustn't get such fancies into your head. that way madness lies. still, you may as well try and get it off your chest once for all. tell me exactly what did happen? begin at the beginning--"
-as varick remained silent, the doctor went on, encouragingly: "i will start you by reminding you that miss bubbles was wearing the most absurd high-heeled shoes. young donnington spoke to her about them, and that drew my attention to her feet as we came out of the gate. she even tripped when we were just past the bridge. do you remember that?"
-"no, i didn't notice her at all."
-"well, tell me exactly what happened just before she fell over the edge of the embankment?"
-"i don't know that there's very much to tell." varick was now staring into the fire, but at last he began in a strained, tired voice:
-"donnington had just shouted out that we were walking rather too near to the edge, and so i took hold of her arm. but you know what bubbles is like? she's a queer kind of girl, and she tried to wrench herself free. then i gripped a little harder and--well, i don't know exactly what did happen! i suppose her foot turned, for i suddenly felt her weight full on me, and then, and then--"
-"yes," said dr. panton soothingly, "i know exactly what happened. you instinctively straightened yourself to try to put her on her feet again, but she'd already lost her balance--"
-"i suppose that's what did happen," said varick in a low voice.
-"--and her foot turning again, she rolled down the steep embankment," concluded the doctor firmly. "you did nothing, my dear chap, absolutely nothing, to bring the accident about! put that idea, once and for all, out of your mind."
-"i would," said varick painfully, "i would, but that i'm afraid--in fact, i feel sure--that she thinks i pushed her in. she turned the most awful look on me, panton, as she fell over the edge. i shall never forget it."
-"that look had nothing to do with you," said the doctor decidedly. "it was simply the terrified look of a human being on the brink of a frightful death."
-"wait a moment!" exclaimed panton; "there's one thing about miss bubbles' accident which does trouble me, i admit. it puzzled me at the time; and i can see it is puzzling young donnington too."
-varick, who was already at the door, stayed his steps and turned round.
-there had come back into his face the strained look which had softened away while he listened to his friend's sensible remarks. "yes," he said impatiently, "yes, panton? what is it that puzzles you?"
-"i wish i knew exactly how long miss bubbles was in the water. she was very, very far gone when that boy managed to clutch hold of her. did you see her go down again, and come up again twice? forgive me, my dear fellow, i'm afraid i'm distressing you."
-"you asked me that downstairs," said varick, "and i told you then that--that i didn't know."
-"i thought," said dr. panton, "that you remembered so clearly all that had happened--by what you said just now."
-"yes, up to the moment when she fell in, i remember everything. but once she was in the water everything became blurred. all i can say is that it seemed as if hours drifted by before i saw you all come running up towards me--"
-"come, come," said panton, a trifle impatiently. "as a matter of fact it can't have been more than three minutes. still, it was long enough for the girl to go as near the great divide, as a friend of mine calls it, as i've ever known a human being go."
-"i suppose," said varick slowly, "that if you hadn't been there bubbles would now be dead?"
-"well, yes, i'm afraid that's true," said the doctor simply. "i should have expected that clever, intelligent miss farrow, to say nothing of miss brabazon, to know something about first aid. but neither of them know anything! the only person who was of the slightest use was young donnington; and i suspect--" he smiled broadly.
-"what do you suspect?" asked varick rather quickly.
-"well, i suspect that he's in love with miss bubbles."
-"of course he is." varick's contemptuous tone jarred a little on panton. "but bubbles intends to become mrs. tapster."
-"i should be sorry to think that!"
-"why sorry? the modern young woman--and bubbles is a very modern young woman--knows the value of money," said varick dryly.
-he waited a moment. "i'll leave you now, panton, and i'll see that the dinner-bell isn't rung till you're quite ready."
-"all right. i won't be ten minutes--"
-but varick lingered by the door. "panton," he exclaimed, "you've been a good friend to me! i want to tell you that i shall never forget it. as long as there's breath in my body i shall be grateful to you."
-as the doctor dressed he told himself again that varick had never really recovered from the strain of his wife's long illness. under that rather exceptionally calm, steadfast-looking exterior, the man was extraordinarily sensitive. how upset, for instance, varick had been about miss pigchalke's crazy advertisement. he, panton, had felt quite sorry that he had said anything about it.
-while putting on his tie, he told himself that what the dear fellow wanted now was a good, sensible second wife. and then, as he formulated that thought to himself, the young man--for he was still quite a young man--stopped what he was doing, and rubbed his hands joyfully. why, of course! what a fool he had been never to think of it before--though to be sure it would really have been almost indecent to have thought of it before. helen brabazon? the very woman for lionel varick! such a marriage would be the making of his highly-strung, fine-natured friend.
-as he hurriedly finished dressing, panton plumed himself on his cleverness. with all his heart he hoped the day would come when he would be able to say to varick: "ages before you thought of her, old chap, i selected miss brabazon as your future bride!" he hoped, uneasily, that sir lyon was not seriously in the running. but he had noticed that sir lyon and miss brabazon seemed to have a good deal to say to one another. women, so he told himself ruefully, like to be "my lady." but she was certainly fond of varick--she had been fond of him (of course, only as a woman may be of a friend's husband) during those sad weeks at redsands.
-as the doctor came out of his room he decided to go in for a moment and see bubbles dunster. somehow he did not feel quite easy about her. he wondered, uncomfortably, if there could be anything in varick's painful suspicion. after her aunt and helen brabazon between them had put her to bed, and he had come in, alone, to see how she was, she had said abruptly: "i wonder if it's true that doctors can keep a secret better than most men?" and when he had made some joking answer, she had asked, in a very serious tone: "you're a great friend of lionel varick, eh?" he had answered: "men don't vow eternal friendships in the way i'm told young ladies do; but, yes, i hope i am a great friend of lionel varick's. i've a high opinion of him, miss bubbles, and i've seen him under circumstances that test a man."
-she had looked at him fixedly while he said these words, and then she had opened and shut her eyes in a very odd way. he now asked himself if it was probable--possible--conceivable--that she blamed varick for her accident? he, varick, evidently thought so.
-and then, as he walked along the darkened corridor, there came over dr. panton a most extraordinary feeling--a feeling that he was not alone.
-he stayed his steps, and listened intently. but the only sound he heard was the ticking of a clock. he walked on, and all at once there came a word repeated twice, quite distinctly, almost as if in his ear. it was a disagreeable, an offensive word--a word, or rather an appellation, which the clever young doctor had not heard applied to himself for a good many years. for, twice over, was the word "fool!" repeated in a mocking voice, a voice to whose owner he could not at the moment put a name, and yet which seemed vaguely familiar.
-then he remembered. why, of course, it was the voice of that crazy, unpleasant old woman who had called on him last spring! but how had miss pigchalke found her way into wyndfell hall? and where on earth was she?
-he looked round him, this way and that; and his eyes, by now accustomed to the dim light thrown by a hanging lamp, saw everything quite distinctly. he was certainly alone in the corridor now. but miss pigchalke had as certainly been there a moment ago. he wondered if she could have hidden herself in a huge oak chest which stood to his right? nay, there she could not be, for he remembered having been shown that it was full of eighteenth-century gala gowns.
-and while he was looking about him, feeling utterly perplexed and bewildered, through a door which was ajar there suddenly passed out lionel varick.
-"is anyone in there?" asked the doctor sharply.
-varick started violently. "you did startle me!" he exclaimed. "no, there's no one in there--i came up to look for a book. but as i told them to delay dinner yet a little longer, would you mind if we went in and saw bubbles together on our way downstairs? i feel i should rather like to get my first interview with her over--and with you there."
-"i don't see why you shouldn't." but there was a doubtful ring in dr. panton's voice. he would, as a matter of fact, have very much preferred that varick should not see the girl to-night, especially if there was the slightest truth in the other's suspicion that bubbles believed him to have been in any way instrumental, however accidentally, in making her fall into the water.
-his mind worked quickly, as minds are apt to work when faced with that sort of problem, and he decided that on the whole he might as well let varick do as he wished.
-"you'd better not say very much to her. just say you hope she's feeling all right by now--or something of that sort."
-but when they came to the closed door of the girl's room he turned and said: "i'll just go in and prepare her for your visit--if you don't mind?"
-bubbles was lying straight down in bed, for, at her own request, the bolster had been taken away. her head was only just raised up on the pillow. by the light of the one candle he could see her slender form outlined under the bed-clothes. her eyes were closed, her features pinched and worn. there was something almost deathly in the look of her little face.
-he wondered if she was asleep--if so, it would be rather a relief to him to go outside the door and tell varick that she mustn't be disturbed. but all at once she opened her eyes widely, and there even came the quiver of a smile over her face.
-"doctor?" she said plaintively. "doctor, come nearer, i want to ask you a question."
-"yes?" he said. "what is it, miss bubbles?"
-"i want to ask you," she said dreamily, "why you brought me back? i was beginning to feel so much at home in the grey world. there were such kind people there, waiting to welcome me. only one friend i felt sad to leave behind----"
-"tut-tut!" he said, a little startled. "you were never anywhere near leaving us, miss bubbles."
-"i know i was, and you know it, too. but you called me back. confess that you did!"
-"i'll confess nothing of the sort," he answered a little shortly.
-there was a little pause, and then he went on, "there's someone outside the door who wants to see you; someone who's feeling most awfully miserable about you."
-a look of unease and of anxiety came over her face. "d'you mean mr. tapster?" she said hesitatingly.
-"good heavens, no!" he was surprised, and a little disgusted. "can't you guess who it is?"
-he saw the look in her face grow to shrinking fear. "i can't guess at all," she said weakly. "you won't allow bill to get up--i know that because he sent me a message. bill's the only person i want to see."
-"he'll come soon enough," said dr. panton, smiling.
-"it was really bill who saved me," she went on, as if speaking to herself.
-"of course it was bill!" he spoke now with hearty assent. "you've a splendid friend in that young man, miss bubbles, and i hope you're properly grateful to him?"
-"i think i am," she said slowly. "i'm trying to be."
-"and the other friend who wants to see you--may he come in for a minute?"
-"the other friend? do you mean sir lyon?"
-"no, no--of course not!" he spoke with a touch of impatience now.
-"mr. tapster," said bubbles, nervously flying off at a tangent, "wants me to marry him, dr. panton. he asked me--was it yesterday morning, or this morning?" she knitted her brows. "of course, i had to help him out. the moment he'd said it, he began to hope that i'd say 'no'--so i thought i'd punish him, by leaving him in suspense a bit."
-"he was very distressed at your accident," said the doctor rather stiffly. bubbles' queer confidence had startled him.
-"most men only really want what they feel is out of their reach," she whispered. "when he thought me gone, he wanted me back again. he's like that. he'll make a much nicer widower than he will a husband!"
-she looked up and smiled, but he felt as if she was keeping him at arm's length.
-"it's mr. varick who's outside the door and who wants to come in and see you," he said suddenly, in a matter-of-fact voice.
-bubbles turned her head away quickly. "not to-night, doctor; i'm too tired." she spoke very decidedly, and in a stronger voice than she had yet used. "i'd rather wait till i get up before seeing mr. varick."
-"he only wants to come in for a minute--do see him."
-dr. panton spoke persuasively, but he told himself that varick was right--bubbles had got that extraordinary, horrible notion into her head. "he's very much upset," he went on, "he thinks that unconsciously he may have given you some kind of push over the edge of the embankment."
-he saw her face change. it crimsoned darkly.
-"has he told you that?" she muttered.
-"yes, he has; and he's awfully upset about it, miss bubbles."
-"i suppose i had better see him. i shall have to see him some time."
-she said the words between her teeth, and, making an effort, she sat up in bed.
-dr. panton went to the door, and opened it.
-"come in," he called out; "but don't stay long, varick. miss bubbles is very tired to-night."
-varick came in slowly and advanced with curiously hesitating, nervous steps, towards the bed. "well, bubbles," he exclaimed, "i'm glad you're no worse for your ducking!"
-she looked at him fixedly, but said nothing. dr. panton began to feel desperately uncomfortable.
-"i hope you'll be quite all right to-morrow," went on varick.
-"i think i shall, thank you."
-bubbles seemed to be looking beyond her visitor--not at him. she seemed to be gazing at something at the other end of the room.
-"you've brought someone in with you," she said suddenly. there was a curious tone--almost a tone of exultation--in her voice. "who is it?" she asked imperiously. "tell me who it is--lionel."
-she very rarely called varick "lionel."
-he wheeled round with a startled look. "there's no one here," he answered, "but dr. panton and myself."
-"oh yes, there is." bubbles spoke very positively. "there's a woman here. i can see her quite distinctly in the firelight. she's got a fat, angry face, and untidy grey hair. hullo, she's gone now!"
-bubbles fell back on to her pillow and closed her eyes. it was as if she was dismissing them.
-varick turned uneasily to the doctor. "is she delirious?" he whispered.
-the doctor shook his head. he also was startled--startled more than surprised. for in just bubbles' words would he have described the odious woman who had come to see him last spring, and whose voice he had heard within the last few minutes.
-he now had no doubt that miss pigchalke had been in the corridor, or, more likely, in some room opening out of it, and that she had followed varick into this darkened room and then, noiselessly, slipped out again.
-bubbles opened her eyes.
-"i'll come up after dinner for a few minutes," said dr. panton. bubbles made no answer; her eyes were now following varick out of the door.
-the doctor lingered for a moment. "you're sure there was someone there?" he asked.
-"of course i'm sure." bubbles spoke quite positively. "i'm sure"--and then he saw a change come over her face--"and yet i don't know that i am quite sure," she murmured dreamily.
-as dr. panton went down the shallow oak staircase he felt in a turmoil of doubt and discomfort. to his mind there was no reasonable doubt that miss pigchalke had somehow effected an entrance to wyndfell hall. she had lived there for long years; she must know every corner of the strange old house.
-when he reached the hall where the whole party was gathered together, he went up to blanche farrow. "may i speak to you a moment?" he whispered.
-"what is it?" she asked anxiously. "isn't bubbles so well?"
-"oh, yes; miss bubbles is going on all right. but, miss farrow? i want to tell you something that, if possible, i should like to keep from varick."
-"yes--what is it?"
-"someone who has a grudge against him, a tiresome old woman who was companion to mrs. varick for many years, has somehow got into this house. she spoke to me just as i came out of my room. i didn't see her, but i heard her voice quite distinctly. and when varick and i went into miss bubbles' room for a moment, on our way downstairs, she followed us in--miss bubbles described her exactly. then suddenly she disappeared. i am sure she's hiding in one of the bedrooms."
-"what a horrid idea!" exclaimed blanche.
-"now comes the question--can we manage to hunt her out, and get her away from the house, without varick knowing?"
-"but why shouldn't he know?" asked blanche hesitatingly.
-"look at him," said the doctor impressively. and blanche, glancing quickly across the room, was struck by varick's look of illness.
-"there's no reason for telling him anything about it," she admitted. "but hadn't we better wait till after dinner before doing anything?"
-"perhaps we had."
-dinner was a curious, uncomfortable meal; even sir lyon and helen brabazon felt the atmosphere charged with anxiety and depression.
-miss burnaby alone was her usual placid, quietly greedy self. she had expressed suitable regret at all that had happened, but most of the party realized that she had not really cared at all.
-when the ladies passed through into the white parlour, blanche slipped away. she got hold of her firm ally, the butler, and explained in a very few words what she thought had better be done. accompanied by pegler, they went into every room, and into every nook and cranny of the house, upstairs and down--but they found no trace of any alien presence.
-miss pigchalke, so much was clear, had vanished as quietly and silently as she had come.
-one--two--three--four--five--six--bubbles heard the clock in the dark corridor outside her room ring out the harmonious chimes, and she turned restlessly round in her warm, comfortable bed.
-it was very annoying to think she would have to wait two hours for a cup of tea, but there it was! she had herself told pegler she didn't want to be disturbed till eight o'clock. she still felt too "done," too weak, to get up and try to find her way to the kitchen to make herself some tea.
-she lay, with her eyes wide open, longing for the daylight, and looking back with shrinking fear to a night full of a misty horror.
-again and again she had lived through that awful moment when varick had pushed her over the edge of the embankment, to roll quickly, softly, inexorably, into the icy-cold water.
-she knew he had pushed her over. to herself it was a fact which did not admit of any doubt at all. she had seen the mingled hatred and relief which had convulsed his face. it was with that face she would always see lionel varick henceforth.
-there had been a moment when she had thought she would tell dr. panton; then she had come to the conclusion that there was no good purpose to be served by telling the strange and dreadful truth.
-some noble lines of swinburne's which had once been quoted to her by a friend she loved, floated into her mind--
-"but ye, keep ye on earth your lips from over-speech, loud words and longing are so little worth; and the end is hard to reach. for silence after grievous thing's is good, and reverence, and the fear that makes men whole and shame, and righteous governance of blood, and lordship of the soul. and from sharp words and wits men pluck no fruit, and gathering thorns they shake the tree at root; for words divide and rend, but silence is most noble till the end."
-as she lay there, feeling physically so ill and weak, while yet her mind worked so clearly and quickly, she set herself to solve a painful puzzle. why had varick tried to do her to death? she admitted to herself that she had never liked him, but she had never done him any harm. and they had been on good terms--outwardly--always.
-for hours, amid fitful, nightmarish snatches of sleep, and long, lucid intervals of thought, bubbles had wrestled with the question.
-and then, lying there in the early morning, bubbles suddenly knew. varick hated and feared her because she had unwittingly raised his wife from the dead. and, believing that if he killed her, he would lay that sinister, vengeful, unquiet ghost, he had deliberately planned yesterday's expedition in order to do that which he had so nearly succeeded in doing.
-bubbles gave an eerie little chuckle which startled herself. "i'd have haunted him!" she muttered aloud. "he'd have found it more difficult to get rid of me dead than alive."
-even as she murmured the words, the door opened, and she heard a voice say, hesitatingly, "then you're awake, bubbles? somehow i felt you were awake, and i thought you might like a cup of tea."
-it was bill donnington, with a lighted candle in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other.
-how glad she was to see him! how very, very glad! yet he only looked his usual sober, unromantic self, standing there at the bottom of her pretty old walnut-wood bed, looking at her with all his wistful, faithful soul in his eyes.
-bill was fully dressed, and bubbles burst out laughing, feebly.
-"you are an early bird!" she exclaimed. "and a very proper bird, too. i suppose you thought you mustn't come into my room in a dressing-gown?"
-he came up close to her, and bubbles, shaking back her short curly hair, took the cup from him. "this is delicious! you are a good sort, bill!"
-he sat down on the end of her bed while she thirstily, greedily, drank the tea he had brought her. in all her gestures there was something bird-like and exquisite. even when she was greedy bubbles was dainty too.
-"i do hope you're feeling none the worse"--he began.
-and she mimicked him, gleefully, speaking in a low whisper. "none the worse, thank you! it's a comfort, sometimes, to be with a person who always says exactly what you might expect he would say! i'm always sure of that comfort with you--old thing."
-"are you?" he smiled his slow, doubtful smile, and bubbles said suddenly: "you've gone and left the door open."
-he stood up, irresolute. "i suppose i ought to go away," he said hesitatingly.
-she exclaimed: "no, no, bill! i won't have you go away! i don't want you to go away! i want you to stay with me. but you must shut the door, for it's very cold."
-"d'you think i'd better shut the door?" he asked.
-and then bubbles seized his lean, strong hand. "oh! i see what you mean!" she exclaimed. "you actually think your being in here is more proper if the door is open? but it isn't a bit--for everyone in the house but us two is fast asleep! still, that won't go on long. so shut the door at once! i've something very important to say to you--something which i certainly don't want pegler to hear me say to you. pegler may come down any moment--she's such a good sort, under that stiff, cross manner. it's so queer she should disapprove of me, and approve of my aunt blanche, isn't it?"
-he got up, and going to the door, shut it.
-"lock it!" she called out. "lock it, bill! i don't want to be disturbed;" she repeated in an odd voice, "i've something very important to say to you."
-but this time he did not obey her, and as he came back towards the bed he said anxiously, "d'you still feel very bad, bubbles?"
-there was a tone of great tenderness and solicitude in his voice.
-"of course i do. so would you, if you'd died and come to life again."
-"you didn't do that," he said in a low voice. "but you were very nearly drowned, bubbles. however, we must try to forget it."
-again she mimicked him: "'we must try to forget it.' i was waiting for you to say that, too. as if we should ever forget it! but we won't think about it just now--because we've got to think of something else that's much more to the present purpose."
-"yes," he said soothingly. "yes, bubbles?"
-poor bill felt very uncomfortable. he did not wish prim miss pegler to come in and find him sitting on bubbles' bed, when no one was yet up in the house. these modern, unconventional ways were all very well, and he knew they often did not really mean anything, but still--but still ...
-"did you ever hear of the king's serf?" asked bubbles suddenly.
-"the king's serf?" he repeated, bewildered.
-"when the rope which was hanging some poor devil of a highwayman broke--when the axe was too blunt to cut a robber rascal's head off--when a man being condemned to death survived by some extraordinary accident--well, such a man became thereafter the king's serf. he belonged to the king, body, soul, and spirit, and no one but the king could touch him. he lost his identity. he was above the law!"
-bubbles said all this very, very fast--almost as if she had learnt it off by heart.
-"what a curious thing," said bill slowly.
-bubbles had so many queer, out-of-the-way bits of knowledge. she was always surprising him by the things she knew. it was the more curious that she never seemed to open a book.
-"come a little nearer," she ordered. "you're so far away, bill!"
-she spoke with a touch of imperious fretfulness, and he moved a little further up the bed.
-"nearer, nearer!" she cried; and then she suddenly sat up in bed, and flinging her arms round him, she laid her dark, curly head on his faithful heart. "i want to tell you," she whispered, "that from now onward i'm bill donnington's serf--much more than that poor brute i've told you of was ever the king's serf. for, after all, the king hadn't cut the rope, or blunted the edge of the hatchet----"
-"bubbles!" he exclaimed. "oh, bubbles, d'you really mean that?"
-"of course i mean it! what i gave i had, what i gained i lost, what i lost i gained."
-"what do you mean, darling?" he whispered.
-"i mean that the moment that stupid doctor allows me to get up--then you and i will skip off by ourselves, and we'll say, 'hullo, here's a church! let's go in and get married.'"
-she waited a moment, but bill donnington said nothing. he only held her closer to him.
-she lifted her head, and looked into his face. "oh, bill," she said, her voice trembling a little, "you do look happy!"
-"i am happy, but i--i can't quite believe it," he said slowly; "it's too good to be true."
-"i hope you'll go on being happy," she said, again pressing closer to him. "but you know that sometimes, bill--well, i shall dine at edmonton while you do dine at ware. it's no good my trying to conceal that from you."
-"i--i don't understand," he stammered out. what did bubbles mean by saying that?
-"you'll know soon enough," she said, with that little wise look of hers--the little look he loved. "but whenever i'm naughty or unreasonable, or, or selfish, bill--i'm afraid i shall often be very selfish--then you must just turn to me, and say: 'you know, bubbles, when all's said and done, you're my serf; but for me you wouldn't be here.'"
-bill donnington looked at her, and then he said solemnly and very deliberately: "i don't feel that you ought to marry me out of gratitude, bubbles."
-she took her hands off his shoulders, and clapped them gleefully. "i was waiting for that, too!" she exclaimed. "i wonder you didn't say it at once--i quite thought you would."
-he said seriously: "but i really mean it. i couldn't bear to think that you married me just because i dragged you out of the water."
-"i'm really marrying you, if you want to know," she exclaimed, "because of mr. tapster! during the last few days--i wonder if you've noticed it, bill?" (he had, indeed)--"that man has looked at me as if i was his serf--that's a polite way of putting it--and i don't like it. but i've got a friend--you know phyllis burley? i think she'd do for him exactly! it would be so nice, too, for she's devoted to me, and we should have the use of one of their motors whenever we felt like it."
-bill shook his head decidedly. "we never should feel like it," he said; "even if phyllis did marry mr. tapster, which i greatly doubt she'd even think of doing."
-"i'm going to tell him to-day," she went on, "that he's got to marry her. there's nothing indelicate about my saying that, because they've never met. but it'll work in his brain, you see if it doesn't, like yeast in new bread! then i'll bring them together, and then, and then--"
-"and then," said bill deliberately, "you'll never, with my goodwill, see him again. so find him a wife whom you don't like, bubbles."
-she looked at him meditatively. "very well," she said. "that will be my first sacrifice for you, bill. i'll save him up for violet purton. she's a horrid girl--and won't she make his money fly!"
-he was smiling at her rather oddly.
-"bill!" she exclaimed, startled. "bill! i do believe you're going to be master--"
-and then she flung her arms again round his neck. "kiss me," she commanded, "kiss me, bill. and then you must go away, for it isn't proper that you should be here, at this time of the morning, now that we're engaged!"
-that same morning, but a good deal later, blanche farrow woke with a start to find pegler standing at her bedside with just one letter in her hand.
-pegler was smiling. it was not a real smile, but just a general softening of her plain, severe face.
-pegler knew that her lady had been rather "put out" at not having received her usual christmas letter from mr. mark gifford. she had spoken of it twice to pegler, once lightly, on december 27, and then again, in a rather upset way, on the 29th. after that she had pretended to forget all about it. but pegler felt sure miss farrow did remember--often. and now here was the letter--a much fatter letter than usual, too.
-pegler, of course, said nothing. it was not her place to know the hand-writing of any of the gentlemen who wrote to her mistress.
-miss farrow took the letter, and there came a faint, a very faint, flush over her face. she said: "i hope miss bubbles has had a good night. have you been in to her yet, pegler?"
-"yes, ma'am. she looks rather excited-like. but as you know, ma'am, that's a good sign with her."
-"yes, i think it is, pegler."
-pegler slipped noiselessly away, and then blanche opened the envelope containing mark gifford's long-delayed christmas letter.
-"home office, "december 23rd.
-"my dear blanche,
-"'how use doth breed a habit in a man!' well anyhow, as you know, it is my custom, which has now attained the dignity of a habit, always to write you a letter for christmas. hitherto i have always known where it would find you, but this year is an exception, for i really have no idea where you are.
-"this year is an exception in another respect also. hitherto, my dear blanche, i have, with a tact which i hope you have silently appreciated, always managed to keep out of my christmas letter any reference to what you know i have never given up hoping for even against hope. but this time i can't keep it out because i have had a really good idea. even a civil servant may have a good idea sometimes, and i assure you that this came to me out of office hours--as a matter of fact it came to me when i was sitting in that funny little old westminster churchyard where we once spent what was, to me, the happiest of half-hours.
-"i know you have thought me unsympathetic and disapproving about that which holds for you so great a fascination. disapproving, yes; i can't help disapproving of gambling, especially in a woman; but unsympathetic, no--a thousand times no. sympathy is understanding, and, believe me, i do understand, and therefore i propose this plan.
-"if you will do me the honour of marrying me, i propose that once or even twice every year you should go off to monte carlo, or wherever else you like, and play to your heart's content. i promise never to reproach you, above all never to administer those silent reproaches which i think are always the hardest to bear. yes, i will always play the game, i pledge myself to that most faithfully.
-"forgive me for referring to something which makes my plan easier to carry out. this year two accidents, the death of one colleague, and the premature retirement of another, have pushed me up the ladder of promotion, and, in addition, there has been a legacy. the english of that is that for our joint ménage we shouldn't want your income at all; we could quite well do without it, and you would be perfectly free to use it in whatever way you like.
-"there! that is my plan. now, dearest of women, say yes and make us both happy, for you would make me so happy that i couldn't help making you happy too. i wish i had any idea where you will be when you read this letter, on which hangs all my hopes. perhaps you will read it at monte, out on the corniche road. don't let the fact that you have been lucky at play make me unlucky in--you know what!
-"yours ever (this is no figure of speech),
-and yet she was tired--so tired!--of the sort of life she led, year in and year out. her nerves were no longer what they had once been. for instance, the strange series of happenings that had just taken place here, at wyndfell hall, had thoroughly upset her; and as for the horrible thing that had occurred yesterday, she hadn't been able to sleep all night for thinking of it. nothing that had ever happened in her now long life had had quite the effect on blanche farrow that bubbles' accident had had. she had realized, suddenly, how fond she was of the girl--how strong in all of us is the call of the blood! as she had stood watching dr. panton's untiring efforts to restore the circulation of the apparently drowned girl there had gone up from blanche's heart a wild, instinctive prayer to the god in whom she did not believe, to spare the child.
-perhaps just because she had not broken down before, she felt the more now all that had happened in the way of the strange, the sinister, and the untoward during the last fortnight. and all at once, after reading yet again right through the quiet, measured letter of her old friend and constant lover, blanche farrow suddenly burst into a passion of tears.
-and then it struck her as funny, as even absurd, that she should cry like this! she hadn't cried for years and years--in fact, she could hardly remember the day when she had last cried.
-she jumped out of bed and put on her dressing-gown, for it was very cold, and then she went and gazed at her reflection in the one looking-glass in the room. it was a beautiful old jacobean mirror fixed over the dressing-table.
-heavens! what a fright she looked! do tears always have that disfiguring effect on a woman? this must be a lesson to her. she dabbed her eyes with a wet handkerchief, and then she went over to the writing-table and sat down.
-for the first time in her life blanche farrow wrote mark gifford a really grateful, sincere letter. she said, truly, how touched she was by his long devotion and by all his goodness to her. she admitted, humbly, that she wished she were worthy of it all. but she finally added that she feared she could never find it in her heart and conscience to say that she would do what he wished. she had become too old, too set in her ways....
-yet it was with a heavy heart that she wrote her long letter in answer to his, and it took her a long time, for she often waited a few moments in between the sentences.
-how strange was her relationship to this man of whom she saw so little, and yet with whom she felt on close, intangible terms of intimacy! his work tied him to london, and of late years she had not been much in london. he knew very little of her movements. why, this very letter had been sent to her, care of her london club, the club which had its uses--principally--when she wanted to entertain mark gifford himself to lunch or dinner.
-his letter had wandered to yet another address--an address she had left at the club weeks ago, the only address they had. from thence it had reached the last house where she had been staying before she had come to wyndfell hall. the wonderful thing was that the letter had reached her at all. but she was very glad it had come, if only at long last.
-after her letter was finished, she suddenly felt that she must put in a word to account for the delay in her answer to what should have received an immediate reply. and so she added a postscript, which, unlike most women's postscripts, was of really very little importance--or so the writer thought.
-this unimportant postscript ran:
-"your letter had followed me round to about half-a-dozen places. bubbles dunster and i have been spending christmas in this wonderful old house, wyndfell hall, our host being lionel varick. he struck oil in the shape of an heiress two years ago. she died last year; and he has become a most respectable member of society. i know you didn't much like him, though he's often spoken to me very gratefully of the good turn you did him years ago."
-blanche hesitated, pen in hand. of course, it was not necessary that she should mention the name of her host. she might rewrite the last page of her letter, and leave the postscript out. it was unfortunately true that mark had taken a violent prejudice against the man he had befriended to such good purpose years and years ago. she had been still young then--young and, as she was quite willing to admit now, very foolish. in fact, she looked back to the blanche farrow of those days, as we are sometimes apt to look back at our younger selves, with amazement and disapproval, rather than sympathy. but there was a streak of valiant honesty in her nature. she let what had been written stand, only adding the words:
-"the party is breaking up to-morrow; but bubbles, who had a disagreeable accident yesterday, will stay on here for a few days with me. all the same, i expect we shall be in london by the ninth; and then, perhaps, you and i might meet."
-it was by bubbles' special wish--nay, command, that her engagement to bill donnington was publicly announced that very morning, at breakfast, by her aunt. everyone was much interested, and said the usual good-natured, rather silly, civil things; hence blanche was glad bill donnington had breakfasted early, and so was not there.
-helen brabazon was extremely excited and delighted at the news. "i suppose it happened yesterday morning!" she exclaimed. "for, of course, they haven't seen one another alone since then. if they were already engaged, what awful agony poor mr. donnington must have gone through while you were trying to bring her to life again?"
-she turned to panton, and he answered thoughtfully, "i could see he was most terribly upset. don't you remember how he refused to go up to the house and change his wet clothes?"
-blanche couldn't help glancing furtively from behind the teapot and high silver urn at james tapster. his phlegmatic face had become very red. almost at once he had got up and gone over to the dresser, and there, taking a long time about it, he had cut himself some slices of ham. she noticed, with relief, that he came back with a huge plateful, which he proceeded to eat with apparent appetite.
-"and when is the wedding to take place?" asked helen.
-"what a splendid idea!" cried helen. "that's just how i should like to be married."
-"i, too," said sir lyon, in his pleasant voice. "to me there's always been something barbaric in the ordinary grand wedding."
-but blanche farrow shook her head. "perhaps because i'm so much older than all of you," she said good-humouredly, "i think there's a great deal to be said for an old-fashioned wedding: white dress (white satin for choice), orange blossoms, st. george's, hanover square, and all! i even like the crowd of people saying kind and unkind things in whispers to one another. i don't think i should feel myself married unless i went through all that--"
-and then, at last, james tapster said something. "marriage is all rot!" he said, speaking, as was his unpleasant custom, with his mouth full. "there are very few happy married couples about."
-"that may be your experience," said varick, speaking for the first time since blanche had told the great news. "i'm glad to say it isn't mine. i think marriage far the happiest state--for either a man or a woman."
-he spoke with a good deal of feeling, and both panton and helen brabazon felt very much touched. he had certainly made his marriage a success.
-meanwhile, blanche suspected that dr. panton had just had a letter containing disturbing news. she saw him read it twice over. then he put it carefully in a note-book he took out of his pocket. "i shall have to go to-morrow, a day earlier than i thought," he observed. "i've got an appointment in town on thursday morning."
-then mr. tapster announced that he was going to-day, and though varick seemed genuinely sorry, everyone else was secretly glad.
-there are days in life which pass by without being distinguished by any outstanding happenings, and which yet remain in the mind as milestones on the road of life.
-such a day, at any rate to blanche farrow, was the day which saw the first disruption of lionel varick's christmas house party. though mr. tapster was the only guest actually to leave wyndfell hall, all the arrangements concerning the departures of the morrow had to be made. miss burnaby, helen brabazon, and sir lyon dilsford were to travel together. dr. panton was going by a later train, as was also bill donnington. blanche herself, with of course bubbles, was leaving on the saturday.
-as the day went on blanche realized that varick much desired that helen brabazon should also stay on till saturday. but she, blanche, thought this desire unreasonable. though she had come to like her, she found the good, thoughtful, conscientious, and yet simple-minded helen "heavy in hand"; she told herself that if helen stayed on, the entertaining of the girl would fall on her, especially if, as dr. panton insisted, bubbles must not get up till friday at dinner-time.
-looking back, blanche farrow told herself that that day had been full of curious premonitions. yet it had opened, in a sense happily for her, with the coming of mark gifford's quaint, characteristic letter. then had come the shock, and it had been a shock, of bubbles' engagement, and of the girl's insistence on its being announced to the rest of the house party at once--at breakfast.
-the only outstanding thing which happened, and it was indeed a small thing compared to the other two, was the departure of james tapster. blanche felt sorry for him--genuinely sorry. but she philosophically told herself that no amount of money, even had bill donnington never existed, could have made bubbles even tolerably happy tied to such a man.
-after mr. tapster had gone they all breathed the more freely. yet blanche somehow did not feel comfortable. what was wrong, for instance, with lionel varick? he looked ill at ease, as well as ill physically. something seemed also to be weighing on dr. panton's mind. even sir lyon dilsford was unlike his pleasant easy self. but blanche thought she knew what ailed him.
-her only sheet anchor of comfort during that long, dull afternoon and evening was the thought that bubbles' life was set on the right lines at last ... and that mark gifford had not changed.
-"honble. blanche farrow--wyndfell hall--darnaston--suffolk--very private--meet me outside darnaston church at twelve o'clock, midday, to-morrow, wednesday--mark gifford."
-blanche sat up in bed and stared down at the telegraph form. what on earth did this mean? but for the fact that she knew it to be out of the question, she would have suspected a foolish and vulgar practical joke.
-she noted that the telegram had been sent off at 9.30 the night before (just after mark must have received her letter). she also saw that it had been inscribed for morning delivery. that was like mark gifford. he was nothing if not careful and precise with regard to everything of a business kind.
-then she began asking herself the sort of rather futile questions people do ask themselves, when puzzled, and made uneasy by what seems an inexplicable occurrence. how would mark get to darnaston by twelve o'clock to-day? surely he could only do so by starting before it was light, and motoring the whole way from london?
-she gazed at the words "very private." what did they portend? quickly she examined her conscience. no, she had done nothing--nothing which could have brought her into contact, even slightly, with the law. of course, she was well aware that mark had never forgotten, even over all these years, the dreadful scrape into which she had got herself by going to those gambling parties in the pleasant, quiet, jermyn street flat where she and varick had first become acquainted. but that had been a sharp lesson, and one by which she had profited.
-she next took a rapid mental survey of her family, all so much more respectable and prosperous than herself. the only person among them capable of getting into any real scrape was poor little bubbles.
-bubbles was now practically well again. she had written out the announcement which was to appear in the times and the morning post, and had insisted on its being sent off.
-donnington had been somewhat perturbed by the thought of their engagement being thus at once made public. but bubbles had observed cheerfully: "once people know about it, i shan't be able to get out of it, even if i want to!" to that bill had said, sorely, that if she wanted to give him the chuck she should of course do so, even on the altar steps. bubbles had laughed at that and exclaimed: "i only said it to tease you, old thing! the real truth is that i want father to understand that i really mean it--that's all. he reads the times right through every day, and he'll think it true if he sees it there. as for his tiresome widow, she'll see it in the morning post--and then she'll believe it, too!"
-blanche farrow told herself that this mysterious and extraordinary message might have something to do with bubbles; and as she got up, she went on thinking with increasing unease of the unexpected assignation which lay before her.
-it was a comfort to feel that that disagreeable man, james tapster, was gone, and that the rest of the party, with the exception of herself and bubbles, were going to-day.
-something had again been said about miss burnaby and her niece staying on, and she had heard varick pressing them earnestly to do so; but the old lady had been unwilling to break her plan, the more so that she had an appointment with her dentist. then varick had asked why miss brabazon shouldn't stay on till saturday? there had been a considerable discussion about it; but blanche secretly hoped they would all go away. she felt tired and unlike herself. the events of the last few days had shaken her badly.
-what an extraordinary difference a few moments can make in one's outlook on life! blanche farrow was uncomfortably aware that she would never forget what had happened to her on new year's eve. that strange and fearful experience had obliterated some of her clearest mental landmarks. she wished to think, she tried very hard to think, that in some mysterious way the vision she had seen with such terrible distinctness had been a projection from bubbles' brain--bubbles' uncanny gift working, perchance, on lionel varick's mind and memory. she could not doubt that the two wraiths she had seen so clearly purported to be a survival of the human personalities of the two women who each had borne varick's name, and had been, for a while, so closely linked with him....
-yet long ago, when quite a young woman, she had come to the deliberate conclusion that there was no such survival of human personality.
-taking up mark gifford's mysterious telegram, and one or two unimportant letters she had just received, she went downstairs, to see, as she came into the dining-room, that only varick was already down.
-he looked up, and she was shocked to see how ill and strained he looked. he had taken poor little bubbles' accident terribly to heart; blanche knew he had a feeling--which was rather absurd, after all,--that he in some way could have prevented it.
-but as he saw her come in his face lightened, and she felt touched. poor lionel! he was certainly very, very fond of her.
-"i do hope helen brabazon will stay on with you and bubbles," he said eagerly. "i think i've nearly persuaded miss burnaby to let her do so. do say a word to her, blanche?"
-"i will, if you like. but in that case, hadn't we better ask sir lyon to stay on, too?"
-"dilsford!" he exclaimed. "why on earth should we think of doing that?"
-blanche smiled. "where are your eyes?" she asked. "sir lyon's head over heels in love with helen brabazon; and i've been wondering these last few days whether that quiet, demure girl is quite as unconscious of his state as she pretends to be!"
-and then, as she began pouring out a cup of tea for the man who was now looking at her with a dismayed, surprised expression on his face, she went on composedly: "it would be rather amusing if two engagements were to come out of your house-party, lionel--wouldn't it?"
-but he answered at once, in a harsh, decided tone, "i think you're quite mistaken, blanche. why, they've hardly exchanged two words together."
-blanche put down the tea-pot. she began to laugh--she really couldn't help it. "you must have been deaf as well as blind!" she exclaimed. "they've been together perpetually! i admit that that's been his doing--not hers. for days past i've seen right into his mind--seen, i mean, the struggle that has been taking place between his pride and--yes, the extraordinary attraction that girl seems to have for him. he's no fortune-hunter, you know; also, he wants so little, the lucky man, that i think her money would be a positive bother to him."
-lionel varick stared at blanche farrow. she had a way of being right about worldly matters--the triumph of experience over hope, as she had once observed cynically. but this time he felt sure she was wrong.
-the feminine interest in a possible, probable, or even improbable love-affair always surprises the average man--surprises, and sometimes annoys him very much.
-"do you go so far as to say she returns this--this feeling you attribute to him?" he asked abruptly. he was relieved to see blanche shake her head.
-"no; i can't say that i've detected any response on her part," she said lightly. "but she's very old-fashioned and reserved. she certainly enjoys sir lyon's rather dull conversation, and she likes cross-examining him about the life of the poor. she's a very good girl," went on blanche musingly. "she's a tremendous sense of duty. one can never tell--but no, i don't think the idea that sir lyon's in love with her has yet crossed her mind! and i should say that she really prefers you to him. she has a tremendous opinion of you, lionel. i wonder why?"
-he laughed aloud, for the first time since bubbles' accident. he knew that what blanche said was true, and it was a very pleasant, reassuring bit of knowledge.
-"old burnaby would not think of allowing her to marry a penniless baronet," he said smiling.
-blanche looked across at him quickly. "good and obedient as she is to both those old things, i don't think they'd be able to influence helen brabazon in such a thing as marriage."
-"well, you may be right," said varick, doubtfully.
-he felt strongly tempted to take blanche into his confidence; to tell her, frankly, that he wished to marry helen. yet some obscure instinct held him back. women, even the most sensible women, are so damned sentimental! so he told himself. lately he had had the unpleasant, disconcerting feeling that whenever helen looked at him she thought of "poor milly."
-"still, i don't envy sir lyon his wooing," went on blanche. "helen is a girl who'll take a long time to make up her mind, and who will weigh all the pros and cons."
-"then you don't think," said varick in a low tone, "that she would ever be swept off her feet?"
-at one time he had felt sure she would be.
-"by a grand passion? my dear lionel, what an absurd idea! but hush--"
-the door opened, and the object of their discussion came in. helen brabazon always looked especially well as breakfast. it was her hour.
-"how's bubbles this morning?" she asked.
-and blanche felt rather guilty. she hadn't been into bubbles' room; her mind had been too full of other things. "she's going on very well," she answered composedly. "i think she might get up to-morrow, in spite of dr. panton." and then, for she felt varick was "willing" her to say it: "i do hope that you are going to stay on till saturday, even if your aunt has to go away this afternoon."
-"yes," said helen, and the colour deepened a little in her cheeks. "yes, i've persuaded auntie to let me stay on till you and bubbles come up to london. it's only two days, after all."
-"i am glad." there was a genuine thrill of satisfaction in varick's voice. this meant that he and the girl would be practically alone together all to-morrow and friday.
-"i think sir lyon could manage to stay on too, if you ask him." helen smiled guilelessly at her host. "i saw him just now. he and dr. panton were taking span round to the kitchen, and when i said i was staying on, sir lyon said he thought he could stay on too, just till saturday morning."
-blanche could not forbear giving a covert glance of triumph at varick's surprised and annoyed face. "of course," she said quickly, "we shall be delighted to have sir lyon a little longer. i thought by what he said that he was absolutely obliged to go away to-day, by the same train as you and miss burnaby."
-"he certainly said so," observed varick coldly.
-and then, for blanche farrow was above all things a woman of the world, when the other two men came in she made everything quite easy for sir lyon, pressing him to stay on, as if she had only just thought of it. but she noticed, with covert amusement, that he was very unlike his usual cool, collected self. he actually looked sheepish--yes, that was the only word for it! also, he made rather a favour of staying. "i shall have to telegraph," he said; "for i'd made all my arrangements to go back this afternoon."
-"as for me," said dr. panton, "i must leave this afternoon, worse luck! but there it is." he turned to varick. "i've got an appointment in london to-morrow morning--one i can't put off."
-donnington came in at last. he looked radiant--indeed, his look of happiness was in curious contrast to the lowering expression which now clouded varick's face.
-"bubbles is nearly well again!" he cried joyfully. "she says she'll get up to-morrow, doctor or no doctor!" he looked at panton; then, turning to blanche, in a lower tone: "also, she's shown me the most wonderful letter from her father, written to her before christmas. i always thought he disliked me: but he liked me from the very first time we met--isn't that strange?"
-"very strange," said blanche, smiling.
-they all scattered after breakfast, but miss farrow noticed that varick made a determined and successful attempt to carry off helen brabazon from sir lyon, who had obviously been lying in wait for her.
-"what dogs in the manger men are!" she said to herself. and then she remembered, with a little gasp of dismay, her mysterious appointment with mark gifford. she knew him well enough to be sure that he would be in good time; but, even so, there was more than an hour to be got through somehow before she could start for darnaston.
-she went up to bubbles' room. yes, the girl looked marvellously better--younger too, quite different!
-there came a knock at the door while she was there, and donnington came in.
-"if you'd been wise," said bubbles, looking up at him, "you'd have made up to helen brabazon, bill. she's like an apple, just ready to fall off the tree."
-"what do you mean?" asked blanche.
-"just what i say. she's tremendously in love with love!"
-"d'you really think so?"
-"i know it," said bubbles positively. "i've made a close study of that girl. i confess i didn't like her at first, and i will tell you why, though i know it will shock bill."
-"i've always liked miss brabazon," he said stoutly, "why didn't you like her, bubbles?"
-"because when she arrived here i saw that she was in love with lionel varick."
-"don't talk nonsense," said her aunt reprovingly. "you know i don't like that sort of joking."
-and as for bill, he turned and walked towards the door. "i've got some letters to write," he said crossly.
-"don't go away, bill. it isn't a joke, blanche--and i'm going really to shock you now--unless, of course, you're only pretending to be shocked?"
-"what d'you mean?" said blanche.
-"i think helen fell in love with lionel varick before his wife died."
-bill said sharply: "i won't have you say such disgusting things, bubbles!" and he did indeed look disgusted.
-"what a queer mind you've got," said bubbles reprovingly. "i mean, of course, in quite a proper way; that is, without the poor girl knowing anything about it. but i thing he knew it right enough."
-blanche remained silent. bubbles' words were making her feel curiously uneasy. they threw a light on certain things which had puzzled her.
-"lionel varick marked her down long ago," went on bubbles slowly. "on the evening that she arrived i saw that he had quite made up his mind to marry her. but as the days went on i began to hope that he wouldn't succeed." she uttered these last words very, very seriously.
-her aunt looked at her, surprised at the feeling she threw into her voice. as for donnington, he was staring at her dumbly and, yes, angrily. at last he said: "and why shouldn't varick marry her, if they both like one another?"
-"you wouldn't understand if i were to tell you. you're too stupid and too good to understand."
-donnington felt very much put out. he did not mind being called stupid, but what on earth did bubbles mean by saying he was too good?
-"i'm sure lionel's dead wife has been haunting helen," went on bubbles rapidly, "quite, quite sure of it. and i'm glad she has! i should be sorry for any nice girl--for any woman, even a horrid woman--to marry lionel varick. there! i've said my say, and now i shall for ever hold my peace."
-they both stared at her, astonished by the passion and energy with which she uttered the curious words.
-bill looked down at the girl, and, though he felt hurt and angry with her, his heart suddenly softened. bubbles looked very frail and tired lying there.
-"bill," she said, "come here," and he came, though not very willingly, closer to her.
-she pulled him down. "i only want to tell you that i love you," she whispered, and his anger, his irritation, vanished like snow in the sun.
-blanche was already at the door. she turned round. "well, i must be off now to see the chef, and to make all sorts of arrangements. sir lyon is staying on--rather unlike him to change his mind, but he's done so--at the last moment."
-"i wish i could get a few more days' holiday," said bill ruefully. "my number's up this afternoon."
-the letters he had to write could go to blazes--of course he meant to spend each of the precious minutes that remained in the next few hours with bubbles!
-"you'll be able to escort old miss burnaby to town, for helen's staying on," went on blanche.
-"helen staying on?" exclaimed bubbles. "i'm glad of that! oh, and sir lyon's staying on, too?"
-she suddenly gave one of her funny, eerie little chuckles; but she made no other comment.
-"yes," called out blanche. "and dr. panton's going--so i've a good many little things to see to."
-bill sprang to the door, and opened it for her.
-as it shut she heard bubbles' voice, and it was a voice blanche farrow hardly knew. "are you really sorry you're going away from your little kid, bill?"
-blanche sighed sharply. after all, so she told herself, there is something to be said for love's young dream.
-it marked ten minutes to twelve on the tower of the ancient chantry church of darnaston as blanche farrow walked across the village green and past the group of thatched cottages composing the pretty hamlet which looks so small compared with its noble house of god. but, though cotton factories, and weep maudlin and constitutional tears over one scab hit in the back with a brick. he will drive a "compulsory" free contract with an unorganized laborer on the basis of a starvation wage, saying, "take it or leave it," knowing that to leave it means to die of hunger, and in the next breath, when the organizer entices that laborer into a union, will storm patriotically about the inalienable right of all men to work. in short, the chief moral concern of either side is with the morals of the other side. they are not in the business for their moral welfare, but to achieve the enviable position of the non-scab who gets more than he gives.
-as has been said before, nobody likes to play the compulsorily generous role of scab. it is a bad business proposition on the face of it. and it is patent that there would be no capitalist scabs if there were not more capital than there is work for capital to do. when there are enough factories in existence to supply, with occasional stoppages, a certain commodity, the building of new factories by a rival concern, for the production of that commodity, is plain advertisement that that capital is out of a job. the first act of this new aggregation of capital will be to cut prices, to give more for less,--in short to scab, to strike at the very existence of the less generous aggregation of capital the work of which it is trying to do.
-no scab capitalist strives to give more for less for any other reason than that he hopes, by undercutting a competitor and driving that competitor out of the market, to get that market and its profits for himself. his ambition is to achieve the day when he shall stand alone in the field both as buyer and seller,--when he will be the royal non-scab, buying most for least, selling least for most, and reducing all about him, the small buyers and sellers, (the consumers and the laborers), to a general condition of scabdom. this, for example, has been the history of mr. rockefeller and the standard oil company. through all the sordid villanies of scabdom he has passed, until today he is a most regal non-scab. however, to continue in this enviable position, he must be prepared at a moment's notice to go scabbing again. and he is prepared. whenever a competitor arises, mr. rockefeller changes about from giving least for most and gives most for least with such a vengeance as to drive the competitor out of existence.
-the banded capitalists discriminate against a scab capitalist by refusing him trade advantages, and by combining against him in most relentless fashion. the banded laborers, discriminating against a scab laborer in more primitive fashion, with a club, are no more merciless than the banded capitalists.
-mr. casson tells of a new york capitalist who withdrew from the sugar union several years ago and became a scab. he was worth something like twenty millions of dollars. but the sugar union, standing shoulder to shoulder with the railroad union and several other unions, beat him to his knees till he cried, "enough." so frightfully did they beat him that he was obliged to turn over to his creditors his home, his chickens, and his gold watch. in point of fact, he was as thoroughly bludgeoned by the federation of capitalist unions as ever scab workman was bludgeoned by a labor union. the intent in either case is the same,--to destroy the scab's producing power. the labor scab with concussion of the brain is put out of business, and so is the capitalist scab who has lost all his dollars down to his chickens and his watch.
-in this connection, and as one of many walking delegates for the nations, m. leroy-beaulieu, the noted french economist, may well be quoted. in a letter to the vienna tageblatt, he advocates an economic alliance among the continental nations for the purpose of barring out american goods, an economic alliance, in his own language, "which may possibly and desirably develop into a political alliance."
-it will be noted, in the utterances of the continental walking delegates, that, one and all, they leave england out of the proposed union. and in england herself the feeling is growing that her days are numbered if she cannot unite for offence and defence with the great american scab. as andrew carnegie said some time ago, "the only course for great britain seems to be reunion with her grandchild or sure decline to a secondary place, and then to comparative insignificance in the future annals of the english-speaking race."
-cecil rhodes, speaking of what would have obtained but for the pig-headedness of george iii, and of what will obtain when england and the united states are united, said, "no cannon would. . . be fired on either hemisphere but by permission of the english race." it would seem that england, fronted by the hostile continental union and flanked by the great american scab, has nothing left but to join with the scab and play the historic labor role of armed pinkerton. granting the words of cecil rhodes, the united states would be enabled to scab without let or hindrance on europe, while england, as professional strike-breaker and policeman, destroyed the unions and kept order.
-all this may appear fantastic and erroneous, but there is in it a soul of truth vastly more significant than it may seem. civilization may be expressed today in terms of trade-unionism. individual struggles have largely passed away, but group-struggles increase prodigiously. and the things for which the groups struggle are the same as of old. shorn of all subtleties and complexities, the chief struggle of men, and of groups of men, is for food and shelter. and, as of old they struggled with tooth and nail, so today they struggle with teeth and nails elongated into armies and navies, machines, and economic advantages.
-under the definition that a scab is one who gives more value for the same price than another, it would seem that society can be generally divided into the two classes of the scabs and the non-scabs. but on closer investigation, however, it will be seen that the non-scab is a vanishing quantity. in the social jungle, everybody is preying upon everybody else. as in the case of mr. rockefeller, he who was a scab yesterday is a non-scab today, and tomorrow may be a scab again.
-the woman stenographer or book-keeper who receives forty dollars per month where a man was receiving seventy-five is a scab. so is the woman who does a man's work at a weaving-machine, and the child who goes into the mill or factory. and the father, who is scabbed out of work by the wives and children of other men, sends his own wife and children to scab in order to save himself.
-when a publisher offers an author better royalties than other publishers have been paying him, he is scabbing on those other publishers. the reporter on a newspaper, who feels he should be receiving a larger salary for his work, says so, and is shown the door, is replaced by a reporter who is a scab; whereupon, when the belly-need presses, the displaced reporter goes to another paper and scabs himself. the minister who hardens his heart to a call, and waits for a certain congregation to offer him say $500 a year more, often finds himself scabbed upon by another and more impecunious minister; and the next time it is his turn to scab while a brother minister is hardening his heart to a call. the scab is everywhere. the professional strike-breakers, who as a class receive large wages, will scab on one another, while scab unions are even formed to prevent scabbing upon scabs.
-there are non-scabs, but they are usually born so, and are protected by the whole might of society in the possession of their food and shelter. king edward is such a type, as are all individuals who receive hereditary food-and-shelter privileges,--such as the present duke of bedford, for instance, who yearly receives $75,000 from the good people of london because some former king gave some former ancestor of his the market privileges of covent garden. the irresponsible rich are likewise non-scabs,--and by them is meant that coupon-clipping class which hires its managers and brains to invest the money usually left it by its ancestors.
-outside these lucky creatures, all the rest, at one time or another in their lives, are scabs, at one time or another are engaged in giving more for a certain price than any one else. the meek professor in some endowed institution, by his meek suppression of his convictions, is giving more for his salary than gave the other and more outspoken professor whose chair he occupies. and when a political party dangles a full dinner-pail in the eyes of the toiling masses, it is offering more for a vote than the dubious dollar of the opposing party. even a money-lender is not above taking a slightly lower rate of interest and saying nothing about it.
-because the british laborer is disinclined to scab,--that is, because he restricts his output in order to give less for the wage he receives,--it is to a certain extent made possible for the american capitalist, who receives a less restricted output from his laborers, to play the scab on the english capitalist. as a result of this, (of course combined with other causes), the american capitalist and the american laborer are striking at the food and shelter of the english capitalist and laborer.
-the english laborer is starving today because, among other things, he is not a scab. he practises the policy of "ca' canny," which may be defined as "go easy." in order to get most for least, in many trades he performs but from one-fourth to one-sixth of the labor he is well able to perform. an instance of this is found in the building of the westinghouse electric works at manchester. the british limit per man was 400 bricks per day. the westinghouse company imported a "driving" american contractor, aided by half a dozen "driving" american foremen, and the british bricklayer swiftly attained an average of 1800 bricks per day, with a maximum of 2500 bricks for the plainest work.
-but, the british laborer's policy of "ca' canny," which is the very honorable one of giving least for most, and which is likewise the policy of the english capitalist, is nevertheless frowned upon by the english capitalist, whose business existence is threatened by the great american scab. from the rise of the factory system, the english capitalist gladly embraced the opportunity, wherever he found it, of giving least for most. he did it all over the world whenever he enjoyed a market monopoly, and he did it at home with the laborers employed in his mills, destroying them like flies till prevented, within limits, by the passage of the factory acts. some of the proudest fortunes of england today may trace their origin to the giving of least for most to the miserable slaves of the factory towns. but at the present time the english capitalist is outraged because his laborers are employing against him precisely the same policy he employed against them, and which he would employ again did the chance present itself.
-yet "ca' canny" is a disastrous thing to the british laborer. it has driven ship-building from england to scotland, bottle-making from scotland to belgium, flint-glass-making from england to germany, and today is steadily driving industry after industry to other countries. a correspondent from northampton wrote not long ago: "factories are working half and third time. . . . there is no strike, there is no real labor trouble, but the masters and men are alike suffering from sheer lack of employment. markets which were once theirs are now american." it would seem that the unfortunate british laborer is 'twixt the devil and the deep sea. if he gives most for least, he faces a frightful slavery such as marked the beginning of the factory system. if he gives least for most, he drives industry away to other countries and has no work at all.
-but the union laborers of the united states have nothing of which to boast, while, according to their trade-union ethics, they have a great deal of which to be ashamed. they passionately preach short hours and big wages, the shorter the hours and the bigger the wages the better. their hatred for a scab is as terrible as the hatred of a patriot for a traitor, of a christian for a judas. and in the face of all this, they are as colossal scabs as the united states is a colossal scab. for all of their boasted unions and high labor ideals, they are about the most thoroughgoing scabs on the planet.
-receiving $4.50 per day, because of his proficiency and immense working power, the american laborer has been known to scab upon scabs (so called) who took his place and received only $0.90 per day for a longer day. in this particular instance, five chinese coolies, working longer hours, gave less value for the price received from their employer than did one american laborer.
-it is upon his brother laborers overseas that the american laborer most outrageously scabs. as mr. casson has shown, an english nail-maker gets $3 per week, while an american nail-maker gets $30. but the english worker turns out 200 pounds of nails per week, while the american turns out 5500 pounds. if he were as "fair" as his english brother, other things being equal, he would be receiving, at the english worker's rate of pay, $82.50. as it is, he is scabbing upon his english brother to the tune of $79.50 per week. dr. schultze-gaevernitz has shown that a german weaver produces 466 yards of cotton a week at a cost of .303 per yard, while an american weaver produces 1200 yards at a cost of .02 per yard.
-but, it may be objected, a great part of this is due to the more improved american machinery. very true, but none the less a great part is still due to the superior energy, skill, and willingness of the american laborer. the english laborer is faithful to the policy of "ca' canny." he refuses point-blank to get the work out of a machine that the new world scab gets out of a machine. mr. maxim, observing a wasteful hand-labor process in his english factory, invented a machine which he proved capable of displacing several men. but workman after workman was put at the machine, and without exception they turned out neither more nor less than a workman turned out by hand. they obeyed the mandate of the union and went easy, while mr. maxim gave up in despair. nor will the british workman run machines at as high speed as the american, nor will he run so many. an american workman will "give equal attention simultaneously to three, four, or six machines or tools, while the british workman is compelled by his trade union to limit his attention to one, so that employment may be given to half a dozen men."
-but for scabbing, no blame attaches itself anywhere. with rare exceptions, all the people in the world are scabs. the strong, capable workman gets a job and holds it because of his strength and capacity. and he holds it because out of his strength and capacity he gives a better value for his wage than does the weaker and less capable workman. therefore he is scabbing upon his weaker and less capable brother workman. he is giving more value for the price paid by the employer.
-it is not good to give most for least, not good to be a scab. the word has gained universal opprobrium. on the other hand, to be a non-scab, to give least for most, is universally branded as stingy, selfish, and unchristian-like. so all the world, like the british workman, is 'twixt the devil and the deep sea. it is treason to one's fellows to scab, it is unchristian-like not to scab.
-since to give least for most, and to give most for least, are universally bad, what remains? equity remains, which is to give like for like, the same for the same, neither more nor less. but this equity, society, as at present constituted, cannot give. it is not in the nature of present-day society for men to give like for like, the same for the same. and so long as men continue to live in this competitive society, struggling tooth and nail with one another for food and shelter, (which is to struggle tooth and nail with one another for life), that long will the scab continue to exist. his will "to live" will force him to exist. he may be flouted and jeered by his brothers, he may be beaten with bricks and clubs by the men who by superior strength and capacity scab upon him as he scabs upon them by longer hours and smaller wages, but through it all he will persist, giving a bit more of most for least than they are giving.
-the question of the maximum
-for any social movement or development there must be a maximum limit beyond which it cannot proceed. that civilization which does not advance must decline, and so, when the maximum of development has been reached in any given direction, society must either retrograde or change the direction of its advance. there are many families of men that have failed, in the critical period of their economic evolution, to effect a change in direction, and were forced to fall back. vanquished at the moment of their maximum, they have dropped out of the whirl of the world. there was no room for them. stronger competitors have taken their places, and they have either rotted into oblivion or remain to be crushed under the iron heel of the dominant races in as remorseless a struggle as the world has yet witnessed. but in this struggle fair women and chivalrous men will play no part. types and ideals have changed. helens and launcelots are anachronisms. blows will be given and taken, and men fight and die, but not for faiths and altars. shrines will be desecrated, but they will be the shrines, not of temples, but market-places. prophets will arise, but they will be the prophets of prices and products. battles will be waged, not for honor and glory, nor for thrones and sceptres, but for dollars and cents and for marts and exchanges. brain and not brawn will endure, and the captains of war will be commanded by the captains of industry. in short, it will be a contest for the mastery of the world's commerce and for industrial supremacy.
-it is more significant, this struggle into which we have plunged, for the fact that it is the first struggle to involve the globe. no general movement of man has been so wide-spreading, so far-reaching. quite local was the supremacy of any ancient people; likewise the rise to empire of macedonia and rome, the waves of arabian valor and fanaticism, and the mediaeval crusades to the holy sepulchre. but since those times the planet has undergone a unique shrinkage.
-the world of homer, limited by the coast-lines of the mediterranean and black seas, was a far vaster world than ours of today, which we weigh, measure, and compute as accurately and as easily as if it were a child's play-ball. steam has made its parts accessible and drawn them closer together. the telegraph annihilates space and time. each morning, every part knows what every other part is thinking, contemplating, or doing. a discovery in a german laboratory is being demonstrated in san francisco within twenty-four hours. a book written in south africa is published by simultaneous copyright in every english-speaking country, and on the day following is in the hands of the translators. the death of an obscure missionary in china, or of a whiskey-smuggler in the south seas, is served, the world over, with the morning toast. the wheat output of argentine or the gold of klondike are known wherever men meet and trade. shrinkage, or centralization, has become such that the humblest clerk in any metropolis may place his hand on the pulse of the world. the planet has indeed grown very small; and because of this, no vital movement can remain in the clime or country where it takes its rise.
-and so today the economic and industrial impulse is world-wide. it is a matter of import to every people. none may be careless of it. to do so is to perish. it is become a battle, the fruits of which are to the strong, and to none but the strongest of the strong. as the movement approaches its maximum, centralization accelerates and competition grows keener and closer. the competitor nations cannot all succeed. so long as the movement continues its present direction, not only will there not be room for all, but the room that is will become less and less; and when the moment of the maximum is at hand, there will be no room at all. capitalistic production will have overreached itself, and a change of direction will then be inevitable.
-divers queries arise: what is the maximum of commercial development the world can sustain? how far can it be exploited? how much capital is necessary? can sufficient capital be accumulated? a brief resume of the industrial history of the last one hundred years or so will be relevant at this stage of the discussion. capitalistic production, in its modern significance, was born of the industrial revolution in england in the latter half of the eighteenth century. the great inventions of that period were both its father and its mother, while, as mr. brooks adams has shown, the looted treasure of india was the potent midwife. had there not been an unwonted increase of capital, the impetus would not have been given to invention, while even steam might have languished for generations instead of at once becoming, as it did, the most prominent factor in the new method of production. the improved application of these inventions in the first decades of the nineteenth century mark the transition from the domestic to the factory system of manufacture and inaugurated the era of capitalism. the magnitude of this revolution is manifested by the fact that england alone had invented the means and equipped herself with the machinery whereby she could overstock the world's markets. the home market could not consume a tithe of the home product. to manufacture this home product she had sacrificed her agriculture. she must buy her food from abroad, and to do so she must sell her goods abroad.
-but the struggle for commercial supremacy had not yet really begun. england was without a rival. her navies controlled the sea. her armies and her insular position gave her peace at home. the world was hers to exploit. for nearly fifty years she dominated the european, american, and indian trade, while the great wars then convulsing society were destroying possible competitive capital and straining consumption to its utmost. the pioneer of the industrial nations, she thus received such a start in the new race for wealth that it is only today the other nations have succeeded in overtaking her. in 1820 the volume of her trade (imports and exports) was 68,000,000 pounds. in 1899 it had increased to 815,000,000 pounds,--an increase of 1200 per cent in the volume of trade.
-for nearly one hundred years england has been producing surplus value. she has been producing far more than she consumes, and this excess has swelled the volume of her capital. this capital has been invested in her enterprises at home and abroad, and in her shipping. in 1898 the stock exchange estimated british capital invested abroad at 1,900,000,000 pounds. but hand in hand with her foreign investments have grown her adverse balances of trade. for the ten years ending with 1868, her average yearly adverse balance was 52,000,000 pounds; ending with 1878, 81,000,000 pounds; ending with 1888, 101,000,000 pounds; and ending with 1898, 133,000,000 pounds. in the single year of 1897 it reached the portentous sum of 157,000,000 pounds.
-but england's adverse balances of trade in themselves are nothing at which to be frightened. hitherto they have been paid from out the earnings of her shipping and the interest on her foreign investments. but what does cause anxiety, however, is that, relative to the trade development of other countries, her export trade is falling off, without a corresponding diminution of her imports, and that her securities and foreign holdings do not seem able to stand the added strain. these she is being forced to sell in order to pull even. as the london times gloomily remarks, "we are entering the twentieth century on the down grade, after a prolonged period of business activity, high wages, high profits, and overflowing revenue." in other words, the mighty grasp england held over the resources and capital of the world is being relaxed. the control of its commerce and banking is slipping through her fingers. the sale of her foreign holdings advertises the fact that other nations are capable of buying them, and, further, that these other nations are busily producing surplus value.
-nor has the united states failed to pass from the side of the debtor to that of the creditor nations. she, too, has become wise in the way of producing surplus value. she has been successful in her efforts to secure economic emancipation. possessing but 5 per cent of the world's population and producing 32 per cent of the world's food supply, she has been looked upon as the world's farmer; but now, amidst general consternation, she comes forward as the world's manufacturer. in 1888 her manufactured exports amounted to $130,300,087; in 1896, to $253,681,541; in 1897, to $279,652,721; in 1898, to $307,924,994; in 1899, to $338,667,794; and in 1900, to $432,000,000. regarding her growing favorable balances of trade, it may be noted that not only are her imports not increasing, but they are actually falling off, while her exports in the last decade have increased 72.4 per cent. in ten years her imports from europe have been reduced from $474,000,000 to $439,000,000; while in the same time her exports have increased from $682,000,000 to $1,111,000,000. her balance of trade in her favor in 1895 was $75,000,000; in 1896, over $100,000,000; in 1897, nearly $300,000,000; in 1898, $615,000,000; in 1899, $530,000,000; and in 1900, $648,000,000.
-in the matter of iron, the united states, which in 1840 had not dreamed of entering the field of international competition, in 1897, as much to her own surprise as any one else's, undersold the english in their own london market. in 1899 there was but one american locomotive in great britain; but, of the five hundred locomotives sold abroad by the united states in 1902, england bought more than any other country. russia is operating a thousand of them on her own roads today. in one instance the american manufacturers contracted to deliver a locomotive in four and one-half months for $9250, the english manufacturers requiring twenty-four months for delivery at $14,000. the clyde shipbuilders recently placed orders for 150,000 tons of plates at a saving of $250,000, and the american steel going into the making of the new london subway is taken as a matter of course. american tools stand above competition the world over. ready-made boots and shoes are beginning to flood europe,--the same with machinery, bicycles, agricultural implements, and all kinds of manufactured goods. a correspondent from hamburg, speaking of the invasion of american trade, says: "incidentally, it may be remarked that the typewriting machine with which this article is written, as well as the thousands--nay, hundreds of thousands--of others that are in use throughout the world, were made in america; that it stands on an american table, in an office furnished with american desks, bookcases, and chairs, which cannot be made in europe of equal quality, so practical and convenient, for a similar price."
-in 1893 and 1894, because of the distrust of foreign capital, the united states was forced to buy back american securities held abroad; but in 1897 and 1898 she bought back american securities held abroad, not because she had to, but because she chose to. and not only has she bought back her own securities, but in the last eight years she has become a buyer of the securities of other countries. in the money markets of london, paris, and berlin she is a lender of money. carrying the largest stock of gold in the world, the world, in moments of danger, when crises of international finance loom large, looks to her vast lending ability for safety.
-thus, in a few swift years, has the united states drawn up to the van where the great industrial nations are fighting for commercial and financial empire. the figures of the race, in which she passed england, are interesting:
-as mr. henry demarest lloyd has noted, "when the news reached germany of the new steel trust in america, the stocks of the iron and steel mills listed on the berlin bourse fell." while europe has been talking and dreaming of the greatness which was, the united states has been thinking and planning and doing for the greatness to be. her captains of industry and kings of finance have toiled and sweated at organizing and consolidating production and transportation. but this has been merely the developmental stage, the tuning-up of the orchestra. with the twentieth century rises the curtain on the play,--a play which shall have much in it of comedy and a vast deal of tragedy, and which has been well named the capitalistic conquest of europe by america. nations do not die easily, and one of the first moves of europe will be the erection of tariff walls. america, however, will fittingly reply, for already her manufacturers are establishing works in france and germany. and when the german trade journals refused to accept american advertisements, they found their country flamingly bill-boarded in buccaneer american fashion.
-m. leroy-beaulieu, the french economist, is passionately preaching a commercial combination of the whole continent against the united states,--a commercial alliance which, he boldly declares, should become a political alliance. and in this he is not alone, finding ready sympathy and ardent support in austria, italy, and germany. lord rosebery said, in a recent speech before the wolverhampton chamber of commerce: "the americans, with their vast and almost incalculable resources, their acuteness and enterprise, and their huge population, which will probably be 100,000,000 in twenty years, together with the plan they have adopted for putting accumulated wealth into great cooperative syndicates or trusts for the purpose of carrying on this great commercial warfare, are the most formidable . . . rivals to be feared."
-the london times says: "it is useless to disguise the fact that great britain is being outdistanced. the competition does not come from the glut caused by miscalculation as to the home demand. our own steel-makers know better and are alarmed. the threatened competition in markets hitherto our own comes from efficiency in production such as never before has been seen." even the british naval supremacy is in danger, continues the same paper, "for, if we lose our engineering supremacy, our naval supremacy will follow, unless held on sufferance by our successful rivals."
-and the edinburgh evening news says, with editorial gloom: "the iron and steel trades have gone from us. when the fictitious prosperity caused by the expenditure of our own government and that of european nations on armaments ceases, half of the men employed in these industries will be turned into the streets. the outlook is appalling. what suffering will have to be endured before the workers realize that there is nothing left for them but emigration!"
-that there must be a limit to the accumulation of capital is obvious. the downward course of the rate of interest, notwithstanding that many new employments have been made possible for capital, indicates how large is the increase of surplus value. this decline of the interest rate is in accord with bohm-bawerk's law of "diminishing returns." that is, when capital, like anything else, has become over-plentiful, less lucrative use can only be found for the excess. this excess, not being able to earn so much as when capital was less plentiful, competes for safe investments and forces down the interest rate on all capital. mr. charles a. conant has well described the keenness of the scramble for safe investments, even at the prevailing low rates of interest. at the close of the war with turkey, the greek loan, guaranteed by great britain, france, and russia, was floated with striking ease. regardless of the small return, the amount offered at paris, (41,000,000 francs), was subscribed for twenty-three times over. great britain, france, germany, holland, and the scandinavian states, of recent years, have all engaged in converting their securities from 5 per cents to 4 per cents, from 4.5 per cents to 3.5 per cents, and the 3.5 per cents into 3 per cents.
-when a great nation has equipped itself to produce far more than it can, under the present division of the product, consume, it seeks other markets for its surplus products. when a second nation finds itself similarly circumstanced, competition for these other markets naturally follows. with the advent of a third, a fourth, a fifth, and of divers other nations, the question of the disposal of surplus products grows serious. and with each of these nations possessing, over and beyond its active capital, great and growing masses of idle capital, and when the very foreign markets for which they are competing are beginning to produce similar wares for themselves, the question passes the serious stage and becomes critical.
-never has the struggle for foreign markets been sharper than at the present. they are the one great outlet for congested accumulations. predatory capital wanders the world over, seeking where it may establish itself. this urgent need for foreign markets is forcing upon the world-stage an era of great colonial empire. but this does not stand, as in the past, for the subjugation of peoples and countries for the sake of gaining their products, but for the privilege of selling them products. the theory once was, that the colony owed its existence and prosperity to the mother country; but today it is the mother country that owes its existence and prosperity to the colony. and in the future, when that supporting colony becomes wise in the way of producing surplus value and sends its goods back to sell to the mother country, what then? then the world will have been exploited, and capitalistic production will have attained its maximum development.
-foreign markets and undeveloped countries largely retard that moment. the favored portions of the earth's surface are already occupied, though the resources of many are yet virgin. that they have not long since been wrested from the hands of the barbarous and decadent peoples who possess them is due, not to the military prowess of such peoples, but to the jealous vigilance of the industrial nations. the powers hold one another back. the turk lives because the way is not yet clear to an amicable division of him among the powers. and the united states, supreme though she is, opposes the partition of china, and intervenes her huge bulk between the hungry nations and the mongrel spanish republics. capital stands in its own way, welling up and welling up against the inevitable moment when it shall burst all bonds and sweep resistlessly across such vast stretches as china and south america. and then there will be no more worlds to exploit, and capitalism will either fall back, crushed under its own weight, or a change of direction will take place which will mark a new era in history.
-the far east affords an illuminating spectacle. while the western nations are crowding hungrily in, while the partition of china is commingled with the clamor for the spheres of influence and the open door, other forces are none the less potently at work. not only are the young western peoples pressing the older ones to the wall, but the east itself is beginning to awake. american trade is advancing, and british trade is losing ground, while japan, china, and india are taking a hand in the game themselves.
-in 1893, 100,000 pieces of american drills were imported into china; in 1897, 349,000. in 1893, 252,000 pieces of american sheetings were imported against 71,000 british; but in 1897, 566,000 pieces of american sheetings were imported against only 10,000 british. the cotton goods and yarn trade (which forms 40 per cent of the whole trade with china) shows a remarkable advance on the part of the united states. during the last ten years america has increased her importation of plain goods by 121 per cent in quantity and 59.5 per cent in value, while that of england and india combined has decreased 13.75 per cent in quantity and 8 per cent in value. lord charles beresford, from whose "break-up of china" these figures are taken, states that english yarn has receded and indian yarn advanced to the front. in 1897, 140,000 piculs of indian yarn were imported, 18,000 of japanese, 4500 of shanghai-manufactured, and 700 of english.
-japan, who but yesterday emerged from the mediaeval rule of the shogunate and seized in one fell swoop the scientific knowledge and culture of the occident, is already today showing what wisdom she has acquired in the production of surplus value, and is preparing herself that she may tomorrow play the part to asia that england did to europe one hundred years ago. that the difference in the world's affairs wrought by those one hundred years will prevent her succeeding is manifest; but it is equally manifest that they cannot prevent her playing a leading part in the industrial drama which has commenced on the eastern stage. her imports into the port of newchang in 1891 amounted to but 22,000 taels; but in 1897 they had increased to 280,000 taels. in manufactured goods, from matches, watches, and clocks to the rolling stock of railways, she has already given stiff shocks to her competitors in the asiatic markets; and this while she is virtually yet in the equipment stage of production. erelong she, too, will be furnishing her share to the growing mass of the world's capital.
-as regards great britain, the giant trader who has so long overshadowed asiatic commerce, lord charles beresford says: "but competition is telling adversely; the energy of the british merchant is being equalled by other nationals. . . the competition of the chinese and the introduction of steam into the country are also combining to produce changed conditions in china." but far more ominous is the plaintive note he sounds when he says: "new industries must be opened up, and i would especially direct the attention of the chambers of commerce (british) to . . . the fact that the more the native competes with the british manufacturer in certain classes of trade, the more machinery he will need, and the orders for such machinery will come to this country if our machinery manufacturers are enterprising enough."
-the orient is beginning to show what an important factor it will become, under western supervision, in the creation of surplus value. even before the barriers which restrain western capital are removed, the east will be in a fair way toward being exploited. an analysis of lord beresford's message to the chambers of commerce discloses, first, that the east is beginning to manufacture for itself; and, second, that there is a promise of keen competition in the west for the privilege of selling the required machinery. the inexorable query arises: what is the west to do when it has furnished this machinery? and when not only the east, but all the now undeveloped countries, confront, with surplus products in their hands, the old industrial nations, capitalistic production will have attained its maximum development.
-but before that time must intervene a period which bids one pause for breath. a new romance, like unto none in all the past, the economic romance, will be born. for the dazzling prize of world-empire will the nations of the earth go up in harness. powers will rise and fall, and mighty coalitions shape and dissolve in the swift whirl of events. vassal nations and subject territories will be bandied back and forth like so many articles of trade. and with the inevitable displacement of economic centres, it is fair to presume that populations will shift to and fro, as they once did from the south to the north of england on the rise of the factory towns, or from the old world to the new. colossal enterprises will be projected and carried through, and combinations of capital and federations of labor be effected on a cyclopean scale. concentration and organization will be perfected in ways hitherto undreamed. the nation which would keep its head above the tide must accurately adjust supply to demand, and eliminate waste to the last least particle. standards of living will most likely descend for millions of people. with the increase of capital, the competition for safe investments, and the consequent fall of the interest rate, the principal which today earns a comfortable income would not then support a bare existence. saving toward old age would cease among the working classes. and as the merchant cities of italy crashed when trade slipped from their hands on the discovery of the new route to the indies by way of the cape of good hope, so will there come times of trembling for such nations as have failed to grasp the prize of world-empire. in that given direction they will have attained their maximum development, before the whole world, in the same direction, has attained its. there will no longer be room for them. but if they can survive the shock of being flung out of the world's industrial orbit, a change in direction may then be easily effected. that the decadent and barbarous peoples will be crushed is a fair presumption; likewise that the stronger breeds will survive, entering upon the transition stage to which all the world must ultimately come.
-this change of direction must be either toward industrial oligarchies or socialism. either the functions of private corporations will increase till they absorb the central government, or the functions of government will increase till it absorbs the corporations. much may be said on the chance of the oligarchy. should an old manufacturing nation lose its foreign trade, it is safe to predict that a strong effort would be made to build a socialistic government, but it does not follow that this effort would be successful. with the moneyed class controlling the state and its revenues and all the means of subsistence, and guarding its own interests with jealous care, it is not at all impossible that a strong curb could be put upon the masses till the crisis were past. it has been done before. there is no reason why it should not be done again. at the close of the last century, such a movement was crushed by its own folly and immaturity. in 1871 the soldiers of the economic rulers stamped out, root and branch, a whole generation of militant socialists.
-once the crisis were past, the ruling class, still holding the curb in order to make itself more secure, would proceed to readjust things and to balance consumption with production. having a monopoly of the safe investments, the great masses of unremunerative capital would be directed, not to the production of more surplus value, but to the making of permanent improvements, which would give employment to the people, and make them content with the new order of things. highways, parks, public buildings, monuments, could be builded; nor would it be out of place to give better factories and homes to the workers. such in itself would be socialistic, save that it would be done by the oligarchs, a class apart. with the interest rate down to zero, and no field for the investment of sporadic capital, savings among the people would utterly cease, and old-age pensions be granted as a matter of course. it is also a logical necessity of such a system that, when the population began to press against the means of subsistence, (expansion being impossible), the birth rate of the lower classes would be lessened. whether by their own initiative, or by the interference of the rulers, it would have to be done, and it would be done. in other words, the oligarchy would mean the capitalization of labor and the enslavement of the whole population. but it would be a fairer, juster form of slavery than any the world has yet seen. the per capita wage and consumption would be increased, and, with a stringent control of the birth rate, there is no reason why such a country should not be so ruled through many generations.
-on the other hand, as the capitalistic exploitation of the planet approaches its maximum, and countries are crowded out of the field of foreign exchanges, there is a large likelihood that their change in direction will be toward socialism. were the theory of collective ownership and operation then to arise for the first time, such a movement would stand small chance of success. but such is not the case. the doctrine of socialism has flourished and grown throughout the nineteenth century; its tenets have been preached wherever the interests of labor and capital have clashed; and it has received exemplification time and again by the state's assumption of functions which had always belonged solely to the individual.
-when capitalistic production has attained its maximum development, it must confront a dividing of the ways; and the strength of capital on the one hand, and the education and wisdom of the workers on the other, will determine which path society is to travel. it is possible, considering the inertia of the masses, that the whole world might in time come to be dominated by a group of industrial oligarchies, or by one great oligarchy, but it is not probable. that sporadic oligarchies may flourish for definite periods of time is highly possible; that they may continue to do so is as highly improbable. the procession of the ages has marked not only the rise of man, but the rise of the common man. from the chattel slave, or the serf chained to the soil, to the highest seats in modern society, he has risen, rung by rung, amid the crumbling of the divine right of kings and the crash of falling sceptres. that he has done this, only in the end to pass into the perpetual slavery of the industrial oligarch, is something at which his whole past cries in protest. the common man is worthy of a better future, or else he is not worthy of his past.
-note.--the above article was written as long ago as 1898. the only alteration has been the bringing up to 1900 of a few of its statistics. as a commercial venture of an author, it has an interesting history. it was promptly accepted by one of the leading magazines and paid for. the editor confessed that it was "one of those articles one could not possibly let go of after it was once in his possession." publication was voluntarily promised to be immediate. then the editor became afraid of its too radical nature, forfeited the sum paid for it, and did not publish it. nor, offered far and wide, could any other editor of bourgeois periodicals be found who was rash enough to publish it. thus, for the first time, after seven years, it appears in print.
-two remarkable books are ghent's "our benevolent feudalism" {7} and brooks's "the social unrest." {8} in these two books the opposite sides of the labor problem are expounded, each writer devoting himself with apprehension to the side he fears and views with disfavor. it would appear that they have set themselves the task of collating, as a warning, the phenomena of two counter social forces. mr. ghent, who is sympathetic with the socialist movement, follows with cynic fear every aggressive act of the capitalist class. mr. brooks, who yearns for the perpetuation of the capitalist system as long as possible, follows with grave dismay each aggressive act of the labor and socialist organizations. mr. ghent traces the emasculation of labor by capital, and mr. brooks traces the emasculation of independent competing capital by labor. in short, each marshals the facts of a side in the two sides which go to make a struggle so great that even the french revolution is insignificant beside it; for this later struggle, for the first time in the history of struggles, is not confined to any particular portion of the globe, but involves the whole of it.
-starting on the assumption that society is at present in a state of flux, mr. ghent sees it rapidly crystallizing into a status which can best be described as something in the nature of a benevolent feudalism. he laughs to scorn any immediate realization of the marxian dream, while tolstoyan utopias and kropotkinian communistic unions of shop and farm are too wild to merit consideration. the coming status which mr. ghent depicts is a class domination by the capitalists. labor will take its definite place as a dependent class, living in a condition of machine servitude fairly analogous to the land servitude of the middle ages. that is to say, labor will be bound to the machine, though less harshly, in fashion somewhat similar to that in which the earlier serf was bound to the soil. as he says, "bondage to the land was the basis of villeinage in the old regime; bondage to the job will be the basis of villeinage in the new."
-at the top of the new society will tower the magnate, the new feudal baron; at the bottom will be found the wastrels and the inefficients. the new society he grades as follows:
-"i. the barons, graded on the basis of possessions.
-"ii. the court agents and retainers. (this class will include the editors of 'respectable' and 'safe' newspapers, the pastors of 'conservative' and 'wealthy' churches, the professors and teachers in endowed colleges and schools, lawyers generally, and most judges and politicians).
-"iii. the workers in pure and applied science, artists, and physicians.
-"vi. the villeins of the cities and towns, more or less regularly employed, who do skilled work and are partially protected by organization.
-"vii. the villeins of the cities and towns who do unskilled work and are unprotected by organization. they will comprise the laborers, domestics, and clerks.
-"viii. the villeins of the manorial estates, of the great farms, the mines, and the forests.
-"ix. the small-unit farmers (land-owning), the petty tradesmen, and manufacturers.
-"x. the subtenants of the manorial estates and great farms (corresponding to the class of 'free tenants' in the old feudalism).
-"xi. the cotters.
-"xii. the tramps, the occasionally employed, the unemployed--the wastrels of the city and country."
-"the new feudalism, like most autocracies, will foster not only the arts, but also certain kinds of learning--particularly the kinds which are unlikely to disturb the minds of the multitude. a future marsh, or cope, or le comte will be liberally patronized and left free to discover what he will; and so, too, an edison or a marconi. only they must not meddle with anything relating to social science."
-it must be confessed that mr. ghent's arguments are cunningly contrived and arrayed. they must be read to be appreciated. as an example of his style, which at the same time generalizes a portion of his argument, the following may well be given:
-"the new feudalism will be but an orderly outgrowth of present tendencies and conditions. all societies evolve naturally out of their predecessors. in sociology, as in biology, there is no cell without a parent cell. the society of each generation develops a multitude of spontaneous and acquired variations, and out of these, by a blending process of natural and conscious selection, the succeeding society is evolved. the new order will differ in no important respects from the present, except in the completer development of its more salient features. the visitor from another planet who had known the old and should see the new would note but few changes. alter et idem--another yet the same--he would say. from magnate to baron, from workman to villein, from publicist to court agent and retainer, will be changes of state and function so slight as to elude all but the keenest eyes."
-and in conclusion, to show how benevolent and beautiful this new feudalism of ours will be, mr. ghent says: "peace and stability it will maintain at all hazards; and the mass, remembering the chaos, the turmoil, the insecurity of the past, will bless its reign. . . . efficiency--the faculty of getting things--is at last rewarded as it should be, for the efficient have inherited the earth and its fulness. the lowly, whose happiness is greater and whose welfare is more thoroughly conserved when governed than when governing, as a twentieth-century philosopher said of them, are settled and happy in the state which reason and experience teach is their god-appointed lot. they are comfortable too; and if the patriarchal ideal of a vine and fig tree for each is not yet attained, at least each has his rented patch in the country or his rented cell in a city building. bread and the circus are freely given to the deserving, and as for the undeserving, they are merely reaping the rewards of their contumacy and pride. order reigns, each has his justly appointed share, and the state rests, in security, 'lapt in universal law.'"
-mr. brooks, on the other hand, sees rising and dissolving and rising again in the social flux the ominous forms of a new society which is the direct antithesis of a benevolent feudalism. he trembles at the rash intrepidity of the capitalists who fight the labor unions, for by such rashness he greatly fears that labor will be driven to express its aims and strength in political terms, which terms will inevitably be socialistic terms.
-to keep down the rising tide of socialism, he preaches greater meekness and benevolence to the capitalists. no longer may they claim the right to run their own business, to beat down the laborer's standard of living for the sake of increased profits, to dictate terms of employment to individual workers, to wax righteously indignant when organized labor takes a hand in their business. no longer may the capitalist say "my" business, or even think "my" business; he must say "our" business, and think "our" business as well, accepting labor as a partner whose voice must be heard. and if the capitalists do not become more meek and benevolent in their dealings with labor, labor will be antagonized and will proceed to wreak terrible political vengeance, and the present social flux will harden into a status of socialism.
-mr. brooks dreams of a society at which mr. ghent sneers as "a slightly modified individualism, wherein each unit secures the just reward of his capacity and service." to attain this happy state, mr. brooks imposes circumspection upon the capitalists in their relations with labor. "if the socialistic spirit is to be held in abeyance in this country, businesses of this character (anthracite coal mining) must be handled with extraordinary caution." which is to say, that to withstand the advance of socialism, a great and greater measure of mr. ghent's benevolence will be required.
-again and again, mr. brooks reiterates the danger he sees in harshly treating labor. "it is not probable that employers can destroy unionism in the united states. adroit and desperate attempts will, however, be made, if we mean by unionism the undisciplined and aggressive fact of vigorous and determined organizations. if capital should prove too strong in this struggle, the result is easy to predict. the employers have only to convince organized labor that it cannot hold its own against the capitalist manager, and the whole energy that now goes to the union will turn to an aggressive political socialism. it will not be the harmless sympathy with increased city and state functions which trade unions already feel; it will become a turbulent political force bent upon using every weapon of taxation against the rich."
-"the most concrete impulse that now favors socialism in this country is the insane purpose to deprive labor organizations of the full and complete rights that go with federated unionism."
-"that which teaches a union that it cannot succeed as a union turns it toward socialism. in long strikes in towns like marlboro and brookfield strong unions are defeated. hundreds of men leave these towns for shoe-centres like brockton, where they are now voting the socialist ticket. the socialist mayor of this city tells me, 'the men who come to us now from towns where they have been thoroughly whipped in a strike are among our most active working socialists.' the bitterness engendered by this sense of defeat is turned to politics, as it will throughout the whole country, if organization of labor is deprived of its rights."
-"this enmity of capital to the trade union is watched with glee by every intelligent socialist in our midst. every union that is beaten or discouraged in its struggle is ripening fruit for socialism."
-"the real peril which we now face is the threat of a class conflict. if capitalism insists upon the policy of outraging the saving aspiration of the american workman to raise his standard of comfort and leisure, every element of class conflict will strengthen among us."
-"we have only to humiliate what is best in the trade union, and then every worst feature of socialism is fastened upon us."
-this strong tendency in the ranks of the workers toward socialism is what mr. brooks characterizes the "social unrest"; and he hopes to see the republican, the cleveland democrat, and the conservative and large property interests "band together against this common foe," which is socialism. and he is not above feeling grave and well-contained satisfaction wherever the socialist doctrinaire has been contradicted by men attempting to practise cooperation in the midst of the competitive system, as in belgium.
-nevertheless, he catches fleeting glimpses of an extreme and tyrannically benevolent feudalism very like to mr. ghent's, as witness the following:
-"i asked one of the largest employers of labor in the south if he feared the coming of the trade union. 'no,' he said, 'it is one good result of race prejudice, that the negro will enable us in the long run to weaken the trade union so that it cannot harm us. we can keep wages down with the negro and we can prevent too much organization.'
-"it is in this spirit that the lower standards are to be used. if this purpose should succeed, it has but one issue,--the immense strengthening of a plutocratic administration at the top, served by an army of high-salaried helpers, with an elite of skilled and well-paid workmen, but all resting on what would essentially be a serf class of low-paid labor and this mass kept in order by an increased use of military force."
-in brief summary of these two notable books, it may be said that mr. ghent is alarmed, (though he does not flatly say so), at the too great social restfulness in the community, which is permitting the capitalists to form the new society to their liking; and that mr. brooks is alarmed, (and he flatly says so), at the social unrest which threatens the modified individualism into which he would like to see society evolve. mr. ghent beholds the capitalist class rising to dominate the state and the working class; mr. brooks beholds the working class rising to dominate the state and the capitalist class. one fears the paternalism of a class; the other, the tyranny of the mass.
-wanted: a new law of development
-evolution is no longer a mere tentative hypothesis. one by one, step by step, each division and subdivision of science has contributed its evidence, until now the case is complete and the verdict rendered. while there is still discussion as to the method of evolution, none the less, as a process sufficient to explain all biological phenomena, all differentiations of life into widely diverse species, families, and even kingdoms, evolution is flatly accepted. likewise has been accepted its law of development: that, in the struggle for existence, the strong and fit and the progeny of the strong and fit have a better opportunity for survival than the weak and less fit and the progeny of the weak and less fit.
-it is in the struggle of the species with other species and against all other hostile forces in the environment, that this law operates; also in the struggle between the individuals of the same species. in this struggle, which is for food and shelter, the weak individuals must obviously win less food and shelter than the strong. because of this, their hold on life relaxes and they are eliminated. and for the same reason that they may not win for themselves adequate food and shelter, the weak cannot give to their progeny the chance for survival that the strong give. and thus, since the weak are prone to beget weakness, the species is constantly purged of its inefficient members.
-because of this, a premium is placed upon strength, and so long as the struggle for food and shelter obtains, just so long will the average strength of each generation increase. on the other hand, should conditions so change that all, and the progeny of all, the weak as well as the strong, have an equal chance for survival, then, at once, the average strength of each generation will begin to diminish. never yet, however, in animal life, has there been such a state of affairs. natural selection has always obtained. the strong and their progeny, at the expense of the weak, have always survived. this law of development has operated down all the past upon all life; it so operates today, and it is not rash to say that it will continue to operate in the future--at least upon all life existing in a state of nature.
-man, preeminent though he is in the animal kingdom, capable of reacting upon and making suitable an unsuitable environment, nevertheless remains the creature of this same law of development. the social selection to which he is subject is merely another form of natural selection. true, within certain narrow limits he modifies the struggle for existence and renders less precarious the tenure of life for the weak. the extremely weak, diseased, and inefficient are housed in hospitals and asylums. the strength of the viciously strong, when inimical to society, is tempered by penal institutions and by the gallows. the short-sighted are provided with spectacles, and the sickly (when they can pay for it) with sanitariums. pestilential marshes are drained, plagues are checked, and disasters averted. yet, for all that, the strong and the progeny of the strong survive, and the weak are crushed out. the men strong of brain are masters as of yore. they dominate society and gather to themselves the wealth of society. with this wealth they maintain themselves and equip their progeny for the struggle. they build their homes in healthful places, purchase the best fruits, meats, and vegetables the market affords, and buy themselves the ministrations of the most brilliant and learned of the professional classes. the weak man, as of yore, is the servant, the doer of things at the master's call. the weaker and less efficient he is, the poorer is his reward. the weakest work for a living wage, (when they can get work), live in unsanitary slums, on vile and insufficient food, at the lowest depths of human degradation. their grasp on life is indeed precarious, their mortality excessive, their infant death-rate appalling.
-that some should be born to preferment and others to ignominy in order that the race may progress, is cruel and sad; but none the less they are so born. the weeding out of human souls, some for fatness and smiles, some for leanness and tears, is surely a heartless selective process--as heartless as it is natural. and the human family, for all its wonderful record of adventure and achievement, has not yet succeeded in avoiding this process. that it is incapable of doing this is not to be hazarded. not only is it capable, but the whole trend of society is in that direction. all the social forces are driving man on to a time when the old selective law will be annulled. there is no escaping it, save by the intervention of catastrophes and cataclysms quite unthinkable. it is inexorable. it is inexorable because the common man demands it. the twentieth century, the common man says, is his day; the common man's day, or, rather, the dawning of the common man's day.
-nor can it be denied. the evidence is with him. the previous centuries, and more notably the nineteenth, have marked the rise of the common man. from chattel slavery to serfdom, and from serfdom to what he bitterly terms "wage slavery," he has risen. never was he so strong as he is today, and never so menacing. he does the work of the world, and he is beginning to know it. the world cannot get along without him, and this also he is beginning to know. all the human knowledge of the past, all the scientific discovery, governmental experiment, and invention of machinery, have tended to his advancement. his standard of living is higher. his common school education would shame princes ten centuries past. his civil and religious liberty makes him a free man, and his ballot the peer of his betters. and all this has tended to make him conscious, conscious of himself, conscious of his class. he looks about him and questions that ancient law of development. it is cruel and wrong, he is beginning to declare. it is an anachronism. let it be abolished. why should there be one empty belly in all the world, when the work of ten men can feed a hundred? what if my brother be not so strong as i? he has not sinned. wherefore should he hunger--he and his sinless little ones? away with the old law. there is food and shelter for all, therefore let all receive food and shelter.
-as fast as labor has become conscious it has organized. the ambition of these class-conscious men is that the movement shall become general, that all labor shall become conscious of itself and its class interests. and the day that witnesses the solidarity of labor, they triumphantly affirm, will be a day when labor dominates the world. this growing consciousness has led to the organization of two movements, both separate and distinct, but both converging toward a common goal--one, the labor movement, known as trade unionism; the other, the political movement, known as socialism. both are grim and silent forces, unheralded and virtually unknown to the general public save in moments of stress. the sleeping labor giant receives little notice from the capitalistic press, and when he stirs uneasily, a column of surprise, indignation, and horror suffices.
-it is only now and then, after long periods of silence, that the labor movement puts in its claim for notice. all is quiet. the kind old world spins on, and the bourgeois masters clip their coupons in smug complacency. but the grim and silent forces are at work.
-suddenly, like a clap of thunder from a clear sky, comes a disruption of industry. from ocean to ocean the wheels of a great chain of railroads cease to run. a quarter of a million miners throw down pick and shovel and outrage the sun with their pale, bleached faces. the street railways of a swarming metropolis stand idle, or the rumble of machinery in vast manufactories dies away to silence. there is alarm and panic. arson and homicide stalk forth. there is a cry in the night, and quick anger and sudden death. peaceful cities are affrighted by the crack of rifles and the snarl of machine-guns, and the hearts of the shuddering are shaken by the roar of dynamite. there is hurrying and skurrying. the wires are kept hot between the centre of government and the seat of trouble. the chiefs of state ponder gravely and advise, and governors of states implore. there is assembling of militia and massing of troops, and the streets resound to the tramp of armed men. there are separate and joint conferences between the captains of industry and the captains of labor. and then, finally, all is quiet again, and the memory of it is like the memory of a bad dream.
-but these strikes become olympiads, things to date from; and common on the lips of men become such phrases as "the great dock strike," "the great coal strike," "the great railroad strike." never before did labor do these things. after the great plague in england, labor, finding itself in demand and innocently obeying the economic law, asked higher wages. but the masters set a maximum wage, restrained workingmen from moving about from place to place, refused to tolerate idlers, and by most barbarous legal methods punished those who disobeyed. but labor is accorded greater respect today. such a policy, put into effect in this the first decade of the twentieth century, would sweep the masters from their seats in one mighty crash. and the masters know it and are respectful.
-a fair instance of the growing solidarity of labor is afforded by an unimportant recent strike in san francisco. the restaurant cooks and waiters were completely unorganized, working at any and all hours for whatever wages they could get. a representative of the american federation of labor went among them and organized them. within a few weeks nearly two thousand men were enrolled, and they had five thousand dollars on deposit. then they put in their demand for increased wages and shorter hours. forthwith their employers organized. the demand was denied, and the cooks' and waiters' union walked out.
-all organized employers stood back of the restaurant owners, in sympathy with them and willing to aid them if they dared. and at the back of the cooks' and waiters' union stood the organized labor of the city, 40,000 strong. if a business man was caught patronizing an "unfair" restaurant, he was boycotted; if a union man was caught, he was fined heavily by his union or expelled. the oyster companies and the slaughter houses made an attempt to refuse to sell oysters and meat to union restaurants. the butchers and meat cutters, and the teamsters, in retaliation, refused to work for or to deliver to non-union restaurants. upon this the oyster companies and slaughter houses acknowledged themselves beaten and peace reigned. but the restaurant bakers in non-union places were ordered out, and the bakery wagon drivers declined to deliver to unfair houses.
-every american federation of labor union in the city was prepared to strike, and waited only the word. and behind all, a handful of men, known as the labor council, directed the fight. one by one, blow upon blow, they were able if they deemed it necessary to call out the unions--the laundry workers, who do the washing; the hackmen, who haul men to and from restaurants; the butchers, meat cutters, and teamsters; and the milkers, milk drivers, and chicken pickers; and after that, in pure sympathy, the retail clerks, the horse shoers, the gas and electrical fixture hangers, the metal roofers, the blacksmiths, the blacksmiths' helpers, the stablemen, the machinists, the brewers, the coast seamen, the varnishers and polishers, the confectioners, the upholsterers, the paper hangers and fresco painters, the drug clerks, the fitters and helpers, the metal workers, the boiler makers and iron ship builders, the assistant undertakers, the carriage and wagon workers, and so on down the lengthy list of organizations.
-on the other hand, the president of the team drivers' union said: "the employers of labor in this city are generally against the trade-union movement and there seems to be a concerted effort on their part to check the progress of organized labor. such action as has been taken by them in sympathy with the present labor troubles may, if continued, lead to a serious conflict, the outcome of which might be most calamitous for the business and industrial interests of san francisco."
-and the secretary of the united brewery workmen: "i regard a sympathetic strike as the last weapon which organized labor should use in its defence. when, however, associations of employers band together to defeat organized labor, or one of its branches, then we should not and will not hesitate ourselves to employ the same instrument in retaliation."
-thus, in a little corner of the world, is exemplified the growing solidarity of labor. the organization of labor has not only kept pace with the organization of industry, but it has gained upon it. in one winter, in the anthracite coal region, $160,000,000 in mines and $600,000,000 in transportation and distribution consolidated its ownership and control. and at once, arrayed as solidly on the other side, were the 150,000 anthracite miners. the bituminous mines, however, were not consolidated; yet the 250,000 men employed therein were already combined. and not only that, but they were also combined with the anthracite miners, these 400,000 men being under the control and direction of one supreme labor council. and in this and the other great councils are to be found captains of labor of splendid abilities, who, in understanding of economic and industrial conditions, are undeniably the equals of their opponents, the captains of industry.
-the united states is honeycombed with labor organizations. and the big federations which these go to compose aggregate millions of members, and in their various branches handle millions of dollars yearly. and not only this; for the international brotherhoods and unions are forming, and moneys for the aid of strikers pass back and forth across the seas. the machinists, in their demand for a nine-hour day, affected 500,000 men in the united states, mexico, and canada. in england the membership of working-class organizations is approximated by keir hardie at 2,500,000, with reserve funds of $18,000,000. there the cooperative movement has a membership of 1,500,000, and every year turns over in distribution more than $100,000,000. in france, one-eighth of the whole working class is unionized. in belgium the unions are very rich and powerful, and so able to defy the masters that many of the smaller manufacturers, unable to resist, "are removing their works to other countries where the workmen's organizations are not so potential." and in all other countries, according to the stage of their economic and political development, like figures obtain. and europe, today, confesses that her greatest social problem is the labor problem, and that it is the one most closely engrossing the attention of her statesmen.
-the organization of labor is one of the chief acknowledged factors in the retrogression of british trade. the workers have become class conscious as never before. the wrong of one is the wrong of all. they have come to realize, in a short-sighted way, that their masters' interests are not their interests. the harder they work, they believe, the more wealth they create for their masters. further, the more work they do in one day, the fewer men will be needed to do the work. so the unions place a day's stint upon their members, beyond which they are not permitted to go. in "a study of trade unionism," by benjamin taylor in the "nineteenth century" of april, 1898, are furnished some interesting corroborations. the facts here set forth were collected by the executive board of the employers' federation, the documentary proofs of which are in the hands of the secretaries. in a certain firm the union workmen made eight ammunition boxes a day. nor could they be persuaded into making more. a young swiss, who could not speak english, was set to work, and in the first day he made fifty boxes. in the same firm the skilled union hands filed up the outside handles of one machine-gun a day. that was their stint. no one was known ever to do more. a non-union filer came into the shop and did twelve a day. a manchester firm found that to plane a large bed-casting took union workmen one hundred and ninety hours, and non-union workmen one hundred and thirty-five hours. in another instance a man, resigning from his union, day by day did double the amount of work he had done formerly. and to cap it all, an english gentleman, going out to look at a wall being put up for him by union bricklayers, found one of their number with his right arm strapped to his body, doing all the work with his left arm--forsooth, because he was such an energetic fellow that otherwise he would involuntarily lay more bricks than his union permitted.
-all england resounds to the cry, "wake up, england!" but the sulky giant is not stirred. "let england's trade go to pot," he says; "what have i to lose?" and england is powerless. the capacity of her workmen is represented by 1, in comparison with the 2.25 capacity of the american workman. and because of the solidarity of labor and the destructiveness of strikes, british capitalists dare not even strive to emulate the enterprise of american capitalists. so england watches trade slipping through her fingers and wails unavailingly. as a correspondent writes: "the enormous power of the trade unions hangs, a sullen cloud, over the whole industrial world here, affecting men and masters alike."
-the political movement known as socialism is, perhaps, even less realized by the general public. the great strides it has taken and the portentous front it today exhibits are not comprehended; and, fastened though it is in every land, it is given little space by the capitalistic press. for all its plea and passion and warmth, it wells upward like a great, cold tidal wave, irresistible, inexorable, ingulfing present-day society level by level. by its own preachment it is inexorable. just as societies have sprung into existence, fulfilled their function, and passed away, it claims, just as surely is present society hastening on to its dissolution. this is a transition period--and destined to be a very short one. barely a century old, capitalism is ripening so rapidly that it can never live to see a second birthday. there is no hope for it, the socialists say. it is doomed.
-the cardinal tenet of socialism is that forbidding doctrine, the materialistic conception of history. men are not the masters of their souls. they are the puppets of great, blind forces. the lives they live and the deaths they die are compulsory. all social codes are but the reflexes of existing economic conditions, plus certain survivals of past economic conditions. the institutions men build they are compelled to build. economic laws determine at any given time what these institutions shall be, how long they shall operate, and by what they shall be replaced. and so, through the economic process, the socialist preaches the ripening of the capitalistic society and the coming of the new cooperative society.
-the second great tenet of socialism, itself a phase of the materialistic conception of history, is the class struggle. in the social struggle for existence, men are forced into classes. "the history of all society thus far is the history of class strife." in existing society the capitalist class exploits the working class, the proletariat. the interests of the exploiter are not the interests of the exploited. "profits are legitimate," says the one. "profits are unpaid wages," replies the other, when he has become conscious of his class, "therefore profits are robbery." the capitalist enforces his profits because he is the legal owner of all the means of production. he is the legal owner because he controls the political machinery of society. the socialist sets to work to capture the political machinery, so that he may make illegal the capitalist's ownership of the means of production, and make legal his own ownership of the means of production. and it is this struggle, between these two classes, upon which the world has at last entered.
-scientific socialism is very young. only yesterday it was in swaddling clothes. but today it is a vigorous young giant, well braced to battle for what it wants, and knowing precisely what it wants. it holds its international conventions, where world-policies are formulated by the representatives of millions of socialists. in little belgium there are three-quarters of a million of men who work for the cause; in germany, 3,000,000; austria, between 1895 and 1897, raised her socialist vote from 90,000 to 750,000. france in 1871 had a whole generation of socialists wiped out; yet in 1885 there were 30,000, and in 1898, 1,000,000.
-ere the last spaniard had evacuated cuba, socialist groups were forming. and from far japan, in these first days of the twentieth century, writes one tomoyoshi murai: "the interest of our people on socialism has been greatly awakened these days, especially among our laboring people on one hand and young students' circle on the other, as much as we can draw an earnest and enthusiastic audience and fill our hall, which holds two thousand. . . . it is gratifying to say that we have a number of fine and well-trained public orators among our leaders of socialism in japan. the first speaker tonight is mr. kiyoshi kawakami, editor of one of our city (tokyo) dailies, a strong, independent, and decidedly socialistic paper, circulated far and wide. mr. kawakami is a scholar as well as a popular writer. he is going to speak tonight on the subject, 'the essence of socialism--the fundamental principles.' the next speaker is professor iso abe, president of our association, whose subject of address is, 'socialism and the existing social system.' the third speaker is mr. naoe kinosita, the editor of another strong journal of the city. he speaks on the subject, 'how to realize the socialist ideals and plans.' next is mr. shigeyoshi sugiyama, a graduate of hartford theological seminary and an advocate of social christianity, who is to speak on 'socialism and municipal problems.' and the last speaker is the editor of the 'labor world,' the foremost leader of the labor-union movement in our country, mr. sen katayama, who speaks on the subject, 'the outlook of socialism in europe and america.' these addresses are going to be published in book form and to be distributed among our people to enlighten their minds on the subject."
-and in the struggle for the political machinery of society, socialism is no longer confined to mere propaganda. italy, austria, belgium, england, have socialist members in their national bodies. out of the one hundred and thirty-two members of the london county council, ninety-one are denounced by the conservative element as socialists. the emperor of germany grows anxious and angry at the increasing numbers which are returned to the reichstag. in france, many of the large cities, such as marseilles, are in the hands of the socialists. a large body of them is in the chamber of deputies, and millerand, socialist, sits in the cabinet. of him m. leroy-beaulieu says with horror: "m. millerand is the open enemy of private property, private capital, the resolute advocate of the socialization of production . . . a constant incitement to violence . . . a collectivist, avowed and militant, taking part in the government, dominating the departments of commerce and industry, preparing all the laws and presiding at the passage of all measures which should be submitted to merchants and tradesmen."
-in the united states there are already socialist mayors of towns and members of state legislatures, a vast literature, and single socialist papers with subscription lists running up into the hundreds of thousands. in 1896, 36,000 votes were cast for the socialist candidate for president; in 1900, nearly 200,000; in 1904, 450,000. and the united states, young as it is, is ripening rapidly, and the socialists claim, according to the materialistic conception of history, that the united states will be the first country in the world wherein the toilers will capture the political machinery and expropriate the bourgeoisie.
-but the socialist and labor movements have recently entered upon a new phase. there has been a remarkable change in attitude on both sides. for a long time the labor unions refrained from going in for political action. on the other hand, the socialists claimed that without political action labor was powerless. and because of this there was much ill feeling between them, even open hostilities, and no concerted action. but now the socialists grant that the labor movement has held up wages and decreased the hours of labor, and the labor unions find that political action is necessary. today both parties have drawn closely together in the common fight. in the united states this friendly feeling grows. the socialist papers espouse the cause of labor, and the unions have opened their ears once more to the wiles of the socialists. they are all leavened with socialist workmen, "boring from within," and many of their leaders have already succumbed. in england, where class consciousness is more developed, the name "unionism" has been replaced by "the new unionism," the main object of which is "to capture existing social structures in the interests of the wage-earners." there the socialist, the trade-union, and other working-class organizations are beginning to cooperate in securing the return of representatives to the house of commons. and in france, where the city councils and mayors of marseilles and monteaules-mines are socialistic, thousands of francs of municipal money were voted for the aid of the unions in the recent great strikes.
-for centuries the world has been preparing for the coming of the common man. and the period of preparation virtually past, labor, conscious of itself and its desires, has begun a definite movement toward solidarity. it believes the time is not far distant when the historian will speak not only of the dark ages of feudalism, but of the dark ages of capitalism. and labor sincerely believes itself justified in this by the terrible indictment it brings against capitalistic society. in the face of its enormous wealth, capitalistic society forfeits its right to existence when it permits widespread, bestial poverty. the philosophy of the survival of the fittest does not soothe the class-conscious worker when he learns through his class literature that among the italian pants-finishers of chicago {9} the average weekly wage is $1.31, and the average number of weeks employed in the year is 27.85. likewise when he reads: {10} "every room in these reeking tenements houses a family or two. in one room a missionary found a man ill with small-pox, his wife just recovering from her confinement, and the children running about half naked and covered with dirt. here are seven people living in one underground kitchen, and a little dead child lying in the same room. here live a widow and her six children, two of whom are ill with scarlet fever. in another, nine brothers and sisters, from twenty-nine years of age downward, live, eat, and sleep together." and likewise, when he reads: {11} "when one man, fifty years old, who has worked all his life, is compelled to beg a little money to bury his dead baby, and another man, fifty years old, can give ten million dollars to enable his daughter to live in luxury and bolster up a decaying foreign aristocracy, do you see nothing amiss?"
-and on the other hand, the class-conscious worker reads the statistics of the wealthy classes, knows what their incomes are, and how they get them. true, down all the past he has known his own material misery and the material comfort of the dominant classes, and often has this knowledge led him to intemperate acts and unwise rebellion. but today, and for the first time, because both society and he have evolved, he is beginning to see a possible way out. his ears are opening to the propaganda of socialism, the passionate gospel of the dispossessed. but it does not inculcate a turning back. the way through is the way out, he understands, and with this in mind he draws up the programme.
-it is quite simple, this programme. everything is moving in his direction, toward the day when he will take charge. the trust? ah, no. unlike the trembling middle-class man and the small capitalist, he sees nothing at which to be frightened. he likes the trust. he exults in the trust, for it is largely doing the task for him. it socializes production; this done, there remains nothing for him to do but socialize distribution, and all is accomplished. the trust? "it organizes industry on an enormous, labor-saving scale, and abolishes childish, wasteful competition." it is a gigantic object lesson, and it preaches his political economy far more potently than he can preach it. he points to the trust, laughing scornfully in the face of the orthodox economists. "you told me this thing could not be," {12} he thunders. "behold, the thing is!"
-he sees competition in the realm of production passing away. when the captains of industry have thoroughly organized production, and got everything running smoothly, it will be very easy for him to eliminate the profits by stepping in and having the thing run for himself. and the captain of industry, if he be good, may be given the privilege of continuing the management on a fair salary. the sixty millions of dividends which the standard oil company annually declares will be distributed among the workers. the same with the great united states steel corporation. the president of that corporation knows his business. very good. let him become secretary of the department of iron and steel of the united states. but, since the chief executive of a nation of seventy-odd millions works for $50,000 a year, the secretary of the department of iron and steel must expect to have his salary cut accordingly. and not only will the workers take to themselves the profits of national and municipal monopolies, but also the immense revenues which the dominant classes today draw from rents, and mines, and factories, and all manner of enterprises.
-all this would seem very like a dream, even to the worker, if it were not for the fact that like things have been done before. he points triumphantly to the aristocrat of the eighteenth century, who fought, legislated, governed, and dominated society, but who was shorn of power and displaced by the rising bourgeoisie. ay, the thing was done, he holds. and it shall be done again, but this time it is the proletariat who does the shearing. sociology has taught him that m-i-g-h-t spells "right." every society has been ruled by classes, and the classes have ruled by sheer strength, and have been overthrown by sheer strength. the bourgeoisie, because it was the stronger, dragged down the nobility of the sword; and the proletariat, because it is the strongest of all, can and will drag down the bourgeoisie.
-and in that day, for better or worse, the common man becomes the master--for better, he believes. it is his intention to make the sum of human happiness far greater. no man shall work for a bare living wage, which is degradation. every man shall have work to do, and shall be paid exceedingly well for doing it. there shall be no slum classes, no beggars. nor shall there be hundreds of thousands of men and women condemned, for economic reasons, to lives of celibacy or sexual infertility. every man shall be able to marry, to live in healthy, comfortable quarters, and to have all he wants to eat as many times a day as he wishes. there shall no longer be a life-and-death struggle for food and shelter. the old heartless law of development shall be annulled.
-all of which is very good and very fine. and when these things have come to pass, what then? of old, by virtue of their weakness and inefficiency in the struggle for food and shelter, the race was purged of its weak and inefficient members. but this will no longer obtain. under the new order the weak and the progeny of the weak will have a chance for survival equal to that of the strong and the progeny of the strong. this being so, the premium upon strength will have been withdrawn, and on the face of it the average strength of each generation, instead of continuing to rise, will begin to decline.
-when the common man's day shall have arrived, the new social institutions of that day will prevent the weeding out of weakness and inefficiency. all, the weak and the strong, will have an equal chance for procreation. and the progeny of all, of the weak as well as the strong, will have an equal chance for survival. this being so, and if no new effective law of development be put into operation, then progress must cease. and not only progress, for deterioration would at once set in. it is a pregnant problem. what will be the nature of this new and most necessary law of development? can the common man pause long enough from his undermining labors to answer? since he is bent upon dragging down the bourgeoisie and reconstructing society, can he so reconstruct that a premium, in some unguessed way or other, will still be laid upon the strong and efficient so that the human type will continue to develop? can the common man, or the uncommon men who are allied with him, devise such a law? or have they already devised one? and if so, what is it?
-how i became a socialist
-it is quite fair to say that i became a socialist in a fashion somewhat similar to the way in which the teutonic pagans became christians--it was hammered into me. not only was i not looking for socialism at the time of my conversion, but i was fighting it. i was very young and callow, did not know much of anything, and though i had never even heard of a school called "individualism," i sang the paean of the strong with all my heart.
-this was because i was strong myself. by strong i mean that i had good health and hard muscles, both of which possessions are easily accounted for. i had lived my childhood on california ranches, my boyhood hustling newspapers on the streets of a healthy western city, and my youth on the ozone-laden waters of san francisco bay and the pacific ocean. i loved life in the open, and i toiled in the open, at the hardest kinds of work. learning no trade, but drifting along from job to job, i looked on the world and called it good, every bit of it. let me repeat, this optimism was because i was healthy and strong, bothered with neither aches nor weaknesses, never turned down by the boss because i did not look fit, able always to get a job at shovelling coal, sailorizing, or manual labor of some sort.
-and because of all this, exulting in my young life, able to hold my own at work or fight, i was a rampant individualist. it was very natural. i was a winner. wherefore i called the game, as i saw it played, or thought i saw it played, a very proper game for men. to be a man was to write man in large capitals on my heart. to adventure like a man, and fight like a man, and do a man's work (even for a boy's pay)--these were things that reached right in and gripped hold of me as no other thing could. and i looked ahead into long vistas of a hazy and interminable future, into which, playing what i conceived to be man's game, i should continue to travel with unfailing health, without accidents, and with muscles ever vigorous. as i say, this future was interminable. i could see myself only raging through life without end like one of nietzsche's blond-beasts, lustfully roving and conquering by sheer superiority and strength.
-as for the unfortunates, the sick, and ailing, and old, and maimed, i must confess i hardly thought of them at all, save that i vaguely felt that they, barring accidents, could be as good as i if they wanted to real hard, and could work just as well. accidents? well, they represented fate, also spelled out in capitals, and there was no getting around fate. napoleon had had an accident at waterloo, but that did not dampen my desire to be another and later napoleon. further, the optimism bred of a stomach which could digest scrap iron and a body which flourished on hardships did not permit me to consider accidents as even remotely related to my glorious personality.
-i hope i have made it clear that i was proud to be one of nature's strong-armed noblemen. the dignity of labor was to me the most impressive thing in the world. without having read carlyle, or kipling, i formulated a gospel of work which put theirs in the shade. work was everything. it was sanctification and salvation. the pride i took in a hard day's work well done would be inconceivable to you. it is almost inconceivable to me as i look back upon it. i was as faithful a wage slave as ever capitalist exploited. to shirk or malinger on the man who paid me my wages was a sin, first, against myself, and second, against him. i considered it a crime second only to treason and just about as bad.
-in short, my joyous individualism was dominated by the orthodox bourgeois ethics. i read the bourgeois papers, listened to the bourgeois preachers, and shouted at the sonorous platitudes of the bourgeois politicians. and i doubt not, if other events had not changed my career, that i should have evolved into a professional strike-breaker, (one of president eliot's american heroes), and had my head and my earning power irrevocably smashed by a club in the hands of some militant trades-unionist.
-just about this time, returning from a seven months' voyage before the mast, and just turned eighteen, i took it into my head to go tramping. on rods and blind baggages i fought my way from the open west where men bucked big and the job hunted the man, to the congested labor centres of the east, where men were small potatoes and hunted the job for all they were worth. and on this new blond-beast adventure i found myself looking upon life from a new and totally different angle. i had dropped down from the proletariat into what sociologists love to call the "submerged tenth," and i was startled to discover the way in which that submerged tenth was recruited.
-i found there all sorts of men, many of whom had once been as good as myself and just as blond-beast; sailor-men, soldier-men, labor-men, all wrenched and distorted and twisted out of shape by toil and hardship and accident, and cast adrift by their masters like so many old horses. i battered on the drag and slammed back gates with them, or shivered with them in box cars and city parks, listening the while to life-histories which began under auspices as fair as mine, with digestions and bodies equal to and better than mine, and which ended there before my eyes in the shambles at the bottom of the social pit.
-and as i listened my brain began to work. the woman of the streets and the man of the gutter drew very close to me. i saw the picture of the social pit as vividly as though it were a concrete thing, and at the bottom of the pit i saw them, myself above them, not far, and hanging on to the slippery wall by main strength and sweat. and i confess a terror seized me. what when my strength failed? when i should be unable to work shoulder to shoulder with the strong men who were as yet babes unborn? and there and then i swore a great oath. it ran something like this: all my days i have worked hard with my body, and according to the number of days i have worked, by just that much am i nearer the bottom of the pit. i shall climb out of the pit, but not by the muscles of my body shall i climb out. i shall do no more hard work, and may god strike me dead if i do another day's hard work with my body more than i absolutely have to do. and i have been busy ever since running away from hard work.
-incidentally, while tramping some ten thousand miles through the united states and canada, i strayed into niagara falls, was nabbed by a fee-hunting constable, denied the right to plead guilty or not guilty, sentenced out of hand to thirty days' imprisonment for having no fixed abode and no visible means of support, handcuffed and chained to a bunch of men similarly circumstanced, carted down country to buffalo, registered at the erie county penitentiary, had my head clipped and my budding mustache shaved, was dressed in convict stripes, compulsorily vaccinated by a medical student who practised on such as we, made to march the lock-step, and put to work under the eyes of guards armed with winchester rifles--all for adventuring in blond-beastly fashion. concerning further details deponent sayeth not, though he may hint that some of his plethoric national patriotism simmered down and leaked out of the bottom of his soul somewhere--at least, since that experience he finds that he cares more for men and women and little children than for imaginary geographical lines.
-to return to my conversion. i think it is apparent that my rampant individualism was pretty effectively hammered out of me, and something else as effectively hammered in. but, just as i had been an individualist without knowing it, i was now a socialist without knowing it, withal, an unscientific one. i had been reborn, but not renamed, and i was running around to find out what manner of thing i was. i ran back to california and opened the books. i do not remember which ones i opened first. it is an unimportant detail anyway. i was already it, whatever it was, and by aid of the books i discovered that it was a socialist. since that day i have opened many books, but no economic argument, no lucid demonstration of the logic and inevitableness of socialism affects me as profoundly and convincingly as i was affected on the day when i first saw the walls of the social pit rise around me and felt myself slipping down, down, into the shambles at the bottom.
-{1} "from 43 to 52 per cent of all applicants need work rather than relief."--report of the charity organization society of new york city.
-{2} mr. leiter, who owns a coal mine at the town of zeigler, illinois, in an interview printed in the chicago record-herald of december 6, 1904, said: "when i go into the market to purchase labor, i propose to retain just as much freedom as does a purchaser in any other kind of a market. . . . there is no difficulty whatever in obtaining labor, for the country is full of unemployed men."
-{3} "despondent and weary with vain attempts to struggle against an unsympathetic world, two old men were brought before police judge mchugh this afternoon to see whether some means could not be provided for their support, at least until springtime.
-"george westlake was the first one to receive the consideration of the court. westlake is seventy-two years old. a charge of habitual drunkenness was placed against him, and he was sentenced to a term in the county jail, though it is more than probable that he was never under the influence of intoxicating liquor in his life. the act on the part of the authorities was one of kindness for him, as in the county jail he will be provided with a good place to sleep and plenty to eat.
-"joe coat, aged sixty-nine years, will serve ninety days in the county jail for much the same reason as westlake. he states that, if given a chance to do so, he will go out to a wood-camp and cut timber during the winter, but the police authorities realize that he could not long survive such a task."--from the butte (montana) miner, december 7th, 1904.
-"'i end my life because i have reached the age limit, and there is no place for me in this world. please notify my wife, no. 222 west 129th street, new york.' having summed up the cause of his despondency in this final message, james hollander, fifty-six years old, shot himself through the left temple, in his room at the stafford hotel today."--new york herald.
-{4} in the san francisco examiner of november 16, 1904, there is an account of the use of fire-hose to drive away three hundred men who wanted work at unloading a vessel in the harbor. so anxious were the men to get the two or three hours' job that they made a veritable mob and had to be driven off.
-{5} "it was no uncommon thing in these sweatshops for men to sit bent over a sewing-machine continuously from eleven to fifteen hours a day in july weather, operating a sewing-machine by foot-power, and often so driven that they could not stop for lunch. the seasonal character of the work meant demoralizing toil for a few months in the year, and a not less demoralizing idleness for the remainder of the time. consumption, the plague of the tenements and the especial plague of the garment industry, carried off many of these workers; poor nutrition and exhaustion, many more."--from mcclure's magazine.
-{6} the social unrest. macmillan company.
-{7} "our benevolent feudalism." by w. j. ghent. the macmillan company.
-{8} "the social unrest." by john graham brooks. the macmillan company.
-{9} from figures presented by miss nellie mason auten in the american journal of sociology, and copied extensively by the trade-union and socialist press.
-{10} "the bitter cry of outcast london."
-{11} an item from the social democratic herald. hundreds of these items, culled from current happenings, are published weekly in the papers of the workers.
-{12} karl marx, the great socialist, worked out the trust development forty years ago, for which he was laughed at by the orthodox economists.
-a horse in need
-he came into the town as a solid, swiftly moving dust cloud. the wind from behind had kept the dust moving forward at a pace just equal to the gallop of his horse. not until he had brought his mount to a halt in front of the hotel and swung down to the ground did either he or his horse become distinctly visible. then it was seen that the animal was in the last stages of exhaustion, with dull eyes and hanging head and forelegs braced widely apart, while the sweat dripped steadily from his flanks into the white dust on the street. plainly he had been pushed to the last limit of his strength.
-the rider was almost as far spent as his mount, for he went up the steps of the hotel with his shoulders sagging with weariness, a wide-shouldered, gaunt-ribbed man. thick layers of dust had turned his red kerchief and his blue shirt to a common gray. dust, too, made a mask of his face, and through that mask the eyes peered out, surrounded by pink skin. even at its best the long, solemn face could never have been called handsome. but, on this particular day, he seemed a haunted man, or one fleeing from an inescapable danger.
-the two loungers at the door of the hotel instinctively stepped aside and made room for him to pass, but apparently he had no desire to enter the building. suddenly he became doubly imposing, as he stood on the veranda and stared up and down at the idlers. certainly his throat must be thick and hot with dust, but an overmastering purpose made him oblivious of thirst.
-"gents," he said huskily, while a gust of wind fanned a cloud of dust from his clothes, "is there anybody in this town can gimme a hoss to get to stillwater, inside three hours' riding?"
-he waited a moment, his hungry eyes traveling eagerly from face to face. naturally the oldest man spoke first, since this was a matter of life and death.
-"any hoss in town can get you there in that time, if you know the short way across the mountain."
-"how do you take it? that's the way for me."
-but the old fellow shook his head and smiled in pity. "not if you ain't rode it before. i used to go that way when i was a kid, but nowadays nobody rides that way except doone. that trail is as tricky as the ways of a coyote; you'd sure get lost without a guide."
-the stranger turned and followed the gesture of the speaker. the mountain rose from the very verge of the town, a ragged mass of sand and rock, with miserable sagebrush clinging here and there, as dull and uninteresting as the dust itself. then he lowered the hand from beneath which he had peered and faced about with a sigh. "i guess it ain't much good trying that way. but i got to get to stillwater inside of three hours."
-"they's one hoss in town can get you there," said the old man. "but you can't get that hoss today."
-the stranger groaned. "then i'll make another hoss stretch out and do."
-"can't be done. doone's hoss is a marvel. nothing else about here can touch him, and he's the only one that can make the trip around the mountain, inside of three hours. you'd kill another hoss trying to do it, what with your weight."
-the stranger groaned again and struck his knuckles against his forehead. "but why can't i get the hoss? is doone out of town with it?"
-"the hoss ain't out of town, but doone is."
-the traveler clenched his fists. this delay and waste of priceless time was maddening him. "gents," he called desperately, "i got to get to martindale today. it's more than life or death to me. where's doone's hoss?"
-"right across the road," said the old man who had spoken first. "over yonder in the corral--the bay."
-the traveler turned and saw, beyond the road, a beautiful mare, not very tall, but a mare whose every inch of her fifteen three proclaimed strength and speed. at that moment she raised her head and looked across to him, and the heart of the rider jumped into his throat. the very sight of her was an omen of victory, and he made a long stride in her direction, but two men came before him. the old fellow jumped from the chair and tapped his arm.
-"you ain't going to take the bay without getting leave from doone?"
-"gents, i got to," said the stranger. "listen! my name's gregg, bill gregg. up in my country they know i'm straight; down here you ain't heard of me. i ain't going to keep that hoss, and i'll pay a hundred dollars for the use of her for one day. i'll bring or send her back safe and sound, tomorrow. here's the money. one of you gents, that's a friend of doone, take it for him."
-not a hand was stretched out; every head shook in negation.
-"i'm too fond of the little life that's left to me," said the old fellow. "i won't rent out that hoss for him. why, he loves that mare like she was his sister. he'd fight like a flash rather than see another man ride her."
-but bill gregg had his eyes on the bay, and the sight of her was stealing his reason. he knew, as well as he knew that he was a man, that, once in the saddle on her, he would be sure to win. nothing could stop him. and straight through the restraining circle he broke with a groan of anxiety.
-only the old man who had been the spokesman called after him: "gregg, don't be a fool. maybe you don't recognize the name of doone, but the whole name is ronicky doone. does that mean anything to you?"
-into the back of gregg's mind came several faint memories, but they were obscure and uncertain. "blast your ronicky doone!" he replied. "i got to have that hoss, and, if none of you'll take money for her rent, i'll take her free and pay her rent when i come through this way tomorrow, maybe. s'long!"
-while he spoke he had been undoing the cinches of his own horse. now he whipped the saddle and bridle off, shouted to the hotel keeper brief instructions for the care of the weary animal and ran across the road with the saddle on his arm.
-in the corral he had no difficulty with the mare. she came straight to him in spite of all the flopping trappings. with prickly ears and eyes lighted with kindly curiosity she looked the dusty fellow over.
-he slipped the bridle over her head. when he swung the saddle over her back she merely turned her head and carelessly watched it fall. and when he drew up the cinches hard, she only stamped in mock anger. the moment he was in the saddle she tossed her head eagerly, ready to be off.
-he looked across the street to the veranda of the hotel, as he passed through the gate of the corral. the men were standing in a long and awe-stricken line, their eyes wide, their mouths agape. whoever ronicky doone might be, he was certainly a man who had won the respect of this town. the men on the veranda looked at bill gregg as though he were already a ghost. he waved his hand defiantly at them and the mare, at a word from him, sprang into a long-striding gallop that whirled them rapidly down the street and out of the village.
-the bay mare carried him with amazing speed over the ground. they rounded the base of the big mountain, and, glancing up at the ragged canyons which chopped the face of the peak, he was glad that he had not attempted that short cut. if ronicky doone could make that trail he was a skillful horseman.
-bill gregg swung up over the left shoulder of the mountain and found himself looking down on the wide plain which held stillwater. the air was crystal-clear and dry; the shoulder of the mountain was high above it; gregg saw a breathless stretch of the cattle country at one sweep of his eyes.
-stillwater was still a long way off, and far away across the plain he saw a tiny moving dot that grew slowly. it was the train heading for stillwater, and that train he must beat to the station. for a moment his heart stood still; then he saw that the train was distant indeed, and, by the slightest use of the mare's speed, he would be able to reach the town, two or three minutes ahead of it.
-he looked at her head. it was thrown high, with pricking ears. perhaps she was frightened by some foolish thing near the road. he touched her with the spurs, and she increased her pace to the old length and ease of stride; but, just as he had begun to be reassured, her step shortened and fell to laboring again, and this time she threw her head higher than before. it was amazing to bill gregg; and then it seemed to him that he heard a faint, far whistling, floating down from high above his head.
-again that thin, long-drawn sound, and this time, glancing over his right shoulder, he saw a horseman plunging down the slope of the mountain. he knew instantly that it was ronicky doone. the man had come to recapture his horse and had taken the short cut across the mountain to come up with her. just by a fraction of a minute doone would be too late, for, by the time he came down onto the trail, the bay would be well ahead, and certainly no horse lived in those mountains capable of overtaking her when she felt like running. gregg touched her again with the spurs, but this time she reared straight up and, whirling to the side, faced steadily toward her onrushing master.
-again and again gregg spurred the bay cruelly.
-she winced from the pain and snorted, but, apparently having not the slightest knowledge of bucking, she could only shake her head and send a ringing whinny of appeal up the slope of the mountain, toward the approaching rider.
-in spite of the approaching danger, in spite of this delay which was ruining his chances of getting to stillwater before the train, bill gregg watched in marvel and delight the horsemanship of the stranger. ronicky doone, if this were he, was certainly the prince of all wild riders.
-even as the mare stopped in answer to the signal of her owner, ronicky doone sent his mount over the edge of a veritable cliff, flung him back on his haunches and slid down the gravelly slope, careening from side to side. with a rush of pebbles about him and a dust cloud whirling after, ronicky doone broke out into the road ahead of the mare, and she whinnied softly again to greet him.
-bill gregg found himself looking not into the savage face of such a gunfighter as he had been led to expect, but a handsome fellow, several years younger than he, a high-headed, straight-eyed, buoyant type. in his seat in the saddle, in the poise of his head and the play of his hand on the reins bill gregg recognized a boundless nervous force. there was nothing ponderous about ronicky doone. indeed he was not more than middle size, but, as he reined his horse in the middle of the road and looked with flashing eyes at bill gregg, he appeared very large indeed.
-gregg was used to fighting or paying his way, or doing both at the same time, as occasion offered. he decided that this was certainly an occasion for much money and few words.
-"you're doone, i guess," he said, "and you know that i've played a pretty bad trick on you, taking your hoss this way. but i wanted to pay for it, doone, and i'll pay now. i've got to get to stillwater before that train. look at her! i haven't hurt her any. her wind isn't touched. she's pretty wet, but sweat never hurt nothing on four feet, eh?"
-"i dunno," returned ronicky doone. "i'd as soon run off with a man's wife as his hoss."
-"partner," said bill gregg desperately, "i have to get there!"
-"then get there on your own feet, not the feet of another gent's hoss."
-gregg controlled his rising anger. beyond him the train was looming larger and larger in the plain, and stillwater seemed more and more distant. he writhed in the saddle.
-"i tell you i'll pay--i'll pay the whole value of the hoss, if you want."
-he was about to say more when he saw the eyes of ronicky doone widen and fix.
-"look," said the other suddenly, "you've been cutting her up with the spurs!"
-gregg glanced down to the flank of the bay to discover that he had used the spurs more recklessly than he thought. a sharp rowel had picked through the skin, and, though it was probably only a slight wound indeed, it had brought a smear of red to the surface.
-ronicky doone trembled with anger.
-"confound you!" he said furiously. "any fool would have known that you didn't need a spur on that hoss! what part d'you come from where they teach you to kill a hoss when you ride it? can you tell me that?"
-"i'll tell you after i get to stillwater."
-"i'll see you hung before i see you in stillwater."
-"you've talked too much, doone," gregg said huskily.
-"i've just begun," said doone.
-"then take this and shut up," exclaimed bill gregg.
-that swerve to the side saved him, doubtless, from the shot of gregg; his own bullet plowed cleanly through the thigh of the other rider. the whole leg of gregg went numb, and he found himself slumping helplessly to one side. he dropped his gun, and he had to cling with both hands to lower himself out of the saddle. now he sat in the dust of the trail and stared stupidly, not at his conqueror, but at the train that was flashing into the little town of stillwater, just below them.
-he hardly heeded ronicky doone, as the latter started forward with an oath, knelt beside him and examined the wound. "it's clean," doone said, as he started ripping up his undershirt to make bandages. "i'll have you fixed so you can be gotten into stillwater."
-he began to work rapidly, twisting the clothes around gregg's thigh, which he had first laid bare by some dexterous use of a hunting knife.
-then gregg turned his eyes to those of doone. the train had pulled out of stillwater. the sound of the coughing of the engine, as it started up, came faintly to them after a moment.
-"of all the darned fools!" said the two men in one voice.
-and then they grinned at each other. certainly it was not the first fight or the first wound for either of them.
-"i'm sorry," they began again, speaking together in chorus.
-"matter of fact," said ronicky doone, "that bay means a pile to me. when i seen the red on her side--"
-"can't be more than a chance prick."
-"i know," said ronicky, "but i didn't stop to think."
-"and i should of give you fair warning before i went for the gat."
-"look here," said ronicky, "you talk like a straight sort of a gent to me."
-"and you thought i was a cross between a hoss thief and a gunfighter?"
-"i dunno what i thought, except that i wanted the mare back. stranger, i'm no end sorry this has happened. maybe you'd lemme know why you was in such a hurry to get to stillwater. if they's any trouble coming down the road behind you, maybe i can help take care of it for you." and he smiled coldly and significantly at bill gregg.
-the latter eyed with some wonder the man who had just shot him down and was now offering to fight for his safety. "nothing like that," said bill. "i was going to stillwater to meet a girl."
-"as much of a rush as all that to see a girl?"
-"on that train."
-ronicky doone whistled softly. "and i messed it up! but why didn't you tell me what you wanted?"
-"i didn't have a chance. besides i could not waste time in talking and explaining to everybody along the road."
-"sure you couldn't, but the girl'll forgive you when she finds out what happened."
-"no, she won't, because she'll never find out."
-"i don't know where she is."
-"riding all that way just to see a girl--"
-twenty minutes after ronicky doone had swung into the saddle and raced down the road, the buckboard arrived and the wounded man was helped on to a pile of blankets in the body of the wagon.
-the shooting, of course, was explained by the inevitable gun accident. ronicky doone happened to be passing along that way and saw bill gregg looking over his revolver as he rode along. at that moment the gun exploded and--
-the two men who had come out in the buckboard listened to the tale with expressionless faces. as a matter of fact they had already heard in stillwater that no less a person than ronicky doone was on his way toward that village in pursuit of a man who had ridden off on the famous bay mare, lou. but they accepted ronicky's bland version of the accident with perfect calm and with many expressions of sympathy. they would have other things to say after they had deposited the wounded man in stillwater.
-the trip in was a painful one for bill gregg. for one thing the exhaustion of the long three days' trip was now causing a wave of weariness to sweep over him. the numbness, which had come through the leg immediately after the shooting, was now replaced by a steady and continued aching. and more than all he was unnerved by the sense of utter failure, utter loss. never in his life had he fought so bitterly and steadily for a thing, and yet he had lost at the very verge of success.
-the true story was, of course, known almost at once, but, since ronicky doone swore that he would tackle the first man who accused him of having shot down bill gregg, the talk was confined to whispers. in the meantime stillwater rejoiced in its possession of ronicky doone. beyond one limited section of the mountain desert he was not as yet known, but he had one of those personalities which are called electric. whatever he did seemed greater because he, ronicky doone, had done it.
-not that he had done a great many things as yet. but there was a peculiar feeling in the air that ronicky doone was capable of great and strange performances. men older than he were willing to accept him as their leader; men younger than he idolized him.
-ronicky doone, then, the admired of all beholders, is leaning in the doorway of stillwater's second and best hotel. his bandanna today is a terrific yellow, set off with crimson half-moon and stars strewn liberally on it. his shirt is merely white, but it is given some significance by having nearly half of a red silk handkerchief falling out of the breast pocket. his sombrero is one of those works of art which mexican families pass from father to son, only his was new and had not yet received that limp effect of age. and, like the gaudiest mexican head piece, the band of this sombrero was of purest gold, beaten into the forms of various saints. ronicky doone knew nothing at all about saints, but he approved very much of the animation of the martyrdom scenes and felt reasonably sure that his hatband could not be improved upon in the entire length and breadth of stillwater, and the young men of the town agreed with him, to say nothing of the girls.
-they also admired his riding gloves which, a strange affectation in a country of buckskin, were always the softest and the smoothest and the most comfortable kid that could be obtained.
-truth to tell, he did not handle a rope. he could not tell the noose end of a lariat from the straight end, hardly. neither did ronicky doone know the slightest thing about barbed wire, except how to cut it when he wished to ride through. let us look closely at the hands themselves, as ronicky stands in the door of the hotel and stares at the people walking by. for he has taken off his gloves and he now rolls a cigarette.
-they are very long hands. the fingers are extremely slender and tapering. the wrists are round and almost as innocent of sinews as the wrists of a woman, save when he grips something, and then how they stand out. but, most remarkable of all, the skin of the palms of those hands is amazingly soft. it is truly as soft as the skin of the hand of a girl.
-there were some who shook their heads when they saw those hands. there were some who inferred that ronicky doone was little better than a scapegrace, and that, in reality, he had never done a better or more useful thing than handle cards and swing a revolver. in both of which arts it was admitted that he was incredibly dexterous. as a matter of fact, since there was no estate from which he drew an income, and since he had never been known in the entire history of his young life to do a single stroke of productive work of any kind, the bitter truth was that ronicky doone was no better and no worse than a common gambler.
-indeed, if to play a game of chance is to commit a sin, ronicky doone was a very great sinner. yet it should be remarked that he lacked the fine art of taking the money of other less clever fellows when they were intoxicated, and he also lacked the fine hardness of mind which enables many gamblers to enjoy taking the last cent from an opponent. also, though he knew the entire list of tricks in the repertoire of a crooked gambler, he had never been known to employ tricking. he trusted in a calm head, a quick judgment, an ability to read character. and, though he occasionally met with crooked professionals who were wolves in the guise of sheep, no one had ever been known to play more than one crooked trick at cards when playing against ronicky doone. so, on the whole, he made a very good living.
-what he had he gave or threw away in wild spending or loaned to friends, of whom he had a vast number. all of which goes to explain the soft hands of ronicky doone and his nervous, swift-moving fingers, as he stood at the door of the hotel. for he who plays long with cards or dice begins to have a special sense developed in the tips of his fingers, so that they seem to be independent intelligences.
-he crossed his feet. his boots were the finest leather, bench-made by the best of bootmakers, and they fitted the high-arched instep with the elastic smoothness of gloves. the man of the mountain desert dresses the extremities and cares not at all for the mid sections. the moment doone was off his horse those boots had to be dressed and rubbed and polished to softness and brightness before this luxurious gambler would walk about town. from the heels of the boots extended a long pair of spurs--surely a very great vanity, for never in her life had his beautiful mare, lou, needed even the touch of a spur.
-but ronicky doone could not give up this touch of luxury. the spurs were plated heavily with gold, and they swept up and out in a long, exquisite curve, the hub of the rowel set with diamonds.
-in a word ronicky doone was a dandy, but he had this peculiarity, that he seemed to dress to please himself rather than the rest of the world. his glances never roved about taking account of the admiration of others. as he leaned there in the door of the hotel he was the type of the young, happy, genuine and carefree fellow, whose mind is no heavier with a thousand dollars or a thousand cents in his pocket.
-"and how's the sick feller coming?" asked harding.
-"coming fine," answered ronicky. "couple of days and i'll have him out for a little exercise. lucky thing it was a clean wound and didn't nick the bone. soon as it's healed over he'll never know he was plugged."
-harding considered his young friend with twinkling eyes. "queer thing to me," he said, "is how you and this gent gregg have hit it off so well together. might almost say it was like you'd shot gregg and now was trying to make up for it. but, of course, that ain't the truth."
-"of course not," said ronicky gravely and met the eye of harding without faltering.
-"another queer thing," went on the cunning old smith. "he was fooling with that gun while he was in the saddle, which just means that the muzzle must of been pretty close to his skin. but there wasn't any sign of a powder burn, the doc says."
-"but his trousers was pretty bad burned, i guess," said ronicky.
-"h-m," said the blacksmith, "that's the first time i've heard about it." he went on more seriously: "i got something to tell you, ronicky. ever hear the story about the gent that took pity on the snake that was stiff with cold and brought the snake in to warm him up beside the fire? the minute the snake come to life he sunk his fangs in the gent that had saved him."
-"meaning," said ronicky, "that, because i've done a good turn for gregg, i'd better look out for him?"
-"meaning nothing," said harding, "except that the reason the snake bit the gent was because he'd had a stone heaved at him by the same man one day and hadn't forgot it."
-but ronicky doone merely laughed and turned back toward the hotel.
-his victim's trouble
-yet he could not help pondering on the words of old harding. bill gregg had been a strange patient. he had never repeated his first offer to tell his story. he remained sullen and silent, with his brooding eyes fixed on the blank wall before him, and nothing could permanently cheer him. some inward gloom seemed to possess the man.
-the first day after the shooting he had insisted on scrawling a painfully written letter, while ronicky propped a writing board in front of him, as he lay flat on his back in the bed, but that was his only act. thereafter he remained silent and brooding. perhaps it was hatred for ronicky that was growing in him, as the sense of disappointment increased, for ronicky, after all, had kept him from reaching that girl when the train passed through stillwater. perhaps, for all ronicky knew, his bullet had ruined the happiness of two lives. he shrugged that disagreeable thought away, and, reaching the hotel, he went straight up to the room of the sick man.
-"bill," he said gently, "have you been spending all your time hating me? is that what keeps you thin and glum? is it because you sit here all day blaming me for all the things that have happened to you?"
-the dark flush and the uneasy flicker of gregg's glance gave a sufficient answer. ronicky doone sighed and shook his head, but not in anger.
-"you don't have to talk," he said. "i see that i'm right. and i don't blame you, bill, because, maybe, i've spoiled things pretty generally for you."
-at first the silence of bill gregg admitted that he felt the same way about the matter, yet he finally said aloud: "i don't blame you. maybe you thought i was a hoss thief. but the thing is done, ronicky, and it won't never be undone!"
-"gregg," said ronicky, "d'you know what you're going to do now?"
-"you're going to sit there and roll a cigarette and tell me the whole yarn. you ain't through with this little chase. not if i have to drag you along with me. but first just figure that i'm your older brother or something like that and get rid of the whole yarn. got to have the ore specimens before you can assay 'em. besides, it'll help you a pile to get the poison out of your system. if you feel like cussing me hearty when the time comes go ahead and cuss, but i got to hear that story."
-"maybe it would help," said gregg, "but it's a fool story to tell."
-"leave that to me to say whether it's a fool story or not. you start the talking."
-gregg shifted himself to a more comfortable position, as is the immemorial custom of story tellers, and his glance misted a little with the flood of recollections.
-"meantime i got pretty weary of them same mountains, staring me in the face all the time. i didn't have even a dog with me for conversation, so i got to thinking. thinking is a bad thing, mostly, don't you agree, ronicky?"
-"it sure is," replied ronicky doone instantly. "not a bit of a doubt about it."
-"it starts you doubting things," went on gregg bitterly, "and pretty soon you're even doubting yourself." here he cast an envious glance at the smooth brow of his companion. "but i guess that never happened to you, ronicky?"
-"you'd be surprised if i told you," said ronicky.
-"well," went on bill gregg, "i got so darned tired of my own thoughts and of myself that i decided something had ought to be done; something to give me new things to think about. so i sat down and went over the whole deal.
-"i had to get new ideas. then i thought of what a gent had told me once. he'd got pretty interested in mining and figured he wanted to know all about how the fancy things was done. so he sent off to some correspondence schools. well, they're a great bunch. they say: 'write us a lot of letters and ask us your questions. before you're through you'll know something you want to know.' see?"
-"i didn't have anything special i wanted to learn except how to use myself for company when i got tired of solitaire. so i sat down and wrote to this here correspondence school and says: 'i want to do something interesting. how d'you figure that i had better begin?' and what d'you think they answered back?"
-"i dunno," said ronicky, his interest steadily increasing.
-"well, sir, the first thing they wrote back was: 'we have your letter and think that in the first place you had better learn how to write.' that was a queer answer, wasn't it?"
-"it sure was." ronicky swallowed a smile.
-"every time i looked at that letter it sure made me plumb mad. and i looked at it a hundred times a day and come near tearing it up every time. but i didn't," continued bill.
-"because it was a woman that wrote it. i told by the hand, after a while!"
-"a woman? go on, bill. this story sure sounds different from most."
-"it ain't even started to get different yet," said bill gloomily. "well, that letter made me so plumb mad that i sat down and wrote everything i could think of that a gent would say to a girl to let her know what i thought about her. and what d'you think happened?"
-"she wrote you back the prettiest letter you ever seen," suggested ronicky, "saying as how she'd never meant to make you mad and that if you--"
-"say," broke in bill gregg, "did i show that letter to you?"
-"nope; i just was guessing at what a lot of women would do. you see?"
-"no, i don't. i could never figure them as close as that. anyway that's the thing she done, right enough. she writes me a letter that was smooth as oil and suggests that i go on with a composition course to learn how to write."
-"going to have you do books, bill?"
-"i ain't a plumb fool, ronicky. but i thought it wouldn't do me no harm to unlimber my pen and fire out a few words a day. so i done it. i started writing what they told me to write about, the things that was around me, with a lot of lessons about how you can't use the same word twice on one page, and how terrible bad it is to use too many passive verbs."
-"what's a passive verb, bill?"
-"i didn't never figure it out, exactly. however, it seems like they're something that slows you up the way a muddy road slows up a hoss. and then she begun talking about the mountains, and then she begun asking--
-"about you!" suggested ronicky with a grin.
-"confound you," said bill gregg. "how come you guessed that?"
-"i dunno. i just sort of scented what was coming."
-"well, anyways, that's what she done. and pretty soon she sent me a snapshot of herself. well--"
-"lemme see it," said ronicky doone calmly.
-"i dunno just where it is, maybe," replied bill gregg.
-"ill tell you. it's right around your neck, in that nugget locket you wear there."
-for a moment bill gregg hated the other with his eyes, and then he submitted with a sheepish grin, took off the locket, which was made of one big nugget rudely beaten into shape, and opened it for the benefit of ronicky doone. it showed the latter not a beautiful face, but a pretty one with a touch of honesty and pride that made her charming.
-"well, as soon as i got that picture," said bill gregg, as he took back the locket, "i sure got excited. looked to me like that girl was made for me. a lot finer than i could ever be, you see, but simple; no fancy frills, no raving beauty, maybe, but darned easy to look at.
-"first thing i done i went in and got a copy of my face made and rushed it right back at her and then--" he stopped dolefully. "what d'you think, ronicky?"
-"i dunno," said ronicky; "what happened then?"
-"nothing, not a thing. not a word came back from her to answer that letter i'd sent along."
-"maybe you didn't look rich enough to suit her, bill."
-"i thought that, and i thought it was my ugly face that might of made her change her mind. i thought of pretty near everything else that was bad about me and that she might of read in my face. sure made me sick for a long time. somebody else was correcting my lessons, and that made me sicker than ever.
-"so i sat down and wrote a letter to the head of the school and told him i'd like to get the address of that first girl. you see, i didn't even know her name. but i didn't get no answer."
-ronicky groaned. "it don't look like the best detective in the world could help you to find a girl when you don't know her name." he added gently: "but maybe she don't want you to find her?"
-"i thought that for a long time. then, a while back, i got a letter from san francisco, saying that she was coming on a train through these parts and could i be in stillwater because the train stopped there a couple of minutes. most like she thought stillwater was just sort of across the street from me. matter of fact, i jumped on a hoss, and it took me three days of breaking my neck to get near stillwater and then--" he stopped and cast a gloomy look on his companion.
-"i know," said ronicky. "then i come and spoiled the whole party. sure makes me sick to think about it."
-"and now she's plumb gone," muttered bill gregg. "i thought maybe the reason i didn't have her correcting my lessons any more was because she'd had to leave the schools and go west. so, right after i got this drilling through the leg, you remember, i wrote a letter?"
-"it was to her at the schools, but i didn't get no answer. i guess she didn't go back there after all. she's plumb gone, ronicky."
-the other was silent for a moment. "how much would you give to find her?" he asked suddenly.
-"half my life," said bill gregg solemnly.
-"then," said ronicky, "we'll make a try at it. i got an idea how we can start on the trail. i'm going to go with you, partner. i've messed up considerable, this little game of yours; now i'm going to do what i can to straighten it out. sometimes two are better than one. anyway i'm going to stick with you till you've found her or lost her for good. you see?"
-bill gregg sighed. "you're pretty straight, ronicky," he said, "but what good does it do for two gents to look for a needle in a haystack? how could we start to hit the trail?"
-"this way. we know the train that she took. maybe we could find the pullman conductor that was on it, and he might remember her. they got good memories, some of those gents. we'll start to find him, which had ought to be pretty easy."
-"ronicky, i'd never of thought of that in a million years!"
-"it ain't thinking that we want now, it's acting. when can you start with me?"
-"i'll be fit tomorrow."
-"then tomorrow we start."
-robert macklin, pullman conductor, had risen to that eminent position so early in life that the glamour of it had not yet passed away. he was large enough to have passed for a champion wrestler or a burly pugilist, and he was small enough to glory in the smallest details of his work. having at the age of thirty, through a great deal of luck and a touch of accident, secured his place, he possessed, at least, sufficient dignity to fill it.
-he was one of those rare men who carry their dignity with them past the doors of their homes. robert macklin's home, during the short intervals when he was off the trains, was in a tiny apartment. it was really one not overly large room, with a little alcove adjoining; but robert macklin had seized the opportunity to hang a curtain across the alcove, and, since it was large enough to contain a chair and a bookshelf, he referred to it always as his "library."
-he was this morning seated in his library, with his feet protruding through the curtains and resting on the foot of his bed, when the doorbell rang. he surveyed himself in his mirror before he answered it. having decided that, in his long dressing gown, he was imposing enough, he advanced to the door and slowly opened it.
-"you're mr. macklin, i guess," said the handsome man.
-"i am," said macklin, and, stepping back from his door, he invited them in with a sweeping gesture.
-there were only two chairs, but the younger of the strangers immediately made himself comfortable on the bed.
-"my name's doone," he said, "and this is mr. william gregg. we think that you have some information which we can use. mind if we fire a few questions?"
-"certainly not," said robert macklin. at the same time he began to arm himself with caution. one could never tell.
-"matter of fact," went on ronicky smoothly, lighting a tailor-made cigarette, while his companion rolled one of his own making, "we are looking for a lady who was on one of your trains. we think you may possibly remember her. here's the picture."
-and, as he passed the snapshot to the pullman conductor, he went on with the details of the date and the number of the train.
-robert macklin in the meantime studied the picture carefully. he had a keen eye for faces, but when it came to pretty faces his memory was a veritable lion. he had talked a few moments with this very girl, and she had smiled at him. the memory made robert macklin's lips twitch just a trifle, and ronicky doone saw it.
-presently the dignitary returned the picture and raised his head from thought. "it is vaguely behind my mind, something about this lady," he said. "but i'm sorry to say, gentlemen, i really don't know you and--"
-"why, don't you know us!" broke in bill gregg. "ain't my partner here just introduced us?"
-"exactly," said robert macklin. and his opinion of the two sank a full hundred points. such grammar proclaimed a ruffian.
-"you don't get his drift," ronicky was explaining to his companion. "i introduced us, but he doesn't know who i am. we should have brought along a letter of introduction." he turned to macklin. "i am mighty sorry i didn't get one," he said.
-it came to macklin for the fraction of a second that he was being mocked, but he instantly dismissed the foolish thought. even the rough fellows must be able to recognize a man when they saw one.
-"the point is," went on ronicky gently, "that my friend is very eager for important reasons to see this lady, to find her. and he doesn't even know her name." here his careful grammar gave out with a crash. "you can't beat a deal like that, eh, macklin? if you can remember anything about her, her name first, then, where she was bound, who was with her, how tall she is, the color of her eyes, we'd be glad to know anything you know. what can you do for us?"
-macklin cleared his throat thoughtfully. "gentlemen," he said gravely, "if i knew the purpose for which you are seeking the lady i--"
-"the purpose ain't to kidnap her, if that's your drift," said ronicky. "we ain't going to treat her wrong, partner. out in our part of the land they don't do it. just shake up your thoughts and see if something about that girl doesn't pop right into your head."
-robert macklin smiled and carefully shook his head. "it seems to be impossible for me to remember a thing," he asserted.
-"not even the color of her eyes?" asked ronicky, as he grinned. he went on more gravely: "i'm pretty dead sure that you do remember something about her."
-there was just the shade of a threat in the voice of this slender youngster, and robert macklin had been an amateur pugilist of much brawn and a good deal of boxing skill. he cast a wary eye on ronicky; one punch would settle that fellow. the man gregg might be a harder nut to crack, but it would not take long to finish them both. robert macklin thrust his shoulders forward.
-"friends," he said gruffly, "i don't have much time off. this is my day for rest. i have to say good-by."
-ronicky doone stood up with a yawn. "i thought so," he said to his companion. "mind the door, gregg, and see that nobody steps in and busts up my little party."
-"what are you going to do?"
-"going to argue with this gent in a way he'll understand a pile better than the chatter we've been making so far." he stepped a long light pace forward. "macklin, you know what we want to find out. will you talk?"
-a cloud of red gathered before the eyes of macklin. it was impossible that he must believe his ears, and yet the words still rang there.
-"why, curse your little rat-face!" burst out robert macklin, and, stepping in, he leaned forward with a perfect straight left.
-certainly his long vacation from boxing had not ruined his eye or stiffened his muscles. with delight he felt all the big sinews about his shoulders come into play. straight and true the big fist drove into the face of the smaller man, but robert macklin found that he had punched a hole in thin air. it was as if the very wind of the blow had brushed the head of ronicky doone to one side, and at the same time he seemed to sway and stagger forward.
-a hard lean fist struck robert macklin's body. as he gasped and doubled up, clubbing his right fist to land the blow behind the ear of ronicky doone, the latter bent back, stepped in and, rising on the toes of both feet, whipped a perfect uppercut that, in ring parlance, rang the bell.
-the result was that robert macklin, his mouth agape and his eyes dull, stood wobbling slowly from side to side.
-"here!" called ronicky to his companion at the door. "grab him on one side, and i'll take the other. he's out on his feet. get him to that chair." with gregg's assistance he dragged the bulk of the man there. macklin was still stunned.
-presently the dull eyes cleared and filled immediately with horror. big robert macklin sank limply back in the chair.
-"i've no money," he said. "i swear i haven't a cent in the place. it's in the bank, but if a check will--"
-"we don't want your money this trip," said ronicky. "we want talk, macklin. a lot of talk and a lot of true talk. understand? it's about that girl. i saw you grin when you saw the picture; you remember her well enough. now start talking, and remember this, if you lie, i'll come back here and find out and use this on you."
-the eyes of robert macklin started from his head, as his gaze concentrated on the black muzzle of the gun. he moistened his white lips and managed to gasp: "everything i know, of course. ill tell you everything, word for word. she--she--her name i mean--"
-"what's she look like?"
-"soft brown hair, blue eyes, her mouth--"
-"is a little big. that's all right. you don't have to be polite and lie. we want the truth. how big is she?"
-"about five feet and five inches, must weigh around a hundred and thirty pounds."
-"you sure are an expert on the ladies, macklin, and i'll bet you didn't miss her name?"
-"don't tell me you missed out on that!"
-"no. it was--just a minute!"
-"take your time."
-"take your time now, macklin, you're doing fine. don't get confused. get the last name right. it's the most important to us."
-"i have it, i'm sure. the whole name is caroline smith."
-there was a groan from ronicky doone and another from bill gregg.
-"that's a fine name to use for trailing a person. did she say anything more, anything about where she expected to be living in new york?"
-"i don't remember any more," said macklin sullenly, for the spot where ronicky's fist landed on his jaw was beginning to ache. "i didn't sit down and have any chats with her. she just spoke to me once in a while when i did something for her. i suppose you fellows have some crooked work on hand for her?"
-"we're bringing her good news," said ronicky calmly. "now see if you can't remember where she said she lived in new york." and he gave added point to his question by pressing the muzzle of the revolver a little closer to the throat of the pullman conductor. the latter blinked and swallowed hard.
-"the only thing i remember her saying was that she could see the east river from her window, i think."
-"and that's all you know?"
-"yes, not a thing more about her to save my life."
-"maybe what you know has saved it," said ronicky darkly.
-his victim eyed him with sullen malevolence. "maybe there'll be a new trick or two in this game before it's finished. i'll never forget you, doone, and you, gregg."
-"you haven't a thing in the world on us," replied ronicky.
-"i have the fact that you carry concealed weapons."
-"only this time."
-"always! fellows like you are as lonesome without a gun as they are without a skin."
-ronicky turned at the door and laughed back at the gloomy face, and then they were gone down the steps and into the street.
-the new york trail
-on the train to new york that night they carefully summed up their prospects and what they had gained.
-"we started at pretty near nothing," said ronicky. he was a professional optimist. "we had a picture of a girl, and we knew she was on a certain train bound east, three or four weeks ago. that's all we knew. now we know her name is caroline smith, and that she lives where she can see the east river out of her back window. i guess that narrows it down pretty close, doesn't it, bill?"
-"close?" asked bill. "close, did you say?" "well, we know the trail," said ronicky cheerily. "all we've got to do is to locate the shack that stands beside that trail. for old mountain men like us that ought to be nothing. what sort of a stream is this east river, though?"
-bill gregg looked at his companion in disgust. he had become so used to regarding doone as entirely infallible that it amazed and disheartened him to find that there was one topic so large about which ronicky knew nothing. perhaps the whole base for the good cheer of ronicky was his ignorance of everything except the mountain desert.
-"a river's a river," went on ronicky blandly. "and it's got a town beside it, and in the town there's a house that looks over the water. why, bill, she's as good as found!"
-"new york runs about a dozen miles along the shore of that river," groaned bill gregg.
-"a dozen miles!" gasped ronicky. he turned in his seat and stared at his companion. "bill, you sure are making a man-sized joke. there ain't that much city in the world. a dozen miles of houses, one right next to the other?"
-"yep, and one on top of the other. and that ain't all. start about the center of that town and swing a twenty-mile line around it, and the end of the line will be passing through houses most of the way."
-ronicky doone glared at him in positive alarm. "well," he said, "that's different."
-"it sure is. i guess we've come on a wild-goose chase, ronicky, hunting for a girl named smith that lives on the bank of the east river!" he laughed bitterly.
-"how come you know so much about new york?" asked ronicky, eager to turn the subject of conversation until he could think of something to cheer his friend.
-"books," said bill gregg.
-after that there was a long lull in the conversation. that night neither of them slept long, for every rattle and sway of the train was telling them that they were rocking along toward an impossible task. even the cheer of ronicky had broken down the next morning, and, though breakfast in the diner restored some of his confidence, he was not the man of the day before.
-"bill," he confided, on the way back to their seats from the diner, "there must be something wrong with me. what is it?"
-"i dunno," said bill. "why?"
-"people been looking at me."
-"ain't they got a right to do that?"
-"sure they have, in a way. but, when they don't seem to see you when you see them, and when they begin looking at you out of the corner of their eyes the minute you turn away, why then it seems to me that they're laughing at you, bill."
-"what they got to laugh about? i'd punch a gent in the face that laughed at me!"
-but ronicky fell into a philosophical brooding. "it can't be done, bill. you can punch a gent for cussing you, or stepping on your foot, or crowding you, or sneering at you, or talking behind your back, or for a thousand things. but back here in a crowd you can't fight a gent for laughing at you. laughing is outside the law most anywheres, bill. it's the one thing you can't answer back except with more laughing. even a dog gets sort of sick inside when you laugh at him, and a man is a pile worse. he wants to kill the gent that's laughing, and he wants to kill himself for being laughed at. well, bill, that's a good deal stronger than the way they been laughing at me, but they done enough to make me think a bit. they been looking at three things--these here spats, the red rim of my handkerchief sticking out of my pocket, and that soft gray hat, when i got it on."
-"derned if i see anything wrong with your outfit. didn't they tell you that that was the style back east, to have spats like that on?"
-"sure," said ronicky, "but maybe they didn't know, or maybe they go with some, but not with me. maybe i'm kind of too brown and outdoors looking to fit with spats and handkerchiefs like this."
-"ronicky," said bill gregg in admiration, "maybe you ain't read a pile, but you figure things out just like a book."
-their conversation was cut short by the appearance of a drift of houses, and then more and more. from the elevated line on which they ran presently they could look down on block after block of roofs packed close together, or big business structures, as they reached the uptown business sections, and finally ronicky gasped, as they plunged into utter darkness that roared past the window.
-"we go underground to the station," bill gregg explained. he was a little startled himself, but his reading had fortified him to a certain extent.
-"but is there still some more of new york?" asked ronicky humbly.
-"more? we ain't seen a corner of it!" bill's superior information made him swell like a frog in the sun. "this is kinder near one hundredth street where we dived down. new york keeps right on to first street, and then it has a lot more streets below that. but that's just the island of manhattan. all around there's a lot more. manhattan is mostly where they work. they live other places."
-it was not very long before the train slowed down to make grand central station. on the long platform ronicky surrendered his suit case to the first porter. bill gregg was much alarmed. "what'd you do that for?" he asked, securing a stronger hold on his own valise and brushing aside two or three red caps.
-"he asked me for it," explained ronicky. "i wasn't none too set on giving it to him to carry, but i hated to hurt his feelings. besides, they're all done up in uniforms. maybe this is their job."
-"but suppose that feller got away out of sight, what would you do? your brand-new pair of colts is lying away in it!"
-"he won't get out of sight none," ronicky assured his friend grimly. "i got another colt with me, and, no matter how fast he runs, a forty-five slug can run a pile faster. but come on, bill. the word in this town seems to be to keep right on moving."
-they passed under an immense, brightly lighted vault and then wriggled through the crowds in pursuit of the astonishingly agile porter. so they came out of the big station to forty-second street, where they found themselves confronted by a taxi driver and the question: "where?"
-"i dunno," said ronicky to bill. "your reading tell you anything about the hotels in this here town?"
-"not a thing," said bill, "because i never figured that i'd be fool enough to come this far away from my home diggings. but here i am, and we don't know nothing."
-"listen, partner," said ronicky to the driver. "where's a fair-to-medium place to stop at?"
-the taxi driver swallowed a smile that left a twinkle about his eyes which nothing could remove. "what kind of a place? anywhere from fifty cents to fifty bucks a night."
-"fifty dollars!" exclaimed bill gregg. "can you lay over that, ronicky? our wad won't last a week."
-"take us there," said bill gregg, and they climbed into the machine.
-the taxi turned around, shot down park avenue, darted aside into the darker streets to the east of the district and came suddenly to a halt.
-"did you foller that trail?" asked bill gregg in a chuckling whisper.
-"sure! twice to the left, then to the right, and then to the left again. i know the number of blocks, too. ain't no reason for getting rattled just because a joint is strange to us. new york may be tolerable big, but it's got men in it just like we are, and maybe a lot worse kinds."
-as they got out of the little car they saw that the taxi driver had preceded them, carrying their suit cases. they followed up a steep pitch of stairs to the first floor of the hotel, where the landing had been widened to form a little office.
-"hello, bert," said their driver. "i picked up these gentlemen at grand central. they ain't wise to the town, so i put 'em next to you. fix 'em up here?"
-"sure," said bert, lifting a huge bulk of manhood from behind the desk. he placed his fat hands on the top of it and observed his guests with a smile. "ill make you right to home here, friends. thank you, joe!"
-joe grinned, nodded and, receiving his money from bill gregg, departed down the stairs, humming. their host, in the meantime, had picked up their suit cases and led the way down a hall dimly lighted by two flickering gas jets. finally he reached a door and led them into a room where the gas had to be lighted. it showed them a cheerless apartment in spite of the red of wall paper and carpet.
-"only three bucks," said the proprietor with the air of one bestowing charity out of the fullness of his heart. "bathroom only two doors down. i guess you can't beat this layout, gents?"
-bill gregg glanced once about him and nodded.
-"you come up from the south, maybe?" asked the proprietor, lingering at the door.
-"west," said bill gregg curtly.
-"you don't say! then you boys must be used to your toddy at night, eh?"
-"it's a tolerable dry country out there," said ronicky without enthusiasm.
-"i ain't a drinking man," said gregg, "and i know you ain't, but it's sure insulting to turn down a drink in these days!"
-ronicky nodded, and presently the host returned with two glasses, rattling against a tall bottle on a tray.
-"say, when," he said, filling the glasses and keeping on, in spite of their protests, until each glass was full.
-"i guess it looks pretty good to you to see the stuff again," he said, stepping back and rubbing his hands like one warmed by the consciousness of a good deed. "it ain't very plentiful around here."
-"well," said gregg, swinging up his glass, "here's in your eye, ronicky, and here's to you, sir!"
-"wait," replied ronicky doone. "hold on a minute, bill. looks to me like you ain't drinking," he said to the proprietor.
-the fat man waved the suggestion aside. "never touch it," he assured them. "used to indulge a little in light wines and beers when the country was wet, but when it went dry the stuff didn't mean enough to me to make it worth while dodging the law. i just manage to keep a little of it around for old friends and men out of a dry country."
-"but we got a funny habit out in our country. we can't no ways drink unless the gent that's setting them out takes something himself. it ain't done that way in our part of the land," said ronicky.
-"come, come! that's a good joke. but, even if i can't be with you, boys, drink hearty."
-ronicky doone shook his head. "no joke at all," he said firmly. "matter of politeness that a lot of gents are terrible hard set on out where we come from."
-"why, ronicky," protested bill gregg, "ain't you making it a little strong? for my part i've drunk twenty times without having the gent that set 'em up touch a thing. i reckon i can do it again. here's how!"
-"wait!" declared ronicky doone. and there was a little jarring ring in his voice that arrested the hand of bill gregg in the very act of raising the glass.
-ronicky crossed the room quickly, took a glass from the washstand and, returning to the center table, poured a liberal drink of the whisky into it.
-"i dunno about my friend," he went on, almost sternly, to the bewildered hotel keeper. "i dunno about him, but some gents feel so strong about not drinking alone that they'd sooner fight. well, sir, i'm one of that kind. so i say, there's your liquor. get rid of it!"
-the fat man reached the center table and propped himself against it, gasping. his whole big body seemed to be wilting, as though in a terrific heat. "i dunno!" he murmured. "i dunno what's got into you fellers. i tell you, i never drink."
-"you lie, you fat fool!" retorted ronicky. "didn't i smell your breath?"
-bill gregg dropped his own glass on the table and hurriedly came to confront his host by the side of ronicky.
-"breath?" asked the fat man hurriedly, still gasping more and more heavily for air. "i--i may have taken a small tonic after dinner. in fact, think i did. that's all. nothing more, i assure you. i--i have to be a sober man in my work."
-"you got to make an exception this evening," said ronicky, more fiercely than ever. "i ought to make you drink all three drinks for being so slow about drinking one!"
-"three drinks!" exclaimed the fat man, trembling violently. "it--it would kill me!"
-"i think it would," said ronicky. "i swear i think it would. and maybe even one will be a sort of a shock, eh?"
-he commanded suddenly: "drink! drink that glass and clean out the last drop of it, or we'll tie you and pry your mouth open and pour the whole bottle down your throat. you understand?"
-a feeble moan came from the throat of the hotel keeper. he cast one frantic glance toward the door and a still more frantic appeal centered on ronicky doone, but the face of the latter was as cold as stone.
-"then take your own glasses, boys," he said, striving to smile, as he picked up his own drink.
-"you drink first, and you drink alone," declared ronicky. "now!"
-the movement of his hand was as ominous as if he had whipped out a revolver. the fat man tossed off the glass of whisky and then stood with a pudgy hand pressed against his breast and the upward glance of one who awaits a calamity. under the astonished eyes of bill gregg he turned pale, a sickly greenish pallor. his eyes rolled, and his hand on the table shook, and the arm that supported him sagged.
-"open the window," he said. "the air--there ain't no air. i'm choking--and--"
-"get him some water," cried bill gregg, "while i open the window."
-"stay where you are, bill."
-"but he looks like he's dying!"
-"then he's killed himself."
-"gents," began the fat man feebly and made a short step toward them. the step was uncompleted. in the middle of it he wavered, put out his arms and slumped upon his side on the floor.
-bill gregg cried out softly in astonishment and horror, but ronicky doone knelt calmly beside the fallen bulk and felt the beating of his heart.
-"he ain't dead," he said quietly, "but he'll be tolerably sick for a while. now come along with me."
-"but what's all this mean?" asked bill gregg in a whisper, as he picked up his suit case and hurried after ronicky.
-"doped booze," said ronicky curtly.
-they hurried down the stairs and came out onto the dark street. there ronicky doone dropped his suit case and dived into a dark nook beside the entrance. there was a brief struggle. he came out again, pushing a skulking figure before him, with the man's arm twisted behind his back.
-"take off this gent's hat, will you?" asked ronicky.
-bill gregg obeyed, too dumb with astonishment to think. "it's the taxi driver!" he exclaimed.
-"i thought so!" muttered ronicky. "the skunk came back here to wait till we were fixed right now. what'll we do with him?"
-"i begin to see what's come off" said bill gregg, frowning into the white, scowling face of the taxi driver. the man was like a rat, but, in spite of his fear, he did not make a sound.
-"over there!" said bill gregg, nodding toward a flight of cellar steps.
-they caught the man between them, rushed him to the steps and flung him headlong down. there was a crashing fall, groans and then silence.
-"he'll have a broken bone or two, maybe," said ronicky, peering calmly into the darkness, "but he'll live to trap somebody else, curse him!" and, picking up their suit cases again, they started to retrace their steps.
-the first clue
-they did not refer to the incidents of that odd reception in new york until they had located a small hotel for themselves, not three blocks away. it was no cheaper, but they found a pleasant room, clean and with electric lights. it was not until they had bathed and were propped up in their beds for a good-night smoke, which cow-punchers love, that bill gregg asked: "and what gave you the tip, ronicky?"
-"i dunno. in my business you got to learn to watch faces, bill. suppose you sit in at a five-handed game of poker. one gent says everything with his face, while he's picking up his cards. another gent don't say a thing, but he shows what he's got by the way he moves in his chair, or the way he opens and shuts his hands. when you said something about our wad i seen the taxi driver blink. right after that he got terrible friendly and said he could steer us to a friend of his that could put us up for the night pretty comfortable. well, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. not that i figured anything out. just was walking on my toes, ready to jump in any direction."
-as for bill gregg, he brooded for a time on what he had heard, then he shook his head and sighed. "i'd be a mighty helpless kid in this here town if i didn't have you along, ronicky," he said.
-"nope," insisted ronicky. "long as you use another gent for a sort of guide you feel kind of helpless. but, when you step off for yourself, everything is pretty easy. you just were waiting for me to take the lead, or you'd have done just as much by yourself."
-again bill gregg sighed, as he shook his head. "if this is what new york is like," he said, "we're in for a pretty bad time. and this is what they call a civilized town? great guns, they need martial law and a thousand policemen to the block to keep a gent's life and pocketbook safe in this town! first gent we meet tries to bump us off or get our wad. don't look like we're going to have much luck, ronicky."
-"we saved our hides, i guess."
-"that's about all."
-"and we learned something."
-"then i figure it was a pretty good night.
-"another thing, bill. i got an idea from that taxi gent. i figure that whole gang of taxi men are pretty sharp in the eye. what i mean is that we can tramp up and down along this here east river, and now and then we'll talk to some taxi men that do most of their work from stands in them parts of the town. maybe we can get on her trail that way. anyways, it's an opening."
-"maybe," said bill gregg dubiously. he reached under his pillow. "but i'm sure going to sleep with a gun under my head in this town!" with this remark he settled himself for repose and presently was snoring loudly.
-ronicky presented a brave face to the morning and at once started with bill gregg to tour along the east river. that first day ronicky insisted that they simply walk over the whole ground, so as to become fairly familiar with the scale of their task. they managed to make the trip before night and returned to the hotel, footsore from the hard, hot pavements. there was something unkindly and ungenerous in those pavements, it seemed to ronicky. he was discovering to his great amazement that the loneliness of the mountain desert is nothing at all compared to the loneliness of the manhattan crowd.
-two very gloomy and silent cow-punchers ate their dinner that night and went to bed early. but in the morning they began the actual work of their campaign. it was an arduous labor. it meant interviewing in every district one or two storekeepers, and asking the mail carriers for "caroline smith," and showing the picture to taxi drivers. these latter were the men, insisted ronicky, who would eventually bring them to caroline smith. "because, if they've ever drove a girl as pretty as that, they'll remember for quite a while."
-"but half of these gents ain't going to talk to us, even if they know," bill gregg protested, after he had been gruffly refused an answer a dozen times in the first morning.
-"some of 'em won't talk," admitted ronicky, "but that's probably because they don't know. take 'em by and large, most gents like to tell everything they know, and then some!"
-as a matter of fact they met with rather more help than they wanted. in spite of all their efforts to appear casual there was something too romantic in this search for a girl to remain entirely unnoticed. people whom they asked became excited and offered them a thousand suggestions. everybody, it seemed, had, somewhere, somehow, heard of a caroline smith living in his own block, and every one remembered dimly having passed a girl on the street who looked exactly like caroline smith. but they went resolutely on, running down a thousand false clues and finding at the end of each something more ludicrous than what had gone before. maiden ladies with many teeth and big glasses they found; and they discovered, at the ends of the trails on which they were advised to go, young women and old, ugly girls and pretty ones, but never any one who in the slightest degree resembled caroline smith.
-in the meantime they were working back and forth, in their progress along the east river, from the slums to the better residence districts. they bought newspapers at little stationery stores and worked up chance conversations with the clerks, particularly girl clerks, whenever they could find them.
-"because women have the eye for faces," ronicky would say, "and, if a girl like caroline smith came into the shop, she'd be remembered for a while."
-but for ten days they labored without a ghost of a success. then they noticed the taxi stands along the east side and worked them as carefully as they could, and it was on the evening of the eleventh day of the search that they reached the first clue.
-they had found a taxi drawn up before a saloon, converted into an eating place, and when they went inside they found the driver alone in the restaurant. they worked up the conversation, as they had done a hundred times before. gregg produced the picture and began showing it to ronicky.
-"maybe the lady's around here," said ronicky, "but i'm new in this part of town." he took the picture and turned to the taxi driver. "maybe you've been around this part of town and know the folks here. ever see this girl around?" and he passed the picture to the other.
-the taxi driver bowed his head over it in a close scrutiny. when he looked up his face was a blank.
-"i don't know. lemme see. i think i seen a girl like her the other day, waiting for the traffic to pass at seventy-second and broadway. yep, she sure was a ringer for this picture." he passed the picture back, and a moment later he finished his meal, paid his check and went sauntering through the door.
-"quick!" said ronicky, the moment the chauffeur had disappeared. "pay the check and come along. that fellow knows something."
-bill gregg, greatly excited, obeyed, and they hurried to the door of the place. they were in time to see the taxicab lurch away from the curb and go humming down the street, while the driver leaned out to the side and looked back.
-"he didn't see us," said ronicky confidently.
-"but what did he leave for?"
-"he's gone to tell somebody, somewhere, that we're looking for caroline smith. come on!" he stepped out to the curb and stopped a passing taxi. "follow that machine and keep a block away from it," he ordered.
-"bootlegger?" asked the taxi driver cheerily.
-"i don't know, but just drift along behind him till he stops. can you do that?"
-and, with ronicky and bill gregg installed in his machine, he started smoothly on the trail.
-straight down the cross street, under the roaring elevated tracks of second and third avenues, they passed, and on first avenue they turned and darted sharply south for a round dozen blocks, then went due east and came, to a halt after a brief run.
-"he's stopped in beekman place," said the driver, jerking open the door. "if i run in there he'll see me."
-ronicky stepped from the machine, paid him and dismissed him with a word of praise for his fine trailing. then he stepped around the corner.
-what he saw was a little street closed at both ends and only two or three blocks long. it had the serene, detached air of a village a thousand miles from any great city, with its grave rows of homely houses standing solemnly face to face. well to the left, the fifty-ninth street bridge swung its great arch across the river, and it led, ronicky knew, to long island city beyond, but here everything was cupped in the village quiet.
-the machine which they had been pursuing was drawn up on the right-hand side of the street, looking south, and, even as ronicky glanced around the corner, he saw the driver leave his seat, dart up a flight of steps and ring the bell.
-ronicky could not see who opened the door, but, after a moment of talk, the chauffeur from the car they had pursued was allowed to enter. and, as he stepped across the threshold, he drew off his cap with a touch of reverence which seemed totally out of keeping with his character as ronicky had seen it.
-"bill," he said to gregg, "we've got something. you seen him go up those steps to that house?"
-bill gregg's eyes were flashing with the excitement. "that house has somebody in it who knows caroline smith, and that somebody is excited because we're hunting for her," said bill. "maybe it holds caroline herself. who can tell that? let's go see."
-"wait till that taxi driver goes. if he'd wanted us to know about caroline he'd of told us. he doesn't want us to know and he'd maybe take it pretty much to heart if he knew we'd followed him."
-"what he thinks don't worry me none. i can tend to three like him."
-"maybe, but you couldn't handle thirty, and coyotes like him hunt in packs, always. the best fighting pair of coyotes that ever stepped wouldn't have no chance against a lofer wolf, but no lofer wolf could stand off a dozen or so of the little devils. so keep clear of these little rat-faced gents, bill. they hunt in crowds."
-presently they saw the chauffeur coming down the steps. even at that distance it could be seen that he was smiling broadly, and that he was intensely pleased with himself and the rest of the world.
-starting up his machine, he swung it around dexterously, as only new york taxi drivers can, and sped down the street by the way he had come, passing gregg and ronicky, who had flattened themselves against the fence to keep from being seen. they observed that, while he controlled the car with one hand, with the other he was examining the contents of his wallet.
-"money for him!" exclaimed ronicky, as soon as the car was out of sight around the corner. "this begins to look pretty thick, bill. because he goes and tells them that he's taken us off the trail they not only thank him, but they pay him for it. and, by the face of him, as he went by, they pay him pretty high. bill, it's easy to figure that they don't want any friend near caroline smith, and most like they don't even want us near that house."
-"i only want to go near once," said bill gregg. "i just want to find out if the girl is there."
-"go break in on 'em?"
-"break in! ronicky, that's burglary!"
-"sure it is."
-"ill just ask for caroline smith at the door."
-the irony made bill gregg stop in the very act of leaving and glance back. but he went on again resolutely and stamped up the steps to the front door of the house.
-it was opened to him almost at once by a woman, for bill's hat come off. for a moment he was explaining. then there was a pause in his gestures, as she made the reply. finally he spoke again, but was cut short by the loud banging of the door.
-bill gregg drew himself up rigidly and slowly replaced the hat on his head. if a man had turned that trick on him, a .45-caliber slug would have gone crashing through the door in search of him to teach him a westerner's opinion of such manners.
-ronicky doone could not help smiling to himself, as he saw bill gregg stump stiffly down the stairs, limping a little on his wounded leg, and come back with a grave dignity to the starting point. he was still crimson to the roots of his hair.
-"let's start," he said. "if that happens again i'll be doing a couple of murders in this here little town and getting myself hung."
-"an old hag jerked open the door after i rang the bell. i asked her nice and polite if a lady named caroline smith was in the house? 'no,' says she, 'and if she was, what's that to you?' i told her i'd come a long ways to see caroline. 'then go a long ways back without seeing caroline,' says this withered old witch, and she banged the door right in my face. man, i'm still seeing red. them words of the old woman were whips, and every one of them sure took off the hide. i used to think that old lady moore in martindale was a pretty nasty talker, but this one laid over her a mile. but we're beat, ronicky. you couldn't get by that old woman with a thousand men."
-"maybe not," said ronicky doone, "but we're going to try. did you look across the street and see a sign a while ago?"
-"side right opposite caroline's house."
-"sure. 'room to rent.'"
-"i thought so. then that's our room."
-"that's our room, partner, and right at the front window over the street one of us is going to keep watch day and night, till we make sure that caroline smith don't live in that house. is that right?"
-"that's a great idea!" he started away from the fence.
-"wait!" ronicky caught him by the shoulder and held him back. "we'll wait till night and then go and get that room. if caroline is in the house yonder, and they know we're looking for her, it's easy that she won't be allowed to come out the front of the house so long as we're perched up at the window, waiting to see her. we'll come back tonight and start waiting."
-they found that the room in the house on beekman place, opposite that which they felt covered their quarry, could be secured, and they were shown to it by a quiet old gentlewoman, found a big double room that ran across the whole length of the house. from the back it looked down on the lights glimmering on the black east river and across to the flare of brooklyn; to the left the whole arc of the fifty-ninth street bridge was exposed. in front the windows overlooked beekman place and were directly opposite, the front of the house to which the taxi driver had gone that afternoon.
-here they took up the vigil. for four hours one of the two sat with eyes never moving from the street and the windows of the house across the street; and then he left the post, and the other took it.
-it was vastly wearying work. very few vehicles came into the light of the street lamp beneath them, and every person who dismounted from one of them had to be scrutinized with painful diligence.
-once a girl, young and slender and sprightly, stepped out of a taxi, about ten o'clock at night, and ran lightly up the steps of the house. ronicky caught his friend by the shoulders and dragged him to the window. "there she is now!" he exclaimed.
-but the eye of the lover, even though the girl was in a dim light, could not he deceived. the moment he caught her profile, as she turned in opening the door, bill gregg shook his head. "that's not the one. she's all different, a pile different, ronicky."
-but nothing more happened that night, though even in the dull, ghost hours of the early morning they did not relax their vigil. but all the next day there was still no sign of caroline smith in the house across the street; no face like hers ever appeared at the windows. apparently the place was a harmless rooming house of fairly good quality. not a sign of caroline smith appeared even during the second day. by this time the nerves of the two watchers were shattered by the constant strain, and the monotonous view from the front window was beginning to madden them.
-"it's proof that she ain't yonder," said bill gregg. "here's two days gone, and not a sign of her yet. it sure means that she ain't in that house, unless she's sick in bed." and he grew pale at the thought.
-bill gregg sadly agreed that this was their last chance and they must play it to the limit. one week was decided on as a fair test. if, at the end of that time, caroline smith did not come out of the house across the street they could conclude that she did not stay there. and then there would be nothing for it but to take the first train back west.
-the third day passed and the fourth, dreary, dreary days of unfaltering vigilance on the part of the two watchers. and on the fifth morning even ronicky doone sat with his head in his hands at the window, peering through the slit between the drawn curtains which sheltered him from being observed at his spying. when he called out softly, the sound brought gregg, with one long leap out of the chair where he was sleeping, to the window. there could be no shadow of a doubt about it. there stood caroline smith in the door of the house!
-she closed the door behind her and, walking to the top of the steps, paused there and looked up and down the street.
-bill gregg groaned, snatched his hat and plunged through the door, and ronicky heard the brief thunder of his feet down the first flight of stairs, then the heavy thumps, as he raced around the landing. he was able to trace him down all the three flights of steps to the bottom.
-and so swift was that descent that, when the girl, idling down the steps across the street, came onto the sidewalk, bill gregg rushed out from the other side and ran toward her.
-they made a strange picture as they came to a halt at the same instant, the girl shrinking back in apparent fear of the man, and bill gregg stopping by that same show of fear, as though by a blow in the face. there was such a contrast between the two figures that ronicky doone might have laughed, had he not been shaking his head with sympathy for bill gregg.
-for never had the miner seemed so clumsily big and gaunt, never had his clothes seemed so unpressed and shapeless, while his soft gray hat, to which he still clung religiously, appeared hopelessly out of place in contrast with the slim prettiness of the girl. she wore a black straw hat, turned back from her face, with a single big red flower at the side of it; her dress was a tailored gray tweed. the same distinction between their clothes was in their faces, the finely modeled prettiness of her features and the big, careless chiseling of the features of bill gregg.
-ronicky doone did not wonder that, after her first fear, her gesture was one of disdain and surprise.
-bill gregg had dragged the hat from his head, and the wind lifted his long black hair and made it wild. he went a long, slow step closer to her, with both his hands outstretched.
-a strange scene for a street, and ronicky doone saw the girl flash a glance over her shoulder and back to the house from which she had just come. ronicky doone followed that glance, and he saw, all hidden save the profile of the face, a man standing at an opposite window and smiling scornfully down at that picture in the street.
-what a face it was! never in his life had ronicky doone seen a man who, in one instant, filled him with such fear and hatred, such loathing and such dread, such scorn and such terror. the nose was hooked like the nose of a bird of prey; the eyes were long and slanting like those of an oriental. the face was thin, almost fleshless, so that the bony jaw stood out like the jaw of a death's-head.
-as for the girl, the sight of that onlooker seemed to fill her with a new terror. she shrank back from bill gregg until her shoulders were almost pressed against the wall of the house. and ronicky saw her head shake, as she denied bill the right of advancing farther. still he pleaded, and still she ordered him away. finally bill gregg drew himself up and bowed to her and turned on his heel.
-the girl hesitated a moment. it seemed to ronicky, in spite of the fact that she had just driven bill gregg away, as if she were on the verge of following him to bring him back. for she made a slight outward gesture with one hand.
-if this were in her mind, however, it vanished instantly. she turned with a shudder and hurried away down the street.
-as for bill gregg he bore himself straight as a soldier and came back across the pavement, but it was the erectness of a soldier who has met with a crushing defeat and only preserves an outward resolution, while all the spirit within is crushed.
-ronicky doone turned gloomily away from the window and listened to the progress of gregg up the stairs. what a contrast between the ascent and the descent! he had literally flown down. now his heels clumped out a slow and regular death march, as he came back to the room.
-when gregg opened the door ronicky doone blinked and drew in a deep breath at the sight of the poor fellow's face. gregg had known before that he truly loved this girl whom he had never seen, but he had never dreamed what the strength of that love was. now, in the very moment of seeing his dream of the girl turned into flesh and blood, he had lost her, and there was something like death in the face of the big miner as he dropped his hat on the floor and sank into a chair.
-after that he did not move so much as a finger from the position into which he had fallen limply. his legs were twisted awkwardly, sprawling across the floor in front of him; one long arm dragged down toward the floor, as if there was no strength in it to support the weight of the labor-hardened hands; his chin was fallen against his breast.
-"h'm!" said ronicky doone. "bill, look me in the eye and tell me, man to man, that you're a liar!" he added: "can you ever be happy without her, man?"
-the cruelty of that speech made gregg flush and look up sharply. this was exactly what ronicky doone wanted.
-"i guess they ain't any use talking about that part of it," said gregg huskily.
-"ain't there? that's where you and me don't agree! why, bill, look at the way things have gone! you start out with a photograph of a girl. now you've followed her, found her name, tracked her clear across the continent and know her street address, and you've given her a chance to see your own face. ain't that something done? after you've done all that are you going to give up now? not you, bill! you're going to buck up and go ahead full steam. eh?"
-bill gregg smiled sourly. "d'you know what she said when i come rushing up and saying: 'i'm bill gregg!' d'you know what she said?"
-"'bill gregg?' she says. 'i don't remember any such name!'
-"that took the wind out of me. i only had enough left to say: 'the gent that was writing those papers to the correspondence school to you from the west, the one you sent your picture to and--'
-"'sent my picture to!' she says and looks as if the ground had opened under her feet. 'you're mad!' she says. and then she looks back over her shoulder as much as to wish she was safe back in her house!"
-"d'you know why she looked back over her shoulder?"
-"just for the reason i told you."
-"no, bill. there was a gent standing up there at a window watching her and how she acted. he's the gent that kept her from writing to you and signing her name. he's the one who's kept her in that house. he's the one that knew we were here watching all the time, that sent out the girl with exact orders how she should act if you was to come out and speak to her when you seen her! bill, what that girl told you didn't come out of her own head. it come out of the head of the gent across the way. when you turned your back on her she looked like she'd run after you and try to explain. but the fear of that fellow up in the window was too much for her, and she didn't dare. bill, to get at the girl you got to get that gent i seen grinning from the window."
-"grinning?" asked bill gregg, grinding his teeth and starting from his chair. "was the skunk laughing at me?"
-"sure! every minute."
-bill gregg groaned. "i'll smash every bone in his ugly head."
-"shake!" said ronicky doone. "that's the sort of talk i wanted to hear, and i'll help, bill. unless i'm away wrong, it'll take the best that you and me can do, working together, to put that gent down!"
-a bold venture
-but how to reach that man of the smile and the sneer, how, above all, to make sure that he was really the power controlling caroline smith, were problems which could not be solved in a moment.
-bill gregg contributed one helpful idea. "we've waited a week to see her; now that we've seen her let's keep on waiting," he said, and ronicky agreed.
-ronicky went to the window and sat alone. few of the roomers were home in the house opposite. they were out for the evening, or for dinner, at least, and the face of the building was dark and cold, the light from the street lamp glinting unevenly on the windowpanes. he had sat there staring at the old house so many hours in the past that it was beginning to be like a face to him, to be studied as one might study a human being. and the people it sheltered, the old hag who kept the door, the sneering man and caroline smith, were to the house like the thoughts behind a man's face, an inscrutable face. but, if one cannot pry behind the mask of the human, at least it is possible to enter a house and find--
-at this point in his thoughts ronicky doone rose with a quickening pulse. suppose he, alone, entered that house tonight by stealth, like a burglar, and found what he could find?
-he brushed the idea away. instantly it returned to him. the danger of the thing, and danger there certainly would be in the vicinity of him of the sardonic profile, appealed to him more and more keenly. moreover, he must go alone. the heavy-footed gregg would be a poor helpmate on such an errand of stealth.
-ronicky turned away from the window, turned back to it and looked once more at the tall front of the building opposite; then he started to get ready for the expedition.
-the preparations were simple. he put on a pair of low shoes, very light and with rubber heels. in them he could move with the softness and the speed of a cat. next he dressed in a dark-gray suit, knowing that this is the color hardest to see at night. his old felt hat he had discarded long before in favor of the prevailing style of the average new yorker. for this night expedition he put on a cap which drew easily over his ears and had a long visor, shadowing the upper part of his face. since it might be necessary to remain as invisible as possible, he obscured the last bit of white that showed in his costume, with a black neck scarf.
-then he looked in the glass. a lean face looked back at him, the eyes obscured under the cap, a stern, resolute face, with a distinct threat about it. he hardly recognized himself in the face in the glass.
-he went to his suit case and brought out his favorite revolver. it was a long and ponderous weapon to be hidden beneath his clothes, but to ronicky doone that gun was a friend well tried in many an adventure. his fingers went deftly over it. it literally fell to pieces at his touch, and he examined it cautiously and carefully in all its parts, looking to the cartridges before he assembled the weapon again. for, if it became necessary to shoot this evening, it would be necessary to shoot to kill.
-he then strolled down the street, passing the house opposite, with a close scrutiny. a narrow, paved sidewalk ran between it and the house on its right, and all the windows opening on this small court were dark. moreover, the house which was his quarry was set back several feet from the street, an indentation which would completely hide him from anyone who looked from the street. ronicky made up his mind at once. he went to the end of the block, crossed over and, turning back on the far side of the street, slipped into the opening between the houses.
-instantly he was in a dense darkness. for five stories above him the two buildings towered, shutting out the starlight. looking straight up he found only a faint reflection of the glow of the city lights in the sky.
-at last he found a cellar window. he tried it and found it locked, but a little maneuvering with his knife enabled him to turn the catch at the top of the lower sash. then he raised it slowly and leaned into the blackness. something incredibly soft, tenuous, clinging, pressed at once against his face. he started back with a shudder and brushed away the remnants of a big spider web.
-then he leaned in again. it was an intense blackness. the moment his head was in the opening the sense of listening, which is ever in a house, came to him. there were the strange, musty, underground odors which go with cellars and make men think of death.
-however, he must not stay here indefinitely. to be seen leaning in at this window was as bad as to be seen in the house itself. he slipped through the opening at once, and beneath his feet there was a soft crunching of coal. he had come directly into the bin. turning, he closed the window, for that would be a definite clue to any one who might pass down the alley.
-as he stood surrounded by that hostile silence, that evil darkness, he grew somewhat accustomed to the dimness, and he could make out not definite objects, but ghostly outlines. presently he took out the small electric torch which he carried and examined his surroundings.
-the bin had not yet received the supply of winter coal and was almost empty. he stepped out of it into a part of the basement which had been used apparently for storing articles not worth keeping, but too good to be thrown away--an american habit of thrift. several decrepit chairs and rickety cabinets and old console tables were piled together in a tangled mass. ronicky looked at them with an unaccountable shudder, as if he read in them the history of the ruin and fall and death of many an old inhabitant of this house. it seemed to his excited imagination that the man with the sneer had been the cause of all the destruction and would be the cause of more.
-he passed back through the basement quickly, eager to be out of the musty odors and his gloomy thoughts. he found the storerooms, reached the kitchen stairs and ascended at once. halfway up the stairs, the door above him suddenly opened and light poured down at him. he saw the flying figure of a cat, a broom behind it, a woman behind the broom.
-"whisht! out of here, dirty beast!"
-the cat thudded against ronicky's knee, screeched and disappeared below; the woman of the broom shaded her eyes and peered down the steps. "a queer cat!" she muttered, then slammed the door.
-it seemed certain to ronicky that she must have seen him, yet he knew that the blackness of the cellar had probably half blinded her. besides, he had drawn as far as possible to one side of the steps, and in this way she might easily have overlooked him.
-in the meantime it seemed that this way of entering the house was definitely blocked. he paused a moment to consider other plans, but, while he stayed there in thought, he heard the rattle of pans. it decided him to stay a while longer. apparently she was washing the cooking utensils, and that meant that she was near the close of her work for the evening. in fact, the rim of light, which showed between the door frame and the door, suddenly snapped out, and he heard her footsteps retreating.
-still he delayed a moment or two, for fear she might return to take something which she had forgotten. but the silence deepened above him, and voices were faintly audible toward the front of the house.
-that decided ronicky. he opened the door, blessing the well-oiled hinges which kept it from making any noise, and let a shaft from his pocket lantern flicker across the kitchen floor. the light glimmered on the newly scrubbed surface and showed him a door to his right, opening into the main part of the house.
-he passed through it at once and sighed with relief when his foot touched the carpet on the hall beyond. he noted, too, that there was no sign of a creak from the boards beneath his tread. however old that house might be, he was a noble carpenter who laid the flooring, ronicky thought, as he slipped through the semi-gloom. for there was a small hall light toward the front, and it gave him an uncertain illumination, even at the rear of the passage.
-now that he was definitely committed to the adventure he wondered more and more what he could possibly gain by it. but still he went on, and, in spite of the danger, it is doubtful if ronicky would have willingly changed places with any man in the world at that moment.
-at least there was not the slightest sense in remaining on the lower floor of the house. he slipped down the shadow of the main stairs, swiftly circled through the danger of the light of the lower hall lamp and started his ascent. still the carpet muffled every sound which he made in climbing, and the solid construction of the house did not betray him with a single creaking noise.
-he reached the first hall. this, beyond doubt, was where he would find the room of the man who sneered--the archenemy, as ronicky doone was beginning to think of him. a shiver passed through his lithe, muscular body at the thought of that meeting.
-he opened the first door to his left. it was a small closet for brooms and dust cloths and such things. determining to be methodical he went to the extreme end of the hall and tried that door. it was locked, but, while his hand was still on the knob, turning it in disappointment, a door, higher up in the house, opened and a hum of voices passed out to him. they grew louder, they turned to the staircase from the floor above and commenced to descend at a running pace. three or four men at least, there must be, by the sound, and perhaps more!
-ronicky started for the head of the stairs to make his retreat, but, just as he reached there, the party turned into the hall and confronted him.
-to flee down the stairs now would be rank folly. if there happened to be among these fellows a man of the type of him who sneered, a bullet would catch the fugitive long before he reached the bottom of the staircase. and, since he could not retreat, ronicky went slowly and steadily ahead, for, certainly, if he stood still, he would be spoken to. he would have to rely now on the very dim light in this hall and the shadow of his cap obscuring his face. if these were roomers, perhaps he would be taken for some newcomer.
-but he was hailed at once, and a hand was laid on his shoulder.
-"hello, pete. what's the dope?"
-ronicky shrugged the hand away and went on.
-"won't talk, curse him. that's because the plant went fluey."
-"maybe not; pete don't talk much, except to the old man."
-"lemme get at him," said a third voice. "beat it down to rooney's. i'm going up with pete and get what he knows."
-and, as ronicky turned onto the next flight of the stairway, he was overtaken by hurrying feet. the other two had already scurried down toward the front door of the house.
-"i got some stuff in my room, pete," said the friendly fellow who had overtaken him. "come up and have a jolt, and we can have a talk. 'lefty' and monahan think you went flop on the job, but i know better, eh? the old man always picks you for these singles; he never gives me a shot at 'em." then he added: "here we are!" and, opening a door in the first hall, he stepped to the center of the room and fumbled at a chain that broke loose and tinkled against glass; eventually he snapped on an electric light. ronicky doone saw a powerfully built, bull-necked man, with a soft hat pulled far down on his head. then the man turned.
-it was much against the grain for ronicky doone to attack a man by surprise, but necessity is a stern ruler. and the necessity which made him strike made him hit with the speed of a snapping whiplash and the weight of a sledge hammer. before the other was fully turned that iron-hard set of knuckles crashed against the base of his jaw.
-he fell without a murmur, without a struggle, ronicky catching him in his arms to break the weight of the fall. it was a complete knock-out. the dull eyes, which looked up from the floor, saw nothing. the square, rather brutal, face was relaxed as if in sleep, but here was the type of man who would recuperate with great speed.
-ronicky set about the obvious task which lay before him, as fast as he could. in the man's coat pocket he found a handkerchief which, hard knotted, would serve as a gag. the window curtain was drawn with a stout, thick cord. ronicky slashed off a convenient length of it and secured the hands and feet of his victim, before he turned the fellow on his face.
-next he went through the pockets of the unconscious man who was only now beginning to stir slightly, as life returned after that stunning blow.
-it was beginning to come to ronicky that there was a strange relation between the men of this house. here were three who apparently started out to work at night, and yet they were certainly not at all the type of night clerks or night-shift engineers or mechanics. he turned over the hand of the man he had struck down. the palm was as soft as his own.
-no, certainly not a laborer. but they were all employed by "the old man." who was he? and was there some relation between all of these and the man who sneered?
-at least ronicky determined to learn all that could be read in the pockets of his victim. there was only one thing. that was a stub-nosed, heavy automatic.
-it was enough to make ronicky doone sigh with relief. at least he had not struck some peaceful, law-abiding fellow. any man might carry a gun--ronicky himself would have been uncomfortable without some sort of weapon about him but there are guns and guns. this big, ugly automatic seemed specially designed to kill swiftly and surely.
-he was considering these deductions when a tap came on the door. ronicky groaned. had they come already to find out what kept the senseless victim so long?
-"morgan, oh, harry morgan!" called a girl's voice.
-ronicky doone started. perhaps--who could tell--this might be caroline smith herself, come to tap at the door when he was on the very verge of abandoning the adventure. suppose it were someone else?
-if he ventured out expecting to find gregg's lady and found instead quite another person--well, women screamed at the slightest provocation, and, if a woman screamed in this house, it seemed exceedingly likely that she would rouse a number of men carrying just such short-nosed, ugly automatics as that which he had just taken from the pocket of harry morgan.
-in the meantime he must answer something. he could not pretend that the room was empty, for the light must be showing around the door.
-"harry!" called the voice of the girl again. "do you hear me? come out! the chief wants you!" and she rattled the door.
-fear that she might open it and, stepping in, see the senseless figure on the floor, alarmed ronicky. he came close to the door.
-"well?" he demanded, keeping his voice deep, like the voice of harry morgan, as well as he could remember it.
-"hurry! the chief, i tell you!"
-he snapped out the light and turned resolutely to the door. he felt his faithful colt, and the feel of the butt was like the touch of a friendly hand before he opened the door.
-she was dressed in white and made a glimmering figure in the darkness of the hall, and her hair glimmered, also, almost as if it possessed a light and a life of its own. ronicky doone saw that she was a very pretty girl, indeed. yes, it must be caroline smith. the very perfume of young girlhood breathed from her, and very sharply and suddenly he wondered why he should be here to fight the battle of bill gregg in this matter--bill gregg who slept peacefully and stupidly in the room across the street!
-she had turned away, giving him only a side glance, as he came out. "i don't know what's on, something big. the chief's going to give you your big chance--with me."
-ronicky doone grunted.
-"don't do that," exclaimed the girl impatiently. "i know you think pete is the top of the world, but that doesn't mean that you can make a good imitation of him. don't do it, harry. you'll pass by yourself. you don't need a make-up, and not pete's on a bet."
-they reached the head of the stairs, and ronicky doone paused. to go down was to face the mysterious chief whom he had no doubt was the old man to whom harry morgan had already referred. in the meantime the conviction grew that this was indeed caroline smith. her free-and-easy way of talk was exactly that of a girl who might become interested in a man whom she had never seen, merely by letters.
-"i want to talk to you," said ronicky, muffling his voice. "i want to talk to you alone."
-"to me?" asked the girl, turning toward him. the light from the hall lamp below gave ronicky the faintest hint of her profile.
-"but the chief?"
-"he can wait."
-she hesitated, apparently drawn by curiosity in one direction, but stopped by another thought. "i suppose he can wait, but, if he gets stirred up about it--oh, we'll, i'll talk to you--but nothing foolish, harry. promise me that?"
-"slip into my room for a minute." she led the way a few steps down the hall, and he followed her through the door, working his mind frantically in an effort to find words with which to open his speech before she should see that he was not harry morgan and cry out to alarm the house. what should he say? something about bill gregg at once, of course. that was the thing.
-the electric light snapped on at the far side of the room. he saw a dressing table, an empire bed covered with green-figured silk, a pleasant rug on the floor, and, just as he had gathered an impression of delightful femininity from these furnishings, the girl turned from the lamp on the dressing table, and he saw--not caroline smith, but a bronze-haired beauty, as different from bill gregg's lady as day is from night.
-he was conscious then only of green-blue eyes, very wide, very bright, and lips that parted on a word and froze there in silence. the heart of ronicky doone leaped with joy; he had passed the crisis in safety. she had not cried out.
-"you're not--" he had said in the first moment.
-"i am not who?" asked the girl with amazing steadiness. but he saw her hand go back to the dressing table and open, with incredible deftness and speed, the little top drawer behind her.
-"don't do that!" said ronicky softly, but sharply. "keep your hand off that table, lady, if you don't mind."
-she hesitated a fraction of a second. in that moment she seemed to see that he was in earnest, and that it would be foolish to tamper with him.
-"stand away from that table; sit down yonder."
-again she obeyed without a word. her eyes, to be sure, flickered here and there about the room, as though they sought some means of sending a warning to her friends, or finding some escape for herself. then her glance returned to ronicky doone.
-"well," she said, as she settled in the chair. "well?"
-a world of meaning in those two small words--a world of dread controlled. he merely stared at her thoughtfully.
-"i hit the wrong trail, lady," he said quietly. "i was looking for somebody else."
-she started. "you were after--" she stopped.
-"that's right, i guess," he admitted.
-"how many of you are there?" she asked curiously, so curiously that she seemed to be forgetting the danger. "poor carry smith with a mob--" she stopped suddenly again. "what did you do to harry morgan?"
-"i left him safe and quiet," said ronicky doone.
-the girl's face hardened strangely. "what you are, and what your game is i don't know," she said. "but i'll tell you this: i'm letting you play as if you had all the cards in the deck. but you haven't. i've got one ace that'll take all your trumps. suppose i call once what'll happen to you, pal?"
-"you don't dare call," he said.
-"don't dare me," said the girl angrily. "i hate a dare worse than anything in the world, almost." for a moment her green-blue eyes were pools of light flashing angrily at him.
-into the hand of ronicky doone, with that magic speed and grace for which his fame was growing so great in the mountain desert, came the long, glimmering body of the revolver, and, holding it at the hip, he threatened her.
-she shrank back at that, gasping. for there was an utter surety about this man's handling of the weapon. the heavy gun balanced and steadied in his slim fingers, as if it were no more than a feather's weight.
-"i'm talking straight, lady," said ronicky doone. "sit down--pronto!"
-in the very act of obedience she straightened again. "it's bluff," she said. "i'm going through that door!" straight for the door she went, and ronicky doone set his teeth.
-"go back!" he commanded. he glided to the door and blocked her way, but the gun hung futile in his hand.
-"it's easy to pull a gun, eh?" said the girl, with something of a sneer. "but it takes nerve to use it. let me through this door!"
-"not in a thousand years," said ronicky.
-she laid her hand on the door and drew it back--it struck his shoulder--and ronicky gave way with a groan and stood with his head bowed. inwardly he cursed himself. doubtless she was used to men who bullied her, as if she were another man of an inferior sort. doubtless she despised him for his weakness. but, though he gritted his teeth, he could not make himself firm. those old lessons which sink into a man's soul in the west came back to him and held him. in the helpless rage which possessed him he wanted battle above all things in the world. if half a dozen men had poured through the doorway he would have rejoiced. but this one girl was enough to make him helpless.
-he looked up in amazement. she had not gone; in fact, she had closed the door slowly and stood with her back against it, staring at him in a speechless bewilderment.
-"what sort of a man are you?" asked the girl at last.
-"a fool," said ronicky slowly. "go out and round up your friends; i can't stop you."
-"no," said the girl thoughtfully, "but that was a poor bluff at stopping me."
-he nodded. and she hesitated still, watching his face closely.
-"listen to me," she said suddenly. "i have two minutes to talk to you, and i'll give you those two minutes. you can use them in getting out of the house--i'll show you a way--or you can use them to tell me just why you've come."
-in spite of himself ronicky smiled. "lady," he said, "if a rat was in a trap d'you think he'd stop very long between a chance of getting clear and a chance to tell how he come to get into the place?"
-"i have a perfectly good reason for asking," she answered. "even if you now get out of the house safely you'll try to come back later on."
-"lady," said ronicky, "do i look as plumb foolish as that?"
-"you're from the west," she said in answer to his slang.
-she considered the straight-looking honesty of his eyes. "out west," she said, "i know you men are different. not one of the men i know here would take another chance as risky as this, once they were out of it. but out there in the mountains you follow long trails, trails that haven't anything but a hope to lead you along them? isn't that so?"
-"maybe," admitted ronicky. "it's the fever out of the gold days, lady. you start out chipping rocks to find the right color; maybe you never find the right color; maybe you never find a streak of pay stuff, but you keep on trying. you're always just sort of around the corner from making a big strike."
-she nodded, smiling again, and the smiles changed her pleasantly, it seemed to ronicky doone. at first she had impressed him almost as a man, with her cold, steady eyes, but now she was all woman, indeed.
-"that's why i say that you'll come back. you won't give up with one failure. am i right?"
-he shrugged his shoulders. "i dunno. if the trail fever hits me again--maybe i would come back."
-"you started to tell me. it's because of caroline smith?"
-"you don't have to talk to me," said the girl. "as a matter of fact i shouldn't be here listening to you. but, i don't know why, i want to help you. you--you are in love with caroline?"
-"no," said ronicky.
-her expression grew grave and cold again. "then why are you here hunting for her? what do you want with her?"
-"lady," said ronicky, "i'm going to show you the whole layout of the cards. maybe you'll take what i say right to headquarters--the man that smiles--and block my game."
-"you know him?" she asked sharply.
-apparently that phrase, "the man who smiles," was enough to identify him.
-"i've seen him. i dunno what he is, i dunno what you are, lady, but i figure that you and caroline smith and everybody else in this house is under the thumb of the gent that smiles."
-her eyes darkened with a shadow of alarm. "go on," she said curtly.
-"i'm not going on to guess about what you all are. all i know is what i'm here trying to do. i'm not working for myself. i'm working for a partner."
-she started. "that's the second man, the one who stopped her on the street today?"
-"you're pretty well posted," replied ronicky. "yes, that's the one. he started after caroline smith, not even knowing her name--with just a picture of her. we found out that she lived in sight of the east river, and pretty soon we located her here."
-"and what are you hoping to do?"
-"to find her and talk to her straight from the shoulder and tell her what a pile bill has done to get to her--and a lot of other things."
-"can't he find her and tell her those things for himself?"
-"he can't talk," said ronicky. "not that i'm a pile better, but i could talk better for a friend than he could talk for himself, i figure. if things don't go right then i'll know that the trouble is with the gent with the smile."
-"and then?" asked the girl, very excited and grave.
-"i'll find him," said ronicky doone.
-"lady," he replied obliquely, "because i couldn't use a gun on a girl ain't no sign that i can't use it on a gent!"
-"i've one thing to tell you," she said, breaking in swiftly on him. "do what you want--take all the chances you care to--but, if you value your life and the life of your friend, keep away from the man who smiles."
-"i'll have a fighting chance, i guess," said ronicky quietly."
-"you'll have no chance at all. the moment he knows your hand is against him, i don't care how brave or how clever you are, you're doomed!"
-she spoke with such a passion of conviction that she flushed, and a moment later she was shivering. it might have been the draft from the window which made her gather the hazy-green mantle closer about her and glance over her shoulder; but a grim feeling came to ronicky doone that the reason why the girl trembled and her eyes grew wide, was that the mention of "the man who smiles" had brought the thought of him into the room like a breath of cold wind.
-"don't you see," she went on gently, "that i like you? it's the first and the last time that i'm going to see you, so i can talk. i know you're honest, and i know you're brave. why, i can see your whole character in the way you've stayed by your friend; and, if there's a possible way of helping you, i'll do it. but you must promise me first that you'll never cross the man with the sneer, as you call him."
-"there's a sort of a fate in it," said ronicky slowly. "i don't think i could promise. there's a chill in my bones that tells me i'm going to meet up with him one of these days."
-she gasped at that, and, stepping back from him, she appeared to be searching her mind to discover something which would finally and completely convince him. at length she found it.
-"do i look to you like a coward?" she said. "do i seem to be weak-kneed?"
-he shook his head.
-"and what will a woman fight hardest for?"
-"for the youngsters she's got," said ronicky after a moment's thought. "and, outside of that, i suppose a girl will fight the hardest to marry the gent she loves."
-"and to keep from marrying a man she doesn't love, as she'd try to keep from death?"
-"sure," said ronicky. "but these days a girl don't have to marry that way."
-"i am going to marry the man with the sneer," she said simply enough, and with dull, patient eyes she watched the face of ronicky wrinkle and grow pale, as if a heavy fist had struck him.
-"you?" he asked. "you marry him?"
-"yes," she whispered.
-"and you hate the thought of him!"
-"i--i don't know. he's kind--"
-"you hate him," insisted ronicky. "and he's to have you, that cold-eyed snake, that devil of a man?" he moved a little, and she turned toward him, smiling faintly and allowing the light to come more clearly and fully on her face. "you're meant for a king o' men, lady; you got the queen in you--it's in the lift of your head. when you find the gent you can love, why, lady, he'll be pretty near the richest man in the world!"
-the ghost of a flush bloomed in her cheeks, but her faint smile did not alter, and she seemed to be hearing him from far away. "the man with the sneer," she said at length, "will never talk to me like that, and still--i shall marry him."
-"tell me your name," said ronicky doone bluntly.
-"my name is ruth tolliver."
-"listen to me, ruth tolliver: if you was to live a thousand years, and the gent with the smile was to keep going for two thousand, it'd never come about that he could ever marry you."
-she shook her head, still watching him as from a distance.
-"if i've crossed the country and followed a hard trail and come here tonight and stuck my head in a trap, as you might say, for the sake of a gent like bill gregg--fine fellow though he is--what d'you think i would do to keep a girl like you from life-long misery?"
-and he dwelt on the last word until the girl shivered.
-"it's what it means," said ronicky doone, "life-long misery for you. and it won't happen--it can't happen."
-"are you mad--are you quite mad?" asked the girl. "what on earth have i and my affairs got to do with you? who are you?"
-"i dunno," said ronicky doone. "i suppose you might say i'm a champion of lost causes, lady. why have i got something to do with you? i'll tell you why: because, when a girl gets past being just pretty and starts in being plumb beautiful, she lays off being the business of any one gent--her father or her brother--she starts being the business of the whole world. you see? they come like that about one in ten million, and i figure you're that one, lady."
-the far away smile went out. she was looking at him now with a sort of sad wonder. "do you know what i am?" she said gravely.
-"i dunno," said ronicky, "and i don't care. what you do don't count. it's the inside that matters, and the inside of you is all right. lady, so long as i can sling a gun, and so long as my name is ronicky doone, you ain't going to marry the gent with the smile."
-if he expected an outbreak of protest from her he was mistaken. for what she said was: "ronicky doone! is that the name? ronicky doone!" then she smiled up at him. "i'm within one ace of being foolish and saying--but i won't."
-she made a gesture of brushing a mist away from her and then stepped back a little. "i'm going down to see the man with the smile, and i'm going to tell him that harry morgan is not in his room, that he didn't answer my knock, and then that i looked around through the house and didn't find him. after that i'm coming back here, ronicky doone, and i'm going to try to get an opportunity for you to talk to caroline smith."
-"i knew you'd change your mind," said ronicky doone.
-"i'll even tell you why," she said. "it isn't for your friend who's asleep, but it's to give you a chance to finish this business and come to the end of this trail and go back to your own country. because, if you stay around here long, there'll be trouble, a lot of trouble, ronicky doone. now stay here and wait for me. if anyone taps at the door, you'd better slip into that closet in the corner. will you wait?"
-"and you'll trust me?"
-"to the end of the trail, lady."
-she smiled at him again and was gone.
-now the house was perfectly hushed. he went to the window and looked down to the quiet street with all its atmosphere of some old new england village and eternal peace. it seemed impossible that in the house behind him there were--
-he caught his breath. somewhere in the house the muffled sound of a struggle rose. he ran to the door, thinking of ruth tolliver at once, and then he shrank back again, for a door was slammed open, and a voice shouted--the voice of a man: "help! harrison! lefty! jerry!"
-other voices answered far away; footfalls began to sound. ronicky doone knew that harry morgan, his victim, had at last recovered and managed to work the cords off his feet or hands, or both.
-ronicky stepped back close to the door of the closet and waited. it would mean a search, probably, this discovery that morgan had been struck down in his own room by an unknown intruder. and a search certainly would be started at once. first there was confusion, and then a clear, musical man's voice began to give orders: "harrison, take the cellar. lefty, go up to the roof. the rest of you take the rooms one by one."
-the search was on.
-"don't ask questions," was the last instruction. "when you see someone you don't know, shoot on sight, and shoot to kill. i'll do the explaining to the police--you know that. now scatter, and the man who brings him down i'll remember. quick!"
-there was a new scurry of footfalls. ronicky doone heard them approach the door of the girl's room, and he slipped into the closet. at once a cloud of soft, cool silks brushed about him, and he worked back until his shoulders had touched the wall at the back of the closet. luckily the enclosure was deep, and the clothes were hanging thickly from the racks. it was sufficient to conceal him from any careless searcher, but it would do no good if any one probed; and certainly these men were not the ones to search carelessly.
-in the meantime it was a position which made ronicky grind his teeth. to be found skulking among woman's clothes in a closet--to be dragged out and stuck in the back, no doubt, like a rat, and thrown into the river, that was an end for ronicky doone indeed!
-he was on the verge of slipping out and making a mad break for the door of the house and trying to escape by taking the men by surprise, when he heard the door of the girl's room open.
-"some ex-pugilist," he heard a man's voice saying, and he recognized it at once as belonging to him who had given the orders. he recognized, also, that it must be the man with the sneer.
-"you think he was an amateur robber and an expert prize fighter?" asked ruth tolliver.
-it seemed to ronicky doone that her voice was perfectly controlled and calm. perhaps it was her face that betrayed emotion, for after a moment of silence, the man answered.
-"what's the matter? you're as nervous as a child tonight, ruth?"
-"isn't there reason enough to make me nervous?" she demanded. "a robber--heaven knows what--running at large in the house?"
-"h'm!" murmured the man. "devilish queer that you should get so excited all at once. no, it's something else. i've trained you too well for you to go to pieces like this over nothing. what is it, ruth?"
-there was no answer. then the voice began again, silken-smooth and gentle, so gentle and kindly that ronicky doone started. "in the old days you used to keep nothing from me; we were companions, ruth. that was when you were a child. now that you are a woman, when you feel more, think more, see more, when our companionship should be like a running stream, continually bringing new things into my life, i find barriers between us. why is it, my dear?"
-still there was no answer. the pulse of ronicky doone began to quicken, as though the question had been asked him, as though he himself were fumbling for the answer.
-"let us talk more freely," went on the man. "try to open your mind to me. there are things which you dislike in me; i know it. just what those things are i cannot tell, but we must break down these foolish little barriers which are appearing more and more every day. not that i mean to intrude myself on you every moment of your life. you understand that, of course?"
-"of course," said the girl faintly.
-"and i understand perfectly that you have passed out of childhood into young womanhood, and that is a dreamy time for a girl. her body is formed at last, but her mind is only half formed. there is a pleasant mist over it. very well, i don't wish to brush the mist away. if i did that i would take half that charm away from you--that elusive incompleteness which fragonard and watteau tried to imitate, heaven knows with how little success. no, i shall always let you live your own life. all that i ask for, my dear, are certain meeting places. let us establish them before it is too late, or you will find one day that you have married an old man, and we shall have silent dinners. there is nothing more wretched than that. if it should come about, then you will begin to look on me as a jailer. and--"
-"ah," said he very tenderly, "i knew that i was feeling toward the truth. you are shrinking from me, ruth, because you feel that i am too old."
-here a hand pounded heavily on the door.
-"the idiots have found something," said the man of the sneer. "and now they have come to talk about their cleverness, like a rooster crowing over a grain of corn." he raised his voice. "come in!"
-and ronicky doone heard a panting voice a moment later exclaim: "we've got him!"
-the strange bargain
-ronicky drew his gun and waited. "good," said the man of the sneer. "go ahead."
-"it was down in the cellar that we found the first tracks. he came in through the side window and closed it after him."
-"that dropped him into the coal bin. did he get coal dust on his shoes?"
-"right; and he didn't have sense enough to wipe it off."
-"an amateur--a rank amateur! i told you!" said the man of the sneer, with satisfaction. "you followed his trail?"
-"up the stairs to the kitchen and down the hall and up to harry's room."
-"we already knew he'd gone there."
-"but he left that room again and came down the hall."
-"yes. the coal dust was pretty well wiped off by that time, but we held a light close to the carpet and got the signs of it."
-"and where did it lead?"
-"right to this room!"
-ronicky stepped from among the smooth silks and pressed close to the door of the closet, his hand on the knob. the time had almost come for one desperate attempt to escape, and he was ready to shoot to kill.
-a moment of pause had come, a pause which, in the imagination of ronicky, was filled with the approach of both the men toward the door of the closet.
-then the man of the sneer said: "that's a likely story!"
-"i can show you the tracks."
-"h'm! you fool, they simply grew dim when they got to this door. i've been here for some time. go back and tell them to hunt some more. go up to the attic and search there. that's the place an amateur would most likely hide."
-the man growled some retort and left, closing the door heavily behind him, while ronicky doone breathed freely again for the first time.
-"now," said the man of the sneer, "tell me the whole of it, ruth."
-ronicky set his teeth. had the clever devil guessed at the truth so easily? had he sent his follower away, merely to avoid having it known that a man had taken shelter in the room of the girl he loved?
-"go on," the leader was repeating. "let me hear the whole truth."
-"i--i--" stammered the girl, and she could say no more.
-the man of the sneer laughed unpleasantly. "let me help you. it was somebody you met somewhere--on the train, perhaps, and you couldn't help smiling at him, eh? you smiled so much, in fact, that he followed you and found that you had come here. the only way he could get in was by stealth. is that right? so he came in exactly that way, like a robber, but really only to keep a tryst with his lady love? a pretty story, a true romance! i begin to see why you find me such a dull fellow, my dear girl."
-"john--" began ruth tolliver, her voice shaking.
-"tush," he broke in as smoothly as ever. "let me tell the story for you and spare your blushes. when i sent you for harry morgan you found lochinvar in the very act of slugging the poor fellow. you helped him tie morgan; then you took him here to your room; although you were glad to see him, you warned him that it was dangerous to play with fire--fire being me. do i gather the drift of the story fairly well? finally you have him worked up to the right pitch. he is convinced that a retreat would be advantageous, if possible. you show him that it is possible. you point out the ledge under your window and the easy way of working to the ground. eh?"
-"yes," said the girl unevenly. "that is--"
-"ah!" murmured the man of the sneer. "you seem rather relieved that i have guessed he left the house. in that case--"
-ronicky doone had held the latch of the door turned back for some time. now he pushed it open and stepped out. he was only barely in time, for the man of the sneer was turning quickly in his direction, since there was only one hiding place in the room.
-he was brought up with a shock by the sight of ronicky's big colt, held at the hip and covering him with absolute certainty. ruth tolliver did not cry out, but every muscle in her face and body seemed to contract, as if she were preparing herself for the explosion.
-"you don't have to put up your hands," said ronicky doone, wondering at the familiarity of the face of the man of the sneer. he had brooded on it so often in the past few days that it was like the face of an old acquaintance. he knew every line in that sharp profile.
-"thank you," responded the leader, and, turning to the girl, he said coldly: "i congratulate you on your good taste. a regular apollo, my dear ruth."
-he turned back to ronicky doone. "and i suppose you have overhead our entire conversation?"
-"the whole lot of it," said ronicky, "though i wasn't playing my hand at eavesdropping. i couldn't help hearing you, partner."
-the man of the sneer looked him over leisurely. "western," he said at last, "decidedly western.
-"are you staying long in the east, my friend?"
-"i dunno," said ronicky doone, smiling faintly at the coolness of the other. "what do you think about it?"
-"meaning that i'm liable to put an end to your stay?"
-"tush, tush! i suppose ruth has filled your head with a lot of rot about what a terrible fellow i am. but i don't use poison, and i don't kill with mysterious x-rays. i am, as you see, a very quiet and ordinary sort."
-ronicky doone smiled again. "you just oblige me, partner," he replied in his own soft voice. "just stay away from the walls of the room--don't even sit down. stand right where you are."
-"you'd murder me if i took another step?" asked the man of the sneer, and a contemptuous and sardonic expression flitted across his face for the first time.
-"i'd sure blow you full of lead," said ronicky fervently. "i'd kill you like a snake, stranger, which i mostly think you are. so step light, and step quick when i talk."
-"certainly," said the other, bowing. "i am entirely at your service." he turned a little to ruth. "i see that you have a most determined cavalier. i suppose he'll instantly abduct you and sweep you away from beneath my eyes?"
-she made a vague gesture of denial.
-"go ahead," said the leader. "by the way, my name is john mark."
-"i'm doone--some call me ronicky doone."
-"i'm glad to know you, ronicky doone. i imagine that name fits you. now tell me the story of why you came to this house; of course it wasn't to see a girl!"
-"you're wrong! it was."
-"ah?" in spite of himself the face of john mark wrinkled with pain and suspicious rage.
-"i came to see a girl, and her name, i figure, is caroline smith."
-relief, wonder, and even a gleam of outright happiness shot into the eyes of john mark. "caroline? you came for that?" suddenly he laughed heartily, but there was a tremor of emotion in that laughter. the perfect torture, which had been wringing the soul of the man of the sneer, projected through the laughter.
-"i ask your pardon, my dear," said john mark to ruth. "i should have guessed. you found him; he confessed why he was here; you took pity on him--and--" he brushed a hand across his forehead and was instantly himself, calm and cool.
-"very well, then. it seems i've made an ass of myself, but i'll try to make up for it. now what about caroline? there seems to be a whole host of you westerners annoying her."
-"only one: i'm acting as his agent."
-"and what do you expect?"
-"i expect that you will send for her and tell her that she is free to go down with me--leave this house--and take a ride or a walk with me."
-"as much as that? if you have to talk to her, why not do the talking here?"
-"i dunno," replied ronicky doone. "i figure she'd think too much about you all the time."
-"the basilisk, eh?" asked john mark. "well, you are going to persuade her to go to bill gregg?"
-"you know the name, eh?"
-"yes, i have a curious stock of useless information."
-"well, you're right; i'm going to try to get her back for bill."
-"but you can't expect me to assent to that?"
-"i sure do."
-"and why? this caroline smith may be a person of great value to me."
-"i have no doubt she is, but i got a good argument."
-"what is it?"
-"the gun, partner."
-"and, if you couldn't get the girl--but see how absurd the whole thing is, ronicky doone! i send for the girl; i request her to go down with you to the street and take a walk, because you wish to talk to her. heavens, man, i can't persuade her to go with a stranger at night! surely you see that!"
-"i'll do that persuading," said ronicky doone calmly.
-"and, when you're on the streets with the girl, do you suppose i'll rest idle and let you walk away with her?"
-"once we're outside of the house, mark," said ronicky doone, "i don't ask no favors. let your men come on. all i got to say is that i come from a county where every man wears a gun and has to learn how to use it. i ain't terrible backward with the trigger finger, john mark. not that i figure on bragging, but i want you to pick good men for my trail and tell 'em to step soft. is that square?"
-"aside from certain idiosyncrasies, such as your manner of paying a call by way of a cellar window, i think you are the soul of honor, ronicky doone. now may i sit down?"
-"suppose we shake hands to bind the bargain," said ronicky. "you send for caroline smith; i'm to do the persuading to get her out of the house. we're safe to the doors of the house; the minute we step into the street, you're free to do anything you want to get either of us. will you shake on that?"
-for a moment the leader hesitated, then his fingers closed over the extended hand of ronicky doone and clamped down on them like so many steel wires contracting. at the same time a flush of excitement and fierceness passed over the face of john mark. ronicky doone, taken utterly by surprise, was at a great disadvantage. then he put the a bullet whistled directly between them, and tayoga, kneeling, fired in return. there was no doubt about his aim, as a warrior uttered the death cry, and a fierce shout of rage from a dozen throats followed. robert, imaginative, ready to flame up in a moment, exulted, not because a warrior had fallen, but because the flank attack upon his own people had been stopped in the beginning. st. luc himself would have admitted that the americans, or the english, as he would have called them, were acting wisely. the soldiers, stirred by the successful shot, showed again a great desire to fire at the black woods, but robert and the onondaga still kept them down.
-a crackling fire arose behind them, showing that the main force had engaged, and now and then the warriors uttered defiant cries. but robert had enough power of will to watch in front, sure that willet and black rifle were sufficient to guide the central defense. he observed intently the segment of the circle in front of them, and he wondered if st. luc would appear there again, but he concluded that he would not, since the failure of the attempted surprise at that point would be likely to send him back to the main force.
-"do you think they'll go away and concentrate in front?" he asked tayoga.
-"no," replied the onondaga. "they still think perhaps that they have only the soldiers from the city to meet, and they may attempt a rush."
-robert crept from soldier to soldier, cautioning every one to take shelter, and to have his rifle ready, and they, being good men, though without experience, obeyed the one who so obviously knew what he was doing. meantime the combat behind them proceeded with vigor, the shots crashing in volleys, accompanied by shouts, and once by the cry of a stricken soldier. it was evident that st. luc was now pushing the battle, and robert was quite sure the attack on the flank would soon come again.
-they did not wait much longer. the warriors suddenly leaped from the undergrowth and rushed straight toward them, a white man now in front. the light was sufficient for robert to see that the leader was not st. luc, and then without hesitation he raised his rifle and fired. the man fell, tayoga stopped the rush of a warrior, and the bullets of the soldiers wounded others. but their white leader was gone, and indians have little love for an attack upon a sheltered enemy. so the charge broke, before it was half way to the defenders, and the savages vanished in the thickets.
-the soldiers began to exult, but robert bade them reload as fast as possible, and keep well under cover. the warriors from new points would fire at every exposed head, and they could not afford to relax their caution for an instant.
-but it was a difficult task for the youthful veterans of the forest to keep the older but inexperienced men from the city under cover. they had an almost overpowering desire to see the indians who were shooting at them, and against whom they were sending their bullets. in spite of every command and entreaty a man would raise his head now and then, and one, as he did so, received a bullet between the eyes, falling back quietly, dead before he touched the ground.
-"a brave lad has been lost," whispered tayoga to robert, "but he has been an involuntary example to the rest."
-the onondaga spoke in his precise school english, but he knew what he was saying, as the soldiers now became much more cautious, and controlled their impulse to raise up for a look, after every shot. another man was wounded, but the hurt was not serious and he went on with his firing. robert, seeing that the line on the flank could be held without great difficulty, left tayoga in command, and crept back to the main force, where the bullets were coming much faster.
-two of the soldiers in the center had been slain, and three had been wounded, but captain colden had not given ground. he was sitting behind a rocky outcrop and at the suggestion of willet was giving orders to his men. oppressed at first by the ambush and weight of responsibility he was exulting now in their ability to check the savage onset. robert was quite willing to play a little to his pride and he said in the formal military manner:
-"i wish to report, sir, that all is going well on the southern flank. one of our men has been killed, but we have made it impossible for the enemy to advance there."
-"thank you, mr. lennox," said the young captain with dignity. "we have also had some success here, due chiefly to the good advice of mr. willet, and the prowess and sharpshooting of the extraordinary man whom you call black rifle. see him now!"
-he indicated a dark figure a little distance ahead, behind a clump of bushes, and, as robert looked, a jet of fire leaped from the muzzle of the man's rifle, followed almost immediately by a cry in the forest.
-"i think he has slain more of our enemies than the rest of us combined," said captain colden.
-robert shuddered a little, but those who lived on the border became used to strange things. the constant struggle for existence hardened the nerves, and terrible scenes did not dwell long in the mind. he bent forward for a better look, and a bullet cut the hair upon his forehead. he started back, feeling as if he had been seared by lightning and willet looked at him anxiously.
-"the lead burned as it passed," the lad said, "but the skin is not broken. i was guilty of the same rashness, for which i have been lecturing the men on the flank."
-"i caught a glimpse of the fellow who fired the shot," said willet. "i think it was the canadian, dubois, whom we saw with st. luc."
-"tayoga saw st. luc himself on the flank," said robert, "and so there is no doubt that he is leading the attack. the fact makes it certain that it will be carried on with persistence."
-"we shall be here, still besieged, when day comes," said the hunter. "it's lucky that the cliff protects us on one side."
-as if to disprove his assertion, all the firing stopped suddenly, and for a long time the forest was silent. fortunately they had water in their canteens, and they were able to soothe the thirst of the wounded men. they talked also of victory, and, knowing that it was only two or three hours until dawn, captain colden's spirits rose to great heights. he was sure now that the warriors, defeated, had gone away. this frenchman, st. luc, of whom they talked, might be a great partisan leader, but he would know when the price he was paying became too high, and would draw off.
-the men believed their captain, and, despite the earnest protest of the foresters, began to stir in the bushes shortly before dawn. a rifle shot came from the opposing thickets and one of them would stir no more. captain colden, appalled, was all remorse. he took the death of the man directly to himself, and told willet with emotion that all advice of his would now be taken at once.
-"let the men lie as close as they can," said the hunter. "the day will soon be here."
-robert found shelter behind the trunk of a huge oak, and crouched there, his nerves relaxing. he did not believe any further movement of the enemy would come now. as the great tension passed for a time he was conscious of an immense weariness. the strain upon all the physical senses and upon the mind as well made him weak. it was a luxury merely to sit there with his back against the bark and rest. near him he heard the soldiers moving softly, and now and then a wounded man asking for water. a light breeze had sprung up, and it had upon his face the freshness of the dawn. he wondered what the day would bring. the light that came with it would be cheerful and uplifting, but it would disclose their covert, at least in part, and st. luc might lead both french and indians in one great rush.
-"better eat a little," said tayoga, who had returned to the center. "remember that we have plenty of food in our knapsacks, nor are our canteens empty."
-"i had forgotten it," said robert, and he ate and drank sparingly. the breeze continued to freshen, and in the east the dawn broke, gray, turning to silver, and then to red and gold. the forest soon stood out, an infinite tracery in the dazzling light, and then a white fleck appeared against the wall of green.
-"a flag of truce!" exclaimed captain colden. "what can they want to say to us?"
-"let the bearer of the flag appear first," suggested willet, "and then we'll talk with 'em."
-the figure of a man holding up a white handkerchief appeared and it was st. luc himself, as neat and irreproachable as if he were attending a ball in the intendant's palace at quebec. robert knew that he must have been active in the battle all through the night, but he showed no signs of it. he wore a fine close-fitting uniform of dark blue, and the handkerchief of lace was held aloft on the point of a small sword, the golden hilt of which glittered in the morning sunlight. he was a strange figure in the forest, but a most gallant one, and to robert's eyes a chevalier without fear and without reproach.
-"i know that you speak good french, mr. lennox," said captain colden. "will you go forward and meet the frenchman? you will perhaps know what to say to him, and, if not, you can refer to mr. willet and myself."
-"i will do my best, sir," said robert, glad of the chance to meet st. luc face to face again. he did not know why his heart leaped so every time he saw the chevalier, but his friendship for him was undeniable. it seemed too that st. luc liked him, and robert felt sure that whatever hostility his official enemy felt for the english cause there was none for him personally.
-unconsciously he began to arrange his own attire of forest green, beautifully dyed and decorated deerskin, that he might not look less neat than the man whom he was going to meet. st. luc was standing under the wide boughs of an oak, his gold hilted rapier returned to its sheath and his white lace handkerchief to its pocket. the smile of welcome upon his face as he saw the herald was genuine.
-"i salute you, mr. lennox," he said, "and wish you a very good morning. i learned that you were in the force besieged by us, and it's a pleasure to see that you've escaped unhurt. when last we met the honors were yours. you fairly defeated me at the word play in the vale of onondaga, but you will admit that the savage, tandakora, played into your hands most opportunely. you will admit also that word play is not sword play, and that in the appeal to the sword we have the advantage of you."
-"it may seem so to one who sees with your eyes and from your position," said robert, "but being myself i'm compelled to see with my own eyes and from our side. i wish to say first, however, chevalier de st. luc, that since you have wished me a very good morning i even wish you a better."
-st. luc laughed gayly.
-"you and i will never be enemies. it would be against nature," he said.
-"no, we'll never be enemies, but why is it against nature?"
-"perhaps i was not happy in my phrase. we like each other too well, and--in a way--our temperaments resemble too much to engender a mutual hate. but we'll to business. mine's a mission of mercy. i come to receive the surrender of your friends and yourself, since continued resistance to us will be vain!"
-"you smile, mr. lennox," said st. luc. "do you find my words so amusing?"
-"not amusing, chevalier! oh, no! and if, in truth, i found them so i would not be so impolite as to smile. but there is a satisfaction in knowing that your official enemy has underrated the strength of your position. that is why my eyes expressed content--i would scarcely call it a smile."
-"i see once more that you're a master of words, mr. lennox. you play with them as the wind sports among the leaves."
-"but i don't speak in jest, monsieur de st. luc. i'm not in command here. i'm merely a spokesman a herald or a messenger, in whichever way you should choose to define me. captain james colden, a gallant young officer of philadelphia, is our leader, but, in this instance, i don't feel the need of consulting him. i know that your offer is kindly, that it comes from a generous soul, but however much it may disappoint you i must decline it. our resistance in the night has been quite successful, we have inflicted upon you much more damage than you have inflicted upon us, and i've no doubt the day will witness a battle continued in the same proportion."
-st. luc threw back his head and laughed, not loud, but gayly and with unction. robert reddened, but he could not take offense, as he saw that none was meant.
-"i no longer wonder at my defeat by you in the vale of onondaga," said the chevalier, "since you're not merely a master of words, you're a master-artist. i've no doubt if i listen to you you'll persuade me it's not you but we who are besieged, and it would be wise for us to yield to you without further ado."
-"perhaps you're not so very far wrong," said robert, recovering his assurance, which was nearly always great. "i'm sure captain colden would receive your surrender and treat you well."
-the eyes of the two met and twinkled.
-"tandakora is with us," said st. luc, "and i've a notion he wouldn't relish it. perhaps he distrusts the mercy he would receive at the hands of your onondaga, tayoga. and at this point in our dialogue, mr. lennox, i want to apologize to you again, for the actions of the ojibway before the war really began. i couldn't prevent them, but, since there is genuine war, he is our ally, and i must accord to him all the dignities and honors appertaining to his position."
-"you're rather deft with words yourself, monsieur de st. luc. once, at new york, i saw a juggler with balls who could keep five in the air at the same time, and in some dim and remote way you make me think of him. you'll pardon the illustration, chevalier, because i really mean it as a compliment."
-"i pardon gladly enough, because i see your intentions are good. we both play with words, perhaps because the exercise tickles our fancy, but to return to the true spirit and essence of things, i warn you that it would be wise to surrender. my force is very much greater than captain colden's, and has him hemmed in. if my indian allies suffer too much in the attack it will be difficult to restrain them. i'm not stating this as a threat--you know me too well for that--but to make the facts plain, and to avoid something that i should regret as much as you."
-"i don't think it necessary to consult captain colden, and without doing so i decline your offer. we have food to eat, water to drink and bullets to shoot, and if you care to take us you must come and do so."
-"and that is the final answer? you're quite sure you don't wish to consult your superior officer, captain colden?"
-"absolutely sure. it would waste the time of all of us."
-"then it seems there is nothing more to say, and to use your own fanciful way of putting it, we must go back from the play of words to the play of swords."
-"i see no alternative."
-"and yet i hope that you will survive the combat, mr. lennox."
-"i've the same hope for you, chevalier de st. luc."
-each meant it, and, in the same high manner of the day, they saluted and withdrew. robert, as he walked back to the thickets in which the defenders lay, felt that indian eyes were upon him, and that perhaps an indian bullet would speed toward him, despite st. luc. tandakora and the savages around him could not always be controlled by their french allies, as was to be shown too often in this war. his sensitive mind once more turned fancy into reality and the hair on his head lifted a little, but pride would not let him hasten his steps.
-no gun was fired, and, with an immense relief, he sank down behind a fallen log, and by the side of colden and willet.
-"what did the frenchman want?" asked the young captain.
-"our instant and unconditional surrender. knowing how you felt about it, i gave him your refusal at once."
-"well done, mr. lennox."
-"he said that in case of a rush and heavy loss by his indians he perhaps would not be able to control them in the moment of victory, which doubtless is true."
-"they will know no moment of victory. we can hold them off."
-"where is tayoga?" asked robert of willet.
-the hunter pointed westward.
-"why, the cliff shuts off the way in that direction!" said robert.
-"not to a good climber."
-"do you mean, then, that tayoga is gone?"
-"i saw him go. he went while you were talking with st. luc."
-"why should tayoga leave us?"
-"he saw another smoke against the sky. it was but a faint trace. only an extremely keen eye would have noticed it, and having much natural curiosity, tayoga is now on his way to see who built the fire that made the smoke."
-"and it may have been made by friends."
-"that's our hope."
-robert drew a long breath and looked toward the west. the sky was now clear there, but he knew that tayoga could not have made any mistake. then, his heart high once more, he settled himself down to wait.
-the day advanced, brilliant with sunshine, and the forces of st. luc were quiet. for a long time, not a shot was fired, and it seemed to the besieged that the forest was empty of human beings save themselves. robert did not believe the french leader would attempt a long siege, since an engagement could not be conducted in that manner in the forest, where a result of some kind must be reached soon. yet it was impossible to tell what plan st. luc had in mind, and they must wait until tayoga came.
-young captain colden was in good spirits. it was his first taste of wilderness warfare, and he knew that he had done well. the dead were laid decently among the bushes to receive christian burial later, if the chance came, and the wounded, their hurts bound up, prepared to take what part they could in a new battle. robert crept to the edge of the cliff, and looked toward the west, whence tayoga had gone. he saw only a dazzling blue sky, unflecked by anything save little white clouds, and there was nothing to indicate whether the mission of his young onondaga comrade would have any success. he crept back to the side of willet.
-"have you any opinion, dave, about the smoke that tayoga saw," he asked.
-"none, robert, just a hope. it might have been made by another french and indian band, most probably it was, but there is a chance, too, that friends built the fire."
-"if it's a force of any size it could hardly be english. i don't think any troop of ours except captain colden's is in this region."
-"we can't look for help from our own race."
-robert was silent, gazing intently into the west, whence tayoga had gone. he recognized the immense difficulties of their position. indians, if an attack or two of theirs failed, would be likely to go away, but the french, and especially st. luc, would increase their persistence and hold them to the task. he returned to the forest, and his attention was drawn once more by black rifle. the man was lying almost flat in the thicket, and evidently he had caught a glimpse of a foe, as he was writhing slowly forward like a great beast of prey, and his eyes once more had the expectant look of one who is going to strike. robert considered him. he knew that the man's whole nature had been poisoned by the great tragedy in his life, and that it gave him a sinister pleasure to inflict blows upon those who had inflicted the great blow upon him. yet he would be useful in the fierce war that was upon them and he was useful now.
-black rifle crept forward two or three yards more, and, after he had lain quite still for a few moments, he suddenly thrust out his rifle and fired. a cry came from the opposing thicket and robert heard the sharpshooter utter a deep sigh of satisfaction. he knew that st. luc was one warrior less, which was good for the defense, but he shuddered a little. he could never bring himself to steal through the bushes and shoot an unseeing enemy. still black rifle was black rifle, and being what he was he was not to be judged as other men were.
-after a half hour's silence, the besiegers suddenly opened fire from five or six points, sending perhaps two score bullets into the wood, clipping off many twigs and leaves which fell upon the heads of the defenders. captain colden did not forget to be grateful to willet for his insistence that the soldiers should always lie low, as the hostile lead, instead of striking, now merely sent a harmless shower upon them. but the fusillade was brief, robert, in truth, judging that it had been against the commands of st. luc, who was too wise a leader to wish ammunition to be wasted in random firing. at the advice of willet, captain colden would not let his men reply, restraining their eagerness, and silence soon returned.
-it was nearly noon now and a huge golden sun shone over the vast wilderness in which two little bands of men fought, mere motes in the limitless sea of green. robert ate some venison, and drank a little water from the canteen of a friendly soldier. then his thoughts turned again to tayoga. the onondaga was a peerless runner, he had been gone long now, and what would he find at the base of the smoke? if it had been the fire of an enemy then he would be back in the middle of the afternoon, and they would be in no worse case than before. they might try to escape in the night down the cliff, but it was not likely that vigilant foes would permit men, clumsy in the woods like the soldiers, to steal away in such a manner.
-the earlier hours of the afternoon were passed by the sharpshooters on either side trying to stalk one another. although robert had no part in it, it was a savage play that alternately fascinated and repelled him. he had no way to tell exactly, but he believed that two more of the indians had fallen, while a soldier received a wound. a bullet grazed black rifle's head, but instead of daunting him it seemed to give him a kind of fierce joy, and to inspire in him a greater desire to slay.
-these efforts, since they achieved no positive results, soon died down, and both sides lay silent in their coverts. robert made himself as comfortable as he could behind a log, although he longed to stand upright, and walk about once more like a human being. it was now mid-afternoon and if the smoke had meant nothing good for them it was time for tayoga to be back. it was not conceivable that such a marvelous forester and matchless runner could have been taken, and, since he had not come, robert's heart again beat to the tune of hope.
-willet with whom he talked a little, was of like opinion. he looked to tayoga to bring them help, and, if he failed their case, already hard, would become harder. the hunter did not conceal from himself the prowess and skill of st. luc and he knew too, that the savage persistency of tandakora was not to be held lightly. like robert he gazed long into the blue west, which was flecked only by little clouds of white.
-"a sign! a sign!" he said. "if we could only behold a sign!"
-but the heavens said nothing. the sun, a huge ball of glowing copper, was already far down the western curve, and the hunter's heart beat hard with anxiety. he felt that if help came it should come soon. but little water was left to the soldiers, although their food might last another day, and the night itself, now not far away, would bring the danger of a new attack by a creeping foe, greatly superior in numbers. he turned away from the cliff, but robert remained, and presently the youth called in a sharp thrilling whisper:
-"dave! dave! come back!"
-robert had continued to watch the sky and he thought he saw a faint dark line against the sea of blue. he rubbed his eyes, fearing it was a fault of vision, but the trace was still there, and he believed it to be smoke.
-"dave! dave! the signal! look! look!" he cried.
-the hunter came to the edge of the cliff and stared into the west. a thread of black lay across the blue, and his heart leaped.
-"do you believe that tayoga has anything to do with it?" asked robert.
-"i do. if it were our foes out there he'd have been back long since."
-"and since it may be friends they've sent up this smoke, hoping we'll divine what they mean."
-"it looks like it. tayoga is a sharp lad, and he'll want to put heart in the soldiers. it must be the onondaga, and i wish i knew what his smoke was saying."
-captain colden joined them, and they pointed out to him the trace across the sky which was now broadening, explaining at the same time that it was probably a signal sent up by tayoga, and that he might be leading a force to their aid.
-"what help could he bring?" asked the captain.
-willet shook his head.
-"i can't answer you there," he replied; "but the smoke has significance for us. of that i feel sure. by sundown we'll know what it means."
-"and that's only about two hours away," said captain colden. "whatever happens we'll hold out to the last. i suppose, though, that st. luc's force also will see the smoke."
-"quite likely," replied willet, "and the frenchman may send a runner, too, to see what it means, but however good a runner he may be he'll be no match for tayoga."
-"that's sure," said robert.
-so great was his confidence in the onondaga that it never occurred to him that he might be killed or taken, and he awaited his certain return, either with or without a helping force. he lay now near the edge of the cliff, whence he could look toward the west, the point of hope, whenever he wished, ate another strip of venison, and took another drink of water out of a friendly canteen.
-the west was now blazing with terraces of red and yellow, rising above one another, and the east was misty, gray and dim. twilight was not far away. the thread of smoke that had lain against the sky above the forest was gone, the glittering bar of red and gold being absolutely free from any trace. st. luc's force opened fire again, bullets clipping twigs and leaves, but the defense lay quiet, except black rifle, who crept back and forth, continually seeking a target, and pulling the trigger whenever he found it.
-the misty gray in the east turned to darkness, in the west the sun went down the slope of the world, and the brilliant terraces of color began to fade. the firing ceased and another tense period of quiet, hard, to endure, came. at the suggestion of the hunter colden drew in his whole troop near the cliff and waited, all, despite their weariness and strain, keeping the keenest watch they could.
-but robert, instead of looking toward the east, where st. luc's force was, invariably looked into the sunset, because it was there that tayoga had gone, and it was there that they had seen the smoke, of which they expected so much. the terraces of color, already grown dim, were now fading fast. at the top they were gone altogether, and they only lingered low down. but on the forest the red light yet blazed. every twig and leaf seemed to stand individual and distinct, black against a scarlet shield. but it was for merely a few minutes. then all the red glow disappeared, like a great light going out suddenly, and the western forest as well as the eastern, lay in a gray gloom.
-it always seemed to robert that the last going of the sunset that day was like a signal, because, when the night swept down, black and complete everywhere, there was a burst of heavy firing from the south and a long exultant yell. no bullet sped through the thickets, where the defenders lay, and willet cried:
-"tayoga! tayoga and help! ah, here they come! the mohawks!"
-the soldiers looked in some alarm at the painted host that had sprung among them, but willet and robert assured them insistently that these were friends, and the sound of the battle they were already waging on the flank with st. luc's force, was proof enough.
-"captain colden," said robert, not forgetful that an indian likes the courtesies of life, and can take his compliments thick, "this is the great young mohawk chief, daganoweda, which in our language means 'the inexhaustible' and such he is, inexhaustible in resource and courage in battle, and in loyalty to his friends."
-daganoweda smiled and extended his hand in the white man's fashion. young colden had the tact to shake it heartily at once and to say in english, which the young mohawk chief understood perfectly:
-"daganoweda, whatever praise of you mr. lennox has given it's not half enough. i confess now although i would not have admitted it before, that if you had not come we should probably have been lost."
-he had made a friend for life, and then, without further words the two turned to the battle. but robert remained for a minute beside tayoga, whose chest was still heaving with his great exertions.
-"where did you find them?" he asked.
-"many miles to the west, lennox. after i descended the cliff i was pursued by huron skirmishers, and i had to shake them off. then i ran at full speed toward the point where the smoke had risen, knowing that the need was great, and i overtook daganoweda and the mohawks. their first smoke was but that from a camp-fire, as being in strong force they did not care who saw them, but the last, just before the sunset, was sent up as a signal by two warriors whom we left behind for the purpose. we thought you might take it to mean that help was coming."
-"and so we did. how many warriors has daganoweda?"
-"fifty, and that is enough. already they push the frenchman and his force before them. come, we must join them, dagaeoga. the breath has come back into my body and i am a strong man again!"
-the two now quickly took their places in the battle in the night and the forest, the position of the two forces being reversed. the soldiers and the mohawks were pushing the combat at every point, and the agile warriors extending themselves on the flanks had already driven in st. luc's skirmishers. black rifle, uttering fierce shouts, was leading a strong attack in the center. the firing was now rapid and much heavier than it had been at any time before. flashes of flame appeared everywhere in the thicket. above the crackle of rifles and muskets swelled the long thrilling war cry of the mohawks, and back in fierce defiance came the yells of the hurons and abenakis.
-willet joined robert and the two, with tayoga, saw that the soldiers fought well under cover. the young philadelphians, in the excitement of battle and of a sudden and triumphant reversal of fortune, were likely to expose themselves rashly, and the advice of the forest veterans was timely. captain colden saw that it was taken, although two more of his men were slain as they advanced and several were wounded. but the issue was no longer doubtful. the weight that the mohawks had suddenly thrown into the battle was too great. the force of st. luc was steadily driven northward, and daganoweda's alert skirmishers on the flanks kept it compressed together.
-robert knew how bitter the defeat would be to st. luc, but the knowledge did not keep his exultation from mounting to a high pitch. st. luc might strive with all his might to keep his men in the battle, but the frenchmen could not be numerous, and it was the custom of indians, once a combat seemed lost, to melt away like a mist. they believed thoroughly that it was best to run away and fight another day, and there was no disgrace in escaping from a stricken field.
-"they run! they run! and the frenchmen must run with them!" exclaimed black rifle. as he spoke, a bullet grazed his side and struck a soldier behind him, but the force pressed on with the ardor fed by victory. willet did not try any longer to restrain them, although he understood full well the danger of a battle in the dark. but he knew that daganoweda and his mohawks, experienced in every forest wile, would guard them against surprise, and he deemed it best now that they should strike with all their might.
-robert seldom saw any of the warriors before him, and he did not once catch a glimpse of a frenchman. whenever his rifle was loaded he fired at a flitting form, never knowing whether or not his bullet struck true, and glad of his ignorance. his sensitive and imaginative mind became greatly excited. the flashes of flame in the thickets were multiplied a hundred fold, a thousand little pulses beat heavily in his temples, and the shouts of the savages seemed to fill the forest. but he pressed on, conscious that the enemy was disappearing before them.
-in his eagerness he passed ahead of willet and tayoga and came very near to st. luc's retreating line. his foot became entangled in trailing vines and he fell, but he was up in an instant, and he fired at a shadowy figure not more than twenty feet in advance. in his haste he missed, and the figure, turning, raised a rifle. there was a fair moonlight and robert saw the muzzle of the weapon bearing directly upon him, and he knew too that the rifle was held by firm hands. his vivid and sensitive imagination at once leaped into intense life. his own weapon was empty and his last moment had come. he saw the strong brown hands holding the rifle, and then his gaze passed on to the face of st. luc. he saw the blue eyes of the frenchman, as they looked down the sights, open wide in a kind of horror. then he abruptly dropped the muzzle, waved one hand to robert, and vanished in the thickets and the darkness.
-the battle was over. there were a few dying shots, scattered beads of flame, an occasional shout of triumph from the mohawks, a defiant yell or two in reply from the hurons and the abenakis, and then the trail of the combat swept out of the sight and hearing of robert, who stood dazed and yet with a heart full of gratitude. st. luc had held his life upon the pressure of a trigger, and the trigger would have been pulled had he not seen before it was too late who stood before the muzzle of his rifle. the moonlight was enough for robert to see that look of horror in his eyes when he recognized the target. and then the weapon had been turned away and he had gone like a flash! why? for what reason had st. luc spared him in the heat and fury of a desperate and losing battle? it must have been a powerful motive for a man to stay his bullet at such a time!
-"wake up, lad! wake up! the battle has been won!"
-willet's heavy but friendly hand fell upon his shoulder, and robert came out of his daze. he decided at once that he would say nothing about the meeting with st. luc, and merely remarked in a cryptic manner:
-"i was stunned for a moment by a bullet that did not hit me. yes, we've won, dave, thanks to the mohawks."
-"thanks to daganoweda and his brave mohawks, and to tayoga, and to the gallant captain colden and his gallant men. all of us together have made the triumph possible. i understand that the bodies of only two frenchmen have been found and that neither was that of st. luc. well, i'm glad. that frenchman will do us great damage in this war, but he's an honorable foe, and a man of heart, and i like him."
-a man of heart! yes, truly! none knew it better than robert, but again he kept his own counsel. he too was glad that his had not been one of the two french bodies found, but there was still danger from the pursuing mohawks, who would hang on tenaciously, and he felt a sudden thrill of alarm. but it passed, as he remembered that the chevalier was a woodsman of experience and surpassing skill.
-tayoga came back to them somewhat blown. he had followed the fleeing french and indian force two or three miles. but there was a limit even to his nerves and sinews of wrought steel. he had already run thirty miles before joining in the combat, and now it was time to rest.
-captain colden, slightly wounded in the arm, appeared and willet gave him the high compliments that he and his soldiers deserved. he told him it was seldom that men unused to the woods bore themselves so well in an indian fight, but the young captain modestly disclaimed the chief merit, replying that he and his detachment would surely have been lost, had it not been for willet and his comrades.
-then they went back to the ground near the cliff, where they had made their great fight, and willet although the night was warm, wisely had a large fire built. he knew the psychological and stimulating effect of heat and light upon the lads of the city, who had passed through such a fearful ordeal in the dark and indian-haunted forest. he encouraged them to throw on more dead boughs, until the blaze leaped higher and higher and sparkled and roared, sending up myriads of joyous sparks that glowed for their brief lives among the trees and then died. no fear of st. luc and the indians now! that fierce fringe of mohawks was a barrier that they could never pass, even should they choose to return, and no such choice could possibly be theirs! the fire crackled and blazed in increasing volume, and the philadelphia lads, recovering from the collapse that had followed tremendous exertions and excitement, began to appreciate the extent of their victory and to talk eagerly with one another.
-but the period of full rest had not yet come. captain colden made them dig with their bayonets shallow graves for their dead, six in number. fluent of speech, his sensitive mind again fitting into the deep gravity of the situation, robert said a few words above them, words that he felt, words that moved those who heard. then the earth was thrown in and stones and heavy boughs were placed over all to keep away the digging wolves or other wild animals.
-the wounded were made as comfortable as possible before the fire, and in the light of the brilliant flames the awe created by the dead quickly passed. food was served and fresh water was drunk, the canteens being refilled from a spring that tayoga found a quarter of a mile away. then the soldiers, save six who had been posted as guard, stretched themselves on grass or leaves, and fell asleep, one by one. tayoga who had made the greatest physical effort followed them to the land of slumber, but captain colden sat and talked with robert and willet, although it was now far past midnight.
-the bushes parted and a dark figure, making no sound as it came, stepped into the circle of light. it was black rifle and his eyes still glittered, but he said nothing. robert thought he saw upon his face a look of intense satisfaction and once more he shuddered a little. the man lay down with his rifle beside him, and fell asleep, his hands still clutching his weapon.
-before dawn daganoweda and the mohawks came back also, and robert in behalf of them all thanked the young chief in the purest mohawk, and with the fine phrasing and apt allegory so dear to the indian heart. daganoweda made a fitting reply, saying that the merit did not belong to him but to manitou, and then, leaving a half dozen of his warriors to join in the watch, he and the others slept before the fire.
-"it was well that you played so strongly upon the feelings of the mohawks at that test in the vale of onondaga, robert," said willet. "if you had not said over and over again that the quebec of the french was once the stadacona of the mohawks they would not have been here tonight to save us. they say that deeds speak louder than words, but when the same man speaks with both words and deeds people have got to hear."
-"you give me too much credit, dave. the time was ripe for a mohawk attack upon the french."
-but robert's brain was too active for sleep just yet. while his imaginative power made him see things before other people saw them, he also continued to see them after they were gone. the wilderness battle passed once more before him, and when he brushed his eyes to thrust it away, he looked at the sleeping mohawks and thought what splendid savages they were. the other tribes of the hodenosaunee were still holding to their neutrality--all that was asked of them--but the mohawks, with the memories of their ancient wrongs burning in their hearts, had openly taken the side of the english, and tonight their valor and skill had undoubtedly saved the american force. daganoweda was a hero! and so was tayoga, the onondaga, always the first of red men to robert.
-his heated brain began to grow cool at last. the vivid pictures that had been passing so fast before his eyes faded. he saw only reality, the blazing fire, the dusky figures lying motionless before it, and the circling wall of dark woods. then he slept.
-willet was the only white man who remained awake. he saw the great fire die, and the dawn come in its place. he felt then for the first time in all that long encounter the strangeness of his own position. the wilderness, savages and forest battle had become natural to him, and yet his life had once been far different. there was a taste of a distant past in that fierce duel at quebec when he slew the bravo, boucher, a deed for which he had never felt a moment's regret, and yet when he balanced the old times against the present, he could not say which had the advantage. he had found true friends in the woods, men who would and did risk their own lives to save his.
-the dawn came swiftly, flooding the earth with light. daganoweda and many of the mohawk warriors awoke, but the young philadelphia captain and his men slept on, plunged in the utter stupor of exhaustion. tayoga, who had made a supreme effort, both physical and mental, also continued to sleep, and robert, lying with his feet to the coals, never stirred.
-daganoweda shook himself, and, so shaking, shook the last shred of sleep from his eyes. then he looked with pride at his warriors, those who yet lay upon the ground and those who had arisen. he was a young chief, not yet thirty years of age, and he was the bloom and flower of mohawk courage and daring. his name, daganoweda, the inexhaustible, was fully deserved, as his bravery and resource were unlimited. but unlike tayoga, he had in him none of the priestly quality. he had not drunk or even sipped at the white man's civilization. the spirituality so often to be found in the onondagas was unknown to him. he was a warrior first, last and all the time. he was daganoweda of the clan of the turtle, of the nation ganeagaono, the keepers of the eastern gate, of the great league of the hodenosaunee, and he craved no glory save that to be won in battle, which he craved all the time.
-daganoweda, as he looked at his men, felt intense satisfaction, because the achievement of his mohawks the night before had been brilliant and successful, but he concealed it from all save himself. it was not for a chief who wished to win not one victory, but a hundred to show undue elation. but he turned and for a few moments gazed directly into the sun with unwinking eyes, and when he shifted his gaze away, a great tide of life leaped in his veins.
-then he gave silent thanks. like all the other indians in north america the mohawks personified and worshipped the sun, which to them was the mighty dweller in heaven, almost the same as manitou, a great spirit to whom sacrifices and thanksgivings were to be made. the sun, an immortal being, had risen that morning and from his seat in the highest of the high heavens he had looked down with his invincible eye which no man could face more than a few seconds, upon his favorite children, the mohawks, to whom he had given the victory. daganoweda bowed a head naturally haughty and under his breath murmured thanks for the triumph given and prayers for others to come.
-the warriors built the fire anew and cooked their breakfasts. they had venison and hominy of three kinds according to the corn of which it was made, onaogaant or the white corn, ticne or the red corn, and hagowa or the white flint corn. they also had bear meat and dried beans. so their breakfast was abundant, and they ate with the appetite of warriors who had done mighty deeds.
-daganoweda and willet, as became great men, sat together on a log and were served by a warrior who took honor from the task. black rifle sat alone a little distance away. he would have been welcome in the company of the mohawk chief and the hunter, but, brooding and solitary in mind, he wished to be alone and they knew and respected his wish. daganoweda glanced at him more than once as he remained in silence, and always there was pity in his looks. and there was admiration too, because black rifle was a great warrior. the woods held none greater.
-when robert awoke it was well on toward noon and he sprang up, refreshed and strong.
-"you've had quite a nap, robert," said willet, who had not slept at all, "but some of the soldiers are still sleeping, and tayoga has just gone down to the spring to bathe his face."
-"which i also will do," said robert.
-"and when you come back food will be ready for you."
-robert found tayoga at the spring, flexing his muscles, and taking short steps back and forth. "it was a great run you made," said the white youth, "and it saved us. there's no stiffness, i hope?"
-"there was a little, dagaeoga, but i have worked it out of my body. now all my muscles are as they were. i am ready to make another and equal run."
-"it's not needed, and for that i'm thankful. st. luc will not come back, nor will tandakora, i think, linger in the woods, hoping for a shot. he knows that the mohawk skirmishers will be too vigilant."
-as they went back to the fire for their food they heard a droning song and the regular beat of feet. some of the mohawks were dancing the buffalo dance, a dance named after an animal never found in their country, but which they knew well. it was a tribute to the vast energy and daring of the nations of the hodenosaunee that they should range in such remote regions as kentucky and tennessee and hunt the buffalo with the cherokees, who came up from the south.
-they called the dance dageyagooanno, and it was always danced by men only. one warrior beat upon the drum, ganojoo, and another used gusdawasa or the rattle made of the shell of a squash. a dozen warriors danced, and players and dancers alike sang. it was a most singular dance and robert, as he ate and drank, watched it with curious interest.
-the warriors capered back and forth, and often they bent themselves far over, until their hands touched the ground. then they would arch their backs, until they formed a kind of hump, and they leaped to and fro, bellowing all the time. the imitation was that of a buffalo, recognizable at once, and, while it was rude and monotonous, both dancing and singing preserved a rhythm, and as one listened continuously it soon crept into the blood. robert, with that singular temperament of his, so receptive to all impressions, began to feel it. their chant was of war and victory and he stirred to both. he was on the warpath with them, and he passed with them through the thick of battle.
-they danced for a long time, quitting only when exhaustion compelled. by that time all the soldiers were awake and captain colden talked with the other leaders, red and white. his instructions took him farther west, where he was to build a fort for the defense of the border, and, staunch and true, he did not mean to turn back because he had been in desperate battle with the french and their indian allies.
-"i was sent to protect a section of the frontier," he said to willet, "and while i've found it hard to protect my men and myself, yet i must go on. i could never return to philadelphia and face our people there."
-"it's a just view you take, captain colden," said willet.
-"i feel, though, that my men and i are but children in the woods. yesterday and last night proved it. if you and your friends continue with us our march may not be in vain."
-willet glanced at robert, and then at tayoga.
-"ours for the present, at least, is a roving commission," said young lennox. "it seems to me that the best we can do is to go with captain colden."
-"i am not called back to the vale of onondaga," said tayoga, "i would see the building of this fort that captain colden has planned."
-"then we three are agreed," said the hunter. "it's best not to speak to black rifle, because he'll follow his own notions anyway, and as for daganoweda and his mohawks i think they're likely to resume their march northward against the french border."
-"i'm grateful to you three," said captain colden, "and, now that it's settled, we'll start as soon as we can."
-"better give them all a good rest, and wait until the morning," said the hunter.
-again captain colden agreed with him.
-the perilous path
-after a long night of sleep and rest, the little troop resumed its march the next morning. the wounded fortunately were not hurt so badly that they could not limp along with the others, and, while the surgery of the soldiers was rude, it was effective nevertheless. daganoweda, as they had expected, prepared to leave them for a raid toward the st. lawrence. but he said rather grimly that he might return, in a month perhaps. he knew where they were going to build their fort, and unless corlear and all the other british governors awoke much earlier in the morning it was more than likely that the young captain from philadelphia would need the help of the mohawks again.
-then daganoweda said farewell to robert, tayoga, willet and black rifle, addressing each according to his quality. them he trusted. he knew them to be great warriors and daring rovers of the wilderness. he had no advice for them, because he knew they did not need it, but he expected them to be his comrades often in the great war, and he wished them well. to tayoga he said:
-"you and i, oh, young chief of the onondagas, have hearts that beat alike. the onondagas do well to keep aloof from the white man's quarrels for the present, and to sit at peace, though watchful, in the vale of onondaga, but your hopes are with our friends the english and you in person fight for them. we mohawks know whom to hate. we know that the french have robbed us more than any others. we know, that their quebec is our stadacona. so we have dug up the tomahawk and last night we showed to sharp sword and his men and tandakora the ojibway how we could use it."
-sharp sword was the iroquois name for st. luc, who had already proved his great ability and daring as a forest leader.
-"the ganeagaono are now the chief barrier against the french and their tribes," said tayoga.
-the brilliant eyes of daganoweda glittered in his dark face. he knew that tayoga would not pay the mohawks so high a compliment unless he meant it.
-"tayoga," he said, "we belong to the leading nations of the great league of the hodenosaunee, you to the onundahgaono and i to the ganeagaono. you are first in the council and we are first on the warpath. it was tododaho, the onondaga, who first formed the great league and it was hayowentha, the mohawk, who combed the snakes out of his hair and who strengthened it and who helped him to build it so firmly that it shall last forever. brothers are we, and always shall be."
-he touched his forehead in salute, and the onondaga touched his in reply.
-"aye, brothers are we," he said, "mohawk and onondaga, onondaga and mohawk. the great war of the white kings which draws us in it has come, but i know that hayowentha watches over his people, and tododaho over his. in the spring when i went forth in the night to fight the hurons i gazed off there in the west where shines the great star on which tododaho makes his home, and i saw him looking down upon me, and casting about me the veil of his protection."
-daganoweda looked up at the gleaming blue of the heavens, and his eyes glittered again. he believed every word that tayoga said.
-"as tododaho watches over you, so hayowentha watches over me," he said, "and he will bring me back in safety and victory from the st. lawrence. farewell again, my brother."
-"farewell once more, daganoweda!"
-the mohawk chief plunged into the forest, and his fifty warriors followed him. like a shadow they were gone, and the waving bushes gave back no sign that they had ever been. captain colden rubbed his eyes and then laughed.
-"i never knew men to vanish so swiftly before," he said, "but last night was good proof that they were here, and that they came in time. i suppose it's about the only victory of which we can make boast."
-he spoke the full truth. from the st. lawrence to the ohio the border was already ravaged with fire and sword. appeals for help were pouring in from the distant settlements, and the governors of new york, pennsylvania and massachusetts scarcely knew what to do. france had struck the first blow, and she had struck hard. young washington, defeated by overwhelming numbers, was going back to virginia, and duquesne, the fort of the french at the junction of the monongahela and allegheny, was a powerful rallying place for their own forces and the swarming indian bands, pouring out of the wilderness, drawn by the tales of unlimited scalps and plunder.
-the task before captain colden's slender force was full of danger. his numbers might have been five times as great and then they would not have been too many to build and hold the fort he was sent to build and hold. but he had no thought of turning back, and, as soon as daganoweda and the mohawks were gone, they started, bending their course somewhat farther toward the south. at the ford of a river twenty men with horses carrying food, ammunition and other supplies were to meet them, and they reckoned that they could reach it by midnight.
-the men with the horses had been sent from another point, and it was not thought then that there was any danger of french and indian attack before the junction was made, but the colonial authorities had reckoned without the vigor and daring of st. luc. now the most cruel fears assailed young captain colden, and robert and the hunter could not find much argument to remove them. it was possible that the second force had been ambushed also, and, if so, it had certainly been destroyed, being capable of no such resistance as that made by colden's men, and without the aid of the three friends and the mohawks. and if the supplies were gone the expedition would be useless.
-"don't be downhearted about it, captain," said willet. "you say there's not a man in the party who knows anything about the wilderness, and that they've got just enough woods sense to take them to the ford. well, that has its saving grace, because now and then, the lord seems to watch over fool men. the best of hunters are trapped sometimes in the forest, when fellows who don't know a deer from a beaver, go through 'em without harm."
-"then if there's any virtue in what you say we'll pray that these men are the biggest fools who ever lived."
-"smoke! smoke again!" called robert cheerily, pointing straight ahead.
-sure enough, that long dark thread appeared once more, now against the western sky. willet laughed.
-captain colden laughed, but it was the slightly hysterical laugh of relief. he was bent upon doing his task, and, since the lord had carried him so far through a mighty danger, the disappointment of losing the supplies would have been almost too much to bear.
-"you're sure it's they, mr. willet?" he said.
-"of course. didn't i tell you it wasn't possible for another such party of fools to be here in the wilderness, and that the god of the white man and the manitou of the red man taking pity on their simplicity and innocence have protected them?"
-"i like to think what you say is true, mr. willet."
-"it's true. be not afraid that it isn't. now, i think we'd better stop here, and let robert and tayoga go ahead, spy 'em out and make signals. it would be just like 'em to blaze away at us the moment they saw the bushes move with our coming."
-captain colden was glad to take his advice, and the white youth and the red went forward silently through the forest, hearing the sound of cheerful voices, as they drew near to the campfire which was a large one blazing brightly. they also heard the sound of horses moving and they knew that the detachment had taken no harm. tayoga parted the bushes and peered forth.
-"look!" he said. "surely they are watched over by manitou!"
-about twenty men, or rather boys, for all of them were very young, were standing or lying about a fire. a tall, very ruddy youth in the uniform of a colonial lieutenant was speaking to them.
-"didn't i tell you, lads," he said, "there wasn't an indian nearer than fort duquesne, and that's a long way from here! we've come a great distance and not a foe has appeared anywhere. it may be that the french vanish when they hear this valiant quaker troop is coming, but it's my own personal opinion they'll stay pretty well back in the west with their red allies."
-the youth, although he called himself so, did not look much like a quaker to robert. he had a frank face and merry eyes, and manner and voice indicated a tendency to gayety. judging from his words he had no cares and indians and ambush were far from his thoughts. proof of this was the absence of sentinels. the men, scattered about the fire, were eating their suppers and the horses, forty in number, were grazing in an open space. it all looked like a great picnic, and the effect was heightened by the youth of the soldiers.
-"you're right as usual, tayoga, and now we'd better hail them. but don't you come forward just yet. they don't know the difference between indians and likely your welcome would be a bullet."
-"i will wait," said tayoga.
-"naught, william," replied the other, who seemed to be second in command. "your logic is both precise and beautiful. the dangers of the border are greatly exaggerated, and as soon as we get together a good force all these french and indians will flee back to canada. ah, who is this?"
-both he and his chief turned and faced the woods in astonishment. a youth had stepped forth, and stood in full view. he was taller than either, but younger, dressed completely in deerskin, although superior in cut and quality to that of the ordinary borderer, his complexion fair beneath his tan, and his hair light. he gazed at them steadily with bright blue eyes, and both the first lieutenant and the second lieutenant of the quaker troop saw that he was no common person.
-"who are you?" repeated william wilton, who was the first lieutenant.
-"who are you?" repeated hugh carson, who was the second lieutenant.
-he spoke directly to the first lieutenant, who replied, impressed as much by the youth's voice as he was by his appearance:
-"yes, such is my name. but how did you know it? i don't recall ever having met you before, which doubtless is my loss."
-"i heard it from an associate of yours, your chief in command, captain james colden, and i am here with a message from him."
-"and so colden is coming up? well, we beat him to the place of meeting. we've triumphed with ease over the hardships of the wilderness." "yes, you arrived first, but he was delayed by a matter of importance, a problem that had to be solved before he could resume his march."
-"you speak in riddles, sir."
-"perhaps i do for the present, but i shall soon make full explanations. i wish to call first a friend of mine, an indian--although you say there are no indians in the forest--a most excellent friend of ours. tayoga, come!"
-the onondaga appeared silently in the circle of light, a splendid primeval figure, drawn to the uttermost of his great height, his lofty gaze meeting that of wilton, half in challenge and half in greeting. robert had been an impressive figure, but tayoga, owing to the difference in race, was even more so. the hands of several of the soldiers moved towards their weapons.
-"did i not tell you that he was a friend, a most excellent friend of ours?" said robert sharply. "who raises a hand against him raises a hand against me also, and above all raises a hand against our cause. lieutenant wilton, this is tayoga, of the clan of the bear, of the nation onondaga, of the great league of the hodenosaunee. he is a prince, as much a prince as any in europe. his mind and his valor have both been expended freely in our service, and they will be expended with equal freedom again."
-robert's tone was so sharp and commanding that wilton, impressed by it, saluted the onondaga with the greatest courtesy, and tayoga bowed gravely in reply.
-"you're correct in assuming that my name is wilton," said the young lieutenant. "i'm william wilton, of philadelphia, and i beg to present my second in command, hugh carson, of the same city."
-he looked questioningly at robert, who promptly responded:
-"my name is lennox, robert lennox, and i can claim either albany or new york as a home."
-"i think i've heard of you," said wilton. "a rumor came to philadelphia about a man of that name going to quebec on an errand for the governor of new york."
-"i was the messenger," said robert, "but since the mission was a failure it may as well be forgotten."
-"but it will not be forgotten. i've heard that you bore yourself with great judgment and address. nevertheless, if your modesty forbids the subject we'll come back to another more pressing. what did you mean when you said captain colden's delay was due to the solution of a vexing problem?"
-wilton reddened and then his generous impulse and sense of truth came to his aid.
-"i'll admit that i'm careless and that my knowledge may be small!" he exclaimed. "but tell me the facts, mr. lennox. i judge by your face that events of grave importance have occurred."
-"captain colden, far east of this point, was attacked by a strong force of french and indians under the renowned partisan leader, st. luc. tayoga, david willet, the hunter, the famous ranger black rifle and i were able to warn him and give him some help, but even then we should have been overborne and destroyed had not a mohawk chief, daganoweda, and a formidable band come to our aid. united, we defeated st. luc and drove him northward. captain colden lost several of his men, but with the rest he is now marching to the junction with you."
-wilton's face turned gray, but in a moment or two his eyes brightened.
-"then a special providence has been watching over us," he said. "we haven't seen or heard of an indian."
-his tone was one of mingled relief and humor, and robert could not keep from laughing.
-"at all events," he said, "you are safe for the present. i'll remain with you while tayoga goes back for captain colden."
-"if you'll be so good," said wilton, who did not forget his manners, despite the circumstances. "i've begun to feel that we have more eyes, or at least better ones, with you among us. where is that indian? you don't mean to say he's gone?"
-robert laughed again. tayoga, after his fashion, had vanished in silence.
-"he's well on his way to captain colden now," he said, exaggerating a little for the sake of effect. "he'll be a great chief some day, and meanwhile he's the fastest runner in the whole six nations."
-colden and his troop arrived soon, and the two little commands were united, to the great joy of all. lieutenant wilton had passed from the extreme of confidence to the utmost distrust. where it had not been possible for an indian to exist he now saw a scalplock in every bush.
-"on my honor," he said to colden, "james, i was never before in my life so happy to see you. i'm glad you have the entire command now. as mr. lennox said, providence saved me so far, but perhaps it wouldn't lend a helping hand any longer."
-"i had hoped to go to quebec myself," said wilton reflectively, "but i suppose it's a visit that's delayed for a long time now."
-"how does it happen that you, a quaker, are second in command here?" asked robert.
-"it must be the belligerency repressed through three or four generations and breaking out at last in me," replied wilton, his eyes twinkling. "i suppose there's just so much fighting in every family, and if three or four generations in succession are peaceful the next that follows is likely to be full of warlike fury. so, as soon as the war began i started for it. it's not inherent in me. as i said, it's the confined ardor of generations bursting forth suddenly in my person. i'm not an active agent. i'm merely an instrument."
-"it was the same warlike fury that caused you to come here, build your fire and set no watch, expecting the woods to be as peaceful as philadelphia?" said colden.
-"i didn't dream the french and indians were so near," he replied apologetically.
-"if comparisons are valuable you needn't feel any mortification about it, will," said colden. "i was just about as careless myself, and all of us would have lost our scalps, if willet, lennox and tayoga hadn't come along."
-wilton was consoled. but both he and colden after the severe lesson the latter had received were now all for vigilance. many sentinels had been posted, and since colden was glad to follow the advice of willet and tayoga they were put in the best places. they let the fire die early, as the weather had now become very warm, and all of them, save the watch soon slept. the night brought little coolness with it, and the wind that blew was warm and drying. under its touch the leaves began to crinkle up at the edge and turn brown, the grass showed signs of withering and willet, who had taken charge of the guard that night, noticed that summer was passing into the brown leaf. it caused him a pang of disappointment.
-great britain and the colonies had not yet begun to move. the provincial legislatures still wrangled, and the government at london was provokingly slow. there was still no plan of campaign, the great resources of the anglo-saxons had not yet been brought together for use against the quick and daring french, and while their slow, patient courage might win in the end, willet foresaw a long and terrible war with many disasters at the beginning.
-he was depressed for the moment. he knew what an impression the early french successes would make on the indian tribes, and he knew, too, as he heard the wind rustling through the dry leaves, that there would be no english campaign that year. one might lead an army in winter on the good roads and through the open fields of europe, but then only borderers could make way through the vast north american wilderness in the deep snows and bitter cold, where indian trails alone existed. the hunter foresaw a long delay before the british and colonial forces moved, and meanwhile the french and indians would be more strongly planted in the territory claimed by the rival nations, and, while in law possession was often nine points, it seemed in war to be ten points and all.
-as he walked back and forth black rifle touched him on the arm.
-"i'm going, dave," he said. "they don't need me here any longer. daganoweda and his mohawks, likely enough, will follow the french and indians, and have another brush with 'em. at any rate, it's sure that st. luc and tandakora won't come back, and these young men can go on without being attacked again and build their fort. but they'll be threatened there later on, and i'll come again with a warning."
-"i know you will," said willet. "wherever danger appears on the border, black rifle, there you are. i see great and terrible days ahead for us all."
-"and so do i," said black rifle. "this continent is on fire."
-the two shook hands, and the somber figure of black rifle disappeared in the forest. willet looked after him thoughtfully, and then resumed his pacing to and fro.
-they made an early start at dawn of a bright hot day, crossed the ford, and resumed their long march through the forest which under the light wind now rustled continually with the increasing dryness.
-but the company was joyous. the wounded were put upon the pack horses, and the others, young, strong and refreshed by abundant rest, went forward with springing steps. robert and tayoga walked with the three philadelphians. colden already knew the quality of the onondaga, and respected and admired him, and wilton and carson, surprised at first at his excellent english education, soon saw that he was no ordinary youth. the five, each a type of his own, were fast friends before the day's march was over. wilton, the quaker, was the greatest talker of them all, which he declared was due to suppression in childhood.
-"it's something like the battle fever which will come out along about the fourth or fifth generation," he said. "i suppose there's a certain amount of talk that every man must do in his lifetime, and, having been kept in a state of silence by my parents all through my youth, i'm now letting myself loose in the woods."
-"don't apologize, will," said colden. "your chatter is harmless, and it lightens the spirits of us all."
-"the talker has his uses," said tayoga gravely. "my friend lennox, known to the hodenosaunee as dagaeoga, is golden-mouthed. the gift of great speech descends upon him when time and place are fitting."
-"and so you're an orator, are you?" said carson, looking at robert.
-young lennox blushed.
-"tayoga is my very good friend," he replied, "and he gives me praise i don't deserve."
-"when one has a gift direct from manitou," said the onondaga, gravely, "it is not well to deny it. it is a sign of great favor, and you must not show ingratitude, dagaeoga."
-"he has you, lennox," laughed wilton, "but you needn't say more. i know that tayoga is right, and i'm waiting to hear you talk in a crisis."
-robert blushed once more, but was silent. he knew that if he protested again the young philadelphians would chaff him without mercy, and he knew at heart also that tayoga's statement about him was true. he remembered with pride his defeat of st. luc in the great test of words in the vale of onondaga. but wilton's mind quickly turned to another subject. he seemed to exemplify the truth of his own declaration that all the impulses bottled up in four or five generations of quaker ancestors were at last bursting out in him. he talked more than all the others combined, and he rejoiced in the freedom of the wilderness.
-"i'm a spirit released," he said. "that's why i chatter so."
-"perhaps it's just as well, will, that while you have the chance you should chatter to your heart's content, because at any time an indian arrow may cut short your chance for chattering," said carson.
-"i can't believe it, hugh," said wilton, "because if providence was willing to preserve us, when we camped squarely among the indians, put out no guards, and fairly asked them to come and shoot at us, then it was for a purpose and we'll be preserved through greater and continuous dangers."
-"there may be something in it, will. i notice that those who deserve it least are often the chosen favorites of fortune."
-"which seems to be a hit at your superior officer, but i'll pass it over, hugh, as you're always right at heart though often wrong in the head."
-robert found the march not only pleasant but exhilarating. it appealed to his imaginative and sensitive mind, which magnified everything, and made the tints more vivid and brilliant. to him the forests were larger and grander than they were to the others, and the rivers were wider and deeper. the hours were more intense, he lived every second of them, and the future had a scope and brilliancy that few others would foresee. in company with youths of his own age coming from the largest city of the british colonies, the one that had the richest social traditions, his whole nature expanded, and he cast away much of his reserve. around the campfires in the evening he became one of the most industrious talkers, and now and then he was carried away so much by his own impulse that all the rest would cease and listen to the mellow, golden voice merely for the pleasure of hearing. then tayoga and willet would look at each other and smile, knowing that dagaeoga, though all unconsciously, held the center of the stage, and the others were more than willing for him to hold it.
-the friendships of the young ripen fast, and under such circumstances they ripen faster than ever. robert soon felt that he had known the three young philadelphians for years, and a warm friendship, destined to last all their lives, in which tayoga was included, was soon formed. robert saw that his new comrades, although they did not know much of the forest, were intelligent, staunch and brave, and they saw in him all that tayoga and willet saw, which was a great deal.
-the heat and dryness increased, and the brown of leaf and grass deepened. nearly all the green was gone now, and autumn would soon come. the forest was full of game, and willet and tayoga kept them well supplied, yet their progress became slower. those who had been wounded severely approached the critical stage, and once they stopped two days until all danger had passed.
-three days later a fierce summer storm burst upon them. tayoga had foreseen it, and the whole troop was gathered in the lee of a hill, with all their ammunition protected by blankets, canvas and the skins of deer that they had killed. but the young philadelphians, unaccustomed to the fury of the elements in the wilderness, looked upon it with awe.
-in the west the lightning blazed and the thunder crashed for a long time. often the forest seemed to swim in a red glare, and robert himself was forced to shut his eyes before the rapid flashes of dazzling brightness. then came a great rushing of wind with a mighty rain on its edge, and, when the wind died, the rain fell straight down in torrents more than an hour.
-although they kept their ammunition and other supplies dry the men themselves were drenched to the bone, but the storm passed more suddenly than it had come. the clouds parted on the horizon, then all fled away. the last raindrop fell and a shining sun came out in a hot blue sky. as the men resumed a drooping march their clothes dried fast in the fiery rays and their spirits revived.
-when night came they were dry again, and youth had taken no harm. the next day they struck an indian trail, but both willet and tayoga said it had been made by less than a dozen warriors, and that they were going north.
-"it's my belief," said willet, "that they were warriors from the ohio country on their way to join the french along the canadian border."
-"and they're not staying to meet us," said colden. "i'm afraid, will, it'll be some time before you have a chance to show your unbottled quaker valor."
-"perhaps not so long as you think," replied wilton, who had plenty of penetration. "i don't claim to be any great forest rover, although i do think i've learned something since i left philadelphia, but i imagine that our building of a fort in the woods will draw 'em. the indian runners will soon be carrying the news of it, and then they'll cluster around us like flies seeking sugar."
-"you're right, mr. wilton," said willet. "after we build this fort it's as sure as the sun is in the heavens that we'll have to fight for it."
-two days later they reached the site for their little fortress which they named fort refuge, because they intended it as a place in which harried settlers might find shelter. it was a hill near a large creek, and the source of a small brook lay within the grounds they intended to occupy, securing to them an unfailing supply of good water in case of siege.
-now, the young soldiers entered upon one of the most arduous tasks of the war, to build a fort, which was even more trying to them than battle. arms and backs ached as colden, wilton and carson, advised by willet, drove them hard. a strong log blockhouse was erected, and then a stout palisade, enclosing the house and about an acre of ground, including the precious spring which spouted from under a ledge of stone at the very wall of the blockhouse itself. behind the building they raised a shed in which the horses could be sheltered, as all of them foresaw a long stay, dragging into winter with its sleet and snow, and it was important to save the animals.
-robert, willet and tayoga had a roving commission, and, as they could stay with colden and his command as long as they chose, they chose accordingly to remain where they thought they could do the most good. robert took little part in the hunting, but labored with the soldiers on the building, although it was not the kind of work to which his mind turned.
-the blockhouse itself, was divided into a number of rooms, in which the soldiers who were not on guard could sleep, and they had blankets and the skins of the larger animals the hunters killed for beds. venison jerked in great quantities was stored away in case of siege, and the whole forest was made to contribute to their larder. the work was hard, but it toughened the sinews of the young soldiers, and gave them an occupation in which they were interested. before it was finished they were joined by another small detachment with loaded pack horses, which by the same kind of miracle had come safely through the wilderness. colden now had a hundred men, fifty horses and powder and lead for all the needs of which one could think.
-"if we only had a cannon!" he said, looking proudly at their new blockhouse, "i think i'd build a platform for it there on the roof, and then we could sweep the forest in every direction. eh, will, my lad?"
-"but as we haven't," said wilton, "we'll have to do the sweeping with our rifles."
-"and our men are good marksmen, as they showed in that fight with st. luc. but it seems a world away from philadelphia, doesn't it, will? i wonder what they're doing there!"
-"counting their gains in the west india trade, looking at the latest fashions from england that have come on the ships up the delaware, building new houses out germantown way, none of them thinking much of the war, except old ben franklin, who pegs forever at the governor of the province, the legislature, and every influential man to take action before the french and indians seize the whole border."
-"i hope franklin will stir 'em up, and that they won't forget us out here in the woods. for us at least the french and indians are a reality."
-meanwhile summer had turned into autumn, and autumn itself was passing.
-fort refuge, the stronghold raised by young arms, was the most distant point in the wilderness held by the anglo-american forces, and for a long time it was cut off entirely from the world. no message came out of the great forest that rimmed it round, but colden had been told to build it and hold it until he had orders to leave it, and he and his men waited patiently, until word of some kind should come or they should be attacked by the french and indian forces that were gathering continually in the north.
-they saw the autumn reach its full glory. the wilderness glowed in intense yellows and reds. the days grew cool, and the nights cold, the air was crisp and fresh like the breath of life, the young men felt their muscles expand and their courage rise, and they longed for the appearance of the enemy, sure that behind their stout palisade they would be able to defeat whatever numbers came.
-tayoga left them early one morning for a visit to his people. the leaves were falling then under a sharp west wind, and the sky had a cold, hard tint of blue steel. winter was not far away, but the day suited a runner like tayoga who wished to make speed through the wilderness. he stood for a moment or two at the edge of the forest, a strong, slender figure outlined against the brown, waved his hand to his friends watching on the palisade, and then disappeared.
-"a great indian," said young wilton thoughtfully. "i confess that i never knew much about the red men or thought much about them until i met him. i don't recall having come into contact with a finer mind of its kind."
-"most of the white people make the mistake of undervaluing the indians," said robert, "but we'll learn in this war what a power they are. if the hodenosaunee had turned against us we'd have been beaten already."
-"at any rate, tayoga is a noble type. since i had to come into the forest i'm glad to meet such fellows as he. do you think, lennox, that he'll get through safely?"
-"get through safely?" he repeated. "why, tayoga is the fastest runner among the indian nations, and they train for speed. he goes like the wind, he never tires, night and day are the same to him, he's so light of foot that he could pass through a band of his own comrades and they would never know he was there, and yet his own ears are so keen that he can hear the leaves falling a hundred yards away. the path from here to the vale of onondaga may be lined on either side with the french and the hostile tribes, standing as thick as trees in the forest, but he will flit between them as safely and easily as you and i would ride along a highroad into philadelphia. he will arrive at the vale of onondaga, unharmed, at the exact minute he intends to arrive, and he will return, reaching fort refuge also on the exact day, and at the exact hour and minute he has already selected."
-the young quaker surveyed robert with admiration and then laughed.
-"what they tell of you is true," he said. "in truth that was a most gorgeous and rounded speech you made about your friend. i don't recall finer and more flowing periods! what vividness! what imagery! i'm proud to know you, lennox!"
-robert reddened and then laughed.
-"i do grow enthusiastic when i talk about tayoga," he said, "but you'll see that what i predict will come to pass. he's probably told willet just when he'll be back at fort refuge. we'll ask him."
-the hunter informed them that tayoga intended to take exactly ten days.
-"this is monday," he said. "he'll be here a week from next thursday at noon."
-"but suppose something happens to detain him," said wilton, "suppose the weather is too bad for traveling, or suppose a lot of other things that can happen easily."
-willet shrugged his shoulders.
-"in such a case as this where tayoga is concerned," he said, "we don't suppose anything, we go by certainties. before he left, tayoga settled the day and the hour when he would return and it's not now a problem or a question. he has disposed of the subject."
-"i can't quite see it that way," said wilton tenaciously. "i admit that tayoga is a wonderful fellow, but he cannot possibly tell the exact hour of his return from such a journey as the one he has undertaken."
-"you wait and see," said the hunter in the utmost good nature. "you think you know tayoga, but you don't yet know him fully."
-"if i were not a quaker i'd wager a small sum of money that he does not come at the time appointed," said wilton.
-"then it's lucky for your pocket that you're a quaker," laughed willet.
-it turned much colder that very afternoon, and the raw edge of winter showed. the wind from the northwest was bitter and the dead leaves fell in showers. at dusk a chilling rain began, and the young soldiers, shivering, were glad enough to seek the shelter of the blockhouse, where a great fire was blazing on the broad hearth. they had made many rude camp stools and sitting down on one before the blaze wilton let the pleasant warmth fall upon his face.
-"i'm sorry for tayoga," he said to robert. "just when you and willet were boasting most about him this winter rain had to come and he was no more than fairly started. he'll have to hunt a den somewhere in the forest and crouch in it wrapped in his blanket."
-robert smiled serenely.
-"den! crouch! wrapped in his blanket! what do you mean?" he asked in his mellow, golden voice. "are you speaking of my friend, tayoga, of the clan of the bear, of the nation onondaga, of the great league of the hodenosaunee? can it be possible, wilton, that you are referring to him, when you talk of such humiliating subterfuges?"
-"i refer to him and none other, lennox. i see him now, stumbling about in the deep forest, looking for shelter."
-"no, wilton, you don't see tayoga. you merely see an idle figment of a brain that does not yet fully know my friend, the great young onondaga. but i see him, and i see him clearly. i behold a tall, strong figure, head slightly bent against the rain, eyes that see in the dark as well as yours see in the brightest sunlight, feet that move surely and steadily in the path, never stumbling and never veering, tireless muscles that carry him on without slackening."
-"dithyrambic again, lennox. you are certainly loyal to your friend. as for me, i'm glad i'm not out there in the black and wet forest. no human being can keep to his pace at such a time."
-the sentinels, mounted on the broad plank that ran behind the palisade, were walking to and fro, wrapped to their eyes. a month or two earlier they might have left everything on such a night to take care of itself, but now they knew far better. captain colden, with the terrible lesson of the battle in the bush, had become a strict disciplinarian, and willet was always at his elbow with unobtrusive but valuable advice which the young philadelphian had the good sense to welcome.
-robert spoke to them, and one or two referred to the indian runner who had gone east, saying that he might have had a better night for his start. the repetition of wilton's words depressed robert for a moment, but his heart came back with a bound. nothing could defeat tayoga. did he not know his red comrade? the wilderness was like a trimmed garden to him, and neither rain, nor hail, nor snow could stop him.
-"i like that onondaga," he said, "and i don't want him to freeze to death in the forest. why, the earth and all the trees are coated with ice now, and even if a man lives he is able to make no progress."
-once more robert smiled serenely.
-"you're thinking of the men you knew in philadelphia, will," he said. "they, of course, couldn't make such a flight through a white forest, but tayoga is an altogether different kind of fellow. he'll merely exert himself a little more, and go on as fast as ever."
-wilton looked at the vast expanse of glittering ice, and then drew the folds of a heavy cloak more closely about his body.
-"i rejoice," he said, "that it's the onondaga and not myself who has to make the great journey. i rejoice, too, that we have built this fort. it's not philadelphia, that fine, true, comfortable city, but it's shelter against the hard winter that i see coming so fast."
-colden, still following the advice of willet, kept his men busy, knowing that idleness bred discontent and destroyed discipline. at least a dozen soldiers, taught by willet and robert, had developed into excellent hunters, and as the game was abundant, owing to the absence of indians, they had killed deer, bear, panther and all the other kinds of animals that ranged these forests. the flesh of such as were edible was cured and stored, as they foresaw the day when many people might be in fort refuge and the food would be needed. the skins also were dressed and were put upon the floor or hung upon the walls. the young men working hard were happy nevertheless, as they were continually learning new arts. and the life was healthy to an extraordinary degree. all the wounded were as whole as before, and everybody acquired new and stronger muscles.
-their content would have been yet greater in degree had they been able to learn what was going on outside, in that vast world where france and britain and their colonies contended so fiercely for the mastery. but they looked at the wall of the forest, and it was a blank. they were shut away from all things as completely as crusoe on his island. nor would they hear a single whisper until tayoga came back--if he came back.
-on the second day after the onondaga's departure the air softened, but became darker. the glittering white of the forest assumed a more somber tinge, clouds marched up in solemn procession from the southwest, and mobilized in the center of the heavens, a wind, touched with damp, blew. robert knew very well what the elements portended and again he was sorry for tayoga, but as before, after the first few moments of discouragement his courage leaped up higher than ever. his brilliant imagination at once painted a picture in which every detail was vivid and full of life, and this picture was of a vast forest, trees and bushes alike clothed in ice, and in the center of it a slender figure, but straight, tall and strong, tayoga himself speeding on like the arrow from the bow, never wavering, never weary. then his mind allowed the picture to fade. wilton might not believe tayoga could succeed, but how could this young quaker know tayoga as he knew him?
-the clouds, having finished their mobilization in the center of the heavens, soon spread to the horizon on every side. then a single great white flake dropped slowly and gracefully from the zenith, fell within the palisade, and melted before the eyes of robert and wilton. but it was merely a herald of its fellows which, descending at first like skirmishers, soon thickened into companies, regiments, brigades, divisions and armies. then all the air was filled with the flakes, and they were so thick they could not see the forest.
-"the first snow of the winter and a big one," said wilton, "and again i give thanks for our well furnished fort. there may be greater fortresses in europe, and of a certainty there are many more famous, but there is none finer to me than this with its' stout log walls, its strong, broad roofs, and its abundance of supplies. once more, though, i'm sorry for your friend, tayoga. a runner may go fast over ice, if he's extremely sure of foot and his moccasins are good, but i know of no way in which he can speed like the gull in its flight through deep snow."
-"not through the snow, but he may be on it," said robert.
-"and how on it, wise but cryptic young sir?"
-"but he took none with him and had none to take."
-"which proves nothing. the indians often hide in the forest articles they'll need at some far day. a canoe may be concealed in a thicket at the creek's edge, a bow and arrows may be thrust away under a ledge, all awaiting the coming of their owner when he needs them most."
-"the chance seems too small to me, lennox. i can't think a pair of snow shoes will rise out of the forest just when tayoga wants 'em, walk up to him and say: 'please strap us on your feet.' i make concession freely that the onondaga is a most wonderful fellow, but he can't work miracles. he does not hold such complete mastery over the wilderness that it will obey his lightest whisper. i read fairy tales in my youth and they pleased me much, but alas! they were fairy tales! the impossible doesn't happen!"
-"who's the great talker now? your words were flowing then like the trickling of water from a spout. but you're wrong, will, about the impossible. the impossible often happens. great spirits like tayoga love the impossible. it draws them on, it arouses their energy, they think it worth while. i've seen tayoga more than once since he started, as plainly as i see you, will. now, i shut my eyes and i behold him once more. he's in the forest. the snow is pouring down. it lies a foot deep on the ground, the boughs bend with it, and sometimes they crack under it with a report like that of a rifle. the tops of the bushes crowned with white bend their weight toward the ground, the panthers, the wolves, and the wildcats all lie snug in their dens. it's a dead world save for one figure. squarely in the center of it i see tayoga, bent over a little, but flying straight forward at a speed that neither you nor i could match, will. his feet do not sink in the snow. he skims upon it like a swallow through the air. his feet are encased in something long and narrow. he has on snow shoes and he goes like the wind!"
-"you do have supreme confidence in the onondaga, lennox!"
-"so would you if you knew him as i do, will, a truth i've told you several times already."
-"but he can't provide for every emergency!"
-"must i tell you for the twentieth time that you don't know tayoga as i know him?"
-"no, lennox, but i'll wait and see what happens."
-"i hope that vision of yours comes true," said wilton to robert, as they looked at the forest. "they say the highland scotch can go into trances or something of that kind, and look into the future, and i believe the indians claim the gift, but i've never heard that english and americans assumed the possession of such powers."
-"i'm no seer," laughed robert. "i merely use my imagination and produce for myself a picture of things two or three days ahead."
-"which comes to the same thing. well, we'll see. i take so great an interest in the journey of your onondaga friend that somehow i feel myself traveling along with him."
-"i know i'm going with him or i wouldn't have seen him flying ahead on his snow shoes. but come, will, i've promised to teach you how to sew buckskin with tendons and sinews, and i'm going to see that you do it."
-the snow despite its great depth was premature, because on the fourth day soft winds began to blow, and all the following night a warm rain fell. it came down so fast that the whole earth was flooded, and the air was all fog and mist. the creek rose far beyond its banks, and the water stood in pools and lakes in the forest.
-"now, in very truth, our friend tayoga has been compelled to seek a lair," said wilton emphatically. "his snow shoes would be the sorriest of drags upon his feet in mud and water, and without them he will sink to his knees. the wilderness has become impassable."
-"i see no way out of it for him," said wilton.
-"but i do."
-"then what, in heaven's name, is it?"
-"i not only see the way for tayoga, but i shut my eyes once more and i see him using it. he has put away his snow shoes, and, going to the thick bushes at the edge of a creek, he has taken out his hidden canoe. he has been in it some time, and with mighty sweeps of the paddle, that he knows so well how to use, it flies like a wild duck over the water. now he passes from the creek into a river flowing eastward, and swollen by the floods to a vast width. the rain has poured upon him, but he does not mind it. the powerful exercise with the paddles dries his body, and sends the pleasant warmth through every vein. his feet and ankles rest, after his long flight on the snow shoes, and his heart swells with pleasure, because it is one of the easiest parts of his journey. his rifle is lying by his side, and he could seize it in a moment should an enemy appear, but the forest on either side of the stream is deserted, and he speeds on unhindered. there may be better canoemen in the world than tayoga, but i doubt it."
-"come, come, lennox! you go too far! i can admit the possibility of the snow shoes and their appearance at the very moment they're needed, but the evocation of a river and a canoe at the opportune instant puts too high a strain upon credibility."
-"then don't believe it unless you wish to do so," laughed robert, "but as for me i'm not only believing it, but i'm almost at the stage of knowing it."
-the flood was so great that all hunting ceased for the time, and the men stayed under shelter in the fort, while the fires were kept burning for the sake of both warmth and cheer. but they were on the edge of the great ohio valley, where changes in temperature are often rapid and violent. the warm rain ceased, the wind came out of the southwest cold and then colder. the logs of the buildings popped with the contracting cold all through the following night and the next dawn came bright, clear and still, but far below zero. the ice was thick on the creek, and every new pool and lake was covered. the trees and bushes that had been dripping the day before were sheathed in silver mail. breath curled away like smoke from the lips.
-"if tayoga stayed in his canoe," said wilton, "he's frozen solidly in the middle of the river, and he won't be able to move it until a thaw comes."
-robert laughed with genuine amusement and also with a certain scorn.
-"i've told you many times, will," he said, "that you didn't know all about tayoga, but now it seems that you know nothing about him."
-"well, then, wherein am i wrong, sir robert the omniscient?" asked wilton.
-"in your assumption that tayoga would not foresee what was coming. having spent nearly all his life with nature he has naturally been forced to observe all of its manifestations, even the most delicate. and when you add to these necessities the powers of an exceedingly strong and penetrating mind you have developed faculties that can cope with almost anything. tayoga foresaw this big freeze, and i can tell you exactly what he did as accurately as if i had been there and had seen it. he kept to the river and his canoe almost until the first thin skim of ice began to show. then he paddled to land, and hid the canoe again among thick bushes. he raised it up a little on low boughs in such a manner that it would not touch the water. thus it was safe from the ice, and so leaving it well hidden and in proper condition, and situation, he sped on."
-"of course you're a master with words, robert, and the longer they are the better you seem to like 'em, but how is the onondaga to make speed over the ice which now covers the earth? snow shoes, i take it, would not be available upon such a smooth and tricky surface, and, at any rate, he has left them far behind."
-"in part of your assumption you're right, will. tayoga hasn't the snow shoes now, and he wouldn't use 'em if he had 'em. he foresaw the possibility of the freeze, and took with him in his pack a pair of heavy moose skin moccasins with the hair on the outside. they're so rough they do not slip on the ice, especially when they inclose the feet of a runner, so wiry, so agile and so experienced as tayoga. once more i close my eyes and i see his brown figure shooting through the white forest. he goes even faster than he did when he had on the snow shoes, because whenever he comes to a slope he throws himself back upon his heels and lets himself slide down the ice almost at the speed of a bird darting through the air."
-"if you're right, lennox, your red friend is not merely a marvel, but a series of marvels."
-"i'm right, will. i do not doubt it. at the conclusion of the tenth day when tayoga arrives on the return from the vale of onondaga you will gladly admit the truth."
-"there can be no doubt about my gladness, lennox, if it should come true, but the elements seem to have conspired against him, and i've learned that in the wilderness the elements count very heavily."
-"earth, fire and water may all join against him, but at the time appointed he will come. i know it."
-the great cold, and it was hard, fierce and bitter, lasted two days. at night the popping of the contracting timbers sounded like a continuous pistol fire, but willet had foreseen everything. at his instance, colden had made the young soldiers gather vast quantities of fuel long ago from a forest which was filled everywhere with dead boughs and fallen timber, the accumulation of scores of years.
-then another great thaw came, and the fickle climate proceeded to show what it could do. when the thaw had been going on for a day and a night a terrific winter hurricane broke over the forest. trees were shattered as if their trunks had been shot through by huge cannon balls. here and there long windrows were piled up, and vast areas were a litter of broken boughs.
-"as i reckon, and allowing for the marvels you say he can perform, tayoga is now in the vale of onondaga, lennox," said wilton. "it's lucky that he's there in the comfortable log houses of his own people, because a man could scarcely live in the forest in such a storm as this, as he would be beaten to death by flying timbers."
-"this time, will, you're wrong in both assumptions. tayoga has already been to the vale of onondaga. he has spent there the half day that he allowed to himself, and now on the return journey has left the vale far behind him. i told you how sensitive he was to the changes of the weather, and he knew it was coming several hours before it arrived. he sought at once protection, probably a cleft in the rock, or an opening of two or three feet under a stony ledge. he is lying there now, just as snug and safe as you please, while this storm, which covers a vast area, rages over his head. there is much that is primeval in tayoga, and his comfort and safety make him fairly enjoy the storm. as he lies under the ledge with his blanket drawn around him, he is warm and dry and his sense of comfort, contrasting his pleasant little den with the fierce storm without, becomes one of luxury."
-"i suppose of course, lennox, that you can shut your eyes and see him once more without any trouble."
-"in all truth and certainty i can, will. he is lying on a stone shelf with a stone ledge above him. his blanket takes away the hardness of the stone that supports him. he sees boughs and sticks whirled past by the storm, but none of them touches him. he hears the wind whistling and screaming at a pitch so fierce that it would terrify one unused to the forest, but it is only a song in the ears of tayoga. it soothes him, it lulls him, and knowing that he can't use the period of the storm for traveling, he uses it for sleep, thus enabling him to take less later on when the storm has ceased. so, after all, he loses nothing so far as his journey is concerned. now his lids droop, his eyes close, and he slumbers while the storm thunders past, unable to touch him."
-"you do have the gift, lennox. i believe that sometimes your words are music in your own ears, and inspire you to greater efforts. when the war is over you must surely become a public man--one who is often called upon to address the people."
-"we'll fight the war first," laughed robert.
-the storm in its rise, its zenith and its decline lasted several hours, and, when it was over, the forest looked like a wreck, but robert knew that nature would soon restore everything. the foliage of next spring would cover up the ruin and new growth would take the place of the old and broken. the wilderness, forever restoring what was lost, always took care of itself.
-a day or two of fine, clear winter weather, not too cold, followed, and willet went forth to scout. he was gone until the next morning and when he returned his face was very grave.
-"there are indians in the forest," he said, "not friendly warriors of the hodenosaunee, but those allied with the enemy. i think a formidable ojibway band under tandakora is there, and also other indians from the region of the great lakes. they may have started against us some time back, but were probably halted by the bad weather. they're in different bodies now, scattered perhaps for hunting, but they'll reunite before long."
-"did you see signs of any white men, dave?" asked robert.
-"yes, french officers and some soldiers are with 'em, but i don't think st. luc is in the number. more likely it's de courcelles and jumonville, whom we have such good cause to remember."
-"i hope so, dave, i'd rather fight against those two than against st. luc."
-"so would i, and for several reasons. st. luc is a better leader than they are. they're able, but he's the best of all the french."
-that afternoon two men who ventured a short distance from fort refuge were shot at, and one was wounded slightly, but both were able to regain the little fortress. willet slipped out again, and reported the forest swarming with indians, although there was yet no indication of a preconcerted attack. still, it was well for the garrison to keep close and take every precaution.
-"and this shuts out tayoga," said wilton regretfully to robert. "he may make his way through rain and flood and sleet and snow and hurricane, but he can never pass those watchful hordes of indians in the woods."
-once more the onondaga's loyal friend laughed. "the warriors turn tayoga back, will?" he said. "he will pass through 'em just as if they were not there. the time will be up day after tomorrow at noon, and then he will be here."
-"even if the indians move up and besiege us in regular form?"
-"even that, and even anything else. at noon day after tomorrow tayoga will be here."
-another man who went out to bring in a horse that had been left grazing near the fort was fired upon, not with rifles or muskets but with arrows, and grazed in the shoulder. he had, however, the presence of mind to spring upon the animal's back and gallop for fort refuge, where the watchful willet threw open the gate to the stockade, let him in, then quickly closed and barred it fast. a long fierce whining cry, the war whoop, came from the forest.
-"the siege has closed in already," said robert, "and it's well that we have no other men outside."
-"except tayoga," said wilton.
-"the barrier of the red army doesn't count so far as tayoga is concerned. how many times must i tell you, will, that tayoga will come at the time appointed?"
-after the shout from the woods there was a long silence that weighed upon the young soldiers, isolated thus in the wintry and desolate wilderness. they were city men, used to the streets and the sounds of people, and their situation had many aspects that were weird and appalling. they were hundreds of miles from civilization, and around them everywhere stretched a black forest, hiding a tenacious and cruel foe. but on the other hand their stockade was stout, they had plenty of ammunition, water and provisions, and one victory already to their credit. after the first moments of depression they recalled their courage and eagerly awaited an attack.
-but the attack did not come and robert knew it would not be made, at least not yet. the indians were too wary to batter themselves to pieces against the palisade, and the frenchmen with them, skilled in forest war, would hold them back.
-"perhaps they've gone away, realizing that we're too strong for 'em," said wilton.
-"that's just what we must guard against," said robert. "the indian fights with trick and stratagem. he always has more time than the white man, and he is wholly willing to wait. they want us to think they've left, and then they'll cut off the incautious."
-the afternoon wore on, and the silence which had grown oppressive persisted. a light pleasant wind blew through the forest, which was now dry, and the dead bark and wintry branches rustled. to many of the youths it became a forest of gloom and threat, and they asked impatiently why the warriors did not come out and show themselves like men. certainly, it did not become frenchmen, if they were there to lurk in the woods and seek ambush.
-willet was the pervading spirit of the defense. deft in word and action, acknowledging at all times that colden was the commander, thus saving the young philadelphian's pride in the presence of his men, he contrived in an unobtrusive way to direct everything. the guards were placed at suitable intervals about the palisade, and were instructed to fire at anything suspicious, the others were compelled to stay in the blockhouse and take their ease, in order that their nerves might be steady and true, when the time for battle came. the cooks were also instructed to prepare an unusually bountiful supper for them.
-robert was willet's right hand. next to the hunter he knew most about the wilderness, and the ways of its red people. there was no possibility that the indians had gone. even if they did not undertake to storm the fort they would linger near it, in the hope of cutting off men who came forth incautiously, and at night, especially if it happened to be dark, they would be sure to come very close.
-the palisade was about eight feet high, and the men stood on a horizontal plank three feet from the ground, leaving only the head to project above the shelter, and willet warned them to be exceedingly careful when the twilight came, since the besiegers would undoubtedly use the darkness as a cover for sharp-shooting. then both he and robert looked anxiously at the sun, which was just setting behind the black waste.
-"the night will be dark," said the hunter, "and that's bad. i'm afraid some of our sentinels will be picked off. robert, you and i must not sleep until tomorrow. we must stay on watch here all the while."
-as he predicted, the night came down black and grim. vast banks of darkness rolled up close to the palisade, and the forest showed but dimly. then the warriors proved to the most incredulous that they had not gone far away. scattered shots were fired from the woods, and one sentinel who in spite of warnings thrust his head too high above the palisade, received a bullet through it falling back dead. it was a terrible lesson, but afterwards the others took no risks, although they were anxious to fire on hostile figures that their fancy saw for them among the trees. willet, robert and colden compelled them to withhold their fire until a real and tangible enemy appeared.
-later in the night burning arrows were discharged in showers and fell within the palisade, some on the buildings. but they had pails, and an unfailing spring, and they easily put out the flames, although one man was struck and suffered both a burn and a bruise.
-toward midnight a terrific succession of war whoops came, and a great number of warriors charged in the darkness against the palisade. the garrison was ready, and, despite the darkness, poured forth such a fierce fire that in a few minutes the horde vanished, leaving behind several still forms which they stole away later. another of the young philadelphians was killed, and before dawn he and his comrade who had been slain earlier in the evening were buried behind the blockhouse.
-at intervals in the remainder of the night the warriors fired either arrows or bullets, doing no farther damage except the slight wounding of one man, and when day came willet and robert, worn to the bone, sought a little rest and sleep in the blockhouse. they knew that golden could not be surprised while the sun was shining, and that the savages were not likely to attempt anything serious until the following night so they felt they were not needed for the present.
-robert slept until nearly noon, when he ate heartily of the abundant food one of the young cooks had prepared, and learned that beyond an occasional arrow or bullet the forest had given forth no threat. his own spirits rose high with the day, which was uncommonly brilliant, with a great sun shining in the center of the heavens, and not a cloud in the sky. wilton was near the blockhouse and was confident about the siege, but worried about tayoga.
-"you tell me that the indians won't go away," he said, "and if you're right, and i think you are, the onondaga is surely shut off from fort refuge."
-"i tell you for the last time that he will come at the appointed hour," he said.
-a long day began. hours that seemed days in themselves passed, and quiet prevailed in the forest, although the young soldiers no longer had any belief that the warriors had gone away.
-it was near the close of a day that had been marked by little demonstration from the enemy, and the young officers, growing used to the siege, attained a philosophical state of mind. they felt sure they could hold the palisade against any number of enemies, and the foresight of willet, robert and tayoga had been so great that by no possibility could they be starved out. they began now to have a certain exultation. they were inside comfortable walls, with plenty to eat and drink, while the enemy was outside and must forage for game.
-"if it were not for tayoga," said wilton to robert, "i should feel more than satisfied with the situation. but the fate of your onondaga friend sticks in my mind. mr. willet, who knows everything, says we're surrounded completely, and i don't wish him to lose his life in an attempt to get through at a certain time, merely on a point of honor."
-"it's no point of honor, will. it's just the completion of a plan at the time and place chosen. do you see anything in that tall tree to the east of the palisade?"
-"something appears to be moving up the trunk, but as it's on the far side, i catch only a glimpse of it."
-"that's an indian warrior, seeking a place for a shot at us. he'll reach the high fork, but he'll always keep well behind the body of the tree. it's really too far for a bullet, but i think it would be wise for us to slip back under cover."
-the sharpshooter reached his desired station and fired, but his bullet fell short. he tried three more, all without avail, and then willet picked him off with his long and deadly rifle. robert shut his eyes when he saw the body begin its fall, but his vivid imagination, so easily excited, made him hear its thump when it struck the earth.
-"and so ends that attempt!" he said.
-an hour later he saw a white flag among the trees, and when willet mounted the palisade two french officers came forward. robert saw at once that they were de courcelles and jumonville, and his heart beat hard. they linked him with quebec, in which he had spent some momentous days, and despite their treachery to him he did not feel hatred of them at that moment.
-robert and the hunter assented gladly. robert, in truth, was very curious to hear what these old friends and enemies of his had to say, and he felt a thrill when the two recognized and saluted him in the most friendly fashion, just as if they had never meant him any harm.
-"chance brings about strange meetings between us, mr. lennox," said de courcelles. "it gives me pleasure to note that you have not yet taken any personal harm from our siege."
-"nor you nor monsieur de jumonville, from our successful defense," replied robert in the same spirit.
-"you have us there. the points so far are in your favor, although only superficially so, as i shall make clear to you presently."
-then de courcelles turned his attention to colden, who he saw was the nominal leader of the garrison.
-"my name," he said, "is auguste de courcelles, a colonel in the service of his majesty, king louis of france. my friend is captain francois de jumonville, and we have the honor to lead the numerous and powerful force of french and indians now besieging you."
-"and my name is colden, captain james colden," replied the young officer. "i've heard of you from my friends, mr. lennox and mr. willet, and i have the honor of asking you what i can do for you."
-"you cannot do for us more than you can do for yourself, captain colden. we ask the surrender of your little fort, and of your little garrison, which we freely admit has defended itself most gallantly. it's not necessary for us to make an assault. you're deep in the wilderness, we can hold you here all winter, and help cannot possibly come to you. we guarantee you good treatment in canada, where you will be held until the war is over."
-young colden smiled. they were standing before the single gate in the palisade, and he looked back at the solid buildings, erected by the hands of his own men, with the comfortable smoke curling up against the cold sky. and he looked also at the wintry forest that curved in every direction.
-"colonel de courcelles," he said, "it seems to me that we are in and you are out. if it comes to holding us here all winter we who have good houses can stand it much better than you who merely have the forest as a home, where you will be rained upon, snowed upon, hailed upon, and maybe frozen. why should we exchange our warm house for your cold forest?"
-colonel de courcelles frowned. there was a humorous inflection in colden's tone that did not please him, and the young officer's words also had a strong element of truth.
-"it's not a time to talk about houses and forests," he said, somewhat haughtily. "we have here a formidable force capable of carrying your fort, and, for that reason, we demand your surrender. indians are always inflamed by a long and desperate resistance and while captain de jumonville and i will do our best to restrain them, it's possible that they may escape from our control in the hour of victory."
-young colden smiled again. with willet at his right hand and robert at his left, he acquired lightness of spirit.
-"there was your countryman, st. luc, a very brave and skillful man, who asked it of us, but we declined, and in the end we defeated him. and if we beat st. luc without the aid of a strong fort, why shouldn't we beat you with it, colonel de courcelles?"
-colonel de courcelles frowned once more, and captain de jumonville frowned with him.
-"you don't know the wilderness, captain colden," he said, "and you don't give our demand the serious consideration to which it is entitled. later on, the truth of what i tell you may bear heavily upon you."
-"i may not know the forest as you do, colonel de courcelles, but i have with me masters of woodcraft, mr. lennox and mr. willet, with whom you're already acquainted."
-"we've had passages of various kinds with colonel de courcelles, both in the forest and at quebec," said robert, quietly.
-both de courcelles and jumonville flushed, and it became apparent that they were anxious to end the interview.
-"this, i take it, is your final answer," the french colonel said to the young philadelphia captain.
-"it is, sir."
-"then what may occur rests upon the knees of the gods."
-"it does, sir, and i'm as willing as you to abide by the result."
-"and i have the honor of bidding you good day."
-"an equally great honor is mine."
-the two french officers were ceremonious. they lifted their fine, three-cornered hats, and bowed politely, and colden, willet and robert were not inferior in courtesy. then the frenchmen walked away into the forest, while the three americans went inside the palisade, where the heavy gate was quickly shut behind them and fastened securely. but before he turned back robert thought he saw the huge figure of tandakora in the forest.
-when the french officers disappeared several shots were fired and the savages uttered a long and menacing war whoop, but the young soldiers had grown used to such manifestations, and, instead of being frightened, they felt a certain defiant pleasure.
-"yells don't hurt us," said wilton to robert. "instead i feel my quaker blood rising in anger, and i'd rejoice if they were to attack now. a very heavy responsibility rests upon me, robert, since i've to fight not only for myself but for my ancestors who wouldn't fight at all. it rests upon me, one humble youth, to bring up the warlike average of the family."
-"you're one, will, but you're not humble," laughed robert. "i believe that jest of yours about the still, blood of generations bursting forth in you at last is not a jest wholly. when it comes to a pitched battle i expect to see you perform prodigies of valor."
-"if i do it won't be will wilton, myself, and i won't be entitled to any credit. i'll be merely an instrument in the hands of fate, working out the law of averages. but what do you think those french officers and their savage allies will do now, robert, since colden, so to speak, has thrown a very hard glove in their faces?"
-"draw the lines tighter about fort refuge. it's cold in the forest, but they can live there for a while at least. they'll build fires and throw up a few tepees, maybe for the french. but their anger and their desire to take us will make them watch all the more closely. they'll draw tight lines around this snug little, strong little fort of ours."
-"which removes all possibility that your friend tayoga will come at the appointed time."
-robert glared at him.
-"will," he said, "i've discovered that you have a double nature, although the two are never struggling for you at the same time."
-"that is i march tandem with my two natures, so to speak?"
-"they alternate. at times you're a sensible boy."
-"boy? i'm older than you are!"
-"one wouldn't think it. but a well bred quaker never interrupts. as i said, you're quite sensible at times and you ought to thank me for saying so. at other times your mind loves folly. it fairly swims and dives in the foolish pool, and it dives deepest when you're talking about tayoga. i trust, foolish young, sir, that i've heard the last word of folly from you about the arrival of tayoga, or rather what you conceive will be his failure to arrive. peace, not a word!"
-"at least let me say this," protested wilton. "i wish that i could feel the absolute confidence in any human being that you so obviously have in the onondaga."
-the night came, white and beautiful. it was white, because the milky way was at its brightest, which was uncommonly bright, and every star that ever showed itself in that latitude came out and danced. the heavens were full of them, disporting themselves in clusters on spangled seas, and the forest was all in light, paler than that of day, but almost as vivid.
-the indians lighted several fires, well beyond rifle shot, and the sentinels on the palisade distinctly saw their figures passing back and forth before the blaze robert also noticed the uniforms of frenchmen, and he thought it likely that de courcelles and jumonville had with them more soldiers than he had supposed at first. the fires burned at different points of the compass, and thus the fort was encircled completely by them. both young lennox and willet knew they had been lighted that way purposely, that is in order to show to the defenders that a belt of fire and steel was drawn close about them.
-wilton was in charge of the guard until midnight, and then he slept soundly until dawn, awakening to a brilliant day, the fit successor of such a brilliant night. the indian fires were still burning and he could see the warriors beside them sleeping or eating at leisure. they still formed a complete circle about the fort, and while the young quaker felt safe inside the palisade, he saw no chance for a friend outside. robert joined him presently but, respecting his feelings, the philadelphian said nothing about tayoga.
-the winter, it seemed, was exerting itself to show how fine a day it could produce. it was cold but dazzling. a gorgeous sun, all red and gold, was rising, and the light was so vivid and intense that they could see far in the forest, bare of leaf. robert clearly discerned both de courcelles and jumonville about six hundred yards away, standing by one of the fires. then he saw the gigantic figure of tandakora, as the ojibway joined them. despite the cold, tandakora wore little but the breechcloth, and his mighty chest and shoulders were painted with many hideous devices. in the distance and in the glow of the flames his size was exaggerated until he looked like one of the giants of ancient mythology.
-robert was quite sure the siege would never be raised if the voice of the ojibway prevailed in the allied french and indian councils. tandakora had been wounded twice, once by the hunter and once by the onondaga, and a mind already inflamed against the americans and the hodenosaunee cherished a bitter personal hate. robert knew that willet, tayoga and he must be eternally on guard against his murderous attacks.
-the besiegers seemed lazy, but robert knew that the watch upon the fort and its approaches was never neglected for an instant. a fox could not steal through their lines, unseen, and yet he never doubted. tayoga would come, and moreover he would come at the time appointed. toward the middle of the morning the indians shot some arrows that fell inside the palisade, and uttered a shout or two of defiance, but nobody was hurt, and nobody was stirred to action. the demonstration passed unanswered, and, after a while, wilton called robert's attention to the fact that it was only two hours until noon. robert did not reply, but he knew that the conditions could not be more unfavorable. rain or hail, sleet or snow might cover the passage of a warrior, but the dazzling sunlight that enlarged twigs two hundred yards away into boughs, seemed to make all such efforts vain. yet he knew tayoga, and he still believed.
-soon a stir came in the forest, and they heard a long, droning chant. a dozen warriors appeared coming out of the north, and they were welcomed with shouts by the others.
-"hurons, i think," said willet. "yes, i'm sure of it. they've undoubtedly sent away for help, and it's probable that other bands will come about this time." he reckoned right, as in half an hour a detachment of abenakis came, and they too were received with approving shouts, after which food was given to them and they sat luxuriously before the fires. then three runners arrived, one from the north, one from the west, and one from the east, and a great shout of welcome was uttered for each.
-"what does it mean?" wilton asked robert.
-"the runners were sent out by de courcelles and tandakora to rally more strength for our siege. they've returned with the news that fresh forces are coming, as the exultant shout from the warriors proves."
-the young philadelphian's heart sank. he knew that it was only a half hour until noon, and noon was the appointed time. nor did the heavens give any favoring sign. the whole mighty vault was a blaze of gold and blue. nothing could stir in such a light and remain hidden from the warriors. wilton looked at his comrade and he caught a sudden glitter in his eyes. it was not the look of one who despaired. instead it was a flash of triumph, and the young philadelphian wondered. had robert seen a sign, a sign that had escaped all others? he searched the forest everywhere with his own eyes, but he could detect nothing unusual. there were the french, and there were the indians. there were the new warriors, and there were the three runners resting by the fires.
-the runners rose presently, and the one who had come out of the north talked with tandakora, the one who had come out of the west stood near the edge of the forest with an abenaki chief and looked at the fort. the one who had come out of the east joined de courcelles himself and they came nearer to the fort than any of the others, although they remained just beyond rifle shot. evidently de courcelles was explaining something to the indian as once he pointed toward the blockhouse.
-wilton heard robert beside him draw a deep breath, and he turned in surprise. the face of young lennox was tense and his eyes fairly blazed as he gazed at de courcelles and the warrior. then looking back at the forest robert uttered a sudden sharp, ah! the release of uncontrollable emotion, snapping like a pistol shot.
-"did you see it, will? did you see it?" he exclaimed. "it was quicker than lightning!"
-the indian runner stooped, snatched the pistol from the belt of de courcelles, struck him such a heavy blow on the head with the butt of it that he fell without a sound, and then his brown body shot forward like an arrow for the fort.
-"open the gate! open the gate!" thundered willet, and strong arms unbarred it and flung it back in an instant. the brown body of tayoga flashed through, and, in another instant, it was closed and barred again.
-"he is here with five minutes to spare!" said robert as he left the palisade with wilton, and went toward the blockhouse to greet his friend.
-tayoga, painted like a micmac and stooping somewhat hitherto, drew himself to his full height, held out his hand in the white man's fashion to robert, while his eyes, usually so calm, showed a passing gleam of triumph.
-"i said, tayoga, that you would be back on time, that is by noon today," said robert, "and though the task has been hard you're with us and you have a few minutes to spare. how did you deceive the sharp eyes of tandakora?"
-"i did not let him see me, knowing he would look through my disguise, but i asked the french colonel to come forward with me at once and inspect the fort, knowing that it was my only chance to enter here, and he agreed to do so. you saw the rest, and thus i have come. it is not pleasant to those who besiege us, as your ears tell you."
-fierce yells of anger and disappointment were rising in the forest. jumonville and two french soldiers had rushed forward, seized the reviving de courcelles and were carrying him to one of the fires, where they would bind up his injured head. but inside the fort there was only exultation at the arrival of tayoga and admiration for his skill. he insisted first on being allowed to wash off the micmac paint, enabling him to return to his true character. then he took food and drink.
-"tayoga," said wilton, "i believed you could not come. i said so often to lennox. you would never have known my belief, because lennox would not have told it to you, but i feel that i must apologize to you for the thought. i underrated you, but i underrated you because i did not believe any human being could do what you have done."
-tayoga smiled, showing his splendid white teeth. "your thoughts did me no wrong," he said in his precise school english, "because the elements and chance itself seemed to have conspired against me."
-later he told what he had heard in the vale of onondaga where the sachems and chiefs kept themselves well informed concerning the movements of the belligerent nations. the french were still the more active of the rival powers, and their energy and conquests were bringing the western tribes in great numbers to their flag. throughout the ohio country the warriors were on the side of the french who were continuing the construction of the powerful fortress at the junction of the alleghany and the monongahela. the french were far down in the province of new york, and they held control of lake champlain and of lake george also. more settlements had been cut off, and more women and children had been taken prisoners into canada.
-but the british colonies and great britain too would move, so tayoga said. they were slow, much slower than canada, but they had the greater strength and the fifty sachems in the vale of onondaga knew it. they could not be moved from their attitude of friendliness toward the english, and the mohawks openly espoused the english side. the american, franklin, was very active, and a great movement against fort duquesne would be begun, although it might not start until next spring. an english force under an english general was coming across the sea, and the might of england was gathering for a great blow.
-the onondaga had few changes in the situation to report, but he at least brought news of the outside world, driving away from the young soldiers the feeling that they were cut off from the human race. wilton was present when he was telling of these things and when he had finished robert asked:
-"how did you make your way through the great snow, tayoga?"
-"it is well to think long before of difficulties," he replied. "last year when the winter was finished i hid a pair of snow shoes in this part of the forest, and when the deep snow came i found them and used them."
-robert glanced at wilton, whose eyes were widening.
-"and the great rain and flood, how did you meet that obstacle?" asked robert.
-"that, too, was forethought. i have two canoes hidden in this region, and it was easy to reach one of them, in which i traveled with speed and comfort, until i could use it no longer. then i hid it away again that it might help me another time."
-"and what did you do when the hurricane came, tearing up the bushes, cutting down the trees, and making the forest as dangerous as if it were being showered by cannon balls?"
-"i crept under a wide ledge of stone in the side of a hill, where i lay snug, dry and safe."
-wilton looked at tayoga and robert, and then back at the onondaga.
-"is this wizardry?" he cried.
-"no," replied robert.
-"then it's singular chance."
-"nor that either. it was the necessities that confronted tayoga in the face of varied dangers, and my knowledge of what he would be likely to do in either case. merely a rather fortunate use of the reasoning faculties, will."
-willet, who had come in, smiled.
-"don't let 'em make game of you, mr. wilton," he said, "but there's truth in what robert tells you. he understands tayoga so thoroughly that he knows pretty well what he'll do in every crisis."
-after the onondaga had eaten he wrapped himself in blankets, went to sleep in one of the rooms of the blockhouse and slept twenty-four hours. when he awoke he showed no signs of his tremendous journey and infinite dangers. he was once more the lithe and powerful tayoga of the clan of the bear, of the nation onondaga of the great league of the hodenosaunee.
-the besiegers meanwhile undertook no movement, but, as if in defiance, they increased the fires in the red ring around the fort and they showed themselves ostentatiously. robert several times saw de courcelles with a thick bandage about his head, and he knew that the frenchman's mortification and rage at being tricked so by the onondaga must be intense.
-now the weather began to grow very cold again, and robert saw the number of tepees in the forest increase. the indians, not content with the fires, were providing themselves with good shelters, and to every one it indicated a long siege. there was neither snow, nor hail, but clear, bitter, intense cold, and again the timbers of the blockhouse and outbuildings popped as they contracted under the lower temperature.
-the horses were pretty well sheltered from the cold, and willet, with his usual foresight, had suggested before the siege closed in that a great deal of grass be cut for them, though should the french and indians hang on for a month or two, they would certainly become a problem. food for the men would last indefinitely, but a time might arrive when none would be left for the horses.
-"if the pinch comes," said willet, "we know how to relieve it."
-"how?" asked colden.
-"we'll eat the horses."
-colden made a wry face.
-"it's often been done in europe," said the hunter. "at the famous sieges of leyden and haarlem, when the dutch held out so long against the spanish, they'd have been glad enough to have had horseflesh."
-"i look ahead again," said robert, hiding a humorous gleam in his eyes from colden, "and i see a number of young men behind a palisade which they have held gallantly for months. they come mostly from philadelphia and they call themselves quakers. they are thin, awfully thin, terribly thin, so thin that there is scarcely enough to make a circle for their belts. they have not eaten for four days, and they are about to kill their last horse. when he is gone they will have to live on fresh air and scenery."
-"now i know lennox that you're drawing on your imagination and that you're a false prophet," said colden.
-"i hope my prediction won't come true, and i don't believe it will," said robert cheerfully.
-several nights later when there was no moon, and no stars, willet and tayoga slipped out of the fort. colden was much opposed to their going, fearing for their lives, and knowing, too, how great a loss they would be if they were taken or slain, but the hunter and the onondaga showed the utmost confidence, assuring him they would return in safety.
-colden became quite uneasy for them after they had been gone some hours, and robert, although he refused to show it, felt a trace of apprehension. he knew their great skill in the forest, but tandakora was a master of woodcraft too, and the frenchmen also were experienced and alert. as he, colden, wilton and carson watched at the palisade he was in fear lest a triumphant shout from the indian lines would show that the hunter and the onondaga had been trapped.
-but the long hours passed without an alarm and about three o'clock in the morning two shadows appeared at the palisade and whispered to them. robert felt great relief as willet and tayoga climbed silently over.
-"we're half frozen," said the hunter. "take us into the blockhouse and over the fire we'll tell you all we've seen."
-they always kept a bed of live coals on the hearth in the main building, and the two who had returned bent over the grateful heat, warming their hands and faces. not until they were in a normal physical condition did colden or robert ask them any questions and then willet said:
-"their ring about the fort is complete, but in the darkness we were able to slip through and then back again. i should judge that they have at least three hundred warriors and tandakora is first among them. there are about thirty frenchmen. de courcelles has taken off his bandage, but he still has a bruise where tayoga struck him. peeping from the bushes i saw him and his face has grown more evil. it was evident to me that the blow of tayoga has inflamed his mind. he feels mortified and humiliated at the way in which he was outwitted, and, as tandakora also nurses a personal hatred against us, it's likely that they'll keep up the siege all winter, if they think in the end they can get us.
-"their camp, too, shows increasing signs of permanency. they've built a dozen bark huts in which all the french, all the chiefs and some of the warriors sleep, and there are skin lodges for the rest. oh, it's quite a village! and they've accumulated game, too, for a long time."
-colden looked depressed.
-"we're not fulfilling our mission," he said. "we've come out here to protect the settlers on the border, and give them a place of refuge. instead, it looks as if we'd pass the winter fighting for our own lives."
-"i think i have a plan," said robert, who had been very thoughtful.
-"what is it?" asked colden.
-"i remember something i read in our roman history in the school at albany. it was an event that happened a tremendously long time ago, but i fancy it's still useful as an example. scipio took his army over to africa to meet hannibal, and one night his men set fire to the tents of the carthaginians. they destroyed their camp, created a terrible tumult, and inflicted great losses."
-tayoga's eyes glistened.
-"then you mean," he said, "that we are to burn the camp of the french and their allies?"
-"it is a good plan. if great bear and the captain agree to it we will do it."
-"it's fearfully risky," said colden.
-"if great bear and i can go out once and come back safely," said tayoga, "we can do it twice."
-the young captain looked at willet.
-"it's the best plan," said the hunter. "robert hasn't read his roman history in vain."
-"then it's agreed," said colden, "and as soon as another night as dark as this comes we'll try it."
-the plan being formed, they waited a week before a night, pitchy black, arrived.
-the red weapon
-the night was admirably suited to their purpose--otherwise they would not have dared to leave fort refuge--and willet, tayoga and robert alone undertook the task. wilton, carson and others were anxious to go, but, as an enterprise of such great danger required surpassing skill, the three promptly ruled them out. the hunter and young lennox would have disguised themselves as indians, but as they did not have any paint in the fort they were compelled to go forth in their own garb.
-the cold had softened greatly, and, as heavy clouds had come with it, there was promise of snow, which in truth the three hoped would fall, since it would be an admirable cloak for their purpose. but in any event theirs was to be a perilous path, and colden shook hands with the three as they lowered themselves softly from the palisade.
-"come back," he whispered. "if you find the task too dangerous let it go and return at once. we need you here in the fort."
-"we'll come back as victors," robert replied with confidence. then he and his comrades crouched, close against the palisade and listened. the indian fires showed dimly in the heavy dusk, and they knew that sentinels were on watch in the woods, but still keeping in the shadow of the palisade they went to the far side, where the indian line was thinner. then they dropped to hand and knee and crept toward the forest.
-they stopped at intervals, lying flat upon the ground, looking with all their eyes and listening with all their ears. they saw ahead but one fire, apparently about four hundred yards away, and they heard only a light damp wind rustling the dry boughs and bushes. but they knew they could not afford to relax their caution by a hair, and they continued a slow creeping progress until they reached the woods. then they rested on their elbows in a thicket, and took long breaths of relief. they had been a quarter of an hour in crossing the open and it was an immense relief to sit up again. they kept very close together, while their muscles recovered elasticity, and still used their eyes and ears to the utmost. it was impossible to say that a warrior was not near crouching in the thicket as they were, and they did not intend to run any useless risk. moreover, if the alarm were raised now, they would escape into the fort, and await another chance.
-but they neither heard nor saw a hostile presence. in truth, they saw nothing that betokened a siege, save the dim light flickering several hundred yards ahead of them, and they resumed their advance, bent so low that they could drop flat at the first menace. their eyes looked continually for a sentinel, but they saw none.
-"don't you think the wind is rising a bit, tayoga?" whispered the hunter.
-"yes," replied the onondaga.
-"and it feels damper to the face?"
-"yes, great bear."
-"and it doesn't mean rain, because the air's too cold, but it does mean snow, for which the air is just right, and i think it's coming, as the clouds grow thicker and thicker all the time."
-"which proves that we are favored. tododaho from his great and shining star, that we cannot see tonight, looks down upon us and will help us, since we have tried to do the things that are right. we wish the snow to come, because we wish a veil about us, while we confound our enemies, and tododaho will send it."
-he spoke devoutly and robert admired and respected his faith, the center of which was manitou, and manitou in the mind of the christian boy was the same as god. he also shared the faith of tayoga that tododaho would wrap the snow like a white robe about them to hide them from their enemies. meanwhile the three crept slowly toward the fire, and robert felt something damp brush his face. it was the first flake of snow, and tododaho, on his shining star, was keeping his unspoken promise.
-another flake fell on robert's face and a third followed, and then they came down in a white and gentle stream that soon covered him, willet and tayoga and hung like a curtain before them. he looked back toward the fort, but the veil there also hung between and he could not see it. then he looked again, and the dim fire had disappeared in the white mist.
-"will it keep their huts and lodges from burning?" he whispered to the hunter.
-willet shook his head.
-"if we get a fire started well," he said, "the snow will seem to feed it rather than put it out. it's going to help us in more ways than one, too. i'd expected that we'd have to use flint and steel to touch off our blaze, but as they're likely to leave their own fire and seek shelter, maybe we can get a torch there. now, you two boys keep close to me and we'll approach that fire, or the place where it was."
-they continued a cautious advance, their moccasins making no sound in the soft snow, all objects invisible at a distance of twelve or fifteen feet. yet they saw one indian warrior on watch, although he did not see or hear them. he was under the boughs of a small tree and was crouched against the trunk, protecting himself as well as he could from the tumbling flakes. he was a huron, a capable warrior with his five senses developed well, and in normal times he was ambitious and eager for distinction in his wilderness world, but just now he did not dream that any one from the fort could be near. so the three passed him, unsuspected, and drew close to the fire, which now showed as a white glow through the dusk, sufficient proof that it was still burning. further progress proved that the warriors had abandoned it for shelter, and they left the next task to tayoga.
-the onondaga lay down in the snow and crept forward until he reached the fire, where he paused and waited two or three minutes to see that his presence was not detected. then he took three burning sticks and passed them back swiftly to his comrades. willet had already discerned the outline of a bark hut on his right and robert had made out another on his left. just beyond were skin tepees. they must now act quickly, and each went upon his chosen way.
-robert approached the hut on the left from the rear, and applied the torch to the wall which was made of dry and seasoned bark. despite the snow, it ignited at once and burned with extraordinary speed. the roar of flames from the right showed that the hunter had done as well, and a light flash among the skin tepees was proof that tayoga was not behind them.
-the huts and lodges burned fiercely. where they stood thickest each became a lofty pyramid of fire and then blended into a mighty mass of flames, forming an intense red core in the white cloud of falling snow. french soldiers and indian warriors ran about, seeking to save their arms, ammunition and stores, but they were not always successful. several explosions showed that the flames had reached powder, and robert laughed to himself in pleasure. the destruction of their powder was a better result than he had hoped or foreseen.
-the hunter uttered a low whistle and tayoga throwing down his torch, at once joined him and robert who had already cast theirs far from them.
-"back to the fort!" said willet. "we've already done 'em damage they can't repair in a long time, and maybe we've broken up their camp for the winter! what a godsend the snow was!"
-"it was tododaho who sent it," said tayoga, reverently. "they almost make a red ring around our fort. we have succeeded because the mighty chief, the founder of the great league of the hodenosaunee, who went away to his star four centuries ago, willed for us to succeed. how splendidly the fires burn! not a hut, not a lodge will be left!"
-"and it's time for us to be going," said the hunter. "men like de courcelles, jumonville and tandakora will soon bring order out of all that tumult, and they'll be looking for those who set the torch. the snow is coming down heavier and heavier and it hides our flight, although it is not able to put out the fires. you're right, tayoga, about tododaho pouring his favor upon us."
-it was easy for the three to regain the palisade, and they were not afraid of mistaken bullets fired at them for enemies, since colden and wilton had warned the soldiers that they might expect the return of the three. tododaho continued to watch over, them as they reached the palisade, at the point where the young philadelphia captain himself stood upon the raised plank behind it.
-"captain colden! captain colden!" called willet through the white cloud.
-"is it you, mr. willet?" exclaimed colden. "thank god you've come. i've been in great fear for you! i knew that you had set the fires, because my own eyes tell me so, but i didn't know what had become of you."
-"i'm here, safe and well."
-"and mr. lennox?"
-"here, unhurt, too," replied robert.
-"and the onondaga?"
-"all right and rejoicing that we have done even more than we hoped to do," said tayoga, in his measured and scholastic english.
-the entire population of fort refuge was at the palisade, heedless of the snow, watching the burning huts and lodges. there was no wind, but cinders and ashes fell near them, to be covered quickly with white. fierce yells now came from the forest and arrows and bullets were fired at the fort, but they were harmless and the defenders did not reply.
-the flames began to decline by and by, then they sank fast, and after a while the snow which still came down as if it meant never to stop covered everything. the circling white wall enveloped the stronghold completely, and robert knew that the disaster to the french and indians had been overwhelming. probably all of them had saved their lives, but they had lost ammunition--the explosions had told him that--much of their stores, and doubtless all of their food. they would have to withdraw, for the present at least.
-robert felt immense exultation. they had struck a great blow, and it was he who had suggested the plan. his pride increased, although he hid it, when willet put his large hand on his shoulder and said:
-"'twas well done, robert, my lad, and 'twould not have been done at all had it not been for you. your mind bred the idea, from which the action flowed."
-"and you think the french and indians have gone away now?"
-"surely, lad! surely! indians can stand a lot, and so can french, but neither can stand still in the middle of a snow that bids fair to be two feet deep and live. they may have to travel until they reach some indian village farther west and north."
-"the best thing you could do, and i'll take a turn between the blankets myself."
-willet and tayoga were up before him, and they were talking of another expedition to see how far the besieging force had gone, but while they were discussing it a figure appeared at the edge of the forest.
-"it's a white man," exclaimed wilton, "and so it must be one of the frenchmen. he's a bold fellow walking directly within our range. what on earth can he want?"
-one of the guards on the palisade raised his rifle, but willet promptly pushed down the muzzle.
-"that's no frenchman," he said.
-"then who is it?" asked wilton.
-"he's clothed in white, as any one walking in this snow is bound to be, but i could tell at the first glimpse that it was none other than our friend, black rifle."
-"coming to us for refuge, and so our fort is well named."
-"not for refuge. black rifle has taken care of himself too long in the wilderness to be at a loss at any time. i suspect that he has something of importance to tell us or he would not come at all."
-at the command of colden the great gate was thrown open that the strange rover might enter in all honor, and as he came in, apparently oblivious of the storm, his eyes gleamed a little at the sight of willet, his friend.
-"you've come to tell us something," said the hunter.
-"so i have," said black rifle.
-"brush off the snow, warm yourself by the fire, and then we'll listen."
-"i can tell it now. i don't mind the snow. i saw from a distance the great fire last night, when the camp of the french and indians burned. it was clever to destroy their huts and lodges, and i knew at once who did it. such a thing as that could not have happened without you having a hand in it, dave willet. i watched to see what the french and indians would do, and i followed them in their hurried retreat into the north. i hid in the snowy bushes, and heard some of their talk, too. they will not stop until they reach a village a full hundred miles from here. the frenchmen, de courcelles and jumonville are mad with anger and disappointment, and so is the indian chief tandakora."
-"and well they may be!" jubilantly exclaimed captain colden, off whose mind a great weight seemed to have slid. "it was splendid tactics to burn their home over their heads. i wouldn't have thought of it myself, but since others have thought of it, and, it has succeeded so admirably, we can now do the work we were sent here to do."
-tayoga and willet made snow-shoes and went out on them a few days later, confirming the report of black rifle. then small parties were sent forth to search the forest for settlers and their families. robert had a large share in this work, and sometimes he looked upon terrible things. in more than one place, torch and tomahawk had already done their dreadful work, but in others they found the people alive and well, still clinging to their homes. it was often difficult, even in the face of imminent danger, to persuade them to leave, and when they finally went, under mild compulsion, it was with the resolve to return to their log cabins in the spring.
-fort refuge now deserved its name. there were many axes, with plenty of strong and skillful arms to wield them, and new buildings were erected within the palisade, the smoke rising from a half dozen chimneys. they were rude structures, but the people who occupied them, used all their lives to hardships, did not ask much, and they seemed snug and comfortable enough to them. fires always blazed on the broad stone hearths and the voices of children were heard within the log walls. the hands of women furnished the rooms, and made new clothes of deerskin.
-the note of life at fort refuge was comfort and good cheer. they felt that they could hold the little fortress against any force that might come. the hunters, willet, tayoga and black rifle at their head, brought in an abundance of game. there was no ill health. the little children grew mightily, and, thus thrown together in a group, they had the happiest time they had ever known. robert was their hero. no other could tell such glorious tales. he had read fairy stories at albany, and he not only brought them all from the store of his memory but he embroidered and enlarged them. he had a manner with him, too. his musical, golden voice, his vivid eyes and his intense earnestness of tone, the same that had impressed so greatly the fifty sachems in the vale of onondaga, carried conviction. if one telling a tale believed in it so thoroughly himself then those who heard it must believe in it too.
-robert fulfilled a great mission. he was not the orator, the golden mouthed, for nothing. if the winter came down a little too fiercely, his vivid eyes and gay voice were sufficient to lift the depression. even the somber face of black rifle would light up when he came near. nor was the young quaker, wilton, far behind him. he was a spontaneously happy youth, always bubbling with good nature, and he formed an able second for lennox.
-"will," said robert, "i believe it actually gives you joy to be here in this log fortress in the snow and wilderness. you do not miss the great capital, philadelphia, to which you have been used all your life."
-"no, i don't, robert. i like fort refuge, because i'm free from restraints. it's the first time my true nature has had a chance to come out, and i'm making the most of the opportunity. oh, i'm developing! in the spring you'll see me the gayest and most reckless blade that ever came into the forest."
-the deep snow lasted a long time. more snowshoes were made, but only six or eight of the soldiers learned to use them well. there were sufficient, however, as willet, robert, tayoga and black rifle were already adepts, and they ranged the forest far in all directions. they saw no further sign of french or indians, but they steadily increased their supply of game.
-christmas came, january passed and then the big snow began to melt. new stirrings entered robert's mind. he felt that their work at fort refuge was done. they had gathered into it all the outlying settlers who could be reached, and colden, wilton and carson were now entirely competent to guard it and hold it. robert felt that he and willet should return to albany, and get into the main current of the great war. tayoga, of course, would go with them.
-he talked it over with willet and tayoga, and they agreed with him at once. black rifle also decided to depart about the same time, and colden, although grieved to see them go, could say nothing against it. when the four left they received an ovation that would have warmed the heart of any man. as they stood at the edge of the forest with their packs on their backs, captain colden gave a sharp command. sixty rifles turned their muzzles upward, and sixty fingers pulled sixty triggers. sixty weapons roared as one, and the four with dew in their eyes, lifted their caps to the splendid salute. then a long, shrill cheer followed. every child in the fort had been lifted above the palisade, and they sent the best wishes of their hearts with those who were going.
-"that cheer of the little ones was mostly for you, robert," said willet, when the forest hid them.
-"it was for all of us equally," said robert modestly.
-"no, i'm right and it must help us to have the good wishes of little children go with us. if they and tododaho watch over us we can't come to much harm."
-"it is a good omen," said tayoga soberly. "when i lie down to sleep tonight i shall hear their voices in my ear."
-black rifle now left them, going on one of his solitary expeditions into the wilderness and the others traveled diligently all the day, but owing to the condition of the earth did not make their usual progress. most of the snow had melted and everything was dripping with water. it fell from every bough and twig, and in every ravine and gully a rivulet was running, while ponds stood in every depression. many swollen brooks and creeks had to be forded, and when night came they were wet and soaked to the waist.
-tayoga was the first to awake, and he saw the dawn of a new winter day, the earth reeking with cold damp and the thawing snow. he unrolled himself from his blankets and arose a little stiffly, but with a few movements of the limbs all his flexibility returned. the air was chill and the scene in the black forest of winter was desolate, but tayoga was happy. tododaho on his great shining star had watched over him and showered him with favors, and he had no doubt that he would remain under the protection of the mighty chief who had gone away so long ago.
-tayoga looked down at his comrades, who still slept soundly, and smiled. the three were bound together by powerful ties, and the events of recent months had made them stronger than ever. in the school at albany he had absorbed much of the white man's education, and, while his indian nature remained unchanged, he understood also the white point of view. he could meet both robert and willet on common ground, and theirs was a friendship that could not be severed.
-now he made a circle about their camp, and, being assured that no enemy was near, came back to the point where robert and willet yet slept. then he took his flint and steel, and, withdrawing a little, kindled a fire, doing so as quietly as he could, in order that the two awaking might have a pleasant surprise. when the little flames were licking the wood, and the sparks began to fly upwards, he shook robert by the shoulder.
-"arise, sluggard," he said. "did not our teacher in albany tell us it was proof of a lazy nature to sleep while the sun was rising? the fire even has grown impatient and has lighted itself while you abode with tarenyawagon (the sender of dreams). get up and cook our breakfast, oh, heavy head!"
-robert sat up and so did willet. then robert drew his blankets about his body and lay down again.
-"you've done so well with the fire, tayoga, and you've shown such a spirit," he said, "that it would be a pity to interfere with your activity. go ahead, and awake me again when breakfast is ready."
-tayoga made a rush, seized the edge of his blanket and unrolled it, depositing robert in the ashes. then he darted away among the bushes, avoiding the white youth's pursuit. willet meanwhile warmed himself by the fire and laughed.
-"come back, you two," he said. "you think you're little lads again at your school in albany, but you're not. you're here in the wilderness, confronted by many difficulties, all of which you can overcome, and subject to many perils, all of which you know how to avoid."
-"tayoga, return to the fire and cook these strips of venison. here is the sharp stick left from last night. robert, take our canteens, find a spring and fill them with fresh water. by right of seniority i'm in command this morning, and i intend to subject my army to extremely severe discipline, because it's good for it. obey at once!"
-tayoga obediently took the sharpened stick and began to fry strips of venison. robert, the canteens over his shoulder, found a spring near by and refilled them. like tayoga, the raw chill of the morning and the desolate forest of winter had no effect upon him. he too, was happy, uplifted, and he sang to himself the song he had heard de galissonnière sing:
-"hier sur le pont d'avignon j'ai oui chanter la belle, lon, la, j'ai oui chanter la belle, elle chantait d'un ton si doux comme une demoiselle, lon, la, comme une demoiselle."
-all that seemed far away now, yet the words of the song brought it back, and his extraordinary imagination made the scenes at bigot's ball pass before his eyes again, almost as vivid as reality. once more he saw the intendant, his portly figure swaying in the dance, his red face beaming, and once more he beheld the fiery duel in the garden when the hunter dealt with boucher, the bully and bravo.
-quebec was far away. he had been glad to go to it, and he had been glad to come away, too. he would be glad to go to it again, and he felt that he would do so some day, though the torrent of battle now rolled between. he was still humming the air when he came back to the fire, and saluting willet politely, tendered a canteen each to him and tayoga.
-"sir david willet, baronet and general," he said, "i have the honor to report to you that in accordance with your command i have found the water, spring water, fine, fresh, pure, as good as any the northern wilderness can furnish, and that is the best in the world. shall i tender it to you, sir, on my bended knee!"
-"no, mr. lennox, we can dispense with the bended knee, but i am glad, young sir, to note in your voice the tone of deep respect for your elders which sometimes and sadly is lacking."
-"if dagaeoga works well, and always does as he is bidden," said tayoga, "perhaps i'll let him look on at the ceremonies when i take my place as one of the fifteen sachems of the onondaga nation."
-while they ate their venison and some bread they had also brought with them, they discussed the next stage of their journey, and tayoga made a suggestion. traveling would remain difficult for several days, and instead of going directly to albany, their original purpose, they might take a canoe, and visit mount johnson, the seat of colonel william johnson, who was such a power with the hodenosaunee, and who was in his person a center of important affairs in north america. for a while, mount johnson might, in truth, suit their purpose better than albany.
-the idea appealed at once to both robert and willet. colonel johnson, more than any one else could tell them what to do, and owing to his strong alliance, marital and otherwise, with the mohawks, they were likely to find chiefs of the ganeagaono at his house or in the neighborhood.
-"it is agreed," said willet, after a brief discussion. "if my calculations be correct we can reach mount johnson in four days, and i don't think we're likely to cross the trail of an enemy, unless st. luc is making some daring expedition."
-"in any event, he's a nobler foe than de courcelles or jumonville," said robert.
-"i grant you that, readily," said the hunter. "still, i don't think we're likely to encounter him on our way to mount johnson."
-but on the second day they did cross a trail which they attributed to a hostile force. it contained, however, no white footsteps, and not pausing to investigate, they continued their course toward their destination. as all the snow was now gone, and the earth was drying fast, they were able almost to double their speed and they pressed forward, eager to see the celebrated colonel william johnson, who was now filling and who was destined to fill for so long a time so large a place in the affairs of north america.
-now, a few pleasant days of winter came. the ground dried under comparatively warm winds, and the forest awoke. they heard everywhere the ripple of running water, and wild animals came out of their dens. tayoga shot a young bear which made a welcome addition to their supplies.
-"i hold that there's nothing better in the woods than young bear," said willet, as he ate a juicy steak robert had broiled over the coals. "venison is mighty good, especially so when you're hungry, but you can get tired of it. what say you, tayoga?"
-"it is true," replied the onondaga. "fat young bear is very fine. none of us wants one thing all the time, and we want something besides meat, too. the nations of the hodenosaunee are great and civilized, much ahead of the other red people, because they plant gardens and orchards and fields, and have grain and vegetables, corn, beans, squash and many other things good for the table."
-"and the iroquois, while they grow more particular about the table, remain the most valiant of all the forest people. i see your point, tayoga. civilization doesn't take anything from a man's courage and tenacity. rather it adds to them. there are our enemies, the french, who are as brave and enduring as anybody, and yet they're the best cooks in the world, and more particular about their food than any other nation."
-"you always speak of the french with a kind of affection, dave," said robert.
-"i suppose i do," said the hunter. "i have reasons."
-"as i know now, dave, you've been in paris, can't you tell us something about the city?"
-"it's the finest town in the world, robert, and they've the brightest, gayest life there, at least a part of 'em have, but things are not going right at home with the french. they say a whole nation's fortune has been sunk in the palace at versailles, and the people are growing poorer all the time, but the government hopes to dazzle 'em by waging a successful and brilliant war over here. i repeat, though, robert, that i like the french. a great nation, sound at the core, splendid soldiers as we're seeing, and as we're likely to see for a long time to come."
-they pushed on with all speed toward mount johnson, the weather still favoring them, making their last camp in a fine oak grove, and reckoning that they would achieve their journey's end before noon the next day. they did not build any fire that night, but when they rose at dawn they saw the smoke of somebody else's fire on the eastern horizon.
-"it couldn't be the enemy," said willet. "he wouldn't let his smoke go up here for all the world to see, so near to the home of colonel william johnson and within the range of the mohawks."
-"that is so," said tayoga. "it is likely to be some force of colonel johnson himself, and we can advance with certainty."
-looking well to their arms in the possible contingency of a foe, they pushed forward through the woodland, the smoke growing meanwhile as if those who had built the fire either felt sure of friendly territory, or were ready to challenge the world. the onondaga presently held up a hand and the three stopped.
-"what is it, tayoga?" asked the hunter.
-"i wish to sing a song."
-"then sing it, tayoga."
-a bird suddenly gave forth a long, musical, thrilling note. it rose in a series of trills, singularly penetrating, and died away in a haunting echo. a few moments of silence and then from a point in the forest in front of them another bird sang a like song.
-"they are friends," said tayoga, who was the first bird, "and it may be, since we are within the range of the mohawks, that it is our friend, the great young chief daganoweda, who replied. i do not think any one else could sing a song so like my own."
-"i'm wagering that it's daganoweda and nobody else," said willet confidently, and scorning cover now they advanced at increased speed toward the fire.
-a splendid figure, tall, heroic, the nose lofty and beaked like that of an ancient roman, the feather headdress brilliant and defiant like that of tayoga, came forward to meet them, and robert saw with intense pleasure that it was none other than daganoweda himself. nor was the delight of the young mohawk chieftain any less--the taciturnity and blank faces of indians disappeared among their friends--and he came forward, smiling and uttering words of welcome.
-"daganoweda," said willet, "the sight of you is balm to the eyes. your name means in our language, 'the inexhaustible' and you're an inexhaustible friend. you're always appearing when we need you most, and that's the very finest kind of a friend."
-"great bear, tayoga and dagaeoga come out of the great wilderness," said daganoweda, smiling.
-"so we do, daganoweda. we've been there a long time, but we were not so idle."
-"i have heard of the fort that was built in the forest and how the young white soldiers with the help of great bear, tayoga and dagaeoga beat off the french and the savage tribes."
-"i supposed that runners of the hodenosaunee would keep you informed. well, the fort is there and our people still hold it, and we are here, anxious to get back into the main stream of big events. who are at the fire, daganoweda?"
-"waraiyageh (colonel william johnson) himself is there. he was fishing yesterday, it being an idle time for a few days, and with ten of my warriors i joined him last night. he will be glad to see you, great bear, whom he knows. and he will be glad to meet tayoga and dagaeoga who are to bear great names."
-"easy, daganoweda, easy!" laughed willet.
-"these are fine lads, but don't flatter 'em too much just yet. they've done brave deeds, but before this war is over they'll have to do a lot more. we'll go with you and meet colonel johnson."
-as they walked toward the fire a tall, strongly built man, of middle years, dressed in the uniform of an english officer, came forward to meet them. his face, with a distinct irish cast, was frank, open and resolute.
-"ah, willet, my friend," he said, extending his hand. "so you and i meet again, and glad i am to hold your fingers in mine once more. a faithful report has come to us of what you did in quebec, and it seems the willet of old has not changed much."
-the hunter reddened under his tan.
-"it was forced upon me, colonel," he said.
-colonel william johnson laughed heartily.
-"and he who forced it did not live to regret it," he said. "i've heard that french officers themselves did not blame you, but as for me, knowing you as i do, i'd have expected no less of david willet."
-he laughed again, and his laugh was deep and hearty. robert, looking closely at him, thought him a fine, strong man, and he was quite sure he would like him. the colonel glanced at him and tayoga, and the hunter said:
-"colonel johnson, i wish to present tayoga, who is of the most ancient blood of the onondagas, a member of the clan of the bear, and destined to be a great chief. a most valiant and noble youth, too, i assure you, and the white lad is robert lennox, to whom i stand in the place of a father."
-"i have heard of tayoga," said colonel johnson, "and his people and mine are friends."
-"it is true," said tayoga, "waraiyageh has been the best friend among the white people that the nations of the hodenosaunee have ever had. he has never tricked us. he has never lied to us, and often he has incurred great hardship and danger to help us."
-"it is pleasant in my ears to hear you say so, tayoga," said colonel johnson, "and as for mr. lennox, who, my eyes tell me is also a noble and gallant youth, it seems to me i've heard some report of him too. you carried the private letters from the governor of new york to the marquis duquesne, governor general of canada?"
-"i did, sir," replied robert.
-"and of course you were there with willet. your mission, i believe, was kept as secret as possible, but i learned at albany that you bore yourself well, and that you also gave an exhibition with the sword."
-it was robert's turn to flush.
-"i'm a poor swordsman, sir," he said, "by the side of mr. willet."
-"good enough though, for the occasion. but come, i'll make an end to badinage. you must be on your way to mount johnson."
-"that was our destination," said willet.
-"then right welcome guests you'll be. i have a little camp but a short distance away. molly is there, and so is that young eagle, her brother, joseph brant. molly will see that you're well served with food, and after that you shall stay at mount johnson as long as you like, and the longer you'll stay the better it will please molly and me. you shall tell us of your adventures, mr. lennox, and about that quebec in which you and mr. willet seem to have cut so wide a swath with your rapiers."
-"we did but meet the difficulties that were forced upon us," protested willet.
-colonel johnson laughed once more, and most heartily.
-"if all people met in like fashion the difficulties that were forced upon them," he said, "it would be a wondrous efficient world, so much superior to the world that now is that one would never dream they had been the same. but just beyond the hill is our little camp which, for want of a better name, i'll call a bower. here is joseph, now, coming to meet us."
-an indian lad of about eleven years, but large and uncommonly strong for his age, was walking down the hill toward them. he was dressed partly in civilized clothing, and his manner was such that he would have drawn the notice of the observing anywhere. his face was open and strong, with great width between the eyes, and his gaze was direct and firm. robert knew at once that here was an unusual boy, one destined if he lived to do great things. his prevision was more than fulfilled. it was joseph brant, the renowned thayendanegea, the most famous and probably the ablest indian chief with whom the white men ever came into contact.
-"this is joseph brant, the brother of molly, my wife, and hence my young brother-in-law," said colonel johnson. "joseph, our new friends are david willet, known to the hodenosaunee as the great bear, robert lennox, who seems to be in some sort a ward of mr. willet, and tayoga, of the clan of the bear, of your great brother nation, onondaga."
-young thayendanegea saluted them all in a friendly but dignified way. he, like tayoga, had a white education, and spoke perfect, but measured english.
-"we welcome you," he said. "colonel johnson, sir, my sister has already seen the strangers from the hill, and is anxious to greet them."
-"molly, for all her dignity, has her fair share of curiosity," laughed colonel johnson, "and since it's our duty to gratify it, we'll go forward."
-robert had heard often of molly brant, the famous mohawk wife of colonel, afterward sir william johnson, a great figure in that region in her time, and he was eager to see her. he beheld a woman, young, tall, a face decidedly iroquois, but handsome and lofty. she wore the dress of the white people, and it was of fine material. she obviously had some of the distinguished character that had already set its seal upon her young brother, then known as keghneghtada, his famous name of thayendanegea to come later. her husband presented the three, and she received them in turn in a manner that was quiet and dignified, although robert could see her examining them with swift indian eyes that missed nothing. and with his knowledge of both white heart and red heart, of white manner and red manner, he was aware that he stood in the presence of a great lady, a great lady who fitted into her setting of the vast new york wilderness. so, with the ornate manner of the day, he bent over and kissed her hand as he was presented.
-"madam," he said, "it is a great pleasure to us to meet colonel johnson here in the forest, but we have the unexpected and still greater pleasure of meeting his lady also."
-colonel johnson laughed, and patted robert on the shoulder.
-"mr. willet has been whispering to me something about you," he said. "he has been telling me of your gift of speech, and by my faith, he has not told all of it. you do address the ladies in a most graceful fashion, and molly likes it. i can see that."
-"assuredly i do, sir," said she who had been molly brant, the mohawk, but who was now the wife of the greatest man in the north country. "tis a goodly youth and he speaks well. i like him, and he shall have the best our house can offer."
-colonel johnson's mellow laugh rang out again.
-"spoken like a woman of spirit, molly," he said. "i expected none the less of you. it's in the blood of the ganeagaono and had you answered otherwise you would have been unworthy of your cousin, daganoweda, here."
-the young mohawk chieftain smiled. johnson, who had married a girl of their race, could jest with the mohawks almost as he pleased, and among themselves and among those whom they trusted the indians were fond of joking and laughter.
-"the wife of waraiyageh not only has a great chief for a husband," he said, "but she is a great chief herself. among the wyandots she would be one of the rulers."
-the women were the governing power in the valiant wyandot nation, and daganoweda could pay his cousin no higher compliment.
-"we talk much," said colonel johnson, "but we must remember that our friends are tired. they've come afar in bad weather. we must let them rest now and give them refreshment."
-he led the way to the light summer house that he had called a bower. it was built of poles and thatch, and was open on the eastern side, where it faced a fine creek running with a strong current. a fire was burning in one corner, and a heavy curtain of tanned skins could be draped over the wide doorway. articles of women's apparel hung on the walls, and others indicating woman's work stood about. there were also chairs of wicker, and a lounge covered with haircloth. it was a comfortable place, the most attractive that robert had seen in a long time, and his eyes responded to it with a glitter that colonel johnson noticed.
-"i don't wonder that you like it, lad," he said. "i've spent some happy hours here myself, when i came in weary or worn from hunting or fishing. but sit you down, all three of you. i'll warrant me that you're weary enough, tramping through this wintry forest. blunt, shove the faggots closer together and make up a better fire."
-the command was to a white servant who obeyed promptly, but madame johnson herself had already shifted the chairs for the guests, and had taken their deerskin cloaks. without ceasing to be the great lady she moved, nevertheless, with a lightness of foot and a celerity that was all a daughter of the forest. robert watched her with fascinated eyes as she put the summer house in order and made it ready for the comfort of her guests. here was one who had acquired civilization without losing the spirit of the wild. she was an educated and well bred woman, the wife of the most powerful man in the colonies, and she was at the same time a true mohawk. robert knew as he looked at her that if left alone in the wilderness she could take care of herself almost as well as her cousin, daganoweda, the young chief.
-then his gaze shifted from molly brant to her brother. despite his youth all his actions showed pride and unlimited confidence in himself. he stood near the door, and addressed robert in english, asking him questions about himself, and he also spoke to tayoga, showing him the greatest friendliness.
-"we be of the mighty brother nations, onondaga and mohawk, the first of the great league," he said, "and some day we will sit together in the councils of the fifty sachems in the vale of onondaga."
-"it is so," said tayoga gravely, speaking to the young lad as man to man. "we will ever serve the hodenosaunee as our fathers before us have done."
-"leave the subject of the hodenosaunee," said colonel johnson cheerily. "i know that you lads are prouder of your birth than the old roman patricians ever were, but mr. willet, mr. lennox and i were not fortunate enough to be born into the great league, and you will perhaps arouse our jealousy or envy. come, gentlemen, sit you down and eat and drink."
-his mohawk wife seconded the request and food and drink were served. robert saw that the bower was divided into two rooms the one beyond them evidently being a sleeping chamber, but the evidences of comfort, even luxury, were numerous, making the place an oasis in the wilderness. colonel johnson had wine, which robert did not touch, nor did tayoga nor daganoweda, and there were dishes of china or silver brought from england. he noticed also, and it was an unusual sight in a lodge in the forest, about twenty books upon two shelves. from his chair he read the titles, le brun's "battles of alexander," a bound volume of the gentleman's magazine, "roderick random," and several others. colonel johnson's eyes followed him.
-"i see that you are a reader," he said. "i know it because your eyes linger upon my books. i have packages brought from time to time from england, and, before i came upon this expedition, i had these sent ahead of me to the bower that i might dip into them in the evenings if i felt so inclined. reading gives us a wider horizon, and, at the same time, takes us away from the day's troubles."
-"i agree with you heartily, sir," said robert, "but, unfortunately, we have little time for reading now."
-"that is true," sighed colonel johnson. "i fear it's going to be a long and terrible war. what do you see, joseph?"
-young brant was sitting with his face to the door, and he had risen suddenly.
-"a runner comes," he replied. "he is in the forest beyond the creek, but i see that he is one of our own people. he comes fast."
-colonel johnson also arose.
-"can it be some trouble among the ganeagaono?" he said.
-"i think not," said the indian boy.
-the runner emerged from the wood, crossed the creek and stood in the doorway of the bower. he was a tall, thin young mohawk, and he panted as if he had come fast and long.
-"what is it, oagowa?" asked colonel johnson.
-"a hostile band, hurons, abenakis, caughnawagas, and others, has entered the territory of the ganeagaono on the west," replied the warrior. "they are led by an ojibway chief, a giant, called tandakora."
-robert uttered an exclamation.
-"the name of the ojibway attracts your attention," said colonel johnson.
-"we've had many encounters with him," replied the youth. "besides hating the hodenosaunee and all the white people, i think he also has a personal grievance against mr. willet, tayoga and myself. he is the most bitter and persistent of all our enemies."
-"then this man must be dealt with. i can't go against him myself. other affairs press too much, but i can raise a force with speed."
-"let me go, sir, against tandakora!" exclaimed young brant eagerly and in english.
-colonel johnson looked at him a moment, his eyes glistening, and then he laughed, not with irony but gently and with approval.
-"truly 'tis a young eagle," he said, "but, joseph, you must remember that your years are yet short of twelve, and you still have much time to spend over the books in which you have done so well. if i let you be cut off at such an early age you can never become the great chief you are destined to be. bide a while, joseph, and your cousin, daganoweda, will attend to this ojibway who has wandered so far from his own country."
-young brant made no protest. trained in the wonderful discipline of the hodenosaunee he knew that he must obey before he could command. he resumed his seat quietly, but his eager eyes watched his tall cousin, the young mohawk chieftain, as colonel johnson gave him orders.
-"take with you the warriors that you have now, daganoweda," he said. "gather the fifty who are now encamped at teugega. take thirty more from talaquega, and i think that will be enough. i don't know you, daganoweda, and i don't know your valiant mohawk warriors, if you are not able to account thoroughly for the ojibway and his men. don't come back until you've destroyed them or driven them out of your country."
-colonel johnson's tone was at once urgent and complimentary. it intimated that the work was important and that daganoweda would be sure to do it. the mohawk's eyes glittered in his dark face. he lifted his hand in a salute, glided from the bower, and a moment later he and his warriors passed from sight in the forest.
-"that cousin of yours, molly, deserves his rank of chief," said colonel johnson. "the task that he is to do i consider as good as done already. tandakora was too daring, when he ventured into the lands of the ganeagaono. now, if you gentlemen will be so good as to be our guests we'll pass the night here, and tomorrow we'll go to mount johnson."
-it was agreeable to robert, willet and tayoga, and they spent the remainder of the day most pleasantly at the bower. colonel johnson, feeling that they were three whom he could trust, talked freely and unveiled a mind fitted for great affairs.
-"i tell you three," he said, "that this will be one of the most important wars the world has known. to london and paris we seem lost in the woods out here, and perhaps at the courts they think little of us or they do not think at all, but the time must come when the new world will react upon the old. consider what a country it is, with its lakes, its forests, its rivers, and its fertile lands, which extend beyond the reckoning of man. the day will arrive when there will be a power here greater than either england or france. such a land cannot help but nourish it."
-he seemed to be much moved, and spoke a long time in the same vein, but his indian wife never said a word. she moved about now and then, and, as before, her footsteps making no noise, being as light as those of any animal of the forest.
-the dusk came up to the door. they heard the ripple of the creek, but could not see its waters. madam johnson lighted a wax candle, and colonel johnson stopped suddenly.
-"i have talked too much. i weary you," he said.
-"oh, no, sir!" protested robert eagerly. "go on! we would gladly listen to you all night."
-"that i think would be too great a weight upon us all," laughed colonel johnson. "you are weary. you must be so from your long marching and my heavy disquisitions. we'll have beds made for you three and joseph here. molly and i sleep in the next room."
-robert was glad to have soft furs and a floor beneath him, and when he lay down it was with a feeling of intense satisfaction. he liked colonel william johnson, and knew that he had a friend in him. he was anxious for advancement in the great world, and he understood what it was to have powerful support. already he stood high with the hodenosaunee, and now he had found favor with the famous waraiyageh.
-they left in the morning for mount johnson, and there were horses for all except the indians, although one was offered to tayoga. but he declined to ride--the nations of the hodenosaunee were not horsemen, and kept pace with them at the long easy gait used by the indian runner. robert himself was not used to the saddle, but he was glad enough to accept it, after their great march through the wilderness.
-the weather continued fine for winter, crisp, clear, sparkling with life and the spirits of all were high. colonel johnson beckoned to robert to ride by the side of him and the two led the way. kegneghtada, despite his extreme youth, had refused a horse also, and was swinging along by the side of tayoga, stride for stride. a perfect understanding and friendship had already been established between the onondaga and the mohawk, and as they walked they talked together earnestly, young brant bearing himself as if he were on an equal footing with his brother warrior, tayoga. colonel johnson looked at them, smiled approval and said to robert:
-"i have called my young brother-in-law an eagle, and an eagle he truly is. we're apt to think, mr. lennox, that we white people alone gather our forces and prepare for some aim distant but great. but the indian intellect is often keen and powerful, as i have had good cause to know. many of their chiefs have an acuteness and penetration not surpassed in the councils of white men. the great mohawk whom we call king hendrick probably has more intellect than most of the sovereigns on their thrones in europe. and as for joseph, the lad there who so gallantly keeps step with the onondaga, where will you find a white boy who can excel him? he absorbs the learning of our schools as fast as any boy of our race whom i have ever known, and, at the same time, he retains and improves all the lore and craft of the red people."
-"you have found the mohawks a brave and loyal race," said robert, knowing the colonel was upon a favorite theme of his.
-"that i have, mr. lennox. i came among them a boy. i was a trader then, and i settled first only a few miles from their largest town, dyiondarogon. i tried to keep faith with them and as a result i found them always keeping faith with me. then, when i went to oghkwaga, i had the same experience. the indians were defrauded in the fur trade by white swindlers, but dishonesty, besides being bad in itself, does not pay, mr. lennox. bear that in mind. you may cheat for a while with success, but in time nobody will do business with you. though you, i take it, will never be a merchant."
-"it is not because i frown upon the merchant's calling, sir. i esteem it a high and noble one. but my mind does not turn to it."
-"so i gather from what i have seen of you, and from what mr. willet tells me. i've been hearing of your gift of oratory. you need not blush, my lad. if we have a gift we should accept it thankfully, and make the best use of it we can. you, i take it, will be a lawyer, then a public man, and you will sway the public mind. there should be grand occasions for such as you in a country like this, with its unlimited future."
-they came presently into a region of cultivation, fields which would be green with grain in the spring, showing here and there, and the smoke from the chimney of a stout log house rising now and then. where a creek broke into a swift white fall stood a grist mill, and from a wood the sound of axes was heard.
-robert's vivid imagination, which responded to all changes, kindled at once. he liked the wilderness, and it always made a great impression upon him, and he also took the keenest interest and delight in everything that civilization could offer. now his spirit leaped up to meet what lay before him.
-he found at mount johnson comfort and luxury that he had not expected, an abundance of all that the wilderness furnished, mingled with importations from europe. he slept in a fine bed, he looked into more books, he saw on the walls reproductions of titian and watteau, and also pictures of race horses that had made themselves famous at newmarket, he wrote letters to albany on good paper, he could seal them with either black or red wax, and there were musical instruments upon one or two of which he could play.
-robert found all these things congenial. the luxury or what might have seemed luxury on the border, had in it nothing of decadence. there was an air of vigor, and colonel johnson, although he did not neglect his guests, plunged at once and deeply into business. a little village, dependent upon him and his affairs had grown up about him, and there were white men more or less in his service, some of whom he sent at once on missions for the war. through it all his indian wife glided quietly, but robert saw that she was a wonderful help, managing with ease, and smoothing away many a difficulty.
-despite the restraint of manner, the people at mount johnson were full of excitement. the news from canada and also from the west became steadily more ominous. the french power was growing fast and the warriors of the wild tribes were crowding in thousands to the bourbon banner. robert heard again of st. luc and of some daring achievement of his, and despite himself he felt as always a thrill at the name, and a runner also brought the news that more french troops had gone into the ohio country.
-the fourth night of their stay at mount johnson robert remained awake late. he and young brant, the great thayendanegea that was to be, had already formed a great friendship, the beginning of which was made easier by robert's knowledge of indian nature and sympathy with it. the two wrapped in fur cloaks had gone a little distance from the house, because brant said that a bear driven by hunger had come to the edge of the village, and they were looking for its tracks. but robert was more interested in observing the indian boy than in finding the foot prints of the bear.
-"joseph," he said, "you expect, of course, to be a great warrior and chief some day."
-the boy's eyes glittered.
-"there is nothing else for which i would care," he replied. "hark, dagaeoga, did you hear the cry of a night bird?"
-"i did, joseph, but like you i don't think it's the voice of a real bird. it's a signal."
-"so it is, and unless i reckon ill it's the signal of my cousin daganoweda, returning from the great war trail that he has trod against the wild ojibway, tandakora."
-the song of a bird trilled from his own throat in reply, and then from the forest came daganoweda and his warriors in a dusky file. robert and young brant fell in with them and walked toward the house. not a word was spoken, but the eyes of the mohawk chieftain were gleaming, and his bearing expressed the very concentrated essence of haughty pride. at the house they stopped, and, young brant going in, brought forth colonel johnson.
-"well, daganoweda," said the white man.
-"i met tandakora two days' journey north of mount johnson," replied the mohawk. "his numbers were equal to our own, but his warriors were not the warriors of the hodenosaunee. six of the ganeagaono are gone, waraiyageh, and sixteen more have wounds, from which they will recover, but when tandakora began his flight toward canada eighteen of his men lay dead, eight more fell in the pursuit, which was so fast that we bring back with us forty muskets and rifles."
-"well done, daganoweda," said colonel johnson. "you have proved yourself anew a great warrior and chief, but you did not have to prove it to me. i knew it long ago. fine new rifles, and blankets of blue or red or green have just come from albany, half of which shall be distributed among your men in the morning."
-"waraiyageh never forgets his friends," said the appreciative mohawk.
-he withdrew with his warriors, knowing that the promise would be kept.
-"why was i not allowed to go with them?" mourned young brant.
-colonel johnson laughed and patted his shiny black head.
-"never mind, young fire-eater," he said. "we'll all of us soon have our fill of war--and more."
-robert was present at the distribution of rifles and blankets the next morning, and he knew that colonel johnson had bound the mohawks to him and the english and american cause with another tie. daganoweda and his warriors, gratified beyond expression, took the war path again.
-"they'll remain a barrier between us and the french and their allies," said colonel johnson, "and faith we'll need 'em. the other nations of the hodenosaunee wish to keep out of the war, but the mohawks will be with us to the last. their great chief, king hendrick, is our devoted friend, and so is his brother, abraham. this, too, in spite of the bad treatment of the ganeagaono by the dutch at albany. o, i have nothing to say against the dutch, a brave and tenacious people, but they have their faults, like other races, and sometimes they let avarice overcome them! i wish they could understand the nations of the hodenosaunee better. do what you can at albany, mr. lennox, with that facile tongue of yours, to persuade the dutch--and the others too--that the danger from the french and indians is great, and that we must keep the friendship of the six nations."
-"i will do my best, sir," promised robert modestly. "i at least ought to know the power and loyalty of the hodenosaunee, since i have been adopted into the great league and tayoga, an onondaga, is my brother, in all but blood."
-"and i stand in the same position," said willet firmly. "we understand, sir, your great attachment for the six nations, and the vast service you have done for the english among them. if we can supplement it even in some small degree we shall spare no effort to do so."
-"i know it, mr. willet, and yet my heart is heavy to see the land i love devastated by fire and sword."
-colonel johnson loaned them horses, and an escort of two of his own soldiers who would bring back the horses, and they started for albany amid many hospitable farewells.
-"you and i shall meet again," said young brant to robert.
-"i hope so," said robert.
-"it will be as allies and comrades on the battle field."
-"but you are too young, joseph, yet to take part in war."
-"i shall not be next year, and the war will not be over then, so my brother, colonel william johnson says, and he knows."
-robert looked at the sturdy young figure and the eager eyes, and he knew that the indian lad would not be denied.
-then the little party rode into the woods, and proceeded without event to albany.
-it was with emotion that robert came to albany, an emotion that was shared by his onondaga comrade, tayoga, who had spent a long time in a white school there. the staid dutch town was the great outpost of the province of new york in the wilderness, and although his temperament was unlike that of the dutch burghers he had innumerable pleasant memories of it, and many friends there. it was, in his esteem, too, a fine town, on its hills over-looking that noble river, the hudson, and as the little group rode on he noted that despite the war its appearance was still peaceful and safe.
-their way led along the main street which was broad and with grass on either side. the solid dutch houses, with their gable ends to the street, stood every one on its own lawn, with a garden behind it. every house also had a portico in front of it, on which the people sat in summer evenings, or where they visited with one another. except that it was hills where the old country was flat, it was much like holland, and the people, keen and thrifty, had preserved their national customs even unto the third and fourth generations. robert understood them as he understood the hodenosaunce, and, with his adaptable temperament, and with his mind that could understand so readily the minds of others, he was able to meet them on common ground. as they rode into the city he looked questioningly at willet, and the hunter, understanding the voiceless query, smiled.
-"we couldn't think of going to any other place," he said. "if we did we could never secure his forgiveness."
-"i shall be more than glad to see him. a right good friend of ours, isn't he, tayoga?"
-"though his tongue lashes us his heart is with us," replied the onondaga. "he is a great white chief, three hundred pounds of greatness."
-they stopped before one of the largest of the brick houses, standing on one of the widest and neatest of the lawns, and robert and tayoga, entering the portico, knocked upon the door with a heavy brass knocker. they heard presently the rattle of chains inside, and the rumble of a deep, grumbling voice. then the two lads looked at each other and laughed, laughed in the careless, joyous way in which youth alone can laugh.
-"it is he, mynheer jacobus himself, come to let us in," said robert.
-"and he has not changed at all," said tayoga. "we can tell that by the character of his voice on the other side of the door."
-"and i would not have him changed."
-"nor would i."
-the door was thrown open, but as all the windows were closed there was yet gloom inside. presently something large, red and shining emerged from the dusk and two beams of light in the center of the redness played upon them. then the outlines of a gigantic human figure, a man tall and immensely stout, were disclosed. he wore a black suit with knee breeches, thick stockings and buckled shoes, and his powdered hair was tied in a queue. his eyes, dazzled at first by the light from without, began to twinkle as he looked. then a great blaze of joy swept over his face, and he held out two fat hands, one to the white youth and one to the red.
-"ah, it iss you, robert, you scapegrace, and it iss you, tayoga, you wild onondaga! it iss a glad day for me that you haf come, but i thought you both dead, und well you might be, reckless, thoughtless lads who haf not the thought uf the future in your minds."
-robert shook the fat hand in both of his and laughed.
-"you are the same as of old, mynheer jacobus," he said, "and before tayoga and i saw you, but while we heard you, we agreed that there had been no change, and that we did not want any."
-"and why should i change, you two young rascals? am i not goot enough as i am? haf i not in the past given the punishment to both uf you und am i not able to do it again, tall and strong as the two uf you haf grown? ah, such foolish lads! perhaps you haf been spared because pity wass taken on your foolishness. but iss it mynheer willet beyond you? that iss a man of sense."
-"it's none other than dave, mynheer jacobus," said robert.
-"then why doesn't he come in?" exclaimed mynheer jacobus huysman. "he iss welcome here, doubly, triply welcome, und he knows it."
-"dave! dave! hurry!" called robert, "or mynheer jacobus will chastise you. he's so anxious to fall on your neck and welcome you that he can't wait!"
-"you see i've brought the boys back to you again, jacob," said the hunter.
-"but what reckless lads they've become," grumbled mynheer huysman. "i can see the mischief in their eyes now. they wass bad enough when they went to school here und lived with me, but since they've run wild in the forests this house iss not able to hold them."
-"don't you worry, jacob, old friend. these arms and shoulders of mine are still strong, and if they make you trouble i will deal with them. but we just stopped a minute to inquire into the state of your health. can you tell us which is now the best inn in albany?"
-the face of mynheer jacobus huysman flamed, and his eyes blazed in the center of it, two great red lights.
-"inn! inn!" he roared in his queer mixture of english, dutch and german accent "iss it that your head hass been struck by lightning und you haf gone crazy? if there wass a thousand inns at albany you und robert und tayoga could not stop at one uf them. iss not the house uf jacobus huysman good enough for you?"
-robert, tayoga and the hunter laughed aloud.
-"he did but make game of you, mynheer jacobus," said robert. "we will alter your statement and say if there were a thousand inns in albany you could not make us stay at any one of them. despite your commands we would come directly to your house."
-mynheer jacobus huysman permitted himself to smile. but his voice renewed its grumbling tone.
-"ever the same," he said. "you must stay here, although only the good lord himself knows in what condition my house will be when you leave. you are two wild lads. it iss not so strange uf you, robert lennox, who are white, but i would expect better uf tayoga, who is to be a great onondaga chief some day."
-"you make a great mistake, mynheer jacobus," said robert. "tayoga is far worse than i am. all the mischief that i have ever done was due to his example and persuasion. it is my misfortune that i have a weak nature, and i am easily led into evil by my associates."
-"it iss not so. you are equally bad. bring in your baggage und i will see if caterina, der cook, cannot find enough for you three, who always eat like raging lions."
-the soldiers, who were to return immediately to colonel william johnson, rode away with their horses, and robert, tayoga and willet took their packs into the house of mynheer huysman, who grumbled incessantly while he and a manservant and a maidservant made them as comfortable as possible.
-"would you und tayoga like to haf your old room on the second floor?" he said to robert.
-"nothing would please us better," replied the lad.
-"then you shall haf it," said mynheer, as he led the way up the stair and into the room. "do you remember, tayoga, how wild you wass when you came here to learn the good ways und bad ways uf the white people?"
-"i do," replied tayoga, "and the walls and the roof felt oppressive to me, although we have stout log houses of our own in our villages. but they were not our own walls and our own roof, and there was the great young warrior, lennox, whom we now call dagaeoga, who was to stay in the same room and even in the same bed with me. do you wonder that i felt like climbing out of a window at night, and escaping into the woods?"
-"you were eleven then," said robert, "and i was just a shade younger. you were as strange to me as i was to you, and i thought, in truth, that you were going to run away into the wilderness. but you didn't, and you began to learn from books faster than i thought was possible for one whose mind before then had been turned in another direction."
-"but you helped me, dagaeoga. after our first and only battle in the garden, which i think was a draw, we became allies."
-"und you united against me," said mynheer huysman.
-"and you helped me with the books," continued tayoga. "ah, those first months were hard, very hard!"
-"and you taught me the use of the bow and arrow," continued robert, "and new skill in both fishing and hunting."
-"und the two uf you together learned new tricks und new ways uf making my life miserable," grumbled mynheer huysman.
-"but you must admit, jacob," said willet, "that they were not the worst boys in the world."
-"well, not the worst, perhaps, david, because i don't know all the boys uf all the countries in the world, but when you put an onondaga lad und an american lad together in alliance it iss hard to find any one who can excel them, because they haf the mischief uf two nations."
-"but you are tremendously glad to see them again, jacob. don't deny it. i read it over and over again in your eyes."
-willet's own eyes twinkled as he spoke, and he saw also that there was a light in those of the big dutchman. but huysman would admit nothing.
-"here iss your room," he said to robert and tayoga.
-robert saw that it was not changed. all the old, familiar objects were there, and they brought to him a rush of emotion, as inanimate things often do. on a heavy mahogany dresser lay two worn volumes that he touched affectionately. one was his caesar and the other his algebra. once he had hated both, but now he thought of them tenderly as links with, the peaceful boyhood that was slipping away. hanging from a hook on the wall was an unstrung bow, the first weapon of the kind with which he had practiced under the teaching of tayoga. he passed his hand over it gently and felt a thrill at the touch of the wood.
-tayoga, also was moving about the room. on a small shelf lay an english dictionary and several readers. they too were worn. he had spent many a grieving hour over them when he had come from the iroquois forests to learn the white man's lore. he recalled how he had hated them for a time, and how he had looked out of his school windows at the freedom for which he had longed. but he was made of wrought steel, both mind and body, and always the white youth, lennox, his comrade, was at his elbow in those days of his scholastic infancy to help him. it had been a great episode in the life of tayoga, who had the intellect of a mighty chief, the mind of pontiac or thayendanegea, or tecumseh, or sequoia. he had forced himself to learn and in learning his books he had learned also to like the people of another race around him who were good to him and who helped him in the first hard days on the new road. so the young onondaga felt an emotion much like that of robert as he walked about the room and touched the old familiar things. then he turned to huysman.
-"mynheer jacobus," he said, "you have a mighty body, and you have in it a great heart. if all the men at albany were like you there would never be any trouble between them and the hodenosaunee."
-"tayoga," said huysman, "you haf borrowed robert's tongue to cozen und flatter. i haf not a great heart at all. i haf a very bad heart. i could not get on in this world if i didn't."
-tayoga laughed musically, and mynheer jacobus gruffly bidding them not to destroy anything, while he was gone, departed to see that caterina, the dutch cook, fat like her master, should have ready a dinner, drawing upon every resource of his ample larder. it is but truth to say that the heart of mynheer jacobus was very full. a fat old bachelor, with no near kin, his heart yearned over the two lads who had spent so long a period in his home, and he knew them, too, for what they were, each a fine flower of his own racial stock.
-they were to remain several days in albany, and after dinner they visited alexander mclean, the crusty teacher who had given them such a severe drilling in their books. master mclean allowed himself a few brief expressions of pleasure when they came into his house, and then questioned them sharply:
-"do you remember any of your ancient history, tayoga?" he asked. "are the great deeds of the greeks and romans still in your mind?"
-"at times they are, sir," replied the young onondaga.
-"um-m. is that so? what was the date of the battle of zama?"
-"it was fought 202 b.c., sir."
-"you're correct, but it must have been only a lucky guess. i'll try you again. what was the date of the battle of hastings?"
-"it was fought 1066 a.d., sir."
-"very good. since you have answered correctly twice it must be knowledge and not mere surmise on your part. robert, whom do you esteem the greatest of the greek dramatic poets?"
-"because he combined the vigor and power of aeschylus with the polish and refinement of euripides."
-"correct. i see that you remember what i told you, as you have quoted almost my exact words. and now, lads, be seated, while i order refreshments for you."
-"we thank you, sir," said robert, "but 'tis less than an hour since we almost ate ourselves to death at the house of mynheer jacobus huysman."
-"a good man, jacob, but too fat, and far too brusque in speech, especially to the young. i'll warrant me he has been addressing upbraiding words to you, finding fault, perhaps, with your manners and your parts of speech."
-the two youths hid their smiles.
-"mynheer jacobus was very good to us," said robert. "just as you are, master mclean."
-"i am not good to you, if you mean by it weakness and softness of heart. never spoil the young. speak sternly to them all the time. use the strap and the rod freely upon them and you may make men of them."
-again robert and tayoga hid their smiles, but each knew that he had a soft place in the heart of the crusty teacher, and they spent a pleasant hour with him. that night they slept in their old room at mynheer huysman's and two days later they and willet went on board a sloop for new york, where they intended to see governor de lancey. before they left many more alarming reports about the french and indians had come to albany. they had made new ravages in the north and west, and their power was spreading continually. france was already helping her colonists. when would england help hers?
-but robert forgot all alarm in the pleasure of the voyage. it was a good sloop, it had a stout dutch captain, and with a favoring wind they sped fast southward. pride in the splendid river swelled in robert's soul and he and tayoga, despite the cold, sat together on the deck, watching the lofty shores and the distant mountains.
-but willet, anxious of mind, paced back and forth. he had seen much at albany that did not please him. the indian commissioners were doing little to cement the alliance with the hodenosaunee. the mohawks, alone of the great league, were giving aid against the french. the others remained in their villages, keeping a strict neutrality. that was well as far as it went, but the hunter had hoped that all the members of the hodenosaunee would take the field for the english. he believed that father drouillard would soon be back among the onondagas, seeking to sway his converts to france, and he dreaded, too, the activity and persistency of st. luc.
-but he kept his anxieties from robert, knowing how eagerly the lad anticipated his arrival in new york, and not blaming him at all for it, since new york, although inferior in wealth, size and power to philadelphia, and in leadership to boston, was already, in the eye of the prophets, because of its situation, destined to become the first city of america. and willet felt his own pulses beat a little faster at the thought of new york, a town that he knew well, and already a port famous throughout the world.
-tayoga, although he wore his indian dress, attracted no particular attention from captain van zouten and his crew. indians could be seen daily at albany, and along the river, and they had been for generations a part of american life. captain van zouten, in truth, noticed the height and fine bearing of the onondaga, but he was a close mouthed dutchman, and if he felt like asking questions he put due dutch restraint upon himself.
-the wind held good all day long, and the sloop flew southward, leaving a long white trail in the blue water, but toward night it rose to a gale, with heavy clouds that promised snow. captain hendrick van zouten looked up with some anxiety at his sails, through which the wind was now whistling, and, after a consultation with his mate, decided to draw into a convenient cove and anchor for the night.
-"i'm sorry," he said to willet, "that our voyage to new york will be delayed, but there'll be nasty weather on the river, and i don't like to risk the sloop in it. but i didn't promise you that i'd get you to the city at any particular time."
-"we don't blame wind, weather and water upon you, captain van zouten," laughed willet, "and although i'm no seaman if you'd have consulted me i too would have suggested shelter for the night."
-captain van zouten breathed his relief.
-"if my passengers are satisfied," he said, "then so am i."
-all the sails were furled, the sloop was anchored securely in a cove where she could not injure herself, no matter how fiercely the wind might beat, and robert and tayoga, wrapped in their fur cloaks, stood on her deck, watching the advance of the fierce winter storm, and remembering those other storms they had passed through on lake champlain, although there was no danger of indians here.
-it began to snow heavily, and a fierce wind whistled among the mountains behind them, lashing the river also into high waves, but the sloop was a tight, strong craft, and it rocked but little in its snug cove. despite snow, wind and darkness robert, tayoga and the hunter remained a long, time on deck. the onondaga's feather headdress had been replaced by a fur cap, similar to those now worn by robert and willet, and all three were wrapped in heavy cloaks of furs.
-robert was still thinking of new york, a town that he knew to some extent, and yet he was traveling toward it with a feeling akin to that with which he had approached quebec. it was in a way and for its time a great port, in which many languages were spoken and to which many ships came. despite its inferiority in size it was already the chief window through which the new world looked upon the old. he expected to see life in the seething little city at the mouth of the hudson and he expected also that a crisis in his fortunes would come there.
-"dave," he said to the hunter, "have you any plans for us in new york?"
-"they've not taken very definite shape," replied willet, "but you know you want to serve in the war, and so do i. a great expedition is coming out from england, and in conjunction with a colonial force it will march against fort duquesne. the point to which that force advances is bound to be the chief scene of action."
-"and that, dave, is where we want to go."
-"with proper commissions in the army. we must maintain our dignity and station, robert."
-"of course, dave. and you, tayoga, are you willing to go with us?"
-"it is far from the vale of onondaga," replied the young indian, "but i have already made the great journey to quebec with my comrades, dagaeoga and the great bear. i am willing to see more of the world of which i read in the books at albany. if the fortunes of dagaeoga take him on another long circle i am ready to go with him."
-"spoken like a warrior, tayoga," said the hunter. "i have some influence, and if we join the army that is to march against fort duquesne i'll see that you receive a place befitting your onondaga rank and your quality as a man."
-"and so that is settled," said robert. "we three stand together no matter what may come."
-"stand together it is, no matter what may come," said willet.
-"we are, perhaps, as well in one place as in another," said tayoga philosophically, "because wherever we may be manitou holds us in the hollow of his hand."
-a great gust of wind came with a shriek down one of the gorges, and the snow was whipped into their faces, blinding them for a moment.
-"it is good to be aboard a stout sloop in such a storm," said robert, as he wiped his eyes clear. "it would be hard to live up there on those cliffs in all this driving white winter."
-a deep rumbling sound came back from the mountains, and he felt a chill that was not of the cold creep into his bones.
-"it is the wind in the deep gorges," said tayoga, "but the winds themselves are spirits and the mountains too are spirits. on such a wild night as this they play together and the rumbling you hear is their voices joined in laughter."
-robert's vivid mind as usual responded at once to tayoga's imagery, and his fancy went as far as that of the onondaga, and perhaps farther. he filled the air with spirits. they lined the edge of the driving white storm. they flitted through every cleft and gorge, and above every ridge and peak. they were on the river, and they rode upon the waves that were pursuing one another over its surface. then he laughed a little at himself.
-"my fancy is seeing innumerable figures for me," he said, "where my eyes really see none. no human being is likely to be abroad on the river on such a night as this."
-"and yet my own eyes tell me that i do see a human being," said tayoga, "one that is living and breathing, with warm blood running in his veins."
-"a living, breathing man! where, tayoga?"
-"look at the sloping cliff above us, there where the trees grow close together. notice the one with the boughs hanging low, and by the dark trunk you will see the figure. it is a tall man with his hat drawn low over his eyes, and a heavy cloak wrapped closely around his body."
-"i see him now, tayoga! what could a man want at such a place on such a night? it must be a farmer out late, or perhaps a wandering hunter!"
-"nay, dagaeoga, it is not a farmer, nor yet a wandering hunter. the shoulders are set too squarely. the figure is too upright. and even without these differences we would be sure that it is not the farmer, nor yet the wandering hunter, because it is some one else whom we know."
-"what do you mean, tayoga?"
-"look! look closely, dagaeoga!"
-"now the wind drives aside the white veil of snow and i see him better. his figure is surely familiar!"
-"aye, dagaeoga, it is! and do you not know him?"
-"st. luc! as sure as we live, tayoga, it's st. luc."
-"yes," said the hunter, who had not spoken hitherto. "it's st. luc, and i could reach him from here with a rifle shot."
-"but you must not! you must not fire upon him!" exclaimed robert.
-"i wasn't thinking of doing so," he said. "and now it's too late. st. luc has gone."
-the dark figure vanished from beside the trunk, and robert saw only the lofty slope, and the whirling snow. he passed his hands before his eyes.
-"did we really see him?" he said.
-"we beheld him alive and in the flesh," replied the hunter, "deep down in his britannic majesty's province of new york."
-"what could have brought him here at such a time?"
-"the cause of france, no doubt. he speaks english as well as you and i, and he is probably in civilian clothing, seeking information for his country. i know something of st. luc. he has in him a spice of the daring and romantic. luck and adventure would appeal to him. he probably knows already what forces we have at albany and kingston and what is their state of preparation. valuable knowledge for quebec, too."
-"do you think st. luc will venture to new york?"
-"scarce likely, lad. he can obtain about all he wishes to know without going so far south."
-"i'm glad of that, dave. i shouldn't want him to be captured and hanged as a spy."
-"nor i, robert. st. luc is the kind of man who, if he falls at all in this war, should fall sword in hand on the battle field. he must know this region or he would not dare to come here, on such a terrible night. he has probably gone now to shelter. and, since there is nothing more to be seen we might do the same."
-but robert and tayoga were not willing to withdraw yet. well wrapped and warm, they found a pleasure in the fierce storm that raged among the mountains and over the river, and their own security on the deck of the stout sloop, fastened so safely in the little cove. they listened to the wind rumbling anew like thunder through the deep gorges and clefts, and they saw the snow swept in vast curtains of white over the wild river.
-"i wonder what we shall find in new york, tayoga," said robert.
-"we shall find many people, of many kinds, dagaeoga, but what will happen to us there manitou alone knows. but he has us in his keeping. look how he watched over us in quebec, and look how the sword of the great bear was stretched before you when your enemies planned to slay you."
-"that's true, tayoga. i don't look forward to new york with any apprehension, but i do wonder what fate has prepared for us there."
-"we must await it with calm," said tayoga philosophically.
-the onondaga himself was not a stranger to new york. he had gone there once with the chiefs of the hodenosaunee for a grand council with the british and provincial authorities, and he had gone twice with robert when they were schoolboys together in albany. his enlightened mind, without losing any of its dignity and calm, took a deep interest in everything he saw at the port, through which the tide of nations already flowed. he had much of the quality shown later by the fiery thayendanegea, who bore himself with the best in london and who was their equal in manners, though the onondaga, while as brave and daring as the mohawk, was gentler and more spiritual, being, in truth, what his mind and circumstances had made him, a singular blend of red and white culture.
-willet, also wrapped in a long fur cloak, came from the cabin of the sloop and looked at the two youths, each of whom had such a great place in his heart. both were white with snow as they stood on the deck, but they did not seem to notice it.
-"come now," said the hunter with assumed brusqueness. "you needn't stand here all night, looking at the river, the cliffs and the storm. off to your berths, both of you."
-"good advice, or rather command, dave," said robert, "and we'll obey it."
-their quarters were narrow, because sloops plying on the river in those days were not large, but the three who slept so often in the forest were not seekers after luxury. robert undressed, crept into his bunk, which was not over two feet wide, and slept soundly until morning. after midnight the violence of the storm abated. it was still snowing, but captain van zouten unfurled his sails, made for the middle of the river, and, when the sun came up over the eastern hills, the sloop was tearing along at a great rate for new york.
-so when robert awoke and heard the groaning of timbers and the creak of cordage he knew at once that they were under way and he was glad. the events of the night before passed rapidly through his mind, but they seemed vague and indistinct. at first he thought the vision of st. luc on the cliff in the storm was but a dream, and he had to make an effort of the will to convince himself that it was reality. but everything came back presently, as vivid as it had been when it occurred, and rising he dressed and went on deck. tayoga and willet were already there.
-"sluggard," said the onondaga. "the french warships would capture you while you are still in the land of dreams."
-"we'll find no french warships in the hudson," retorted robert, "and as for sluggards, how long have you been on deck yourself, tayoga?"
-"two minutes, but much may happen in two minutes. look, dagaeoga, we come now into a land of plenty. see, how many smokes rise on either shore, and the smoke is not of camps, but of houses."
-"it comes from strong dutch farmhouses, and from english manor houses, tayoga. they nestle in the warm shelter of the hills or at the mouths of the creeks. surely, the world cannot furnish a nobler scene."
-all the earth was pure white from the fallen snow, but the river itself was a deep blue, reflected from the dazzling blue of the sky overhead. the air, thin and cold, was exhilarating, and as the sloop fled southward a panorama, increasing continually in magnificence, unfolded before them. other vessels appeared upon the river, and captain van zouten gave them friendly signals. tiny villages showed and the shores were an obvious manifestation of comfort and opulence.
-"i have heard that the french, if their success continues, mean to attack albany," said robert, "but we must stop them there, dave. we can never let them invade such a region as this."
-"they'll invade it, nevertheless," said the hunter, "unless stout arms and brave hearts stop them. we can drive both french and indians back, if we ever unite. there lies the trouble. we must get some sort of concentrated action."
-"and new york is the best place to see whether it will be done or not."
-"so it is."
-the wind remained favorable all that day, the next night there was a calm, but the following day they drew near to new york, captain van zouten assuring them he would make a landing before sunset.
-he was well ahead of his promise, because the sun was high in the heavens when the sloop began to pass the high, wooded hills that lie at the upper end of manhattan island, and they drew in to their anchorage near the battery. they did not see the stone government buildings that had marked quebec, nor the numerous signs of a fortress city, but they beheld more ships and more indications of a great industrial life.
-"every time i come here," said willet, "it seems to me that the masts increase in number. truly it is a good town, and an abundant life flows through it."
-"where shall we stop, dave?" asked robert. "do you have a tavern in mind?"
-"not a tavern," replied the hunter. "my mind's on a private house, belonging to a friend of mine. you have not met him because he is at sea or in foreign parts most of the time. yet we are assured of a welcome."
-an hour later they said farewell to captain van zouten, carried their own light baggage, and entered the streets of the port.
-the three walked toward the battery, and, while tayoga attracted more attention in new york than in quebec, it was not undue. the city was used to indians, especially the iroquois, and although comments were made upon tayoga's height and noble appearance there was nothing annoying.
-meanwhile the two youths were using their excellent eyes to the full. although the vivid imagination of robert had foreseen a great future for new york he did not dream how vast it would be. yet all things are relative, and the city even then looked large to him and full of life, both size and activity having increased visibly since his last visit. some of the streets were paved, or at least in part, and the houses, usually of red brick, often several stories in height, were comfortable and strong. many of them had lawns and gardens as at albany, and the best were planted with rows of trees which would afford a fine shade in warm weather. above the mercantile houses and dwellings rose the lofty spire of st. george's chapel in nassau street, which had been completed less than three years before, and which secured robert's admiration for its height and impressiveness.
-the aspect of the whole town was a mixture of english and dutch, but they saw many sailors who were of neither race. some were brown men with rings in their ears, and they spoke languages that robert did not understand. but he knew that they came from far southern seas and that they sailed among the tropic isles, looming large then in the world's fancy, bringing with them a whiff of romance and mystery.
-the sidewalks in many places were covered with boxes and bales brought from all parts of the earth, and stalwart men were at work among them. the pulsing life and the air of prosperity pleased robert. his nature responded to the town, as it had responded to the woods, and his imagination, leaping ahead, saw a city many times greater than the one before his eyes, though it still stopped far short of the gigantic reality that was to come to pass.
-"it's not far now to master hardy's," said willet cheerfully. "it's many a day since i've seen trusty old ben, and right glad i'll be to feel the clasp of his hand again."
-on his way willet bought from a small boy in the street a copy each of the weekly post-boy and of the weekly gazette and mercury, folding them carefully and putting them in an inside pocket of his coat.
-"i am one to value the news sheets," he said. "they don't tell everything, but they tell something and 'tis better to know something than nothing. just a bit farther, my lads, and we'll be at the steps of honest master hardy. there, you can see where fortunes are made and lost, though we're a bit too late to see the dealers!"
-he pointed to the royal exchange, a building used by the merchants at the foot of broad street, a structure very unique in its plan. it consisted of an upper story resting upon arches, the lower part, therefore, being entirely open. beneath these arches the merchants met and transacted business, and also in a room on the upper floor, where there were, too, a coffee house and a great room used for banquets, and the meetings of societies, the royal exchange being in truth the beginning of many exchanges that now mark the financial center of the new world.
-"perhaps we'll see the merchants there tomorrow," said willet. "you'll note the difference between new york and quebec. the french capital was all military. you saw soldiers everywhere, but this is a town of merchants. now which, think you, will prevail, the soldiers or the merchants?"
-"i think that in the end the merchants will win," replied robert.
-"and so do i. now we have come to the home of master hardy. see you the big brick house with high stone steps? well, that is his, and i repeat that he is a good friend of mine, a good friend of old and of today. i heard that in albany, which tells me we will find him here in his own place."
-but the big brick house looked to robert and tayoga like a fortress, with its massive door and iron-barred windows, although friendly smoke rose from a high chimney and made a warm line against the frosty blue air.
-willet walked briskly up the high stone steps and thundered on the door with a heavy brass knocker. the summons was quickly answered and the door swung back, revealing a tall, thin, elderly man, neatly dressed in the fashion of the time. he had the manner of one who served, although he did not seem to be a servant. robert judged at once that he was an upper clerk who lived in the house, after the custom of the day.
-"is master benjamin within, jonathan?" asked willet.
-the tall man blinked and then stared at the hunter in astonishment.
-"is it in very truth you, master willet?" he exclaimed.
-"none other. come, jonathan, you know my voice and my face and my figure very well. you could not fail to recognize me anywhere. so cease your doubting. my young friends here are robert lennox, of whom you know, and tayoga, a coming chief of the clan of the bear, of the nation onondaga, of the great league of the hodenosaunee, known to you as the six nations. he's impatient of disposition and unless you answer my question speedily i'll have him tomahawk you. come now, is master benjamin within?"
-"he is, mr. willet. i had no intent to delay my answer, but you must allow something to surprise."
-to be sure, all argument aside, it is a mistake to think that folk-song gets its virtue purely from a distinctive national quality,--because it is hungarian, scandinavian, or slavonic. if all the national modes and rhythms of the world were merged in one republic, there would still be a folk-song of the true type and value. there is a subtle charm and strength in the spontaneous simplicity, all aside from racial color. it is here that, like antaeus, the musician touches mother earth and renews his strength. so, when dvôrák suddenly shifts in the midst of his new world fantasy into a touch of bohemian song, there is no real loss. it is all relevant in the broad sense of folk feeling, that does not look too closely at geographical bounds. it is here that music, of all arts, leads to a true state of equal sympathy, regardless of national prejudice. what, therefore, distinguishes dvôrák's symphony may not be mere negro melody, or even american song, but a genuine folk-feeling, in the widest meaning.
-in a certain view, it would seem that by the fate of servitude the american negro has become the element in our own national life that alone produces true folk-song,--that corresponds to the peasant and serf of europe, the class that must find in song the refuge and solace for its loss of material joys. so dvôrák perhaps is right, with a far seeing eye, when he singles the song of the despised race as the national type.
-another consideration fits here. it has been suggested that the imitative sense of the negro has led him to absorb elements of other song. it is very difficult to separate original african elements of song from those that may thus have been borrowed. at any rate, there is no disparagement of the negro's musical genius in this theory. on the contrary, it would be almost impossible to imagine a musical people that would resist the softer tones of surrounding and intermingling races. we know, to be sure, that stephen foster, the author of "the old folks at home," "massa's in the cold, cold ground," and other famous ballads, was a northerner, though his mother came from the south. we hear, too, that he studied negro music eagerly. it is not at all inconceivable, however, foster's song may have been devoid of negro elements, that the colored race absorbed, wittingly or unwittingly, something of the vein into their plaints or lullabies,--that, indeed, foster's songs may have been a true type that stirred their own imitation. from all points of view,--the condition of slavery, the trait of assimilation and the strong gift of musical expression may have conspired to give the negro a position and equipment which would entitle his tunes to stand as the real folk-song of america.
-the eccentric accent seems to have struck the composer strongly. and here is a strange similarity with hungarian song,--though there is, of course, no kinship of race whatever between bohemians and magyars. one might be persuaded to find here simply an ebullition of rhythmic impulse,--the desire for a special fillip that starts and suggests a stronger energy of motion than the usual conventional pace. at any rate, the symphony begins with just such strong, nervous phrases that soon gather big force. hidden is the germ of the first, undoubtedly the chief theme of the whole work.
-it is more and more remarkable how a search will show the true foundation of almost all of dvôrák's themes. not that one of them is actually borrowed, or lacks an original, independent reason for being.
-whether by imitation or not, the pentatonic scale of the scotch is an intimate part of negro song. this avoidance of the seventh or leading tone is seen throughout the symphony as well as in the traditional jubilee tunes. it may be that this trait was merely confirmed in the african by foreign musical influence. for it seems that the leading-note, the urgent need for the ascending half-tone in closing, belongs originally to the minstrelsy of the teuton and of central europe, that resisted and conquered the sterner modes of the early church. ruder nations here agreed with catholic ritual in preferring the larger interval of the whole tone. but in the quaint jump of the third the church had no part, clinging closely to a diatonic process.
-we soon see stealing out of the beginning adagio an eccentric pace in motion of the bass, that leads to the burst of main subject, allegro molto, with a certain
-ragged rhythm that we americans cannot disclaim as a nation. the working up is spirited, and presently out of the answer grows a charming jingle that somehow strikes home.
-it begins in the minor and has a strange, barbaric touch of cadence. many would acknowledge it at most as a touch of indian mode. yet it is another phase of the lowered seventh. and if we care to search, we find quite a prototype in a song like "didn't my lord deliver daniel." soon the phrase has a more familiar ring as it turns into a friendly major. but the real second theme comes in a solo tune on the flute, in the major,
-the whole of the first allegro is thus woven of three melodious and characteristic themes in very clear sonata-form. the second, largo, movement is a lyric of moving pathos, with a central melody that may not have striking traits of strict african song, and yet belongs to the type closely associated with the negro vein of plaint or love-song. the rhythmic
-turns that lead to periods of excitement and climaxes of rapid motion, are absent in the main melody. but
-they appear in the episode that intervenes. even here, in the midst, is a new contrast of a minor lament that has a strong racial trait in the sudden swing to major and, as quickly, back to the drearier mode. this is followed by a rhapsody or succession of rapid, primitive phrases, that leads to a crisis where, of a sudden, three themes sing at once, the two of the previous allegro and the main melody of the largo, in distorted pace with full chorus. this excitement is as suddenly lulled and soothed by the return of the original moving song.
-the scherzo starts in a quick three-beat strum on the chord we have pointed to as a true model trait of negro music, with the lowered leading-note. the
-theme, discussed in close stress of imitation, seems merely to mark the rapid swing in the drone of strange harmony. but what is really a sort of trio (poco sostenuto) is another sudden, grateful change to major, perfectly true to life, so to speak, in this turn of mode and in the simple lines of the tune. the lyric mood all but suppresses the dance, the melody sounding like a new verse of the largo. the trip has always lingered, but not too much for the delicious change when it returns to carry us off our feet.
-the scherzo now steals in again, quite a piece, it seems, with the trio. as the rising volume nears a crisis, the earliest theme (from the first allegro) is heard in the basses. in the hushed discourse of scherzo theme that follows, the old melody still intrudes. in mockery of one of its turns comes an enchanting bit of tune, as naïve an utterance as any, much like a children's dancing song. and it returns later with still new enchantment of rhythm. but the whole is too full of folk-melody to trace out, yet is, in its very fibre, true to the idea of an epic of the people.
-presently the whole scherzo and trio are rehearsed; but now instead of the phase of latest melodies is a close where the oldest theme (of allegro) is sung in lusty blasts of the horns and wood, with answers of the scherzo motive.
-in the last movement, allegro con fuoco, appears early a new kind of march tune that, without special
-trick of rhythm, has the harsh note of lowered leading-note (in the minor, to be sure) in very true keeping with negro song. the march is carried on, with flowing answer, to a high pitch of varied splendor and tonal power. the second theme is utterly opposed in a certain pathetic rhapsody. yet it rises, at the close, to a fervent burst in rapid motion. we
-may expect in the finale an orgy of folk-tune and dance, and we are not disappointed. there is, too, a quick rise and fall of mood, that is a mark of the negro as well as of the hungarian. by a sudden doubling, we are in the midst of a true "hoe-down," in jolliest jingle, with that naïve iteration, true to life; it comes out clearest when the tune of the bass (that sounds like a rapid "three blind mice") is
-put in the treble. a pure idealized negro dance-frolic is here. it is hard to follow all the pranks; lightly as the latest phrase descends in extending melody, a rude blast of the march intrudes in discordant humor. a new jingle of dance comes with a redoubled pace of bits of the march. as this dies down to dimmest bass, the old song from the largo rings high in the wood. strangest of all, in a fierce shout of the whole chorus sounds twice this same pathetic strain. later comes a redoubled speed of the march in the woodwind, above a slower in low strings. now the original theme of all has a noisy say. presently the sad second melody has a full verse. once more the largo lullaby sings its strain in the minor. in the close the original allegro theme has a literal, vigorous dispute with the march-phrase for the last word of all.
-the work does less to exploit american music than to show a certain community in all true folk-song. nor is this to deny a strain peculiar to the new world. it seems a poet of distant land at the same time and in the same tones uttered his longing for his own country and expressed the pathos and the romance of the new. dvôrák, like all true workers, did more than he thought: he taught americans not so much the power of a song of their own, as their right of heritage in all folk-music. and this is based not merely on an actual physical inheritance from the various older races.
-if the matter, in dvôrák's symphony, is of american negro-song, the manner is bohemian. a stranger-poet may light more clearly upon the traits of a foreign lore. but his celebration will be more conscious if he endeavor to cling throughout to the special dialect. a true national expression will come from the particular soil and will be unconscious of its own idiom.
-the permanent hold that dvôrák's symphony has gained is due to an intrinsic merit of art and sincere sentiment; it has little to do with the nominal title or purpose.
-whatever be the final answer of the mooted question of the greatness of bruckner's symphonies, there is no doubt that he had his full share of technical profundity, and a striking mastery of the melodious weaving of a maze of concordant strains. the question inevitably arises with bruckner as to the value of the world's judgments on its contemporary poets. there can be no doubt that the furore of the musical public tends to settle on one or two favorites with a concentration of praise that ignores the work of others, though it be of a finer grain. thus schubert's greatest--his one completed--symphony was never acclaimed until ten years after his death. even his songs somehow brought more glory to the singer than to the composer. bach's oratorios lay buried for a full century. on the other hand, names great in their day are utterly lost from the horizon. it is hard to conceive the éclat of a buononcini or a monteverde,--whose works were once preëminent. there are elements in art, of special, sensational effect, that make a peculiar appeal in their time, and are incompatible with true and permanent greatness. one is tempted to say, the more sudden and vehement the success, the less it will endure. but it would not be true. such an axiom would condemn an opera like "don giovanni," an oratorio like the "creation," a symphony like beethoven's seventh. there is a wonderful difference, an immeasurable gulf between the good and the bad in art; yet the apparent line is of the subtlest. most street songs may be poor; but some are undoubtedly beautiful in a very high sense. it is a problem of mystic fascination, this question of the value of contemporary art. it makes its appeal to the subjective view of each listener. no rule applies. every one will perceive in proportion to his capacity, no one beyond it. so, a profound work may easily fail of response, as many works in the various arts have done in the past, because the average calibre of the audience is too shallow, while it may deeply stir an intelligent few. not the least strange part of it all is the fact that there can, of necessity, be no decision in the lifetime of the poet. whether it is possible for obscure miltons never to find their meed of acclaim, is a question that we should all prefer to answer in the negative. there is a certain shudder in thinking of such a chance; it seems a little akin to the danger of being buried alive.
-the question of bruckner's place can hardly be said to be settled, although he has left nine symphonies. he certainly shows a freedom, ease and mastery in the symphonic manner, a limpid flow of melody and a sure control in the interweaving of his themes, so that, in the final verdict, the stress may come mainly on the value of the subjects, in themselves. he is fond of dual themes, where the point lies in neither of two motives, but in the interplay of both; we see it somewhat extended in richard strauss, who uses it, however, in a very different spirit. the one evident and perhaps fatal lack is of intrinsic beauty of the melodic ideas, and further, an absence of the strain of pathos that sings from the heart of a true symphony. while we are mainly impressed by the workmanship, there is no denying a special charm of constant tuneful flow. at times this complexity is almost marvellous in the clear simplicity of the concerted whole,--in one view, the main trait or trick of symphonic writing. it is easy to pick out the leading themes as they appear in official order. but it is not so clear which of them constitute the true text. the multiplicity of tunes and motives is amazing.
-of the wagner influence with which bruckner is said to be charged, little is perceptible in his second symphony. on the contrary, a strong academic tradition pervades. the themes are peculiarly symphonic. moreover they show so strikingly the dual quality that one might say, as a man may see double, bruckner sang double. processes of augmenting and inverting abound, together with the themal song in the bass. yet there is not the sense of overloaded learning. there is everywhere a clear and melodious polyphony.
-but with all masterly architecture, even enchanting changes of harmony and a prodigal play of melody, the vacuity of poetic ideas must preclude a permanent appeal. bruckner is here the schoolmaster: his symphony is a splendid skeleton, an object lesson for the future poet.
-in the fourth (romantic) symphony the main light plays throughout on the wind. the text is a call of horns, that begins the work. it is a symphony
-of wood-notes, where the forest-horn is sovereign,--awakening a widening world of echoes, with a murmuring maze of lesser notes. one has again the feeling that in the quiet interweaving of a tapestry of strains lies the individual quality of the composer,--that the forte blasts, the stride of big unison figures are but the interlude.
-in the andante the charm is less of tune than of the delicate changing shades of the harmony and of the colors of tone. we are ever surprised in the gentlest way by a turn of chord or by the mere entrance of a horn among the whispering strings. the shock of a soft modulation may be as sudden as of the loud, sudden blare. but we cannot somehow be consoled for the want of a heart-felt melody.
-the scherzo is a kind of hunting-piece, full of the sparkle, the color and romance of bugles and horns,--a spirited fanfare broken by hushed phrases of strings or wood, or an elf-like mystic dance on the softened call of trumpets. the trio sings apart, between the gay revels, in soft voices and slower pace, like a simple ballad.
-the finale is conceived in mystical retrospect, beginning in vein of prologue: over mysterious murmuring strings, long sustained notes of the reed and horn in octave descent are mingled with a soft carillon of horns and trumpets in the call of the scherzo. in broad swing a free fantasy rises to a loud refrain (in the brass) of the first motive of the symphony.
-in slower pace and hush of sound sings a madrigal of tender phrases. a pair of melodies recall like figures of the first allegro. indeed, a chain of dulcet strains seems to rise from the past.
-the fine themal relevance may be pursued in infinite degree, to no end but sheer bewilderment. the truth is that a modern vanity for subtle connection, a purest pedantry, is here evident, and has become a baneful tradition in the modern symphony. it is an utter confusion of the letter with the spirit. once for all, a themal coherence of symphony must lie in the main lines, not in a maze of unsignificant figures.
-marked is a sharp alternation of mood, tempestuous and tender, of florestan and eusebius. the lyric phase yields to the former heroic fantasy and then returns in soothing solace into a prevailing motive that harks back to the second of the beginning movement. the fantasy, vague of melody, comes
-when the prologue recurs, the phrases are in ascent, instead of descent of octaves. a climactic verse of the main dulcet melody breaks out in resonant choir of brass and is followed by a soft rhapsody on the several strains that hark back to the beginning. from the halting pace the lyric episode rises in flight of continuous song to enchanting lilt. now in the big heroic fantasy sing the first slow phrases as to the manner born and as naturally break into a paean of the full motive, mingled with strains of the original legend of the symphony, that flows on to broad hymnal cadence.
-an introduction supplies in the bass of a hymnal line the main theme of the allegro by inversion as well as the germ of the first subject of the adagio. throughout, as in the romantic symphony, the relation between the first and the last movement is subtle. a closing, jagged phrase reappears as the first theme of the finale.
-the adagio and scherzo are built upon the same figure of bass. the theme of the trio is acclaimed by a german annotator as the reverse of the first motive of the symphony.
-in the prelude of the finale, much as in the ninth of beethoven, are passed in review the main themes of the earlier movements. each one is answered by an eccentric phrase that had its origin in the first movement and is now extended to a fugal theme.
-the later bruckner
-in bruckner's later works appears the unique instance of a discipline grounded in the best traditions, united to a deft use of ephemeral devices. the basic cause of modern mannerism, mainly in harmonic effects, lies in a want of formal mastery; an impatience of thorough technic; a craving for quick sensation. with bruckner it was the opposite weakness of original ideas, an organic lack of poetic individuality. it is this the one charge that cannot be brought home to the earlier german group of reaction against the classic idea.
-there is melody, almost abundant, in wagner and liszt and their german contemporaries. indeed it was an age of lyricists. the fault was that they failed to recognize their lyric limitation, lengthening and padding their motives abnormally to fit a form that was too large. hence the symphony of liszt, with barren stretches, and the impossible plan of the later music-drama. the truest form of such a period was the song, as it blossomed in the works of a franz.
-nor has this grandiose tendency even yet spent its course. a saving element was the fashioning of a new form, by liszt himself,--the symphonic poem,--far inferior to the symphony, but more adequate to the special poetic intent.
-whatever be the truth of personal gossip, there is no doubt that bruckner lent himself and his art to a championing of the reactionary cause in the form that was intrinsically at odds with its spirit. hence in later works of bruckner these strange episodes of borrowed romance, abruptly stopped by a firm counterpoint of excellent quality,--indeed far the best of his writing. for, if a man have little ideas, at least his good workmanship will count for something.
-in truth, one of the strangest types is presented in bruckner,--a pedant who by persistent ingenuity simulates a master-work almost to perfection. by so much as genius is not an infinite capacity for pains, by so much is bruckner's ninth not a true symphony. sometimes, under the glamor of his art, we are half persuaded that mere persistence may transmute pedantry into poetry.
-it seems almost as if the wagnerians chose their champion in the symphony with a kind of suppressed contempt for learning, associating mere intellectuality with true mastery, pointing to an example of greatest skill and least inspiration as if to say: "here is your symphonist if you must have one." and it is difficult to avoid a suspicion that his very partisans were laughing up their sleeve at their adopted champion.
-we might say all these things, and perhaps we have gone too far in suggesting them. after all we have no business with aught but the music of bruckner, whatever may have been his musical politics, his vanity, his ill judgment, or even his deliberate partisanship against his betters. but the ideas themselves are unsubstantial; on shadowy foundation they give an illusion by modern touches of harmony and rhythm that are not novel in themselves. the melodic idea is usually divided in two, as by a clever juggler. there is really no one thought, but a plenty of small ones to hide the greater absence.
-we have merely to compare this artificial manner with the poetic reaches of brahms to understand the insolence of extreme wagnerians and the indignation of a hanslick. as against the pedantry of bruckner the style of strauss is almost welcome in its frank pursuit of effects which are at least grateful in themselves. strauss makes hardly a pretence at having melodic ideas. they serve but as pawns or puppets for his harmonic and orchestral mise-en-scène. he is like a play-wright constructing his plot around a scenic design.
-here we feel driven defiantly to enounce the truth: that the highest art, even in a narrow sense, comes only with a true poetic message. of this bruckner is a proof; for, if any man by pure knowledge could make a symphony, it was he. but, with almost superhuman skill, there is something wanting in the inner connection, where the main ideas are weak, forced or borrowed. it is only the true poetic rapture that ensures the continuous absorption that drives in perfect sequence to irresistible conclusion.
-i.--solenne. solemn mystery is the mood, amid trembling strings on hollow unison, before the eight
-horns strike a phrase in the minor chord that in higher echoes breaks into a strange harmony and descends into a turn of melodic cadence. in answer is another chain of brief phrases, each beginning
-a clash of all the instruments acclaims the climax before the unison stroke of fullest chorus on the solemn note of the beginning. a favorite device of bruckner, a measured tread of pizzicato strings with interspersed themal motives, precedes the romantic episode. throughout the movement is this alternation of liturgic chorale with tender melody.
-bruckner's pristine polyphonic manner ever appears in the double strain of melodies, where each complements, though not completes the other. however multiple the plan, we cannot feel more than the quality of unusual in the motives themselves, of some interval of ascent or descent. yet as the melody grows to larger utterance, the fulness of polyphonic art brings a beauty of tender sentiment, rising to a moving climax, where the horns lead the song in the heart of the madrigal chorus, and the strings alone sing the expressive answer.
-a third phrase now appears, where lies the main poetry of the movement. gentle swaying calls of
-soft horns and wood, echoed and answered in close pursuit, lead to a mood of placid, elemental rhythm, with something of "rheingold," of "ossian" ballad, of the lapping waves of cherubini's "anacreon." in the midst the horns blow a line of sonorous melody, where the cadence has a breath of primal legend. on the song runs, ever mid the elemental motion, to a resonant height and dies away as before. the intimate, romantic melody now returns, but it is rocked on the continuing pelagic pulse; indeed, we hear anon a faint phrase of the legend, in distant trumpet, till we reach a joint rhapsody of both moods; and in the never resting motion, mid vanishing echoes, we dream of some romance of the sea.
-against descending harmonies return the hollow, sombre phrases of the beginning, with the full cadence of chorale in the brass; and beyond, the whole prelude has a full, extended verse. in the alternation of solemn and sweet episode returns the tender melody, with pretty inversions, rising again to an ardent height. the renewed clash of acclaiming chorus ushers again the awful phrase of unison (now in octave descent), in towering majesty. but now it rises in the ever increasing vehemence where the final blast is lit up with a flash of serene sonority.
-this motive, of simple octave call, indeed pervades the earlier symphony in big and little. and now, above a steady, sombre melodic tread of strings it rises in a fray of eager retorts, transfigured in wonderful harmony again and again to a brilliant height, pausing on a ringing refrain, in sombre hue of overpowering blast.
-a soft interlude of halting and diminishing strings leads to the romantic melody as it first appeared, where the multiple song again deepens and ennobles the theme. it passes straight into the waving, elemental motion, where again the hallowed horn utters its sibyl phrase, again rising to resonant height. and again merges the intimate song with the continuing pulse of the sea, while the trumpet softly sounds the legend and a still greater height of rhapsody.
-dull brooding chords bring a sombre play of the awing phrase, over a faint rocking motion, clashing in bold harmony, while the horns surge in broader melody. the climactic clash ends in a last verse of the opening phrase, as of primal, religious chant.
-ii.--scherzo. in the dazzling pace of bright clashing harmonies, the perfect answers of falling and rising phrases, we are again before the semblance, at
-least, of a great poetic idea. to be sure there is a touch of stereotype in the chords and even in the pinch and clash of hostile motives. and there is not the distinctive melody,--final stamp and test of the shaft of inspiration. yet in the enchantment of motion, sound and form, it seems mean-spirited to cavil at a want of something greater. one stands bewildered before such art and stunned of all judgment.
-a delight of delicate gambols follows the first brilliant dance of main motive. amid a rougher trip of unison sounds the sonorous brass, and to softest jarring murmur of strings a pretty jingle of reed,
-with later a slower counter-song, almost a madrigal of pastoral answers, till we are back in the ruder original dance. the gay cycle leads to a height of rough volume (where the mystic brass sound in the midst) and a revel of echoing chase.
-in sudden hush of changed tone on fastest fairy trip, strings and wood play to magic harmonies. in calming motion the violins sing a quieter song, ever
-echoed by the reed. though there is no gripping force of themal idea, the melodies are all of grateful charm, and in the perfect round of rhythmic design we may well be content. the original dance recurs with a full fine orgy of hostile euphony.
-iii.--adagio. feierlich,--awesome indeed are these first sounds, and we are struck by the originality
-of bruckner's technic. after all we must give the benefit at least of the doubt. and there is after this deeply impressive introit a gorgeous promethean
-spring of up-leaping harmonies. the whole has certainly more of concrete beauty than many of the labored attempts of the present day.
-in the midst of the broad sweeping theme with a
-promise of deep utterance is a phrase of horns with the precise accent and agony of a tristan. the very semblance of whole motives seems to be taken from the warp and woof of wagnerian drama. and thus the whole symphony is degraded, in its gorgeous capacity, to the reëchoed rhapsody of exotic romanticism. it is all little touches, no big thoughts,--a mosaic of a symphony.
-it ends with a gracefully delicate answer. the main melody soon recurs and sings with a stress of warm feeling in the cellos, echoed by glowing strains of the horns. romantic harmonies bring back the solemn air of the prelude with a new counter melody, in precise opposite figure, as though inverted in a mirror, and again the dim moving chords that seem less of bruckner than of legendary drama. in big accoutrement the double theme moves with double answers, ever with the sharp pinch of harmonies and heroic mien. gentlest retorts of the motives sing with fairy clearness (in horns and reeds), rising to tender, expressive dialogue. with growing spirit they ascend once more to the triumphant clash of empyraean chords, that may suffice for justifying beauty.
-instead of the first, the second melody follows with its delicate grace. after a pause recurs the phrase that harks from mediaeval romance, now in a stirring ascent of close chasing voices. the answer, perfect in its timid halting descent, exquisite in accent and in the changing hues of its periods, is robbed of true effect by its direct reflection of wagnerian ecstasies.
-as if in recoil, a firm hymnal phrase sounds in the strings, ending in a more intimate cadence. another chain of rarest fairy clashes, on the motive of the prelude, leads to the central verse, the song of the first main melody in the midst of soft treading strings, and again descends the fitting answer of poignant accent.
-and now, for once forgetting all origin and clinging sense of reminiscence, we may revel in the rich romance, the fathoms of mystic harmony, as the main song sings and rings from the depths of dim legend in lowest brass, amidst a soft humming chorus, in constant shift of fairy tone.
-a flight of ascending chords brings the big exaltation of the first prophetic phrase, ever answered by exultant ring of trumpet, ending in sudden awing pause. an eerie train of echoes from the verse of prelude leads to a loveliest last song of the poignant answer of main song, over murmuring strings. it
-an entirely opposite type of composer, hugo wolff, shows the real strength of modern german music in a lyric vein, sincere, direct and fervent. his longest work for instruments has throughout the charm of natural rhythm and melody, with subtle shading of the harmony. though there is no want of contrapuntal design, the workmanship never obtrudes. it is a model of the right use of symbolic motives in frequent recurrence and subtle variation.
-in another instrumental piece, the "italian serenade," all kinds of daring suspenses and gentle clashes and surprises of harmonic scene give a fragrance of dissonant euphony, where a clear melody ever rules. "penthesilea," with a climactic passion and a sheer contrast of tempest and tenderness, uttered with all the mastery of modern devices, has a pervading thrall of pure musical beauty. we are tempted to hail in wolff a true poet in an age of pedants and false prophets.
-as wolff's work is admittedly modelled on kleist's tragedy, little known to the english world, it is important to view the main lines of this poem, which has provoked so divergent a criticism in germany.
-on the whole, the tragedy seems to be one of those daring, even profane assaults on elemental questions by ways that are untrodden if not forbidden. it is a wonderful type of romanticist poetry in the bold choice of subject and in the intense vigor and beauty of the verse. coming with a shock upon the classic days of german poetry, it met with a stern rebuke from the great goethe. but a century later we must surely halt in following the lead of so severe a censor. the beauty of diction alone seems a surety of a sound content,--as when penthesilea exclaims:
-"a hero man can be--a titan--in distress, but like a god is he when rapt in blessedness."
-for another word on the point of symbolism, it must be remembered that the whole plot is one of supernatural legend where somehow human acts and motives need not conform to conventional rule, and where symbolic meaning, as common reality disappears, is mainly eminent. it is in this same spirit that the leading virtues of the race, of war or of peace, are typified by feminine figures.
-the tragedy is not divided into acts; it has merely four and twenty scenes--upon the battle-field of troy. the characters are penthesilea, queen of the amazons; her chief leaders, prothoe, meroe and asteria, and the high priestess of diana. of the greeks there are achilles, odysseus, diomede and antilochus. much of the fighting and other action is not seen, but is reported either by messengers or by present witnesses of a distant scene.
-the play begins with the battle raging between greeks and amazons. penthesilea with her hosts amazes the greeks by attacking equally the trojans, her reputed allies. she mows down the ranks of the trojans, and yet refuses all proffers of the greeks.
-thus early we have the direct, uncompromising spirit,--a kind of feminine prometheus. the first picture of the heroine is of a minerva in full array, stony of gaze and of expression until--she sees achilles. here early comes the conflict of two elemental passions. penthesilea recoils from the spell and dashes again into her ambiguous warfare. for once greeks and trojans are forced to fight in common defence.
-"the raging queen with blows of thunder struck as she would cleave the whole race of the greeks down to its roots....
-"more of the captives did she take than she did leave us eyes to count the list, or arms to set them free again.
-"often it seemed as if a special hate against achilles did possess her breast.
-"yet in a later moment, when his life was given straight into her hands, smiling she gave it back, as though a present; his headlong course to hades she did stay."
-in midst of the dual battle between achilles and the queen, a trojan prince comes storming and strikes a treacherous blow against the armor of the greek.
-"the queen is stricken pale; for a brief moment her arms hang helpless by her sides; and then, shaking her locks about her flaming cheeks, dashes her sword like lightning in his throat, and sends him rolling to achilles' feet."
-the greek leaders resolve to retreat from the futile fight and to call achilles from the mingled chase of love and war.
-achilles is now reported taken by the amazons. the battle is vividly depicted: achilles caught on a high ledge with his war-chariot; the amazon queen storming the height from below. the full scene is witnessed from the stage,--penthesilea pursuing almost alone; achilles suddenly dodges; the queen as quickly halts and rears her horse; the amazons fall in a mingled heap; achilles escapes, though wounded. but he refuses to follow his companions to the camp; he swears to bring home the queen wooed in the bloody strife of her own seeking.
-penthesilea recoils with like vehemence from the entreaties of her maids, intent upon the further battle, resolved to overcome the hero or to die. she forbids the festival of roses until she has vanquished achilles. in her rage she banishes her favorite prothoe from her presence, but in a quick revulsion takes her back.
-in a renewal of her personal contest, regardless of the common cause, and in her special quest of a chosen husband, penthesilea has broken the sacred law.
-the flight now follows of the amazon hosts. when the two combatants meet in the shock of lances, the queen falls in the dust; her pallor is reflected in achilles' face. leaping from his horse, he bends o'er her, calls her by names, and woos life back into her frame. her faithful maids, whom she has forbidden to harm achilles, lead her away. and here begins the seeming madness of the queen when she confesses her love. for a moment she yields to her people's demands, but the sight of the rose-wreaths kindles her rage anew. prothoe defends her in these lines:
-"of life the highest blessing she attempted. grazing she almost grasped. her hands now fail her for any other lesser goal to reach."
-in the last part of the scene the queen falls more and deeper into madness. it is only in a too literal spirit that one will find an oblique meaning,--by too great readiness to discover it. in reality there seems to be an intense conflict of opposite emotions in the heroine: the pure woman's love, without sense of self; and the wild overpowering greed of achievement. between these grinding stones she wears her heart away. a false interpretation of decadent theme comes from regarding the two emotions as mingled, instead of alternating in a struggle.
-achilles advances, having flung away his armor. prothoe persuades him to leave the queen, when she awakes, in the delusion that she has conquered and that he is the captive. thus when she beholds the hero, she breaks forth into the supreme moment of exaltation and of frenzied triumph. the main love scene follows:
-penthesilea tells achilles the whole story of the amazons, the conquest of the original tribe, the rising of the wives of the murdered warriors against the conquerors; the destruction of the right breast (a-mazon); the dedication of the "brides of mars" to war and love in one. in seeking out achilles the queen has broken the law. but here again appears the double symbolic idea: achilles meant to the heroine not love alone, but the overwhelming conquest, the great achievement of her life.
-the first feeling of penthesilea, when disillusioned, is of revulsive anger at a kind of betrayal. the amazons recover ground in a wild desire to save their queen, and they do rescue her, after a parting scene of the lovers. but penthesilea curses the triumph that snatches her away; the high priestess rebukes her, sets her free of her royal duties, to follow her love if she will. the queen is driven from one mood to another, of devoted love, burning ambition and mortal despair.
-achilles now sends a challenge to penthesilea, knowing the amazon conditions. against all entreaty the queen accepts, not in her former spirit, but in the frenzy of desperate endeavor, in the reawakened rage of her ambition, spurred and pricked by the words of the priestess.
-the full scene of madness follows. she calls for her dogs and elephants, and the full accoutrement of battle. amidst the terror of her own warriors, the rolling of thunder, she implores the gods' help to crush the greek. in a final touch of frenzy she aims a dart at her faithful prothoe.
-the battle begins, achilles in fullest confidence in penthesilea's love, unfrightened by the wild army of dogs and elephants. the scene, told by the present on-lookers, is heightened by the cries of horror and dismay of the amazons themselves.
-achilles falls; penthesilea, a living fury, dashes upon him with her dogs in an insane orgy of blood. the queen in the culminating scene is greeted by the curses of the high priestess. prothoe masters her horror and turns back to soothe the queen. penthesilea, unmindful of what has passed, moves once more through the whole gamut of her torturing emotions, and is almost calmed when she spies the bier with the hero's body. the last blow falls when upon her questions she learns the full truth of her deed. the words she utters (that have been cited by the hostile critics) may well be taken as the ravings of hopeless remorse, with a symbolic play of words. she dies, as she proclaims, by the knife of her own anguish.
-the last lines of prothoe are a kind of epilogue:
-the opening scene--"lively, vehement: departure of the amazons for troy"--begins impetuous and hefty with big strokes of the throbbing motive,
-the majestic rhythm coursing below, lashed by a quicker phrase above. suddenly trumpets sound, somewhat more slowly, a clarion call answered by a choir of other trumpets and horns in enchanting retort of changing harmonies. ever a fresh color of
-tone sounds in the call of the brass, as if here or yonder on the battle-field. sometimes it is almost too sweetly chanting for fierce war. but presently it turns to a wilder mood and breaks in galloping pace into a true chorus of song with clear cadence.
-the joyful tinge is quickly lost in the sombre hue of another phase of war-song that has a touch of funeral trip (though it is all in 3/4 time):
-a melody in the minor plays first in a choir of horns and bassoons, later in united strings, accompanied by soft rolls of drums and a touch of the lowest brass. harp and higher woodwind are added, but the volume is never transcendent save in a single burst when it is quickly hushed to the first ominous whisper. out of this sombre song flows a romance of tender sentiment, tranquillo in strings, followed by the wood. the crossing threads of expressive melody
-molto sostenuto, in changed rhythm of three slow beats, comes "penthesilea's dream of the feast of roses." over a thick cluster of harmonies in harp and strings the higher wood sing a new song in long drawn lyric notes with ravishing turns of tonal color,--a
-dual song and in many groups of two. the tranquil current of the dream is gradually disturbed; the main burden is dimmed in hue and in mood. faster, more fitful is the flow of melody, with hostile intruding motive below; it dashes at last into the tragic phase--combats; passions; madness; destruction--in very rapid tempo of 2/2 rhythm.
-in broad, masterful pace, big contrary figures sweep up and down, cadencing in almost joyous chant, gliding, indeed, into a pure hymn, as of triumph (that harks back to the chorussing song in the beginning).
-throughout the poem the musical symbols as well as the motives of passion are closely intertwined. thus the identity of the impetuous phrase of the very beginning is clear with the blissful theme of the dream of the feast of roses. here, at the end of the chorussing verse is a play or a strife of phrases where we cannot escape a symbolic intent. to tremolo of violas the cellos hold a tenor of descending melody over a rude rumbling phrase of the basses of wood and strings, while the oboe sings in the treble an expressive answer of ascending notes. a conflict is
-evident, of love and ambition, of savage and of gentle passion, of chaos and of beauty. at the height, the lowest brass intrude a brutal note of triumph of the descending theme. to the victory of pride succeeds a crisis of passionate yearning. but at the very height is a plunge into the fit of madness, the fatal descending phrase (in trombones) is ever followed by furious pelting spurts in the distorted main theme.
-at last the paroxysm abates, throbbing ever slower, merging into the tender song of the dream that now rises to the one great burst of love-passion. but it ends in a wild rage that turns right into the war-song of the beginning. and this is much fuller of incident than before. violins now ring an hostile motive (the former rumbling phrase of basses) from the midst of the plot against the main theme in trumpets. instead of the former pageantry, here is the pure frenzy of actual war. the trumpet melodies resound amidst the din of present battle. instead of the other gentler episodes, here is a more furious raving of the mad queen (in the hurried main motive), where we seem to see the literal dogs of war let loose and spurred on,--each paroxysm rising to a higher shock.
-great is the vehemence of speed and sound as the dull doom of destruction drones in the basses against a grim perversion of the yearning theme above, that overwhelms the scene with a final shriek.
-slowly the dream of love breathes again, rises to a fervent burst, then yields to the fateful chant and ends in a whisper of farewell.
-in mahler the most significant sign is a return to a true counterpoint, as against a mere overlading of themes, that began in wagner and still persists in strauss,--an artificial kind of structure that is never conceived as a whole.
-while we see in mahler much of the duophonic manner of his teacher, bruckner, in the work of the younger man the barren art is crowned with the true fire of a sentient poet. so, if bruckner had little to say, he showed the way to others. and mahler, if he did not quite emerge from the mantle of beethoven, is a link towards a still greater future. the form and the technic still seem, as with most modern symphonies, too great for the message. it is another phase of orchestral virtuosity, of intellectual strain, but with more of poetic energy than in the symphonies of the french or other germans.
-in other forms we see this happy reaction towards ancient art, as in the organ music of a reger. but in the finale of mahler's fifth symphony there is a true serenity, a new phase of symphony, without the climactic stress of traditional triumph, yet none the less joyous in essence.
-we cannot help rejoicing that in a sincere and poetic design of symphony is blended a splendid renaissance of pure counterpoint, that shines clear above the modern spurious pretence. the finale of mahler's fifth symphony is one of the most inspired conceptions of counterpoint in all music. in it is realized the full dream of a revival of the art in all its glorious estate.
-i.--1. funeral march. 2. in stormy motion (with greatest vehemence). ii.--3. scherzo (with vigor,--not too fast). iii.--4. adagietto (very slowly). 5. rondo-finale (allegro).
-the plan of movements is very original and in a way, two-fold. there are three great divisions, of which the first comprises a funeral march, and an untitled allegro in vehement motion. the second division has merely the single movement, scherzo. in the third are an adagietto and a rondo finale.
-i.--1. funeral march.--a call of trumpet, of heroic air and tread, is answered by strident chords ending in a sonorous motive of horns that leads to the funeral trip, of low brass. the mournful song of the principal melody appears presently in the strings, then returns to the funeral trip and to the strident chords. the first trumpet motive now sounds with this clanging phrase and soon the original call abounds in other brass. the deep descending notes of the horns recur and the full song of the funeral melody much extended, growing into a duet of cellos and high woodwind,
-and further into hymnal song on a new motive.
-so the various melodies recur with new mood and manner. suddenly, in fierce abandon, a martial tramp of the full band resounds, in gloomy minor,
-the violins in rapid rage of wailing figure: the trumpet strikes the firm note of heroic plaint.
-wild grief breaks out on all sides, the strings singing in passionate answer to the trumpet, the high wood carrying on the rapid motion. at the height of the storm the woodwind gain control with measured rhythm of choral melody. or perhaps the real height is the expressive double strain, in gentle pace, of the strings, and the wood descending from on high.
-the duet is carried on in wilder mood by most of the voices.
-a return to the solemn pace comes by imperceptible change, the softer hues of grief merging with the fiercer cries. now various strains sound together,--the main funeral melody in the woodwind.
-in the close recurs the full flow of funeral song, with the hymnal harmonies. in the refrain of the stormy duet the sting of passion is gone; the whole plaint dies away amid the fading echoes of the trumpet call.
-i.--2. the second movement, the real first allegro, is again clearly in two parts. only, the relative paces are exactly reversed from the first movement. in tempestuous motion, with greatest vehemence, a rushing motive of the basses is stopped by a chord of brass and strings,--the chord itself reverberating to the lower rhythm.
-throughout the whole symphony is the dual theme, each part spurring the other. here presently are phrases in conflicting motion, countermarching in a stormy maze. it is all, too, like noisy preparation,--a manoeuvring of forces before the battle. three distinct figures there are before a blast of horn in slower notes, answered by shrill call in highest wood. there enters a regular, rhythmic gait and a clearer tune, suggested by the call.
-in the brilliant medley there is ever a new figure we had not perceived. so when the tune has been told, trumpets and horns begin with what seems almost the main air, and the former voices sound like mere heralds. finally the deep trombones and tuba enter with a sonorous call. yet the first rapid trip of all has the main legend.
-as the quicker figures gradually retire, a change of pace appears, to the tramp of funeral. yet the initial and incident strains are of the former text. out of it weaves the new, slower melody:
-throughout, the old shrill call sounds in soft lament. hardly like a tune, a discourse rather, it winds along, growing and changing naïvely ever to a new phrase. and the soft calls about seem part of the melody. an expressive line rising in the clarinet harks back to one of the later strains of the funeral march.
-the second melody or answer (in low octaves of strings) is a scant disguise of the lower tune in the stormy duet of the first movement. yet all the strains move in the gentle, soothing pace and mood until suddenly awakened to the first vehement rhythm.
-before the slower verse returns is a long plaint of cellos to softest roll of drums. the gentle calls that usher in the melody have a significant turn, upwards instead of down. all the figures of the solemn episode appear more clearly.
-on the spur of the hurrying main motive of trumpets the first pace is once more regained.
-a surprise of plot is before us. in sudden recurrence of funeral march the hymnal song of the first movement is heard. as suddenly, we are plunged into the first joyful scene of the symphony. here it is most striking how the call of lament has become triumphant, as it seems without a change of note. and still more wonderful,--the same melody that first uttered a storm of grief, then a gentle sadness, now has a firm exultant ring. to be sure, it is all done with the magic trip of bass,--as a hymn may be a perfect dance.
-before the close we hear the first fanfare of trumpet from the opening symphony, that has the ring of a motto of the whole. at the very end is a transfigured entrance,--very slowly and softly, to a celestial touch of harp, of the first descending figure of the movement.
-ii.--3. scherzo. jovial in high degree, the scherzo begins with the thematic complexity of modern fashion. in dance tune of three beats horns lead off with a jolly call; strings strike dancing chords; the lower wind play a rollicking answer, but together with the horns, both strains continuing in dancing duet. still the saucy call of horns seems the main text, though no single tune reigns alone.
-the violins now play above the horns; then the cellos join and there is a three-part song of independent tunes, all in the dance. so far in separate voices it is now taken up by full chorus, though still the basses sing one way, trebles another, and the middle horns a third. and now the high trumpet strikes a phrase of its own. but they are all in dancing swing, of the fibre of the first jolly motive.
-a new episode is started by a quicker obligato of violins, in neighboring minor, that plays about a fugue of the woodwind on an incisive theme where the cadence has a strange taste of bitter sweet harmony in the modern gallic manner.
-horns and violins now pursue their former duet, but in the changed hue of minor where the old concords are quaintly perverted. but this is only to give a merrier ring to the bright madrigal that follows in sweetly clashing higher wood, with the trip still in the violins. thence the horns and violins break again into the duet in the original key. here the theme is wittily inverted in the bass, while other strings sing another version above.
-so the jolly dance and the quaint fugue alternate; a recurring phrase is carried to a kind of dispute, with opposite directions above and below and much augmented motion in the strings.
-in the dance so far, in "three time," is ever the vigorous stamp on the third beat, typical of the german peasant "ländler." here of a sudden is a change as great as possible within the continuing dance of three steps. "more tranquil" in pace, in soft strings, without a trace of the ländler stamp, is a pure waltz in pretty imitation of tuneful theme.
-and so the return to the vigorous rough dance is the more refreshing. the merry mood yields to a darker temper. "wild" the strings rush in angry fugue on their rapid phrase; the quaint theme is torn to shreds, recalling the fierce tempest of earlier symphony.
-but the first sad note of the scherzo is in the recitative of horn, after the lull. a phrase of quiet reflection, with which the horn concludes the episode as with an "envoi," is now constantly rung; it is wrought from the eerie tempest; like refined metal the melody is finally poured; out of its guise is the theme now of mournful dance.
-"shyly" the tune of the waltz answers in softest oboe. in all kinds of verses it is sung, in expressive duet of lower wood, of the brass, then of high reeds; in solo trumpet with counter-tune of oboe, finally in high flutes. here we see curiously, as the first themes reappear, a likeness with the original trumpet-call of the symphony. in this guise of the first dance-theme the movements are bound together. the envoi phrase is here evident throughout.
-at this mystic stage, to pure dance trip of low strings the waltz reënters very softly in constant growing motion, soon attaining the old pace and a new fulness of sound. a fresh spur is given by a wild motion of strings, as in the fugal episode; a new height of tempest is reached where again the distorted shreds of first dance appear, with phrases of the second. from it like sunshine from the clouds breaks quickly the original merry trip of dance.
-a climax is reached by all the violins in unison. a new glow, with quicker motion, is in the episode, where the violins are sharply answered by the violas, rising to a dramatic height and dying away in a vein of rare lyric utterance.
-it is all indeed a pure lyric in tones.
-iii.--5. rondo-finale. the whole has the dainty, light-treading humor that does not die of its own vehemence. somewhat as in the ninth symphony of beethoven,--tyrant of classical traditions, the themes appear right in the beginning as if on muster-roll, each in separate, unattended song. a last chance cadence passes down the line of voices and settles into a comfortable rhythm as prevailing theme, running in melodious extension, and merging after a
-hearty conclusion in the jovially garrulous fugue.
-here the counter-theme proves to be one of the initial tunes and takes a leading rôle until another charming strain appears on high,--a pure nursery rhyme crowning the learned fugue. even this is a guise of one of the original motives in the mazing medley, where it seems we could trace the ancestry of each if we could linger and if it really mattered. and yet there is a rare charm in these subtle turns; it is the secret relevance that counts the most.
-the fugue reaches a sturdy height with one of the first themes in lusty horns, and suddenly falls into a pleasant jingle, prattling away in the train of important figures, the kind that is pertinent with no outer likeness.
-everywhere, to be sure, the little rhythmic cadence appears; the whole sounds almost like the old children's canon on "three blind mice"; indeed the themal inversion is here the main tune. then in the bass the phrase sounds twice as slow as in the horns. there are capers and horseplay; a sudden shift of tone; a false alarm of fugue; suddenly we are back in the first placid verse of the rhythmic motive.
-here is a new augmentation in resonant horns and middle strings, and the melodious extension. a former motive that rings out in high reed, seems to have the function of concluding each episode.
-a new stretch of fugue appears with new counter-theme, that begins in long-blown notes of horns. it really is no longer a fugue; it has lapsed into mere smooth-rolling motion underneath a verse of primal tune. and presently another variant of graceful episode brings a delicious lilt,--tender, but expressive.
-with all the subtle design there is no sense of the lamp, in the gentle murmur of quicker figure or melodious flow of upper theme. moving is the lyric power and sweetness of this multiple song. as to themal relation,--one feels like regarding it all as inspired madrigal, where the maze and medley is the thing, where the tunes are not meant to be distinguished. it becomes an abandoned orgy of clearest counterpoint. throughout is a blending of fugue and of children's romp, anon with the tenderness of lullaby and even the glow of love-song. a brief mystic verse, with slow descending strain in the high wood, preludes the returning gambol of running strings, where the maze of fugue or canon is in the higher flowing song, with opposite course of answering tune, and a height of jolly revel, where the bright trumpet pours out the usual concluding phrase. the rhythmic episode, in whimsical change, here sings with surprise of lusty volume. so the merry round goes on to a big resonant amen of final acclaim, where the little phrase steals out as naturally as in the beginning.
-then in quicker pace it sounds again all about, big and little, and ends, after a touch of modern gallic scale, in opposing runs, with a last light, saucy fling.
-mahler, we feel again, realizes all the craving that bruckner breeds for a kernel of feeling in the shell of counterpoint. though we cannot deny a rude breach of ancient rule and mode, there is in mahler a genuine, original, individual quality of polyphonic art that marks a new stage since the first in bach and a second in beethoven. it is this bold revel in the neglected sanctuary of the art that is most inspiriting for the future. and as in all true poetry, this overleaping audacity of design is a mere expression of simplest gaiety.
-much may be wisely written on the right limits of music as a depicting art. the distinction is well drawn between actual delineation, of figure or event, and the mere suggestion of a mood. it is no doubt a fine line, and fortunately; for the critic must beware of mere negative philosophy, lest what he says cannot be done, be refuted in the very doing. if lessing had lived a little later, he might have extended the principles of his "laocöon" beyond poetry and sculpture into the field of music. difficult and ungrateful as is the task of the critical philosopher, it must be performed. there is every reason here as elsewhere why men should see and think clearly.
-it is perhaps well that audiences should cling to the simple verdict of beauty, that they should not be led astray by the vanity of finding an answer; else the composer is tempted to create mere riddles. so we may decline to find precise pictures, and content ourselves with the music. the search is really time wasted; it is like a man digging in vain for gold and missing the sunshine above.
-it is in the harmonic rather than the melodic field that the fancy of strauss soars the freest. it is here that his music bears an individual stamp of beauty. playing in and out among the edges of the main harmony with a multitude of ornamental phrases, he gains a new shimmer of brilliancy. aside from instrumental coloring, where he seems to outshine all others in dazzling richness and startling contrasts, he adds to the lustre by a deft playing in the overtones of his harmonies, casting the whole in warmest hue.
-if we imagine the same riotous license in the realm of tonal noise,--cacophony, that is, where the aim is not to enchant, but to frighten, bewilder, or amaze; to give some special foil to sudden beauty; or, last of all, for graphic touch of story, we have another striking element of strauss's art. the anticipation of a beethoven in the drum of the scherzo of the fifth symphony, or the rhythmic whims of a schumann in his romantic piano pieces suggest the path of much of this license. again, as passing notes may run without heed of harmony, since ancient days, so long sequences of other figures may hold their moving organ-point against clashing changes of tonality.
-apart from all this is the modern "counterpoint," where, if it is quite the real thing, strauss has outdone the boldest dreams of ancient school men. but with the lack of cogent form, and the multitude of small motives it seems a different kind of art. we must get into the view-point of romantic web of infinite threads, shimmering or jarring in infinite antagonism (of delayed harmony). by the same process comes always the tremendous accumulation towards the end. as the end and essence of the theme seems a graphic quality rather than intrinsic melody, so the main pith and point of the music lies in the weight and power of these final climaxes.
-tod und verklärung (death and transfiguration), tone poem
-it may be well to gather a few general impressions before we attempt the study of a work radical in its departure from the usual lines of tonal design.
-there can be no doubt of the need of vigilance if we are to catch the relevance of all the strains. to be sure, perhaps this perception is meant to be subconscious. in any case the consciousness would seem to ensure a full enjoyment.
-it is all based on the motif of the wagner drama and of the liszt symphonies, and it is carried to quite as fine a point. only here we have no accompanying words to betray the label of the theme. but in the quick flight of themes, how are we to catch the subtle meaning? the interrelation seems as close as we care to look, until we are in danger of seeing no woods for the trees.
-again the danger of preconception is of the greatest. we may get our mind all on the meaning and all off the music. the clear fact is the themes do have a way of entering with an air of significance which they challenge us to find. the greatest difficulty is to distinguish the themes that grow out of each other, as a rose throws off its early petals, from those that have a mere chance similarity. even this likeness may have its own intended meaning, or it may be all beside the mark. but we may lose not merely the musical, but even the dramatic sequence in too close a poring over themal derivation. on the other hand we may defy the composer himself and take simply what he gives, as if on first performance, before the commentators have had a chance to breed. and this may please him best in the end.
-we must always attend more to the mood than to themal detail as everywhere in real music, after all. moments of delight and triumph we know there are in this work. but they are mere instants. for it is all the feverish dream of death. there can be no earlier rest. snatches they are of fancy, of illusion, as, says the priest in oedipus, is all of life.
-it may be worth while, too, to see how pairs of themes ever occur in strauss, the second in answer, almost in protest, to the first. (it is not unlike the pleading in the fifth symphony of the second theme with the sense of doom in the first.) so we seem to find a motive of fate, and one of wondering, and striving; a theme of beauty and one of passion,--if we cared to tread on such a dangerous, tempting ground. again, we may find whole groups of phrases expressive of one idea, as of beauty, and another of anxious pursuit. thus we escape too literal a themal association.
-trying a glimpse from the score pure and simple, we find a poem, opposite the first page, that is said to have been written after the first production. so, reluctantly, we must wait for the mere reinforcement of its evidence.
-largo, in uncertain key, begins the throb of irregular rhythm (in strings) that bach and chopin and wagner have taught us to associate with suffering. the first figure is a gloomy descent of pairs of chords, with a hopeless cry above (in the flutes). in the recurrence, the turn of chord is at last upward. a warmer hue of waving sounds (of harps) is poured about, and a gentle vision appears on high, shadowed quickly by a theme of fearful wondering. the chords return as at first. a new series of descending tones
-intrude, with a sterner sense of omen, and yield to a full melodic utterance of longing (again with the
-soothing play of harp), and in the midst a fresh theme of wistful fear. for a moment there is a brief glimpse of the former vision. now the song, less of longing than of pure bliss, sings free and clear its descending lay in solo violin, though an answering phrase (in the horns) of upward striving soon rises from below. the vision now appears again, the wondering monitor close beside. the melancholy chords return to dim the beauty. as the descending theme recedes, the rising motive sings a fuller course on high with a new note of eager, anxious fear.
-all these themes are of utmost pertinence in this evident prologue of the story. or at least the germs of all the leading melodies are here.
-in sudden turn of mood to high agitation, a stress of wild desire rings out above in pairs of sharp ascending chords, while below the wondering theme rises in growing tumult. a whirling storm of the two phrases ends in united burst like hymn of battle, on the line of the wondering theme, but infused with
-resistless energy. now sings a new discourse of warring phrases that are dimly traced to the phase of the blissful melody, above the theme of upward striving.
-they wing an eager course, undaunted by the harsh intruding chords. into the midst presses the forceful martial theme. all four elements are clearly evident. the latest gains control, the other voices for the nonce merely trembling in obedient rhythm. but a new phase of the wistful motive appears, masterful but not o'ermastering, fiercely pressing upwards,--and a slower of the changed phrase of blissful song. the former attains a height of sturdy ascending stride.
-in spite of the ominous stress of chords that grow louder with the increasing storm, something of assurance comes with the ascending stride. more and more this seems the dominant idea.
-a new paroxysm of the warring themes rises to the first great climax where the old symbol of wondering and striving attains a brief moment of assured ecstatic triumph.
-in a new scene (meno mosso), to murmuring strings (where the theme of striving can possibly be caught) the blissful melody sings in full song, undisturbed save by the former figure that rises as if to grasp,--sings later, too, in close sequence of voices. after a short intervening verse--leicht bewegt--where the first vision appears for a moment, the song is resumed, still in a kind of shadowy chase of slow flitting voices, senza espressione. the rising, eager phrase is disguised in dancing pace, and grows to a graceful turn of tune. an end comes, poco agitato, with rude intrusion of the hymnal march in harsh contrast of rough discord; the note of anxious fear, too, strikes in again. but suddenly, etwas breiter, a new joyous mood frightens away the birds of evil omen.
-right in the midst of happenings, we must be warned against too close a view of individual theme. we must not forget that it is on the contrasted pairs and again the separate groups of phrases, where all have a certain common modal purpose, that lies the main burden of the story. still if we must be curious for fine derivation, we may see in the new tune of exultant chorus the late graceful turn that now, reversing, ends in the former rising phrase. against it sings the first line of blissful theme. and the first tune of graceful beauty also finds a place. but they all make one single blended song, full of glad bursts and cadences.
-hardly dimmed in mood, it turns suddenly into a phase of languorous passion, in rich setting of pulsing harp, where now the later figures, all but the blissful theme, vanish before an ardent song of the wondering phrase. the motive of passionate desire rises and falls, and soars in a path of "endless melody," returning on its own line of flight, playing as if with its shadow, catching its own echo in the ecstasy of chase. and every verse ends with a new stress of the insistent upward stride, that grows ever in force and closes with big reverberating blasts. the theme of the vision joins almost in rough guise of utmost speed, and the rude marching song breaks in; somehow, though they add to the maze, they do not dispel the joy. the ruling phase of passion now rumbles fiercely in lowest depths. the theme of beauty rings in clarion wind and strings, and now the whole strife ends in clearest, overwhelming hymn of triumphant gladness, all in the strides of the old wondering, striving phrase.
-the whole battle here is won. though former moments are fought through again (and new melodies grow out of the old plaint), the triumphant shout is near and returns (ever from a fresh tonal quarter) to chase away the doubt and fear. all the former phrases sing anew, merging the tale of their strife in the recurring verse of united paean. the song at last dies away, breaking like setting sun into glinting rays of celestial hue, that pale away into dullest murmur.
-still one returning paroxysm, of wild striving for eluding bliss, and then comes the close. from lowest depths shadowy tones sing herald phrases against dim, distorted figures of the theme of beauty,--that lead to a soft song of the triumphant hymn, tranquillo, in gentlest whisper, but with all the sense of gladness and ever bolder straying of the enchanting dream. after a final climax the song ends in slow vanishing echoes.
-the poet ritter is said to have added, after the production of the music, the poem printed on the score, of which the following is a rather literal translation:
-but a paltry shrift of sleep death begrudges to his victim. cruelly he wakes and shakes him, and the fight begins anew,-- throb of life and power of death, and the horror of the struggle. neither wins the victory. once again the stillness reigns.
-worn of battle, he relapses sleepless, as in fevered trance. now he sees before him passing of his life each single scene: first the glow of childhood dawn, bright in purest innocence, then the bolder play of youth trying new discovered powers, till he joins the strife of men, burning with an eager passion for the high rewards of life.-- to present in greater beauty what his inner eye beholds, this is all his highest purpose that has guided his career.
-cold and scornful does the world pile the barriers to his striving. is he near his final goal, comes a thund'rous "halt!" to meet him. "make the barrier a stepping, ever higher keep your path." thus he presses on and urges, never ceasing from his aim.-- what he ever sought of yore with his spirit's deepeth longing, now he seeks in sweat of death, seeks--alas! and finds it never. though he grasps it clearer now, though it grows in living form, he can never all achieve it, nor create it in his thought. then the final blow is sounded from the hammer-stroke of death, breaks the earthly frame asunder, seals the eye with final night. but a mighty host of sounds greet him from the space of heaven with the song he sought below: man redeemed,--the world transfigured.
-don juan. (tone poem.)
-a score or more of lines from lenau's poem of the same title stand as the subject of the music.
-o magic realm, illimited, eternal, of gloried woman,--loveliness supernal! fain would i, in the storm of stressful bliss, expire upon the last one's lingering kiss! through every realm, o friend, would wing my flight, wherever beauty blooms, kneel down to each, and, if for one brief moment, win delight!
-i flee from surfeit and from rapture's cloy, keep fresh for beauty service and employ, grieving the one, that all i may enjoy.
-my lady's charm to-day hath breath of spring, to-morrow may the air of dungeon bring. when with the new love won i sweetly wander, no bliss is ours upfurbish'd and regilded; a different love has this to that one yonder,-- not up from ruins be my temple builded. yea love life is, and ever must be now, cannot be changed or turned in new direction; it must expire--here find a resurrection; and, if 'tis real, it nothing knows of rue! each beauty in the world is sole, unique; so must the love be that would beauty seek! so long as youth lives on with pulse afire, out to the chase! to victories new aspire!
-to some extent strauss clearly follows the separate parts of his quotation. fervent desire, sudden indifference are not to be mistaken.
-the various love scenes may be filled with special characters without great harm, save that the mind is diverted from a higher poetic view to a mere concrete play of events. the very quality of the pure musical treatment thus loses nobility and significance. moreover the only thematic elements in the design are the various "motives" of the hero.
-allegro molto con brio begins the impetuous main theme in dashing ascent,
-and masterful career.
-the various phases are mingled in spirited song; only the very beginning seems reserved as a special symbol of a turn in the chase, of the sudden flame of desire that is kindled anew.
-in the midst of a fresh burst of the main phrase are gentle strains of plaint (flebile). and now a tenderly sad motive in the wood sings against the marching phrase, amidst a spray of light, dancing chords. another song of the main theme is spent in a vanishing tremolo of strings and harp, and buried in a rich chord whence rises a new song (molto espressivo) or rather a duet, the first of the longer love-passages.
-the main melody is begun in clarinet and horn and instantly followed (as in canon) by violins. the climax of this impassioned scene is a titanic chord of minor, breaking the spell; the end is in a distorted strain of the melody, followed by a listless refrain of the (original) impetuous motive (senza espressione).
-here strikes a climactic tune in forte unison of the four horns (molto espressivo e marcato). it is the clear utterance of a new mood of the hero,--a purely
-subjective phase. with a firm tread, though charged with pathos, it seems what we might venture to call a symbol of renunciation. it is broken in upon by a strange version of the great love song, agitato in oboes, losing all its queenly pace. as though in final answer comes again the ruthless phrase of horns, followed now by the original theme. rapidamente in full force of strings comes the coursing strain of impetuous desire. the old and the new themes of the hero are now in stirring encounter, and the latter seems to prevail.
-the mood all turns to humor and merrymaking. in gay dancing trip serious subjects are treated jokingly (the great melody of the horns is mockingly sung by the harp),--in fits and gusts. at the height the (first) tempestuous motive once more dashes upwards and yields to a revel of the (second) whimsical phrase. a sense of fated renunciation seems to pervade the play of feelings of the hero. in the lull, when the paroxysm is spent, the various figures of his past romances pass in shadowy review; the first tearful strain, the melody of the first of the longer episodes,--the main lyric song (agitato).
-in the last big flaming forth of the hero's passion victory is once more with the theme of renunciation,--or shall we say of grim denial where there is no choice.
-strauss does not defy tradition (or providence) by ending his poem with a triumph. a final elemental burst of passion stops abruptly before a long pause. the end is in dismal, dying harmonies,--a mere dull sigh of emptiness, a void of joy and even of the solace of poignant grief.
-till eulenspiegel's merry pranks
-in the manner of ancient rogues--in rondo form
-hardly another subject could have been more happy for the revelling in brilliant pranks and conceits of a modern vein of composition. and in the elusive humor of the subject is not the least charm and fitness. too much stress has been laid on the graphic purpose. there is always a tendency to construe too literally. while we must be in full sympathy with the poetic story, there is small need to look for each precise event. we are tempted to go further, almost in defiance, and say that music need not be definite, even despite the composer's intent. in other words, if the tonal poet designs and has in mind a group of graphic figures, he may nevertheless achieve a work where the real value and beauty lie in a certain interlinear humor and poetry,--where the labels can in some degree be disregarded.
-indeed, it is this very abstract charm of music that finds in such a subject its fullest fitness. if we care to know the pranks exactly, why not turn to the text? yet, reading the book, in a way, destroys the spell. better imagine the ideal rogue, whimsical, spritely, all of the people too. but in the music is the real till. the fine poetry of ancient humor is all there, distilled from the dregs of folk-lore that have to us lost their true essence. there is in the music a daemonic quality, inherent in the subject, that somehow vanishes with the concrete tale. so we might say the tonal picture is a faithful likeness precisely in so far as it does not tell the facts of the story.
-it is perhaps in the multitude of the stories, paradoxical though it seem, that lies the strength. in the number of them (ninety-two "histories" there are) is an element of universality. it is like the broom: one straw does not make, nor does the loss of one destroy it; somewhere in the mass lies the quality of broom.
-in a way till is the ulysses of german folk-lore, the hero of trickery, a kind of reinecke fuchs in real life. but he is of the soil as none of the others. a satyr, in a double sense, is till; only he is pure teuton, of the latter middle ages.
-he is every sort of tradesman, from tailor to doctor. many of the stories, perhaps the best, are not stories at all, but merely clever sayings. in most of the tricks there is a roland for an oliver. till stops at no estate; parsons are his favorite victims. he is, on the whole, in favor with the people, though he played havoc with entire villages. once he was condemned to death by the lübeck council. but even here it was his enemies, whom he had defrauded, that sought revenge. the others excused the tricks and applauded his escape. even in death the scandal and mischief do not cease.
-the directions in strauss' music are new in their kind and dignity. they belong quite specially to this new vein of tonal painting. in a double function, they not merely guide the player, but the listener as well. the humor is of utmost essence; the humor is the thing, not the play, nor the story of each of the pranks, in turn, of our jolly rogue. and the humor lies much in these words of the composer, that give the lilt of motion and betray a sense of the intended meaning.
-the tune, sung at the outset gemächlich (comfortably), is presumably the rogue motif, first in pure innocence of mood. but quickly comes another, quite opposed in rhythm, that soon hurries into highest speed. these are not the "subjects" of old tradition.
-after a pause in the furious course of the second theme, a quick piping phrase sounds lustig (merrily) in the clarinet, answered by a chord of ominous
-token. but slowly do we trace the laughing phrase to the first theme.
-and here is a new whim. though still in full tilt, the touch of demon is gone in a kind of ursine clog of the basses. merely jaunty and clownish it would be but for the mischievous scream (of high flute) at the end. and now begins a rage of pranks, where the main phrase is the rogue's laugh, rising in brilliant gamut of outer pitch and inner mood.
-at times the humor is in the spirit of a jean paul, playing between rough fun and sadness in a fine spectrum of moods. the lighter motive dances harmlessly about the more serious, intimate second phrase. there is almost the sense of lullaby before the sudden plunge to wildest chaos, the only portent being a constant trembling of low strings. all bedlam is let loose, where the rogue's shriek is heard through a confused cackling and a medley of voices here and there on the running phrase (that ever ends the second theme). the sound of a big rattle is added to the scene,--where perhaps the whole village is in an uproar over some wholesale trick of the rogue.
-and what are we to say to this simplest swing of folk-song that steals in naïvely to enchanting strum of rhythm. we may speculate about the till as the
-people saw him, while elsewhere we have the personal view. the folk-tunes may not have a special dramatic rôle. out of the text of folk-song, to be sure, all the strains are woven. here and there we have the collective voice. if we have watched keenly, we have heard how the tune, simply though it begins, has later all the line of till's personal phrase. even in the bass it is, too. of the same fibre is this demon mockery and the thread of folk legend.
-we cannot pretend to follow all the literal whims. and it is part of the very design that we are ever surprised by new tricks, as by this saucy trip of dancing phrase. the purely human touches are clear, and almost moving in contrast with the impish humor.
-an earlier puzzle is of the second theme. as the composer has refused to help us, he will not quarrel if we find our own construction. a possible clue there is. as the story proceeds, aside from the mere abounding fun and poetry, the more serious theme prevails. things are happening. and there come the tell-tale directions. liebeglühend, aflame with love, a melody now sings in urgent pace, ending with
-a strange descending note. presently in quieter mood, ruhiger, it gains a new grace, merely to dash again, wütend, into a fiercer rage than before. before long we cannot escape in all this newer melody a mere slower outline of the second theme. a guess then, such as the composer invites us to make, is this: it is not exactly a jekyll and hyde, but not altogether different. here (in the second theme, of horn) is till himself,--not the rogue, but the man in his likes and loves and suffering. the rogue is another, a demon that possesses him to tease mankind, to tease himself out of his happiness. during the passionate episode the rogue is banned, save for a grimace now and then, until the climax, when all in disguise of long passionate notes of resonant bass the demon theme has full control. but for once it is in earnest, in dead earnest, we might say. and the ominous chord has a supreme moment, in the shadow of the fulfilment.
-the impish laugh still keeps intruding. but throughout the scene it is the till motive, not the rogue, that fits the stride of the death-march. to be sure the rogue anon laughs bravely. but the other figure is in full view.
-the sombre legend is, indeed, in a separate phase, its beauty now distorted in a feverish chase of voices on the main phrase. it is all a second climax, of a certain note of terror,--of fate. in the midst is a dash of the rogue's heartiest laugh, amid the echoes of the fearful chord, while the growing roar of the mob can be heard below. once again it rings out undaunted, and then to the sauciest of folk-tunes, leichtfertig, till dances gaily and jauntily. presently, in a mystic passage, schnell und schattenhaft
-etwas gemächlicher, a graceful duet weaves prettily out of the till motive, while the other roars very gently in chastened tones of softest horns.
-the first course of themes now all recurs, though some of the roguery is softened and soon trips into purest folk-dance. and yet it is all built of the rascal theme. it might (for another idle guess) be a general rejoicing. besides the tuneful dance, the personal phrase is laughing and chuckling in between.
-the rejoicing has a big climax in the first folk-song of all, that now returns in full blast of horns against a united dance of strings and wood. after a roll of drum loud clanging strokes sound threatening (drohend) in low bass and strings, to which the rascal pipes his theme indifferently (gleichgültig). the third time, his answer has a simulated sound (entstellt). finally, on the insistent thud comes a piteous phrase (kläglich) in running thirds. the dread chords at last vanish, in the strings. it is very like an actual, physical end. there is no doubt that the composer here intends the death of till, in face of the tradition.
-follows the epilogue, where in the comfortable swing of the beginning the first melody is extended in full beauty and significance. all the pleasantry of the rogue is here, and at the end a last fierce burst of the demon laugh.
-the work followed a series of tone-poems where the graphic aim is shown far beyond the dreams even of a berlioz. it may be said that strauss, strong evidence to the contrary, does not mean more than a suggestion of the mood,--that he plays in the humor and poetry of his subject rather than depicts the full story. it is certainly better to hold to this view as long as possible. the frightening penalty of the game of exact meanings is that if there is one here, there must be another there and everywhere. there is no blinking the signs of some sort of plot in our domestic symphony, with figures and situations. the best way is to lay them before the hearer and leave him to his own reception.
-in the usual sense, there are no separate movements. though "scherzo" is printed after the first appearance of the three main figures, and later "adagio" and "finale," the interplay and recurrence of initial themes is too constant for the traditional division. it is all a close-woven drama in one act, with rapidly changing scenes. really more important than the conventional italian names are such headings as "wiegenlied" (cradle-song), and above all, the numerous directions. here is an almost conclusive proof of definite intent. to be sure, even a figure on canvas is not the man himself. indeed, as music approaches graphic realism, it is strange how painting goes the other way. or rather, starting from opposite points, the two arts are nearing each other. as modern painting tends to give the feeling of a subject, the subjective impression rather than the literal outline, we can conceive even in latest musical realism the "atmosphere" as the principal aim. in other words, we may view strauss as a sort of modern impressionist tone-painter, and so get the best view of his pictures.
-indeed, cacophony is alone a most suggestive subject. in the first place the term is always relative, never absolute,--relative in the historic period of the composition, or relative as to the purpose. one can hardly say that any combination of notes is unusable. most striking it is how the same group of notes makes hideous waste in one case, and a true tonal logic in another. again, what was impossible in mozart's time, may be commonplace to-day.
-you cannot stamp cacophony as a mere whim of modern decadence. beethoven made the noblest use of it and suffered misunderstanding. bach has it in his scores with profound effect. and then the license of one age begets a greater in the next. it is so in poetry, though in far less degree. for, in music, the actual tones are the integral elements of the art. they are the idea itself; in poetry the words merely suggest it.
-ii.--scherzo. parents' happiness. childish play. cradle-song (the clock strikes seven in the evening).
-iii.--adagio. creation and contemplation. love scene. dreams and cares (the clock strikes seven in the morning).
-the "first theme" in "comfortable" pace, gliding
-into a "dreamy" phrase, begins the symphony. presently
-a "peevish" cry breaks in, in sudden altered key; then on a second, soothing tonal change, a strain sings "ardently" in upward wing to a bold climax and down to gentler cadence, the "peevish" cry still breaking in. the trumpet has a short cheery
-call (lustig), followed by a brisk, rousing run in wood and strings (frisch). a return of the "comfortable" phrase is quickly overpowered by the "second theme," in very lively manner (sehr lebhaft), with an answering phrase, grazioso, and light trills above.
-the incidental phrases are thus opposed to the main humor of each theme. the serene first melody has "peevish" interruptions; the assertive second yields to graceful blandishments. a little later a strain appears gefühlvoll, "full of feeling," (that plays a frequent part), but the main (second) theme breaks in "angrily." soon a storm is brewing; at the height the same motive is sung insistently. in the lull, the first phrase of all sings gaily (lustig), and then serenely (gemächlich) in tuneful tenor. various
-parts of the first theme are now blended in mutual discourse.
-amidst trembling strings the oboe d'amore plays the "third theme." "very tenderly," "quietly," the
-second gives soothing answer, and the third sings a full melodious verse.
-here a loud jangling noise tokens important arrivals. fierce, hearty pulling of the door-bell excites the parents, especially the mother, who is quite in hysterics. the father takes it decidedly more calmly. the visitors presently appear in full view, so to speak; for "the aunts," in the trumpets, exclaim: "just like papa," and the uncles, in the trombones, cry: "just like mama" (ganz die mama). there can be no questioning; it is all written in the book.
-it is at least not hazardous to guess the three figures in the domestic symphony. now in jolly scherzo (munter) begin the tricks and sport of babyhood. there is of course but one theme, with mere comments
-of parental phrases in varying accents of affection. another noisy scene mars all the peace; father and child have a strong disagreement; the latter is "defiant"; the paternal authority is enforced. bed-time comes with the stroke of seven, a cradle-song (wiegenlied) (where the child's theme hums faintly below). then, "slowly and very quietly" sings the "dreamy" phrase of the first theme, where
-the answer, in sweeping descent, gives one of the principal elements of the later plot. it ends in a moving bit of tune, "very quietly and expressively" (sehr ruhig und innig).
-adagio, a slow rising strain plays in the softer
-wood-notes of flute, oboe d'amore, english horn, and the lower clarinets; below sings gently the second theme, quite transformed in feeling. those upper notes, with a touch of impassioned yearning, are not new to our ears. that very rising phrase (the "dreamy" motive), if we strain our memory, was at first below the more vehement (second) figure. so
-now the whole themal group is reversed outwardly and in the inner feeling. indeed, in other places crops out a like expressive symbol, and especially in the phrase, marked gefühlvoll, that followed the second theme in the beginning. all these motives here find a big concerted song in quiet motion, the true lyric spot of the symphony.
-out of it emerges a full climax, bigger and broader now, of the first motive. at another stage the second has the lead; but at the height is a splendid verse of the maternal song. at the end the quiet, blissful tune sings again "sehr innig."
-appassionato re-enters the second figure. mingled in its song are the latest tune and an earlier expressive phrase (gefühlvoll). the storm that here ensues is not of dramatic play of opposition. there are no "angry" indications. it is the full blossoming in richest madrigal of all the themes of tenderness and passion in an aureole of glowing harmonies. the morning comes with the stroke of seven and the awakening cry of the child.
-the finale begins in lively pace (sehr lebhaft) with
-a double fugue, where it is not difficult to see in the first theme a fragment of the "baby" motive. the second is a remarkably assertive little phrase from the cadence of the second theme (quoted above). the son is clearly the hero, mainly in sportive humor, although he is not free from parental interference. the maze and rigor of the fugue do not prevent a frequent appearance of all the other themes, and even of the full melodies, of which the fugal motives are built. at the climax of the fugue, in the height of speed and noise, something very delightful is happening, some furious romp, perhaps, of father and son, the mother smiling on the game. at the close a new melody that we might trace, if we cared, in earlier origin, has a full verse "quietly and simply" (ruhig und einfach) in wood and horns, giving the crown
-and seal to the whole. the rest is a final happy refrain of all the strains, where the husband's themes are clearly dominant.
-the present estate of music in italy is an instance of the danger of prophecy in the broad realm of art. wise words are daily heard on the rise and fall of a nation in art, or of a form like the symphony, as though a matter of certain fate, in strict analogy to the life of man.
-italy was so long regnant in music that she seems even yet its chosen land. we have quite forgotten how she herself learned at the feet of the masters from the distant north. for music is, after all, the art of the north; the solace for winter's desolation; an utterance of feeling without the model of a visible nature.
-and yet, with a prodigal stream of native melody and an ancient passion of religious rapture, italy achieved masterpieces in the opposite fields of the mass and of opera. but for the more abstract plane of pure tonal forms it has somehow been supposed that she had neither a power nor a desire for expression. an italian symphony seems almost an anomaly,--as strange a product as was once a german opera.
-to be sure we see here an italian touch in the simple artless stream of tune, the warm resonance, the buoyant spring of rhythm. the first movement stands out in the symphony with a subtler design than all the rest, though it does not lack the ringing note of jubilation.
-the andante is a pure lyric somewhat new in design and in feeling. it shows, too, an interesting contrast of opposite kinds of slower melody,--the one dark-hued and legend-like, from which the poet wings his flight to a hymnal rhapsody on a clear choral theme, with a rich setting of arpeggic harmonies. a strange halting or limping rhythm is continued throughout the former subject. in the big climax the feeling is strong of some great chant or rite, of vespers or magnificat. against convention the ending returns to the mood of sad legend.
-the scherzo is a sparkling chain of dancing tunes of which the third, of more intimate hue, somehow harks back to the second theme of the first movement.
-a trio, a dulcet, tender song of the wood, precedes the return of the scherzo that ends with the speaking cadence from the first allegro.
-a serenata must be regarded as a kind of intermezzo, in the cantilena manner, with an accompanying rhythm suggesting an ancient spanish dance. it stands as a foil between the gaiety of the scherzo and the jubilation of the finale.
-the finale is one festive idyll, full of ringing tune and almost bucolic lilt of dance. it reaches one of those happy jingles that we are glad to hear the composer singing to his heart's content.
-the very naturalness, the limpid flow of the melodic thought seem to resist analysis of the design. the listener's perception must be as naïve and spontaneous as was the original conception.
-there is, on the one hand, no mere adoption of a classical schedule of form, nor, on the other, the over-subtle workmanship of modern schools. fresh and resolute begins the virile theme with a main charm in the motion itself. it lies not in a tune here or there, but in a dual play of responsive phrases at the start, and then a continuous flow of further melody on the fillip of the original rhythm, indefinable of outline in a joyous chanting of bass and treble.
-a first height reached, an expressive line in the following lull rises in the cellos, that is the essence of the contrasting idea, followed straightway by a brief phrase of the kind, like some turns of peasant song, that we can hear contentedly without ceasing.
-again, as at the beginning, such a wealth of melodies sing together that not even the composer could know which he intended in chief. we merely feel, instead of the incisive ring of the first group, a quieter power of soothing beauty. yet, heralded by a prelude of sweet strains, the expressive line now enters like a queenly figure over a new rhythmic motion, and flows on through delighting glimpses of new harmony to a striking climax.
-the story, now that the characters have appeared, continues in the main with the second browsing in soft lower strings, while the first (in its later phase) sings above in the wood transformed in mildness, though for a nonce the first motive strikes with decisive vigor. later is a new heroic mood of minor, quickly softened when the companion melody appears. a chapter of more sombre hue follows, all with the lilt and pace of romantic ballad. at last the main hero returns as at the beginning, only in more splendid panoply, and rides on 'mid clattering suite to passionate triumph. and then, with quieter charm, sings again the second figure, with the delighting strains again and again rehearsed, matching the other with the power of sweetness.
-one special idyll there is of carolling soft horn and clarinet, where a kind of lullaby flows like a distilled essence from the gentler play--of the heroic tune, before its last big verse, with a mighty flow of
-sequence, and splendidly here the second figure crowns the pageant. at the passionate height, over long ringing chord, the latter sings a sonorous line in lengthened notes of the wood and horns. the first climax is here, in big coursing strains, then it slowly lulls, with a new verse of the idyll, to a final hush.
-the second movement is a brief lyric with one main melody, sung at first by a solo cello amidst a weaving of muted strings; later it is taken up by the first violins. the solo cello returns for a further song in duet with the violins, where the violas, too, entwine their melody, or the cello is joined by the violins.
-now the chief melody returns for a richer and varied setting with horns and woodwind. at last the first violins, paired in octave with the cello, sing the full melody in a madrigal of lesser strains.
-an epilogue answers the prologue of the beginning.
-equally brief is the true scherzo, though merely entitled allegretto,--a dainty frolic without the heavy brass, an indefinable conceit of airy fantasy, with here and there a line of sober melody peeping between the mischievous pranks. there is no contrasting trio in the middle; but just before the end comes a quiet pace as of mock-gravity, before a final scamper.
-a preluding fantasy begins in the mood of the early allegro; a wistful melody of the clarinet plays more slowly between cryptic reminders of the first theme of the symphony. in sudden allegro risoluto over rumbling bass of strings, a mystic call of horns, harking far back, spreads its echoing ripples all about till it rises in united tones, with a clear, descending answer, much like the original first motive. the latter now continues in the bass in large and smaller pace beneath a new tuneful treble of violins, while the call still roams a free course in the wind. oft repeated is this resonation in paired harmonies, the lower phrase like an "obstinate bass."
-leaving the fantasy, the voices sing in simple choral lines a hymnal song in triumphal pace, with firm cadence and answer, ending at length in the descending
-phrase. the full song is repeated, from the entrance of the latter, as though to stress the two main melodies. the marching chorus halts briefly when the clarinet begins again a mystic verse on the strain of the call, where the descending phrase is intermingled in the horns and strings.
-there is a new horizon here. we can no longer speak with half-condescension of italian simplicity, though another kind of primal feeling is mingled in a breadth of symphonic vein. we feel that our italian poet has cast loose his leading strings and is revealing new glimpses through the classic form.
-against a free course of quicker figures rises in the horns the simple melodic call, with answer and counter-tunes in separate discussion. here comes storming in a strident line of the inverted melody in the bassoon, quarrelling with the original motive in the clarinet. then a group sing the song in dancing trip, descending against the stern rising theme of violas; or one choir follows on the heels of another. now into the play intrudes the second melody, likewise in serried chase of imitation.
-the two themes seem to be battling for dominance, and the former wins, shouting its primal tune in brass and wood, while the second sinks to a rude clattering rhythm in the bass. but out of the clash, where the descending phrase recurs in the basses, the second melody emerges in full sonorous song. suddenly at the top of the verse rings out in stentorian brass the first theme of all the symphony to the opening chord of the finale, just as it rang at the climax in the beginning.
-a gentle duet of violins and clarinet seems to bring back the second melody of the first movement, and somehow, in the softer mood, shows a likeness with the second of the finale. for a last surprise, the former idyll (of the first allegro) returns and clearly proves the original guise of our latest main melody. as though to assure its own identity as prevailing motto, it has a special celebration in the final joyous revel.
-there is a rare nobility in the simple melody, the vein of primal hymn, that marks the invocation,--in solemn wood against stately stride of
-lower strings. a true ancient charm is in the tune, with a fervor at the high point and a lilt almost of lullaby,--till the whole chorus begins anew as though the song of marching hosts. solemnity is the essence here, not of artificial ceremony nor of rhymeless chant,--rather of prehistoric hymn.
-in passionate recoil is the upward storming song (allegro) where a group of horns aid the surging crest of strings and wood,--a resistless motion of massed melody. most thrilling after the first climax is the sonorous, vibrant stroke of the bass in the
-recurring melody. as it proceeds, a new line of bold tune is stirred above, till the song ends at the highest in a few ringing, challenging leaps of chord,--ends or, rather merges in a relentless, concluding descent. here, in a striking phrase of double
-song, is a touch of plaint that, hushing, heralds the coming gentle figure. we are sunk in a sweet romance, still of ancientest lore, with a sense of lost bliss in the wistful cadence. or do these entrancing strains lead merely to the broader melody that moves with queenly tread (of descending violins) above a soft murmuring of lower figures? it is taken up
-in a lower voice and rises to a height of inner throb rather than of outer stress. the song departs as it came, through the tearful plaint of double phrase. bolder accents merge suddenly into the former impassioned song. here is the real sting of warrior call, with shaking brass and rolling drum, in lengthened swing against other faster sounds,--a revel of heroics, that at the end breaks afresh into the regular song.
-yet it is all more than mere battle-music. for here is a new passionate vehemence, with loudest force of vibrant brass, of those dulcet strains that preceded the queenly melody. an epic it is, at the least, of ancient flavor, and the sweeter romance here rises to a tempest more overpowering than martial tumult.
-it is in the harking back to primal lore that we seem to feel true passion at its best and purest, as somehow all truth of legend, proverb and fable has come from those misty ages of the earth. the drooping harmonies merge in the returning swing of the first solemn hymn,--a mere line that is broken by a new tender appeal, that, rising to a moving height,
-yields to the former plaint (of throbbing thirds).
-a longer elegy sings, with a fine poignancy, bold and new in the very delicacy of texture, in the sharp impinging of these gentlest sounds. in the depths of the dirge suddenly, though quietly, sounds the herald melody high in the wood, with ever firmer cheer, soon in golden horns, at last in impassioned strings, followed by the wistful motive.
-a phase here begins as of dull foreboding, with a new figure stalking in the depths and, above, a brief sigh in the wind. in the growing stress these figures sing from opposite quarters, the sobbing phrase below, when suddenly the queenly melody stills the tumult. it is answered by a dim, slow line of the ominous motive. quicker echoes of the earlier despond still flit here and there, with gleams of joyous light. the plaintive (dual) song returns and too the tender appeal, which with its sweetness at last wakens the buoyant spirit of the virile theme.
-and so pass again the earlier phases of resolution with the masterful conclusion; the tearful accents; the brief verse of romance, and the sweep of queenly figure, rising again to almost exultation. but here, instead of tears and recoil, is the brief sigh over sombre harmonies, rising insistent in growing volume that somehow conquers its own mood. a return of the virile motive is followed at the height by the throbbing dual song with vehement stress of grief, falling to lowest echoes.
-here begins the epilogue with the original solemn hymn. only it is now entwined with shreds and memories of romance, flowing tranquilly on through gusts of passion. and there is the dull sob with the sudden gleam of joyous light. but the hymn returns like a sombre solace of oblivion,--though there is a final strain of the wistful romance, ending in sad harmony.
-ii.--allegro molto. the scherzo (as we may venture to call it) begins with a breath of new harmony, or is it a blended magic of rhythm, tune and chord? far more than merely bizarre, it calls up a vision of celtic warriors, the wild, free spirit of northern races. the rushing jig or reel is halted
-anon by longer notes in a drop of the tune and instantly returns to the quicker run. below plays a kind of drum-roll of rumbling strings. other revelling pranks appear, of skipping wood, rushing harp and dancing strings, till at last sounds a clearer tune, a restrained war-march with touch of terror in the soft subdued chords, suddenly growing to expressive
-volume as it sounds all about, in treble and in bass.
-at last the war-song rings in full triumphant blast, where trumpets and the shrill fife lead, and the lower brass, with cymbals and drums (big and little) mark the march. then to the returning pranks the tune roars in low basses and reeds, and at last a big conclusive phrase descends from the height to meet the rising figure of the basses.
-now the reel dances in furious tumult (instead of the first whisper) and dies down through the slower cadence.
-an entirely new scene is here. to a blended tinkle of harp, reeds and high strings sounds a delicate air, quick and light, yet with a tinge of plaint that may be a part of all celtic song. it were rude to spoil
-its fine fragrance with some rough title of meaning; nor do we feel a strong sense of romance, rather a whim of northern fantasy.
-over a single note of bass sings a new strain of elegy, taken up by other voices, varying with the
-tinkling air. suddenly in rushes the first reel, softly as at first; but over it sings still the new sad tune, then yields to the wild whims and pranks that lead to the war-song in resonant chorus, joined at the height by the reel below. they change places, the tune ringing in the bass. in the martial tumult the tinkling air is likewise infected with saucy vigor, but suddenly retires abashed into its shell of fairy sound, and over it sings the elegy in various choirs. the tinkling melody falls suddenly into a new flow of moving song, rising to pure lyric fervor. the soft air has somehow the main say, has reached the high point, has touched the heart of the movement. expressively it slowly sinks away amid echoing phrases and yields to the duet of elegy and the first reel. but a new spirit has appeared. the sting of war-song is gone. and here is the reel in slow reluctant pace. after another verse of the fairy tune, the jig plays still slower, while above sings a new melody. still slower the jig has fallen almost to funeral pace, has grown to a new song of its own, though, to be sure, brief reminders of the first dance jingle softly here and there. and now the (hushed) shadow of the war-song in quite slower gait strides in lowest basses and passes quietly straight into the adagio.
-in exquisite hues an intimate dialogue ensues, almost too personal for the epic vein, a discourse or madrigal of finest fibre that breaks (like rays of setting sun) into a melting cadence of regret. we are doubly thrilled in harking back to the sweet, wistful romance, the strain of the first movement.
-across the gauzy play, horns and wood blow a slow phrase, like a motto of fate in the sombre harmony, with one ardent burst of pleading.
-in clearer articulation sings a dual song, still softly o'ercast with sweet sadness, ever richer in the harmonies of multiple strings, tipped with the light mood,--and again the wistful cadence. siren figures of entrancing grace that move amid the other melody, bring enchantment that has no cheer, nor escape the insistent sighing phrase. once more come the ominous call and the passionate plea, then assurance with the returning main melody in renewed fervor. phases of dual melody end again with the wistful cadence. the tranquil close is like one sustained fatal farewell, where the fairy figures but stress the sad burden.
-slowness of pace. not unlike the hymn of the first prologue in line of tune, it bears a mood of dark resignation that breaks presently into the touching plea of the wistful cadence.
-the whole is a reflective prologue to the finale: a deep meditation from which the song may roll forth on new spring. the hymn has suddenly entered with a subtly new guise; for the moment it seems part of the poignant sigh; it is as yet submerged in a flood of gloom and regret; and the former phrases still stride and stalk below. in a wild climax of gloom we hear the former sob, earlier companion of the stalking figure.
-hymnal strains return,--flashes of heavenly light in the depths of hell, and one passionate sigh of the melting cadence.
-allegro,--we are carried hack to the resolute vigor of the earlier symphony, lacking the full fiery charm, but ever striving and stirring, like titans rearing mountain piles, not without the cheer of toil itself. at the height comes a burst of the erst yearning cadence, but there is a new masterful accent; the wistful edge does not return till the echoing phrases sink away in the depths.
-a new melody starts soaring on the same wing of
-blended striving and yearning of which all this song is fraught. in its broader sweep and brighter cheer it is like the queenly melody of the first movement.
-the titan toil stirs strongly below the soft cadence; the full, fierce ardor mounts heavenward. phases now alternate of insistent rearing on the strenuous motive and of fateful submission in the marching strain, that is massed in higher and bigger chorus. as gathers the stress of climax, the brass blowing a defiant blast, the very vehemence brings a new resolution that is uttered in the returning strenuous phrase.
-again rises the towering pile. at the thickest the high horns blow loud a slow, speaking legend,--the farewell motive, it seems, from the end of adagio, fierce energy struggling with fatal regret gnawing at the heart.
-gripping is the appeal of the sharp cry almost of anguish into which the toiling energy is suddenly resolved. again the fateful march enters, now in heroic fugue of brass and opposite motion of strings and reed,--all overwhelmed with wild recurring pangs of regret.
-and so "double, double, toil and trouble," on goes the fugue and follows the arduous climb (into the sad motto in the horns), each relieving the other, till both yield again to the heart-breaking cry.
-the cheerier melody here re-enters and raises the mood for the nonce. soon it falls amid dim harmonies. far in the depths now growls the dull tread, answered by perverted line of the hymn.
-a mystic verse sounds over pious chords of harp in the tune of the march, which is sung by antiphonal choirs of strings,--later with fuller celestial chorus, almost in rapture of heavenly resignation. only it is not final; for once again returns the full struggle of the beginning, with the farewell-legend, and in highest passion the phrase of regret rung again and again--till it is soothed by the tranquil melody. the relentless stride of march too reaches a new height, and one last, moving plaint. when the fast chasing cries are in closest tangle, suddenly the hymn pours out its benediction, while the cries have changed to angelic acclaim. here is the transfigured song in full climactic verse that fulfils the promise of the beginning. a touch of human (or earthly joy) is added in an exultant strain of the sweeping melody that unites with the hymn at the close.
-symphonies in america
-perhaps most typical is a symphony of hadley where one feels, with other modern tradition, the mantle of the lamented macdowell, of whom it may be said that he was first to find in higher reaches of the musical art an utterance of a purely national temper.
-with virile swing the majestic melody strides in the strings, attended by trooping chords of wood and brass, all in the minor, in triple rhythm. in
-the bass is a frequent retort to the themal phrase. for a moment a dulcet line steals in, quickly broken by the returning martial stride of stentorian horns, and of the main theme in full chords. strange, though, how a softer, romantic humor is soon spread over the very discussion of the martial theme, so that it seems the rough, vigorous march is but the shell for the kernel of tender romance,--the pageant that precedes the queenly figure. and presently, piu tranquillo, comes the fervent lyric song that may indeed be the chief theme in poetic import, if not in outer rank. after a moving verse in the strings,
-with an expressive strain in some voice of the woodwind or a ripple of the harp, it is sung in tense chorus of lower wood and horns,--soon joined by all the voices but the martial brass, ending with a soft echo of the strings.
-now in full majesty the stern stride of first theme is resumed, in faster insistence,--no longer the mere tune, but a spirited extension and discussion, with retorts between the various choirs. here the melodious march is suddenly felt in the bass (beneath our feet, as it were) of lowest brass and strings, while the noisy bustle continues above; then, changing places, the theme is above, the active motion below.
-long continues the spirited clatter as of warlike march till again returns the melting mood of the companion melody, now sung by the expressive horn, with murmuring strings. and there are enchanting flashes of tonal light as the song passes to higher choirs. the lyric theme wings its rapturous course to a blissful height, where an intrusion of the main motive but halts for the moment the returning tender verse.
-when the first vigorous phrase returns in full career, there is somehow a greater warmth, and the dulcet after-strain is transfigured in a glow greater almost than of the lyric song that now follows with no less response of beauty. in the final spirited blending of both melodies the trumpets sound a quicker pace of the main motive.
-in the andante (tranquillo) the sweet tinkle of church-bells with soft chanting horns quickly defines the scene. two voices of the strings, to the
-continuing hum of the bells, are singing a responsive song that rises in fervor as the horns and later the woodwind join the strings. anon will sound the simple tune of the bells with soft harmonies, like echoes of the song,--or even the chant without the chimes.
-in more eager motion,--out of the normal measure of bells and hymn, breaks a new song in minor with a touch of passion, rising to a burst of ardor. but it passes, sinking away before a new phase,--a bucolic
-fantasy of trilling shepherd's reed (in changed, even pace), supported by strumming strings. the sacred calm and later passion have yielded to a dolorous plaint, like the dirge of the magyar plains. suddenly the former fervor returns with strains of the second melody amidst urging motion (in the triple pace) and startling rushes of harp-strings. at the height, trumpets blare forth the first melody, transformed from its earlier softness, while the second presses on in higher wood and strings; the trombones relieve the trumpets, with a still larger chorus in the romantic song; in final exaltation, the basses of brass and strings sound the first melody, while the second still courses in treble voices.
-of a sudden, after a lull, falls again the tinkle of sacred chimes, with a verse each of the two main melodies.
-the scherzo begins with a saltarello humor, as of airy faun, with a skipping theme ever accompanied by a lower running phrase and a prancing trip of
-strings, with a refrain, too, of chirruping woodwind. later the skipping phrase gains a melodic cadence. but the main mood is a revel of gambols and pranks of rhythm and harmony on the first phase.
-in the middle is a sudden shift of major tone and intimate humor, to a slower pace. with still a semblance of dance, a pensive melody sings in the cellos; the graceful cadence is rehearsed in a choir
-of woodwind, and the song is taken up by the whole chorus. as a pretty counter-tune grows above, the melody sings below, with a blending of lyric feeling and the charm of dance. at a climactic height the horns, with clumsy grace, blare forth the main lilting phrase.
-the song now wings along with quicker tripping counter-tunes that slowly lure the first skipping tune back into the play after a prelude of high festivity. new pranks appear,--as of dancing strings against a stride of loud, muted horns. then the second (pensive) melody returns, now above the running counter-tune. at last, in faster gait, to the coursing of quicker figures, the (second) melody rings out in choir of brass in twice slower, stately pace. but the accompanying bustle is merely heightened until all four horns are striking together the lyric song. at the end is a final revel of the first dancing tune.
-the finale, which bears the unusual mark allegro con giubilio, begins with a big festive march that may seem to have an added flavor of old english merrymaking. but as in the other cantos of the poem there
-is here, too, an opposite figure and feeling. and the more joyous the gaiety, the more sweetly wistful is the recoil. nay there is in this very expressive strain, beautifully woven in strings, harp, woodwind and horns, a vein of regret that grows rather than lessens, whenever the melody appears alone. it is like the memory, in the midst of festival, of some blissful moment lost forever.
-indeed, the next phase seems very like a disordered chase of stray memories; for here a line of martial air is displaced by a pensive strain which in
-turn yields to the quick, active tune that leads to a height of celebration.
-but here is a bewildering figure on the scene: lustily the four horns (helped by the strings) blow in slow notes against the continuing motive an expressive melody. slowly it breaks upon our ears as the wistful air that followed the chimes of sunday bells. it has a stern, almost sombre guise, until it suddenly glows in transfigured light, as of a choir of celestial brass.
-slowly we are borne to the less exalted pitch of the first festive march, and here follows, as at first, the expressive melody where each hearer may find his own shade of sadness. it does seem to reach a true passion of regret, with poignant sweet sighs.
-at length the sadness is overcome and there is a new animation as separate voices enter in fugal manner in the line of the march. now the festive tune holds sway in lower pace in the basses; but then rings on high in answer--the wistful melody again and again, in doubled and twice redoubled pace.
-when we hear the penseroso melody once more at the end, we may feel with the poet a state of resigned cheer.
-it cannot he denied that the smallness of phrase does suggest a smallness of idea. the plan of magic motive will not hold ad infinitesimum. as the turn of the triplet, in the first movement, twists into a semblance of the allegro theme, we feel like wondering with the old philistine:
-... "how all this difference can be 'twixt tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee!"
-but there is the redeeming vein of lyric melody with a bold fantasy of mischievous humor and a true climax of a clear poetic design. one reason seems sometimes alone to justify this new license, this new french revolution: the deliverance from a stupid slavery of rules,--if we would only get the spirit of them without the inadequate letter. better, of course, the rules than a fatal chaos. but there is here in the bold flight of these harmonies, soaring as though on some hidden straight path, a truly promethean utterance.
-it is significant, in the problem of future music, that of the symphonies based upon recent french ideas, the most subtly conceived and designed should have been written in america.
-i.--in pale tint of harmony sways the impersonal phrase that begins with a descending tone. we may
-here we find just the opposite flight from clear tonality, as if painting took to a japanese manner, sans aught of locality. where an easy half-step leads gently somewhere, a whole tone sings instead. nothing obvious may stand.
-it marks, in its reaction, the excessive stress of tonality and of simple colors of harmony. the basic sense of residence is not abandoned; there is merely a bolder search for new tints, a farther straying from the landmarks.
-soon our timid tune is joined by a more expressive line that rises in ardent reaches to a sudden tumult, with a fiery strain of trumpets where we catch a glimpse of the triplet figure. after a dulcet lullaby
-of the first air, the second flows in faster pace (allegro commodo) as the real text, ever with new blossoming variants that sing together in a madrigal of tuneful voices, where the descending note still has a part in a smooth, gliding pace of violins.
-in gayer mood comes a verse of the inverted (allegro) tune, with other melodic guises hovering about. when the theme descends to the bass, the original andante phrase sings in the trumpet, and there is a chain of entering voices, in growing agitation, in the main legend with the quicker sprites dancing about. at the height, after the stirring song of trumpets, we feel a passionate strife of resolve and regret; and immediately after, the descending tone is echoed everywhere.
-a balancing (second) theme now appears, in tranquil
-flow, but pressing on, at the end, in steady ascent as to parnassian summit. later comes a new rejoinder in livelier mood, till it is lost in a big, moving verse of the andante song. but pert retorts from the latest new tune again fill the air, then yield in attendance upon the returning allegro theme. of subtle art is the woof of derived phrases. a companion melody, that seems fraught of the text of the second subject, sings with rising passion, while the lower brass blow lustily in eccentric rhythm of the allegro phrase and at the height share in the dual triumph.
-we feel a kinship of mood rather than of theme, a coherence that we fear to relate to definite figures, though the descending symbol is clear against the ascending. an idyllic dialogue, with the continuing guise of the allegro phrase turns to a gayer revel in the original pace, with a brilliant blare of trumpets.
-the free use of themes is shown in the opposite moods of the triplet phrase, of sadness, as in andante, or buoyant, in allegro. here are both in close transition as the various verses return from the beginning, entwined about the first strain of the andante, gliding through the descending tone into the second soothing song with the parnassian ascent.
-a full verse of the first andante melody sings at the heart of the plot, followed by the strange daemonic play that keeps the mood within bounds. indeed, it returns once more as at first, then springs into liveliest trip and rises to an olympian height, with a final revel of the triplet figure.
-ii.--with a foreshadowing drop of tone begins the prelude, not unlike the first notes of the symphony,
-answered with a brief phrase. on the descending motive the main melody is woven.
-tenderly they play together, the melody with the main burden, the lighter prelude phrase in graceful accompaniment. but now the latter sings in turn a serious verse, rises to a stormy height, the horns proclaiming the passionate plea amid a tumultuous accord of the other figures, and sinks in subdued temper. in a broader pace begins a new line, though on the thread of the descending motive, and with the entering phrase of the prelude winds to a climax of passion. the true episode, of refuge and solace from the stress of tempest, is in a song of the trumpet through a shimmering gauze of strings with glinting harp, to a soft murmuring in the reeds.
-in a new shade of tone it is echoed by the horn, then in a fervent close it is blended with a guise of the prelude phrase, that now heralds the main melody, in a duet of clarinet and violins. at last in the home tone the horn sings amid the sweet tracery the parting verse, and all about sounds the trist symbol of the first (descending) motive.
-iii.--the scherzo is in one view a mad revel of demon pranks in a new field of harmonies. inconsequential though they may seem, there is a real coherence, and, too, a subtle connection with the whole design.
-to be sure, with the vagueness of tune that belongs to a school of harmonic exploits a certain mutual relation of themes is a kind of incident. the less defined the phrases, the easier it is to make them similar.
-undoubted likeness there is between the main elfin figure and the first phrase of the symphony.
-the triplet is itself a kind of password throughout. with this multiple similarity is a lack of the inner bond of outer contrast.
-the mood of demon humor finds a native medium in the tricks of new gallic harmony. early in the prelude we hear the descending tone, a streak of sadness in the mirth. answering the first burst is a strange stroke of humor in the horn, and as if in
-serious balance, a smooth gliding phrase in the wood. now the first figure grows more articulate, romping and galloping into an ecstasy of fun. a certain spirit of till eulenspiegel hovers about.
-out of the maze blows a new line in muted trumpets, that begins with the inverted triplet figure, and in spite of the surrounding bedlam rises almost into a tune. at the height the strange jest of the horns reigns supreme.
-from the mad gambols of the first figure comes a relief in sparkling calls of the brass and stirring retorts in pure ringing harmonies. in the next episode is a fall into a lyric mood as the latest figure glides into even pace, singing amid gentlest pranks. most tuneful of all sounds is the answer in dulcet trumpet while, above, the first theme intrudes softly.
-the heart of the idyll comes in a song of the clarinet
-against strange, murmuring strings, ever with a soft answer of the lower reed.
-new invading sprites do not hem the flight of the melody. but at the height a redoubled pace turns the mood back to revelling mirth with broken bits of the horn tune. indeed the crisis comes with a new rage of this symbol of mad abandon, in demonic strife with the fervent song that finally prevails.
-the first theme returns with a new companion in the highest wood. a fresh strain of serious melody is now woven about the former dulcet melody of trumpet in a stretch of delicate poesy, of mingled mirth and tenderness.--the harmonies have something of the infinitesimal sounds that only insects hear. with all virtuous recoil, here we must confess is a masterpiece of cacophonic art, a new world of tones hitherto unconceived, tinkling and murmuring with the eerie charm of the forest.--in the return of the first prelude is a touch of the descending tone. from the final revelling tempest comes a sudden awakening. in strange moving harmony sings slowly the descending symbol, as if confessing the unsuccessful flight from regret. timidly the vanquished sprites scurry away.
-inversion of the scherzo theme.
-it is all in triumphant spirit. from the start the mood reigns, the art for once is quite subordinate. resonant and compelling is the motive of horns and trumpets, new in temper, though harking back to the earlier text, in its cogent ending. splendid is
-the soaring flight through flashes of new chords. there is, we must yield, something promethean, of new and true beauty, in the bold path of harmonies that the french are teaching us after a long age of slavish rules.
-the harking back is here better than in most modern symphonies with their pedantic subtleties: in the resurgence of joyous mood, symbolized by the inversion of phrase, as when the prankish elfin theme rises in serious aspiration.
-out of these inspiriting reaches sings a new melody in canon of strings (though it may relate to some shadowy memory), while in the bass rolls the former ending phrase; then they romp in jovial turn of rhythm.
-a vague and insignificant similarity of themes is a fault of the work and of the style, ever in high disdain of vernacular harmony, refreshing to be sure, in its saucy audacity, and anon enchanting with a ring of new, fiery chord. as the sonorous theme sings in muted brass, picking strings mockingly play quicker fragments, infecting the rest with frivolous retorts, and then a heart-felt song pours forth, where the accompanying cries have softened their mirth. back they skip to a joyous trip with at last pure ringing harmonies.
-at the fervent pitch a blast of trumpets rises in challenging phrase, in incisive clash of chord, with the early sense of parnassian ascent. at the end of this brave fanfare we hear a soft plea of the descending tone that prompts a song of true lyric melody, with the continuing gentlest touch of regret, all to a sweetly bewildering turn of pace. so tense
-and subtle an expression would utterly convert us to the whole harmonic plan, were it not that just here, in these moving moments, we feel a return to clearer tonality. but it is a joy to testify to so devoted a work of art.
-with the last notes of melody a new frisking tune plays in sauciest clashes of chord, with an enchanting stretch of ringing brass. a long merriment ensues in the jovial trip, where the former theme of horns has a rising cadence; or the tripping tune sings in united chorus and again through its variants. after a noisy height the dulcet melody (from the descending tone) sings in linked sweetness. in the later tumult we rub our eyes to see a jovial theme of the bass take on the lines of the wistful melody. finally, in majestic tread amid general joyous clatter the brass blow the gentle song in mellowed tones of richest harmony.
-with a rush of harp and higher strings the suite begins on ardent wing in exultant song of trumpets (with horns, bassoons and cellos) to quick palpitating violins that in its higher flight is given over to upper reeds and violas. it is answered by gracefully drooping melody of strings and harps topped by the oboes, that lightly descends from the heights with a cadence long delayed, like the circling flight of a great bird before he alights. straightway begins a more pensive turn of phrase (of clarinet and lower strings) in distant tonal scene where now the former (descending) answer sings timidly in alternating groups. the pensive melody returns for a greater reach, blending with the original theme (in all the basses) in a glowing duet of two moods as well as melodies, rising to sudden brilliant height, pressing on to a full return of the first exultant melody with long, lingering, circling descent.
-the listener on first hearing may be warned to have a sharp ear for all kinds of disguises of the stirring theme and in a less degree, of the second subject. what seems a new air in a tranquil spot, with strum of harp,--and new it is as expression,--is our main melody in a kind of inversion. and so a new tissue of song continues, all of the original fibre, calming more and more from the first fierce glow. a tuneful march-like strain now plays gently in the horns while the (inverted) expressive air still sounds above.
-when all has quieted to dim echoing answers between horn and reed, a final strain bursts forth (like the nightingale's voice in the surrounding stillness) in full stress of its plaint. and so, in most natural course, grows and flows the main balancing melody that now pours out its burden in slower, broader pace, in joint choirs of wood and strings.
-it is the kind of lyric spot where the full stream of warm feeling seems set free after the storm of the first onset. in answer is a timid, almost halting strain in four parts of the wood, echoed in strings. a new agitation now stirs the joint choirs (with touches of brass), and anon comes a poignant line of the inverted (main) theme. it drives in rising stress under the spurring summons of trumpets and horns to a celebration of the transfigured second melody, with triumphant cadence. nor does the big impulse halt here. the trumpets sound on midst a spirited duet of inverted and original motives until the highest point is reached, where, to quicker calls of the brass, in broadest pace the main subject strikes its inverted tune in the trebles, while the bass rolls its majestic length in a companion melody; trombones, too, are blaring forth the call of the second theme.
-brief interludes of lesser agitation bring a second chorus on the reunited melodies in a new tonal quarter.
-in mystic echoing groups on the former descending answer of main theme the mood deepens in darkening scene. here moves in slow strides of lowest brass a shadowy line of the second melody answered by a poignant phrase of the first. striking again and again in higher perches the dual song reaches a climax of feeling in overpowering burst of fullest brass. in masterful stride, still with a burden of sadness, it has a solacing tinge as it ends in a chord with pulsing harp, that twice repeated leads back to the stirring first song of main theme.
-thence the whole course is clear in the rehearsal of former melodies. only the pensive air has lost its melancholy. here is again the lyric of warm-hued horns with plaintive higher phrase, and the full romance of second melody with its timid answer, where the nervous trip rouses slowly the final exultation. yet there is one more descent into the depths where the main melody browses in dim searching. slowly it wings its flight upwards until it is greeted by a bright burst of the second melody in a chorus of united brass. and this is but a prelude to the last joint song, with the inverted theme above. a fanfare of trumpets on the second motive ends the movement.
-the romanze is pure song in three verses where we cannot avoid a touch of scottish, with the little acclaiming phrases. the theme is given to the saxophone (or cello) with obligato of clarinet and violas; the bass is in bassoons and pizzicato of lower strings. one feels a special gratitude to the composer who will write in these days a clear, simple, original and beautiful melody.
-the first interlude is a fantasy, almost a variant on the theme in a minor melody of the wood, with a twittering phrase of violins. later the strings take up the theme in pure cantilena in a turn to the major,--all in expressive song that rises to a fervent height. though it grows out of the main theme, yet the change is clear in a return to the subject, now in true variation, where the saxophone has the longer notes and the clarinet and oboe sing in concert.
-later the first violins (on the g string) sing the main air with the saxophone.
-a double character has the third movement as the title shows, though in a broadest sense it could all be taken as a humoreske.
-with a jaunty lilt of skipping strings the lower reeds strike the capricious tune, where the full chorus soon falls in. the answering melody, with more of sentiment, though always in graceful swing with tricksy attendant figures, has a longer song. not least charm has the concluding tune that leads back to the whole melodious series. throughout are certain chirping notes that form the external connection with the humoreske that begins with strident theme (molto robusto) of low strings, the whole chorus, xylophon and all, clattering about, the high wood echoing like a band of giant crickets,--all in whimsical, varying pace. the humor grows more graceful when the first melody of the intermezzo is lightly touched. the strange figure returns (in roughest strings and clarinet) somewhat in ancient manner of imitation. later the chirruping answer recurs. diminishing trills are echoed between the groups.
-slowly the scene grows stranger. suddenly in eerie harmonies of newest french or oldest tartar, here are the tricks and traits where meet the extremes of latest romantic and primeval barbarian. in this motley cloak sounds the typical yankee tune, first piping in piccolo, then grunting in tuba. here is uncle sam disporting himself merrily in foreign garb and scene, quite as if at home. if we wished, we might see a political satire as well as musical.
-after a climax of the clownish mood we return to the intermezzo melodies.
-the finale begins in the buoyant spirit of the beginning and seems again to have a touch of scotch in the jaunty answer. the whole subject is a group of phrases rather than a single melody.
-preluding runs lead to the simple descending line of treble with opposite of basses, answered by the jovial phrase. in the farther course the first theme prevails, answered with an ascending brief motive of long notes in irregular ascent. here follows a freer flow of the jolly lilting tune, blending with the sterner descending lines.
-balancing this group is an expressive melody of different sentiment. in its answer we have again the weird touch of neo-barbarism in a strain of the reed, with dancing overtones of violins and harp, and strumming chords on lower strings. or is there a hint of ancient highland in the drone of alternating horns and bassoons?
-its brief verse is answered by a fervent conclusive line where soon the old lilting refrain appears with new tricks and a big celebration of its own and then of the whole madrigal of martial melody. it simmers down with whims and turns of the skipping phrase into the quiet (tranquillo) episode in the midst of the other stress.
-the heart of the song is in the horns, with an upper air in the wood, while low strings guard a gentle rhythm. a brief strain in the wind in ardent temper is followed by another in the strings, and still a third in joint strings and wood. (again we must rejoice in the achievement of true, simple, sincere melody.) the final glowing height is reached in all the choirs together,--final that is before the brass is added with a broader pace, that leads to the moving climax. as the horns had preluding chords to the whole song, so a single horn sings a kind of epilogue amid harmony of strings and other horns. slowly a more vigorous pulse is stirred, in an interlude of retorting trumpets.
-suddenly in the full energy of the beginning the whole main subject sounds again, with the jolly lilt dancing through all its measures, which are none too many. the foil of gentle melody returns with its answer of eerie tune and harmonies. it seems as if the poet, after his rude jest, wanted, half in amends, half on pure impulse, to utter a strain of true fancy in the strange new idiom.
-a new, grateful sound has again the big conclusive phrase that merges into more pranks of the jaunty tune in the biggest revel of all, so that we suspect the jolly jester is the real hero and the majestic figures are, after all, mere background. and yet here follows the most tenderly moving verse, all unexpected, of the quiet episode.
-the end is a pure romp, molto vivace, mainly on the skipping phrase. to be sure the stately figures after a festive height march in big, lengthened pace; but so does the jolly tune, as though in mockery. he breaks into his old rattling pace (in the glockenspiel) when all the figures appear together,--the big ones changing places just before the end, where the main theme has the last say, now in the bass, amidst the final festivities.
-hell's a-burning, burning, burning. chuckling in clear staccato, the devil prowling, runs about.
-he watches, advances, retreats like zig-zag lightning; hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-in dive and cell, underground and in the air, the devil, prowling, runs about.
-now he is flower, dragon-fly, woman, black-cat, green snake; hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-and now, with pointed moustache, scented with vetiver, the devil, prowling, runs about.
-wherever mankind swarms, without rest, summer and winter, hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-from alcove to hall, and on the railways, the devil, prowling, runs about.
-he is mr. seen-at-night, who saunters with staring eyes. hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-there floating as a bubble, here squirming as a worm, the devil, prowling, runs about.
-he's grand seigneur, tough, student, teacher. hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-he inoculates each soul with his bitter whispering: the devil, prowling, runs about.
-he promises, bargains, stipulates in gentle or proud tones. hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-mocking pitilessly the unfortunate whom he destroys, the devil, prowling, runs about.
-he makes goodness ridiculous and the old man futile. hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-at the home of the priest or sceptic, whose soul or body he wishes, the devil, prowling, runs about.
-beware of him to whom he toadies, and whom he calls "my dear sir." hell's a-burning, burning, burning.
-friend of the tarantula, darkness, the odd number, the devil, prowling, runs about.
---my clock strikes midnight. if i should go to see lucifer?--hell's a-burning, burning, burning; the devil, prowling, runs about.
-hell's a-burning, burning, burning. cackling in his impish play, here and there the devil's turning,
-forward here and back again, zig-zag as the lightning's ray, while the fires burn amain.
-in the church and in the cell in the caves, in open day, ever prowls the fiend of hell.
-in the maze of this modern setting of demon antics (not unlike, in conceit, the capers of till eulenspiegel), with an eloquent use of new french strokes of harmony, one must be eager to seize upon definite figures. in the beginning is a brief wandering or flickering motive in furious pace of harp and strings, ending ever in a shriek of the high wood. answering
-is a descending phrase mainly in the brass, that ends in a rapid jingle.
-there are various lesser motives, such as a minor scale of ascending thirds, and a group of crossing figures that seem a guise of the first motive. to be sure the picture lies less in the separate figures than in the mingled color and bustle. special in its humor is a soft gliding or creeping phrase of three voices against a constant trip of cellos.
-after a climax of the first motive a frolicking theme begins (in english horn and violas). if we were forced to guess, we could see here the dandy devil, with pointed mustachios, frisking about. it is probably another guise of the second motive which presently appears in the bass. a little later, dolce amabile in a madrigal of wood and strings, we may see the gentlemanly devil, the gallant. with a crash of chord and a roll of cymbals re-enters the first motive, to flickering harmonies of violins, harp and flutes, taken up by succeeding voices, all in the whole-tone scale. hurrying to a clamorous height, the pace glides into a movimento di valzer, in massed volume, with the frolicking figure in festive array.
-in still livelier pace the reeds sound the street song against a trip of strings, luring the other voices into a furious chorus. all at once, the harp and violins strike the midnight hour to a chord of horns, while a single impish figure dances here or there. to trembling strings and flashing harp the high reed pipes again the song of the boulevard, echoed by low bassoons.
-in rapidest swing the original main motives now sing a joint verse in a kind of reprise, with the wild shriek at the end of the line, to a final crashing height. the end comes with dashes of the harp, betwixt pausing chords in the high wood, with a final stifled note.
-henri barbusse author of "under fire" "we others," etc.
-all the days of the week are alike, from their beginning to their end.
-at seven in the evening one hears the clock strike gently, and then the instant tumult of the bell. i close the desk, wipe my pen, and put it down. i take my hat and muffler, after a glance at the mirror--a glance which shows me the regular oval of my face, my glossy hair and fine mustache. (it is obvious that i am rather more than a workman.) i put out the light and descend from my little glass-partitioned office. i cross the boiler-house, myself in the grip of the thronging, echoing peal which has set it free. from among the dark and hurrying crowd, which increases in the corridors and rolls down the stairways like a cloud, some passing voices cry to me, "good-night, monsieur simon," or, with less familiarity, "good-night, monsieur paulin." i answer here and there, and allow myself to be borne away by everybody else.
-outside, on the threshold of the porch which opens on the naked plain and its pallid horizons, one sees the squares and triangles of the factory, like a huge black background of the stage, and the tall extinguished chimney, whose only crown now is the cloud of falling night. confusedly, the dark flood carries me away. along the wall which faces the porch, women are waiting, like a curtain of shadow, which yields glimpses of their pale and expressionless faces. with nod or word we recognize each other from the mass. couples are formed by the quick hooking of arms. all along the ghostly avenue one's eyes follow the toilers' scrambling flight.
-the avenue is a wan track cut across the open fields. its course is marked afar by lines of puny trees, sooty as snuffed candles; by telegraph posts and their long spider-webs; by bushes or by fences, which are like the skeletons of bushes. there are a few houses. up yonder a strip of sky still shows palely yellow above the meager suburb where creeps the muddy crowd detached from the factory. the west wind sets quivering their overalls, blue or black or khaki, excites the woolly tails that flutter from muffled necks, scatters some evil odors, attacks the sightless faces so deep-drowned beneath the sky.
-there are taverns anon which catch the eye. their doors are closed, but their windows and fanlights shine like gold. between the taverns rise the fronts of some old houses, tenantless and hollow; others, in ruins, cut into this gloomy valley of the homes of men with notches of sky. the iron-shod feet all around me on the hard road sound like the heavy rolling of drums, and then on the paved footpath like dragged chains. it is in vain that i walk with head bent--my own footsteps are lost in the rest, and i cannot hear them.
-we hurry, as we do every evening. at that spot in the inky landscape where a tall and twisted tree seems to writhe as if it had a soul, we begin suddenly to descend, our feet plunging forward. down below we see the lights of viviers sparkle. these men, whose day is worn out, stride towards those earthly stars. one hope is like another in the evening, as one weariness is like another; we are all alike. i, also. i go towards my light, like all the others, as on every evening.
-when we have descended for a long time the gradient ends, the avenue flattens out like a river, and widens as it pierces the town. through the latticed boughs of the old plane trees--still naked on this last day of march--one glimpses the workmen's houses, upright in space, hazy and fantastic chessboards, with squares of light dabbed on in places, or like vertical cliffs in which our swarming is absorbed. scattering among the twilight colonnade of the trees, these people engulf themselves in the heaped-up lodgings and rooms; they flow together in the cavity of doors; they plunge into the houses; and there they are vaguely turned into lights.
-i continue to walk, surrounded by several companions who are foremen and clerks, for i do not associate with the workmen. then there are handshakes, and i go on alone.
-some dimly seen wayfarers disappear; the sounds of sliding locks and closing shutters are heard here and there; the houses have shut themselves up, the night-bound town becomes a desert profound. i can hear nothing now but my own footfall.
-i turn round the cracked walls of the former tinplate works, now bowed and crumbling, whose windows are felted with grime or broken into black stars. a few steps farther i think i saw the childish shadow of little antoinette, whose bad eyes they don't seem to be curing; but not being certain enough to go and find her i turn into my court, as i do every evening.
-every evening i find monsieur crillon at the door of his shop at the end of the court, where all day long he is fiercely bent upon trivial jobs, and he rises before me like a post. at sight of me the kindly giant nods his big, shaven face, and the square cap on top, his huge nose and vast ears. he taps the leather apron that is hard as a plank. he sweeps me along to the side of the street, sets my back against the porch and says to me, in a low voice, but with heated conviction, "that pétrarque chap, he's really a bad lot."
-he takes off his cap, and while the crescendo nodding of his bristly head seems to brush the night, he adds: "i've mended him his purse. it had become percolated. i've put him a patch on that cost me thirty centimes, and i've resewn the edge with braid, and all the lot. they're expensive, them jobs. well, when i open my mouth to talk about that matter of his sewing-machine that i'm interested in and that he can't use himself, he becomes congealed."
-he recounts to me the mad claims of trompson in the matter of his new soles, and the conduct of monsieur becret, who, though old enough to know better, had taken advantage of his good faith by paying for the repair of his spout with a knife "that would cut anything it sees." he goes on to detail for my benefit all the important matters in his life. then he says, "i'm not rich, i'm not, but i'm consentious. if i'm a botcher, it's 'cos my father and my grandfather were botchers before me. there's some that's for making a big stir in the world, there are. i don't hold with that idea. what i does, i does."
-suddenly a sonorous tramp persists and repeats itself in the roadway, and a shape of uncertain equilibrium emerges and advances towards us by fits and starts; a shape that clings to itself and is impelled by a force stronger than itself. it is brisbille, the blacksmith, drunk, as usual.
-espying us, brisbille utters exclamations. when he has reached us he hesitates, and then, smitten by a sudden idea, he comes to a standstill, his boots clanking on the stones, as if he were a cart. he measures the height of the curb with his eye, but clenches his fists, swallows what he wanted to say, and goes off reeling, with an odor of hatred and wine, and his face slashed with red patches.
-"that anarchist!" said crillon, in disgust; "loathsome notions, now, aren't they? ah! who'll rid us of him and his alcoholytes?" he adds, as he offers me his hand. "good-night. i'm always saying to the town council, 'you must give 'em clink,' i says, 'that gang of bolshevists, for the slightest infractionment of the laws against drunkenness.' yes, indeed! there's that jean latrouille in the town council, eh? they talk about keeping order, but as soon as it's a question of a-doing of it, they seem like a cold draught."
-the good fellow is angry. he raises his great fist and shakes it in space like a medieval mace. pointing where brisbille has just plunged floundering into the night, he says, "that's what socialists are,--the conquering people what can't stand up on their legs! i may be a botcher in life, but i'm for peace and order. good-night, good-night. is she well, aunt josephine? i'm for tranquillity and liberty and order. that's why i've always kept clear of their crowd. a bit since, i saw her trotting past, as vivacious as a young girl,--but there, i talk and i talk!"
-he enters his shop, but turns on his heel and calls me back, with a mysterious sign. "you know they've all arrived up yonder at the castle?" respect has subdued his voice; a vision is absorbing him of the lords and ladies of the manor, and as he leaves me he bows, instinctively.
-his shop is a narrow glass cage, which is added to our house, like a family relation. within i can just make out the strong, plebeian framework of crillon himself, upright beside a serrated heap of ruins, over which a candle is enthroned. the light which falls on his accumulated tools and on those hanging from the wall makes a decoration obscurely golden around the picture of this wise man; this soul all innocent of envious demands, turning again to his botching, as his father and grandfather botched.
-i have mounted the steps and pushed our door; the gray door, whose only relief is the key. the door goes in grumblingly, and makes way for me into the dark passage, which was formerly paved, though now the traffic of soles has kneaded it with earth, and changed it into a footpath. my forehead strikes the lamp, which is hooked on the wall; it is out, oozing oil, and it stinks. one never sees that lamp, and always bangs it.
-and though i had hurried so--i don't know why--to get home, at this moment of arrival i slow down. every evening i have the same small and dull disillusion.
-i go into the room which serves us as kitchen and dining-room, where my aunt is lying. this room is buried in almost complete darkness.
-"good evening, mame."
-a sigh, and then a sob arise from the bed crammed against the pale celestial squares of the window.
-then i remember that there was a scene between my old aunt and me after our early morning coffee. thus it is two or three times a week. this time it was about a dirty window-pane, and on this particular morning, exasperated by the continuous gush of her reproaches, i flung an offensive word, and banged the door as i went off to work. so mame has had to weep all the day. she has fostered and ruminated her spleen, and sniffed up her tears, even while busy with household duties. then, as the day declined, she put out the lamp and went to bed, with the object of sustaining and displaying her chagrin.
-when i came in she was in the act of peeling invisible potatoes; there are potatoes scattered over the floor, everywhere. my feet kick them and send them rolling heavily among odds and ends of utensils and a soft deposit of garments that are lying about. as soon as i am there my aunt overflows with noisy tears.
-not daring to speak again, i sit down in my usual corner.
-over the bed i can make out a pointed shape, like a mounted picture, silhouetted against the curtains, which slightly blacken the window. it is as though the quilt were lifted from underneath by a stick, for my aunt josephine is leanness itself.
-gradually she raises her voice and begins to lament. "you've no feelings, no--you're heartless,--that dreadful word you said to me,--you said, 'you and your jawing!' ah! people don't know what i have to put up with--ill-natured--cart-horse!"
-in silence i hear the tear-streaming words that fall and founder in the dark room from that obscure blot on the pillow which is her face.
-she cries: "done with? ah! it will never be done with!"
-with the sheet that night is begriming she muzzles herself, and hides her face. she shakes her head to left and to right, violently, so as to wipe her eyes and signify dissent at the same time.
-"never! a word like that you said to me breaks the heart forever. but i must get up and get you something to eat. you must eat. i brought you up when you were a little one,"--her voice capsizes--"i've given up all for you, and you treat me as if i were an adventuress."
-i hear the sound of her skinny feet as she plants them successively on the floor, like two boxes. she is seeking her things, scattered over the bed or slipped to the floor; she is swallowing sobs. now she is upright, shapeless in the shadow, but from time to time i see her remarkable leanness outlined. she slips on a camisole and a jacket,--a spectral vision of garments which unfold themselves about her handle-like arms, and above the hollow framework of her shoulders.
-she talks to herself while she dresses, and gradually all my life-history, all my past comes forth from what the poor woman says,--my only near relative on earth; as it were my mother and my servant.
-she strikes a match. the lamp emerges from the dark and zigzags about the room like a portable fairy. my aunt is enclosed in a strong light. her eyes are level with her face; she has heavy and spongy eyelids and a big mouth which stirs with ruminated sorrow. fresh tears increase the dimensions of her eyes, make them sparkle and varnish the points of her cheeks. she comes and goes with undiminished spleen. her wrinkles form heavy moldings on her face, and the skin of chin and neck is so folded that it looks intestinal, while the crude light tinges it all with something like blood.
-now that the lamp is alight some items become visible of the dismal super-chaos in which we are walled up,--the piece of bed-ticking fastened with two nails across the bottom of the window, because of draughts; the marble-topped chest of drawers, with its woolen cover; and the door-lock, stopped with a protruding plug of paper.
-the lamp is flaring, and as mame does not know where to stand it among the litter, she puts it on the floor and crouches to regulate the wick. there rises from the medley of the old lady, vividly variegated with vermilion and night, a jet of black smoke, which returns in parachute form. mame sighs, but she cannot check her continual talk.
-"you, my lad, you who are so genteel when you like, and earn a hundred and eighty francs a month,--you're genteel, but you're short of good manners, it's that chiefly i find fault with you about. so you spat on the window-pane; i'm certain of it. may i drop dead if you didn't. and you're nearly twenty-four! and to revenge yourself because i'd found out that you'd spat on the window, you told me to stop my jawing, for that's what you said to me, after all. ah, vulgar fellow that you are! the factory gentlemen are too kind to you. your poor father was their best workman. you are more genteel than your poor father, more english; and you preferred to go into business rather than go on learning latin, and everybody thought you quite right; but for hard work you're not much good--ah, la, la! confess that you spat on the window.
-"for your poor mother," the ghost of mame goes on, as she crosses the room with a wooden spoon in her hand, "one must say that she had good taste in dress. that's no harm, no; but certainly they must have the wherewithal. she was always a child. i remember she was twenty-six when they carried her away. ah, how she loved hats! but she had handsome ways, for all that, when she said, 'come along with us, josephine!' so i brought you up, i did, and sacrificed everything...."
-overcome by the mention of the past, mame's speech and action both cease. she chokes and wags her head and wipes her face with her sleeve.
-i risk saying, gently, "yes, i know it well."
-a sigh is my answer. she lights the fire. the coal sends out a cushion of smoke, which expands and rolls up the stove, falls back, and piles its muslin on the floor. mame manipulates the stove with her feet in the cloudy deposit; and the hazy white hair which escapes from her black cap is also like smoke.
-then she seeks her handkerchief and pats her pockets to get the velvet coal-dust off her fingers. now, with her back turned, she is moving casseroles about. "monsieur crillon's father," she says, "old dominic, had come from county cher to settle down here in '66 or '67. he's a sensible man, seeing he's a town councilor. (we must tell him nicely to take his buckets away from our door.) monsieur bonéas is very rich, and he speaks so well, in spite of his bad neck. you must show yourself off to all these gentlemen. you're genteel, and you're already getting a hundred and eighty francs a month, and it's vexing that you haven't got some sign to show that you're on the commercial side, and not a workman, when you're going in and out of the factory."
-"that can be seen easily enough."
-"i'd rather you had a badge."
-"i like orderliness so much," says mame as she tacks and worms her way through this accumulation of things, all covered with a downy layer of dust like the corners of pastel pictures.
-according to habit, i stretch out my legs and put my feet on the stool, which long use has polished and glorified till it looks new. my face turns this way and that towards the lean phantom of my aunt, and i lull myself with the sounds of her stirring and her endless murmur.
-and now, suddenly, she has come near to me. she is wearing her jacket of gray and white stripes which hangs from her acute shoulders, she puts her arm around my neck, and trembles as she says, "you can mount high, you can, with the gifts that you have. some day, perhaps, you will go and tell men everywhere the truth of things. that has happened. there have been men who were in the right, above everybody. why shouldn't you be one of them, my lad, you one of these great apostles!"
-and with her head gently nodding, and her face still tear-stained, she looks afar, and sees the streets attentive to my eloquence!
-hardly has this strange imagining in the bosom of our kitchen passed away when mame adds, with her eyes on mine, "my lad, mind you, never look higher than yourself. you are already something of a home-bird; you have already serious and elderly habits. that's good. never try to be different from others."
-"no danger of that, mame."
-no, there is no danger of that. i should like to remain as i am. something holds me to the surroundings of my infancy and childhood, and i should like them to be eternal. no doubt i hope for much from life. i hope, i have hopes, as every one has. i do not even know all that i hope for, but i should not like too great changes. in my heart i should not like anything which changed the position of the stove, of the tap, of the chestnut wardrobe, nor the form of my evening rest, which faithfully returns.
-the fire alight, my aunt warms up the stew, stirring it with the wooden spoon. sometimes there spurts from the stove a mournful flame, which seems to illumine her with tatters of light.
-i get up to look at the stew. the thick brown gravy is purring. i can see pale bits of potato, and it is uncertainly spotted with the mucosity of onions. mame pours it into a big white plate. "that's for you," she says; "now, what shall i have?"
-we settle ourselves each side of the little swarthy table. mame is fumbling in her pocket. now her lean hand, lumpy and dark, unroots itself. she produces a bit of cheese, scrapes it with a knife which she holds by the blade, and swallows it slowly. by the rays of the lamp, which stands beside us, i see that her face is not dry. a drop of water has lingered on the cheek that each mouthful protrudes, and glitters there. her great mouth works in all directions, and sometimes swallows the remains of tears.
-so there we are, in front of our plates, of the salt which is placed on a bit of paper, of my share of jam, which is put into a mustard-pot. there we are, narrowly close, our foreheads and hands brought together by the light, and for the rest but poorly clothed by the huge gloom. sitting in this jaded armchair, my hands on this ill-balanced table,--which, if you lean on one side of it, begins at once to limp,--i feel that i am deeply rooted where i am, in this old room, disordered as an abandoned garden, this worn-out room, where the dust touches you softly.
-after we have eaten, our remarks grow rarer. then mame begins again to mumble; once again she yields to emotion under the harsh flame of the lamp, and once again her eyes grow dim in her complicated japanese mask that is crowned with cotton-wool, and something dimly shining flows from them.
-the tears of the sensitive old soul plash on that lip so voluminous that it seems a sort of heart. she leans towards me, she comes so near, so near, that i feel sure she is touching me.
-i have only her in the world to love me really. in spite of her humors and her lamentations i know well that she is always in the right.
-i yawn, while she takes away the dirty plates and proceeds to hide them in a dark corner. she fills the big bowl from the pitcher and then carries it along to the stove for the crockery.
-antonia has given me an appointment for eight o'clock, near the kiosk. it is ten past eight. i go out. the passage, the court,--by night all these familiar things surround me even while they hide themselves. a vague light still hovers in the sky. crillon's prismatic shop gleams like a garnet in the bosom of the night, behind the riotous disorder of his buckets. there i can see crillon,--he never seems to stop,--filing something, examining his work close to a candle which flutters like a butterfly ensnared, and then, reaching for the glue-pot which steams on a little stove. one can just see his face, the engrossed and heedless face of the artificer of the good old days; the black plates of his ill-shaven cheeks; and, protruding from his cap, a vizor of stiff hair. he coughs, and the window-panes vibrate.
-in the street, shadow and silence. in the distance are venturing shapes, people emerging or entering, and some light echoing sounds. almost at once, on the corner, i see monsieur joseph bonéas vanishing, stiff as a ramrod. i recognized the thick white kerchief, which consolidates the boils on his neck. as i pass the hairdresser's door it opens, just as it did a little while ago, and his agreeable voice says, "that's all there is to it, in business." "absolutely," replies a man who is leaving. in the oven of the street one can see only his littleness--he must be a considerable personage, all the same. monsieur pocard is always applying himself to business and thinking of great schemes. a little farther, in the depths of a cavity, stoppered by an iron-grilled window, i divine the presence of old eudo, the bird of ill omen, the strange old man who coughs, and has a bad eye, and whines continually. even indoors he must wear his mournful cloak and the lamp-shade of his hood. people call him a spy, and not without reason.
-here is the kiosk. it is waiting quite alone, with its point in the darkness. antonia has not come, for she would have waited for me. i am impatient first, and then relieved. a good riddance.
-no doubt antonia is still tempting when she is present. there is a reddish fever in her eyes, and her slenderness sets you on fire. but i am hardly in harmony with the italian. she is particularly engrossed in her private affairs, with which i am not concerned. big victorine, always ready, is worth a hundred of her; or madame lacaille, the pensively vicious; though i am equally satiated of her, too. truth to tell, i plunge unreflectingly into a heap of amorous adventures which i shortly find vulgar. but i can never resist the magic of a first temptation.
-i shall not wait. i go away. i skirt the forge of the ignoble brisbille. it is the last house in that chain of low hills which is the street. out of the deep dark the smithy window flames with vivid orange behind its black tracery. in the middle of that square-ruled page of light i see transparently outlined the smith's eccentric silhouette, now black and sharp, now softly huge. spectrally through the glare, and in blundering frenzy, he strives and struggles and fumbles horribly on the anvil. swaying, he seems to rush to right and to left, like a passenger on a hell-bound ferry. the more drunk he is, the more furiously he falls upon his iron and his fire.
-i return home. just as i am about to enter a timid voice calls me--"simon!"
-it is antonia. so much the worse for her. i hurry in, followed by the weak appeal.
-i go up to my room. it is bare and always cold; always i must shiver some minutes before i shake it back to life. as i close the shutters i see the street again; the massive, slanting blackness of the roofs and their population of chimneys clear-cut against the minor blackness of space; some still waking, milk-white windows; and, at the end of a jagged and gloomy background, the blood-red stumbling apparition of the mad blacksmith. farther still i can make out in the cavity the cross on the steeple; and again, very high and blazing with light on the hill-top, the castle, a rich crown of masonry. in all directions the eye loses itself among the black ruins which conceal their hosts of men and of women--all so unknown and so like myself.
-it is sunday. through my open window a living ray of april has made its way into my room. it has transformed the faded flowers of the wallpaper and restored to newness the turkey-red stuff which covers my dressing-table.
-then i look outside. it would seem that the town, under its misty blankets in the hollow of the valley, is awaking later than its inhabitants.
-these i can see from up here, spreading abroad in the streets, since it is sunday. one does not recognize them all at once, so changed are they by their unusual clothes;--women, ornate with color, and more monumental than on week days; some old men, slightly straightened for the occasion; and some very lowly people, whom only their cleanness vaguely disguises.
-the weak sunshine is dressing the red roofs and the blue roofs and the sidewalks, and the tiny little stone setts all pressed together like pebbles, where polished shoes are shining and squeaking. in that old house at the corner, a house like a round lantern of shadow, gloomy old eudo is encrusted. it forms a comical blot, as though traced on an old etching. a little further, madame piot's house bulges forth, glazed like pottery. by the side of these uncommon dwellings one takes no notice of the others, with their gray walls and shining curtains, although it is of these that the town is made.
-we have to call at brisbille's, my aunt and i, before church. we are forced to tolerate him thus, so as to get our twisted key put right. i wait for mame in the court, sitting on a tub by the shop, which is lifeless to-day, and full of the scattered leavings of toil. mame is never ready in time. she has twice appeared on the threshold in her fine black dress and velvet cape; then, having forgotten something, she has gone back very quickly, like a mole. finally, she must needs go up to my room, to cast a last glance over it.
-at last we are off, side by side. she takes my arm proudly. from time to time she looks at me, and i at her, and her smile is an affectionate grimace amid the sunshine.
-she has gone up to apolline, the street-sweeper. the good woman, as broad as she is long, was gaping on the edge of the causeway, her two parallel arms feebly rowing in the air, an exile in the sabbath idleness, and awkwardly conscious of her absent broom.
-mame brings her along, and looking back as i walk, i hear her talking of me, hastily, as one who confides a choking secret, while apolline follows, with her arms swinging far from her body, limping and outspread like a crab.
-says mame, "that boy's bedroom is untidy. and then, too, he uses too many shirt-collars, and he doesn't know how to blow his nose. he stuffs handkerchiefs into his pockets, and you find them again like stones."
-"all the same, he's a good young man," stammers the waddling street cleanser, brandishing her broom-bereaved hands at random, and shaking over her swollen and many-storied boots a skirt weighted round the hem by a coat-of-mail of dry mud.
-these confidences with which mame is in the habit of breaking forth before no matter whom get on my nerves. i call her with some impatience. she starts at the command, comes up, and throws me a martyr's glance.
-she proceeds with her nose lowered under her black hat with green foliage, hurt that i should thus have summoned her before everybody, and profoundly irritated. so a persevering malice awakens again in the depths of her, and she mutters, very low, "you spat on the window the other day!"
-but she cannot resist hooking herself again on to another interlocutor, whose sunday trousers are planted on the causeway, like two posts, and his blouse as stiff as a lump of iron ore. i leave them, and go alone into brisbille's.
-the smithy hearth befires a workshop which bristles with black objects. in the middle of the dark bodies of implements hanging from walls and ceiling is the metallic brisbille, with leaden hands, his dark apron rainbowed with file-dust,--dirty on principle, because of his ideas, this being sunday. he is sober, and his face still unkindled, but he is waiting impatiently for the church-going bell to begin, so that he may go and drink, in complete solitude.
-through an open square, in the ponderous and dirt-shaggy glazing of the smithy, one can see a portion of the street, and a sketch, in bright and airy tones, of scattered people. it is like the sharply cut field of vision in an opera-glass, in which figures are drawn and shaded, and cross each other; where one makes out, at times, a hat bound and befeathered, swaying as it goes; a little boy with sky-blue tie and buttoned boots, and tubular knickers hanging round his thin, bare calves; a couple of gossiping dames in swollen and somber petticoats, who tack hither and thither, meet, are mutually attracted and dissolve in conversation, like rolling drops of ink. in the foreground of this colored cinema which goes by and passes again, brisbille, the sinister, is ranting away, as always. he is red and lurid, spotted with freckles, his hair greasy, his voice husky. for a moment, while he paces to and fro in his cage, dragging shapeless and gaping shoes behind him, he speaks to me in a low voice, and close to my face, in gusts. brisbille can shout, but not talk; there must be a definite pressure of anger before his resounding huskiness issues from his throat.
-mame comes in. she sits on a stool to get her breath again, all the while brandishing the twisted key which she clasps to the prayer-book in her hand. then she unburdens herself and begins to speak in fits and starts of this key, of the mishap which twisted it, and of all the multiple details which overlap each other in her head. but the slipshod, gloomy smith's attention is suddenly attracted by the hole which shows the street.
-"the lubber!" he roars.
-it is monsieur fontan who is passing, the wine-merchant and café-proprietor. he is an expansive and imposing man, fat-covered, and white as a house. he never says anything and is always alone. a great personage he is; he makes money; he has amassed hundreds of thousands of francs. at noon and in the evening he is not to be seen, having dived into the room behind the shop, where he takes his meals in solitude. the rest of the time he just sits at the receipt of custom and says nothing. there is a hole in his counter where he slides the money in. his house is filling with money from morning till night.
-"he's a money-trap," says mame.
-"he's rich," i say.
-"and when you've said that," jeers brisbille, "you've said all there is to say. why, you damned snob, you're only a poor drudge, like all us chaps, but haven't you just got the snob's ideas?"
-i make a sign of impatience. it is not true, and brisbille annoys me with the hatred which he hurls at random, hit or miss; and all the more because he is himself visibly impressed by the approach of this man who is richer than the rest. the rebel opens his steely eye and relapses into silence, like the rest of us, as the big person grows bigger.
-"the bonéas are even richer," my aunt murmurs.
-monsieur fontan passes the open door, and we can hear the breathing of the corpulent recluse. as soon as he has carried away the enormous overcoat that sheathes him, like the hide of a pachyderm, and is disappearing, brisbille begins to roar, "what a snout! did you see it, eh? did you see the jaws he swings from his ears, eh? the exact likeness of a hog!"
-then he adds, in a burst of vulgar delight, "luckily, we can expect it'll all burst before long!"
-he laughs alone. mame goes and sits apart. she detests brisbille, who is the personification of envy, malice and coarseness. and everybody hates this marionette, too, for his drunkenness and his forward notions. all the same, when there is something you want him to do, you choose sunday morning to call, and you linger there, knowing that you will meet others. this has become a tradition.
-"they're going to cure little antoinette," says benoît, as he frames himself in the doorway.
-benoît is like a newspaper. he to whom nothing ever happens only lives to announce what is happening to others.
-"i know," cries mame, "they told me so this morning. several people already knew it this morning at seven. a big, famous doctor's coming to the castle itself, for the hunting, and he only treats just the eyes."
-"poor little angel!" sighs a woman, who has just come in.
-brisbille intervenes, rancorous and quarrelsome, "yes, they're always going to cure the child, so they say. bad luck to them! who cares about her?"
-"everybody does!" reply two incensed women, in the same breath.
-"and meanwhile," said brisbille, viciously, "she's snuffing it." and he chews, once more, his customary saying--pompous and foolish as the catchword of a public meeting--"she's a victim of society!"
-monsieur joseph bonéas has come into brisbille's, and he does it complacently, for he is not above mixing with the people of the neighborhood. here, too, are monsieur pocard, and crillon, new shaved, his polished skin taut and shiny, and several other people. prominent among them one marks the wavering head of monsieur mielvaque, who, in his timidity and careful respect for custom, took his hat off as he crossed the threshold. he is only a copying-clerk at the factory; he wears much-used and dubious linen, and a frail and orphaned jacket which he dons for all occasions.
-monsieur joseph bonéas overawes me. my eyes are attracted by his delicate profile, the dull gloom of his morning attire, and the luster of his black gloves, which are holding a little black rectangle, gilt-edged.
-he, too, has removed his hat. so i, in my corner discreetly remove mine, too.
-all are attentive while he says that he is thinking of organizing a young people's association in viviers. then he speaks to me, "the farther i go the more i perceive that all men are afflicted with short sight. they do not see, nor can they see, beyond the end of their noses."
-"yes," say i.
-my reply seems rather scanty, and the silence which follows repeats it mercilessly. it seems so to him, too, no doubt, for he engages other interlocutors, and i feel myself redden in the darkness of brisbille's cavern.
-crillon is arguing with brisbille on the matter of the recent renovation of an old hat, which they keep handing to each other and examine ardently. crillon is sitting, but he keeps his eyes on it. heart and soul he applies himself to the debate. his humble trade as a botcher does not allow a fixed tariff, and he is all alone as he vindicates the value of his work. with his fists he hammers the gray-striped mealy cloth on his knees, and the hair, which grows thickly round his big neck, gives him the nape of a wild boar.
-"that felt," he complains, "i'll tell you what was the matter with it. it was rain, heavy rain, that had drowned it. that felt, i tells you, was only like a dirty handkerchief. what does that represent--in ebullition of steam, in gumming, and the passage of time?"
-monsieur justin pocard is talking to three companions, who, hat in hand, are listening with all their ears. he is entertaining them in his sonorous language about the great financial and industrial combination which he has planned. a speculative thrill electrifies the company.
-"that'll brush business up!" says crillon, in wonder, torn for a moment from contemplation of the hat, but promptly relapsing on it.
-joseph bonéas says to me, in an undertone,--and i am flattered,--"that pocard is a man of no education, but he has practical sense. that's a big idea he's got,--at least if he sees things as i see them."
-and i, i am thinking that if i were older or more influential in the district, perhaps i should be in the pocard scheme, which is taking shape, and will be huge.
-suddenly every one looks out to the street through the still open door.
-a carriage is making its way towards the church; it has a green body and silver lamps. the old coachman, whose great glove sways the slender scepter of a whip, is so adorned with overlapping capes that he suggests several men on the top of each other. the black horse is prancing.
-"he shines like a piano," says benoît.
-the baroness is in the carriage. the blinds are drawn, so she cannot be seen, but every one salutes the carriage.
-"all slaves!" mumbles brisbille. "look at yourselves now, just look! all the lot of you, as soon as a rich old woman goes by, there you are, poking your noses into the ground, showing your bald heads, and growing humpbacked."
-"she does good," protests one of the gathering.
-"good? ah, yes, indeed!" gurgles the evil man, writhing as though in the grip of some one; "i call it ostentation--that's what i call it."
-shoulders are shrugged, and monsieur joseph bonéas, always self-controlled, smiles.
-encouraged by that smile, i say, "there have always been rich people, and there must be."
-"of course," trumpets crillon, "that's one of the established thoughts that you find in your head when you fish for 'em. but mark what i says,--there's some that dies of envy. i'm not one of them that dies of envy."
-monsieur mielvaque has put his hat back on his petrified head and gone to the door. monsieur joseph bonéas, also, turns his back and goes away.
-all at once crillon cries, "there's pétrarque!" and darts outside on the track of a big body, which, having seen him, opens its long pair of compasses and escapes obliquely.
-"and to think," says brisbille, with a horrible grimace, when crillon has disappeared, "that the scamp is a town councilor! ah, by god!"
-he foams, as a wave of anger runs through him, swaying on his feet, and gaping at the ground. between his fingers there is a shapeless cigarette, damp and shaggy, which he rolls in all directions, patching up and resticking it unceasingly.
-charged with snarls and bristling with shoulder-shrugs, the smith rushes at his fire and pulls the bellows-chain, his yawning shoes making him limp like vulcan. at each pull the bellows send spouting from the dust-filled throat of the furnace a cutting blue comet, lined with crackling and dazzling white, and therein the man forges.
-purpling as his agitation rises, nailed to his imprisoning corner, alone of his kind, a rebel against all the immensity of things, the man forges.
-the church bell rang, and we left him there. when i was leaving i heard brisbille growl. no doubt i got my quietus as well. but what can he have imagined against me?
-we meet again, all mixed together in the place de l'eglise. in our part of the town, except for a clan of workers whom one keeps one's eye on, every one goes to church, men as well as women, as a matter of propriety, out of gratitude to employers or lords of the manor, or by religious conviction. two streets open into the place and two roads, bordered with apple-trees, as well, so that these four ways lead town and country to the place.
-it has the shape of a heart, and is delightful. it is shaded by a very old tree, under which justice was formerly administered. that is why they call it the great tree, although there are greater ones. in winter it is dark, like a perforated umbrella. in summer it gives the bright green shadow of a parasol. beside the tree a tall crucifix dwells in the place forever.
-the place is swarming and undulating. peasants from the surrounding country, in their plain cotton caps, are waiting in the old corner of the rue neuve, heaped together like eggs. these people are loaded with provisions. at the farther end, square-paved, one picks out swarthy outlines of the epinal type, and faces as brightly colored as apples. groups of children flutter and chirrup; little girls with their dolls play at being mothers, and little boys play at brigands. respectable people take their stand more ceremoniously than the common crowd, and talk business piously.
-farther away is the road, which april's illumination adorns all along the lines of trees with embroidery of shadow and of gold, where bicycles tinkle and carriages rumble echoingly; and the shining river,--those long-drawn sheets of water, whereon the sun spreads sheets of light and scatters blinding points. looking along the road, on either side of its stone-hard surface, one sees the pleasant, cultivated earth, the bits of land sewn to each other, and many-hued, brown or green as the billiard cloth, then paling in the distance. here and there, on this map in colors, copses bulge forth. the by-roads are pricked out with trees, which follow each other artlessly and divide the infantile littleness of orchards.
-this landscape holds us by the soul. it is a watercolor now (for it rained a little last night), with its washed stones, its tiles varnished anew, its roofs that are half slate and half light, its shining pavements, water-jeweled in places, its delicately blue sky, with clouds like silky paper; and between two house-fronts of yellow ocher and tan, against the purple velvet of distant forests, there is the neighboring steeple, which is like ours and yet different. roundly one's gaze embraces all the panorama, which is delightful as the rainbow.
-from the place, then, where one feels himself so abundantly at home, we enter the church. from the depths of this thicket of lights, the good priest murmurs the great infinite speech to us, blesses us, embraces us severally and altogether, like father and mother both. in the manorial pew, the foremost of all, one glimpses the marquis of monthyon, who has the air of an officer, and his mother-in-law, baroness grille, who is dressed like an ordinary lady.
-emerging from church, the men go away; the women swarm out more grudgingly and come to a standstill together; then all the buzzing groups scatter.
-at noon the shops close. the fine ones do it unassisted; the others close by the antics of some good man who exerts himself to carry and fit the shutters. then there is a great void.
-after lunch i wander in the streets. in the house i am bored, and yet outside i do not know what to do. i have no friend and no calls to pay. i am already too big to mingle with some, and too little yet to associate with others. the cafés and licensed shops hum, jingle and smoke already. i do not go to cafés, on principle, and because of that fondness for spending nothing, which my aunt has impressed on me. so, aimless, i walk through the deserted streets, which at every corner yawn before my feet. the hours strike and i have the impression that they are useless, that one will do nothing with them.
-i steer in the direction of the fine gardens which slope towards the river. a little enviously i look over the walls at the tops of these opulent enclosures, at the tips of those great branches where still clings the soiled, out-of-fashion finery of last summer.
-far from there, and a good while after, i encounter tudor, the clerk at the modern pharmacy. he hesitates and doubts, and does not know where to go. every sunday he wears the same collar, with turned down corners, and it is becoming gloomy. arrived where i am, he stops, as though it occurred to him that nothing was pushing him forward. a half-extinguished cigarette vegetates in his mouth.
-he comes with me, and i take his silence in tow as far as the avenue of plane trees. there are several figures outspaced in its level peace. some young girls attract my attention; they appear against the dullness of house-fronts and against shop fronts in mourning. some of the charming ones are accompanied by their mothers, who look like caricatures of them.
-tudor has left me without my noticing it.
-already, and slowly everywhere, the taverns begin to shine and cry out. in the grayness of twilight one discerns a dark and mighty crowd, gliding therein. in them gathers a sort of darkling storm, and flashes emerge from them.
-and lo! now the night approaches to soften the stony streets.
-along the riverside, to which i have gone down alone, listless idylls dimly appear,--shapes sketched in crayon, which seek and join each other. there are couples that appear and vanish, strictly avoiding the little light that is left. night is wiping out colors and features and names from both sorts of strollers.
-i notice a woman who waits, standing on the river bank. her silhouette has pearly-gray sky behind it, so that she seems to support the darkness. i wonder what her name may be, but only discover the beauty of her feminine stillness. not far from that consummate caryatid, among the black columns of the tall trees laid against the lave of the blue, and beneath their cloudy branches, there are mystic enlacements which move to and fro; and hardly can one distinguish the two halves of which they are made, for the temple of night is enclosing them.
-the ancient hut of a fisherman is outlined on the grassy slope. below it, crowding reeds rustle in the current; and where they are more sparse they fashion concentric orbs upon the gleaming, fleeing water. the landscape has something exotic or antique about it. you are no matter where in the world or among the centuries. you are on some corner of the eternal earth, where men and women are drawing near to each other, and cling together while they wrap themselves in mystery.
-dreamily i ascend again towards the sounds and the swarming of the town. there, the sunday evening rendezvous,--the prime concern of the men,--is less discreet. desire displays itself more crudely on the pavements. voices chatter and laughter dissolves, even through closed doors; there are shouts and songs.
-up there one sees clearly. faces are discovered by the harsh light of the gas jets and its reflection from plate-glass shop windows. antonia goes by, surrounded by men, who bend forward and look at her with desire amid their clamor of conversation. she saw me, and a little sound of appeal comes from her across the escort that presses upon her. but i turn aside and let her go by.
-when she and her harness of men have disappeared, i smell in their wake the odor of pétrolus. he is lamp-man at the factory. yellow, dirty, cadaverous, red-eyed, he smells rancid, and was, perhaps, nurtured on paraffin. he is some one washed away. you do not see him, so much as smell him.
-other women are there. many a sunday have i, too, joined in all that love-making.
-among these beings who chat and take hold of each other, an isolated woman stands like a post, and makes an empty space around her.
-it is louise verte. she is fearfully ugly, and she was too virtuous formerly, at a time when, so they say, she need not have been. she regrets this, and relates it without shame, in order to be revenged on virtue. she would like to have a lover, but no one wants her, because of her bony face and her scraped appearance; from a sort of eczema. children make sport of her, knowing her needs; for the disclosures of their elders have left a stain on them. a five-year-old girl points her tiny finger at louise and twitters, "she wants a man."
-in the place is véron, going about aimlessly, like a dead leaf--véron, who revolves, when he may, round antonia. an ungainly man, whose tiny head leans to the right and wears a colorless smile. he lives on a few rents and does not work. he is good and affectionate, and sometimes he is overcome by attacks of compassion.
-véron and louise verte see one another,--and each makes a détour of avoidance. they are afraid of each other.
-here, also, on the margin of passion, is monsieur joseph bonéas, very compassionable, in spite of his intellectual superiority. between the turned-down brim of his hat and his swollen white kerchief,--thick as a towel,--a mournful yellow face is stuck.
-i pity these questing solitaries who are looking for themselves! i feel compassion to see those fruitless shadows hovering there, wavering like ghosts, these poor wayfarers, divided and incomplete.
-where am i? facing the workmen's flats, whose countless windows stand sharply out in their huge flat background. it is there that marie tusson lives, whose father, a clerk at messrs. gozlan's, like myself, is manager of the property. i steered to this place instinctively, without confessing it to myself, brushing people and things without mingling with them.
-marie is my cousin, and yet i hardly ever see her. we just say good-day when we meet, and she smiles at me.
-i lean against a plane tree and think of marie. she is tall, fair, strong and amiable, and she goes modestly clad, like a wide-hipped venus; her beautiful lips shine like her eyes.
-to know her so near agitates me among the shadows. if she appeared before me as she did the last time i met her; if, in the middle of the dark, i saw the shining radiance of her face, the swaying of her figure, traced in silken lines, and her little sister's hand in hers,--i should tremble.
-but that does not happen. the bluish, cold background only shows me the two second-floor windows pleasantly warmed by lights, of which one is, perhaps, she herself. but they take no sort of shape, and remain in another world.
-at last my eyes leave that constellation of windows among the trees, that vertical and silent firmament. then i make for my home, in this evening which comes at the end of all the days i have lived.
-little antoinette,--how comes it that they leave her all alone like this?--is standing in my path and holding a hand out towards me. it is her way that she is begging for. i guide her, ask questions and listen, leaning over her and making little steps. but she is too little, and too lispful, and cannot explain. carefully i lead the child,--who sees so feebly that already she is blind in the evening, as far as the low door of the dilapidated dwelling where she nests.
-in my street, in front of his lantern-shaped house, with its iron-grilled dormer, old eudo is standing, darkly hooded, and pointed, like the house.
-i am a little afraid of him. assuredly, he has not got a clean conscience. but, however guilty, he is compassionable. i stop and speak to him. he lifts to me out of the night of his hood a face pallid and ruined. i speak about the weather, of approaching spring. heedless he hears, shapes "yes" with the tip of his lips, and says, "it's twelve years now since my wife died; twelve years that i've been utterly alone; twelve years that i've heard the last words she said to me."
-and the poor maniac glides farther away, hooded in his unintelligible mourning; and certainly he does not hear me wish him good-night.
-at the back of the cold downstairs room a fire has been lighted. mame is sitting on the stool beside it, in the glow of the flaming coal, outstretching her hands, clinging to the warmth.
-entering, i see the bowl of her back. her lean neck has a cracked look and is white as a bone. musingly, my aunt takes and holds a pair of idle tongs. i take my seat. mame does not like the silence in which i wrap myself. she lets the tongs fall with a jangling shock, and then begins vivaciously to talk to me about the people of the neighborhood. "there's everything here. no need to go to paris, nor even so much as abroad. this part; it's a little world cut out on the pattern of the others," she adds, proudly, wagging her worn-out head. "there aren't many of them who've got the wherewithal and they're not of much account. puppets, if you like, yes. that's according to how one sees it, because at bottom there's no puppets,--there's people that look after themselves, because each of us always deserves to be happy, my lad. and here, the same as everywhere, the two kinds of people that there are--the discontented and the respectable; because, my lad, what's always been always will be."
-evening and dawn
-just at the moment when i was settling down to audit the sesmaisons' account--i remember that detail--there came an unusual sound of steps and voices, and before i could even turn round i heard a voice through the glass door say, "monsieur paulin's aunt is very ill."
-the sentence stuns me. i am standing, and some one is standing opposite me. a draught shuts the door with a bang.
-both of us set off. it is benoît who has come to fetch me. we hurry. i breathe heavily. crossing the busy factory, we meet acquaintances who smile at me, not knowing the turn of affairs.
-the night is cold and nasty, with a keen wind. the sky drips with rain. we jump over puddles as we walk. i stare fixedly at benoît's square shoulders in front of me, and the dancing tails of his coat as the wind hustles them along the nocturnal way.
-left tackle thayer
-a new boy and an old one
-a boy in a blue serge suit sat on the second tier of seats of an otherwise empty grand-stand and, with his straw hat pulled well over his eyes, watched the progress of a horse-drawn mower about a field. the horse was a big, well-fed chestnut, and as he walked slowly along he bobbed his head rhythmically. in the seat of the mower perched a thin little man in a pair of blue overalls and a shirt which had also been blue at one time, but which was now faded almost white. a broad-brimmed straw hat of the sort affected by farmers, protected his head from the noonday sun. between the overalls and the rusty brogans on his feet several inches of bare ankle intervened, and, as he paraded slowly around the field, almost the only sign of life he showed was when he occasionally stooped to brush a mosquito from these exposed portions of his anatomy. the horse, too, wore brogans, big round leather shoes which strapped over his hoofs and protected the turf, and, having never before seen a horse in leather boots, the boy on the grand-stand had been for a while mildly interested. but the novelty had palled some time ago, and now, leaning forward with his sun-browned hands clasped loosely between his knees, he continued to watch the mower merely because it was the only object in sight that was not motionless, if one excepts the white clouds moving slowly across a blue september sky.
-now and then the clouds seemed to shadow the good-looking, tanned face of the youth, producing a troubled, sombre expression. the truth is that master clinton boyd thayer was lonesome and, although he would have denied it vigorously, a little bit homesick. (at sixteen one may be homesick even though one scoffs at the notion.) clinton had left his home at cedar run, virginia, the evening before, had changed into a sleeper at washington just before midnight, and reached new york very early this morning. from there, although he had until five in the afternoon to reach brimfield academy, he had departed after a breakfast eaten in the terminal and had arrived at brimfield at a little before nine. an hour had sufficed him to register and unpack his bag and trunk in the room assigned to him in torrence hall. since that time--and it was now almost twelve o'clock--he had wandered about the school. he had peeped into the other dormitories and the recitation building, had explored the gymnasium from basement to trophy room and, finally, had loitered across the athletic field to the grand-stand, where, for the better part of an hour, he had been sitting in the sun, getting lonelier every minute.
-clint--everyone had always called him clint and we might as well fall in line--had never been farther north than baltimore; and today he felt himself not only a long way from home but in a country somehow strangely and uncomfortably alien. the few persons he had encountered had been quite civil to him, to be sure; and the sunlight was the same sunlight that shone down on cedar run, but for all of that it seemed as if no one much cared where he was or what happened to him, and the air felt differently and the country looked different, and--and, well, he rather wished himself back in virginia!
-he had never been enthusiastic about going north to school. it had been his mother's idea. mr. thayer was willing that clint should prepare for college in his native state, but clint's mother had other ideas. mr. thayer had graduated from princeton and it had long been settled that clint was to be educated there too; and clint's mother insisted that since he was to attend a northern college it would be better for him to go to a northern preparatory school. clint himself had not felt strongly enough about it to object. several of his chums had gone or were going to virginia military college; and clint would have liked to go there too, although the military feature didn't especially appeal to him. brimfield academy, at brimfield, new york, had finally been selected, principally because a cousin of clint's on his father's side had once attended the school. the fact that the cousin in question had never amounted to much and was now clerking in a shoe store in norfolk was not held against the school.
-so far the boy had liked what he had seen of brimfield well enough. the thirty-mile journey from new york on the train had been through an attractive country, with now and then a fleeting glimpse of water to add variety to the landscape; and the woods and fields around the academy were pretty. from where he sat at the east end of the athletic field he could look along the backs of the buildings, which ran in a row straight along the edge of a plateau. nearest at hand was the gymnasium. then came wendell and torrence, the latter having the honour of being clint's abode for the ensuing nine months. next was main hall, containing recitation rooms, the assembly room, the library and the office; an older building and built all of brick whereas the other structures were uniformly of stone as to first story and brick above. beyond main hall were hensey and billings, both dormitories, and, at the western end of the row and slightly out of line, the cottage, where dwelt the principal, mr. fernald, of whom clint knew little and, it must be confessed, cared, at the present moment, still less. in front of the buildings the ground fell away to the country road over which clint had that morning travelled behind a somnolent grey horse and a voluble driver, to the last of which combination he owed most of his information regarding the academy.
-from around the corner of the stand furthest from the row appeared a boy in a suit of light grey flannels. the coat, hanging open, displayed a soft shirt of no uncertain shade of heliotrope. a bow-tie of lemon-yellow with purple dots nestled under his chin and between the cuffs of his trousers and the rubber-soled tan shoes a four-inch expanse of heliotrope silk stockings showed. a straw hat with a particularly narrow brim was adorned with a ribbon of alternating bars of maroon and grey. he was indeed a cheerful and colourful youth, his cheerfulness being further evidenced by the jaunty swinging of a stick which he had apparently cut from a willow and by the gay whistling of a tune. on sight of clint, however, the stick stopped swinging and the whistling came to an end in the middle of a note.
-"hi!" said the youth in surprised tones.
-"hello," answered clint politely.
-the newcomer paused and viewed the boy on the stand with frank curiosity. then his gaze wandered across to the mower, which was at the instant making the turn at the further corner, over by the tennis courts. finally,
-"bossing the job?" he asked, nodding toward the mower.
-clint smiled and shook his head. "no, just--just loafing."
-"hot, isn't it?" the other pushed the gaily-ribboned hat to the back of his head and drew a pale lavender handkerchief across his forehead. "been moseying around over there in the woods," he continued when clint had murmured agreement. "studying nature in her manifold moods. nature is some warm today. there's a sort of a breeze here, though, isn't there?"
-clint agreed again, more doubtfully, and the boy who had been studying nature seated himself sidewise on a seat below, drawing his feet up and clasping his hands about his knees. he was a good-looking, merry-faced chap of seventeen, with dark-brown eyes, a short nose liberally freckled under the tan and a rather prominent chin with a deep dimple in it. his position revealed a full ten inches of the startling hose; and, since they were almost under his nose, clint gazed at them fascinatedly.
-"some socks, are they not?" inquired the youth.
-clint, already a little embarrassed by the other's friendliness, removed his gaze hurriedly.
-"they're very--nice," he murmured.
-the other elevated one ankle and viewed it approvingly. "saw them in a window in new york yesterday and fell for them at once. i've got another pair that are sort of pinky-grey, ashes of roses, i guess. watch for them. they'll gladden your heart. you're new, aren't you?"
-"yes, i got here this morning," replied clint. "i suppose you're--you're not."
-"no, this is my third year. i'm in the fifth form. what's yours?"
-"i don't know yet. i reckon they'll put me in the fourth."
-"i see. how's everything below the line?"
-"below the line?" repeated clint.
-"yes, mason and dixon's. you're from the south, aren't you?"
-"oh! yes, i come from virginia; cedar run."
-the other chuckled. "what state did you say?" he asked.
-"virginia," responded clint innocently. "great! 'vay-gin-ya.'" he shook his head. "no, i can't get it."
-it dawned on clint that the other was trying to mimic his pronunciation of the word, and he felt resentful until a look at the boy's face showed that he intended no impertinence.
-"i love to hear a southerner talk," he went on. "there was a chap here named broland year before last; came from alabama, i think. he was fine! red-hot he was, too. you could always get a fall out of bud broland by mentioning grant or sherman. he used to fly right off the handle and wave the stars-and-bars fit to kill! we used to tell him that the war was over, but he wouldn't believe it."
-clint smiled doubtfully. "is he here now?" he asked.
-"broland? no, he only stayed a little while. couldn't get used to our ways. found school life too--too confining. he used to take trips, and faculty didn't approve."
-"trips?" asked clint.
-the other nodded. "yes, he used to put a clean collar in his pocket and run down to new york for week-ends. faculty was sort of narrow-minded and regretfully packed him off home to alabam'. bud was a good sort, but--well, he needed a larger scope for his talents than school afforded. i guess the right place for bud would have been a good big ranch out west somewhere. he needed lots of room!"
-clint smiled. "what time do we eat?" he asked presently, when they had silently watched the passage of the mower. the other boy tugged at a fob which dangled at his belt and produced a silver watch.
-"let's see." he frowned intently a moment. "i was twelve minutes fast yesterday afternoon. that would make me about twenty minutes ahead now. i'd say the absolutely correct time was somewhere between eleven-fifty-eight and twelve-six. and dinner's at half-past."
-"thank you," laughed clint. he pulled forth his own watch and looked at it. "i make it two minutes after," he said, "and i was right this morning by the clock in the station in new york."
-"two minutes past, eh?" the boy below set his timepiece and slipped it back under his belt. "it must be great to have a watch like yours. i used to have one but i left it at the rink last winter and it fell into the snow, i guess, and i never did find it. then i bought me this. it's guaranteed for a year."
-"why don't you take it back, then?"
-"oh, i've got sort of used to it now. after all, there's a certain excitement about having a watch like this. you never know whether you're going to be late or early. if i have to catch a train i always allow thirty minutes leeway. it's twelve o'clock, all right. solomon's quit." he nodded toward where the man in the blue overalls was unhitching the horse from the mower. "you can't fool solomon on the dinner hour."
-"is that his name?" inquired clint.
-"i don't suppose so. that's what he's called, though. he never says anything and so he seems to be all-fired wise. there's a lot in that, do you know? bet you if i didn't talk so much i'd get the reputation of being real brainy. guess i'll have to try it." he grinned broadly and clint smiled back in sympathy.
-"let's tell our names," said the other. "mine's byrd; first name, amory; nicknamed amy. pretty bad, but it might be worse."
-"mine's clinton thayer."
-"thayer? we've got some cousins of that name. they're northerners, though. live in new hampshire. no relation to you, i guess. i suppose fellows call you clint, don't they?"
-"all right, clint, let's mosey back and have some dinner. i had a remarkably early repast this morning and feel as though i could trifle with some real food."
-"so do i," replied clint as he climbed down. "i had my breakfast at half-past six."
-"great scott! what for?"
-"the train got in at six and there was nothing else to do. i got here before nine."
-"you did? i thought i was one of the early byrds--joke! get it?--but i didn't sight the dear old school until after ten. couldn't find any fellows i knew and so went for a walk. most of the fellows don't get here until afternoon. by the way, who do you room with?"
-"i don't know," replied clint. "i didn't ask. they put me--"
-"i don't know either," sighed amy. "i found a lot of truck in my room, but i haven't seen the owner yet. the fellow who was in with me last year has left school. gone to live in china. wish i could! i suppose the fellow i draw will be a regular mutt." they had reached the corner of wendell, and amy paused. "the dining room's in here. if you don't mind waiting until i run up and wash a bit we'll eat together."
-"i'd like to," answered clint, "but i reckon i'll wash too."
-he moved along with the other toward the next dormitory.
-"aren't you in wendell?" asked amy.
-"no, this next one. torrey, isn't it?"
-"torrence." amy stopped and viewed him with sudden interest. "say, what number?"
-"well, what do you know about that?"
-"what?" clint faltered.
-"why--why--" amy seized his hand and shook it vigorously. "clint, i want to congratulate you! i do, indeed!"
-clint smiled. "thanks, byrd, but what about?"
-"byrd?" murmured the other disappointedly. "is that the best you can do after our long acquaintance? you--you grieve me!"
-"amory, then," laughed clint.
-"call me amy," begged the other. "you'll call me worse than that when you've known me longer, but for now let it be amy."
-"all right. and now, please, what am i being congratulated for?"
-amy's face became suddenly earnest and sober, "because, my young friend, you are especially fortunate. a kindly providence has placed you in the care of one of the wisest, most respected, er--finest examples of young manhood this institution affords. i certainly do congratulate you!"
-amy made another grab at clint's hand, but the latter foiled him.
-"you mean the fellow i'm going to room with?" he asked.
-"exactly! faculty has indeed been good to you, clint. you will take up your abode with a youth in whom all the virtues and--and excellencies--"
-"who is he?" demanded clint suspiciously.
-"his name"--amy drew close and dropped his voice to an awed and thrilling whisper--"his name is--are you prepared?"
-"go on. ill try to stand it."
-"his name, then, is amory munson byrd!"
-"you mean--i'm in with you?"
-"i mean just that, o fortunate youth! forward, sir! allow me to conduct you to your apartment!" and, putting his arm through clint's, he dragged that astonished youth into dormitory.
-captain innes receives
-"what's that awful noise?" asked clint startledly, looking up from his book.
-it was the evening of the second day of school and clint and amy byrd were preparing lessons at opposite sides of the green-topped table in number 14 torrence.
-"that," replied amy, leaning back until his chair protested and viewing his room-mate under the shade of the drop-light, "is music."
-"music!" clint listened incredulously. from the next room, by way of opened windows and transoms, came the most lugubrious wails he thought he had ever listened to. "it--it's a fiddle, isn't it?" he demanded.
-amy nodded. "more respectfully, a violin. more correctly a viol-din. (the joke is not new.) what you are listening to with such evident delight are the sweet strains of penny durkin's violin." amy looked at the alarm clock which decorated a corner of his chiffonier. "penny is twelve minutes ahead of time. he's not supposed to play during study-hour, you see, and unless i'm much mistaken he will be so informed before the night is much--"
-"hey, penny! cut it out, old top!"
-from somewhere down the corridor the anguished wail floated, followed an instant later by sounds counterfeiting the howling of an unhappy dog. threats and pleas mingled.
-"penny! for the love of mike!"
-"set your watch back, penny!"
-"shut up, you idiot! study's not over!"
-"call an officer, please!"
-but pennington durkin was making too much noise on his instrument to hear the remonstrances at first, and it was not until some impatient neighbour sallied forth and pounded frantically at the portal of number 13 that the wailing ceased. then,
-"what is it?" asked durkin mildly.
-"it's only ten minutes to nine, penny. your clock's fast again. shut up or we'll kill you!"
-"oh!" said penny surprisedly. "are you sure? i set my watch--"
-"oh, forget it! you say that every night," was the wearied response. "how the dickens do you think anyone's going to study with that noise going on?"
-"i'm very sorry, really," responded penny, "if i'd known--"
-"you never do know, penny!" the youth outside strode back to his room and slammed the door and quiet prevailed once more. amy smiled.
-"poor penny," he said. "he suffers much in the cause of art. i refuse to study any more. close up shop, clint, and let's talk. now that you've been with us a whole day, what do you think of us? do you approve of this institution of learning, old man?"
-"i think i'm going to like it," replied clint soberly.
-"i do hope so," murmured amy anxiously. "still, any little changes you'd like made--"
-"well, you asked me, didn't you?" laughed clint. "besides, how can i help but like it when i am honoured by being roomed with you?"
-"sarcasm!" hissed amy. "time's up!" he slammed his book shut, tossed it on a pile at his elbow, yawned and jumped from his chair. "let's go visiting. what do you say? come along and i'll interdoodle you to some of our prominent criminals. find your cap and follow me."
-"i wish," said amy, as they clattered down the stairs in the wake of several other boys who had lingered no longer than they after nine o'clock had struck, "i wish you had made the fifth form, clint."
-"so do i," was the reply. "i could have if they'd stretched a point."
-"um; yes," mused the other. "stretched a point. now that's something i never could make out, clint."
-"why, how you can stretch a point. the dictionary describes a point as 'that which has position but no magnitude.' seems to me it must be very difficult to get hold of a thing with no magnitude, and, of course, you'd have to get hold of it to stretch it, wouldn't you? now, if you said stretch a line or stretch a circle--"
-"that's what you'll need if you don't shut up," laughed clint.
-"no, a stretcher!"
-"what a horrible pun," mourned amy. "say, suppose we drop in on jack innes?"
-"suppose we do," replied clint cheerfully. "who is he?"
-"football captain, you ignoramus. maybe if you don't act fresh and he takes a liking to you he will resign and let you be captain."
-"won't it look--well, sort of funny?" asked clint doubtfully as they passed along the bow.
-"what? you being captain?"
-"no, our going--i mean my going to see him, won't he think i'm trying to--to swipe?"
-"poppycock! jack's a particular friend of mine. you don't have to tell him you want a place on the team, do you? besides, there'll likely be half a dozen others there. here we are; one flight."
-they turned in the first entrance of hensey and climbed the stairs. innes's room, like clint's, faced the stair-well, being also number 14, and from behind the closed door came a babel of voices.
-"full house tonight," observed amy, knocking thunderously. but the knocking wasn't heard inside and, after a moment, amy turned the knob and walked in, followed by clint. nearly a dozen boys were crowded in the room and each of the two small beds sagged dangerously under the weight it held.
-"we knocked," said amy, "but you hoodlums are making so much noise that--"
-"hi, amy! how's the boy?" called a youth whose position facing the door allowed him to discover the newcomers. heads turned and other greetings followed. it was evident to clint that his room-mate was a popular chap, for everyone seemed thoroughly glad to see him.
-"come here, amy," called a big fellow who was sprawled in a morris chair. amy good-naturedly obeyed the summons and the big fellow pulled up a leg of the other boy's trousers. "they're grey, fellows," he announced sorrowfully. "someone's gone and died, and amy's in mourning!"
-"grey!" exclaimed another. "never. amy, tell me it isn't true!"
-"shut up! i want to interdoodle my most bosom friend, mr. clinton thayer, of vay-gin-yah, sah! clint, take off your hat."
-the merriment ceased and the occupants of the room got to their feet as best they might and those within reach shook hands.
-"that large lump over there," indicated amy, "is innes. he's one of your hosts. the other one is mr. still; in the corner of the bed; the intelligent-looking youth. the others don't matter."
-"glad to know you, thayer," said jack innes in a deep, jovial voice. "hope you can find a place to sit down. i guess that bed near you will hold one more without giving way."
-clint somewhat embarrassedly crowded on to a corner of the bed and amy perched himself on an arm of the morris chair. a smallish, clever-looking fellow across the room said: "you're a punk introducer, amy. thayer, my name's marvin, and this chap is hall and the next one is edwards, and still you know, and then comes ruddie, and black--"
-"red and black," interpolated amy.
-"and next to innes is landers--"
-"oh, forget it, marvin," advised still. "thayer won't remember. names don't matter, anyway."
-"some names," retorted marvin, "have little significance, yours amongst them. i did the best i could for you, thayer. remember that. what's the good word, amy?"
-"i have no news to relate," was the grave response, "save that jordan obtruded his shining cranium as we came in and requested me to inform you fellows that unless there was less noise up here--"
-jeers greeted that fiction. "i love your phrases, amy," said marvin. "'shining cranium' is great"
-"oh, amy is one fine little phraser," said innes. "remember his theme last year, fellows? how did it go, amy? let me see. oh! 'the westerning sun sank slowly into the purple void of twilight, a burnished copper disk beyond the earth's horizon!'"
-"i never!" cried amy indignantly.
-"so it is," asserted amy vehemently. "i know, because i tried to play with one once!"
-"i'll bet a great little football player was lost when you forsook the gridiron for the--the field of scholarly endeavour," said tom hall.
-"he's caught it, too!" groaned the youth beside him, steve edwards. "guess i'll take him home."
-"you're not talking that way yet, are you, thayer?" asked jack innes solicitously.
-"i don't think so," replied clint with a smile.
-"you will sooner or later, though. the fellow who roomed with amy last year got so he couldn't make himself understood in this country and had to go to japan."
-"china," corrected amy, "china, the land of the chink and the chop-stick."
-"there he goes!" moaned still.
-"what i haven't heard explained yet," said steve edwards, "is what's happened to amy's glad socks. why the sobriety, amy?"
-"wouldst hear the sweet, sad story?"
-"then give me your kind attention and i willst a tale unfold. you see, it's like this. clint there can tell you that just the other day i was a thing of beauty. my slender ankles were sheer and silken delights. but--and here's the weepy place, fellows--when i disrobed i discovered that the warmth of the weather had affected the dye in those gladsome garments and my little footies were like unto the edible purple beet of commerce. and i paid eighty-five cents a pair for those socks, too. i--i'm having them washed."
-when the laughter had ceased, ruddie, who seemed a serious-minded youth, began a story of an uncle of his who had contracted blood-poisoning from the dye in his stockings. what ultimately happened to the uncle clint never discovered, for the others very rudely broke in on ruddie's reminiscences and the conversation became general and varied. the boy next to clint, whose name he learned later was freer, politely inquired as to how clint liked brimfield and whether he played football. to the latter question clint confided that he did, although probably not well enough to stand much of a chance here.
-"oh, you can't tell," replied freer encouragingly. "come out for practice tomorrow and see. we're got a coach here that can do wonders with beginners."
-"of course i mean to try," said clint. "i reckon you wear togs, don't you, when you report?"
-"yes, come dressed to play. you'll get a workout for a week or so, anyway. three-thirty is the time. you won't feel lonesome. we've got more fellows here this year than we ever had and i guess there'll be a gang of new candidates. got a lot of last year's 'varsity players left, too, and we ought to be able to turn out a pretty fair team."
-"where does captain innes play?" clint asked
-"centre, and he's a peach. marvin, over there, is first-string quarter this year. edwards will be one of our ends and hall will have right guard cinched, i think."
-"and where do you play?" clint inquired.
-"half, when i play," laughed the other. "i'm going to make a good fight for it this year. how'd you know i did play, though?"
-"i--just thought so," said clint. "you sort of look it, you know."
-that seemed to please freer. "well, i've been at it three years," he said, "and this is my last chance."
-"i hope you make it."
-"thanks. same to you! well, i must get along."
-"i believe you play football, thayer?" he said inquiringly.
-"well, you're modest, anyway," the big centre laughed. "don't overdo it, though; it doesn't pay. what's your position?"
-"i played tackle at home."
-"well, you come out tomorrow and show your goods, thayer. we need all the talent we can get. hope to see you do splendidly. good night. awfully glad to have met you. good night, amy. hope those socks will come out all right."
-"they'll never be the same," replied amy sadly. "their pristine splendour--"
-"get out of here, amy! you remind me unpleasantly of tomorrow's english and the fact that i haven't looked at it yet!" and freer, who was a rather husky youth, pushed amy into the corridor without ceremony.
-on the way back to torrence clint asked curiously: "how do you suppose innes knew i played, amy?"
-"oh, he's a discerning brute," responded the other carelessly.
-"but he said he believed i did. that sounds as if someone had told him. did you?"
-"well," replied the other hesitantly, "now that you mention it, summon it, as it were, to my attention, or, should i say, force it on my notice; or, perhaps, arouse my slumbering memory--"
-"meaning you did?"
-"i might have."
-"'s afternoon. we met by chance. casually i mentioned the fact that you were probably one of the niftiest little linemen that ever broke through the--er--stubborn defence of a desperate enemy--"
-"and that, if properly encouraged, you would very likely be willing to lend your helpful assistance to the dear old team. and he said: 'bless you, amy, for them glad tidings. all is not lost, with clint thayer to help us, victory may once more perch upon our pennant!' or maybe it was 'banner.'"
-"honest, amy," pleaded clint, "what did you say?"
-"only that you were rooming with me and that i'd heard you say you, played and that i meant to bring you around to see him this evening."
-"and he said?"
-"he said 'of course, bring him along.'"
-"oh," murmured clint
-"just the remark i was about to make," declared amy.
-amy airs his views
-clint settled down into his appointed niche at brimfield, one of one hundred and seventy-two individuals of various ages between twelve and twenty. at brimfield there were six forms, and clint had, after a brief examination, been assigned to the fourth. he found that he was well up with the class in everything save greek and latin, and these, greek especially, soon proved hard sledding. the instructor, mr. simkins--or "uncle sim," as he was called--was no easy taskmaster. he entertained a profound reverence for aristotle and vergil and cicero and homer and all the others, and failed to understand why his classes thought them tiresome and, sometimes, dry. his very enthusiasm, however, made him easy to impose on, and many a fellow received good marks merely because he simulated a fervid interest. but clint was either too honest or possessed too little histrionic talent to attempt that plan, and by the time the fall term was a week old, he, together with many another, was just barely keeping his head above water. he confessed discouragement to his room-mate one evening. amy was sympathetic but scarcely helpful.
-"it's tommyrot, that's what it is," amy said with conviction. "what good does it do you to know greek, anyway? i'll bet you anything that uncle sim himself couldn't go to athens tomorrow and order a cup of coffee and a hard-boiled egg! or, if he did order them, he'd get a morning newspaper and toothpick. last spring i was in the boot-blacking emporium in the village one afternoon and horace came in to get his shoes shined. there--"
-"who is horace!" asked clint dejectedly.
-"mr. daley; modern languages; you have him in french. well, there was a notice stuck on the wall across the place. it was in greek and i couldn't make anything out of it at all and i asked horace what it said. of course he just read it right off, with a mere passing glance; did he not? yes, he did not! he hemmed and hawed and muttered and finally said he couldn't make out the second word. i told him that was my trouble, too. then we asked the greek that runs the place and he told us it said that shines on sundays and holidays were ten cents. of course, horace isn't a specialist in greek, but still he's been through college, and what i say is--"
-"i don't believe the men who wrote the stuff really understood it," said clint.
-"oh, they understood a little of it, all right. they could sign their names, probably. the only consolation i find is this, clint. a couple of hundred years from now, when everyone is talking esperanto or some other universal language, the kids will have to study english. can't you see them grinding over the orations of william jennings bryan and wondering why the dickens anyone ever wanted to talk such a silly language? that's when we get our revenge, clint. we won't be around to see it, but it'll be there."
-clint had to smile at the picture amy drew, but he didn't find as much consolation as amy pretended to, and xenophon didn't come any easier. he was heartily glad when the study-hour came to an end and he could conscientiously close his books.
-the termination of that hour was almost invariably announced by the dismal squawking of penny durkin's fiddle. sometimes it was to be heard in the afternoon, but not always, for penny was a very busy youth. he was something of a "shark" at lessons, was a leading light in the debating circle and conducted a second-hand business in all sorts of things from a broken tooth-mug to a brass bed. penny bought and sold and traded and, so rumour declared, made enough to nearly pay his tuition each year. if you wanted a rug or a table or a chair or a picture or a broken-down bicycle or a pair of football pants you went to penny, and it was a dollar to a dime that penny either had in his possession, or could take you to someone else who had, the very thing you were looking for. if you paid cash you got it reasonably cheap--or you did if you knew enough to bargain craftily--and if you wanted credit penny charged you a whole lot more and waited on you promptly for the instalment at the first of each month. and besides these activities penny was a devoted student of music.
-he was an odd-looking fellow, tall and thin, with a lean face from which a pair of pale and near-sighted eyes peered forth from behind rubber-rimmed spectacles. his hair was almost black and was always in need of trimming, and his garments--he seldom wore trousers, coat and vest that matched--always seemed about to fall off him. clint's first glimpse of penny came one afternoon. the door of number 13 was open as clint returned to his room after football practice and lugubrious sounds issued forth. it was very near the supper hour and penny's room was lighted only by the rays of the sinking sun. against the window clint saw him in silhouette, his hair wildly ruffled, his violin under his chin, his bow scraping slowly back and forth as he leaned near-sightedly over the sheet of music spread on the rack before him. the strains that issued from the instrument were awful, but there was something fine in the player's absorption and obvious content, and what had started out as a laugh of amusement changed to a sympathetic smile as clint tiptoed on to his own door.
-the sorrow of penny's young life was that, although he had made innumerable attempts, he could not succeed in the formation of a school orchestra. there was a glee club and a musical society, the latter composed of performers on the mandolin, banjo and guitar, but no one would take any interest in penny's project. or no one save a fellow named pillsbury. pillsbury played the bass viol, and once a week or so he and penny got together and spent an entranced hour. time was when such meetings took place in penny's room or in pillsbury's room, but popular indignation put an end to that. nowadays they took their instruments to the gymnasium and held their chamber concerts in the trophy room. amy one day drew clint's attention to a fortunate circumstance. this was that, while there was a connecting door between number 14 and number 15, there was none between number 14 and number 13. that fact, amy declared, rendered their room fairly habitable when penny was pouring out his soul. "it's lucky in another way," he added, staring darkly at the buff-coloured wall that separated them from number 13. "if that door was on this side i'd have broken it open long ago and done murder!"
-clint laughed and inquired: "who rooms on the other side?"
-"schuman and dreer." the contemptuous tone of his reply caused clint to ask:
-"anything wrong with them?"
-"oh, schuman's all right, i guess, but dreer's a pill." there was a wealth of contempt in the word "pill" as amy pronounced it, and clint asked innocently what a "pill" was.
-"a pill," replied amy, "is--is--well, there are all sorts of pills. a fellow who toadies to the instructors is a pill. a fellow who is too lazy to play football or baseball or tennis or anything else and pretends the doctor won't let him is a pill. a fellow who has been to one school and got fired and then goes to another and is always shooting off his mouth about how much better the first school is is the worst kind of pill. and that's the kind harmon dreer is. he went to claflin for a year and a half and then got into some sort of mess and was expelled. then the next fall he came here. this is his second year here and he's still gabbing about how much higher class claflin is and how much better they do everything there and--oh, all that sort of rot. i told him once that if the fellows at claflin were so much classier than we are i could understand why they didn't let him stay there. he didn't like it. he doesn't narrate his sweet, sad story to me any more. if he ever does i'm likely to forget that i'm a perfect gentleman."
-but clint's neighbours were not of overpowering interest to him those days. there were more absorbing matters, pleasant and unpleasant, to fill his mind. for one thing, he was trying very hard to make a place on one of the football teams. he hadn't any hope of working into the first team. perhaps when he started he may, in spite of his expressed doubts, have secretly entertained some such hope, but by the end of the second day of practice he had abandoned it. the brand of football taught by coach robey and played by the 'varsity team was ahead of any clint had seen outside a college gridiron and was a revelation to him. even by the end of the first week the first team was in what seemed to clint end-of-season form, although in that clint was vastly mistaken, and his own efforts appeared to him pretty weak and amateurish. but he held on hard, did his best and hoped to at least retain a place on the third squad until the final cut came. and it might just be, he told himself in optimistic moments, that he'd make the second! meanwhile he was enjoying it. it's remarkable what a lot of extremely hard work a boy will go through if he likes football, and what a deal of pleasure he will get out of it! amy pretended to be totally unable to get that point of view. one afternoon when clint returned to prepare for supper with a lower lip twice the normal size of that feature amy indulged in sarcasm.
-"oh, the proud day!" he declaimed, striking an attitude. "wounded on the field of battle! glory! triumph! pæans! my word, old top, but i certainly am proud to be the chum of such a hero! i'm so sot-up i could scream for joy. football's a wonderful pastime, isn't it?"
-"silly chump!" mumbled clint painfully.
-"yes, indeed, a wonderful pastime," ruminated amy, seating himself on the window-seat and hugging one knee. "all a fellow has to do is to go out and work like a dray-horse and a pile-driver and street-roller for a couple of hours every afternoon, get kicked in the shins and biffed in the eye and rolled in the dirt and ragged by one coach, one captain and one quarter-back. that's all he has to do except learn a lot of signals so he can recognise them in the fraction of a second, be able to recite the rules frontward and backward and both ways from the middle and live on indigestible things like beef and rice and prunes. for that he gets called a 'mutt' and a 'dub' and a 'disgrace to the school' and, unless he's lucky enough to break a leg and get out of it before the big game, he has twenty-fours hours of heart-disease and sixty minutes of glory. and his picture in the paper. he knows it's his picture because there's a statement underneath that bill jones is the third criminal from the left in the back row. and it isn't the photographer's fault if the good-looking half-back in the second row moved his head just as the camera went snap and all that shows of bill jones is a torn and lacerated left ear!"
-"for the love of mike, amy, shut up!" pleaded clint. "you talk so much you don't say anything! besides, you told me once you used to play yourself when you first came here."
-"so i did," agreed amy calmly. "but i saw the error of my ways and quit. in me you see a brand snatched from the burning. why, gosh, if i'd kept on i'd be a popular hero now! first formers would copy my socks and neckties and say 'good morning, mister byrd,' and the review would refer to me as 'that sterling player, full-back byrd.' and harvard and yale and princeton scouts would be camping on my trail and offering me valuable presents and taking me to lunch at clubs. oh, i had a narrow escape, i can tell you! when i think how narrow i shudder." he proved it by having a sort of convulsion on the window-seat. "clint, when it's all said and done, a fellow's a perfect, a-plus fool to play football when he can enlist in the german army and die in a trench!"
-"i got away for twenty yards this afternoon and made a touchdown," proclaimed clint from between swollen lips, trying to keep the pride from his voice.
-amy threw up his hands in despair.
-"i'll say no more," he declared. "you're past help, clint. you've tasted blood. go on, you poor mistaken hero, and maim yourself for life. i wash my hands of you."
-"you'd better wash them of some of that dirt i see and come to supper," clint mumbled. "gee, if i'd talked half as much as you have in the last ten minutes i'd be starved!"
-clint cuts practice
-brimfield played the first game on her schedule a few days later, winning without difficulty from miter hill school in ten-minute periods by a score of 17 to 0. there was much ragged football on each side; but brimfield showed herself far more advanced than her opponent and had, besides, the advantage of a heavier team. clint looked on from the bench, with some forty others, and grew more hopeless than ever of making good this year. his present status was that of substitute tackle on the third squad, and it didn't look as though he'd get beyond that point. if he had expected his introduction to jack innes to help his advancement he must have been disappointed, for the captain, while he invariably spoke when he saw him, and once inquired in the locker-room how clint was getting along, paid little attention to him. so far as clint could see, nobody cared whether he reported for practice or not. toward the end of an afternoon, when the third was fortunate enough to get into a few minutes of scrimmage with the second, clint usually finished up at right or left tackle. but he couldn't help thinking that were he not there his absence would go unremarked. even on the to him memorable occasion when he broke through the second's line on a fumble and, seizing the ball, romped almost unchallenged over the last four white lines for a touchdown the incident went apparently unnoticed. one or two of his team-mates patted him approvingly on the back, but that was all. clint was beginning to have moments of discouragement.
-but two days after the miter hill game an incident occurred which proved him wrong in thinking that no one knew or cared whether he reported for practice. that morning's greek had gone unusually badly for clint and mr. simkins had kept him after class and talked some plain talk to him. when clint's final recitation of the day was over at three he was out-of-sorts and depressed. he felt very little like playing football and still less like studying, but mr. simkins had as much as told him that unless a decided improvement was at once apparent some direful fate would be his, and the instructor had a convincing way of talking and clint quite believed him. consequently, of two evils clint chose the more necessary and dedicated that afternoon to the iliad. the dormitory was very quiet, for it was a fine, mild day and most of the fellows were out-of-doors, and concentration should have been easy. but it wasn't. clint couldn't keep his mind on his book, try as he might. through the open window came sounds from the grid-irons and ball-field; shouts, the honking of manager black's horn, the cries of the coaches and players, the crack of bat and ball where the nine was holding fall practice; even, now and then, the voices of the tennis players far down the field. he tried closing the window, but that made the room hot and stuffy, and he opened it again. four o'clock sounded and he was still dawdling. then footsteps sounded on the stairs, the door of number 13 opened and shut, and a minute or two later the wailing of penny durkin's violin broke onto the silence of the deserted dormitory. that ought to have ended clint's chances of study, it seemed, but, oddly enough, after he had listened for five minutes or so, his eyes sought the page in front of him and then--well, then it was more than an hour later, the violin was silent and someone was knocking on his door!
-clint gazed with surprise on the pencilled notes adorning the margins of the pages, from them to the open lexicon, from that to the pencil in his hand. he had absolutely done five pages! and then the knock at the door was repeated and clint stammered "come in!" and tracey black entered.
-the football manager was a slimly-built, nervous-mannered chap of eighteen and wore glasses through which he now regarded clint accusingly.
-"what's wrong with you, thayer?" he demanded bruskly. "sick?"
-"sick" repeated clint vaguely. "no, thanks, i'm all right."
-"then why do you cut practice?" asked black severely. "don't you know--" it was then that black recalled clint's face and remembered having met him in innes's room a week before. "hello," he said in a milder tone. "i didn't recognise you. er--you see, thayer, when you fellows don't show up i have to find out what the reason is. maybe you didn't know it, but it's the customary thing to get permission to cut practice."
-"oh! no, i didn't know it, black," replied clint. "i'm sorry. i got in a mess with my greek and thought i'd better stay away and take a fall out of it. besides, i didn't think anyone would care if i didn't report."
-"didn't think anyone would care!" exclaimed black, seating himself on an arm of the morris chair and viewing clint with astonishment. "how the dickens do you suppose we can turn out a team if we don't care whether fellows report or not? suppose the others thought that, thayer, and stayed away!"
-"i meant that--that i'm not much use out there and it didn't seem to me that it mattered very much if i stayed away once. i'm sorry, though, if i've done wrong."
-"well, that's all right," returned black, mollified. "if you didn't know, that's different. only another time you'd better see mr. robey and get permission to cut. you see, thayer, at this time of year we need all the fellows we can get. maybe you think you're not very important out there, but that isn't the way of it at all. everyone counts. you are all--ah--you are all parts of the--ah--machine, if you see my drift, thayer, and if one part is missing, why--ah--well, you see what i mean?"
-"yes, of course. i'll remember the next time."
-"well, i wouldn't let there be any next time if i were you. to be frank, thayer, robey doesn't like fellows to cut. if you do it much he's awfully likely to tell you to--ah--stay away altogether!"
-"well, in my case--" began clint, with a smile.
-"now today," went on black, "robey wanted you for the second when tyler got hurt and you weren't there and we had to play a second squad half-back at tackle. robey didn't like it and jumped on me about it. and of course i had to tell him that i hadn't given any cuts. i'm not supposed to, anyway, but he seemed to think that maybe i had. if you don't mind, thayer, it wouldn't be a bad idea to tell him if he asks you that you were--ah--sick, you know."
-"do you mean," asked clint incredulously, "that he wanted me to play on the second this afternoon?"
-"i reckon that's so," agreed clint regretfully. "you don't think he will want me for the second tomorrow, black?"
-"oh, maybe. you be there, anyhow. and if he asks you you'd better fake sickness, i think."
-"i dare say he won't remember by tomorrow," said clint. "but if he does--"
-"don't bank on that," replied black, shaking his head. "robey has a fierce memory. you'll find that out for yourself if you stay around awhile longer."
-"if i do," murmured clint.
-"well, i think you will unless you get robey down on you by too many cuts."
-"really?" clint asked eagerly.
-"sure. you see most fellows want to be backs or ends; about eight out of ten want to be half-backs and the ninth wants to be either full-back or end. the tenth fellow is willing to play in the line."
-"oh," said clint. "and how about quarters?"
-"you have to almost beg 'em to try for quarter-back. i don't know why, but almost every fellow is leery of that position. usually a coach makes a quarter out of a fellow who thinks he's a born half or end. well, i must beat it. see you tomorrow, then?"
-"yes, indeed, i'll be there!" replied clint earnestly. "thanks for coming around."
-"oh, that's all right. all in the way of duty, you know. so long!"
-clint thoughtfully placed a marker in his book and closed it.
-"that's a good afternoon's work," he reflected, "but if it's lost me a place on the second--" he shook his head ruefully. then he smiled.
-"gee," he murmured, "i don't know whether i'm more scared of mr. simkins or mr. robey!"
-the next day he made such a satisfactory showing in greek that mr. simkins took him back into his good graces. "ha, thayer," he said, "you lead me to suspect that you spent a little time on your lesson last evening. i am not doing you an injustice, thayer?"
-"no, sir, i put in two hours on it."
-"marvellous! is there any other member of the class who wasted so much of his time in such manner? raise your hands, please. one--two--three--burgess, you hesitate, do you not? ah, i thought so! you were merely going to scratch your head. wise youth, burgess. scratch hard. set up a circulation if possible. hm. that will do, thayer. burgess, if it is not asking too much--"
-unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately--clint's showing on this occasion was accepted by mr. simkins as a standard to which future performances were required to conform. "what has been done once may be done again, thayer," he would inform him. and clint, not being able to deny the logic of this statement, was forced to toil harder than ever. but there came a time, though it was not yet, when he found that his difficulties were lessening, that an hour accomplished what it had taken two to accomplish before; and that, in short, greek, while not a study to enthuse over, had lost most of its terrors. but all that, as i say, came later, and for many weeks yet "uncle sim" pursued clint in his dreams and the days when he had a greek recitation were dreaded ones.
-the afternoon following that on which he had absented himself from practice saw clint approaching the field at three-thirty with misgivings. he feared that coach robey would remember his defection against him and at the same time he knew that he would feel flattered if the coach did! the question was soon settled, for clint had no more than reached the bench when mr. robey's eyes fell on him.
-"yes, sir!" clint hurried toward him.
-"where were you yesterday?"
-"in my room, sir. i had--"
-"no, sir, i wanted to--"
-"anyone tell you you might cut practice?"
-"no, sir, i didn't know--"
-"never mind what you knew or didn't know. you know now that if you stay away again without permission you'll get dropped. that's all."
-clint returned to the bench contentedly. after all he was, it seemed, not such an unimportant unit as he had supposed! later he discovered that tyler was not present and hoped so hard that he would fall heir to that disabled player's position on the second squad that he fell under the disfavour of the third squad quarter-back and was twice called down for missing signals.
-and then, when, finally, the first and second lined up for a twenty-minute scrimmage, he saw the coveted place again filled by the substitute half-back and found himself sitting, blanket-wrapped, on the bench!
-tracey black, catching his eye between periods, smiled sympathetically. tracey could have told him that coach robey was punishing him for yesterday's misdemeanour, but he didn't, and the explanation didn't occur to clint. and the latter followed the rest back to the gymnasium after practice was over, feeling very dejected, and was such poor company all evening that amy left him in disgust at nine and sought more cheerful scenes.
-on the second
-at the end of a fortnight clint had, so to speak, become a regular student of brimfield academy in good standing. that is, he had learned the manners and customs and the language, for brimfield, like every similar institution, had its own ways and its own speech. clint no longer said "hello!" or "how do you do?" on meeting an acquaintance. he said "hi!" and threw his head back with a little jerk. he bought a diminutive grey cap with a small visor and wore it so far on the back of his head that it was not discernible from the front. (if you belonged on one of the teams you wore your insignia in maroon above the visor, or, if you had won two "b's," you wore a maroon cap instead and the insignia was in grey. but clint hadn't come to that yet.) he offhandedly referred to the principal as "josh," to the instructors as "horace" or "uncle sim" or "jordy," as the case might be. he knew that a hall master was an "h.m."; that he and one hundred and seventy-one other youths were, in common parlance, "brims"; that a "silk sock" was a student of claflin school, brimfield's athletic rival; that wendell hall was "wen"; torrence, "t"; hensey, "hen" or "the coop," and billings, "bill." also that an easy course, such as bible history, was a "doze"; that to study was to "stuff"--one who made a specialty of it being, consequently, a "stuffer"; that a boy who prided himself on athletic prowess was a "greek"; that a recitation was a "recit"; that the recitation rooms were "cells," and many other important things.
-he subscribed to the school monthly, the review,--or, rather, he chipped in with amy, which produced the same result at half the cost,--contributed to the torrence hall football fund, became a member, though not yet a very active one, of the debating club and paid in his dues, and spent all his october and november allowance in advance, together with most of the money he had in hand, in the purchase of a suit of grey flannel at the local tailoring establishment. when completed--of course it couldn't be paid for at once--it was at least two sizes too large for him, such being the accepted fashion at brimfield just then; had the pockets set at rakish angles, exhibited a two-and-a-half-inch cuff at the bottom of the trousers and contained a cunning receptacle for a fountain pen and pencil in the waistcoat, (clint called it a vest, but the tailor set him right.) amy viewed that suit with frank envy, for the coat was fully two inches wider across the shoulders than his and the trouser cuffs were deeper. he tried it on before the glass and promptly offered to buy it of clint at an advance of two dollars, which offer was as promptly declined.
-"the trouble with my coat," said amy mournfully when all blandishments had failed and he was regretfully removing the garment, "is that it pretty near fits me. i told the man he was making it too snug!"
-by this time canterbury high school had been met and defeated, by the score of 15 to 6, and the football team had entered on its third week. clint still hung on, sometimes much discouraged, and took his share of hard knocks and gruelling labour. tyler having returned to his position on the second, clint told himself that his last chance to make that team had vanished. but, just when he had about given up hope of advancement, a fortuitous combination of briskness on the part of the weather and "ginger" on the part of clint produced unexpected results.
-the 'varsity team was composed largely of substitutes when scrimmage with the second began that afternoon, for the canterbury game three days before had left a number of the regulars rather played out. lacking a left tackle for saunders' place, coach robey took cupples from the second, and captain turner, of the latter team, filled the vacancy with bobbins, who, like clint, was a new candidate. clint viewed the proceeding gloomily. it seemed to him that he was more justly entitled to a place on the second's list of substitutes than bobbins. his judgment was speedily vindicated, for bobbins put up such a weak exhibition at left tackle that turner impatiently sent him off, and the scrimmage stopped while he looked doubtfully toward the bench.
-"i want a tackle," he announced. "who's there, danny?"
-danny moore, the trainer, ran a sharp eye along the blanketed line. "tackle!" he cried. "who's playing tackle?"
-both clint and another boy jumped forward, and as it happened danny's sharp green eye fell first on clint. "get in there, then, on the second, me boy!"
-morton, the assistant manager, who was keeping the record, called as clint trotted past him, "hi! what's the name?"
-"thayer," answered clint.
-"left tackle," instructed captain turner. "know the signals?"
-"yes," clint replied, jumping into place. kingston, a heavily-built, shock-headed youth whom clint knew well enough to nod to, played left guard. "hi!" he said as clint poised himself in the line. "use your arms and turn him in, boy!"
-"help your guard," instructed turner, at left end, "and watch for an inside run."
-it was the 'varsity's ball near the second's twenty-five-yard line, and carmine, who had taken marvin's place at quarter, sent still plunging at the left of the second's line on the first play. roberts, who played opposite clint, was a big, heavy chap, and when he threw himself forward clint, who had been playing too high, was hurled aside like a chip and still went through for three yards before the secondary defence brought him down. turner thumped clint on the back.
-"watch for that, left tackle! play lower! get the jump!"
-the next play struck the centre and piled through peters for the distance. an end run, with carmine carrying the ball, was spoiled by turner. then came another attack on the left. clint, playing a half-yard outside the opposing end, watched the ball snapped and sensed the play.
-"left!" he shouted. "left!" he heard kingston grunt as he plunged into his opponent. then he was holding roberts off as best he could, neck and hip, and kendall, the 'varsity right half, was cutting in. with a lunge, clint pivoted around roberts and tackled hard and firm as the half-back came through. he was dragged a foot or two before his secondary defence hurled itself against the runner, but the gain was less than a yard and turner thumped him ecstatically as he pulled himself out of the pile.
-"that's the ticket, feller! run him out and get him! third down, second! stop 'em now!"
-the second didn't stop them, but it made them resort to a fake-kick to get their distance on fourth down. from the fifteen yards kendall tried a field-goal and missed narrowly and the second put the ball in play on the twenty yards.
-the first play went through for two yards on the other side of the line. then came a criss-cross, with the runner plunging at right guard. clint started with the ball and had his man out instantly. the play followed through for three yards. again the quarter chose that point and again the second's left side made the opening. but, with three to go on fourth down, a punt was imperative and martin, the full-back, was called on. as martin was a right-foot punter clint had little to do save get through and down the field, and the instant the ball was snapped he dashed into his opponent, beating him by a fraction of a second and upsetting his balance beautifully. when the sound of boot and leather came clint was past the 'varsity's backfield and, with turner but a yard or two in advance, was sprinting fast. carmine was playing back in centre, with kendall across the field, and it was into carmine's territory that the ball was going. suddenly clint saw carmine start quickly up the field toward them and guessed that the kick was short. kendall was heading across to interfere for the catcher.
-"get the interference," cried turner.
-but it wasn't to happen that way, for edwards had circled around and, even as turner issued his command, edwards and kendall went over together in a heap and the ball settled into carmine's arms. turner leaped toward him, carmine swayed aside and turner went past. it was clint who hurled himself at the quarter, wrapped eager arms about his knees and toppled him to earth so savagely that the pigskin bounded out of his clutch. there was a scramble for the ball, but tyler, the second's right tackle, got it and reached the twenty-yard line before he was pulled down from behind.
-the 'varsity made some changes then. kendall went out and was replaced by freer, still gave way to st. clair, and gafferty went in for hall at right guard. the fresh players saved the day for the 'varsity, for, although the second finally reached the twelve yards, it could go no further, and captain turner's try at a place-kick went a yard under the cross-bar. and that ended the practice for the day.
-in the locker-room turner sought clint out and said several nice things about his playing, ending with: "guess we'll have to have you on the second, thayer. you report to me tomorrow."
-that undoubtedly was the turning point in clint's football career for that year, for three days later the second cut came and the third squad ceased to be. some fifteen fellows retired to private life or to their hall teams and the rest were gathered into the second or went to the 'varsity to be tried out as substitutes. clint was pretty certain that, had it not been for that tuesday performance, he would have been one of the unfortunate fifteen.
-amy pretended to view clint's advancement to the second team with alarm. "first thing i know," he said gloomily, "i'll be rooming with a regular greek. you'll be having photographs taken to show your superb physical development, i dare say, and writing letters to the bulletin signed 'athlete.' as a matter of fact, clint, i happened to see that performance this afternoon and you didn't fool me a bit. you tackled carmine because he was in the way and you ran into him and put your arms around him to keep from falling on your nose. it was no brilliancy of yours that made the poor chap fumble the ball. you hit him like a load of bricks! if i'd been carmine i'd have up and biffed you one! you were--were distinctly ungentlemanly, clint. you should remember that even in football there are limits. to deliberately try to kill an opponent, as you did today, is not considered good form. besides, carmine's a friend of mine. we come from the same metropolis. it would be a very painful thing if i had to write home to his folks that he had been killed on the field of battle by my room-mate. a most painful and embarrassing duty for me, clint."
-"it's going to be my painful and embarrassing duty to stuff a towel in your silly mouth in about two minutes," replied clint. "how did you happen to see practice? i thought you were going to play tennis with scannel."
-"yes, it must be trying to beat anyone the way he beats you. i don't blame him for shirking it."
-"when bob scannel beats me," replied amy serenely, "you'll be playing football on the varsity, old top, and i'll be getting a's in math., a far, far day!"
-"i suppose i'll be going to training table before long," said clint reflectively.
-amy groaned. "there you go! that's the sort of stuff i'll have to listen to from now on. i hope to goodness you choke on a prune! that's about all you'll get there; prunes and boiled rice. i'm not sure about the rice, either, at the second's table. i think the second simply has prunes. boiled prunes for breakfast, roast prunes for dinner and dried prunes for supper. i--i shall expect to notice a wonderful imprunement in you very soon, clint."
-"and that's the sort of stuff i have to listen to!" exclaimed the other. "honest, amy, you make the bummest jokes!"
-"i think that was rather good, myself," said amy cheerfully. "i believe i'll send it to the bulletin. i've observed of late that the bulletin has lacked humour."
-"did it ever have any?" asked clint, folding the letter he had been struggling over.
-"unconsciously, yes. last year someone contributed a sonnet called 'truth.' no one could see much sense in it until some smart chap discovered that the first letters of each line spelled 'the bulletin is punk.' now when you want anything printed in the bulletin you have to send a sworn statement that there isn't an acrostic concealed in it. the editors went gunning for the fellow who sent in the sonnet, but they never found him."
-clint laughed. "they didn't try 14 torrence, then, did they?" he inquired. amy smiled noncommittingly.
-"your insinuation pains me," he murmured.
-"why don't you deny it, then?"
-"it is quite unnecessary. anyone knowing my blameless career--"
-"have you saved a copy of it?"
-the runaway wheel
-the following saturday brimfield went to thacher to play thacher school. as there was to be no practice for the second team, clint decided to see the game. rather to his surprise, amy readily agreed to accompany him. amy pretended a deep disdain for football and seldom attended practice or, for that matter, minor contests. it is probable that he consented to go to thacher less to watch the game than for the sake of clint's society, for by that time the two were fairly inseparable. the team started off about noon, but the "rooters", most of whom had eleven-thirty recitations, started an hour later, after a hurried dinner. thacher was only twenty-odd miles away, but the journey occupied more than an hour, since it was necessary to take train to wharton and change there to the trolley line.
-it was a mild day, sunny and cloudless, and travelling, especially on the electric car, was very pleasant. the fellows were full of spirits and a bit noisy, and played pranks on each other and had a thoroughly good time. the only untoward incident occurred when peters, the second team centre, fell off the running-board of the trolley car and rolled down a six-foot embankment. fortunately the accident occurred on a curve and the car was running slowly. still more fortunately, perhaps, peters was a rotund youth well padded with flesh and he sustained no injuries beyond a sprained thumb. by the time the car had been stopped and hurried back to the rescue peters was climbing a trifle indignantly up the bank. for the rest of the way he amused himself and others within hearing by estimating the amount of damages he could collect from the railway company.
-something like an hour later, however, when peters made the discovery that in his spectacular disembarkment he had emptied his pocket of all the money he had with him, a matter of ninety-four cents, he could no longer see the humorous aspect of the incident. for nearly two months he conducted a campaign of correspondence with the railway company seeking a refund of his money. peters' claim against the company became a standing joke. in the end he was defeated. his contention that the company owed him the amount of money lost from his pocket resulted, after many days, in a reply from the claims agent to the effect that since the money was undoubtedly just where he had lost it and could be found by search the company could not be held responsible. to this peters laboriously wrote that since the money had been abstracted from him while a passenger on the company's car it was up to the company to find it and return it to him. also that, if the loss wasn't made good, he would bring suit against the company for injuries sustained. after a lapse of a fortnight the agent countered with a statement that as peters had been riding on the running-board, contrary to the rules of the company, the company was in no way liable for his injury. peters replied that he had not ridden on the running-board from choice but that he had been unable to find accommodations on any other part of the car, and he wanted ninety-four cents, please. whereupon a brief epistle announced that the matter had been referred to the legal department and, upon advice, the road was regretfully obliged to refuse further consideration of the claim. that settled the matter, except that peters wrote once more and told the agent quite frankly what he, peters, thought of the railway, its officers, legal department, road-bed, rolling-stock and claims department; especially claims department! undoubtedly the company had grounds for libel after the receipt of that epistle, but it never made use of them.
-but we are far ahead of our story.
-the thacher game was not especially interesting. thacher faced brimfield with a light team, and, unable to gain consistently through the line, reverted to kicking. this gave the visiting backs some good practice in the handling of punts but gained the home team little advantage. brimfield rolled up twenty-six points in four ten-minute periods and was scored on but once when, in the third quarter, thacher managed a brilliant field-goal from the enemy's thirty-three yards.
-the contest was all over before four o'clock and brimfield made a wild rush from the grounds to the town in the endeavour to get the four-fifteen trolley for wharton. the team, which was provided with a coach, and about half the "rooters" succeeded, but the rest, clint and amy among them, arrived too late.
-as there was not another car until a quarter to five, they set out to kill time by viewing the town. thacher was not a very large place and, after wandering up one side of the main street and down the other, looking in all the windows, and leisurely partaking of college-ices at the principal drug store, there was still ten minutes left to be disposed of. at the moment of making the discovery they were a block from the square from which the trolley car trundled away to wharton, and they could have covered the distance in something like ten seconds from a standing start. in spite of this, however, they never got that car!
-gradually they had become separated from the other fellows, and now they were alone in their grandeur watching the efforts of a youth of about twenty to start an automobile which stood in front of thacher's principal hotel, the commercial house. they were not especially interested in the spectacle and really didn't much care whether the youth ever got going, but there wasn't much else to look at. every time the engine started and the youth made a wild dash at the throttle he reached it too late. before he could pull it down the chug-chugging died away. several minutes passed and clint viewed the clock in front of a jewelry store across the street apprehensively. it was seventeen minutes of five. he tugged amy's sleeve.
-"come on," he said. "we don't want to miss this one."
-"right-o," replied amy. "let's see, though, if he makes it this time."
-"say, one of you fellows pull that throttle down when i get her going, will you?" asked the automobilist. amy nodded and put his hand on the quadrant.
-"now then!" the engine started after several crankings and amy pulled a lever. unfortunately, however, he pulled the wrong one and the engine, as amy said, immediately choked to death. the youth observed him more in sorrow than in anger and drew a sleeve over his perspiring forehead.
-"awfully sorry," said amy. "i got the wrong handle. try it again."
-the clock showed four-forty-four and clint saw the car roll around the corner into the square. "come on," he begged. "we'll have to beat it, amy." amy nodded, but the youth was cranking again and he didn't want to desert his post. this time their combined efforts were crowned with success. the car awoke to a steady, frantic chugging. the youth mopped his forehead again.
-"want a ride?" he asked. "i'm going by the school."
-"not our school," said amy. "we're from brimfield."
-"well, i'll put you down in wharton before the trolley gets there. that's where i'm going. jump in."
-amy looked eagerly at clint. "want to?" he asked.
-"got to," replied clint gloomily. "there goes the car, you silly chump!"
-"all right," said amy. "we don't have to get there until five-twenty, anyway. come on, clint."
-they climbed into the back of the car and threw themselves luxuriously against the cushions.
-"home, james," commanded amy.
-the driver turned and grinned. he was a not-over-clean youth, and his hair was badly in need of a barber's attentions, but he was evidently good-natured. the car, which was an old one and had undoubtedly seen much better days, swung around and headed back toward thacher school and the football field. the youth talked to them over his shoulder.
-"she's hard to start," he said, "when she's been standing, but she can go all right. you wait till we're out of town and i'll show you. i got to go over to wharton to get mr. cumnock."
-"who's he?" asked amy disinterestedly.
-"he runs the commercial house. he comes out from new york on the express and i go over and get him."
-"oh, is this his car?"
-"no, it belongs to sterry, the liveryman. i drive for him. it's been a good car in its day, but it's pretty old now. runs pretty well, though, when it's in shape."
-"i hope," said clint, "it's in shape today."
-"sure. i was two hours fixing it this morning. now i'll show you if she can go."
-he did and she could! they passed the school and the football field at a thirty-mile clip and, a little further out of town, hit it up still faster. clint and amy bumped around in the tonneau like two dried peas in a pod. the engine was by no means noiseless and from somewhere under their feet there came a protesting grind that nearly drowned their efforts at conversation. not that that mattered, though, for they were going too fast to talk, anyway. at first they were a bit uneasy, but presently when they found that the car did not jump into a ditch or vault a fence, they got over their nervousness and thoroughly enjoyed the well-nigh breathless sensation. the driver lolled back on his spine with a nonchalance that aroused clint's admiration and envy. he wondered whether he would ever own a car and be able to go dashing through the scenery at forty miles an hour like this. and he was still wondering when something happened.
-it happened so quickly that it was all over before it had begun. at least, so amy declared afterwards. the car, which fortunately had decreased its speed to negotiate an abrupt turn in the road, suddenly shot down a slope at the left, turned around once and stopped with a disconcerting abruptness, its radiator against a four-inch birch tree. clint and amy picked themselves from the bottom of the tonneau and stared, more surprised than frightened. behind them, on the level road, a wheel--present investigation showed that it was the forward left one--was proceeding firmly, independently on its way! as they looked, open-mouthed, it began to wobble, as though doubtful of the propriety of going off on its own hook like that, and finally, after turning around several times, like a dog making its bed, it subsided in the dust.
-the driver of the car, still clutching the steering-wheel, turned a mildly surprised gaze on the boys. "now, what," he asked slowly, "do you think of that?"
-they both thought it decidedly strange, but they didn't say so. clint laughed uncertainly and took a long breath and amy viewed his surroundings interestedly.
-"when," asked amy, "does the next car go, please?"
-that flippant remark broke the tension and the driver climbed gingerly out and viewed the bare hub. "it's lucky," he ruminated, "i had you fellows in back there. if you hadn't been there i guess she'd have turned turtle on me. well, say, i've known this old boiler to do a heap of tricks, but this is a new one on me, all right!" he stood off and sought inspiration by scratching his head. the boys joined him on the ground. "just naturally slid off the hub and rolled away!" murmured the youth. "what do you think of that?"
-"i'd hate to tell you what i think of it," responded amy. "can you put it on again?"
-"yes, but it won't stay, because the nut's gone." he went off and rescued the wheel. "i guess the nut and the hub-cap came off down the road somewhere. might look for 'em, but like as not they're a mile or two back."
-"what will you do then?" asked clint.
-"foot it to wharton, i guess. maybe i can find a telephone this side somewhere." he reflected. "i guess there's one at maxwell's stock farm about three miles from here. i'll get bumstead in wharton to send out and tow me in."
-"that's all right for you," said amy, "but what are we supposed to do?"
-"guess you'll either have to foot it or wait till someone comes along. sorry, but i didn't know that wheel was thinking of leaving."
-"do you reckon there'll be someone along?" asked clint.
-"sure to be sooner or later."
-"we'll get 'sooner or later' if we're not back at school in time for supper," murmured amy. "guess we'd better hike along, clint. how far is wharton from here?"
-"about five miles, by road," said the youth. "maybe less if you cross over there and hit the trolley line. say, if you get over there you might catch a car. what time is it?"
-"just five-three," answered clint.
-"oh, well, then there won't be one along for most a half-hour. that'll be your shortest way, though."
-"we'll never get back before six," said clint.
-"more likely eight," replied amy. "well, it can't be helped. we might as well make the best of it. what are you going to do?"
-the driver of the automobile looked up the road and down. "i might go back and look for that nut," he muttered, "or i might go on to maxwell's, or i might stay here and wait for someone to come along. guess i'll wait a while."
-"well, we've got to beat it," said amy. "sorry about your car. is there anything we can do if we ever reach wharton?"
-the youth shook his head philosophically. "no, i'll get word to bumstead before you get there, i guess. much obliged. i'm sorry i got you into such a fix, fellows. i meant well." he grinned broadly.
-"that's all right," clint replied. "it wasn't your fault. good-bye. straight across that field there, you say? how far is it to the trolley?"
-"about half a mile, i guess. you'll see the poles pretty quick. good-bye, fellows. hope you get home all right. so long."
-it was all well enough for the automobile driver to tell them go straight across the field, but it was quite another thing to do it, for there was a broad and deep stream in the middle of it and no sign of a bridge anywhere in sight. there was nothing to do but follow the stream in the general direction of wharton until they could reach the trolley line. that brook wound in a most exasperating manner, finally heading back toward where they supposed the dirt road to be. amy stopped and viewed it disgustedly.
-"i'm going to wade it," he declared.
-but clint persuaded him against that plan, pointing out that he would be extremely uncomfortable riding on the trolley car with his clothes soaking wet. amy grumblingly agreed to give the stream another chance to behave itself. by that time they had been walking fully fifteen minutes and the scene of the accident was lost to sight and as yet there was no trace of the trolley line. clint looked at his watch.
-"i reckon," he said, "we wouldn't get that car even if we were on the other side now. the best thing for us to do is hit the road again and beat it for wharton on foot."
-amy agreed and they turned their backs on the stubborn brook and set off across a meadow which presently gave place to a hill-side field overgrown with bushes and weeds and prickly vines which clung to their trousers and snarled around their feet. clint said they were wild raspberry and blackberry vines and amy replied that he didn't care what sort of vines they were; they were a blooming nuisance. to avoid them, they struck westward again toward a stone wall, climbed it and found themselves in a patch of woods. they kept along the stone wall, dodging in and out through the trees, and ascending a hill. presently it dawned on clint that the stone wall, like the brook, was having fun with them. for, instead of running straight, as one would expect any decent stone wall to run, it was bending all the time to the west. clint knew it was the west because the sun was disappearing there; perhaps had disappeared by now. he acquainted amy with the discovery and they crawled across the wall again and found themselves in a worse tangle of briers than before. but they were desperate now. it was well after five and the shadows were getting long and black. they were both secretly rather glad to be out of the woods, although progress through the briers was far from enjoyable.
-finally amy, pausing to wrest himself from the frantic clutches of a blackberry vine, raised his head and viewed clint solemnly.
-"clint," he announced, "i've got something to tell you."
-"i knew that ten minutes ago," was the reply.
-"then why didn't you tell a fellow? when i'm lost i like to know it. it's the--the uncertainty that worries me. now that i know i shall never see school and josh again i feel better." amy looked about him appraisingly. "have you noticed any berries or nuts, clint? i suppose we'll have to live on them for a few days."
-"you're the only nut i've seen so far," laughed clint. "come on and let's get out of here. if i've got to be lost i'd rather be lost where there aren't so many stickers."
-"what was that?" asked clint.
-"what was what? don't tell me you heard a bear!"
-"i guess it was the trolley car. only it seemed to come from over that way, and that fellow said the trolley line was over there."
-"i don't believe that fellow very well," responded amy pessimistically. "he said he'd get us to wharton, and he didn't. he said his old car would go, and it didn't. he said we could cross that field, and it didn't--i mean we couldn't. anyway, i propose we find the road again and sit down and wait until someone comes along and gives us a lift."
-"that's all very well, but which way is the road?"
-amy considered. "search me," he said finally. "let's play it's over there, though. after all, it doesn't matter which way you walk when you're lost. you always walk in circles. we'll be back here in a while, clint. why not make believe we've walked and are back again?"
-"don't be an idiot," said clint. "come on. it'll be dark first thing we know and then we will be in a fix!"
-"and i'm getting most awfully hungry," murmured amy. "i shall search for berries as we toil weariedly onward."
-when they at last left the pasture behind them they found themselves in another wood. clint leaned hopelessly against a tree and shook his head.
-"this has ceased to be a joke, amy. we're just about lost as anything."
-"right-o!" then he added cheerfully: "but we didn't walk in a circle, clint. that's something. and that road must be somewhere around here. when you think of it it's mighty funny. there we were with a perfectly good road on one side of us and a trolley line on the other. we haven't crossed either of them. now where the dickens are they?"
-"the way i figure it," replied clint thoughtfully, "is that the trolley was a lot farther off than he said it was and that the road turned to the left again after we got off it. one thing is certain, and that is that if we haven't crossed it it must be in front of us somewhere, and the only thing to do is keep on going."
-"we'll be lucky if we get off with hard looks, i reckon," said clint gloomily.
-they went on through the woods. they were tired now and it was quite dark under the trees and they made slow progress. once clint tripped over a fallen branch and measured his length and once amy ran head-on into a sapling and declared irately, as he rubbed his nose, that he would come back the next day with an axe and settle matters. at last, after a silence of many minutes: "we're doing it, i'll bet you anything," said amy.
-"doing what?" asked clint from the twilight.
-"walking in a circle. we must be. we've been in this place for twenty minutes, at least, and we haven't found a way out yet. which way is it you go when you walk in a circle? to the left, isn't it?"
-"right, i think," answered clint doubtfully.
-"no, i'm pretty sure it's the left. tell you what we'll do, we'll take shorter steps with our right legs, clint"
-they tried it, but nothing resulted. it was pitch-black now and, since the sun was gone, getting chillier every minute. clint wished he had put on a vest, or, rather, waistcoat. he was about ready to give up when a patch of grey showed ahead and they made toward it to find themselves at the edge of the wood on a little hill. below them spread uncertainly a bare field. overhead a few stars shone. if the road was near it was too dark to see it. they sat down on the ground to rest. for several minutes neither spoke. then clint heard a chuckle from amy.
-"glad you find it so funny," he grumbled resentfully.
-"i was just thinking of something," gurgled amy. "this is saturday, you know, and we always have cold lamb for supper on saturdays. i hate cold lamb."
-"i don't see where the joke comes in," grumbled clint.
-"why, i don't have to eat the lamb, do i? isn't that funny?"
-"no, it isn't. i could eat cold--cold--cold dog! come on. we might as well walk as sit here and freeze to death."
-"i've read," said amy, "that freezing was a pleasant death, but it doesn't seem so. maybe, though, it's painful just at first." he arose with a groan and followed clint down the slope. there were more briers, and now and then they stumbled over outcropping rocks. the field seemed interminable, but after awhile clint bumped into a wall. they climbed over it and started on again.
-"if there was only a moon," said clint, "it would help some. you can't see a blessed thing."
-"if there was a moon it wouldn't get through the clouds. it feels to me as if it might rain."
-"you certainly have cheerful thoughts," clint grumbled. "i wonder if it would do any good if we yelled."
-"we might try it. suppose we give the brimfield cheer, clint."
-"oh, shut up! you make me tired, amy. come on, now. yell as loud as you can. all ready?"
-"hold on i what am i to yell?"
-"yell 'help!' you idiot!"
-"oh, all right." they raised their voices together in a loud appealing shout. then they listened. not a sound answered them.
-"once more," said clint. again they shouted and again they listened. deep silence, broken only by the chirping of crickets.
-"no good, i guess," said clint despondently.
-"i reckon we'll have to. i'm about all in, too. we'd better find a place where there's more shelter than there is here, though. gee, but we are certainly a fine pair of idiots!"
-"we are indeed!" assented amy with enthusiasm. "i suppose that the time will come, perhaps twenty or thirty years from now, when we'll be able to look back on this night's jolly adventures and appreciate all the fun we're having, but just now--" amy's voice trailed off into silence.
-"jolly adventures!" grunted clint. "don't talk rot!"
-five minutes later they stopped. that is, clint stopped and amy ran into him with a grunt.
-"i suppose you haven't got a match, have you?" asked clint.
-"right-o! you're a fine little supposer," chattered amy.
-"there's something here and i want to see what it is," said clint. as he spoke he moved forward a step or two and felt around in the darkness. "it feels like a fence," he muttered, "a board fence. no, it isn't, it's a house! here's a window."
-"a hole, i'd call it," said amy. "let's find the door."
-they moved to the right, following the building, and promptly collided with a tree. they had to go around that, since there was no room to squeeze past it. then the hut, for it was evidently no more, presented a doorway, with a door half-open on broken hinges. they hesitated a moment.
-"wonder what's inside," said clint in a low voice.
-"spooks," suggested amy, none too bravely.
-"shut up! would you go in?"
-"sure, i would. come on."
-very cautiously they edged past the crazy door, their hands stretched warily ahead. there was a sudden scurrying sound from the darkness and they jumped back and held their breaths.
-"p-probably a rat," whispered amy.
-"or a squirrel," said clint. they listened. all was silent again. a damp and musty odour pervaded the place. under their feet the floor boards had rotted and as they made a cautious circuit of the interior they trod as often on soil as on wood. the hut was apparently empty of everything save a section of rusted stovepipe, dangling from a hole in the roof, some damp rags and paper in a corner and a broken box. clint discovered the box by falling over it with a noise that sent amy a foot off the ground. when all was said the advantages presented by the hut were few. it did protect them from the little chill breeze that stirred and it put a roof over their heads, although, as clint said, if it rained before morning they'd probably find the roof of little account. on the other hand, it was damper than the outdoors and the mustiness was far from fragrant. they decided, however, to take up their quarters there until morning. looking for the road was evidently quite useless, and, anyway, they were much too tired to tramp any longer. they found a place away from door and window where some of the floor-boards still survived and sank down with their backs to the wall. amy heaved a great sigh of relief.
-"gee," he muttered, "this is fine!"
-"pull the blanket up," murmured clint with a pathetic effort at humour. amy chuckled weakly.
-"i can't reach it," he said. "guess it's on the floor. anyway, the night air is very beneficial."
-"could you eat anything if you had it, amy?"
-"shut up, for the love of mike! i could eat a kitchen range. clint, did i cast any aspersions awhile ago on cold lamb?"
-"uh-huh," said the other faintly.
-"i was afraid so. i wish i hadn't now. a great, big platter of cold lamb would--would--oh, say, i could love it to death! gee, but i'm tired! and sleepy, too. aren't you?"
-clint's response was a long, contented snore. amy grunted. "i see you're not," he murmured. "well--" he pushed himself a little closer to clint for warmth and closed his eyes.
-many times they stirred and muttered and reached for bedclothes that were not there, but i doubt if either of them once really fully awoke until a sudden glare of light illumined the hut and flashed on their closed eyelids.
-the mysterious auto
-they awoke then, alarmed and confused, and stared with sleepy eyes at the white radiance which, entering door and window, showed with startling detail the bare walls of their refuge. even as they looked the light vanished and, by contrast, the darkness seemed blacker than ever.
-"awake, amy?" whispered clint.
-"yes. say, what the dickens was that?"
-"i don't know. listen!"
-from somewhere not far away came the steady purring of a motor car. their minds didn't work very quickly yet, and it was fully a minute before clint exclaimed: "an auto! then we must be near the road!"
-he scrambled to his feet and crept, unsteadily because of chilled limbs, to the doorway. amy followed. at first there was nothing to be seen. the night was still cloudy. but the sound of the running motor reached them distinctly, and, after a minute of strained peering into the darkness, they made out a line of trees against the sky. apparently there was a road between them and the trees and the automobile was in the road. but no lights showed from it.
-"do you suppose," whispered amy, "it's that fellow looking for us?"
-"no, but maybe, whoever it is, he will give us--"
-clint's whisper stopped abruptly. a light flashed a few yards away, such an illumination as might be from a pocket electric lamp, and a voice broke the stillness. clint grasped amy's arm, warning to silence. footsteps crossed the ground toward the hut.
-again the light flashed, but this time its rays were directed toward the ground and showed two pairs of legs and something that looked like a stout stick. then it went out again and the footsteps stopped. the two men, whoever they were and whatever they were doing, remained some twenty feet from the watchers at the door. now and then they spoke, but so softly that the boys could not hear what was said. neither could they determine what the other sound was that reached them. it seemed almost as though the men were scuffing about the ground, and the absurd notion that they had lost something and were seeking it occurred to both. but to look for anything in the dark when there was a light at hand was too silly, and that explanation was discarded. for fully ten minutes--it seemed much longer to the shivering pair in the doorway--the motor chugged and the men continued their mysterious occupation. amy's teeth were chattering so that clint squeezed his arm again. then the light again flashed, swept the ground for an instant and was as suddenly shut off, and the footsteps retreated.
-the boys eased their cramped positions. a minute passed. then they leaped aside from the doorway, for the flood of white light from the car was again illumining the hut and the engine was humming loudly. a moment of suspense, and the light swept past them, moved to the right, fell on a line of bushes and trees, turned back a little and bored a long hole in the darkness at the bottom of which stretched a roadway. and then, with a final sputter of racing engine and a grind of gears, the car sprang away up the road, the light dimmed and blackness fell again. the chugging of the auto diminished and died in the distance. amy arose stiffly from where he had thrown himself out of the light.
-"now, what the dickens?" he demanded puzzledly.
-"i can't imagine," replied clint. "and i don't much care. what gets me is why we didn't speak to them!"
-"that's so," agreed amy. "somehow, there was something sort of sneaky about them, though, wasn't there? bet you anything they were robbers or--or something."
-"robbers don't usually travel around the country at night in autos," said clint thoughtfully. "but i felt the way you did about them, i guess. i sort of felt that it would be just as well if we didn't butt in! one of them had a club that looked right hefty."
-"let's go out there and see if we can find anything," suggested amy.
-"all right, but i don't suppose we can even find the place in the dark."
-they went out very cautiously and tramped about where it seemed that the mysterious visitors had been, and amy even got down on hands and knees and felt over the ground. but nothing of moment rewarded their search, the only thing either of them discovered being a head-high bush into which clint walked. at last:
-"all right. i wish i knew what those fellows were up to, though. maybe if we waited until daylight--"
-"and froze to death! nothing doing," chattered amy. "curiosity killed a cat, and although i don't feel exactly kittenish, i refuse to take any chances. what time do you suppose it is?"
-"about midnight, i guess." clint drew out his watch, but he couldn't even discern the outline of it. "a fellow's a fool to go without matches," he muttered disgustedly.
-"bet you it's a whole lot later than that," said amy. "anyway, let's get going. which direction do you think wharton is?"
-they debated that for some time after they had reached the road, and in the end they decided that the town lay to their left, although, as clint pointed out, the men in the automobile had gone in the opposite direction.
-"they might be going to thacher," said amy. "anyhow, we're bound to get somewhere in time. all i ask of fortune is a bed and a breakfast; and i could do without the bed, i guess. somewhere in the world, clint there are two cups of hot coffee waiting for us. is that not a cheering thought?"
-"i wish i had mine now," replied the other shiveringly. "i dare say we're headed in the wrong direction for wharton."
-"say not so," exclaimed amy, whose spirits were rapidly returning. "courage, faint heart! onward to coffee!"
-for awhile they speculated on the mysterious mission of the two men in the automobile, but neither of them could offer a satisfactory solution of the problem, and finally they fell silent. fortunately the road ran fairly straight and they got off it only once. after they had been walking what seemed to them to be about an hour, although there was no way of knowing, clint called attention to the fact that he could see the road. amy replied that he couldn't, but in a moment decided that he could. to the left of them there was a perceptible greying of the sky. after that morning came fast. in a few minutes they could make out dimly the forms of trees beside the way, then more distant objects became visible and, as by a miracle, the sleeping world suddenly lay before them, black and grey in the growing light. somewhere a bird twittered and was answered. a chilling breeze crept across a field, heralding the dawn and bringing shivers to the boys. soon after that they came across the first sign of life, a farm with a creaking windmill busily at work, and a light showing wanly in an upper window of the house.
-"some poor fellow is getting out of a nice, warm bed," soliloquised amy. "how i pity him! can't you see him shaking his fist at the alarm-clock and shivering as he gets into his panties?"
-"he's lucky to have a nice, warm bed," responded clint. "if i had one it would take more than an alarm-clock to get me out of it!"
-"me too! say, what do you think about sneaking over there to the stable and hitting the hay for a couple of hours? maybe the chap might give us some coffee, too."
-"more likely he'd set the dog on us at this time of morning," answered clint. and, to lend weight to his objection, a challenging bark came across the field.
-"right-o," agreed amy. "i didn't want any coffee, anyway. isn't that a sign-post ahead?"
-it was a sign-post, looming black and forbidding, like a wayside gibbet, where a second road turned to the left. "wharton, 2 m--levidge's mills, 4 m--custer, 6 m," they read with difficulty.
-"we can do two miles in half an hour easily," said amy. "gee, i can almost smell that coffee, clint!"
-they went on in the growing light, passing another farm-house presently and another unfriendly dog. the greyness in the east became tinged with rose. birds sang and fluttered. a rabbit hopped nimbly across the road ahead of them and disappeared, with a taunting flick of his little white tail, in the bushes. further on a chipmunk chattered at them from the top of the wall and then, with long leaps, raced ahead to stop and eye them inquiringly, finally disappearing with a last squeal of alarm. a second sign-post renewed their courage. wharton, it declared, was but a mile distant. but that was a long, long last mile! they were no longer sleepy, but their legs were very tired and the chilly breeze still bored through their coats. but their journey came to an end at last. straggling houses appeared, houses with little gardens and truck patches about them. then came a factory building with row on row of staring windows just catching the first faint glow of the sun. then they crossed a railroad and plunged into the town.
-but it was a silent, empty town, for this was sunday morning, and their steps on the brick sidewalk echoed lonesomely. the awful thought that perhaps there would be no eating-place open assailed them and drew a groan of dismay from amy. "still," he declared, "if the worst comes to the worst, we can break a window and get taken to jail. they feed you in jail, don't they?" he added wistfully.
-but near the centre of town a cheering sight met their anxious eyes. a little man in a white apron was sweeping the doorway of a tiny restaurant, yawning and pausing at intervals to gaze curiously toward the approaching travellers. before they reached him, however, his curiosity either gave out or was sated, for, with a final tap of the broom against the doorway, he disappeared. "suppose," exclaimed amy, "he changes his mind and locks up again!" they urged tired feet to a faster pace and reached the door. on one wide window was the legend: "cannister's café." the door was closed but unlocked. they opened it and entered.
-there was no one in sight, but from beyond a partition which ran across the room at the back came the cheering sounds of rattling dishes and the heartening fragrance of coffee. there were eight small tables and a little counter adorned with a cash register and a cigar case, and these, excepting an appropriate number of chairs, comprised the furnishings; unless the various signs along each wall could be included. these announcements were printed in blue on grey card-board, and the boys, sinking into chairs at the nearest table, read them avidly: "beef stew, 15 cents"; "pork and beans, 10 cents"; "boiled rice and milk, 10 cents"; "coffee and crullers, 10 cents"; "oysters in season"; "small steak, 30 cents"; "buy a ticket--$5.00 for $4.50"; "corn beef hash, 15 cents; with 1 poached egg, 20 cents."
-their eyes met and they smiled. it was pleasantly warm in the little restaurant, the sun was peeping in at the window, the odour of coffee was more delightful than anything they had ever inhaled and it was extremely good to stretch tired legs and ease aching muscles, and for several minutes they were content to sit there and feast their hungry eyes on the placards and enjoy in anticipation the cheer that was to follow.
-"what are you going to have?" asked amy presently.
-"beans and a lot of bread-and-butter and seventy-five cups of coffee," replied clint rapturously.
-"corned beef hash for mine. and a lot more coffee than that. say, why doesn't he come?"
-evidently the proprietor had drowned the sound of their entrance with the rattle of dishes, for the swinging door in the partition remained closed and the little ledged window beside it showed only a dim vista of hanging pots and saucepans. amy rapped a knife against the edge of a glass and the noise at the rear ceased abruptly, the door swung open and the man in the enveloping white apron viewed them in surprise. he was a bald-headed, pink-faced little man with a pair of contemplative blue eyes.
-"morning, boys," he said. "i didn't hear you come in. don't usually get customers till most seven on sundays. want something to eat?"
-"yes, can we have something pretty quick?" asked clint. "we're nearly starved."
-"well, i ain't got anything cooked, but the fire's coming up fast and it won't take long. what would you want?"
-they made known their wishes and the little man leisurely vanished again. a clock above the counter announced the time to be twenty-five minutes to seven.
-"we might have got him to bring us some coffee now," said amy.
-"i'd rather wait until i get my breakfast," clint replied. "i wonder when we get a train for brimfield. i reckon they don't run very often on sundays."
-"maybe this chap can tell us. we'll ask him when he comes back."
-other and delicious odours mingled with the coffee fragrance, and a promising sound of sizzling reached them. "that," said amy, settling back luxuriously and patting his waistcoat, "is my corned beef hash. i sort of wish i'd ordered an egg with it. or, maybe, two eggs. guess i will. some crullers would taste pretty good, wouldn't they?"
-"anything would taste good," agreed clint longingly.
-ten minutes passed and the door opened to admit another customer. after that they drifted in by ones and twos quite fast. the boys gathered that the newcomers were men employed at the railway yards nearby, and presently amy questioned one who was reading a paper at the next table.
-"can you tell us when we can get a train for brimfield?" he asked.
-"brimfield? yes, there's one at seven-twelve and one at nine-forty-six."
-"i guess we couldn't get the seven-twelve," said amy, glancing at the clock. "the other would be all right."
-"i ain't sure if that one stops at brimfield, though. say, pete, does the nine-forty-six stop at brimfield?"
-"no," replied a man at another table. "express to new york."
-"you're wrong," volunteered a third. "it runs accommodation from here on sundays."
-"that's so," agreed the other. "i'd forgot."
-amy thanked his informant and at that moment the proprietor, who had been in and out taking orders, appeared with the boys' breakfasts. the baked beans and the hash were sizzling hot and looked delicious, and the coffee commanded instant attention. a plate piled with thick slices of bread and two small pats of very yellow butter completed the repast. for five minutes by the clock not a word was said at that table. then, having ordered a second cup of coffee apiece, the boys found time to pause.
-"gee, but that was good!" murmured amy. "i suppose i must have eaten awfully fast, for i don't seem to want those eggs now."
-"how about the crullers?" asked clint.
-"they wouldn't be half bad, would they? have some?" clint nodded and four rather sad-looking rings of pastry appeared. it was still only a quarter past seven and, since they could not continue their journey before nine-forty-six, they consumed the crullers and their second cups of coffee more leisurely. the little restaurant began to get pretty smoky, and the combined odours of a dozen breakfasts, now that they had completed their own repasts, failed to delight them. but they stayed on, hating the thought of the walk to the station, quite satisfied to remain there without moving in the warmth and cheerful bustle. if they could have laid their heads against the wall and gone to sleep they'd have asked nothing more. amy nodded drowsily once or twice and clint stared out the sunny window with the somnolent gaze of a well-fed cat. it was, he reflected, a very beautiful world. and then their pleasant day-dreams were disturbed by the sudden and rather boisterous entry of a big, broad-shouldered man who seemed to take entire possession of the restaurant and quite dwarf its size.
-"hello, boys!" the newcomer skimmed his hat dexterously to a peg, pulled out a chair with twice as much noise as usually accompanies such an operation and plumped his big body into it with a heartiness which almost set the dishes to rattling in the kitchen. everyone in the room except the two boys answered his greeting.
-"hello, mike! how's the lad?"
-"fine! and hungry to beat the band! can, you old rascal! where are you? fry me a couple of eggs and some bacon, can, and draw one."
-"all right, mike!" the proprietor's pink face showed for an instant at the window. the newcomer opened a morning paper with a loud rustling, beating the sheets into place with the flat of a huge hand. "you fellows hear about the burglary?" he asked.
-"burglary? no. where was it?" asked several voices.
-"black and wiggin's jewelry store."
-"what? who says so?"
-"i says so! i seen it just now."
-"saw the burglary?"
-"naw! saw where they'd cut a chunk out of the window and gone in. where you fellows been all morning?"
-"maybe you did it, mike," suggested a small man across the room, winking to his neighbour.
-"maybe i wished i had!" was the reply. "they say they got away with nearly a thousand dollars' worth of stuff. blew the safe, they did, and cleaned it out pretty."
-"that right? when was this, mike?"
-this aroused laughter, and an excited discussion of the burglary followed, during which mr. cannister quite forgot his orders on the stove and was only recalled to them by an odour of scorching eggs. two of the customers, having finished breakfast, made known their intention of visiting the scene of the crime, and went out. at the first table inside the door two boys were regarding each other with round and inquiring eyes.
-"do you suppose--" began clint. but amy hissed him to silence.
-"wait till we hear more," he cautioned.
-but, although they listened with all ears, little more information was forthcoming, save that one carey, chief of the local police, was already busy. "he's telephoned all around," said mike, "and told them to look out for the automobile. but, say, what chance has he got, eh? you can't stop every automobile that goes through and search it for jewelry!"
-"what sort of jewelry did they get, mike?" asked the proprietor.
-"rings and pins and things like that." he chuckled. "it seems that whoever closed up last night left the box they keep their diamonds and stones that ain't set in out of the safe. they found it back of the counter this morning. the robbers hadn't ever seen it. i guess they'd be good and mad if they knew!"
-"come on," whispered amy. they settled their checks and left the restaurant, trying to disguise their eagerness. after the door had closed behind them the man whom they had asked about the brimfield trains inquired: "who are those boys, can?"
-"don't know. they walked in here about six-thirty and wanted some breakfast. said they was nigh starved. looked it, too. and mighty tired. nice-appearing young fellows. off on a lark, maybe, trampin' around country."
-"thought they were strangers here. got any more coffee, can?"
-"what do you think?" asked amy eagerly as they walked up the street.
-"i don't know," replied clint doubtfully. "what would they be doing there?"
-"burying the stuff they stole, of course! that's what they did, all right. you see if it isn't. maybe they'll offer a reward and all we'll have to do is go there and dig the things up and--"
-"i guess we'd better find the police station and tell what we know, reward or no reward," answered clint. "and another thing we'd better do is telephone to school and tell them we aren't dead. we're going to catch the mischief, anyway, i reckon, but we might as well save ourselves all we can. wonder where there's a telephone."
-"there's a blue sign over there in the next block," said amy. "who--who's going to do the talking?"
-"well, you're pretty fond of it," suggested clint.
-"not today! not on sundays, clint! i never could talk on sundays! you'd better do it. and get josh himself, if you can. he'll like it better than if he hears it from an h.m. tell him we got lost and--"
-but amy's further instructions were interrupted. a blue-coated policeman who had been observing their approach with keen interest hailed them from the curb at the corner.
-"hello, boys!" he said. "where'd you come from?"
-"we came from thacher," replied clint. "that is, we came from there this morning, or, rather, last night. we're from brimfield, really."
-"are, eh? thought you said thacher. what you doing here?''
-"waiting for a train. we lost our way last night and only got here this morning."
-"why didn't you take the seven-o'clock then?"
-"we didn't know about it until it was too late. we were getting some breakfast at a restaurant down the street there. we're going to take the nine-forty-six."
-"the nine-forty-six is an express to new york, son. what's your name? and what's his?"
-"my name's thayer and his is byrd. we go to brimfield academy."
-"do, eh? aren't you a long way from home?"
-"yes. you see, we went over to thacher to the football game and lost the trolley. and then a fellow offered to give us a ride in an automobile as far as this place and we got in and a wheel came off and we had to walk the rest of the way. but we got lost in the woods somewhere and--"
-"what sort of a looking fellow was this? the one with the auto, i mean?"
-"oh, he was about twenty years old, with kind of long hair, light-brown, and sort of greyish eyes."
-"tell you his name?"
-"no, sir, we didn't ask him. he drives the auto for some liveryman in thacher, he said."
-"hm. well, that may be all right, kids, but i've been instructed to look out for suspicious characters this morning, and i guess you'd both better step around to the station with me." he smiled. "i don't suppose the chief'll keep you very long, but he might like to ask you some questions. see?"
-the boys nodded not over-enthusiastically and accompanied the officer. the police station was but a half-block distant on a side street and their captor ushered them up the steps and into a room where a tall, bushy-whiskered man with much gold on his shoulders sat writing at a flat-topped desk.
-"chief, here's a couple of youngsters i met on main street just now. i guess they're all right, but i thought maybe you'd like to look 'em over."
-the chief nodded and proceeded to do so. he had a most disconcerting stare, had the chief, and the boys began to wonder if they had not, perhaps, after all performed that burglary!
-"well, boys," he said finally, "where do you belong?"
-"brimfield academy," replied amy.
-"running away, are you?"
-"no, sir, we're trying to get back. we went to thacher yesterday with the football team and started over here in a fellow's auto and it broke down about--about four miles back and we got lost and slept in a sort of hut and got here this morning."
-"where was the hut?" asked the official.
-"just off the road between here and thacher. about four miles, or maybe five."
-"nearer six," corrected clint. "we walked four miles, i guess, before we found that sign-post."
-the chief questioned particularly regarding the automobile and its driver, finally taking up the telephone and inquiring of the two local garages if such a car had been brought in for repairs. both garages replied that they hadn't seen the car and the chief looked back at amy speculatively.
-"he must have gone back and found that nut," said amy, "and repaired it himself."
-"maybe," said the chief. "who did you say the fellow drove the auto for?"
-"i didn't say. i've forgotten the name. some liveryman in thacher."
-"and he was coming here to get the hotel proprietor, eh?"
-"that's what he said."
-"and you didn't see him again?"
-"no, sir, not unless--"
-amy glanced inquiringly at clint and clint nodded.
-"unless he was in the car that stopped at the hut in the night," concluded amy, "and i don't believe he was."
-the chief exchanged a quick look with the policeman and asked indifferently: "oh, there was a car stopped in the night, eh? what for? who was in it?"
-"we couldn't see who was in it. we were asleep in the hut and woke up with the light in our eyes. then we heard the car chugging on the road and two men got out and came toward the hut and sort of--sort of walked around for about ten minutes and then went off again."
-"walked around? what were they walking around for?"
-"i don't know, sir, but--"
-"we think," interrupted clint, "that they were the men who robbed the jewelry store and that they were burying the things they had stolen."
-"you do, eh? who told you any jewelry store had been robbed?"
-"we heard some men talking about it at the restaurant where we had breakfast."
-"where was that?"
-"about five blocks that way," said clint.
-"cannister was the name on the door," explained amy.
-"if you thought the men in the automobile were burying something why didn't you find out what it was after they had gone?"
-"we didn't think that until we got here and heard about the burglary. we didn't know what they were doing. it was dark and we had no matches. after they had gone we did sort of feel around there to see if we could find anything, but we couldn't."
-"what time was it?"
-"i suppose it was about four o'clock. we couldn't see our watches."
-the chief held a hand across the desk. "let me see yours," he said.
-"see what, sir?" asked clint.
-"your watch." clint took it off and laid it in the chief's hand. it was a plain and inexpensive gold watch and was quite evidently far from new. the chief examined it, opened the back and read the number, and referred to a slip of paper beside him. then he asked for amy's and smiled as amy passed him his nickel timepiece.
-"all right," he said, returning them. "what did those two men look like?"
-"we couldn't see, sir," replied amy. "they just had an electric torch and they lighted it only twice. we could just see two pairs of legs and that was all. and a stick."
-"i think it was a shovel," said clint.
-"were the lights on the car lighted all this time?"
-"no, sir, they put them out."
-"could you see the car enough to say whether it was a big one or a little one?"
-"no, sir," said clint, "but i have an idea it was sort of small. the engine sounded like it."
-"suppose you give me your names." they did so and the chief took off the telephone receiver again. "hello! get me brimfield academy at brimfield. this is chief carey. i want to talk with the president--"
-"principal, sir," whispered amy.
-"with the principal." a minute or two passed in silence. then: "hello," said the chief. "is this brimfield academy? well, who am i talking to, please? mr. ferner? fernald?" he looked questioningly at clint and clint nodded his head. "well, this is the chief of police at wharton. have you got two boys at your school named clinton thayer and amory byrd, mr. fernald? have, eh? are they there now?... i see. well, i guess i've got them here.... no, no, nothing like that. there's been a robbery here and the boys seem to think they have a clue to it. i wanted to find out if they were all right. yes, they're right here. certainly, sir."
-the chief held out the telephone and clint took it.
-"mr. fernald? this is thayer, sir. we're awfully sorry, sir, but we got lost last night and had to sleep in a hut near here and we've only just got here a little while ago. we are coming right back, sir."
-"how did you happen to get lost?" asked the principal's voice.
-clint explained as best he could.
-"byrd is there with you?"
-"yes, sir. do you want to speak to him?"
-"no. get back here as soon as you can and come and see me at once. i want this explained a little better, thayer. that's all. you're not--um--you're not in trouble with the police?"
-"all right. get back on the first train."
-clint sighed with relief as he returned the telephone to the desk.
-"was he very waxy?" asked amy anxiously.
-"not very, i reckon," clint replied. "he wants us to beat it back and see him at once."
-"i can scarcely restrain my eagerness," murmured amy.
-"what train were you thinking of taking?" asked the chief, drawing the telephone toward him again.
-"they said there was one at nine-forty-six," replied clint, "but this--this officer says it doesn't stop at brimfield."
-"is there any reward for it?" asked amy.
-"not that i know of," laughed the chief. "i guess there's a reward for the capture of the fellows who did it. if you can show us where they are you might make a couple of hundred dollars, son. the jewellers' protective association would be glad to square you."
-"i'm afraid i don't get that," mourned amy. "how much is the stuff worth that they swiped?"
-"oh, seven or eight hundred, i guess. wiggin didn't seem to know just what had been taken. here's a list of some of it, though. seven watches, eleven seals and a lot of pins and brooches and studs. they missed the unset stones, the thieves did. bill, you dig up a couple of spades somewhere and bring around here by eight."
-the policeman disappeared and the boys seated themselves to wait.
-some twenty minutes later they were headed in a big seven-seating automobile toward the scene of the boys' early morning adventure. on the front seat with the chauffeur sat chief carey and in the tonneau were clint and amy and two policemen, one of them the officer who had taken them to the station. at their feet were two brand-new spades.
-it was a fine, clear morning and promised to be quite warm by noon. but clint and amy snuggled down into the seat and presented as small a portion of their anatomies as was possible to the fresh morning breeze that rushed by them. they passed the first sign-post and the second and the first farm they had seen, but after that the road was quite unfamiliar since they had travelled over it in the dark. the car whisked along at an even thirty-mile speed until, shortly after the farm-house was passed, clint suggested that as neither he nor amy were certain as to the location of the hut the car proceed more slowly. after that a careful look-out was kept. no one in the car could recall a hut of any sort along the road, and, when they had travelled at least eight miles from wharton without finding it, chief carey showed signs of impatience. the car was stopped and a consultation was held. the boys reiterated their statement that the hut, to the best of their knowledge, was between four and six miles from wharton. finally it was decided that they should turn around and go back slowly in order that the boys could identify the spot where the automobile had met its mishap the afternoon before. clint was not at all certain that he would know the place when he saw it again, but amy stoutly asserted that he would recognise it at once. and he did.
-there, finally, was the quick turn in the road and beyond, still plainly visible, the tracks of the auto in the looser soil and turf of the bank and meadow.
-"there's the tree we ran into," pointed out amy, "and there's the field we went across. now let's see. we found a stream there; you can see it, can't you? then we followed along this side of it and up that sort of hill--"
-but beyond that he couldn't trace their wanderings. woods and pastures ran into each other confusingly. one thing was explained, however, or, rather, two things; why they didn't find the trolley line and why they didn't succeed in reaching the road again. the trolley line, the chauffeur explained, was more than a mile distant, and the road ahead of them turned widely to the left just beyond. they had, consequently, roamed over a stretch of country at least two miles broad between dirt road and railroad. when they went on, which they did very slowly, all hands peered intently along the right side of the highway. they had proceeded possibly three-quarters of a mile when one of the officers called out and the car stopped.
-"i think i saw it," he said. "anyway, there's something there. back up a little, tom." the chauffeur obeyed and the quest was at an end. there was the hut, but so hidden by young oak trees with russet leaves still hanging that only from one point was it noticeable. out they all piled.
-"now," said the chief, "you boys get in there and stand just where you did last night and then come out and indicate about where those fellows dug--if they did dig."
-"gee," muttered amy, "i'm glad we didn't accidentally disturb that, clint!"
-in the doorway they stood and tried to re-enact the happenings of the night. it wasn't easy to decide on the spot where the men had stood, however, but finally they agreed as to its probable location and walked toward the road, keeping a little to the left, for some fifteen yards. that brought them close to a six-foot bush which, they decided, was the one clint had walked into. the chief and the others joined them.
-"about here, you think?" asked the chief.
-"yes, sir, as near as we can tell," replied clint, none too confidently. they viewed the place carefully, but, save that the grass seemed a trifle more trampled than elsewhere, there was nothing to indicate that the soil had been disturbed. nothing, at least, until one of the officers picked up a torn and twisted oak-seedling some sixteen inches long which lay a few feet away. it's brown roots were broken as if it had been pulled up by force and tossed aside. the chief nodded and went minutely over the turf for a space several yards in extent, finally giving a grunt of satisfaction.
-"here you are," he said, straightening his body and pointing the toe of one broad shoe at the ground. "they lifted the turf off and put it back again. a pretty good job to do in the dark, i say. bring your shovels, men."
-it was easy enough to see the spot now that the chief had found it. the turf had been cut through with a shovel or spade and rolled or lifted back. close looking showed the incision and there still remained some loose soil about the roots of the grass at one side, although the men had evidently striven carefully to hide all traces of their undertaking. in a moment the turf was once more up and the spades were plunging into the loosened soil beneath. clint and amy watched excitedly. presently one of the officers stopped digging, since there was now only room for one spade in the excavation. once there was an expectant pause while the digger reached in with his hands and grubbed in the moist red gravel. but it was only a stone he pulled out.
-the hole was down almost two feet now and the chief was beginning to frown anxiously. "they made a good job of it," he growled. "i guess--"
-but he forgot to say what he guessed, for just at that moment there was an exclamation from the officer who was wielding the spade and all bent forward as he dropped his implement and reached down into the hole. when he straightened up again he brought a small bundle wrapped in a piece of black rubber sheeting. the chief seized it and unwrapped the sheeting, laying bare a small pasteboard box tied with a piece of pink string. with the string undone and the lid off one glance was enough to show that they had found the stolen jewelry.
-"that's the stuff, all right," said the chief with satisfaction. "and i guess it's all here, from the looks. you'd better dig down and make sure, though."
-the officer obeyed, while the others crowded around the chief. the stolen things had been tossed carelessly into the box, a few still wrapped in squares of tissue paper but the most rattling together indiscriminately. there were watches and scarfpins and brooches and studs and watch charms and several bracelets and one platinum and gold chain. the robbers had selected carefully, for every article was valuable, although it still seemed possible that the chief's estimate of seven hundred dollars was generous enough.
-"they'll be some surprised if they ever come back for it, won't they?" asked the chauffeur with a chuckle. "say, chief, why don't you set a man to watch for 'em?"
-"i would if i knew when they were coming," replied the official drily. "but they may not come back here for a month. maybe they won't then. they won't if we can get our hands on them," he added grimly.
-the officer who had been probing the hole further reported nothing more there, and, well satisfied, they returned to the car.
-"i'll check this up when we get back to the station," said the chief, tossing the box carelessly to the seat. "black and wiggin are mighty lucky to get it back. they wouldn't have if it hadn't been for these chaps. say, boys, you tell wiggin he ought to give you something for this. you certainly deserve it." and the officers agreed.
-"oh, if there isn't any reward offered," said amy, "we don't want anything."
-"well, he ought to be willing to give you something. how much time is there before that train goes? most an hour? that's all right then. we'll go back to the station and i'll 'phone wiggin to come around."
-the return trip was made in quick time and almost before they knew it the boys were back in the chief's office at the station house. the chief wouldn't consent to their leaving until mr. wiggin had arrived, although they both declared that the jeweller didn't owe them anything and that they mustn't on any account lose their train.
-they obeyed and looked on while he dumped the things from the box to the top of the desk and pulled his memorandum toward him. one by one he pushed the articles aside and checked the list with a pencil. finally he chuckled. "wiggin didn't know much more'n half the stuff he lost," he said. "there's nine watches here instead of seven and a lot more other things than he's got down here on his list. here he is now, i guess."
-mr. wiggin was a bewhiskered, nervous-mannered little man and he hurried into the chief's office as though he had run all the way from his house or store.
-"well, well, chief!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "so you've found it, eh? i want to know! i want to know! got the thieves too, eh?" he scowled darkly at clint and amy, and amy was heard to assert under his breath that he hoped mr. wiggin would choke. the chief laughed.
-"no, we haven't got the thieves, mr. wiggin. these boys gave us the clue that led to the stuff. shake hands, boys, with mr. wiggin. that's byrd and that's thayer. they're brimfield academy fellows, mr. wiggin, and they happened to see the thieves burying the things about five miles out of town toward thacher." whereupon the chief told the story to the jeweller and the latter, recovering from his embarrassment, insisted on shaking hands again.
-"i want to know!" he ejaculated, beaming at them like a pleased sparrow. "i want to know! smart lads, eh, chief? now--now--" he hesitated, his eyes darting from clint to amy and from amy to the chief. then he cleared his throat nervously, slapped his hands together gently and continued. "there--hem--there was no reward offered, boys, but--"
-"that's all right," replied amy briskly. "we don't want anything, mr. wiggin."
-"no, no, of course not, of course not! only--hem--i was thinking that--possibly, say, fifty dollars between you, or--"
-"no, thanks," interrupted clint. "we're glad we were able to help you recover the things, sir. and now i reckon we'll have to be getting to the station."
-but mr. wiggin was the sort who becomes more insistent against opposition. really, the boys must take something! really they must! he appealed to chief carey, and the chief agreed. "now--now--" continued the jeweller, "say a watch apiece, if they didn't like to take money. just a gold watch. here were two nice ones!"
-in the end his insistence won, the boys becoming at last too embarrassed and too fearful of losing their train to refuse longer. a handsome gold watch, not much thicker than a book-cover, was attached to amy's chain, while clint, having a perfectly good watch already, was invited to select something else from the array on the desk and finally allowed himself to become possessed of a diamond and ruby scarfpin which was much the finest thing he had ever owned. and then, with ten minutes to reach the station in, they shook hands with the jeweller and chief carey and relievedly hurried out, the chief's hearty invitation to come and see him again pursuing them into the corridor.
-a very few minutes afterwards they were seated in the train and speeding toward brimfield.
-"and now," said amy brightly, "all we've got to do is to give our little song and dance to josh!"
-brimfield meets defeat
-the interview with mr. fernald was not, however, the ordeal they had feared. the principal pointed out to them that they should have returned from thacher to wharton by trolley with the other students, and not experimented with a strange automobile. when the boys had shown proper contrition for that fault mr. fernald allowed a note of curiosity to appear in his voice.
-"now," he said, "about this burglary, byrd. what--a--what was all that?"
-so amy narrated in detail and they exhibited their presents and the principal was frankly interested. he smiled when he returned clint's scarfpin. "you young gentlemen had quite an adventure, and i consider that you behaved very--ah--circumspectly. i congratulate you on your rewards. if i remember rightly, byrd, you lost a watch last winter."
-"yes, sir, i left it at the rink."
-"thank you, sir," said amy. "i'm sorry we--got lost, mr. fernald."
-"are you, byrd?" there was a twinkle in the principal's eye. "you know if you hadn't got lost you wouldn't have a nice new watch!"
-they were challenged several times before they reached their room by boys who wanted to know where they had been and what had happened to them, but both were too sleepy and tired to do the subject justice and so they observed a mysterious reticence and resisted all pleas. they bathed, amy nearly falling asleep in the tub, and then stretched themselves out gratefully on their beds. that was the last either knew until, almost two hours later, penny durkin began an ambitious attempt on handel's largo in the next room. they managed to get to dining hall without being penalised for tardiness and ate like wood-choppers.
-that evening they went over to hensey and called on jack innes and amy told the story of their adventures to a roomful of fellows who utterly refused to believe a word of it until clint had subscribed to the main facts and the watch and scarfpin had been passed around. you could scarcely have blamed them for their incredulity, either, for the story as amy told it was wonderfully and fearfully embroidered. it was a good story, though, a mighty good story. amy acknowledged that himself!
-"it's a wonder," jeered tracey black, "you didn't stay over at wharton and help your friend the chief capture the robbers!"
-"he wanted us to," replied amy gravely, "but of course we couldn't. we gave him some good advice, though, and told him he could call us up by 'phone if he got stuck."
-"gee, i'll bet that was a big relief to him," said steve edwards. "i feel sort of sorry for those burglars, fellows. they haven't a ghost of a show now."
-amy smiled tolerantly.
-"oh, piffle," grunted still, "who ever heard of morgan's school until you put it on the schedule, tracey?"
-"i didn't put it on. lawrence did, naturally. and it's silly to say that no one ever heard of morgan's. just because it isn't near new york you think it can't possibly be any good!"
-"where is it, anyway?" inquired tom hall.
-"manningsville, delaware," replied the manager. "it's a whopping big school, with about three hundred fellows, and last year they licked about everyone they met up with."
-"time, then, they came up here and saw a real team," said marvin. "bet you we score twice as much as they do, tracey."
-"bet you we don't! bet you the sodas for the crowd!"
-"got you," answered marvin, pulling still's pillow further under his head where he lay sprawled on the bed. "get your mouths fixed, fellows. mr. black's treat!"
-"what do you think, jack?" asked edwards.
-"shucks, i don't know anything about it. and i don't see that it matters. if we beat them, all right; if they beat us, all right. the main thing is to play the best we know how and get as much fun and profit as we can out of the game. i don't care a brass tack about any of the games except claflin and chambers. i would like to beat chambers, after the way they mussed us up last year. by the way, fellows, i got word from detweiler this morning and he says he will come about the first of november and put in a week or so on the tackles and ends. that's bully news, isn't it?"
-several agreed enthusiastically that it was, but gilbert, a second team substitute, who was a protégé of marvin's, asked apologetically who detweiler was.
-"joe detweiler was all-america tackle on the princeton team last year," responded captain innes, "and the year before that, too. he was captain here five years ago."
-"oh, that detweiler!" said gilbert. "i didn't know!"
-"for the love of mike, amy, shut up!" begged marvin.
-"oh? very well! if you want the poor idiot to go through life with no knowledge of the important--er--"
-"we do!" agreed innes.
-"of course i know who detweiler is," said gilbert, a trifle indignantly. "but there might be more than one, mightn't there? how did i know--"
-"more than one detweiler!" exclaimed amy horrifiedly. "is there more than one washington? more than one napoleon? more than one huxley? more than one thackeray? more than one--one byrd?"
-"you bet there are!" asserted black. "there are jays and parrots!"
-"amy, you're a crazy nut," laughed innes.
-"a nut i may be," replied amy with dignity, "but i have raisins."
-there was an excruciating howl of agony and amy was violently set upon, deposited on the nearer bed and pummelled until he begged for mercy. when quiet was restored edwards asked: "is 'boots' coming back this year, jack?"
-"yes, he'll be here in a day or two, i think. robey had a letter from him last week."
-"thought someone said he wasn't coming back," observed still.
-"he said in the spring he didn't think he could," explained jack, "but you couldn't keep him away if you tried, i guess. you second team fellows will know what hustling means when he takes hold of you, thayer."
-"his name is boutelle," explained amy. "we call him 'boots' for short; a sort of a last name." amy chuckled gleefully.
-"what's the joke?" asked clint.
-"didn't you get it? last name; see? 'boots'--last!"
-"thank you! i was afraid i'd have to explain it for you in a foot-note."
-"what's he do? coach the second?"
-"he do. and he's a mighty nice chap, 'boots' is. the fellows were quite crazy about him last year. he did good work, too. turned out a second that was some team, believe me! maybe if 'boots' gets hold of you, clint, you may amount to something. i've done what i could for you, but i think you've got where you need a firmer hand."
-"you're getting where you need a firm foot," laughed clint. "and i'm the one to apply it!"
-"tut, tut!" murmured the other. "never start anything, clint, you can't finish. right wheel, march! oh, dear, penny is at it again! and i had hoped for a quiet evening!"
-the middle of the week mr. boutelle arrived and the second team got down to business. the training-table was started, and including coach boutelle was made up of sixteen members. "boots" presided at the head and captain turner at the foot, and clint was sandwiched in between kingston, who played guard, and don gilbert, a substitute guard. the team had its own signals now and practised on its own gridiron each afternoon until it was time to scrimmage with the 'varsity. clint was first choice right tackle, with robbins close behind and hard after him. being at training-table was lots of fun, although clint regretted leaving amy. the latter's dire forebodings regarding the food at the second's table proved unjustified. they had plenty to eat and of the sort that was best for them. steaks and chops and roasts formed the meat diet, eggs appeared at breakfast and supper, there was all the milk they could drink, and fresh vegetables and light desserts completed the menus. "boots" was rather strict in the matter of diet and fresh bread agitated him as a red flag agitates a bull. clint thought he had never seen so much toast in his life as appeared on and disappeared from the second team's table that fall. another thing that "boots" would not tolerate was water with meals. it was, he declared, ruinous to the digestion. "all the milk you want, but no water" was "boots'" rule, and in consequence the four big white pitchers that stood in a row down the middle of the board had to be refilled at every meal. the boys at the training-tables paid a dollar a week extra for board, but clint still felt that he was cheating someone and feared it was the cow!
-"boots" worked them hard, but his own enthusiasm was so contagious that he soon had them as eager as he was, and the afternoon when they kept the 'varsity from scoring during two twelve-minute periods was a red-letter day, and supper that evening was almost like a banquet. fortunately the 'varsity table and the second team table were separated by the width of the hall. otherwise the 'varsity fellows might have taken exception to some of the remarks that passed between the elated second team members.
-that scoreless tie did not take place just yet, however. just now the second was only finding itself and the 'varsity romped through or around it almost at will. the final scrimmage before the morgan's school contest was on friday and the varsity had no trouble scoring twice in twenty minutes of actual playing time. but even then the second was beginning to show possibilities and the first team fellows were forced to work hard for the two touchdowns they secured. coach robey was unusually grim that afternoon and so many changes were made in the line-up of the 'varsity that assistant manager morton's brain reeled as he tried to keep track of the players. it was suspected that the head coach was far from satisfied with the first-string backs and it was predicted on the stand that afternoon that before the season was much older there would be considerable of a shake-up in their ranks. freer was looked on as having a good chance to displace kendall, and st. clair, who although he had been playing but one year was developing rapidly into a clever half, had many partisans who considered him the equal of the veteran still.
-on saturday "boots" put the second through an hour's scrimmage and consequently the varsity game with morgan's school was nearly half over when clint and the others pulled on sweaters and blankets and hustled across to the nearby gridiron and settled to watch. morgan's presented a very husky lot of chaps, long-legged, narrow-hipped fellows who appeared to be trained to the minute.
-"they look," confided clint to don gilbert, "as if they were all the same height and size and style. they must buy 'em by the dozen."
-gilbert chuckled. "'buy them' is good," he said. "they say half of them don't pay a cent of tuition. same way with their baseball fellows. i know a chap who goes to prentiss hall, and prentiss and morgan's are rivals, you know. he says half the fellows who play football and baseball and things at morgan's don't have to pay a cent."
-"maybe he's prejudiced," laughed clint. "you hear a lot of that sort of stuff, gilbert, and it's always about the other fellow!"
-"well, that's what dave larned says, anyway. say, they are fast though, aren't they!" ejaculated gilbert.
-they certainly were, as brimfield was discovering to her cost. with the second quarter almost over and no score by either side, the orange-and-blue-stockinged visitors were behaving very much as if they meant to put a touchdown over. morgan's had secured the ball by fair catch on her own thirty-eight yards after a poor attempt at a punt by harris, and now she was turning brimfield's right flank nicely. trow, tackle on that side, was boxed twice in succession; roberts, right end, was bowled over and two rushes gained first down on the twenty-five-yard line. coach robey sped holt in for roberts and holt managed to upset the next play for a yard gain. then morgan's swung her attack against left guard and churchill was caught napping and the whole backfield swept over him for four yards. a fake-kick, with the ball going to a rangey morgan's full-back, proved good for the rest of the distance; edwards missing a tackle that would have spoiled the attempt far back of the line. the only thing that saved brimfield from being scored on then and there was the decision of the orange-and-blue's quarter-back to pass up a field-goal in favour of a touchdown. from the thirteen yards a goal-from-field was more than a possibility, but the quarter was ambitious and wanted six points instead of three, and so plugged the ball across the field to a waiting end on a forward pass. fortunately for the defenders of the west goal edwards dived into the catcher at the last moment and the ball grounded. and then, before another play could be pulled off, the whistle blew.
-when the third period began the head coach had made many substitutions. blaisdell had taken churchill's place at left guard, gafferty had gone in for hall in the other guard position, freer was at right half instead of kendall and rollins had ousted harris at full-back. whatever may have been said to the brimfield warriors during that fifteen minutes' breathing space, it brought results. marvin speeded the team up and the men no longer allowed their opponents to get the jump on them each time. in the first five minutes brimfield was twice penalised for off-side play. marvin got away for a thrilling run along the side line soon after morgan's kicked off, and placed the pigskin on the enemy's thirty-four yards after a gain of over forty. then rollins, who was a heavily-built, hard-plugging chap, smashed the line on the right and, keeping his feet cleverly, bored through for six. a forward failed and, on third down, freer punted to the morgan's twelve yards and both edwards and holt reached the catcher before he could start. a whirlwind double-pass back of the line sent a half around edwards' end and gained three, and was followed by a skin-tackle play that secured three more past trow. but morgan's had to punt then, and a fine kick followed and was caught by still on his forty-five. with good interference he secured five before he was thrown. brimfield, still working fast, reached the opponent's thirty-five before a punt was again necessary. this time innes passed low and freer kicked into the mêlée and the pigskin danced and bobbed around for many doubtful moments before marvin snuggled it under him on the morgan's forty-three yards. from there a forward went to still and gained seven, and, playing desperately, the brimfield backs ploughed through for two firsts and placed the ball on the twenty-yard line. one attempt at the left side lost ground and a delayed pass followed by a plunge at centre secured but three yards. rollins then dropped back to the twenty-five and, with the stand very quiet, dropped the ball over for three points and the first score of the game.
-brimfield applauded relievedly and morgan's kicked off again. but the period ended a minute later and the teams changed goals. morgan's put in three substitutes, one, a short, stocky guard, leading clint to remark that the orange-and-blue's supply of regular goods had given out. but that new guard played real football and braced up his side of the line so that brimfield soon left it respectfully alone and applied its efforts to the other. injuries began to occur soon after the final ten minutes commenced and two morgan's and two brimfield players retired to the side lines. brimfield lost captain innes and trow. innes' injury was slight, but trow got a blow on the back of his head that prevented him from realising what was going on for several minutes.
-morgan's came back hard in that last quarter and soon had the maroon-and-grey on the defensive. a fumbled punt by carmine, who had taken marvin's place a minute before, was secured by a morgan's end and the aspect of the game changed very suddenly. the orange-and-blue was now in possession of the ball on brimfield's twenty-six yards, and it was first down. coach robey rushed hall and churchill back to the line-up, evidently well weighted down with instructions, and, after a conference with clustered heads, brimfield faced the enemy again. morgan's adopted old-style football with a vengeance and hurled her backs at the line between tackles. twice she was stopped, but on a third attempt brimfield broke squarely in two where thursby was substituting captain innes and half the visiting team piled through. first down was secured on another attack at the same place and the ball was on the defender's sixteen yards. two yards more came past right tackle and two through centre--morgan's had discovered the weakness of thursby's defence--and the ten-yard line was almost underfoot. a conference ensued. evidently some of the enemy were favouring a field-goal, but the quarter still held out for all the law would allow and a line-shift was followed by a quick toss of the ball to one side of the field. luckily for the home team, however, it was steve edwards' side that was chosen, and edwards, while he was not quick enough to prevent the catch, stopped the runner for a yard gain. it was third down then, with the ball out of position for a field-goal and ten yards to a touchdown and the brimfield supporters, urging their team to "hold 'em!" breathed easier.
-"fourth down! five to go!" announced the referee.
-"stop 'em!" panted marvin.
-"fake!" he shouted. "fake! watch that ball! get that end, steve! hold 'em, hold 'em, brimfield!"
-and brimfield held them. at least, brimfield held all but one of them. it was unfortunate that that one should have been the one who had the ball! just what really happened was a matter of discussion for many days. it occurred so suddenly, with such an intricate mingling of backs and forwards, that brimfield was unable then or later to fathom the play. even from the side line, where coach robey and a dozen or more substitutes looked on intently, that play was puzzling. all that seemed clear then or afterwards was that the ball did actually go to the drop-kicker, that that youth swung his leg in the approved fashion, that one of the backs--some said the quarter, while others said one of the halves--ran back and took the pigskin at a hand-pass, and that subsequently a tackle who had played on the end of the line was seen tearing across the goal line well toward the other side of the field. there had undoubtedly been a lateral pass, perhaps two, but the morgan's players had so surrounded the play that the whole thing was as unfathomable as it was mysterious and as mysterious as it was unexpected. the one fact that stood out very, very clearly was that the enemy had scored a touchdown. and, although she afterwards failed to kick the goal, she had accomplished enough to humble brimfield. in the two minutes remaining the home team played desperately, trying its hardest to secure the ball and get away for a run. but the visitors refused to yield possession and the whistle sounded a defeat for the maroon-and-grey.
-"i think," said manager black to quarter-back marvin as they met at the entrance to the gymnasium, "i'll take a walnut sundae."
-what quarter-back marvin replied to manager black was both impolite and forceful.
-penny loses his temper
-what annoyed brimfield academy most about that beating was the fact that morgan's school was a stranger. being defeated in early season was nothing to be sore about; it happened every year, sometimes several times; and the score of 6 to 3 was far from humiliating; but to be defeated by a team that no one had ever heard about was horribly annoying. of course tracey black insisted to all who would listen that morgan's, instead of being unknown to fame, was in reality a strong team with a fine record behind it and an enviable reputation in its own part of the world. but tracey didn't convince anyone, i think, and the school continued to be disgruntled for the better part of a week, or possibly until the varsity went away the following saturday and won a clean-cut victory from benton military academy. last year the two schools had played a no-score tie game and consequently the maroon-and-grey's victory this year was more appreciated.
-meanwhile marvin had settled his wager at the village soda fountain and had listened with commendable patience to tracey's "i-told-you-so" remarks. all that marvin said was, when tracey had rubbed it in sufficiently: "there's just one thing you want to do, tracey, and that is get a date with those guys for next year. i won't be here, but it'll do me a whole lot of good to hear that we have rammed that old touchdown down their throats with one or two more for good measure."
-"say, you're not sore or anything, are you?" laughed tracey.
-"never you mind. i can take a licking as well as the next chap, but when a team works a sleight-of-hand gag on you, that's something different yet!"
-"i'll bet anything!" said steve edwards, "that they had two balls that day! if they didn't, i'm blessed if i can see how they got that one across the field there."
-"maybe that chap who made the touchdown had a string tied to it," suggested still. "that wouldn't be a bad scheme, eh?"
-"i don't know how they did it," said marvin soberly, setting down his empty glass with a last fond look, "but if you take my advice, tracey, you'll have it understood next year that there's to be no miracles!"
-clint regretted that defeat, but it didn't affect his spirits any. as a matter of fact, clint had reached a state of second team patriotism that precluded his being heart-broken about anything save a humiliating beating of the second. and most of the other members of mr. boutelle's constituency felt the same way. it was regrettable to have the school team worsted, but the main thing in life was the glory of the second. if coach robey had suggested that clint should throw in his lot with the 'varsity just then clint might have felt flattered but he would probably have gently and firmly declined the promotion. "boots," in short, had in a bare fortnight endowed his charges with an enthusiasm and esprit de corps that was truly remarkable. "anyone would think," said amy one day when clint had been singing the praises of the second team, "that you dubs were the only football players in school. ever hear of the 'varsity team, clint? of course i may be mistaken, but i've been given to understand that they have one or two fairly good men on the 'varsity."
-clint grinned. "that's what they tell you, amy!"
-"well, of all the swank!" exclaimed the other incredulously.
-"side, swell-headedness, dog, intolerable conceit--er--"
-"that'll do. you talk like a dictionary of synonyms."
-"you talk like a blooming idiot! why, don't you know that the second team is nothing on earth but the 'goat' for the 'varsity?"
-"yes, and the 'goat' butts pretty hard sometimes," chuckled clint.
-amy threw up his hands in despair. "you fellows are so stuck on yourselves," he said finally, "that i suppose you'll be expecting robey to discharge the 'varsity and let you play against claflin!"
-"he might do worse, i dare say," returned clint carelessly.
-"might do--here, i can't stand this! i'm going out! where's my cap?" and amy fled.
-clint didn't see a great deal of amy those days except during study hour, for amy was busy with the fall tennis tournament. besides playing in it he was managing it, and managing it entailed much visiting in the evenings, for the tournament insisted on getting horribly mixed up every afternoon owing to the failure of fellows to play when they were supposed to, and it was one of amy's duties to hunt up the offenders and threaten them with all sorts of awful fates if they didn't arise at some unseemly hour the next morning and play off the postponed match before chapel. clint went over to the courts one afternoon before practice in the hope of seeing his room-mate perform. but amy was dashing around with a score-sheet in hand and the matches in progress were not exciting.
-"who's going to win?" asked clint when amy had subsided long enough to be spoken to. "or, rather, who's going to get second place?"
-"second place? why second place?" asked amy suspiciously.
-"just wondered. of course, as you're running the thing you'll naturally get first place, amy. i was curious to know who you'd decided on for second man."
-amy laughed. "well, it will probably be holt, if he can spare enough time from football practice to play. he's had a match with lewis on for two days now. they've each won a set and holt can't play in the afternoon and lewis refuses to get up early enough in the morning. and there you are!"
-"why don't you award the match to yourself by default?" inquired clint innocently.
-"to myself? how the dickens--oh, get out of here!"
-clint got out and as he made his way across to the second team gridiron he heard amy's impassioned voice behind him.
-"say, grindell, where under the stars and stripes have you been? lee has been waiting here for you ever since two o'clock! you fellows certainly give me a pain! now, look here--"
-clint chuckled. "funny," he reflected, "to get so excited about a tennis tournament. now, if it was football--"
-clint shook his head over the vagaries of his friend and very soon forgot them in the task of trying to keep the troublesome robbins where he belonged, which, in clint's judgment, was among the second team substitutes. that was a glorious afternoon for the second team, for they held the 'varsity scoreless in the first period and allowed them only the scant consolation of a field-goal in the second. "boutelle's babies," as some waggish first team man had labelled them, went off in high feather and fancied themselves more than ever.
-clint smiled at himself all the way to his room afterwards. he had played good football and had thrice won praise from "boots" that afternoon. even jack innes had gone out of his way to say a good word. he had clearly outplayed saunders, the 'varsity left tackle, on attack and had held his own against the opposing end on defence. more than that, he had once nailed the redoubtable kendall well behind the line, receiving an extremely hard look from the half-back, and had on two occasions got down the field under the punt in time to tackle the catcher. yes, clint was very well satisfied with himself today, so well pleased that the fact that he had bruised his left knee so that he had to limp a little as he went upstairs didn't trouble him a mite. he hoped amy would be back from that silly tennis tournament so that he might tell him all about it. but amy wasn't back, as he discovered presently. what met his eyes as he opened the door from the staircase well, however, put amy quite out of his mind for awhile.
-the door of his own room was closed, but the doors of 13 and 15 were open, and midway between them a rather startling drama was being enacted. the participants were penny durkin, harmon dreer and a smaller boy whose name afterwards transpired to be melville. melville was no longer an active participant, though, when clint appeared unnoted on the scene and paused across the corridor in surprise. it was penny and harmon dreer who held the centre of the stage.
-"what are you butting in for?" demanded dreer angrily. "i'll cuff the kid if i want to. you get out of here, penny."
-"you weren't cuffing him," replied penny hotly. "you were twisting his arm and making him cry. now you let the kid alone, dreer. if you want to try that sort of thing you try it on me."
-"all right!" dreer stepped forward and shot his closed fist into penny's face. the blow missed its full force, since penny, seeing it coming, dodged so that it caught him on the side of the chin. but it was enough to send him staggering to the wall.
-"you keep out of it, you skinny monkey!" shouted dreer. "all you're good for is to make rotten noises on that beastly fiddle of yours! want more, do you?"
-penny evidently did, for he came back with a funny sidelong shuffle, arms extended, and dreer, perhaps surprised at the other's pluck, moved cautiously away.
-"you've had what was coming to you, durkin," he growled. "now you keep away from me or you'll get worse. keep away, i tell you!"
-but penny durkin suddenly jumped and landed, beating down the other's guard. dreer staggered back, ducking his head, and penny shot a long arm around in a swinging blow that caught the other under his ear and dreer's knees doubled up under him and he sprawled on the threshold of his room.
-"durkin!" cried clint. "stop it!"
-penny turned and observed clint quite calmly, although clint could see that he was trembling in every nerve and muscle.
-"i'm not going to touch him again," replied penny.
-"i should think not!" clint leaned over the motionless dreer anxiously. "here, take hold of him and get him inside. you help, too, kid, whatever your name is. get him on the bed and shut the door. that was an awful punch you gave him, durkin."
-"yes, he can't fight," replied penny unemotionally, as he helped carry the burden to the bed. "he'll be all right in a minute. i jabbed him under the ear. it doesn't hurt you much; just gives you a sort of a headache. wet a towel and dab it on his face."
-"what the dickens was it all about, anyway?" asked clint as he followed instructions.
-"well, he was twisting young melville's arm and the kid was yelling and--"
-"you'd have yelled yourself," muttered the boy, with a sniffle.
-"i came out and told him to stop it and he didn't. so i pulled the kid away from him and he got mad and punched me in the cheek. so i went for him. he's a mean pup, anyway, dreer is."
-the subject of the compliment stirred and opened his eyes with a groan. then he looked blankly at clint. "hello," he muttered. "what's the--" at that moment his gaze travelled on to penny and he scowled.
-"all right, durkin," he said softly. "i'll get even with you, you--you--"
-"cut it out," advised clint. "how do you feel?"
-"all right. tell him to get out of my room. and that kid, too."
-penny nodded and retired, herding melville before him, followed by the scowling regard of dreer.
-clint tossed the towel aside. "i'll beat it, too, i guess," he said. "you'll be all right if you lie still awhile. so long."
-"much obliged," muttered dreer, not very graciously. "i'll get square with that ugly pup, though, thayer. you hear what i tell you!"
-"oh, call it off," replied clint cheerfully. "you each had a whack. what more do you want? so long, dreer."
-"long," murmured the other, closing his eyes. "tell him to--look out--thayer."
-clint's first impulse was to seek penny, but before he reached the door of number 13 the strains of the fiddle began to be heard and clint, with a shrug and a smile, sought his own room.
-he spread his books on the table, resolved to do a half-hour's stuffing before supper. but his thoughts wandered far from lessons. the scrap in the corridor, penny's unexpected ferocity, the afternoon's practice, the folks at home, all these subjects and many others engaged his mind. beyond the wall on one side penny was scraping busily on his violin. in the pauses between exercises clint could hear harmon dreer moving about behind the locked door that separated numbers 14 and 15. then the door from the well swung open, footsteps crossed the hall and amy appeared, racket in hand. after that there was no more chance of study, for clint had to tell of the fracas between penny and dreer while amy, stretched in the morris chair, listened interestedly. when clint ended amy whistled softly and expressively.
-"think of old penny durkin scrapping like that!" he said. then, with a smile, he added regretfully: "wish i'd seen it! handed him a regular knock-out, eh? what do you know about that? guess i'll go in and shake hands with him!"
-"dreer?" asked clint innocently.
-"dreer! yah! penny. someone ought to thank him on behalf of the school. who was the kid? charlie melville?"
-"i didn't hear his first name," replied clint, nodding.
-"he's a young rotter. dare say he deserved what dreer was giving him, although i don't believe in arm-twisting. dreer ought to have spanked him."
-"then you don't think penny had any right to interfere?"
-"don't i? you bet i do! anyone has a right to interfere with harmon dreer. anyone who hands him a jolt is a public benefactor."
-"i fear you're a trifle biased," laughed clint.
-"whatever that is, i am," responded amy cheerfully. "what was melville doing to arouse the gentleman's wrath?"
-"i didn't hear the details. dreer assured me twice that he was going to get even with penny, though."
-"piffle! he hasn't enough grit! penny should worry! say, what are you making faces about?"
-"i--it's my knee. i got a whack on it and it sort of hurts when i bend it."
-"oh, it's nothing. it'll be all right tomorrow."
-"let--me--see--it!" commanded amy sternly. "well, i'd say you did whack it! stretch out there and i'll rub it. oh, shut up! i've rubbed more knees than--than a centipede ever saw! besides, it won't do to have you laid up, clint, old scout. think of what it would mean to the second team--and the school--and the nation! i shudder to contemplate it. that where it is? i thought so from your facial contortions. lie still, can't you? how do you suppose i can--rub if--you--twist like--that?"
-"don't be so--so plaguey enthusiastic!" gasped clint.
-"nonsense! grin and bear it. think what it would mean if you were lost to the team!"
-"oh, dry up," grumbled clint. "how did you get on with your silly tennis today?"
-"why don't you pick out someone who can play? don't win the tournament too easily, amy. they'll get onto you."
-"that's so, but i can't afford to take any chances. there you are! now you're all right. up, guards, and at them!"
-"i'm not a guard; i'm a tackle," corrected clint as he experimentally bent his knee up and down. "it does feel better, amy. thanks."
-"of course it does. i'm a fine little massewer. let's go and eat."
-but the next morning that knee was stiff and painful and although amy again administered to it, it was all clint could do to hobble to wendell for breakfast. "boots" sternly demanded an immediate examination and an hour later clint was bandaged about his knee like a mummy and told to keep away from practice for several days and not to use his leg more than he had to. he limped out of the physical director's room in the gymnasium with the aid of a cane which mr. conklin had donated and with a dark scowl on his face.
-"of all the mean luck!" he muttered disgustedly. "just when i was going well, too! now, i suppose, robbins will get my place, hang him! bet you this settles me for the rest of the season!"
-amy wins a cup
-in the afternoon clint hobbled down to the tennis courts to watch the final match in the tournament between amy and holt. they were hard at it when he arrived and half a hundred enthusiasts were looking on and applauding. clint didn't play tennis and thought it something of a waste of time. but today he had his eyes opened somewhat. amy was a brilliant player for his years, and holt, who was a substitute end on the varsity football team, was scarcely less accomplished. in fact, holt had secured the lead when clint reached the court and the score of the first set was 5-2 in his favour.
-"byrd hasn't found himself yet," volunteered a boy next to clint. "he lost two games on his service. banged the balls into the net time after time. he'll get down to work presently, though, i guess."
-even as clint's informant ended there came a burst of handclapping and harry westcott, who was umpiring, announced: "the games are 5--3. holt leads."
-amy had the service and secured two aces at once, holt returning twice into the net. then a double fault put the score 30--15. holt got the next service and lobbed. amy ran up and smashed it safe into the further corner of the court. again holt tried lobbing, and this time he got away with it, for amy drove the ball out. with the score 40--30, amy served a sizzling ball that holt failed to handle and the games were 5--4. the boy beside clint chuckled.
-"he's getting down to work now," he said.
-but amy's hope of making it five--all died quickly. holt won on his first service and although amy returned the next he missed the back line by an inch. holt doubled and the score was 30--15. amy tried to draw holt to the net and pass him across court, but holt secured applause by a difficult back-hand return that just trickled over the net and left amy standing. the set ended a minute later when amy drove the service squarely into the net.
-"holt wins the first set," proclaimed westcott, "six games to four."
-the adversaries changed courts and the second set started. again amy won on his service and again lost on holt's. there were several good rallies and amy secured a round of hearty applause by a long chase down the court and a high back-hand lob that holt failed to get. amy was playing more carefully now, using easier strokes and paying more attention to placing. but holt was a hard man to fool, and time and again amy's efforts to put the ball out of his reach failed. the set worked back and forth to 4-all, with little apparent favor to either side. then amy suddenly dropped his caution and let himself out with a vengeance. the ninth game went to forty-love before holt succeeded in handling one of the sizzling serves that amy put across. then he returned to the back of the court and amy banged the ball into the net. a double fault brought the score to 40-30, but on the next serve amy again skimmed one over that holt failed with and the games were 5-4.
-"i hope he gets this," murmured clint.
-"hope he doesn't," replied his neighbour. "i want to see a deuce set."
-so, apparently, did holt, but he was too anxious and his serves broke high and amy killed two at the start. then came a rally with both boys racing up and down the court like mad and the white ball dodging back and forth over the net from one side to the other. holt finally secured the ace by dropping the ball just over the canvas. amy, although he ran hard and reached the ball, failed to play it. another serve was returned low and hard to the left of the court, came back in a high lob almost to the back line, sailed again across the canvas with barely an inch to spare and finally landed in the net. holt looked worried then. if he lost the next ace he would have lost the set. so he tried to serve one that would settle the matter, but only banged it into the net. the next one amy had no trouble with and sped it back along the side line to the corner. but holt was there and got it nicely and again lobbed. amy awaited with poised racket and holt scurried to the rear of the court. then down came amy's racket and the ball sailed across almost to the back line and bounded high, and although holt jumped for it, he missed it and it lodged hard and fast in the back net.
-"byrd wins the set, 6--4! the score is one set each!"
-amy, passing the end of the net to change court, stopped a moment in front of clint. "how's the knee?" he asked.
-"rotten, thanks. say, i thought you said you weren't taking chances, amy."
-amy grinned and doubling up the towel with which he had been wiping his face and hands let it drive. clint caught it and draped it over his knees. "go on and take your beating," he taunted.
-but it was quite a different amy who started in on that third and deciding set. holt never had a real chance after the first two games. amy took them both, the first 50-0 on his service and the second 30-50 on holt's. after that amy found himself and played tennis that kept the gallery clapping and approving most of the time. it was only when he had run the set to 4-0 that he eased up a little and allowed holt the consolation of one game. the next went to deuce and hung there some time, but amy finally captured it. by that time holt's spirit was pretty well broken and he put up scarcely any defence in the final game and amy slammed his serves over almost unchallenged and won a love game.
-"game, set and match to byrd!" announced westcott above the applause. "byrd wins the school championship!"
-amy and holt shook hands across the net and clint, hobbling up, tossed amy the towel. "got a conundrum for you, amy," he said. "want to hear it?"
-"shoot!" replied amy, from behind the towel.
-"why are you like a great english poet?"
-"because," replied clint, edging away, "you surely can play tennis, son!"
-"play ten--oh! help! officer, arrest this man!"
-"huh," said clint, "that's a better joke than you ever sprung. where are you going?"
-"to get that nice pewter mug over there and then to the gym for a shower. come along and then i'll go over with you and watch that wonderful team of yours bite holes in the turf."
-some of the fellows who remained demanded a speech when amy accepted the trophy from westcott.
-"fellow-citizens," responded amy, "i can only say that this is the proudest moment of my young and blameless life. thank you, one and all. where's the flannel stocking that goes with this, harry?"
-"brooks and chase have won one set and they're three--love on this, amy," replied the boy addressed.
-"thought so," said amy. "i picked them to meet scannel and boynton. and i'll bet they beat 'em, too."
-"why didn't you enter the doubles?" asked clint.
-"oh, i had enough to do looking after the thing," replied amy, "and getting through the singles."
-clint smiled. "i reckon the real reason was that you didn't want to hog the show and take both prizes, eh?"
-"no fear of that, i guess," answered the other evasively. "aren't you coming over to the gym with me?"
-"i'll wait for you over yonder," said clint. "conklin says i mustn't use this leg very much. hurry up and come back. i'll be on the stand over there."
-the second was still practising when clint reached the seats, some of them tackling the dummy in the corner of the field and others, backs and ends these, catching punts. over on their own gridiron the 'varsity was hard at it, the two squads trotting and charging about under the shrill commands of marvin and carmine. presently the rattle and bump of the dummy ceased and the tackling squad returned to the gridiron and "boots" cleared the field for signal work. the backs and ends came panting to the bench, and captain turner, spying clint in solitary grandeur, walked over to the foot of the stand.
-"how's the knee, thayer?" he asked anxiously.
-"much better, thanks," replied clint, more optimistically than truthfully. turner nodded.
-"that's good," he said approvingly. "go easy with it, old man, and don't take chances. conklin says it's only a bruise, but knees are funny things. you don't want to get water on it. we need you too much, thayer. come on down to the bench."
-"thanks, but i'm waiting for byrd. did conklin say how long i'd be out?"
-"it's all well enough for you fellows to pretend that you know what's going to happen when the quarter-back shouts a lot of numbers to you," observed amy, hugging his knees and exposing a startling view of crushed-raspberry socks, "but i'm too old a bird--no pun intended this time--to be caught. besides, i played once for a couple of weeks, and i know that signals didn't mean anything to me."
-"funny you didn't make a success of it!" chuckled clint.
-"the quarter-back just bawls out whatever comes into his head and then he tosses the ball to whichever chap looks as if he was wide enough awake to catch it and that chap makes a break at the line wherever he happens to think he can get through," continued amy convincedly. "all this stuff about signals is rot. now we'll see. where's this play going?"
-clint listened to the signal. "full-back straight ahead through centre," he said.
-"what did i tell you?" amy turned in triumph. clint laughed.
-"otis got the signal wrong," he explained, "and crossed in front of martin."
-"oh, certainly! yes, indeed!" agreed amy with deep sarcasm. "honest, clint, i think you really believe that stuff!"
-"i have to," grunted clint. "here it goes right this time."
-the signal was repeated and martin dashed forward, took the pigskin at a hand-pass and went through the centre. amy grunted. "you just happened to guess it," he said. "where are they going?"
-"over to scrimmage with the 'varsity. come along."
-"would you?" asked amy doubtfully. "somehow i hate to see the 'varsity trampled on and defeated, clint. would you mind asking 'boots' to be merciful today! tell him you've got a friend with you who's soft-hearted and hates the sight of blood."
-amy made himself particularly objectionable during the ensuing half-hour. the 'varsity was in fine fettle today and ripped the second team wide open for three scores in the two periods played. amy pretended to think that every 'varsity success was a second team victory.
-"there, that 'varsity fellow has taken the ball across the line, clint! isn't that great? how much does that count for the second? six, doesn't it? my, but your team is certainly playing wonderful football, chum. what i don't understand, though, is the--the appearance of satisfaction displayed by the 'varsity, clint. why is that? carmine is patting kendall on the back just as if he had done something fine! i suppose, though, that they're so used to being defeated that they can pretend they're pleased! let me see, that makes the score 13 to for the second, eh?"
-"oh, dry up!" laughed clint. "the 'varsity's having one of its good days, that's all, and we're playing pretty rotten. we have to let them win once in a while. if we didn't they might not play with us. there goes st. clair in for still."
-"i hear that still is fairly punk this fall," said amy. "too bad, too, for he was a dandy man last year. he had some sort of sickness in the summer, freer tells me. still never said anything about it for fear he'd lose his place."
-"that so? i'm sorry for still, for he's a nice chap, but that st. clair is surely a wonder, amy. he hasn't any weight to speak of, but he's the fastest backfield man they've got, with the exception of marvin, maybe."
-"well, i don't know much about the game," said amy, "but it seems to me that carmine is a better quarter than marvin. he seems to have more ginger, don't you think?"
-"perhaps, but marvin's a steadier fellow. more dependable. handles punts a heap better. knows a lot more football than carmine. i like the way carmine hustles his team, though. i reckon marvin will have to get a hump on him or he'll be losing his job."
-"which is the fellow who has your place, clint?"
-"the tall fellow on this end; just pulling his head-guard down; see him?"
-"yes. how is he doing?"
-"mighty well, i'd say," responded clint ruefully. "he's playing better than i've ever seen him play all fall. there he goes now! let's see if he gets under the ball."
-martin had punted, a long, high corkscrew that "hung" well and then came down with a rush toward the waiting arms of kendall. captain turner had got away with robbins at his heels, but lee, the other end, had been sent sprawling by edwards, of the 'varsity, and cupples, playing right tackle, was far behind the kick. carmine dived at turner as the ball settled into kendall's arms, and brought him down, and robbins threw himself at the runner. but kendall leaped aside, spinning on a heel, and robbins missed him badly. it was a second team forward who finally stopped kendall after the latter had raced across four white lines. amy observed clint severely.
-"why that unholy smirk on your face?" he asked.
-"i wasn't," denied clint.
-"you was! it pleased you to see robbins miss the tackle, and you needn't deny it. i'm surprised at you, clint! surprised and pained. you should feel sorry for the poor dub, don't you know that?"
-"yes, i know it," replied clint.
-"well, are you?"
-"i am not!"
-"neither am i," said amy, with a chuckle. "i hope he misses 'em all and bites his tongue!"
-a few minutes later the second again covered itself with glory, according to amy, when harris of the 'varsity skirted its left end and romped across the goal line for a third touchdown. amy applauded with glee and thumped clint on the shoulder. "bully for our side, clint!" he gloated. "we've gone and made the 'varsity score another touchdown for us! oh, but we're the snappy little heroes, what? let's see if jack can kick a goal and give us another point. now then! there we go! did he or didn't he?"
-"he did," replied clint gloomily.
-"fine! that puts the second 20 to 0, eh? say, you've got a team there to be proud of, old top! never again will i cast aspersions on it, or--what's up? why the--the exodus?"
-"they're through. come on home."
-"couldn't stand the punishment any longer, eh?" asked amy cheerfully. "ah, poor, disgraced, downtrodden 'varsity! my heart bleeds for them, clint! i could sit me down and weep--"
-"you'll weep all right if you don't shut up!" declared clint savagely. "and don't walk so fast. i've got a bum knee."
-halfway to torrence amy stopped suddenly and clasped a hand to his forehead. "woe is me!" he declaimed.
-"what is it?" asked clint impatiently.
-"i've left my pretty little trophy behind. i'll have to beat it back, clint, and rescue it. can't you picture the poor little thing sitting there all alone in pathetic solitude, forlorn and deserted?"
-"i'll bet no one would steal it," said clint unkindly.
-"perhaps not, perhaps not, but suppose it rained, clint, and it's little insides got full of water! i mustn't risk it. farewell!"
-amy didn't get back to the room until half an hour later, but he had his precious tennis trophy, and explained as he placed it on top his chiffonier and stood off to view the effect, that he had stopped at the courts to learn the results and afterwards at main hall to get mail. "brooks and chase won two straight," he said, "just as i expected they would. what did i do with that score-sheet, by the way? oh, here it is." he drew it from an inner pocket of his jacket, and with it a blue envelope which fell to the floor. he picked it up, with a chuckle. "look at this, clint. i found it in the mail and nearly had heart disease. too well do i know those blue envelopes and josh's copper-plate writing! catch it. i tried to think of something i'd done, and couldn't, and then i opened it and found that thing!"
-clint drew a sheet of paper from the blue envelope. on it was pasted a short newspaper clipping and above the clipping was written in the principal's minute writing: "thought you'd like to see this. j.l.f." clint read the clipping:
-"wharton, oct. 24--the stamford police yesterday took into custody james phee and william curtin, charged with numerous burglaries throughout the state within the past month, among them that of black and wiggin's jewelry store in this city a fortnight ago. the suspected men were trying to dispose of a small roadster automobile when arrested and their willingness to part with it at a ridiculously low figure placed them under suspicion. this car is presumably the one with which they operated and successfully escaped arrest for so long. the stamford police are trying to find the real owner of the car. it is believed that the two men got away with at least four thousand dollars' worth of goods of various kinds during their recent campaign, of which none has been recovered except that stolen from black and wiggin. in that case almost a thousand dollars' worth of jewelry which the burglars secured by blowing the safe was discovered the following day buried in the ground on property belonging to thomas fairleigh about four miles from town, a piece of detective work reflecting great credit on chief carey."
-"i notice," commented clint with a smile, "that no credit is given to amory byrd and clinton thayer for their share in the discovery."
-"i should say not! maybe it's just as well, though. newspaper notoriety is most unpleasant, clint. besides, we didn't do so badly!" amy pulled out his gold watch and frowned at it intently. "it's an awful exact sort of a thing, though. it hasn't lost or gained a second in two weeks. i'm not sure that i approve of a watch with so little--er--sense of humour!"
-the team takes revenge
-clint's knee remained painful for more than a week, during which time he took no part in practice except, at "boots'" direction, to watch from the bench and, later, to follow the squad during signal work. meanwhile the obnoxious robbins--who was in reality a very decent fellow and one whom clint could have liked had they not been rivals--was performing quite satisfactorily without displaying any remarkable brilliance. coach robey made two changes in the line-up of the 'varsity on thursday of that week in preparation for the game with chambers tech. st. clair went in at left half-back, vice still, and blaisdell ousted churchill at left guard. the chambers contest was one which brimfield wanted very much to win. last year chambers had thoroughly humiliated the maroon-and-grey, winning 30--9 in a contest which reflected little credit on the loser. brimfield had been caught in the middle of a bad slump on that occasion. this year, however, no slump was apparent as yet and the school thirsted for and expected a victory decisive enough to wipe out the stigma of last fall's defeat. the game was to be played at brimfield, a fact which was counted on to aid the home team. the school displayed far more interest in saturday's game than in any other on the schedule except, of course, the final conflict with claflin, and displayed a confidence rather out of proportion to the probabilities. for chambers had played six games so far this fall, to brimfield's five, and had won five of them and tied the other, a record superior to the maroon-and-grey's.
-there was no practice that afternoon for the second and so clint witnessed the chambers game from the grand-stand in company with amy and bob chase. chase was a sixth form fellow, long, loose-jointed and somewhat taciturn. he with his partner, brooks, had won the doubles in the tennis tournament a few days previously. before the game was more than five minutes old he had surprised clint with the intimate knowledge he displayed of football. possibly amy discerned his chum's surprise; for he said: "i forgot to tell you, clint, that bob is the fellow who invented the modern game of american football, he and walter camp together, that is. and i've always suspected that bob gives camp too much credit, at that!"
-clint pondered that. he wondered if he would be so complaisant if his parents made a like request, and greatly feared he wouldn't.
-"you must have hated to do it," he said admiringly.
-chase nodded. "i did. but i argued it like this. dad was paying a lot of good money for my education, and he hasn't very much of it, either, and if he didn't want to risk the investment i hadn't any right to ask him to. because, of course, if i went and busted myself up i'd be more or less of a dead loss. any amount of education doesn't cut much figure if you can't make use of it."
-"n-no, but--fellows don't get really hurt very often," replied clint.
-"not often, but there was no way of proving to dad's satisfaction that i mightn't, you see. and then, once when we went to a summer resort down in maine there was a chap there, a great, big six-footer of a fellow, who used to be wheeled around on a reclining chair. he'd got his in football. and that rather scared me, i guess. not so much on my account as on dad's. i knew he'd be pretty well disappointed if he paid for my school and college courses and in return got only an invalid in a wheel-chair."
-"so, very wisely," said amy, "you dropped football and took up a gentleman's game?"
-"well, i'd always liked tennis," conceded chase. "funny thing, though, that, after all, i got hurt worse in tennis than i did in four years of football." clint looked curious and chase went on. "i was playing in a doubles tournament at home summer before last and my partner and i hadn't worked together before and there was a high one to the back of the court and we both made for it. i got the ball and he got me; on the back of the head with his full force. i dropped and they had me in bed three weeks. concussion, they called it. i thought so too."
-clint glanced reflectively at his knee. "i reckon a fellow does take chances in football," he murmured. "i'd hate to give it up, though."
-"i have an uncle," said chase, "who used to play football a long time ago, when he was in college. in those days about everything went, i guess. he told me once that he used to be scared to death every time he started in a hard game for fear he'd get badly injured. said it wasn't until someone had jabbed him in the nose or 'chinned' him that he forgot to be scared."
-"i know the feeling," observed amy. "once when i was playing a chap jumped on me when i was down and dug his knee into my chest till i thought he'd caved me in. i was so mad i tried to bite his ankle!"
-"he had a narrow escape from hydrophobia, didn't he?" mused clint.
-the first two periods of the chambers game aroused little interest. both teams played listlessly, much, as amy put it, as if they were waiting for the noon whistle. there was a good deal of punting and both sides handled the ball cleanly. neither team was able to make consistent gains at rushing and the two periods passed without an exciting incident. amy was frankly bored and offered to play chase a couple of sets of tennis. chase, however, chose to see the game through.
-"they'll wake up in the next quarter," he predicted. "they've both been feeling the other fellow out. you'll see that our fellows will start in and try to rush the ends when they come back. after they've spread chambers' line a bit they'll hammer the guards, i guess. i think chambers will try to punt into scoring distance and then let loose."
-"a score in each period will be the best either side will do, i reckon," said clint.
-but chase shook his head. "i don't think so," he said. "maybe there won't be any scoring in the third period, but you'll find that the fur will fly in the last. only thing is, i don't know whose fur it will be!"
-"well, i'll be glad to see some action," remarked amy, yawning. "compared to tennis this game is a regular 'cold water sit-around'!"
-"what's that?" laughed clint.
-"oh, that's a party where you don't get anything but a glass of water in the way of refreshments, and you sit around in a circle and tell stories."
-"i reckon you're a big hit at those parties," said clint. "when it comes to telling stories--"
-but the rest of clint's remark was drowned by the cheer that went up as the maroon-and-grey trotted back around the corner of the grand-stand. a moment later chambers returned from her seclusion and her warriors dropped their grey-blue blankets and began to run up and down to stretch their muscles. chase watched approvingly.
-"an awfully fit-looking lot," he said. "i like them rangey, don't you, thayer?"
-"yes, i think so. they do look good, don't they? they must average older than our fellows."
-"at least a year, i'd say. not much 'beef' on any of them. hello, robey's sending tyler in at right tackle! wonder why. trow wasn't hurt, was he?"
-"hurt!" scoffed amy. "how the dickens could anyone get hurt? he probably fell asleep in the gym and they didn't like to wake him!"
-"carmine's gone in for marvin," said clint.
-"that means that robey wants things shaken up a bit. marvin's a good, sure player, but he lacks punch, thayer."
-"i know. he doesn't seem to be able to get the speed out of the fellows that carmine does."
-it was chambers' kick-off and the ball travelled to the five-yard line. carmine let it bound out, touched it back and the teams went back to the twenty. carmine showed his ginger at once. his shrill voice barked out the signals impatiently and kendall set off around his own left end. the two teams raced across the field, kendall searching for an opportunity to cut in and finding none until he was almost at the side line. then he twisted ahead for a scant three yards and brimfield cheered.
-another try at the same end netted two yards more, and then harris faked a punt and shot the ball to edwards, who was downed for no gain although he made the catch. harris punted to chambers' forty yards and edwards got the runner neatly. chambers smashed through hall for two, through tyler for two more and punted on third down. kendall caught near the edge of the field and ran back twelve yards before he was forced out near his twenty-five. a yard gain on the short side put the runner over the line and the ball was brought in. st. clair tried right tackle for no gain and kendall made four outside the same opponent. harris punted high and short and chambers made a fair catch on her forty-two yards. a fake attack on the left of the line fooled the brimfield backs and chambers came around the right end for seven yards. she made her distance in two more tries and placed the ball in brimfield territory. but a smash at the centre was hurled back and on the next play she was caught holding and penalised. a forward pass grounded and chambers punted to brimfield's twenty where carmine caught and dodged back for fifteen behind excellent interference.
-"that," commented thayer, "was real football. now, then, brimfield, show 'em what!"
-end attacks, diversified by feints at the line, took the pigskin to chambers' forty-four yards, and the maroon-and-grey supports were cheering loudly. then fate interposed and carmine fumbled, a chambers forward falling on the ball.
-"that's the trouble with carmine," grumbled clint. "he fumbles too plaguey much."
-brimfield was over-anxious and roberts was caught off-side. chambers worked a double-pass and made six around roberts' end. two attacks on tyler gave the visitor the other four and made it first down on brimfield's forty-yard line. again the home team was set back for being off-side. chambers came through right guard for three and worked edwards' end for four more. with seven to go, a forward pass was tried and succeeded for enough to make the distance. things were waking up now with a vengeance and amy was no longer demanding action. instead, he was shuffling around on the edge of his seat, watching events breathlessly. chambers was down to her opponents' twenty-four yards now, almost under the shadow of the goal and a place-kick would score once out of twice.
-but chambers didn't want the mere three points to be gained by the overhead route. instead, suddenly displaying a ferocity of attack never once hinted at in the first half of the contest, she hurled her fast backs at the brimfield wings and bored through twice for two-yard gains. then a fake forward-pass deceived the defenders and the chambers full-back broke through past innes and blaisdell for a full six yards and another first down. there seemed no stopping her then. carmine was scolding shrilly and captain innes was hoarsely imploring the line to "get low and slam 'em back!" with only fourteen yards between her and the last white line, chambers played like wildcats. a half fumbled behind the line, but the quarter recovered the ball and actually squirmed ahead for a yard before he could be stopped. another attack on tyler netted three yards more.
-"hold 'em, brimfield! hold 'em! hold 'em! hold 'em!" chanted the grand-stand. clint was scowling ferociously and gripping his hands hard between his knees. amy was patting his feet on the boards. chase was studying the situation intently, outwardly quite unaffected by the crisis. "someone," he observed, "is making a mistake there. they'll never get six yards by plugging the line. why don't they make brimfield open out?"
-but evidently chambers thought she could conquer by massing her attack, for once more she hurled her backs at the centre, and once more the maroon-and-grey yielded. but the gain was less than two yards and only one down remained.
-"fourth down and about four to go!" cried the referee.
-chambers changed her plans then, strung her backs out along her line and shifted to the left.
-"here comes a trick," muttered clint.
-"i doubt it," responded chase. "it looks like it, and it's meant to, but i guess when it comes it'll be a straight line-buck with that careless-looking full-back carrying the ball. i hope innes sizes it up the way i do, for--"
-"watch this!" innes shouted. "watch the ball! look out for a forward! come in here, kendall! throw 'em back, fellows!"
-the chambers quarter shouted his signals, the ball went to him, the two half-backs shot away to the left, the full-back plunged ahead, took the ball and struck hard, head down, at the left of centre. but brimfield had not been fooled. blaisdell wavered, but the secondary defence piled up behind him. the full-back stopped, struggled ahead, stopped again and then came staggering back, half the brimfield team about him. the whistle piped, and--
-"brimfield's ball!" cried the referee. "first down right here!" he waved the linemen toward the chambers goal and the grand-stand burst into a peal of triumph. amy clapped clint on the knee--fortunately it was not the injured one!--and cried: "some team, clint! say, they play almost as well as the second, eh?"
-and clint, laughing delightedly, acknowledged that they did--almost!
-harris, well behind his own goal line, punted to safety, a long and high corkscrew that brought another roar of delight from the home team supporters and settled into the arms of a chambers back near the forty-yard line. two tries at the left wing and the whistle shrilled the end of the third period and the teams changed goals.
-"bet you it'll be a stand-off," said amy.
-"don't want to take your money," replied chase, with a smile.
-"who will score, then?"
-"brimfield for certain, chambers perhaps. if chambers scores it'll be from the field. she's killed herself."
-and chase's prophecy proved fairly correct. chambers had shot her bolt. brimfield secured the ball by inches on a fourth down near the middle of the field and her first desperate attack, a skin-tackle play with st. clair carrying the pigskin, piled through for nearly ten yards, proving that chambers was no longer invulnerable. carmine, still in control, called for more speed and still more. the maroon-and-grey warriors fairly dashed to their positions after a play. chambers called time for an injured guard and substituted two new linesmen. kendall and harris were poked through left tackle for good gains and st. clair got away around left end and was not stopped until he had placed the ball on the twenty-three. a fake kick worked for a short gain through centre, carmine carried the pigskin around left tackle for three, harris hurled himself through the rapidly weakening centre for four more and on the next play netted the distance and a yard to spare.
-the grand-stand had well-nigh emptied itself, the spectators hurrying along the side line toward the chambers goal. amy and clint and chase squirmed to the front of the crowd where tracey black was wildly imploring the fellows to "keep back of the line, please! don't get on the field, fellows!"
-chambers put in a new left half and coach robey sent gafferty in for hall. the latter had been pretty badly treated in the third quarter. the pigskin was on the chambers twelve yards now and carmine and captain innes went back and put their heads together. then harris joined them and the crowd along the edge of the field set up a demand for a touchdown. "we don't want a field-goal, innes! we want a touchdown! give us a touchdown! touchdown! touchdown!"
-but jack innes apparently thought a field-goal with its accompanying three points was sufficient to try for, for harris walked slowly back to kicking position and spread his long arms out. but no one expected a try-at-goal on first down and there was none. harris got the ball, made believe hurl it to the left, turned and raced to the right. kendall and carmine bowled over an opponent apiece and harris ducked through and was pulled down on the six yards, while some seven score excited youths danced along the side line and howled gleefully.
-again harris went back, but this time it was carmine himself who sought a breach in the opponent's defence and was finally upset without gain. it was third down now, with four to go. the ball was well to the right of the goal, but harris had done harder angles than that in his time, and hardly anyone there doubted that he would manage to land the ball across the bar. for there was hardly a question but that brimfield was to try a field-goal this time. she weakened her end defence to provide protection to the kicker, both kendall and roberts playing well in and leaving the opposing ends unchallenged. but if harris was capable of dropping the ball over from that angle he failed to do it on this occasion.
-back near the eighteen yards he waited, while carmine piped the signal, arms outstretched. chambers feinted and danced in her eagerness to pile through. then back went the ball, waist-high, and harris caught it and turned it carefully. the enemy thrust and struggled. an eager left end came around and went to earth before roberts. confusion reigned supreme for a long moment. then the unexpected happened. harris swung his leg, but he didn't drop the ball to it. instead he turned quickly, tossed it a running figure which had suddenly detached itself from the offence and threw himself in the path of a reaching chambers forward. off to right shot the runner with the ball. cries, frantic gasps from chambers! a sudden scuttling to the left to head off the attack! but the chambers left wing had been neatly drawn in and steve edwards had nearly a clear field in front of him when, ten yards from the side line, he saw his chance and dodging behind st. clair and eluding the chambers right half-back, he fairly romped across the line!
-"that," shouted amy, whacking chase on the back, "is what is called strategy! get me? strategy!"
-three minutes later jack innes had kicked goal and turned the six to a seven. and five minutes later still the game came to an end with brimfield once more pounding at chambers' door. it was generally conceded that if the contest had lasted another minute brimfield would have added another score.
-a broken fiddle
-brimfield trooped back across the field to the row noisily triumphant. two hours before had anyone suggested that it would be satisfied with anything less than three scores it would have derided the notion. now however it was not only satisfied but elated. those seven points looked large and noble, and the home team's victory was viewed as a masterful triumph. chambers was credited with having put up a fine fight, with having a more than ordinarily powerful team, and there were some who even went so far as to declare that claflin would show no better football than today's visitors had shown. but that was doubtless an exaggeration, and those who made it had probably forgotten those first two periods in which both teams played very ordinary football indeed. a fair analysis of the game would have shown that the two elevens, while playing somewhat different styles of football, had been very evenly matched in ability and condition, that both had been weak on defence and that neither had proved itself the possessor of an attack which could be depended on to gain consistently. what both teams had shown was a do-or-die spirit which, while extremely commendable, would not have availed against a well-rounded eleven evenly developed as to attack and defence. in other words, both brimfield and chambers had shown fine possibilities, but neither was yet by any means a remarkable team.
-in some ways the visitors had outplayed brimfield. chambers' attack, especially between the twenty-five-yard lines, had been far more varied and effective. her line, from tackle to tackle, had been stronger than her opponent's. brimfield had been especially weak at the left of centre, and a résumé of the game showed that chambers had made two-thirds of her line gains through blaisdell and saunders. churchill, who had replaced blaisdell in the second half, had shown up no better on defence. at the ends brimfield had held her own, while her backs had shown up superior to chambers'. chambers had outpunted brimfield an average of five yards at a kick and had placed her punts to better advantage. in generalship both teams had erred frequently and there was little to choose between them.
-but all this had no present effect on brimfield's jubilation, and the school acted as if a most notable victory had been won. when the 'varsity team came in to supper that night it received an ovation hardly second in enthusiasm to that usually accorded it after a victory over claflin. and perhaps, after all, the team deserved it, for when all was said and done the spirit which had been shown when they had held chambers scoreless on the four yards and again later when they had themselves worn down the defence and gained their touchdown had been of the right sort.
-clint filled four pages of his sunday's letter the next afternoon with a glowing and detailed account of that game, and it is to be hoped that the folks at cedar run enjoyed the perusal of it half as much as he enjoyed writing it. that evening he and amy dropped in at number 14 hensey and found a roomful of fellows in excited discussion of the game. there was a disposition on the part of some of the fellows to consider the claflin contest as good as won, but jack innes was more pessimistic.
-"look here," he interrupted finally, "you fellows talk like a lot of sick ducks. i'm blessed if i see what you're so cocky about. we beat chambers, all right, but we didn't any more than beat them, and we had to work like the very dickens to do it. and, what's more, we only kept chambers from scoring by the biggest piece of good luck."
-"oh, piffle, jack!" exclaimed still. "we had them fourth down and five to go. they couldn't have made it to save their lives!"
-"they only had four to go," replied jack, "and if they'd tried anything but a child's trick they'd likely have made it. the only way we got across was by springing a delayed pass on them when they were looking for a line-plunge."
-"bet you anything you like we could have gone straight through for that touchdown." said still. "we had the ball on their four yards and it was only third down. harris or kendall could have torn that four yards off easily."
-"that's your opinion," replied jack drily. "as i remember it, though, you were not on at the time. we knew mighty well we couldn't get that four yards by playing the line. if you don't believe me, ask robey. the first thing he said afterwards was that he was afraid we were going to send harris at centre on that last play and that if we had we'd never have got over."
-"oh, well, we got it, anyway," observed tom hall cheerfully.
-"yes, we got it," agreed jack innes, "but i'm telling you fellows that we only just did get it, and that we've got mighty little to crow about. our forward line wasn't nearly as good as chambers'. you all know that. and you ought to know that if we went in against claflin and played the sort of football we played yesterday we'd be literally swamped!"
-"but, look here, jack," protested tracey black warmly, "it's only mid-season, old man. you've got to acknowledge that we're in mighty good shape for the time of year."
-"i'm not knocking, tracey. i'm giving all the fellows credit for what they did yesterday, but i don't want them to get the idea in their heads that all we've got to do is mark time from now until the big game. we've got to be at least twice as good then as we were yesterday. besides, i don't call it the middle of the season when we've got only three games to play before claflin. the benton game was the mid-season game. we're on the last lap now. and," he added grimly, "we've got some work ahead of us!"
-"for my part," observed amy, who had been rather bored by the discussion, "i think the whole bunch of you played pretty rottenly."
-"you do, eh?" demanded edwards. "suppose you tell us all about it, amy. give us of your wisdom, o enlightened one."
-"there you go," groaned tom hall, "talking the way he does!"
-"oh, i don't know that i care to specify which of you was the worst," replied amy carelessly. "possibly it was you, steve. you had a dandy chance once to upset the referee and you deliberately side-stepped him. if you're going to play the game, boy, play it! don't dodge any of your duties or responsibilities."
-"oh, you be blowed," laughed edwards. "it's the sorrow of my life, amy, that you didn't keep on with football."
-"i dare say if i had i'd have shown you fellows a few things about it," replied amy modestly. "theoretically, i'm something of an authority on football. when you come right down to brass tacks, it's the fellow on the side line who sees most of the game. i'm considering coaching when i leave school. take my young friend clint here. clint owes a whole lot to my advice and guidance. he wouldn't be where he is today if it hadn't been for me, would you, clint?"
-"i'm on the bench just now," retorted clint drily.
-"that's where you'll stay if you listen to his ravings," said steve edwards, amidst general laughter.
-"by the way, how is that ankle of yours, thayer?" inquired innes.
-"pretty nearly all right, thanks. it's my knee, though."
-"oh, is it? say, churchill got a peach of a black eye yesterday. seen it!"
-"the fun of it is," chuckled hall, "that he had to address the christian association this afternoon. were you there, jack?"
-"yes. it wasn't so bad. he had a patch over it. still, it was sort of funny to hear him talking about clean playing!"
-clint was given a clear bill of health the next day and went back to practice with a silk bandage around his knee. he was given light work and sat on the bench again while the second played two twelve-minute periods against the 'varsity substitutes. it seemed to him that robbins fairly outplayed himself that afternoon, but he failed to take into consideration that his rival was pitted against substitutes or that his own state of mind was rather pessimistic. practice ended early and after a shower and a rub clint ambled across to torrence feeling rather dispirited. the dormitory seemed pretty empty and lonesome as he entered the corridor. even penny durkin's violin was silent, which was a most unusual condition of affairs for that hour of the afternoon. clint slammed his door behind him, tossed his cap in the general direction of the window-seat and flopped morosely into a chair at the table. he had plenty of work to do, but after pulling a book toward him and finding his place he slammed it shut again and pushed it distastefully away. he wished amy would come back, and looked at his watch. it was only a little after half-past four, though, and amy, who was probably playing tennis, would scarcely stop as long as he was able to distinguish the balls. perhaps it was the absence of the customary wailing of the next door violin that put penny durkin in mind. clint had never been in penny's room, nor ever said more than two dozen words to him except on the occasion of penny's encounter with harmon dreer, but just now clint wanted mightily to talk to someone and so he decided to see if penny was in. at first his knock on the door of number 13 elicited no answer, and he was turning away when a doubtful "come in" reached him from beyond the closed portal. when he entered penny was seated on the window-seat at the far end of the room doing something to his violin.
-"hello," he said not very graciously. then, giving the newcomer a second glance, he added: "oh, that you, thayer? i thought it was mullins. come on in."
-"thought maybe you were dead," said clint flippantly, "and dropped in to see."
-"dead!" questioned penny vaguely.
-"yes, i didn't hear the violin, you know."
-"oh, i see." there was a moment's silence. then penny said very soberly: "it isn't me that's dead; it's the violin."
-"something gone wrong?" asked clint, joining the other at the window and viewing the instrument solicitously. penny nodded.
-"i guess it's a goner," he muttered. "look here." he held the violin out for clint's inspection and the latter stared at it without seeing anything wrong until penny sadly indicated a crack which ran the full length of the brown surface.
-"oh, i see," said clint. "too bad. will it hurt it much?"
-penny viewed him in surprise. "hurt it! why, it spoils it! it'll never have the same tone, thayer. it--it's just worthless now! i was pretty"--there was a catch in penny's voice--fond of this old feller."
-"that is a shame," said clint sympathetically. "how'd you do it?"
-penny laid the violin down beside him on the window-seat and gazed at it sorrowfully a moment. finally, "i didn't do it," he answered. "i found it like that an hour ago."
-"then--how did it happen? i suppose they're fairly easy to bust, aren't they?"
-"no, they're not. whoever cracked that had to give it a pretty good blow. you can see where it was hit."
-"but who--was it emery, do you think?" emery was penny's room-mate, a quiet fifth form fellow who lived to stuff and who spent most of his waking hours in recitation room or school library. "he might have knocked it off, i dare say."
-penny shook his head. "it wasn't gus and it wasn't the chambermaid. i asked them both. besides, the violin was in its case leaning in the corner. no, somebody took it out and either struck it with something or hit it over the corner of the table. i think probably they hit it on the table."
-clint stared. "you mean that--that someone did it deliberately?" he gasped incredulously. "but, durkin, no one would do a thing like that!"
-"of course, i've got another one," said penny, "but it isn't like this. this is a moretti and cost sixty dollars twelve years ago. you can't buy them any more. moretti's dead, and he only made about three a year, and there aren't many anyhow."
-"but, durkin, who could have done it?"
-penny didn't answer; only picked up the violin tenderly and once more traced the almost imperceptible crack along the face of the mellowed wood.
-"you don't mean"--clint's voice dropped--don't mean dreer?"
-"i can't prove it on him," answered penny quietly.
-"but--but, oh, hang it, durkin, even dreer wouldn't do as mean a thing as that!" but even as he said it clint somehow knew that penny's suspicions were correct, and, at variance with his assertion, added wrathfully: "by jove, he ought to be thrashed!"
-"he said he'd get even," observed penny thoughtfully.
-clint sat down on the end of the window-seat and looked frowningly at penny. "what are you going to do?" he asked finally.
-"it's perfectly rotten!" said clint explosively. "if it was me i'd thrash him, scholarship or no scholarship! the mean pup!"
-"you wouldn't if it might mean losing your chance of coming back after christmas. i need that scholarship the worst way and i have a hunch that i'll get it if i don't get into trouble. i had it last year, you know. i haven't done very well with business this fall; fellows haven't seemed to want things much. no, if dreer figured out that i wouldn't go after him on account of the scholarship, he guessed about right. i'd like to"--penny's voice trembled--"to half kill him, but--i won't!"
-"then tell faculty, durkin. have him fired out of school. do--do something!"
-"no use telling faculty; i can't prove it on him. besides, i don't like the idea of playing baby. and, anyway, nothing i could do to dreer would give me my violin back the way it was. it--it had a grand tone, thayer! you've heard it!"
-"yes." clint had to suppress a smile. "yes, i've heard it often, durkin. it did have a good tone; nice and--and clear."
-"there isn't a better instrument made than a moretti," said penny sadly. "i can have it fixed so it won't show, but it won't ever be the same." he laid the violin back in the case very tenderly and spread the white silk handkerchief across the strings. "if you don't mind, thayer, i'd just as leave you didn't say much about this."
-"all right," agreed clint gruffly. "mind if i tell amy, though?"
-"oh, no, only i--i'd rather it didn't get around. some of the fellows don't like my playing, anyhow, you see, and they'd do a lot of talking."
-clint took his departure a minute later, after renewed regrets, and went back to his room. amy was still absent and it was not until after supper that they met.
-amy takes a hand
-clint told amy about penny's violin without mentioning the latter's suspicion. amy listened with darkening face and when clint had ended said: "dreer, eh? it's the sort of thing you'd expect from him. what's penny going to do?"
-clint explained about the scholarship and amy nodded. "i see. i guess he's right. dreer would be sure to go to josh and penny'd get what-for; and then it would be good-bye, scholarship! unless--" amy paused thoughtfully.
-"n-no, not very. still--well, i'm sorry for old penny."
-"durkin asked me not to say anything about it, amy."
-"so you told me?" laughed the other.
-"he said i might tell you. i guess he was afraid if the fellows learned of it they'd cheer!"
-amy chuckled. "bet they would, too! where's my dear old german dictionary?"
-the two boys settled down at opposite sides of the table to study. after a few minutes, clint whose thoughts still dwelt on penny's tragedy, asked: "what made you think it was dreer, amy?"
-"eh? oh, why, who else would it be? shut up and let me get this piffle."
-but a half-hour later, when clint closed his latin book and glanced across, amy was leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head and a deep frown on his forehead. "all through?" asked clint enviously.
-"through?" amy evidently came back with an effort. "no, i wish i were. i was--thinking."
-when nine o'clock sounded clint sighed with relief and closed his book. amy got up and walked to the window and threw himself on the seat. "look here," he said finally, "dreer oughtn't to be allowed to get away with that cute little stunt of his."
-"no, but how--"
-"i've been thinking." amy thrust his hands into his pockets and a slow smile spread over his face. "penny can't touch him, but that doesn't say i can't. i haven't any scholarship to lose."
-"but you can't go and knock dreer down for what he did to someone else," objected clint.
-"why can't i, if i want to?"
-"but--but they'd expel you or--or something."
-"i wonder! well, maybe they would. yes, i guess so. consequently, i'll knock him down on my own account--ostensibly, clint, ostensibly."
-"don't be an ass," begged the other. "you can't do that."
-amy doubled a capable-looking fist and viewed it thoughtfully. "i think i can," he responded grimly.
-"oh, you know what i mean, clint. you haven't any quarrel with dreer."
-"i told him that the next time he talked rot about how much better claflin is than brimfield i'd lick him. i gave him fair warning, and he knows i'll do it, too."
-"all right, but he hasn't said anything like that, has he?"
-"not that i know of, but"--amy's smile deepened--"something tells me he's going to! come on over here where i won't have to shout at you." amy patted the window-seat. "that door isn't so awfully thick, i'm thinking."
-clint obeyed, and for the next ten minutes amy explained and clint demurred, objected and, finally, yielded. in such manner was the plot to avenge penny durkin's wrongs hatched.
-two days later harmon dreer, looking for mail in main hall, came across a notice from the post office apprising him that there was a registered parcel there which would be delivered to him on presentation of this notice and satisfactory identification. harmon frowned at the slip of paper a moment, stuffed it into his pocket and sought his nine-o'clock recitation. a half-hour later, however, having nothing to do until ten, he started off toward the village. he was half-way down the drive toward the east gate before he became visible from the window of thursby's room on the front of torrence. amy, who had been seated at the window for half an hour, at once arose, crossed the hall and put his head in at the door of number 14.
-"got him," he announced placidly.
-"he's about at the gate now," added clint as they hurried down the stairs. "we'll give him plenty of time, because we don't want to meet him until he's half-way back. i knew he'd bite at that registered parcel." amy chuckled. "he couldn't even wait until noon!"
-"hi, fellows," he murmured, without, however, decreasing his pace.
-"hi, dreer!" responded amy, and thayer echoed him. "say, you're just the fellow to settle this," amy continued.
-"settle what?" asked dreer, pausing unwillingly.
-"why, clint says--by the way, you know thayer, don't you?"
-dreer nodded and amy went on.
-"well, clint says that claflin played two fellows on her team last year who weren't eligible. what were their names, clint?"
-"ainsmith and kenney," replied clint unhesitatingly.
-"ainsmith!" exclaimed dreer. "kenney! say, you don't know what you're talking about, thayer!"
-"that's what i told him," said amy eagerly. "they were all right, weren't they? clint says that last year was their first at claflin and that they didn't have any right to play on the team."
-"rot! ainsmith's been at claflin two years and kenney three. where'd you get that dope, thayer?"
-"i heard it and i think i'm right," said clint stubbornly.
-"you can't be," persisted amy. "dreer went to claflin last year, and he knows, don't you, dreer?"
-"of course i know! besides, claflin doesn't do that sort of thing, thayer. it doesn't have to! you'd better turn over; you're on your back!"
-"that's what i heard," persisted clint.
-"you're wrong!" dreer laughed contemptuously. "whoever told you that stuff was stringing you. well, i must get a move on. i've got a ten o'clock."
-"but wait a minute," begged amy. "you've got time enough. let's get this settled." dreer suddenly discovered that amy was between him and the academy and that he had a detaining hand on his arm.
-"can't, i tell you! i'll be late! besides, there's nothing to settle. i know what i'm talking about. and if thayer doesn't believe it all he's got to do is to look in the claflin catalogue. i've got one in my room he can see any time he wants to."
-"sure, i know," said amy soothingly. "i've told him you'd know all about it." amy turned to clint impatiently. "dreer went to claflin--- how many years was it? two, dreer?"
-"yes; that is, one and a half. i left in the winter."
-"of course. well, don't you see, clint, he'd ought to know what he's talking about?"
-"maybe he ought," replied clint rudely, "but i don't believe he does. he says claflin doesn't do that kind of thing. if it's such a fine school why didn't he stay there?"
-"you bet it's a fine school!" returned dreer heatedly. "it's the best there is!"
-"oh, piffle," sneered clint. "better than brimfield, i suppose?"
-"better than--say, you make me laugh! there isn't any comparison. claflin's got it all over this hole every way you look!" dreer paused suddenly and cast a doubtful look at amy. but for once amy seemed unconcerned by such sentiment. his smile even seemed approving! dreer warmed to his subject. "of course, you fellows haven't been anywhere else and think brimfield's quite a school. that's all right. but i happen to have gone to claflin and i know the difference between a real school and a second-rate imitation like this! brimfield's a regular hole, fellows, believe me! gee, i must get on!"
-"i wouldn't hurry," said amy. something in his tone caught dreer's attention and he glanced around apprehensively to find amy removing his coat.
-"wha--what do you mean, you wouldn't hurry?" he asked uneasily.
-"what's the joke?" he asked.
-"no joke at all, dreer," replied amy. "i gave you fair warning that the next time you ran down the school i'd beat you. if i were you, dreer, i'd take off my coat."
-"you dare touch me and it'll be mighty bad for you, byrd! i'm not going to fight you, and you can't make me."
-"suit yourself about that," replied amy, stepping toward him. when you have gathered up the main facts of the case, proceed to consider the mass as a whole, with interest and attention, giving it as it were a "general treatment." then drop it down the trap-door into the sub-conscious mind, with a strong command, "attend to this thought-material," coupled with a strong expectant belief that your order will be obeyed.
-the idea underlying this treatment of the thought-material with interest and attention is that by so doing a strong "mental image" is created, which may be easily handled by the sub-conscious mind. remember that you are passing on "thoughts" for the sub-consciousness to act upon, and that the more tangible and real these thoughts are, the better can they be handled. therefore any plan that will build these thoughts up into "real" things is the plan to pursue. and attention and interest produce just this result.
-and this power of sub-consciousing is not confined alone to the consideration of philosophical questions. on the contrary it is applicable to every field of human thought, and may be properly employed in any and all of them. it is useful in solving the problems of every-day life and work, as well as to the higher flights of the human mind. and we wish every one of our students to realize that in this simple lesson we are giving them the key to a great mental power.
-to realize just what we are offering to you, we would remind you of the old fairy tales of all races, in which there is to be found one or more tales telling of some poor cobbler, or tailor, or carpenter, as the case may be, who had by his good deeds, gained favor with the "brownies" or good fairies, who would come each night when the man and his family were asleep, and proceed to complete the work that the artisan had laid out for the morrow. the pieces of leather would be made into shoes; the cloth would be sewed into garments; the wood would be joined, and nailed together into boxes, chairs, benches and what not. but in each case the rough materials were prepared by the artisan himself during the day.
-well, that is just what we are trying to introduce to you. a clan of mental brownies, loving and kindly disposed toward you, who are anxious and willing to help you in your work. all you have to do is to give them the proper materials, and tell then what you want done, and they will do the rest. but these mental brownies are a part of your own mentality, remember, and no alien and foreign entities, as some have imagined.
-a number of people who have accidentally discovered this power of the sub-conscious mind to work out problems, and to render other valuable service to its owner, have been led to suppose that the aid really came from some other entity or intelligence. some have thought that the messages came from friends in the spirit land, and others have believed that some high intelligence--god or his angels--was working in their behalf. without discussing spirit communication, or divine messages, in both of which we believe (with certain provisional reservations) we feel justified in saying that the majority of cases of this kind may be referred to the sub-conscious workings of one's own mentality.
-each of us has "a friend" in our own mind--a score of them in fact, who delight in performing services for us, if we will but allow them to do so. not only have we a higher self to whom we may turn for comfort and aid in times of deep distress and necessity, but we have these invisible mental workers on the sub-conscious plane, who are very willing and glad to perform much of our mental work for us, if we will but give them the material in proper shape.
-it is very difficult to impart specific directions for obtaining these results, as each case must depend to a great extent upon the peculiar circumstances surrounding it. but we may say that the main thing needed is to "lick into shape" the material, and then pass it on to the sub-conscious mind in the manner spoken of a few moments ago. let us run over a few cases wherein this principle may be applied.
-let us suppose that you are confronted with a problem consisting of an uncertainty as to which of two or more courses to adopt in some affair of life. each course seems to have advantages and disadvantages, and you seem unable to pass upon the matter clearly and intelligently. the more you try the more perplexed and worried do you become. your mind seems to tire of the matter, and manifests a state which may be called "mental nausea." this state will be apparent to any one who has had much "thinking" to do. the average person, however, persists in going over the matter, notwithstanding the tired condition of the mind, and its evident distaste for a further consideration of the subject. they will keep on forcing it back to the mind for consideration, and even at night time will keep thrashing away at the subject. now this course is absurd. the mind recognizes that the work should be done by another part of itself--its digestive region, in fact--and naturally rebels at the finishing-up machinery being employed in work unsuited for it.
-according to the sub-consciousing plan, the best thing for the man to do would be for him first to calm and quiet his mind. then he should arrange the main features of the problem, together with the minor details in their proper places. then he should pass them slowly before him in review, giving a strong interest and attention to each fact and detail, as it passes before him, but without the slightest attempt to form a decision, or come to a conclusion. then, having given the matter an interested and attentive review, let him will that it pass on to his sub-conscious mind, forming the mental image of dropping it through the trap-door, and at the same time giving the command of the will, "attend to this for me!"
-then dismiss the matter from your conscious mind, by an effort of command of the will. if you find it difficult to do this, you may soon acquire the mastery by a frequent assertion, "i have dismissed this matter from my conscious mind, and my sub-conscious mind will attend to it for me." then, endeavor to create a mental feeling of perfect trust and confidence in the matter, and avoid all worry or anxiety about it. this may be somewhat difficult at the first trial, but will become a natural feeling after you have gained the confidence arising from successful results in several cases. the matter is one of practice, and, like anything else that is new, must be acquired by perseverance and patience. it is well worth the time and trouble, and once acquired will be regarded as something in the nature of a treasure discovered in an unexpected place. the sense of tranquillity and content--of calm and confidence--that comes to one who has practiced this plan, will of itself be worth all the trouble, not to speak of the main result. to one who has acquired this method, the old worries, frettings, and general "stewed up" feeling, will seem like a relic of barbarism. the new way opens up a world of new feelings and content.
-in some cases the matter will be worked out by the sub-conscious mind in a very short time, and in fact we have known cases in which the answer would be flashed back almost instantly, almost like an inspiration. but in the majority of cases more or less time is required. the sub-conscious mind works very rapidly, but it takes time to arrange the thought-material properly, and to shape it into the desired forms. in the majority of cases it is well to let the matter rest until the next day--a fact that gives us a clue to the old advice to "sleep over" an important proposition, before passing a final decision.
-if the matter does not present itself the following day, bring it up again before the conscious mind for review. you will find that it has shaped itself up considerably, and is assuming definite form and clearness. but right here--and this is important--do not make the mistake of again dissecting it, and meddling with it, and trying to arrange it with your conscious mind. but, instead, give it attention and interest in its new form, and then pass it back again to the sub-conscious mind for further work. you will find an improvement each time you examine it. but, right here another word of caution. do not make the mistake of yielding to the impatience of the beginner, and keep on repeatedly bringing up the matter to see what is being done. give it time to have the work done on it. do not be like the boy who planted seeds, and who each day would pull them up to see whether they had sprouted, and how much.
-sooner or later, the sub-conscious mind will, of its own choice, lift up the matter and present it to you in its finished shape for the consideration of the conscious mind. the sub-conscious mind does not insist that you shall adopt its views, or accept its work, but merely hands out to you the result of its sorting, classifying and arranging. the choice and will still remains yours, but you will often find that there is seen to be one plan or path that stands out clearly from the others, and you will very likely adopt that one. the secret is that the sub-conscious mind with its wonderful patience and care has analyzed the matter, and has separated things before apparently connected. it has also found resemblances and has combined things heretofore considered opposed to each other. in short it has done for you all that you could have done with the expenditure of great work and time, and done it well. and then it lays the matter before you for your consideration and verdict.
-its whole work seems to have been in the nature of assorting, dissecting, analyzing, and arranging the evidence, and then presenting it before you in a clear, systematic shape. it does not attempt to exercise the judicial prerogative or function, but seems to recognize that its work ceases with the presentation of the edited evidence, and that of the conscious mind begins at the same point.
-now, do not confuse this work with that of the intuition, which is a very different mental phase or plane. this sub-conscious working, just mentioned, plays an entirely different part. it is a good servant, and does not try to be more. the intuition, on the contrary, is more like a higher friend--a friend at court, as it were, who gives us warnings and advice.
-now to apply the rule to another case. suppose you wish to gather together all the information that you possess relating to a certain subject. in the first place it is certain that you know a very great deal more about any subject than you think you do. stored away in the various recesses of the mind, or memory if you prefer that term, are stray bits of information and knowledge concerning almost any subject. but these bits of information are not associated with each other. you have never attempted to think attentively upon the particular question before you, and the facts are not correlated in the mind. it is just as if you had so many hundred pounds of anything scattered throughout the space of a large warehouse, a tiny bit here, and a tiny bit there, mixed up with thousands of other things.
-you may prove this by sitting down some time and letting your thoughts run along the line of some particular subject, and you will find emerging into the field of consciousness all sorts of information that you had apparently forgotten, and each fitting itself into its proper place. every person has had experiences of this kind. but the work of gathering together the scattered scraps of knowledge is more or less tedious for the conscious mind, and the sub-conscious mind will do the work equally well with the wear and tear on the attention. in fact, it is the sub-conscious mind that always does the work, even when you think it is the conscious mind. all the conscious mind does is to hold the attention firmly upon the object before it, and then let the sub-consciousness pass the material before it. but this holding the attention is tiresome work, and it is not necessary for it to expend its energies upon the details of the task, for the work may be done in an easier and simpler way.
-the best way is to follow a plan similar to the one mentioned a few pages back. that is, to fix the interested attention firmly upon the question before you, until you manage to get a clear, vivid impression of just what you want answered. then pass the whole matter into the sub-conscious mind with the command "attend to this," and then leave it. throw the whole matter off of your mind, and let the sub-conscious work go on. if possible let the matter run along until the next morning and then take it up for consideration, when, if you have proceeded properly you will find the matter worked out, arranged in logical sequence, so that your conscious attention will be able to clearly review the string of facts, examples, illustrations, experiences, etc., relating to the matter in question.
-now, many of you will say that you would like this plan to work in cases in which you have not the time to sleep over it. in such cases we will say that it is possible to cultivate a rapid method of sub-consciousing, and in fact many business men and men of affairs have stumbled upon a similar plan, driven to the discovery by necessity. they will give a quick, comprehensive, strong flash of attention upon the subject, getting right to the heart of it, and then will let it rest in the sub-conscious mind for a moment or two, killing a minute or two of time n "preliminary conversation," until the first flash of answer comes to them. after the first flash, and taking hold of the first loose end of the subject that presents itself to them, they will unwind a string of information and "talk" about the subject that will surprise even themselves. many lawyers have acquired this knowledge, and are what is known as "resourceful." such men are often confronted with questions of conditions utterly unsuspected by them a moment before. practice has taught them the folly of fear and loss of confidence at such moments, and has also impressed upon them the truth that something within them will come to the rescue. so, presenting a confident air, they will manage to say a few platitudes or commonplaces, while the sub-conscious mind is most rapidly gathering its materials for the answer. in a moment an opening thought "flashes upon" the man, and as he continues idea after idea passes before his conscious and eager attention, sometimes so rapidly that it is almost impossible to utter them and lo! the danger is over, and a brilliant success is often snatched from the jaws of an apparent failure and defeat. in such cases the mental demand upon the sub-conscious mind is not voiced in words, but is the result of a strong mental need. however, if one gives a quick verbal command "attend to this," the result will be heightened.
-we have known of cases of men prominent in the world's affairs who made a practice of smoking a cigar during important business interviews, not because they particularly cared for tobacco, but because they had learned to appreciate the value of a moment's time for the mind to "gather itself together," as one man expressed it. a question would be asked, or a proposition advanced suddenly, demanding an immediate answer. under the watchful eyes of the other party the questioned party tried not to show by his expression any indication of searching for an answer, for obvious reasons. so, instead, he would take a long puff at the cigar, then a slow attentive look at the ashes on its tip, and then another moment consumed in flicking the ash into the receptacle, and then came the answer, slowly, "well, as to that--" or some other words of that kind, prefacing the real answer which had been rapidly framed by the sub-conscious mind in time to be uttered in its proper place. the few moments of time gained had been sufficient for the sub-conscious mind to gather up its materials, and the matter to be shaped properly, without any appearance of hesitation on the part of the answerer. all of this required practice, of course, but the principle may be seen through it all and in every similar case. the point is that the man, in such cases, sets some hidden part of his mind to work for him, and when he begins to speak the matter is at least roughly "licked into shape for him."
-our students will understand, of course, that this is not advice to smoke cigars during interviews of importance, but is merely given to illustrate the principle. we have known other men to twirl a lead pencil in their fingers in a lazy sort of fashion, and then drop it at the important moment. but we must cease giving examples of this kind, lest we be accused of giving instructions in worldly wisdom, instead of teaching the use of the mind. the impressive pause of the teacher, before answering his pupil's question, is also an example of the workings of this law. one often says "stop, let me think a moment," and during his pause he does not really consciously think at all, but stares ahead in a dreamy fashion, while his sub-conscious mind does the work for him, although he little suspects the nature of the operation. one has but to look around him to realize the importance and frequent application of this truth.
-and so far from being apt to get us in a position of false dependence, it is calculated to make us self-confident--for we are calling upon a part of ourselves, not upon some outside intelligence. if those people who never feel satisfied unless they are getting "advice" from others would only cultivate the acquaintance of this little "home adviser" within them, they would lose that dependent attitude and frame of mind, and would grow self-confident and fearless. just imagine the confidence of one who feels that he has within him a source of knowledge equal to that of the majority of those with whom he is likely to come in contact, and he feels less afraid to face them, and look them fearlessly in the eyes. he feels that his "mind" is not confined to the little field of consciousness, but is an area infinitely greater, containing a mass of information undreamed of. everything that the man has inherited, or brought with him from past lives--everything that he has read, heard or seen, or experienced in this life, is hidden away there in some quarter of that great sub-conscious mind, and, if he will but give the command, the "essence" of all that knowledge is his. the details may not be presented to his consciousness (often it is not, for very good occult reasons) by the result, or essence of the knowledge will pass before his attention, with sufficient examples and illustrations, or arguments to enable him to make out "a good case" for himself.
-in the next lesson we will call your attention to other features and qualities of this great field of mind, showing you how you can put it to work, and master it. remember, always, the "i" is the master. and its mastery must always be remembered and asserted over all phases and planes of the mind. do not be a slave to the sub-conscious, but be its master.
-mantram (or affirmation).
-i have within me a great area of mind that is under my command, and subject to my mastery. this mind is friendly to me, and is glad to do my bidding, and obey my orders. it will work for me when i ask it, and is constant, untiring, and faithful. knowing this i am no longer afraid, ignorant or uninformed. the "i" is master of it all, and is asserting its authority. "i" am master over body, mind, consciousness, and sub-consciousness. i am "i"--a centre of power, strength, and knowledge. i am "i"--and "i" am spirit, a fragment from the divine flame.
-the eleventh lesson.
-subconscious character building.
-in our last lesson (the tenth lesson) we called your attention to the wonderful work of the sub-conscious regions of mentation in the direction of the performance of intellectual work. great as are the possibilities of this field of mentation in the direction named, they are equaled by the possibilities of building up character by similar methods.
-every one realizes that one may change his character by a strenuous course of repression and training, and nearly all who read these lines have modified their characteristics somewhat by similar methods. but it is only of late years that the general public have become aware that character might be modified, changed, and sometimes completely altered by means of an intelligent use of the sub-conscious faculties of the mind.
-the word "character" is derived from ancient terms meaning "to mark," "to engrave," etc., and some authorities inform us that the term originally arose from the word used by the babylonian brickmakers to designate the trade mark impressed by them upon their bricks, each maker having his own mark. this is interesting, in view of the recent theories regarding the cultivation of characteristics which may be found in the current western works on psychology. but these theories are not new to the yogi teachers of the east, who have employed similar methods for centuries past in training their students and pupils. the yogis have long taught that a man's character was, practically, the crude character-stuff possessed by him at his birth, modified and shaped by outside influences in the case of the ordinary man, and by deliberate self-training and shaping by the wise man. their pupils are examined regarding their characteristics, and then directed to repress the undesirable traits, and to cultivate the desirable ones.
-the yogi practice of character building is based upon the knowledge of the wonderful powers of the sub-conscious plane of the mind. the pupil is not required to pursue strenuous methods of repression or cultivation, but, on the contrary, is taught that such methods are opposed to nature's plans, and that the best way is to imitate nature and to gradually unfold the desired characteristics by means of focusing the will-power and attention upon them. the weeding out of undesirable characteristics is accomplished by the pupil cultivating the characteristics directly opposed to the undesirable ones. for instance, if the pupil desires to overcome fear, he is not instructed to concentrate on fear with the idea of killing it out, but, instead, is taught to mentally deny that he has fear, and then to concentrate his attention upon the ideal of courage. when courage is developed, fear is found to have faded away. the positive always overpowers the negative.
-in the word "ideal" is found the secret of the yogi method of sub-conscious character building. the teachings are to the effect that "ideals" may be built up by the bestowal of attention upon them. the student is given the example of a rose bush. he is taught that the plant will grow and flourish in the measure that care and attention is bestowed upon it and vice versa. he is taught that the ideal of some desired characteristic is a mental rosebush, and that by careful attention it will grow and put forth leaves and flowers. he is then given some minor mental trait to develop, and is taught to dwell upon it in thought--to exercise his imagination and to mentally "see" himself attaining the desired quality. he is given mantrams or affirmation to repeat, for the purpose of giving him a mental center around which to build an ideal. there is a mighty power in words, used in this way, providing that the user always thinks of the meaning of the words, and makes a mental picture of the quality expressed by them, instead of merely repeating them parrot fashion.
-the yogi student is trained gradually, until he acquires the power of conscious direction of the sub-conscious mind in the building up process, which power comes to anyone--oriental or occidental--who will take the trouble to practice. in fact, nearly everyone possesses and actively uses this power, although he may not be aware of it. one's character is largely the result of the quality of thoughts held in the mind, and of the mental pictures or ideals entertained by the person. the man who constantly sees and thinks of himself as unsuccessful and down-trodden is very apt to grow ideals of thought forms of these things until his whole nature is dominated by them, and his every act works toward the objectification of the thoughts. on the contrary, the man who makes an ideal of success and accomplishment finds that his whole mental nature seems to work toward that result--the objectification of the ideal. and so it is with every other ideal. the person who builds up a mental ideal of jealousy will be very apt to objectify the same, and to unconsciously create condition that will give his jealousy food upon which to feed. but this particular phase of the subject, properly belongs to our next lesson. this eleventh lesson is designed to point out the way by which people may mould their characters in any way they desire--supplanting undesirable characteristics by desirable ones, and developing desirable ideals into active characteristics. the mind is plastic to him who knows the secret of its manipulation.
-the average person recognizes his strong and weak points of character, but is very apt to regard them as fixed and unalterable, or practically so. he thinks that he "is just as the lord made him," and that is the end of it. he fails to recognize that his character is being unconsciously modified every day by association with others, whose suggestions are being absorbed and acted upon. and he fails to see that he is moulding his own character by taking interest in certain things, and allowing his mind to dwell upon them. he does not realize that he himself is really the maker of himself, from the raw and crude material given him at his birth. he makes himself negatively or positively. negatively, if he allows himself to be moulded by the thoughts and ideals of others, and positively, if he moulds himself. everyone is doing one or the other--perhaps both. the weak man is the one who allows himself to be made by others, and the strong man is the one who takes the building process in his own hands.
-the process of character-building is so delightfully simple that its importance is apt to be overlooked by the majority of persons who are made acquainted with it. it is only by actual practice and the experiencing of results that its wonderful possibilities are borne home to one.
-the yogi student is early taught the lesson of the power and importance of character building by some strong practical example. for instance, the student is found to have certain tastes of appetite, such as a like for certain things, and a corresponding dislike for others. the yogi teacher instructs the student in the direction of cultivating a desire and taste for the disliked thing, and a dislike for the liked thing. he teaches the student to fix his mind on the two things, but in the direction of imagining that he likes the one thing and dislikes the other. the student is taught to make a mental picture of the desired conditions, and to say, for instance, "i loathe candy--i dislike even the sight of it," and, on the other hand, "i crave tart things--i revel in the taste of them," etc., etc., at the same time trying to reproduce the taste of sweet things accompanied with a loathing, and a taste of tart things, accompanied with a feeling of delight. after a bit the student finds that his tastes are actually changing in accordance with his thoughts, and in the end they have completely changed places. the truth of the theory is then borne home to the student, and he never forgets the lesson.
-in order to reassure readers who might object to having the student left in this condition of reversed tastes, we may add that the yogi teachers then teach him to get rid of the idea of the disliked thing, and teach him to cultivate a liking for all wholesome things, their theory being that the dislike of certain wholesome eatables has been caused by some suggestion in childhood, or by some prenatal impression, as wholesome eatables are made attractive to the taste by nature. the idea of all this training, however, is not the cultivation of taste, but practice in mental training, and the bringing home to the student the truth of the fact that his nature is plastic to his ego, and that it may be moulded at will, by concentration and intelligent practice. the reader of this lesson may experiment upon himself along the lines of the elementary yogi practice as above mentioned, if he so desires. he will find it possible to entirely change his dislike for certain food, etc., by the methods mentioned above. he may likewise acquire a liking for heretofore distasteful tasks and duties, which he finds it necessary to perform.
-the principle underlying the whole yogi theory of character building by the sub-conscious intellect, is that the ego is master of the mind, and that the mind is plastic to the commands of the ego. the ego or "i" of the individual is the one real, permanent, changeless principle of the individual, and the mind, like the body, is constantly changing, moving, growing, and dying. just as the body may be developed and moulded by intelligent exercises, so may the mind be developed and shaped by the ego if intelligent methods are followed.
-the majority of people consider that character is a fixed something, belonging to a man, that cannot be altered or changed. and yet they show by their everyday actions that at heart they do not believe this to be a fact, for they endeavor to change and mould the characters of those around them, by word of advice, counsel, praising or condemnation, etc.
-it is not necessary to go into the matter of the consideration of the causes of character in this lesson. we will content ourselves by saying that these causes may be summed up, roughly, as follows: (1) result of experiences in past lives; (2) heredity; (3) environment; (4) suggestion from others; and (5) auto-suggestion. but no matter how one's character has been formed, it may be modified, moulded, changed, and improved by the methods set forth in this lesson, which methods are similar to what is called by western writers, "auto-suggestion."
-the underlying idea of auto-suggestion is the "willing" of the individual that the changes take place in his mind, the willing being aided by intelligent and tried methods of creating the new ideal or thought-form. the first requisite for the changed condition must be "desire" for the change. unless one really desires that the change take place, he is unable to bring his will to bear on the task. there is a very close connection between desire and will. will is not usually brought to bear upon anything unless it is inspired by desire. some people connect the word desire with the lower inclinations, but it is equally applicable to the higher. if one fights off a low inclination or desire, it is because he is possessed of a higher inclination or desire. many desires are really compromises between two or more conflicting desires--a sort of average desire, as it were.
-unless one desires to change his character he will not make any move toward it. and in proportion to the strength of the desire, so will be the amount of will-power that is put in the task. the first thing for one to do in character building is to "want to do it." and if he finds that the "want" is not sufficiently strong to enable him to manifest the perseverance and effort necessary to bring it to a successful conclusion, then he should deliberately proceed to "build up the desire."
-desire may be built up by allowing the mind to dwell upon the subject until a desire is created. this rule works both ways, as many people have found out to their sorrow and misery. not only may one build up a commendable desire in this way, but he may also build up a reprehensible one. a little thought will show you the truth of this statement. a young man has no desire to indulge in the excesses of a "fast" life. but after a while he hears, or reads something about others leading that sort of life, and he begins to allow his mind to dwell upon the subject, turning it around and examining it mentally, and going over it in his imagination. after a time he begins to find a desire gradually sending forth roots and branches, and if he continues to water the thing in his imagination, before long he will find within himself a blossoming inclination, which will try to insist upon expression in action. there is a great truth behind the words of the poet:
-"vice is a monster of so frightful mien, that to be hated needs but to be seen. yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, we first endure, then pity, and then embrace."
-and the follies and crimes of many a man have been due to the growing of desire within his mind, through this plan of planting the seed, and then carefully watering and tending to it--this cultivation of the growing desire. we have thought it well to give this word of warning because it will throw light upon many things that may have perplexed you, and because it may serve to call your attention to certain growing weeds of the mind that you have been nourishing.
-but remember, always, that the force that leads downward may be transmuted and made to lead upward. it is just as easy to plant and grow wholesome desires as the other kind. if you are conscious of certain defects and deficiencies in your character (and who is not?) and yet find yourself not possessed of a strong enough desire to make the changes necessary, then you should commence by planting the desire seed and allowing it to grow by giving it constant care and attention. you should picture to yourself the advantages of acquiring the desirable traits of character of which you have thought. you should frequently go over and over them in your mind, imaging yourself in imagination as possessing them. you will then find that the growing desire will make headway and that you will gradually begin to "want to" possess that trait of character more and more. and when you begin to "want to" hard enough, you will find arising in your consciousness a feeling of the possession of sufficient will-power to carry it through. will follows the desire. cultivate a desire and you will find back of it the will to carry it through. under the pressure of a very strong desire men have accomplished feats akin to miracles.
-if you find yourself in possession of desires that you feel are hurtful to you, you may rid yourself of them by deliberately starving them to death, and at the same time growing opposite desires. by refusing to think of the objectionable desires you refuse them the mental food upon which alone they can thrive. just as you starve a plant by refusing it nourishing soil and water, so may you starve out an objectionable desire by refusing to give it mental food. remember this, for it is most important. refuse to allow the mind to dwell upon such desires, and resolutely turn aside the attention, and, particularly, the imagination, from the subject. this may call for the manifestation of a little will-power in the beginning, but it will become easier as you progress, and each victory will give you renewed strength for the next fight. but do not temporize with the desire--do not compromise with it--refuse to entertain the idea. in a fight of this kind each victory gives one added strength, and each defeat weakens one.
-and while you are refusing to entertain the objectionable guest you must be sure to grow a desire of an entirely opposite nature--a desire directly opposed to the one you are starving to death. picture the opposite desire, and think of it often. let your mind dwell upon it lovingly and let the imagination help to build it up into form. think of the advantages that will arise to you when you fully possess it, and let the imagination picture you as in full possession of it, and acting out your new part in life strong and vigorous in your new found power.
-all this will gradually lead you to the point where you will "want to" possess this power. then you must be ready for the next step which is "faith" or "confident expectation."
-now, faith or confident expectation is not made to order in most persons, and in such cases one must acquire it gradually. many of you who read these lines will have an understanding of the subject that will give you this faith. but to those who lack it, we suggest that they practice on some trivial phases of the mental make-up, some petty trait of character, in which the victory will be easy and simple. from this stage they should work up to more difficult tasks, until at last they gain that faith or confident expectation that comes from persevering practice.
-the greater the degree of faith or confident expectation that one carries with him in this task of character building, the greater will be his success. and this because of well established psychological laws. faith or confident expectation clears away the mental path and renders the work easier, while doubt or lack of faith retards the work, and acts as obstacles and stumbling blocks. strong desire, and faith, or confident expectation are the first two steps. the third is will-power.
-by will-power we do not mean that strenuous, clenching-of-fist-and-frowning-brow thing that many think of when they say "will." will is not manifested in this way. the true will is called into play by one realizing the "i" part of himself and speaking the word of command from that center of power and strength. it is the voice of the "i." and it is needed in this work of character building.
-so now you are ready for work, being possessed of (1) strong desire; (2) faith or confident expectation; and (3) will-power. with such a triple-weapon nothing but success is possible.
-then comes the actual work. the first thing to do is to lay the track for a new character habit. "habit?" you may ask in surprise. yes, habit! for that word gives the secret of the whole thing. our characters are made up of inherited or acquired habits. think over this a little and you will see the truth of it. you do certain things without a thought, because you have gotten into the habit of doing them. you act in certain ways because you have established the habit. you are in the habit of being truthful, honest, virtuous, because you have established the habit of being so. do you doubt this? then look around you--or look within your own heart, and you will see that you have lost some of your old habits of action, and have acquired new ones. the building up of character is the building up of habits. and the changing of character is the changing of habits. it will be well for you to settle this fact in your own mind, for it will give you the secret of many things connected with the subject.
-and, remember this, that habit is almost entirely a matter of the sub-conscious mentality. it is true that habits originate in the conscious mind, but as they are established they sink down into the depths of the sub-conscious mentality, and thereafter become "second nature," which, by the way, is often more powerful than the original nature of the person. the duke of wellington said that habit was as strong as ten natures, and he proceeded to drill habits into his army until they found it natural to act in accordance with the habits pounded into them during the drills. darwin relates an interesting instance of the force of habit over the reason. he found that his habit of starting back at the sudden approach of danger was so firmly established that no will-power could enable him to keep his face pressed up against the cage of the cobra in the zoological gardens when the snake struck at him, although he knew the glass was so thick that there could be no danger, and although he exerted the full force of his will. but we venture to say that one could overcome even this strongly ingrained habit, by gradually training the sub-conscious mentality and establishing a new habit of thought and action.
-it is not only during the actual process of "willing" the new habit that the work of making the new mental path goes on. in fact, the yogis believe that the principal part of the work goes on sub-consciously between the intervals of commend, and that the real progress is made in that way, just as the real work of solving the problem is performed sub-consciously, as related in our last lesson. as an example, we may call your attention to some instances of the cultivation of physical habits. a physical task learned in the evening is much easier to perform the following-morning than it was the night before, and still easier the following monday morning than it was on the saturday afternoon previous. the germans have a saying that "we learn to skate in summer, and to swim in winter," meaning that the impression passed on to the subconscious mentality deepens and broadens during the interval of rest. the best plan is to make frequent, sharp impressions, and then to allow reasonable periods of rest in order to give the sub-conscious mentality the opportunity to do its work. by "sharp" impressions we mean impressions given under strong attention, as we have mentioned in some of the earlier lessons of this series.
-a writer has well said: "sow an act, reap a habit; sow a habit, reap a character; sow a character, reap a destiny," thus recognizing habit as the source of character. we recognize this truth in our training of children, forming goods habits of character by constant repetition, by watchfulness, etc. habit acts as a motive when established, so that while we think we are acting without motive we may be acting under the strong motive power of some well established habit. herbert spencer has well said: "the habitually honest man does what is right, not consciously because he 'ought' but with simple satisfaction; and is ill at ease till it is done." some may object that this idea of habit as a basis of character may do away with the idea of a developed moral conscientiousness, as for instance, josiah royce who says: "the establishment of organized habit is never in itself enough to ensure the growth of an enlightened moral conscientiousness" but to such we would say that one must "want to" cultivate a high character before he will create the habits usual to the same, and the "want to" is the sign of the "moral conscientiousness," rather than the habit. and the same is true of the "ought to" side of the subject. the "ought to" arises in the conscious mind in the beginning, and inspires the cultivation of the habit, although the latter after a while becomes automatic, a matter of the sub-conscious mentality, without any "ought to" attachment. it then becomes a matter of "like to."
-thus we see that the moulding, modifying, changing, and building of character is largely a matter of the establishing of habits. and what is the best way to establish habits? becomes our next question. the answer of the yogi is: "establish a mental image, and then build your habit around it." and in that sentence he has condensed a whole system.
-everything we see having a form is built around a mental image--either the mental image of some man, some animal, or of the absolute. this is the rule of the universe, and in the matter of character-building we but follow a well established rule. when we wish to build a house, we first think of "house" in a general way. then we begin to think of "what kind" of a house. then we go into details. then we consult an architect, and he makes us a plan, which plan is his mental image, suggested by our mental image. then, the plan once decided upon, we consult the builder, and at last the house stands completed--an objectified mental image. and so it is with every created thing--all manifestation of a mental image.
-this is no vague, visionary theory. it is a well known and proven psychological fact, and thousands have worked marvelous changes in their character by its means.
-not only may one elevate his moral character in this way, but he may mould his "work-a-day" self to better conform to the needs of his environment and occupation. if one lacks perseverance, he may attain it; if one is filled with fear, he may supplant it with fearlessness; if one lacks self-confidence, he may gain it. in fact, there is no trait that may not be developed in this way. people have literally "made themselves over" by following this method of character-building. the great trouble with the race has been that persons have not realized that they could do these things. they have thought that they were doomed to remain just the creatures that they found themselves to be. they did not realize that the work of creation was not ended, and that they had within themselves a creative power adapted to the needs of their case. when man first realizes this truth, and proves it by practice, he becomes another being. he finds himself superior to environment, and training--he finds that he may ride over these things. he makes his own environment, and he trains himself.
-we cannot attempt, in the short space of a single lesson, to map out a course of instruction in character building adapted to the special needs of each individual. but we think that what we have said on the subject should be sufficient to point out the method for each student to map out a course for himself, following the general rules given above. as a help to the student, however, we will give a brief course of instruction for the cultivation of one desirable trait of character. the general plan of this course may be adapted to fit the requirements of any other case, if intelligence is used by the student. the case we have selected is that of a student who has been suffering from "a lack of moral courage--a lack of self-confidence--an inability to maintain my poise in the presence of other people--an inability to say 'no!'--a feeling of inferiority to those with whom i come in contact." the brief outline of the course of practice given in this case is herewith given:
-preliminary thought. you should fix firmly in your mind the fact that you are the equal of any and every man. you come from the same source. you are an expression of the same one life. in the eyes of the absolute you are the equal of any man, even the highest in the land. truth is "things as god sees them"--and in truth you and the man are equal, and, at the last, one. all feelings of inferiority are illusions, errors, and lies, and have no existence in truth. when in the company of others remember this fact and realize that the life principle in you is talking to the life principle in them. let the life principle flow through you, and endeavor to forget your personal self. at the same time, endeavor to see that same life principle, behind and beyond the personality of the person in whose presence you are. he is by a personality hiding the life principle, just as you are. nothing more--nothing less! you are both one in truth. let the conscious of the "i" beam forth and you will experience an uplift and sense of courage, and the other will likewise feel it. you have within you the source of courage, moral and physical, and you have naught to fear--fearlessness is your divine heritage, avail yourself of it. you have self-conscience, for the self is the "i" within you, not the petty personality, and you must have confidence in that "i." retreat within yourself until you feel the presence of the "i," and then will you have a self-confidence that nothing can shake or disturb. once having attained the permanent consciousness of the "i," you will have poise. once having realized that you are a center of power, you will have no difficulty in saying "no!" when it is right to do so. once having realized your true nature--your real self--you will lose all sense of inferiority, and will know that you are a manifestation of the one life and have behind you the strength, power, and grandeur of the cosmos. begin by realizing yourself, and then proceed with the following methods of training the mind.
-word images. it is difficult for the mind to build itself around an idea, unless that idea be expressed in words. a word is the center of an idea, just as the idea is the center of the mental image, and the mental image the center of the growing mental habit. therefore, the yogis always lay great stress upon the use of words in this way. in the particular case before us, we should suggest the holding before you of a few words crystallizing the main thought. we suggest the words "i am"; courage; confidence; poise; firmness; equality. commit these words to memory, and then endeavor to fix in your mind a clear conception of the meaning of each word, so that each may stand for a live idea when you say it. beware of parrot-like or phonographic repetition. let each word's meaning stand out clearly before you, so that when you repeat it you may feel its meaning. repeat the words over frequently, when opportunity presents itself, and you will soon begin to notice that they act as a strong mental tonic upon you, producing a bracing, energizing effect. and each time you repeat the words, understandingly, you have done something to clear away the mental path over which you wish to travel.
-practice. when you are at leisure, and are able to indulge in "day dreams" without injury to your affairs of life, call your imagination into play and endeavor to picture yourself as being possessed of the qualities indicated by the words named. picture yourself under the most trying circumstances, making use of the desired qualities, and manifesting them fully. endeavor to picture yourself as acting out your part well, and exhibiting the desired qualities. do not be ashamed to indulge in these day-dreams, for they are the prophecies of the things to follow, and you are but rehearsing your part before the day of the performance. practice makes perfect, and if you accustom yourself to acting in a certain way in imagination, you will find it much easier to play your part when the real performance occurs. this may seem childish to many of you, but if you have an actor among your acquaintances, consult him about it, and you will find that he will heartily recommend it. he will tell you what practice does for one in this direction, and how repeated practice and rehearsals may fix a character so firmly in a man's mind that he may find it difficult to divest himself of it after a time. choose well the part you wish to play--the character you wish to be yours--and then after fixing it well in your mind, practice, practice, practice. keep your ideal constantly before you, and endeavor to grow into it. and you will succeed, if you exercise patience and perseverance.
-but, more than this. do not confine your practice to mere private rehearsal. you need some "dress rehearsals" as well--rehearsals in public. therefore, after you get well started in your work, manage to exercise your growing character-habits in your everyday life. pick out the little cases first and "try it on them."
-you will find that you will be able to overcome conditions that formerly bothered you much. you will become conscious of a growing strength and power coming from within, and you will recognize that you are indeed a changed person. let your thought express itself in action, whenever you get a good chance. but do not try to force chances just to try your strength. do not, for instance, try to force people to ask for favors that you may say "no!" you will find plenty of genuine tests without forcing any. accustom yourself to looking people in the eye, and feeling the power that is back of you, and within you. you will soon be able to see through their personality, and realize that it is just one portion of the one life gazing at another portion, and that therefore there is nothing to be afraid of. a realization of your real self will enable you to maintain your poise under trying circumstances, if you will but throw aside your false idea about your personality. forget yourself--your little personal self--for a while, and fix your mind on the universal self of which you are a part. all these things that have worried you are but incidents of the personal life, and are seen to be illusions when viewed from the standpoint of the universal life.
-carry the universal life with you as much as possible into your everyday life. it belongs there as much as anywhere, and will prove to be a tower of strength and refuge to you in the perplexing situations of your busy life.
-remember always that the ego is master of the mental states and habits, and that the will is the direct instrument of the ego, and is always ready for its use. let your soul be filled with the strong desire to cultivate those mental habits that will make you strong. nature's plan is to produce strong individual expressions of herself, and she will be glad to give you her aid in becoming strong. the man who wishes to strengthen himself will always find great forces back of him to aid him in the work, for is he not carrying out one of nature's pet plans, and one which she has been striving for throughout the ages. anything that tends to make you realize and express your mastery, tends to strengthen you, and places at your disposal nature's aid. you may witness this in everyday life--nature seems to like strong individuals, and delights in pushing them ahead. by mastery, we mean mastery over your own lower nature, as well as over outside nature, of course. the "i" is master--forget it not, o student, and assert it constantly. peace be with you.
-mantram (or affirmation).
-i am the master of my mental habits--i control my character. i will to be strong, and summon the forces of my nature to my aid.
-the twelfth lesson.
-in this lesson we wish to touch upon a certain feature of sub-conscious mentation that has been much dwelt upon by certain schools of western writers and students during the past twenty years, but which has also been misunderstood, and, alas, too often misused, by some of those who have been attracted to the subject. we allude to what has been called the "power of thought." while this power is very real, and like any other of the forces of nature may be properly used and applied in our every day life, still many students of the power of the mind have misused it and have stooped to practices worthy only of the followers of the schools of "black magic." we hear on all sides of the use of "treatments" for selfish and often base ends, those following these practices seeming to be in utter ignorance of the occult laws brought into operation, and the terrible reaction inevitably falling to the lot of those practicing this negative form of mental influence. we have been amazed at the prevailing ignorance concerning the nature and effects of this improper use of mental force, and at the same time, at the common custom of such selfish, improper uses. this, more particularly, when the true occultist knows that these things are not necessary, even to those who seek "success" by mental forces. there is a true method of the use of mental forces, as well as an improper use, and we trust that in this lesson we may be able to bring the matter sharply and clearly before the minds of our students.
-in our first course (the fourteen lessons) in the several lessons entitled, respectively, "thought dynamics," "telepathy, etc.," and "psychic influence," we have given a general idea of the effect of one mind upon other minds, and many other writers have called the attention of the western world to the same facts. there has been a general awakening of interest in this phase of the subject among the western people of late years, and many and wonderful are the theories that have been advanced among the conflicting schools regarding the matter. but, notwithstanding the conflicting theories, there is a general agreement upon the fundamental facts. they all agree that the mental forces may be used to affect oneself and others, and many have started in to use these mental forces for their own selfish ends and purposes, believing that they were fully justified in so doing, and being unaware of the web of psychic causes and effects which they were weaving around them by their practices.
-now, at the beginning, let us impress upon the minds of our students the fact that while it is undoubtedly true that people who are unaware of the true sources of strength within them, may be, and often are affected by mental force exerted by others, it is equally true that no one can be adversely affected in this way providing he realizes the "i" within himself, which is the only real part of him, and which is an impregnable tower of strength against the assaults of others. there is no cause for all of this fear that is being manifested by many western students of thought-power, who are in constant dread of being "treated" adversely by other people. the man or woman who realizes the "i" within, may by the slightest exercise of the will surround himself with a mental aura which will repel adverse thought-waves emanating from the minds of others. nay, more than this--the habitual recognition of the "i," and a few moments' meditation upon it each day, will of itself erect such an aura, and will charge this aura with a vitality that will turn back adverse thought, and cause it to return to the source from which it came, where it will serve the good purpose of bringing to the mistaken mind originating it, the conviction that such practices are hurtful and to be avoided.
-this realization of the "i," which we brought out in the first few lessons of the present series, is the best and only real method of self-protection. this may be easily understood, when we remind you that the whole phenomena of mental influencing belongs to the "illusion" side of existence--the negative side--and that the real and positive side must of necessity be stronger. nothing can affect the real in you--and the nearer you get to the real, in realization and understanding, the stronger do you become. this is the whole secret. think it over.
-but, there are comparatively few people who are able to rest firmly in the "i" consciousness all the time and the others demand help while they are growing. to such, we would say "creep as close the realization of the i, as possible, and rest your spiritual feet firmly upon the rock of the real self." if you feel that people, circumstances, or things are influencing you unduly, stand up boldly, and deny the influence. say something like this, "i deny the power or influence of persons, circumstances, or things to adversely affect me. i assert my reality, power and dominion over these things." these words may seem very simple, but when uttered with the consciousness of the truth underlying them, they become as a mighty force. you will understand, of course, that there is no magic or virtue in the words themselves--that is, in the grouping of the letters forming the words, or the sounds of the words--the virtue resting in the idea of which the words are the expression. you will be surprised at the effect of this statement upon depressing, or adverse influences surrounding you. if you--you who are reading these words now--feel yourself subject to any adverse or depressing influences, will then stand up erect, throwing your shoulders back, raising your head, and looking boldly and fearlessly ahead, and repeat these words firmly, and with faith, you will feel the adverse influences disappearing. you will almost see the clouds falling back from you. try it now, before reading further, and you will become conscious of a new strength and power.
-you are perfectly justified in thus denying adverse influence. you have a perfect right to drive back threatening or depressing thought-clouds. you have a perfect right to take your stand upon the rock of truth--your real self--and demand your freedom. these negative thoughts of the world in general, and of some people in particular, belong to the dark side of life, and you have a right to demand freedom from them. you do not belong to the same idea of life, and it is your privilege--yes, your duty--to repel them and bid them disappear from your horizon. you are a child of light, and it is your right and duty to assert your freedom from the things of darkness. you are merely asserting the truth when you affirm your superiority and dominion over these dark forces. and in the measure of your recognition and faith, will be the power at your disposal. faith and recognition renders man a god. if we could but fully recognize and realize just what we are, we could rise above this entire plane of negative, dark world of thought. but we have become so blinded and stupefied with the race-thought of fear and weakness, and so hypnotized with the suggestions of weakness that we hear on all sides of us, that even the best of us find it hard to avoid occasionally sinking back into the lower depths of despair and discouragement. but, let us remember this, brothers and sisters, that these periods of "back-sliding" become less frequent, and last a shorter time, as we proceed. bye-and-bye we shall escape them altogether.
-some may think that we are laying too much stress upon the negative side of the question, but we feel that what we have said is timely, and much needed by many who read these lessons. there has been so much said regarding this negative, adverse power of thought, that it is well that all should be taught that it is in their power to rise above this thing-- that the weapon for its defeat is already in their hand.
-the most advanced student may occasionally forget that he is superior to the adverse influence of the race-thought, and other clouds of thought influence that happen to be in his neighborhood. when we think of how few there are who are sending forth the positive, hopeful, thought-waves, and how many are sending forth continually the thoughts of discouragement, fear, and despair, it is no wonder that at times there comes to us a feeling of discouragement, helplessness, and "what's the use." but we must be ever alert, to stand up and deny these things out of existence so far as our personal thought world is concerned. there is a wonderful occult truth in the last sentence. we are the makers, preservers, and destroyers of our personal thought-world. we may bring into it that which we desire to appear; we may keep there what we wish, cultivating, developing and unfolding the thought-forms that we desire; we may destroy that which we wish to keep out. the "i" is the master of its thought-world. think over this great truth, o student! by desire we call into existence--by affirmation we preserve and encourage--by denial we destroy. the hindus in their popular religious conceptions picture the one being as a trinity, composed of brahma, the creator; vishnu, the preserver, and siva, the destroyer--not three gods, as is commonly supposed, but a trinity composed of three aspects of deity or being. this idea of the threefold being is also applicable to the individual--"as above so below." the "i" is the being of the individual, and the thought-world is its manifestation. it creates, preserves, and destroys--as it will. carry this idea with you, and realize that your individual thought-world is your own field of manifestation. in it you are constantly creating--constantly preserving--constantly destroying. and if you can destroy anything in your own thought-world you remove it from its field of activity, so far as you are concerned. and if you create anything in your own thought-world, you bring it into active being, so far as you are concerned. and if you preserve anything, you keep it by you in effect and full operation and influence in your life. this truth belongs to the higher phases of the subject, for its explanation is inextricably bound up in the explanation of the "thing-in-itself"--the absolute and its manifestations. but even what we have said above, should give to the alert student sufficient notice to cause him to grasp the facts of the case, and to apply the principles in his own life.
-if one lives on the plane of the race-thought, he is subject to its laws, for the law of cause and effect is in full operation on each plane of life. but when one raises himself above the race-thought, and on to the plane of the recognition of the real self--the "i"--then does he extricate himself from the lower laws of cause and effect, and places himself on a higher plane of causation, in which he plays a much higher part. and so we are constantly reminding you that your tower of strength and refuge lies on the higher plane. but, nevertheless, we must deal with the things and laws of the lower plane, because very few who read these lessons are able to rest entirely upon the higher plane. the great majority of them have done no more than to lift themselves partially on to the higher plane, and they are consequently living on both planes, partly in each, the consequence being that there is a struggle between the conflicting laws of the two planes. the present stage is one of the hardest on the path of attainment, and resembles the birth-pains of the physical body. but you are being born into a higher plane, and the pain after becoming the most acute will begin to ease, and in the end will disappear, and then will come peace and calm. when the pain becomes the most acute, then be cheered with the certainty that you have reached the crisis of your new spiritual birth, and that you will soon gain peace. and then you will see that the peace and bliss will be worth all the pain and struggle. be brave, fellow followers of the path--deliverance is nigh. soon will come the silence that follows the storm. the pain that you are experiencing--ah, well do we know that you are experiencing the pain--is not punishment, but is a necessary part of your growth. all life follows this plan--the pains of labor and birth ever precede the deliverance. such is life--and life is based upon truth--and all is well with the world. we did not intend to speak of these things in this lesson, but as we write there comes to us a great cry for help and a word of encouragement and hope, from the class which is taking this course of lessons, and we feel bound to respond as we have done. peace be with you--one and all.
-and, now we will begin our consideration of the laws governing what we have called "sub-conscious influence."
-all students of the occult are aware of the fact that men may be, and are, largely influenced by the thoughts of others. not only is this the case in instances where thoughts are directed from the mind of one person to the mind of another, but also when there is no special direction or intention in the thought sent forth. the vibrations of thoughts linger in the astral atmosphere long after the effort that sent forth the thought has passed. the astral atmosphere is charged with the vibrations of thinkers of many years past, and still possesses sufficient vitality to affect those whose minds are ready to receive them at this time. and we all attract to us thought vibrations corresponding in nature with those which we are in the habit of entertaining. the law of attraction is in full operation, and one who makes a study of the subject may see instances of it on all sides.
-we invite to ourselves these thought vibrations by maintaining and entertaining thoughts along certain lines. if we cultivate a habit of thinking along the lines of cheerfulness, brightness and optimism, we attract to ourselves similar thought vibrations of others and we will find that before long we will find all sorts of cheerful thoughts pouring into our minds from all directions. and, likewise, if we harbor thoughts of gloom, despair, pessimism, we lay ourselves open to the influx of similar thoughts which have emanated from the minds of others. thoughts of anger, hate, or jealousy attract similar thoughts which serve to feed the flame and keep alive the fire of these low emotions. thoughts of love tend to draw to ourselves the loving thoughts of others which tend to fill us with a glow of loving emotion.
-and not only are we affected in this way by the thoughts of others, but what is known as "suggestion" also plays an important part in this matter of sub-conscious influence. we find that the mind has a tendency to reproduce the emotions, moods, shades of thought, and feelings of other persons, as evidenced by their attitude, appearance, facial expression, or words. if we associate with persons of a gloomy temperament, we run the risk of "catching" their mental trouble by the law of suggestion, unless we understand this law and counteract it. in the same way we find that cheerfulness is contagious, and if we keep in the company of cheerful people we are very apt to take on their mental quality. the same rule applies to frequenting the company of unsuccessful or successful people, as the case may be. if we allow ourselves to take up the suggestions constantly emanating from them, we will find that our minds will begin to reproduce the tones, attitudes, characteristics, dispositions and traits of the other persons, and before long we will be living on the same mental plane. as we have repeatedly said, these things are true only when we allow ourselves to "take on" the impressions, but unless one has mastered the law of suggestion, and understands its principles and operations he is more or less apt to be affected by it. all of you readily recall the effect of certain persons upon others with whom they come in contact. one has a faculty of inspiring with vigor and energy those in whose company he happens to be. another depresses those around him, and is avoided as a "human wet-blanket." another will cause a feeling of uneasiness in those around him, by reason of his prevailing attitude of distrust, suspicion, and low cunning. some carry an atmosphere of health around them, while others seem to be surrounded with a sickly aura of disease, even when their physical condition does not seem to indicate the lack of health. mental states have a subtle way of impressing themselves upon us, and the student who will take the trouble to closely observe those with whom he comes in contact will receive a liberal education along these lines.
-there is of course a great difference in the degree of suggestibility among different persons. there are those who are almost immune, while at the other end of the line are to be found others who are so constantly and strongly impressed by the suggestions of others, conscious or unconscious, that they may be said to scarcely have any independent thought or will of their own. but nearly all persons are suggestible to a greater or lesser degree.
-it must not be supposed from what we have said that all suggestions are "bad," harmful, or undesirable. many suggestions are very good for us, and coming at the right time have aided us much. but, nevertheless, it is well to always let your own mind pass upon these suggestions, before allowing them to manifest in your sub-conscious mind. let the final decision be your own--and not the will of another--although you may have considered outside suggestions in connection with the matter.
-remember always that you are an individual, having a mind and will of your own. rest firmly upon the base of your "i" consciousness, and you will find yourself able to manifest a wonderful strength against the adverse suggestions of others. be your own suggestor--train and influence your sub-conscious mind yourself, and do not allow it to be tampered with by the suggestions of others. grow the sense of individuality.
-there has been much written of recent years in the western world regarding the effect of the mental attitude upon success and attainment upon the material plane. while much of this is nothing but the wildest imagining, still there remains a very firm and solid substratum of truth underlying it all.
-it is undoubtedly true that one's prevailing mental attitude is constantly manifesting and objectifying itself in his life. things, circumstances, people, plans, all seem to fit into the general ideal of the strong mental attitude of a man. and this from the operation of mental law along a number of lines of action.
-in the first place, the mind when directed toward a certain set of objects becomes very alert to discover things concerning those objects--to seize upon things, opportunities, persons, ideas, and facts tending to promote the objects thought of. the man who is looking for facts to prove certain theories, invariably finds them, and is also quite likely to overlook facts tending to disprove his theory. the optimist and the pessimist passing along the same streets, each sees thousands of examples tending to fit in with his idea. as kay says: "when one is engaged in seeking for a thing, if he keep the image of it clearly before the mind, he will be very likely to find it, and that too, probably, where it would otherwise have escaped his notice. so when one is engaged in thinking on a subject, thoughts of things resembling it, or bearing upon it, and tending to illustrate it, come up on every side. truly, we may well say of the mind, as has been said of the eye, that 'it perceives only what it brings within the power of perceiving.'" john burroughs has well said regarding this that "no one ever found the walking fern who did not have the walking fern in his mind. a person whose eye is full of indian relics picks them up in every field he walks through. they are quickly recognized because the eye has been commissioned to find them."
-when the mind is kept firmly fixed upon some ideal or aim, its whole and varied powers are bent toward the realization and manifestation of that ideal. in thousands of ways the mind will operate to objectify the subjective mental attitude, a great proportion of the mental effort being accomplished along sub-conscious lines. it is of the greatest importance to one who wishes to succeed in any undertaking, to keep before his mind's eye a clear mental image of that which he desires. he should picture the thing desired, and himself as securing it, until it becomes almost real. in this way he calls to his aid his entire mental force and power, along the sub-conscious lines, and, as it were, makes a clear path over which he may walk to accomplishment. bain says regarding this: "by aiming at a new construction, we must clearly conceive what is aimed at. where we have a very distinct and intelligible model before us, we are in a fair way to succeed; in proportion as the ideal is dim and wavering, we stagger or miscarry." maudsley says: "we cannot do an act voluntarily unless we know what we are going to do, and we cannot know exactly what we are going to do until we have taught ourselves to do it." carpenter says: "the continued concentration of attention upon a certain idea gives it a dominant power, not only over the mind, but over the body." muller says: "the idea of our own strength gives strength to our movements. a person who is confident of effecting anything by muscular efforts will do it more easily than one not so confident of his own power." tanner says: "to believe firmly is almost tantamount in the end to accomplishment. extraordinary instances are related showing the influence of the will over even the involuntary muscles."
-along the same lines, many western writers have added their testimony to the yogi principle of the manifestation of thought into action. kay has written: "a clear and accurate idea of what we wish to do, and how it is to be effected, is of the utmost value and importance in all the affairs of life. a man's conduct naturally shapes itself according to the ideas in his mind, and nothing contributes more to success in life than having a high ideal and keeping it constantly in view. where such is the case one can hardly fail in attaining it. numerous unexpected circumstances will be found to conspire to bring it about, and even what seemed at first to be hostile may be converted into means for its furtherance; while by having it constantly before the mind he will be ever ready to take advantage of any favoring circumstances that may present themselves." along the same lines, foster has written these remarkable words: "it is wonderful how even the casualties of life seem to bow to a spirit that will not bow to them, and yield to subserve a design which they may, in their first apparent tendency, threaten to frustrate. when a firm, decisive spirit is recognized, it is curious to see how the space clears around a man and leaves him room and freedom." simpson has said: "a passionate desire and an unwearied will can perform impossibilities, or what seem to be such to the cold and feeble." and maudsley gives to aspiring youth a great truth, when he says: "thus it is that aspirations are often prophecies, the harbingers of what a man shall be in a condition to perform." and we may conclude the paragraph by quoting lytton: "dream, o youth, dream manfully and nobly, and thy dreams shall be prophets."
-this principle of the power of the mental image is strongly impressed upon the mind of the chela, or student, by the yogi teachers. the student is taught that just as the house is erected in accordance with the plan of the architect, so is one's life built in accordance with the prevailing mental image. the mind sub-consciously moulds itself around the prevailing mental image or attitude, and then proceeds to draw upon the outer world for material with which to build in accordance with the plan. not only is one's character built in this way, but the circumstances and incidents of his life follow the same rule. the yogi student is instructed into the mysteries of the power of the mind in this direction, not that he may make use of it to build up material success, or to realize his personal desires--for he is taught to avoid these things--but he is fully instructed, nevertheless, that he may understand the workings of the law around him. and it is a fact well known to close students of the occult, that the few who have attained extraordinarily high degrees of development, make use of this power in order to help the race. many a world movement has been directed by the mind, or minds, of some of these advanced souls who were able to see the ideal of evolution ahead of the race, and by visualizing the same, and concentrating upon it in meditation, actually hastened the progress of the evolutionary wave, and caused to actually manifest that which they saw, and upon which they had meditated.
-it is true that some occultists have used similar plans to further their own selfish personal ends--often without fully realizing just what power they were employing--but this merely illustrates the old fact that the forces of nature may be used rightly and wrongly. and it is all the more reason why those who are desirous of advancing the race--of assisting in the evolution of the world--should make use of this mighty power in their work. success is not reprehensible, notwithstanding the fact that many have interpreted and applied the word in such a matter as to make it appear as if it had no other meaning or application other than the crude, material selfish one generally attributed to it, by reason of its misuse. the western world is playing its part in the evolution of the race, and its keynote is "accomplishment." those who have advanced so high that they are able to view the world of men, as one sees a valley from a mountain peak, recognize what this strenuous western life means. they see mighty forces in operation--mighty principles being worked out by those who little dream of the ultimate significance of that which they are doing. mighty things are before the western world to-day--wonderful changes are going on--great things are in the womb of time, and the hour of birth draws near. the men and women in the western world feel within them the mighty urge to "accomplish" something--to take an active part in the great drama of life. and they are right in giving full expression to this urge, and are doing well in using every legitimate means in the line of expression. and this idea of the mental attitude, or the mental image, is one of the greatest factors in this striving for success.
-in this lesson we do not purpose giving "success talks" for our students. these lessons are intended to fill another field, and there are many other channels of information along the lines named. what we wish to do is to point out to our students the meaning of all this strenuous striving of the age, in the western world, and the leading principle employed therein. the great achievements of the material world are being accomplished by means of the power of the mind. men are beginning to understand that "thought manifests itself in action," and that thought attracts to itself the things, persons and circumstances in harmony with itself. the power of mind is becoming manifest in hundreds of ways. the power of desire, backed by faith and will, is beginning to be recognized as one of the greatest of known dynamic forces. the life of the race is entering into a new and strange stage of development and evolution, and in the years to come mind will be seen, more clearly and still more clearly, to be the great principle underlying the world of material things and happenings. that "all is mind" is more than a dreamy, metaphysical utterance, is being recognized by the leaders in the world's thought.
-as we have said, great changes are before the world and the race, and every year brings us nearer to the beginning of them. in fact, the beginning is already upon us. let any thinker stop and reflect over the wonderful changes of the past six years--since the dawning of the twentieth century, and he will be dull indeed if he sees not the trend of affairs. we are entering into a new great cycle of the race, and the old is being prepared for being dropped off like an old worn out husk. old conventions, ideals, customs, laws, ethics, and things sociological, economical, theological, philosophical, and metaphysical have been outgrown, and are about to be "shed" by the race. the great cauldron of human thought is bubbling away fiercely, and many things are rising to its surface. like all great changes, the good will come only with much pain--all birth is with pain. the race feels the pain and perpetual unrest, but knows not what is the disease nor the remedy. many false cases of diagnosis and prescription are even now noticeable, and will become still more in evidence as the years roll by. many self-styled saviours of the race--prescribers for the pain of the soul and mind--will arise and fall. but out of it all will come that for which the race now waits.
-the changes that are before us are as great as the changes in thought and life described in the late novel by h. g. wells, entitled "in the days of the comet." in fact, mr. wells has indicated in that story some of the very changes that the advanced souls of the race have informed their students are before the race--the prophetic insight of the writer named seems marvelous, until one realizes that even that writer is being used as a part of the mental machinery of the change itself. but the change will not come about by reason of the new gas caused by the brushing of the earth's surface by a passing comet. it will come from the unfolding of the race mind, the process being now under way. are not the signs of mental unrest and discomfort becoming more and more apparent as the days go by? the pain is growing greater, and the race is beginning to fret and chafe, and moan. it knows not what it wants, but it knows that it feels pain and wants something to relieve that pain. the old things are beginning to totter and fall, and ideas rendered sacred by years of observance are being brushed aside with a startling display of irreverence. under the surface of our civilization we may hear the straining and groaning of the ideas and principles that are striving to force their way out on to the plane of manifestation.
-men are running hither and thither crying for a leader and a savior. they are trying this thing, and that thing, but they find not that which they seek. they cry for satisfaction, but it eludes them. and yet all this search and disappointment is part of the great change, and is preparing the race for that-which-must-come. and yet the relief will not come from any thing or things. it will come from within. just as when, in well's story, things righted themselves when the vapor of the comet had cleared men's minds, so will things take their new places when the mind of the race becomes cleared by the new unfoldment that is even now under way. men are beginning to feel each other's pains--they find themselves unsatisfied by the old rule of "every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost"--it used to content the successful, but now it doesn't seem to be so satisfying. the man on top is becoming lonesome, and dissatisfied, and discontented--his success seems to appall him, in some mysterious manner. and the man underneath feels stirring within himself strange longings and desires, and dissatisfaction. and new frictions are arising, and new and startling ideas are being suddenly advanced, supported and opposed.
-and the relations between people seem to be unsatisfactory. the old rules, laws, and bonds are proving irksome. new, strange, and wild thoughts are coming into the minds of people, which they dare not utter to their friends--and yet these same friends are finding similar ideas within themselves. and somehow, underneath it all is to be found a certain honesty--yes, there is where the trouble seems to come, the world is tiring of hypocrisy and dishonesty in all human relations, and is crying aloud to be led back, someway, to truth and honesty in thought and action. but it does not see the way out! and it will not see the way out, until the race-mind unfolds still further. and the pain of the new unfoldment is stirring the race to its depths. from the deep recesses of the race-mind are rising to the surface old passions, relics from the cave-dweller days, and all sorts of ugly mental relics of the past. and they will continue to rise and show themselves until at last the bubbling pot will begin to quiet down, and then will come a new peace, and the best will come to the surface--the essence of all the experiences of the race.
-to our students, we would say: during the struggle ahead of the race, play well your part, doing the best you can, living each day by itself, meeting each new phase of life with confidence and courage. be not deluded by appearances, nor follow after strange prophets. let the evolutionary processes work themselves out, and do you fall in with the wave without struggling, and without overmuch striving. the law is working itself out well--of that be assured. those who have entered into even a partial understanding and recognition of the one life underlying, will find that they will be as the chosen people during the changes that are coming to the race. they have attained that which the race is reaching toward in pain and travail. and the force behind the law will carry them along, for they will be the leaven that is to lighten the great mass of the race in the new dispensation. not by deed, or by action, but by thought, will these people leaven the mass. the thought is even now at work, and all who read these words are playing a part in the work, although they may know it not. if the race could realize this truth of the one life underlying, to-day, the change would occur in a moment, but it will not come in that way. when this understanding gradually dawns upon the race--this new consciousness--then will things take their proper places, and the lion and the lamb lie down together in peace.
-we have thought it well to say these things in this the last lesson of this course. they are needed words--they will serve to point out the way to those who are able to read. "watch and wait for the silence that will follow the storm."
-in this series of lessons we have endeavored to give you a plain, practical presentation of some of the more important features of "raja yoga." but this phase of the subject, as important and interesting as it is, is not the highest phase of the great yoga teachings. it is merely the preparation of the soil of the mind for what comes afterward. the phase called "gnani yoga"--the yoga of wisdom--is the highest of all the various phases of yoga, although each of the lower steps is important in itself. we find ourselves approaching the phase of our work for which we have long wished. those who have advised and directed this work have counseled us to deal with the less advanced and simpler phases, in order to prepare the minds of those who might be interested, so that they would be ready for the higher teachings. at times we have felt an impatience for the coming of the day when we would be able to teach the highest that has come to us. and now the time seems to have come. following this course, we will begin a series of lessons in "gnani yoga"--the yoga of wisdom--in which we will pass on to our students the highest teachings regarding the reality and its manifestations--the one and the many. the teachings that "all is mind" will be explained in such a manner as to be understood by all who have followed us so far. we will be able to impart to you the higher truths about spiritual evolution, sometimes called "reincarnation," as well as spiritual cause and effect, often called "karma." the highest truths about these important subjects are often obscured by popular misconceptions occasioned by partial teaching. we trust that you--our students--will wish to follow us still higher--higher than we have ventured so far, and we assure you that there is a truth to be seen and known that is as much higher than the other phases upon which we have touched, as those phases have been higher than the current beliefs of the masses of the race. we trust that the powers of knowledge may guide and direct us that we may be able to convey our message so that it may be accepted and understood. we thank our students who have traveled thus far with us, and we assure them that their loving sympathy has ever been a help and an inspiration to us.
-peace be with you.
-online distributed proofreading team
-selections from the writings of lord dunsany
-the gods of the mountain the first act of king argimenes and the unknown warrior the fall of babbulkund the sphinx at gizeh idle days on the yann a miracle the castle of time
-lady wilde once told me that when she was a young girl she was stopped in some dublin street by a great crowd and turned into a shop to escape from it. she stayed there some time and the crowd still passed. she asked the shopman what it was, and he said, 'the funeral of thomas davis, a poet.' she had never heard of davis; but because she thought a country that so honoured a poet must be worth something, she became interested in ireland and was soon a famous patriotic poet herself, being, as she once said to me half in mockery, an eagle in her youth.
-that age will be an age of romance for an hundred years to come. its poetry slid into men's ears so smoothly that a man still living, though a very old man now, heard men singing at the railway stations he passed upon a journey into the country the verses he had published but that morning in a dublin newspaper; and yet we should not regret too often that it has vanished, and left us poets even more unpopular than are our kind elsewhere in europe; for now that we are unpopular we escape from crowds, from noises in the street, from voices that sing out of tune, from bad paper made one knows not from what refuse, from evil-smelling gum, from covers of emerald green, from that ideal of reliable, invariable men and women, which would forbid saint and connoisseur who always, the one in his simple, the other in his elaborate way, do what is unaccountable, and forbid life itself which, being, as the definition says, the only thing that moves itself, is always without precedent. when our age too has passed, when its moments also, that are so common and many, seem scarce and precious, students will perhaps open these books, printed by village girls at dundrum, as curiously as at twenty years i opened the books of history and ballad verse of the old 'library of ireland.' they will notice that this new 'library,' where i have gathered so much that seems to me representative or beautiful, unlike the old, is intended for few people, and written by men and women with that ideal condemned by 'mary of the nation', who wished, as she said, to make no elaborate beauty and to write nothing but what a peasant could understand. if they are philosophic or phantastic, it may even amuse them to find some analogy of the old with o'connell's hearty eloquence, his winged dart shot always into the midst of the people, his mood of comedy; and of the new, with that lonely and haughty person below whose tragic shadow we of modern ireland began to write.
-the melancholy, the philosophic irony, the elaborate music of a play by john synge, the simplicity, the sense of splendour of living in lady gregory's lamentation of emer, mr. james stephens when he makes the sea waves 'tramp with banners on the shore' are as much typical of our thoughts and day, as was 'she dwelt beside the anner with mild eyes like the dawn,' or any stanza of the 'pretty girl of lough dan,' or any novel of charles lever's of a time that sought to bring irish men and women into one nation by means of simple patriotism and a genial taste for oratory and anecdotes. a like change passed over ferrara's brick and stone when its great duke, where there had been but narrow medieval streets, made many palaces and threw out one straight and wide street, as carducci said, to meet the muses. doubtless the men of 'perdóndaris that famous city' have such antiquity of manners and of culture that it is of small moment should they please themselves with some tavern humour; but we must needs cling to 'our foolish irish pride' and form an etiquette, if we would not have our people crunch their chicken bones with too convenient teeth, and make our intellect architectural that we may not see them turn domestic and effusive nor nag at one another in narrow streets.
-some of the writers of our school have intended, so far as any creative art can have deliberate intention, to make this change, a change having more meaning and implications than a few sentences can define. when i was first moved by lord dunsany's work i thought that he would more help this change if he could bring his imagination into the old irish legendary world instead of those magic lands of his with their vague eastern air; but even as i urged him i knew that he could not, without losing his rich beauty of careless suggestion, and the persons and images that for ancestry have all those romantic ideas that are somewhere in the background of all our minds. he could not have made slieve-na-mon nor slieve fua incredible and phantastic enough, because that prolonged study of a past age, necessary before he could separate them from modern association, would have changed the spontaneity of his mood to something learned, premeditated, and scientific.
-when we approach subtle elaborate emotions we can but give our minds up to play or become as superstitious as an old woman, for we cannot hope to understand. it is one of my superstitions that we became entangled in a dream some twenty years ago; but i do not know whether this dream was born in ireland from the beliefs of the country men and women, or whether we but gave ourselves up to a foreign habit as our spirited georgian fathers did to gambling, sometimes lying, as their history has it, on the roadside naked, but for the heap of straw they had pulled over them, till they could wager a lock of hair or the paring of a nail against what might set them up in clothes again. whether it came from slieve-na-mon or mount abora, æ. found it with his gods and i in my 'land of heart's desire,' which no longer pleases me much. and then it seemed far enough till mr. edward martyn discovered his ragged peg inerney, who for all that was a queen in faery; but soon john synge was to see all the world as a withered and witless place in comparison with the dazzle of that dream; and now lord dunsany has seen it once more and as simply as if he were a child imagining adventures for the knights and ladies that rode out over the drawbridges in the piece of old tapestry in its mother's room. but to persuade others that it is all but one dream, or to persuade them that lord dunsany has his part in that change i have described i have but my superstition and this series of little books where i have set his tender, pathetic, haughty fancies among books by lady gregory, by æ., by dr. douglas hyde, by john synge, and by myself. his work which seems today so much on the outside, as it were, of life and daily interest, may yet seem to those students i have imagined rooted in both. did not the maeterlinck of 'pelleas and melisande' seem to be outside life? and now he has so influenced other writers, he has been so much written about, he has been associated with so much celebrated music, he has been talked about by so many charming ladies, that he is less a vapour than that dumas fils who wrote of such a living paris. and has not edgar allen poe, having entered the imagination of baudelaire, touched that of europe? for there are seeds still carried upon a tree, and seeds so light they drift upon the wind and yet can prove that they, give them but time, carry a big tree. had i read 'the fall of babbulkund' or 'idle days on the yann' when a boy i had perhaps been changed for better or worse, and looked to that first reading as the creation of my world; for when we are young the less circumstantial, the further from common life a book is, the more does it touch our hearts and make us dream. we are idle, unhappy and exorbitant, and like the young blake admit no city beautiful that is not paved with gold and silver.
-these plays and stories have for their continual theme the passing away of gods and men and cities before the mysterious power which is sometimes called by some great god's name but more often 'time.' his travellers, who travel by so many rivers and deserts and listen to sounding names none heard before, come back with no tale that does not tell of vague rebellion against that power, and all the beautiful things they have seen get something of their charm from the pathos of fragility. this poet who has imagined colours, ceremonies and incredible processions that never passed before the eyes of edgar allen poe or of de quincey, and remembered as much fabulous beauty as sir john mandeville, has yet never wearied of the most universal of emotions and the one most constantly associated with the sense of beauty; and when we come to examine those astonishments that seemed so alien we find that he has but transfigured with beauty the common sights of the world. he describes the dance in the air of large butterflies as we have seen it in the sun-steeped air of noon. 'and they danced but danced idly, on the wings of the air, as some haughty queen of distant conquered lands might in her poverty and exile dance in some encampment of the gipsies for the mere bread to live by, but beyond this would never abate her pride to dance for one fragment more.' he can show us the movement of sand, as we have seen it where the sea shore meets the grass, but so changed that it becomes the deserts of the world: 'and all that night the desert said many things softly and in a whisper but i knew not what he said. only the sand knew and arose and was troubled and lay down again and the wind knew. then, as the hours of the night went by, these two discovered the foot-tracks wherewith we had disturbed the holy desert and they troubled over them and covered them up; and then the wind lay down and the sand rested.' or he will invent some incredible sound that will yet call before us the strange sounds of the night, as when he says, 'sometimes some monster of the river coughed.' and how he can play upon our fears with that great gate of his carved from a single ivory tusk dropped by some terrible beast; or with his tribe of wanderers that pass about the city telling one another tales that we know to be terrible from the blanched faces of the listeners though they tell them in an unknown tongue; or with his stone gods of the mountain, for 'when we see rock walking it is terrible' 'rock should not walk in the evening.'
-yet say what i will, so strange is the pleasure that they give, so hard to analyse and describe, i do not know why these stories and plays delight me. now they set me thinking of some old irish jewel work, now of a sword covered with indian arabesques that hangs in a friend's hall, now of st. mark's at venice, now of cloud palaces at the sundown; but more often still of a strange country or state of the soul that once for a few weeks i entered in deep sleep and after lost and have ever mourned and desired.
-not all lord dunsany's moods delight me, for he writes out of a careless abundance; and from the moment i first read him i have wished to have between two covers something of all the moods that do. i believe that i have it in this book, which i have just been reading aloud to an imaginative young girl more french than english, whose understanding, that of a child and of a woman, and expressed not in words but in her face, has doubled my own. some of my selections, those that i have called 'a miracle' and 'the castle of time' are passages from stories of some length, and i give but the first act of 'argimenes,' a play in the repertory of the abbey theatre, but each selection can be read i think with no thoughts but of itself. if 'idle days on the yann' is a fragment it was left so by its author, and if i am moved to complain i shall remember that perhaps not even his imagination could have found adventures worthy of a traveller who had passed 'memorable, holy golnuz, and heard the pilgrims praying,' and smelt burned poppies in mandaroon.
-w. b. yeats.
-the gods of the mountain
-scene: the east. outside a city wall; three beggars seated on the ground.
-oogno these days are bad for beggary.
-thahn they are bad.
-ulf (an older beggar but not grey) some evil has befallen the rich ones of this city. they take no joy any longer in benevolence, but are become sour and miserly at heart. alas for them! i sometimes sigh for them when i think of this.
-oogno alas for them. a miserly heart must be a sore affliction.
-thahn a sore affliction indeed, and bad for our calling.
-oogno (reflectively) they have been thus for many months. what thing has befallen them?
-thahn some evil thing.
-ulf there has been a comet come near to the earth of late and the earth has been parched and sultry so that the gods are drowsy and all those things that are divine in man, such as benevolence, drunkenness, extravagance and song, have faded and died and have not been replenished by the gods.
-oogno it has indeed been sultry.
-thahn i have seen the comet o' nights.
-ulf the gods are drowsy.
-oogno if they awake not soon and make this city worthy again of our order, i for one shall forsake the calling and buy a shop and sit at ease in the shade and barter for gain.
-thahn you will keep a shop? (enter agmar and slag. agmar, though poorly dressed, is tall, imperious, and older than ulf. slag follows behind him.)
-agmar is this a beggar who speaks?
-oogno yes, master, a poor beggar.
-agmar how long has the calling of beggary existed?
-oogno since the building of the first city, master.
-agmar and when has a beggar ever followed a trade? when has he ever haggled and bartered and sat in a shop?
-oogno why, he has never done so.
-agmar are you he that shall be first to forsake the calling?
-oogno times are bad for the calling here.
-thahn they are bad.
-agmar so you would forsake the calling.
-oogno the city is unworthy of our calling. the gods are drowsy, and all that is divine in man is dead. (to third beggar) are not the gods drowsy?
-ulf they are drowsy in their mountains away at marma. the seven green idols are drowsy. who is this that rebukes us?
-thahn are you some great merchant, master? perhaps you will help a poor man that is starving.
-slag my master a merchant! no, no. he is no merchant. my master is no merchant.
-oogno i perceive that he is some lord in disguise. the gods have woken and have sent him to save us.
-slag no, no. you do not know my master. you do not know him.
-thahn is he the soldan's self that has come to rebuke us?
-agmar (with great pride) i am a beggar, and an old beggar.
-slag there is none like my master. no traveller has met with cunning like to his, not even those that come from aethiopia.
-ulf we make you welcome to our town, upon which an evil has fallen, the days being bad for beggary.
-agmar let none that has known the mystery of roads, or has felt the wind arising new in the morning, or who has called forth out of the souls of men divine benevolence, ever speak any more of any trade or of the miserable gains of shops and the trading men.
-oogno i but spoke hastily, the times being bad.
-agmar i will put right the times.
-slag there is nothing that my master cannot do.
-agmar (to slag) be silent and attend to me. i do not know this city, i have travelled from far, having somewhat exhausted the city of ackara.
-slag my master was three times knocked down and injured by carriages there, once he was killed and seven times beaten and robbed, and every time he was generously compensated. he had nine diseases, many of them mortal....
-agmar be silent, slag.... have you any thieves among the calling here?
-ulf we have a few that we call thieves here, master, but they would scarcely seem thieves to you. they are not good thieves.
-agmar i shall need the best thief you have.
-illanaun therefore we will send galleons to ardaspes.
-oorander right to ardaspes through the silver gates.
-illanaun i am sorry. i cannot help you. there have been too many beggars here, and we must decline alms for the good of the town.
-agmar (sitting down and weeping) i have come from far. (illanaun presently returns and gives agmar a coin. exit illanaun. agmar, erect again, walks back to the others.)
-agmar we shall need fine raiment, let the thief start at once. let it rather be green raiment.
-beggar i will go and fetch the thief. (exit)
-ulf we will dress ourselves as lords and impose upon the city.
-oogno yes, yes; we will say we are ambassadors from a far land.
-ulf and there will be good eating.
-slag (in an undertone to ulf) but you do not know my master. now that you have suggested that we shall go as lords, he will make a better suggestion. he will suggest that we should go as kings.
-ulf (incredulous) beggars as kings!
-slag ay. you do not know my master.
-ulf (to agmar) what do you bid us do?
-agmar you shall first come by the fine raiment in the manner i have mentioned.
-ulf and what then, master?
-agmar why then we shall go as gods.
-beggars as gods?
-agmar as gods. know you the land through which i have lately come in my wanderings? marma, where the gods are carved from green stone in the mountains. they sit all seven of them against the hills. they sit there motionless and travellers worship them.
-ulf yes, yes, we know those gods. they are much reverenced here; but they are drowsy and send us nothing beautiful.
-agmar they are of green jade. they sit cross-legged with their right elbows resting on their left hands, the right forefinger pointing upwards. we will come into the city disguised, from the direction of marma, and will claim to be these gods. we must be seven as they are. and when we sit, we must sit cross-legged as they do, with the right hand uplifted.
-ulf this is a bad city in which to fall into the hands of oppressors, for the judges lack amiability here as the merchants lack benevolence ever since the gods forgot them.
-agmar in our ancient calling a man may sit at one street corner for fifty years doing the one thing, and yet a day may come when it is well for him to rise up and to do another thing, while the timorous man starves.
-ulf also it were well not to anger the gods.
-agmar is not all life a beggary to the gods? do they not see all men always begging of them and asking alms with incense, and bells, and subtle devices?
-oogno yes, all men indeed are beggars before the gods.
-agmar does not the mighty soldan often sit by the agate altar in his royal temple as we sit at a street corner or by a palace gate?
-ulf it is even so.
-agmar then will the gods be glad when we follow the holy calling with new devices and with subtlety, as they are glad when the priests sing a new song.
-ulf yet i have a fear.
-agmar (to slag) go you into the city before us, and let there be a prophecy there which saith that the gods who are carven from green rock in the mountain shall one day arise in marma and come here in the guise of men.
-slag yes, master. shall i make the prophecy myself? or shall it be found in some old document?
-agmar let someone have seen it once in some rare document. let it be spoken of in the market-place.
-slag it shall be spoken of, master. (slag lingers. enter thief and thahn)
-oogno this is our thief.
-agmar (encouragingly) ah, he is a quick thief.
-thief i could only procure you three green raiments, master. the city is not now well supplied with them; moreover it is a very suspicious city, and without shame for the baseness of its suspicions.
-slag (to a beggar) this is not thieving.
-thief i could do no more, master. i have not practised thieving all my life.
-agmar you have got something: it may serve our purpose. how long have you been thieving?
-thief i stole first when i was ten.
-slag when he was ten!
-agmar we must tear them up and divide them amongst the seven. (to thahn) bring me another beggar.
-slag when my master was ten he had already had to slip by night out of two cities.
-oogno (admiringly) out of two cities!
-slag (nodding his head) in his native city they do not now know what became of the golden cup that stood in the lunar temple.
-agmar yes, into seven pieces.
-ulf we will each wear a piece of it over our rags.
-oogno yes, yes, we shall look fine.
-agmar that is not the way that we shall disguise ourselves.
-oogno not cover our rags?
-agmar no, no. the first who looked closely would say 'these are only beggars. they have disguised themselves.'
-ulf what shall we do?
-agmar each of the seven shall wear a piece of the green raiment underneath his rags. and peradventure here and there a little shall show through; and men shall say 'these seven have disguised themselves as beggars. but we know not what they be.'
-slag hear my wise master.
-oogno (in admiration) he is a beggar.
-ulf he is an old beggar.
-scene: the metropolitan hall of the city of kongros. citizens, etc. enter the seven beggars with green silk under their rags.
-oorander who are you and whence come you?
-agmar who may say what we are or whence we come?
-oorander what are these beggars and why do they come here?
-agmar who said to you that we were beggars?
-oorander why do these men come here?
-agmar who said to you that we were men?
-illanaun now, by the moon!
-agmar my sister.
-agmar my little sister.
-slag our little sister the moon. she comes to us at evenings away in the mountain of marma. she trips over the mountains when she is young: when she is young and slender she comes and dances before us: and when she is old and unshapely she hobbles away from the hills.
-agmar yet she is young again and forever nimble with youth: yet she comes dancing back. the years are not able to curb her nor to bring grey hairs to her brethren.
-oorander this is not wonted.
-illanaun it is not in accordance with custom.
-akmos prophecy hath not thought it.
-slag she comes to us new and nimble remembering olden loves.
-oorander it were well that prophets should come and speak to us.
-illanaun this hath not been in the past. let prophets come; let prophets speak to us of future things. (the beggars seat themselves upon the floor in the attitude of the seven gods of marma.)
-citizen i heard men speak to-day in the market-place. they speak of a prophecy read somewhere of old. it says the seven gods shall come from marma in the guise of men.
-illanaun is this a true prophecy?
-oorander it is all the prophecy we have. man without prophecy is like a sailor going by night over uncharted seas. he knows not where are the rocks nor where the havens. to the man on watch all things ahead are black and the stars guide him not, for he knows not what they are.
-illanaun should we not investigate this prophecy?
-oorander let us accept it. it is as the small uncertain light of a lantern, carried it may be by a drunkard but along the shore of some haven. let us be guided.
-akmos it may be that they are but benevolent gods.
-agmar there is no benevolence greater than our benevolence.
-illanaun then we need do little: they portend no danger to us.
-agmar there is no anger greater than our anger.
-oorander let us make sacrifice to them, if they be gods.
-akmos we humbly worship you, if ye be gods.
-illanaun (kneeling too) you are mightier than all men and hold high rank among other gods and are lords of this our city, and have the thunder as your plaything and the whirlwind and the eclipse and all the destinies of human tribes, if ye be gods.
-agmar let the pestilence not fall at once upon this city, as it had indeed designed to; let not the earthquake swallow it all immediately up amid the howls of the thunder; let not infuriate armies overwhelm those that escape if we be gods.
-populace (in horror) if we be gods!
-oorander come let us sacrifice.
-illanaun bring lambs.
-akmos quick, quick. (exit some.)
-slag (with solemn air) this god is a very divine god.
-thahn he is no common god.
-mlan indeed he has made us.
-citizen (a woman) (to slag) he will not punish us, master? none of the gods will punish us? we will make a sacrifice, a good sacrifice.
-another we will sacrifice a lamb that the priests have blessed.
-first citizen master, you are not wroth with us?
-slag who may say what cloudy dooms are rolling up in the mind of the eldest of the gods. he is no common god like us. once a shepherd went by him in the mountains and doubted as he went. he sent a doom after that shepherd.
-citizen master, we have not doubted.
-slag and the doom found him on the hills at evening.
-second citizen it shall be a good sacrifice, master. (re-enter with a dead lamb and fruits. they offer the lamb on an altar where there is fire, and fruits before the altar.)
-thahn (stretching out a hand to a lamb upon an altar.) that leg is not being cooked at all.
-illanaun it is strange that gods should be thus anxious about the cooking of a leg of lamb.
-oorander it is strange certainly.
-illanaun almost i had said that it was a man spoke then.
-oorander (stroking his beard and regarding the second beggar.) strange. strange certainly.
-oorander no, no, gods of the mountain!
-others no, no.
-oorander quick, let us offer the flesh to them. if they eat all is well. (they offer it, the beggars eat, all but agmar who watches.)
-illanaun one who was ignorant, one who did not know, had almost said that they ate like hungry men.
-akmos yet they look as though they had not had a meal like this for a long time.
-oorander they have a hungry look.
-agmar (who has not eaten) i have not eaten since the world was very new and the flesh of men was tenderer than now. these younger gods have learned the habit of eating from the lions.
-oorander o oldest of divinities, partake, partake.
-agmar it is not fitting that such as i should eat. none eat but beasts and men and the younger gods. the sun and the moon and the nimble lightning and i, we may kill, and we may madden, but we do not eat.
-akmos if he but eat of our offering he cannot overwhelm us.
-all o ancient deity, partake, partake.
-agmar enough. let it be enough that these have condescended to this bestial and human habit.
-illanaun (to akmos) and yet he is not unlike a beggar whom i saw not so long since.
-oorander but beggars eat.
-illanaun now i never knew a beggar yet who would refuse a bowl of woldery wine.
-akmos this is no beggar.
-illanaun nevertheless let us offer him a bowl of woldery wine.
-akmos you do wrong to doubt him.
-illanaun i do but wish to prove his divinity. i will fetch the woldery wine. (exit)
-akmos he will not drink. yet if he does, then he will not overwhelm us. let us offer him the wine.
-first beggar it is woldery wine!
-second beggar it is woldery!
-third beggar a goblet of woldery wine!
-fourth beggar o blessed day!
-mlan o happy times!
-slag o my wise master! (all the beggars stretch out their hands, including agmar. illanaun gives it to agmar. agmar takes it solemnly, and very carefully pours it upon the ground.)
-first beggar he has spilt it.
-second beggar he has spilt it. (agmar sniffs the fumes.)
-agmar it is a fitting libation. our anger is somewhat appeased.
-another beggar but it was woldery!
-akmos (kneeling to agmar) master, i am childless, and i....
-agmar trouble us not now. it is the hour at which the gods are accustomed to speak to the gods in the language of the gods, and if man heard us he would guess the futility of his destiny, which were not well for man. begone! begone! (exeunt all but one who lingers.)
-agmar begone! (exit one) (agmar takes up a piece of meat and begins to eat it: the beggars rise and stretch themselves: they laugh, but agmar eats hungrily.)
-oogno ah, now we have come into our own.
-thahn now we have alms.
-slag master! my wise master!
-ulf these are the good days, the good days; and yet i have a fear.
-slag what do you fear? there is nothing to fear. no man is as wise as my master.
-ulf i fear the gods whom we pretend to be.
-slag the gods?
-agmar (taking a chunk of meat from his lips) come hither, slag.
-slag (going up to him) yes, master.
-agmar watch in the doorway while i eat. (slag goes to the doorway) sit in the attitude of a god. warn me if any of the citizens approach. (slag sits in the doorway in the attitude of a god, back to the audience)
-oogno (to agmar) but, master, shall we not have woldery wine?
-agmar we shall have all things if only we are wise at first for a little.
-thahn master, do any suspect us?
-agmar we must be very wise.
-thahn but if we are not wise, master?
-agmar why then death may come to us ...
-thahn o master!
-agmar ... slowly. (all stir uneasily except slag motionless in the doorway.)
-oogno do they believe us, master?
-slag (half turning his head) someone comes. (slag resumes his position.)
-agmar (putting away his meat) we shall soon know now. (all take up the attitude. enter one.)
-one master, i want the god that does not eat.
-agmar i am he.
-one master, my child was bitten in the throat by a death-adder at noon. spare him, master; he still breathes, but slowly.
-agmar is he indeed your child?
-one he is surely my child, master.
-agmar was it your wont to thwart him in his play, while he was strong and well?
-one i never thwarted him, master.
-agmar whose child is death?
-one death is the child of the gods.
-agmar do you that never thwarted your child in his play ask this of the gods?
-one (with some horror, perceiving agmar's meaning) master!
-agmar weep not. for all the houses that men have builded are the play-fields of this child of the gods. (the man goes away in silence not weeping.)
-oogno (taking thahn by the wrist) is this indeed a man?
-agmar a man, a man, and until just now a hungry one.
-same room. a few days have elapsed. seven thrones shaped like mountain-crags stand along the back of the stage. on these the beggars are lounging. the thief is absent.
-mlan never had beggars such a time.
-oogno ah, the fruits and tender lamb!
-thahn the woldery wine!
-slag it was better to see my master's wise devices than to have fruit and lamb and woldery wine.
-mlan ah, when they spied on him to see if he would eat when they went away!
-oogno when they questioned him concerning the gods and man!
-thahn when they asked him why the gods permitted cancer!
-slag ah! my wise master.
-mlan how well his scheme has succeeded.
-oogno how far away is hunger!
-thahn it is even like to one of last year's dreams, the trouble of a brief night long ago.
-mlan ho, ho, ho, to see them pray to us!
-agmar (sternly) when we were beggars did we not speak as beggars? did we not whine as they? was not our mien beggarly?
-mlan we were the pride of our calling.
-agmar (sternly) then now that we are gods let us be as gods, and not mock our worshippers.
-ulf i think the gods do mock their worshippers.
-agmar the gods have never mocked us. we are above all pinnacles that we have ever gazed at in dreams.
-ulf i think that when man is high then most of all are the gods wont to mock him. (enter thief)
-thief master, i have been with those that see all and know all, i have been with the thieves, master. they know me for one of the craft, but they do not know me as being one of us.
-agmar well, well ...
-thief there is danger, master, there is great danger.
-agmar you mean that they suspect that we are men?
-thief that they have long done, master. i mean that they will know it. then we are lost.
-agmar then they do not know it?
-thief they do not know it yet, but they will know it, and we are lost.
-agmar when will they know it?
-thief three days ago they suspected us.
-agmar more than you think suspected us, but have any dared to say so?
-thief no, master.
-agmar then forget your fears, my thief.
-thief two men went on dromedaries three days ago to see if the gods were still at marma.
-agmar they went to marma!
-thief yes, three days ago.
-oogno we are lost.
-agmar they went three days ago?
-thief yes, on dromedaries.
-agmar they should be back to-day.
-oogno we are lost.
-thahn we are lost.
-thief they must have seen the green jade idols sitting against the mountains. they will say, 'the gods are still at marma.' and we shall be burnt.
-slag my master will yet devise a plan.
-agmar (to the thief) slip away to some high place and look towards the desert and see how long we have to devise a plan. (exit thief.)
-slag my master will devise a plan.
-thahn his wisdom is our doom.
-slag he will find a wise plan yet. (re-enter thief.)
-thief it is too late.
-agmar it is too late?
-thief the dromedary men are here.
-oogno we are lost.
-agmar be silent! i must think. (they all sit still. citizens enter and prostrate themselves. agmar sits deep in thought.)
-illanaun (to agmar) two holy pilgrims have gone to your sacred shrines, wherein you were wont to sit before you left the mountains. (agmar says nothing) they return even now.
-agmar they left us here and went to find the gods. a fish once took a journey into a far country to find the sea.
-illanaun most reverend deity, their piety is so great that they have gone to worship even your shrines.
-agmar i know these men that have great piety. such men have often prayed to me before, but their prayers are not acceptable. they little love the gods, their only care is their piety. i know these pious ones. they will say that the seven gods were still at marma. so shall they seem more pious to you all, pretending that they alone have seen the gods. fools shall believe them and share in their damnation.
-oorander (to illanaun) hush. you anger the gods.
-illanaun i am not sure whom i anger.
-oorander it may be they are the gods.
-illanaun where are these men from marma?
-citizen here are the dromedary men, they are coming now.
-illanaun (to agmar) the holy pilgrims from your shrine are come to worship you.
-agmar the men are doubters. how the gods hate the word! doubt ever contaminated virtue. let them be cast into prison and not besmirch your purity, (rising) let them not enter here.
-illanaun but o most reverened deity from the mountain, we also doubt, most reverend deity.
-illanaun most reverend deity, it is a mighty doubt.
-citizens nothing has killed him! they are not the gods!
-slag (to agmar) you have a plan, my master. you have a plan?
-agmar not yet, slag. (enter the dromedary men.)
-illanaun (to oorander) these are the men that went to the shrines at marma.
-oorander (in a loud, clear voice) were the gods of the mountain seated still at marma, or were they not there? (the beggars get up hurriedly from their thrones.)
-dromedary man they were not there.
-illanaun they were not there?
-dromedary man their shrines were empty.
-oorander behold the gods of the mountain!
-akmos they have indeed come from marma.
-oorander come. let us go away to prepare a sacrifice, a mighty sacrifice to atone for our doubting. (exeunt.)
-slag my most wise master!
-agmar no, no, slag. i do not know what has befallen. when i went by marma only two weeks ago the idols of green jade were still seated there.
-oogno we are saved now.
-thahn aye, we are saved.
-agmar we are saved, but i know not how.
-oogno never had beggars such a time.
-thief i will go out and watch. (he creeps out.)
-ulf yet i have a fear.
-oogno a fear? why, we are saved.
-ulf last night i dreamed.
-oogno what was your dream?
-ulf it was nothing. i dreamed that i was thirsty and one gave me woldery wine; yet there was a fear in my dream.
-thahn when i drink woldery wine i am afraid of nothing. (re-enter thief.)
-thief they are making a pleasant banquet ready for us; they are killing lambs, and girls are there with fruits, and there is to be much woldery wine.
-mlan never had beggars such a time.
-agmar do any doubt us now?
-thief i do not know.
-mlan when will the banquet be?
-thief when the stars come out.
-oogno ah. it is sunset already. there will be good eating.
-thahn we shall see the girls come in with baskets upon their heads.
-oogno there will be fruits in the baskets.
-thahn all the fruits of the valley.
-mlan ah, how long we have wandered along the ways of the world.
-slag ah, how hard they were.
-thahn and how dusty.
-oogno and how little wine.
-mlan how long we have asked and asked, and for how much!
-agmar we to whom all things are coming now at last.
-thief i fear lest my art forsake me now that good things come without stealing.
-agmar you will need your art no longer.
-slag the wisdom of my master shall suffice us all our days. (enter a frightened man. he kneels before agmar and abases his forehead.)
-man master, we implore you, the people beseech you. (agmar and the beggars in the attitude of the gods sit silent.)
-man master, it is terrible. (the beggars maintain silence) it is terrible when you wander in the evening. it is terrible on the edge of the desert in the evening. children die when they see you.
-agmar in the desert? when did you see us?
-man last night, master. you were terrible last night. you were terrible in the gloaming. when your hands were stretched out and groping. you were feeling for the city.
-agmar last night do you say?
-man you were terrible in the gloaming!
-agmar you yourself saw us?
-man yes, master, you were terrible. children too saw you and they died.
-agmar you say you saw us?
-man yes, master. not as you are now, but otherwise. we implore you, master, not to wander at evening. you are terrible in the gloaming. you are....
-agmar you say we appeared not as we are now. how did we appear to you?
-man otherwise, master, otherwise.
-agmar but how did we appear to you?
-man you were all green, master, all green in the gloaming, all of rock again as you used to be in the mountains. master, we can bear to see you in flesh like men, but when we see rock walking it is terrible, it is terrible.
-agmar that is how we appeared to you?
-man yes, master. rock should not walk. when children see it they do not understand. rock should not walk in the evening.
-agmar there have been doubters of late. are they satisfied?
-man master, they are terrified. spare us, master.
-agmar it is wrong to doubt. go, and be faithful. (exit man.)
-slag what have they seen, master?
-agmar they have seen their own fears dancing in the desert. they have seen something green after the light was gone, and some child has told them a tale that it was us. i do not know what they have seen. what should they have seen?
-ulf something was coming this way from the desert, he said.
-slag what should come from the desert?
-agmar they are a foolish people.
-ulf that man's white face has seen some frightful thing.
-slag a frightful thing?
-ulf that man's face has been near to some frightful thing.
-agmar it is only we that have frightened them, and their fears have made them foolish. (enter an attendant with a torch or lantern which he places in a receptacle. exit.)
-thahn now we shall see the faces of the girls when they come to the banquet.
-mlan never had beggars such a time.
-agmar hark! they are coming. i hear footsteps.
-thahn the dancing girls. they are coming.
-thief there is no sound of flutes; they said they would come with music.
-oogno what heavy boots they have, they sound like feet of stone.
-thahn i do not like to hear their heavy tread; those that would dance to us must be light of foot.
-agmar i shall not smile at them if they are not airy.
-mlan they are coming very slowly. they should come nimbly to us.
-thahn they should dance as they come. but the footfall is like the footfall of heavy crabs.
-ulf (in a loud voice, almost chaunting) i have a fear, an old fear and a boding. we have done ill in the sight of the seven gods; beggars we were and beggars we should have remained; we have given up our calling and come in sight of our doom: i will no longer let my fear be silent: it shall run about and cry: it shall go from me crying, like a dog from out of a doomed city; for my fear has seen calamity and has known an evil thing.
-slag (hoarsely) master!
-agmar (rising) come, come! (they listen. no one speaks. the stony boots come on. enter in single file a procession of seven green men, even hands and faces are green; they wear greenstone sandals, they walk with knees extremely wide apart, as having sat cross-legged for centuries, their right arms and right forefingers point upwards, right elbows resting on left hands: they stoop grotesquely: halfway to the footlights they wheel left. they pass in front of the seven beggars, now in terrified attitudes and six of them sit down in the attitude described, with their backs to the audience. the leader stands, still stooping. just as they wheel left, oogno cries out.) the gods of the mountain!
-agmar (hoarsely) be still. they are dazzled by the light, they may not see us. (the leading green thing points his forefinger at the lantern, the flame turns green. when the six are seated the leader points one by one at each of the seven beggars, shooting out his forefinger at them. as he does this each beggar in his turn gathers himself back on to his throne and crosses his legs, his right arm goes stiffly upwards with forefinger erect, and a staring look of horror comes into his eyes. in this attitude the beggars sit motionless while a green light falls upon their faces. the gods go out.
-presently enter the citizens, some with victuals and fruit. one touches a beggar's arm and then another's.)
-citizen they are cold; they have turned to stone. (all abase themselves foreheads to the floor.)
-one we have doubted them. we have doubted them. they have turned to stone because we have doubted them.
-another they were the true gods.
-all they were the true gods.
-the first act of king argimenes and the unknown warrior
-king darniak the king's overseer a prophet the idol-guard the servant of the king's dog
-time: a long time ago. scene: the dinner-hour on the slave-fields of king darniak.
-(the curtain rises upon king argimenes, sitting upon the ground, bowed, ragged, and dirty, gnawing a bone. he has uncouth hair and a dishevelled beard. a battered spade lies near him. two or three slaves sit at back of stage eating raw cabbage-leaves. the tear-song, the chaunt of the low-born, rises at intervals, monotonous and mournful, coming from distant slave-fields.)
-king argimenes this is a good bone; there is juice in this bone.
-zarb i wish i were you, argimenes.
-king argimenes i am not to be envied any longer. i have eaten up my bone.
-zarb i wish i were you, because you have been a king. because men have prostrated themselves before your feet. because you have ridden a horse and worn a crown and have been called majesty.
-king argimenes when i remember that i have been a king it is very terrible.
-zarb but you are lucky to have such things in your memory as you have. i have nothing in my memory--once i went for a year without being flogged, and i remember my cleverness in contriving it--i have nothing else to remember.
-king argimenes it is very terrible to have been a king.
-zarb but we have nothing who have no good memories in the past. it is not easy for us to hope for the future here.
-king argimenes have you any god?
-zarb we may not have a god because he might make us brave and we might kill our guards. he might make a miracle and give us swords.
-king argimenes ah, you have no hope then.
-zarb i have a little hope. hush, and i will tell you a secret--the king's great dog is ill and like to die. they will throw him to us. we shall have beautiful bones then.
-king argimenes ah! bones.
-zarb yes. that is what i hope for. and have you no other hope? do you not hope that your nation will arise some day and rescue you and cast off the king and hang him up by his thumbs from the palace gateway?
-king argimenes no. i have no other hope, for my god was cast down in the temple and broken into three pieces on the day that they surprised us and took me sleeping. but will they throw him to us? will so honourable a brute as the king's dog be thrown to us?
-zarb when he is dead his honours are taken away. even the king when he is dead is given to the worms. then why should not his dog be thrown to us?
-king argimenes we are not worms!
-zarb you do not understand, argimenes. the worms are little and free, while we are big and enslaved. i did not say we were worms, but we are like worms, and if they have the king when he is dead, why then--
-king argimenes tell me more of the king's dog. are there big bones on him?
-zarb ay, he is a big dog--a high, big, black one.
-king argimenes you know him then?
-zarb o yes, i know him. i know him well. i was beaten once because of him, twenty-five strokes from the treble whips, two men beating me.
-king argimenes how did they beat you because of the king's dog?
-zarb they beat me because i spoke to him without making obeisance. he was coming dancing alone over the slave-fields and i spoke to him. he was a friendly great dog, and i spoke to him and patted his head, and did not make obeisance.
-king argimenes and they saw you do it?
-zarb yes, the slave-guard saw me. they came and seized me at once and bound my arms. the great dog wanted me to speak to him again, but i was hurried away.
-king argimenes you should have made obeisance.
-zarb the great dog seemed so friendly that i forgot he was the king's great dog.
-king argimenes but tell me more. was he hurt, or is it a sickness?
-zarb they say that it is a sickness.
-king argimenes ah. then he will grow thin if he does not die soon. if it had been a hurt!--but we should not complain. i complain more often than you do because i had not learned to submit while i was yet young.
-zarb if your beautiful memories do not please you, you should hope more. i wish i had your memories. i should not trouble to hope then. it is very hard to hope.
-king argimenes there will be nothing more to hope for when we have eaten the king's dog.
-zarb why you might find gold in the earth while you were digging. then you might bribe the commander of the guard to lend you his sword; we would all follow you if you had a sword. then we might take the king and bind him and lay him on the ground and fasten his tongue outside his mouth with thorns and put honey on it and sprinkle honey near. then the grey ants would come from one of their big mounds. my father found gold once when he was digging.
-king argimenes (pointedly) did your father free himself?
-zarb no. because the king's overseer found him looking at the gold and killed him. but he would have freed himself if he could have bribed the guard. (a prophet walks across the stage attended by two guards.)
-slaves he is going to the king. he is going to the king.
-zarb he is going to the king.
-king argimenes going to prophesy good things to the king. it is easy to prophesy good things to a king, and be rewarded when the good things come. what else should come to a king? a prophet! a prophet! (a deep bell tolls slowly. king argimenes and zarb pick up their spades at once, and the old slaves at the back of the stage go down on their knees immediately and grub in the soil with their hands. the white beard of the oldest trails in the dirt as he works. king argimenes digs.)
-king argimenes what is the name of that song that we always sing? i like the song.
-zarb it has no name. it is our song. there is no other song.
-king argimenes once there were other songs. has this no name?
-zarb i think the soldiers have a name for it.
-king argimenes what do the soldiers call it?
-zarb the soldiers call it the tear-song, the chaunt of the low-born.
-king argimenes it is a good song. i could sing no other now. (zarb moves away digging.)
-king argimenes (to himself as his spade touches something in the earth.) metal! (feels with his spade again.) gold perhaps!--it is of no use here. (uncovers earth leisurely. suddenly he drops on his knees and works excitedly in the earth with his hands. then very slowly, still kneeling, he lifts, lying flat on his hands, a long greenish sword, his eyes intent on it. about the level of his uplifted forehead he holds it, still flat on both hands, and addresses it thus:)
-o holy and blessed thing. (then he lowers it slowly till his hands rest on his knees, and looking all the while at the sword.)
-king argimenes (kneeling, hands outspread downwards.) o warrior spirit, wherever thou wanderest, whoever be thy gods; whether they punish thee or whether they bless thee; o kingly spirit that once laid here this sword, behold i pray to thee having no gods to pray to, for the god of my nation was broken in three by night. mine arm is stiff with three years' slavery and remembers not the sword. but guide thy sword till i have slain six men and armed the strongest slaves, and thou shalt have the sacrifice every year of a hundred goodly oxen. and i will build in ithara a temple to thy memory wherein all that enter in shall remember thee, so shalt thou be honoured and envied among the dead, for the dead are very jealous of remembrance. aye, though thou wert a robber that took men's lives unrighteously, yet shall rare spices smoulder in thy temple and little maidens sing and new-plucked flowers deck the solemn aisles; and priests shall go about it ringing bells that thy soul shall find repose. o but it has a good blade this old green sword; thou wouldst not like to see it miss its mark (if the dead see at all, as wise men teach,) thou wouldst not like to see it go thirsting into the air; so huge a sword should find its marrowy bone. (extending his right hand upward.) come into my right arm, o ancient spirit, o unknown warrior's soul. and if thou hast the ear of any gods, speak there against illuriel, god of king darniak. (he rises and goes on digging. re-enter the king's overseer.)
-the king's overseer so you have been praying.
-king argimenes (kneeling) no, master.
-the king's overseer the slave-guard saw you. (strikes him) it is not lawful for a slave to pray.
-king argimenes i did but pray to illuriel to make me a good slave, to teach me to dig well and to pull the rounded stone, and to make me not to die when the food is scarce, but to be a good slave to my master, the great king.
-the king's overseer who art thou to pray to illuriel? dogs may not pray to an immortal god. (exit. zarb comes back, digging.)
-king argimenes (digging) zarb.
-zarb (also digging) do not look at me when you speak. the guards are watching us. look at your digging.
-king argimenes how do the guards know we are speaking because we look at one another?
-zarb you are very witless. of course they know.
-king argimenes zarb.
-zarb what is it?
-king argimenes how many guards are there in sight?
-zarb there are six of them over there. they are watching us.
-king argimenes are there other guards in sight of these six guards?
-king argimenes how do you know?
-zarb because whenever their officer leaves them they sit upon the ground and play with dice.
-king argimenes how does that show that there are not another six in sight of them?
-zarb how witless you are, argimenes. of course it shows there are not. because, if there were, another officer would see them, and their thumbs would be cut off.
-king argimenes ah. (a pause.) zarb. (a pause) would the slaves follow me if i tried to kill the guards?
-zarb no, argimenes.
-king argimenes why would they not follow me?
-zarb because you look like a slave. they will never follow a slave, because they are slaves themselves, and know how mean a creature is a slave. if you looked like a king they would follow you.
-king argimenes but i am a king. they know that i am a king.
-zarb it is better to look like a king. it is looks that they would go by.
-king argimenes if i had a sword would they follow me? a beautiful huge sword of bronze.
-zarb i wish i could think of things like that. it is because you were once a king that you can think of a sword of bronze. i tried to hope once that i should some day fight the guards, but i couldn't picture a sword, i couldn't imagine it; i could only picture whips.
-king argimenes dig a little nearer, zarb. (they both edge closer.) i have found a very old sword in the earth. it is not a sword such as common soldiers wear. a king must have worn it, and an angry king. it must have done fearful things; there are little dints in it. perhaps there was a battle here long ago where all were slain, and perhaps that king died last and buried his sword, but the great birds swallowed him.
-zarb you have been thinking too much of the king's dog, argimenes, and that has made you hungry, and hunger has driven you mad.
-king argimenes i have found such a sword. (a pause.)
-zarb why--then you will wear a purple cloak again, and sit on a great throne, and ride a prancing horse, and we shall call you majesty.
-zarb you will make them follow you if you have a sword. yet is illuriel a very potent god. they say that none have prevailed against king darniak's dynasty so long as illuriel stood. once an enemy cast illuriel into the river and overthrew the dynasty, but a fisherman found him again and set him up, and the enemy was driven out and the dynasty returned.
-king argimenes if illuriel could be cast down as my god was cast down perhaps king darniak could be overcome as i was overcome in my sleep?
-zarb if illuriel were cast down all the people would utter a cry and flee away. it would be a fearful portent.
-king argimenes how many men are there in the armoury at the palace?
-zarb there are ten men in the palace armoury when all the slave-guards are out. (they dig awhile in silence.)
-zarb the officer of the slave-guard has gone away--they are playing with dice now. (zarb throws down his spade and stretches his arms)--the man with the big beard has won again, he is very nimble with his thumbs--they are playing again, but it is getting dark, i cannot clearly see.
-zarb majesty! (king argimenes crouches and steals away towards the slave-guard.)
-zarb (to the other slaves) argimenes has found a terrible sword and has gone to slay the slave-guard. it is not a common sword, it is some king's sword.
-zarb no! no! the guards flog poor slaves, but argimenes had an angry look. the guards will be afraid when they see him look so angry and see his terrible sword. it was a huge sword, and he looked very angry. he will bring us the swords of the slave-guard. we must prostrate ourselves before him and kiss his feet or he will be angry with us too.
-old slave will argimenes give me a sword?
-zarb he will have swords for six of us if he slays the slave-guard. yes, he will give you a sword.
-slave a sword! no, no, i must not; the king would kill me if he found that i had a sword.
-second slave (slowly, as one who develops an idea) if the king found that i had a sword, why then it would be an evil day for the king. (they all look off left.)
-zarb i think that they are playing at dice again.
-first slave i do not see argimenes.
-zarb no, because he was crouching as he walked. the slave-guard is on the sky-line.
-second slave what is that dark shadow behind the slave-guard?
-zarb it is too still to be argimenes.
-second slave look! it moves.
-zarb the evening is too dark, i cannot see. (they continue to gaze into the gathering darkness. they raise themselves on their knees and crane their necks. nobody speaks. then from their lips and from others further off goes up a long deep oh! it is like the sound that goes up from the grand stand when a horse falls at a fence, or in england like the first exclamation of the crowd at a great cricket match when a man is caught in the slips.)
-the fall of babbulkund
-i said: 'i will arise now and see babbulkund, city of marvel. she is of one age with the earth; the stars are her sisters. pharaohs of the old time coming conquering from araby first saw her, a solitary mountain in the desert, and cut the mountain into towers and terraces. they destroyed one of the hills of god, but they made babbulkund. she is carven, not built; her palaces are one with her terraces, there is neither join nor cleft. hers is the beauty of the youth of the world. she deemeth herself to be the middle of earth, and hath four gates facing outward to the nations. there sits outside her eastern gate a colossal god of stone. his face flushes with the lights of dawn. when the morning sunlight warms his lips they part a little, and he giveth utterance to the words 'oon oom,' and the language is long since dead in which he speaks, and all his worshippers are gathered to their tombs, so that none knoweth what the words portend that he uttereth at dawn. some say that he greets the sun as one god greets another in the language thereof, and others say that he proclaims the day, and others that he uttereth warning. and at every gate is a marvel not credible until beholden.'
-and i gathered three friends and said to them: 'we are what we have seen and known. let us journey now and behold babbulkund, that our minds may be beautified with it and our spirits made holier.'
-so we took ship and travelled over the lifting sea, and remembered not things done in the towns we knew, but laid away the thoughts of them like soiled linen and put them by, and dreamed of babbulkund.
-but when we came to the land of which babbulkund is the abiding glory, we hired a caravan of camels and arab guides, and passed southwards in the afternoon on the three days' journey through the desert that should bring us to the white walls of babbulkund. and the heat of the sun shone upon us out of the bright grey sky, and the heat of the desert beat up at us from below.
-about sunset we halted and tethered our horses, while the arabs unloaded the provisions from the camels and prepared a fire out of the dry scrub, for at sunset the heat of the desert departs from it suddenly, like a bird. then we saw a traveller approaching us on a camel coming from the south. when he was come near we said to him:
-'come and encamp among us, for in the desert all men are brothers, and we will give thee meat to eat and wine, or, if thou art bound by thy faith, we will give thee some other drink that is not accursed by the prophet.'
-the traveller seated himself beside us on the sand, and crossed his legs and answered:
-'hearken, and i will tell you of babbulkund, city of marvel. babbulkund stands just below the meeting of the rivers, where oonrana, river of myth, flows into the waters of fable, even the old stream plegáthanees. these, together, enter her northern gate rejoicing. of old they flowed in the dark through the hill that nehemoth, the first of pharaohs, carved into the city of marvel. sterile and desolate they float far through the desert, each in the appointed cleft, with life upon neither bank, but give birth in babbulkund to the sacred purple garden whereof all nations sing. thither all the bees come on a pilgrimage at evening by a secret way of the air. once, from his twilit kingdom, which he rules equally with the sun, the moon saw and loved babbulkund, clad with her purple garden; and the moon wooed babbulkund, and she sent him weeping away, for she is more beautiful than all her sisters the stars. her sisters come to her at night into her maiden chamber. even the gods speak sometimes of babbulkund, clad with her purple garden. listen, for i perceive by your eyes that ye have not seen babbulkund; there is a restlessness in them and an unappeased wonder. listen. in the garden whereof i spoke there is a lake that hath no twin or fellow in the world; there is no companion for it among all the lakes. the shores of it are of glass, and the bottom of it. in it are great fish having golden and scarlet scales, and they swim to and fro. here it is the wont of the eighty-second nehemoth (who rules in the city to-day) to come, after the dusk has fallen, and sit by the lake alone, and at this hour eight hundred slaves go down by steps through caverns into vaults beneath the lake. four hundred of them carrying purple lights march one behind the other, from east to west, and four hundred carrying green lights march one behind the other, from west to east. the two lines cross and re-cross each other in and out as the slaves go round and round, and the fearful fish flash up and down and to and fro.'
-but upon that traveller speaking night descended, solemn and cold, and we wrapped ourselves in our blankets and lay down upon the sand in the sight of the astral sisters of babbulkund. and all that night the desert said many things, softly and in a whisper, but i knew not what he said. only the sand knew and arose and was troubled and lay down again, and the wind knew. then, as the hours of the night went by, these two discovered the foot-tracks wherewith we had disturbed the holy desert, and they troubled over them and covered them up; and then the wind lay down and the sand rested. then the wind rose again and the sand danced. this they did many times. and all the while the desert whispered what i shall not know.
-and often travellers passed us in the desert, coming from the city of marvel, and there was a light and a glory in their eyes from having seen babbulkund. that evening, at sunset, another traveller neared us, and we hailed him, saying:
-'wilt thou eat and drink with us, seeing that all men are brothers in the desert?'
-and he descended from his camel and sat by us and said:
-'when morning shines on the colossus neb and neb speaks, at once the musicians of king nehemoth in babbulkund awake.
-'at first their fingers wander over their golden harps, or they stroke idly their violins. clearer and clearer the note of each instrument ascends like larks arising from the dew, till suddenly they all blend together and a new melody is born. thus, every morning, the musicians of king nehemoth make a new marvel in the city of marvel; for these are no common musicians, but masters of melody, raided by conquest long since, and carried away in ships from the isles of song. and, at the sound of the music, nehemoth awakes in the eastern chamber of his palace, which is carved in the form of a great crescent, four miles long, on the northern side of the city. full in the windows of its eastern chamber the sun rises, and full in the windows of its western chamber the sun sets.
-'when nehemoth awakes he summons slaves who bring a palanquin with bells, which the king enters, having lightly robed. then the slaves run and bear him to the onyx chamber of the bath, with the sound of small bells ringing as they run. and when nehemoth emerges thence, bathed and annointed, the slaves run on with their ringing palanquin and bear him to the orient chamber of banquets, where the king takes the first meal of the day. thence, through the great white corridor whose windows all face sunwards, nehemoth, in his palanquin, passes on to the audience chamber of embassies from the north, which is all decked with northern wares.
-'all about it are ornaments of amber from the north and carven chalices of the dark brown northern crystal, and on its floors lie furs from baltic shores.
-'in adjoining chambers are stored the wonted food of the hardy northern men, and the strong wine of the north, pale but terrible. therein the king receives barbarian princes from the frigid lands. thence the slaves bear him swiftly to the audience chamber of embassies from the east, where the walls are of turquoise, studded with the rubies of ceylon, where the gods are the gods of the east, where all the hangings have been devised in the gorgeous heart of ind, and where all the carvings have been wrought with the cunning of the isles. here, if a caravan hath chanced to have come in from ind or from cathay, it is the king's wont to converse awhile with moguls or mandarins, for from the east come the arts and knowledge of the world, and the converse of their people is polite. thus nehemoth passes on through the other audience chambers & receives, perhaps, some sheihks of the arab folk who have crossed the great desert from the west, or receives an embassy sent to do him homage from the shy jungle people to the south. and all the while the slaves with the ringing palanquin run westwards, following the sun, and ever the sun shines straight into the chamber where nehemoth sits, and all the while the music from one or other of his bands of musicians comes tinkling to his ears. but when the middle of the day draws near, the slaves run to the cool grooves that lie along the verandahs on the northern side of the palace, forsaking the sun, and as the heat overcomes the genius of the musicians, one by one their hands fall from their instruments, till at last all melody ceases. at this moment nehemoth falls asleep, and the slaves put the palanquin down and lie down beside it. at this hour the city becomes quite still, and the palace of nehemoth and the tombs of the pharaohs of old face to the sunlight, all alike in silence. even the jewellers in the market-place, selling gems to princes, cease from their bargaining and cease to sing; for in babbulkund the vendor of rubies sings the song of the ruby, and the vendor of sapphires sings the song of the sapphire, and each stone hath its song, so that a man, by his song, proclaims and makes known his wares.
-'but all these sounds cease at the meridian hour, the jewellers in the market-place lie down in what shadow they can find, and the princes go back to the cool places in their palaces, and a great hush in the gleaming air hangs over babbulkund. but in the cool of the late afternoon, one of the king's musicians will awake from dreaming of his home and will pass his fingers, perhaps, over the strings of his harp and, with the music, some memory may arise of the wind in the glens of the mountains that stand in the isles of song. then the musician will wrench great cries out of the soul of his harp for the sake of the old memory, and his fellows will awake and all make a song of home, woven of sayings told in the harbour when the ships came in, and of tales in the cottages about the people of old time. one by one the other bands of musicians will take up the song, and babbulkund, city of marvel, will throb with this marvel anew. just now nehemoth awakes, the slaves leap to their feet and bear the palanquin to the outer side of the great crescent palace between the south and the west, to behold the sun again. the palanquin, with its ringing bells, goes round once more; the voices of the jewellers sing again in the market-place the song of the emerald, the song of the sapphire; men talk on the housetops, beggars wail in the streets, the musicians bend to their work, all the sounds blend together into one murmur, the voice of babbulkund speaking at evening. lower and lower sinks the sun, till nehemoth, following it, comes with his panting slaves to the great purple garden of which surely thine own country has its songs, from wherever thou art come.
-'there he alights from his palanquin and goes up to a throne of ivory set in the garden's midst, facing full westwards, and sits there alone, long regarding the sunlight until it is quite gone. at this hour trouble comes into the face of nehemoth. men have heard him muttering at the time of sunset: 'even i too, even i too.' thus do king nehemoth and the sun make their glorious ambits about babbulkund.
-'a little later, when the stars come out to envy the beauty of the city of marvel, the king walks to another part of the garden and sits in an alcove of opal all alone by the marge of the sacred lake. this is the lake whose shores and floors are of glass, which is lit from beneath by slaves with purple lights and with green lights intermingling, and is one of the seven wonders of babbulkund. three of the wonders are in the city's midst and four are at her gates. there is the lake, of which i tell thee, and the purple garden of which i have told thee and which is a wonder even to the stars, and there is ong zwarba, of which i shall tell thee also. and the wonders at the gates are these. at the eastern gate neb. and at the northern gate the wonder of the river and the arches, for the river of myth, which becomes one with the waters of fable in the desert outside the city, floats under a gate of pure gold, rejoicing, and under many arches fantastically carven that are one with either bank. the marvel at the western gate is the marvel of annolith and the dog voth. annolith sits outside the western gate facing towards the city. he is higher than any of the towers or palaces, for his head was carved from the summit of the old hill; he hath two eyes of sapphire wherewith he regards babbulkund, and the wonder of the eyes is that they are to-day in the same sockets wherein they glowed when first the world began, only the marble that covered them has been carven away and the light of day let in and the sight of the envious stars. larger than a lion is the dog voth beside him; every hair is carven upon the back of voth, his war hackles are erected and his teeth are bared. all the nehemoths have worshipped the god annolith, but all their people pray to the dog voth, for the law of the land is that none but a nehemoth may worship the god annolith. the marvel at the southern gate is the marvel of the jungle, for he comes with all his wild untravelled sea of darkness and trees and tigers and sunward-aspiring orchids right through a marble gate in the city wall and enters the city, and there widens and holds a space in its midst of many miles across. moreover, he is older than the city of marvel, for he dwelt long since in one of the valleys of the mountain which nehemoth, first of pharaohs, carved into babbulkund.
-'now the opal alcove in which the king sits at evening by the lake stands at the edge of the jungle, and the climbing orchids of the jungle have long since crept from their homes through clefts of the opal alcove, lured by the lights of the lake, and now bloom there exultingly. near to this alcove are the hareems of nehemoth.
-'now when the king sitteth in his opal alcove by the sacred lake with the orchids blooming around him all sounds are become still. the sound of the tramping of the weary slaves as they go round and round never comes to the surface. long since the musicians sleep, and their hands have fallen dumb upon their instruments, and the voices in the city have died away. perhaps a sigh of one of the desert women has become half a song, or on a hot night in summer one of the women of the hills sings softly a song of snow; all night long in the midst of the purple garden sings one nightingale; all else is still; the stars that look on babbulkund arise and set, the cold unhappy moon drifts lonely through them, the night wears on; at last the dark figure of nehemoth, eighty-second of his line, rises and moves stealthily away.'
-the traveller ceased to speak. for a long time the clear stars, sisters of babbulkund, had shone upon him speaking, the desert wind had arisen and whispered to the sand, and the sand had long gone secretly to and fro; none of us had moved, none of us had fallen asleep, not so much from wonder at his tale as from the thought that we ourselves in two days' time should see that wondrous city. then we wrapped our blankets around us and lay down with our feet towards the embers of our fire and instantly were asleep, and in our dreams we multiplied the fame of the city of marvel.
-the sun arose and flamed upon our faces, and all the desert glinted with its light. then we stood up and prepared the morning meal, and, when we had eaten, the traveller departed. and we commended his soul to the god of the land whereto he went, of the land of his home to the northward, and he commended our souls to the god of the people of the land wherefrom we had come. then a traveller overtook us going on foot; he wore a brown cloak that was all in rags and he seemed to have been walking all night, and he walked hurriedly but appeared weary, so we offered him food and drink, of which he partook thankfully. when we asked him where he was going, he answered 'babbulkund.' then we offered him a camel upon which to ride, for we said, 'we also go to babbulkund.' but he answered strangely: 'nay, pass on before me, for it is a sore thing never to have seen babbulkund, having lived while yet she stood. pass on before me and behold her, and then flee away at once, returning northward.'
-then, though we understood him not, we left him, for he was insistent, and passed on our journey southwards through the desert, and we came before the middle of the day to an oasis of palm trees standing by a well and there we gave water to the haughty camels and replenished our water-bottles and soothed our eyes with the sight of green things and tarried for many hours in the shade. some of the men slept, but of those that remained awake each man sang softly the songs of his own country, telling of babbulkund. when the afternoon was far spent we travelled a little way southwards, and went on through the cool evening until the sun fell low and we encamped, and as we sat in our encampment the man in rags overtook us, having travelled all the day, and we gave him food and drink again, and in the twilight he spoke, saying:
-'i am the servant of the lord the god of my people and i go to do his work on babbulkund. she is the most beautiful city in the world; there hath been none like her, even the stars of god go envious of her beauty. she is all white, yet with streaks of pink that pass through her streets and houses like flames in the white mind of a sculptor, like desire in paradise. she hath been carved of old out of a holy hill, no slaves wrought the city of marvel, but artists toiling at the work they loved. they took no pattern from the houses of men, but each man wrought what his inner eye had seen and carved in marble the visions of his dream. all over the roof of one of the palace chambers winged lions flit like bats, the size of every one is the size of the lions of god, and the wings are larger than any wing created; they are one above the other more than a man can number, they are all carven out of one block of marble, the chamber itself is hollowed from it, and it is borne aloft upon the carven branches of a grove of clustered tree-ferns wrought by the hand of some jungle mason that loved the tall fern well. over the river of myth, which is one with the waters of fable, go bridges, fashioned like the wisteria tree and like the drooping laburnum, and a hundred others of wonderful devices, the desire of the souls of masons a long while dead. oh! very beautiful is white babbulkund, very beautiful she is, but proud; and the lord the god of my people hath seen her in her pride, and looking towards her hath seen the prayers of nehemoth going up to the abomination annolith, and all the people following after voth. she is very beautiful, babbulkund; alas that i may not bless her. i could live always on one of her inner terraces looking on the mysterious jungle in her midst and the heavenward faces of the orchids that, clambering from the darkness, behold the sun. i could love babbulkund with a great love, yet am i the servant of the lord the god of my people, and the king hath sinned unto the abomination annolith, and the people lust exceedingly for voth. alas for thee, babbulkund, alas that i may not even now turn back, for to-morrow i must prophesy against thee and cry out against thee, babbulkund. but ye travellers that have entreated me hospitably, rise and pass on with your camels, for i can tarry no longer, and i go to do the work on babbulkund of the lord the god of my people. go now and see the beauty of babbulkund before i cry out against her, and then flee swiftly northwards.'
-a smouldering fragment fell in upon our camp fire and sent a strange light into the eyes of the man in rags. he rose at once, and his tattered cloak swirled up with him like a great wing; he said no more, but turned round from us instantly southwards, and strode away into the darkness towards babbulkund. then a hush fell upon our encampment, and the smell of the tobacco of those lands arose. when the last flame died down in our camp fire i fell asleep, but my rest was troubled by shifting dreams of doom.
-morning came, and our guides told us that we should come to the city ere nightfall. again we passed southwards through the changeless desert; sometimes we met travellers coming from babbulkund, with the beauty of its marvels still fresh in their eyes.
-when we encamped near the middle of the day we saw a great number of people on foot coming towards us running, from the southwards. these we hailed when they were come near, saying, 'what of babbulkund?'
-they answered: 'we are not of the race of the people of babbulkund, but were captured in youth and taken away from the hills that are to the northward. now we have all seen in visions of the stillness the lord the god of our people calling to us from his hills, and therefore we all flee northward. but in babbulkund king nehemoth hath been troubled in the nights by unkingly dreams of doom, and none may interpret what the dreams portend. now this is the dream that king nehemoth dreamed on the first night of his dreaming. he saw move through the stillness a bird all black, and beneath the beatings of his wings babbulkund gloomed and darkened; and after him flew a bird all white, beneath the beatings of whose wings babbulkund gleamed and shone; and there flew by four more birds alternately black and white. and, as the black ones passed babbulkund darkened, and when the white ones appeared her streets and houses shone. but after the sixth bird there came no more, and babbulkund vanished from her place, and there was only the empty desert where she had stood, and the rivers oonrana and plegáthanees mourning alone. next morning all the prophets of the king gathered before their abominations and questioned them of the dream, and the abominations spake not. but when the second night stepped down from the halls of god, dowered with many stars, king nehemoth dreamed again; and in this dream king nehemoth saw four birds only, black and white alternately as before. and babbulkund darkened again as the black ones passed, and shone when the white came by; only after the four birds came no more, and babbulkund vanished from her place, leaving only the forgetful desert and the mourning rivers.
-'still the abominations spake not, and none could interpret the dream. and when the third night came forth from the divine halls of her home dowered like her sisters, again king nehemoth dreamed. and he saw a bird all black go by again, beneath whom babbulkund darkened, and then a white bird and babbulkund shone; and after them came no more, and babbulkund passed away. and the golden day appeared, dispelling dreams, and still the abominations were silent, and the king's prophets answered not to portend the omen of the dream. one prophet only spake before the king, saying: 'the sable birds, o king, are the nights, and the white birds are the days,...' this thing the king had feared, and he arose and smote the prophet with his sword, whose soul went crying away and had to do no more with nights and days.
-'it was last night that the king dreamed his third dream, and this morning we fled away from babbulkund. a great heat lies over it, and the orchids of the jungle droop their heads. all night long the women in the hareem of the north have wailed horribly for their hills. a fear hath fallen upon the city, and a boding. twice hath nehemoth gone to worship annolith, and all the people have prostrated themselves before voth. thrice the horologers have looked into the great crystal globe wherein are foretold all happenings to be, and thrice the globe was blank. yea, though they went a fourth time yet was no vision revealed; and the people's voice is hushed in babbulkund.'
-soon the travellers arose and pushed on northwards again, leaving us wondering. through the heat of the day we rested as well as we might, but the air was motionless and sultry and the camels ill at ease. the arabs said that it boded a desert storm, and that a great wind would arise full of sand. so we arose in the afternoon, and travelled swiftly, hoping to come to shelter before the storm. and the air burned in the stillness between the baked desert and the glaring sky.
-suddenly a wind arose out of the south, blowing from babbulkund, and the sand lifted and went by in great shapes, all whispering. and the wind blew violently, and wailed as it blew, and hundreds of sandy shapes went towering by, and there were little cries among them and the sounds of a passing away. soon the wind sank quite suddenly, and its cries died, and the panic ceased among the driven sands. and when the storm departed the air was cool, and the terrible sultriness and the boding were passed away, and the camels had ease among them. and the arabs said that the storm which was to be had been, as was willed of old by god.
-the sun set and the gloaming came, and we neared the junction of oonrana and plegáthanees, but in the darkness discerned not babbulkund. we pushed on hurriedly to reach the city ere nightfall, and came to the junction of the river of myth where he meets with the waters of fable, and still saw not babbulkund. all round us lay the sand and rocks of the unchanging desert, save to the southwards where the jungle stood with its orchids facing skywards. then we perceived that we had arrived too late, and that her doom had come to babbulkund; and by the river in the empty desert on the sand the man in rags was seated, with his face hidden in his hands, weeping bitterly.
-thus passed away in the hour of her iniquities before annolith, in the two thousand and thirty-second year of her being, in the six thousand and fiftieth year of the building of the world, babbulkund, city of marvel, sometime called by those that hated her city of the dog, but hourly mourned in araby and ind and wide through jungle and desert; leaving no memorial in stone to show that she had been, but remembered with an abiding love, in spite of the anger of god, by all that knew her beauty, whereof still they sing.
-the sphinx at gizeh
-i saw the other day the sphinx's painted face.
-she had painted her face in order to ogle time.
-and he has spared no other painted face in all the world but hers.
-delilah was younger than she, and delilah is dust.
-time hath loved nothing but this worthless painted face.
-i do not care that she is ugly, nor that she has painted her face, so that she only lure his secret from time.
-time dallies like a fool at her feet when he should be smiting cities.
-time never wearies of her silly smile.
-there are temples all about her that he has forgotten to spoil.
-i saw an old man go by and time never touched him.
-time that has carried away the seven gates of thebes!
-she has tried to bind him with ropes of eternal sand, she had hoped to oppress him with the pyramids.
-he lies there in the sun with his foolish hair all spread about her paws.
-if she ever learns his secret we will put out his eyes, so that he shall find no more our beautiful things--there are lovely gates in florence that i fear he will carry away.
-we have tried to bind him with song and with old customs, but they only held him for a little while, and he has always smitten us and mocked us.
-when he is blind he shall dance to us and make sport.
-great clumsy time shall stumble and dance, who liked to kill little children and can hurt even the daisies no longer.
-then shall our children laugh at him who slew babylon's winged bulls and smote great numbers of the elves and fairies, when he is shorn of his hours and his years.
-we will shut him up in the pyramid of cheops, in the great chamber where the sarcophagus is. thence we will lead him out when we give our feasts. he shall ripen our corn for us and do menial work.
-we will kiss thy painted face, o sphinx, if thou wilt betray to us time.
-and yet i fear that in his ultimate anguish he may take hold blindly of the world and the moon and slowly pull down upon him the house of man.
-idle days on the yann
-so i came down through the wood to the bank of yann and found, as had been prophesied, the ship bird of the river about to loose her cable.
-the captain sate cross-legged upon the white deck with his scimitar lying beside him in its jewelled scabbard, and the sailors toiled to spread the nimble sails to bring the ship into the central stream of yann, and all the while sang ancient soothing songs. and the wind of the evening descending cool from the snowfields of some mountainous abode of distant gods came suddenly, like glad tidings to an anxious city, into the wing-like sails.
-and so we came into the central stream, whereat the sailors lowered the greater sails. but i had gone to bow before the captain, and to inquire concerning the miracles, and appearances among men, of the most holy gods of whatever land he had come from. and the captain answered that he came from fair belzoond, and worshipped gods that were the least and humblest, who seldom sent the famine or the thunder, and were easily appeased with little battles. and i told how i came from ireland, which is of europe, whereat the captain and all the sailors laughed, for they said, 'there are no such places in all the land of dreams.' when they had ceased to mock me, i explained that my fancy mostly dwelt in the desert of cuppar-nombo, about a beautiful blue city called golthoth the damned, which was sentinelled all round by wolves and their shadows, and had been utterly desolate for years and years because of a curse which the gods once spoke in anger and could never since recall. and sometimes my dreams took me as far as pungar vees, the red-walled city where the fountains are, which trades with the isles and thul. when i said this they complimented me upon the abode of my fancy, saying that, though they had never seen these cities, such places might well be imagined. for the rest of that evening i bargained with the captain over the sum that i should pay him for my fare if god and the tide of yann should bring us safely as far as the cliffs by the sea, which are named bar-wul-yann, the gate of yann.
-and now the sun had set, and all the colours of the world and heaven had held a festival with him, and slipped one by one away before the imminent approach of night. the parrots had all flown home to the jungle on either bank, the monkeys in rows in safety on high branches of the trees were silent and asleep, the fireflies in the deeps of the forest were going up and down, and the great stars came gleaming out to look on the face of yann. then the sailors lighted lanterns and hung them round the ship, and the light flashed out on a sudden and dazzled yann, and the ducks that fed along his marshy banks all suddenly arose, and made wide circles in the upper air, and saw the distant reaches of the yann and the white mist that softly cloaked the jungle, before they returned again into their marshes.
-and then the sailors knelt on the decks and prayed, not all together, but five or six at a time. side by side there kneeled down together five or six, for there only prayed at the same time men of different faiths, so that no god should hear two men praying to him at once. as soon as any one had finished his prayer, another of the same faith took his place. thus knelt the row of five or six with bended heads under the fluttering sail, while the central stream of the river yann took them on towards the sea, and their prayers rose up from among the lanterns and went towards the stars. and behind them in the after end of the ship the helmsman prayed aloud the helmsman's prayer, which is prayed by all who follow his trade upon the river yann, of whatever faith they be. and the captain prayed to his little lesser gods, to the gods that bless belzoond.
-and i too felt that i would pray. yet i liked not to pray to a jealous god there where the frail affectionate gods whom the heathen love were being humbly invoked; so i bethought me, instead, of sheol nugganoth, whom the men of the jungle have long since deserted, who is now unworshipped and alone; and to him i prayed.
-and upon us praying the night came suddenly down, as it comes upon all men who pray at evening and upon all men who do not; yet our prayers comforted our own souls when we thought of the great night to come.
-and so yann bore us magnificently onwards, for he was elate with molten snow that the poltiades had brought him from the hills of hap, and the marn and migris were swollen full with floods; and he bore us in his might past kyph and pir, and we saw the lights of goolunza.
-soon we all slept except the helmsman, who kept the ship in the mid-stream of yann.
-when the sun rose the helmsman ceased to sing, for by song he cheered himself in the lonely night. when the song ceased we suddenly all awoke, and another took the helm, and the helmsman slept.
-he answered: 'none may ask questions in this gate for fear they wake the people of the city. for when the people of this city wake the gods will die. and when the gods die men may dream no more.' and i began to ask him what gods that city worshipped, but he lifted his pike because none might ask questions there. so i left him and went back to the bird of the river.
-certainly mandaroon was beautiful with her white pinnacles peering over her ruddy walls and the green of her copper roofs.
-to these a rainy day had been as an era of war that should desolate continents during all the lifetime of a man.
-and there came out also from the dark and steaming jungle to behold and rejoice in the sun the huge and lazy butterflies. and they danced, but danced idly, on the ways of the air, as some haughty queen of distant conquered lands might in her poverty and exile dance, in some encampment of the gipsies, for the mere bread to live by, but beyond that would never abate her pride to dance for a fragment more.
-and the butterflies sung of strange and painted things, of purple orchids and of lost pink cities and the monstrous colours of the jungle's decay. and they, too, were among those whose voices are not discernible by human ears. and as they floated above the river, going from forest to forest, their splendour was matched by the inimical beauty of the birds who darted out to pursue them. or sometimes they settled on the white and wax-like blooms of the plant that creeps and clambers about the trees of the forest; and their purple wings flashed out on the great blossoms as, when the caravans go from nurl to thace, the gleaming silks flash out upon the snow, where the crafty merchants spread them one by one to astonish the mountaineers of the hills of noor.
-in the afternoon, as the day grew cooler again, i awoke and found the captain buckling on his scimitar, which he had taken off him while he rested.
-and now we were approaching the wide court of astahahn, which opens upon the river. strange boats of antique design were chained there to the steps. as we neared it we saw the open marble court, on three sides of which stood the city fronting on colonnades. and in the court and along the colonnades the people of that city walked with solemnity and care according to the rites of ancient ceremony. all in that city was of ancient device; the carving on the houses, which, when age had broken it, remained unrepaired, was of the remotest times, and everywhere were represented in stone beasts that have long since passed away from earth--the dragon, the griffin, and the hippogriffin, and the different species of gargoyle. nothing was to be found, whether material or custom, that was new in astahahn. now they took no notice at all of us as we went by, but continued their processions and ceremonies in the ancient city, and the sailors, knowing their custom, took no notice of them. but i called, as we came near, to one who stood beside the water's edge, asking him what men did in astahahn and what their merchandise was, and with whom they traded. he said, 'here we have fettered and manacled time, who would otherwise slay the gods.'
-i asked him what gods they worshipped in that city, and he said, 'all those gods whom time has not yet slain.' then he turned from me and would say no more, but busied himself in behaving in accordance with ancient custom. and so, according to the will of yann, we drifted onwards and left astahahn.
-the river widened below astahahn, and we found in greater quantities such birds as prey on fishes. and they were very wonderful in their plumage, and they came not out of the jungle, but flew, with their long necks stretched out before them, and their legs lying on the wind behind, straight up the river over the mid-stream.
-and now the evening began to gather in. a thick white mist had appeared over the river, and was softly rising higher. it clutched at the trees with long impalpable arms, it rose higher and higher, chilling the air; and white shapes moved away into the jungle as though the ghosts of shipwrecked mariners were searching stealthily in the darkness for the spirits of evil that long ago had wrecked them on the yann.
-as the sun sank behind the field of orchids that grew on the matted summit of the jungle, the river monsters came wallowing out of the slime in which they had reclined during the heat of the day, and the great beasts of the jungle came down to drink. the butterflies a while since were gone to rest. in little narrow tributaries that we passed night seemed already to have fallen, though the sun which had disappeared from us had not yet set.
-and now the birds of the jungle came flying home far over us, with the sunlight glistening pink upon their breasts, and lowered their pinions as soon as they saw the yann, and dropped into the trees. and the widgeon began to go up the river in great companies, all whistling, and then would suddenly wheel and all go down again. and there shot by us the small and arrow-like teal; and we heard the manifold cries of flocks of geese, which the sailors told me had recently come in from crossing over the lispasian ranges; every year they come by the same way, close by the peak of mluna, leaving it to the left, and the mountain eagles know the way they come and--men say--the very hour, and every year they expect them by the same way as soon as the snows have fallen upon the northern plains.
-but soon it grew so dark that we saw these birds no more, and only heard the whirring of their wings, and of countless others besides, until they all settled down along the banks of the river, and it was the hour when the birds of the night went forth. then the sailors lit the lanterns for the night, and huge moths appeared, flapping about the ship, and at moments their gorgeous colours would be revealed by the lanterns, then they would pass into the night again, where all was black. and again the sailors prayed, and thereafter we supped and slept, and the helmsman took our lives into his care.
-when i awoke i found that we had indeed come to perdóndaris, that famous city. for there it stood upon the left of us, a city fair and notable, and all the more pleasant for our eyes to see after the jungle that was so long with us. and we were anchored by the market-place, and the captain's merchandise was all displayed, and a merchant of perdóndaris stood looking at it. and the captain had his scimitar in his hand, and was beating with it in anger upon the deck, and the splinters were flying up from the white planks; for the merchant had offered him a price for his merchandise that the captain declared to be an insult to himself and his country's gods, whom he now said to be great and terrible gods, whose curses were to be dreaded. but the merchant waved his hands, which were of great fatness, showing the pink palms, and swore that of himself he thought not at all, but only of the poor folk in the huts beyond the city to whom he wished to sell the merchandise for as low a price as possible, leaving no remuneration for himself. for the merchandise was mostly the thick toomarund carpets that in the winter keep the wind from the floor, and tollub which the people smoke in pipes. therefore the merchant said if he offered a piffek more the poor folk must go without their toomarunds when the winter came, and without their tollub in the evenings, or else he and his aged father must starve together. thereat the captain lifted his scimitar to his own throat, saying that he was now a ruined man, and that nothing remained to him but death. and while he was carefully lifting his beard with his left hand, the merchant eyed the merchandise again, and said that rather than see so worthy a captain die, a man for whom he had conceived an especial love when first he saw the manner in which he handled his ship, he and his aged father should starve together and therefore he offered fifteen piffeks more.
-when he said this the captain prostrated himself and prayed to his gods that they might yet sweeten this merchant's bitter heart--to his little lesser gods, to the gods that bless belzoond.
-at last the merchant offered yet five piffeks more. then the captain wept, for he said that he was deserted of his gods; and the merchant also wept, for he said that he was thinking of his aged father, and of how he soon would starve, and he hid his weeping face with both his hands, and eyed the tollub again between his fingers. and so the bargain was concluded, and the merchant took the toomarund and tollub, paying for them out of a great clinking purse. and these were packed up into bales again, and three of the merchant's slaves carried them upon their heads into the city. and all the while the sailors had sat silent, cross-legged in a crescent upon the deck, eagerly watching the bargain, and now a murmur of satisfaction arose among them, and they began to compare it among themselves with other bargains that they had known. and i found out from them that there are seven merchants in perdóndaris, and that they had all come to the captain one by one before the bargaining began, and each had warned him privately against the others. and to all the merchants the captain had offered the wine of his own country, that they make in fair belzoond, but could in no wise persuade them to it. but now that the bargain was over, and the sailors were seated at the first meal of the day, the captain appeared among them with a cask of that wine, and we broached it with care and all made merry together. and the captain was glad in his heart because he knew that he had much honour in the eyes of his men because of the bargain that he had made. so the sailors drank the wine of their native land, and soon their thoughts were back in fair belzoond and the little neighbouring cities of durl and duz.
-but for me the captain poured into a little glass some heavy yellow wine from a small jar which he kept apart among his sacred things. thick and sweet it was, even like honey, yet there was in its heart a mighty, ardent fire which had authority over souls of men. it was made, the captain told me, with great subtlety by the secret craft of a family of six who lived in a hut on the mountains of hian min. once in these mountains, he said, he followed the spoor of a bear, and he came suddenly on a man of that family who had hunted the same bear, and he was at the end of a narrow way with precipice all about him, and his spear was sticking in the bear, and the wound not fatal, and he had no other weapon. and the bear was walking towards the man, very slowly because his wound irked him--yet he was now very close. and what the captain did he would not say; but every year as soon as the snows are hard, and travelling is easy on the hian min, that man comes down to the market in the plains, and always leaves for the captain in the gate of fair belzoond a vessel of that priceless secret wine.
-and as i sipped the wine and the captain talked, i remembered me of stalwart noble things that i had long since resolutely planned, and my soul seemed to grow mightier within me and to dominate the whole tide of the yann. it may be that i then slept. or, if i did not, i do not now minutely recollect every detail of that morning's occupations. towards evening, i awoke and wishing to see perdóndaris before we left in the morning, and being unable to wake the captain, i went ashore alone. certainly perdóndaris was a powerful city; it was encompassed by a wall of great strength and altitude, having in it hollow ways for troops to walk in, and battlements along it all the way, and fifteen strong towers on it in every mile, and copper plaques low down where men could read them, telling in all the languages of those parts of the earth--one language on each plaque--the tale of how an army once attacked perdóndaris and what befel that army. then i entered perdóndaris and found all the people dancing, clad in brilliant silks, and playing on the tambang as they danced. for a fearful thunderstorm had terrified them while i slept, and the fires of death, they said, had danced over perdóndaris, and now the thunder had gone leaping away large and black and hideous, they said, over the distant hills, and had turned round snarling at them, showing his gleaming teeth, and had stamped, as he went, upon the hill-tops until they rang as though they had been bronze. and often and again they stopped in their merry dances and prayed to the god they knew not, saying, 'o, god that we know not, we thank thee for sending the thunder back to his hills.' and i went on and came to the market-place, and lying there upon the marble pavement i saw the merchant fast asleep and breathing heavily, with his face and the palms of his hands towards the sky, and slaves were fanning him to keep away the flies. and from the market-place i came to a silver temple and then to a palace of onyx, and there were many wonders in perdóndaris, and i would have stayed and seen them all, but as i came to the outer wall of the city i suddenly saw in it a huge ivory gate. for a while i paused and admired it, then i came nearer and perceived the dreadful truth. the gate was carved out of one solid piece!
-i fled at once through the gateway and down to the ship, and even as i ran i thought that i heard far off on the hills behind me the tramp of the fearful beast by whom that mass of ivory was shed, who was perhaps even then looking for his other tusk. when i was on the ship again i felt safer, and i said nothing to the sailors of what i had seen.
-and now the captain was gradually awakening.
-now night was rolling up from the east and north, and only the pinnacles of the towers of perdóndaris still took the fallen sunlight. then i went to the captain and told him quietly of the thing i had seen. and he questioned me at once about the gate, in a low voice, that the sailors might not know; and i told him how the weight of the thing was such that it could not have been brought from afar, and the captain knew that it had not been there a year ago. we agreed that such a beast could never have been killed by any assault of man, and that the gate must have been a fallen tusk, and one fallen near and recently. therefore he decided that it were better to flee at once; so he commanded, and the sailors went to the sails, and others raised the anchor to the deck, and just as the highest pinnacle of marble lost the last rays of the sun we left perdóndaris, that famous city. and night came down and cloaked perdóndaris and hid it from our eyes, which as things have happened will never see it again; for i have heard since that something swift and wonderful has suddenly wrecked perdóndaris in a day--towers, and walls, and people.
-and the night deepened over the river yann, a night all white with stars. and with the night there rose the helmsman's song. as soon as he had prayed he began to sing to cheer himself all through the lonely night. but first he prayed, praying the helmsman's prayer. and this is what i remember of it, rendered into english with a very feeble equivalent of the rhythm that seemed so resonant in those tropic nights.
-to whatever god may hear.
-wherever there be sailors whether of river or sea: whether their way be dark or whether through storm: whether their peril be of beast or of rock: or from enemy lurking on land or pursuing on sea: wherever the tiller is cold or the helmsman stiff: wherever sailors sleep or helmsmen watch: guard, guide, and return us to the old land that has known us: to the far homes that we know.
-to all the gods that are.
-to whatever god may hear.
-so he prayed, and there was silence. and the sailors laid them down to rest for the night. the silence deepened, and was only broken by the ripples of yann that lightly touched our prow. sometimes some monster of the river coughed.
-silence and ripples, ripples and silence again.
-and then his loneliness came upon the helmsman, and he began to sing. and he sang the market songs of durl and duz, and the old dragon-legends of belzoond.
-and in a while we heard the sound that the irillion made as she came down dancing from the fields of snow.
-and then we saw the ravine in the hills of glorm lying precipitous and smooth before us, into which we were carried by the leaps of yann. and now we left the steamy jungle and breathed the mountain air; the sailors stood up and took deep breaths of it, and thought of their own far-off acroctian hills on which were durl and duz--below them in the plains stands fair belzoond.
-a great shadow brooded between the cliffs of glorm, but the crags were shining above us like gnarled moons, and almost lit the gloom. louder and louder came the irillion's song, and the sound of her dancing down from the fields of snow. and soon we saw her white and full of mists, and wreathed with rainbows delicate and small that she had plucked up near the mountain's summit from some celestial garden of the sun. then she went away seawards with the huge grey yann and the ravine widened, and opened upon the world, and our rocking ship came through to the light of the day.
-and all that morning and all the afternoon we passed through the marshes of pondoovery; and yann widened there, and flowed solemnly and slowly, and the captain bade the sailors beat on bells to overcome the dreariness of the marches.
-at last the irusian mountains came in sight, nursing the villages of pen-kai and blut, and the wandering streets of mlo, where priests propitiate the avalanche with wine and maize. then night came down over the plains of tlun, and we saw the lights of cappadarnia. we heard the pathnites beating upon drums as we passed imaut and golzunda, then all but the helmsman slept. and villages scattered along the banks of the yann heard all that night in the helmsman's unknown tongue the little songs of cities that they knew not.
-and i had come to know who would meet them when they returned to their homes, and where they thought the meetings would take place, some in a valley of the acroctian hills where the road comes up from yann, others in the gateway of one or another of the three cities, and others by the fireside in the home. and i thought of the danger that had menaced us all alike outside perdóndaris, a danger that, as things have happened, was very real.
-and i thought too of the helmsman's cheery song in the cold and lonely night, and how he had held our lives in his careful hands. and as i thought of this the helmsman ceased to sing, and i looked up and saw a pale light had appeared in the sky, and the lonely night had passed; and the dawn widened, and the sailors awoke.
-and soon we saw the tide of the sea himself advancing resolute between yann's borders, and yann sprang lithely at him and they struggled awhile; then yann and all that was his were pushed back northward, so that the sailors had to hoist the sails and, the wind being favourable, we still held onwards.
-and we passed góndara and narl and haz. and we saw memorable, holy golnuz, and heard the pilgrims praying.
-when we awoke after the midday rest we were coming near to nen, the last of the cities on the river yann. and the jungle was all about us once again, and about nen; but the great mloon ranges stood up over all things, and watched the city from beyond the jungle.
-here we anchored, and the captain and i went up into the city and found that the wanderers had come into nen.
-and the wanderers were a weird, dark tribe, that once in every seven years came down from the peaks of mloon, having crossed by a pass that is known to them from some fantastic land that lies beyond. and the people of nen were all outside their houses, and all stood wondering at their own streets. for the men and women of the wanderers had crowded all the ways, and every one was doing some strange thing. some danced astounding dances that they had learned from the desert wind, rapidly curving and swirling till the eye could follow no longer. others played upon instruments beautiful wailing tunes that were full of horror, which souls had taught them lost by night in the desert, that strange far desert from which the wanderers came.
-none of their instruments were such as were known in nen nor in any part of the region of the yann; even the horns out of which some were made were of beasts that none had seen along the river, for they were barbed at the tips. and they sang, in the language of none, songs that seemed to be akin to the mysteries of night and to the unreasoned fear that haunts dark places.
-bitterly all the dogs of nen distrusted them. and the wanderers told one another fearful tales; for though no one in nen knew ought of their language yet they could see the fear on the listeners' faces, and as the tale wound on the whites of their eyes showed vividly in terror as the eyes of some little beast whom the hawk has seized. then the teller of the tale would smile and stop, and another would tell his story, and the teller of the first tale's lips would chatter with fear. and if some deadly snake chanced to appear the wanderers would greet him as a brother, and the snake would seem to give his greetings to them before he passed on again. once that most fierce and lethal of tropic snakes, the giant lythra, came out of the jungle and all down the street, the central street of nen, and none of the wanderers moved away from him, but they all played sonorously on drums, as though he had been a person of much honour; and the snake moved through the midst of them and smote none.
-even the wanderers' children could do strange things, for if any one of them met with a child of nen the two would stare at each other in silence with large grave eyes; then the wanderer's child would slowly draw from his turban a live fish or snake. and the children of nen could do nothing of that kind at all.
-much i should have wished to stay and hear the hymn with which they greet the night, that is answered by the wolves on the heights of mloon, but it was now time to raise the anchor again that the captain might return from bar-wul-yann upon the landward tide. so we went on board and continued down the yann. and the captain and i spoke little, for we were thinking of our parting, which should be for long, and we watched instead the splendour of the westering sun. for the sun was a ruddy gold, but a faint mist cloaked the jungle, lying low, and into it poured the smoke of the little jungle cities; and the smoke of them met together in the mist and joined into one haze, which became purple, and was lit by the sun, as the thoughts of men become hallowed by some great and sacred thing. sometimes one column from a lonely house would rise up higher than the cities' smoke, and gleam by itself in the sun.
-and now as the sun's last rays were nearly level, we saw the sight that i had come to see; for from two mountains that stood on either shore two cliffs of pink marble came out into the river, all glowing in the light of the low sun, and they were quite smooth and of mountainous altitude, and they nearly met, and yann went tumbling between them and found the sea.
-and this was bar-wul-yann, the gate of yann, and in the distance through that barrier's gap i saw the azure indescribable sea, where little fishing-boats went gleaming by.
-and the sun set, and the brief twilight came, and the exultation of the glory of bar-wul-yann was gone, yet still the pink cliffs glowed, the fairest marvel that the eye beheld--and this in a land of wonders. and soon the twilight gave place to the coming out of stars, and the colours of bar-wul-yann went dwindling away. and the sight of those cliffs was to me as some chord of music that a master's hand had launched from the violin, and which carries to heaven or faery the tremulous spirits of men.
-and now by the shore they anchored and went no further, for they were sailors of the river and not of the sea, and knew the yann but not the tides beyond.
-and the time was come when the captain and i must part, he to go back again to his fair belzoond in sight of the distant peaks of the hian min, and i to find my way by strange means back to those hazy fields that all poets know, wherein stand small mysterious cottages through whose windows, looking westwards, you may see the fields of men, and looking eastwards see glittering elfin mountains, tipped with snow, going range on range into the region of myth, and beyond it into the kingdom of fantasy, which pertain to the lands of dream.
-long we regarded one another, knowing that we should meet no more, for my fancy is weakening as the years slip by, and i go ever more seldom into the lands of dream. then we clasped hands, uncouthly on his part, for it is not the method of greeting in his country, and he commended my soul to the care of his own gods, to his little lesser gods, the humble ones, to the gods that bless belzoond.
-there is a road in rome that runs through an ancient temple that once the gods had loved; it runs along the top of a great wall, and the floor of the temple lies far down beneath it, of marble, pink and white.
-upon the temple floor i counted to the number of thirteen hungry cats.
-'sometimes,' they said among themselves, 'it was the gods that lived here, sometimes it was men, and now it's cats. so let us enjoy the sun on the hot marble before another people comes.'
-for it was at that hour of a warm afternoon when my fancy is able to hear the silent voices.
-and the fearful leanness of all those thirteen cats moved me to go into a neighbouring fish shop, and there to buy a quantity of fishes. then i returned and threw them all over the railing at the top of the great wall, and they fell for thirty feet, and hit the sacred marble with a smack.
-now, in any other town but rome, or in the minds of any other cats, the sight of fishes falling out of heaven had surely excited wonder. they rose slowly, and all stretched themselves; then they came leisurely towards the fishes. 'it is only a miracle,' they said in their hearts.
-the castle of time
-presently there was a stir in one of the houses, and a bat flew out of the door into the daylight, and three mice came running out of the doorway down the step, an old stone cracked in two and held together by moss; and there followed an old man bending on a stick with a white beard coming to the ground, wearing clothes that were glossed with use, and presently there came others out of the other houses, all of them as old, and all hobbling on sticks. these were the oldest people that the king had ever beheld, and he asked them the name of the village and who they were; and one of them answered: 'this is the city of the aged in the territory of time.'
-and the king said; 'is time then here?'
-and one of the old men pointed to a great castle standing on a steep hill and said: 'therein dwells time, and we are his people;' and they all looked curiously at king karnith zo, and the eldest of the villagers spoke again and said: 'whence do you come, you that are so young?' and karnith zo told him how he had come to conquer time, to save the world and the gods, and asked them whence they came.
-and the villagers said:
-'we are older than always, and know not whence we came, but we are the people of time, and here from the edge of everything he sends out his hours to assail the world, and you may never conquer time.' but the king went back to his armies, and pointed toward the castle on the hill and told them that at last they had found the enemy of the earth; and they that were older than always went back slowly into their houses with the creaking of olden doors. and they went across the fields and passed the village. from one of his towers time eyed them all the while, and in battle order they closed in on the steep hill as time sat still in his great tower and watched.
-but as the feet of the foremost touched the edge of the hill time hurled five years against them, and the years passed over their heads and the army still came on, an army of older men. but the slope seemed steeper to the king and to every man in his army, and they breathed more heavily. and time summoned up more years, and one by one he hurled them at karnith zo and at all his men. and the knees of the army stiffened, and their beards grew and turned grey, and the hours and days and the months went singing over their heads, and their hair turned whiter and whiter, and the conquering hours bore down, and the years rushed on and swept the youth of that army clear away till they came face to face under the walls of the castle of time with a mass of howling years, and found the top of the slope too steep for aged men. slowly and painfully, harassed with agues and chills, the king rallied his aged army that tottered down the slope. slowly the king led back his warriors over whose heads had shrieked the triumphant years. year in, year out, they straggled southwards, always towards zoon; they came, with rust upon their spears and long beards flowing, again into astarma, and none knew them there.
-here ends 'selections from the writings of lord dunsany.' finished on lady day, in the year nineteen hundred and twelve.
-note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 13665-h.htm or 13665-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/6/6/13665/13665-h/13665-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/6/6/13665/13665-h.zip)
-war in the garden of eden
-captain motor machine-gun corps, british expeditionary forces captain field artillery, american expeditionary forces
-illustrated from photographs by the author
-the memory of my father
-kermit roosevelt map of mesopotamia showing region of the fighting ashar creek at busra golden dome of samarra rafting down from tekrit captured turkish camel corps towing an armored car across a river reconnaissance the lion of babylon a dragon on the palace wall hauling out a badly bogged fighting car a mesopotamian garage a water-wheel on the euphrates a "red crescent" ambulance a jeweller's booth in the bazaar indian cavalry bringing in prisoners after the charge the kurd and his wife sheik muttar and the two kurds kirkuk a street in jerusalem japanese destroyers passing through the gut at taranto
-off for mesopotamia
-it was at taranto that we embarked for mesopotamia. reinforcements were sent out from england in one of two ways--either all the way round the cape of good hope, or by train through france and italy down to the desolate little seaport of taranto, and thence by transport over to egypt, through the suez canal, and on down the red sea to the indian ocean and the persian gulf. the latter method was by far the shorter, but the submarine situation in the mediterranean was such that convoying troops was a matter of great difficulty. taranto is an ancient greek town, situated at the mouth of a landlocked harbor, the entrance to which is a narrow channel, certainly not more than two hundred yards across. the old part of the town is built on a hill, and the alleys and runways winding among the great stone dwellings serve as streets. as is the case with maritime towns, it is along the wharfs that the most interest centres. during one afternoon i wandered through the old town and listened to the fisherfolk singing as they overhauled and mended their nets. grouped around a stone archway sat six or seven women and girls. they were evidently members of one family--a grandmother, her daughters, and their children. the old woman, wild, dark, and hawk-featured, was blind, and as she knitted she chanted some verses. i could only understand occasional words and phrases, but it was evidently a long epic. at intervals her listeners would break out in comments as they worked, but, like "othere, the old sea-captain," she "neither paused nor stirred."
-"there's no menace in preparedness, no threat in being strong, if the people's brain be healthy and they think no thought of wrong."
-after four or five most agreeable days aboard the queen the word came to embark, and i was duly transferred to the saxon, an old union castle liner that was to run us straight through to busra.
-as we steamed out of the harbor we were joined by two diminutive japanese destroyers which were to convoy us. the menace of the submarine being particularly felt in the adriatic, the transports travelled only by night during the first part of the voyage. to a landsman it was incomprehensible how it was possible for us to pursue our zigzag course in the inky blackness and avoid collisions, particularly when it was borne in mind that our ship was english and our convoyers were japanese. during the afternoon we were drilled in the method of abandoning ship, and i was put in charge of a lifeboat and a certain section of the ropes that were to be used in our descent over the side into the water. between twelve and one o'clock that night we were awakened by three blasts, the preconcerted danger-signal. slipping into my life-jacket, i groped my way to my station on deck. the men were filing up in perfect order and with no show of excitement. a ship's officer passed and said he had heard that we had been torpedoed and were taking in water. for fifteen or twenty minutes we knew nothing further. a scotch captain who had charge of the next boat to me came over and whispered: "it looks as if we'd go down. i have just seen a rat run out along the ropes into my boat!" that particular rat had not been properly brought up, for shortly afterward we were told that we were not sinking. we had been rammed amidships by one of the escorting destroyers, but the breach was above the water-line. we heard later that the destroyer, though badly smashed up, managed to make land in safety.
-we laid up two days in a harbor on the albanian coast, spending the time pleasantly enough in swimming and sailing, while we waited for a new escort. another night's run put us in navarino bay. the grandfather of lieutenant finch hatton, one of the officers on board, commanded the allied forces in the famous battle fought here in 1827, when the turkish fleet was vanquished and the independence of greece assured.
-several days more brought us to port said, and after a short delay we pushed on through the canal and into the red sea. it was august, and when one talks of the red sea in august there is no further need for comment. the saxon had not been built for the tropics. she had no fans, nor ventilating system such as we have on the united fruit boats. some unusually intelligent stokers had deserted at port said, and as we were in consequence short-handed, it was suggested that any volunteers would be given a try. finch hatton and i felt that our years in the tropics should qualify us, and that the exercise would improve our dispositions. we got the exercise. never have i felt anything as hot, and i have spent august in yuma, arizona, and been in italian somaliland and the amazon valley. the shovels and the handles of the wheelbarrows blistered our hands.
-we sweltered along down the red sea and around into the indian ocean. we wished to call at aden in order to disembark some of our sick, but were ordered to continue on without touching. our duties were light, and we spent the time playing cards and reading. the tommies played "house" from dawn till dark. it is a game of the lotto variety. each man has a paper with numbers written on squares; one of them draws from a bag slips of paper also marked with numbers, calls them out, and those having the number he calls cover it, until all the numbers on their paper have been covered. the first one to finish wins, and collects a penny from each of the losers. the caller drones out the numbers with a monotony only equalled by the brain-fever bird, and quite as disastrous to the nerves. there are certain conventional nicknames: number one is always "kelley's eye," eleven is "legs eleven," sixty-six is "clickety click," and the highest number is "top o' the 'ouse." there is another game that would be much in vogue were it not for the vigilance of the officers. it is known as "crown and anchor," and the advantage lies so strongly in favor of the banker that he cannot fail to make a good income, and therefore the game is forbidden under the severest penalties.
-as we passed through the strait of ormuz memories of the early days of european supremacy in the east crowded back, for i had read many a vellum-covered volume in portuguese about the early struggles for supremacy in the gulf. one in particular interested me. the portuguese were hemmed in at ormuz by a greatly superior english force. the expected reinforcements never arrived, and at length their resources sank so low, and they suffered in addition, or in consequence, so greatly from disease that they decided to sail forth and give battle. this they did, but before they joined in fight the ships of the two admirals sailed up near each other--the portuguese commander sent the british a gorgeous scarlet ceremonial cloak, the british responded by sending him a handsomely embossed sword. the british admiral donned the cloak, the portuguese grasped the sword; a page brought each a cup of wine; they pledged each other, threw the goblets into the sea, and fell to. the british were victorious. times indeed have sadly changed in the last three hundred years!
-i was much struck with the accuracy of the geographical descriptions in camoens' letters and odes. he is the greatest of the portuguese poets and wrote the larger part of his master-epic, "the lusiad," while exiled in india. for seventeen years he led an adventurous life in the east; and it is easy to recognize many harbors and stretches of coast line from his inimitable portrayal.
-busra, our destination, lies about sixty miles from the mouth of the shatt el arab, which is the name given to the combined tigris and euphrates after their junction at kurna, another fifty or sixty miles above. at the entrance to the river lies a sand-bar, effectively blocking access to boats of as great draft as the saxon. we therefore transshipped to some british india vessels, and exceedingly comfortable we found them, designed as they were for tropic runs. we steamed up past the island of abadan, where stand the refineries of the anglo-persian oil company. it is hard to overestimate the important part that company has played in the conduct of the mesopotamian campaign. motor transport was nowhere else a greater necessity. there was no possibility of living on the country; at first, at all events. general dickson, the director of local resources, later set in to so build up and encourage agriculture that the army should eventually be supported, in the staples of life, by local produce. transportation was ever a hard nut to crack. railroads were built, but though the nature of the country called for little grading, obtaining rails, except in small quantities, was impossible. the ones brought were chiefly secured by taking up the double track of indian railways. this process naturally had a limit, and only lines of prime importance could be laid down. thus you could go by rail from busra to amara, and from kut to baghdad, but the stretch between amara and kut had never been built, up to the time i left the country. general maude once told me that pressure was being continually brought by the high command in england or india to have that connecting-link built, but that he was convinced that the rails would be far more essential elsewhere, and had no intention of yielding.
-i don't know the total number of motor vehicles, but there were more than five thousand fords alone. on several occasions small columns of infantry were transported in fords, five men and the driver to a car. indians of every caste and religion were turned into drivers, and although it seemed sufficiently out of place to come across wizened, khaki-clad indo-chinese driving lorries in france, the incongruity was even more marked when one beheld a great bearded sikh with his turbaned head bent over the steering-wheel of a ford.
-modern busra stands on the banks of ashar creek. the ancient city whence sinbad the sailor set forth is now seven or eight miles inland, buried under the shifting sands of the desert. busra was a seaport not so many hundreds of years ago. before that again, kurna was a seaport, and the two rivers probably only joined in the ocean, but they have gradually enlarged the continent and forced back the sea. the present rate of encroachment amounts, i was told, to nearly twelve feet a year.
-the modern town has increased many fold with the advent of the expeditionary force, and much of the improvement is of a necessarily permanent nature; in particular the wharfs and roads. indeed, one of the most striking features of the mesopotamian campaign is the permanency of the improvements made by the british. in order to conquer the country it was necessary to develop it,--build railways and bridges and roads and telegraph systems,--and it has all been done in a substantial manner. it is impossible to contemplate with equanimity the possibility of the country reverting to a rule where all this progress would soon disappear and the former stagnancy and injustice again hold sway.
-as soon as we landed i wandered off to the bazaar--"suq" is what the arab calls it. in busra there are a number of excellent ones. by that i don't mean that there are art treasures of the east to be found in them, for almost everything could be duplicated at a better price in new york. it is the grouping of wares, the mode of sale, and, above all, the salesmen and buyers that make a bazaar--the old bearded persian sitting cross-legged in his booth, the motley crowd jostling through the narrow, vaulted passageway, the veiled women, the hawk-featured, turbaned men, the jews, the chaldeans, the arabs, the armenians, the stalwart kurds, and through it all a leaven of khaki-clad indians, purchasing for the regimental mess. all these and an ever-present exotic, intangible something are what the bazaar means. close by the entrance stood a booth festooned with lamps and lanterns of every sort, with above it scrawled "aladdin-ibn-said." my arabic was not at that time sufficient to enable me to discover from the owner whether he claimed illustrious ancestry or had merely been named after a patron saint.
-a few days after landing at busra we embarked on a paddle-wheel boat to pursue our way up-stream the five hundred intervening miles to baghdad. along the banks of the river stretched endless miles of date-palms. we watched the arabs at their work of fertilizing them, for in this country these palms have to depend on human agency to transfer the pollen. at kurna we entered the garden of eden, and one could quite appreciate the feelings of the disgusted tommy who exclaimed: "if this is the garden, it wouldn't take no bloody angel with a flaming sword to turn me back." the direct descendant of the tree is pointed out; whether its properties are inherited i never heard, but certainly the native would have little to learn by eating the fruit.
-above kurna the river is no longer lined with continuous palm-groves; desert and swamps take their place--the abode of the amphibious, nomadic, marsh arab. an unruly customer he is apt to prove himself, and when he is "wanted" by the officials, he retires to his watery fastnesses, where he can remain in complete safety unless betrayed by his comrades. on the banks of the tigris stands ezra's tomb. it is kept in good repair through every vicissitude of rule, for it is a holy place to moslem and jew and christian alike.
-the third night brought us to amara. the evening was cool and pleasant after the scorching heat of the day, and finch hatton and i thought that we would go ashore for a stroll through the town. as we proceeded down the bank toward the bridge, i caught sight of a sentry walking his post. his appearance was so very important and efficient that i slipped behind my companion to give him a chance to explain us. "halt! who goes there?" "friend," replied finch hatton. "advance, friend, and give the countersign." f.h. started to advance, followed by a still suspicious me, and rightly so, for the tommy, evidently member of a recent draft, came forward to meet us with lowered bayonet, remarking in a businesslike manner: "there isn't any countersign."
-except for the gunboats and monitors, all river traffic is controlled by the inland water transport service. the officers are recruited from all the world over. i firmly believe that no river of any importance could be mentioned but what an officer of the i.w.t. could be found who had navigated it. the great requisite for transports on the tigris was a very light draft, and to fill the requirements boats were requisitioned ranging from penny steamers of the thames to river-craft of the irrawaddy. now in bringing a penny steamer from london to busra the submarine is one of the lesser perils, and in supplying the wants of the expeditionary force more than eighty vessels were lost at sea, frequently with all aboard.
-as was the custom, we had a barge lashed to either side. these barges are laden with troops, or horses, or supplies. in our case we had the first bengal regiment--a new experiment, undertaken for political reasons. the bengali is the indian who most readily takes to european learning. rabindranath tagore is probably the most widely known member of the race. they go to calcutta university and learn a smattering of english and absorb a certain amount of undigested general knowledge and theory. these partially educated bengalis form the babu class, and many are employed in the railways. they delight in complicated phraseology, and this coupled with their accent and seesaw manner of speaking supply the english a constant source of caricature. as a race they are inclined to be vain and boastful, and are ever ready to nurse a grievance against the british government, feeling that they have been provided with an education but no means of support. the government felt that it might help to calm them if a regiment were recruited and sent to mesopotamia. how they would do in actual fighting had never been demonstrated up to the time i left the country, but they take readily to drill, and it was amusing to hear them ordering each other about in their clipped english. they were used for garrisoning baghdad.
-one evening we halted where, not many months before, the last of the battles of sunnaiyat had been fought. there for months the british had been held back, while their beleaguered comrades in kut could hear the roar of the artillery and hope against hope for the relief that never reached them. it was one phase of the campaign that closely approximated the gruelling trench warfare in france. the last unsuccessful attack was launched a week before the capitulation of the garrison, and it was almost a year later before the position was eventually taken. the front-line trenches were but a short distance apart, and each side had developed a strong and elaborate system of defense. one flank was protected by an impassable marsh and the other by the river. when we passed, the field presented an unusually gruesome appearance even for a battle-field, for the wandering desert arabs had been at work, and they do not clean up as thoroughly as the african hyena. a number had paid the penalty through tampering with unexploded grenades and "dud" shells, and left their own bones to be scattered around among the dead they had been looting. the trenches were a veritable golgotha with skulls everywhere and dismembered legs still clad with puttees and boots.
-at kut we disembarked to do the remaining hundred miles to baghdad by rail instead of winding along for double the distance by river, with a good chance of being hung up for hours, or even days, on some shifting sand-bar. at first sight kut is as unpromising a spot as can well be imagined, with its scorching heat and its sand and the desolate mud-houses, but in spite of appearances it is an important and thriving little town, and daily becoming of more consequence.
-the railroad runs across the desert, following approximately the old caravan route to baghdad. a little over half-way the line passes the remaining arch of the great hall of ctesiphon. this hall is one hundred and forty-eight feet long by seventy-six broad. the arch stands eighty-five feet high. around it, beneath the mounds of desert sand, lies all that remains of the ancient city. as a matter of fact the city is by no means ancient as such things go in mesopotamia, dating as it does from the third century b.c., when it was founded by the successors of alexander the great.
-my first night in baghdad i spent in general maude's house, on the river-bank. the general was a striking soldierly figure of a man, standing well over six feet. his military career was long and brilliant. his first service was in the coldstream guards. he distinguished himself in south africa. early in the present war he was severely wounded in france. upon recovering he took over the thirteenth division, which he commanded in the disastrous gallipoli campaign, and later brought out to mesopotamia. when he reached the east the situation was by no means a happy one for the british. general townshend was surrounded in kut, and the morale of the turk was excellent after the successes he had met with in gallipoli. in the end of august, 1916, four months after the fall of kut, general maude took over the command of the mesopotamian forces. on the 11th of march of the following year he occupied baghdad, thereby re-establishing completely the british prestige in the orient. one of germany's most serious miscalculations was with regard to the indian situation. she felt confident that, working through persia and afghanistan, she could stir up sufficient trouble, possibly to completely overthrow british rule, but certainly to keep the english so occupied with uprisings as to force them to send troops to india rather than withdraw them thence for use elsewhere. the utter miscarriage of germany's plans is, indeed, a fine tribute to great britain. the emir of afghanistan did probably more than any single native to thwart german treachery and intrigue, and every friend of the allied cause must have read of his recent assassination with a very real regret.
-when general maude took over the command, the effect of the holy war that, at the kaiser's instigation, was being preached in the mosques had not as yet been determined. this jehad, as it was called, proposed to unite all "true believers" against the invading christians, and give the war a strongly religious aspect. the germans hoped by this means to spread mutiny among the mohammedan troops, which formed such an appreciable element of the british forces, as well as to fire the fury of the turks and win as many of the arabs to their side as possible. the arab thoroughly disliked both sides. the turk oppressed him, but did so in an oriental, and hence more or less comprehensible, manner. the english gave him justice, but it was an occidental justice that he couldn't at first understand or appreciate, and he was distinctly inclined to mistrust it. in course of time he would come to realize its advantages. under turkish rule the arab was oppressed by the turk, but then he in turn could oppress the jew, the chaldean, and nestorian christians, and the wretched armenian. under british rule he suddenly found these latter on an equal footing with him, and he felt that this did not compensate the lifting from his shoulders of the turkish burden. then, too, when a race has been long oppressed and downtrodden, and suddenly finds itself on an equality with its oppressor, it is apt to become arrogant and overbearing. this is exactly what happened, and there was bad feeling on all sides in consequence. however, real fundamental justice is appreciated the world over, once the native has been educated up to it, and can trust in its continuity.
-the complex nature of the problems facing the army commander can be readily seen. he was an indefatigable worker and an unsurpassed organizer. the only criticism i ever heard was that he attended too much to the details himself and did not take his subordinates sufficiently into his confidence. a brilliant leader, beloved by his troops, his loss was a severe blow to the allied cause.
-baghdad is often referred to as the great example of the shattered illusion. we most of us have read the arabian nights at an early age, and think of the abode of the caliphs as a dream city, steeped in what we have been brought up to think of as the luxury, romance, and glamour of the east. now glamour is a delicate substance. in the all-searching glare of the mesopotamian sun it is apt to appear merely tawdry. still, a goodly number of years spent in wandering about in foreign lands had prepared me for a depreciation of the "stuff that dreams are made of," and i was not disappointed. it is unfortunate that the normal way to approach is from the south, and that that view of the city is flat and uninteresting. coming, as i several times had occasion to, from the north, one first catches sight of great groves of date-palms, with the tall minarets of the mosque of kazimain towering above them; then a forest of minarets and blue domes, with here and there some graceful palm rising above the flat roofs of baghdad. in the evening when the setting sun strikes the towers and the tiled roofs, and the harsh lights are softened, one is again in the land of haroun-el-raschid.
-the great covered bazaars are at all times capable of "eating the hours," as the natives say. one could sit indefinitely in a coffee-house and watch the throngs go by--the stalwart kurdish porter with his impossible loads, the veiled women, the unveiled christian or lower-class arab women, the native police, the british tommy, the kilted scot, the desert arab, all these and many more types wandered past. then there was the gold and silver market, where the jewish and armenian artificers squatted beside their charcoal fires and haggled endlessly with their customers. these latter were almost entirely women, and they came both to buy and sell, bringing old bracelets and anklets, and probably spending the proceeds on something newer that had taken their fancy. the workmanship was almost invariably poor and rough. most of the women had their babies with them, little mites decked out in cheap finery and with their eyelids thickly painted. the red dye from their caps streaked their faces, the flies settled on them at will, and they had never been washed. when one thought of the way one's own children were cared for, it seemed impossible that a sufficient number of these little ones could survive to carry on the race. the infant mortality must be great, though the children one sees look fat and thriving.
-baghdad is not an old city. although there was probably a village on the site time out of mind, it does not come into any prominence until the eighth century of our era. as the residence of the abasside caliphs it rapidly assumed an important position. the culmination of its magnificence was reached in the end of the eighth century, under the rule of the world-famous haroun-el-raschid. it long continued to be a centre of commerce and industry, though suffering fearfully from the various sieges and conquests which it underwent. in 1258 the mongols, under a grandson of the great genghis khan, captured the city and held it for a hundred years, until ousted by the tartars under tamberlane. it was plundered in turn by one mongol horde after another until the turks, under murad the fourth, eventually secured it. naturally, after being the scene of so much looting and such massacres, there is little left of the original city of the caliphs. then, too, in mesopotamia there is practically no stone, and everything was built of brick, which readily lapses back to its original state. for this reason the invaders easily razed a conquered town, and mesopotamia, so often called the "cradle of the world," retains but little hopes, his achievements; and i left his house honoring him, but amazed--his heart was so wide and his head so narrow; a man who would purify with simultaneous austerity the morals of lochinvar and of sharon.
-“about once a month,” said stuart, “i run against a new side he is blind on. take his puzzlement as to whether they prefer verse or prose. queer and dumb of him that, you see. sharon does not know the difference between verse and prose.”
-“that's going too far,” said i.
-“they don't,” he repeated, “when it comes to strawberry night. if the piece is about something they understand, rhymes do not help or hinder. and of course sex is apt to settle the question.”
-“then i should have thought leola--” i began.
-“not the sex of the speaker. it's the listeners. now you take women. women generally prefer something that will give them a good cry. we men want to laugh mostly.”
-“yes,” said i; “i would rather laugh myself, i think.”
-“you'd know you'd rather if you had to live in sharon. the laugh is one of the big differences between women and men, and i would give you my views about it, only my sunday-off time is up, and i've got to go to telegraphing.”
-“our ways are together,” said i. “i'm going back to the railroad hotel.”
-“there's guy,” continued stuart. “he took the prize on 'the jumping frog.' spoke better than leola, anyhow. she spoke 'the wreck of the hesperus.' but guy had the back benches--that's where the men sit--pretty well useless. guess if there had been a fire, some of the fellows would have been scorched before they'd have got strength sufficient to run out. but the ladies did not laugh much. said they saw nothing much in jumping a frog. and if leola had made 'em cry good and hard that night, the committee's decision would have kicked up more of a fuss than it did. as it was, mrs. mattern got me alone; but i worked us around to where mrs. jeffries was having her ice-cream, and i left them to argue it out.”
-“let us adhere to that policy,” i said to stuart; and he replied nothing, but into the corner of his eye wandered that lurking smile which revealed that life brought him compensations.
-he went to telegraphing, and i to revery concerning strawberry night. i found myself wishing now that there could have been two prizes; i desired both leola and guy to be happy; and presently i found the matter would be very close, so far at least as my judgment went. for boy and girl both brought me their selections, begging i would coach them, and this i had plenty of leisure to do. i preferred guy's choice--the story of that blue-jay who dropped nuts through the hole in a roof, expecting to fill it, and his friends came to look on and discovered the hole went into the entire house. it is better even than “the jumping frog”--better than anything, i think--and young guy told it well. but leola brought a potent rival on the tearful side of things. “the death of paul dombey” is plated pathos, not wholly sterling; but sharon could not know this; and while leola most prettily recited it to me i would lose my recent opinion in favor of guy, and acknowledge the value of her performance. guy might have the men strong for him, but this time the women were going to cry. i got also a certain other sort of entertainment out of the competing mothers. mrs. jeffries and mrs. mattern had a way of being in the hotel office at hours when i passed through to meals. they never came together, and always were taken by surprise at meeting me.
-“leola is ever so grateful to you,” mrs. mattern would say.
-“oh,” i would answer, “do not speak of it. have you ever heard guy's 'blue-jay' story?”
-“well, if it's anything like that frog business, i don't want to.” and the lady would leave me.
-“guy tells me you are helping him so kindly,” said mrs. jeffries.
-“oh yes, i'm severe,”' i answered, brightly. “i let nothing pass. i only wish i was as careful with leola. but as soon as she begins 'paul had never risen from his little bed,' i just lose myself listening to her.”
-on the whole, there were also compensations for me in these mothers, and i thought it as well to secure them in advance.
-when the train arrived from el paso, and i saw our strawberries and our ice-cream taken out, i felt the hour to be at hand, and that whatever our decision, no bias could be laid to me. according to his prudent habit, eastman had the speakers follow each other alphabetically. this happened to place leola after guy, and perhaps might give her the last word, as it were, with the people; but our committee was there, and superior to such accidents. the flags and the bunting hung gay around the draped stage. while the audience rustled or resoundingly trod to its chairs, and seated neighbors conferred solemnly together over the programme, stuart, behind the bunting, played “silver threads among the gold” upon a melodeon.
-“pretty good this,” he said to me, pumping his feet.
-“what?” i said.
-“tune. sharon is for free silver.”
-“do you think they will catch your allusion?” i asked him.
-“no. but i have a way of enjoying a thing by myself.” and he pumped away, playing with tasteful variations until the hall was full and the singing-class assembled in gloves and ribbons.
-they opened the ceremonies for us by rendering “sweet and low” very happily; and i trusted it was an omen.
-sharon was hearty, and we had “sweet and low” twice. then the speaking began, and the speakers were welcomed, coming and going, with mild and friendly demonstrations. nothing that one would especially mark went wrong until reuben gadsden. he strode to the middle of the boards, and they creaked beneath his tread. he stood a moment in large glittering boots and with hair flat and prominently watered. as he straightened from his bow his suspender-buttons came into view, and remained so for some singular internal reason, while he sent his right hand down into the nearest pocket and began his oratory.
-“it is sixteen or seventeen years since i saw the queen of france,” he said, impressively, and stopped.
-we waited, and presently he resumed:
-“it is sixteen or seventeen years since i saw the queen of france.” he took the right hand out and put the left hand in.
-“it is sixteen or seventeen years,” said he, and stared frowning at his boots.
-i found the silence was getting on my nerves. i felt as if it were myself who was drifting to idiocy, and tremulous empty sensations began to occur in my stomach. had i been able to recall the next sentence, i should have prompted him.
-“it is sixteen or seventeen years since i saw the queen of france,” said the orator, rapidly.
-and down deep back among the men came a voice, “well, i guess it must be, reub.”
-this snapped the tension. i saw reuben's boots march away; mr. eastman came from behind the bunting and spoke (i suppose) words of protest. i could not hear them, but in a minute, or perhaps two, we grew calm, and the speaking continued.
-there was no question what they thought of guy and leola. he conquered the back of the room. they called his name, they blessed him with endearing audible oaths, and even the ladies smiled at his pleasant, honest face--the ladies, except mrs. mattern. she sat near mrs. jeffries, and throughout guy's “blue-jay” fanned herself, exhibiting a well-sustained inattention. she might have foreseen that mrs. jeffries would have her turn. when the “death of paul dombey” came, and handkerchiefs began to twinkle out among the audience, and various noises of grief were rising around us, and the men themselves murmured in sympathy, mrs. jeffries not only preserved a suppressed-hilarity countenance, but managed to cough twice with a cough that visibly bit into mrs. mattern's soul.
-but leola's appealing cadences moved me also. when paul was dead, she made her pretty little bow, and we sat spellbound, then gave her applause surpassing guy's. unexpectedly i found embarrassment of choice dazing me, and i sat without attending to the later speakers. was not successful humor more difficult than pathos? were not tears more cheaply raised than laughter? yet, on the other hand, guy had one prize, and where merit was so even--i sat, i say, forgetful of the rest of the speakers, when suddenly i was aware of louder shouts of welcome, and i awaked to josey yeatts bowing at us.
-“spit it out, josey!” a large encouraging voice was crying in the back of the hall. “we'll see you through.”
-“don't be scared, josey!” yelled another.
-then josey opened his mouth and rhythmically rattled the following:
-“i love little pussy her coat is so warm and if i don't hurt her she'll do me no harm i'll sit by the fi-yer and give her some food and pussy will love me because i am good.”
-that was all. it had come without falter or pause, even for breath. josey stood, and the room rose to him.
-“again! again!” they roared. “he ain't a bit scared!” “go it, josey!” “you don't forgit yer piece!” and a great deal more, while they pounded with their boots.
-“i love little pussy,” began josey.
-“poor darling!” said a lady next me. “no mother.”
-“i'll sit by the fi-yer.”
-josey was continuing. but nobody heard him finish. the room was a babel.
-“look at his little hand!” “only three fingers inside them rags!” “nobody to mend his clothes any more.” they all talked to each other, and clapped and cheered, while josey stood, one leg slightly advanced and proudly stiff, somewhat after the manner of those military engravings where some general is seen erect upon an eminence at the moment of victory.
-mr. eastman again appeared from the bunting, and was telling us, i have no doubt, something of importance; but the giant barkeeper now shouted above the din, “who says josey yeatts ain't the speaker for this night?”
-at that striking of the common chord i saw them heave, promiscuous and unanimous, up the steps to the stage. josey was set upon abe hanson's shoulder, while ladies wept around him. what the literary committee might have done i do not know, for we had not the time even to resign. guy and leola now appeared, bearing the prize between them--a picture of washington handing the bible out of clouds to abraham lincoln--and very immediately i found myself part of a procession. men and women we were, marching about sharon. the barkeeper led; four of sharon's fathers followed him, escorting josey borne aloft on abe hanson's shoulder, and rigid and military in his bearing. leola and guy followed with the picture; stuart walked with me, whistling melodies of the war--dixie and others. eastman was not with us. when the ladies found themselves conducted to the saloon, they discreetly withdrew back to the entertainment we had broken out from. josey saw them go, and shrilly spoke his first word:
-“ain't i going to have any ice-cream?”
-this presently caused us to return to the ladies, and we finished the evening with entire unity of sentiment. eastman alone took the incident to heart; inquired how he was to accomplish anything with hands tied, and murmured his constant burden once more: “one is not appreciated, not appreciated.”
-i do not stop over in sharon any more. my ranch friend, whose presence there brought me to visit him, is gone away. but such was my virgin experience of the place; and in later days fate led me to be concerned with two more local competitions--one military and one civil--which greatly stirred the population. so that i never pass sharon on my long travels without affectionately surveying the sandy, quivering, bleached town, unshaded by its twinkling forest of wind-wheels. surely the heart always remembers a spot where it has been merry! and one thing i should like to know--shall know, perhaps: what sort of citizen in our republic josey will grow to be. for whom will he vote? may he not himself come to sit in washington and make laws for us? universal suffrage holds so many possibilities.
-augustus albumblatt, young and new and sleek with the latest book-knowledge of war, reported to his first troop commander at fort brown. the ladies had watched for him, because he would increase the number of men, the officers because he would lessen the number of duties; and he joined at a crisis favorable to becoming speedily known by them all. upon that same day had household servants become an extinct race. the last one, the commanding officer's cook, had told the commanding officer's wife that she was used to living where she could see the cars. she added that there was no society here “fit for man or baste at all.” this opinion was formed on the preceding afternoon when casey, a sergeant of roguish attractions in g troop, had told her that he was not a marrying man. three hours later she wedded a gambler, and this morning at six they had taken the stage for green river, two hundred miles south, the nearest point where the bride could see the cars.
-“frank,” said the commanding officer's wife, “send over to h troop for york.”
-“catherine,” he answered, “my dear, our statesmen at washington say it's wicked to hire the free american soldier to cook for you. it's too menial for his manhood.”
-“hush, my love. therefore york must be spared the insult of twenty more dollars a month, our statesmen must be re-elected, and you and i, catherine, being cookless, must join the general mess.”
-thus did all separate housekeeping end, and the garrison began unitedly to eat three times a day what a chinaman set before them, when the long-expected albumblatt stepped into their midst, just in time for supper.
-this youth was spic-and-span from the military academy, with a top-dressing of three months' thoughtful travel in germany. “i was deeply impressed with the modernity of their scientific attitude,” he pleasantly remarked to the commanding officer. for captain duane, silent usually, talked at this first meal to make the boy welcome in this forlorn two-company post.
-“we're cut off from all that sort of thing here,” said he. “i've not been east of the missouri since '69. but we've got the railroad across, and we've killed some indians, and we've had some fun, and we're glad we're alive--eh, mrs. starr?”
-“i should think so,” said the lady.
-“especially now we've got a bachelor at the post!” said mrs. bainbridge. “that has been the one drawback, mr. albumblatt.”
-“i thank you for the compliment,” said augustus, bending solemnly from his hips; and mrs. starr looked at him and then at mrs. bainbridge.
-“we're not over-gay, i fear,” the captain continued; “but the flat's full of antelope, and there's good shooting up both canyons.”
-“have you followed the recent target experiments at metz?” inquired the traveller. “i refer to the flattened trajectory and the obus controversy.”
-“we have not heard the reports,” answered the commandant, with becoming gravity. “but we own a mountain howitzer.”
-“the modernity of german ordnance--” began augustus.
-“do you dance, mr. albumblatt?” asked mrs. starr.
-“for we'll have a hop and all be your partners,” mrs. bainbridge exclaimed.
-“i will be pleased to accommodate you, ladies.”
-“it's anything for variety's sake with us, you see,” said mrs. starr, smoothly smiling; and once again augustus bent blandly from his hips.
-but the commanding officer wished leniency. “you see us all,” he hastened to say. “commissioned officers and dancing-men. pretty shabby--”
-“oh, captain!” said a lady.
-“and pretty old.”
-“captain!” said another lady.
-“but alive and kicking. captain starr, mr. bainbridge, the doctor and me. we are seven.”
-augustus looked accurately about him. “do i understand seven, captain?”
-“we are seven,” the senior officer repeated.
-again mr. albumblatt counted heads. “i imagine you include the ladies, captain? ha! ha!”
-“seven commissioned males, sir. our major is on sick-leave, and two of our lieutenants are related to the president's wife. she can't bear them to be exposed. none of us in the church-yard lie--but we are seven.”
-“ha! ha, captain! that's an elegant double entendre on wordsworth's poem and the war department. only, if i may correct your addition--ha! ha!--our total, including myself, is eight.” and augustus grew as hilarious as a wooden nutmeg.
-the commanding officer rolled an intimate eye at his wife.
-the lady was sitting big with rage, but her words were cordial still: “indeed, mr. albumblatt, the way officers who have influence in washington shirk duty here and get details east is something i can't laugh about. at one time the captain was his own adjutant and quartermaster. there are more officers at this table to-night than i've seen in three years. so we are doubly glad to welcome you at fort brown.”
-“i am fortunate to be on duty where my services are so required, though i could object to calling it fort brown.” and augustus exhaled a new smile.
-“prefer smith?” said captain starr.
-“you misunderstand me. when we say fort brown. fort russell, fort et cetera, we are inexact. they are not fortified.”
-“cantonment et cetera would be a trifle lengthy, wouldn't it?” put in the doctor, his endurance on the wane.
-“perhaps; but technically descriptive of our western posts. the germans criticise these military laxities.”
-captain duane now ceased talking, but urbanely listened; and from time to time his eye would scan augustus, and then a certain sublimated laugh, to his wife well known; would seize him for a single voiceless spasm, and pass. the experienced albumblatt meanwhile continued, “by-the-way, doctor, you know the charite, of course?”
-doctor guild had visited that great hospital, but being now a goaded man he stuck his nose in his plate, and said, unwisely: “sharrity? what's that?” for then augustus told him what and where it was, and that krankenhaus is german for hospital, and that he had been deeply impressed with the modernity of the ventilation. “thirty-five cubic metres to a bed in new wards,” he stated. “how many do you allow, doctor?”
-“none,” answered the surgeon.
-“do i understand none, doctor?”
-“you do, sir. my patients breathe in cubic feet, and swallow their doses in grains, and have their inflation measured in inches.”
-“now there again!” exclaimed augustus, cheerily. “more antiquity to be swept away! and people say we young officers have no work cut out for us!”
-“patients don't die then under the metric system?” said the doctor.
-“no wonder europe's overcrowded,” said starr.
-but the student's mind inhabited heights above such trifling. “death,” he said, “occurs in ratios not differentiated from our statistics.” and he told them much more while they booked at him over their plates. he managed to say 'modernity' and 'differentiate' again, for he came from our middle west, where they encounter education too suddenly, and it would take three generations of him to speak clean english. but with all his polysyllabic wallowing, he showed himself keen-minded, pat with authorities, a spruce young graduate among these dingy rocky mountain campaigners. they had fought and thirsted and frozen; the books that he knew were not written when they went to school; and so far as war is to be mastered on paper, his equipment was full and polished while theirs was meagre and rusty.
-and yet, if you know things that other and older men do not, it is as well not to mention them too hastily. these soldiers wished that they could have been taught what he knew; but they watched young augustus unfolding himself with a gaze that might have seemed chill to a less highly abstract thinker. he, however, rose from the table pleasantly edified by himself, and hopeful for them. and as he left them, “good-night, ladies and gentlemen,” he said; “we shall meet again.”
-“oh yes,” said the doctor. “again and again.”
-“he's given me indigestion,” said bainbridge.
-“take some metric system,” said starr.
-“and lie flat on your trajectory,” said the doctor.
-“i hate hair parted in the middle for a man,” said mrs. guild.
-“and his superior eye-glasses,” said mrs. bainbridge.
-“his staring conceited teeth,” hissed mrs. starr.
-“i don't like children slopping their knowledge all over me,” said the doctor's wife.
-“he's well brushed, though,” said mrs. duane, seeking the bright side. “he'll wipe his feet on the mat when he comes to call.”
-“i'd rather have mud on my carpet than that bandbox in any of my chairs,” said mrs. starr.
-“he's no fool,” mused the doctor. “but, kingdom come, what an ass!”
-“well, gentlemen,” said the commanding officer (and they perceived a flavor of the official in his tone), “mr. albumblatt is just twenty-one. i don't know about you; but i'll never have that excuse again.”
-“very well, captain, we'll be good,” said mrs. bainbridge.
-“and gr-r-ateful,” said mrs. starr, rolling her eyes piously. “i prophecy he'll entertain us.”
-the captain's demeanor remained slightly official; but walking home, his catherine by his side in the dark was twice aware of that laugh of his, twinkling in the recesses of his opinions. and later, going to bed, a little joke took him so unready that it got out before he could suppress it. “my love,” said he, “my second lieutenant is grievously mislaid in the cavalry. providence designed him for the artillery.”
-it was wifely but not right in catherine to repeat this strict confidence in strictest confidence to her neighbor, mrs. bainbridge, over the fence next morning before breakfast. at breakfast mrs. bainbridge spoke of artillery reinforcing the post, and her husband giggled girlishly and looked at the puzzled duane; and at dinner mrs. starr asked albumblatt, would not artillery strengthen the garrison?
-“even a light battery,” pronounced augustus, promptly, “would be absurd and useless.”
-whereupon the mess rattled knives, sneezed, and became variously disturbed. so they called him albumbattery, and then blattery, which is more condensed; and captain duane's official tone availed him nothing in this matter. but he made no more little military jokes; he disliked garrison personalities. civilized by birth and ripe from weather-beaten years of men and observing, he looked his second lieutenant over, and remembered to have seen worse than this. he had no quarrel with the metric system (truly the most sensible), and thinking to leaven it with a little rule of thumb, he made augustus his acting quartermaster. but he presently indulged his wife with the soldier-cook she wanted at home, so they no longer had to eat their meals in albumblatt's society; and mrs. starr said that this showed her husband dreaded his quartermaster worse than the secretary of war.
-alas for the quartermaster's sergeant, johannes schmoll, that routined and clock-work german! he found augustus so much more german than he had ever been himself, that he went speechless for three days. upon his lists, his red ink, and his ciphering, augustus swooped like a bird of prey, and all his fond red-tape devices were shredded to the winds. augustus set going new quadratic ones of his own, with an index and cross-references. it was then that schmoll recovered his speech and walked alone, saying, “mein gott!” and often thereafter, wandering among the piled stores and apparel, he would fling both arms heavenward and repeat the exclamation. he had rated himself the unique human soul at fort brown able to count and arrange underclothing. augustus rejected his laborious tally, and together they vigiled after hours, verifying socks and drawers. next, augustus found more horseshoes than his papers called for.
-“that man gif me der stomach pain efry day,” wailed schmoll to sergeant casey. “i tell him, 'lieutenant, dose horseshoes is expendable. we don't acgount for efry shoe like they was men's shoes, und oder dings dot is issued.' 'i prefer to cake them cop!' says baby bismarck. und he smile mit his two beaver teeth.”
-“baby bismarck!” cried, joyfully, the rosy-faced casey. “yo-hanny, take a drink.”
-“und so,” continued the outraged schmoll, “he haf a board of soorvey on dree-pound horseshoes, und i haf der stomach pain.”
-“it was buckles the next month. the allowance exceeded the expenditure, augustus's arithmetic came out wrong, and another board sat on buckles.
-“yo-hanny, you're lookin' jaded under colonel safetypin.” said casey. “have something?”
-“safetypin is my treat,” said schmoll; “und very apt.”
-but augustus found leisure to pervade the post with his modernity. he set himself military problems, and solved them; he wrote an essay on “the contact squadron”; he corrected bainbridge for saying “throw back the left flank” instead of “refuse the left flank”; he had reading-room ideas, canteen' ideas, ideas for the indians and the agency, and recruit-drill ideas, which he presented to sergeant casey. casey gave him, in exchange, the name of napoleon shave-tail, and had his whiskey again paid for by the sympathetic schmoll.
-“but bless his educated heart,” said casey, “he don't learn me nothing that'll soil my innercence!”
-thus did the sunny-humored sergeant take it, but not thus the mess. had augustus seen himself as they saw him, could he have heard mrs. starr--but he did not; the youth was impervious, and to remove his complacency would require (so mrs. starr said) an operation, probably fatal. the commanding officer held always aloof from gibing, yet often when augustus passed him his gray eye would dwell upon the lieutenant's back, and his voiceless laugh would possess him. that is the picture i retain of these days--the unending golden sun, the wide, gentle-colored plain, the splendid mountains, the indians ambling through the flat, clear distance; and here, close along the parade-ground, eye-glassed augustus, neatly hastening, with the captain on his porch, asleep you might suppose.
-one early morning the agent, with two indian chiefs, waited on the commanding officer, and after their departure his wife found him breakfasting in solitary mirth.
-“without me,” she chided, sitting down. “and i know you've had some good news.”
-“the best, my love. providence has been tempted at last. the wholesome irony of life is about to function.”
-“frank, don't tease so! and where are you rushing now before the cakes?”
-“to set our augustus a little military problem, dearest. plain living for to-day, and high thinking be jolly well--”
-“frank, you're going to swear, and i must know!”
-but frank had sworn and hurried out to the right to the adjutant's office, while his catherine flew to the left to the fence.
-“ella!” she cried. “oh, ella!”
-mrs. bainbridge, instantly on the other side of the fence, brought scanty light. a telegram had come, she knew, from the crow agency in montana. her husband had admitted this three nights ago; and captain duane (she knew) had given him some orders about something; and could it be the crows? “ella, i don't know,” said catherine. “frank talked all about providence in his incurable way, and it may be anything.” so the two ladies wondered together over the fence, until mrs. duane, seeing the captain return, ran to him and asked, were the crows on the war-path? then her frank told her yes, and that he had detailed albumblatt to vanquish them and escort them to carlisle school to learn german and beethoven's sonatas.
-“stuff, stuff, stuff! why, there he does go!” cried the unsettled catherine. “it's something at the agency!” but captain duane was gone into the house for a cigar.
-albumblatt, with sergeant casey and a detail of six men, was in truth hastening over that broad mile which opens between fort brown and the agency. on either side of them the level plain stretched, gray with its sage, buff with intervening grass, hay-cocked with the smoky, mellow-stained, meerschaum-like canvas tepees of the indians, quiet as a painting; far eastward lay long, low, rose-red hills, half dissolved in the trembling mystery of sun and distance; and westward, close at hand and high, shone the great pale-blue serene mountains through the vaster serenity of the air. the sounding hoofs of the troops brought the indians out of their tepees to see. when albumblatt reached the agency, there waited the agent and his two chiefs, who pointed to one lodge standing apart some three hundred yards, and said, “he is there.” so then augustus beheld his problem, the military duty fallen to him from providence and captain duane.
-it seems elementary for him who has written of “the contact squadron.” it was to arrest one indian. this man, ute jack, had done a murder among the crows, and fled south for shelter. the telegram heralded him, but with boundless miles for hiding he had stolen in under the cover of night. no welcome met him. these fort brown indians were not his friends at any time, and less so now, when he arrived wild drunk among their families. hounded out, he sought this empty lodge, and here he was, at bay, his hand against every man's, counting his own life worthless except for destroying others before he must himself die.
-“is he armed?” albumblatt inquired, and was told yes.
-augustus considered the peaked cone tent. the opening was on this side, but a canvas drop closed it. not much of a problem--one man inside a sack with eight outside to catch him! but the books gave no rule for this combination, and augustus had met with nothing of the sort in germany. he considered at some length. smoke began to rise through the meeting poles of the tepee, leisurely and natural, and one of the chiefs said:
-“maybe ute jack cooking. he hungry.”
-“this is not a laughing matter,” said augustus to the by-standers, who were swiftly gathering. “tell him that i command him to surrender,” he added to the agent, who shouted this forthwith; and silence followed.
-“tell him i say he must come out at once,” said augustus then; and received further silence.
-“he eat now,” observed the chief. “can't talk much.”
-“sergeant casey,” bellowed albumblatt, “go over there and take him out!”
-“the lootenant understands,” said casey, slowly, “that ute jack has got the drop on us, and there ain't no getting any drop on him.”
-“sergeant, you will execute your orders without further comment.”
-at this amazing step the silence fell cold indeed; but augustus was in command.
-“shall i take any men along, sir?” said casey in his soldier's machine voice.
-“er--yes. er--no. er--do as you please.”
-the six troopers stepped forward to go, for they loved casey; but he ordered them sharply to fall back. then, looking in their eyes, he whispered, “good-bye, boys, if it's to be that way,” and walked to the lodge, lifted the flap, and fell, shot instantly dead through the heart. “two bullets into him,” muttered a trooper, heavily breathing as the sounds rang. “he's down,” another spoke to himself with fixed eyes; and a sigh they did not know of passed among them. the two chiefs looked at augustus and grunted short talk together; and one, with a sweeping lift of his hand out towards the tepee and the dead man by it, said, “maybe ute jack only got three--four--cartridges--so!” (his fingers counted it). “after he kill three--four--men, you get him pretty good.” the indian took the white man's death thus; but the white men could not yet be even saturnine.
-“this will require reinforcement,” said augustus to the audience. “the place must be attacked by a front and flank movement. it must be knocked down. i tell you i must have it knocked down. how are you to see where he is, i'd like to know, if it's not knocked down?” augustus's voice was getting high.
-“i want the howitzer,” he screeched generally.
-a soldier saluted, and augustus chattered at him.
-“the howitzer, the mountain howitzer, i tell you. don't you hear me? to knock the cursed thing he's in down. go to captain duane and give him my compliments, and--no, i'll go myself. where's my horse? my horse, i tell you! it's got to be knocked down.”
-“if you please, lieutenant,” said the trooper, “may we have the red cross ambulance?”
-“red cross? what's that for? what's that?”
-“sergeant casey, sir. he's a-lyin' there.”
-“ambulance? certainly. the howitzer--perhaps they're only flesh wounds. i hope they are only flesh wounds. i must have more men--you'll come with me.”
-from his porch duane viewed both augustus approach and the man stop at the hospital, and having expected a bungle, sat to hear; but at albumblatt's mottled face he stood up quickly and said, “what's the matter?” and hearing, burst out: “casey! why, he was worth fifty of--go on, mr. albumblatt. what next did you achieve, sir?” and as the tale was told he cooled, bitter, but official.
-“reinforcements is it, mr. albumblatt?”
-“the howitzer, captain.”
-“good. and g troop?”
-“for my double flank movement i--”
-“perhaps you'd like h troop as reserve?”
-“not reserve, captain. i should establish--”
-“this is your duty, mr. albumblatt. perform it as you can, with what force you need.”
-“thank you, sir. it is not exactly a battle, but with a, so-to-speak, intrenched--”
-“take your troops and go, sir, and report to me when you have arrested your man.”
-then duane went to the hospital, and out with the ambulance, hoping that the soldier might not be dead. but the wholesome irony of life reckons beyond our calculations; and the unreproachful, sunny face of his sergeant evoked in duane's memory many marches through long heat and cold, back in the rough, good times.
-“hit twice, i thought they told me,” said he; and the steward surmised that one had missed.
-“perhaps,” mused duane. “and perhaps it went as intended, too. what's all that fuss?”
-he turned sharply, having lost augustus among his sadder thoughts; and here were the operations going briskly. powder-smoke in three directions at once! here were pickets far out-lying, and a double line of skirmishers deployed in extended order, and a mounted reserve, and men standing to horse--a command of near a hundred, a pudding of pompous, incompetent, callow bosh, with augustus by his howitzer, scientifically raising and lowering it to bear on the lone white tepee that shone in the plain. four races were assembled to look on--the mess chinaman, two black laundresses, all the whites in the place (on horse and foot, some with their hats left behind), and several hundred indians in blankets. duane had a thought to go away and leave this galling farce under the eye of starr for the officers were at hand also. but his second thought bade him remain; and looking at augustus and the howitzer, his laugh would have returned to him; but his heart was sore for casey.
-it was an hour of strategy and cannonade, a humiliating hour, which fort brown tells of to this day; and the tepee lived through it all. for it stood upon fifteen slender poles, not speedily to be chopped down by shooting lead from afar. when low bullets drilled the canvas, the chief suggested to augustus that ute jack had climbed up; and when the bullets flew high, then ute jack was doubtless in a hole. nor did augustus contrive to drop a shell from the howitzer upon ute jack and explode him--a shrewd and deadly conception; the shells went beyond, except one, that ripped through the canvas, somewhat near the ground; and augustus, dripping, turned at length, and saying, “it won't go down,” stood vacantly wiping his white face. then the two chiefs got his leave to stretch a rope between their horses and ride hard against the tepee. it was military neither in essence nor to see, but it prevailed. the tepee sank, a huge umbrella wreck along the earth, and there lay ute jack across the fire's slight hollow, his knee-cap gone with the howitzer shell. but no blood had flown from that; blood will not run, you know, when a man has been dead some time. one single other shot had struck him--one through his own heart. it had singed the flesh.
-“you see, mr. albumblatt,” said duane, in the whole crowd's hearing, “he killed himself directly after killing casey. a very rare act for an indian, as you are doubtless aware. but if your manoeuvres with his corpse have taught you anything you did not know before, we shall all be gainers.”
-“captain,” said mrs. starr, on a later day, “you and ute jack have ended our fun. since the court of inquiry let mr. albumblatt off, he has not said germany once--and that's three months to-morrow.”
-twenty minutes for refreshments
-upon turning over again my diary of that excursion to the pacific, i find that i set out from atlantic waters on the 30th day of a backward and forlorn april, which had come and done nothing towards making its share of spring, but had gone, missing its chance, leaving the trees as bare as it had received them from the winds of march. it was not bleak weather alone, but care, that i sought to escape by a change of sky; and i hoped for some fellow-traveller who might begin to interest my thoughts at once. no such person met me in the several pullmans which i inhabited from that afternoon until the forenoon of the following friday. through that long distance, though i had slanted southwestward across a multitude of states and vegetations, and the mississippi lay eleven hundred miles to my rear, the single event is my purchasing some cat's-eyes of the news-agent at sierra blanca. save this, my diary contains only neat additions of daily expenses, and moral reflections of a delicate and restrained melancholy. they were pecos cat's-eyes, he told me, obtained in the rocky canyons of that stream, and destined to be worth little until fashion turned from foreign jewels to become aware of these fine native stones. and i, glad to possess the jewels of my country, chose two bracelets and a necklace of them, paying but twenty dollars for fifteen or sixteen cat's-eyes, and resolved to give them a setting worthy of their beauty. the diary continues with moral reflections upon the servility of our taste before anything european, and the handwriting is clear and deliberate. it abruptly becomes hurried, and at length well-nigh illegible. it is best, i think, that you should have this portion as it comes, unpolished, unamended, unarranged--hot, so to speak, from my immediate pencil, instead of cold from my subsequent pen. i shall disguise certain names, but that is all.
-friday forenoon, may 5.--i don't have to gaze at my cat's-eyes to kill time any more. i'm not the only passenger any more. there's a lady. she got in at el paso. she has taken the drawing-room, but sits outside reading newspaper cuttings and writing letters. she is sixty, i should say, and has a cap and one gray curl. this comes down over her left ear as far as a purple ribbon which suspends a medallion at her throat. she came in wearing a sage-green duster of pongee silk, pretty nice, only the buttons are as big as those largest mint-drops. “you porter,” she said, “brush this.” he put down her many things and received it. her dress was sage green, and pretty nice too. “you porter,” said she, “open every window. why, they are, i declare! what's the thermometer in this car?” “ninety-five, ma'am. folks mostly travelling--” “that will do, porter. now you go make me a pitcher of lemonade right quick.” she went into the state-room and shut the door. when she came out she was dressed in what appeared to be chintz bedroom curtains. they hang and flow loosely about her, and are covered with a pattern of pink peonies. she has slippers--turkish--that stare up in the air, pretty handsome and comfortable. but i never before saw any one travel with fly-paper. it must be hard to pack. but it's quite an idea in this train. fully a dozen flies have stuck to it already; and she reads her clippings, and writes away, and sips another glass of lemonade, all with the most extreme appearance of leisure, not to say sloth. i can't imagine how she manages to produce this atmosphere of indolence when in reality she is steadily occupied. possibly the way she sits. but i think it's partly the bedroom curtains.
-these notes were interrupted by the entrance of the new conductor. “if you folks have chartered a private car, just say so,” he shouted instantly at the sight of us. he stood still at the extreme end and removed his hat, which was acknowledged by the lady. “travel is surely very light, gadsden,” she assented, and went on with her writing. but he remained standing still, and shouting like an orator: “sprinkle the floor of this car, julius, and let the pore passengers get a breath of cool. my lands!” he fanned himself sweepingly with his hat. he seemed but little larger than a red squirrel, and precisely that color. sorrel hair, sorrel eyebrows, sorrel freckles, light sorrel mustache, thin aggressive nose, receding chin, and black, attentive, prominent eyes. he approached, and i gave him my ticket, which is as long as a neck-tie, and has my height, the color of my eyes and hair, and my general description, punched in the margin. “why, you ain't middle-aged!” he shouted, and a singular croak sounded behind me. but the lady was writing. “i have been growing younger since i bought that ticket,” i explained. “that's it, that's it,” he sang; “a man's always as old as he feels, and a woman--is ever young,” he finished. “i see you are true to the old teachings and the old-time chivalry, gadsden,” said the lady, continuously busy. “yes, ma'am. jacob served seven years for leah and seven more for rachel.” “such men are raised today in every worthy louisiana home, gadsden, be it ever so humble.” “yes, ma'am. give a fresh sprinkle to the floor, julius, soon as it goes to get dry. excuse me, but do you shave yourself, sir?” i told him that i did, but without excusing him. “you will see that i have a reason for asking,” he consequently pursued, and took out of his coat-tails a round tin box handsomely labelled “nat. fly paper co.,” so that i supposed it was thus, of course, that the lady came by her fly-paper. but this was pure coincidence, and the conductor explained: “that company's me and a man at shreveport, but he dissatisfies me right frequently. you know what heaven a good razor is for a man, and what you feel about a bad one. vaseline and ground shells,” he said, opening the box, “and i'm not saying anything except it will last your lifetime and never hardens. rub the size of a pea on the fine side of your strop, spread it to an inch with your thumb. may i beg a favor on so short a meeting? join me in the gentlemen's lavatory with your razorstrop in five minutes. i have to attend to a corpse in the baggage-car, and will return at once.” “anybody's corpse i know, gadsden?” said the lady. “no, ma'am. just a corpse.”
-when i joined him, for i was now willing to do anything, he was apologetic again. “'tis a short acquaintance,” he said, “but may i also beg your razor? quick as i get out of the national fly i am going to register my new label. first there will be uncle sam embracing the world, signifying this mixture is universal, then my name, then the word stropine, which is a novelty and carries copyright, and i shall win comfort and doubtless luxury. the post barber at fort bayard took a dozen off me at sight to retail to the niggers of the twenty-fourth, and as he did not happen to have the requisite cash on his person i charged him two roosters and fifty cents, and both of us done well. he's after more stropine, and i got pullman prices for my roosters, the buffet-car being out of chicken a la marengo. there is your razor, sir, and i appreciate your courtesy.” it was beautifully sharpened, and i bought a box of the stropine and asked him who the lady was. “mrs. porcher brewton!” he exclaimed. “have you never met her socially? why she--why she is the most intellectual lady in bee bayou.” “indeed!” i said. “why she visits new orleans, and charleston, and all the principal centres of refinement, and is welcomed in washington. she converses freely with our statesmen and is considered a queen of learning. why she writes po'try, sir, and is strong-minded. but a man wouldn't want to pick her up for a fool, all the samey.” “i shouldn't; i don't,” said i. “don't you do it, sir. she's run her plantation all alone since the colonel was killed in sixty-two. she taught me sunday-school when i was a lad, and she used to catch me at her pecan-trees 'most every time in bee bayou.”
-he went forward, and i went back with the stropine in my pocket. the lady was sipping the last of the lemonade and looking haughtily over the top of her glass into (i suppose) the world of her thoughts. her eyes met mine, however. “has gadsden--yes, i perceive he has been telling about me,” she said, in her languid, formidable voice. she set her glass down and reclined among the folds of the bedroom curtains, considering me. “gadsden has always been lavish,” she mused, caressingly. “he seems destined to succeed in life,” i hazarded. “ah n--a!” she sighed, with decision. “he will fail.” as she said no more and as i began to resent the manner in which she surveyed me, i remarked, “you seem rather sure of his failure.” “i am old enough to be his mother, and yours,” said mrs. porcher brewton among her curtains. “he is a noble-hearted fellow, and would have been a high-souled southern gentleman if born to that station. but what should a conductor earning $103.50 a month be dispersing his attention on silly patents for? many's the time i've told him what i think; but gadsden will always be flighty.” no further observations occurring to me, i took up my necklace and bracelets from the seat and put them in my pocket. “will you permit a meddlesome old woman to inquire what made you buy those cat's-eyes?” said mrs. brewton. “why--” i dubiously began. “never mind,” she cried, archly. “if you were thinking of some one in your northern home, they will be prized because the thought, at any rate, was beautiful and genuine. 'where'er i roam, whatever realms to see, my heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee.' now don't you be embarrassed by an old woman!” i desired to inform her that i disliked her, but one can never do those things; and, anxious to learn what was the matter with the cat's-eyes, i spoke amiably and politely to her. “twenty dollars!” she murmured. “and he told you they came from the pecos!” she gave that single melodious croak i had heard once before. then she sat up with her back as straight as if she was twenty. “my dear young fellow, never do you buy trash in these trains. here you are with your coat full of--what's gadsden's absurd razor concoctions--strut--strop--bother! and chinese paste buttons. last summer, on the northern pacific, the man offered your cat's-eyes to me as native gems found exclusively in dakota. but i just sat and mentioned to him that i was on my way home from a holiday in china, and he went right out of the car. the last day i was in canton i bought a box of those cat's-eyes at eight cents a dozen.” after this we spoke a little on other subjects, and now she's busy writing again. she's on business in california, but will read a paper at los angeles at the annual meeting of the golden daughters of the west. the meal station is coming, but we have agreed to--
-i had no time to look at much this first general minute. i could see there were booths, each containing a separate baby. i passed a whole section of naked babies, and one baby farther along had on golden wings and a crown, and was bawling frightfully. their names were over the booths, and i noticed lucille, erskine wales, banquo lick nolin, cuba, manilla, ellabelle, bosco grady, james j. corbett nash, and aqua marine. there was a great sign at the end, painted “mrs. eden's manna in the wilderness,” and another sign, labelled “shot-gun smith's twins.” in the midst of these first few impressions i found myself seated behind a bare table raised three feet or so, with two boxes on it, and a quantity of blank paper and pencils, while one of the men was explaining me the rules and facts. i can't remember them all now, because i couldn't understand them all then, and mrs. brewton was distant among the sun-bonnets, talking to a gathering crowd and feeling in the mouths of babies that were being snatched out of the booths and brought to her. the man was instructing me steadily all the while, and it occurred to me to nod silently and coldly now and then, as if i was doing this sort of thing every day. but i insisted that some one should help me count, and they gave me gadsden.
-now these facts i do remember very clearly, and shall never forget them. the babies came from two towns--sharon, and rincon its neighbor. alone, neither had enough for a good show, though in both it was every family's pride to have a baby every year. the babies were in three classes: six months and under, one prize offered; eighteen months, two prizes; three years, two prizes. a three-fourths vote of all cast was necessary to a choice. no one entitled to vote unless of immediate family of a competing baby. no one entitled to cast more than one vote. there were rules of entry and fees, but i forget them, except that no one could have two exhibits in the same class. when i read this i asked, how about twins? “well, we didn't kind of foresee that,” muttered my instructor, painfully; “what would be your idea?” “look here, you sir,” interposed mrs. brewton, “he came in to count votes.” i was very glad to have her back. “that's right, ma'am,” admitted the man; “he needn't to say a thing. we've only got one twins entered,” he pursued, “which we're glad of. shot-gun--“, “where is this mr. smith?” interrupted mrs. brewton. “uptown, drinking, ma'am.” “and who may mr. smith be?” “most popular citizen of rincon, ma'am. we had to accept his twins because--well, he come down here himself, and most of rincon come with him, and as we aimed to have everything pass off pleasant-like--” “i quite comprehend,” said mrs. brewton. “and i should consider twins within the rule; or any number born at one time. but little aqua marine is the finest single child in that six months class. i told her mother she ought to take that splurgy ring off the poor little thing's thumb. it's most unsafe. but i should vote for that child myself.” “thank you for your valuable endorsement,” said a spruce, slim young man. “but the public is not allowed to vote here,” he added. he was standing on the floor and resting his elbows on the table. mrs. brewton stared down at him. “are you the father of the child?” she inquired. “oh no! i am the agent. i--” “aqua marine's agent?” said mrs. brewton, sharply. “ha, ha!” went the young man. “ha, ha! well, that's good too. she's part of our exhibit. i'm in charge of the manna-feds, don't you know?” “i don't know,” said mrs. brewton. “why, mrs. eden's manna in the wilderness! nourishes, strengthens, and makes no unhealthy fat. take a circular, and welcome. i'm travelling for the manna. i organized this show. i've conducted twenty-eight similar shows in two years. we hold them in every state and territory. second of last march i gave denver--you heard of it, probably?” “i did not,” said mrs. brewton. “well! ha, ha! i thought every person up to date had heard of denver's olympic offspring olio.” “is it up to date to loll your elbows on the table when you're speaking to a lady?” inquired mrs. brewton. he jumped, and then grew scarlet with rage. “i didn't expect to learn manners in new mexico,” said he. “i doubt if you will,” said mrs. brewton, and turned her back on him. he was white now; but better instincts, or else business, prevailed in his injured bosom. “well,” said he, “i had no bad intentions. i was going to say you'd have seen ten thousand people and five hundred babies at denver. and our manna-feds won out to beat the band. three first medals, and all exclusively manna-fed. we took the costume prize also. of course here in sharon i've simplified. no special medal for weight, beauty, costume, or decorated perambulator. well, i must go back to our exhibit. glad to have you give us a call up there and see the medals we're offering, and our fifteen manna-feds, and take a package away with you.” he was gone.
-the voters had been now voting in my two boxes for some time, and i found myself hoping the manna would not win, whoever did; but it seemed this agent was a very capable person. to begin with, every family entering a baby drew a package of the manna free, and one package contained a diamond ring. then, he had managed to have the finest babies of all classes in his own exhibit. this was incontestable, mrs. brewton admitted, after returning from a general inspection; and it seemed to us extraordinary. “that's easy, ma'am,” said gadsden; “he came around here a month ago. don't you see?” i did not see, but mrs. brewton saw at once. he had made a quiet selection of babies beforehand, and then introduced the manna into those homes. and everybody in the room was remarking that his show was very superior, taken as a whole they all added, “taken as a whole”; i heard them as they came up to vote for the 3-year and the 18-month classes. the 6-month was to wait till last, because the third box had been accidentally smashed by mr. smith. gadsden caught several trying to vote twice. “no, you don't!” he would shout. “i know faces. i'm not a conductor for nothing.” and the victim would fall back amid jeers from the sun-bonnets. once the passengers sent over to know when the train was going. “tell them to step over here and they'll not feel so lonesome!” shouted gadsden; and i think a good many came. the band was playing “white wings,” with quite a number singing it, when gadsden noticed the voting had ceased, and announced this ballot closed. the music paused for him, and we could suddenly hear how many babies were in distress; but for a moment only; as we began our counting, “white wings” resumed, and the sun-bonnets outsang their progeny. there was something quite singular in the way they had voted. here are some of the 3-year-old tickets: “first choice, ulysses grant blum; 2d choice, lewis hendricks.” “first choice, james redfield; 2d, lewis hendricks.” “first, elk chester; 2d, lewis hendricks.” “can it be?” said the excited gadsden. “finish these quick. i'll open the 18-monthers.” but he swung round to me at once. “see there!” he cried. “read that! and that!” he plunged among more, and i read: “first choice, lawrence nepton ford, jr.; 2d, iona judd.” “first choice, mary louise kenton; 2d, iona judd.” “hurry up!” said gadsden; “that's it!” and as we counted, mrs. brewton looked over my shoulder and uttered her melodious croak, for which i saw no reason. “that young whipper-snapper will go far,” she observed; nor did i understand this. but when they stopped the band for me to announce the returns, one fact did dawn on me even while i was reading: “three-year-olds: whole number of votes cast, 300; necessary to a choice, 225. second prize, lewis hendricks, receiving 300. first prize, largest number of votes cast, 11, for salvisa van meter. no award. eighteen-month class: whole number of votes cast, 300; necessary to a choice, 225. second prize, iona judd, receiving 300. lillian brown gets 15 for 1st prize. none awarded.” there was a very feeble applause, and then silence for a second, and then the sun-bonnets rushed together, rushed away to others, rushed back; and talk swept like hail through the place. yes, that is what they had done. they had all voted for lewis hendricks and iona judd for second prize, and every family had voted the first prize to its own baby. the browns and van meters happened to be the largest families present. “he'll go far! he'll go far!” repeated mrs. brewton. sport glittered in her eye. she gathered her curtains, and was among the sun-bonnets in a moment. then it fully dawned on me. the agent for mrs. eden's manna in the wilderness was indeed a shrewd strategist, and knew his people to the roots of the grass. they had never seen a baby-show. they were innocent. he came among them. he gave away packages of manna and a diamond ring. he offered the prizes. but he proposed to win some. therefore he made that rule about only the immediate families voting. he foresaw what they would do; and now they had done it. whatever happened, two prizes went to his manna-feds. “they don't see through it in the least, which is just as well,” said mrs. brewton, returning. “and it's little matter that only second prizes go to the best babies. but what's to be done now?” i had no idea; but it was not necessary that i should.
-“you folks of rincon and sharon,” spoke a deep voice. it was the first man in the pullman, and drops were rolling from his forehead, and his eyes were the eyes of a beleaguered ox. “you fathers and mothers,” he said, and took another breath. they grew quiet. “i'm a father myself, as is well known.” they applauded this. “salvisa is mine, and she got my vote. the father that will not support his own child is not--does not--is worse than if they were orphans.” he breathed again, while they loudly applauded. “but, folks, i've got to get home to rincon. i've got to. and i'll give up salvisa if i'm met fair.” “yes, yes, you'll be met,” said voices of men. “well, here's my proposition: mrs. eden's manna has took two, and i'm satisfied it should. we voted, and will stay voted.” “yes, yes!” “well, now, here's sharon and rincon, two of the finest towns in this section, and i say sharon and rincon has equal rights to get something out of this, and drop private feelings, and everybody back their town. and i say let this lady and gentleman, who will act elegant and on the square, take a view and nominate the finest rincon 3-year-old and the finest sharon 18-month they can cut out of the herd. and i say let's vote unanimous on their pick, and let each town hold a first prize and go home in friendship, feeling it has been treated right.”
-universal cheers endorsed him, and he got down panting. the band played “union forever,” and i accompanied mrs. brewton to the booths. “you'll remember!” shouted the orator urgently after us; “one apiece.” we nodded. “don't get mixed,” he appealingly insisted. we shook our heads, and out of the booths rushed two women, and simultaneously dashed their infants in our faces. “you'll never pass cuba by!” entreated one. “this is bosco grady,” said the other. cuba wore an immense garment made of the american flag, but her mother whirled her out of it in a second. “see them dimples; see them knees!” she said. “see them feet! only feel of her toes!” “look at his arms!” screamed the mother of bosco. “doubled his weight in four months.” “did he indeed, ma'am?” said cuba's mother; “well, he hadn't much to double.” “didn't he, then? didn't he indeed?” “no at you; he didn't indeed and indeed! i guess cuba is known to sharon. i guess sharon'll not let cuba be slighted.” “well, and i guess rincon'll see that bosco grady gets his rights.” “ladies,” said mrs. brewton, towering but poetical with her curl, “i am a mother myself, and raised five noble boys and two sweet peerless girls.” this stopped them immediately; they stared at her and her chintz peonies as she put the curl gently away from her medallion and proceeded: “but never did i think of myself in those dark weary days of the long ago. i thought of my country and the lost cause.” they stared at her, fascinated. “yes, m'm,” whispered they, quite humbly. “now,” said mrs. brewton, “what is more sacred than an american mother's love? therefore let her not shame it with anger and strife. all little boys and girls are precious gems to me and to you. what is a cold, lifeless medal compared to one of them? though i would that all could get the prize! but they can't, you know.” “no, m'm.” many mothers, with their children in their arms, were now dumbly watching mrs. brewton, who held them with a honeyed, convincing smile. “if i choose only one in this beautiful and encouraging harvest, it is because i have no other choice. thank you so much for letting me see that little hero and that lovely angel,” she added, with a yet sweeter glance to the mothers of bosco and cuba. “and i wish them all luck when their turn comes. i've no say about the 6-month class, you know. and now a little room, please.”
-“there's a good many here has a right to feel satisfied,” said mrs. grady, looking about, “and they're welcome to their feelings. but if this meeting thinks it is through with its business, i can tell it that it ain't--not if it acts honorable, it ain't. does those that have had their chance and those that can take home their prizes expect us 6-month mothers come here for nothing? do they expect i brought my bosco from rincon to be insulted, and him the pride of the town?” “cuba is known to sharon,” spoke the other lady. “i'll say no more.” “jumping jeans!” murmured the orator to himself. “i can't hold this train much longer,” said gadsden; “she's due at lordsburg now.” “you'll have made it up by tucson, gadsden,” spoke mrs. brewton, quietly, across the whole assembly from the manna department. “as for towns,” continued mrs. grady, “that think anything of a baby that's only got three teeth--” “ha! ha!” laughed cuba's mother, shrilly. “teeth! well, we're not proud of bald babies in sharon.” bosco was certainly bald. all the men were looking wretched, and all the women were growing more and more like eagles. moreover, they were separating into two bands and taking their husbands with them--sharon and rincon drawing to opposite parts of the tent--and what was coming i cannot say; for we all had to think of something else. a third woman, bringing a man, mounted the platform. it was she i had seen hurry out. “my name's shot-gun smith,” said the man, very carefully, “and i'm told you've reached my case.” he was extremely good-looking, with a blue eye and a blond mustache, not above thirty, and was trying hard to be sober, holding himself with dignity. “are you the judge?” said he to me. “hell--” i began. “n-not guilty, your honor,” said he. at this his wife looked anxious. “s-self-defence,” he slowly continued; “told you once already.” “why, rolfe!” exclaimed his wife, touching his elbow. “don't you cry, little woman,” said he; “this'll come out all right. where 're the witnesses?” “why, rolfe! rolfe!” she shook him as you shake a sleepy child. “now see here,” said he, and wagged a finger at her affectionately, “you promised me you'd not cry if i let you come.” “rolfe, dear, it's not that to-day; it's the twins.” “it's your twins, shot-gun, this time,” said many men's voices. “we acquitted you all right last month.” “justifiable homicide,” said gadsden. “don't you remember?” “twins?” said shotgun, drowsily. “oh yes, mine. why--” he opened on us his blue eyes that looked about as innocent as aqua marine's, and he grew more awake. then he blushed deeply, face and forehead. “i was not coming to this kind of thing,” he explained. “but she wanted the twins to get something.” he put his hand on her shoulder and straightened himself. “i done a heap of prospecting before i struck this claim,” said he, patting her shoulder. “we got married last march a year. it's our first--first--first”--he turned to me with a confiding smile--“it's our first dividend, judge.” “rolfe! i never! you come right down.” “and now let's go get a prize,” he declared, with his confiding pleasantness. “i remember now! i remember! they claimed twins was barred. and i kicked down the bars. take me to those twins. they're not named yet, judge. after they get the prize we'll name them fine names, as good as any they got anywhere--europe, asia, africa--anywhere. my gracious! i wish they was boys. come on, judge! you and me'll go give 'em a prize, and then we'll drink to 'em.” he hugged me suddenly and affectionately, and we half fell down the steps. but gadsden as suddenly caught him and righted him, and we proceeded to the twins. mrs. smith looked at me helplessly, saying: “i'm that sorry, sir! i had no idea he was going to be that gamesome.” “not at all,” i said; “not at all!” under many circumstances i should have delighted in shot-gun's society. he seemed so utterly sure that, now he had explained himself, everybody would rejoice to give the remaining-medal to his little girls. but bosco and cuba had not been idle. shotgun did not notice the spread of whispers, nor feel the divided and jealous currents in the air as he sat, and, in expanding good-will, talked himself almost sober. to entice him out there was no way. several of his friends had tried it. but beneath his innocence there seemed to lurk something wary, and i grew apprehensive about holding the box this last time. but gadsden relieved me as our count began. “shot-gun is a splendid man,” said he, “and he has trailed more train-robbers than any deputy in new mexico. but he has seen too many friends to-day, and is not quite himself. so when he fell down that time i just took this off him.” he opened the drawer, and there lay a six-shooter. “it was touch and go,” said gadsden; “but he's thinking that hard about his twins that he's not missed it yet. 'twould have been the act of an enemy to leave that on him to-day.--well, d'you say!” he broke off. “well, well, well!” it was the tickets we took out of the box that set him exclaiming. i began to read them, and saw that the agent was no mere politician, but a statesman. his aqua marine had a solid vote. i remembered his extreme praise of both bosco and cuba. this had set rincon and sharon bitterly against each other. i remembered his modesty about aqua marine. of course. each town, unable to bear the idea of the other's beating it, had voted for the manna-fed, who had 299 votes. shot-gun and his wife had voted for their twins. i looked towards the manna department, and could see that aqua marine was placid once more, and mrs. brewton was dancing the ring before her eyes. i hope i announced the returns in a firm voice. “what!” said shot-gun smith; and at that sound mrs. brewton stopped dancing the ring. he strode to our table. “there's the winner,” said gadsden, quickly pointing to the manna exhibit. “what!” shouted smith again; “and they quit me for that hammer-headed son-of-a-gun?” he whirled around. the men stood ready, and the women fled shrieking and cowering to their infants in the booths. “gentlemen! gentlemen!” cried gadsden, “don't hurt him! look here!” and from the drawer he displayed shot-gun's weapon. they understood in a second, and calmly watched the enraged and disappointed shot-gun. but he was a man. he saw how he had frightened the women, and he stood in the middle of the floor with eyes that did not at all resemble aqua marine's at present. “i'm all right now, boys,” he said. “i hope i've harmed no one. ladies, will you try and forget about me making such a break? it got ahead of me, i guess; for i had promised the little woman--” he stopped himself; and then his eye fell upon the manna department. “i guess i don't like one thing much now. i'm not after prizes. i'd not accept one from a gold-bug-combine-trust that comes sneaking around stuffing wholesale concoctions into our children's systems. my twins are not manna-fed. my twins are raised as nature intended. perhaps if they were swelled out with trash that acts like baking-powder, they would have a medal too--for i notice he has made you vote his way pretty often this afternoon.” i saw the agent at the end of the room look very queer. “that's so!” said several. “i think i'll clear out his boxes,” said shot-gun, with rising joy. “i feel like i've got to do something before i go home. come on, judge!” he swooped towards the manna with a yell, and the men swooped with him, and gadsden and i were swooped with them. again the women shrieked. but mrs. brewton stood out before the boxes with her curl and her chintz.
-“mr. smith,” said she, “you are not going to do anything like that. you are going to behave yourself like the gentleman you are, and not like the wild beast that's inside you.” never in his life before, probably, had shot-gun been addressed in such a manner, and he too became hypnotized, fixing his blue eyes upon the strange lady. “i do not believe in patent foods for children,” said mrs. brewton. “we agree on that, mr. smith, and i am a grandmother, and i attend to what my grandchildren eat. but this highly adroit young man has done you no harm. if he has the prizes, whose doing is that, please? and who paid for them? will you tell me, please? ah, you are all silent!” and she croaked melodiously. “now let him and his manna go along. but i have enjoyed meeting you all, and i shall not forget you soon. and, mr. smith, i want you to remember me. will you, please?” she walked to mrs. smith and the twins, and shot-gun followed her, entirely hypnotized. she beckoned to me. “your judge and i,” she said, “consider not only your beautiful twins worthy of a prize, but also the mother and father that can so proudly claim them.” she put her hand in my pocket. “these cat's-eyes,” she said, “you will wear, and think of me and the judge who presents them.” she placed a bracelet on each twin, and the necklace upon mrs. smith's neck. “give him gadsden's stuff,” she whispered to me. “do you shave yourself, sir?” said i, taking out the stropine. “vaseline and ground shells, and will last your life. rub the size of a pea on your strop and spread it to an inch.” i placed the box in shot-gun's motionless hand. “and now, gadsden, we'll take the train,” said mrs. brewton. “here's your lunch! here's your wine!” said the orator, forcing a basket upon me. “i don't know what we'd have done without you and your mother.” a flash of indignation crossed mrs. brewton's face, but changed to a smile. “you've forgot to name my girls!” exclaimed shot-gun, suddenly finding his voice. “suppose you try that,” said mrs. brewton to me, a trifle viciously. “thank you,” i said to smith. “thank you. i--” “something handsome,” he urged. “how would cynthia do for one?” i suggested. “shucks, no! i've known two cynthias. you don't want that?” he asked mrs. smith; and she did not at all. “something extra, something fine, something not stale,” said he. i looked about the room. there was no time for thought, but my eye fell once more upon cuba. this reminded me of spain, and the spanish; and my brain leaped. “i have them!” i cried. “'armada' and 'loyola.'” “that's what they're named!” said shot-gun; “write it for us.” and i did. once more the band played, and we left them, all calling, “good-bye, ma'am. good-bye, judge,” happy as possible. the train was soon going sixty miles an hour through the desert. we had passed lordsburg, san simon, and were nearly at benson before mrs. brewton and gadsden (whom she made sit down with us) and i finished the lunch and champagne. “i wonder how long he'll remember me?” mused mrs. brewton at tucson, where we were on time. “that woman is not worth one of his boots.”
-saturday afternoon, may 6.--near los angeles. i have been writing all day, to be sure and get everything in, and now sharon is twenty-four hours ago, and here there are roses, gardens, and many nice houses at the way-stations. oh, george washington, father of your country, what a brindled litter have you sired!
-but here the moral reflections begin again, and i copy no more diary. mrs. brewton liked my names for the twins. “they'll pronounce it loyo'la,” she said, “and that sounds right lovely.” later she sent me her paper for the golden daughters. it is full of poetry and sentiment and all the things i have missed. she wrote that if she had been sure the agent had helped aqua marine to swallow the ring, she would have let them smash his boxes. and i think she was a little in love with shot-gun smith. but what a pity we shall soon have no more mrs. brewtons! the causes that produced her--slavery, isolation, literary tendencies, adversity, game blood--that combination is broken forever. i shall speak to mr. howells about her. she ought to be recorded.
-the promised land
-perhaps there were ten of them--these galloping dots were hard to count--down in the distant bottom across the river. their swiftly moving dust hung with them close, thinning to a yellow veil when they halted short. they clustered a moment, then parted like beads, and went wide asunder on the plain. they veered singly over the level, merged in twos and threes, apparently racing, shrank together like elastic, and broke ranks again to swerve over the stretching waste. from this visioned pantomime presently came a sound, a tiny shot. the figures were too far for discerning which fired it. it evidently did no harm, and was repeated at once. a babel of diminutive explosions followed, while the horsemen galloped on in unexpected circles. soon, for no visible reason, the dots ran together, bunching compactly. the shooting stopped, the dust rose thick again from the crowded hoofs, cloaking the group, and so passed back and was lost among the silent barren hills.
-four emigrants had watched this from the high bleak rim of the big bend. they stood where the flat of the desert broke and tilted down in grooves and bulges deep to the lurking columbia. empty levels lay opposite, narrowing up into the high country.
-“that's the colville reservation across the river from us,” said the man.
-“another!” sighed his wife.
-“the last indians we'll strike. our trail to the okanagon goes over a corner of it.”
-“we're going to those hills?” the mother looked at her little girl and back where the cloud had gone.
-“only a corner, liza. the ferry puts us over on it, and we've got to go by the ferry or stay this side of the columbia. you wouldn't want to start a home here?”
-they had driven twenty-one hundred miles at a walk. standing by them were the six horses with the wagon, and its tunneled roof of canvas shone duskily on the empty verge of the wilderness. a dry windless air hung over the table-land of the big bend, but a sound rose from somewhere, floating voluminous upon the silence, and sank again.
-“rapids!” the man pointed far up the giant rut of the stream to where a streak of white water twinkled at the foot of the hills. “we've struck the river too high,” he added.
-“then we don't cross here?” said the woman, quickly.
-“no. by what they told me the cabin and the ferry ought to be five miles down.”
-her face fell. “only five miles! i was wondering, john--wouldn't there be a way round for the children to--”
-“now, mother,” interrupted the husband, “that ain't like you. we've crossed plenty indian reservations this trip already.”
-“i don't want to go round,” the little girl said. “father, don't make me go round.”
-mart, the boy, with a loose hook of hair hanging down to his eyes from his hat, did not trouble to speak. he had been disappointed in the westward journey to find all the indians peaceful. he knew which way he should go now, and he went to the wagon to look once again down the clean barrel of his rifle.
-“why, nancy, you don't like indians?” said her mother.
-“yes, i do. i like chiefs.”
-mrs. clallam looked across the river. “it was so strange, john, the way they acted. it seems to get stranger, thinking about it.”
-“they didn't see us. they didn't have a notion--”
-“but if we're going right over?”
-“we're not going over there, liza. that quick water's the mahkin rapids, and our ferry's clear down below from this place.”
-“what could they have been after, do you think?”
-“those chaps? oh, nothing, i guess. they weren't killing anybody.”
-“playing cross-tag,” said mart.
-“i'd like to know, john, how you know they weren't killing anybody. they might have been trying to.”
-“then we're perfectly safe, liza. we can set and let 'em kill us all day.”
-“well, i don't think it's any kind of way to behave, running around shooting right off your horse.”
-“and fourth of july over too,” said mart from the wagon. he was putting cartridges into the magazine of his winchester. his common-sense told him that those horsemen would not cross the river, but the notion of a night attack pleased the imagination of young sixteen.
-“it was the children,” said mrs. clallam. “and nobody's getting me any wood. how am i going to cook supper? stir yourselves!”
-they had carried water in the wagon, and father and son went for wood. some way down the hill they came upon a gully with some dead brush, and climbed back with this. supper was eaten on the ground, the horses were watered, given grain, and turned loose to find what pickings they might in the lean growth; and dusk had not turned to dark when the emigrants were in their beds on the soft dust. the noise of the rapids dominated the air with distant sonority, and the children slept at once, the boy with his rifle along his blanket's edge. john clallam lay till the moon rose hard and brilliant, and then quietly, lest his wife should hear from her bed by the wagon, went to look across the river. where the downward slope began he came upon her. she had been watching for some time. they were the only objects in that bald moonlight. no shrub grew anywhere that reached to the waist, and the two figures drew together on the lonely hill. they stood hand in hand and motionless, except that the man bent over the woman and kissed her. when she spoke of iowa they had left, he talked of the new region of their hopes, the country that lay behind the void hills opposite, where it would not be a struggle to live. he dwelt on the home they would make, and her mood followed his at last, till husband and wife were building distant plans together. the dipper had swung low when he remarked that they were a couple of fools, and they went back to their beds. cold came over the ground, and their musings turned to dreams. next morning both were ashamed of their fears.
-by four the wagon was on the move. inside, nancy's voice was heard discussing with her mother whether the school-teacher where they were going to live now would have a black dog with a white tail, that could swim with a basket in his mouth. they crawled along the edge of the vast descent, making slow progress, for at times the valley widened and they receded far from the river, and then circuitously drew close again where the slant sank abruptly. when the ferryman's cabin came in sight, the canvas interior of the wagon was hot in the long-risen sun. the lay of the land had brought them close above the stream, but no one seemed to be at the cabin on the other side, nor was there any sign of a ferry. groves of trees lay in the narrow folds of the valley, and the water swept black between untenanted shores. nothing living could be seen along the scant levels of the bottom-land. yet there stood the cabin as they had been told, the only one between the rapids and the okanagon; and bright in the sun the colville reservation confronted them. they came upon tracks going down over the hill, marks of wagons and horses, plain in the soil, and charred sticks, with empty cans, lying where camps had been. heartened by this proof that they were on the right road, john clallam turned his horses over the brink. the slant steepened suddenly in a hundred yards, tilting the wagon so no brake or shoe would hold it if it moved farther.
-“all out!” said clallam. “either folks travel light in this country or they unpack.” he went down a little way. “that's the trail too,” he said. “wheel marks down there, and the little bushes are snapped off.”
-nancy slipped out. “i'm unpacked,” said she. “oh, what a splendid hill to go down! we'll go like anything.”
-“yes, that surely is the trail,” clallam pursued. “i can see away down where somebody's left a wheel among them big stones. but where does he keep his ferry-boat? and where does he keep himself?”
-“now, john, if it's here we're to go down, don't you get to studying over something else. it'll be time enough after we're at the bottom. nancy, here's your chair.” mrs. clallam began lifting the lighter things from the wagon.
-“mart,” said the father, “we'll have to chain lock the wheels after we're empty. i guess we'll start with the worst. you and me'll take the stove apart and get her down somehow. we're in luck to have open country and no timber to work through. drop that bedding mother! yourself is all you're going to carry. we'll pack that truck on the horses.”
-“then pack it now and let me start first. i'll make two trips while you're at the stove.”
-“there's the man!” said nancy.
-“that's the funniest man i ever saw,” said nancy.
-“they're all funny over there,” said mart. “i'll signal him again.” but the cabin remained shut, and the deserted horse turned, took a few first steels of freedom, then trotted briskly down the river.
-“why, then, he don't belong there at all,” said nancy.
-“wait, child, till we know something about it.”
-“she's liable to be right, liza. the horse, anyway, don't belong, or he'd not run off. that's good judgment, nancy. right good for a little girl.”
-“i am six years old,” said nancy, “and i know lots more than that.”
-“well, let's get mother and the bedding started down. it'll be noon before we know it.”
-there were two pack-saddles in the wagon, ready against such straits as this. the rolls were made, balanced as side packs, and circled with the swing-ropes, loose cloths, clothes, frying-pans, the lantern, and the axe tossed in to fill the gap in the middle, canvas flung over the whole, and the diamond-hitch hauled taut on the first pack, when a second rider appeared across the river. he came out of a space between the opposite hills, into which the trail seemed to turn, and he was leading the first man's horse. the heavy work before them was forgotten, and the clallams sat down in a row to watch.
-“he's stealing it,” said mrs. clallam.
-“then the other man will come out and catch him,” said nancy.
-mart corrected them. “a man never steals horses that way. he drives them up in the mountains, where the owner don't travel much.”
-the new rider had arrived at the bank and came steadily along till opposite the door, where he paused and looked up and down the river.
-“see him stoop,” said clallam the father. “he's seen the tracks don't go further.”
-“i guess he's after the other one,” added clallam the son.
-“which of them is the ferry-man?” said mrs. clallam.
-the man had got off and gone straight inside the cabin. in the black of the doorway appeared immediately the first man, dangling in the grip of the other, who kicked him along to the horse. there the victim mounted his own animal and rode back down the river. the chastiser was returning to the cabin, when mart fired his rifle. the man stopped short, saw the emigrants, and waved his hand. he dismounted and came to the edge of the water. they could hear he was shouting to them, but it was too far for the words to carry. from a certain reiterated cadence, he seemed to be saying one thing. john and mart tried to show they did not understand, and indicated their wagon, walking to it and getting aboard. on that the stranger redoubled his signs and shootings, ran to the cabin, where he opened and shut the door several times, came back, and pointed to the hills.
-“he's going away, and can't ferry us over,” said mrs. clallam.
-“and the other man thought he'd gone,” said nancy, “and he came and caught him in his house.”
-“this don't suit me,” clallam remarked. “mart, we'll go to the shore and talk to him.”
-when the man saw them descending the hill, he got on his horse and swam the stream. it carried him below, but he was waiting for them when they reached the level. he was tall, shambling, and bony, and roved over them with a pleasant, restless eye.
-“good-morning,” said he. “fine weather. i was baptized edward wilson, but you inquire for wild-goose jake. them other names are retired and pensioned. i expect you seen me kick him?”
-“couldn't help seeing.”
-“oh, i ain't blamin' you, son, not a bit, i ain't. he can't bile water without burnin' it, and his toes turns in, and he's blurry round the finger-nails. he's jest kultus, he is. hev some?” with a furtive smile that often ran across his lips, he pulled out a flat bottle, and all took an acquaintanceship swallow, while the clallams explained their journey. “how many air there of yu' slidin' down the hill?” he inquired, shifting his eye to the wagon.
-“i've got my wife and little girl up there. that's all of us.”
-“ladies along! then i'll step behind this bush.” he was dragging his feet from his waterlogged boots. “hear them suck now?” he commented. “didn't hev to think about a wetting onced. but i ain't young any more. there, i guess i ain't caught a chill.” he had whipped his breeches off and spread them on the sand. “now you arrive down this here hill from ioway, and says you: 'where's that ferry? 'ain't we hit the right spot?' well, that's what you hev hit. you're all right, and the spot is hunky-dory, and it's the durned old boat hez made the mistake, begosh! a cloud busted in this country, and she tore out fer the coast, and the joke's on her! you'd ought to hev heerd her cable snap! whoosh, if that wire didn't screech! jest last week it was, and the river come round the corner on us in a wave four feet high, same as a wall. i was up here on business, and seen the whole thing. so the ferry she up and bid us good-bye, and lit out for astoria with her cargo. beggin' pardon, hev you tobacco, for mine's in my wet pants? twenty-four hogs and the driver, and two sheeny drummers bound to the mines with brass jew'lry, all gone to hell, for they didn't near git to astoria. they sank in the sight of all, as we run along the bank. i seen their arms wave, and them hogs rolling over like 'taters bilin' round in the kettle.” wild-goose jake's words came slow and went more slowly as he looked at the river and spoke, but rather to himself. “it warn't long, though. i expect it warn't three minutes till the water was all there was left there. my stars, what a lot of it! and i might hev been part of that cargo, easy as not. freight behind time was all that come between me and them that went. so, we'd hev gone bobbin' down that flood, me and my piah-chuck.”
-“your piah-chuck?” mart inquired.
-the man faced the boy like a rat, but the alertness faded instantly from his eye, and his lip slackened into a slipshod smile. “why, yes, sonny, me and my grub-stake. you've been to school, i'll bet, but they didn't learn yu' chinook, now, did they? chinook's the lingo us white folks trade in with the siwashes, and we kinder falls into it, talking along. i was thinkin' how but for delay me and my grubstake--provisions, ye know--that was consigned to me clear away at spokane, might hev been drownded along with them hogs and hebrews. that's what the good folks calls a dispensation of the sauklee tyee!--providence, ye know, in chinook. 'one shall be taken and the other left.' and that's what beats me--they got left; and i'm a bigger sinner than them drummers, for i'm ten years older than they was. and the poor hogs was better than any of us. that can't be gainsaid. oh no! oh no!”
-“i mean it, son. some day such thoughts will come to you.” he stared at the river unsteadily with his light gray eyes.
-“well, if the ferry's gone,” said john clallam, getting on his legs, “we'll go on down to the next one.”
-“hold on! hold on! did you never hear tell of a raft? i'll put you folks over this river. wait till i git my pants on,” said he, stalking nimbly to where they lay.
-“it's just this way,” clallam continued; “we're bound for the upper okanagon country, and we must get in there to build our cabin before cold weather.”
-“don't you worry about that. it'll take you three days to the next ferry, while you and me and the boy kin build a raft right here by to-morrow noon. you hev an axe, i expect? well, here is timber close, and your trail takes over to my place on the okanagon, where you've got another crossin' to make. and all this time we're keeping the ladies waitin' up the hill! we'll talk business as we go along; and, see here, if i don't suit yu', or fail in my bargain, you needn't to pay me a cent.”
-he began climbing, and on the way they came to an agreement. wild-goose jake bowed low to mrs. clallam, and as low to nancy, who held her mother's dress and said nothing, keeping one finger in her mouth. all began emptying the wagon quickly, and tins of baking-powder, with rocking-chairs and flowered quilts, lay on the hill. wild-goose jake worked hard, and sustained a pleasant talk by himself. his fluency was of an eagerness that parried interruption or inquiry.
-“did the man live in the little house?” said nancy.
-“right there, miss. and nobody lives there any more, so you take it if you're wantin' a place of your own.”
-“what made you kick the other man if it wasn't your house?”
-“well, now, if it ain't a good one on him to hev you see that! i'll tell him a little girl seen that, and maybe he'll feel the disgrace. only he's no account, and don't take any experience the reg'lar way. he's nigh onto thirty, and you'll not believe me, i know, but he ain't never even learned to spit right.”
-“is he yours?” inquired nancy.
-“gosh! no, miss--beggin' pardon. he's jest workin' for me.”
-“did he know you were coming to kick him when he hid?”
-“hid? what's that?” the man's eyes narrowed again into points. “you folks seen him hide?” he said to clallam.
-“why, of course; didn't he say anything?”
-“he didn't get much chance,” muttered jake. “what did he hide at?”
-“i guess so,” said mart. “we took him for the ferry-man, and when he couldn't hear us--”
-“what was he doin'?”
-“just riding along. and so i fired to signal him, and he flew into the door.”
-“so you fired, and he flew into the door. oh, h'm.” jake continued to pack the second horse, attending carefully to the ropes. “i never knowed he was that weak in the upper story,” he said, in about five minutes. “knew his brains was tenas, but didn't suspect he were that weak in the upper story. you're sure he didn't go in till he heerd your gun?”
-“he'd taken a look and was going away,” said mart.
-“now ain't some people jest odd! now you follow me, and i'll tell you folks what i'd figured he'd been at. billy moon he lived in that cabin, yu' see. and he had his stuff there, yu, see, and run the ferry, and a kind of a store. he kept coffee and canned goods and star-plug and this and that to supply the prospectin' outfits that come acrosst on his ferry on the trail to the mines. then a cloud-burst hits his boat and his job's spoiled on the river, and he quits for the mines, takin' his stuff along--do you follow me? but he hed to leave some, and he give me the key, and i was to send the balance after him next freight team that come along my way. leander--that's him i was kickin'--he knowed about it, and he'll steal a hot stove he's that dumb. he knowed there was stuff here of billy moon's. well, last night we hed some horses stray, and i says to him, 'andy, you get up by daylight and find them.' and he gits. but by seven the horses come in all right of theirselves, and mr. leander he was missin'; and says i to myself, 'i'll ketch you, yu' blamed hobo.' and i thought i had ketched him, yu' see. weren't that reasonable of me? wouldn't any of you folks hev drawed that conclusion?” the man had fallen into a wheedling tone as he studied their faces. “jest put yourselves in my place,” he said.
-“then what was he after?” said mart.
-“stealin'. but he figured he'd come again.”
-“he didn't like my gun much.”
-“guns always skeers him when he don't know the parties shootin'. that's his dumbness. maybe he thought i was after him; he's jest that distrustful. begosh! we'll have the laugh on him when he finds he run from a little girl.”
-“he didn't wait to see who he was running from,” said mart.
-“of course he didn't. andy hears your gun and he don't inquire further, but hits the first hole he kin crawl into. that's andy! that's the kind of boy i hev to work for me. all the good ones goes where you're goin', where the grain grows without irrigation and the blacktail deer comes out on the hill and asks yu' to shoot 'em for dinner. who's ready for the bottom? if i stay talkin' the sun'll go down on us. don't yu' let me get started agin. just you shet me off twiced anyway each twenty-four hours.”
-he began to descend with his pack-horse and the first load. all afternoon they went up and down over the hot bare face of the hill, until the baggage, heavy and light, was transported and dropped piecemeal on the shore. the torn-out insides of their home littered the stones with familiar shapes and colors, and nancy played among them, visiting each parcel and folded thing.
-“there's the red table-cover!” she exclaimed, “and the big coffee-grinder. and there's our table, and the hole mart burned in it.” she took a long look at this. “oh, how i wish i could see our pump!” she said, and began to cry.
-“you talk to her, mother,” said clallam. “she's tuckered out.”
-“father,” said mart, as they were harnessing next day, “i've been up there. i went awful early. there's no lock to the door, and the cabin's empty.”
-“i guessed that might be.”
-“there has been a lock pried off pretty lately. there was a lot of broken bottles around everywheres, inside and out.”
-“what do you make out of it?” said mart.
-“nothing yet. he wants to get us away, and i'm with him there. i want to get up the okanagon as soon as we can.”
-“well, i'm takin' yu' the soonest way,” said wild-goose jake, behind them. from his casual smile there was no telling what he had heard. “i'll put your stuff acrosst the okanagon to-morrow mornin'. but to-night yourselves'll all be over, and the ladies kin sleep in my room.”
-the wagon made good time. the trail crossed easy valleys and over the yellow grass of the hills, while now and then their guide took a short-cut. he wished to get home, he said, since there could be no estimating what leander might be doing. while the sun was still well up in the sky they came over a round knob and saw the okanagon, blue in the bright afternoon, and the cabin on its further bank. this was a roomier building to see than common, and a hay-field was by it, and a bit of green pasture, fenced in. saddle-horses were tied in front, heads hanging and feet knuckled askew with long waiting, and from inside an uneven, riotous din whiffled lightly across the river and intervening meadow to the hill.
-he was gone at once, getting away at a sharp pace, till presently they could see him swimming the stream. when he was in the cabin the sounds changed, dropping off to one at a time, and expired. but when the riders came out into the air, they leaned and collided at random, whirled their arms, and, screaming till they gathered heart, charged with wavering menace at the door. the foremost was flung from the sill, and he shot along toppling and scraped his length in the dust, while the owner of the cabin stood in the entrance. the indian picked himself up, and at some word of jake's which the emigrants could half follow by the fierce lift of his arm, all got on their horses and set up a wailing, like vultures driven off. they went up the river a little and crossed, but did not come down this side, and mrs. clallam was thankful when their evil noise had died away up the valley. they had seen the wagon coming, but gave it no attention. a man soon came over the river from the cabin, and was lounging against a tree when the emigrants drew up at the margin.
-“i don't know what you know,” he whined defiantly from the tree, “but i'm goin' to cornwall, connecticut, and i don't care who knows it.” he sent a cowed look at the cabin across the river.
-“get out of the wagon, nancy,” said clallam. “mart, help her down.”
-“i'm going back,” said the man, blinking like a scolded dog. “i ain't stayin' here for nobody. you can tell him i said so, too.” again his eye slunk sidewise towards the cabin, and instantly back.
-“while you're staying,” said mart, “you might as well give a hand here.”
-he came with alacrity, and made a shift of unhitching the horses. “i was better off coupling freight cars on the housatonic,” he soon remarked. his voice came shallow, from no deeper than his throat, and a peevish apprehension rattled through it. “that was a good job. and i've had better, too; forty, fifty, sixty dollars better.”
-“shall we unpack the wagon?” clallam inquired.
-“i don't know. you ever been to new milford? i sold shoes there. thirty-five dollars and board.”
-the emigrants attended to their affairs, watering the horses and driving picket stakes. leander uselessly followed behind them with conversation, blinking and with lower lip sagged, showing a couple of teeth. “my brother's in business in pittsfield, massachusetts,” said he, “and i can get a salary in bridgeport any day i say so. that a marlin?”
-“no,” said mart. “it's a winchester.”
-“i had a marlin. he's took it from me. i'll bet you never got shot at.”
-“anybody want to shoot you?” mart inquired.
-“well and i guess you'll believe they did day before yesterday”
-“if you're talking about up at that cabin, it was me.”
-leander gave mart a leer. “that won't do,” said he. “he's put you up to telling me that, and i'm going to cornwall, connecticut. i know what's good for me, i guess.”
-“i tell you we were looking for the ferry, and i signalled you across the river.”
-“no, no,” said leander. “i never seen you in my life. don't you be like him and take me for a fool.”
-“all right. why did they want to murder you?”
-“why?” said the man, shrilly. “why? hadn't they broke in and filled themselves up on his piah-chuck till they were crazy-drunk? and when i came along didn't they--”
-“when you came along they were nowhere near there,” said mart.
-“now you're going to claim it was me drunk it and scattered all them bottles of his,” screamed leander, backing away. “i tell you i didn't. i told him i didn't, and he knowed it well, too. but he's just that mean when he's mad he likes to put a thing on me whether or no, when he never seen me touch a drop of whiskey, nor any one else, neither. they were riding and shooting loose over the country like they always do on a drunk. and i'm glad they stole his stuff. what business had he to keep it at billy moon's old cabin and send me away up there to see it was all right? let him do his own dirty work. i ain't going to break the laws on the salary he pays me.”
-the clallam family had gathered round leander, who was stricken with volubility. “it ain't once in a while, but it's every day and every week,” he went on, always in a woolly scream. “and the longer he ain't caught the bolder he gets, and puts everything that goes wrong on to me. was it me traded them for that liquor this afternoon? it was his squaw, big tracks, and he knowed it well. he lets that mud-faced baboon run the house when he's off, and i don't have the keys nor nothing, and never did have. but of course he had to come in and say it was me just because he was mad about having you see them siwashes hollering around. and he come and shook me where i was sittin', and oh, my, he knowed well the lie he was acting. i bet i've got the marks on my neck now. see any red marks?” leander exhibited the back of his head, but the violence done him had evidently been fleeting. “he'll be awful good to you, for he's that scared--”
-leander stood tremulously straight in silence, his lip sagging, as wild-goose jake called pleasantly from the other bank. “come to supper, you folks,” said he. “why, andy, i told you to bring them across, and you've let them picket their horses. was you expectin' mrs. clallam to take your arm and ford six feet of water?” for some reason his voice sounded kind as he spoke to his assistant.
-“well, mother?” said clallam.
-“if it was not for nancy, john--”
-“i know, i know. out on the shore here on this side would be a pleasanter bedroom for you, but” (he looked up the valley) “i guess our friend's plan is more sensible to-night.”
-so they decided to leave the wagon behind and cross to the cabin. the horses put them with not much wetting to the other bank, where jake, most eager and friendly, hovered to meet his party, and when they were safe ashore pervaded his premises in their behalf.
-“turn them horses into the pasture, andy,” said he, “and first feed 'em a couple of quarts.” it may have been hearing himself say this, but tone and voice dropped to the confidential and his sentences came with a chuckle. “quarts to the horses and quarts to the siwashes and a skookum pack of trouble all round, mrs. clallam! if i hedn't a-came to stop it a while ago, why about all the spirits that's in stock jest now was bein' traded off for some blamed ponies the bears hev let hobble on the range unswallered ever since i settled here. a store on a trail like this here, ye see, it hez to keep spirits, of course; and--well, well! here's my room; you ladies'll excuse, and make yourselves at home as well as you can.”
-it was of a surprising neatness, due all to him, they presently saw; the log walls covered with a sort of bunting that was also stretched across to make a ceiling below the shingles of the roof; fresh soap and towels, china service, a clean floor and bed, on the wall a print of some white and red village among elms, with a covered bridge and the water running over an apron-dam just above; and a rich smell of whiskey everywhere. “fix up as comfortable as yu' can,” the host repeated, “and i'll see how mrs. jake's tossin' the flapjacks. she's injun, yu' know, and five years of married life hadn't learned her to toss flapjacks. now if i was you” (he was lingering in the doorway) “i wouldn't shet that winder so quick. it don't smell nice yet for ladies in here, and i'd hev liked to git the time to do better for ye; but them siwashes--well, of course, you folks see how it is. maybe it ain't always and only white men that patronizes our goods. uncle sam is a long way off, and i don't say we'd ought to, but when the cat's away, why the mice will, ye know--they most always will.”
-“no, ma'am,” he sighed, “you can't do nothing, i guess.”
-“just let me go over and get our medicines.”
-“thank you, ma'am,” said jake, and the pain on his face was miserable to see; “there ain't no medicine. we're kind of used to this, andy and me. maybe, if you wouldn't mind stayin' till he comes to--why, a sick man takes comfort at the sight of a lady.”
-when the fit had passed they helped him to his feet, and jake led him away.
-mrs. jake made her first appearance upon the guests sitting down to their meal, when she waited on table, passing busily forth from the kitchen with her dishes. she had but three or four english words, and her best years were plainly behind her; but her cooking was good, fried and boiled with sticks of her own chopping, and she served with industry. indeed, a squaw is one of the few species of the domestic wife that survive today upon our continent. andy seemed now to keep all his dislike for her, and followed her with a scowling eye, while he frequented jake, drawing a chair to sit next him when he smoked by the wall after supper, and sometimes watching him with a sort of clouded affection upon his face. he did not talk, and the seizure had evidently jarred his mind as well as his frame. when the squaw was about lighting a lamp he brushed her arm in a childish way so that the match went out, and set him laughing. she poured out a harangue in chinook, showing the dead match to jake, who rose and gravely lighted the lamp himself, andy laughing more than ever. when mrs. clallam had taken nancy with her to bed, jake walked john clallam to the river-bank, and looking up and down, spoke a little of his real mind.
-“i guess you see how it is with me. anyway, i don't commonly hev use for stranger-folks in this house. but that little girl of yourn started cryin' about not havin' the pump along that she'd been used to seein' in the yard at home. and i says to myself, 'look a-here, jake, i don't care if they do ketch on to you and yer blamed whiskey business. they're not the sort to tell on you.' gee! but that about the pump got me! and i says, 'jake, you're goin' to give them the best you hev got.' why, that big bend desert and lonesome valley of the columbia hez chilled my heart in the days that are gone when i weren't used to things; and the little girl hed came so fur! and i knowed how she was a-feelin'.”
-he stopped, and seemed to be turning matters over.
-“i'm much obliged to you,” said clallam.
-“and your wife was jest beautiful about andy. you've saw me wicked to andy. i am, and often, for i rile turruble quick, and god forgive me! but when that boy gits at his meanness--yu've seen jest a touch of it--there's scarcely livin' with him. it seems like he got reg'lar inspired. some days he'll lie--make up big lies to the fust man comes in at the door. they ain't harmless, his lies ain't. then he'll trick my woman, that's real good to him; and i believe he'd lick whiskey up off the dirt. and every drop is poison for him with his complaint. but i'd ought to remember. you'd surely think i could remember, and forbear. most likely he made a big talk to you about that cabin.”
-john clallam told him.
-“well, that's all true, for onced. i did think he'd been up to stealin' that whiskey gradual, 'stead of fishin', the times he was out all day. and the salary i give him”--jake laughed a little--“ain't enough to justify a man's breaking the law. i did take his rifle away when he tried to shoot my woman. i guess it was siwashes bruck into that cabin.”
-“i'm pretty certain of it,” said clallam.
-“you? what makes you?”
-john began the tale of the galloping dots, and jake stopped walking to listen the harder. “yes,” he said; “that's bad. that's jest bad. they hev carried a lot off to drink. that's the worst.”
-most white men know when they have had enough whiskey. most indians do not. this is a difference between the races of which government has taken notice. government says that “no ardent spirits shall be introduced under any presence into the indian country.” it also says that the white man who attempts to break this law “shall be punished by imprisonment for not more than two years and by a fine of not more than three hundred dollars.” it further says that if any superintendent of indian affairs has reason to suspect a man, he may cause the “boats, stores, packages, wagons, sleds, and places of deposit” of such person to be searched, and if ardent spirits be found it shall be forfeit, together with the boats and all other substances with it connected, one half to the informer and the other half to the use of the united states. the courts and all legal machines necessary for trial and punishment of offenders are oiled and ready; two years is a long while in jail; three hundred dollars and confiscation sounds heavy; altogether the penalty looks severe on the printed page--and all the while there's no brisker success in our far west than selling whiskey to indians. very few people know what the whiskey is made of, and the indian does not care. he drinks till he drops senseless. if he has killed nobody and nobody him during the process, it is a good thing, for then the matter ends with his getting sober and going home to his tent till such happy time when he can put his hand on some further possession to trade away. the white offender is caught now and then; but okanagon county lies pretty snug from the arm of the law. it's against canada to the north, and the empty county of stevens to the east; south of it rushes the columbia, with the naked horrible big bend beyond, and to its west rises a domain of unfooted mountains. there is law up in the top of it at conconully sometimes, but not much even to-day, for that is still a new country, where flow the methow, the ashinola, and the similikameen.
-consequently a cabin like wild-goose jake's was a holiday place. the blanketed denizens of the reservation crossed to it, and the citizens who had neighboring cabins along the trail repaired here to spend what money they had. as mrs. clallam lay in her bed she heard customers arrive. two or three loud voices spoke in english, and several indians and squaws seemed to be with the party, bantering in chinook. the visitors were in too strong force for jake's word about coming some other night to be of any avail.
-“open your cellar and quit your talk,” elizabeth heard, and next she heard some door that stuck, pulled open with a shriek of the warped timber. next they were gambling, and made not much noise over it at first; but the indians in due time began to lose to the soberer whites, becoming quarrelsome, and raising a clumsy disturbance, though it was plain the whites had their own way and were feared. the voices rose, and soon there was no moment that several were not shouting curses at once, till mrs. clallam stopped her ears. she was still for a time, hearing only in a muffled way, when all at once the smell of drink and tobacco, that had sifted only a little through the cracks, grew heavy in the room, and she felt nancy shrink close to her side.
-“mother, mother,” the child whispered, “what's that?”
-it had gone beyond card-playing with the company in the saloon; they seemed now to be having a savage horse-play, those on their feet tramping in their scuffles upon others on the floor, who bellowed incoherently. elizabeth clallam took nancy in her arms and told her that nobody would come where they were.
-but the child was shaking. “yes, they will,” she whispered, in terror. “they are!” and she began a tearless sobbing, holding her mother with her whole strength.
-a little sound came close by the bed, and elizabeth's senses stopped so that for half a minute she could not stir. she stayed rigid beneath the quilt, and nancy clung to her. something was moving over the floor. it came quite near, but turned, and its slight rustle crawled away towards the window.
-there was no answer, but the slow creeping continued, always close along the floor, like the folds of stuff rubbing, and hands feeling their way in short slides against the boards. she had no way to find where her husband was sleeping, and while she thought of this and whether or not to rush out at the door, the table was gently shaken, there was a drawer opened, and some object fell.
-“only a thief,” she said to herself, and in a sort of sharp joy cried out her question again.
-“i hev a little raft fixed this morning,” said he, “and i guess we can swim the wagon over here.”
-“whatever's quickest to take us from this place,” elizabeth answered.
-“breakfast'll be ready, ma'am, whenever you say.”
-“i am ready now. i shall want to start ferrying our things--where's mr. clallam? tell him to come here.”
-“i will, ma'am. i'm sorry--”
-“tell mr. clallam to come here, please.”
-john had slept sound in his haystack, and heard nothing. “well,” he said, after comforting his wife and nancy, “you were better off in the room, anyway. i'd not blame him so, liza. how was he going to help it?��
-but elizabeth was a woman, and just now saw one thing alone: if selling whiskey led to such things in this country, the man who sold it was much worse than any mere law-breaker. john clallam, being now a long time married, made no argument. he was looking absently at the open drawer of a table. “that's queer,” he said, and picked up a tintype.
-she had no curiosity for anything in that room, and he laid it in the drawer again, his thoughts being taken up with the next step of their journey, and what might be coming to them all.
-during breakfast jake was humble about the fright the ladies had received in his house, explaining how he thought he had acted for the best; at which clallam and mart said that in a rough country folks must look for rough doings, and get along as well as they can; but elizabeth said nothing. the little raft took all but nancy over the river to the wagon, where they set about dividing their belongings in loads that could be floated back, one at a time, and jake returned to repair some of the disorder that remained from the night at the cabin. john and mart poled the first cargo across, and while they were on the other side, elizabeth looked out of the wagon, where she was working alone, and saw five indian riders coming down the valley. the dust hung in the air they had rushed through, and they swung apart and closed again as she had seen before; so she looked for a rifle; but the firearms had gone over the okanagon with the first load. she got down and stood at the front wheel of the wagon, confronting the riders when they pulled up their horses. one climbed unsteadily from his saddle and swayed towards her.
-“drink!” said he, half friendly, and held out a bottle.
-elizabeth shook her head.
-the others nodded. “heap cheap,” they said.
-“we don't want you,” said elizabeth.
-“no cross? maybe he going cross you? what yes?”
-again elizabeth nodded.
-“maybe he jake?” pursued the indian.
-“yes, he is. we don't want you.”
-“we cross you all same. he not.”
-the indian spoke loud and thick, and elizabeth looked over the river where her husband was running with a rifle, and jake behind him, holding a warning hand on his arm. jake called across to the indians, who listened sullenly, but got on their horses and went up the river.
-“now,” said jake to clallam, “they ain't gone. get your wife over here so she kin set in my room till i see what kin be done.”
-john left him at once, and crossed on the raft. his wife was stepping on it, when the noise and flight of riders descended along the other bank, where jake was waiting. they went in a circle, with hoarse shouts, round the cabin as mart with nancy came from the pasture. the boy no sooner saw them than he caught his sister up and carried her quickly away among the corrals and sheds, where the two went out of sight.
-“you stay here, liza,” her husband said. “i'll go back over.”
-but mrs. clallam laughed.
-“get ashore,” he cried to her. “quick!”
-“where you go, i go, john.”
-“what good, what good, in the name--”
-“then i'll get myself over,” said she. and he seized her as she would have jumped into the stream.
-while they crossed, the indians had tied their horses and rambled into the cabin. jake came from it to stop the clallams.
-“they're after your contract,” said he, quietly. “they say they're going to have the job of takin' the balance of your stuff that's left acrosst the okanagon over to this side.”
-“what did you say?” asked mrs. clallam.
-“i set 'em up drinks to gain time.”
-“do you want me there?” said clallam.
-“begosh, no! that would mix things worse.”
-“can't you make them go away?” elizabeth inquired.
-“me and them, ye see, ma'am, we hev a sort of bargain they're to git certain ferryin'. i can't make 'em savvy how i took charge of you. if you want them--” he paused.
-“we want them!” exclaimed elizabeth. “if you're joking, it's a poor joke.”
-“it ain't no joke at all, ma'am.” jake's face grew brooding. “of course folks kin say who they'll be ferried by. and you may believe i'd rather do it. i didn't look for jest this complication; but maybe i kin steer through; and it's myself i've got to thank. of course, if them siwashes did git your job, they'd sober up gittin' ready. and--”
-the emigrants waited, but he did not go on with what was in his mind. “it's all right,” said he, in a brisk tone. “whatever's a-comin's a-comin'.” he turned abruptly towards the door. “keep yerselves away jest now,” he added, and went inside.
-the parents sought their children, finding mart had concealed nancy in the haystack. they put mrs. clallam also in a protected place, as a loud altercation seemed to be rising at the cabin; this grew as they listened, and jake's squaw came running to hide herself. she could tell them nothing, nor make them understand more than they knew; but she touched john's rifle, signing to know if it were loaded, and was greatly relieved when he showed her the magazine full of cartridges. the quarrelling had fallen silent, but rose in a new gust of fierceness, sounding as if in the open air and coming their way. no indian appeared, however, and the noise passed to the river, where the emigrants soon could hear wood being split in pieces.
-john risked a survey. “it's the raft,” he said. “they're smashing it. now they're going back. stay with the children, liza.”
-“you're never going to that cabin?” she said.
-“he's in a scrape, mother.”
-john started away, heedless of his wife's despair. at his coming the indians shouted and surrounded him, while he heard jake say, “drop your gun and drink with them.”
-“drink!” said andy, laughing with the same screech he had made at the match going out. “we re all going to canaan, connecticut.”
-“it's our one chance,” said he to john as the indian, propping himself by a hand on the wall, offered the whiskey to clallam.
-“we cross you okanagon,” he said. “what yes?”
-“maybe you say no?” said another, pressing the emigrant to the wall.
-a third interfered, saying something in their language, at which the other two disagreed. they talked a moment with threatening rage till suddenly all drew pistols. at this the two remaining stumbled among the group, and a shot went into the roof. jake was there in one step with a keg, that they no sooner saw than they fell upon it, and the liquor jetted out as they clinched, wrestling over the room till one lay on his back with his mouth at the open bung. it was wrenched from him, and directly there was not a drop more in it. they tilted it, and when none ran out, flung the keg out of doors and crowded to the door of the dark place, where jake barred the way. “don't take to that yet!” he said to clallam, for john was lifting his rifle.
-“piah-chuck!” yelled the indians, scarcely able to stand. all other thought had left them, and a new thought came to jake. he reached for a fresh keg, while they held their tin cups in the left hand and pistols in the right, pushing so it was a slow matter to get the keg opened. they were fast nearing the sodden stage, and one sank on the floor. jake glanced in at the door behind him, and filled the cups once again. while all were drinking he went in the store-room and set more liquor open, beckoning them to come as they looked up from the rims to which their lips had been glued. they moved round behind the table, grasping it to keep on their feet, with the one on the floor crawling among the legs of the rest. when they were all inside, jake leaped out and locked the door.
-“they kin sleep now,” said he. “gunpowder won't be needed. keep wide away from in front.”
-there was a minute of stillness within, and then a groveling noise and struggle. a couple of bullets came harmless through the door. those inside fought together as well as they could, while those outside listened as it grew less, the bodies falling stupefied without further sound of rising. one or two, still active, began striking at the boards with what heavy thing they could find, until suddenly the blade of an axe crashed through.
-“keep away!” cried jake. but andy had leaped insanely in front of the door, and fell dead with a bullet through him. with a terrible scream, jake flung himself at the place, and poured six shots through the panel; then, as clallam caught him, wrenched at the lock, and they saw inside. whiskey and blood dripped together, and no one was moving there. it was liquor with some, and death with others, and all of it lay upon the guilty soul of jake.
-“you deserve killing yourself,” said clallam.
-“that's been attended to,” replied jake, and he reeled, for during his fire some indian had shot once more.
-clallam supported him to the room where his wife and nancy had passed the night, and laid him on the bed. “i'll get mrs. clallam,” said he.
-“if she'll be willin' to see me,” said the wounded man, humbly.
-she came, dazed beyond feeling any horror, or even any joy, and she did what she could.
-“it was seein' 'em hit andy,” said jake. “is andy gone? yes, i kin tell he's gone from your face.” he shut his eyes, and lay still so long a time that they thought he might be dying now; but he moved at length, and looked slowly round the wall till he saw the print of the village among the elms and the covered bridge. his hand lifted to show them this. “that's the road,” said he. “andy and me used to go fishin' acrosst that bridge. did you ever see the housatonic river? i've fished a lot there. cornwall, connecticut. the hills are pretty there. then andy got worse. you look in that drawer.” john remembered, and when he got out the tintype, jake stretched for it eagerly. “his mother and him, age ten,” he explained to elizabeth, and held it for her to see, then studied the faces in silence. “you kin tell it's andy, can't yu'?” she told him yes. “that was before we knowed he weren't--weren't goin' to grow up like the other boys he played with. so after a while, when she was gone, i got ashamed seein' andy's friends makin' their way when he couldn't seem to, and so i took him away where nobody hed ever been acquainted with us. i was layin' money by to get him the best doctor in europe. i 'ain't been a good man.”
-a faintness mastered him, and elizabeth would have put the picture on the table, but his hand closed round it. they let him lie so, and elizabeth sat there, while john, with mart, kept nancy away till the horror in the outer room was made invisible. they came and went quietly, and jake seemed in a deepening torpor, once only rousing suddenly to call his son's name, and then, upon looking from one to the other, he recollected, and his eyes closed again. his mind wandered, but very little, for torpor seemed to be overcoming him. the squaw had stolen in, and sat cowering and useless. towards sundown john's heart sickened at the sound of more horsemen; but it was only two white men, a sheriff and his deputy.
-“go easy,” said john. “he's not going to resist.”
-“what's up here, anyway? who are you?”
-clallam explained, and was evidently not so much as half believed.
-“if there are indians killed,” said the sheriff, “there's still another matter for the law to settle with him. we're sent to search for whiskey. the county's about tired of him.”
-“you'll find him pretty sick,” said john.
-“people i find always are pretty sick,” said the sheriff, and pushed his way in, stopping at sight of mrs. clallam and the figure on the bed. “i'm arresting that man, madam,” he said, with a shade of apology. “the county court wants him.”
-jake sat up and knew the sheriff. “you're a little late, proctor,” said he. “the supreme court's a-goin' to call my case.” then he fell back, for his case had been called.
-many fish were still in the pool; and though luck seemed to have left me, still i stood at the end of the point, casting and casting my vain line, while the virginian lay and watched. noonday's extreme brightness had left the river and the plain in cooling shadow, but spread and glowed over the yet undimmed mountains. westward, the tetons lifted their peaks pale and keen as steel through the high, radiant air. deep down between the blue gashes of their canons the sun sank long shafts of light, and the glazed laps of their snow-fields shone separate and white upon their lofty vastness, like handkerchiefs laid out to dry. opposite, above the valley, rose that other range, the continental divide, not sharp, but long and ample. it was bare in some high places, and below these it stretched everywhere, high and low, in brown and yellow parks, or in purple miles of pine a world of serene undulations, a great sweet country of silence.
-a passing band of antelope stood herded suddenly together at sight of us; then a little breeze blew for a moment from us to them, and they drifted like phantoms away, and were lost in the levels of the sage-brush.
-“if humans could do like that,” said the virginian, watching them go.
-“run, you mean?” said i.
-“tell a foe by the smell of him,” explained the cow-puncher; “at fifty yards--or a mile.”
-“yes,” i said; “men would be hard to catch.”
-“a woman needs it most,” he murmured. he lay down again in his lounging sprawl, with his grave eyes intently fixed upon my fly-casting.
-the gradual day mounted up the hills farther from the floor of earth. warm airs eddied in its wake slowly, stirring the scents of the plain together. i looked at the southerner; and there was no guessing what his thoughts might be at work upon behind that drowsy glance. then for a moment a trout rose, but only to look and whip down again into the pool that wedged its calm into the riffle from below.
-“second thoughts,” mused the virginian; and as the trout came no more, “second thoughts,” he repeated; “and even a fish will have them sooner than folks has them in this mighty hasty country.” and he rolled over into a new position of ease.
-at whom or what was he aiming these shafts of truth? or did he moralize merely because health and the weather had steeped him in that serenity which lifts us among the spheres? well, sometimes he went on from these beginnings and told me wonderful things.
-“i reckon,” said he, presently, “that knowing when to change your mind would be pretty near knowledge enough for plain people.”
-since my acquaintance with him--this was the second summer of it--i had come to understand him enough to know that he was unfathomable. still, for a moment it crossed my thoughts that perhaps now he was discoursing about himself. he had allowed a jealous foreman to fall out with him at sunk creek ranch in the spring, during judge henry's absence. the man, having a brief authority, parted with him. the southerner had chosen that this should be the means of ultimately getting the foreman dismissed and himself recalled. it was strategic. as he put it to me: “when i am gone, it will be right easy for the judge to see which of us two he wants. and i'll not have done any talking.” all of which duly befell in the autumn as he had planned: the foreman was sent off, his assistant promoted, and the virginian again hired. but this was meanwhile. he was indulging himself in a several months' drifting, and while thus drifting he had written to me. that is how we two came to be on our way from the railroad to hunt the elk and the mountain-sheep, and were pausing to fish where buffalo fork joins its waters with snake river. in those days the antelope still ran there in hundreds, the yellowstone park was a new thing, and mankind lived very far away. since meeting me with the horses in idaho the virginian had been silent, even for him. so now i stood casting my fly, and trusting that he was not troubled with second thoughts over his strategy.
-“have yu' studded much about marriage?” he now inquired. his serious eyes met mine as he lay stretched along the ground.
-“not much,” i said; “not very much.”
-“let's swim,” he said. “they have changed their minds.”
-forthwith we shook off our boots and dropped our few clothes, and heedless of what fish we might now drive away, we went into the cool, slow, deep breadth of backwater which the bend makes just there. as he came up near me, shaking his head of black hair, the cowpuncher was smiling a little.
-“not that any number of baths,” he remarked, “would conceal a man's objectionableness from an antelope--not even a she-one.”
-then he went under water, and came up again a long way off.
-we dried before the fire, without haste. to need no clothes is better than purple and fine linen. then he tossed the flap-jacks, and i served the trout, and after this we lay on our backs upon a buffalo-hide to smoke and watch the tetons grow more solemn, as the large stars opened out over the sky.
-“i don't care if i never go home,” said i.
-the virginian nodded. “it gives all the peace o' being asleep with all the pleasure o' feeling the widest kind of awake,” said he. “yu' might say the whole year's strength flows hearty in every waggle of your thumb.” we lay still for a while. “how many things surprise yu' any more?” he next asked.
-i began considering; but his silence had at length worked round to speech.
-“inventions, of course,” said he, “these hyeh telephones an' truck yu' see so much about in the papers--but i ain't speaking o' such things of the brain. it is just the common things i mean. the things that a livin', noticin' man is liable to see and maybe sample for himself. how many o' them kind can surprise yu' still?”
-i still considered.
-“most everything surprised me onced,” the cow-puncher continued, in his gentle southern voice. “i must have been a mighty green boy. till i was fourteen or fifteen i expect i was astonished by ten o'clock every morning. but a man begins to ketch on to folks and things after a while. i don't consideh that when--that afteh a man is, say twenty-five, it is creditable he should get astonished too easy. and so yu've not examined yourself that-away?”
-i had not.
-“well, there's two things anyway--i know them for sure--that i expect will always get me--don't care if i live to thirty-five, or forty-five, or eighty. and one's the ways lightning can strike.” he paused. then he got up and kicked the fire, and stood by it, staring at me. “and the other is the people that other people will marry.”
-he stopped again; and i said nothing.
-“the people that other people will marry,” he repeated. “that will surprise me till i die.”
-“if my sympathy--” i began.
-but the brief sound that he gave was answer enough, and more than enough cure for my levity.
-“no,” said he, reflectively; “not any such thing as a fam'ly for me, yet. never, it may be. not till i can't help it. and that woman has not come along so far. but i have been sorry for a woman lately. i keep thinking what she will do. for she will have to do something. do yu' know austrians? are they quick in their feelings, like i-talians? or are they apt to be sluggish, same as norwegians and them other dutch-speakin' races?”
-i told him what little i knew about austrians.
-“no better than americans,” said i.
-but the virginian shook his head. “better'n what i've saw any americans have. of course i am not judging a whole nation by one citizen, and especially her a woman. and of course in them big austrian towns the folks has shook their virtuous sayin's loose from their daily doin's, same as we have. i expect selling yourself brings the quickest returns to man or woman all the world over. but i am speakin' not of towns, but of the back country, where folks don't just merely arrive on the cyars, but come into the world the natural way, and grow up slow. onced a week anyway they see the bunch of old grave-stones that marks their fam'ly. their blood and name are knowed about in the neighborhood, and it's not often one of such will sell themselves. but their religion ain't to them like this woman's. they can be rip-snortin' or'tn'ary in ways. now she is getting naught but hindrance and temptation and meanness from her husband and every livin' thing around her--yet she keeps right along, nor does she mostly bear any signs in her face. she has cert'nly come from where they are used to believing in god and a hereafter mighty hard, and all day long. she has got one o' them crucifixes, and hank can't make her quit prayin' to it. but what is she going to do?”
-“he will probably leave her,” i said.
-“yes,” said the virginian--“leave her. alone; her money all spent; knowin' maybe twenty words of english; and thousands of miles away from everything she can understand. for our words and ways is all alike strange to her.”
-“then why did he want such a person?” i exclaimed.
-there was surprise in the grave glance which the cow-puncher gave me. “why, any man would,” he answered. “i wanted her myself, till i found she was good.”
-i looked at this son of the wilderness, standing thoughtful and splendid by the fire, and unconscious of his own religion that had unexpectedly shone forth in these last words. but i said nothing; for words too intimate, especially words of esteem, put him invariably to silence.
-“i had forgot to mention her looks to yu'.” he pursued, simply. “she is fit for a man.” he stopped again.
-“then there was her wages that hank saw paid to her,” he resumed. “and so marriage was but a little thing to hank--agaynst such a heap of advantages. as for her idea in takin' such as him--maybe it was that he was small and she was big; tall and big. or maybe it was just his white teeth. them ridiculous reasons will bring a woman to a man, haven't yu' noticed? but maybe it was just her sorrowful, helpless state, left stranded as she was, and him keeping himself near her and sober for a week.
-“i had been seein' this hyeh yellowstone park, takin' in its geysers, and this and that, for my enjoyment; and when i found what they claimed about its strange sights to be pretty near so, i landed up at galena creek to watch the boys prospectin'. honey wiggin, yu' know, and mclean, and the rest. and so they got me to go down with hank to gardner for flour and sugar and truck, which we had to wait for. we lay around the mammoth springs and gardner for three days, playin' cyards with friends. and i got plumb interested in them tourists. for i had partly forgot about eastern people. and hyeh they came fresh every day to remind a man of the great size of his country. most always they would talk to yu' if yu' gave 'em the chance; and i did. i have come mighty nigh regrettin' that i did not keep a tally of the questions them folks asked me. and as they seemed genu-winely anxious to believe anything at all, and the worser the thing the believinger they'd grow, why i--well, there's times when i have got to lie to keep in good health.
-“so i fooled and i fooled. and one noon i was on the front poach of the big hotel they have opened at the mammoth springs for tourists, and the hotel kid, bein' on the watchout, he sees the dust comin' up the hill, and he yells out, 'stage!'
-“then out gets a tall woman, and i noticed her yello' hair. she was kind o' dumb-eyed, yet fine to see. i reckon hank noticed her too, right away. and right away her trouble begins. for she was a lady's maid, and her lady was out of the stage and roundin' her up quick. and it's 'where have you put the keys, willomene?' the lady was rich and stinkin' lookin', and had come from new yawk in her husband's private cyar.
-“well, willomene fussed around in her pockets, and them keys was not there. so she started explaining in tanglefoot english to her lady how her lady must have took them from her before leavin' the cyar. but the lady seemed to relish hustlin' herself into a rage. she got tolerable conspicuous, too. and after a heap o' words, 'you are discharged,' she says; and off she struts. soon her husband came out to willomene, still standin' like statuary, and he pays her a good sum of cash, and he goes away, and she keeps a standing yet for a spell. then all of a sudden she says something i reckon was 'o, jesus,' and sits down and starts a cryin'.
-“i would like to have given her comfort. but we all stood around on the hotel poach, and the right thing would not come into my haid. then the baggage-wagon came in from cinnabar, and they had picked the keys up on the road between cinnabar and gardner. so the lady and her toilet was rescued, but that did no good to willomene. they stood her trunk down along with the rest--a brass-nailed little old concern--and there was willomene out of a job and afoot a long, long ways from her own range; and so she kept sitting, and onced in a while she'd cry some more. we got her a room in the cheap hotel where the park drivers sleeps when they're in at the springs, and she acted grateful like, thanking the boys in her tanglefoot english. next mawnin' her folks druv off in a private team to norris basin, and she seemed dazed. for i talked with her then, and questioned her as to her wishes, but she could not say what she wished, nor if it was east or west she would go; and i reckon she was too stricken to have wishes.
-“the railroad brought the stuff for galena creek, and hank would not look at it on account of his courtin'. i took it alone myself by yancey's and the second bridge and miller creek to the camp, nor i didn't tell willomene good-bye, for i had got disgusted at her blindness.”
-the virginian shifted his position, and jerked his overalls to a more comfortable fit. then he continued:
-“they was married the tuesday after at livingston, and hank must have been pow'ful pleased at himself. for he gave willomene a wedding present, with the balance of his cash, spending his last nickel on buying her a red-tailed parrot they had for sale at the first national bank. the son-of-a-gun hollad so freely at the bank, the president awde'd the cashier to get shed of the out-ragious bird, or he would wring its neck.
-“so hank and willomene stayed a week up in livingston on her money, and then he fetched her back to gardner, and bought their grub, and bride and groom came up to the camp we had on galena creek.
-“she had never slep' out before. she had never been on a hawss, neither. and she mighty near rolled off down into pitchstone canyon, comin' up by the cut-off trail. why, seh, i would not willingly take you through that place, except yu' promised me yu' would lead your hawss when i said to. but hank takes the woman he had married, and he takes heavy-loaded pack-hawsses. 'tis the first time such a thing has been known of in the country. yu' remember them big tall grass-topped mountains over in the hoodoo country, and how they descends slam down through the cross-timber that yu' can't scatcely work through afoot, till they pitches over into lots an' lots o' little canyons, with maybe two inches of water runnin' in the bottom? all that is east fork water, and over the divide is clark's fork, or stinkin' water, if yu' take the country yondeh to the southeast. but any place yu' go is them undesirable steep slopes, and the cut-off trail takes along about the worst in the business.
-“it was that mean to see, that shameless and unkind, that even a thoughtless kid like the mclean boy felt offended, and favorable to some sort of remonstrance. 'the son-of-a--!' he said to me. 'the son-of-a--! if he don't stop, let's stop him.' and i reckon we might have.
-“but hank he quit. 'twas plain to see he'd got a genu-wine scare comin' through pitchstone canyon, and it turned him sour, so he'd hardly talk to us, but just mumbled 'how!' kind o' gruff, when the boys come up to congratulate him as to his marriage.
-“but willomene, she says when she saw me, 'oh, i am so glad!' and we shook hands right friendly. and i wished i'd told her good-bye that day at the mammoth. for she bore no spite, and maybe i had forgot her feelings in thinkin' of my own. i had talked to her down at the mammoth at first, yu' know, and she said a word about old friends. our friendship was three weeks old that day, but i expect her new experiences looked like years to her. and she told me how near she come to gettin' killed.
-“yu' ain't ever been over that trail, seh? yu' cert'nly must see pitchstone canyon. but we'll not go there with packs. and we will get off our hawsses a good ways back. for many animals feels that there's something the matter with that place, and they act very strange about it.
-“the grand canyon is grand, and makes yu' feel good to look at it, and a geyser is grand and all right, too. but this hyeh pitchstone hole, if willomene had went down into that--well, i'll tell yu', that you may judge.
-“she seen the trail a-drawin' nearer and nearer the aidge, between the timber and the jumpin'-off place, and she seen how them little loose stones and the crumble stuff would slide and slide away under the hawss's feet. she could hear the stuff rattlin' continually from his steps, and when she turned her haid to look, she seen it goin' down close beside her, but into what it went she could not see. only, there was a queer steam would come up now and agayn, and her hawss trembled. so she tried to get off and walk without sayin' nothin' to hank. he kep' on ahaid, and her hawss she had pulled up started to follo' as she was half off him, and that gave her a tumble, but there was an old crooked dead tree. it growed right out o' the aidge. there she hung.
-“'what kind of a dutch woman are yu',' says he, strainin' for a joke, 'if yu' can't use a dutch-oven?'
-“'you say to me you have a house to live in,' says willomene. 'where is that house?'
-“'i did not figure on gettin' a woman when i left camp,' says hank, grinnin', but not pleasant, 'or i'd have hurried up with the shack i'm a buildin'.'
-“he was buildin' one. when i left galena creek and come away from that country to meet you, the house was finished enough for the couple to move in. i hefted her brass-nailed trunk up the hill from their tent myself, and i watched her take out her crucifix. but she would not let me help her with that. she'd not let me touch it. she'd fixed it up agaynst the wall her own self her own way. but she accepted some flowers i picked, and set them in a can front of the crucifix. then hank he come in, and seein', says to me, 'are you one of the kind that squats before them silly dolls?' 'i would tell yu', i answered him; 'but it would not inter-est yu'.' and i cleared out, and left him and willomene to begin their housekeepin'.
-the virginian stopped for a moment.
-“it will soon be a month since i left galena creek,” he resumed. “but i cannot get the business out o' my haid. i keep a studyin' over it.”
-his talk was done. he had unburdened his mind. night lay deep and quiet around us, with no sound far or near, save buffalo fork plashing over its riffle.
-we left snake river. we went up pacific creek, and through two ocean pass, and down among the watery willow-bottoms and beaverdams of the upper yellowstone. we fished; we enjoyed existence along the lake. then we went over pelican creek trail and came steeply down into the giant country of grasstopped mountains. at dawn and dusk the elk had begun to call across the stillness. and one morning in the hoodoo country, where we were looking for sheep, we came round a jut of the strange, organ-pipe formation upon a longlegged boy of about nineteen, also hunting.
-“still hyeh?” said the virginian, without emotion.
-“i guess so,” returned the boy, equally matter-of-fact. “yu' seem to be around yourself,” he added.
-they might have been next-door neighbors, meeting in a town street for the second time in the same day.
-the virginian made me known to mr. lin mclean, who gave me a brief nod.
-“any luck?” he inquired, but not of me.
-“oh,” drawled the virginian, “luck enough.”
-knowing the ways of the country, i said no word. it was bootless to interrupt their own methods of getting at what was really in both their minds.
-the boy fixed his wide-open hazel eyes upon me. “fine weather,” he mentioned.
-“very fine,” said i.
-“i seen your horses a while ago,” he said. “camp far from here?” he asked the virginian.
-“not specially. stay and eat with us. we've got elk meat.”
-“that's what i'm after for camp,” said mclean. “all of us is out on a hunt to-day--except him.”
-“how many are yu' now?”
-“the whole six.”
-“oh, some days the gold washes out good in the pan, and others it's that fine it'll float off without settlin'.”
-“so hank ain't huntin' to-day?”
-“huntin'! we left him layin' out in that clump o'brush below their cabin. been drinkin' all night.”
-the virginian broke off a piece of the hoodoo mud-rock from the weird eroded pillar that we stood beside. he threw it into a bank of last year's snow. we all watched it as if it were important. up through the mountain silence pierced the long quivering whistle of a bull-elk. it was like an unearthly singer practising an unearthly scale.
-“first time she heard that,” said mclean, “she was scared.”
-“nothin' maybe to resemble it in austria,” said the virginian.
-“that's so,” said mclean. “that's so, you bet! nothin' just like hank over there, neither.”
-“well, flesh is mostly flesh in all lands, i reckon,” said the virginian. “i expect yu' can be drunk and disorderly in every language. but an austrian hank would be liable to respect her crucifix.”
-“he ain't made her quit it yet?”
-“not him. but he's got meaner.”
-“drunk this mawnin', yu' say?”
-“that's his most harmless condition now.”
-“nobody's in camp but them two? her and him alone?”
-“oh, he dassent touch her.”
-“who did he tell that to?”
-“oh, the camp is backin' her. the camp has explained that to him several times, you bet! and what's more, she has got the upper hand of him herself. she has him beat.”
-“she has downed him with her eye. just by endurin' him peacefully; and with her eye. i've saw it. things changed some after yu' pulled out. we had a good crowd still, and it was pleasant, and not too lively nor yet too slow. and willomene, she come more among us. she'd not stay shut in-doors, like she done at first. i'd have like to've showed her how to punish hank.”
-“afteh she had downed yu' with her eye?” inquired the virginian.
-young mclean reddened, and threw a furtive look upon me, the stranger, the outsider. “oh, well,” he said, “i done nothing onusual. but that's all different now. all of us likes her and respects her, and makes allowances for her bein' dutch. yu' can't help but respect her. and she shows she knows.”
-“i reckon maybe she knows how to deal with hank,” said the virginian.
-“shucks!” said mclean, scornfully. “and her so big and him so puny! she'd ought to lift him off the earth with one arm and lam him with a baste or two with the other, and he'd improve.”
-“maybe that's why she don't,” mused the virginian, slowly; “because she is so big. big in the spirit, i mean. she'd not stoop to his level. don't yu' see she is kind o' way up above him and camp and everything--just her and her crucifix?”
-“her and her crucifix!” repeated young lin mclean, staring at this interpretation, which was beyond his lively understanding. “her and her crucifix. turruble lonesome company! well, them are things yu' don't know about. i kind o' laughed myself the first time i seen her at it. hank, he says to me soft, 'come here, lin,' and i peeped in where she was a-prayin'. she seen us two, but she didn't quit. so i quit, and hank came with me, sayin' tough words about it. yes, them are things yu' sure don't know about. what's the matter with you camping with us boys tonight?”
-we had been going to visit them the next day. we made it to-day, instead. and mr. mclean helped us with our packs, and we carried our welcome in the shape of elk meat. so we turned our faces down the grass-topped mountains towards galena creek. once, far through an open gap away below us, we sighted the cabin with the help of our field-glasses.
-“pity we can't make out hank sleepin' in that brush,” said mclean.
-“he has probably gone into the cabin by now,” said i.
-“not him! he prefers the brush all day when he's that drunk, you bet!”
-“afraid of her?”
-“well--oneasy in her presence. not that she's liable to be in there now. she don't stay inside nowadays so much. she's been comin' round the ditch, silent-like but friendly. and she'll watch us workin' for a spell, and then she's apt to move off alone into the woods, singin' them dutch songs of hern that ain't got no toon. i've met her walkin' that way, tall and earnest, lots of times. but she don't want your company, though she'll patch your overalls and give yu' lunch always. nor she won't take pay.”
-thus we proceeded down from the open summits into the close pines; and while we made our way among the cross-timber and over the little streams, mclean told us of various days and nights at the camp, and how hank had come to venting his cowardice upon his wife's faith.
-“why, he informed her one day when he was goin' take his dust to town, that if he come back and found that thing in the house, he'd do it up for her. 'so yu' better pack off your wooden dummy somewheres,' says he. and she just looked at him kind o' stone-like and solemn. for she don't care for his words no more.
-“and while he was away she'd have us all in to supper up at the shack, and look at us eatin' while she'd walk around puttin' grub on your plate. day time she'd come around the ditch, watchin' for a while, and move off slow, singin' her dutch songs. and when hank comes back from spendin' his dust, he sees the crucifix same as always, and he says, 'didn't i tell yu' to take that down?' 'you did,' says willomene, lookin' at him very quiet. and he quit.
-“and honey wiggin says to him, 'hank, leave her alone.' and hank, bein' all trembly from spreein' in town, he says, 'you're all agin me!' like as if he were a baby.”
-“i should think you would run him out of camp,” said i.
-“well, we've studied over that some,” mclean answered. “but what's to be done with willomene?”
-i did not know. none of us seemed to know.
-“the boys got together night before last,” continued mclean, “and after holdin' a unanimous meetin', we visited her and spoke to her about goin' back to her home. she was slow in corrallin' our idea on account of her bein' no english scholar. but when she did, after three of us takin' their turn at puttin' the proposition to her, she would not accept any of our dust. and though she started to thank us the handsomest she knowed how, it seemed to grieve her, for she cried. so we thought we'd better get out. she's tried to tell us the name of her home, but yu' can't pronounce such outlandishness.”
-as we went down the mountains, we talked of other things, but always came back to this; and we were turning it over still when the sun had departed from the narrow cleft that we were following, and shone only on the distant grassy tops which rose round us into an upper world of light.
-we had rounded a corner, and once more sighted the cabin. i suppose it may have been still half a mile away, upon the further side of a ravine into which our little valley opened. but field-glasses were not needed now to make out the cabin clearly, windows and door. smoke rose from it; for supper-time was nearing, and we stopped to survey the scene. as we were looking, another hunter joined us, coming from the deep woods to the edge of the pines where we were standing. this was honey wiggin. he had killed a deer, and he surmised that all the boys would be back soon. others had met luck besides himself; he had left one dressing an elk over the next ridge. nobody seemed to have got in yet, from appearances. didn't the camp look lonesome?
-“there's somebody, though,” said mclean.
-the virginian took the glasses. “i reckon--yes, that's hank. the cold has woke him up, and he's comin' in out o' the brush.”
-each of us took the glasses in turn; and i watched the figure go up the hill to the door of the cabin. it seemed to pause and diverge to the window. at the window it stood still, head bent, looking in. then it returned quickly to the door. it was too far to discern, even through the glasses, what the figure was doing. whether the door was locked, whether he was knocking or fumbling with a key, or whether he spoke through the door to the person within--i cannot tell what it was that came through the glasses straight to my nerves, so that i jumped at a sudden sound; and it was only the distant shrill call of an elk. i was handing the glasses to the virginian for him to see when the figure opened the door and disappeared in the dark interior. as i watched the square of darkness which the door's opening made, something seemed to happen there--or else it was a spark, a flash, in my own straining eyes.
-but at that same instant the virginian dashed forward upon his horse, leaving the glasses in my hand. and with the contagion of his act the rest of us followed him, leaving the pack animals to follow us as they should choose.
-“look!” cried mclean. “he's not shot her.”
-i saw the tall figure of a woman rush out of the door and pass quickly round the house.
-“he's missed her!” cried mclean, again. “she's savin' herself.”
-but the man's figure did not appear in pursuit. instead of this, the woman returned as quickly as she had gone, and entered the dark interior.
-“she had something,” said wiggin. “what would that be?”
-“maybe it's all right, after all,” said mclean. “she went out to get wood.”
-the rough steepness of our trail had brought us down to a walk, and as we continued to press forward at this pace as fast as we could, we compared a few notes. mclean did not think he saw any flash. wiggin thought that he had heard a sound, but it was at the moment when the virginian's horse had noisily started away.
-our trail had now taken us down where we could no longer look across and see the cabin. and the half-mile proved a long one over this ground. at length we reached and crossed the rocky ford, overtaking the virginian there.
-“these hawsses,” said he, “are played out. we'll climb up to camp afoot. and just keep behind me for the present.”
-we obeyed our natural leader, and made ready for whatever we might be going into. we passed up the steep bank and came again in sight of the door. it was still wide open. we stood, and felt a sort of silence which the approach of two new-comers could not break. they joined us. they had been coming home from hunting, and had plainly heard a shot here. we stood for a moment more after learning this, and then one of the men called out the names of hank and willomene. again we--or i at least--felt that same silence, which to my disturbed imagination seemed to be rising round us as mists rise from water.
-“there's nobody in there,” stated the virginian. “nobody that's alive,” he added. and he crossed the cabin and walked into the door.
-though he made no gesture, i saw astonishment pass through his body, as he stopped still; and all of us came after him. there hung the crucifix, with a round hole through the middle of it. one of the men went to it and took it down; and behind it, sunk in the log, was the bullet. the cabin was but a single room, and every object that it contained could be seen at a glance; nor was there hiding-room for anything. on the floor lay the axe from the wood-pile; but i will not tell of its appearance. so he had shot her crucifix, her rock of ages, the thing which enabled her to bear her life, and that lifted her above life; and she--but there was the axe to show what she had done then. was this cabin really empty? i looked more slowly about, half dreading to find that i had overlooked something. but it was as the virginian had said; nobody was there.
-as we were wondering, there was a noise above our heads, and i was not the only one who started and stared. it was the parrot; and we stood away in a circle, looking up at his cage. crouching flat on the floor of the cage, his wings huddled tight to his body, he was swinging his head from side to side; and when he saw that we watched him, he began a low croaking and monotonous utterance, which never changed, but remained rapid and continuous. i heard mclean whisper to the virginian, “you bet he knows.”
-the virginian stepped to the door, and then he bent to the gravel and beckoned us to come and see. among the recent footprints at the threshold the man's boot-heel was plain, as well as the woman's broad tread. but while the man's steps led into the cabin, they did not lead away from it. we tracked his course just as we had seen it through the glasses: up the hill from the brush to the window, and then to the door. but he had never walked out again. yet in the cabin he was not; we tore up the half-floor that it had. there was no use to dig in the earth. and all the while that we were at this search the parrot remained crouched in the bottom of his cage, his black eye fixed upon our movements.
-“she has carried him,” said the virginian. “we must follow up willomene.”
-the latest heavy set of footprints led us from the door along the ditch, where they sank deep in the softer soil; then they turned off sharply into the mountains.
-“this is the cut-off trail,” said mclean to me. “the same he brought her in by.”
-the tracks were very clear, and evidently had been made by a person moving slowly. whatever theories our various minds were now shaping, no one spoke a word to his neighbor, but we went along with a hush over us.
-after some walking, wiggin suddenly stopped and pointed.
-we had come to the edge of the timber, where a narrow black canyon began, and ahead of us the trail drew near a slanting ledge, where the footing was of small loose stones. i recognized the odor, the volcanic whiff, that so often prowls and meets one in the lonely woods of that region, but at first i failed to make out what had set us all running.
-“is he looking down into the hole himself?” some one asked; and then i did see a figure, the figure i had looked at through the glasses, leaning strangely over the edge of pitchstone canyon, as if indeed he was peering to watch what might be in the bottom.
-we came near. but those eyes were sightless, and in the skull the story of the axe was carved. by a piece of his clothing he was hooked in the twisted roots of a dead tree, and hung there at the extreme verge. i went to look over, and lin mclean caught me as i staggered at the sight i saw. he would have lost his own foothold in saving me had not one of the others held him from above.
-she was there below; hank's woman, brought from austria to the new world. the vision of that brown bundle lying in the water will never leave me, i think. she had carried the body to this point; but had she intended this end? or was some part of it an accident? had she meant to take him with her? had she meant to stay behind herself? no word came from these dead to answer us. but as we stood speaking there, a giant puff of breath rose up to us between the black walls.
-“there's that fluffy sigh i told yu' about,” said the virginian.
-“he's talkin' to her! i tell yu' he's talkin' to her!” burst out mclean, suddenly, in such a voice that we stared as he pointed at the man in the tree. “see him lean over! he's sayin', 'i have yu' beat after all.'” and mclean fell to whimpering.
-wiggin took the boy's arm kindly and walked him along the trail. he did not seem twenty yet. life had not shown this side of itself to him so plainly before.
-“let's get out of here,” said the virginian.
-it seemed one more pitiful straw that the lonely bundle should be left in such a vault of doom, with no last touches of care from its fellow-beings, and no heap of kind earth to hide it. but whether the place is deadly or not, man dares not venture into it. so they took hank from the tree that night, and early next morning they buried him near camp on the top of a little mound.
-but the thought of willomene lying in pitchstone canyon had kept sleep from me through that whole night, nor did i wish to attend hank's burial. i rose very early, while the sunshine had still a long way to come down to us from the mountain-tops, and i walked back along the cut-off trail. i was moved to look once more upon that frightful place. and as i came to the edge of the timber, there was the virginian. he did not expect any one. he had set up the crucifix as near the dead tree as it could be firmly planted.
-“it belongs to her, anyway,” he explained.
-some lines of verse came into my memory, and with a change or two i wrote them as deep as i could with my pencil upon a small board that he smoothed for me.
-“call for the robin redbreast and the wren, since o'er shady groves they hover, and with flowers and leaves do cover the friendless bodies of unburied men. call to this funeral dole the ant, the field-mouse, and the mole to rear her hillocks that shall keep her warm.
-“that kind o' quaint language reminds me of a play i seen onced in saynt paul,” said the virginian. “about young prince henry.”
-i told him that another poet was the author.
-“they are both good writers,” said the virginian. and as he was finishing the monument that we had made, young lin mclean joined us. he was a little ashamed of the feelings that he had shown yesterday, a little anxious to cover those feelings with brass.
-“well,” he said, taking an offish, man-of-the-world tone, “all this fuss just because a woman believed in god.”
-“you have put it down wrong,” said the virginian; “it's just because a man didn't.”
-across the unstirred fragrance of oleanders the bell for vespers began to ring. its tones passed over the padre as he watched the sea in his garden. they reached his parishioners in their adobe dwellings near by. the gentle circles of sound floated outward upon the smooth immense silence--over the vines and pear-trees; down the avenues of the olives; into the planted fields, whence women and children began to return; then out of the lap of the valley along the yellow uplands, where the men that rode among the cattle paused, looking down like birds at the map of their home. then the sound widened, faint, unbroken, until it met temptation riding towards the padre from the south, and cheered the steps of temptation's jaded horse.
-“for a day, one single day of paris!” repeated the padre, gazing through his cloisters at the empty sea.
-once in the year the mother-world remembered him. once in the year a barkentine came sailing with news and tokens from spain. it was in 1685 that a galleon had begun such voyages up to the lower country from acapulco, where she loaded the cargo that had come across tehuantepec on mules from vera cruz. by 1768 she had added the new mission of san diego to her ports. in the year that we, a thin strip of colonists away over on the atlantic edge of the continent, declared ourselves an independent nation, that spanish ship, in the name of saint francis, was unloading the centuries of her own civilization at the golden gate. then, slowly, as mission after mission was planted along the soft coast wilderness, she made new stops--at santa barbara, for instance; and by point san luis for san luis obispo, that lay inland a little way up the gorge where it opened among the hills. thus the world reached these places by water; while on land, through the mountains, a road came to lead to them, and also to many more that were too distant behind the hills for ships to serve--a long, lonely, rough road, punctuated with church towers and gardens. for the fathers gradually so stationed their settlements that the traveller might each morning ride out from one mission and by evening of a day's fair journey ride into the next. a long, rough road; and in its way pretty to think of now.
-so there, by-and-by, was our continent, with the locomotive whistling from savannah to boston along its eastern edge, and on the other the scattered chimes of spain ringing among the unpeopled mountains. thus grew the two sorts of civilization--not equally. we know what has happened since. to-day the locomotive is whistling also from the golden gate to san diego; but the old mission road goes through the mountains still, and on it the steps of vanished spain are marked with roses, and white cloisters, and the crucifix.
-but this was 1855. only the barkentine brought the world that he loved to the padre. as for the new world which was making a rude noise to the northward, he trusted that it might keep away from santa ysabel, and he waited for the vessel that was overdue with its package containing his single worldly indulgence.
-as the little, ancient bronze bell continued its swinging in the tower, its plaintive call reached something in the padre's memory. without knowing, he began to sing. he took up the slow strain not quite correctly, and dropped it, and took it up again, always in cadence with the bell:
-at length he heard himself, and glancing at the belfry, smiled a little. “it is a pretty tune,” he said, “and it always made me sorry for poor fra diavolo. auber himself confessed to me that he had made it sad and put the hermitage bell to go with it because he too was grieved at having to kill his villain, and wanted him to die, if possible, in a religious frame of mind. and auber touched glasses with me and said--how well i remember it!--'is it the good lord, or is it merely the devil, that makes me always have a weakness for rascals?' i told him it was the devil. i was not a priest then. i could not be so sure with my answer now.” and then padre ignazio repeated auber's remark in french: “'est-ce le bon dieu, on est-ce bien le diable, qui me fait tonjours aimer les coquins?' i don't know! i don't know! i wonder if auber has composed anything lately? i wonder who is singing zerlina now?”
-he cast a farewell look at the ocean, and took his steps between the monastic herbs and the oleanders to the sacristy. “at least,” he said, “if we cannot carry with us into exile the friends and the places that we have loved, music will go where we go, even to such an end of the world as this. felipe!” he called to his organist. “can they sing the music i taught them for the dixit dominus to-night?”
-“yes, father, surely.”
-“then we will have that. and, felipe--” the padre crossed the chancel to the small shabby organ. “rise, my child, and listen. here is something you can learn. why, see now if you cannot learn it with a single hearing.”
-the swarthy boy of sixteen stood watching his master's fingers, delicate and white, as they played. so of his own accord he had begun to watch them when a child of six; and the padre had taken the wild, half-scared, spellbound creature and made a musician of him.
-“there, felipe!” he said now. “can you do it? slower, and more softly, muchacho. it is about the death of a man, and it should go with our bell.”
-the boy listened. “then the father has played it a tone too low,” said he; “for our bell rings the note of sol, or something very near it, as the father must surely know.” he placed the melody in the right key--an easy thing for him; but the padre was delighted.
-“ah, my felipe,” he exclaimed, “what could you and i not do if we had a better organ! only a little better! see! above this row of keys would be a second row, and many more stops. then we would make such music as has never been heard in california yet. but my people are so poor and so few! and some day i shall have passed from them, and it will be too late.”
-“perhaps,” ventured felipe, “the americanos--”
-“they care nothing for us, felipe. they are not of our religion--or of any religion, from what i can hear. don't forget my dixit dominus.” and the padre retired once more to the sacristy, while the horse that carried temptation came over the hill.
-the hour of service drew near; and as he waited, the padre once again stepped out for a look at the ocean; but the blue triangle of water lay like a picture in its frame of land, empty as the sky. “i think, from the color, though,” said he, “that a little more wind must have begun out there.”
-the bell rang a last short summons to prayer. along the road from the south a young rider, leading one pack-animal, ambled into the mission and dismounted. church was not so much in his thoughts as food and, in due time after that, a bed; but the doors stood open, and as everybody was going into them, more variety was to be gained by joining this company than by waiting outside alone until they should return from their devotions. so he seated himself at the back, and after a brief, jaunty glance at the sunburnt, shaggy congregation, made himself as comfortable as might be. he had not seen a face worth keeping his eyes open for. the simple choir and simple fold gathered for even-song, and paid him no attention on their part--a rough american bound for the mines was no longer anything but an object of aversion to them.
-the padre, of course, had been instantly aware of the stranger's presence. for this is the sixth sense with vicars of every creed and heresy; and if the parish is lonely and the worshippers few and seldom varying, a newcomer will gleam out like a new book to be read. and a trained priest learns to read shrewdly the faces of those who assemble to worship under his guidance. but american vagrants, with no thoughts save of gold-digging, and an overweening illiterate jargon for their speech, had long ceased to interest this priest, even in his starvation for company and talk from the outside world; and therefore after the intoning, he sat with his homesick thoughts unchanged, to draw both pain and enjoyment from the music that he had set to the dixit dominus. he listened to the tender chorus that opens “william tell”; and as the latin psalm proceeded, pictures of the past rose between him and the altar. one after another came these strains which he had taken from the operas famous in their day, until at length the padre was murmuring to some music seldom long out of his heart--not the latin verse which the choir sang, but the original french words:
-“ah, voile man envie, voila mon seul desir: rendez moi ma patrie, ou laissez moi mourir.”
-which may be rendered:
-but one wish i implore, one wish is all my cry: give back my native land once more, give back, or let me die.
-then it happened that he saw the stranger in the back of the church again, and forgot his dixit dominus straightway. the face of the young man was no longer hidden by the slouching position he had at first taken. “i only noticed his clothes before,” thought the padre. restlessness was plain upon the handsome brow, and in the mouth there was violence; but padre ignazio liked the eyes. “he is not saying any prayers,” he surmised, presently. “i doubt if he has said any for a long while. and he knows my music. he is of educated people. he cannot be american. and now--yes, he has taken--i think it must be a flower, from his pocket. i shall have him to dine with me.” and vespers ended with rosy clouds of eagerness drifting across the padre's brain.
-but the stranger made his own beginning. as the priest came from the church, the rebellious young figure was waiting. “your organist tells me,” he said, impetuously, “that it is you who--”
-“may i ask with whom i have the great pleasure of speaking?” said the padre, putting formality to the front and his pleasure out of sight.
-the stranger reddened, and became aware of the padre's features, moulded by refinement and the world. “i beg your lenience,” said he, with a graceful and confident utterance, as of equal to equal. “my name is gaston villere, and it was time i should be reminded of my manners.”
-the padre's hand waved a polite negative.
-“indeed yes, padre. but your music has astonished me to pieces. if you carried such associations as--ah! the days and the nights!” he broke off. “to come down a california mountain,” he resumed, “and find paris at the bottom! 'the huguenots,' rossini, herold--i was waiting for 'il trovatore.”'
-“is that something new?” said the padre, eagerly.
-the young man gave an exclamation. “the whole world is ringing with it,” he said.
-“but santa ysabel del mar is a long way from the whole world,” said padre ignazio.
-“indeed it would not appear to be so,” returned young gaston. “i think the comedie francaise must be round the corner.”
-a thrill went through the priest at the theatre's name. “and have you been long in america?” he asked.
-“why, always--except two years of foreign travel after college.”
-“an american!” said the surprised padre, with perhaps a flavor of disappointment in his voice. “but no americans who have yet come this way have been--have been”--he veiled the too blunt expression of his thought--“have been familiar with 'the huguenots,'” he finished, making a slight bow.
-villere took his under-meaning. “i come from new orleans,” he returned. “and in new orleans there live many of us who can recognize a--who can recognize good music wherever we meet it.” and he made a slight bow in his turn.
-the padre laughed outright with pleasure, and laid his hand upon the young man's arm. “you have no intention of going away tomorrow, i trust?” said he.
-“with your leave,” answered gaston, “i will have such an intention no longer.”
-it was with the air and gait of mutual understanding that the two now walked on together towards the padre's door. the guest was twenty-five, the host sixty.
-“and have you been in america long?” inquired gaston.
-“and at santa ysabel how long?”
-“i should have thought,” said gaston, looking lightly at the empty mountains, “that now and again you might have wished to travel.”
-“were i your age,” murmured padre ignazio, “it might be so.”
-the evening had now ripened to the long after-glow of sunset. the sea was the purple of grapes, and wine colored hues flowed among the high shoulders of the mountains.
-“i have seen a sight like this,” said gaston, “between granada and malaga.”
-“so you know spain!” said the padre.
-often he had thought of this resemblance, but never heard it told to him before. the courtly proprietor of san fernando, and the other patriarchal rancheros with whom he occasionally exchanged visits across the wilderness, knew hospitality and inherited gentle manners, sending to europe for silks and laces to give their daughters; but their eyes had not looked upon granada, and their ears had never listened to “william tell.”
-“it is quite singular,” pursued gaston, “how one nook in the world will suddenly remind you of another nook that may be thousands of miles away. one morning, behind the quai voltaire, an old yellow house with rusty balconies made me almost homesick for new orleans.”
-“the quai voltaire!” said the padre.
-“i heard rachel in 'valerie' that night,” the young man went on. “did you know that she could sing too? she sang several verses by an astonishing little jew musician that has come up over there.”
-the padre gazed down at his blithe guest. “to see somebody, somebody, once again,” he said, “is very pleasant to a hermit.”
-“it cannot be more pleasant than arriving at an oasis,” returned gaston.
-they had delayed on the threshold to look at the beauty of the evening, and now the priest watched his parishioners come and go. “how can one make companions--” he began; then, checking himself, he said: “their souls are as sacred and immortal as mine, and god helps me to help them. but in this world it is not immortal souls that we choose for companions; it is kindred tastes, intelligences, and--and so i and my books are growing old together, you see,” he added, more lightly. “you will find my volumes as behind the times as myself.”
-he had fallen into talk more intimate than he wished; and while the guest was uttering something polite about the nobility of missionary work, he placed him in an easy-chair and sought aguardiente for his immediate refreshment. since the year's beginning there had been no guest for him to bring into his rooms, or to sit beside him in the high seats at table, set apart for the gente fina.
-such another library was not then in california; and though gaston villere, in leaving harvard college, had shut horace and sophocles forever at the earliest instant possible under academic requirements, he knew the greek and latin names that he now saw as well as he knew those of shakespeare, dante, moliere, and cervantes. these were here also; nor could it be precisely said of them, either, that they made a part of the young man's daily reading. as he surveyed the padre's august shelves, it was with a touch of the florid southern gravity which his northern education had not wholly schooled out of him that he said:
-“i fear that i am no scholar, sir. but i know what writers every gentleman ought to respect.”
-the subtle padre bowed gravely to this compliment.
-it was when his eyes caught sight of the music that the young man felt again at ease, and his vivacity returned to him. leaving his chair, he began enthusiastically to examine the tall piles that filled one side of the room. the volumes lay richly everywhere, making a pleasant disorder; and as perfume comes out of a flower, memories of singers and chandeliers rose bright from the printed names. “norma,” “tancredi,” “don pasquale,” “la vestale”--dim lights in the fashions of to-day--sparkled upon the exploring gaston, conjuring the radiant halls of europe before him. “'the barber of seville!'” he presently exclaimed. “and i happened to hear it in seville.”
-but seville's name brought over the padre a new rush of home thoughts. “is not andalusia beautiful?” he said. “did you see it in april, when the flowers come?”
-“yes,” said gaston, among the music. “i was at cordova then.”
-“ah, cordova!” murmured the padre.
-“'semiramide!'” cried gaston, lighting upon that opera. “that was a week! i should like to live it over, every day and night of it!”
-“did you reach malaga from marseilles or gibraltar?” said the padre, wistfully.
-“from marseilles. down from paris through the rhone valley, you know.”
-“then you saw provence! and did you go, perhaps, from avignon to nismes by the pont du gard? there is a place i have made here--a little, little place--with olive-trees. and now they have grown, and it looks something like that country, if you stand in a particular position. i will take you there to-morrow. i think you will understand what i mean.”
-“another resemblance!” said the volatile and happy gaston. “we both seem to have an eye for them. but, believe me, padre, i could never stay here planting olives. i should go back and see the original ones--and then i'd hasten up to paris.” and, with a volume of meyerbeer open in his hand, gaston hummed: “'robert, robert, toi que j'aime.' why, padre, i think that your library contains none of the masses and all of the operas in the world!”
-“i will make you a little confession,” said padre ignazio, “and then you shall give me a little absolution.”
-“with a penance,” said gaston. “you must play over some of these things to me.”
-“i suppose that i could not permit myself this indulgence,” began the padre, pointing to his operas; “and teach these to my choir, if the people had any worldly associations with the music. but i have reasoned that the music cannot do them harm--”
-the ringing of a bell here interrupted him. “in fifteen minutes,” he said, “our poor meal will be ready for you.” the good padre was not quite sincere when he spoke of a poor meal. while getting the aguardiente for his guest he had given orders, and he knew how well such orders could be carried out. he lived alone, and generally supped simply enough, but not even the ample table at san fernando could surpass his own on occasions. and this was for him an occasion indeed!
-“your half-breeds will think i am one of themselves,” said gaston, showing his dusty clothes. “i am not fit to be seated with you.” he, too, was not more sincere than his host. in his pack, which an indian had brought from his horse, he carried some garments of civilization. and presently, after fresh water and not a little painstaking with brush and scarf, there came back to the padre a young guest whose elegance and bearing and ease of the great world were to the exiled priest as sweet as was his traveled conversation.
-they repaired to the hall and took their seats at the head of the long table. for the stately spanish centuries of custom lived at santa ysabel del mar, inviolate, feudal, remote.
-they were the only persons of quality present; and between themselves and the gente de razon a space intervened. behind the padre's chair stood an indian to wait upon him, and another stood behind the chair of gaston villere. each of these servants wore one single white garment, and offered the many dishes to the gente fina and refilled their glasses. at the lower end of the table a general attendant waited upon the mesclados--the half-breeds. there was meat with spices, and roasted quail, with various cakes and other preparations of grain; also the black fresh olives, and grapes, with several sorts of figs and plums, and preserved fruits, and white and red wine--the white fifty years old. beneath the quiet shining of candles, fresh-cut flowers leaned from vessels of old mexican and spanish make.
-there at one end of this feast sat the wild, pastoral, gaudy company, speaking little over their food; and there at the other the pale padre, questioning his visitor about rachel. the mere name of a street would bring memories crowding to his lips; and when his guest would tell him of a new play, he was ready with old quotations from the same author. alfred de vigny they had, and victor hugo, whom the padre disliked. long after the dulce, or sweet dish, when it was the custom for the vaqueros and the rest of the retainers to rise and leave the gente fina to themselves, the host sat on in the empty hall, fondly telling the guest of his bygone paris, and fondly learning of the paris that was to-day. and thus the two lingered, exchanging their fervors, while the candles waned, and the long-haired indians stood silent behind the chairs.
-“but we must go to my piano,” the host exclaimed. for at length they had come to a lusty difference of opinion. the padre, with ears critically deaf, and with smiling, unconvinced eyes, was shaking his head, while young gaston sang “trovatore” at him, and beat upon the table with a fork.
-“come and convert me, then,” said padre ignazio, and he led the way. “donizetti i have always admitted. there, at least, is refinement. if the world has taken to this verdi, with his street-band music--but there, now! sit down and convert me. only don't crush my poor little erard with verdi's hoofs. i brought it when i came. it is behind the times too. and, oh, my dear boy, our organ is still worse. so old, so old! to get a proper one i would sacrifice even this piano of mine in a moment--only the tinkling thing is not worth a sou to anybody except its master. but there! are you quite comfortable?” and having seen to his guest's needs, and placed spirits and cigars and an ash-tray within his reach, the padre sat himself luxuriously in his chair to hear and expose the false doctrine of “il trovatore.”
-by midnight all of the opera that gaston could recall had been played and sung twice. the convert sat in his chair no longer, but stood singing by the piano. the potent swing and flow of tunes, the torrid, copious inspiration of the south, mastered him. “verdi has grown,” he cried. “verdi has become a giant.” and he swayed to the beat of the melodies, and waved an enthusiastic arm. he demanded every crumb. why did not gaston remember it all? but if the barkentine would arrive and bring the whole music, then they would have it right! and he made gaston teach him what words he knew.“'non ti scordar,'” he sang--“'non ti scordar di me.' that is genius. but one sees how the world; moves when one is out of it. 'a nostri monti ritorneremo'; home to our mountains. ah, yes, there is genius again.” and the exile sighed and his spirit went to distant places, while gaston continued brilliantly with the music of the final scene.
-then the host remembered his guest. “i am ashamed of my selfishness,” he said. “it is already to-morrow.”
-“i have sat later in less good company,” answered the pleasant gaston. “and i shall sleep all the sounder for making a convert.”
-“you have dispensed roadside alms,” said the padre, smiling. “and that should win excellent dreams.”
-thus, with courtesies more elaborate than the world has time for at the present day, they bade each other good-night and parted, bearing their late candles along the quiet halls of the mission. to young gaston in his bed easy sleep came without waiting, and no dreams at all. outside his open window was the quiet, serene darkness, where the stars shone clear, and tranquil perfumes hung in the cloisters. and while the guest lay sleeping all night in unchanged position like a child, up and down between the oleanders went padre ignazio, walking until dawn.
-day showed the ocean's surface no longer glassy, but lying like a mirror breathed upon; and there between the short headlands came a sail, gray and plain against the flat water. the priest watched through his glasses, and saw the gradual sun grow strong upon the canvas of the barkentine. the message from his world was at hand, yet to-day he scarcely cared so much. sitting in his garden yesterday he could never have imagined such a change. but his heart did not hail the barkentine as usual. books, music, pale paper, and print--this was all that was coming to him, and some of its savor had gone; for the siren voice of life had been speaking with him face to face, and in his spirit, deep down, the love of the world was restlessly answering that call. young gaston showed more eagerness than the padre over this arrival of the vessel that might be bringing “trovatore” in the nick of time. now he would have the chance, before he took his leave, to help rehearse the new music with the choir. he would be a missionary too. a perfectly new experience.
-“and you still forgive verdi the sins of his youth?” he said to his host. “i wonder if you could forgive mine?”
-“verdi has left his behind him,” retorted the padre.
-“but i am only twenty-five,” explained gaston, pathetically.
-“ah, don't go away soon!” pleaded the exile. it was the plainest burst that had escaped him, and he felt instant shame.
-but gaston was too much elated with the enjoyment of each new day to understand. the shafts of another's pain might scarcely pierce the bright armor of his gayety. he mistook the priest's exclamation for anxiety about his own happy soul.
-“stay here under your care?” he said. “it would do me no good, padre. temptation sticks closer to me than a brother!” and he gave that laugh of his which disarmed severer judges than his host. “by next week i should have introduced some sin or other into your beautiful garden of ignorance here. it will be much safer for your flock if i go and join the other serpents at san francisco.”
-soon after breakfast the padre had his two mules saddled, and he and his guest set forth down the hills together to the shore. and beneath the spell and confidence of pleasant, slow riding, and the loveliness of everything, the young man talked freely of himself.
-“and, seriously,” said he, “if i missed nothing else at santa ysabel, i should long to hear the birds. at home our gardens are full of them, and one smells the jasmine, and they sing and sing! when our ship from the isthmus put into san diego, i decided to go on by land and see california. then, after the first days, i began to miss something. all that beauty seemed empty, in a way. and suddenly i found it was the birds. for these little scampering quail are nothing. there seems a sort of death in the air where no birds ever sing.”
-“you will not find any birds at san francisco,” said the padre.
-“i shall find life!” exclaimed gaston. “and my fortune at the mines, i hope. i am not a bad fellow, father. you can easily guess all the things that i do. i have never, to my knowledge, harmed any one. i did not even try to kill my adversary in an affair of honor. i gave him a mere flesh wound, and by this time he must be quite recovered. he was my friend. but as he came between me--”
-gaston stopped; and the padre, looking keenly at him, saw the violence that he had noticed in church pass like a flame over the young man's handsome face.
-“there's nothing dishonorable,” said gaston, answering the priest's look.
-“i have not thought so, my son.”
-“i did what every gentleman would do,” said gaston.
-“and that is often wrong!” cried the padre. “but i'm not your confessor.”
-“i've nothing to confess,” said gaston, frankly. “i left new orleans at once, and have travelled an innocent journey straight to you. and when i make my fortune i shall be in a position to return and--”
-“claim the pressed flower!” put in the padre, laughing.
-“ah, you remember how those things are!” said gaston; and he laughed also and blushed.
-“yes,” said the padre, looking at the anchored barkentine, “i remember how those things are.” and for a while the vessel and its cargo and the landed men and various business and conversations occupied them. but the freight for the mission once seen to, there was not much else to hang about here for.
-the barkentine was only a coaster like many others which now had begun to fill the sea a little more of late years, and presently host and guest were riding homeward. and guessing at the two men from their outsides, any one would have got them precisely wrong; for within the turbulent young figure of gaston dwelt a spirit that could not be more at ease, while revolt was steadily smouldering beneath the schooled and placid mask of the padre.
-yet still the strangeness of his being at such a place came back as a marvel into the young man's lively mind. twenty years in prison, he thought, and hardly aware of it! and he glanced at the silent priest. a man so evidently fond of music, of theatres, of the world, to whom pressed flowers had meant something once--and now contented to bleach upon these wastes! not even desirous of a brief holiday, but finding an old organ and some old operas enough recreation! “it is his age, i suppose,” thought gaston. and then the notion of himself when he should be sixty occurred to him, and he spoke.
-“do you know, i do not believe,” said he, “that i should ever reach such contentment as yours.”
-“perhaps you will,” said padre ignazio, in a low voice.
-“never!” declared the youth. “it comes only to the few, i am sure.”
-“yes. only to the few,” murmured the padre.
-“i am certain that it must be a great possession,” gaston continued; “and yet--and yet--dear me! life is a splendid thing!”
-“there are several sorts of it,” said the padre.
-“only one for me!” cried gaston. “action, men, women, things--to be there, to be known, to play a part, to sit in the front seats; to have people tell each other, 'there goes gaston villere!' and to deserve one's prominence. why, if i were padre of santa ysabel del mar for twenty years--no! for one year--do you know what i should have done? some day it would have been too much for me. i should have left these savages to a pastor nearer their own level, and i should have ridden down this canyon upon my mule, and stepped on board the barkentine, and gone back to my proper sphere. you will understand, sir, that i am far from venturing to make any personal comment. i am only thinking what a world of difference lies between men's natures who can feel alike as we do upon so many subjects. why, not since leaving new orleans have i met any one with whom i could talk, except of the weather and the brute interests common to us all. that such a one as you should be here is like a dream.”
-“but it is not a dream,” said the padre.
-“and, sir--pardon me if i do say this--are you not wasted at santa ysabel del mar? i have seen the priests at the other missions they are--the sort of good men that i expected. but are you needed to save such souls as these?”
-“there is no aristocracy of souls,” said the padre, almost whispering now.
-“but the body and the mind!” cried gaston. “my god, are they nothing? do you think that they are given to us for nothing but a trap? you cannot teach such a doctrine with your library there. and how about all the cultivated men and women away from whose quickening society the brightest of us grow numb? you have held out. but will it be for long? do you not owe yourself to the saving of higher game henceforth? are not twenty years of mesclados enough? no, no!” finished young gaston, hot with his unforeseen eloquence; “i should ride down some morning and take the barkentine.”
-padre ignazio was silent for a space.
-“i have not offended you?” said the young man.
-“no. anything but that. you are surprised that i should--choose--to stay here. perhaps you may have wondered how i came to be here at all?”
-“i had not intended any impertinent--”
-“oh no. put such an idea out of your head, my son. you may remember that i was going to make you a confession about my operas. let us sit down in this shade.”
-so they picketed the mules near the stream and sat down.
-“you have seen,” began padre ignazio, “what sort of a man i--was once. indeed, it seems very strange to myself that you should have been here not twenty-four hours yet, and know so much of me. for there has come no one else at all”--the padre paused a moment and mastered the unsteadiness that he had felt approaching in his voice--“there has been no one else to whom i have talked so freely. in my early days i had no thought of being a priest. my parents destined me for a diplomatic career. there was plenty of money and--and all the rest of it; for by inheritance came to me the acquaintance of many people whose names you would be likely to have heard of. cities, people of fashion, artists--the whole of it was my element and my choice; and by-and-by i married, not only where it was desirable, but where i loved. then for the first time death laid his staff upon my enchantment, and i understood many things that had been only words to me hitherto. looking back, it seemed to me that i had never done anything except for myself all my days. i left the world. in due time i became a priest and lived in my own country. but my worldly experience and my secular education had given to my opinions a turn too liberal for the place where my work was laid. i was soon advised concerning this by those in authority over me. and since they could not change me and i could not change them, yet wished to work and to teach, the new world was suggested, and i volunteered to give the rest of my life to missions. it was soon found that some one was needed here, and for this little place i sailed, and to these humble people i have dedicated my service. they are pastoral creatures of the soil. their vineyard and cattle days are apt to be like the sun and storm around them--strong alike in their evil and in their good. all their years they live as children--children with men's passions given to them like deadly weapons, unable to measure the harm their impulses may bring. hence, even in their crimes, their hearts will generally open soon to the one great key of love, while civilization makes locks which that key cannot always fit at the first turn. and coming to know this,” said padre ignazio, fixing his eyes steadily upon gaston, “you will understand how great a privilege it is to help such people, and hour the sense of something accomplished--under god--should bring contentment with renunciation.”
-“yes,” said gaston villere. then, thinking of himself, “i can understand it in a man like you.”
-“do not speak of me at all!” exclaimed the padre, almost passionately. “but pray heaven that you may find the thing yourself some day --contentment with renunciation--and never let it go.”
-“amen!” said gaston, strangely moved.
-the new opera, however, had duly arrived. and as he turned its pages padre ignazio was quick to seize at once upon the music that could be taken into his church. some of it was ready fitted. by that afternoon felipe and his choir could have rendered “ah! se l'error t' ingombra” without slip or falter.
-those were strange rehearsals of “il trovatore” upon this california shore. for the padre looked to gaston to say when they went too fast or too slow, and to correct their emphasis. and since it was hot, the little erard piano was carried each day out into the mission garden. there, in the cloisters among the oleanders, in the presence of the tall yellow hills and the blue triangle of sea, the “miserere” was slowly learned. the mexicans and indians gathered, swarthy and black-haired, around the tinkling instrument that felipe played; and presiding over them were young gaston and the pale padre, walking up and down the paths, beating time, or singing now one part and now another. and so it was that the wild cattle on the uplands would hear “trovatore” hummed by a passing vaquero, while the same melody was filling the streets of the far-off world.
-for three days gaston villere remained at santa ysabel del mar; and though not a word of the sort came from him, his host could read san francisco and the gold-mines in his countenance. no, the young man could not have stayed here for twenty years! and the padre forbore urging his guest to extend his visit.
-“but the world is small,” the guest declared at parting. “some day it will not be able to spare you any longer. and then we are sure to meet. and you shall hear from me soon, at any rate.”
-again, as upon the first evening, the two exchanged a few courtesies, more graceful and particular than we, who have not time, and fight no duels, find worth a man's while at the present day. for duels are gone, which is a very good thing, and with them a certain careful politeness, which is a pity; but that is the way in the general profit and loss. so young gaston rode northward out of the mission, back to the world and his fortune; and the padre stood watching the dust after the rider had passed from sight. then he went into his room with a drawn face. but appearances at least had been kept up to the end; the youth would never know of the old man's discontent.
-temptation had arrived with gaston, but was going to make a longer stay at santa ysabel del mar. yet it was something like a week before the priest knew what guest he had in his house now. the guest was not always present--made himself scarce quite often.
-sail away on the barkentine? that was a wild notion, to be sure, although fit enough to enter the brain of such a young scapegrace. the padre shook his head and smiled affectionately when he thought of gaston villere. the youth's handsome, reckless countenance would come before him, and he repeated auber's old remark, “is it the good lord, or is it merely the devil, that always makes me have a weakness for rascals?”
-sail away on the barkentine! imagine taking leave of the people here--of felipe! in what words should he tell the boy to go on industriously with his music? no, this could not be imagined. the mere parting alone would make it forever impossible that he should think of such a thing. “and then,” he said to himself each new morning, when he looked out at the ocean, “i have given my life to them. one does not take back a gift.”
-pictures of his departure began to shine and melt in his drifting fancy. he saw himself explaining to felipe that now his presence was wanted elsewhere; that there would come a successor to take care of santa ysabel--a younger man, more useful, and able to visit sick people at a distance. “for i am old now. i should not be long here in any case.” he stopped and pressed his hands together; he had caught his temptation in the very act. now he sat staring at his temptation's face, close to him, while there in the triangle two ships went sailing by.
-one morning felipe told him that the barkentine was here on its return voyage south. “indeed?” said the padre, coldly. “the things are ready to go, i think.” for the vessel called for mail and certain boxes that the mission sent away. felipe left the room, in wonder at the padre's manner. but the priest was laughing alone inside to see how little it was to him where the barkentine was, or whether it should be coming or going. but in the afternoon, at his piano, he found himself saying, “other ships call here, at any rate.” and then for the first time he prayed to be delivered from his thoughts. yet presently he left his seat and looked out of the window for a sight of the barkentine; but it was gone.
-the season of the wine-making passed, and the putting up of all the fruits that the mission fields grew. lotions and medicines were distilled from the garden herbs. perfume was manufactured from the petals of the flowers and certain spices, and presents of it despatched to san fernando and ventura, and to friends at other places; for the padre had a special receipt. as the time ran on, two or three visitors passed a night with him; and presently there was a word at various missions that padre ignazio had begun to show his years. at santa ysabel del mar they whispered, “the padre is getting sick.” yet he rode a great deal over the hills by himself, and down the canyon very often, stopping where he had sat with gaston, to sit alone and look up and down, now at the hills above, and now at the ocean below. among his parishioners he had certain troubles to soothe, certain wounds to heal; a home from which he was able to drive jealousy; a girl whom he bade her lover set right. but all said, “the padre is sick.” and felipe told them that the music seemed nothing to him any more; he never asked for his dixit dominus nowadays. then for a short time he was really in bed, feverish with the two voices that spoke to him without ceasing. “you have given your life,” said one voice. “and therefore,” said the other, “have earned the right to go home and die.” “you are winning better rewards in the service of god,” said the first voice. “god can be served in other places than this,” answered the second. as he lay listening he saw seville again, and the trees of aranhal, where he had been born. the wind was blowing through them; and in their branches he could hear the nightingales. “empty! empty!” he said, aloud. “he was right about the birds. death does live in the air where they never sing.” and he lay for two days and nights hearing the wind and the nightingales in the trees of aranhal. but felipe, watching, heard only the padre crying through the hours: “empty! empty!”
-then the wind in the trees died down, and the padre could get out of bed, and soon could be in the garden. but the voices within him still talked all the while as he sat watching the sails when they passed between the headlands. their words, falling forever the same way, beat his spirit sore, like bruised flesh. if he could only change what they said, he could rest.
-“has the padre any mail for santa barbara?” said felipe. “the ship bound southward should be here to-morrow.”
-“i will attend to it,” said the priest, not moving. and felipe stole away.
-at felipe's words the voices had stopped, a clock done striking. silence, strained like expectation, filled the padre's soul. but in place of the voices came old sights of home again, the waving trees at aranhal; then would be rachel for a moment, declaiming tragedy while a houseful of faces that he knew by name watched her; and through all the panorama rang the pleasant laugh of gaston. for a while in the evening the padre sat at his erard playing “trovatore.” later, in his sleepless bed he lay, saying now a then: “to die at home! surely i may granted at least this.” and he listened for the inner voices. but they were not speaking any more, and the black hole of silence grew more dreadful to him than their arguments. then the dawn came in at his window, and he lay watching its gray grow warm into color, us suddenly he sprang from his bed and looked the sea. the southbound ship was coming. people were on board who in a few weeks would be sailing the atlantic, while he would stand here looking out of the same window. “merciful god!” he cried, sinking on knees. “heavenly father, thou seest this evil in my heart. thou knowest that my weak hand cannot pluck it out. my strength is breaking, and still thou makest my burden heavier than i can bear.” he stopped, breathless and trembling. the same visions were flitting across his closed eyes; the same silence gaped like a dry crater in his soul. “there is no help in earth or heaven,” he said, very quietly; and he dressed himself.
-it was so early still that none but a few of the indians were stirring, and one of them saddled the padre's mule. felipe was not yet awake, and for a moment it came in the priest's mind to open the boy's door softly, look at him once more, and come away. but this he did not do, nor even take a farewell glance at the church and organ. he bade nothing farewell, but, turning his back upon his room and his garden, rode down the caution.
-the vessel lay at anchor, and some one had landed from her and was talking with other men on the shore. seeing the priest slowly coming, this stranger approached to meet him.
-“you are connected with the mission here?” he inquired.
-“perhaps it is with you that gaston villere stopped?”
-“the young man from new orleans? yes. i am padre ignazio.”
-“then you will save me a journey. i promised him to deliver these into your own hands.”
-the stranger gave them to him.
-“a bag of gold-dust,” he explained, “and a letter. i wrote it from his dictation while he was dying. he lived scarcely an hour afterwards.”
-the stranger bowed his head at the stricken cry which his news elicited from the priest, who, after a few moments vain effort to speak, opened the letter and read:
-“my dear friend,--it is through no man's fault but mine that i have come to this. i have had plenty of luck, and lately have been counting the days until i should return home. but last night heavy news from new orleans reached me, and i tore the pressed flower to pieces. under the first smart and humiliation of broken faith i was rendered desperate, and picked a needless quarrel. thank god, it is i who have the punishment. my dear friend, as i lie here, leaving a world that no man ever loved more, i have come to understand you. for you and your mission have been much in my thoughts. it is strange how good can be done, not at the time when it is intended, but afterwards; and you have done this good to me. i say over your words, contentment with renunciation, and believe that at this last hour i have gained something like what you would wish me to feel. for i do not think that i desire it otherwise now. my life would never have been of service, i am afraid. you are the last person in this world who has spoken serious words to me, and i want you to know that now at length i value the peace of santa ysabel as i could never have done but for seeing your wisdom and goodness. you spoke of a new organ for your church. take the gold-dust that will reach you with this, and do what you will with it. let me at least in dying have helped some one. and since there is no aristocracy in souls--you said that to me; do you remember?--perhaps you will say a mass for this departing soul of mine. i only wish, since my body must go underground in a strange country, that it might have been at santa ysabel del mar, where your feet would often pass.”
-“'at santa ysabel del mar, where your feet would often pass.'” the priest repeated this final sentence aloud, without being aware of it.
-“those are the last words he ever spoke,” said the stranger, “except bidding good-bye to me.”
-“you knew him well, then?”
-“no; not until after he was hurt. i'm the man he quarrelled with.”
-the priest looked at the ship that would sail onward this afternoon. then a smile of great beauty passed over his face, and he addressed the stranger. “i thank you,” said he. “you will never know what you have done for me.”
-“it is nothing,” answered the stranger, awkwardly. “he told me you set great store on a new organ.”
-padre ignazio turned away from the ship and rode back through the gorge. when he reached the shady place where once he had sat with gaston villere, he dismounted and again sat there, alone by the stream, for many hours. long rides and outings had been lately so much his custom, that no one thought twice of his absence; and when he returned to the mission in the afternoon, the indian took his mule, and he went to his seat in the garden. but it was with another look that he watched the sea; and presently the sail moved across the blue triangle, and soon it had rounded the headland. gaston's first coming was in the padre's mind; and as the vespers bell began to ring in the cloistered silence, a fragment of auber's plaintive tune passed like a sigh across his memory:
-but for the repose of gaston's soul they sang all that he had taught them of “il trovatore.”
-thus it happened that padre ignazio never went home, but remained cheerful master of the desires to do so that sometimes visited him, until the day came when he was called altogether away from this world, and “passed beyond these voices, where is peace.”
-a book of exposition
-homer heath nugent
-laflin instructor in english at the rensselaer polytechnic institute
-it is a pleasure to acknowledge indebtedness to my wife for assistance in editing and to dr. ray palmer baker, head of the department of english at the institute, for suggestions and advice without which this collection would hardly have been made.
-the exposition of a mechanism the levers or the human body. sir arthur keith
-the exposition of a machine the mergenthaler linotype. philip t. dodge
-the exposition of a process in nature the pea weevil. jean henri fabre. translated by bernard miall
-the exposition of a manufacturing process modern paper-making. j. w. butler paper company
-the exposition of an idea the gospel of relaxation. william james science and religion. charles proteus steinmetz
-biographical and critical notes
-the articles here presented are modern and unhackneyed. selected primarily as models for teaching the methods of exposition employed in the explanation of mechanisms, processes, and ideas, they are nevertheless sufficiently representative of certain tendencies in science to be of intrinsic value. indeed, each author is a recognized authority.
-another feature is worthy of mention. although the material covers so wide a field--anatomy, zoölogy, physics, psychology, and applied science--that the collection will appeal to instructors in every type of college and technical school, the selections are related in such a way as to produce an impression of unity. this relation is apparent between the first selection, which deals with the student's body, and the third, which deals with another organism in nature. the second and fourth selections deal with kindred aspects of modern industry--the manufacture of paper and the linotype machine, by which it is used. the fifth selection is a protest against certain developments of the industrial regime; the last, an attempt to reconcile the spirit of science with that of religion. while monotony has been avoided, the essays form a distinct unit.
-in most cases, selections are longer than usual, long enough in fact to introduce a student to each field. as a result, he can be made to feel that every subject is of importance and to realize that every chapter contains a fund of valuable information. instead of confusing him by having him read twenty selections in, let us say, six weeks, it is possible by assigning but six in the same period, to impress him definitely with each.
-the text-book machinery has been sequestered in the biographical and critical notes at the end of the book. their character and position are intended to permit instructors freedom of treatment. some may wish to test a student's ability in the use of reference books by having him report on allusions. some may wish to explain these themselves. a few may find my experience helpful. for them suggestions are included in the critical notes. in general, i have assumed that instructors will prefer their own methods and have tried to leave them unhampered.
-the exposition of a mechanism
-sir arthur keith
-in all the foregoing chapters we have been considering only the muscular engines of the human machine, counting them over and comparing their construction and their mechanism with those of the internal-combustion engine of a motor cycle. but of the levers or crank-pins through which muscular engines exert their power we have said nothing hitherto. nor shall we get any help by now spending time on the levers of a motor cycle. we have already confessed that they are arranged in a way which is quite different from that which we find in the human machine. in the motor cycle all the levers are of that complex kind which are called wheels, and the joints at which these levers work are also circular, for the joints of a motor cycle are the surfaces between the axle and the bushes, which have to be kept constantly oiled. no, we freely admit that the systems of levers in the human machine are quite unlike those of a motor cycle. they are more simple, and it is easy to find in our bodies examples of all the three orders of levers. the joints at which bony levers meet and move on each other are very different from those we find in motor cycles. indeed, i must confess they are not nearly so simple. and, lastly, i must not forget to mention another difference. these levers we are going to study are living--at least, are so densely inhabited by myriads of minute bone builders that we must speak of them as living. i want to lay emphasis on that fact because i did not insist enough on the living nature of muscular engines.
-we are all well acquainted with levers. we apply them every day. a box arrives with its lid nailed down; we take a chisel, use it as a lever, pry the lid open, and see no marvel in what we have done (fig. 1). and yet we thereby did with ease what would have been impossible for us even if we had put out the whole of our unaided strength. the use of levers is an old discovery; more than 1500 years before christ, englishmen, living on salisbury plain, applied the invention when they raised the great stones at stonehenge and at avebury; more than 2000 years earlier still, egyptians employed it in raising the pyramids. even at that time men had made great progress; they were already reaping the rewards of discoveries and inventions. but none, i am sure, surprised them more than the discovery of the lever; by its use one man could exert the strength of a hundred men. they soon observed that levers could be used in three different ways. the instance already given, the prying open of a lid by using a chisel as a lever, is an example of one way (fig. 1); it is then used as a lever of the first order. now in the first order, one end of the lever is applied to the point of resistance, which in the case just mentioned was the lid of the box. at the other end we apply our strength, force, or power. the edge of the box against which the chisel is worked serves as a fulcrum and lies between the handle where the power is applied and the bevelled edge which moves the resistance or weight. a pair of ordinary weighing scales also exemplifies the first order of levers. the knife edge on which the beam is balanced serves as a fulcrum; it is placed exactly in the middle of the beam, which we shall suppose to be 10 inches long. if we place a 1-lb. weight in one scale to represent the resistance to be overcome, the weight will be lifted the moment that a pound of sugar has been placed in the opposite scale--the sugar thus representing the power. if, however, we move the knife-edge or fulcrum so that it is only 1 inch from the sugar end of the beam and 9 inches from the weight end, then we find that we have to pour in 9 lb. of sugar to equalise the 1-lb. weight. the chisel used in prying open the box lid was 10 inches long; it was pushed under the lid for a distance of 1 inch, leaving 9 inches for use as a power lever. by using a lever in this way, we increased our strength ninefold. the longer we make the power arm, the nearer we push the fulcrum towards the weight or resistance end, the greater becomes our power. this we shall find is a discovery which nature made use of many millions of years ago in fashioning the body of man and of beast. when we apply our force to the long end of a lever, we increase our power. we may also apply it, as nature has done in our bodies, for another purpose. we have just noted that if the weight end of the beam of a pair of scales is nine times the length of the sugar end, that a 1-lb. weight will counterpoise 9 lb. of sugar. we also see that the weight scale moves at nine times the speed of the sugar scale. now it often happens that nature wants to increase, not the power, but the speed with which a load is lifted. in that case the "sugar scale" is placed at the long end of the beam and the "weight scale" at the short end; it then takes a 9-lb. weight to raise a single pound of sugar, but the sugar scale moves with nine times the speed of the weight scale. nature often sacrifices power to obtain speed. the arm is used as a lever of this kind when a cricket ball is thrown.
-nothing could look less like a pair of scales than a man's head or skull, and yet when we watch how it is poised and the manner in which it is moved, we find that it, too, acts as a lever of the first order. the fulcrum on which it moves is the atlas--the first vertebra of the spine (fig. 2). when a man stands quite erect, with the head well thrown back, the ear passages are almost directly over the fulcrum. it will be convenient to call that part of the head which is behind the ear passages the post-fulcral, and the part which is in front the pre-fulcral. now the face is attached to the pre-fulcral part of the lever and represents the weight or load to be moved, while the muscles of the neck, which represent the power, are yoked to the post-fulcral end of the lever. the hinder part of the head serves as a crank-pin for seven pairs of neck muscles, but in fig. 2 only the chief pair is drawn, known as the complex muscles. when that pair is set in action, the post-fulcral end of the head lever is tilted downwards, while the pre-fulcral end, on which the face is set, is turned upwards.
-the complex muscles thus tilt the head backwards and the face upwards, but where are the muscles which serve as their opponents or antagonists and reverse the movement? in a previous chapter it has been shown that every muscle has to work against an opponent or antagonist muscle. here we seem to come across a defect in the human machine, for the greater straight muscles in the front of the neck, which serve as opposing muscles, are not only much smaller but at a further disadvantage by being yoked to the pre-fulcral end of the lever, very close to the cup on which the head rocks. however, if the greater straight muscles lose power by working on a very short lever, they gain, in speed; we set them quickly and easily into action when we give a nod of recognition. all the strength or power is yoked to the post-fulcral end of the head; the pre-fulcral end of its lever is poorly guarded. japanese wrestlers know this fact very well, and seek to gain victory by pressing up the poorly guarded pre-fulcral lever of the head, thus producing a deadly lock at the fulcral joint. indeed, it will be found that those who use the jiu-jitsu method of fighting have discovered a great deal about the construction and weaknesses of the levers of the human body.
-merely to poise the head on the atlas may seem to you as easy a matter as balancing the beam of a pair of scales on an upright support. i am now going to show that a great number of difficulties had to be overcome before our heads could be safely poised on our necks. the head had to be balanced in such a way that through the pivot or joint on which it rests a safe passageway could be secured for one of the most delicate and most important of all the parts or structures of the human machine. we have never found a good english name for this structure, so we use its clumsy latin one--medulla oblongata--or medulla for short. in the medulla are placed offices or centres which regulate the vital operations carried on by the heart and by the lungs. it has also to serve as a passageway for thousands of delicate gossamer-like nerve fibres passing from the brain, which fills the whole chamber of the skull, to the spinal cord, situated in the canal of the backbone. by means of these delicate fibres the brain dispatches messages which control the muscular engines of the limbs and trunk. through it, too, ascend countless fibres along which messages pass from the limbs and trunk to the brain. in creating a movable joint for the head, then, a safe passage had to be obtained for the medulla--that part of the great nerve stem which joins the brain to the spinal cord. the medulla is part of the brain stem.
-this was only one of the difficulties which had to be overcome. the eyes are set on the pre-fulcral lever of the head. for our safety we must be able to look in all directions--over this shoulder or that. we must also be able to turn our heads so that our ears may discover in which direction a sound is reaching us. in fashioning a fulcral joint for the head, then, two different objects had to be secured: free mobility for the head, and a safe transit for the medullary part of the brain stem. how well these objects have been attained is known to all of us, for we can move our heads in the freest manner and suffer no damage whatsoever. indeed, so strong and perfect is the joint that damage to it is one of the most uncommon accidents of life.
-let us see, then, how this triumph in engineering has been secured. in her inventive moods nature always hits on the simplest plan possible. in this case she adopted a ball-and-socket joint--the kind by which older astronomers mounted their telescopes. by such a joint the telescope becomes, just as the head is, a lever of the first order. the eyeglass is placed at one end of the lever, while the object-glass, which can be swept across the face of the heavens, is placed at the other or more distant end. in the human body the first vertebra of the backbone--the atlas--is trimmed to form a socket, while an adjacent part of the base of the skull is shaped to play the part of ball. the kind of joint to be used having been hit upon, the next point was to secure a safe passage for the brain stem. that, too, was worked out in the simplest fashion. the central parts of both ball and socket were cut away, or, to state the matter more exactly, were never formed. thus a passage was obtained right through the centre of the fulcral joint of the head. the centre of the joint was selected because when a lever is set in motion the part at the fulcrum moves least, and the medulla, being placed at that point, is least exposed to disturbance when we bend our heads backwards, forwards, or from side to side. when we examine the base of the skull, all that we see of the ball of the joint are two knuckles of bone (fig. 3, a), covered by smooth slippery cartilage or gristle, to which anatomists give the name of occipital condyles. if we were to try to complete the ball, of which they form a part, we should close up the great opening--the foramen magnum--which provides a passageway for the brain stem on its way to the spinal canal. all that is to be seen of the socket or cup is two hollows on the upper surface of the atlas into which the occipital condyles fit (fig. 3, b). merely two parts of the brim of the cup have been preserved to provide a socket for the condyles or ball.
-as we bend our heads, the occipital condyles revolve or glide on the sockets of the atlas. but what will happen if we roll our heads backwards to such an extent that the bony edge of the opening in the base of the skull is made to press hard against the brain stem and crush it? that, of course, would mean instant death. such an accident has been made impossible (1) by making the opening in the base of the skull so much larger than the brain stem that in extreme movements there can be no scissors-like action; (2) the muscles which move the head on the atlas arrest all movements long before the danger-point is reached; (3) even if the muscles are caught off their guard, as they sometimes are, certain strong ligaments--fastenings of tough fibres--are so set as automatically to jam the joint before the edge of the foramen can come in contact with the brain stem.
-these are only some of the devices which nature had to contrive in order to secure a safe passageway for the brain stem. but in obtaining safety for the brain stem, the movements of the head on the atlas had to be limited to mere nodding or side-to-side bending. the movements which are so necessary to us, that of turning our heads so that we can sweep our eyes along the whole stretch of the skyline from right to left, and from left to right, were rendered impossible. this defect was also overcome in a simple manner. the joints between the first and second vertebrae--the atlas and axis--were so modified that a turning movement could take place between them instead of between the atlas and skull. when we turn or rotate our heads, the atlas, carrying the skull upon it, swings or turns on the axis. when we search for the manner in which this has been accomplished, we see again that nature has made use of the simplest means at her disposal. when we examine a vertebra in the course of construction within an unborn animal, we see that it is really made up by the union of four parts (see fig. 4): a central block which becomes the "body" or supporting part; a right and a left arch which enclose a passage for the spinal cord; and, lastly, a fourth part in front of the central block which becomes big and strong only in the first vertebra--the atlas. when we look at the atlas (fig. 4), we see that it is merely a ring made up of three of the parts--the right and left arches and the fourth element,--but the body is missing. a glance at fig. 4, b, will show what has become of the body of the atlas. it has been joined to the central block of the second vertebra--the axis--and projects upwards within the front part of the ring of the atlas, and thus forms a pivot round which rotatory movements of the head can take place. here we have in the atlas an approach to the formation of a wheel--a wheel which has its axle or pivot placed at some distance from its centre, and therefore a complete revolution of the atlas is impossible. a battery of small muscles is attached to the lateral levers of the atlas and can swing it freely, and the head which it carries, a certain number of degrees to both right and left. the extent of the movements is limited by stout check ligaments. thus, by the simple expedient of allowing the body of the atlas to be stolen by the axis, a pivot was obtained round which the head could be turned on a horizontal plane.
-nature thus set up a double joint for the movements of the head, one between the atlas and axis for rotatory movements, another between the atlas and skull for nodding and side-to-side movements. and all these she increased by giving flexibility to the whole length of the neck. makers of modern telescopes have imitated the method nature invented when fixing the human head to the spine. their instruments are mounted with a double joint--one for movements in a horizontal plane, the other for movements in a vertical plane. we thus see that the young engineer, as well as the student of medicine, can learn something from the construction of the human body.
-in low forms of vertebrate animals like the fish and frog, the head is joined directly to the body, there being no neck.
-no matter what part of the human body we examine, we shall find that its mechanical work is performed by means of bony levers. having seen how the head is moved as a lever of the first order, we are now to choose a part which will show us the plan on which levers of the second order work, and there are many reasons why we should select the foot. it is a part which we are all familiar with; every day we can see it at rest and in action. the foot, as we have already noted, serves as a lever in walking. it is a bent or arched lever (fig. 6); when we stand on one foot, the whole weight of our body rests on the summit of the arch. we are thus going to deal with a lever of a complex kind.
-in using a chisel to pry open the lid of a box, we may use it as a lever either of the first or of the second order. we have already seen (fig. 1) that, in using it as a lever of the first order, we pushed the handle downwards, while the bevelled end was raised, forcing open the lid. the edge of the box served as a rest or fulcrum for the chisel. if, however, after inserting the bevelled edge under the lid, we raise the handle instead of depressing it, we change the chisel into a lever of the second order. the lid is not now forced up on the bevelled edge, but is raised on the side of the chisel, some distance from the bevelled edge, which thus comes to represent the fulcrum. by using a chisel in this way, we reverse the positions of the weight and fulcrum and turn it into a lever of the second order. suppose we push the side of the chisel--which is 10 inches long--under the lid to the extent of 1 inch, then the advantage we gain in power is as 1 to 10; we thereby increase our strength tenfold. if we push the chisel under the lid for half its length, then our advantage stands as 10 to 5; our strength is only doubled. if we push it still further for two-thirds of its length, then our gain in strength is only as 10 to 6.6; our power is increased by only one-third. now this has an important bearing on the problem we are going to investigate, for the weight of our body falls on the foot, so that only about one-third of the lever--that part of it which is formed by the heel--projects behind the point on which the weight of the body rests. the strength of the muscles which act on the heel will be increased only by about one-third.
-we have already seen that a double engine, made up of the gastrocnemius and soleus, is the power which is applied to the heel when we walk, and that the pad of the foot, lying across the sole in line with the ball of the great toe, serves as a fulcrum or rest. the weight of the body falls on the foot between the fulcrum in front and the power behind, as in a lever of the second order. we have explained why the power of the muscles of the calf is increased the more the weight of the body is shifted towards the toes, but it is also evident that the speed and the extent to which the body is lifted are diminished. if, however, the weight be shifted more towards the heel, the muscles of the calf, although losing in power, can lift their load more quickly and to a greater extent.
-we must look closely at the foot lever if we are to understand it. it is arched or bent; the front pillar of the arch stretches from the summit or keystone, where the weight of the body is poised, to the pad of the foot or fulcrum (fig. 6); the posterior pillar, projecting as the heel, extends from the summit to the point at which the muscular power is applied. a foot with a short anterior pillar and a long posterior pillar or heel is one designed for power, not speed. it is one which will serve a hill-climber well or a heavy, corpulent man. the opposite kind, one with a short heel and a long pillar in front, is well adapted for running and sprinting--for speed. now, we do find among the various races of mankind that some have been given long heels, such as the dark-skinned natives of africa and of australia, while other races have been given relatively short, stumpy heels, of which sort the natives of europe and of china may be cited as examples. with long heels less powerful muscular engines are required, and hence in dark races the calf of the leg is but ill developed, because the muscles which move the heel are small. we must admit, however, that the gait of dark-skinned races is usually easy and graceful. we europeans, on the other hand, having short heels, need more powerful muscles to move them, and hence our calves are usually well developed, but our gait is apt to be jerky.
-if we had the power to make our heels longer or shorter at will, we should be able, as is the case in a motor cycle, to alter our "speed-gear" according to the needs of the road. with a steep hill in front of us, we should adopt a long, slow, powerful heel; while going down an incline a short one would best suit our needs. with its four-change speed-gear a motor cycle seems better adapted for easy and economical travelling than the human machine. if, however, the human machine has no change of gear, it has one very marvellous mechanism--which we may call a compensatory mechanism, for want of a short, easy name. the more we walk, the more we go hill-climbing, the more powerful do the muscular engines of the heel become. it is quite different with the engine of a motor cycle; the more it is used, the more does it become worn out. it is because a muscular engine is living that it can respond to work by growing stronger and quicker.
-i have no wish to extol the human machine unduly, nor to run down the motor cycle because of certain defects. there is one defect, however, which is inherent in all motor machines which man has invented, but from which the human machine is almost completely free. we can illustrate the defect best by comparing the movements of the heel with those of the crank-pin of an engine. one serves as the lever by which the gastrocnemius helps to propel the body; the other serves the same purpose in the propulsion of a motor cycle. on referring to fig. 7, a, the reader will see that the piston-rod and the crank-pin are in a straight line; in such a position the engine is powerless to move the crank-pin until the flywheel is started, thus setting the crank-pin in motion. once started, the leverage increases, until the crank-pin stands at right angles to the piston-rod--a point of maximum power which is reached when the piston is in the position shown in fig. 7, b. then the leverage decreases until the second dead centre is reached (fig. 7, c); from that point the leverage is increased until the second maximum is reached (fig. 7, d), whereafter it decreases until the arrival at the first position completes the cycle. thus, in each revolution there are two points where all leverage or power is lost, points which are surmounted because of the momentum given by the flywheel. clearly we should get most out of an engine if it could be kept working near the points of maximum leverage--with the lever as nearly as possible at right angles to the crank-pin.
-now, we have seen that the tendon of achilles is the piston cord, and the heel the crank-pin, of the muscular engine represented by the gastrocnemius and soleus. in the standing posture the heel slopes downwards and backwards, and is thus in a position, as regards its piston cord, considerably beyond the point of maximum leverage. as the heel is lifted by the muscles, it gradually becomes horizontal and at right angles to its tendon or piston cord. as the heel rises, then, it becomes a more effective lever; the muscles gain in power. the more the foot is arched, the more obliquely is the heel set and the greater is the strength needed to start it moving. hence, races like the european and mongolian, which have short as well as steeply set heels, need large calf muscles. it is at the end of the upward stroke that the heel becomes most effective as a lever, and it is just then that we most need power to propel our bodies in a forward direction. it will be noted that the heel, unlike the crank-pin of an engine, never reaches, never even approaches, that point of powerlessness known to engineers as a dead centre. work is always performed within the limits of the most effective working radius of the lever. it is a law for all the levers of the body; they are set and moved in such a way as to avoid the occurrence of dead centres. think what our condition would have been were this not so; why, we should require revolving fly-wheels set in all our joints!
-another property is essential in a lever: it must be rigid; otherwise it will bend, and power will be lost. now, if the foot were a rigid lever, there would be missing two of its most useful qualities. it could no longer act as a spring or buffer to the body, nor could it adapt its sole to the various kinds of surfaces on which we have to tread or stand. nature, with her usual ingenuity, has succeeded in combining those opposing qualities--rigidity, suppleness, and elasticity or springiness--by resorting to her favorite device, the use of muscular engines. the arch is necessarily constructed of a number of bones which can move on each other to a certain extent, so that the foot may adapt itself to all kinds of roads and paths. it is true that the bones of the arch are loosely bound together by passive ties or ligaments, but as these cannot be lengthened or shortened at will, nature had to fall back on the use of muscular engines for the maintenance of the foot as an arched lever. some of these are shown in fig. 8. the foot, then, is a lever of a very remarkable kind; all the time we stand or walk, its rigidity, its power to serve as a lever, has to be maintained by an elaborate battery of muscular engines all kept constantly at work. no wonder our feet and legs become tired when we have to stand a great followed at a smart pace. the city was now waking to life. from their windows the sleepy inhabitants stared at the party, mostly too stupefied at that hour to recognise and salute their ruler. pot-bellied naked brown babies waddled on to the verandahs to gaze thumb in mouth at the riders. pariah dogs, nosing at the gutters and rubbish-heaps that scented the air, bolted out of the way of the horses' hoofs.
-as the sportsmen passed out of the city gates the sun was rising above the horizon, the terrible hot weather sun of india, whose advent ushers in the long hours of gasping, breathless heat. for a mile or so the route lay through fertile gardens and fields. then suddenly the cultivation ended abruptly on the edge of a sandy desert that, seamed with nullahs, or deep, steep-sided ravines, and dotted with tall clumps of thorny cactus, stretched away to the horizon. the road became a barely discernible track; but the two sowars cantered on, confidently heading for the spot where the fresh horses awaited the party.
-over the sand the riders swept, past a slow-plodding elephant lumbering back to the city with a load of fodder, by groups of tethered camels. hares started up in alarm and bounded away, grey partridges whirred up and yellow-beaked minas flew off chattering indignantly. the slight morning coolness soon vanished; and wargrave, soft and somewhat out of condition after his weeks of shipboard life, wiped his streaming face often before the guiding sowars threw up their hands in warning and vanished slowly from sight as their sure-footed horses picked their way down a steep nullah. this was the ravine in which the quarry hid. one after another of the riders followed the leaders down the narrow track, trotted across the sandy, rock-strewn river-bed and climbed up the far side to where the fresh horses and a picturesque mob of wild-looking beaters stood awaiting them.
-among the animals wargrave noticed a smart grey arab pony with a side-saddle.
-"i see mrs. norton intends coming out with us," observed the maharajah looking at the pony. "we must wait for her."
-"it won't be for long, sir," said raymond, pointing to a rising trail of dust on the track by which they had come. "i'll bet that is she."
-all turned to watch the approaching rider draw near, until they could see that it was a lady galloping furiously over the sand.
-"by jove, she can ride!" exclaimed wargrave admiringly. "i hope she'll see the nullah. she's heading straight for it."
-mrs. norton was a decidedly graceful and pretty woman. the rounded curves of her shapely figure were set off to advantage by her riding-costume. her eyes were especially attractive, greenish-grey eyes fringed by long black lashes under curved dark brows contrasting with the warm auburn tint of the hair that showed under her sunhat. her complexion was dazzlingly fair. her mouth was rather large and voluptuous with full red lips and even white teeth. bewitching dimples played in the pink cheeks. even from a man like wargrave, fresh from england and consequently more inclined to be critical of female beauty than were his comrades, who for many months had seen so few white women, mrs. norton's good looks could justly claim full meed of admiration and approval.
-accepting captain ross's aid she slipped lightly from her saddle to the ground and on foot looked as graceful as she did when mounted. raymond brought his friend to her and introduced him.
-holding out a small and shapely hand in a dainty leather gauntlet she said in a frank and pleasant manner:
-"how do you do, mr. wargrave? you are a fortunate person to have been in england so lately. i haven't seen it for nearly three years. weren't you sorry to leave it?"
-"not in the least, mrs. norton. i'd far sooner be doing this," he waved his hand towards the horses and the open desert, "than fooling about piccadilly and the park."
-"oh, but don't you miss the gaieties of town, the theatres, the dances? and then the shops and the new fashions--but you're a man, and they'd mean nothing to you."
-the maharajah broke in:
-"mrs. norton, i think we had better mount. the beaters are going in; and the shikaris (hunters) tell me that the nullah swarms with pig. there are at least half a dozen rideable boar in it."
-in pigsticking only well-grown boars are pursued, sows and immature boars being unmolested.
-ross started forward to help mrs. norton on to her fresh pony; but wargrave refused to surrender the advantage of his proximity to her. so it was into his hand she put her small foot in its well-made riding-boot and was swung up by him.
-the saddles of the rest of the party had been changed on to the horses that the maharajah had provided. the beaters streamed down the steep bank into the ravine which some distance away was filled with dense scrub affording good cover for the quarry. forming line they moved through it with shrill yells, the blare of horns, the beating of tom-toms and a spluttering fire of blank cartridges from old muskets. the riders mounted and, spear in hand, eagerly watched their progress through the jungle. wargrave found himself beside mrs. norton; but, after exchanging a few words, he forgot her presence as, his heart beating fast with a true sportsman's excitement, he strained his eyes for the first sight of a wild boar.
-suddenly, several hundred yards away, he saw a squat, dark animal emerge from the tangled scrub and, climbing up the nullah on their side, stride away over the sand with a peculiar bounding motion that reminded wargrave of a rocking-horse. all eyes were turned towards the maharajah, who would decide whether the animal were worthy of pursuit or not. he gazed after it for a few moments, then raised his hand.
-at the welcome signal all dashed off after the boar at a furious gallop, opening out as they went to give play for their spears. wild with excitement, wargrave struck spurs to his horse, which needed no urging, being as filled with the lust of the chase as was the man on its back. like a cavalry charge the riders thundered in a mad rush behind his highness, whose faster mount carried him at once ahead of the rest. he soon overtook the boar. lowering his spear-point the maharajah bent forward in the saddle; but at the last moment the pig "jinked," that is, turned sharply at right angles to his former course, and bounded away untouched, while the baffled sportsman was carried on helplessly by his excited horse.
-wargrave, following at some distance to the maharajah's right rear, saw to his mingled joy and trepidation the boar only a short way in front of him.
-"ride, ride hard!" cried mrs. norton almost alongside him.
-frank drove his spurs in; and the gaunt, raw-boned countrybred under him sprang forward. but just as it had all but reached the quarry, the latter jinked again and wargrave was borne on, tugging vainly at the horse's iron jaws. but the boar had short shrift. with a rush ross closed on it and before it could swerve off sent his spear deep into its side and, galloping on, turned his hand over, drawing out the lance. the pig was staggered by the shock but started to run on. before it could get up speed one of the indian nobles dashed at it with wild yells and speared it again.
-the thrust this time was mortal. the boar staggered on a few steps, then stumbled and fell heavily to the ground. the hunters reined in their sweating horses and gathered round it.
-"not a big animal," commented the maharajah, scrutinising it with the eye of an expert. "about thirty-four inches high, i think. but the tusks are good. they're yours, captain ross, aren't they?"
-"yes, your highness, i think so," replied ross.
-pigsticking law awards the trophy to the rider whose spear first inflicts a wound on the boar.
-"better luck next time, mr. wargrave," said mrs. norton, riding up to him. "i thought you were sure of him when he jinked away from the maharajah."
-"to be quite candid i was rather relieved that i didn't get the chance, mrs. norton," replied the subaltern. "as i've never been out after pig before i didn't quite know what to do. however, i've seen now that it isn't very difficult; so i hope i'll get an opportunity later."
-"you are sure to, mr. wargrave," remarked the maharajah. "there are several boars left in cover; and the men are going in again."
-the tatterdemalion mob of beaters was descending into the nullah; and soon the wild din broke out once more. a gaunt grey boar with long and gleaming tusks was seen to emerge from the scrub and climb the far bank of the ravine, where he stood safely out of reach but in full view of the tantalised hunters. but a string of laden camels passing over the desert scared him back again; and while the riders watched in eager excitement, he slowly descended into the nullah, crossed it and came up on the near side some hundreds of yards away.
-the maharajah raised his spear.
-"ride!" he cried.
-"go like the devil, frank!" shouted raymond, as the scurrying horsemen swept in a body over the sand and he found himself for a moment beside his friend. "he's a beauty. forty inches, i'll swear. splendid tusks."
-wargrave crouched like a jockey in the saddle as the riders raced madly after the boar. the indians among them, wildly excited, brandished their lances and uttered fierce cries as they galloped along. their maharajah's speedier mount again took the lead; but even in india sport is democratic and his nobles, attendants and soldiers all tried to overtake and pass him. the white men, as is their wont, rode in silence but none the less keenly excited. over sand and stones, past tall, prickly cactus-plants, in hot pursuit all flew at racing speed.
-it was a long chase; for the old grey boar was speedy, cunning, and a master of wiles. first one pursuer, then another, then a third and a fourth, found himself almost upon the quarry and bent down with outstretched, eager spear only to be baffled by a swift jink and carried on helplessly, pulling vainly at the reins.
-at length a sudden turn threw out all the field except the maharajah, who had foreseen it and ridden off to intercept the now tiring boar. overtaking it he bent forward and wounded it slightly. the brute instantly swung in upon his horse, and with a fierce grunt dashed under it and leapt up at it with a toss of the head that gave an upward thrust to the long, curved tusk. in an instant the horse was ripped open and brought crashing to the ground, pinning its rider's leg to the earth beneath it. the boar turned again, marked the prostrate man, and with a savage gleam in its little eyes charged the maharajah, its gleaming ivory tusks, six inches long, as sharp and deadly as an afridi's knife.
-youth calls to youth
-but at that moment a shout made the boar hesitate, and raymond dashed in on it at racing speed, driving his spear so deeply into its side that, as he swept on, the tough bamboo broke like match-wood. the stricken beast tottered forward a yard or two, then turned and stood undauntedly at bay, as a sowar rode at it. but before his steel could touch its hide it shuddered and sank to the ground dead.
-the dying horse was lifted off the maharajah who, with the courage of his race, had remained calm in the face of the onrushing death. he was assisted to rise, but was so severely shaken and bruised that at first he was unable to stand without support. leaning on the arm of one of his nobles he held out his hand to raymond, when the latter rode up, and thanked him gratefully for his timely aid. then the exhausted but gallant prince sat down on the sand to recover himself. but he assured everyone that he was not hurt and, insisting that the sport should go on, gave orders for the beat to continue.
-wargrave had chanced to dismount to tighten the girth of mrs. norton's horse, when a fresh boar broke from cover and was instantly pursued by all the others of the hunt. the subaltern ruefully accepted the lady's apologies and hurriedly swung himself up into the saddle again to follow, when his companion cried:
-"look! look, mr. wargrave! there's another. come, we'll have him all to ourselves."
-and striking her pony with her gold-mounted whip she dashed off at a gallop after a grey old boar that had craftily kept close in cover and crept out quietly after the beaters had passed. wargrave, filled with excitement, struck spurs to his mount and raced after her, soon catching up and passing her. over the sand pitted with holes and strewn with loose stones they raced, the boar bounding before them with rocking motion and leading them in a long, stern chase. again and again the beast swerved; but at last with a fierce thrill wargrave felt the steel head of the spear strike home in the quarry. as he was carried on past it he withdrew the weapon, then pulled his panting horse round. the boar was checked; but the wound only infuriated him and aroused his fighting ardour. he dashed at mrs. norton; but, as frank turned, the game brute recognised the more dangerous adversary, and with a fierce grunt charged savagely at him. wargrave plunged his spurs into his horse, which sprang forward, just clearing the boar's snout, as the rider leant well out and speared the pig through the heart. then with a wild, exultant whoop the subaltern swung round in the saddle and saw the animal totter forward and collapse on the sand. only a sportsman could realise his feeling of triumph at the fall of his first boar.
-mrs. norton was almost as excited as he, her sparkling eyes and face flushed a becoming pink, making her even prettier in his eyes as she rode up and congratulated him.
-"well done, mr. wargrave!" she cried, trotting up to where he sat on his panting horse over the dead boar. "you did that splendidly! and the very first time you've been out pigsticking, too!"
-"it was just luck," replied the subaltern modestly, not ill-pleased at her praise.
-with wargrave's aid she dropped lightly to the ground; and he remarked again with admiration the graceful lines and rounded curves of her figure as she walked to the dead boar and touched the tusks.
-"what a splendid pair! you are lucky," she exclaimed. "the biggest anyone has got yet this season."
-"i hope you'll allow me to offer them to you," said wargrave generously, although it cost him a pang to surrender the precious trophy. "you deserve them, for you rode so well after the boar and i believe you'd have got him if you'd carried a spear."
-"no, indeed, mr. wargrave; i wouldn't dream of taking them," she replied, laughing; "but i appreciate the nobility of your self-denial. this is your first pig; and i know what that means to a man. now we must find a sowar to get the coolies to bring the boar in. but i wonder where we are. where is everyone?"
-wargrave looked about him and for the first time realised that they were far out in the desert without a landmark to guide them. on every side the sand stretched away to the horizon, its flat expanse broken only by clumps of bristling cactus or very rarely the tall stem of a palm tree. of the others of the party there was no sign. his companion and he seemed to be alone in the world; and he began to wonder apprehensively if they were destined to undergo the unpleasant experience of being lost in the desert. the sun high overhead afforded no help; and wargrave remembered neither the direction of the city nor where lay the ravine in which the beat had taken place.
-"you don't happen to know where we are, i suppose, mrs. norton?" he asked his companion.
-"i haven't the least idea. it looks as if we're lost," she replied calmly. "we had better wait quietly where we are instead of wandering about trying to find our way. when we are missed the maharajah will probably send somebody to look for us."
-"i daresay you're right," said wargrave. "you know more about the desert than i do. by jove, i'd give anything to come across the camel that raymond tells me brings out drinks and ice. my throat is parched. aren't you very thirsty?"
-"terribly so. isn't the heat awful?" she exclaimed, trying to fan herself with the few inches of cambric and lace that represented a handkerchief.
-"awful. the blood seems to be boiling in my head," gasped the subaltern. "i've never felt heat like this anywhere else in india. but, thank goodness, it seems to be clouding over. that will make it cooler."
-mrs. norton looked around. a dun veil was being swiftly drawn up over sun and sky and blotting out the landscape.
-"good gracious! there's worse trouble coming. that's a sandstorm," she cried, for the first time exhibiting a sign of nervousness.
-"good heavens, how pleasant! are we going to be buried under a mound of sand, like the pictures we used to have in our schoolbooks of caravans overwhelmed in the sahara?"
-mrs. norton smiled.
-"not quite as bad as that," she answered. "but unpleasant enough, i assure you. if only we had any shelter!"
-wargrave looked around desperately. he had hitherto no experience of desert country; and the sudden darkness and the grim menace of the approaching black wall of the sandstorm seemed to threaten disaster. he saw a thick clump of cactus half a mile away.
-"we'd better make for that," he said, pointing to it. "it will serve to break the force of the wind if we get to leeward of it. let's mount."
-he put her on her horse and then swung himself up into the saddle. together they raced for the scant shelter before the dark menace overspreading earth and sky. the sun was now hidden; but that brought no relief, for the heat was even more stifling and oppressive than before. the wind seemed like a blast of hot air from an opened furnace door.
-pulling up when they reached the dense thicket of cactus with its broad green leaves studded with cruel thorns, wargrave jumped down and lifted mrs. norton from the saddle. the horses followed them instinctively, as they pressed as closely as they could to the shelter of the inhospitable plant. the animals turned their tails towards the approaching storm and instinctively huddled against their human companions in distress. wargrave took off his jacket and spread it around mrs. norton's head, holding her to him.
-with a shrill wail the dark storm swept down upon them, and a million sharp particles of sand beat on them, stinging, smothering, choking them. the horses crowded nearer to the man, and the woman clung tighter to him as he wrapped her more closely in the protecting cloth. he felt suffocated, stifled, his lungs bursting, his throat burning, while every breath he drew was laden with the irritating sand. it penetrated through all the openings of his clothing, down his collar, inside his shirt, into his boots. the heat was terrific, unbearable, the darkness intense. wargrave began to wonder if his first apprehensions were not justified, if they could hope to escape alive or were destined to be buried under the stifling pall that enveloped them. he felt against him the soft body of the woman clinging desperately to him; and the warm contact thrilled him. a feeling of pity, of tenderness for her awoke in him at the thought that this young and attractive being was fated perhaps to perish by so awful a death. and instinctively, unconsciously, he held her closer to him.
-"it's all over at last."
-"oh, thank god!" she exclaimed fervently, standing erect and drawing a deep breath of cool air into her labouring lungs. "i thought i was going to be smothered."
-"it was a decidedly unpleasant experience and one i don't want to try again. my throat is parched; i must have swallowed tons of sand. and look at the state i'm in!"
-he was powdered thick with it, clothes, hair, eyebrows, grey with it. it had caked on his face damp with perspiration.
-"thanks to your jacket i've escaped pretty well, although i was almost suffocated," she said. "well, now that it is over surely someone will come to look for us."
-"then we had better get up on our horses and move out into the open. we'll be more visible," said wargrave.
-yet he felt a strange reluctance to quit the spot; for the thought came to him that their unpleasant experience in it would henceforth be a link between them. a few hours before he had not known of this woman's existence! and now he had held her to his breast and tried to protect her against the forces of nature. the same idea seemed born in her mind at the same time; for, when he had brushed the dust off her saddle and lifted her on to it, she turned to look with interest at the spot as they rode away from it.
-they had not long to wait out in the open before they saw three or four riders spread over the desert apparently looking for them, so they cantered towards them. as soon as they were seen by the search party a sowar galloped to meet them and, saluting, told them that the maharajah and the rest had taken refuge from the storm in a village a couple of miles away. then from the kamarband, or broad cloth encircling his waist like a sash, he produced two bottles of soda-water which he opened and gave to them. the liquid was warm, but nevertheless was acceptable to their parched throats.
-they followed their guide at a gallop and soon were being welcomed by the rest of the party in a small village of low mud huts. a couple of kneeling camels, bubbling, squealing and viciously trying to bite everyone within reach, were being unloaded by some of the maharajah's servants. other attendants were spreading a white cloth on the ground by a well under a couple of tall palm-trees and laying on it an excellent cold lunch for the europeans, with bottles of champagne standing in silver pails filled with ice.
-as soon as his anxiety on mrs. norton's account was relieved by her arrival, his highness, who as an orthodox hindu could not eat with his guests, begged them to excuse him and, being helped with difficulty on his horse, rode slowly off, still shaken and sorely bruised by his fall. his nobles and officials accompanied him.
-after lunch all went to inspect the heap of slain boars laid on the ground in the shade of a hut. wargrave's kill had been added to it. much to the subaltern's delight its tusk proved to be the longest and finest of all; and he was warmly congratulated by the more experienced pigstickers on his success. shortly afterwards the beaters went into the nullah again; and a few more runs added another couple of boars to the bag. then, after iced drinks while their saddles were being changed back on to their own horses, the britishers mounted and started on their homeward journey.
-without quite knowing how it happened wargrave found himself riding beside mrs. norton behind the rest of the party. on the way back they chatted freely and without restraint, like old friends. for the incidents of the day had served to sweep away formality between them and to give them a sense of long acquaintanceship and mutual liking. and, when the time came for mrs. norton to separate from the others as she reached the spot where the road to the residency branched off, the subaltern volunteered to accompany her.
-it had not taken them long to discover that they had several tastes in common.
-"so you like good music?" she said after a chance remark of his. "it is pleasant to find a kindred spirit in this desolate place. the ladies and the other officers of your regiment are philistines. ragtime is more in their line than grieg or brahms. and the other day captain ross asked me if tschaikowsky wasn't the russian dancer at the coliseum in town."
-"i know. i became very unpopular when i was band president and made our band play wagner all one night during mess. i gave up trying to elevate their musical taste when the colonel told me to order the bandmaster to 'stop that awful rubbish and play something good, like the selection from the last london revue.'"
-"are you a musician yourself?" she asked.
-"i play the violin."
-"oh, how ripping! you must come often and practise with me. i've an excellent piano; but i rarely touch it now. my husband takes no interest in music--or indeed, in anything else i like. but, then, i am not thrilled by his one absorbing passion in life--insects. so we're quits, i suppose."
-their horses were walking silently over the soft sand; and wargrave heard her give a little sigh. was it possible, he wondered, that the husband of this charming woman did not appreciate her and her attractions as he ought?
-she went on with a change of manner:
-"when are you coming to call on me? i am a duty call, you know. all officers are supposed to leave cards on the palace and the residency."
-"the call on you will be a pleasure, i assure you, not a mere duty, mrs. norton," said the subaltern with a touch of earnestness. "may i come to-morrow?"
-"yes, please do. come early for tea and bring your violin. it will be delightful to have some music again. i have not opened my piano for months; but i'll begin to practise to-night. i have one or two pieces with violin obligato."
-so, chatting and at every step finding something fresh to like in each other, they rode along down sandy lanes hemmed in by prickly aloe hedges, by deep wells and creaking water-wheels where patient bullocks toiled in the sun to draw up the gushing water to irrigate the green fields so reposeful to the eye after the glaring desert. they passed by thatched mud huts outside which naked brown babies sprawled in the dust and deer-eyed women turned the hand-querns that ground the flour for their household's evening meal. stiff and sore though wargrave was after these many hours of his first day in the saddle for so long, he thoroughly enjoyed his ride back with so attractive a companion.
-when they reached the residency, a fine, airy building of white stone standing in large, well-kept grounds, he felt quite reluctant to part with her. but, declining her invitation to enter, he renewed his promise to call on the following day and rode on to his bungalow.
-when he was alone he realised for the first time the effects of fatigue, thirst and the broiling heat of the afternoon sun. but mrs. norton was more in his thoughts than the exciting events of the day as he trotted painfully on towards his bungalow.
-the house was closely shut and shuttered against the outside heat, and raymond was asleep, enjoying a welcome siesta after the early start and hard exercise. wargrave entered his own bare and comfortless bedroom, and with the help of his "boy"--as indian body-servants are termed--proceeded to undress. then, attired in a big towel and slippers, he passed into the small, stone-paved apartment dignified with the title of bathroom which opened off his bedroom.
-after his ablutions wargrave lay down on his bed and slept for an hour or two until awakened by raymond's voice bidding him join him at tea. strolling in pyjamas and slippers into the sitting-room which they shared the subaltern found his comrade lying lazily in a long chair and attired in the same cool costume. the outer doors and windows of the bungalow were still closed against the brooding heat outside. inside the house the temperature was little cooler despite the punkah which droned monotonously overhead.
-over their tea the two young soldiers discussed the day's sport, recalling every incident of each run and kill, until the servants came in to throw open the doors and windows in hope of a faint breath of evening coolness. the punkah stopped, and the coolie who pulled it shuffled away.
-after tea raymond took his companion to inspect the cantonment, which wargrave had not yet seen, for he had not reached it until after dusk the previous day. it consisted only of the mess, the regimental office, and about ten bungalows for the officers, single-storied brick or rubble-walled buildings, thatched or tiled. some of them were unoccupied and were tumbling in ruins. there was nothing else--not even the "general shop" usual in most small cantonments. not a spool of thread, not a tin of sardines, could be purchased within a three days' journey. most of the food supplies and almost everything else had to be brought from bombay. around the bungalow the compounds were simply patches of the universal sands surrounded by mud walls. no flowers, no trees, not even a blade of grass, relieved the dull monotony. altogether the cantonment of rohar was an unlovely and uninteresting place. yet it is but an example of many such stations in india, lonely and soul-deadening, some of which have not even its saving grace of sport to enliven existence in them.
-after a visit to the lines--the rows of single-storied detached brick buildings, one to a company, that housed the native ranks of the regiment--where the indian officers and sepoys (as native infantry soldiers are called) rushed out to crowd round and welcome back their popular officer, wargrave and raymond strolled to the mess. here in the anteroom other british officers of the corps, tired out after the day's sport, were lying in easy chairs, reading the three days' old bombay newspaper just arrived and the three weeks' old english journals until it was time to return to their bungalows and dress for dinner.
-early on the following afternoon wargrave borrowed raymond's bamboo cart and pony--for he had sold his own trap and horses before going on leave to england and had not yet had time to buy new ones--and drove to the residency. when he pulled up before the hall-door and in anglo-indian fashion shouted "boy!" from his seat in the vehicle, a tall, stately indian servant in a long, gold-laced red coat reaching below the knees and embroidered on the breast with the imperial monogram in gold, came out and held a small silver tray to him. wargrave placed a couple of his visiting cards on it, and the gorgeous apparition (known as a chuprassi) retired into the building with them. while he was gone wargrave looked with pleasure at the brilliant flower-beds, green lawn and tall plants and bushes glowing with colour of the carefully-tended and well-watered residency garden, which contrasted strikingly with the dry, bare compounds of the cantonment.
-in a minute or two the chuprassi returned and said:
-wargrave, hooking up the reins, climbed down from the trap, leaving raymond's syce in charge of the pony, and entered the grateful coolness of the lofty hall. here another chuprassi took his hat and, holding out a pen for him, indicated the red-bound visitor's book, in which he was to inscribe his name. then one of the servants led the way up the broad staircase into a large and well-furnished drawing-room extending along the whole front of the building. here wargrave found mrs. norton awaiting him. she looked very lovely in a cool white dress of muslin--but muslin shaped by a master-hand of paris. she welcomed him gaily and made him feel at once on the footing of an old friend.
-she was genuinely glad to see him again. to this young and attractive woman, full of the joy of living, hardly more than a girl, yet married to a much older man, sober-minded, stolid and uncongenial to her, and buried in this dull and lonely station, wargrave had appealed instantly. youth calls to youth, and she hailed his advent into her monotonous life as a child greets the coming of a playfellow. with the other two ladies in rohar she had nothing in common. both were middle-aged, serious and spiteful. to them her youth and beauty were an offence; and from the first day of their acquaintance with her they had disliked her. as for the other officers of the regiment none of them attracted her; for, good fellows as they were, none shared any of her tastes except her love of sport. but in wargrave she had already recognised a companion, a playmate, one to whom music, art and poetry appealed as they did to her.
-on his side frank, heart-whole but fond of the society of the opposite sex, was at once attracted by this charming member of it who had tastes akin to his own. her beauty pleased his beauty-loving eye; and he would not have been man if her readiness to meet him on a footing of friendship had not flattered him. he had thought that a great drawback to life in rohar would be the lack of feminine companionship; for the ladies of his regiment were not at all congenial, although he did not dislike them. but it was delightful to find in this desert spot this pretty and cultured woman, who would have been deemed attractive in london and who appeared trebly so in a dull and lonely indian station. he had thought much of her since their meeting on the previous day; and although it never occurred to him to lose his heart to her or even attempt to flirt with her, yet he felt that her friendship would brighten existence for him in rohar. nor did the thought strike him that possibly he might come to mean more to mrs. norton than she to him. for, while he had his work, his duties, the goodfellowship of the mess and the friendship of his comrades to fill his life, she had nothing. she was utterly without interests, occupation or real companionship in rohar. her husband and she had nothing in common. no child had come during the five years of their marriage to link them together. and in this solitary place where there were no gaieties, no distractions such as a young woman would naturally long for, she was lonely, very lonely indeed.
-as they talked it was with increasing pleasure that she learnt they had so many tastes in common. she found that he played the violin well and was, moreover, the possessor of a voice tuneful and sympathetic, even if not perfectly trained. this made instant appeal to her and would have disposed her to regard him with favour even if she had not been already prepared to like him.
-the afternoon passed all too quickly for both of them. violet norton had never enjoyed any hours in rohar so much as these; and when, as she sat at the piano while frank played an obligato, a servant came to enquire if she wished her horse or a carriage got ready for her usual evening ride or drive, she impatiently ordered him out of the room. when the time came for wargrave to return to his bungalow to dress for dinner she begged him to stay and dine with her.
-"i shall be all alone; and it would be a charitable act to take pity on my solitude," she said. "my husband is dining at your mess to-night."
-"thank you very much for asking me," replied the subaltern. "i should have loved to accept your invitation; but it is our guest night and the colonel likes all of us to be present at mess on such evenings."
-"oh, i forgot!" she exclaimed. "i ought to have remembered; for mr. raymond told me the same thing only last week when i invited him informally. well, you must come some other night soon."
-reluctant to part with her new playmate she accompanied him to the door and, to the scandal of the stately chuprassis, stood at it to watch him drive away and to wave him a last goodbye as he looked back when the pony turned out of the gate.
-india is a land of lightning friendships between men and women.
-the love-song of har dyal
-the bugler was sounding the second mess-call as the resident's carriage drew up before the steps of the mess verandah on which stood all the officers of the regiment, dressed in the white drill uniform worn at dinner in india during the hot weather. from the carriage major norton, a stout, middle-aged man in civilian evening dress, descended stiffly and shook hands with the commandant of the battalion, colonel trevor, who had come down the steps to meet him and whose guest he was to be.
-on the verandah wargrave was introduced to him by the colonel and took his outstretched hand with reluctance; for frank felt stirring in him a faint jealousy of the man who was violet's legal lord and an indefinite hostility to him for not appreciating his charming wife as he ought. and while the resident was shaking hands with the others wargrave looked at him with interest.
-major norton was a very ordinary-looking man, more elderly in appearance than his years warranted. he was bald and clean-shaved but for scraps of side-whiskers that gave him a resemblance to the traditional stage-lawyer of amateur theatricals, a likeness increased by his heavy and prosy manner. it was hard to believe that he had ever been a young subaltern, though such had once been the case, for the indian political department is recruited chiefly from officers of the indian army. but he was never the gay and light-hearted individual that most junior subs. are at the beginning of their career. even then he had been a sober and serious individual, favourably noted by his superiors as being earnest and painstaking. and now he was well thought of by the heads of his department; for his plodding and methodical disposition and his slavish adherence to rules and regulations had earned him the reputation of being an eminently "safe" man. how such a gay, laughter-loving, coquettish and attractive woman as violet dering came to marry one so entirely her opposite puzzled everyone who did not know the inner history of a girl, one of a large family of daughters, given "her chance in life" by being sent out to relatives in calcutta for one season, with a definite warning not to return home unmarried under penalty of being turned out to face the world as a governess or hospital nurse. and violet liked comfort and hated work.
-during dinner wargrave found himself instinctively criticising norton's manner and conversation, and rapidly arrived at the conclusion that raymond had described him accurately. the resident, though a very worthy individual, was undoubtedly a bore; and colonel trevor, beside whom he sat, strove in vain to appear interested in his conversation. for he had heard his opinions on every subject on which norton had any opinions over and over again. as the resident was the only other european in the station he dined regularly at the mess on the weekly guest night with one or other of the officers. he was not popular among them, but they considered it their duty to be victimised in turn to uphold the regiment's reputation for hospitality; and in consequence each resigned himself to act as his host.
-after dinner, as the resident played neither cards nor billiards, the colonel sat out on the verandah with him, all the while longing to be at the bridge-table inside; and, as his guest was a strict teetotaller, he did not like to order a drink for himself. so he tried to keep awake and hide his yawns while listening to a prosy monologue on insects until the residency carriage came to take major norton away.
-when his guest had left, the colonel entered the anteroom heaving a sigh of relief.
-"phew! thank god that's over!" he exclaimed piously. "really, norton becomes more of a bore every day. i'm sick to death of hearing the life-story of every indian insect for the hundredth time. i'll dream of coleoptera and polly 'optera and other weird beasties to-night."
-the other officers looked up and laughed. ross rose from the bridge-table and said:
-"come and take my place, sir; we've finished the rubber. have a drink; you want something to cheer you up after that infliction. boy! whiskey-soda commanding sahib ke wasté lao. (bring a whiskey and soda for the commanding officer.)"
-"you've my entire sympathy, colonel," said major hepburn, the second in command. "it's my turn to ask the resident to dinner next. i feel tempted to go on the sick-list to escape it."
-"i say, sir, i've got a good idea," said an irish subaltern named daly, who was seated at the bridge-table. "couldn't we pass a resolution at the next mess meeting that in future no guests are ever to be asked to dinner? that will save us from our weekly penance."
-the others laughed; but the colonel, whose sense of humour was not his strong point, took the suggestion as being seriously meant.
-"no, no; we couldn't do that," he said in an alarmed tone. "the resident would be very offended and might mention it to the general when he comes here on his annual inspection."
-the remark was very characteristic of colonel trevor, who was a man who dreaded responsibility and whose sole object in life was to reach safely the time when, his period of command being finished, he could retire on his full pension. he was always haunted by the dread that some carelessness or mistake on his part or that of any of his subordinates might involve him in trouble with his superiors and prevent that happy consummation of his thirty years of indian service. this fear made him merciless to anyone under him whose conduct might bring the censure of the higher authorities on the innocent head of the commanding officer who was in theory responsible for the behaviour of his juniors. it was commonly said in the regiment that he would cheerfully give up his own brother to be hanged to save himself the mildest official reprimand. perhaps he was not altogether to blame; for he was not his own master in private life. it was hinted that colonel trevor commanded the battalion but that mrs. trevor commanded him. and unfortunately there was no doubt that this lady interfered privately a good deal in regimental matters, much to the annoyance of the other officers.
-now, relieved of the incubus that had hitherto spoiled his enjoyment of the evening, the colonel gratefully drank the whiskey and soda brought him by ross's order and sat down cheerfully to play bridge. he always liked dining in the mess, where he was a far more important person than he was in his own house.
-it did not take wargrave long to settle down again into the routine of regimental life and the humdrum existence of a small indian station. but he had never before been quartered in so remote and dull a spot as rohar. the only distractions it offered besides the shooting and pigsticking were two tennis afternoons weekly, one at the residency, the other at the mess. here the dozen or so europeans, who knew every line of each other's faces by heart gathered regularly from sheer boredom whether the game amused them or not. neither mrs. trevor nor her bosom-friend mrs. baird, the regimental surgeon's better half, ever attempted it; but they invariably attended and sat together, usually talking scandal of mrs. norton as she played or chatted with the men. mrs. trevor's chief grievance against her was that the general commanding the division, when he came to inspect the battalion, took the younger woman in to dinner, for, as her husband the resident was the viceroy's representative, she could claim precedence over the wife of a mere regimental commandant. no english village is so full of petty squabbles and malicious gossip as a small indian station.
-like everyone else in the land wargrave hated most those terrible hours of the hot weather between nine in the morning and five in the afternoon. he and raymond passed them, like so many thousands of their kind elsewhere, shut up in their comfortless bungalow, which was darkened and closely shuttered to exclude the awful heat and the blinding glare outside. too hot to read or write, almost to smoke, they lay in long cane chairs, gasping and perspiring freely, while the whining punkah overhead barely stirred the heated air. one exterior window on the windward side of the bungalow was filled with a thick mat of dried and odorous kuskus grass, against which every quarter of an hour the bheestie threw water to wet it thoroughly so that the hot breeze that swept over the burning sand outside might enter cooled by the evaporation of the water.
-but frank found alleviation and comfort in frequent visits to the residency, where mrs. norton and he spent the baking hours of the afternoon absorbed in making music or singing duets. for violet had a well-trained voice which harmonised well with his. no thought of sex seemed to obtrude itself on them. they were just playmates, comrades, nothing more.
-yet it was only natural that the woman's vanity should be flattered by the man's eagerness to seek her society and by his evident pleasure in it. and it was delightful to have at last a sympathetic listener to all her little grievances, one who seemed as interested in her petty household worries or the delinquencies of her london milliner in failing to execute her orders properly as in her greater complaint against the fate that condemned a woman of her artistic and gaiety-loving nature to existence in the wilds and to the society of persons so uncongenial to her as were the majority of the white folk of rohar.
-certainly major norton did not seem to him to be a man capable of understanding and valuing so sweet and rare a woman as this. after their introduction in the mess frank's next meeting with him was at his own table at the residency, when in due course wargrave was invited to dinner after his duty call. raymond was asked as well; and the two subalterns were the only guests.
-their hostess looked very lovely in a paris-made gown of a green shade that suited her colouring admirably. england did not seem to the young soldiers so very far away when this charming and exquisitely-dressed woman received them in her large drawing-room from which all trace of the east in furniture and decoration was carefully excluded. for the english in india try to avoid in their homes all that would remind them of the land of exile in which their lot is cast.
-major norton came into the room after his guests, muttering an unintelligible apology. he shook hands with them with an abstracted air and failed to recall wargrave's name. at table he asked frank a few perfunctory questions and then wandered off into his inevitable subject, entomology, but finding him ignorant of and uninterested in it he engaged in a desultory conversation with raymond. he soon tired of this and for the most part ate his dinner in silence. he never addressed his wife; and wargrave, watching them, pitied her if her husband was as little companionable at meal-times when they were alone. he pictured her sitting at table every day with this abstracted and uncommunicative man, whose thoughts seemed far from his present company and surroundings and who was scarcely likely to exert himself to talk to and entertain his wife when he made so little effort to do so to his guests.
-determined that on this occasion at least his hostess should be amused frank did his best to enliven the meal. he described to her as well as he could all that he remembered of the latest fashions in england, told her the plots of the newest plays at the london theatres, repeated a few laughable stories to make her smile and provoked raymond, who had a dry humour of his own, to a contest of wit. between them the two subalterns brightened up what had threatened to be a dull evening. mrs. norton laughed gaily and helped to keep the ball rolling; and even the host in his turn woke up and actually attempted to tell a humorous story. it certainly lacked point; but he seemed satisfied that it was funny, so his guests smiled as in duty bound. but wargrave noted mrs. norton's look of astonishment at this new departure on the part of her husband and thought that there was something very pathetic in her surprise. when the meal was ended she laughingly declined to leave the men over their wine and stayed to smoke a cigarette with them.
-after some conversation mrs. norton said to the adjutant:
-"do you remember, mr. raymond, that you have promised to take me out shooting one day?"
-"i haven't forgotten," he replied; "but i was not able to arrange it, as the maharajah had pigsticking meets fixed up for all our free days. but i don't think we'll have another for some time; for i hear that his highness is laid up from the effects of his fall. so we might go out some day soon."
-"good. when shall we go?" asked wargrave. "let's fix it up now."
-"what about next thursday?" said his friend, turning to mrs. norton.
-"yes; that will suit me. where shall we go?"
-"there are a lot of partridge and a few hares, i'm told, near the tank at marwa, where there is a good deal of cultivation," answered raymond. then turning to his friend he continued:
-"you are not very keen on small game shooting, frank; so you can bring your rifle and try for chinkara. i saw a buck and a couple of doe there not very long ago. a little venison would be very acceptable in mess."
-"the tank is about eight miles away, isn't it?" said the hostess. "i'll write to the maharajah and ask him to lend us camels to take us out. my cook will put up a good cold lunch for us."
-she rose from her chair and continued:
-"now, mr. wargrave, come and sing something. i've been trying over those new songs of yours to-day."
-she led the way into the drawing-room and raymond was left alone on the verandah to smoke and listen for the rest of the evening, while the others forgot him as they played and sang.
-suddenly he sat up in his chair and with a queer little pang of jealousy in his heart stared through the open window at the couple at the piano. he watched his friend's face turned eagerly towards his hostess. wargrave was gazing intently at her as in a voice full of feeling and pathos, a voice with a plaintive little tone in it that thrilled him strangely, she sang that haunting melody "the love song of har dyal." wistfully, sadly, she uttered the sorrowful words that kipling puts into the mouth of the lovelorn pathan maiden:
-"my father's wife is old and harsh with years, and drudge of all my father's house am i. my bread is sorrow and my drink is tears, come back to me, beloved, or i die! come back to me, beloved, or i die!"
-and the singer looked up into the eager eyes bent on her and sighed a little as she struck the final chords. out on the verandah raymond frowned as he watched them and wondered if this woman was to come between them and take his friend from him. just then the bare-footed servants entered the room, carrying silver trays on which stood the whiskies and sodas that are the stirrup-cups, the hints to guests that the time of departure has come, of dinner-parties in india.
-as the two subalterns drove home in raymond's trap through the hot indian night under a moon shining with a brilliance that england never knows, wargrave hummed "the love song of har dyal."
-suddenly he said:
-"she's wonderful, ray, isn't she? fancy such a glorious woman buried in this hole and married to a dry old stick like the resident! doesn't it seem a shame?"
-the adjutant mumbled an incoherent reply behind his lighted cheroot.
-wargrave stared up at the moon for a while. then he said:
-"i say, ray; didn't mrs. norton look lovely to-night? didn't that dress suit her awfully well?"
-"oh, go to sleep, old man. we've got to get up in a few hours for this confoundedly early parade. goodnight," growled the adjutant, turning on his side and closing his eyes.
-"confound the woman!"
-in the days that elapsed before the shoot at marwa, wargrave rode every afternoon to the residency with the syce carrying his violin case, except when tennis was to be played. in their small community this could not escape notice and comment--not that it occurred to him to try to avoid either. the resident did not object to the frequency of his visits; and frank saw no harm in his friendship with mrs. norton. but others did; and the remarks of the two ladies of his regiment on the subject were venomously spiteful. but their censure was reserved for the one they termed "that shameless woman"; for like everyone else they were partial to wargrave and held him less to blame.
-his brother officers, although being men they were not so quick to nose out a scandal, could not help noticing his absorption in mrs. norton's society. one afternoon his double company commander, major hepburn, walked into the compound of raymond's bungalow and on the verandah shouted the usual anglo-indian caller's demand:
-"boy! koi hai?" (is anyone there?)
-a servant hurried out and salaaming answered:
-"adjitan sahib hai." (the adjutant is here).
-"oh, come in, major," cried raymond, rising from the table at which he was seated drinking his tea.
-"don't get up," said hepburn, entering the room. "is wargrave in?"
-"no, sir; he went out half an hour ago."
-"confound it, it seems impossible ever to find him in the afternoon nowadays," said the major petulantly. "i wanted him to get up a hockey match against no. 3 double company to-day. he used to be very keen on playing with the men; but since he came back from england he never goes near them. where is he? poodlefaking at the residency, as usual?"
-this is the term contemptuously applied in india to the paying of calls and other social duties that imply dancing attendance on the fair sex.
-"i didn't see him before he went out, sir," was raymond's equivocal reply. he loyally evaded a direct answer.
-hepburn shook his head doubtfully.
-"i'm sorry about it. i hope the boy doesn't get into mischief. look here, raymond, you're his pal. keep your eye on him. he's a good lad; and it would be a pity if he came to grief."
-the adjutant did not answer. the major put on his hat.
-"well, i suppose i'll have to see to the hockey myself."
-he left the bungalow with a curt nod to raymond, who watched him pass out through the compound gate. then the adjutant walked over to wargrave's writing-table and stood up again in its place a large photograph of mrs. norton which he had hurriedly laid face downwards when he heard hepburn's voice outside. he looked at it for a minute, then turned away frowning.
-when the morning of the shooting party arrived wargrave and raymond, having sent their syces on ahead with their guns, rode at dawn to the residency. in front of the building a group of camels lay on the ground, burbling, blowing bubbles, grumbling incessantly and stretching out their long necks to snap viciously at anyone but their drivers that chanced to come near them. at the hall-door mrs. norton stood, dressed in a smart and attractive costume of khaki drill, consisting of a well-cut long frock coat and breeches, with the neatest of cloth gaiters and dainty but serviceable boots. to their surprise her husband was with her and evidently prepared to accompany them. for he wore an old coat, knickerbockers and putties, from a strap over his shoulder hung a specimen box, and he was armed with all the requisite appliances for the capture and slaughter of many insects.
-avoiding the camels' vicious teeth the party mounted after exchanging greetings. mrs. norton and wargrave rode the same animal; and frank, unused to this form of locomotion, took a tight grip as the long-legged beast rose from the ground in unexpected jerks and set off at a jolting walk that shook its riders painfully. then it broke into a trot equally disconcerting but finally settled into an easy canter that was as comfortable a motion as its previous paces had been spine-dislocating. the route lay at first over a space of desert which was unpleasant, for the sand was blown in clouds by a high wind, almost a gale. but the camels were fast movers and it did not take very long before they were passing through scrub jungle and finally reached the wide stretch of cultivation near marwa.
-the tank, as lakes are called in india, lay in the centre of a shallow depression, the rim of which all round was about four hundred yards from the water which, now half a mile across, evidently filled the whole basin in the rainy season. the strong breeze churned its surface into little waves and piled up masses of froth and foam against the bending reeds at one end of the tank, where, about fifty yards from the water's edge stood a couple of thorny trees, offering almost the only shade to be found for a long distance around. in the shallows were many yellow egrets, while a sarus crane stalked solemnly along the far bank, and everywhere bird-life, rare elsewhere in the state, abounded. the land all about was green, a refreshing change from the usual sandy and parched character of most of the country.
-but beyond the tank the fields stretched away out of sight. at the edge of the cultivation the camels were halted and the party dismounted from them and separated. mrs. norton, who was a fair shot and carried a light 12-bore gun, started to walk up the partridges with raymond, while her husband went to search the reeds and the borders of the lake for strange insects. wargrave armed with a sporting mannlicher rifle, set off on a long tramp to look for chinkara, which are pretty little antelope with curving horns. the wind, which was freshening, prevented the heat from being excessive.
-the sport was fairly good. when lunch-time came the adjutant and mrs. norton had got quite a respectable bag of partridges and a few hares. the entomologist was in high spirits, for he had secured two rare specimens; and wargrave had shot a good buck. so in a contented frame of mind all gathered under the trees near the end of the tank, where lunch was laid by a couple of the residency servants on a white cloth spread on the ground. as they ate their tiffin (lunch) the members of the party chatted over the incidents of the morning; and each related the story of his or her sport.
-after the meal mrs. norton decided to rest; for the ride and the long walk with her gun had tired her. the servants spread a rug for her under the trees and placed a camel saddle for her to recline against. then carrying away the empty dishes, plates, glasses and cutlery they retired out of sight.
-"are you sure you don't mind being left alone, mrs. norton?" asked wargrave.
-"not in the least. do go and shoot again," she replied, smiling up at him. "i'm very comfortable and i'm glad to have a good rest before undertaking that tiresome ride back. it's very pleasant here. the wind comes so cool and fresh off the water. isn't it strong, though?"
-the breeze had freshened to a gale and under the trees the temperature was quite bearable. the resident had already gone out of sight over the rim of the basin, having exhausted the neighbourhood of the tank and being desirous of searching farther afield. wargrave and raymond now followed him but soon separated, the latter making for the cultivation again, while his friend set off for the open plain. ordinarily the heat would have been intense, for the hours after noon up to three o'clock or later are the hottest of the day in india; but the gale made it quite cool.
-to wargrave, tramping about unsuccessfully this time, came frequently the sound of raymond's gun.
-at last in despair he shouldered his rifle and turned back. after a long walk he came in sight of the adjutant standing near the edge of the fields talking to norton. when frank reached them he found that his friend had increased his bag very considerably.
-"well done, old boy, you'd better luck than i had," he said. then turning to the resident he continued: "how have you done, sir?"
-"nothing of any value," replied norton "have you finished? we're thinking of going back now."
-"yes, sir; i'm through. by jove, i'm thirsty. i could do with a drink, couldn't you, ray?"
-"rather. my throat's like a lime-kiln. we'll join mrs. norton and then have an iced drink while the camels are being saddled."
-they strolled towards the lake, which was hidden from their view by the rim of the basin. as they reached the slight ridge that this made all three stopped dead and gazed in amazement.
-"what's happened to the tank?" exclaimed raymond. "the water's almost up to the trees."
-"good god; my wife! look! look!" cried the resident.
-a crocodile intervenes
-major norton opened his mouth to cry a warning; but wargrave grasped his arm and said hurriedly:
-"don't shout, sir! don't wake her! she'd be too confused to move."
-then he thrust his field-glasses into the adjutant's hand.
-"watch for the strike of my bullet, ray," he said.
-he threw himself at full length on the ground and pressed a cartridge into the breech of his rifle. his companions stood over him as he cast a hurried glance forward and adjusted his sight, muttering:
-"just about four hundred yards."
-the crocodile was nearly broadside on to him; and even at that distance he could see the scaly armour covering head, back and sides, that would defy any bullet. the unprotected spot behind the shoulder was hidden from him; the only vulnerable part was the neck. wargrave laid his cheek to the butt and sighted on this.
-the crocodile crept on inch by inch, dragging its limbs forward with the slow, stealthy movement of its kind when stalking their prey on land. the horrified watchers saw that the terrible snout with its protruding fangs was barely a yard from mrs. norton's feet. raymond's hands holding the glasses to his eyes trembled violently. the resident shook as with the palsy; and he stared in horror at the crawling death that threatened the sleeping woman.
-as the rifle rang out the creeping movement ceased.
-"you've hit him, i'll swear," cried raymond. "i didn't see the bullet strike the ground."
-wargrave rapidly worked the bolt of his rifle, jerking out the empty case and pushing a fresh cartridge into the chamber. he fired again.
-"that's got him! that must have got him!" exclaimed raymond.
-the crocodile lay still. frank leapt to his feet and, rifle in hand, dashed down the incline. at that moment mrs. norton awoke, turned on her side, raised her body a little and suddenly saw the horrible reptile. she sat up rigid with terror and stared at it. the brute slowly opened its huge mouth and disclosed the cruel, gapped teeth. then the iron jaws clashed together. with a shriek the woman sprang to her feet, but stood trembling, unable to move away.
-"run! run!" shouted wargrave, springing down the slope towards her.
-behind him raced raymond, while her husband, who was unable to run fast, followed far behind.
-mrs. norton seemed rooted to the spot. but she turned to wargrave with outstretched arms and gasped:
-"save me, frank! save me!"
-with a bound he reached her, and, as she clung to him convulsively, panted out:
-"it's all right, dear. you're safe now."
-he pushed her behind him, and bringing the rifle to his shoulder, faced the crocodile. the brute opened and shut its great jaws, seeming to gasp for air, while a strange whistling sound came from its throat. its body appeared to be paralysed.
-"it can't move. you've broken its spine," cried raymond, as he reached them. "your first shot it must have been. look! your second's torn its throat."
-he pointed to the neck and went round to the other side. from a jagged, gaping wound where the expanding bullet had torn the throat, the blood spurted and air whistled out with a shrill sound.
-wargrave turned to violet and took the terrified woman, who seemed on the point of fainting, in his arms.
-"all right, little girl. it's all right. the brute's done for."
-she pulled herself together with an effort and looked nervously at the crocodile. then she released herself from frank's clasp and said, smiling feebly:
-"what a coward i am! i'm ashamed of myself. where's john? oh, here he is. doesn't he look funny?"
-the resident, very red-faced and out of breath, had slowed down into a shambling walk and was puffing and blowing like a grampus. as he came up to them he spluttered:
-"is it safe? is it dead?"
-"it's harmless now, sir," answered raymond. "it's still living but it can't move. the spine's broken, i think."
-the resident turned to his wife. the poor man had been in agony while she was in danger; but now that the peril had passed he could only express his relief in irritable scolding:
-"how could you be so foolish, violet?" he asked crossly. "the idea of going to sleep near the tank! most unwise! you might have been eaten alive."
-his wife smiled bitterly and glanced at the grumbling man with a contemptuous expression on her face.
-"yes, john, very inconsiderate of me, i daresay. but how was i to know that there was a mugger (crocodile) in the tank?"
-then for the first time she realised the nearness of the water.
-"good gracious! i thought i was much farther--how did i get so close to it? did i slip down in my sleep?"
-"no; there are the trees," said raymond. "it's extraordinary. the whole tank seems to have shifted."
-the resident was mopping his bald scalp and lifted his hat to let the gusty wind cool his head. a sudden squall blew the big pith sun-helmet out of his hand. wargrave caught it in the air and returned it to its owner.
-"by jove! it's a regular gale," he said. "i think i know what's happened. this wind's so strong that it's blown the water of the tank before it and actually shifted the whole mass thirty or forty yards this way."
-"yes, i've known that to occur before with shallow ponds," said raymond. "i've heard the passage of the red sea by the israelites and the drowning of pharaoh's army explained in the same way. it's said that the crossing really took place at one extremity of the bitter lake through which the suez canal passes."
-major norton was staring at the far end of the tank now left bare.
-"there may be some interesting insects stranded on the bottom uncovered by the receding water," he said, abstractedly, and was moving away to search for them when wargrave said disgustedly:
-"don't you think, sir, that, as mrs. norton has had such a shock, the sooner we get off the better?"
-"yes, yes. very true. but you can order the camels to be saddled while i'm having a look," replied the enthusiastic collector. "i really must go and see. there may be some very interesting specimens there."
-and he hurried away. his wife smiled rather bitterly as he went. then she turned to the two subalterns.
-"but tell me what happened? how did the mugger come here? how was i saved?"
-raymond rapidly narrated what had taken place. violet looked at wargrave with glistening eyes and held out her hands to him.
-"so you saved my life. how can i thank you?" she said gratefully. her lips trembled a little.
-frank took her hands in his but answered lightly:
-"oh, it was nothing. anyone else would have done the same. i happened to be the only one with a rifle."
-raymond turned away quickly and walked over to the crocodile. neither of them took any notice of him. violet gazed fondly at wargrave.
-"i owe you so much, frank, so very much," she murmured in a low voice. "you've made my life worth living; and now you make me live."
-he was embarrassed but he pressed the hands he held in his. then he released them and tried to speak lightly.
-"shall i have the mugger skinned and get a dressing-bag made out of his hide for you?" he said, smiling. "that'd be a nice souvenir of the brute."
-"i don't want to remember him," she cried, turning to glance at the crocodile. "horrid beast! i can't bear the sight of him."
-the mugger certainly looked a most repulsive brute as it lay stretched on the ground, its jaws occasionally opening and shutting spasmodically, the blood from its wounded throat spreading in a pool on the sun-baked earth. it was evidently an old beast; and skull and back were covered with thick horny plates and bosses through which no bullet could penetrate. the big teeth studded irregularly in the cruel jaws were yellow and worn, as were the thick nails tipping the claws at the ends of the powerful limbs.
-"the devil's not dead yet. shall i put another bullet into him?" said wargrave.
-"it's only wasting a cartridge," replied his friend. "he can't do any more harm. when the men come we'll have him cut open and see what he's got inside him."
-"oh, do you think he has ever eaten any human being?" she asked, gazing with loathing at the huge reptile.
-"judging from the way he stalked you i should think he has," answered raymond. "hullo! here comes one of the camel-drivers with some of the villagers. they'll be able to tell us about him."
-on the rim of the basin appeared a group of natives moving in their direction. suddenly they caught sight of the crocodile, stopped and pointed to it and began to talk excitedly. one of the local peasants ran back shouting. the rest hurried down for a closer view of the reptile. a chorus of wonder rose from them as they stood round it. the mahommedan camel-driver exclaimed in hindustani:
-"ahré, bhai! kiya janwar! pukka shaitan! (ah, brother! what an animal! a veritable devil!)"
-as the villagers spoke only the dialect of the state, raymond used this man as interpreter and questioned them about the crocodile. they asserted that it had inhabited the tank for many years--hundreds, said one man. it had, to their certain knowledge, killed several women incautiously bathing or drawing water from the tank. as women are not valued highly by the poorer hindus this did not make the mugger very unpopular. but early in that very year it had committed the awful crime of dragging under water and devouring a brahmini bull, an animal devoted to the gods and held sacrosanct.
-by this time the crocodile had breathed its last. raymond measured it roughly and found it to be over twelve feet in length. the peasants turned the great body on its back. wargrave saw that the skin underneath was too thick to be made into leather, so he bade them cut the belly open. the stomach contained many shells of freshwater crabs and crayfish, as well as a surprising amount of large pebbles, either taken for digestive purposes or swallowed when the fish were being scooped up off the bottom. but further search resulted in the finding of several heavy brass or copper anklets and armlets, such as are worn by indian women. some had evidently been a long time in the reptile's interior.
-when the camels had come and the party was preparing to mount and start back home, a crowd of villagers, led by their old priest, bore down upon them. learning that frank was the slayer of the sacrilegious crocodile the holy man hung a garland of marigolds round his neck and through the interpreter offered him the thanks of gods and men for his good deed. and to a chorus of blessings and compliments he rode away with his companions.
-so ended the incident--apparently. but consequences undreamed of by any of the actors in it flowed from it. for imperceptibly it brought a change into the relations between mrs. norton and wargrave and eventually altered them completely. at first it merely seemed to strengthen their friendship and increase the feeling of intimacy. to violet--they were violet and frank to each other now--the saving of her life constituted a bond that could never be severed. he had preserved her from a horrible death and she owed wargrave more than gratitude.
-hitherto she had often toyed with the idea of him as a lover, and the thought had been a pleasant one. but it had hardly occurred to her to be in love with him in return. in all her life up to now she had never known what it was to really love. she had married without affection. her girlhood had been passed without the mildest flirtation; for she had been brought up in a quiet country village where there never seemed to be any bachelors of her own class between the ages of seventeen and fifty. even the curate was grey-haired and married. she had made up for this deprivation during the voyage out to india and her season in calcutta; but, although she had found many men ready to flirt with her, norton's proposal was the only serious one that she had had and she accepted him in desperation. she had never felt any love for him. she did not realise that he had any for her; for, although he really entertained a sincere affection of a kind for her, it was so seldom and so badly expressed that she was never aware of its existence. since her marriage she had had several careless flirtations during her visits to her relatives in calcutta; but her heart was not seriously affected.
-she never acknowledged to herself that any gratitude or loyalty was due from her to her husband. on the contrary she felt that she owed him, as well as fate, a grudge. she was young, warmblooded, of a passionate temperament, yet she found herself wedded to a man who apparently needed a housekeeper, not a wife. her husband did not appear to realise that a woman is not essentially different to a man, that she has feelings, desires, passions, just as he has--although by a polite fiction the prudish anglo-saxon races seem to agree to regard her as of a more spiritual, more ethereal and less earthly a nature. yet it is only a fiction after all. violet was a living woman, a creature of flesh and blood who was not content to be a chattel, a household ornament, a piece of furniture. it was not to be wondered at that she longed to enter into woman's kingdom, to exercise the power of her sex to sway the other and to experience the thrill of the realisation of that power. often in her loneliness she pined to see eyes she loved look with love into hers. she was not a marble statue. it was but natural that she should long for love, a lover, the clasp of strong arms, the pressure of a man's broad chest against her bosom, the feel of burning kisses on her lips, the glorious surrender of her whole being to some adored one to whom she was the universe, who lived but for her.
-now for the first time in her life her errant dreams took concrete shape. at last she began to feel the companionship of a particular man necessary for her happiness. she had never before realised the pleasure, the joy, to be derived from the presence of one of the opposite sex who was in sympathy, in perfect harmony with her nature.
-in her lonely hours--and they were many--she thought constantly of wargrave; his face was ever before her, his voice sounding in her ears. she usually saw her husband--absorbed in his work and studies--only at meals; and as she looked across the table at him then she could not help contrasting the heavy, unattractive man sitting silent, usually reading a book while he ate, with the good-looking, laughter-loving playfellow who had come into her life. she learned to day-dream of wargrave, to watch for his coming and hate his going, to enjoy every moment of his presence. he had brought a new interest into her hitherto purposeless life, the life that he had preserved and that consequently seemed to belong to him. new feelings awakened in her. the world was a brighter, happier place than it had been. it pleased her to realise what it all meant, to know that the novel sensations, the fluttering hopes and fears, the strange, delightful thrills, were all symptoms of that longed-for malady that comes sooner or later to all women. she knew at last that she loved wargrave and gloried in the knowledge. and she never doubted that he loved her in return.
-did he? it was hard to tell. to a man the thought of love in the abstract seldom occurs; and the realisation of the concrete fact that he is in love with some particular woman generally comes somewhat as a shock. he is by nature a lover of freedom and in theory at least resents fetters, even silken ones. and wargrave had never thought of analysing his feelings towards violet. he was not a professional amorist and, although not a puritan, would never set himself deliberately to make love to a married woman under her husband's roof. he was fond of mrs. norton--as a sister, he thought. she was a delightful friend, a real pal, so understanding, so companionable, he said to himself frequently. it had not occurred to him that his feelings for her might be love. he had often before been on terms of friendship with women, married and single; but none of them had ever attracted him as much as she did. he had never felt any desire to be married; domesticity did not appeal to him. but now, as he watched violet moving about her drawing-room or playing to him, he found himself thinking that it would be pleasant to return to his bungalow from parade and find a pretty little wife waiting to greet him with a smile and a kiss--and the wife of his dreams always had violet's face, wore smart well-cut frocks like violet's, and showed just such shapely, silken-clad legs and ankles and such small feet in dainty, silver-buckled, high-heeled shoes. and he thought with an inward groan that such a luxury was not for a debt-ridden subaltern like him, that his heavily-mortgaged pay would not run to expensive gowns, silk stockings and costly footwear.
-yet it never occurred to him that violet cared for him nor did it enter his mind to try to win her love. but he felt that he would do much to make her happy, that saving her life made him in a way responsible for it in future; and he knew that she was not a contented woman. his sympathy went out to her for what he guessed she must suffer from her ill-assorted union.
-but soon he had no need to surmise it; for before long violet began to confide all her sorrows to him and the recital made his heart bleed for one so young and beautiful mated to a selfish wretch who was as blind to her suffering as he was to her charm. the younger man's chivalry was up in arms, and he felt that such a boor did not deserve so bright a jewel. at times frank was tempted to confront the callous husband and force him to open his dulled eyes to the bravely-borne misery of his neglected wife and realise how fortunate he ought to consider himself in being the owner of such a transcendent being. but the next moment the infatuated youth was convinced that norton was incapable of appreciating so rare a woman, that only a nature like his own could understand or do full justice to the perfections of hers. such is a young man's conceit. he rejoiced to know that his poor sympathy could help in a measure to make up to violet for the happiness that she declared that she had missed in life. and so he gladly consented to play the consoler; and she, for the pleasure of being consoled, continued to pour out her griefs to him.
-but if frank was unconscious of the danger of his post as sympathising confidant to another man's young and pretty wife, others were not. her husband, of course, was as blind as most husbands seem to be in anglo-indian society. for in that land of the household of three, the eternal triangle, it is almost a recognised principle that every married woman who is at all attractive is entitled to have one particular bachelor always in close attendance on her, to be constantly at her beck and call, to ride with her, to drive her every afternoon to tennis or golf or watch polo, then on to the club and sit with her there. his duty, a pleasant one, no doubt, is to cheer up her otherwise solitary dinner in her bungalow on the nights when her neglectful husband is dining out en garçon. no cavaliere servente of old italy ever had so busy a time as the tame cat of the india of to-day. and the husband allows it, nay seems, as major norton did, to hail his presence with relief, as it eases the conscience of the selfish lord and master who leaves his spouse much alone.
-but if the resident saw no harm or danger in the young officer constantly seeking the society of his pretty wife others did. at first frank's well-wishers tried to hint to him that there was likelihood of his friendship with her being misunderstood. but he laughed at raymond's badly-expressed warning and rather resented major hepburn's kindly advice when on one occasion his company commander spoke plainly, though tactfully, to him on the subject. then violet's enemies took a hand in the game. mrs. trevor, having failed to decoy him to her bungalow for what she called "a quiet tea and a motherly little chat," cornered him one afternoon when he was on his way to the residency and spoke very openly to him of the risk he ran of being entangled in the coils of such an outrageous coquette as "that mrs. norton," as she termed her. frank was so indignant at her abuse of his friend that for the first time in his life he was rude to a woman and snubbed mrs. trevor so severely that she went in a rage to her husband and insisted on his taking immediate steps to arrest the progress of a scandal that, she declared, would attract the unfavourable attention of the higher military authorities to the regiment.
-"do you realise, william, that you will be the one to suffer?" said the angry woman. "if anything happens, if major norton complains, if that shameless creature succeeds in making that foolish young man run away with her, you will be blamed. you can't afford it. you know that the general's confidential report on you last year was not too favourable."
-"it wasn't really bad, my dear; it only hinted that i lacked decision," pleaded the hen-pecked man.
-"exactly. you are not firm enough," persisted his domestic tyrant. "they will say that you should have put your foot down at once and stopped this disgraceful affair."
-"but what can i do?" asked the colonel helplessly.
-"someone ought to speak to major norton at once."
-"oh, my dear jane, i couldn't. i daren't."
-"for two pins i'd do it myself. mrs. baird said the other day that it was our duty as respectable women."
-"no, no, no, jane. you mustn't think of it," exclaimed the alarmed man. "i forbid you. you mustn't mix yourself up in the affair. it would be committing me."
-"then send that impertinent young man away," said mrs. trevor firmly. no general would have accused her of lack of decision. "i used to have a high opinion of him once; but after his insolence to me i believe him to be nearly as bad as that woman."
-"where can i send him?" asked the worried colonel. "he has done all the courses and passed all the classes and examinations he can."
-"you know you have only to write confidentially to the staff and inform them that young wargrave's removal to another station is absolutely necessary to prevent a scandal; and they'll send him off somewhere else at once."
-her husband nodded his head. he was well aware of the fact that the army in india looks closely after the behaviour and morals of its officers, that a colonel has only to hint that the transfer of a particular individual under his command is necessary to stop a scandal--and without loss of time that officer finds himself deported to the other side of the country.
-one morning, a week after mrs trevor's conversation with her husband, wargrave, superintending the musketry of his double company on the rifle range, was given an official note from the adjutant informing him that the commanding officer desired to see him at once in the orderly room. as major hepburn was not present frank handed the men over to the senior indian company commander and rode off to the regimental office, wondering as he went what could be the reason of the sudden summons. reaching the building he found raymond on the watch for him, while ostensibly engaged in criticising to the battalion durzi (tailor) the fit of the new uniforms of several recruits.
-"i say, ray, what's up?" asked his friend cheerily, as he swung himself out of the saddle.
-the adjutant nodded warningly towards the orderly room and dropped his voice as he replied:
-frank stood to attention and saluted.
-"good morning, sir," he said. "you wanted to see me?"
-colonel trevor did not reply, but turning slightly in his chair, said:
-"major hepburn, call in the adjutant, please."
-as the second in command went out on the verandah and summoned raymond, wargrave's heart misgave him. he had no idea of what the matter was; but the colonel's manner and the presence of the second in command were ominous signs. he wondered what crime he was going to be charged with.
-"shut the doors, raymond," said the commanding officer curtly, as the adjutant entered. the latter did so and sat down at his writing-table, glancing anxiously at his friend.
-colonel trevor's lips were twitching nervously; and he seemed to experience a difficulty in finding his voice. at last he took up a paper from his desk and said:
-"mr. wargrave, this is a telegram just received from western army head quarters. it says 'lieutenant wargrave is appointed to no. 12 battalion, frontier military police. direct him to proceed forthwith to report to o.c. detachment, ranga duar, eastern bengal.'"
-sentence of exile
-at the words of the telegram raymond started and frank stared in bewilderment at the colonel.
-"but i never asked for the military police, sir," he exclaimed. "i----"
-the colonel licked his dry lips and, working himself up into a passion, shouted:
-"no, you didn't. but i did. i applied for you to be sent to it. i asked for you to be transferred from this station. you can ask yourself the reason why. i will not tolerate conduct such as yours, sir. i will not have an officer like you under my command."
-frank flushed deeply.
-"i beg your pardon, sir. i don't understand. i really don't know what i've done. i should----"
-but the colonel burst in furiously:
-"he says he doesn't know what he's done, major hepburn. listen to that! he does not know what he's done"; and the speaker pounded on the desk with his clenched fist, working himself up into a rage, as a weak man will do when he has to carry out an unpleasant task.
-"but, sir, surely i have a right----," began wargrave, clenching his hands until the nails were almost driven into his palms in an effort to keep his temper.
-"i cannot argue the question with you, wargrave," said the colonel loftily. "you have got your orders. headquarters approve of my action. i have discussed the matter with my second in command, and he agrees with me. you can go. raymond, make out the necessary warrants for mr. wargrave's journey and give him an advance of a month's pay. he will leave to-morrow. tell the quartermaster to make the necessary arrangements."
-when he reached his house he entered the sitting-room and dropped into a chair. his "boy" approached salaaming and asked if he should go to the mess to order the sahib's breakfast to be got ready. wargrave waved him away impatiently.
-he sat staring unseeingly at the wall. he could not think coherently. he felt dazed. his bewildered brain seemed to be revolving endlessly round the thought of the telegram from headquarters and the colonel's words "i will not have an officer like you under my command." what was the meaning of it all? what had he done? a pang shot through him at the sudden remembrance of colonel trevor's assertion that major hepburn agreed with him. frank held the second in command in high respect, for he knew him to be an exceptionally good soldier and a gentleman in every sense of the word. had he so disgraced himself then that hepburn considered the colonel's action justified? but how?
-he shifted uneasily in his chair and his eyes fell on mrs. norton's portrait. at the sight of it his company commander's advice to him about her and mrs. trevor's spiteful remarks flashed across his mind. could violet be mixed up in all this? was his friendship with her perhaps the cause of the trouble? he dismissed the idea at once. there was nothing to be ashamed of in their relations.
-a figure darkened the doorway. it was raymond. wargrave sprang up and rushed to him.
-"what in heaven's name is it all about, ray?" he cried. "is the colonel mad?"
-the adjutant took off his helmet and flung it on the table.
-"well, tell me. what the devil have i done?" said his friend impatiently.
-raymond tried to speak but failed.
-"go on, man. what is it?" cried wargrave, seizing his arm.
-the adjutant burst out:
-"it's a damned shame, old man. i'm sorry."
-"but what is it? what is it, i say?" cried wargrave, shaking him.
-the adjutant nodded his head towards the big photograph on the writing-table.
-"it's mrs. norton," he said.
-"mrs. norton?" echoed his friend. "what the--what's she got to do with it?"
-raymond threw himself into a chair.
-"someone's been making mischief. the c.o.'s been told that there might be a scandal so he's got scared lest trouble should come to him."
-frank stared blankly at the speaker, then suddenly turned and walked out of the bungalow. the pony was standing huddled into the patch of shade at the side of the house, the syce squatting on the ground at its head and holding the reins. wargrave sprang into the saddle and galloped out of the compound. raymond ran to the verandah and saw him thundering down the sandy road that led to the residency.
-arrived at the big white building frank pulled up his panting pony on its haunches and dismounting threw the reins over its head and left it unattended.
-walking to the hall door he cried:
-a drowsy chuprassi at the back of the hall sprang up and hurried to receive him.
-"memsahib hai? (is the mistress in?)"
-"hai, sahib. (yes, sir)" said the servant salaaming.
-wargrave was free of the house and, taking off his hat, went into the cool hall and walked up the great staircase. he entered the drawing-room. after the blinding glare outside the closely-shuttered apartment seemed so dark that at first it was difficult for him to see if it were tenanted or not. but it was empty; and he paced the floor impatiently, frowning in chaotic thought.
-"good morning, frank. you are early to-day. and what a bad temper you seem to be in!" exclaimed a laughing voice; and mrs. norton, looking radiant and delightfully cool in a thin white madras muslin dress, entered the room.
-he went to her.
-"they're sending me away, violet," he said.
-"sending you away?" she repeated in an astonished tone. "sending you where?"
-"to hell, i think," he cried. "oh, i beg your pardon. i mean--yes, they're sending me away from rohar, from you. sending me to the other side of india."
-the blood slowly left her face as she stared uncomprehendingly at him.
-"sending you away? why?" she asked.
-"because--because we're friends, little girl."
-"because we're friends," she echoed. "what do you mean? but you mustn't go."
-"i must. i can't help it. i've got to go."
-pale as death violet stared at him.
-"got to go? to leave me?"
-then with a choking cry she threw her arms about his neck and sobbed.
-"you mustn't. you mustn't leave me. i can't live without you. i love you. i love you. i'll die if you go from me."
-frank started and tried to hold her at arm's length to look into her face. but the woman clung frenziedly to him, while convulsive sobs shook her body. his arms went round her instinctively and, holding her to his breast, he stared blankly over the beautiful bowed head. it was true, then. she loved him. without meaning it he had won her heart. he whose earnest wish it had been to save her from pain, to console her, to brighten her lonely life, had brought this fresh sorrow on her. to the misery of a loveless marriage he had added a heavier cross, an unhappy, a misplaced affection. no exultant vanity within him rejoiced at the knowledge that, unsought, she had learned to care for him. only regret, pity for her, stirred in him. he was aware now as always that his feeling for her was not love. but she must not realise it. he must save her from the bitter mortification of learning that she had given her heart unasked. his must have been the fault; he it must be to bear the punishment. she should never know the truth. he bent down and reverently, tenderly, kissed the tear-stained face--it was the first time that his lips had touched her.
-"dearest, we will go together. you must come with me," he said.
-violet started and looked wildly up at him.
-"go with you? what do you mean? how can i?"
-"i mean that you must come away with me to begin a new life--a happier one--together. i cannot leave you here with a man who neglects you, who does not appreciate you, who cannot understand you."
-"do you mean--run away with you?" she asked.
-"yes; it is the only thing to do."
-she slowly loosed her clasp of him and released herself from his arms.
-"but i don't understand at all. why are you going? and where?"
-he briefly told her what had happened. his face flushed darkly as he repeated the colonel's words.
-"'he wouldn't have an officer like me under his command,' he said. he treated me like a criminal. i don't value his opinion much. but major hepburn agrees with him. that hurts. i respect him."
-"but where is this place they're sending you to?" she asked.
-"ranga duar? i don't know. eastern bengal, i believe."
-"bengal. what? anywhere near calcutta?"
-"no; it must be somewhere up on the frontier. otherwise they wouldn't send military police to garrison it."
-"but what is it like? is it a big station?" she persisted.
-"i can't tell you. but it's sure not to be. no; it must be a small place up in the hills or in the jungle. there's only a detachment there."
-"but what have i got to do with your being sent there?" she asked in perplexity.
-"don't you understand? someone's been making mischief," he replied. "those two vile-minded women have been talking scandal of us to the colonel."
-"what? talking about you and me? oh!" she exclaimed.
-his words brought home to her the fact that these bitter-tongued women whom she despised had dared to assail her--her, the burra mem, the great lady of their little world. had dared to? she could not silence them. and what would they say of her, how their tongues would wag, if she ran away from her husband! and they would have a right to talk scandal of her then. the thought made her pause.
-"but how could i go with you to this place in bengal? where could i live?" she asked.
-"you'd live with me."
-"oh! in your bungalow? how could i? and how would i get there?" she continued. "i haven't any money. i don't suppose i've got a ten-rupee note. and i couldn't ask my husband."
-"of course not. i would----" he paused. "by jove! i never thought of that." it had not occurred to him that elopements must be carried out on a cash basis. he had forgotten that money was necessary. and he had none. he was heavily in debt. the local shroffs--the native money-lenders--would give him no more credit when they knew that he was going away. all that he would have would be the one month's advance of pay--probably not enough for violet's fare and expenses across india--the government provided his--and certainly not enough to support them for long. he frowned in perplexity. running away with another man's wife did not seem so easy after all.
-violet was the first to recover her normal calm.
-"sit down and let us talk quietly," she said. "one of the servants may come in. or my husband--if people are talking scandal of us."
-she touched the switch of an overhead electric fan--the government of india housed its political officer in rohar much more luxuriously than the military ones--and sat down under it. wargrave began to pace the room impatiently.
-"come, frank, stop walking about like a tiger in a cage and let's discuss things properly."
-with an effort he pulled himself together and took a chair near her. the woman was the more self-possessed of the two. the shock of suddenly finding herself up against the logical outcome of her desires had sobered her; and, faced with the prospect of an immediate flight involving the abdication of her assured social position and the surrender of a home, she was able to visualise the consequences of her actions. the most sobering reflection was the thought that by so doing she would be casting herself to the female wolves of her world--and she knew the extent of their mercy. there were others of her acquaintance besides mrs. trevor who would howl loud with triumph over her downfall. the thought has saved many a woman from social ruin.
-thinking only of what she had so often told him of the misery of living with a man as unsympathetic as her husband, frank pleaded desperately with a conviction that he was far from feeling. the hard fact of the lack of sufficient money to pay for her travelling expenses, the difficulty of getting off together from this out-of-the-way station, were not to be got over. then the impossibility of knowing whether she could remain with him when he was on frontier duty and of supporting her away from him, the realisation of the fact that they would have to face the divorce court with its heavy costs and probably crushing damages, all made the situation seem hopeless. in despair he sprang up and resumed his nervous pacing of the room.
-at last violet said:
-"all i can see, dearest, is that we must wait. it will be harder for me than for you. you at least will not have to live with anyone uncongenial to you. but i must. yet i can bear it for your sake."
-he stopped before her and looked at her in admiration of her courageous and self-sacrificing spirit. then he bent down and kissed her tenderly. sitting beside her he discussed the situation more calmly than he had hitherto done. it was finally agreed that he was to go alone to his new station, save all that he could to pay off his debts--he would receive a higher salary in the military police and his expenses would be less--and when he was free and had made a home for her violet would sacrifice everything for love and come to him. with almost tears in his eyes as he thought of her nobility he strained her to his heart. when the time came for parting the woman broke down completely and wept bitterly as she clung to him. he kissed her passionately, then with an effort put her from him and almost ran from the room, while she flung herself on a lounge and sobbed convulsively.
-one of the residency syces had taken charge of the pony; and wargrave, mounting it, galloped madly back to his bungalow, his heart torn with anguish for the unhappiness of the broken-hearted woman that he was leaving behind.
-when he arrived home he found that raymond and his own "boy" and sword-orderly (his native soldier-servant) had begun his packing for him, for his heavy baggage had to be despatched that afternoon. the bungalow was crowded with his brother-officers waiting to see him. he had intended to avoid them, for he felt disgraced by the colonel's censure which it was evident the commanding officer had not kept secret, though the whole matter should have been treated as confidential. but they made light of his scruples and showed him that he had their sympathy. he had meant to dine alone in his room that night; but his comrades insisted on his coming to the mess, where they were to give him an informal farewell dinner. they would take no refusal.
-daly, who was the acting quartermaster of the battalion, told him that the arrangements for his journey had been made. he was to leave at dawn and drive sixty miles in a tonga--a two-wheeled native conveyance drawn by a pair of ponies--to a village called basedi on the shores of a narrow gulf or deep inlet of the sea which formed the eastern boundary of the state of mandha. here he would have to spend the night in a dâk-bungalow--or rest-house--and cross the water in a steam-launch next morning. after that, five days more of travel by various routes and means awaited him.
-before dinner that night a few minutes apart with hepburn made frank happier than he had been all day. for his company commander told him that he had only agreed with the colonel's action because he believed that it would be for the subaltern's own good, not because he considered that the latter had done anything to disgrace him. hepburn added that if he was given command of the regiment in two years' time--as should happen in the ordinary course of events--he would be glad to have wargrave back again in the battalion then. frank, with a guilty feeling when he remembered his compact with violet, thanked him gratefully, and with a lightened heart went to the very festive meal that was to be his last for some long time, at least with his old corps.
-the colonel had refused to agree to his being invited formally to be the guest of the regiment; and neither he nor the other married man, the doctor, were present. if they slept that night they were the only two officers in the cantonment that did; for none of the others, not even senior major, hepburn, left the mess until it was time to escort their departing comrade to his bungalow to change for the journey. and, as the tonga-ponies rattled down the road and bore him away, frank's last sight of his old comrades was the group of white-clad figures in the dawn waving frantically and cheering vociferously from the gateway of his bungalow.
-the memory of it rejoiced him throughout the terrible hours of the long journey in the baking heat and blinding glare of the hot weather day. the worse moments were the stops every ten miles to change ponies, when he had to wait in the blazing sunshine. his "boy," who sat on the front seat of the vehicle beside the driver, produced from a basket packed with wet straw cooled bottles of soda-water, without which wargrave felt that he would have died of sunstroke.
-then on after each halt; and the endless strip of white road again unrolled before him, while the never-ceasing clank of the iron-shod bar coupling the ponies maddened his aching head with its monotonous rhythm.
-as the weary miles slid past him his thoughts were with violet, so beautiful, so patient and brave in her self-denying endurance. and he cursed himself for having added to her pain, and inwardly vowed that some day he would atone to her for it.
-at last the tonga rattled into the bare compound of the basedi dâk-bungalow standing on a high stone plinth. the untidy khansamah--the custodian of the rest-home--hurried on to the verandah to greet the unexpected visitor and show his "boy" where to put the sahib's bedding and baggage in a bleak room with a cane-bottomed wooden bed hung with torn mosquito-curtains.
-from a glass case in the sitting-room containing a scanty store of canned provisions the khansamah provided a meal with such ill-assorted ingredients as somebody's desiccated soup lukewarm, a tin of sardines and sweet biscuits to eat with them, and a bottle of beer to wash it down with. wargrave was too choked with dust, too sickened with the heat and glare, to have any appetite. after a smoke he dragged his weary body to bed and in spite of the mosquitoes that flocked joyously through the holes in the gauze curtains to feast on him slept the profound sleep of utter exhaustion.
-he was up at daybreak; for the tide served in the early morning and only at its height could the launch approach the shore, which at low water was bordered with the filthy slime of mangrove swamps.
-landed at the other side of the gulf he had even a worse experience of travel before him than on the previous day. for the next stage of the journey was forty miles across a salt desert in a tram drawn by a camel. the car was open on all sides and covered by a cardboard roof; and its wooden seats were uncomfortably hard for long hours of sitting. the heat was appalling. it struck up from the baked ground and seemed to scorch the body through the clothes. the glare from the white sand and even whiter patches of salt was blinding and penetrated through the closed eyelids. a hot wind blew over the hazy, shimmering desert, setting the whirling dust-devils dancing and striking the face like the touch of a heated iron. wargrave's small store of ice and mineral water was exhausted, and he felt that he was likely to die of thirst. for in the villages where they changed camels cholera was raging; and he dared not drink the water from their wells.
-the tram slid easily along the shining rails that stretched away out of sight over the monotonous plain, the camel loping lazily along, its soft, sprawling feet falling noiselessly on the sand. the last ten miles of the way lay through less sterile country; and the tram passed herds of black buck--the pretty, spiral-horned antelope. used to its daily passage, the graceful animals, which were protected by the game-laws of the native state through which the line ran, barely troubled to move out of its way. they stood about in hundreds, staring lazily at it, some not ten yards off, the bucks turning their heads away to scratch their sides with the points of their horns or rubbing their noses with dainty hoofs.
-that night wargrave slept at a dâk-bungalow near the terminus in a little native town with a small branch-railway connecting it with a main line. then for four days he travelled across the scorching plains of india, shut up in stuffy carriages with violet-hued glass windows and venetian wooden shutters meant to exclude the heat and glare. over bare plains broken by sudden flat-topped rocky hills, through closely-cultivated fields and stretches of scrub-jungle, by mud-walled villages, he journeyed day and night. the train crossed countless wide river-beds in which the streams had shrunk to mean rivulets; but when it clattered over the ganges at allahabad the sacred flood rolled a broad and sluggish current under the bridge on its way to the far-distant bay of bengal.
-on the fourth night wargrave slept on a bench in the waiting-room of a small junction, niralda, from which a narrow-gauge railway branched off to the north from the main line through eastern bengal. at an early hour next morning he took his seat in the one first-class carriage of the toy train, which journeyed through typical bengal scenery by mud-banked rice-fields, groves of tall, feathery bamboos and hamlets of pretty palm-thatched huts, their roofs hidden by the broad green leaves of sprawling creepers. soon across the sky to the north a dark, blurred line rose, stretching out of sight east and west. it grew clearer as the train sped on, more distinct. it was the great northern rampart of india, the himalayas. then, seeming to float in air high above the highest of the dark mountain peaks and utterly detached from them, the white crests of the eternal snows shone fairy-like against the blue sky.
-as wargrave gazed enraptured, suddenly hills and plain were shut out from his sight as the train plunged from the dazzling sunlight into the deep shadows of a tropical forest. and the subaltern recognised with a thrill of delight that he was entering the wonderful terai jungle, the marvelous belt of woodland that stretches for hundreds of miles along the foot of the himalayas through assam and bengal to the far siwalik range, clothing their lower slopes or scaling their steep sides into nepal and bhutan. deep in its recesses the rhinoceros, bison and buffalo hide, herds of wild elephants roam, tigers prey on the countless deer, and the great mountain bears descend to prowl in it for food. frank had learned on the way that ranga duar was practically situated in it; and the knowledge almost consoled him for his exile in the promise of sport that kings might envy.
-at a small wayside station in a clearing in the forest his railway journey ended. beside the one small stone building two elephants were standing, incessantly swinging their trunks, flapping their ears and shifting their weight restlessly from leg to leg. frank, on getting out of his carriage, learned with pleasure from their salaaming mahouts (drivers) that these animals were to be his next means of transport, a novel one that harmonised with the surroundings. on the back of each great beast was a massive, straw-filled pad secured by a rope passing surcingle-wise around its body.
-each mahout carried a gun, one a heavy rifle, the other a double-barrelled fowling-piece, which they offered to wargrave.
-"huzoor!" (the presence--a polite mode of address in hindustani), said one man, "the burra sahib (the political sahib) sends salaams and lends you these, as you might see something to shoot on the way."
-"oh, the political officer. very kind of him, i'm sure," remarked the subaltern. "what is his name?"
-"what a curious name!" thought frank. for in the vernacular "durro mut!" means, "do not be afraid!" he concluded that it was a nickname.
-"why is he called that?" he asked in hindustani.
-"because the sahib is a very brave sahib," replied the man. "where he is there no one need fear."
-the other mahout nodded assent, then said:
-"the commanding sahib has sent your honour from the mess a basket with food and drink. i have put it on the table in the babu's (clerk's) office in the station."
-frank blessed his new c.o. for his thoughtfulness and made a welcome meal while he watched his baggage being loaded on to one of the elephants.
-"buth!" (lie down) cried the mahout; and the obedient animal slowly sank to its knees and stretched out its legs before and behind. frank's "boy" mounted timorously when the luggage had been strapped on to the pad. when the subaltern was ready the second elephant was ordered to kneel down for him; and he clambered up awkwardly and clung on tightly when the mahout, getting astride of the great neck, made it rise.
-along a broad road cut through the forest the huge beasts lumbered with a plunging, swaying stride that was very tiring to a novice. holding both guns frank glanced continually ahead, aside and behind him with a delicious feeling of excited hope that at any moment some dangerous wild beast might appear. on either hand the dense undergrowth of great, flower-covered bushes and curving fan-shaped palms, restricted the view to a few yards. from its dense tangle rose the giant trunks of huge trees, their leafy crowns striving to push through the thick canopy of vegetation overhead into the life-giving air and sunshine.
-but no wild animal appeared to cheer wargrave on the long way; and as hour after hour went by his whole body ached with the strain of sitting upright without a support to his back and being jolted violently at every step of the elephant. at last they reached a clearing in the forest where stood the mahout's huts and a tall, wooden building, the peelkhana, or elephant stables. it lay at the foot of the mountains; and from here the road wound upwards among the lower hills, under steep cliffs, by the brink of precipices and beside deep ravines down which brawling streams tumbled.
-as the party mounted higher and ever higher the big trees fell away behind them until frank could look down on a sea of foliage stretching away out of sight east and west but bounded on the south by the plains of india seen vaguely through the shimmering heat-haze. up, up they climbed, until far above him he caught glimpses of buildings dotted about among jungle-clad knolls and spurs jutting out from the dark face of the mountains. and at last as evening shadows began to lengthen they reached a lovely recess in the hills, a deep horse-shoe; and in it an artificially-levelled parade-ground, a rifle-range running up a gully, a few bungalows dotted about among the trees and lines of single-storied barracks enclosed by a loopholed stone wall told wargrave that he had come to his journey's end. this was his place of exile--this was ranga duar.
-a border outpost
-"what a beautiful spot!" thought frank as he gazed entranced at the scenery. "i've never seen anything like it. it looks like heaven after the ugliness of rohar. and how delightfully cool it is, too, up in the mountains! well, with this climate and good shooting in the forest below life won't be as dreadful as i thought. i wish poor violet were here out of the heat and glare. how she'd love all this beauty, these trees, these gardens, the glorious mountains!"
-he sighed as he thought of the woman who was so far away.
-"huzoor, that is the mess" broke in the voice of his mahout, as he pointed to a long, red-tiled building half-hidden among the trees a few hundred feet above them. to reach it they had to pass a large, well-built stone bungalow, two-storied, unlike all the others and standing in a lovely garden glowing with the vivid hues of the flowers, the flaming red of huge bushes of bougainvillea and poinsettia. frank, glancing towards it, was about to ask the mahout who lived in it when he started in horror and cried to the man:
-"stop! stop your animal! look there!"
-and he snatched at his rifle. for on the farther side of the house a huge tusker elephant in the garden stood over a little european boy about four years old, who was sprawling almost under the huge feet. and high above its head the brute held in its curved trunk a younger child, a girl with long golden curls, as if about to dash it to the ground.
-as frank grasped the rifle the mahout, who had turned at his cry, seized the barrel and said with a smile:
-"durro mut, sahib! do not fear, sir. those are durro mut sahib's babies and the elephant is their playmate."
-and as he spoke wargrave saw the elder child spring up from the ground and beat the great animal's legs with his tiny hands, crying:
-"mujh-ko bhi, badshah! mujh-ko bhi! uth! uth! (me too, badshah! me too! take me up!)"
-and the baby held aloft was crowing in glee and kicking its fat little legs frantically. the elephant lowered it tenderly to the ground and picked up the boy in its stead and lifted him into the air, while he laughed and clapped his hands. the two mahouts raised their palms respectfully to their foreheads and cried to their animals:
-"salaam kuro! (salute!)"
-and the two trunks were lifted together in the salaamut, the royal salute given to kings and viceroys.
-frank's mahout explained.
-"gharib parwar (protector of the poor), the pagan ignorant hindus around here say that the elephant is a god. aye, and that his master, durro mut sahib, is one too. that's like enough. well, allah alone knows the truth of everything. but those two are more than mere man and animal, that is certain. mul, moti! (go on, pearl!)"
-"have they a mother?" he asked the mahout.
-"yes, huzoor. the mem-sahib (lady) is doubtless within the house."
-"i want to dismount," said frank; and he grasped the surcingle rope as the elephant sank jerkily to its knees. then sliding down from the pad he entered the gate and passed up through the garden towards the bungalow. as he did so a dainty little figure in white, a charmingly pretty girl with golden hair and blue eyes, came out on the verandah. seeing him she walked down the steps to meet him and held out her hand, saying in a pleasant, musical voice:
-"you are mr. wargrave, of course? welcome to ranga duar."
-frank, uncomfortably conscious of his dishevelled appearance and travel-stained attire, almost blushed as he took off his hat and quickened his steps to meet her, wondering who this delightful young girl--she looked about nineteen--could be. possibly an elder sister of the children outside. but as they shook hands she said:
-"i am the wife of the political officer here. my husband, colonel dermot, has just gone up to the mess to see your c.o., major hunt."
-frank was astonished. this pretty young girl, scarcely more than a child herself, the mother of the two chubby babies! touched by her kind manner he shook her hand warmly and said:
-"thank you very much for your welcome, mrs. dermot. it's awfully good of you, and i--i assure you i appreciate it a lot just now. i was coming to tell you--i wonder do you know that your babies--i suppose they are yours--are playing what seems to me rather a dangerous game with an elephant at the side of the house."
-mrs. dermot smiled; and the dimples that came with the smile carried his mind back for an instant to violet.
-"yes, they are my chicks," she said. "i left them in badshah's charge."
-frank was not altogether reassured. the young mother evidently did not know what was happening.
-"but--pardon me--is it quite safe? i was a bit scared when i saw them. the animal was tossing them up in the air."
-"you needn't be alarmed, mr. wargrave--though it's very good of you to be concerned and come to tell me," she replied. "but badshah--that's the elephant's name--is a most careful nurse and i know that my babies are quite safe when they are in his care. he has looked after them since they were able to crawl. come and be introduced to him. i must tell you that he is a very exceptional animal. indeed, we almost forget that he is an animal. he has saved our lives, my husband's and mine, on more than one occasion. next to the children and me i think that kevin loves him better than anyone or anything else in the world. and after my chicks and kevin and my brother i believe i do, too. as for the babies, i'm not sure that he doesn't come first with them."
-she led the way round the house, and in spite of her assurances wargrave felt a little nervous when they came in sight of the strange nurse and its charges. the tiny girl was seated on the ground tightly clasping one huge foreleg; while the boy was beating the other with his little fists, crying:
-"mujk-ko uth! pir! pir! (lift me up! again! again!)"
-when he saw his mother he ran to her and said:
-he suddenly caught sight of the stranger and paused shyly.
-"brian darling, this is a new friend," said his mother, bending down to him. "won't you shake hands with him?"
-the child conquered his shyness with an effort and walked over to frank, holding out his little hand.
-"how do you do?" he said politely.
-the subaltern gravely shook the proffered hand. the little girl scrambled to her fat little legs and finger in mouth, surveyed him solemnly. then satisfied with her inspection she toddled forward to him and said:
-frank laughed joyously.
-"with all my heart, you darling," he cried.
-this delightful welcome in the dreaded place of exile was inexpressibly cheering. he swung the dainty mite up in his arms and kissed her. she put her arms around his neck and hugged him.
-"me like 'oo," she said.
-"you little flirt, eileen," exclaimed her mother laughing. "now it's badshah's turn."
-she walked to the elephant, a splendid specimen of its race, though it had only one tusk, the right. she held out her hand to it. the long trunk shot out, brushed her fingers and then her cheek with a light touch that was almost a caress. she stroked the trunk affectionately.
-"now, badshah, this is a new sahib."
-frank, with the baby girl seated on his shoulder, stepped forward and extended his hand. the animal smelt it and then laid its trunk for a moment on his free shoulder.
-"badshah accepts you, mr. wargrave," said mrs. dermot seriously. "and there are few whom he takes to readily."
-eileen, with one arm around frank's neck, stretched out the other to the elephant.
-"me love badshah," she said.
-the snake-like trunk lingered caressingly on her golden head. the baby caught and kissed it.
-"now then, chickies, time for bed," said their mother. "say goodnight to badshah."
-the little boy ran to the great animal and hugged its leg tightly, while the snaky trunk touched the child's face affectionately.
-"come along, brian. let him go now"; and at his mother's bidding the boy released his clasp and ran to her.
-"goodnight, badshah. salaam!" said mrs. dermot, waving her hand to the mammoth, while her little daughter on wargrave's shoulder imitated her.
-the big animal raised its trunk in salute and, turning, walked with swaying stride out of sight behind the bungalow.
-"by jove, what a splendid beast!" exclaimed frank. "and how wonderfully well trained he is. i'm not surprised now that you let the kiddies play with him."
-mrs. dermot smiled.
-"you would be even less so if you knew his story," she said. "he is my husband's private property now. the government of india presented him to kevin. now come back to the house and have tea. oh, no, after your long ride you'll prefer a whiskey and soda."
-"i'd really rather have the tea, i think, mrs. dermot. i don't feel thirsty up in this deliciously cool air. it's awful down in the plains now. but what about my elephants and baggage?"
-"tell the mahouts to go to the mess. you are to have a room there."
-frank did so; and the two animals lumbered away up the hill after the mahouts had brought the colonel's guns into the bungalow.
-mrs. dermot led the way into the house. the little boy had possessed himself of wargrave's free hand, the other one being engaged in holding eileen, who was perched on the subaltern's shoulder. mrs. dermot found it difficult to separate the children from their new friend when at last she bore them off to bed.
-left to himself, frank examined with deep interest and admiring envy the splendid display of colonel dermot's trophies of big game shooting that filled the bungalow. from the walls many heads of bison and buffalo, of sambhur and barasingh, those fine indian stags, looked mildly at him with their glass eyes; while tigers, bears and panthers snarled at him from the ground. long elephant-tusks leaned in corners, smoking and liqueur-tables made up from the mammoths' legs and feet stood about, and crossed from ceiling to floor; on the walls were the skins of enormous snakes such as frank had never seen or imagined. he had thought a six-foot cobra or an eight-foot python long--here were reptiles sixteen or eighteen feet in length, and he hoped that he would never meet their equals alive in the jungle.
-while he was gazing with admiration at the fine collection of trophies mrs. dermot returned.
-"what a magnificent lot of heads and skins you've got here!" he exclaimed. "all your husband's, i suppose?"
-she laughed as she glanced round the room, while pouring out the tea that her butler had brought.
-"i'm afraid they make the house rather like a museum of natural history," she answered. "yes, they are all kevin's, or nearly all. there are a few of mine among them."
-he looked at her in open admiration.
-"oh, you shoot? how splendid!" he said. "have you ever got a tiger?"
-"a couple," she replied, smiling.
-"i envy you awfully," he said. "i've never even seen one--out of a cage."
-"well, if you are keen on shooting, mr. wargrave, you ought to have little difficulty in bagging a tiger or two before long," she said.
-"i'd love to have the chance of going after big game. i'm hoping for it here. shall i? i've never had any, although i've shot a panther or two and a few black buck and chinkara."
-"you will have every opportunity of good sport here. neither of the other two europeans, your commanding officer and the doctor of your detachment, go in for it, the latter because his sight is very bad, major hunt because he doesn't care for it. i'm sure my husband will be glad to take you out with him; and nobody in the whole terai knows more about big game than he."
-"by jove; how ripping," exclaimed frank eagerly. "would he?"
-"i'm sure he would. he'll be only too delighted to have someone for company. i used to go with him always, until my babies came. now kevin has no one but badshah."
-"badshah? oh, yes, that ripping elephant. i don't know much about those animals, but isn't it unusual for him to have only a single tusk?"
-"yes; badshah is what the natives call a 'gunesh.' you know that gunesh is the hindu god of wisdom and is represented as having an elephant's head with only the right tusk? consequently any of these animals born with a single tusk, and that the right, is considered sacred and looked upon as a god."
-"one of the mahouts said that the hindus here regard your husband as one, too," said frank, "and he seemed inclined to believe it himself. i like the name they've given colonel dermot--durro mut sahib, fear not sahib."
-a look of pride came in the young wife's eyes as she repeated the name softly to herself.
-"fear not sahib. yes, it suits him." then aloud she continued:
-"i think you'll like my husband, mr. wargrave. all men do. he's a man's man. the hill and jungle people worship him. he understands them. ah! here he is, i think."
-her face brightened, and frank saw the light of love shine in her eyes as she turned expectantly to the door. he sprang up as a tall man with handsome, clear-cut features, dark complexion and eyes, and close-cropped black hair touched at the temples with grey, entered the room. with a pleasant smile the newcomer walked towards the subaltern with outstretched hand, saying in a friendly voice:
-"glad to welcome you to ranga duar, wargrave."
-"thank you very much, sir," replied frank gripping his hand and greatly taken at once by the political officer's appearance and friendly manner. "it was very kind of you to send those guns for me. but i had no luck. we saw nothing on the way."
-after greeting him colonel dermot bent over his wife and kissed her fondly. it was obvious to the subaltern that after their five years of married life they were lovers still. frank looked at them a little enviously. he wondered would it be so with violet and him after the same lapse of time; for the sight of their happiness sent his thoughts flying to the woman who loved him.
-"are you keen on shooting, wargrave?" said the colonel.
-"oh, yes, he is, kevin," broke in his wife. "i told him that i was sure you'd be glad to take him with you into the jungle sometimes."
-"i'll be happy to do so, if you care to come with me, wargrave," said the colonel.
-"i'd love to, sir. it would be awfully good of you," replied the subaltern eagerly. "but i've only a mannlicher rifle."
-"ah, you'll need a bigger bore than that. but i can lend you a .470 high velocity cordite weapon. you want something with great hitting power for dangerous game," said dermot.
-he went on to speak of the jungle and its denizens; and his conversation was so interesting that wargrave forgot the flight of time until his hostess reminded him that he had to report his arrival to his commanding officer and find his new quarters. her husband volunteered to show him the way to the mess and introduce him to major hunt.
-as wargrave shook hands with mrs. dermot, she said:
-"i wanted to ask you to dinner this evening; but kevin thought you might prefer to spend your first night with your brother officers. but we shall expect you to-morrow, when they are coming, too."
-on their way up the steep road from his bungalow the political officer spoke of the great forest below them and the sport to be found in it. then he said:
-"it's lucky you like shooting, wargrave, for ranga duar is very isolated and life in it dull to a person who has no resources. still, it has its advantages, and chief among them is the climate. it's delightful in the cold weather and pleasant in the hot."
-"by jove, it is indeed, sir! it's like heaven after the heat in the plains below. i don't know how i lived through it coming across india."
-"the rainy season is the hardest to bear. we have five months of it and over three hundred inches of rain during them. one never sees a strange face then--not that we ever do have many visitors here at any time. still, you'll like your c.o., and burke the doctor is a capital fellow. here we are."
-he turned in through a narrow gate leading to a pretty though neglected garden in which stood the mess, a long, single-storied building raised on piles. on the broad wooden verandah to which a flight of steps led from the ground two men were reclining in long chairs reading old newspapers. on seeing dermot and his companion they rose, and the colonel introduced frank. they shook hands with him and gave him a hearty welcome, which, coming on the top of the dermot's, cheered the subaltern exceedingly and for the time made him forget the circumstances of his coming.
-"it's mighty glad i am to see you here, wargrave," said burke, the doctor, in a mellow brogue, "aven av it's only to have someone living in the mess wid me. the major there lives in solitary state in his little bungalow; and i'm all alone here at night wid shaitans (devils) and wild beasts walking on the verandah."
-"what? has that panther been prowling round the mess again?" asked the political officer.
-"faith! and he has that. sure, i heard him sniffing at me door last night. i wish to the powers ye'd shoot him, sir."
-"i can't get him. i've tried often enough."
-"troth! and it's waking up one fine morning i'll be to find he's made a meal av me. keep your door shut at night, wargrave. merrick, who lived in the room you'll have, forgot to do it once and the divil nearly had him."
-"is that really a fact?" asked frank, delighted at the thought of having come to a place with such possibilities of sport.
-"yes; we're plagued by a brute of a panther that prowls about the station at night, jumps the wall of the fort and carries off the sepoys' dogs, and has actually entered rooms here in the mess. he has killed several bhuttia children on the hills around here. nobody can ever get a shot at him. he's too cunning. will you have a drink, colonel?" said hunt.
-the political officer thanked him but declined, and, reminding them all of his wife's invitation for the morrow, bade them goodnight.
-"that's one av the finest men in india," exclaimed burke, as they watched dermot's figure receding down the road. the doctor had a pleasant, ugly face and wore spectacles.
-"he is, indeed. he keeps the whole bhutan border in order," said the commandant, major hunt, a slight, grey-haired man with a quiet and reserved manner. "the bhuttias are more afraid of a cross look from him than of all our rifles and machine-guns. have a drink, wargrave? yes? and you, burke? hi, boy!"
-a gurkha servant with the ugly, cheery face of his race appeared and was ordered to bring three whiskeys and sodas.
-"ranga's not a bad place if you can stand the loneliness," continued the major. "are you fond of shooting."
-"yes, sir, awfully."
-"hooray! that's good," cried burke. "now we'll have someone to go down to the jungle and shoot for the mess. we want a change from tinned army rations and the tough ould hins that these benighted haythins call chickens."
-"yes, you'll be a godsend to us if you're a good shot, wargrave," added the commandant. "we never get meat here unless someone shoots a stag or a buck in the jungle; and for that we generally have to rely on dermot. but he is away such a lot, wandering along the frontier, keeping an eye on the peace of the border. now we'll be able to look to you. we have three transport elephants with the detachment, all steady to shoot from."
-frank was delighted.
-"i'd love to go into the jungle if you'd let me, sir."
-"yes, i'll be glad if you do. there's not much work for you here; and this is a dull place for a youngster unless he's keen on sport. i'm not, myself; and burke's as blind as a bat. but you can always have an elephant when they aren't wanted to bring up supplies from the railway."
-the subaltern thanked him gratefully and inwardly decided that his new commanding officer was a great improvement on colonel trevor.
-"now, burke, i'm off to my bungalow. show wargrave his quarters," said the major rising. "see you at dinner."
-burke showed the subaltern his room, one of the four into which the mess was divided. like the doctor's quarters, it was at one end of the building, the centre apartment being the officers' anteroom and dining-room. frank found that his "boy," with the ready deftness of indian servants, had unpacked his trunks, hung up his clothes and stowed his various belongings about the scantily-furnished room. he had stood violet's photo on the one rickety table and laid out his master's white mess uniform on the small iron cot.
-major hunt, wargrave learned, lived in a bungalow a few hundred yards away, but, being unmarried, took his meals in the mess. the indian officers and sepoys of the detachment were quartered in barracks in the fort.
-frank dressed and entered the anteroom or officers' sitting-room, from which a door led into the messroom. both apartments were poorly furnished, but the walls were adorned with the skulls and skins of many beasts of the jungle, presented by colonel dermot, as frank learned. shelves filled with books ran across one end of the anteroom.
-as the interior of the mess was rather hot at that time of year--though to wargrave it seemed very cool after rohar--the dinner-table was laid on the verandah; and while the officers sat at their meal the pleasant mountain breeze played about them. frank thought with gratitude of his escape from the burning heat which at that moment was tormenting the hundreds of millions in the furnace of the plains of india stretching away from the foot of the cool hills.
-the meal was not luxurious, for it consisted almost exclusively of tinned provisions, fresh meat being unprocurable in ranga duar--except fowls of exceeding toughness--and vegetables and bread being rare dainties.
-during dinner wargrave learned how completely isolated his new station was. their only european neighbours were the planters on tea-gardens scattered about in the great forest below, the nearest thirty miles off. the few visitors that ranga duar saw in the year were the general on his annual inspection, an occasional official of the indian civil service, the public works or the forest department, or some planter friend of the dermots.
-the reason of the existence of this outpost and its garrison was the guarding of the duars, or passes, through the himalayas against raiders from bhutan, that little-known independent state lying between tibet and the bengal border. its frontier was only two miles from, and a few thousand feet above, ranga duar.
-"you are just in time for our one yearly burst of gaiety, wargrave," said the commandant, "the visit of the deb zimpun."
-"what on earth is that, sir?" asked the subaltern.
-"sounds like a new disease, doesn't it?" said burke laughing. "but it isn't. the deb zimpun is a gintleman av high degree, the heridithary cup bearer to the deb raja."
-"to the what?" demanded the bewildered frank.
-major hunt smiled.
-"bhutan is supposed to be ruled by a temporal monarch called the deb raja and also by a spiritual one, known in india as the durma raja. in reality it is under the sway of the most powerful of the several great feudal lords of the land, the tongsa penlop or chief of tongsa, whom we regard as the maharajah of bhutan. he has placed himself, as far only as the foreign relations of the country go, under the suzerainty of the government of india; and in return we grant him a subsidy of a lakh of rupees a year. it used to be fifty thousand, but the sum was doubled years ago. to get the money one of the state council comes every year. he is an official called the deb zimpun."
-"faith! he's a rum old beggar, wargrave," broke in burke. "looks like the pope av rome in his thriple crown, for he wears a high gold-edged cap and a flowing red robe av chinese silk, out av which sticks a pair av hairy bare legs."
-"the political officer receives him in durbar; and we furnish a guard of honour. the colonel gives a dinner to him and us, and we have another spread in the mess. that reminds me. i suppose dermot will be going into the jungle soon to shoot for the pot, as the durbar is next week. you'd better get him to take you. you can have one of our elephants and provide for our larder."
-"thanks very much, major," said the delighted subaltern. "the colonel promised to let me accompany him and lend me a rifle."
-when he went to his room that night the subaltern turned up the oil lamp that lighted it and before he undressed sat down before violet's photograph. as he looked at it he thought affectionately and a little sadly of the lonely woman so far away from him now. he pitied her for the isolation in which she lived, an isolation far completer than his own, for she had few friends, no intimates, and a husband worse than a stranger in his lack of understanding of her. surely it would be only right to take her from such a man, right to give her a fresh chance of finding the happiness that she had missed; for the warm-hearted, intelligent and artistic-natured woman would be far happier with him in this beautiful spot, remote from the world though it was. and his new comrades would appeal to her, dermot, strong, capable, one who would always stand out from his fellows; hunt grave, kindly, well-read; burke witty, clever and good-hearted. and, little though violet cared for her own sex, as a rule, surely in mrs. dermot she would find a friend. this happy wife, this loving mother, was so sweet and sympathetic that she would win the older woman's liking, while the two delightful children would take her heart by storm. poor, lonely violet, so beautiful, so ill-fated! frank sighed as he took up her portrait and kissed it.
-in the terai jungle
-in the pleasant light of the morning the little outpost looked as charming to wargrave as it had done on the previous evening. above ranga duar the mountains towered to the pale blue sky, while below it the foot-hills fell in steps to the broad sea of foliage of the great forest stretching away to the distant plains seen vaguely through the haze. the horse-shoe hollow in which the tiny station was set was bowered in vegetation. the gardens glowed with the varied hues of flowers, and were bounded by hedges of wild roses. the road and paths were bordered by the tall, graceful plumes of the bamboo and shaded by giant mango and banyan trees, their boughs clothed with orchids.
-frank had noticed the previous day that the fort, barracks and bungalows were all newly built, and he learned that during the great war which had raged along the frontiers of india five years before, the post had been fiercely attacked by an army of chinese and bhutanese and the little station practically wiped out of existence, although victory had finally rested with the few survivors of the garrison.
-from the first the subaltern took a great liking to the tall punjaubi mahommedan and hook-nosed, fair-skinned pathan native officers and sepoys of the detachment. the work was light and scarcely required two british officers; and frank soon found that major hunt, who seemed driven by a demon of quiet energy, preferred to do most of it himself. frank got the impression that to the elder man occupation was an anodyne for some secret sorrow. although the subaltern had no wish to shirk his duty he could not but be glad that his superior officer seemed always ready to dispense with his aid, for thus he would find it easier to get permission to go shooting.
-his first excursion into the jungle was arranged at dinner at the dermots' house on his second evening in ranga duar. the colonel proposed to take him out on the following monday, for on the next day the deb zimpun would arrive.
-"he always brings a big train of bhuttias with him, eighty swordsmen as an escort to the small army of coolies necessary to carry a hundred thousand silver rupees in boxes over the himalayan passes. i like to give them the flesh of a few sambhur stags as a treat," said the colonel.
-"hiven hilp ye av ye bring any sambhur flesh to the mess, wargrave," said burke. "we want something we can get our teeth into. no, we expect a khakur from you."
-"what's a khakur?" asked frank.
-"it's the muntjac or barking deer," replied dermot. "you wouldn't know it if you haven't shot in forests. it gets its english name from its call, which is not unlike a dog's bark."
-"whin ye hear one saying 'wonk! wonk!' in the jungle, wargrave, get up the nearest tree; for the khakur is warning all whom it may concern that there's a tiger in the immajit vicinity."
-frank had already learned to distrust most of burke's statements on sport, for the doctor was an inveterate joker. so he looked to the political officer for confirmation.
-"yes, it's supposed to be the case," agreed the colonel. "and i've more than once heard a tiger loudly express his annoyance when a khakur barked as he was trying to sneak by unnoticed. there's a barking-deer." he pointed to the well-mounted head of a small deer on the wall of the dining-room.
-"whom do you expect up for the durbar, mrs. dermot?" asked major hunt.
-"only mr. carter, the sub-divisional officer, and probably mr. benson."
-"eh--is--isn't miss benson coming too?" asked the doctor in a hesitating manner so unlike his usual cheery and assured self that frank looked at him. it seemed to him that burke was blushing.
-"oh, yes, i hope so," replied mrs. dermot.
-"er--haven't you heard from her?" persisted the doctor anxiously.
-"i had a letter this afternoon brought by a coolie. muriel wrote to say that they were in the buxa reserve but hoped to get here in time. i'm looking forward to her coming immensely. it's four months since i saw her."
-frank could not help noticing that burke seemed to hang on mrs. dermot's words; and he began to wonder if the unknown lady held the doctor's heart.
-"it's rather hard on a girl like miss benson to have to lead such a lonely life and rough it constantly in the jungle as she does," remarked major hunt. "at her age she must want gaiety and amusement."
-"muriel doesn't mind it," replied the hostess. "she loves jungle life. and she thinks that her father couldn't get on without her."
-"sure, she's right there, mrs. dermot," cried burke. "the dear ould boy'ud lose his head av he hadn't her to hould it on for him. she does most av his work. it's a sight to see that slip av a girl bossing all the forest guards and habus and giving them their ordhers."
-wargrave was anxious to hear more of this girl, in whom it appeared to him burke was very much interested; but colonel dermot broke in:
-"talking of orders, have you any for the butcher's man, noreen?" he asked, smiling at his wife.
-"yes, dear; will you please bring me a khakur and some jungle fowl? and if you can manage it a brace of kalej pheasants," said the good housewife seriously.
-"well, wargrave, we've both got our orders and know what to bring back from the jungle," said the colonel, turning to frank, who was sitting beside him. then the conversation between them drifted into sporting channels until all adjourned outside for coffee on the verandah.
-next afternoon the subaltern, passing down the road, was hailed from the dermots' garden by an imperious small lady with golden curls and big blue bows and ordered to play with her. her brother and badshah had to join in the game, too. frank, chasing the dainty mite round and round the elephant, began to think himself in the garden of eden.
-but that same evening he found that his himalayan paradise was not without its serpent. the three officers of the detachment were seated at dinner on the mess verandah, major hunt with his back to the rough stone wall of the building. a swinging oil lamp with a metal shade threw the light downward and left the ceiling and upper part of the wall in shadow.
-when dinner was ended the commandant, lighting a cheerot, tilted his chair on its back legs until his head nearly touched the wall. frank, talking to him, chanced to look up at the roof. he stared into the shadows for a moment, then, suddenly grasping the astonished major by the collar, jerked him out of his chair. and as he did so a snake, a deadly hill-viper, which had been trying to climb up the rough face of the wall, slipped and dropped on to the commandant's chair, slid to the floor and glided across the verandah and down into the garden before anyone could find a stick with which to attack it.
-major hunt, his sallow face a little paler than usual, looked up at the wall to see if any more reptiles were likely to follow, then sat down again calmly.
-"thank you, wargrave," he said quietly. "but for you that brute would have got me. and his bite is death. ranga's full of snakes, like all these places in the hills. we've killed several in the mess since i've been here; but no one's had such a close shave as this. i'll stand you a drink for that. hi, boy!"
-but for all this quiet manner of taking it frank had made a staunch friend that night by his prompt action.
-as burke took the filled glass that the gurkha mess-servant brought him at the major's order he said:
-"we've the worst snake in the world, i believe, here in the terai, wargrave," said major hunt. "look out for it when you're in the jungle. it's the hamadryad or king-cobra. have you heard of it?"
-"i saw the skin of one sixteen feet long in a bombay museum, sir," replied the subaltern.
-"it's the only snake in asia that will attack human beings unprovoked; it's deadly poisonous, unlike all other big snakes, and they say it moves so fast that it can overtake a man on a pony. benson, the forest officer of the district, tells me there are many of them in the jungles here."
-"one av the divils chased dermot's elephant once and turned on the colonel when he interfered. it got its head blown off for its pains," put in the doctor.
-"don't tell me any more, burke," exclaimed wargrave laughing, "or i won't be able to sleep to-night."
-he pushed back his chair as the commandant rose from the table and, saying goodnight to the two junior officers, picked up from the verandah and lit a hurricane lantern and walked down the mess steps with it on his way home to his bungalow. europeans in india do not care to move about at night without a lamp lest in the darkness they might tread on a snake.
-early on the following monday morning wargrave, dressed in khaki knickerbockers, shirt and puttees, and wearing besides his pith helmet a "spine protector"--a quilted cloth pad buttoned to the back--as a guard against sunstroke, went down to the dermots' bungalow. in the garden the colonel, also prepared for their shooting expedition, stood talking to his wife, while their children were trying to climb up badshah's legs. the elephant was equipped with a light pad provided with large pockets into which were thrust thermos flasks, packets of sandwiches and of cartridges. close by two servants were holding guns.
-"good morning, wargrave," said the colonel, as the subaltern greeted him and his wife. "you're in good time."
-eileen, deserting badshah, ran to frank and demanded to be lifted up and kissed. when he had obeyed the small tyrant, he said:
-"i haven't brought a rifle, sir."
-"that's right. i have one and a ball-and-shot gun for you. we'll walk down to the peelkhana by a short cut through the hills to look for kalej pheasant on the way. take the gun with you and load one barrel with shot; but put a bullet in the other, for you never know what we may meet. badshah will go down by the road, as well as one of the servants to bring the rifles and tell the mahouts to get a detachment elephant ready. it will follow us in the jungle to carry any animals we kill, while we'll ride badshah."
-kissing his wife and children the colonel led the way down the road, followed by frank and the servant, badshah walking unattended behind them.
-"good sport, mr. wargrave!" called out mrs. dermot, as the subaltern turned at the gate to take off his hat in a farewell salute; and the little coquette beside her kissed her tiny hand to him.
-after they had gone half a mile the two officers, carrying their fowling-pieces, turned off along a footpath through the undergrowth, leaving the servant and the elephant to continue down the road. the track led steeply down the mountain-side, at first between high, closely-matted bushes, and then through scrub-jungle dotted with small trees, among the foliage of which gleamed the yellow fruit of the limes and the plantain's glossy drooping leaves and long curving stalks from which the nimble fingers of wild monkeys had plucked the ripe bananas. here and there the ground was open; and the path following a natural depression in the hills gave down the gradually widening valley a view of the panorama of forest and plain lying below.
-as they passed a clump of tangled bushes a rustle and a pattering over the dry leaves under them caught the colonel's ear.
-"look out! kalej," he whispered, picking up a stone and throwing it into the cover. a large speckled black and white bird whirred out; and wargrave brought it down.
-"good shot! there's another," called out dermot, and fired with equal success. "we're lucky," he continued. "as a rule they won't break, but scuttle along under the bushes, so that one often has to shoot them running."
-frank picked up the birds and examined them with interest before the colonel stuffed them into his game bag and moved on down the path, which was growing steeper. the trees became more numerous and larger as they descended nearer the forest. out of another clump of bushes the sportsmen succeeded in getting a second brace of pheasants. lower down they passed through a belt of bamboos, where in one spot the long feathery boughs were broken off or twisted in wild confusion for a space of fifty yards' radius.
-"wild elephants," said the political officer briefly and pointed to a patch of dust in which was the round imprint of a huge foot.
-frank was a little startled; for he felt that against these great animals the bullets in their guns would be useless.
-"are they dangerous, sir?" he asked.
-"not as a rule when they are in a herd, although cow-elephants with calves may be so, fearing peril for their young. but sometimes a bull takes to a solitary life, becomes vicious and develops into a dangerous rogue. it probably happens that, finding crops growing near a jungle village and raiding them, he is driven off by the cultivators, turns savage and kills some of them. then he usually seems to take a hatred to all human beings and attacks them on sight. hallo! here we are at the peelkhana at last."
-they had reached the high wooden building which housed the three transport elephants of the detachment. in the clearing before it badshah and another animal were standing, a group of mahouts and coolies near them.
-"we'll mount and start at once," said colonel dermot, beckoning to his elephant, which came to him. "get up, wargrave."
-the subaltern looked up doubtfully at the pad on badshah's back.
-"how can i, sir? isn't he going to kneel?" he asked.
-"put your foot on his trunk when he crooks it and grab hold of his ears. he'll lift you up then."
-the understanding elephant at once curled its trunk invitingly and cocked its great ears forward. frank did as he was directed and found himself raised in the air until he was able to get on to the elephant's head and from it scrambled on to the pad. dermot followed and seated himself astride the huge neck.
-"mul! (go on!)" he ejaculated.
-with a swaying, lurching stride badshah at once moved across the clearing, followed by the transport elephant, on to which a mahout and a coolie had climbed, and plunged into the dense undergrowth which was so high that it nearly closed over the riders' heads. the sudden change from the blinding glare of the sun to the enchanting green gloom of the forest, from the intense heat to the refreshing coolness of the shade, was delightful.
-here and there the party came upon glades free from undergrowth, where in the cool shade of the great trees the ground was knee-deep in bracken. in one such spot wargrave's eye was caught by a flash of bright colour, and his rifle went half-way to his shoulder, only to be lowered again when he saw two sambhur hinds, graceful animals with glossy chestnut hides, watching the advancing elephants curiously but without fear. for, used to seeing wild ones, they did not realise that badshah and his companion carried human beings. their sex saved them from the hunters who, leaving them unscathed, passed on and plunged into the dense undergrowth on the far side of the clearing.
-the elephants fed continually as they moved along. sweeping up great bunches of grass, tearing down trails of leafy creepers, breaking off branches from the trees, they crammed them all impartially into their mouths. picking up twigs in their trunks they used them to beat their sides and legs to drive off stinging insects or, snuffing up dust from the ground, blew clouds of it along their bellies for the same purpose.
-suddenly the colonel stopped badshah and whispered:
-"there's a sambhur stag, wargrave. there, to your left in the undergrowth. have a shot at him."
-the subaltern looked everywhere eagerly, but in the dense tangle could not discern the animal. like all novices in the jungle he directed his gaze too far away; and suddenly a dark patch of deep shadow in the undergrowth close by materialised itself into the black hide of a stag only as it dashed off. it had been standing within fifteen paces of the elephants, knowing the value of immobility as a shield. at last its nerve failed it; and it revealed itself by breaking away. but as it fled colonel dermot's rifle spoke; and the big deer crumpled up and fell crashing through the vegetation to the ground. the second elephant's mahout, a grey-bearded mahommedan, slipped instantly to the earth and, drawing his kukri, struggled through the arresting creepers and undergrowth to where the stag lay feebly moving its limbs. seizing one horn he performed the hallal, that is, he cut its throat to let blood while there was still life in the animal, muttering the short mussulman creed as he did so. for his religion enjoins this hygienic practice--borrowed by the prophet from the mosaic law--to guard against long-dead carrion being eaten. at the touch of the colonel's hand badshah sank to its knees; and wargrave, very annoyed with himself for his slowness in detecting the deer, forced his way through the undergrowth to examine it. the stag was a fine beast fourteen hands high, with sharp brow antlers and a pair of thick, stunted horns branching at the ends into two points.
-leaving the elephants to graze freely the mahout and his coolie disembowelled the sambhur and hacked off the head with their heavy kukris. aided by the political officer and wargrave they skinned the animal and then with the skill of professional butchers proceeded to cut up the carcase into huge joints. while they were thus engaged the colonel went to a small, straight-stemmed tree common in the jungle and, clearing away a patch of the outer mottled bark, disclosed a white inner skin, which he cut off in long strips. with these, which formed unbreakable cordage, they fastened the heavy joints to the pad of the transport elephant.
-when this was done wargrave, looking at his hands covered with blood and grime, said ruefully:
-"how on earth are we to get clean, sir? is there any water in the jungle? we haven't seen any."
-the political officer, looking about him, pointed to a thick creeper with withered-seeming bark and said with a laugh:
-he cut off a length of the liana, which contained a whitish, pulpy interior. from the two ends of the piece water began to drip steadily and increased to a thin stream.
-"by george, sir, that's a plant worth knowing," said frank.
-"it's a most useful jungle product," said the colonel, holding it up so that his companion, using clay as soap, could wash his hands. "it's called the pani bel--water-creeper. one need never die of thirst in a forest where it is found. try the water in it."
-he raised it so that the clear liquid flowed into the subaltern's mouth. it was cool, palatable and tasteless.
-"by george, sir, that's good," exclaimed wargrave, examining the plant carefully. "now let me hold it for you."
-after dermot and the two natives had cleansed their hands and arms the party moved on, the transport elephant looking like an itinerant butcher's shop as it followed badshah. again the undergrowth parted before the great animals like the sea cleft by the bows of a ship and closed similarly behind them when they had passed. of its own volition the leader swerved one side or the other when it was necessary to avoid a tree-trunk or too dense a tangle of obstructing creepers. but once dermont touched and turned it sharply out of its course to escape what seemed a very large lump of clay adhering to the under side of an overhanging bough in their path.
-"a wild bees' nest," said the colonel, pointing to it. "it wouldn't do to risk hitting against that and being stung to death by its occupants."
-a few minutes later he suddenly arrested badshah at the edge of a fern-carpeted glade and whispered:
-"look out! there's a barking-deer. get him!"
-across the glade a graceful little buck with a bright chestnut coat stepped daintily, followed at a respectful distance by his doe. their restless ears pointed incessantly this way and that for every warning sound as they moved; but neither saw the elephants hidden in the undergrowth. raising his rifle frank took a quick aim at the buck's shoulder and fired. the deer pitched forward and fell dead, while its startled mate swung round and leapt wildly away.
-"a good shot of yours, wargrave," remarked colonel dermot, when badshah had advanced to the prostrate animal. "broke its shoulder and pierced the heart."
-frank looked down pityingly at the pretty little deer stretched lifeless among the ferns.
-"it seems a shame to slaughter a harmless thing like that," he said.
-"yes; i always feel the same myself and never kill except for food," replied the political officer. "unless of course it's a dangerous beast like a tiger. well, the khakur is too dead to hallal; but that doesn't matter, as we're going to eat it ourselves and not give it to the sepoys."
-the mahout and the coolie were already cleaning the deer and, without troubling to cut it up, bound its legs together with udal fibre and tied it to the pad of their elephant; and the party moved on again.
-half a mile further on the silence of the forest was broken by the loud crowing of a cock, taken up and answered defiantly by others.
-"hallo! are we near a village, sir?" asked wargrave, surprised at the familiar sounds so far in the heart of the wild.
-"no; those are jungle-fowl," whispered the political officer. "get your gun ready."
-he halted the elephant and picked up his fowling-piece. frank hurriedly substituted a shot cartridge for the one loaded with ball in his gun. he heard a pattering on the dry leaves under the trees and into a fairly open space before them stalked a pretty little bantam cock with red comb and wattles and curving green tail-feathers, followed by four or five sober brown hens, so like in every respect to domestic fowl that wargrave hesitated to shoot. but suddenly the birds whirred up into the air; and, as the colonel gave them both barrels, frank did the same. the cock and three of his wives dropped. the mahout urged his elephant forward and made the reluctant animal pick up the crumpled bunches of blood-stained feathers in its curving trunk and pass them to him.
-their meal and a smoke finished the party mounted again and moved on. but luck seemed to have deserted them. much to the political officer's disappointment they wandered for miles without adding anything to the bag. he had calculated on getting another couple of sambhur stags to present to the deb zimpun as food for his hungry followers. the route that they were now taking led circuitously back towards the peelkhana, which they wished to reach before sundown. they had got within a mile of it and were close to the foot of the hills when badshah stopped suddenly and smelt the ground. colonel dermot leaned over the huge head and stared down intently at something invisible to his young companion.
-"what is it, sir?" asked wargrave in a whisper.
-"bison. badshah's pointing for us. we can't shoot them here, for we're in government jungle where the killing of elephants, bison and rhino is forbidden unless they attack you. but the track leads north towards the mountains and at their foot the government forest ends. that's only half a mile away and we can bag them there. load your rifle with solid-nosed bullets. this is the pug (footprint) of a bull, i think."
-the two natives had seen the tracks by this and were wildly excited. badshah without urging moved swiftly through the trees and soon brought his riders to the hills and into sight of the sky once more. the mountains stood out clear and distinct in the slanting rays of the setting sun. suddenly a loud though distant, almost musical bellow sounded, seeming to come from a bamboo jungle about a mile away.
-"that's a cow-bison calling," said dermot in a low voice. "there's a herd somewhere about; but the 'pugs' we're following up are those of a solitary bull. we're in free forest now; so with luck you may get your first bison. it's very steep here; we'll dismount, leave the elephants and go on foot."
-the subaltern was wildly excited, and his heart thumped at a rate that was not caused by the steep slope up which he followed dermot. the colonel tracked the bull unhesitatingly, although to wargrave there was no mark to be seen on the ground.
-they were creeping cautiously through bamboo cover on a hill when dermot, who was leading, suddenly threw himself on his face, lay still for a minute or two, then, motioning to his companion to halt, crawled forward like a snake. a few paces on he stopped and beckoned to wargrave, and, when the latter reached him, pointed down into the gully below. they were almost on the edge of a descent precipitous enough to be called a cliff. immediately underneath by a small stream was a massive black bull-bison, eighteen hands--six feet--high, with short, square, head, broad ears and horizontal rounded horns. the only touches of colour were on the forehead and the legs below the knees, which were whitish. the animal, with head thrown back, was staring vacantly with its large, slatey-blue eyes.
-wargrave trembled with excitement and his heart beat so violently that the rifle shook as he brought it to his shoulder and gently pushed the muzzle through the stiff, dry grass at the edge of the cliff. but for the one necessary instant he became rigidly steady and without a tremor pressed the trigger. then the rifle barrels danced again before his eyes, when he saw the great bull collapse on the ground, its fore-legs twitching violently, the hind ones motionless.
-"good shot. you've broken his spine," exclaimed dermot, springing to his feet and sliding, scrambling, jumping down the steep descent. the excited subaltern outstripped him; but before he reached the bull it lay motionless, dead.
-"you're a lucky young man, wargrave. a splendid bison on your first day in the jungle. those horns are six feet from tip to tip i bet," and the political officer held out his hand.
-frank shook it heartily as he said gratefully:
-"i've only you to thank for it, sir. it was ripping of you to let me have first shot; and you gave me such a sitter that i couldn't miss. thank you awfully, colonel."
-dermot gave a piercing whistle and stood waiting, while the overjoyed subaltern walked round and round the dead bison, marvelling at its size and exclaiming at his own good fortune.
-when in a few minutes badshah appeared, followed by the panting men, colonel dermot sent the mahout on his elephant to the stable to fetch other men to cut up and bring in the bison. then he and wargrave on badshah made for the road to ranga duar.
-it was dark long before they reached the little station. the colonel brought his companion in for a drink after the three thousand feet climb, most of which they had done on foot. mrs. dermot met them in the hall; and, after she had heard the result of the day's sport, warmly congratulated wargrave on his good luck. loud whispers and a scuffle over their heads attracted the attention of all three elders, and on the broad wooden staircase they saw two small figures, one in pyjamas, the other in a pretty, trailing nightdress daintily tied with blue bows, looking imploringly down at their mother. she smiled and nodded. there was a whirlwind rush down the stairs, and the mites were caught up in their father's arms. then frank came in for his share of caresses from them before they were sternly ordered back to bed again. and as he passed out into the darkness he carried away with him an enchanting picture of the charming babes climbing the stairs hand in hand and turning to blow kisses to the tall man who stood below with a strong arm around his pretty wife, gazing fondly up at his children.
-and the picture stayed with him when, after dinner at which he was congratulated by his brother officers, he went to his room and found a letter overlooked in his rush to dress for mess. it was from violet, the first that had come from her since his arrival in ranga duar. it breathed passion and longing, discontent and despair, in every line. as he laid his face on his arm to shut out the light where he sat at the table he felt that he was nearer to loving the absent woman than he had ever been. for the vision of the dermots' married happiness, of the deep affection linking husband and wife, of the children climbing the stair and smiling back at their parents, came vividly to him. and it haunted him in his sleep when in dreams tiny arms were clasped around his neck and baby lips touched his lovingly.
-a girl of the forest
-from the frontier of bhutan, six thousand feet up on the face of the mountains, a line of men wound down the serpentining track that led to ranga duar. at their head walked a stockily-built man with cheery mongolian features, wearing a white cloth garment, kimono-shaped and kilted up to give freedom to the sturdy bare thighs and knees--the legs and feet cased in long, felt-soled boots. it was the deb zimpun, the envoy of the independent border state of bhutan. behind him came a tall man in khaki tunic, breeches, puttees and cap, his breast covered with bright-coloured ribbons. his uniform was similar to the british; but his face was unmistakeably chinese, as were those of the twenty tall, khaki-clad soldiers armed with magazine rifles at his heels. they were followed by three or four score bhutanese swordsmen, thick-set and not unlike gurkhas in feature, with bare heads, legs and feet, and clad only in a single garment similar to their leader's and kilted up by a cord around the waist, from which hung a dah, a short sword or long knife. in rear of them trudged a number of coolies, some laden with bundles, others with baskets of fruit.
-where the track came out on the bare shoulder of a spur free from the small trees and undergrowth clothing the mountains the deb zimpun pointed to the roofs of the buildings in the little station a thousand feet below them and hitherto invisible to them.
-"that is ranga duar," he said briefly. the chinaman behind him looked down at it.
-"it seems a very small and weak place to have stopped our invading troops in the war," he said in bhutanese. "so here lives the man."
-"the man? yes, perhaps he is a man. but many, very many, there be that think him a god or devil. they say he can call up a horde of demons in the form of elephants. with such he trampled your army into the earth.
-"devils? leave such tales to lamas and the ignorant fools that believe their teaching. but if even a part of what i have heard about this man be true he is more dangerous than many devils. he stands in china's way, and he who does shall be swept aside."
-"he is my friend," said the deb zimpun shortly, and tramped on in silence.
-before they reached the station they were met by two of the political officer's men, bhuttias resident in british territory, detailed to receive and guide them to the government dâk bungalow in which the deb zimpun and as many of his followers as could crowd into it were to reside during their stay. arrived at it the long line filed into the compound.
-half a mile away down the hill colonel dermot and wargrave watched them through their field-glasses.
-"who is that fellow in khaki uniform, sir?" asked the subaltern.
-the political officer lowered his binoculars and laughed.
-"a gentlemen i've been very anxious to meet. he's the chinese amban--we call him an envoy of the republic of china to bhutan. but the chinese themselves prefer to regard him as a representative of the suzerainty they pretend to exercise over the country. i'm curious to see him. he is a product of the times, an example of the modern celestial, educated at heidelberg university and oxford, speaking german, french and english. he has been specially chosen by his government to come to a buddhist land, as he is a son of the abbot of the yellow lama temple in pekin and so might have influence with the bhutanese by reason of his connection with their religion."
-"but what have the chinese to do with bhutan?"
-"nothing now. but they've been intriguing for years to re-establish the suzerainty they once had over it. this amban, yuan shi hung by name, is a clever, unscrupulous and particularly dangerous individual."
-"you seem to know a lot about him, colonel."
-"very much indeed. i'm always interested in seeing the various races of india and learning all i can about them. i'd love a job like yours, sir, going into out-of-the-way places and dealing with strange peoples."
-"would you?" the political officer looked at him thoughtfully. "are you good at picking up native languages?"
-"fairly so. i got through my lower and higher standard hindustani first go and have passed in marathi and taken the higher standard, persian."
-colonel dermot regarded him critically and then said abruptly:
-"come to my office a few minutes before eleven. that's the hour i've fixed for the deb zimpun's visit."
-in a few minutes a confused murmur drew nearer down the road and was stilled by the sharp words of command to the guard of honour and by the ring of rifles brought to the present in salute. over the low wall of the garden appeared the heads and shoulders of the envoy and his chinese companion, followed by a train of attendants and swordsmen. they passed in through the gate. the political officer rose as the deb zimpun, removing his cap, entered the office and rushed towards him. the bullet-headed, cheery old gentleman beamed with pleasure as they shook hands and greeted each other in bhutanese. wargrave marvelled at the ease and fluency with which colonel dermot spoke the language. the amban now entered the room and was formally presented by the deb zimpun.
-speaking in excellent english but with an accent that showed that he had first acquired it in germany, he said:
-"i am very pleased to meet you, colonel. i have heard much of you in bhutan."
-"it gives me equal pleasure to make your excellency's acquaintance and to welcome you to india," replied dermot with a bow.
-then in his turn wargrave was presented to the two asiatics, and the envoy, calling an attendant in, took from him two white scarves of chinese silk and placed one round each officer's neck in the custom known as "khattag". all sat down and the envoy plunged into an animated conversation with colonel dermot, first producing a metal box and taking betel-nut from it to chew, while the attendant placed a spittoon conveniently near him.
-yuan shi hung chatted in english with wargrave, who was astonished to find him a well-educated man of the world and thoroughly conversant with european politics, art and letters. but for the inscrutable yellow face the subaltern could have believed himself to be talking to an able continental diplomat. the contrast between the semi-savage bhutanese official and his companion, in whom the most modern civilised gentleman's manners were successfully grafted on the old-time courtesy of the chinese aristocrat, was very striking. the old envoy was a frank barbarian. he laughed loudly and clapped his hands in glee when colonel dermot presented him with a gramophone--which, it appeared, he had longed for ever since seeing one on a previous visit to india--and taught him how to work it. he showed his betel-stained teeth in an ecstatic grin when a record was turned on and from the trumpet came the political officer's familiar voice addressing him by name and in his own language with many flourishes of oriental compliment.
-towards the termination of their call the deb zimpun called in two attendants with large baskets of fine blood oranges and walnuts from bhutan and presented them in return. a number of coolies were needed to carry off the royal gift of the flesh of the bison, the sight of which made the envoy's eyes glisten. he shook wargrave's hand warmly when he learned to whose rifle he owed it. then he and his chinese companion took their leave, and with their followers passed up the hilly road. wargrave, gazing after them, came to the conclusion that of the pair he preferred the savage to the ultra-cultivated celestial.
-having thanked the colonel for permitting him to be present at the interview, which had interested him greatly, the subaltern was about to leave when mrs. dermot appeared at the office door.
-"may i come in, kevin?" she began. "oh, good morning, mr. wargrave. i was just sending a chit (letter) to you and captain burke asking you to tea this afternoon. a coolie has arrived from the peelkhana to say that mr. and miss benson and mr. carter are on their way up and will be here soon. so you'll meet them at tea. you will like miss benson. she's a dear girl."
-"thanks very much, mrs. dermot. i'll be delighted to come, if you'll forgive me should i be a little late. i've got to take the signallers' parade this afternoon. i'll tell burke when i get to the mess. i'm going straight there now."
-"thank you. that will save me writing. au revoir."
-half-way up the road to the mess wargrave looked back and saw an elephant heave into sight around a bend below the dermots' house and plod heavily up to their gate. on the charjama--the passenger-carrying contrivance of wooden seats on the pad with footboards hanging by short ropes--sat a lady and two european men holding white umbrellas up to keep off the vertical rays of the noonday sun. when the animal sank to its knees in front of the bungalow wargrave saw the girl--it could only be miss benson--spring lightly to the ground before either of her companions could dismount and offer to help her. her big sunhat hid her face, and at that distance wargrave could only see that she was small and slight, as she walked up the garden path.
-the subaltern was presented to miss benson, her father and carter, the sub-divisional officer or civil service official of the district. when he sat down eileen clambered on to his knee and seriously interfered with his peaceful enjoyment of his tea; but while he talked to her he was watching miss benson over the small golden head. she was astonishingly pretty, with silky black hair curving in natural waves, dark-bordered irish grey eyes fringed with long, thick lashes, a rose-tinted complexion, a pouting, red-lipped mouth and a small nose with the most fascinating, provoking suspicion of a tip-tilt. she was as small and daintily-fashioned as her hostess; and wargrave thought it marvellous that their forgotten outpost on the face of the mountains should hold two such pretty women at the same time. his comrade burke was evidently acutely conscious of muriel benson's attractions, and, his pleasantly ugly face aglow with a happy smile, he was flirting as openly and outrageously with her as she with him.
-"sure, it's a cure for sore eyes ye are, miss flower face," he said. "that's the name i christened her with the first moment i saw her, wargrave. doesn't it fit her?" then turning to the girl again, he continued, "aren't you ashamed av yourself for laving me to pine for a sight av ye all these weary months?"
-miss benson could claim to be irish on her mother's side and so was a ready-witted match for the doctor's celtic exuberance; though to wargrave watching it seemed that burke's easy banter cloaked a deeper feeling.
-the subaltern, covertly and critically observing her, could hardly believe the tales which their hostess had previously told him of the courage and ability that this small and dainty girl had frequently shown. but only a few minutes' conversation with her father convinced frank that he was an amiably weak and incompetent individual, more fitted to be a recluse and a bookworm than a roamer in wild jungles where his work brought him in contact with strange peoples and constant danger. it was evident that the reputation which his large section of the terai forest bore as being well managed and efficiently run was not due to him and that somebody more capable had the handling of the work. hardly had wargrave come to this conclusion and begun to believe that the stories that he had heard of the daughter's business ability and powers of organisation were true when he was given a very convincing proof of her courage and coolness in danger.
-after tea, as the sun was nearing its setting and a deliciously cool breeze blew down from the mountains, a move was made to the garden, where the party sat in a circle and chatted. when evening came and the dusk rose up from the world below, blotting out the light lingering on the hills, mrs. dermot made her children say goodnight to the company and bore them reluctant away to their beds. as the darkness deepened the servants brought out a small table and placed a lamp on it, and by its light carried round drinks to the men of the party. miss benson was leaning back in a cane chair and chatting lazily with burke, who sat beside her. she had one shapely silk-clad leg crossed over the other, and a small foot resting on the grass. opposite her sat colonel dermot and wargrave. as the brilliant tropic stars came out in the velvety blackness of the sky occasional silences fell on the party. a tale of burke's was interrupted by the political officer's voice, saying in a quiet forceful tone:
-"miss benson, please do not move your foot. remain perfectly still. a snake is passing under your chair. steady, burke! keep still!"
-the other men had risen from their seats; but the girl remained seated and said quietly:
-"thank you very much, colonel, for warning me. i might easily have moved my foot and trodden on the snake. i've seen so many of the horrid things in camp lately. now, captain burke, i'm sorry that the interruption spoiled your story. please go on with it."
-her coolness silenced the men, who were breaking into exclamations of relief and congratulation. even her father sat down again calmly.
-but burke's enthusiastic admiration of her courage found an outlet at mess that night when he recounted the adventure to major hunt and appealed to wargrave for confirmation of the story of her plucky behaviour. later in his room as he was going to bed frank smiled at the recollection of the irishman's exuberant expressions; but he confessed to himself that the girl's calm courage was worthy of every praise.
-"she is certainly brave," he thought. "i'm not surprised at old burke's infatuation. she is decidedly pretty. what lovely eyes she's got--and what a provokingly attractive little nose! well, the doctor's a lucky man if she marries him. she seems awfully nice. violet will certainly have two very charming women friends in the station if she hits it off with them."
-but as his eyes rested on her pictured face his heart misgave him; for he remembered that she had little liking for her own sex. and then, he told himself, these two would probably refuse to know a woman who had run away from her husband to another man. when he had turned out the light and jumped into bed he lay awake a long time puzzling over the tangle into which the threads of her life and his seemed to have got. time alone could unravel it.
-he tossed uneasily on his bed, unable to sleep, and presently a slight noise on the verandah outside caught his ear. he lay still and listened; and it seemed to him that soft footfalls of a large animal's pads sounded on the wooden flooring. then suddenly he heard a beast sniffing at his closed door. "a stray dog," he thought. but suddenly he remembered burke's account of the panther that haunted the mess; and a thrill of excitement ran through him and drove all his unhappy thoughts away. he sprang out of bed and rushed across the room to get his rifle, but in the darkness overturned a chair which fell with a crash to the ground. this scared the animal; for there was a sudden scurry outside, and by the time wargrave had found the rifle and groped for a couple of cartridges there was nothing to be seen on the verandah when he threw open the door. it was a brilliant star-lit night. burke called to him from his room and when wargrave went to him said that he too had heard the animal, which was undoubtedly the panther.
-the durbar, or official ceremony of the public reception of the bhutan envoy and the paying over to him of the annual subsidy of a hundred thousand rupees, was held in a marquee on the parade ground in the afternoon. there was a guard of honour of a hundred sepoys to salute, first the political officer and afterwards the deb zimpun when he arrived on a mule at the head of his swordsmen and coolies. the solemnity of his dignified greeting to colonel dermot was somewhat spoiled by shrieks of delight and loud remarks from eileen (who was seated beside her mother in the marquee) at the stately appearance of the envoy. he was attired in a very voluminous red chinese silk robe embroidered in gold and wearing a peculiar gold-edged cap shaped like a papal tiara.
-the political officer's official dinner took place that evening at his bungalow. besides the officers and the three european visitors the deb zimpun and the amban were present. the latter wore conventional evening dress cut by a london tailor, with the stars and ribands of several orders. but the old envoy in his flowing red silk robe completely outshone the two ladies, although miss benson was wearing her most striking frock.
-"sure, don't we look like a state banquet at buckingham palace or a charity dinner at the dublin mansion house?" said burke, looking around the company gathered about the oval dining-table. he was seated beside miss benson, who was on the host's right and facing the amban on his left.
-at the durbar wargrave had noticed that the chinaman stared all the time at the girl, and now during the meal he seemed to devour her with an unpleasant gaze, gloating over the beauties of her bared shoulders and bosom until she became uncomfortably conscious of it herself. the unveiled flesh of a white woman is peculiarly attractive to the asiatic, the better-class females of whose race are far less addicted to the public exposure of their charms than are european ladies. while the deb zimpun touched nothing but water the amban drank champagne, port and liqueurs freely--even the untravelled chinaman is partial to european liquors--yet they seemed not to affect him. but his slanted eyes burned all the more fiercely as their gaze was fixed on the girl opposite him.
-he endeavoured to engage her in conversation across the table, and appeared ready to resent anyone else intervening in the talk as he dilated on the gaieties and pleasures of life in london, berlin and paris, where he had been attached to the chinese embassies. he glared at burke when the doctor persisted in mentioning the panther's visit during the previous night, for the conversation at their end of the table then turned on sport. a chance remark of miss benson on tiger-shooting made wargrave ask:
-"have you shot tigers, too, like mrs. dermot? and i've never seen one outside a cage!"
-the girl smiled, and the colonel answered for her.
-"miss benson has got at least six. seven, is it? more than my wife has. and among them was the famous man-eater of mardhura, which had killed twenty-three persons. the natives of the district call her 'the tiger girl.'"
-"troth, my name for you is a prettier one, miss benson," said burke laughing.
-she made a moue at him, but said to the subaltern:
-"cheer up, mr. wargrave, you've lots of time before you yet. you oughtn't to complain--you've only been a few days here and you've already got a splendid bison. and they're rare in these parts."
-"we'll have to find him a tiger, muriel," said their host. "when you hear of a kill anywhere conveniently near, let me know and we'll arrange a beat for him."
-"with pleasure, colonel. we're soon going to the southern fringe of the forest; and, as you know, there are usually tigers to be found in the nullahs on the borders of the cultivated country. i'll send you khubber (news)."
-"thank you very much," said wargrave. "i do want to get one."
-all through the conversation the girl felt the chinaman's bold eyes seeming to burn her flesh, and she was glad when the political officer spoke to him and engaged his attention. and she was still more relieved when dinner ended and mrs. dermot rose to leave the table. when the men joined them later on the verandah burke and wargrave made a point of hemming her in on both sides and keeping the amban off; for even the short-sighted doctor had become cognisant of the chinaman's offensive stare.
-when he and the deb zimpun had left the bungalow she said to the two officers:
-"i'm so glad you didn't let that awful man come near me. he makes me afraid. there's something so evil about him that i shudder when he looks at me."
-"the curse av the crows on the brute!" exclaimed burke hotly. "don't ye be afraid. we won't let the divil come next or nigh ye, will we, wargrave?"
-and on the following day when the visitors were entertained by athletic sports of the detachment on the parade ground and an interesting archery competition between excited teams of the deb zimpun's followers and of local bhuttias, they allowed the amban no opportunity of approaching her. during the sports wargrave noticed on one occasion that he seemed to be speaking of her to the commander of his escort of chinese soldiers, a tall, evil-faced manchu, pock-marked and blind of the right eye, who stared at her fixedly for some time. at the dinner at the mess that night the two ladies wore frocks that were very little décolleté. burke, as mess president, had arranged the table so that the amban was as far away from them as possible; and wargrave and he mounted guard over miss benson when the meal was ended.
-the deb zimpun had fixed his departure for an early hour on the following morning and was to be accompanied by the political officer, who was going to visit the maharajah of bhutan. in the course of the day the chinese amban had announced to colonel dermot that he did not wish to leave so soon and desired to remain longer in ranga duar; but the political officer courteously but very firmly told him that he must go with the envoy.
-early next morning, while noreen dermot was occupied with her children, and her husband was completing his preparations for departure, muriel benson went out into the garden. badshah, pad strapped on ready for the road, was standing at one side of the bungalow swinging his trunk and shifting from foot to foot as he patiently awaited his master. the girl greeted and petted him, then went to gather flowers and cut bunches of bright-coloured leaves from high bushes of bougainvillea and poinsettia that hid her from view from the house.
-suddenly a harsh voice sounded in her ears.
-"i have tried to speak to you alone, but those fools were ever in my way. do not cry out. you must listen to me."
-she started violently and turned to find the amban, dressed in khaki and ready to march, behind her. courageous as she usually was the extraordinary repulsion and terror with which he inspired her kept her silent as he continued:
-"i want you, and i shall take you sooner or later. listen! i am one of the richest men in all china. one day i shall be president--and then emperor the next; and when i rule my country shall no longer be the effete, despised land torn with dissension that it is now. i can give you everything that the heart of a woman, white or yellow, can desire--take you from your dull, poverty-stricken life to raise you to power and immense wealth. i shall return for you one day. will you come to me?"
-the girl drew back, pale as death and unable to cry out. he glanced around. the tall, red-leaved bushes hid them; there was no one or nothing within sight, except the elephant shifting restlessly.
-"answer me!" he said almost menacingly.
-she was silent. he sprang forward and seized her roughly.
-"speak! you must answer," he said.
-then suddenly she cried out:
-the chinaman thrust his face, inflamed with passion and desire, close to hers.
-"you must, you shall, come to me--by force, if not willingly," he growled. "by all the gods or devils----."
-but a quiet voice sounded clear through the garden.
-"jané do! (let him go!)"
-the elephant brought the threatening foot to the ground but stood, with curled trunk and ears cocked forward, ready to annihilate him if the invisible speaker gave the word. the girl shrank against the great animal, clinging to it and looking with horror at the prostrate man. the amban slowly dragged his bruised body from the ground and staggered shaken and dizzy out of the garden.
-muriel kissed the soft trunk and laid her cheek against it, and it curved to touch her hair with a gentle caress. then she fled into the bungalow to find colonel dermot on the verandah grimly watching the chinaman stumbling blindly up the steep road. his wife beside him opened her arms to the shaken girl.
-"he shall pay for that some day, muriel," said the political officer sternly. "but not yet."
-an hour later the two women watched the snaking line crawl up the steep face of the mountains, and through field-glasses they could distinguish badshah with his master on his neck, the deb zimpun and his followers and the tall form of the chinaman, until all vanished from sight in the trees clothing the upper hills.
-benson and carter left that afternoon, muriel remaining to spend a longer time with her friend and, as she told wargrave, to try and regain the affections of the children which he had stolen from her.
-frank was thinking of her next day as he was standing on the mess verandah after tea, cleaning his fowling-piece, when on a wooded spur running down from the mountains and sheltering the little station on the west he heard a jungle-cock crowing in the undergrowth not four hundred yards away. seizing a handful of cartridges he loaded his gun and, running down the steps and across the garden, plunged into the jungle. he walked cautiously, his rope-soled boots enabling him to move silently, and stopped occasionally to listen for the bird's crow or the telltale pattering over the dried leaves. peering into the undergrowth and searching the ground he crept quietly forward. suddenly his heart seemed to leap to his throat. in a patch of dust he saw the unmistakable pug (footprint) of a large panther. one claw had indented a new-fallen leaf, showing that the animal had very recently passed. wargrave halted and thought hard. he had only his shotgun, but the sun was near its setting and if he returned to the mess to get his rifle--which was taken to pieces and locked up in its case--darkness would probably fall before he could overtake the panther, which was possibly moving on ahead of him. so he resolved not to turn back, but opened the breech of his gun and extracted the cartridges. with his knife he cut their thick cases almost through all round at the wad, dividing the powder from the shot. for he knew that thus treated and fired the whole upper portion of the cartridges would be shot out of the barrels like solid bullets and carry forty yards without breaking up and scattering the shot.
-reloading he advanced cautiously, frequently losing and refinding the trail. creeping through a clump of thin bushes he stopped suddenly, frozen with horror and dread.
-in an open patch of woodland the two dermot children stood by a tree, the girl huddled against the trunk, while the little boy had placed himself in front of her and, with a small stick in his hand, was bravely facing in her defence an animal crouching on the ground not twenty yards away. it was a large panther. belly to earth, tail lashing from side to side, it was crawling slowly, imperceptibly nearer its prey. with ears flattened against the skull and lips drawn back to bare the gleaming fangs in a devilish grin it snarled at the brave child whose dauntless attitude doubtless puzzled it.
-"don't cry, eileen. i won't let it hurt you," said the little boy encouragingly. "go 'way, nasty dog!"
-he raised his little stick above his head. a boy should always protect a girl, his father had often said, so he was not going to let the beast harm his tiny sister. the panther crouched lower. the watcher in the bushes saw the powerful limbs gathering under the spotted body for the fatal spring. every muscle and sinew was tense for the last rush and leap, as the subaltern raised his gun.
-wargrave fired. his shot struck the panther rather far back, wounding but not disabling it. it swung round to face its assailant. seeing frank it promptly charged. the second cartridge took it in front of the shoulder and raked its body from end to end. coughing blood the beast rolled over and over, biting its paws, clawing savagely at the earth, trying to rise and falling back in fury, while frank rapidly reloaded and stepped between it and the children. but the convulsions became fewer and less violent, the limbs stiffened, the beautiful black and yellow body sank inert to the ground. the tail twitched a little. a few tremors shook the panther. then it lay still.
-the subaltern turned eagerly to the children.
-"it's frank. look, eileen, it's frank," cried brian. "he's killed the nasty dog."
-the little girl, who had sunk to the ground, struggled to her feet and with her brother was swept up in a joyous embrace by the subaltern. then, bidding the boy hold on to the sleeve of the arm carrying the gun, wargrave started back with eileen perched on his shoulder. as they passed the panther's body she looked down at it and clapped her hands.
-"he's deaded. nasty, bad dog!" she cried.
-striking a path through the undergrowth the subaltern climbed down the steep ravine that lay between the hill and the political officer's bungalow. as he struggled up the steep side of the nullah he heard their mother calling the children with a note of inquietude in her voice; and he answered her with a reassuring shout. coming up on the level behind the low stone wall of the garden he found mrs. dermot and muriel anxiously awaiting him.
-"mumsie! hallo, mumsie! here's me. fwank shooted bad dog," cried eileen, waving her arms and kicking her bearer violently in her excitement.
-"yes, mumsie, frank killded the nasty dog that wanted to eat us," added brian.
-wargrave passed the children over the wall into the anxious arms outstretched for them, then vaulted into the garden.
-"what has happened, mr. wargrave?" asked mrs. dermot, pressing her children to her nervously. "what is this about your shooting a dog?"
-the subaltern told the story briefly.
-"oh, my babies! my babies!" cried the mother with tears in her eyes, clasping the mites to her breast and kissing them frantically. the little woman who had many times faced death undauntedly at her husband's side broke down utterly at the thought of her children's peril.
-she overwhelmed wargrave with her thanks, while muriel complimented him on his promptness and presence of mind and then scolded the urchins for their disobedience in wandering away from the garden by themselves. but the unrepentant pair smiled genially at her from the shelter of their mother's arms and assured her that "fwankie" would always take care of them. their mother, even when she grew more composed, could not be severe after so nearly losing them; but although unwilling to terrify them by a recital of the awful fate from which the subaltern had saved them by the merest chance, she impressed upon them again and again her oft-repeated warning that they must never leave the garden alone.
-but they were not awed; so, bidding them thank and kiss him, she bore them off to bed, her eyes still full of tears.
-wargrave sent a servant to fetch his orderly and the detachment mochi, or cobbler, to skin the panther, the news of the death of which soon spread. so major hunt and burke joined miss benson and the subaltern when they went to look at its body, and numbers of sepoys streamed up from the fort to view the animal, which had long been notorious in the station. lamps had to be brought to finish the skinning of it; and the hide, when taken off, was carried in triumph to the mess compound to be cured.
-on the following afternoon on the tennis-court in a corner of the parade ground miss benson was left with burke and wargrave when mrs. dermot had taken her children home at sunset.
-"you've completely won her heart," the girl said to the subaltern, pointing with her racquet to the disappearing form of her friend. "nothing's too good for you for saving these precious mites. but she'll never let them out of her sight again until their big nurse returns."
-"you mean their elephant? well, of course he's a marvellously well-trained animal; but is he really so reliable that he can always be trusted to look after those children?"
-"badshah is something very much more than a well-trained animal. perhaps some time out in the jungle you may understand why the natives regard him as sacred and call colonel dermot the 'god of the elephants.' you don't know badshah as we do."
-"well, old burke here has told me some strange yarns about him. but, as he's always pulling my leg, i never know when to believe him."
-the doctor grinned.
-"we won't waste words on him, captain burke," said the girl. "it's time to go home now."
-they escorted her to the dermots' bungalow, where the doctor lingered for a few more minutes in her society, while wargrave climbed up to the mess and went to look at the panther's skin pegged out on the ground under a thick coating of ashes and now as hard as a board after a day's exposure to the burning sun.
-a few days later miss benson left the station to rejoin her father in one of the three or four isolated wooden bungalows built to accommodate the forest officer in different parts of his district, each one lost and lonely in the silent jungle. for days after her departure burke was visibly depressed; and wargrave, too, missed the bright and attractive girl who had enlivened the quiet little station during her stay.
-a fortnight later colonel dermot returned from bhutan; and his gratitude to the subaltern for the rescue of his children was sincere and heart-felt. he was only too glad to take the young man out into the jungle on every possible occasion and continue his instruction in the ways of the forest. this companionship and the sport were particularly beneficial to wargrave just then. for they served to take him out of himself and raise him from the state of depression into which he was falling, thanks to violet's letters, the tone of which was becoming more bitter each time she wrote.
-her reply to his long and cheery epistle describing ranga duar's unusual burst of gaiety during the envoy's visit and his own rescue of the children was as follows:
-"you do not seem to miss me much among your new friends. while i am leading a most unhappy and miserable life here you appear to be enjoying yourself and giving little thought to me. you are lucky to have two such very beautiful ladies to make much of you; and i daresay they think you a wonderful hero for saving the little brats who, if they are like most children, would not be much loss. their mother seems extremely friendly to you for such a devoted wife as you try to make her out to be. or perhaps it is the girl you admire most; this marvellous young lady who shoots tigers and apparently manages the whole terai forest. you say you love me; but you don't seem to be pining very much for me. while each day that comes since you left me is a fresh agony to me, you appear to contrive to be quite happy without me."
-this letter stung wargrave like the lash of a whip across the face. to do violet justice no sooner had she sent it than she regretted it. but deeply hurt as he was by the bitter words he forgave her; for he felt that her life was indeed miserable and that he was unconsciously in a great measure to blame for its being so. but it maddened him to realise his present helplessness to alter matters. he was more than willing to sacrifice himself to help her; but it would be a long time before he could hope to save enough to pay his debts and make a home for her. whether it was wicked or not to take away another man's wife did not occur to him; all that he knew was that a woman was unhappy and he alone could help her. it seemed to him that the sin--if sin there were--was the husband's, who starved her heart and rendered her miserable.
-in his distress work and sport proved his salvation. he threw himself heart and soul into his duty, and whenever there was nothing for him to do with the detachment major hunt encouraged him to go with the political officer into the jungle. for little as he suspected it the senior guessed the young man's trouble and watched him sympathisingly.
-one never-to-be-forgotten day as wargrave was returning from afternoon parade colonel dermot called to him from his gate and showed him a telegram. it ran: "tiger marked down. come immediately dâk bungalow, madpur duar. muriel."
-as the subaltern perused it with delight the colonel said:
-"ask your c.o. for leave. then, if he gives it, get something substantial to eat in the mess and be ready to start at once. madpur duar is thirty odd miles away; and we'll have to travel all night. come to my bungalow as soon as you can."
-half an hour later the two were trudging down the road to the peelkhana carrying their rifles. badshah, with a howdah roped on to his pad, plodded behind them; for it is far more comfortable to walk down a steep descent than be carried down it by an elephant. at the foot of the hills they mounted and were borne away into the gathering shadows of the long road through the forest. as they proceeded their talk was all of tigers; for in india, though there be bigger and more splendid game in the land, its traditional animal never fails to interest, and to wargrave on his way to his first tiger-shoot all other topics were insignificant.
-the sun went down and darkness settled on the forest. the talk died away and no sound was heard but the soft padding of their elephant's huge feet in the dust of the road. the subaltern soon found the howdah infinitely more trying than a seat on the pad when badshah was in motion; for the plunging gait of the animal jerked him backwards and forwards and threw him against the wooden rails if he forgot to hold himself at arm's length from them. the discomfort spoiled his appreciation of the strange, attractive experience of being borne by night through the sleepless forest, where in the dark hours only the bird and the monkey repose; and even to them the creeping menace of the climbing snake affrights the one and the wheeling shapes of the night-flying birds of prey scare the other. but on the ground all are awake. the glimmering whiteness of the road was occasionally blotted by the scurrying forms of animals, hunted and hunters, dashing across it. once a tiny shriek in the distance broke the silence of the jungle.
-"a wild elephant," said colonel dermot.
-then followed the loud crashing of rending boughs and falling trees.
-"that's a herd feeding. they graze until about ten o'clock and then sleep on well into the small hours, wake and begin to feed again at dawn," continued the political officer.
-once a wild, unearthly wailing cry that seemed to come from every direction at once startled the subaltern:
-"good heavens! what's that?" he exclaimed, gripping his rifle and trying to pierce the darkness around them.
-"only a giant owl," was the reply. "it's an uncanny noise. there!"
-right over their heads it rang out again; and the stars above them were blotted out for a moment by a dark, circling shape above the tree-tops.
-hour after hour went by as they were borne along through the night; and wargrave bruised and battered by the howdah-rails, fell constantly against them, so overcome with sleep was he. at last to his relief his companion called a halt for a few hours' rest; and they brought the elephant to his knees, dismounted and stripped him of howdah and pad. sitting on the latter they supped on sandwiches and coffee from thermos flasks, and then stretched themselves to sleep, while badshah standing over them grazed on the grasses and branches within reach. wargrave was dropping off to sleep when he was roused by the sharp, staccato bark of a khakur buck repeated several times. the tired man lost consciousness and was sunk in profound slumber when the silence of the forest was shattered by a snorting, braying roar that rang through the jungle with alarming suddenness.
-wargrave sprang up and groped for his rifle. but his companion lay tranquilly on the pad.
-"it's all right. it's only a tiger that's missed his spring and is angry about it," he said sleepily. "lie down again."
-"only a tiger, sir?" repeated wargrave. "but it sounded close by."
-a couple of hours later they were on their way again. it was broad daylight before they emerged from the jungle. it seemed strange to be out once more in the wide-stretching, open and cultivated plains and to look back on the great forest and, beyond it, to the mountains towering to the sky. before them lay the flat expanse of the hedgeless, fertile fields dotted here and there with clusters of trimly-built huts or thick groves of bamboos and seamed with the lines of deep nullahs, the tops of the trees in them barely showing above the level and marking their winding course.
-the dâk bungalow at madpur duar was soon reached, a single-storied building with a couple of trees shading the well behind it and a group of elephants and their mahouts. on the verandah benson and his daughter were standing, the girl dressed in a khaki drill coat and skirt over breeches and soft leather gaiters, and waving a welcome to badshah's riders.
-after a hurried breakfast the latter were ready to start for the day's sport. by then a line of ten female elephants, the tallest carrying a howdah, the rest only their pads, was drawn up before the bungalow; and at a word from their mahouts their trunks went up in the air and the animals trumpeted in salute as the party came out on the verandah.
-"we borrowed mr. carter's and the settlement officer's elephants for the beat," said miss benson, as, wearing a big pith sunhat and carrying a double-barrelled .400 cordite rifle, she led the way down the verandah steps.
-it had been arranged that she was to take wargrave with her in her howdah, while her father accompanied colonel dermot on badshah. her big elephant knelt down and a ladder was laid against its side, up which she climbed, followed by the subaltern. when all were mounted she led the way across the plain. although the ground was everywhere level and just there uncultivated the elephants tailed off in single file as is the habit of their kind, wild or domesticated, each stepping with precise care into the footprints of the one in front of it. here in the plains the heat was intense; and wargrave, shading his eyes from the blinding glare, thought enviously of the coolness up in the mountains that he had left. as they moved along muriel explained to him how the beat was to be conducted.
-where the southern fringe of the terai jungle borders the cultivated country it is a favourite haunt of tigers, which from its shelter carry on war against the farmers' cattle. creeping down the ravines seaming the soft soil and worn by the streams that flow through the forest from the hills they pull down the cows grazing or coming to drink in the nullahs, which are filled with small trees and scrubs affording good cover. a tiger, when it has killed, drags the carcase of its prey into shade near water, eats a hearty meal of about eighty pounds of flesh, drinks and then sleeps until it is ready to feed again. if disturbed it retreats up the ravine to the forest.
-so, beating for one with elephants here, the sportsmen place themselves on their howdah-bearing animals between the jungle and the spot where the tiger is known to be lying up, and the beater elephants enter the scrub from the far side and shepherd him gently towards the guns.
-pointing to a distant line of tree-tops showing above the level plain she said:
-"there is the nullah in which, about a mile farther on, a cow was killed yesterday. i hope the tiger is still lying up in it. we'll soon see."
-they reached the ravine, which was twenty or thirty feet deep and contained a little stream flowing through tangled scrub, and moved along parallel to it and about a couple of hundred yards away. presently the girl pointed to a tall tree growing in it and a quarter of a mile ahead of them. its upper branches were bending under the weight of numbers of foul-looking bald-headed vultures, squawking, huddled together, jostling each other on their perches and pecking angrily at their neighbours with irritable cries. some circled in the air and occasionally swooped down towards the ground only to rocket up again affrightedly to the sky; for the tiger lay by its kill and resented the approach of any daring bird that aspired to share the feast. muriel hurriedly explained how the conduct of the birds indicated the beast's presence.
-"if he were not there they'd be down tearing the carcase to pieces," she said, as she held up her hand and halted the file behind her.
-"the beater elephants had better stop here, colonel," she called out to dermot. "there is a way down and across the nullah, by which you can take badshah to the far side. we will remain on this."
-the political officer, who had seen and realised the significance of the vultures, waved his hand and moved off at once. muriel called up the mahouts and bade them enter the ravine and begin the beat in about ten minutes, then told her driver to go on. half a mile beyond the tree she ordered him to halt and take up a position close to the edge of the nullah, into which they could look down. below them the bottom was clear of scrub which ended fifty yards away. dermot stopped opposite; and both elephants were turned to face towards the spot where the tiger was judged to be.
-"mr wargrave, get to the front of the howdah and be ready," she said in a low tone.
-the subaltern protested chivalrously against taking the best place.
-"oh, it's all right. we've brought you out to get the tiger; so you must do as you're told. if he breaks out this side take the first shot," she said peremptorily.
-he submitted and took up his position with cocked rifle. as the nullah wound a good deal the tops of the trees in it prevented them from seeing if the beater-elephants had gone in; but in a few minutes they heard distant shouts and the crashing of the undergrowth as the big animals forced their way through the scrub.
-"be ready, mr. wargrave," whispered the girl. "sometimes a tiger starts on the run at the first sound."
-his nerves a-quiver and his heart beating violently the subaltern held his rifle at the ready, as the noise of the beaters drew nearer. again and again he brought the butt to his shoulder, only to lower it when he realised that it was a false alarm. the sounds of the beat grew louder and closer, and still there was no sign of the tiger. frank's heart sank. he saw the vultures stir uneasily and some rise into the air as the elephants passed under them.
-at last through the trees he began to catch occasional glimpses of the mahouts, and he lost hope. but suddenly from the scrub below them in the nullah a number of small birds flew up; and the next instant the edge of the bushes nearest them was parted stealthily and a tiger slunk cautiously out in the bottom of the ravine.
-wargrave's rifle went up to his shoulder; and he fired. a startled roar from the beast told that it was hit; but it bounded in a flash across the ravine and up the steep bank on their side not forty yards from them. as it scrambled swiftly over the edge it caught sight of the elephant and with a deep "wough!" charged straight at it.
-frank fired again, and his bullet struck up the dust, missing the swift-rushing animal by a couple of feet. the next moment with a roar the tiger sprang at the elephant. with one leap it landed with its hind paws on the elephant's head, its fore-feet on the front rail of the howdah, standing right over the mahout who crouched in terror on the neck. the savage, snarling, yellow-and-black mask was thrust almost into wargrave's face, and from the open red mouth lined with fierce white fangs he could feel the hot breath on his cheek as he tugged frantically at the under-lever of his rifle to open the breech and re-load. in another moment the tiger would have been on top of them in the howdah when a gun-barrel shot past the subaltern and pushed him aside. the muzzle of muriel's rifle was pressed almost against the brute's skull as she fired.
-frank hardly heard the report. all he knew was that the snarling face disappeared as quickly as it had come. the whole thing was an affair of seconds. shot through the brain the tiger dropped back to the ground with a heavy thud and fell dead beside the staunch elephant which had never moved all through the terrible ordeal.
-a cry of relief and a prayer to allah burst from the grey-bearded mahommedan mahout, as he straightened himself; and wargrave turned with glowing face and outstretched hand to the girl.
-"oh, well done! splendidly done!" he cried. "you saved me from being lugged bodily out of the howdah or at least from being mauled. this lever jammed and i couldn't re-load."
-her eyes shining and face beaming with excitement she shook his hand.
-"wasn't it thrilling? i thought he'd have got both of us." then to the mahout she continued in urdu, "gul dad, are you hurt?"
-the man was solemnly feeling himself all over. he stared at a rent in the shoulder of his coat, torn by the tiger's claw. it was the only injury that he had suffered. he put his finger on it and grumbled:
-"missie-baba, the shaitan (devil) has torn my coat."
-in the reaction from the strain the girl and wargrave went off in peals of laughter at his words.
-"but are you not wounded?" miss benson repeated. "has it not clawed you?"
-the mahout shook his head.
-frank looked down at the tiger stretched motionless on the yellow grass.
-"by george, you shot him dead enough, miss benson!" he exclaimed.
-she stared down at the animal.
-"yes; but it's well to be careful. i've seen a tiger look as dead as that and yet spring up and maul a man who approached it incautiously," she said.
-she raised her rifle and covered the prostrate animal.
-"throw something at it," she continued.
-wargrave took out a couple of heavy, copper-cased cartridges and flung them one by one at the tiger's head, striking it on the jaw and in the eye. the animal did not move.
-"seems dead enough," said the girl, lowering her rifle. "here come the beaters."
-the other elephants had now burst out in line through the scrub. their mahouts shouted enquiries to gul dad and when they heard of the tiger's death cheered gleefully, for it meant backsheesh to them. badshah was seen to be searching for a way down into the nullah and in a few minutes brought his passengers up alongside miss benson and the subaltern. her father and dermot congratulated the girl warmly; and the latter, having made badshah kick the tiger to make certain that it was dead, dismounted and examined it.
-"here's your shot, wargrave," he said, pointing to a hole in the belly. "a bit too low, but it made a nasty wound that would have killed the beast eventually."
-"i'm so ashamed of missing it with my second barrel, sir," said the subaltern. "but for miss benson i'd have been a gone coon."
-"yes, it certainly looked exciting enough from our side of the nullah," said the colonel, smiling; "so what must it have been like from where you were? well, anyhow it's your tiger."
-"oh, nonsense, sir; it's miss benson's. i ought to be kicked for being such a muff."
-"jungle law, mr. wargrave," said the girl, laughing "you hit it first, so it's your beast."
-"you needn't be ashamed of missing it," added the colonel. "a charging tiger coming full speed at you is not an easy mark. no; the skin is yours; and muriel has so many that she can spare it."
-"well, miss benson, i accept it as a gift from you; but i won't acknowledge that i have earned it," said the subaltern.
-"now, we'd better pad it and see about getting back," said dermot, looking at his watch.
-the other elephants had now found their way up the bank and joined badshah and his companion. when their mahouts heard from gul dad the story of the tiger's death they exclaimed in amazement and admiration:
-"ahré, chai! (oh, brother!) truly the missie-baba is a wonder. she will be the death of many tigers, indeed," they said.
-then each in turn brought his elephant up to the prostrate animal and made her smell and strike it with her trunk in order to inspire her with contempt for tigers. colonel dermot measured it with a tape and found it to be nine feet six inches from nose to tip of tail. it was a young, fully-grown male in splendid condition. then came the troublesome business of "padding" it, that is, hoisting it on to the pad of one of the elephants to bring it back to the bungalow to be skinned. it was not an easy matter. for the tiger weighed nearly three hundred and fifty pounds; and to raise the limp carcase, which sagged like a feather bed at every spot where there was not a man to support it, was a difficult task. but it was achieved at last; and with the tiger roped firmly on a pad the elephants started back in single file.
-as they went over the plain in the burning sun wargrave looked back to where the striped body was borne along with stiff, dangling legs.
-"by jove, it's been great, miss benson," he exclaimed. "some people say tiger shooting's not exciting. they ought to have been with us to-day. i am lucky to have got a bison already and now to have seen this. with luck i'll be having a shot at an elephant next."
-the girl replied in a serious tone:
-"don't say that to colonel dermot. elephants are his especial friends. besides, you are only allowed to shoot rogues; and since he's been here there have been none in these jungles which formerly swarmed with them. there's no doubt that he has a wonderful, uncanny control over even wild elephants. do you know that once a rajah tried to have him killed in his palace by a mad tusker, which had just slaughtered several men, and the moment the brute got face to face with him it was cowed and obeyed him like a dog?"
-"good gracious, is that so?"
-"yes, i could tell you even more extraordinary things about his power over elephants; but some day when you're in the jungle with him you may see it for yourself. oh, isn't it hot? i do wish we were home."
-arrived at the dâk bungalow the tiger's carcase was lowered to the ground and given over to the knives of the flayers summoned from the bazaar of madpur duar a mile away. as soon as the news was known in the small town crowds of hindu women streamed to the bungalow compound, where with their saris (shawls) pulled modestly across their brown faces by rounded arms tinkling with glass bangles they squatted on the ground and waited patiently until the skin was drawn clear off the raw red carcase. then they crowded around a couple of the older mahouts who, first cutting off all the firm white fat of the well-fed cattle thief to be melted down for oil (esteemed to be a sovereign remedy for rheumatism), hacked the flesh into chunks which they threw into the eager hands of the women. these took the meat home to cook for their husbands to eat to instil into them the spirit and vigour of a tiger. the skin, spread out and pegged to the ground, was covered with wood ashes and left to dry. little of the animal was left but the bones, to the disappointment of the wheeling, whistling kites waiting on soaring wings in the sky above.
-after tea the two officers took their leave with many expressions of gratitude from the younger man to the girl for her kindness in arranging the beat for him. hours afterwards, as they halted in the forest for a rest in the middle of the night, colonel dermot said:
-"you told me once that you'd like a job like mine, wargrave. would you care for frontier political work here?"
-"i'd love it, sir," exclaimed the subaltern enthusiastically. "would it be possible to get it?"
-"well, i've been thinking for some time of applying to the government of india for an assistant political officer who would help me and take over if i went on leave, but i'd want to train my own man and not merely accept any youngster who was pitchforked into the department just because he had a father or an uncle with a pull at simla. now, if you like i'll apply for you, on condition that you'll work at bhutanese and the frontier dialects. i'll teach them to you."
-"i'd like nothing better, sir. i'm not bad at languages."
-"yes, i've noticed that your hindustani is very good and idiomatic. i've been watching you and i like your manner with natives. one must be sympathetic, kind and just, but also firm with them. well, i'll try you. the rainy season will be on us very soon, and then all outdoor work and sport will be impossible. one dare not go into the jungle--it's too full of malaria and blackwater fever. the planters and forest officers have to cage themselves in wire gauze 'mosquito houses.' during the rains you'll have plenty of time to work at the languages."
-"thank you very much, colonel. i promise you i'll go at them hard."
-"you'll have a fellow-student for part of the time. miss benson's coming to stay with us during the monsoons for a bit; and she has asked me to teach her bhutanese, too. she wants it, as she has to deal with bhuttia woodcutters and hill folk generally. well, that's fixed. goodnight."
-"goodnight, sir," answered the subaltern, as he lay down on the pad and stared at the stars. he was overjoyed at colonel dermot's offer, and as he dropped asleep it was with a thrill of pleasure that he realised he would see something more of the girl who had been his companion that day.
-a political officer in the making
-the lightning spattered the heavens and tore the black sky into a thousand fragments, the thunder crashed in appalling peals of terrifying sound which echoed again and again from the invisible mountains. the rain fell in ropes of water that sent the brown, foam-flecked torrents surging full-fed down every gully and ravine in the mist-wrapped hills. the single, steep road of ranga duar was now the rocky bed of a racing flood inches deep that swirled and raged round wargrave's high rubber boots as he waded up towards the mess clad in an oilskin coat, off which the rain splashed. he was glad to arrive at the garden gate, turn in through it, climb the verandah steps, and reach his door. here he flung aside his coat and kicked off the heavy boots.
-entering his room he pulled on his slippers, filled his pipe with tobacco from a lime-dried bottle and sat down at his one rickety table at the window. then he took out of his pocket and laid before him a manuscript book filled with notes on the frontier dialects taken at the lesson with colonel dermot from which he had just come. he opened it mechanically but did not even glance at it. his thoughts were elsewhere.
-months had elapsed since the day on which he had seen his first tiger killed. not long afterwards the rains had come to put a stop to descents into the jungle. but his interest in the preparation for his new work compensated him for the imprisonment within walls by the terrible tropical storms and the never-ceasing downpour. he had flung himself enthusiastically into the study of the frontier languages, of which colonel dermot proved to be a painstaking and able teacher. miss benson, who had returned to ranga duar and remained there longer than she had originally intended, owing to fever contracted in the jungle, joined him in these studies and astonished her fellow-pupil by her aptitude and quickness of apprehension. but her presence proved disastrous to him. thrown constantly together as they were, spending hours every day side by side, the subaltern realised to his dismay that he was falling in love with the girl.
-it would have been strange had it been otherwise so pretty and attractive was she. often mrs. dermot, peeping into her husband's office and seeing the dark and the fair head bent close together over a book, smiled to herself, well-pleased at the thought of her favourites being mutually attracted. to her husband the thought never occurred. men are very dull in these matters.
-but to wargrave the realisation of the truth was unbearable. he was pledged to another woman, whose heart he had won even if unconsciously, who was willing for love of him to give up everything and face the world's censure and scorn. he could not play her false. he had given her his word. he could not now be disloyal to her without utterly wrecking all her chances of happiness in life and dishonouring himself for ever in his own eyes. muriel benson had left the station ten days ago to rejoin her father; and wargrave had instantly felt that he dared not see her again until he was irrevocably and openly bound to violet. so he had written to her on the morrow of the girl's departure and, without giving her the real reason for his action, begged her to come to him at once, enclosing, as he was now able to do, a cheque for her expenses. it seemed to him that only by her presence could he be saved from being a traitor to his word.
-as soon as he had sent the letter he went to his commanding officer and told him everything. it was not until he was actually explaining his conduct that he realised that he should have obtained his permission before inviting violet to come, for major hunt, as commandant of the station, had the power to forbid her residing in or even entering it.
-the senior officer listened in silence. when the subaltern had finished he said:
-"i've known about this matter since you came, wargrave. your colonel wrote me--as your new c.o.--what i considered an unnecessary and unfair letter giving me the reason of your being sent here. but hepburn, whom i know slightly, discovered i was here and also wrote explaining matters more fully and, i think, more justly."
-the subaltern looked at him in surprise; but his face brightened at the knowledge of his former commander's kindness.
-"now, wargrave, we've got on very well together so far, you and i. i have always been satisfied with your work, and was glad to help you by agreeing to colonel dermot's application for you. i believe that you will make a good political officer, otherwise i wouldn't have done so--even though i'm your debtor for saving me from that snake----."
-"oh, major, that was nothing," broke in the subaltern. "anyone would have done it."
-"yes, i know. but it happened that you were the anyone. now, i'm going to talk to you as your friend and not as your commanding officer. frankly, i am very sorry for what you have just told me. i was hoping that time and separation were curing you--and the lady--of your folly. believe me, only unhappiness and misery can come to you both from it."
-"perhaps so, sir; but i'm bound in honour."
-the older man shook his head sadly.
-"is honour the word for it? i'll make a confession to you, wargrave. you consider me a bachelor. well, i'm not married now; but i was. when i was a young subaltern i was thrown much with a married woman older than myself. i was flattered that she should take any notice of me, for she was handsome and popular with men, while i was a shy, awkward boy. she said she was 'being a mother' to me--you know what a married woman 'mothering' boys leads to in india. she used to tell me how misunderstood she was, neglected, mated to a clown and all that." (frank grew red at certain memories.) "women have a regular formula when they're looking for sympathy they've no right to. i pitied her. i felt that her husband ought to be shot. looking back now i see that he was just the ordinary, easy-going, indifferent individual that most husbands become; but then i deemed him a tyrant and a brute. well, i ran away with her."
-he paused and passed his hand wearily across his brow.
-"there was the usual scandal, divorce, damages and costs that plunged me into debt i'm not out of yet. we married. in a year we were heartily sick of each other--hated, is nearer the truth. she consoled herself with other men. i protested, we quarrelled again and again. at last we agreed to separate; and i insisted on her going to england and staying there. i couldn't trust her in india. living in lodgings and bayswater boarding-houses wasn't amusing--she got bored, but i wouldn't have her back. she took to drinking and ran up debts that i had to pay. then--and i selfishly felt glad, but it was a happy release for both--she died. drank herself to death. now you know why i'd be sorry that another man should follow the path i trod."
-he was silent. wargrave felt an intense sympathy for this quiet, kindly man whose life had been a tragedy. he had guessed from the first that his senior officer had some ever-present grief weighing on his soul. he would have given much to be able to utter words of consolation, but he did not know what to say.
-major hunt spoke again.
-"you must dree your own weird, wargrave. if the lady wishes to come here--well, i shall not prevent her; but the general, when he knows of it, will not permit her to remain. but you have to deal with colonel dermot. you had better tell him. you might go now."
-without a word the subaltern left the bungalow. he went straight to the political officer and repeated his story. colonel dermot did not interrupt him, but, when he had finished, said:
-"i have no right and no wish to interfere with your private life, wargrave, nor to offer you advice as to how to lead it. your work is all that i can claim to criticise. of course i see, with major hunt, the difficulty that will arise over the lady's remaining in this small station, where her presence must become known to the staff. if you are both resolved on taking the irretrievable step it would be wiser to defer it until you were elsewhere. i don't offer to blame either of you; for i don't know enough to judge."
-"well, sir, i--perhaps you won't want me under you--and mrs. dermot--you mightn't wish me to----," stammered the subaltern, standing miserably before him.
-"oh, yes; you'll make a good political officer none the less," said the colonel smiling. "and you need not be afraid of my wife turning away from you with horror. if she can be a friend to the lady she will. as for you, well, you saved our children, wargrave"--he laid his hand on the young man's shoulder--"you are our friend for life. i shall not repeat your story to my wife. perhaps some day you may like to tell it to her yourself."
-wargrave tried to thank him gratefully, but failed, and, picking up his hat, went out into the rain.
-that was days ago; and no answer had come from violet, so that the subaltern lived in a state of strain and anxious expectation. indeed, some weeks had passed since her last letter, as usual an unhappy one; and, sitting staring out into the grey world of falling rain turned to flame every minute by the vivid lightning, he racked his brains to guess the reason of her silence.
-a jangle of bells sounded through the storm. glancing out wargrave saw a curiously grotesque figure climb the verandah steps from the garden and stand shaking itself while the water poured from it. it was an almost naked man, squat and sturdy-limbed, with glistening wet brown skin, an oilskin-covered package on his back, a short spear hung with bells in his hand. it was the postman. for a miserable pittance he jogged up and down the mountains in fine weather or foul, carrying his majesty's mails, passing fearlessly through the jungle in peril of wild beats, his ridiculous weapon, the bells of which were supposed to frighten tigers, his only protection.
-wargrave opened the door and went out to him. the man grinned, unslung and opened his parcel. from it he took out a bundle of letters, handed them to the subaltern, and went on to knock at burke's door with his correspondence. frank returned to his room with the mail which contained the official letters for the detachment, of which he was still acting as adjutant. he threw them aside when he saw an envelope with violet's handwriting on it. he tore it open eagerly.
-to his surprise the letter was addressed from a hotel in poona, the large and gay military and civil station in the west of india, a few hours' rail journey inland from bombay. he skimmed through it rapidly.
-the subaltern whistled, read the letter again very carefully, folded and put it away. what had come to violet? this was so unlike her. still, he had to confess to himself that he was relieved at not yet having to cross the rubicon. perhaps she was right; it might be better to wait. he was glad to know that for a time at least she was away from the uncongenial surroundings of rohar and again enjoying life. he went through the official correspondence, shoved it in his pocket, put on coat and boots and splashed through the water down the road to the commanding officer's bungalow. when they had discussed the official letters and drafted answers to them wargrave told major hunt of the gist of violet's reply. the senior officer nodded, but said nothing about it and went on to talk of other matters.
-next day the subaltern informed colonel dermot, who made no comment and did not refer to the matter again. his wife, ignorant of mrs. norton's existence, delighted to talk to wargrave about muriel, a topic always interesting to him, dangerous though it was to his peace of mind. his thoughts were constantly with the girl, and he sought eagerly for news of her when occasional letters came to mrs. dermot from her, touring their wide forest district with her father.
-frank had never been able to fathom burke's feelings towards her. the irishman's manner to her in public was always light-hearted and cheerfully friendly; but the subaltern suspected that it concealed a deeper, warmer feeling. he betrayed no jealousy of frank's constant companionship with her when she took part in his studies; and his friendly regard for his younger brother officer never altered. on her side the girl showed openly that she shared the universal liking that the kindly, pleasant-natured doctor inspired.
-colonel dermot was helped in his instruction of his pupil by his chief spy and confidential messenger, an ex-monk from a great monastery in punaka, the capital of bhutan. this man, tashi, before he wearied of the cloistered life and fled to india, had been always one of the principal actors in the great miracle plays and devil dances of his lamasery, for he was gifted with considerable histrionic talent. he delighted in teaching wargrave to play his various rôles, for he found the subaltern an apt pupil.
-as soon as the rains ended the political officer began to take his disciple with him on his tours and patrols along the frontier. alone they roamed on badshah among the mountains on which the border ran in a confusedly irregular line. sometimes with or without tashi they crossed into bhutan in disguise and wandered among the steep, forest-clad hills and deep, unhealthy valleys seamed with rivers prone to sudden floods that rose in a few hours thirty or forty feet. wargrave marvelled at the engineering skill of the inhabitants who with rude and imperfect appliances had thrown cantilever bridges over the deep gorges of this mountainous southern zone. among the dull-witted peasants in the villages he practised the parts that he had learned, speaking little at first and taking care to mingle tibetan and chinese words with the language of bhutan to keep up the fable of his northern birth. he soon promised to be in time as skilfull in disguise as his tutor. permission to spend the night with her father, and baron clyde called about four o'clock to escort her. was not that the hour, baron?"
-"yes, your grace," i answered, bowing. "i accompanied my cousin to her father's house, returned later to fetch her back to the palace, but she did not care to face the storm, so i remained till ten o'clock, returned to whitehall, and slept till morning. here is another witness," i continued, laughing, as i turned to john churchill, who was standing near the king. "step forward, churchill, and testify. i left him making his suit to one of the most interesting ladies in london."
-the king turned with an inquiring look, and churchill answered: "yes, your majesty, it is all true. i was making my suit until near the hour of eleven, when mistress jennings, who was ill, told me it was time to go home. if she was kidnapped sunday night, it was before five o'clock or after eleven."
-i flattered myself that we had all done a neat bit of convincing lying in a good cause.
-"odds fish!" mumbled the king, pulling his chin beard, evidently puzzled.
-"odds fish!" exclaimed frances, mimicking the king's tone of voice and twisting an imaginary beard. "some one has been hoaxing jacob hall's friend."
-it was a bold speech, but frances carried it off splendidly by turning to the king and speaking in mock seriousness:--
-"your majesty should put a check on rochester and the wags. it is a shame to permit them to work upon the credulity of one who is growing weak in mind by reason of age."
-the country girl had vanquished the terror of the court, and all who had witnessed the battle rejoiced; that is, all save the king and castlemain. she glared at frances, and her face, usually beautiful despite the lack of youth, became hideous with rage. she was making ready for another attack of words, if not of finger nails, when the duchess interposed, saying:--
-"evidently some one has been hoaxing you, lady castlemain. mistress jennings was not kidnapped sunday nor any other day. she has been with me constantly of late, excepting sunday after four o'clock, and she has accounted for herself from that time till her return to my closet."
-castlemain was whipped out, so she turned the whole matter off with a forced laugh, saying:--
-"it was that fool rochester who set the rumor afloat."
-after standing through an awkward minute or two, castlemain bowed stiffly to the king and the duchess, turned away from our group, and soon left the ballroom.
-when castlemain was gone, we all laughed save the king. presently he left us, and i saw him beckon wentworth and berkeley to his side. i followed him as though going to the other side of the gallery, but walked slowly when i approached him and the two worthy villains. i was rewarded by hearing his majesty say:--
-"odds fish! but you made a mess of it! you got the wrong woman! who in the devil's name did you pick up?"
-i could not stop to hear the rest of this interesting conversation, but two days later i heard from rochester, who had it from wentworth, that the following occurred:--
-"we thought we had her," answered berkeley, nodding towards frances, "but the woman wore a full vizard and was wrapped in furs to her ears, so that we did not see her face."
-"do you suppose we could have made a mistake?" asked wentworth.
-"you surely did," answered the king. "she has established an alibi. at what hour did you leave baynard's castle?"
-"near one o'clock," returned berkeley.
-"one o'clock! she was playing cards with the duchess till four," exclaimed the king, impatiently. "you picked up the wrong woman. but i'm glad you did. i suppose the lampooners will get hold of the story and will set every one laughing at me. kidnapped the wrong woman and lost her! odds fish! but you're a pair of wise ones. i see i shall have to find me a new lord high kidnapper."
-the king was right concerning the lampooners, for soon they had the story, and he became the laughing-stock of london, though frances's name was not mentioned.
-it is a significant index to the morals of our time that the king's attempt to kidnap a woman in the streets of london should have aroused laughter rather than indignation.
-as it was, the kidnapping episode brought no harm to my cousin, but she did not want it to happen again, and so was careful to take a trusted escort with her when she went abroad thereafter.
-at the maid's garter
-betty was confined to her room during the greater part of the next month, and frances visited her frequently. notwithstanding my vows not to see betty, i was compelled to go with frances as her body-guard. i even went so far in my feeble effort to keep my resolution as to suggest churchill as a body-guard, but frances objected, and the quality of my good intent was not enduring. so i went with my cousin, and the joy in betty's eyes whenever we entered her room was not the sort that would come because she was glad to see frances.
-during the first week of bettina's illness she was too sick to talk, therefore we did not remain long with her. but as she grew better our visits lengthened, and my poor resolutions grew weaker day by day because my love for the girl was growing stronger and stronger hour by hour.
-on one occasion while frances's back was turned, betty impulsively snatched up my hand and kissed it, dropping it instantly, blushing intensely and covering her tracks by humming the refrain of a french lullaby. i longed to return the caress, but did not, and took great credit to myself because of my self-denial. betty understood my sacrifice and appreciated it, feeling sure that she need not thereafter restrain herself for the purpose of restraining me.
-during those times i was making an honest effort to do the right by this beautiful child-woman and to save my own honor unsullied from the sin of making her unhappy for life through winning her love beyond her power to recall; and my effort toward the right, like all such efforts, achieved at least a part of the good for which i strove.
-one day after our visit to betty's room, frances asked me to take her to see george. i suspected that she had seen him frequently, but was not sure. i objected, but changed my mind when she said:--
-"very well. i prefer going alone."
-i shall not try to describe the scene between them. we found george alone, and she sprang to him as the iron springs to the magnet.
-i knew then, if never before, that there could be no happiness in this world for her away from him. whether she would find it with him was impossible for me to know, but i saw that she was in the grip of a mighty passion, and i could only hope that a way would open to save her.
-hamilton's fortunes would need to mend a great deal before he could or would ask her to be his wife, for now he was at the bottom of the ladder. he lost no opportunity to impress this disagreeable truth upon her, but his honest efforts to hold himself aloof only increased her respect and love for him. it not only convinced her that notwithstanding his past life, he was a man of honor capable of resisting himself and of protecting her, but it gave him the quality so irresistible to a woman--unattainability.
-taking it all in all, my poor beautiful cousin was falling day by day deeper into an abyss of love from which she could in no way extricate herself. in short, level-headed frances had got far out of plumb, and, though she struggled desperately, she could not right herself, nor could any one help her. i fully realized that the small amount of self-restraint and passivity she still retained would give way to disastrous activity when the time should come for her to part with george and lose him forever. but i could see no way to save her unless i could induce george to leave england at once, for good and all.
-at times the fates seem to fly to a man's help, and in this instance they came to me most graciously that same day in whitehall, in the person of my friend the count de grammont.
-soon after leaving frances in the maids' apartments, i met that most interesting gentleman roué, his grace de grammont, coming from the king's closet. as already stated, he had been banished from the french court by louis xiv because of a too great friendliness for one of the king's sweethearts, and was living in exile in london till louis should forgive his interference. the french king really liked de grammont and trusted him when his majesty's lady-loves were not concerned, so the count had been sent to england in honorable exile, and was employed in certain cases as a spy and in others as a means of secret communication between the french king and persons connected with the court of charles ii.
-when de grammont saw me, he came forward, holding out both hands in his effusive french manner, apparently overjoyed at finding a long-lost brother.
-"come with me, my dear baron," he cried, bending so close to me that i feared he was going to kiss me. "come with me! you are the very man of all the world i want, i need, i must have!"
-"you have me, my dear count," said i, "but i cannot go with you. i am engaged elsewhere."
-"no, no, let me whisper!" he brought his lips close to my ear and continued almost inaudibly: "you may please me. you may help a friend. you may oblige--a king."
-the last, of course, was the ne plus ultra of inducement according to the count's way of thinking, and he supposed the mere suggestion would vanquish me. still i pleaded my engagement. he insisted, however, repeating in my ear:--
-"oblige a king! a real king! not a flimsy fool of bourgeois, who makes of himself the laughing-stock of his people, but a real king. i cannot name him now, but you must know."
-we were in a narrow passage leading to the stone gallery in whitehall. he looked about him a moment, then taking me by the arm, led me to the stone gallery and thence to the garden. i wanted to stop, but he kept his grasp on my arm, repeating now and then the word "come" in whispers, till we reached a lonely spot in st. james park. there he halted, and though there was not a living creature in sight, he brought his lips to my ear and breathed the name, "'sieur george hamilton."
-i tried not to show that i was startled, but the quickwitted, sharp-eyed frenchman read me as though i were an open book, and grasping my hand, cried out:--
-"ah, i knew you could tell me. it is to rejoice! i knew it!"
-"tell you what, count?" i asked.
-"tell me where your friend and mine is, or if you will not tell me, take to him a letter. i have been trying to find him this fortnight."
-"i cannot tell you where he is, my dear count--"
-"of course not! i do not ask," he interrupted.
-"--but i may be able to forward your letter to him. i heard only the other day that he was in france."
-"of course, of course, he is in france! not in england at all! good, good! i see you are to be trusted. but i must have your word of honor that the letter will be delivered."
-"i shall send it by none but a trusted messenger," i answered, "and shall return it to you unopened unless i am convinced beyond a doubt that it will reach our friend."
-"good, good! come to my hotel. i will trust you."
-we went to de grammont's house, and after taking great precautions against discovery, he gave me a small wooden box wound with yards of tape and sealed with quantities of wax. i put the box in my pocket, saying:--
-"i accept the trust on my honor, dear count, and though the package bears no name nor address, i shall deliver it to the person for whom it is intended."
-de grammont said he knew nothing of the contents of the box except that it contained a message for a friend, and i believed him.
-when i left his house he came to the door with me, murmuring: "my gratitude! my gratitude! also the gratitude of my king, which i hope may prove of far greater value to your friend than my poor offering of words."
-i lost no time in seeking george, except to make sure that i was not followed. i trusted de grammont and felt sure that the box he had given me contained a personal communication from no less a person than louis xiv of france, but i wanted to take no risk of betraying hamilton by leading de grammont or any one else to his hiding-place.
-since frances's providential escape, the king had suspected the right persons of her rescue. at least he suspected hamilton, and was seeking him more diligently than ever before. his majesty had not shown me any mark of disfavor, but i feared he suspected me, and was sure he was not convinced that frances's alibi had been proved by unsuborned testimony. if he was sure that she was the one who had been kidnapped, his suspicious nature would connect george with the rescue, and would lead him to conclude that hamilton must be in england.
-a maid of lady castlemain's told rochester, who in turn told me, that the king had again set his men to work searching for hamilton. that being the case, george was in danger, and should he be found by the king's secret agents, who, i understood, were prowling all over england in the hope of obtaining a reward, his life would not be worth a week's purchase.
-george knew the risk he ran by remaining in england, but it was a part of his reckless courage to take delight in it. later on this recklessness of disposition induced him to take a far greater risk. but of that in its turn.
-after supper, i found hamilton in his bedroom, which was connected by a hidden stairway with the room of the sinking floor. he wore his quaker's disguise, and on the table beside him were the bible and a few theological works dear to the hearts of his sect. i gave him the box, telling him its history. the letter was brief and was written in cipher.
-george translated it thus:--
-"master george hamilton:
-"monsieur le grand wishes you to pay him a visit immediately.
-"you probably know monsieur le grand?" i asked.
-"yes," he answered, "and i shall visit him without delay."
-"in paris?" i asked, not quite sure that monsieur le grand was king louis of france, and not desiring to know certainly.
-"in paris," he answered, giving me to understand by his manner that he must tell me nothing more definite of le grand's identity.
-"don't tell me what you know of the business this letter refers to, but tell me whether you know," i said, hoping that george might at least tell me it meant good fortune for him.
-"i cannot even conjecture the business upon which i am wanted," he said, "but i hope that it may give me an opportunity to be of service to the writer."
-thus i was relieved of the disagreeable task of trying to induce george to leave england, and was very thankful to escape it.
-after a long silence, during which he read the one-line letter many times, he asked:--
-"are you willing to bring frances to me early to-morrow morning, if she will come?"
-"doubtless i can," i answered. "her willingness to come has been shown all too plainly of late; but ought i bring her?"
-"yes. it will be the last time i shall ever see her unless good fortune lies in this letter, and for that i hardly dare hope. you know that when a man's luck has been against him for a long time, it kills the very roots of hope and brings him almost to doubt certainty. soon after i have seen my friend, le grand, i shall write to you in cipher, of which i shall leave you the key. if i see a prospect of fortune worthy of frances, i shall ask her to wait a time for me, but if my ill fortune pursues me, i shall never again be heard from by any one in england. are you satisfied with the conditions?"
-i gave him my hand for answer, and told him i would bring frances to him early the following morning.
-i hastened back to whitehall, and coming upon frances unengaged, asked her to go to her parlor with me. when she had closed the door, she turned to me, asking:--
-"what is it, baron ned? tell me quickly. i know there is something wrong with george."
-"will you go with me early to-morrow morning to see betty--very early?" i asked.
-her eyes opened in wonder, and she answered, somewhat amused: "you have been acting as my guardian for a long time, cousin ned, and now i think i owe it to you to return the favor. you should not see so much of betty. i know you mean no wrong to her, but you will cause her great suffering if you continue to see her, for you must know that already the girl is almost mad with love of you. yet you cannot marry her."
-"nor can you marry some one else," i retorted, almost angrily, for a man dislikes to be prodded by a painful truth.
-"ah, well, i suppose we are a pair of fools," she said.
-"you're right, frances," i answered philosophically, "and the only consolation we can find lies in the fact that we know it."
-"most fools lack that flattering unction," returned frances, musingly.
-"perhaps you will take more interest in this matter when i tell you that it is not betty i propose to see," i answered. "i am deliberately offering to take you to see some one else who is about to leave england."
-she stood on tiptoe and kissed my lips for answer, then sank into a chair, covering her face with her hands to hide the sudden tears.
-i went to the window and waited till she was calm. i longed to comfort her by telling of the faint prospect of good fortune that lay in le grand's letter, but i hesitated raising a hope which might never be realized.
-at the end of five minutes i went to her and said: "let me ask the duchess to excuse you for to-night, and in the morning i'll meet you on bowling green stairs, at, say, seven o'clock."
-"i'll be there," she answered, smiling through her tears.
-the next morning we took boat, and the tide running out, made good speed to the bridge, hastened to the old swan, and found george in his printing shop awaiting us. i remained in the old tapestried room, leaving frances and george to say their farewells. in the course of a few minutes he called me in. he had donned his quaker disguise, and on the floor near him was a small bundle of linen. frances was weeping, and george's voice was choked with emotion.
-"well, at last, baron ned, you are to be rid of me," he said, glancing toward the bundle at his feet.
-"what are your plans of escape?" i asked.
-"i shall work my way down to sheerness, where i hope to find a boat for the hague or the french coast. lilly, who seems to know everything, past, present and future, came last night to tell me that the king has fifty men seeking me in various parts of england, especially the seaports, and has offered a reward of two hundred pounds for me, dead or alive, preferably dead, i suppose. if i go direct to sheerness and try to take a boat, i am sure to be examined, and i'm not prepared for the ordeal. so i intend to preach my way down the river and induce the king's officers to send me abroad by force."
-"how are you off for money, george?" i asked.
-"i borrowed ten guineas from lilly," he answered.
-"i thought you might be in need of money, so i brought fifty guineas from the strong box under my bed," i said, offering him the little bag of gold.
-he hesitated, saying: "if i take the money, you may never again see a farthing of it."
-"in that case, i'll take my pay in abusing you," i replied.
-"do you believe he would, frances?" asked george, turning to my cousin. then continuing thoughtfully:
-"it is strange that i should have found such a friend at the bottom of a quarrel, all because i allowed him to abuse me. truly forbearance is a profitable virtue. the 'other cheek' is the better of the two."
-upon my insistence, he accepted the gold and gave me the ten guineas he had borrowed from lilly, asking me to return them.
-frances was making an entire failure of her effort to hold herself in check, and george was having difficulty in restraining himself, so, to bring the interview to an end, he gave me his hand, saying:--
-"thank you, ned, and good-by. i wish i could hope ever to see you again, but if le grand fails me, i shall go to the new world and lose myself in the canadian woods."
-"no, no!" cried frances, imploringly.
-"i hope not," began george, but he could not finish, so he took frances in his arms for a moment, and when he released her, thrust us both out the door, saying: "please leave me at once. if you do not, i fear i shall never let her go. take care of her, ned. good-by!"
-the door closed on us, and when frances had put on her vizard, she followed me upstairs to see betty.
-i was not admitted to betty's room, so i went back to the printing shop for a moment, and george gave me the key to the cipher, in which we were to write to each other. his letters were to be sent under cover to lilly, and mine were to go to an address in paris which george would send to me.
-long afterwards george told me of his adventures in making his escape, but i shall give them now in the order of their happening rather than in the order of time in which i learned them.
-leaving the old swan within ten minutes after i had said good-by to him, george crossed london bridge, attired in his quaker disguise, and made his way to deptford, where he preached in the streets. from deptford he followed the river by easy stages to sheerness, where he lodged nearly a week, awaiting a boat that would answer his purpose. had he attempted to board a vessel, he would have been seized and examined; therefore his plan was to grow violent in his preaching, and, if possible, provoke the authorities to place him on board one of the outgoing crafts; that being a favorite method of the king's men in getting rid of the too blatant fanatics in sheerness.
-the dutch sea captains were fanatics almost to a man, and the exiled exhorters found them always willing to help their persecuted brethren of the faith.
-so well did george play his part that a collection was taken up among the passengers of the dutch boat to help the good man so vilely put upon. there was a sweet bit of irony in the fact, learned afterwards, that the officers who forced george aboard the dutch ship were at sheerness for the purpose of winning the two hundred pounds reward offered for his capture.
-the goodness of god occasionally takes a whimsical form.
-a month later i received a letter from george, written in cipher, which i here give translated:--
-"i reached paris three weeks ago and was received by monsieur le g. most graciously. although i cannot give definite news, i hope for great improvement in my fortune soon, and perhaps may write you more fully thereof before the week is spent.
-"good fortune has but one meaning for me, of which you already know. i beg you to say to one that a letter from her hand would give me greater joy than she can know, and that i would now send one to her if i felt safe in so doing. please send all letters in cipher, addressed: 'monsieur le blanc, in care of 'sieur de catanet, at the sign of the double arrow on the rue st. antoine, counting nine doors from the street corner nearest the bastile.'
-when george wrote that he hoped for good fortune, i knew he had sound reason to expect it, for he was one who never permitted a mere possibility to take the form of hope, nor hope, however assuring, to take the aspect of certainty. knowing this to be true, i found great joy in the letter, and when i told frances, she did not pause even to give me one smile of thanks, but broke into a flood of tears and seemed to take great happiness in her tribulation.
-i told frances that we should answer the letter at once, and suggested that she have hers ready in my hands the following day, if she wished to write one. i also suggested that we meet in bettina's parlor, where frances's letter could be rewritten in cipher. we trusted bettina as we trusted ourselves, and when we told her the good news, she clapped her hands for joy, laughing, yet ready to weep, and was as happy as even she could be, which was very happy indeed.
-after we had talked, laughed, and cried a reasonable time in betty's parlor, frances handed me her letter, which was a bulky document, well taped and waxed.
-"it will require a week for me to translate this," i remarked, weighing the letter in my hand.
-"what do you mean by translating it?" she asked in surprise.
-"i must write it out in cipher. hamilton directed that all letters should be sent in that form," i answered, amused at her alarm.
-"no, no!" she cried, snatching the letter from me, pressing it to her breast and blushing to her ears. "you shall not see my letter!"
-"why?" i asked.
-"because," she answered.
-"that is no reason," i replied. "of course you have written nothing that you would not want me or your father to see?"
-"well, yes, i have," she returned emphatically. "a great deal. would you, betty, want any one to see such a letter written by yourself?"
-"i suppose i could write a letter which i should want but one person in all the world to see," returned betty, arching her eyebrows.
-"to whom would it be directed, betty?" i asked, to tease her.
-a faint expression of reproach came to her eyes, but after a moment of pretty hesitancy, she answered boldly:--
-"since you are so unwise as to ask, i'll answer in like folly. the letter could be directed to but one person in the world--you."
-i had received more than i had expected, and though i longed to make a suitable return, i dared not for the sake of my vows, so we all remained silent, and somewhat embarrassed, for a minute or two.
-turning to frances, i said: "if you don't want me to read your letter, i'll give you the key, and you may make it into cipher." but after examining the key, she declared that she could never learn to use it, and i suggested that she write a shorter letter in terms fit for a modest man to read.
-the next day she handed me a shorter letter, saying that she had cut and pruned it till there was nothing left worth sending, but i assured her that george would think otherwise.
-when i read the letter, my eyes were opened to the fact that there was more fire in frances's heart than i had supposed any woman capable of holding in subjection. but that is a mistake often made by men.
-this was my cousin's "cut and pruned" letter:--
-"baron ned says my letter must be short, so i smother what remnant of modesty i have, covering nothing with the veil of circumlocution, but telling you plainly what i know you want to hear. i love only you and am true to you in every thought, word, and deed. i long for you, yearn for you, pray for you, and be your fortune good or ill, i would share it and give you a part of the bliss of life which you would give to me.
-"so i pray you, do not desert me in case your present hope of good fortune fails you, but let me know at any time, and i will go to you, and will go with you wherever you will take me.
-"you will say, i fear, that none but a crazy woman would write such a letter as this, but if that be true, the world doubtless is and always has been populated by maniacs, and i pray god always will be. i pray you, remember, in judging me, that you are you and that i am but a woman by whom the good or evil of life is reckoned in the measure of her love; her joy or misery being only a matter of down weight or light weight more in the love she gives than in that which she receives. remember, also, that in this letter i must condense when i might easily be prolix, and that after all is written, probably i shall have left unsaid the very thing i most wished to say. but these three words will tell it all and bear repeating: i love you.
-and this from my sensible cousin! what would it be if her heart were not balanced by a wise head?
-our letters being written, i became alarmed about posting them in london, not knowing when a messenger would start for france, nor who he would be. the next day frances and i talked it over, and she suggested that as the king and most of the court were about to visit bath for a season, and as neither she nor i cared to go, we should take the letters to dover, cross to calais, and post them in france.
-i sprang at the idea, but immediately sprang back, saying: "but it is not entirely proper for us to travel to calais together, even though you are my sister-cousin."
-"we may take father," she suggested. "sarah wants to visit lady st. albans, and she can go if we take father with us. and, baron ned; i have another suggestion to offer. let us take bettina."
-i sprang at that proposal and did not spring back. so we went first to my uncle, who said he would go with us, and then we went to see bettina. she had recovered from her sprains and bruises, although she was still pale and not quite strong.
-when frances asked her to go with us, she answered, "ay, gladly, if father consents."
-pickering, who was sitting with us at the time in bettina's cozy parlor, turned to me, laughing, and said:--
-"you would suppose, from betty's remark, that i am master here, but the truth is my soul is not my own, and now her modest request for permission is made for effect on the company."
-betty ran to her father, sat on his knee, twined her arm about his neck, and kissed him as a protest against the unjust insinuation.
-"you see how she does it," said pickering. "no hammer and tongs for betty; just oil and honey."
-"and lots and lots of love, father," interrupted betty.
-well, our journey was soon arranged on a grand scale. pickering lent us his new coach, just home from the makers in cow street. it was cushioned and curtained and had springs in place of thorough-braces. it also had glass in the windows and doors; a luxury then little known in england even among the nobles. there was a prejudice against its use in coach windows because of the fact that two or three old ladies had cut their faces in trying to thrust their heads through it.
-the new coach was a wonderful vehicle, and frances and i, as well as betty, were very proud of our grandeur. pickering sent along with the coach and horses two lusty fellows as drivers, and gave us a hamper almost large enough to feed a company of soldiers. i was to pay all expenses on the road.
-almost at the last hour sir richard concluded not to go, but insisted that frances, bettina, and i take the journey by ourselves. as pickering offered no objection, frances shrugged her shoulders in assent, i shrugged mine, and betty laughed, whereby we all, in our own way, agreed to the new arrangement, and preparations went forward rapidly.
-by the time we were ready to start, the king, the duke, the duchess, and many ladies and gentlemen of the court circle had gone to bath, thus giving us an opportunity to make our journey without the knowledge of any one in whitehall; a consideration of vast importance to us under the circumstances. some of our grand friends at court might have laughed at our taking the journey with an innkeeper's daughter, in an innkeeper's coach, but frances and i laughed because we were happy.
-there are distinct periods of good and bad luck in every man's life, which may be felt in advance by one sensitive to occult influences, if one will but keep good watch on one's intuitions and leave them untrammelled by will or reason. at this time "i felt it in my bones," as betty would have said, that the day of our good luck was at hand.
-all conditions seemed to combine to our pleasure when, on a certain bright spring morning, betty, frances, and i went down to the courtyard of the old swan, where we found the coach, the horses, and even the drivers all glittering in the sunshine.
-there was ample room in the back seat of the coach for the three of us, so betty took one corner, frances made herself comfortable in another, and i took what was left, the pleasant place between them.
-after betty had kissed her father at least a dozen times, and had shed a few tears just to make her happiness complete, the driver cracked his whip and away we went, out through the courtyard gate, down gracious hill and across london bridge before a sleepy man could have winked his eyes.
-at first we thought we were in haste, but when we got out of southwark and into the country, the dark green grass, the flowering hedges, the whispering leaves of the half-fledged trees, the violets by the roadside, and the smiling sun in the blue above, all invited us to linger. so we told the driver to slow his pace, and we lowered every window in the coach, there being no one in the country whose wonder and envy we cared to arouse by a display of our glass.
-there was not room in betty's little heart for all the great flood of happiness that had poured into it, so presently, to give it vent, she began to sing the little french lullaby we had so often heard, whereupon frances and i ceased listening to the birds, and i was more thoroughly convinced than ever before that there were at least distinct periods of good fortune in every man's life.
-before reaching gravesend, we halted at a grassy spot near the river bank, where we ate our dinner. when the horses had rested, we set off for rochester, in which place we expected to spend the night at the maid's garter, a famous old inn kept by a friend of pickerings.
-i had noticed a twinkle in pickering's eyes when he directed us to go to this tavern, but did not understand the cause of his merriment until i learned that by a curious old custom, a maid seeking entrance for the first time must contribute one of her garters before being admitted. the worst feature of the usage was that the garter must be taken off at the door, and then and there presented to the porter, who received it on the point of his official staff.
-after entering rochester, we went to the maid's garter and at once drove into the courtyard, as the custom is with travellers intending to remain all night.
-when we left the coach and started to climb the steps to the great door, we found the landlord and his retinue waiting to receive us. frances was in the lead, and when we reached the broad, flat stone in front of the door, the head porter stepped before her, bowed, and asked humbly:--
-"is my lady maid or madam?"
-frances looked up in surprise, and he repeated his question.
-"what is that to you, fellow?" asked frances.
-"it is this, my lady," returned the porter. "if my lady be a maid, she must pay me one of her garters as her admission fee to this inn. if she be madam, she enters free. it is a privilege conferred on the maid's garter by good st. augustine when he was bishop of canterbury, so long ago that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary."
-"what nonsense is this?" asked frances, turning to me, and bettina asked the same question with her eyes. i explained the matter, and frances, turning to the porter, said:--
-"i'll buy you off with a jacobus or a guinea."
-"not a hundred guineas would buy me off, my lady," answered the porter, bowing, "though i might say that a shilling usually goes with the garter."
-"well, i'll send you both the shilling and the garter from my room," said frances, moving toward the inn door.
-"the garter must be paid here, my lady. the shilling may be paid at any time," returned the porter, with polite insistence.
-frances was about to protest, but betty, more in sympathy with the eccentric customs of inns, modestly lifted her skirts, untied her garter and offered it to the porter, telling him very seriously:--
-"i am a maid."
-the porter thanked her gravely, whereupon frances, turning her back on the audience in the doorway, brought forth her garter, gave it to the porter, and we were admitted.
-our supper, beds, and breakfast were all so good that they reconciled frances and bettina to the payment of the extraordinary admission fee, and when we left the next morning, curiosity prompted them to pass near the garter rack in the tap-room, where garters were hanging which had been taken from maids whose great granddaughters had become great grandmothers. the garters that had belonged to frances and bettina, being the latest contributions, hung at the bottom of the rack, neatly dated and labelled, and, as i left the room, i overheard bettina whisper to frances:--
-"i'm glad mine was of silk."
-we made a short drive to maidstone, where we stopped over night. the next day a longer journey brought us to canterbury, where we spent two nights and a day, visiting the cathedral both by sunlight and moonlight; the combination of moonlight and bettina being very trying to me.
-from canterbury we drove in the rain to dover, where we lodged at that good inn, the three anchors, to await a fair wind for calais.
-during the next three days the wind was fair, but it was blowing half a gale, and therefore the passage was not to be attempted. though i was enjoying myself, i was anxious to post our letters, as mine gave a full account of several matters at court concerning which i knew george ought to be informed.
-among other news, i told him that king charles had sent a messenger into france carrying a personal letter to king louis, asking his help in finding the man hamilton, who had threatened charles's life. i also suggested in my letter that the king of france was trying to buy the city of dunkirk from king charles, and that because of the friendly negotiations then pending, louis might give heed to our king's request. in that case, it might be well, i thought, for hamilton to leave france at once.
-with this urgency in mind, i suggested to frances and betty that i cross to calais alone, regardless of the weather, leaving them at dover till my return. but they would not be left behind, so we all set sail on a blustery morning and paid for our temerity with a day of suffering. in calais we posted our letters, having learned that a messenger would leave that same day for paris, and two days later we returned to dover.
-our journey home was made in the rain, bettina sleeping with her head on my shoulder a great part of the way. and i enjoyed the rain even more than i had enjoyed the sunshine.
-we reached london nearly a week before the king's return, so that nothing was known of our journey at court.
-"all sunshine makes the desert"
-whatever faults whitehall may have had as a place of residence, dulness was not among them. there were balls, games with high stakes, theatres, gossip, scandals, and once in a long while an affair of state to interest us. in order to interest the court thoroughly, an affair of state must have involved the getting of money for the privy purse; that is, for the king's personal use, for out of it the courtesans were fed and gambling debts were paid.
-the time of our dover journey was one of extreme depletion in the privy purse. the king had borrowed from every person and every city within the realm who, by threats or cajolery, could be induced to part with money. but now he had reached the end of his tether.
-when matters were thus in extremis, some one, probably castlemain, suggested the sale of england's possessions on the continent, chief of which was the rich city of dunkirk, situate on the french side of the straits of dover. this fortified city, within a few leagues of calais, had cost the english nation heavily in blood and gold to gain, and still more heavily to hold, but its value to england commercially and politically was beyond measure.
-since queen mary had lost calais, dunkirk was the only important foothold england had on continental soil; therefore it was almost as dear to the english people as the city of london itself. because of its importance, it was greatly coveted by the french king, who shortly before the time of our journey to dover had made overtures to buy it.
-charles turned a deaf ear to king louis's first proposal to buy dunkirk, not because he loved the city, or cared a farthing for its value to his people, but because he feared the storm of indignation its sale would raise. the lord chancellor objected to the sale of dunkirk, and tried to show charles the great folly of entertaining the offer. he was the only wise, honest man in the king's council, and, by reason of his wonderful knowledge of mankind, was called "the chancellor of human nature." but the king needed money, so after a time he listened to berkeley, crofts, castlemain, and others of like character, whose strongest argument consisted in accusing the king, most offensively, of being afraid of his people.
-"are you not king?" asked castlemain. "does not dunkirk belong to you, and may you not sell that which is your property? are not these dogs, the people, your slaves, your property? yet you stand in cowardly fear of a rabble which quakes if you but crook your finger. a like fear of his subjects cost your father his head. the people will crawl before you if you kick them, but let them see that you fear them, and you will learn that there is no cruelty like that of the good people."
-de grammont, the french exile, called attention to the french king's successful tyranny, declaring that his master would sell paris if he chose. de grammont was acting secretly in the french king's interest.
-a weak man easily finds logic to justify the course he desires to take, so charles turned a deaf ear to clarendon, and, listening to castlemain, announced that dunkirk was for sale. as expected, a strong protest came from the people, but no one is so stubborn as a fool in the wrong, so charles remained firm in his determination.
-finding that protest would avail nothing, the people of london offered to buy dunkirk, and began to bid for it against the french king. louis, knowing that london was a rich city, and believing that its people would run up the price of dunkirk to an exorbitant figure, took counsel with himself--his only adviser--and determined to employ other means than gold alone to obtain the coveted city.
-my first definite knowledge of the french king's new plan to buy dunkirk at his own price came in a letter from hamilton, which reached me at lilly's house two or three weeks after my return from dover. like the others, it was written in cipher, but, translated, was as follows:--
-"your warning letter reached me nearly a week ago, and i thank you for your watchfulness. i had full information of king charles's design upon my life from no less a person than monsieur le grand himself, who showed me the letter asking that i be returned to england.
-"i explained to monsieur le grand that the english king sought my life, not because he is in fear of me, but because he thought i stood between him and a lady who despises him. while monsieur le grand was much in sympathy with the english king's grievance, his contempt for charles, his regard for me, which seems to be sincere, and his longing to possess dunkirk all induced him to laugh at the request, the nature of which he had imparted to no one save me.
-"my account of the lady who despised king charles's love gave monsieur le grand a new idea, and suggested a method of purchasing dunkirk which he hopes will save the heavy cost of bidding against the citizens of london. i had no hint of what he intended till one day he took me to his closet and began to question me.
-"'do you possess the love of the lady who despises king charles?' he asked.
-"'i do, your majesty,' i answered.
-"'do you know you possess it?' he asked.
-"'as well as a man who is not a king may know,' i returned.
-"'tush, tush! kings are no more certain than other men.'
-"'i know i possess this woman's love,' i said.
-"'would she be willing to make a great sacrifice to help you?'
-"'anything that i should ask,' i replied.
-"'ah, i see, i see! should ask? i take it there are certain sacrifices you would not ask,' returned the king. 'we here in france would say that your position was quixotic. however, your king charles is a weak fool, easily imposed upon. is the lady quick and resourceful in expedients, calm and thoughtful in emergencies, and silent on great occasions?'
-"to all of which i answered, 'yes.'
-"'surely the lady is not la belle jennings?' asked the king.
-"'yes,' i replied.
-"'in that case you are the very man i want, and your lady-love can help me buy dunkirk. it is easy to lead a fool to do the wrong thing, and i'm sure la belle jennings will find a way to gain her end and ours. if, through her, you induce king charles to sell dunkirk to me on my own terms, i'll make you its governor and a rich man. i'll put you in a position to marry this paragon, mam'selle jennings, if, as i take it, lack of fortune is all that stands between you. i do not mind telling you now that de grammont had given me full information concerning the king's view of la belle jennings and your relations to her before i wrote my first letter, inviting you to visit me.'
-"i am loath to undertake so mean an office as that of inducing king charles to sell an english city, but i cannot save dunkirk, and i may profit by helping what i cannot prevent. so i beg you broach the subject to frances, cautioning her for me to take no risk, and if she is willing to use and to hoodwink the man who would not hesitate to take her life, let me know, and i shall write to you again with further instructions.
-i sought frances, and when i told her the substance of george's letter, she was almost wild with joy.
-"am i willing to try?" she exclaimed, laughing while tears were hanging in her eyes. "i am not only willing to try, but am determined to succeed. ay, i'd sell england itself in the same cause. of all the men i have ever known, this king of ours is the greatest dupe. since the return of the court to whitehall, he has been growing more importunate every day. he seems to have lost what little wits he had, and does and says the silliest things one can imagine."
-"and you do not fear attempting to lead him on to sell dunkirk? you do not fear going too near the precipice?" i asked, wishing to weigh her self-confidence more by the manner of her reply than by her words.
-she laughed and answered: "there is no precipice, cousin ned; nothing to fear save kidnapping, and i am always guarded against that danger; nothing to do of which i need feel ashamed, save the acting of a lie, and surely one may lie to the father of lies without sin."
-"but the lie may be recognized," i suggested, "if one be too bold about it."
-"my lie will go little beyond a smile or two. the king's vanity will do the rest. he will make himself believe that i mean more than i say."
-frances and i felt that we were traitors to our country in helping the french king, but we knew that in the end he would buy dunkirk from our spendthrift monarch, and that out country's loss would be no greater by reason of our gain. therefore i wrote george as follows:--
-"the duchess of hearts is eager and confident. write at once, giving full directions.
-frances added a postscript in cipher, but i shall not translate it.
-one morning, some three weeks after sending my letter, frances came to me in my closet in the wardrobe, and i saw at once she was in great trouble. her eyes were red with weeping, and the woebegone expression of her face would have been amusing had i not known that some good cause was back of it. as soon as she entered i saw that she was going to speak, but closets in whitehall have ears, so i placed my finger on my lips to enjoin silence, and spoke loud enough to be heard if any one was listening:--
-"ah, frances, i forgot that i had promised to go with you to your father's this morning. wait for me at holbein's gate. i'll be there in ten minutes."
-within the promised time i found frances at holbein's gate, and we walked up to charing cross, thence down the strand toward temple bar.
-"what is the trouble, frances?" i asked, anxious to hear her news, which i feared was bad. she was in great distress, and i saw that a flood of tears was ready to accompany her tale of woe, so i said hurriedly: "don't cry. laugh while you speak. you will attract less attention."
-she tried to laugh, but the effort was piteous and became a failure, as she said:--
-"george hamilton has sailed for canada, and my heart is broken."
-again she tried to smile, but the smile never reached her eyes, for they were full of tears.
-"how do you know?" i asked, almost stunned by the news.
-she tried to stay her tears, but failed, and answered between sobs: "last night at the queen's ball, the king showed me a letter sent by order of the french king, saying that george had sailed from bordeaux for canada nearly a fortnight ago. i could not help showing my grief, and the king, who was boisterously happy, said: 'now you will forget him and listen to me.' i smiled, but it was a poor effort, and he smiled, showing his yellow fangs as he left me. i pray god that i may never be called upon to hate another man as i hate him."
-"i can hardly believe that george has gone to canada without notifying us," i said.
-"yes, i fear it is true," she returned. "but if i am ever so fortunate as to find him again, i intend to go with him whether he consents or no, regardless of father and all the world. just as soon as i learn where he is in canada, i will go to him. you will take me, won't you, baron ned?"
-"i'll not give that promise," i answered. "but i am sure there is something back of king louis's letter of which we do not know. surely george would not have sailed without notifying us."
-"he may have feared to betray himself by writing," she suggested, "since king charles had asked king louis to detain him."
-"that is true," i returned. "but the occasion must have been urgent indeed if he could not have sent us word in some manner."
-but i could find no comfort for her, for i really believed that george had gone to canada, and there was a certain relief to me in knowing that he had passed out of frances's life.
-after along silence this feeling of relief found unintentional expression when i said:--
-"time heals all wounds, frances. one of these days you will find a man who will make amends for your present loss, and then--"
-"no, no, baron ned. your words are spoken in kindness, but what you suggest is impossible. perhaps if there had been fewer obstacles between us, or if i had not misjudged him so cruelly, i might have found my heart more obedient to my will."
-the only comfort i could give my beautiful cousin was that a letter would soon come explaining everything. in default of a letter, i promised to go to paris and learn the truth from george's friends, if possible.
-frances did not go back to whitehall that day, but remained at home, pretending to be ill of an ague.
-at the end of a week, frances not having returned to whitehall, sir richard was honored by a visit from no less a person than the king, accompanied by the duchess and a gentleman in waiting. the visit was made incognito.
-as a result of this royal visit, which was made for the purpose of seeing frances, a part of sir richard's estates near st. albans were restored to him, and from poverty he rose at once to a comfortable income of, say, a thousand or twelve hundred pounds a year.
-immediately all of sir richard's hatred of charles ii fell away, and once more the king shone in the resplendent light of his divine appointment.
-while frances estimated the king's generosity at its true value, she was glad her father had received even a small part of what was his just due, and although she knew the restoration had been made to please, and, if possible, to win her, she was glad to have spoiled the royal philistine, and despised him more than ever before, if that were possible.
-sir richard's good fortune brought a gleam of joy to frances, but it also brought a pang of regret, because it had come too late. her only purpose in going to whitehall had been to marry a rich nobleman and thereby raise the fallen fortunes of her house. now that reason existed no longer, and if george were here, she could throw herself away upon him with injury to no one but herself. but george was not here, and liberty to throw herself away had come too late to be of any value.
-every day during the fortnight that frances remained at home, she asked if i had any news from court, meaning the french court, but using the form of inquiry to avoid acquainting her father and sarah with the real cause of her solicitude.
-but my answers were always, "oh, nothing but castlemain's new tantrum," or "the duke's defeat at pall-mall."
-frances was the last girl in the world, save, perhaps sarah, who i should have supposed capable of languishing and dying of love, but the former she did before my eyes, and the latter i almost began to fear if news did not reach us soon from george.
-betty came up to see frances nearly every day, and the kissing and embracing that ensued disgusted sarah.
-"now, if frances were a man, i could understand it," said sarah. "the little barmaid must be tempting to a man, being pretty and--"
-"beautiful, sarah!" i interrupted.
-"yes, beautiful, if you will."
-"her eyes--" i began, again interrupting sarah.
-"oh, yes!" cried sarah, impatiently. "her eyes are fine enough, but their expression comes from their color, their size, and their preposterously long eyelashes. black long lashes often give a radiance to the eyes which passes for expressiveness, and i doubt not--"
-"nonsense, sarah!" i cried, half angrily. "bettina's eyes are expressive in themselves. as you say, their soft dark brown is the perfection of color, and they certainly are large. but aside from all that, their expression is--"
-"there is no intellect in them!" cried sarah.
-"there is tenderness, gentleness, love, and truth in them," i answered, with as careless an air as i could assume.
-"yes, there may be for a man, but i insist there is no real intellect."
-"well, sarah," i answered, showing irritation despite an effort to appear indifferent, "it is my opinion that the possession of great intellectual power by a woman is the one virtue with which men, as a rule, find themselves most willing to dispense. it gives her too great an advantage."
-"yes, a soft, plump figure like betty's, long lashes and red lips, surrounded by dimples, are apt to please a fool."
-"but they're good in their way, sarah, you'll admit--excellent!" i retorted sharply, caring little if she saw that i was angry.
-"and men are fools, so there! not another word about the barmaid!" cried sarah, dismissing the subject with a wave of her hand.
-but men, too, sometimes like to have the last word, so i remarked: "the mother of the duchess of york was a barmaid, at least, a barmistress."
-"yes, but is that any reason why frances should be kissing this one? doubtless your friend betty finds men enough to do the office."
-"sarah!" i cried, springing to my feet, now thoroughly angry. "if you were a man, i'd give you the lie direct!"
-sarah began to laugh and clapped her hands, saying: "i was leading you on. i suspected you were fond of her. now i know it."
-but sarah's remark, being so near the truth, did nothing to allay my anger, so i told her she was a fool, and went into an adjoining room, where i found frances and bettina luxuriating in tearful sympathy.
-i walked home with bettina, and she invited me to go to her parlor to have a cup of tea. to see bettina boil the tea (steep it or draw it, she said was the proper phrase) was as pretty a sight as one could wish to behold, and when she poured it out in thin china cups, handing one to me and taking one herself, her pride in following the fashion of modish ladies was as touching as it was simple and beautiful. it was almost more than my feeble resolutions could withstand, so when i was about to leave i had a great battle with myself and was defeated, for i seized her hands, and although i said nothing, she knew what was in my mind, so she hung her head, murmuring:--
-"if you are willing to make me more unhappy than i am."
-"not for the world, bettina," i answered, rallying against myself. "goodnight."
-"good night. now i know you are my friend," she answered softly, holding my hands for a moment, then dropping them suddenly and turning from me.
-i have refrained from speaking of mary hamilton of late, partly because i did not see her frequently at this time, and partly because the shame i felt at the time of which i am now writing comes surging over me whenever i touch upon the subject. not that i did anything of which i need be ashamed, but because i remember so vividly my motives and desires that the old sensations return, even at this distant day, as a perfume, a strain of music, the soft balminess of spring, or the sharp bite of winter's frost may recall a moment of the past, and set the heart throbbing or still it as of yore.
-after leaving bettina, i went back to whitehall and dressed for a ball which the queen was giving that night. it was an unfortunate time for me to see mary. my heart was full, not to overflowing, but to sinking, with my love of bettina and her love of me. there was nothing i would not have given at that time to be able to take her as my wife. i should have been glad to give my title, estates, and position--everything--to be a simple tradesman or an innkeeper so that i might take bettina with happiness to her and without the damning sin of losing caste to me.
-it was true the king's brother had made a marriage of comparatively the same sort, but it is almost as impossible for a prince to lose caste as it is difficult for a mere baron to keep it. bettina would not be happy in my sphere of life, nor could i live in hers, so what was there for me to do but to keep my engagement with mary hamilton and, if i could, lose my love for bettina.
-the queen's ball was to be held that night at st. james's palace, and i was glad to have the walk from whitehall across the park. the night was perfect. a slim moon hung in the west, considerately withholding a part of her light that the stars might twinkle the brighter in their vain effort to rival bettina's eyes. the night wind came to me, odor-laden from the roses, only to show me how poor a thing it was compared with bettina's breath upon my cheek and its sweetness in my nostrils. now and then a belated bird sang its sleepy song, only to remind me of the melody of her lullabies, and the cooing dove moaned out its plaintive call lest i forget the pain in her breast while selfishly remembering the ache in my own. then i thought of what the good book says about "bright clouds," and i prayed that my pain might make me a better man and might lead me to help bettina in the days of her sorrowing, which i knew were at hand.
-soon after i had kissed the hands of the king and the queen, i met george's brother, count anthony hamilton. he had never been friendly to his younger brother, and had ceased to look upon him as a brother at all after his disgraceful reformation. then when the king turned against george, anthony, good courtier that he was, turned likewise, and there is no bitterness that may be compared with that of an apostate brother.
-after we had talked for a minute or two, count anthony asked if i knew anything of "the fool," as he was pleased to call his brother.
-"i know nothing of your brother george, my lord, if it is him you mean."
-"he is no brother of mine, and if you wish to become a member of our family, you will cease to consider him your friend," returned his lordship, making an effort to conceal his anger.
-i was not in the mood to take his remark kindly, therefore i answered warmly:--
-"shall my entering the ranks of your noble family curtail my privilege of choosing my own friends?"
-"no, with one exception," he replied.
-"the honor of the alliance is great, my lord, but i shall not consent to even one exception at your dictation. your sister, my future wife, loves her brother, and if she does not object to my friendship for him, your lordship oversteps your authority, as head of your house, by protesting."
-he turned angrily upon me, saying: "you have been paying your court with lukewarm ardor of late, baron clyde. perhaps you would not grieve if your friendship for a family outcast were to bar you from the family."
-"if your lordship means to say that i wish to withdraw dishonorably from my engagement with your sister, i crave the privilege of telling you that you lie!"
-i never was more calm in my life, and my words brought a cold smile to hamilton's lips.
-"my friend de grammont will have the honor of waiting on you to-morrow morning," he answered, bowing politely.
-"i shall be delighted to see his grace," i answered. "good night, my lord!"
-here was a solution of my problem in so far as it concerned my engagement with mary hamilton, for if i killed her brother, she would not marry me, and if he killed me, i could not marry her. the fact that a gleam of joy came to me because of my unexpected release caused me to feel that i was a coward not to have broken the engagement in an honorable, straightforward manner rather than to have seized this opportunity to force a duel upon her brother. it is true i had not sought the duel deliberately and had not thought it possible one second before uttering the word that made it necessary. still it was my act that brought it about, and i felt that i had taken an unmanly course.
-after leaving count anthony i walked across the room to where mary was standing at the outer edge of a circle of ladies and gentlemen who surrounded de grammont, listening to a narrative in broken english, of his adventures, fancied or real, i know not which, but interesting, and all of a questionable character.
-when i spoke to mary, she turned and gave me her hand. i had not expected the least display of emotion on her part; therefore i was not disappointed when the smile with which she greeted me was the same she would have given to any other man. but mary was mary. nature and art had made her what she was--charming, quiescent, and calm, not cold, simply lukewarm.
-of course i could not tell her the truth, so i answered evasively: "i suppose you have heard the news spread throughout the court that he has gone to canada? doubtless you can tell me more than i know."
-"that is all i know," she answered. "when he went, or where, i have been unable to learn, for george is a forbidden topic in our household and seems to be the same at court. what has he done, baron? i have heard it hinted that he threatened to take the king's life. surely he did nothing of the sort."
-"if he did, it was in a delirium of fever," i answered, hoping that she would cease speaking of george and would ask a question or two concerning myself.
-but no. she turned again to me, asking, "did you hear him?"
-"i have been told that the accusation comes from his physician, and perhaps from one who was listening at his door," i answered, avoiding a direct reply.
-"i suspect the informant is a wretched little hussy of whom i have heard--the daughter of the innkeeper," remarked mary, looking up to me for confirmation.
-"suspect no longer," i answered, with sharper emphasis than i should have used.
-"do you know her?" she asked.
-"i do not know a 'wretched hussy' who is the daughter of the innkeeper," i answered sullenly. "i know a beautiful girl who watched devotedly at your brother's bedside, day and night, and probably saved his life at a time when he was deserted by his sisters and his mother."
-"we often find that sort of kindness in those low creatures," she answered, unaware of the tender spot she was touching, and ignoring my reference to george's sisters and his mother.
-naturally mary was kind of heart, but her mother was a hard, painted old jezebel, whose teachings would have led her daughter away from every gentle truth and up to all that was hard, cruel, and selfish in life. a woman in the higher walks of life is liable to become enamelled before her twentieth year.
-while i did not blame mary for what she had said relating to bettina, still i was angry and longed to do battle with any one who could fight.
-after we had been together perhaps ten minutes, some one claimed her for a dance, and she left me, saying hurriedly in my ear:--
-"i'll see you soon again. i want to ask you further about george." she had not a question to ask about me.
-she was not to see me again, for i asked permission of the queen to withdraw, and immediately left the ball.
-while i was crossing the park on my way back to whitehall, the wind moaned and groaned--it did not breathe. the stars did not twinkle--they glared. the nightingales did not sing--they screamed. and the roses were odorless. perhaps all this change to gloom was within me rather than without, but it existed just the same, and i went home and to bed, hating all the world save bettina, whom i vowed for the hundredth time never to see again.
-the next day at noon de grammont came to my closet, where i had waited for him all morning.
-"welcome to you, dear count!" i cried, leading him by the hand to a chair.
-"perhaps you will not so warmly welcome me," he returned, "when you learn my errand."
-"i already know your errand, count grammont, and it makes you doubly welcome," i answered, drawing a chair for myself and sitting down in front of him.
-"ah, that is of good," he returned, rubbing his hands. "you already know the purpose of my visit?"
-"yes, i do, my dear count, but any purpose would delight me which brings the pleasure of your company."
-"ah, it is said like a civilized man," he returned, complimenting me by speaking english, though i shall not attempt to reproduce his pronunciation. "how far better it is to say: 'monsieur, permit to me,' before one runs a man through than to do it as though one were sticking a mere pig. is it not so?"
-"true as sunshine, my dear count," i returned. "there's a vast difference between the trade of butchering and the gentle art of murder."
-de grammont threw back his head, laughing softly. "ah, good, good! very good, dear baron! the sentiment is beau-ti-ful and could not be better expressed--in english. you should have been born across the channel."
-"i wish i had been born any place, not excepting hell, rather than in england," i answered.
-"true, true, what a hole it is," returned the count, regretfully. "the englishman is one pig."
-he saw by the expression of my face that while i might abuse my own countrymen, i did not relish hearing it from others, so with true french tact he held up his hand to keep me from speaking till he could correct himself.
-"pardon, baron, i forgot the 'r,' the englishman's affectation of a virtue he despises makes of him a prig--not a pig. non, non! mon dieu! not a pig--a prig! is it not so?"
-"true, true, count," i returned, unable to restrain a laugh. "it is the affectation of virtue that makes frank vice attractive by comparison."
-"ah, true, true, my dear baron. may i proceed with my errand?"
-"monsieur le comte hamilton begs me to say that he was called away from london early to-day on the king's business, but that he will return in four weeks. when he returns he will do himself the honor to send me again, asking you to name a friend, unless you prefer to apologize, which no gentleman would do in a case of this sort. you said, i am told, that monsieur le comte lied. if you admit that he did not lie, of course you admit that you did. so, im-pos-si-ble! there must be to fight!"
-"do you know, count, the cause of my having given count hamilton the lie?" i asked.
-"i did not inquire," he answered smilingly. "to me it was to carry the message."
-"george hamilton is your friend, is he not?" i asked.
-"yes, but far more, he is the friend of my king, and will make entreaty with my monarch for my return to france," answered de grammont.
-"it was because of count hamilton's insulting reference to his brother that i used the ugly word," i returned.
-"a-ah, that is different!" then recovering himself quickly: "but i undertook the mission. it is to finish. monsieur george hamilton? my friend? my king's friend? if it had been known to me! but you have the message of 'sieur le comte."
-after a short silence he said, "when monsieur le comte hamilton returns, i shall ask him to relieve me of this duty."
-as de grammont was leaving my closet, he paused at the door, and, after a moment's hesitancy, whispered:--
-"you may expect a letter from france soon. it will come from m. l'abbé du boise, who i hope will come soon to london on the business of my king. you know him not--m. l'abbé?" the eyebrows lifted questioningly. "no? you soon will know him, yet you will not know him. you and perhaps a lady may help him in his mission. i, too, shall help him, but i, too, know him not. yet i know him. if he succeed in his mission, he will be rich, he will be powerful. and i? mon dieu, my friend! if he succeed, my decree of banishment from paris--it will be to revoke. i may return once more to bask in the smile of my king. you must not speak; the lady must not speak; i must not speak when monsieur l'abbé comes, nor before. it is to silence. stone walls have one ear."
-"two, sometimes, count," i suggested, laughing.
-"yes, i should have said one ears! non, non! i forget this damnable tongue of yours! when i arrive to great interest, it is to talk faster than it is to think, and--" a shrug of the shoulders finished the sentence.
-"let us speak french hereafter, my dear count," i suggested.
-"mon dieu, mon dieu! it is to me more of pain to hear my sweet language murdered than to murder yours," answered grammont, seriously.
-"ah, but i speak french quite as well as i speak english. perhaps i shall not murder it," i replied.
-"perhaps? we shall try," he said, though with little show of faith.
-i began speaking french, but when i paused for his verdict, he shrugged his shoulders, saying:--
-"ah, oui, oui! it may be better than my english." but notwithstanding his scant praise, we spoke the french language thereafter.
-the count bowed himself out and left me to decipher, if i could, the problem of m. l'abbé du boise. presently i discovered the cue. the abbé was george hamilton, and for the moment my heart almost stopped beating. if he should come to england on the french king's business, which could be nothing more nor less than the dunkirk affair, and should be discovered, there would be a public entertainment on tyburn hill, with george as the central figure.
-when i found a spare hour, i hastened to see lilly and came upon the good doctor among the stars, as usual. there was a letter for me from hamilton. it was short and in cipher:--
-"this is to tell you that m. l'abbé du boise will soon be in london. he will be the guest of m. comte de grammont.
-"you do not know him. please call on him when he arrives. tell the duchess of hearts that he will want to see her. ask her to be ready to help him. he goes to buy dunkirk for the french king, and his success will mean good fortune for me.
-after reading the letter, i felt sure that the abbé du boise was george hamilton. i could hardly bring myself to believe that he would be so foolhardy as to visit whitehall, though i knew the adventure was of a nature likely to appeal to his reckless disregard of consequences. i knew also that, if successful, he would win the reward without which life had little value to him.
-i was sure that hamilton had fully weighed the danger of his perilous mission, and that he was deliberately staking his life on a last desperate chance to win fortune and frances jennings.
-though perhaps lilly was a charlatan in many respects, he was to be trusted; still i did not feel that it was my place to impart george's secret to him, though i had in mind a plan whereby he might be of great help to the abbé du boise in influencing king charles. the king consulted him secretly in many important affairs, and i was sure that if the good doctor should be called in by his majesty in the dunkirk affair, the stars would tell a story in accord with our desires if we made it to lilly's interest.
-however, all of that must wait for the abbé du boise. of one thing i was sure; i must tell frances at once so that she might be paving the way to the king with her smiles. it would be a disagreeable task, but i knew she would do it gladly, and i also knew that no woman could do it better.
-while i had expressed my doubts to frances concerning hamilton's emigration to canada, i had not felt entirely sure there was nothing in it, and she, womanlike, taking the worst for granted, had accepted it as true. but the coming of the abbé du boise changed everything, and when i saw her at her father's house and told her of my suspicions, and showed her le blanc's letter, she was so greatly alarmed that she said she would rather know that george had gone to canada than to fear his return to england under the circumstances.
-"the dastardly king will take his life if he comes," she said.
-"i admit the danger," i answered, as hopefully as possible, "but i believe, if george comes, he will be able to take care of himself."
-"danger!" she exclaimed. "it is certain death! george will find no mercy."
-"if he is caught," i answered. "but the letter from king louis will convince king charles that hamilton is in canada and will throw our jealous monarch off his guard. perhaps hamilton will be safer than we suppose. he speaks french like a parisian, but, above all, he is cool, calm, and thoughtful in danger. the london merchants will be far more dangerous than the king."
-"it does seem that we are guilty of treason to our country in thus helping france," she said. then laughingly, "but i'll go back to the palace at once and begin my task of wheedling the king." she paused for a moment, then continued hesitatingly, "do you suppose it possible that george would doubt me afterwards?"
-"impossible," i answered, with emphasis that seemed to reassure her.
-"no, by god, you'll not introduce her to the king! i'll explode the whole affair, and dunkirk may go to the devil before you shall introduce betty to the king," i answered.
-"yet you are willing that i should meddle in the dangerous affair? evidently you love her more than you love me?"
-"only a few hundred million times more," i answered sullenly.
-"is it that way with you, my dear brother?" she asked, coming to me as i stood gazing out the window, seeing nothing save bettina's face. frances put her hand on my shoulder and said coaxingly: "forgive me. no harm shall come to her through me."
-of course i was sorry that i had allowed myself to become angry, and at once made my apology as well as i could.
-"let us go to see betty, anyway," said frances. and i assenting, she went to fetch her cloak, hat, and vizard.
-but when she returned, i had changed my mind and declined to go, telling frances that i must see bettina no more.
-"why?" asked frances.
-"because i would not win a love from her which i cannot accept."
-"baron ned, there are few men who would be so considerate."
-but i required little coaxing, and when frances had made ready for the journey, i buckled on my sword, which i had left standing in the corner, took my hat from the floor, and started out with her.
-while walking from the bridge to the old swan, i remarked to frances, "my engagement with mary hamilton is likely to be broken by her family."
-"why, baron ned?" she asked in surprise.
-"count hamilton has challenged me to a duel, to be fought when he returns, and you see, if i kill him or if he kills me, well--" i answered, shrugging my shoulders.
-she was much alarmed at my disclosure, but was reassured when i made light of the affair, probably because there was no danger in it to george hamilton, and, perhaps, because if i should kill count hamilton, george would inherit the title and estates.
-"but poor mary! she will grieve," said frances.
-"i think you need waste no tears for her sake," i answered. "she is a fine, pretty little creature, who will take what comes her way without excess of pain or joy. she is incapable of feeling keenly. god has been good to her in giving her numbness."
-"no, no, cousin ned, you are wrong!" she returned. "life without pain is not worth living. i have heard that the arabs have a saying, 'all sunshine makes the desert.' god is good to us when he darkens the sun now and then and gives us the sunshine afterwards."
-"perhaps you are right, frances," i returned. "but you and i are in the cloud now, and a little sunshine would be most welcome."
-"not enough sunshine to make a desert," she answered.
-"ay! but enough to make a garden," i returned, as we climbed the narrow flight of steps leading to the private entrance to the old swan.
-when we paused at the door, frances said, "your garden is at hand." and when she opened the door, there stood betty, and i was in eden. the moist glow of her eyes, the faint blush of her cheeks, the nervous fluttering of her voice, spoke more eloquently than all the tongues of babel could have spoken, and i could not help comparing her welcome with that which maxy hamilton had given me at the queen's ball.
-bettina led us to the parlor, and while we were drinking a cup of tea, we had the great pleasure of asking and answering questions of which we always had a large supply in reserve.
-when it was time to go, bettina walked down to the bridge with us. as it was growing dark, frances suggested that i walk back to the old swan with betty, which i did, she taking my arm of her own accord, and both of us very happy, though we spoke not a word, for fear of saying too much, save "good night" at the door.
-"good night at the door!" god gave its sweetness to youth right out of the core of his infinite love.
-a perilous embassy
-four or five days after our visit to bettina, i met de grammont at charing cross, and he surprised me with an invitation to his house that night to meet monsieur l'abbé du boise at supper.
-"the king and a dozen other gentlemen will be present," he said, "but there will be no ladies. monsieur l'abbé, being of the church, is not a ladies' man, and besides, ladies have sharper eyes than men, and might see much that is intended to remain unseen."
-the count's remark seemed to settle the question of the abbé's identity, and i hastened to frances with the news. she assured me that she was ready to die of fright, but showed no outward sign of dissolution, and when i complimented her on her power of self-control, said:--
-"fortunately, i am part hypocrite, and can easily act a part."
-"you have a hard one ahead of you," i returned, "and will need all your strength before it is played to the end."
-i was on hand early at de grammont's supper, but found several gentlemen ahead of me, awaiting, with the count in his parlor, the arrival of the king. soon after i entered the room, de grammont presented me to the abbé. i was convinced at once that he was not george hamilton. his beard, worn à la richelieu,--a mustache and a tuft on the chin,--was snow white, and his hair, which was thin, hung in long white waves almost to his shoulders. he walked with a stoop and wore spectacles, the glasses of which were slightly colored. being an ecclesiastic, though not a priest, he wore no wig; but he was of the order of the cordon bleu, and wore, in addition to his badge and blue ribbon, a sword beneath his long coat. it was the first time i had ever seen an ecclesiastic wearing a sword, though it has since become common in france, where there are many "abbés" who are neither priests nor in orders.
-the abbé spoke poor english, therefore the conversation was carried on in french, much to the annoyance of some of our guests, who pretended to a greater knowledge of that language than they possessed.
-soon after my presentation to the abbé, the king arrived, and we all went out to the supper table, where the abbé's chair was on the king's right, with de grammont on his majesty's left. after the king had been seated a moment, he rose and asked us to be seated; so we took our places, all save the king dropping our hats beside us on the floor because of his majesty's presence.
-i sat next to de grammont, almost opposite the abbé, and had a good opportunity to observe the french emissary. the king's french was excellent, and the dinner conversation was carried on largely between him and the abbé. all subjects were discussed, but the abbé adroitly avoided dunkirk and seemed to prefer talking on religious and philosophical topics, in which he took the liberty to disagree with the king in many respects, politely though positively.
-i listened attentively, hoping that some tone of the abbé's voice, a pose or a gesture, might reveal george hamilton, if it were he, in the most excellent disguise i had ever seen. but nothing of the sort occurred, and before the dinner was over, i was still more convinced that whoever the abbé du boise might be, he was not hamilton.
-after dinner came the heavy wines, of which the abbé did not partake, and of which de grammont and i drank sparingly. all the others, including the king, were gloriously drunk long before the night was over.
-while smoking our pipes, the king, who was eager to get his hands on french money, told the abbé that he hoped to see him, with his credentials, at whitehall on the second morning following at ten o'clock, and the abbé said he would leave his credentials with my lord clarendon, and would be at whitehall at the hour suggested by the king, for the purpose of making the french king's offer.
-most of the guests went home between two men, very late at night, but fortunately i was able to walk home by myself.
-i was both glad and disappointed not to find george in the gown of the abbé. i was glad because of the risk he would have taken had he come to england, yet disappointed in missing what would have been the most picturesque, daring personal exploit of english court history. but on the whole it was better as it was.
-the next morning the king sent for me to come to his closet, and asked if i knew one lilly, an astrologer. i answered that i knew little of him personally, but had heard much of his wisdom and learning.
-"yes, yes, but you know where he lives, do you not? on the strand, a dozen houses this side of temple bar?" asked the king.
-"i have seen the house often, your majesty," i replied.
-"good! now listen attentively to what i have to say," returned the king, graciously taking my arm and leading me to a window overlooking the river. "i hear from de grammont that the abbé du boise is a firm believer in the teachings of astrology. i want you to arrange, without letting any one know that my finger is in the pie, to take lilly to see the abbé, or the abbé to see lilly. i'll whisper a word in your ear. the stars will tell our friend, the abbé, a story to suit our purposes. the french king and his ambassadors will find their match in me, i warrant you. i have bought lilly, body and soul--with promises." the king shrugged his shoulders and whispered: "with promises, you understand, baron ned, with promises. now give him a chance at the abbé."
-charles laughed and chuckled in self-gratulation, not the least suspecting that he was talking to the wrong man and playing into the french king's hand. i bore in mind the fact that the king had bought lilly with promises, and i determined to buy the good doctor with ready gold.
-"i'll try to carry out your majesty's commands," i answered, apparently doubtful of my ability. "but of course you would not have me insist, if the abbé seems disinclined to consult lilly."
-"no, no! odds fish, man, no! but find a way to bring them together, and your reward will come later. i choose, you for this little piece of business because you are in no way connected with the affair between the french king and me, and because i know you are to be trusted."
-i to be trusted! so was brutus!
-"i shall do my best, your majesty, and if i fail, i shall notify you at once," i said, taking my leave.
-i hastened to de grammont's house, which at that time was over near the mall, and told the count what the king had said.
-"ah, that is good!" cried de grammont. "a fool, who knows himself to be a fool, is likely to be wary, but one who deems himself wise is the easiest dupe in the world. i'll see monsieur l'abbé. wait."
-de grammont returned in a few minutes, saying that the abbé would go with me to see doctor lilly, and i suggested that i return for him in three hours.
-i went back to whitehall, where i found frances, and told her to be at lilly's house on the strand within three hours, to meet the french king's ambassador, and to receive the instructions which george's letter had intimated the abbé would give. i told her, also, that the abbé was not the person we had expected to see.
-the evening before, she was ready to die of fright because we believed that the abbé was george hamilton, and now, since i had found he was not, she was ready to die of disappointment--so she assured me.
-at the appointed time, de grammont, the abbé, and i took the count's barge and went down to the water stairs nearest temple bar, where the abbé and i left de grammont and walked up through the crowded streets to lilly's house. owing to the crowded condition of the street, the abbé and i found no opportunity to exchange words until we were before lilly's house.
-lilly was at home, i having sent word of our coming, so when we knocked, the servant opened and directed us to the waiting parlor, saying that the doctor would soon come down.
-we started upstairs, i in the lead, the abbé following ten paces behind. when i entered the room, i found bettina and frances sitting by the street window. they came to me quickly, and frances explained bettina's presence.
-"i did not like to come here alone, so i asked betty to come with me. she is to be trusted."
-"you need not assure me of that," i answered, taking betty's hand. "i already know it. i am glad you--"
-but here i was interrupted by a soft cry from bettina, and by a half-smothered scream from frances, both of whom deserted me suddenly and ran toward the door i had just entered. turning, i saw frances with her arms about the abbé's neck, and bettina clasping one of his hands. i thought the two had gone mad, but when bettina saw my look of surprise and inquiry, she dropped his hand, came to me, and asked:--
-"did you want us to pretend that we did not know him? if so, you should have told us."
-"but you don't know him," i declared.
-"perhaps i don't," she returned, laughing softly and shrugging her shoulders, "but evidently your cousin does. if not, she should take her arms from around his neck."
-"but she is mistaken," i insisted.
-"she seems to be convinced," answered bettina, with a curious little glance up to me, half laughing, half inquiring. evidently she was doubtful whether i spoke in jest or in earnest.
-frances still clung to the abbé, her head resting on his shoulder, so i started toward her, intending to correct her mistake. bettina, seeing my purpose, caught me by the arm, saying:--
-"don't you really know?"
-the abbé turned his face toward me, and when i caught a glimpse of his eyes without spectacles, i recognized george hamilton, and almost choked myself in smothering a cry.
-frances turned to me, asking indignantly, "why did not you tell me?"
-"because i did not know," i answered, hardly able to believe the truth.
-but we had important business before us, and i knew that we should prepare for it before lilly came in. so george, bettina, frances, and i went to a window at the far end of the room to hold a consultation.
-"since i did not recognize you, perhaps lilly will not," i suggested. "i trust the doctor, but perhaps we had better leave him under the impression that you are monsieur l'abbé du boise and give no intimation of the truth."
-"i had not hoped that my disguise would deceive you, baron ned," said george, "but since it has, it is just as well that we leave lilly in the dark if we can."
-"but he will know. the stars will tell him," suggested bettina, opening her eyes very wide.
-"the stars will tell him what he is paid to hear," i remarked. then turning to frances, i asked, "how is it that you were able to recognize him?"
-"by his eyes!" exclaimed frances and bettina in concert.
-"that gives me a valuable hint," said george, hastily adjusting his colored spectacles. "now, how about it?"
-"i still should know you," answered frances.
-"not i!" exclaimed bettina.
-presently lilly came in, and i presented him to monsieur l'abbé du boise and explained the presence of frances and bettina by saying:--
-"a friend of ours in france has asked mistress jennings to render what aid she can to monsieur l'abbé, and she is here at my request to receive his commands."
-"it is good!" exclaimed lilly. "she has the king's ear if any one has, and the ear is very close to the mind. what may i do to serve monsieur l'abbé?"
-"if i may see you privately---the baron and me--i shall tell you how you may serve me," answered the abbé.
-the abbé and i excused ourselves to frances and bettina, and went with the doctor to the room which he called his observatory, where we came to the point very quickly:--
-"i want to buy dunkirk for my master for the sum of one hundred thousand pounds," said the abbé, by way of starting the consultation.
-"but london has already offered that sum," returned lilly, "and stands ready to pay more."
-"in payments," suggested the abbé.
-"yes," returned lilly. "but i see no way of bringing the king to accept the sum you offer unless--unless mistress jennings can persuade him."
-"she may be able to do so," answered the abbé, shrugging his shoulders. he spoke very bad english throughout the consultation. "but the stars, too, may be very persuasive with king charles. to be plain, he will probably consult you, and if--"
-"i am to see him to-night. that is why your visit was postponed until to-morrow," interrupted lilly.
-"that is as i supposed," remarked the abbé. "now, if i buy dunkirk for one hundred thousand pounds, you shall receive two thousand pounds within ten days after signing the treaty, and baron clyde will be my surety."
-"two thousand pounds?" mused lilly. "that is rather a small sum in so great a transaction."
-"i doubt not the purchase may be made without the help of the stars if you feel that two thousand pounds is too small a sum to be considered," returned the abbé.
-"no, no," said lilly. "i understand that you wish me to set a figure and work out the solution of this affair, and if i learn from the stars that it is to king charles's interest to accept your offer of one hundred thousand pounds for the city of dunkirk, i am to receive--"
-"if king charles accepts!" interrupted the abbé.
-"ah, i see! yes, yes, of course," returned lilly. "i shall go to work immediately and set my figure. of course i do not know what i shall learn, but i shall be glad to learn from the stars that which will enable me to advise the king according to your wishes. two thousand pounds are two thousand pounds, and the word of a king is but a breath."
-"what will the king give you for setting the figure and working it out? what does he usually pay you in important affairs?" asked the abbé.
-"ah--eh--i--i--in truth," returned lilly, stammering, "the king, who is so liberal with his lady friends, is--what shall i say?--close with me, save in promises. he buys folly at the rate of hundreds of thousands of pounds a year, while he pays for knowledge with large promises, and now ten shillings and again five. on one occasion i assured him that he would not fail if he attempted to put through a much-cherished plan of carrying a lady to the country against her will. he was much pleased and gave me a guinea, but borrowed it a week afterward, and--and still owes it."
-george turned quickly to me, but, remembering that he was the abbé du boise, said nothing. but i caught his meaning and, turning to lilly, asked:--
-"do you refer to the occasion of a certain kidnapping in which hamilton and i consulted you?"
-"yes," returned lilly.
-"and you allowed it to be carried out without telling us?" i asked indignantly.
-"i did not know who the lady was till you came to me for help," he answered.
-"and you were able to put us on the right track to find her because of knowledge gained from the stars?" i asked, with a sharp note of sarcasm.
-"no, no," he replied coolly. "why trouble the stars for information that may be had as easily and more definitely elsewhere?"
-"then why did you not tell us the true source of your knowledge?" i asked warmly.
-"because i had neither right nor desire to betray the person most actively engaged in the affair. to have done so might have cost me my life. i gave you the information you asked, and you saved the lady through my help, without which you would not have known where to turn. you would have been helpless. you paid me ten guineas. were my services worth the fee?"
-"ah, richly," i returned, beginning to see the whole matter of astrology in a new light.
-"then why do you complain?" he asked. "a man, naturally, wants to know where his meat comes from, but knowledge, like a diamond, is good found anywhere."
-"i beg your pardon, doctor lilly," i answered, waving my hand as a substitute for hauling down my colors. "i turn you over to monsieur l'abbé once more."
-"i think we understand each other," remarked the abbé. "you say the king has employed you to set a figure, and that you are to take the solution to him to-night?"
-"monsieur l'abbé is correct," returned lilly.
-"i hope the stars may see fit to advise the king to accept my first offer, for it will be the last," said the abbé. "possibly the stars may show that in case king charles sells dunkirk to london even for a much larger sum than i shall offer, he may be compelled to spend the money and a great deal more in defending the city."
-"true, true," agreed lilly.
-"possibly the stars may indicate that king louis loves war," continued the abbé. "they may show that if king charles refuses my master's offer, england may be compelled to give up dunkirk for nothing, or spend a vast deal of money and blood in defending it. if the french king lays siege to dunkirk, the english people will force king charles to take one of two courses--defence or abdication. in the latter case he might lose his head, as his father did before him. furthermore, if king charles refuses my first offer, my master will withdraw, in which case london also will withdraw. is it not possible that the stars may tell you all this?"
-"the conditions you suggest are so probable that one hardly need ask confirmation of the stars, and so reasonably to be expected are the events you predict that, beyond question, stellar revelation will be in accord with your desires. but the stars will say what they will say, and i shall give king charles the truth from whatever source it comes," said lilly, lifting his head in righteousness and posing as the embodiment of truth.
-"that is all i can ask," returned the abbé, rising to close the interview.
-"all exceedingly reasonable--reasonable," answered lilly, bowing.
-we returned to the parlor, where we found frances and bettina awaiting us, not patiently, if i could judge by their looks. i asked lilly to allow us to occupy the room undisturbed for an hour while the abbé gave certain instructions to frances, but the doctor did better for us. he took us to a room enclosed in glass on the roof of his house, where we could be by ourselves with the sun and the sky overhead, and all london beneath us.
-to this day i am not sure that lilly did not know hamilton, but if he did, he concealed his knowledge completely, feeling, doubtless, that it would be a dangerous bit of information to himself and of no benefit to any one else. if george should be discovered by the king, lilly could honestly disclaim knowing him. if affairs turned to our desire, the doctor could lose nothing by his ignorance whether pretended or real. so i doubt not he thanked us for the imposture, if he discovered it.
-it is needless to say that bettina, frances, george, and i were very pleased to be together once more. we spent a delightful hour in lilly's observatory, where we made our plans for the following day, which will unfold in the order of their occurrence. a great deal of the time we were all talking at once, but for some strange reason we were all silent when george said laughingly, though nervously, that the french king had sent word to frances that we would pay her ten thousand pounds if george's mission proved successful.
-having anticipated the possible necessity for quick action at the proper time, george had brought with him two copies of a treaty, written in latin. he brought also plenary authority from the french king, under the great seal of france, authorizing monsieur l'abbé du boise to sign, execute, and deliver the treaty on the part of france and to receive in return the treaty to be executed by the english king. he also bore authority to make and deliver to king charles a bill of exchange on backwell, the goldsmith, for the purchase money of dunkirk. thus all would be ready for immediate conclusion the moment king charles accepted the french king's offer.
-that night near the hour of one o'clock, lilly called by appointment to see me at de grammont's house, coming from whitehall, where he had been closeted with the king for three or four hours, explaining to his majesty the message of the stars as read by the light of two thousand pounds.
-"i explained to his majesty," said lilly, "that in all my calculations and observations, mars intruded with alarming persistency in conjunction with king louis's star. i tried to show him that the recurrences of this untoward conjunction were so rapid and constant as to denote war at a very early date if conditions were not affected at once by the intervention of the messenger, mercury, whose sign fortunately accompanied each unfortuitous conjunction. the king, though pretending to be learned in the noble art of astrology, asked me to translate my solution, and i did so, almost in the words of monsieur l'abbé this afternoon."
-"thank you," remarked george.
-"no, no, do not thank me," said lilly, disclaiming all credit. "what monsieur said was so reasonable and fitted so aptly to the probable conditions of the future, read in the terrestrial light of the present, sound reason, that it was hardly necessary to ask the stars. but in compliance with the king's request, i set my figure and found, as usual, that the revelations of the stars coincided with the dictates of reason. it is true the stars sometimes forecast events which seem almost impossible in view of present conditions, but the questioner of the heavens who does not use his reason to help his interpretation of the stars is, to say the least, far from wise."
-"yes," interrupted the abbé. "but come to the point! what did the king say?"
-"he did not entirely accept the message of the stars," returned lilly. "he does not seem to object to war. he says there is no time when it is as easy to raise money from the people as in times of war. i suggested that money in the nation's treasury was not in the privy purse, where the king most wants it. but he said it was only a short journey from the treasury to the privy purse, and--well, i agreed with him. if you want to convert a vain, stubborn fool to your way of thinking, don't let him know what your way is."
-"so the stars have failed?" asked the abbé.
-"no," returned lilly, "they have put the king to thinking, but more, they have sowed the seeds of fear, a plant which grows rapidly in a coward's heart by night."
-"but not rapidly enough to suit our purposes, i fear," returned the abbé.
-"yes," insisted lilly. "if the king's inclination can be changed, fear will sweep aside all other considerations in a moment, and he will accept the one hundred thousand pounds which you will offer to-morrow morning. but in case the king does conclude to accept the french king's offer, the iron will at once take on a white heat, and--well, iron remains at white heat only a short time. you must be ready to act quickly when the proper moment comes, or london will spring between you and the king."
-"i shall be ready," returned the abbé. "the king shall be inclined to our proposition before another day is past."
-"shall i tell you what the stars predict concerning the signing of the treaty?" asked lilly.
-"yes, yes," i answered eagerly.
-"i have found venus in conjunction with--" began lilly.
-"oh, damn the stars!" cried the abbé, most uncanonically. "tell me what you think about it!"
-"the stars tell me that the treaty will be signed to-morrow night--that is, to-night, this being the early morning," answered the doctor, persistently maintaining his attitude of stellar interpreter.
-"very well. good night, doctor," said the abbé. "and may the shadow of your discretion never grow less."
-a moment later i conducted lilly to the door, and when i returned to de grammont, who had not spoken a word during the entire interview, he shrugged his shoulders and said:--
-"sacrament! what a wise man a fool may be! it is to admire!"
-"i doubt if any man is beneficially wise unless he be in part a fool," said the abbé, and i closed the symposium by remarking:--
-"folly tinctures wisdom with common sense, illumines it with imagination, and gives it everyday usefulness. but best of all, it helps a man to understand the motives of other fools who constitute the bulk of mankind."
-"ah, baron," said de grammont, yawning. "it is all doubtless true. who would have expected to find so much cynical wisdom in an englishman? but let us to bed!"
-hamilton and i were up by five o'clock the next morning, in consultation. he was for dropping the matter in so far as it involved frances, but i insisted that while it was a disagreeable task for her, she was wise with a woman's wisdom, calm with a woman's calmness, and bold with a woman's boldness, which knows no equal when the motive springs from the heart rather than the head.
-we discussed the matter in all its phases, and then i went to the palace to see frances. when she arose, i was waiting to tell her that the abbé would see the king at ten o'clock and to ask her to wait in the anteroom of the duchess's parlor. if charles accepted the french king's offer, i should pass by her wearing my hat, and she would know that her help would not be needed. if the king refused, i should carry my hat in my hand, and she could take her own course with charles.
-"do you fear?" i asked, being myself very much afraid, for we were dealing with an absolute monarch, devoid of conscience, devoid of caution save when prompted by cowardice, but plenteously imbued with venom in his heart and all things evil in his soul.
-"i fear?" cried frances, tossing her head defiantly.
-i thought surely no woman ever was as beautiful as this one, in whose heart there was no fear, no doubt of self, no faltering in the face of danger. i asked her to tell me of her plans, and she answered:--
-"i have no plan save to see the king. then the plans will come of themselves."
-frances delivers the treaty
-george went to the shield gallery in whitehall at ten o'clock the next morning, where he found his majesty, the lord chancellor, and a half score of the king's creatures, including berkeley, wentworth, crofts, jermyn, and others of like quality.
-these were the men with whom george had to deal. he was known intimately to each of them, and was hated most heartily by all save the chancellor.
-when george entered the gallery, the king took his seat in a great chair of state on a dais at one end of the room, while his counsellors ranged themselves on either side. i, with a dozen other gentlemen, had been commanded to be present, not as advisers, but as attendants on the king to give dignity to the occasion.
-george, having been sent to england secretly, had brought no retinue, since it was desired by every one connected with the affair that his presence should attract as little attention as possible and thus avoid alarming london. when george went to whitehall, he was accompanied only by de grammont and a gentleman of the count's household.
-while george knelt before his majesty, asking leave to speak for the french king, his master, i could not help thinking of the strange contiguity of antagonisms so frequently observed in one's journey through this life, nor could i help wondering what would be the fate of the bold man kneeling before the king if his majesty could but see through the abbé's disguise.
-but i had little time for reflection, since george was not one who allowed matters to drag. on receiving permission to speak, he rose and went to the point at once in badly broken english, which i shall not try to reproduce.
-"i shall not take up your majesty's time with idle words," said the abbé, glancing at a written memorandum which he held in his hand. "my master, king louis, sends greeting to his royal brother, and hopes that no cause of difference may ever arise to darken the blue sky of peace that now hangs over two kings, potent as are your majesty and my master, and two nations, happy, rich, and powerful as are the noble realms of france and england. believing the possession by either monarch of cities or territory within the other's realm to be a constant menace to this much-desired peace and amity, my master, the king of france, sends me, his humble ambassador, with plenary authority, the instrument of which now lies with your majesty's noble lord chancellor, to make offer to your majesty of the great sum of one hundred thousand pounds for the good city of dunkirk, which is on territory contiguous to my master's domain."
-"the great sum of one hundred thousand pounds!" demanded charles, contemptuously. "does your master consider one hundred thousand pounds a great sum to pay for so great a city as dunkirk?"
-"it is a great sum to pay, your majesty," returned the abbé, with meekness in his manner, but boldness in his words, "when it is considered that the king of france might have the city of dunkirk for the mere taking, did he not love your majesty."
-"might have it for the mere taking, say you?" cried charles, with a flash of imitation fire. "odds fish, man! what do you suppose we should be doing while he was taking it?"
-"sending ships across the channel at a great cost in money and life to your people, your majesty," coolly, though meekly, answered the abbé.
-"of that my people will not complain," answered charles, still burning a pinch of red powder. "their blood and their gold will be given gladly to defend my possessions abroad. my people are brave and do not fear death for the sake of their king, i would have you to know, sir abbé."
-"noble praise, your majesty, and beautiful in the mouth of a king who stands ready to march at the head of his own army, and to help fight the good fight of his own cause," returned the abbé, bowing with deep humility.
-"sir, your words are bold and are in no way mitigated by your humble mien!" exclaimed the king. "if you have no other offer to make, the audience will end, at least for the present."
-"may i crave one moment more?" asked the abbé.
-"yes, but be brief," returned the king.
-"my instructions, your majesty, are to leave london not later than sunrise on the day after making my king's offer. that will be to-morrow morning, when i shall hasten back to paris, whence no other messenger will come. twenty thousand troops are now within three hours' march of dunkirk. your majesty's ships cannot reach the city in time to save it. i beg to say that i have delivered the entire message intrusted to me by my august master, and therefore crave your royal permission to withdraw."
-the king lifted his right hand in assent, and the abbé moved backward, bowing himself from the room. de grammont, who had come with him, met him at the door, and immediately they went to the count's house. when they were gone, the king dismissed all save his counsellors, and i being at liberty to leave, hastened to her grace's anteroom. as i passed the door, my hat in my hand, i bowed to frances, who was watching me intently. she smiled, glanced significantly toward my hat, nodded her head to let me know that she understood, and i passed by, glad that she had the courage which i so sadly lacked.
-evidently frances lost no time in doing her part with the king, for two hours later a page came to me in the wardrobe, saying that the king wished to see me immediately. i made all possible haste, and when i entered the king's closet, he said:--
-"close the door, clyde," but seemed unable for the moment to say more.
-he could not hide his excitement, and presently began telling me in a peremptory manner that he had a very delicate piece of business for my hands. he did not seem to feel sure of his ground, and spoke with a bravado altogether unnecessary, as though he would say i should do his will whether it suited me or not, rather than in words of respectful command. i could see easily that his bravado was assumed for the purpose of forestalling any objection on my part. of course he did not suspect for one moment that i surmised what he wanted, or his words would have been: "odds fish! to the tower with him!"
-after several stammering efforts, he began: "i want you to see du boise, whom you will find at de grammont's house, and tell him that i accept the offer he made this morning. i understand he brings the treaties from france already written. at eight o'clock this evening they are to be placed in the hands of your cousin, mistress jennings, together with the bill drawn on backwell of lombard street, for the sum of one hundred thousand pounds. deliver my message immediately and secretly. let no one know that i have spoken to you on the subject. after you have seen du boise, go to mistress jennings and give her word from the abbé designating where and at what hour she is to receive the documents. i suggest eight o'clock, that they may not be in her possession too long. but wait a moment!"
-he went to a writing desk standing near the river window, beckoned to me, and continued excitedly, "sit here and write at my dictation."
-i sat down before the desk, took a quill, and awaited the king's pleasure. after a moment's thought he dictated as follows:--
-"to monsieur l'abbé du boise,
-"ambassador extraordinary from his majesty, king louis of france:
-"out of love for my royal brother, king louis, and for the purpose of maintaining the peace and amity now existing between the glorious realms of england and france, i accept his majesty's offer to purchase the city of dunkirk, communicated to me at this morning's audience. you will therefore place in the hands of the bearer, baron clyde, two copies of a treaty consummating this transaction which i understand you have already written out. with said copies you will also place a bill drawn in the sum of one hundred thousand pounds on one, edward backwell, goldsmith, lombard street, with whom i am told the funds lie, and for which this writing shall be your full acquittance.
-"the treaties shall be fully executed by you on the part of your master, in accordance with the terms of your instrument of authority now resting with my lord chancellor. when said treaties and said bill come to me, the treaties will be signed, and the copy intended for your master will be returned to you this evening so that you may carry out your instructions by leaving at dawn tomorrow morning. to the which i give my reluctant consent and request that you leave england without further ceremony, believing that your duty to your master mounts superior to the mere observation of courtly usage in formal leave-taking.
-"signed by the king's own hand,
-"you will see your cousin immediately after your consultation with du boise, and arrange to deliver the documents to her hands privately at the hour of eight o'clock."
-"i beg your majesty's indulgence for one question," i said, assuming as well as i could a reluctant manner.
-"yes, yes, but be quick," returned the king.
-"it is this," i continued stammeringly. "is my cousin to deliver the documents to you after the hour of eight o'clock?"
-"that is no affair of yours, and your question is impertinent," answered the king. "obey my commands and keep your lips sealed, if you would oblige your king, save trouble to yourself, and perhaps be rewarded. hear me, clyde! i will brook no interference in this matter. do you fully understand?"
-"yes, your majesty. to obey the king's command is the highest duty i know," i answered, hanging my head.
-"ah, that is better. now you may go," said the king, motioning his hand toward the door.
-frances had been expeditious in doing her part, and i was wondering what she had done to work so great a change in the king's mind in so short a time. so i made all haste to see du boise in order that i might the sooner see my cousin and question her. i found hamilton downcast, but when i gave him the king's letter, his gloom turned to anger.
-"no, no!" he cried, springing from his chair. "never! never! frances is buying the king's complaisance, god knows at what price! it shall not be! the cur! the coward! i'll kill him before the hour arrives!"
-"listen to me, george," i insisted, "and for once in your life, don't be a fool. you will ruin us all if you lose your head at the moment when success is waiting for us. you, yourself, suggested this plan, and, thanks to my cousin's courage, it is working out beautifully. i don't know what she has to propose, nor what she is going to do. i know nothing of her plans, but i trust her. can't you?"
-"yes, yes, i trust her," he replied, growing more calm. "but i do not trust him. she will go to him alone, expecting, doubtless, to escape, but she does not know the risk she is running."
-"do not fear for her," i answered assuringly. "she will be prepared to defend herself. make all things ready, and i'll go to learn of frances's plans. you may be sure she will provide some way for her own protection. when a woman of brains sets out to hoodwink a man, he usually gets what he deserves, even though he be an absolute king."
-"well, be off, and back again at the earliest possible moment," said george, resigning himself, under compulsion, to the hard conditions the situation imposed.
-when i left hamilton, i hastened to frances and found her expecting me. she told me her story in a few words:--"the treaty and the bill of exchange, i believe you call it, are to be placed in my hands to-night at eight o'clock," she said. "i am trembling now, but i shall be calm when the time comes. i am to take the documents to the king's closet at nine o'clock, and am to enter by way of the privy stairs from the river."
-"yes, yes, i know," i answered, and then i told her briefly of the king's orders.
-"you to bring me the papers!" she exclaimed, laughing softly.
-"yes," i answered. "it completes the jest, if it prove to be one. but tell me, what do you propose to do when you go to the king's closet?"
-"you see it was this way," she began, sitting down and smoothing out her skirts; "i so arranged it that i met his majesty soon after i saw you pass with your hat in your hand. he was ready enough to take me for a walk in the garden, and when he fell under the influence of the sun and the flowers, he began, as usual, to protest his love. i gave him full rein,--full rein, baron ned,--and after he had talked and protested a great deal, i told him that he might prove his regard for me if he would. he asked me in what manner, and said that he would do whatever i asked.
-"'it is this, your majesty,' i answered hesitatingly. 'by accident i met the abbé du boise at lilly's house yesterday. it seems he had heard of the kind friendship your majesty has shown me, and doubtless hoping to use me, offered me ten thousand pounds if i succeeded in inducing your majesty to accept the french king's offer for the city of dunkirk. ever since my interview with him, i have been trying to see your majesty, hoping that you might find the information useful, and desiring your majesty to know that i was to receive the money in case you accepted, else i might seem false to my king.'"
-i laughed and said: "i knew you would be able to wheedle him. a little woman with a big motive is like faith, in that she can move mountains."
-"yes, yes, it is easy enough," she answered. "he took my hand, and i permitted him to hold it for a moment, then withdrew it, you know, as though impelled by modesty. after duly hanging my head and casting down my eyes in a very spasm of shyness, i told the king that i hoped he would accept the french king's offer, and reminded him that it might avert the terrible consequences of war, in addition to putting ten thousand pounds in my poor empty little purse. he said he would put the ten thousand there for me, but i refused, saying that i had never before made a request of him, and that if he did not see fit to grant this, i should never make another, but should leave whitehall at once."
-"ah! the little woman with a big motive pouts if the mountain moves too slowly. i should like to have heard you talking to him," i said.
-"and perhaps you would have spoiled it all," she answered. "we walked down the path for perhaps three or four minutes, but at length the king spoke, stammeringly, and said that if i would bring the treaty to his closet this evening at nine o'clock, he would sign it."
-"the dog!" i exclaimed.
-"after a long pause, i answered hesitatingly, telling him that i could not accede to his request, and that i withdrew my petition, craving permission to leave whitehall to-morrow. thereupon he fell into an ecstasy of entreaty, and when we parted he was very happy, for i had promised to take the documents to him at nine o'clock. he said i was to come to the privy stairs leading from the river to his closet and go up to him for his signature and seal, when he would execute the treaty immediately and send it by a trusted messenger to the abbé du boise."
-"ah, but how will you get away from the closet?" i asked.
-"if he will permit me to be the messenger, i can easily escape, but for fear he will not, you and george shall act as my watermen. have a boat waiting for me near the garden stairs at nine o'clock, and we'll go by river to the king's private stairs. i'll go by myself to his closet and will come back to you by some means with the signed treaty. and, baron ned, have betty with you. a woman is always braver with a woman alongside, and betty always brings us good luck. then, too, she can steer the boat; she knows the river as she knows her father's house. remember, nine o'clock, and be sure that betty is with you."
-i went back to george, and when i told him of frances's plan, he said:--
-"if she does not return from the king's closet as soon as we shall have reason to expect her, we'll fetch her and make a page of history by leaving a dead king."
-george stood in revery for a moment and answered as if he were speaking to himself:--
-"but what will happen if we are overpowered in the king's closet? he always keeps a ruffian guard in his ante-chamber."
-"in that sad case, frances must kill herself and we shall die fighting unless we preferred tyburn hill a day or two later," i answered. "it is all as plain as day. why do you not forget that failure is possible? i have never known you to stand in doubt; why do it now on the eve of victory?"
-"frances! frances! frances! she is why i stand in doubt. my own life is not worth a farthing, but i have no right to bring her into this frightful peril."
-"she has no fear, and the sooner you drive it out of your heart the better it will be for our cause."
-"i suppose you are right, baron ned," he responded with a sigh; "if we go at this without fear or doubt we can't fail. go ahead, my friend. may god forgive us if we are wrong and help us in any case." and i left him hurriedly, lest i should be infected with his deadly fear.
-i next saw betty, much to my delight, and of course she was eager to help us.
-"know the river?" she exclaimed, in answer to my question. "i know it as well as i know gracious street. i have shot the arches of london bridge with the spring tide going out, and there is many a waterman who would not dare try it. if need be, i'll take you through the middle arch, where the flambeau hangs, and land you at deptford or sheerness, or holland, i care not which." so there was no fear in her heart. if courage was the touchstone of fortune, we were sure to win, for there was no fear in any heart save george's, and ordinarily he was the bravest of us all.
-when all arrangements were made, even to engaging a small boat, which was to wait for us at westminster stairs, i took to my bed for the rest of the day. at six o'clock i received the treaties and the bill of exchange from hamilton and delivered them to frances. then i went to fetch bettina.
-grammont had offered to go with us, when we explained what we were to do and the danger in doing it, and we were glad to have him and his sword, for we might find ourselves in straits where we should need both. he and hamilton were to meet me at the head of king's street. each of us was to carry a long sword and to have a pistol, charged and primed, in his belt.
-after leaving the parchments with frances, i hastened to bring betty up to whitehall, and, shortly after eight o'clock, met du boise and de grammont at king's street arch, all of us wearing full vizards.
-we walked down to the boat, de grammont frequently taking notice of bettina, for, despite her full vizard and an enveloping cloak, she was far too attractive not to rivet his attention.
-when we reached westminster stairs, we found the boat awaiting us. we did not want the watermen to go with us, so i bought the boat and dismissed them.
-we entered the boat, and when bettina took the stern oar, de grammont asked:--
-"who is she--the lady on the stern thwart? can she steer the boat? does she know the river?"
-"yes, to all of your questions, count," i answered.
-"'yes' doesn't answer the first question," he returned.
-"it isn't to be answered," i replied curtly, and he returned with an apologetic "pardon!"
-just before nine o'clock we took frances aboard at whitehall garden stairs and drifted slowly down to the king's privy stairs, from which the narrow flight of steps rose to the king's closet in the story above.
-when we drew up at the privy stairs, frances stepped out of the boat to the landing and whispered:--
-"i shall arrange in some way to return, just as soon as the king signs the treaty, but if you hear me scream, come to my rescue. i am prepared to defend myself, and shall give the signal only when i must."
-after climbing the narrow steps, she entered the king's closet and found him alone. almost at the same instant she caught the sound of heavy steps in the adjoining room and heard the clang of steel on a bare oak floor. this demonstration was made, i suppose, by the king's order, for the purpose of intimidating frances lest she prove rebellious.
-in response to her frightened look of inquiry, the king said, "only a half dozen troopers whom i always keep in my anteroom to be at hand if needed."
-"a wise precaution, your majesty," returned frances, bringing herself together as quickly as possible. "here are the copies of the treaty, your majesty, and here is the bill on backwell. the abbé du boise instructed me to ask your majesty to sign his copy of the treaty immediately and return it to him. he waits in a boat at the foot of the privy stairs, and is anxious to go down the river to his ship before the tide turns."
-"waits at the foot of the stairs?" exclaimed the king. "odds fish! what is he doing there? but it shall be done at once. i had the great seal brought to me, so that i might fully execute the treaty without delay. i supposed the abbé would desire its immediate return as soon as the money was paid."
-"yes, your majesty," answered frances, growing short of breath from excitement, "he is waiting below for it."
-the king sat down at his desk, signed the treaty, affixed the great seal, returned the parchment to its envelope, and, turning to frances, said:--
-"now, the first kiss, my beauty!"
-"not now, your majesty. please wait till i return," she answered, taking the treaty from the king's hand without his leave. "i do not want to disarrange my vizard till after i have returned the parchment to the abbé. i fear the watermen will recognize me."
-"who is in the boat with the abbé?" asked the king.
-"his servant, a french gentleman, and two watermen. he insisted on bringing me, reluctant, doubtless to trust me with the parchments and the bill," she answered, lying with the ease of a lombard street hosier.
-but the king, growing suspicious because of her haste, caught her by the arm, saying: "you remain here. i'll return the treaty."
-she drew her arm from the king's grasp and started so hurriedly toward the door that the king took alarm and followed her, crying out:--
-"i tell you i'll send the packet by other hands. you remain here."
-she did not stop, so he caught her again by the arm, and spoke sharply: "you are to remain with me. do you hear? i'm not to be played with. i'll send the packet--"
-but she broke from his grasp, hastily opened the door, and found herself not at the head of the privy stairs, but in the king's anteroom, surrounded by a half dozen men in armor one of whom attempted to seize her. instantly she sprang back to the king's closet, screaming, not as a signal to us, for she had forgotten our agreement in that respect, but in genuine fright.
-her screams brought george, de grammont, and myself to the door at the head of the stairs in less time than one could count ten. we drew our swords, and i tried to open the door, but found it locked.
-"the oars! the heavy oars!" whispered de grammont.
-i ran down the stairs to the boat and was about to ask bettina to hand me the oars, when she, anticipating me, whispered:--
-"i heard some one call for the oars, so i threw them out. there they are!"
-there they were, true enough, halfway up the water stairs, ready for my hand, because of betty's quickness.
-in less than ten seconds i was at the top of the stairs again, and within twenty seconds more we had battered down the door with our heavy ash oars. in the king's closet we found frances, surrounded by men at arms, and the king crouching in a corner, barricaded by small pieces of furniture.
-george fired his pistol, and one of the six men fell, whereupon several pistol shots were fired, filling the small room with powder smoke, but injuring no one so far as we knew. de grammont found an opening in another man's armor, and four stood between us and frances. then the real fight began--four against three. this would have been heavy odds in an open field, but it was not so formidable in a small room almost dark with smoke. above all, the troopers were fighting for pay; we were fighting for life.
-the four men charged us fiercely, and while we were fighting just inside the room, frances worked her way from behind our antagonists toward the battered door and was about to make her escape when one of the king's men struck her a cowardly blow with the hilt of his sword, and she fell to the floor at the head of the stairs.
-"you and hamilton take her to the boat," cried de grammont, speaking to me, but continuing to fence, as though by instinct. "i'll hold the door till you call; then i'll run. the next best thing to fighting is running."
-i regretted the use of hamilton's name, as it would betray his presence, if overheard, which otherwise would not have been suspected, all of us being well masked. but i had no time to waste in vain regrets, so george and i lifted frances from the floor and helped her down to the boat, leaving de grammont just outside the battered door, defending himself nobly against four armed men and keeping them inside the king's closet. he seemed to be enjoying himself, for he was laughing, bowing, parrying, and thrusting, as though he were at a frolic rather than a fight. there is but one people on earth in whose blood is mingled fire and ice--the french.
-when we reached the water, we found that the running tide had carried the boat a short distance down-stream, but bettina was standing on the stern thwart, bending this way and that in her endeavor to scull back to the landing by means of the steering oar. every drop of blood in bettina's plump little body was worth its weight in triple fine gold to us that night, for she brought the boat back to us without delay, and george helped frances aboard while i ran to the foot of the privy stairs, shouting loudly:--
-"come on, berkeley! come quickly!"
-usually i think of the right thing to say a fortnight after the opportunity, but this once the name berkeley came to me in the nick of time, and i evened my score with its possessor for many a dirty trick he had put upon me. to suspect was to condemn with charles, and i knew that if he heard me call berkeley's name, that consummate villain would suffer the royal frown. and so he did, never having been able to explain, nor deny, satisfactorily to the king, his presence at the head of the privy stairs that night. but to return to the fight.
-de grammont heard my summons, came down the stairs three steps at a time, and sprang into the boat from the landing.
-"the oars! the oars!" cried hamilton.
-"death is between them and us!" cried de grammont.
-"let us go!" cried betty. "i'll scull the boat with the steering oar!"
-there was not a man in the boat who knew the art of propelling it with one oar. truly betty was our salvation that night.
-i shoved the boat off, betty turned its head down-stream, and away we shot. we were not ten paces from the water stairs when five men came running from the privy stairs to the landing. i recognized the king, who was in the lead. as they reached the water edge of the landing, i heard a splash. majesty, in his eagerness to overtake us, had gathered too great headway and had landed, if i may use the word, in the water.
-the other men, being in armor, were compelled to doff their iron before jumping in to save the king. the night was dark, but we were so near the landing that i saw two of the men begin to throw off their armor, and presently i heard two splashes, followed quickly by two pistol shots in our direction. in our direction, i say, because both of the balls struck our boat.
-after the pistol shots, all was quiet, but i knew that one of the king's barges, with a dozen men at as many sweeps, and a score of men at arms, would soon follow us. i made my way to the stern thwart of our boat, where betty was sculling for dear life, taking her course diagonally across the river toward the southwark bank. after we had passed the swift current in the middle of the river, which i thought she had been seeking, i asked:--
-"why do you not keep to the centre, betty? you are making toward the other bank."
-"yes," she replied, with what breath she could spare. "we'll find a stand of boats tied to poles almost opposite temple bar stairs. there we may take a pair of oars. i'm afraid i can't hold out at this much longer."
-we soon found the boat stand, and, with little ceremony, appropriated a pair of oars, leaving a crown on the thwart of the rifled boat.
-hamilton and i quickly adjusted the stolen sweeps in the oar-locks, betty sat down on the stern thwart, guided the boat to the swift water of the centre, and immediately we sped toward london bridge at a fine rate. presently, as we had expected, we heard the rapid, regular stroke of the sweeps in the king's barge, and in a few minutes it was so close behind us that we could see the men at the sweeps. when they saw us, they fired their pistols at us, but we did not hear the bullets splash in the water, so we knew they did not have our range.
-my greatest fear of the bullets was for bettina's sake, she being in the rear and more exposed to the enemy's fire than we who were at the sweeps, but i could not leave my oar to take her place, nor could i have steered the boat had i done so, being unfamiliar with the river. all i could do was to hasten our stroke, which george and i did to our utmost, and soon the welcome beacon over the centre arch of london bridge came into view, dimly at first, but brightening with every stroke of our sweeps. as we approached the bridge, de grammont nervously called our attention to the danger ahead of us.
-"yes, we'll take the middle arch, and i shall enjoy seeing the king's barge follow us," i answered, with what breath i could spare.
-"take the middle arch, and the tide running as a river in flood?" cried de grammont, speaking french, being too excited to sort out english words. "never! never! let me out!"
-"do not fear, count," i answered. "our pilot--"
-"our pilot! ah, sacrament! we are lost! our pilot is a mere girl!"
-"but a wonder, count, a wonder. there is no waterman on the river in whose hands we should be safer," i replied, expressing my confidence in stronger terms than it really deserved. to shoot london bridge when the tide was running out, as it then was, would give pause to the hardiest waterman. a misstroke of the steering oar, the slightest faltering in the hands that held it, the mere touch of the boat's nose against the jagged rocks and logs of the pier, and all would be lost.
-we could not stop to put de grammont on shore, and presently recognizing that fact, he sat down in resignation in the bow of the boat, remarking with a sigh, as though speaking to himself:--
-"ah, the beautiful land!"
-by that time the flambeau was blazing not two hundred yards ahead of us. the current had caught us, and the waves of the running tide came almost to the gunwale of the boat. bettina had risen to her feet, leaving her hat, vizard, and cloak in the bottom of the boat, and was standing on the stern thwart, her back towards us and her face up-stream. behind us, perhaps three hundred yards, came the king's great barge, ablaze with torches. the men in the barge had ceased firing, supposing, probably, that we should be forced to land above the bridge, and should then become an easy prey. but we had bettina with us; they had not. besides ours, there was not another one in the world.
-on came the flambeau over the middle arch. it seemed to be coming toward us rather than we going toward it. nearer lowered the black dim outline of the houses on the bridge, with here and there the flicker of a candle in a window, magnified to starlike brightness by distance.
-clearer and clearer came the dash and the splash, the roar and the turmoil of the waters pouring through the terrible death's door, the middle arch. yet over the middle arch was the only flambeau on london bridge, placed there because it was the broadest of all the spans, and we dared not attempt to pass under the bridge in the dark.
-but worse than the middle arch ahead of us was the king's barge following close behind us. it, too, was in the current, though its twelve sweeps could easily have taken it ashore. i suppose that pride and eagerness to overtake us prompted its captain to follow in our wake. at any rate, he continued and was narrowing the distance between us with each stroke of the sweeps. when i asked bettina if she thought they would attempt the arch, she replied:--
-"i hope not," then laughing softly, "--for their own sakes. the royal barges are not built to shoot the bridge."
-as we approached the bridge, betty turned her eyes backward toward it every few seconds, taking her bearings and bringing the boat's nose now a little to the right, now to the left, and again holding it straight ahead.
-when we were within twenty yards of the middle arch, she told us to cease rowing, and we obeyed, leaving the boat in her hands.
-the roar of the falling waters, tumbling in a cataract on the further side of the bridge, frightened me, but if betty heard it she did not fear it, for she began to sing the plaintive little french lullaby we had so often heard, and de grammont, leaning forward, touched me on the back as he whispered:--
-"god gives us an angel to steer our boat."
-the next moment the water caught us in its mighty suck, just under the upper edge of the arch, and almost before we were aware that we had started through, our boat made a plunge on the lower side, the perilous moment was past, and we were floating in comparatively still water two score yards below london bridge.
-then captain bettina resumed her seat on the stern thwart, and we dipped our oars.
-we were turning about to get under way again, when de grammont cried out:--
-"mon dieu! they are lost! there they go under! ah, jesu!"
-we all turned our eyes toward the bridge, but were too late to see the barge. it had sunk in four fathoms of water, and every man aboard had gone down with it.
-we backed water, resting on our oars, and presently the overturned barge came to the surface and floated past us, telling its sad story, "perished in a bad king's bad cause,"--a story written on almost every page of the world's history.
-a short distance below the tower, we met a large boat belonging to the ship in which george had come from france, which was waiting off sheerness to take him back. the boat had been plying between deptford and the bridge, looking for george, since early evening. we recognized it by its long sweeps, and when we hailed it, we received the password and drew alongside.
-all this time frances had been allowed to sit in the bottom of the boat, she having assured us that she had taken no injury, but as we approached the french boat she arose, and when i asked her if she was hurt, she said, "no."
-when i asked her if she had the treaty, she replied, holding out her hand to george:--
-"yes, here it is. it would have been a pity, indeed, to have lost it after all our trouble."
-as we drew alongside the french boat, hamilton whispered to frances:--
-"you have nothing to fear from the king. this affair shows him in a light so ridiculous that he will not care to make it public, and besides, he will not want to return the hundred thousand pounds. you will be safe in london, and i shall write to you just as soon as i return to france. if king louis's reward proves to be what i expect, i pray you come to me, for, after this affair, i dare not set my foot in england."
-at that moment we touched the other boat, and the frenchmen grappled us to hold us alongside. george had risen and was about to step aboard, when frances, catching him by the arm, drew him back and sprang aboard the french boat ahead of him, saying:--
-"i shall not wait for a letter. i am going with you now."
-george followed her into the other boat, and as it drew away, i saw him bending low to kiss her hand. then he shouted "good-by!" and soon we could see nothing but the black water between us.
-betty began to weep, and after a moment i began to swear, for i did not like to see my cousin go off in this manner. de grammont relieved his mind by a shrug of his shoulders, took the oar that george had abandoned, and without a word we started up-stream again.
-her ladyship's smile
-we landed at the old swan stairs below the bridge on lower thames street, and went to the end of the bridge, where de grammont waited till i had taken bettina home.
-when i returned to the bridge, the count and i took coach, and after a rapid journey across silent london, i arrived at the palace just as old tom of westminster was striking eleven.
-i climbed over the porch to my closet and reached there none too soon, for i was hardly in bed when my door opened and in walked the king followed by two men bearing candles. i pretended to be in a deep sleep and when aroused sprang from my bed seemingly half dazed and ready to defend myself, till the king spoke, when, of course, i was humble enough.
-"how long have you been here?" demanded the king.
-"all night i suppose, your majesty; what time is it now?"
-"past eleven!" the king answered.
-"in what may i serve your majesty?" i asked.
-"by telling me the truth!" he said, glaring at me and whining out his words. "do you know anything about the attack on my closet this evening?"
-nothing is ever gained by denying, so i took a leaf from woman's logic, and answered his question by another.
-"an attack on your majesty's closet?" i cried. then after a long pause, and with a manner of deep injury, i demanded: "has anything untoward befallen my cousin? i carried out your majesty's instructions without objection or protest. i intrusted her to your care, and it is my right and my duty to demand an account of her and to hold your majesty responsible for her welfare."
-he looked at me for a moment with a hang-dog expression on his face, but he could not stand my gaze, so he turned on his heel and left the room without another word.
-he was not convinced of my guilt, nor would he believe me innocent. evidently the royal verdict was "not proven." but in any case i knew that my favor at court was at an end.
-during the next week i constantly importuned the king to tell me what had become of my cousin, and intimated my intention to make trouble in terms so plain--for i knew the king's favor was lost to me--that my lord clarendon was instructed to offer me a sum of money to say nothing more about the matter. i agreed to accept the money, it was paid, and i remained silent.
-frequently the difference between an acted lie and a spoken lie is the difference between success and failure. then, too, the acted lie has this advantage; there is no commandment against it. we should congratulate ourselves that so many pleasant sins were omitted on sinai.
-at the end of a week after our great adventure i went to the country, and within a fortnight returned to find that my place in the wardrobe was taken by another, and my place in the king's smile by the world at large; at least, it was lost to me.
-when a wise courtier loses his king's smile, he takes himself out of his king's reach. therefore i cast about in my mind for a london friend who would like to possess my title. i thought of sir william wentworth, rather of his wife, and suggested to her that for the sum of thirty thousand pounds i would resign my estates and title to the king, if sir william would arrange for their transfer to himself. the transfer directly from me to him was not within the limits of the law. it could only be made through the king by forfeiture and grant. but the like had happened many times before, and could be accomplished now if the king were compensated for his trouble.
-wentworth broached the subject to our august sovereign who, in consideration of the sum of ten thousand pounds "lent" by sir william to his majesty, and because he was glad to conciliate a prominent citizen of london, that city being very angry on account of the sale of dunkirk, agreed to the transfer, and the baronetcy of clyde with the appurtenant estates passed to the house of wentworth, where, probably, they brought trouble to sir william and joyous discontent to his aspiring lady.
-three days after the consummation of my sale to sir william wentworth, count hamilton returned, and, learning of the manner in which i had disgraced myself, withdrew his challenge, sending de grammont to tell me the sad news. he would not honor me by killing me.
-"why did you sell your title and estates?" asked de grammont.
-"i have several good reasons, my dear count," i answered. "the first is that i should have lost them had i not sold them. while the king does not know that i was connected with the fight on the privy stairs, he doubtless suspected it, for i have lived in the royal frown ever since. the second reason is that i hate charles stuart, and, admiring at least the strength of your king's tyranny, desire to live in france. king louis says he is the state, and by heaven, he is! charles stuart knows that he is nothing, and he is right!"
-"give me your hand, baron!" cried de grammont, a smile of satisfaction spreading over his face. "i now tell you my secret. no one else knows it. the purchase of dunkirk has bought for me the smile of my master. i have been recalled to versailles. i return to la belle france within a fortnight! come with me! i'll show you a king in very deed, and promise furthermore that his smile shall be for you!"
-"i can't go with you, my dear count," i returned gratefully. "but i promise to see you soon in paris. i suppose you will take with you the elder mistress hamilton, to whom i understand you have long been plighted in marriage, or will you return for her?"
-"o-o-oh! return for her, dear baron, return for her!" answered the count, shrugging his shoulders.
-to close the chapter of de grammont's life in england, i would say that he kept the secret of his recall to france, and one night after dark left his house near the mall, taking a coach to dover without saying to mistress hamilton when he would return.
-but mistress hamilton had two brothers still in england, count anthony and james, who, catching wind of de grammont's exodus, took horse and a small escort, made all possible speed, and came up with de grammont's coach some six or eight leagues east of london.
-count anthony rode up to one door of the coach, while james brought his horse to the other.
-"good morning, count," said anthony, bending down to the coach window.
-"good morning, my dear count," returned de grammont, blandly.
-"is there not something you have forgotten, count?" asked anthony.
-"odds fish! yes! i forgot to marry your sister," answered de grammont, appropriating the king's oath, and apparently astounded at his own forgetfulness. "thank you, dear count, for reminding me. i'll go back to london and do it at once."
-"your parole?" asked anthony.
-"yes, the word of a de grammont," answered the count, whereupon the hamiltons lifted their hats and galloped home, knowing certainly that de grammont would follow.
-de grammont reached london soon after sun-up, and, true to his word, married miss hamilton, blessed his stars ever afterward for having done so, and gave her no cause for unhappiness save a french one.
-soon after the sale to wentworth, i received a letter from george telling me that king louis had not only made him rich, but had appointed him governor of dunkirk, with promise of further advancement. george said, also, that the french king, having heard of my part in the dunkirk transaction and my disgrace with my king, had offered to advance my interest if i would go to france. in a postscript to the letter, which was much longer than the letter itself, frances told me how she and george had been married immediately on landing in france, and were living very happily in paris, where they would remain until george should take up the government of dunkirk.
-so it had all fallen out just as one might have expected to find it in a story-book. george had been proved by fortune's touchstone, and her ladyship had chosen him for her smile. he had won the long odds.
-what remains to be told is simply the denouement of my own affairs.
-at the time of my transaction with wentworth i said nothing to bettina about the sale of my title and estates, but when i heard that our friends were safe and happy in france, i went down to the old swan, with more fear than i should have thought possible, to broach a certain matter, which was very near my heart, to betty and her father.
-i knew that in so far as betty herself was concerned, i should find no trouble, but i also knew that i might find difficulty in persuading her to leave her father, for duty was a tremendous word in betty's vocabulary.
-when i reached the old swan, policy and fear each told me that it would be safer to attack betty and her father separately. the odds of two against one, in this case, i feared would be too great for me to overcome. so i led betty to her parlor,--rather she led me,--and after a preliminary skirmish, i told her i had come to see her on a most important piece of business.
-"i'm glad to see you, whatever brings you, baron ned," she answered, smoothing out her skirts in anticipation of an interesting budget of news.
-"but i'm no longer 'baron ned,' betty," i informed her.
-she asked a hundred questions with her eyes and eyebrows, and i hastily answered them by telling of the sale to wentworth.
-"ah, i'm so sorry," she answered, "and i'm so glad, too, that i could cry. you don't seem so much above me nor so far away."
-"that was my chief reason for selling my title and estates," i answered, reaching forward and taking her hand, which for the first time she did not withdraw. "i sold them, betty, for a large price, but my reason for so doing was one that could not be measured by money. i want you for my wife, betty, and my title, at least, stood between us. i should have given it away if i could not have sold it, because i want you, betty, more than anything else in all the world."
-"ah, please don't, baron ned!" she cried, bringing her handkerchief to her eyes. "it can't be. i'm not so selfish as to take you at your word."
-i was sitting on the cushioned bench by the wall, and she was in a chair facing me, within easy reach, so i caught her wrists and drew her to me, whispering:--
-"sit here, bettina, by my side, and tell me why it cannot be, for i pledge you my honor i am not to be denied." she resisted for a moment, but at last sat down beside me, and i put my arm about her, despite her fluttering struggle. "now, tell me why, bettina. i need not tell you that you have my love. you know it without the telling."
-she nodded her head "yes," and covered her face with her hands.
-"and am i wrong in believing that i possess your love?" i asked.
-she shook her head to indicate that i was not wrong, and the little gesture was as good as an oath to me. after her confession, she would not dare to resist me, nor did she, save to say pleadingly:--
-"please, baron ned, it cannot be."
-tears were trickling down her cheeks, and i could see that she was in great trouble.
-"i do not ask you to come to me now," i said, "but you may take a long time, if you wish--a day, or two, or even three, if you insist. but betty, i am not to be refused, and you may as well understand now and for all that you are to be my wife. but tell me, betty, what is your reason for denying me at this time?"
-she dried her eyes, sat erect, and answered in a voice full of tears: "well, you are so far above me that the time might come when you would be ashamed of me."
-"nothing of the sort, betty. drop that argument at once. you know you do not mean it. you are not speaking the exact truth. there is no sweetness, no beauty, like yours."
-"do you really mean it, baron ned?" she answered, smiling up to me.
-"yes, yes, every word and a thousand more," i answered.
-"but i am so unworthy," she said.
-"you're pretending, betty," i answered, and i argued so well that she abandoned her position.
-"now, give me another reason, betty," i demanded, feeling encouraged by the success of my first bout. to this she answered with great hesitancy, murmuring her words almost inaudibly:--
-"i could not leave father."
-that was the reason i had feared, and when i drew away from her, showing my great disappointment in my face, she took one of my hands in both of hers, saying:--
-"not that i should not be happy to go with you anywhere, but you see i am all the world to father. he would die without me."
-here, of course, i might expect tears, nor was i disappointed. i, too, found the tears coming to my eyes, for her grief touched me keenly, and her love for her father showed me even more plainly than i had ever before known the unselfish tenderness of the girl i so longed to possess. it was hard for me to speak against this argument of hers; for it was like finding fault with the best part of her, so for a little time we were silent. after a minute or two, she glanced up to me and, seeing my great trouble, murmured brokenly:--
-"if you think i am worth waiting for, and if you will wait till father is gone, i will go with you, and your smallest and greatest wish alike shall be mine. and when you become ashamed of me, i'll--"
-"i'll not wait, betty," i answered, ignoring the latter half of her remark. "i have a far better plan. i am going to france, and you and your father shall go with me."
-"ah, will you take him?" she cried, falling to the floor on her knees, creeping between mine, and clasping her hands about my neck. her sweet, warm breath came to me like a waft from a field of roses, the fluffy shreds of her hair tingled my cheek, thrilling me to the heart, while the touch of her hand and the clasp of her arm carried me to heaven.
-then she laid her head on my breast, her lips came close to mine, and she murmured with a sigh:--
-"now, baron ned, as you will."
-i told betty to call pickering, and when he came in i related my story. i told him how betty and i were of one mind, how george had prospered in france and had invited me to share his good fortune, how i wanted to go to france and to take bettina with me, and how i wanted him to sell the old swan and go with us to the fair land across the channel, where his wealth would give him station such as he deserved.
-immediately he objected, saying that the scheme was impossible. he said that he could sell the old swan for a great sum to robbins, of the dog's head, and that all he possessed, aside from the inn, was in gold, lodged with backwell, but for all that, my plan could not be considered for a moment.
-"my dear pickering, hear my side of the case," i insisted, determined to win this last bout as i had won the others. "you love your daughter and would be unhappy if she were to leave you alone in the world?"
-"indeed i should be," he answered firmly. "i will not consider your suggestion. i will not. i will not."
-"she is more generous than you," i returned, "and refuses to leave you, though she would be very unhappy if you force her to remain."
-"i suppose you think so," he replied sullenly.
-"i know so," i answered, "and can prove it by betty." betty nodded her head "yes," and i continued: "you will not be unhappy in france with us. you will be happy. yet you refuse to be happy save in your own stubborn way, even though you bring grief to the tenderest heart in the world. but come, come, pickering! this will not do! i tell you, i'm not to be refused!"
-pickering lapsed into stubborn silence, and as there is no arguing with a man who will not argue, i determined to take another course; so i spoke sharply:--
-"since you will not be reasonable, i have another plan to suggest: i will give up my prospects of fortune in france, and will live here in this rotten old swan as long as you live, never taking betty from your side. if you do not give her to me under these conditions, i will take her away without any conditions. eh, betty?"
-betty hung in the wind for a moment, then nodded slowly:--
-pickering covered his face with his hands for a moment, then looked up to me and asked:--
-"would you do that, baron? would you come down from your high estate to our lowly condition for the sake of my poor little girl?"
-"yes, pickering," i answered.
-then after a moment's thought, he said: "i'll sell the old swan and go with you to france."
-betty took my hand, then she grasped her father's, drew him down to her and kissed him.
-so betty and i were married in the little chapel at the southwark end of london bridge, and off we went to our friends in france, where god blessed us and we were very happy. we had all been tried by the touchstone of fortune, and had won her ladyship's smile! may god comfort those on whom she frowns!
-baron clyde seems to be the only writer of the period of charles ii who mentions the part taken by george hamilton and frances jennings in the sale of the city of dunkirk, but, of course, the particulars of that disgraceful affair would have been kept a secret from all save those who participated in it.
-it is said that nell gwynn, john churchill, and sarah jennings were younger than baron clyde indicates. therefore there are many discerning persons who hold that he was "idealizing" when he wrote of them being at court at the time dunkirk was sold.
-there appears to be some ground for the criticism.
-but in all essential respects the baron's history is held, justly, to be true to facts and conditions, and that, after all, is the main thing. exact truth is evasive; therefore the virtues of approximation are not to be deprecated.
-the romance of tristan and iseult
-the romance of tristan & iseult drawn from the best french sources and retold by j. bédier rendered into english by h. belloc
-london: george allen & company, ltd. ruskin house, rathbone place. mcmxiii
-“le roman de tristan et iseut,” by m. joseph bédier, was crowned by the french academy
-printed by ballantyne, hanson & co.
-at the ballantyne press, edinburgh
-part the first
-the childhood of tristan the morholt out of ireland the quest of the lady with the hair of gold the philtre the tall pine-tree the discovery the chantry leap
-part the second
-the wood of morois ogrin the hermit the ford the ordeal by iron
-part the third
-the little fairy bell iseult of the white hands the madness of tristan the death of tristan
-part the first
-the childhood of tristan
-my lords, if you would hear a high tale of love and of death, here is that of tristan and queen iseult; how to their full joy, but to their sorrow also, they loved each other, and how at last they died of that love together upon one day; she by him and he by her.
-long ago, when mark was king over cornwall, rivalen, king of lyonesse, heard that mark’s enemies waged war on him; so he crossed the sea to bring him aid; and so faithfully did he serve him with counsel and sword that mark gave him his sister blanchefleur, whom king rivalen loved most marvellously.
-he wedded her in tintagel minster, but hardly was she wed when the news came to him that his old enemy duke morgan had fallen on lyonesse and was wasting town and field. then rivalen manned his ships in haste, and took blanchefleur with him to his far land; but she was with child. he landed below his castle of kanoël and gave the queen in ward to his marshal rohalt, and after that set off to wage his war.
-blanchefleur waited for him continually, but he did not come home, till she learnt upon a day that duke morgan had killed him in foul ambush. she did not weep: she made no cry or lamentation, but her limbs failed her and grew weak, and her soul was filled with a strong desire to be rid of the flesh, and though rohalt tried to soothe her she would not hear. three days she awaited re-union with her lord, and on the fourth she brought forth a son; and taking him in her arms she said:
-“little son, i have longed a while to see you, and now i see you the fairest thing ever a woman bore. in sadness came i hither, in sadness did i bring forth, and in sadness has your first feast day gone. and as by sadness you came into the world, your name shall be called tristan; that is the child of sadness.”
-after she had said these words she kissed him, and immediately when she had kissed him she died.
-rohalt, the keeper of faith, took the child, but already duke morgan’s men besieged the castle of kanoël all round about. there is a wise saying: “fool-hardy was never hardy,” and he was compelled to yield to duke morgan at his mercy: but for fear that morgan might slay rivalen’s heir the marshal hid him among his own sons.
-when seven years were passed and the time had come to take the child from the women, rohalt put tristan under a good master, the squire gorvenal, and gorvenal taught him in a few years the arts that go with barony. he taught him the use of lance and sword and ’scutcheon and bow, and how to cast stone quoits and to leap wide dykes also: and he taught him to hate every lie and felony and to keep his given word; and he taught him the various kinds of song and harp-playing, and the hunter’s craft; and when the child rode among the young squires you would have said that he and his horse and his armour were all one thing. to see him so noble and so proud, broad in the shoulders, loyal, strong and right, all men glorified rohalt in such a son. but rohalt remembering rivalen and blanchefleur (of whose youth and grace all this was a resurrection) loved him indeed as a son, but in his heart revered him as his lord.
-now all his joy was snatched from him on a day when certain merchants of norway, having lured tristan to their ship, bore him off as a rich prize, though tristan fought hard, as a young wolf struggles, caught in a gin. but it is a truth well proved, and every sailor knows it, that the sea will hardly bear a felon ship, and gives no aid to rapine. the sea rose and cast a dark storm round the ship and drove it eight days and eight nights at random, till the mariners caught through the mist a coast of awful cliffs and sea-ward rocks whereon the sea would have ground their hull to pieces: then they did penance, knowing that the anger of the sea came of the lad, whom they had stolen in an evil hour, and they vowed his deliverance and got ready a boat to put him, if it might be, ashore: then the wind, and sea fell and the sky shone, and as the norway ship grew small in the offing, a quiet tide cast tristan and the boat upon a beach of sand.
-painfully he climbed the cliff and saw, beyond, a lonely rolling heath and a forest stretching out and endless. and he wept, remembering gorvenal, his father, and the land of lyonesse. then the distant cry of a hunt, with horse and hound, came suddenly and lifted his heart, and a tall stag broke cover at the forest edge. the pack and the hunt streamed after it with a tumult of cries and winding horns, but just as the hounds were racing clustered at the haunch, the quarry turned to bay at a stones throw from tristan; a huntsman gave him the thrust, while all around the hunt had gathered and was winding the kill. but tristan, seeing by the gesture of the huntsman that he made to cut the neck of the stag, cried out:
-“my lord, what would you do? is it fitting to cut up so noble a beast like any farm-yard hog? is that the custom of this country?”
-and the huntsman answered:
-“fair friend, what startles you? why yes, first i take off the head of a stag, and then i cut it into four quarters and we carry it on our saddle bows to king mark, our lord: so do we, and so since the days of the first huntsmen have done the cornish men. if, however, you know of some nobler custom, teach it us: take this knife and we will learn it willingly.”
-then tristan kneeled and skinned the stag before he cut it up, and quartered it all in order leaving the crow-bone all whole, as is meet, and putting aside at the end the head, the haunch, the tongue and the great heart’s vein; and the huntsmen and the kennel hinds stood over him with delight, and the master huntsman said:
-“friend, these are good ways. in what land learnt you them? tell us your country and your name.”
-“good lord, my name is tristan, and i learnt these ways in my country of lyonesse.”
-“tristan,” said the master huntsman, “god reward the father that brought you up so nobly; doubtless he is a baron, rich and strong.”
-now tristan knew both speech and silence, and he answered:
-“no, lord; my father is a burgess. i left his home unbeknownst upon a ship that trafficked to a far place, for i wished to learn how men lived in foreign lands. but if you will accept me of the hunt i will follow you gladly and teach you other crafts of venery.”
-“fair tristan, i marvel there should be a land where a burgess’s son can know what a knight’s son knows not elsewhere, but come with us since you will it; and welcome: we will bring you to king mark, our lord.”
-tristan completed his task; to the dogs he gave the heart, the head, offal and ears; and he taught the hunt how the skinning and the ordering should be done. then he thrust the pieces upon pikes and gave them to this huntsman and to that to carry, to one the snout to another the haunch to another the flank to another the chine; and he taught them how to ride by twos in rank, according to the dignity of the pieces each might bear.
-so they took the road and spoke together, till they came on a great castle and round it fields and orchards, and living waters and fish ponds and plough lands, and many ships were in its haven, for that castle stood above the sea. it was well fenced against all assault or engines of war, and its keep, which the giants had built long ago, was compact of great stones, like a chess board of vert and azure.
-and when tristan asked its name:
-“good liege,” they said, “we call it tintagel.”
-and tristan cried:
-“tintagel! blessed be thou of god, and blessed be they that dwell within thee.”
-when they came before the keep the horns brought the barons to the gates and king mark himself. and when the master huntsman had told him all the story, and king mark had marvelled at the good order of the cavalcade, and the cutting of the stag, and the high art of venery in all, yet most he wondered at the stranger boy, and still gazed at him, troubled and wondering whence came his tenderness, and his heart would answer him nothing; but, my lords, it was blood that spoke, and the love he had long since borne his sister blanchefleur.
-that evening, when the boards were cleared, a singer out of wales, a master, came forward among the barons in hall and sang a harper’s song, and as this harper touched the strings of his harp, tristan who sat at the king’s feet, spoke thus to him:
-“oh master, that is the first of songs! the bretons of old wove it once to chant the loves of graëlent. and the melody is rare and rare are the words: master, your voice is subtle: harp us that well.”
-but when the welshman had sung, he answered:
-“boy, what do you know of the craft of music? if the burgesses of lyonesse teach their sons harp—play also, and rotes and viols too, rise, and take this harp and show your skill.”
-then tristan took the harp and sang so well that the barons softened as they heard, and king mark marvelled at the harper from lyonesse whither so long ago rivalen had taken blanchefleur away.
-when the song ended, the king was silent a long space, but he said at last:
-“son, blessed be the master that taught thee, and blessed be thou of god: for god loves good singers. their voices and the voice of the harp enter the souls of men and wake dear memories and cause them to forget many a mourning and many a sin. for our joy did you come to this roof, stay near us a long time, friend.”
-and tristan answered:
-“very willingly will i serve you, sire, as your harper, your huntsman and your liege.”
-so did he, and for three years a mutual love grew up in their hearts. by day tristan followed king mark at pleas and in saddle; by night he slept in the royal room with the councillors and the peers, and if the king was sad he would harp to him to soothe his care. the barons also cherished him, and (as you shall learn) dinas of lidan, the seneschal, beyond all others. and more tenderly than the barons and than dinas the king loved him. but tristan could not forget, or rohalt his father, or his master gorvenal, or the land of lyonesse.
-my lords, a teller that would please, should not stretch his tale too long, and truly this tale is so various and so high that it needs no straining. then let me shortly tell how rohalt himself, after long wandering by sea and land, came into cornwall, and found tristan, and showing the king the carbuncle that once was blanchefleur’s, said:
-“king mark, here is your nephew tristan, son of your sister blanchefleur and of king rivalen. duke morgan holds his land most wrongfully; it is time such land came back to its lord.”
-and tristan (in a word) when his uncle had armed him knight, crossed the sea, and was hailed of his father’s vassals, and killed rivalen’s slayer and was re-seized of his land.
-then remembering how king mark could no longer live in joy without him, he summoned his council and his barons and said this:
-“lords of the lyonesse, i have retaken this place and i have avenged king rivalen by the help of god and of you. but two men rohalt and king mark of cornwall nourished me, an orphan, and a wandering boy. so should i call them also fathers. now a free man has two things thoroughly his own, his body and his land. to rohalt then, here, i will release my land. do you hold it, father, and your son shall hold it after you. but my body i give up to king mark. i will leave this country, dear though it be, and in cornwall i will serve king mark as my lord. such is my judgment, but you, my lords of lyonesse, are my lieges, and owe me counsel; if then, some one of you will counsel me another thing let him rise and speak.”
-but all the barons praised him, though they wept; and taking with him gorvenal only, tristan set sail for king mark’s land.
-the morholt out of ireland
-when tristan came back to that land, king mark and all his barony were mourning; for the king of ireland had manned a fleet to ravage cornwall, should king mark refuse, as he had refused these fifteen years, to pay a tribute his fathers had paid. now that year this king had sent to tintagel, to carry his summons, a giant knight; the morholt, whose sister he had wed, and whom no man had yet been able to overcome: so king mark had summoned all the barons of his land to council, by letters sealed.
-on the day assigned, when the barons were gathered in hall, and when the king had taken his throne, the morholt said these things:
-“king mark, hear for the last time the summons of the king of ireland, my lord. he arraigns you to pay at last that which you have owed so long, and because you have refused it too long already he bids you give over to me this day three hundred youths and three hundred maidens drawn by lot from among the cornish folk. but if so be that any would prove by trial of combat that the king of ireland receives this tribute without right, i will take up his wager. which among you, my cornish lords, will fight to redeem this land?”
-the barons glanced at each other but all were silent.
-then tristan knelt at the feet of king mark and said:
-“lord king, by your leave i will do battle.”
-and in vain would king mark have turned him from his purpose, thinking, how could even valour save so young a knight? but he threw down his gage to the morholt, and the morholt took up the gage.
-on the appointed day he had himself clad for a great feat of arms in a hauberk and in a steel helm, and he entered a boat and drew to the islet of st. samson’s, where the knights were to fight each to each alone. now the morholt had hoisted to his mast a sail of rich purple, and coming fast to land, he moored his boat on the shore. but tristan pushed off his own boat adrift with his feet, and said:
-“one of us only will go hence alive. one boat will serve.”
-and each rousing the other to the fray they passed into the isle.
-no man saw the sharp combat; but thrice the salt sea-breeze had wafted or seemed to waft a cry of fury to the land, when at last towards the hour of noon the purple sail showed far off; the irish boat appeared from the island shore, and there rose a clamour of “the morholt!” when suddenly, as the boat grew larger on the sight and topped a wave, they saw that tristan stood on the prow holding a sword in his hand. he leapt ashore, and as the mothers kissed the steel upon his feet he cried to the morholt’s men:
-“my lords of ireland, the morholt fought well. see here, my sword is broken and a splinter of it stands fast in his head. take you that steel, my lords; it is the tribute of cornwall.”
-then he went up to tintagel and as he went the people he had freed waved green boughs, and rich cloths were hung at the windows. but when tristan reached the castle with joy, songs and joy-bells sounding about him, he drooped in the arms of king mark, for the blood ran from his wounds.
-the morholt’s men, they landed in ireland quite cast down. for when ever he came back into whitehaven the morholt had been wont to take joy in the sight of his clan upon the shore, of the queen his sister, and of his niece iseult the fair. tenderly had they cherished him of old, and had he taken some wound, they healed him, for they were skilled in balms and potions. but now their magic was vain, for he lay dead and the splinter of the foreign brand yet stood in his skull till iseult plucked it out and shut it in a chest.
-from that day iseult the fair knew and hated the name of tristan of lyonesse.
-but over in tintagel tristan languished, for there trickled a poisonous blood from his wound. the doctors found that the morholt had thrust into him a poisoned barb, and as their potions and their theriac could never heal him they left him in god’s hands. so hateful a stench came from his wound that all his dearest friends fled him, all save king mark, gorvenal and dinas of lidan. they always could stay near his couch because their love overcame their abhorrence. at last tristan had himself carried into a boat apart on the shore; and lying facing the sea he awaited death, for he thought: “i must die; but it is good to see the sun and my heart is still high. i would like to try the sea that brings all chances. … i would have the sea bear me far off alone, to what land no matter, so that it heal me of my wound.”
-he begged so long that king mark accepted his desire. he bore him into a boat with neither sail nor oar, and tristan wished that his harp only should be placed beside him: for sails he could not lift, nor oar ply, nor sword wield; and as a seaman on some long voyage casts to the sea a beloved companion dead, so gorvenal pushed out to sea that boat where his dear son lay; and the sea drew him away.
-for seven days and seven nights the sea so drew him; at times to charm his grief, he harped; and when at last the sea brought him near a shore where fishermen had left their port that night to fish far out, they heard as they rowed a sweet and strong and living tune that ran above the sea, and feathering their oars they listened immovable.
-it was that same port of whitehaven where the morholt lay, and their lady was iseult the fair.
-she alone, being skilled in philtres, could save tristan, but she alone wished him dead. when tristan knew himself again (for her art restored him) he knew himself to be in the land of peril. but he was yet strong to hold his own and found good crafty words. he told a tale of how he was a seer that had taken passage on a merchant ship and sailed to spain to learn the art of reading all the stars,—of how pirates had boarded the ship and of how, though wounded, he had fled into that boat. he was believed, nor did any of the morholt’s men know his face again, so hardly had the poison used it. but when, after forty days, iseult of the golden hair had all but healed him, when already his limbs had recovered and the grace of youth returned, he knew that he must escape, and he fled and after many dangers he came again before mark the king.
-the quest of the lady with the hair of gold
-my lords, there were in the court of king mark four barons the basest of men, who hated tristan with a hard hate, for his greatness and for the tender love the king bore him. and well i know their names: andret, guenelon, gondoïne and denoalen. they knew that the king had intent to grow old childless and to leave his land to tristan; and their envy swelled and by lies they angered the chief men of cornwall against tristan. they said:
-“there have been too many marvels in this man’s life. it was marvel enough that he beat the morholt, but by what sorcery did he try the sea alone at the point of death, or which of us, my lords, could voyage without mast or sail? they say that warlocks can. it was sure a warlock feat, and that is a warlock harp of his pours poison daily into the king’s heart. see how he has bent that heart by power and chain of sorcery! he will be king yet, my lords, and you will hold your lands of a wizard.”
-they brought over the greater part of the barons and these pressed king mark to take to wife some king’s daughter who should give him an heir, or else they threatened to return each man into his keep and wage him war. but the king turned against them and swore in his heart that so long as his dear nephew lived no king’s daughter should come to his bed. then in his turn did tristan (in his shame to be thought to serve for hire) threaten that if the king did not yield to his barons, he would himself go over sea serve some great king. at this, king mark made a term with his barons and gave them forty days to hear his decision.
-on the appointed day he waited alone in his chamber and sadly mused: “where shall i find a king’s daughter so fair and yet so distant that i may feign to wish her my wife?”
-just then by his window that looked upon the sea two building swallows came in quarrelling together. then, startled, they flew out, but had let fall from their beaks a woman’s hair, long and fine, and shining like a beam of light.
-king mark took it, and called his barons and tristan and said:
-“to please you, lords, i will take a wife; but you must seek her whom i have chosen.”
-“fair lord, we wish it all,” they said, “and who may she be?”
-“why,” said he, “she whose hair this is; nor will i take another.”
-“and whence, lord king, comes this hair of gold; who brought it and from what land?”
-“it comes, my lords, from the lady with the hair of gold, the swallows brought it me. they know from what country it came.”
-then the barons saw themselves mocked and cheated, and they turned with sneers to tristan, for they thought him to have counselled the trick. but tristan, when he had looked on the hair of gold, remembered iseult the fair and smiled and said this:
-“king mark, can you not see that the doubts of these lords shame me? you have designed in vain. i will go seek the lady with the hair of gold. the search is perilous: never the less, my uncle, i would once more put my body and my life into peril for you; and that your barons may know i love you loyally, i take this oath, to die on the adventure or to bring back to this castle of tintagel the queen with that fair hair.”
-he fitted out a great ship and loaded it with corn and wine, with honey and all manner of good things; he manned it with gorvenal and a hundred young knights of high birth, chosen among the bravest, and he clothed them in coats of home-spun and in hair cloth so that they seemed merchants only: but under the deck he hid rich cloth of gold and scarlet as for a great king’s messengers.
-when the ship had taken the sea the helmsman asked him:
-“lord, to what land shall i steer?”
-“sir,” said he, “steer for ireland, straight for whitehaven harbour.”
-at first tristan made believe to the men of whitehaven that his friends were merchants of england come peacefully to barter; but as these strange merchants passed the day in the useless games of draughts and chess, and seemed to know dice better than the bargain price of corn, tristan feared discovery and knew not how to pursue his quest.
-now it chanced once upon the break of day that he heard a cry so terrible that one would have called it a demon’s cry; nor had he ever heard a brute bellow in such wise, so awful and strange it seemed. he called a woman who passed by the harbour, and said:
-“tell me, lady, whence comes that voice i have heard, and hide me nothing.”
-“my lord,” said she, “i will tell you truly. it is the roar of a dragon the most terrible and dauntless upon earth. daily it leaves its den and stands at one of the gates of the city: nor can any come out or go in till a maiden has been given up to it; and when it has her in its claws it devours her.”
-“lady,” said tristan, “make no mock of me, but tell me straight: can a man born of woman kill this thing?”
-“fair sir, and gentle,” she said, “i cannot say; but this is sure: twenty knights and tried have run the venture, because the king of ireland has published it that he will give his daughter, iseult the fair, to whomsoever shall kill the beast; but it has devoured them all.”
-tristan left the woman and returning to his ship armed himself in secret, and it was a fine sight to see so noble a charger and so good a knight come out from such a merchant-hull: but the haven was empty of folk, for the dawn had barely broken and none saw him as he rode to the gate. and hardly had he passed it, when he met suddenly five men at full gallop flying towards the town. tristan seized one by his hair, as he passed, and dragged him over his mount’s crupper and held him fast:
-“god save you, my lord,” said he, “and whence does the dragon come?” and when the other had shown him by what road, he let him go.
-as the monster neared, he showed the head of a bear and red eyes like coals of fire and hairy tufted ears; lion’s claws, a serpent’s tail, and a griffin’s body.
-tristan charged his horse at him so strongly that, though the beast’s mane stood with fright yet he drove at the dragon: his lance struck its scales and shivered. then tristan drew his sword and struck at the dragon’s head, but he did not so much as cut the hide. the beast felt the blow: with its claws he dragged at the shield and broke it from the arm; then, his breast unshielded, tristan used the sword again and struck so strongly that the air rang all round about: but in vain, for he could not wound and meanwhile the dragon vomited from his nostrils two streams of loath-some flames, and tristan’s helm blackened like a cinder and his horse stumbled and fell down and died; but tristan standing on his feet thrust his sword right into the beast’s jaws, and split its heart in two.
-then he cut out the tongue and put it into his hose, but as the poison came against his flesh the hero fainted and fell in the high grass that bordered the marsh around.
-now the man he had stopped in flight was the seneschal of ireland and he desired iseult the fair: and though he was a coward, he had dared so far as to return with his companions secretly, and he found the dragon dead; so he cut off its head and bore it to the king, and claimed the great reward.
-the king could credit his prowess but hardly, yet wished justice done and summoned his vassals to court, so that there, before the barony assembled, the seneschal should furnish proof of his victory won.
-when iseult the fair heard that she was to be given to this coward first she laughed long, and then she wailed. but on the morrow, doubting some trick, she took with her perinis her squire and brangien her maid, and all three rode unbeknownst towards the dragon’s lair: and iseult saw such a trail on the road as made her wonder—for the hoofs that made it had never been shod in her land. then she came on the dragon, headless, and a dead horse beside him: nor was the horse harnessed in the fashion of ireland. some foreign man had slain the beast, but they knew not whether he still lived or no.
-they sought him long, iseult and perinis and brangien together, till at last brangien saw the helm glittering in the marshy grass: and tristan still breathed. perinis put him on his horse and bore him secretly to the women’s rooms. there iseult told her mother the tale and left the hero with her, and as the queen unharnessed him, the dragon’s tongue fell from his boot of steel. then, the queen of ireland revived him by the virtue of an herb and said:
-“stranger, i know you for the true slayer of the dragon: but our seneschal, a felon, cut off its head and claims my daughter iseult for his wage; will you be ready two days hence to give him the lie in battle?”
-“queen,” said he, “the time is short, but you, i think, can cure me in two days. upon the dragon i conquered iseult, and on the seneschal perhaps i shall reconquer her.”
-then the queen brewed him strong brews, and on the morrow iseult the fair got him ready a bath and anointed him with a balm her mother had conjured, and as he looked at her he thought, “so i have found the queen of the hair of gold,” and he smiled as he thought it. but iseult, noting it, thought, “why does he smile, or what have i neglected of the things due to a guest? he smiles to think i have for— gotten to burnish his armour.”
-she went and drew the sword from its rich sheath, but when she saw the splinter gone and the gap in the edge she thought of the morholt’s head. she balanced a moment in doubt, then she went to where she kept the steel she had found in the skull and she put it to the sword, and it fitted so that the join was hardly seen.
-she ran to where tristan lay wounded, and with the sword above him she cried:
-“you are that tristan of the lyonesse, who killed the morholt, my mother’s brother, and now you shall die in your turn.”
-tristan strained to ward the blow, but he was too weak; his wit, however, stood firm in spite of evil and he said:
-“so be it, let me die: but to save yourself long memories, listen awhile. king’s daughter, my life is not only in your power but is yours of right. my life is yours because you have twice returned it me. once, long ago: for i was the wounded harper whom you healed of the poison of the morholt’s shaft. nor repent the healing: were not these wounds had in fair fight? did i kill the morholt by treason? had he not defied me and was i not held to the defence of my body? and now this second time also you have saved me. it was for you i fought the beast.
-“but let us leave these things. i would but show you how my life is your own. then if you kill me of right for the glory of it, you may ponder for long years, praising yourself that you killed a wounded guest who had wagered his life in your gaining.”
-iseult replied: “i hear strange words. why should he that killed the morholt seek me also, his niece? doubtless because the morholt came for a tribute of maidens from cornwall, so you came to boast returning that you had brought back the maiden who was nearest to him, to cornwall, a slave.”
-“king’s daughter,” said tristan, “no. … one day two swallows flew, and flew to tintagel and bore one hair out of all your hairs of gold, and i thought they brought me good will and peace, so i came to find you over-seas. see here, amid the threads of gold upon my coat your hair is sown: the threads are tarnished, but your bright hair still shines.”
-iseult put down the sword and taking up the coat of arms she saw upon it the hair of gold and was silent a long space, till she kissed him on the lips to prove peace, and she put rich garments over him.
-on the day of the barons’ assembly, tristan sent perinis privily to his ship to summon his companions that they should come to court adorned as befitted the envoys of a great king.
-one by one the hundred knights passed into the hall where all the barons of ireland stood, they entered in silence and sat all in rank together: on their scarlet and purple the gems gleamed.
-when the king had taken his throne, the seneschal arose to prove by witness and by arms that he had slain the dragon and that so iseult was won. then iseult bowed to her father and said:
-“king, i have here a man who challenges your seneschal for lies and felony. promise that you will pardon this man all his past deeds, who stands to prove that he and none other slew the dragon, and grant him forgiveness and your peace.”
-the king said, “i grant it.” but iseult said, “father, first give me the kiss of peace and forgiveness, as a sign that you will give him the same.”
-then she found tristan and led him before the barony. and as he came the hundred knights rose all together, and crossed their arms upon their breasts and bowed, so the irish knew that he was their lord.
-but among the irish many knew him again and cried, “tristan of lyonesse that slew the morholt!” they drew their swords and clamoured for death. but iseult cried: “king, kiss this man upon the lips as your oath was,” and the king kissed him, and the clamour fell.
-then tristan showed the dragon’s tongue and offered the seneschal battle, but the seneschal looked at his face and dared not.
-then tristan said:
-“my lords, you have said it, and it is truth: i killed the morholt. but i crossed the sea to offer you a good blood-fine, to ransom that deed and get me quit of it.
-“but that these lands of cornwall and ireland may know no more hatred, but love only, learn that king mark, my lord, will marry her. here stand a hundred knights of high name, who all will swear with an oath upon the relics of the holy saints, that king mark sends you by their embassy offer of peace and of brotherhood and goodwill; and that he would by your courtesy hold iseult as his honoured wife, and that he would have all the men of cornwall serve her as their queen.”
-when the lords of ireland heard this they acclaimed it, and the king also was content.
-then, since that treaty and alliance was to be made, the king her father took iseult by the hand and asked of tristan that he should take an oath; to wit that he would lead her loyally to his lord, and tristan took that oath and swore it before the knights and the barony of ireland assembled. then the king put iseult’s right hand into tristan’s right hand, and tristan held it for a space in token of seizin for the king of cornwall.
-so, for the love of king mark, did tristan conquer the queen of the hair of gold.
-when the day of iseult’s livery to the lords of cornwall drew near, her mother gathered herbs and flowers and roots and steeped them in wine, and brewed a potion of might, and having done so, said apart to brangien:
-“child, it is yours to go with iseult to king mark’s country, for you love her with a faithful love. take then this pitcher and remember well my words. hide it so that no eye shall see nor no lip go near it: but when the wedding night has come and that moment in which the wedded are left alone, pour this essenced wine into a cup and offer it to king mark and to iseult his queen. oh! take all care, my child, that they alone shall taste this brew. for this is its power: they who drink of it together love each other with their every single sense and with their every thought, forever, in life and in death.”
-and brangien promised the queen that she would do her bidding.
-on the bark that bore her to tintagel iseult the fair was weeping as she remembered her own land, and mourning swelled her heart, and she said, “who am i that i should leave you to follow unknown men, my mother and my land? accursed be the sea that bears me, for rather would i lie dead on the earth where i was born than live out there, beyond. …
-one day when the wind had fallen and the sails hung slack tristan dropped anchor by an island and the hundred knights of cornwall and the sailors, weary of the sea, landed all. iseult alone remained aboard and a little serving maid, when tristan came near the queen to calm her sorrow. the sun was hot above them and they were athirst and, as they called, the little maid looked about for drink for them and found that pitcher which the mother of iseult had given into brangien’s keeping. and when she came on it, the child cried, “i have found you wine!” now she had found not wine — but passion and joy most sharp, and anguish without end, and death.
-the queen drank deep of that draught and gave it to tristan and he drank also long and emptied it all.
-brangien came in upon them; she saw them gazing at each other in silence as though ravished and apart; she saw before them the pitcher standing there; she snatched it up and cast it into the shuddering sea and cried aloud: “cursed be the day i was born and cursed the day that first i trod this deck. iseult, my friend, and tristan, you, you have drunk death together.”
-and once more the bark ran free for tintagel. but it seemed to tristan as though an ardent briar, sharp-thorned but with flower most sweet smelling, drave roots into his blood and laced the lovely body of iseult all round about it and bound it to his own and to his every thought and desire. and he thought, “felons, that charged me with coveting king mark’s land, i have come lower by far, for it is not his land i covet. fair uncle, who loved me orphaned ere ever you knew in me the blood of your sister blanchefleur, you that wept as you bore me to that boat alone, why did you not drive out the boy that was to betray you? ah! what thought was that! iseult is yours and i am but your vassal; iseult is yours and i am your son; iseult is yours and may not love me.”
-but iseult loved him, though she would have hated. she could not hate, for a tenderness more sharp than hatred tore her.
-and brangien watched them in anguish, suffering more cruelly because she alone knew the depth of evil done.
-two days she watched them, seeing them refuse all food or comfort and seeking each other as blind men seek, wretched apart and together more wretched still, for then they trembled each for the first avowal.
-on the third day, as tristan neared the tent on deck where iseult sat, she saw him coming and she said to him, very humbly, “come in, my lord.”
-“queen,” said tristan, “why do you call me lord? am i not your liege and vassal, to revere and serve and cherish you as my lady and queen?”
-but iseult answered, “no, you know that you are my lord and my master, and i your slave. ah, why did i not sharpen those wounds of the wounded singer, or let die that dragon-slayer in the grasses of the marsh? but then i did not know what now i know!”
-“and what is it that you know, iseult?”
-she laid her arm upon tristan’s shoulder, the light of her eyes was drowned and her lips trembled.
-“the love of you,” she said. whereat he put his lips to hers.
-but as they thus tasted their first joy, brangien, that watched them, stretched her arms and cried at their feet in tears:
-“stay and return if still you can … but oh! that path has no returning. for already love and his strength drag you on and now henceforth forever never shall you know joy without pain again. the wine possesses you, the draught your mother gave me, the draught the king alone should have drunk with you: but that old enemy has tricked us, all us three; friend tristan, iseult my friend, for that bad ward i kept take here my body and my life, for through me and in that cup you have drunk not love alone, but love and death together.”
-the lovers held each other; life and desire trembled through their youth, and tristan said, “well then, come death.”
-and as evening fell, upon the bark that heeled and ran to king mark’s land, they gave themselves up utterly to love.
-the tall pine-tree
-as king mark came down to greet iseult upon the shore, tristan took her hand and led her to the king and the king took seizin of her, taking her hand. he led her in great pomp to his castle of tintagel, and as she came in hall amid the vassals her beauty shone so that the walls were lit as they are lit at dawn. then king mark blessed those swallows which, by happy courtesy, had brought the hair of gold, and tristan also he blessed, and the hundred knights who, on that adventurous bark, had gone to find him joy of heart and of eyes; yet to him also that ship was to bring sting, torment and mourning.
-and on the eighteenth day, having called his barony together he took iseult to wife. but on the wedding night, to save her friend, brangien took her place in the darkness, for her remorse demanded even this from her; nor was the trick discovered.
-then iseult lived as a queen, but lived in sadness. she had king mark’s tenderness and the barons’ honour; the people also loved her; she passed her days amid the frescoes on the walls and floors all strewn with flowers; good jewels had she and purple cloth and tapestry of hungary and thessaly too, and songs of harpers, and curtains upon which were worked leopards and eagles and popinjays and all the beasts of sea and field. and her love too she had, love high and splendid, for as is the custom among great lords, tristan could ever be near her. at his leisure and his dalliance, night and day: for he slept in the king’s chamber as great lords do, among the lieges and the councillors. yet still she feared; for though her love were secret and tristan unsuspected (for who suspects a son?) brangien knew. and brangien seemed in the queen’s mind like a witness spying; for brangien alone knew what manner of life she led, and held her at mercy so. and the queen thought ah, if some day she should weary of serving as a slave the bed where once she passed for queen … if tristan should die from her betrayal! so fear maddened the queen, but not in truth the fear of brangien who was loyal; her own heart bred the fear.
-not brangien who was faithful, not brangien, but themselves had these lovers to fear, for hearts so stricken will lose their vigilance. love pressed them hard, as thirst presses the dying stag to the stream; love dropped upon them from high heaven, as a hawk slipped after long hunger falls right upon the bird. and love will not be hidden. brangien indeed by her prudence saved them well, nor ever were the queen and her lover unguarded. but in every hour and place every man could see love terrible, that rode them, and could see in these lovers their every sense overflowing like new wine working in the vat.
-the four felons at court who had hated tristan of old for his prowess, watched the queen; they had guessed that great love, and they burnt with envy and hatred and now a kind of evil joy. they planned to give news of their watching to the king, to see his tenderness turned to fury, tristan thrust out or slain, and the queen in torment; for though they feared tristan their hatred mastered their fear; and, on a day, the four barons called king mark to parley, and andret said:
-“fair king, your heart will be troubled and we four also mourn; yet are we bound to tell you what we know. you have placed your trust in tristan and tristan would shame you. in vain we warned you. for the love of one man you have mocked ties of blood and all your barony. learn then that tristan loves the queen; it is truth proved and many a word is passing on it now.”
-the royal king shrank and answered:
-“coward! what thought was that? indeed i have placed my trust in tristan. and rightly, for on the day when the morholt offered combat to you all, you hung your heads and were dumb, and you trembled before him; but tristan dared him for the honour of this land, and took mortal wounds. therefore do you hate him, and therefore do i cherish him beyond thee, andret, and beyond any other; but what then have you seen or heard or known?”
-“naught, lord, save what your eyes could see or your ears hear. look you and listen, sire, if there is yet time.”
-and they left him to taste the poison.
-then king mark watched the queen and tristan; but brangien noting it warned them both and the king watched in vain, so that, soon wearying of an ignoble task, but knowing (alas!) that he could not kill his uneasy thought, he sent for tristan and said:
-“tristan, leave this castle; and having left it, remain apart and do not think to return to it, and do not repass its moat or boundaries. felons have charged you with an awful treason, but ask me nothing; i could not speak their words without shame to us both, and for your part seek you no word to appease. i have not believed them … had i done so … but their evil words have troubled all my soul and only by your absence can my disquiet be soothed. go, doubtless i will soon recall you. go, my son, you are still dear to me.
-when the felons heard the news they said among themselves, “he is gone, the wizard; he is driven out. surely he will cross the sea on far adventures to carry his traitor service to some distant king.”
-but tristan had not strength to depart altogether; and when he had crossed the moats and boundaries of the castle he knew he could go no further. he stayed in tintagel town and lodged with gorvenal in a burgess’ house, and languished oh! more wounded than when in that past day the shaft of the morholt had tainted his body.
-in the close towers iseult the fair drooped also, but more wretched still. for it was hers all day long to feign laughter and all night long to conquer fever and despair. and all night as she lay by king mark’s side, fever still kept her waking, and she stared at darkness. she longed to fly to tristan and she dreamt dreams of running to the gates and of finding there sharp scythes, traps of the felons, that cut her tender knees; and she dreamt of weakness and falling, and that her wounds had left her blood upon the ground. now these lovers would have died, but brangien succoured them. at peril of her life she found the house where tristan lay. there gorvenal opened to her very gladly, knowing what salvation she could bring.
-so she found tristan, and to save the lovers she taught him a device, nor was ever known a more subtle ruse of love.
-behind the castle of tintagel was an orchard fenced around and wide and all closed in with stout and pointed stakes and numberless trees were there and fruit on them, birds and clusters of sweet grapes. and furthest from the castle, by the stakes of the pallisade, was a tall pine-tree, straight and with heavy branches spreading from its trunk. at its root a living spring welled calm into a marble round, then ran between two borders winding, throughout the orchard and so, on, till it flowed at last within the castle and through the women’s rooms.
-and every evening, by brangien’s counsel, tristan cut him twigs and bark, leapt the sharp stakes and, having come beneath the pine, threw them into the clear spring; they floated light as foam down the stream to the women’s rooms; and iseult watched for their coming, and on those evenings she would wander out into the orchard and find her friend. lithe and in fear would she come, watching at every step for what might lurk in the trees observing, foes or the felons whom she knew, till she spied tristan; and the night and the branches of the pine protected them.
-and so she said one night: “oh, tristan, i have heard that the castle is faëry and that twice a year it vanishes away. so is it vanished now and this is that enchanted orchard of which the harpers sing.” and as she said it, the sentinels bugled dawn.
-iseult had refound her joy. mark’s thought of ill-ease grew faint; but the felons felt or knew which way lay truth, and they guessed that tristan had met the queen. till at last duke andret (whom god shame) said to his peers:
-“my lords, let us take counsel of frocin the dwarf; for he knows the seven arts, and magic and every kind of charm. he will teach us if he will the wiles of iseult the fair.”
-the little evil man drew signs for them and characters of sorcery; he cast the fortunes of the hour and then at last he said:
-“sirs, high good lords, this night shall you seize them both.”
-then they led the little wizard to the king, and he said:
-“sire, bid your huntsmen leash the hounds and saddle the horses, proclaim a seven days’ hunt in the forest and seven nights abroad therein, and hang me high if you do not hear this night what converse tristan holds.”
-so did the king unwillingly; and at fall of night he left the hunt taking the dwarf in pillion, and entered the orchard, and the dwarf took him to the tall pine-tree, saying:
-“fair king, climb into these branches and take with you your arrows and your bow, for you may need them; and bide you still.”
-that night the moon shone clear. hid in the branches the king saw his nephew leap the pallisades and throw his bark and twigs into the stream. but tristan had bent over the round well to throw them and so doing had seen the image of the king. he could not stop the branches as they floated away, and there, yonder, in the women’s rooms, iseult was watching and would come.
-she came, and tristan watched her motionless. above him in the tree he heard the click of the arrow when it fits the string.
-she came, but with more prudence than her wont, thinking, “what has passed, that tristan does not come to meet me? he has seen some foe.”
-suddenly, by the clear moonshine, she also saw the king’s shadow in the fount. she showed the wit of women well, she did not lift her eyes.
-“lord god,” she said, low down, grant i may be the first to speak.”
-“tristan,” she said, “what have you dared to do, calling me hither at such an hour? often have you called me —to beseech, you said. and queen though i am, i know you won me that title—and i have come. what would you?”
-“queen, i would have you pray the king for me.”
-she was in tears and trembling, but tristan praised god the lord who had shown his friend her peril.
-“queen,” he went on, “often and in vain have i summoned you; never would you come. take pity; the king hates me and i know not why. perhaps you know the cause and can charm his anger. for whom can he trust if not you, chaste queen and courteous, iseult?”
-“truly, lord tristan, you do not know he doubts us both. and i, to add to my shame, must acquaint you of it. ah! but god knows if i lie, never went cut my love to any man but he that first received me. and would you have me, at such a time, implore your pardon of the king? why, did he know of my passage here to-night he would cast my ashes to the wind. my body trembles and i am afraid. i go, for i have waited too long.”
-in the branches the king smiled and had pity.
-and as iseult fled: “queen,” said tristan, “in the lord’s name help me, for charity.”
-“friend,” she replied, “god aid you! the king wrongs you but the lord god will be by you in whatever land you go.”
-so she went back to the women’s rooms and told it to brangien, who cried: “iseult, god has worked a miracle for you, for he is compassionate and will not hurt the innocent in heart.”
-and when he had left the orchard, the king said smiling:
-“fair nephew, that ride you planned is over now.”
-but in an open glade apart, frocin, the dwarf, read in the clear stars that the king now meant his death; he blackened with shame and fear and fled into wales.
-king mark made peace with tristan. tristan returned to the castle as of old. tristan slept in the king’s chamber with his peers. he could come or go, the king thought no more of it.
-mark had pardoned the felons, and as the seneschal, dinas of lidan, found the dwarf wandering in a forest abandoned, he brought him home, and the king had pity and pardoned even him.
-but his goodness did but feed the ire of the barons, who swore this oath: if the king kept tristan in the land they would withdraw to their strongholds as for war, and they called the king to parley.
-“lord,” said they, “drive you tristan forth. he loves the queen as all who choose can see, but as for us we will bear it no longer.”
-and the king sighed, looking down in silence.
-“ king,” they went on, “we will not bear it, for we know now that this is known to you and that yet you will not move. parley you, and take counsel. as for us if you will not exile this man, your nephew, and drive him forth out of your land forever, we will withdraw within our bailiwicks and take our neighbours also from your court: for we cannot endure his presence longer in this place. such is your balance: choose.”
-“my lords,” said he, “once i hearkened to the evil words you spoke of tristan, yet was i wrong in the end. but you are my lieges and i would not lose the service of my men. counsel me therefore, i charge you, you that owe me counsel. you know me for a man neither proud nor overstepping.”
-“lord,” said they, “call then frocin hither. you mistrust him for that orchard night. still, was it not he that read in the stars of the queen’s coming there and to the very pine-tree too? he is very wise, take counsel of him.”
-and he came, did that hunchback of hell: the felons greeted him and he planned this evil.
-and when king mark had agreed, this dwarf did a vile thing. he bought of a baker four farthings’ worth of flour, and hid it in the turn of his coat. that night, when the king had supped and the men-at-arms lay down to sleep in hall, tristan came to the king as custom was, and the king said:
-“fair nephew, do my will: ride to-morrow night to king arthur at carduel, and give him this brief, with my greeting, that he may open it: and stay you with him but one day.”
-and when tristan said: “i will take it on the morrow;”
-the king added: “aye, and before day dawn.”
-but, as the peers slept all round the king their lord, that night, a mad thought took tristan that, before he rode, he knew not for how long, before dawn he would say a last word to the queen. and there was a spear length in the darkness between them. now the dwarf slept with the rest in the king’s chamber, and when he thought that all slept he rose and scattered the flour silently in the spear length that lay between tristan and the queen; but tristan watched and saw him, and said to himself:
-“it is to mark my footsteps, but there shall be no marks to show.”
-at midnight, when all was dark in the room, no candle nor any lamp glimmering, the king went out silently by the door and with him the dwarf. then tristan rose in the darkness and judged the spear length and leapt the space between, for his farewell. but that day in the hunt a boar had wounded him in the leg, and in this effort the wound bled. he did not feel it or see it in the darkness, but the blood dripped upon the couches and the flour strewn between; and outside in the moonlight the dwarf read the heavens and knew what had been done and he cried:
-“enter, my king, and if you do not hold them, hang me high.”
-then the king and the dwarf and the four felons ran in with lights and noise, and though tristan had regained his place there was the blood for witness, and though iseult feigned sleep, and perinis too, who lay at tristan’s feet, yet there was the blood for witness. and the king looked in silence at the blood where it lay upon the bed and the boards and trampled into the flour.
-and the four barons held tristan down upon his bed and mocked the queen also, promising her full justice; and they bared and showed the wound whence the blood flowed.
-then the king said:
-“tristan, now nothing longer holds. to-morrow you shall die.”
-and tristan answered:
-“have mercy, lord, in the name of god that suffered the cross!”
-but the felons called on the king to take vengeance, saying:
-“do justice, king: take vengeance.”
-and tristan went on, “have mercy, not on me—for why should i stand at dying?—truly, but for you, i would have sold my honour high to cowards who, under your peace, have put hands on my body—but in homage to you i have yielded and you may do with me what you will. but, lord, remember the queen!”
-and as he knelt at the king’s feet he still complained:
-“remember the queen; for if any man of your household make so bold as to maintain the lie that i loved her unlawfully i will stand up armed to him in a ring. sire, in the name of god the lord, have mercy on her.”
-then the barons bound him with ropes, and the queen also. but had tristan known that trial by combat was to be denied him, certainly he would not have suffered it.
-for he trusted in god and knew no man dared draw sword against him in the lists. and truly he did well to trust in god, for though the felons mocked him when he said he had loved loyally, yet i call you to witness, my lords who read this, and who know of the philtre drunk upon the high seas, and who, understand whether his love were disloyalty indeed. for men see this and that outward thing, but god alone the heart, and in the heart alone is crime and the sole final judge is god. therefore did he lay down the law that a man accused might uphold his cause by battle, and god himself fights for the innocent in such a combat.
-therefore did tristan claim justice and the right of battle and therefore was he careful to fail in nothing of the homage he owed king mark, his lord.
-but had he known what was coming, he would have killed the felons.
-the chantry leap
-dark was the night, and the news ran that tristan and the queen were held and that the king would kill them; and wealthy burgess, or common man, they wept and ran to the palace.
-and the murmurs and the cries ran through the city, but such was the king’s anger in his castle above that not the strongest nor the proudest baron dared move him.
-night ended and the day drew near. mark, before dawn, rode out to the place where he held pleas and judgment. he ordered a ditch to be dug in the earth and knotty vine-shoots and thorns to be laid therein.
-at the hour of prime he had a ban cried through his land to gather the men of cornwall; they came with a great noise and the king spoke them thus:
-“my lords, i have made here a faggot of thorns for tristan and the queen; for they have fallen.”
-but they cried all, with tears:
-“a sentence, lord, a sentence; an indictment and pleas; for killing without trial is shame and crime.”
-but mark answered in his anger:
-“neither respite, nor delay, nor pleas, nor sentence. by god that made the world, if any dare petition me, he shall burn first!”
-he ordered the fire to be lit, and tristan to be called.
-the flames rose, and all were silent before the flames, and the king waited.
-the servants ran to the room where watch was kept on the two lovers; and they dragged tristan out by his hands though he wept for his honour; but as they dragged him off in such a shame, the queen still called to him:
-“friend, if i die that you may live, that will be great joy.”
-now, hear how full of pity is god and how he heard the lament and the prayers of the common folk, that day.
-for as tristan and his guards went down from the town to where the faggot burned, near the road upon a rock was a chantry, it stood at a cliff’s edge steep and sheer, and it turned to the sea-breeze; in the apse of it were windows glazed. then tristan said to those with him:
-“my lords, let me enter this chantry, to pray for a moment the mercy of god whom i have offended; my death is near. there is but one door to the place, my lords, and each of you has his sword drawn. so, you may well see that, when my prayer to god is done, i must come past you again: when i have prayed god, my lords, for the last time.
-and one of the guards said: “why, let him go in.”
-so they let him enter to pray. but he, once in, dashed through and leapt the altar rail and the altar too and forced a window of the apse, and leapt again over the cliff’s edge. so might he die, but not of that shameful death before the people.
-his guards still waited for him at the chantry door, but vainly, for god was now his guard. and he ran, and the fine sand crunched under his feet, and far off he saw the faggot burning, and the smoke and the crackling flames; and fled.
-sword girt and bridle loose, gorvenal had fled the city, lest the king burn him in his master’s place: and he found tristan on the shore.
-“master,” said tristan, “god has saved me, but oh! master, to what end? for without iseult i may not and i will not live, and i rather had died of my fall. they will burn her for me, then i too will die for her.”
-“lord,” said gorvenal, “take no counsel of anger. see here this thicket with a ditch dug round about it. let us hide therein where the track passes near, and comers by it will tell us news; and, boy, if they burn iseult, i swear by god, the son of mary, never to sleep under a roof again until she be avenged.”
-there was a poor man of the common folk that had seen tristan’s fall, and had seen him stumble and rise after, and he crept to tintagel and to iseult where she was bound, and said:
-“queen, weep no more. your friend has fled safely.”
-“then i thank god,” said she, “and whether they bind or loose me, and whether they kill or spare me, i care but little now.”
-and though blood came at the cord-knots, so tightly had the traitors bound her, yet still she said, smiling:
-“did i weep for that when god has loosed my friend i should be little worth.”
-when the news came to the king that tristan had leapt that leap and was lost he paled with anger, and bade his men bring forth iseult.
-they dragged her from the room, and she came before the crowd, held by her delicate hands, from which blood dropped, and the crowd called:
-“have pity on her—the loyal queen and honoured! surely they that gave her up brought mourning on us all—our curses on them!”
-but the king’s men dragged her to the thorn faggot as it blazed. she stood up before the flame, and the crowd cried its anger, and cursed the traitors and the king. none could see her without pity, unless he had a felon’s heart: she was so tightly bound. the tears ran down her face and fell upon her grey gown where ran a little thread of gold, and a thread of gold was twined into her hair.
-just then there had come up a hundred lepers of the king’s, deformed and broken, white horribly, and limping on their crutches. and they drew near the flame, and being evil, loved the sight. and their chief ivan, the ugliest of them all, cried to the king in a quavering voice:
-“o king, you would burn this woman in that flame, and it is sound justice, but too swift, for very soon the fire will fall, and her ashes will very soon be scattered by the high wind and her agony be done. throw her rather to your lepers where she may drag out a life for ever asking death.”
-and the king answered:
-“yes; let her live that life, for it is better justice and more terrible. i can love those that gave me such a thought.”
-and the lepers answered:
-“throw her among us, and make her one of us. never shall lady have known a worse end. and look,” they said, “at our rags and our abominations. she has had pleasure in rich stuffs and furs, jewels and walls of marble, honour, good wines and joy, but when she sees your lepers always, king, and only them for ever, their couches and their huts, then indeed she will know the wrong she has done, and bitterly desire even that great flame of thorns.”
-and as the king heard them, he stood a long time without moving; then he ran to the queen and seized her by the hand, and she cried:
-“burn me! rather burn me!”
-but the king gave her up, and ivan took her, and the hundred lepers pressed around, and to hear her cries all the crowd rose in pity. but ivan had an evil gladness, and as he went he dragged her out of the borough bounds, with his hideous company.
-now they took that road where tristan lay in hiding, and gorvenal said to him:
-“son, here is your friend. will you do naught?”
-then tristan mounted the horse and spurred it out of the bush, and cried:
-“ivan, you have been at the queen’s side a moment, and too long. now leave her if you would live.”
-but ivan threw his cloak away and shouted:
-“your clubs, comrades, and your staves! crutches in the air—for a fight is on!”
-then it was fine to see the lepers throwing their capes aside, and stirring their sick legs, and brandishing their crutches, some threatening: groaning all; but to strike them tristan was too noble. there are singers who sing that tristan killed ivan, but it is a lie. too much a knight was he to kill such things. gorvenal indeed, snatching up an oak sapling, crashed it on ivan’s head till his blood ran down to his misshapen feet. then tristan took the queen.
-and as the sun fell they halted all three at the foot of a little hill: fear had wearied the queen, and she leant her head upon his body and slept.
-but in the morning, gorvenal stole from a wood man his bow and two good arrows plumed and barbed, and gave them to tristan, the great archer, and he shot him a fawn and killed it. then gorvenal gathered dry twigs, struck flint, and lit a great fire to cook the venison. and tristan cut him branches and made a hut and garnished it with leaves. and iseult slept upon the thick leaves there.
-so, in the depths of the wild wood began for the lovers that savage life which yet they loved very soon.
-part the second
-the wood of morois
-they wandered in the depths of the wild wood, restless and in haste like beasts that are hunted, nor did they often dare to return by night to the shelter of yesterday. they ate but the flesh of wild animals. their faces sank and grew white, their clothes ragged; for the briars tore them. they loved each other and they did not know that they suffered.
-one day, as they were wandering in these high woods that had never yet been felled or ordered, they came upon the hermitage of ogrin.
-the old man limped in the sunlight under a light growth of maples near his chapel: he leant upon his crutch, and cried:
-“lord tristan, hear the great oath which the cornish men have sworn. the king has published a ban in every parish: whosoever may seize you shall receive a hundred marks of gold for his guerdon, and all the barons have sworn to give you up alive or dead. do penance, tristan! god pardons the sinner who turns to repentance.”
-“and of what should i repent, ogrin, my lord? or of what crime? you that sit in judgment upon us here, do you know what cup it was we drank upon the high sea? that good, great draught inebriates us both. i would rather beg my life long and live of roots and herbs with iseult than, lacking her, be king of a wide kingdom.”
-“god aid you, lord tristan; for you have lost both this world and the next. a man that is traitor to his lord is worthy to be torn by horses and burnt upon the faggot, and wherever his ashes fall no grass shall grow and all tillage is waste, and the trees and the green things die. lord tristan, give back the queen to the man who espoused her lawfully according to the laws of rome.”
-“he gave her to his lepers. from these lepers i myself conquered her with my own hand; and henceforth she is altogether mine. she cannot pass from me nor i from her.”
-ogrin sat down; but at his feet iseult, her head upon the knees of that man of god, wept silently. the hermit told her and re-told her the words of his holy book, but still while she wept she shook her head, and refused the faith he offered.
-“ah me,” said ogrin then, “what comfort can one give the dead? do penance, tristan, for a man who lives in sin without repenting is a man quite dead.”
-“oh no,” said tristan, “i live and i do no penance. we will go back into the high wood which comforts and wards us all round about. come with me, iseult, my friend.”
-iseult rose up; they held each other’s hands. they passed into the high grass and the underwood: the trees hid them with their branches. they disappeared beyond the leaves.
-the summer passed and the winter came: the two lovers lived, all hidden in the hollow of a rock, and on the frozen earth the cold crisped their couch with dead leaves. in the strength of their love neither one nor the other felt these mortal things. but when the open skies had come back with the springtime, they built a hut of green branches under the great trees. tristan had known, ever since his childhood, that art by which a man may sing the song of birds in the woods, and at his fancy, he would call as call the thrush, the blackbird and the nightingale, and all winged things; and sometimes in reply very many birds would come on to the branches of his hut and sing their song full-throated in the new light.
-the lovers had ceased to wander through the forest, for none of the barons ran the risk of their pursuit knowing well that tristan would have hanged them to the branches of a tree. one day, however, one of the four traitors, guenelon, whom god blast! drawn by the heat of the hunt, dared enter the morois. and that morning, on the forest edge in a ravine, gorvenal, having unsaddled his horse, had let him graze on the new grass, while far off in their hut tristan held the queen, and they slept. then suddenly gorvenal heard the cry of the pack; the hounds pursued a deer, which fell into that ravine. and far on the heath the hunter showed — and gorvenal knew him for the man whom his master hated above all. alone, with bloody spurs, and striking his horse’s mane, he galloped on; but gorvenal watched him from ambush: he came fast, he would return more slowly. he passed and gorvenal leapt from his ambush and seized the rein and, suddenly, remembering all the wrong that man had done, hewed him to death and carried off his head in his hands. and when the hunters found the body, as they followed, they thought tristan came after and they fled in fear of death, and thereafter no man hunted in that wood. and far off, in the hut upon their couch of leaves, slept tristan and the queen.
-there came gorvenal, noiseless, the dead man’s head in his hands that he might lift his master’s heart at his awakening. he hung it by its hair outside the hut, and the leaves garlanded it about. tristan woke and saw it, half hidden in the leaves, and staring at him as he gazed, and he became afraid. but gorvenal said: “fear not, he is dead. i killed him with this sword.”
-then tristan was glad, and henceforward from that day no one dared enter the wild wood, for terror guarded it and the lovers were lords of it all: and then it was that tristan fashioned his bow “failnaught” which struck home always, man or beast, whatever it aimed at.
-my lords, upon a summer day, when mowing is, a little after whitsuntide, as the birds sang dawn tristan left his hut and girt his sword on him, and took his bow “failnaught” and went off to hunt in the wood; but before evening, great evil was to fall on him, for no lovers ever loved so much or paid their love so dear.
-when tristan came back, broken by the heat, the queen said
-“friend, where have you been?”
-so she lay down, and he, and between them tristan put his naked sword, and on the queen’s finger was that ring of gold with emeralds set therein, which mark had given her on her bridal day; but her hand was so wasted that the ring hardly held. and no wind blew, and no leaves stirred, but through a crevice in the branches a sunbeam fell upon the face of iseult and it shone white like ice. now a woodman found in the wood a place where the leaves were crushed, where the lovers had halted and slept, and he followed their track and found the hut, and saw them sleeping and fled off, fearing the terrible awakening of that lord. he fled to tintagel, and going up the stairs of the palace, found the king as he held his pleas in hall amid the vassals assembled.
-“friend,” said the king, “what came you hither to seek in haste and breathless, like a huntsman that has followed the dogs afoot? have you some wrong to right, or has any man driven you?”
-but the woodman took him aside and said low down:
-“i have seen the queen and tristan, and i feared and fled.”
-“where saw you them?”
-“in a hut in morois, they slept side by side. come swiftly and take your vengeance.”
-“go,” said the king, “and await me at the forest edge where the red cross stands, and tell no man what you have seen. you shall have gold and silver at your will.”
-the king had saddled his horse and girt his sword and left the city alone, and as he rode alone he minded him of the night when he had seen tristan under the great pine-tree, and iseult with her clear face, and he thought:
-“if i find them i will avenge this awful wrong.”
-at the foot of the red cross he came to the woodman and said:
-“go first, and lead me straight and quickly.”
-the dark shade of the great trees wrapt them round, and as the king followed the spy he felt his sword, and trusted it for the great blows it had struck of old; and surely had tristan wakened, one of the two had stayed there dead. then the woodman said:
-“king, we are near.”
-he held the stirrup, and tied the rein to a green apple-tree, and saw in a sunlit glade the hut with its flowers and leaves. then the king cast his cloak with its fine buckle of gold and drew his sword from its sheath and said again in his heart that they or he should die. and he signed to the woodman to be gone.
-he came alone into the hut, sword bare, and watched them as they lay: but he saw that they were apart, and he wondered because between them was the naked blade.
-then he said to himself: “my god, i may not kill them. for all the time they have lived together in this wood, these two lovers, yet is the sword here between them, and throughout christendom men know that sign. therefore i will not slay, for that would be treason and wrong, but i will do so that when they wake they may know that i found them here, asleep, and spared them and that god had pity on them both.”
-and still the sunbeam fell upon the white face of iseult, and the king took his ermined gloves and put them up against the crevice whence it shone.
-then in her sleep a vision came to iseult. she seemed to be in a great wood and two lions near her fought for her, and she gave a cry and woke, and the gloves fell upon her breast; and at the cry tristan woke, and made to seize his sword, and saw by the golden hilt that it was the king’s. and the queen saw on her finger the king’s ring, and she cried:
-“o, my lord, the king has found us here!”
-and tristan said:
-“he has taken my sword; he was alone, but he will return, and will burn us before the people. let us fly.”
-so by great marches with gorvenal alone they fled towards wales.
-ogrin the hermit
-after three days it happened that tristan, in following a wounded deer far out into the wood, was caught by night-fall, and took to thinking thus under the dark wood alone:
-this super-excellent guest rarely left the hotel. her habits were consonant with the customs of the discriminating patrons of the hotel lotus. to enjoy that delectable hostelry one must forego the city as though it were leagues away. by night a brief excursion to the nearby roofs is in order; but during the torrid day one remains in the umbrageous fastnesses of the lotus as a trout hangs poised in the pellucid sanctuaries of his favorite pool.
-though alone in the hotel lotus, madame beaumont preserved the state of a queen whose loneliness was of position only. she breakfasted at ten, a cool, sweet, leisurely, delicate being who glowed softly in the dimness like a jasmine flower in the dusk.
-but at dinner was madame's glory at its height. she wore a gown as beautiful and immaterial as the mist from an unseen cataract in a mountain gorge. the nomenclature of this gown is beyond the guess of the scribe. always pale-red roses reposed against its lace-garnished front. it was a gown that the head-waiter viewed with respect and met at the door. you thought of paris when you saw it, and maybe of mysterious countesses, and certainly of versailles and rapiers and mrs. fiske and rouge-et-noir. there was an untraceable rumor in the hotel lotus that madame was a cosmopolite, and that she was pulling with her slender white hands certain strings between the nations in the favor of russia. being a citizeness of the world's smoothest roads it was small wonder that she was quick to recognize in the refined purlieus of the hotel lotus the most desirable spot in america for a restful sojourn during the heat of mid-summer.
-on the third day of madame beaumont's residence in the hotel a young man entered and registered himself as a guest. his clothing--to speak of his points in approved order--was quietly in the mode; his features good and regular; his expression that of a poised and sophisticated man of the world. he informed the clerk that he would remain three or four days, inquired concerning the sailing of european steamships, and sank into the blissful inanition of the nonpareil hotel with the contented air of a traveller in his favorite inn.
-the young man--not to question the veracity of the register--was harold farrington. he drifted into the exclusive and calm current of life in the lotus so tactfully and silently that not a ripple alarmed his fellow-seekers after rest. he ate in the lotus and of its patronym, and was lulled into blissful peace with the other fortunate mariners. in one day he acquired his table and his waiter and the fear lest the panting chasers after repose that kept broadway warm should pounce upon and destroy this contiguous but covert haven.
-after dinner on the next day after the arrival of harold farrington madame beaumont dropped her handkerchief in passing out. mr. farrington recovered and returned it without the effusiveness of a seeker after acquaintance.
-perhaps there was a mystic freemasonry between the discriminating guests of the lotus. perhaps they were drawn one to another by the fact of their common good fortune in discovering the acme of summer resorts in a broadway hotel. words delicate in courtesy and tentative in departure from formality passed between the two. and, as if in the expedient atmosphere of a real summer resort, an acquaintance grew, flowered and fructified on the spot as does the mystic plant of the conjuror. for a few moments they stood on a balcony upon which the corridor ended, and tossed the feathery ball of conversation.
-"one tires of the old resorts," said madame beaumont, with a faint but sweet smile. "what is the use to fly to the mountains or the seashore to escape noise and dust when the very people that make both follow us there?"
-"even on the ocean," remarked farrington, sadly, "the philistines be upon you. the most exclusive steamers are getting to be scarcely more than ferry boats. heaven help us when the summer resorter discovers that the lotus is further away from broadway than thousand islands or mackinac."
-"i hope our secret will be safe for a week, anyhow," said madame, with a sigh and a smile. "i do not know where i would go if they should descend upon the dear lotus. i know of but one place so delightful in summer, and that is the castle of count polinski, in the ural mountains."
-"i hear that baden-baden and cannes are almost deserted this season," said farrington. "year by year the old resorts fall in disrepute. perhaps many others, like ourselves, are seeking out the quiet nooks that are overlooked by the majority."
-"i promise myself three days more of this delicious rest," said madame beaumont. "on monday the cedric sails."
-harold farrington's eyes proclaimed his regret. "i too must leave on monday," he said, "but i do not go abroad."
-madame beaumont shrugged one round shoulder in a foreign gesture.
-"one cannot hide here forever, charming though it may be. the château has been in preparation for me longer than a month. those house parties that one must give--what a nuisance! but i shall never forget my week in the hotel lotus."
-"nor shall i," said farrington in a low voice, "and i shall never forgive the cedric."
-madame beaumont wore the same beautiful evening gown that she had worn each day at dinner. she seemed thoughtful. near her hand on the table lay a small chatelaine purse. after she had eaten her ice she opened the purse and took out a one-dollar bill.
-"mr. farrington," she said, with the smile that had won the hotel lotus, "i want to tell you something. i'm going to leave before breakfast in the morning, because i've got to go back to my work. i'm behind the hosiery counter at casey's mammoth store, and my vacation's up at eight o'clock to-morrow. that paper-dollar is the last cent i'll see till i draw my eight dollars salary next saturday night. you're a real gentleman, and you've been good to me, and i wanted to tell you before i went.
-"i've been saving up out of my wages for a year just for this vacation. i wanted to spend one week like a lady if i never do another one. i wanted to get up when i please instead of having to crawl out at seven every morning; and i wanted to live on the best and be waited on and ring bells for things just like rich folks do. now i've done it, and i've had the happiest time i ever expect to have in my life. i'm going back to my work and my little hall bedroom satisfied for another year. i wanted to tell you about it, mr. farrington, because i--i thought you kind of liked me, and i--i liked you. but, oh, i couldn't help deceiving you up till now, for it was all just like a fairy tale to me. so i talked about europe and the things i've read about in other countries, and made you think i was a great lady.
-"this dress i've got on--it's the only one i have that's fit to wear--i bought from o'dowd & levinsky on the instalment plan.
-"seventy-five dollars is the price, and it was made to measure. i paid $10 down, and they're to collect $1 a week till it's paid for. that'll be about all i have to say, mr. farrington, except that my name is mamie siviter instead of madame beaumont, and i thank you for your attentions. this dollar will pay the instalment due on the dress to-morrow. i guess i'll go up to my room now."
-harold farrington listened to the recital of the lotus's loveliest guest with an impassive countenance. when she had concluded he drew a small book like a checkbook from his coat pocket. he wrote upon a blank form in this with a stub of pencil, tore out the leaf, tossed it over to his companion and took up the paper dollar.
-"i've got to go to work, too, in the morning," he said, "and i might as well begin now. there's a receipt for the dollar instalment. i've been a collector for o'dowd & levinsky for three years. funny, ain't it, that you and me both had the same idea about spending our vacation? i've always wanted to put up at a swell hotel, and i saved up out of my twenty per, and did it. say, mame, how about a trip to coney saturday night on the boat--what?"
-the face of the pseudo madame héloise d'arcy beaumont beamed.
-"oh, you bet i'll go, mr. farrington. the store closes at twelve on saturdays. i guess coney'll be all right even if we did spend a week with the swells."
-below the balcony the sweltering city growled and buzzed in the july night. inside the hotel lotus the tempered, cool shadows reigned, and the solicitous waiter single-footed near the low windows, ready at a nod to serve madame and her escort.
-at the door of the elevator farrington took his leave, and madame beaumont made her last ascent. but before they reached the noiseless cage he said: "just forget that 'harold farrington,' will you?-- mcmanus is the name--james mcmanus. some call me jimmy."
-"good-night, jimmy," said madame.
-the rathskeller and the rose
-miss posie carrington had earned her success. she began life handicapped by the family name of "boggs," in the small town known as cranberry corners. at the age of eighteen she had acquired the name of "carrington" and a position in the chorus of a metropolitan burlesque company. thence upward she had ascended by the legitimate and delectable steps of "broiler," member of the famous "dickey-bird" octette, in the successful musical comedy, "fudge and fellows," leader of the potato-bug dance in "fol-de-rol," and at length to the part of the maid "'toinette" in "the king's bath-robe," which captured the critics and gave her her chance. and when we come to consider miss carrington she is in the heydey of flattery, fame and fizz; and that astute manager, herr timothy goldstein, has her signature to iron-clad papers that she will star the coming season in dyde rich's new play, "paresis by gaslight."
-promptly there came to herr timothy a capable twentieth-century young character actor by the name of highsmith, who besought engagement as "sol haytosser," the comic and chief male character part in "paresis by gaslight."
-highsmith took the train the next day for cranberry corners. he remained in that forsaken and inanimate village three days. he found the boggs family and corkscrewed their history unto the third and fourth generation. he amassed the facts and the local color of cranberry corners. the village had not grown as rapidly as had miss carrington. the actor estimated that it had suffered as few actual changes since the departure of its solitary follower of thespis as had a stage upon which "four years is supposed to have elapsed." he absorbed cranberry corners and returned to the city of chameleon changes.
-it was in the rathskeller that highsmith made the hit of his histrionic career. there is no need to name the place; there is but one rathskeller where you could hope to find miss posie carrington after a performance of "the king's bath-robe."
-there was a jolly small party at one of the tables that drew many eyes. miss carrington, petite, marvellous, bubbling, electric, fame-drunken, shall be named first. herr goldstein follows, sonorous, curly-haired, heavy, a trifle anxious, as some bear that had caught, somehow, a butterfly in his claws. next, a man condemned to a newspaper, sad, courted, armed, analyzing for press agent's dross every sentence that was poured over him, eating his à la newburg in the silence of greatness. to conclude, a youth with parted hair, a name that is ochre to red journals and gold on the back of a supper check. these sat at a table while the musicians played, while waiters moved in the mazy performance of their duties with their backs toward all who desired their service, and all was bizarre and merry because it was nine feet below the level of the sidewalk.
-at 11.45 a being entered the rathskeller. the first violin perceptibly flatted a c that should have been natural; the clarionet blew a bubble instead of a grace note; miss carrington giggled and the youth with parted hair swallowed an olive seed.
-exquisitely and irreproachably rural was the new entry. a lank, disconcerted, hesitating young man it was, flaxen-haired, gaping of mouth, awkward, stricken to misery by the lights and company. his clothing was butternut, with bright blue tie, showing four inches of bony wrist and white-socked ankle. he upset a chair, sat in another one, curled a foot around a table leg and cringed at the approach of a waiter.
-"you may fetch me a glass of lager beer," he said, in response to the discreet questioning of the servitor.
-the eyes of the rathskeller were upon him. he was as fresh as a collard and as ingenuous as a hay rake. he let his eye rove about the place as one who regards, big-eyed, hogs in the potato patch. his gaze rested at length upon miss carrington. he rose and went to her table with a lateral, shining smile and a blush of pleased trepidation.
-"how're ye, miss posie?" he said in accents not to be doubted. "don't ye remember me--bill summers--the summerses that lived back of the blacksmith shop? i reckon i've growed up some since ye left cranberry corners.
-"'liza perry 'lowed i might see ye in the city while i was here. you know 'liza married benny stanfield, and she says--"
-"ah, say!" interrupted miss carrington, brightly, "lize perry is never married--what! oh, the freckles of her!"
-"married in june," grinned the gossip, "and livin' in the old tatum place. ham riley perfessed religion; old mrs. blithers sold her place to cap'n spooner; the youngest waters girl run away with a music teacher; the court-house burned up last march; your uncle wiley was elected constable; matilda hoskins died from runnin' a needle in her hand, and tom beedle is courtin' sallie lathrop--they say he don't miss a night but what he's settin' on their porch."
-"the wall-eyed thing!" exclaimed miss carrington, with asperity. "why, tom beedle once--say, you folks, excuse me a while--this is an old friend of mine--mr.--what was it? yes, mr. summers--mr. goldstein, mr. ricketts, mr.-- oh, what's yours? 'johnny''ll do--come on over here and tell me some more."
-she swept him to an isolated table in a corner. herr goldstein shrugged his fat shoulders and beckoned to the waiter. the newspaper man brightened a little and mentioned absinthe. the youth with parted hair was plunged into melancholy. the guests of the rathskeller laughed, clinked glasses and enjoyed the comedy that posie carrington was treating them to after her regular performance. a few cynical ones whispered "press agent"' and smiled wisely.
-posie carrington laid her dimpled and desirable chin upon her hands, and forgot her audience--a faculty that had won her laurels for her.
-"i don't seem to recollect any bill summers," she said, thoughtfully gazing straight into the innocent blue eyes of the rustic young man. "but i know the summerses, all right. i guess there ain't many changes in the old town. you see any of my folks lately?"
-"miss posie," said "bill summers," "i was up to your folkeses house jist two or three days ago. no, there ain't many changes to speak of. the lilac bush by the kitchen window is over a foot higher, and the elm in the front yard died and had to be cut down. and yet it don't seem the same place that it used to be."
-"how's ma?" asked miss carrington.
-"she was settin' by the front door, crocheting a lamp-mat when i saw her last," said "bill." "she's older'n she was, miss posie. but everything in the house looked jest the same. your ma asked me to set down. 'don't touch that willow rocker, william,' says she. 'it ain't been moved since posie left; and that's the apron she was hemmin', layin' over the arm of it, jist as she flung it. i'm in hopes,' she goes on, 'that posie'll finish runnin' out that hem some day.'"
-miss carrington beckoned peremptorily to a waiter.
-"a pint of extra dry," she ordered, briefly; "and give the check to goldstein."
-"the sun was shinin' in the door," went on the chronicler from cranberry, "and your ma was settin' right in it. i asked her if she hadn't better move back a little. 'william,' says she, 'when i get sot down and lookin' down the road, i can't bear to move. never a day,' says she, 'but what i set here every minute that i can spare and watch over them palin's for posie. she went away down that road in the night, for we seen her little shoe tracks in the dust, and somethin' tells me she'll come back that way ag'in when she's weary of the world and begins to think about her old mother.'
-"when i was comin' away," concluded "bill," "i pulled this off'n the bush by the front steps. i thought maybe i might see you in the city, and i knowed you'd like somethin' from the old home."
-he took from his coat pocket a rose--a drooping, yellow, velvet, odorous rose, that hung its head in the foul atmosphere of that tainted rathskeller like a virgin bowing before the hot breath of the lions in a roman arena.
-miss carrington's penetrating but musical laugh rose above the orchestra's rendering of "bluebells."
-she thrust the yellow rose into the bosom of her wonderful, dainty, silken garments, stood up and nodded imperiously at herr goldstein.
-her three companions and "bill summers" attended her to her cab. when her flounces and streamers were all safely tucked inside she dazzled them with au revoirs from her shining eyes and teeth.
-"come around to the hotel and see me, bill, before you leave the city," she called as the glittering cab rolled away.
-highsmith, still in his make-up, went with herr goldstein to a café booth.
-"bright idea, eh?" asked the smiling actor. "ought to land 'sol haytosser' for me, don't you think? the little lady never once tumbled."
-"i didn't hear your conversation," said goldstein, "but your make-up and acting was o. k. here's to your success. you'd better call on miss carrington early to-morrow and strike her for the part. i don't see how she can keep from being satisfied with your exhibition of ability."
-at 11.45 a. m. on the next day highsmith, handsome, dressed in the latest mode, confident, with a fuchsia in his button-hole, sent up his card to miss carrington in her select apartment hotel.
-he was shown up and received by the actress's french maid.
-"i am sorree," said mlle. hortense, "but i am to say this to all. it is with great regret. mees carrington have cancelled all engagements on the stage and have returned to live in that--how you call that town? cranberry cornaire!"
-the clarion call
-half of this story can be found in the records of the police department; the other half belongs behind the business counter of a newspaper office.
-one afternoon two weeks after millionaire norcross was found in his apartment murdered by a burglar, the murderer, while strolling serenely down broadway ran plump against detective barney woods.
-"is that you, johnny kernan?" asked woods, who had been near-sighted in public for five years.
-"no less," cried kernan, heartily. "if it isn't barney woods, late and early of old saint jo! you'll have to show me! what are you doing east? do the green-goods circulars get out that far?"
-"i've been in new york some years," said woods. "i'm on the city detective force."
-"well, well!" said kernan, breathing smiling joy and patting the detective's arm.
-"come into muller's," said woods, "and let's hunt a quiet table. i'd like to talk to you awhile."
-it lacked a few minutes to the hour of four. the tides of trade were not yet loosed, and they found a quiet corner of the café. kernan, well dressed, slightly swaggering, self-confident, seated himself opposite the little detective, with his pale, sandy mustache, squinting eyes and ready-made cheviot suit.
-"what business are you in now?" asked woods. "you know you left saint jo a year before i did."
-"i'm selling shares in a copper mine," said kernan. "i may establish an office here. well, well! and so old barney is a new york detective. you always had a turn that way. you were on the police in saint jo after i left there, weren't you?"
-"six months," said woods. "and now there's one more question, johnny. i've followed your record pretty close ever since you did that hotel job in saratoga, and i never knew you to use your gun before. why did you kill norcross?"
-kernan stared for a few moments with concentrated attention at the slice of lemon in his high-ball; and then he looked at the detective with a sudden, crooked, brilliant smile.
-"how did you guess it, barney?" he asked, admiringly. "i swear i thought the job was as clean and as smooth as a peeled onion. did i leave a string hanging out anywhere?"
-woods laid upon the table a small gold pencil intended for a watch-charm.
-"it's the one i gave you the last christmas we were in saint jo. i've got your shaving mug yet. i found this under a corner of the rug in norcross's room. i warn you to be careful what you say. i've got it put on to you, johnny. we were old friends once, but i must do my duty. you'll have to go to the chair for norcross."
-"my luck stays with me," said he. "who'd have thought old barney was on my trail!" he slipped one hand inside his coat. in an instant woods had a revolver against his side.
-"i warned you not to talk," said woods.
-"oh, that's all right," said kernan. "the stuff is in my suit case at the hotel. and now i'll tell you why i'm talking. because it's safe. i'm talking to a man i know. you owe me a thousand dollars, barney woods, and even if you wanted to arrest me your hand wouldn't make the move."
-"i haven't forgotten," said woods. "you counted out twenty fifties without a word. i'll pay it back some day. that thousand saved me and--well, they were piling my furniture out on the sidewalk when i got back to the house."
-"and so," continued kernan, "you being barney woods, born as true as steel, and bound to play a white man's game, can't lift a finger to arrest the man you're indebted to. oh, i have to study men as well as yale locks and window fastenings in my business. now, keep quiet while i ring for the waiter. i've had a thirst for a year or two that worries me a little. if i'm ever caught the lucky sleuth will have to divide honors with old boy booze. but i never drink during business hours. after a job i can crook elbows with my old friend barney with a clear conscience. what are you taking?"
-the waiter came with the little decanters and the siphon and left them alone again.
-"i knew it," said kernan, raising his glass, with a flushed smile of self-appreciation. "i can judge men. here's to barney, for--'he's a jolly good fellow.'"
-"i don't believe," went on woods quietly, as if he were thinking aloud, "that if accounts had been square between you and me, all the money in all the banks in new york could have bought you out of my hands to-night."
-"i know it couldn't," said kernan. "that's why i knew i was safe with you."
-"most people," continued the detective, "look sideways at my business. they don't class it among the fine arts and the professions. but i've always taken a kind of fool pride in it. and here is where i go 'busted.' i guess i'm a man first and a detective afterward. i've got to let you go, and then i've got to resign from the force. i guess i can drive an express wagon. your thousand dollars is further off than ever, johnny."
-and then, as kernan's ready finger kept the button and the waiter working, his weak point--a tremendous vanity and arrogant egotism, began to show itself. he recounted story after story of his successful plunderings, ingenious plots and infamous transgressions until woods, with all his familiarity with evil-doers, felt growing within him a cold abhorrence toward the utterly vicious man who had once been his benefactor.
-"i'm disposed of, of course," said woods, at length. "but i advise you to keep under cover for a spell. the newspapers may take up this norcross affair. there has been an epidemic of burglaries and manslaughter in town this summer."
-the word sent kernan into a high glow of sullen and vindictive rage.
-"to h----l with the newspapers," he growled. "what do they spell but brag and blow and boodle in box-car letters? suppose they do take up a case--what does it amount to? the police are easy enough to fool; but what do the newspapers do? they send a lot of pin-head reporters around to the scene; and they make for the nearest saloon and have beer while they take photos of the bartender's oldest daughter in evening dress, to print as the fiancée of the young man in the tenth story, who thought he heard a noise below on the night of the murder. that's about as near as the newspapers ever come to running down mr. burglar."
-"well, i don't know," said woods, reflecting. "some of the papers have done good work in that line. there's the morning mars, for instance. it warmed up two or three trails, and got the man after the police had let 'em get cold."
-"i'll show you," said kernan, rising, and expanding his chest. "i'll show you what i think of newspapers in general, and your morning mars in particular."
-three feet from their table was the telephone booth. kernan went inside and sat at the instrument, leaving the door open. he found a number in the book, took down the receiver and made his demand upon central. woods sat still, looking at the sneering, cold, vigilant face waiting close to the transmitter, and listened to the words that came from the thin, truculent lips curved into a contemptuous smile.
-"that the morning mars? . . . i want to speak to the managing editor. . . why, tell him it's some one who wants to talk to him about the norcross murder.
-"you the editor? . . . all right. . . i am the man who killed old norcross . . . wait! hold the wire; i'm not the usual crank . . . oh, there isn't the slightest danger. i've just been discussing it with a detective friend of mine. i killed the old man at 2:30 a. m. two weeks ago to-morrow. . . . have a drink with you? now, hadn't you better leave that kind of talk to your funny man? can't you tell whether a man's guying you or whether you're being offered the biggest scoop your dull dishrag of a paper ever had? . . . well, that's so; it's a bobtail scoop--but you can hardly expect me to 'phone in my name and address . . . why? oh, because i heard you make a specialty of solving mysterious crimes that stump the police. . . no, that's not all. i want to tell you that your rotten, lying, penny sheet is of no more use in tracking an intelligent murderer or highwayman than a blind poodle would be. . . what? . . . oh, no, this isn't a rival newspaper office; you're getting it straight. i did the norcross job, and i've got the jewels in my suit case at--'the name of the hotel could not be learned'--you recognize that phrase, don't you? i thought so. you've used it often enough. kind of rattles you, doesn't it, to have the mysterious villain call up your great, big, all-powerful organ of right and justice and good government and tell you what a helpless old gas-bag you are? . . . cut that out; you're not that big a fool--no, you don't think i'm a fraud. i can tell it by your voice. . . . now, listen, and i'll give you a pointer that will prove it to you. of course you've had this murder case worked over by your staff of bright young blockheads. half of the second button on old mrs. norcross's nightgown is broken off. i saw it when i took the garnet ring off her finger. i thought it was a ruby. . . stop that! it won't work."
-kernan turned to woods with a diabolic smile.
-"i've got him going. he believes me now. he didn't quite cover the transmitter with his hand when he told somebody to call up central on another 'phone and get our number. i'll give him just one more dig, and then we'll make a 'get-away.'
-"hello! . . . yes. i'm here yet. you didn't think i'd run from such a little subsidized, turncoat rag of a newspaper, did you? . . . have me inside of forty-eight hours? say, will you quit being funny? now, you let grown men alone and attend to your business of hunting up divorce cases and street-car accidents and printing the filth and scandal that you make your living by. good-by, old boy--sorry i haven't time to call on you. i'd feel perfectly safe in your sanctum asinorum. tra-la!"
-"he's as mad as a cat that's lost a mouse," said kernan, hanging up the receiver and coming out. "and now, barney, my boy, we'll go to a show and enjoy ourselves until a reasonable bedtime. four hours' sleep for me, and then the west-bound."
-the two dined in a broadway restaurant. kernan was pleased with himself. he spent money like a prince of fiction. and then a weird and gorgeous musical comedy engaged their attention. afterward there was a late supper in a grillroom, with champagne, and kernan at the height of his complacency.
-half-past three in the morning found them in a corner of an all-night café, kernan still boasting in a vapid and rambling way, woods thinking moodily over the end that had come to his usefulness as an upholder of the law.
-but, as he pondered, his eye brightened with a speculative light.
-"i wonder if it's possible," he said to himself, "i won-der if it's pos-si-ble!"
-and then outside the café the comparative stillness of the early morning was punctured by faint, uncertain cries that seemed mere fireflies of sound, some growing louder, some fainter, waxing and waning amid the rumble of milk wagons and infrequent cars. shrill cries they were when near--well-known cries that conveyed many meanings to the ears of those of the slumbering millions of the great city who waked to hear them. cries that bore upon their significant, small volume the weight of a world's woe and laughter and delight and stress. to some, cowering beneath the protection of a night's ephemeral cover, they brought news of the hideous, bright day; to others, wrapped in happy sleep, they announced a morning that would dawn blacker than sable night. to many of the rich they brought a besom to sweep away what had been theirs while the stars shone; to the poor they brought--another day.
-all over the city the cries were starting up, keen and sonorous, heralding the chances that the slipping of one cogwheel in the machinery of time had made; apportioning to the sleepers while they lay at the mercy of fate, the vengeance, profit, grief, reward and doom that the new figure in the calendar had brought them. shrill and yet plaintive were the cries, as if the young voices grieved that so much evil and so little good was in their irresponsible hands. thus echoed in the streets of the helpless city the transmission of the latest decrees of the gods, the cries of the newsboys--the clarion call of the press.
-woods flipped a dime to the waiter, and said: "get me a morning mars."
-when the paper came he glanced at its first page, and then tore a leaf out of his memorandum book and began to write on it with the little gold pencil.
-"what's the news?" yawned kernan.
-woods flipped over to him the piece of writing:
-"the new york morning mars:
-"please pay to the order of john kernan the one thousand dollars reward coming to me for his arrest and conviction.
-"i kind of thought they would do that," said woods, "when you were jollying them so hard. now, johnny, you'll come to the police station with me."
-extradited from bohemia
-from near the village of harmony, at the foot of the green mountains, came miss medora martin to new york with her color-box and easel.
-miss medora resembled the rose which the autumnal frosts had spared the longest of all her sister blossoms. in harmony, when she started alone to the wicked city to study art, they said she was a mad, reckless, headstrong girl. in new york, when she first took her seat at a west side boardinghouse table, the boarders asked: "who is the nice-looking old maid?"
-medora took heart, a cheap hall bedroom and two art lessons a week from professor angelini, a retired barber who had studied his profession in a harlem dancing academy. there was no one to set her right, for here in the big city they do it unto all of us. how many of us are badly shaved daily and taught the two-step imperfectly by ex-pupils of bastien le page and gérôme? the most pathetic sight in new york--except the manners of the rush-hour crowds--is the dreary march of the hopeless army of mediocrity. here art is no benignant goddess, but a circe who turns her wooers into mewing toms and tabbies who linger about the doorsteps of her abode, unmindful of the flying brickbats and boot-jacks of the critics. some of us creep back to our native villages to the skim-milk of "i told you so"; but most of us prefer to remain in the cold courtyard of our mistress's temple, snatching the scraps that fall from her divine table d'hôte. but some of us grow weary at last of the fruitless service. and then there are two fates open to us. we can get a job driving a grocer's wagon, or we can get swallowed up in the vortex of bohemia. the latter sounds good; but the former really pans out better. for, when the grocer pays us off we can rent a dress suit and--the capitalized system of humor describes it best--get bohemia on the run.
-miss medora chose the vortex and thereby furnishes us with our little story.
-professor angelini praised her sketches excessively. once when she had made a neat study of a horse-chestnut tree in the park he declared she would become a second rosa bonheur. again--a great artist has his moods--he would say cruel and cutting things. for example, medora had spent an afternoon patiently sketching the statue and the architecture at columbus circle. tossing it aside with a sneer, the professor informed her that giotto had once drawn a perfect circle with one sweep of his hand.
-one day it rained, the weekly remittance from harmony was overdue, medora had a headache, the professor had tried to borrow two dollars from her, her art dealer had sent back all her water-colors unsold, and--mr. binkley asked her out to dinner.
-mr. binkley was the gay boy of the boarding-house. he was forty-nine, and owned a fishstall in a downtown market. but after six o'clock he wore an evening suit and whooped things up connected with the beaux arts. the young men said he was an "indian." he was supposed to be an accomplished habitué of the inner circles of bohemia. it was no secret that he had once loaned $10 to a young man who had had a drawing printed in puck. often has one thus obtained his entrée into the charmed circle, while the other obtained both his entrée and roast.
-the other boarders enviously regarded medora as she left at mr. binkley's side at nine o'clock. she was as sweet as a cluster of dried autumn grasses in her pale blue--oh--er--that very thin stuff--in her pale blue comstockized silk waist and box-pleated voile skirt, with a soft pink glow on her thin cheeks and the tiniest bit of rouge powder on her face, with her handkerchief and room key in her brown walrus, pebble-grain hand-bag.
-and mr. binkley looked imposing and dashing with his red face and gray mustache, and his tight dress coat, that made the back of his neck roll up just like a successful novelist's.
-they drove in a cab to the café terence, just off the most glittering part of broadway, which, as every one knows, is one of the most popular and widely patronized, jealously exclusive bohemian resorts in the city.
-down between the rows of little tables tripped medora, of the green mountains, after her escort. thrice in a lifetime may woman walk upon clouds--once when she trippeth to the altar, once when she first enters bohemian halls, the last when she marches back across her first garden with the dead hen of her neighbor in her hand.
-there was a table set, with three or four about it. a waiter buzzed around it like a bee, and silver and glass shone upon it. and, preliminary to the meal, as the prehistoric granite strata heralded the protozoa, the bread of gaul, compounded after the formula of the recipe for the eternal hills, was there set forth to the hand and tooth of a long-suffering city, while the gods lay beside their nectar and home-made biscuits and smiled, and the dentists leaped for joy in their gold-leafy dens.
-the eye of binkley fixed a young man at his table with the bohemian gleam, which is a compound of the look of the basilisk, the shine of a bubble of würzburger, the inspiration of genius and the pleading of a panhandler.
-the young man sprang to his feet. "hello, bink, old boy!" he shouted. "don't tell me you were going to pass our table. join us--unless you've another crowd on hand."
-"don't mind, old chap," said binkley, of the fish-stall. "you know how i like to butt up against the fine arts. mr. vandyke--mr. madder--er--miss martin, one of the elect also in art--er--"
-the introduction went around. there were also miss elise and miss 'toinette. perhaps they were models, for they chattered of the st. regis decorations and henry james--and they did it not badly.
-medora sat in transport. music--wild, intoxicating music made by troubadours direct from a rear basement room in elysium--set her thoughts to dancing. here was a world never before penetrated by her warmest imagination or any of the lines controlled by harriman. with the green mountains' external calm upon her she sat, her soul flaming in her with the fire of andalusia. the tables were filled with bohemia. the room was full of the fragrance of flowers--both mille and cauli. questions and corks popped; laughter and silver rang; champagne flashed in the pail, wit flashed in the pan.
-vandyke ruffled his long, black locks, disarranged his careless tie and leaned over to madder.
-"say, maddy," he whispered, feelingly, "sometimes i'm tempted to pay this philistine his ten dollars and get rid of him."
-madder ruffled his long, sandy locks and disarranged his careless tie.
-"don't think of it, vandy," he replied. "we are short, and art is long."
-medora ate strange viands and drank elderberry wine that they poured in her glass. it was just the color of that in the vermont home. the waiter poured something in another glass that seemed to be boiling, but when she tasted it it was not hot. she had never felt so light-hearted before. she thought lovingly of the green mountain farm and its fauna. she leaned, smiling, to miss elise.
-"if i were at home," she said, beamingly, "i could show you the cutest little calf!"
-"nothing for you in the white lane," said miss elise. "why don't you pad?"
-the orchestra played a wailing waltz that medora had learned from the hand-organs. she followed the air with nodding head in a sweet soprano hum. madder looked across the table at her, and wondered in what strange waters binkley had caught her in his seine. she smiled at him, and they raised glasses and drank of the wine that boiled when it was cold. binkley had abandoned art and was prating of the unusual spring catch of shad. miss elise arranged the palette-and-maul-stick tie pin of mr. vandyke. a philistine at some distant table was maundering volubly either about jerome or gérôme. a famous actress was discoursing excitably about monogrammed hosiery. a hose clerk from a department store was loudly proclaiming his opinions of the drama. a writer was abusing dickens. a magazine editor and a photographer were drinking a dry brand at a reserved table. a 36-25-42 young lady was saying to an eminent sculptor: "fudge for your prax italys! bring one of your venus anno dominis down to cohen's and see how quick she'd be turned down for a cloak model. back to the quarries with your greeks and dagos!"
-thus went bohemia.
-at eleven mr. binkley took medora to the boarding-house and left her, with a society bow, at the foot of the hall stairs. she went up to her room and lit the gas.
-and then, as suddenly as the dreadful genie arose in vapor from the copper vase of the fisherman, arose in that room the formidable shape of the new england conscience. the terrible thing that medora had done was revealed to her in its full enormity. she had sat in the presence of the ungodly and looked upon the wine both when it was red and effervescent.
-at midnight she wrote this letter:
-"mr. beriah hoskins, harmony, vermont.
-"dear sir: henceforth, consider me as dead to you forever. i have loved you too well to blight your career by bringing into it my guilty and sin-stained life. i have succumbed to the insidious wiles of this wicked world and have been drawn into the vortex of bohemia. there is scarcely any depth of glittering iniquity that i have not sounded. it is hopeless to combat my decision. there is no rising from the depths to which i have sunk. endeavor to forget me. i am lost forever in the fair but brutal maze of awful bohemia. farewell.
-"once your medora."
-on the next day medora formed her resolutions. beelzebub, flung from heaven, was no more cast down. between her and the apple blossoms of harmony there was a fixed gulf. flaming cherubim warded her from the gates of her lost paradise. in one evening, by the aid of binkley and mumm, bohemia had gathered her into its awful midst.
-there remained to her but one thing--a life of brilliant, but irremediable error. vermont was a shrine that she never would dare to approach again. but she would not sink--there were great and compelling ones in history upon whom she would model her meteoric career--camille, lola montez, royal mary, zaza--such a name as one of these would that of medora martin be to future generations.
-for two days medora kept her room. on the third she opened a magazine at the portrait of the king of belgium, and laughed sardonically. if that far-famed breaker of women's hearts should cross her path, he would have to bow before her cold and imperious beauty. she would not spare the old or the young. all america--all europe should do homage to her sinister, but compelling charm.
-as yet she could not bear to think of the life she had once desired--a peaceful one in the shadow of the green mountains with beriah at her side, and orders for expensive oil paintings coming in by each mail from new york. her one fatal misstep had shattered that dream.
-on the fourth day medora powdered her face and rouged her lips. once she had seen carter in "zaza." she stood before the mirror in a reckless attitude and cried: "zut! zut!" she rhymed it with "nut," but with the lawless word harmony seemed to pass away forever. the vortex had her. she belonged to bohemia for evermore. and never would beriah--
-the door opened and beriah walked in.
-"'dory," said he, "what's all that chalk and pink stuff on your face, honey?"
-medora extended an arm.
-"too late," she said, solemnly. "the die is cast. i belong in another world. curse me if you will--it is your right. go, and leave me in the path i have chosen. bid them all at home never to mention my name again. and sometimes, beriah, pray for me when i am revelling in the gaudy, but hollow, pleasures of bohemia."
-"get a towel, 'dory," said beriah, "and wipe that paint off your face. i came as soon as i got your letter. them pictures of yours ain't amounting to anything. i've got tickets for both of us back on the evening train. hurry and get your things in your trunk."
-"fate was too strong for me, beriah. go while i am strong to bear it."
-"how do you fold this easel, 'dory?--now begin to pack, so we have time to eat before train time. the maples is all out in full-grown leaves, 'dory--you just ought to see 'em!
-"not this early, beriah?
-"you ought to see 'em, 'dory; they're like an ocean of green in the morning sunlight."
-on the train she said to him suddenly:
-"i wonder why you came when you got my letter."
-"oh, shucks!" said beriah. "did you think you could fool me? how could you be run away to that bohemia country like you said when your letter was postmarked new york as plain as day?"
-a philistine in bohemia
-george washington, with his right arm upraised, sits his iron horse at the lower corner of union square, forever signaling the broadway cars to stop as they round the curve into fourteenth street. but the cars buzz on, heedless, as they do at the beck of a private citizen, and the great general must feel, unless his nerves are iron, that rapid transit gloria mundi.
-should the general raise his left hand as he has raised his right it would point to a quarter of the city that forms a haven for the oppressed and suppressed of foreign lands. in the cause of national or personal freedom they have found a refuge here, and the patriot who made it for them sits his steed, overlooking their district, while he listens through his left ear to vaudeville that caricatures the posterity of his protégés. italy, poland, the former spanish possessions and the polyglot tribes of austria-hungary have spilled here a thick lather of their effervescent sons. in the eccentric cafés and lodging-houses of the vicinity they hover over their native wines and political secrets. the colony changes with much frequency. faces disappear from the haunts to be replaced by others. whither do these uneasy birds flit? for half of the answer observe carefully the suave foreign air and foreign courtesy of the next waiter who serves your table d'hôte. for the other half, perhaps if the barber shops had tongues (and who will dispute it?) they could tell their share.
-titles are as plentiful as finger rings among these transitory exiles. for lack of proper exploitation a stock of title goods large enough to supply the trade of upper fifth avenue is here condemned to a mere pushcart traffic. the new-world landlords who entertain these offshoots of nobility are not dazzled by coronets and crests. they have doughnuts to sell instead of daughters. with them it is a serious matter of trading in flour and sugar instead of pearl powder and bonbons.
-these assertions are deemed fitting as an introduction to the tale, which is of plebeians and contains no one with even the ghost of a title.
-katy dempsey's mother kept a furnished-room house in this oasis of the aliens. the business was not profitable. if the two scraped together enough to meet the landlord's agent on rent day and negotiate for the ingredients of a daily irish stew they called it success. often the stew lacked both meat and potatoes. sometimes it became as bad as consommé with music.
-in this mouldy old house katy waxed plump and pert and wholesome and as beautiful and freckled as a tiger lily. she was the good fairy who was guilty of placing the damp clean towels and cracked pitchers of freshly laundered croton in the lodgers' rooms.
-you are informed (by virtue of the privileges of astronomical discovery) that the star lodger's name was mr. brunelli. his wearing a yellow tie and paying his rent promptly distinguished him from the other lodgers. his raiment was splendid, his complexion olive, his mustache fierce, his manners a prince's, his rings and pins as magnificent as those of a traveling dentist.
-he had breakfast served in his room, and he ate it in a red dressing gown with green tassels. he left the house at noon and returned at midnight. those were mysterious hours, but there was nothing mysterious about mrs. dempsey's lodgers except the things that were not mysterious. one of mr. kipling's poems is addressed to "ye who hold the unwritten clue to all save all unwritten things." the same "readers" are invited to tackle the foregoing assertion.
-mr. brunelli, being impressionable and a latin, fell to conjugating the verb "amare," with katy in the objective case, though not because of antipathy. she talked it over with her mother.
-"sure, i like him," said katy. "he's more politeness than twinty candidates for alderman, and lie makes me feel like a queen whin he walks at me side. but what is he, i dinno? i've me suspicions. the marnin'll coom whin he'll throt out the picture av his baronial halls and ax to have the week's rint hung up in the ice chist along wid all the rist of 'em."
-"'tis thrue," admitted mrs. dempsey, "that he seems to be a sort iv a dago, and too coolchured in his spache for a rale gentleman. but ye may be misjudgin' him. ye should niver suspect any wan of bein' of noble descint that pays cash and pathronizes the laundry rig'lar."
-"he's the same thricks of spakin' and blarneyin' wid his hands," sighed katy, "as the frinch nobleman at mrs. toole's that ran away wid mr. toole's sunday pants and left the photograph of the bastile, his grandfather's chat-taw, as security for tin weeks' rint."
-mr. brunelli continued his calorific wooing. katy continued to hesitate. one day he asked her out to dine and she felt that a dénouement was in the air. while they are on their way, with katy in her best muslin, you must take as an entr'acte a brief peep at new york's bohemia.
-'tonio's restaurant is in bohemia. the very location of it is secret. if you wish to know where it is ask the first person you meet. he will tell you in a whisper. 'tonio discountenances custom; he keeps his house-front black and forbidding; he gives you a pretty bad dinner; he locks his door at the dining hour; but he knows spaghetti as the boarding-house knows cold veal; and--he has deposited many dollars in a certain banco di-- something with many gold vowels in the name on its windows.
-to this restaurant mr. brunelli conducted katy. the house was dark and the shades were lowered; but mr. brunelli touched an electric button by the basement door, and they were admitted.
-along a long, dark, narrow hallway they went and then through a shining and spotless kitchen that opened directly upon a back yard.
-the walls of houses hemmed three sides of the yard; a high, board fence, surrounded by cats, the other. a wash of clothes was suspended high upon a line stretched from diagonal corners. those were property clothes, and were never taken in by 'tonio. they were there that wits with defective pronunciation might make puns in connection with the ragout.
-a dozen and a half little tables set upon the bare ground were crowded with bohemia-hunters, who flocked there because 'tonio pretended not to want them and pretended to give them a good dinner. there was a sprinkling of real bohemians present who came for a change because they were tired of the real bohemia, and a smart shower of the men who originate the bright sayings of congressmen and the little nephew of the well-known general passenger agent of the evansville and terre haute railroad company.
-here is a bon mot that was manufactured at 'tonio's:
-"a dinner at 'tonio's," said a bohemian, "always amounts to twice the price that is asked for it."
-let us assume that an accommodating voice inquires:
-"the dinner costs you 40 cents; you give 10 cents to the waiter, and it makes you feel like 30 cents."
-most of the diners were confirmed table d'hôters--gastronomic adventurers, forever seeking the el dorado of a good claret, and consistently coming to grief in california.
-mr. brunelli escorted katy to a little table embowered with shrubbery in tubs, and asked her to excuse him for a while.
-katy sat, enchanted by a scene so brilliant to her. the grand ladies, in splendid dresses and plumes and sparkling rings; the fine gentlemen who laughed so loudly, the cries of "garsong!" and "we, monseer," and "hello, mame!" that distinguish bohemia; the lively chatter, the cigarette smoke, the interchange of bright smiles and eye-glances--all this display and magnificence overpowered the daughter of mrs. dempsey and held her motionless.
-mr. brunelli stepped into the yard and seemed to spread his smile and bow over the entire company. and everywhere there was a great clapping of hands and a few cries of "bravo!" and "'tonio! 'tonio!" whatever those words might mean. ladies waved their napkins at him, gentlemen almost twisted their necks off, trying to catch his nod.
-when the ovation was concluded mr. brunelli, with a final bow, stepped nimbly into the kitchen and flung off his coat and waistcoat.
-flaherty, the nimblest "garsong" among the waiters, had been assigned to the special service of katy. she was a little faint from hunger, for the irish stew on the dempsey table had been particularly weak that day. delicious odors from unknown dishes tantalized her. and flaherty began to bring to her table course after course of ambrosial food that the gods might have pronounced excellent.
-but even in the midst of her lucullian repast katy laid down her knife and fork. her heart sank as lead, and a tear fell upon her filet mignon. her haunting suspicions of the star lodger arose again, fourfold. thus courted and admired and smiled upon by that fashionable and gracious assembly, what else could mr. brunelli be but one of those dazzling titled patricians, glorious of name but shy of rent money, concerning whom experience had made her wise? with a sense of his ineligibility growing within her there was mingled a torturing conviction that his personality was becoming more pleasing to her day by day. and why had he left her to dine alone?
-but here he was coming again, now coatless, his snowy shirt-sleeves rolled high above his jeffriesonian elbows, a white yachting cap perched upon his jetty curls.
-"'tonio! 'tonio!" shouted many, and "the spaghetti! the spaghetti!" shouted the rest.
-never at 'tonio's did a waiter dare to serve a dish of spaghetti until 'tonio came to test it, to prove the sauce and add the needful dash of seasoning that gave it perfection.
-from table to table moved 'tonio, like a prince in his palace, greeting his guests. white, jewelled hands signalled him from every side.
-a glass of wine with this one and that, smiles for all, a jest and repartee for any that might challenge--truly few princes could be so agreeable a host! and what artist could ask for further appreciation of his handiwork? katy did not know that the proudest consummation of a new yorker's ambition is to shake hands with a spaghetti chef or to receive a nod from a broadway head-waiter.
-at last the company thinned, leaving but a few couples and quartettes lingering over new wine and old stories. and then came mr. brunelli to katy's secluded table, and drew a chair close to hers.
-katy smiled at him dreamily. she was eating the last spoonful of a raspberry roll with burgundy sauce.
-"you have seen!" said mr. brunelli, laying one hand upon his collar bone. "i am antonio brunelli! yes; i am the great 'tonio! you have not suspect that! i loave you, katy, and you shall marry with me. is it not so? call me 'antonio,' and say that you will be mine."
-katy's head drooped to the shoulder that was now freed from all suspicion of having received the knightly accolade.
-"oh, andy," she sighed, "this is great! sure, i'll marry wid ye. but why didn't ye tell me ye was the cook? i was near turnin' ye down for bein' one of thim foreign counts!"
-from each according to his ability
-vuyning left his club, cursing it softly, without any particular anger. from ten in the morning until eleven it had bored him immeasurably. kirk with his fish story, brooks with his porto rico cigars, old morrison with his anecdote about the widow, hepburn with his invariable luck at billiards--all these afflictions had been repeated without change of bill or scenery. besides these morning evils miss allison had refused him again on the night before. but that was a chronic trouble. five times she had laughed at his offer to make her mrs. vuyning. he intended to ask her again the next wednesday evening.
-vuyning walked along forty-fourth street to broadway, and then drifted down the great sluice that washes out the dust of the gold-mines of gotham. he wore a morning suit of light gray, low, dull kid shoes, a plain, finely woven straw hat, and his visible linen was the most delicate possible shade of heliotrope. his necktie was the blue-gray of a november sky, and its knot was plainly the outcome of a lordly carelessness combined with an accurate conception of the most recent dictum of fashion.
-now, to write of a man's haberdashery is a worse thing than to write a historical novel "around" paul jones, or to pen a testimonial to a hay-fever cure.
-therefore, let it be known that the description of vuyning's apparel is germane to the movements of the story, and not to make room for the new fall stock of goods.
-even broadway that morning was a discord in vuyning's ears; and in his eyes it paralleled for a few dreamy, dreary minutes a certain howling, scorching, seething, malodorous slice of street that he remembered in morocco. he saw the struggling mass of dogs, beggars, fakirs, slave-drivers and veiled women in carts without horses, the sun blazing brightly among the bazaars, the piles of rubbish from ruined temples in the street--and then a lady, passing, jabbed the ferrule of a parasol in his side and brought him back to broadway.
-five minutes of his stroll brought him to a certain corner, where a number of silent, pale-faced men are accustomed to stand, immovably, for hours, busy with the file blades of their penknives, with their hat brims on a level with their eyelids. wall street speculators, driving home in their carriages, love to point out these men to their visiting friends and tell them of this rather famous lounging-place of the "crooks." on wall street the speculators never use the file blades of their knives.
-vuyning was delighted when one of this company stepped forth and addressed him as he was passing. he was hungry for something out of the ordinary, and to be accosted by this smooth-faced, keen-eyed, low-voiced, athletic member of the under world, with his grim, yet pleasant smile, had all the taste of an adventure to the convention-weary vuyning.
-"excuse me, friend," said he. "could i have a few minutes' talk with you--on the level?"
-"certainly," said vuyning, with a smile. "but, suppose we step aside to a quieter place. there is a divan--a café over here that will do. schrumm will give us a private corner."
-schrumm established them under a growing palm, with two seidls between them. vuyning made a pleasant reference to meteorological conditions, thus forming a hinge upon which might be swung the door leading from the thought repository of the other.
-"in the first place," said his companion, with the air of one who presents his credentials, "i want you to understand that i am a crook. out west i am known as rowdy the dude. pickpocket, supper man, second-story man, yeggman, boxman, all-round burglar, cardsharp and slickest con man west of the twenty-third street ferry landing--that's my history. that's to show i'm on the square--with you. my name's emerson."
-"confound old kirk with his fish stories," said vuyning to himself, with silent glee as he went through his pockets for a card. "it's pronounced 'vining,'" he said, as he tossed it over to the other. "and i'll be as frank with you. i'm just a kind of a loafer, i guess, living on my daddy's money. at the club they call me 'left-at-the-post.' i never did a day's work in my life; and i haven't the heart to run over a chicken when i'm motoring. it's a pretty shabby record, altogether."
-"there's one thing you can do," said emerson, admiringly; "you can carry duds. i've watched you several times pass on broadway. you look the best dressed man i've seen. and i'll bet you a gold mine i've got $50 worth more gent's furnishings on my frame than you have. that's what i wanted to see you about. i can't do the trick. take a look at me. what's wrong?"
-"stand up," said vuyning.
-emerson arose, and slowly revolved.
-"you've been 'outfitted,'" declared the clubman. "some broadway window-dresser has misused you. that's an expensive suit, though, emerson."
-"a hundred dollars," said emerson.
-"twenty too much," said vuyning. "six months old in cut, one inch too long, and half an inch too much lapel. your hat is plainly dated one year ago, although there's only a sixteenth of an inch lacking in the brim to tell the story. that english poke in your collar is too short by the distance between troy and london. a plain gold link cuff-button would take all the shine out of those pearl ones with diamond settings. those tan shoes would be exactly the articles to work into the heart of a brooklyn school-ma'am on a two weeks' visit to lake ronkonkoma. i think i caught a glimpse of a blue silk sock embroidered with russet lilies of the valley when you--improperly-- drew up your trousers as you sat down. there are always plain ones to be had in the stores. have i hurt your feelings, emerson?"
-"double the ante!" cried the criticised one, greedily. "give me more of it. there's a way to tote the haberdashery, and i want to get wise to it. say, you're the right kind of a swell. anything else to the queer about me?"
-"your tie," said vuyning, "is tied with absolute precision and correctness."
-"thanks," gratefully--"i spent over half an hour at it before i--"
-"thereby," interrupted vuyning, "completing your resemblance to a dummy in a broadway store window."
-"yours truly," said emerson, sitting down again. "it's bully of you to put me wise. i knew there was something wrong, but i couldn't just put my finger on it. i guess it comes by nature to know how to wear clothes."
-"oh, i suppose," said vuyning, with a laugh, "that my ancestors picked up the knack while they were peddling clothes from house to house a couple of hundred years ago. i'm told they did that."
-"and mine," said emerson, cheerfully, "were making their visits at night, i guess, and didn't have a chance to catch on to the correct styles."
-"i tell you what," said vuyning, whose ennui had taken wings, "i'll take you to my tailor. he'll eliminate the mark of the beast from your exterior. that is, if you care to go any further in the way of expense."
-"play 'em to the ceiling," said emerson, with a boyish smile of joy. "i've got a roll as big around as a barrel of black-eyed peas and as loose as the wrapper of a two-for-fiver. i don't mind telling you that i was not touring among the antipodes when the burglar-proof safe of the farmers' national bank of butterville, ia., flew open some moonless nights ago to the tune of $16,000."
-"aren't you afraid," asked vuyning, "that i'll call a cop and hand you over?"
-"you tell me," said emerson, coolly, "why i didn't keep them."
-he laid vuyning's pocketbook and watch--the vuyning 100-year-old family watch--on the table.
-"man," said vuyning, revelling, "did you ever hear the tale kirk tells about the six-pound trout and the old fisherman?"
-"seems not," said emerson, politely. "i'd like to."
-"but you won't," said vuyning. "i've heard it scores of times. that's why i won't tell you. i was just thinking how much better this is than a club. now, shall we go to my tailor?"
-"boys, and elderly gents," said vuyning, five days later at his club, standing up against the window where his coterie was gathered, and keeping out the breeze, "a friend of mine from the west will dine at our table this evening."
-"will he ask if we have heard the latest from denver?" said a member, squirming in his chair.
-"will he mention the new twenty-three-story masonic temple, in quincy, ill.?" inquired another, dropping his nose-glasses.
-"will he spring one of those western mississippi river catfish stories, in which they use yearling calves for bait?" demanded kirk, fiercely.
-"be comforted," said vuyning. "he has none of the little vices. he is a burglar and safe-blower, and a pal of mine."
-"oh, mary ann!" said they. "must you always adorn every statement with your alleged humor?"
-it came to pass that at eight in the evening a calm, smooth, brilliant, affable man sat at vuyning's right hand during dinner. and when the ones who pass their lives in city streets spoke of skyscrapers or of the little czar on his far, frozen throne, or of insignificant fish from inconsequential streams, this big, deep-chested man, faultlessly clothed, and eyed like an emperor, disposed of their lilliputian chatter with a wink of his eyelash.
-and then he painted for them with hard, broad strokes a marvellous lingual panorama of the west. he stacked snow-topped mountains on the table, freezing the hot dishes of the waiting diners. with a wave of his hand he swept the clubhouse into a pine-crowned gorge, turning the waiters into a grim posse, and each listener into a blood-stained fugitive, climbing with torn fingers upon the ensanguined rocks. he touched the table and spake, and the five panted as they gazed on barren lava beds, and each man took his tongue between his teeth and felt his mouth bake at the tale of a land empty of water and food. as simply as homer sang, while he dug a tine of his fork leisurely into the tablecloth, he opened a new world to their view, as does one who tells a child of the looking-glass country.
-as one of his listeners might have spoken of tea too strong at a madison square "afternoon," so he depicted the ravages of "redeye" in a border town when the caballeros of the lariat and "forty-five" reduced ennui to a minimum.
-and then, with a sweep of his white, unringed hands, he dismissed melpomene, and forthwith diana and amaryllis footed it before the mind's eyes of the clubmen.
-the savannas of the continent spread before them. the wind, humming through a hundred leagues of sage brush and mesquite, closed their ears to the city's staccato noises. he told them of camps, of ranches marooned in a sea of fragrant prairie blossoms, of gallops in the stilly night that apollo would have forsaken his daytime steeds to enjoy; he read them the great, rough epic of the cattle and the hills that have not been spoiled by the hand of man, the mason. his words were a telescope to the city men, whose eyes had looked upon youngstown, o., and whose tongues had called it "west."
-in fact, emerson had them "going."
-the next morning at ten he met vuyning, by appointment, at a forty-second street café.
-emerson was to leave for the west that day. he wore a suit of dark cheviot that looked to have been draped upon him by an ancient grecian tailor who was a few thousand years ahead of the styles.
-"mr. vuyning," said he, with the clear, ingenuous smile of the successful "crook," "it's up to me to go the limit for you any time i can do so. you're the real thing; and if i can ever return the favor, you bet your life i'll do it."
-"what was that cow-puncher's name?" asked vuyning, "who used to catch a mustang by the nose and mane, and throw him till he put the bridle on?"
-"bates," said emerson.
-"thanks," said vuyning. "i thought it was yates. oh, about that toggery business--i'd forgotten that."
-"i've been looking for some guy to put me on the right track for years," said emerson. "you're the goods, duty free, and half-way to the warehouse in a red wagon."
-"bacon, toasted on a green willow switch over red coals, ought to put broiled lobsters out of business," said vuyning. "and you say a horse at the end of a thirty-foot rope can't pull a ten-inch stake out of wet prairie? well, good-bye, old man, if you must be off."
-at one o'clock vuyning had luncheon with miss allison by previous arrangement.
-for thirty minutes he babbled to her, unaccountably, of ranches, horses, cañons, cyclones, round-ups, rocky mountains and beans and bacon. she looked at him with wondering and half-terrified eyes.
-"i was going to propose again to-day," said vuyning, cheerily, "but i won't. i've worried you often enough. you know dad has a ranch in colorado. what's the good of staying here? jumping jonquils! but it's great out there. i'm going to start next tuesday."
-"no, you won't," said miss allison.
-"what?" said vuyning.
-"not alone," said miss allison, dropping a tear upon her salad. "what do you think?"
-"betty!" exclaimed vuyning, "what do you mean?
-"i'll go too," said miss allison, forcibly. vuyning filled her glass with apollinaris.
-"here's to rowdy the dude!" he gave--a toast mysterious.
-"don't know him," said miss allison; "but if he's your friend, jimmy--here goes!"
-miss lynnette d'armande turned her back on broadway. this was but tit for tat, because broadway had often done the same thing to miss d'armande. still, the "tats" seemed to have it, for the ex-leading lady of the "reaping the whirlwind" company had everything to ask of broadway, while there was no vice-versâ.
-so miss lynnette d'armande turned the back of her chair to her window that overlooked broadway, and sat down to stitch in time the lisle-thread heel of a black silk stocking. the tumult and glitter of the roaring broadway beneath her window had no charm for her; what she greatly desired was the stifling air of a dressing-room on that fairyland street and the roar of an audience gathered in that capricious quarter. in the meantime, those stockings must not be neglected. silk does wear out so, but--after all, isn't it just the only goods there is?
-the hotel thalia looks on broadway as marathon looks on the sea. it stands like a gloomy cliff above the whirlpool where the tides of two great thoroughfares clash. here the player-bands gather at the end of their wanderings, to loosen the buskin and dust the sock. thick in the streets around it are booking-offices, theatres, agents, schools, and the lobster-palaces to which those thorny paths lead.
-wandering through the eccentric halls of the dim and fusty thalia, you seem to have found yourself in some great ark or caravan about to sail, or fly, or roll away on wheels. about the house lingers a sense of unrest, of expectation, of transientness, even of anxiety and apprehension. the halls are a labyrinth. without a guide, you wander like a lost soul in a sam loyd puzzle.
-turning any corner, a dressing-sack or a cul-de-sac may bring you up short. you meet alarming tragedians stalking in bath-robes in search of rumored bathrooms. from hundreds of rooms come the buzz of talk, scraps of new and old songs, and the ready laughter of the convened players.
-summer has come; their companies have disbanded, and they take their rest in their favorite caravansary, while they besiege the managers for engagements for the coming season.
-at this hour of the afternoon the day's work of tramping the rounds of the agents' offices is over. past you, as you ramble distractedly through the mossy halls, flit audible visions of houris, with veiled, starry eyes, flying tag-ends of things and a swish of silk, bequeathing to the dull hallways an odor of gaiety and a memory of frangipanni. serious young comedians, with versatile adam's apples, gather in doorways and talk of booth. far-reaching from somewhere comes the smell of ham and red cabbage, and the crash of dishes on the american plan.
-the indeterminate hum of life in the thalia is enlivened by the discreet popping--at reasonable and salubrious intervals--of beer-bottle corks. thus punctuated, life in the genial hostel scans easily--the comma being the favorite mark, semicolons frowned upon, and periods barred.
-miss d'armande's room was a small one. there was room for her rocker between the dresser and the wash-stand if it were placed longitudinally. on the dresser were its usual accoutrements, plus the ex-leading lady's collected souvenirs of road engagements and photographs of her dearest and best professional friends.
-at one of these photographs she looked twice or thrice as she darned, and smiled friendlily.
-"i'd like to know where lee is just this minute," she said, half-aloud.
-if you had been privileged to view the photograph thus flattered, you would have thought at the first glance that you saw the picture of a many-petalled white flower, blown through the air by a storm. but the floral kingdom was not responsible for that swirl of petalous whiteness.
-you saw the filmy, brief skirt of miss rosalie ray as she made a complete heels-over-head turn in her wistaria-entwined swing, far out from the stage, high above the heads of the audience. you saw the camera's inadequate representation of the graceful, strong kick, with which she, at this exciting moment, sent flying, high and far, the yellow silk garter that each evening spun from her agile limb and descended upon the delighted audience below.
-you saw, too, amid the black-clothed, mainly masculine patrons of select vaudeville a hundred hands raised with the hope of staying the flight of the brilliant aërial token.
-forty weeks of the best circuits this act had brought miss rosalie ray, for each of two years. she did other things during her twelve minutes--a song and dance, imitations of two or three actors who are but imitations of themselves, and a balancing feat with a step-ladder and feather-duster; but when the blossom-decked swing was let down from the flies, and miss rosalie sprang smiling into the seat, with the golden circlet conspicuous in the place whence it was soon to slide and become a soaring and coveted guerdon--then it was that the audience rose in its seat as a single man--or presumably so--and indorsed the specialty that made miss ray's name a favorite in the booking-offices.
-at the end of the two years miss ray suddenly announced to her dear friend, miss d'armande, that she was going to spend the summer at an antediluvian village on the north shore of long island, and that the stage would see her no more.
-seventeen minutes after miss lynnette d'armande had expressed her wish to know the whereabouts of her old chum, there were sharp raps at her door.
-doubt not that it was rosalie ray. at the shrill command to enter she did so, with something of a tired flutter, and dropped a heavy hand-bag on the floor. upon my word, it was rosalie, in a loose, travel-stained automobileless coat, closely tied brown veil with yard-long, flying ends, gray walking-suit and tan oxfords with lavender overgaiters.
-when she threw off her veil and hat, you saw a pretty enough face, now flushed and disturbed by some unusual emotion, and restless, large eyes with discontent marring their brightness. a heavy pile of dull auburn hair, hastily put up, was escaping in crinkly, waving strands and curling, small locks from the confining combs and pins.
-the meeting of the two was not marked by the effusion vocal, gymnastical, osculatory and catechetical that distinguishes the greetings of their unprofessional sisters in society. there was a brief clinch, two simultaneous labial dabs and they stood on the same footing of the old days. very much like the short salutations of soldiers or of travellers in foreign wilds are the welcomes between the strollers at the corners of their criss-cross roads.
-"i've been in since the last of april," said lynnette. "and i'm going on the road with a 'fatal inheritance' company. we open next week in elizabeth. i thought you'd quit the stage, lee. tell me about yourself."
-rosalie settled herself with a skilful wriggle on the top of miss d'armande's wardrobe trunk, and leaned her head against the papered wall. from long habit, thus can peripatetic leading ladies and their sisters make themselves as comfortable as though the deepest armchairs embraced them.
-"i'm going to tell you, lynn," she said, with a strangely sardonic and yet carelessly resigned look on her youthful face. "and then to-morrow i'll strike the old broadway trail again, and wear some more paint off the chairs in the agents' offices. if anybody had told me any time in the last three months up to four o'clock this afternoon that i'd ever listen to that 'leave-your-name-and-address' rot of the booking bunch again, i'd have given 'em the real mrs. fiske laugh. loan me a handkerchief, lynn. gee! but those long island trains are fierce. i've got enough soft-coal cinders on my face to go on and play topsy without using the cork. and, speaking of corks-- got anything to drink, lynn?"
-miss d'armande opened a door of the wash-stand and took out a bottle.
-"there's nearly a pint of manhattan. there's a cluster of carnations in the drinking glass, but--"
-"oh, pass the bottle. save the glass for company. thanks! that hits the spot. the same to you. my first drink in three months!
-"yes, lynn, i quit the stage at the end of last season. i quit it because i was sick of the life. and especially because my heart and soul were sick of men--of the kind of men we stage people have to be up against. you know what the game is to us--it's a fight against 'em all the way down the line from the manager who wants us to try his new motor-car to the bill-posters who want to call us by our front names.
-"and the men we have to meet after the show are the worst of all. the stage-door kind, and the manager's friends who take us to supper and show their diamonds and talk about seeing 'dan' and 'dave' and 'charlie' for us. they're beasts, and i hate 'em.
-"i tell you, lynn, it's the girls like us on the stage that ought to be pitied. it's girls from good homes that are honestly ambitious and work hard to rise in the profession, but never do get there. you hear a lot of sympathy sloshed around on chorus girls and their fifteen dollars a week. piffle! there ain't a sorrow in the chorus that a lobster cannot heal.
-"if there's any tears to shed, let 'em fall for the actress that gets a salary of from thirty to forty-five dollars a week for taking a leading part in a bum show. she knows she'll never do any better; but she hangs on for years, hoping for the 'chance' i that never comes.
-"and the fool plays we have to work in! having another girl roll you around the stage by the hind legs in a 'wheelbarrow chorus' in a musical comedy is dignified drama compared with the idiotic things i've had to do in the thirty-centers.
-"but what i hated most was the men--the men leering and blathering at you across tables, trying to buy you with würzburger or extra dry, according to their estimate of your price. and the men in the audiences, clapping, yelling, snarling, crowding, writhing, gloating--like a lot of wild beasts, with their eyes fixed on you, ready to eat you up if you come in reach of their claws. oh, how i hate 'em!
-"well, i'm not telling you much about myself, am i, lynn?
-"i had two hundred dollars saved up, and i cut the stage the first of the summer. i went over on long island and found the sweetest little village that ever was, called soundport, right on the water. i was going to spend the summer there, and study up on elocution, and try to get a class in the fall. there was an old widow lady with a cottage near the beach who sometimes rented a room or two just for company, and she took me in. she had another boarder, too--the reverend arthur lyle.
-"yes, he was the head-liner. you're on, lynn. i'll tell you all of it in a minute. it's only a one-act play.
-"the first time he walked on, lynn, i felt myself going; the first lines he spoke, he had me. he was different from the men in audiences. he was tall and slim, and you never heard him come in the room, but you felt him. he had a face like a picture of a knight--like one of that round table bunch--and a voice like a 'cello solo. and his manners!
-"lynn, if you'd take john drew in his best drawing-room scene and compare the two, you'd have john arrested for disturbing the peace.
-"i'll spare you the particulars; but in less than a month arthur and i were engaged. he preached at a little one-night stand of a methodist church. there was to be a parsonage the size of a lunch-wagon, and hens and honeysuckles when we were married. arthur used to preach to me a good deal about heaven, but he never could get my mind quite off those honeysuckles and hens.
-"oh, i tell you, lynn, i was happy. i sang in the choir and attended the sewing society, and recited that 'annie laurie' thing with the whistling stunt in it, 'in a manner bordering upon the professional,' as the weekly village paper reported it. and arthur and i went rowing, and walking in the woods, and clamming, and that poky little village seemed to me the best place in the world. i'd have been happy to live there always, too, if--
-"but one morning old mrs. gurley, the widow lady, got gossipy while i was helping her string beans on the back porch, and began to gush information, as folks who rent out their rooms usually do. mr. lyle was her idea of a saint on earth--as he was mine, too. she went over all his virtues and graces, and wound up by telling me that arthur had had an extremely romantic love-affair, not long before, that had ended unhappily. she didn't seem to be on to the details, but she knew that he had been hit pretty hard. he was paler and thinner, she said, and he had some kind of a remembrance or keepsake of the lady in a little rosewood box that he kept locked in his desk drawer in his study.
-"'several times,' says she, 'i've seen him gloomerin' over that box of evenings, and he always locks it up right away if anybody comes into the room.'
-"well, you can imagine how long it was before i got arthur by the wrist and led him down stage and hissed in his ear.
-"that same afternoon we were lazying around in a boat among the water-lilies at the edge of the bay.
-"'arthur,' says i, 'you never told me you'd had another love-affair. but mrs. gurley did,' i went on, to let him know i knew. i hate to hear a man lie.
-"'before you came,' says he, looking me frankly in the eye, 'there was a previous affection--a strong one. since you know of it, i will be perfectly candid with you.'
-"'i am waiting,' says i.
-"'my dear ida,' says arthur--of course i went by my real name, while i was in soundport--'this former affection was a spiritual one, in fact. although the lady aroused my deepest sentiments, and was, as i thought, my ideal woman, i never met her, and never spoke to her. it was an ideal love. my love for you, while no less ideal, is different. you wouldn't let that come between us.'
-"'was she pretty?' i asked.
-"'she was very beautiful,' said arthur.
-"'did you see her often?' i asked.
-"'something like a dozen times,' says he.
-"'always from a distance?' says i.
-"'always from quite a distance,' says he.
-"'and you loved her?' i asked.
-"'she seemed my ideal of beauty and grace--and soul,' says arthur.
-"'and this keepsake that you keep under lock and key, and moon over at times, is that a remembrance from her?'
-"'a memento,' says arthur, 'that i have treasured.'
-"'did she send it to you?'
-"'it came to me from her,' says he.
-"'in a roundabout way?' i asked.
-"'somewhat roundabout,' says he, 'and yet rather direct.'
-"'why didn't you ever meet her?' i asked. 'were your positions in life so different?'
-"'she was far above me,' says arthur. 'now, ida,' he goes on, 'this is all of the past. you're not going to be jealous, are you?'
-"'jealous!' says i. 'why, man, what are you talking about? it makes me think ten times as much of you as i did before i knew about it.'
-"and it did, lynn--if you can understand it. that ideal love was a new one on me, but it struck me as being the most beautiful and glorious thing i'd ever heard of. think of a man loving a woman he'd never even spoken to, and being faithful just to what his mind and heart pictured her! oh, it sounded great to me. the men i'd always known come at you with either diamonds, knock-out-drops or a raise of salary,--and their ideals!--well, we'll say no more.
-"yes, it made me think more of arthur than i did before. i couldn't be jealous of that far-away divinity that he used to worship, for i was going to have him myself. and i began to look upon him as a saint on earth, just as old lady gurley did.
-"about four o'clock this afternoon a man came to the house for arthur to go and see somebody that was sick among his church bunch. old lady gurley was taking her afternoon snore on a couch, so that left me pretty much alone.
-"in passing by arthur's study i looked in, and saw his bunch of keys hanging in the drawer of his desk, where he'd forgotten 'em. well, i guess we're all to the mrs. bluebeard now and then, ain't we, lynn? i made up my mind i'd have a look at that memento he kept so secret. not that i cared what it was--it was just curiosity.
-"while i was opening the drawer i imagined one or two things it might be. i thought it might be a dried rosebud she'd dropped down to him from a balcony, or maybe a picture of her he'd cut out of a magazine, she being so high up in the world.
-"i opened the drawer, and there was the rosewood casket about the size of a gent's collar box. i found the little key in the bunch that fitted it, and unlocked it and raised the lid.
-"i took one look at that memento, and then i went to my room and packed my trunk. i threw a few things into my grip, gave my hair a flirt or two with a side-comb, put on my hat, and went in and gave the old lady's foot a kick. i'd tried awfully hard to use proper and correct language while i was there for arthur's sake, and i had the habit down pat, but it left me then.
-"'stop sawing gourds,' says i, 'and sit up and take notice. the ghost's about to walk. i'm going away from here, and i owe you eight dollars. the expressman will call for my trunk.'
-"i handed her the money.
-"'dear me, miss crosby!' says she. 'is anything wrong? i thought you were pleased here. dear me, young women are so hard to understand, and so different from what you expect 'em to be.'
-"'you're damn right,' says i. 'some of 'em are. but you can't say that about men. when you know one man you know 'em all! that settles the human-race question.'
-"and then i caught the four-thirty-eight, soft-coal unlimited; and here i am."
-"you didn't tell me what was in the box, lee," said miss d'armande, anxiously.
-"one of those yellow silk garters that i used to kick off my leg into the audience during that old vaudeville swing act of mine. is there any of the cocktail left, lynn?"
-african camp fires
-stewart edward white
-thomas nelson and sons london, edinburgh, dublin and new york
-part i.--to the island of war.
-i. the open door
-ii. the farewell
-iii. port said
-vii. the indian ocean
-part ii.--the shimba hills.
-ix. a tropical jungle
-x. the sable
-xi. a march along the coast
-xii. the fire
-xiii. up from the coast
-xvii. an ostrich farm at machakos
-xviii. the first lioness
-xix. the dogs
-xxi. riding the plains
-xxii. the second lioness
-xxiii. the big lion
-xxvi. the fringe-eared oryx
-xxvii. across the serengetti
-xxviii. down the river
-xxix. the lesser kudu
-xxx. adventures by the way
-xxxi. the lost safari
-xxxii. the babu
-part vi.--in masailand.
-xxxiii. over the likipia escarpment
-xxxvi. across the thirst
-xxxvii. the southern guaso nyero
-xxxviii. the lower benches
-xxxix. notes on the masai
-xl. through the enchanted forest
-xlii. scouting in the elephant forest
-xliii. the topi camp
-xlvi. the greater kudu
-xlvii. the magic portals close
-xlviii. the last trek
-to the island of war.
-the open door.
-of such hotels i number that gaudy and polysyllabic hostelry the grand hôtel du louvre et de la paix at marseilles. i am indifferent to the facts that it is situated on that fine thoroughfare, the rue de cannebière, which the proud and untravelled native devoutly believes to be the finest street in the world; that it possesses a dining-room of gilded and painted repoussé work so elaborate and wonderful that it surely must be intended to represent a tinsmith's dream of heaven; that its concierge is the most impressive human being on earth except ludwig von kampf (whom i have never seen); that its head waiter is sadder and more elderly and forgiving than any other head waiter; and that its hushed and cathedral atmosphere has been undisturbed through immemorial years. that is to be expected; and elsewhere to be duplicated in greater or lesser degree. nor in the lofty courtyard, or the equally lofty halls and reading-rooms, is there ever much bustle and movement. people sit quietly, or move with circumspection. servants glide. the fall of a book or teaspoon, the sudden closing of a door, are events to be remarked. once a day, however, a huge gong sounds, the glass doors of the inner courtyard are thrown open with a flourish, and enters the huge bus fairly among those peacefully sitting at the tables, horses' hoofs striking fire, long lash-cracking volleys, wheels roaring amid hollow reverberations. from the interior of this bus emerge people; and from the top, by means of a strangely-constructed hooked ladder, are decanted boxes, trunks, and appurtenances of various sorts. in these people, and in these boxes, trunks, and appurtenances, are the real interest of the grand hôtel du louvre et de la paix of the marvellous rue cannebière of marseilles.
-for at marseilles land ships, many ships, from all the scattered ends of the earth; and from marseilles depart trains for the north, where is home, or the way home for many peoples. and since the arrival of ships is uncertain, and the departure of trains fixed, it follows that everybody descends for a little or greater period at the grand hôtel du louvre et de la paix.
-they come lean and quiet and a little yellow from hard climates, with the names of strange places on their lips, and they speak familiarly of far-off things. their clothes are generally of ancient cut, and the wrinkles and camphor aroma of a long packing away are yet discernible. often they are still wearing sun helmets or double terai hats, pending a descent on a piccadilly hatter two days hence. they move slowly and languidly; the ordinary piercing and dominant english enunciation has fallen to modulation; their eyes, while observant and alert, look tired. it is as though the far countries have sucked something from the pith of them in exchange for great experiences that nevertheless seem of little value; as though these men, having met at last face to face the ultimate of what the earth has to offer in the way of danger, hardship, difficulty, and the things that try men's souls, having unexpectedly found them all to fall short of both the importance and the final significance with which human-kind has always invested them, were now just a little at a loss. therefore they stretch their long, lean frames in the wicker chairs, they sip the long drinks at their elbows, puff slowly at their long, lean cheroots, and talk spasmodically in short sentences.
-of quite a different type are those going out--young fellows full of northern health and energy, full of the eagerness of anticipation, full of romance skilfully concealed, self-certain, authoritative, clear voiced. their exit from the bus is followed by a rain of hold-alls, bags, new tin boxes, new gun cases, all lettered freshly--an enormous kit doomed to diminution. they overflow the place, ebb towards their respective rooms; return scrubbed and ruddy, correctly clad, correctly unconscious of everybody else; sink into more wicker chairs. the quiet brown and yellow men continue to puff at their cheroots, quite eclipsed. after a time one of them picks up his battered old sun helmet and goes out into the street. the eyes of the newcomers follow him. they fall silent; and their eyes, under cover of pulled moustache, furtively glance towards the lean man's companions. then on that office falls a great silence, broken only by the occasional rare remarks of the quiet men with the cheroots. the youngsters are listening with all their ears, though from their appearance no one would suspect that fact. not a syllable escapes them. these quiet men have been there; they have seen with their own eyes; their lightest word is saturated with the mystery and romance of the unknown. their easy, matter-of-fact, everyday knowledge is richly wonderful. it would seem natural for these young-young men to question these old-young men of that which they desire so ardently to know; but that isn't done, you know. so they sit tight, and pretend they are not listening, and feast their ears on the wonderful syllables--ankobar, kabul, peshawur, annam, nyassaland, kerman, serengetti, tanganika, and many others. on these beautiful syllables must their imaginations feed, for that which is told is as nothing at all. adventure there is none, romance there is none, mention of high emprise there is none. adventure, romance, high emprise have to these men somehow lost their importance. perhaps such things have been to them too common--as well mention the morning egg. perhaps they have found that there is no genuine adventure, no real romance except over the edge of the world where the rainbow stoops.
-the bus rattles in and rattles out again. it takes the fresh-faced young men down past the inner harbour to where lie the tall ships waiting. they and their cargo of exuberance, of hope, of energy, of thirst for the bubble adventure, the rainbow romance, sail away to where these wares have a market. and the quiet men glide away to the north. their wares have been marketed. the sleepy, fierce, passionate, sunny lands have taken all they had to bring. and have given in exchange? indifference, ill-health, a profound realization that the length of days are as nothing at all; a supreme agnosticism as to the ultimate value of anything that a single man can do, a sublime faith that it must be done, the power to concentrate, patience illimitable; contempt for danger, disregard of death, the intention to live; a final, weary estimate of the fact that mere things are as unimportant here as there, no matter how quaintly or fantastically they are dressed or named, and a corresponding emptiness of anticipation for the future--these items are only a random few of the price given by the ancient lands for that which the northern races bring to them. what other alchemical changes have been wrought only these lean and weary men could know--if they dared look so far within themselves. and even if they dared, they would not tell.
-we boarded ship, filled with a great, and what seemed to us, an unappeasable curiosity as to what we were going to see. it was not a very big ship, in spite of the grandiloquent descriptions in the advertisements, or the lithograph wherein she cut grandly and evenly through huge waves to the manifest discomfiture of infinitesimal sailing craft bobbing alongside. she was manned entirely by germans. the room stewards waited at table, cleaned the public saloons, kept the library, rustled the baggage, and played in the band. that is why we took our music between meals. our staterooms were very tiny indeed. each was provided with an electric fan; a totally inadequate and rather aggravating electric fan once we had entered the red sea. just at this moment we paid it little attention, for we were still in full enjoyment of sunny france, where, in our own experience, it had rained two months steadily. indeed, at this moment it was raining, raining a steady, cold, sodden drizzle that had not even the grace to pick out the surface of the harbour in the jolly dancing staccato that goes far to lend attraction to a genuinely earnest rainstorm.
-down the long quay splashed cabs and omnibuses, their drivers glistening in wet capes, to discharge under the open shed at the end various hasty individuals who marshalled long lines of porters with astonishing impedimenta and drove them up the gang-plank. a half-dozen roughs lounged aimlessly. a little bent old woman with a shawl over her head searched here and there. occasionally she would find a twisted splinter of wood torn from the piles by a hawser or gouged from the planking by heavy freight, or kicked from the floor by the hoofs of horses. this she deposited carefully in a small covered market basket. she was entirely intent on this minute and rather pathetic task, quite unattending the greatness of the ship, or the many people the great hulk swallowed or spat forth.
-apparently we all of us had a few remaining french coins; and certainly we were all grateful to the young englishman for his happy thought. the sous descended as fast as the woman could get to where they fell. so numerous were they that she had no time to express her gratitude except in broken snatches or gesture, in interrupted attitudes of the most complete thanksgiving. the day of miracles for her had come; and from the humble poverty that valued tiny and infrequent splinters of wood she had suddenly come into great wealth. everybody was laughing, but in a very kindly sort of way it seemed to me; and the very wharf rats and gamins, wolfish and fierce in their everyday life of the water-front, seemed to take a genuine pleasure in pointing out to her the resting-place of those her dim old eyes had not seen. silver pieces followed. these were too wonderful. she grew more and more excited, until several of the passengers leaning over the rail began to murmur warningly, fearing harm. after picking up each of these silver pieces, she bowed and gestured very gracefully, waving both hands outward, lifting eyes and hands to heaven, kissing her fingers, trying by every means in her power to express the dazzling wonder and joy that this unexpected marvel was bringing her. when she had done all these things many times, she hugged herself ecstatically. a very well-dressed and prosperous-looking frenchman standing near seemed to be a little afraid she might hug him. his fear had, perhaps, some grounds, for she shook hands with everybody all around, and showed them her wealth in her kerchief, explaining eagerly, the tears running down her face.
-now the gang-plank was drawn aboard, and the band struck up the usual lively air. at the first notes the old woman executed a few feeble little jig steps in sheer exuberance. then the solemnity of the situation sobered her. her great, wealthy, powerful, kind friends were departing on their long voyage over mysterious seas. again and again, very earnestly, she repeated the graceful, slow pantomime--the wave of the arms outward, the eyes raised to heaven, the hands clasped finally over her head. as the brown strip of water silently widened between us it was strangely like a stage scene--the roofed sheds of the quay, the motionless groups, the central figure of the old woman depicting emotion.
-suddenly she dropped her hands and hobbled away at a great rate, disappearing finally into the maze of the street beyond. concluding that she had decided to get quickly home with her great treasure, we commended her discretion and gave our attention to other things.
-the drizzle fell uninterruptedly. we had edged sidewise the requisite distance, and were now gathering headway in our long voyage. the quail was beginning to recede and to diminish. back from the street hastened the figure of the little old woman. she carried a large white cloth, of which she had evidently been in quest. this she unfolded and waved vigorously with both hands. until we had passed quite from sight she stood there signalling her farewell. long after we were beyond distinguishing her figure we could catch the flutter of white. thus that ship's company, embarking each on his great adventure, far from home and friends, received their farewell, a very genuine farewell, from one poor old woman. b. ventured the opinion that it was the best thing we had bought with our french money.
-the time of times to approach port said is just at the fall of dusk. then the sea lies in opalescent patches, and the low shores fade away into the gathering night. the slanting masts and yards of the dhows silhouette against a sky of the deepest translucent green; and the heroic statue of de lesseps, standing for ever at the gateway he opened, points always to the mysterious east.
-we went ashore, passed through a wicket gate, and across the dark buildings to the heart of the town, whence came the dull glow and the sounds of people.
-here were two streets running across one another, both brilliantly lighted, both thronged, both lined with little shops. in the latter one could buy anything, in any language, with any money. in them we saw cheap straw hats made in germany hung side by side with gorgeous and beautiful stuffs from the orient; shoddy european garments and eastern jewels; cheap celluloid combs and curious embroideries. the crowd of passers-by in the streets were compounded in the same curiously mixed fashion; a few europeans, generally in white, and then a variety of arabs, egyptians, somalis, berbers, east indians and the like, each in his own gaudy or graceful costume. it speaks well for the accuracy of feeling, anyway, of our various "midways," "pikes," and the like of our world's expositions that the streets of port said looked like midways raised to the nth power. along them we sauntered with a pleasing feeling of self-importance. on all sides we were gently and humbly besought--by the shopkeepers, by the sidewalk vendors, by would-be guides, by fortune-tellers, by jugglers, by magicians; all soft-voiced and respectful; all yielding as water to rebuff, but as quick as water to glide back again. the vendors were of the colours of the rainbow, and were heavily hung with long necklaces of coral or amber, with scarves, with strings of silver coins, with sequinned veils and silks, girt with many dirks and knives, furnished out in concealed pockets with scarabs, bracelets, sandalwood boxes or anything else under the broad canopy of heaven one might or might not desire. their voices were soft and pleasing, their eyes had the beseeching quality of a good dog's, their anxious and deprecating faces were ready at the slightest encouragement to break out into the friendliest and most intimate of smiles. wherever we went we were accompanied by a retinue straight out of the arabian nights, patiently awaiting the moment when we should tire; should seek out the table of a sidewalk café; and should, in our relaxed mood, be ready to unbend to our royal purchases.
-at that moment we were too much interested in the town itself. the tiny shops, with their smiling and insinuating oriental keepers, were fascinating in their displays of carved woods, jewellery, perfumes, silks, tapestries, silversmiths' work, ostrich feathers, and the like. to either side the main street lay long narrow dark alleys, in which flared single lights, across which flitted mysterious long-robed figures, from which floated stray snatches of music either palpitatingly barbaric or ridiculously modern. there the authority of the straight, soldierly-looking soudanese policemen ceased, and it was not safe to wander unarmed or alone.
-besides these motley variegations of the east and west, the main feature of the town was the street car. it was an open-air structure of spacious dimensions, as though benches and a canopy had been erected rather haphazard on a small dancing platform. the track is absurdly narrow in gauge; and as a consequence the edifice swayed and swung from side to side. a single mule was attached to it loosely by about ten feet of rope. it was driven by a gaudy ragamuffin in a turban. various other gaudy ragamuffins lounged largely and picturesquely on the widely spaced benches. whence it came or whither it went i do not know. its orbit swung into the main street, turned a corner, and disappeared. apparently europeans did not patronize this picturesque wreck, but drove elegantly but mysteriously in small open cabs conducted by totally incongruous turbaned drivers.
-we ended finally at an imposing corner hotel, where we dined by an open window just above the level of the street. a dozen upturned faces besought us silently during the meal. at a glance of even the mildest interest a dozen long brown arms thrust the spoils of the east upon our consideration. with us sat a large benign swedish professor whose erudition was encyclopaedic, but whose kindly humanity was greater. uttering deep, cavernous chuckles, the professor bargained. a red coral necklace for the moment was the matter of interest. the professor inspected it carefully, and handed it back.
-"i doubt if id iss coral," said he simply.
-the present owner of the beads went frantic with rapid-fire proof and vociferation. with the swiftness and precision of much repetition he fished out a match, struck it, applied the flame to the alleged coral, and blew out the match; cast the necklace on the pavement, produced mysteriously a small hammer, and with it proceeded frantically to pound the beads. evidently he was accustomed to being doubted, and carried his materials for proof around with him. then, in one motion, the hammer disappeared, the beads were snatched up, and again offered, unharmed, for inspection.
-"are those good tests for genuineness?" we asked the professor, aside.
-"as to that," he replied regretfully, "i do not know. i know of coral only that is the hard calcareous skeleton of the marine coelenterate polyps; and that this red coral iss called of a sclerobasic group; and other facts of the kind; but i do not know if it iss supposed to resist impact and heat. possibly," he ended shrewdly, "it is the common imitation which does not resist impact and heat. at any rate they are pretty. how much?" he demanded of the vendor, a bright-eyed egyptian waiting patiently until our conference should cease.
-"twenty shillings," he replied promptly.
-the professor shook with one of his cavernous chuckles.
-"too much," he observed, and handed the necklace back through the window.
-the egyptian would by no means receive it.
-"keep! keep!" he implored, thrusting the mass of red upon the professor with both hands. "how much you give?"
-"one shilling," announced the professor firmly.
-the coral necklace lay on the edge of the table throughout most of our leisurely meal. the vendor argued, pleaded, gave it up, disappeared in the crowd, returned dramatically after an interval. the professor ate calmly, chuckled much, and from time to time repeated firmly the words, "one shilling." finally, at the cheese, he reached out, swept the coral into his pocket, and laid down two shillings. the egyptian deftly gathered the coin, smiled cheerfully, and produced a glittering veil, in which he tried in vain to enlist billy's interest.
-for coffee and cigars we moved to the terrace outside. here an orchestra played, the peoples of many nations sat at little tables, the peddlers, fakirs, jugglers, and fortune-tellers swarmed. a half-dozen postal cards seemed sufficient to set a small boy up in trade, and to imbue him with all the importance and insistence of a merchant with jewels. other ten-year-old ragamuffins tried to call our attention to some sort of sleight-of-hand with poor downy little chickens. grave, turbaned, and polite indians squatted cross-legged at our feet, begging to give us a look into the future by means of the only genuine hall-marked yogi-ism; a troupe of acrobats went energetically and hopefully through quite a meritorious performance a few feet away; a deftly triumphant juggler did very easily, and directly beneath our watchful eyes, some really wonderful tricks. a butterfly-gorgeous swarm of insinuating smiling peddlers of small things dangled and spread their wares where they thought themselves most sure of attention. beyond our own little group we saw slowly passing in the lighted street outside the portico the variegated and picturesque loungers. across the way a phonograph bawled; our stringed orchestra played "the dollar princess;" from somewhere over in the dark and mysterious alleyways came the regular beating of a tom-tom. the magnificent and picturesque town car with its gaudy ragamuffins swayed by in train of its diminutive mule.
-suddenly our persistent and amusing entourage vanished in all directions. standing idly at the portico was a very straight, black soudanese. on his head was the usual red fez; his clothing was of trim khaki; his knees and feet were bare, with blue puttees between; and around his middle was drawn close and smooth a blood-red sash at least a foot and a half in breadth. he made a fine upstanding egyptian figure, and was armed with pride, a short sheathed club, and a great scorn. no word spoke he, nor command; but merely jerked a thumb towards the darkness, and into the darkness our many-hued horde melted away. we were left feeling rather lonesome!
-near midnight we sauntered down the street to the quay, whence we were rowed to the ship by another turbaned, long-robed figure, who sweetly begged just a copper or so "for poor boatman."
-we found the ship in the process of coaling, every porthole and doorway closed, and heavy canvas hung to protect as far as possible the clean decks. two barges were moored alongside. two blazing braziers lighted them with weird red and flickering flames. in their depths, cast in black and red shadows, toiled half-guessed figures; from their depths, mounting a single steep plank, came an unbroken procession of natives, naked save for a wisp of cloth around the loins. they trod closely on each other's heels, carrying each his basket atop his head or on one shoulder, mounted a gang-plank, discharged their loads into the side of the ship, and descended again to the depths by way of another plank. the lights flickered across their dark faces, their gleaming teeth and eyes. somehow the work demanded a heap of screeching, shouting, and gesticulation; but somehow also it went forward rapidly. dozens of unattached natives lounged about the gunwales with apparently nothing to do but to look picturesque. shore boats moved into the narrow circle of light, drifted to our gangway, and discharged huge crates of vegetables, sacks of unknown stuffs, and returning passengers. a vigilant police boat hovered near to settle disputes, generally with the blade of an oar. for a long time we leaned over the rail watching them, and the various reflected lights in the water, and the very clear, unwavering stars. then, the coaling finished, and the portholes once more opened, we turned in.
-after breakfast, however, i found that the sandbank had various attractions all of its own. three camels laden with stone and in convoy of white-clad figures shuffled down the slope at a picturesque angle. two cowled women in black, veiled to the eyes in gauze heavily sewn with sequins, barefooted, with massive silver anklets, watched us pass. hindu workmen in turban and loin-cloth furnished a picturesque note, but did not seem to be injuring themselves by over-exertion. naked small boys raced us for a short distance. the banks glided by very slowly and very evenly, the wash sucked after us like water in a slough after a duck boat, and the sky above the yellow sand looked extremely blue.
-the high sandbanks of the early part of the day soon dropped lower to afford us a wider view. in its broad, general features the country was, quite simply, the desert of arizona over again. there were the same high, distant, and brittle-looking mountains, fragile and pearly; the same low, broken half-distances; the same wide sweeps; the same wonderful changing effects of light, colour, shadow, and mirage; the same occasional strips of green marking the watercourses and oases. as to smaller detail, we saw many interesting divergences. in the foreground constantly recurred the bedouin brush shelters, each with its picturesque figure or so in flowing robes, and its grumpy camels. twice we saw travelling caravans, exactly like the bible pictures. at one place a single burnoused arab, leaning on his elbows, reclined full length on the sky-line of a clean-cut sandhill. glittering in the mirage, half-guessed, half-seen, we made out distant little white towns with slender palm trees. at places the water from the canal had overflowed wide tracts of country. here, along the shore, we saw thousands of the water-fowl already familiar to us, as well as such strangers as gaudy kingfishers, ibises, and rosy flamingoes.
-the canal itself seemed to be in a continual state of repair. dredgers were everywhere; some of the ordinary shovel type, others working by suction, and discharging far inland by means of weird huge pipes that apparently meandered at will over the face of nature. the control stations were beautifully french and neat, painted yellow, each with its gorgeous bougainvilleas in flower, its square-rigged signal masts, its brightly painted extra buoys standing in a row, its wharf--and its impassive arab fishermen thereon. we reclined in our canvas chairs, had lemon squashes brought to us, and watched the entertainment steadily and slowly unrolled before us.
-we reached the end of the canal about three o'clock of the afternoon, and dropped anchor off the low-lying shores. our binoculars showed us white houses in apparently single rank along a far-reaching narrow sand spit, with sparse trees and a railroad line. that was the town of suez, and seemed so little interesting that we were not particularly sorry that we could not go ashore. far in the distance were mountains; and the water all about us was the light, clear green of the sky at sunset.
-innumerable dhows and row-boats swarmed down, filled with eager salesmen of curios and ostrich plumes. they had not much time in which to bargain, so they made it up in rapid-fire vociferation. one very tall and dignified arab had as sailor of his craft the most extraordinary creature, just above the lower limit of the human race. he was of a dull coal black, without a single high light on him anywhere, as though he had been sand-papered, had prominent teeth, like those of a baboon, in a wrinkled, wizened monkey face, across which were three tattooed bands, and possessed a little, long-armed, spare figure, bent and wiry. he clambered up and down his mast, fetching things at his master's behest; leapt nonchalantly for our rail or his own spar, as the case might be, across the staggering abyss; clung so well with his toes that he might almost have been classified with the quadrumana; and between times squatted humped over on the rail, watching us with bright, elfish, alien eyes.
-at last the big german sailors bundled the whole variegated horde overside. it was time to go, and our anchor chain was already rumbling in the hawse pipes. they tumbled hastily into their boats; and at once swarmed up their masts, whence they feverishly continued their interrupted bargaining. in fact, so fully embarked on the tides of commerce were they, that they failed to notice the tides of nature widening between us. one old man, in especial, at the very top of his mast, jerked hither and thither by the sea, continued imploringly to offer an utterly ridiculous carved wooden camel long after it was impossible to have completed the transaction should anybody have been moonstruck enough to have desired it. our ship's prow swung; and just at sunset, as the lights of suez were twinkling out one by one, we headed down the red sea.
-the red sea.
-suez is indeed the gateway to the east. in the mediterranean often the sea is rough, the winds cold, passengers are not yet acquainted, and hug the saloons or the leeward side of the deck. once through the canal and all is changed by magic. the air is hot and languid; the ship's company down to the very scullions appear in immaculate white; the saloon chairs and transoms even are put in white coverings; electric fans hum everywhere; the run on lemon squashes begins; and many quaint and curious customs of the tropics obtain.
-for example: it is etiquette that before eight o'clock one may wander the decks at will in one's pyjamas, converse affably with fair ladies in pigtail and kimono, and be not abashed. but on the stroke of eight bells it is also etiquette to disappear very promptly and to array one's self for the day; and it is very improper indeed to see or be seen after that hour in the rather extreme negligée of the early morning. also it becomes the universal custom, or perhaps i should say the necessity, to slumber for an hour after the noon meal. certainly sleep descending on the tropical traveller is armed with a bludgeon. passengers, crew, steerage, "deck," animal, and bird fall down then in an enchantment. i have often wondered who navigates the ship during that sacred hour, or, indeed, if anybody navigates it at all. perhaps that time is sacred to the genii of the old east, who close all prying mortal eyes, but in return lend a guiding hand to the most pressing of mortal affairs. the deck of the ship is a curious sight between the hours of half-past one and three. the tropical siesta requires no couching of the form. you sit down in your chair, with a book--you fade slowly into a deep, restful slumber. and yet it is a slumber wherein certain small pleasant things persist from the world outside. you remain dimly conscious of the rhythmic throbbing of the engines, of the beat of soft, warm air on your cheek.
-at three o'clock or thereabout you rise as gently back to life, and sit erect in your chair without a stretch or a yawn in your whole anatomy. then is the one time of day for a display of energy--if you have any to display. ship games, walks--fairly brisk--explorations to the forecastle, a watch for flying fish or arab dhows, anything until tea-time. then the glowing sunset; the opalescent sea, and the soft afterglow of the sky--and the bugle summoning you to dress. that is a mean job. nothing could possibly swelter worse than the tiny cabin. the electric fan is an aggravation. you reappear in your fresh "whites" somewhat warm and flustered in both mind and body. a turn around the deck cools you off; and dinner restores your equanimity--dinner with the soft, warm tropic air breathing through all the wide-open ports; the electric fans drumming busily; the men all in clean white; the ladies, the very few precious ladies, in soft, low gowns. after dinner the deck, as near cool as it will be, and heads bare to the breeze of our progress, and glowing cigars. at ten or eleven o'clock the groups begin to break up, the canvas chairs to empty. soon reappears a pyjamaed figure followed by a steward carrying a mattress. this is spread, under its owner's direction, in a dark corner forward. with a sigh you in your turn plunge down into the sweltering inferno of your cabin, only to reappear likewise with a steward and a mattress. the latter, if you are wise, you spread where the wind of the ship's going will be full upon you. it is a strong wind and blows upon you heavily, so that the sleeves and legs of your pyjamas flop, but it is a soft, warm wind, and beats you as with muffled fingers. in no temperate clime can you ever enjoy this peculiar effect of a strong breeze on your naked skin without even the faintest surface chilly sensation. so habituated has one become to feeling cooler in a draught that the absence of chill lends the night an unaccustomedness, the more weird in that it is unanalyzed, so that one feels definitely that one is in a strange, far country. this is intensified by the fact that in these latitudes the moon, the great, glorious, calm tropical moon, is directly overhead--follows the centre line of the zenith--instead of being, as with us in our temperate zone, always more or less declined to the horizon. this, too, lends the night an exotic quality, the more effective in that at first the reason for it is not apprehended.
-at six o'clock this is broken by chota-hazri, another tropical institution, consisting merely of clear tea and biscuits. i never could get to care for it, but nowhere in the tropics could i head it off. no matter how tired i was or how dead sleepy, i had to receive that confounded chota-hazri. throwing things at the native who brought it did no good at all. he merely dodged. admonition did no good, nor prohibition in strong terms. i was but one white man of the whole white race; and i had no right to possess idiosyncrasies running counter to dastur, the custom. however, as the early hours are profitable hours in the tropics, it did not drive me to homicide.
-the ship's company now developed. our two prize members, fortunately for us, sat at our table. the first was the swedish professor aforementioned. he was large, benign, paternal, broad in mind, thoroughly human and beloved, and yet profoundly erudite. he was our iconoclast in the way of food; for he performed small but illuminating dissections on his plate, and announced triumphantly results that were not a bit in accordance with the menu. a single bone was sufficient to take the pretension out of any fish. our other particular friend was c., with whom later we travelled in the interior of africa. c. is a very celebrated hunter and explorer, an old africander, his face seamed and tanned by many years in a hard climate. for several days we did not recognize him, although he sat fairly alongside, but put him down as a shy man, and let it go at that. he never stayed for the long table d'hôte dinners, but fell upon the first solid course and made a complete meal from that. when he had quite finished eating all he could, he drank all he could; then he departed from the table, and took up a remote and inaccessible position in the corner of the smoking-room. he was engaged in growing the beard he customarily wore in the jungle--a most fierce outstanding mohammedan-looking beard that terrified the intrusive into submission. and yet bwana c. possesses the kindest blue eyes in the world, full of quiet patience, great understanding, and infinite gentleness. his manner was abrupt and uncompromising, but he would do anything in the world for one who stood in need of him. from women he fled; yet billy won him with infinite patience, and in the event they became the closest of friends. withal he possessed a pair of the most powerful shoulders i have ever seen on a man of his frame; and in the depths of his mild blue eyes flickered a flame of resolution that i could well imagine flaring up to something formidable. slow to make friends, but staunch and loyal; gentle and forbearing, but fierce and implacable in action; at once loved and most terribly feared; shy as a wild animal, but straightforward and undeviating in his human relations; most remarkably quiet and unassuming, but with tremendous vital force in his deep eyes and forward-thrust jaw; informed with the widest and most understanding humanity, but unforgiving of evildoers; and with the most direct and absolute courage, bwana c. was to me the most interesting man i met in africa, and became the best of my friends.
-the only other man at our table happened to be, for our sins, the young englishman mentioned as throwing the first coin to the old woman on the pier at marseilles. we will call him brown, and, because he represents a type, he is worth looking upon for a moment.
-he was of the super-enthusiastic sort; bubbling over with vitality, in and out of everything; bounding up at odd and languid moments. to an extraordinary extent he was afflicted with the spiritual blindness of his class. quite genuinely, quite seriously, he was unconscious of the human significance of beings and institutions belonging to a foreign country or even to a class other than his own. his own kind he treated as complete and understandable human creatures. all others were merely objective. as we, to a certain extent, happened to fall in the former category, he was as pleasant to us as possible--that is, he was pleasant to us in his way, but had not insight enough to guess at how to be pleasant to us in our way. but as soon as he got out of his own class, or what he conceived to be such, he considered all people as "outsiders." he did not credit them with prejudices to rub, with feelings to hurt, indeed hardly with ears to overhear. provided his subject was an "outsider," he had not the slightest hesitancy in saying exactly what he thought about any one, anywhere, always in his high clear english voice, no matter what the time or occasion. as a natural corollary he always rebuffed beggars and the like brutally, and was always quite sublimely doing little things that thoroughly shocked our sense of the other fellow's rights as a human being. in all this he did not mean to be cruel or inconsiderate. it was just the way he was built; and it never entered his head that "such people" had ears and brains.
-in the rest of the ship's company were a dozen or so other englishmen of the upper classes, either army men on shooting trips, or youths going out with some idea of settling in the country. they were a clean-built, pleasant lot; good people to know anywhere, but of no unusual interest. it was only when one went abroad into the other nations that inscribable human interest could be found.
-there was the greek, scutari, and his bride, a languorous rather opulent beauty, with large dark eyes for all men, and a luxurious manner of lying back and fanning herself. she talked, soft-voiced, in half a dozen languages, changing from one to the other without a break in either her fluency or her thought. her little lithe, active husband sat around and adored her. he was apparently a very able citizen indeed, for he was going out to take charge of the construction work on a german railway. to have filched so important a job from the germans themselves shows that he must have had ability. with them were a middle-aged holland couple, engaged conscientiously in travelling over the globe. they had been everywhere--the two american hemispheres, from one arctic sea to another, siberia, china, the malay archipelago, this, that, and the other odd corner of the world. always they sat placidly side by side, either in the saloon or on deck, smiling benignly, and conversing in spaced, comfortable syllables with everybody who happened along. mrs. breemen worked industriously on some kind of feminine gear, and explained to all and sundry that she travelled "to see de sceenery wid my hoos-band."
-also in this group was a small wiry german doctor, who had lived for many years in the far interior of africa, and was now returning after his vacation. he was a little man, bright-eyed and keen, with a clear complexion and hard flesh, in striking and agreeable contrast to most of his compatriots. the latter were trying to drink all the beer on the ship; but as she had been stocked for an eighty-day voyage, of which this was but the second week, they were not making noticeable headway. however, they did not seem to be easily discouraged. the herr doktor was most polite and attentive, but as we did not talk german nor much swahili, and he had neither english nor much french, we had our difficulties. i have heard billy in talking to him scatter fragments of these four languages through a single sentence!
-for several days we drifted down a warm flat sea. then one morning we came on deck to find ourselves close aboard a number of volcanic islands. they were composed entirely of red and dark purple lava blocks, rugged, quite without vegetation save for occasional patches of stringy green in a gully; and uninhabited except for a lighthouse on one, and a fishing shanty near the shores of another. the high mournful mountains, with their dark shadows, seemed to brood over hot desolation. the rusted and battered stern of a wrecked steamer stuck up at an acute angle from the surges. shortly after we picked up the shores of arabia.
-note the advantages of a half ignorance. from early childhood we had thought of arabia as the "burning desert"--flat, of course--and of the red sea as bordered by "shifting sands" alone. if we had known the truth--if we had not been half ignorant--we would have missed the profound surprise of discovering that in reality the red sea is bordered by high and rugged mountains, leaving just space enough between themselves and the shore for a sloping plain on which our glasses could make out occasional palms. perhaps the "shifting sands of the burning desert" lie somewhere beyond; but somebody might have mentioned these great mountains! after examining them attentively we had to confess that if this sort of thing continued farther north the children of israel must have had a very hard time of it. mocha shone white, glittering, and low, with the red and white spire of a mosque rising brilliantly above it.
-it was cooler; and for a change we had turned into our bunks, when b. pounded on our stateroom door.
-"in the name of the eternal east," said he, "come on deck!"
-we slipped on kimonos, and joined the row of scantily draped and interested figures along the rail.
-the ship lay quite still on a perfect sea of moonlight, bordered by a low flat distant shore on one side, and nearer mountains on the other. a strong flare, centred from two ship reflectors overside, made a focus of illumination that subdued, but could not quench, the soft moonlight with which all outside was silvered. a dozen boats, striving against a current or clinging as best they could to the ship's side, glided into the light and became real and solid; or dropped back into the ghostly white unsubstantiality of the moon. they were long, narrow boats, with small flush decks fore and aft. we looked down on them from almost directly above, so that we saw the thwarts and the ribs and the things they contained.
-astern in each stood men, bending gracefully against the thrust of long sweeps. about their waists were squares of cloth, wrapped twice and tucked in. otherwise they were naked, and the long smooth muscles of their slender bodies rippled under the skin. the latter was of a beautiful fine texture, and chocolate brown. these men had keen, intelligent, clear-cut faces, of the greek order, as though the statues of a garden had been stained brown and had come to life. they leaned on their sweeps, thrusting slowly but strongly against the little wind and current that would drift them back.
-after an interval a small and fussy tugboat steamed around our stern and drew alongside the gangway. three passengers disembarked from her and made their way aboard. the main deck of the craft under an awning was heavily encumbered with trunks, tin boxes, hand baggage, tin bath-tubs, gun cases, and all sorts of impedimenta. the tugboat moored itself to us fore and aft, and proceeded to think about discharging. perhaps twenty men in accurate replica of those in the small boats had charge of the job. they had their own methods. after a long interval devoted strictly to nothing, some unfathomable impulse would incite one or two or three of the natives to tackle a trunk. at it they tugged and heaved and pushed in the manner of ants making off with a particularly large fly or other treasure trove, tossing it up the steep gangway to the level of our decks. the trunks once safely bestowed, all interest, all industry, died. we thought that finished it, and wondered why the tug did not pull out of the way. but always, after an interval, another bright idea would strike another native or natives. he--or they--would disappear beneath the canvas awning over the tug's deck, to emerge shortly, carrying almost anything, from a parasol to a heavy chest.
-on close inspection they proved to be a very small people. the impression of graceful height had come from the slenderness and justness of their proportions, the smallness of their bones, and the upright grace of their carriage. after standing alongside one, we acquired a fine respect for their ability to handle those trunks at all.
-moored to the other side of the ship we found two huge lighters, from which bales of goods were being hoisted aboard. two camels and a dozen diminutive mules stood in the waist of one of these craft. the camels were as sniffy and supercilious and scornful as camels always are; and everybody promptly hated them with the hatred of the abysmally inferior spirit for something that scorns it, as is the usual attitude of the human mind towards camels. we waited for upwards of an hour, in the hope of seeing those camels hoisted aboard; but in vain. while we were so waiting one of the deck passengers below us, a somali in white clothes and a gorgeous cerise turban, decided to turn in. he spread a square of thin matting atop one of the hatches, and began to unwind yards and yards of the fine silk turban. he came to the end of it--whisk! he sank to the deck; the turban, spread open by the resistance of the air, fluttered down to cover him from head to foot. apparently he fell asleep at once, for he did not again move nor alter his position. he, as well as an astonishingly large proportion of the other somalis and abyssinians we saw, carried a queer, well-defined, triangular wound in his head. it had long since healed, was an inch or so across, and looked as though a piece of the skull had been removed. if a conscientious enemy had leisure and an icepick he would do just about that sort of a job. how its recipient had escaped instant death is a mystery.
-at length, about three o'clock, despairing of the camels, we turned in.
-after three hours' sleep we were again on deck. aden by daylight seemed to be several sections of a town tucked into pockets in bold, raw, lava mountains that came down fairly to the water's edge. between these pockets ran a narrow shore road; and along the road paced haughty camels hitched to diminutive carts. on contracted round bluffs towards the sea were various low bungalow buildings which, we were informed, comprised the military and civil officers' quarters. the real aden has been built inland a short distance at the bottom of a cup in the mountains. elaborate stone reservoirs have been constructed to catch rain water, as there is no other natural water supply whatever. the only difficulty is that it practically never rains; so the reservoirs stand empty, the water is distilled from the sea, and the haughty camels and the little carts do the distributing.
-the lava mountains occupy one side of the spacious bay or gulf. the foot of the bay and the other side are flat, with one or two very distant white villages, and many heaps of glittering salt as big as houses.
-we waited patiently at the rail for an hour more to see the camels slung aboard by the crane. it was worth the wait. they lost their impassive and immemorial dignity completely, sprawling, groaning, positively shrieking in dismay. when the solid deck rose to them, and the sling had been loosened, however, they regained their poise instantaneously. their noses went up in the air, and they looked about them with a challenging, unsmiling superiority, as though to dare any one of us to laugh. their native attendants immediately squatted down in front of them, and began to feed them with convenient lengths of what looked like our common marsh cat-tails. the camels did not even then manifest the slightest interest in the proceedings. indeed, they would not condescend to reach out three inches for the most luscious tit-bit held that far from their aristocratic noses. the attendants had actually to thrust the fodder between their jaws. i am glad to say they condescended to chew.
-the indian ocean.
-my glasses were constantly clouding over with a fine coating of water drops; exposed metal rusted overnight; the folds in garments accumulated mildew in an astonishingly brief period of time. there was never even the suggestion of chill in this dampness. it clung and enveloped like a grateful garment; and seemed only to lack sweet perfume.
-the days passed by languidly and all alike. on the chart outside the smoking-room door the procession of tiny german flags on pins marched steadily, an inch at a time, towards the south. otherwise we might as well have imagined ourselves midgets afloat in a pond and getting nowhere.
-somewhere north of the equator--before father neptune in ancient style had come aboard and ducked the lot of us--we were treated to the spectacle of how the german "sheep" reacts under a joke. each nation has its type of fool; and all, for the joyousness of mankind, differ. on the bulletin board one evening appeared a notice to the effect that the following morning a limited number of sportsmen would be permitted ashore for the day. each was advised to bring his own lunch, rifle, and drinks. the reason alleged was that the ship must round a certain cape across which the sportsmen could march afoot in sufficient time to permit them a little shooting.
-now aboard ship were a dozen english, four americans, and thirty or forty germans. the americans and english looked upon that bulletin, smiled gently, and went to order another round of lemon squashes. it was a meek, mild, little joke enough; but surely the bulletin board was as far as it could possibly go. next morning, however, we observed a half-dozen of our german friends in khaki and sun helmet, very busy with lunch boxes, bottles of beer, rifles, and the like. they said they were going ashore as per bulletin. we looked at each other and hied us to the upper deck. there we found one of the boats slung overside, with our old friend the quartermaster ostentatiously stowing kegs of water, boxes, and the like.
-"when," we inquired gently, "does the expedition start?"
-"at ten o'clock," said he.
-it was now within fifteen minutes of that hour.
-we were at the time fully ten miles off shore, and forging ahead full speed parallel with the coast.
-"somebody," said one of the americans, a cowboy going out second class on the look for new cattle country, "is a goat. it sure looks to me like it was these yere steamboat people. they can't expect to rope nothing on such a raw deal as this!"
-to which the english assented, though in different idiom.
-but now up the companion ladder struggled eight serious-minded individuals herded by the second mate. they were armed to the teeth, and thoroughly equipped with things i had seen in german catalogues, but in whose existence i had never believed. a half-dozen sailors eagerly helped them with their multitudinous effects. not a thought gave they to the fact that we were ten miles off the coast, that we gave no indication of slackening speed, that it would take the rest of the day to row ashore, that there was no cape for us to round, that if there were--oh! all the other hundred improbabilities peculiar to the situation. under direction of the mate they deposited their impedimenta beneath a tarpaulin, and took their places in solemn rows amidships across the thwarts of the boat slung overside. the importance of the occasion sat upon them heavily; they were going ashore--in africa--to slay wild beasts. they looked upon themselves as of bolder, sterner stuff than the rest of us.
-when the procession first appeared, our cowboy's face for a single instant had flamed with amazed incredulity. then a mask of expressionless stolidity fell across his features, which in no line thereafter varied one iota.
-"what are they going to do with them?" murmured one of the englishmen, at a loss.
-"i reckon," said the cowboy, "that they look on this as the easiest way to drown them all to onct."
-then from behind one of the other boats suddenly appeared a huge german sailor with a hose. the devoted imbeciles in the shore boat were drenched as by a cloud-burst. back and forth and up and down the heavy stream played, while every other human being about the ship shrieked with joy. did the victims rise up in a body and capture that hose nozzle and turn the stream to sweep the decks? did they duck for shelter? did they at least know enough to scatter and run? they did none of these things; but sat there in meek little rows like mannikins until the boat was half full of water and everything awash. then, when the sailor shut off the stream, they continued to sit there until the mate came to order them out. why? i cannot tell you. perhaps that is the german idea of how to take a joke. perhaps they were afraid worse things might be consequent on resistance. perhaps they still hoped to go ashore. one of the englishmen asked just that question.
-"what," he demanded disgustedly, "what is the matter with the beggars?"
-our cowboy may have had the correct solution. he stretched his long legs and jumped down from the rail.
-"nothing stirring above the ears," said he.
-it is customary in books of travel to describe this part of the journey somewhat as follows: "skirting the low and uninteresting shores of africa we at length reached," etc. low and uninteresting shores! through the glasses we made out distant mountains far beyond nearer hills. the latter were green-covered with dense forests whence rose mysterious smokes. along the shore we saw an occasional cocoanut plantation to the water's edge and native huts and villages of thatch. canoes of strange models lay drawn up on shelving beaches; queer fish-pounds of brush reached out considerable distances from the coast. the white surf pounded on a yellow beach.
-all about these things was the jungle, hemming in the plantations and villages, bordering the lagoons, creeping down until it fairly overhung the yellow beaches; as though, conqueror through all the country beyond, it were half-inclined to dispute dominion with old ocean himself. it looked from the distance like a thick, soft coverlet thrown down over the country; following--or, rather, suggesting--the inequalities. through the glasses we were occasionally able to peep under the edge of this coverlet, and see where the fringe of the jungle drew back in a little pocket, or to catch the sheen of mysterious dark rivers slipping to the sea. up these dark rivers, by way of the entrances of these tiny pockets, the imagination then could lead on into the dimness beneath the sunlit upper surfaces.
-towards the close of one afternoon we changed our course slightly, and swung in on a long slant towards the coast. we did it casually; too casually for so very important an action, for now at last we were about to touch the mysterious continent. then we saw clearer the fine, big groves of palm and the luxuriance of the tropical vegetation. against the greenery, bold and white, shone the buildings of mombasa; and after a little while we saw an inland glitter that represented her narrow, deep bay, the stern of a wreck against the low, green cliffs, and strange, fat-trunked squat trees without leaves. straight past all this we glided at half speed, then turned sharp to the right to enter a long wide expanse like a river, with green banks, twenty feet or so in height, grown thickly with the tall cocoanut palms. these gave way at times into broad, low lagoons, at the end of which were small beaches and boats, and native huts among more cocoanut groves. through our glasses we could see the black men watching us, quite motionless, squatted on their heels.
-it was like suddenly entering another world, this gliding from the open sea straight into the heart of a green land. the ceaseless wash of waves we had left outside with the ocean; our engines had fallen silent. across the hushed waters came to us strange chantings and the beating of a tom-tom, an occasional shrill shout from the unknown jungle. the sun was just set, and the tops of the palms caught the last rays; all below was dense green shadow. across the surface of the water glided dug-out canoes of shapes strange to us. we passed ancient ruins almost completely dismantled, their stones half smothered in green rank growth. the wide river-like bay stretched on before us as far as the waning light permitted us to see; finally losing itself in the heart of mystery.
-steadily and confidently our ship steamed forward, until at last, when we seemed to be afloat in a land-locked lake, we dropped anchor and came to rest.
-darkness fell utterly before the usual quarantine regulations had been carried through. active and efficient agents had already taken charge of our affairs, so we had only to wait idly by the rail until summoned. then we jostled our way down the long gangway, passed and repassed by natives carrying baggage or returning for more baggage, stepped briskly aboard a very bobby little craft, clambered over a huge pile of baggage, and stowed ourselves as best we could. a figure in a long white robe sat astern, tiller ropes in hand; two half-naked blacks far up towards the prow manipulated a pair of tremendous sweeps. with a vast heaving, jabbering, and shouting, our boat disengaged itself from the swarm of other craft. we floated around the stern of our ship, and were immediately suspended in blackness dotted with the stars and their reflections, and with various twinkling scattered lights. to one of these we steered, and presently touched at a stone quay with steps. at last we set foot on the land to which so long we had journeyed and towards which our expectations had grown so great. we experienced "the pleasure that touches the souls of men landing on strange shores."
-a single light shone at the end of the stone quay, and another inside a big indeterminate building at some distance. we stumbled towards this, and found it to be the biggest shed ever constructed out of corrugated iron. a bearded sikh stood on guard at its open entrance. he let any one and every one enter, with never a flicker of his expressionless black eyes; but allowed no one to go out again without the closest scrutiny for dutiable articles that lacked the blue customs plaster. we entered. the place was vast and barnlike and dim, and very, very hot. a half-dozen east indians stood behind the counters; another, a babu, sat at a little desk ready to give his clerical attention to what might be required. we saw no european; but next morning found that one passed his daylight hours in this inferno of heat. for the moment we let our main baggage go, and occupied ourselves only with getting through our smaller effects. this accomplished, we stepped out past the sikh into the grateful night.
-we had as guide a slender and wiry individual clad in tarboush and long white robe. in a vague, general way we knew that the town of mombasa was across the island and about four miles distant. in what direction or how we got there we had not the remotest idea.
-"if i ever lose this nigger, i'll never find him again," i shouted back, "but i can find you. do the best you can!"
-we struck a smoother road that led up a hill on a long slant. apparently for miles we followed thus, the white-robed individual ahead still deaf to all commands and the blood-curdling threats i had now come to uttering. all our personal baggage had long since mysteriously disappeared, ravished away from us at the customs house by a ragged horde of blacks. it began to look as though we were stranded in africa without baggage or effects. billy and b. were all the time growing fainter in the distance, though evidently they too had struck the long, slanting road.
-then we came to a dim, solitary lantern glowing feebly beside a bench at what appeared to be the top of the hill. here our guide at last came to a halt and turned to me a grinning face.
-"samama hapa," he observed.
-there! that was the word i had been frantically searching my memory for! samama--stop!
-the others struggled in. we were very warm. up to the bench led a tiny car track, the rails not over two feet apart, like the toy railroads children use. this did not look much like grownup transportation, but it and the bench and the dim lantern represented all the visible world.
-we sat philosophically on the bench and enjoyed the soft tropical night. the air was tepid, heavy with unknown perfume, black as a band of velvet across the eyes, musical with the subdued undertones of a thousand thousand night insects. at points overhead the soft blind darkness melted imperceptibly into stars.
-after a long interval we distinguished a distant faint rattling, that each moment increased in loudness. shortly came into view along the narrow tracks a most extraordinary vehicle. it was a small square platform on wheels, across which ran a bench seat, and over which spread a canopy. it carried also a dim lantern. this rumbled up to us and stopped. from its stern hopped two black boys. obeying a smiling invitation, we took our places on the bench. the two boys immediately set to pushing us along the narrow track.
-we were off at an astonishing speed through the darkness. the night was deliciously tepid; and, as i have said, absolutely dark. we made out the tops of palms and the dim loom of great spreading trees, and could smell sweet, soft odours. the bare-headed, lightly-clad boys pattered alongside whenever the grade was easy, one hand resting against the rail; or pushed mightily up little hills; or clung alongside like monkeys while we rattled and swooped and plunged down hill into the darkness. subsequently we learned that a huge flat beam projecting amidships from beneath the seat operated a brake which we above were supposed to manipulate; but being quite ignorant as to the ethics and mechanics of this strange street-car system, we swung and swayed at times quite breathlessly.
-after about fifteen minutes we began to pick up lights ahead, then to pass dimly-seen garden walls with trees whose brilliant flowers the lantern revealed fitfully. at last we made out white stucco houses, and shortly drew up with a flourish before the hotel itself.
-this was a two-story stucco affair, with deep verandas sunken in at each story. it fronted a wide white street facing a public garden; and this, we subsequently discovered, was about the only clear and open space in all the narrow town. antelope horns were everywhere hung on the walls; and teakwood easy-chairs, with rests on which comfortably to elevate your feet above your head, stood all about. we entered a bare, brick-floored dining-room, and partook of tropical fruits quite new to us--papayes, mangoes, custard apples, pawpaws, and the small red eating bananas too delicate for export. overhead the punkahs swung back and forth in lazy hypnotic rhythm. we could see the two blacks at the ends of the punkah cords outside on the veranda, their bodies swaying lithely in alternation as they threw their weight against the light ropes. other blacks, in the long white robes and exquisitely worked white skull caps of the swahili, glided noiselessly on bare feet, serving.
-after dinner we sat out until midnight in the teakwood chairs of the upper gallery, staring through the arches into the black, mysterious night, for it was very hot, and we rather dreaded the necessary mosquito veils as likely to prove stuffy. the mosquitoes are few in mombasa, but they are very deadly--very. at midnight the thermometer stood 87° f.
-our premonitions as to stuffiness were well justified. after a restless night we came awake at daylight to the sound of a fine row of some sort going on outside in the streets. immediately we arose, threw aside the lattices, and hung out over the sill.
-for over an hour we hung from our window sill, thoroughly interested and amused by the varied life that deployed before our eyes. the morning seemed deliciously cool after the hot night, although the thermometer stood high. the sky was very blue, with big piled white clouds down near the horizon. dazzling sun shone on the white road, the white buildings visible up and down the street, the white walls enclosing their gardens, and the greenery and colours of the trees within them. for from what we could see from our window we immediately voted tropical vegetation quite up to advertisement: whole trees of gaudy red or yellow or bright orange blossoms, flowering vines, flowering shrubs, peered over the walls or through the fences; and behind them rose great mangoes or the slenderer shafts of bananas and cocoanut palms.
-about this time one of the hotel boys brought the inevitable chota-hazri--the tea and biscuits of early morning. for this once it was very welcome.
-our hotel proved to be on the direct line of freighting. there are no horses or draught animals in mombasa; the fly is too deadly. therefore all hauling is done by hand. the tiny tracks of the unique street car system run everywhere any one would wish to go; branching off even into private grounds and to the very front doors of bungalows situated far out of town. each resident owns his own street car, just as elsewhere a man has his own carriage. there are, of course, public cars also, each with its pair of boys to push it; and also a number of rather decrepit rickshaws. as a natural corollary to the passenger traffic, the freighting also is handled by the blacks on large flat trucks with short guiding poles. these men are quite naked save for a small loin cloth; are beautifully shaped; and glisten all over with perspiration shining in the sun. so fine is the texture of their skins, the softness of their colour--so rippling the play of muscles--that this shining perspiration is like a beautiful polish. they rush from behind, slowly and steadily, and patiently and unwaveringly, the most tremendous loads of the heaviest stuffs. when the hill becomes too steep for them, they turn their backs against the truck; and by placing one foot behind the other, a few inches at a time, they edge their burden up the slope.
-the steering is done by one man at the pole or tongue in front. this individual also sets the key to the song by which in africa all heavy labour is carried forward. he cries his wavering shrill-voiced chant; the toilers utter antiphony in low gruff tones. at a distance one hears only the wild high syncopated chanting; but as the affair draws slowly nearer, he catches the undertone of the responses. these latter are cast in the regular swing and rhythm of effort; but the steersman throws in his bit at odd and irregular intervals. thus:
-headman (shrill): "hay, ah mon!"
-pushers (gruff in rhythm): "tunk!--tunk!--tunk!--" or:
-headman (and wavering minor chant): "ah--nah--nee--e-e-e!"
-pushers (undertone): "umbwa--jo-e! um-bwa--jo--e!"
-these wild and barbaric chantings--in the distance; near at hand; dying into distance again--slow, dogged, toilsome, came to be to us one of the typical features of the place.
-after breakfast we put on our sun helmets and went forth curiously to view the town. we found it roughly divided into four quarters--the old portuguese, the arabic, the european, and the native. the portuguese comprises the outer fringe next the water-front of the inner bay. it is very narrow of street, with whitewashed walls, balconies, and wonderful carven and studded doors. the business of the town is done here. the arabic quarter lies back of it--a maze of narrow alleys winding aimlessly here and there between high white buildings, with occasionally the minarets and towers of a mosque. this district harboured, besides the upper-class swahilis and arabs, a large number of east indians. still back of this are thousands of the low grass, or mud and wattle huts of the natives, their roofs thatched with straw or palm. these are apparently arranged on little system. the small european population lives atop the sea bluffs beyond the old fort in the most attractive bungalows. this, the most desirable location of all, has remained open to them because heretofore the fierce wars with which mombasa, "the island of blood," has been swept have made the exposed seaward lands impossible.
-no idle occupation can be more fascinating than to wander about the mazes of this ancient town. the variety of race and occupation is something astounding. probably the one human note that, everywhere persisting, draws the whole together is furnished by the water-carriers. mombasa has no water system whatever. the entire supply is drawn from numberless picturesque wells scattered everywhere in the crowded centre, and distributed mainly in standard oil cans suspended at either end of a short pole. by dint of constant daily exercise, hauling water up from a depth and carrying it various distances, these men have developed the most beautifully powerful figures. they proceed at a half trot, the slender poles, with forty pounds at either end, seeming fairly to cut into their naked shoulders, muttering a word of warning to the loiterers at every other breath--semeelay! semeelay! no matter in what part of mombasa you may happen to be, or at what hour of the day or night, you will meet these industrious little men trotting along under their burdens.
-by the way, it may be a good place here to remark that these garments, and the patterned squares of cloth worn by the women, are invariably most spotlessly clean.
-these, we learned, were the swahilis, the ruling class, the descendants of the slave traders. beside them are all sorts and conditions. your true savage pleased his own fancy as to dress and personal adornment. the bushmen generally shaved the edges of their wool to leave a nice close-fitting natural skull cap, wore a single blanket draped from one shoulder, and carried a war club. the ear lobe seemed always to be stretched; sometimes sufficiently to have carried a pint bottle. indeed, white marmalade jars seemed to be very popular wear. one ingenious person had acquired a dozen of the sort of safety pins used to fasten curtains to their rings. these he had snapped into the lobes, six on a side.
-we explored for some time. one of the swahilis attached himself to us so unobtrusively that before we knew it we had accepted him as guide. in that capacity he realized an ideal, for he never addressed a word to us, nor did he even stay in sight. we wandered along at our sweet will, dawdling as slowly as we pleased. the guide had apparently quite disappeared. look where we would we could in no manner discover him. at the next corner we would pause, undecided as to what to do; there, in the middle distance, would stand our friend, smiling. when he was sure we had seen him, and were about to take the turn properly, he would disappear again. convoyed in this pleasant fashion we wound and twisted up and down and round and about through the most appalling maze. we saw the native markets with their vociferating sellers seated cross-legged on tables behind piles of fruit or vegetables, while an equally vociferating crowd surged up and down the aisles. gray parrots and little monkeys perched everywhere about. billy gave one of the monkeys a banana. he peeled it exactly as a man would have done, smelt it critically, and threw it back at her in the most insulting fashion. we saw also the rows of hindu shops open to the street, with their gaudily dressed children of blackened eyelids, their stolid dirty proprietors, and their women marvellous in bright silks and massive bangles. in the thatched native quarter were more of the fine swahili women sitting cross-legged on the earth under low verandas, engaged in different handicrafts; and chickens; and many amusing naked children. we made friends with many of them, communicating by laughter and by signs, while our guide stood unobtrusively in the middle distance waiting for us to come on. just at sunset he led us out to a great open space, with a tall palm in the centre of it and the gathering of a multitude of people. a mollah was clambering into a high scaffold built of poles, whence shortly he began to intone a long-drawn-out "allah! allah! il allah!" the cocoanut palms cut the sunset, and the boabab trees--the fat, lazy boababs--looked more monstrous than ever. we called our guide and conferred on him the munificent sum of sixteen and a half cents; with which, apparently much pleased, he departed. then slowly we wandered back to the hotel.
-the shimba hills.
-a tropical jungle.
-these hills could be approached in one of two ways--by crossing the harbour, and then marching two days afoot; or by voyaging up to the very end of one of the long arms of the sea that extend many miles inland. the latter involved dhows, dependence on uncertain winds, favourable tides, and a heap of good luck. it was less laborious but most uncertain. at this stage of the plan the hotel manager came forward with the offer of a gasoline launch, which we gladly accepted.
-we embarked about noon, storing our native carriers and effects aboard a dhow hired for the occasion. this we purposed towing. a very neatly uniformed swahili bearing on his stomach a highly-polished brass label as big as a door plate--"harbour police"--threw duck fists over what he called overloading the boat. he knew very little about boats, but threw very competent duck fists. as we did know something about boats, we braved unknown consequences by disregarding him utterly. no consequences ensued--unless perhaps to his own health. when everything was aboard, that dhow was pretty well down, but still well afloat. then we white men took our places in the launch.
-this was a long narrow affair with a four-cylinder thirty-horsepower engine. as she possessed no speed gears, she had either to plunge ahead full speed or come to a stop; there were no compromises. her steering was managed by a tiller instead of a wheel, so that a mere touch sufficed to swerve her ten feet from her course. as the dhow was in no respects built on such nervous lines, she did occasionally some fancy and splashing curves.
-the pilot of the launch turned out to be a sandy-haired yankee who had been catching wild animals for barnum and bailey's circus. while waiting for his ship, he, being a proverbial handy yankee, had taken on this job. he became quite interested in telling us this, and at times forgot his duties at the tiller. then that racing-launch would take a wild swoop; the clumsy old dhow astern would try vainly, with much spray and dangerous careening, to follow; the compromise course would all but upset her; the spray would fly; the safari boys would take their ducking; the boat boys would yell and dance and lean frantically against the two long sweeps with which they tried to steer. in this wild and untrammelled fashion we careered up the bay, too interested in our own performances to pay much attention to the scenery. the low shores, with their cocoanut groves gracefully rising above the mangrove tangle, slipped by, and the distant blue shimba hills came nearer.
-the path for a hundred feet was walled in by the mangroves through which scuttled and rattled the big land crabs. then suddenly we found ourselves in a story-book tropical paradise. the tall coco palms rose tufted above everything; the fans of the younger palms waved below; bananas thrust the banners of their broad leaves wherever they could find space; creepers and vines flung the lush luxuriance of their greenery over all the earth and into the depths of all the half-guessed shadows. in no direction could one see unobstructed farther than twenty feet, except straight up; and there one could see just as far as the tops of the palms. it was like being in a room--a green, hot, steamy, lovely room. very bright-coloured birds that ought really to have been at home in their cages fluttered about.
-we had much vigorous clearing to do to make room for our tents. by the time the job was finished we were all pretty hot. several of the boys made vain attempts to climb for nuts, but without success. we had brought them with us from the interior, where cocoanuts do not grow; and they did not understand the method. they could swarm up the tall slim stems all right, but could not manage to get through the downward-pointing spikes of the dead leaves. f. tried and failed, to the great amusement of the men, but to the greater amusement of myself. i was a wise person, and lay on my back on a canvas cot, so it was not much bother to look up and enjoy life. not to earn absolutely the stigma of laziness, i tried to shoot some nuts down. this did not work either, for the soft, spongy stems closed around the bullet holes. then a little wizened monkey of a swahili porter, having watched our futile performances with interest, nonchalantly swarmed up; in some mysterious manner he wriggled through the defences, and perched in the top, whence he dropped to us a dozen big green nuts. our men may not have been much of a success at climbing for nuts; but they were passed masters at the art of opening them. three or four clips from their awkward swordlike pangas, and we were each presented with a clean, beautiful, natural goblet brimming full of a refreshing drink.
-after supper the moon rose, casting shadows of new and unknown shapes through this strangely new and unknown forest. a thin white mist ascending everywhere from the soil tempered but could not obscure the white brilliance. the thermometer stood now only at 82°, but the dripping tropical sweat-bath in which our camp was pitched considerably raised the sensible heat. a bird with a most diabolical shrieking note cursed in the shadows. another, a pigeon-like creature, began softly, and continued to repeat in diminishing energy until it seemed to have run down, like a piece of clockwork.
-our way next morning led for some time through this lovely but damp jungle. then we angled up the side of a hill to emerge into the comparatively open country atop what we westerners would call a "hog's back"--a long narrow spurlike ridge mounting slowly to the general elevation of the main hills. here were high green bushes, with little free open passages between them, and occasionally meadow-like openings running down the slopes on one side or the other. before us, some miles distant, were the rounded blue hills.
-we climbed steadily. it was still very early morning, but already the day was hot. pretty soon we saw over the jungle to the gleaming waters of the inlet, and then to the sea. our "hog's back" led us past a ridge of the hills, and before we knew it we had been deposited in a shallow valley three or four miles wide between parallel ridges; the said valley being at a considerable elevation, and itself diversified with rolling hills, ravines, meadow land, and wide flats. on many of the ridges were scattered cocoanut palms, and occasional mango groves, while many smokes attested the presence of natives.
-these we found in shambas or groups of little farms, huddled all together, with wilderness and brush and trees, or the wide open green grass lawn between. the houses were very large and neat-looking. they were constructed quite ingeniously from coco branches. each branch made one mat. the leaves were all brought over to the same side of the stem, and then plaited. the resulting mat was then six or seven feet long by from twelve to sixteen inches broad, and could be used for a variety of purposes. indeed, we found melville's chapter in "typhee" as to the various uses of the cocoanut palm by no means exaggerated. the nuts, leaves, and fibre supplied every conceivable human want.
-about noon our elegant guide stopped, struck an attitude, and pointed with his silver-headed rattan cane.
-we marched through a little village. a family party sat beneath the veranda of a fine building--a very old wrinkled couple; two stalwart beautiful youths; a young mother suckling her baby; two young girls; and eight or ten miscellaneous and naked youngsters. as the rest of the village appeared to be empty, i imagined this to be the caretaker's family, and the youngsters to belong to others. we stopped and spoke, were answered cheerfully, suggested that we might like to buy chickens, and offered a price. instantly with a whoop of joy the lot of them were afoot. the fowl waited for no further intimations of troublous times, but fled squawking. they had been there before. so had our hosts; for inside a minute they had returned, each with a chicken--and a broad grin.
-after due payment we proceeded on a few hundred yards, and pitched camp beneath two huge mango trees.
-besides furnishing one of the most delicious of the tropical fruits, the mango is also one of the most beautiful of trees. it is tall, spreads very wide, and its branches sweep to within ten feet of the ground. its perfect symmetry combined with the size and deep green of its leaves causes it to resemble, from a short distance, a beautiful green hill. beneath its umbrella one finds dense shade, unmottled by a single ray of sunlight, so that one can lie under it in full confidence. for, parenthetically, even a single ray of this tropical sunlight is to the unprotected a very dangerous thing. but the leaves of the mango have this peculiarity, which distinguishes it from all other trees--namely, that they grow only at the very ends of the small twigs and branches. as these, of course, grow only at the ends of the big limbs, it follows that from beneath the mango looks like a lofty green dome, a veritable pantheon of the forest.
-we made our camp under one of these trees; gave ourselves all the space we could use; and had plenty left over--five tents and a cook camp, with no crowding. it was one of the pleasantest camps i ever saw. our green dome overhead protected us absolutely from the sun; high sweet grass grew all about us; the breeze wandered lazily up from the distant indian ocean. directly before our tent door the slope fell gently away through a sparse cocoanut grove whose straight stems panelled our view, then rose again to the clear-cut outline of a straight ridge opposite. the crest of this was sentinelled by tall scattered cocoanut trees, the "bursting star" pyrotechnic effect of their tops being particularly fine against the sky.
-after a five hours' tropical march uphill we were glad to sit under our green dome, to look at our view, to enjoy the little breeze, and to drink some of the cocoanuts our friends the villagers brought in.
-about three o'clock i began to feel rested and ambitious. therefore i called up our elegant guide and memba sasa, and set out on my first hunt for sable. f. was rather more done up by the hard morning, and so did not go along. the guide wore still his red tarboosh, his dark short jacket, his saffron yellow nether garment--it was not exactly a skirt--and his silver-headed rattan cane. the only change he made was to tuck up the skirt, leaving his long legs bare. it hardly seemed altogether a suitable costume for hunting; but he seemed to know what he was about.
-we marched along ridges, and down into ravines, and across gulleys choked with brush. horrible thickets alternated with and occasionally surrounded open green meadows hanging against the side hills. as we proceeded, the country became rougher, the ravines more precipitous. we struggled up steep hills, fairly bucking our way through low growth that proved all but impenetrable. the idea was to find a sable feeding in one of the little open glades; but whenever i allowed myself to think of the many adverse elements of the game, the chances seemed very slim. it took a half-hour to get from one glade to the next; there were thousands of glades. the sable is a rare shy animal that likes dense cover fully as well if not better than the open. sheer rank bull luck alone seemed the only hope. and as i felt my strength going in that vicious struggle against heavy brush and steep hills, i began to have very strong doubts indeed as to that sable.
-for it was cruel, hard work. in this climate one hailed a car or a rickshaw to do an errand two streets away, and considered oneself quite a hero if one took a leisurely two-mile stroll along the cliff heads at sunset. here i was, after a five-hour uphill march, bucking into brush and through country that would be considered difficult going even in canada. at the end of twenty minutes my every garment was not wringing but dripping wet, so that when i carried my rifle over my arm water ran down the barrel and off the muzzle in a steady stream. after a bit of this my knees began to weaken; and it became a question of saving energy, of getting along somehow, and of leaving the actual hunting to memba sasa and the guide. if they had shown me a sable, i very much doubt if i could have hit it.
-however, we did not see one, and i staggered into camp at dusk pretty well exhausted. from the most grateful hot bath and clean clothes i derived much refreshment. shortly i was sitting in my canvas chair, sipping a cocoanut, and describing the condition of affairs to f., who was naturally very curious as to how the trick was done.
-"two days will do for me," said he.
-we called up the guide and questioned him closely. he seemed quite confident; and asserted that in this country sable were found, when they were found at all, which was not often. they must be discovered in the small grassy openings. we began to understand why so very few people get sable.
-we dismissed the guide, and sat quietly smoking in the warm soft evening. the air was absolutely still save for various night insects and birds, and the weird calling of natives across the valleys. far out towards the sea a thunderstorm flashed; and after a long interval the rumblings came to us. so very distant was it that we paid it little attention, save as an interesting background to our own still evening. almost between sentences of our slow conversation, however, it rushed up to the zenith, blotting out the stars. the tall palms began to sway and rustle in the forerunning breeze. then with a swoop it was upon us, a tempest of fury. we turned in; and all night long the heavy deluges of rain fell, roaring like surf on an unfriendly coast.
-by morning this had fallen to a light, steady drizzle in which we started off quite happily. in this climate one likes to get wet. the ground was sodden and deep with muck. within a mile of camp we saw many fresh buffalo tracks.
-this time we went downhill and still downhill through openings among batches of great forest trees. the new leaves were just coming out in pinks and russets, so that the effect at a little distance was almost precisely that of our autumn foliage in its duller phases. so familiar were made some of the low rounded knolls that for an instant we were respectively back in the hills of surrey or michigan, and told each other so.
-thus we moved slowly out from the dense cover to the grass openings. far over on another ridge f. called my attention to something jet-black and indeterminate. in another country i should have named it as a charred log on an old pine burning, for that was precisely what it looked like. we glanced at it casually through our glasses. it was a sable buck lying down right out in the open. he was black and sleek, and we could make out his sweeping scimitar horns.
-memba sasa and the swahili dropped flat on their faces while f. and i crawled slowly and cautiously through the mud until we had gained the cover of a shallow ravine that ran in the beast's general direction. noting carefully a certain small thicket as landmark, we stooped and moved as fast as we could down to that point of vantage. there we cautiously parted the grasses and looked. the sable had disappeared. the place where he had been lying was plainly to be identified, and there was no cover save a tiny bush between two and three feet high. we were quite certain he had neither seen nor winded us. either he had risen and fled forward into the ravine up which we had made our stalk, or else he had entered the small thicket. f. agreed to stay on watch where he was, while i slipped back and examined the earth to leeward of the thicket.
-i had hardly crawled ten yards, however, before the gentle snapping of f.'s fingers recalled me to his side.
-"he's behind that bush," he whispered in my ear.
-i looked. the bush was hardly large enough to conceal a setter dog, and the sable is somewhat larger than our elk. nevertheless f. insisted that the animal was standing behind it, and that he had caught the toss of its head. we lay still for some time, while the soft, warm rain drizzled down on us, our eyes riveted on the bush. and then we caught the momentary flash of curved horns as the sable tossed his head. it seemed incredible even then that the tiny bush should conceal so large a beast. as a matter of fact we later found that the bush grew on a slight elevation, behind which was a depression. in this the sable stood, patiently enduring the drizzle.
-we waited some time in hopes he would move forward a foot or so; but apparently he had selected his loafing place with care, and liked it. the danger of a shift of wind was always present. finally i slipped back over the brink of the ravine, moved three yards to the left, and crawled up through the tall dripping grass to a new position behind a little bush. cautiously raising my head, i found i could see plainly the sable's head and part of his shoulders. my position was cramped and out of balance for offhand shooting; but i did my best, and heard the loud plunk of the hit. the sable made off at a fast though rather awkward gallop, wheeled for an instant a hundred yards farther on, received another bullet in the shoulder, and disappeared over the brow of the hill. we raced over the top to get in another shot, and found him stone dead.
-he was a fine beast, jet-black in coat, with white markings on the face, red-brown ears, and horns sweeping up and back scimitar fashion. he stood four feet and six inches at the shoulder, and his horns were the second best ever shot in british east africa. this beast has been described by heller as a new subspecies, and named rooseveltii. his description was based upon an immature buck and a doe shot by kermit roosevelt. the determination of subspecies on so slight evidence seems to me unscientific in the extreme. while the immature males do exhibit the general brown tone relied on by mr. heller, the mature buck differs in no essential from the tropical sable. i find the alledged subspecies is not accepted by european scientists.
-a march along the coast.
-with a most comfortable feeling that my task was done, that suddenly the threatening clouds of killing work had been cleared up, i was now privileged to loaf and invite my soul on this tropical green hilltop while poor f. put in the days trying to find another sable. every morning he started out before daylight. i could see the light of his lantern outside the tent; and i stretched myself in the luxurious consciousness that i should hear no deprecating but insistent "hodie" from my boy until i pleased to invite it. in the afternoon or evening f. would return, quite exhausted and dripping, with only the report of new country traversed. no sable; no tracks of sable; no old signs, even, of sable. gradually it was borne in on me how lucky i was to have come upon my magnificent specimen so promptly and in such favourable circumstances.
-if f. had not returned by the time i reached camp, i would seat myself in my canvas chair, and thence dispense justice, advice, or medical treatment. if none of these things seemed demanded, i smoked my pipe. to me one afternoon came a big-framed, old, dignified man, with the heavy beard, the noble features, the high forehead, and the blank statue eyes of the blind homer. he was led by a very small, very bright-eyed naked boy. at some twenty feet distance he squatted down cross-legged before me. for quite five minutes he sat there silent, while i sat in my camp chair, smoked and waited. at last he spoke in a rolling deep bass voice rich and vibrating--a delight to hear.
-"jambo (greeting)!" said he.
-"jambo!" i replied mildly.
-again a five-minute silence. i had begun reading, and had all but forgotten his presence.
-"jambo bwana (greeting, master)!" he rolled out.
-"jambo!" i repeated.
-the same dignified, unhasting pause.
-"jambo bwana m'kubwa (greeting, great master)!"
-"jambo!" quoth i, and went on reading. the sun was dropping, but the old man seemed in no hurry.
-"jambo bwana m'kubwa sana (greeting, most mighty master)!" he boomed at last.
-"jambo!" said i.
-this would seem to strike the superlative, and i expected now that he would state his business, but the old man had one more shot in his locker.
-"jambo bwana m'kubwa kabeesa sana (greeting, mightiest possible master)!" it came.
-then in due course he delicately hinted that a gift of tobacco would not come amiss.
-f. returned a trifle earlier than usual, to admit that his quest was hopeless, that his physical forces were for the time being at an end, and that he was willing to go home.
-accordingly very early next morning we set out by the glimmer of a lantern, hoping to get a good start on our journey before the heat of the day became too severe. we did gain something, but performed several unnecessary loops and semicircles in the maze of beaten paths before we finally struck into one that led down the slope towards the sea. shortly after the dawn came up "like thunder" in its swiftness, followed almost immediately by the sun.
-our way now led along the wide flat between the seashore and the shimba hills, in which we had been hunting. a road ten feet wide and innocent of wheels ran with obstinate directness up and down the slight contours and through the bushes and cocoanut groves that lay in its path. so mathematically straight was it that only when perspective closed it in, or when it dropped over the summit of a little rise, did the eye lose the effect of its interminability. the country through which this road led was various--open bushy veld with sparse trees, dense jungle, cocoanut groves, tall and cool. in the shadows of the latter were the thatched native villages. to the left always ran the blue shimba hills; and far away to the right somewhere we heard the grumbling of the sea.
-every hundred yards or so we met somebody. even thus early the road was thronged. by far the majority were the almost naked natives of the district, pleasant, brown-skinned people with good features. they carried things. these things varied from great loads balanced atop to dainty impromptu baskets woven of cocoa-leaves and containing each a single cocoanut. they smiled on us, returned our greeting, and stood completely aside to let us pass. other wayfarers were of more importance. small groups of bearded dignitaries, either upper-class swahili or pure arabs, strolled slowly along, apparently with limitless leisure, but evidently bound somewhere, nevertheless. they replied to our greetings with great dignity. once, also, we overtook a small detachment of sudanese troops moving. they were scattered over several miles of road. a soldier, most impressive and neat in khaki and red tarboosh and sash; then two or three of his laughing, sleek women, clad in the thin, patterned "'mericani," glittering with gold ornaments; then a half dozen ragged porters carrying official but battered painted wooden kit boxes, or bags, or miscellaneous curious plunder; then more troopers; and so on for miles. they all drew aside for us most respectfully; and the soldiers saluted, very smart and military.
-under the broad-spreading mangoes near the villages we came upon many open markets in full swing. each vendor squatted on his heels behind his wares, while the purchasers or traders wandered here and there making offers. the actual commerce compared with the amount of laughing, joking, shrieking joy of the occasion as one to a thousand.
-generally three or four degenerate looking dirty east indians slunk about, very crafty, very insinuating, very ready and skilful to take what advantages they could. i felt a strong desire to kick every one of them out from these joyful concourses of happy people. generally we sat down for a while in these markets, and talked to the people a little, and perhaps purchased some of the delicious fruit. they had a small delicate variety of banana, most wonderful, the like of which i have seen nowhere else. we bought forty of these for a coin worth about eight cents. besides fruit they offered cocoanuts in all forms, grain, woven baskets, small articles of handicraft--and fish. the latter were farther from the sea than they should have been! these occasional halts greatly refreshed us for more of that endless road.
-for all this time we were very hot. as the sun mounted, the country fairly steamed. from the end of my rifle barrel, which i carried across my forearm, a steady trickle of water dripped into the road. we neither of us had a dry stitch on us, and our light garments clung to us thoroughly wet through. at first we tried the military method, and marched fifty minutes to rest ten, but soon discovered that twenty-five minutes' work to five minutes off was more practical. the sheer weight of the sun was terrific; after we had been exposed to it for any great length of time--as across several wide open spaces--we entered the steaming shade of the jungle with gratitude. at the end of seven hours, however, we most unexpectedly came through a dense cocoanut grove plump on the banks of the harbour at kilindini.
-here, after making arrangements for the transport of our safari, when it should arrive, we entrusted ourselves to a small boy and a cranky boat. an hour later, clad in tropical white, with cool drinks at our elbows, we sat in easy-chairs on the veranda of the mombasa club.
-the clubhouse is built on a low cliff at the water's edge. it looks across the blue waters of the bay to a headland crowned with cocoa-palms, and beyond the headland to the indian ocean. the cool trades sweep across that veranda. we idly watched a lone white oarsman pulling strongly against the wind through the tide rips, evidently bent on exercise. we speculated on the incredible folly of wanting exercise; and forgot him. an hour later a huge saffron yellow squall rose from china 'cross the way, filled the world with an unholy light, lashed the reluctant sea to white-caps, and swooped screaming on the cocoa-palms. police boats to rescue the idiot oarsman! much minor excitement! great rushing to and fro! we continued to sit in our lounging chairs, one hand on our cool long drinks.
-almost at once, however, i was dragged back to consciousness. mohammed stood at my bedside.
-"bwana," he proffered to my rather angry inquiry, "all the people have gone to the fire. it is a very large fire. i thought you would like to see it."
-i glanced out of the window at the reddening sky, thrust my feet into a pair of slippers, and went forth in my pyjamas to see what i could see.
-we threaded our way through many narrow dark and deserted streets, beneath balconies that overhung, past walls over which nodded tufted palms, until a loud and increasing murmuring told us we were nearing the centre of disturbance. shortly, we came to the outskirts of the excited crowd, and beyond them saw the red furnace glow.
-"semeelay! semeelay!" warned mohammed authoritatively; and the bystanders, seeing a white face, gave me passage.
-all of picturesque mombasa was afoot--arabs, swahilis, somalis, savages, indians--the whole lot. they moved restlessly in the narrow streets; they hung over the edges of balconies; they peered from barred windows; interested dark faces turned up everywhere in the flickering light. one woman, a fine, erect, biblical figure, stood silhouetted on a flat housetop and screamed steadily. i thought she must have at least one baby in the fire, but it seems she was only excited.
-the fire was at present confined to two buildings, in which it was raging fiercely. its spread, however, seemed certain; and, as it was surrounded by warehouses of valuable goods, moving was in full swing. a frantic white man stood at the low doorway of one of these dungeon-like stores hastening the movements of an unending string of porters. as each emerged bearing a case on his shoulder, the white man urged him to a trot. i followed up the street to see where these valuables were being taken, and what were the precautions against theft. around the next corner, it seemed. as each excited perspiring porter trotted up, he heaved his burden from his head or his shoulders, and promptly scampered back for another load. they were loyal and zealous men; but their headpieces were deficient inside. for the burdens that they saved from the fire happened to be cases of gin in bottles. at least, it was in bottles until the process of saving had been completed. then it trickled merrily down the gutter. i went back and told the frantic white man about it. he threw up both hands to heaven and departed.
-by dodging from street to street mohammed and i succeeded in circling the whole disturbance, and so came at length to a public square. here was a vast throng, and a very good place, so i climbed atop a rescued bale of cotton the better to see.
-mombasa has no water system, but a wonderful corps of water-carriers. these were in requisition to a man. they disappeared down through the wide gates of the customs enclosure, their naked, muscular, light-brown bodies gleaming with sweat, their standard oil cans dangling merrily at the ends of slender poles. a moment later they emerged, the cans full of salt water from the bay, the poles seeming fairly to butt into their bare shoulders as they teetered along at their rapid, swaying, burdened gait.
-the moment they entered the square they were seized upon from a dozen different sides. there was no system at all. every owner of property was out for himself, and intended to get as much of the precious water as he could. the poor carriers were pulled about, jerked violently here and there, besought, commanded, to bring their loads to one or the other of the threatened premises. vociferations, accusations, commands arose to screams. one old graybeard occupied himself by standing on tiptoe and screeching, "maji! maji! maji!" at the top of his voice, as though that added anything to the visible supply. the water-carrier of the moment disappeared in a swirl of excited contestants. he was attending strictly to business, looking neither to right nor to left, pushing forward as steadily as he could, gasping mechanically his customary warning, "semeelay! semeelay!" somehow, eventually, he and his comrades must have got somewhere; for after an interval he returned with empty buckets. then every blessed fool of a property owner took a whack at his bare shoulders as he passed, shrieking hysterically, "haya! haya! pesi! pesi!" and the like to men already doing their best. it was a grand sight!
-in the meantime the fire itself was roaring away. the old graybeard suddenly ceased crying "maji," and darted forward to where i stood on the bale of cotton. with great but somewhat flurried respect he begged me to descend. i did so, somewhat curious as to what he might be up to, for the cotton was at least two hundred feet from the fire. immediately he began to tug and heave; the bale was almost beyond his strength; but after incredible exertions he lifted one side of it, poised it for a moment, got his shoulder under it, and rolled it over once. then he darted away and resumed his raucous cry for water. i climbed back again. thrice more, at intervals, he repeated this performance. the only result was to daub with mud every possible side of that bale. i hope it was his property.
-you must remember that i was observing the heavy artillery of the attack on the conflagration. individual campaigns were everywhere in progress. i saw one man standing on the roof of a threatened building. he lowered slowly, hand over hand, a small tea-kettle at the end of a string. this was filled by a friend in the street, whereupon the man hauled it up again, slowly, hand over hand, and solemnly dashed its contents into the mouth of the furnace. thousands of other men on roofs, in balconies, on the street, were doing the same thing. some had ordinary cups which they filled a block away! the limit of efficiency was a pail. nobody did anything in concert with anybody else. the sight of these thousands of little midgets each with his teacup, or his teapot, or his tin pail, throwing each his mite of water--for which he had to walk a street or so--into the ravening roaring furnace of flame was as pathetic or as comical as you please. they did not seem to have a show in the world.
-nevertheless, to my vast surprise, the old system of the east triumphed at last. the system of the east is that if you get enough labour you can accomplish anything. little by little those thousands of tea kettles of water had their aggregate effect. the flames fed themselves out and died down leaving the contiguous buildings unharmed save for a little scorching. in two hours all was safe, and i returned to the hotel, having enjoyed myself hugely. i had, however, in the interest and excitement, forgotten how deadly is the fever of mombasa. midnight in pyjamas did the business; and shortly i paid well for the fun.
-up from the coast.
-you clamber back into the compartment, with its latticed sun shades and its smoked glass windows; you let down the narrow canvas bunk; you unfold your rug, and settle yourself for repose. it is a difficult matter. everything you touch is gritty. the air is close and stifling, like the smoke-charged air of a tunnel. if you try to open a window you are suffocated with more of the red dust. at last you fall into a doze; to awaken nearly frozen! the train has climbed into what is, after weeks of the tropics, comparative cold; and if you have not been warned to carry wraps, you are in danger of pneumonia.
-the gray dawn comes, and shortly, in the sudden tropical fashion, the full light. you look out on a wide smiling grass country, with dips and swales, and brushy river bottoms, and long slopes and hills thrusting up in masses from down below the horizon, and singly here and there in the immensities nearer at hand. the train winds and doubles on itself up the gentle slopes and across the imperceptibly rising plains. but the interest is not in these wide prospects, beautiful and smiling as they may be, but in the game. it is everywhere. far in the distance the herds twinkle, half guessed in the shimmer of the bottom lands or dotting the sides of the hills. nearer at hand it stares as the train rumbles and sways laboriously past. occasionally it even becomes necessary to whistle aside some impertinent kongoni that has placed himself between the metals! the newcomer has but a theoretical knowledge at best of all these animals; and he is intensely interested in identifying the various species. the hartebeeste and the wildebeeste he learns quickly enough, and of course the zebra and the giraffe are unmistakable; but the smaller gazelles are legitimate subjects for discussion. the wonder of the extraordinary abundance of these wild animals mounts as the hours slip by. at the stops for water or for orders the passengers gather from their different compartments to detail excitedly to each other what they have seen. there is always an honest superenthusiast who believes he has seen rhinoceroses, lions, or leopards. he is looked upon with envy by the credulous, and with exasperation by all others.
-so the little train puffs and tugs along. suddenly it happens on a barbed wire fence, and immediately after enters the town of nairobi. the game has persisted right up to that barbed wire fence.
-the station platform is thronged with a heterogeneous multitude of people. the hands of a dozen raggetty black boys are stretched out for luggage. the newcomer sees with delight a savage with a tin can in his stretched ear lobe; another with a set of wooden skewers set fanwise around the edge of the ear; he catches a glimpse of a beautiful naked creature very proud, very decorated with beads and heavy polished wire. then he is ravished away by the friend, or agent, or hotel representative who has met him, and hurried out through the gates between the impassive and dignified sikh sentries to the cab. i believe nobody but the newcomer ever rides in the cab; and then but once, from the station to the hotel. after that he uses rickshaws. in fact it is probable that the cab is maintained for the sole purpose of giving the newcomer a grand and impressive entrance. this brief fleeting quarter hour of glory is unique and passes. it is like crossing the line, or the first kiss, something that in its nature cannot be repeated.
-the cab was once a noble vehicle, compounded of opulent curves, with a very high driver's box in front, a little let-down bench, and a deep, luxurious, shell-shaped back seat, reclining in which one received the adulation of the populace. that was in its youth. now in its age the varnish is gone; the upholstery of the back seat frayed; the upholstery of the small seat lacking utterly, so that one sits on bare boards. in place of two dignifiedly spirited fat white horses, it is drawn by two very small mules in a semi-detached position far ahead. and how it rattles!
-between the station and the hotel at nairobi is a long straight wide well-made street, nearly a mile long, and bordered by a double row of young eucalyptus. these latter have changed the main street of nairobi from the sunbaked array of galvanized houses described by travellers of a half dozen years back to a thoroughfare of great charm. the iron houses and stores are now in a shaded background; and the attention is freed to concentrate on the vivid colouring, the incessant movement, the great interest of the people moving to and fro. when i left nairobi the authorities were considering the removal of these trees, because one row of them had been planted slightly within the legal limits of the street. what they could interfere with in a practically horseless town i cannot imagine, but i trust this stupidity gave way to second thought.
-the cab rattles and careers up the length of the street, scattering rickshaws and pedestrians from before its triumphant path. to the left opens a wide street of little booths under iron awnings, hung with gay colour and glittering things. the street is thronged from side to side with natives of all sorts. it whirls past, and shortly after the cab dashes inside a fence and draws up before the low stone-built, wide-verandahed hotel.
-a town of contrasts.
-it has been, as i have said, the fashion to speak of nairobi as an ugly little town. this was probably true when the first corrugated iron houses huddled unrelieved near the railway station. it is not true now. the lower part of town is well planted, and is always picturesque as long as its people are astir. the white population have built in the wooded hills some charming bungalows surrounded by bright flowers or lost amid the trunks of great trees. from the heights on which is government house one can, with a glass, watch the game herds feeding on the plains. two clubs, with the usual games of golf, polo, tennis--especially tennis--football and cricket; a weekly hunt, with jackals instead of foxes; a bungalow town club on the slope of a hill; an electric light system; a race track; a rifle range; frilly parasols and the latest fluffiest summer toilettes from london and paris--i mention a few of the refinements of civilization that offer to the traveller some of the most piquant of contrasts.
-it is this constantly recurring, sharply drawn contrast that gives nairobi its piquant charm. as one sits on the broad hotel veranda a constantly varied pageant passes before him. a daintily dressed, fresh-faced englishwoman bobs by in a smart rickshaw drawn by two uniformed runners; a kikuyu, anointed, curled, naked, brass adorned, teeters along, an expression of satisfaction on his face; a horseman, well appointed, trots briskly by followed by his loping syce; a string of skin-clad women, their heads fantastically shaved, heavily ornamented, lean forward under the burden of firewood for the market; a beautiful baby in a frilled perambulator is propelled by a tall, solemn, fine-looking black man in white robe and cap; the driver of a high cart tools his animal past a creaking, clumsy, two-wheeled wagon drawn by a pair of small humpbacked native oxen. and so it goes, all day long, without end. the public rickshaw boys just across the way chatter and game and quarrel and keep a watchful eye out for a possible patron on whom to charge vociferously and full tilt. two or three old-timers with white whiskers and red faces continue to slaughter thousands and thousands and thousands of lions from the depths of their easy chairs.
-the stone veranda of that hotel is a very interesting place. here gather men from all parts of east africa, from uganda, and the jungles of the upper congo. at one time or another all the famous hunters drop into its canvas chairs--cunninghame, allan black, judd, outram, hoey, and the others; white traders with the natives of distant lands; owners of farms experimenting bravely on a greater or lesser scale in a land whose difficulties are just beginning to be understood; great naturalists and scientists from the governments of the earth, eager to observe and collect this interesting and teeming fauna; and sportsmen just out and full of interest, or just returned and modestly important. more absorbing conversation can be listened to on this veranda than in any other one place in the world. the gathering is cosmopolitan; it is representative of the most active of every social, political, and racial element; it has done things; it contemplates vital problems from the vantage ground of experience. the talk veers from pole to pole--and returns always to lions.
-every little while a native--a raw savage--comes along and takes up a stand just outside the railing. he stands there mute and patient for five minutes--a half hour--until some one, any one, happens to notice him.
-"n'jo!--come here!" commands this person.
-the savage silently proffers a bit of paper on which is written the name of the one with whom he has business.
-"nenda officie!" indicates the charitable person waving his hand towards the hotel office.
-then, and not until this permission has been given by some one, dares the savage cross the threshold to do his errand.
-if the messenger happens to be a trained houseboy, however, dressed in his uniform of khaki or his more picturesque white robe and cap, he is privileged to work out his own salvation. and behind the hotel are rows and rows of other boys, each waiting patiently the pleasure of his especial bwana lounging at ease after strenuous days. at the drawling shout of "boy!" one of them instantly departs to find out which particular boy is wanted.
-however, the winding smooth roads among the forested, shaded bungalows of the upper part of town were very attractive, especially towards evening. at that time the universal sun-helmet or double terai could be laid aside for straw hats, cloth caps, or bare heads. people played the more violent games, or strolled idly. at the hotel there was now a good deal of foolish drinking; foolish, because in this climate it is very bad for the human system, and in these surroundings of much interest and excitement the relief of its exaltation from monotony or ennui or routine could hardly be required.
-considered as a class rather than as individuals, the dark-skinned population is easily the more interesting. considered as individuals, the converse is true. men like sir percy girouard, hobley, jackson, lord delamere, mcmillan, cunninghame, allan black, leslie tarleton, vanderweyer, the hill cousins, horne, and a dozen others are nowhere else to be met in so small a community. but the whites have developed nothing in their relations one to another essentially different. the artisan and shopkeeping class dwell on the flats; the government people and those of military connections live on the heights on one side of the little stream; the civil service and bigger business men among the hills on the other. between them all is a little jealousy, and contempt, and condescension; just as there is jealousy, and contempt, and condescension elsewhere. they are pleasant people, and hospitable, and some of them very distinguished in position or achievement; and i am glad to say i have good friends among them.
-at first the newcomer is absolutely bewildered by the variety of these peoples; but after a little he learns to differentiate. the somalis are perhaps the first recognizable, with their finely chiselled, intelligent, delicate brown features, their slender forms, and their strikingly picturesque costumes of turbans, flowing robes, and embroidered sleeveless jackets. then he learns to distinguish the savage from the sophisticated dweller of the town. later comes the identification of the numerous tribes.
-the savage comes in just as he has been for, ethnologists alone can guess, how many thousands of years. he is too old an institution to have been affected as yet by this tiny spot of modernity in the middle of the wilderness. as a consequence he startles the newcomer even more than the sight of giraffes on the sky-line.
-the purpose of this is ornament, and it is so worn. there has been an attempt, i understand, to force these innocent children to some sort of conventional decency while actually in the streets of nairobi. it was too large an order. some bring in clothes, to be sure, because the white man asks it; but why no sensible man could say. they are hung from one shoulder, flap merrily in the breeze, and are always quite frankly tucked up about the neck or under the arms when the wearer happens to be in haste. as a matter of fact these savages are so beautifully and smoothly formed; their red-brown or chocolate-brown skin is so fine in texture, and their complete unconsciousness so genuine that in an hour the newcomer is quite accustomed to their nakedness.
-these proud youths wander mincingly down the street with an expression of the most fatuous and good-natured satisfaction with themselves. to their minds they have evidently done every last thing that human ingenuity or convention could encompass.
-these young men are the dandies, the proud young aristocracy of wealth and importance; and of course they may differ individually or tribally from the sample i have offered. also there are many other social grades. those who care less for dress or have less to get it with can rub along very cheaply. the only real essentials are (a) something for the ear--a tomato can will do; (b) a trifle for clothing--and for that a scrap of gunny sacking will be quite enough.
-the women to be seen in the streets of nairobi are mostly of the kikuyu tribe. they are pretty much of a pattern. their heads are shaven, either completely or to leave only ornamental tufts; and are generally bound with a fine wire fillet so tightly that the strands seem to sink into the flesh. a piece of cotton cloth, dyed dark umber red, is belted around the waist, and sometimes, but not always, another is thrown about the shoulder. they go in for more hardware than do the men. the entire arms and the calves of the legs are encased in a sort of armour made of quarter-inch wire wound closely, and a collar of the same material stands out like a ruff eight or ten inches around the neck. this is wound on for good; and must be worn day and night and all the time, a cumbersome and tremendously heavy burden. a dozen large loops of coloured beads strung through the ears, and various strings and necklaces of beads, cowrie shells, and the like finish them out in all their gorgeousness. they would sink like plummets. their job in life, besides lugging all this stuff about, is to carry in firewood and forage. at any time of the day long files of them can be seen bending forward under their burdens. these they carry on their backs by means of a strap across the tops of their heads; after the fashion of the canadian tump line.
-the next cut above the shenzi, or wild man, is the individual who has been on safari as carrier, or has otherwise been much employed around white men. from this experience he has acquired articles of apparel and points of view. he is given to ragged khaki, or cast-off garments of all sorts, but never to shoes. this hint of the conventional only serves to accent the little self-satisfied excursions he makes into barbarism. the shirt is always worn outside, the ear ornaments are as varied as ever, the head is shaved in strange patterns, a tiny tight tuft on the crown is useful as fastening for feathers or little streamers or anything else that will wave or glitter. one of these individuals wore a red label he had, with patience and difficulty, removed from one of our trunks. he had pasted it on his forehead; and it read "baggage room. not wanted." these people are, after all, but modified shenzis. the modification is nearly always in the direction of the comic.
-now we step up to a class that would resent being called shenzis as it would resent an insult. this is the personal servant class. the members are of all tribes, with possibly a slight preponderance of swahilis and somalis. they are a very clean, well-groomed, self-respecting class, with a great deal of dignity, and a great deal of pride in their bwanas. also they are exceedingly likely to degenerate unless ruled with a firm hand and a wise head. very rarely are they dishonest as respects the possessions of their own masters. they understand their work perfectly, and the best of them get the equivalent of from eight to ten dollars a month. every white individual has one or more of them; even the tiny children with their ridiculous little sun helmets are followed everywhere by a tall, solemn, white-robed black. their powers of divination approach the uncanny. about the time you begin to think of wanting something, and are making a first helpless survey of a boyless landscape, your own servant suddenly, mysteriously, and unobtrusively appears from nowhere. where he keeps himself, where he feeds himself, where he sleeps you do not know. these beautifully clean, trim, dignified people are always a pleasant feature in the varied picture.
-the somalis are a clan by themselves. a few of them condescend to domestic service, but the most prefer the free life of traders, horse dealers, gunbearers, camel drivers, labour go-betweens, and similar guerrilla occupations. they are handsome, dashing, proud, treacherous, courageous, likeable, untrustworthy. they career around on their high, short-stirruped saddles; they saunter indolently in small groups; they hang about the hotel hoping for a dicker of some kind. there is nothing of the savage about them, but much of the true barbarism, with the barbarian's pride, treachery, and love of colour.
-to the traveller nairobi is most interesting as the point from which expeditions start and to which they return. doubtless an extended stay in the country would show him that problems of administration and possibilities of development could be even more absorbing; but such things are very sketchy to him at first.
-as a usual thing, when he wants porters he picks them out from the throng hanging around the big outfitters' establishments. each man is then given a blanket--cotton, but of a most satisfying red--a tin water bottle, a short stout cord, and a navy blue jersey. after that ceremony he is yours.
-but on the occasion of one three months' journey into comparatively unknown country we ran up against difficulties. some two weeks before our contemplated start two or three cases of bubonic plague had been discovered in the bazaar, and as a consequence nairobi was quarantined. this meant that a rope had been stretched around the infected area, that the shops had been closed, and that no native could--officially--leave nairobi. the latter provision affected us; for under it we should be unable to get our bearers out.
-as a matter of fact, the whole performance--unofficially--was a farce. natives conversed affably at arm's length across the ropes; hundreds sneaked in and out of town at will; and from the rear of the infected area i personally saw beds, chests, household goods, blankets, and clothes passed to friends outside the ropes. when this latter condition was reported, in my presence, to the medical officers, they replied that this was a matter for police cognizance! but the brave outward show of ropes, disinfectants, gorgeous sentries--in front--and official inspection went solemnly on. great, even in africa, is the god of red tape.
-our only possible plan, in the circumstances, was to recruit the men outside the town, to camp them somewhere, march them across country to a way station, and there embark them. our goods and safari stores we could then ship out to them by train.
-accordingly we rode on bicycles out to the swahili village.
-this is, as i have said, composed of large "beehive" houses thatched conically with straw. the roofs extend to form verandas beneath which sit indolent damsels, their hair divided in innumerable tiny parts running fore and aft like the stripes on a water melon; their figured 'mericani garments draped gracefully. as befitted the women of plutocrats, they wore much jewellery, some of it set in their noses. most of them did all of nothing, but some sat half buried in narrow strips of bright-coloured tissue paper. these they were pasting together like rolls of tape, the coloured edges of the paper forming concentric patterns on the resultant discs--an infinite labour. the discs, when completed, were for insertion in the lobes of the ears.
-when we arrived the irregular "streets" of the village were nearly empty, save for a few elegant youths, in long kanzuas, or robes of cinnamon colour and spotless white, on their heads fezzes or turbans, in their hands slender rattan canes. they were very busy talking to each other, and of course did not notice the idle beauties beneath the verandas.
-the village hummed like a wasps' nest. men poured from the huts in swarms. the streets were filled; the idle sauntering youths were swamped, and sunk from view. clamour and shouting arose where before had been a droning silence. the mob beat up to where we stood, surrounding us, shouting at us. from somewhere some one brought an old table and two decrepit chairs, battered and rickety in themselves, but symbols of great authority in a community where nobody habitually used either. two naked boys proudly took charge of our bicycles.
-we seated ourselves.
-"fall in!" we yelled.
-about half the crowd fell into rough lines. the rest drew slightly to one side. nobody stopped talking for a single instant.
-we arose and tackled our job. the first part of it was to segregate the applicants into their different tribes.
-when we had finished we had about sixty men segregated. then we went over this picked lot again. this time we tried not only to get good specimens, but to mix our tribes. at last our count of twenty-nine was made up, and we took a deep breath. but to us came one of them complaining that he was a monumwezi, and that we had picked only three monumwezi, and--we cut him short. his contention was quite correct. a porter tent holds five, and it does not do to mix tribes. reorganization! cut out two extra kavirondos, and include two more monumwezi. "bass! finished! now go get your effects. we start immediately."
-as quickly as it had filled, the street cleared. the rejected dived back into their huts, the newly enlisted carriers went to collect their baggage. only remained the headman and his fierce-faced assistants, and the splendid youths idling up and down--none of them had volunteered, you may be sure--and the damsels of leisure beneath the porticos. also one engaging and peculiar figure hovering near.
-this individual had been particularly busy during our recruiting. he had hustled the men into line, he had advised us for or against different candidates, he had loudly sung my praises as a man to work for, although, of course, he knew nothing about me. now he approached, saluted, smiled. he was a tall, slenderly-built person, with phenomenally long, thin legs, slightly rounded shoulders, a forward thrust, keen face, and remarkably long, slim hands. with these he gesticulated much, in a right-angled fashion, after the manner of egyptian hieroglyphical figures. he was in no manner shenzi. he wore a fez, a neat khaki coat and shorts, blue puttees and boots. also a belt with leather pockets, a bunch of keys, a wrist watch, and a seal ring. his air was of great elegance and social ease. we took him with us as c.'s gunbearer. he proved staunch, a good tracker, an excellent hunter, and a most engaging individual. his name was kongoni, and he was a wakamba.
-but now we were confronted with a new problem: that of getting our twenty-nine chosen ones together again. they had totally disappeared. in all directions we had emissaries beating up the laggards. as each man reappeared carrying his little bundle, we lined him up with his companions. then when we turned our backs we lost him again; he had thought of another friend with whom to exchange farewells. at the long last, however, we got them all collected. the procession started, the naked boys proudly wheeling our bikes alongside. we saw them fairly clear of everything, then turned them over to kongoni, while we returned to nairobi to see after our effects.
-an ostrich farm at machakos.
-this has to do with a lion hunt on the kapiti plains. on the veranda at nairobi i had some time previous met clifford hill, who had invited me to visit him at the ostrich farm he and his cousin were running in the mountains near machakos. some time later, a visit to juja farm gave me the opportunity. juja is only a day's ride from the hills'. so an africander, originally from the south, captain d., and i sent across a few carriers with our personal effects, and ourselves rode over on horseback.
-juja is on the athi plains. between the athi and kapiti plains runs a range of low mountains around the end of which one can make his way as around a promontory. the hills' ostrich farm was on the highlands in the bay on the other side of the promontory.
-the ostrich farm is situated on the very top of a conical rise that sticks up like an island close inshore to the semicircle of mountains in which end the vast plains of kapiti. thus the hills have at their backs and sides these solid ramparts and face westward the immensities of space. for kapiti goes on over the edge of the world to unknown, unguessed regions, rolling and troubled like a sea. and from that unknown, on very still days, the snowy peak of kilimanjaro peers out, sketched as faintly against the sky as a soap bubble wafted upward and about to disappear. here and there on the plains kopjes stand like islands, their stone tops looking as though thrust through the smooth prairie surface from beneath. to them meandered long, narrow ravines full of low brush, like thin, wavering streaks of gray. on these kopjes--each of which had its name--and in these ravines we were to hunt lions.
-we began the ascent of the cone on which dwelt our hosts. it was one of those hills that seem in no part steep, and yet which finally succeed in raising one to a considerable height. we passed two ostrich herds in charge of savages, rode through a scattered native village, and so came to the farm itself, situated on the very summit.
-the house consisted of three large circular huts, thatched neatly with papyrus stalks, and with conical roofs. these were arranged as a triangle, just touching each other; and the space between had been roofed over to form a veranda. we were ushered into one of these circular rooms. it was spacious and contained two beds, two chairs, a dresser, and a table. its earth floor was completely covered by the skins of animals. in the corresponding room, opposite, slept our hosts; while the third was the living and dining room. a long table, raw-hide bottomed chairs, a large sideboard, bookcases, a long easy settee with pillows, gun racks, photographs in and out of frames, a table with writing materials, and books and magazines everywhere--not to speak of again the skins of many animals completely covering the floor. out behind, in small, separate buildings, laboured the cook, and dwelt the stores, the bath-tub, and other such necessary affairs.
-as soon as we had consumed the usual grateful lime juice and sparklets, we followed our hosts into the open air to look around.
-on this high, airy hill top the hills some day are going to build them a all sides came the cries of, "come on, boys! careful--there! ready--sheriff!"
-gladly, cheerfully, nick, too, did what he could to get the men started by setting up the drinks for all hands, though he remarked as he did so:
-"it's goin' to snow, boys; i don't like the sniff in the air."
-but even the probability of encountering a storm--which in that altitude was something decidedly to be reckoned with--did not deter the men from proceeding to make ready for the road agent's capture. in an incredibly short space of time they had loaded up and got their horses together, and from the harmony in their ranks while carrying out orders, it was evident that not a man there doubted the success of their undertaking.
-"we'll git this road agent!" sung out trinidad, going out through the door.
-"right you are, pard!" agreed sonora; but at the door he called back to the greaser: "come on, you oily, garlic-eatin', red-peppery, dog-trottin', sunbaked son of a skunk!"
-"come on, you . . .!" came simultaneously from the deputy, now untying the rope which bound the prisoner.
-the greaser's teeth were chattering; he begged:
-"one dreenk--i freeze . . ."
-turning to nick the deputy told him to give the man a drink, adding as he left the room:
-"watch him--keep your eye on him a moment for me, will you?"
-nick nodded; and then regarding the mexican with a contemptuous look, he asked:
-"what'll you have?"
-the mexican rose to his feet and began hesitatingly:
-"geeve me--" he paused; and then, starting with the thought that had come to him, he shot a glance at the dance-hall and called out loudly, rolling his r's even more pronouncedly than is the custom with his race: "aguardiente! aguardiente!"
-"sit down!" ordered nick, vaguely conscious that there was something in the greaser's voice that was not there before.
-the greaser obeyed, but not until he knew for a certainty that his voice had been heard by his master.
-"so you did bring in my saddle, eh, nick?" asked the road agent, coming quickly, but unconcernedly into the room and standing behind his man.
-up to this time, nick's eyes had not left the prisoner, but with the appearance on the scene of johnson, he felt that his responsibility ceased in a measure. he turned and gave his attention to matters pertaining to the bar. as a consequence, he did not see the look of recognition that passed between the two men, nor did he hear the whispered dialogue in spanish that followed.
-"maestro! ramerrez!" came in whispered tones from castro.
-"speak quickly--go on," came likewise in whispered tones from the road agent.
-"i let them take me according to your bidding," went on castro.
-"careful, jose, careful," warned his master while stooping to pick up his saddle, which he afterwards laid on the faro table. it was while he was thus engaged that nick came over to the prisoner with a glass of liquor, which he handed to him gruffly with:
-at that moment several voices from the dance-hail called somewhat impatiently: "nick, nick!"
-"oh, the ridge boys are goin'!" he said, and seeming intuitively to know what was wanted he made for the bar. but before acceding to their wishes, he turned to johnson, took out his gun and offered it to him with the words: "say, watch this greaser for a moment, will you?"
-"certainly," responded johnson, quickly, declining the other's pistol by touching his own holster significantly. "tell the girl you pressed me into service," he concluded with a smile.
-"sure." but on the point of going, the little barkeeper turned to him and confided: "say, the girl's taken an awful fancy to you."
-"no?" deprecated the road agent.
-"yes," affirmed nick. "drop in often--great bar!"
-johnson smiled an assent as the other went out of the room leaving master and man together.
-"now, then, jose, go on," he said, when they were alone. "bueno! our men await the signal in the bushes close by. i will lead the sheriff far off--then i will slip away. you quietly rob the place and fly--it is death for you to linger--ashby is here."
-"ashby!" the road agent started in alarm.
-"ashby--" reiterated castro and stopped on seeing that nick had returned to see that all was well.
-"all right, nick, everything's all right," johnson reassured him.
-the outlaw's position remained unchanged until nick had withdrawn. from where he stood he now saw for the first time the preparations that were being made for his capture: the red torchlights and white candle-lighted lanterns which were reflected through the windows; and a moment more he heard the shouts of the miners calling to one another. of a sudden he was aroused to a consciousness, at least, of their danger by castro's warning:
-"by to-morrow's twilight you must be safe in your rancho."
-the road agent shook his head determinedly.
-"no, we raid on."
-castro was visibly excited.
-"there are a hundred men on your track."
-"oh, one minute's start of the devil does me, jose."
-"ah, but i fear the woman--nina micheltoreña--i fear her terribly. she is close at hand--knowing all, angry with you, and jealous--and still loving you."
-"loving me? oh, no, jose! nina, like you, loves the spoils, not me. no, i raid on . . ."
-a silence fell upon the two men, which was broken by sonora calling out:
-"bring along the greaser, dep!"
-"all right!" answered the loud voice of the deputy.
-"you hear--we start," whispered castro to his master. "give the signal." and notwithstanding, the miners were coming through the door for him and stood waiting, torches in hand, he contrived to finish: "antonio awaits for it. only the woman and her servant will stay behind here."
-"adios!" whispered the master.
-"adios!" returned his man simultaneously with the approach of the deputy towards them.
-it was then that the girl's gay, happy voice floated in on them from the dance-hall; she cried out:
-"good-night, boys, good-night! remember me to the ridge!"
-"you bet we will! so long! whoop! whooppee!" chorussed the men, while the deputy, grabbing the mexican by the collar, ordered him to, "come on!"
-the situation was not without its humorous side to the road agent; he could not resist following the crowd to the door where he stood and watched his would-be captors silently mount; listened to the sheriff give the word, which was immediately followed by the sound of horses grunting as they sprang forward into the darkness in a desperate effort to escape the maddening pain of the descending quirts and cruel spurs. it was a scene to set the blood racing through the veins, viewed in any light; and not until the yells of the men had grown indistinct, and all that could be heard was the ever-decreasing sound of rushing hoofs, did the outlaw turn back into the saloon over which there hung a silence which, by contrast, he found strangely depressing.
-there was a subtle change, an obvious lack of warmth in johnson's manner, which the girl was quick to feel upon returning to the now practically deserted saloon.
-"don't it feel funny here--kind o' creepy?" she gave the words a peculiar emphasis, which made johnson flash a quick, inquisitorial look at her; and then, no comment being forthcoming, she went on to explain: "i s'pose though that's 'cause i don't remember seein' the bar so empty before."
-a somewhat awkward silence followed, which at length was broken by the girl, who ordered:
-"lights out now! put out the candle here, too, nick!" but while the little barkeeper proceeded to carry out her instructions she turned to johnson with an eager, frank expression on her face, and said: "oh, you ain't goin', are you?"
-"no--not yet--no--" stammered johnson, half-surprisedly, half-wonderingly.
-the girl's face wore a pleased look as she answered:
-"oh, i'm so glad o' that!"
-another embarrassing silence followed. at last nick made a movement towards the window, saying:
-"so early? what?" the girl looked her surprise.
-"well, you see, the boys are out huntin' ramerrez, and there's too much money here . . ." said nick in a low tone.
-the girl laughed lightly.
-"oh, all right--cash in--but don't put the head on the keg--i ain't cashed in m'self yet."
-rolling the keg to one side of the room, nick beckoned to the girl to come close to him, which she did; and pointing to johnson, who was strolling about the room, humming softly to himself, he whispered:
-"say, girl, know anythin' about--about him?"
-but very significant as was nick's pantomime, which included the keg and johnson, it succeeded only in bringing forth a laugh from the girl, and the words:
-nevertheless, the faithful guardian of the girl's interests sent a startled glance of inquiry about the room, and again asked:
-"all right, eh?"
-the girl ignored the implication contained in the other's glance, and answered "yep," in such a tone of finality that nick, reassured at last, began to put things ship-shape for the night. this took but a moment or two, however, and then he quietly disappeared.
-"well, mr. johnson, it seems to be us a-keepin' house here to-night, don't it?" said the girl, alone now with the road agent.
-her observation might easily have been interpreted as purposely introductory to an intimate scene, notwithstanding that it was made in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone and without the slightest trace of coquetry. but johnson did not make the mistake of misconstruing her words, puzzled though he was to find a clue to them. his curiosity about her was intense, and it showed plainly in the voice that said presently:
-"isn't it strange how things come about? strange that i should have looked everywhere for you and in the end find you here--at the polka."
-johnson's emphasis on his last words sent a bright red rushing over her, colouring her neck, her ears and her broad, white forehead.
-"anythin' wrong with the polka?"
-johnson was conscious of an indiscreet remark; nevertheless he ventured:
-"well, it's hardly the place for a young woman like you."
-the girl made no reply to this but busied herself with the closing-up of the saloon. johnson interpreted her silence as a difference of opinion. nevertheless, he repeated with emphasis:
-"it is decidedly no place for you."
-"well, it's rather unprotected, and--"
-"oh, pshaw!" interrupted the girl somewhat irritably. "i tol' ashby only to-night that i bet if a rud agent come in here i could offer 'im a drink an' he'd treat me like a perfect lady." she stopped and turned upon him impulsively with: "say, that reminds me, won't you take somethin'?"
-before answering, johnson shot her a quick look of inquiry to see whether there was not a hidden meaning in her words. of course there was not, the remark being impelled by a sudden consciousness that he might consider her inhospitable. nevertheless, her going behind the bar and picking up a bottle came somewhat as a relief to him.
-"no, thank you," at last he said; and then as he leaned heavily on the bar: "but i would very much like to ask you a question."
-instantly, to his great surprise, the girl was eyeing him with mingled reproach and coquetry. so he was going to do it! was it possible that he thought so lightly of her, she wondered. with all her heart she wished that he would not make the same mistake that others had.
-"i know what it is--every stranger asks it--but i didn't think you would. you want to know if i am decent? well, i am, you bet!" she returned, a defiant note creeping into her voice as she uttered the concluding words.
-"oh, girl, i'm not blind!" his eyes quailed before the look that flamed in hers. "and that was not the question."
-instinctively something told the girl that the man spoke the truth, but notwithstanding which, she permitted her eyes to express disbelief and "dear me suz!" fell from her lips with an odd little laugh. on the other hand, johnson declined to treat the subject other than seriously. he had no desire, of course, to enlarge upon the unconventionality of her attitude, but he felt that his feelings towards her, even if they were only friendly, justified him in giving her a warning. moreover, he refused to admit to himself that this was a mere chance meeting. he had a consciousness, vague, but nevertheless real that, at last, after all his searching, fate had brought him face to face with the one woman in all the world for him. unknown to himself, therefore, there was a sort of jealous proprietorship in his manner towards her as he now said:
-"what i meant was this: i am sorry to find you here almost at the mercy of the passer-by, where a man may come, may drink, may rob you if he will--" and here a flush of shame spread over his features in spite of himself--"and where, i daresay, more than one has laid claim to a kiss."
-the girl turned upon him in good-natured contempt.
-"there's a good many people claimin' things they never git. i've got my first kiss to give."
-once more a brief silence fell upon them in which the girl busied herself with her cash box. she was not unaware that his eyes were upon her, but she was by no means sure that he believed her words. nor could she tell herself, unfortunately for her peace of mind, that it made no difference to her.
-"have you been here long?" suddenly he asked.
-"lived in the polka?"
-"where do you live?"
-"cabin up the mountain a little ways."
-"cabin up the mountain a little ways," echoed johnson, reflectively. the next instant the little figure before him had faded from his sight and instead there appeared a vision of the little hut on the top of cloudy mountain. only a few hours back he had stood on the precipice which looked towards it, and had felt a vague, indefinable something, had heard a voice speak to him out of the vastness which he now believed to have been her spirit calling to him.
-"you're worth something better than this," after a while he murmured with the tenderness of real love in his voice.
-"what's better'n this?" questioned the girl with a toss of her pretty blonde head. "i ain't a-boastin' but if keepin' this saloon don't give me sort of a position 'round here i dunno what does."
-but the next moment there had flashed through her mind a new thought concerning him. she came out from behind the bar and confronted him with the question:
-"look 'ere, you ain't one o' them exhorters from the missionaries' camp, are you?"
-the road agent smiled.
-"my profession has its faults," he acknowledged, "but i am not an exhorter."
-but still the girl was nonplussed, and eyed him steadily for a moment or two.
-"you know i can't figger out jest exactly what you are?" she admitted smilingly.
-"well, try . . ." he suggested, slightly colouring under her persistent gaze.
-"well, you ain't one o' us."
-"oh, i can tell--i can spot my man every time. i tell you, keepin' saloon's a great educator." and so saying she plumped herself down in a chair and went on very seriously now: "i dunno but what it's a good way to bring up girls--they git to know things. now," and here she looked at him long and earnestly, "i'd trust you."
-johnson was conscious of a guilty feeling, though he said as he took a seat beside her:
-"you would trust me?"
-the girl nodded an assent and observed in a tone that was intended to be thoroughly conclusive:
-"notice i danced with you to-night?"
-"yes," was his brief reply, though the next moment he wondered that he had not found something more to say.
-"i seen from the first that you were the real article."
-"i beg your pardon," he said absently, still lost in thought.
-"why, that was a compliment i handed out to you," returned the girl with a pained look on her face.
-"oh!" he ejaculated with a faint little smile.
-now the girl, who had drawn up her chair close to his, leaned over and said in a low, confidential voice:
-"your kind don't prevail much here. i can tell--i got what you call a quick eye."
-as might be expected johnson flushed guiltily at this remark. no different, for that matter, would have acted many a man whose conscience was far clearer.
-"oh, i'm afraid that men like me prevail--prevail, as you say,--almost everywhere," he said, laying such stress on the words that it would seem almost impossible for anyone not to see that they were shot through with self-depreciation.
-the girl gave him a playful dig with her elbow.
-"go on! what are you givin' me! o' course they don't . . .!" she laughed outright; but the next instant checking herself, went on with absolute ingenuousness: "before i went on that trip to monterey i tho't rance here was the genuine thing in a gent, but the minute i kind o' glanced over you on the road i--i seen he wasn't." she stopped, a realisation having suddenly been borne in upon her that perhaps she was laying her heart too bare to him. to cover up her embarrassment, therefore, she took refuge, as before, in hospitality, and rushing over to the bar she called to nick to come and serve mr. johnson with a drink, only to dismiss him the moment he put his head through the door with: "never mind, i'll help mr. johnson m'self." turning to her visitor again, she said: "have your whisky with water, won't you?"
-"but i don't--" began johnson in protest.
-"say," interrupted the girl, falling back into her favourite position of resting both elbows on the bar, her face in her hands, "i've got you figgered out. you're awful good or awful bad." a remark which seemed to amuse the man, for he laughed heartily.
-"now, what do you mean by that?" presently he asked.
-"well, i mean so good that you're a teetotaller, or so bad that you're tired o' life an' whisky."
-johnson shook his head.
-"on the contrary, although i'm not good, i've lived and i've liked life pretty well. it's been bully!"
-surprised and delighted with his enthusiasm, the girl raised her eyes to his, which look he mistook--not unnaturally after all that had been said--for one of encouragement. a moment more and the restraint that he had exercised over himself had vanished completely.
-"so have you liked it, girl," he went on, trying vainly to get possession of her hand, "only you haven't lived, you haven't lived--not with your nature. you see i've got a quick eye, too."
-to johnson's amazement she flushed and averted her face. following the direction of her eyes he saw nick standing in the door with a broad grin on his face.
-"you git, nick! what do you mean by . . .?" cried out the girl in a tone that left no doubt in the minds of her hearers that she was annoyed, if not angry, at the intrusion.
-nick disappeared into the dance-hall as though shot out of a gun; whereupon, the girl turned to johnson with:
-"i haven't lived? that's good!"
-johnson's next words were insinuating, but his voice was cold in comparison with the fervent tones of a moment previous.
-"oh, you know!" was what he said, seating himself at the poker table.
-"no, i don't," contradicted the girl, taking a seat opposite him.
-"yes, you do," he insisted.
-"well, say it's an even chance i do an' an even chance i don't," she parried.
-once more the passion in the man was stirring.
-"i mean," he explained in a voice that barely reached her, "life for all it's worth, to the uttermost, to the last drop in the cup, so that it atones for what's gone before, or may come after."
-the girl's face wore a puzzled look as she answered:
-"no, i don't believe i know what you mean by them words. is it a--" she cut her sentence short, and springing up, cried out: "oh, lord--oh, excuse me, i sat on my gun!"
-johnson looked at her, genuine amusement depicted on his face.
-"look here," said the girl, suddenly perching herself upon the table, "i'm goin' to make you an offer."
-"an offer?" johnson fairly snatched the words out of her mouth. "you're going to make me an offer?"
-"it's this," declared the girl with a pleased look on her face. "if ever you need to be staked--"
-johnson eyed her uncomprehendingly.
-"which o' course you don't," she hastened to add. "name your price. it's yours jest for the style i git from you an' the deportment."
-"deportment? me?" a half-grin formed over johnson's face as he asked the question; then he said: "well, i never heard before that my society was so desirable. apart from the financial aspect of this matter, i--"
-"say," broke in the girl, gazing at him in helpless admiration, "ain't that great? ain't that great? oh, you got to let me stand treat!"
-"no, really i would prefer not to take anything," responded johnson, putting a restraining hand on her as she was about to leap from the table.
-at that moment nick's hurried footsteps reached their ears. turning, the girl, with a swift gesture, waved him back. there was a brief silence, then johnson spoke:
-"say, girl, you're like finding some new kind of flower."
-a slight laugh of confusion was his answer. the next moment, however, she went on, speaking very slowly and seriously: "well, we're kind o' rough up here, but we're reachin' out."
-johnson noted immediately the change in her voice. there was no mistaking the genuineness of her emotion, nor the wistful look in her eyes. it was plain that she yearned for someone who would teach her the ways of the outside world; and when the man looked at the girl with the lamp-light softening her features, he felt her sincerity and was pleased by her confidence.
-"now, i take it," continued the girl with a vague, dreamy look on her face, "that's what we're all put on this earth for--everyone of us--is to rise ourselves up in the world--to reach out."
-"that's true, that's true," returned johnson with gentle and perfect sympathy. "i venture to say that there isn't a man who hasn't thought seriously about that. i have. if only one knew how to reach out for something one hardly dares even hope for. why, it's like trying to catch the star shining just ahead."
-the girl could not restrain her enthusiasm.
-"that's the cheese! you've struck it!"
-at this juncture nick appeared and refused to be ordered away. at length, the girl inquired somewhat impatiently:
-"well, what is it, nick?"
-"i've been tryin' to say," announced the barkeeper, whose face wore an expression of uneasiness as he pointed to the window, "that i have seen an ugly-lookin' greaser hanging around outside."
-"a greaser!" exclaimed the girl, uneasily. "let me look." and with that she made a movement towards the window, but was held back by johnson's detaining hand. all too well did he know that the mexican was one of his men waiting impatiently for the signal. so, with an air of concern, for he did not intend that the girl should run any risk, however remote, he said authoritatively:
-"why not?" demanded the girl.
-johnson sat strangely silent.
-"i'll bolt the windows!" cried nick. hardly had he disappeared into the dance-hall when a low whistle came to their ears.
-"the signal--they're waiting," said johnson under his breath, and shot a quick look of inquiry at the girl to see whether she had heard the sound. a look told him that she had, and was uneasy over it.
-"don't that sound horrid?" said the girl, reaching the bar in a state of perturbation. "say, i'm awful glad you're here. nick's so nervous. he knows what a lot o' money i got. why, there's a little fortune in that keg."
-johnson started; then rising slowly he went over to the keg and examined it with interest.
-"in there?" he asked, with difficulty concealing his excitement.
-"yes; the boys sleep around it nights," she went on to confide.
-johnson looked at her curiously.
-"but when they're gone--isn't that rather a careless place to leave it?"
-quietly the girl came from behind the bar and went over and stood beside the keg; when she spoke her eyes flashed dangerously.
-"they'd have to kill me before they got it," she said, with cool deliberation.
-"oh, i see--it's your money."
-"no, it's the boys'."
-a look of relief crossed johnson's features.
-"oh, that's different," he contended; and then brightening up somewhat, he went on: "now, i wouldn't risk my life for that."
-"oh, yes, you would, yes, you would," declared the girl with feeling. a moment later she was down on her knees putting bag after bag of the precious gold-dust and coins into the keg. when they were all in she closed the lid, and putting her foot down hard to make it secure, she repeated: "oh, yes, you would, if you seen how hard they got it. when i think of it, i nearly cry."
-johnson had listened absorbedly, and was strangely affected by her words. in her rapidly-filling eyes, in the wave of colour that surged in her cheeks, in the voice that shook despite her efforts to control it, he read how intense was her interest in the welfare of the miners. how the men must adore her!
-unconsciously the girl arose, and said:
-"there's somethin' awful pretty in the way the boys hold out before they strike it, somethin' awful pretty in the face o' rocks, an' clay an' alkali. oh, lord, what a life it is anyway! they eat dirt, they sleep in dirt, they breathe dirt 'til their backs are bent, their hands twisted an' warped. they're all wind-swept an' blear-eyed i tell you, an' some o' them jest lie down in their sweat beside the sluices, an' they don't never rise up again. i've seen 'em there!" she paused reminiscently; then, pointing to the keg, she went on haltingly: "i got some money there of ol' brownie's. he was lyin' out in the sun on a pile o' clay two weeks ago, an' i guess the only clean thing about him was his soul, an' he was quittin', quittin', quittin', right there on the clay, an' quittin' hard. oh, so hard!" once more she stopped and covered her face with her hands as if to shut out the horror of it all. presently she had herself under control and resumed: "yes, he died--died jest like a dog. you wanted to shoot 'im to help 'im along quicker. before he went he sez to me: 'girl, give it to my ol' woman.' that was all he said, an' he went. she'll git it, all right."
-with every word that the girl uttered, the iron had entered deeper into johnson's soul. up to the present time he had tried to regard his profession, if he looked at it at all, from the point of view which he inherited from his father. it was not, in all truthfulness, what he would have chosen; it was something that, at times, he lamented; but, nevertheless, he had practised it and had despoiled the miners with but few moments of remorse. but now, he was beginning to look upon things differently. in a brief space of time a woman had impelled him to see his actions in their true light; new ambitions and desires awakened, and he looked downward as if it were impossible to meet her honest eye.
-"an' that's what aches you," the girl was now saying. "there ain't one o' them men workin' for themselves alone--the lord never put it into no man's heart to make a beast or a pack-horse o' himself, except for some woman or some child." she halted a moment, and throwing up her hands impulsively, she cried: "ain't it wonderful--ain't it wonderful that instinct? ain't it wonderful what a man'll do when it comes to a woman--ain't it wonderful?" once more she waited as if expecting him to corroborate her words; but he remained strangely silent. a moment later when he raised his troubled eyes, he saw that hers were dry and twinkling.
-"well, the boys use me as a--a sort of lady bank," presently she said; and then added with another quick change of expression, and in a voice that showed great determination: "you bet i'll drop down dead before anyone'll get a dollar o' theirs outer the polka!"
-impulsively the road agent's hand went out to her, and with it went a mental resolution that so far as he was concerned no hard-working miner of cloudy mountain need fear for his gold!
-"that's right," was what he said. "i'm with you--i'd like to see anyone get that." he dropped her hand and laid his on the keg; then with a voice charged with much feeling, he added: "girl, i wish to heaven i could talk more with you, but i can't. by daybreak i must be a long ways off. i'm sorry--i should have liked to have called at your cabin."
-the girl shot him a furtive glance.
-"must you be a-movin' so soon?" she asked.
-"yes; i'm only waiting till the posse gets back and you're safe." and even as he spoke his trained ear caught the sound of horses hoofs. "why, they're coming now!" he exclaimed with suppressed excitement, and his eyes immediately fastened themselves on his saddle.
-the girl looked her disappointment when she said:
-"i'm awfully sorry you've got to go. i was goin' to say--" she stopped, and began to roll the keg back to its place. now she took the lantern from the bar and placed it on the keg; then turning to him once more she went on in a voice that was distinctly persuasive: "if you didn't have to go so soon, i would like to have you come up to the cabin to-night an' we would talk o' reachin' out up there. you see, the boys will be back here--we close the polka at one--any time after . . ."
-hesitatingly, helplessly, johnson stared at the girl before him. his acceptance, he realised only too well, meant a pleasant hour or two for him, of which there were only too few in the mad career that he was following, and he wanted to take advantage of it; on the other hand, his better judgment told him that already he should be on his way.
-"why, i--i should ride on now." he began and then stopped, the next moment, however, he threw down his hat on the table in resignation and announced: "i'll come."
-"oh, good!" cried the girl, making no attempt to conceal her delight. "you can use this," she went on, handing him the lantern. "it's the straight trail up; you can't miss it. but i say, don't expect too much o' me--i've only had thirty-two dollars' worth o' education." despite her struggle to control herself, her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. "p'r'aps if i'd had more," she kept on, regretfully, "why, you can't tell what i might have been. say, that's a terrible tho't, ain't it? what we might a been--an' i know it when i look at you."
-johnson was deeply touched at the girl's distress, and his voice broke, too, as he said:
-"yes, what we might have been is a terrible thought, and i know it, girl, when i look at you--when i look at you."
-"you bet!" ejaculated the girl. and then to johnson's consternation she broke down completely, burying her face in her hands and sobbing out: "oh, 'tain't no use, i'm rotten, i'm ignorant, i don't know nothin' an' i never knowed it 'till to-night! the boys always tol' me i knowed so much, but they're such damn liars!"
-in an instant johnson was beside her, patting her hand caressingly; she felt the sympathy in his touch and was quick to respond to it.
-"don't you care, girl, you're all right," he told her, choking back with difficulty the tears in his own voice. "your heart's all right, that's the main thing. and as for your looks? well, to me you've got the face of an angel--the face--" he broke off abruptly and ended with: "oh, but i must be going now!"
-a moment more and he stood framed in the doorway, his saddle in one hand and the girl's lantern in the other, torn by two emotions which grappled with each other in his bosom. "johnson, what the devil's the matter with you?" he muttered half-aloud; then suddenly pulling himself together he stumbled rather than walked out of the polka into the night.
-motionless and trying to check her sobs, the girl remained where he had left her; but a few minutes later, when nick entered, all trace of her tears had disappeared.
-"nick," said she, all smiles now, "run over to the palmetto restaurant an' tell 'em to send me up two charlotte rusks an' a lemming turnover--a good, big, fat one--jest as quick as they can--right up to the cabin for supper."
-"he says i have the face of an angel," is what the girl repeated over and over again to herself when perched up again on the poker table after the wondering barkeeper had departed on her errand, and for a brief space of time her countenance reflected the joy that johnson's parting words had imprinted on her heart. but in the girl's character there was an element too prosaic, and too practical, to permit her thoughts to dwell long in a region lifted far above the earth. it was inevitable, therefore, that the notion should presently strike her as supremely comic and, quickly leaping to the floor, she let out the one word which, however adequately it may have expressed her conflicting emotions, is never by any chance to be found in the vocabulary of angels in good standing.
-notwithstanding that the palmetto was the most pretentious building in cloudy, and was the only rooming and eating house that outwardly asserted its right to be called an hotel, its saloon contrasted unfavourably with its rival, the polka. there was not the individuality of the girl there to charm away the impress of coarseness settled upon it by the loafers, the habitual drunkards and the riffraff of the camp, who were not tolerated elsewhere. in short, it did not have that certain indefinable something which gave to the polka saloon an almost homelike appearance, but was a drab, squalid, soulless place with nothing to recommend it but its size.
-in a small parlour pungent at all times with the odour of liquor,--but used only on rare occasions, most of the palmetto's patrons preferring the even more stifling atmosphere of the bar-room,--the wells fargo agent had been watching and waiting ever since he had left the polka saloon. on a table in front of him was a bottle, for it was a part of ashby's scheme of things to solace thus all such weary hours.
-although a shrewd judge of women of the nina micheltoreña type and by no means unmindful of their mercurial temperament, ashby, nevertheless, had felt that she would keep her appointment with him. in the mexican camp he had read the wild jealousy in her eyes, and had assumed, not unnaturally, that there had been scarcely time for anything to occur which would cause a revulsion of feeling on her part. but as the moments went by, and still she did not put in an appearance, an expression of keen disappointment showed itself on his face and, with mechanical regularity, he carried out the liquid programme, shutting his eyes after each drink for moments at a time yet, apparently, in perfect control of his mind when he opened them again; and it was in one of these moments that he heard a step outside which he correctly surmised to be that of the sheriff.
-without a word rance walked into the room and over to the table and helped himself to a drink from the bottle there, which action the wells fargo agent rightly interpreted as meaning that the posse had failed to catch their quarry. at first a glint of satisfaction shone in ashby's eyes: not that he disliked rance, but rather that he resented his egotistical manner and evident desire to overawe all who came in contact with him; and it required, therefore, no little effort on his part to banish this look from his face and make up his mind not to mention the subject in any manner.
-for some time, therefore, the two officers sat opposite to each other inhaling the stale odour of tobacco and spirits peculiar to this room, with little or no ventilation. it was enough to sicken anyone, but both men, accustomed to such places in the pursuit of their calling, apparently thought nothing of it, the sheriff seemingly absorbed in contemplating the long ash at the end of his cigar, but, in reality, turning over in his mind whether he should leave the room or not. at length, he inaugurated a little contest of opinion.
-"this woman isn't coming, that's certain," he declared, impatiently.
-"i rather think she will; she promised not to fail me," was the other's quiet answer; and he added: "in ten minutes you'll see her."
-it was a rash remark and expressive of a confidence that he by no means felt. as a matter of fact, it was induced solely by the cynical smile which he perceived on the sheriff's face.
-"you, evidently, take no account of the fact that the lady may have changed her mind," observed rance, lighting a fresh cigar. "the nina micheltoreñas are fully as privileged as others of their sex."
-as he drained his glass ashby gave the speaker a sharp glance; another side of rance's character had cropped out. moreover, ashby's quick intuition told him that the other's failure to catch the outlaw was not troubling him nearly as much as was the blow which his conceit had probably received at the hands of the girl. it was, therefore, in an indulgent tone that he said:
-"no, rance, not this one nor this time. you mark my words, the woman is through with ramerrez. at least, she is so jealous that she thinks she is. she'll turn up here, never fear; she means business."
-the shoulders of mr. jack rance strongly suggested a shrug, but the man himself said nothing. they were anything but sympathetic companions, these two officers, and in the silence that ensued rance formulated mentally more than one disparaging remark about the big man sitting opposite to him. it is possible, of course, that the sheriff's rebuff by the girl, together with the wild goose chase which he had recently taken against his better judgment, had something to do with this bitterness; but it was none the less true that he found himself wondering how ashby had succeeded in acquiring his great reputation. among the things that he held against him was his everlasting propensity to boast of his achievements, to say nothing of the pedestal upon which the boys insisted upon placing him. was this wells fargo's most famous agent? was this the man whose warnings were given such credence that they stirred even the largest of the gold camps into a sense of insecurity? and at this rance indulged again in a fit of mental merriment at the other's expense.
-after ashby's observation the conversation by mutual, if unspoken, consent, was switched into other channels. but it may be truthfully said that rance did not wholly recover his mental equilibrium until a door was heard to open noiselessly and some whispered words in spanish fell upon their ears.
-now the sheriff, as well as ashby, had the detective instinct fully developed; moreover, both men knew a few words of that language and had an extreme curiosity to hear the conversation going on between a man and a woman, who were standing just outside in a sort of hallway. as a result, therefore, both officers sprang to the door with the hope--if indeed it was nina micheltoreña as they surmised--that they might catch a word or two which would give them a clue to what was likely to take place at the coming interview. it came sooner than they expected.
-". . . ramerrez--five thousand dollars!" reached their ears in a soft, spanish voice.
-ashby needed nothing more than this. in an instant, much to the sheriff's astonishment, and moving marvellously quick for a man of his heavy build, he was out of the room, leaving rance to face a woman with a black mantilla thrown over her head who, presently, entered by another door.
-nina micheltoreña, for it was she, did not favour him with as much as an icy look. nor did the sheriff give any sign of knowing her; a wise proceeding as it turned out, for a quick turn of the head and a subtle movement of the woman's shoulders told him that she was in anything but a quiet state of mind. one glance towards the door behind him, however, and the reason of her anger was all too plain: a mexican was vainly struggling in the clutches of ashby.
-"why are you dragging him in?" far from quailing before him as did her confederate, she confronted ashby with eyes that flashed fire. "he came with me--"
-ashby cut her short.
-"we don't allow greasers in this camp and--" he began in a throaty voice.
-"but he is waiting to take me back!" she objected, and then added: "i wish him to wait for me outside, and unless you allow him to i'll go at once." and with these words she made a movement towards the door.
-ashby laid one restraining hand upon her, while with the other he held on to the mexican. of a sudden there had dawned upon him the conviction that for once in his life he had made a grievous mistake. he had thought, by the detention of her confederate, to have two strings to his bow, but one glance at the sneeringly censorious expression on the sheriff's face convinced him that no information would be forthcoming from the woman while in her present rebellious mood.
-"all right, my lady," he said, for the time being yielding to her will, "have your way." and turning now to the mexican, he added none too gently:
-"here you, get out!"
-whereupon the mexican slunk out of the room.
-"there's no use of your getting into a rage," went on ashby, turning to the woman in a slightly conciliatory manner. "i calculated that the greaser would be in on the job, too."
-all through this scene rance had been sitting back in his chair chewing his cigar in contemptuous silence, while his face wore a look of languid insolence, a fact which, apparently, did not disturb the woman in the least, for she ignored him completely.
-"it was well for you, señor ashby, that you let him go. i tell you frankly that in another moment i should have gone." and now throwing back her mantilla she took out a cigarette from a dainty, little case and lit it and coolly blew a cloud of smoke in rance's face, saying: "it depends on how you treat me--you, mr. jack rance, as well as señor ashby--whether we come to terms or not. perhaps i had better go away anyway," she concluded with a shrug of admirably simulated indifference.
-this time ashby sat perfectly still. it was not difficult to perceive that her anger was decreasing with every word that she uttered; nor did he fail to note how fluently she spoke english, a slight spanish accent giving added charm to her wonderfully soft and musical voice. how gloriously beautiful, he told himself, she looked as she stood there, voluptuous, compelling, alluring, the expression that had been almost diabolical, gradually fading from her face. was it possible, he asked himself, that all this loveliness was soiled forever? he felt that there was something pitiful in the fact that the woman standing before him represented negotiable property which could be purchased by any passer-by who had a few more nuggets in his possession than his neighbour; and, perhaps, because of his knowledge of the piteous history of this former belle of monterey he put a little more consideration into the voice that said:
-"all right, nina, we'll get down to business. what have you to say to us?"
-by this time nina's passionate anger had burned itself out. in anticipation, perhaps, of what she was about to do, she looked straight ahead of her into space. it was not because she was assailed by some transient emotion to forswear her treacherous desire for vengeance; she had no illusion of that kind. too vividly she recalled the road agent's indifferent manner at their last interview for any feeling to dwell in her heart other than hatred. it was that she was summoning to appear a vision scarcely less attractive, however pregnant with tragedy, than that of seeing herself avenged: a gay, extravagant career in mexico or spain which the reward would procure for her. that was what she was seeing, and with a pious wish for its confirmation she began to make herself a fresh cigarette, rolling it dexterously with her white, delicate fingers, and not until her task was accomplished and her full, red lips were sending forth tiny clouds of smoke did she announce:
-"ramerrez was in cloudy mountain to-night."
-but however much of a surprise this assertion was to both men, neither gave vent to an exclamation. instead rance regarded his elegantly booted feet; ashby looked hard at the woman as if he would read the truth in her eyes; while as for nina, she continued to puff away at her little cigarette after the manner of one that has appealed not in vain to the magic power which can paint out the past and fill the blank with the most beautiful of dreams.
-the wells fargo man was the first to make any comment; he asked:
-"you know this?" and then as she surveyed them through a scented cloud and bowed her head, he added: "how do you know it?"
-"that i shall not tell you," replied the woman, firmly.
-ashby made an impatient movement towards her with the question:
-"where was he?"
-"oh, come, ashby!" put in rance, speaking for the first time. "she's putting up a game on us."
-in a flash nina wheeled around and with eyes that blazed advanced to the table where the sheriff was sitting. indeed, there was something so tigerish about the woman that the sheriff, in alarm, quickly pushed back his chair.
-"i am not lying, jack rance." there was an evil glitter in her eye as she watched a sarcastic smile playing around his lips. "oh, yes, i know you--you are the sheriff," and so saying a peal of contemptuous merriment burst from her, "and ramerrez was in the camp not less than two hours ago."
-ashby could hardly restrain his excitement.
-"and you saw him?" came from him.
-"yes," was her answer.
-both men sprang to their feet; it was impossible to doubt any longer that she spoke the truth.
-"what's his game?" demanded rance.
-the woman answered his question with a question.
-"how about the reward, señor ashby?"
-"you needn't worry about that--i'll see that you get what's coming to you," replied the wells fargo agent already getting into his coat.
-"but how are we to know?" inquired rance, likewise getting ready to leave. "is he an american or a mexican?"
-"to-night he's an american, that is, he's dressed and looks like one. but the reward--you swear you're playing fair?"
-"on my honour," ashby assured her.
-the woman's face stood clear--cruelly clear in the light of the kerosene lamp above her head. about her mouth and eyes there was a repellent expression. her mind, still working vividly, was reviewing the past; and a bitter memory prompted the words which were said however with a smile that was still seductive:
-"try to recall, señor ashby, what strangers were in the polka to-night?"
-at these ominous words the men started and regarded each other questioningly. their keen and trained intelligences were greatly distressed at being so utterly in the dark. for an instant, it is true, the thought of the greaser that ashby had brought in rose uppermost in their minds, but only to be dismissed quickly when they recalled the woman's words concerning the way that the road agent was dressed. a moment more, however, and a strange thought had fastened itself on one of their active minds--a thought which, although persisting in forcing itself upon the sheriff's consideration, was in the end rejected as wholly improbable. but who was it then? in his intensity rance let his cigar go out.
-"ah!" at last he cried. "johnson, by the eternal!"
-"johnson?" echoed ashby, wholly at sea and surprised at the look of corroboration in nina's eyes.
-"yes, johnson," went on rance, insistently. why had he not seen at once that it was johnson who was the road agent! there could be no mistake! "you weren't there," he explained hurriedly, "when he came in and began flirting with the girl and--"
-"ramerrez making love to the girl?" broke in ashby. "ye gods!"
-"here--here is something that will interest you!" she said; and putting her hand in her bosom drew out a soiled, faded photograph. "there--that will settle him for good and all! never again will he boast of trifling with nina micheltoreña--with me, a micheltoreña in whose veins runs the best and proudest blood of california!"
-ashby fairly snatched the photograph out of her hand and, after one look at it, passed it over to the sheriff.
-"good of him, isn't it?" sneered nina; and then seemingly trying by her very vehemence to impress upon herself the impossibility of his ever being anything but an episode in her life, she added: "i hate him!"
-the picture was indeed an excellent one. it represented ramerrez in the gorgeous dress of a caballero--and the outlaw was a fine specimen of that spectacular class of men. but rance studied the photograph only long enough to be sure that no mistake was possible. with a quick movement he put it away in his pocket and looked long and hard at the figure of the degraded woman standing before him and revelling in her treachery. in that time he forgot that anyone had ever entertained a kind thought about her; he forgot that she once was respected as well as admired; he was conscious only of regarding her with a far deeper disgust and repugnance than he held towards others much her inferior in birth and education. but, presently, his face grew a shade whiter, if that were possible, and he cursed himself for not having thought of the danger to which the girl might even now be exposed. in less than a minute, therefore, both men stood ready for the work before them. but on the threshold just before going out into the fierce storm that had burst during the last few minutes, he paused and called back:
-"you mexican devil! if any harm comes to the girl, i'll strangle you with my own hands!" and not waiting to hear the woman's mocking laughter he passed out, followed by ashby, into the storm.
-in the still black night and with no guide other than the dimly-lighted lantern which she carried, the girl had started for home--a bit of shelter in the middle of a great silence, a little fortress in the wilderness, as it were, with its barred doors and windows--on the top of cloudy mountain. to be sure, it was not the first time that she had followed the trail alone: day and night, night and day, for as long, almost, as she could remember, she had been doing it; indeed, she had watched the alders, oaks and dwarf pines, that bordered the trail, grow year by year as she herself had grown, until now the whispering of the mountain's night winds spoke a language as familiar as her own; but never before had she climbed up into the clean, wide, free sweep of this unbounded horizon, the very air untainted and limitless as the sky itself, with so keen and uncloying a pleasure. but there was a new significance attached to her home-coming to-night: was she not to entertain there her first real visitor?
-at the threshold of her cabin the girl, her cheeks aglow and eyes as bright, almost, as the red cape that enveloped her lithe, girlish figure, paused, and swinging her lantern high above her head so that its light was reflected in the room, she endeavoured to imagine what would be the impression that a stranger would receive coming suddenly upon these surroundings.
-and well might she have paused, for no eye ever rested upon a more conglomerate ensemble! yet, withal, there was a certain attractiveness about this log-built, low, square room, half-papered with gaudy paper--the supply, evidently, having fallen short,--that was as unexpected as it was unusual.
-upon the floor, which had a covering of corn sacks, were many beautiful bear and wolf skins, indian rugs and navajo blankets; while overhead--screening some old trunks and boxes neatly piled up high in the loft, which was reached by a ladder, generally swung out of the way--hung a faded, woollen blanket; from the opposite corner there fell an old, patchwork, silk quilt. dainty white curtains in all their crispness were at the windows, and upon the walls were many rare and weird trophies of the chase, not to mention the innumerable pictures that had been taken from "godey's lady book" and other periodicals of that time. a little book-shelf, that had been fashioned out of a box, was filled with old and well-read books; while the mantel that guarded the fireplace was ornamented with various small articles, conspicuous among which were a clock that beat loud, automatic time with a brassy resonance, a china dog and cat of most gaudy colours, a whisky bottle and two tumblers, and some winter berries in a jar.
-there were two pieces of furniture in the room, however, which were placed with an eye to attract attention, and these the girl prized most highly: one was a homemade rocking-chair that had been made out of a barrel and had been dyed, unsuccessfully, with indigo blue, and had across its back a knitted tidy with a large, upstanding, satin bow; the other was a homemade, pine wardrobe that had been rudely decorated by one of the boys of the camp and in which the girl kept her dresses, and was piled up high towards the ceiling with souvenirs of her trip to monterey, including the hat-boxes and wicker basket that had come well nigh to loading down the stage on that memorable journey.
-but it was upon her bed and bedroom fixings that the greatest attempt at decoration had been made; partitioning off the room, as it were, and at the same time forming a canopy about the bed, were curtains of cheap, gaudy material, through the partings of which there was to be had a glimpse of a daintily-made-up bed, whose pillows were made conspicuous by the hand-made lace that trimmed their slips, as was the bureau-cover, and upon which, in charming disarray, were various articles generally included in a woman's toilet, not to mention the numberless strings of coloured beads and other bits of feminine adornment. a table standing in the centre of the room was covered with a small, white cloth, while falling in folds from beneath this was a faded, red cotton cover. the table was laid for one, the charlotte "rusks" and "lemming" turn-over--each on a separate plate--which nick had been commissioned to procure, earlier in the evening, from the palmetto restaurant, looming up prominently in the centre; and on another plate were some chipped beef and biscuits. a large lamp was suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the room and was quaintly, if not grotesquely, shaded; while other lamps flanked by composition metal reflectors concentrated light upon the girl's bureau, the book-shelf and mantel, leaving the remainder of the room in variant shadow.
-all in all, what with the fire that was burning cheerily in the grate and the strong odour of steaming coffee, the room had a soft glow and home-like air that was most inviting.
-in that brief moment that the girl stood in the doorway reviewing her possessions, a multitude of expressions drifted across her countenance, a multitude of possibilities thrilled within her bosom. but however much she would have liked to analyse these strange feelings, she resisted the inclination and gave all her attention to the amusing scene that was being enacted before her eyes.
-for some time billy jackrabbit had been standing by the table looking greedily down upon the charlotte russes there. he was on the point of putting his finger through the centre of one of them when wowkle--the indian woman-of-all-work of the cabin, who sat upon the floor before the fire singing a lullaby to the papoose strapped to its cradle on her back--turning suddenly her gaze in his direction, was just in time to prevent him.
-"charlotte rusk--palmetto rest'rant--not take," were her warning words.
-jackrabbit drew himself up quickly, but he was furious at interference from a source where it was wholly unexpected.
-"hm--me honest," he growled fiercely, flashing her a malignant look.
-"huh?" was wowkle's monosyllabic observation delivered in a guttural tone.
-all of a sudden, jackrabbit's gaze was arrested by a piece of paper which lay upon the floor and in which had been wrapped the charlotte russes; he went over to it quickly, picked it up, opened it and proceeded to collect on his finger the cream that had adhered to it.
-"huh!" he growled delightedly, holding up his finger for wowkle's inspection. the next instant, however, he slumped down beside her upon the floor, where both the man and the woman sat in silence gazing into the fire. the man was the first to speak.
-"send me up--polka. say, p'haps me marry you--huh?" he said, coming to the point bluntly.
-wowkle's eyes were glued to the fire; she answered dully:
-"me don't know."
-there was a silence, and then:
-"me don't know," observed jackrabbit thoughtfully. a moment later, however, he added: "me marry you--how much me get give fatha--huh?"
-wowkle raised her narrowing eyes to his and told him with absolute indifference:
-"huh--me don't know."
-jackrabbit's face darkened. he pondered for a long time.
-"me don't know--" suddenly he began and then stopped. they had been silent for some moments, when at last he ventured: "me give fatha four dolla"--and here he indicated the number with his two hands, the finger with the cream locking those of the other hand--"and one blanket."
-wowkle's eyes dilated.
-"better keep blanket--baby cold," was her ambiguous answer.
-whereupon jackrabbit emitted a low growl. presently he handed her his pipe, and while she puffed steadily away he fondled caressingly the string of beads which she wore around her neck.
-"you sing for get those?" he asked.
-"me sing," she replied dully, beginning almost instantly in soft, nasal tones:
-"my days are as um grass"--
-jackrabbit's face cleared.
-"huh!" he growled in rejoicement.
-immediately wowkle edged up close to him and together they continued in chorus:
-"or as um faded flo'r, um wintry winds sweep o'er um plain, we pe'ish in um ho'r."
-"but gar," said the man when the song was ended, at the same time taking his pipe away from her, "to-morrow we go missionary--sing like hell--get whisky."
-but as wowkle made no answer, once more a silence fell upon them.
-"we pe'ish in um ho'r," suddenly repeated jackrabbit, half-singing, half-speaking the words, and rising quickly started for the door. at the table, however, he halted and inquired: "all right--go missionary to-morrow--get marry--huh?"
-wowkle hesitated, then rose, and finally started slowly towards him. half-way over she stopped and reminded him in a most apathetic manner:
-"p'haps me not stay marry to you for long."
-"huh--seven monse?" queried jackrabbit in the same tone.
-"six monse," came laconically from the woman.
-in nowise disconcerted by her answer, the indian now asked:
-"you come soon?"
-wowkle thought a moment; then suddenly edging up close to him she promised to come to him after the girl had had her supper.
-"huh!" fairly roared the indian, his coal-black eyes glowing as he looked at her.
-it was at this juncture that the girl, after hanging up her lantern on a peg on the outer door, broke in unexpectedly upon the strange pair of lovers.
-dumbfounded, the woman and the man stood gaping at her. wowkle was the first to regain her composure, and bending over the table she turned up the light.
-"hello, billy jackrabbit!" greeted the girl, breezily. "fixed it?"
-"me fix," he grunted.
-"that's good! now git!" ordered the girl in the same happy tone that had characterised her greeting.
-slowly, stealthily, jackrabbit left the cabin, the two women, though for different reasons, watching him go until the door had closed behind him.
-"now, wowkle," said the girl, turning to her with a smile, "it's for two to-night."
-wowkle's eyelashes twinkled up inquisitorially.
-wowkle's eyes narrowed to pin-points.
-"come anotha? never before come anotha," was her significant comment.
-"never you mind." the girl voiced the reprimand without the twitching of an eyelid; and then as she hung up her cape upon the wardrobe, she added: "pick up the room, wowkle!"
-the big-hipped, full-bosomed woman did not move but stood in all her stolidness gazing at her mistress like one in a dream; whereupon the girl, exasperated beyond measure at the other's placidity, rushed over to her and shook her so violently that she finally awakened to the importance of her mistress' request.
-"he's comin' now, now; he's comin'!" the girl was saying, when suddenly her eyes were attracted to a pair of stockings hanging upon the wall; quickly she released her hold on the woman and with a hop, skip and a jump they were down and hid away in her bureau drawer.
-"my roses--what did you do with them, wowkle?" she asked a trifle impatiently as she fumbled in the drawer.
-"good!" cried the girl, delightedly, as she spied them. the next instant she was busily engaged in arranging them in her hair, pausing only to take a pistol out of her pocket, which she laid on the edge of the bureau. "no offence, wowkle," she went on thoughtfully, a moment later, "but i want you to put your best foot forward when you're waitin' on table to-night. this here company o' mine's a man o' idees. oh, he knows everythin'! sort of a damme style."
-wowkle gave no sign of having heard her mistress' words, but kept right on tidying the room. now she went over to the cupboard and took down two cups, which she placed on the fireplace base. it was while she was in the act of laying down the last one that the girl broke in suddenly upon her thoughts with:
-"say, wowkle, did billy jackrabbit really propose to you?"
-for some moments the girl continued to fumble among her possessions in the bureau drawer; at last she brought forth an orange-coloured satin ribbon, which she placed in the indian woman's hands with her prettiest smile, saying:
-"here, wowkle, you can have that to fix up for the weddin'."
-wowkle's eyes glowed with appreciation.
-"huh!" she ejaculated, and proceeded to wind the ribbon about the beads around her neck.
-turning once more to the bureau, the girl took out a small parcel done up in tissue paper and began to unwrap it.
-"i'm goin' to put on them, if i can git 'em on," she said, displaying a pair of white satin slippers. the next instant she had plumped herself down upon the floor and was trying to encase her feet in a pair of slippers which were much too small for them. "remember what fun i made o' you when you took up with billy jackrabbit?" suddenly she asked with a happy little smile. "what for? sez i. well, p'r'aps you was right. p'r'aps it's nice to have someone you really care for--who belongs to you. p'r'aps they ain't so much in the saloon business for a woman after all, and you don't know what livin' really is until--" she stopped abruptly and threw upon the floor the slipper that refused to give to her foot. "oh, wowkle," she went on, taking up the other slipper, "it's nice to have someone you can talk to, someone you can turn your heart inside out to."
-at last she had succeeded in getting into one slipper and, rising, tried to stand in it; but it hurt her so frightfully that she immediately sank down upon the floor and proceeded to pat and rub and coddle her foot to ease the pain. it was while she was thus engaged that a knock came upon her cabin door.
-"oh, lord, here he is!" she cried, panic-stricken, and began to drag herself hurriedly across the room with the intention of concealing herself behind the curtain at the foot of the bed; while wowkle, with unusual celerity, made for the fire-place, where she stood with her back to the door, gazing into the fire.
-the girl had only gotten half-way across the room, however, when a voice assailed her ears.
-"miss, miss, kin i--" came in low, subdued tones.
-"what? the sidney duck?" she cried, turning and seeing his head poked through the window.
-"beg pardon, miss; i know men ain't lowed up here nohow," humbly apologised that individual; "but, but--"
-vexed and flustered, the girl turned upon him a trifle irritably with:
-"git! git, i tell you!"
-"but i'm in grite trouble, miss," began the sidney duck, tearfully. "the boys are back--they missed that road agent ramerrez and now they're taking it out of me. if--if you'd only speak a word for me, miss."
-"no--" began the girl, and stopped. the next instant she ordered wowkle to shut the window.
-"oh, don't be 'ard on me, miss," whimpered the man.
-the girl flashed him a scornful look.
-"now, look here, sidney duck, there's one kind o' man i can't stand, an' that's a cheat an' a thief, an' you're it," said the girl, laying great stress upon her words. "you're no better'n that road agent ramerrez, an'--"
-"but, miss--" interrupted the man.
-"miss nothin'!" snapped back the girl, tugging away at the slippers; in desperation once more she ordered:
-"wowkle, close the winder! close the winder!"
-the sidney duck glowered at her. he had expected her intercession on his behalf and could not understand this new attitude of hers toward him.
-"public 'ouse jide!" he retorted furiously, and slammed the window.
-"ugh!" snarled wowkle, resentfully, her eyes full of fire.
-now at any other time, the sidney duck would have been made to pay dearly for his words, but either the girl did not hear him, or if she did she was too engrossed to heed them; at any rate, the remark passed unnoticed.
-"i got it on!" presently exclaimed the girl in great joy. nevertheless, it was not without several ouches and moans that, finally, she stood upon her feet. "say, wowkle, how do you think he'll like 'em? how do they look? they feel awful!" she rattled on with a pained look on her face.
-but whatever would have been the indian woman's observation on the subject of tight shoes in general and those of her mistress in particular, she was not permitted to make it, for the girl, now hobbling over towards the bureau, went on to announce with sudden determination:
-"say, wowkle, i'm a-goin' the whole hog! yes, i'm a-goin' the whole hog," she repeated a moment later, as she drew forth various bits of finery from a chest of drawers, with which she proceeded to adorn herself before the mirror. taking out first a lace shawl of bold design, she drew it over her shoulders with the grace and ease of one who makes it an everyday affair rather than an occasional undertaking; then she took from a sweet-grass basket a vividly-embroidered handkerchief and saturated it with cologne, impregnating the whole room with its strong odour; finally she brought forth a pair of long, white gloves and began to stretch them on. "does it look like an effort, wowkle?" she asked, trying to get her hands into them.
-"ugh!" was the indian woman's comment at the very moment that a knock came upon the door. "two plates," she added with a groan, and started for the cupboard.
-meanwhile the girl continued with her primping and preening, her hands flying back and forth like an automaton from her waist-line to her stockings. suddenly another knock, this time more vigorous, more insistent, came upon the rough boards of the cabin door, which, finally, was answered by the girl herself.
-"hello!" sang out johnson, genially, as he entered the girl's cabin.
-at once the girl's audacity and spirit deserted her, and hanging her head she answered meekly, bashfully:
-the man's eyes swept the girl's figure; he looked puzzled, and asked:
-"are you--you going out?"
-the girl was plainly embarrassed; she stammered in reply:
-"yes--no--i don't know--oh, come on in!"
-"thank you," said johnson in his best manner, and put down his lantern on the table. turning now with a look of admiration in his eyes, at the same time trying to embrace her, he went on: "oh, girl, i'm so glad you let me come . . ."
-his glance, his tone, his familiarity sent the colour flying to the girl's cheeks; she flared up instantly, her blue eyes snapping with resentment:
-"you stop where you are, mr. johnson."
-"ugh!" came from wowkle, at that moment closing the door which johnson had left ajar.
-at the sound of the woman's voice johnson wheeled round quickly. and then, to his great surprise, he saw that the girl was not alone as he had expected to find her.
-"i beg your pardon; i did not see anyone when i came in," he said in humble apology, his eyes the while upon wowkle who, having blown out the candle and removed the lantern from the table to the floor, was directing her footsteps towards the cupboard, into which she presently disappeared, closing the door behind her. "but seeing you standing there," went on johnson in explanation, "and looking into your lovely eyes, well, the temptation to take you in my arms was so great that i, well, i took--"
-"you must be in the habit o' takin' things, mr. johnson," broke in the girl. "i seen you on the road to monterey, goin' an' comin', an' passed a few words with you; i seen you once since, but that don't give you no excuse to begin this sort o' game." the girl's tone was one of reproach rather than of annoyance, and for the moment the young man was left with a sense of having committed an indiscretion. silently, sheepishly, he moved away, while she quietly went over to the fire.
-"besides, you might have prospected a bit first anyway," presently she went on, watching the tips of her slender white fingers held out transparent towards the fire.
-just at that moment a log dropped, turning up its glowing underside. wheeling round with a smile, johnson said:
-"i see how wrong i was."
-and then, seeing that the girl made no move in his direction, he asked, still smiling:
-"may i take off my coat?"
-the girl remained silent, which silence he interpreted as an assent, and went on to make himself at home.
-"thank you," he said simply. "what a bully little place you have here! it's awfully snug!" he continued delightedly, as his eyes wandered about the room. "and to think that i've found you again when i--oh, the luck of it!"
-he went over to her and held out his hands, a broad, yet kindly smile lighting up his strong features, making him appear handsomer, even, than he really was, to the girl taking in the olive-coloured skin glowing with healthful pallor.
-"friends?" he asked.
-nevertheless the girl did not give him her hand, but quickly drew it away; she answered his question with a question:
-"are you sorry?"
-"no, i'm not sorry."
-to this she made no reply but quietly, disappointedly returned to the fireplace, where she stood in contemplative silence, waiting for his next words.
-but he did not speak; he contented himself with gazing at the tender girlishness of her, the blue-black eyes, and flesh that was so bright and pure that he knew it to be soft and firm, making him yearn for her.
-involuntarily she turned towards him, and she saw that in his face which caused her eyes to drop and her breath to come more quickly.
-"that damme style just catches a woman!" she ejaculated with a little tremour in her voice.
-then her mood underwent a sudden change in marked contrast to that of the moment before. "look here, mr. johnson," she said, "down at the saloon to-night you said you always got what you wanted. o' course i've got to admire you for that. i reckon women always do admire men for gettin' what they want. but if huggin' me's included, jest count it out."
-for a breathing space there was a dead silence.
-"that was a lovely day, girl, on the road to monterey, wasn't it?" of a sudden johnson observed dreamily.
-the girl's eyes opened upon him wonderingly.
-"well, wasn't it?"
-the girl thought it was and she laughed.
-"say, take a chair and set down for a while, won't you?" was her next remark, she herself taking a chair at the table.
-"thanks," he said, coming slowly towards her while his eyes wandered about the room for a chair.
-"say, look 'ere!" she shot out, scrutinising him closely; "i ben thinkin' you didn't come to the saloon to see me to-night. what brought you?"
-"it was fate," he told her, leaning over the table and looking down upon her admiringly.
-she pondered his answer for a moment, then blurted out:
-"you're a bluff! it may have been fate, but i tho't you looked kind o' funny when rance asked you if you hadn't missed the trail an' wa'n't on the road to see nina micheltoreña--she that lives in the greaser settlement an' has the name o' shelterin' thieves."
-at the mention of thieves, johnson paled frightfully and the knife which he had been toying with dropped to the floor.
-"was it fate or the back trail?" again queried the girl.
-"it was fate," calmly reiterated the man, and looked her fairly in the eye.
-the cloud disappeared from the girl's face.
-"serve the coffee, wowkle!" she called almost instantly. and then it was that she saw that no chair had been placed at the table for him. she sprang to her feet, exclaiming: "oh, lordy, you ain't got no chair yet to--"
-"careful, please, careful," quickly warned johnson, as she rounded the corner of the table upon which his guns lay.
-but fear was not one of the girl's emotions. at the display of guns that met her gaze she merely shrugged and inquired placidly:
-"oh, how many guns do you carry?"
-not unnaturally she waited for his answer before starting in quest of a chair for him; but instead johnson quietly went over to the chair near the door where his coat lay, hung it up on the peg with his hat, and returning now with a chair, he answered:
-"oh, several when travelling through the country."
-"well, set down," said the girl bluntly, and hurried to his side to adjust his chair. but she did not return to her place at the table; instead, she took the barrel rocker near the fireplace and began to rock nervously to and fro. in silence johnson sat studying her, looking her through and through, as it were.
-"it must be strange living all alone way up here in the mountains," he remarked, breaking the spell of silence. "isn't it lonely?"
-johnson was touched at the depth of meaning in her words; he nodded his head in appreciation.
-"i see, when you die you won't have far to go," he quietly observed.
-minutes passed before either spoke. then all at once the girl rose and took the chair facing his, the table between them as at first.
-"wowkle, serve the coffee!" again she called.
-immediately, wowkle emerged from the cupboard, took the coffee-pot from the fire and filled the cups that had been kept warm on the fireplace base, and after placing a cup beside each plate she squatted down before the fire in watchful silence.
-"but when it's very cold up here, cold, and it snows?" queried johnson, his admiration for the plucky, quaint little figure before him growing by leaps and bounds.
-"oh, the boys come up an' digs me out o' my front door like--like--" she paused, her sunny laugh rippling out at the recollection of it all, and johnson noted the two delightful dimples in her rounded cheeks. indeed, she had never appeared prettier to him than when displaying her two rows of perfect, dazzling teeth, which was the case every time that she laughed.
-"--like a little rabbit, eh?" he supplemented, joining in the laugh.
-she nodded eagerly.
-"i get digged out near every day when the mine's shet down an' academy opens," went on the girl in the same happy strain, her big blue eyes dancing with merriment.
-johnson looked at her wonderingly; he questioned:
-"academy? here? why, who teaches in your academy?"
-"me--i'm her--i'm teacher," she told him with not a little show of pride.
-with difficulty johnson suppressed a smile; nevertheless he observed soberly:
-"oh, so you're the teacher?"
-"is it so very severe here when there's a blizzard on?" johnson was saying, when there came to his ears a strange sound--the sound of the wind rising in the canyon below.
-the girl looked at him in blank astonishment--a look that might easily have been interpreted as saying, "where do you hail from?" she answered:
-"is it . . .? oh, lordy, they come in a minute! all of a sudden you don't know where you are--it's awful!"
-"not many women--" digressed the man, glancing apprehensively towards the door, but she cut him short swiftly with the ejaculation:
-"bosh!" and picking up a plate she raised it high in the air the better to show off its contents. "charlotte rusks an' lemming turnover!" she announced, searching his face for some sign of joy, her own face lighting up perceptibly.
-"well, this is a treat!" cried out johnson between sips of coffee.
-"you bet!" he returned with unmistakable pleasure in his voice.
-the girl served him with one of each, and when he thanked her she beamed with happiness.
-"let me send you some little souvenir of to-night"--he said, a little while later, his admiring eyes settled on her hair of burnished gold which glistened when the light fell upon it--"something that you'd just love to read in your course of teaching at the academy." he paused to search his mind for something suitable to suggest to her; at length he questioned: "now, what have you been reading lately?"
-the girl's face broke into smiles as she answered:
-"oh, it's an awful funny book about a kepple. he was a classic an' his name was dent."
-johnson knitted his brows and thought a moment. "he was a classic, you say, and his name was--oh, yes, i know--dante," he declared, with difficulty controlling the laughter that well-nigh convulsed him. "and you found dante funny, did you?"
-"funny? i roared!" acknowledged the girl with a frankness that was so genuine that johnson could not help but admire her all the more. "you see, he loved a lady--" resumed the girl, toying idly with her spoon.
-"--beatrice," supplemented johnson, pronouncing the name with the italian accent which, by the way, was not lost on the girl.
-"how?" she asked quickly, with eyes wide open.
-johnson ignored the question. anxious to hear her interpretation of the story, he requested her to continue.
-"he loved a lady--" began the girl, and broke off short. and going over to the book-shelf she took down a volume and began to finger the leaves absently. presently she came back, and fixing her eyes upon him, she went on: "it made me think of it, what you said down to the saloon to-night about livin' so you didn't care what come after. well, he made up his min', this dent--dantes--that one hour o' happiness with her was worth the whole da--" she checked the word on her tongue, and concluded: "outfit that come after. he was willin' to sell out his chances for sixty minutes with 'er. well, i jest put the book down an' hollered." and once more she broke into a hearty laugh.
-"of course you did," agreed johnson, joining in the laugh. "all the same," he presently added, "you knew he was right."
-"i didn't!" she contradicted with spirit, and slowly went back to the book-shelf with the book.
-"you do, you do," insisted the girl, plumping down into the chair which she had vacated at the table.
-"do you mean to say--" johnson got no further, for the girl, with a naïveté that made her positively bewitching to the man before her, went on as if there had been no interruption:
-"that a feller could so wind h'ms'lf up as to say, 'jest give me one hour o' your sassiety; time ain't nothin', nothin' ain't nothin' only to be a da--darn fool over you!' ain't it funny to feel like that?" and then, before johnson could frame an answer:
-"yet, i s'pose there are people that love into the grave an' into death an' after." the girl's voice lowered, stopped. then, looking straight ahead of her, her eyes glistening, she broke out with:
-"golly, it jest lifts you right up by your bootstraps to think of it, don't it?"
-johnson was not smiling now, but sat gazing intently at her through half-veiled lids.
-"it does have that effect," he answered, the wonder of it all creeping into his voice.
-"yet, p'r'aps he was ahead o' the game. p'r'aps--" she did not finish the sentence, but broke out with fresh enthusiasm: "oh, say, i jest love this conversation with you! i love to hear you talk! you give me idees!"
-johnson's heart was too full for utterance; he could only think of his own happiness. the next instant the girl called to wowkle to bring the candle, while she, still eager and animated, her eyes bright, her lips curving in a smile, took up a cigar and handed it to him, saying:
-"one o' your real havanas!"
-"but i"--began johnson, protestingly.
-nevertheless the girl lit a match for him from the candle which wowkle held up to her, and, while the latter returned the candle to the mantel, johnson lighted his cigar from the burning match between her fingers.
-"oh, girl, how i'd love to know you!" he suddenly cried with the fire of love in his eyes.
-"but you do know me," was her answer, as she watched the smoke from his cigar curl upwards toward the ceiling.
-"not well enough," he sighed.
-for a brief second only she was silent. whether she read his thoughts it would be difficult to say; but there came a moment soon when she could not mistake them.
-"what's your drift, anyway?" she asked, looking him full in the face.
-"to know you as dante knew the lady--'one hour for me, one hour worth the world,'" he told her, all the while watching and loving her beauty.
-at the thought she trembled a little, though she answered with characteristic bluntness:
-"he didn't git it, mr. johnson."
-"all the same there are women we could die for," insisted johnson, dreamily.
-the girl was in the act of carrying her cup to her mouth but put it down on the table. leaning forward, she inquired somewhat sneeringly:
-"mr. johnson, how many times have you died?" johnson did not have to think twice before answering. with wide, truthful eyes he said:
-"that day on the road to monterey i said just that one woman for me. i wanted to kiss you then," he added, taking her hand in his. and, strange to say, she was not angry, not unwilling, but sweetly tender and modest as she let it lay there.
-"but, mr. johnson, some men think so much o' kisses that they don't want a second kiss from the same girl," spoke up the girl after a moment's reflection.
-"doesn't that depend on whether they love her or not? now all loves are not alike," reasoned the man in all truthfulness.
-"no, but they all have the same aim--to git 'er if they can," contended the girl, gently withdrawing her hand.
-silence filled the room.
-"ah, i see you don't know what love is," at length sighed johnson, watching the colour come and go from her face.
-the girl hesitated, then answered in a confused, uneven voice:
-"nope. mother used to say, 'it's a tickling sensation at the heart that you can't scratch,' an' we'll let it go at that."
-"oh, girl, you're bully!" laughed the man, rising, and making an attempt to embrace her. but all of a sudden he stopped and stood with a bewildered look upon his face: a fierce gale was sweeping the mountain. it filtered in through the crevices of the walls and doors; the lights flickered; the curtains swayed; and the cabin itself rocked uncertainly until it seemed as if it would be uprooted. it was all over in a minute. in fact, the wind had died away almost simultaneously with the girl's loud cry of "wowkle, hist the winder!"
-it is not to be wondered at, however, that johnson looked apprehensively about him with every fresh impulse of the gale. the girl's description of the storms on the mountain was fresh in his mind, and there was also good and sufficient reason why he should not be caught in a blizzard on the top of cloudy mountain! nevertheless, as before, the calm look which he saw on the girl's face reassured him. advancing once more towards her, he stretched out his arms as if to gather her in them.
-"look out, you'll muss my roses!" she cried, waving him back and dodging wowkle who, having cleared the table, was now making her last trip to the cupboard.
-"give a man an inch an' he'll be at sank hosey before you know it!" she flung at him over her shoulder, and made straightway for the bureau.
-but although johnson desisted, he kept his eyes upon her as she took the roses from her hair, losing none of the picture that she made with the light beating and playing upon her glimmering eyes, her rosy cheeks and her parted lips.
-"is there--is there anyone else?" he inquired falteringly, half-fearful lest there was.
-"a man always says, 'who was the first one?' but the girl says, 'who'll be the next one?'" she returned, as she carefully laid the roses in her bureau drawer.
-"but the time comes when there never will be a next one."
-"i'd hate to stake my pile on that," observed the girl, drily. she blew up each glove as it came off and likewise carefully laid them away in the bureau drawer.
-by this time wowkle's soft tread had ceased, her duties for the night were over, and she stood at the table waiting to be dismissed.
-"wowkle, git to your wigwam!" suddenly ordered her mistress, watching her until she disappeared into the cupboard; but she did not see the indian woman's lips draw back in a half-grin as she closed the door behind her.
-"oh, you're sending her away! must i go, too?" asked johnson, dismally.
-"no--not jest yet; you can stay a--a hour or two longer," the girl informed him with a smile; and turning once more to the bureau she busied herself there for a few minutes longer.
-johnson's joy knew no bounds; he burst out delightedly:
-"why, i'm like dante! i want the world in that hour, because, you see, i'm afraid the door of this little paradise might be shut to me after-- let's say this is my one hour--the hour that gave me--that kiss i want."
-"go long! you go to grass!" returned the girl with a nervous little laugh.
-"listen," said the determined lover, pleading for a kiss as he would have pleaded for his very life.
-it was at this juncture that wowkle, silently, stealthily, emerged from the cupboard and made her way over to the door. her feet were heavily moccasined and she was blanketed in a stout blanket of gay colouring.
-"ugh--some snow!" she muttered, as a gust of wind beat against her face and drove great snow-flakes into the room, fairly taking her breath away. but her words fell on deaf ears. for, oblivious to the storm that was now raging outside, the youthful pair of lovers continued to concentrate their thoughts upon the storm that was raging within their own breasts, the girl keeping up the struggle with herself, while the man urged her on as only he knew how.
-"why, if i let you take one you'd take two," denied the girl, half-yielding by her very words, if she but knew it.
-"no, i wouldn't--i swear i wouldn't," promised the man with great earnestness.
-"ugh--very bad!" was the indian woman's muffled ejaculation as she peered out into the night. but she had promised her lover to come to him when supper was over, and she would not break faith with him even if it were at the peril of her life. the next moment she went out, as did the red light in the girl's lantern hanging on a peg of the outer door.
-"oh, please, please," said the girl, half-protestingly, half-willingly.
-but the man was no longer to be denied; he kept on urging:
-"one kiss, only one."
-here was an appeal which could no longer be resisted, and though half-frightened by the tone of his voice and the look in his eye, the girl let herself be taken into his arms as she murmured:
-"'tain't no use, i lay down my hands to you."
-and so it was that, unconscious of the great havoc that was being wrought by the storm, unconscious of the danger that momentarily threatened their lives, they remained locked in each other's arms. the girl made no attempt to silence him now or withdraw her hands from his. why should she? had he not come to cloudy mountain to woo her? was she not awaiting his coming? to her it seemed but natural that the conventions should be as nothing in the face of love. his voice, low and musical, charged with passion, thrilled through her.
-"i love you," said the man, with a note of possession that frightened her while it filled her with strange, sweet joy. for months she had dreamed of him and loved him; no wonder that she looked upon him as her hero and yielded herself entirely to her fate.
-she lifted her eyes and he saw the love in them. she freed her hands from his grasp, and then gave them back to him in a little gesture of surrender.
-"yes, you're mine, an' i'm yours," she said with trembling lips.
-"i have lived but for this from the moment that i first saw you," he told her, softly.
-"me, too--seein' that i've prayed for it day an' night," she acknowledged, her eyes seeking his.
-"our destinies have brought us together; whatever happens now i am content," he said, pressing his lips once more to hers. a little while later he added: "my darkest hour will be lightened by the memory of you, to-night."
-the clock, striking the hour of two, filled in a lull that might otherwise have seemed to require conversation. for some minutes, johnson, raised to a higher level of exaltation, even, than was the girl, had been secretly rejoicing in the fate that had brought them together.
-"it's wonderful that i should have found her at last and won her love," he soliloquised. "we must be fortune's children--she and i."
-the minutes ticked away and still they were silent. then, of a sudden, with infinite tenderness in his voice, johnson asked:
-"what is your name, girl--your real name?"
-"min--minnie; my father's name was smith," she told him, her eyes cast down under delicately tremulous lids.
-"oh, minnie sm--"
-"but 'twa'n't his right name," quickly corrected the girl, and unconsciously both rose to their feet. "his right name was falconer."
-"minnie falconer--well, that is a pretty name," commented johnson; and raising her hand to his lips he pressed them against it.
-"i ain't sure that's what he said it was--i ain't sure o' anythin' only jest you," she said coyly, burying her face in his neck.
-"you may well be sure of me since i've loved--" johnson's sentence was cut short, a wave of remorse sweeping over him. "turn your head away, girl, and don't listen to me," he went on, gently putting her away from him. "i'm not worthy of you. don't listen but just say no, no, no, no."
-the girl, puzzled, was even more so when johnson began to pace the floor.
-"oh, i know--i ain't good enough for you !" she cried with a little tremour in her voice. "but i'll try hard, hard . . . if you see anythin' better in me, why don't you bring it out, 'cause i've loved you ever since i saw you first, 'cause i knowed that you--that you were the right man."
-"the right man," repeated johnson, dismally, for his conscience was beginning to smite him hard.
-"i'm not laughing," as indeed he was not.
-"o' course every girl kind o' looks ahead," went on the girl in explanation.
-"yes, i suppose," he observed seriously.
-"an' figgers about bein'--well, oh, you know--about bein' settled. an' when the right man comes, why, she knows 'im, you bet! jest as we both knowed each other standin' on the road to monterey. i said that day, he's good, he's gran' an' he can have me."
-"i could have you," murmured johnson, meditatively.
-the girl nodded eagerly.
-there was a long silence in which johnson was trying to make up his mind to tear himself away from her,--the one woman whom he loved in the world,--for it had been slowly borne in upon him that he was not a fit mate for this pure young girl. nor was his unhappiness lessened when he recalled how she had struggled against yielding to him. at last, difficult though it was, he took his courage in both hands, and said:
-"girl, i have looked into your heart and my own and now i realise what this means for us both--for you, girl--and knowing that, it seems hard to say good-bye as i should, must and will . . ."
-at those clear words spoken by lips which failed so utterly to hide his misery, the girl's face turned pale.
-"what do you mean?" she asked.
-johnson coloured, hesitated, and finally with a swift glance at the clock, he briefly explained:
-"i mean it's hard to go and leave you here. the clock reminded me that long before this i should have been on my way. i shouldn't have come up here at all. god bless you, dear," and here their eyes came together and seemed unable to part,--"i love you as i never thought i could . . ."
-but at johnson's queer look she hastened to inquire:
-"but it ain't for long you're goin'?"
-for long! then she had not understood that he meant to go for all time. how tell her the truth? while he pondered over the situation there came to him with great suddenness the thought that, perhaps, after all, life never intended that she should be given to him only to be taken away almost as suddenly; and seized with a desire to hold on to her at any cost, he sprang forward as if to take her in his arms, but before he reached her, he stopped short.
-"such happiness is not for me," he muttered under his breath; and then aloud he added: "no, no, i've got to go now while i have the courage, i mean." he broke off as suddenly as he had begun, and taking her face in his hands he kissed her good-bye.
-now, accustomed as was the girl to the strange comings and goings of the men at the camp, it did not occur to her to question him further when he told her that he should have been away before now. moreover, she trusted and loved him. and so it was without the slightest feeling of misgiving that she watched her lover quickly take down his coat and hat from the peg on the wall and start for the door. on the other hand, it must have required not a little courage on the man's part to have torn himself away from this lovely, if unconventional, creature, just as he was beginning to love truly and appreciate her. but, then, johnson was a man of no mean determination!
-not daring to trust himself to words, johnson paused to look back over his shoulder at the girl before plunging forth into the night. but on opening the door all the multitudinous wild noises of the forests reached his ears: sounds of whispering and rocking storm-tossed pines, sounds of the wind making the rounds of the deep canyon below them, sounds that would have made the blood run cold of a man more daring, even, than himself. like one petrified he stood blinded, almost, by the great drifts of snow that were being driven into the room, while the cabin rocked and shook and the roof cracked and snapped, the lights flickered, smoked, or sent their tongues of fire upward towards the ceiling, the curtains swayed like pendants in the air, and while baskets, boxes, and other small furnishings of the cabin were blown in every direction.
-but it was the girl's quick presence of mind that saved them from being buried, literally, under the snow. in an instant she had rushed past him and closed both the outer and inner doors of the cabin; then, going over to the window, she tried to look through the heavily frosted panes; but the falling of the sleet and snow, striking the window like fine shot, made it impossible for her to see more than a few inches away.
-"why, it's the first time i knew that it--" she cut her sentence short and ended with: "that's the way we git it up here! look! look!"
-whereupon, johnson went over to the window and put his face close to hers on the frosted panes; a great sea of white snow met his gaze!
-"this means--" he said, turning away from the window and meeting her glance--"surely it doesn't mean that i can't leave cloudy to-night?"
-"it means you can't get off the mountain to-night," calmly answered the girl.
-"good lord!" fell from the man's lips.
-"you can't leave this room to-night," went on the girl, decidedly. "why, you couldn't find your way three feet from this door--you a stranger! you don't know the trail anyway unless you can see it."
-"but i can't stay here?" incredulously.
-"why not? why, that's all right! the boys'll come up an' dig us out to-morrow or day after. there's plenty o' wood an' you can have my bed." and with no more ado than that, the girl went over to the bed to remove the covers and make it ready for his occupancy.
-"i wouldn't think of taking that," protested the man, stoutly, while his face clouded over.
-the girl felt a thrill at the note of regard in his voice and hastened to explain:
-"i never use it cold nights; i always roll up in my rug in front of the fire." all of a sudden she broke out into a merry little laugh. "jest think of it stormin' all this time an' we didn't know it!"
-but johnson was not in a laughing mood. indeed, he looked very grave and serious when presently he said:
-"but people coming up here and finding me might--"
-the girl looked up at him in blank amazement.
-"might what?" and then, while she waited for his answer, two shots in close succession rang out in the night with great distinctness.
-there was no mistaking the nearness of the sound. instantly scenting trouble and alert at the possibility of danger, johnson inquired:
-"what's that? what's that?"
-"wait! wait!" came back from the girl, unconsciously in the same tone, while she strained her ears for other sounds. she did not have long to wait, however, before other shots followed, the last ones coming from further away, so it seemed, and at greater intervals.
-"they've got a road agent--it's the posse--p'r'aps they've got ramerrez or one o' his band!" suddenly declared the girl, at the same time rushing over to the window for some verification of her words. but, as before, the wind was beating with great force against the frosted panes, and only a vast stretch of snow met her gaze. turning away from the window she now came towards him with: "you see, whoever it is, they're snowed in--they can't get away."
-johnson knitted his brows and muttered something under his breath which the girl did not catch.
-again a shot was fired.
-"another thief crep' into camp," coldly observed the girl almost simultaneously with the report.
-"poor devil!" he muttered. "but of course, as you say, he's only a thief."
-in reply to which the girl uttered words to the effect that she was glad he had been caught.
-"well, you're right," said johnson, thoughtfully, after a short silence; then determinedly and in short jerky sentences, he went on: "i've been thinking that i must go--tear myself away. i have very important business at dawn--imperative business . . ."
-the girl, who now stood by the table folding up the white cloth cover, watched him out of the corner of her eye, take down his coat from the peg on the wall.
-"ever sample one o' our mountain blizzards?" she asked as he slipped on his coat. "in five minutes you wouldn't know where you was. your important business would land you at the bottom of a canyon 'bout twenty feet from here."
-johnson cleared his throat as if to speak but said nothing; whereupon the girl continued:
-"you say you believe in fate. well, fate has caught up with you--you got to stay here."
-johnson was strangely silent. he was wondering how his coming there to-night had really come about. but he could find no solution to the problem unless it was in response to that perverse instinct which prompts us all at times to do the very thing which in our hearts we know to be wrong. the girl, meanwhile, after a final creasing of the neatly-folded cover, started for the cupboard, stopping on the way to pick up various articles which the wind had strewn about the room. flinging them quickly into the cupboard she now went over to the window and once more attempted to peer out into the night. but as before, it was of no avail. with a shrug she straightened the curtains at the windows and started for the door. her action seemed to quicken his decision, for, presently, with a gesture of resignation, he threw down his hat and coat on the table and said as if speaking to himself:
-the girl looked puzzled.
-"why, what do you mean?"
-"i mean," began johnson, pacing the floor slowly. now he stopped by a chair and pointed as though to the falling snow. "suppose we say that's an omen--that the old trail is blotted out and there is a fresh road. would you take it with me a stranger, who says: from this day i mean to be all you'd have me. would you take it with me far away from here and forever?"
-it did not take the girl long to frame an answer. taking johnson's hand she said with great feeling:
-"well, show me the girl that would want to go to heaven alone! i'll sell out the saloon--i'll go anywhere with you, you bet!"
-johnson bent low over her hand and kissed it. the girl's straightforward answer had filled his heart to overflowing with joy.
-"you know what that means, don't you?" a moment later he asked.
-sudden joy leapt to her blue eyes.
-"oh, yes," she told him with a world of understanding in her voice. there was a silence; then she went on reminiscently: "there's a little spanish mission church--i pass it 'most every day. i can look in an' see the light burnin' before the virgin an' see the saints standin' round with glassy eyes an' faded satin slippers. an' i often tho't what they'd think if i was to walk right in to be made--well, some man's wife. it makes your blood like pin-points thinkin' about it. there's somethin' kind o' holy about love, ain't they?"
-johnson nodded. he had never regarded love in that light before, much less known it. for many moments he stood motionless, a new problem of right and wrong throbbing in his bosom.
-at last, it being settled that johnson was to pass the night in the girl's cabin, she went over to the bed and, once more, began to make it ready for his occupancy. meanwhile, johnson, seated in the barrel rocker before the fire, watched her with a new interest. the girl had not gone very far with her duties, however, when she suddenly came over to him, plumping herself down on the floor at his feet.
-"say, did you ever ask any other woman to marry you?" she asked as she leaned far back in his arms.
-"no," was the man's truthful answer.
-"oh, how glad i am! take me--ah, take me i don't care where as long as it is with you!" cried the girl in an ecstasy of delight.
-"so help me, god, i'm going to . . .!" promised johnson, his voice strained, tense. "you're worth something better than me, girl," he added, a moment later, "but they say love works miracles every hour, that it weakens the strong and strengthens the weak. with all my soul i love you, with all my soul i--" the man let his voice die out, leaving his sentence unfinished. suddenly he called: "why, min-minnie!"
-"i wasn't really asleep," spoke up the girl, blinking sleepily. "i'm jest so happy an' let down, that's all." the next moment, however, she was forced to acknowledge that she was awfully sleepy and would have to say good-night.
-"all right," said johnson, rising, and kissed her good-night.
-"that's your bed over there," she told him, pointing in the direction of the curtains.
-"but hadn't you better take the bed and let me sleep over here?"
-"you're sure you would be more comfortable by the fire--sure, now?"
-"yes, you bet!"
-and so it was that johnson decided to pass the night in the girl's canopied bed while she herself, rolled up in a blanket rug before the fire, slept on the floor.
-"this beats a bed any time," remarked the girl, spreading out the rug smoothly; and then, reaching up for the old patchwork, silk quilt that hung from the loft, she added: "there's one thing--you don't have to make it up in the mornin'."
-"you're splendid, girl!" laughed johnson. presently, he saw her quietly closet herself in the cupboard, only to emerge a few minutes later dressed for the night. over her white cambric gown with its coarse lace trimming showing at the throat, she wore a red woollen blanket robe held in at the waist by a heavy, twisted, red cord which, to the man who got a glimpse of her as she crossed the room, made her prettier, even, than she had seemed at any time yet.
-"now you can talk to me from your bunk an' i'll talk to you from mine," she said in a sleepy, lazy voice.
-except for a prodigious yawn which came from the girl there was an ominous quiet hanging over the place that chilled the man. sudden sounds startled him, and he found it impossible to make any progress with his preparations for the night. he was about to make some remark, however, when to his well-attuned ears there came the sound of approaching footsteps. in an instant he was standing in the parting made by the curtains, his face eager, animated, tense.
-"what's that?" he whispered.
-"that's snow slidin'," the girl informed him without the slightest trace of anxiety in her voice.
-"god bless you, girl," he murmured, and retreated back of the curtains. it was only an instant before he was back again with: "why, there is something out there--sounded like people calling," he again whispered.
-"that's only the wind," she said, adding as she drew her robe tightly about her: "gettin' cold, ain't it?"
-but, notwithstanding her assurances, johnson did not feel secure, and it was with many misgivings that he now directed his footsteps towards the bed behind the curtains.
-"good-night!" he said uneasily.
-"good-night!" unconsciously returned the girl in the same tone.
-taking off her slippers the girl now put on a pair of moccasins and quietly went over to her bed, where she knelt down and made a silent prayer.
-"good-night!" presently came from a little voice in the rug.
-"good-night!" answered the man now settled in the centre of the much-befrilled bed.
-there was a silence; then the little voice in the rug called out:
-"say, what's your name?"
-"dick," whispered the man behind the curtains.
-"so long, dick!" drowsily.
-"so long, girl!" dreamily.
-there was a brief silence; then, of a sudden, the girl bolted upright in bed, and asked:
-"say, dick, are you sure you don't know that nina micheltoreña?"
-"sure," prevaricated the man, not without some compunction.
-whereupon the girl fell back on her pillows and called out contentedly a final "good-night!"
-there was no mistaking then--no need to contrast her feeling of anxiety of a few moments ago lest some other woman had preceded her in his affections, with her indifference on former occasions when her admirers had proved faithless, to make the girl realise that she was experiencing love and was dominated by a passion for this man.
-it was an odd and wholly new sensation, this conjuring up of distressing spectres, for no girl was given less to that sort of thing; all the same, it was with difficulty that she checked an impulse to cry out to her lover--whom she believed to be asleep--and make him dissipate, by renewed assurances, the mysterious barrier which she felt was hemming her in.
-as for johnson, the moment that his head had touched the pillows, he fell to thinking of the awkward situation in which he was placed, the many complications in which his heart had involved him and, finally, he found himself wondering whether the woman whom he loved so dearly was also lying sleepless in her rug on the floor.
-and so it was not surprising that he should spring up the moment that he heard cries from outside.
-"who's that knockin', i wonder?"
-in that same moment johnson was standing in the parting of the curtains, his hand raised warningly. in another moment he was over to the door where, after taking his pistols from his overcoat pockets, he stood in a cool, determined attitude, fingering his weapons.
-"but some one's ben callin'," the girl was saying, at the very moment when above the loud roaring of the wind another knock was heard on the cabin door. "who can it be?" she asked as if to herself, and calmly went over to the table, where she took up the candle and lit it.
-springing to her side, johnson whispered tensely:
-"don't answer--you can't let anyone in--they wouldn't understand."
-the girl eyed him quizzically.
-"understand what?" and before he had time to explain, much less to check her, she was standing at the window, candle in hand, peering out into the night.
-"why, it's the posse!" she cried, wheeling round suddenly. "how did they ever risk it in this storm?"
-at these words a crushed expression appeared on johnson's countenance; an uncanny sense of insecurity seized him. once more the loud, insistent pounding was repeated, and as before, the outlaw, his hands on his guns, commanded her not to answer.
-"but what on earth do the boys want?" inquired the girl, seemingly oblivious to what he was saying. indeed, so much so that as the voice of nick rose high above the other sounds of the night, calling, "min-minnie-girl, let us in!" she hurriedly brushed past him and yelled through the door:
-"what do you want?"
-again johnson's hand went up imperatively.
-"don't let him come in!" he whispered.
-but even then she heard not his warning, but silently, tremulously listened to sonora, who shouted through the door: "say, girl, you all right?" and not until her answering voice had called back her assurance that she was safe did she turn to the man at her side and whisper in a voice that showed plainly her agitation and fear:
-"jack rance is there! if he was to see you here--he's that jealous i'd be afraid--" she checked her words and quickly put her ear close to the door, the voices outside having become louder and more distinct. presently she spun round on her heel and announced excitedly: "ashby's there, too!" and again she put her ear to the door.
-"ashby!" the exclamation fell from johnson's lips before he was aware of it. it was impossible to deceive himself any longer--the posse had tracked him!
-"we want to come in, girl!" suddenly rang out from the well-known voice of nick.
-"but you can't come in!" shouted back the girl above the noise of the storm; then, taking advantage of a particularly loud howl of the blast, she turned to johnson and inquired: "what will i say? what reason will i give?"
-serious as was johnson's predicament, he could not suppress a smile. in a surprisedly calm voice he told her to say that she had gone to bed.
-the girl's eyes flooded with admiration.
-"why, o' course--that's it," she said, and turned back to the door and called through it: "i've gone to bed, nick! i'm in bed now!"
-the barkeeper's answer was lost in another loud howl of the blast. soon afterwards, however, the girl made out that nick was endeavouring to convey to her a warning of some kind.
-"you say you've come to warn me?" she cried.
-"yes, ramerrez . . .!"
-"what? say that again?"
-"ramerrez is on the trail--"
-"ramerrez's on the trail!" repeated the girl in tones of alarm; and not waiting to hear further she motioned to johnson to conceal himself behind the curtains of the bed, muttering the while:
-"i got to let 'em in--i can't keep 'em out there on such a night . . ." he had barely reached his place of concealment when the girl slid back the bolts and bade the boys to come in.
-headed by rance, the men quickly filed in and deposited their lanterns on the floor. it was evident that they had found the storm most severe, for their boots were soaked through and their heavy buffalo overcoats, caps and ear-muffs were covered with snow, which all, save rance, proceeded to remove by shaking their shoulders and stamping their feet. the latter, however, calmly took off his gloves, pulled out a beautifully-creased handkerchief from his pocket, and began slowly to flick off the snow from his elegant mink overcoat before hanging it carefully upon a peg on the wall. after that he went over to the table and warmed his hands over the lighted candle there. meanwhile, sonora, his nose, as well as his hands which with difficulty he removed from his heavy fur mittens, showing red and swollen from the effects of the biting cold, had gone over to the fire, where he ejaculated:
-"ouf, i'm cold! glad you're safe, girl!"
-"yes, girl, the polka's had a narrow squeak," observed nick, stamping his feet which, as well as his legs, were wrapped with pieces of blankets for added warmth.
-unconsciously, at his words, the girl's eyes travelled to the bed; then, drawing her robe snugly about her, and seating herself, she asked with suppressed excitement:
-"why, nick, what's the matter? what's--"
-rance took it upon himself to do the answering. sauntering over to the girl, he drawled out:
-"it takes you a long time to get up, seems to me. you haven't so much on, either," he went on, piercing her with his eyes.
-smilingly and not in the least disconcerted by the sheriff's remark, the girl picked up a rug from the floor and wound it about her knees.
-"well?" she interrogated.
-"well, we was sure that you was in trouble," put in sonora. "my breath jest stopped."
-"me? me in trouble, sonora?" a little laugh that was half-gay, half-derisive, accompanied her words.
-"see here, that man ramerrez--" followed up rance with a grim look.
-"--feller you was dancin' with," interposed sonora, but checked himself instantly lest he wound the girl's feelings.
-whereupon, rance, with no such compunctions, became the spokesman, a grimace of pleasure spreading over his countenance as he thought of the unpleasant surprise he was about to impart. stretching out his stiffened fingers over the blaze, he said in his most brutal tones:
-"your polkying friend is none other than ramerrez."
-the girl's eyes opened wide, but they did not look at the sheriff. they looked straight before her.
-"i warned you, girl," spoke up ashby, "that you should bank with us oftener."
-the girl gave no sign of having heard him. her slender figure seemed to have shrunken perceptibly as she stared stupidly, uncomprehendingly, into space.
-"we say that johnson was--" repeated rance, impatiently.
-"--what?" fell from the girl's lips, her face pale and set.
-"are you deaf?" demanded rance; and then, emphasising every word, he rasped out: "the fellow you've been polkying with is the man that has been asking people to hold up their hands."
-"oh, go on--you can't hand me out that!" nevertheless the girl looked wildly about the room.
-angrily rance strode over to her and sneered bitingly:
-"you don't believe it yet, eh?"
-"no, i don't believe it yet!" rapped out the girl, laying great stress upon the last word. "i know he isn't."
-"well, he is ramerrez, and he did come to the polka to rob it," retorted the sheriff.
-all at once the note of resentment in the girl's voice became positive; she flared back at him, though she flushed in spite of herself.
-"but he didn't rob it!"
-"that's what gits me," fretted sonora. "he didn't."
-"i should think it would git you," snapped back the girl, both in her look and voice rebuking him for his words.
-it was left to ashby to spring another surprise.
-"we've got his horse," he said pointedly.
-"an' i never knowed one o' these men to separate from his horse," commented sonora, still smarting under the girl's reprimand.
-"right you are! and now that we've got his horse and this storm is on, we've got him," said rance, triumphantly. "but the last seen of johnson," he went on with a hasty movement towards the girl and eyeing her critically, "he was heading this way. you seen anything of him?"
-the girl struggled hard to appear composed.
-"heading this way?" she inquired, reddening.
-"so nick said," declared sonora, looking towards that individual for proof of his words.
-but nick had caught the girl's lightning glance imposing silence upon him; in some embarrassment he stammered out:
-"that is, he was--sid said he saw 'im take the trail, too."
-"but the trail ends here," pointed out rance, at the same time looking hard at the girl. "and if she hasn't seen him, where was he going?"
-at this juncture nick espied a cigar butt on the floor; unseen by the others, he hurriedly picked it up and threw it in the fire.
-"one o' our dollar havanas! good lord, he's here!" he muttered to himself.
-"rance is right. where was he goin'?" was the question with which he was confronted by sonora when about to return to the others.
-"well, i tho't i seen him," evaded nick with considerable uneasiness. "i couldn't swear to it. you see it was dark, an'--moses but the sidney duck's a liar!"
-at length, ashby decided that the man had in all probability been snowed under, ending confidently with:
-"something scared him off and he lit out without his horse." which remark brought temporary relief to the girl, for nick, watching her, saw the colour return to her face.
-unconsciously, during this discussion, the girl had risen to her feet, but only to fall back in her chair again almost as suddenly, a sign of nervousness which did not escape the sharp eye of the sheriff.
-"how do you know the man's a road agent?" a shade almost of contempt was in the girl's question.
-sonora breathed on his badly nipped fingers before answering:
-"well, two greasers jest now were pretty positive before they quit."
-instantly the girl's head went up in the air.
-"greasers!" she ejaculated scornfully, while her eyes unfalteringly met rance's steady gaze.
-"but the woman knew him," was the sheriff's vindictive thrust.
-the girl started; her face went white.
-"the woman--the woman d'you say?"
-"why, yes, it was a woman that first tol' them that ramerrez was in the camp to rob the polka," sonora informed her, though his tone showed plainly his surprise at being compelled to repeat a thing which, he wrongly believed, she already knew.
-"we saw her at the palmetto," leered rance.
-"and we missed the reward," frowned ashby; at which rance quickly turned upon the speaker with:
-"but ramerrez is trapped."
-there was a moment's startled pause in which the girl struggled with her passions; at last, she ventured:
-"who's this woman?"
-the sheriff laughed discordantly.
-"why, the woman of the back trail," he sneered.
-"nina micheltoreña! then she does know 'im--it's true--it goes through me!" unwittingly burst from the girl's lips.
-the sheriff, evidently, found the situation amusing, for he laughed outright.
-"he's the sort of a man who polkas with you first and then cuts your throat," was his next stab.
-the girl turned upon him with eyes flashing and retorted:
-"well, it's my throat, ain't it?"
-"well i'll be!--" the sheriff's sentence was left unfinished, for nick, quickly pulling him to one side, whispered:
-"say, rance, the girl's cut up because she vouched for 'im. don't rub it in."
-notwithstanding, rance, to the girl's query of "how did this nina micheltoreña know it?" took a keen delight in telling her:
-"she's his girl."
-"his girl?" repeated the girl, mechanically.
-"yes. she gave us his picture," went on rance; and taking the photograph out of his pocket, he added maliciously, "with love written on the back of it."
-a glance at the photograph, which she fairly snatched out of his hands, convinced the girl of the truthfulness of his assertion. with a movement of pain she threw it upon the floor, crying out bitterly:
-"nina micheltoreña! nina micheltoreña!" turning to ashby with an abrupt change of manner she said contritely: "i'm sorry, mr. ashby, i vouched for 'im."
-the wells fargo agent softened at the note in the girl's voice; he was about to utter some comforting words to her when suddenly she spoke again.
-"i s'pose they had one o' them little lovers' quarrels an' that made 'er tell you, eh?" she laughed a forced little laugh, though her heart was beating strangely as she kept on: "he's the kind o' man who sort o' polkas with every girl he meets." and at this she began to laugh almost hysterically.
-rance, who resented her apologising to anyone but himself, stood scowling at her.
-"what are you laughing at?" he questioned.
-"oh, nothin', jack, nothin'," half-cried, half-laughed the girl. "only it's kind o' funny how things come out, ain't it? took in! nina micheltoreña! nice company he keeps--one o' them cachuca girls with eyelashes at half-mast!"
-once more, she broke out into a fit of laughter.
-"well, well," she resumed, "an' she sold 'im out for money! ah, jack rance, you're a better guesser'n i am!" and with these words she sank down at the table in an apathy of misery. horror and hatred and hopelessness had possession of her. a fierce look was in her eyes when a moment later she raised her head and abruptly dismissed the boys, saying:
-"well, boys, it's gittin' late--good-night!"
-sonora was the first to make a movement towards the door.
-"come on, boys," he growled in his deep bass voice; "don't you intend to let a lady go to bed?"
-one by one the men filed through the door which nick held open for them; but when all but himself had left, the devoted little barkeeper turned to the girl with a look full of meaning, and whispered:
-"do you want me to stay?"
-"me? oh, no, nick!" and with a "good-night, all! good-night, sonora, an' thank you! good-night, nick!" the girl closed the door upon them. the last that she heard from them was the muffled ejaculation:
-"oh, lordy, we'll never git down to cloudy to-night!"
-now the girl slid the bolts and stood with her back against the door as if to take extra precautions to bar out any intrusion, and with eyes that blazed she yelled out:
-"come out o' that, now! step out there, mr. johnson!"
-slowly the road agent parted the curtains and came forward in an attitude of dejection.
-"you came here to rob me," at once began the girl, but her anger made it impossible for her to continue.
-"i didn't," denied the road agent, quietly, his countenance reflecting how deeply hurt he was by her words.
-"you lie!" insisted the girl, beside herself with rage.
-"i admit that every circumstance points to--"
-"stop! don't you give me any more o' that webster unabridged. you git to cases. if you didn't come here to steal you came to the polka to rob it, didn't you?"
-johnson, his eyes lowered, was forced to admit that such were his intentions, adding swiftly:
-"but when i knew about you--" he broke off and took a step towards her.
-"wait! wait! wait where you are! don't you take a step further or i'll--" she made a significant gesture towards her bosom, and then, laughing harshly, went on denouncingly: "a road agent! a road agent! well, ain't it my luck! wouldn't anybody know to look at me that a gentleman wouldn't fall my way! a road agent! a road agent!" and again she laughed bitterly before going on: "but now you can git--git, you thief, you imposer on a decent woman! i ought to have tol' 'em all, but i wa'n't goin' to be the joke o' the world with you behind the curtains an' me eatin' charlotte rusks an' lemming turnovers an' a-polkyin' with a road agent! but now you can git--git, do you hear me?"
-johnson heard her to the end with bowed head; and so scathing had been her denunciations of his actions that the fact that pride alone kept her from breaking down completely escaped his notice. with his eyes still downcast be said in painful fragments:
-"one word only--only a word and i'm not going to say anything in defence of myself. for it's all true--everything is true except that i would have stolen from you. i am called ramerrez; i have robbed; i am a road agent--an outlaw by profession. yes, i'm all that--and my father was that before me. i was brought up, educated, thrived on thieves' money, i suppose, but until six months ago when my father died, i did not know it. i lived much in monterey--i lived there as a gentleman. when we met that day i wasn't the thing i am to-day. i only learned the truth when my father died and left me with a rancho and a band of thieves--nothing else--nothing for us all, and i--but what's the good of going into it--the circumstances. you wouldn't understand if i did. i was my father's son; i have no excuse; i guess, perhaps, it was in me--in the blood. anyhow, i took to the road, and i didn't mind it much after the first time. but i drew the line at killing--i wouldn't have that. that's the man that i am, the blackguard that i am. but--" here he raised his eyes and said with a voice that was charged with feeling--"i swear to you that from the moment i kissed you to-night i meant to change, i meant to--"
-"the devil you did!" broke from the girl's lips, but with a sound that was not unlike a sob.
-"i did, believe me, i did," insisted the man. "i meant to go straight and take you with me--but only honestly--when i could honestly. i meant to work for you. why, every word you said to me to-night about being a thief cut into me like a knife. over and over again i have said to myself, she must never know. and now--well, it's all over--i have finished."
-"an' that's all?" questioned the girl with averted face.
-"no--yes--what's the use . . .?"
-the girl's anger blazed forth again.
-"but there's jest one thing you've overlooked explainin', mr. johnson. it shows exactly what you are. it wasn't so much your bein' a road agent i got against you. it's this:" and here she stamped her foot excitedly. "you kissed me--you got my first kiss."
-johnson hung his head.
-"you said," kept on the girl, hotly, "you'd ben thinkin' o' me ever since you saw me at monterey, an' all the time you walked straight off an' ben kissin' that other woman." she shrugged her shoulder and laughed grimly. "you've got a girl," she continued, growing more and more indignant. "it's that i've got against you. it's my first kiss i've got against you. it's that nina micheltoreña that i can't forgive. so now you can git--git!" and with these words she unbolted the door and concluded tensely:
-"if they kill you i don't care. do you hear, i don't care . . ."
-at those bitter words spoken by lips which failed so utterly to hide their misery, the girl's face became colourless.
-with the instinct of a brave man to sell his life as dearly as possible, johnson took a couple of guns from his pocket; but the next moment, as if coming to the conclusion that death without the girl would be preferable, he put them back, saying:
-"you're right, girl."
-the next instant he had passed out of the door which she held wide open for him.
-"that's the end o' that--that's the end o' that," she wound up, slamming the door after him. but all the way from the threshold to the bureau she kept murmuring to herself: "i don't care, i don't care . . . i'll be like the rest o' the women i've seen. i'll give that nina micheltoreña cards an' spades. there'll be another hussy around here. there'll be--" the threat was never finished. instead, with eyes that fairly started out of their sockets, she listened to the sound of a couple of shots, the last one exploding so loud and distinct that there was no mistaking its nearness to the cabin.
-"they've got 'im!" she cried. "well, i don't care--i don't--" but again she did not finish what she intended to say. for at the sound of a heavy body falling against the cabin door she flew to it, opened it and, throwing her arms about the sorely-wounded man, dragged him into the cabin and placed him in a chair. quick as lightning she was back at the door bolting it.
-with his eyes johnson followed her action.
-"don't lock that door--i'm going out again--out there. don't bar that door," he commanded feebly, struggling to his feet and attempting to walk towards it; but he lurched forward and would have fallen to the floor had she not caught him. vainly he strove to break away from her, all the time crying out: "don't you see, don't you see, girl--open the door." and then again with almost a sob: "do you think me a man to hide behind a woman?" he would have collapsed except for the strong arms that held him.
-"i love you an' i'm goin' to save you," the girl murmured while struggling with him. "you asked me to go away with you; i will when you git out o' this. if you can't save your own soul--" she stopped and quickly went over to the mantel where she took down a bottle of whisky and a glass; but in the act of pouring out a drink for him there came a loud rap on the window, and quickly looking round she saw rance's piercing eyes peering into the room. for an instant she paled, but then there flashed through her mind the comforting thought that the sheriff could not possibly see johnson from his position. so, after giving the latter his drink, she waited quietly until a rap at the door told her that rance had left the window when, her eye having lit on the ladder that was held in place on the ceiling, she quickly ran over to it and let it down, saying:
-"go up the ladder! climb up there to the loft you're the man that's got my first kiss an' i'm goin' to save you . . ."
-"oh, no, not here," protested johnson, stubbornly.
-"do you want them to see you in my cabin?" she cried reproachfully, trying to lift him to his feet.
-"oh, hurry, hurry . . .!"
-with the utmost difficulty johnson rose to his feet and catching the rounds of the ladder he began to ascend. but after going up a few rounds he reeled and almost fell off, gasping:
-"i can't make it--no, i can't . . ."
-"yes, you can," encouraged the girl; and then, simultaneously with another loud knock on the door: "you're the man i love an' you must--you've got to show me the man that's in you. oh, go on, go on, jest a step an' you'll git there."
-"but i can't," came feebly from the voice above. nevertheless, the next instant he fell full length on the boarded floor of the loft with the hand outstretched in which was the handkerchief he had been staunching the blood from the wound in his side.
-with a whispered injunction that he was all right and was not to move on any account, the girl put the ladder back in its place. but no sooner was this done than on looking up she caught sight of the stained handkerchief. she called softly up to him to take it away, explaining that the cracks between the boards were wide and it could plainly be seen from below.
-"that's it!" she exclaimed on observing that he had changed the position of his hand. "now, don't move!"
-finally, with the lighted candle in her hand, the girl made a quick survey of the room to see that nothing was in sight that would betray her lover's presence there, and then throwing open the door she took up such a position by it that it made it impossible for anyone to get past her without using force.
-"you can't come in here, jack rance," she said in a resolute voice. "you can tell me what you want from where you are."
-roughly, almost brutally, rance shoved her to one side and entered.
-"no more jack rance. it's the sheriff coming after mr. johnson," he said, emphasizing each word.
-the girl eyed him defiantly.
-"yes, i said mr. johnson," reiterated the sheriff, cocking the gun that he held in his hand. "i saw him coming in here."
-"it's more 'n i did," returned the girl, evenly, and bolted the door. "do you think i'd want to shield a man who tried to rob me?" she asked, facing him.
-ignoring the question, rance removed the glove of his weaponless hand and strode to the curtains that enclosed the girl's bed and parted them. when he turned back he was met by a scornful look and the words:
-"so, you doubt me, do you? well, go on--search the place. but this ends your acquaintance with the polka. don't you ever speak to me again. we're through."
-suddenly there came a smothered groan from the man in the loft; rance wheeled round quickly and brought up his gun, demanding:
-"what's that? what's that?"
-leaning against the bureau the girl laughed outright and declared that the sheriff was becoming as nervous as an old woman. her ridicule was not without its effect, and, presently, rance uncocked his gun and replaced it in its holster. advancing now to the table where the girl was standing, he took off his cap and shook it before laying it down; then, pointing to the door, his eyes never leaving the girl's face, he went on accusingly:
-"i saw someone standing out there against the snow. i fired. i could have sworn it was a man."
-the girl winced. but as she stood watching him calmly remove his coat and shake it with the air of one determined to make himself at home, she cried out tauntingly:
-"why do you stop? why don't you go on--finish your search--only don't ever speak to me again."
-at that, rance became conciliatory.
-"say, min, i don't want to quarrel with you."
-turning her back on him the girl moved over to the bureau where she snapped out over her shoulder:
-"go on with your search, then p'r'aps you'll leave a lady to herself to go to bed."
-the sheriff followed her up with the declaration:
-"i'm plumb crazy about you, min."
-the girl shrugged her shoulder.
-"i could have sworn i saw--i--oh, you know it's just you for me--just you, and curse the man you like better. i--i--even yet i can't get over the queer look in your face when i told you who that man really was." he stopped and flung his overcoat down on the floor, and fixing her with a look he demanded: "you don't love him, do you?"
-again the girl sent over her shoulder a forced little laugh.
-the sheriff's face brightened. taking a few steps nearer to her, he hazarded:
-"say, girl, was your answer final to-night about marrying me?"
-without turning round the girl answered coyly:
-"i might think it over, jack."
-instantly the man's passion was aroused. he strode over to her, put his arms around her and kissed her forcibly.
-"i love you, i love you, minnie!" he cried passionately.
-in the struggle that followed, the girl's eyes fell on the bottle on the mantel. with a cry she seized it and raised it threateningly over her head. another second, however, she sank down upon a chair and began to sob, her face buried in her hands.
-rance regarded her coldly; at last he gave vent to a mirthless laugh, the nasty laugh of a man whose vanity is hurt.
-"so, it's as bad as that," he sneered. "i didn't quite realise it. i'm much obliged to you. good-night." he snatched up his coat, hesitated, then repeated a little less angrily than before: "good-night!"
-but the girl, with her face still hidden, made no answer. for a moment he watched the crouching form, the quivering shoulders, then asked, with sudden and unwonted gentleness:
-"can't you say good-night to me, girl!"
-slowly the girl rose to her feet and faced him, aversion and pity struggling for mastery. then, as she noted the spot where he was now standing, his great height bringing him so near to the low boards of the loft where her lover was lying that it seemed as though he must hear the wounded man's breathing, all other feelings were swept away by overwhelming fear. with the one thought that she must get rid of him,--do anything, say anything, but get rid of him quickly, she forced herself forward, with extended hand, and said in a voice that held out new promise:
-"good-night. jack rance,--good-night!"
-rance seized the hand with an almost fierce gladness in both his own, his keen glance hungrily striving to read her face. then, suddenly, he released her, drawing back his hand with a quick sharpness.
-"why, look at my hand! there's blood on it!" he said.
-and even as he spoke, under the yellow flare of the lamp, the girl saw a second drop of blood fall at her feet. like a flash, the terrible significance of it came upon her. only by self-violence could she keep her glance from rising, tell-tale, to the boards above.
-"oh, i'm so sorry," she heard herself saying contritely, all the time desperately groping to invent a reason; at length, she added futilely: "i must have scratched you."
-rance looked puzzled, staring at the spatter of red as though hypnotised.
-"no, there's no scratch there," he contended, wiping off the blood with his handkerchief.
-"oh, yes, there is," insisted the girl tremulously; "that is, there will be in the mornin'. you'll see in the mornin' that there'll be--" she stopped and stared in frozen terror at the sinister face of the sheriff, who was coolly watching his handkerchief turn from white to red under the slow rain of blood from the loft above.
-"oho!" he emitted sardonically, stepping back and pointing his gun towards the loft. "so, he's up there!"
-the girl's fingers clutched his arm, dragging desperately.
-"no, he isn't, jack--no, he isn't!" she iterated in blind, mechanical denial.
-with an abrupt movement, rance flung her violently from him, made a grab at the suspended ladder and lowered it into position; then, deaf to the girl's pleadings, harshly ordered johnson to come down, meanwhile covering the source of the blood-drops with his gun.
-"oh, wait,--wait a minute!" begged the girl helplessly. what would happen if he couldn't obey the summons? he had spent himself in his climb to safety. perhaps he was unconscious, slowly bleeding to death! but even as she tortured herself with fears, the boards above creaked as though a heavy body was dragging itself slowly across them. johnson was evidently doing his best to reach the top of the ladder; but he did not move quickly enough to suit the sheriff.
-"come down, or i'll--"
-"oh, just a minute, jack, just a minute!" broke in the girl frantically. "don't shoot!--don't you see he's tryin' to--?"
-"come down here, mr. johnson!" reiterated the sheriff, with a face inhuman as a fiend.
-the girl clenched her hands, heedless of the nails cutting into her palms: "won't you wait a moment,--please, wait, jack!"
-"wait? what for?" the sheriff flung at her brutally, his finger twitching on the trigger.
-the girl's lips parted to answer, then closed again dumbly,--for it was then that she saw the boots, then the legs of the road agent slide uncertainly through the open trap, fumble clumsily for the rungs of the ladder, then slip and stumble as the weight of the following body came upon them while the weak fingers strained desperately for a hold. the whole heart and soul and mind of the girl seemed to be reaching out impotently to give her lover strength, to hurry him down fast enough to forestall a shot from the sheriff. it seemed hours until the road agent reached the bottom of the ladder, then lurched with unseeing eyes to a chair and, finally, fell forward limply, with his arms and head resting on the table. still dumb with dread, the girl watched rance slowly circle round the wounded man; it was not until the sheriff returned his pistol to its holster that she breathed freely again.
-"so, you dropped into the polka to-night to play a little game of poker? funny how things change about in an hour or two!" rance chuckled mirthlessly; it seemed to suit his sardonic humour to taunt his helpless rival. "you think you can play poker,--that's your conviction, is it? well, you can play freeze-out as to your chances, mr. johnson of sacramento. come, speak up,--it's shooting or the tree,--which shall it be?"
-goaded beyond endurance by rance's taunting of the unconscious man, the girl, fumbling in her bosom for her pistol, turned upon him in a sudden, cold fury:
-"you better stop that laughin', jack rance, or i'll send you to finish it in some place where things ain't so funny."
-something in the girl's altered tone so struck the sheriff that he obeyed her. he said nothing, but on his lips were the words, "by heaven, the girl means it!" and his eyes showed a smouldering admiration.
-"he doesn't hear you,--he's out of it. but me--me--i hear you--i ain't out of it," the girl went on in compelling tones. "you're a gambler; he was, too; well, so am i." she crossed deliberately to the bureau, and laid her pistol away in the drawer, rance meanwhile eyeing her with puzzled interest. returning, she went on, incisively as a whip lash: "i live on chance money, drink money, card money, saloon money. we're gamblers,--we're all gamblers!" she paused, an odd expression coming over her face,--an expression that baffled rance's power to read. presently she resumed: "now, you asked me to-night if my answer was final,--well, here's your chance. i'll play you the game,--straight poker. it's two out o' three for me. hatin' the sight o' you, it's the nearest chance you'll ever get for me."
-"do you mean--" began rance, his hands resting on the table, his hawk-like glance burning into her very thoughts.
-"yes, with a wife in noo orleans all right," she interrupted him feverishly. "if you're lucky,--you'll git 'im an' me. but if you lose,--this man settin' between us is mine--mine to do with as i please, an' you shut up an' lose like a gentleman."
-"you must be crazy about him!" the words seemed wrung from the sheriff against his will.
-"that's my business!" came like a knife-cut from the girl.
-"do you know you're talkin' to the sheriff?"
-"i'm talkin' to jack rance, the gambler," she amended evenly.
-"you're right,--and he's just fool enough to take you up," returned rance with sudden decision. he looked around him for a chair; there was one near the table, and the girl handed it to him. with one hand he swung it into place before the table, while with the other he jerked off the table-cover, and flung it across the room. johnson neither moved nor groaned, as the edge slid from beneath his nerveless arms.
-"you and the cyards have got into my blood. i'll take you up," he said, seating himself.
-"your word," demanded the girl, leaning over the table, but still standing.
-"i can lose like a gentleman," returned rance curtly; then, with a swift seizure of her hand, he continued tensely, in tones that made the girl shrink and whiten, "i'm hungry for you, min, and if i win, i'll take it out on you as long as i have breath."
-"what you goin' to get?" he called after her suspiciously. the girl made no reply. rance made no movement to follow her, but instead drew a pack of cards from his pocket and began to shuffle them with practiced carelessness. but when a minute had passed and the girl had not returned, he called once more, with growing impatience, to know what was keeping her.
-"i'm jest gettin' the cards an' kind o' steadyin' my nerves," she answered somewhat queerly through the doorway. the next moment she had returned, quickly closing the closet door behind her, blew out her candle, and laying a pack of cards upon the table, said significantly:
-"we'll use a fresh deck. there's a good deal depends on this, jack." she seated herself opposite the sheriff and so close to the unconscious form of the man she loved that from time to time her left arm brushed his shoulder.
-rance, without protest other than a shrug, took up his own deck of cards, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and stowed them away in his pocket. it was the girl who spoke first:
-"are you ready?"
-"ready? yes. i'm ready. cut for deal."
-with unfaltering fingers, the girl cut. of the man beside her, dead or dying, she must not, dared not think. for the moment she had become one incarnate purpose: to win, to win at any cost,--nothing else mattered.
-rance won the deal; and taking up the pack he asked, as he shuffled:
-"a case of show-down?"
-"cut!" once more peremptorily from rance; and then, when she had cut, one question more: "best two out of three?"
-"best two out of three." swift, staccato sentences, like the rapid crossing of swords, the first preliminary interchange of strokes before the true duel begins.
-rance dealt the cards. before either looked at them, he glanced across at the girl and asked scornfully, perhaps enviously:
-"what do you see in him?"
-"what do you see in me?" she flashed back instantly, as she picked up her cards; and then: "what have you got?"
-"king high," declared the gambler.
-"king high here," echoed the girl.
-"jack next," and he showed his hand.
-"queen next," and the girl showed hers.
-"you've got it," conceded the gambler, easily. then, in another tone, "but you're making a mistake--"
-"if i am, it's my mistake! cut!"
-rance cut the cards. the girl dealt them steadily. then,
-"what have you got?" she asked.
-"one pair,--aces. what have you?"
-"nothing," throwing her cards upon the table.
-with just a flicker of a smile, the sheriff once more gathered up the pack, saying smoothly:
-"even now,--we're even."
-"it's the next hand that tells, jack, ain't it?"
-"it's the next hand that tells me,--i'm awfully sorry,--" the words seemed to come awkwardly; her glance was troubled, almost contrite, "at any rate, i want to say jest now that no matter how it comes out--"
-"cut!" interjected rance mechanically.
-"--that i'll always think of you the best i can," completed the girl with much feeling. "an' i want you to do the same for me."
-silently, inscrutably, the gambler dealt the ten cards, one by one. but as the girl started to draw hers toward her, his long, thin fingers reached across once more and closed not ungently upon hand and cards.
-"the last hand, girl!" he reminded her. "and i've a feeling that i win,--that in one minute i'll hold you in my arms." and still covering her fingers with his own, he stole a glance at his cards.
-"i win," he announced, briefly, his eyes alone betraying the inward fever. he dropped the cards before her on the table. "three kings,--and the last hand!"
-suddenly, as though some inward cord had snapped under the strain, the girl collapsed. limply she slid downward in her chair, one groping hand straying aimlessly to her forehead, then dropping of its own weight. "quick, jack,--i'm ill,--git me somethin'!" the voice trailed off to nothingness as the drooping eyelids closed.
-in real consternation, the sheriff sprang to his feet. in one sweeping glance his alert eye caught the whisky bottle upon the mantel. "all right, girl, i'll fix you in no time," he said cheeringly over his shoulder. but where the deuce did she keep her tumblers? the next minute he was groping for them in the dark of the adjoining closet and softly cursing himself for his own slowness.
-instantaneously, the girl came to life. the unturned cards upon the table vanished with one lightning movement; the girl's hand disappeared beneath her skirts, raised for the moment knee-high; then the same, swift reverse motion, and the cards were back in place, while the girl's eyes trembled shut again, to hide the light of triumph in them. a smile flickered on her lips as the sheriff returned with the glass and bottle.
-"never mind,--i'm better now," her lips shaped weakly.
-the sheriff set down the bottle, and put his arm around the girl with a rough tenderness.
-"oh, you only fainted because you lost," he told her.
-averting her gaze, the girl quietly disengaged herself, rose to her feet and turned her five cards face upwards.
-"no, jack, it's because i've won,--three aces and a pair."
-the sheriff shot one glance at the girl, keen, searching. then, without so much as the twitch of an eyelid, he accepted his defeat, took a cigar from his pocket and lit it, the flame of the match revealing no expression other than the nonchalance for which he was noted; then, picking up his hat and coat he walked slowly to the door. here he halted and wished her a polite good-night--so ceremoniously polite that at any other time it would have compelled her admiration.
-pale as death and almost on the point of collapse, the girl staggered back to the table where the wounded road agent was half-sitting, half-lying.
-thrusting her hand now into the stocking from which she had obtained the winning, if incriminating, cards, she drew forth those that remained and scattered them in the air, crying out hysterically:
-"three aces an' a pair an' a stockin' full o' pictures--but his life belongs to me!"
-conscious-stricken at the fraud that she had imposed upon the gambler, the girl lived a lifetime in the moments that followed his departure. with her face buried in her hands she stood lost in contemplation of her shameful secret.
-a sound--the sound of a man in great pain checked her hysterical sobs. dazed, she passed her hand over her face as if to clear away the dark shades that were obstructing her vision. another groan--and like a flash she was down on her knees lavishing endearments upon the road agent.
-never before, it is true, had the girl had any experience in gun-shot wounds. she had played the part of nurse, however, more than once when the boys met with accidents at the mines. for the women of the california camps at that time had endless calls upon them. it was a period for sacrifices innumerable, and help and sympathy were never asked that they were not freely given. so, if the girl did not know the very best thing to do, she knew, at least, what not to do, and it was only a few minutes before she had cut the coat from his back.
-the next thing to be done--the dragging of the unconscious man to the bed--was hard work, of course, but being strong of arm, as well as stout of heart, she at last accomplished it.
-now she cut away his shirt in order to find the wound, which proved to be in his breast. quickly then she felt with her fingers in an endeavour to find the ball, but in this she was unsuccessful. so after a moment's deliberation she made up her mind that the wound was a flesh one and that the ball was anywhere but in the man's body--a diagnosis that was largely due to the cheerful optimism of her nature and which, fortunately, proved to be true.
-presently she went to a corner of the room and soon returned with a basin of water and some hastily torn bandages. for a good fifteen minutes after that she washed the gash and, finally, bandaged it as well as she knew how. and now, having done all that her knowledge or instinct prompted, she drew up a chair and prepared to pass the rest of the night in watching by his side.
-for an hour or so he slept the sleep of unconsciousness. in the room not a sound could be heard, but outside the storm still roared and raged. it was anything but an easy or cheerful situation: here she was alone with a wounded, if not dying, man; and she well knew that, unless there came an abatement in the fury of the storm, it might be days before anyone could climb the mountain. true, the indians were not far off, but like as not they would remain in their wigwam until the sun came forth again. in the matter of food there was a scant supply, but probably enough to tide them over until communication could be had with the polka.
-for three days she watched over him, and all the time the storm continued. on the third day he became delirious, and that was the night of her torture. despite a feeling that she was taking an unfair advantage of him, the girl strained her ears to catch a name which, in his delirium, was constantly on his lips; but she could not make it out. all that she knew was that it was not her name that he spoke, and it pained her. she had given him absolute faith and trust and, already, she was overwhelmed with the fierce flames of jealousy. it was a new sensation, this being jealous of anyone, and it called forth a passionate resentment. in such moments she would rise and flee to the other end of the room until the whispered endearments had ceased. then she would draw near again with flushes of shame on her cheeks for having heeded the sayings of an irresponsible person, and she would take his head in her lap and, caressing him the while, would put cold towels on his heated brow.
-dawn of the fourth day saw the girl still pale and anxious, though despair had entirely left her; for the storm was over and colour and speech had come back to the man early that morning. love and good nursing, not to speak of some excellent whisky that she happened to have stored away in her cabin, had pulled him through. with a sigh of relief she threw herself down on the rug for a much-needed rest.
-the man woke just before the sun rose. his first thought, that he was home in the foothills, was dissipated by the sight of the snow ranges. through the window of the cabin, as far as the eye could see, nothing of green was visible. snow was everywhere; everything was white, save at the eastern horizon where silver was fast changing into rose and rose to a fiery red as the fast-rising sun sent its shafts over the snow-coated mountains.
-and now there came to him a full realisation of what had happened and where he was. to his amazement, though, he was almost without pain. that his wound had been dressed he was, of course, well aware for when he attempted to draw back still further the curtain at the window the movement strained the tight bandage, and he was instantly made conscious of a twinge of pain.
-nevertheless, he persevered, for he wisely decided that it would be well to reconnoitre, to familiarise himself, as much as possible, with the lay of the land and find out whether the trail that he had followed to reach the cabin which, he recalled, was perched high up above a ravine, was the only means of communication with the valley below. it was a useless precaution, for the snow would have wholly obliterated any such trail had there been one and, soon realising the fact, he fell back exhausted by his effort on the pillows.
-"what you thinkin' of?" she asked. "at any moment--jest as soon as the trail can be cleared--there'll be someone of the boys up here to see how i've pulled through. they mustn't see you . . ."
-forcibly, but with loving tenderness, she put him back among his pillows and seated herself by the bed. an awkward silence followed. for now that the man was in his right senses it was borne in upon her that he might remember that she had fed him, given him drink and fondled him. it was a situation embarrassing to both. neither knew just what to say or how to begin. at length, the voice from the bed spoke:
-"how long have i been here?"
-"and you have nursed me all that--"
-"you mustn't talk," warned the girl. "it's dangerous in more ways than one. but if you keep still no one'll suspect that you're here."
-"but i must know what happened," he insisted with increasing excitement. "i remember nothing after i came down the ladder. the sheriff--rance-- what's become . . .?"
-the girl chided him with gentle authority.
-"you keep perfectly still--you mustn't say nothin' 'til you've rested. everythin's all right an' you needn't worry a bit." but then seeing that he chafed at this, she added: "well, then, i'll tell you all there is to know." and then followed an account of the happenings of that night. it was not a thoroughly truthful tale, for in her narrative she told him only what she thought was necessary and good for him to know, keeping the rest to herself. and when she had related all that there was to tell she insisted upon his going to sleep again, giving him no opportunity whatsoever to speak, since she left his bedside after drawing the curtains.
-unwillingly the man lay back and tried to force himself to be patient; but he fretted at the enforced quietude and, as a result, sleep refused to come to him. from time to time he could hear the girl moving noiselessly about the room. the knowledge that she was there gave him a sense of security, and he began to let his thoughts dwell upon her. no longer did he doubt but what she was a real influence now; and the thought had the effect of making him keenly alive to what his life had been. it was not a pleasant picture that he looked back upon, now that he had caught a glimpse of what life might mean with the girl at his side. from the moment that he had taken her in his arms he realised to the full that his cherished dream had come true; he realised, also, that there was now but one answer to the question of keeping to the oath given to his father, and that was that gratitude--for he had guessed rightly, though she had not told him, that she had saved him from capture by the sheriff and his posse--demanded that he should put an end to his vocation and devote his life henceforth to making her happy.
-once or twice while thus communing with himself he fancied that he heard voices. it seemed to him that he recognised nick's voice. but whoever it was, he spoke in whispers, and though the wounded man strove to hear, he was unsuccessful.
-after a while he heard the door close and then the tension was somewhat relaxed, for he knew that she was keeping his presence in her cabin a secret with all the wiles of a clever and loving woman. and more and more he determined to gain an honoured place for her in some community--an honoured place for himself and her. vague, very vague, of course, were the new purposes and plans that had so suddenly sprang up because of her influence, but the desire to lead a clean life had touched his heart, and since his old calling had never been pleasing to him, he did not for a moment doubt his ability to succeed.
-the morning was half gone when the girl returned to her patient. then, in tones that did her best to make her appear free from anxiety, she told him that it was the barkeeper, as he had surmised, with whom she had been talking and that she had been obliged to take him into her confidence. the man made no comment, for the situation necessarily was in her hands, and he felt that she could be relied upon not to make any mistake. four people, he was told, knew of his presence in the cabin. so far as rance was concerned she had absolute faith in his honour, gambler though he was; there was nothing that nick would not do for her; and as for the indians, the secret was sure to be kept by them, unless jackrabbit got hold of some whisky--a contingency not at all likely, for nick had promised to see to that. in fact, all could be trusted to be as silent as the grave.
-the invalid had listened intently; nevertheless, he sighed:
-"it's hard to lie here. i don't want to be caught now."
-the girl smiled at the emphasis on the last word, for she knew that it referred to her. furthermore, she had divined pretty well what had been his thoughts concerning his old life; but, being essentially a woman of action and not words, she said nothing.
-a moment or so later he asked her to read to him. the girl looked as she might have looked if he had asked her to go to the moon. notwithstanding, she got up and, presently, returned with a lot of old school-books, which she solemnly handed over for his inspection.
-the invalid smiled at the look of earnestness on the girl's face.
-"not these?" he gently inquired. "where is the dante you were telling me about?"
-once more the girl went over to the book-shelf; when she came back she handed him a volume, which he glanced over carefully before showing her the place where he wished her to begin to read to him.
-at first the girl was embarrassed and stumbled badly. but on seeing that he seemed not to notice it she gained courage and acquitted herself creditably, at least, so she flattered herself, for she could detect, as she looked up from time to time, no expression other than pleasure on his face. it may be surmised, though, that johnson had not merely chosen a page at random; on the contrary, when the book was in his hand he had quickly found the lines which the girl had, so to say, paraphrased, and he was intensely curious to see how they would appeal to her. but now, apparently, she saw nothing in the least amusing in them, nor in other passages fully as sentimental. in fact, no comment of any kind was forthcoming from her--though johnson was looking for it and, to tell the truth, was somewhat disappointed--when she read that dante had probably never spoken more than twice to beatrice and his passion had no other food than the mists of his own dreaming. however, it was different when,--pausing before each word after the manner of a child,--she came to a passage of the poet's, and read:
-"'in that moment i say most truly that the spirit of life, which hath its dwelling in the most secret chambers of the heart, began to tremble so violently that the least pulse of my body shook herewith, and in the trembling it said these words: "here is a deity stronger than i who, coming shall rule over me."'"
-at that the girl let the book fall and, going down on her knees and taking both his hands in hers, she raised to him a look so full of adoring worship that he felt himself awed before it.
-"that 'ere dante ain't so far off after all. i know jest how he feels. oh, i ain't fit to read to you, to talk to you, to kiss you."
-nevertheless, he saw to it that she did.
-after this he told her about the inferno, and she listened eagerly to his description of the unfortunate characters, though she declared, when he explained some of the crimes that they had committed, that they "got only what was rightly comin' to them."
-the patient could hardly suppress his amusement. dante was discarded and instead they told each other how much love there was in that little cabin on cloudy mountain.
-the days that followed were all much like this one. food was brought up from the polka and, by degrees, the patient's strength came back. and it was but natural that he became so absorbed in his newly-found happiness that he gradually was losing all sense of danger. late one night, however, when he was asleep, an incident happened that warned the girl that it was necessary to get her lover away just as soon as he was able to ride a horse.
-lying on the rug in front of the fire she had been thinking of him when, suddenly, her quick ear, more than ever alert in these days, caught the sound of a stealthy footstep outside the cabin. with no fear whatever except in relation to the discovery of her lover, the girl went noiselessly to the window and peered out into the darkness. a man was making signs that he wished to speak with her. for a moment she stood watching in perplexity, but almost instantly her instinct told her that one of that race, for she believed the man to be a mexican, would never dare to come to her cabin at that time of night unless it was on a friendly errand. so putting her face close to the pane to reassure herself that she had not been mistaken in regard to his nationality, she then went to the door and held it wide open for the man to enter, at the same time putting her finger to her lips as a sign that he should be very still.
-"what are you doin' here? what do you want?" she asked in a low voice, at the same time leading him to the side of the room further away from her lover.
-jose castro's first words were in spanish, but immediately perceiving that he failed to make her understand, he nodded comprehendingly, and said:
-"all righta--i espeak engleesh--i am jose castro too well known to the maestro. i want to see 'im."
-the girl's intuition told her that a member of the band stood before her, and she regarded him suspiciously. not that she believed that he was disloyal and had come there with hostile intent, but because she felt that she must be absolutely sure of her ground before she revealed the fact that johnson was in the cabin. she let some moments pass before she replied:
-"i don't know nothin' about your master. who is he?"
-an indulgent smile crossed the mexican's face.
-"that ver' good to tella other peoples; but i know 'im here too much. you trusta me--me quita safe."
-all this was said with many gestures and an air that convinced the girl that he was speaking the truth. but since she deemed it best that the invalid should be kept from any excitement, she resolved to make the mexican divulge to her the nature of his important errand.
-"how do you know he's here?" she began warily. "what do you want 'im for?"
-the mexican's shifty eyes wandered all over the room as if to make certain that no inimical ears were listening; then he whispered:
-"i tella you something--you lika the maestro?"
-unconsciously the girl nodded, which evidently satisfied the mexican, for he went on:
-"you thinka well of him--yees. now i tella you something. the man pedro 'e no good. 'e wisha the reward--the money for ramerrez. 'e and the woman--woman no good--tell meester ashby they thinka 'im 'ere."
-the girl felt the colour leave her cheeks, though she made a gesture for him to proceed.
-"pedro not 'ere any longer," smiled the mexican. "me senda 'im to the devil. serva 'im right."
-"an' the woman?" gasped the girl.
-"she gone--got away--monterey by this time," replied castro with evident disappointment. "but meester ashby 'e know too much--'ees men everywhere searched the camp--no safa 'ere now. to-norrow--" castro stopped short; the next instant with a joyful gleam in his eyes he cried out: "maestro!"
-"castro's right, girl," said johnson, who had waked and heard the mexican's last words; "it is not safe a moment more here, and i must go."
-with a little cry of loving protest the girl abruptly left the men to talk over the situation and sought the opposite side of the room. there, her eyes half-closed and her lips pressed tightly together she gave herself up to her distressing fears. after a while it was made plain to her that she was being brought into the conversation, for every now and then castro would look curiously at her; at length, as if it had been determined by them that nothing should be undertaken without her advice, johnson, followed by his subordinate, came over to her and related in detail all the startling information that castro had brought.
-quietly the girl listened and, in the end, it was agreed between them that it would be safer for the men not to leave the cabin together, but that castro should go at once with the understanding that he should procure horses and wait for the master at a given point across the ravine. it was decided, too, that there was not a moment to be lost in putting their plan into execution. in consequence, castro immediately took his departure.
-"i'm ready, dick, but i'm a-figurin' that i can't let you go alone--you jest got to take me below with you, an' that's all there is to it."
-the man shook his head.
-"there's very little risk, believe me. i'll join castro and ride all through the night. i'll be down below in no time at all. but we must be going, dear."
-the man passed through the door first. but when it came the girl's turn she hesitated, for she had seen a dark shadow flit by the window. it was as if someone had been stealthily watching there. in another moment, however, it turned out to be jackrabbit and, greatly relieved, the girl whispered to johnson that he was to descend the trail between the indian and herself, and that on no account was he to utter a word until she gave him permission.
-for another moment or so they stood in silence; johnson, appreciating fully what were the girl's feelings, did not dare to whisper even a word of encouragement to her. at last, she ordered the indian to lead the way, and they started.
-the trail curved and twisted around the mountain, and in places they had to use the greatest care lest a misstep should carry them over a precipice with a drop of hundreds of feet. it was a perilous descent, inasmuch as the path was covered with snow. moreover, it was necessary that as little noise as possible should be made while they were making their way past the buildings of the camp below, for the mexican had not been wrong when he stated that ashby's men were quartered at, or in the immediate vicinity of, the palmetto. fortunately, they passed through without meeting anyone, and before long they came to the edge of the plateau beneath which was the ravine which johnson had to cross to reach the spot where it had been agreed that castro should be waiting with horses for his master. it was also the place where the girl was to leave her lover to go on alone, and so they halted. a few moments passed without either of them speaking; at length, the man said in as cheery a voice as he could summon:
-"i must leave you here. i remember the way well. all danger is past."
-the girl's lips were quivering; she asked:
-"an' when will you be back?"
-the man noted her emotion, and though he himself was conscious of a choking sensation he contrived to say in a most optimistic tone:
-"in two weeks--not more than two weeks. it will take all that time to arrange things at the rancho. as it is, i hardly see my way clear to dismissing my men--you see, they belong to me, almost, and--but i'll do so, never fear. no power on earth could make me take up the old life again."
-the girl said nothing in reply; instead she put both her arms around his neck and remained a long time in his embrace. at last, summoning up all her fortitude she put him resolutely from her, and whispered:
-"when you are ready, come. you must leave me now." and with a curt command to the indian she fled back into the darkness.
-for an instant the road agent's eyes followed the direction that she had taken; then, his spirits rising at the thought that his escape was now well-nigh assured, he turned and plunged down the ravine.
-as has been said, it was a custom of the miners, whenever a storm made it impossible for them to work in the mines, to turn the dance-hall of the polka saloon into an academy, the post of teacher being filled by the girl. it happened, therefore, that early the following morning the men of cloudy mountain camp assembled in the low, narrow room with its walls of boards nailed across inside upright beams--a typical miners' dance-hall of the late forties--which they had transformed into a veritable bower, so eager were they to please their lovely teacher. everyone was in high spirits, rance alone refraining from taking any part whatsoever in the morning's activities; dejectedly, sullenly, he sat tilted back in an old, weather-beaten, lumber chair before the heavily-dented, sheet-iron stove in a far corner of the room, gazing abstractedly up towards the stove's rusty pipe that ran directly through the ceiling; and what with his pale, waxen countenance, his eyes red and half-closed for the want of sleep, his hair ruffled, his necktie awry, his waistcoat unfastened, his boots unpolished, and the burnt-out cigar which he held between his white, emaciated fingers, he was not the immaculate-looking rance of old, but presented a very sad spectacle indeed.
-outside, through the windows,--over which had been hung curtains of red and yellow cotton,--could be seen the green firs on the mountain, their branches dazzling under their burden of snow crystals; and stretching out seemingly interminably until the line of earth and sky met were the great hills white with snow except in the spots where the wind had swept it away. but within the little, low dance-hall, everywhere were evidences of festivity and good cheer, the walls being literally covered with pine boughs and wreaths of berries, while here and there was an eagle's wing or an owl's head, a hawk or a vulture, a quail or a snow-bird, not to mention the big, stuffed game cock that was mounted on a piece of weather-beaten board, until it would seem as if every variety of bird native to the sierra mountains was represented there.
-grouped together on one side of the wall were twelve buck horns, and these served as a sort of rack for the miners to hang their hats and coats during the school session. several mottoes, likewise upon the wall, were intended to attract the students' attention, the most conspicuous being: "live and learn" and "god bless our school." a great bear's skin formed a curtain between the dance-hall and the saloon, while upon the door-frame was a large hand rudely painted, the index-finger outstretched and pointing to the next room. it said: "to the bar."
-it was, however, upon the teacher's desk--a whittled-up, hand-made affair which stood upon a slightly-raised platform--that the boys had outdone themselves in the matter of decoration. garlanded both on top and around the sides with pine boughs and upon the centre of which stood a tall glass filled with red and white berries, it looked not unlike a sacrificial altar which, in a way, it certainly was. a box that was intended for a seat for the teacher was also decorated with pine branches; while several cheap, print flags adorned the primitive iron holder of the large lamp suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the room. altogether it was a most festive-looking academy that was destined to meet the teacher's eye on this particular morning.
-for some time nick had been standing near the window gazing in the direction of the girl's cabin. turning, suddenly, to rance, the only other occupant of the room, he remarked somewhat sadly:
-"i'd be willin' to lose the profits of the bar if we could git back to a week ago--before johnson walked into this room."
-at the mention of the road agent's name rance's eyes dropped to the floor. it required no flash of inspiration to tell him that things would never be what they had been.
-"johnson," he muttered, his face ashen white and a sound in his throat that was something like a groan. "a week--a week in her cabin--nursed and kissed . . ." he finished shortly.
-nick had been helping himself to a drink; he wheeled swiftly round, confronting him.
-"oh, say, rance, she--"
-rance took the words out of his mouth.
-"never kissed him! you bet she kissed him! it was all i could do to keep from telling the whole camp he was up there." his eyes blazed and his hands tightened convulsively.
-"but you didn't . . ." nick broke in on him quickly. "if i hadn't been let into the game by the girl i'd a thought you were a level sheriff lookin' for him. rance, you're my ideal of a perfect gent."
-rance braced up in his chair.
-"what did she see in that sacramento shrimp, will you tell me?" presently he questioned, contempt showing on every line of his face.
-the little barkeeper did not answer at once, but filled a glass with whisky which he handed to him.
-"well, you see, i figger it out this way, boss," at last he answered, meeting him face to face frankly, earnestly, his foot the while resting on the other's chair. "love's like a drink that gits a hold on you an' you can't quit. it's a turn of the head or a touch of the hands, or it's a half sort of smile, an' you're doped, doped, doped with a feelin' like strong liquor runnin' through your veins, an' there ain't nothin' on earth can break it up once you've got the habit. that's love."
-touched by the little barkeeper's droll philosophy, the sheriff dropped his head on his breast, while the hand which held the glass unconsciously fell to his side.
-"i've got it," went on nick with enthusiasm; "you've got it; the boy's got it; the girl's got it; the whole damn world's got it. it's all the heaven there is on earth, an' in nine cases out of ten it's hell."
-rance opened his lips to speak, but quickly drew them in tightly. the next instant nick touched him lightly on the shoulder and pointed to the empty glass in his hand, the contents having run out upon the floor.
-with a mere glance at the empty glass rance returned it to nick. presently, then, he took out his watch and fell to studying its face intently, and only when he had finally returned the watch to his pocket did he voice what was in his mind.
-"well, nick," he said, "her road agent's got off by now."
-whereupon, the barkeeper, too, took out his watch and consulted it.
-"left cloudy at three o'clock this morning--five hours off . . ." was his brief comment.
-once more a silence fell upon the room. then, all of a sudden, the sound of horses' hoofs and the murmur of rough voices came to their ears, and almost instantly a voice was heard to cry out:
-"hello!" came from an answering voice.
-"why, it's the pony express got through at last!" announced nick, incredulously; and so saying he took up the whisky bottle and glasses which lay on the teacher's desk and dashed into the saloon. he had barely left, however, than the pony express, muffled up to his ears and looking fit to brave the fiercest of storms, entered the room, hailing the boys with:
-"hello, boys! letter for ashby!"
-"well, boys, how d'you like bein' snowed in for a week?" asked the pony express, warming himself by the stove; and then without waiting for an answer he rattled on: "there's a rumour at the ridge that you all let ramerrez freeze an' missed a hangin'. say, they're roarin' at you, chaps!" and with a "so long, boys!" he strode out of the room.
-sonora started in hot pursuit after him, hollering out:
-"wait! wait!" and when the pony express halted, he added: "says you to the boys at the ridge as you ride by, the academy at cloudy is open to-day full blast!"
-"whoopee! whoop!" chimed in trinidad and began to execute a pas seul in the middle of the room, dropping into a chair just in time to avoid running into nick, who hurriedly returned with two glasses and a bottle.
-"help yourselves, boys," he said; which they did to the accompaniment of a succession of joyous yells from trinidad.
-meantime rance had relighted the burnt-out cigar which he had been holding for some time between his fingers, and was sending curls of smoke upwards towards the ceiling.
-"academy," he sneered.
-sonora surveyed him critically for some moments; at length he said:
-"say, rance, what's the matter with you? we began this academy game together--we boys an' the girl--an' there's a damn pretty piece of sentiment back of it. she's taught some of us our letters, and--"
-"he's a wearin' mournin' because johnson didn't fall alive into his hands," interposed trinidad with a laugh.
-"is that it?" queried sonora.
-"ain't it enough, rance, that he must be lyin' dead down some canyon, with his mouth full of snow?" a mocking smile was on trinidad's face as he asked the question.
-"you done all you could to git 'im," went on sonora as if there had been no interruption. "the boys is all satisfied he's dead."
-"dead?" rance fairly picked up the word. "dead? yes, he's dead," he declared tensely, and unconsciously arose and went over to the window where he stood motionless, gazing through the parted curtains at the snow-covered hills. presently the boys saw a cynical smile spread over his face, and a moment later, he added: "the matter with me is that i'm a chink."
-this depreciation of himself was so thoroughly un-rance like, that it brought forth great bursts of laughter from the men, but notwithstanding which, rance went on to admit, in the same sullen tone, that it was all up with him and the girl.
-"throwed 'im!" whispered trinidad to sonora with a pleased look on his face.
-sonora, likewise, was beaming with joy when almost instantly he turned to nick with:
-"as sure's you live she's throwed 'im for me!"
-nick, among his other accomplishments, had a faculty for dumbness and said nothing; but a smile which approached a grin formed on his face as he stood eyeing quizzically first one and then the other. finally, picking up the empty glasses, he left the room.
-"will old dog tray remember me"--immediately sung out trinidad, gleefully. while sonora, in the seventh heaven of delight, began to caper about the room. of a sudden nick poked his head in through the door to inquire into the cause of their hilarity, but they ignored him completely. at the bar-room door, however, sonora halted and, glancing over his shoulder in the sheriff's direction, he added in a most tantalising manner:
-". . . for me!"
-but while trinidad and sonora were going out through one door the deputy was entering through another. he was greatly agitated and carried in his hand the letter which the pony express had entrusted to his keeping for ashby.
-"why, ashby's skipped!" he announced uneasily. "got off just after three this morning--posse and all."
-a question was in nick's eyes as he turned upon the speaker with the interjection:
-but if nick was slow to realise the situation, not so the sheriff, who instantly awoke to the fact that the wells fargo agent was on johnson's trail. his lips drew quickly back in a half-grin.
-"ashby's after johnson," presently he said with a savage little laugh. "nick, he was watchin' that greaser . . . took him ten minutes to saddle up--johnson has ten minutes' start"--he broke off abruptly and ended impatiently with: "oh, lord, they'll never get him! he's a wonder on the road--you've got to take your hat off to the damn cuss!" and with a dig at the other's ribs that was half-playful, half-serious, he was off in pursuit of ashby.
-a moment later the miners began to pile in for school, whooping and yelling, their feet covered with snow. sonora led with an armful of wood, which he deposited on the floor beside the stove; then came handsome charlie and happy halliday, together with old steady and bill crow, who immediately dropped on all fours and began to play leap-frog.
-"boys gatherin' for school," observed trinidad, hurriedly opening the door; and while the men proceeded to flock in, he got into his jacket which lay on a chair beside the teacher's desk.
-"here, trin, here's the book!" cried out happy halliday; and the book, which was securely tied in a red cotton handkerchief, went flying through the air.
-in those few words the signal was given; the fun was on in earnest. instantly the miners--veritable school-boys they were, so genuine was their merriment--braced themselves for a catch of the book, which had landed safely in trinidad's hands. now it was aimed at sonora, who caught it on the fly; from sonora it travelled to old steady, who sent it whizzing over to handsome. now the deputy made ready to receive it; but instead it landed once more in sonora's hands amidst cheers of "come on, sonora! whoopee! whoop!"
-"sh-sh-sh, boys!" warned the deputy as sonora was about to send the book on another expedition through the air; "here comes the noo scholar from watson's."
-an ominous hush fell upon the room. one could have heard a pin drop as the school settled itself down with anticipatory grins that said, "what won't we do to bucking billy!" therefore, there was not an eye that was not upon the new pupil when with dinner-pail swinging on one arm and the other holding tightly onto a small slate, he slowly advanced towards them.
-"did you ever play lame soldier, m' friend?" was sonora's greeting, while the miners crowded around them.
-"no," replied the big, raw-boned, gullible-looking fellow with a grin.
-"we'll play it after school; you'll be the stirrup," promised sonora; then turning to his mates with a laugh, which was unobserved by bucking billy, he added: "we'll initiate 'im."
-presently the miners began to move away and trinidad, picking up a chip which he espied under a bench, put it on his shoulder and stood in the centre of the room, thereby indirectly challenging the new pupil to a scrimmage.
-"don't do it!" cried old steady as he hung up his hat upon a buck's horn on the wall.
-"go on! go on!" encouraged bill crow, hanging up his hat beside old steady's.
-the boys took up his words in chorus.
-"go on! go on!"
-whereupon, sonora made a dash far the chip and knocked it off of trinidad's shoulder, blazing huskily into his face as he did so:
-"you do, do you?"
-in the twinkling of an eye trinidad's jacket was off and the two men were engaged in a hand-to-hand scuffle.
-"soak him!" came from a voice somewhere in the crowd.
-"hit him!" urged another.
-"bat him in the eye!" shrieked handsome charlie.
-finally sonora succeeded in throwing down his opponent and sent him rolling along the floor, the contents of his pockets marking his trail.
-the rafters of the polka shook to a storm of cheering, and there is no telling when the men would have ceased had not nick interfered at that moment by yelling out:
-"boys, boys, here she is!"
-"here comes the girl!" came simultaneously from happy halliday, who had got a glimpse of her coming down the trail.
-none the worse for his defeat and fall, trinidad sprang to his feet; while sonora made a dash for a seat. they had not been placed; whereupon he cried out excitedly:
-"the seats, boys, where's the seats?"
-for the few minutes that preceded the girl's entrance into the room no men were ever known to work more rapidly or more harmoniously. they fairly flew in and out of the room, now bringing in the great whittled-up, weather-beaten benches and placing them in school-room fashion, and then rolling in boxes and casks which served as a ground-hold for the planks which were stretched across them for desks. it was in the midst of these pilgrimages that trinidad rushed over to nick to ask whether he did not think to-day a good time to put the question to the girl.
-nick's eyes twinkled up with merriment; nevertheless, his face took on a dubious look when presently he answered:
-"i wouldn't rush her, trin--you've got plenty of time . . ." and when he proceeded to put up the blackboard he almost ran into sonora, who stood by the teacher's desk getting into his frock coat.
-"hurry up, boys, hurry up!" urged trinidad, though he himself smilingly looked on.
-a moment later the girl, carrying a small book of poems, walked quietly into their midst. she was paler and not as buoyant as usual, but she managed to appear cheerful when she said:
-the men were all smiles and returned her greeting with:
-then followed the presentation of their offerings--mere trifles, to be sure, but given out of the fulness of their hearts. sonora led with a bunch of berries, which was followed by trinidad with an orange.
-"from 'frisco," he said simply, watching the effect of his words with pride.
-a bunch of berries was also happy's contribution, which he made with a stiff little bow and the one word:
-meantime nick, faithful friend that he was, went down on his knees and began to remove the girl's moccasins. the knowledge of his proximity encouraged the girl to glance about her to see if she could detect any signs on the men's faces which would prove that they suspected the real truth concerning her absence. needless to say adoration and love was all that she saw; nevertheless, she felt ill-at-ease and, unconsciously, repeated:
-"hello, boys!" and then added, a little more bravely: "how's everythin'?"
-"bully!" spoke up handsome charlie, who was posing for her benefit, as was his wont, beside one of the desks.
-"say, we missed you," acknowledged sonora with a world of tenderness in his voice. "never knew you to desert the polka for a whole week before."
-"no, i--i . . ." stammered guiltily, and with their little gifts turned abruptly towards her desk lest she should meet their gaze.
-"academy's opened," suddenly announced happy, "and--"
-"yes, i see it is," quickly answered the girl, brushing away a tear that persisted in clinging to her eyelids; slowly, now, she drew off her gloves and laid them on the desk.
-"i guess i'm kind o' nervous to-day, boys," she began.
-"no wonder," observed sonora. "road agent's been in camp an' we missed a hangin'. i can't git over that."
-all a-quiver and not daring to meet the men's gaze, much less to discuss the road agent with them, the girl endeavoured to hide her confusion by asking nick to help her off with her cape. turning presently she said in a strained voice:
-"well, come on, boys--come, now!"
-immediately the boys fell in line for the opening exercises, which consisted of an examination by the girl of their general appearance.
-"let me see your hands," she said to the man nearest to her; a glance was sufficient, and he was expelled from her presence. "let me see yours, sonora," she commanded.
-holding his hands behind his back the man addressed moved towards her slowly, for he was conscious of the grime that was on them. before he had spoken his apology she ordered him none too gently to go and wash them, ending with an emphatic:
-"yes'm," was his meek answer, though he called back as he disappeared: "been blackenin' my boots."
-the girl took up the word quickly.
-"boots! yes, an' look at them boots!" and as each man came up to her, "an' them boots! an' them boots! get in there the whole lot o' you an' be sure that you leave your whisky behind."
-when all had left the room save nick, who stood with her cape on his arm near the desk she suddenly became conscious that she still had her hood on, and at once began to remove it--a proceeding which brought out clearly the extraordinary pallor of her face which, generally, had a bright, healthy colouring. now she beckoned to nick to draw near. no need for her to speak, for he had caught the questioning look in her eyes, and it told him plainer than any words that she was anxious to hear of her lover. he was about to tell her the little he knew when with lips that trembled she finally whispered:
-"have you heard anythin'? do you think he got through safe?"
-nick nodded in the affirmative.
-"i saw 'im off, you know," she went on in the same low voice; then, before nick could speak, she concluded anxiously: "but s'pose he don't git through?"
-"oh, he'll git through sure! we'll hear he's out of this country pretty quick," consoled the little barkeeper just as rance, unperceived by them, quietly entered the room and went over to a chair by the stove.
-no man had more of a dread of the obvious than the sheriff. his position, he felt, was decidedly an unpleasant one. nevertheless, in the silence that followed the girl's discovery of his presence, he struggled to appear his old self. he was by no means unconscious of the fact that he had omitted his usual cordial greeting to her, and he felt that she must be scrutinising him, feature by feature. when, therefore, he shot a covert glance at her, it was with surprise that he saw an appealing look in her eyes.
-"oh, jack, i want to thank you--" she began, but stopped quickly, deterred by the hard expression that instantly spread itself over the sheriff's face. resentment, all the more bitter because he believed it to be groundless, followed hard on the heels of her words which he thought to be inspired solely by a delicate tactfulness.
-"oh, don't thank me that he got away," he said icily. "it was the three aces and the pair you held--"
-this was the girl's opportunity; she seized it.
-"about the three aces, i want to say that--"
-it was rance's turn to interrupt, which he did brutally.
-"he'd better keep out of my country, that's all."
-to the girl, any reference to her lover was a stab. her face was pale with her terrible anxiety; notwithstanding, the contrast of her pallid cheeks and masses of golden hair gave her a beauty which rance, as he met her eyes, found so extraordinarily tempting that he experienced a renewed fury at his utter helplessness. at the point, however, when it would seem from his attitude that all his self-control was about to leave him, the girl picked up the bell on the desk and rang it vigorously.
-began then the long procession of miners walking around the room before taking their seats on the benches. at their head was happy halliday, who carried in his hands a number of slates, the one on the top having a large sponge attached. these were all more or less in bad condition, some having no frames, while others were mere slits of slate, but all had slate-pencils fastened to them by strings.
-"come along, boys, get your slates!" sang out happy as he left the line and let the others file past him.
-"whoop!" vociferated trinidad in a burst of enthusiasm.
-"trin, you're out o' step there!" reprimanded the teacher a little sharply; and then addressing happy she ordered him to take his place once more in the line.
-in a little while they were all seated, and now, at last, it seemed to the barkeeper as if the air of the room had been freed of its tension. no longer did he experience a sense of alertness, a feeling that something out of the ordinary was going to happen, and it was with immense relief that he heard the girl take up her duties and ask:
-"what books were left from last year?"
-at first no one was able to give a scrap of information on this important matter; maybe it was because all lips were too dry to open; in the end, however, when the silence was becoming embarrassing, happy moistened his lips with his tongue, and answered:
-"why, we scared up jest a whole book left. the name of it is--is--is--" the effort was beyond his mental powers and he came to a helpless pause.
-swelling with importance, and drawing forth the volume in question from his pocket, sonora stood up and finished:
-"--is 'old joe miller's jokes.'"
-"that will do nicely," declared the girl and seated herself on the pine-decorated box.
-"now, boys," continued sonora, ever the most considerate of pupils, "before we begin i propose no drawin' of weppings, drinkin' or swearin' in school hours. the conduct of certain members wore on teacher last term. i don't want to mention no names, but i want handsome an' happy to hear what i'm sayin'." and after a sweeping glance at his mates, who, already, had begun to disport themselves and jeer at the unfortunate pair, he wound up with: "is that straight?"
-"you bet it is!" yelled the others in chorus; whereupon sonora dropped into his seat.
-in time order was restored and now the girl, looking at rance out of her big, frightened, blue eyes, observed:
-"rance, last year you led off with an openin' address, an'--"
-"yes, yes, go on sheriff!" cried the boys, hailing her suggestion with delight.
-nevertheless, the sheriff hesitated, seeing which, trinidad contributed: "let 'er go, jack!"
-at length, fixing a look upon the girl, rance rose and said significantly:
-"oh, then, sonora," suggested the girl, covering up her embarrassment as best she could, "won't you make a speech?"
-"me--speak?" exploded sonora; and again; "me--speak? oh, the devil!"
-"sh-sh!" came warningly from several of the boys.
-"why, i didn't mean that, o' course," apologised sonora, colouring, and incidentally expectorating on bucking billy's boots. but to his infinite sorrow no protest worthy of the word was forthcoming from the apparently insensible bucking billy.
-"go on! go on!" urged the school.
-sonora coughed behind his hand; then he began his address.
-"gents, i look on this place as something more 'n a place to sit around an' spit on--the stove. i claim that there's culture in the air o' californay an' we're here to buck up again it an' hook on."
-"hear! hear! hear!" voiced the men together, while their fists came down heavily upon the improvised desks before them.
-"with these remarks," concluded sonora, "i set." and suiting the action to the word he plumped himself down heavily upon the bench, but only to rise again quickly with a cry of pain and strike trinidad a fierce blow, who, he rightly suspected, was responsible for the pin that had found a lodging-place in the seat of his trousers.
-at that not even the girl's remonstrances prevented the boys, who had been silent as mice all the time that the instrument of torture was being adjusted, from giving vent to roars of laughter; and for a moment things in the school-room were decidedly boisterous.
-"sit down, boys, sit down!" ordered the girl again and again; but it was some moments before she could get the school under control. when, finally, the skylarking had ceased, the girl said in a voice which, despite its strange weariness, was music to their ears:
-"once more we meet together. there's ben a lot happened o' late that has learned me that p'r'aps i don't know as much as i tho't i did, an' i can't teach you much more. but if you're willin' to take me for what i am--jest a woman who wants things better, who wants everybody all they ought to be, why i'm willin' to rise with you an' help reach out--" she stopped abruptly, for handsome was waving his hand excitedly at her, and asked a trifle impatiently: "what is it, handsome?"
-handsome rose and hurriedly went over to her.
-"whisky, teacher, whisky! i want it so bad--"
-the school rose to its feet as one man.
-"teacher! teacher!" came tumultuously from all, their hands waving frantically in the air. and then without waiting for permission to speak the cry went up: "whisky! whisky!"
-"no, no whisky," she denied them flatly.
-gradually the commotion subsided, for all knew that she meant what she said, at least for the moment.
-"an' now jest a few words more on the subject o' not settin' judgment on the errin'--a subject near my heart."
-this remark of the girl's brought forth murmurs of wonder, and in the midst of them the door was pushed slowly inward and the sidney duck, wearing the deuce of spades which the sheriff had pinned to his jacket when he banished him from their presence for cheating at cards, stood on the threshold, looking uncertainly about him. at once all eyes were focused upon him.
-"git! git!" shouted the men, angrily. this was followed by a general movement towards him, which so impressed the sidney duck that he turned on his heel and was fleeing for his life when a cry from the girl stopped him.
-"boys, boys," said the girl in a reproving voice, which silenced them almost instantly; then, beckoning to sid to approach, she went on in her most gentle tones: "i was jest gittin' to you, sid, as i promised. you can stay."
-looking like a whipped dog the sidney duck advanced warily towards her.
-sonora's brow grew thunderous.
-"what, here among gentlemen?"
-and that his protest met with instantaneous approval was shown by the way the miners shifted uneasily in their seats and shouted threateningly:
-"why, the fellow's a--" began trinidad, but got no further, for the girl stopped him by exclaiming:
-"i know, i know, trin--i've tho't it all over!"
-for the next few minutes the girl stood strangely still and her face became very grave. never before had the men seen her in a mood like this, and they exchanged wondering glances. presently she said:
-"boys, of late a man in trouble has been on my mind--" she paused, her glance having caught the peculiar light which her words had caused to appear in rance's eyes, and lest he should misunderstand her meaning, she hastened to add: "sid, o' course,--an' i fell to thinkin' o' the prodigal son. he done better, didn't he?"
-"but a card sharp," objected sonora from the depths of his big voice.
-"yes, that's what!" interjected trinidad, belligerently.
-the girl's eyebrows lifted and a shade of resentment was in the answering voice:
-"but s'pose there was a moment in his life when he was called upon to find a extra ace--can't we forgive 'im? he says he's sorry--ain't you, sid?"
-all the while the girl had been speaking the sidney duck kept his eyes lowered and was swallowing nervously. now he raised them and, with a feeble attempt to simulate penitence, he acknowledged that he had done wrong. nevertheless, he declared:
-"but if i 'adn't got caught things would 'a' been different. oh, yes, i'm sorry."
-in an instant the girl was at his side removing the deuce of spades from his coat.
-"sid, you git your chance," she said with trembling lips. "now go an' sit down."
-a broad smile was creeping over the sidney duck's countenance as he moved towards the others; but happy took it upon himself to limit its spread.
-"take that!" he blazed, striking the man in the face. "and git out of here!
-"happy, happy!" cried the girl. her voice was so charged with reproach that the sidney duck was allowed by the men to pass on without any further molestation. nevertheless, when he attempted to sit beside them, they moved as far away as possible from him and compelled him to take a stool that stood apart from the benches which held them together in friendly proximity.
-at this point trinidad inquired of the girl whether she meant to infer that honesty was not the best policy, and by way of illustration, he went on to say:
-"s'posin' my watch had no works an' i was to sell it to the sheriff for one hundred dollars. would you have much respect for me?"
-for the briefest part of a second the girl seemed to be reflecting.
-"i'd have more respect for you than for the sheriff," she answered succinctly.
-"hurrah! whoopee! whoop!" yelled the men, who were delighted both with what she said as well as her pert way of saying it.
-it was in the midst of these shouts that billy jackrabbit and wowkle, unobserved by the others, quietly stole into the room and squatted themselves down under the blackboard. when the merriment had subsided rance rose and took the floor. his face was paler than usual, though his voice was calm when presently he said:
-"well, bein' sheriff, i'm careful about my company--i'll sit in the bar. cheats and road agents"--and here he paused meaningly and glanced from the sidney duck to the girl--"ar'n't jest in my line. i walk in the open road with my head up and my face to the sun, and whatever i've pulled up, you'll remark i've always played square and stood by the cyards."
-"i know, i know," observed the girl and fell wearily into her seat; the next instant she went on more confidently: "an' that's the way to travel--in the straight road. but if ever i don't travel that road, or you--"
-"you always will, you bet," observed nick with feeling.
-"you bet she will!" shouted the others.
-"but if i don't," continued the girl, insistently, "i hope there'll be someone to lead me back--back to the right road. 'cause remember, rance, some of us are lucky enough to be born good, while others have to be 'lected."
-"that's eloquence!" cried sonora, moved almost to tears; while rance took a step forward as if about to make some reply; but the next instant, his head held no longer erect and his face visibly twitching, he passed into the bar-room.
-a silence reigned for a time, which was broken at last by the girl announcing with great solemnity:
-"if anybody can sing 'my country 'tis,' academy's opened."
-at this request, really of a physical nature, and advanced in a spirit of true modesty, all present, curiously enough, seemed to have lost their voices and nudged one another in an endeavour to get the hymn started. someone insisted that sonora should go ahead, but that worthy pupil objected giving as his excuse, obviously a paltry one and trumped up for the occasion, that he did not know the words. there was nothing to it, therefore, but that the indians should render the great american anthem. and so, standing stolidly facing the others, their high-pitched, nasal voices presently began:
-"my country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee i sing."
-"well, if that ain't sarkism!" interjected sonora between the lines of the hymn.
-"land where our fathers died--"
-"you bet they died hard!" cut in trinidad, rolling his eyes upward in a comical imitation of the indians.
-"land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountain side let freedom ring."
-all the while the indians were singing the last lines of the hymn the girl's face was a study in reminiscent dreams, but when they had finished and were leaving the room, she came back to earth, as it were, and clapped her hands, an appreciation which brought forth from wowkle a grateful "huh!"
-"i would like to read you a little verse from a book of poems," presently went on the teacher; and when the men had given her their attention, she read with much feeling:
-"'no star is ever lost we once have seen, we always may be what we might have been.'"
-"why, what's the matter?" inquired sonora, greatly moved at the sight of the tears which, of a sudden, began to run down the teacher's cheeks. "why, what's--?" came simultaneously from the others, words failing them.
-"nothin', nothin', only it jest came over me that i'll be leavin' you soon," stammered the girl. "how can i do it? how can i do it?" she wailed.
-sonora gazed at her unbelievingly.
-"do what?" he said.
-"what did she say?" questioned trinidad.
-now sonora went over to her, and asked:
-"what d'you say? why, what's the matter?"
-slowly the girl raised her head and looked at him through half-closed lids, the tears that still clung to them, blinding her almost. plainly audible in the silence of the room the seconds ticked away on the clock, and still she did not speak; at last she murmured:
-"oh, it's nothin', nothin', only i jest remembered i've promised to leave cloudy soon an', p'r'aps, we might never be together again--you an' me an' the polka. oh, it took me jest like that when i seen your dear, ol' faces, your dear, plucky, ol' faces an' realised that--" she could not go on, and buried her face in her hands, her glistening blonde head shaking with her sobs.
-it was thus that the sheriff, entering a moment later, found her. without a word he resumed his seat in front of the fire.
-sonora continued to stare blankly at her. he was too dazed to speak, much less to think. he broke silence slowly.
-"what--you leavin' us?"
-"leavin' us?" inquired happy, incredulously.
-"careful, girl, careful," warned nick, softly.
-the girl hesitated a moment, and then went recklessly on:
-"it's bound to happen soon."
-sonora looked more puzzled than ever; he rested his hand upon her desk as if to support himself, and said:
-"i don't quite understand. great gilead! we done anythin' to offend you?"
-"oh, no, no, no!" she hastened to assure him, at the same time letting her hand rest upon his.
-but this explanation did not satisfy sonora. anxious to discover what she had at heart he went on sounding:
-"tired of us? ain't we got style enough for you?"
-the girl did not answer; her breathing, swift and short, painfully intensified the hush that had fallen on the room; at last, the boys becoming impatient began to bombard her with questions.
-"be you goin' to show them ridge boys we've petered out an' culture's a dead dog here?" began happy, rising.
-"do you want them to think academy's busted?" asked handsome.
-"ain't we your boys no more?" put in trinidad, wistfully.
-"ain't i your boy?" asked sonora, sentimentally. "why, what is it, girl? has anybody--tell me--perhaps--"
-"oh, no, no, no," she said with averted face, and added tremulously: "there, we won't say no more about it. let's forgit it. only when i go away i want to leave the key o' my cabin with old sonora here, an' i want you all to come up sometimes, an' to think o' me as the girl who loved you all, an' sometimes is wishin' you well, an' i want to think o' little nick here runnin' my bar an' not givin' the boys too much whisky." her words died away in a sob and her head fell forward, her hand, the while, resting upon nick's shoulder.
-at last, sonora saw what lay beneath her tears; the situation was all too clear to him now.
-"hold on!" he cried hoarsely. "there's jest one reason for the girl to leave her home an' friends--only one: there must be some fellow away from here that she--that she likes better 'n she does any of us." and turning once more upon the girl, he demanded excitedly: "is that it? speak!"
-the girl raised her tear-stained face and looked him in the eye.
-"likes--" she repeated with a world of meaning in her voice--"in a different way, yes."
-"well, so help me!" ejaculated happy, unhappily, while sonora, with head bent low, went over to his seat.
-the next moment the boys of the front rows had joined those of the rear and were grouping themselves together to discuss the situation.
-"sure you ain't makin' a mistake?" trinidad questioned suddenly.
-the girl came down from her seat on the platform and went over to them.
-"mistake," she repeated dreamily. "oh, no, no, no, boys, there's no mistake about this. oh, trin!" she burst out tearfully, and two soft arms crept gently about his neck. "an' sonora--ah, sonora!" she raised herself on her tiny toes and kissed him on the left cheek.
-the next instant she was gone.
-whatever may be said to the contrary, there are few more humiliating moments in a man's life than when he learns that some other person has supplanted him in the affections of his adored one. and it was the girl's knowledge of this, together with her desire to spare the feelings of her two old admirers,--for in her nature there was ever that thoughtfulness of others which never permitted her to do a mean thing to anyone,--that had caused her to flee so precipitously from the room.
-but painful as was their humiliation as they stood in silence, gazing with saddened faces at the door through which the girl had gone out, their cup of bitterness was not yet full. the next moment the sheriff, his lips curled inscrutably, said mockingly:
-"well, boys, the right man has come at last. take your medicine, gentlemen."
-his words cut sonora to the quick, and it was with difficulty that he braced himself to hear the worst.
-"who's the man?" he inquired gruffly.
-the sheriff's eyes fastened themselves upon him; at length with deadly coldness he drawled out:
-"johnson's the man."
-all the colour went out of sonora's face, while his lips ejaculated:
-"you lie!" blazed trinidad in the next breath, and made a quick movement towards the sheriff.
-but rance was not to be denied. seeing nick advancing towards them he called upon him to verify his words; but that individual merely looked first at one and then the other and did not answer, which silence infuriated sonora.
-"why, you tol' me . . .?" he said with an angry look in his eye.
-"tol' you, sonora? why he tol' me the same thing," protested trinidad with an earnestness that, at any other time, would have sent his listeners into fits of laughter.
-this was too much for sonora; he flew into a paroxysm of rage.
-"well, for a first-class liar . . .!"
-"you bet!" corroborated trinidad, relapsing, despite his anger, into his pet phrase. "the wu'st blow i ever remember," began the skipper, leaning back and hooking his brown hands behind his head like a basket, "was my second trip to bonis airis--general cargo out, to fetch back hides. it was that trip we found the shark that had starved to death, and that was a story that was worth speakin' of. it--"
-with one leap the cap'n was at his rope, and began to haul in hand over hand.
-the big gate at the mouth of the bridge squalled on its rusty hinges.
-"you mustn't shut that gate--you mustn't!" shrieked the little woman. she ran and clutched at his sturdy arms. "that's my brother that's coming! you'll break his neck!"
-the gate was already half shut, and the doughty skipper kept on pulling at the rope.
-"can't help it, ma'am, if it's the apostle paul," he gritted. "there ain't nobody goin' to run toll on this bridge."
-"it will kill him."
-"it's him that's lickin' that hoss. 'tain't me."
-"it's my brother, i tell you!" she tried to drag the rope out of his hands, but he shook her off, pulled the big gate shut, set his teeth, clung to the rope, and waited.
-the rush down the hill had been so impetuous and the horse was now running so madly under the whip that there was no such thing as checking him. with a crash of splintering wood he drove breast-on against the gate, throwing up his bony head at the end of his scraggy neck. at the crash the woman screamed and covered her eyes. but the outfit was too much of a catapult to be stopped. through the gate it went, and the wagon roared away through the bridge, the driver yelling oaths behind him.
-cap'n aaron sproul walked out and strolled among the scattered debris, kicking it gloomily to right and left. the woman followed him.
-"it was awful," she half sobbed.
-"so you're miss jane ward, be ye?" he growled, glancing at her from under his knotted eyebrows. "speakin' of your pets, i should reckon that 'ere brother of yourn wa'n't one that you had tamed down fit to be turned loose. but you tell him for me, the next time you see him, that i'll plug the end of that bridge against him if it takes ev'ry dum cent of the prop'ty i'm wuth--and that's thutty thousand dollars, if it's a cent. i ain't none of your two-cent chaps!" he roared, visiting his wrath vicariously on her as a representative of the family. "i've got money of my own. your brother seems to have made door-mats out'n most of the folks round here, but i'll tell ye that he's wiped his feet on me for the last time. you tell him that, dum him!"
-her face was white, and her eyes were shining as she looked at him.
-"gideon has always had his own way, cap'n sproul," she faltered. "i hope you won't feel too bitter against him. it would be awful--he so headstrong--and you so--so--brave!" she choked this last out, unclasping her hands.
-"well, i ain't no coward, and i never was," blurted the cap'n.
-"it's the bravest man that overcomes himself," she said. "now, you have good judgment, cap'n. my brother is hot-headed. every one knows that you are a brave man. you can afford to let him go over the bridge without--"
-"never!" the skipper howled, in his best sea tones. "you're the last woman to coax and beg for him, if half what they tell me is true. he has abused you wuss'n he has any one else. if you and the rest ain't got any spunk, i have. you'll be one brother out if he comes slam-bangin' this way ag'in."
-she looked at him appealingly for a moment, then tiptoed over the fragments of the gate, and hurried away through the bridge.
-"you ain't no iron-clad, kun'l ward," muttered sproul. "i'll hold ye next time."
-he set to work on the river-bank that afternoon, cutting saplings, trusting to the squall of the faithful parrots to signal the approach of passers.
-but the next day, when he was nailing the saplings to make a truly brobdingnagian grid, one of the directors of the bridge company appeared to him.
-"we're not giving you license to let any one run toll on this bridge, you understand," said the director, "but this fighting colonel ward with our property is another matter. it's like fighting a bear with your fists. and even if you killed the bear, the hide wouldn't be worth the damage. he has got too many ways of hurting us, cap'n. he has always had his own way in these parts, and he probably always will. let him go. we won't get the toll, nor the fines, but we'll have our bridge left."
-"i was thinking of resigning this job," returned the cap'n; "it was not stirrin' enough for a seafarin' man; but i'm sort of gittin' int'rested. how much will ye take for your bridge?"
-but the director curtly refused to sell.
-"all right, then," said the skipper, chocking his axe viciously into a sapling birch and leaving it there, "i'll fill away on another tack."
-for the next two weeks, as though to exult in his victory, the colonel made many trips past the toll-house.
-he hurled much violent language at the cap'n. the cap'n, reinforced with his vociferous parrots, returned the language with great enthusiasm and volubility.
-then came the day once more when the little woman sat down in a chair in the shade of the woodbine.
-"i took the first chance, cap'n, while my brother has gone up-country, to come to tell you how much i appreciate your generous way of doing what i asked of you. you are the first man that ever put away selfish pride and did just what i asked."
-the seaman started to repudiate vigorously, but looked into her brimming eyes a moment, choked, and was silent.
-"yes, sir, you're what i call noble, not to pay any attention to the boasts my brother is making of how he has backed you down."
-"he is, is he?" the cap'n rolled up his lip and growled.
-"but i know just how brave you are, to put down all your anger at the word of a poor woman. and a true gentleman, too. there are only a few real gentlemen in the world, after all."
-the cap'n slid his thumb into the armhole of his waistcoat and swelled his chest out a little.
-"there was no man ever come it over me, and some good ones have tried it, ma'am. so fur as women goes, i ain't never been married, but i reckon i know what politeness to a lady means."
-she smiled at him brightly, and with such earnest admiration that he felt a flush crawling up from under his collar. he blinked at her and looked away. starboard, with an embarrassing aptness that is sometimes displayed by children, whistled a few bars of "a sailor's wife a sailor's star should be."
-"i don't mind owning up to you that my brother has imposed upon me in a great many ways," said the little lady, her eyes flashing. "i have endured a good deal from him because he is my brother. i know just how you feel about him, cap'n, and that's why it makes me feel that we have a--a sort of what you might call common interest. i don't know why i'm talking so frankly with you, who are almost a stranger, but i've been--i have always lacked friends so much, that now i can't seem to help it. you truly do seem like an old friend, you have been so willing to do what i asked of you, after you had time to think it over."
-the cap'n was now congratulating himself that he hadn't blurted out anything about the bridge director and that sapling fence. it certainly was a grateful sound--that praise from the pretty lady! he didn't want to interrupt it.
-"now will you go on with that story of the storm?" she begged, hitching the chair a bit nearer. "i want to hear about your adventures."
-she had all the instincts of desdemona, did that pretty little lady. three times that week she came to the toll-house and listened with lips apart and eyes shining. cap'n sproul had never heard of othello and his wooing, but after a time his heart began to glow under the reverent regard she bent on him. never did mutual selection more naturally come about. she loved him for the perils he had braved, and he--robbed of his mistress, the sea--yearned for just such companionship as she was giving him. he had known that life lacked something. this was it.
-and when one day, after a stuttering preamble that lasted a full half hour, he finally blurted out his heart-hankering, she wept a little while on his shoulder--it being luckily a time when there was no one passing--and then sobbingly declared it could never be.
-"'fraid of your brother, hey?" he inquired.
-she bumped her forehead gently on his shoulder in nod of assent.
-"i reckon ye like me?"
-"oh, aaron!" it was a volume of rebuke, appeal, and affection in two words.
-"then there ain't nothin' more to say, little woman. you ain't never had any one to look out for your int'rests in this life. after this, it's me that does it. i don't want your money. i've got plenty of my own. but your interests bein' my interests after this, you hand ev'rything over to me, and i'll put a twist in the tail of that bengal tiger in your fam'ly that 'll last him all his life."
-at the end of a long talk he sent her away with a pat on her shoulder and a cheery word in her ear.
-it was old man jordan who, a week or so later, on his way to the village with butter in his bucket, stood in the middle of the road and tossed his arms so frenziedly that colonel ward, gathering up his speed behind the willows, pulled up with an oath.
-"ye're jest gittin' back from up-country, ain't ye?" asked uncle jordan.
-"what do you mean, you old fool, by stoppin' me when i'm busy? what be ye, gittin' items for newspapers?"
-"no, kun'l ward, but i've got some news that i thought ye might like to hear before ye went past the toll-house this time. intentions between cap'n aaron sproul and miss jane ward has been published."
-"they were married yistiddy."
-"wha--" the cry broke into inarticulateness.
-"the cap'n ain't goin' to be toll-man after to-day. says he's goin' to live on the home place with his wife. there!" uncle jordan stepped to one side just in time, for the gaunt horse sprung under the lash as though he had the wings of pegasus.
-the cap'n was sitting in front of the toll-house. the tall horse galloped down the hill, but the colonel stood up, and, with elbows akimbo and hands under his chin, yanked the animal to a standstill, his splay feet skating through the highway dust. the colonel leaped over the wheel and reversed his heavy whip-butt. the cap'n stood up, gripping a stout cudgel that he had been whittling at for many hours.
-while the new arrival was choking with an awful word that he was trying his best to work out of his throat, the cap'n pulled his little note-book out of his pocket and slowly drawled:
-"i reckoned as how ye might find time to stop some day, and i've got your account all figgered. you owe thirteen tolls at ten cents each, one thutty, and thirteen times three dollars fine--the whole amountin' to jest forty dollars and thutty cents. then there's a gate to--"
-"i'm goin' to kill you right in your tracks where you stand!" bellowed the colonel.
-the cap'n didn't wait for the attack. he leaped down off his porch, and advanced with the fierce intrepidity of a sea tyrant.
-"you'll pay that toll bill," he gritted, "if i have to pick it out of your pockets whilst the coroner is settin' on your remains."
-the bully of the countryside quailed.
-"you've stole my sister!" he screamed. "this ain't about toll i'm talkin'. you've been and robbed me of my sister!"
-"do you want to hear a word on that?" demanded the cap'n, grimly. he came close up, whirling the cudgel. "you're an old, cheap, ploughed-land blowhard, that's what you are! you've cuffed 'round hired men and abused weak wimmen-folks. i knowed you was a coward when i got that line on ye. you don't dast to stand up to a man like me. i'll split your head for a cent." he kept advancing step by step, his mien absolutely demoniac. "i've married your sister because she wanted me. now i'm goin' to take care of her. i've got thutty thousand dollars of my own, and she's giv' me power of attorney over hers. i'll take every cent of what belongs to her out of your business, and i know enough of the way that your business is tied up to know that i can crowd you right to the wall. now do ye want to fight?"
-the tyrant's face grew sickly white, for he realized all that threat meant.
-"but there ain't no need of a fight in the fam'ly--and i want you to understand that i'm a pretty dum big part of the fam'ly after this. be ye ready to listen to reason?"
-"you're a robber!" gasped the colonel, trying again to muster his anger.
-"i've got a proposition to make so that there won't be no pull-haulin' and lawyers to pay, and all that."
-"what is it?"
-"pardnership between you and me--equal pardners. i've been lookin' for jest this chance to go into business."
-the colonel leaped up, and began to stamp round his wagon.
-"shouldn't wonder if i could put you there," calmly rejoined the cap'n. "these forced lickidations to settle estates is something awful when the books ain't been kept any better'n yours. i shouldn't be a mite surprised to find that the law would get a nab on you for cheatin' your poor sister."
-again the colonel's face grew white.
-"you've got me where i'll have to," wailed the colonel.
-"is it pardnership?"
-"yas!" he barked the word.
-"now, colonel ward, there's only one way for you and me to do bus'ness the rest of our lives, and that's on the square, cent for cent. we might as well settle that p'int now. fix up that toll bill, or it's all off. i won't go into business with a man that don't pay his honest debts."
-he came forward with his hand out.
-the colonel paid.
-"now," said the cap'n, "seein' that the new man is here, ready to take holt, and the books are all square, i'll ride home with you. i've been callin' it home now for a couple of days."
-the new man at the toll-house heard the cap'n talking serenely as they drove away.
-"i didn't have any idee, colonel, i was goin' to like it so well on shore as i do. of course, you meet some pleasant and some unpleasant people, but that sister of yours is sartinly the finest woman that ever trod shoe-leather, and it was providunce a-speakin' to me when she--"
-the team passed away into the gloomy mouth of the smyrna bridge.
-once on a time when the wixon boy put paris-green in the trufants' well, because the oldest trufant girl had given him the mitten, marm gossip gabbled in smyrna until flecks of foam gathered in the corners of her mouth.
-but when cap'n aaron sproul, late of the deep sea, so promptly, so masterfully married col. gideon ward's sister--after the irascible colonel had driven every other suitor away from that patient lady--and then gave the colonel his "everlasting comeuppance," and settled down in smyrna as boss of the ward household, that event nearly wore gossip's tongue into ribbons.
-"i see'd it from a distance--the part that happened in front of the toll-house," said old man jordan. "now, all of ye know that kun'l gid most gin'ly cal'lates to eat up folks that says 'boo' to him, and pick his teeth with slivers of their bones. but talk about your r'yal peeruvian ragin' lions--of wherever they come from--why, that cap'n sproul could back a 'rabian caterwouser right off'm caterwouser township! i couldn't hear what was said, but i see kun'l gid, hoss-gad and all, backed right up into his own wagon; and cap'n sproul got in, and took the reins away from him as if he'd been a pindlin' ten-year-old, and drove off toward the ward home place. and that cap'n don't seem savage, nuther."
-"wal, near's i can find out," said odbar broadway from behind his counter, where he was counting eggs out of old man jordan's bucket, "the cap'n had a club in one hand and power of attorney from kun'l gid's sister in the other--and a threat to divide the ward estate. the way gid's bus'ness is tied up jest at present would put a knot into the tail of 'most any kind of a temper."
-"i'm told the cap'n is makin' her a turrible nice husband," observed one of the store loungers.
-broadway folded his specs into their case and came from behind the counter.
-"bein' a bus'ness man myself," he said, "i come pretty nigh knowin' what i'm talkin' about. kun'l gid ward can never flout and jeer that the man that has married his sister was nothin' but a prop'ty-hunter. i'm knowin' to it that cap'n sproul has got thutty thousand in vessel prop'ty of his own, 'sides what his own uncle jerry here left to him. gid ward has trompled round this town for twenty-five years, and bossed and browbeat and cussed, and got the best end of every trade. if there's some one come along that can put the wickin' to him in good shape, i swow if this town don't owe him a vote of thanks."
-"there's a movement on already to ask cap'n sproul to take the office of first s'lec'man at the march meetin'," said one of the loafers.
-"i sha'n't begretch him one mite of his popularity," vowed the storekeeper. "any man that can put kun'l gid ward where he belongs is a better thing for the town than a new meetin'-house would be."
-but during all this flurry of gossip cap'n aaron sproul spent his bland and blissful days up under the shade of the big maple in the ward dooryard, smoking his pipe, and gazing out over the expanse of meadow and woodland stretching away to the horizon.
-most of the time his wife was at his elbow, peering with a species of adoration into his browned countenance as he related his tales of the sea. she constantly carried a little blank-book, its ribbon looped about her neck, and made copious entries as he talked. she had conceived the fond ambition of writing the story of his life. on the cover was inscribed, in her best hand:
-from shore to shore
-lines from a mariner's adventures
-the life story of the gallant captain aaron sproul
-written by his affectionate wife
-"i reckon that providunce put her finger on my compass when i steered this way. louada murilla," said the cap'n one day, pausing to relight his pipe.
-he had insisted on renaming his wife "louada murilla," and she had patiently accepted the new name with the resignation of her patient nature. but the name pleased her after her beloved lord had explained.
-"i was saving that name for the handsomest clipper-ship that money could build," he said. "but when i married you, little woman, i got something better than a clipper-ship; and when you know sailorman's natur' better, you'll know what that compliment means. yes, providunce sent me here," continued the cap'n, poking down his tobacco with broad thumb. "there i was, swashin' from hackenny to t'other place, livin' on lobscouse and hoss-meat; and here you was, pinin' away for some one to love you and to talk to you about something sensibler than dropped stitches and croshayed lamp-mats. near's i can find out about your 'sociates round here, you would have got more real sense out of talkin' with port and starboard up there," he added, pointing to his pet parrots, which had followed him in his wanderings. "we was both of us hankerin' for a companion--i mean a married companion. and i reckon that two more suiteder persons never started down the shady side--holt of hands, hey?"
-he caught her hands and pulled her near him, and she bent down and kissed his weather-beaten forehead.
-at that instant col. gideon ward came clattering into the yard in his tall wagon. he glared at this scene of conjugal affection, and then lashed his horse savagely and disappeared in the direction of the barn.
-"i read once about a skelington at a feast that rattled his dry bones every time folks there started in to enjoy themselves," said the cap'n, after he watched the scowling colonel out of sight. "for the last two weeks, louada murilla, it don't seem as if i've smacked you or you've smacked me but when i've jibed my head i've seen that ga'nt brother-in-law o' mine standing off to one side sourer'n a home-made cucumber pickle."
-"it's aggravatin' for you, i know it is," she faltered. "but i've been thinkin' that perhaps he'd get more reconciled as the time goes on."
-"reconciled?" snapped the cap'n, a little of the pepper in his nature coming to the surface. "if it was any one but you little woman, that talked about me as though i was death or an amputated leg in this family, i'd get hot under the collar. but i tell ye, we ain't got many years left to love each other in. we started pritty late. we can't afford to waste any time. and we can't afford to have the edge taken off by that chinese image standin' around and makin' faces. i've been thinkin' of tellin' him so. but the trouble is with me that when i git to arguin' with a man i'm apt to forgit that i ain't on shipboard and talkin' to a tar-heel."
-he surveyed his brown fists with a certain apprehensiveness, as though they were dangerous parties over whom he had no control.
-"i should dretfully hate to have anything come up between you and gideon, cap'n," she faltered, a frightened look in her brown eyes. "it wouldn't settle anything to have trouble. but you've been about so much and seen human nature so much that it seems as though you could handle him different than with--with--"
-"poundin' him, eh?" smiles broke over the skipper's face. "see how i'm softened, little woman!" he cried. "time was when i would have chased a man that made faces at me as he done just now, and i'd have pegged him into the ground. but love has done a lot for me in makin' me decent. if i keep on, i'll forgit i've got two fists--and that's something for a shipmaster to say, now, i'll tell ye! a man has got to git into love himself to know how it feels."
-sudden reflection illuminated his face.
-"ain't old pickalilly--that brother of yourn--ever been in love?" he asked.
-"why--why," she stammered, "he's been in--well, sometimes now i think perhaps it ain't love, knowin' what i do now--but he's been engaged to pharlina pike goin' on fifteen years. and he's been showin' her attentions longer'n that. but since i've met you and found out how folks don't usually wait so long if they--they're in love--well, i've--"
-"fifteen years!" he snorted. "what is he waitin' for--for her to grow up?"
-"land sakes, no! she's about as old as he is. she's old seth pike's daughter, and since seth died she has run the pike farm with hired help, and has done real well at it. long engagements ain't thought strange of 'round here. why, there's--"
-"fifteen years!" he repeated. "that's longer'n old methus'lum courted."
-"but gideon has been so busy and away from home so much in the woods, and pharlina ain't been in no great pucker, seein' that the farm was gettin' on well, and--"
-"there ain't no excuse for him," broke in the cap'n, with vigor. he was greatly interested in this new discovery. his eyes gleamed. "'tain't usin' her right. she can't step up to him and set the day. 'tain't woman's sp'ere, that ain't. i didn't ask you to set the day. i set it myself. i told you to be ready."
-her cheek flushed prettily at the remembrance of that impetuous courtship, when even her dread of her ogre brother had been overborne by the cap'n's masterful manner, once she had confessed her love.
-they saw the colonel stamping in their direction from the barn.
-"you run into the house, louada murilla," directed the cap'n, "and leave me have a word with him."
-the colonel was evidently as anxious as the cap'n for a word.
-"say, sproul," he gritted, as he came under the tree, "i've got an offer for the stumpage on township number eight. seein' that you're in equal partners with me on my sister's money," he sneered, "i reckon i've got to give ye figures and prices, and ask for a permit to run my own business."
-"seems 'most as if you don't enj'y talkin' business with me," observed the cap'n, with a meek wistfulness that was peculiarly aggravating to his grouchy partner.
-"i'd about as soon eat pizen!" stormed the other.
-"then let's not do it jest now," the cap'n returned, sweetly. "i've got something more important to talk about than stumpage. money and business ain't much in this world, after all, when you come to know there's something diff'runt. love is what i'm referrin' to. word has jest come to me that you're in love, too, the same as i am."
-the gaunt colonel glared malevolently down on the sturdy figure sprawling in the garden chair. the cap'n's pipe clouds curled about his head, and his hands were stuffed comfortably into his trousers pockets. his face beamed.
-"some might think to hear you talk that you was a soft old fool that had gone love-cracked 'cause a woman jest as soft as you be has showed you some attention," choked the colonel. "but i know what you're hidin' under your innocent-abigail style. i know you're a jill-poke."
-"a what?" blandly asked sproul.
-"that's woods talk for the log that makes the most trouble on the drive--and it's a mighty ornery word."
-"er--something like 'the stabboard pi-oogle,' which same is a seafarin' term, and is worse," replied the cap'n, with bland interest in this philological comparison. "but let's not git strayed off'm the subject. your sister, louada murilla--"
-the gaunt man clacked his bony fists together in ecstasy of rage.
-"she was christened sarah jane, and that's her name. don't ye insult the father and mother that gave it to her by tackin' on another. i've told ye so once; i tell ye so--"
-"louada murilla," went on the cap'n, taking his huge fists out of his pockets and cocking them on his knees, not belligerently, but in a mildly precautionary way, "told me that you had been engaged to a woman named phar--phar--"
-"oh, give her any name to suit ye!" snarled the colonel. "that's what ye're doin' with wimmen round here."
-"you know who i mean," pursued sproul, complacently, "seein' that you've had fifteen years to study on her name. now, bein' as i'm one of the fam'ly, i'm going to ask you what ye're lally-gaggin' along for? wimmen don't like to be on the chips so long. i am speakin' to you like a man and a brother when i say that married life is what the poet says it is. it's--"
-"i've stood a good deal from you up to now!" roared ward, coming close and leaning over threateningly. "you come here to town with so much tar on ye that your feet stuck every time you stood still in one place; you married my sister like you'd ketch a woodchuck; you've stuck your fingers into my business in her name--but that's jest about as fur as you can go with me. there was only one man ever tried to advise me about gitting married--and he's still a cripple. there was no man ever tried to recite love poetry to me. you take fair warnin'."
-"then you ain't willin' to listen to my experience, considerin' that i've been a worse hard-shell than you ever was in marriage matters, and now see the errors of my ways?" the cap'n was blinking up wistfully.
-"it means that i take ye by your heels and snap your head off," rasped ward, tucking his sleeves away from his corded wrists. "you ain't got your club with you this time."
-the cap'n sighed resignedly.
-"now," went on the colonel, with the vigorous decision of a man who feels that he has got the ascendency, "you talk about something that amounts to something. that stumpage on number eight is mostly cedar and hackmatack, and i've got an offer from the folks that want sleepers for the railroad extension."
-he went on with facts and figures, but the cap'n listened with only languid interest. he kept sighing and wrinkling his brows, as though in deep rumination on a matter far removed from the stumpage question. when the agreement of sale was laid before him he signed with a blunted lead-pencil, still in his trance.
-"northin' but a cross-cut saw with two axe-handles for legs," he said to himself, his eyes on the colonel's back as that individual stamped wrathfully away. "teeth and edge are hard as iron! it's no good to talk mattermony to him. prob'ly it wouldn't do no good for me to talk mattermony to phar--phar--to t'other one. she couldn't ask him to go git a minister. 'tain't right to put that much onto a woman's shoulders. the trouble with him is that he's too sure of wimmen. had his sister under his thumb all them years, and thought less and less of her for stayin' there. he's too sure of t'other. thinks nobody else wants her. thinks all he's got to do is step round and git her some day. ain't got no high idee of wimmen like i have. thinks they ought to wait patient as a tree in a wood-lot. has had things too much his own way, i say. hain't never had his lesson. thinks nobody else don't want her, hey? and she can wait his motions! he needs his lesson. lemme see!"
-with his knurly forefinger at his puckered forehead he sat and pondered.
-he was very silent at supper.
-the colonel, still exulting in his apparent victory, said many sneering and savage things, and clattered his knife truculently on his plate. sproul merely looked at him with that wistful preoccupation that still marked his countenance.
-"he's a quitter," pondered the colonel. "i reckon he ain't playin' lamb so's to tole me on. he's growed soft--that's what he's done."
-ward went to sleep that night planning retaliation.
-sproul stayed awake when the house was quiet, still pondering.
-during the next few days, as one treads farther and farther out upon thin ice to test it, the colonel craftily set about regaining, inch by inch, his lost throne as tyrant. occasionally he checked himself in some alarm, to wonder what meant that ridging of the cap'n's jaw-muscles, and whether he really heard the seaman's teeth gritting. once, when he recoiled before an unusually demoniac glare from sproul, the latter whined, after a violent inward struggle:
-"it beats all how my rheumaticks has been talkin' up lately. i don't seem to have no ginger nor spirit left in me. i reckon i got away from the sea jest in time. i wouldn't even dare to order a nigger to swab decks, the way i'm feelin' now."
-"you've allus made a good deal of talk about how many men you've handled in your day," said the colonel, tucking a thumb under his suspender and leaning back with supercilious cock of his gray eyebrows. "it's bein' hinted round town here more or less that you're northin' but bluff. i don't realize, come to think it over, how i ever come to let you git such a holt in my fam'ly. i--"
-the two were sitting, as was their custom in those days of the colonel's espionage, under the big maple in the yard. a man who was passing in the highway paused and leaned on the fence.
-"can one of you gents tell me," he asked, "where such a lady as miss phar"--he consulted a folded paper that he held in his hand--"pharleena pike lives about here?"
-he was an elderly man with a swollen nose, striated with purple veins. under his arm he carried a bundle done up in meat-paper.
-there was a queer glint of excitement in the eyes of the cap'n. but he did not speak. he referred the matter to ward with a jab of his thumb.
-"what do you want to know where miss pike lives for?" demanded the colonel, looking the stranger over with great disfavor.
-"none of your business," replied the man of the swollen nose, promptly. "i've asked a gent's question of one i took to be a gent, and i'd like a gent's reply."
-"you see," said cap'n sproul to the stranger, with a confidential air, as though he were proposing to impart the secret of the colonel's acerbity, "colonel ward here is--"
-"you go 'long two miles, swing at the drab school-house, and go to the second white house on the left-hand side of the road!" shouted ward, hastily breaking in on the explanation. his thin cheeks flushed angrily. the man shuffled on.
-"why don't you print it on a play-card that i'm engaged to pharlina pike and hang it on the fence there?" the colonel snorted, wrathfully, whirling on the cap'n. "didn't it ever occur to you that some things in this world ain't none of your business?"
-the cap'n sighed with the resigned air that he had been displaying during the week past.
-"lemme see, where was i?" went on the colonel, surlily. "i was sayin', wasn't i, that i didn't see how i'd let you stick yourself into this fam'ly as you've done? it's time now for you and me to git to a reck'nin'. there's blamed liars round here snick'rin' in their whiskers, and sayin' that you've backed me down. now--"
-another man was at the fence, and interrupted with aggravating disregard of the colonel's intentness on the business in hand. this stranger was short and squat, stood with his feet braced wide apart, and had a canvas bag slung over his shoulder. his broad face wore a cheery smile.
-"i've beat nor'west from the railroad, fetched a covered bridge on the port quarter, shipmates," he roared, jovially, "and here i be, bearin's lost and dead-reck'nin' skow-wowed."
-"seems to be your breed," sneered ward to the cap'n. "what's that he's sayin', put in human language?"
-"i'm chartered for port--port"--he also referred to a folded paper--"to port furliny pike, som'eres in this latitude. give me p'ints o' compass, will ye?"
-ward leaped to his feet and strode toward the fence, his long legs working like calipers.
-"what do ye want of pharline pike?" he demanded, angrily.
-"none of your business," replied the cheerful sailor. "if this is the way landlubbers take an honest man's hail, ye're all jest as bad as i've heard ye was."
-"i'm a mind to cuff your ears," yapped the colonel.
-the other glanced up the angular height of his antagonist.
-"try it," he said, squaring his sturdy little figure. "try it, and i'll climb your main riggin' and dance a jig on that dog-vane of a head of yourn."
-this alacrity for combat clearly backed down ward. in his rampageous life his tongue had usually served him better than his fists.
-"avast, shipmate!" called the cap'n, in his best sea tones. the sailor beamed delighted recognition of marine masonry. "the fact of the matter is, my friend here has some claim--the truth is, he's--"
-"you go 'long two miles, swing at the drab school-house, and then take the second house--white one--on the left-hand side of the road," bawled ward, "and you go mighty quick!"
-the sailor ducked acknowledgment and rolled away.
-"if you'd unpinned that mouth of yourn fur enough to tell that tramp that i'm engaged to pharline pike," growled ward, returning to the tree, "i'd 'a' broke in your head--and you might as well know it first as last."
-"ain't you engaged to her?"
-"you know i be."
-"well, i've allus told the truth all my life--and i reckon i shall continner to tell it. if you're ashamed to have it knowed that you're engaged to pharlina pike, then it's time she heard so. i'd jest as soon tell her as not."
-"near's i can tell from what i hear about you," retorted the cap'n, "built on racin' lines as you be, you've never let a man git near enough to lick ye."
-again the colonel noted that red vengefulness in the skipper's eyes, and recoiled suspiciously.
-"oh, my rheumaticks!" the seaman hastened to moan.
-ward had his back to the fence.
-"i cal'late as how there's another party that wants his bearin's," suggested sproul.
-a rather decayed-looking gentleman, wearing a frock-coat shiny at the elbows, and a fuzzy plug-hat, was tapping his cane against one of the pickets to attract attention.
-"i am looking for the residence of miss pharlina pike," he announced, with a precise puckering of his lips. "i'll thank you for a word of direction. but i want to say, as a lowly follower of the lord--in evangelical lines--that it is not seemly for two men to quarrel in public."
-ward had been gaping at him in amazement.
-"i can tell ye right now," he cried, "that miss pharline pike ain't hirin' no farm-hand that wears a plug-hat! there ain't no need of your goin' to her place."
-"my dear sir," smiled the decayed gentleman, "it is a delicate matter not to be canvassed in public; but i can assure you that i shall not remain with miss pike as a menial or a bond-servant. oh no! not by any means, sir!"
-ward scruffed his hand over his forehead, blinking with puzzled astonishment.
-"i'll thank you for the directions," said the stranger. "they were not able to give me exact instructions at the village--at least, i cannot remember them."
-"i ain't no dadfired guide-board to stand here all day and p'int the way to pharline pike's," roared ward, with a heat that astonished the decayed gentleman.
-"i don't want no elder to go away from this place and report that he wa'n't used respectful," said sproul, meekly, addressing the stranger. "you'll have to excuse colonel ward here. p'r'aps i can say for him, as a pertickler friend, what it wouldn't be modest for him to say himself. the fact is, he's en--"
-the infuriated ward leaped up and down on the sward and shrieked the road instructions to the wayfarer, who hustled away, casting apprehensive glances over his shoulder.
-but when the colonel turned again on the cap'n, the latter rose and hobbled with extravagant limpings toward the house.
-"i don't reckon i can stay out here and pass talk with you, brother-in-law," he called back, reproachfully. "strangers, passin' as they be, don't like to hear no such language as you're usin'. jest think of what that elder said!"
-ward planted himself upon a garden chair, and gazed down the road in the direction in which the strangers had gone. he seemed to be thinking deeply, and the cap'n watched him from behind one of the front-room curtains.
-two more men passed up the road. at the first, the colonel flourished his arms and indulged in violent language, the gist of which the cap'n did not catch. he ran to the fence when the second accosted him, tore off a picket, and flung it after the fleeing man.
-then he sat down and pondered more deeply still.
-he cast occasional glances toward the house, and once or twice arose as though to come in. but he sat down and continued to gaze in the direction of pharlina pike's house.
-it was late in the afternoon when a woman came hurrying down the slope through the maple-sugar grove. the cap'n, at his curtain with his keen sea eye, saw her first. he had been expecting her arrival. he knew her in the distance for pharlina pike, and realized that she had come hot-foot across lots.
-sproul was under the big maple as soon as she.
-"for mercy sakes, colonel gid," she gasped, "come over to my house as quick's you can!"
-she had come up behind him, and he leaped out of his chair with a snap like a jack-in-the-box.
-"there's somethin' on, and i knowed it!" he squalled. "what be them men peradin' past here to your house for, and tellin' me it ain't none of my business? you jest tell me, pharline pike, what you mean by triflin' in this way?"
-"lord knows what it's all about! i don't!" she quavered.
-"you do know, too!" he yelled. "don't ye try to pull wool over my eyes! you do know, too!"
-"it's a turrible thing to be jealous," cooed cap'n sproul to his trembling little wife, who had followed at his heels.
-"i don't know, either," wailed the spinster. "there's one of 'em in the settin'-room balancin' a plug-hat on his knees and sayin', 'lo! the bridegroom cometh'; and there's two on the front steps kickin' the dog ev'ry time he comes at 'em; and there's one in the kitchen that smells o' tar, and has got a bagful of shells and sech things for presents to me; there's one in the barn lookin' over the stock--and i s'pose they're comin' down the chimbly and up the suller stairs by this time. you're the only one i've got in the world to depend on, colonel gid. for mercy sakes, come!"
-"what do they say--what's their excuse?" he demanded, suspiciously.
-"they say--they say," she wailed--"they say they want to marry me, but i don't know what they've all come hov'rin' round me for--honest to moses i don't!" she folded her hands in her apron and wrung them. "i'm pretty nigh scart to death of 'em," she sobbed.
-"i reckon you can give 'em an earful when you git down there," said the cap'n, "when you tell 'em that you've been engaged to her for fifteen years. but it ain't none surprisin' that men that hear of that engagement should most natch'ally conclude that a woman would like to git married after a while. i cal'late ye see now, brother-in-law, that you ain't the only man that appreciates what a good woman miss pharlina pike is."
-"you come along, pharline," said the colonel, taking her arm, after he had bored the cap'n for a moment with flaming eye. "i reckon i can pertect ye from all the tramps ever let loose out of jails--and--and when i git to the bottom of this i predict there'll be bloodshed--there'll be bones broke, anyway." with one more malevolent look at the cap'n he started away.
-"it's only a short cut through the maple growth, louada murilla," said sproul. "my rheumaticks is a good deal better of a sudden. let's you and me go along."
-as they trudged he saw farmers at a distance here and there, and called to them to follow.
-"look here, i don't need no bee!" howled the colonel. "this ain't nothing to spread broadcast in this community."
-"never can tell what's li'ble to happen," retorted sproul. "witnesses don't never hurt cases like this."
-he continued to call the farmers, despite ward's objurgations. farmers called their wives. all followed behind the engaged couple. as usually happens in country communities, word had gone abroad in other directions that there were strange doings at the pike place. with huge satisfaction the cap'n noted that the yard was packed with spectators.
-"where be ye?" bellowed colonel ward, now in a frenzy. "where be ye, ye scalawags that are round tryin' to hector a respectable woman that wouldn't wipe her feet on ye? come out here and talk to me!"
-the neighbors fell back, recognizing his authority in the matter; and the men who were suing this modern penelope appeared from various parts of the premises.
-"i desire to say, as a clergyman along evangelical lines, and not a settled pastor," said the man in the fuzzy plug-hat, "that i do not approve of this person's violent language. i have seen him once before to-day, and he appeared singularly vulgar and unrefined. he used violent language then. i desire to say to you, sir, that i am here on the best of authority"--he tapped his breast pocket--"and here i shall remain until i have discussed the main question thoroughly with the estimable woman who has invited me here."
-"it's a lie--i never invited him, colonel gid!" cried the spinster. "if you're any part of a man, and mean any part of what you have allus said to me, you'll make him take that back."
-for a moment the colonel's jealous suspicion had flamed again, but the woman's appeal fired him in another direction.
-"look here, you men," he shouted, his gaze running over plug-hat, swollen nose, seaman's broad face, and the faces of the other suitors, "i'm gideon ward, of smyrna, and i've been engaged to miss pharline pike for fifteen years, and--"
-"then i don't blame her for changing her mind, ye bloody landlubber!" snorted the seaman, smacking his hand upon his folded paper.
-"being engaged signifies little in the courts of matrimony," said the decayed-looking man with dignity. "she has decided to choose another, and--"
-colonel ward threw back his shoulders and faced them all with glittering eyes.
-"i'd like to see the man that can step into this town and lug off the woman that's promised to me," he raved. "engagements don't hold, hey? then you come this way a week from to-day, and you'll see gideon ward and pharline pike married as tight as a parson can tie the knot. i mean it!" the excitement of the moment, his rage at interference in his affairs, his desire to triumph thus publicly over these strangers, had led him into the declaration.
-the spinster gasped, but she came to him and trustfully put her hand on his arm.
-"p'raps some can be put off by that bluff," said the man with the swollen nose, "but not me that has travelled. i'm here on business, and i've got the dockyments, and if there's any shenanigan, then some one's got to pay me my expenses, and for wear and tear." he waved a paper.
-"it's about time for me to see what you're flourishing round here promiskous, like a bill o' sale of these primises," he snarled.
-"you can read it, and read it out jest as loud as you want to," said the man, coming forward and putting a grimy finger on a paragraph displayed prominently on the folded sheet of newspaper.
-the colonel took one look and choked. an officious neighbor grabbed away the paper when ward made a sign as though to tuck it into his pocket.
-"i'll read it," said the neighbor. "mebbe my eyesight is better'n yourn." then he read, in shrill tones:
-"notice to bachelors
-"unmarried maiden lady, smart and good-looking, desires good husband. has two-hundred-and-thirty-acre farm in good state of cultivation, well stocked, and will promise right party a home and much affection. apply on premises to pharlina pike, smyrna."
-"i never--i never--dadrat the liar that ever wrote that!" screamed the spinster.
-"you see for yourself," said the man of the swollen nose, ignoring her disclaimer. "we're here on business, and expect to be treated like business men--or expenses refunded to us."
-but the colonel roared wordlessly, like some angry animal, seized a pitchfork that was leaning against the side of the spinster's ell, and charged the group of suitors. his mien was too furious. they fled, and fled far and forever.
-"there's some one," said ward, returning into the yard and driving the fork-tines into the ground, "who has insulted miss pike. i'd give a thousand dollars to know who done that writin'."
-only bewildered stares met his furious gaze.
-"i want you to understand," he went on, "that no one can drive me to git married till i'm ready. but i'm standin' here now and tellin' the nosy citizens of this place that i'm ready to be married, and so's she who is goin' to be my companion, and we'll 'tend to our own business in spite of the gossips of smyrna. it's for this day week! i don't want no more lyin' gossip about it. you're gittin' it straight this time. it's for this day week; no invitations, no cards, no flowers, no one's durnation business. there, take that home and chaw on it. pharline, let's you and me go into the house."
-"i reckon there's witnesses enough to make that bindin'," muttered cap'n sproul under his breath.
-he bent forward and tapped the colonel on the arm as ward was about to step upon the piazza.
-"who do ye suspect?" he whispered, hoarsely.
-it was a perfectly lurid gaze that his brother-in-law turned on him.
-what clutched ward's arm was a grip like a vise. he glared into the colonel's eyes with light fully as lurid as that which met his gaze. he spoke low, but his voice had the grating in it that is more ominous than vociferation.
-"i thought i'd warn ye not to twit. my rheumaticks is a good deal better at this writin', and my mind ain't so much occupied by other matters as it has been for a week or so. when you come home don't talk northin' but business, jest as you natch'ally would to a brother-in-law and an equal pardner. that advice don't cost northin', but it's vallyble."
-as cap'n sproul trudged home, his little wife's arm tucked snugly in the hook of his own, he observed, soulfully:
-"mattermony, louada murilla--mattermony, it is a blessed state that it does the heart good to see folks git into as ought to git into it. as the poet says--um-m-m, well, it's in that book on the settin'-room what-not. i'll read it to ye when we git home."
-cap'n aaron sproul was posted that bright afternoon on the end of his piazza. he sat bolt upright and twiddled his gnarled thumbs nervously. his wife came out and sat down beside him.
-"where you left off, cap'n," she prompted meekly, "was when the black, whirling cloud was coming and you sent the men up-stairs--"
-"aloft!" snapped cap'n sproul.
-"i mean aloft--and they were unfastening the sails off the ropes, and--"
-"don't talk of snuggin' a ship like you was takin' in a wash," roared the ship-master, in sudden and ungallant passion. it was the first impatient word she had received from him in that initial, cozy year of their marriage. her mild brown eyes swam in tears as she looked at him wonderingly.
-"i--i haven't ever seen a ship or the sea, but i'm trying so hard to learn, and i love so to hear you talk of the deep blue ocean. it was what first attracted me to you." her tone was almost a whimper.
-but her meekness only seemed to increase the cap'n's impatience.
-"you haven't seemed to be like your natural self for a week," she complained, wistfully. "you haven't seemed to relish telling me stories of the sea and your narrow escapes. you haven't even seemed to relish vittles and the scenery. oh, haven't you been weaned from the sea yet, aaron?"
-cap'n sproul continued to regard his left foot with fierce gloom. he was giving it his undivided attention. it rested on a wooden "cricket," and was encased in a carpet slipper that contrasted strikingly with the congress boot that shod his other foot. red roses and sprays of sickly green vine formed the pattern of the carpet slipper. the heart of a red rose on the toe had been cut out, as though the cankerworm had eaten it; and on a beragged projection that stuck through and exhaled the pungent odor of liniment, the cap'n's lowering gaze was fixed.
-"there's always somethin' to be thankful for," said his meek wife, her eyes following his gaze. "you've only sprained it, and didn't break it. does it still ache, dear?"
-"it aches like--of course it aches!" roared the cap'n. "don't ask that jeebasted, fool question ag'in. i don't mean to be tetchy, louada murilla," he went on, after a little pause, a bit of mildness in his tone, "but you've got to make allowance for the way i feel. the more i set and look at that toe the madder i git at myself. oh, i hadn't ought to have kicked that cousin of yourn, that's what i hadn't!"
-"you don't know how glad i am to hear you say that, aaron," she cried, with fervor. "i was afraid you hadn't repented."
-"i ought to 'a' hit him with a club and saved my toe, that's what i mean," he snorted, with grim viciousness.
-she sighed, and he resumed his dismal survey of the liniment-soaked rags.
-"once when i was--" he resumed, in a low growl, after a time.
-he wriggled the toe in the centre of the rose, and grunted.
-"i was in hopes we wouldn't have any more trouble in the family, only what we've had with brother gideon since we've been married," she said mildly. "of course, marengo todd is only a second cousin of mine, but still, he's in the family, you know, and families hang together, 'cause blood--"
-"blood is what they want, blast 'em!" he bawled, angrily. "i've used marengo orango, there, or whatever you call him, all right, ain't i? i've let him do me! he knowed i was used to sea ways, and wa'n't used to land ways, and that he could do me. i lent him money, first off, because i liked you. and i've lent him money sence because i like a liar--and he's a good one! i've used all your relatives the best i've knowed how, and--and they've turned round and used me! but i've put a dot, full-stop, period to it--and i done it with that toe," he added, scowling at the pathetic heart of the red rose.
-"i wish it hadn't been one of the family," she sighed.
-"it couldn't well help bein' one," snarled the cap'n. "they're about all named todd or ward round here but one, and his name is todd ward brackett, and he's due next. and they're all tryin' to borry money off'm me and sell me spavined hosses. now, let's see if they can take a hint." he tentatively wriggled the toe some more, and groaned. "the todds and the wards better keep away from me."
-then he suddenly pricked up his ears at the sound of the slow rumble of a wagon turning into the yard. the wagon halted, and they heard the buzzing twang of a jew's-harp, played vigorously.
-"there's your todd ward brackett. i predicted him! 'round here to sell ye rotten thread and rusted tinware and his all-fired balm o' joy liniment."
-"i'll chop that toe off and use it for cod bait before i'll cure it by buying any more liniment off'm him," the cap'n retorted. "you jest keep your settin', louada murilla. i'll tend to your fam'ly end after this."
-he struggled up and began to hop toward the end of the piazza. the new arrival had burst into cheery song:
-"there was old hip huff, who went by freight to newry corner, in this state. packed him in a--"
-there was a red van in the yard, its side bearing the legend:
-tinware and yankee notions.
-licensed by c.c.
-a brisk, little, round-faced man sat on the high seat, bolt upright in the middle of it, carolling lustily. it was "balm o' joy" brackett, pursuing his humble vocation and using his familiar method of attracting customers to their doors.
-"shet up that clack!" roared the cap'n.
-"hillo, hullo, hallah, gallant captain," chirped brackett, imperturbable under the seaman's glare. "i trust that glory floods your soul and all the world seems gay." and he went on breathlessly:
-"may ev'ry hour of your life seem like a pan of jersey milk, and may you skim the cream off'm it. let's be happy, let's be gay, trade with me when i come your way. tinware shines like the new-ris' sun, twist, braid, needles beat by none; here's your values, cent by cent, and balm o' joy lin-i-ment. trade with--"
-"git out o' this yard!" bawled the cap'n, in his storm-and-tempest tones. "you crack-brained, rag-and-bone-land-pirate, git off'm my premises! i don't want your stuff. i've bought the last cent's wu'th of you i'll ever buy. git out!"
-"the cap'n isn't well to-day, todd," quavered mrs. sproul. fear prompted her to keep still. but many years of confidential barter of rags for knicknacks had made todd brackett seem like "own folks," as she expressed it. "we won't trade any to-day," she added, apologetically.
-"nor we won't trade ever," bawled the cap'n, poising himself on one foot like an angry hawk. "you go 'long out of this yard."
-without losing his smile--for he had been long accustomed to the taunts and tirades of dissatisfied housewives--the peddler backed his cart around and drove away, crying over his shoulder with great good-humor:
-"a merry life and a jolly life is the life for you and me!"
-"i'll make life merry for ye, if ye come into this yard ag'in, you whiffle-headed dog-vane, you!" the cap'n squalled after him. but brackett again struck up his roundelay:
-"there was old hip huff, who went by freight to newry corner, in this state. put him in a crate to git him there, with a two-cent stamp to pay his fare. rowl de fang-go--old smith's mare."
-the cap'n hopped into the house and set his foot again on the cricket that his wife brought dutifully. he gritted his teeth as long as the voice of the singer came to his ears.
-"i wish you hadn't," mourned his wife; "he's as good-meaning a man as there is in town, even if he is a little light-headed. he's always given me good trades, and his st'ilyards don't cheat on rags."
-the old mariner was evidently preparing a stinging reply, but a knock on the door interrupted him. louada murilla admitted three men, who marched in solemnly, one behind the other, all beaming with great cordiality. cap'n sproul, not yet out of the doldrums, simply glowered and grunted as they took seats.
-then one of them, whom sproul knew as ludelphus murray, the local blacksmith, arose and cleared his throat with ominous formality.
-"it's best to hammer while the iron is hot, cap'n," he said. "it won't take many clips o' the tongue to tell you what we've come for. we three here are a committee from the smyrna ancient and honer'ble firemen's association to notify you that at a meetin' last ev'nin' you was unanimously elected a member of that organization, and--"
-"oh, aaron!" cried louada murilla, ecstatically. "how glad i am this honor has been given to you! my own father belonged."
-"and," continued murray, with a satisfied smile, and throwing back his shoulders as one who brings great tidings, "it has been realized for a long time that there ain't been the discipline in the association that there ought to be. we have now among us in our midst one who has commanded men and understands how to command men; one who has sailed the ragin' deep in times of danger, and--and, well, a man that understands how to go ahead and take the lead in tittlish times. so the association"--he took a long breath--"has elected you foreman, and i hereby hand you notice of the same and the book of rules."
-the cap'n scowled and put his hand behind the rocking-chair in which he was seated.
-"not by a--" he began, but murray went on with cheerful explanation.
-"i want to say to you that this association is over a hundred years old, and our hand tub, the 'hecla,' is ninety-seven years old, and has took more prizes squirtin' at musters than any other tub in the state. we ain't had many fires ever in smyrna, but the ancients take the leadin' rank in all social events, and our dances and banquets are patronized by the best."
-"it's an awful big honor, aaron," gasped his wife. she turned to the committee. "the cap'n hasn't been feelin' well, gentlemen, and this honor has kind of overcome him. but i know he appreciates it. my own father was foreman once, and it's a wonderful thing to think that my husband is now."
-"'tain't likely that the ancients will ever forgit them dinners we had here, mis' sproul," remarked one of the men, 'suffling' the moisture at the corners of his mouth.
-"seein' that you ain't well, we don't expect no speech, cap'n," said murray, laying the documents upon sproul's knee. "i see that the honor has overcome you, as it nat'rally might any man. we will now take our leave with a very good-day, and wishin' you all of the best, yours truly, and so forth." he backed away, and the others rose.
-"pass through the kitchen, gentlemen," said mrs. sproul, eagerly. "i will set out a treat." they trudged that way with deep bows at the threshold to their newly drafted foreman, who still glared at them speechlessly.
-when mrs. sproul returned at length, still fluttering in her excitement, he was reading the little pamphlet that had been left with him, a brick-red color slowly crawling up the back of his neck.
-"just think of it for an honor, aaron," she stammered, "and you here in town only such a little while! oh, i am so proud of you! mr. murray brought the things in his team and left them on the piazza. i'll run and get them."
-she spread them on the sitting-room floor, kneeling before him like a priestess offering sacrifice. with his thumb in the pamphlet, he stared at the array.
-there was a battered leather hat with a broad apron, or scoop, behind to protect the back. on a faded red shield above the visor was the word "foreman." there were two equally battered leather buckets. there was a dented speaking-trumpet. these the cap'n dismissed one by one with an impatient scowl. but he kicked at one object with his well foot.
-"what's that infernal thing?" he demanded.
-"a bed-wrench, aaron. it's to take apart corded beds so as to get them out of houses that are on fire. there aren't hardly any corded beds now, of course, but it's a very old association that you're foreman of, and the members keep the old things. it's awfully nice to do so, i think. it's like keeping the furniture in old families. and that big bag there, with the puckerin'-string run around it, is the bag to put china and valuables into and lug away."
-"and your idee of an honor, is it," he sneered, "is that i'm goin' to put that dingbusset with a leather back-fin onto my head and grab up them two leather swill-pails and stick that iron thing there under my arm and grab that puckering-string bag in my teeth and start tophet-te-larrup over this town a-chasin' fires? say--" but his voice choked, and he began to read once more the pamphlet. the red on the back of his neck grew deeper.
-at last the explosion occurred.
-"louada murilla sproul, do you mean to say that you've had this thing in your fam'ly once, and was knowin' what it meant, and then let them three shanghaiers come in here and shove this bloodsucker bus'ness onto me, and git away all safe and sound? i had been thinkin' that your todds and wards was spreadin' some sail for villuns, but they're only moskeeters to barb'ry pirates compared with this."
-he cuffed his hand against the open pages of the pamphlet.
-"it says here that the foreman has to set up a free dinner for 'em four times a year and ev'ry holiday. it says that the foreman is fined two dollars for ev'ry monthly meetin' that he misses, other members ten cents. he's fined ten dollars for ev'ry fire that he isn't at, other members a quarter of a dollar. he's fined one dollar for ev'ry time he's ketched without his hat, buckets, bag, and bed-wrench hung in his front hall where they belong, other members ten cents. and he's taxed a quarter of the whole expenses of gittin' to firemen's muster and back. talk about lettin' blood with a gimlet! why, they're after me with a pod-auger!"
-all the afternoon he read the little book, cuffed it, and cursed. he snapped up louada murilla with scant courtesy when she tried to give him the history of smyrna's most famous organization, and timorously represented to him the social eminence he had attained.
-"it isn't as though you didn't have money, and plenty of it," she pleaded. "you can't get any more good out of it than by spending it that way. i tell you, aaron, it isn't to be sneezed at, leading all the grand marches at the ancients' dances and being boss of 'em all at the muster, with the band a-playin' and you leading 'em right up the middle of the street. it's worth it, aaron--and i shall be so proud of you!"
-he grumbled less angrily the next morning. but he still insisted that he didn't propose to let the consolidated todds and wards of smyrna bunco him into taking the position, and said that he should attend the next meeting of the ancients and resign.
-but when, on the third evening after his election, the enthusiastic members of the smyrna a. & h.f.a. came marching up from the village, the brass band tearing the air into ribbons with cornets and trombones, his stiff resolve wilted suddenly. he began to grin shamefacedly under his grizzled beard, and hobbled out onto the porch and made them a stammering speech, and turned scarlet with pride when they cheered him, and basked in the glory of their compliments, and thrilled when they respectfully called him "chief." he even told louada murilla that she was a darling, when she, who had been forewarned, produced a "treat" from a hiding-place in the cellar.
-"i knew you'd appreciate it all as soon as you got wonted to the honor, aaron," she whispered, happy tears in her eyes. "it's the social prominence--that's all there is to it. there hasn't been a fire in the town for fifteen years, and you aren't going to be bothered one mite. oh, isn't that band just lovely?"
-the cap'n went to bed late that night, his ears tingling with the adulation of the multitude, and in his excited insomnia understanding for the first time in his life the words: "uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." he realized more fully now that his shipmaster days had given him a taste for command, and that he had come into his own again.
-the new chief of the ancients devoted the first hours of the next morning to the arrangement of his fire-fighting gear in the front hall, and when all the items had been suspended, so that they would be ready to his hand as well as serve as ornament, he went out on the porch and sunned himself, revelling in a certain snug and contented sense of importance, such as he hadn't felt since he had stepped down from the quarter-deck of his own vessel. he even gazed at the protruding and poignant centre of that rose on his carpet slipper with milder eyes, and sniffed aromatic whiffs of liniment with appreciation of its invigorating odor.
-it was a particularly peaceful day. from his porch he could view a wide expanse of rural scenery, and, once in a while, a flash of sun against steel marked the location of some distant farmer in his fields. there were no teams in sight on the highway, for the men of smyrna were too busily engaged on their acres. he idly watched a trail of dun smoke that rose from behind a distant ridge and zigzagged across the blue sky. he admired it as a scenic attraction, without attaching any importance to it. even when a woman appeared on the far-off ridge and flapped her apron and hopped up and down and appeared to be frantically signalling either the village in the valley or the men in the fields, he only squinted at her through the sunlight and wondered what ailed her. a sudden inspiring thought suggested that perhaps she had struck a hornets' nest. he chuckled.
-a little later a ballooning cloud of dust came rolling down the road toward him and the toll-bridge that led to smyrna village. he noted that the core of the cloud was a small boy, running so hard that his knees almost knocked under his chin. he spun to a halt in front of the cap'n's gate and gasped:
-"fi-ah, fi-ah, fi-ah-h-h-h, chief! ben ide's house is a-fi-ah. i'll holler it in the village and git 'em to ring the bell and start 'hecla.'" away he tore.
-"fire!" bawled cap'n aaron, starting for the front hall with a scuff, a hop, a skip, and jump, in order to favor his sprained toe. "fire over to ben ide's!"
-he had his foreman's hat on wrong side to when his wife came bursting out of the sitting-room into the hall. she, loyal though excited lady of the castle, shifted her knight's helmet to the right-about and stuffed his buckets, bag, and bed-wrench into his hands. the cord of his speaking-trumpet she slung over his neck.
-"i helped get father ready once, twenty years ago," she stuttered, "and i haven't forgot! oh, aaron, i wish you hadn't got such a prejudice against owning a horse and against marengo when he tried to sell you that one. now you've got to wait till some one gives you a lift. you can't go on that foot to ide's."
-"hoss!" he snorted. "marengo! what he tried to sell me would be a nice thing to git to a fire with! spavined wusser'n a carpenter's saw-hoss, and with heaves like a gasoline dory! i can hop there on one foot quicker'n he could trot that hoss there! but i'll git there. i'll git there!"
-he went limping out of the door, loaded with his equipment.
-the methodist bell had not begun to ring, and it was evident that the messenger of ill tidings had not pattered into the village as yet.
-but there was a team in sight. it was "balm o' joy" brackett, his arms akimbo as he fished on the reins to hurry his horse. he was coming from the direction of the toll-bridge, and had evidently met the boy.
-"i've got my lo'd--i've got my lo'd, but i'll leave behind me all o' the ro'd," he chirped, when the cap'n went plunging toward him with the evident intention of getting on board.
-"i'm foreman of the ancients," roared the cap'n, "and i have the right to press into service any craft i see passin'. take me aboard, i say, dumblast ye!"
-"this ain't no high seas," retorted brackett, trying to lick past. "you can drive gents out of your dooryard, but you can't do no press-gang bus'ness on 'em."
-it was apparent that even "balm o' joy's" bland nature could entertain resentment.
-"'tain't right to lay up grudges ag'inst a man that was fussed up like i was, mister brackett," pleaded the cap'n, hopping along beside the van. "i've got to git to that fire, i tell you. i'm the foreman! i'll use you right, after this. i will, i tell you. lemme on board."
-"promus' flies high when it's hot and dry!" twittered the peddler, still cheerful but obstinate.
-"i'll give ye five dollars to take me to ben ide's--ten!" he roared, when brackett showed no sign of stopping.
-"promus' on the ground can be better found. whoa!" cried brackett, promptly. "i'll take the fare before you climb up! you'll be so busy when you git to the fire that i wouldn't want to bother you then."
-the cap'n glowered but chewed his lips to prevent retort, pulled his wallet, and paid. then he gathered his apparatus and grunted up to the high seat.
-far behind them the excited clang-clang of the methodist bell was pealing its first alarm.
-"by the time they git hosses up out of the fields and hitched onto 'hecla,' and git their buckets and didoes and git started, i reckon things will be fried on both sides at ben ide's," chatted the peddler.
-"lick up! lick up!" barked the cap'n. "i'm payin' for a quick ride and not conversation."
-brackett clapped the reins along his nag's skinny flank, set his elbows on his knees, and began:
-"there was old hip huff, who went by freight, to newry corner, in--"
-"luff, luff!" snorted the cap'n, in disgust.
-"luff, luff?" queried the songster.
-"yes, luff! avast! belay! heave to! i don't like caterwaulin'. you keep your mind right on drivin' that hoss."
-"you must have been a pop'lar man all your life," remarked the peddler, with a baleful side-glance. "does politeness come nat'ral to you, or did you learn it out of a book?"
-the cap'n made no reply. he only hitched himself forward as though trying to assist the momentum of the cart, and clutched his buckets, one in each hand.
-a woman came flying out of the first house they passed and squalled:
-"where's the fire, mr. brackett, and is anybody burnt up, and hadn't you jest as liv' take my rags now? i've got 'em all sacked and ready to weigh, and i sha'n't be to home after to-day."
-"blast your infernal pelt," howled the cap'n, "you drive on!"
-"bus'ness is bus'ness," muttered the peddler, "and you ain't bought me and my team with that little old ten dollars of yourn, and you can't do northin', anyway, till hecla gits there with the boys, and when you're there i don't see what you're goin' to amount to with that sore toe."
-he was clearly rebellious. cap'n sproul had touched the tenderest spot in t.w. brackett's nature by that savage yelp at his vocal efforts. but the chief of the ancients had been wounded as cruelly in his own pride. he stood up and swung a bucket over the crouching peddler.
-"drive on, you lubber," he howled, "or i'll peg you down through that seat like i'd drive a tack. drive on!"
-brackett ducked his head and drove. and the cap'n, summoning all the resources of a vocabulary enriched by a sea experience of thirty years, yelled at him and his horse without ceasing.
-when they topped the ridge they were in full view of ide's doomed buildings, and saw the red tongues of flame curling through the rolling smoke.
-but a growing clamor behind made the chief crane his neck and gaze over the top of the van.
-"hecla" was coming!
-four horses were dragging it, and two-score men were howling along with it, some riding, but the most of them clinging to the brake-beams and slamming along through the dust on foot. a man, perched beside the driver, was bellowing something through a trumpet that sounded like:
-"goff-off-errow, goff-off-errow, goff-off-errow!"
-the peddler was driving sullenly, and without any particular enterprise. but this tumult behind made his horse prick up his ears and snort. when the nag mended his pace and began to lash out with straddling legs, the cap'n yelled:
-"let him go! let him go! they want us to get off the road!"
-"goff-off-errow!" the man still bellowed through the trumpet.
-"i've got goods that will break and i'll be cuss-fired if i'll break 'em for you nor the whole smyrna fire department!" screamed brackett; but when he tried to pull up his steed, the cap'n, now wholly beside himself and intent only on unrestricted speed, banged a leather bucket down across the driver's hands.
-brackett dropped the reins, with a yell of pain, and they fell into the dust and dragged. the horse broke into a bunchy, jerky gallop, and lunged down the hill, the big van swaying wildly with an ominous rattling and crashing in its mysterious interior.
-there were teams coming along a cross-road ahead of them and teams rattling from the opposite direction toward the fire, approaching along the highway they were travelling. collisions seemed inevitable. but in a moment of inspiration the cap'n grabbed the trumpet that hung from its red cord around his neck and began to bellow in his turn:
-"goff-off-errow, goff-off-errow!" it was as nearly as human voice could phrase "get off the road" through the thing.
-the chief of the ancients did not halt to attend to his duties at the fire. he went howling past on the high seat of the van, over the next ridge and out of sight.
-"we're goin' to tophet, and you done it, and you've got to pay for it," brackett wailed over and over, bobbing about on the seat. but the cap'n did not reply. teams kept coming into sight ahead, and he had thought only for his monotonous bellow of "goff-off-errow!"
-disaster--the certain disaster that they had despairingly accepted--met them at the foot of rines' hill, two miles beyond ide's. the road curved sharply there to avoid "the pugwash," as a particularly mushy and malodorous bog was called in local terminology.
-at the foot of the hill the van toppled over with a crash and anchored the steaming horse, already staggering in his exhaustion. both men had scrambled to the top of the van, ready to jump into the pugwash as they passed. the cap'n still carried his equipment, both buckets slung upon one arm, and even in this imminent peril it never occurred to him to drop them. lucky fate made their desperate leap for life a tame affair. when the van toppled they were tossed over the roadside into the bog, lighted on their hands and knees, and sank slowly into its mushiness like two brobdingnagian frogs.
-it was another queer play of fate that the next passer was marengo todd, whipping his way to the fire behind a horse that had a bit of wire pinched over his nose to stifle his "whistling."
-marengo todd leaped out and presented the end of a fence-rail to brackett first, and pulled him out.
-when he stuck the end of the rail under the cap'n's nose the cap'n pushed it away with mud-smeared hands.
-"i don't, myself, nuss grudges in times of distress, cap sproul," shouted todd. "you kicked me. i know that. but you was in the wrong, and you got the wu'st of it. proverdunce has allus settled my grudges for me in jest that way. i forgive and pass on, but proverdunce don't. take that fence-rail. it sha'n't ever be said by man that marengo todd nussed a grudge."
-when the cap'n was once more on solid ground, todd, still iterating his forgiveness of past injuries, picked up a tin pie-plate that had been jarred out of the van among other litter, and began to scrape the black mud off the foreman of the ancients in as matter-of-fact a way as though he were currycombing a horse.
-the spirit of the doughty mariner seemed broken at last. he looked down at himself, at the mud-clogged buckets and his unspeakable bedragglement.
-"i've only got one word to say to you right here and now, cap'n," went on todd, meekly, "and it's this, that no man ever gits jest where he wants to git, unless he has a ree-li'ble hoss. i've tried to tell you so before, but--but, well, you didn't listen to me the way you ought to." he continued to scrape, and the cap'n stared mutely down at the foot that was encased in a muddy slipper.
-"now, there's a hoss standin' there--" pursued todd.
-"what will you take for that team jest as it stands?" blurted the mariner, desperately. the fire, the smoke of which was rolling up above the distant tree-tops, and his duty there made him reckless. as he looked down on todd he hadn't the heart to demand of that meek and injured person that he should forget and forgive sufficiently to take him in and put him down at ide's. it seemed like crowding the mourners. furthermore, cap'n aaron sproul was not a man who traded in humble apologies. his independence demanded a different footing with todd, and the bitter need of the moment eclipsed economy. "name your price!"
-"a hundred and thutty, ev'rything throwed in, and i'll drive you there a mile a minit," gasped todd, grasping the situation.
-with muddy hands, trembling in haste, the cap'n drew his long, fat wallet and counted out the bills. brackett eyed him hungrily.
-"you might jest as well settle with me now as later through the law," he cried.
-but the cap'n butted him aside, with an oath, and climbed into the wagon.
-"you drive as though the devil had kicked ye," he yelled to todd. "it's my hoss, and i don't care if you run the four legs off'm him."
-half-way to ide's, a man leaped the roadside fence and jumped up and down before them in the highway. he had a shotgun in his hands.
-"it's my brother--voltaire," shouted marengo, pulling up, though cap'n sproul swore tempestuously. "you've got to take him on. he b'longs to your fire comp'ny."
-cap'n sproul had his teeth set hard upon a hank of his grizzled whiskers, and his eyes on the smoke ahead. todd ran his wheezing horse up the ridge, and when they topped it they beheld the whole moving scene below them.
-men were running out of the burning house, throwing armfuls of goods right and left. the "hecla" was a-straddle of the well, and rows of men were tossing at her brake-beams.
-"give her tar, give her tar!" yelled the man behind, craning his thin neck. todd lashed at the horse and sent him running down the slope. at the foot of the declivity, just before they came to the lane leading into ide's place, there was a culvert where the road crossed a brook.
-the boarding in the culvert made a jog in the road, and when the wagon struck this at top speed its body flipped behind like the tongue of a catapult.
-the man with the gun, having eyes and senses only for the fire and his toiling fellow-ancients, was unprepared. he went up, out, and down in the dust, doggedly clinging to his gun. he struck the ground with it still between his knees. the impact of the butt discharged both barrels straight into the air.
-when he hove in sight of his own house he saw louada murilla on the porch, gazing off at the smoke of the fire and evidently luxuriating in the consciousness that it was her husband who was that day leading the gallant forces of the ancients.
-as he stared wildly, home seemed his haven and the old house his rock of safety. he did not understand enough about the vagaries of horses and wagons to appreciate the risk. one rein still hung over the dasher.
-"only one jib down-haul left of all the riggin'," he groaned, and then grabbed it and surged on it.
-the horse swung out of the road, the wagon careering wildly on two wheels. sproul crossed the corner of some ploughed land, swept down a length of picket-fence, and came into his own lane, up which the horse staggered, near the end of his endurance. the wagon swung and came to grief against the stone hitching-post at the corner of the porch. cap'n sproul, encumbered still with buckets and bag and trumpet, floundered over the porch rail, through a tangled mass of woodbine vines, and into the arms of his distracted wife.
-for five minutes after she had supported him to a chair she could do nothing but stare at him, with her hands clasped and her eyes goggling, and cry, "aaron, aaron, dear!" in crescendo. his sole replies to her were hollow sounds in his throat that sounded like "unk!"
-"where have you been?" she cried. "all gurry, and wet as sop? if you are hurt what made 'em let their chief come home all alone with that wild hoss? aaron, can't you speak?"
-he only flapped a muddy hand at her, and seemed to be beyond speech. there was a dull, wondering look in his eyes, as though he were trying to figure out some abstruse problem. he did not brighten until a team came tearing up to the gate, and a man with a scoop fireman's hat on came running to the porch. the man saluted.
-"chief," he said, with the air of an aide reporting on the field of battle, "that house and barn got away from us, but we fit well for 'em--yas s'r, we fit well! it is thought queer in some quarters that you wasn't there to take charge, but i told the boys that you'd prob'ly got good reasons, and they'll git over their mad, all right. you needn't worry none about that!"
-the cap'n's sole reply was another of those hollow "unks!"
-"but the boys is pretty well beat out, and so i've run over to ask if you'll let us use your ten-dollar fine for a treat? that will help their feelin's to'ards you a good deal, and--"
-the cap'n, without taking his eyes from the smug face of the man, swung one of the buckets and let drive at him. it missed. but he had got his range, and the next bucket knocked off the scoop hat. when the cap'n scrambled to his feet, loaded with the bed-wrench for his next volley, the man turned and ran for his team. the bed-wrench caught him directly between the shoulders--a masterly shot. the trumpet flew wild, but by that time the emissary of the ancients was in his wagon and away.
-"aaron!" his wife began, quaveringly, but the cap'n leaped toward her, pulled the mouth of the puckering-bag over her head, and hopped into the house. when at last she ventured to peer in at the sitting-room window, he was tearing the book of "rules of the smyrna ancient and honorable firemen's association," using both his hands and his teeth, and worrying it as a dog worries a bone.
-that was his unofficial resignation. the official one came as soon as he could control his language.
-and for a certain, prolonged period in the history of the town of smyrna it was well understood that cap'n aaron sproul was definitely out of public affairs. but in public affairs it often happens that honors that are elusive when pursued are thrust upon him who does not seek them.
-the moderator of the smyrna town meeting held his breath for just a moment so as to accentuate the hush in which the voters listened for his words, and then announced the result of the vote for first selectman of smyrna:
-"whole number cast, one hundred thutty-two; necessary for a choice, sixty-seven; of which colonel gideon ward has thutty-one."
-a series of barking, derisive yells cut in upon his solemn announcement, and he rapped his cane on the marred table of the town hall and glared over his spectacles at the voters.
-"and cap'n aaron sproul has one hundred and--"
-the howl that followed clipped his last words. men hopped upon the knife-nicked settees of the town house and waved their hats while they hooted. a group of voters, off at one side, sat and glowered at this hilarity. out of the group rose colonel gideon, his long frame unfolding with the angularity of a carpenter's two-foot rule. there were little dabs of purple on his knobby cheek-bones. his hair and his beard bristled. he put up his two fists as far as his arms would reach and vibrated them, like a furious jeremiah calling down curses.
-such ferocious mien had its effect on the spectators after a time. smyrna quailed before her ancient tyrant, even though he was dethroned.
-"almighty god has always wanted an excuse to destroy this town like sodom and gomorrah was destroyed," he shouted, his voice breaking into a squeal of rage; "now he's got it."
-he drove his pointed cap onto his head, gave a parting shake of his fists that embraced moderator, voters, walls, floor, roof, and all appurtenances of the town house, and stalked down the aisle and out. the silence in town meeting was so profound that the voters heard him welting his horse as he drove away.
-after a time the moderator drew a long breath, and stated that he did not see cap'n aaron sproul in the meeting, and had been informed that he was not present.
-"i come past his place this mornin'," whispered old man jordan to his neighbor on the settee, "and he was out shovelin' snow off'm the front walk, and when i asked him if he wa'n't comin' to town meetin', he said that a run of the seven years' itch and the scurvy was pretty bad, but he reckoned that politics was wuss. i should hate to be the one that has to break this news to him."
-"and seein' how it's necessary to have the first selectman here to be sworn in before the meetin' closes this afternoon," went on the moderator, "i'll appoint a committee of three to wait on cap'n aaron sproul and notify him of the distinguished honor that has been done him this day by his feller townsmen."
-he settled his spectacles more firmly upon his nose, and ran his gaze calculatingly over the assembled voters. no one of those patriotic citizens seemed to desire to be obtrusive at that moment.
-"i'll appoint as chairman of that notifying committee," proceeded the moderator, "entwistle harvey, and as--"
-"i shall have to decline the honor," interrupted mr. entwistle harvey, rising promptly. the voters grinned. they thoroughly understood the reason for mr. harvey's reluctance.
-"it ain't that i'm any less a reformer than the others that has to-day redeemed this town from ring rule and bossism," declared mr. harvey, amid applause; "it ain't that i don't admire the able man that has been selected to lead us up out of the vale of political sorrow--and i should be proud to stand before him and offer this distinguished honor from the voters of this town, but i decline because i--i--well, there ain't any need of goin' into personal reasons. i ain't the man for the place, that's all." he sat down.
-"i don't blame him none for duckin'," murmured old man jordan to his seat companion. "any man that was in the crowd that coaxed cap'n sproul into takin' the foremanship of heckly fire comp'ny has got a good excuse. i b'lieve the law says that ye can't put a man twice in peril of his life."
-cap'n sproul's stormy relinquishment of the hateful honor that had been foisted upon him by the smyrna fire-fighters was history recent enough to give piquant relish to the present situation. he had not withheld nor modified his threats as to what would happen to any other committee that came to him proffering public office.
-the more prudent among smyrna's voters had hesitated about making the irascible ex-mariner a candidate for selectman's berth.
-but smyrna, in its placid new england eddy, had felt its own little thrill from the great tidal wave of municipal reform sweeping the country. it immediately gazed askance at colonel gideon ward, for twenty years first selectman of smyrna, and growled under its breath about "bossism." but when the search was made for a candidate to run against him, smyrna men were wary. colonel ward held too many mortgages and had advanced too many call loans not to be well fortified against rivals.
-"the only one who has ever dared to twist his tail is his brother-in-law, the cap'n," said odbar broadway, oracularly, to the leaders who had met in his store to canvass the political situation. "the cap'n won't be as supple as some in town office, but he ain't no more hell 'n' repeat than what we've been used to for the last twenty years. he's wuth thutty thousand dollars, and gid ward can't foreclose no mo'gidge on him nor club him with no bill o' sale. he's the only prominunt man in town that can afford to take the office away from the colonel. what ye've got to do is to go ahead and elect him, and then trust to the lord to make him take it."
-so that was what smyrna had done on that slushy winter's day.
-it did it with secret joy and with ballots hidden in its palms, where the snapping eyes of colonel ward could not spy.
-and now, instead of invoking the higher power mentioned as a resource by broadway, the moderator of the town meeting was struggling with human tools, and very rickety human tools they seemed to be.
-five different chairmen did he nominate, and with great alacrity the five refused to serve.
-the moderator took off his glasses, and testily rapped the dented table.
-"feller citizens," he snapped, "this is gittin' to be boys' play. i realize puffickly that cap'n aaron sproul, our first selectman-elect, has not been a seeker after public office since he retired as foreman of the hecla fire company. i realize puffickly that he entertained some feelin' at the time that--that--he wasn't exactly cal'lated to be foreman of an engine company. but that ain't sayin' that he won't receive like gentlemen the committee that comes to tell him that he has been elected to the highest office in this town. i ain't got any more time to waste on cowards. there's one man here that ain't afraid of his own shadder. i call on constable zeburee nute to head the committee, and take along with him constables wade and swanton. and i want to say to the voters here that it's a nice report to go abroad from this town that we have to pick from the police force to get men with enough courage to tell a citizen that he's been elected first selectman. but the call has gone out for cincinnatus, and he must be brought here."
-the moderator's tone was decisive and his mien was stern. otherwise, even the doughty constable nute might have refused to take orders, though they were given in the face and eyes of his admiring neighbors. he gnawed at his grizzled beard and fingered doubtfully the badge that, as chief constable of the town, he wore on the outside of his coat.
-"gents of the committee, please 'tend promptly to the duties assigned," commanded the moderator, "and we will pass on to the next article in the town warrant."
-mr. nute rose slowly and marched out of the hall, the other two victims following without any especial signs of enthusiasm.
-in the yard of the town house mr. nute faced them, and remarked:
-"i have some ideas of my own as to a genteel way of gittin' him interested in this honor that we are about to bestow. has any one else ideas?"
-the other two constables shook their heads gloomily.
-"then i'll take the brunt of the talk on me and foller my ideas," announced mr. nute. "i've been studyin' reform, and, furthermore, i know who cincinnatus was!"
-the three men unhitched each his own team, and drove slowly, in single file, along the mushy highway.
-it was one of cap'n aaron sproul's mentally mild, mellow, and benign days, when his heart seemed to expand like a flower in the comforts of his latter-life domestic bliss. never had home seemed so good--never the little flush on louada murilla's cheeks so attractive in his eyes as they dwelt fondly on her.
-in the night he had heard the sleet clattering against the pane and the snow slishing across the clapboards, and he had turned on his pillow with a little grunt of thankfulness.
-"there's things about dry land and the people on it that ain't so full of plums as a sailor's duff ought to be," he mused, "but--" and then he dozed off, listening to the wind.
-in the morning, just for a taste of rough weather, he had put on his slicker and sea-boots and shovelled the slush off the front walk. then he sat down with stockinged feet held in the radiance of an open franklin stove, and mused over some old log-books that he liked to thumb occasionally for the sake of adding new comfort to a fit of shore contentment.
-this day he was taking especial interest in the log-books, for he was again collaborating with louada murilla in that spasmodic literary effort that she had termed:
-from shore to shore
-lines from a mariner's adventures
-the life story of the gallant captain aaron sproul
-written by his affectionate wife
-"you can put down what's true," he said, continuing a topic that they had been pursuing, "that boxin' the compass and knowin' a jib down-haul from a pound of saleratus ain't all there is to a master mariner's business, not by a blamed sight. them passuls of cat's meat that they call sailormen in these days has to be handled,--well, the superintendent of a sunday-school wouldn't be fit for the job, unless he had a little special trainin'."
-louada murilla, the point of her pencil at her lips, caught a vindictive gleam in his eyes.
-"but it seems awful cruel, some of the things that you--you--i suppose you had to do 'em, aaron! and yet when you stop and think that they've got immortal souls to save--"
-"they don't carry any such duffle to sea in their dunnage-bags," snapped the skipper. "moral suasion on them would be about like tryin' to whittle through a turkle's shell with a hummin'-bird's pin-feather. my rule most generally was to find one soft spot on 'em somewhere that a marlin-spike would hurt, and then hit that spot hard and often. that's the only way i ever got somewhere with a cargo and got back ag'in the same year."
-"i suppose it has to be," sighed his wife, making a note. "it's like killing little calves for veal, and all such things that make the fond heart ache."
-the cap'n was "leaving" the grimy pages of a log-book. he paused over certain entries, and his face darkened. there was no more vindictiveness in his expression. it was regret and a sort of vague worry.
-"what is it, aaron?" asked his wife, with wistful apprehensiveness.
-"northin'," he growled.
-"but i know it's something," she insisted, "and i'm always ready to share your burdens."
-cap'n sproul looked around on the peace of his home, and some deep feeling seemed to surge in his soul.
-"louada murilla," he said, sadly, "this isn't anything to be written in the book, and i didn't ever mean to speak of it to you. but there are times when a man jest has to talk about things, and he can't help it. there was one thing that i've been sorry for. i've said so to myself, and i'm goin' to say as much to you. confession is good for the soul, so they say, and it may help me out some to tell you."
-the horrified look on her face pricked him to speak further. 'tis a titillating sensation, sometimes, to awe or shock those whom we love, when we know that forgiveness waits ready at hand.
-"there was once--there was one man--i hit him dretful hard. he was a portygee. but i hit him too hard. it was a case of mutiny. i reckon i could have proved it was mutiny, with the witnesses. but i hit him hard."
-"did he--?" gasped his wife.
-"he did," replied the cap'n, shortly, and was silent for a time.
-"the thing for me to have done," he went on, despondently, "was to report it, and stood hearin'. but it was six weeks after we'd dropped him overboard--after the funeral, ye know--before we reached port. and there was a cargo ashore jest dancin' up and down to slip through the main hatch as soon as t' other one was over the rail--and freights 'way up and owners anxious for results, and me tryin' for a record, and all that, ye know. all is, there wa'n't nothin' said by the crew, for they wa'n't lookin' for trouble, and knowed the circumstances, and so i lo'ded and sailed. and that's all to date."
-"but they say 'murder will out.'" her face was white.
-"it wa'n't murder. it was discipline. and i didn't mean to. but either his soft spot was too soft, or else i hit too hard. what i ought to have done was to report when my witnesses was right handy. since i've settled and married and got property, i've woke up in the night, sometimes, and thought what would happen to me if that portygee's relatives got track of me through one of the crew standin' in with 'em--blabbin' for what he could git out of it. i have to think about those things, now that i've got time to worry. things looks different ashore from what they do aflo't, with your own ship under you and hustlin' to make money." he gazed round the room again, and seemed to luxuriate in his repentance.
-"but if anything should be said, you could hunt up those men and--"
-"i made a mistake," he continued, after a time, "in not havin' it cleaned up, decks washed, and everything clewed snug at the time of it. but ev'ry man makes mistakes. i made mine then. it would be god-awful to have it come down on me when i couldn't prove nothin' except that i give him the best funeral i could. there ain't much of anything except grit in the gizzard of a united states court. they seem to think the govumment wants every one hung. i remember a captain once who--"
-he paused suddenly, for he caught sight of three muddy wagons trundling in procession into the yard. in the first one sat constable zeburee nute, his obtrusive nickel badge on his overcoat.
-cap'n sproul looked at louada murilla, and she stared at him, and in sudden panic both licked dry lips and were silent. the topic they had been pursuing left their hearts open to terror. there are moments when a healthy body suddenly absorbs germs of consumption that it has hitherto thrown off in hale disregard. there are moments when the mind and courage are overwhelmed by panic that reason does not pause to analyze.
-louada murilla opened the front door when the chief constable knocked, after an exasperatingly elaborate hitching and blanketing of horses. she staggered to the door rather than walked. the cap'n sat with rigid legs still extended toward the fire.
-the three men filed into the room, and remained standing in solemn row. mr. nute, on behalf of the delegation, refused chairs that were offered by mrs. sproul. he had his own ideas as to how a committee of notification should conduct business. he stood silent and looked at louada murilla steadily and severely until she realized that her absence was desired.
-she tottered out of the room, her terrified eyes held in lingering thrall by the woe-stricken orbs of the cap'n.
-constable nute eyed the door that she closed, waiting a satisfactory lapse of time, and then cleared his throat and announced:
-"i want you to realize, cap'n sproul, that me and my feller constables here has been put in a sort of a hard position. i hope you'll consider that and govern yourself accordin'. first of all, we're obeyin' orders from them as has authority. i will say, however, that i have ideas as to how a thing ought to be handled, and my associates have agreed to leave the talkin' to me. i want to read you somethin' first," he said, fumbling at the buttons on his coat, "but that you may have some notion as to what it all points and be thinkin' it over, i'll give you a hint. to a man of your understandin', i don't s'pose i have to say more than 'cincinnatus,' that one word explains itself and our errunt."
-"i never knowed his last name," mumbled the cap'n, enigmatically. "but i s'pose they've got it in the warrant, all right!" he was eying the hand that was seeking the constable's inside pocket. "i never was strong on portygee names. i called him joe."
-mr. nute merely stared, without trying to catch the drift of this indistinct muttering.
-while the cap'n watched him in an agony of impatience and suspense, he slowly drew out a spectacle-case, settled his glasses upon his puffy nose, unfolded a sheet of paper on which a dirty newspaper clipping was pasted, and began to read:
-"more than ever before in the history of the united states of america are loyal citizens called upon to throw themselves into the breach of municipal affairs, and wrest from the hands of the guilty--"
-the ears of cap'n sproul, buzzing with his emotions, caught only a few words, nor grasped any part of the meaning. but the sonorous "united states of america" chilled his blood, and the word "guilty" made his teeth chatter.
-he felt an imperious need of getting out of that room for a moment--of getting where he could think for a little while, out from under the starings of those three solemn men.
-"i want to--i want to--" he floundered; "i would like to get on my shoes and my co't and--and--i'll be right back. i won't try to--i'll be right back, i say."
-mr. nute suspended his reading, looked over his spectacles, and gave the required permission. perhaps it occurred to his official sense that a bit more dignified attire would suit the occasion better. a flicker of gratification shone on his face at the thought that the cap'n was so nobly and graciously rising to the spirit of the thing.
-"it's come, louada murilla--it's come!" gulped cap'n sproul, as he staggered into the kitchen, where his wife cowered in a corner. "he's readin' a warrant. he's even got the portygee's name. my gawd, they'll hang me! i can't prove northin'."
-"oh, aaron," sobbed his wife, and continued to moan. "oh, aaron--" with soft, heartbreaking cluckings.
-"once the law of land-piruts gets a bight 'round ye, ye never git away from it," groaned the cap'n. "the law sharks is always waitin' for seafarin' men. there ain't no hope for me."
-his wife had no encouragement to offer.
-"murder will out, aaron," she quaked. "and they've sent three constables."
-"them other two--be they--?"
-"there ain't no hope. and it shows how desp'rit' they think i be. it shows they're bound to have me. it's life and death, louada murilla. if i don't git anything but state prison, it's goin' to kill me, for i've lived too free and open to be penned up at my time o' life. it ain't fair--it ain't noways fair!" his voice broke. "it was all a matter of discipline. but you can't prove it to land-sharks. if they git me into their clutches i'm a goner."
-his pistols hung on the wall where louada murilla had suspended them, draped with the ribbons of peace.
-as he talked he seemed to derive some comfort from action. he pulled on his boots. he wriggled into his coat. from a pewter pitcher high up on a dresser shelf he secured a fat wallet. but when he rushed to take down the pistols his wife threw herself into his arms.
-"you sha'n't do that, aaron," she cried. "i'll go to state prison with you--i'll go to the ends of the world to meet you. but i couldn't have those old men shot in our own house. i realize you've got to get away. but blood will never wash out blood. take one of their teams. run the horse to the railroad-station. it's only four miles, and you've got a half-hour before the down-train. and i'll lock 'em into the setting-room, aaron, and keep 'em as long as i can. and i'll come to you, aaron, though i have to follow you clear around the world."
-in the last, desperate straits of an emergency, many a woman's wits ring truer than a man's. when she had kissed him and departed on her errand to lock the front door he realized that her counsel was good.
-he left the pistols on the wall. as he ran into the yard, he got a glimpse, through the sitting-room window, of the constables standing in solemn row. never were innocent members of committee of notification more blissfully unconscious of what they had escaped. they were blandly gazing at the cap'n's curios ranged on mantel and what-not.
-it was a snort from constable swanton that gave the alarm. mr. nute's team was spinning away down the road, the wagon-wheels throwing slush with a sort of fireworks effect. cap'n sproul, like most sailors, was not a skilful driver, but he was an energetic one. the horse was galloping.
-"he's bound for the town house before he's been notified officially," stammered mr. swanton.
-"it ain't regular," said constable wade.
-mr. nute made no remark. he looked puzzled, but he acted promptly. he found the front door locked and the kitchen door locked. but the window-catches were on the inside, and he slammed up the nearest sash and leaped out. the others followed. the pursuit was on as soon as they could get to their wagons, mr. wade riding with the chief constable.
-the town house of smyrna is on the main road leading to the railway-station. the constables, topping a hill an eighth of a mile behind the fugitive, expected to see him turn in at the town house. but he tore past, his horse still on the run, the wagon swaying wildly as he turned the corner beyond the merrithew sugar orchard.
-"well, i swow," grunted mr. nute, and licked on.
-the usual crowd of horse-swappers was gathered in the town-house yard, and beheld this tumultuous passage with professional interest. and, recognizing the first selectman-elect of smyrna, their interest had an added flavor.
-next came the two teams containing the constables, lashing past on the run. they paid no attention to the amazed yells of inquiry from the horse-swappers, and disappeared behind the sugar orchard.
-"you've got me!" said uncle silas drake to the first out-rush of the curious from the town house. in his amazement, uncle silas was still holding to the patient nose of the horse whose teeth he had been examining. "they went past like soft-soap slidin' down the suller stairs, and that's as fur's i'm knowin'. but i want to remark, as my personal opinion, that a first seeleckman of this town ought to be 'tendin' to his duties made and pervided, instead of razooin' hosses up and down in front of this house when town meetin' is goin' on."
-one by one, voters, mumbling their amazement, unhitched their horses and started along the highway in the direction the fugitives had taken. it seemed to all that this case required to be investigated. the procession whipped along briskly and noisily.
-colonel gideon ward, returning from the railroad-station, where he had been to order flat-cars for lumber, heard the distant clamor of voices, and stood up in his tall cart to listen. at that instant, around the bend of the road, twenty feet away, came a horse galloping wildly. colonel ward was halted squarely in the middle of the way. he caught an amazed glimpse of cap'n sproul trying to rein to one side with unskilled hands, and then the wagons met. colonel ward's wagon stood like a rock. the lighter vehicle, locking wheels, went down with a crash, and cap'n sproul shot head-on over the dasher into his brother-in-law's lap, as he crouched on his seat.
-the advantage was with cap'n sproul, for the colonel was underneath. furthermore, cap'n sproul was thrice armed with the resolution of a desperate man. without an instant's hesitation he drew back, hit ward a few resounding buffets on either side of his head, and then tossed the dizzied man out of his wagon into the roadside slush. an instant later he had the reins, swung the frightened horse across the gutter and around into the road, and continued his flight in the direction of the railroad-station.
-the constables, leading the pursuing voters by a few lengths, found colonel ward sitting up in the ditch and gaping in utter amazement and dire wrath at the turn of the road where cap'n sproul had swept out of sight.
-the wreck of the wagon halted them.
-"i s'pose you've jest seen our first selectman-elect pass this way, haven't ye?" inquired mr. nute, with official conservatism.
-the colonel had not yet regained his powers of speech. he jabbed with bony finger in the direction of the railroad, and moved his jaws voicelessly. mr. swanton descended from the wagon, helped him out of the ditch, and began to stroke the slush from his garments with mittened hand. as he still continued to gasp ineffectually, mr. nute drove on, leaving him standing by the roadside.
-cap'n sproul was at bay on the station platform, feet braced defiantly apart, hat on the back of his head, and desperate resolve flaming from his eyes.
-the chief constable stared at him with bulging eyes.
-"i could have killed ye and i didn't," repeated the cap'n. "let that show ye that i'm square till i have to be otherwise. but i'm a desp'rit' man, nute. i'm goin' to take that train." he brandished his fist at a trail of smoke up behind the spruces. "gawd pity the man that gits in my way!"
-"somethin' has happened to his mind all of a sudden," whispered mr. wade. "he ought to be took care of till he gits over it. it would be a pity and a shame to let a prominent man like that git away and fall into the hands of strangers."
-"all of ye take warnin'," bawled the cap'n to his townsmen, who were crowding their wagons into the station square.
-"feller citizens," he cried, "as chairman of the committee of notification, i desire to report that i have 'tended to my duties in so far as i could to date. but there has things happened that i can't figger out, and for which i ain't responsible. there ain't no time now for ifs, buts, or ands. that train is too near. a certain prominunt citizen that i don't need to name is thinkin' of takin' that train when he ain't fit to do so. there'll be time to talk it over afterward."
-cap'n sproul was backing away to turn the corner of the station.
-"i call on all of ye as a posse," bawled mr. nute. "bring along your halters and don't use no vi'lence."
-samson himself, even though his weapon had been the jaw-bone of a megatherium, couldn't have resisted that onrush of the willing populace. in five minutes, the cap'n, trussed hand and foot, and crowded in between constables nute and wade, was riding back toward smyrna town house, helpless as a veal calf bound for market.
-"now," resumed mr. nute, calmly, "now that you're with us, cap'n, and seem to be quieted down a little, i'll perceed to execute the errunt put upon me as chairman of the notification committee."
-with mr. wade driving slowly, he read the newspaper clipping that sounded the clarion call that summoned men of probity to public office, and at the close formally notified cap'n sproul that he had been elected first selectman of smyrna. he did all this without enthusiasm, and sighed with official relief when it was over.
-"and," he wound up, "it is the sentiment of this town that there ain't another man in it so well qualified to lead us up out of the valley of darkness where we've been wallerin'. we have called our cincinnatus to his duty."
-they had come around a bend of the road and now faced colonel ward, stumping along stolidly through the slush, following the trail of his team.
-"that's the way he ought to be," roared the colonel. "rope him up! put ox-chains on him. and i'll give a thousand dollars to build an iron cage for him. you're all crazy and he's your head lunatic."
-mr. nute, inwardly, during all the time that he had been so calmly addressing his captive, was tortured with cruel doubts as to the cap'n's sanity. but he believed in discharging his duty first. and he remembered that insane people were more easily prevailed upon by those who appeared to make no account of their whims.
-during it all, cap'n sproul had been silent in utter amazement. the truth had come in a blinding flash that would have unsettled a man not so well trained to control emotion.
-"drive along," he curtly commanded nute, paying no heed to the incensed colonel's railings. "you look me in the eye," he continued, as soon as they were out of hearing. "do you see any signs that i am out of my head, or that i need these ropes on me?"
-"i can't say as i do," admitted the constable, after he had quailed a bit under the keen, straightforward stare of the ex-mariner's hard, gray eyes.
-"take 'em off, then," directed the cap'n, in tones of authority. and when it was done, he straightened his hat, set back his shoulders, and said:
-"drive me to the town house where i was bound when that hoss of yours run away with me." mr. nute stared at him wildly, and drove on.
-they were nearly to their destination before constable nute ventured upon what his twisted brow and working lips testified he had been pondering long.
-"it ain't that i'm tryin' to pry into your business, cap'n sproul, nor anything of the kind, but, bein' a man that never intended to do any harm to any one, i can't figger out what grudge you've got against me. you said on the station platform that--"
-"nute," said the cap'n, briskly, "as i understand it, you never went to sea, and you and the folks round here don't understand much about sailormen, hey?"
-the constable shook his head.
-"then don't try to find out much about 'em. you wouldn't understand. the folks round here wouldn't understand. we have our ways. you have your ways. some of the things you do and some of the things you say could be called names by me, providin' i wanted to be disagreeable and pick flaws. all men in this world are different--especially sailormen from them that have always lived inshore. we've got to take our feller man as we find him."
-they were in the town-house yard--a long procession of teams following.
-"and by-the-way, nute," bawled the cap'n, from the steps of the building as he was going in, using his best sea tones so that all might hear, "it was the fault of your horse that he run away, and you ought to be prosecuted for leavin' such an animile 'round where a sailorman that ain't used to hosses could get holt of him. but i'm always liberal about other folks' faults. bring in your bill for the wagon."
-setting his teeth hard, he walked upon the platform of the town-hall, and faced the voters with such an air of authority and such self-possession that they cheered him lustily. and then, with an intrepidity that filled his secret heart with amazement as he talked, he made the first real speech of his life--a speech of acceptance.
-"yes, s'r, it was a speech, louada murilla," he declared that evening, as he sat again in their sitting-room with his stockinged feet to the blaze of the franklin. "i walked that platform like it was a quarter-deck, and my line of talk run jest as free as a britches-buoy coil. and when i got done, they was up on the settees howlin' for me. if any man came back into that town-house thinkin' i was a lunatic on account of what happened to-day, they got a diff'runt notion before i got done. why, they all come 'round and shook my hand, and said they must have been crazy to tackle a prominunt citizen that way on the word of old nute. it must have been a great speech i made. they all said so."
-he relighted his pipe.
-"what did you say, aaron?" eagerly asked his wife. "repeat it over."
-he smoked awhile.
-"louada murilla," he said, "when i walked onto that platform my heart was goin' like a donkey-engine workin' a winch, there was a sixty-mile gale blowin' past my ears, and a fog-bank was front of my eyes. and when the sun came out ag'in and it cleared off, the moderator was standin' there shaking my hand and tellin' me what a speech it was. it was a speech that had to be made. they had to be bluffed. but as to knowin' a word of what i said, why, i might jest as well try to tell you what the mermaid said when the feller brought her stockin's for her birthday present.
-"the only thing that i can remember about that speech," he resumed, after a pause, and she gazed on him hopefully, "is that your brother gideon busted into the town house and tried to break up my speech by tellin' 'em i was a lunatic. i ordered the constables to put him out."
-"did they?" she asked, with solicitude.
-"no," he replied, rubbing his nose, reflectively. "'fore the constables got to him, the boys took holt and throwed him out of the window. i reckon he's come to a realizin' sense by this time that the town don't want him for selectman."
-he rapped out the ashes and put the pipe on the hearth of the franklin.
-he rose and yawned.
-"is the cat put out, louada?"
-and when she had replied in the affirmative, he said:
-"seein' it has been quite a busy day, let's go to bed."
-mrs. hiram look, lately "widder snell," appearing as plump, radiant, and roseate as a bride in her honeymoon should appear--her color assisted by the caloric of a cook-stove in june--put her head out of the buttery window and informed the inquiring cap'n aaron sproul that hiram was out behind the barn.
-"married life seems still to be agreein' with all concerned," suggested cap'n sproul, quizzically. "even that flour on your nose is becomin'."
-"go 'long, you old rat!" tittered mrs. look. "better save all your compliments for your own wife!"
-"oh, i tell her sweeter things than that," replied the cap'n, serenely. with a grin under his beard, he went on toward the barn.
-smyrna gossips were beginning to comment, with more or less spite, on the sudden friendship between their first selectman and hiram look, since look--once owner of a road circus--had retired from the road, had married his old love, and had settled down on the snell farm. considering the fact that the selectman and showman had bristled at each other like game-cocks the first time they met, smyrna wondered at the sudden effusion of affection that now kept them trotting back and forth on almost daily visits to each other.
-batson reeves, second selectman of smyrna, understood better than most of the others. it was on him as a common anvil that the two of them had pounded their mutual spite cool. hiram, suddenly reappearing with a plug hat and a pet elephant, after twenty years of wandering, had won promptly the hand of widow snell, nee amanda purkis, whose self and whose acres widower reeves was just ready to annex. and hiram had thereby partially satisfied the old boyhood grudge planted deep in his stormy temper when batson reeves had broken up the early attachment between hiram look and amanda purkis. as for first selectman sproul, hot in his fight with reeves for official supremacy, his league with hiram, after an initial combat to try spurs, was instant and cordial as soon as he had understood a few things about the showman's character and purpose.
-"birds of a feather!" gritted reeves, in his confidences with his intimates. "an' old turkle-back of a sea-capt'in runnin' things in this town 'fore he's been here two years, jest 'cause he's got cheek enough and thutty thousand dollars--and now comes that old gas-bag with a plug hat on it, braggin' of his own thutty thousand dollars, and they hitch up! gawd help smyrna, that's all i say!"
-and yet, had all the spiteful eyes in smyrna peered around the corner of the barn on that serene june forenoon, they must have softened just a bit at sight of the placid peace of it all.
-the big doors were rolled back, and "imogene," the ancient elephant whose fond attachment to hiram had preserved her from the auction-block, bent her wrinkled front to the soothing sunshine and "weaved" contentedly on her slouchy legs. she was watching her master with the thorough appreciation of one who has understood and loved the "sportin' life."
-hiram was in shirt-sleeves and bareheaded, his stringy hair combed over his bald spot. his long-tailed coat and plug hat hung from a wooden peg on the side of the barn. in front of him was a loose square of burlap, pegged to the ground at one edge, its opposite edge nailed to the barn, and sloping at an angle of forty-five degrees.
-"i sh'd hate to try to eat 'em," said the cap'n, gingerly poking his stubby finger against the rooster's leg.
-"fight!" cried the showman. he tossed the rooster upon the burlap once more. "fight! look at that leg action! that's the best yaller-legged, high-station game-cock that ever pecked his way out of a shell. i've taken all comers 'twixt hoorah and hackenny, and he ain't let me down yet. look at them brad-awls of his!"
-"mebbe all so, but i don't like hens, not for a minit," growled the first selectman, squinting sourly through his tobacco-smoke at the dancing fowl.
-hiram got a saucer from a shelf inside the barn and set it on the ground.
-he relighted his stub of cigar and bent proud gaze on the bird.
-"no, sir," pursued the cap'n, "i ain't got no use for a hen unless it's settin', legs up, on a platter, and me with a carvin'-knife."
-"always felt that way?" inquired hiram.
-"not so much as i have sence i've been tryin' to start my garden this spring. as fur back as the time i was gittin' the seed in, them hens of widder sidene pike, that lives next farm to mine, began their hellishness, with that old wart-legged ostrich of a rooster of her'n to lead 'em. they'd almost peck the seeds out of my hand, and the minit i'd turn my back they was over into that patch, right foot, left foot, kick heel and toe, and swing to pardners--and you couldn't see the sun for dirt. and at every rake that rooster lifts soil enough to fill a stevedore's coal-bucket."
-"why don't you shoot 'em?" advised hiram, calmly.
-"me--the first s'lectman of this town out poppin' off a widder's hens? that would be a nice soundin' case when it got into court, wouldn't it?"
-"get into court first and sue her," advised the militant hiram.
-"i donno as i've ever said it to you, but i've al'ays said it to close friends," stated the cap'n, earnestly, "that there are only three things on earth i'm afraid of, and them are: pneumony, bein' struck by lightnin', and havin' a land-shark git the law on me. there ain't us'ly no help for ye."
-he sighed and smoked reflectively. then his face hardened.
-"there's grown to be more to it lately than the hen end. have you heard that sence bat reeves got let down by she that was widder snell"--he nodded toward the house--"he has been sort of caught on the bounce, as ye might say, by the widder pike? well, bein' her close neighbor, i know it's so. and, furdermore, the widder's told my wife, bein' so tickled over ketchin' him that she couldn't hold it to herself. now, for the last week, every time that old red-gilled dirt-walloper has led them hens into my garden, i've caught bat reeves peekin' around the corner of the widder's house watchin' 'em. if there's any such thing as a man bein' able to talk human language to a rooster, and put sin and satan into him, reeves is doin' it. but what's the good of my goin' and lickin' him? it'll mean law. that's what he's lookin' for--and him with that old gandershanked lawyer for a brother! see what they done to you!"
-hiram's eyes grew hard, and he muttered irefully. for cuffing batson reeves off the widow snell's door-step he had paid a fat fine, assessed for the benefit of the assaulted, along with liberal costs allowed to squire alcander reeves.
-"they can't get any of my money that way," pursued the cap'n. "i'd pay suthin' for the privilege of drawin' and quarterin' him, but a plain lickin' ain't much object. a lickin' does him good."
-"i understand you to say, do i," resumed hiram, "that he is shooing them hens--or, at least, condonin' their comin' down into your garden ev'ry day?"
-"i run full half a mile jest before i came acrost to see you, chasin' 'em out," said the cap'n, gloomily, "and i'll bet they was back in there before i got to the first bars on my way over here."
-"in the show business," said hiram, "when i found a feller with a game that i could play better 'n him, i was always willin' to play his game." he stuck up his hand with the fingers spread like a fan, and began to check items. "a gun won't do, because it's a widder's hens; a fight won't do, because it's bat reeves; law won't do, because he's got old heron-legged alcander right in his family. now this thing is gittin' onto your sperits, and i can see it!"
-"it is heiferin' me bad," admitted the cap'n. "it ain't so much the hens--though gawd knows i hate a hen bad enough--but it's bat reeves standin' up there grinnin' and watchin' me play tag-you're-it with old scuff-and-kick and them female friends of his. for a man that's dreamed of garden-truck jest as he wants it, and never had veg'tables enough in twenty years of sloshin' round the world on shipboard, it's about the most cussed, aggravatin' thing i ever got against. and there i am! swear and chase--and northin' comin' of it!"
-he tucked the rooster under his arm and started off.
-"let's go 'crost back lots," he advised. "what people don't see and don't know about won't hurt 'em, and that includes your wife and mine.
-when they topped hickory hill they had a survey of cap'n sproul's acres. here and there on the brown mould of his garden behind the big barn were scattered yellow and gray specks.
-"there they be, blast 'em to fury!" growled the cap'n.
-his eyes then wandered farther, as though seeking something familiar, and he clutched the showman's arm as they walked along.
-"and there's bat reeves's gray hoss hitched in the widder's dooryard."
-"mebbe he'll wait and have fricasseed rooster for dinner," suggested hiram, grimly. "that's all his rooster'll be good for in fifteen minutes."
-"it would be the devil and repeat for us if the widder's rooster should lick--and bat reeves standin' and lookin' on," suggested the cap'n, bodingly.
-hiram stopped short, looked this faltering faint-heart all over from head to heel with withering scorn, and demanded: "ain't you got sportin' blood enough to know the difference between a high-station game-cock and that old bow-legged mormon down there scratchin' your garden-seeds?"
-"well," replied the cap'n, rather surlily, "i ain't to blame for what i don't know about, and i don't know about hens, and i don't want to know. but i do know that he's more'n twice as big as your rooster, and he's had exercise enough in my garden this spring to be more'n twice as strong. all is, don't lay it to me not warnin' you, if you lose your thousand-dollar hen!"
-they made a detour through the sproul orchard to avoid possible observation by louada murilla, the cap'n's wife, and by so doing showed themselves plainly to any one who might be looking that way from the widow's premises. this was a part of the showman's plan. he hoped to attract reeves's attention. he did. they saw him peering under his palm from the shed door, evidently suspecting that this combination of his two chief foes meant something sinister. he came out of the shed and walked down toward the fence when he saw them headed for the garden.
-"watchin' out for evidence in a law case, probably," growled cap'n sproul, the fear of onshore artfulness ever with him. "he'd ruther law it any time than have a fair fight, man to man, and that's the kind of a critter i hate."
-"the widder's lookin' out of the kitchen winder," hiram announced, "and i'm encouraged to think that mebbe he'll want to shine a little as her protector, and will come over into the garden to save her hen. then will be your time. he'll be trespassin', and i'll be your witness. go ahead and baste the stuffin' out of him."
-"usually in a reg'lar match i scruffle his feathers and blow in his eye, cap'n, but i won't have to do it this time. it's too easy a proposition. i'm jest tellin' you about it so that if you ever git interested in fightin' hens after this, you'll be thankful to me for a pointer or two."
-"i won't begin to take lessons yet a while," the cap'n grunted. "it ain't in my line."
-hiram tossed his feathered gladiator out upon the garden mould.
-"s-s-s-s-! eat him up, boy!" he commanded.
-the other rooster straightened up from his agricultural labors, and stared at this lone intruder on his family privacy. he was a tall, rakish-looking fowl, whose erect carriage and lack of tail-feathers made him look like a spindle-shanked urchin as he towered there among the busy hens.
-the other replied with a sort of croupy hoarseness.
-"sounds like he was full to the neck with your garden-seeds," commented hiram. "well, he won't ever eat no more, and that's something to be thankful for."
-the game-cock, apparently having understood the word to come on, tiptoed briskly across the garden. the other waited his approach, craning his long neck and twisting his head from side to side.
-reeves was now at the fence.
-"i'll bet ye ten dollars," shouted hiram, "that down goes your hen the first shuffle."
-"you will, hey?" bawled reeves, sarcastically. "say, you didn't bring them three shells and rubber pea that you used to make your livin' with, did ye?"
-the old showman gasped, and his face grew purple. "i licked him twenty years ago for startin' that lie about me," he said, bending blazing glance on the cap'n. "damn the expense! i'm goin' over there and kill him!"
-"wait till your rooster kills his, and then take the remains and bat his brains out with 'em," advised the cap'n, swelling with equal wrath. "look! he's gettin' at him!"
-with a hoarse howl of rage and concern, hiram rushed across the garden, the dirt flying behind him. the hens squawked and fled, and the conqueror, giving one startled look at the approaching vengeance, abandoned his victim, and closed the line of retreat over the fence.
-"he didn't git at his eyes," shouted hiram, grabbing up his champion from the dirt, "but"--making hasty survey of the bleeding head--"but the jeebingoed cannibal has et one gill and pretty near pecked his comb off. it wa'n't square! it wa'n't square!" he bellowed, advancing toward the fence where reeves was leaning. "ye tried to kill a thousand-dollar bird by a skin-game, and i'll have it out of your hide."
-reeves pulled a pole out of the fence.
-"fair!" sneered reeves. "you're talkin' as though this was a prize-fight for the championship of the world! my--i mean, mis' pike's rooster licked, didn't he? well, when a rooster's licked, he's licked, and there ain't nothin' more to it."
-"that's your idee of sport, is it?" demanded hiram, stooping to wipe his bloody hand on the grass.
-the personal reference in this little speech was too plain for hiram to disregard.
-his hard eyes narrowed, and hatred of this insolent countryman blazed there. the countryman glared back with just as fierce bitterness.
-"mebbe you've got money to back your opinion of widder pike's hen there?" suggested the showman. "money's the only thing that seems to interest you, and you don't seem to care how you make it."
-"make your talk!"
-"i've got five hundred that says i've got the best hen."
-"there ain't goin' to be no foolishness about rules and sport, and hitchin' and hawin', is there? it's jest hen that counts!"
-"jest hen!" hiram set his teeth hard.
-"five hundred it is," agreed reeves. "but i need a fortni't to collect in some that's due me. farmin' ain't such ready-money as the circus bus'ness."
-"take your fortni't! and we'll settle place later. and that's all, 'cause it makes me sick to stand anywhere within ten feet of you."
-hiram strode away across the fields, his wounded gladiator on his arm.
-and, as it was near dinner-time, cap'n sproul trudged into his own house, his mien thoughtful and his air subdued.
-the next day hiram drove into the sproul dooryard and called out the cap'n, refusing to get out of his wagon.
-"i shall be away a few days--mebbe more, mebbe less. i leave time and place to you." and he slashed at his horse and drove away.
-it was certainly a queer place that cap'n sproul decided upon after several days of rumination. his own abstraction during that time, and the unexplained absence of hiram, the bridegroom of a month, an absence that was prolonged into a week, caused secret tears and apprehensive imaginings in both households.
-hiram came back, mysterious as the sphinx.
-cap'n sproul arranged for a secret meeting of the principals behind his barn, and announced his decision as to place.
-"the poor-farm!" both snorted in unison. "what--"
-"hold right on!" interrupted the cap'n, holding up his broad palms; "it can't be in his barn on account of his wife; it can't be in my barn on account of my wife. both of 'em are all wrought up and suspectin' somethin'. some old pick-ed nose in this place is bound to see us if we try to sneak away into the woods. jim wixon, the poor-farm keeper, holds his job through me. he's square, straight, and minds his own business. i can depend on him. he'll hold the stakes. there ain't another man in town we can trust. there ain't a place as safe as the poor-farm barn. folks don't go hangin' round a poor-farm unless they have to. it's for there the ev'nin' before the fourth. agree, or count me out. the first selectman of this town can't afford to take too many chances, aidin' and abettin' a hen-fight."
-therefore there was nothing else for it. the principals accepted sullenly, and went their ways.
-the taciturnity of hiram look was such during the few days before the meeting that cap'n sproul regretfully concluded to keep to his own hearthstone. hiram seemed to be nursing a secret. the cap'n felt hurt, and admitted as much to himself in his musings.
-he went alone to the rendezvous at early dusk. keeper wixon, of the poor-farm, had the big floor of the barn nicely swept, had hung lanterns about on the wooden harness-pegs, and was in a state of great excitement and impatience.
-second selectman reeves came first, lugging his crate from his beach-wagon. the crate held the widow pike's rooster. his nomination had his head up between the slats, and was crowing regularly and raucously.
-"choke that dam fog-horn off!" commanded the cap'n. "what are ye tryin' to do, advertise this sociable?"
-"you talk like i was doin' that crowin' myself," returned reeves, sulkily. "and nobody ain't goin' to squat his wizen and git him out of breath. hands off, and a fair show!"
-hiram look was no laggard at the meeting. he rumbled into the yard on the box of one of his animal cages, pulled out a huge bag containing something that kicked and wriggled, and deposited his burden on the barn floor.
-"now," said he, brusquely, "business before pleasure! you've got the stakes, eh, wixon?"
-"in my wallet here--a thousand dollars," replied the keeper, a little catch in his voice at thought of the fortune next his anxious heart.
-"and the best hen takes the money; no flummery, no filigree!" put in reeves.
-hiram was kneeling beside his agitated bag, and was picking at the knots in its fastening. "this will be a hen-fight served up smyrna style," he said, grimly. "and, as near as i can find out, that style is mostly--scrambled!"
-"i've got a favor to ask," stammered wixon, hesitatingly. "it don't mean much to you, but it means a good deal to others. bein' penned up on a poor-farm, with nothin' except three meals a day to take up your mind, is pretty tough on them as have seen better days. i'll leave it to cap'n sproul, here, if i ain't tried to put a little kindness and human feelin' into runnin' this place, and--"
-hiram was untying the last knot. "spit out what you're drivin' at," he cried bluntly; "this ain't no time for sideshow barkin'. the big show is about to begin."
-"i want to invite in the boys," blurted wixon. and when they blinked at him amazedly, he said:
-"the five old fellers that's here, i mean. they're safe and mum, and they're jest dyin' for a little entertainment, and it's only kindness to them that's unfortunate, if you--"
-"what do you think this is, a livin'-picture show got up to amuse a set of droolin' old paupers?" demanded hiram, with heat.
-"well, as it is, they suspect suthin'," persisted wixon. "all they have to do to pass time is to suspect and projick on what's goin' on and what's goin' to happen. if you'll let me bring 'em, i can shet their mouths. if they don't come in, they're goin' to suspect suthin' worse than what it is--and that's only human natur'--and not to blame for it."
-the two selectmen protested, official alarm in their faces, but hiram suddenly took the keeper's side, after the manner of his impetuous nature, and after he had shrewdly noted that reeves seemed to be most alarmed.
-"i'm the challenger," he roared. "i've got something to say. bring 'em, wixon. let 'em have a taste of fun. i may wind up on the poor-farm myself. bring 'em in. there's prob'ly more sportin' blood in the paupers of this town than in the citizens. bring 'em in, and let's have talkin' done with."
-in a suspiciously short time wixon led in his charges--five hobbling old men, all chewing tobacco and looking wondrously interested.
-"there!" said hiram, an appreciative glint in his eyes. "nothin' like havin' an audience, even if they did come in on passes. i've never given a show before empty benches yet. and now, gents"--the old spirit of the "barker" entered into him--"you are about to behold a moral and elevatin' exhibition of the wonders of natur'. i have explored the jungles of palermo, the hills of peru corners, the valleys of north belgrade, never mindin' time and expense, and i've got something that beats the wild boy tom and his little sister mary. without takin' more of your valuable time, i will now present to your attention"--he tore open the bag--"cap'n kidd, the terror of the mountains."
-the wagging jaws of the old paupers stopped as if petrified. keeper wixon peered under his hand and retreated a few paces. even doughty cap'n sproul, accustomed to the marvels of land and sea, snapped his eyes. as for reeves, he gasped "great gorlemity!" under his breath, and sat down on the edge of his crate, as though his legs had given out.
-the creature that rose solemnly up from the billowing folds of the bagging had a head as smooth and round as a door-knob, dangling, purple wattles under its bill, and breast of a sanguinary red, picked clean of feathers. there were not many feathers on the fowl, anyway. its tail was merely a spreading of quills like spikes. it was propped on legs like stilts, and when it stretched to crow it stood up as tall as a yard-stick.
-"let out your old doostrabulus, there!" hiram commanded.
-"that ain't no hen," wailed his adversary.
-"it's got two legs, a bill, and a place for tail-feathers, and that's near enough to a hen for fightin' purposes in this town--accordin' to what i've seen of the sport here," insisted the showman. "the principal hen-fightin' science in smyrna seems to be to stand on t' other hen and peck him to pieces! well, reeves, cap'n kidd there ain't got so much pedigree as some i've owned, but as a stander and pecker i'm thinkin' he'll give a good, fair account of himself."
-"it's a gum-game," protested reeves, agitatedly, "and i ain't goin' to fight no ostrich nor hen-hawk."
-"then i'll take the stakes without further wear or tear," said hiram. "am i right, boys?" a unanimous chorus indorsed him. "and this here is something that i reckon ye won't go to law about," the showman went on, ominously, "even if you have got a lawyer in the family. you ketch, don't you?"
-the unhappy second selectman realized his situation, sighed, and pried a slat off the crate. his nomination was more sanguine than he. the rooster hopped upon the crate, crowed, and stalked out onto the barn floor with a confidence that made reeves perk up courage a bit.
-cap'n kidd showed abstraction rather than zeal. he was busily engaged in squinting along his warty legs, and at last detected two or three objects that were annoying him. he picked them off leisurely. then he ran his stiff and scratchy wing down his leg, yawned, and seemed bored.
-when the other rooster ran across and pecked him viciously on his red expanse of breast, he cocked his head sideways and looked down wonderingly on this rude assailant. blood trickled from the wound, and reeves giggled nervously. cap'n sproul muttered something and looked apprehensive, but hiram, his eyes hard and his lips set, crouched at the side of the floor, and seemed to be waiting confidently.
-widow pike's favorite stepped back, rapped his bill on the floor several times, and then ran at his foe once more. a second trail of blood followed his blow. this time the unknown ducked his knobby head at the attacker. it looked like a blow with a slung-shot. but it missed, and reeves tittered again.
-"fly up and peck his eye out, pete!" he called, cheerily.
-it is not likely that peter understood this adjuration, notwithstanding cap'n sproul's gloomy convictions on that score in the past. but, apparently having tested the courage of this enemy, he changed his tactics, leaped, and flew at cap'n kidd with spurring feet.
-then it happened!
-cap'n kidd threw himself back on the bristling spines of his tail, both claws off the floor. peter's spurring feet met only empty air, and he fell on the foe.
-foe's splay claws grabbed him around the neck and clutched him like a vise, shutting off his last, startled squawk. then cap'n kidd darted forward that knobby head with its ugly beak, and tore off peter's caput with one mighty wrench.
-"'tain't fair! it's jest as i said it was! 'tain't square!" screamed reeves.
-but hiram strode forward, snapping authoritative fingers under wixon's nose. "hand me that money!" he gritted, and wixon, his eyes on the unhappy bird writhing in cap'n kidd's wicked grasp, made no demur. the showman took it, even as the maddened reeves was clutching for the packet, tucked it into his breast pocket, and drove the second selectman back with a mighty thrust of his arm. the selectman stumbled over the combatants and sat down with a shock that clicked his teeth. cap'n kidd fled from under, and flew to a high beam.
-"he ain't a hen!" squalled reeves.
-at that moment the barn door was opened from the outside, and through this exit cap'n kidd flapped with hoarse cries, whether of triumph or fright no one could say.
-the lanterns' light shone on widow sidenia pike, her face white from the scare "cap'n kidd's" rush past her head had given her, but with determination written large in her features.
-she gazed long at reeves, sitting on the floor beside the defunct rooster. she pointed an accusatory finger at it.
-"mr. reeves," she said, "you've been lyin' to me two weeks, tryin' to buy that rooster that i wouldn't sell no more'n i'd sell my first husband's gravestun'. and when you couldn't git it by lyin', you stole it off'm the roost to-night. and to make sure there won't be any more lies, i've followed you right here to find out the truth. now what does this mean?"
-there was a soulful pause.
-"lie in small things, lie in big!" she snapped. "i reckon i've found ye out for a missabul thing!"
-hiram, standing back in the shadows, nudged cap'n sproul beside him, and wagged his head toward the open door. they went out on tiptoe.
-"if he wants to lie some more, our bein' round might embarrass him," whispered hiram. "i never like to embarrass a man when he's down--and--and her eyes was so much on reeves and the rooster i don't believe she noticed us. and what she don't know won't hurt her none. but"--he yawned--"i shouldn't be a mite surprised if another one of bat reeves's engagements was busted in this town. he don't seem to have no luck at all in marryin' farms with the wimmen throwed in." the cap'n didn't appear interested in reeves's troubles. his eyes were searching the dim heavens.
-"what do you call that thing you brought in the bag?" he demanded.
-"blamed if i know!" confessed hiram, climbing upon his chariot. "and i'm pretty well up on freaks, too, as a circus man ought to be. i jest went out huntin' for suthin' to fit in with the sportin' blood as i found it in this place--and i reckon i got it! mebbe 'twas a cassowary, mebbe 'twas a dodo--the man himself didn't know--said even the hen that hatched it didn't seem to know. 'pologized to me for asking me two dollars for it, and i gave him five. i hope it will go back where it come from. it hurt my eyes to look at it. but it was a good bargain!" he patted his breast pocket.
-"come over to-morrow," he called to the cap'n as he drove away. "i sha'n't have so much on my mind, and i'll be a little more sociable! listen to that bagpipe selection!"
-behind them they heard the whining drone of a man's pleading voice and a woman's shrill, insistent tones, a monotony of sound flowing on--and on--and on!
-the president of the "smyrna agricultural fair and gents' driving association" had been carrying something on his mind throughout the meeting of the trustees of the society--the last meeting before the date advertised for the fair. and now, not without a bit of apprehensiveness, he let it out.
-"i've invited the honer'ble j. percival bickford to act as the starter and one of the judges of the races," he announced.
-trustee silas wallace, superintendent of horses, had put on his hat. now he took it off again.
-"what!" he almost squalled.
-"you see," explained the president, with eager conciliatoriness, "we've only got to scratch his back just a little to have him--"
-"why, 'kittle-belly' bickford don't know no more about hoss-trottin' than a goose knows about the hard-shell baptist doctrine," raved wallace, his little eyes popping like marbles.
-"i don't like to hear a man that's done so much for his native town called by any such names," retorted the president, ready to show temper himself, to hide his embarrassment. "he's come back here and--"
-trustee wallace now stood up and cracked his bony knuckles on the table, his weazened face puckered with angry ridges.
-"i don't need to have a printed catalogue of what jabe bickford has done for this town. and i don't need to be told what he's done it for. he's come back from out west, where he stole more money than he knew what to do with, and--"
-"i protest!" cried president thurlow kitchen. "when you say that the honer'ble j. percival bickford has stolen--"
-"well, promoted gold-mines, then! it's only more words to say the same thing. and he's back here spendin' his loose change for daily doses of hair-oil talk fetched to him by the beggin' old suckers of this place."
-"i may be a beggin' old sucker," flared the president, "but i've had enterprise enough and interest in this fair enough to get mr. bickford to promise us a present of a new exhibition hall, and it's only right to extend some courtesy to him in return."
-"it was all right to make him president of the lib'ry association when he built the lib'ry, make him a deacon when he gave the organ for the meetin'-house, give him a banquet and nineteen speeches tellin' him he was the biggest man on earth when he put the stone watering-trough in--all that was all right for them that thought it was all right. but when you let 'kittle-belly' bickford--"
-"don't you call him that," roared president kitchen, thumping the table.
-"duke, then! dammit, crown him lord of all! but when you let him hang that pod of his out over the rail of that judges' stand and bust up a hoss-trot programmy that i've been three months gettin' entries for--and all jest so he can show off a white vest and a plug hat and a new gold stop-watch and have the band play 'hail to the chief'--i don't stand for it--no, sir!"
-"the trouble is with you," retorted the president with spirit, "you've razoo-ed and hoss-jockeyed so long you've got the idea that all there is to a fair is a plug of chaw-tobacco, a bag of peanuts, and a posse of nose-whistlin' old pelters skatin' round a half-mile track."
-"and you and 'kit'--you and duke jabe, leave you alone to run a fair--wouldn't have northin' but his new exhibition hall filled with croshayed tidies and hooked rugs."
-"well, i move," broke in trustee dunham, "that we git som'ers. i'm personally in favor of pleasin' honer'ble bickford and takin' the exhibition hall."
-"that's right! that's business!" came decisive chorus from the other three trustees. "let's take the hall."
-wallace doubled his gaunt form, propped himself on the table by his skinny arms, and stared from face to face in disgust unutterable.
-"take it?" he sneered. "why, you'll take anything! you're takin' up the air in this room, like pumpin' up a sulky tire, and ain't lettin' it out again! good-day! i'm goin' out where i can get a full breath."
-he whirled on them at the door.
-"but you hark to what i'm predictin' to you! if you don't wish the devil had ye before you're done with that old balloon with a plug hat on it in your judges' stand, then i'll trot an exhibition half mile on my hands and knees against star pointer for a bag of oats. and i'm speakin' for all the hossmen in this county."
-when this uncomfortable jeremiah had departed, leaving in his wake a trailing of oaths and a bouquet of stable aroma, the trustees showed relief, even if enthusiasm was notably absent.
-"it's going to raise the tone of the fair, having him in the stand--there ain't any getting round that," said the president. "the notion seemed to strike him mighty favorable. 'it's an idea!' said he to me. 'yes, a real idea. i will have other prominent gentlemen to serve with me, and we will be announced as paytrons of the races. that will sound well, i think.' and he asked me what two men in town was best fixed financially, and, of course, i told him cap'n aaron sproul, our first selectman, and hiram look. he said he hadn't been in town long enough to get real well acquainted with either of them yet, but hoped they were gentlemen. i told him they were. i reckon that being skipper of a ship and ownin' a circus stands as high as the gold-mine business."
-"well," said one of the trustees, with some venom, "jabe bickford is doin' a good deal for this town, one way and another, but he wants to remember that his gran'ther had to call on us for town aid, and that there wa'n't nary ever another bickford that lived in this town or went out of it, except jabe, that could get trusted for a barrel of flour. puttin' on his airs out west is all right, but puttin' 'em on here to home, among us that knows him and all his breed, is makin' some of the old residents kind of sick. si wallace hadn't ought to call him by that name he did, but si is talkin' the way a good many feel."
-"if an angel from heaven should descend on this town with the gift of abidin' grace," said president kitchen, sarcastically, "a lot of folks here would get behind his back and make faces at him."
-"prob'ly would," returned the trustee, imperturbably, "if said angel wore a plug hat and kid gloves from mornin' till night, said 'me good man' to old codgers who knowed him when he had stone-bruises on his heels as big as pigeon's aigs, and otherwise acted as though he was cream and every one else was buttermilk."
-"well, when some of the rest of you have done as much for this town as honer'ble bickford," broke in the president, testily, "you can have the right to criticise. as it is, i can't see anything but jealousy in it. and i've heard enough of it. now, to make this thing all pleasant and agreeable to the honer'ble bickford, we've got to have cap'n sproul and hiram look act as judges with him. 'tis a vote! now, who will see cap'n sproul and--"
-"considerin' what has happened to those who have in times past tried to notify cap'n sproul of honors tendered to him in this town, you'd better pick out some one who knows how to use the wireless telegraph," suggested one of the trustees.
-"there won't be any trouble in gettin' hiram look to act," said the president. "he's just enough of a circus feller to like to stand up before the crowd and show authority. well, then"--the president's wits were sharpened by his anxiety over the proposed exhibition hall--"let mr. look arrange it with cap'n sproul. they're suckin' cider through the same straw these days."
-and this suggestion was so eminently good that the meeting adjourned in excellent humor that made light of all the gloomy prognostications of trustee wallace.
-as though good-fortune were in sooth ruling the affairs of the smyrna a.f. & g.d.a., hiram look came driving past as the trustees came out of the tavern, their meeting-place.
-he stroked his long mustache and listened. at first his silk hat stuck up rigidly, but soon it began to nod gratified assent.
-"i don't know much about hoss-trottin' rules, but a man that's been in the show business for thirty years has got enough sportin' blood in him for the job, i reckon. bickford and sproul, hey? why, yes! i'll hunt up the cap, and take him over to bickford's, and we'll settle preliminaries, or whatever the hoss-talk is for gettin' together. i'd rather referee a prize-fight, but you're too dead up this way for real sport to take well. nothing been said to sproul? all right! i'll fix him."
-cap'n sproul was in his garden, surveying the growing "sass" with much content of spirit. he cheerfully accepted hiram's invitation to take a ride, destination not mentioned, and they jogged away toward "bickburn towers," as the honorable j. percival had named the remodelled farm-house of his ancestors.
-hiram, whose gift was language, impetuous in flow and convincing in argument, whether as barker or friend, conveyed the message of the trustees to cap'n sproul. but the first selectman of smyrna did not display enthusiasm. he scowled at the buggy dasher and was silent.
-"men that have been out and about, like you and i have been, need something once in a while to break the monotony of country life," concluded hiram, slashing his whip at the wayside alders.
-"you and me and him," observed the cap'n, with sullen prod of his thumb in direction of the "gingerbready" tower of the bickford place rising over the ridge, "marooned in that judges' stand like penguins on a ledge--we'll be li'ble to break the monotony. oh yes! there ain't no doubt about that."
-"why, there'll be northin' to it!" blustered hiram, encouragingly. "i'll swear 'em into line, you holler 'go!' and the honer'ble bickford will finger that new gold stop-watch of his and see how fast they do it. northin' to it, i say!"
-"this is the blastedest town a man ever settled down in to spend his last days in peace and quietness," growled the cap'n. "there's a set of men here that seem to be perfickly happy so long as they're rollin' up a gob of trouble, sloppin' a little sweet-oil and molasses on the outside and foolin' some one into swallerin' it. i tell ye, look, i've lived here a little longer than you have, and when you see a man comin' to offer you what they call an honor, kick him on general principles, and kick him hard."
-"doctors ought to be willin' to take their own medicine," retorted hiram, grimly. "here you be, first selec'man and--"
-"they caught me when i wa'n't lookin'--not bein' used to the ways of land-piruts," replied the cap'n, gloomily. "i was tryin' to warn you as one that's been ahead and knows."
-"why, that's just what i like about this town," blurted hiram, undismayed. "when i came home to palermo a year ago or so, after all my wanderin's, they wouldn't elect me so much as hog-reeve--seemed to be down on me all 'round. but here--heard what they did last night?" there was pride in his tones. "they elected me foreman of the smyrna ancient and honer'ble firemen's association."
-"and you let 'em hornswoggle you into takin' it?" demanded the cap'n.
-"leather buckets, piazzy hat, speakin'-trumpet, bed-wrench, and puckerin'-string bag are in my front hall this minit," said hiram, cheerily, "and the wife is gittin' the stuff together for the feed and blow-out next week. i'm goin' to do it up brown!"
-the cap'n opened his mouth as though to enter upon revelations. but he shut it without a word.
-"it ain't no use," he reflected, his mind bitter with the memories of his own occupancy of that office. "it's like the smallpox and the measles; you've got to have a run of 'em yourself before you're safe from ketchin' 'em."
-the honorable j. percival bickford, rotund and suave with the mushiness of the near-gentleman, met them graciously in the hall, having waited for the servant to announce them.
-hiram did most of the talking, puffing at one of the host's long cigars. cap'n sproul sat on the edge of a spider-legged chair, great unhappiness on his countenance. mr. bickford was both charmed and delighted, so he said, by their acceptance, and made it known that he had suggested them, in his anxiety to have only gentlemen of standing associated with him.
-"as the landed proprietors of the town, as you might say," he observed, "it becomes us as due our position to remove ourselves a little from the herd. in the judges' stand we can, as you might say, be patrons of the sports of the day, without loss of dignity. i believe--and this is also my suggestion--that the trustees are to provide an open barouche, and we will be escorted from the gate to the stand by a band of music. that will be nice. and when it is over we will award the prizes, as i believe they call it--"
-"announce winners of heats and division of purses," corrected hiram, out of his greater knowledge of sporting affairs. "i'll do that through a megaphone. when i barked in front of my show you could hear me a mile."
-"it will all be very nice," said mr. bickford, daintily flecking cigar ash from his glorious white waistcoat. "er--by the way--i see that you customarily wear a silk hat, mr. look."
-"it needs a plug hat, a lemon, and a hunk of glass to run a circus," said the ex-showman.
-"yes, men may say what they like, mr. look, the people expect certain things in the way of garb from those whom they honor with position. er--do you wear a silk hat officially, captain sproul, as selectman?"
-"not by a--never had one of the things on!" replied the cap'n, moderating his first indignant outburst.
-"i'm going to do you a bit of neighborly kindness," said mr. bickford, blandly. "james," he called to the servant, "bring the brown bandbox in the hall closet. it's one of my hats," he explained. "i have several. you may wear it in the stand, with my compliments, captain sproul. then we'll be three of a kind, eh? ha, ha!"
-the cap'n licked his lips as though fever burned there, and worked his adam's apple vigorously. probably if he had been in the accustomed freedom of outdoors he would have sworn soulfully and smashed the bandbox over the honorable j. percival's bald head. now, in the stilted confines of that ornate parlor, he nursed the bandbox on his knees, as part of the rest of the spider-legged and frail surroundings. when they retired to their team he carried the bandbox held gingerly out in front of him, tiptoeing across the polished floor.
-"what? me wear that bird-cage?" he roared, when they were out of hearing. "not by the great jeehookibus!"
-"yes, you will," returned hiram, with the calm insistence of a friend. "you ain't tryin' to make out that what i do ain't all right and proper, are you?"
-cap'n sproul checked an apparent impulse to toss the bandbox into the roadside bushes, and after a moment tucked the thing under the seat to have it out of the way of his tempted hands. then he wrenched off a huge chew of tobacco whose rumination might check his impulse toward tempestuous language.
-he tried the hat on that night in the presence of his admiring wife, gritting curses under his breath, his skin prickling with resentment. he swore then that he would never wear it. but on the day of the race he carried it in its box to the selectman's office, at which common meeting-place the three judges were to be taken up by the official barouche of the smyrna fair association.
-under the commanding eye of hiram look he put on the head-gear when the barouche was announced at the door, and went forth into the glare of publicity with a furtive sense of shame that flushed his cheek. by splitting the top of his hack, ferd parrott, landlord of smyrna tavern, had produced a vehicle that somewhat resembled half a watermelon. ferd drove, adorned also with a plug hat from the stock of the honorable percival.
-just inside the gate of the fair-grounds waited the smyrna "silver cornet band." it struck up "hail to the chief," to the violent alarm of the hack-horses.
-"we're goin' to get run away with sure's you're above hatches!" bellowed cap'n sproul, standing up and making ready to leap over the edge of the watermelon. but hiram look restrained him, and the band, its trombones splitting the atmosphere, led away with a merry march.
-when they had circled the track, from the three-quarters pole to the stand, and the crowd broke into plaudits, cap'n sproul felt a bit more comfortable, and dared to straighten his neck and lift his head-gear further into the sunshine.
-he even forgot the hateful presence of his seat-mate, a huge dog that mr. bickford had invited into the fourth place in the carriage.
-"a very valuable animal, gentlemen," he said. "intelligent as a man, and my constant companion. to-day is the day of two of man's best friends--the horse and the dog--and hector will be in his element."
-but hector, wagging and slavering amiably about in the narrow confines of the little stand to which they climbed, snapped the cap'n's leash of self-control ere five minutes passed.
-"say, mr. bickford," he growled, after one or two efforts to crowd past the ubiquitous canine and get to the rail, "either me or your dog is in the way here."
-"charge, hector!" commanded mr. bickford, taking one eye from the cheering multitude. the dog "clumped" down reluctantly.
-"we might just as well get to an understandin'," said the cap'n, not yet placated. "i ain't used to a dog underfoot, i don't like a dog, and i won't associate with a dog. next thing i know i'll be makin' a misstep onto him, and he'll have a hunk out of me."
-"why, my dear captain," oozed hector's proprietor, "that dog is as intelligent as a man, as mild as a kitten, and a very--"
-"don't care if he's writ a dictionary and nussed infants," cried the cap'n, slatting out his arm defiantly; "it's him or me, here; take your choice!"
-"i--i think your dog would be all right if you let him stay down-stairs under the stand," ventured president kitchen, diplomatically.
-"he's a valuable animal," demurred mr. bickford, "and--" he caught the flaming eye of the cap'n, and added: "but if you'll have a man sit with him he may go.
-"now we'll settle down for a real nice afternoon," he went on, conciliatingly. "let's see: this here is the cord that i pull to signal the horses to start, is it?"
-"no, no!" expostulated president kitchen, "you pull that bell-cord to call them back if the field isn't bunched all right at the wire when they score down for the word. if all the horses are in position and are all leveled, you shout 'go!' and start your watch."
-"precisely," said mr. bickford.
-"it's the custom," went on the president, solicitous for the success of his strange assortment of judges, yet with heart almost failing him, "for each judge to have certain horses that he watches during the mile for breaks or fouls. then he places them as they come under the wire. that is so one man won't have too much on his mind."
-"very, very nice!" murmured the honorable j. percival. "we are here to enjoy the beautiful day and the music and the happy throngs, and we don't want to be too much taken up with our duties." he pushed himself well out into view over the rail, held his new gold watch in one gloved hand, and tapped time to the band with the other.
-now came a thumping of resolute feet on the stairs; a head projected just above the edge of the opening, and stopped there.
-"president, trustees, and judges!" hailed a squeaky voice.
-cap'n sproul recognized the speaker with an uncontrollable snort of disgust.
-it was marengo todd, most obnoxious of all that hateful crowd of the cap'n's "wife's relations"--the man who had misused the cap'n's honeymoon guilelessness in order to borrow money and sell him spavined horses.
-"mister president, trustees, and judges, i've got here a dockyment signed by seventeen--"
-president kitchen knew that marengo todd had been running his bow-legs off all the forenoon securing signatures to a petition of protest that had been inspired by trustee silas wallace. the president pushed away the hand that brandished the paper.
-"what do you take this for--an afternoon readin'-circle?" he demanded. "if you're goin' to start your hoss in this thirty-four class you want to get harnessed. we're here to trot hosses, not to peruse dockyments."
-"this 'ere ain't no pome on spring," yelled marengo, banging the dust out of the floor with his whip-butt and courageously coming up one step on the stairs. "it's a protest, signed by seventeen drivers, and says if you start these events with them three old sofy pillers, there, stuffed into plug hats, for judges, we'll take this thing clear up to the nayshunal 'sociation and show up this fair management. there, chaw on that!"
-"why, bless my soul!" chirruped the honorable bickford, "this man seems very much excited. you'll have to run away, my good man! we're very busy up here, and have no time to subscribe to any papers."
-mr. bickford evidently believed that this was one of the daily "touches" to which he had become accustomed.
-"don't ye talk to me like i was one of your salaried spittoon-cleaners," squealed marengo, emboldened by the hoarse and encouraging whispers of trustee wallace in the dim depths below. the name that much repetition by wallace had made familiar slipped out before he had time for second thought. "i knowed ye, kittle-belly bickford, when ye wore patches on your pants bigger'n dinner-plates and--"
-president kitchen let loose the hasp that held up the drop-door and fairly "pegged" mr. todd out of sight. he grinned apologetically at a furious mr. bickford.
-"order the marshal to call the hosses for the thirty-four trot, honer'ble," he directed, anxious to give the starter something to do to take his mind off present matters.
-mr. bickford obeyed, finding this exercise of authority a partial sop to his wounded feelings.
-cap'n sproul pendulumed dispiritedly to and fro in the little enclosure, gloomily and obstinately waiting for the disaster that his seaman's sense of impending trouble scented. hiram look was frankly and joyously enjoying a scene that revived his old circus memories.
-eleven starters finally appeared, mostly green horses. the drivers were sullen and resentful. marengo todd was up behind a gothic ruin that he called "maria m." when he jogged past the judges' stand to get position, elbows on his knees and shoulders hunched up, the glare that he levelled on bickford from under his scoop visor was absolutely demoniac. the mutter of his denunciation could be heard above the yells of the fakers and the squawk of penny whistles.
-occasionally he scruffed his forearm over his head as though fondling something that hurt him.
-to start those eleven rank brutes on that cow-lane of a track would have tested the resources and language of a professional. when they swung at the foot of the stretch and came scoring for the first time it was a mix-up that excited the vociferous derision of the crowd. nearly every horse was off his stride, the drivers sawing at the bits.
-marengo todd had drawn the pole, but by delaying, in order to blast the honorable j. percival with his glances, he was not down to turn with the others, and now came pelting a dozen lengths behind, howling like a modoc.
-some railbird satirist near the wire bawled "go!" as the unspeakable riot swept past in dust-clouds. the honorable bickford had early possessed himself of the bell-cord as his inalienable privilege. he did not ring the bell to call the field back. he merely leaned far out, clutching the cord, endeavoring to get his eye on the man who had shouted "go!" he declaimed above the uproar that the man who would do such a thing as that was no gentleman, and declared that he should certainly have a constable arrest the next man who interfered with his duties.
-in the mean time president kitchen was frantically calling to him to ring the gong. the horses kept going, for a driver takes no chances of losing a heat by coming back to ask questions. it was different in the case of marengo todd, driver of the pole-horse, and entitled to "protection." he pulled "maria m." to a snorting halt under the wire and poured forth the vials of his artistic profanity in a way that piqued cap'n sproul's professional interest, he having heard more or less eminent efforts in his days of seafaring.
-lashed in this manner, the honorable j. percival bickford began retort of a nature that reminded his fellow-townsmen that he was "jabe" bickford, of smyrna, before he was donor of public benefits and libraries.
-the grimness of cap'n sproul's face relaxed a little. he forgot even the incubus of the plug hat. he nudged hiram.
-"i didn't know he had it in him," he whispered. "i was afraid he was jest a dude and northin' else."
-in this instance the dog hector seemed to know his master's voice, and realized that something untoward was occurring. he came bounding out from under the stand and frisked backward toward the centre of the track in order to get a square look at his lord. in this blind progress he bumped against the nervous legs of "maria m." she promptly expressed her opinion of the bickford family and its attaches by rattling the ribs of hector by a swift poke with her hoof.
-the dog barked one astonished yap of indignation and came back with a snap that started the crimson on "maria's" fetlock. she kicked him between the eyes this time--a blow that floored him. the next instant "maria m." was away, todd vainly struggling with the reins and trailing the last of his remarks over his shoulder. the dog was no quitter. he appeared to have the noble blood of which his master had boasted. after a dizzy stagger, he shot away after his assailant--a cloud of dust with a core of dog.
-the other drivers, their chins apprehensively over their shoulders, took to the inner oval of the course or to the side lines. todd, "maria m.," and hector were, by general impulse, allowed to become the whole show.
-when the mare came under the wire the first time two swipes attempted to stop her by the usual method of suddenly stretching a blanket before her. she spread her legs and squatted. todd shot forward. the mare had a long, stiff neck. her driver went astraddle of it and stuck there like a clothes-pin on a line. hector, in his cloud of dust, dove under the sulky and once more snapped the mare's leg, this time with a vigor that brought a squeal of fright and pain out of her. she went over the blanket and away again. the dog, having received another kick, and evidently realizing that he was still "it" in this grotesque game of tag, kept up the chase.
-no one who was at smyrna fair that day ever remembered just how many times the antagonists circled the track. but when the mare at last began to labor under the weight of her rider, a half-dozen men rushed out and anchored her. the dog growled, dodged the men's kicking feet, and went back under the stand.
-"what is this, jedges, a dog-fight or a hoss-trot?" raved todd, staggering in front of the stand and quivering his thin arms above his head. "whose is that dog? i've got a right to kill him, and i'm going to. show yourself over that rail, you old sausage, with a plug hat on it, and tell me what you mean by a send-off like that! what did i tell ye, trustees? it's happened. i'll kill that dog."
-"i want you to understand," bellowed the honorable bickford, using the megaphone, "you are talking about my dog--a dog that is worth more dollars than that old knock-kneed plug of yours has got hairs in her mane. put your hand on that dog, and you'll go to state prison."
-"then i'll bet a thousand dollars to a doughnut ye set that dog on me," howled marengo. "i heard ye siss him!"
-the honorable j. percival seemed to be getting more into the spirit of the occasion.
-"you're a cross-eyed, wart-nosed liar!" he retorted, with great alacrity.
-"i'll stump ye down here," screamed todd. "i can lick you and your dog, both together."
-"if i was in your place," said "judge" hiram look, his interest in horse-trotting paling beside this more familiar phase of sport, "i'd go down and cuff his old chops. you'll have the crowd with you if you do."
-but mr. bickford, though trembling with rage, could not bring himself to correlate fisticuffs and dignity.
-"he is a miserable, cheap horse-jockey, and i shall treat him with the contempt he deserves," he blustered. "if it hadn't been for my dog his old boneyard could never have gone twice around the track, anyway."
-the crowds on the grand stand were bellowing: "trot hosses! shut up! trot hosses!"
-"er--what other races have we?" inquired the honorable j. percival, as blandly as his violated feelings would allow.
-"we haven't had any yet," cried a new voice in the stand--the wrathful voice of trustee silas wallace, of the horse department. after quite a struggle he had managed to tip president kitchen off the trap-door and had ascended. "we never will have any, either," he shouted, shaking his finger under the president's nose. "what did i tell you would happen? we'll be reported to the national association."
-the crowd across the way roared and barked like beasts of prey, and the insistent and shrill staccato of marengo todd sounded over all.
-cap'n sproul deliberately and with much decision took off his silk hat and held it toward the honorable bickford.
-"i resign!" he said. "i was shanghaied into this thing against my good judgment, and it's come out just as i expected it would. it ain't no place for me, and i resign!"
-"it isn't any place for gentlemen," agreed mr. bickford, ignoring the proffered hat. "we seem to be thrown in among some very vulgar people," he went on, his ear out for marengo's taunts, his eyes boring trustee wallace. "it is not at all as i supposed it would be. you cannot expect us to be patrons of the races under these circumstances, mr. kitchen. you will please call our barouche. we leave in great displeasure."
-"i don't give a red hoorah how you leave, so long as you leave before you've busted up this fair--trot programmy and all," retorted mr. wallace, bridling. "i've got three men waitin' ready to come into this stand. they don't wear plug hats, but they know the diff'runce between a dog-fight and a hoss-trot."
-"take this! i don't want it no more," insisted the cap'n, stung by this repeated reference to plug hats. he poked the head-gear at mr. bickford. but that gentleman brushed past him, stumped down the stairs, and strode into the stretch before the stand, loudly calling for the carriage.
-marengo todd, accepting his sudden and defiant appearance as gage of battle, precipitately withdrew, leaping the fence and disappearing under the grand-stand.
-it was five minutes or more ere the barouche appeared, mr. parrott requiring to be coaxed by president kitchen to haul the three disgraced dignitaries away. he seemed to sniff a mob sentiment that might damage his vehicle.
-mr. bickford's two associates followed him from the stand, the cap'n abashed and carrying the tall hat behind his back, hiram look muttering disgusted profanity under his long mustache.
-"i want to say, gentlemen," cried mr. bickford, utilizing the interval of waiting to address the throng about him, "that you have no right to blame my dog. he is a valuable animal and a great family pet, and he only did what it is his nature to do."
-marengo todd was edging back into the crowd, his coat off and something wrapped in the garment.
-"blame no creature for that which it is his nature to do," said mr. bickford. "he was attacked first, and he used the weapons nature provided."
-"fam'ly pets, then, has a right to do as it is their nature for to do?" squealed todd, working nearer.
-mr. bickford scornfully turned his back on this vulgar railer. the carriage was at hand.
-"how about pets known as medder hummin'-birds?" demanded todd.
-the cap'n was the first in. hiram came next, kicking out at the amiable hector, who would have preceded him. when the honorable j. percival stepped in, some one slammed the carriage-door so quickly on his heels that his long-tailed coat was caught in the crack.
-todd forced his way close to the carriage as it was about to start. his weak nature was in a state of anger bordering on the maniacal.
-"here's some more family pets for you that ain't any dangerouser than them you're cultivatin'. take 'em home and study 'em."
-he climbed on the wheel and shook out of the folds of his coat a hornets' nest that he had discovered during his temporary exile under the grand-stand. it dropped into mr. bickford's lap, and with a swat of his coat todd crushed it where it lay. it was a coward's revenge, but it was an effective one.
-mr. bickford leaped, either in pain or in order to pursue the fleeing marengo, and fell over the side of the carriage. his coat-tail held fast in the door, and suspended him, his toes and fingers just touching the ground. when he jumped he threw the nest as far as he could, and it fell under the horses. hiram endeavored to open the hack-door as the animals started--but who ever yet opened a hack-door in a hurry?
-cap'n aaron sproul's first impulse was the impulse of the sailor who beholds dangerous top-hamper dragging at a craft's side in a squall. he out with his big knife and cut off the honorable bickford's coat-tails with one mighty slash, and that gentleman rolled in the dust over the hornets' nest, just outside the wheels, as the carriage roared away down the stretch.
-landlord parrott was obliged to make one circuit of the track before he could control his steeds, but the triumphal rush down the length of the yelling grand-stand was an ovation that cap'n sproul did not relish. he concealed the hateful plug hat between his knees, and scowled straight ahead.
-parrott did not go back after the honorable bickford.
-the loyal and apologetic kitchen assisted that gentleman to rise, brushed off his clothes--what were left of them--and carried him to "bickburn towers" in his buggy, with hector wagging sociably in the dust behind.
-mr. bickford fingered the ragged edge of his severed coat-tails, and kept his thoughts to himself during his ride.
-when the old lady sampson called at the towers next day with a subscription paper to buy a carpet for the baptist vestry, james informed her that mr. bickford had gone out west to look after his business interests.
-when hiram look set cap'n aaron sproul down at his door that afternoon he emphasized the embarrassed silence that had continued during the ride by driving away without a word. equally as saturnine, cap'n sproul walked through his dooryard, the battered plug hat in his hand, paying no heed to the somewhat agitated questions of his wife. she watched his march into the corn-field with concern.
-in newry, on the glorious fourth of july, the proud bird of freedom wears a red shirt, a shield hat, and carries a speaking-trumpet clutched under one wing. from the court-house--newry is the county's shire town--across to the post-office is stretched the well-worn banner:
-welcome to the county's brave fire-laddies
-that banner pitches the key for independence day in newry. the shire patriotically jangles her half-dozen bells in the steeples at daylight in honor of liberty, and then gives liberty a stick of candy and a bag of peanuts, and tells her to sit in the shade and keep her eye out sharp for the crowding events of the annual firemen's muster. this may be a cavalier way of treating liberty, but perhaps liberty enjoys it better than being kept on her feet all day, listening to speeches and having her ear-drums split by cannon. who knows? at all events, newry's programme certainly suits the firemen of the county, from smyrna in the north to carthage in the south. and the firemen of the county and their women are the ones who do their shopping in newry! liberty was never known to buy as much as a ribbon for her kimono there.
-so it's the annual firemen's muster for newry's fourth! red shirts in the forenoon parade, red language at the afternoon tub-trials, red fire in the evening till the last cheer is yawped.
-so it was on the day of which this truthful chronicle treats.
-court street, at ten, ante-meridian, was banked with eager faces. band music, muffled and mellow, away off somewhere where the parade was forming! small boys whiling away the tedium of waiting with snap-crackers. country teams loaded to the edges, and with little johnny scooched on a cricket in front, hustling down the line of parade to find a nook. anxious parents scuttling from side to side of the street, dragging red-faced offspring with the same haste and uncertainty hens display to get on the other side of the road--having no especial object in changing, except to change. chatter of voices, hailings of old friends who signified delighted surprise by profanity and affectionate abuse. everlasting wailings of penny squawkers!
-behold newry ready for its annual: "see the conquering heroes come!"
-uncle brad trufant stood on the post-office steps, dim and discontented eyes on the vista of court street, framed in the drooping elms.
-"they don't get the pepper sass into it these days they used to," he said. "these last two years, if it wa'n't for the red shirts and some one forgettin' and cussin' once in a while, you'd think they was classes from a theological seminary marchin' to get their degrees. i can remember when we came down from vienny twenty years ago with old niag'ry, and ev'ry man was over six feet tall, and most of 'em had double teeth, upper and lower, all the way 'round. and all wore red shirts. and ev'ry man had one horn, and most of 'em tew. we broke glass when we hollered. we tore up ground when we jumped. we cracked the earth when we lit. them was real days for firemen!"
-"ain't seen the smyrna ancient and honorable firemen's association, hiram look foreman, and his new fife-and-drum corps, and the rest of the trimmin's, have you, uncle brad?" drawled a man near him. "well, don't commit yourself too far on old vienny till the smyrna part of the parade gets past. i see 'em this mornin' when they unloaded hecly one and the trimmin's 'foresaid, and i'd advise you to wait a spell before you go to callin' this muster names."
-it became apparent a little later that hints of this sort were having their effect on the multitude. even the head of the great parade, with old john burt, chief marshal, titupping to the grunt of brass horns, stirred only perfunctory applause. the shouts for avon's stalwart fifty, with their mascot gander waddling on the right flank, were evidently confined to the avon excursionists. starks, carthage, salem, vienna strode past with various evolutions--open order, fours by the right, double-quick, and all the rest, but still the heads turned toward the elm-framed vista of the street. the people were expecting something. it came.
-away down the street there sounded--raggity-tag! raggity-tag!--the tuck of a single drum. then--pur-r-r-r!
-"there's old smyrna talkin' up!" shrilled a voice in the crowd.
-and the jubilant plangor of a fife-and-drum corps burst on the listening ears.
-"and there's his pet elephant for a mascot! how's that for foreman hiram look and the smyrna ancients and honer'bles?" squealed the voice once more.
-the drum corps came first, twenty strong, snares and basses rattling and booming, the fifers with arms akimbo and cheeks like bladders.
-hiram look, ex-showman and once proprietor of "look's leviathan circus and menagerie," came next, lonely in his grandeur. he wore his leather hat, with the huge shield-fin hanging down his back, the word "foreman" newly lettered on its curved front. he carried two leather buckets on his left arm, and in his right hand flourished his speaking-trumpet. the bed-wrench, chief token of the antiquity of the ancients, hung from a cord about his neck, and the huge bag, with a puckering-string run about its mouth, dangled from his waist.
-at his heels shambled the elephant, companion of his circus wanderings, and whose old age he had sworn to protect and make peaceful. a banner was hung from each ear, and she slouched along at a brisk pace, in order to keep the person of her lord and master within reach of her moist and wistful trunk. she wore a blanket on which was printed: "imogene, mascot of the smyrna ancients." imogene was making herself useful as well as ornamental, for she was harnessed to the pole of "hecla number one," and the old tub "ruckle-chuckled" along at her heels on its little red trucks. from its brake-bars hung the banners won in the past-and-gone victories of twenty years of musters. among these was one inscribed "champions."
-and behind hecla marched, seventy-five strong, the ancients of smyrna, augmented, by hiram look's enterprise, until they comprised nearly every able-bodied man in the old town.
-to beat and pulse of riotous drums and shrilling fifes they were roaring choruses. it was the old war song of the organization, product of a quarter-century of rip-roaring defiance, crystallized from the lyrics of the hard-fisted.
-they let the bass drums accent for them.
-"here wec-come from old sy-myrna here wec-come with hecly one; she's the prunes for a squirt, gol durn her-- we've come down for fight or fun. shang, de-rango! we're the bo-kay, don't giveadam for no one no way.
-"here wec-come--sing old a'nt rhody! see old hecly paw up dirt. stuff her pod with rocks and sody, jee-ro c'ris'mus, how she'll squirt! rip-te-hoo! and a hip, hip, holler, we'll lick hell for a half a dollar!"
-the post-office windows rattled and shivered in the sunshine. horses along the line of march crouched, ducked sideways, and snorted in panic. women put their fingers in their ears as the drums passed. and when at the end of each verse the ancients swelled their red-shirted bosoms and screamed, uncle trufant hissed in the ear of his nearest neighbor on the post-office steps: "the only thing we need is the old vienny company here to give 'em the stump! old vienny, as it used to be, could lick 'em, el'funt and all."
-the smyrna ancients were file-closers of the parade; hiram look had chosen his position with an eye to effect that made all the other companies seem to do mere escort duty. the orderly lines of spectators poured together into the street behind, and went elbowing in noisy rout to the village square, the grand rallying-point and arena of the day's contests. there, taking their warriors' ease before the battle, the ancients, as disposed by their assiduous foreman, continued the centre of observation.
-uncle brad trufant, nursing ancient memories of the prowess of niagara and the viennese, voiced some of the sentiment of the envious when he muttered: "eatin', allus eatin'! the only fire they can handle is a fire in a cook-stove."
-on this occasion foreman look had responded nobly to the well-known gastronomic call of his ancients. no one understood better than he the importance of the commissary in a campaign. the dinner he had given the ancients to celebrate his election as foreman had shown him the way to their hearts.
-bringing up the rear had rumbled one of his circus-vans. now, with the eyes of the hungry multitude on him, he unlocked the doors and disclosed an interior packed full of individual lunch-baskets. his men cheered lustily and formed in line.
-foreman look gazed on his cohorts with pride and fondness.
-"gents," he said, in a clarion voice that took all the bystanders into his confidence, "you're never goin' to make any mistake in followin' me. follow me when duty calls--follow me when pleasure speaks, and you'll always find me with the goods."
-he waved his hand at the open door of the van.
-two ladies had been awaiting the arrival of the ancients in the square, squired by a stout man in blue, who scruffed his fingers through his stubbly gray beard from time to time with no great ease of manner. most of the spectators knew him. he was the first selectman of smyrna, cap'n aaron sproul. and when the ladies, at a signal from foreman look, took stations at the van door and began to distribute the baskets, whisperings announced that they were respectively the wives of cap'n sproul and the foreman of hecla one. the ladies wore red, white, and blue aprons, and rosettes of patriotic hues, and their smiling faces indicated their zest in their duties.
-uncle trufant, as a hound scents game, sniffed cap'n sproul's uneasy rebelliousness, and seemed to know with a sixth sense that only hiram's most insistent appeals to his friendship, coupled with the coaxings of the women-folk, had dragged him down from smyrna. uncle trufant edged up to him and pointed wavering cane at the festive scene of distribution.
-"seems to be spendin' his money on 'em, all free and easy, cap'n."
-the cap'n scowled and grunted.
-"it's good to have a lot of money like he's got. that's the kind of a foreman them caterpillars is lookin' for. but if greenbacks growed all over him, like leaves on a tree, they'd keep at him till they'd gnawed 'em all off."
-he glowered at the briskly wagging jaws and stuffed cheeks of the feeding proteges of foreman look.
-"i reckon he'll wake up some day, same's you did, and reelize what they're tryin' to do to him. what you ought to done was settle in vienny. we've heard out our way how them smyrna bloodsuckers have--"
-cap'n sproul whirled on the ancient detractor, whiskers bristling angrily. he had never been backward in pointing out smyrna's faults. but to have an outsider do it in the open forum of a firemen's muster was a different matter.
-"before i started in to criticise other towns or brag about my own, trufant," he snorted, "i'd move over into some place where citizens like you, that's been dead ten years and ought to be buried, ain't walkin' round because there ain't soil enough left in town to bury 'em in." this was biting reference to vienna's ledgy surface.
-"i'd ruther walk on granite than have web feet and paddle in muck," retorted uncle trufant, ready with the ancient taunt as to the big bog that occupied smyrna's interior.
-"ducks are good property," rejoined the cap'n, serenely, "but i never heard of any one keepin' crows for pets nor raisin' 'em for market. there ain't anything but a crow will light on your town, and they only do it because the sight of it makes 'em faint."
-stimulated because bystanders were listening to the colloquy, uncle trufant shook his cane under cap'n sproul's nose.
-"that's what ye be in smyrna--ducks!" he squealed. "you yourself come to your own when ye waddled off'm the deck of a ship and settled there. down here to-day with an el'funt and what's left of a busted circus, and singin' brag songs, when there ain't a man in this county but what knows smyrna never had the gristle to put up a fight man-fashion at a firemen's muster. vienny can shake one fist at ye and run ye up a tree. vienny has allus done it. vienny allus will do it. ye can't fight!"
-hiram had cocked his ear at sound of uncle trufant's petulant squeal. he thrust close to them, elbowing the crowd.
-"fight! why, you old black and tan, what has fightin' got to do with the makin' of a fire department? there's been too much fightin' in years past. it's a lot of old terriers like you that had made firemen looked down on. your idee of fire equipment was a kag of new rum and plenty of brass knuckles. i can show ye that times has changed! look at that picture there!" he waved his hairy hand at the ladies who were distributing the last of the lunch-baskets. "that's the way to come to muster--come like gents, act like gents, eat like gents, and when it's all over march with your lady on your arm."
-"three cheers for the ladies!" yelled an enthusiastic member of the smyrna company. the cheers coming up had to crowd past food going down, but the effect was good, nevertheless.
-"that's the idea!" shouted hiram. "peace and politeness, and everybody happy. if that kind of a firemen's muster don't suit vienny, then her company better take the next train back home and put in the rest of the day firin' rocks at each other. if vienny stays here she's got to be genteel, like the rest of us--and the smyrna ancients will set the pace. ain't that so, boys?"
-his men yelled jubilant assent.
-uncle trufant's little eyes shuttled balefully.
-"oh, that's it, is it?" he jeered. "i didn't know i'd got into the ladies' sewin'-circle. but if you've got fancy-work in them shoppin'-bags of your'n, and propose to set under the trees this afternoon and do tattin', i wouldn't advise ye to keep singin' that song you marched in here with. it ain't ladylike. better sing, 'oh, how we love our teacher dear!'"
-"don't you fuss your mind about us in any way, shape, or manner," retorted the foreman. "when we march we march, when we eat we eat, when we sing we sing, when we squirt"--he raised his voice and glared at the crowd surrounding--"we'll give ye a stream that the whole vienny fire company can straddle and ride home on like it was a hobby-horse." and, concluding thus, he fondled his long mustaches away from his mouth and gazed on the populace with calm pride. caesar on the plains of pharsalia, pompey triumphant on the shores of africa, alexander at the head of his conquering macedonians had not more serenity of countenance to display to the multitude.
-up came trotting a brisk little man with a notebook in one hand, a stubby lead-pencil in the other, a look of importance spread over his flushed features, and on his breast a broad, blue ribbon, inscribed: "chief marshal."
-"smyrna has drawed number five for the squirt," he announced, "fallerin' vienny. committee on tub contests has selected colonel gideon ward as referee."
-hiram's eyes began to blaze, and cap'n sproul growled oaths under his breath. during the weeks of their growing intimacy the cap'n had detailed to his friend the various phases of colonel gideon's iniquity as displayed toward him. though the affairs of hiram look had not yet brought him into conflict with the ancient tyrant of smyrna, hiram had warmly espoused the cause and the grudge of the cap'n.
-"i'll bet a thousand dollars against a jelly-fish's hind leg that he begged the job so as to do you," whispered sproul. "i ain't been a brother-in-law of his goin' on two years not to know his shenanigan. it's a plot."
-"who picked out that old cross between a split-saw and a bull-thistle to umpire this muster?" shouted the foreman of the ancients, to the amazement of the brisk little man.
-"why, he's the leadin' man in this section, and a smyrna man at that," explained the marshal. "i don't see how your company has got any kick comin'. he's one of your own townsmen."
-"and that's why we know him better than you do," protested hiram, taking further cue from the glowering gaze of cap'n sproul. "you put him out there with the tape, and you'll see--"
-"'peace and politeness, and everybody happy,'" quoted uncle trufant, maliciously. the serenity had departed from foreman look's face.
-"you don't pretend to tell me, do ye, that the smyrna ancients are afraid to have one of their own citizens as a referee?" demanded the brisk little man suspiciously. "if that's so, then there must be something decayed about your organization."
-"i don't think they're down here to squirt accordin' to the rules made and pervided," went on the ancient vienna satirist. "they've brought bostin bags and a couple of wimmen, and are goin' to have a quiltin'-bee. p'raps they think that kunnel gid ward don't know a fish-bone stitch from an over-and-over. p'raps they think kunnel ward ain't ladylike enough for 'em."
-not only had the serenity departed from the face of foreman look, the furious anger of his notoriously short temper had taken its place.
-"by the jumped-up jedux," he shouted, "you pass me any more of that talk, you old hook-nosed cockatoo, and i'll slap your chops!"
-the unterrified veteran of the viennese brandished his cane to embrace the throng of his red-shirted townsmen, who had been crowding close to hear. at last his flint had struck the spark that flashed with something of the good old times about it.
-"and what do you suppose the town of vienny would be doin' whilst you was insultin' the man who was the chief of old niag'ry company for twenty years?" he screamed.
-"there's one elephant that i know about that would be an orphin in about fifteen seconds," growled one of the loyal members of the vienna company, the lust of old days of rivalry beginning to stir in his blood.
-"would, hey?" shouted an ancient, with the alacrity of one who has old-time grudges still unsettled. he put a sandwich back into his basket untasted, an ominous sign of how belligerency was overcoming appetite. "well, make b'lieve i'm the front door of the orphin asylum, and come up and rap on me!"
-with a promptitude that was absolutely terrifying the two lines of red shirts began to draw together, voices growling bodingly, fists clinching, eyes narrowing with the reviving hatred of old contests. the triumphal entry of the smyrna ancients, their display of prosperity, their monopoly of the plaudits and attention of the throngs, the assumption of superior caste and manners, had stirred resentment under every red shirt in the parade. but vienna, hereditary foe, seemed to be the one tacitly selected for the brunt of the conflict.
-"hiram!" pleaded his wife, running to him and patting his convulsed features with trembling fingers. "you said this was all goin' to be genteel. you said you were goin' to show 'em how good manners and politeness ought to run a firemen's muster. you said you were!"
-by as mighty an effort of self-control as he ever exercised in his life, hiram managed to gulp back the sulphurous vilification he had ready at his tongue's end, and paused a moment.
-"that's right! i did say it!" he bellowed, his eyes sweeping the crowd over his wife's shoulder. "and i mean it. it sha'n't be said that the smyrna ancients were anything but gents. let them that think a bunged eye and a bloody nose is the right kind of badges to wear away from a firemen's muster keep right on in their hellish career. as for us"--he tucked his wife's arm under his own--"we remember there's ladies present."
-"includin' the elephant," suggested the irrepressible uncle trufant, indicating with his cane imogene "weaving" amiably in the sunshine.
-cap'n sproul crowded close and growled into the ear of the venerable mischief-maker: "i don't know who set you on to thorn this crowd of men into a fight, and i don't care. but there ain't goin' to be no trouble here, and, if you keep on tryin' to make it, i'll give you one figger of the portygee fandle-dingo."
-"what's that?" inquired uncle trufant, with interest.
-"an almighty good lickin'," quoth the peacemaker. "i ain't a member of a fire company, and i ain't under no word of honor not to fight."
-the two men snapped their angry eyes at each other, and uncle trufant turned away, intimidated for the moment. he confessed to himself that he didn't exactly understand how far a seafaring man could be trifled with.
-vienna gazed truculently on smyrna for a time, but smyrna, obeying their foreman's adjurations, mellowed into amiable grins and went on with their lunches.
-"where's that spitz poodle with the blue ribbon?" inquired the cap'n of hiram, having reference to the brisk little man and his side whiskers. "it don't appear to me that you pounded it into his head solid enough about our not standin' for gid ward."
-in the stress of other difficulties hiram had forgotten the dispute that started the quarrel.
-"don't let's have any more argument, hiram," pleaded his wife.
-"she's right, cap'n," said the foreman. "standin' up for your rights is good and proper business, but it's a darn slippery place we're tryin' to stand on. let the old pirate referee. we can outsquirt 'em. he won't dast to cheat us. i'm goin' to appoint you to represent smyrna up there at the head of the stream. keep your eye out for a square deal."
-"i don't know a thing about squirtin', and i won't get mixed in," protested the cap'n. but the members of the smyrna company crowded around him with appeals.
-and in the end cap'n sproul allowed himself to be persuaded.
-but it was scarcely persuasion that did it.
-it was this plaintive remark of the foreman: "are you goin' to stand by and see gideon ward do us, and then give you the laugh?"
-therefore the cap'n buttoned his blue coat tightly and trudged up to where the committee was busy with the sheets of brown paper, weighting them with stones so that the july breeze could not flutter them away.
-starks, carthage, and salem made but passable showing. they seemed to feel that the crowd took but little interest in them. the listless applause that had greeted them in the parade showed that.
-then, with a howl, half-sullen, half-ferocious, vienna trundled old niagara to the reservoir, stuck her intake pipe deep in the water, and manned her brake-beams. to the surprise of the onlookers her regular foreman took his station with the rest of the crew. uncle brad trufant, foreman emeritus, took command. he climbed slowly upon her tank, braced himself against the bell-hanger, and shook his cane in the air.
-"look at me!" he yelled, his voice cracking into a squall. "look at me and remember them that's dead and gone, your fathers and your grands'rs, whose old fists used to grip them bars right where you've got your hands. think of 'em, and then set your teeth and yank the 'tarnal daylights out of her. are ye goin' to let me stand here--me that has seen your grands'rs pump--and have it said that old niag'ry was licked by a passul of knittin'-work old-maids, led by an elephant and a peep-show man? be ye goin' to let 'em outsquirt ye? why, the wimmen-folks of vienny will put p'isen in your biscuits if you go home beat by anything that smyrna can turn out. git a-holt them bars! clench your chaws! now, damye, ye toggle-j'inted, dough-fingered, wall-eyed sons of sea-cooks, give her tar--give--her--tar!"
-it was the old-fashioned style of exordium by an old-fashioned foreman, who believed that the best results could be obtained by the most scurrilous abuse of his men--and the immediate efforts of vienna seemed to endorse his opinion.
-with the foreman marking time with "hoomp!--hoomp!" they began to surge at the bars, arms interlaced, hands, brown and gristly, covering the leather from end to end. the long, snaking hose filled and plumped out with snappings.
-uncle trufant flung his hat afar, doubled forward, and with white hair bristling on his head began to curse horribly. occasionally he rapped at a laggard with his cane. then, like an insane orchestra-leader, he sliced the air about his head and launched fresh volleys of picturesque profanity.
-old niagara rocked and danced. the four hosemen staggered as the stream ripped from the nozzle, crackling like pistol discharges. there was no question as to uncle trufant's ability to get the most out of the ancient pride of vienna. he knew niagara's resources.
-"ease her!" he screamed, after the first dizzy staccato of the beams. "ease her! steady! get your motion! up--down! up--down! get your motion! take holt of her! lift her! now--now--now! for the last ounce of wickin' that's in ye! give her--hell!"
-it was the crucial effort. men flung themselves at the beams. legs flapped like garments on a clothes-line in a crazy gale. and when uncle trufant clashed the bell they staggered away, one by one, and fell upon the grass of the square.
-"a hundred and seventeen feet, eight inches and one-half!" came the yell down the line, and at the word vienna rose on her elbows and bawled hoarse cheers.
-the cheer was echoed tumultuously, for every man in the crowd of spectators knew that this was full twenty feet better than the record score of all musters--made by smyrna two years before, with wind and all conditions favoring.
-"that's what old times and old-fashioned cussin' can do for ye," declared uncle trufant.
-a man--a short, squat man in a blue coat--came pelting down the street from the direction of the judges. it was cap'n aaron sproul. people got out of his way when they got a glimpse of the fury on his face. he tore into the press of smyrna fire-fighters, who were massed about hecla, their faces downcast at announcement of this astonishing squirt.
-"a hunderd and seventeen northin'! a hunderd and seventeen northin'!" cap'n sproul gasped over and over. "i knowed he was in to do us! i see him do it! it wa'n't no hunderd and seventeen! it's a fraud!"
-"you're a liar!" cried uncle trufant, promptly. but the cap'n refused to be diverted into argument.
-"i went up there to watch gid ward, and i watched him," he informed the ancients. "the rest of 'em was watchin' the squirt, but i was watchin' that land-pirut. i see him spit on that paper twenty feet further'n the furthest drop of water, and then he measured from that spit. that's the kind of a man that's refereein' this thing. he's here to do us! he's paying off his old town-meetin' grudge!"
-"oh, i can't think that of my brother!" cried the cap'n's wife.
-"remember, hiram, that you've agreed--" began the cautious spouse of the foreman, noting with alarm the rigid lines beginning to crease her husband's face.
-"there ain't no mistake about his measurin' to that spit?" demanded hiram of the cap'n, in the level tones of one already convinced but willing to give the accused one a last chance.
-"he done it--i swear he done it."
-"i'd thought," pursued the foreman of the ancients, "that a firemen's muster could be made genteel, and would make a pleasant little trip for the ladies. i was mistaken." at the look in his eyes his wife began eager appeal, but he simply picked her up and placed her in the van from which the lunch-baskets had been taken. "there's mis' look," he said to the cap'n. "she'll be glad to have the company of mis' sproul."
-without a word the cap'n picked up louada murilla and placed her beside the half-fainting mrs. look. hiram closed the doors of the van.
-"drive out about two miles," he ordered the man on the box, "and then let the ladies git out and pick bokays and enjoy nature for the rest of the afternoon. it's--it's--apt to be kind of stuffy here in the village."
-and the van rumbled away down the street toward the vista framed in the drooping elms.
-"now, gents," said hiram to his men, "if this is a spittin'-at-a-crack contest instead of a tub-squirt, i reckon we'd better go to headquarters and find out about it."
-but at smyrna's announced determination to raid the referee, vienna massed itself in the way. it began to look like the good old times, and the spectators started a hasty rush to withdraw from the scene.
-but vienna was too openly eager for pitched battle.
-to stop then and give them what they had been soliciting all day seemed too much like gracious accommodation in the view of foreman look. his business just at that moment was with colonel gideon ward, and he promptly thought of a way to get to him.
-at a signal the intelligent imogene hooped her trunk about him and hoisted him to her neck. then she started up the street, brandishing the trunk before her like a policeman's billy and "roomping" in hoarse warning to those who encumbered her path.
-a charge led by an elephant was not in the martial calculations of the viennese. they broke and fled incontinently.
-perhaps colonel gideon ward would have fled also, but the crowd that had gathered to watch the results of the hose-play was banked closely in the street.
-"make way!" bellowed foreman look. "there's only one man i want, and i'm goin' to have him. keep out of my road and you won't get hurt. now, colonel gideon ward," he shouted, from his grotesque mount, as that gentleman, held at bay partly by his pride and partly by the populace, came face to face with him, "i've been in the circus business long enough to know a fake when i see one. you've been caught at it. own up!"
-the colonel snorted indignantly and scornfully.
-"you don't own up, then?" queried hiram.
-"i'll give you five minutes to stop circusin' and get your tub astraddle that reservoir," snapped the referee.
-"it occurs to me," went on hiram, "that you can spit farther if you're up a tree. we want you to do your best when you spit for us."
-colonel ward blinked without appearing to understand.
-but the foreman of the smyrna ancients immediately made it evident that he had evolved a peculiar method of dealing with the case in hand. he drove imogene straight at the goggling referee.
-"up that tree!" roared hiram. "she'll kill you if you don't."
-indeed, the elephant was brandishing her trunk in a ferocious manner. a ladder was leaning against a near-by elm, and colonel ward, almost under the trudging feet of the huge beast, tossed dignity to the winds. he ran up the ladder, and imogene, responding to a cuff on her head, promptly dragged it away from the tree.
-"only three minutes left to get hecla into position," hiram shouted. "referee says so. lively with her!"
-around and around in a circle he kept imogene shambling, driving the crowd back from the tree. the unhappy colonel was marooned there in solitary state.
-at first the vienna company showed a hesitating inclination to interfere with the placing of hecla, suspecting something untoward in the astonishing elevation of the referee. but even uncle trufant was slow to assume the responsibility of interfering with a company's right of contest.
-the ancients located their engine, coupled the hose, and ran it out with alacrity.
-"colonel ward," shouted hiram, "you've tried to do it, but you can't. if it's got to be dog eat dog, and no gents need apply at a firemen's muster, then here's where we have our part of the lunch. did you measure in twenty extry feet up to your spit mark? speak up! a quick answer turneth away the hose!"
-by this time the crew was gently working the brakes of old hecla. the hose quivered, and the four men at the nozzle felt it twitching as the water pressed at the closed valve. they were grinning, for now they realized the nature of their foreman's mode of persuasion.
-vienna realized it, too, for with a howl of protest her men came swarming into the square.
-"souse the hide off'm the red-bellied sons of gehenna!" hiram yelled, and the hosemen, obedient to the word, swept the hissing stream on the enemy.
-men who will face bullets will run from hornets.
-men who will charge cannon can be routed by water.
-the men at the brakes of old hecla pumped till the tub jigged on her trucks like a fantastic dancer. to right, to left, in whooshing circles, or dwelling for an instant on some particularly obstreperous vienna man, the great stream played. some were knocked flat, some fell and were rolled bodily out of the square by the stream, others ran wildly with their arms over their heads. the air was full of leather hats, spinning as the water struck them. every now and then the hosemen elevated the nozzle and gave colonel gideon ward his share. a half-dozen times he nearly fell off his perch and flapped out like a rag on a bush.
-"it certainly ain't no place for ladies!" communed hiram with himself, gazing abroad from his elevated position on imogene's neck. "i thought it was once, but it ain't."
-"colonel gideon ward," he shouted to the limp and dripping figure in the tree, "do you own up?"
-the colonel withdrew one arm to shake his fist at the speaker, and narrowly saved himself by instantly clutching again, for the crackling stream tore at him viciously.
-"we'll drownd ye where ye hang," roared the foreman of the ancients, "before we'll let you or any other pirate rinky-dink us out of what belongs to us."
-like some hindu magician transplanted to yankeedom he bestrode the neck of his elephant, and with his hand summoned the waving stream to do his will. now he directed its spitting force on the infuriated colonel; now he put to flight some vienna man who plucked up a little fleeting courage.
-and at last colonel ward knuckled. there was nothing else to do.
-"i made a mistake," he said, in a moment of respite from the stream.
-"you spit on the paper and measured in twenty extry feet jest as cap'n aaron sproul said you did," insisted hiram. "say that, and say it loud, or we'll give old hecly the wickin' and blow you out of that tree."
-and after ineffectual oaths the colonel said it--said it twice, and the second time much the louder.
-"then," bellowed the triumphant hiram, "the record of old hecly number one still stands, and the championship banner travels back to smyrna with us to-night, jest as it travelled down this mornin'."
-"hain't you goin' to squirt?" asked some one posted safely behind a distant tree.
-"if you'd been payin' 'tention as you ought to be you'd have jest seen us squirtin'," replied the foreman of the ancients with quiet satire. "and when we squirt, we squirt to win."
-cap'n aaron sproul turned away from a rapt and lengthy survey of colonel ward in the tree.
-"did you ever ride on an elephant, cap'n sproul?" inquired hiram.
-"never tried it," said the seaman.
-"well, i want you to come up here with me. imogene will h'ist you. i was thinkin', as it's gettin' rather dull here in the village just now"--hiram yawned obtrusively--"we'd go out and join the ladies. i reckon the company'd like to go along and set on the grass, and pee-ruse nature for a little while, and eat up what's left in them lunch-baskets."
-ten minutes later the smyrna ancients and honorables took their departure down the street bordered by the elms. hiram look and cap'n aaron sproul swayed comfortably on imogene's broad back. the fife-and-drum corps followed, and behind marched the champions, dragging hecla number one on its ruckling trucks.
-then, with the bass drums punctuating and accenting, they sang:
-"rip-te-hoo! and a hip, hip, holler! we'll lick hell for a half a dollar!"
-and it wasn't till then that some bystander tore his attention away long enough to stick a ladder up the elm-tree and let colonel gideon ward scrape his way despondently down.
-probably constable zeburee nute could not have picked out a moment more inauspicious for tackling first selectman aaron sproul on business not immediately connected with the matter then in hand.
-first selectman sproul was standing beside a granite post, pounding his fist on it with little regard to barked knuckles and uttering some perfectly awful profanity.
-a man stood on the other side of the post, swearing with just as much gusto; the burden of his remarks being that he wasn't afraid of any by-joosly old split codfish that ever came ashore--insulting reference to cap'n sproul's seafaring life.
-behind cap'n sproul were men with pickaxes, shovels, and hoes--listening.
-behind the decrier of mariners were men with other shovels, hoes, and pickaxes--listening.
-the granite post marked the town line between smyrna and vienna.
-the post was four miles or so from smyrna village, and constable nute had driven out to interview the first selectman, bringing as a passenger a slim, pale young man, who was smoking cigarettes, one after the other.
-they arrived right at the climax of trouble that had been brooding sullenly for a week. in annual town-meeting smyrna and vienna had voted to change over the inter-urban highway so that it would skirt rattledown hill instead of climbing straight over it, as the fathers had laid it out in the old days for the sake of directness; forgetting that a pail bail upright is just as long as a pail bail lying horizontal.
-first selectman sproul had ordered his men to take a certain direction with the new road in order to avoid some obstructions that would entail extra expense on the town of smyrna.
-selectman trufant, of vienna, was equally as solicitous about saving expense on behalf of his own town, and refused to swing his road to meet smyrna's highway. result: the two pieces of highway came to the town line and there stopped doggedly. there were at least a dozen rods between the two ends. to judge from the language that the two town officers were now exchanging across the granite post, it seemed likely that the roads would stay separated.
-"our s'leckman can outtalk him three to one," confided one of the smyrna supporters to constable nute. "i never heard deep-water cussin' before, with all the trimmin's. old trufant ain't got northin' but side-hill conversation, and i reckon he's about run down."
-constable nute should have awaited more fitting opportunity, but constable nute was a rather direct and one-ideaed person. as manager of the town hall he had business to transact with the first selectman, and he proceeded to transact it.
-"mister s'leckman," he shouted, "i want to introduce you to perfessor--perfessor--i ain't got your name yit so i can speak it," he said, turning to his passenger.
-"professor derolli," prompted the passenger, flicking his cigarette ash.
-cap'n sproul merely shot one red glance over his shoulder, and then
-talking of the cheshires reminds me of a story illustrating the troubles of a brigadier. the general was dining calmly one night after having arranged an attack. all orders had been sent out. everything was complete and ready. suddenly there was a knock at the door and in walked captain m----, who reported his arrival with 200 reinforcements for the cheshires, a pleasant but irritating addition. the situation was further complicated by the general's discovery that m---- was senior to the officer then in command of the cheshires. poor m---- was not left long in command. a fortnight later the germans broke through and over the cheshires, and m---- died where a commanding officer should.
-from 1910 farm i had one good ride to the battalions, through festubert and along to the cuinchy bridge. for me it was interesting because it was one of the few times i had ridden just behind our trenches, which at the moment were just north of the road and were occupied by the bedfords.
-in a day or two we returned to festubert, and cadell gave me a shake-down on a mattress in his billet--gloriously comfortable. the room was a little draughty because the fuse of a shrapnel had gone right through the door and the fireplace opposite. except for a peppering on the walls and some broken glass the house was not damaged; we almost laughed at the father and mother and daughter who, returning while we were there, wept because their home had been touched.
-orders came to attack. a beautiful plan was drawn up by which the battalions of the brigade were to finish their victorious career in the square of la bassée.
-in connection with this attack i was sent with a message for the devons. it was the blackest of black nights and i was riding without a light. twice i ran into the ditch, and finally i piled up myself and my bicycle on a heap of stones lying by the side of the road. i did not damage my bicycle. that was enough. i left it and walked.
-when i got to cuinchy bridge i found that the devon headquarters had shifted. beyond that the sentry knew nothing. luckily i met a devon officer who was bringing up ammunition. we searched the surrounding cottages for men with knowledge, and at last discovered that the devons had moved farther along the canal in the direction of la bassée. so we set out along the tow-path, past a house that was burning fiercely enough to make us conspicuous.
-we felt our way about a quarter of a mile and stopped, because we were getting near the germans. indeed we could hear the rumble of their transport crossing the la bassée bridge. we turned back, and a few yards nearer home some one coughed high up the bank on our right. we found the cough to be a sentry, and behind the sentry were the devons.
-the attack, as you know, was held up on the line cuinchy-givenchy-violaines; we advanced our headquarters to a house just opposite the inn by which the road to givenchy turns off. it was not very safe, but the only shell that burst anywhere near the house itself did nothing but wound a little girl in the leg.
-on the previous day i had ridden to violaines at dawn to draw a plan of the cheshires' trenches for the general. i strolled out by the sugar factory, and had a good look at the red houses of la bassée. half an hour later a patrol went out to explore the sugar factory. they did not return. it seems that the factory was full of machine-guns. i had not been fired upon, because the germans did not wish to give their position away sooner than was necessary.
-a day or two later i had the happiness of avenging my potential death. first i took orders to a battery of 6-inch howitzers at the rue de marais to knock the factory to pieces, then i carried an observing officer to some haystacks by violaines, from which he could get a good view of the factory. finally i watched with supreme satisfaction the demolition of the factory, and with regretful joy the slaughter of the few germans who, escaping, scuttled for shelter in some trenches just behind and on either side of the factory.
-i left the 15th brigade with regret, and the regret i felt would have been deeper if i had known what was going to happen to the brigade. i was given interesting work and made comfortable. no despatch rider could wish for more.
-not long after i had returned from the 15th brigade, the germans attacked and broke through. they had been heavily reinforced and our tentative offensive had been replaced by a stern and anxious defensive.
-now the signal office was established in the booking-office of beuvry station. the little narrow room was packed full of operators and vibrant with buzz and click. the signal clerk sat at a table in a tiny room just off the booking-office. orderlies would rush in with messages, and the clerk would instantly decide whether to send them over the wire, by push-cyclist, or by despatch rider. again, he dealt with all messages that came in over the wire. copies of these messages were filed. this was our tape; from them we learned the news. we were not supposed to read them, but, as we often found that they contained information which was invaluable to despatch riders, we always looked through them and each passed on what he had found to the others. the signal clerk might not know where a certain unit was at a given moment. we knew, because we had put together information that we had gathered in the course of our rides and information which--though the clerk might think it unimportant--supplemented or completed or verified what we had already obtained.
-so the history of this partially successful attack was known to us. every few minutes one of us went into the signal office and read the messages. when the order came for us to pack up, we had already made our preparations, for divisional headquarters, the brain controlling the actions of seventeen thousand men, must never be left in a position of danger. and wounded were pouring into the field ambulances.
-the enemy had made a violent attack, preluded by heavy shelling, on the left of the 15th, and what i think was a holding attack on the right. violaines had been stormed, and the cheshires had been driven, still grimly fighting, to beyond the rue de marais. the norfolks on their right and the k.o.s.b.'s on their left had been compelled to draw back their line with heavy loss, for their flanks had been uncovered by the retreat of the cheshires.
-the germans stopped a moment to consolidate their gains. this gave us time to throw a couple of battalions against them. after desperate fighting rue de marais was retaken and some sort of line established. what was left of the cheshires gradually rallied in festubert.
-this german success, together with a later success against the 3rd division, that resulted in our evacuation of neuve chapelle, compelled us to withdraw and readjust our line. this second line was not so defensible as the first. until we were relieved the germans battered at it with gunnery all day and attacks all night. how we managed to hold it is utterly beyond my understanding. the men were dog-tired. few of the old officers were left, and they were "done to the world." never did the fighting fifth more deserve the name. it fought dully and instinctively, like a boxer who, after receiving heavy punishment, just manages to keep himself from being knocked out until the call of time.
-a few days after i had returned from the 15th brigade i was sent out to the 14th. i found them at the estaminet de l'epinette on the béthune-richebourg road. headquarters had been compelled to shift, hastily enough, from the estaminet de la bombe on the la bassée-estaires road. the estaminet had been shelled to destruction half an hour after the brigade had moved. the estaminet de l'epinette was filthy and small. i slept in a stinking barn, half-full of dirty straw, and rose with the sun for the discomfort of it.
-opposite the estaminet a road goes to festubert. at the corner there is a cluster of dishevelled houses. i sat at the door and wrote letters, and looked for what might come to pass. in the early dawn the poplars alongside the highway were grey and dull. there was mist on the road; the leaves that lay thick were black. then as the sun rose higher the poplars began to glisten and the mist rolled away, and the leaves were red and brown.
-an old woman came up the road and prayed the sentry to let her pass. he could not understand her and called to me. she told me that her family were in the house at the corner fifty yards distant. i replied that she could not go to them--that they, if they were content not to return, might come to her. but the family would not leave their chickens, and cows, and corn. so the old woman, who was tired, sank down by the wayside and wept. this sorrow was no sorrow to the sorrow of the war. i left the old woman, the sentry, and the family, and went into a fine breakfast.
-at this time there was much talk about spies. our wires were often cut mysteriously. a sergeant had been set upon in a lane. the enemy were finding our guns with uncanny accuracy. all our movements seemed to be anticipated by the enemy. taking for granted the extraordinary efficiency of the german intelligence corps, we were particularly nervous about spies when the division was worn out, when things were not going well.
-at the estaminet de l'epinette i heard a certain story, and hearing it set about to make a fool of myself. this is the story--i have never heard it substantiated, and give it as an illustration and not as fact.
-there was once an artillery brigade billeted in a house two miles or so behind the lines. all the inhabitants of the house had fled, for the village had been heavily bombarded. only a girl had had the courage to remain and do hostess to the english. she was so fresh and so charming, so clever in her cookery, and so modest in her demeanour that all the men of the brigade headquarters fell madly in love with her. they even quarrelled. now this brigade was suffering much from espionage. the guns could not be moved without the germans knowing their new position. no transport or ammunition limbers were safe from the enemy's guns. the brigade grew mightily indignant. the girl was told by her numerous sweethearts what was the matter. she was angry and sympathetic, and swore that through her the spy should be discovered. she swore the truth.
-one night a certain lewd fellow of the baser sort pursued the girl with importunate pleadings. she confessed that she liked him, but not in that way. he left her and stood sullenly by the door. the girl took a pail and went down into the cellar to fetch up a little coal, telling the man with gentle mockery not to be so foolish. this angered him, and in a minute he had rushed after her into the cellar, snorting with disappointed passion. of course he slipped on the stairs and fell with a crash. the girl screamed. the fellow, his knee bruised, tried to feel his way to the bottom of the stairs and touched a wire. quickly running his hand along the wire he came to a telephone. the girl rushed to him, and, clasping his knees, offered him anything he might wish, if only he would say nothing. i think he must have hesitated for a moment, but he did not hesitate long. the girl was shot.
-full of this suspiciously melodramatic story i caught sight of a mysterious document fastened by nails to the house opposite the inn. it was covered with coloured signs which, whatever they were, certainly did not form letters or make sense in any way. i examined the document closely. one sign looked like an aeroplane, another like a house, a third like the rough drawing of a wood. i took it to a certain officer, who agreed with me that it appeared suspicious.
-we carried it to the staff-captain, who pointed out very forcibly that it had been raining lately, that colour ran, that the signs left formed portions of letters. i demanded the owner of the house upon which the document had been posted. she was frightened and almost unintelligible, but supplied the missing fragments. the document was a crude election appeal. being interpreted it read something like this:--
-support lefèvre. he is not a liar like dubois.
-talking of spies, here is another story. it is true.
-certain wires were always being cut. at length a patrol was organised. while the operator was talking there was a little click and no further acknowledgment from the other end. the patrol started out and caught the man in the act of cutting a second wire. he said nothing.
-he was brought before the mayor. evidence was briefly given of his guilt. he made no protest. it was stated that he had been born in the village. the mayor turned to the man and said--
-"you are a traitor. it is clear. have you anything to say?"
-the man stood white and straight. then he bowed his head and made answer--
-"priez pour moi."
-that was no defence. so they led him away.
-the morning after i arrived at the 14th the germans concentrated their fire on a large turnip-field and exhumed multitudinous turnips. no further damage was done, but the field was unhealthily near the estaminet de l'epinette. in the afternoon we moved our headquarters back a mile or so to a commodious and moderately clean farm with a forgettable name.
-a day or two later i was relieved. on the following afternoon i was sent to estaires to bring back some details about the lahore division which had just arrived on the line. i had, of course, seen spahis and turcos and senegalese, but when riding through lestrem i saw these indian troops of ours the obvious thoughts tumbled over one another.
-we despatch riders when first we met the indians wondered how they would fight, how they would stand shell-fire and the climate--but chiefly we were filled with a sort of mental helplessness, riding among people when we could not even vaguely guess at what they were thinking. we could get no deeper than their appearance, dignified and clean and well-behaved.
-in a few days i was back again at the 14th with huggie. at dusk the general went out in his car to a certain village about three miles distant. huggie went with him. an hour or so, and i was sent after him with a despatch. the road was almost unrideable with the worst sort of grease, the night was pitch-black and i was allowed no light. i slithered along at about six miles an hour, sticking out my legs for a permanent scaffolding. many troops were lying down at the side of the road. an officer in a strained voice just warned me in time for me to avoid a deep shell-hole by inches. i delivered my despatch to the general. outside the house i found two or three officers i knew. two of them were young captains in command of battalions. then i learned how hard put to it the division was, and what the result is of nervous strain.
-first we talked about the counter-attack, and which battalion would lead; then with a little manipulation we began to discuss musical comedy and the beauty of certain ladies. again the talk would wander back to which battalion would lead.
-i returned perilously with a despatch and left huggie, to spend a disturbed night and experience those curious sensations which are caused by a shell bursting just across the road from the house.
-on the following day the brigadier moved to a farm farther north. it was the job of huggie and myself to keep up communication between this farm and the brigade headquarters at the farm with the forgettable name. to ride four miles or so along country lanes from one farm to another does not sound particularly strenuous. it was. in the first place, the neighbourhood of the advanced farm was not healthy. the front gate was marked down by a sniper who fired not infrequently but a little high. between the back gate and the main road was impassable mud. again, the farm was only three-quarters of a mile behind our trenches, and "overs" went zipping through the farm buildings at all sorts of unexpected angles. there were german aeroplanes about, so we covered our stationary motor-cycles with straw.
-starting from brigade headquarters the despatch rider in half a mile was forced to pass the transport of a field ambulance. the men seemed to take a perverted delight in wandering aimlessly and deafly across the road, and in leaving anything on the road which could conceivably obstruct or annoy a motor-cyclist. then came two and a half miles of winding country lanes. they were covered with grease. every corner was blind. a particularly sharp turn to the right and the despatch rider rode a couple of hundred yards in front of a battery in action that the germans were trying to find. a "hairpin" corner round a house followed. this he would take with remarkable skill and alacrity, because at this corner he was always sniped. the german's rifle was trained a trifle high. coming into the final straight the despatch rider or one despatch rider rode for all he was worth. it was unpleasant to find new shell-holes just off the road each time you passed, or, as you came into the straight, to hear the shriek of shrapnel between you and the farm.
-huggie once arrived at the house of the "hairpin" bend simultaneously with a shell. the shell hit the house, the house did not hit huggie, and the sniper forgot to snipe. so every one was pleased.
-on my last journey i passed a bunch of wounded sikhs. they were clinging to all their kit. one man was wounded in both his feet. he was being carried by two of his fellows. in his hands he clutched his boots.
-the men did not know where to go or what to do. i could not make them understand, but i tried by gestures to show them where the ambulance was.
-i saw two others--they were slightly wounded--talking fiercely together. at last they grasped their rifles firmly, and swinging round, limped back towards the line.
-huggie did most of the work that day, because during the greater part of the afternoon i was kept back at brigade headquarters.
-in the evening i went out in the car to fetch the general. the car, which was old but stout, had been left behind by the germans. the driver of it was a reservist who had been taken from his battalion. day and night he tended and coaxed that car. he tied it together when it fell to pieces. at all times and in all places he drove that car, for he had no wish at all to return to the trenches.
-on the following day huggie and i were relieved. when we returned to our good old musty quarters at beuvry men talked of a move. there were rumours of hard fighting in ypres. soon the lahore division came down towards our line and began to take over from us. the 14th brigade was left to strengthen them. the 15th and 13th began to move north.
-early on the morning of october 29 we started, riding first along the canal by béthune. as for festubert, givenchy, violaines, rue de marais, quinque rue, and la bassée, we never want to see them again.
-the beginning of winter.
-before we came, givenchy had been a little forgettable village upon a hill, violaines a pleasant afternoon's walk for the working men in la bassée, festubert a gathering-place for the people who lived in the filthy farms around. we left givenchy a jumble of shuttered houses and barricaded cellars. a few germans were encamped upon the site of violaines. the great clock of festubert rusted quickly against a tavern wall. we hated la bassée, because against la bassée the division had been broken. there are some square miles of earth that, like criminals, should not live.
-our orders were to reach caestre not later than the signal company. caestre is on the cassel-bailleul road, three miles north-east of hazebrouck. these unattached rides across country are the most joyous things in the world for a despatch rider. there is never any need to hurry. you can take any road you will. you may choose your tavern for lunch with expert care. and when new ground is covered and new troops are seen, we capture sometimes those sharp delightful moments of thirsting interest that made the retreat into an epic and the advance a triumphant ballad.
-n'soon and myself left together. we skidded along the tow-path, passed the ever-cheerful cyclists, and, turning due north, ran into st venant. the grease made us despatch riders look as if we were beginning to learn. i rode gently but surely down the side of the road into the gutter time after time. pulling ourselves together, we managed to slide past some indian transport without being kicked by the mules, who, whenever they smelt petrol, developed a strong offensive. then we came upon a big gun, discreetly covered by tarpaulins. it was drawn by a monster traction-engine, and sad-faced men walked beside it. the steering of the traction-engine was a trifle loose, so n'soon and i drew off into a field to let this solemn procession pass. one of the commands in the unpublished "book of the despatch rider" is this:--
-when you halt by the roadside to let guns pass or when you leave your motor-cycle unattended, first place it in a position of certain safety where it cannot possibly be knocked over, and then move it another fifty yards from the road. it is impossible for a gunner to see something by the roadside and not drive over it. moreover, lorries when they skid, skid furiously.
-four miles short of hazebrouck we caught up the rest. proceeding in single file along the road, we endeavoured not to laugh, for--as one despatch rider said--it makes all the difference on grease which side of your mouth you put your pipe in. we reached hazebrouck at midday. spreading out--the manoeuvre had become a fine art--we searched the town. the "chapeau rouge" was well reported on, and there we lunched.
-all those tourists who will deluge flanders after the war should go to the "chapeau rouge" in hazebrouck. there we had lentil soup and stewed kidneys, and roast veal with potatoes and leeks, fruit, cheese, and good red wine. so little was the charge that one of us offered to pay it all. there are other more fashionable hotels in hazebrouck, but, trust the word of a despatch rider, the "chapeau rouge" beats them all.
-very content we rode on to caestre, arriving there ten minutes before the advance-party of the signal company. divisional headquarters were established at the house of the spy. the owner of the house had been well treated by the germans when they had passed through a month before. upon his door had been written this damning legend--
-and, when on the departure of the germans the house had been searched by an indignant populace, german newspapers had been discovered in his bedroom.
-it is the custom of the germans to spare certain houses in every village by chalking up some laudatory notice. we despatch riders had a theory that the inhabitants of these marked houses, far from being spies, were those against whom the germans had some particular grievance. imagine the wretched family doing everything in its power to avoid the effusive affection of the teuton, breaking all its own crockery, and stealing all its own silver, defiling its beds and tearing its clothing. for the man whose goods have been spared by the german becomes an outcast. he lives in a state worse than death. he is hounded from his property, and driven across france with a character attached to him, like a kettle to a cat's tail. genuine spies, on the other hand--so we thought--were worse treated than any and secretly recompensed. such a man became a hero. all his neighbours brought their little offerings.
-the house of the spy had a fine garden, hot and buzzing in the languorous heat. we bathed ourselves in it. and the sanitary arrangements were good.
-grimers arrived lunchless an hour later. he had been promoted to drive the captured car. we took him to the tavern where beauty was allied with fine cooking. there he ate many omelettes.
-in the evening he and i suffered a great disappointment. we wandered into another tavern and were about to ask for our usual "grenadine" when we saw behind the bar two bottles of worthington. for a moment we were too stupefied to speak. then, pulling ourselves together, we stammered out an order for beer, but the girl only smiled. they were empty bottles, souvenirs left by some rascally a.s.c. for the eternal temptation of all who might pass through. the girl in her sympathy comforted us with songs, one of which, "les serments," i translated for the benefit of grimers, who knew no french. we sang cheerfully in french and english until it was time to return to our billet.
-later in the day we advanced to bailleul, where we learnt that the 1st corps was fighting furiously to the north. the square was full of motor-buses and staff-officers. they were the first of our own motor-buses we had seen out in flanders. they cheered us greatly, and after some drinks we sat in one and tried to learn from the map something of the new country in which we were to ride. we rejoiced that we had come once again upon a belgian sheet, because the old french map we had used, however admirable it might have been for brigadiers and suchlike people, was extremely unsuited to a despatch rider's work.
-infantry were pouring through, the stern remnants of fine battalions. ever since the night after le cateau infantry in column of route have fascinated us, for a regiment on the march bares its character to the world.
-first there were our brigades marching up to mons, stalwart and cheering. after le cateau there were practically no battalions, just a crowd of men and transport pouring along the road to paris. i watched the column pass for an hour, and in it there was no organised unit larger than a platoon, and only one platoon. how it happened i do not know, but, when we turned on the germans, battalions, brigades, divisions, corps had been remade. the battalions were pitifully small. many a time we who were watching said to one another: surely that's not the end of the k.o.y.l.i., or the bedfords, or whatever regiment it might be!
-a battalion that has come many miles is nearly silent. the strong men stride tirelessly without a word. little weak men, marching on their nerves, hobble restlessly along. the men with bad feet limp and curse, wilting under the burden of their kit, and behind all come those who have fallen out by the way--men dragging themselves along behind a waggon, white-faced men with uneasy smiles on top of the waggons. a little farther back those who are trying to catch up: these are tragic figures, breaking into breathless little runs, but with a fine wavering attempt at striding out, as though they might be connecting files, when they march through a town or past an officer of high rank.
-a battalion that has just come out of action i cannot describe to you in these letters, but let me tell you now about princess pat's. i ran into them just as they were coming into bailleul for the first time and were hearing the sound of the guns. they were the finest lot of men i have ever seen on the march. gusts of great laughter were running through them. in the eyes of one or two were tears. and i told those civilians i passed that the canadians, the fiercest of all soldiers, were come. bailleul looked on them with more fright than admiration. the women whispered fearfully to each other--les canadiens, les canadiens!...
-we despatch riders were given a large room in the house where the divisional staff was billeted. it had tables, chairs, a fireplace and gas that actually lit; so we were more comfortable than ever we had been before--that is, all except n'soon, who had by this time discovered that continual riding on bad roads is apt to produce a fundamental soreness. n'soon hung on nobly, but was at last sent away with blood-poisoning. never getting home, he spent many weary months in peculiar convalescent camps, and did not join up again until the end of january. moral--before going sick or getting wounded become an officer and a gentleman.
-the general might have been posing for a war artist. he was seated at a table in the middle of a field, his staff-captain with him. the ground sloped away to a wooded valley in which two or three batteries, carefully concealed, were blazing away. to the north shrapnel was bursting over kemmel. in front the messines ridge was almost hidden with the smoke of our shells. i felt that each point of interest ought to have been labelled in mr frederic villiers' handwriting--"german shrapnel bursting over kemmel--our guns--this is a dead horse."
-beyond dickebusch french artillery were in action on the road. the houses just outside ypres had been pelted with shrapnel but not destroyed. just by the station, which had not then been badly knocked about, i learnt where to go. ypres was the first half-evacuated town i had entered. it was like motor-cycling into a village from oxford very early on a sunday morning. half an hour later i saw the towers of the city rising above a bank of mist which had begun to settle on the ground: then out rose great clouds of black smoke.
-i came back by poperinghe to avoid the grease and crowding of the direct road, and there being no hurry i stopped at an inn for a beefsteak. the landlord's daughter talked of the many difficulties before us, and doubted of our success. i said, grandiloquently enough, that no victory was worth winning unless there were difficulties. at which she smiled and remarked, laughing--
-"there are no roses without thorns."
-she asked me how long the war would last. i replied that the good god alone knew. she shook her head--
-"how can the good god look down without a tear on the miseries of his people? are not the flower of the young cut off in the spring of their youth?"
-then she pointed to the church across the way, and said humbly--"on a beaucoup prié."
-she was of the true flemish type, broad and big-breasted, but with a slight stoop, thick hips, dark and fresh-coloured, with large black eyes set too closely. like all the flemings, she spoke french slowly and distinctly, with an accent like the german. she was easy to understand.
-i stopped too long at poperinghe, for it was dark and very misty on the road. beyond boescheppe--i was out of my way--the mist became a fog. once i had to take to the ditch when some cuirassiers galloped out of the fog straight at me. it was all four french soldiers could do to get my motor-cycle out. another time i stuck endeavouring to avoid some lorries. it is a diabolical joke of the comic imps to put fog upon a greasy road for the confusion of a despatch rider.
-on the next day i was sent out to the 14th brigade at the rue de paradis near laventie. you will remember that the 14th brigade had been left to strengthen the indian corps when the 2nd corps had moved north. i arrived at rue de paradis just as the brigade headquarters were coming into the village. so, while everybody else was fixing wires and generally making themselves useful, i rushed upstairs and seized a mattress and put it into a dark little dressing-room with hot and cold water, a mirror and a wardrobe. then i locked the door. there i slept, washed, and dressed in delicious luxury.
-the brigade gave another despatch rider and myself, who were attached, very little to do beyond an occasional forty-mile run to d.h.q. and back over dull roads. the signal office was established in a large room on the side of the house nearest to the germans. it was constructed almost entirely of glass. upon this the men commented with a grave fluency. the windows rattled with shrapnel bursting 600 yards away. the house was jarred through and through by the concussion of a heavy battery firing over our heads. the room was like a toy-shop with a lot of small children sounding all the musical toys. the vibrators and the buzzers were like hoarse toy trumpets.
-our only excitement was the nightly rumour that the general was going to move nearer the trenches, that one of us would accompany him--i knew what that meant on greasy misty roads.
-after i had left, the germans by chance or design made better practice. a shell burst in the garden and shattered all the windows of the room. the staff took refuge in dug-outs that had been made in case of need. tommy, then attached, took refuge in the cellar. according to his own account, when he woke up in the morning he was floating. the house had some corners taken off it and all the glass was shattered, but no one was hurt.
-when i returned to bailleul, divisional headquarters were about to move.
-we were quartered in a large schoolroom belonging to the convent. we had plenty of space and a table to feed at. fresh milk and butter we could buy from the nuns, while a market-gardener just across the road supplied us with a sack of miscellaneous vegetables--potatoes, carrots, turnips, onions, leeks--for practically nothing. we lived gloriously. there was just enough work to make us feel we really were doing something, and not enough to make us wish we were on the staff. bridge we played every hour of the day, and "pollers," our sergeant, would occasionally try a little flutter in dominoes and patience.
-at bailleul the skipper had suggested our learning to manage the unmechanical horse. the suggestion became an order. we were bumped round unmercifully at first, until many of us were so sore that the touch of a motor-cycle saddle on pavé was like hot-iron to a tender skin. then we were handed over to a friendly sergeant, who believed in more gentlemanly methods, and at locre we had great rides--though pollers, who was gently unhorsed, is still firmly convinced that wind-mills form the finest deterrent to cavalry.
-in an unlucky moment two of us had suggested that we should like to learn signaller's work, so we fell upon evil days. first we went out for cable-drill. sounds simple? but it is more arduous and dangerous than any despatch riding. if you "pay out" too quickly, you get tangled up in the wire and go with it nicely over the drum. if you pay out too slowly, you strangle the man on the horse behind you. the worst torture in the world is paying out at the fast trot over cobbles. first you can't hold on, and if you can you can't pay out regularly.
-cable-drill is simply nothing compared to the real laying of cable. we did it twice--once in rain and once in snow. the rainy day i paid out, i was never more miserable in my life than i was after two miles. only hot coffee and singing good songs past cheery piou-pious brought me home. the snowy day i ran with ladders, and, perched on the topmost rung, endeavoured to pass the wire round a buxom tree-trunk. then, when it was round, it would always go slack before i could get it tied up tightly.
-it sounds so easy, laying a wire. but i swear it is the most wearying business in the world--punching holes in the ground with a 16-lb. hammer, running up poles that won't go straight, unhooking wire that has caught in a branch or in the eaves of a house, taking the strain of a cable to prevent man and ladder and wire coming on top of you, when the man who pays out has forgotten to pay. have a thought for the wretched fellows who are getting out a wire on a dark and snowy night, troubled perhaps by persistent snipers and frequent shells! shed a tear for the miserable linesman sent out to find where the line is broken or defective....
-when there was no chance of "a run" we would go for walks towards kemmel. at the time the germans were shelling the hill, but occasionally they would break off, and then we would unofficially go up and see what had happened.
-now mont kemmel is nearly covered with trees. i have never been in a wood under shell fire, and i do not wish to be. where the germans had heavily shelled kemmel there were great holes, trees thrown about and riven and scarred and crushed--a terrific immensity of blasphemous effort. it was as if some great beast, wounded mortally, had plunged into a forest, lashing and biting and tearing in his agony until he died.
-on one side of the hill was a little crazy cottage which had marvellously escaped. three shells had fallen within ten yards of it. two had not burst, and the other, shrapnel, had exploded in the earth. the owner came out, a trifling, wizened old man in the usual belgian cap and blue overalls. we had a talk, using the lingua franca of french, english with a scottish accent, german, and the few words of dutch i could remember.
-we dug up for him a large bit of the casing of the shrapnel. he examined it fearfully. it was an 11-inch shell, i think, nearly as big as his wee grotesque self. then he made a noise, which we took to be a laugh, and told us that he had been very frightened in his little house (häusling), and his cat, an immense white tom, had been more frightened still. but he knew the germans could not hit him. thousands and thousands of germans had gone by, and a little after the last german came the english. "les anglais sont bons."
-this he said with an air of finality. it is a full-blooded judgment which, though it sounds a trifle exiguous to describe our manifold heroic efforts, is a sort of perpetual epithet. the children use it confidingly when they run to our men in the cafés. the peasants use it as a parenthetical verdict whenever they mention our name. the french fellows use it, and i have heard a german prisoner say the same.
-a few days later those who lived on kemmel were "evacuated." they were rounded up into the convent yard, men and women and children, with their hens and pigs. at first they were angry and sorrowful; but nobody, not even the most indignant refugee, could resist our military policemen, and in three-quarters of an hour they all trudged off, cheerfully enough, along the road to bailleul.
-the wee grotesque man and his immense white cat were not with them. perhaps they still live on kemmel. some time i shall go and see....
-if we did not play bridge after our walks, we would look in at the theatre or stroll across to dinner and bridge with gibson and his brother officers of the k.o.s.b., then billeted at locre.
-not all convents have theatres: this was a special convent. the signal company slept in the theatre, and of an evening all the kit would be moved aside. one of the military policemen could play anything; so we danced and sang until the lights went out. the star performer was "spot," the servant of an a.d.c.
-"spot" was a little man with a cheerful squint. he knew everything that had ever been recited, and his knowledge of the more ungodly songs was immense. he would start off with an imitation of mr h.b. irving, and a very good imitation it would be--with soft music. he would leave the signallers thrilled and silent. the lights flashed up, and "spot" darted off on some catchy doggerel of an almost talented obscenity. in private life spot was the best company imaginable. he could not talk for a minute without throwing in a bit of a recitation and striking an attitude. i have only known him serious on two subjects--his master and posh. he would pour out with the keenest delight little stories of how his master endeavoured to correct his servant's accent. there was a famous story of "a n'orse"--but that is untellable.
-posh may be defined, very roughly, as a useless striving after gentlemanly culture. sometimes a chauffeur or an h.q. clerk would endeavour to speak very correct english in front of spot.
-"'e was poshy, my dear boy, positively poshy. 'e made me shiver until i cried. 'smith, old man,' i said to 'im, 'you can't do it. you're not born to it nor bred to it. those that try is just demeaning themselves. posh, my dear boy, pure posh.'"
-and spot would give a cruel imitation of the wretched smith's mincing english. the punishment was the more bitter, because all the world knew that spot could speak the king's english as well as anybody if only he chose. to the poshy alone was spot unkind. he was a generous, warm-hearted little man, with real wisdom and a fine appreciation of men and things.... there were other performers of the usual type, young men who sang about the love-light in her eyes, older men with crude songs, and a scotsman with an expressionless face, who mumbled about we could never discover what.
-the audience was usually strengthened by some half-witted girls that the convent educated, and two angelic nuns. luckily for them, they only understood a slow and grammatical english, and listened to crude songs and sentimental songs with the same expression of maternal content.
-our work at locre was not confined to riding and cable-laying. the 15th brigade and two battalions of the 13th were fighting crazily at ypres, the 14th had come up to dranoutre, and the remaining two battalions of the 13th were at neuve eglise.
-i had two more runs to the ypres district before we left locre. on the first the road was tolerable to ypres, though near the city i was nearly blown off my bicycle by the fire of a concealed battery of 75's. the houses at the point where the rue de lille enters the square had been blown to bits. the cloth hall had barely been touched. in its glorious dignity it was beautiful.
-beyond ypres, on the hooge road, i first experienced the extreme neighbourhood of a "j.j." it fell about 90 yards in front of me and 20 yards off the road. it makes a curiously low droning sound as it falls, like the groan of a vastly sorrowful soul in hell,--so i wrote at the time: then there's a gigantic rushing plunk and overwhelming crash as if all the houses in the world were falling.
-the second time i rode along a frozen road between white fields. all the shells sounded alarmingly near. the noise in ypres was terrific. at my destination i came across some prisoners of the prussian guard, fierce and enormous men, nearly all with reddish hair, very sullen and rude.
-from accounts that have been published of the first battle of ypres, it might be inferred that the british army knew it was on the point of being annihilated. a despatch rider, though of course he does not know very much of the real meaning of the military situation, has unequalled opportunities for finding out the opinions and spirit of the men. now one of us went to ypres every day and stopped for a few minutes to discuss the state of affairs with other despatch riders and with signal-sergeants. right through the battle we were confident; in fact the idea that the line might be broken never entered our heads. we were suffering very heavily. that we knew. nothing like the shell fire had ever been heard before. nobody realised how serious the situation must have been until the accounts were published.
-huggie has a perfect mania for getting frightened; so one day, instead of leaving the routine matter that he carried at a place whence it might be forwarded at leisure, he rode along the menin road to the chateau at hooge, the headquarters of the 15th brigade. he came back quietly happy, telling us that he had had a good time, though the noise had been a little overwhelming. we learned afterwards that the enemy had been registering very accurately upon the hooge road.
-so the time passed without any excitement until november 23, when first we caught hold of a definite rumour that we should be granted leave. we existed in restless excitement until the 27th. on that great day we were told that we should be allowed a week's leave. we solemnly drew lots, and i drew the second batch.
-we left the convent at locre in a dream, and took up quarters at st jans cappel, two miles west of bailleul. we hardly noticed that our billet was confined and uncomfortable. certainly we never realised that we should stop there until the spring. the first batch went off hilariously, and with slow pace our day drew nearer and nearer.
-you may think it a little needless of me to write about my leave, if you do not remember that we despatch riders of the fifth division enlisted on or about august 6. few then realised that england had gone to war. nobody realised what sort of a war the war was going to be. when we returned in the beginning of december we were martians. for three months we had been vividly soldiers. we had been fighting not in a savage country, but in a civilised country burnt by war; and it was because of this that the sights of war had struck us so fiercely that when we came back our voyage in the good ship archimedes seemed so many years distant. besides, if i were not to tell you of my leave it would make such a gap in my memories that i should scarcely know how to continue my tale....
-the week dragged more slowly than i can describe. short-handed, we had plenty of work to do, but it was all routine work, which gave us too much time to think. there was also a crazy doubt of the others' return. they were due back a few hours before we started. if they fell ill or missed the boat...! and the fools were motor-cycling to and from boulogne!
-violent question and answer for an hour, then we piled ourselves on our light lorry. singing like angels we rattled into bailleul. just opposite corps headquarters, our old billet, we found a little crowd waiting. none of us could talk much for the excitement. we just wandered about greeting friends. i met again that stoutest of warriors, mr potter of the 15th artillery brigade, a friend of festubert days. then a battalion of french infantry passed through, gallant and cheerful men. at last the old dark-green buses rolled up, and about three in the morning we pounded off at a good fifteen miles an hour along the cassel road.
-we rumbled out of hazebrouck towards st omer. it was a clear dawn in splashes of pure colour. all the villages were peaceful, untouched by war. when we came to st omer it was quite light. all the soldiers in the town looked amateurish. we could not make out what was the matter with them, until somebody noticed that their buttons shone. we drew up in the square, the happiest crew imaginable, but with a dignity such as befitted chosen n.c.o.'s and officers.
-that was the first time i saw st omer. when last i came to it i saw little, because i arrived in a motor-ambulance and left in a hospital-train.
-the top of the bus was crowded, and we talked "shop" together. sixth division's having a pretty cushy time, what?--so you were at mons! (in a tone of respect)--i don't mind their shells, and i don't mind their machine-guns, but their minenwerfer are the frozen limit!--i suppose there's no chance of our missing the boat. yes, it was a pretty fair scrap--smith? he's gone. silly fool, wanted to have a look round--full of buck? rather! yes, heard there's a pretty good show on at the frivolity--beastly cold on top of this old wheezer.
-there was a certain swell on, and mr potter, the bravest of men, grew greener and greener. my faith in mankind went.
-we saw a dark line on the horizon.
-"by jove, there's england!" we all produced our field-glasses and looked through them very carefully for quite a long time.
-"so it is. funny old country"--a pause--"makes one feel quite sentimental, just like the books. that's what we're fighting for, i suppose. wouldn't fight for dirty old dover! wonder if they still charge you a penny for each sardine. i suppose we'll have to draw the blinds all the way up to london. not a safe country by any means, far rather stop in the jolly old trenches."
-"you'll get the white feather, old man."
-"no pretty young thing would give it you. why, you wouldn't look medically fit in mufti!"
-"fancy seeing a woman who isn't dirty and can talk one's own lingo!"
-so we came to folkestone, and all the people on the pier smiled at us. we scuttled ashore and shook ourselves for delight. there was a policeman, a postman. who are these fussy fellows with badges on their arms? special constables, of course!
-spurning cigarettes and bovril we rushed to the bar. we all noticed the cleanness of the barmaid, her beauty, the neatness of her dress, her cultivated talk. we almost squabbled about what drinks we should have first. finally, we divided into parties--the beers and the whisky-and-sodas. then there were english papers to buy, and, of course, we must have a luncheon-basket....
-the smell of the musty s.-e. & c.r. compartment was the scent of eastern roses. we sniffed with joy in the tunnels. we read all the notices with care. nearing london we became silent. quite disregarding the order to lower the blinds, we gazed from the bridge at a darkened london and the searchlight beams. feverishly we packed our kit and stood up in the carriage. we jerked into the flare of victoria. dazzled and confused, we looked at the dense crowd of beaming, anxious people. there was a tug at my elbow, and a triumphant voice shouted--
-"i've found him! here he is! there's your mother." ...
-this strange familiar country seemed to us clean, careless, and full of men. the streets were clean; the men and women were clean. out in flanders a little grime came as a matter of course. one's uniform was dirty. well, it had seen service. there was no need to be particular about the set of the tunic and the exact way accoutrements should be put on. but here the few men in khaki sprinkled about the streets had their buttons cleaned and not a thing was out of place. we wondered which of them belonged to the new armies. the women, too, were clean and beautiful. this sounds perhaps to you a foolish thing to say, but it is true. the flemish woman is not so clean as she is painted, and as for women dressed with any attempt at fashionable display--we had seen none since august. nadine at dour had been neat; hélène at carlepont had been companionable; the pretty midinette at maast had been friendly and not over-dirty. for a day or two after i returned to my own country i could not imagine how anybody ever could leave it.
-and all the people were free from care. however cheerful those brave but irritating folk who live behind the line may be, they have always shadows in their eyes. we had never been to a village through which the germans had not passed. portly and hilarious the teuton may have shown himself--kindly and well-behaved he undoubtedly was in many places--there came with him a terror which stayed after he had gone, just as a mist sways above the ground after the night has flown.
-at first we thought that no one at home cared about the war--then we realised it was impossible for anybody to care about the war who had not seen war. people might be intensely interested in the course of operations. they might burn for their country's success, and flame out against those who threatened her. they might suffer torments of anxiety for a brother in danger, or the tortures of grief for a brother who had died. the fact of war, the terror and the shame, the bestiality and the awful horror, the pity and the disgust--they could never know war. so we thought them careless....
-again, though we had been told very many had enlisted, the streets seemed ludicrously full of men. in the streets of flanders there are women and children and old men and others. these others would give all that they had to put on uniform and march gravely or gaily to the trenches. in flanders a man who is fit and wears no uniform is instantly suspected of espionage. i am grinding no axe. i am advocating nothing or attacking nothing. i am merely stating as a fact that, suspicious and contemptuous as we had been in flanders of every able-bodied man who was not helping to defend his country, it seemed grotesque to us to find so many civilian men in the streets of the country to which we had returned.
-on the boat i met gibson. at boulogne we clambered into the same bus and passed the time in sipping old rum, eating chocolate biscuits, reading the second volume of 'sinister street,' and sleeping. at st omer our craving for an omelette nearly lost us the bus. then we slept. all that i can remember of the rest of the journey is that we stopped near bailleul. an anxious corporal popped his head in.
-"mr brown here?"
-"ye--e--s," sleepily, "what the devil do you want?"
-"our battery's in action, sir, a few miles from here. i've got your horses ready waiting, sir."
-mr brown was thoroughly awake in a moment. he disturbed everybody collecting his kit. then he vanished.
-st jans cappel.
-soon after our return there were rumours of a grand attack. headquarters positively sizzled with the most expensive preparations. at a given word the staff were to dash out in motor-cars to a disreputable tavern, so that they could see the shells bursting. a couple of despatch riders were to keep with them in order to fetch their cars when the day's work was over. a mobile reserve of motor-cyclists was to be established in a farm under cover.
-the word came. we arrived at the tavern before dawn. the staff sauntered about outside in delicious anticipation. we all looked at our watches. punctually at six the show began. guns of all shapes and sizes had been concentrated. they made an overwhelming noise. over the german trenches on the near slope of the messines ridge flashed multitudinous points of flame. the germans were being furiously shelled. the dawn came up while the staff were drinking their matutinal tea. the staff set itself sternly to work. messages describing events at la bassée poured in. they were conscientiously read and rushed over the wires to our brigades. the guns were making more noise than they had ever made before. the germans were cowering in their trenches. it was all our officers could do to hold back their men, who were straining like hounds in a leash to get at the hated foe. a shell fell among some of the gunners' transport and wounded a man and two horses. that stiffened us. the news was flashed over the wire to g.h.q. the transport was moved rapidly, but in good order, to a safer place. the guns fired more furiously than ever.
-as soon as there was sufficient light, the general's a.d.c., crammed full of the lust for blood, went out and shot some rabbits and some indescribable birds, who by this time were petrified with fear. they had never heard such a noise before. that other despatch rider sat comfortably in a car, finished at his leisure the second volume of 'sinister street,' and wrote a lurid description of a modern battle.
-before the visitors came, the scene was improved by the construction of a large dug-out near the tavern. it is true that if the staff had taken to the dug-out they would most certainly have been drowned. that did not matter. every well-behaved divisional staff must have a dug-out near its advanced headquarters. it is always "done."
-never was a division so lucky in its visitors. a certain young prince of high lineage arrived. everybody saluted at the same time. he was, i think, duly impressed by the atmosphere of the tavern, the sight of the staff's maps, the inundated dug-outs, the noise of the guns and the funny balls of smoke that the shells made when they exploded over the german lines.
-what gave this battle a humorous twist for all time was the delectable visit of a cabinet minister. he came in a car and brought with him his own knife and fork and a loaf of bread as his contribution to the divisional lunch. when he entered the tavern he smelt among other smells the delicious odour of rabbit-pie. with hurried but charming condescension he left his loaf on the stove, where it dried for a day or two until the landlady had the temerity to appropriate it. he was fed, so far as i remember on--
-the battle lasted about ten days. each morning the staff, like lazy men who are "something in the city," arrived a little later at the tavern. each afternoon they departed a little earlier. the rabbits decreased in number, and finally, when two days running the a.d.c. had been able to shoot nothing at all, the division returned for good to the chateau at st jans cappel.
-for this mercy the despatch riders were truly grateful. sitting the whole day in the tavern, we had all contracted bad headaches. even chess, the 'red magazine,' and the writing of letters, could do nothing to dissipate our unutterable boredom. never did we pass that tavern afterwards without a shudder of disgust. with joyous content we heard a month or two later that it had been closed for providing drinks after hours.
-officially the grand attack had taken this course. the french to the north had been held up by the unexpected strength of the german defence. the 3rd division on our immediate left had advanced a trifle, for the gordons had made a perilous charge into the petit bois, a wood at the bottom of the wytschaete heights. and the royal scots had put in some magnificent work, for which they were afterwards very properly congratulated. the germans in front of our division were so cowed by our magniloquent display of gunnery that they have remained moderately quiet ever since.
-after these december manoeuvres nothing of importance happened on our front until the spring, when the germans, whom we had tickled with intermittent gunnery right through the winter, began to retaliate with a certain energy.
-the division that has no history is not necessarily happy. there were portions of the line, it is true, which provided a great deal of comfort and very little danger. fine dug-outs were constructed--you have probably seen them in the illustrated papers. the men were more at home in such trenches than in the ramshackle farms behind the lines. these show trenches were emphatically the exception. the average trench on the line during last winter was neither comfortable nor safe. yellow clay, six inches to four feet or more of stinking water, many corpses behind the trenches buried just underneath the surface-crust, and in front of the trenches not buried at all, inveterate sniping from a slightly superior position--these are not pleasant bedfellows. the old division (or rather the new division--the infantrymen of the old division were now pitifully few) worked right hard through the winter. when the early spring came and the trenches were dry, the division was sent north to bear a hand in the two bloodiest actions of the war. so far as i know, in the whole history of british participation in this war there has never been a more murderous fight than one of these two actions--and the division, with slight outside help, managed the whole affair.
-twice in the winter there was an attempted rapprochement between the germans and ourselves. the more famous gave the division a mention by "eyewitness," so we all became swollen with pride.
-on the kaiser's birthday one-and-twenty large shells were dropped accurately into a farm suspected of being a battalion or brigade headquarters. the farm promptly acknowledged the compliment by blowing up, and all round it little explosions followed. nothing pleases a gunner more than to strike a magazine. he always swears he knew it was there the whole time, and, as gunners are dangerous people to quarrel with, we always pretended to believe the tale.
-we even had a sneaking regard for that "cunning old bird, kayser bill." our treatment of prisoners explains the christmas truce. the british soldier, except when he is smarting under some dirty trick, suffering under terrible loss, or maddened by fighting or fatigue, treats his prisoners with a tolerant, rather contemptuous kindness. may god in his mercy help any poor german who falls into the hands of a british soldier when the said german has "done the dirty" or has "turned nasty"! there is no judge so remorseless, no executioner so ingenious in making the punishment fit the crime.
-this is what i wrote home a day or two after christmas: from six on christmas eve to six in the evening on christmas day there was a truce between two regiments of our division and the germans opposite them. heads popped up and were not sniped. greetings were called across. one venturesome, enthusiastic german got out of his trench and stood waving a branch of christmas tree. soon there was a fine pow-wow going on. cigars were exchanged for tobacco. friendship was pledged in socks. the germans brought out some beer and the english some rum. finally, on christmas day, there was a great concert and dance. the germans were spruce, elderly men, keen and well fed, with buttons cleaned for the occasion. they appeared to have plenty of supplies, and were fully equipped with everything necessary for a winter campaign. a third battalion, wisely but churlishly, refused these seasonable advances, and shot four men who appeared with a large cask of what was later discovered to be beer....
-as we became inclined to breakfast late, nine o'clock parade was instituted. breakfast took place before or after, as the spirit listed. bacon, tea, and bread came from the cook. we added porridge and occasionally eggs. the porridge we half-cooked the night before.
-after breakfast we began to clean our bicycles, no light task, and the artificers started on repairs. the cleaning process was usually broken into by the arrival of the post and the papers of the day before. cleaning the bicycles, sweeping out the rooms, reading and writing letters, brought us to dinner at 1.
-this consisted of bully or fresh meat stew with vegetables (or occasionally roast or fried meat), bread and jam. as we became more luxurious we would provide for ourselves yorkshire pudding, which we discovered trying to make pancakes, and pancakes, which we discovered trying to make yorkshire pudding. worcester sauce and the invaluable curry powder were never wanting. after dinner we smoked a lethargic pipe.
-in the afternoon it was customary to take some exercise. to reduce the strain on our back tyres we used to trudge manfully down into the village, or, if we were feeling energetic, to the ammunition column a couple of miles away. any distance over two miles we covered on motor-cycles. their use demoralised us. our legs shrunk away.
-sometimes two or three of us would ride to a sand-pit on mont noir and blaze away with our revolvers. incidentally, not one of us had fired a shot in anger since the war began. we treated our revolvers as unnecessary luggage. in time we became skilled in their use, and thereafter learnt to keep them moderately clean. we had been served out with revolvers at chatham, but had never practised with them--except at carlow for a morning, and then we were suffering from the effects of inoculation. they may be useful when we get to germany.
-shopping in bailleul was less strenuous. we were always buying something for supper--a kilo of liver, some onions, a few sausages--anything that could be cooked by the unskilled on a paraffin-stove. then after shopping there were cafés we could drop into, sure of a welcome. it was impossible to live from november to march "within easy reach of town" and not make friends.
-milk for tea came from the farm in which no. 1 section of the signal company was billeted. when first we were quartered at st jans this section wallowed in some mud a little above the chateau.
-because i had managed to make myself understood to some german prisoners, i was looked upon as a great linguist, and vulgarly credited with a knowledge of all the european languages. so i was sent, together with the quartermaster-sergeant and the sergeant-major, on billeting expeditions. arranging for quarters at the farm, i made great friends with the farmer. he was a tall, thin, lithe old man, with a crumpled wife and prodigiously large family. he was a man of affairs, too, for once a month in peace time he would drive into hazebrouck. while his wife got me the milk, we used to sit by the fire and smoke our pipes and discuss the terrible war and the newspapers. one of the most embarrassing moments i have ever experienced was when he bade me tell the sergeants that he regarded them as brothers, and loved them all. i said it first in french, that he might hear, and then in english. the sergeants blushed, while the old man beamed.
-we loved the flemish, and, for the most part, they loved us. when british soldiers arrived in a village the men became clean, the women smart, and the boys inevitably procured putties and wore them with pride. the british soldier is certainly not insular. he tries hard to understand the words and ways of his neighbours. he has a rough tact, a crude courtesy, and a great-hearted generosity. in theory no task could be more difficult than the administration of the british area. even a friendly military occupation is an uncomfortable burden. yet never have i known any case of real ill-feeling. personally, during my nine months at the front, i have always received from the french and the belgians amazing kindness and consideration. as an officer i came into contact with village and town officials over questions of billets and requisitions. in any difficulty i received courteous assistance. no trouble was too great; no time was too valuable....
-after tea of cakes and rolls the bridge-players settled down to a quiet game, with pipes to hand and whisky and siphons on the sideboard. we took it in turns to cook some delicacy for supper at 8--sausages, curried sardines, liver and bacon, or--rarely but joyously--fish. at one time or another we feasted on all the luxuries, but fish was rarer than rubies. when we had it we did not care if we stank out the whole lodge with odours of its frying. we would lie down to sleep content in a thick fishy, paraffin-y, dripping-y atmosphere. when i came home i could not think what the delicious smell was in a certain street. then my imagination struck out a picture--grimers laboriously frying a dab over a smoky paraffin-stove.
-on occasions after supper we would brew a large jorum of good rum-punch, sing songs with roaring choruses, and finish up the evening with a good old scrap over somebody else's bed. the word went round to "mobilise," and we would all stand ready, each on his bed, to repel boarders. if the sanctity of your bed were violated, the intruder would be cast vigorously into outer darkness. another song, another drink, a final pipe, and to bed.
-our christmas would have been a grand day if it had not been away from home.
-at eight o'clock there was breakfast of porridge, bacon and eggs, and bloaters--everybody in the best of spirits. about nine the skipper presented us with cards from the king and queen. then the mail came in, but it was poor. by the time we had tidied up our places and done a special christmas shave and wash, we were called upon to go down to the cookhouse and sign for princess mary's christmas gift--a good pipe, and in a pleasant little brass box lay a christmas card, a photograph, a packet of cigarettes, and another of excellent tobacco.
-it was now lunch-time--steak and potatoes.
-the afternoon was spent on preparations for our great and unexampled dinner. grimers printed the menu, and while i made some cold curried sardines, the rest went down into the village to stimulate the landlady of the inn where we were going to dine.
-in the village a brigade was billeted, and that brigade was, of course, "on the wire." it was arranged that the despatch riders next on the list should take their motor-cycles down and be summoned over the wire if they were needed. an order had come round that unimportant messages were to be kept until the morning.
-we dined in the large kitchen of the maison commune estaminet, at a long table decorated with mistletoe and holly. the dinner--the result of two days' "scrounging" under the direction of george--was too good to be true. we toasted each other and sang all the songs we knew. two of the staff clerks wandered in and told us we were the best of all possible despatch riders. we drank to them uproariously. then a scotsman turned up with a noisy recitation. finally, we all strolled home up the hill singing loudly and pleasantly, very exhilarated, in sure and certain belief we had spent the best of all possible evenings.
-in the dwelling of the staff there was noise of revelry. respectable captains with false noses peered out of windows. our fat boy declaimed in the signal office on the iniquities of the artillery telegraphists. sadders sent gentle messages of greeting over the wires. he was still a little piqued at his failure to secure the piper of the k.o.s.b., who had been commandeered by the staff. sadders waited for him until early morning and then steered him to our lodge, but the piper was by then too tired to play.
-here is our bill of fare:--
-dinner of the ten surviving motor-cyclists of the famous fifth division.
-sardins très moutard. potage. dindon rôti-saucisses. oise rôti. petits choux de bruxelles. pommes de terre. pouding de noël rhum. dessert. café. liqueurs. vins.--champagne. moselle. port. benedictine. whisky.
-we beat the staff on the sprouts, but the staff countered by appropriating the piper.
-work dwindled until it became a farce. one run for each despatch rider every third day was the average. st jans was not the place we should have chosen for a winter resort. life became monotonous, and we all with one accord began applying for commissions. various means were used to break the monotony. grimers, under the skipper's instructions, began to plant vegetables for the spring, but i do not think he ever got much beyond mustard and cress. on particularly unpleasant days we were told off to make fascines. n'soon assisted the quartermaster-sergeant. cecil did vague things with the motor-lorry. i was called upon to write the company's war diary. even the staff became restless and took to night-walks behind the trenches. if it had not been for the generous supply of "days off" that the skipper allowed us, we should by february have begun to gibber.
-if the roads were moderately good and no great movements of troops were proceeding, the post took about 1-1/4 hours; so the miserable postman was late either for breakfast or for tea. it was routine work pure and simple. after six weeks we knew every stone in the roads. the postman never came under fire. he passed through one village which was occasionally shelled, but, while i was with the signal company, the postman and the shells never arrived at the village at the same time. there was far more danger from lorries and motor ambulances than from shells.
-as for the long line of "postmen" that stretched back into the dim interior of france--it was rarely that they even heard the guns. when they did hear them, they would, i am afraid, pluck a racing helmet from their pockets, draw the ear-flaps well down over their ears, bend down over their racing handle-bars, and sprint for dear life. returning safely to abbéville, they would write hair-raising accounts of the dangers they had passed through to the motor-cycling papers. it is only right that i should here once and for all confess--there is no finer teller of tall stories than the motor-cyclist despatch rider....
-from december to february the only time i was under shell fire was late in december, when the grand attack was in full train. a certain brigade headquarters had taken refuge inconsiderately in advanced dug-outs. as i passed along the road to them some shrapnel was bursting a quarter of a mile away. so long was it since i had been under fire that the noise of our own guns disturbed me. in the spring, after i had left the signal company, the roads were not so healthy. george experienced the delights of a broken chain on a road upon which the germans were registering accurately with shrapnel. church, a fine fellow, and quite the most promising of our recruits, was killed in his billet by a shell when attached to a brigade.
-taking the post rarely meant just a pleasant spin, because it rained in flanders from september to january.
-after i had been working for about half an hour the two artillery motor-cyclists came along. i stopped them to give me a hand and to do as much work as i could possibly avoid doing myself while preserving an appearance of omniscience.
-we worked for an hour or more. it was now so dark that i could not distinguish one motor-cyclist from another. the rain rained faster than it had ever rained before, and the gale was so violent that we could scarcely keep our feet. finally, we diagnosed a complaint that could not be cured by the roadside. so we stopped working, to curse and admire the german rockets.
-there was an estaminet close by. it had appeared shut, but when we began to curse a light shone in one of the windows. so i went in and settled to take one of the artillery motor-cycles and deliver the rest of my quite unimportant despatches. it would not start. we worked for twenty minutes in the rain vainly, then a motor-cyclist turned up from the nearest brigade to see what had become of me,--the progress of the post is checked over the wire. we arranged matters--but then neither his motor-cycle nor the motor-cycle of the second artillery motor-cyclist would start. it was laughable. eventually we got the brigade despatch rider started with my report.
-madame, who together with innumerable old men and children inhabited the inn, was young and pretty and intelligent--black hair, sallow and symmetrical face, expressive mouth, slim and graceful limbs. talking the language, we endeavoured to make our forced company pleasant. that other despatch rider, still steaming from the stove, sat beside a charming flemish woman, and endeavoured, amid shrieks of laughter, to translate the jokes in an old number of 'london opinion.'
-a welsh lad came in--a perfect celt of nineteen, dark and lithe, with a momentary smile and a wild desire to see india. then some cheshires arrived. they were soaked and very weary. one old reservist staggered to a chair. we gave him some brandy and hot water. he chattered unintelligibly for a moment about his wife and children. he began to doze, so his companion took him out, and they tottered along after their company.
-a dog of no possible breed belonged to the estaminet. madame called him "automobile anglais," because he was always rushing about for no conceivable reason.
-we were sorry when at 9.50 the lorry came for the bicycles. our second driver was an ex-london cabby, with a crude wit expressed in impossible french that our hostess delightfully parried. on the way back he told me how he had given up the three taxis he had owned to do "his bit," how the other men had laughed at him because he was so old, how he had met a prisoner who used to whistle for the taxis in russell square. we talked also of the men in the trenches, of fright, and of the end of the war. we reached d.h.q. about 10.30, and after a large bowl of porridge i turned in.
-behind the lines.
-wretched ypres has been badly over-written. before the war it was a pleasant city, little visited by travellers because it lay on a badly served branch line. the inhabitants tell me it was never much troubled with tourists. one burgher explained the situation to me with a comical mixture of sentiment and reason.
-"you see, sir, that our cathedral is shattered and the cloth hall a ruin. may those devils, the dirty germans, roast in hell! but after the war we shall be the richest city in belgium. all england will flock to ypres. is it not a monstrous cemetery? are there not woods and villages and farms at which the brave english have fought like lions to earn for themselves eternal fame, and for the city an added glory? the good god gives his compensations after great wars. there will be many to buy our lace and fill our restaurants."
-mr john buchan and mr valentine williams and others have "written up" ypres. the exact state of the cloth hall at any given moment is the object of solicitude. the shattered belgian homes have been described over and over again. the important things about ypres have been left unsaid.
-near the station there was a man who really could mix cocktails. he was no blundering amateur, but an expert with the subtlest touch. and in the rue de lille a fashionable dressmaker turned her atelier into a tea-room. she used to provide coffee or chocolate, or even tea, and the most delicious little cakes. of an afternoon you would sit on comfortable chairs at a neat table covered with a fair cloth and talk to your hostess. a few hats daintily remained on stands, but, as she said, they were last year's hats, unworthy of our notice.
-a pleasant afternoon could be spent on the old ramparts. we were there, as a matter of fact, to do a little building-up and clearing-away when the german itch for destruction proved too strong for their more gentlemanly feelings. we lay on the grass in the sun and smoked our pipes, looking across the placid moat to zillebeke vyver, verbranden molen, and the slight curve of hill 60. the landscape was full of interest. here was shrapnel bursting over entirely empty fields. there was a sapper repairing a line. the germans were shelling the town, and it was a matter of skill to decide when the lumbersome old shell was heard exactly where it would fall. then we would walk back into the town for tea and look in at that particularly enterprising grocer's in the square to see his latest novelties in tinned goods.
-from ypres the best road in flanders runs by vlamertinghe to poperinghe. it is a good macadam road, made, doubtless by perfidious albion's money, just before the war.
-poperinghe has been an age-long rival of ypres. even to-day its inhabitants delight to tell you the old municipal scandals of the larger town, and the burghers of ypres, if they see a citizen of poperinghe in their streets, believe he has come to gloat over their misfortunes. ypres is an edinburgh and poperinghe a glasgow. ypres was self-consciously "old world" and loved its buildings. poperinghe is modern, and perpetrated a few years ago the most terrible of town halls. there are no cocktails in poperinghe, but there is good whisky and most excellent beer.
-i shall never forget my feelings when one morning in a certain wine-merchant's cellar i saw several eighteen-gallon casks of bass's pale ale. i left poperinghe in a motor-ambulance, and the germans shelled it next day, but my latest advices state that the ale is still intact.
-dickebusch used to be a favourite sunday afternoon's ride for the poperinghe wheelers. they would have tea at the restaurant on the north of dickebusch vyver, and afterwards go for a row in the little flat-bottomed boats, accompanied, no doubt, by some nice dark flemish girls. the village, never very pleasant, is now the worse for wear. i remember it with no kindly feelings, because, having spent a night there with the french, i left them in the morning too early to obtain a satisfactory meal, and arrived at headquarters too late for any breakfast.
-not far from dickebusch is the desolate chateau. before the war it was a handsome place, built by a rich coal-merchant from lille. i visited it on a sunny morning. at the southern gate there was a little black and shapeless heap fluttering a rag in the wind. i saluted and passed on, sick at heart. the grounds were pitted with shell-holes: the cucumber-frames were shattered. just behind the chateau was a wee village of dug-outs. now they are slowly falling in. and the chateau itself?
-all was still. at the foot of the garden there was a little village half hidden by trees. not a sound came from it. away on the ridge miserable wytschaete stood hard against the sky, a mass of trembling ruins. then two soldiers came, and finding a boat rowed noisily round the tiny lake, and the shells murmured harshly as they flew across to ypres. some ruins are dead stones, but the broken houses of flanders are pitifully alive--like the wounded men who lie between the trenches and cannot be saved....
-half a mile south from dickebusch are cross-roads, and the sign-post tells you that the road to the left is the road to wytschaete--but wytschaete faces kemmel and messines faces wulverghem.
-i was once walking over the hills above witzenhausen,--the cherries by the roadside were wonderful that year,--and coming into a valley we asked a man how we might best strike a path into the next valley over the shoulder of the hill. he said he did not know, because he had never been over the hill. the people of the next valley were strangers to him. when first i came to a sign-post that told me how to get to a village i could not reach with my life, i thought of those hills above witzenhausen. from wulverghem to messines is exactly two kilometres. it is ludicrous.
-again, one afternoon i was riding over the pass between mont noir and mont vidaigne. i looked to the east and saw in the distance the smoke of a train, just as from harrow you might see the scottish express on the north-western main line. for a moment i did not realise that the train was german, that the purpose of its journey was to kill me and my fellow-men. but it is too easy to sentimentalise, to labour the stark fact that war is a grotesque, irrational absurdity....
-following the main road south from dickebusch you cross the frontier and come to bailleul, a town of which we were heartily sick before the winter was far gone. in peace it would be once seen and never remembered. it has no character, though i suppose the "faucon" is as well known to englishmen now as any hotel in europe. there are better shops in béthune and better cafés in poperinghe. of the "allies tea-rooms" i have already written.
-bailleul is famous for one thing alone--its baths. just outside the town is a large and modern asylum that contains a good plunge-bath for the men and gorgeous hot baths for officers. there are none better behind the line. tuesdays and fridays were days of undiluted joy.
-armentières is sprawling and ugly and full of dirt--a correct and middle-class town that reminded me of bristol. in front of it are those trenches, of which many tales wandered up and down the line. here the christmas truce is said to have been prolonged for three weeks or more. here the men are supposed to prefer their comfortable trenches to their billets, though when they "come out" they are cheered by the follies and the fancies. on this section of the line is the notorious plugstreet wood, that show-place to which all distinguished but valuable visitors are taken. other corps have sighed for the gentle delights of this section of the line....
-south-west from armentières the country is as level as it can be. it is indeed possible to ride from ypres to béthune without meeting any hill except the slight ascent from la clytte. steenwerck, erquinghem, croix du bac, and, farther west, merris and vieux berquin, have no virtue whatsoever. there is little country flatter and uglier than the country between bailleul and béthune.
-one morning huggie, cecil, and i obtained leave to visit béthune and the la bassée district. it was in the middle of january, three months after we had left beuvry. we tore into bailleul and bumped along the first mile of the armentières road. that mile is without any doubt the most excruciatingly painful pavé in the world. we crossed the railway and raced south. the roads were good and there was little traffic, but the sudden apparition of a motor-lorry round a sharp corner sent that other despatch rider into the ditch. estaires, as always, produced much grease. it began to rain, but we held on by la gorgue and lestrem, halting only once for the necessary café-cognac.
-we rode along the canal bank to beuvry station, and found that our filthy old quarters had been cleaned up and turned into an indian dressing-station. we went on past the cross-roads at gorre, where an indian battalion was waiting miserably under the dripping trees. the sun was just setting behind some grey clouds. the fields were flooded with ochreous water. since last i had been along the road the country had been "searched" too thoroughly. one wall of 1910 farm remained. chickens pecked feebly among the rest of it.
-coming into festubert i felt that something was wrong. the village had been damnably shelled--that i had expected--and there was not a soul to be seen. i thought of the father and mother and daughter who, returning to their home while we were there in october, had wept because a fuse had gone through the door and the fireplace and all their glass had been broken. their house was now a heap of nothing in particular. the mirror i had used lay broken on the top of about quarter of a wall. still something was wrong, and huggie, who had been smiling at my puzzled face, said gently in an off-hand way--
-"seen the church?"
-that was it! the church had simply disappeared. in the old days riding up from gorre the fine tower of the church rose above the houses at the end of the street. the tower had been shelled and had fallen crashing through the roof.
-we met a sapper coming out of a cottage. he was rather amused at our sentimental journey, and warned us that the trenches were considerably nearer the village than they had been in our time. we determined to push on as it was now dusk, but my engine jibbed, and we worked on it in the gloom among the dark and broken houses. the men in the trenches roused themselves to a sleepless night, and intermittent rifle-shots rang out in the damp air.
-we rode north to the estaminet de l'epinette, passing a road which forking to the right led to a german barricade. the estaminet still lived, but farther down the road the old house which had sheltered a field ambulance was a pile of rubbish. on we rode by la couture to estaires, where we dined, and so to st jans cappel....
-do you know what the line means? when first we came to landrecies the thought of the frontier as something strong and stark had thrilled us again and again, but the frontier was feeble and is nothing. a man of poperinghe told me his brother was professor, his son was serving, his wife and children were "over there." he pointed to the german lines. of his wife and children he has heard nothing for four months. some of us are fighting to free "german" flanders, the country where life is dark and bitter. those behind our line, however confident they may be, live in fear, for if the line were to retire a little some of them would be cast into the bitter country. a day will come "when the whole line will advance," and the welcome we shall receive then from those who have come out of servitude!... there are men and women in france who live only for that day, just as there are those in this country who would welcome the day of death, so that they might see again those they love....
-you may have gathered from my former letters that no friction took place between the professional and amateur soldiers of the signal company. i have tried all through my letters to give you a very truthful idea of our life, and my account would not be complete without some description of the signal company and its domestic affairs.
-think for a moment of what happened at the beginning of august. more than a dozen 'varsity men were thrown like daniels into a den of mercenaries. we were awkwardly privileged persons--full corporals with a few days' service. motor-cycling gave superlative opportunities of freedom. our duties were "flashy," and brought us into familiar contact with officers of rank. we were highly paid, and thought to have much money of our own. in short, we who were soldiers of no standing possessed the privileges that a professional soldier could win only after many years' hard work.
-again, it did not help matters that our corps was a corps of intelligent experts who looked down on the ordinary "tommy," that our company had deservedly the reputation of being one of the best signal companies in the army--a reputation which has been enhanced and duly rewarded in the present war. these motor-cyclists were not only experimental interlopers. they might even "let down" the company.
-we expected jealousy and unpleasantness, which we hoped to overcome by hard work. we found a tactful kindness that was always smoothing the rough way, helping us amusedly, and giving us more than our due, and a thorough respect where respect was deserved. it was astonishing, but then we did not know the professional soldier. during the winter there was a trifle of friction over cooking, the work of the signal office, and the use and abuse of motor-cycles. it would have been a poor-spirited company if there had been none. but the friction was transitory, and left no acid feeling.
-i should like to pay my compliments to a certain commanding officer, but six months' work under him has convinced me that he does not like compliments. still, there remains that dinner at the end of the war, and then...!
-his great triumph was the affair of the leather jackets. a maternal government thought to send us out leather jackets. after tea the q.-b. bustled in with them. we rode out with them the next morning. the 2nd corps had not yet received theirs. we were the first motor-cyclists in our part of the world to appear in flaring chrome. the q.-b. smiled again.
-i always think the quarter-bloke is wasted. he ought to be put in charge of the looting department of a large invading army. do not misunderstand me. the q.-b. never "looted." he never stepped a hair's-breadth outside those regulations that hedge round the quartermaster. he was just a man with a prophetic instinct, who, while others passed blindly by, picked up things because they might come in useful some day--and they always did. finally, the q.-b. was companionable. he could tell a good story, and make merry decorously, as befitted a company quartermaster-sergeant.
-of the other sergeants i will make no individual mention. we took some for better, and some for worse, but they were all good men, who knew their job.
-then there was "ginger," the cook. i dare not describe his personal appearance lest i should meet him again--and i want to--but it was remarkable. so was his language. one of us had a fair gift that way, and duels were frequent, but "ginger" always had the last word. he would keep in reserve a monstrously crude sulphurous phrase with a sting of humour in its tail, and, when our fellow had concluded triumphantly with an exotic reference to ginger's hereditary characteristics, ginger would hesitate a moment, as if thinking, and then out with it. obviously there was no more to be said.
-i have ever so much more to tell about the signal company in detail and dialogue. perhaps some day i shall have the courage to say it, but i shall be careful to hide about whom i am writing....
-the "commission fever," which we had caught on the aisne and, more strongly, at beuvry, swept over us late in january. moulders, who had lost his own company and joined on to us during the retreat, had retired into the quietude of the a.s.c. cecil was selected to go home and train the despatch riders of the new armies.
-there were points in being "an officer and a gentleman." dirt and discomfort were all very well when there was plenty of work to do, and we all decided that every officer should have been in the ranks, but despatch-riding had lost its savour. we had become postmen. thoughts of the days when we had dashed round picking-up brigades, had put battalions on the right road, and generally made ourselves conspicuous, if not useful, discontented us. so we talked it over.
-directing the operations of a very large gun seemed a good job. there would not be much moving to do, because monster guns were notoriously immobile. hours are regular; the food is good, and can generally be eaten in comparative safety. if the gun had a very long range it would be quite difficult to hit. unfortunately gunnery is a very technical job, and requires some acquaintance with algebra. so we gave up the idea.
-we did not dote on the cavalry, for many reasons. first, when cavalry is not in action it does nothing but clean its stables and exercise its horses. second, if ever we broke through the german lines the cavalry would probably go ahead of anybody else. third, we could not ride very well, and the thought of falling off in front of our men when they were charging daunted us.
-the sappers required brains, and we had too great an admiration for the infantry to attempt commanding them. besides, they walked and lived in trenches.
-two of us struck upon a corps which combined the advantages of every branch of the service. we drew up a list of each other's qualifications to throw a sop to modesty, sent in our applications, and waited. at the same time we adopted a slight tone of hauteur towards those who were not potential officers.
-one night after tea "ginger" brought in the orders. i had become a gentleman, and, saying good-bye, i walked down into the village and reported myself to the officer commanding the divisional cyclists. i was no longer a despatch rider but a very junior subaltern.
-i had worked with the others for nearly seven months--with huggie, who liked to be frightened; with george the arch scrounger; with spuggy, who could sing the rarest songs; with sadders, who is as brave as any man alive; with n'soon, the dashing, of the tender skin; with fat boy, who loves "sustaining" food and dislikes frost; with grimers and cecil, best of artificers; with potters and orr and moulders and the flapper.
-i cannot pay them a more sufficient tribute than the tribute of the commander-in-chief:--
-"carrying despatches and messages at all hours of the day and night, in every kind of weather, and often traversing bad roads blocked with transport, they have been conspicuously successful in maintaining an extraordinary degree of efficiency in the service of communications.... no amount of difficulty or danger has ever checked the energy and ardour which has distinguished their corps throughout the operations."
-printed by william blackwood and sons.
-page 56: comma changed to period in "la cateau. a good many"
-page 71: "off" changed to "of". "a great meal of lunch"
-page 109: "reopend" to "reopened". "reopened with cheers."
-page 166: changed "bassee" to "bassée"
-page 207: "that" changed to "than". "worse of surface than the main"
-page 213: word "for" inserted into text. "go for walks"
-page 246: period added after "port."
-the secret of the night
-by gaston leroux
-the secret of the night
-i. gayety and dynamite
-“barinia, the young stranger has arrived.”
-“where is he?”
-“oh, he is waiting at the lodge.”
-“i told you to show him to natacha’s sitting-room. didn’t you understand me, ermolai?”
-“pardon, barinia, but the young stranger, when i asked to search him, as you directed, flatly refused to let me.”
-“did you explain to him that everybody is searched before being allowed to enter, that it is the order, and that even my mother herself has submitted to it?”
-“i told him all that, barinia; and i told him about madame your mother.”
-“what did he say to that?”
-“that he was not madame your mother. he acted angry.”
-“well, let him come in without being searched.”
-“the chief of police won’t like it.”
-“do as i say.”
-ermolai bowed and returned to the garden. the “barinia” left the veranda, where she had come for this conversation with the old servant of general trebassof, her husband, and returned to the dining-room in the datcha des iles, where the gay councilor ivan petrovitch was regaling his amused associates with his latest exploit at cubat’s resort. they were a noisy company, and certainly the quietest among them was not the general, who nursed on a sofa the leg which still held him captive after the recent attack, that to his old coachman and his two piebald horses had proved fatal. the story of the always-amiable ivan petrovitch (a lively, little, elderly man with his head bald as an egg) was about the evening before. after having, as he said, “recure la bouche” for these gentlemen spoke french like their own language and used it among themselves to keep their servants from understanding--after having wet his whistle with a large glass of sparkling rosy french wine, he cried:
-these last graceful words were addressed to madame trebassof, who shrugged her shoulders at the undesired gallantry of the gay councilor. she did not join in the conversation, excepting to calm the general, who wished to send the whole regiment to the guard-house, men and horses. and while the roisterers laughed over the adventure she said to her husband in the advisory voice of the helpful wife:
-“feodor, you must not attach importance to what that old fool ivan tells you. he is the most imaginative man in the capital when he has had champagne.”
-“ivan, you certainly have not had horses served with champagne in pails,” the old boaster, athanase georgevitch, protested jealously. he was an advocate, well-known for his table-feats, who claimed the hardest drinking reputation of any man in the capital, and he regretted not to have invented that tale.
-“on my word! and the best brands! i had won four thousand roubles. i left the little fete with fifteen kopecks.”
-matrena petrovna was listening to ermolai, the faithful country servant who wore always, even here in the city, his habit of fresh nankeen, his black leather belt, his large blue pantaloons and his boots glistening like ice, his country costume in his master’s city home. madame matrena rose, after lightly stroking the hair of her step-daughter natacha, whose eyes followed her to the door, indifferent apparently to the tender manifestations of her father’s orderly, the soldier-poet, boris mourazoff, who had written beautiful verses on the death of the moscow students, after having shot them, in the way of duty, on their barricades.
-ermolai conducted his mistress to the drawing-room and pointed across to a door that he had left open, which led to the sitting-room before natacha’s chamber.
-“he is there,” said ermolai in a low voice.
-ermolai need have said nothing, for that matter, since madame matrena was aware of a stranger’s presence in the sitting-room by the extraordinary attitude of an individual in a maroon frock-coat bordered with false astrakhan, such as is on the coats of all the russian police agents and makes the secret agents recognizable at first glance. this policeman was on his knees in the drawing-room watching what passed in the next room through the narrow space of light in the hinge-way of the door. in this manner, or some other, all persons who wished to approach general trebassof were kept under observation without their knowing it, after having been first searched at the lodge, a measure adopted since the latest attack.
-madame matrena touched the policeman’s shoulder with that heroic hand which had saved her husband’s life and which still bore traces of the terrible explosion in the last attack, when she had seized the infernal machine intended for the general with her bare hand. the policeman rose and silently left the room, reached the veranda and lounged there on a sofa, pretending to be asleep, but in reality watching the garden paths.
-matrena petrovna took his place at the hinge-vent. this was her rule; she always took the final glance at everything and everybody. she roved at all hours of the day and night round about the general, like a watch-dog, ready to bite, to throw itself before the danger, to receive the blows, to perish for its master. this had commenced at moscow after the terrible repression, the massacre of revolutionaries under the walls of presnia, when the surviving nihilists left behind them a placard condemning the victorious general trebassof to death. matrena petrovna lived only for the general. she had vowed that she would not survive him. so she had double reason to guard him.
-but she had lost all confidence even within the walls of her own home.
-things had happened even there that defied her caution, her instinct, her love. she had not spoken of these things save to the chief of police, koupriane, who had reported them to the emperor. and here now was the man whom the emperor had sent, as the supreme resource, this young stranger--joseph rouletabille, reporter.
-“but he is a mere boy!” she exclaimed, without at all understanding the matter, this youthful figure, with soft, rounded cheeks, eyes clear and, at first view, extraordinarily naive, the eyes of an infant. true, at the moment rouletabille’s expression hardly suggested any superhuman profundity of thought, for, left in view of a table, spread with hors-d’oeuvres, the young man appeared solely occupied in digging out with a spoon all the caviare that remained in the jars. matrena noted the rosy freshness of his cheeks, the absence of down on his lip and not a hint of beard, the thick hair, with the curl over the forehead. ah, that forehead--the forehead was curious, with great over-hanging cranial lumps which moved above the deep arcade of the eye-sockets while the mouth was busy--well, one would have said that rouletabille had not eaten for a week. he was demolishing a great slice of volgan sturgeon, contemplating at the same time with immense interest a salad of creamed cucumbers, when matrena petrovna appeared.
-he wished to excuse himself at once and spoke with his mouth full.
-“i beg your pardon, madame, but the czar forgot to invite me to breakfast.”
-madame matrena smiled and gave him a hearty handshake as she urged him to be seated.
-“you have seen his majesty?”
-“i come from him, madame. it is to madame trebassof that i have the honor of speaking?”
-“yes. and you are monsieur--?”
-“joseph rouletabille, madame. i do not add, ‘at your service--because i do not know about that yet. that is what i said just now to his majesty.”
-“then?” asked madame matrena, rather amused by the tone the conversation had taken and the slightly flurried air of rouletabille.
-“why, then, i am a reporter, you see. that is what i said at once to my editor in paris, ‘i am not going to take part in revolutionary affairs that do not concern my country,’ to which my editor replied, ‘you do not have to take part. you must go to russia to make an inquiry into the present status of the different parties. you will commence by interviewing the emperor.’ i said, ‘well, then, here goes,’ and took the train.”
-“and you have interviewed the emperor?”
-“oh, yes, that has not been difficult. i expected to arrive direct at st. petersburg, but at krasnoie-coelo the train stopped and the grand-marshal of the court came to me and asked me to follow him. it was very flattering. twenty minutes later i was before his majesty. he awaited me! i understood at once that this was obviously for something out of the ordinary.”
-“and what did he say to you?”
-“he is a man of genuine majesty. he reassured me at once when i explained my scruples to him. he said there was no occasion for me to take part in the politics of the matter, but to save his most faithful servant, who was on the point of becoming the victim of the strangest family drama ever conceived.”
-madame matrena, white as a sheet, rose to her feet.
-“ah,” she said simply.
-but rouletabille, whom nothing escaped, saw her hand tremble on the back of the chair.
-he went on, not appearing to have noticed her emotion:
-“his majesty added these exact words: ‘it is i who ask it of you; i and madame trebassof. go, monsieur, she awaits you.’”
-he ceased and waited for madame trebassof to speak.
-she made up her mind after brief reflection.
-“have you seen koupriane?”
-“the chief of police? yes. the grand-marshal accompanied me back to the station at krasnoie-coelo, and the chief of police accompanied me to st. petersburg station. one could not have been better received.”
-“monsieur rouletabille,” said matrena, who visibly strove to regain her self-control, “i am not of koupriane’s opinion and i am not”--here she lowered her trembling voice--“of the opinion his majesty holds. it is better for me to tell you at once, so that you may not regret intervening in an affair where there are--where there are--risks--terrible risks to run. no, this is not a family drama. the family is small, very small: the general, his daughter natacha (by his former marriage), and myself. there could not be a family drama among us three. it is simply about my husband, monsieur, who did his duty as a soldier in defending the throne of his sovereign, my husband whom they mean to assassinate! there is nothing else, no other situation, my dear little guest.”
-to hide her distress she started to carve a slice of jellied veal and carrot.
-“you have not eaten, you are hungry. it is dreadful, my dear young man. see, you must dine with us, and then--you will say adieu. yes, you will leave me all alone. i will undertake to save him all alone. certainly, i will undertake it.”
-a tear fell on the slice she was cutting. rouletabille, who felt the brave woman’s emotion affecting him also, braced himself to keep from showing it.
-“i am able to help you a little all the same,” he said. “monsieur koupriane has told me that there is a deep mystery. it is my vocation to get to the bottom of mysteries.”
-“i know what koupriane thinks,” she said, shaking her head. “but if i could bring myself to think that for a single day i would rather be dead.”
-the good matrena petrovna lifted her beautiful eyes to rouletabille, brimming with the tears she held back.
-she added quickly:
-“but eat now, my dear guest; eat. my dear child, you must forget what koupriane has said to you, when you are back in france.”
-“i promise you that, madame.”
-“it is the emperor who has caused you this long journey. for me, i did not wish it. has he, indeed, so much confidence in you?” she asked naively, gazing at him fixedly through her tears.
-“madame, i was just about to tell you. i have been active in some important matters that have been reported to him, and then sometimes your emperor is allowed to see the papers. he has heard talk, too (for everybody talked of them, madame), about the mystery of the yellow room and the perfume of the lady in black.”
-here rouletabille watched madame trebassof and was much mortified at the undoubted ignorance that showed in her frank face of either the yellow room or the black perfume.
-“my young friend,” said she, in a voice more and more hesitant, “you must excuse me, but it is a long time since i have had good eyes for reading.”
-tears, at last, ran down her cheeks.
-rouletabille could not restrain himself any further. he saw in one flash all this heroic woman had suffered in her combat day by day with the death which hovered. he took her little fat hands, whose fingers were overloaded with rings, tremulously into his own:
-“even against the nihilists!”
-“aye, madame, against all the world. i have eaten all your caviare. i am your guest. i am your friend.”
-as he said this he was so excited, so sincere and so droll that madame trebassof could not help smiling through her tears. she made him sit down beside her.
-“the chief of police has talked of you a great deal. he came here abruptly after the last attack and a mysterious happening that i will tell you about. he cried, ‘ah, we need rouletabille to unravel this!’ the next day he came here again. he had gone to the court. there, everybody, it appears, was talking of you. the emperor wished to know you. that is why steps were taken through the ambassador at paris.”
-“yes, yes. and naturally all the world has learned of it. that makes it so lively. the nihilists warned me immediately that i would not reach russia alive. that, finally, was what decided me on coming. i am naturally very contrary.”
-“and how did you get through the journey?”
-“not badly. i discovered at once in the train a young slav assigned to kill me, and i reached an understanding with him. he was a charming youth, so it was easily arranged.”
-rouletabille was eating away now at strange viands that it would have been difficult for him to name. matrena petrovna laid her fat little hand on his arm:
-“you speak seriously?”
-“a small glass of vodka?”
-madame matrena emptied her little glass at a draught.
-“and how did you discover him? how did you know him?”
-“first, he wore glasses. all nihilists wear glasses when traveling. and then i had a good clew. a minute before the departure from paris i had a friend go into the corridor of the sleeping-car, a reporter who would do anything i said without even wanting to know why. i said, ‘you call out suddenly and very loud, “hello, here is rouletabille.”’ so he called, ‘hello, here is rouletabille,’ and all those who were in the corridor turned and all those who were already in the compartments came out, excepting the man with the glasses. then i was sure about him.”
-madame trebassof looked at rouletabille, who turned as red as the comb of a rooster and was rather embarrassed at his fatuity.
-“that deserves a rebuff, i know, madame, but from the moment the emperor of all the russias had desired to see me i could not admit that any mere man with glasses had not the curiosity to see what i looked like. it was not natural. as soon as the train was off i sat down by this man and told him who i thought he was. i was right. he removed his glasses and, looking me straight in the eyes, said he was glad to have a little talk with me before anything unfortunate happened. a half-hour later the entente-cordiale was signed. i gave him to understand that i was coming here simply on business as a reporter and that there was always time to check me if i should be indiscreet. at the german frontier he left me to go on, and returned tranquilly to his nitro-glycerine.”
-“you are a marked man also, my poor boy.”
-“oh, they have not got us yet.”
-matrena petrovna coughed. that us overwhelmed her. with what calmness this boy that she had not known an hour proposed to share the dangers of a situation that excited general pity but from which the bravest kept aloof either from prudence or dismay.
-“ah, my friend, a little of this fine smoked hamburg beef?”
-but the young man was already pouring out fresh yellow beer.
-“there,” said he. “now, madame, i am listening. tell me first about the earliest attack.”
-“now,” said matrena, “we must go to dinner.”
-rouletabille looked at her wide-eyed.
-“but, madame, what have i just been doing?”
-madame matrena smiled. all these strangers were alike. because they had eaten some hors-d’oeuvres, some zakouskis, they imagined their host would be satisfied. they did not know how to eat.
-“we will go to the dining-room. the general is expecting you. they are at table.”
-“i understand i am supposed to know him.”
-“yes, you have met in paris. it is entirely natural that in passing through st. petersburg you should make him a visit. you know him very well indeed, so well that he opens his home to you. ah, yes, my step-daughter also”--she flushed a little--“natacha believes that her father knows you.”
-she opened the door of the drawing-room, which they had to cross in order to reach the dining-room.
-from his present position rouletabille could see all the corners of the drawing-room, the veranda, the garden and the entrance lodge at the gate. in the veranda the man in the maroon frock-coat trimmed with false astrakhan seemed still to be asleep on the sofa; in one of the corners of the drawing-room another individual, silent and motionless as a statue, dressed exactly the same, in a maroon frock-coat with false astrakhan, stood with his hands behind his back seemingly struck with general paralysis at the sight of a flaring sunset which illumined as with a torch the golden spires of saints peter and paul. and in the garden and before the lodge three others dressed in maroon roved like souls in pain over the lawn or back and forth at the entrance. rouletabille motioned to madame matrena, stepped back into the sitting-room and closed the door.
-“police?” he asked.
-matrena petrovna nodded her head and put her finger to her mouth in a naive way, as one would caution a child to silence. rouletabille smiled.
-“how many are there?”
-“ten, relieved every six hours.”
-“that makes forty unknown men around your house each day.”
-“not unknown,” she replied. “police.”
-“yet, in spite of them, you have had the affair of the bouquet in the general’s chamber.”
-“no, there were only three then. it is since the affair of the bouquet that there have been ten.”
-“it hardly matters. it is since these ten that you have had...”
-“what?” she demanded anxiously.
-“you know well--the flooring.”
-she glanced at the door, watching the policeman statuesque before the setting sun.
-“no one knows that--not even my husband.”
-“so m. koupriane told me. then it is you who have arranged for these ten police-agents?”
-“well, we will commence now by sending all these police away.”
-matrena petrovna grasped his hand, astounded.
-“surely you don’t think of doing such a thing as that!”
-“yes. we must know where the blow is coming from. you have four different groups of people around here--the police, the domestics, your friends, your family. get rid of the police first. they must not be permitted to cross your threshold. they have not been able to protect you. you have nothing to regret. and if, after they are gone, something new turns up, we can leave m. koupriane to conduct the inquiries without his being preoccupied here at the house.”
-“but you do not know the admirable police of koupriane. these brave men have given proof of their devotion.”
-“madame, if i were face to face with a nihilist the first thing i would ask myself about him would be, ‘is he one of the police?’ the first thing i ask in the presence of an agent of your police is, ‘is he not a nihilist?’”
-“but they will not wish to go.”
-“do any of them speak french?”
-“yes, their sergeant, who is out there in the salon.”
-“pray call him.”
-madame trebassof walked into the salon and signaled. the man appeared. rouletabille handed him a paper, which the other read.
-“you will gather your men together and quit the villa,” ordered rouletabille. “you will return to the police headguarters. say to m. koupriane that i have commanded this and that i require all police service around the villa to be suspended until further orders.”
-the man bowed, appeared not to understand, looked at madame trebassof and said to the young man:
-“at your service.”
-he went out.
-“wait here a moment,” urged madame trebassof, who did not know how to take this abrupt action and whose anxiety was really painful to see.
-she disappeared after the man of the false astrakhan. a few moments afterwards she returned. she appeared even more agitated.
-“i beg your pardon,” she murmured, “but i cannot let them go like this. they are much chagrined. they have insisted on knowing where they have failed in their service. i have appeased them with money.”
-“yes, and tell me the whole truth, madame. you have directed them not to go far away, but to remain near the villa so as to watch it as closely as possible.”
-“it is true. but they have gone, nevertheless. they had to obey you. what can that paper be you have shown them?”
-rouletabille drew out again the billet covered with seals and signs and cabalistics that he did not understand. madame trebassof translated it aloud: “order to all officials in surveillance of the villa trebassof to obey the bearer absolutely. signed: koupriane.”
-“is it possible!” murmured matrena petrovna. “but koupriane would never have given you this paper if he had imagined that you would use it to dismiss his agents.”
-“evidently. i have not asked him his advice, madame, you may be sure. but i will see him to-morrow and he will understand.”
-“meanwhile, who is going to watch over him?” cried she.
-rouletabille took her hands again. he saw her suffering, a prey to anguish almost prostrating. he pitied her. he wished to give her immediate confidence.
-“we will,” he said.
-she saw his young, clear eyes, so deep, so intelligent, the well-formed young head, the willing face, all his young ardency for her, and it reassured her. rouletabille waited for what she might say. she said nothing. she took him in her arms and embraced him.
-“ah, my dear rouletabille! i have been looking for you. our friends wrote me you were coming to st. petersburg.”
-rouletabille hurried over to him and they shook hands like friends who meet after a long separation. the reporter was presented to the company as a close young friend from paris whom they had enjoyed so much during their latest visit to the city of light. everybody inquired for the latest word of paris as of a dear acquaintance.
-“how is everybody at maxim’s?” urged the excellent athanase georgevitch.
-thaddeus, too, had been once in paris and he returned with an enthusiastic liking for the french demoiselles.
-“vos gogottes, monsieur,” he said, appearing very amiable and leaning on each word, with a guttural emphasis such as is common in the western provinces, “ah, vos gogottes!”
-matrena perovna tried to silence him, but thaddeus insisted on his right to appreciate the fair sex away from home. he had a turgid, sentimental wife, always weeping and cramming her religious notions down his throat.
-of course someone asked rouletabille what he thought of russia, but he had no more than opened his mouth to reply than athanase georgevitch closed it by interrupting:
-“permettez! permettez! you others, of the young generation, what do you know of it? you need to have lived a long time and in all its districts to appreciate russia at its true value. russia, my young sir, is as yet a closed book to you.”
-“naturally,” rouletabille answered, smiling.
-“well, well, here’s your health! what i would point out to you first of all is that it is a good buyer of champagne, eh?”--and he gave a huge grin. “but the hardest drinker i ever knew was born on the banks of the seine. did you know him, feodor feodorovitch? poor charles dufour, who died two years ago at fete of the officers of the guard. he wagered at the end of the banquet that he could drink a glassful of champagne to the health of each man there. there were sixty when you came to count them. he commenced the round of the table and the affair went splendidly up to the fifty-eighth man. but at the fifty-ninth--think of the misfortune!--the champagne ran out! that poor, that charming, that excellent charles took up a glass of vin dore which was in the glass of this fifty-ninth, wished him long life, drained the glass at one draught, had just time to murmur, ‘tokay, 1807,’ and fell back dead! ah, he knew the brands, my word! and he proved it to his last breath! peace to his ashes! they asked what he died of. i knew he died because of the inappropriate blend of flavors. there should be discipline in all things and not promiscuous mixing. one more glass of champagne and he would have been drinking with us this evening. your health, matrena petrovna. champagne, feodor feodorovitch! vive la france, monsieur! natacha, my child, you must sing something. boris will accompany you on the guzla. your father will enjoy it.”
-all eyes turned toward natacha as she rose.
-rouletabille was struck by her serene beauty. that was the first enthralling impression, an impression so strong it astonished him, the perfect serenity, the supreme calm, the tranquil harmony of her noble features. natacha was twenty. heavy brown hair circled about er forehead and was looped about her ears, which were half-concealed. her profile was clear-cut; her mouth was strong and revealed between red, firm lips the even pearliness of her teeth. she was of medium height. in walking she had the free, light step of the highborn maidens who, in primal times, pressed the flowers as they passed without crushing them. but all her true grace seemed to be concentrated in her eyes, which were deep and of a dark blue. the impression she made upon a beholder was very complex. and it would have been difficult to say whether the calm which pervaded every manifestation of her beauty was the result of conscious control or the most perfect ease.
-she took down the guzla and handed it to boris, who struck some plaintive preliminary chords.
-“what shall i sing?” she inquired, raising her father’s hand from the back of the sofa where he rested and kissing it with filial tenderness.
-“improvise,” said the general. “improvise in french, for the sake of our guest.”
-“oh, yes,” cried boris; “improvise as you did the other evening.”
-he immediately struck a minor chord.
-natacha looked fondly at her father as she sang:
-“when the moment comes that parts us at the close of day, when the angel of sleep covers you with azure wings; “oh, may your eyes rest from so many tears, and your oppressed heart have calm; “in each moment that we have together, father dear, let our souls feel harmony sweet and mystical; “and when your thoughts may have flown to other worlds, oh, may my image, at least, nestle within your sleeping eyes.”
-natacha’s voice was sweet, and the charm of it subtly pervasive. the words as she uttered them seemed to have all the quality of a prayer and there were tears in all eyes, excepting those of michael korsakoff, the second orderly, whom rouletabille appraised as a man with a rough heart not much open to sentiment.
-“feodor feodorovitch,” said this officer, when the young girl’s voice had faded away into the blending with the last note of the guzla, “feodor feodorovitch is a man and a glorious soldier who is able to sleep in peace, because he has labored for his country and for his czar.”
-“yes, yes. labored well! a glorious soldier!” repeated athanase georgevitch and ivan petrovitch. “well may he sleep peacefully.”
-“natacha sang like an angel,” said boris, the first orderly, in a tremulous voice.
-“like an angel, boris nikolaievitch. but why did she speak of his heart oppressed? i don’t see that general trebassof has a heart oppressed, for my part.” michael korsakoff spoke roughly as he drained his glass.
-“no, that’s so, isn’t it?” agreed the others.
-“a young girl may wish her father a pleasant sleep, surely!” said matrena petrovna, with a certain good sense. “natacha has affected us all, has she not, feodor?”
-“never think that,” said rouletabille. “mademoiselle has touched me deeply as well. she is an artist, really a great artist. and a poet.”
-“he is from paris; he knows,” said the others.
-and all drank.
-then they talked about music, with great display of knowledge concerning things operatic. first one, then another went to the piano and ran through some motif that the rest hummed a little first, then shouted in a rousing chorus. then they drank more, amid a perfect fracas of talk and laughter. ivan petrovitch and athanase georgevitch walked across and kissed the general. rouletabille saw all around him great children who amused themselves with unbelievable naivete and who drank in a fashion more unbelievable still. matrena petrovna smoked cigarettes of yellow tobacco incessantly, rising almost continually to make a hurried round of the rooms, and after having prompted the servants to greater watchfulness, sat and looked long at rouletabille, who did not stir, but caught every word, every gesture of each one there. finally, sighing, she sat down by feodor and asked how his leg felt. michael and natacha, in a corner, were deep in conversation, and boris watched them with obvious impatience, still strumming the guzla. but the thing that struck rouletabille’s youthful imagination beyond all else was the mild face of the general. he had not imagined the terrible trebassof with so paternal and sympathetic an expression. the paris papers had printed redoubtable pictures of him, more or less authentic, but the arts of photography and engraving had cut vigorous, rough features of an official--who knew no pity. such pictures were in perfect accord with the idea one naturally had of the dominating figure of the government at moscow, the man who, during eight days--the red week--had made so many corpses of students and workmen that the halls of the university and the factories had opened their doors since in vain. the dead would have had to arise for those places to be peopled! days of terrible battle where in one quarter or another of the city there was naught but massacre or burnings, until matrena petrovna and her step-daughter, natacha (all the papers told of it), had fallen on their knees before the general and begged terms for the last of the revolutionaries, at bay in the presnia quarter, and had been refused by him. “war is war,” had been his answer, with irrefutable logic. “how can you ask mercy for these men who never give it?” be it said for the young men of the barricades that they never surrendered, and equally be it said for trebassof that he necessarily shot them. “if i had only myself to consider,” the general had said to a paris journalist, “i could have been gentle as a lamb with these unfortunates, and so i should not now myself be condemned to death. after all, i fail to see what they reproach me with. i have served my master as a brave and loyal subject, no more, and, after the fighting, i have let others ferret out the children that had hidden under their mothers’ skirts. everybody talks of the repression of moscow, but let us speak, my friend, of the commune. there was a piece of work i would not have done, to massacre within a court an unresisting crowd of men, women and children. i am a rough and faithful soldier of his majesty, but i am not a monster, and i have the feelings of a husband and father, my dear monsieur. tell your readers that, if you care to, and do not surmise further about whether i appear to regret being condemned to death.”
-certainly what stupefied rouletabille now was this staunch figure of the condemned man who appeared so tranquilly to enjoy his life. when the general was not furthering the gayety of his friends he was talking with his wife and daughter, who adored him and continually fondled him, and he seemed perfectly happy. with his enormous grizzly mustache, his ruddy color, his keen, piercing eyes, he looked the typical spoiled father.
-the reporter studied all these widely-different types and made his observations while pretending to a ravenous appetite, which served, moreover, to fix him in the good graces of his hosts of the datcha des iles. but, in reality, he passed the food to an enormous bull-dog under the table, in whose good graces he was also thus firmly planting himself. as trebassof had prayed his companions to let his young friend satisfy his ravening hunger in peace, they did not concern themselves to entertain him. then, too, the music served to distract attention from him, and at a moment somewhat later, when matrena petrovna turned to speak to the young man, she was frightened at not seeing him. where had he gone? she went out into the veranda and looked. she did not dare to call. she walked into the grand-salon and saw the reporter just as he came out of the sitting-room.
-“where were you?” she inquired.
-“the sitting-room is certainly charming, and decorated exquisitely,” complimented rouletabille. “it seems almost a boudoir.”
-“it does serve as a boudoir for my step-daughter, whose bedroom opens directly from it; you see the door there. it is simply for the present that the luncheon table is set there, because for some time the police have pre-empted the veranda.”
-“is your dog a watch-dog, madame?” asked rouletabille, caressing the beast, which had followed him.
-“khor is faithful and had guarded us well hitherto.”
-“he sleeps now, then?”
-“yes. koupriane has him shut in the lodge to keep him from barking nights. koupriane fears that if he is out he will devour one of the police who watch in the garden at night. i wanted him to sleep in the house, or by his master’s door, or even at the foot of the bed, but koupriane said, ‘no, no; no dog. don’t rely on the dog. nothing is more dangerous than to rely on the dog. ‘since then he has kept khor locked up at night. but i do not understand koupriane’s idea.”
-“monsieur koupriane is right,” said the reporter. “dogs are useful only against strangers.”
-“oh,” gasped the poor woman, dropping her eyes. “koupriane certainly knows his business; he thinks of everything.”
-“come,” she added rapidly, as though to hide her disquiet, “do not go out like that without letting me know. they want you in the dining-room.”
-“i must have you tell me right now about this attempt.”
-“in the dining-room, in the dining-room. in spite of myself,” she said in a low voice, “it is stronger than i am. i am not able to leave the general by himself while he is on the ground-floor.”
-she drew rouletabille into the dining-room, where the gentlemen were now telling odd stories of street robberies amid loud laughter. natacha was still talking with michael korsakoff; boris, whose eyes never quitted them, was as pale as the wax on his guzla, which he rattled violently from time to time. matrena made rouletabille sit in a corner of the sofa, near her, and, counting on her fingers like a careful housewife who does not wish to overlook anything in her domestic calculations, she said:
-“there have been three attempts; the first two in moscow. the first happened very simply. the general knew he had been condemned to death. they had delivered to him at the palace in the afternoon the revoluntionary poster which proclaimed his intended fate to the whole city and country. so feodor, who was just about to ride into the city, dismissed his escort. he ordered horses put to a sleigh. i trembled and asked what he was going to do. he said he was going to drive quietly through all parts of the city, in order to show the muscovites that a governor appointed according to law by the little father and who had in his conscience only the sense that he had done his full duty was not to be intimidated. it was nearly four o’clock, toward the end of a winter day that had been clear and bright, but very cold. i wrapped myself in my furs and took my seat beside him, and he said, ‘this is fine, matrena; this will have a great effect on these imbeciles.’ so we started. at first we drove along the naberjnaia. the sleigh glided like the wind. the general hit the driver a heavy blow in the back, crying, ‘slower, fool; they will think we are afraid,’ and so the horses were almost walking when, passing behind the church of protection and intercession, we reached the place rouge. until then the few passers-by had looked at us, and as they recognized him, hurried along to keep him in view. at the place rouge there was only a little knot of women kneeling before the virgin. as soon as these women saw us and recognized the equipage of the governor, they dispersed like a flock of crows, with frightened cries. feodor laughed so hard that as we passed under the vault of the virgin his laugh seemed to shake the stones. i felt reassured, monsieur. our promenade continued without any remarkable incident. the city was almost deserted. everything lay prostrated under the awful blow of that battle in the street. feodor said, ‘ah, they give me a wide berth; they do not know how much i love them,” and all through that promenade he said many more charming and delicate things to me.
-“as we were talking pleasantly under our furs we came to la place koudrinsky, la rue koudrinsky, to be exact. it was just four o’clock, and a light mist had commenced to mix with the sifting snow, and the houses to right and left were visible only as masses of shadow. we glided over the snow like a boat along the river in foggy calm. then, suddenly, we heard piercing cries and saw shadows of soldiers rushing around, with movements that looked larger than human through the mist; their short whips looked enormous as they knocked some other shadows that we saw down like logs. the general stopped the sleigh and got out to see what was going on. i got out with him. they were soldiers of the famous semenowsky regiment, who had two prisoners, a young man and a child. the child was being beaten on the nape of the neck. it writhed on the ground and cried in torment. it couldn’t have been more than nine years old. the other, the young man, held himself up and marched along without a single cry as the thongs fell brutally upon him. i was appalled. i did not give my husband time to open his mouth before i called to the subaltern who commanded the detachment, ‘you should be ashamed to strike a child and a christian like that, which cannot defend itself.’ the general told him the same thing. then the subaltern told us that the little child had just killed a lieutenant in the street by firing a revolver, which he showed us, and it was the biggest one i ever have seen, and must have been as heavy for that infant to lift as a small cannon. it was unbelievable.
-“‘and the other,’ demanded the general; ‘what has he done?’
-“‘he is a dangerous student,’ replied the subaltern, ‘who has delivered himself up as a prisoner because he promised the landlord of the house where he lives that he would do it to keep the house from being battered down with cannon.’
-“‘but that is right of him. why do you beat him?’
-“‘because he has told us he is a dangerous student.’
-“‘that is no reason,’ feodor told him. ‘he will be shot if he deserves it, and the child also, but i forbid you to beat him. you have not been furnished with these whips in order to beat isolated prisoners, but to charge the crowd when it does not obey the governor’s orders. in such a case you are ordered “charge,” and you know what to do. you understand?’ feodor said roughly. ‘i am general trebassof, your governor.’
-“feodor was thoroughly human in saying this. ah, well, he was badly compensed for it, very badly, i tell you. the student was truly dangerous, because he had no sooner heard my husband say, ‘i am general trebassof, your governor,’ than he cried, ‘ah, is it you, trebassoff’ and drew a revolver from no one knows where and fired straight at the general, almost against his breast. but the general was not hit, happily, nor i either, who was by him and had thrown myself onto the student to disarm him and then was tossed about at the feet of the soldiers in the battle they waged around the student while the revolver was going off. three soldiers were killed. you can understand that the others were furious. they raised me with many excuses and, all together, set to kicking the student in the loins and striking at him as he lay on the ground. the subaltern struck his face a blow that might have blinded him. feodor hit the officer in the head with his fist and called, ‘didn’t you hear what i said?’ the officer fell under the blow and feodor himself carried him to the sleigh and laid him with the dead men. then he took charge of the soldiers and led them to the barracks. i followed, as a sort of after-guard. we returned to the palace an hour later. it was quite dark by then, and almost at the entrance to the palace we were shot at by a group of revolutionaries who passed swiftly in two sleighs and disappeared in the darkness so fast that they could not be overtaken. i had a ball in my toque. the general had not been touched this time either, but our furs were ruined by the blood of the dead soldiers which they had forgotten to clean out of the sleigh. that was the first attempt, which meant little enough, after all, because it was fighting in the open. it was some days later that they commenced to try assassination.”
-at this moment ermolai brought in four bottles of champagne and thaddeus struck lightly on the piano.
-“quickly, madame, the second attempt,” said rouletabille, who was aking hasty notes on his cuff, never ceasing, meanwhile, to watch the convivial group and listening with both ears wide open to matrena.
-“the second happened still in moscow. we had had a jolly dinner because we thought that at last the good old days were back and good citizens could live in peace; and boris had tried out the guzla singing songs of the orel country to please me; he is so fine and sympathetic. natacha had gone somewhere or other. the sleigh was waiting at the door and we went out and got in. almost instantly there was a fearful noise, and we were thrown out into the snow, both the general and me. there remained no trace of sleigh or coachman; the two horses were disemboweled, two magnificent piebald horses, my dear young monsieur, that the general was so attached to. as to feodor, he had that serious wound in his right leg; the calf was shattered. i simply had my shoulder a little wrenched, practically nothing. the bomb had been placed under the seat of the unhappy coachman, whose hat alone we found, in a pool of blood. from that attack the general lay two months in bed. in the second month they arrested two servants who were caught one night on the landing leading to the upper floor, where they had no business, and after that i sent at once for our old domestics in orel to come and serve us. it was discovered that these detected servants were in touch with the revolutionaries, so they were hanged. the emperor appointed a provisional governor, and now that the general was better we decided on a convalescence for him in the midi of france. we took train for st. petersburg, but the journey started high fever in my husband and reopened the wound in his calf. the doctors ordered absolute rest and so we settled here in the datcha des iles. since then, not a day has passed without the general receiving an anonymous letter telling him that nothing can save him from the revenge of the revolutionaries. he is brave and only smiles over them, but for me, i know well that so long as we are in russia we have not a moment’s security. so i watch him every minute and let no one approach him except his intimate friends and us of the family. i have brought an old gniagnia who watched me grow up, ermolai, and the orel servants. in the meantime, two months later, the third attempt suddenly occurred. it is certainly of them all the most frightening, because it is so mysterious, a mystery that has not yet, alas, been solved.”
-but athanase georgevitch had told a “good story” which raised so much hubbub that nothing else could be heard. feodor feodorovitch was so amused that he had tears in his eyes. rouletabille said to himself as matrena talked, “i never have seen men so gay, and yet they know perfectly they are apt to be blown up all together any moment.”
-general trebassof, who had steadily watched rouletabille, who, for that matter, had been kept in eye by everyone there, said:
-“eh, eh, monsieur le journaliste, you find us very gay?”
-“i find you very brave,” said rouletabille quietly.
-“how is that?” said feodor feodorovitch, smiling.
-“you must pardon me for thinking of the things that you seem to have forgotten entirely.”
-he indicated the general’s wounded leg.
-“the chances of war! the chances of war!” said the general. “a leg here, an arm there. but, as you see, i am still here. they will end by growing tired and leaving me in peace. your health, my friend!”
-“your health, general!”
-“you understand,” continued feodor feodorovitch, “there is no occasion to excite ourselves. it is our business to defend the empire at the peril of our lives. we find that quite natural, and there is no occasion to think of it. i have had terrors enough in other directions, not to speak of the terrors of love, that are more ferocious than you can yet imagine. look at what they did to my poor friend the chief of the surete, boichlikoff. he was commendable certainly. there was a brave man. of an evening, when his work was over, he always left the bureau of the prefecture and went to join his wife and children in their apartment in the ruelle des loups. not a soldier! no guard! the others had every chance. one evening a score of revolutionaries, after having driven away the terrorized servants, mounted to his apartments. he was dining with his family. they knocked and he opened the door. he saw who they were, and tried to speak. they gave him no time. before his wife and children, mad with terror and on their knees before the revolutionaries, they read him his death-sentence. a fine end that to a dinner!”
-as he listened rouletabille paled and he kept his eyes on the door as if he expected to see it open of itself, giving access to ferocious nihilists of whom one, with a paper in his hand, would read the sentence of death to feodor feodorovitch. rouletabille’s stomach was not yet seasoned to such stories. he almost regretted, momentarily, having taken the terrible responsibility of dismissing the police. after what koupriane had confided to him of things that had happened in this house, he had not hesitated to risk everything on that audacious decision, but all the same, all the same--these stories of nihilists who appear at the end of a meal, death-sentence in hand, they haunted him, they upset him. certainly it had been a piece of foolhardiness to dismiss the police!
-“well,” he asked, conquering his misgivings and resuming, as always, his confidence in himself, “then, what did they do then, after reading the sentence?”
-“the chief of the surete knew he had no time to spare. he did not ask for it. the revolutionaries ordered him to bid his family farewell. he raised his wife, his children, clasped them, bade them be of good courage, then said he was ready. they took him into the street. they stood him against a wall. his wife and children watched from a window. a volley sounded. they descended to secure the body, pierced with twenty-five bullets.”
-“that was exactly the number of wounds that were made on the body of little jacques zloriksky,” came in the even tones of natacha.
-“oh, you, you always find an excuse,” grumbled the general. “poor boichlikoff did his duty, as i did mine.
-“yes, papa, you acted like a soldier. that is what the revolutionaries ought not to forget. but have no fears for us, papa; because if they kill you we will all die with you.”
-“and gayly too,” declared athanase georgevitch.
-“they should come this evening. we are in form!”
-upon which athanase filled the glasses again.
-“none the less, permit me to say,” ventured the timber-merchant, thaddeus tchnitchnikof, timidly, “permit me to say that this boichlikoff was very imprudent.”
-“yes, indeed, very gravely imprudent,” agreed rouletabille. “when a man has had twenty-five good bullets shot into the body of a child, he ought certainly to keep his home well guarded if he wishes to dine in peace.”
-he stammered a little toward the end of this, because it occurred to him that it was a little inconsistent to express such opinions, seeing what he had done with the guard over the general.
-“ah,” cried athanase georgevitch, in a stage-struck voice, “ah, it was not imprudence! it was contempt of death! yes, it was contempt of death that killed him! even as the contempt of death keeps us, at this moment, in perfect health. to you, ladies and gentlemen! do you know anything lovelier, grander, in the world than contempt of death? gaze on feodor feodorovitch and answer me. superb! my word, superb! to you all! the revolutionaries who are not of the police are of the same mind regarding our heroes. they may curse the tchinownicks who execute the terrible orders given them by those higher up, but those who are not of the police (there are some, i believe)--these surely recognize that men like the chief of the surete our dead friend, are brave.”
-“certainly,” endorsed the general. “counting all things, they need more heroism for a promenade in a salon than a soldier on a battle-field.”
-“i have met some of these men,” continued athanase in exalted vein. “i have found in all their homes the same--imprudence, as our young french friend calls it. a few days after the assassination of the chief of police in moscow i was received by his successor in the same place where the assassination had occurred. he did not take the slightest precaution with me, whom he did not know at all, nor with men of the middle class who came to present their petitions, in spite of the fact that it was under precisely identical conditions that his predecessor had been slain. before i left i looked over to where on the floor there had so recently occurred such agony. they had placed a rug there and on the rug a table, and on that table there was a book. guess what book. ‘women’s stockings,’ by willy! and--and then--your health, matrena petrovna. what’s the odds!”
-“you yourselves, my friends,” declared the general, “prove your great courage by coming to share the hours that remain of my life with me.”
-“not at all, not at all! it is war.”
-“yes, it is war.”
-“oh, there’s no occasion to pat us on the shoulder, athanase,” insisted thaddeus modestly. “what risk do we run? we are well guarded.”
-“we are protected by the finger of god,” declared athanase, “because the police--well, i haven’t any confidence in the police.”
-michael korsakoff, who had been for a turn in the garden, entered during the remark.
-“be happy, then, athanase georgevitch,” said he, “for there are now no police around the villa.”
-“where are they?” inquired the timber-merchant uneasily.
-“an order came from koupriane to remove them,” explained matrena petrovna, who exerted herself to appear calm.
-“and are they not replaced?” asked michael.
-“no. it is incomprehensible. there must have been some confusion in the orders given.” and matrena reddened, for she loathed a lie and it was in tribulation of spirit that she used this fable under rouletabille’s directions.
-“oh, well, all the better,” said the general. “it will give me pleasure to see my home ridded for a while of such people.”
-athanase was naturally of the same mind as the general, and when thaddeus and ivan petrovitch and the orderlies offered to pass the night at the villa and take the place of the absent police, feodor feodorovitch caught a gesture from rouletabille which disapproved the idea of this new guard.
-they did not insist further. when feodor had said, “those are the orders,” there was room for nothing more, not even in the way of polite insistence.
-but before going to their beds all went into the veranda, where liqueurs were served by the brave ermolai, as always. matrena pushed the wheel-chair of the general there, and he kept repeating, “no, no. no more such people. no more police. they only bring trouble.”
-“feodor! feodor!” sighed matrena, whose anxiety deepened in spite of all she could do, “they watched over your dear life.”
-“life is dear to me only because of you, matrena petrovna.”
-“and not at all because of me, papa?” said natacha.
-he took both her hands in his. it was an affecting glimpse of family intimacy.
-from time to time, while ermolai poured the liqueurs, feodor struck his band on the coverings over his leg.
-“it gets better,” said he. “it gets better.”
-then melancholy showed in his rugged face, and he watched night deepen over the isles, the golden night of st. petersburg. it was not quite yet the time of year for what they call the golden nights there, the “white nights,” nights which never deepen to darkness, but they were already beautiful in their soft clarity, caressed, here by the gulf of finland, almost at the same time by the last and the first rays of the sun, by twilight and dawn.
-from the height of the veranda one of the most beautiful bits of the isles lay in view, and the hour was so lovely that its charm thrilled these people, of whom several, as thaddeus, were still close to nature. it was he, first, who called to natacha:
-“natacha! natacha! sing us your ‘soir des iles.’”
-natacha’s voice floated out upon the peace of the islands under the dim arched sky, light and clear as a night rose, and the guzla of boris accompanied it. natacha sang:
-“this is the night of the isles--at the north of the world. the sky presses in its stainless arms the bosom of earth, night kisses the rose that dawn gave to the twilight. and the night air is sweet and fresh from across the shivering gulf, like the breath of young girls from the world still farther north. beneath the two lighted horizons, sinking and rising at once, the sun rolls rebounding from the gods at the north of the world. in this moment, beloved, when in the clear shadows of this rose-stained evening i am here alone with you, respond, respond with a heart less timid to the holy, accustomed cry of ‘good-evening.’”
-ah, how boris nikolaievitch and michael korsakoff watched her as she sang! truly, no one ever can guess the anger or the love that broods in a slavic heart under a soldier’s tunic, whether the soldier wisely plays at the guzla, as the correct boris, or merely lounges, twirling his mustache with his manicured and perfumed fingers, like michael, the indifferent.
-natacha ceased singing, but all seemed to be listening to her still--the convivial group on the terrace appeared to be held in charmed attention, and the porcelain statuettes of men on the lawn, according to the mode of the iles, seemed to lift on their short legs the better to hear pass the sighing harmony of natacha in the rose nights at the north of the world.
-meanwhile matrena wandered through the house from cellar to attic, watching over her husband like a dog on guard, ready to bite, to throw itself in the way of danger, to receive the blows, to die for its master--and hunting for rouletabille, who had disappeared again.
-iii. the watch
-she went out to caution the servants to a strict watch, armed to the teeth, before the gate all night long, and she crossed the deserted garden. under the veranda the schwitzar was spreading a mattress for ermolai. she asked him if he had seen the young frenchman anywhere, and after the answer, could only say to herself, “where is he, then?” where had rouletabille gone? the general, whom she had carried up to his room on her back, without any help, and had helped into bed without assistance, was disturbed by this singular disappearance. had someone already carried off “their” rouletabille? their friends were gone and the orderlies had taken leave without being able to say where this boy of a journalist had gone. but it would be foolish to worry about the disappearance of a journalist, they had said. that kind of man--these journalists--came, went, arrived when one least expected them, and quitted their company--even the highest society--without formality. it was what they called in france “leaving english fashion.” however, it appeared it was not meant to be impolite. perhaps he had gone to telegraph. a journalist had to keep in touch with the telegraph at all hours. poor matrena petrovna roamed the solitary garden in tumult of heart. there was the light in the general’s window on the first floor. there were lights in the basement from the kitchens. there was a light on the ground-floor near the sitting-room, from natacha’s chamber window. ah, the night was hard to bear. and this night the shadows weighed heavier than ever on the valiant breast of matrena. as she breathed she felt as though she lifted all the weight of the threatening night. she examined everything--everything. all was shut tight, was perfectly secure, and there was no one within excepting people she was absolutely sure of--but whom, all the same, she did not allow to go anywhere in the house excepting where their work called them. each in his place. that made things surer. she wished each one could remain fixed like the porcelain statues of men out on the lawn. even as she thought it, here at her feet, right at her very feet, a shadow of one of the porcelain men moved, stretched itself out, rose to its knees, grasped her skirt and spoke in the voice of rouletabille. ah, good! it was rouletabille. “himself, dear madame; himself.”
-“why is ermolai in the veranda? send him back to the kitchens and tell the schwitzar to go to bed. the servants are enough for an ordinary guard outside. then you go in at once, shut the door, and don’t concern yourself about me, dear madame. good-night.”
-rouletabille had resumed, in the shadows, among the other porcelain figures, his pose of a porcelain man.
-matrena petrovna did as she was told, returned to the house, spoke to the schwitzar, who removed to the lodge with ermolai, and their mistress closed the outside door. she had closed long before the door of the kitchen stair which allowed the domestics to enter the villa from below. down there each night the devoted gniagnia and the faithful ermolai watched in turn.
-within the villa, now closed, there were on the ground-floor only matrena herself and her step-daughter natacha, who slept in the chamber off the sitting-room, and, above on the first floor, the general asleep, or who ought to be asleep if he had taken his potion. matrena remained in the darkness of the drawing-room, her dark-lantern in her hand. all her nights passed thus, gliding from door to door, from chamber to chamber, watching over the watch of the police, not daring to stop her stealthy promenade even to throw herself on the mattress that she had placed across the doorway of her husband’s chamber. did she ever sleep? she herself could hardly say. who else could, then? a tag of sleep here and there, over the arm of a chair, or leaning against the wall, waked always by some noise that she heard or dreamed, some warning, perhaps, that she alone had heard. and to-night, to-night there is rouletabille’s alert guard to help her, and she feels a little less the aching terror of watchfulness, until there surges back into her mind the recollection that the police are no longer there. was he right, this young man? certainly she could not deny that some way she feels more confidence now that the police are gone. she does not have to spend her time watching their shadows in the shadows, searching the darkness, the arm-chairs, the sofas, to rouse them, to appeal in low tones to all they held binding, by their own name and the name of their father, to promise them a bonus that would amount to something if they watched well, to count them in order to know where they all were, and, suddenly, to throw full in their face the ray of light from her little dark-lantern in order to be sure, absolutely sure, that she was face to face with them, one of the police, and not with some other, some other with an infernal machine under his arm. yes, she surely had less work now that she had no longer to watch the police. and she had less fear!
-she thanked the young reporter for that. where was he? did he remain in the pose of a porcelain statue all this time out there on the lawn? she peered through the lattice of the veranda shutters and looked anxiously out into the darkened garden. where could he be? was that he, down yonder, that crouching black heap with an unlighted pipe in his mouth? no, no. that, she knew well, was the dwarf she genuinely loved, her little domovoi-doukh, the familiar spirit of the house, who watched with her over the general’s life and thanks to whom serious injury had not yet befallen feodor feodorovitch--one could not regard a mangled leg that seriously. ordinarily in her own country (she was from the orel district) one did not care to see the domovoi-doukh appear in flesh and blood. when she was little she was always afraid that she would come upon him around a turn of the path in her father’s garden. she always thought of him as no higher than that, seated back on his haunches and smoking his pipe. then, after she was married, she had suddenly run across him at a turning in the bazaar at moscow. he was just as she had imagined him, and she had immediately bought him, carried him home herself and placed him, with many precautions, for he was of very delicate porcelain, in the vestibule of the palace. and in leaving moscow she had been careful not to leave him there. she had carried him herself in a case and had placed him herself on the lawn of the datcha des iles, that he might continue to watch over her happiness and over the life of her feodor. and in order that he should not be bored, eternally smoking his pipe all alone, she had surrounded him with a group of little porcelain genii, after the fashion of the jardins des iles. lord! how that young frenchman had frightened her, rising suddenly like that, without warning, on the lawn. she had believed for a moment that it was the domovoi-doukh himself rising to stretch his legs. happily he had spoken at once and she had recognized his voice. and besides, her domovoi surely would not speak french. ah! matrena petrovna breathed freely now. it seemed to her, this night, that there were two little familiar genii watching over the house. and that was worth more than all the police in the world, surely. how wily that little fellow was to order all those men away. there was something it was necessary to know; it was necessary therefore that nothing should be in the way of learning it. as things were now, the mystery could operate without suspicion or interference. only one man watched it, and he had not the air of watching. certainly rouletabille had not the air of constantly watching anything. he had the manner, out in the night, of an easy little man in porcelain, neither more nor less, yet he could see everything--if anything were there to see--and he could hear everything--if there were anything to hear. one passed beside him without suspecting him, and men might talk to each other without an idea that he heard them, and even talk to themselves according to the habit people have sometimes when they think themselves quite alone. all the guests had departed thus, passing close by him, almost brushing him, had exchanged their “adieus,” their “au revoirs,” and all their final, drawn-out farewells. that dear little living domovoi certainly was a rogue! oh, that dear little domovoi who had been so affected by the tears of matrena petrovna! the good, fat, sentimental, heroic woman longed to hear, just then, his reassuring voice.
-“it is i. here i am,” said the voice of her little living familiar spirit at that instant, and she felt her skirt grasped. she waited for what he should say. she felt no fear. yet she had supposed he was outside the house. still, after all, she was not too astonished that he was within. he was so adroit! he had entered behind her, in the shadow of her skirts, on all-fours, and had slipped away without anyone noticing him, while she was speaking to her enormous, majestic schwitzar.
-“so you were here?” she said, taking his hand and pressing it nervously in hers.
-“yes, yes. i have watched you closing the house. it is a task well-done, certainly. you have not forgotten anything.”
-“but where were you, dear little demon? i have been into all the corners, and my hands did not touch you.”
-“i was under the table set with hors-d’oeuvres in the sitting-room.”
-“ah, under the table of zakouskis! i have forbidden them before now to spread a long hanging cloth there, which obliges me to kick my foot underneath casually in order to be sure there is no one beneath. it is imprudent, very imprudent, such table-cloths. and under the table of zakouskis have you been able to see or hear anything?”
-“madame, do you think that anyone could possibly see or hear anything in the villa when you are watching it alone, when the general is asleep and your step-daughter is preparing for bed?”
-“no. no. i do not believe so. i do not. no, oh, christ!”
-they talked thus very low in the dark, both seated in a corner of the sofa, rouletabille’s hand held tightly in the burning hands of matrena petrovna.
-she sighed anxiously. “and in the garden--have you heard anything?”
-“i heard the officer boris say to the officer michael, in french, ‘shall we return at once to the villa?’ the other replied in russian in a way i could see was a refusal. then they had a discussion in russian which i, naturally, could not understand. but from the way they talked i gathered that they disagreed and that no love was lost between them.”
-“no, they do not love each other. they both love natacha.”
-“and she, which one of them does she love? it is necessary to tell me.”
-“she pretends that she loves boris, and i believe she does, and yet she is very friendly with michael and often she goes into nooks and corners to chat with him, which makes boris mad with jealousy. she has forbidden boris to speak to her father about their marriage, on the pretext that she does not wish to leave her father now, while each day, each minute the general’s life is in danger.”
-“and you, madame--do you love your step-daughter?” brutally inquired the reporter.
-“yes--sincerely,” replied matrena petrovna, withdrawing her hand from those of rouletabille.
-“and she--does she love you?”
-“i believe so, monsieur, i believe so sincerely. yes, she loves me, and there is not any reason why she should not love me. i believe--understand me thoroughly, because it comes from my heart--that we all here in this house love one another. our friends are old proved friends. boris has been orderly to my husband for a very long time. we do not share any of his too-modern ideas, and there were many discussions on the duty of soldiers at the time of the massacres. i reproached him with being as womanish as we were in going down on his knees to the general behind natacha and me, when it became necessary to kill all those poor moujiks of presnia. it was not his role. a soldier is a soldier. my husband raised him roughly and ordered him, for his pains, to march at the head of the troops. it was right. what else could he do? the general already had enough to fight against, with the whole revolution, with his conscience, with the natural pity in his heart of a brave man, and with the tears and insupportable moanings, at such a moment, of his daughter and his wife. boris understood and obeyed him, but, after the death of the poor students, he behaved again like a woman in composing those verses on the heroes of the barricades; don’t you think so? verses that natacha and he learned by heart, working together, when they were surprised at it by the general. there was a terrible scene. it was before the next-to-the-last attack. the general then had the use of both legs. he stamped his feet and fairly shook the house.”
-“madame,” said rouletabille, “a propos of the attacks, you must tell me about the third.”
-as he said this, leaning toward her, matrena petrovna ejaculated a “listen!” that made him rigid in the night with ear alert. what had she heard? for him, he had heard nothing.
-“you hear nothing?” she whispered to him with an effort. “a tick-tack?”
-“no, i hear nothing.”
-“you know--like the tick-tack of a clock. listen.”
-“how can you hear the tick-tack? i’ve noticed that no clocks are running here.”
-“don’t you understand? it is so that we shall be able to hear the tick-tack better.”
-“oh, yes, i understand. but i do not hear anything.”
-“for myself, i think i hear the tick-tack all the time since the last attempt. it haunts my ears, it is frightful, to say to one’s self: there is clockwork somewhere, just about to reach the death-tick--and not to know where, not to know where! when the police were here i made them all listen, and i was not sure even when they had all listened and said there was no tick-tack. it is terrible to hear it in my ear any moment when i least expect it. tick-tack! tick-tack! it is the blood beating in my ear, for instance, hard, as if it struck on a sounding-board. why, here are drops of perspiration on my hands! listen!”
-“ah, this time someone is talking--is crying,” said the young man.
-“sh-h-h!” and rouletabille felt the rigid hand of matrena petrovna on his arm. “it is the general. the general is dreaming!”
-she drew him into the dining-room, into a corner where they could no longer hear the moanings. but all the doors that communicated with the dining-room, the drawing-room and the sitting-room remained open behind him, by the secret precaution of rouletabille.
-he waited while matrena, whose breath he heard come hard, was a little behind. in a moment, quite talkative, and as though she wished to distract rouletabille’s attention from the sounds above, the broken words and sighs, she continued:
-“madame,” interrupted rouletabille (matrena petrovna did not know that no one ever succeeded in distracting rouletabille’s attention), “madame, someone moans still, upstairs.”
-“oh, that is nothing, my little friend. it is the general, who has bad nights. he cannot sleep without a narcotic, and that gives him a fever. i am going to tell you now how the third attack came about. and then you will understand, by the virgin mary, how it is i have yet, always have, the tick-tack in my ears.
-“one evening when the general had got to sleep and i was in my own room, i heard distinctly the tick-tack of clockwork operating. all the clocks had been stopped, as koupriane advised, and i had made an excuse to send feodor’s great watch to the repairer. you can understand how i felt when i heard that tick-tack. i was frenzied. i turned my head in all directions, and decided that the sound came from my husband’s chamber. i ran there. he still slept, man that he is! the tick-tack was there. but where? i turned here and there like a fool. the chamber was in darkness and it seemed absolutely impossible for me to light a lamp because i thought i could not take the time for fear the infernal machine would go off in those few seconds. i threw myself on the floor and listened under the bed. the noise came from above. but where? i sprang to the fireplace, hoping that, against my orders, someone had started the mantel-clock. no, it was not that! it seemed to me now that the tick-tack came from the bed itself, that the machine was in the bed. the general awaked just then and cried to me, ‘what is it, matrena? what are you doing?’ and he raised himself in bed, while i cried, ‘listen! hear the tick-tack. don’t you hear the tick-tack?’ i threw myself upon him and gathered him up in my arms to carry him, but i trembled too much, was too weak from fear, and fell back with him onto the bed, crying, ‘help!’ he thrust me away and said roughly, ‘listen.’ the frightful tick-tack was behind us now, on the table. but there was nothing on the table, only the night-light, the glass with the potion in it, and a gold vase where i had placed with my own hands that morning a cluster of grasses and wild flowers that ermolai had brought that morning on his return from the orel country. with one bound i was on the table and at the flowers. i struck my fingers among the grasses and the flowers, and felt a resistance. the tick-tack was in the bouquet! i took the bouquet in both hands, opened the window and threw it as far as i could into the garden. at the same moment the bomb burst with a terrible noise, giving me quite a deep wound in the hand. truly, my dear little domovoi, that day we had been very near death, but god and the little father watched over us.”
-and matrena petrovna made the sign of the cross.
-“all the windows of the house were broken. in all, we escaped with the fright and a visit from the glazier, my little friend, but i certainly believed that all was over.”
-“and mademoiselle natacha?” inquired rouletabille. “she must also have been terribly frightened, because the whole house must have rocked.”
-“pardon, madame,” interrupted rouletabille, “but the agents, during the examination of everything, never went to the bedroom floor?”
-“no, my child, there is only myself and natacha, i repeat, who, since the bouquet, go there.”
-“well, madame, it is necessary to take me there at once.”
-“yes, into the general’s chamber.”
-“but he is sleeping, my child. let me tell you exactly how the affair of the floor happened, and you will know as much of it as i and as koupriane.”
-“to the general’s chamber at once.”
-she took both his hands and pressed them nervously. “little friend! little friend! one hears there sometimes things which are the secret of the night! you understand me?”
-“to the general’s chamber, at once, madame.”
-abruptly she decided to take him there, agitated, upset as she was by ideas and sentiments which held her without respite between the wildest inquietude and the most imprudent audacity.
-rouletabille let himself be led by matrena through the night, but he stumbled and his awkward hands struck against various things. the ascent to the first floor was accomplished in profound silence. nothing broke it except that restless moaning which had so affected the young man just before.
-the tepid warmth, the perfume of a woman’s boudoir, then, beyond, through two doors opening upon the dressing-room which lay between matrena’s chamber and feodor’s, the dim luster of a night-lamp showed the bed where was stretched the sleeping tyrant of moscow. ah, he was frightening to see, with the play of faint yellow light and diffused shadows upon him. such heavy-arched eyebrows, such an aspect of pain and menace, the massive jaw of a savage come from the plains of tartary to be the scourge of god, the stiff, thick, spreading beard. this was a form akin to the gallery of old nobles at kasan, and young rouletabille imagined him as none other than ivan the terrible himself. thus appeared as he slept the excellent feodor feodorovitch, the easy, spoiled father of the family table, the friend of the advocate celebrated for his feats with knife and fork and of the bantering timber-merchant and amiable bear-hunter, the joyous thaddeus and athanase; feodor, the faithful spouse of matrena petrovna and the adored papa of natacha, a brave man who was so unfortunate as to have nights of cruel sleeplessness or dreams more frightful still.
-at that moment a hoarse sigh heaved his huge chest in an uneven rhythm, and rouletabille, leaning in the doorway of the dressing-room, watched--but it was no longer the general that he watched, it was something else, lower down, beside the wall, near the door, and it was that which set him tiptoeing so lightly across the floor that it gave no sound. there was no slightest sound in the chamber, except the heavy breathing lifting the rough chest. behind rouletabille matrena raised her arms, as though she wished to hold him back, because she did not know where he was going. what was he doing? why did he stoop thus beside the door and why did he press his thumb all along the floor at the doorway? he rose again and returned. he passed again before the bed, where rumbled now, like the bellows of a forge, the respiration of the sleeper. matrena grasped rouletabille by the hand. and she had already hurried him into the dressing-room when a moan stopped them.
-“the youth of moscow is dead!”
-it was the sleeper speaking. the mouth which had given the stringent orders moaned. and the lamentation was still a menace. in the haunted sleep thrust upon that man by the inadequate narcotic the words feodor feodorovitch spoke were words of mourning and pity. this perfect fiend of a soldier, whom neither bullets nor bombs could intimidate, had a way of saying words which transformed their meaning as they came from his terrible mouth. the listeners could not but feel absorbed in the tones of the brutal victor.
-matrena petrovna and rouletabille had leant their two shadows, blended one into the other, against the open doorway just beyond the gleam of the night-lamp, and they heard with horror:
-“the youth of moscow is dead! they have cleared away the corpses. there is nothing but ruin left. the kremlin itself has shut its gates--that it may not see. the youth of moscow is dead!”
-feodor feodorovitch’s fist shook above his bed; it seemed that he was about to strike, to kill again, and rouletabille felt matrena trembling against him, while he trembled as well before the fearful vision of the killer in the red week!
-feodor heaved an immense sigh and his breast descended under the bed-clothes, the fist relaxed and fell, the great head lay over on its ear. there was silence. had he repose at last? no, no. he sighed, he choked anew, he tossed on his couch like the damned in torment, and the words written by his daughter--by his daughter--blazed in his eyes, which now were wide open--words written on the wall, that he read on the wall, written in blood.
-“the youth of moscow is dead! they had gone so young into the fields and into the mines, and they had not found a single corner of the russian land where there were not moanings. now the youth of moscow is dead and no more moanings are heard, because those for whom all youth died do not dare even to moan any more.
-but--what? the voice of feodor lost its threatening tone. his breath came as from a weeping child. and it was with sobs in his throat that he said the last verse, the verse written by his daughter in the album, in red letters:
-“the last barricade had standing there the girl of eighteen winters, the virgin of moscow, flower of the snow. who gave her kisses to the workmen struck by the bullets from the soldiers of the czar; “she aroused the admiration of the very soldiers who, weeping, killed her: “what killing! all the houses shuttered, the windows with heavy eyelids of plank in order not to see!-- “and the kremlin itself has closed its gates--that it may not see. “the youth of moscow is dead!”
-she had caught him in her arms, holding him fast, comforting him while still he raved, “the youth of moscow is dead,” and appeared to thrust away with insensate gestures a crowd of phantoms. she crushed him to her breast, she put her hands over his mouth to make him stop, but he, saying, “do you hear? do you hear? what do they say? they say nothing, now. what a tangle of bodies under the sleigh, matrena! look at those frozen legs of those poor girls we pass, sticking out in all directions, like logs, from under their icy, blooded skirts. look, matrena!”
-and then came further delirium uttered in russian, which was all the more terrible to rouletabille because he could not comprehend it.
-then, suddenly, feodor became silent and thrust away matrena petrovna.
-“it is that abominable narcotic,” he said with an immense sigh. “i’ll drink no more of it. i do not wish to drink it.”
-with one hand he pointed to a large glass on the table beside him, still half full of a soporific mixture with which he moistened his lips each time he woke; with the other hand he wiped the perspiration from his face. matrena petrovna stayed trembling near him, suddenly overpowered by the idea that he might discover there was someone there behind the door, who had seen and heard the sleep of general trebassof! ah, if he learned that, everything was over. she might say her prayers; she should die.
-but rouletabille was careful to give no sign. he barely breathed. what a nightmare! he understood now the emotion of the general’s friends when natacha had sung in her low, sweet voice, “good-night. may your eyes have rest from tears and calm re-enter your heart oppressed.” the friends had certainly been made aware, by matrena’s anxious talking, of the general’s insomnia, and they could not repress their tears as they listened to the poetic wish of charming natacha. “all the same,” thought rouletabille, “no one could imagine what i have just seen. they are not dead for everyone in the world, the youths of moscow, and every night i know now a chamber where in the glow of the night-lamp they rise--they rise--they rise!” and the young man frankly, naively regretted to have intruded where he was; to have penetrated, however unintentionally, into an affair which, after all, concerned only the many dead and the one living. why had he come to put himself between the dead and the living? it might be said to him: “the living has done his whole heroic duty,” but the dead, what else was it that they had done?
-“no, no! after such a scene i would have nightmares myself as well. ah, it is dreadful! appalling! appalling! dear little monsieur, it is the secret of the night. the poor man! poor unhappy man! he cannot tear his thoughts away from it. it is his worst and unmerited punishment, this translation that natacha has made of boris’s abominable verses. he knows them by heart, they are in his brain and on his tongue all night long, in spite of narcotics, and he says over and over again all the time, ‘it is my daughter who has written that!--my daughter!--my daughter!’ it is enough to wring all the tears from one’s body--that an aide-de-camp of a general, who himself has killed the youth of moscow, is allowed to write such verses and that natacha should take it upon herself to translate them into lovely poetic french for her album. it is hard to account for what they do nowadays, to our misery.”
-she ceased, for just then they heard the floor creak under a step downstairs. rouletabille stopped matrena short and drew his revolver. he wished to creep down alone, but he had not time. as the floor creaked a second time, matrena’s anguished voice called down the staircase in russian, “who is there?” and immediately the calm voice of natacha answered something in the same language. then matrena, trembling more and more, and very much excited keeping steadily to the same place as though she had been nailed to the step of the stairway, said in french, “yes, all is well; your father is resting. good-night, natacha.” they heard natacha’s step cross the drawing-room and the sitting-room. then the door of her chamber closed. matrena and rouletabille descended, holding their breath. they reached the dining-room and matrena played her dark-lantern on the sofa where the general always reclined. the sofa was in its usual place on the carpet. she pushed it back and raised the carpet, laying the floor bare. then she got onto her knees and examined the floor minutely. she rose, wiping the perspiration from her brow, put the carpet hack in place, adjusted the sofa and dropped upon it with a great sigh.
-“well?” demanded rouletabille.
-“nothing at all,” said she.
-“why did you call so openly?”
-“because there was no doubt that it could only be my step-daughter on the ground-floor at that hour.”
-“and why this anxiety to examine the floor again?”
-“i entreat you, my dear little child, do not see in my acts anything mysterious, anything hard to explain. that anxiety you speak of never leaves me. whenever i have the chance i examine the flooring.”
-“madame,” demanded the young man, “what was your daughter doing in this room?”
-“she came for a glass of mineral water; the bottle is still on the table.”
-“madame, it is necessary that you tell me precisely what koupriane has only hinted to me, unless i am entirely mistaken. the first time that you thought to examine the floor, was it after you heard a noise on the ground-floor such as has just happened?”
-“yes. i will tell you all that is necessary. it was the night after the attempt with the bouquet, my dear little monsieur, my dear little domovoi; it seemed to me i heard a noise on the ground-floor. i hurried downstairs and saw nothing suspicious at first. everything was shut tight. i opened the door of natacha’s chamber softly. i wished to ask her if she had heard anything. but she was so fast asleep that i had not the heart to awaken her. i opened the door of the veranda, and all the police--all, you understand--slept soundly. i took another turn around the furniture, and, with my lantern in my hand, i was just going out of the dining-room when i noticed that the carpet on the floor was disarranged at one corner. i got down and my hand struck a great fold of carpet near the general’s sofa. you would have said that the sofa had been rolled carelessly, trying to replace it in the position it usually occupied. prompted by a sinister presentiment, i pushed away the sofa and i lifted the carpet. at first glance i saw nothing, but when i examined things closer i saw that a strip of wood did not lie well with the others on the floor. with a knife i was able to lift that strip and i found that two nails which had fastened it to the beam below had been freshly pulled out. it was just so i could raise the end of the board a little without being able to slip my hand under. to lift it any more it would be necessary to pull at least half-a-dozen nails. what could it mean? was i on the point of discovering some new terrible and mysterious plan? i let the board fall back into place. i spread the carpet back again carefully, put the sofa in its place, and in the morning sent for koupriane.”
-“you had not, madame, spoken to anyone of this discovery?”
-“to no one.”
-“not even to your step-daughter?”
-“no,” said the husky voice of matrena, “not even to my step-daughter.”
-“why?” demanded rouletabille.
-“because,” replied matrena, after a moment’s hesitation, “there were already enough frightening things about the house. i would not have spoken to my daughter any more than i would have said a word to the general. why add to the disquiet they already suffered so much, in case nothing developed?”
-“and what did koupriane say?”
-“we examined the floor together, secretly. koupriane slipped his hand under more easily than i had done, and ascertained that under the board, that is to say between the beam and the ceiling of the kitchen, there was a hollow where any number of things might be placed. for the moment the board was still too little released for any maneuver to be possible. koupriane, when he rose, said to me, ‘you have happened, madame, to interrupt the person in her operations. but we are prepared henceforth. we know what she does and she is unaware that we know. act as though you had not noticed anything; do not speak of it to anyone whatever--and watch. let the general continue to sit in his usual place and let no one suspect that we have discovered the beginnings of this attempt. it is the only way we can plan so that they will continue. all the same,’ he added, ‘i will give my agents orders to patrol the ground-floor anew during the night. i would be risking too much to let the person continue her work each night. she might continue it so well that she would be able to accomplish it--you understand me? but by day you arrange that the rooms on the ground-floor be free from time to time--not for long, but from time to time.’ i don’t know why, but what he said and the way he said it frightened me more than ever. however, i carried out his program. then, three days later, about eight o’clock, when the night watch was not yet started, that is to say at the moment when the police were still all out in the garden or walking around the house, outside, and when i had left the the ground-floor perfectly free while i helped the general to bed, i felt drawn even against myself suddenly to the dining-room. i lifted the carpet and examined the floor. three more nails had been drawn from the board, which lifted more easily now, and under it, i could see that the normal cavity had been made wider still!”
-when she had said this, matrena stopped, as if, overcome, she could not tell more.
-“well?” insisted rouletabille.
-“well, i replaced things as i found them and made rapid inquiries of the police and their chief; no one had entered the ground-floor. you understand me?--no one at all. neither had anyone come out from it.”
-“how could anyone come out if no one had entered?”
-“i wish to say,” said she with a sob, “that natacha during this space of time had been in her chamber, in her chamber on the ground-floor.”
-“you appear to be very disturbed, madame, at this recollection. can you tell me further, and precisely, why you are agitated?”
-“you understand me, surely,” she said, shaking her head.
-“if i understand you correctly, i have to understand that from the previous time you examined the floor until the time that you noted three more nails drawn out, no other person could have entered the dining-room but you and your step-daughter natacha.”
-matrena took rouletabille’s hand as though she had reached an important decision.
-“my little friend,” moaned she, “there are things i am not able to think about and which i can no longer entertain when natacha embraces me. it is a mystery more frightful than all else. koupriane tells me that he is sure, absolutely sure, of the agents he kept here; my sole consolation, do you see, my little friend can tell you frankly, now that you have sent away those men--my sole consolation since that day has been that koupriane is less sure of his men than i am of natacha.”
-she broke down and sobbed.
-when she was calmed, she looked for rouletabille, and could not find him. then she wiped her eyes, picked up her dark-lantern, and, furtively, crept to her post beside the general.
-for that day these are the points in rouletabille’s notebook:
-“topography: villa surrounded by a large garden on three sides. the fourth side gives directly onto a wooded field that stretches to the river neva. on this side the level of the ground is much lower, so low that the sole window opening in that wall (the window of natacha’s sitting-room on the ground-floor) is as high from the ground as though it were on the next floor in any other part of the house. this window is closed by iron shutters, fastened inside by a bar of iron.
-“friends: athanase georgevitch, ivan petrovitch, thaddeus the timber-merchant (peat boots), michael and boris (fine shoes). matrena, sincere love, blundering heroism. natacha unknown. against natacha: never there during the attacks. at moscow at the time of the bomb in the sleigh, no one knows where she was, and it is she who should have accompanied the general (detail furnished by koupriane that matrena generously kept back). the night of the bouquet is the only night natacha has slept away from the house. coincidence of the disappearance of the nails and the presence all alone on the ground-floor of natacha, in case, of course, matrena did not pull them out herself. for natacha: her eyes when she looks at her father.”
-and this bizarre phrase:
-“we mustn’t be rash. this evening i have not yet spoken to matrena petrovna about the little hat-pin. that little hat-pin is the greatest relief of my life.”
-“good morning, my dear little familiar spirit. the general slept splendidly the latter part of the night. he did not touch his narcotic. i am sure it is that dreadful mixture that gives him such frightful dreams. and you, my dear little friend, you have not slept an instant. i know it. i felt you going everywhere about the house like a little mouse. ah, it seems good, so good. i slept so peacefully, hearing the subdued movement of your little steps. thanks for the sleep you have given me, little friend.”
-matrena talked on to rouletabille, whom she had found the morning after the nightmare tranquilly smoking his pipe in the garden.
-“ah, ah, you smoke a pipe. now you do certainly look exactly like a dear little domovoi-doukh. see how much you are alike. he smokes just like you. nothing new, eh? you do not look very bright this morning. you are worn out. i have just arranged the little guest-chamber for you, the only one we have, just behind mine. your bed is waiting for you. is there anything you need? tell me. everything here is at your service.”
-“i’m not in need of anything, madame,” said the young man smilingly, after this outpouring of words from the good, heroic dame.
-“how can you say that, dear child? you will make yourself sick. i want you to understand that i wish you to rest. i want to be a mother to you, if you please, and you must obey me, my child. have you had breakfast yet this morning? if you do not have breakfast promptly mornings, i will think you are annoyed. i am so annoyed that you have heard the secret of the night. i have been afraid that you would want to leave at once and for good, and that you would have mistaken ideas about the general. there is not a better man in the world than feodor, and he must have a good, a very good conscience to dare, without fail, to perform such terrible duties as those at moscow, when he is so good at heart. these things are easy enough for wicked people, but for good men, for good men who can reason it out, who know what they do and that they are condemned to death into the bargain, it is terrible, it is terrible! why, i told him the moment things began to go wrong in moscow, ‘you know what to expect, feodor. here is a dreadful time to get through--make out you are sick.’ i believed he was going to strike me, to kill me on the spot. ‘i! betray the emperor in such a moment! his majesty, to whom i owe everything! what are you thinking of, matrena petrovna!’ and he did not speak to me after that for two days. it was only when he saw i was growing very ill that he pardoned me, but he had to be plagued with my jeremiads and the appealing looks of natacha without end in his own home each time we heard any shooting in the street. natacha attended the lectures of the faculty, you know. and she knew many of them, and even some of those who were being killed on the barricades. ah, life was not easy for him in his own home, the poor general! besides, there was also boris, whom i love as well, for that matter, as my own child, because i shall be very happy to see him married to natacha--there was poor boris who always came home from the attacks paler than a corpse and who could not keep from moaning with us.”
-“and michael?” questioned rouletabille.
-“oh, michael only came towards the last. he is a new orderly to the general. the government at st. petersburg sent him, because of course they couldn’t help learning that boris rather lacked zeal in repressing the students and did not encourage the general in being as severe as was necessary for the safety of the empire. but michael, he has a heart of stone; he knows nothing but the countersign and massacres fathers and mothers, crying, ‘vive le tsar!’ truly, it seems his heart can only be touched by the sight of natacha. and that again has caused a good deal of anxiety to feodor and me. it has caught us in a useless complication that we would have liked to end by the prompt marriage of natacha and boris. but natacha, to our great surprise, has not wished it to be so. no, she has not wished it, saying that there is always time to think of her wedding and that she is in no hurry to leave us. meantime she entertains herself with this michael as if she did not fear his passion, and neither has michael the desperate air of a man who knows the definite engagement of natacha and boris. and my step-daughter is not a coquette. no, no. no one can say she is a coquette. at least, no one had been able to say it up to the time that michael arrived. can it be that she is a coquette? they are mysterious, these young girls, very mysterious, above all when they have that calm and tranquil look that natacha always has; a face, monsieur, as you have noticed perhaps, whose beauty is rather passive whatever one says and does, excepting when the volleys in the streets kill her young comrades of the schools. then i have seen her almost faint, which proves she has a great heart under her tranquil beauty. poor natacha! i have seen her excited as i over the life of her father. my little friend, i have seen her searching in the middle of the night, with me, for infernal machines under the furniture, and then she has expressed the opinion that it is nervous, childish, unworthy of us to act like that, like timid beasts under the sofas, and she has left me to search by myself. true, she never quits the general. she is more reassured, and is reassuring to him, at his side. it has an excellent moral effect on him, while i walk about and search like a beast. and she has become as fatalistic as he, and now she sings verses to the guzla, like boris, or talks in corners with michael, which makes the two enraged each with the other. they are curious, the young women of st. petersburg and moscow, very curious. we were not like that in our time, at orel. we did not try to enrage people. we would have received a box on the ears if we had.”
-natacha came in upon this conversation, happy, in white voile, fresh and smiling like a girl who had passed an excellent night. she asked after the health of the young man very prettily and embraced matrena, in truth as one embraces a much-beloved mother. she complained again of matrena’s night-watch.
-“mademoiselle,” said rouletabille, “i have just had them all sent away, all of them--because i think very much the same as you do.”
-“well, then, you will be my friend, monsieur rouletabille i promise you, since you have done that. now that the police are gone we have nothing more to fear. nothing. i tell you, mamma; you can believe me and not weep any more, mamma dear.”
-“yes, yes; kiss me. kiss me again!” repeated matrena, drying her eyes. “when you kiss me i forget everything. you love me like your own mother, don’t you?”
-“like my mother. like my own mother.”
-“you have nothing to hide from me?--tell me, natacha.”
-“nothing to hide.”
-“then why do you make boris suffer so? why don’t you marry him?”
-“because i don’t wish to leave you, mamma dear.”
-she escaped further parley by jumping up on the garden edge away from khor, who had just been set free for the day.
-“the dear child,” said matrena; “the dear little one, she little knows how much pain she has caused us without being aware of it, by her ideas, her extravagant ideas. her father said to me one day at moscow, ‘matrena petrovna, i’ll tell you what i think--natacha is the victim of the wicked books that have turned the brains of all these poor rebellious students. yes, yes; it would be better for her and for us if she did not know how to read, for there are moments--my word!--when she talks very wildly, and i have said to myself more than once that with such ideas her place is not in our salon hut behind a barricade. all the same,’ he added after reflection, ‘i prefer to find her in the salon where i can embrace her than behind a barricade where i would kill her like a mad dog.’ but my husband, dear little monsieur, did not say what he really thinks, for he loves his daughter more than all the rest of the world put together, and there are things that even a general, yes, even a governor-general, would not be able to do without violating both divine and human laws. he suspects boris also of setting natacha’s wits awry. we really have to consider that when they are married they will read everything they have a mind to. my husband has much more real respect for michael korsakoff because of his impregnable character and his granite conscience. more than once he has said, ‘here is the aide i should have had in the worst days of moscow. he would have spared me much of the individual pain.’ i can understand how that would please the general, but how such a tigerish nature succeeds in appealing to natacha, how it succeeds in not actually revolting her, these young girls of the capital, one never can tell about them--they get away from all your notions of them.”
-“why did boris say to michael, ‘we will return together’? do they live together?”
-“yes, in the small villa on the krestowsky ostrov, the isle across from ours, that you can see from the window of the sitting-room. boris chose it because of that. the orderlies wished to have camp-beds prepared for them right here in the general’s house, by a natural devotion to him; but i opposed it, in order to keep them both from natacha, in whom, of course, i have the most complete confidence, but one cannot be sure about the extravagance of men nowadays.”
-ermolai came to announce the petit-dejeuner. they found natacha already at table and she poured them coffee and milk, eating away all the time at a sandwich of anchovies and caviare.
-“tell me, mamma, do you know what gives me such an appetite? it is the thought of the way poor koupriane must have taken this dismissal of his men. i should like to go to see him.”
-“if you see him,” said rouletabille, “it is unnecessary to tell him that the general will go for a long promenade among the isles this afternoon, because without fail he would send us an escort of gendarmes.”
-“papa! a promenade among the islands? truly? oh, that is going to be lovely!”
-matrena petrovna sprang to her feet.
-“are you mad, my dear little domovoi, actually mad?”
-“why? why? it is fine. i must run and tell papa.”
-“your father’s room is locked,” said matrena brusquely.
-“yes, yes; he is locked in. you have the key. locked away until death! you will kill him. it will be you who kills him.”
-she left the table without waiting for a reply and went and shut herself also in her chamber.
-matrena looked at rouletabille, who continued his breakfast as though nothing had happened.
-“is it possible that you speak seriously?” she demanded, coming over and sitting down beside him. “a promenade! without the police, when we have received again this morning a letter saying now that before forty-eight hours the general will be dead!”
-“forty-eight hours,” said rouletabille, soaking his bread in his chocolate, “forty-eight hours? it is possible. in any case, i know they will try something very soon.”
-“my god, how is it that you believe that? you speak with assurance.”
-“madame, it is necessary to do everything i tell you, to the letter.”
-“but to have the general go out, unless he is guarded--how can you take such a responsibility? when i think about it, when i really think about it, i ask myself how you have dared send away the police. but here, at least, i know what to do in order to feel a little safe, i know that downstairs with gniagnia and ermolai we have nothing to fear. no stranger can approach even the basement. the provisions are brought from the lodge by our dvornicks whom we have had sent from my mother’s home in the orel country and who are as devoted to us as bull-dogs. not a bottle of preserves is taken into the kitchens without having been previously opened outside. no package comes from any tradesman without being opened in the lodge. here, within, we are able to feel a little safe, even without the police--but away from here--outside!”
-“madame, they are going to try to kill your husband within forty-eight hours. do you desire me to save him perhaps for a long time--for good, perhaps?”
-“ah, listen to him! listen to him, the dear little domovoi! but what will koupriane say? he will not permit any venturing beyond the villa; none, at least for the moment. ah, now, how he looks at me, the dear little domovoi! oh, well, yes. there, i will do as you wish.”
-“very well, come into the garden with me.”
-she accompanied him, leaning on his arm.
-“here’s the idea,” said rouletabille. “this afternoon you will go with the general in his rolling-chair. everybody will follow. everyone, you understand, madame--understand me thoroughly, i mean to say that everyone who wishes to come must be invited to. only those who wish to remain behind will do so. and do not insist. ah, now, i see, you understand me. why do you tremble?”
-“but who will guard the house?”
-“no one. simply tell the servant at the lodge to watch from the lodge those who enter the villa, but simply from the lodge, without interfering with them, and saying nothing to them, nothing.”
-“i will do as you wish. do you want me to announce our promenade beforehand?”
-“why, certainly. don’t be uneasy; let everybody have the good news.”
-“oh, i will tell only the general and his friends, you may be sure.”
-“now, dear madame, just one more word. do not wait for me at luncheon.”
-“what! you are going to leave us?” she cried instantly, breathless. “no, no. i do not wish it. i am willing to do without the police, but i am not willing to do without you. everything might happen in your absence. everything! everything!” she repeated with singular energy. “because, for me, i cannot feel sure as i should, perhaps. ah, you make me say these things. such things! but do not go.”
-“do not be afraid; i am not going to leave you, madame.”
-“ah, you are good! you are kind, kind! caracho! (very well.)”
-“i will not leave you. but i must not be at luncheon. if anyone asks where i am, say that i have my business to look after, and have gone to interview political personages in the city.”
-“there’s only one political personage in russia,” replied matrena petrovna bluntly; “that is the tsar.”
-“very well; say i have gone to interview the tsar.”
-“but no one will believe that. and where will you be?”
-“i do not know myself. but i will be about the house.”
-“very well, very well, dear little domovoi.”
-she left him, not knowing what she thought about it all, nor what she should think--her head was all in a muddle.
-in the course of the morning athanase georgevitch and thaddeus tchnitchnikof arrived. the general was already in the veranda. michael and boris arrived shortly after, and inquired in their turn how he had passed the night without the police. when they were told that feodor was going for a promenade that afternoon they applauded his decision. “bravo! a promenade a la strielka (to the head of the island) at the hour when all st. petersburg is driving there. that is fine. we will all be there.” the general made them stay for luncheon. natacha appeared for the meal, in rather melancholy mood. a little before luncheon she had held a double conversation in the garden with michael and boris. no one ever could have known what these three young people had said if some stenographic notes in rouletabille’s memorandum-book did not give us a notion; the reporter had overheard, by accident surely, since all self-respecting reporters are quite incapable of eavesdropping.
-the memorandum notes:
-natacha went into the garden with a book, which she gave to boris, who pressed her hand lingeringly to his lips. “here is your book; i return it to you. i don’t want any more of them, the ideas surge so in my brain. it makes my head ache. it is true, you are right, i don’t love novelties. i can satisfy myself with pouchkine perfectly. the rest are all one to me. did you pass a good night?”
-boris (good-looking young man, about thirty years old, blonde, a little effeminate, wistful. a curious appurtenance in the military household of so vigorous a general). “natacha, there is not an hour that i can call truly good if i spend it away from you, dear, dear natacha.”
-“i ask you seriously if you have passed a good night?”
-she touched his hand a moment and looked into his eyes, but he shook his head.
-“what did you do last night after you reached home?” she demanded insistently. “did you stay up?”
-“i obeyed you; i only sat a half-hour by the window looking over here at the villa, and then i went to bed.”
-“yes, it is necessary you should get your rest. i wish it for you as for everyone else. this feverish life is impossible. matrena petrovna is getting us all ill, and we shall be prostrated.”
-“yesterday,” said boris, “i looked at the villa for a half-hour from my window. dear, dear villa, dear night when i can feel you breathing, living near me. as if you had been against my heart. i could have wept because i could hear michael snoring in his chamber. he seemed happy. at last, i heard nothing more, there was nothing more to hear but the double chorus of frogs in the pools of the island. our pools, natacha, are like the enchanted lakes of the caucasus which are silent by day and sing at evening; there are innumerable throngs of frogs which sing on the same chord, some of them on a major and some on a minor. the chorus speaks from pool to pool, lamenting and moaning across the fields and gardens, and re-echoing like aeolian harps placed opposite one another.”
-“do aeolian harps make so much noise, boris?”
-“you laugh? i don’t find you yourself half the time. it is michael who has changed you, and i am out of it. (here they spoke in russian.) i shall not be easy until i am your husband. i can’t understand your manner with michael at all.”
-“speak french; here is the gardener,” said natacha.
-“i do not like the way you are managing our lives. why do you delay our marriage? why?”
-“how long? you say a long time? but that says nothing--a long time. how long? a year? two years? ten years? tell me, or i will kill myself at your feet. no, no; speak or i will kill michael. on my word! like a dog!”
-“i swear to you, by the dear head of your mother, boris, that the date of our marriage does not depend on michael.”
-conversation between michael and natacha in the garden:
-“well? have you told him?”
-“i ended at last by making him understand that there is not any hope. none. it is necessary to have patience. i have to have it myself.”
-“he is stupid and provoking.”
-“stupid, no. provoking, yes, if you wish. but you also, you are provoking.”
-“there will be a letter from annouchka this evening, by a messenger at five o’clock.” he made each syllable explicit. “very important and requiring an immediate reply.”
-these notes of rouletabille’s are not followed by any commentary.
-after luncheon the gentlemen played poker until half-past four, which is the “chic” hour for the promenade to the head of the island. rouletabille had directed matrena to start exactly at a quarter to five. he appeared in the meantime, announcing that he had just interviewed the mayor of st. petersburg, which made athanase laugh, who could not understand that anyone would come clear from paris to talk with men like that. natacha came from her chamber to join them for the promenade. her father told her she looked too worried.
-they left the villa. rouletabille noted that the dvornicks were before the gate and that the schwitzar was at his post, from which he could detect everyone who might enter or leave the villa. matrena pushed the rolling-chair herself. the general was radiant. he had natacha at his right and at his left athanase and thaddeus. the two orderlies followed, talking with rouletabille, who had monopolized them. the conversation turned on the devotion of matrena petrovna, which they placed above the finest heroic traits in the women of antiquity, and also on natacha’s love for her father. rouletabille made them talk.
-boris mourazoff explained that this exceptional love was accounted for by the fact that natacha’s own mother, the general’s first wife, died in giving birth to their daughter, and accordingly feodor feodorovitch had been both father and mother to his daughter. he had raised her with the most touching care, not permitting anyone else, when she was sick, to have the care of passing the nights by her bedside.
-natacha was seven years old when feodor feodorovitch was appointed governor of orel. in the country near orel, during the summer, the general and his daughter lived on neighborly terms near the family of old petroff, one of the richest fur merchants in russia. old petroff had a daughter, matrena, who was magnificent to see, like a beautiful field-flower. she was always in excellent humor, never spoke ill of anyone in the neighborhood, and not only had the fine manners of a city dame but a great, simple heart, which she lavished on the little natacha.
-the child returned the affection of the beautiful matrena, and it was on seeing them always happy to find themselves together that trebassof dreamed of reestablishing his fireside. the nuptials were quickly arranged, and the child, when she learned that her good matrena was to wed her papa, danced with joy. then misfortune came only a few weeks before the ceremony. old petroff, who speculated on the exchange for a long time without anyone knowing anything about it, was ruined from top to bottom. matrena came one evening to apprise feodor feodorovitch of this sad news and return his pledge to him. for all response feodor placed natacha in matrena’s arms. “embrace your mother,” he said to the child, and to matrena, “from to-day i consider you my wife, matrena petrovna. you should obey me in all things. take that reply to your father and tell him my purse is at his disposition.”
-the general was already, at that time, even before he had inherited the cheremaieff, immensely rich. he had lands behind nijni as vast as a province, and it would have been difficult to count the number of moujiks who worked for him on his property. old pretroff gave his daughter and did not wish to accept anything in exchange. feodor wished to settle a large allowance on his wife; her father opposed that, and matrena sided with him in the matter against her husband, because of natacha. “it all belongs to the little one,” she insisted. “i accept the position of her mother, but on the condition that she shall never lose a kopeck of her inheritance.”
-“so that,” concluded boris, “if the general died tomorrow she would be poorer than job.”
-“then the general is matrena’s sole resource,” reflected rouletabille aloud.
-“i can understand her hanging onto him,” said michael korsakoff, blowing the smoke of his yellow cigarette. “look at her. she watches him like a treasure.”
-“what do you mean, michael nikolaievitch?” said boris, curtly. “you believe, do you, that the devotion of matrena petrovna is not disinterested. you must know her very poorly to dare utter such a thought.”
-“i have never had that thought, boris alexandrovitch,” replied the other in a tone curter still. “to be able to imagine that anyone who lives in the trebassofs’ home could have such a thought needs an ass’s head, surely.”
-“we will speak of it again, michael nikolaievitch.”
-“at your pleasure, boris alexandrovitch.”
-they had exchanged these latter words tranquilly continuing their walk and negligently smoking their yellow tobacco. rouletabille was between them. he did not regard them; he paid no attention even to their quarrel; he had eyes only for natacha, who just now quit her place beside her father’s wheel-chair and passed by them with a little nod of the head, seeming in haste to retrace the way back to the villa.
-“are you leaving us?” boris demanded of her.
-“oh, i will rejoin you immediately. i have forgotten my umbrella.”
-“but i will go and get it for you,” proposed michael.
-“no, no. i have to go to the villa; i will return right away.”
-she was already past them. rouletabille, during this, looked at matrena petrovna, who looked at him also, turning toward the young man a visage pale as wax. but no one else noted the emotion of the good matrena, who resumed pushing the general’s wheel-chair.
-rouletabille asked the officers, “was this arrangement because the first wife of the general, natacha’s mother, was rich?”
-“no. the general, who always had his heart in his hand,” said boris, “married her for her great beauty. she was a beautiful girl of the caucasus, of excellent family besides, that feodor feodorovitch had known when he was in garrison at tiflis.”
-“in short,” said rouletabille, “the day that general trebassof dies madame trebassof, who now possesses everything, will have nothing, and the daughter, who now has nothing, will have everything.”
-“exactly that,” said michael.
-“that doesn’t keep matrena petrovna and natacha feodorovna from deeply loving each other,” observed boris.
-the little party drew near the “point.” so far the promenade had been along pleasant open country, among the low meadows traversed by fresh streams, across which tiny bridges had been built, among bright gardens guarded by porcelain dwarfs, or in the shade of small weeds from the feet of whose trees the newly-cut grass gave a seasonal fragrance. all was reflected in the pools--which lay like glass whereon a scene-painter had cut the green hearts of the pond-lily leaves. an adorable country glimpse which seemed to have been created centuries back for the amusement of a queen and preserved, immaculately trimmed and cleaned, from generation to generation, for the eternal charm of such an hour as this on the banks of the gulf of finland.
-now they had reached the bank of the gulf, and the waves rippled to the prows of the light ships, which dipped gracefully like huge and rapid sea-gulls, under the pressure of their great white sails.
-along the roadway, broader now, glided, silently and at walking pace, the double file of luxurious equipages with impatient horses, the open carriages in which the great personages of the court saw the view and let themselves be seen. enormous coachmen held the reins high. lively young women, negligently reclining against the cushions, displayed their new paris toilettes, and kept young officers on horseback busy with salutes. there were all kinds of uniforms. no talking was heard. everyone was kept busy looking. there rang in the pure, thin air only the noise of the champing bits and the tintinnabulation of the bells attached to the hairy finnish ponies’ collars. and all that, so beautiful, fresh, charming and clear, and silent, it all seemed more a dream than even that which hung in the pools, suspended between the crystal of the air and the crystal of the water. the transparence of the sky and the transparence of the gulf blended their two unrealities so that one could not note where the horizons met.
-rouletabille looked at the view and looked at the general, and in all his young vibrating soul there was a sense of infinite sadness, for he recalled those terrible words in the night: “they have gone into all the corners of the russian land, and they have not found a single corner of that land where there are not moanings.” “well,” thought he, “they have not come into this corner, apparently. i don’t know anything lovelier or happier in the world.” no, no, rouletabille, they have not come here. in every country there is a corner of happy life, which the poor are ashamed to approach, which they know nothing of, and of which merely the sight would turn famished mothers enraged, with their thin bosoms, and, if it is not more beautiful than that, certainly no part of the earth is made so atrocious to live in for some, nor so happy for others as in this scythian country, the boreal country of the world.
-meanwhile the little group about the general’s rolling-chair had attracted attention. some passers-by saluted, and the news spread quickly that general trebassof had come for a promenade to “the point.” heads turned as carriages passed; the general, noticing how much excitement his presence produced, begged matrena petrovna to push his chair into an adjacent by-path, behind a shield of trees where he would be able to enjoy the spectacle in peace.
-he was found, nevertheless, by koupriane, the chief of police, who was looking for him. he had gone to the datcha and been told there that the general, accompanied by his friends and the young frenchman, had gone for a turn along the gulf. koupriane had left his carriage at the datcha, and taken the shortest route after them.
-he was a fine man, large, solid, clear-eyed. his uniform showed his fine build to advantage. he was generally liked in st. petersburg, where his martial bearing and his well-known bravery had given him a sort of popularity in society, which, on the other hand, had great disdain for gounsovski, the head of the secret police, who was known to be capable of anything underhanded and had been accused of sometimes playing into the hands of the nihilists, whom he disguised as agents-provocateurs, without anybody really doubting it, and he had to fight against these widespread political suspicions.
-this afternoon koupriane appeared very nervous. he paid his compliments to the general, grumbled at his imprudence, praised him for his bravery, and then at once picked out rouletabille, whom he took aside to talk to.
-“you have sent my men back to me,” said he to the young reporter. “you understand that i do not allow that. they are furious, and quite rightly. you have given publicly as explanation of their departure--a departure which has naturally astonished, stupefied the general’s friends--the suspicion of their possible participation in the last attack. that is abominable, and i will not permit it. my men have not been trained in the methods of gounsovski, and it does them a cruel injury, which i resent, for that matter, personally, to treat them this way. but let that go, as a matter of sentiment, and return to the simple fact itself, which proves your excessive imprudence, not to say more, and which involves you, you alone, in a responsibility of which you certainly have not measured the importance. all in all, i consider that you have strangely abused the complete authority that i gave you upon the emperor’s orders. when i learned what you had done i went to find the tsar, as was my duty, and told him the whole thing. he was more astonished than can be expressed. he directed me to go myself to find out just how things were and to furnish the general the guard you had removed. i arrive at the isles and not only find the villa open like a mill where anyone may enter, but i am informed, and then i see, that the general is promenading in the midst of the crowd, at the mercy of the first miserable venturer. monsieur rouletabille, i am not satisfied. the tsar is not satisfied. and, within an hour, my men will return to assume their guard at the datcha.”
-rouletabille listened to the end. no one ever had spoken to him in that tone. he was red, and as ready to burst as a child’s balloon blown too hard. he said:
-“and i will take the train this evening.”
-“you will go?”
-“yes, and you can guard your general all alone. i have had enough of it. ah, you are not satisfied! ah, the tsar is not satisfied! it is too bad. no more of it for me. monsieur, i am not satisfied, and i say good-evening to you. only do not forget to send me from here every three or four days a letter which will keep me informed of the health of the general, whom i love dearly. i will offer up a little prayer for him.”
-thereupon he was silent, for he caught the glance of matrena petrovna, a glance so desolated, so imploring, so desperate, that the poor woman inspired him anew with great pity. natacha had not returned. what was the young girl doing at that moment? if matrena really loved natacha she must be suffering atrociously. koupriane spoke; rouletabille did not hear him, and he had already forgotten his own anger. his spirit was wrapped in the mystery.
-“monsieur,” koupriane finished by saying, tugging his sleeve, “do you hear me? i pray you at least reply to me. i offer all possible excuses for speaking to you in that tone. i reiterate them. i ask your pardon. i pray you to explain your conduct, which appeared imprudent to me but which, after all, should have some reason. i have to explain to the emperor. will you tell me? what ought i to say to the emperor?”
-“nothing at all,” said rouletabille. “i have no explanation to give you or the emperor, or to anyone. you can offer him my utmost homage and do me the kindness to vise my passport for this evening.”
-and he sighed:
-“it is too bad, for we were just about to see something interesting.”
-koupriane looked at him. rouletabille had not quitted matrena petrovna’s eyes, and her pallor struck koupriane.
-“just a minute,” continued the young man. “i’m sure there is someone who will miss me--that brave woman there. ask her which she prefers, all your police, or her dear little domovoi. we are good friends already. and--don’t forget to present my condolences to her when the terrible moment has come.”
-it was koupriane’s turn to be troubled.
-he coughed and said:
-“you believe, then, that the general runs a great immediate danger?”
-“i do not only believe it, monsieur, i am sure of it. his death is a matter of hours for the poor dear man. before i go i shall not fail to tell him, so that he can prepare himself comfortably for the great journey and ask pardon of the lord for the rather heavy hand he has laid on these poor men of presnia.”
-“monsieur rouletabille, have you discovered something?”
-“good lord, yes, i have discovered something, monsieur koupriane. you don’t suppose i have come so far to waste my time, do you?”
-“something no one else knows?”
-“yes, monsieur koupriane, otherwise i shouldn’t have troubled to feel concerned. something i have not confided to anyone, not even to my note-book, because a note-book, you know, a note-book can always be lost. i just mention that in case you had any idea of having me searched before my departure.”
-“oh, monsieur rouletabille!”
-“eh, eh, like the way the police do in your country; in mine too, for that matter. yes, that’s often enough seen. the police, furious because they can’t hit a clue in some case that interests them, arrest a reporter who knows more than they do, in order to make him talk. but--nothing of that sort with me, monsieur. you might have me taken to your famous ‘terrible section,’ i’d not open my mouth, not even in the famous rocking-chair, not even under the blows of clenched fists.”
-“monsieur rouletabille, what do you take us for? you are the guest of the tsar.”
-“ah, i have the word of an honest man. very well, i will treat you as an honest man. i will tell you what i have discovered. i don’t wish through any false pride to keep you in darkness about something which may perhaps--i say perhaps--permit you to save the general.”
-“tell me. i am listening.”
-“but it is perfectly understood that once i have told you this you will give me my passport and allow me to depart?”
-“you feel that you couldn’t possibly,” inquired koupriane, more and more troubled, and after a moment of hesitation, “you couldn’t possibly tell me that and yet remain?”
-“no, monsieur. from the moment you place me under the necessity of explaining each of my movements and each of my acts, i prefer to go and leave to you that ‘responsibility’ of which you spoke just now, my dear monsieur koupriane.”
-astonished and disquieted by this long conversation between rouletabille and the head of police, matrena petrovna continually turned upon them her anguished glance, which always insensibly softened as it rested on rouletabille. koupriane read there all the hope that the brave woman had in the young reporter, and he read also in rouletabille’s eye all the extraordinary confidence that the mere boy had in himself. as a last consideration had he not already something in hand in circumstances where all the police of the world had admitted themselves vanquished? koupriane pressed rouletabille’s hand and said just one word to him:
-having saluted the general and matrena affectionately, and a group of friends in one courteous sweep, he departed, with thoughtful brow.
-during all this time the general, enchanted with the promenade, told stories of the caucasus to his friends, believing himself young again and re-living his nights as sub-lieutenant at tills. as to natacha, no one had seen her. they retraced the way to the villa along deserted by-paths. koupriane’s call made occasion for athanase georgevitch and thaddeus, and the two officers also, to say that he was the only honest man in all the russian police, and that matrena petrovna was a great woman to have dared rid herself of the entire clique of agents, who are often more revolutionary than the nihilists themselves. thus they arrived at the datcha.
-the general inquired for natacha, not understanding why she had left him thus during his first venture out. the schwitzar replied that the young mistress had returned to the house and had left again about a quarter of an hour later, taking the way that the party had gone on their promenade, and he had not seen her since.
-boris spoke up:
-“she must have passed on the other side of the carriages while we were behind the trees, general, and not seeing us she has gone on her way, making the round of the island, over as far as the barque.”
-the explanation seemed the most plausible one.
-“has anyone else been here?” demanded matrena, forcing her voice to be calm. rouletabille saw her hand tremble on the handle of the rolling-chair, which she had not quitted for a second during all the promenade, refusing aid from the officers, the friends, and even from rouletabille.
-“first there came the head of police, who told me he would go and find you, barinia, and right after, his excellency the marshal of the court. his excellency will return, although he is very pressed for time, before he takes the train at seven o’clock for krasnoie-coelo.”
-all this had been said in russian, naturally, but matrena translated the words of the schwitzar into french in a low voice for rouletabille, who was near her. the general during this time had taken rouletabille’s hand and pressed it affectionately, as if, in that mute way, to thank him for all the young man had done for them. feodor himself also had confidence, and he was grateful for the freer air that he was being allowed to breathe. it seemed to him that he was emerging from prison. nevertheless, as the promenade had been a little fatiguing, matrena ordered him to go and rest immediately. athanase and thaddeus took their leave. the two officers were already at the end of the garden, talking coldly, and almost confronting one another, like wooden soldiers. without doubt they were arranging the conditions of an encounter to settle their little difference at once.
-the schwitzar gathered the general into his great arms and carried him into the veranda. feodor demanded five minutes’ respite before he was taken upstairs to his chamber. matrena petrovna had a light luncheon brought at his request. in truth, the good woman trembled with impatience and hardly dared move without consulting rouletabille’s face. while the general talked with ermolai, who passed him his tea, rouletabille made a sign to matrena that she understood at once. she joined the young man in the drawing-room.
-“madame,” he said rapidly, in a low voice, “you must go at once to see what has happened there.”
-he pointed to the dining-room.
-it was pitiful to watch her.
-“go, madame, with courage.”
-who'd put out their tongues at you."
-"sons of gentlemen," said janet.
-"one of them spat at me once when i was giving him a music lesson. you couldn't want anything from them. but i could almost have believed that maurie was mine."
-"then why don't you go and see him? take care of him for mrs. priestly till the case is over. he's bound to be in the way. when will it be over?"
-"i don't know."
-"is she likely to win?"
-"i'm afraid not, and i don't believe she minds as long as she's got maurie."
-"what counsel has she?"
-"oh, i don't know. i didn't read the paper."
-"well, why don't you go and take care of him till it's over?"
-"i don't believe she'd like me to."
-"why on earth not? here, let me get at that stove. we're going to have some tea. but why on earth not?"
-"i know she was jealous. maurie used to write her lots of letters about me. she was afraid he was getting to love me. i could see that this afternoon. i could see it so plainly that i told her. i admitted that i'd tried to get him to love me and failed."
-"you did try?"
-"yes; i suppose it was about the meanest thing i've ever done."
-janet laid down the kettle silently on the stove, then came and sat on the arm of sally's chair. one hand she laid on her shoulder, with the other she raised her face.
-"i haven't appreciated you sufficiently, sally," she said in a toneless voice. "you're not the sort that gets appreciation. but, my god! i think you're wonderful. do i keep saying 'god' too much, d'you think?"
-towards the realization of that hope, she seated herself at her desk and wrote to traill.
-"will you come and see me to-morrow afternoon at about half-past four? i will give you some tea. i want to speak to you. please do not think that i am going to begin to pester you with unwelcome attentions. my silence over these two or three months should convince you that i would not worry you like that for anything.
-when she had posted it, she went to bed and slept fitfully till morning. there was no letter waiting her from traill, but an envelope addressed with a scrawled, uneven writing lay in the box. she tore it eagerly open, her heart beating exultantly.
-"dear sally," it read,
-"yours affagintly, "maurie."
-if the tears could have come then; but she laid the letter down on the table, and her eyes were aching and dry. the quaintness of the spelling, the almost complete absence of punctuation. that queer little repetition, of words--"she is she is"--none of these things moved her, even to smile. maurie had said good-bye properly. that, and that he was only just fond of her, was all that reached her understanding. had the letter been from a lover, dashing all her hopes into fragments, she could not have read it more seriously. but one prospect was left her. she never took her eyes from that. the fact that traill had not written did not convey to her mind any fear that he would not come. she knew that he would not needlessly lead her to expect him and disappoint her at the last.
-at four o'clock she had the table laid for tea. the dainty china that she had bought with him when abroad was brought out. the kettle was beginning to sing on the gas stove in the grate. when everything was ready, she tried to sit quietly in a chair, but her eyes kept wandering to the little sevres clock. again and again she rose to her feet, looking out of her window into the street below.
-at last footsteps echoed up the stairs. she caught her breath, and a sound broke in her throat. they came nearer, and she trembled; her hand shook; her whole body was chilled with searching cold. she had not seen him for three months--more. now she began to think that she could not bear it. then the knock fell on the door. a cry was on her lips. she forced it back, turned, holding as naturally as possible to the mantelpiece, and said--
-he entered. he closed the door after him. then she looked around.
-the situation was as strained, as tautened, as is the gut of a snapping fiddle-string. every sound seemed to vibrate in itself. for an instant he stood still, coming forward at last, hand outstretched to relieve the tension.
-"well, how are you, sally?" he asked.
-the random speech, jerked out--any words to break the silence. even he felt it beating on his brain.
-she shook hands with him. for the brief moment he touched her cold fingers in the grip of his; then she withdrew them.
-"let me take your hat," she said.
-he gave it her. watched her as she crossed the room to lay it on the chintz-covered settee, turned then to the fireplace, biting a nail between his teeth.
-"do you know the kettle's boiling?" he forced himself to say.
-"yes; i'm just going to make tea. you'll have some tea?"
-"oh, rather. you promised that."
-he looked up with his old jerk of the head, courting the smile to her lips. she had no smile to give, and a shrug half tossed his shoulders.
-"are you comfortable here?" he asked, as she poured out the boiling water.
-"oh yes. very."
-"god!" he said casually within himself, feeling the weight of the strain. then he struggled for it once more.
-"i'm dining with devenish this evening," he said lightly. "you remember devenish, don't you?"
-"oh yes--i remember him. he came up to see me here a few weeks ago."
-"did he? he's a gay dog," he said lightly. "do you like him?"
-"i haven't thought about it."
-"oh, then you don't. and haven't you seen him since?"
-"no; i've been away."
-"yes; down at cailsham--staying with my mother."
-she handed him his cup of tea. "why were you afraid?" she asked.
-"why? do you think i'd be glad if you were knocked up?"
-he looked up at her, with raised eyebrows, not understanding.
-"i don't suppose you'd be sorry, would you?"
-she said it gently--no strain of bitterness. the emotion which had swept her at first was passed now. all her mind concentrated to the one end.
-"of course i should," he replied. "of course i should be sorry. do you paint me in your mind the little boy dropped in and out of a love affair?"
-"then why say that? of course i should be sorry. because you and i couldn't fit things properly together--"
-"is that how it seems to you now?" she interrupted.
-"well, could we? is it any good going over it all again? did you ever imagine me to be the type of man who would consent to being followed, as you followed me that night? i can't suppose you did; otherwise, would you have tried to hide it from me? but i don't lose any friendly regard for you because of that."
-"you don't object to being here, then?" she asked eagerly.
-"no; certainly not! why should i?"
-"would you come again if nothing of that were ever mentioned any more between us--would you come again?"
-"yes, willingly. now that i see that your intention is to be perfectly reasonable, i would--willingly. why not? i don't see why we should be enemies."
-"no," said sally quickly; "neither do i--neither do i."
-he drank through his tea. one mouthful--they were such tiny cups; but that is the way a man takes his entertainment.
-"have a good time down at cailsham?" he asked presently.
-he felt more at his ease. she was taking it well--so much better than he expected.
-"oh, not very good. i have told you, haven't i, that i don't get on very well with my people."
-"of course; yes. isn't that rather a pity?"
-possibly conscience was plying its spurs. there was some suggestion underlying the quietness of her manner which he found to bring a sense of uneasiness. he would have preferred that she had got on well at cailsham. he would rather that she had taken a fancy to devenish. but she was reasonable--extremely reasonable. he had nothing to grumble at. yet he could not get away from the sense of something that made each word they said drag slowly, unnaturally into utterance. he tried to shake it from him.
-"well, what is it you've got to speak to me about?" he asked in a fresh tone of voice, as if with a jerk they were starting again over lighter ground.
-"won't you wait till you've finished your tea?" she asked.
-"i have finished."
-"no, thanks. do you mind my smoking?"
-she lit a match for him in answer--held it out, waiting while he extracted the cigarette from his case.
-"now tell me," he said, when she had thrown the match away.
-she gazed for a moment in the grate, at the kettle breathing contentedly on the gas stove.
-"i'm lonely," she said, turning to his eyes.
-he met her gaze as well as he could. he knew she was lonely. conscience--conscience that no strength of will could override--had often pricked him on that point. but what was a conscience? he would not have believed himself guilty of the weakness at any other time. he gave no rein to it.
-"but you'll get over that," he said. "you'll get over that."
-"i don't think so."
-"but why not? perhaps you give way to it. find yourself plenty to do. keep yourself moving. you won't be lonely then."
-"i know. but do what?"
-"well," the question faced him. he had to answer it. "well, you're fond of reading, aren't you?"
-"and you've got these rooms to keep straight. a good many women if they thought they'd got to tidy up two rooms every day would grumble at the amount of labour, because it took up so much of their time."
-"yes; but they'd do it."
-"probably they'd have to."
-"and then they wouldn't be lonely."
-"quite so. isn't that what i say?"
-"yes; but don't you forget one thing?"
-"they'd be doing it for some one else. they wouldn't be doing it for themselves. and don't you think they get the impetus to do it from that?"
-she leant forward--no sign of triumph in her face--and watched his eyes. she knew he could not reply to that. he knew it too. he pulled strenuously at his cigarette, then flung it into the empty fireplace.
-"then what is your point?" he asked firmly. he beat around no bushes. that was not the nature of him. this was a difficulty. he faced it. this was the scene she had deftly been leading up to. let her have it out and he would tell her straight, once and for all. "what is your point?" he repeated. "you want me to come back--go through the same business all over again?"
-now he was puzzled. his eyes frowned straight into hers.
-"then what? come along, sally, out with it."
-she turned her head away. he heard the sound in her throat as she began to form the words. but she could not say it. then her hands covered her face, for a moment stayed there; at last she took them away and met the beating gaze of his eyes.
-"if i had a child," she said quickly.
-his forehead creased, line upon line. he took a deep breath and leant back in his chair.
-"what do you mean?" he asked.
-"if i had a child," she repeated, "i shouldn't be lonely then. i should have some one to do all these things for then. i should have something to live for."
-traill stood abruptly to his feet. "you're--you're crazy!" he exclaimed.
-she stood beside him. her hand stretched out nervously, touching his coat.
-"no, no, i'm not. i mean it. can't you see what it would mean to me, here alone, night after night, night after night, no one, absolutely no one but myself."
-he studied her in amazement. "if it were any other woman than you," he said suddenly, "i should think this was a put-up job to compromise me--a cunning, put-up job. but you! it's amazing! i don't understand it. why, you'd brand yourself to the whole world. it'd be a mill stone round your neck, not a child."
-"don't you think i'm branded plainly enough already? what do you think a man like devenish thinks of me?"
-"oh, devenish be damned! there are other men than devenish in the world. men who know nothing; men who'd be ready to marry you."
-"yes, i found one--one who thought me everything--everything till i told him."
-"you told him?"
-"in the name of god, what for? you must be crazy. what the deuce did you want to tell him for?"
-"it was the only fair thing to do," she said quietly.
-"fair? rot! that's chucking your chances away. that's playing the fool! what's he got to do with your life before you met him?" this was flinging the blame at him.
-"would you rather that the woman you were going to marry kept silent, risked your not finding out afterwards? would you think she'd treated you fairly if she said nothing, and you were to discover it when it was too late?"
-he had no answer. he tried to make one. his lips parted; then, in silence, he turned away.
-"it might have made your mind easier," she said quietly, without tone of blame, "but it wouldn't have been fair."
-he twisted back. "there's no need for my mind to be made easier," he said hardly. "i've treated you fairly from the beginning to the end. i warned you in the first instance; i told you to have no truck with me. i sent you away. you came back. i didn't ask you to come back."
-janet's words flashed across sally's memory; the words she had said when they were talking over the bangle: "i don't care what you say about that letter, the letter's nothing! it's the gift that's the thing. that's the song of sex if you like, and whether you return it, or whether you don't, you'll answer it, as he means you to."
-it was on the edge of her mind to repeat them then to him, but she refrained. it was better then, at that moment, to let him think that he had no cause to blame himself.
-"no, my mind's perfectly easy," he added. "thank god, i don't pose for a paragon; i've got the beast in me all right, but i've treated you square--absolutely square."
-her fingers clutched. to win her desires she must let him think so. and perhaps he had treated her square; she supposed he had.
-"then help me not to be lonely now," she begged. she could see the wave of repulsion beat across his face, but even that did not deter her. "oh, i don't mean that you should come back and live with me," she went on. "it isn't for that. you can't--you surely can't hate me as much as all that." it was not in her knowledge to realize that he must love her, greater than he had ever loved, if she were to win. to the woman needing the child it is the child alone; to the man, the child is only the child when it is his.
-"i don't hate you," he said. he picked up his hat from the settee, and her heart dropped to a leaden weight. "you seem to harp on that. but what you ask, you surely must realize is frankly impossible. i don't wish to be responsible for a child."
-"you needn't be responsible," she said eagerly. "you need never see it. you've been generous enough to me in what you've given me. i shan't ask for a penny more--i shan't use the child to extract money from you. you'll never hear from me again. after all, you have loved me," she said piteously. "you did love me once."
-he turned angrily away. "my god!" he exclaimed. "you talk as if you were out of your mind! if i did have a child, i should want to see it. i shouldn't want to be ashamed of it; i shouldn't want to disown it, as you'd have me do."
-"well, then, you might see it as often as you wished."
-he strode to the door. she must have it now. he had meant to say nothing, wishing to save her feelings; but she must have it now.
-"then i'm engaged to be married," he said firmly. "do you see now that it's impossible?"
-she dropped into a chair, staring strangely at his face.
-"you--married?" she whispered.
-"yes; and i've no desire to have things cropping up in my life afterwards, just in the way that this mrs. priestly in the divorce courts--"
-sally struggled to her feet.
-"yes; what about her? do you know her?"
-"what do you know about her?" she asked.
-"i'm counsel for her husband."
-"you're cross-examining her?"
-straight through her mind leapt that scene in the divorce court when she had witnessed his attack upon the miserable woman whom the law had placed out for his feet to trample on.
-"yes," he replied. "what do you know about her?"
-she sank back into her chair saying nothing.
-"you won't say?"
-she shook her head.
-sally raised her head. her eyes were burning--her lips were drawn to a thin colourless line.
-"you--who never were going to marry!" she shouted. "you who didn't believe in it--who wouldn't fetter yourself with it! oh, go! go!"
-that same evening there might have been seen two men seated opposite to each other at a small table in the corner of the grill-room of a well-known restaurant. throughout the beginning of the meal, they laughed and talked amiably to each other. no one took particular notice of them. the waiter, attendant upon their table, leant against a marble pillar some little distance away and surreptitiously cleaned his nails with the corner of a menu-card. a band played on a raised platform in some other part of the room. from where they sat, they could see the conductor leading his orchestra with the swaying of his violin. he tossed his hair into artistic disorder with the violent intensity of feeling as he played, and his fingers, strained out till the tendons between them were stretched like the strings upon which they moved, felt for the harmonics--shrill notes that pierced through the sounds of all the other instruments.
-in the midst of the rattling of plates, the coming and going, the buzz of conversation, these two men chatted good-naturedly over their meal. at its conclusion, they ordered coffee, cigars and liqueurs, and leant back comfortably in their chairs. hundreds of others there, were doing precisely the same as they--thousands of others in all the restaurants in london. there was nothing remarkable about their faces, their dress or their manner until one of them suddenly leant forward across the table, and his expression, from genial amusement, leapt in sudden changes from the amazement of surprise to the fierceness of contempt and anger. some exclamation in the force of the moment probably left his lips, for a woman at a table near by turned in her chair and gazed at them with unconcealed curiosity. she kept strained in that position as he brought down his fist on the table. she could see his fingers gripping the cloth. then the other man put out his hand with a gesture of restraint.
-from that they talked on excitedly--one or them driving his questions to the tardy replies of the other. here and there in their speech the name of god ripped out, and the waiter, placing the card back on one of the empty tables, stood more alert, listening.
-their cigars burnt low, their coffee was drained; yet still they continued, voices pitched now on a lower key, but none the less intense, none the less spurred with vital interest. the man apparently most concerned had ceased from the urging of his questions. his elbows were resting on the table, his face was in his hands. now and again he nodded in understanding, now and again he ejaculated some remark, pressing his companion to the full measure of what he had to say. obviously it was a story--the relation of some incident, reluctantly dragged from the one by the persistent, unyielding demands of the other.
-the woman at the near table put up her hand to her ear, shutting off the conversation of those with her, striving to catch a word here and there in the endeavour to piece it together. it was about some woman. she--was continually being alluded to. she--had done this--at a later date she had done that. gathering as little as she did, the woman who listened was still strangely fascinated to curiosity.
-then at last a whole sentence reached her ears in a sudden hush of sound.
-the man took his elbows from the table, as if the climax of the story had been reached.
-"i know!" he said excitedly; "i know--the type of woman who never breaks a commandment because she daren't, yet never earns a beatitude because she can't; but, my god, if this isn't true--"
-then the other began his reply--
-"my dear fellow--should i come and--"
-she heard no more. a renewed deafening clatter of plates from the grill drowned the remainder of his sentence.
-"pay at the desk, please, sir," said the waiter obsequiously.
-he half followed them down the room. they had forgotten to tip him. it was quite obvious that they forgot. yet his face was a study in the mingling of disappointment and contempt. he stood there looking after them; then he chucked up his head in disgust, and catching the eye of some distant waiter, he made a sign of a nought with his fingers, and looked up at the ceiling.
-as they passed the woman's table, she heard one of them say--
-"there's not a straight woman in the whole of that damned set--not one!" then they passed out of hearing.
-"i think it's a marvellous thing," said the woman when they had gone, "to think of the thousands of exciting tragedies, romances, crimes perhaps, that are being acted out to their ends all round one, and except for a stray little bit of conversation like that, one would never realize it. i remember hearing a woman in a crowd say something to a man in the most awful voice, full of horror, that i've ever heard. i just caught her saying, 'if he finds it out to-night, either i'll kill myself or he'll do it for me,' and then they got out of the crowd, called a hansom and drove away. positively, i didn't sleep that night, wondering if he had found it out, wondering if he had killed her, wondering if hundreds of other people had found out hundreds of other horrible things. but it all went in the morning. cissy had a terrible toothache, and i had to take her to the dentist's."
-it was nine o'clock in the evening of the same day on which traill had been to see sally. the lights were burning in her room as janet approached the street door. opening it, she walked along the passage and began the ascent of stairs. halfway up the first flight she stopped. the voices of two men, talking rather excitedly, came up to her from the street as if they were nearing the house. another moment and she heard one bidding the other good night in the passage. evidently he was coming in. she walked on up the flight of stairs. his footsteps sounded behind her. she took but little more notice of the fact until, when she stopped before sally's door, he stopped behind her. then she turned round. her eyes opened a little wider. she began to say one thing; then she changed her mind and said another.
-"aren't you mr. traill?" she asked.
-he looked at her more closely in the dim light from the landing window.
-"yes; how did you know?"
-"i'm miss hallard."
-"oh, oh yes! you're sally's friend."
-"'bout the only one she has." said janet. there was no flinching in her eyes from his.
-"you mean that for me?"
-"would it surprise you to hear me say i deserve it?"
-"yes, considerably. isn't it a pity you didn't realize that a bit sooner?"
-"well, we must all have disagreeable times in our lives," he said rigidly. "sally's had hers, but i guess it's over now. i fancy i've just come from school and learnt my lesson."
-"what do you mean?"
-"do you expect me to answer that to you?"
-here, in the first moment, they came to their antagonism, as janet had always realized they would.
-"no, i don't expect it in the least" she replied.
-"well, if you're going in--?"
-"yes, i'm going in." she opened the door and entered the sitting-room. all the lights were burning. sally's hat lay untidily on the table.
-"one moment," said traill.
-janet turned round.
-"i should be glad if you'd allow me to see sally alone as soon as possible. i want to talk to her. i've got a lot to say."
-"i'll go now," she replied.
-"no, oh no, see her first. she's probably been expecting you. didn't she send for you this afternoon, some time after five o'clock--eh?"
-"no, i haven't seen her since yesterday. i'll just knock at her door. sally!" she called the name gently and knocked. traill walked to the mantelpiece. there was no answer.
-"she must be in," he said, "there's her hat."
-janet knocked again. there was no reply. she turned round.
-"i wonder can she have gone to bed and be asleep? she looked terribly tired when i saw her yesterday."
-she knocked again and tried the door; then bent down and examined the keyhole. the key was inside, and a light was burning in the room. janet stood up suddenly. her lips were shaking; her cheeks were white.
-"mr. traill," she said in a hollow voice, but raising it as though he were some distance away. "this door's locked from the inside, and there's a light in the room."
-he took it quite casually. "better let me try it," he said. "it can't be locked from the inside unless she's there."
-janet stood aside, trembling, as he tried the handle. then he, too, bent down and examined the keyhole.
-"good god! you're right!" he said thickly.
-janet's eyes roamed feverishly from his face to the door. when he stood back and called out sally's name, her senses sharpened to a quivering point to catch the slightest sound of a reply. she must be inside--she must be inside! then why didn't she answer? why? she recalled sally's face as she had last seen it, white, drawn, the eyes hollow, the lips but faintly tinged with pink. now it was in that room, the face that she had lifted and kissed before she had said how wonderful she was. but what was it looking like now? what was it looking like now, alone in that awful silence?
-traill strode back into the room.
-"what are you going to do?" asked janet. "something's got to be done! what are you going to do?"
-"break down the door," was his answer.
-he searched in the fireplace. he searched round the room.
-"take that chair! take that chair!" cried janet.
-he picked it up by its heavy arms, stood back and then charged the door. there was a shuddering noise, a splintering sound of wood giving. then it was all quiet again.
-he got ready to do it again.
-"wait!" said janet. in a quivering voice she called sally's name again.
-there was no reply.
-"do it now!" she said, almost incoherently. "do it now! i believe one of the panels is giving."
-he charged it once more, and then again.
-"the panel's giving," said janet.
-he flung down the chair from his shoulders. the panel had splintered from its joining at the bottom. he could just push it forward a little, making a slight aperture.
-"get the poker!" he said firmly.
-she ran obediently and brought it to him. he prized it into the gap, levered it forward until there was room for his fingers to squeeze through; then he thrust them in and used the strength of his arm, an additional lever, to push an opening down towards the key inside.
-"mind your arm," said janet; "you're tearing the skin."
-he made no reply--forced his hand still further through the gap until the splinters of wood were cutting into the flesh and the blood was dripping down in red blotches on the white paint of the door. she glanced at his face. it was grey. the pupils of his eyes were large with fear. his breath was hunting through his nostrils as he strained to reach the key.
-"now i've got it," he whispered. "prize that open with the poker as far as you can or i'll never get my hand back."
-she leant all her fragile weight against it, aided with the strength of maddening fear. her ears were strained for the sound in the lock. when she heard the bolt click, she gasped and pressed forward again with redoubled vigour as he slowly drew out his lacerated hand from the crevice.
-then they both stood upright. together they both drew a deep breath as traill turned the handle and opened the door. a physical sickness made them weak. janet half tumbled, half ran into the room. the length of traill's strides brought him even with her.
-sally was there. sally was in the room. she lay crumpled on the bed, her legs drawn up, twisted, bent; one arm thrown out covering her face, her other hand gripping a corner of the bed-clothes, stretching out from her in tautened creases. she looked as though some giant hand had knotted her fragile body with fingers of iron.
-with a cry, janet bent over the bed. at her feet, traill picked up a little bottle, hurriedly read the label, and blindly put it in his pocket.
-"uncover her face," he whispered; "take her arm away from her face--she's choking herself."
-"choking herself!" janet gently bent the arm back. every feature was twisted in the same grip, the lips caught in the same iron fingers and dragged in her suffering, baring the teeth--the whole expression of her face was as though she had died, emitting one last scream of unbearable agony. "look! choking herself? she's dead!"
-"sally's had her bad time," said janet, hoarsely, "and, my god, it's over now!"
-printed by william clowes and sons, limited, london and beccles.
-messrs. chapman & hall's 2/- net library of popular novels.
-works by arnold bennett, author of "the old wives' tale," etc. helen with the high hand. the glimpse: an adventure of the soul.
-by w.h. mallock, author of "the individualist," etc. a human document.
-works by ridgwell cullum, author of "the watchers of the plains," etc. the night riders. the hound from the north. the sheriff of dyke hole.
-london: chapman & hall, limited.
-skookum chuck fables
-bits of history, through the microscope
-author of "songs of a sick tum tum," and some others
-copyright, canada, 1915, by r.d. cumming
-it is more difficult to sell a good book by a new author than it is to sell a poor one by a popular author, because the good book by the new author must make its way against great odds. it must assert itself personally, and succeed by its own efforts. the book by the popular author flies without wings, as it were. the one by the well-known author has a valuable asset in its creator; the one by the new author has no asset but its own merits.
-i am not contending by the above that this is a good book; far from it. some books, however, having very little literary recommendation, may be interesting in other ways.
-there are several things instrumental in making for the success of a book: first, the fame of the author; second, the originality of the theme or style; third, the extent of the advertising scheme, and fourth, the proximity of the subject matter to the heart and home of the reader; and this last is the reason for the "skookum chuck fables."
-if the following stories are not literature, they are spiced with familiar local sounds and sights, and they come very close to every family fireside in british columbia. for this reason i hope to see a copy in every home in the province.
-bits of history:
-of the rolling stone
-once upon a time in a small village in bruce county, province of ontario, dominion of canada, there lived a man who was destined to establish a precedent. he was to prove to the world that a rolling stone is capable at times of gathering as much moss as a stationary one, and how it is possible for the rock with st. vitus dance to become more coated than the one that is confined to perpetual isolation. like most iconoclasts he was of humble birth, and had no foundation upon which to rest the cornerstone of his castle, which was becoming too heavy for his brain to support much longer.
-his strong suit was his itinerate susceptibility; but his main anchorage was his better five-fifths. one of his most monotonous arguments was to the effect that the strenuousness of life could only be equalled by the monotony of it, and that it was a pity we had to do so much in this world to get so little out of it.
-"why should a man be anchored to one spot of the geographical distribution like a barnacle to a ship during the whole of his mortal belligerency?" he one day asked his wife. "we hear nothing, see nothing, become nothing, and our system becomes fossilized, antediluvian. why not see everything, know everything? life is hardly worth while, but since we are here we may as well feed from the choicest fruits, and try for the first prizes."
-now, his wife was one of those happy, contented, sweet, make-the-best-of-it-cheerily persons who never complained even under the most trying circumstances. it is much to the detriment of society that the variety is not more numerous, but we are not here to criticise the laws that govern the human nature of the ladies. this lady was as far remote from her husband in temperament as venus is from neptune. he was darkness, she was daylight; and the patience with which she tolerated him in his dark moods was beautiful though tragic. it was plain that she loved him, for what else in a woman could overlook such darkness in a man?
-"you see," he would say, "it is like this. here i am slaving away for about seventy-five dollars per month, year in and year out. all i get is my food and clothing--and yours, of course, which is as much necessary, but is more or less of a white man's burden. no sooner do i get a dollar in my hand than it has to be passed along to the butcher, baker, grocer, dressmaker, milliner. are our efforts worth while when we have no immediate prospects of improvement? and then the monotony of the game: eat, sleep, work; eat, sleep, work. and the environs are as monotonous as the occupations. i think man was made for something more, although a very small percentage are ever so fortunate as to get it. now, i can make a mere living by roaming about from place to place as well as i can by sitting down glued to this spot that i hate, and then i will have the chance of falling into something that is a great deal better, and have an opportunity to see something, hear something, learn something. here i am dying by inches, unwept, unhonoured and unsung."
-to be "blue" was his normal condition. his sky was always cloudy, and with this was mingled a disposition of weariness which turned him with disgust from all familiar objects. with him "familiarity bred contempt." one day when his psychological temperament was somewhat below normal the pent up thunder in him exploded and the lightning was terrible:
-"here i am rooted to one spot," he said, "fossilized, stagnant, wasting away, dead to the whole world except this one little acre. and what is there here? streets, buildings, trees, fences, hills, water. nothing out of the ordinary; and so familiar, they have become hateful. why, everything in the environment breeds weariness, monotony, a painfully disgusting sameness. the same things morning, noon and night, year after year. why, the very names of the people here give me nervous prostration. just think--cummings, huston, sanson, austin, ward, mcabee, hobson, bailey, smith, black, brown, white--bah! the sound of them is like rumors of a plague. i want to flee from them. i want to hear new names ringing in my ears. and i hate the faces no less than i do the names. i would rather live on a prairie where you expect nothing; and get it--anything so long as it is new."
-now, that which is hereditary with the flesh cannot be a crime. the victim is more to be pitied in his ancestral misfortune, and the monkey from which our hero sprang must have been somewhat cosmopolitan.
-of course his wife had heard such outbreaks of insanity from him before, so she only laughed, thinking to humor him back to earth again with her love and smiles.
-"conditions are not so bad in bruce county as you paint them," she said, "and if you do not go about sniffing the air you will not find so many obnoxious perfumes. why, i love the locality; and i like the people. and i like you, and my home; and i am perfectly satisfied with everything. things might be a great deal worse. you should have no complaint to make. you have a steady situation, a good master, a beautiful home, plenty to eat--and then you have me," she exclaimed, as though her presence should atone for all else in the world that he did not have. and perhaps a treasure of this kind should have been a valuable asset, and an antidote against all mere mundane cares.
-"bah! don't mention lake to me. i hate the sight of it. i have seen it too long. it is too familiar. it is an eyesore to me. i am weary of it all. i want a rest. here comes brown now. let me hide in the cellar. it would be hypocrisy to remain here and smile welcome to him when i hate the sight of his physiognomy and detest the sound of his name. no, he has gone by. he does not intend to call. thank heaven. five minutes of his society would be equal to ten years in purgatory. new sights, new scenes, new voices, new faces; all these are recreation to a mentally weary constitution."
-"i would consider it a crime to leave this beauty spot," said his wife, "and it is a sin against heaven to decry it."
-"then i am a sinner and a criminal," said the hereditary crank, "because i hate it and am going to leave. i will take fifty dollars and go, and if i do not return with fifty thousand i will eat myself. i have said all there is to say. those dull, uninteresting faces give me the nighthorse. i am going to-morrow. of course you remain, because it is more expensive to travel double than single," he snorted, "and i have not the plunks."
-he embarked into the big world a few days later with his wife's warm kiss burning his lips--faithful even in his unfaithfulness. she was cheerful for some time, thinking that he would return, but the magnetism which attracted him to the woman whom he had picked from among the swarming millions was of very inferior voltage.
-he wandered about canada and the united states for about two years. he had many ups and downs. on the average he made enough to induce his soul to remain in his body in anticipation of something better. to do him justice he remitted all odd coin to his wife in bruce county, and he wrote saying he was perfectly happy in his new life. he awoke one morning and found himself in the "best" hotel, ashcroft, british columbia, dominion of canada, and the first thing he saw was the sand-hill. he thought ashcroft was the most desolate looking spot he had ever seen. it looked like a town that had been located in a hurry and had been planted by mistake on the wrong site.
-he fell in with a bruce county fellow there who was running a general store, and they became very friendly. he secured employment from this friend, who proved to be a philanthropist.
-"i have a proposition to make to you," the friend said one day.
-"what is it?" asked the iconoclast.
-"buy me out," said the philanthropist. "i have all the money i can carry. when the rainy day comes i will be well in out of the drip, and my tombstone will be 'next best' in the cemetery."
-"but i have no bank balance," said the aspirant eagerly. "i have no debentures of any kind; i have not even pin money."
-"bonds are unnecessary," said the friend. "besides, when i sell you this stock and building you will have an asset in the property. i will sell outright, take a mortgage for the balance, which you will disburse at the rate of five hundred dollars per year. you can do it and make money at the same time. you will kill two birds with half a stone. why, in twenty years' time rockefeller will be asking you to endorse his notes."
-the sale was made and the hero jumped into a store on railway avenue without a seed or cell, and in a short time the moss began to grow so thick upon him that he had all the sharks in b.c. asking him for a coating. and then he wrote for his wife, whom he missed for the first time. the letter ran thus:
-"ultima thule, b.c., march 1st. 1915.
-"my dear wife:
-"you will see by the heading of this letter that fortune has cast me off at ashcroft, and i must congratulate myself for initiating that rolling stone 'stunt.' i have stumbled upon the richest mine in b.c. the gold is sticking out of it in chunks. the auto that you will play when you arrive will be a 'hum dinger' and no mistake. i am enclosing my cheque for $500. buy out tim eaton and bring your dear self here, for i am lonely without you.
-"your hitherto demented husband."
-she read it fifty times, placed it next her heart and pranced about like a five-year-old. "now, just where is ashcroft?" she soliloquized. none of the bruce county aborigines seemed to know, so she consulted a world map, and she found it growing like a parasite to the canadian pacific railway away in among the mountains of british columbia.
-but this was nothing. she would have risked a journey over the atlantic in an aeroplane if it were a means of uniting her with the man who was the only masculine human in existence so far as she was concerned--the man whom she had singled out and adopted from among the millions of his kind. when they met the union was pathetic, but it was lovely. to make a woman happy, who loves you like this, should be the consummation of a man's domestic ambitions.
-it was pointed out to him afterwards that, after all, the moss did not begin to grow until he had settled down in ashcroft. so he lost his knighthood as an iconoclast.
-of cultus johnny
-it will always remain a mystery why one indian should be more voluptuous, or gather more icties about him than another, when none of them have any visible assets from which to derive an income. unless it be that the more voluptuous indian works every day of his weary, aimless life, spends nothing, and hoards the residual balance like a miser, lives on the old man before marriage, and on his klootchman after, we are unable to arrive at a solution. no one knew by what means johnny had acquired all his wealth. perhaps he had bought all his luxuries on jaw-bone from one store while he paid cash for his muck-a-muck in another. there is one thing certain, the honest indian is always the poorest, and in these days of the high cost of beans and bacon and rice, he has to be poorer to be more honest. now it came to pass that one day johnny balanced his saddle, horse, quirt and stetson hat with peter's nothing and argued that all the weight was in his own favor. the keeka (girl) had made a mistake. and to a man who measured everything by worldly icties this was sound argument, for the only big thing about peter was his avoirdupois--barring his heart, of course. in the heat of his argument johnny determined to deprive peter of his sacred property. and among the indians this is not nearly so hazardous or hopeless or criminal an undertaking as it may seem through an anglo-saxon microscope. although a wife is considerable of an asset to a white man, she is not so to an indian; and it may be to his advantage that he is more or less philosophical about it. the cultus indian was at lillooet when this skookum tumtum (good thought) occurred to him. he was cutting fire-wood with some of the statlemulth (lillooet indians) in an effort to heal the wound in his left chest which had been left gaping since his recent defeat in battle. he went back to spence's bridge as fast as his seventy-five dollar cayuse, his sixty dollar saddle, his five dollar bridle and his two and a half quirt could carry him, and presented himself to his kith and kin. the old man gave him a warm hand-shake. they killed some fatted chickens and had the biggest time that the rancherie had ever known. peter and his schmamch (wife) were there and old acquaintances were renewed. johnny's strong suit with his ancient flame was his personal icties; and when peter was otherwise engaged he asked the girl to elope with him to kamloops or lillooet. the next day was sunday and peter was going out with others on a cayuse hunt which had been planned some time before. he invited johnny because it would not be safe to leave him in possession of the fort, and in charge of such a valuable, though fickle, asset; for a great number of the indian women are fickle.
-but cultus johnny declined the invitation. he was tired, and wanted to rest. besides, he had a bridle to finish which he was plaiting from the leather cut from the legs of an old pair of cow-boy boots which he had found; it would be worth ten dollars when finished. in spite of his good intentions johnny spent the whole day in idleness at the home of mrs. peter; and, as it is no insult among the indians for a buck to propose an elopement with his neighbor's wife, because it is a very common business transaction among them, johnny again suggested the escapade. the woman only laughed and seemed to enjoy the flirtation. but she would neither consent nor refuse. hias peter did not return that evening, and the next day johnny was at the works with greater cannonading, and with more skookum tumtum than ever, and this time he was braver. he was just on the point of putting his arm around the keeka's waist when the door opened and peter darkened the opening. they looked at one another for a few moments like two panthers about to spring at each other's throats. hias peter had a hias gun, and he raised it to his shoulder and glanced in a very savage and threatening way along the barrel toward cultus johnny's heart. johnny dropped to the floor and begged for mercy. now it requires some courage to shoot a fellow-being down in cold blood, although the punishment may be well deserved, so peter lowered his rifle.
-"klatawa!" (go!) he commanded. "hiak!" (quick!) he shouted. johnny crawled on his hands and knees towards the door, and as he was creeping over the threshold peter gave him one awful kick that sent him rolling on the ground outside. and turning to the woman: "fooled!" he roared. "i will shoot you down like a coyote next time," he said. as the indian is a man of few words, he drew himself up to his hias (large) size in front of her. but the woman pleaded that she was not to blame. johnny had persisted in his attentions to her, and she could not drive him off. "if you want to get rid of him, shoot him," said peter.
-now, among the indians, when you covet your neighbor's wife, or have been too familiar with her, and you are caught with the goods, you do not fly into a far country for fear of your life. you still hang around, and the worst you can get is perhaps a pounding from the jealous neighbor; and the sweet environment is worth the risk.
-johnny's skookum tumtum was somewhat out of commission for a while. when he met mrs. peter on the street after that they grinned at each other a few times without speaking; and by and by, when they thought peter was out of sight, they would stop and talk for a while. he asked her again to fly to kamloops with him, and she seemed to be swinging on the balance. johnny dwelt upon his worldly assets--his saddle, his bridle, and all his skookum icties. peter soon realized that his wife was eating at his table and living in another man's tumtum, but he kept on chewing his beans and bacon and dried soquas (salmon) in silence, and, but for the intervention of providence, peter might have followed in the footsteps of paul spintlum.
-mrs. peter looked across the river and sighed.
-mr. peter looked across the river and gave a grunt in his own language.
-a million tons of earth were holding down cultus johnny.
-of the booby man
-once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a "gink" who was very much wrapped up in himself. at a local social function he took the prize one day for being the most unpopular man in the community; and this caused him to sit up nights, and study himself as others saw him flitting across his unattractive and uneventful stage. the winning of this prize spoke to him with greater accent than could the exploding of a sixteen-inch german gun, and it sent a quiver through his entire avoirdupois. it was not only an appalling revelation to him to know that he was unpopular, but it was a disgrace to his pedigree right back to the days of samuel de champlain, so he began to paw the bunch grass and seek revenge. first he dug among the archives of history for a solution. there must be some reason for this disgraceful blur on his life pages. why was he the most unpopular man on these sand downs? why was he an outcast? why was he the job of ashcroft society? now, just why was he unpopular? had he boils, like job? was he an undesirable citizen? was he a german, or an austrian, or a turk? was he inflicted with some loathsome disease? was he a plague? had some false reputation preceded him into the community? had he a cantankerous disposition? was he repulsive in appearance? was he mean, stingy? was he stupid, ignorant, uneducated, brainless? no, personally he could not plead guilty of acquaintance with any of the above disqualifications. among the archives of his past ashcroft history he found some tell-tale manuscripts, the contents of which had never appealed to him until after the booby prize episode. in plain english, he found written facts which were as bold as the violation of belgian neutrality. incidents which had seemed very commonplace and unworthy of notice before, now loomed up on those pages and presented themselves to him as giants of the utmost importance. for instance, in looking up the records connected with the forming of the ashcroft rinks he found that he had not been consulted in the matter. his name was missing from that interesting page of ashcroft history. however, when the time arrived for the forming of a company to finance the erection of the building, great interest was taken in his bank account, and the promoters knocked very early one morning at his door seeking endorsement to purchase shares in the joint stock company which was about to be born. at the meeting for the election of directors to take charge of the affairs of the company he was again surrounded by the same zero atmosphere. he was not even nominated as a prospective member. his name had never been suggested. he was never consulted when anything serious was the point of debate. it had not occurred to him to become incensed at this frigid zone attitude on the part of his associates. he had not been expecting any handout, so he was not disappointed. he had been too much absorbed in his own personal affairs, too much wrapped up in himself, and could detect no grounds for offence. at the annual election of officers for the curlers, although a member for ten years, it had never occurred to any in the association to suggest his name as a probable pillar for the upholding of the business portion of the club. again his presence was not suspected, and he may as well have been in iceland. although present incarnate, he was to all intent and purpose only in the invisible spirit.
-"i have it!" he shouted one day. "if one wishes to make a puncture in the affairs of this world one must assert himself; one must smite the table top with one's fist every morning before breakfast. one must assume such an atmosphere that the whole community will be cognizant of one's presence, to-day, to-morrow, and all the time. one must assert one's personality. i have been asleep, stagnant, dormant, an egyptian mummy. i have allowed others to take the cream while i have been passively contented with the whey. i have allowed others to elbow me to one side like a log languishing in the eddy of a river. henceforth i will be in the centre of the stream. i will rush down with the torrent and be "it" in the ashcroft "smart set" illumination.
-"there will be no public works in future that does not bear my signature. in a word, i will assert myself, lock, stock and barrel."
-so he hit out upon a new highway with the determination to be popular. he neglected his own stamp-mill that the work might be carried out to a successful issue. he engaged others to take charge of the tail race and dump, with which he would not trust his brother on previous occasions. in fact, he left the steam of the mill at high pressure to look after itself that he might have an unhampered course in the asserting of himself. he invaded immediately all the dances, carnivals, dinners and parties. he was both liberal and conservative in politics. he was the "guy" with the "big mitt" and the vociferous vocabulary at all the local functions. he even joined the church. he tumbled into popularity as quickly as the kaiser tumbled into the european war; and he elbowed his way into the run-way for all offices. previously bright stars were dimmed by the brilliancy of his superior luminosity. he became a parasite at the local stores and clubs, and was a wart on the grocer's counter. he became a whirlwind of popularity. he was as much in the advance as he had before been in the rear, and, if there was any german trench to take, he was always first to jump into it. he had the big voice in every local eruption. every time he batted he made a home run. he even made initiative suggestions for schemes which were more or less amalgamated with reason and insanity. it is said that he was first at the dances, and first in the hearts of the ladies. it is certain he was the first to invent the sewerage system idea; and the patents were applied for before the final endorsements had been secured.
-so things went on and he became the most talked of man in the town. when any difficulty arose he was the first to be consulted. the town found it necessary to come to him for information on every local scheme that had its birth in the local cerebrum, for no one else was capable of handling any emergency and carrying it through to a successful conclusion.
-just about this time the sewerage epidemic took possession of the town, and became an insane contagion. meetings were held at various places to discuss the matter, and at last the government agent allowed the court house to be used gratis for that purpose. of course our hero and two other victims were appointed commissioners to investigate. his salary was the same as he received from his various secretaryships.
-it was proposed to mortgage the town for forty years to the provincial government for its endorsement to local bonds, and the commissioners were empowered to have the alleys and necessary places surveyed with a view to ascertaining the magnitude of the undertaking, and the amount of the collateral which it would be necessary to raise in england, upon the endorsed bonds, to push the work through to a successful conclusion. the victims set to work with full knowledge of the stupendous responsibility which had been slung, yoke-like, across their shoulders. surveyors were engaged, and an expert calculator was summoned to give an estimate of the cost of such an undertaking. the estimate was placed at $75,000.00. this enlightenment gave the community a volcanic eruption; an epidemic of "cold feet" took possession of them, and they retired to warm these extremities at their respective air-tight heaters. in the meantime the commissioners had guaranteed payment to the experts whom they had engaged, and their personal notes were urgently requested. the expenses which they had incurred amounted to about five hundred dollars. when the vouchers were hawked about town for endorsements they received the "high ball," and the victims found it necessary to "make good" from their personal rainy day deposits. the unpopular man took a sly glance back at the ancient happy hunting-grounds antedating his booby prize days.
-it was just about this time that an agent of the independent trust company drifted into town "incidentally," and became acquainted with the boys. he made it known in a sort of casual way that he was disposing of shares in the said company, which were valued at more than they were worth--that is, were worth more than their valuation. to keep up the "bluff" the unpopular man bought a thousand "plunks" worth of shares.
-"now," said the shark, "since you have shown so much confidence in my company by purchasing shares, you can prove your patriotism more fully by placing a substantial deposit with the independent trust. this will help maintain the company on solid footing, and ensure you higher dividends on your stock. i will give you my personal guarantee that your money will be safer, and more productive than it would be in the bank."
-the "boob" seized the bait like a trout in the bonaparte, and made a deposit of five thousand dollars. shortly afterwards the company went into liquidation, and his six thousand dollars sailed away with the worthless liquid into the sea of oblivion.
-about this same time, when his popularity was at its zenith, and was rivalling that of dr. cook, the fake discoverer of the north pole, another shark came down with the rain selling the most marvellous money-making scheme ever offered to the public of british columbia. this was x.y.z. fire insurance shares, which he was disposing of at a great sacrifice.
-"let me sell you some shares in the only 'real thing' that has been offered to the public since the flood," he tempted.
-the victim was so much under the shark's influence that he was hypnotized.
-"certainly," he said. "write me down for five hundred 'doughbaby's' worth."
-"you mean a thousand," said the shark.
-"no," said the "gink," timidly, "i have only five hundred in my sock; that will be as much as my pack will carry."
-"exactly; that is just right. you see, you are buying a thousand dollars worth of goods with only five hundred dollars worth of cash. the shares are fifty dollars each, with a cash payment of twenty-five dollars, and the balance subject to call. this balance will never be called for, because on no occasion has an insurance company been known to call in its balance of subscribed stock; and the x.y.z. is not going to establish a precedent in this respect. you will have twenty shares for five hundred dollars. in other words, you will draw interest on one thousand dollars, and only have five hundred invested. was ever a business so philanthropic in its foundation?"
-our hero grabbed the bait like a pure-bred sucker, and handed out his last asset.
-a few weeks later the company was in the hands of receivers with all its assets vaporized. the popular man found himself on the "rocks." being popular for a short time had proved a very expensive expedition for him. the retreat rivalled that of the kaiser's retreat from paris. it was so sudden that the town heard the thud and felt the jar. the unpopular man realized that it is wiser to remain in one's natural element even if it is necessary to sacrifice many of the first prizes. perhaps it is better to go after the prizes for which we are qualified, than to aspire to elevations which we are unable to hold intelligently.
-the unpopular man backed himself up into his burrow, and for a time the silence around town was embarrassing.
-of hard times hance
-once upon a time on the foothills in the environs of clinton, lillooet district, province of british columbia, there lived a "mossback" who was as happy as the 22nd day of june is long in each year. at initiative conclusions he would be classified with the freak species of humanity, but beneath his raw exterior there lurked rich mines which the moss kept a secret from the inquisitive, avaricious world.
-he owned and operated an extensive ranch from which he encouraged enough vegetation to feed himself, his pigs, his horses, his cattle, his chickens, and his dog; and this, apparently, was all they derived from the great, green earth. but the asset side of our "mossback's" yearly balance sheet always made the liability side ashamed of itself. the asset increased annually, and the hidden treasure grew to alarming proportions. this growth was carefully salted away at the appropriate salting-down season, when the pork barrels were brought out of the dark cellars, dusted, scrubbed, and refilled with the carcasses of those animals which had been his companions for the greater part of a year. he was a standing joke with the "hands" on the ranch, for he was the most dilapidated of the whole gang, although the owner, and was reputed to be wealthy.
-but he was a man with a purpose in life, and that was more than a great many could say. he was chronically eccentric. when he first located on the homestead which had since become so valuable an asset, he had determined to live with one purpose in view, and that was to expand financially with the toil of his hands and the sweat of his brow, and then, when he had acquired sufficient sinking fund, to emerge suddenly into the limelight of society and shine like a newly polished gem. so he wandered up and down the trail which his own feet and the feet of his cayuse had worn through the woods, up the creek, along the face of the mountains, and away down to the limy waters of the fraser on the other side of the perpetual snows.
-there was a fascination for him on this old trail; it had become as part of his life, of his very soul. sometimes he would be rounding up cattle. sometimes he would be hunting mowich (deer), or driving off the coyotes. all his plans and schemes were built on trail foundation. he could not think unless he was tramping the trail through the woods, and down the valleys. here is where all his castles were constructed; and, from the trail observatory, he saw his new life spring into being, when the time would be ripe.
-in time the coin grew so bulky that it became a burden to him. it had grown very cumbersome. he might at any time resurrect himself into that new world of his, but there was no occasion for haste; he was very happy and contented; besides, it would mean leaving the old trail and things. he had his balance banked in a strong box which he buried in a hole under his bed, and the fear grew upon him that some mercenary might discover its lurking-place and relieve him of the burden of responsibility. this was the only skeleton which lurked in the man's closet. it was the only cloud in his sky; the rest of the zenith was sunshine and gladness. to the neighbors and itineraries he had been preaching hard times for twenty years, although the whole earth suspected the contrary. he became known throughout the width and breadth of yale, lillooet and cariboo as "hard times hance." although diplomatically reserved and unsociable, he was more popular and famed than he suspected. peculiarity is a valuable advertisement.
-his outward appearance and mode of life certainly justified the above appendix to his personality, and it was so blazoned that it could be seen and heard all over british columbia. he had but one competitor, and that was "dirty harry," who at one time frequented the streets of ashcroft. no other name could have distinguished him so completely from the other members of the human family.
-his overalls, which were once blue, had become pale with age, and had adopted a dishrag-white color; and one of the original legs had been patched out of existence. his stetson hat, which had left the factory a deep brown, now approached the color of his terrestrial real estate. his "jumper" had lost its blue and white "jail bird" stripe effect, and was now a cross between a faded brussels carpet and a grain sack. to save buying boots he wore his last winter's overshoes away into the summer, while his feet would blister in discomfort. braces were a luxury which he could not endure, so he supported his superfluously laundried overalls with a strand of baling-rope which had already served its time as a halter guy. his feet had never known the luxury of a factory or home-knitted stocking since he had graduated from the home crib, but were put off with gunny sacking which had already seen active service as nose bags for the cayuses.
-"if one wishes to acquire wealth in this world," he would say, "one must make a great many personal sacrifices." so he lived on and waxed wealthy at the expense even of the simplest of domestic comforts.
-the improvements with which he had enhanced the value of his ranch were much in keeping with his personal appearance, and they could be recognized as brothers with the least difficulty. the fences, which had refused to retain their youth against the passing years, had their aged and feeble limbs supported with thongs and makeshifts of every description; and where their pride had rebelled against such ingratitude, they were smothered beneath the limbs of fallen trees, which had been felled on the spot to serve as substitutes. his flumes were knock-kneed and bow-legged, and in places they had no legs at all. their sides were warped and bulged with the alternate damp and drouth, heat and cold. the lumber was bleached white, and porous with decay. it was with difficulty they could be persuaded to remain at their water-carrying capacity. the ditches were choked with willows and maples to such an extent that they were abandoned only in spots where they asserted themselves, and refused to convey the necessary irrigation stream. here they would burst their sides with indignation, and had to be repaired. the barns, stables and chicken-houses had for years been threatening to collapse unless supplied with some stimulant; so numerous false-works had been erected, outside and in, to retain them within their confines. the harness, which had originally been made of leather, betrayed very little trace of this bovine enveloper, but was composed chiefly of baling-rope and wire which had been picked up at random on the ranch as the occasion demanded. the various sections of the wheels of his wagons remained in intimate association with each other because they were submerged in the creek every night; the moisture keeping the wood swelled to its greatest diameter. one day's exposure to the drouth, without the convenient assistance of the creek water, would have been sufficient to cause the wheels to fall asunder. in this respect the unsuspecting creek was an asset of incalculable value. the boxes of his wagons could boast of nothing up to date, that was not possessed by the wheels; and in many cases the tongues and whiffletrees and neck-yokes had been substituted by raw maples or birch secured on the ranch. his unwritten law was to buy nothing that would cost money, and to import nothing that could be produced on the farm even if it was only a poor makeshift substitute. no part was ever replaced until it had gone hopelessly on strike, and necessity was his only motive power when it came to repairs. the general conditions were suggestive of the obsolete.
-in the midst of all this ruin and decay, however, there was sunshine, and the heart of hard times hance was warm and buoyant, cheerful and hopeful, and even if he did live upon the husks which the swine did eat, he derived from his life a great deal more pleasure than the world gave him credit for. he had his future to live for. he had his life all mapped out, and that was more than a great many could boast of. for breakfast he had mush, for dinner he had beans and bacon, and for supper he had bacon and beans and y.s. tea. and he was just as happy eating this fare with his knife as the lieutenant-governor of the province of british columbia could be with his cereal, consomme, lobster salad, charlotte russe, blanc mange, café noir, or any other dainty and delicate importation. bananas, oranges and artichokes had no place on his bill-of-fare. besides, after he had eaten a meal he had no space for such delicacies. and he could always wash his meal down with the famous y.s. tea stand-by; and, on top of this, a few long draws at his kin-i-kin-nick (sort of indian tobacco) pipe. and then there were no restrictions upon his mode of feeding his face. he could eat with his knife with impunity. there was no etiquette-mad society digging him in the ribs, and jerking on the reins in protestation at every one of his natural inclinations; and he could use his own knife to butter his sourdough bread. for a man who expected to emerge into the sunshine of society, he was giving himself very inadequate training. he was as near the aboriginal as it was possible for a white man to approach. he was a siwash (male indian) with one exception--his love of the coin. but then, he had an object in this ambition; and a fault, if it is a means to a worthy end, must be commended. he had this propensity developed to the most pronounced degree. it was a disease with him, for which there was no cure. in outward appearance he was a typical b.c. specimen of the obsolete "coureur de bois" of eastern canada during the seventeenth century.
-the interior of his "dug-out" was more like an indian kik-willy (ancient indian house) than the dwelling of a modern anglo-saxon. the walls were composed of the rough timbers, and the chinks were stuffed with rags and old newspapers. a few smoke-begrimed pictures were hanging on the walls, and a calendar of the year 1881 still glared forth in all its ancient uselessness, leading one back into a past decade. if he broke the rules of etiquette by eating with his knife, he also smashed those of modesty by utilizing his air-tight heater as a cuspidor, for it was streaked white with evaporated saliva.
-how this crude bud ever anticipated blooming out into a society blossom was a conundrum. perhaps he had some secret method buried in the same box with his hoarded coin. his long evenings were passed reading the family herald and weekly star and the ashcroft journal by candle-light; for those were the only papers he would subscribe for. his bed consisted of, first, boards, then straw, then sacking; and it had remained so long without being frayed out that it had become packed as hard as terra firma. his blankets had not seen the light of day, nor enjoyed the fresh cool breezes for many long years. his one window was opaque with the smoke of many years' accumulation. although his chickens had a coop of their own where they roosted at night, they ran about the floor of his "dug-out" in the daytime looking for crumbs that fell from the poor man's table; and his cat, through years of criminal impunity, would sit on the table at mealtime and help himself to the victuals just as the spirit moved him. a stump had been left standing when the cabin was built; it had been hewn at the appropriate elevation of a chair. this was near his air-tight heater, and his favorite position was to sit there with his feet propped against the stove and smoke by candle-light; and sometimes he would sit in the dark to save candles. his other furniture consisted of "reindeer" brand condensed milk and blue-mottled soap boxes, which he had acquired at times from f.w. foster's general store at clinton.
-hard times hance was living on first principles; but then, if a man wishes to save any coin in this world he must make great personal sacrifices; and so he was perfectly happy in his temporary aboriginal condition. there were no restrictions upon him. he was even outside the circumference of any ministerial jurisdiction, and had never been cautioned about the hereafter. like an indian, he moved just as the impulse seized him. how this man expected to submit to the personal restrictions and embargoes imposed by modern fashions and society was known only to himself. the song of the forest had been his only concert; the whisper of the creek his sole heart companion. when occasion permitted he would wander the entire day on the high mountains, at the end of his trail, hunting for game, and little caring whether he found it or not, so long as he had the wild and congenial environs to admire and embrace. what was city life in comparison with this?
-at last the day arrived when he realized that he must develop wings, so he wrapped himself up in a cocoon; and while the metamorphosis was in process of development he had ample time to study hamlet's soliloquy. it would mean a divorce from everything he held dear; a parting with his very soul. it would mean the most sorrowful widowhood that could be imposed on man. it would be equivalent to leaving this earth and taking up his abode in mars. he must sacrifice his love for the creek and the trail. he must renounce his freedom and go into social slavery. it was the emerging from the woods into the prairie; the coming from darkness into the light; a resurrection from the dead. in future he must tread the smooth cement walk between cultivated lawns and plants, instead of climbing the rude, uneven trail obstructed by fallen trees and surrounded with vegetation in its wildest and most primeval forms. he would walk the polished mahogany floor with patent boots, instead of the terrestrial one of his dug-out with obsolete overshoes.
-but it must be. for years he had been preparing and planning. the object of his past had been a preparation for a better future; and why not? others enjoyed the good things of this life, and why not he? had he not paid the price. others reaped where they had not sown; he had sown, yes, sown in persecution, now he would reap in envious joy. he had lived the first half of his life in squalor and darkness, that the latter half might be clean and cheerful. when he had set out in his young days to live his pre-arranged history it was with an ambition to be wealthy, no matter by what means it should be acquired, so long as it was honest. now he was wealthy. he had been poor; now he was rich, and money would put the world at his feet, which henceforth had been over his head. he had been an animal; from now on he would be human.
-but in his enthusiasm of development he forgot that he had grown attached to the wild, aboriginal life; that the parting might snap thongs and inflict wounds which even time would not mend or cure. at times the creek would sing, and the trail would speak, but he banished the tempters from his mind to make room for his illuminating prospects, and his wings continued to grow towards maturity. he struggled and freed himself from the cocoon. he went to vancouver a caterpillar and returned a butterfly, and the earthquake which accompanied his debut was equal to that which destroyed san francisco. he had sold his farm, which included the creek, and the trail, and the dug-out, and his salt pork barrel, for a song, and with his coin and icties about him, and in his lately acquired form, he invaded clinton with an accentuated front. the street was lined with people as though a procession had been going by--all the sweet and familiar sounds and sights had been sacrificed criminally, and he was on his way to sip honey from flower to flower.
-he sounded about clinton for some time for a suitable anchorage on which to materialize the plans and specifications of his mansion, but he did not drive a stake, because clinton was very much inferior to his "class" ideal; it had no electric light, and no water system. so he migrated south to ashcroft, and there he pre-empted a large lot and made arrangements for the foundation of his castle. out of the ground in a short period arose one of the most up-to-date bungalows. while the building was in course of construction hard times hance, who had repudiated this headline, moved about in his dress suit, stiff hat, silk gloves, and a cane, and gave such orders to the contractor as he saw fit. he was looked upon as the most remarkable freak that had ever invaded the dry belt. and he sprang into society spontaneously. the people clamored for him. progressive socials were arranged in his honor at all the leading social centres in their eagerness to cultivate his society. some had faint recollections of having seen him at times, others claimed to have heard of him at his hermitage, but they all pretended to have known him personally and thoroughly, and many even suspected that he possessed more, intrinsically, than he had revealed superficially. he was the lion of the hour, and he did not forget to hand around the coin in his efforts to retain the position which he had secured.
-when his mansion was turned over by the contractor, and had been accepted by the architect, he issued invitations to one of the most magnificent social functions which had ever erupted at ashcroft. those who were invited were flattered, and those who were not called were grossly insulted and wondered what disqualified them. they danced the "tango," and the "bango," and the "flango," and all the "light fantastics" until their feet went on strike, and their ear drums had become phonographic and reproduced the music with a perpetual motion which could not be stopped. every lady was eager to reveal the dancing secrets to mine host, and before the evening was over he could waltz, tango, and do many of the up-to-date ridiculous "stunts."
-and then they dined on a french dinner. it was cooked in french style, and they ate it in french; and then they drank french toasts to the king of england, the governor-general of canada, sir wilfrid laurier, and the gentlemen drank to the ladies in general all over the world. then the ladies proposed a french toast to "mine host." not one of them could speak french, although a few of them could repeat, parrot-like, the words "parlez-vous francais?" but they only knew it as a "foreign phrase" which sounded extremely cultured.
-and the menu was as follows: "canape of anchovies," "celery en branch," "potage a la reine," "consomme au celeri," "calves' sweetbreads a la rothschilds," "french lamb chops a la nelson," "café noir," etc., etc.
-in the midst of all this foreign celestialism mine host forgot the creek, the trail, the dug-out, the beans and bacon, and the kin-i-kin-nick pipe; and he prided himself on his rapid and agreeable transition into swift channels of life. he was taking to society as a duck takes to water.
-in mode of living, as well as in personal appearance, it was the greatest metamorphosis that had ever taken place in a human being in the memory of man. it was a miniature "log cabin to white house" episode. he furnished his castle with the most elaborate fittings and ornaments that the world could produce. he had steam heated rooms and electric lighting from cellar to attic. every floor was carpeted with the most expensive of imported brussels. the walls were most elaborately painted and decorated. to secure a final footing in society he had acquired a collection of obsolete paintings, which were very unattractive and vulgar, and could only have been of value as heirlooms to some private family. these were conspicuously displayed on the panelled walls, in partnership with other more or less modest busts and imaginary landscapes. his ceilings were frescoed and figured in most extravagant, but unappealing designs. it was plainly seen that the building had been erected more to satisfy the taste and please the eye of the architect, who had received an unrestricted contract, than for acceptance by the purchaser. the furnishings were very much in keeping with the fixtures and fittings, and his musical instruments were all electrically-automatic machines; and his "canned" music filled the halls and stairways from morning till night. there was no modern convenience or indulgence that he did not lasso and drag home to his castle.
-before, he had wallowed in the one extreme of society, but now he lolled at the other. while before he had been neglected and despised by his fellow rivals, he was now courted, and admired, and feasted almost to death: so much does the possession of the coin-asset change people's opinions with regard to others.
-his auto was the envy of all the chauffeurs and private car owners in the interior, and there was great rivalry among the licensed drivers as to who should secure the position as his private chauffeur. one engineer offered his services gratis to have the privilege of sitting behind such wind-shields.
-hard times hance persuaded himself that he had reached his "utopia," and that his past forty years of loneliness and savagery was the price he had paid for the present heaven-rivalling blessings.
-a man of his standing in society could not long remain in single dormancy; he was therefore besieged by many of the fair sex. this was very pleasing and flattering to him, although he concealed his appreciation. of course a palace such as his, without a wife, was like a garden of eden without an eve. he had no one to use the electric vacuum cleaner on his linoleums and tapestries. he had no one to meet him when he reached home to take his hat, and gloves, and cane, and place them on the hall rack. he had no one to kiss and afford companionship throughout the long evenings, no one to arrange for social entertainments and meet and welcome the guests; no one to direct and manage the culinary department, and place the furniture in appetizing arrangement. of course he had the chinese cook, but he was stale and without spice. there were millions of qualified candidates in the world, looking for partners, who would be more than pleased to have the opportunity to manipulate his vacuum cleaner.
-no sooner had he made up his mind to organize a family partnership concern than he set out to have the necessary forms of contract drafted and prepared. a great many fair ones nominated themselves as candidates for election, but as he was living under christian methods he could only accept one--which was annoying--no matter how eager he may have been to mormonize himself. they fluttered around him like moths about an electric arc, and they even deserted their former pre-emptions for the new float prospects. in due course the successful candidate was introduced to the legislature as a new member.
-the nuptials over, they migrated in the fall with the swallows to california, on their honeymoon, and, after escaping the earthquake, returned to their happy and beautiful home. there was a great eruption among the marriageable prospects of ashcroft, because many of them had dropped a real bone into the water in snapping at the illusory shadow.
-an indignation meeting was arranged at which it was resolved that the least prepossessing and most unlikely of the nominees had secured the winning majority. but love is a very contrary commodity, and a defect may be a virtue in the eyes of a hero-worshipper; and "my lady" was serenely happy in spite of her unpopularity with her rivals. hard times hance had sprouted from pauperdom and had bloomed into princedom, and his newly acquired partner placed the final mouldings and decorations to his life.
-they gave frequent balls and banquets, and the most select society in the environs clamored for admittance. to his wife the prince was a modern aladdin. she had but to wish and the wish was granted. "eaton's" catalogue was her bible, and it was her only food between meals; packages arrived daily with the regularity of the vancouver province. she had a standing order there for hats, dresses and kimonas, to be rushed out the moment the fashions changed. while before hance had taken a pleasure in saving, he now had a mania for spending money; and their merry marriage bells continued to ring for a few sweet years without ceasing.
-but gradually the spell wore off the self-made prince. the little creek, the long trail, the deep woods, the dug-out, and the salt pork barrel loomed up occasionally before his mind's eye. in absent-minded dreams he would find himself wandering among the stock on the range at his old ranch; or he would be drinking water from the creek in the old-fashioned, natural way; or chasing a deer at the other end of the long trail. his wife's sweet voice would recall him to the immediate, and in her presence he would regret his meditations. but it would be but temporary. what profits a man to gain the world, if he lose his peace of mind? "what! i unhappy among all this kingly paraphernalia, and with a queen wife?" he would ask himself, going down into the basement to replenish the furnace. with every shovelful of coal he would curse himself for his feebleness of mind.
-the charm was beginning to wear off. the sound of the singing creek and the wild wood noises were beginning to knock at his door. he was beginning to long for the old, wild life--the life of the wild man of the woods. he was like a coyote in confinement, walking backward and forward at the bars seeking release. he was a fish out of water gasping for its natural element, and his soul was languishing within him.
-he made desperate but vain efforts to enjoy his beautiful environs, and for a long time he sustained the "bluff." the piano became a bore to him; its music was not half so sweet as the creek song. the tapestry was not half so pleasing to the eye as the green foliage of the trees had been; his cement walk not so agreeable to his feet as had been the long, wild trail. the "icties" which had cost him thousands of dollars became to him like so much junk, and his beautiful home became a prison--so much does man become attached to mother earth. among all this junk one jewel still continued persistently to shine, however, and that gem was his wife; she was all he had left, next his heart, to balance against the thousands of dollars which he had squandered. a man's best comfort is his wife, and hance had fallen into the trap in the usual man-like way.
-he had sold his farm for a song, but now he found it could not be re-bought for real money. the situation was hopeless. there was no retracing of steps. but still the old sounds could not be divorced from his ears; and the old salt-pork barrel was an unpardonable culprit. if he could only sit once again on the old stump which had not been hewn away in the centre of his dug-out, it would be a source of joy to him. if he could only smoke the old kin-i-kin-nick pipe, his appetite would be satisfied.
-one day he climbed into his auto and made a bee-line for the old ranch. he would have a rock on that old stump if it should cause a scandal in society. but the spot where the dug-out once stood was now bare. the cabin had been burned to the ground by the new proprietors. he went home like a whipped cur. a link in his beautiful past had vanished. an impassable chasm, of his own making, yawned between him and his desire, and he cursed the day which lured him away from his natural, green pastures.
-one day he disappeared entirely, and when he did not return for several days, and his wife was insane with grief, a search party was sent out in quest of him. they found him camping on the old trail, dressed in his aboriginal attire, eating beans and bacon with his knife, and chewing venison indian fashion.
-"this is the only square meal i have had since i left the woods," he said, when they captured him; and he filled his pipe with kin-i-kin-nick and puffed the sweet, mild fumes. he had returned to his natural element.
-"i have been rounding up stock," he said, "and i shot this buck just over the hill there. here, dig in, it is jake."
-he had to live among the steers, and the coyotes, and the wild trails in accordance with his early training; original things were his food. society, and his wife, demanded that he remain on the surface, but his aboriginal inclinations lured him to the woods; so, during six months of every year he was an indian to all intents and purposes. early in may he would load a cayuse with beans, bacon, canned milk, frying pan and blankets, and with this treasure he would take to the hills and bask the livelong summer among the junipers, the firs, and the spruces; and he would eat huckleberries, choke-cherries and soap-o-lalies, and smoke kin-i-kin-nick until his complexion assumed the tan of the chilcoten indian.
-the lure of the limelight had been great, but it had worn off just as soon as he had a surfeit of its false glories. he found that beans and bacon eaten with a knife were sweeter and more wholesome than "blanc mange," "consomme," or "café noir" cooked in french style, and served by a french chef.
-of the too sure man
-the too sure man of this story was one of the latter. he had found a piece of "float rock" with a shining speck in it near where the nigger's cabin now stands on cayuse creek in the vicinity of lillooet, and he traced it to the very spot where it had dropped from the mountain above. there he discovered a ledge several feet wide full of shining specks, and he traced it with his eyes right to the bed of the creek.
-"all mine! all mine!" he shouted.
-now, he was a poor man, and he had a family--which made him poorer; but the sight of this precious piece of "float" with the gold sticking out of it, and the possession of this enormous ledge of gold-bearing quartz made him a millionaire in an instant. here was a whole mountain "lousy" with gold, all his! why, solomon or vanderbilt would be so small in the puddle that he would splash mud on them with his superior tread in the sweet "very soon."
-now, the b.c. law prevented him from staking off the entire lillooet district for himself, so he took in a friend (who luckily died before the crash came), and they appropriated as large a portion each of the district as the government at that time would allow. both of those men had good, steady, paying jobs at the time of the discovery, but the next day they threw down their tools--work was too cheap for them. the only thing that prevented them from buying an automobile right away on the instalment plan was the fact that the auto had not yet been invented. however, they had to do something to elevate themselves from the common, so they became extravagant in their domestic curriculum. having no money, the stores had to "carry them." and then they had their assessment work to do on the mine to enable them to hold the claim. they hired men to do this and gave them promissory notes payable by the claim at an indefinite period. when a man ceases work and begins to live on his "rainy day" money, or on the storekeeper, it does not take very long before he accumulates a burden greater than he can carry. when he begins to totter he tries to pass some of the load over to others, and it is usually the storekeepers who are willing to assist him to the limit if his assets are in good retrospect. and what could be a greater security than a whole mountain full of gold? so the storekeepers assumed a large portion of the too sure man's burden. and their loads became heavier and heavier. one day a company came along, attracted by the noise that had been made, and bonded the claims for a few hundred "plunks" down and the balance of one hundred thousand dollars in three months if they decided to take the claims over. the offer was gladly accepted, although they wondered why the company hesitated. this few hundred dollars enabled the too sure man to tide his family through the winter with warm and expensive clothing from the t. eaton co., of toronto, ontario, while the local grocery man's burden got heavier and heavier. it was during, all this time that the people had been cautioning him for his personal benefit. and it was during this time that the too sure man closed his ears, and his eyes, and his mouth, and became a blind, deaf and dumb mute. when the three months were up the company decamped, forfeiting their few hundred dollars, and then there was "something doing." the too sure man opened his eyes and his ears and his mouth all at the same time as far as ever he could. the claim had proved a failure, there was no gold, and only a slight trace on the surface. the local storekeepers, groaning under their load, asked him to relieve them, but he might just as well have tried to lift the mountain that held his worthless quartz ledge. it was just at this point of our story that he slipped on the ice and fell into the chasm. he disappeared, bag, baggage, and family; and in truth it was the only course open to him.
-to remain and work off his debt and sustain his family at the same time with the increasing pressure of the high cost of living holding him under, would have been an utter impossibility. the impending shock killed his partner, for he died before the crash came. the too sure man has a burden in lillooet supported by others which he can come and lift at any time, and welcome.
-of the unloved man
-once upon a time in ashcroft a bachelor fellow realized abruptly that he had never been loved by one of the opposite sex, although he had reached the age of two score and two, and had a great longing to have one included in his assessable personal property. now, as truth is stranger than fiction, the discovery staggered him. what was wrong? what machinery required adjusting? he had the sensation of a boycotted egg, and was in danger of spoiling before reaching the consuming market. so one day he perched himself on the sandhill and began to survey the environs for a solution to the problem. why should he be denied this one sweet dream? just think of it--no one had ever sympathized with him in his utter loneliness of bachelorhood. no girl had ever called him her "snooky ookums," and he had never had the opportunity of calling any fair vision his "tootsy wootsy." the horror of the situation was sufficient to stagger an empire. no girl had ever waited at the post-office corner for him. no girl had ever tapped on his office window on railway avenue and smiled back at him on her way home from the meat market. no girl had ever lingered outside for him that she might have the pleasure of his society home to lunch. he had to walk the bridge evenings and sundays alone, while others went in limited liability companies.
-once, when he was ill, no angel had volunteered to smooth his pillow, and a chinaman brought up delicacies left over from some other person's previous meal. he had no silent partner. none of the girls knew he had been ailing, and when he told them weeks after they feigned surprise. there seemed to be an unsurmountable stone wall between him and the sweet things of this world. so, day after day, in his leisure moments, he would pace the brow of the sandhill seeking in his mind for a solution to an issue that seemed unfathomable. was he ugly? no. was he repulsive? no. was he a woman hater? no. was he a criminal? no. had he offended the fair sex in any way? no. was he poor? no. did he belong to the human family? yes. with what disease then was he afflicted? was it heredity? could he cast the blame upon his ancestors? up and down the thompson valley he searched and searched but he could find no answer--even the echo would not speak. other fellows seemed to have no difficulty in getting themselves tangled up in the meshes of real beautiful love nets. even the young bucks who had no visible means of support for their own apparently useless avoirdupois, picked up the local gems before his eyes and had them hired out at interest to supply the new family with bread and butter. and all this in the face of the fact that he was one of the most prodigious admirers of womankind that ever left his footprints on the sands of ashcroft.
-"the most flattering appointment a man can have is to be chosen the custodian of one woman," he said to himself. "life, to a man, is nothing if barred from an association of this kind."
-at last in despair he wrote to a correspondence paper, and put the whole case before them.
-"i am a young man, aged forty-two, unmarried. i want a solution to the problem why i am unmarried. i have tried and failed. i have had cupid working overtime for me, but he has failed to pierce any of the bosoms i have coveted. no woman has ever loved me, and although i am aware that it is better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all, i may say that this affords very poor manna for my hunger."
-he received this answer:--
-"young man"--(emphasis was placed upon the young)--"you are too slow. you are asleep, stagnant, dormant, hibernating. the whole world is 'beating you to it.' get over your baby superstition about love, and 'get busy.'"
-the letter dropped from his fingers as though it had been his monthly grocery bill. "heavens!" he exclaimed, "here is the solution to the whole mystery.--forget love and 'get busy.'" instead of expecting to be loved, he would love. if he could not get one who would want him, he would get one he wanted himself.
-now, he had had such an admiration for the fair sex as a whole, that he could not concentrate his attention on the individual one. he had been trying to extract a cinder from the eye of the opposition when he could not see properly owing to having a large obstacle in his own eye. however, he proceeded to "get busy." but what vision would he "get busy" on? every woman had an attraction peculiar to herself, one of which could not be said to extinguish the other. and then, most of them were "staked off." one fellow or another had "strings" on every one he approached. but he kept on fishing with all his might. in the meantime it came to pass that the girls continued to cast their spells upon almost anyone but him; even the itinerant stranger who just chanced along "hitting the high spots," and "travelling on his face" came in for large portions of the "sweet stuff" that was being cast lavishly abroad.
-it seemed cruel that he who had such an admiration for those on the other side of the house, and who had such an ambition to own one as an asset, should be so unmercifully neglected. his efforts to catch a wife by the legitimate method, according to his idea, had ended like a fishing expedition in the off season in the thompson river. about this time he found that the nomads were catching all the fish. he made up his mind to become a nomad and be a wanderer on the face of the cariboo district. he could not love.
-he resigned his position in ashcroft and migrated up the cariboo road. he invaded lillooet, clinton, 150 mile house, soda creek, quesnel, barkerville and fort george. to secure a wife he became an itinerant. within the space of a year he was back at his position at ashcroft more lonely than ever. it was of no avail--he was hoodooed. he could not love.
-at this juncture he made another and final discovery, and it was the most important one he had made at this period of his renaissance. he found out that "get busy" had two meanings. it meant "forget love of all kinds and go to it in a business-like way." this had been a chronic case of a man, in his ignorance, who was prospecting around the hills of this british columbia of ours for a metal that had no existence. he did not know that ninety out of every hundred marriages resulted merely from convenience, or a mere desire to be married on the part of the man, and the love of a private home on the part of the woman; that nine out of the remaining ten were marriages in which one of the parties only was the love-giver, and that the remaining one was the ideal, in which love was mutual and beautiful. this ashcroft bachelor fellow was a sentimental monstrosity. he was imbued with the superstition that one must love, and be loved, before one could marry. no aphorism could be further removed from the truth. the glaring realism dawned upon him that it was quite possible for a person to flounder through this world and be entirely immune from the love epidemic; that few people ever marry the one they do really love, that some are never sought after by one of the opposite sex during their whole life, only in a business-like way; that modern society was too busy to entertain such a silly superstition as love--that cupid was a dead issue. he had been waiting until he fell in love or till someone fell in love with him, and thus opportunity had been knocking at his door all those years in vain. when he had joined the iconoclast society, and had shattered this pet idol of his, he began to look around for a wife in the same manner as he would for a car of ashcroft potatoes--and he soon "landed" one branded with the "big a." and the amusing part of it is they lived happily--all of which goes to prove our contention that those who love before marriage are not always the happier after their nuptials; and sometimes it is a mere matter of making the best of a bad bargain, and you will be perfectly happy though married, even if your stock in trade of the love commodity is very much impoverished.
-of the chief who was bigger than he looked
-once upon a time in the thompson valley there lived a mighty warrior kookpi (chief) called netaskit. he was chief of all the shuswaps. his name had become a household word the entire length and breadth of the pacific coast, and the tribes along the fraser river and the pemberton meadows had knowledge, through many sad experiences, of his bravery and daring. among his own people his word was law, and to show the white feather in the face of an enemy meant certain court martial and death at his hands. although his subjects feared him, they respected him beyond belief; and to serve him was considered a great honor. it is not our purpose to convey the impression that this kookpi was cruel, treacherous, cold-blooded and selfish only, and a man who had no other ambition than war and the spoils of war. no, if he was a fiend on the battlefield, he was a lamb at home. he had a soft side that battled with the concrete in him at times. his weakness was his insane love for woman, and in his own kikwilly house (home) he was as timid as the smumtum (rabbit). his respect for cupid had as much avoirdupois as his respect for mars. his love for his wife was an insane love--it far outdid his love for his chiefdom. and he had a wife who was worthy of him and as faithful to him as he was to her--she adored the very skins he wore across his shoulders. being happily united himself, and having such a respect for cupid and the fair sex, he passed a law that no man or woman should take unto themselves a partner for life until thoroughly satisfied and convinced that the love flames between them would be of everlasting duration, and were genuine.
-"woman," he said, "was made to be loved, and not enslaved. my consideration for the welfare of our women exceeds that for our men, because man is so constituted as to be more able to take care of himself." so much was this old prehistoric chief away ahead of his dark, heathen times. but this masculine weakness of his was nearly his undoing with his warriors, as we shall see.
-one day a rumor went abroad that the statlemulth (lillooet indians) were making their way through the marble canyon, and down hat creek, to attack the shuswaps on the bonaparte, in revenge for some misdemeanor at some former time, on the part of the latter. it was just about the time of the year when the shuswaps were in the habit of invading the fraser river at pavilion for their winter supply of salmon; and, to be cut off from this source of revenue would mean a great deal to the bonaparte indians. the invading army must be met and the entire band put to death, or made prisoners.
-telephone messages in indian fashion were flashed from kikwilly house to kikwilly house, and in a couple of days the entire strength of the shuswaps was gathered in a great army with netaskit at its head. the march began at an early hour the following morning, and the enemy was met near the mouth of the canyon where they had called a halt for the purpose of hunting and putting up o-lil-ies (berries). in a moment the air was filled with war whoops, and the arrows flew thick and fast. the women took to their heels and ran the moment the fray began, and they did not stop until they reached squilachwah (pavilion) near the fraser river. the smumtum and the groundhog betook themselves to the high mountains, so great was the battle, and their fright--and it is only within recent years that they have ventured back to that spot. the battle raged loud and long. netaskit was in the thick of the fight and claimed that he had killed twenty of the enemy with his own bow. many were wounded and slain on both sides; but the shuswaps won the day, and they led home in triumph fifty prisoners. and now comes the most interesting part of our story. a counsel of war was held, and it was decided that the prisoners should be put to death the following day. when the time arrived, the unfortunate men were brought out, bound with thongs hand and foot and placed in line near the big chief's wigwam. fifty victors were lined up in front of them with their bows and arrows ready to shoot at the word of command from their chief, who was pacing up and down in his dignity and anger. suddenly the love demon took possession of him. he thought of his love for his wife--her love for him. he pictured to himself his possible death and the agony of his widow. he pictured her death and his own agony of mind at his loss. he shuddered as the messages flashed through his mind. he looked at the unfortunate victims--he thought of their women--sweethearts, wives.
-"halt!" he shouted to his men. and turning to the wretches before him he said:
-"statlemulth! listen. you have committed a great wrong in making this expedition against the shuswaps. the ko-cha kookpi (god) is very angry. you should be shot dead but you can save yourselves. listen. i will pardon every man of you who can produce a wife or a sweetheart who can prove to my satisfaction that her love for you is greater than the voice of the thompson, and fiercer than the roar of the fraser."
-"never!" shouted the tribesmen, and every bow and arrow was turned simultaneously upon the chief.
-"slaves! cowards!" thundered the enraged and fearless kookpi, like a mountain lion in pain. in a moment every bow and arrow fell by its warrior's side.
-as the consequence of this act on the part of his subjects is of no importance to this story, we will leave it to the reader's imagination just what sort of punishment was doled out to them. it is safe to say, however, that netaskit was too wise a kookpi to order the death of so many brave followers, as this means of gratifying his wounded pride would simply mean the weakening of the tribe, and would put his own life in jeopardy.
-a message was sent to the lillooet illihae (country) with the glad tidings, and at the close of two days a swarm of smootlatches (women), and keekas (girls), rushed into camp breathless, and began hysterically searching for their respective sweethearts or husbands among the prisoners. the scene was more than poetic; and it was pathetic in the extreme. it was a scene that had not occurred before on the broad surface of the earth--those fifty distracted squaws rushing into the jaws of death in their eagerness to rescue the ones without whom life would be empty, useless, aimless. it is said that it melted the heart of the very rocks about the place, so that to this day the surface of the earth at that spot betrays evidence of having at one time been running lava.
-the captives were lined up before the kookpi's kikwilly house, and the little army of love-mad squaws, awful in their primitiveness, rushed at the line, selected their respective skiuchs (men), and clung to them, hugged them, kissed them wildly in the awful heat of their passion, each in her eagerness to save one at all hazards for her own selfish, but natural self. and no power on earth could tear them asunder. it melted the hearts of the victors so that they called out with one voice: "go, you have won!" and as they moved away shouting, and laughing, and dancing, netaskit was seen to weep, so great was his respect for cupid.
-"o woman! woman!" he was heard to exclaim. and this is the reason there is so much harmony between the statlemulth and the shuswap to-day.
-of simple simon up to date
-once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a "simon" who had no knowledge of the purchasing value of his salary asset. he did not know that its buying powers were narrowed down to bread and butter and overalls; and as a consequence he was victimized down into a very precarious financial predicament, to say nothing about the valuable and most vigorous and productive years of his life, that were thrown into the scrap heap of time, and had to be cancelled from his list of revenue-producers.
-when you contemplate a steady wage asset of one hundred dollars per month coming in with the regularity of clockwork and as sure as the first day comes around (and the months go by very quickly), you think you are in a fair way to make some of the local financiers look very cheap in a few years to come. why, this means twelve hundred dollars every time the earth circumnavigates the sun, and is sixty thousand dollars in fifty years, which is not very long to a man if he can start just as soon as he passes the entrance and can build on no intervening lay-off by getting on the wrong side of the boss. but when we offset with our liabilities, such as tobacco money, moving picture money, car fare, gasoline, rent, taxes, repairs to the auto, and other trifling incidentals such as food and clothing, we find at the end of the lunar excursion that there is no balance to salt down on the right side of our ledger, and our little castle becomes submerged because it was built with its foundation on the shifting sands.
-but for all that, if a man and his money could be left alone--if money were not such an envy-producer--if a man with money had not so many friends and admirers and strangers who love him at first sight--all might yet be well; and though he might not outclass some of the most corpulent magnates, he might in time acquire considerable moss in his own private, insignificant, simple-simon sort of way. but the laws of nature have willed otherwise, and the strongest of us know that it is needless to go into litigation with the laws of gravitation, or spontaneous combustion.
-among the workings of nature (which some people say are all for the best), there is a class of men who have, rather truthfully, been called "sharks" on account of their fishlike habit of pouncing upon suckers unawares and without the legal three days' grace being given, and of loading them into their stomachs--finances and all--before the person has time to draw and throw his harpoon. it all happens while you are taking a mouthful of tea, or while you are reading the locals in the ashcroft journal, and when the spell leaves, you find that you have endorsed a proposition with a financial payment down, and the balance subject to call when you are very much financially embarrassed indeed.
-simple simon was one of those men who move about this world unprotected and without having their wits about them. he was not a sawfish, or a swordfish. so one day when he was walking up railway avenue--it was just the day after he had told someone that he had five hundred dollars of scrapings salted down, which was earning three per cent, at the local bank--a very pretentious gentleman, spotlessly attired, accosted him:
-"pardon me. are you mr. simon?"
-"i have that asset," said simple, wondering how the aristocratic stranger had known him.
-"i thought so. i knew at a glance. the fact is, i have just been speaking with mr. c. quick." (this was a lie. mr. c. quick was one of the money magnates of ashcroft, but had not hired out his name as an endorsement)--"and he recommended you to me as one of the leading men of the town." (this was a ruse, but it hit the bull's eye, and at the final count was one of the most telling shots.)
-"i am pleased to meet you," said simple. "and so am i," said the shark. "as a matter of fact, i only approach the better part of any community," he continued, pulling in on the line. "to tell you the truth, mr. c. quick said you were the only man in the town who had both foundation and substantial structure from your roots up," and he laughed a broad sort of "horse-laugh," and slapped simon on the shoulder.
-"you see, with a proposition such as i have there is little use going to any but men of the greatest intelligence--those are the ones who understand the magnitude and the security and the ultimate paying certainties of the proposition which i have to offer you. you may consider yourself fortunate. it is not everyone who has the opportunity to get in on the ground floor, as it were, on a sure thing money-accumulating business. by the way, where is your office?"
-simon led the shark to his private dug-out on brink street, and showed him into one of his cane-bottomed thrones, while he himself sat on the yet unlaundered bed.
-"of course you understand all about joint stock companies, trust fund companies, municipal bonds and debentures," said the magnate, unrolling a bundle of unintelligible papyrus showing assets which did not exist, and spreading them out on the bed in front of his victim. the whole system had been premeditated and had been systematically worked out. "now," said the shark, pointing at long and encouraging figures, "those are assets and these are our liabilities; and besides we have a million dollar government endorsement. now, the fact of the matter is this. you have a few dollars. i have a few dollars; tom, dick and harry have a few dollars, and so have jessie and josie. now, those little private funds which we all cherish and fondle, and hug to our bosoms, and jingle in our pockets, are of no use to us. they are dead. of course they are earning three per cent, at the b.n.a. or the northern crown--what bank do you deposit with?--of course, it does not matter; there is no competition among them; they pay you three per cent. and charge you ten per cent. now, we are very much different. we give you all your money will make--if it is ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, or one hundred per cent. see?
-"now, the fact of the matter is this: as i said before, those small individual fortunes are of no use to us individually; they have no earning power; they will not buy anything. but, put them all together--ah! the result is magical. you see, it is the aggregate that counts. now with this theory in view, our company gets to work and canvasses the country and it gathers together thousands of little, useless, insignificant, unproductive funds like yours and mine and joins them together into one vast, giant aggregate which we call a trust fund. i see it is appealing to you. it could not be otherwise. now, with this aggregate, you, and i, and everyone can own vast estates, buy forty-year debentures, lend money on approved security, buy real estate, the unearned increment of which will net in some cases two or three hundred per cent. interest, besides an increased valuation on the original sum invested."
-"you see," said the magnate, as he realized that he had the victim falling into his trap, "we do not require to sell any more shares; we are doing well enough now, and some say we should leave well enough alone. but, a corporation of the nature of ours cannot rest on its oars; we must reach out for greater and better things, and to accomplish this we must have more capital. the fact is, a proposition has just been put to us, the nature of which i am not just now at liberty to divulge, but it is a sure winner. but it takes capital, as i said before, and we are compelled to sell some more stock. and, after all, it will be you and i who will benefit, and a hundred or more favored ones who have small savings which are netting them nothing at present, and the principal of which is rusting in the bank at three per cent.
-"now, to come down to business. will you join us? now, i am not going to press you. there are hundreds too willing; but remember, you will regret it if you lose this chance of a lifetime. opportunity is knocking at your door; seize it by the fore-lock.
-"the proposition i have to put before you is this: we are selling shares at one hundred dollars each, but if you have not the cash now, we will allow you six, twelve and eighteen months on the balance with a payment of five hundred dollars down if you buy twenty shares. the reason we are able to make such liberal offers is that we receive the same terms in buying up debentures."
-simon was completely victimized. his tormentor might just as well have addressed him in latin, for he knew so little about debentures, joint stock funds and the intricacies of high finance that he could not follow the promoter and was completely dazzled with the obscurity and eloquence of the language. and then the magnate spoke so rapidly that only lightning could keep up with him. the result was that simon fell into the trap and was pinched. he not only gave away all his rainy day money, but he burdened himself with a debt, which, to a working man, was a mountain, and more than he could carry. he sold his house to meet the next two payments, and just as the third payment came due the company went into liquidation, and it consumed all their available assets to discover that there was nothing left for the shareholders. and simple simon began life over again.
-of the high class eskimo
-away up in the great northland, even further north than the northern boundary of british columbia, there lives a race of people who form, and have formed, no part of the great human civilization of the world which has been, and is going on in the more moderately climatic regions of the earth. for centuries they have lived apart, and have taken no notice of the big world which has been, and is living itself to death far from them down in the indolent south, where the sun could shine every day in the year--where it did shine every day that it was not cloudy, and where there was no long, dreary, dark midnight of at least four months' duration; where the sun did not dip beneath the horizon at about the beginning of october, and disappear, not to be seen again until the end of march; where, in some parts, there was no snow, while in others only for a few weeks during the year. no snow! no ice! can you imagine such a condition? and up there it is almost the eskimo's only commodity. he eats it, drinks it, lives in it, sleeps on it, and his castle is built of it. and he endures it year after year, from his babyhood to his gray days, and there appears no hope for him. bare ground is a curiosity to the eskimo; and there are no spring freshets. their bridges across their streams are formed of ice; the very salt sea is covered with it; and they venture out on those great floors of ice in search of the polar bear and the right whale which form almost their only food, and supply them with their only source of clothing, heat and light. in the midst of his narrow and cramped circumstances the eskimo can laugh at times as heartily as any other human, and he has grown extremely low in stature to accommodate himself to the small opening which gives access to his igloo (house). the average man or woman does not exceed much over four feet. no other explanation seems to have been offered by science for the extreme dwarfishness in stature of this curious race of people.
-like the polar bear--almost their only associate in those northern and frozen wilds--the idea never occurred to this people to migrate south where the earth is bare and warm, and is clothed in a green mantle; where the sun shines every day; where the land is flowing with milk and honey; where peaches and water melons grow, and where it is not necessary to go through a hole in the ice to take a bath. no, this strange people, whose food is ice, whose bed is ice, whose home is ice, and whose grave is ice, are part and parcel of the snowy north; and they live on, apparently happy and contented with their hard life and uncongenial environment. where the white man begins to be uncomfortable, the eskimo begins to be at home. where the white man leaves off the eskimo begins, and his haunts penetrate away into the far north--into the land of perpetual ice and snow. where we go only to explore he builds his permanent abode.
-but this is not a history of the geographical distribution of men; it is to be the story of an eskimo who went astray according to the moral ideals of his immediate tribesmen.
-once upon a time there lived in this northland of which we have been speaking a young native who had mysteriously arrived at the conclusion that the life of an eskimo was a very narrow and fruitless existence indeed, and that the conditions under which they lived were totally inadequate to supply the demands of a twentieth century human being. in the midst of the other members of the family he assumed an attitude of weariness and contempt for his associates and environs. "one may as well associate with a polar bear," he soliloquized. "man was made to accomplish things; the eskimo is no further advanced in the scale of living, organic beings, to all intent and purpose, than the polar bear, or the walrus. he is born, lives, eats, sleeps, hunts, kills, dies, and is buried in the cold frozen earth, if he does not fall through a hole in the ice into the bottomless sea. to the south of us is a great healthy world where men live; where they have discovered all that the world has to give, and where they enjoy those things to the utmost; where they read and write and take records of their doings. me for the south!" he shouted, and he made up his mind to migrate at the first opportunity and be in the swim with men. "i must learn to read and write and think, even if i have to forget my own language," he declared.
-now, it came to pass that as he was soliloquizing as above one morning, a girl appeared before him. she was so muffled up in furs that only an eskimo could distinguish whether the bundle was male or female. she sat down beside him and placed her short, stubby, muffled arm as far around his neck as it would go, and in this attitude she coaxed, and begged, and prayed, and argued with him, thinking that she might resurrect him to himself again. but when she found that his mania was for the south, she wept as only woman can weep the whole world over, even in the far north where the tears are in danger of freezing to her cheeks. but he, in his brutish, advanced-thought sort of way, pushed her from him.
-"if you love me you will help me to go," he said. "if you love me you will stay," she responded.
-he rose and moved towards his igloo; she followed. he crawled like a bear through the thirty feet or more of narrow tunnel which led into the hut proper. she did likewise. in the igloo he threw himself down on the ice floor among the squalor and quantities of bear meat in various stages of decomposition. the smell from the whale-oil lamp almost choked him. the girl sat down and continued to cling to him.
-"let me go to the south and i will make a lady of you," he said. "i will give you gold and silver and feather beds. these environs are not fit for a bear to hibernate in. just think of our branch of the human family existing and suffering up here among the ice and snow for thousands of years and not having advanced one step from the hovel in which we were first produced? is the eskimo destined to everlasting failure--perpetual degeneration? must you and i be satisfied and consent to endure this animal existence to the end of our days because it is our only heritage from our ancestors? no! i say, a thousand times no. i am ashamed of myself, my ancestors and my entire race," he shouted, and the girl almost trembled in fear of him. he must surely be demented. but she still clung to him, thinking that her enchanting presence might cure him. thus love can be a very warm thing even up among the cold ice and snow. their cold, half frozen cheeks came together and she kissed him. "stay," she murmured, coaxingly, as only a woman can.
-"i will take passage south," he continued unheedingly, "and will plunge myself into the midst of the big, busy, warm world, and will gain with one bound that social condition which it has taken the white man thousands of years to attain."
-now, after all, was this man not right, and is the eskimo not to be pitied?
-the girl, seeing that her whole world was about to vanish from her, left the igloo weeping, and again crawled like a bear through the narrow tunnel to the colder world outside.
-one day when the sun was just about to make its appearance above the horizon, and the long night was nearly at an end, two half starved and partially frozen white men burrowed their way into our hero's igloo and asked for food and shelter. the night had been long, dreary, dark and cold, and the approaching return of the sun was welcomed like a prodigal. is it a wonder then that the eskimo worships the sun? it seems his only hope, his only comfort; and it would seem to him, more than to any other, the source of all life, his only friend in his dire need. the eskimo offered the two strangers some meat, which they devoured greedily; and then they told a long, pitiful story. they were explorers. their ship had been crushed hopelessly between masses of ice. fifty had started on the long journey south. provisions gave out. men had dropped off daily. the trail was one long line of frozen corpses stretched out in the dark and silent night. they two alone had survived, so far as the strangers were able to tell. it was the usual tale of woe which befalls the arctic or antarctic explorers. beginning happily, hopefully, buoyantly; ending in misery, sorrow and death. the strangers wanted a guide to lead them to the south--to civilization and warmth. they had not known what it was to be comfortable for two years; and they had not seen one square inch of bare ground during that period.
-"oh, for a sight of mother earth!" they shouted. "we would gladly eat the soil, and chew the bark from the trees." thus one does not appreciate the most trivial and simple but indispensable things until one is deprived of them for a period of more or less duration.
-our hero agreed to guide them so far as his knowledge extended--even to the very gateway between the north and south lands--if they would guarantee to guide him from that point into their own big, beautiful world further on; they taking the helm when his usefulness as a guide would be exhausted; and he explained his ambition to them.
-so, one morning when summer was approaching, and the sun, for the first time in the year was sending her streamers above the horizon, and when his sweetheart lola stood with arms outstretched over the cold snow and ice towards him, pleading and sending forth her last appeal to his stony heart, he walked out across the white table-land towards the south, and was soon a small black speck in the far horizon.
-when the strange expedition reached dawson they discarded their hibernating costumes and substituted more modern ones, not so much because they were out of fashion, but because they rendered them somewhat uncomfortable. at this point the white men grasped the helm and the eskimo followed. at fort fraser our hero discarded more of his clothing, and at quesnel he became determined to strip himself. "i cannot stand this heat," he said; "why, it will kill me."
-"heat? kill you?" exclaimed his two companions. "why, the thermometer is scarcely above the freezing point. if this moderate climate makes you uncomfortable, what will be your condition in california? why, you will melt away like a candle beside a red-hot stove." and thus they joked with him, not taking him seriously. so they sailed along and in due time reached ashcroft. the eskimo perspired to such an extent that his condition threatened to become dangerous. the slightest covering of clothing became a burden to him, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that his companions could prevent him from stripping himself naked. they persuaded him that he should return before it was too late, but he would not hear of it. "i have made my nest; i will sit in it to the bitter end," he said. they boarded the midnight train, and in a few moments he was fleeing to the sunny south a great deal faster than ever dog team or sledge had taken him across the frozen plateau. and the farther south he went the more he suffered from the heat, until he was in great danger of melting away. and then the truth dawned upon him; it had never occurred to him before. he was a fish trying to live out of water. he discovered that what his mind had pictured, and his heart had longed for, his constitution could not endure. he was doomed to live and die in the frozen north. oh, those savage, unprogressive, half-animal ancestors! and for the first time he thought of his igloo, his dog teams, the polar bear, and the little woman who had pleaded with him to remain; and he saw her standing as he had left her with outstretched arms, while her very heart tissue was being torn asunder. "oh, for the ice and snow and the long, dark night," he exclaimed; "anything but this awful heat." when they reached san francisco he was almost insane, and his condition became critical; and, as if to punish him for his folly, the heat became intense for a few days. they rushed him to the sea shore and he plunged into the water, and refused to come out again. those were the most congenial surroundings he had found since he left the frozen north. he was in such misery that he did not have time to enjoy the wonders of civilization which he had risked so much to see. thus does distance lend enchantment to the view. this was an instance of how a man had grown up with his environment--had inherited qualities or weaknesses applicable to his surroundings, had breathed the air of one planet so long that the atmosphere of another was poison to him. he had envied others a lot which it was constitutionally impossible for him to emulate. and he wept for his hereditary infirmities and failings. could a man be blamed for regretting his ancestors and cursing the fate, or the necessity which drove them into those northern fastnesses at the early stages of their existence? here again the white man was to blame, for he, in his eagerness and greed, had seized upon the cream of the earth for himself and had driven all inferior or weaker peoples to all the four corners of the globe. and of all the unfortunate, subordinate races, the eskimo was the most unfortunate, and their condition savored of discrimination on the part of the powers that governed or ordained things.
-as our hero had only one ambition while in the north--an insane notion to go south--he had only one ambition while in california--an overpowering ambition to go north.
-"oh, for a mantle of snow, and a canopy of ice!" he shouted. "and, oh, for one touch on mine of my lola's cold, sweet cheek. oh, for the frozen, hopeless northland, even if its condition means the perpetual doom and obliteration of the whole eskimo race!"
-they shipped him north as fast as steam could carry him, and from dawson he went on foot, becoming day by day more and more his natural self. when he neared his igloo he found his lola standing with outstretched arms to welcome him even as she had mourned his departure, and he realized for the first time that the love and companionship of one woman is worth more than all the riches and wonders of the world put together. they embraced each other with the grip of a vice, in the awful power of their natures, and their affection was as genuine as the most civilized variety. and there he threw himself on the earth and hugged the snow of his dear northland.
-of the sweet young things
-once upon a time in ashcroft a very foolish young man married a very foolish young lady. they were foolish in so far as they had entered a matrimonial partnership without the preliminary requisite of love. he married because he wanted a wife, as all good men do; she married because she wanted a home, as all good women do. but, as we have said, they married too hastily in their eagerness for those mere mundane pleasures. each had been known to lie awake many nights before their marriage summing up the situation, and putting two and two together; but, as they were both liberal in their political views, and had no conservative opposition, the two and two always made four without a decimal remainder, and the house voted for marriage with an overwhelming majority. so they became legally united before they were morally mature for love, and before they had formal introduction to the great things of the world. after the solemnization of their marriage they adjourned to a beautiful little home which had been made to order; and it was guarded by a beautiful garden of eden.
-for a short time everything went merry as the ashcroft curlers' ball. her happiness was all he lived for, and his comfort was the only excuse she could find for living. nothing was too good for his maud; no man was like her manfred. they each congratulated themselves that they had hooked the best fish from the thompson. there was nothing in the world outside of their own sweet lives. how others could live outside of their sphere was a mystery to them; and the hugs and kisses which they did not treat themselves to daily would be of no commercial value as a love asset.
-for the first few weeks they spent their evenings with their tentacles wound around each other so tightly that they would have passed for one animal; but they had not been welded by that permanent binding quality which is essential to perpetual happiness. their natures seemed to blend, but it was only a case of superfluous friendship between them. they had no reason to fall out, no excuse to quarrel. they had one mind, one ambition, and they had agreed, mutually, to salt down a few "plunks" each payday for their anticipated gray days. in fact, they seemed better "cut out" for each other than many who marry loving desperately and savagely.
-in a few sweet years they had a few sweet children, and life was one sweet dream. but they did not love each other, and without oxygen the lights ultimately became extinguished. but this was only because the ironies of fate had discovered that they were too happy, and that something must be done to damage their heavenliness.
-the honeymoon might, otherwise, have lasted all their long lives without interruption. but fate decreed that the clouds should gather from the north, south, east and west to obliterate their sun. it happened in the shape of two monsters in the form of flossy and freddy. flossy and freddy were float rocks. they had been picked up by maud and manfred on their face value and welcomed to the family circle. they had been assayed at the provincial assay office and found to contain a valuable percentage of real collateral; so our hero and heroine could not be reproached for taking them into their arms and allowing them the freedom of their home pastures. but, ah! this is where the evil one sneaked on to the happy hearth-rug--they took the strangers into their arms. they were all young; and, moreover, human. what could they do when the failings of their ancestors of a million years took them in an iron grip and led them in a hypnotic spell toward the brink of ruin? they were as helpless as the liberals in b.c. politics in the year 1912. we have often quoted that every one must love one of the opposite sex at least once in a lifetime, and our hero and heroine were not immune from this stern gravitation law, because they were only human after all. what was the consequence? maud fell hopelessly in love with fred, and manfred lost his conscience, his manhood, his heart, his soul, his brains, his job and his salary over the flossy vision. they had fallen foul of a strong conservative party, and civil war broke out. the former happy couple looked upon each other as intruders, as disturbers of the peace. while before they could not get close enough, now they could not get far enough apart. manfred would enjoy his evenings at the ball or opera with flossy, while fred would entertain maud, much to her pleasure, at home. the wife hated to see her husband come home at all, but she went into hysterics when fred arrived. when fred and flossy were away, or absent, goodness knows where, the once happy home was like a lunatic asylum, in which the mania with the inmates was a total disregard of each other, and where language was unknown. the husband and wife drifted further and further apart. they ceased to smile, ceased to know each other, ceased to see each other. they were like a lion and a tiger in the same cage.
-as time went on the once happy home became a horrid prison. the children became detestable brats who were stumbling-blocks to their ambitions.
-manfred cooked his own meals, or ate at the "french" café. maud had to purchase food and clothing from the local emporium with money she had saved up before marriage while waiting table at the "best" hotel. finance became frenzied, for manfred spent both principal, interest and sinking fund on his affinity. starvation and the cold world were staring them in the face, for the wolf and the collection man were howling at the door. the city cut off their light and water supply for non-payment of dues, and were about to seize the property for arrears; so they were on the water wagon and in darkness, but still they would not regain consciousness.
-the usual course of events did not apply in this strange case. there was no jealousy floating on the surface on the part of the husband and wife. maud ignored manfred's insane attitude towards flossy because she had the same love-blind sickness and could see no one but fred. far from being jealous, manfred viewed his wife in the light of a white man's burden which he could not shake off. christian's burden was fiction beside it. flossy was the only star in his firmament--the only toad in his puddle.
-the children were neglected, and ran wild in the bush. it was as though some great belgian calamity had overtaken the household and had riven it asunder. the garden lost its lustre, irrigation was discontinued, the fruit trees lost their leaves prematurely; the very willows wept. the pickets fell from the fence unheeded; the stovepipe smoked, and the chickens laid away in the neighbor's yard. the house assumed the appearance of a deserted sty. divorce was suggested inwardly--that modern refuge to which the weak-minded flee in seeking a drastic cure for a temporary ailment; and all this disruption in two hearts which had tripped along together so smoothly and pleasantly. surely love, misapplied, is a curse. it is surely sometimes a severe form of insanity. if so, those two were insane, just waiting for the pressure to be removed from the brain. and, theirs was a pitiful and unfruitful case indeed. they were--
-thirst crazed; fastened to a tree, by a sweet river running free.
-in the meantime fred and flossy were having "barrels" of amusement at the expense of the demented ones. fred and flossy were perhaps in the wrong in causing such an upheaval in a very model household. but they were young, and the mischief had taken root before they suspected that any such danger was in existence. when the awfulness of the situation dawned upon them they looked at each other one day in the interrogative and agreed that the poisonous weed should be uprooted. but since it had grown to such proportions it was difficult to arrive at a means by which the evil could be strangled. now fred and flossy loved each other, and the lady was just waiting for the gentleman to put the motion, so that she would have an opportunity to second it.
-the thirst-crazed husband and wife, however, were too blind to observe that anything unusual existed between their two friends, and they continued to float down that smooth but awful river to destruction.
-"why does she not die?" whispered the demon within the man.
-"why does he not fall into the thompson and get drowned for accommodation?" questioned the evil one in the heart of the woman.
-at last the eruption became "vesuvian," and the ashes from the crater threatened to re-bury pompeii--we mean ashcroft. thoughts of suicide as the only means of relief bubbled up at intervals.
-"give me love or give me death," they shouted when the fever was at its highest.
-it is impossible to say just how this war would have ended if an unforeseen neutral incident had not brought an influence to bear which made a continuation of the conflict an impossible and aimless task.
-one day the deaf, and dumb, and blind husband and wife were sitting by the neutral hearth as far apart as it was possible to be removed and yet be able to enjoy the friendly heat of the neutral air-tight heater. the neutral cat jumped up on the husband's knee, but in his belligerent mood he dashed it to the floor. the wife picked it up and stroked its sleek fur. the neutral children were out in the garden abusing the flowers and breaking pickets from the fence; and one had an old saw and was sawing at the trimmings of the cottage like a woodsman sawing down a cedar at the coast.
-there was rustling of a lady's skirt, and the tramp of hurried feet on the garden path outside. the next moment the door was pushed open and fred and flossy dashed in, laughing like to split their sides.
-"you tell them," said fred.
-"no, you," said flossy, blushing deeply.
-"no, you," said fred, and he seized flossy's hand.
-"well, you know, fred has--" she began.
-"to make a long story short," said fred, "we are to be married, and the date has been fixed for june."
-when vesuvius buried up pompeii the people could not have been more horrified than the belligerent husband and wife. they looked at each other for the first time in six months. the man pitied the woman, and cursed himself for crossing swords with her. the woman at once recognized her husband as a hero, and was ashamed of herself. they each waited for the other to make the first confession, but it was left to both. they sprang into each other's arms and became welded for life in one beautiful but awful squeeze.
-the fright had cured them. it had opened their eyes to the realization of the ridiculousness of the situation, and revealed the criminality of their past behavior.
-of the two ladies in contrast
-once upon a time in ashcroft two ladies were thrown into the same society; because in ashcroft there is only one class. when any function took place the glad hand was extended to one and all. for every dollar possessed by one of the ladies' husbands the other husband had five. mrs. fivedollars was very extravagant in her dress and domestic department, and mrs. onedollar was very envious and ambitious. the husband of the one dollar variety was more or less of a henpeck because he could not multiply his income by five and produce a concrete result.
-it was a very predominating mania with mrs. onedollar to shine in society with as great a number of amperes as her rival; and this ambition gave rise to one of the greatest domestic civil wars that ashcroft has even seen. mrs. fivedollars had no envy. there was no corner in the remote recesses of her heart rented by this mischievous goddess. she made no effort to "outfashion" fashion or to outshine her neighbors. what she displayed in dress did not extend beyond the natural female instincts for attire. of course she had no cause to be envious, being by far the best dressed lady in town without undue effort. mrs. onedollar viewed the situation from a social apex, and the more she studied the situation the more she realized that the world was discriminating against her. from being the best of friends, they developed into the most deadly of enemies.
-now, it came to pass that the husbands of those two ladies were the best of friends. they met frequently in the "best" and "next best" hotels and drank healths in the most harmless and jolly manner. they often met at their places of business and exchanged ideas. they had business relations with each other which terminated to the advantage of both. to quarrel with each other, to them, was much the same as to quarrel with their bread and butter. they had absolutely no ambitions with regard to their personal appearance. they had a suit of clothes each; when that was old or shabby they got another one. but, in this respect, man is very different from woman. all man wants is covering; a woman must have ornament, and she must equal, if not outshine, her neighbor. the tension between the two ladies became greater until it was almost at the breaking point. several attempts had been made by the distracted husbands to unscrew the strings which they knew were about to snap, but the result was nil.
-"the vixen," said the one. "the hussy," said the other; and when two ladies develop the habit of calling each other such queer pet names, a reconciliation seems very remote indeed.
-the climax came at the annual clinton ball. this was one of those historic functions to which everyone is extended a hearty invitation, and it is one of the great events of the season. the entire lillooet, yale and cariboo districts participate--it is a regular meeting of the clans. and that year was no exception. all our friends were there, including our heroes and heroines. the music was throwing its waves of delightful chords through the hall and over the heads of the throng of dancers. something happened! no one knew just what it was, but in the middle of the floor two ladies were seen tearing each other's hair and draperies. heavens! it was our two heroines. the tension had reached the limit--the strings were broken. in a moment our two heroes were on the scene, and each one seized his bundle of property and rushed with it to safety. the two ladies were bundled into their autos and hurried home to ashcroft in the middle of the night.
-the next day a council of war was held by the two husbands and it was unanimously agreed that something must be done.
-"i have it!" exclaimed mr. fivedollars. "now, listen. i will take you in as a partner in business. i will give you twenty years to pay your share, and we will dress our wives exactly alike." the plan was adopted, and the result was phenomenal. mr. onedollar had at last multiplied his insignificant unit by five and had a concrete accumulation. the two ladies dressed themselves alike extravagantly, and all rivalry ceased. they became great friends again and lived happily ever after. and all this disturbance and discord of human hearts was over a miserable bundle of inanimate drapery.
-of the ruse that failed
-once upon a time in ashcroft there lived a lady who had the wool pulled over her husband's eyes to such an extent that he had optical illusions favorable to the "darling" who deceived him. his most alluring illusion was a booby idea that his "pet" was an invalid, and she kept pouring oil on the joke to keep it burning, and pulled the wool down further and further so that hubby could not see the combustible fluid she was pouring into the flames. her illness was one of those "to be continued" story kinds--better to-day, worse to-morrow--and she "took" to the blankets at the most annoying and inopportune moments; and every time she "took" an indisposition she expected hubby to pull down the window curtains and go into mourning. but he, the hardhearted man, would continue to eat and smoke and sleep as though no volcanic lava were threatening to submerge the old homestead. his sympathy was not enough; he should stop eating, stop sleeping, and stop smoking--he should be in direct communication with the undertaker and negotiating about the price of caskets.
-his wife had the misleading conviction that when she was ill her case was more serious than that of anyone else. in fact, no one else had ever suffered as she suffered; their ailments were summer excursions to the antipodes compared with hers, and when hubby argued that all flesh was subject to ills and disorders, that almost every unit of the human species had toothaches and rheumatics, the argument was voted down unanimously by the suffragette majority as illegitimate argument.
-gradually hubby became convinced that his wife was an invalid, and he went into mourning as much as a man could mourn the loss of a joy that he had grasped for, and just missed in the grasping. he enjoyed the situation as much as a man could who had discovered that he had amalgamated himself with an hospital which was mortgaged for all it was worth to the family physician. out of his salary of seventy-five dollars per month sixty-five was devoted towards the financing of the doctor's time payments on his automobile; the balance paid for food, clothing, water, light, and fuel, and supplied the wolf with sufficient allowance to keep him from entering the parlor in the concrete. but the philosopher, as all men must ultimately become, concluded to make the best of his bad real estate investment. he resigned himself to a life of perpetual, unaffected martyrdom. after all, it was his personal diplomacy that was at fault--he should not have bought a pig in an ashcroft potato sack.
-during the first year of their matrimonial failure they had rooms at the "best" hotel, and the girls carried breakfast to the bride's room seven mornings of every week at about 10.30, where the "invalid" devoured it with such greed and relish that they became suspicious and talked "up their sleeves" about her. three days each week she had all meals carried up to her, and the girls wondered how she could distribute so much proteid about her system with so little exercise. the extreme healthfulness of her constitution was the only thing that saved this woman from dying of surfeit. the only occasions on which she would rise from her lethargy was to attend a dance or social of some kind given at walhachin or savona--she did not avoid one of them, and on those occasions she would be the liveliest cricket on the hearth, the biggest toad in the puddle, while the husband was pre-negotiating with the physician for some more evaporated stock in the auto. how she ever got home was a mystery, for she would be more disabled than ever for weeks to come. of course she had just overdone her constitutional possibility--she said so herself, and she should know.
-whispers went abroad that she was lazy, and they became so loud that hubby heard them over the wireless telephone. he became exasperated. "my wife a hypocrite? never! the people have hearts of stone--brains of feathers--they do not understand."
-one day--it had never occurred to him before--he suggested that they consult a specialist in somnolence. but she would not hear of it; there was nothing wrong with her; all she wanted was to be left alone. in a short time hubby began to consider her in the light of a "white man's burden," and had distorted visions of himself laboring through life with an over-loaded back action.
-one day the hotel proprietor advised him of a contemplated raise in his assessment to re-imburse the business for extras in connection with elevating so much food upstairs, which was not part and parcel of the rules and regulations of the house in committee. besides, the accommodation was needless.
-"needless!" exclaimed hubby. "would you degenerate a lady and gentleman wilfully. i will leave your fire-trap at once and cast anchor at the 'next best.'" the proprietor argued that his competitor was welcome to such pickings, so he made no comment on the debate.
-the "next best" was "full up," as it always is, so they carried the living corpse out on a stretcher, and hubby went batching with his burden in a three-roomed house on bancroft street. when it became hubby's duty to cook the meals and carry half of them to bed for his better half every morning before breakfast he began to taste silly and smell sort of henpeck like. he persisted humbly, lovingly, self-sacrificingly, henpeckedly, however, until one morning his sun rose brighter than it had ever done before and he saw a faint glimmer of light through the wool that was hanging in front of him.
-"perhaps there is such a commodity as superfluous personal sacrifice to one's matrimonial obligations," he soliloquized. "perhaps this spouse of mine with the pre-historic constitution can be cured by an abstract treatment. is she ill, or is she playing a wild, deceitful part? is she sitting on me with all her weight?" he was willing to allow her the usual proportion of female indisposition, but a continued story of such nightmare proportions was beginning to unstring his physical telephone system. so, to we who have no wool over our eyes, this was one of the most pitiful and criminal cases of selfish indolence, perhaps coupled with a belief that a husband, through his sympathy, will love a woman the more because of her suffering. no supposition, of course, could be farther from the concrete--a husband wants, requires, admires, loves, a healthy, active working-partner. failing this the husband as a husband is down and out.
-when hubby began to realize this an individual reformation was at the dawning. the very next morning no breakfast arrived by private parcel post.
-"harry," she exclaimed, "bring me my porridge and hot cakes; i am starving."
-"if you are starving get up and eat in your stall at the table," said harry, sarcastically, although it pained him.
-"harry!" she shouted, "you selfish beast!"
-for diplomatic reasons harry was silent.
-harry made an abrupt exit without waiting for adjournment, and went up town. a new life seemed to be dawning upon him. it was the emancipation from slavery. he went into the drug store, into the hardware store, into the hotels and all the other stores--he talked and laughed as he had never done before.
-it was 3 a.m. the following morning when he found himself searching for the door-knob in the vicinity of the front window. having gained an entrance, he was accosted by his wife, who exclaimed: "harry, you drunk?"
-"well, y'see, it was the pioneer shupper," said harry, and he tumbled into bed.
-this was harry's first ruse. his next move was an affinity. he would cease to pose as a piece of household furniture--a dumb waiter sort of thing.
-at that time there was a vision waiting table at the "best" who had most of the fellows on a string. harry threw his grappling irons around her and took her in tow. this went on for some time without suspicion being aroused on the part of the "invalid," but the wireless telegraphy of gossip whispered the truth to her one day when she was wondering what demon had taken possession of her protector. she dropped her artificial gown in an instant and rushed up railway avenue like a militant suffragette. just about the local emporium harry was sailing along under a fair and favorable wind, hand in hand with his new dream, when he saw his legal prerogative approaching near the "next best" hotel. he dislodged his grappling-hooks in an instant, stepped slightly in advance, and feigned that he had been running along on his own steam. but she saw him and defined his movements. they met like two express engines in collision, and what followed had better be left buried underneath the sidewalk of the local emporium. there were dead and dying left on the field, and they reached home later by two rival routes of railway.
-the stringency endured some days, which time she huffed and he read charles darwin. at the end of that period the ice broke, as it always does; the clouds rolled away, and the sun began to shine, and they began to negotiate for peace. they had a long sitting of parliament, and it was moved and seconded, and unanimously carried, that each give the other a reprieve. it meant the amalgamation of two hearts that became so intertwined with roots that nothing earthly could pull them asunder. it was the founding of one of the happiest homes in ashcroft. he left his affinity--she left her bed. they became active working partners. long years after he told her of his ruse. she laughed.
-"you saved me," she said.
-he endorsed the note, and they had one long, sweet embrace which still lingers in their memory.
-of the real santa claus
-once upon a time it was christmas eve in vancouver, b.c., and the snow was falling in large, soft flakes. the electric light plants were beating their lives out in laborious heart-throbs, giving forth such power that the streets and shop windows had the appearance of the phantom scene of a fairy stage-play rather than a grim reality; they were lighter than day. there was magic illumination from the sidewalk to the very apex of the tallest sky-scraper. being christmas eve, the streets were thronged with pleasure seekers, and eager, procrastinating, christmas gift maniacs. they were all happy, but they were temporarily insane in the eagerness of their pursuit. they all had money, plenty of it; and this was the time of year when it was quite in order to squander it lavishly, carelessly, insanely--for, is it not more blessed to give than to receive?
-the habiliments of the hurrying throng were exuberant, extravagant and ostentatious in the extreme. everyone seemed to vie with every other, with an envy akin to insanity, for the laurels in the fashion world, and they were talking and laughing gaily, and some of them were singing christmas carols. they did not even seem to regret the soft wet snow that was falling on their costly apparel and soaking them--they seemed rather to enjoy it. besides, they could go home at any time and change and dry themselves--and, was it not christmas, the one time of the year when the whole world was happy and lavish? the persons of the ladies were bathed in perfume, and the clothing of the gentlemen was spotless, save where the large, white snowflakes clung for a moment before vanishing into fairyland. vancouver was certainly a city of luxury, a city of ease, a city of wealth, and it was all on exhibition at this time of approaching festival. everyone was rich, and money was no obstacle in the way of enjoyment.
-but we have seen one side of the picture only. we have been looking in the sunlight; let us peer into the shadows. there was a reverse side. a girl of about thirteen years of age was standing at the corner of hastings and granville offering matches for sale to the stony world. she was bareheaded, thinly clad, shivering. her clothing was tattered and torn. her shoes were several sizes too large, and were some person's cast-off ones. it was christmas, and no one was seeking for matches. they were all in search of gold and silverware, furs and fancies, to give away to people who did not require them.
-"matches, sir?" the solicitous question was addressed to a medium-sized, moderately dressed man who was gliding around the corner and whistling some impromptu christmas carol; and she touched the hem of his garment. this unit of the big world paused, took the matches, and began to explore his hemisphere for five cents. in the meantime he surveyed the little girl from head to foot, and then he glanced at the big world rushing by in two great streams.
-"give me them all!" he said with an impulse that surprised him, and he handed her one dollar. "now, go home and dry yourself and go to bed," he continued. he did not stop to consider that she might not have a home and a bed, but continued on his way with his superfluity of matches. his home was bright, and warm, and cheery when he arrived there, and his wife welcomed him. "i have brought you a christmas present," he said, and he handed her the matches. when she opened the package he found it necessary to explain.
-it was christmas, and the snow was still falling in large, soft flakes. it was about ten inches deep out on the hills, among the trees out along capilano and lynn creeks, but it had been churned into slush on the streets and pavements of vancouver. the church bells were ringing, and our gaily clad and happy acquaintances of the evening before were again thronging the streets; but to-day they were on their way to church to praise the one whose birthday they were observing. our friend of the large heart was also there, and so was his wife--two tiny drops in that great bucketful of humanity. the match vendor was also there--another very tiny drop in that great bucketful. "what! selling matches on christmas day?" remarked a passer-by. "you should be taken in charge by the inquisition."
-"matches, sir?" said the tiny voice, and she again touched the hem of our hero's garment. the big-hearted man looked at his tender-hearted wife, and the tender-hearted wife looked at her big-hearted man. "yes, give me them all," he said again, and he handed her another dollar. he was evidently trying to buy up all the available matches so that he could have a corner on the commodity. "here," he continued, "take this dollar also. buy yourself something good for christmas, and go home and enjoy yourself."
-"i have no home, and the shops are all closed," she said, brushing the wet snow from her hair.
-"no home!" exclaimed the lady, incredulously, "and the world is overflowing with wealth and has homes innumerable. is it possible that the world's goods are so unevenly divided?"
-the girl began to cry.
-"come and have your christmas dinner with us," said the lady.
-the girl, still weeping, followed in her utter innocence and helplessness.
-ding-dong, went the merry bells. tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big, voluptuous world. honk, honk, went the horns of the automobiles; for it was christmas, and all went merry as a marriage bell.
-the fire was burning brightly. the room was warm and cozy. the house was clean, tidy, and cheery. it was a dazzling scene to one who had been accustomed to the cold, bare, concrete pavements only.
-"my!" exclaimed the girl as they entered. it was a perfect fairyland to her. it was a story. it was a dream.
-"now, we are going to have the realest, cutest, christmas dinner you ever saw," said the lady, producing a steaming turkey from the warming oven. the girl danced in her glee and anticipation. "but first you must dress for dinner. we will go and see santa claus," smiled the foster-mother. she retired with a waif, and returned with a fairy, and they sat down to a fairy dinner.
-"what a spotless tablecloth! what clean cups and saucers, and plates and dishes! what shining knives and forks! what kind friends!" thought the orphan. "i had no idea such things existed outside of heaven," she exclaimed aloud in her rapture.
-"it is all very commonplace, i assure you," said the man, "but it takes money to buy them."
-"and yet," philosophized the lady, "if we are dissatisfied in our prosperity, what must a life be that contains nothing?"
-ding-dong, went the bells. tramp, tramp, went the feet of the big world outside. honk, honk, went the horn of the automobile; but the happiest heart of them all was the little waif who had been, until now, so lonely, so cold, so hungry, so neglected. they were the happiest moments in her whole life. her time began from that day. but that is many years ago. the orphan is a lady now in vancouver; and every christmas she gives a dinner to some poor people in honor of those who adopted her and saved her from the slums.
-of the retreat from moscow
-once upon a time four ashcroft napoleons, known locally as "father," "deacon," "cyclone," and "skookum," invaded vancouver to demonstrate at an inter-provincial curling bonspiel that was arranged to take place at that city. their object was to bring home as many prizes and trophies as they could conveniently carry without having to pay "excess baggage," and donate the balance to charity. it was decided later not to take any of the prizes, as it was more blessed to give than to receive, and they did not only give away all the trophies, but they gave away all the games as well--games they had a legitimate mortgage on--and they were glad to see the other fellows happy.
-they located the fire escape, as it is always better to come in by the front door like a millionaire and leave by the fire escape in the dead of the night when the stableman is asleep at his post.
-early next morning, at about ten o'clock, they invaded the dining-room as hungry as hyenas, and had a lovely breakfast of porridge and cream, ham and eggs, toast and butter, tea or coffee. to encourage the coffee somewhat the deacon "dug" his front foot into the lump-sugar bowl and extracted a couple of aces; and the other mimics followed suit with two, three, and four spots. the breaking of this fast cost forty-five cents for the meal, and fifty-five for the waiter just to make the "eat" come to even money, and they were too large socially to take away small change economically. every meal they put into their waste baskets necessarily extracted one day from the other end of their excursion via the fire escape, and that is one reason why they returned so soonly. cyclone, having drawn on his personal account at a vancouver branch of the ashcroft bank for enough to pay his next meal and car fare, and skookum having jotted down the usual morning poetic inspiration on the sublimity of the situation, the army, led by father, marched full breast upon the curling rink building. there were no knights at the gate to defend the castle, nor did the band meet them at the portal--neither did the vancouver curling club. their arrival, strange to say, created no commotion; they did not seem to have been anticipated. things went along as though nothing extraordinary had taken place.
-the appearances at the rink, however, were intoxicating, which largely made up for the invisibility of the receiving committee. the rink was somewhat larger than the town hall at ashcroft, and the great, high, arched, glass ceiling was studded with electric lights like stars in the heavens. extensive rows of seats for spectators encircled the entire room, and in the centre, the arena was one clear, smooth sheet of hard, white ice. several games were in progress, and they saw their old friend "tam" playing with his usual scotch luck and winning for all he was worth.
-ashcroft selected the ice upon which the first blood was to be sprinkled. the battle began on schedule time, and as they had anticipated, they won without a single casualty. as a result of this "clean up," a private conference was held that night by the vancouver and other clubs behind closed doors, at which it was moved, and seconded, and adopted, that ashcroft was a dangerous element in their midst, and that drastic measures must be set in motion at once to arrest such phenomenal accomplishments or the bonspiel would be lost. all unconscious of the conspiracy against them, ashcroft spent the afternoon riding up and down the moving stairs at spencer's, led by the "deak," who had had previous practice at this amusement. curling to them was as easy as this stairway, and as simple as eating a meal if you cut out the tipping of the waiter. that night they took in a show which was a "hum dinger," and should have endured a life-time. what a sweet life it was; nothing to do but live, and laugh, and curl, and win; if it would only continue indefinitely without having to worry about the financing of it! napoleon "had nothing" on father, and he felt that he could even "put it over" on the local star. but something happened the next day. whether it was the private conference, or the moving stairs, or the pantages, or whether it was that ashcroft became more careless with success, and vancouver more careful with defeat, will never be known. they pierced no more bull's eyes--and sometimes they missed the entire target. they had every qualification essential to the successful curler but talent. they had the rocks, the brooms, the ribbons, the sweaters--they even had the will. it is strange with all those requisites that they could not win.
-the retreat from moscow took place three days later, and they went straggling over the alps in one long string. as though the mortification of defeat was not enough, a huge joke was prepared for them by the reception committee of the local curling club, and lemons have been at a premium in ashcroft ever since.
-the okanagan valley, in the province of british columbia, is bounded on the north by the mosquitoes at sicamous, and on the south by the forty-ninth parallel of north latitude, which is the united states; and to one who is accustomed to the sand and the sage, the general aspect throughout gives a most pleasing rest to the eye. a trip to the okanagan is like one sweet dream to the inhabitants of the dry belt--a dream that is broken only once by a dreadful nightmare--the mosquito conquest at sicamous; but you forgive and forget this the moment after you awake. the mosquitoes at sicamous are as great a menace to that town as the germans are to europe.
-there are friends we never meet; there is love we never know.
-here people--strangers and friends--meet and nod, smile, talk and depart ten or twelve times every day. you will wonder how people can talk so much, and what they get to talk about--people who meet accidentally here, only for a moment, and will never meet again, perhaps. almost hourly, night and day, cosmopolitan little throngs jump from trains, chat a few moments among themselves, or with others who have been waiting, and then allow themselves to be picked up by the next train and rushed off into eternity--that is, so far as you are concerned, for you will never see them again--and some of them were becoming so familiar. they are voices and faces flitting across your past; they are always new, always strange, always interesting; they are laughing, chatting, smiling, scowling, worrying. there are fair faces and dark faces, pleasant faces and angry faces, careless faces and anxious faces, and faces that are thin, fat, long and short. the voices are as varied as the faces. there is the sharp, clear voice and the dull voice, the angry one and the pleasant one. there are young and old, beautiful and ugly, scowls and smiles, the timid and the fearless--the black, the white, and the yellow; and there are faces that look so much like ones you know at home that you are just on the point of asking them how the boys and girls have been since you left. if they had known that they were the actors on a stage, and you were the audience, conditions might have been improved--artificially; they might have acted better, with more "class," but the interest would have been injured; you would have been robbed of a genuine entertainment. those people went north, south, east and west; they went to the four corners of the earth. the sound of their voices and laughs go up into the tree-tops, up into the hills and down into the lake, and they are echoed back to us; and that is the only record that is ever taken, of this interesting drama; and then the voices fade away east--fade away west.
-but you hear the elaborate puffing and snorting of a locomotive as though laboring under its great load of humanity; there is a loud whistle from somewhere, and then another; two engines are speaking to each other; then the bell rings, the engine sweeps by, and the whole earth trembles--it is the delayed eastern train. there is a great scramble for entrance. chance acquaintances are forgotten in the individual excitement. the steps to one car are blocked by one man who has enough baggage for ten, and one worried-looking young lady with a baby is afraid she will lose her train. the train pulls out with a "swish, swish" of escaping steam under great pressure from the engine, and the station is robbed of half its population. the familiar faces have disappeared, but a new throng has been cast into your midst--new faces, new smiles, new voices, new scowls; and the chatter is renewed with vigor when we have found ourselves, and are located in several little isolated bunches. but the okanagan local is here waiting for our scalps. there is another scramble of men, women, children, bag and baggage, for seats, and we are off. the little station platform is deserted and silent but for the clatter of the wheels of the baggage truck. the tree tops sigh, the lake murmurs, but they cannot hold us, we must hurry to the great beyond--the whole world depends upon our individual movements.
-of the ubiquitous cat
-once upon a time i had a very curious experience which had a very curious ending.
-i walked into a strange person's house, uninvited, for some mysterious reason perfectly unknown to myself.
-sitting promiscuously around an old-fashioned fire-place, in which blazed a cheery fire, were a man and woman and four small children; and on a lounge, partly hid under the eiderdown quilt, lay a pure white cat, half asleep and half awake, and at intervals casting sly glances at some of the children. the cat seemed to all intent and purpose one of that human family.
-now, although the cat can be abused like a toy doll by the children without losing his temper, yet he has the most curiously composed disposition of all the domestic animals. although extravagantly domesticated, and although he shares our beds and tables with impunity, yet he is, to the mouse, as cruel and treacherous as a man-eating tiger.
-however, we did not take up our pen to discuss cat psychology. upon entering the strange person's house so unceremoniously, i sat me down upon a vacant chair, also uninvited, and began to make myself at home.
-the strange persons did not seem to take any exception to my strange behavior, but, kept on talking as though nothing extraordinary had taken place in the human social regulations. i was more interested in the cat than i was in the people, and i could not keep my eye from him, he was so much like our "teddy" at home.
-at last i convinced myself that it was teddy.
-"where did you get that cat?" i asked.
-"why, we have always had him. we raised him. he sleeps with the children every night, and gets up with them in the morning--when he is here," said the mother.
-our teddy had the same weakness, and i was so positive that this was he that i called him by name.
-in a moment he came to me and was on my knee--it was indeed teddy.
-now, here was one of the most unique situations on record.
-"this is my cat," i said demandingly.
-"it is ours," said the chorus of children's voices.
-it suddenly occurred to me that teddy was in the habit of leaving home and would be absent for several days at a time. could it be possible he had two homes? did this cat actually accept the affections and hospitality of two distinct families, at the same time, without once breathing the truth or giving himself away?
-i went home puzzled to my wife and said:
-"do you know, teddy is not all ours?"
-"what do you mean?"
-i was just about to tell my strange story when i awoke, and, behold, it was a dream.
-bits of history
-of the foolhardy expedition
-the people who inhabited this globe during the year 1725 undoubtedly obtained a different view of things terrestrial than we do who claim the world's real estate in 1915, because they had no telegraph, no telephone, no electric light, no automobile, and no aeroplane. how they managed to live at all is a mystery to the twentieth century biped. fancy having to cross the street to your neighbor's house when you wanted to ask him if he was going to the pioneer supper, and just think of having no "hello girl" to flirt with. the condition seems appalling. but what they lacked in knowledge and in indolent conveniences we beg to announce that they made up in foolhardiness which they called bravery. well, if it can be called brave to make a needless target of oneself to a bunch of savage indians, why then they had the proper derivation of the term.
-from one of francis parkman's admirable works we have seized upon the scene of our story, which was acted out at the beginning of the eighteenth century, namely, 1725. the indians seem to have been very hostile in those early days in the immediate vicinity of the early new england provinces; and we are convinced some of the white men were very hostile as well. of course we, in our day, cannot blame them--they had no telephones, autos, electricity, "hello girls"--they had to be something, so they were hostile towards the indians.
-dunstable was a town on the firing line of massachusetts, and was attacked by indians in the autumn of 1724, and two men were carried off. ten others went in pursuit, but fell into an ambush, and nearly all were killed. but now we will follow the words of francis parkman, who has a delightful way of relating his stories.
-"a company of thirty was soon raised." they were to receive two shillings and sixpence per day each, "out of which he was to maintain himself";--very little to risk one's life for; but in those days it was no concern with a man whether he was killed or not. besides, it was worth something to get killed and have francis parkman write about you more than a century later. perhaps they anticipated this perpetuation of their names and deeds.
-now here is where the foolhardiness of the expedition begins to appeal to us. supposing just here they had met five hundred crazy indians with five hundred crazy bows and arrows? and they must have expected it. they were searching for indians. perhaps they were seeking martyrdom? but the new englander of the frontier was nothing if not foolhardy. they mistook it for bravery, and there must have been some bravery amalgamated with it, because a man must have a certain quantity of that rarity before he can lend himself out as a target at two shillings and sixpence a day, "out of which he was to maintain himself."
-now, if you have patience to follow you will learn that they ultimately met the very thing which you expect--which they must have expected.
-"thus far the scouts had seen no human footprints; but on the twentieth of february they found a lately abandoned wigwam, and following the snowshoe tracks that led from it--" right into the lion's jaw, as it were. perhaps they were anxious to be shot to get out of their misery--"at length saw smoke rising at a distance out of the gray forest." they saw their finish, and their hearts were filled with joy. "the party lay close till two o'clock in the morning; then, cautiously approaching, found one or more wigwams, surrounded them, and killed all the inmates, ten in number." they were to pay dear for this, as anyone could have told them. "they brought home the scalps in triumph, ... and lovewell began at once to gather men for another hunt.... at the middle of april he had raised a band of forty-six." one of the number was seth wyman, ... a youth of twenty-one, graduated at harvard college, in 1723, and now a student of theology. chaplain though he was, he carried a gun, knife and hatchet like the others, and not one of the party was more prompt to use them.... they began their march on april 15th." after leaving several of their number by the way for various causes, we find thirty-seven of them on the night of may 7th near fryeburg lying in the woods near the northeast end of lovewell's pond.
-we congratulate ourselves that we did not live on the frontier of new england in the year 1725.
-of the laws of lycurgus
-lycurgus reigned over a place called lacedæmon, which is a part of greece, about the year 820 b.c. now, this is a great many years ago, and is further back into the archives of history than most of us can remember. there is no doubt, however, that this great ruler, lycurgus, was crazy, or he was one of those persons whose brains cease to develop after they have left their teens. he certainly secures the first prize as a "whim" strategist. in spite of his insane eccentricities, he was allowed the full exercise of his freedom. had he flourished in 1915 a.d. instead of 820 "b.c." (which does not mean british columbia), the asylum for the insane at new westminster would not have been strong enough to retain him. lycurgus did one redeeming thing--he founded a senate; "which, sharing,"--we are following plutarch--"as plato says, in the power of the kings, too imperious and unrestrained before, and having equal authority with them, was the means of keeping them within bounds of moderation, and highly contributed to the preservation of the state. the establishment of a senate, an intermediate body, like ballast, kept it in just equilibrium, and put it in a safe posture: the twenty-eight senators adhering to the kings whenever they saw the people too encroaching, and on the other hand, supporting the people, when the kings attempted to make themselves absolute."
-now, what in the world possessed this despotic imbecile to form a senate? his action in this can only be accounted for in the light that it was one of those unpremeditated whims of a narrow-minded faddist. one naturally wonders what the newly created senators were doing while the king was imposing his insane laws. this body was formed for the "preservation of the state." the wonder is that there was any state left, for the king paralyzed commerce, smothered ambition, choked art to death, and placed a ban on modesty. further than having been "formed," the "senate" never again appears on the pages of the "lycurgus" book.
-plutarch, who lived in greece about the year 100 a.d., nine hundred years after the subject of his biography, relates the forming and imposing of those laws with the utmost faith, and the most implicit innocence; which goes to prove that the grecian idea of government, with all its knowledge, had not advanced much, at least up to the time of plutarch.
-and now for the laws.
-"a second and bolder political enterprise of lycurgus was a new division of the lands. for he found a prodigious inequality; the city overcharged with many indigent persons, who had no land; and the wealth centred in the hands of the few. determined, therefore, to root out the evils of insolence, envy, avarice, and luxury, and those distempers of a state still more inveterate than fatal--i mean poverty and riches--he persuaded them to cancel all former divisions of land and to make new ones, in such a manner as they might be perfectly equal in their possessions and way of living.
-his proposal was put in practice.
-"after this he attempted to divide also the movables, in order to take away all appearance of inequality; but he soon perceived that they could not bear to have their goods taken directly from them, and therefore took another method, counterworking their avarice by a stratagem."
-now, this seems to be the only law to which they made objection; and this proves that the love of personal "icties" has very deep roots. perhaps the influence of the "senate" sustained them in this, for qualifications for a senator, even in those days, must have called for men of some means, and they, when the shoe began to pinch their own feet, would not care to divide up their sugar and flour with the rank and file. it does not appear, however, that they had any say in the matter, and, beyond the statement that they were formed for a purpose, they seem to have taken no part in the affairs of state; if they had, lycurgus and his laws would never have been made part of history.
-"first he stopped the currency of the gold and silver coin"--thus he paralyzed industry--"and ordered that they should make use of iron money only; then to a great quantity and weight of this he assigned but a small value.... in the next place he excluded unprofitable and superfluous arts.... their iron coin would not pass in the rest of greece, but was ridiculed and despised, so that the spartans had no means of purchasing any foreign or curious wares, nor did any merchant ship unlade in their harbor." even plutarch sees nothing suicidal in all this voluntary isolating of themselves from the main arteries of commerce.
-"desirous to complete the conquest of luxury and exterminate the love of riches, he introduced a third institution, which was wisely enough and ingeniously contrived. this was the use of public tables, where all were to eat in common of the same meat, and such kinds of it as were appointed by law. at the same time they were forbidden to eat at home, or on expensive couches and tables.... another ordinance levelled against magnificence and expense, directed that the ceilings of houses should be wrought with no tool but the axe, and the doors with nothing but the saw. indeed, no man could be so absurd as to bring into a dwelling so homely and simple, bedsteads with silver feet, purple coverlets, or golden cups." thus he smothered art and personal ambition, two of the most requisite essentials to a people on their onward and upward trend to civilization and success. "a third ordinance of lycurgus was, that they should not often make war against the same enemy, lest, by being frequently put upon defending themselves, they too should become able warriors in their turn."
-and thus he made them defenceless against their enemies.
-"for the same reason he would not permit all that desired to go abroad and see other countries, lest they should contract foreign manners, gain traces of a life of little discipline, and of a different form of government. he forbade strangers, too, to resort to sparta who could not assign a good reason for their coming!"
-improvement with lycurgus means retrogression with us. he wished, perhaps ignorantly, to arrest the progress of civilization and substitute a slovenly ideal of his own. his purpose was to cancel the civilization which the race had gained during thousands of years of effort, and bring it back to a semi-savagery. but the world was too big for him. it had things in view which were too great for his small, hampered mind to have any suspicion of. no doubt he was sincere in his little, infinitesimal way; but it is a blessing for the world that his influence was confined to a very small corner of the then civilized world, and that others of broader views succeeded him to manage the affairs of states and nations. with all deference to old plutarch, the biographer of lycurgus, we wish to say that however grand the laws of this man may have been as ideals, they were utter failures when brought into practice.
-of joan of arc
-some people say the world is getting no better, but if we take a dip into history and consider the conditions which prevailed there from the earliest times up to only a few hundred years ago, we will find a race of human beings which in no wise resemble the present output except in form and stature. and our own forefathers--the people of the british isles, the anglo-saxons who are to-day leading in the social world--were not one iota better throughout those pages than many of the smallest and most unpretentious of obscure tribes living here and there in ignorant, local isolation. one of the strongest points in our argument is the fact that history, as we have it, is composed of the clang of battles and the private lives of kings and despots. the ordinary, everyday life of the peasant people--the working classes--the backbone of the nation, so to speak--was beneath the consideration of the historian throughout all times. the only virtue, in his estimation, was a strong arm--a large army to murder and destroy property. and the life of the historian must needs reflect that of the people. there is no doubt that in a great majority they were of a cruel, murderous nature. we get rare glimpses, however (at intervals of sometimes hundreds of years), of the doings, manners, and customs, likes and dislikes of the common people, that we can rely upon as authentic; the rest is poetry and legend, and, although typical, are relations of incidents that did not really occur.
-there is no doubt that, although it has been withheld, there was a great deal of virtue, which blushed and bloomed unseen, amid all this blood and war.
-as though by accident the historian who immortalized joan of arc has let slip a few words in connection with this heroine's early life that are more valuable to us than page upon page of some of our so-called history. "jeanne d'arc was the child of a laborer of domremy, a little village on the borders of lorraine and champagne. just without the cottage where she was born began the great woods of the vosges, where the children of domremy drank in poetry and legend from fairy ring and haunted well, hung their flower garlands on the sacred trees and sang songs to the good people who might not drink of the fountain because of their sins. jeanne loved the forest; its birds and beasts came lovingly to her at her childish call. but at home men saw nothing in her but 'a good girl,' simple and pleasant in her way, spinning and sewing by her mother's side while the other girls went to the fields--tender to the poor and sick."
-this is a little domestic scene of the year a.d. 1425, and how homelike and real and familiar it all is. what a sweet peace spot, among all the bloodshed and horror that was going on throughout france at that time.
-joan of arc is undoubtedly one of the most remarkable characters in all history. she was born at domremy, france, in 1412, and was executed in 1431. before she had reached twenty this girl had practically freed france from the english, or at least put the country upon such a footing that a few years accomplished its freedom.
-the superstitions of the times are no doubt responsible to a great extent for the success which was attained by this maid of orleans. "the english believed in her supernatural mission as firmly as the french did, but they thought her a sorceress who had come to overthrow them by her enchantments," and so on. the fact remains that this innocent peasant girl of eighteen years of age freed france from the english and accomplished things which no man of france at that time was able to do. either the french generalship of the times was very incompetent or the army was very much demoralized--at all events they had been awaiting the advent of a leader who was both determined and fearless, for skill does not seem to have been a requisite--and this appeared in the person of joan of arc.
-it is difficult to believe that an entirely inexperienced person of this kind could take charge of an army of ten thousand men and lead them to victory when the best trained generals of the time could do nothing and suffered defeat at every turn.
-with the coronation of the king the maid felt that her errand was over. "oh, gentle king, the pleasure of god is done," she cried, as she flung herself at the feet of charles, and asked leave to go home. "would it were his good will," she pleaded with the archbishop, as he forced her to remain, "that i might go and keep sheep once more with my sisters and my brothers; they would be glad to see me again."
-but the policy of the french court detained her. france was depending on one of its peasant girls for its very national existence. the humiliation of the thing should make all good frenchmen blush with shame. so she fought on with the conviction that she was superfluous in the army, and a slave to the french court. it does not appear that she was even placed upon the payroll, or that she received reward of any kind for her services--and there were no "victoria crosses" in those days. she fought on without pay; rendered all her services for nothing--perhaps for the love of the thing. during the defence of compiegne in may, 1430, she fell into the hands of one vendome, who sold her to the duke of burgundy. burgundy sold her to the english--her remuneration for her self-sacrificing, voluntarily-given services.
-and now comes the tragic part of a most pathetic story enacted out at a time when the name civilization, applied to the french and english, is a mockery. "in december she was carried to rouen, the headquarters of the english, heavily fettered, and flung into a gloomy prison, and at length, arraigned before the spiritual tribunal of the bishop of beauvais, a wretched creature of the english, as a sorceress and a heretic, while the dastard she had crowned king left her to die." she was not even granted a legal, judicial trial.
-some say that her sentence was at one time commuted to perpetual imprisonment, which proves that there was a glimmer of humanity hid away in some corner of the world, knocking hysterically in its imprisonment for admission. "but the english found a pretext to treat her as a criminal and condemned her to be burned." and at this juncture it may be well to say that we have good reason to be proud of ourselves to-day, and ashamed of our ancestors.
-"the story of joan has been a rich motive in the world of art, and painter and sculptor have spent their genius on the theme without as yet adequately realizing its simple grandeur."
-of voices long dead
-the following is not history, although we have placed it under this heading. it is the literal translation of a poem by theocritus, a light in the ancient literature of the greeks. although the actual incident never occurred, it is typical of what was going on among that long dead people, and it is of as much importance to us as the most valuable record of history, and is of vital interest when viewed in retrospect from the year 1915, because it gives us a rare glimpse into the domestic manners of a people who lived when all the present civilized world was in the hands of savages--and how modern it all seems. the scene might have been enacted yesterday even to the smallest detail.
-imagine yourself in the city of alexandria about the year 280 b.c.
-"some syracusan women staying at alexandria, agreed, on the occasion of a great religious solemnity--the feast of adonis--to go together to the palace of king ptolemy philadelphus, to see the image of adonis, which the queen arsinoe, ptolemy's wife, had had decorated with peculiar magnificence. a hymn, by a celebrated performer, was to be recited over the image. the names of the two women are gorgo and praxinoe; their maids, who are mentioned in the poem, are called eunoe and eutychis. gorgo comes by appointment to praxinoe's house to fetch her, and there the dialogue begins."
-we are following the translation of william cleaver wilkinson.
-gorgo. is praxinoe at home?
-praxinoe. my dear gorgo, at last! yes, here i am. eunoe, find a chair--get a cushion for it.
-g. it will do beautifully as it is.
-g. oh, this gadabout spirit! i could hardly get to you, praxinoe, through all the crowd and all the carriages. nothing but heavy boots, nothing but men in uniform. and what a journey it is! my dear child, you really live too far off.
-g. my dear, don't talk so of your husband before the little fellow. just see how astonished he looks at you. never mind, zopyrio, my pet, she is not talking about papa.
-g. pretty papa!
-g. mine is just the fellow to him.... but never mind; get on your things and let us be off to the palace to see the adonis. i hear the queen's decorations are something splendid.
-g. come, we ought to be going.
-g. praxinoe, you can't think how well that dress, made full, as you've got it, suits you. tell me, how much did it cost?--the dress by itself, i mean.
-g. well, you couldn't have done better.
-g. all right, praxinoe, we are safe behind them, and they have gone on to where they are stationed.
-g. (to an old woman). mother, are you from the palace?
-old woman. yes, my dears.
-g. has one a tolerable chance of getting there?
-o.w. my pretty young lady, the greeks got to troy by dint of trying hard; trying will do anything in this world.
-g. the old creature has delivered herself of an oracle and departed.
-g. look, praxinoe, what a squeeze at the palace gates!
-stranger. i'll do what i can, but it doesn't depend upon me.
-str. don't be frightened, ma'am; we are all right.
-g. praxinoe, come this way. do but look at that work, how delicate it is! how exquisite! why, they might wear it in heaven!
-another stranger. you wretched woman, do stop your incessant chatter. like turtles, you go on forever. they are enough to kill one with their broad lingo--nothing but a, a, a.
-g. lord, where does the man come from? what is it to you if we are chatterboxes? order about your own servants. do you give orders to syracusan women? if you want to know, we came originally from corinth, as bellerophon did; we speak peloponnesian. i suppose dorian women may be allowed to have a dorian accent.
-g. be quiet, praxinoe! that first-rate singer, the argive woman's daughter, is going to sing the adonis hymn. she is the same who was chosen to sing the dirge last year. we are sure to have something first rate from her. she is going through her airs and graces ready to begin.
-and here the voices die away in the remote past. how difficult it is to believe that this dialogue took place more than two thousand years ago!
-as a last glimpse of such a beautiful, modernly remote gem of conversation, we will give a few more words to show what those ancient gossipy ladies thought of their husbands.
-the following are the last surviving words which gorgo gave to the world:
-gorgo. praxinoe, certainly women are wonderful things. that lucky woman, to know all that; and luckier still to have such a voice! and now we must see about getting home. my husband has not had his dinner. that man is all vinegar, and nothing else; and if you keep him waiting for his dinner he's dangerous to go near. adieu! precious adonis, and may you find us all well when you come next year!
-he might have been a husband of yesterday!
-for how many years have the husbands been coming home from work daily to partake of a meal which an attentive and tender wife has prepared for him? this was twenty-two hundred years ago.
-of the white woman who became an indian squaw
-the early history of the northwest frontier of massachusetts is fraught with blood-curdling tales of savage invasions against the home-builders and empire-makers of that once troubled boundary between the french of canada and the english of the new england states, but there is not a more pitiful story than that which has been recorded touching the williams family of deerfield, who were captured by the indians during one of their inroads in the year 1704. john williams was a minister who had come to deerfield when it was still suffering from the ruinous effects of king philip's war. his parishioners built him a house, he married, and had eight children. the story of the indians' invasion, the destruction of the village, and the capture of over one hundred prisoners is admirably told by francis parkman in one of those excellent works of his dealing with the old régime of canada and new england.
-the hardships of the prisoners, and the crimes of the victors during that long and arduous march north through snow and ice, forms a chapter of pathos in the early history of those eastern states.
-"'she is there still,' writes williams two years later, 'and has forgotten to speak english.' what grieved him still more, eunice had forgotten her catechism." but now we come to this strange transformation, unprecedented, we think, which made an indian squaw out of a white woman. "eunice, reared among indian children, learned their language and forgot her own; she lived in a wigwam of the caughnawagas, forgot her catechism, was baptized in the roman catholic faith, and in due time married an indian of the tribe, who henceforth called himself williams. thus her hybrid children bore her family name.
-"many years after, in 1740, she came, with her husband, to visit her relatives at deerfield, dressed as a squaw and wrapped in an indian blanket. nothing would induce her to stay, though she was persuaded on one occasion to put on a civilized dress and go to church, after which she impatiently discarded her gown and resumed her blanket."
-could a sadder instance of degeneration be written in the annals of the human family? "she was kindly treated by her relatives, and no effort was made to detain her. she came again the following year, bringing two of her children, and twice afterwards she repeated the visit. she and her husband were offered land if they would remain, but she positively refused, saying it would endanger her soul. she lived to a great age, a squaw to the last. one of her grandsons became a missionary to the indians of green bay, wisconsin."
-this is one of the most drastic instances of a woman's devotion to husband, and mother love for children driving her back to the forest of her ancestors, and making her sacrifice all that her race had gained for her during thousands of years. thus the most natural and primitive instincts of the human race will prevail against all our arts, science and accomplishments.
-through the microscope
-through the microscope
-life is full of impossibilities.
-after all it is not money we want so much as something to do.
-every man should have an accomplishment of some kind.
-some music is like a jumble of misplaced notes.
-if you have reached forty and have done nothing, get busy.
-we sometimes lose dollars by being too careful with our cents.
-we should try to arrange ourselves so that we will appear as plausible as possible to posterity.
-we must have something to worry about or we will become stagnant.
-music should be rendered slowly and softly so that each note may have time to tell its story before the next one comes on the stage.
-when we are young our time is all present. when we are old there is no present, but our time becomes the aggregate days and years.
-we sometimes get into trouble trying to keep out of it.
-it is not what we would like to do, but what we can do.
-let us take our medicine philosophically.
-a dollar looks larger going out than it does coming in.
-what is that we see falling like grain before the reaper? it is the days, and the weeks, and the months, and the years.
-every dog wonders why the other dog was born.
-we are so constituted in temperament that one may love what the other hates.
-a face is like a song, it has to be learned to be thoroughly appreciated. you have to acquire a taste for it, and when it is once memorized it is never forgotten.
-most of our best words are derived from dead, heathen languages.
-if you have married the wrong man, or the wrong woman, cheer up and be a philosopher over it. philosophy is a good substitute for love if properly applied.
-if you do not go about sniffing the air you will not find so many obnoxious odors.
-if you have a mental wound of any kind, do not mind; time, the great healer, will cure it.
-we despise the ancient heathen, yet in some cases we have risen from his ashes.
-a woman dresses for appearance, not for comfort.
-an ounce of domestic harmony is worth a ton of gold.
-we should adjust ourselves as much as possible to circumstances.
-every man thinks his dog is an angel.
-it is not always the one who can afford it who keeps the hired servant.
-since we can grow a new finger nail, why cannot we grow a new finger?
-the mouse is destructive only from man's point of view.
-when a man reaches forty he usually settles down to make the best of things.
-sometimes we are called cranks because we will not be sat upon.
-the passing of time so quickly would not be so regrettable were life not so short.
-a good book has no ending.
-it is nothing to win a girl if you do not win her love also.
-the passing of time so quickly takes the pleasure out of everything.
-if you are popular, anything you say will rise into the air like a zeppelin. if you are unpopular anything you say or do will sink into the ocean of oblivion like a titanic.
-it is a pity we have to do so much to get so little.
-it sometimes pays to accept a few cents on the dollar and let it go at that.
-sometimes men become so parasitical to their occupation that, were they to lose it, they would drown.
-"help ye one another." it pays.
-our mistakes keep us perpetually on the convalescence.
-woman is equal to man--sometimes more than equal.
-while the years are with you freeze on to them as tightly as ever you can.
-the "give-in-to-nothing-or-nobody-for-anything" spirit nurses a great deal of evil.
-it takes forty years for a man to become a philosopher. some never graduate.
-our generation is to be pitied. it is living in the most extravagant age the world has ever known.
-when the church does not ameliorate the objectionable dispositions of its adherents, it has failed in its mission.
-it is diplomacy to be on friendly terms with all men.
-politics are sometimes dangerous things.
-be cheerful under all circumstances.
-the human race has mounted a treadmill which it must tread or perish.
-the strenuous industries of this world are man's unconscious efforts to preserve his increasing numbers from annihilation.
-courtesy in business is the best policy.
-it takes three men's wages to sustain one family in an up-to-date fashion.
-under the circumstances, it is almost necessary to be greedy and grasping.
-to be perfectly healthy we should adopt the exercises followed by our ancestors in climbing among the trees.
-it is not how much you can do or how quick you get through it, but the care that you take and how well you can do it.
-it is not the gift but the giving.
-it is quality, not quantity, that counts.
-do not measure a person's length by your personal prejudices.
-the man who never had an enemy is too good for this world.
-"you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make him drink." you can send a boy to college, but you cannot make him think.
-the dog hates the cat, and the cat hates the dog, but when they are friends there are no truer ones.
-just take the world as it is; take things as to be had. your friends may not be quite so good, your foes not quite so bad.
-it is the aggregate that counts.
-the almighty dollar is getting smaller every day.
-it is fashionable to be lazy.
-money is man's passport through the world.
-the one who is most jealous is the one who is least in love.
-poetry is something that was written by someone who is dead.
-life is one thing after another--getting in between man and his money.
-some men are so small that they could easily go through the eye of a needle.
-often the man who is the most mean in buying is the most extortionate in selling.
-some husbands have to prove their love by sending their wives off for a month's holiday every six weeks.
-the cat is one of the most cleanly of animals, yet she has never been known to take a bath.
-"it is an ill wind," etc. the harder the times become to others, the better they become to the sheriff.
-germany wants to reap where she has not sown.
-misery likes company. it is consolation to know that everybody else is hard up during these hard times.
-in our life struggle we are obliged to sacrifice many of our pet ambitions.
-if a person is not naturally inclined he cannot be influenced by argument.
-when the war is over it will be an easy matter to estimate the german casualties. she had about sixty-five millions.
-the present seems to be a thing of the past.
-an honorable defeat is more commendable than an empty triumph.
-one half of the war in europe does not know what the other half is doing.
-sometimes finance gets men into positions for which they are not qualified.
-we must abandon that ancient superstition that a dollar has any financial value.
-where a cat and a canary are brought up together, the cat ultimately gets the canary.
-if a man does not support his country during the war, what can he expect after the war is over?
-there is not a misunderstanding but that can be adjusted amicably if it is gone about in the right spirit.
-your business is not the only important one.
-it is a pity the cat would not always remain a kitten.
-with the bank man it is more a matter of figures than it is of dollars.
-to man, money is like a train going into a tunnel. it goes in at one end and out at the other, and leaves nothing.
-never judge a person's way by what the other people say.
-there are only two sides to business: what i.o.u. and what u.o.i.
-where there is abundance there is likely to be waste and lack of economy.
-a one dollar contra is often used to stave off a hundred dollar account.
-"every crow thinks that its bird is a white one," and every man thinks that his wife is the right one.
-the hieroglyphic signature is often taken as a sign of perfect commercial attainment.
-some people give and take; others are all take.
-blessed is the man who has no family, for he shall inherit wealth.
-unlucky is the man who has children, for verily i say unto you, they keep him broke.
-the good samaritan who lends his friend a dollar, sometimes loses both the friend and the dollar.
-the poorer a man the greater his misfortunes.
-a great many children go to school to learn to read novels.
-it takes as long to become a man as it does to become a philosopher.
-life is far too short judging by the time it takes to collect some of our accounts.
-first, steel made millionaires, then railways, then oil, then pork; and now it is the automobile.
-when two or three women are gathered together no man can tell when the end will be.
-the well-fed philosopher is likely to have a well-fed philosophy; the under-fed one an emaciated variety.
-habitual melancholy is not always a mental derangement; it is very often a constitutional weakness.
-live and--let your indorser--learn.
-the further you get into the world the less time you have for poetry, philosophy and sentiment.
-the doctor is a man whom we don't want to do any business with.
-you seldom meet an enthusiast who is not a crank also.
-individually, dimensions are determined by the proportions of the observer.
-the modern attitude is a contempt for economy. conservation is a bugbear.
-your neighbor is not a freak because he does not fall in line with your way of thinking.
-when you have gained your equilibrium, you usually find that it was not worth while getting mad after all.
-the romance of a pro-consul
-being the personal life and memoirs of the right hon. sir george grey, k.c.b.
-by james milne
-author of "the epistles of atkins" "my summer in london," etc.
-thomas nelson & sons london, edinburgh, dublin and new york
-a word to the reader
-when sir george grey died, twelve years ago, he left a message as well as a name to the english-speaking people. it was that their future rested in the federal idea of communion and government. he saw, vision-like, the form of this new age arise, because changed needs called it. as pro- consul he laboured for it unceasingly in our over-sea commonwealths, and south africa has most lately given answer. now, at a historic turning in british institutions, we hear of "federal home-rule," and that may be a signpost to far travel along the road which sir george grey "blazed." certainly it sends us to the spacious life and high thoughts of the "father of federation," whom time in its just goodness will also call the walter raleigh of the victorians. hence this people's edition of a book wherein, "he, being dead, yet speaketh."
-london, march 1911.
-a guide to sir george grey's career as soldier, explorer, administrator, statesman, thinker, and dreamer.
-1812 born at lisbon april 14, during the peninsular war.
-1829 gazetted from sandhurst to the 83rd regiment foot, and served to a captaincy.
-1837 sailed from plymouth june 20, on the ship 'beagle,' as leader of a government expedition to explore north-west australia. engaged in this work, and as resident at king george's sound, until 1840.
-1841 named to the governorship of south australia, aged 29; held it until 1845, and during that period rescued the colony from a state of chaos, getting it on the high road to prosperity.
-1845 appointed governor of new zealand, when the first maori war was raging. established peace and authority, and continued in office until 1854. refused to proclaim the constitution first designed by the british government and parliament for new zealand, and was given power to draw up another.
-1854 first governorship of cape colony, to 1859. two dramatic events of it were the rising of the kaffirs, at the call of a girl regarded as a messiah; and the deflection to india, where the mutiny had broken out, of the troops on their way to lord elgin in china.
-1859 re-called from the cape, because the government at home disapproved of his action in endeavouring to federate south africa. reinstated, but with orders to drop his federation plans; and remained at cape town until 1861.
-1861 second governorship of new zealand, to 1867. second maori war.
-1868 active in english public life to 1890; and in australasian affairs from 1870 to 1894.
-1877 was premier of new zealand to 1879 so achieving the unique distinction of ruling, in that capacity, a country of which he had twice been governor.
-1898 died london, september 19. buried in st. paul's cathedral, september 26.
-i, personal and particular
-ii. home is the warrior
-the return to england, 1894, with incidents of the queen, the earl of rosebery, and james anthony froude; a memory of lord robert cecil, and some notes on london.
-iii. youth the biographer
-or how the child was father to the man. olive schreiner's greeting; an orangestall eloquent; a flight from school; a surpassing encounter at south kensington; and a glimpse of archbishop whately.
-a young soldier in the old ireland of the thirties; varying scenes of irish life and character; and stories of dean swift, daniel o'connell, and sir hussey vivian.
-the call to the new world; musings of the voyage and the sea; and, by contrast, the london perils of thomas carlyle and babbage, sir charles lyell's spear-head being also mentioned.
-vi. man and nature aboriginal
-a battle with the blacks, wherein, unhappily, their leader fell, the white chief being seriously wounded; and later, a valiant march across the blistered australian country.
-vii. planting the briton
-first principles of nation making; a harvest in south australia; the witchcraft of turner's wig; the vanity of riches; keeping the anglo-saxon ring; strange human documents; and a reference to sir john franklin.
-viii. pictures in black and white
-food, as man's leading motive; curing a witch doctor; a problem of kaffir women's ornaments; elevating the native; a tasmanian study; a new sabine story; the aborigine and his surroundings; lastly, mcfarland's elopement.
-ix. over-lord of over-seas
-lamech's slogan and the task of stilling it in new zealand; with, arising therefrom, martial chronicles of hongi, heke, and kawiti, maori chiefs, and of the taking of the 'bat's nest' stronghold.
-x. 'twixt night and morn
-an easter scene and earlier; on tramp with selwyn; the kidnapping of rauparaha; rangihaeta cajoled into road making; how the maoris rubbed noses; and the boycott as peace-maker.
-xi. the thrill of governing
-knight and esquires; a secret of empire; the tragedy of the naval lieutenant; patoune's fallen-out tooth; to the hills for new zealand's constitution; playing 'cock-fight'; and repulsing the ngatipoa.
-xii. in the queen's name
-showing the management of another danger spot of the realm, to which picture there come in, details of the winning of the african natives to the queen, a comedy of witchcraft and widows, and a german legion difficulty.
-xiii. oceana and a prophetess from the plight of sir john herschel in london, to the stir made in south africa by nongkause, a kaffir girl turned messiah; and between pages sandilli, moselekatsi, bishop colenso, and bishop wilberforce.
-the activities of a hunter, prelude to a narrative of how a british military force, under orders for one theatre of war, was boldly diverted to another; incidentally the bearding of moshesh; and a queer pax britannica.
-the effort to federate south africa; the gathering in of the pacific, involving visits to new caledonia and norfolk island; the irish girl as empire builder; a meeting with macaulay; and prince alfred at the cape.
-xvi the far-flung battle-line
-xvii. for england's sake
-keeping the painter from being cut; an election contest at newark; a visit from mr. mundella; the pacifying of the tribes; and finally the golden legend of hine-moa the maori maiden.
-xviii. a father of federation
-a word on mr. gladstone, and many words on anglo-saxon federation, the ideas underlying it, elements making for it, and the benefits which would follow in its train.
-xix. waiting to go
-backward and forward, being farther memories, one telling of a tryst with dean stanley; then, an exposition of simple faith and the romance of death, as leading to the hereafter.
-the romance of a pro-consul
-i personal and particular
-'perhaps there is something in old age that likes to have a young mind clinging to it.' sir george grey was speaking of the famous people he had known in his youth long, long before. he struck an inner note of nature which is surely equally valid the other way? whenever i think of the remark, i am inclined to discover one reason why i came to know sir george so well.
-i met him, as i have met other characters of english story in our own day. you go into these great waters, seeking that all who care may know. you cry across them, answer comes back or it does not, and there endeth the lesson, until the next time.
-it was different with sir george grey. he hauled me straight in-board, saying, 'now, call upon me often, and we'll talk mankind over. going by myself, no two people can meet without being a means of instruction to each other, to say nothing else. you are where the swing of events must be felt, and i am in the back-water of retirement. it may entertain us both, to study new subjects under old lights.'
-‘lead on,’ answered yule.
-in the room they entered was nothing noticeable; it was only the poorest possible kind of bed-chamber, or all but the poorest possible. daylight had now succeeded to dawn, yet the first thing the stranger did was to strike a match and light a candle.
-‘will you kindly place yourself with your back to the window?’ he said. ‘i am going to apply what is called the catoptric test. you have probably heard of it?’
-‘my ignorance of scientific matters is fathomless.’
-the other smiled, and at once offered a simple explanation of the term. by the appearance of the candle as it reflected itself in the patient’s eye it was possible, he said, to decide whether cataract had taken hold upon the organ.
-for a minute or two he conducted his experiment carefully, and yule was at no loss to read the result upon his face.
-‘how long have you suspected that something was wrong?’ the surgeon asked, as he put down the candle.
-‘for several months.’
-‘you haven’t consulted anyone?’
-‘no one. i have kept putting it off. just tell me what you have discovered.’
-‘the back of the right lens is affected beyond a doubt.’
-‘that means, i take it, that before very long i shall be practically blind?’
-‘i don’t like to speak with an air of authority. after all, i am only a surgeon who has bungled himself into pauperdom. you must see a competent man; that much i can tell you in all earnestness.
-do you use your eyes much?’
-‘fourteen hours a day, that’s all.’
-‘h’m! you are a literary man, i think?’
-‘i am. my name is alfred yule.’
-he had some faint hope that the name might be recognised; that would have gone far, for the moment, to counteract his trouble. but not even this poor satisfaction was to be granted him; to his hearer the name evidently conveyed nothing.
-‘see a competent man, mr yule. science has advanced rapidly since the days when i was a student; i am only able to assure you of the existence of disease.’
-they talked for half an hour, until both were shaking with cold. then yule thrust his hand into his pocket.
-‘you will of course allow me to offer such return as i am able,’ he said. ‘the information isn’t pleasant, but i am glad to have it.’
-he laid five shillings on the chest of drawers--there was no table. the stranger expressed his gratitude.
-‘my name is duke,’ he said, ‘and i was christened victor--possibly because i was doomed to defeat in life. i wish you could have associated the memory of me with happier circumstances.’
-they shook hands, and yule quitted the house.
-he came out again by camden town station. the coffee-stall had disappeared; the traffic of the great highway was growing uproarious. among all the strugglers for existence who rushed this way and that, alfred yule felt himself a man chosen for fate’s heaviest infliction. he never questioned the accuracy of the stranger’s judgment, and he hoped for no mitigation of the doom it threatened. his life was over--and wasted.
-he might as well go home, and take his place meekly by the fireside. he was beaten. soon to be a useless old man, a burden and annoyance to whosoever had pity on him.
-it was a curious effect of the imagination that since coming into the open air again his eyesight seemed to be far worse than before. he irritated his nerves of vision by incessant tests, closing first one eye then the other, comparing his view of nearer objects with the appearance of others more remote, fancying an occasional pain--which could have had no connection with his disease. the literary projects which had stirred so actively in his mind twelve hours ago were become an insubstantial memory; to the one crushing blow had succeeded a second, which was fatal. he could hardly recall what special piece of work he had been engaged upon last night. his thoughts were such as if actual blindness had really fallen upon him.
-at half-past eight he entered the house. mrs yule was standing at the foot of the stairs; she looked at him, then turned away towards the kitchen. he went upstairs. on coming down again he found breakfast ready as usual, and seated himself at the table. two letters waited for him there; he opened them.
-when mrs yule came into the room a few moments later she was astonished by a burst of loud, mocking laughter from her husband, excited, as it appeared, by something he was reading.
-‘is marian up?’ he asked, turning to her.
-‘she is not coming to breakfast?’
-‘then just take that letter to her, and ask her to read it.’
-mrs yule ascended to her daughter’s bedroom. she knocked, was bidden enter, and found marian packing clothes in a trunk. the girl looked as if she had been up all night; her eyes bore the traces of much weeping.
-‘he has come back, dear,’ said mrs yule, in the low voice of apprehension, ‘and he says you are to read this letter.’
-marian took the sheet, unfolded it, and read. as soon as she had reached the end she looked wildly at her mother, seemed to endeavour vainly to speak, then fell to the floor in unconsciousness. the mother was only just able to break the violence of her fall. having snatched a pillow and placed it beneath marian’s head, she rushed to the door and called loudly for her husband, who in a moment appeared.
-‘what is it?’ she cried to him. ‘look, she has fallen down in a faint. why are you treating her like this?’
-‘attend to her,’ yule replied roughly. ‘i suppose you know better than i do what to do when a person faints.’
-the swoon lasted for several minutes.
-‘what’s in the letter?’ asked mrs yule whilst chafing the lifeless hands.
-‘her money’s lost. the people who were to pay it have just failed.’
-‘she won’t get anything?’
-‘most likely nothing at all.’
-the letter was a private communication from one of john yule’s executors. it seemed likely that the demand upon turberville & co. for an account of the deceased partner’s share in their business had helped to bring about a crisis in affairs that were already unstable. something might be recovered in the legal proceedings that would result, but there were circumstances which made the outlook very doubtful.
-as marian came to herself her father left the room. an hour afterwards mrs yule summoned him again to the girl’s chamber; he went, and found marian lying on the bed, looking like one who had been long ill.
-‘i wish to ask you a few questions,’ she said, without raising herself. ‘must my legacy necessarily be paid out of that investment?’
-‘it must. those are the terms of the will.’
-‘if nothing can be recovered from those people, i have no remedy?’
-‘none whatever that i can see.’
-‘but when a firm is bankrupt they generally pay some portion of their debts?’
-‘sometimes. i know nothing of the case.’
-‘this of course happens to me,’ marian said, with intense bitterness. ‘none of the other legatees will suffer, i suppose?’
-‘someone must, but to a very small extent.’
-‘of course. when shall i have direct information?’
-‘you can write to mr holden; you have his address.’
-‘thank you. that’s all.’
-he was dismissed, and went quietly away.
-chapter xxx. waiting on destiny
-throughout the day marian kept her room. her intention to leave the house was, of course, abandoned; she was the prisoner of fate. mrs yule would have tended her with unremitting devotion, but the girl desired to be alone. at times she lay in silent anguish; frequently her tears broke forth, and she sobbed until weariness overcame her. in the afternoon she wrote a letter to mr holden, begging that she might be kept constantly acquainted with the progress of things.
-at five her mother brought tea.
-‘wouldn’t it be better if you went to bed now, marian?’ she suggested.
-‘to bed? but i am going out in an hour or two.’
-‘oh, you can’t, dear! it’s so bitterly cold. it wouldn’t be good for you.’
-‘i have to go out, mother, so we won’t speak of it.’
-it was not safe to reply. mrs yule sat down, and watched the girl raise the cup to her mouth with trembling hand.
-‘this won’t make any difference to you--in the end, my darling,’ the mother ventured to say at length, alluding for the first time to the effect of the catastrophe on marian’s immediate prospects.
-‘of course not,’ was the reply, in a tone of self-persuasion.
-‘mr milvain is sure to have plenty of money before long.’
-‘you feel much better now, don’t you?’
-‘much. i am quite well again.’
-at seven, marian went out. finding herself weaker than she had thought, she stopped an empty cab that presently passed her, and so drove to the milvains’ lodgings. in her agitation she inquired for mr milvain, instead of for dora, as was her habit; it mattered very little, for the landlady and her servants were of course under no misconception regarding this young lady’s visits.
-jasper was at home, and working. he had but to look at marian to see that something wretched had been going on at her home; naturally he supposed it the result of his letter to mr yule.
-‘your father has been behaving brutally,’ he said, holding her hands and gazing anxiously at her.
-‘there is something far worse than that, jasper.’
-she threw off her outdoor things, then took the fatal letter from her pocket and handed it to him. jasper gave a whistle of consternation, and looked vacantly from the paper to marian’s countenance.
-‘how the deuce comes this about?’ he exclaimed. ‘why, wasn’t your uncle aware of the state of things?’
-‘perhaps he was. he may have known that the legacy was a mere form.’
-‘you are the only one affected?’
-‘so father says. it’s sure to be the case.’
-‘this has upset you horribly, i can see. sit down, marian. when did the letter come?’
-‘and you have been fretting over it all day. but come, we must keep up our courage; you may get something substantial out of the scoundrels still.’
-even whilst he spoke his eyes wandered absently. on the last word his voice failed, and he fell into abstraction. marian’s look was fixed upon him, and he became conscious of it. he tried to smile.
-‘what were you writing?’ she asked, making involuntary diversion from the calamitous theme.
-it was as necessary to him as to her to have a respite before the graver discussion began. he seized gladly the opportunity she offered, and read several pages of manuscript, slipping from one topic to another. to hear him one would have supposed that he was in his ordinary mood; he laughed at his own jokes and points.
-‘they’ll have to pay me more,’ was the remark with which he closed. ‘i only wanted to make myself indispensable to them, and at the end of this year i shall feel pretty sure of that. they’ll have to give me two guineas a column; by jove! they will.’
-‘and you may hope for much more than that, mayn’t you, before long?’
-‘oh, i shall transfer myself to a better paper presently. it seems to me i must be stirring to some purpose.’
-he gave her a significant look.
-‘what shall we do, jasper?’
-‘work and wait, i suppose.’
-‘there’s something i must tell you. father said i had better sign that harrington article myself. if i do that, i shall have a right to the money, i think. it will at least be eight guineas. and why shouldn’t i go on writing for myself--for us? you can help me to think of subjects.’
-‘first of all, what about my letter to your father? we are forgetting all about it.’
-‘he refused to answer.’
-marian avoided closer description of what had happened. it was partly that she felt ashamed of her father’s unreasoning wrath, and feared lest jasper’s pride might receive an injury from which she in turn would suffer; partly that she was unwilling to pain her lover by making display of all she had undergone.
-‘oh, he refused to reply! surely that is extreme behaviour.’
-what she dreaded seemed to be coming to pass. jasper stood rather stiffly, and threw his head back.
-‘you know the reason, dear. that prejudice has entered into his very life. it is not you he dislikes; that is impossible. he thinks of you only as he would of anyone connected with mr fadge.’
-‘well, well; it isn’t a matter of much moment. but what i have in mind is this. will it be possible for you, whilst living at home, to take a position of independence, and say that you are going to work for your own profit?’
-‘at least i might claim half the money i can earn. and i was thinking more of--’
-she spoke with shaken voice, her eyes fixed upon his face.
-‘but, my dear marian, we surely oughtn’t to think of marrying so long as expenses are so nicely fitted as all that?’
-‘no. i only meant--’
-she faltered, and her tongue became silent as her heart sank.
-‘it simply means,’ pursued jasper, seating himself and crossing his legs, ‘that i must move heaven and earth to improve my position. you know that my faith in myself is not small; there’s no knowing what i might do if i used every effort. but, upon my word, i don’t see much hope of our being able to marry for a year or two under the most favourable circumstances.’
-‘no; i quite understand that.’
-‘can you promise to keep a little love for me all that time?’ he asked with a constrained smile.
-‘you know me too well to fear.’
-‘i thought you seemed a little doubtful.’
-his tone was not altogether that which makes banter pleasant between lovers. marian looked at him fearfully. was it possible for him in truth so to misunderstand her? he had never satisfied her heart’s desire of infinite love; she never spoke with him but she was oppressed with the suspicion that his love was not as great as hers, and, worse still, that he did not wholly comprehend the self-surrender which she strove to make plain in every word.
-‘you don’t say that seriously, jasper?’
-‘but answer seriously.’
-‘how can you doubt that i would wait faithfully for you for years if it were necessary?’
-‘it mustn’t be years, that’s very certain. i think it preposterous for a man to hold a woman bound in that hopeless way.’
-‘but what question is there of holding me bound? is love dependent on fixed engagements? do you feel that, if we agreed to part, your love would be at once a thing of the past?’
-‘why no, of course not.’
-‘oh, but how coldly you speak, jasper!’
-she could not breathe a word which might be interpreted as fear lest the change of her circumstances should make a change in his feeling. yet that was in her mind. the existence of such a fear meant, of course, that she did not entirely trust him, and viewed his character as something less than noble. very seldom indeed is a woman free from such doubts, however absolute her love; and perhaps it is just as rare for a man to credit in his heart all the praises he speaks of his beloved. passion is compatible with a great many of these imperfections of intellectual esteem. to see more clearly into jasper’s personality was, for marian, to suffer the more intolerable dread lest she should lose him.
-she went to his side. her heart ached because, in her great misery, he had not fondled her, and intoxicated her senses with loving words.
-‘how can i make you feel how much i love you?’ she murmured.
-‘you mustn’t be so literal, dearest. women are so desperately matter-of-fact; it comes out even in their love-talk.’
-marian was not without perception of the irony of such an opinion on jasper’s lips.
-‘i am content for you to think so,’ she said. ‘there is only one fact in my life of any importance, and i can never lose sight of it.’
-‘well now, we are quite sure of each other. tell me plainly, do you think me capable of forsaking you because you have perhaps lost your money?’
-the question made her wince. if delicacy had held her tongue, it had no control of his.
-‘how can i answer that better,’ she said, ‘than by saying i love you?’
-it was no answer, and jasper, though obtuse compared with her, understood that it was none. but the emotion which had prompted his words was genuine enough. her touch, the perfume of her passion, had their exalting effect upon him. he felt in all sincerity that to forsake her would be a baseness, revenged by the loss of such a wife.
-‘there’s an uphill fight before me, that’s all,’ he said, ‘instead of the pretty smooth course i have been looking forward to. but i don’t fear it, marian. i’m not the fellow to be beaten.
-you shall be my wife, and you shall have as many luxuries as if you had brought me a fortune.’
-‘luxuries! oh, how childish you seem to think me!’
-‘not a bit of it. luxuries are a most important part of life. i had rather not live at all than never possess them. let me give you a useful hint; if ever i seem to you to flag, just remind me of the difference between these lodgings and a richly furnished house. just hint to me that so-and-so, the journalist, goes about in his carriage, and can give his wife a box at the theatre. just ask me, casually, how i should like to run over to the riviera when london fogs are thickest. you understand? that’s the way to keep me at it like a steam-engine.’
-‘you are right. all those things enable one to live a better and fuller life. oh, how cruel that i--that we are robbed in this way! you can have no idea how terrible a blow it was to me when i read that letter this morning.’
-she was on the point of confessing that she had swooned, but something restrained her.
-‘your father can hardly be sorry,’ said jasper.
-‘i think he speaks more harshly than he feels. the worst was, that until he got your letter he had kept hoping that i would let him have the money for a new review.’
-‘well, for the present i prefer to believe that the money isn’t all lost. if the blackguards pay ten shillings in the pound you will get two thousand five hundred out of them, and that’s something. but how do you stand? will your position be that of an ordinary creditor?’
-‘i am so ignorant. i know nothing of such things.’
-‘but of course your interests will be properly looked after. put yourself in communication with this mr holden. i’ll have a look into the law on the subject. let us hope as long as we can. by jove! there’s no other way of facing it.’
-‘mrs reardon and the rest of them are safe enough, i suppose?’
-‘oh, no doubt.’
-‘confound them!--it grows upon one. one doesn’t take in the whole of such a misfortune at once. we must hold on to the last rag of hope, and in the meantime i’ll half work myself to death. are you going to see the girls?’
-‘not to-night. you must tell them.’
-‘dora will cry her eyes out. upon my word, maud’ll have to draw in her horns. i must frighten her into economy and hard work.’
-he again lost himself in anxious reverie.
-‘marian, couldn’t you try your hand at fiction?’
-she started, remembering that her father had put the same question so recently.
-‘i’m afraid i could do nothing worth doing.’
-‘that isn’t exactly the question. could you do anything that would sell? with very moderate success in fiction you might make three times as much as you ever will by magazine pot-boilers. a girl like you. oh, you might manage, i should think.’
-‘a girl like me?’
-‘well, i mean that love-scenes, and that kind of thing, would be very much in your line.’marian was not given to blushing; very few girls are, even on strong provocation. for the first time jasper saw her cheeks colour deeply, and it was with anything but pleasure. his words were coarsely inconsiderate, and wounded her.
-‘i think that is not my work,’ she said coldly, looking away.
-‘but surely there’s no harm in my saying--’ he paused in astonishment. ‘i meant nothing that could offend you.’
-‘i know you didn’t, jasper. but you make me think that--’
-‘don’t be so literal again, my dear girl. come here and forgive me.’
-she did not approach, but only because the painful thought he had excited kept her to that spot.
-‘come, marian! then i must come to you.’
-he did so and held her in his arms.
-‘try your hand at a novel, dear, if you can possibly make time. put me in it, if you like, and make me an insensible masculine. the experiment is worth a try i’m certain. at all events do a few chapters, and let me see them. a chapter needn’t take you more than a couple of hours i should think.’
-marian refrained from giving any promise. she seemed irresponsive to his caresses. that thought which at times gives trouble to all women of strong emotions was working in her: had she been too demonstrative, and made her love too cheap? now that jasper’s love might be endangered, it behoved her to use any arts which nature prompted. and so, for once, he was not wholly satisfied with her, and at their parting he wondered what subtle change had affected her manner to him.
-‘why didn’t marian come to speak a word?’ said dora, when her brother entered the girls’ sitting-room about ten o’clock.
-‘you knew she was with me, then?’
-‘we heard her voice as she was going away.’
-‘she brought me some enspiriting news, and thought it better i should have the reporting of it to you.’
-with brevity he made known what had befallen.
-‘cheerful, isn’t it? the kind of thing that strengthens one’s trust in providence.’
-the girls were appalled. maud, who was reading by the fireside, let her book fall to her lap, and knit her brows darkly.
-‘then your marriage must be put off, of course?’ said dora.
-‘well, i shouldn’t be surprised if that were found necessary,’ replied her brother caustically. he was able now to give vent to the feeling which in marian’s presence was suppressed, partly out of consideration for her, and partly owing to her influence.
-‘and shall we have to go back to our old lodgings again?’ inquired maud.
-jasper gave no answer, but kicked a footstool savagely out of his way and paced the room.
-‘oh, do you think we need?’ said dora, with unusual protest against economy.
-‘remember that it’s a matter for your own consideration,’ jasper replied at length. ‘you are living on your own resources, you know.’
-maud glanced at her sister, but dora was preoccupied.
-‘why do you prefer to stay here?’ jasper asked abruptly of the younger girl.
-‘it is so very much nicer,’ she replied with some embarrassment.
-he bit the ends of his moustache, and his eyes glared at the impalpable thwarting force that to imagination seemed to fill the air about him.
-‘a lesson against being over-hasty,’ he muttered, again kicking the footstool.
-‘did you make that considerate remark to marian?’ asked maud.
-‘there would have been no harm if i had done. she knows that i shouldn’t have been such an ass as to talk of marriage without the prospect of something to live upon.’
-‘i suppose she’s wretched?’ said dora.
-‘what else can you expect?’
-‘and did you propose to release her from the burden of her engagement?’ maud inquired.
-‘it’s a confounded pity that you’re not rich, maud,’ replied her brother with an involuntary laugh. ‘you would have a brilliant reputation for wit.’
-he walked about and ejaculated splenetic phrases on the subject of his ill-luck.
-‘we are here, and here we must stay,’ was the final expression of his mood. ‘i have only one superstition that i know of and that forbids me to take a step backward. if i went into poorer lodgings again i should feel it was inviting defeat. i shall stay as long as the position is tenable. let us get on to christmas, and then see how things look. heavens! suppose we had married, and after that lost the money!’
-‘you would have been no worse off than plenty of literary men,’ said dora.
-‘perhaps not. but as i have made up my mind to be considerably better off than most literary men that reflection wouldn’t console me much. things are in statu quo, that’s all. i have to rely upon my own efforts. what’s the time? half-past ten; i can get two hours’ work before going to bed.’
-and nodding a good-night he left them.
-when marian entered the house and went upstairs, she was followed by her mother. on mrs yule’s countenance there was a new distress, she had been crying recently.
-‘have you seen him?’ the mother asked.
-‘yes. we have talked about it.’
-‘what does he wish you to do, dear?’
-‘there’s nothing to be done except wait.’
-‘father has been telling me something, marian,’ said mrs yule after a long silence. ‘he says he is going to be blind. there’s something the matter with his eyes, and he went to see someone about it this afternoon. he’ll get worse and worse, until there has been an operation; and perhaps he’ll never be able to use his eyes properly again.’
-the girl listened in an attitude of despair.
-‘he has seen an oculist?--a really good doctor?’
-‘he says he went to one of the best.’
-‘and how did he speak to you?’
-‘he doesn’t seem to care much what happens. he talked of going to the workhouse, and things like that. but it couldn’t ever come to that, could it, marian? wouldn’t somebody help him?’
-‘there’s not much help to be expected in this world,’ answered the girl.
-physical weariness brought her a few hours of oblivion as soon as she had lain down, but her sleep came to an end in the early morning, when the pressure of evil dreams forced her back to consciousness of real sorrows and cares. a fog-veiled sky added its weight to crush her spirit; at the hour when she usually rose it was still all but as dark as midnight. her mother’s voice at the door begged her to lie and rest until it grew lighter, and she willingly complied, feeling indeed scarcely capable of leaving her bed.
-the thick black fog penetrated every corner of the house. it could be smelt and tasted. such an atmosphere produces low-spirited languor even in the vigorous and hopeful; to those wasted by suffering it is the very reek of the bottomless pit, poisoning the soul. her face colourless as the pillow, marian lay neither sleeping nor awake, in blank extremity of woe; tears now and then ran down her cheeks, and at times her body was shaken with a throe such as might result from anguish of the torture chamber.
-midway in the morning, when it was still necessary to use artificial light, she went down to the sitting-room. the course of household life had been thrown into confusion by the disasters of the last day or two; mrs yule, who occupied herself almost exclusively with questions of economy, cleanliness, and routine, had not the heart to pursue her round of duties, and this morning, though under normal circumstances she would have been busy in ‘turning out’ the dining-room, she moved aimlessly and despondently about the house, giving the servant contradictory orders and then blaming herself for her absent-mindedness. in the troubles of her husband and her daughter she had scarcely greater share--so far as active participation went--than if she had been only a faithful old housekeeper; she could only grieve and lament that such discord had come between the two whom she loved, and that in herself was no power even to solace their distresses. marian found her standing in the passage, with a duster in one hand and a hearth-brush in the other.
-‘your father has asked to see you when you come down,’ mrs yule whispered.
-‘i’ll go to him.’
-marian entered the study. her father was not in his place at the writing-table, nor yet seated in the chair which he used when he had leisure to draw up to the fireside; he sat in front of one of the bookcases, bent forward as if seeking a volume, but his chin was propped upon his hand, and he had maintained this position for a long time. he did not immediately move. when he raised his head marian saw that he looked older, and she noticed--or fancied she did--that there was some unfamiliar peculiarity about his eyes.
-‘i am obliged to you for coming,’ he began with distant formality. ‘since i saw you last i have learnt something which makes a change in my position and prospects, and it is necessary to speak on the subject. i won’t detain you more than a few minutes.’
-he coughed, and seemed to consider his next words.
-‘perhaps i needn’t repeat what i have told your mother. you have learnt it from her, i dare say.’
-‘yes, with much grief.’
-‘thank you, but we will leave aside that aspect of the matter. for a few more months i may be able to pursue my ordinary work, but before long i shall certainly be disabled from earning my livelihood by literature. whether this will in any way affect your own position i don’t know. will you have the goodness to tell me whether you still purpose leaving this house?’
-‘i have no means of doing so.’
-‘is there any likelihood of your marriage taking place, let us say, within four months?’
-‘only if the executors recover my money, or a large portion of it.’
-‘i understand. my reason for asking is this. my lease of this house terminates at the end of next march, and i shall certainly not be justified in renewing it. if you are able to provide for yourself in any way it will be sufficient for me to rent two rooms after that. this disease which affects my eyes may be only temporary; in due time an operation may render it possible for me to work again. in hope of that i shall probably have to borrow a sum of money on the security of my life insurance, though in the first instance i shall make the most of what i can get for the furniture of the house and a large part of my library; your mother and i could live at very slight expense in lodgings. if the disease prove irremediable, i must prepare myself for the worst. what i wish to say is, that it will be better if from to-day you consider yourself as working for your own subsistence. so long as i remain here this house is of course your home; there can be no question between us of trivial expenses. but it is right that you should understand what my prospects are. i shall soon have no home to offer you; you must look to your own efforts for support.’
-‘i am prepared to do that, father.’
-‘i think you will have no great difficulty in earning enough for yourself. i have done my best to train you in writing for the periodicals, and your natural abilities are considerable. if you marry, i wish you a happy life. the end of mine, of many long years of unremitting toil, is failure and destitution.’
-‘that’s all i had to say,’ concluded her father, his voice tremulous with self-compassion. ‘i will only beg that there may be no further profitless discussion between us. this room is open to you, as always, and i see no reason why we should not converse on subjects disconnected with our personal differences.’
-‘is there no remedy for cataract in its early stages?’ asked marian.
-‘none. you can read up the subject for yourself at the british museum. i prefer not to speak of it.’
-‘will you let me be what help to you i can?’
-‘for the present the best you can do is to establish a connection for yourself with editors. your name will be an assistance to you. my advice is, that you send your “harrington” article forthwith to trenchard, writing him a note. if you desire my help in the suggestion of new subjects, i will do my best to be of use.’
-marian withdrew. she went to the sitting-room, where an ochreous daylight was beginning to diffuse itself and to render the lamp superfluous. with the dissipation of the fog rain had set in; its splashing upon the muddy pavement was audible.
-mrs yule, still with a duster in her hand, sat on the sofa. marian took a place beside her. they talked in low, broken tones, and wept together over their miseries.
-chapter xxxi. a rescue and a summons
-the chances are that you have neither understanding nor sympathy for men such as edwin reardon and harold biffen. they merely provoke you. they seem to you inert, flabby, weakly envious, foolishly obstinate, impiously mutinous, and many other things. you are made angrily contemptuous by their failure to get on; why don’t they bestir themselves, push and bustle, welcome kicks so long as halfpence follow, make place in the world’s eye--in short, take a leaf from the book of mr jasper milvain?
-but try to imagine a personality wholly unfitted for the rough and tumble of the world’s labour-market. from the familiar point of view these men were worthless; view them in possible relation to a humane order of society, and they are admirable citizens. nothing is easier than to condemn a type of character which is unequal to the coarse demands of life as it suits the average man. these two were richly endowed with the kindly and the imaginative virtues; if fate threw them amid incongruous circumstances, is their endowment of less value? you scorn their passivity; but it was their nature and their merit to be passive.
-gifted with independent means, each of them would have taken quite a different aspect in your eyes. the sum of their faults was their inability to earn money; but, indeed, that inability does not call for unmingled disdain.
-it was very weak of harold biffen to come so near perishing of hunger as he did in the days when he was completing his novel. but he would have vastly preferred to eat and be satisfied had any method of obtaining food presented itself to him. he did not starve for the pleasure of the thing, i assure you. pupils were difficult to get just now, and writing that he had sent to magazines had returned upon his hands. he pawned such of his possessions as he could spare, and he reduced his meals to the minimum. nor was he uncheerful in his cold garret and with his empty stomach, for ‘mr bailey, grocer,’ drew steadily to an end.
-he worked very slowly. the book would make perhaps two volumes of ordinary novel size, but he had laboured over it for many months, patiently, affectionately, scrupulously. each sentence was as good as he could make it, harmonious to the ear, with words of precious meaning skilfully set. before sitting down to a chapter he planned it minutely in his mind; then he wrote a rough draft of it; then he elaborated the thing phrase by phrase. he had no thought of whether such toil would be recompensed in coin of the realm; nay, it was his conviction that, if with difficulty published, it could scarcely bring him money. the work must be significant, that was all he cared for. and he had no society of admiring friends to encourage him. reardon understood the merit of the workmanship, but frankly owned that the book was repulsive to him. to the public it would be worse than repulsive--tedious, utterly uninteresting. no matter; it drew to its end.
-the day of its completion was made memorable by an event decidedly more exciting, even to the author.
-at eight o’clock in the evening there remained half a page to be written. biffen had already worked about nine hours, and on breaking off to appease his hunger he doubted whether to finish to-night or to postpone the last lines till tomorrow. the discovery that only a small crust of bread lay in the cupboard decided him to write no more; he would have to go out to purchase a loaf and that was disturbance.
-but stay; had he enough money? he searched his pockets. two pence and two farthings; no more.
-you are probably not aware that at bakers’ shops in the poor quarters the price of the half-quartern loaf varies sometimes from week to week. at present, as biffen knew, it was twopence three-farthings, a common figure. but harold did not possess three farthings, only two. reflecting, he remembered to have passed yesterday a shop where the bread was marked twopence halfpenny; it was a shop in a very obscure little street off hampstead road, some distance from clipstone street. thither he must repair. he had only his hat and a muffler to put on, for again he was wearing his overcoat in default of the under one, and his ragged umbrella to take from the corner; so he went forth.
-to his delight the twopence halfpenny announcement was still in the baker’s window. he obtained a loaf wrapped it in the piece of paper he had brought--small bakers decline to supply paper for this purpose--and strode joyously homeward again.
-having eaten, he looked longingly at his manuscript. but half a page more. should he not finish it to-night? the temptation was irresistible. he sat down, wrought with unusual speed, and at half-past ten wrote with magnificent flourish ‘the end.’
-his fire was out and he had neither coals nor wood. but his feet were frozen into lifelessness. impossible to go to bed like this; he must take another turn in the streets. it would suit his humour to ramble a while. had it not been so late he would have gone to see reardon, who expected the communication of this glorious news.
-so again he locked his door. half-way downstairs he stumbled over something or somebody in the dark.
-‘who is that?’ he cried.
-the answer was a loud snore. biffen went to the bottom of the house and called to the landlady.
-‘mrs willoughby! who is asleep on the stairs?’
-‘why, i ‘spect it’s mr briggs,’ replied the woman, indulgently. ‘don’t you mind him, mr biffen. there’s no ‘arm: he’s only had a little too much. i’ll go up an’ make him go to bed as soon as i’ve got my ‘ands clean.’
-‘the necessity for waiting till then isn’t obvious,’ remarked the realist with a chuckle, and went his way.
-he walked at a sharp pace for more than an hour, and about midnight drew near to his own quarter again. he had just turned up by the middlesex hospital, and was at no great distance from clipstone street, when a yell and scamper caught his attention; a group of loafing blackguards on the opposite side of the way had suddenly broken up, and as they rushed off he heard the word ‘fire!’ this was too common an occurrence to disturb his equanimity; he wondered absently in which street the fire might be, but trudged on without a thought of making investigation. repeated yells and rushes, however, assailed his apathy. two women came tearing by him, and he shouted to them: ‘where is it?’
-‘in clipstone street, they say,’ one screamed back.
-he could no longer be unconcerned. if in his own street the conflagration might be in the very house he inhabited, and in that case---- he set off at a run. ahead of him was a thickening throng, its position indicating the entrance to clipstone street. soon he found his progress retarded; he had to dodge this way and that, to force progress, to guard himself against overthrows by the torrent of ruffiandom which always breaks forth at the cry of fire. he could now smell the smoke, and all at once a black volume of it, bursting from upper windows, alarmed his sight. at once he was aware that, if not his own dwelling, it must be one of those on either side that was in flames. as yet no engine had arrived, and straggling policemen were only just beginning to make their way to the scene of uproar. by dint of violent effort biffen moved forward yard by yard. a tongue of flame which suddenly illumined the fronts of the houses put an end to his doubt.
-‘let me get past!’ he shouted to the gaping and swaying mass of people in front of him. ‘i live there! i must go upstairs to save something!’
-his educated accent moved attention. repeating the demand again and again he succeeded in getting forward, and at length was near enough to see that people were dragging articles of furniture out on to the pavement.
-‘that you, mr biffen?’ cried someone to him.
-he recognised the face of a fellow-lodger.
-‘is it possible to get up to my room?’ broke frantically from his lips.
-‘you’ll never get up there. it’s that--briggs’--the epithet was alliterative--‘’as upset his lamp, and i ‘ope he’ll--well get roasted to death.’
-biffen leaped on to the threshold, and crashed against mrs willoughby, the landlady, who was carrying a huge bundle of household linen.
-‘i told you to look after that drunken brute;’ he said to her. ‘can i get upstairs?’
-‘what do i care whether you can or not!’ the woman shrieked. ‘my god! and all them new chairs as i bought--!’
-he heard no more, but bounded over a confusion of obstacles, and in a moment was on the landing of the first storey. here he encountered a man who had not lost his head, a stalwart mechanic engaged in slipping clothes on to two little children.
-‘if somebody don’t drag that fellow briggs down he’ll be dead,’ observed the man. ‘he’s layin’ outside his door. i pulled him out, but i can’t do no more for him.’
-smoke grew thick on the staircase. burning was as yet confined to that front room on the second floor tenanted by briggs the disastrous, but in all likelihood the ceiling was ablaze, and if so it would be all but impossible for biffen to gain his own chamber, which was at the back on the floor above. no one was making an attempt to extinguish the fire; personal safety and the rescue of their possessions alone occupied the thoughts of such people as were still in the house. desperate with the dread of losing his manuscript, his toil, his one hope, the realist scarcely stayed to listen to a warning that the fumes were impassable; with head bent he rushed up to the next landing. there lay briggs, perchance already stifled, and through the open door biffen had a horrible vision of furnace fury. to go yet higher would have been madness but for one encouragement: he knew that on his own storey was a ladder giving access to a trap-door, by which he might issue on to the roof, whence escape to the adjacent houses would be practicable. again a leap forward!
-in fact, not two minutes elapsed from his commencing the ascent of the stairs to the moment when, all but fainting, he thrust the key into his door and fell forward into purer air. fell, for he was on his knees, and had begun to suffer from a sense of failing power, a sick whirling of the brain, a terror of hideous death. his manuscript was on the table, where he had left it after regarding and handling it with joyful self-congratulation; though it was pitch dark in the room, he could at once lay his hand on the heap of paper. now he had it; now it was jammed tight under his left arm; now he was out again on the landing, in smoke more deadly than ever.
-he said to himself: ‘if i cannot instantly break out by the trap-door it’s all over with me.’ that the exit would open to a vigorous thrust he knew, having amused himself not long ago by going on to the roof. he touched the ladder, sprang upwards, and felt the trap above him. but he could not push it back. ‘i’m a dead man,’ flashed across his mind, ‘and all for the sake of “mr bailey, grocer.”’ a frenzied effort, the last of which his muscles were capable, and the door yielded. his head was now through the aperture, and though the smoke swept up about him, that gasp of cold air gave him strength to throw himself on the flat portion of the roof that he had reached.
-so for a minute or two he lay. then he was able to stand, to survey his position, and to walk along by the parapet. he looked down upon the surging and shouting crowd in clipstone street, but could see it only at intervals, owing to the smoke that rolled from the front windows below him.
-what he had now to do he understood perfectly. this roof was divided from those on either hand by a stack of chimneys; to get round the end of these stacks was impossible, or at all events too dangerous a feat unless it were the last resource, but by climbing to the apex of the slates he would be able to reach the chimney-pots, to drag himself up to them, and somehow to tumble over on to the safer side. to this undertaking he forthwith addressed himself. without difficulty he reached the ridge; standing on it he found that only by stretching his arm to the utmost could he grip the top of a chimney-pot. had he the strength necessary to raise himself by such a hold? and suppose the pot broke?
-his life was still in danger; the increasing volumes of smoke warned him that in a few minutes the uppermost storey might be in flames. he took off his overcoat to allow himself more freedom of action; the manuscript, now an encumbrance, must precede him over the chimney-stack, and there was only one way of effecting that. with care he stowed the papers into the pockets of the coat; then he rolled the garment together, tied it up in its own sleeves, took a deliberate aim--and the bundle was for the present in safety.
-now for the gymnastic endeavour. standing on tiptoe, he clutched the rim of the chimney-pot, and strove to raise himself. the hold was firm enough, but his arms were far too puny to perform such work, even when death would be the penalty of failure. too long he had lived on insufficient food and sat over the debilitating desk. he swung this way and that, trying to throw one of his knees as high as the top of the brickwork, but there was no chance of his succeeding. dropping on to the slates, he sat there in perturbation.
-‘hollo!’ cried the stranger. ‘what are you doing there?’
-‘trying to escape, of course. help me to get on to your roof.’
-‘by god! i expected to see the fire coming through already. are you the--as upset his lamp an’ fired the bloomin’ ‘ouse?’
-‘not i! he’s lying drunk on the stairs; dead by this time.’
-‘by god! i wouldn’t have helped you if you’d been him. how are you coming round? blest if i see! you’ll break your bloomin’ neck if you try this corner. you’ll have to come over the chimneys; wait till i get a ladder.’
-‘and a rope,’ shouted biffen.
-the man disappeared for five minutes. to biffen it seemed half an hour; he felt, or imagined he felt, the slates getting hot beneath him, and the smoke was again catching his breath. but at length there was a shout from the top of the chimney-stack. the rescuer had seated himself on one of the pots, and was about to lower on biffen’s side a ladder which had enabled him to ascend from the other. biffen planted the lowest rung very carefully on the ridge of the roof, climbed as lightly as possible, got a footing between two pots; the ladder was then pulled over, and both men descended in safety.
-‘have you seen a coat lying about here?’ was biffen’s first question. ‘i threw mine over.’
-‘what did you do that for?’
-‘there are some valuable papers in the pockets.’
-they searched in vain; on neither side of the roof was the coat discoverable.
-‘you must have pitched it into the street,’ said the man.
-this was a terrible blow; biffen forgot his rescue from destruction in lament for the loss of his manuscript. he would have pursued the fruitless search, but his companion, who feared that the fire might spread to adjoining houses, insisted on his passing through the trap-door and descending the stairs.’if the coat fell into the street,’ biffen said, when they were down on the ground floor, ‘of course it’s lost; it would be stolen at once. but may not it have fallen into your back yard?’
-‘is this your coat, mister?’
-‘heaven be thanked! that’s it! there are valuable papers in the pockets.’
-he unrolled the garment, felt to make sure that ‘mr bailey’ was safe, and finally put it on.
-‘will anyone here let me sit down in a room and give me a drink of water?’ he asked, feeling now as if he must drop with exhaustion.
-the man who had rescued him performed this further kindness, and for half an hour, whilst tumult indescribable raged about him, biffen sat recovering his strength. by that time the firemen were hard at work, but one floor of the burning house had already fallen through, and it was probable that nothing but the shell would be saved. after giving a full account of himself to the people among whom he had come, harold declared his intention of departing; his need of repose was imperative, and he could not hope for it in this proximity to the fire. as he had no money, his only course was to inquire for a room at some house in the immediate neighbourhood, where the people would receive him in a charitable spirit.
-with the aid of the police he passed to where the crowd was thinner, and came out into cleveland street. here most of the house-doors were open, and he made several applications for hospitality, but either his story was doubted or his grimy appearance predisposed people against him. at length, when again his strength was all but at an end, he made appeal to a policeman.
-‘surely you can tell,’ he protested, after explaining his position, ‘that i don’t want to cheat anybody. i shall have money to-morrow. if no one will take me in you must haul me on some charge to the police-station; i shall have to lie down on the pavement in a minute.’
-‘lost everything, have you?’ asked the man sympathetically.
-‘everything, except the clothes i wear and some papers that i managed to save. all my books burnt!’
-biffen shook his head dolorously.
-‘your account-books!’ cried the dealer in oil. ‘dear, dear!--and what might your business be?’
-the author corrected this misapprehension. in the end he was invited to break his fast, which he did right willingly. then, with assurances that he would return before nightfall, he left the house. his steps were naturally first directed to clipstone street; the familiar abode was a gruesome ruin, still smoking. neighbours informed him that mr briggs’s body had been brought forth in a horrible condition; but this was the only loss of life that had happened.
-thence he struck eastward, and at eleven came to manville street, islington. he found reardon by the fireside, looking very ill, and speaking with hoarseness.
-‘it looks like it. i wish you would take the trouble to go and buy me some vermin-killer. that would suit my case.’
-‘then what would suit mine? behold me, undeniably a philosopher; in the literal sense of the words omnia mea mecum porto.’
-he recounted his adventures, and with such humorous vivacity that when he ceased the two laughed together as if nothing more amusing had ever been heard.
-‘ah, but my books, my books!’ exclaimed biffen, with a genuine groan. ‘and all my notes! at one fell swoop! if i didn’t laugh, old friend, i should sit down and cry; indeed i should. all my classics, with years of scribbling in the margins! how am i to buy them again?’
-‘you rescued “mr bailey.” he must repay you.’
-biffen had already laid the manuscript on the table; it was dirty and crumpled, but not to such an extent as to render copying necessary. lovingly he smoothed the pages and set them in order, then he wrapped the whole in a piece of brown paper which reardon supplied, and wrote upon it the address of a firm of publishers.
-‘have you note-paper? i’ll write to them; impossible to call in my present guise.’
-indeed his attire was more like that of a bankrupt costermonger than of a man of letters. collar he had none, for the griminess of that he wore last night had necessitated its being thrown aside; round his throat was a dirty handkerchief. his coat had been brushed, but its recent experiences had brought it one stage nearer to that dissolution which must very soon be its fate. his grey trousers were now black, and his boots looked as if they had not been cleaned for weeks.
-‘shall i say anything about the character of the book?’ he asked, seating himself with pen and paper. ‘shall i hint that it deals with the ignobly decent?’
-‘better let them form their own judgment,’ replied reardon, in his hoarse voice.
-‘then i’ll just say that i submit to them a novel of modern life, the scope of which is in some degree indicated by its title. pity they can’t know how nearly it became a holocaust, and that i risked my life to save it. if they’re good enough to accept it i’ll tell them the story. and now, reardon, i’m ashamed of myself, but can you without inconvenience lend me ten shillings?’
-‘i must write to two pupils, to inform them of my change of address--from garret to cellar. and i must ask help from my prosperous brother. he gives it me unreluctantly, i know, but i am always loth to apply to him. may i use your paper for these purposes?’
-the brother of whom he spoke was employed in a house of business at liverpool; the two had not met for years, but they corresponded, and were on terms such as harold indicated. when he had finished his letters, and had received the half-sovereign from reardon, he went his way to deposit the brown-paper parcel at the publishers’. the clerk who received it from his hands probably thought that the author might have chosen a more respectable messenger.
-two days later, early in the evening, the friends were again enjoying each other’s company in reardon’s room. both were invalids, for biffen had of course caught a cold from his exposure in shirt-sleeves on the roof, and he was suffering from the shock to his nerves; but the thought that his novel was safe in the hands of publishers gave him energy to resist these influences. the absence of the pipe, for neither had any palate for tobacco at present, was the only external peculiarity of this meeting. there seemed no reason why they should not meet frequently before the parting which would come at christmas; but reardon was in a mood of profound sadness, and several times spoke as if already he were bidding his friend farewell.
-‘i find it difficult to think,’ he said, ‘that you will always struggle on in such an existence as this. to every man of mettle there does come an opportunity, and it surely is time for yours to present itself. i have a superstitious faith in “mr bailey.” if he leads you to triumph, don’t altogether forget me.’
-‘don’t talk nonsense.’
-‘what ages it seems since that day when i saw you in the library at hastings, and heard you ask in vain for my book! and how grateful i was to you! i wonder whether any mortal ever asks for my books nowadays? some day, when i am well established at croydon, you shall go to mudie’s, and make inquiry if my novels ever by any chance leave the shelves, and then you shall give me a true and faithful report of the answer you get. “he is quite forgotten,” the attendant will say; be sure of it.’
-‘i think not.’
-‘to have had even a small reputation, and to have outlived it, is a sort of anticipation of death. the man edwin reardon, whose name was sometimes spoken in a tone of interest, is really and actually dead. and what remains of me is resigned to that. i have an odd fancy that it will make death itself easier; it is as if only half of me had now to die.’
-biffen tried to give a lighter turn to the gloomy subject.
-‘thinking of my fiery adventure,’ he said, in his tone of dry deliberation, ‘i find it vastly amusing to picture you as a witness at the inquest if i had been choked and consumed. no doubt it would have been made known that i rushed upstairs to save some particular piece of property--several people heard me say so--and you alone would be able to conjecture what this was. imagine the gaping wonderment of the coroner’s jury! the daily telegraph would have made a leader out of me. “this poor man was so strangely deluded as to the value of a novel in manuscript, which it appears he had just completed, that he positively sacrificed his life in the endeavour to rescue it from the flames.” and the saturday would have had a column of sneering jocosity on the irrepressibly sanguine temperament of authors. at all events, i should have had my day of fame.’
-‘but what an ignoble death it would have been!’ he pursued. ‘perishing in the garret of a lodging-house which caught fire by the overturning of a drunkard’s lamp! one would like to end otherwise.’
-‘where would you wish to die?’ asked reardon, musingly.
-‘at home,’ replied the other, with pathetic emphasis. ‘i have never had a home since i was a boy, and am never likely to have one. but to die at home is an unreasoning hope i still cherish.’
-‘if you had never come to london, what would you have now been?’
-‘almost certainly a schoolmaster in some small town. and one might be worse off than that, you know.’
-‘yes, one might live peaceably enough in such a position. and i--i should be in an estate-agent’s office, earning a sufficient salary, and most likely married to some unambitious country girl.
-i should have lived an intelligible life, instead of only trying to live, aiming at modes of life beyond my reach. my mistake was that of numberless men nowadays. because i was conscious of brains, i thought that the only place for me was london. it’s easy enough to understand this common delusion. we form our ideas of london from old literature; we think of london as if it were still the one centre of intellectual life; we think and talk like chatterton. but the truth is that intellectual men in our day do their best to keep away from london--when once they know the place. there are libraries everywhere; papers and magazines reach the north of scotland as soon as they reach brompton; it’s only on rare occasions, for special kinds of work, that one is bound to live in london. and as for recreation, why, now that no english theatre exists, what is there in london that you can’t enjoy in almost any part of england? at all events, a yearly visit of a week would be quite sufficient for all the special features of the town. london is only a huge shop, with an hotel on the upper storeys. to be sure, if you make it your artistic subject, that’s a different thing. but neither you nor i would do that by deliberate choice.’
-‘i think not.’
-‘it’s a huge misfortune, this will-o’-the-wisp attraction exercised by london on young men of brains. they come here to be degraded, or to perish, when their true sphere is a life of peaceful remoteness. the type of man capable of success in london is more or less callous and cynical. if i had the training of boys, i would teach them to think of london as the last place where life can be lived worthily.’
-‘and the place where you are most likely to die in squalid wretchedness.’
-‘the one happy result of my experiences,’ said reardon, ‘is that they have cured me of ambition. what a miserable fellow i should be if i were still possessed with the desire to make a name! i can’t even recall very clearly that state of mind. my strongest desire now is for peaceful obscurity. i am tired out; i want to rest for the remainder of my life.’
-‘you won’t have much rest at croydon.’
-‘oh, it isn’t impossible. my time will be wholly occupied in a round of all but mechanical duties, and i think that will be the best medicine for my mind. i shall read very little, and that only in the classics. i don’t say that i shall always be content in such a position; in a few years perhaps something pleasanter will offer. but in the meantime it will do very well. then there is our expedition to greece to look forward to. i am quite in earnest about that. the year after next, if we are both alive, assuredly we go.’
-‘the year after next.’ biffen smiled dubiously.
-‘i have demonstrated to you mathematically that it is possible.’
-‘you have; but so are a great many other things that one does not dare to hope for.’
-someone knocked at the door, opened it, and said:
-‘here’s a telegram for you, mr reardon.’
-the friends looked at each other, as if some fear had entered the minds of both. reardon opened the despatch. it was from his wife, and ran thus:
-‘willie is ill of diphtheria. please come to us at once. i am staying with mrs carter, at her mother’s, at brighton.’
-the full address was given.
-‘you hadn’t heard of her going there?’ said biffen, when he had read the lines.
-‘no. i haven’t seen carter for several days, or perhaps he would have told me. brighton, at this time of year? but i believe there’s a fashionable “season” about now, isn’t there? i suppose that would account for it.’
-he spoke in a slighting tone, but showed increasing agitation.
-‘of course you will go?’
-‘i must. though i’m in no condition for making a journey.’
-his friend examined him anxiously.
-‘are you feverish at all this evening?’
-reardon held out a hand that the other might feel his pulse. the beat was rapid to begin with, and had been heightened since the arrival of the telegram.
-‘but go i must. the poor little fellow has no great place in my heart, but, when amy sends for me, i must go. perhaps things are at the worst.’
-‘when is there a train? have you a time table?’
-biffen was despatched to the nearest shop to purchase one, and in the meanwhile reardon packed a few necessaries in a small travelling-bag, ancient and worn, but the object of his affection because it had accompanied him on his wanderings in the south. when harold returned, his appearance excited reardon’s astonishment--he was white from head to foot.
-‘it must have been falling heavily for an hour or more.’
-‘can’t be helped; i must go.’
-the nearest station for departure was london bridge, and the next train left at 7.20. by reardon’s watch it was now about five minutes to seven.
-‘i don’t know whether it’s possible,’ he said, in confused hurry, ‘but i must try. there isn’t another train till ten past nine. come with me to the station, biffen.’
-both were ready. they rushed from the house, and sped through the soft, steady fall of snowflakes into upper street. here they were several minutes before they found a disengaged cab. questioning the driver, they learnt what they would have known very well already but for their excitement: impossible to get to london bridge station in a quarter of an hour.
-‘better to go on, all the same,’ was reardon’s opinion. ‘if the snow gets deep i shall perhaps not be able to have a cab at all. but you had better not come; i forgot that you are as much out of sorts as i am.’
-‘how can you wait a couple of hours alone? in with you!’
-‘diphtheria is pretty sure to be fatal to a child of that age, isn’t it?’ reardon asked when they were speeding along city road.
-‘i’m afraid there’s much danger.’
-‘why did she send?’
-‘what an absurd question! you seem to have got into a thoroughly morbid state of mind about her. do be human, and put away your obstinate folly.’
-‘in my position you would have acted precisely as i have done. i have had no choice.’
-‘i might; but we have both of us too little practicality. the art of living is the art of compromise. we have no right to foster sensibilities, and conduct ourselves as if the world allowed of ideal relations; it leads to misery for others as well as ourselves. genial coarseness is what it behoves men like you and me to cultivate. your reply to your wife’s last letter was preposterous. you ought to have gone to her of your own accord as soon as ever you heard she was rich; she would have thanked you for such common-sense disregard of delicacies. let there be an end of this nonsense, i implore you!’
-reardon stared through the glass at the snow that fell thicker and thicker.
-‘what are we--you and i?’ pursued the other. ‘we have no belief in immortality; we are convinced that this life is all; we know that human happiness is the origin and end of all moral considerations. what right have we to make ourselves and others miserable for the sake of an obstinate idealism? it is our duty to make the best of circumstances. why will you go cutting your loaf with a razor when you have a serviceable bread-knife?’
-still reardon did not speak. the cab rolled on almost silently.
-‘you love your wife, and this summons she sends is proof that her thought turns to you as soon as she is in distress.’
-‘perhaps she only thought it her duty to let the child’s father know--’
-‘perhaps--perhaps--perhaps!’ cried biffen, contemptuously. ‘there goes the razor again! take the plain, human construction of what happens. ask yourself what the vulgar man would do, and do likewise; that’s the only safe rule for you.’
-they were both hoarse with too much talking, and for the last half of the drive neither spoke.
-at the railway-station they ate and drank together, but with poor pretence of appetite. as long as possible they kept within the warmed rooms. reardon was pale, and had anxious, restless eyes; he could not remain seated, though when he had walked about for a few minutes the trembling of his limbs obliged him to sink down. it was an unutterable relief to both when the moment of the train’s starting approached.
-they clasped hands warmly, and exchanged a few last requests and promises.
-‘forgive my plain speech, old fellow,’ said biffen. ‘go and be happy!’
-then he stood alone on the platform, watching the red light on the last carriage as the train whirled away into darkness and storm.
-chapter xxxii. reardon becomes practical
-reardon had never been to brighton, and of his own accord never would have gone; he was prejudiced against the place because its name has become suggestive of fashionable imbecility and the snobbishness which tries to model itself thereon; he knew that the town was a mere portion of london transferred to the sea-shore, and as he loved the strand and the breakers for their own sake, to think of them in such connection could be nothing but a trial of his temper. something of this species of irritation affected him in the first part of his journey, and disturbed the mood of kindliness with which he was approaching amy; but towards the end he forgot this in a growing desire to be beside his wife in her trouble. his impatience made the hour and a half seem interminable.
-the fever which was upon him had increased. he coughed frequently; his breathing was difficult; though constantly moving, he felt as if, in the absence of excitement, his one wish would have been to lie down and abandon himself to lethargy. two men who sat with him in the third-class carriage had spread a rug over their knees and amused themselves with playing cards for trifling sums of money; the sight of their foolish faces, the sound of their laughs, the talk they interchanged, exasperated him to the last point of endurance; but for all that he could not draw his attention from them. he seemed condemned by some spiritual tormentor to take an interest in their endless games, and to observe their visages until he knew every line with a hateful intimacy. one of the men had a moustache of unusual form; the ends curved upward with peculiar suddenness, and reardon was constrained to speculate as to the mode of training by which this singularity had been produced. he could have shed tears of nervous distraction in his inability to turn his thoughts upon other things.
-on alighting at his journey’s end he was seized with a fit of shivering, an intense and sudden chill which made his teeth chatter. in an endeavour to overcome this he began to run towards the row of cabs, but his legs refused such exercise, and coughing compelled him to pause for breath. still shaking, he threw himself into a vehicle and was driven to the address amy had mentioned. the snow on the ground lay thick, but no more was falling.
-heedless of the direction which the cab took, he suffered his physical and mental unrest for another quarter of an hour, then a stoppage told him that the house was reached. on his way he had heard a clock strike eleven.
-the door opened almost as soon as he had rung the bell. he mentioned his name, and the maid-servant conducted him to a drawing-room on the ground-floor. the house was quite a small one, but seemed to be well furnished. one lamp burned on the table, and the fire had sunk to a red glow. saying that she would inform mrs reardon at once, the servant left him alone.
-he placed his bag on the floor, took off his muffler, threw back his overcoat, and sat waiting. the overcoat was new, but the garments beneath it were his poorest, those he wore when sitting in his garret, for he had neither had time to change them, nor thought of doing so.
-he heard no approaching footstep but amy came into the room in a way which showed that she had hastened downstairs. she looked at him, then drew near with both hands extended, and laid them on his shoulders, and kissed him. reardon shook so violently that it was all he could do to remain standing; he seized one of her hands, and pressed it against his lips.
-‘how hot your breath is!’ she said. ‘and how you tremble! are you ill?’
-‘a bad cold, that’s all,’ he answered thickly, and coughed. ‘how is willie?’
-‘in great danger. the doctor is coming again to-night; we thought that was his ring.’
-‘you didn’t expect me to-night?’
-‘i couldn’t feel sure whether you would come.’
-‘why did you send for me, amy? because willie was in danger, and you felt i ought to know about it?’
-‘yes--and because i--’
-she burst into tears. the display of emotion came very suddenly; her words had been spoken in a firm voice, and only the pained knitting of her brows had told what she was suffering.
-‘if willie dies, what shall i do? oh, what shall i do?’ broke forth between her sobs.
-reardon took her in his arms, and laid his hand upon her head in the old loving way.
-‘do you wish me to go up and see him, amy?’
-‘of course. but first, let me tell you why we are here. edith--mrs carter--was coming to spend a week with her mother, and she pressed me to join her. i didn’t really wish to; i was unhappy, and felt how impossible it was to go on always living away from you. oh, that i had never come! then willie would have been as well as ever.’
-‘tell me when and how it began.’
-she explained briefly, then went on to tell of other circumstances.
-‘i have a nurse with me in the room. it’s my own bedroom, and this house is so small it will be impossible to give you a bed here, edwin. but there’s an hotel only a few yards away.’
-‘yes, yes; don’t trouble about that.’
-‘but you look so ill--you are shaking so. is it a cold you have had long?’
-‘oh, my old habit; you remember. one cold after another, all through the accursed winter. what does that matter when you speak kindly to me once more? i had rather die now at your feet and see the old gentleness when you look at me, than live on estranged from you. no, don’t kiss me, i believe these vile sore-throats are contagious.’
-‘but your lips are so hot and parched! and to think of your coming this journey, on such a night!’
-‘good old biffen came to the station with me. he was angry because i had kept away from you so long. have you given me your heart again, amy?’
-‘oh, it has all been a wretched mistake! but we were so poor. now all that is over; if only willie can be saved to me! i am so anxious for the doctor’s coming; the poor little child can hardly draw a breath. how cruel it is that such suffering should come upon a little creature who has never done or thought ill!’
-‘you are not the first, dearest, who has revolted against nature’s cruelty.’
-‘let us go up at once, edwin. leave your coat and things here. mrs winter--edith’s mother--is a very old lady; she has gone to bed. and i dare say you wouldn’t care to see mrs carter to-night?’
-‘no, no! only you and willie.’
-‘when the doctor comes hadn’t you better ask his advice for yourself?’
-‘we shall see. don’t trouble about me.’
-they went softly up to the first floor, and entered a bedroom. fortunately the light here was very dim, or the nurse who sat by the child’s bed must have wondered at the eccentricity with which her patient’s father attired himself. bending over the little sufferer, reardon felt for the first time since willie’s birth a strong fatherly emotion; tears rushed to his eyes, and he almost crushed amy’s hand as he held it during the spasm of his intense feeling.
-he sat here for a long time without speaking. the warmth of the chamber had the reverse of an assuaging effect upon his difficult breathing and his frequent short cough--it seemed to oppress and confuse his brain. he began to feel a pain in his right side, and could not sit upright on the chair.
-amy kept regarding him, without his being aware of it.
-‘does your head ache?’ she whispered.
-he nodded, but did not speak.
-‘oh, why doesn’t the doctor come? i must send in a few minutes.’
-but as soon as she had spoken a bell rang in the lower part of the house. amy had no doubt that it announced the promised visit.
-she left the room, and in a minute or two returned with the medical man. when the examination of the child was over, reardon requested a few words with the doctor in the room downstairs.
-‘i’ll come back to you,’ he whispered to amy.
-the two descended together, and entered the drawing-room.
-‘is there any hope for the little fellow?’ reardon asked.
-yes, there was hope; a favourable turn might be expected.
-‘now i wish to trouble you for a moment on my own account. i shouldn’t be surprised if you tell me that i have congestion of the lungs.’
-the doctor, a suave man of fifty, had been inspecting his interlocutor with curiosity. he now asked the necessary questions, and made an examination.
-‘have you had any lung trouble before this?’ he inquired gravely.
-‘slight congestion of the right lung not many weeks ago.’
-‘i must order you to bed immediately. why have you allowed your symptoms to go so far without--’
-‘i have just come down from london,’ interrupted reardon.
-‘tut, tut, tut! to bed this moment, my dear sir! there is inflammation, and--’
-‘i can’t have a bed in this house; there is no spare room. i must go to the nearest hotel.’
-‘positively? then let me take you. my carriage is at the door.’
-‘one thing--i beg you won’t tell my wife that this is serious. wait till she is out of her anxiety about the child.’
-‘you will need the services of a nurse. a most unfortunate thing that you are obliged to go to the hotel.’
-‘it can’t be helped. if a nurse is necessary, i must engage one.’
-he had the strange sensation of knowing that whatever was needful could be paid for; it relieved his mind immensely. to the rich, illness has none of the worst horrors only understood by the poor.
-‘don’t speak a word more than you can help,’ said the doctor as he watched reardon withdraw.
-amy stood on the lower stairs, and came down as soon as her husband showed himself.
-‘the doctor is good enough to take me in his carriage,’ he whispered. ‘it is better that i should go to bed, and get a good night’s rest. i wish i could have sat with you, amy.’
-‘is it anything? you look worse than when you came, edwin.’
-‘a feverish cold. don’t give it a thought, dearest. go to willie. good-night!’
-she threw her arms about him.
-‘i shall come to see you if you are not able to be here by nine in the morning,’ she said, and added the name of the hotel to which he was to go.
-at this establishment the doctor was well known. by midnight reardon lay in a comfortable room, a huge cataplasm fixed upon him, and other needful arrangements made. a waiter had undertaken to visit him at intervals through the night, and the man of medicine promised to return as soon as possible after daybreak.
-what sound was that, soft and continuous, remote, now clearer, now confusedly murmuring? he must have slept, but now he lay in sudden perfect consciousness, and that music fell upon his ears. ah! of course it was the rising tide; he was near the divine sea.
-the night-light enabled him to discern the principal objects in the room, and he let his eyes stray idly hither and thither. but this moment of peacefulness was brought to an end by a fit of coughing, and he became troubled, profoundly troubled, in mind. was his illness really dangerous? he tried to draw a deep breath, but could not. he found that he could only lie on his right side with any ease. and with the effort of turning he exhausted himself; in the course of an hour or two all his strength had left him. vague fears flitted harassingly through his thoughts. if he had inflammation of the lungs--that was a disease of which one might die, and speedily. death? no, no, no; impossible at such a time as this, when amy, his own dear wife, had come back to him, and had brought him that which would insure their happiness through all the years of a long life.
-he was still quite a young man; there must be great reserves of strength in him. and he had the will to live, the prevailing will, the passionate all-conquering desire of happiness.
-how he had alarmed himself! why, now he was calmer again, and again could listen to the music of the breakers. not all the folly and baseness that paraded along this strip of the shore could change the sea’s eternal melody. in a day or two he would walk on the sands with amy, somewhere quite out of sight of the repulsive town. but willie was ill; he had forgotten that. poor little boy! in future the child should be more to him; though never what the mother was, his own love, won again and for ever.
-again an interval of unconsciousness, brought to an end by that aching in his side. he breathed very quickly; could not help doing so. he had never felt so ill as this, never. was it not near morning?
-then he dreamt. he was at patras, was stepping into a boat to be rowed out to the steamer which would bear him away from greece. a magnificent night, though at the end of december; a sky of deep blue, thick set with stars. no sound but the steady splash of the oars, or perhaps a voice from one of the many vessels that lay anchored in the harbour, each showing its lantern-gleams. the water was as deep a blue as the sky, and sparkled with reflected radiance.
-and now he stood on deck in the light of early morning. southward lay the ionian islands; he looked for ithaca, and grieved that it had been passed in the hours of darkness. but the nearest point of the main shore was a rocky promontory; it reminded him that in these waters was fought the battle of actium.
-the glory vanished. he lay once more a sick man in a hired chamber, longing for the dull english dawn.
-at eight o’clock came the doctor. he would allow only a word or two to be uttered, and his visit was brief. reardon was chiefly anxious to have news of the child, but for this he would have to wait.
-at ten amy entered the bedroom. reardon could not raise himself, but he stretched out his hand and took hers, and gazed eagerly at her. she must have been weeping, he felt sure of that, and there was an expression on her face such as he had never seen there.
-‘how is willie?’
-‘better, dear; much better.’
-he still searched her face.
-‘ought you to leave him?’
-‘hush! you mustn’t speak.’
-tears broke from her eyes, and reardon had the conviction that the child was dead.
-‘the truth, amy!’
-she threw herself on her knees by the bedside, and pressed her wet cheek against his hand.
-‘i am come to nurse you, dear husband,’ she said a moment after, standing up again and kissing his forehead. ‘i have only you now.’
-his heart sank, and for a moment so great a terror was upon him that he closed his eyes and seemed to pass into utter darkness. but those last words of hers repeated themselves in his mind, and at length they brought a deep solace. poor little willie had been the cause of the first coldness between him and amy; her love for him had given place to a mother’s love for the child. now it would be as in the first days of their marriage; they would again be all in all to each other.
-‘you oughtn’t to have come, feeling so ill,’ she said to him. ‘you should have let me know, dear.’
-he smiled and kissed her hand.
-‘and you kept the truth from me last night, in kindness.’
-she checked herself, knowing that agitation must be harmful to him. she had hoped to conceal the child’s death, but the effort was too much for her overstrung nerves. and indeed it was only possible for her to remain an hour or two by this sick-bed, for she was exhausted by her night of watching, and the sudden agony with which it had concluded. shortly after amy’s departure, a professional nurse came to attend upon what the doctor had privately characterised as a very grave case.
-by the evening its gravity was in no respect diminished. the sufferer had ceased to cough and to make restless movements, and had become lethargic; later, he spoke deliriously, or rather muttered, for his words were seldom intelligible. amy had returned to the room at four o’clock, and remained till far into the night; she was physically exhausted, and could do little but sit in a chair by the bedside and shed silent tears, or gaze at vacancy in the woe of her sudden desolation. telegrams had been exchanged with her mother, who was to arrive in brighton to-morrow morning; the child’s funeral would probably be on the third day from this.
-when she rose to go away for the night, leaving the nurse in attendance, reardon seemed to lie in a state of unconsciousness, but just as she was turning from the bed, he opened his eyes and pronounced her name.
-‘i am here, edwin,’ she answered, bending over him.
-‘will you let biffen know?’ he said in low but very clear tones.
-‘that you are ill dear? i will write at once, or telegraph, if you like. what is his address?’
-he had closed his eyes again, and there came no reply. amy repeated her question twice; she was turning from him in hopelessness when his voice became audible.
-‘i can’t remember his new address. i know it, but i can’t remember.’
-she had to leave him thus.
-the next day his breathing was so harassed that he had to be raised against pillows. but throughout the hours of daylight his mind was clear, and from time to time he whispered words of tenderness in reply to amy’s look. he never willingly relinquished her hand, and repeatedly he pressed it against his cheek or lips. vainly he still endeavoured to recall his friend’s address.
-‘couldn’t mr carter discover it for you?’ amy asked.
-‘perhaps. you might try.’
-she would have suggested applying to jasper milvain, but that name must not be mentioned. whelpdale, also, would perchance know where biffen lived, but whelpdale’s address he had also forgotten.
-at night there were long periods of delirium; not mere confused muttering, but continuous talk which the listeners could follow perfectly.
-for the most part the sufferer’s mind was occupied with revival of the distress he had undergone whilst making those last efforts to write something worthy of himself. amy’s heart was wrung as she heard him living through that time of supreme misery--misery which she might have done so much to alleviate, had not selfish fears and irritated pride caused her to draw further and further from him. hers was the kind of penitence which is forced by sheer stress of circumstances on a nature which resents any form of humiliation; she could not abandon herself to unreserved grief for what she had done or omitted, and the sense of this defect made a great part of her affliction. when her husband lay in mute lethargy, she thought only of her dead child, and mourned the loss; but his delirious utterances constrained her to break from that bittersweet preoccupation, to confuse her mourning with self-reproach and with fears.
-though unconsciously, he was addressing her: ‘i can do no more, amy. my brain seems to be worn out; i can’t compose, i can’t even think. look! i have been sitting here for hours, and i have done only that little bit, half a dozen lines. such poor stuff too! i should burn it, only i can’t afford. i must do my regular quantity every day, no matter what it is.’
-the nurse, who was present when he talked in this way, looked to amy for an explanation.
-‘my husband is an author,’ amy answered. ‘not long ago he was obliged to write when he was ill and ought to have been resting.’
-‘i always thought it must be hard work writing books,’ said the nurse with a shake of her head.
-‘you don’t understand me,’ the voice pursued, dreadful as a voice always is when speaking independently of the will. ‘you think i am only a poor creature, because i can do nothing better than this. if only i had money enough to rest for a year or two, you should see. just because i have no money i must sink to this degradation. and i am losing you as well; you don’t love me!’
-he began to moan in anguish.
-but a happy change presently came over his dreaming. he fell into animated description of his experiences in greece and italy, and after talking for a long time, he turned his head and said in a perfectly natural tone:
-‘amy, do you know that biffen and i are going to greece?’
-she believed he spoke consciously, and replied:
-‘you must take me with you, edwin.’
-he paid no attention to this remark, but went on with the same deceptive accent.
-‘he deserves a holiday after nearly getting burnt to death to save his novel. imagine the old fellow plunging headlong into the flames to rescue his manuscript! don’t say that authors can’t be heroic!’
-and he laughed gaily.
-another morning broke. it was possible, said the doctors (a second had been summoned), that a crisis which drew near might bring the favourable turn; but amy formed her own opinion from the way in which the nurse expressed herself. she felt sure that the gravest fears were entertained. before noon reardon awoke from what had seemed natural sleep--save for the rapid breathing--and of a sudden recollected the number of the house in cleveland street at which biffen was now living. he uttered it without explanation. amy at once conjectured his meaning, and as soon as her surmise was confirmed she despatched a telegram to her husband’s friend.
-that evening, as amy was on the point of returning to the sick-room after having dined at her friend’s house, it was announced that a gentleman named biffen wished to see her. she found him in the dining-room, and, even amid her distress, it was a satisfaction to her that he presented a far more conventional appearance than in the old days. all the garments he wore, even his hat, gloves, and boots, were new; a surprising state of things, explained by the fact of his commercial brother having sent him a present of ten pounds, a practical expression of sympathy with him in his recent calamity. biffen could not speak; he looked with alarm at amy’s pallid face. in a few words she told him of reardon’s condition.
-‘i feared this,’ he replied under his breath. ‘he was ill when i saw him off at london bridge. but willie is better, i trust?’
-amy tried to answer, but tears filled her eyes and her head drooped. harold was overcome with a sense of fatality; grief and dread held him motionless.
-they conversed brokenly for a few minutes, then left the house, biffen carrying the hand-bag with which he had travelled hither. when they reached the hotel he waited apart until it was ascertained whether he could enter the sick-room. amy rejoined him and said with a faint smile:
-‘he is conscious, and was very glad to hear that you had come. but don’t let him try to speak much.’
-the change that had come over his friend’s countenance was to harold, of course, far more gravely impressive than to those who had watched at the bedside. in the drawn features, large sunken eyes, thin and discoloured lips, it seemed to him that he read too surely the presage of doom. after holding the shrunken hand for a moment he was convulsed with an agonising sob, and had to turn away.
-amy saw that her husband wished to speak to her; she bent over him.
-‘ask him to stay, dear. give him a room in the hotel.’
-biffen sat down by the bedside, and remained for half an hour. his friend inquired whether he had yet heard about the novel; the answer was a shake of the head. when he rose, reardon signed to him to bend down, and whispered:
-‘it doesn’t matter what happens; she is mine again.’
-the next day was very cold, but a blue sky gleamed over land and sea. the drives and promenades were thronged with people in exuberant health and spirits. biffen regarded this spectacle with resentful scorn; at another time it would have moved him merely to mirth, but not even the sound of the breakers when he had wandered as far as possible from human contact could help him to think with resignation of the injustice which triumphs so flagrantly in the destinies of men. towards amy he had no shadow of unkindness; the sight of her in tears had impressed him as profoundly, in another way, as that of his friend’s wasted features. she and reardon were again one, and his love for them both was stronger than any emotion of tenderness he had ever known.
-in the afternoon he again sat by the bedside. every symptom of the sufferer’s condition pointed to an approaching end: a face that had grown cadaverous, livid lips, breath drawn in hurrying gasps. harold despaired of another look of recognition. but as he sat with his forehead resting on his hand amy touched him; reardon had turned his face in their direction, and with a conscious gaze.
-‘i shall never go with you to greece,’ he said distinctly.
-there was silence again. biffen did not move his eyes from the deathly mask; in a minute or two he saw a smile soften its lineaments, and reardon again spoke:
-‘how often you and i have quoted it!--“we are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our--“’
-the remaining words were indistinguishable, and, as if the effort of utterance had exhausted him, his eyes closed, and he sank into lethargy.
-when he came down from his bedroom on the following morning, biffen was informed that his friend had died between two and three o’clock. at the same time he received a note in which amy requested him to come and see her late in the afternoon. he spent the day in a long walk along the eastward cliffs; again the sun shone brilliantly, and the sea was flecked with foam upon its changing green and azure. it seemed to him that he had never before known solitude, even through all the years of his lonely and sad existence.
-at sunset he obeyed amy’s summons. he found her calm, but with the signs of long weeping.
-‘at the last moment,’ she said, ‘he was able to speak to me, and you were mentioned. he wished you to have all that he has left in his room at islington. when i come back to london, will you take me there and let me see the room just as when he lived in it? let the people in the house know what has happened, and that i am responsible for whatever will be owing.’
-her resolve to behave composedly gave way as soon as harold’s broken voice had replied. hysterical sobbing made further speech from her impossible, and biffen, after holding her hand reverently for a moment, left her alone.
-chapter xxxiii. the sunny way
-on an evening of early summer, six months after the death of edwin reardon, jasper of the facile pen was bending over his desk, writing rapidly by the warm western light which told that sunset was near. not far from him sat his younger sister; she was reading, and the book in her hand bore the title, ‘mr bailey, grocer.’
-‘how will this do?’ jasper exclaimed, suddenly throwing down his pen.
-and he read aloud a critical notice of the book with which dora was occupied; a notice of the frankly eulogistic species, beginning with: ‘it is seldom nowadays that the luckless reviewer of novels can draw the attention of the public to a new work which is at once powerful and original;’ and ending: ‘the word is a bold one, but we do not hesitate to pronounce this book a masterpiece.’
-‘is that for the current?’ asked dora, when he had finished.
-‘no, for the west end. fadge won’t allow anyone but himself to be lauded in that style. i may as well do the notice for the current now, as i’ve got my hand in.’
-he turned to his desk again, and before daylight failed him had produced a piece of more cautious writing, very favourable on the whole, but with reserves and slight censures. this also he read to dora.
-‘you wouldn’t suspect they were written by the same man, eh?’
-‘no. you have changed the style very skilfully.’
-‘i doubt if they’ll be much use. most people will fling the book down with yawns before they’re half through the first volume. if i knew a doctor who had many cases of insomnia in hand, i would recommend “mr bailey” to him as a specific.’
-‘oh, but it is really clever, jasper!’
-‘not a doubt of it. i half believe what i have written. and if only we could get it mentioned in a leader or two, and so on, old biffen’s fame would be established with the better sort of readers. but he won’t sell three hundred copies. i wonder whether robertson would let me do a notice for his paper?’
-‘biffen ought to be grateful to you, if he knew,’ said dora, laughing.
-‘yet, now, there are people who would cry out that this kind of thing is disgraceful. it’s nothing of the kind. speaking seriously, we know that a really good book will more likely than not receive fair treatment from two or three reviewers; yes, but also more likely than not it will be swamped in the flood of literature that pours forth week after week, and won’t have attention fixed long enough upon it to establish its repute. the struggle for existence among books is nowadays as severe as among men. if a writer has friends connected with the press, it is the plain duty of those friends to do their utmost to help him. what matter if they exaggerate, or even lie? the simple, sober truth has no chance whatever of being listened to, and it’s only by volume of shouting that the ear of the public is held. what use is it to biffen if his work struggles to slow recognition ten years hence? besides, as i say, the growing flood of literature swamps everything but works of primary genius. if a clever and conscientious book does not spring to success at once, there’s precious small chance that it will survive. suppose it were possible for me to write a round dozen reviews of this book, in as many different papers, i would do it with satisfaction. depend upon it, this kind of thing will be done on that scale before long. and it’s quite natural. a man’s friends must be helped, by whatever means, quocunque modo, as biffen himself would say.’
-‘i dare say he doesn’t even think of you as a friend now.’
-‘very likely not. it’s ages since i saw him. but there’s much magnanimity in my character, as i have often told you. it delights me to be generous, whenever i can afford it.’
-dusk was gathering about them. as they sat talking, there came a tap at the door, and the summons to enter was obeyed by mr whelpdale.
-‘i was passing,’ he said in his respectful voice, ‘and couldn’t resist the temptation.’
-early in this year, his enterprise as ‘literary adviser’ had brought him in contact with a man of some pecuniary resources, who proposed to establish an agency for the convenience of authors who were not skilled in disposing of their productions to the best advantage. under the name of fleet & co., this business was shortly set on foot, and whelpdale’s services were retained on satisfactory terms. the birth of the syndicate system had given new scope to literary agencies, and mr fleet was a man of keen eye for commercial opportunities.
-‘well, have you read biffen’s book?’ asked jasper.
-‘wonderful, isn’t it! a work of genius, i am convinced. ha! you have it there, miss dora. but i’m afraid it is hardly for you.’
-‘and why not, mr whelpdale?’
-‘you should only read of beautiful things, of happy lives. this book must depress you.’
-‘but why will you imagine me such a feeble-minded person?’ asked dora. ‘you have so often spoken like this. i have really no ambition to be a doll of such superfine wax.’
-the habitual flatterer looked deeply concerned.
-‘pray forgive me!’ he murmured humbly, leaning forwards towards the girl with eyes which deprecated her displeasure. ‘i am very far indeed from attributing weakness to you. it was only the natural, unreflecting impulse; one finds it so difficult to associate you, even as merely a reader, with such squalid scenes.
-the ignobly decent, as poor biffen calls it, is so very far from that sphere in which you are naturally at home.’
-there was some slight affectation in his language, but the tone attested sincere feeling. jasper was watching him with half an eye, and glancing occasionally at dora.
-‘no doubt,’ said the latter, ‘it’s my story in the english girl that inclines you to think me a goody-goody sort of young woman.’
-‘so far from that, miss dora, i was only waiting for an opportunity to tell you how exceedingly delighted i have been with the last two weeks’ instalments. in all seriousness, i consider that story of yours the best thing of the kind that ever came under my notice. you seem to me to have discovered a new genre; such writing as this has surely never been offered to girls, and all the readers of the paper must be immensely grateful to you. i run eagerly to buy the paper each week; i assure you i do. the stationer thinks i purchase it for a sister, i suppose. but each section of the story seems to be better than the last. mark the prophecy which i now make: when this tale is published in a volume its success will be great. you will be recognised, miss dora, as the new writer for modern english girls.’
-the subject of this panegyric coloured a little and laughed. unmistakably she was pleased.
-‘look here, whelpdale,’ said jasper, ‘i can’t have this; dora’s conceit, please to remember, is, to begin with, only a little less than my own, and you will make her unendurable. her tale is well enough in its way, but then its way is a very humble one.’
-‘i deny it!’ cried the other, excitedly. ‘how can it be called a humble line of work to provide reading, which is at once intellectual and moving and exquisitely pure, for the most important part of the population--the educated and refined young people who are just passing from girlhood to womanhood?’
-‘the most important fiddlestick!’
-‘you are grossly irreverent, my dear milvain. i cannot appeal to your sister, for she’s too modest to rate her own sex at its true value, but the vast majority of thoughtful men would support me. you yourself do, though you affect this profane way of speaking. and we know,’ he looked at dora, ‘that he wouldn’t talk like this if miss yule were present.’
-jasper changed the topic of conversation, and presently whelpdale was able to talk with more calmness. the young man, since his association with fleet & co., had become fertile in suggestions of literary enterprise, and at present he was occupied with a project of special hopefulness.
-‘i want to find a capitalist,’ he said, ‘who will get possession of that paper chat, and transform it according to an idea i have in my head. the thing is doing very indifferently, but i am convinced it might be made splendid property, with a few changes in the way of conducting it.’
-‘the paper is rubbish,’ remarked jasper, ‘and the kind of rubbish--oddly enough--which doesn’t attract people.’
-‘precisely, but the rubbish is capable of being made a very valuable article, if it were only handled properly. i have talked to the people about it again and again, but i can’t get them to believe what i say. now just listen to my notion. in the first place, i should slightly alter the name; only slightly, but that little alteration would in itself have an enormous effect. instead of chat i should call it chit-chat!’
-jasper exploded with mirth.
-‘that’s brilliant!’ he cried. ‘a stroke of genius!’
-‘are you serious? or are you making fun of me? i believe it is a stroke of genius. chat doesn’t attract anyone, but chit-chat would sell like hot cakes, as they say in america. i know i am right; laugh as you will.’
-‘on the same principle,’ cried jasper, ‘if the tatler were changed to tittle-tattle, its circulation would be trebled.’
-whelpdale smote his knee in delight.
-‘an admirable idea! many a true word uttered in joke, and this is an instance! tittle-tattle--a magnificent title; the very thing to catch the multitude.’
-dora was joining in the merriment, and for a minute or two nothing but bursts of laughter could be heard.
-‘now do let me go on,’ implored the man of projects, when the noise subsided. ‘that’s only one change, though a most important one. what i next propose is this:--i know you will laugh again, but i will demonstrate to you that i am right. no article in the paper is to measure more than two inches in length, and every inch must be broken into at least two paragraphs.’
-‘but you are joking, mr whelpdale!’ exclaimed dora.
-‘no, i am perfectly serious. let me explain my principle. i would have the paper address itself to the quarter-educated; that is to say, the great new generation that is being turned out by the board schools, the young men and women who can just read, but are incapable of sustained attention. people of this kind want something to occupy them in trains and on ‘buses and trams. as a rule they care for no newspapers except the sunday ones; what they want is the lightest and frothiest of chit-chatty information--bits of stories, bits of description, bits of scandal, bits of jokes, bits of statistics, bits of foolery. am i not right? everything must be very short, two inches at the utmost; their attention can’t sustain itself beyond two inches. even chat is too solid for them: they want chit-chat.’
-jasper had begun to listen seriously.
-‘there’s something in this, whelpdale,’ he remarked.
-‘ha! i have caught you?’ cried the other delightedly. ‘of course there’s something in it?’
-‘but--’ began dora, and checked herself.
-‘you were going to say--’ whelpdale bent towards her with deference.
-‘surely these poor, silly people oughtn’t to be encouraged in their weakness.’
-whelpdale’s countenance fell. he looked ashamed of himself. but jasper came speedily to the rescue.
-‘that’s twaddle, dora. fools will be fools to the world’s end. answer a fool according to his folly; supply a simpleton with the reading he craves, if it will put money in your pocket. you have discouraged poor whelpdale in one of the most notable projects of modern times.’
-‘i shall think no more of it,’ said whelpdale, gravely. ‘you are right, miss dora.’
-again jasper burst into merriment. his sister reddened, and looked uncomfortable. she began to speak timidly:
-‘you said this was for reading in trains and ‘buses?’
-whelpdale caught at hope.
-‘yes. and really, you know, it may be better at such times to read chit-chat than to be altogether vacant, or to talk unprofitably. i am not sure; i bow to your opinion unreservedly.’
-‘so long as they only read the paper at such times,’ said dora, still hesitating. ‘one knows by experience that one really can’t fix one’s attention in travelling; even an article in a newspaper is often too long.’
-‘exactly! and if you find it so, what must be the case with the mass of untaught people, the quarter-educated? it might encourage in some of them a taste for reading--don’t you think?’
-‘it might,’ assented dora, musingly. ‘and in that case you would be doing good!’
-they smiled joyfully at each other. then whelpdale turned to jasper:
-‘you are convinced that there is something in this?’
-‘seriously, i think there is. it would all depend on the skill of the fellows who put the thing together every week. there ought always to be one strongly sensational item--we won’t call it article. for instance, you might display on a placard: “what the queen eats!” or “how gladstone’s collars are made!”--things of that kind.’
-‘to be sure, to be sure. and then, you know,’ added whelpdale, glancing anxiously at dora, ‘when people had been attracted by these devices, they would find a few things that were really profitable. we would give nicely written little accounts of exemplary careers, of heroic deeds, and so on. of course nothing whatever that could be really demoralising--cela va sans dire. well, what i was going to say was this: would you come with me to the office of chat, and have a talk with my friend lake, the sub-editor? i know your time is very valuable, but then you’re often running into the will-o’-the-wisp, and chat is just upstairs, you know.’
-‘what use should i be?’
-‘oh, all the use in the world. lake would pay most respectful attention to your opinion, though he thinks so little of mine. you are a man of note, i am nobody. i feel convinced that you could persuade the chat people to adopt my idea, and they might be willing to give me a contingent share of contingent profits, if i had really shown them the way to a good thing.’
-jasper promised to think the matter over. whilst their talk still ran on this subject, a packet that had come by post was brought into the room. opening it, milvain exclaimed:
-‘ha! this is lucky. there’s something here that may interest you, whelpdale.’
-‘yes. a paper i have written for the wayside.’ he looked at dora, who smiled. ‘how do you like the title?--“the novels of edwin reardon!”’
-‘you don’t say so!’ cried the other. ‘what a good-hearted fellow you are, milvain! now that’s really a kind thing to have done. by jove! i must shake hands with you; i must indeed! poor reardon! poor old fellow!’
-his eyes gleamed with moisture. dora, observing this, looked at him so gently and sweetly that it was perhaps well he did not meet her eyes; the experience would have been altogether too much for him.
-‘it has been written for three months,’ said jasper, ‘but we have held it over for a practical reason. when i was engaged upon it, i went to see mortimer, and asked him if there was any chance of a new edition of reardon’s books. he had no idea the poor fellow was dead, and the news seemed really to affect him. he promised to consider whether it would be worth while trying a new issue, and before long i heard from him that he would bring out the two best books with a decent cover and so on, provided i could get my article on reardon into one of the monthlies. this was soon settled. the editor of the wayside answered at once, when i wrote to him, that he should be very glad to print what i proposed, as he had a real respect for reardon. next month the books will be out--“neutral ground,” and “hubert reed.” mortimer said he was sure these were the only ones that would pay for themselves. but we shall see. he may alter his opinion when my article has been read.’
-‘read it to us now, jasper, will you?’ asked dora.
-the request was supported by whelpdale, and jasper needed no pressing. he seated himself so that the lamplight fell upon the pages, and read the article through. it was an excellent piece of writing (see the wayside, june 1884), and in places touched with true emotion. any intelligent reader would divine that the author had been personally acquainted with the man of whom he wrote, though the fact was nowhere stated. the praise was not exaggerated, yet all the best points of reardon’s work were admirably brought out. one who knew jasper might reasonably have doubted, before reading this, whether he was capable of so worthily appreciating the nobler man.
-‘i never understood reardon so well before,’ declared whelpdale, at the close. ‘this is a good thing well done. it’s something to be proud of, miss dora.’
-‘yes, i feel that it is,’ she replied.
-‘mrs reardon ought to be very grateful to you, milvain. by-the-by, do you ever see her?’
-‘i have met her only once since his death--by chance.’
-‘of course she will marry again. i wonder who’ll be the fortunate man?’
-‘fortunate, do you think?’ asked dora quietly, without looking at him.
-‘oh, i spoke rather cynically, i’m afraid,’ whelpdale hastened to reply. ‘i was thinking of her money. indeed, i knew mrs reardon only very slightly.’
-‘i don’t think you need regret it,’ dora remarked.
-‘oh, well, come, come!’ put in her brother. ‘we know very well that there was little enough blame on her side.’
-‘there was great blame!’ dora exclaimed. ‘she behaved shamefully!
-i wouldn’t speak to her; i wouldn’t sit down in her company!’
-‘bosh! what do you know about it? wait till you are married to a man like reardon, and reduced to utter penury.’
-‘whoever my husband was, i would stand by him, if i starved to death.’
-‘if he ill-used you?’
-‘i am not talking of such cases. mrs reardon had never anything of the kind to fear. it was impossible for a man such as her husband to behave harshly. her conduct was cowardly, faithless, unwomanly!’
-‘trust one woman for thinking the worst of another,’ observed jasper with something like a sneer.
-dora gave him a look of strong disapproval; one might have suspected that brother and sister had before this fallen into disagreement on the delicate topic. whelpdale felt obliged to interpose, and had of course no choice but to support the girl.
-‘i can only say,’ he remarked with a smile, ‘that miss dora takes a very noble point of view. one feels that a wife ought to be staunch. but it’s so very unsafe to discuss matters in which one cannot know all the facts.’
-‘we know quite enough of the facts,’ said dora, with delightful pertinacity.
-‘indeed, perhaps we do,’ assented her slave. then, turning to her brother, ‘well, once more i congratulate you. i shall talk of your article incessantly, as soon as it appears. and i shall pester every one of my acquaintances to buy reardon’s books--though it’s no use to him, poor fellow. still, he would have died more contentedly if he could have foreseen this. by-the-by, biffen will be profoundly grateful to you, i’m sure.’
-‘i’m doing what i can for him, too. run your eye over these slips.’
-whelpdale exhausted himself in terms of satisfaction.
-‘you deserve to get on, my dear fellow. in a few years you will be the aristarchus of our literary world.’
-when the visitor rose to depart, jasper said he would walk a short distance with him. as soon as they had left the house, the future aristarchus made a confidential communication.
-‘it may interest you to know that my sister maud is shortly to be married.’
-‘indeed! may i ask to whom?’
-‘a man you don’t know. his name is dolomore--a fellow in society.’
-‘rich, then, i hope?’
-‘tolerably well-to-do. i dare say he has three or four thousand a year!’
-‘gracious heavens! why, that’s magnificent.’
-but whelpdale did not look quite so much satisfaction as his words expressed.
-‘is it to be soon?’ he inquired.
-‘at the end of the season. make no difference to dora and me, of course.’
-‘oh? really? no difference at all? you will let me come and see you--both--just in the old way, milvain?’
-‘why the deuce shouldn’t you?’
-‘to be sure, to be sure. by jove! i really don’t know how i should get on if i couldn’t look in of an evening now and then. i have got so much into the habit of it. and--i’m a lonely beggar, you know. i don’t go into society, and really--’
-he broke off, and jasper began to speak of other things.
-when milvain re-entered the house, dora had gone to her own sitting-room. it was not quite ten o’clock. taking one set of the proofs of his ‘reardon’ article, he put it into a large envelope; then he wrote a short letter, which began ‘dear mrs reardon,’ and ended ‘very sincerely yours,’ the communication itself being as follows:
-‘i venture to send you the proofs of a paper which is to appear in next month’s wayside, in the hope that it may seem to you not badly done, and that the reading of it may give you pleasure. if anything occurs to you which you would like me to add, or if you desire any omission, will you do me the kindness to let me know of it as soon as possible, and your suggestion shall at once be adopted. i am informed that the new edition of “on neutral ground” and “hubert reed” will be ready next month. need i say how glad i am that my friend’s work is not to be forgotten?’
-this note he also put into the envelope, which he made ready for posting. then he sat for a long time in profound thought.
-shortly after eleven his door opened, and maud came in. she had been dining at mrs lane’s. her attire was still simple, but of quality which would have signified recklessness, but for the outlook whereof jasper spoke to whelpdale. the girl looked very beautiful. there was a flush of health and happiness on her cheek, and when she spoke it was in a voice that rang quite differently from her tones of a year ago; the pride which was natural to her had now a firm support; she moved and uttered herself in queenly fashion.
-‘has anyone been?’ she asked.
-‘oh! i wanted to ask you, jasper: do you think it wise to let him come quite so often?’
-‘there’s a difficulty, you see. i can hardly tell him to sheer off. and he’s really a decent fellow.’
-‘that may be. but--i think it’s rather unwise. things are changed. in a few months, dora will be a good deal at my house, and will see all sorts of people.’
-‘yes; but what if they are the kind of people she doesn’t care anything about? you must remember, old girl, that her tastes are quite different from yours. i say nothing, but--perhaps it’s as well they should be.’
-‘you say nothing, but you add an insult,’ returned maud, with a smile of superb disregard. ‘we won’t reopen the question.’
-‘oh dear no! and, by-the-by, i have a letter from dolomore. it came just after you left.’
-‘he is quite willing to settle upon you a third of his income from the collieries; he tells me it will represent between seven and eight hundred a year. i think it rather little, you know; but i congratulate myself on having got this out of him.’
-‘don’t speak in that unpleasant way! it was only your abruptness that made any kind of difficulty.’
-‘i have my own opinion on that point, and i shall beg leave to keep it. probably he will think me still more abrupt when i request, as i am now going to do, an interview with his solicitors.’
-‘is that allowable?’ asked maud, anxiously. ‘can you do that with any decency?’
-‘if not, then i must do it with indecency. you will have the goodness to remember that if i don’t look after your interests, no one else will. it’s perhaps fortunate for you that i have a good deal of the man of business about me. dolomore thought i was a dreamy, literary fellow. i don’t say that he isn’t entirely honest, but he shows something of a disposition to play the autocrat, and i by no means intend to let him. if you had a father, dolomore would have to submit his affairs to examination.
-i stand to you in loco parentis, and i shall bate no jot of my rights.’
-‘but you can’t say that his behaviour hasn’t been perfectly straightforward.’
-‘i don’t wish to. i think, on the whole, he has behaved more honourably than was to be expected of a man of his kind. but he must treat me with respect. my position in the world is greatly superior to his. and, by the gods! i will be treated respectfully! it wouldn’t be amiss, maud, if you just gave him a hint to that effect.’
-‘all i have to say is, jasper, don’t do me an irreparable injury. you might, without meaning it.’
-‘no fear whatever of it. i can behave as a gentleman, and i only expect dolomore to do the same.’
-their conversation lasted for a long time, and when he was again left alone jasper again fell into a mood of thoughtfulness.
-by a late post on the following day he received this letter:
-‘dear mr milvain,--i have received the proofs, and have just read them; i hasten to thank you with all my heart. no suggestion of mine could possibly improve this article; it seems to me perfect in taste, in style, in matter. no one but you could have written this, for no one else understood edwin so well, or had given such thought to his work. if he could but have known that such justice would be done to his memory! but he died believing that already he was utterly forgotten, that his books would never again be publicly spoken of. this was a cruel fate. i have shed tears over what you have written, but they were not only tears of bitterness; it cannot but be a consolation to me to think that, when the magazine appears, so many people will talk of edwin and his books. i am deeply grateful to mr mortimer for having undertaken to republish those two novels; if you have an opportunity, will you do me the great kindness to thank him on my behalf? at the same time, i must remember that it was you who first spoke to him on this subject. you say that it gladdens you to think edwin will not be forgotten, and i am very sure that the friendly office you have so admirably performed will in itself reward you more than any poor expression of gratitude from me. i write hurriedly, anxious to let you hear as soon as possible.
-‘believe me, dear mr milvain,
-marian was at work as usual in the reading-room. she did her best, during the hours spent here, to convert herself into the literary machine which it was her hope would some day be invented for construction in a less sensitive material than human tissue. her eyes seldom strayed beyond the limits of the desk; and if she had occasion to rise and go to the reference shelves, she looked at no one on the way. yet she herself was occasionally an object of interested regard. several readers were acquainted with the chief facts of her position; they knew that her father was now incapable of work, and was waiting till his diseased eyes should be ready for the operator; it was surmised, moreover, that a good deal depended upon the girl’s literary exertions. mr quarmby and his gossips naturally took the darkest view of things; they were convinced that alfred yule could never recover his sight, and they had a dolorous satisfaction in relating the story of marian’s legacy. of her relations with jasper milvain none of these persons had heard; yule had never spoken of that matter to any one of his friends.
-jasper had to look in this morning for a hurried consultation of certain encyclopaedic volumes, and it chanced that marian was standing before the shelves to which his business led him. he saw her from a little distance, and paused; it seemed as if he would turn back; for a moment he wore a look of doubt and worry. but after all he proceeded. at the sound of his ‘good-morning,’ marian started--she was standing with an open book in hand--and looked up with a gleam of joy on her face.
-‘i wanted to see you to-day,’ she said, subduing her voice to the tone of ordinary conversation. ‘i should have come this evening.’
-‘you wouldn’t have found me at home. from five to seven i shall be frantically busy, and then i have to rush off to dine with some people.’
-‘i couldn’t see you before five?’
-‘is it something important?’
-‘yes, it is.’
-he dragged out a tome of the ‘britannica.’ marian nodded, and returned to her seat.
-at the appointed hour she was waiting near the entrance of regent’s park which jasper had mentioned. not long ago there had fallen a light shower, but the sky was clear again. at five minutes past four she still waited, and had begun to fear that the passing rain might have led jasper to think she would not come. another five minutes, and from a hansom that rattled hither at full speed, the familiar figure alighted.
-‘do forgive me!’ he exclaimed. ‘i couldn’t possibly get here before. let us go to the right.’
-they betook themselves to that tree-shadowed strip of the park which skirts the canal.
-‘i’m so afraid that you haven’t really time,’ said marian, who was chilled and confused by this show of hurry. she regretted having made the appointment; it would have been much better to postpone what she had to say until jasper was at leisure. yet nowadays the hours of leisure seemed to come so rarely.
-‘if i get home at five, it’ll be all right,’ he replied. ‘what have you to tell me, marian?’
-‘we have heard about the money, at last.’
-‘oh?’ he avoided looking at her. ‘and what’s the upshot?’
-‘i shall have nearly fifteen hundred pounds.’
-‘so much as that? well, that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?’
-‘very much better.’
-they walked on in silence. marian stole a glance at her companion.
-‘i should have thought it a great deal,’ she said presently, ‘before i had begun to think of thousands.’
-‘fifteen hundred. well, it means fifty pounds a year, i suppose.’
-he chewed the end of his moustache.
-‘let us sit down on this bench. fifteen hundred--h’m! and nothing more is to be hoped for?’
-‘nothing. i should have thought men would wish to pay their debts, even after they had been bankrupt; but they tell us we can’t expect anything more from these people.’
-‘you are thinking of walter scott, and that kind of thing’--jasper laughed. ‘oh, that’s quite unbusinesslike; it would be setting a pernicious example nowadays. well, and what’s to be done?’
-marian had no answer for such a question. the tone of it was a new stab to her heart, which had suffered so many during the past half-year.
-‘now, i’ll ask you frankly,’ jasper went on, ‘and i know you will reply in the same spirit: would it be wise for us to marry on this money?’
-‘on this money?’
-she looked into his face with painful earnestness.
-‘you mean,’ he said, ‘that it can’t be spared for that purpose?’
-what she really meant was uncertain even to herself. she had wished to hear how jasper would receive the news, and thereby to direct her own course. had he welcomed it as offering a possibility of their marriage, that would have gladdened her, though it would then have been necessary to show him all the difficulties by which she was beset; for some time they had not spoken of her father’s position, and jasper seemed willing to forget all about that complication of their troubles. but marriage did not occur to him, and he was evidently quite prepared to hear that she could no longer regard this money as her own to be freely disposed of. this was on one side a relief but on the other it confirmed her fears. she would rather have heard him plead with her to neglect her parents for the sake of being his wife. love excuses everything, and his selfishness would have been easily lost sight of in the assurance that he still desired her.
-‘you say,’ she replied, with bent head, ‘that it would bring us fifty pounds a year. if another fifty were added to that, my father and mother would be supported in case the worst comes. i might earn fifty pounds.’
-‘you wish me to understand, marian, that i mustn’t expect that you will bring me anything when we are married.’
-his tone was that of acquiescence; not by any means of displeasure. he spoke as if desirous of saying for her something she found a difficulty in saying for herself.
-‘jasper, it is so hard for me! so hard for me! how could i help remembering what you told me when i promised to be your wife?’
-‘i spoke the truth rather brutally,’ he replied, in a kind voice. ‘let all that be unsaid, forgotten. we are in quite a different position now. be open with me, marian; surely you can trust my common sense and good feeling. put aside all thought of things i have said, and don’t be restrained by any fear lest you should seem to me unwomanly--you can’t be that. what is your own wish? what do you really wish to do, now that there is no uncertainty calling for postponements?’
-marian raised her eyes, and was about to speak as she regarded him; but with the first accent her look fell.
-‘i wish to be your wife.’
-he waited, thinking and struggling with himself.
-‘yet you feel that it would be heartless to take and use this money for our own purposes?’
-‘what is to become of my parents, jasper?’
-‘but then you admit that the fifteen hundred pounds won’t support them. you talk of earning fifty pounds a year for them.’
-‘need i cease to write, dear, if we were married? wouldn’t you let me help them?’
-‘but, my dear girl, you are taking for granted that we shall have enough for ourselves.’
-‘i didn’t mean at once,’ she explained hurriedly. ‘in a short time--in a year. you are getting on so well. you will soon have a sufficient income, i am sure.’
-‘let us walk as far as the next seat. don’t speak. i have something to think about.’
-moving on beside him, she slipped her hand softly within his arm; but jasper did not put the arm into position to support hers, and her hand fell again, dropped suddenly. they reached another bench, and again became seated.
-‘it comes to this, marian,’ he said, with portentous gravity. ‘support you, i could--i have little doubt of that. maud is provided for, and dora can make a living for herself. i could support you and leave you free to give your parents whatever you can earn by your own work. but--’
-he paused significantly. it was his wish that marian should supply the consequence, but she did not speak.
-‘very well,’ he exclaimed. ‘then when are we to be married?’
-the tone of resignation was too marked. jasper was not good as a comedian; he lacked subtlety.
-‘we must wait,’ fell from marian’s lips, in the whisper of despair.
-‘wait? but how long?’ he inquired, dispassionately.
-‘do you wish to be freed from your engagement, jasper?’
-he was not strong enough to reply with a plain ‘yes,’ and so have done with his perplexities. he feared the girl’s face, and he feared his own subsequent emotions.
-‘don’t talk in that way, marian. the question is simply this: are we to wait a year, or are we to wait five years? in a year’s time, i shall probably be able to have a small house somewhere out in the suburbs. if we are married then, i shall be happy enough with so good a wife, but my career will take a different shape. i shall just throw overboard certain of my ambitions, and work steadily on at earning a livelihood. if we wait five years, i may perhaps have obtained an editorship, and in that case i should of course have all sorts of better things to offer you.’
-‘but, dear, why shouldn’t you get an editorship all the same if you are married?’
-‘i have explained to you several times that success of that kind is not compatible with a small house in the suburbs and all the ties of a narrow income. as a bachelor, i can go about freely, make acquaintances, dine at people’s houses, perhaps entertain a useful friend now and then--and so on. it is not merit that succeeds in my line; it is merit plus opportunity. marrying now, i cut myself off from opportunity, that’s all.’
-she kept silence.
-‘decide my fate for me, marian,’ he pursued, magnanimously. ‘let us make up our minds and do what we decide to do. indeed, it doesn’t concern me so much as yourself. are you content to lead a simple, unambitious life? or should you prefer your husband to be a man of some distinction?’
-‘i know so well what your own wish is. but to wait for years--you will cease to love me, and will only think of me as a hindrance in your way.’
-‘well now, when i said five years, of course i took a round number. three--two might make all the difference to me.’
-‘let it be just as you wish. i can bear anything rather than lose your love.’
-‘you feel, then, that it will decidedly be wise not to marry whilst we are still so poor?’
-‘yes; whatever you are convinced of is right.’
-he again rose, and looked at his watch.
-‘jasper, you don’t think that i have behaved selfishly in wishing to let my father have the money?’
-‘i should have been greatly surprised if you hadn’t wished it. i certainly can’t imagine you saying: “oh, let them do as best they can!” that would have been selfish with a vengeance.’
-‘now you are speaking kindly! must you go, jasper?’
-‘i must indeed. two hours’ work i am bound to get before seven o’clock.’
-‘and i have been making it harder for you, by disturbing your mind.’
-‘no, no; it’s all right now. i shall go at it with all the more energy, now we have come to a decision.’
-‘dora has asked me to go to kew on sunday. shall you be able to come, dear?’
-‘by jove, no! i have three engagements on sunday afternoon. i’ll try and keep the sunday after; i will indeed.’
-‘what are the engagements?’ she asked timidly.
-as they walked back towards gloucester gate, he answered her question, showing how unpardonable it would be to neglect the people concerned. then they parted, jasper going off at a smart pace homewards.
-marian turned down park street, and proceeded for some distance along camden road. the house in which she and her parents now lived was not quite so far away as st paul’s crescent; they rented four rooms, one of which had to serve both as alfred yule’s sitting-room and for the gatherings of the family at meals. mrs yule generally sat in the kitchen, and marian used her bedroom as a study. about half the collection of books had been sold; those that remained were still a respectable library, almost covering the walls of the room where their disconsolate possessor passed his mournful days.
-he could read for a few hours a day, but only large type, and fear of consequences kept him well within the limit of such indulgence laid down by his advisers. though he inwardly spoke as if his case were hopeless, yule was very far from having resigned himself to this conviction; indeed, the prospect of spending his latter years in darkness and idleness was too dreadful to him to be accepted so long as a glimmer of hope remained. he saw no reason why the customary operation should not restore him to his old pursuits, and he would have borne it ill if his wife or daughter had ever ceased to oppose the despair which it pleased him to affect.
-on the whole, he was noticeably patient. at the time of their removal to these lodgings, seeing that marian prepared herself to share the change as a matter of course, he let her do as she would without comment; nor had he since spoken to her on the subject which had proved so dangerous. confidence between them there was none; yule addressed his daughter in a grave, cold, civil tone, and marian replied gently, but without tenderness. for mrs yule the disaster to the family was distinctly a gain; she could not but mourn her husband’s affliction, yet he no longer visited her with the fury or contemptuous impatience of former days. doubtless the fact of needing so much tendance had its softening influence on the man; he could not turn brutally upon his wife when every hour of the day afforded him some proof of her absolute devotion. of course his open-air exercise was still unhindered, and in this season of the returning sun he walked a great deal, decidedly to the advantage of his general health--which again must have been a source of benefit to his temper. of evenings, marian sometimes read to him. he never requested this, but he did not reject the kindness.
-this afternoon marian found her father examining a volume of prints which had been lent him by mr quarmby. the table was laid for dinner (owing to marian’s frequent absence at the museum, no change had been made in the order of meals), and yule sat by the window, his book propped on a second chair. a whiteness in his eyes showed how the disease was progressing, but his face had a more wholesome colour than a year ago.
-‘mr hinks and mr gorbutt inquired very kindly after you to-day,’ said the girl, as she seated herself.
-‘oh, is hinks out again?’
-‘yes, but he looks very ill.’
-they conversed of such matters until mrs yule--now her own servant--brought in the dinner. after the meal, marian was in her bedroom for about an hour; then she went to her father, who sat in idleness, smoking.
-‘what is your mother doing?’ he asked, as she entered.
-‘i had perhaps better say’--he spoke rather stiffly, and with averted face--‘that i make no exclusive claim to the use of this room. as i can no longer pretend to study, it would be idle to keep up the show of privacy that mustn’t be disturbed. perhaps you will mention to your mother that she is quite at liberty to sit here whenever she chooses.’
-it was characteristic of him that he should wish to deliver this permission by proxy. but marian understood how much was implied in such an announcement.
-‘i will tell mother,’ she said. ‘but at this moment i wished to speak to you privately. how would you advise me to invest my money?’
-yule looked surprised, and answered with cold dignity.
-‘it is strange that you should put such a question to me. i should have supposed your interests were in the hands of--of some competent person.’
-‘this will be my private affair, father. i wish to get as high a rate of interest as i safely can.’
-‘i really must decline to advise, or interfere in any way. but, as you have introduced this subject, i may as well put a question which is connected with it. could you give me any idea as to how long you are likely to remain with us?’
-‘at least a year,’ was the answer, ‘and very likely much longer.’
-‘am i to understand, then, that your marriage is indefinitely postponed?’
-‘and will you tell me why?’
-‘i can only say that it has seemed better--to both of us.’
-yule detected the sorrowful emotion she was endeavouring to suppress. his conception of milvain’s character made it easy for him to form a just surmise as to the reasons for this postponement; he was gratified to think that marian might learn how rightly he had judged her wooer, and an involuntary pity for the girl did not prevent his hoping that the detestable alliance was doomed. with difficulty he refrained from smiling.
-‘i will make no comment on that,’ he remarked, with a certain emphasis. ‘but do you imply that this investment of which you speak is to be solely for your own advantage?’
-‘for mine, and for yours and mother’s.’
-there was a silence of a minute or two. as yet it had not been necessary to take any steps for raising money, but a few months more would see the family without resources, save those provided by marian, who, without discussion, had been simply setting aside what she received for her work.
-‘you must be well aware,’ said yule at length, ‘that i cannot consent to benefit by any such offer. when it is necessary, i shall borrow on the security of--’
-‘why should you do that, father?’ marian interrupted. ‘my money is yours. if you refuse it as a gift, then why may not i lend to you as well as a stranger? repay me when your eyes are restored. for the present, all our anxieties are at an end. we can live very well until you are able to write again.’
-for his sake she put it in his way. supposing him never able to earn anything, then indeed would come a time of hardship; but she could not contemplate that. the worst would only befall them in case she was forsaken by jasper, and if that happened all else would be of little account.
-‘this has come upon me as a surprise,’ said yule, in his most reserved tone. ‘i can give no definite reply; i must think of it.’
-‘should you like me to ask mother to bring her sewing here now?’ asked marian, rising.
-‘yes, you may do so.’
-in this way the awkwardness of the situation was overcome, and when marian next had occasion to speak of money matters no serious objection was offered to her proposal.
-dora milvain of course learnt what had come to pass; to anticipate criticism, her brother imparted to her the decision at which marian and he had arrived. she reflected with an air of discontent.
-‘so you are quite satisfied,’ was her question at length, ‘that marian should toil to support her parents as well as herself?’
-‘can i help it?’
-‘i shall think very ill of you if you don’t marry her in a year at latest.’
-‘i tell you, marian has made a deliberate choice. she understands me perfectly, and is quite satisfied with my projects. you will have the kindness, dora, not to disturb her faith in me.’
-‘i agree to that; and in return i shall let you know when she begins to suffer from hunger. it won’t be very long till then, you may be sure. how do you suppose three people are going to live on a hundred a year? and it’s very doubtful indeed whether marian can earn as much as fifty pounds. never mind; i shall let you know when she is beginning to starve, and doubtless that will amuse you.’
-at the end of july maud was married. between mr dolomore and jasper existed no superfluous kindness, each resenting the other’s self-sufficiency; but jasper, when once satisfied of his proposed brother-in-law’s straightforwardness, was careful not to give offence to a man who might some day serve him. provided this marriage resulted in moderate happiness to maud, it was undoubtedly a magnificent stroke of luck. mrs lane, the lady who has so often been casually mentioned, took upon herself those offices in connection with the ceremony which the bride’s mother is wont to perform; at her house was held the wedding-breakfast, and such other absurdities of usage as recommend themselves to society. dora of course played the part of a bridesmaid, and jasper went through his duties with the suave seriousness of a man who has convinced himself that he cannot afford to despise anything that the world sanctions.
-about the same time occurred another event which was to have more importance for this aspiring little family than could as yet be foreseen. whelpdale’s noteworthy idea triumphed; the weekly paper called chat was thoroughly transformed, and appeared as chit-chat. from the first number, the success of the enterprise was beyond doubt; in a month’s time all england was ringing with the fame of this noble new development of journalism; the proprietor saw his way to a solid fortune, and other men who had money to embark began to scheme imitative publications. it was clear that the quarter-educated would soon be abundantly provided with literature to their taste.
-whelpdale’s exultation was unbounded, but in the fifth week of the life of chit-chat something happened which threatened to overturn his sober reason. jasper was walking along the strand one afternoon, when he saw his ingenious friend approaching him in a manner scarcely to be accounted for, unless whelpdale’s abstemiousness had for once given way before convivial invitation. the young man’s hat was on the back of his head, and his coat flew wildly as he rushed forwards with perspiring face and glaring eyes. he would have passed without observing jasper, had not the latter called to him; then he turned round, laughed insanely, grasped his acquaintance by the wrists, and drew him aside into a court.
-‘what do you think?’ he panted. ‘what do you think has happened?’
-‘not what one would suppose, i hope. you seem to have gone mad.’
-‘i’ve got lake’s place on chit-chat!’ cried the other hoarsely. ‘two hundred and fifty a year! lake and the editor quarrelled--pummelled each other--neither know nor care what it was about. my fortune’s made!’
-‘you’re a modest man,’ remarked jasper, smiling.
-a clear six hundred, if a penny!’
-‘satisfactory, so far.’
-‘but you must remember that i’m not a big gun, like you! why, my dear milvain, a year ago i should have thought an income of two hundred a glorious competence. i don’t aim at such things as are fit for you. you won’t be content till you have thousands; of course i know that. but i’m a humble fellow. yet no; by jingo, i’m not! in one way i’m not--i must confess it.’
-‘in what instance are you arrogant?’
-‘i can’t tell you--not yet; this is neither time nor place. i say, when will you dine with me? i shall give a dinner to half a dozen of my acquaintances somewhere or other. poor old biffen must come. when can you dine?’
-‘give me a week’s notice, and i’ll fit it in.’
-that dinner came duly off. on the day that followed, jasper and dora left town for their holiday; they went to the channel islands, and spent more than half of the three weeks they had allowed themselves in sark. passing over from guernsey to that island, they were amused to see a copy of chit-chat in the hands of an obese and well-dressed man.
-‘is he one of the quarter-educated?’ asked dora, laughing.
-‘not in whelpdale’s sense of the word. but, strictly speaking, no doubt he is. the quarter-educated constitute a very large class indeed; how large, the huge success of that paper is demonstrating. i’ll write to whelpdale, and let him know that his benefaction has extended even to sark.’
-this letter was written, and in a few days there came a reply.
-‘why, the fellow has written to you as well!’ exclaimed jasper, taking up a second letter; both were on the table of their sitting-room when they came to their lodgings for lunch. ‘that’s his hand.’
-‘it looks like it.’
-dora hummed an air as she regarded the envelope, then she took it away with her to her room upstairs.
-‘what had he to say?’ jasper inquired, when she came down again and seated herself at the table.
-‘oh, a friendly letter. what does he say to you?’
-dora had never looked so animated and fresh of colour since leaving london; her brother remarked this, and was glad to think that the air of the channel should be doing her so much good. he read whelpdale’s letter aloud; it was facetious, but oddly respectful.
-‘the reverence that fellow has for me is astonishing,’ he observed with a laugh. ‘the queer thing is, it increases the better he knows me.’
-dora laughed for five minutes.
-‘oh, what a splendid epigram!’ she exclaimed. ‘it is indeed a queer thing, jasper! did you mean that to be a good joke, or was it better still by coming out unintentionally?’
-‘you are in remarkable spirits, old girl. by-the-by, would you mind letting me see that letter of yours?’
-he held out his hand.
-‘i left it upstairs,’ dora replied carelessly.
-‘rather presumptuous in him, it seems to me.’
-‘oh, he writes quite as respectfully to me as he does to you,’ she returned, with a peculiar smile.
-‘but what business has he to write at all? it’s confounded impertinence, now i come to think of it. i shall give him a hint to remember his position.’
-dora could not be quite sure whether he spoke seriously or not. as both of them had begun to eat with an excellent appetite, a few moments were allowed to pass before the girl again spoke.
-‘his position is as good as ours,’ she said at length.
-‘as good as ours? the “sub.” of a paltry rag like chit-chat, and assistant to a literary agency!’
-‘he makes considerably more money than we do.’
-‘money! what’s money?’
-dora was again mirthful.
-‘oh, of course money is nothing! we write for honour and glory. don’t forget to insist on that when you reprove mr whelpdale; no doubt it will impress him.’
-late in the evening of that day, when the brother and sister had strolled by moonlight up to the windmill which occupies the highest point of sark, and as they stood looking upon the pale expanse of sea, dotted with the gleam of light-houses near and far, dora broke the silence to say quietly:
-‘i may as well tell you that mr whelpdale wants to know if i will marry him.’
-‘the deuce he does!’ cried jasper, with a start. ‘if i didn’t half suspect something of that kind! what astounding impudence!’
-‘you seriously think so?’
-‘well, don’t you? you hardly know him, to begin with. and then--oh, confound it!’
-‘very well, i’ll tell him that his impudence astonishes me.’
-‘certainly. of course in civil terms. but don’t let this make any difference between you and him. just pretend to know nothing about it; no harm is done.’
-‘you are speaking in earnest?’
-‘quite. he has written in a very proper way, and there’s no reason whatever to disturb our friendliness with him. i have a right to give directions in a matter like this, and you’ll please to obey them.’
-before going to bed dora wrote a letter to mr whelpdale, not, indeed, accepting his offer forthwith, but conveying to him with much gracefulness an unmistakable encouragement to persevere. this was posted on the morrow, and its writer continued to benefit most remarkably by the sun and breezes and rock-scrambling of sark.
-soon after their return to london, dora had the satisfaction of paying the first visit to her sister at the dolomores’ house in ovington square. maud was established in the midst of luxuries, and talked with laughing scorn of the days when she inhabited grub street; her literary tastes were henceforth to serve as merely a note of distinction, an added grace which made evident her superiority to the well-attired and smooth-tongued people among whom she was content to shine. on the one hand, she had contact with the world of fashionable literature, on the other with that of fashionable ignorance. mrs lane’s house was a meeting-point of the two spheres.
-‘i shan’t be there very often,’ remarked jasper, as dora and he discussed their sister’s magnificence. ‘that’s all very well in its way, but i aim at something higher.’
-‘so do i,’ dora replied.
-‘i’m very glad to hear that. i confess it seemed to me that you were rather too cordial with whelpdale yesterday.’
-‘one must behave civilly. mr whelpdale quite understands me.’
-‘you are sure of that? he didn’t seem quite so gloomy as he ought to have been.’
-‘the success of chit-chat keeps him in good spirits.’
-it was perhaps a week after this that mrs dolomore came quite unexpectedly to the house by regent’s park, as early as eleven o’clock in the morning. she had a long talk in private with dora. jasper was not at home; when he returned towards evening, dora came to his room with a countenance which disconcerted him.
-‘is it true,’ she asked abruptly, standing before him with her hands strained together, ‘that you have been representing yourself as no longer engaged to marian?’
-‘who has told you so?’
-‘that doesn’t matter. i have heard it, and i want to know from you that it is false.’
-jasper thrust his hands into his pockets and walked apart.
-‘well, then, i will tell you how i have heard. maud came this morning, and told me that mrs betterton had been asking her about it. mrs betterton had heard from mrs lane.’
-‘from mrs lane? and from whom did she hear, pray?’
-‘that i don’t know. is it true or not?’
-‘i have never told anyone that my engagement was at an end,’ replied jasper, deliberately.
-the girl met his eyes.
-‘then i was right,’ she said. ‘of course i told maud that it was impossible to believe this for a moment. but how has it come to be said?’
-‘you might as well ask me how any lie gets into circulation among people of that sort. i have told you the truth, and there’s an end of it.’
-dora lingered for a while, but left the room without saying anything more.
-she sat up late, mostly engaged in thinking, though at times an open book was in her hand. it was nearly half-past twelve when a very light rap at the door caused her to start. she called, and jasper came in.
-‘why are you still up?’ he asked, avoiding her look as he moved forward and took a leaning attitude behind an easy-chair.
-‘oh, i don’t know. do you want anything?’
-there was a pause; then jasper said in an unsteady voice:
-‘i am not given to lying, dora, and i feel confoundedly uncomfortable about what i said to you early this evening. i didn’t lie in the ordinary sense; it’s true enough that i have never told anyone that my engagement was at an end. but i have acted as if it were, and it’s better i should tell you.’
-his sister gazed at him with indignation.
-‘you have acted as if you were free?’
-‘yes. i have proposed to miss rupert. how mrs lane and that lot have come to know anything about this i don’t understand. i am not aware of any connecting link between them and the ruperts, or the barlows either. perhaps there are none; most likely the rumour has no foundation in their knowledge. still, it is better that i should have told you. miss rupert has never heard that i was engaged, nor have her friends the barlows--at least i don’t see how they could have done. she may have told mrs barlow of my proposal--probably would; and this may somehow have got round to those other people. but maud didn’t make any mention of miss rupert, did she?’
-dora replied with a cold negative.
-‘well, there’s the state of things. it isn’t pleasant, but that’s what i have done.’
-‘do you mean that miss rupert has accepted you?’
-‘no. i wrote to her. she answered that she was going to germany for a few weeks, and that i should have her reply whilst she was away. i am waiting.’
-‘but what name is to be given to behaviour such as this?’
-‘listen: didn’t you know perfectly well that this must be the end of it?’
-‘do you suppose i thought you utterly shameless and cruel beyond words?’
-‘i suppose i am both. it was a moment of desperate temptation, though. i had dined at the ruperts’--you remember--and it seemed to me there was no mistaking the girl’s manner.’
-‘don’t call her a girl!’ broke in dora, scornfully. ‘you say she is several years older than yourself.’
-‘well, at all events, she’s intellectual, and very rich. i yielded to the temptation.’
-‘and deserted marian just when she has most need of help and consolation? it’s frightful!’
-jasper moved to another chair and sat down. he was much perturbed.
-‘look here, dora, i regret it; i do, indeed. and, what’s more, if that woman refuses me--as it’s more than likely she will--i will go to marian and ask her to marry me at once. i promise that.’
-his sister made a movement of contemptuous impatience.
-‘and if the woman doesn’t refuse you?’
-‘then i can’t help it. but there’s one thing more i will say. whether i marry marian or miss rupert, i sacrifice my strongest feelings--in the one case to a sense of duty, in the other to worldly advantage. i was an idiot to write that letter, for i knew at the time that there was a woman who is far more to me than miss rupert and all her money--a woman i might, perhaps, marry. don’t ask any questions; i shall not answer them. as i have said so much, i wished you to understand my position fully. you know the promise i have made. don’t say anything to marian; if i am left free i shall marry her as soon as possible.’
-and so he left the room.
-for a fortnight and more he remained in uncertainty. his life was very uncomfortable, for dora would only speak to him when necessity compelled her; and there were two meetings with marian, at which he had to act his part as well as he could. at length came the expected letter. very nicely expressed, very friendly, very complimentary, but--a refusal.
-he handed it to dora across the breakfast-table, saying with a pinched smile:
-‘now you can look cheerful again. i am doomed.’
-milvain’s skilful efforts notwithstanding, ‘mr bailey, grocer,’ had no success. by two publishers the book had been declined; the firm which brought it out offered the author half profits and fifteen pounds on account, greatly to harold biffen’s satisfaction. but reviewers in general were either angry or coldly contemptuous. ‘let mr biffen bear in mind,’ said one of these sages, ‘that a novelist’s first duty is to tell a story.’ ‘mr biffen,’ wrote another, ‘seems not to understand that a work of art must before everything else afford amusement.’ ‘a pretentious book of the genre ennuyant,’ was the brief comment of a society journal. a weekly of high standing began its short notice in a rage: ‘here is another of those intolerable productions for which we are indebted to the spirit of grovelling realism. this author, let it be said, is never offensive, but then one must go on to describe his work by a succession of negatives; it is never interesting, never profitable, never--’ and the rest. the eulogy in the west end had a few timid echoes. that in the current would have secured more imitators, but unfortunately it appeared when most of the reviewing had already been done. and, as jasper truly said, only a concurrence of powerful testimonials could have compelled any number of people to affect an interest in this book. ‘the first duty of a novelist is to tell a story:’ the perpetual repetition of this phrase is a warning to all men who propose drawing from the life. biffen only offered a slice of biography, and it was found to lack flavour.
-he wrote to mrs reardon: ‘i cannot thank you enough for this very kind letter about my book; i value it more than i should the praises of all the reviewers in existence. you have understood my aim. few people will do that, and very few indeed could express it with such clear conciseness.’
-if amy had but contented herself with a civil acknowledgment of the volumes he sent her! she thought it a kindness to write to him so appreciatively, to exaggerate her approval. the poor fellow was so lonely. yes, but his loneliness only became intolerable when a beautiful woman had smiled upon him, and so forced him to dream perpetually of that supreme joy of life which to him was forbidden.
-it was a fatal day, that on which amy put herself under his guidance to visit reardon’s poor room at islington. in the old times, harold had been wont to regard his friend’s wife as the perfect woman; seldom in his life had he enjoyed female society, and when he first met amy it was years since he had spoken with any woman above the rank of a lodging-house keeper or a needle-plier. her beauty seemed to him of a very high order, and her mental endowments filled him with an exquisite delight, not to be appreciated by men who have never been in his position. when the rupture came between amy and her husband, harold could not believe that she was in any way to blame; held to reardon by strong friendship, he yet accused him of injustice to amy. and what he saw of her at brighton confirmed him in this judgment. when he accompanied her to manville street, he allowed her, of course, to remain alone in the room where reardon had lived; but amy presently summoned him, and asked him questions. every tear she shed watered a growth of passionate tenderness in the solitary man’s heart. parting from her at length, he went to hide his face in darkness and think of her--think of her.
-a fatal day. there was an end of all his peace, all his capacity for labour, his patient endurance of penury. once, when he was about three-and-twenty, he had been in love with a girl of gentle nature and fair intelligence; on account of his poverty, he could not even hope that his love might be returned, and he went away to bear the misery as best he might. since then the life he had led precluded the forming of such attachments; it would never have been possible for him to support a wife of however humble origin. at intervals he felt the full weight of his loneliness, but there were happily long periods during which his greek studies and his efforts in realistic fiction made him indifferent to the curse laid upon him. but after that hour of intimate speech with amy, he never again knew rest of mind or heart.
-accepting what reardon had bequeathed to him, he removed the books and furniture to a room in that part of the town which he had found most convenient for his singular tutorial pursuits. the winter did not pass without days of all but starvation, but in march he received his fifteen pounds for ‘mr bailey,’ and this was a fortune, putting him beyond the reach of hunger for full six months. not long after that he yielded to a temptation that haunted him day and night, and went to call upon amy, who was still living with her mother at westbourne park. when he entered the drawing-room amy was sitting there alone; she rose with an exclamation of frank pleasure.
-‘i have often thought of you lately, mr biffen. how kind to come and see me!’
-he could scarcely speak; her beauty, as she stood before him in the graceful black dress, was anguish to his excited nerves, and her voice was so cruel in its conventional warmth. when he looked at her eyes, he remembered how their brightness had been dimmed with tears, and the sorrow he had shared with her seemed to make him more than an ordinary friend. when he told her of his success with the publishers, she was delighted.
-‘oh, when is it to come out? i shall watch the advertisements so anxiously.’
-‘will you allow me to send you a copy, mrs reardon?’
-‘can you really spare one?’
-of the half-dozen he would receive, he scarcely knew how to dispose of three. and amy expressed her gratitude in the most charming way. she had gained much in point of manner during the past twelve months; her ten thousand pounds inspired her with the confidence necessary to a perfect demeanour. that slight hardness which was wont to be perceptible in her tone had altogether passed away; she seemed to be cultivating flexibility of voice.
-mrs yule came in, and was all graciousness. then two callers presented themselves. biffen’s pleasure was at an end as soon as he had to adapt himself to polite dialogue; he escaped as speedily as possible.
-he was not the kind of man that deceives himself as to his own aspect in the eyes of others. be as kind as she might, amy could not set him strutting malvolio-wise; she viewed him as a poor devil who often had to pawn his coat--a man of parts who would never get on in the world--a friend to be thought of kindly because her dead husband had valued him. nothing more than that; he understood perfectly the limits of her feeling. but this could not put restraint upon the emotion with which he received any most trifling utterance of kindness from her. he did not think of what was, but of what, under changed circumstances, might be. to encourage such fantasy was the idlest self-torment, but he had gone too far in this form of indulgence. he became the slave of his inflamed imagination.
-in that letter with which he replied to her praises of his book, perchance he had allowed himself to speak too much as he thought.
-he wrote in reckless delight, and did not wait for the prudence of a later hour. when it was past recall, he would gladly have softened many of the expressions the letter contained. ‘i value it more than the praises of all the reviewers in existence’--would amy be offended at that? ‘yours in gratitude and reverence,’ he had signed himself--the kind of phrase that comes naturally to a passionate man, when he would fain say more than he dares. to what purpose this half-revelation? unless, indeed, he wished to learn once and for ever, by the gentlest of repulses, that his homage was only welcome so long as it kept well within conventional terms.
-he passed a month of distracted idleness, until there came a day when the need to see amy was so imperative that it mastered every consideration. he donned his best clothes, and about four o’clock presented himself at mrs yule’s house. by ill luck there happened to be at least half a dozen callers in the drawing-room; the strappado would have been preferable, in his eyes, to such an ordeal as this. moreover, he was convinced that both amy and her mother received him with far less cordiality than on the last occasion. he had expected it, but he bit his lips till the blood came. what business had he among people of this kind? no doubt the visitors wondered at his comparative shabbiness, and asked themselves how he ventured to make a call without the regulation chimney-pot hat. it was a wretched and foolish mistake.
-ten minutes saw him in the street again, vowing that he would never approach amy more. not that he found fault with her; the blame was entirely his own.
-for the failure of his book he cared nothing. it was no more than he anticipated. the work was done--the best he was capable of--and this satisfied him.
-it was doubtful whether he loved amy, in the true sense of exclusive desire. she represented for him all that is lovely in womanhood; to his starved soul and senses she was woman, the complement of his frustrate being. circumstance had made her the means of exciting in him that natural force which had hitherto either been dormant or had yielded to the resolute will.
-companionless, inert, he suffered the tortures which are so ludicrous and contemptible to the happily married. life was barren to him, and would soon grow hateful; only in sleep could he cast off the unchanging thoughts and desires which made all else meaningless. and rightly meaningless: he revolted against the unnatural constraints forbidding him to complete his manhood.
-by what fatality was he alone of men withheld from the winning of a woman’s love?
-he could not bear to walk the streets where the faces of beautiful women would encounter him. when he must needs leave the house, he went about in the poor, narrow ways, where only spectacles of coarseness, and want, and toil would be presented to him. yet even here he was too often reminded that the poverty-stricken of the class to which poverty is natural were not condemned to endure in solitude. only he who belonged to no class, who was rejected alike by his fellows in privation and by his equals in intellect, must die without having known the touch of a loving woman’s hand.
-the summer went by, and he was unconscious of its warmth and light. how his days passed he could not have said.
-one evening in early autumn, as he stood before the book-stall at the end of goodge street, a familiar voice accosted him. it was whelpdale’s. a month or two ago he had stubbornly refused an invitation to dine with whelpdale and other acquaintances--you remember what the occasion was--and since then the prosperous young man had not crossed his path.
-‘i’ve something to tell you,’ said the assailer, taking hold of his arm. ‘i’m in a tremendous state of mind, and want someone to share my delight. you can walk a short way, i hope? not too busy with some new book?’
-biffen gave no answer, but went whither he was led.
-‘you are writing a new book, i suppose? don’t be discouraged, old fellow. “mr bailey” will have his day yet; i know men who consider it an undoubted work of genius. what’s the next to deal with?’
-‘i haven’t decided yet,’ replied harold, merely to avoid argument. he spoke so seldom that the sound of his own voice was strange to him.
-‘thinking over it, i suppose, in your usual solid way. don’t be hurried. but i must tell you of this affair of mine. you know dora milvain? i have asked her to marry me, and, by the powers! she has given me an encouraging answer. not an actual yes, but encouraging! she’s away in the channel islands, and i wrote--’
-he talked on for a quarter of an hour. then, with a sudden movement, the listener freed himself.
-‘i can’t go any farther,’ he said hoarsely. ‘good-bye!’
-whelpdale was disconcerted.
-‘i have been boring you. that’s a confounded fault of mine; i know it.’
-biffen had waved his hand, and was gone.
-a week or two more would see him at the end of his money. he had no lessons now, and could not write; from his novel nothing was to be expected. he might apply again to his brother, but such dependence was unjust and unworthy. and why should he struggle to preserve a life which had no prospect but of misery?
-it was in the hours following his encounter with whelpdale that he first knew the actual desire of death, the simple longing for extinction. one must go far in suffering before the innate will-to-live is thus truly overcome; weariness of bodily anguish may induce this perversion of the instincts; less often, that despair of suppressed emotion which had fallen upon harold. through the night he kept his thoughts fixed on death in its aspect of repose, of eternal oblivion. and herein he had found solace.
-the next night it was the same. moving about among common needs and occupations, he knew not a moment’s cessation of heart-ache, but when he lay down in the darkness a hopeful summons whispered to him. night, which had been the worst season of his pain, had now grown friendly; it came as an anticipation of the sleep that is everlasting.
-a few more days, and he was possessed by a calm of spirit such as he had never known. his resolve was taken, not in a moment of supreme conflict, but as the result of a subtle process by which his imagination had become in love with death. turning from contemplation of life’s one rapture, he looked with the same intensity of desire to a state that had neither fear nor hope.
-one afternoon he went to the museum reading-room, and was busy for a few minutes in consultation of a volume which he took from the shelves of medical literature. on his way homeward he entered two or three chemists’ shops. something of which he had need could be procured only in very small quantities; but repetition of his demand in different places supplied him sufficiently. when he reached his room, he emptied the contents of sundry little bottles into one larger, and put this in his pocket. then he wrote rather a long letter, addressed to his brother at liverpool.
-it had been a beautiful day, and there wanted still a couple of hours before the warm, golden sunlight would disappear. harold stood and looked round his room. as always, it presented a neat, orderly aspect, but his eye caught sight of a volume which stood upside down, and this fault--particularly hateful to a bookish man--he rectified. he put his blotting-pad square on the table, closed the lid of the inkstand, arranged his pens. then he took his hat and stick, locked the door behind him, and went downstairs. at the foot he spoke to his landlady, and told her that he should not return that night. as soon as possible after leaving the house he posted his letter.
-his direction was westward; walking at a steady, purposeful pace, with cheery countenance and eyes that gave sign of pleasure as often as they turned to the sun-smitten clouds, he struck across kensington gardens, and then on towards fulham, where he crossed the thames to putney. the sun was just setting; he paused a few moments on the bridge, watching the river with a quiet smile, and enjoying the splendour of the sky. up putney hill he walked slowly; when he reached the top it was growing dark, but an unwonted effect in the atmosphere caused him to turn and look to the east. an exclamation escaped his lips, for there before him was the new-risen moon, a perfect globe, vast and red. he gazed at it for a long time.
-when the daylight had entirely passed, he went forward on to the heath, and rambled, as if idly, to a secluded part, where trees and bushes made a deep shadow under the full moon. it was still quite warm, and scarcely a breath of air moved among the reddening leaves.
-sure at length that he was remote from all observation, he pressed into a little copse, and there reclined on the grass, leaning against the stem of a tree. the moon was now hidden from him, but by looking upward he could see its light upon a long, faint cloud, and the blue of the placid sky. his mood was one of ineffable peace. only thoughts of beautiful things came into his mind; he had reverted to an earlier period of life, when as yet no mission of literary realism had been imposed upon him, and when his passions were still soothed by natural hope. the memory of his friend reardon was strongly present with him, but of amy he thought only as of that star which had just come into his vision above the edge of dark foliage--beautiful, but infinitely remote.
-recalling reardon’s voice, it brought to him those last words whispered by his dying companion. he remembered them now:
-chapter xxxvi. jasper’s delicate case
-only when he received miss rupert’s amiably-worded refusal to become his wife was jasper aware how firmly he had counted on her accepting him. he told dora with sincerity that his proposal was a piece of foolishness; so far from having any regard for miss rupert, he felt towards her with something of antipathy, and at the same time he was conscious of ardent emotions, if not love, for another woman who would be no bad match even from the commercial point of view. yet so strong was the effect upon him of contemplating a large fortune, that, in despite of reason and desire, he lived in eager expectation of the word which should make him rich. and for several hours after his disappointment he could not overcome the impression of calamity.
-a part of that impression was due to the engagement which he must now fulfil. he had pledged his word to ask marian to marry him without further delay. to shuffle out of this duty would make him too ignoble even in his own eyes. its discharge meant, as he had expressed it, that he was ‘doomed’; he would deliberately be committing the very error always so flagrant to him in the case of other men who had crippled themselves by early marriage with a penniless woman. but events had enmeshed him; circumstances had proved fatal. because, in his salad days, he dallied with a girl who had indeed many charms, step by step he had come to the necessity of sacrificing his prospects to that raw attachment. and, to make it more irritating, this happened just when the way began to be much clearer before him.
-unable to think of work, he left the house and wandered gloomily about regent’s park. for the first time in his recollection the confidence which was wont to inspirit him gave way to an attack of sullen discontent. he felt himself ill-used by destiny, and therefore by marian, who was fate’s instrument. it was not in his nature that this mood should last long, but it revealed to him those darker possibilities which his egoism would develop if it came seriously into conflict with overmastering misfortune. a hope, a craven hope, insinuated itself into the cracks of his infirm resolve. he would not examine it, but conscious of its existence he was able to go home in somewhat better spirits.
-he wrote to marian. if possible she was to meet him at half-past nine next morning at gloucester gate. he had reasons for wishing this interview to take place on neutral ground.
-early in the afternoon, when he was trying to do some work, there arrived a letter which he opened with impatient hand; the writing was mrs reardon’s, and he could not guess what she had to communicate.
-‘dear mr milvain,--i am distressed beyond measure to read in this morning’s newspaper that poor mr biffen has put an end to his life. doubtless you can obtain more details than are given in this bare report of the discovery of his body. will you let me hear, or come and see me?’
-he read and was astonished. absorbed in his own affairs, he had not opened the newspaper to-day; it lay folded on a chair. hastily he ran his eye over the columns, and found at length a short paragraph which stated that the body of a man who had evidently committed suicide by taking poison had been found on putney heath; that papers in his pockets identified him as one harold biffen, lately resident in goodge street, tottenham court road; and that an inquest would be held, &c. he went to dora’s room, and told her of the event, but without mentioning the letter which had brought it under his notice.
-‘i suppose there was no alternative between that and starvation. i scarcely thought of biffen as likely to kill himself. if reardon had done it, i shouldn’t have felt the least surprise.’
-‘mr whelpdale will be bringing us information, no doubt,’ said dora, who, as she spoke, thought more of that gentleman’s visit than of the event that was to occasion it.
-‘really, one can’t grieve. there seemed no possibility of his ever earning enough to live decently upon. but why the deuce did he go all the way out there? consideration for the people in whose house he lived, i dare say; biffen had a good deal of native delicacy.’
-dora felt a secret wish that someone else possessed more of that desirable quality.
-leaving her, jasper made a rapid, though careful, toilet, and was presently on his way to westbourne park. it was his hope that he should reach mrs yule’s house before any ordinary afternoon caller could arrive; and so he did. he had not been here since that evening when he encountered reardon on the road and heard his reproaches. to his great satisfaction, amy was alone in the drawing-room; he held her hand a trifle longer than was necessary, and returned more earnestly the look of interest with which she regarded him.
-‘i was ignorant of this affair when your letter came,’ he began, ‘and i set out immediately to see you.’
-‘i hoped you would bring me some news. what can have driven the poor man to such extremity?’
-‘poverty, i can only suppose. but i will see whelpdale. i hadn’t come across biffen for a long time.’
-‘was he still so very poor?’ asked amy, compassionately.
-‘i’m afraid so. his book failed utterly.’
-‘oh, if i had imagined him still in such distress, surely i might have done something to help him!’--so often the regretful remark of one’s friends, when one has been permitted to perish.
-with amy’s sorrow was mingled a suggestion of tenderness which came of her knowledge that the dead man had worshipped her. perchance his death was in part attributable to that hopeless love.
-‘he sent me a copy of his novel,’ she said, ‘and i saw him once or twice after that. but he was much better dressed than in former days, and i thought--’
-having this subject to converse upon put the two more quickly at ease than could otherwise have been the case. jasper was closely observant of the young widow; her finished graces made a strong appeal to his admiration, and even in some degree awed him. he saw that her beauty had matured, and it was more distinctly than ever of the type to which he paid reverence. amy might take a foremost place among brilliant women. at a dinner-table, in grand toilet, she would be superb; at polite receptions people would whisper: ‘who is that?’
-biffen fell out of the dialogue.
-‘it grieved me very much,’ said amy, ‘to hear of the misfortune that befell my cousin.’
-‘the legacy affair? why, yes, it was a pity. especially now that her father is threatened with blindness.’
-‘is it so serious? i heard indirectly that he had something the matter with his eyes, but i didn’t know--’
-‘they may be able to operate before long, and perhaps it will be successful. but in the meantime marian has to do his work.’
-‘this explains the--the delay?’ fell from amy’s lips, as she smiled.
-jasper moved uncomfortably. it was a voluntary gesture.
-‘the whole situation explains it,’ he replied, with some show of impulsiveness. ‘i am very much afraid marian is tied during her father’s life.’
-‘indeed? but there is her mother.’
-‘no companion for her father, as i think you know. even if mr yule recovers his sight, it is not at all likely that he will be able to work as before. our difficulties are so grave that--’
-he paused, and let his hand fail despondently.
-‘i hope it isn’t affecting your work--your progress?’
-‘to some extent, necessarily. i have a good deal of will, you remember, and what i have set my mind upon, no doubt, i shall some day achieve. but--one makes mistakes.’
-there was silence.
-‘the last three years,’ he continued, ‘have made no slight difference in my position. recall where i stood when you first knew me. i have done something since then, i think, and by my own steady effort.’
-‘indeed, you have.’
-‘just now i am in need of a little encouragement. you don’t notice any falling off in my work recently?’
-‘do you see my things in the current and so on, generally?’
-‘i don’t think i miss many of your articles. sometimes i believe i have detected you when there was no signature.’
-‘and dora has been doing well. her story in that girls’ paper has attracted attention. it’s a great deal to have my mind at rest about both the girls. but i can’t pretend to be in very good spirits.’ he rose. ‘well, i must try to find out something more about poor biffen.’
-‘oh, you are not going yet, mr milvain?’
-‘not, assuredly, because i wish to. but i have work to do.’ he stepped aside, but came back as if on an impulse. ‘may i ask you for your advice in a very delicate matter?’
-amy was a little disturbed, but she collected herself and smiled in a way that reminded jasper of his walk with her along gower street.
-‘let me hear what it is.’
-he sat down again, and bent forward.
-‘if marian insists that it is her duty to remain with her father, am i justified or not in freely consenting to that?’
-‘i scarcely understand. has marian expressed a wish to devote herself in that way?’
-‘not distinctly. but i suspect that her conscience points to it. i am in serious doubt. on the one hand,’ he explained in a tone of candour, ‘who will not blame me if our engagement terminates in circumstances such as these? on the other--you are aware, by-the-by, that her father objects in the strongest way to this marriage?’
-‘no, i didn’t know that.’
-‘he will neither see me nor hear of me. merely because of my connection with fadge. think of that poor girl thus situated. and i could so easily put her at rest by renouncing all claim upon her.’
-‘i surmise that--that you yourself would also be put at rest by such a decision?’
-‘don’t look at me with that ironical smile,’ he pleaded. ‘what you have said is true. and really, why should i not be glad of it? i couldn’t go about declaring that i was heartbroken, in any event; i must be content for people to judge me according to their disposition, and judgments are pretty sure to be unfavourable. what can i do? in either case i must to a certain extent be in the wrong. to tell the truth, i was wrong from the first.’
-there was a slight movement about amy’s lips as these words were uttered: she kept her eyes down, and waited before replying.
-‘the case is too delicate, i fear, for my advice.’
-‘yes, i feel it; and perhaps i oughtn’t to have spoken of it at all. well, i’ll go back to my scribbling. i am so very glad to have seen you again.’
-‘it was good of you to take the trouble to come--whilst you have so much on your mind.’
-again jasper held the white, soft hand for a superfluous moment.
-the next morning it was he who had to wait at the rendezvous; he was pacing the pathway at least ten minutes before the appointed time. when marian joined him, she was panting from a hurried walk, and this affected jasper disagreeably; he thought of amy reardon’s air of repose, and how impossible it would be for that refined person to fall into such disorder. he observed, too, with more disgust than usual, the signs in marian’s attire of encroaching poverty--her unsatisfactory gloves, her mantle out of fashion. yet for such feelings he reproached himself, and the reproach made him angry.
-they walked together in the same direction as when they met here before. marian could not mistake the air of restless trouble on her companion’s smooth countenance. she had divined that there was some grave reason for this summons, and the panting with which she had approached was half caused by the anxious beats of her heart. jasper’s long silence again was ominous. he began abruptly:
-‘you’ve heard that harold biffen has committed suicide?’
-‘no!’ she replied, looking shocked.
-‘poisoned himself. you’ll find something about it in today’s telegraph.’
-he gave her such details as he had obtained, then added:
-‘there are two of my companions fallen in the battle. i ought to think myself a lucky fellow, marian. what?’
-‘you are better fitted to fight your way, jasper.’
-‘more of a brute, you mean.’
-‘you know very well i don’t. you have more energy and more intellect.’
-‘well, it remains to be seen how i shall come out when i am weighted with graver cares than i have yet known.’
-she looked at him inquiringly, but said nothing.
-‘i have made up my mind about our affairs,’ he went on presently. ‘marian, if ever we are to be married, it must be now.’
-the words were so unexpected that they brought a flush to her cheeks and neck.
-‘yes. will you marry me, and let us take our chance?’
-her heart throbbed violently.
-‘you don’t mean at once, jasper? you would wait until i know what father’s fate is to be?’
-‘well, now, there’s the point. you feel yourself indispensable to your father at present?’
-‘not indispensable, but--wouldn’t it seem very unkind? i should be so afraid of the effect upon his health, jasper. so much depends, we are told, upon his general state of mind and body. it would be dreadful if i were the cause of--’
-she paused, and looked up at him touchingly.
-‘i understand that. but let us face our position. suppose the operation is successful; your father will certainly not be able to use his eyes much for a long time, if ever; and perhaps he would miss you as much then as now. suppose he does not regain his sight; could you then leave him?’
-‘dear, i can’t feel it would be my duty to renounce you because my father had become blind. and if he can see pretty well, i don’t think i need remain with him.’
-‘has one thing occurred to you? will he consent to receive an allowance from a person whose name is mrs milvain?’
-‘i can’t be sure,’ she replied, much troubled.
-‘and if he obstinately refuses--what then? what is before him?’
-marian’s head sank, and she stood still.
-‘why have you changed your mind so, jasper?’ she inquired at length.
-‘because i have decided that the indefinitely long engagement would be unjust to you--and to myself. such engagements are always dangerous; sometimes they deprave the character of the man or woman.’
-she listened anxiously and reflected.
-‘everything,’ he went on, ‘would be simple enough but for your domestic difficulties. as i have said, there is the very serious doubt whether your father would accept money from you when you are my wife. then again, shall we be able to afford such an allowance?’
-‘i thought you felt sure of that?’
-‘i’m not very sure of anything, to tell the truth. i am harassed.
-i can’t get on with my work.’
-‘i am very, very sorry.’
-‘it isn’t your fault, marian, and--well, then, there’s only one thing to do. let us wait, at all events, till your father has undergone the operation. whichever the result, you say your own position will be the same.’
-‘except, jasper, that if father is helpless, i must find means of assuring his support.’
-‘in other words, if you can’t do that as my wife, you must remain marian yule.’
-after a silence, marian regarded him steadily.
-‘you see only the difficulties in our way,’ she said, in a colder voice. ‘they are many, i know. do you think them insurmountable?’
-‘upon my word, they almost seem so,’ jasper exclaimed, distractedly.
-‘they were not so great when we spoke of marriage a few years hence.’
-‘a few years!’ he echoed, in a cheerless voice. ‘that is just what i have decided is impossible. marian, you shall have the plain truth. i can trust your faith, but i can’t trust my own. i will marry you now, but--years hence--how can i tell what may happen? i don’t trust myself.’
-‘you say you “will” marry me now; that sounds as if you had made up your mind to a sacrifice.’
-‘i didn’t mean that. to face difficulties, yes.’
-whilst they spoke, the sky had grown dark with a heavy cloud, and now spots of rain began to fall. jasper looked about him in annoyance as he felt the moisture, but marian did not seem aware of it.
-‘but shall you face them willingly?’
-‘i am not a man to repine and grumble. put up your umbrella, marian.’
-‘what do i care for a drop of rain,’ she exclaimed with passionate sadness, ‘when all my life is at stake! how am i to understand you? every word you speak seems intended to dishearten me. do you no longer love me? why need you conceal it, if that is the truth? is that what you mean by saying you distrust yourself?
-if you do so, there must be reason for it in the present. could i distrust myself? can i force myself in any manner to believe that i shall ever cease to love you?’
-jasper opened his umbrella.
-‘we must see each other again, marian. we can’t stand and talk in the rain--confound it! cursed climate, where you can never be sure of a clear sky for five minutes!’
-‘i can’t go till you have spoken more plainly, jasper! how am i to live an hour in such uncertainty as this? do you love me or not? do you wish me to be your wife, or are you sacrificing yourself?’
-‘i do wish it!’ her emotion had an effect upon him, and his voice trembled. ‘but i can’t answer for myself--no, not for a year. and how are we to marry now, in face of all these--’
-‘what can i do? what can i do?’ she sobbed. ‘oh, if i were but heartless to everyone but to you! if i could give you my money, and leave my father and mother to their fate! perhaps some could do that. there is no natural law that a child should surrender everything for her parents. you know so much more of the world than i do; can’t you advise me? is there no way of providing for my father?’
-‘good god! this is frightful, marian. i can’t stand it. live as you are doing. let us wait and see.’
-‘at the cost of losing you?’
-‘i will be faithful to you!’
-‘and your voice says you promise it out of pity.’
-he had made a pretence of holding his umbrella over her, but marian turned away and walked to a little distance, and stood beneath the shelter of a great tree, her face averted from him. moving to follow, he saw that her frame was shaken by soundless sobbing. when his footsteps came close to her, she again looked at him.
-‘i know now,’ she said, ‘how foolish it is when they talk of love being unselfish. in what can there be more selfishness? i feel as if i could hold you to your promise at any cost, though you have made me understand that you regard our engagement as your great misfortune. i have felt it for weeks--oh, for months! but i couldn’t say a word that would seem to invite such misery as this. you don’t love me, jasper, and that’s an end of everything.
-i should be shamed if i married you.’
-‘whether i love you or not, i feel as if no sacrifice would be too great that would bring you the happiness you deserve.’
-‘deserve!’ she repeated bitterly. ‘why do i deserve it? because i long for it with all my heart and soul? there’s no such thing as deserving. happiness or misery come to us by fate.’
-‘is it in my power to make you happy?’
-‘no; because it isn’t in your power to call dead love to life again. i think perhaps you never loved me. jasper, i could give my right hand if you had said you loved me before--i can’t put it into words; it sounds too base, and i don’t wish to imply that you behaved basely. but if you had said you loved me before that, i should have it always to remember.’
-‘you will do me no wrong if you charge me with baseness,’ he replied gloomily. ‘if i believe anything, i believe that i did love you. but i knew myself and i should never have betrayed what i felt, if for once in my life i could have been honourable.’
-the rain pattered on the leaves and the grass, and still the sky darkened.
-‘this is wretchedness to both of us,’ jasper added. ‘let us part now, marian. let me see you again.’
-‘i can’t see you again. what can you say to me more than you have said now? i should feel like a beggar coming to you. i must try and keep some little self-respect, if i am to live at all.’
-‘then let me help you to think of me with indifference. remember me as a man who disregarded priceless love such as yours to go and make himself a proud position among fools and knaves--indeed that’s what it comes to. it is you who reject me, and rightly. one who is so much at the mercy of a vulgar ambition as i am, is no fit husband for you. soon enough you would thoroughly despise me, and though i should know it was merited, my perverse pride would revolt against it. many a time i have tried to regard life practically as i am able to do theoretically, but it always ends in hypocrisy. it is men of my kind who succeed; the conscientious, and those who really have a high ideal, either perish or struggle on in neglect.’
-marian had overcome her excess of emotion.
-‘there is no need to disparage yourself’ she said. ‘what can be simpler than the truth? you loved me, or thought you did, and now you love me no longer. it is a thing that happens every day, either in man or woman, and all that honour demands is the courage to confess the truth. why didn’t you tell me as soon as you knew that i was burdensome to you?’
-‘marian, will you do this?--will you let our engagement last for another six months, but without our meeting during that time?’
-‘but to what purpose?’
-‘then we would see each other again, and both would be able to speak calmly, and we should both know with certainty what course we ought to pursue.’
-‘that seems to me childish. it is easy for you to contemplate months of postponement. there must be an end now; i can bear it no longer.’
-the rain fell unceasingly, and with it began to mingle an autumnal mist. jasper delayed a moment, then asked calmly:
-‘are you going to the museum?’
-‘go home again for this morning, marian. you can’t work--’
-‘i must; and i have no time to lose. good-bye!’
-she gave him her hand. they looked at each other for an instant, then marian left the shelter of the tree, opened her umbrella, and walked quickly away. jasper did not watch her; he had the face of a man who is suffering a severe humiliation.
-a few hours later he told dora what had come to pass, and without extenuation of his own conduct. his sister said very little, for she recognised genuine suffering in his tones and aspect. but when it was over, she sat down and wrote to marian.
-‘i feel far more disposed to congratulate you than to regret what has happened. now that there is no necessity for silence, i will tell you something which will help you to see jasper in his true light. a few weeks ago he actually proposed to a woman for whom he does not pretend to have the slightest affection, but who is very rich, and who seemed likely to be foolish enough to marry him. yesterday morning he received her final answer--a refusal. i am not sure that i was right in keeping this a secret from you, but i might have done harm by interfering. you will understand (though surely you need no fresh proof) how utterly unworthy he is of you. you cannot, i am sure you cannot, regard it as a misfortune that all is over between you. dearest marian, do not cease to think of me as your friend because my brother has disgraced himself. if you can’t see me, at least let us write to each other. you are the only friend i have of my own sex, and i could not bear to lose you.’
-and much more of the same tenor.
-several days passed before there came a reply. it was written with undisturbed kindness of feeling, but in few words.
-‘for the present we cannot see each other, but i am very far from wishing that our friendship should come to an end. i must only ask that you will write to me without the least reference to these troubles; tell me always about yourself, and be sure that you cannot tell me too much. i hope you may soon be able to send me the news which was foreshadowed in our last talk--though “foreshadowed” is a wrong word to use of coming happiness, isn’t it? that paper i sent to mr trenchard is accepted, and i shall be glad to have your criticism when it comes out; don’t spare my style, which needs a great deal of chastening. i have been thinking: couldn’t you use your holiday in sark for a story? to judge from your letters, you could make an excellent background of word-painting.’
-dora sighed, and shook her little head, and thought of her brother with unspeakable disdain.
-chapter xxxvii. rewards
-when the fitting moment arrived, alfred yule underwent an operation for cataract, and it was believed at first that the result would be favourable. this hope had but short duration; though the utmost prudence was exercised, evil symptoms declared themselves, and in a few months’ time all prospect of restoring his vision was at an end. anxiety, and then the fatal assurance, undermined his health; with blindness, there fell upon him the debility of premature old age.
-the position of the family was desperate. marian had suffered much all the winter from attacks of nervous disorder, and by no effort of will could she produce enough literary work to supplement adequately the income derived from her fifteen hundred pounds. in the summer of 1885 things were at the worst; marian saw no alternative but to draw upon her capital, and so relieve the present at the expense of the future. she had a mournful warning before her eyes in the case of poor hinks and his wife, who were now kept from the workhouse only by charity. but at this juncture the rescuer appeared. mr quarmby and certain of his friends were already making a subscription for the yules’ benefit, when one of their number--mr jedwood, the publisher--came forward with a proposal which relieved the minds of all concerned. mr jedwood had a brother who was the director of a public library in a provincial town, and by this means he was enabled to offer marian yule a place as assistant in that institution; she would receive seventy-five pounds a year, and thus, adding her own income, would be able to put her parents beyond the reach of want. the family at once removed from london, and the name of yule was no longer met with in periodical literature.
-by an interesting coincidence, it was on the day of this departure that there appeared a number of the west end in which the place of honour, that of the week’s celebrity, was occupied by clement fadge. a coloured portrait of this illustrious man challenged the admiration of all who had literary tastes, and two columns of panegyric recorded his career for the encouragement of aspiring youth. this article, of course unsigned, came from the pen of jasper milvain.
-it was only by indirect channels that jasper learnt how marian and her parents had been provided for. dora’s correspondence with her friend soon languished; in the nature of things this could not but happen; and about the time when alfred yule became totally blind the girls ceased to hear anything of each other. an event which came to pass in the spring sorely tempted dora to write, but out of good feeling she refrained.
-for it was then that she at length decided to change her name for that of whelpdale. jasper could not quite reconcile himself to this condescension; in various discourses he pointed out to his sister how much higher she might look if she would only have a little patience.
-‘whelpdale will never be a man of any note. a good fellow, i admit, but borne in all senses. let me impress upon you, my dear girl, that i have a future before me, and that there is no reason--with your charm of person and mind--why you should not marry brilliantly. whelpdale can give you a decent home, i admit, but as regards society he will be a drag upon you.’
-‘it happens, jasper, that i have promised to marry him,’ replied dora, in a significant tone.
-‘well, i regret it, but--you are of course your own mistress. i shall make no unpleasantness. i don’t dislike whelpdale, and i shall remain on friendly terms with him.’
-‘that is very kind of you,’ said his sister suavely.
-whelpdale was frantic with exultation. when the day of the wedding had been settled, he rushed into jasper’s study and fairly shed tears before he could command his voice.
-‘there is no mortal on the surface of the globe one-tenth so happy as i am!’ he gasped. ‘i can’t believe it! why in the name of sense and justice have i been suffered to attain this blessedness? think of the days when i all but starved in my albany street garret, scarcely better off than poor, dear old biffen! why should i have come to this, and biffen have poisoned himself in despair? he was a thousand times a better and cleverer fellow than i. and poor old reardon, dead in misery! could i for a moment compare with him?’
-‘my dear fellow,’ said jasper, calmly, ‘compose yourself and be logical. in the first place, success has nothing whatever to do with moral deserts; and then, both reardon and biffen were hopelessly unpractical. in such an admirable social order as ours, they were bound to go to the dogs. let us be sorry for them, but let us recognise causas rerum, as biffen would have said. you have exercised ingenuity and perseverance; you have your reward.’
-‘and when i think that i might have married fatally on thirteen or fourteen different occasions. by-the-by, i implore you never to tell dora those stories about me. i should lose all her respect. do you remember the girl from birmingham?’ he laughed wildly. ‘heaven be praised that she threw me over! eternal gratitude to all and sundry of the girls who have plunged me into wretchedness!’
-‘i admit that you have run the gauntlet, and that you have had marvellous escapes. but be good enough to leave me alone for the present. i must finish this review by midday.’
-‘only one word. i don’t know how to thank dora, how to express my infinite sense of her goodness. will you try to do so for me? you can speak to her with calmness. will you tell her what i have said to you?’
-‘oh, certainly.--i should recommend a cooling draught of some kind. look in at a chemist’s as you walk on.’
-the heavens did not fall before the marriage-day, and the wedded pair betook themselves for a few weeks to the continent. they had been back again and established in their house at earl’s court for a month, when one morning about twelve o’clock jasper dropped in, as though casually. dora was writing; she had no thought of entirely abandoning literature, and had in hand at present a very pretty tale which would probably appear in the english girl. her boudoir, in which she sat, could not well have been daintier and more appropriate to the charming characteristics of its mistress.
-mrs whelpdale affected no literary slovenliness; she was dressed in light colours, and looked so lovely that even jasper paused on the threshold with a smile of admiration.
-‘upon my word,’ he exclaimed, ‘i am proud of my sisters! what did you think of maud last night? wasn’t she superb?’
-‘she certainly did look very well. but i doubt if she’s very happy.’
-‘that is her own look out; i told her plainly enough my opinion of dolomore. but she was in such a tremendous hurry.’
-‘you are detestable, jasper! is it inconceivable to you that a man or woman should be disinterested when they marry?’
-‘by no means.’
-‘maud didn’t marry for money any more than i did.’
-‘you remember the northern farmer: “doan’t thou marry for money, but go where money is.” an admirable piece of advice. well, maud made a mistake, let us say. dolomore is a clown, and now she knows it. why, if she had waited, she might have married one of the leading men of the day. she is fit to be a duchess, as far as appearance goes; but i was never snobbish. i care very little about titles; what i look to is intellectual distinction.’
-‘combined with financial success.’
-‘why, that is what distinction means.’ he looked round the room with a smile. ‘you are not uncomfortable here, old girl. i wish mother could have lived till now.’
-‘i wish it very, very often,’ dora replied in a moved voice.
-‘we haven’t done badly, drawbacks considered. now, you may speak of money as scornfully as you like; but suppose you had married a man who could only keep you in lodgings! how would life look to you?’
-‘who ever disputed the value of money? but there are things one mustn’t sacrifice to gain it.’
-‘i suppose so. well, i have some news for you, dora. i am thinking of following your example.’
-dora’s face changed to grave anticipation.
-‘and who is it?’
-his sister turned away, with a look of intense annoyance.
-‘you see, i am disinterested myself,’ he went on. ‘i might find a wife who had wealth and social standing. but i choose amy deliberately.’
-‘an abominable choice!’
-‘no; an excellent choice. i have never yet met a woman so well fitted to aid me in my career. she has a trifling sum of money, which will be useful for the next year or two--’
-‘what has she done with the rest of it, then?’
-‘oh, the ten thousand is intact, but it can’t be seriously spoken of. it will keep up appearances till i get my editorship and so on. we shall be married early in august, i think. i want to ask you if you will go and see her.’
-‘on no account! i couldn’t be civil to her.’
-jasper’s brows blackened.
-‘this is idiotic prejudice, dora. i think i have some claim upon you; i have shown some kindness--’
-‘you have, and i am not ungrateful. but i dislike mrs reardon, and i couldn’t bring myself to be friendly with her.’
-‘you don’t know her.’
-‘too well. you yourself have taught me to know her. don’t compel me to say what i think of her.’
-‘she is beautiful, and high-minded, and warm-hearted. i don’t know a womanly quality that she doesn’t possess. you will offend me most seriously if you speak a word against her.’
-‘then i will be silent. but you must never ask me to meet her.’
-‘then we shall quarrel. i haven’t deserved this, dora. if you refuse to meet my wife on terms of decent friendliness, there’s no more intercourse between your house and mine. you have to choose. persist in this fatuous obstinacy, and i have done with you!’
-‘so be it!’
-‘that is your final answer?’
-dora, who was now as angry as he, gave a short affirmative, and jasper at once left her.
-but it was very unlikely that things should rest at this pass. the brother and sister were bound by a strong mutual affection, and whelpdale was not long in effecting a compromise.
-‘my dear wife,’ he exclaimed, in despair at the threatened calamity, ‘you are right, a thousand times, but it’s impossible for you to be on ill terms with jasper. there’s no need for you to see much of mrs reardon--’
-‘i hate her! she killed her husband; i am sure of it.’
-‘i mean by her base conduct. she is a cold, cruel, unprincipled creature! jasper makes himself more than ever contemptible by marrying her.’
-all the same, in less than three weeks mrs whelpdale had called upon amy, and the call was returned. the two women were perfectly conscious of reciprocal dislike, but they smothered the feeling beneath conventional suavities. jasper was not backward in making known his gratitude for dora’s concession, and indeed it became clear to all his intimates that this marriage would be by no means one of mere interest; the man was in love at last, if he had never been before.
-let lapse the ensuing twelve months, and come to an evening at the end of july, 1886. mr and mrs milvain are entertaining a small and select party of friends at dinner. their house in bayswater is neither large nor internally magnificent, but it will do very well for the temporary sojourn of a young man of letters who has much greater things in confident expectation, who is a good deal talked of, who can gather clever and worthy people at his table, and whose matchless wife would attract men of taste to a very much poorer abode.
-jasper had changed considerably in appearance since that last holiday that he spent in his mother’s house at finden. at present he would have been taken for five-and-thirty, though only in his twenty-ninth year; his hair was noticeably thinning; his moustache had grown heavier; a wrinkle or two showed beneath his eyes; his voice was softer, yet firmer. it goes without saying that his evening uniform lacked no point of perfection, and somehow it suggested a more elaborate care than that of other men in the room. he laughed frequently, and with a throwing back of the head which seemed to express a spirit of triumph.
-amy looked her years to the full, but her type of beauty, as you know, was independent of youthfulness. that suspicion of masculinity observable in her when she became reardon’s wife impressed one now only as the consummate grace of a perfectly-built woman. you saw that at forty, at fifty, she would be one of the stateliest of dames. when she bent her head towards the person with whom she spoke, it was an act of queenly favour. her words were uttered with just enough deliberation to give them the value of an opinion; she smiled with a delicious shade of irony; her glance intimated that nothing could be too subtle for her understanding.
-the guests numbered six, and no one of them was insignificant. two of the men were about jasper’s age, and they had already made their mark in literature; the third was a novelist of circulating fame, spirally crescent. the three of the stronger sex were excellent modern types, with sweet lips attuned to epigram, and good broad brows.
-the novelist at one point put an interesting question to amy.
-‘is it true that fadge is leaving the current?’
-‘it is rumoured, i believe.’
-‘going to one of the quarterlies, they say,’ remarked a lady. ‘he is getting terribly autocratic. have you heard the delightful story of his telling mr rowland to persevere, as his last work was one of considerable promise?’
-mr rowland was a man who had made a merited reputation when fadge was still on the lower rungs of journalism. amy smiled and told another anecdote of the great editor. whilst speaking, she caught her husband’s eye, and perhaps this was the reason why her story, at the close, seemed rather amiably pointless--not a common fault when she narrated.
-when the ladies had withdrawn, one of the younger men, in a conversation about a certain magazine, remarked:
-‘thomas always maintains that it was killed by that solemn old stager, alfred yule. by the way, he is dead himself, i hear.’
-jasper bent forward.
-‘alfred yule is dead?’
-‘so jedwood told me this morning. he died in the country somewhere, blind and fallen on evil days, poor old fellow.’
-all the guests were ignorant of any tie of kindred between their host and the man spoken of.
-‘i believe,’ said the novelist, ‘that he had a clever daughter who used to do all the work he signed. that used to be a current bit of scandal in fadge’s circle.’
-‘oh, there was much exaggeration in that,’ remarked jasper, blandly. ‘his daughter assisted him, doubtless, but in quite a legitimate way. one used to see her at the museum.’
-the subject was dropped.
-an hour and a half later, when the last stranger had taken his leave, jasper examined two or three letters which had arrived since dinner-time and were lying on the hall table. with one of them open in his hand, he suddenly sprang up the stairs and leaped, rather than stepped, into the drawing-room. amy was reading an evening paper.
-‘look at this!’ he cried, holding the letter to her.
-it was a communication from the publishers who owned the current; they stated that the editorship of that review would shortly be resigned by mr fadge, and they inquired whether milvain would feel disposed to assume the vacant chair.
-amy sprang up and threw her arms about her husband’s neck, uttering a cry of delight.
-‘so soon! oh, this is great! this is glorious!’
-‘do you think this would have been offered to me but for the spacious life we have led of late? never! was i right in my calculations, amy?’
-‘did i ever doubt it?’
-he returned her embrace ardently, and gazed into her eyes with profound tenderness.
-‘doesn’t the future brighten?’
-‘it has been very bright to me, jasper, since i became your wife.’
-‘and i owe my fortune to you, dear girl. now the way is smooth!’
-they placed themselves on a settee, jasper with an arm about his wife’s waist, as if they were newly plighted lovers. when they had talked for a long time, milvain said in a changed tone:
-‘i am told that your uncle is dead.’
-he mentioned how the news had reached him.
-‘i must make inquiries to-morrow. i suppose there will be a notice in the study and some of the other papers. i hope somebody will make it an opportunity to have a hit at that ruffian fadge. by-the-by, it doesn’t much matter now how you speak of fadge; but i was a trifle anxious when i heard your story at dinner.’
-‘oh, you can afford to be more independent.--what are you thinking about?’
-‘why do you look sad?--yes, i know, i know. i’ll try to forgive you.’
-‘i can’t help thinking at times of the poor girl, amy. life will be easier for her now, with only her mother to support. someone spoke of her this evening, and repeated fadge’s lie that she used to do all her father’s writing.’
-‘she was capable of doing it. i must seem to you rather a poor-brained woman in comparison. isn’t it true?’
-‘my dearest, you are a perfect woman, and poor marian was only a clever school-girl. do you know, i never could help imagining that she had ink-stains on her fingers. heaven forbid that i should say it unkindly! it was touching to me at the time, for i knew how fearfully hard she worked.’
-‘she nearly ruined your life; remember that.’
-jasper was silent.
-‘you will never confess it, and that is a fault in you.’
-‘she loved me, amy.’
-‘perhaps! as a school-girl loves. but you never loved her.’
-amy examined his face as he spoke.
-‘her image is very faint before me,’ jasper pursued, ‘and soon i shall scarcely be able to recall it. yes, you are right; she nearly ruined me. and in more senses than one. poverty and struggle, under such circumstances, would have made me a detestable creature. as it is, i am not such a bad fellow, amy.’
-she laughed, and caressed his cheek.
-‘no, i am far from a bad fellow. i feel kindly to everyone who deserves it. i like to be generous, in word and deed. trust me, there’s many a man who would like to be generous, but is made despicably mean by necessity. what a true sentence that is of landor’s: “it has been repeated often enough that vice leads to misery; will no man declare that misery leads to vice?” i have much of the weakness that might become viciousness, but i am now far from the possibility of being vicious. of course there are men, like fadge, who seem only to grow meaner the more prosperous they are; but these are exceptions. happiness is the nurse of virtue.’
-‘and independence the root of happiness.’
-‘true. “the glorious privilege of being independent”--yes, burns understood the matter. go to the piano, dear, and play me something. if i don’t mind, i shall fall into whelpdale’s vein, and talk about my “blessedness”. ha! isn’t the world a glorious place?’
-‘for rich people.’
-‘yes, for rich people. how i pity the poor devils!--play anything. better still if you will sing, my nightingale!’
-so amy first played and then sang, and jasper lay back in dreamy bliss.
-beatrix of clare
-john reed scott
-author of "the colonel of the red huzzars"
-with illustrations by
-clarence f. underwood
-grosset & dunlap
-publishers ------- new york
-copyright, 1907, by john reed scott
-the countess raised her hand and pointed at him . . . frontispiece
-the duke fastened his eyes upon the young knight's face.
-he struck him a swinging right arm blow that sent him plunging among the rushes on the floor.
-beatrix of clare
-ruddy tresses and grey eyes
-"a word with your worship," said one.
-the knight whirled around.
-"a word with your worship," greeted him from the rear.
-he glanced quickly to each side.
-"a word with your worship," met him there.
-he shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the limb of a fallen tree. resistance was quite useless, with no weapon save a dagger, and no armor but silk and velvet.
-"the unanimity of your desires does me much honor," he said; "pray proceed."
-the leader lowered his bow.
-"it is a great pleasure to meet you, sir aymer de lacy," said he, "and particularly to be received so graciously."
-"you know me?"
-"we saw you arrive yesterday--but there were so many with you we hesitated to ask a quiet word aside."
-the knight smiled. "it is unfortunate--i assure you my talk would have been much more interesting then."
-"in that case it is we who are the losers."
-de lacy looked him over carefully.
-"pardieu, man," said he, "your language shames your business."
-the outlaw bowed with sweeping grace.
-"my thanks, my lord, my deepest thanks." he unstrung his bow and leaned upon the stave; a fine figure in forest green and velvet bonnet, a black mask over eyes and nose, a generous mouth and strong chin below it. "will your worship favor me with your dagger?" he said.
-the knight tossed it to him.
-"thank you . . . a handsome bit of craftsmanship . . . these stones are true ones, n'est ce pas?"
-"if they are not, i was cheated in the price," de lacy laughed.
-the other examined it critically.
-"methinks you were not cheated," he said, and drew it through his belt. "and would your lordship also permit me a closer view of the fine gold chain that hangs around your neck?"
-de lacy took it off and flung it over.
-"it i will warrant true," he said.
-the outlaw weighed the links in his hand, then bit one testingly.
-"so will i," said he, and dropped the chain in his pouch.
-"and the ring with the ruby--it is a ruby, is it not?--may i also examine it? . . . i am very fond of rubies. . . thank you; you are most obliging. . . it seems to be an especially fine stone--and worth . . . how many rose nobles would you say, my lord?"
-"i am truly sorry i cannot aid you there," de lacy answered; "being neither a merchant nor a robber, i have never reckoned its value."
-the other smiled. "of course, by 'merchant,' your worship has no reference to my good comrades nor myself."
-"none whatever, i assure you."
-"thank you; i did not think you would be so discourteous. . . but touching money reminds me that doubtless there is some such about you--perhaps you will permit me to count it for you."
-the knight drew out a handful of coins. "will you have them one by one museo di san marco, savonarola's cell. fresco: madonna, 1514. profile of savonarola. e. fresco: christ at emmaus. s. marco, 2d altar r. madonna and saints. 1509. pian di mugnone (near florence). s. maddalena. frescoes: annunciation. 1515; "noli me tangere." 1517. grenoble. musée, 374. madonna. london. 1694. madonna in landscape. col. g. l. holford, dorchester house. madonna (in part). mr. ludwig mond. holy family; small nativity. earl of north brook. holy family (finished by albertinelli). lucca. "madonna della misericordia." 1515. god adored by saints. 1509. duomo, chapel l. of choir. madonna and saints. 1509. naples. assumption of virgin (in great part). 1516. panshanger (hertford). holy family. burial and ascension of s. antonino. paris. 1115. "noli me tangere." 1506. 1153. annunciation. 1515. 1154. madonna and saints. 1511. philadelphia. mr. john g. johnson. adam and eve (unfinished). richmond (surrey). sir frederick cook, octagon room, 40. madonna with st. elizabeth and children. 1516. rome. corsini gallery, 579. holy family. 1516. lateran, 73. st. peter (finished by raphael). 75. st. paul. marchese visconti venosta. tondo: holy family. st. petersburg. madonna and three angels. 1515. vienna. 34. madonna. 38. madonna and saints (assisted by albertinelli). 1510. 41. circumcision. 1516.
-1420-1497. pupil possibly of giuliano pesello, and of the bicci; assistant and follower of fra angelico.
-botticelli (alessandro di mariano filipepi).
-1444-1510. pupil of fra filippo; influenced early by the pollajuoli.
-1446-1498. pupil of neri di bicci; influenced by castagno; worked under and was formed by cosimo rosselli and verrocchio; influenced later by amico di sandro.
-bergamo. morelli, 33. tobias and the angel. berlin. 70a. crucifixion and saints, 1475. 72. coronation of the virgin. e. boston (u. s. a.). mrs. j. l. gardner. madonna in landscape. chicago (u. s. a.). mr. martin ryerson. tondo: adoration of magi. cleveland (u. s. a.). holden collection, 3. madonna adoring child (?). 13. madonna. empoli. opera del duomo, 25. annunciation. towards 1473. tabernacle for sacrament, with st. andrew and baptist; predelle: last supper; martyrdom of two saints. 1484-1491. tabernacle for sculptured st. sebastian with two angels and donors; predelle: story of st. sebastian. towards 1473. florence. academy, 30. st. vincent ferrer. 59. st. augustine. 60. st. monica. 84. tobias and the three archangels. 154. tobias and the angel, with youthful donor. martyrdom of st. andrew. pitti, 347. madonna, infant john, and angels worshipping child. uffizi, 3437. madonna. s. appolonia. deposition with magdalen and ss. sebastian and bernard. duca di brindisi. two cassone-panels: story of virginia. marchese pio strozzi. madonna with ss. antony abbot and donato. s. spirito, r. transept. altarpiece with predelle: st. monica and nuns. 1483. brozzi (near florence). s. andrea, r. wall. madonna and saints. 1480. (the fresco above, with god, the father, is school work.) göttingen. university gallery, 236. madonna and infant john. london. 227. st. jerome with other saints and donors. 1126. assumption of virgin. before 1475. earl of ashburnham. madonna adoring child. mr. robert benson. tondo: madonna in landscape. madonna with four rose-crowned angels and two cherubim. mr. c. brinsley marlay. madonna adoring child. mr. charles butler. bishop enthroned, with four female saints. modena. 449. madonna and angels adoring child. montefortino (near amandola, abruzzi). municipio. madonna adoring child. palermo. baron chiaramonte bordonaro. ss. nicholas and roch. panzano (near greve). s. maria, third altar l. angels and saints around old picture. parcieux (near trévoux). la grange blanche, m. henri chalandon. nativity. paris. 1482. madonna in glory, and saints. mme. edouard andré. madonna and four saints; a version of fra filippo's uffizi madonna; pietà with ss. nicholas, james, dominic, and louis. comtesse arconati-visconti. tondo: madonna adoring child. m. henri heugel. madonna adoring child. prato. madonna and four saints. richmond (surrey). sir frederick cook, museum. bust of young man. scotland. gosford house. earl of wemyss. profile of youth. stockholm. royal palace. bust of youth. turin. 119. coronation of virgin. wigan. haigh hall, earl crawford. madonna, enthroned with st. francis, donor, tobias, and angel.
-bronzino (angelo allori).
-1502(?)-1572. pupil of pontormo; influenced by michelangelo.
-bergamo. morelli, 65. portrait of alessandro de' medici. berlin. 338. portrait of youth. 338a. portrait of ugolino martelli. 338b. portrait of eleonora da toledo. simon collection, 2. bust of youth. herr edward simon. portrait of bearded man. besançon. musée, 57. deposition. boston (u. s. a.). mrs. j. l. gardner. portrait of a medici princess. budapest. 190. venus and cupid (in part). 191. adoration of shepherds. cassel. portrait of duke cosimo de' medici in armour, holding myrtle-branch. florence. pitti, 39. holy family. 403. portrait of duke cosimo i. 434. portrait of the architect luca martini. uffizi, 154. lucrezia panciatichi. 158. descent from cross. 1545. 159. bartolommeo panciatichi. 172. eleonora da toledo and don garzia. 198. portrait of young woman. 1155. don garzia. 1164. maria de' medici. 1166. man in armour. 1209. dead christ. 1211. allegory of happiness. 1266. portrait of sculptor. 1271. christ in limbo. 1552. 1272. don ferdinand. 1275. maria de' medici. miniatures: 848. don garzia. 852. don ferdinand. 853. maria de' medici. 854. francesco de' medici. 855. duke cosimo i. 857. alessandro de' medici. magazine. annunciation. palazzo vecchio, chapel of eleonora da toledo. frescoes. 1564. s. lorenzo, l. wall. fresco: martyrdom of st. lawrence. the hague. 3. portrait of lady. london. 651. allegory. 1323. piero de' medici il gottoso. lucca. don ferdinand. don garzia. milan. brera, 565. portrait of andrea doria as neptune. new york. mrs. gould. portrait of woman and child. havemeyer collection. youth in black. paris. 1183. "noli me tangere." 1184. portrait of sculptor. pisa. s. stefano. nativity. 1564. rome. borghese gallery, 444. st. john the baptist. colonna gallery, 4. venus, cupid, and satyr. corsini gallery, 2171. portrait of stefano colonna. 1548. prince doria. portrait of giannottino doria. turin. 128. portrait of giovanni delle bande nere. venice. seminario, 16. portrait of child. vienna. 44. portrait of man. l. 49. holy family.
-1475-1554. pupil of ghirlandajo and pier di cosimo; assistant of albertinelli; influenced by perugino, michelangelo, francesco francia, and franciabigio.
-raffaelle dei carli (or croli).
-1470-after 1526. started under influence of ghirlandajo and credi, later became almost umbrian, and at one time was in close contact with garbo, whom he may have assisted.
-berlin. von kaufmann collection. three half-length figures of saints in small ovals. dresden. 21. madonna and two saints. düsseldorf. 120. tondo: madonna, with child blessing. eastnor castle (ledbury). lady henry somerset. altarpiece: madonna and saints. esher. mr. herbert f. cook, copseham. israelites crossing red sea. the golden calf. florence. uffizi, 90. madonna appearing to four saints. madonna, two saints, and two donors (probably painted in garbo's studio). the four evangelists (framed above triptych ascribed to spinello aretino) (?). magazine. annunciation. mr. b. berenson. christ in tomb between mary and john. duca di brindisi. combat of marine deities. mr. h. w. cannon, villa doccia (near fiesole), chapel in woods. fresco. corsini gallery. madonna with two saints and two angels. via conservatorio capponi, i. tabernacle: madonna and two angels. via delle colonne, scuola elementare. fresco: miracle of loaves and fishes. 1503. mrs. ross, poggio gherardo. madonna in glory, and two bishops. s. ambrogio, first altar r. st. ambrogio and other saints; annunciation in lunette. s. maria maddalena dei pazzi. st. roch. st. ignatius. s. procolo. altar r. visitation with saints and angels. s. spirito, south transept. madonna and evangelist with ss. stephen, lawrence, and bernard. 1505. madonna with evangelist, st. bartholomew, and two angels. e. madonna with two angels and ss. nicholas and bartholomew, and busts of jerome and another saint. brozzi (near florence). s. andrea, r. wall. fresco in lunette: ss. albert and sigismund. le mans. musée, 19. madonna. locko park (near derby). mr. drury lowe. deposition. the baptist. london. mr. robert benson. mass of st. gregory. 1501. lucca. sala iv, 16. polyptych. milan. poldi-pezzoli, 158. madonna and infant john. montepulciano. municipio, 80. tondo: madonna in landscape. olantigh towers (wye). mr. erle-drax. pietà. oxford. christ church library. the magdalen. paris. 1303. coronation and four saints. baron michele lazzaroni. resurrection, with kneeling donors. m. eugène richtemberger. tondo: madonna and two angels. l. pisa. museo civico, 238. madonna and four saints. sala vi, 15. god appearing to kneeling company. s. matteo, l. wall. predelle to no. 238 in museo. poggibonsi. s. lucchese, r. wall. "noli me tangere." prato. municipio, 6. madonna and infant john. san miniato del tedeschi. s. domenico. madonna with st. andrew and baptist(?). 1507. siena. s. maria degli angeli, high altar. madonna in glory, and saints. 1502. vallombrosa. pieve. s. giovanni gualberto enthroned between four saints. 1508. venice. academy, 55. madonna and two saints, e. volterra. municipio, anticamera. fresco: madonna. museo. madonna, saints, and angels. e. weston birt (tetbury). captain g. l. holford. nativity.
-andrea del castagno.
-died rather young in 1457. influenced by donatello and paolo uccello.
-florence. uffizi, third tuscan room. 12. fresco: crucifixion and saints. s. appolonia, refectory. frescoes: last supper; crucifixion; entombment; resurrection. soon after 1434. (nine figures) boccaccio; petrarch; dante; queen thomyris; cumæan sibyl; niccolò acciajuoli; farinati degli uberti; filippo scolari ("pippo spano"); esther. l.--frieze of putti with garlands. cloister. fresco: dead christ and angels. soon after 1434. hospital (33 via degli alfani), court. fresco: crucifixion. ss. annunziata, first altar l. fresco: christ and st. julian. l. (invisible.) second altar l. fresco: trinity with st. jerome and other saints. l. (invisible.) duomo, wall r. of entrance: fresco: equestrian portrait of niccolò da tolentino. 1456. window in drum of cupola (from his design). deposition. 1444. locko park (near derby). mr. drury lowe. david (painted on a shield). l. london. 1138. small crucifixion. mr. j. pierpont morgan. bust of man.
-about 1240-about 1301.
-the following works are all by the same hand, probably cimabue's.
-assisi. s. francesco, upper church, choir and transepts. frescoes. lower church, r. transept. fresco: madonna and angels with st. francis. florence. academy, 102. madonna, angels, and four prophets. paris. 1260. madonna and angels.
-cosimo, see pier di cosimo.
-lorenzo di credi.
-1456-1537. pupil of verrocchio.
-berlin. 80. bust of young woman (?). e. 100. madonna. 103. st. mary of egypt. cambridge. fitzwilliam museum, 125. st. sebastian (the saint only). carlsruhe. 409. madonna and infant john adoring child. castiglione fiorentino. collegiata, altar r. of high altar. nativity. l. cleveland (u. s. a.). holden collection, 14. madonna. dresden. 13. madonna and infant john. e. 14. nativity (in part). 15. madonna and saints. florence. academy, 92. adoration of shepherds. 94. nativity (in great part). uffizi, 24. tondo: madonna (in part). 34. portrait of young man. 1160. annunciation. e. 1163. portrait of verrocchio. 1168. madonna and evangelist. 1311. "noli me tangere." 1313. annunciation. 1314. annunciation. 3452. venus. e. tondo: madonna and angel adoring child (in part). marchese pucci. portrait of lady. s. domenico (near fiesole), first altar r. baptism. duomo, sacristy. st. michael. 1523. or san michele, pillar. st. bartholomew. s. spirito, apse. madonna with st. jerome and an apostle. e. scandicci (near florence), comtesse de turenne. portrait of youth. forlì. 130. portrait of lady. e. glasgow. mr. william beattie. portrait of the artist. 1488. göttingen. university museum, 220. crucifixion. hamburg. weber collection. tondo: ascension of youthful saint accompanied by two angels. hanover. kestner museum, 21. bust of youth. london. 593. madonna. 648. madonna adoring child. mr. charles butler. madonna. earl of rosebery. st. george. longleat (warminster). marquess of bath. madonna. mayence. 105. madonna. e. milan. conte casatti. madonna and infant john. munich. 1040a. madonna (?) (done in verrocchio's studio). naples. nativity. l. oxford. university galleries, 26. madonna (?). paris. 1263. madonna and two saints. 1503, or later. 1264. "noli me tangere." m. gustave dreyfus. madonna (done in verrocchio's studio). pistoia. duomo, chapel l. of high altar. madonna and saints (done in verrocchio's studio. 1478-1485). madonna del letto. virgin, st. jerome, and baptist. 1510. rome. borghese, 433. madonna and infant john. scotland. (cf. glasgow.) strasburg. university gallery, 215. madonna. e. turin. 115. madonna. e. 118. madonna (in part). venice. querini-stampalia, sala iii, 4. madonna and infant john.
-domenico, see veneziano.
-filippino and filippo, see lippi.
-1482-1525. pupil of pier di cosimo and albertinelli; worked with and was influenced by andrea del sarto.
-barnard castle. bowes museum, 235. bust of young man. berlin. 235. portrait of man. 245. portrait of man writing. 1522. 245a. portrait of youth in landscape. herr eugen schweizer. madonna with infant john. bologna. 294. madonna. brussels. 478. leda and her children. musée de la ville. profile of old man. chantilly. musée condé, 41. bust of man. cracow. potocki collection. madonna with infant john (?). dijon. musée, donation jules maciet. bust of youth. dresden. 75. bathsheba. 1523. florence. pitti, 43. portrait of man. 1514. 427. calumny. e. uffizi, 92. tondo: madonna and infant john, e. 1223. temple of hercules. 1224. tondo: holy family and infant john. 1264. madonna with job and baptist. e. chiostro dello scalzo. monochrome frescoes: baptist leaving his parents, 1518-19. baptism, 1509. meeting of christ and baptist, 1518-19. ss. annunziata, entrance court, r. fresco: sposalizio. 1513. la calza. (porta romana). fresco: last supper. poggio a cajano (royal villa near florence). fresco: triumph of cæsar. 1521. hamburg. weber collection, 119. bust of young man. london. 1035. portrait of young man. mr. robert benson. portrait of young man. earl of northbrook. head of young man. mr. t. vasel. bust of young man. earl of yarborough. bust of a jeweller. 1516. modena. 223. birth of baptist. e. new york. mr. rutherford stuyvesant. portrait of man. nîmes. 132, 269, 270. small tondi: trinity, ss. peter and paul. oxford. mr. t. w. jackson. legend of a saint. paris. 1651a. portrait of andrea fausti. philadelphia. mr. john g. johnson. bust of christ blessing (?). pinerolo (piedmont). villa lamba doria. portrait of young man. rome. barberini gallery. portrait of young man. borghese gallery, 458. madonna and infant john. e. corsini gallery, 570. madonna holding child on parapet. portrait of man with book. turin. 112. annunciation. e. vienna. 46. holy family. 52. madonna and infant john in landscape. count lanckoronski. man with cap and feathers. l. christ saving man from drowning (?). prince liechtenstein. bust of young man. 1517. madonna and infant john. wiesbaden. nassauisches kunstverein, 118. cassone picture. windsor castle. portrait of man ("gardener of pier francesco dei medici").
-raffaelino del garbo.
-1466-1524 (?). pupil of botticelli and filippino lippi; influenced by ghirlandajo and perugino.
-berlin. 78. bust of man. 81. profile of young woman. 90. tondo: madonna and angels. simon collection, i. tondo: madonna and angels. e. dresden. 22. madonna and infant john. florence. academy, 90. resurrection. glasgow. corporation gallery. madonna with infant john. london. mr. robert benson. tondo: madonna and angels. col. g. l. holford, dorchester house. madonna and angel. mr. charles ricketts. madonna in landscape. sir henry samuelson. tondo: madonna with magdalen and st. catherine. lyons. m. edouard aynard. profile bust of baptist. munich. 1009. pietà. naples. tondo: madonna and infant john. paris. m. henri heugel. tondo: madonna and two angels. e. baron edouard de rothschild. profile bust of young lady. parma. 56. madonna giving girdle to st. thomas. venice. lady layard. portrait of man.
-1449-1494. pupil of baldovinetti; influenced slightly by botticelli and more strongly by verrocchio.
-florence. academy, 66. madonna and saints. 195. adoration of shepherds. 1485. uffizi, 19. madonna and saints. 43. portrait of giovanni bicci de' medici. 1295. adoration of magi. 1297. madonna, saints, and angels. museo di san marco, small refectory. fresco: last supper. palazzo vecchio, flag room. fresco: triumph of s. zanobi. 1482-1484. duomo, over n. door. mosaic: annunciation. 1490. innocenti, high altar. adoration of magi (the episode of the "massacre of the innocents" painted by alunno di domenico). 1488. s. maria novella, choir. frescoes: lives of the virgin and baptist, etc. (execution, save certain portrait heads, chiefly by david, mainardi, and other assistants). begun 1486, finished 1490. ognissanti, l. wall. fresco: st. augustine. 1480. altar r. fresco: madonna della misericordia (in part). e. refectory. fresco: last supper. 1480. s. trinita. chapel r. of choir. frescoes: life of st. francis. 1483-1485. over arch. fresco: augustus and sibyl (in part). same date. badia di passignano (tavernelle, near florence), refectory. frescoes: last supper, etc. 1477. london. 1299. portrait of young man (repainted). mr. robert benson. francesco sassetti and his son. mr. ludwig mond. madonna. mr. j. pierpont morgan. profile of giovanna tornabuoni. 1488. mr. george salting. madonna and infant john. bust of costanza de' medici. lucca. duomo, sacristy. madonna and saints, with pietà in lunette. narni. municipio. coronation of virgin (in part). 1486. new haven (u. s. a.). jarves collection, 73. fresco: head of woman (cf. woman to extreme l. in "visitation" at s. maria novella, florence). paris. 1321. visitation (in part). 1322. old man and boy. pisa. museo civico, sala vi, 21. ss. sebastian and roch (in part). virgin with st. anne and saints (in part). rome. vatican, sixtine chapel. frescoes: calling of peter and andrew. 1482. single figures of popes: anacletus, iginius, clement, and pius. 1482. san gemignano. collegiata, chapel of s. fina. frescoes: life of the saint. about 1475. vercelli. museo borgogna. madonna adoring infant. e. volterra. municipio. christ in glory adored by two saints and don guido bonvicini (in part). 1492.
-1483 to 1561. pupil of granacci, and eclectic imitator of most of his important contemporaries.
-bergamo. morelli, 51. bust of man. berlin. 91. nativity. budapest. 58. nativity. 1510. chatsworth. duke of devonshire. bust of man (?). l. colle di val d'elsa. s. agostino, third altar r. pietà. 1521. florence. academy, 83, 87. panels with three angels each. e. pitti, 207. portrait of a goldsmith. e. 224. portrait of a lady. 1509. uffizi, 1275, 1277. miracles of s. zanobi. 1510. bigallo. predelle. 1515. palazzo vecchio, cappella dei priori. frescoes. 1514. corsini gallery, 129. portrait of man. palazzo torrigiani. portrait of ardinghelli. la quiete. st. sebastian. glasgow. mr. william beattie. portrait of man (?). london. 1143. procession to calvary. e. mr. george salting. portrait of girolamo beniviene. lucardo (near certaldo). high altar. madonna with ss. peter, martin, justus, and the baptist. e. milan. comm. benigno crespi. small triptych. nativity and saints. new haven (u. s. a.). jarves collection, 97. madonna and saints. paris. 1324. coronation of virgin. 1503. philadelphia. elkins park, mr. peter widener, 191. bust of lucrezia summaria, e. pistoia. s. pietro maggiore. madonna and saints. 1508. prato. duomo. madonna giving girdle to st. thomas. 1514. reigate (surrey). the priory, mr. somers somerset. portrait of girolamo beniviene. st. petersburg. 40. portrait of old man. wantage. lockinge house, lady wantage. youngish man looking up from letter.
-1276-1336. follower of pietro cavallini; influenced by giovanni pisano.
-assisi. s. francesco, lower church, chapel of the magdalen: frescoes: feast in the house of simon (in great part); raising of lazarus; "noli me tangere," (in part); magdalen and donor (in part)(?). (the remaining frescoes in this chapel are by assistants.) before 1328. upper church. ii-xix of frescoes recounting the life of st. francis (with occasional aid of a). e. west wall. fresco: madonna. boston (u. s. a.). mrs. j. l. gardner: presentation of christ in the temple. l. florence. academy, 103. madonna enthroned and angels. s. croce, bardi chapel. frescoes: life of st. francis, etc. (little more than the compositions are now giotto's.) not earlier than 1317. peruzzi chapel. frescoes: lives of the baptist and st. john the evangelist (considerably repainted). l. munich. 983. last supper. padua. arena chapel. frescoes: lives of christ and his mother; last judgment; symbolical figures. about 1305-6. sacristy. painted crucifix. about 1305-6. rome. s. giovanni laterano, pillar r. aisle. fragment of fresco: boniface viii proclaiming the jubilee. 1300.
-assisi. s. francesco, upper church. xx-xxv and first of frescoes recounting the life of st. francis, done perhaps under giotto's directions. xxvi-xxviii of same series done more upon his own responsibility. lower church, chapel of the sacrament. frescoes: legend of st. nicholas; christ with ss. francis and nicholas and donors, etc. (?). before 1316. madonna between ss. francis and nicholas (?). before 1316. florence. uffizi, 20. altarpiece of st. cecily. e. s. margherita a montici (beyond torre del gallo). madonna. e. altarpiece with st. margaret. e. s. miniato: altarpiece with s. miniato. e.
-assisi. s. francesco, lower church, over tomb of saint. frescoes: allegories of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and triumph of st. francis. (the francis between the two angels in the "obedience" and nearly all of the "triumph" were executed by another hand, probably c.) r. transept. frescoes: bringing to life of child fallen from window; francis and a crowned skeleton; two scenes (one on either side of arch leading to the chapel of the sacrament) representing the bringing to life of a boy killed by a falling house; (above these) annunciation; (next to cimabue's madonna) crucifixion (with the aid of c). florence. s. croce, cappella medici. baroncelli polyptych: coronation of virgin, saints and angels (?).
-assisi. s. francesco, lower church, r. transept. frescoes: eight scenes from the childhood of christ. berlin. 1074a. crucifixion. florence. bargello chapel. fresco: paradise (?). (cf. also under b for assistance rendered by c.)
-bologna. pinacoteca, 102. polyptych: madonna and saints. florence. s. felice. painted crucifix. munich. 981. crucifixion (?). paris. 1512. st. francis receiving stigmata. rome. st. peter's, sagrestia dei canonici. stefaneschi polyptych (suggests bernardo daddi). strasburg. 203. crucifixion.
-gozzoli, see benozzo.
-1477-1543. pupil first of credi, and then of ghirlandajo, whom he assisted; influenced by botticelli, michelangelo fra bartolommeo, and pontormo.
-berlin. 74 and 76. ss. vincent and antonino (in ghirlandajo's studio). soon after 1494. 88. madonna and four saints (kneeling figures and landscape his own cartoons, the rest ghirlandajesque design). 97. madonna with baptist and archangel michael, e. 229. the trinity. budapest. 54. st. john at patmos. 78. madonna and infant john (?) cassel. 480. tondo: madonna holding child on parapet. 482. crucifixion. chantilly. musée condé, 95. madonna (from ghirlandajo's studio) (?). città di castello. pinacoteca. coronation of virgin (in part; done in ghirlandajo's studio). darmstadt. small crucifixion. l. dublin. 78. holy family. florence. academy, 68. assumption of virgin. 154. madonna. 285-290. stories of saints. l. pitti, 345. holy family. uffizi, 1249, 1282. life of joseph. portrait of lucrezia del fede. covoni altarpiece, madonna and saints. istituto dei minorenni corrigendi (via della scala.) altarpiece: madonna with ss. sebastian and julian (?). brozzi (near florence). s. andrea. l. wall. frescoes: baptism, madonna enthroned between ss. dominic and sebastian (ghirlandajo's designs). quintole (near florence). s. pietro. pietà. l. villamagna (near florence), church. madonna with ss. gherardo and donnino. glasgow. mr. james mann. madonna (?). e. london. victoria and albert museum. tondo: madonna. mr. robert benson. god the father sending holy spirit to christ kneeling, the virgin recommending donor, who has his family present, and below a saint pointing to a scroll (?). e. duke of buccleugh, 10. madonna and infant john. lucca. marchese mansi (s. maria forisportam). tondo: madonna and two angels. milan. comm. benigno crespi. entry of charles viii into florence. munich. 1011. madonna in glory and four saints (ghirlandajo's design). soon after 1494. 1061-1064. panels with a saint in each. l. 1065. holy family. new haven (u. s. a.). jarves collection, 86. pietà. l. oxford. christ church library. st. francis. university museum, 23. st. antony of padua and an angel. panshanger (near hertford). portrait of lady. paris. m. jean dollfus. madonna and saints (?). m. d'eichtal. bust of lady. m. eugène richtemberger. nativity. m. joseph spiridon. bust of young woman in red. philadelphia. mr. john g. johnson. pietà in landscape (?). e. reigate (surrey). the priory, mr. somers somerset. madonna giving girdle to st. thomas. rome. borghese, 371. maddalena strozzi as st. catherine. corsini, 573. hebe. scotland. (glasgow, cf. glasgow). rossie priory (inchture, perthshire), lord kinnaird. st. lucy before her judges. l. st. petersburg. hermitage, 22. nativity with ss. francis and jerome. vienna. count lanckoronski. preaching of st. stephen. herr carl wittgenstein. bust of woman in green. (?). warwick castle. earl of warwick. assumption of virgin, and four saints. l.
-leonardo da vinci.
-1452-1519. pupil of verrocchio.
-florence. uffizi, 1252. adoration of magi (unfinished). begun in 1481. london. burlington house, diploma gallery. large cartoon for madonna with st. anne. milan. s. maria delle grazie, refectory. fresco: last supper. paris. 1265. annunciation. e. 1598. madonna with st. anne (unfinished). 1599. "la vierge aux rochers." 1601. "la gioconda." rome. vatican, pinacoteca. st. jerome, (unfinished).
-1457-1504. pupil of botticelli; influenced by amico di sandro, and very slightly by piero di cosimo.
-fra filippo lippi.
-1406-1469. pupil of lorenzo monaco and follower of masaccio; influenced by fra angelico.
-about 1370-1425. follower of agnolo gaddi and the sienese.
-about 1450-1513. pupil and imitator of his brother-in-law, domenico ghirlandajo.
-altenburg. lindenau museum, 102. bust of woman. berlin. 77. madonna. 83. portrait of young woman. 85. portrait of a cardinal. 86. portrait of young man. boston (u. s. a.). mrs. quincy a. shaw. madonna adoring child. cologne. 522. madonna and five saints. dresden. 16 tondo: nativity. florence. uffizi, 1315. st. peter martyr between ss. james and peter. bargello, chapel. fresco: madonna. 1490. palazzo torrigiani. tondo: madonna and two angels. s. croce, baroncelli chapel. fresco: virgin giving girdle to st. thomas. chiesa di orbetello, r. wall. fresco: madonna and two cherubim (ss. andrew and dionysus, etc., by another ghirlandajesque hand). brozzi (near florence), fattoria orsini. frescoes: nativity (cf. dresden 16); saints. hamburg. weber collection, 30. madonna. hildesheim. 1134. tondo: madonna. locko park (near derby). mr. drury-lowe. replicas of berlin portraits, nos. 83 and 86. london. 1230. bust of young woman. sir henry howorth. madonna and three angels adoring child. mr. george salting. bust of young man. longleat (warminster). marquess of bath. madonna, four saints, putti, and angels. lyons. m. edouard aynard. st. stephen. milan. comm. benigno crespi. two panels with men and women worshippers. munich. 1012, 1013. ss. lawrence and catherine of siena (soon after 1494). 1014. madonna and donor. 1015. ss. george and sebastian. münster i./w. kunstverein, 32. marriage of st. catherine. oxford. university museum, 21. ss. bartholomew and julian. palermo. baron chiaramonte bordonaro, 98. madonna with ss. paul and francis. 1506. paris. 1367. tondo: madonna with infant john and angels. comtesse arconati-visconti. busts of man and woman (free replicas of berlin, nos. 83 and 86). philadelphia. mr. john g. johnson. madonna with ss. sebastian and appolonia. rome. vatican, museo cristiano, case o, xvi. tondo: nativity. count gregori stroganoff. three saints. san gemignano. municipio, 8 and 9. tondi: madonnas. ospedale di s. fina. frescoes in vaulting. via s. giovanni. fresco: madonna and cherubim. s. agostino, r. wall. ss. nicholas of bari, lucy, and augustine. ceiling. frescoes: the four church fathers. l. wall. frescoes for tomb of fra domenico strambi. 1487. collegiata, chapel of s. fina. frescoes in ceiling. chapel of s. giovanni. annunciation. 1482. sacristy. madonna in glory, and saints. monte oliveto, chapel r. madonna with ss. bernard and jerome. 1502. siena. palazzo saracini, 205. bust of young woman in red. vienna. harrach collection, 314. nativity (replica of dresden, 16). prince liechtenstein. madonna and infant john.
-1401-1428. pupil of masolino; influenced by brunellesco and donatello.
-1475-1564. pupil of ghirlandaio; influenced by the works of jacopo della quercia, donatello, and signorelli.
-florence. uffizi, 1139. tondo: holy family. london. 790. deposition (unfinished). rome. vatican, sixtine chapel. frescoes: on ceiling, 1508-1512. w. wall. last judgment. 1534-1541. cappella paolina. frescoes: conversion of paul; martyrdom of st. peter. l.
-berlin. small marble apollo. bologna. s. domenico. s. petronio; an angel (for ark of st. dominic). 1494. bruges. notre dame. madonna. finished before august, 1506. florence. academy. david. 1504. life size model of reclining male figure. court. st. matthew. 1504. bargello. bacchus. e. bust of brutus. tondo, relief: madonna. apollo. court. victory. boboli gardens, grotto. four unfinished figures. casa buonarroti. reliefs: centaurs and lapithæ. e. madonna. e. duomo, behind high altar. pietà. l. s. lorenzo, new sacristy. madonna; tombs of lorenzo dei medici, duke of urbino, and giuliano, duke of nemours. left unfinished 1534. london. burlington house, diploma gallery. tondo, relief: madonna. victoria and albert museum. cupid. beit collection. young athlete (bronze). milan. prince trivulzio. small slave (bronze). paris. room of renaissance sculpture. two slaves. rome. palazzo rondanini. pietà (unfinished). l. s. maria sopra minerva. christ with cross. finished 1521. st. peter's. pietà. 1499. s. pietro in vincoli. moses, rachel, and leah. st. petersburg. crouching boy.
-monaco see lorenzo.
-andrea orcagna and his brothers.
-andrea, 1308(?)-1368. pupil of andrea pisano; follower of giotto; influenced by ambrogio lorenzetti of siena.
-of the brothers, nardo, who died in 1365, was scarcely his inferior.
-the only painting certainly from andrea's hand is the altarpiece at s. maria novella. the frescoes in the same church are probably by nardo.
-budapest. 50. madonna and angels. florence. academy, 14. vision of st. bernard and saints. 40. trinity with evangelist and st. romuald. 1365. uffizi, 10. st. bartholomew and angel (?). e. 29. coronation of the virgin. third tuscan room. 20. st. matthew triptych. begun in 1367. mr. b. berenson. st. benedict receiving a novice. badia, cappella bonsi. descent of holy spirit. s. croce, sacristy. madonna with ss. gregory and job. 1365. s. maria novella, l. transept. altarpiece. 1357. frescoes: paradise; last judgment; hell. cloister. frescoes: annunciation to joachim and anne; meeting of same; birth of virgin; presentation of virgin in temple; full length figures of saints. certosa (near florence), chapel. madonna. london. 569-578. coronation and saints, with nine smaller panels representing the trinity, angels, and gospel scenes. new haven (u. s. a.). jarves collection, 25. baptist. 26. st. peter. palermo. baron chiaramonte-bordonaro. madonna.
-sculpture (by andrea).
-berlin. von kaufmann collection. head of female saint. florence. bargello. 139. angel playing viol. or san michele. tabernacle. finished 1359.
-1422-1457. pupil possibly of his grandfather, giuliano pesello; follower of fra angelico, masaccio and domenico veneziano, but chiefly of fra filippo lippi.
-altenburg. lindenau museum, 96. ss. jerome and francis. bergamo. morelli, 9. florentine arraigned before a judge. 11. story of griselda. berlin. small crucifixion. boston (u. s. a.). mrs. j. l. gardner. two cassone panels: triumphs of petrarch. chantilly. musée condé, 11. madonna and saints. 12. adoration of magi. (?). empoli. opera del duomo, 24. madonna and saints. florence. academy, 72. predelle: nativity; martyrdom of ss. cosmas and damian; miracle of st. antony of padua. gloucester. highnam court, sir hubert parry, 95. annunciation. london. col. g. l. holford, dorchester house. madonna and saints. milan. poldi-pezzoli, 436. annunciation (early xvi century copy). 587. pietà. paris. 1414. predelle: miracle of ss. cosmas and damian; st. francis receiving the stigmata. rome. prince doria. predelle: pope sylvester before constantine; pope sylvester subduing dragon. wantage. lockinge house, lady wantage. two cassone panels: story of david.
-pier di cosimo.
-1462-1521. pupil of cosimo rosselli; influenced by verrocchio, signorelli, filippino, leonardo, and credi.
-pier francesco fiorentino.
-known to have been active during the last three decades of the fifteenth century. pupil possibly of fra angelico or benozzo gozzoli; influenced by neri di bicci; eclectic imitator of alesso baldovinetti, fra filippo, and pesellino. some of the best of the following are copies of the two last and of compagno di pesellino.
-antonio. 1429-1498. pupil of donatello and andrea del castagno; strongly influenced by baldovinetti. sculptor as well as painter.
-piero. 1443-1496. pupil of baldovinetti; worked mainly on his brother's designs. (where the execution can be clearly distinguished as of either of the brothers separately, the fact is indicated).
-berlin. 73. annunciation (piero). 73a. david (antonio). boston (u. s. a.). mrs. j. l. gardner. profile of lady (antonio). florence. uffizi, 30. portrait of galeazzo sforza. 69. hope. 70. justice. 71. temperance. (the execution of these three was perhaps largely the work of pupils.) 72. faith (piero). 73. cartoon for "charity" (on back of picture, the execution of which is studio work). (antonio). 1469. 1153. hercules and the hydra; hercules and antæus (antonio). 1301. ss. eustace, james, and vincent (piero). 1467. 1306. prudence (piero). 1470. 3358. miniature profile of lady (piero). torre di gallo (arcetri). fresco (discovered in 1897 and since then entirely repainted): dance of nudes (antonio). s. miniato, portuguese chapel. fresco (around window): flying angels (executed probably 1466). (antonio). s. niccolò. fresco: assumption of virgin (piero). e. london. 292. st. sebastian (antonio). 1475. 928. apollo and daphne (antonio). new haven (u. s. a.). jarves collection, 64. hercules and nessus (antonio). new york. metropolitan museum, 85. fresco; st. christopher (piero). paris. 1367a. madonna (piero) (?). san gemignano. collegiata, choir. coronation of virgin (piero). 1483. staggia (near siena). s. maria assunta, r. transept. st. mary of egypt upborne by angels (design antonio, execution piero). strasburg. 212a. madonna enthroned (piero). turin. 117. tobias and the angel.
-assisi. s. francesco. altar-frontal embroidered probably from designs by piero. florence. bargello. bust of young warrior (terra-cotta). hercules and antæus (bronze). opera del duomo. enamels in pedestal of silver crucifix. finished 1459. birth of baptist (relief in silver). twenty-seven scenes from life of baptist (embroideries after antonio's designs). 1466-1473. london. victoria and albert museum. "discord" (relief in gesso). rome. st. peter's, chapel of sacrament. tomb of sixtus iv (bronze). finished 1493. l. aisle. tomb of innocent viii (bronze). finished 1498.
-pontormo (jacopo carucci).
-1494-1556. pupil of andrea del sarto; influenced by michelangelo.
-bergamo. morelli, 59. portrait of baccio bandinelli. berlin. portrait of andrea del sarto (not exhibited). herr von dirksen. portrait of a lady seated. borgo san sepolcro. municipio. st. quentin in the pillory (in part). carmignano (near florence). parish church. visitation. dzikow (poland). m. zanislas tarnowski. full face bust of oldish lady in velvet, lace, and pearls. florence. academy, 183. pietà. l. 190. christ at emmaus. 1528. fresco (behind the giotto): hospital of s. matteo, e. pitti, 149. portrait of man in armour with dog (?). 182. martyrdom of forty saints. 233. st. antony. l. 249. portrait of man. 379. adoration of magi. uffizi, 1177. madonna with ss. francis and jerome. 1187. martyrdom of s. maurizio. 1198. birth plate: birth of st. john. 1220. portrait of man. 1267. cosimo del medici. 1270. cosimo i, duke of florence. 1284. venus and cupid (designed by michelangelo). collegio militare, pope's chapel. frescoes. 1513. museo di s. marco, room 38. portrait of cosimo dei medici. palazzo capponi, marchese farinola. madonna and infant john. corsini gallery, 141. madonna and infant john. 185. madonna and infant john. ss. annunziata, cloister r. fresco: visitation. 1516. cappella di s. luca. fresco: madonna and saints. e. s. felicità, chapel r. altarpiece: deposition. frescoes: annunciation; medallions of prophets. s. michele visdomini. holy family and saints. 1518. certosa (near florence). cloister. fresco: christ before pilate. 1523. poggio a cajano (royal villa near florence). decorative fresco around window: vertumnus, pomona, diana, and other figures. 1521. frankfort a./m. städelinstitut, 14a. portrait of lady with dog. genoa. palazzo bianco. portrait of youth. palazzo brignole-sale. man in red with sword. hatfield. warren wood, mr. charles butler. birth plate. london. 1131. joseph and his kindred in egypt. e. mr. ludwig mond. a conversation. earl of plymouth. portrait of youth. lucca. sala i, 5. portrait of youth. milan. prince trivulzio. portrait of rinuccini lady. portrait of youth holding book. new haven (u. s. a.). jarves collection, 100. cosimo dei medici. l. 104. bust of lady. l. oldenburg. 19. portrait of lady. palermo. 406. judith. l. panshanger (hertford). portrait of youth. two panels with story of joseph. e. paris. 1240. holy family and saints. 1543. 1241. portrait of engraver of precious stones. pontormo (near empoli). parish church. ss. john the evangelist and michael. e. rome. barberini gallery, 83. pygmalion and galatea. borghese gallery, 75. lucretia (?). 173. tobias and angel. l. 408. portrait of cardinal. corsini gallery, 577. bust of man. scotland. keir (dunblane), captain archibald stirling. portrait of bartolommeo compagni. newbattle abbey (dalkeith), marquess of lothian. portrait of youth. turin. 122. portrait of lady. vienna. 45. portrait of lady. l. 48. portrait of lady. l. 50. young man with letter (?).
-1439-1507. pupil of neri di bicci; influenced by benozzo gozzoli and alesso baldovinetti.
-agram (croatia). strossmayer collection. madonna and two angels. amsterdam. dr. otto lanz. madonna with st. joseph and two angels adoring child. berlin. 59. madonna, saints, and angels. l. 59a. glory of st. anne. 1471. (magazine.) 71. entombment. breslau. schlesisches museum. 171. madonna and infant john. cambridge. fitzwilliam museum, 556. madonna and four saints. 1493. cologne. 518. madonna, saints, and innocents. e. cortona. signor colonnesi. madonna with ss. jerome and antony of padua. düsseldorf. akademie, 110. madonna adoring child (?). eastnor castle (ledbury). lady henry somerset. madonna with ss. sebastian and michael. empoli. opera del duomo, 32. holy family and infant john. fiesole. duomo, salutati chapel. frescoes: various saints. florence. academy, 52. ss. barbara, john, and matthew. e. 160. nativity. 275. moses and abraham. 276. david and noah. uffizi, 50. coronation of virgin. 59. madonna adored by two angels. 65. adoration of magi. e. 65. (from s. m. nuova). madonna in clouds. 1280 bis. madonna, saints, and angels. 1492. via ricasoli. fresco in shrine: madonna enthroned and two angels. mr. b. berenson. madonna. corsini gallery, 339. tondo: madonna and angels adoring child. mme. finali, villa landau. preaching of st. bernardino. signor angelo orvieto. nativity. s. ambrogio, third altar l. assumption and predella. 1498. chapel of sacrament. frescoes: miraculous chalice, etc. 1486. ss. annunziata, l. cloister. fresco: st. filippo benizzi taking servite habit. 1476. s. croce, cappella medicea, over door. lunette: god and cherubim (?) s. maria maddalena dei pazzi. coronation of virgin. 1505. genoa. palazzo adorno. small triumphs. lille. 667. st. mary of egypt. liverpool. walker art gallery, 15. st. lawrence. london. 1196. combat of love and chastity. mr. charles butler. st. catherine of siena instituting her order. madonna and cherubs. lucca. duomo, wall l. of entrance. fresco: story of true cross. s francesco. frescoes: presentation of virgin, etc. milan. conte casatti. nativity. münster i./w. kunstverein, 33. madonna with gabriel and infant john. paris. 1656. annunciation and saints. 1471. musée des arts decoratifs. legs m. peyre, 253. madonna and two angels. mme. edouard andré. madonna and angels adoring child. m. joseph spiridon. portrait of man. philadelphia. mr. john g. johnson. madonna with child holding bird and pomegranate. e. reigate. the priory, mr. somers somerset. small descent from cross. rome. vatican, sixtine chapel. frescoes: christ preaching. moses destroying the tables of the law. last supper (but not the scenes visible through painted windows). all 1482. mr. ludwig mond. madonna and angel adoring child. turin. 106. triumph of chastity.
-1494-1541. pupil of andrea del sarto; influenced by pontormo and michelangelo.
-arezzo. sala ii, 6. christ bearing cross. borgo san sepolcro. orfanelle. deposition. città di castello. duomo. transfiguration. finished 1528. dijon. 68. bust of baptist. florence. pitti, 113. three fates. 237. madonna and saints. uffizi, 1241. angel playing guitar. madonna and four saints with two putti reading, 1517. bargello, della robbia room. fresco: justice. ss. annunziata, r. cloister. fresco: assumption. s. lorenzo. sposalizio. frankfort a./m. städelinstitut, 14. madonna. paris. 1485. pietà. 1486. challenge of the pierides. siena. portrait of young man. turin. armeria reale, f. 3. designs for buckler with wars of jugurtha and marius. venice. academy, 46. profile bust of man in red cloak and hat. vienna. count lanckoronski. madonna. e. two naked putti. volterra. municipio. deposition. 1521.
-sarto see andrea.
-jacopo del sellajo.
-1441 or 2-1493. pupil of fra filippo; influenced slightly by castagno's works; imitated most of his florentine contemporaries, especially botticelli, ghirlandajo, and amico di sandro.
-1397-1475. influenced by donatello.
-florence. uffizi, 52. battle of s. romano. duomo, wall above entrance. fresco; four heads of prophets. wall l. of entrance. fresco: equestrian portrait of sir john hawkwood. 1437. windows in drum of cupola (from his designs). resurrection; nativity; ascension; annunciation. 1443. s. maria novella, cloister. frescoes: creation of adam; creation of animals; creation and temptation of eve. e. the flood; sacrifice of noah. london. 583. battle of s. romano. 758. profile of lady (?). new york. metropolitan museum, marquand collection. profiles of woman and man of portinari family. oxford. university museum, 28. a hunt. paris. 1272. portraits of giotto, uccello, donatello, brunelleschi, and antonio manetti. l. 1273. battle of s. romano. mme. edouard andré. st. george and the dragon. urbino. ducal palace, 89. story of the jew and the host. 1468. vienna. count lanckoronski. st. george and the dragon.
-about 1400-1461. probably acquired his rudiments at venice; formed under the influence of donatello, masaccio, and fra angelico.
-berlin. 64. martyrdom of st. lucy. florence. uffizi, 1305. madonna and four saints. s. croce, r. wall. fresco: the baptist and st. francis. l. london. 766, 767. frescoes: heads of monks. 1215. fresco transferred to canvas: madonna enthroned.
-1435-1488. pupil of donatello and alesso baldovinetti, influenced by pesellino.
-berlin. 104a. madonna and angel. e. florence. academy, 71. baptism (in great part). uffizi, 1204. profile of lady (?). 3450. annunciation (possibly with assistance of credi). london. 296. madonna and two angels (designed and superintended by verrocchio). e. milan. poldi-pezzoli, 157. profile of young woman (?). e. paris. baron arthur schickler. madonna (designed and superintended by verrocchio). sheffield. ruskin museum. madonna adoring child (designed by verrocchio). vienna. prince liechtenstein, 32. portrait of lady.
-berlin. 93. sleeping youth (terra-cotta). 97a. entombment (terra-cotta). florence. bargello. david (bronze). bust of woman (marble). opera del duomo. decapitation of baptist (silver relief). 1480. uffizi. madonna and child (terra-cotta). palazzo vecchio, courtyard. boy with dolphin (bronze). s. lorenzo, sacristy. tomb of cosimo de' medici (bronze). 1472. inner sacristy. lavabo (marble) (in part). or san michele, outside: christ and st. thomas (bronze). finished 1483. paris. m. gustave dreyfus. bust of lady (marble). venice. piazza ss. giovanni e paolo. equestrian monument of bartolommeo colleoni (bronze). left unfinished at death.
-vinci see leonardo
-index of places.
-the flying-u's last stand
-by b. m. bower
-1. old ways and new
-2. andy green's new acquaintance
-3. the kid learns some things about horses
-4. andy takes a hand in the game
-5. the happy family turn nesters
-6. the first blow in the fight
-7. the coming of the colony
-8. florence grace hallman speaks plainly
-9. the happy family buys a bunch of cattle
-10. wherein andy green lies to a lady
-ll. the moving chapter in events
-12. shacks, livestock and pilgrims promptly and painfully removed
-13. irish works for the cause
-14. just one thing after another
-15. the kid has ideas of his own
-16. “a rell old cowpuncher”
-17. “lost child”
-18. the long way round
-19. her name was rosemary
-20. the rell old cowpuncher goes home
-21. the fight goes on
-22. lawful improvements
-23. the water question and some gossip
-24. the kid is used for a pawn in the game
-25. “little black shack's all burnt up!”
-26. rosemary allen does a small sum in addition
-27. “it's awful easy to get lost”
-28. as it turned out
-the flying u's last stand
-chapter 1. old ways and new
-progress is like the insidious change from youth to old age, except that progress does not mean decay. the change that is almost imperceptible and yet inexorable is much the same, however. you will see a community apparently changeless as the years pass by; and yet, when the years have gone and you look back, there has been a change. it is not the same. it never will be the same. it can pass through further change, but it cannot go back. men look back sick sometimes with longing for the things that were and that can be no more; they live the old days in memory--but try as they will they may not go back. with intelligent, persistent effort they may retard further change considerably, but that is the most that they can hope to do. civilization and time will continue the march in spite of all that man may do.
-that is the way it was with the flying u. old j. g. whitmore fought doggedly against the changing conditions--and he fought intelligently and well. when he saw the range dwindling and the way to the watering places barred against his cattle with long stretches of barbed wire, he sent his herds deeper into the badlands to seek what grazing was in the hidden, little valleys and the deep, sequestered canyons. he cut more hay for winter feeding, and he sowed his meadows to alfalfa that he might increase the crops. he shipped old cows and dry cows with his fat steers in the fall, and he bettered the blood of his herds and raised bigger cattle. therefore, if his cattle grew fewer in number, they improved in quality and prices went higher, so that the result was much the same.
-it began to look, then, as though j. g. whitmore was cunningly besting the situation, and was going to hold out indefinitely against the encroachments of civilization upon the old order of things on the range. and it had begun to look as though he was going to best time at his own game, and refuse also to grow old; as though he would go on being the same pudgy, grizzled, humorously querulous old man beloved of his men, the happy family of the flying u.
-sometimes, however, time will fill a four-flush with the joker, and then laugh while he rakes in the chips. j. g. whitmore had been going his way and refusing to grow old for a long time--and then an accident, which is time's joker, turned the game against him. he stood for just a second too long on a crowded crossing in chicago, hesitating between going forward or back. and that second gave time a chance to play an accident. a big seven-passenger touring car mowed him down and left him in a heap for the ambulance from the nearest hospital to gather on its stretcher.
-the old man did not die; he had lived long on the open range and he was pretty tough and hard to kill. he went back to his beloved flying u, with a crutch to help him shuffle from bed to easy chair and back again.
-the little doctor, who was his youngest sister, nursed him tirelessly; but it was long before there came a day when the old man gave his crutch to the kid to use for a stick-horse, and walked through the living room and out upon the porch with the help of a cane and the solicitous arm of the little doctor, and with the kid galloping gleefully before him on the crutch.
-later he discarded the help of somebody's arm, and hobbled down to the corral with the cane, and with the kid still galloping before him on “uncle gee gee's” crutch. he stood for some time leaning against the corral watching some of the boys halter-breaking a horse that was later to be sold--when he was “broke gentle”--and then he hobbled back again, thankful for the soft comfort of his big chair.
-that was well enough, as far as it went. the flying u took it for granted that the old man was slowly returning to the old order of life, when rheumatism was his only foe and he could run things with his old energy and easy good management. but there never came a day when the old man gave his cane to the kid to play with. there never came a day when he was not thankful for the soft comfort of his chair. there never came a day when he was the same old man who joshed the boys and scolded them and threatened them. the day was always coming--of course!--when his back would quit aching if he walked to the stable and back without a long rest between, but it never actually arrived.
-so, imperceptibly but surely, the old man began to grow old. the thin spot on top of his head grew shiny, so that the kid noticed it and made blunt comments upon the subject. his rheumatism was not his worst foe, now. he had to pet his digestive apparatus and cut out strong coffee with three heaping teaspoons of sugar in each cup, because the little doctor told him his liver was torpid. he had to stop giving the kid jolty rides on his knees,--but that was because the kid was getting too big for baby play, the old man declared. the kid was big enough to ride real horses, now, and he ought to be ashamed to ride knee-horses any more.
-to two things the old man clung almost fiercely; the old regime of ranging his cattle at large and starting out the wagons in the spring just the same as if twenty-five men instead of twelve went with them; and the retention of the happy family on his payroll, just as if they were actually needed. if one of the boys left to try other things and other fields, the old man considered him gone on a vacation and expected him back when spring roundup approached.
-true, he was seldom disappointed in that. for the happy family looked upon the flying u as home, and six months was about the limit for straying afar. cowpunchers to the bone though they were, they bent backs over irrigating ditches and sweated in the hay fields just for the sake of staying together on the ranch. i cannot say that they did it uncomplainingly--for the bunk-house was saturated to the ridge-pole with their maledictions while they compared blistered hands and pitchfork callouses, and mourned the days that were gone; the days when they rode far and free and scorned any work that could not be done from the saddle. but they stayed, and they did the ranch work as well as the range work, which is the main point.
-they became engaged to certain girls who filled their dreams and all their waking thoughts--but they never quite came to the point of marrying and going their way. except pink, who did marry impulsively and unwisely, and who suffered himself to be bullied and called percy for seven months or so, and who balked at leaving the flying u for the city and a vicarious existence in theaterdom, and so found himself free quite as suddenly as he had been tied.
-they intended to marry and settle down--sometime. but there was always something in the way of carrying those intentions to fulfillment, so that eventually the majority of the happy family found themselves not even engaged, but drifting along toward permanent bachelorhood. being of the optimistic type, however, they did not worry; pink having set before them a fine example of the failure of marriage and having returned with manifest relief to the freedom of the bunk-house.
-chapter 2. andy green's new acquaintance
-andy green, chief prevaricator of the happy family of the flying u--and not ashamed of either title or connection--pushed his new stetson back off his untanned forehead, attempted to negotiate the narrow passage into a pullman sleeper with his suitcase swinging from his right hand, and butted into a woman who was just emerging from the dressing-room. he butted into her so emphatically that he was compelled to swing his left arm out very quickly, or see her go headlong into the window opposite; for a fullsized suitcase propelled forward by a muscular young man may prove a very efficient instrument of disaster, especially if it catches one just in the hollow back of the knee. the woman tottered and grasped andy convulsively to save herself a fall, and so they stood blocking the passage until the porter arrived and took the suitcase from andy with a tip-inviting deference.
-andy apologized profusely, with a quaint, cowpunchery phrasing that caused the woman to take a second look at him. and, since andy green would look good to any woman capable of recognizing--and appreciating--a real man when she saw him, she smiled and said it didn't matter in the least.
-that was the beginning of the acquaintance. andy took her by her plump, chiffon-veiled arm and piloted her to her seat, and he afterward tipped the porter generously and had his own belongings deposited in the section across the aisle. then, with the guile of a foreign diplomat, he betook himself to the smoking-room and stayed there for three quarters of an hour. he was not taking any particular risk of losing the opportunity of an unusually pleasant journey, for the dollar he had invested in the goodwill of the porter had yielded the information that the lady was going through to great falls. since andy had boarded the train at harlem there was plenty of time to kill between there and dry lake, which was his destination.
-the lady smiled at him rememberingly when finally he seated himself across the aisle from her, and without any serious motive andy smiled back. so presently they were exchanging remarks about the journey. later on, andy went over and sat beside her and conversation began in earnest. her name, it transpired, was florence grace hallman. andy read it engraved upon a card which added the information that she was engaged in the real estate business--or so the three or four words implied. “homemakers' syndicate, minneapolis and st. paul,” said the card. andy was visibly impressed thereby. he looked at her with swift appraisement and decided that she was “all to the good.”
-florence grace hallman was tall and daintily muscular as to figure. her hair was a light yellow--not quite the shade which peroxide gives, and therefore probably natural. her eyes were brown, a shade too close together but cool and calm and calculating in their gaze, and her eyebrows slanted upward a bit at the outer ends and were as heavy as beauty permitted. her lips were very red, and her chin was very firm. she looked the successful business woman to her fingertips, and she was eminently attractive for a woman of that self-assured type.
-andy was attractive also, in a purely western way. his gray eyes were deceivingly candid and his voice was pleasant with a little, humorous drawl that matched well the quirk of his lips when he talked. he was headed for home--which was the flying u--sober and sunny and with enough money to see him through. he told florence hallman his name, and said that he lived “up the road a ways” without being too definite. florence hallman lived in minneapolis, she said; though she traveled most of the time, in the interests of her firm.
-yes, she liked the real estate business. one had a chance to see the world, and keep in touch with people and things. she liked the west especially well. since her firm had taken up the homeseekers' line she spent most of her time in the west.
-they had supper--she called it dinner, andy observed--together, and andy green paid the check, which was not so small. it was after that, when they became more confidential, that florence hallman, with the egotism of the successful person who believes herself or himself to be of keen interest to the listener spoke in greater detail of her present mission.
-her firm's policy was, she said, to locate a large tract of government land somewhere, and then organize a homeseekers' colony, and settle the land-hungry upon the tract--at so much per hunger. she thought it a great scheme for both sides of the transaction. the men who wanted claims got them. the firm got the fee for showing them the land--and certain other perquisites at which she merely hinted.
-she thought that andy himself would be a success at the business. she was quick to form her opinions of people whom she met, and she knew that andy was just the man for such work. andy, listening with his candid, gray eyes straying often to her face and dwelling there, modestly failed to agree with her. he did not know the first thing about the real estate business, he confessed, nor very much about ranching. oh, yes--he lived in this country, and he knew that pretty well, but--
-“the point is right here,” said florence grace hallman, laying her pink fingertips upon his arm and glancing behind her to make sure that they were practically alone--their immediate neighbors being still in the diner. “i'm speaking merely upon impulse--which isn't a wise thing to do, ordinarily. but--well, your eyes vouch for you, mr. green, and we women are bound to act impulsively sometimes--or we wouldn't be women, would we?” she laughed--rather, she gave a little, infectious giggle, and took away her fingers, to the regret of andy who liked the feel of them on his forearm.
-“the point is here. i've recognized the fact, all along, that we need a man stationed right here, living in the country, who will meet prospective homesteaders and talk farming; keep up their enthusiasm; whip the doubters into line; talk climate and soil and the future of the country; look the part, you understand.”
-“so i look like a rube, do i?” andy's lips quirked a half smile at her.
-“no, of course you don't!” she laid her fingers on his sleeve again, which was what andy wanted--what he had intended to bait her into doing; thereby proving that, in some respects at least, he amply justified hiss hallman in her snap judgment of him.
-“of course you don't look like a rube! i don't want you to. but you do look western--because you are western to the bone besides, you look perfectly dependable. nobody could look into your eyes and even think of doubting the truth of any statement you made to them.” andy snickered mentally at that though his eyes never lost their clear candor. “and,” she concluded, “being a bona fide resident of the country, your word would carry more weight than mine if i were to talk myself black in the face!”
-“that's where you're dead wrong,” andy hastened to correct her.
-“well, you must let me have my own opinion, mr. green. you would be convincing enough, at any rate. you see, there is a certain per cent of--let us call it waste effort--in this colonization business. we have to reckon on a certain number of nibblers who won't bite”--andy's honest, gray eyes widened a hair's breadth at the frankness of her language--“when they get out here. they swallow the folders we send out, but when they get out here and see the country, they can't see it as a rich farming district, and they won't invest. they go back home and knock, if they do anything.
-“my idea is to stop that waste; to land every homeseeker that boards our excursion trains. and i believe the way to do that is to have the right kind of a man out here, steer the doubtfuls against him--and let his personality and his experience do the rest. they're hungry enough to come, you see; the thing is to keep them here. a man that lives right here, that has all the earmarks of the west, and is not known to be affiliated with our syndicate (you could have rigs to hire, and drive the doubtfuls to the tract)--don't you see what an enormous advantage he'd have? the class i speak of are the suspicious ones--those who are from missouri. they're inclined to want salt with what we say about the resources of the country. even our chemical analysis of the soil, and weather bureau dope, don't go very far with those hicks. they want to talk with someone who has tried it, you see.”
-“i--see,” said andy thoughtfully, and his eyes narrowed a trifle. “on the square, miss hallman, what are the natural advantages out here--for farming? what line of talk do you give those come-ons?”
-miss hallman laughed and made a very pretty gesture with her two ringed hands. “whatever sounds the best to them,” she said. “if they write and ask about spuds we come back with illustrated folders of potato crops and statistics of average yields and prices and all that. if it's dairy, we have dairy folders. and so on. it isn't any fraud--there are sections of the country that produce almost anything, from alfalfa to strawberries. you know that,” she challenged.
-“sure. but i didn't know there was much tillable land left lying around loose,” he ventured to say.
-again miss hallman made the pretty gesture, which might mean much or nothing. “there's plenty of land 'lying around loose,' as you call it. how do you know it won't produce, till it has been tried?”
-“that's right,” andy assented uneasily. “if there's water to put on it--”
-“and since there is the land, our business lies in getting people located on it. the towns and the railroads are back of us. that is, they look with favor upon bringing settlers into the country. it increases the business of the country--the traffic, the freights, the merchants' business, everything.”
-andy puckered his eyebrows and looked out of the window upon a great stretch of open, rolling prairie, clothed sparely in grass that was showing faint green in the hollows, and with no water for miles--as he knew well--except for the rivers that hurried through narrow bottom lands guarded by high bluffs that were for the most part barren. the land was there, all right. but--
-“what i can't see,” he observed after a minute during which miss florence hallman studied his averted face, “what i can't see is, where do the settlers get off at?”
-“at easy street, if they're lucky enough,” she told him lightly. “my business is to locate them on the land. getting a living off it is their business. and,” she added defensively, “people do make a living on ranches out here.”
-“that's right,” he agreed again--he was finding it very pleasant to agree with florence grace hallman. “mostly off stock, though.”
-“yes, and we encourage our clients to bring out all the young stock they possibly can; young cows and horses and--all that sort of thing. there's quantities of open country around here, that even the most optimistic of homeseekers would never think of filing on. they can make out, all right, i guess. we certainly urge them strongly to bring stock with them. it's always been famous as a cattle country--that's one of our highest cards. we tell them--”
-“how do you do that? do you go right to them and talk to them?”
-“yes, if they show a strong enough interest--and bank account. i follow up the best prospects and visit them in person. i've talked to fifty horny-handed he-men in the past month.”
-“then i don't see what you need of anyone to bring up the drag,” andy told her admiringly. “if you talk to 'em, there oughtn't be any drag!”
-“thank you for the implied compliment. but there is a 'drag,' as you call it. there's going to be a big one, too, i'm afraid--when they get out and see this tract we're going to work off this spring.” she stopped and studied him as a chess player studies the board.
-“i'm very much tempted to tell you something i shouldn't tell,” she said at length, lowering her voice a little. “remember, andy green was a very good looking man, and his eyes were remarkable for their clear, candid gaze straight into your own eyes. even as keen a business woman as florence grace hallman must be forgiven for being deceived by them. i'm tempted to tell you where this tract is. you may know it.”
-“you better not, unless you're willing to take a chance,” he told her soberly. “if it looks too good, i'm liable to jump it myself.”
-miss hallman laughed and twisted her red lips at him in what might be construed as a flirtatious manner. she was really quite taken with andy green. “i'll take a chance. i don't think you'll jump it. do you know anything about dry lake, up above havre, toward great falls--and the country out east of there, towards the mountains?”
-the fingers of andy green closed into his palms. his eyes, however, continued to look into hers with his most guileless expression.
-“y-es--that is, i've ridden over it,” he acknowledged simply.
-“well--now this is a secret; at least we don't want those mossback ranchers in there to get hold of it too soon, though they couldn't really do anything, since it's all government land and the lease has only just run out. there's a high tract lying between the bear paws and--do you know where the flying u ranch is?”
-“about where it is--yes.”
-“well, it's right up there on that plateau--bench, you call it out here. there are several thousand acres along in there that we're locating settlers on this spring. we're just waiting for the grass to get nice and green, and the prairie to get all covered with those blue, blue wind flowers, and the meadow larks to get busy with their nests, and then we're going to bring them out and--” she spread her hands again. it seemed a favorite gesture grown into a habit, and it surely was more eloquent than words. “these prairies will be a dream of beauty, in a little while,” she said. “i'm to watch for the psychological time to bring out the seekers. and if i could just interest you, mr. green, to the extent of being somewhere around dry lake, with a good team that you will drive for hire and some samples of oats and dry-land spuds and stuff that you raised on your claim--” she eyed him sharply for one so endearingly feminine. “would you do it? there'd be a salary, and besides that a commission on each doubter you landed. and i'd just love to have you for one of my assistants.”
-“it sure sounds good,” andy flirted with the proposition, and let his eyes soften appreciably to meet her last sentence and the tone in which she spoke it. “do you think i could get by with the right line of talk with the doubters?”
-“i think you could,” she said, and in her voice there was a cooing note. “study up a little on the right dope, and i think you could convince--even me.”
-“could i?” andy green knew that cooing note, himself, and one a shade more provocative. “i wonder!”
-a man came down the aisle at that moment, gave andy a keen glance and went on with a cigar between his fingers. andy scowled frankly, sighed and straightened his shoulders.
-“that's what i call hard luck,” he grumbled, “got to see that man before he gets off the train--and the h--worst of it is, i don't know just what station he'll get off at.” he sighed again. “i've got a deal on,” he told her confidentially, “that's sure going to keep me humping if i pull loose so as to go in with you. how long did you say?”
-“probably two weeks, the way spring is opening out here. i'd want you to get perfectly familiar with our policy and the details of our scheme before they land. i'd want you to be familiar with that tract and be able to show up its best points when you take seekers out there. you'd be so much better than one of our own men, who have the word 'agent' written all over them. you'll come back and--talk it over won't you?” for andy was showing unmistakable symptoms of leaving her to follow the man.
-“you know it,” he declared in a tone of “i won't sleep nights till this thing is settled--and settled right.” he gave her a smile that rather dazzled the lady, got up with much reluctance and with a glance that had in it a certain element of longing went swaying down the aisle after the man who had preceded him.
-andy's business with the man consisted solely in mixing cigarette smoke with cigar smoke and of helping to stare moodily out of the window. words there were none, save when andy was proffered a match and muttered his thanks. the silent session lasted for half an hour. then the man got up and went out, and the breath of andy green paused behind his nostrils until he saw that the man went only to the first section in the car and settled there behind a spread newspaper, invisible to florence grace hallman unless she searched the car and peered over the top of the paper to see who was behind.
-after that andy green continued to stare out of the window, seeing nothing of the scenery but the flicker of telegraph posts before his eyes that were visioning the future.
-the flying u ranch hemmed in by homesteaders from the east, he saw; homesteaders who were being urged to bring all the stock they could, and turn it loose upon the shrinking range. homesteaders who would fence the country into squares, and tear up the grass and sow grain that might never bear a harvest. homesteaders who would inevitably grow poorer upon the land that would suck their strength and all their little savings and turn them loose finally to forage a living where they might. homesteaders who would ruin the land that ruined them.... it was not a pleasing picture, but it was more pleasing than the picture he saw of the flying u after these human grass hoppers had settled there.
-the range that fed the flying u stock would feed no more and hide their ribs at shipping time. that he knew too well. old j. g. whitmore and chip would have to sell out. and that was like death; indeed, it is death of a sort, when one of the old outfits is wiped out of existence. it had happened before--happened too often to make pleasant memories for andy green, who could name outfit after outfit that had been forced out of business by the settling of the range land; who could name dozens of cattle brands once seen upon the range, and never glimpsed now from spring roundup until fall.
-must the flying u brand disappear also? the good old flying u, for whose existence the old man had fought and schemed since first was raised the cry that the old range was passing? the flying u that had become a part of his life? andy let his cigarette grow cold; he roused only to swear at the porter who entered with dust cloth and a deprecating grin.
-after that, andy thought of florence grace hallman--and his eyes were not particularly sentimental. there was a hard line about his mouth also; though florence grace hallman was but a pawn in the game, after all, and not personally guilty of half the deliberate crimes andy laid upon her dimpled shoulders. with her it was pure, cold-blooded business, this luring of the land-hungry to a land whose fertility was at best problematical; who would, for a price, turn loose the victims of her greed to devastate what little grazing ground was left.
-the train neared havre. andy roused himself, rang for the porter and sent him after his suitcase and coat. then he sauntered down the aisle, stopped beside florence grace hallman and smiled down at her with a gleam behind the clear candor of his eyes.
-“hard luck, lady,” he murmured, leaning toward her. “i'm just simply loaded to the guards with responsibilities, and here's where i get off. but i'm sure glad i met yuh, and i'll certainly think day and night about you and--all you told me about. i'd like to get in on this land deal. fact is, i'm going to make it my business to get in on it. maybe my way of working won't suit you--but i'll sure work hard for any boss and do the best i know how.”
-“i think that will suit me,” miss hallman assured him, and smiled unsuspectingly up into his eyes, which she thought she could read so easily. “when shall i see you again? could you come to great falls in the next ten days? i shall be stopping at the park. or if you will leave me your address--”
-“no use. i'll be on the move and a letter wouldn't get me. i'll see yuh later, anyway. i'm bound to. and when i do, we'll get down to cases. good bye.”
-he was turning away when miss hallman put out a soft, jewelled hand. she thought it was diffidence that made andy green hesitate perceptibly before he took it. she thought it was simply a masculine shyness and confusion that made him clasp her fingers loosely and let them go on the instant. she did not see him rub his palm down the leg of his dark gray trousers as he walked down the aisle, and if she had she would not have seen any significance in the movement.
-andy green did that again before he stepped off the train. for he felt that he had shaken hands with a traitor to himself and his outfit, and it went against the grain. that the traitor was a woman, and a charming woman at that, only intensified his resentment against her. a man can fight a man and keep his self respect; but a man does mortally dread being forced into a position where he must fight a woman.
-chapter 3. the kid learns some things about horses
-being six years old and big for his age, and being called buck by his friends, the happy family, the kid decided that he should have a man's-sized horse of his own, to feed and water and ride and proudly call his “string.” having settled that important point, he began to cast about him for a horse worthy his love and ownership, and speedily he decided that matter also.
-therefore, he ran bareheaded up to the blacksmith shop where daddy chip was hammering tunefully upon the anvil, and delivered his ultimatum from the door way.
-“silver's going to be my string, daddy chip, and i'm going to feed him myself and ride him myself and nobody else can touch him 'thout i say they can.”
-“yes?” chip squinted along a dully-glowing iron bar, laid it back upon the anvil and gave it another whack upon the side that still bulged a little.
-“yes, and i'm going to saddle him myself and everything. and i want you to get me some jingling silver spurs like mig has got, with chains that hang away down and rattle when you walk.” the kid lifted one small foot and laid a grimy finger in front of his heel by way of illustration.
-“yes?” chip's eyes twinkled briefly and immediately became intent upon his work.
-“yes, and doctor dell has got to let me sleep in the bunk-house with the rest of the fellers. and i ain't going to wear a nightie once more! i don't have to, do i, daddy chip? not with lace on it. happy jack says i'm a girl long as i wear lace nighties, and i ain't a girl. am i, daddy chip?”
-“i should say not!” chip testified emphatically, and carried the iron bar to the forge for further heating.
-“i'm going on roundup too, tomorrow afternoon.” the kid's conception of time was extremely sketchy and had no connection whatever with the calendar. “i'm going to keep silver in the little corral and let him sleep in the box stall where his leg got well that time he broke it. i 'member when he had a rag tied on it and teased for sugar. and the countess has got to quit a kickin' every time i need sugar for my string. ain't she, daddy chip? she's got to let us men alone or there'll be something doing!”
-“i'd tell a man,” said chip inattentively, only half hearing the war-like declaration of his offspring--as is the way with busy fathers.
-“i'm going to take a ride now on silver. i guess i'll ride in to dry lake and get the mail--and i'm 'pletely outa the makings, too.”
-“uh-hunh--a--what's that? you keep off silver. he'll kick the daylights out of you, kid. where's your hat? didn't your mother tell you she'd tie a sunbonnet on you if you didn't keep your hat on? you better hike back and get it, young man, before she sees you.”
-the kid stared mutinously from the doorway. “you said i could have silver. what's the use of having a string if a feller can't ride it? and i can ride him, and he don't kick at all. i rode him just now, in the little pasture to see if i liked his gait better than the others. i rode banjo first and i wouldn't own a thing like him, on a bet. silver'll do me till i can get around to break a real one.”
-chip's hand dropped from the bellows while he stared hard at the kid. “did you go down in the pasture and--words failed him just then.
-“i'd tell a man i did!” the kid retorted, with a perfect imitation of chip's manner and tone when crossed. “i've been trying out all the darned benchest you've got--and there ain't a one i'd give a punched nickel for but silver. i'd a rode shootin' star, only he wouldn't stand still so i could get onto him. whoever broke him did a bum job. the horse i break will stand, or i'll know the reason why. silver'll stand, all right. and i can guide him pretty well by slapping his neck. you did a pretty fair job when you broke silver,” the kid informed his father patronizingly.
-chip said something which the kid was not supposed to hear, and sat suddenly down upon the stone rim of the forge. it had never before occurred to chip that his kid was no longer a baby, but a most adventurous man-child who had lived all his life among men and whose mental development had more than kept pace with his growing body. he had laughed with the others at the kid's quaint precociousness of speech and at his frank worship of range men and range life. he had gone to some trouble to find a tractable shetland pony the size of a burro, and had taught the kid to ride, decorously and fully protected from accident.
-he and the little doctor had been proud of the kid's masculine traits as they manifested themselves in the management of that small specimen of horse flesh. that the kid should have outgrown so quickly his content with stubby seemed much more amazing than it really was. he eyed the kid doubtfully for a minute, and then grinned.
-“all that don't let you out on the hat question,” he said, evading the real issue and laying stress upon the small matter of obedience, as is the exasperating habit of parents. “you don't see any of the bunch going around bareheaded. only women and babies do that.”
-“the bunch goes bareheaded when they get their hats blowed off in the creek,” the kid pointed out unmoved. “i've seen you lose your hat mor'n once, old timer. that's nothing.” he sent chip a sudden, adorable smile which proclaimed him the child of his mother and which never failed to thrill chip secretly,--it was so like the little doctor. “you lend me your hat for a while, dad,” he said. “she never said what hat i had to wear, just so it's a hat. honest to gran'ma, my hat's in the creek and i couldn't poke it out with a stick or anything. it sailed into the swimmin' hole. i was goin' to go after it,” he explained further, “but--a snake was swimmin--and i hated to 'sturb him.”
-chip drew a sharp breath and for one panicky moment considered imperative the hiring of a body-guard for his kid.
-“you keep out of the pasture, young man!” his tone was stern to match his perturbation. “and you leave silver alone--”
-the kid did not wait for more. he lifted up his voice and wept in bitterness of spirit. wept so that one could hear him a mile. wept so that j. g. whitmore reading the great falls tribune on the porch, laid down his paper and asked the world at large what ailed that doggoned kid now.
-“dell, you better go see what's wrong,” he called afterwards through the open door to the little doctor, who was examining a jar of germ cultures in her “office.” “chances is he's fallen off the stable or something--though he sounds more mad than hurt. if it wasn't for my doggoned back--”
-the little doctor passed him hurriedly. when her man-child wept, it needed no suggestion from j. g. or anyone else to send her flying to the rescue. so presently she arrived breathless at the blacksmith shop' and found chip within, looking in urgent need of reinforcements, and the kid yelling ragefully beside the door and kicking the log wall with vicious boot-tees.
-“shut up now or i'll spank you!” chip was saying desperately when his wife appeared. “i wish you'd take that kid and tie him up, dell,” he added snappishly. “here he's been riding all the horses in the little pasture--and taking a chance on breaking his neck! and he ain't satisfied with stubby--he thinks he's entitled to silver!”
-“well, why not? there, there, honey--men don't cry when things go wrong--”
-“no--because they can take it out in cussing!” wailed the kid. “i wouldn't cry either, if you'd let me swear all i want to!”
-chip turned his back precipitately and his shoulders were seen to shake. the little doctor looked shocked.
-the gray-blue eyes clashed with the brown. “it wouldn't hurt anything to let the poor little tad show us what he can do,” said the gray-blue eyes.
-“oh--all right,” yielded the brown, and their owner threw the iron bar upon the cooling forge and began to turn down his sleeves. “why don't you make him wear a hat?” he asked reprovingly. “a little more and he won't pay any attention to anything you tell him. i'd carry out that sunbonnet bluff, anyway, if i were you.”
-“now, daddy chip! i 'splained to you how i lost my hat,” reproached the kid, clinging fast to the little doctor's hand.
-“yes--and you 'splained that you'd have gone into that deep hole and drowned--with nobody there to pull you out--if you hadn't been scared of a water snake,” chip pointed out relentlessly.
-“i wasn't 'zactly scared,” amended the kid gravely. “he was havin' such a good time, and he was swimmin' around so--comf'table--and it wasn't polite to 'sturb him. can't i have silver?”
-“we'll go down and ask silver what he thinks about it,” said the little doctor, anxious to make peace between her two idols. “and we'll see if daddy chip can get the hat. you must wear a hat, honey; you know what mother told you--and you know mother keeps her word.”
-“i wish dad did,” the kid commented, passing over the hat question. “he said i could have silver, and keep him in a box stall and feed him my own self and water him my own self and nobody's to touch him but me.”
-“well, if daddy said all that--we'll have to think it over, and consult silver and see what he has to say about it.”
-silver, when consulted, professed at least a willingness to own the kid for his master. he did indeed come trotting up for sugar; and when he had eaten two grimy lumps from the kid's grimier hand, he permitted the kid to entice him up to a high rock, and stood there while the kid clambered upon the rock and from there to his sleek back. he even waited until the kid gathered a handful of silky mane and kicked him on the ribs; then he started off at a lope, while the kid risked his balance to cast a triumphant grin--that had a gap in the middle--back at his astonished parents.
-the little doctor sighed a bit. and the kid, circling grandly on the far side of the little pasture, came galloping back to hear the verdict. it pleased him--though he was inclined to mistake a great privilege for a right that must not be denied. he commanded his daddy chip to open the gate for him so he could ride silver to the stable and put him in the box stall; which was a superfluous kindness, as chip tried to point out and failed to make convincing.
-the kid wanted silver in the box stall, where he could feed him and water him his own self. so into the box stall silver reluctantly went, and spent a greater part of the day with his head stuck out through the window, staring enviously at his mates in the pasture.
-for several days chip watched the kid covertly whenever his small feet strayed stableward; watched and was full of secret pride at the manner in which the kid rose to his new responsibility. never did a “string” receive the care which silver got, and never did rider sit more proudly upon his steed than did the kid sit upon silver. there seemed to be practically no risk--chip was amazed at the kid's ability to ride. besides, silver was growing old--fourteen years being considered ripe old age in a horse. he was more given to taking life with a placid optimism that did not startle easily. he carried the kid's light weight easily, and he had not lost all his springiness of muscle. the little doctor rode him sometimes, and loved his smooth gallop and his even temper; now she loved him more when she saw how careful he was of the kid. she besought the kid to be careful of silver also, and was most manfully snubbed for her solicitude.
-the kid had owned silver for a week, and considered that he was qualified to give advice to the happy family, including his daddy chip, concerning the proper care of horses. he stood with his hands upon his hips and his feet far apart, and spat into the corral dust and told big medicine that nobody but a pilgrim ever handled a horse the way big medicine was handling deuce. whereat big medicine gave a bellowing haw-haw-haw and choked it suddenly when he saw that the kid desired him to take the criticism seriously.
-“all right, buck,” he acceded humbly, winking openly at the native son. “i'll try m'best, old-timer. trouble with me is, i never had nobody to learn me how to handle a hoss.”
-“well, you've got me, now,” buck returned calmly. “i don't ride my string without brushing the hay out of his tail. there's a big long hay stuck in your horse's tail.” he pointed an accusing finger, and big medicine silently edged close to douce's rump and very carefully removed the big, long hay. he took a fine chance of getting himself kicked, but he did not tell the kid that.
-“that all right now, buck?” big medicine wanted to know, when he had accomplished the thing without accident.
-“oh, it'll do,” was the frugal praise he got. “i've got to go and feed my string, now. and after a while i'll water him. you want to feed your horse always before you water him, 'cause eatin' makes him firsty. you 'member that, now.”
-“i'll sure try to, buck,” big medicine promised soberly, and watched the kid go striding away with his hat tilted at the approved happy-family angle and his small hands in his pockets. big medicine was thinking of his own kid, and wondering what he was like, and if he remembered his dad. he waved his hand in cordial farewell when the kid looked back and wrinkled his nose in the adorable, little-doctor smile he had, and turned his attention to deuce.
-the kid made straight for the box stall and told silver hello over the half door. silver turned from gazing out of the window, and came forward expectantly, and the kid told him to wait a minute and not be so impatience then he climbed upon a box, got down a heavy canvas nose-bag with leather bottom, and from a secret receptacle behind the oats box he brought a paper bag of sugar and poured about a teacupful into the bag. daddy chip had impressed upon him what would be the tragic consequences if he fed oats to silver five times a day. silver would die, and it would be the kid that killed him. daddy chip had not said anything about sugar being fatal, however, and the countess could not always stand guard over the sugar sack. so silver had a sweet taste in his mouth twelve hours of the twenty-four, and was getting a habit of licking his lips reminiscently during the other twelve.
-the kid had watched the boys adjust nose bags ever since he could toddle. he lugged it into the stall, set it artfully upon the floor and let silver thrust in his head to the eyes: then he pulled the strap over silver's neck and managed to buckle it very securely. he slapped the sleek neck afterward as his daddy chip did, hugged it the way doctor dell did, and stood back to watch silver revel in the bag.
-“'s good lickums?” he asked gravely, because he had once heard his mother ask silver that very question, in almost that very tone.
-at that moment an uproar outside caught his youthful attention. he listened a minute, heard pink's voice and a shout of laughter, and ran to see what was going on; for where was excitement, there the kid was also, as nearly in the middle of it as he could manage. his going would not have mattered to silver, had he remembered to close the half-door of the stall behind him; even that would not have mattered, had he not left the outer door of the stable open also.
-the cause of the uproar does not greatly matter, except that the kid became so rapturously engaged in watching the foolery of the happy family that he forgot all about silver. and since sugar produces thirst, and silver had not smelled water since morning, he licked the last sweet grain from the inside of the nose bag and then walked out of the stall and the stable and made for the creek--and a horse cannot drink with a nose bag fastened over his face. all he can do, if he succeeds in getting his nose into the water, is to drown himself most expeditiously and completely.
-he was a dead horse, to all appearances at least, when slim spied him and gave a yell to bring every human being on the ranch at a run. the kid came with the rest, gave one scream and hid his face in the little doctor's skirts, and trembled so that his mother was more frightened for him than for the horse, and had chip carry him to the house where he could not watch the first-aid efforts of the happy family.
-they did not say anything, much. by their united strength they pulled silver up the bank so that his limp head hung downward. then they began to work over him exactly as if he had been a drowned man, except that they did not, of course, roll him over a barrel. they moved his legs backward and forward, they kneaded his paunch, they blew into his nostrils, they felt anxiously for heart-beats. they sweated and gave up the fight, saying that it was no use. they saw a quiver of the muscles over the chest and redoubled their efforts, telling one another hopefully that he was alive, all right. they saw finally a quiver of the nostrils as well, and one after another they laid palms upon his heart, felt there a steady beating and proclaimed the fact profanely.
-they pulled him then into a more comfortable position where the sun shone warmly and stood around him in a crude circle and watched for more pronounced symptoms of recovery, and sent word to the kid that his string was going to be all right in a little while.
-the information was lost upon the kid, who wept hysterically in his daddy chip's arms listen to anything they told him. he had seen silver stretched out dead, with his back in the edge of the creek and his feet sprawled at horrible angles, and the sight obsessed him and forbade comfort. he had killed his string; nothing was clear in his mind save that, and he screamed with his face hidden from his little world.
-the little doctor, with anxious eyes and puckered eyebrows, poured something into a teaspoon and helped chip fight to get it down the kid's throat. and the kid shrieked and struggled and strangled, as is the way of kids the world over, and tried to spit out the stuff and couldn't, so he screamed the louder and held his breath until he was purple, and his parents were scared stiff. the old man hobbled to the door in the midst of the uproar and asked them acrimoniously why they didn't make that doggoned kid stop his howling; and when chip, his nerves already strained to the snapping point, told him bluntly to get out and mind his own business, he hobbled away again muttering anathemas against the whole outfit.
-the countess rushed in from out of doors and wanted to know what under the shinin' sun was the matter with that kid, and advised his frantic parents to throw water in his face. chip told her exactly what he had told the old man, in exactly the same tone; so the countess retreated, declaring that he wouldn't be let to act that way if he was her kid, and that he was plumb everlastingly spoiled.
-it was into this storm centre that andy green rode headlong with his own burden of threatened disaster.
-chapter 4. andy takes a hand in the game
-andy green was a day late in arriving at the flying u. first he lost time by leaving the train thirty miles short of the destination marked on his ticket, and when he did resume his journey on the next train, he traveled eighty-four miles beyond dry lake, which landed him in great falls in the early morning. there, with the caution of a criminal carefully avoiding a meeting with miss hallman, he spent an hour in poring over a plat of a certain section of chouteau county, and in copying certain description of unoccupied land.
-he had not slept very well the night before and he looked it. he had cogitated upon the subject of land speculations and the welfare of his outfit until his head was one great, dull ache; but he stuck to his determination to do something to block the game of the homeseekers' syndicate. just what that something would be he had not yet decided. but on general principles it seemed wise to learn all he could concerning the particular tract of land about which florence grace hallman had talked.
-the day was past when range rights might be defended honorably with rifles and six-shooters and iron nerved men to use them--and i fear that andy green sighed because it was so. give him the “bunch” and free swing, and he thought the homeseekers would lose their enthusiasm before even the first hot wind blew up from the southwest to wither their crops. but such measures were not to be thought of; if they fought at all they must fight with the law behind them--and even andy's optimism did not see much hope from the law; none, in fact, since both the law and the moneyed powers were eager for the coming of homebuilders into that wide land. all up along the marias they had built their board shacks, and back over the benches as far as one could see. there was nothing to stop them, everything to make their coming easy.
-andy scowled at the plat he was studying, and admitted to himself that it looked as though the home seekers' syndicate were going to have things their own way; unless--there he stuck. there must be some way out; never in his life had he faced a situation which had been absolutely hopeless; always there had been some chance to win, if a man only saw it in time and took it. in this case it was the clerk in the office who pointed the way with an idle remark.
-“going to take up a claim, are you?”
-andy looked up at him with the blank stare of preoccupation, and changed expression as the question filtered into his brain and fitted somehow into the puzzle. he grinned, said maybe he would, folded the sheet of paper filled with what looked like a meaningless jumble of letters and figures, bought a plat of that township and begged some government pamphlets, and went out humming a little tune just above a whisper. at the door he tilted his hat down at an angle over his right eye and took long, eager steps toward an obscure hotel and his meagre baggage.
-there was no train going east until midnight, and he caught that train. this time he actually got off at dry lake, ate a hurried breakfast, got his horse out of the livery stable and dug up the dust of the lane with rapid hoof-beats so that he rode all the way to the first hill followed by a rolling, gray cloud that never quite caught him.
-when he rode down the hog's back he saw the happy family bunched around some object on the creek-bank, and he heard the hysterical screaming of the kid up in the house, and saw the old man limping excitedly up and down the porch. a man less astute than andy green would have known that some thing had happened. he hurried down the last slope, galloped along the creek-bottom, crossed the ford in a couple of leaps and pulled up beside the group that surrounded silver.
-“what's been taking place here?” he demanded curiously, skipping the usual greetings.
-“hell,” said the native son succinctly, glancing up at him.
-“old silver looked over the fence into kingdom come,” weary enlarged the statement a little. “tried to take a drink with a nose bag on. i guess he'll come through all right.”
-“what ails the kid?” andy demanded, glancing toward the house whence issued a fresh outburst of shrieks.
-the happy family looked at one another and then at the white house.
-“aw, some folks hain't got a lick of sense when it comes to kids,” big medicine accused gruffly.
-“the kid,” weary explained, “put the nose bag on silver and then left the stable door open.”
-“they ain't--spanking him for it, are they?” andy demanded belligerently. “by gracious, how'd a kid know any better? little bit of a tad like that--”
-“aw, they don't never spank the kid!” slim defended the parents loyally. “by golly, they's been times when i would-a spanked him, if it'd been me. countess says it's plumb ridiculous the way that kid runs over 'em--rough shod. if he's gittin' spanked now, it's the first time.”
-“well,” said andy, looking from one to another and reverting to his own worry as he swung down from his sweating horse, “there's something worse than a spanked kid going to happen to this outfit if you fellows don't get busy and do something. there's a swarm of dry-farmers coming in on us, with their stock to eat up the grass and their darned fences shutting off the water--”
-“oh, for the lord's sake, cut it out!” snapped pink. “we ain't in the mood for any of your joshes. we've had about enough excitement for once.”
-“ah, don't be a damn' fool,” andy snapped back. “there's no josh about it. i've got the whole scheme, just as they framed it up in minneapolis. i got to talking with a she-agent on the train, and she gave the whole snap away; wanted me to go in with her and help land the suckers. i laid low, and made a sneak to the land office and got a plat of the land, and all the dope--”
-“get any mail?” pink interrupted him, in the tone that took no notice whatever of andy's ill news.
-“time i was hearing from them spurs i sent for.” andy silently went through his pockets and produced what mail he had gleaned from the post-office, and led his horse into the shade of the stable and pulled off the saddle. every movement betrayed the fact that he was in the grip of unpleasant emotions, but to the happy family he said not another word.
-the happy family did not notice his silence at the time. but afterwards, when the kid had stopped crying and silver had gotten to his feet and wobbled back to the stable, led by chip, who explained briefly and satisfactorily the cause of the uproar at the house, and the boys had started up to their belated dinner, they began to realize that for a returned traveler andy green was not having much to say.
-they asked him about his trip, and received brief answers. had he been anyone else they would have wanted to know immediately what was eatin' on him; but since it was andy green who sat frowning at his toes and smoking his cigarette as though it had no comfort or flavor, the boldest of them were cautious. for andy green, being a young man of vivid imagination and no conscience whatever, had fooled them too often with his lies. they waited, and they watched him covertly and a bit puzzled.
-silence and gloom were not boon companions of andy green, at any time. so weary, having the most charitable nature of any among them, sighed and yielded the point of silent contention.
-“what was all that you started to tell us about the dry-farmers, andy?” he asked indulgently.
-“all straight goods. but there's no use talking to you bone-heads. you'll set around chewing the rag and looking wise till it's too late to do anything but holler your heads off.” he got up from where he had been lounging on a bench just outside the mess house and walked away, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets and his shoulders drooped forward.
-the happy family looked after him doubtfully.
-“aw, it's just some darned josh uh his,” happy jack declared. “i know him.”
-“look at the way he slouches along--like he was loaded to the ears with trouble!” pink pointed out amusedly. “he'd fool anybody that didn't know him, all right.”
-“and he fools the fellows that do know him, oftener than anybody else,” added the native son negligently. “you're fooled right now if you think that's all acting. that hombre has got something on his mind.”
-“well, by golly, it ain't dry-farmers,” slim asserted boldly.
-“if you fellows wouldn't say it was a frame-up between us two, i'd go after him and find out. but...”
-“but as it stands, we'd believe andy green a whole lot quicker'n what we would you,” supplemented big medicine loudly. “you're dead right there.”
-“what was it he said about it?” weary wanted to know. “i wasn't paying much attention, with the kid yelling his head off and old silver gaping like a sick turkey, and all. what was it about them dryfarmers?”
-“he said,” piped pink, “that he'd got next to a scheme to bring a big bunch of dry-farmers in on this bench up here, with stock that they'd turn loose on the range. that's what he said. he claims the agent wanted him to go in on it.”
-“the josh is, that he'd like to see us all het up over it, and makin' war-talks and laying for the pilgrims some dark night with our six-guns, most likely,” retorted pink, who happened to be in a bad humor because in ten minutes he was due at a line of post-holes that divided the big pasture into two unequal parts. “he can't agitate me over anybody's troubles but my own. happy, i'll help bud stretch wire this afternoon if you'll tamp the rest uh them posts.”
-“aw, you stick to your own job! how was it when i wanted you to help pull the old wire off that hill fence and git it ready to string down here? you wasn't crazy about workin' with bob wire then, i noticed. you said--”
-“what i said wasn't a commencement to what i'll say again,” pink began truculently, and so the subject turned effectually from andy green.
-weary smoked meditatively while they wrangled, and when the group broke up for the afternoon's work he went unobtrusively in search of andy. he was not quite easy in his mind concerning the alleged joke. he had looked full at the possibilities of the situation--granting andy had told the truth, as he sometimes did--and the possibilities had not pleased him. he found andy morosely replacing some broken strands in his cinch, and he went straight at the mooted question.
-andy looked up from his work and scowled. “this ain't any joke with me,” he stated grimly. “it's something that's going to put the flying u out of business if it ain't stopped before it gets started. i've been worrying my head off ever since day before yesterday; i ain't in the humor to take anything off those imitation joshers up there--i'll tell yuh that much.”
-“well, but how do you figure it can be stopped?” weary sat soberly down on the oats box and absently watched andy's expert fingers while they knotted the heavy cotton cord through the cinch-ring. “we can't stand 'em off with guns.”
-“i've gone over the plat--i brought a copy to show you fellows what we can do. and by taking up our claims right, we keep a deadline from the bear paws to the flying u. now the old man owns denson's ranch, all south uh here is fairly safe--unless they come in between his south line and the breaks; and there ain't room for more than two or three claims there. maybe we can get some of the boys to grab what there is, and string ourselves out north uh here too.
-“that's the only way on earth we can save what little feed there is left. this way, we get the land ourselves and hold it, so there don't any outside stock come in on us. if florence grace hallman and her bunch lands any settlers here, they'll be between us and dry lake; and they're dead welcome to squat on them dry pinnacles--so long as we keep their stock from crossing our claims to get into the breaks. savvy the burro?”
-“yes-s--but how'd yuh know they're going to do all this? mamma! i don't want to turn dry-farmer if i don't have to!”
-“and there's another thing bothers me, weary. it's going to be one peach of a job to make the boys believe it hard enough to make their entries in time.” andy grinned wrily. “by gracious, this is where i could see a gilt-edged reputation for telling the truth!”
-“you could, all right,” weary agreed sympathetically. “it's going to strain our swallowers to get all that down, and that's a fact. you ought to have some proof, if you want the boys to grab it, andy.” his face sobered. “who is this florence person? if you could get some kinda proof--a letter, say...”
-“easiest thing in the world!” andy brightened at the suggestion. “she's stopping at the park, in great falls, and she wanted me to come up or write. anybody going to town right away? i'll send that foxy dame a letter that'll produce proof enough. you've helped ma a lot, weary.”
-weary scrutinized him sharply and puckered his lips into a doubtful expression. “i wish i knew for a fact whether all this is straight goods, andy,” he said pensively. “chances are you're just stringing me. but if you are, old boy, i'm going to take it outa your hide--and don't you forget that.” he grinned at his own mental predicament. “honest, andy, is this some josh, or do you mean it?”
-“by gracious, i wish it was a josh! but it ain't, darn it. in about two weeks or so you'll all see the point of this joke--but whether the joke's on us or on the homeseekers' syndicate depends on you fellows. lord! i wish i'd never told a lie!”
-weary sat knocking his heels rhythmically against the side of the box while he thought the matter over from start to hypothetical finish and back again. meanwhile andy green went on with his work and scowled over his well-earned reputation that hampered him now just when he needed the confidence of his fellows in order to save their beloved flying u from slow annihilation. perhaps his mental suffering could not rightly be called remorse, but a poignant regret it most certainly was, and a sense of complete bafflement which came out in his next sentence.
-“even if she wrote me a letter, the boys'd call it a frame-up just the same. they'd say i had it fixed before i left town. doctor cecil's up at the falls. they'd lay it to her.”
-“i was thinking of that, myself. what's the matter with getting chip to go up with you? couldn't you ring him in on the agent somehow, so he can get the straight of it?”
-andy stood up and looked at weary a minute. “how'd i make chip believe me enough to go?” he countered. “darn it, everything looked all smooth sailing till i got back here to the ranch and the boys come at me with that same old smart-aleck brand uh talk. i kinda forgot how i've lied to 'em and fooled 'em right along till they duck every time i open my face.” his eyes were too full of trouble to encourage levity in his listener. “you remember that time the boys' rode off and left me laying out here on the prairie with my leg broke?” he went on dismally. “i'd rather have that happen to me a dozen times than see 'em set back and give me the laugh now, just when--oh, hell!” he dropped the finished cinch and walked moodily to the door. “weary, if them dry-farmers come flockin' in on us while this bunch stands around callin' me a liar, i--” he did not attempt to finish the sentence; but weary, staring curiously at andy's profile, saw a quivering of the muscles around his lips and felt a responsive thrill of sympathy and belief that rose above his long training in caution.
-spite of past experience he believed, at that moment, every word which andy green had uttered upon the subject of the proposed immigration. he was about to tell andy so, when chip walked unexpectedly out of silver's stall and glanced from weary to andy standing still in the doorway. weary looked at him enquiringly; for chip must have heard every word they said, and if chip believed it--
-“have you got that plat with you, andy?” chip asked tersely and with never a doubt in his tone.
-andy swung toward him like a prisoner who has just heard a jury return a verdict of not guilty to the judge. “i've got it, yes,” he answered simply, with only his voice betraying the emotions he felt--and his eye? “want it?”
-andy felt in his inside coat pocket, drew out a thin, folded map of that particular part of the county with all the government land marked upon it, and handed it to chip without a word. he singled out a couple of pamphlets from a bunch of old letters such as men are in the habit of carrying upon their persons, and gave them to chip also.
-“that's a copy of the homestead and desert laws,” he said. “i guess you heard me telling weary what kinda deal we're up against, here. better not say anything to the old man till you have to; no use worrying him--he can't do nothing.” it was amazing, the change that had come over andy's face and manner since chip first spoke. now he grinned a little.
-“yes--and they'll probably hand me a bunch of pity for getting stung by you,” chip retorted. “i'll take a chance, anyway--but the lord help you, andy if you can't produce proof when the time comes.”
-chapter 5. the happy family turn nesters
-“say, andy, where's them dry-farmers?” big medicine inquired at the top of his voice when the happy family had reached the biscuit-and-syrup stage of supper that evening.
-the happy family snickered appreciatively; this was more like the andy green with whom they were accustomed to deal.
-“what's daughter doin', about now?” asked cal emmett, fixing his round, baby-blue stare upon andy.
-“daughter? why, daughter's leaning over the gate telling him she wouldn't never look at one of them wild cowboys--the idea! she's heard all about 'em, and they're too rough and rude for her. and she's promising to write every day, and giving him a lock of hair to keep in the back of his dollar watch. pass the cane juice, somebody.”
-“yeah--all right for daughter. if she's a good looker we'll see if she don't change her verdict about cowboys.”
-“who will? you don't call yourself one, do yuh?” pink flung at him quickly.
-“well, that depends; i know i ain't any lady broncho--hey, cut it out!” this last because of half a biscuit aimed accurately at the middle of his face. if you want to know why, search out the history of a certain war bonnet roundup, wherein pink rashly impersonated a lady broncho-fighter.
-“wher'e they going to live when they git here?” asked happy jack, reverting to the subject of dry farmers.
-“close enough so you can holler from here to their back door, my boy--if they have their say about it,” andy assured him cheerfully. andy felt that he could afford to be facetious now that he had chip and weary on his side.
-“aw, gwan! i betche there ain't a word of truth in all that scarey talk,” happy jack fleered heavily.
-“name your bet. i'll take it.” andy filled his mouth with hot biscuit and stirred up the sugar in his coffee like a man who is occupied chiefly with the joys of the table.
-“aw, you ain't going to git me that way agin,” happy jack declared. “they's some ketch to it.”
-“there sure is, happy. the biggest ketch you ever seen in your life. it's ketch the flying u outfit and squeeze the life out of it; that's the ketch.” andy's tone had in it no banter, but considerable earnestness. for, though chip would no doubt convince the boys that the danger was very real, there was a small matter of personal pride to urge andy into trying to convince, them himself, without aid from chip or any one else.
-“well, by golly, i'd like to see anybody try that there scheme,” blurted slim. “that's all--i'd just like to see 'em try it once!”
-“oh, you'll see it, all right--and you won't have to wait long, either. just set around on your haunches a couple of weeks or so. that's all you'll have to do, slim; you'll see it tried, fast enough.”
-pink eyed him with a wide, purple glance. “you'd like to make us fall for that, wouldn't you?” he challenged warily.
-andy gave him a level look. “no, i wouldn't. i'd like to put one over on you smart gazabos that think you know it all; but i don't want to bad enough to see the flying u go outa business just so i could holler didn't-i-tell-you. there's a limit to what i'll pay for a josh.”
-“well,” put in the native son with his easy drawl, “i'm coming to the centre with my ante, just for the sake of seeing the cards turned. deal 'em out, amigo; state your case once more, so we can take a good, square look at these dry-farmers.”
-“yeah--go ahead and tell us what's bustin' the buttons off your vest,” cal emmett invited.
-“what's the use?” andy argued. “you'd all just raise up on your hind legs and holler your heads off. you wouldn't do anything about it--not if you knew it was the truth!” this, of course, was pure guile upon his part.
-“oh, wouldn't we? i guess, by golly, we'd do as much for the outfit as what you would--and a hull lot more if it come to a show-down.” slim swallowed the bait.
-“maybe you would, if you could take it out in talking,” snorted andy. “my chips are in. i've got three-hundred-and-twenty acres picked out, up here, and i'm going to file on 'em before these damned nesters get off the train. uh course, that won't be more'n a flea bite--but i can make it interesting for my next door neighbors, anyway; and every flea bite helps to keep a dog moving, yuh know.”
-“i'll go along and use my rights,” weary offered suddenly and seriously. “that'll make one section they won't get, anyway.”
-pink gave him a startled look across the table. “you ain't going to grab it, are yuh?” he demanded disappointedly.
-“i sure am--if it's three-hundred-and-twenty acres of land you mean. if i don't, somebody else will.” he sighed humorously. “next summer you'll see me hoeing spuds, most likely--if the law says i got to.”
-“haw-haw-haw-w!” laughed big medicine suddenly. “it'd sure be worth the price, jest to ride up and watch you two marks down on all fours weedin' onions.” he laughed again with his big, bull-like bellow.
-“we don't have to do anything like that if we don't want to,” put in andy green calmly. “i've been reading up on the law. there's one little joker in it i've got by heart. it says that homestead land can be used for grazing purposes if it's more valuable for pasture than for crops, and that actual grazing will be accepted instead of cultivation--if it is grazing land. so--”
-“i betche you can't prove that,” happy lack interrupted him. “i never heard of that before--”
-“the world's plumb full of things you never heard of, happy,” andy told him witheringly. “i gave chip my copy of the homestead laws, and a plat of the land up here; soon as he hands 'em back i can show you in cold print where it says that very identical thing.
-“that's what makes it look good to me, just on general principles,” he went on, his honest, gray eyes taking in the circle of attentive faces. “if the bunch of us could pool our interests and use what rights we got, we can corral about four thousand acres--and we can head off outsiders from grazing in the badlands, if we take our land right. we've been overlooking a bet, and don't you forget it. we've been fooling around, just putting in our time and drawing wages, when we could be owning our own grazing land by now and shipping our own cattle, if we had enough sense to last us overnight.
-“a-course, i ain't crazy about turning nester, myself--but we've let things slide till we've got to come through or get outa the game. it's a fact, boys, about them dry-farmers coming in on us. that minneapolis bunch that the blonde lady works for is sending out a colony of farmers to take up this land between here and the bear paws. the lady tipped her hand, not knowing where i ranged and thinking i wouldn't be interested in anything but her. she's a real nice lady, too, and goodlooking--but a grafter to her last eye winker. and she hit too close home to suit me, when she named the place where they're going to dump their colony.”
-“where does the graft come in?” inquired pink cautiously. ��the farmers get the land, don't they?”
-“sure, they get the land. and they pungle up a good-sized fee to florence grace hallman and her outfit, for locating 'em. also there's side money in it, near as i can find out. they skin the farmers somehow on the fare out here. that's their business, according to the lady. they prowl around through the government plats till they spot a few thousand acres of land in a chunk; they take a look at it, maybe, and then they boom it like hell, and get them eastern marks hooked--them with money, the lady said. then they ship a bunch out here, locate 'em on the land and leave it up to them, whether they scratch a living or not. she said they urge the rubes to bring all the stock they can, because there's plenty of range left. she says they play that up big. you can see for yourself how that'll work out, around here!”
-“it'd be a sin not to fall for a yarn like that, andy. i expect you made it all up outa your own head, but that's all right. it's a pleasure to be fooled by a genius like you. i'll go raising turnips and cabbages myself.”
-“by golly, you couldn't raise nothing but hell up on that dry bench,” slim observed ponderously. “there ain't any water. what's the use uh talking foolish?”
-“they're going to tackle it, just the same,” andy pointed out patiently.
-“well, by golly, if you ain't just lyin' to hear yourself, that there graftin' bunch had oughta be strung up!”
-“haw-haw-haw-w!” bawled big medicine. “it'd be wuth it, by cripes!”
-“yeah--it would, all right. if that talk andy's been giving us is straight, about grazing the land instead uh working it--”
-“you can mighty quick find out,” andy retorted. “go up and ask chip for them land laws, and that plat. and ask him what he thinks about the deal. you don't have to take my word for it.” andy grinned virtuously and pushed back his chair. from their faces, and the remarks they had made, he felt very confident of the ultimate decision. “what about you, patsy?” he asked suddenly, turning to the bulky, bald german cook who was thumping bread dough in a far corner. “you got any homestead or desert rights you ain't used?”
-“py cosh, i got all der rights dere iss,” patsy returned querulously. “i got more rights as you shmartys. i got soldier's rights mit fightin'. und py cosh, i use him too if dem fellers coom by us mit der dry farms alreatty!”
-“well, you son-of-a-gun!” andy smote him elatedly upon a fat shoulder. “what do you know about old patsy for a dead game sport? by gracious, that makes another three hundred and twenty to the good. gee, it's lucky this bunch has gone along turning up their noses at nesters and thinkin' they couldn't be real punchers and hold down claims too. if any of us had had sense enough to grab a piece of land and settle down to raise families, we'd be right up against it now. we'd have to set back and watch a bunch of down-east rubes light down on us like flies on spilt molasses, and we couldn't do a thing.”
-“as it is, we'll all turn nesters for the good of the cause!” finished pink somewhat cynically, getting up and following cal and slim to the door.
-“aw, i betche they's some ketch to it!” gloomed happy jack. “i betche andy jest wants to see us takin' up claims on that dry bench, and then set back and laugh at us fer bitin' on his josh.”
-“well, you'll have the claims, won't you. and if you hang onto them there'll be money in the deal some day. why, darn your bomb-proof skull, can't you get it into your system that all this country's bound to settle up?” andy's eyes snapped angrily. “can't you see the difference between us owning the land between here and the mountains, and a bunch of outsiders that'll cut it all up into little fields and try to farm it. if you can't see that, you better go hack a hole in your head with an axe, so an idea can squeeze in now and then when you ain't looking!”
-“well, i betche there ain't no colony comin' to settle that there bench,” happy jack persisted stubbornly.
-“yes there is, by cripes!” trumpeted big medicine behind him. “yes there is! and that there colony is goin' to be us, and don't you forget it. it's time i was doin' somethin' fer that there boy uh mine, by cripes! and soon as we git that fence strung i'm goin' to hit the trail fer the nearest land office. honest to grandma, if andy's lyin' it's goin' to be the prof't'blest lie he ever told, er anybody else. i don't care a cuss about whether them dry-farmers is fixin' to light here or not. that there land-pool looks good to me, and i'm comin' in on it with all four feet!”
-big medicine was nothing less than a human land slide when once he threw himself into anything, be it a fight or a frolic. now he blocked the way to the door with his broad shoulders and his big bellow and his enthusiasm, and his pale, frog-like eyes fixed their protruding stare accusingly upon the reluctant ones.
-“cal, you git up there and git that plat and bring it here,” he ordered. “and fer criminy sakes git that table cleared off, patsy, so's't we kin have a place to lay it! what's eatin' on you fellers, standin' around like girls to a party, waitin' fer somebody to come up and ast you to dance! ain't you got head enough to see what a cinch we got, if we only got sense enough to play it! honest to grandma you make me sick to look at yuh! down in conconino county the boys wouldn't stand back and wait to be purty-pleased into a thing like this. you're so scared andy's got a josh covered up somewheres, you wouldn't take a drink uh whisky if he ast yuh up to the bar! you'd pass up a chris'mas turkey, by cripes, if yuh seen andy washin' his face and lookin' hungry! you'd--”
-what further reproach he would have heaped upon them was interrupted by chip, who opened the door just then and bumped big medicine in the back. in his hand chip carried the land plat and the pamphlets, and in his keen, brown eyes he carried the light of battle for his outfit. the eyes of andy green sent bright glances from him to big medicine, and on to the others. he was too wise then to twit those others with their unbelief. his wisdom went farther than that; for he remained very much in the background of the conversation and contented himself with answering, briefly and truthfully, the questions they put to him about florence grace hallman and the things she had so foolishly divulged concerning her plans.
-chip spread the plat upon an end of the table hastily and effectually cleared by a sweep of big medicine's arm, and the happy family crowded close to stare down at the checker-board picture of their own familiar bench land. they did not doubt, now--nor did they hang back reluctantly. instead they followed eagerly the trail chip's cigarette-yellowed finger took across the map, and they listened intently to what he said about that trail.
-the clause about grazing the land, he said, simplified matters a whole lot. it was a cinch you couldn't turn loose and dry-farm that land and have even a fair chance of reaping a harvest. but as grazing land they could hold all the land along one man creek--and that was a lot. and the land lying back of that, and higher up toward the foothills, they could take as desert. and he maintained that andy had been right in his judgment: if they all went into it and pulled together they could stretch a line of claims that would protect the badland grazing effectually.
-“there's another thing. this will not only head off the dry-farmers from overstocking what little range is left--it'll make a dead-line for sheep, too. we've been letting 'em graze back and forth on the bench back here beyond our leased land, and not saying much, so long as they didn't crowd up too close, and kept going. with all our claims under fence, do you realize what that'll mean for the grass?”
-“josephine! there's feed for considerable stock, right over there on our claims, to say nothing of what we'll cover,” exclaimed pink.
-“i'd tell a man! and if we get water on the desert claims--” chip grinned down at him. “see what we've been passing up, all this time. we've had some of it leased, of course--but that can't be done again. there's been some wire-pulling, and because we ain't politicians we got turned down when the old man wanted to renew the lease. i can see now why it was, maybe. this dry-farm business had something to do with it, if you ask me.”
-“gee whiz! and here we've been calling andy a liar,” sighed cal emmett.
-“aw, jest because he happened to tell the truth once, don't cut no ice,” happy jack maintained with sufficient ambiguity to avert the natural consequences.
-“of course, it won't be any gold-mine,” chip added dispassionately. “but it's worth picking up, all right; and if it'll keep out a bunch of tight-fisted settlers that don't give a darn for anything but what's inside their own fence, that's worth a lot, too.”
-“say, my dad's a farmer,” pink declared defiantly in his soft treble. “and while i think of it, them eastern farmers ain't so worse--not the brand i've seen, anyway. they're narrow, maybe--but they're human. damn it, you fellows have got to quit talking about 'em as if they were blackleg stock or grasshoppers or something.”
-“we ain't saying nothing aginst farmers as farmers, little one” big medicine explained forebearingly. “as men, and as women, and as kids, they're mighty nice folks. my folks have got an eighty-acre farm in wisconsin,” he confessed unexpectedly, “and i think a pile of 'em. but if they was to come out here, trying to horn in on our range, i'd lead 'em gently to the railroad, by cripes, and tell 'em goodbye so's't they'd know i meant it! can't yuh see the difference?” he bawled, goggling at pink with misleading savageness in his ugly face.
-“sure, you did!” chip grinned at him wisely, “because we used it for a line camp, you thought we owned a deed to it. well, we don't. we had that land leased, is all.”
-“say, by golly, i'll file on that, then,” slim declared selfishly. for one man coulee, although a place of gruesome history, was also desirable for one or two reasons. there was wood, for instance, and water, and a cabin that was habitable. there was also a fence on the place, a corral and a small stable. “if happy's ghost don't git to playin' music too much,” he added with his heavy-handed wit.
-“no, sir! you ain't going to have one man coulee unless andy, here, says he don't want it!” shouted big medicine. “i leave it to chip if andy hadn't oughta have first pick. he's the feller that's put us onto this, by cripes, and he's the feller that's going to pick his claim first.”
-chip did not need to sanction that assertion. the whole happy family agreed unanimously that it should be so, except slim, who yielded a bit unwillingly.
-till midnight and after, they bent heads over the plat and made plans for the future and took no thought whatever of the difficulties that
-government of south african republic-- capture of members by the british at reitz, 244 appointments to vacancies, 244 treachery on the part of burgher steenekamp, 244 steyn's, president, visit to machadodorp, 144 termination of the war (see that title)
-mobility--british incapacity to keep pace with boers, 140, 141 (see also waggons)
-modderrivierpoort (see poplar grove)
-natal--british subjects fighting for the boers (see colonial burghers)
-natal operations-- absence of commander-in-chief de wet after 9th dec., 1899, 21 bester station skirmish, 10, 11 colenso, magersfontein, and stormberg engagements--british losses, 23 drakensberg passes, occupation by orange free state commandos, 7, 8 estcourt skirmishes--general louis botha's exploits, 19 failure of boers to cut off english at dundee and elandslaagte, 9, 10 kraaipan, capture of armoured train by general de la rey, 8, 9 ladysmith (see that title) modder spruit, battle of, 9, 10, 11 natal frontier, commander-in-chief c. de wet's reconnaissance, 7, 8 nicholson's neck (see that title)
-national representatives (see peace negotiations)
-rietfontein, battle of (see modder spruit)
-russian reception of escaped burghers, 110 note
-scouting-- boer and british methods--services rendered to the british by boer deserters, etc., 18, 121, 122 importance of, 165, 166 national scouts, services of (see national scouts)
-steyn, willie, capture at honing kopjes--subsequent escape, 110 note
-vereeniging-- meeting of general representatives to discuss the situation (may 15, 1902), 333-364 authority given to delegates to voice the wishes of their constituencies, 333, 337, 338, 400, 402, 403, 404, 405, 407, 411, 412, 417, 421, 422, 423, 424 thanks of the meeting to the king of england and queen of the netherlands for efforts to promote peace, 345, 346 unity among delegates essential, 337, 338, 349, 350, 351, 357 meeting of special national representatives to discuss british peace terms (may 29, 1902), 397 armistice agreed on to admit of attendance of officers, 315 misunderstanding on the part of the british columns, 317, 318 divisions among delegates, 421, 422, 423, 424, 425, 426 meeting a fatal error, 413, 414 questions to be decided, 398, 411, 417 (for details of subjects discussed see independence, peace negotiations, etc.)
-american society of civil engineers
-address at the 42d annual convention, chicago, illinois, june 21st, 1910.
-by john a. bensel, president, am. soc. c. e.
-i know that to some of my audience a satisfactory address at a summer convention would be like that which many people regard as a satisfactory sermon--something soothing and convincing, to the effect that you are not as other men are, but better. while i appreciate very fully, however, the honor of being able to address you, i am going to look trouble in the face in an effort to convince you that, in spite of great individual achievements, engineers are behind other professional men in professional spirit, and particularly in collective effort.
-whether this, if true, is due to our extreme youth as a profession, or our extreme age, is dependent upon the point of view; but i think it is a fact that will be admitted by all that engineers have not as yet done much for their profession, even if they have done considerable for the world at large.
-looking backward, our calling may properly be considered the oldest in the world. it is older, in fact, than history itself, for man did not begin to separate from the main part of animal creation, until he began to direct the sources of power in nature for the benefit, if not always for the improvement, of his particular kind. in bible history, we find early mention of the first builder of a pontoon. this creditable performance is especially noted, and the name of the party principally concerned prominently mentioned. the same thing cannot be said of the unsuccessful attempt at the building of the first sky-scraper, for here the architect, with unusual modesty, has not given history his name, this omission being possibly due to the fact that the building was unsuccessful. if an engineer was employed on this particular undertaking, the architect had, even at that early stage of his profession, learned the lesson of keeping all except his own end of the work in the background.
-the distinctive naming of our profession does not seem, however, to go back any farther than the period of 1761, when that father of the profession, john smeaton, first made use of the term, "engineer," and later, "civil engineer," applying it both to others and to himself, as descriptive of a certain class of men working along professional lines now existing and described by that term.
-remarkable progress has certainly been made in actual achievements since that time, and i know of nothing more impressive than to contemplate the tremendous changes that have been made in the material world by the achievements of engineers, particularly in the last hundred years. this was forcibly impressed upon me a short time ago, while in the company of the late charles haswell, then the oldest member of this society, who, seeing one of the recently built men-of-war coming up the harbor, remarked that he had designed the first steamship for the united states navy. the evolution of this intricate mass of mechanism, which, from the very beginning of its departure from the sailing type of vessel, has taken place entirely within the working period of one man's life, is as graphic a showing of engineering activity as i think can be found.
-our activities are forcibly shown in many other lines of invention and in the utilization of the forces of nature, particularly in the development of this country. we, although young in years, have become the greatest railroad builders in history, and have put into use mechanical machines like the harvester, the sewing machine, the telephone, the wireless telegraph, and almost numberless applications of electricity. ships have been built of late years greatly departing from those immediately preceding them, so that at the present time they might be compared to floating cities with nearly all a city's conveniences and comforts. we have done away with the former isolation of the largest city in the country, and have made it a part of the main land by the building of tunnels and bridges. in all our work it might be said that we are hastening, with feverish energy, from one problem to another, for the so-called purpose of saving time, or for the enjoyment of some new sensation; and we have also made possible the creation of that which might be deemed of doubtful benefit to the human race, that huge conglomerate, the modern city.
-there has been no hesitancy in grappling with the problems of nature by engineers, but they seem to be diffident and neglectful of human nature in their calculations, leaving it out of their equations, greatly to their own detriment and the world's loss. we can say that matters outside of the known are not our concern, and we can look with pride at our individual achievements, and of course, if this satisfies, there is nothing more to be said. but it is because i feel that engineers of to-day are not satisfied with their position, that i wonder whether we have either fulfilled our obligations to the community, or secured proper recognition from it; whether, in fact, the engineer can become the force that he should be, until he brings something into his equations besides frozen figures, however diverting an occupation this may be.
-one may wonder whether this state of affairs is caused from a fear of injecting uncertain elements into our calculations, or whether it is our education or training which makes us conservative to the point of operating to our own disadvantage. we may read the requirements of our membership and learn from them that in our accomplishments we are not to be measured as skilled artisans, but the fact remains that, to a great extent, society at large does so rate us, and it would seem that we must ourselves be responsible for this state of affairs. our colleges and technical schools are partly to blame for the existence of this idea, on account of the different degrees which they give. we have a degree of civil engineer, regarded in its narrowest sense, of mining engineer, mechanical engineer, electrical engineer, and by necessity it would seem as if we should shortly add some particular title to designate the engineer who flies. in reality there should be but two classes of engineers, and the distinction should be drawn only between civil engineers and military engineers. as a matter of fact, fate and inclination determine the specialty that a man takes up after his preliminary training, and so far as the degrees are concerned, the only one that has any right to carry weight, because it is a measure of accomplishment, is that which is granted by this society to its corporate members. the schools, in their general mix-up of titles, certainly befog the public mind. it is as if the medical schools, for instance, should issue degrees at graduation for brain doctors, stomach doctors, eye and ear doctors, etc. very wisely, it seems to me, the medical profession and the legal profession, with histories far older than ours, and with as wide variations in practice as we have, leave the variations in name to the individual taste of the practitioner, in a manner which we would do well to copy. the society itself has adopted very broad lines in admission to membership, classing as civil engineers all who are properly such; and there is good reason for the serious consideration of the term at this time, as we cannot fail to recognize a tendency in state and other governments to legislate as to the right to practice engineering. it was owing to the introduction of a bill limiting and prescribing the right to practice in the state of new york, that a committee was recently appointed to look into this matter and report to the society. this report will be before you for action at this meeting.
-as to the manner in which engineers individually perform their work, no criticism would properly lie, and in fact it is fortunate that our work speaks for itself, for, as a body, we say nothing. we are no longer, however, found working for the greater part of the time on the outskirts of civilization, and it becomes necessary, therefore, for us to change with changing conditions, and to use our society not only for the benefit of the profession as a whole, but for the benefit of the members individually. whether one of our first steps in this direction should be along legislative lines is for you to determine. for myself, having been confronted with legislation recently attempted in new york, i am convinced that we shall have legislation affecting our members, and this legislation should properly be moulded by some responsible body like our own society. if we do not take the matter up ourselves it is likely to be taken up by other associations, and from past experience, it would seem as though it might be carried on along lines that would tend to ridicule our desire for professional standing.
-the society is to be congratulated on its present satisfactory status. the reports show a very satisfactory financial condition, and you may note a continuing increase in membership that is extremely gratifying. this, after having nearly doubled in the last seven years, still shows no sign of diminishing in its rate of increase. it may be said, also, that we have in the society an excellent publishing house, where the members have an opportunity to secure technical papers published in the highest style of the art. we have in general in the officers, a number of men, who, within the prescribed limits, labor for the benefit of the members, but we also have constitutional limitations to the activity of our governing body, so that the voice of the society is never heard, or, at least, might be compared to that still, small voice we call "conscience," which is not audible outside of the body that possesses it.
-now, in these days, when the statement that two and two make four is accepted from its latest originator as a newly discovered truth, a little extension of our mathematics, to take into our estimate people as well as things, is what we principally need, and it would be a good thing, regarded either from the point of view of what the world needs or the more selfish view of our own particular gains. at the present time it would seem as though our world had thrown away the old gods without taking hold of any new ones. private ownership as it formerly existed is no longer recognized; individual action in almost any large field is to-day hampered and curtailed in a manner undreamed of twenty years ago. in fact, our whole scheme of government seems to be passing from the representative form on which it was founded, to some new form as yet undetermined. whether all this is, in our opinion, for good or for evil, is of no particular concern. the matter that concerns us is, that we have left our old moorings, and that, to secure new ones, new limits are to be set to the activities of men along lines which concern us, and that, therefore, it is necessary that those who by education and training are best fitted to consider facts and not desires, should guide society as much as possible along its new lines. i consider that we as a profession are particularly trained to do this by our consideration of facts as they exist, and i think it will be recognized by all that we are not in our work or activities bound by any precedent, even if we do learn all that we can from the past; and that we are by nature and training of a cool and calculating disposition, which is surely a thing that is needed in this time of many suggested experiments.
-to be effective, however, we must be cohesive, and thus be able to take our part not as the led, but as leaders, convincing the people, if possible, that all the ills of our social system cannot be cured by remedies which neglect the forces of creation, and that the best doctors for our troubles are not necessarily those whose sympathies are most audibly expressed.
-in the recent discoveries of science our ideas as to the forces of nature must be greatly enlarged and our theories amplified. recent discovery of radium and radio-active substances shows at least that much of our old knowledge needs re-writing along the lines of our greater knowledge of to-day.
-with this increase of knowledge it would seem as though those who devote their lives to the exploitation of natural forces should take a position in the future even more prominent than in the past, and it will undoubtedly become our function to help the world to that ideal state described by our greatest living poet of action, when he speaks of the time to come, as follows:
-"and no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame; but each for the joy of working, and each in his separate star; shall draw the thing as he sees it, for the god of the things as they are."
-the growth of english drama
-arnold wynne, m.a.
-in spite of the fact that an almost superabundant literature of exposition has gathered round early english drama, there is, i believe, still room for this book. much criticism is available. but the student commonly searches through it in vain for details of the plots and characters, and specimens of the verse, of interludes and plays which time, opportunity, and publishers combine to withhold from him. notable exceptions to this generalization exist. such are sir a.w. ward's monumental english dramatic literature, and that delightful volume, j.a. symonds' shakespeare's predecessors; but the former extends its survey far beyond the limits of early drama, while the latter too often passes by with brief mention works concerning which the reader would gladly hear more. some authors have written very fully, but upon only a section of pre-shakespearian dramatic work. of others it may generally be said that their purposes limit to criticism their treatment of all but the best known plays. the present volume attempts a more comprehensive plan. it presents, side by side with criticism, such data as may enable the reader to form an independent judgment. possibly for the first time in a book of this scope almost all the plays of the university wits receive separate consideration, while such familiar titles as hick scorner, gammer gurton's needle, and the misfortunes of arthur cease to be mere names appended to an argument. as a consequence it has been possible to examine in detail the influence of such men as heywood, udall, sackville, and kyd, and to trace from its beginning, with much closer observation than a more general method permits, the evolution of the elizabethan drama.
-i have read the works of my predecessors carefully, and humbly acknowledge my indebtedness to such authorities as ten brink and ward. from mr. pollard's edition of certain english miracle plays i have borrowed one or two quotations, in addition to information gathered from his admirable introduction. particularly am i under an obligation to mr. chambers, upon whose mediaeval stage my first chapter is chiefly based. to the genius of j.a. symonds i tender homage.
-for most generous and highly valued help as critic and reviser of my manuscript i thank my colleague, mr. j.l.w. stock.
-south african college, cape town.
-early church drama on the continent
-the old classical drama of greece and rome died, surfeited with horror and uncleanness. centuries rolled by, and then, when the old drama was no more remembered save by the scholarly few, there was born into the world the new drama. by a curious circumstance its nurse was the same christian church that had thrust its predecessor into the grave.
-a man may dig his spade haphazard into the earth and by that act liberate a small stream which shall become a mighty river. not less casual perhaps, certainly not less momentous in its consequences, was the first attempt, by some enterprising ecclesiastic, to enliven the hardly understood latin service of the church. who the innovator was is unrecorded. the form of his innovation, however, may be guessed from this, that even in the fifth century human tableaux had a place in the church service on festival occasions. all would be simple: a number of the junior clergy grouped around a table would represent the 'marriage at cana'; a more carefully postured group, again, would serve to portray the 'wise men presenting gifts to the infant saviour'. but the reality was greater than that of a painted picture; novelty was there, and, shall we say, curiosity, to see how well-known young clerics, members of local families, would demean themselves in this new duty. the congregations increased, and earnest or ambitious churchmen were incited to add fresh details to surpass previous tableaux.
-in the tenth century the all-important step from tableau to dialogue and action had been taken. its initiation is shrouded in obscurity, but may have been as follows. ever since the sixth century antiphons, or choral chants in which the two sides of the choir alternately respond to each other, had been firmly established in the church service. for these, however, the words were fixed as unchangeably as are the words of our old psalms. nevertheless, the possibility of extending the application of antiphons began to be felt after, and as a first stage in that direction there was adopted a curious practice of echoing back expressive 'ah's' and 'oh's' in musical reply to certain vital passages not fitted with antiphons. under skilful training this may have sounded quite effective, but it is natural to suppose that, the antiphonal extension having been made, the next stage was not long delayed. suitable lines or texts (tropes) would soon be invented to fill the spaces, and immediately there sprang into being a means for providing dramatic dialogue. if once answers were admitted, composed to fit into certain portions of the service, there could be little objection to the composition of other questions to follow upon the previous answers. religious conservatism kept invention within the strictest limits, so that to the end these liturgical responses were little more than slight modifications of the words of the vulgate. but the dramatic element was there, with what potentiality we shall see.
-so much for dramatic dialogue. dramatic action would appear to have grown up with it, the one giving intensity to the other. the development of both, side by side, is interesting to trace from records preserved for us in old manuscripts. considering the occasion first--for these 'attractions' were reserved for special festivals--we know that easter was a favourite opportunity for elaborating the service. the events associated with easter are in themselves intensely dramatic. they are also of supreme importance in the teaching of the church: of all points in the creed none has a higher place than the belief in the resurrection. therefore the 'burial' and the 'rising again' called for particular elaboration. one of the earliest methods of driving these truths home to the hearts of the unlearned and unimaginative was to bury the crucifix for the requisite three days (a rite still observed in many churches by the removal of the cross from the altar), and then restore it to its exalted position; the simple act being done with much solemn prostration and creeping on hands and knees of those whose duty it was to bear the cross to its sepulchre. this sepulchre, it may be explained, was usually a wooden structure, painted with guardian soldiers, large enough to contain a tall crucifix or a man hidden, and occupying a prominent position in the church throughout the festival. not infrequently it was made of more solid material, like the carved stone 'sepulchre' in lincoln cathedral.
-a trope was next composed for antiphonal singing on easter monday, as follows:
-quem quaeritis? jhesum nazarenum. non est hic; surrexit sicut praedixerat: ite, nuntiate quia surrexit a mortuis. alleluia! resurrexit dominus.
-now let us observe how action and dialogue combine. one of the clergy is selected to hide, as an angel, within the sepulchre. towards it advance three others, to represent three women, peeping here, glancing there, as if they seek something. presently a mysterious voice, proceeding out of the tomb, sings the opening question, 'whom do you seek?' sadly the three sing in reply, 'jesus of nazareth'. to this the first voice chants back, 'he is not here; he has risen as he foretold: go, declare to others that he has risen from the dead.' the three now burst forth in joyful acclamation with, 'alleluia! the lord has risen.' then from the sepulchre issues a voice, 'come and see the place,' the 'angel' standing up as he sings that all may see him, and opening the doors of the sepulchre to show clearly that the lord is indeed risen. the empty shroud is held up before the people, while all four sing together, 'the lord has risen from the tomb.' in procession they move to the altar and lay the shroud there; the choir breaks into the te deum, and the bells in the tower clash in triumph. it is the finale of the drama of christ.
-to illustrate at once the dramatic nature and the limitations of the dialogue as it was afterwards developed we give below a translation of part of one of these ceremonies, from a manuscript of the thirteenth century. the whole is an elaborated quem quaeritis, and the part selected is that where mary magdalene approaches the sepulchre for the second time, lamenting the theft of her lord's body. two angels sitting within the tomb address her in song:
-angels. woman, why weepest thou?
-mary. because they have taken away my lord, and i know not where they have laid him.
-angels. weep not, mary; the lord has risen. alleluia!
-mary. my heart is burning with desire to see my lord; i seek but still i cannot find where they have laid him. alleluia!
-he. woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?
-mary. sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and i will take him away.
-at christmas a performance similar to the quem quaeritis took place to signify the birth of jesus, the 'sepulchre' being modified to serve for the holy infant's birthplace, and shepherds instead of women being signified by those who advanced towards it. the antiphon was in direct imitation of the other, commencing 'quem quaeritis in praesepe, pastores?' another favourite representation at the same festival was that of the magi. the development of this is of interest. in its simplest form, the three magi (or kings) advance straight up the church to the altar, their eyes fixed on a small lamp (the star) lit above it; a member of the choir stationed there announces to them the birth of a saviour; they present their offerings and withdraw. in a more advanced form the three magi approach the altar separately from different directions, are guided by a moving 'star' down the central aisle to an altar to the virgin, bestow their gifts there, fall asleep, are warned by an angel, and return to the choir by a side aisle. for this version the service of song also is greatly enlarged. another rendering of the story adds to it the interview between the magi and herod; yet others include a scene between herod and his councillors, and the announcement to herod of the magi's departure; still another extends the subject to include the massacre of the innocents. finally the early shepherd episode is tacked on at the beginning, the result being a lengthy performance setting forth in action the whole narrative of the birth and infancy of jesus.
-here then is drama in its infancy. a great stride has been taken from the first crude burying of a crucifix to an animated union of dialogue and natural action. the scope of the mystery (for so these representations were called) has been extended from a single incident to a series of closely connected scenes. in its fullest ecclesiastical form it consisted of five epiphany plays, of the shepherds (or pastores), the magi (or stella or tres reges), the resurrection (or quem quaeritis), the disciples of emmaus (or peregrini), and the prophets (or prophetae), the last perhaps intended as a final proof from the old testament of christ's messianic nature. four points, however, deserve to be noted. the language used is always latin. the subject is always taken from the bible. close correspondence is maintained with the actual words of the vulgate (compare the magdalene dialogue with john xx. 13-17). the mystery is performed in a church. each point, it will be observed, imposes a serious limitation.
-there was one play, however, which broke loose from most of these limitations, a play of st. nicholas, written by one hilarius early in the twelfth century. the same author composed a mystery of lazarus, and an elaborate representation of daniel, which must have made large demands on the church's supply of 'stage properties'. but his st. nicholas is the only one that interests us here. to begin with, the title informs us that the subject is not drawn from the bible. the words, therefore, are at the discretion of the author. further, though the medium is mostly latin, the native language of the spectators has been slipped in, to render a few recurrent phrases or refrains. the story is quite simple, and humorous, and is as follows:
-the image of st. nicholas stands in a christian church. into the church comes a pagan barbarian; he is about to go on a long journey, and desires to leave his treasure in a safe place. having heard of the reputation of st. nicholas as the patron of property, he lays his riches at the foot of the statue, and in four latin verses of song commits them to the saint's safe-keeping. no sooner is he gone, however, than thieves steal in silently and remove the booty. presently the barbarian returns, discovers his loss, charges the image with faithlessness, and, snatching up a whip, threatens it with a thrashing if the treasure is not brought back. he withdraws, presumably, after this, to give st. nicholas an opportunity to amend matters. whereupon one representing the real celestial st. nicholas suddenly appears, perhaps from behind a curtain at the rear of the image, and seeks out the thieves. he threatens them with exposure and torment unless they restore their plunder; they give in; and st. nicholas goes back to his concealment. when the barbarian returns, his delight is naturally very great at perceiving so complete an atonement for the saint's initial oversight. indeed his appreciation is so genuine that it only needs a few words from the reappearing saint to persuade him to accept christianity.--monologue and dialogue are throughout in song. the following is one of the three verses in which the barbarian proclaims his loss; the last two lines in the vernacular are the same for all.
-gravis sors et dura! hic reliqui plura, sed sub mala cura. des! quel dommage! qui pert la sue chose purque n'enrage.
-a play of this sort, dealing with the wonder-working of a saint, became known as a miracle play, to differentiate it from the mystery plays based on bible stories.
-st. nicholas would be performed in a church. but there is a probably contemporaneous norman mystery play, adam, of unknown authorship, which shows that the move from the church to the open air was already being made. this play was performed just outside the church door, and though the staging remains a matter of conjecture, it may be reasonably assumed that the church represented heaven, and that the three parts of a projecting stage served respectively as paradise (eden), earth, and hell (covered in, with side doors). the manuscript of the play (found at tours) supplies careful directions for staging and acting, as follows:
-glancing through the story we find that adam and eve are led into paradise, god first giving them counsel as to what they shall and shall not do, and then retiring into the church. the happy couple are allowed a brief time in which to demonstrate their joy in the garden. then satan approaches from hell and draws adam into conversation over the barrier. his attempt to lure adam to his fall is vain, nor is he more successful the first time with eve. but as a serpent he over-persuades her to eat of the forbidden fruit, and she gives it to adam, with the well-known result. in his guilt adam now withdraws out of sight, changes his red tunic for a costume contrived out of leaves, and reappears in great grief. god enters from the church and, after delivering his judgment upon the crime, drives adam and eve out of eden. with spade and hoe they pass under the curse of labour on the second stage, toiling there with most disappointing results (satan sows tares in their field) until the end comes. let the manuscript speak for itself again:
-immediately after this conclusion comes a shorter play of cain and abel, followed in its turn by another on the prophets; but in all three the catastrophe is the same--mocking, exultant devils, and a noisy, smoky 'inferno'.
-the most important characteristics of adam are the venturesome removal of the play outside the sacred building, the increase in invented dialogue beyond the limits of the bible narrative, and the 'by-play' conceded to popular taste. the last two easily followed from the first. within a church there is an atmosphere of sanctity, a spirit of prohibition, which must, even in the middle ages, have had a restrictive effect upon the elements of innovation and naturalness. the good people of the bible, the saints, had to live up to their reputation in every small word and deed so long as their statues, images, and pictures gazed down fixedly from the walls upon their living representatives. this was so much a fact that to the very end bible and saint plays conceded licence of action and speech only to those nameless persons, such as the soldiers, pharisees, and shepherds, who never attained to the distinction of individual statues, and who could never be invoked in prayer. out of sight of these effigies and paintings, however, the oppression was at once lightened. true, these model folk could not be permitted to decline from their prescribed standards, but they might be allowed companions of more homely tastes, and the duly authorized wicked ones, such as the devil, cain, and herod, might display their iniquity to the full without offence. thus it is that in this play we find great prominence given to the devil and his brother demons. they would delight the common people: therefore the author misses no opportunity of securing applause for his production by their antics. throughout the play we meet with such stage directions as 'the devils are to run about the stage with suitable gestures', or the devil 'shall make a sally amongst the people'. in this last the seeing eye can already detect the presence of that close intimacy between the play and the people which was to make the drama a 'national possession' in england. the devil, with his grimaces and gambols, was one of themselves, was a true rustic at heart, and they shrieked and shouted with delight as he pinched their arms or slapped them on the back. the freer invention in dialogue is equally plain. much that is said by adam and the devil has no place in the scriptural account of the fall, and the importance of this for the development of these dramas cannot be exaggerated.
-the move into the open air was not accidental. every year these sacred plays drew larger congregations to the festival service. every year the would-be spectators for whom the church could not find standing room grumbled more loudly. in the churchyard (which was still within the holy precincts) there was ample space for all. so into the churchyard the performers went. the valuable result of this was the creation of a raised stage, made necessary for the first time by the crushing of the people. but alas, what could be said for the sanctity of the graves when throngs trampled down the well-kept grass, and groups of men and women fought for the possession of the most recent mounds as highest points of vantage? those whose dead lay buried there raised effectual outcries against this desecration. to go back into the church seemed impossible. the next move had to be into the street. it was at this point that there set in that alienation of the church from the stage which was never afterwards removed. clerical actors were forbidden to play in the streets. as an inevitable consequence, the learned language, latin, was replaced more and more by the people's own tongue. soon the festivals assumed a nature which the stricter clergy could not view with approval. from miles around folk gathered together for merriment and trading. there were bishops who now denounced public plays as instruments of the devil.
-thus the drama, having outgrown its infancy, passed from the care of the church into the hands of the laity. it took with it a tradition of careful acting, a store of biblical subjects, a fair variety of characters--including a thundering herod and a mischievous devil--and some measure of freedom in dialogue. it gained a native language and a boundless popularity. but for many long years after the separation the epiphany plays continued to be acted in the churches, and by their very existence possibly kept intact the link with religion which preserved for the public mysteries and miracles an attitude of soberness and reverence in the hearts of their spectators. the so-called coventry play of the fifteenth century is a testimony to the persistence of the serious religious element in the final stage of these popular bible plays.
-english miracle plays
-most of what has been said hitherto has referred to the rise of religious plays on the continent. the first recorded presentation of a play in england occurred in dunstable--under the management of a schoolmaster, geoffrey--about the year 1110. probably, therefore, the drama was part of the new civilization brought over by the normans, and came in a comparatively well-developed form. the title of geoffrey's play, st. katherine, points to its having been of the st. nicholas type, a true miracle play, belonging to a much later stage of development than the early pastores or quem quaeritis?. we need not look, then, for shadowy gropings along the dramatic path. instead we may expect to find from the very commencement a fair grasp of essentials and a rapidly maturing belief that the people were better guardians of the new art than the church.
-we know nothing of st. katherine except its name. of contemporary plays also we know practically nothing. a writer of the late twelfth century tells us that saint plays were well favoured in london. this statement, coupled with the fact that all sacred plays, saintly wonder-workings and bible stories alike, were called miracles in england, gives a measure of support to ten brink's suggestion that the english people at first shrank from the free treatment of bible stories on the stage, until their natural awe and reverence had become accustomed to presentations of their favourite saints.
-passing over the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, therefore, as centuries in which the idea of the drama was filtering through the nation and adapting itself to its new audiences, we take up the story again in the fourteenth century, before the end of which we know that there were completed the four great plays still preserved to us--the chester, wakefield, york, and coventry miracles. early in that century the pope created the festival of corpus christi (about the middle of june). to this festival we must fix most of our attention.
-glancing back a few pages we shall recall the elaboration of the play of the magi from one bare incident to what was really a connected series of episodes from the scene of the 'shepherds' to the 'massacre of the innocents'. it grew by the addition of scene to scene until the series was complete. but the 'massacre of the innocents' only closed the christmas story. for the festival of easter fresh ground must be broken in order that the 'passion' might be fittingly set forth, and, in fact, we know that both stories in full detail eventually found a place in the more ambitious churches, any difficulty due to their length being overcome by extending the duration of the festivals. then a time came when, even as st. matthew was anxious to lay the foundations of his gospel firm and sure in the past, so some writer of bible plays desired to preface his life of jesus with a statement of the reason for his birth, and the 'fall of man' was inserted. in writing such an introductory play he set going another possible series. to explain the serpent's part in the 'fall' there was wanted a prefatory play on 'satan's revolt in heaven', and to demonstrate the swift consequence of the 'fall', another play on 'cain and abel'; the further story of the 'flood' would represent the spread of wickedness over the earth; in fact, the possible development could be bounded only by the wide limits of the entire bible, and, of more immediate influence, by the restrictions of time. that this extension of theme was not checked until these latter limits had been reached may be judged from the fact that in one place it was customary to start the play between four or five o'clock in the morning, acting it scene after scene until daylight failed. but this was when the corpus christi festival had become the chief dramatic season, combining in its performances the already lengthy series associated respectively with christmas and easter. between the 'massacre of the innocents' and the 'betrayal' (the point at which the easter play usually started) a few connecting scenes were introduced, after which the corpus christi play could fairly claim to be a complete story of 'the fall and redemption of man'. admittedly of crude literary form, yet full of reverence and moral teaching, and with powers of pathos and satire above the ordinary, it became one single play, the sublimest of all dramas. to regard it as a collection of separate small plays is a fatal mistake--fatal both to our understanding of the single scenes and to our comprehension of the whole.
-yet the space at our disposal forbids our dealing here with every scene of any given play (or cycle, as a complete series is commonly called). the most that can be done is to give a list of the subjects of the scenes, and specimens of the treatment of a selected few. this list, however, should not be glanced through lightly and rapidly. the title of each scene should be paused over and the details associated with the title recalled. in no other way can the reader hope to comprehend the play in its fullness.
-here are the scenes of the coventry play.
-1. the creation. 2. the fall of man. 3. cain and abel. 4. noah's flood. 5. abraham's sacrifice. 6. moses and the two tables. 7. the prophets. 8. the barrenness of anna. 9. mary in the temple. 10. mary's betrothment. 11. the salutation and conception. 12. joseph's return. 13. the visit to elizabeth. 14. the trial of joseph and mary. 15. the birth of christ. 16. the adoration of the shepherds. 17. the adoration of the magi. 18. the purification. 19. the slaughter of the innocents. 20. christ disputing in the temple. 21. the baptism of christ. 22. the temptation. 23. the woman taken in adultery. 24. lazarus. 25. the council of the jews. 26. the entry into jerusalem. 27. the last supper. 28. the betraying of christ. 29. king herod. 30. the trial of christ. 31. pilate's wife's dream. 32. the condemnation and crucifixion of christ. 33. the descent into hell. 34. the burial of christ. 35. the resurrection. 36. the three maries. 37. christ appearing to mary. 38. the pilgrim of emaus. 39. the ascension. 40. the descent of the holy ghost. 41. the assumption of the virgin. 42. doomsday.
-one dominant characteristic is observed by every student of the original play, namely, the maintenance of a lofty elevation of tone wherever the sacredness of the subject demands it. the simple dramatic freedom of that day brought god and heaven upon the stage, and exhibited jesus in every circumstance of his life and death; yet on no occasion does the play descend from the high standard of reverence which such a subject demanded, or derogate from the dignity of the celestial father and son. that this was partly due to the bible will be admitted at once. but there is great credit due to the writer (or writers) who could keep so true a sense of proportion that in scenes even of coarse derision, almost bordering on buffoonery, the central figure remained unsoiled and unaffected by his surroundings. a writer less filled with the religious sense must have been strongly tempted to descend to biting dialogue, in which his hero should silence his adversaries by superiority in the use of their own weapon. a truer instinct warned our author that any such scene must immediately tend to a lowering of character. he refused, and from his pen is sent forth a man whose conduct and speech are unassailably above earthly taint, who is, amongst men, divine.
-observe the impressive note struck in the opening verse. god stands amidst his angels, prepared to exercise his sovereign wisdom in the work of creation.
-but before the world can be made, a rebellion has to be stamped out, and the same scene presents the overthrow of satan--not after days of doubtful battle as milton later pictured it, but in a moment at the word of the almighty, 'i bydde the ffalle from hefne to helle'. at once follows the creation of the world and man.
-scene 2 brings adam and eve before us, rejoicing in the abundant delights of eden. the guiding principle of the scene is the folly and wickedness of the fall. here is no thought of excuse for silly eve. with every good around her, and with god's prohibition unforgotten, she chooses disobedience, and drags adam after her. but adam's guilt is no less than hers. the writer had not milton at his elbow to teach him how to twist the bible narrative into an argument for the superiority of man. adam yields to the same sophistry as led eve astray; and sin, rushing in with the suddenness of swallowed poison, finds its first home not in her breast but in his. the awful doom follows. in the desolation that succeeds, the woman's bitter sorrow is allowed to move our pity at last. eating at her heart is the thought, 'my husbond is lost because of me', so that in her agony she begs adam to slay her.
-now stomble we on stalk and ston, my wyt awey is fro me gon, wrythe on to my necke bon, with hardnesse of thin honde.
-adam says what he can to console her, but without much success. the scene ends with her lamenting.
-the foul contagion, spreading over the earth, has been washed out in the flood and a fresh start made before scene 5 introduces abraham. in an earlier paragraph we have spoken of the pathos of which these plays were capable. here in this scene it may be found. abraham is, before all things else, a father; isaac is the apple of his eye. when as yet no cloud fills the sky with the gloom of sacrifice, the old man exults in his glorious possession, a son. isaac is standing a little apart when his father turns with outstretched arms, exclaiming
-now, suete sone, ffayre fare thi fface, fful hertyly do i love the, ffor trewe herty love now in this place, my swete childe, com, kysse now me.
-holding him still in his arms the fond parent gives him good counsel, to honour almighty god, to 'be sett to serve oure lord god above'. and then, left alone for a while, abraham, on his knees, thanks god for his exceeding favour in sending him this comfort in his old age.
-ther may no man love bettyr his childe, than isaac is lovyd of me; almyghty god, mercyful and mylde, ffor my swete son i wurchyp the! i thank the, lord, with hert ful fre, ffor this fayr frute thou hast me sent. now, gracyous god, wher so he be, to save my sone evyr more be bent.
-'to save my sone'--that is the petition of his full heart on the eve of his trial. almost at once the command comes, to kill the well-beloved as an offering to his giver. and abraham bows low in heartbroken obedience. well may the child say, as he trots by the old man's side with a bundle of faggots on his shoulder, and looks up wonderingly at the wrinkled face drawn and blanched with anguish, 'ffayr fadyr, ye go ryght stylle; i pray yow, fadyr, speke onto me.' at such a time a man does well to bind his tongue with silence. yet when at last the secret is confessed, it finds the lad's spirit brave to meet his fate. perhaps the writer had read, not long before, of the steadfastness with which children met persecution in the days of the early christian church. for he gives us, in isaac, a boy ready to die if his father wills it so, happy to strengthen that will by cheerful resignation if god's command is behind it. at the rough altar's side abraham's resolution fails him; from his lips bursts the half-veiled protest, 'the ffadyr to sle the sone! my hert doth clynge and cleve as clay'. but the lad encourages him, bidding him strike quickly, yet adding sympathetically that his father should turn his face away as he smites. the conquest is won. love and duty conflict no longer. only two simple acts remain for love's performance: 'my swete sone, thi mouth i kys'; and when that last embrace is over, 'with this kerchere i kure (cover) thi face', so that the priest may not see the victim's agony. then duty raises the knife aloft, and as it pauses in the air before its fearful descent the angel speaks--and saves.
-the moving character of the opening, leading up to the sudden catastrophe and, by its tragic contrast with what follows, throwing a vivid ray into the very centre and soul of that wonderful trial of faith; the natural sequence and diversity of emotions, love, pride, thankfulness, horror, submission, grief, resolution, and final joy and gratitude following each other like light and shadow; the little touches, the suggestion to turn the face aside, the last kiss, the handkerchief to hide the blue eyes of innocence; these are all, however crude the technique, of the very essence of the highest art.
-as will be seen from the list, only two scenes more refer to old testament history, and then jesus, whom the author has already intended to foreshadow in isaac (whence the lad's submission to his father's will), begins to loom before us. the writer's religious creed prompted him to devote considerable space to mary, the mother of jesus; for she is to be the link between her son and humanity, and therefore must be shown free from sin from her birth. the same motive gives us a clue to the character of joseph. that nothing may be wanting to give whiteness to the purity of mary, she is implicitly contrasted with the crude rusticity and gaffer-like obstinacy of her aged husband. he is just such an old hobbling wiseacre as may be found supporting his rheumatic joints with a thick stick in any dorsetshire village. he is an old man before he is required to marry her, and his protests against the proposed union, accompanied with many a shake of the head, recall to modern readers the humour of mr. thomas hardy. this is how he receives the announcement when at length his bowed legs have, with sundry rests by the wayside, covered the distance between his home and the temple where mary and the priest await him:
-what, xuld i wedde? god forbede! i am an old man, so god me spede, and with a wyff now to levyn in drede, it wore neyther sport nere game.
-he is told that it is god's will. even the beauty of the bride-elect is delicately referred to as an inducement. in vain. to all he replies:
-a! shuld i have here? ye lese my lyff: alas! dere god, xuld i now rave? an old man may nevyr thryff with a yonge wyff, so god me save! nay, nay, sere, lett bene, xuld i now in age begynne to dote, if i here chyde she wolde clowte my cote, blere myn ey, and pyke out a mote, and thus oftyn tymes it is sene.
-eventually, of course, he is won over; but the author promptly packs him into a far district as soon as the ceremony is over, nor does he permit him to return to mary's side until long after the annunciation.
-'the adoration of the magi' (scene 17) introduces us to a very notable person, no other than herod, the model of each 'robustious periwig-pated fellow' who on the stage would 'tear a passion to tatters, to very rags', and so out-herod herod. he is of old standing, a veteran of the church epiphany plays, and has already learnt 'to split the ears of the groundlings' with the stentorian sound of his pompous rhetoric. hear him declaim:
-in scene 19 we hear him issuing his cruel order for the killing of the children. but when the foul deed is done there await the murderer two kings whom he cannot slay, death and the devil. a banquet is in full swing, herod's officers are about him, the customary rant and bombast is on his lips when those two steal in. 'while the trumpets are sounding, death slays herod and his two soldiers suddenly, and the devil receives them'--so runs the terse latin stage-direction.
-of the devil we have more than enough in scene 22, for it opens with an infernal council, sathanas, belyalle, and belsabub debating the best means of testing the divinity of jesus and of thereby making sure whether or no another lord has been placed over them. the plan decided upon is the temptation. but great is satan's downfall. 'out, out, harrow! alas! alas!' is the cry (one that had become very familiar to his audience) as he hastens back to hell, leaving the heavenly hero crowned with glorious victory. this is one of several scenes chosen by the author for the glorifying of his central character. perhaps they culminate in 'the entry into jerusalem'.
-the scenes that now succeed each other, marking each stage of the sorrowful descent to death, are notable chiefly for that quality to which attention has already been drawn, namely, the dignity which surrounds the character of the hero. this dignity is not accidental. on the contrary it would have been easy to fall into the error of exciting so much compassion that the sufferer became a pitiably crushed victim of misfortune. with much skill the writer places his most pathetic lines in the mouths of the two maries, diverts upon them the sharpest edge of our pity, and never for a moment allows jesus to appear overwhelmed. when a jew, in 'the trial of christ', speaks in terms of low insolence, addressing him as 'thou, fela (fellow)' and striking him on the cheek, jesus replies:
-again, in answer to cayphas's outrageous scream of fury, 'spek man, spek! spek, thou fop!... i charge the and conjure, be the sonne and the mone, that thou telle us and (if) thou be goddys sone!', jesus says calmly, 'goddys sone i am, i sey not nay to the!' still later in the same scene, the silence of jesus before herod (sustained through forty lines or more of urging and vile abuse, besides cruel beatings) lifts him into infinite superiority over the blustering, bullying judge and his wretched instruments. it is true that the bible gives the facts, but with the freedom allowed to the dramatist the excellence of the original might have been so easily spoilt.
-to mary is reserved perhaps the deepest note of pathos within the play. the scene is 'the crucifixion of christ', and she is represented lying at the foot of the cross. jesus has invoked god's forgiveness for his murderers, he has promised salvation to the repentant thief, but to her he has said nothing, and the omission sends a fear to her heart like the blackness of midnight. has she, unconsciously, by some chance word or deed, lost his love at the close of life? the thought is too terrible.
-the remaining scenes bring on the final triumph of the hero over death and hell, and the culmination of the great theme of the play in the redemption of man. adam is restored, not indeed to the garden of eden, but to a supernal paradise.
-certain common features of the miracles remain to be pointed out before we close our volume of the coventry play, for it will provide us with examples of most of them.
-one of the first things that strike us is the absence of dramatic rules. not an absence of dramatic cohesion. to its audience, for whom the story of the mission of jesus still retained its freshness, each scene unfolded a further stage in the rescue of man from the bondage of hell. it is not a mere matter of chronology. the order may be the order of the sacred chronicle, but to these early audiences it was also the order of a sacred drama. the 'sacrifice of isaac' is not merely the next event of importance after the 'flood': it is a dramatic forecast of the last sacrifice of all, the sacrifice of christ. even though we admit, as in some cases we must, that the plays are heterogeneous products of many hands working separately, and therefore without dramatic regard for other scenes, it is not unreasonable to suppose that when the official text was decided upon, the several scenes may have been accommodated to the interests of the whole. moreover, the innate relationship of scenes drawn from the bible gives of itself a certain dramatic cohesion. of the so-called dramatic unities of time and place, however, there is no suggestion; there is no unity of characters; there is no consideration of what may be shocking, what pleasing as a spectacle. whoever saw the whole play through was hurried through thousands of years, was carried from heaven to earth and down to hell; he beheld kings, shepherds, high priests, executioners, playing their parts with equal effect and only distinguished by the splendour or meanness of their apparel; he was a witness to satan's overthrow, to abel's death, and was a spectator at the flogging and crucifixion of jesus. it is easy for those acquainted with the later drama (of greene especially) to see the direct line of descent from these miracles to the shakespearian stage.
-the women in the play deserve notice. with the exception of noah's wife, who was commonly treated in a broadly humorous vein, the principal female characters possess that sweet naturalness, depth and constancy of affection, purity and refinement which an age that had not yet lost the ideals of chivalry accepted as the normal qualities of a good woman. the mothers, wives, and daughters of that day would appear to have been before all things womanly, in an unaffected, instinctive way. isaac (in the chester miracle play), thinking, in the hour of death, of his mother's grief at home, says, 'father, tell my mother for no thinge.' when mary is married (coventry play) and must part from her mother, they bid farewell in this wise:
-maria. ffarewel, fadyr and modyr dere, at you i take my leve ryght here, god that sytt in hevyn so clere, have you in his kepyng.
-the heartbroken words of mary at the foot of the cross have already been quoted. in the reconciliation between joseph and mary (scene 12), in mary's patient endurance of joseph's bad temper on the journey to bethlehem (scene 15), in the mother's unrestrained misery at the loss of the boy jesus and rapture on finding him in the temple (scene 20), in the two sisters' forced cheerfulness by the bedside of the dying lazarus and their sorrow at his death--nor do these by any means exhaust the number of favourable instances--there may be seen the basic elements, as it were, which, more deftly handled and blended, gave to the english stage the world's rarest gallery of noble women.
-darkness and grief are so woven into the substance of the bible narrative that we should indeed have been surprised if the tragic note had not been sounded often throughout the play. that it could be sounded well, too, will have been seen from various references and from the scene of abraham's sacrifice. nevertheless, tragedy is a less interesting, less original, less english element than the comedy which pops up its head here, there, and everywhere. it is really a part of that absence of dramatic rules already indicated, this easy conjunction of tragedy and comedy in the same scene. english audiences never could be persuaded to forgo their laugh. after all, it was near neighbour to their tears throughout life; then why not on the stage? a funeral was not the less a warning to the living because it was rounded off with a feast. nor was jesus on the cross robbed of any of the majesty and silent eloquence of vicarious suffering by the vulgar levity of those who bade him 'take good eyd (heed) to oure corn, and chare (scare) awey the crowe'. the strong sentiment of reverence set limits to the application of this humour. only minor characters were permitted to express themselves in this way. the soldiers at the sepulchre, the judaeans at the cross, the 'detractors' in scene 14, certain mocking onlookers in scene 40, these and others of similar stage rank spoke the coarse jests that set free the laugh when tears were too near the surface.--these common fellows, by the way, are the prototypes of the familiar citizens, soldiers, watch, of a later date: the miracles were fertile in 'originals'.--some characters there were, however, more individual, more of consequence than these, who attained to an established reputation for their humour. the devil's pranks have been referred to; joseph's rusticity also; and the obstinacy of noah's wife has been obscurely hinted at. her gift lay in preferring the company of her good gossips to the select family gathering assembled in the ark, and in playing with noah's ears very soundingly when at length she was forcibly dragged into safety. two short extracts from the chester miracle will illustrate her humour.
-noye. wyffe, in this vessel we shall be kepte, my children and thou; i would in ye lepte.
-noye. good wyffe, doe nowe as i thee bydde.
-noyes wiffe. be christe! not or i see more neede, though thou stande all the daye and stare.
-jeffate. mother, we praye you all together, for we are heare, youer owne childer, come into the shippe for feare of the weither, for his love that you boughte!
-noyes wiffe. that will not i, for all youer call, but i have my gossippes all.
-noye. welckome, wiffe, into this botte.
-noyes wiffe. have thou that for thy note!
-noye. ha, ha! marye, this is hotte! it is good for to be still.
-but of all these comic characters none developed so excellent a genius for winning laughter as the shepherds who 'watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground'. to see them at their best we must turn to the wakefield (or towneley) miracle play and read the pastoral scene (or, rather, two scenes) there. here we come face to face with rustics pure and simple, downright moorland shepherds, homely, grumbling, coarsely clad, warm-hearted, abashed by a woman's tongue, rough in their sports. the real old yorkshire stock of nearly six hundred years ago rises into life as we read.
-in the first scene a beginning is made by the entrance of a single shepherd, grumpy, frost-bitten, and growling rebelliously against the probably widely resented practice of purveyance whereby a nobleman might exact from his farm-tenantry provisions and service for his needs, even though the farmer's own land should suffer from neglect in consequence. thus he says,
-by way of excuse for his grumblings he adds in conclusion,
-it dos me good, as i walk thus by myn oone, of this warld for to talk in maner of mone.
-the second shepherd, who enters next, has other grounds for discontent. he, poor man, has a vixen for a wife.
-as sharp as thystille, as rugh as a brere, she is browyd lyke a brystylle, with a sowre loten chere; had she oones well hyr whystyll she couth syng fulle clere hyr pater noster. she is as greatt as a whalle she has a galon of galle.
-conversation opens between the two, but rapidly comes to a dispute. fortunately the timely arrival of a third shepherd dissipates the cloud, and they are quite ready to hear his complaints--this time of wide-spreading floods--coupled with further reflections on the hard conditions of a shepherd's lot. by this time the circle is complete, and a good supper and song are produced to ratify the general harmony. but now enters the element of discord which forms the pivot of the second scene. mak, a boorish fellow shrewdly suspected of sheep stealing, joins them, and, after some chaffing, is allowed to share their grassy bed. in the night he rises, picks out the finest ram from the flock, drives it home, and hides it in the cradle. he then returns to his place between two of the shepherds. as he foresaw, morning brings discovery, suspicion and search. the three shepherds proceed to mak's home, only to be confronted with the well concocted story that his wife, having just become the mother of a sturdy son, must on no account be disturbed. on this point apparently a compromise is effected, the search to be executed on tip-toe, for the shepherds do somewhat poke and pry about, yet under so sharp a fire of abuse as to render them nervous of pressing their investigations too closely. thus they pass the cradle by, and all would have gone well with mak but for that same warm-heartedness of which we spoke earlier. they are already out of the house when a true christmas thought flashes into the mind of one of them.
-1st shepherd. gaf ye the chyld any thyng?
-2nd shepherd. i trow not oone farthyng.
-3rd shepherd. fast agayne wille i flyng, abyde ye me there.
-mak, take it no grefe if i com to thi barne.
-3rd shepherd. me thynk he pepys.
-3rd shepherd. gyf me lefe hym to kys, and lyft up the clowtt. what the dewille is this? he has a long snowte.
-the cat is out of the bag. mak, with an assurance worthy of a better cause, declines to believe their report of the cradle's contents, and his wife comes nimbly to his aid with the startling explanation that it is her son without doubt, for she saw him transformed by a fairy into this misshapen changeling precisely on the stroke of twelve. not so, however, are the shepherds to be persuaded to disbelieve their eyes. instead mak gets a good tossing in a blanket for his pains, the exertion of which sentence reduces the three to such drowsiness that soon they are fast asleep again. from their slumber they are awakened by the angel's song; upon which follows their journey with gifts to the newborn king.
-peculiar to the coventry miracle play is the introduction of a new type of character, unhuman, unreal, a mere embodied quality. in scene 9, where mary is handed over by her parents to the care of the high priest at the temple, she finds provided for her as companions the five maidens, meditation, contrition, compassion, cleanness and fruition, while near by await her seven teachers, discretion, devotion, dilection, deliberation, declaration, determination and divination, a goodly company of doctors indeed. of all these intangible figures one only, milton's 'cherub contemplation', speaks, but the rest are quite obviously represented on the stage, though whether all in flesh and blood may be matter for uncertainty. much more talkative, on the other hand, are similar abstractions in scene 11. here, in the presence of god, contemplation and the virtues having appealed for an extension of mercy and forgiveness to man, truth, pity and justice discuss the question of redemption from their particular points of view until god interposes with his decision in its favour. mention of this innovation in the miracle play seems advisable at this point, though its bearing on later drama will be more clearly seen in the next chapter.
-little need be said of the verse commonly used in miracles, save to point out the preference for stanzas and for triple and quadruple rhymes. an examination of the verses quoted will reveal something as to the variety of forms adopted. those cited from scenes 1, 4, and 32 illustrate three types, while another favourite of the coventry author takes the following structure (a), with a variant in lines of half the length (b):
-wendyth fforthe, ye women thre, into the strete of galylé; your savyour ther xul ye se walkynge in the waye. your ffleschely lorde now hath lyff, that deyd on tre with strook and stryff; wende fforthe, thou wepynge wyff, and seke hym, i the saye. (scene 36.)
-sere kyng in trone, here comyth anone by strete and stone kynges thre. they bere present,-- what thei have ment. ne whedyr they arn bent, i cannot se. (scene 17.)
-reference to the quotation from the wakefield play will discover in the north country author an even greater propensity to rhyme.
-there remains to be discussed the method of production of these plays. fortunately we have records to guide us in our suppositions. these date from the time when the complete miracle play was a fully established annual institution. it is of that period that we shall speak.
-plays had from the first been under official management. when, therefore, the church surrendered control it was only natural that secular officialdom should extend its protection and guidance. local corporations, recognizing the commercial advantages of an attraction which could annually draw crowds of country customers into the towns, made themselves responsible for the production of the plays. while delegating all the hard work to the trade guilds, as being the chief gainers from the invasion, they maintained central control, authorizing the text of the play, distributing the scenes amongst those responsible for their presentation, and visiting any slackness with proper pains and penalties. under able public management miracle plays soon became a yearly affair in every english town.
-when the time came round for the festival to be held--corpus christi day being a general favourite, though whitsuntide also had its adherents, and for some easter was apparently not too cold--the manuscript of the play was brought forth from the archives, the probable cost and difficulties of each scene were considered, the strength or poverty of the various guilds was carefully weighed, and finally as just an allocation was made as circumstances would permit. if two guilds were very poor they were allowed to share the production of one scene. if a guild were wealthy it might be required to manage two scenes, and those costly ones. for scenes differed considerably in expense: such personages as god and herod, and such places as heaven or the temple, were a much heavier drain on the purse than, say, joseph and mary on their visit to elizabeth. where there was no difficulty on the score of finance, a guild might be entrusted with a scene--if there was a suitable one--which made special demands on its own craft. thus, from the york records we learn that the tanners were given the overthrow of lucifer and his fellow devils (who would be dressed in brown leather); the shipwrights, the building of the ark; the fishmongers and mariners jointly, the scene of noah and his family in the ark; the goldsmiths, the magi (richly oriental); the shoers of horses, the flight into egypt; the barbers, the baptism by john the baptist (in camel's hair); the vintners, the marriage at cana; the bakers, the last supper; the butchers and poulterers, the crucifixion.
-as soon as a guild had been allotted its scene it appointed a manager to carry the matter through. the individual expense was not great, somewhere between a penny and fourpence for each member. out of the sum thus raised had to be paid the cost of dresses and stage-scenery, and the actors' remunerations (which included food during the period of rehearsals as well as on the actual playing days). no such crude simplicity as is made fun of in the midsummer night's dream was admitted into the plays given in the towns, however natural it may have been to villages. training and expense were not spared by rival guilds. as we saw in the directions for the acting of the old play of adam, propriety in diction and behaviour on the part of the actors was insisted upon as early as the tenth century. an interesting record (dated 1462) in the beverley archives states that a certain member of the weavers' guild was fined for not knowing his part. it would be quite a mistake, therefore, to suppose that fifteenth-century acting was an unstudied art. similarly, caution must be used in ridiculing the stage-properties of that day. one has only to peruse intelligently one of the bald lists of items of expenditure to discover that a placard bearing such an inscription as 'the ark' or 'hell' was not the accepted means of giving reality to a scene. the ark was an elaborate structure demanding a team of horses for its entrance and exit; while hell-mouth, copying the traditional representations in mediaeval sculpture, was a most ingenious contrivance, designed in the likeness of gaping jaws which opened and shut in fearful style, emitting volumes of sulphurous smoke, not to mention awesome noises. the 'make-ups' too were far from being the arbitrary fancies of the wearers. true, they possibly bore no great resemblance to the originals. but that was due to an ignorance of history rather than to carelessness about truth. the probability is that in many cases the images and paintings in the churches were imitated, as being faithful likenesses. one has merely to call to mind certain stained-glass windows to guess what sort of realism was reached and to understand how it came about that herod appeared in blue satin, pilate and judas respectively in green and yellow, peter in a wig of solid gilt (with beard to match), and angels in white surplices.
-for the stage a high platform was used, beneath which, curtained off from sight, the actors could dress or await their cues. above the stage (open on all four sides) was a roof, on which presumably an 'angel' might lie concealed until the moment arrived for him to descend, when a convenient rope lent aid to too flimsy wings. contrariwise, the devil would lurk in the dressing-room, if hell-mouth were out of repair, until the word came for him to thrust the curtains aside, dart out, pull his victim off the stage and bear him away to torment. the street itself was quite freely used whenever conditions seemed to require it: messengers, for example, pushed their way realistically through the crowd; devils ran merrily about in its open space; and when herod felt the whole stage too narrow to contain his fury he sought the ampler bounds of the market-place to rage in. sometimes two or more stages were placed in proximity to accommodate actions that must take place at the same time. thus we read in scene 25 ('the council of the jews') of the coventry play, 'here xal annas, shewyn hymself in his stage, be seyn after a busshop of the hoold lawe, in a skarlet gowne, and over that a blew tabbard furryd with whyte, and a mytere on his hed, after the hoold lawe' (the dress is interesting); and a little further on, 'here goth the masangere forth, and in the mene tyme cayphas shewyth himself in his skafhald arayd lyche to annas'; while yet a little later appears this, 'here the buschopys with here (their) clerkes and the phariseus mett, and (? in) the myd place, and ther xal be a lytil oratory with stolys and cusshonys clenly be-seyn, lyche as it were a cownsel-hous'. again, in scene 27 ('the last supper') will be found this direction: 'here cryst enteryth into the hoûs with his disciplis and ete the paschal lomb; and in the mene tyme the cownsel-hous beforn-seyd xal sodeynly onclose, schewyng the buschopys, prestys, and jewgys syttyng in here astat, lyche as it were a convocacyon.' this last is quoted for the additional inference that the coventry stage remained in one place throughout the play; for the previous reference to the 'cownsel-hous' is that quoted, two scenes earlier. there was another custom, practised in chester, and probably in other towns where the crowd was great. there the whole stage, dressing-room and all, was mounted on wheels and drawn round the town, pausing at appointed stations to present its scene. by this means the crowd could be widely scattered (to the more equitable advantage of shopkeepers), for a spectator had only to remain at one of these stations to behold, in due order of procession, the whole play acted. thus mounted on wheels the stage took the name of a pageant (or pagond, in ruder spelling),--a name soon extended to include not only a stage without wheels but even the stage itself. it is used with the latter meaning in the prologue to the coventry play.
-with regard to the time occupied by the play, it is not possible to do much more than guess, since plays varied considerably in the number of their scenes. in one town, as we have said, the whole performance was crowded into a single day, starting as early as 4.30 a.m. chester, on the other hand, devoted three days to its festival, while at newcastle acting was confined to the afternoons. humane consideration for the actors forbade that they should be required to act more than twice a day. they were well paid, as much as fourpence being given for a good cock-crower (in 'the trial of christ'), while the part of god was worth three and fourpence: no contemptible sums at a time when a quart of wine cost twopence and a goose threepence. a little uncertainty exists as to the professional character of the actors, but the generally approved opinion seems to be that they were merely members of the guilds, probably selected afresh each year and carefully trained for their parts. the more professional class, the so-called minstrels or vagrant performers (descendants of the norman jongleurs), possibly provided the music, which appears to have filled a large and useful part in the plays.
-the saint-plays, the original miracle-plays, continued, and doubtless were staged in the same way as the bible-plays. but the latter so completely eclipsed them in popularity that they appear never to have attained to more than a haphazard existence. their nature was all against a dramatic subordination of the different plays to each other. their subject was fundamentally the same; placed in a series, they could unroll no larger theme, as could the individual scenes of a bible-play. for ambitious town festivals, therefore, they were too short. few public bodies considered it worth their while to adopt them; and as a consequence only one or two have been preserved for our reading.
-those that remain with us, however, contain qualities which may make us wonder why they did not receive greater recognition. it may be that we misjudge the extent of their popularity, though survival is usually a fairly good guide. certainly they shared, or borrowed, some of the 'attractive' features of their rivals: there was not lacking a liberal flavour of the horrible, the satanic, the coarse and the comical. moreover, they possessed much greater possibilities for purely dramatic effect. the cohesion of incidents was firmer, the evolution of the plot more vigorous, the crisis more surprising, the opportunities for originality more plentiful. the very fact that they could not easily be welded together as scenes in a larger play is a testimonial to their art. they are more complete in themselves. they are, that is to say, a further stage on the way to that elizabethan drama which only became possible when all idea of a day-long play had been discarded in favour of scenes more single and self-contained. the sacredness, also, of the saintly narrative was less binding than that of the bible story. those who had a compunction in caricaturing or coarsening the unholy or nameless people of the scriptures would feel their liberty immensely widened in a representation of the secular and heathen world which surrounded their saint. this is clearly seen in the miracle of the sacrament, where the figure of jonathas the jew is portrayed with distinct originality. his long recital of his wealth in costly jewels, and the equally lengthy statement by aristorius, the corruptible christian merchant, of his numerous argosies and profitable ventures, are early exercises in the style perfected by marlowe's barabas. the whole story, from the stealing of the sacred host by aristorius and its sale to jonathas, right on through the villainous assaults, by the jew and his confederates, upon its sanctity, and the miraculous manifestations of its power, to jonathas's final conversion and the restoration of the sacrament, is a very fair example of the power which these saint plays possessed in the structure of plots.
-moralities and interludes
-miracle (bible) plays had three serious faults, not accidental, but inherent in them. they were far too long. their story was well known and strictly confined by the two covers of the bible. their characters were all provided by the familiar narrative. it is true that a few additions to the canonical list were admitted, such as cain's servant garcio, pilate's beadle, and mak the sheep-stealer. lively characters were also created out of nonentities like the various judaeans and soldiers, and the shepherds. but these were all minors; they had no influence on the course of the action, and the smallness of their part made anything like a full delineation impossible. they were real men, recognizable as akin to local types, but no more; one never knew anything of them beyond their simplicity or brutality. meanwhile their superiors, clothed in the stiff dress of tradition and reverence, passed over the stage with hardly an idea or gesture to distinguish them from their predecessors of three centuries before.
-the english nation grew tired of bible plays. there can be no doubt of this if we consider the kind of play that for a time secured the first place in popularity. only audiences weary of its alternative could have waxed enthusiastic over the castell of perseverance or everyman. something shorter was wanted, with an original plot and some fresh characters. to some extent, as has been shown, the saint plays supplied these requirements, and one is tempted to suspect that in the latter part of their career there was some subversion of the relative positions of the two rival types of miracle. but what was asked for was novelty. both forms of the miracle were hundreds of years old, and both had to suffer the same fate, of relegation to a secondary place in the drama. in letting them pass from our notice, however, we must not exaggerate their decline. the first moralities appeared as early as the fifteenth century, but some of the great miracles (e.g. of chester and york) lasted until near the end of the sixteenth century. for some time, therefore, the latter must have held their own. indeed the former probably met with their complete success only when they had become merged in the interludes.
-in its purest form the morality play was simply the subject of the miracle play writ small, the general theme of the fall and redemption of man applied to the particular case of an individual soul. the central figure was a human being; his varying fortunes as he passed from childhood to old age supplied the incidents, and his ultimate destiny crowned the action. around him were grouped virtues and vices, at his elbows were his good and his bad angel, while at the end of life waited heaven or hell to receive him, according to his merits and the mercy of god. the merits were commonly minimized to emphasize the mercy, with happy results for the interest of the play.
-it is easy to see how all this harmonized with the mediaeval allegorical element in religion and literature. a century earlier langland had scourged wickedness in high places in his famous allegory, piers plowman. a century later spenser was to weave the most exquisite verse round the defeats and triumphs of the spirit of righteousness in man's soul. nor had allegory yet died when bunyan wrote, for all time, his story of the battling of christian against his natural failings. after all, a morality play was only a dramatized version of an inferior pilgrim's progress; and those of us who have not wholly lost the imagination of our childhood still find pleasure in that book. in judging the moralities, therefore, we must not forget the audience to which they appealed. we shall be the more lenient when we discover how soon they were improved upon.
-influenced at first by the comprehensiveness of the plot in the miracle play, the writers of the early moralities were satisfied with the compression of action effected by the change from the general to the particular theme. this had brought about a reduction in the time required for the acting; and along with these gains had come the further advantages of novelty and originality. accordingly the author of the castell of perseverance (almost the only true morality handed down to us) was quite content to let his play run to well over three thousand lines, seeing that within this space he set forth the whole life of a man from the cradle to the grave and even beyond. but later writers were quick to see that this so-called particular theme was still a great deal too general, leaving only the broadest outlines available for characters and incidents. by omitting the stages of childhood and early manhood they could plunge at once into the last stage, where, beneath the shadow of imminent destiny, every action had an intensified interest. moreover, within such narrowed boundaries each incident could be painted in detail, each character finished off with more realistic traits. it was doubtless under such promptings that the original dutch everyman was written, and the alacrity with which it was translated and adopted among english moralities shows that its principle was welcomed as an artistic advance. an almost imperceptible step led straight from the everyman type of morality to the interludes.
-the plot of everyman is as follows.
-everyman, in the midst of life's affairs, is suddenly summoned by death. astonished, alarmed, he protests that he is not ready, and offers a thousand pounds for another twelve years in which to fill up his 'account'. but no delay is possible. at once he must start on his journey. can he among his friends find one willing to bear him company? he tries. but fellowship and kindred and cousin, willing enough for other services, decline to undertake this one. goods (or wealth) confesses that, as a matter of fact, his presence would only make things worse for everyman, for love of riches is a sin. finally everyman seeks out poor forgotten good-deeds, only to find her bound fast by his sins. in this strait he turns to knowledge, and under her guidance visits confession, who prescribes a penance of self-chastisement. the administration of this has so liberating an effect on good-deeds that she is able to rise and join everyman and knowledge. to them are summoned discretion, strength, beauty and five-wits--friends of everyman--and all journey together until, as they draw near the end, the last four depart. at the grave knowledge stays outside, but good-deeds enters with everyman, whose welcome to heaven is announced directly afterwards by an angel. the epilogue, spoken by a doctor, supplies a pious interpretation of the play.
-such are the stories of the two best known moralities. from them we can judge how great a change had come over the drama. nowhere is there any incident approaching the nature of 'the sacrifice of isaac', nowhere is there any character worthy to stand beside the mary of the miracle play. those are the losses. on the other hand, we perceive a new compactness--still loose, but much in advance of what existed before--whereby the central figure is always before us, urged along from one act and one set of surroundings to another, towards a goal which is never lost sight of. also there is the invention which provides for these two plays different plots, as well as some diversity of characters. the superiority of the shorter play--everyman contains just over nine hundred lines--to the older one is less readily detected in a comparison of bare plots, though it becomes obvious as soon as one reads the plays. it lies in a more detailed characterization, in a deliberate attempt to humanize the abstractions, in the substitution of something like real conversation for the orderly succession of debating society speeches. the following extracts will illustrate this difference.
-everyman. that was well spoken and lovyngly.
-everyman. veryly, felawshyp, gramercy.
-everyman. if i my herte sholde to you breke, and than you to tourne your mynde fro me, and wolde not me comforte whan ye here me speke, then sholde i ten tymes soryer be.
-everyman. than be you a good frende at nede, i have founde you true herebefore.
-everyman. why, ye sayd, yf i had nede, ye wolde me never forsake, quycke ne deed, though it were to hell, truely.
-everyman. naye, never agayne, tyll the daye of dome.
-everyman. in dede, deth was with me here.
-everyman. ye promysed other wyse, parde.
-the difference between the plays is clearer now. somewhere we have met such a fellow as fellowship; at some time we have taken part in such a conversation, and heard the gushing acquaintance of prosperous days excuse himself in the hour of trouble. but never in daily life was met so dull a creature as one of those angels, nor ever was heard conversation like theirs.
-let us return to trace the change to the interlude. quite a short step will carry us to it.
-we have said that moralities gave to the drama originality in plot and in characters. this statement invites qualification, for its truth is confined to rather narrow limits, in fact, to the early days of this new kind of play. let a few moralities be produced and the rest will be found to be treading very closely in their footsteps. for there are not possible many divergent variations of a story that must have for its central figure man in his three ages and must express itself allegorically. nor is the list of virtues and vices so large that it can provide an inexhaustible supply of fresh characters. however ingenious authors may be, the day is quickly reached when parallelism drives their audience to a wearisome consciousness that the speeches have all been heard before, that the next step in the plot can be foretold to a nicety. something of this was perceived by the author of everyman. with bold strokes of the pen he drew a line through two-thirds of the orthodox plot, crossed off from the list of characters the hackneyed good and bad angels, and, against the old names that must still remain, seems to have jotted for himself this reminder, 'try human types.' so, at least, we may imagine him doing. the figures that occupy the stage of the old morality are for the most part, like the two angels, mere mouthpieces for pious or wicked counsels. fellowship and his companions, on the other hand, are selected examples from well-known and clearly-defined classes of mankind. they are not more than that. all we know of fellowship is his ready faculty for excusing himself when help is needed. he has no traits to distinguish him from others of his kind. if we describe to one another the men or women whom he recalls to our memory we find that the descriptions differ widely in all but the one common characteristic. in other words, he is a type. the step which brings us to the interludes is the conversion of the type into an individual with special marks about him peculiar to himself. it is an ingenious suggestion, that the idea first found expression in an attempt to excite interest by adding to a character one or two of the peculiarities of a local celebrity (miser, prodigal, or beggar) known for the quality typified. if this was so, it was an interesting reversion to the methods of aristophanes. but it is only a guess. what is certain is that in the interludes we find the 'type' gradually assuming a greater complexity, a larger measure of those minor features which make the ordinary man interesting. significantly enough, the last thing to be acquired was a name such as ordinary men bear. a few characters attained to that certificate of individuality, but even heywood, the master of the interlude, preferred class names, such as palmer, pardoner, or pedlar. this should warn us not to expect too much from the change. to the very end some features of the earliest moralities are discernible: we shall meet good angel and bad angel in one of marlowe's plays. after all, the interval of time is not so very great. the castell of perseverance was written probably about the middle of the fifteenth century; everyman may be assigned to the close of that century or the beginning of the next; one of the earliest surviving interludes, hick scorner, has been dated 'about 1520-25'; and marlowe's doctor faustus belongs probably to the year 1588.
-let us turn to hick scorner and see the new principle of characterization at work. how much of the old is blended with it may be seen in the opening speech, which is delivered by as colourless an abstraction as ever advocated a virtuous life in the moralities. a good old man, pity, sits alone, describing himself to his hearers. to him comes contemplation, and shortly afterwards perseverance, both younger men but just as undeniably 'virtues'. each explains his nature to the audience before discovering the presence of pity, but they quickly fall into a highly edifying conversation. fortunately for us contemplation and perseverance have other engagements, which draw them away. pity relapses into a corner and silence. thereupon two men of a very different type take the boards. the first comer is freewill, a careless, graceless youth by his own account; imagination, who follows, is worse, being one of those hardened, ready-witted, quick-tempered rogues whom providence saves from drowning for another fate. he is sore, this second fellow, with sitting in the stocks; yet quite unrepentant, boasting, rather, of his skill in avoiding heavier penalties. that others come to the gallows is owing to their bad management. as he says,
-nevertheless once he was very nearly caught. and he narrates the incident with so much circumstantial detail that it would be a pity not to have his own words.
-freewill. and said he no more to thee but so?
-imagination. yea, he pretended me much harm to do; but i told him that morning was a great mist, that what horse it was i ne wist: also i said, that in my head i had the megrin, that made me dazzle so in mine eyen, that i might not well see. and thus he departed shortly from me.
-by this time a third party has approached; for an impatient inquiry for hick scorner immediately brings that redoubtable gentleman upon the stage, possibly slightly the worse for liquor, seeing that his first words are those of one on a ship at sea. they may, however, indicate merely a seafaring man, for he has been a great traveller in his time, 'in france, ireland, and in spain, portingal, sevile, also in almaine,' and many places more, even as far as 'the land of rumbelow, three mile out of hell'. he is acquainted with the names of many vessels, of which 'the anne of fowey, the star of saltash, with the jesus of plymouth' are but a few. with something of a chuckle he adds that a fleet of these ships bound for ireland with a crowded company of all the godly persons of england--'piteous people, that be of sin destroyers', 'mourners for sin, with lamentation', and 'good rich men that helpeth folk out of prison'--has been wrecked on a quicksand and the whole company drowned. next he has an ill-sounding report of his own last voyage to give. when that is finished imagination proposes an adjournment for pleasures more active than conversation, where purses may be had for the asking.
-every man bear his dagger naked in his hand, and if we meet a true man, make him stand, or else that he bear a stripe; if that he struggle, and make any work, lightly strike him to the heart, and throw him into thames quite.
-this suggestion meets with the approval of freewill, who, however, takes the opportunity to ask after imagination's father in such unmannerly terms as at once to rouse his friend's quick temper. in a moment a quarrel is assured, nor does hick scorner's attempted mediation produce any other reward than a shrewd blow on the head. at this precise instant, however, old pity, who has remained unnoticed, and who is unwarned by the fate of hick scorner, pushes forward with an idea of intervention. as might have been foreseen, the three rascals promptly unite in rounding upon him. they insult him, they threaten him, they raise malicious lying charges against him, and finally they clap him in irons and leave him--imagination being the ringleader throughout. left alone once more pity sings a lament over the wickedness of the times, whereof the doleful refrain is 'worse was it never'. a ray of light in his affliction comes with the return of contemplation and perseverance, who, releasing him, send him off to fetch his persecutors back. fortune is on their side, for scarcely has pity gone when freewill enters by himself with a wonderful account of his latest roguery--the robbing of a till--for the ears of his audience. contemplation and perseverance, stout enough of limb when they have a mind to use force, listen quietly to the end and then calmly inform him that he is their prisoner, a fact which no amount of blustering defiance can alter. nevertheless, though he has thus openly confessed his own guilt, they have no wish to proceed to extremes. if only he will give up his wicked life they will be content, made happy by the knowledge of his salvation. it is a strange sort of conversion, freewill's tongue running constantly, with an obvious relish, on the various punishments he has endured; but at length he capitulates, accepting perseverance as his future guide, and donning the uniform of virtuous service.
-huff, huff, huff! who sent after me? i am imagination, full of jollity. lord, that my heart is light! when shall i perish? i trow, never.
-in such a manner does the bolder sinner leap to the front. he scans the little group in search of his friend and stares wonderingly on perceiving him in his new dress. now begins a second tussle for the winning of a soul. the fashion of it can be inferred from the following fragment.
-perseverance. imagination, think what god did for thee; on good friday he hanged on a tree, and spent all his precious blood; a spear did rive his heart asunder, the gates he brake up with a clap of thunder, and adam and eve there delivered he.
-imagination. what devil! what is that to me? by god's fast, i was ten year in newgate, and many more fellows with me sat, yet he never came there to help me ne my company.
-contemplation. yes, he holp thee, or thou haddest not been here now.
-in the end, mainly through the personal appeal of his friend, imagination too yields and accepts the guidance of perseverance, freewill transferring his allegiance to contemplation. as hick scorner never returns, the double conversion brings the play to a close.
-rising from the perusal of hick scorner we confess that we have made a new acquaintance: we have met imagination and have not left him until we have learnt a good deal about him; how he fled from a catchpole but lost his purse in the flight, how he and hick scorner were shackled together in newgate without money to pay for an upper room, how brazen-faced his lies were, how near he was to hanging, how ingenious were his excuses, and many other facts besides. we have seen him, too, as the ringleader in mischief and the arrantest rogue in the play. freewill and hick scorner make less impression on us; they are more cloudy in outline, more like types. as for pity, contemplation and perseverance, they are merely talking-machines. we must keep an eye on imagination, as possessing a dramatic value likely to be needed again.
-we shall have been disappointed in the plot. that part of the drama seems to be getting worse. humankind was at least gaining fresh experience in the castell of perseverance; he was even besieged in a fortress and had the narrowest escape in the world from being carried off to hell. everyman's startling doom, his eager quest for a companion on his journey, and his zealous self-discipline keep us to the end in a state of concern for his ultimate fate. but what interest have we in contemplation, freewill and the rest, apart from what they say? no suggestion is thrown out at the beginning that two of the rogues are to be reclaimed: their fate concerns us not at all. the quarrel, and the ill-treatment of poor old pity, are the merest by-play, with no importance whatsoever as a step in the evolution of a plot. indeed it is open to question whether there is a plot. there are speeches, there is conversation, there is some scuffling, and there is a happy ending, but there is no guiding thread running through the story, no discernible objective steadily aimed at from the start. it looks as though the new interest in drawing (or seeing) a real human individual has monopolized the whole attention; that for the time being characterization has driven plot-building completely into the shade.
-a curious, yet not unnatural, thing has happened. in the castell of perseverance humankind was more acted upon than acting. the real force of the action lay in the antagonism between the virtues and vices, the good angel and the bad angel, an antagonism so inveterate that even if the temporary object of their struggle were removed, the strife would still break out again from the sheer viciousness of the vices. this instinctive hostility between virtues and vices supplies the groundwork of the interludes. they dismiss humankind from the stage. he was always a weak, oscillating sort of creature. sound, forceful abstractions and types were wanted, which could be worked up into thoroughgoing rascals or heroes, rascality having all the preference. any underlying thread, therefore, that there may be in hick scorner is this rivalry and embitterment between the wicked sort and the virtuous. we shall observe that already one of the rogues is taking precedence of the others in dramatic importance, in fullness of portraiture, and, of course, in villany.
-like will to like--of an uncertain date prior to 1568 (when it was printed) but almost certainly a later production than many interludes which we omit here, notably heywood's--illustrates the development of some of these changes. in brief outline its story is as follows.
-nichol newfangle receives a commission from lucifer to go through the world bringing similar persons together, like to like. accordingly he acts as arbiter between ralph roister and tom tosspot in a dispute as to which of the two is the greater knave, and, deciding that both are equal, promises them equal shares in certain property he has at disposal. next, meeting cuthbert cutpurse and pierce pickpurse, he gives them news of a piece of land which has fallen to them by unexpected succession. he then adjourns with his friends to an alehouse, leaving the stage to virtuous living, who has already chidden him for his sins who now, after a long monologue or chant, is rewarded by good fame and honour, the servants of god's promise. on the departure of these virtues, newfangle returns, shortly followed by ralph and tom, penniless from a game of dice, and more than ever anxious for the property. this last proves to be no more than a beggar's bag, bottle and staff, suitable to their present condition, but so little satisfying, that newfangle receives a terrible drubbing for his trick. judge severity arrives on the scene conveniently to lecture him severely and witness his second knavish device, which is no other than to hand over to the judge the two fugitives from justice, cutpurse and pickpurse, for the piece of land of which he spoke is the gallows. hankin hangman takes possession of his victims, and the devil, entering with a 'ho, ho, ho!', carries newfangle away with him on his back. virtuous life, honour and good fame bring the play to a proper conclusion with prayers for the queen, lords spiritual and temporal, and commons, this customary exhibition of loyalty being rounded off with a hymn.
-this play, though so much later in date than hick scorner, shows no improvement in plot. nor, perhaps, ought we to expect that it should. an interlude, as its name implies, was originally only a kind of stop-gap, an entrée of light entertainment between other events; and what so welcome for this purpose as the inconsequential dialogue, by-play, and mutual trickery of sundry 'lewd fellows of the baser sort'? when it extended its sphere from the castle banqueting-hall to the street or inn-yard no greater excellence was expected from it. its brevity saved it from tediousness, and the virtues, whom the lingering influence of religion upon the drama saved from the wreck of the morality plays, were given a more and more subordinate place. in this play they serve to point the moral by showing the reward that comes to righteousness in sharp contrast to the poverty and vile death that are the meed of wickedness. but it is noticeable that they are quite apart from the other group, much more so than was the case in hick scorner.
-instead of a plot we find an increasing admixture of buffoonery, without which no interlude could be regarded as complete. herein we see the influence of certain farcical entertainments brought over by the norman jongleurs (or travelling minstrel-comedians). just as the french fabliaux inspired chaucer's coarser tales, so the french farce stimulated the natural inclination of the english taste to broad humour and rough-and-tumble buffoonery on the stage. held in some restraint by the dominant religious element, it grew stronger as the latter weakened. thus, in like will to like a certain hance enters half-intoxicated, roaring out a drinking song until the sudden collapse of his voice compels him to recite the rest in the thick stutter of a drunken man. he carries a pot of ale in his hand, from which he drinks to the health of tom tosspot, giving the toast with a 'ca-ca-carouse to-to-to thee, go-go-good tom'--which is but an indifferent hexameter. at the suggestion of newfangle 'he danceth as evil-favoured as may be demised, and in the dancing he falleth down, and when he riseth he must groan', according to the stage-direction. when he does rise, doubtless with unlimited comicality of effort, he staggers into a chair and proceeds to snore loudly. all this is accompanied by a fitting fashion of conversation. we can only hope that the author's attempts at humour met with the applause he clearly expected. we believe they did, for he was only copying a widespread custom.
-of far more importance than hance, however, are the two characters, the devil and nichol newfangle. they invite joint treatment by their own declared relationship and by the close union which stage tradition quickly gave to them. most of us will remember shakespeare's song from twelfth night bearing on these two notorious companions, their quaint garb, and their laughter-raising antics.
-i am gone, sir, and anon, sir, i'll be with you again, in a trice, like to the old vice, your need to sustain; who, with dagger of lath, in his rage and his wrath, cries, ah, ha! to the devil: like a mad lad, pare thy nails, dad; adieu, goodman devil.
-newfangle is the 'vice' of the play; 'nichol newfangle, the vice,' says the list of dramatis personae. we noticed in our consideration of hick scorner that one of the vices, imagination, was eminent for his more detailed character and readier villany. the trick has been adopted; the favourite has grown fast. he has become the vice. compared with him the rest of the vices appear foolish fellows whom it is his delight to plague and lead astray. so supreme is he in wickedness that he has even been given the devil himself as his godfather, uncle, playmate. it is his duty to keep alive the natural wickedness in man, to set snares and evil mischances before the feet of simpler folk, to teach youth to be idle and young men to be quarrelsome, to lure rogues to their ruin; but, above all, to import wit into prosy dialogues, merriment into dull situations. such is 'the vice'. hear him speak for himself:
-what is he calls upon me, and would seem to lack a vice? ere his words be half spoken, i am with him in a trice here, there, and everywhere, as the cat is with the mice: true vetus iniquitas. lack'st thou cards, friend, or dice? i will teach thee to cheat, child, to cog, lie, and swagger, and ever and anon to be drawing forth thy dagger.
-then what a universal favourite, too, is the devil, our old friend from the miracles! 'my husband, timothy tattle, god rest his poor soul!' says good gossip tattle, 'was wont to say, there was no play without a fool and a devil in 't; he was for the devil still, god bless him! the devil for his money, would he say, i would fain see the devil.' and gossip mirth adds a description of the devil as she knew him: 'as fine a gentleman of his inches as ever i saw trusted to the stage, or any where else; and loved the commonwealth as well as ever a patriot of them all; he would carry away the vice on his back, quick to hell, in every play where he came, and reform abuses' (ben jonson's the staple of news). but our present purpose is with nichol newfangle and his arch-prompter. nevertheless these few general remarks will save us from the necessity of returning to the subject later. the truth of the matter is that here, in like will to like, we have as full a delineation of these two popular characters as may be found in any of the interludes. our attention will not be misplaced if we pry a little closer into the method of presentation.
-the vice must be merry; that above all. accordingly the stage-direction at the opening of the play reads thus, 'here entereth nichol newfangle the vice, laughing, and hath a knave of clubs in his hand which, as soon as he speaketh, he offereth unto one of the men or boys standing by.' he is apparently on familiar terms already with the 'gallery' (or, in the term of that day, 'groundlings'); as intimate as the modern clown with his stage-asides for the exclusive benefit of 'the gods'. when we read the first two lines we perceive the wit of the card trick:
-ha, ha, ha, ha! now like unto like; it will be none other: stoop, gentle knave, and take up your brother.
-we can almost hear the shout of laughter at the expense of the fellow who unwittingly took the card. the audience is with newfangle at once. he has scored his first point and given a capital send-off to the play by this comically-conceived illustration of the meaning of its strange title. forthwith he rattles along with a string of patter about himself, who he is, what sciences he learnt in hell before he was born, and so on, until arrested by the abrupt entrance of another person. this newcomer somersaults on to the stage and cuts divers uncouth capers exactly as our 'second clown' does at the pantomime. newfangle stares, grimaces, and, turning again to the audience, continues:
-sancte benedicite, whom have we here tom tumbler, or else some dancing bear? body of me, it were best go no near: for ought that i see, it is my godfather lucifer, whose prentice i have been this many a day: but no more words but mum: you shall hear what he will say.
-by the time he has finished speaking the other has unrolled himself and presents a queer figure, clothed in a bearskin and bearing in large print on his chest and back the name lucifer. he too commences with a laugh or a shout, 'ho!'. that is the hall-mark of the devil and the vice, the herald's blare of trumpets, so to speak, before the speech of his high mightiness. we have not forgotten that other cry:
-huff, huff, huff! who sent after me? i am imagination, full of jollity.
-it is the same trick; the older rascal is, bone, flesh, and blood, the very kin of newfangle; both have the same godfather. so the dialogue opens between old nick and nichol in the approved fashion:
-lucifer. ho! mine own boy, i am glad that thou art here!
-newfangle (pointing to one standing by). he speaketh to you, sir, i pray you come near.
-lucifer. nay, thou art even he, of whom i am well apaid.
-newfangle. then speak aloof, for to come nigh i am afraid.
-we need not trouble ourselves here with their further conversation, nor yet with tom collier of croydon, who joins them in a jig and a song. he soon goes off again, followed by lucifer, so we can turn over the pages, guided by our outline, until we are near the end.
-lucifer. ho, ho, ho! mine own boy, make no more delay, but leap up on my back straightway.
-newfangle. then who shall hold my stirrup, while i go to horse?
-lucifer. tush, for that do thou not force! leap up, i say, leap up quickly.
-newfangle. woh, ball, woh! and i will come by and by. now for a pair of spurs i would give a good groat, to try whether this jade do amble or trot. farewell, my masters, till i come again, for now i must make a journey into spain.
-the reader must use his imagination, stimulated by recollections of the christmas pantomime, if this episode is to have its full meaning. brief in words, it may quite easily have occupied five minutes and more in acting.
-as related more or less distantly to the noisy element, the many songs in this interlude call for notice. the practice of introducing lyrics was in vogue long before the playwrights of shakespeare's time displayed their use so perfectly. from this point onwards the drama rings with the rough drinking songs, pious hymns, and sweet lyrics of the buffoon, the preacher, and the lover. thus, turning haphazard to the trial of treasure, the interlude immediately preceding like will to like in the volume of dodsley's old english plays, we find no less than eight songs. like will to like has also eight. new custom, the other interlude in the same volume, has only two; but it may be added that, as the author of new custom was writing with a very special and sober purpose in view, he may have felt that much singing would be inappropriate. that these lyrics went with a good swing may be judged from two of those in like will to like.
-wherefore let us rejoice and sing, let us be merry and glad; sith that the collier and the devil this match and dance hath made.
-now of this dance we make an end with mirth and eke with joy: the collier and the devil will be much like to like alway.
-more than once reference has been made to the lingering religious element in the interludes. probably 'moral element' would describe it better, though in those days religion and morality were perhaps less separable than they are to-day. in the midst of so much comical wickedness and naughty wit, with a decreasing use of the old morality virtues, it might be thought that this element would be crowded out. but it was not so. the downfall of the unrighteous was never allowed to pass without the voice of the preacher, frequently the reprobate himself, pointing the warning to those present. cuthbert cutpurse makes a 'godly end' in this fashion:
-o, all youth take example by me: flee from evil company, as from a serpent you would flee; for i to you all a mirror may be. i have been daintily and delicately bred, but nothing at all in virtuous lore: and now i am but a man dead; hanged i must be, which grieveth me full sore. note well the end of me therefore; and you that fathers and mothers be, bring not up your children in too much liberty.
-the episode of the crowning of virtuous life owes its existence to this same element of moral teaching. take up what interlude we will, the preacher is always to be found uttering his short sermon on the folly of sin. our merry friend, the vice, usually gets caught in his own toils at last; even if he is spared this defeat, he must ultimately be borne off by the devil.
-but there are lessons to be learnt other than the elementary one that virtue is a wiser guide than vice: many an interlude was written to castigate a particular form of laxity or drive home a needed reform, in those years when the stage was the cinderella of the church; one at least, the four elements, was written to disseminate schoolroom learning in an attractive manner. nice wanton (about 1560) traces the downward career of two spoilt children, paints the remorse of their mother, and sums up its message at the end thus:
-therefore exhort i all parents to be diligent in bringing up their children; aye, to be circumspect. lest they fall to evil, be not negligent but chastise them before they be sore infect.
-the disobedient child (printed 1560), of which the title is a sufficient clue to its purpose, permits a boy to refuse to go to school, and, as a young man, to flout his father's advice in regard to matrimony, only to bring him to the bottom rung of miserable drudgery and servitude under a scolding wife. of some interest is the lad's report of a schoolboy's life, voicing, as it possibly does, a needed criticism of the excessive severity of sixteenth-century pedagogues. speaking of the boys he says:
-for as the bruit goeth by many a one, their tender bodies both night and day are whipped and scourged and beat like a stone, that from top to toe the skin is away.
-a slightly fuller outline of the marriage of wit and science (1570 approx.) will show how pleasantly, yet pointedly, the younger generation of that day was taught the necessity of sustained industry if scholarship was to be acquired. it has been suggested, with good reason, that the play was written by a schoolmaster for his pupils' performance. the superior plot-structure, and the rare adoption of subdivision into acts and scenes, indicate an author of some classical knowledge.
-wit, a promising youth, son of nature, decides to marry science, the daughter of reason and experience. nature approves of his intention, but warns him that 'travail and time' are the only two by whose help he can win the maid. for his servant and companion, however, she gives him will, a lively boy, full of sprightly fire. science is now approached. but it appears that only he who shall slay the giant, tediousness, may be her husband. to this trial wit volunteers. he is advised first to undergo long years of training under instruction, study, and diligence; but, soon tiring of them, he rashly goes to the fight, trusting that his own strength, backed by the courage of will and the half-hearted support of diligence, will prove sufficient. too self-confident, he is overthrown and his companions are put to flight. will soon returns with recreation, by whose skill wit is restored to vigour and better resolution. nevertheless, directly afterwards, he accepts the gentle ministrations of the false jade, idleness, who sings him to sleep and then transforms him into the appearance of ignorance. in this plight he is found by his lady-love and her parents, who do not at first recognize him. shame is called in to doctor him. on his recovery he returns very repentantly to the tuition of his three teachers, until, by their help and will's, he is able to slay the giant. as his reward he marries science.
-as one of several good things in this pleasant interlude may be quoted will's speech on life before and after marriage, from the point of view of a favoured servant:
-i am not disposed as yet to be tame, and therefore i am loth to be under a dame. now you are a bachelor, a man may soon win you, methinks there is some good fellowship in you; we may laugh and be merry at board and at bed, you are not so testy as those that be wed. mild in behaviour and loth to fall out, you may run, you may ride and rove round about, with wealth at your will and all thing at ease, free, frank and lusty, easy to please. but when you be clogged and tied by the toe so fast that you shall not have pow'r to let go, you will tell me another lesson soon after, and cry peccavi too, except your luck be the better. then farewell good fellowship! then come at a call! then wait at an inch, you idle knaves all! then sparing and pinching, and nothing of gift, no talk with our master, but all for his thrift. solemn and sour, and angry as a wasp, all things must be kept under lock and hasp; all that which will make me to fare full ill. all your care shall be to hamper poor will.
-the liberty and, we may infer, good hearing extended to these unblushingly didactic interludes attracted into authorship writers with purposes more aggressive and debatable than those pertaining to wise conduct. zealous reformers, earnest proselytizers, fierce dogmatists turned to the drama as a medium through which they might effectively reach the ears and hearts of the people. kirchmayer's pammachius, translated into english by bale (author of king john), contained an attack on the pope as antichrist. in 1527 the boys of st. paul's acted a play (now unknown) in which luther figured ignominiously. here then were roman catholics and protestants extending their furious battleground to the stage. this style of thing came to such a pitch that it was actually judged necessary to forbid it by law. similar plays, however, still continued to be produced; and even king edward vi is credited with the authorship of a strongly protestant comedy entitled de meretrice babylonica.
-a very fair example of these political and controversial interludes is new custom, printed in 1573, and possibly written only a year or two before that date. here, for instance, are a few of the players' names and descriptions as given at the beginning: perverse doctrine, an old popish priest; ignorance, another, but elder; new custom, a minister; light of the gospel, a minister; hypocrisy, an old woman. then, as to the matter, here is an extract from perverse doctrine's opening speech, the writer's intention being to expose the speaker to the derision of his enlightened hearers.
-what! young men to be meddlers in divinity? it is a goodly sight! yet therein now almost is every boy's delight; no book now in their hands, but all scripture, scripture, either the whole bible or the new testament, you may be sure. the new testament for them! and then too for coll, my dog. this is the old proverb--to cast pearls to an hog. give them that which is meet for them, a racket and a ball, or some other trifle to busy their heads withal, playing at quoits or nine-holes, or shooting at butts: there let them be, a god's name.
-or here again is a bold declaration from new custom, the reformation minister:
-i said that the mass, and such trumpery as that, popery, purgatory, pardons, were flat against god's word and primitive constitution, crept in through covetousness and superstition of late years, through blindness, and men of no knowledge, even such as have been in every age.
-it is with some surprise certainly that we find king john of england glorified, for purposes of protestant propaganda, as a sincere and godly 'protestant'. so it is, however. in his play, king john (about 1548), bishop bale depicts that monarch as an inspired hater of papistical tyranny and an ardent lover of his country, in whose cause he suffered death by poisoning at the hands of a monk. stephen langton, the pope and cardinal pandulph figure as sedition, usurped power and private wealth. a summary of the play, provided by an interpreter, supplies us with the following explanation of john's quarrel with rome.
-this noble king john, as a faithful moses, withstood proud pharaoh for his poor israel, minding to bring it out of the land of darkness; but the egyptians did against him so rebel, that his poor people did still in the desert dwell, till that duke joshua, which was our late king henry, closely brought us into the land of milk and honey. as a strong david, at the voice of verity, great goliah, the pope, he struck down with his sling, restoring again to a christian liberty his land and people, like a most victorious king; to his first beauty intending the church to bring from ceremonies dead to the living word of the lord. this the second act will plenteously record.
-as put into the mouth of the king himself, these other lines are hard to beat for deliberate partisan misrepresentation. the king feels himself about to die.
-i have sore hungered and thirsted righteousness for the office sake that god hath me appointed, but now i perceive that sin and wickedness in this wretched world, like as christ prophesied, have the overhand: in me it is verified. pray for me, good people, i beseech you heartily, that the lord above on my poor soul have mercy. farewell noblemen, with the clergy spiritual, farewell men of law, with the whole commonalty. your disobedience i do forgive you all, and desire god to pardon your iniquity. farewell, sweet england, now last of all to thee: i am right sorry i could do for thee no more. farewell once again, yea, farewell for evermore.
-the simplest plot sufficed heywood, and the minimum of characters. the pardoner and the friar (possibly as early as 1520) demands only four persons, while the plot may be summed up in a few sentences, thus: a pardoner and a friar, from closely adjoining platforms, are endeavouring to address the same crowd, the one to sell relics, the other to beg money for his order. by a sort of stichomythic alternation each for a time is supposed to carry on his speech regardless of the other, so that to follow either connectedly the alternate lines must be read in sequence. but every now and then they break off for abuse, and finally they fight. a parson and neighbour prat interfere to convey them to jail for the disturbance, but are themselves badly mauled. then the pardoner and the friar go off amicably together. there is no allegory, no moral; merely satire on the fraudulent and hypocritical practices of pardoners and friars, together with some horseplay to raise a louder laugh. the fashion of that satire may be judged from the following exchange of home truths by the rival orators.
-friar. what, should ye give ought to parting pardoners?--
-pardoner. what, should ye spend on these flattering liars,--
-friar. what, should ye give ought to these bold beggars?--
-pardoner. as be these babbling monks and these friars,--
-friar. let them hardly labour for their living;--
-pardoner. which do nought daily but babble and lie--
-friar. it much hurteth them good men's giving,--
-pardoner. and tell you fables dear enough at a fly,--
-friar. for that maketh them idle and slothful to wark,--
-pardoner. as doth this babbling friar here to-day?--
-friar. that for none other thing they will cark.--
-pardoner. drive him hence, therefore, in the twenty-devil way!--
-now, by our honour, said lucifer, no devil in hell shall withhold her; and if thou wouldest have twenty mo, wert not for justice, they should go. for all we devils within this den have more to-do with two women than with all the charge we have beside; wherefore, if thou our friend will be tried, apply thy pardons to women so that unto us there come no mo.
-johan johan, or, at greater length, the merry play between johan johan the husband, tyb his wife, and sir jhon the priest (printed 1533), contains only the three characters mentioned, but possesses a theme more nearly deserving the name of plot than do the other two, namely, the contriving and carrying out of a plan by tyb for exposing her boastful husband's real and absolute subjection to her rule. yet, even so, it is extremely simple. johan johan is first heard alone, declaring how he will beat his wife for not being at home. the tuggings of fear and valour in his heart, however, give his monologue an argumentative form, in which first one motive and then the other gains the upper hand, very similar to the conflict between launcelot gobbo's conscience and the devil. he closes in favour of the beating and then--tyb comes home. oh the difference! johan johan suspects his wife of undue friendliness with sir jhon the priest, but he dare not say so. tyb guesses his doubts, and in her turn suspects that he is inclined to rebel. so she makes the yoke heavier. johan johan has to invite sir jhon to eat a most desirable pie with them; but throughout the meal, with jealousy at his heart and the still greater pangs of unsatisfied hunger a little lower, he is kept busy by his wife, trying to mend a leaky bucket with wax. surely never did a scene contain more 'asides' than are uttered and explained away by the crushed husband! finally overtaxed endurance asserts itself, and wife and priest are driven out of doors; but the play closes with a very pronounced note of uncertainty from the victor as to what new game the vanquished may shortly be at if he be not there to see.
-the all-important feature to be noticed in heywood's work is that here we have the drama escaping from its alliance with religion into the region of pure comedy. here is no well planned moral, no sententious mouthpiece of abstract excellence, no ruin of sinners and crowning of saints. here, too, is no vice, no devil, although they are the chief media for comedy in other interludes, nor is there any buffoonery; even of its near cousins, scuffling and fighting, only one of the three plays has more than a trace. hence the earlier remark, that heywood was before his time. it is not devils in bearskins and wooden-sworded vices that create true comedy; they belong to the realm of farce. yet they continued to flourish long after heywood had set another example, and with them the cuffing of ears and drunken gambolling which we may see, in the works of other men, trying to rescue prosy scenes from dullness. in johan johan is simple comedy, the comedy of laughter-raising dialogue and 'asides'. we do not say it is perfect comedy, far from it; but it is comedy cleared of its former alloys. it is the comedy which shakespeare refined for his own use in twelfth night and elsewhere.
-rise of comedy and tragedy
-no great discernment is required to see that, after the appearance of johan johan, all that was needed for the complete development of comedy was the invention of a well-contrived plot. for reasons already indicated, interludes were naturally deficient in this respect. nor were the moralities and bible miracles much better: their length and comprehensive themes were against them. there were the saint plays, of which some still lingered upon the stage; these offered greater possibilities. but here, again, originality was limited; the dénouement was more or less a foregone conclusion. clearly, one of two things was wanted: either a man of genius to perceive the need and to supply it, or the study of new models outside the field of english drama. the man of genius was not then forthcoming, but by good fortune the models were stumbled upon.
-divided into five acts, with subordinate scenes, this play develops its story with deliberate calculated steps. acts i and ii are occupied by ralph's vain attempts to soften the heart of dame christian custance by gifts and messages. in act iii come complications, double-dealings. matthew merrygreek plays ralph false, tortures his love, misreads--by the simple trick of mispunctuation--his letter to the dame, and thus, under a mask of friendship, sets him further than ever from success. still deeper complexities appear with act iv, for now arrives, with greetings from gawin goodluck, long betrothed to dame custance, a certain sea-captain, who, misled by ralph's confident assurance, misunderstands the relations between the dame and him, suspects disloyalty, and changes from friendliness to cold aloofness. this, by vexing the lady, brings disaster upon ralph, whose bold attempt, on the suggestion of merrygreek, to carry his love off by force is repulsed by that dame's amazonian band of maid-servants with scuttles and brooms. in this extraordinary conflict ralph is horribly belaboured by the malicious matthew under pretence of blows aimed at dame custance. act v, however, brings goodluck himself and explanations. that worthy man finds his lady true, friendship is established all round, and ralph and merrygreek join the happy couple in a closing feast.
-this bald outline perhaps makes sufficiently clear the great advance in plot structure. within the play, however, are many other good things. the character of ralph roister doister, 'a vain-glorious, cowardly blockhead', as the list of dramatis personae has it, is thoroughly well done: his heavy love-sighs, his confident elation, his distrust, his gullibility, his ups and downs and contradictions, are all in the best comic vein. only second in fullness of portraiture, and truer to nature, is dame custance, who--if we exclude melibaea as not native to english shores--may be said to bring into english secular drama honourable womanhood. her amused indifference at first, her sharp reproof of her maids who have allowed themselves to act as ralph's messengers, her gathering vexation at ralph's tiresome wooing, her genuine alarm when she sees that his boastful words are accepted by the sea-captain as truth--these are sentiments and emotions copied from a healthy and worthy model. matthew merrygreek, an unmistakable 'vice' ever at ralph's elbow, is of all vices the shrewdest striker of laughter out of a block of stupidity: it is from his ingenious brain that almost every absurd scene is evolved for the ridiculing of ralph. thoroughly human, and quite assertive, are the lower characters, the maid-servants and men-servants, madge mumblecrust, tibet talkapace, truepenny, dobinet doughty and the rest. need it be added that the battle in act iv is pure fooling? or that jolly songs enliven the scenes with their rousing choruses (e.g. 'i mun be married a sunday')? ralph roister doister is an english comedy with english notions of the best way of amusing english folk of the sixteenth century. with all its improvements it has no suggestion of the alien about it, as has the classically-flavoured thersites (also based, like udall's play, on plautus's miles gloriosus), or calisto and melibaea with its un-english names. perhaps that is why it had to wait fifteen years for a successor. quite possibly its spectators regarded it as merely a better interlude than usual, without recognizing the precise qualities which made it different from johan johan.
-two quotations will be sufficient to illustrate the opposing characters.
-t. trusty. nay, weep not, woman, but tell me what your cause is. as concerning my friend is anything amiss?
-c. custance. no, not on my part; but here was sim. suresby--
-t. trusty. he was with me, and told me so.
-c. custance. and he stood by while ralph roister doister, with help of merrygreek, for promise of marriage did unto me seek.
-t. trusty. and had ye made any promise before them twain?
-c. custance. no, i had rather be torn in pieces and slain. no man hath my faith and troth but gawin goodluck, and that before suresby did i say, and there stuck; but of certain letters there were such words spoken--
-t. trusty. he told me that too.
-c. custance. and of a ring and token, that suresby, i spied, did more than half suspect that i my faith to gawin goodluck did reject.
-t. trusty. but was there no such matter, dame custance, indeed?
-c. custance. if ever my head thought it, god send me ill speed! wherefore i beseech you with me to be a witness that in all my life i never intended thing less. and what a brainsick fool ralph roister doister is yourself knows well enough.
-t. trusty. ye say full true, i-wis.
-in 1566 was acted at christ's college, cambridge, 'a ryght pithy, pleasaunt, and merie comedie, intytuled gammer gurton's needle.' the authorship is uncertain, recent investigation having exalted a certain stevenson into rivalry with the bishop still to whom former scholars were content to assign it. possibly as the result of a perusal of plautus, possibly under the influence of the last play--for in subject matter it is even more perfectly english than ralph roister doister--this comedy is also built on a well-arranged plan, the plot developing regularly through five acts with subsidiary scenes. let us glance through it.
-gammer gurton and her goodman hodge lose their one and only needle, an article not easily renewed, nor easily done without, seeing that hodge's garments stand in need of instant repair. gib, the cat, is strongly suspected of having swallowed it. into this confusion steps diccon, a bedlam beggar, whose quick eye promptly detects opportunities for mischief. after scaring hodge with offers of magic art, he goes to dame chat, an honest but somewhat jealous neighbour, unaware of what has happened, with a tale that gammer gurton accuses her of stealing her best cock. to gammer gurton he announces that he has seen dame chat pick up the needle and make off with it. between the two dames ensues a meeting, the nature of which may be guessed, the whole trouble lying in the fact that neither thinks it necessary to name the article under dispute. no wonder that discussion under the disadvantage of so great a misunderstanding ends in violence. doctor rat, the curate, is now called in; but again diccon is equal to the occasion. having warned dame chat that hodge, to balance the matter of the cock, is about to creep in through a breach in the wall and kill her chickens, he persuades doctor rat that if he will creep through this same opening he will see the needle lying on dame chat's table. the consequences for the curate are severe. master bailey's assistance is next requisitioned, and him friend diccon cannot overreach. the whole truth coming out, diccon is required to kneel and apologize. in doing so he gives hodge a slap which elicits from that worthy a yell of pain. but it is a wholesome pang, for it finds the needle no further away than in the seat of hodge's breeches.
-if we compare this play with ralph roister doister three ideas will occur: first, that we have made no advance; second, that, in giving the preference to rough country folk, the author has deliberately abandoned the higher standard of refinement in language and action set in udall's major scenes; third, that whereas the earlier work bases its comedy on character, educing the amusing scenes from the clash of vanity, constancy and mischief, the later play relies for its comic effects on situations brought about by mischief alone. these are three rather heavy counts against the younger rival. but in the other scale may be placed a very fair claim to greater naturalness. taking the scenes and characters in turn, mischief-maker, churchman and all, there is none so open to the charge of being impossible, and therefore farcical, as the battle between the forces of ralph and dame custance, or the incredibly self-deceived ralph himself. in accompanying ralph through his adventures we seem to be moving through a fantastic world in which sir andrew aguecheek and malvolio might feel at home; but with dame chat, gammer gurton and hodge we feel the solid earth beneath our feet and around us the strong air which nourished the peasantry and yeomen of tudor england.
-the first extract is a verse from this comedy's one and famous song; the second is taken from act i, scene 4.
-i cannot eat but little meat, my stomach is not good; but sure i think that i can drink with him that wears a hood. though i go bare, take ye no care, i am nothing a-cold; i stuff my skin so full within of jolly good ale and old. back and side go bare, go bare, both foot and hand go cold: but belly, god send thee good ale enough, whether it be new or old.
-hodge. your nee'le lost? it is pity you should lack care and endless sorrow. gog's death, how shall my breeches be sewed? shall i go thus to-morrow?
-gammer. ah, hodge, hodge, if that ich could find my nee'le, by the reed, ch'ould sew thy breeches, ich promise thee, with full good double thread, and set a patch on either knee should last this moneths twain. now god and good saint sithe, i pray to send it home again.
-gammer. my nee'le, alas, ich lost it, hodge, what time ich me up hasted to save milk set up for thee, which gib our cat hath wasted.
-hodge. the devil he burst both gib and tib, with all the rest; cham always sure of the worst end, whoever have the best. where ha' you been fidging abroad, since you your nee'le lost?
-gammer. within the house, and at the door, sitting by this same post; where i was looking a long hour, before these folks came here. but, wellaway! all was in vain; my nee'le is never the near.
-hodge. set me a candle, let me seek, and grope wherever it be. gog's heart, ye be foolish (ich think), you know it not when you it see.
-gammer. come hither, cock: what, cock, i say!
-cock. how, gammer?
-gammer. go, hie thee soon, and grope behind the old brass pan, which thing when thou hast done, there shalt thou find an old shoe, wherein, if thou look well, thou shalt find lying an inch of white tallow candle: light it, and bring it tite away.
-cock. that shall be done anon.
-gammer. nay, tarry, hodge, till thou hast light, and then we'll seek each one.
-ralph roister doister and gammer gurton's needle mark the end of the interlude stage and the commencement of comedy proper. leaving the latter at this point for the present, we shall return in the next chapter to study its fortunes at the hands of lyly.
-morality plays, though theoretically quite as suitable for tragic effect as for comic, since the former only required that mankind should sometimes fail to reach heaven, seem nevertheless to have developed mainly the lighter side, setting the hero right at the finish and in the meantime discovering, to the relief of otherwise bored spectators, that wickedness, in some unexplained way, was funny. as long as propriety forbade that good should be overcome by evil it is hard to see how tragedy could appear. had humankind, in the castell of perseverance, been fought for in vain by the virtues, or had everyman found no companion to go with him and intercede for him, there had been tragedy indeed. but religious optimism was against any conclusion so discouraging to repentance. the lingering miracles, it is true, still presented the sublimest of all tragedies in the fall of man and the apparent triumph of the pharisees over jesus. between them, however, and the kind of drama that succeeded the moralities, too great a gulf was fixed. contemporaries of those original spirits, heywood and udall, could hardly revert for inspiration to the discredited performances of villages and of a few provincial towns. tragedy had to wait until there was matured and made popular an interlude from which the conflict of virtues and vices, with the orthodox triumph of the former, had been purged away, leaving to the author complete liberty alike in character and action. when that came, tragedy returned to the stage, a stranger with strange stories to tell. persia and ancient rome sent their tyrants and their heroines to contest for public favour with home-born knaves and fools. nor were the newcomers above borrowing the services of those same knaves and fools. the vice was given a place, low clownish fellows were admitted to relieve the harrowed feelings, and our old acquaintance, herod, was summoned from the miracles to lend his aid.
-yet even so--and probably because it was so--tragedy was ill at ease. she had called in low comedy and rant to please the foolish, only to find herself infected and degraded by their company. moreover, the bustle of incident, the abrupt changes from grave to gay and to grave again, jangled her sad majestic harmonies with shrill interrupting discords. it had not been so in greece. it had not been so even in italy, where roman seneca, fearing the least decline to a lower plane of dignity and impressiveness, had disciplined tragedy by an imposition of artificial but not unskilful restraints. in place of the strong unbroken sweep of a resistless current, which characterized the evolution of an aeschylean drama, he had insisted on an orderly division of a plot into acts and scenes, as though one should break up the sheer plunge of a single waterfall into a well-balanced group of cascades. yet he was wise in his generation, securing by this means a carefully proportioned development which, in the absence of that genius which inspired the greek dramatists, might otherwise have been lost. once strong and free in the plays of aeschylus and his compeers, hampered and constantly under guidance but still dignified and noble in the senecan drama, tragedy now found herself debased and almost caricatured in the english interlude stage. fortunately the danger was seen in time. english writers, face to face with self-conscious tragedy, realized that here at least was more than unaided native art could compass. despairing of success if they persisted in the old methods, they fell back awkwardly upon classical imitation and, by assiduous study tempered by a wise criticism, achieved success.
-only two plays with any claim to the designation of tragedies have survived to us from the interludes, neither of them of much interest. cambyses (1561), by thomas preston, has all the qualities of an imperfect interlude. there are the base fellows and the clowns, huff, ruff, snuff, hob and lob; the abstractions, diligence, shame, common's complaint, small hability, and the like; the vice, ambidexter, who enters 'with an old capcase on his head, an old pail about his hips for harness, a scummer and a potlid by his side, and a rake on his shoulder'; and the same scuffling and horseplay when the comic element is uppermost. incident follows incident as rapidly and with as trifling motives as before. in the course of a short play we see cambyses, king of persia, set off for his conquests in egypt; return; execute sisamnes, his unjust deputy; prove a far worse ruler himself; shoot through the heart the young son of praxaspes, to prove to that too-frank counsellor that he is not as drunk as was supposed; murder his own brother, smirdis, on the lying report of ambidexter; marry, contrary to the law of the church and her own wish, a lovely lady, his cousin, and then have her executed for reproaching him with the death of his brother; and finally die, accidentally pierced by his own sword when mounting a horse. all these horrors, except the death of the lady, take place on the stage. thus we have such stage-directions as, 'smite him in the neck with a sword to signify his death', 'flay him with a false skin', 'a little bladder of vinegar pricked', 'enter the king without a gown, a sword thrust up into his side, bleeding.' of real tragedy there is little, the hustle of crime upon crime obliterating the impression which any one singly might produce. yet even in this crude orgy of bloodshed the melancholy voice of unaffected pathos can be heard mourning the loss of dear ones. it speaks in the farewells of sisamnes and his son otian, and of praxaspes (the honest minister) and his little boy; throughout the whole incident of the gentle lady whose fate melts even the vice to tears; and in the outburst of a mother's grief over her child's corpse. we quote the last.
-o blissful babe, o joy of womb, heart's comfort and delight, for counsel given unto the king, is this thy just requite? o heavy day and doleful time, these mourning tunes to make! with blubb'red eyes into my arms from earth i will thee take, and wrap thee in my apron white: but o my heavy heart! the spiteful pangs that it sustains would make it in two to part, the death of this my son to see: o heavy mother now, that from thy sweet and sug'red joy to sorrow so shouldst bow! what grief in womb did i retain before i did thee see; yet at the last, when smart was gone, what joy wert thou to me! how tender was i of thy food, for to preserve thy state! how stilled i thy tender heart at times early and late! with velvet paps i gave thee suck, with issue from my breast, and danced thee upon my knee to bring thee unto rest. is this the joy of thee i reap? o king of tiger's brood, o tiger's whelp, hadst thou the heart to see this child's heart-blood? nature enforceth me, alas, in this wise to deplore, to wring my hands, o wel-away, that i should see this hour. thy mother yet will kiss thy lips, silk-soft and pleasant white, with wringing hands lamenting for to see thee in this plight. my lording dear, let us go home, our mourning to augment.
-the second play, appius and virginia (1563), by r.b. (not further identified), is, in some respects, weaker; though, by avoiding the crowded plot which spoilt cambyses, it attains more nearly to tragedy. the low characters, mansipulus and mansipula, the vice (haphazard), and the abstractions, conscience, comfort and their brethren, reappear with as little success. but the singleness of the theme helps towards that elevation of the main figures and intensifying of the catastrophe which tragic emotion demands. unfortunately, from the start the author seems to have been obsessed with the notion that the familiar rant of herod was peculiarly suited to his subject. in such a notion there lay, of course, the half-truth that lofty thoughts and impassioned speech are more befitting the sombre muse than the foolish chatter of clowns. but, except where his own deliberately introduced mirth-makers are speaking, he will have nothing but pompous rhetoric from the lips of his characters. his prologue begins his speech with the sounding line:
-who doth desire the trump of fame to sound unto the skies--
-virginius's wife makes her début upon the stage with this encouraging remark to her companion:
-the pert and prickly prime of youth ought chastisement to have, but thou, dear daughter, needest not, thyself doth show thee grave.
-to which virginia most becomingly answers:
-refell your mind of mournful plaints, dear mother, rest your mind.
-after this every one feels that the wicked judge, appius, has done no more than his duty when he exclaims, at his entrance:
-the furrowed face of fortune's force my pinching pain doth move.
-virginius slays his daughter on the stage and serves her head up in a charger before appius, who promptly bursts into a cataclysm of c's ('o curst and cruel cankered churl, o carl unnatural'); but there is not a suggestion of the pathos noticed in cambyses. instead there is in one place a sort of frantic agitation, which the author doubtless thought was the pure voice of tragic sorrow. it is in the terrible moment when, after the heroic strain of the sacrifice is over, virginius realizes the meaning of what he has done. presumably wild with grief, he raves in language so startlingly akin to the ludicrous despairs of pyramus and thisbe that the modern reader, acquainted with the latter, is almost jarred into laughter.
-o cruel hands, o bloody knife, o man, what hast thou done? thy daughter dear and only heir her vital end hath won. come, fatal blade, make like despatch: come, atropos: come, aid! strike home, thou careless arm, with speed; of death be not afraid.
-of such eloquence we might truly say with theseus, 'this passion, and the death of a dear friend, would go near to make a man look sad.'
-in 1562 tragedy, as we have said, took refuge in an imitation of the senecan stage: translations of seneca's tragedies had begun to appear in 1559. the tragedy of ferrex and porrex, or gorboduc, as it was originally and is now most commonly named, marks a new departure for english drama. to understand this we ought perhaps to say something about the essential features of a greek tragedy (seneca's own model), and make a note of any special senecan additions. what strikes one most in reading a play of aeschylus is the prominence given to a composite and almost colourless character known as the chorus (for though it consists of a body of persons, it speaks, for the most part, as one), the absence of any effective action from the stage, the limited number of actors, and the tendency of any speaker to expand his remarks into a set speech of considerable length. this tendency, especially noticeable in the chorus, whose speeches commonly take the form of chants, encouraged the faculty of generalizing philosophically, so that one is constantly treated to general reflections expressive rather of broad wisdom and piety than of feelings directly and dramatically aroused; much also is made of retrospection and relation, whether the topic is ancient history, the events of a recent voyage, or a barely completed crime. the sage backward glance of the chorus is quick to discover in present ruin a punishment for past crime; so that the plot becomes in a manner a picture of the resistless laws of moral justice. speeches, a moralizing chorus, actions not performed but reported in detail, a sense of divine retribution for sin, these are perhaps the qualities which, apart from the poetry itself, we recall most readily as typical of a greek tragedy. these seneca modified by the introduction of acts and scenes, a subordination of the chorus, and an exaggerated predilection for long sententious speeches; he also added a new stage character known as the ghost. seneca's elevation, to the dogmatic position of laws, of the unities of time, place and action, rules by no means invariable among his older and greater masters, has been the subject of much debate, but, on the whole, the verdict has been hostile. according to these unities, the time represented in the play should not greatly exceed the time occupied in acting it, the scene of the action should not vary, and the plot should be concerned only with one event. this last law was generally accepted, by elizabethans, in tragedy at least. the other two, though much insisted on by english theorists, such as sir philip sidney, met with so much neglect in practice that we need devote no space to the discussion of them.
-having thus hastily summarized the larger superficial characteristics of classical drama, we may return to gorboduc and inquire which of these were adopted in it and with what modifications. we find it divided into five acts and nine scenes. a chorus, though it takes no other part, sings its moralizing lyrics at the end of each act except the last. speeches of inordinate length are made--three consecutive speeches in act i, scene 2, occupy two hundred and sixty lines--the subject-matter being commonly argumentative. only through the reports of messengers and eye-witnesses do we learn of the cold-blooded murder and many violent deaths that take place. everywhere hurried action and unreasoning instinct give place to deliberation and debate. between this play and its predecessors no change can be more sweeping or more abrupt. in an instant, as it were, we pass from the unpolished cambyses, savage and reeking with blood, to the equally violent events of gorboduc, cold beneath a formal restraint which, regulating their setting in the general framework, robs them of more than half their force. had this severe discipline of the emotions been accepted as for ever binding upon the tragic stage elizabethan drama would have been forgotten. the truth is that the germ of dissension was sown in gorboduc itself. conscious that the banishment of action from the stage, while natural enough in greece, must meet with an overwhelming resistance from the popular custom in england, the authors, thomas sackville and thomas norton, invented a compromise. before each act they provided a symbolical dumb show which, by its external position, infringed no classical law, yet satisfied the demand of an english audience for real deeds and melodramatic spectacles. it was an ingenious idea, the effect of which was to keep intact the close link between stage and action until the native genius should be strong enough to cast aside its swaddling clothes and follow its own bent without hurt. as illustrating this innovation--the reader will not have forgotten that both dumb show and chorus are to be found in pericles--we may quote the directions for the dumb show before the second act.
-first, the music of cornets began to play, during which came in upon the stage a king accompanied with a number of his nobility and gentlemen. and after he had placed himself in a chair of estate prepared for him, there came and kneeled before him a grave and aged gentleman, and offered up unto him a cup of wine in a glass, which the king refused. after him comes a brave and lusty young gentleman, and presents the king with a cup of gold filled with poison, which the king accepted, and drinking the same, immediately fell down dead upon the stage, and so was carried thence away by his lords and gentlemen, and then the music ceased. hereby was signified, that as glass by nature holdeth no poison, but is clear and may easily be seen through, ne boweth by any art; so a faithful counsellor holdeth no treason, but is plain and open, ne yieldeth to any indiscreet affection, but giveth wholesome counsel, which the ill advised prince refuseth. the delightful gold filled with poison betokeneth flattery, which under fair seeming of pleasant words beareth deadly poison, which destroyeth the prince that receiveth it. as befel in the two brethren, ferrex and porrex, who, refusing the wholesome advice of grave counsellors, credited these young parasites, and brought to themselves death and destruction thereby.
-but it is time to set forth the plot in more detail. the importance of gorboduc as an example of english 'classical' tragedy prompts us to follow it through, scene by scene.
-act i, scene 1.--queen videna discovers to her favourite and elder son, ferrex, the king's intention, grievous in her eyes, of dividing his kingdom equally between his two sons. scene 2.--king gorboduc submits his plan to the consideration of his three counsellors, whose wise and lengthy reasonings he listens to but elects to disregard.
-act ii, scene 1.--the division having been carried out, ferrex, in his part of the kingdom, is prompted by evil counsel to suspect aggressive rivalry from his brother, and decides to collect forces for his own defence. scene 2.--ferrex's misguided precautions having been maliciously represented to porrex as directed against his power, that prince resolves upon an immediate invasion of his brother's realm.
-act iii.--the news of these counter-moves and of the imminent probability of bloodshed is reported to the king. to restore the courage of the despairing gorboduc is now the labour of his counsellors, but the later announcement of the death of ferrex casts him lower than before. at this point the chorus, recalling the murder of a cousin in an earlier generation of the royal race, points, in true aeschylean fashion, to the hatred of an unsated revenge behind this latest blow:
-thus fatal plagues pursue the guilty race, whose murderous hand, imbru'd with guiltless blood, asks vengeance still before the heaven's face, with endless mischiefs on the cursed brood.
-act iv, scene 1.--videna alone, in words of passionate vehemence, laments that she has lived so long to see the death of ferrex, renounces his brother as no child of hers, and concludes with a threat of vengeance. scene 2.--bowed down with remorse, porrex makes his defence before the king, pleading the latter's own act, in dividing the kingdom, as the initial cause of the ensuing disaster. before he has been long gone from his father's presence, marcella, a lady-in-waiting, rushes into the room, in wild disorder and grief, to report his murder at his mother's hand. in anguished words she tells how, stabbed by videna in his sleep, he started up and, spying the queen by his side, called to her for help, not crediting that she, his mother, could be his murderess. again, in tones of solemn warning, the chorus reminds the audience that
-blood asketh blood, and death must death requite: jove, by his just and everlasting doom, justly hath ever so requited it.
-act v, scene 1.--this warning is proved true by a report of the death of the king and queen at the hands of their subjects in revolt against the blood-stained house. certain of the nobles, gathered together, resolve upon an alliance for the purpose of restoring a strong government. the duke of albany, however, thinks to snatch power to himself from this opportunity. scene 2.--report is made of the suppression of the rebellion, but this news is immediately followed by a report of albany's attempted usurpation of the throne. coalition for his defeat is agreed upon, and the play ends with the mournful soliloquy of that aged counsellor who first opposed the division of the throne and now sees, as the consequence of that fatal act, his country, torn to pieces by civil strife, left an easy prize for an ambitious conqueror.
-this last quotation, interesting in itself as containing a recommendation to queen elizabeth to marry, or at least name her successor, will also serve as a specimen of the new verse, blank verse, which here, for the first time, finds its way into english drama. meeting with small favour from writers skilful in the stringing together of rhymes, it suffered comparative neglect for some years until marlowe taught its capacities to his own and future ages. with sackville's stiff lines before us we shall be better able to appreciate the later playwright's genius. but we shall also be reminded that the credit of introducing blank verse must lie with the older man.
-the chief question of all remains to be asked. does gorboduc, with all its borrowed devices, and because of them, rise to a higher level of tragedy than cambyses and appius and virginia? to answer this question we must examine the effect of those devices, and understand what is precisely meant by the term tragedy. let it be first understood that the arrangement of acts and scenes is comparatively unimportant in this connexion, though most helpful in giving clearness to the action. marlowe's doctor faustus (in the earlier edition) dispenses with it; so does milton's samson agonistes; and we have just seen that the great greek dramatists knew nothing of it. what is important is the exclusion of that comic element which, in some form or another, had hitherto found a place in almost every english play; the removal of all action from the stage--for the dumb shows stand apart from the play--; and the substitution of stately speeches for natural conversation and dialogue. of all three the purpose is the same, namely, to impress the audience with a sense of greater dignity and awe than would be imparted by a more familiar style. the long speeches give importance to the decisions, and compel a belief that momentous events are about to happen or have happened. in harmony with this effect is the absence of all comic relief--although shakespeare was to prove later that this has a useful place in tragedy. a smile, a jest would be sacrilege in the prevailing gloom. two effects alone are aimed at; an impression of loftiness in the theme, and a profound melancholy. not warm gushing tears. those are the outcome of a personal sorrow, small and ignoble beside an abstract grief at 'the falls of princes', 'the tumbling down of crowns', 'the ruin of proud realms'. what does the reader or spectator know of ferrex that he should mingle his cries with videna's lamentations? the account of porrex appealing, with childlike faith in his mother, to the very woman who has murdered him, may, for the moment, bring tears to the eyes. but it is an accidental touch. the tragedy lies not there but in the great fact that with him dies the last heir to the throne, the last hope of avoiding the miseries of a disputed succession; and that in her revengeful fury the queen, as a woman, has committed the blackest of all crimes, a mother's slaughter of her child. we are not asked to weep but to gasp at the horror of it. it is in order to protect the loftier, broader aspects of the catastrophe from the influence of the particular that action is excluded. this cautions us against confusing tragedy and pathos. to perceive the difference is to recognize that english tragedy really begins with gorboduc. until its advent the stress laid on the pathetic partially obscured the tragic. this may be seen at once in the miracles, though a little thought will reveal the intensely tragic nature of the complete miracle play. in cambyses we find the same obscuration: there is tragedy in the sudden ending of those young lives, but the pathos of the mother's anguish and the sweet girl's pleadings prevent us from thinking of it. appius and virginia maintains a much truer tragic detachment, the effect being heightened by its opening picture of virtuous happiness destined to abrupt and tyrannous ruin. but it expresses itself so ill, shatters our hearing so unmercifully with its alliterative mouthing, and hurls us down so steeply with its low comedy, that we refuse to give its characters the grandeur or excellence claimed for them by the author. gorboduc alone presents tragedy unspoiled by extraneous additions. in its triple catastrophe of princes, crown and realm we perceive the awful figure of the tragic muse and shrink back in reverent fear of what more may lie hid from us in the folds of her black robe. darker, much darker and more terrible things have come since from that gloomy spirit. what has been written here should not be misinterpreted as an exaggerated appreciation of gorboduc. we wish only to insist that this play did give to english drama for the first time (if we exclude translations) an example, however weak in execution, of pure tragedy; and was able to do so largely, if not entirely, by reason of its reversion to classical principles and devices.
-we have insisted on the difference between tragedy and pathos, and criticized the weakening effect of the latter upon the former. to escape the penalty that awaits general criticism we may add here that tragedy is never greater than when her handmaid is ready to do her modest service. sophocles puts into the mouth of oedipus, at the moment of his departure into blind and desolate exile, tender injunctions regarding the care of his young daughters:
-shakespeare, too, knew well how to kindle the soft radiance which, fading again, makes the ensuing darkness darker still. ophelia, the sleeping duncan, cordelia rise to our minds. nor need we quote the famous words of webster's ferdinand. it is enough that the greatest scene in gorboduc is precisely that scene where pathos softens by a momentary dimness of vision our horror at a mother's crime.
-the misfortunes of arthur (1587), by thomas hughes, though twenty-five years later, may be placed next to gorboduc in our discussion of the rise of tragedy. it will serve as an illustration of the kind of tragedy that was being evolved from senecan models by plodding uninspired englishmen before marlowe flung his flaming torch amongst them. to understand the story a slight introduction is necessary. igerna, the wife of gorlois, duke of cornwall, was loved by king uther, who foully slew her husband and so won her for himself. as a result of this union were born arthur and anne, who, in their youth, perpetuated the inherited taint of sin by becoming the parents of a boy, mordred. afterwards arthur married guenevera, and some years later went to france on a long campaign of conquest. in his absence mordred gained the love of guenevera. the play begins with the contemplated return of arthur, glorious from victory, the object being to concentrate attention upon the swift fall from glory and power to ruin and death. guenevera, having learnt to hate her husband, debates in her mind his death or hers, finally deciding, however, to become a nun. her interview with mordred ends in his resolving to resist arthur's landing. unsuccessful in this attempt, and defeated in battle, he spurns all thought of submission, challenging his father to a second conflict, in cornwall. arthur, feeling that his sins have found him out, would gladly make peace; but, stung by mordred's defiance, he follows him into cornwall. there both armies are destroyed and mordred is slain, though in his death he mortally wounds his father. after the battle his body is brought before arthur, in whom the sight awakens yet more fiercely the pangs of remorse. the play closes immediately before arthur's own mysterious departure.
-here is all the material for a great tragedy. the point for beginning the story is well chosen, though in obvious imitation of agamemnon. attention is concentrated on the catastrophe, no alien element being admitted to detract from the melancholy effect. it is sought to intensify the gloom by recourse to seneca's stage ghost; thus, the departed spirit of the wronged gorlois opens the play with horrid imprecations of evil upon the house of uther, and, at the close, exults in the fullness of his revenge. from his mouth, as well as from the lips of arthur, and again from the chorus (which closes the acts, as in gorboduc) we learn the great purpose beneath this overwhelming ruin of a king and kingdom--to show that the day and the hour do come, however long deferred, when
-wrong hath his wreak, and guilt his guerdon bears.
-as before, all action is rigorously excluded from the stage, to be reported, at great length and with tremendous striving after vividness and effect, by one who was present. dumb shows before each act continue the attempt to balance matters spectacularly. clearly the only hope of dramatic advance for disciples of the senecan school lay in improved dialogue. this was possible in four directions, namely, in more stirring topics, in more personal feeling, in shorter speeches, and in a change in the style of language and verse. unfortunately for thomas hughes, it is just here that he fails, and fails lamentably. what is more, he fails because of his methods. the dominant desire of the english 'classical' school was to be impressive. hence the adoption by hughes of a ghostly introduction and conclusion. his conversations, therefore, must reflect the same idea. he saw, indeed, that long speeches, except at rare intervals, were tedious, and reduced his to reasonable proportions, even making extensive use--as, we shall see, the author of damon and pythias did before him--of the greek device of stichomythia. he was most anxious, also, to provide stirring topics for his characters to
-a columbian. one of captain gilbert's crew in the pirate schooner panda. hanged at boston in 1835.
-de mont, francis.
-captured in south carolina in 1717. tried at charleston, and convicted of taking the turtle dove and other vessels in the previous july. hanged in june, 1717.
-moody, captain christopher.
-a notorious pirate. very active off the coast of carolina, 1717, with two ships under his command. in 1722 was with roberts on board the royal fortune, being one of his chief men or "lords." taken prisoner, and tried at cape coast castle, and hanged in chains at the age of 28.
-a gunner aboard captain kidd's ship the adventure. when kidd's mutinous crew were all for attacking a dutch ship, kidd refused to allow them to, and moore threatened the captain, who seized a bucket and struck moore on the head with it, the blow killing him. kidd was perfectly justified in killing this mutinous sailor, but eventually it was for this act that he was hanged in london.
-this pirate must not be confused with the buccaneer, sir henry morgan. little is known about him except that he was with hamlin, the french pirate, in 1683, off the coast of west africa, and helped to take several danish and english ships. soon the pirates quarrelled over the division of their plunder and separated into two companies, the english following captain morgan in one of the prizes.
-morgan, colonel blodre, or bledry.
-this buccaneer was probably a relation of sir henry morgan. he was an important person in jamaica between 1660 and 1670. at the taking of panama by henry morgan in 1670 the colonel commanded the rearguard of 300 men. in may, 1671, he was appointed to act as deputy governor of providence island by sir james modyford.
-morgan, lieut.-colonel edward. buccaneer.
-uncle and father-in-law of sir henry morgan.
-in 1665, when war had been declared on holland, the governor of jamaica issued commissions to several pirates and buccaneers to sail to and attack the dutch islands of st. eustatius, saba, and curacao. morgan was put in command of ten ships and some 500 men; most of them were "reformed prisoners," while some were condemned pirates who had been pardoned in order to let them join the expedition.
-before leaving jamaica the crews mutinied, but were pacified by the promise of an equal share of all the spoils that should be taken. three ships out of the fleet slipped away on the voyage, but the rest arrived at st. kitts, landed, and took the fort. colonel morgan, who was an old and corpulent man, died of the heat and exertion during the campaign.
-morgan, lieut.-colonel thomas.
-sailed with colonel edward morgan to attack st. eustatius and saba islands, and after these were surrendered by the dutch, thomas morgan was left in charge.
-in 1686 he sailed in command of a company of buccaneers to assist governor wells, of st. kitts, against the french. the defence of the island was disgraceful, and morgan's company was the only one which displayed any courage or discipline, and most of them were killed or wounded, colonel morgan himself being shot in both legs.
-often these buccaneer leaders altered their titles from colonel to captain, to suit the particular enterprise on which they were engaged, according if it took place on sea or land.
-morgan, sir henry. buccaneer.
-this, the greatest of all the "brethren of the coast," was a welshman, born at llanrhymmy in monmouthshire in the year 1635. the son of a well-to-do farmer, robert morgan, he early took to the seafaring life. when quite a young man morgan went to barbadoes, but afterwards he settled at jamaica, which was his home for the rest of his life.
-morgan may have been induced to go to the west indies by his uncle, colonel morgan, who was for a time deputy governor of jamaica, a post sir henry morgan afterwards held.
-morgan was a man of great energy, and must have possessed great power of winning his own way with people. that he could be absolutely unscrupulous when it suited his ends there can be little doubt. he was cruel at times, but was not the inhuman monster that he is made out to be by esquemeling in his "history of the bucaniers." this was largely proved by the evidence given in the suit for libel brought and won by morgan against the publishers, although morgan was, if possible, more indignant over the statement in the same book that he had been kidnapped in wales and sold, as a boy, and sent to be a slave in barbadoes. that he could descend to rank dishonesty was shown when, returning from his extraordinary and successful assault on the city of panama in 1670, to chagres, he left most of his faithful followers behind, without ships or food, while he slipped off in the night with most of the booty to jamaica. no doubt, young morgan came to jamaica with good credentials from his uncle, the colonel, for the latter was held in high esteem by modyford, then governor of barbadoes, who describes colonel morgan as "that honest privateer."
-colonel morgan did not live to see his nephew reach the pinnacle of his success, for in the year 1665 he was sent at the head of an expedition to attack the dutch stronghold at st. eustatius island, but he was too old to stand the hardships of such an expedition and died shortly afterwards.
-by this time morgan had made his name as a successful and resolute buccaneer by returning to port royal from a raiding expedition in central america with a huge booty.
-in 1665 morgan, with two other buccaneers, jackman and morris, plundered the province of campeachy, and then, acting as vice-admiral to the most famous buccaneer of the day, captain mansfield, plundered cuba, captured providence island, sacked granada, burnt and plundered the coast of costa rica, bringing back another booty of almost fabulous wealth to jamaica. in this year morgan married a daughter of his uncle, colonel morgan.
-in 1668, when 33 years of age, morgan was commissioned by the jamaican government to collect together the privateers, and by 1669 he was in command of a big fleet, when he was almost killed by a great explosion in the oxford, which happened while morgan was giving a banquet to his captains. about this time morgan calmly took a fine ship, the cour volant, from a french pirate, and made her his own flagship, christening her the satisfaction.
-in 1670 the greatest event of morgan's life took place--the sacking of panama. first landing a party which took the castle of san lorenzo at the mouth of the chagres river, morgan left a strong garrison there to cover his retreat and pushed on with 1,400 men in a fleet of canoes up the river on january 9th, 1671. the journey across the isthmus, through the tropical jungle, was very hard on the men, particularly as they had depended on finding provisions to supply their wants on the way, and carried no food with them. they practically starved until the sixth day, when they found a barn full of maize, which the fleeing spaniards had neglected to destroy. on the evening of the ninth day a scout reported he had seen the steeple of a church in panama. morgan, with that touch of genius which so often brought him success, attacked the city from a direction the spaniards had not thought possible, so that their guns were all placed where they were useless, and they were compelled to do just what the buccaneer leader wanted them to do--namely, to come out of their fortifications and fight him in the open. the battle raged fiercely for two hours between the brave spanish defenders and the equally brave but almost exhausted buccaneers. when at last the spaniards turned and ran, the buccaneers were too tired to immediately follow up their success, but after resting they advanced, and at the end of three hours' street fighting the city was theirs. the first thing morgan now did was to assemble all his men and strictly forbid them to drink any wine, telling them that he had secret information that the wine had been poisoned by the spaniards before they left the city. this was, of course, a scheme of morgan's to stop his men from becoming drunk, when they would be at the mercy of the enemy, as had happened in many a previous buccaneer assault.
-morgan now set about plundering the city, a large part of which was burnt to the ground, though whether this was done by his orders or by the spanish governor has never been decided. after three weeks the buccaneers started back on their journey to san lorenzo, with a troop of 200 pack-mules laden with gold, silver, and goods of all sorts, together with a large number of prisoners. the rearguard on the march was under the command of a kinsman of the admiral, colonel bledry morgan.
-on their arrival at chagres the spoils were divided, amidst a great deal of quarrelling, and in march, 1671, morgan sailed off to port royal with a few friends and the greater part of the plunder, leaving his faithful followers behind without ships or provisions, and with but £10 apiece as their share of the spoils.
-on may 31st, 1671, the council of jamaica passed a vote of thanks to morgan for his successful expedition, and this in spite of the fact that in july, a year before, a treaty had been concluded at madrid between spain and england for "restraining depredations and establishing peace" in the new world.
-in april, 1672, morgan was carried to england as a prisoner in the welcome frigate. but he was too popular to be convicted, and after being acquitted was appointed deputy governor of jamaica, and in november, 1674, he was knighted and returned to the west indies. in 1672 major-general banister, who was commander-in-chief of the troops in jamaica, writing to lord arlington about morgan, said: "he (morgan) is a well deserving person, and one of great courage and conduct, who may, with his majesty's pleasure, perform good public service at home, or be very advantageous to this island if war should again break forth with the spaniards."
-while morgan was in england he brought an action for libel against william crooke, the publisher of the "history of the bucaniers of america." the result of this trial was that crooke paid £200 damages to morgan and published a long and grovelling apology.
-morgan was essentially a man of action, and a regular life on shore proved irksome to him, for we learn from a report sent home by lord vaughan in 1674 that morgan "frequented the taverns of port royal, drinking and gambling in unseemly fashion," but nevertheless the jamaican assembly had voted the lieutenant-governor a sum of £600 special salary. in 1676 vaughan brought definite charges against morgan and another member of the council, robert byndloss, of giving aid to certain jamaica pirates.
-morgan made a spirited defence and, no doubt largely owing to his popularity, got off, and in 1678 was granted a commission to be a captain of a company of 100 men.
-the governor to succeed vaughan was lord carlisle, who seems to have liked morgan, in spite of his jovial "goings on" with his old buccaneer friends in the taverns of port royal, and in some of his letters speaks of morgan's "generous manner," and hints that whatever allowances are made to him "he will be a beggar."
-in 1681 sir thomas lynch was appointed to be governor, and trouble at once began between him and his deputy. amongst the charges the former brought against morgan was one of his having been overheard to say, "god damn the assembly!" for which he was suspended from that body.
-in april, 1688, the king, at the urgent request of the duke of albemarle, ordered morgan to be reinstated in the assembly, but morgan did not live long to enjoy his restored honours, for he died on august 25th, 1688.
-an extract from the journal of captain lawrence wright, commander of h.m.s. assistance, dated august, 1688, describes the ceremonies held at port royal at the burial of morgan, and shows how important and popular a man he was thought to be. it runs:
-"saturday 25. this day about eleven hours noone sir henry morgan died, & the 26th was brought over from passage-fort to the king's house at port royall, from thence to the church, & after a sermon was carried to the pallisadoes & there buried. all the forts fired an equal number of guns, wee fired two & twenty & after wee & the drake had fired, all the merchant men fired."
-morgan was buried in jamaica, and his will, which was filed in the record office at spanish town, makes provision for his wife and near relations.
-of new providence, bahama islands.
-hanged at new providence in 1718 by his lately reformed fellow-pirates, and on the gallows taxed them with "pusillanimity and cowardice" because they did not rescue him and his fellow-sufferers.
-morris, captain john.
-a privateer until 1665, he afterwards became a buccaneer with mansfield. took part in successful raids in central america, plundering vildemo in the bay of campeachy; he also sacked truxillo, and then, after a journey by canoe up the san juan river to take nicaragua, surprised and plundered the city of granada in march, 1666.
-morris, captain thomas.
-one of the pirates of new providence, bahamas, who, on pardon being offered by king george in 1717, escaped, and for a while carried on piracy in the west indian islands. caught and hanged a few years afterwards.
-one of captain bartholomew roberts's crew. when the royal fortune surrendered to h.m.s. swallow, morris fired his pistol into the gunpowder in the steerage and caused an explosion that killed or maimed many of the pirates.
-a scotch pirate, who lived on prince edward island.
-for an account of his career, see captain nelson.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew. hanged at white point, charleston, south carolina, on november 8th, 1718, and buried in the marsh below low-water mark.
-gunner on board "blackbeard's" ship, the queen ann's revenge. killed on november 22nd, 1718, in north carolina, during the fight with lieutenant maynard.
-mullet, james, alias millet.
-one of the crew of the royal james, in which vessel major stede bonnet played havoc with the shipping along the coasts of south carolina and new england. hanged at charleston in 1718.
-this irish pirate was born in the north of ireland, not many miles from londonderry. being left an orphan at the age of 18, he was sold to a planter in the west indies for a term of four years.
-after the great earthquake at jamaica in 1691, mullins built himself a house at kingston and ran it as a punch-house--often a very profitable business when the buccaneers returned to port royal with good plunder. this business failing, he went to new york, where he met captain kidd, and was, according to his own story, persuaded to engage in piracy, it being urged that the robbing only of infidels, the enemies of christianity, was an act, not only lawful, but one highly meritorious.
-at his trial later on in london his judges did not agree with this view of the rights of property, and mullins was hanged at execution dock on may 23rd, 1701.
-an indian of mather's vineyard, new england.
-tried for piracy with captain charles harris and his men, but found to be "not guilty."
-hanged for piracy at newport, rhode island, on july 19th, 1723, at the age of 20.
-mustapha. turkish pirate.
-in 1558 he sailed, with a fleet of 140 vessels, to the island of minorca. landed, and besieged the fortified town of ciudadda, which at length surrendered. the turks slew great numbers of the inhabitants, taking the rest away as slaves.
-nau, captain jean david, alias francis l'ollonais.
-a frenchman born at les sables d'ollone.
-in his youth he was transported as an indented labourer to the french island of dominica in the west indies. having served his time l'ollonais went to the island of hispaniola, and joined the buccaneers there, living by hunting wild cattle and drying the flesh or boucan.
-he then sailed for a few voyages as a sailor before the mast, and acted with such ability and courage that the governor of tortuga island, monsieur de la place, gave him the command of a vessel and sent him out to seek his fortune.
-at first the young buccaneer was very successful, and he took many spanish ships, but owing to his ferocious treatment of his prisoners he soon won a name for cruelty which has never been surpassed. but at the height of this success his ship was wrecked in a storm, and, although most of the pirates got ashore, they were at once attacked by a party of spaniards, and all but l'ollonais were killed. the captain escaped, after being wounded, by smearing blood and sand over his face and hiding himself amongst his dead companions. disguised as a spaniard he entered the city of campeachy, where bonfires and other manifestations of public relief were being held, to express the joy of the citizens at the news of the death of their terror, l'ollonais.
-meeting with some french slaves, the fugitive planned with them to escape in the night in a canoe, this being successfully carried out, they eventually arrived back at tortuga, the pirate stronghold. here the enterprising captain stole a small vessel, and again started off "on the account," plundering a village called de los cagos in cuba. the governor of havana receiving word of the notorious and apparently resurrected pirate's arrival sent a well-armed ship to take him, adding to the ship's company a negro executioner, with orders to hang all the pirate crew with the exception of l'ollonais, who was to be brought back to havana alive and in chains.
-instead of the spaniards taking the frenchman, the opposite happened, and everyone of them was murdered, including the negro hangman, with the exception of one man, who was sent with a written message to the governor to tell him that in future l'ollonais would kill every spaniard he met with.
-joining with a famous filibuster, michael de basco, l'ollonais soon organized a more important expedition, consisting of a fleet of eight vessels and 400 men. sailing to the gulf of venezuela in 1667, they entered the lake, destroying the fort that stood to guard the entrance. thence sailing to the city of maracaibo they found all the inhabitants had fled in terror. the filibusters caught many of the inhabitants hiding in the neighbouring woods, and killed numbers of them in their attempts to force from the rest the hiding-places of their treasure. they next marched upon and attacked the town of gibraltar, which was valiantly defended by the spaniards, until the evening, when, having lost 500 men killed, they surrendered. for four weeks this town was pillaged, the inhabitants murdered, while torture and rape were daily occurrences. at last, to the relief of the wretched inhabitants, the buccaneers, with a huge booty, sailed away to corso island, a place of rendezvous of the french buccaneers. here they divided their spoil, which totalled the great sum of 260,000 pieces of eight, which, when divided amongst them, gave each man above one hundred pieces of eight, as well as his share of plate, silk, and jewels.
-also, a share was allotted for the next-of-kin of each man killed, and extra rewards for those pirates who had lost a limb or an eye. l'ollonais had now become most famous amongst the "brethren of the coast," and began to make arrangements for an even more daring expedition to attack and plunder the coast of nicaragua. here he burnt and pillaged ruthlessly, committing the most revolting cruelties on the spanish inhabitants. one example of this monster's inhuman deeds will more than suffice to tell of. it happened that during an attack on the town of san pedros the buccaneers had been caught in an ambuscade and many of them killed, although the spaniards had at last turned and fled. the pirates killed most of their prisoners, but kept a few to be questioned by l'ollonais so as to find some other way to the town. as he could get no information out of these men, the frenchman drew his cutlass and with it cut open the breast of one of the spaniards, and pulling out his still beating heart he began to bite and gnaw it with his teeth like a ravenous wolf, saying to the other prisoners, "i will serve you all alike, if you show me not another way."
-shortly after this, many of the buccaneers broke away from l'ollonais and sailed under the command of moses van vin, the second in command. l'ollonais, in his big ship, sailed to the coast of honduras, but ran his vessel on a sand-bank and lost her. while building a new but small craft on one of the las pertas islands, they cultivated beans and other vegetables, and also wheat, for which they baked bread in portable ovens which these french buccaneers carried about with them. it took them six months to build their long-boat, and when it was finished it would not carry more than half the number of buccaneers. lots were drawn to settle who should sail and who remain behind. l'ollonais steered the boat towards cartagena, but was caught by the indians, as described by esquemeling. "here suddenly his ill-fortune assailed him, which of a long time had been reserved for him as a punishment due to the multitude of horrible crimes, which in his licentious and wicked life he had committed. for god almighty, the time of his divine justice being now already come, had appointed the indians of darien to be the instruments and executioners thereof."
-these "instruments of god," having caught l'ollonais, tore him in pieces alive, throwing his body limb by limb into the fire and his ashes into the air, to the intent "no trace nor memory might remain of such an infamous inhuman creature."
-thus died a monster of cruelty, who would, had he lived to-day, have been confined in an asylum for lunatics.
-a fisherman of cork.
-mutinied in a french ship sailing from cork to nantes in 1721, and, under the leadership of philip roche, murdered the captain and many of the crew and became a pirate.
-born at haverhill, massachusetts, in 1667.
-a soldier, one of the guard at fort loyal, falmouth, maine. deserted in 1689 and went to sea with the pirate captain pound.
-born on prince edward island, where his father had a grant of land for services rendered in the american war. he was a wealthy man, a member of the council and a colonel of the militia. in order to set his son up in life he bought him a captaincy in the militia and a fine farm, where young nelson married and settled down. buying a schooner, he used to sail to halifax with cargoes of potatoes and fruit. he seems to have liked these trips in which he combined business with pleasure, for we learn that on these visits to halifax he "was very wild, and drank and intrigued with the girls in an extravagant manner." getting into disgrace on prince edward island, and losing his commission, he went to live near halifax, and became a lieutenant in the nova scotia fencibles, while his wife remained on the island to look after his estates, which brought him in £300 a year. meeting with a scotchman called morrison, together they bought a "pretty little new york battleship," mounting ten guns. manning this dangerous toy with a crew of ninety desperate characters, the partners went "on the account," and began well by taking a brig belonging to mr. hill, of rotherhithe, which they took to new york, and there sold both ship and cargo.
-they next cruised in the west indies, taking several english and dutch ships, the crews of which they treated with the greatest brutality.
-landing on st. kitts island, they burnt and plundered two dutch plantations, murdering the owners and slaves. sailing north to newfoundland they took ten more vessels, which they sold in new york. after further successful voyages in the west indies and off the coast of brazil, nelson felt the call of home ties becoming so strong that he ventured to return to prince edward island to visit his wife and family, where no one dared to molest him.
-by this time nelson had been a pirate for three years and had, by his industry, won for himself a fortune worth £150,000, but his scotch partner, morrison, being a frugal soul, had in the meantime saved an even larger sum. eventually their ship was wrecked in a fog on a small barren island near prince edward island, and morrison and most of the crew were drowned, but nelson and a few others were saved. at last he reached new york, where he lived the rest of his life in peaceful happiness with his wife and family.
-nicholls, thomas, alias nicholas.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew in the royal james. tried for piracy at charleston on november 8th, 1718, and found "not guilty."
-hanged at kingston, jamaica, in february, 1823. at the time of execution it was observed that he was covered with the marks of deep wounds. on the scaffold he wept bitterly. an immensely heavy man, he broke the rope, and had to be hanged a second time.
-norman, captain. buccaneer.
-served under morgan in 1670, and after the fall of chagres fort, norman was left in charge with 500 men to hold it, while morgan crossed the isthmus to attack panama. norman soon "sent forth to sea two boats to exercise piracy." these hoisted spanish colours and met a big spanish merchant ship on the same day. they chased the ship, which fled for safety into the chagres river, only to be caught there by norman. she proved a valuable prize, being loaded with all kinds of provisions, of which the garrison was in sore need.
-north, captain nathaniel.
-born in bermuda, and by profession a lawyer, captain north was a man of remarkable ability, and in his later calling of piracy he gained great notoriety, and was a born leader of men. his history has been written fully, and is well worth reading. he had many ups and downs in his early seafaring life in the west indies; being no less than three times taken by the pressgang, each time escaping. he served in dutch and spanish privateers, and eventually rose to being a pirate captain, making his headquarters in madagascar. from here he sailed out to the east indies, and preyed on the ships of the east india company. several times he was wrecked, once he was the only survivor, and swam ashore at madagascar stark naked. the unusual sight of a naked englishman spread terror amongst the natives who were on the beach, and they all fled into the jungle except one, a woman, who from previous personal experience knew that this was but a human being and not a sea devil. she supplied him with clothes, of a sort, and led him to the nearest pirate settlement, some six miles away. on another occasion when the pirates were having a jollification ashore, having left their moorish prisoners on the ship at anchor, north gave the prisoners a hint to clear off in the night with the ship, otherwise they would all be made slaves. this friendly hint was acted upon, and in the morning both ship and prisoners had vanished. the pirates having lost their ship took to the peaceful and harmless life of planters, with north as their ruler. he won the confidence of the natives, who abided by his decision in all quarrels and misunderstandings. occasionally north and his men would join forces with a neighbouring friendly tribe and go to war, north leading the combined army, and victory always resulted. the call of piracy was too strong in his bones to resist, and after three years planting he was back to sea and the jolly roger once more. on one occasion he seized the opportunity, when in the neighbourhood of the mascarenhas islands, to go ashore and visit the catholic priest and confess, and at the same time made suitable arrangements for his children to be educated by the church. north evidently truly repented his former sins, for he returned to resume his simple life on his plantation. on arriving home he found the settlement in an uproar. he soon settled all the disputes, appeased the natives, and before long had this garden-city of pirates back in its previous peaceful and happy state. beyond an occasional little voyage, taking a ship or two, or burning an arab village, north's career as a pirate may be considered to have terminated, as, indeed, his life was shortly afterwards, being murdered in his bed by a treacherous native. north's friends the pirates, shocked at this cold-blooded murder, waged a ruthless war on the natives for seven years: thus in their simple way thinking to revenge the loss of this estimable man, who had always been the natives' best friend.
-one of captain john quelch's crew. tried for piracy in june, 1704, at the star tavern at boston.
-one of captain john phillip's original crew of five pirates in the revenge in 1723. nutt was made master or navigator.
-ochali. barbary renegade.
-in 1511 he sailed from algiers with a fleet of twenty-two vessels and 1,700 men to raid majorca. the moors landed at soller and pillaged it. before they could get back to their ship, the pirates were attacked by the majorcans, headed by miguel angelats, and completely routed, 500 of them being killed.
-taken prisoner by the pirate captain teach on november 21st, 1718, and on the very next day retaken by lieutenant maynard. odell received no less than seventy wounds in the fight, but recovered, and was carried to virginia to stand his trial for piracy, and was acquitted.
-acted as pilot in the royal fortune. took an active part in taking and plundering the king solomon on the west coast of africa in 1721.
-hanged at cape coast castle in 1722.
-a bahaman privateer who in 1683 turned pirate and attacked st. augustine in florida under french colours. being driven off by the spaniards, he had to content himself with looting some neighbouring settlements. on returning to new providence, the governor attempted, but without success, to arrest pain and his crew. pain afterwards appeared in rhode island, and when the authorities tried to seize him and his ship, he got off by exhibiting an old commission to hunt for pirates given him a long while before by sir thomas lynch. when the west indies became too hot for him, pain made the coast of carolina his headquarters.
-paine, captain peter, alias le pain. a french buccaneer.
-he brought into port royal in 1684 a merchant ship, la trompeuse. pretending to be the owner, he sold both ship and cargo, which brought about great trouble afterwards between the french and english governments, because he had stolen the ship on the high seas. he was sent from jamaica under arrest to france the same year, to answer for his crimes.
-this carolina pirate retired and lived at charleston. in august, 1710, he was recommended for the position of public powder-receiver, but was rejected by the upper house. "mr. painter having committed piracy, and not having his majesties pardon for the same, its resolved he is not fit for that trust." which only goes to show how hard it was for a man to live down a thing like piracy.
-pardal, captain manuel rivero.
-known to the jamaicans as "the vapouring admiral of st. jago," because in july, 1670, he had nailed a piece of canvas to a tree on the jamaican coast with this curious challenge written both in english and spanish:
-"i, captain manuel rivero pardal, to the chief of the squadron of privateers in jamaica. i am he who this year have done that which follows. i went on shore at caimanos, and burnt 20 houses and fought with captain ary, and took from him a catch laden with provisions and a canoe. and i am he who took captain baines and did carry the prize to cartagena, and now am arrived to this coast, and have burnt it. and i come to seek general morgan, with 2 ships of 20 guns, and having seen this, i crave he would come out upon the coast and seek me, that he might see the valour of the spaniards. and because i had no time i did not come to the mouth of port royal to speak by word of mouth in the name of my king, whom god preserve. dated the 5th of july, 1670."
-parker, captain william. buccaneer.
-just after the city of porto bello had been made, as the spanish thought, impregnable, by the building of the massive stone fort of san jerome, the daring parker, with but 200 english desperadoes, took the place by storm, burning part of the town and getting quickly and safely away with a huge amount of booty.
-one of captain john quelch's crew in the brigantine charles. tried at boston for piracy in 1704.
-one of quelch's crew, who turned king's evidence at the trial at boston in 1704, and thus escaped hanging.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew in the royal james. hanged at charleston, south carolina, on november 8th, 1718, and buried in the marsh.
-tried for piracy at boston in 1704.
-a low down, latter-day south sea pirate. arrived in an armed ship with a malay crew at apia in samoa in june, 1870, and rescued the pirate bully hayes, who was under arrest of the english consul. he pleased the british inhabitants of the island by his display of loyalty to queen victoria by firing a salute of twenty-one guns on her majesty's birthday.
-we have been able to find out nothing of this pirate except that he was at new providence island in 1718 and took the king's pardon for pirates. he seems to have returned to the old life and was killed soon after, though how this came about is not recorded.
-one of quelch's crew. captured at marblehead in 1704.
-tried for piracy in 1718 at charleston, south carolina, and found guilty. hanged on november 8th at white point. buried in the marsh below low-water mark.
-of newport, rhode island.
-in 1688 he arrived at newport in a "barkalonga" armed with ten guns and seventy men. the governor prosecuted him for piracy, but the grand jury, which consisted of friends and neighbours of peterson, threw out the bill. among other charges, peterson was accused of selling some hides and elephants' teeth to a boston merchant for £57, being part of the booty he had previously taken out of prizes in the west indies.
-tried for piracy with the rest of captain quelch's crew at boston. was hanged there on june 30th, 1704. when standing on the gallows "he cryed of injustice done him and said, 'it is very hard for so many lives to be taken away for a little gold.' he said his peace was made with god, yet he found it extremely hard to forgive those who had wronged him. he told the executioner 'he was a strong man and prayed to be put out of his misery as soon as possible.'"
-a swedish pirate, one of gow's crew. he was hanged at wapping in june, 1725.
-petit, captain. french filibuster.
-of san domingo.
-in 1634 was in command of le ruze, crew of forty men and four guns.
-born at deptford.
-phelipp, captain william.
-in 1533 a portuguese merchant, peter alves, engaged phelipp to pilot his ship, the santa maria desaie, from tenby to bastabill haven. off the welsh coast the ship was attacked by a pirate vessel called the furtuskewys, with a crew of thirty-five pirates. alves was put ashore on the welsh coast, and the two ships then sailed to cork, where the ship and her cargo were sold to the mayor for 1,524 crowns.
-alves complained to the king of england, and orders were sent to the mayor of cork, richard gowllys, to give up the ship, which he refused to do, but by way of excusing his actions he explained that he thought the ship was a scotch one and not a portuguese.
-in 1723 this noted pirate took a sloop, the dolphin, of cape ann, on the banks of newfoundland. the crew of the dolphin were compelled by phillips to join the pirates. amongst the prisoners was a fisherman, john fillmore. finding no opportunity to escape, fillmore with another sailor, edward cheesman, and an indian, suddenly seized and killed phillips and the two other chief pirates. the rest of the crew agreeing, the ship was taken to boston.
-of the island of antigua.
-formerly of the revenge, and afterwards in the royal fortune (captain roberts). when the royal fortune surrendered in 1722 to h.m.s. swallow, philips seized a lighted match and attempted to blow up the ship, swearing he would "send them all to hell together," but was prevented by the master, glasby. hanged at the age of 35.
-on the night of august 29th, 1723, with four others, he stole a vessel in the harbour and sailed away. phillips was chosen captain. articles were now drawn up and were sworn to upon a hatchet, because no bible could be found on board. amongst other laws was the punishment of "40 stripes lacking one, known as moses's law, to be afflicted for striking a fellow-pirate." the last law of the nine casts a curious light on these murderers; it runs: "if at any time you meet with a prudent woman, that man that offers to meddle with her, without her consent, shall suffer present death." the pirates, fortified by these laws, met with instant success, taking several fishing vessels, from which they augmented their small crew by the addition of several likely and brisk seamen. amongst these they had the good fortune to take prisoner an old pirate called john rose archer, who had served his pirate apprenticeship under the able tuition of the famous blackbeard, and who they at once promoted to be quartermaster. this quick promotion caused trouble afterwards, for some of the original crew, particularly carpenter fern, resented it. the pirates next sailed to barbadoes, that happy hunting ground, but for three months never a sail did they meet with, so that they were almost starving for want of provisions, being reduced to a pound of dried meat a day amongst ten of them.
-at last they met with a french vessel, a martinico ship, of twelve guns, and hunger drove them to attack even so big a ship as this, but the sight of the black flag so terrified the french crew that they surrendered without firing a shot. after this, they took several vessels, and matters began to look much brighter. phillips quickly developed into a most accomplished and bloody pirate, butchering his prisoners on very little or on no provocation whatever. but even this desperate pirate had an occasional "qualm of conscience come athwart his stomach," for when he captured a newfoundland vessel and was about to scuttle her, he found out that she was the property of a mr. minors of that island, from whom they stole the original vessel in which they went a-pirating, so phillips, telling his companions "we have done him enough injury already," ordered the vessel to be repaired and returned to the owner. on another occasion, they took a ship, the master of which was a "saint" of new england, by name dependance ellery, who gave them a pretty chase before being overhauled, and so, as a punishment, the "saint" was compelled to dance the deck until he fell down exhausted.
-this pirate's career ended with a mutiny of his unruly crew, phillips being tripped up and then thrown overboard to drown off newfoundland in april, 1724.
-during the nine months of phillips's command as a pirate captain, he accounted for more than thirty ships.
-one of teach's crew. hanged in virginia in 1718.
-born at lower shadwell.
-at his trial at cape coast castle, he pleaded, as nearly all the prisoners did, that he was compelled to sign the pirates' articles, which were offered to him on a dish, on which lay a loaded pistol beside the copy of the articles.
-found guilty and hanged in april, 1722, within the flood marks at cape coast castle, in his 29th year.
-an english soldier who deserted from fort loyal, falmouth, maine, in 1689. wounded by a bullet in the head at tarpaulin cove. taken to boston prison, where he died.
-pickering, captain charles.
-commanded the cinque ports galley, sixteen guns, crew of sixty-three men, and accompanied dampier on his voyage in 1703. died off the coast of brazil in the same year.
-tried for piracy along with the rest of the crew of the brigantine charles, at boston, in 1704.
-one of captain quelch's crew. tried for piracy at boston in 1704.
-poleas, pedro. spanish pirate.
-co-commander with captain johnson of a pirate sloop, the two brothers. in march, 1731, took a ship, the john and jane (edward burt, master), south of jamaica, on board of which was a passenger, john cockburn, who afterwards wrote a book relating his adventures on a journey on foot of 240 miles on the mainland of america.
-a west indian pirate, who commanded a sloop, and, in company with a captain tuckerman in another sloop, came one day into bennet's key in hispaniola. the two captains were but beginners at piracy, and finding the great bartholomew roberts in the bay, paid him a polite visit, hoping to pick up a few wrinkles from the "master." this scene is described by captain johnson, in his "lives of the pirates," when porter and his friend "addressed the pyrate, as the queen of sheba did solomon, to wit, that having heard of his fame and achievements, they had put in there to learn his art and wisdom in the business of pyrating, being vessels on the same honourable design with himself; and hoped with the communication of his knowledge, they should also receive his charity, being in want of necessaries for such adventures. roberts was won upon by the peculiarity and bluntness of these two men and gave them powder, arms, and what ever else they had occasion for, spent two or three merry nights with them, and at parting, said, he hoped the l---- would prosper their handy works."
-pound, captain thomas.
-on august 8th, 1689, this pirate, with five men and a boy, sailed out of boston harbour as passengers in a small vessel. when off lovell's island, five other armed men joined them. pound now seized the craft and took command, and declared his intention of going on a piratical cruise. the first vessel they met with they decided to take. it was a fishing boat. pound ran his craft alongside, but at the last moment his heart failed him, and he merely bought eight penn'o'th of mackerel from the surprised fishermen.
-of connecticut, new england.
-one of captain charles harris's crew. hanged at newport, rhode island, on july 19th, 1723, at the age of 21.
-born in the west of england.
-served in a slave vessel, the polly (captain fox, commander), on a voyage to the coast of west africa. while the captain was on shore, the crew ran away with the ship, turned pirates, called their vessel the bravo, and elected power to be captain and sailed to the west indies. arrived there, he tried to sell his cargo of slaves, but being suspected of having stolen them, he thought it best to sail to new york. here the pirates got ashore, but the ship's surgeon informed the authorities, and power was arrested and sent to england, where he was tried, and hanged at execution dock on march 10th, 1768.
-hanged at charleston, south carolina, on november 8th, 1718. one of major stede bonnet's crew.
-one of captain quelch's crew. turned king's evidence at the trial for piracy held at the star tavern, boston, in june, 1704.
-prince, captain lawrence.
-in 1760 this buccaneer sacked the city of granada in company with captains harris and ludbury. late in the same year, prince, with the rank of lieut.-colonel, led the vanguard in the attack on panama.
-this dutch south sea pirate owned a small plantation in madagascar, and was joined there by the pirate williams after he had escaped from slavery. both were taken prisoner by an english frigate. in a fight with the natives, the pirate crew was defeated, but pro and williams managed to escape and to reach some friendly natives. procuring a boat, they sailed away to join some other pirates at methulage in madagascar.
-prowse, captain lawrence.
-a devon man, a noted sea captain, and a terror to the spaniards. was imprisoned by king james i. at the instance of the king of spain for piracy and was to have been executed, but english public feeling ran so high that prowse was discharged.
-pulling, captain john.
-commanded the fame, which set out in 1703 in company with dampier in the st. george on a plundering expedition to the south seas. their commissions were to attack only spanish and french ships. the two captains quarrelled at the very beginning of the voyage, while lying off the downs, and pulling slipped away by himself to go a-pirating amongst the canary islands.
-in the sixteenth century this pirate became notorious for his piracies off the coast of wales, and with calles and clinton, two other pirates, "grew famous, till queene elizabeth of blessed memory, hanged them at wapping."
-quelch, captain john.
-a native of massachusetts colony.
-in 1703 was one of the crew of the brigantine charles, eighty tons, owned by some leading citizens of boston, and fitted out to go privateering off the coasts of arcadia and newfoundland. on leaving marblehead the crew mutinied, locked the captain in his cabin, and elected quelch their commander. they sailed to the south, and shortly afterwards threw the captain overboard. they hoisted a flag, the "old roger," described as having "in the middle of it an anatomy with an hourglars in one hand and a dart in the heart with three drops of blood proceeding from it in the other." they took nine portuguese vessels off the coast of brazil, out of which they took plunder of very great value.
-quelch now had the audacity to sail back to marblehead, where his crew landed and quickly scattered with their plunder. within a week quelch was in gaol, and was taken to boston, where his trial began on june 17th, 1704, and he was found guilty. the days between the sentence and the execution must have, indeed, been trying for the prisoner. we read in a pamphlet published at the time: "the ministers of the town used more than ordinary endeavours to instruct the prisoners and bring them to repentance. there were sermons preached in their hearing every day, and prayer daily made with them. and they were catechised, and they had many occasional exhortations. and nothing was left that could be done for their good."
-on friday, june 30th, 1704, quelch and his companions marched on foot through the town of boston to scarlil's wharf with a strong armed guard of musketeers, accompanied by various officials and two ministers, while in front was carried a silver oar, the emblem of a pirate's execution. before the last act the minister gave a long and fervent harangue to the wretched culprits, in all of whom were observed suitable signs of repentance except quelch, who, stepping forward on the platform, his hat in his hand, and bowing left and right to the spectators, gave a short address, in which he warned them "they should take care how they brought money into new england to be hanged for it."
-one of captain quelch's crew of the brigantine charles. tried with the rest of that crew at the star tavern at boston in june, 1704.
-rackam, captain john, alias calico jack.
-served as quartermaster in captain vane's company. on one occasion vane refused to fight a big french ship, and in consequence was dismissed his ship and marooned on an uninhabited island off the coast of america, while the crew elected rackam to be their captain in his place. this was on november 24th, 1718, and on the very first day of his command he had the good fortune to take and plunder several small vessels.
-off the island of jamaica they took a madeira ship, and found an old friend on board as a passenger--a mr. hosea tisdell, who kept a tavern in the island, and they treated him with great respect.
-christmas day coming, the pirates landed on a small island to celebrate this festival in a thorough manner, carousing and drinking as long as the liquor lasted, when they sailed away to seek more. their next prize was a strange one. on coming alongside a ship, she surrendered, and the pirates boarding her to examine her cargo, found it to consist of thieves from newgate on their way to the plantations. taking two more vessels, rackam sailed to the bahama islands, but the governor, captain woodes rogers, sent a sloop, which took away their prizes.
-rackam now sailed his ship to a snug little cove he knew of in cuba, where he had more than one lady acquaintance. here the pirates were very happy until all their provisions and money was spent. just as they were about to sail, in comes a spanish guarda del costa with a small english sloop which they had recently taken. rackam was now in a very awkward position, being unable to get past the spaniard, and all he could do was to hide behind a small island. night came on, and when it was dark rackam put all his crew into a boat, rowed quietly up to the sloop, clambered aboard, threatening instant death to the spanish guards if they cried out, then cut the cables and sailed out of the bay. as soon as it was light the spanish ship commenced a furious bombardment of rackam's empty vessel, thinking he was still aboard her.
-in the summer of 1720 he took numbers of small vessels and fishing boats, but nothing very rich, and was not above stealing the fishermen's nets and landing and taking cattle. in october rackam was chased near nigril bay by a government sloop commanded by a captain barret. after a short fight rackam surrendered, and was carried a prisoner to port royal.
-on november 16th rackam and his crew were tried at st. jago de la vega, convicted and sentenced to death. amongst the crew were two women dressed as men, anne bonny and mary read. the former was married, in pirate fashion, to rackam.
-on the morning of his execution rackam was allowed, as a special favour, to visit his anne, but all the comfort he got from her was "that she was sorry to see him there, but if he had fought like a man, he need not have been hanged like a dog."
-rackam was hanged on november 17th, 1720, at gallows point, at port royal, jamaica.
-much dreaded by the merchant sailors navigating the south atlantic. in 1822 he controlled a fleet of pirate vessels in the vicinity of cape antonio.
-in a letter to the lords of trade, dated from philadelphia, february 28th, 1701, william penn mentions that several of captain kidd's men had settled as planters in carolina with rayner as their captain.
-one of captain john quelch's crew. tried at boston in 1704.
-commanded a brigantine which had its headquarters at madagascar. rescued the pirate thomas white. read died at sea.
-read, mary. woman pirate.
-born in london of obscure parentage; all that is known for certain is that her mother was a "young and airy widow." mary was brought up as a boy, and at the age of 13 was engaged as a footboy to wait on a french lady. having a roving spirit, mary ran away and entered herself on board a man-of-war. deserting a few years later, she enlisted in a regiment of foot and fought in flanders, showing on all occasions great bravery, but quitted the service to enlist in a regiment of horse. her particular comrade in this regiment was a fleming, with whom she fell in love and disclosed to him the secret of her sex. she now dressed as a woman, and the two troopers were married, "which made a great noise," and several of her officers attended the nuptials. she and her husband got their discharge and kept an eating house or ordinary, the three horseshoes, near the castle of breda. the husband died, and mary once again donned male attire and enlisted in a regiment in holland. soon tiring of this, she deserted, and shipped herself aboard a vessel bound for the west indies. this ship was taken by an english pirate, captain rackam, and mary joined his crew as a seaman.
-she was at new providence island, bahama, when woodes rogers came there with the royal pardon to all pirates, and she shipped herself aboard a privateer sent out by rogers to cruise against the spaniards. the crew mutinied and again became pirates. she now sailed under captain rackam, who had with him another woman pirate, anne bonny. they took a large number of ships belonging to jamaica, and out of one of these took prisoner "a young fellow of engaging behaviour" with whom mary fell deeply in love. this young fellow had a quarrel with one of the pirates, and as the ship lay at anchor they were to go to fight it out on shore according to pirate law. mary, to save her lover, picked a quarrel with the same pirate, and managed to have her duel at once, and fighting with sword and pistol killed him on the spot.
-she now married the young man "of engaging behaviour," and not long after was taken prisoner with captain rackam and the rest of the crew to jamaica. she was tried at st. jago de la vega in jamaica, and on november 28th, 1720, was convicted, but died in prison soon after of a violent fever.
-that mary read was a woman of great spirit is shown by her reply to captain rackam, who had asked her (thinking she was a young man) what pleasure she could find in a life continually in danger of death by fire, sword, or else by hanging; to which mary replied "that as to hanging, she thought it no great hardship, for were it not for that, every cowardly fellow would turn pirate and so unfit the seas, that men of courage must starve."
-tried for piracy with gow's crew at newgate in 1725, and acquitted.
-of londonderry, ireland.
-one of captain harris's crew. was hanged at newport, rhode island, in 1723, at the age of 35.
-one of captain heidon's crew of the pirate ship john of sandwich, wrecked on alderney island in 1564. was arrested and hanged at st. martin's point, guernsey, in the same year.
-rhoade, captain john.
-a dutch coasting pilot of boston.
-in 1674 appointed chief pilot to the curacao privateer flying horse, and sailed along the coast of maine and as far north as the st. john river. afterwards attacked and plundered several small english craft occupied in bartering furs with the indians. condemned to be hanged at cambridge, massachusetts, in june, 1675.
-rice, david. welsh pirate.
-taken out of the cornwall galley by captain roberts, he served in the royal fortune. tried and found guilty of piracy and condemned to death, but was reprieved and sold to the royal african company to serve for seven years in their plantations.
-rice, owen. welsh pirate.
-of south wales.
-hanged at the age of 27 at rhode island in 1723. one of captain charles harris's crew.
-lieutenant to blackbeard on board the queen ann's revenge. cruised in the west indies and along the coast of carolina and virginia.
-in 1717 teach blockaded the harbour at charleston and sent richards with a party of pirates to the governor to demand a medicine chest and all necessary medical supplies, with a threat that if these were not forthcoming he would cut the throats of all his prisoners, many of them the leading merchants of the town. while waiting for the governor's reply, richards and his companions scandalized the towns-folk of charleston by their outrageous and swaggering conduct.
-one of captain quelch's crew. taken out of the brigantine charles, and tried for piracy at boston in 1704.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew. hanged in 1718 at charleston, south carolina.
-ringrose, basil. buccaneer, pirate, and author.
-sailed in 1679 to the west indies. a year later ringrose had joined the buccaneers at their rendezvous in the gulf of darien, where they were preparing for a bold enterprise on the spanish main. they landed and marched to the town of santa maria, which they plundered and burnt. thence they travelled in canoes down the river to the bay of panama. after attacking the spanish fleet and laying siege to the city, the buccaneers cruised up and down the west coast of south america for eighteen months, sacking towns and attacking spanish ships. all this while ringrose kept a very full and graphic journal, in which he recorded not only their exploits, but also their hardships and quarrels, and gave descriptions as well of the various natives and their customs, and drew charts and sketches.
-in 1681 ringrose was still with captain sharp, and sailed through the straits of magellan, and on january 30th of the same year anchored off antigua. here he got a passage in a ship to england, landing safely at dartmouth on march 26th.
-a year later he published an account of his voyage, as a second volume to esquemeling's, "bucaniers of america." in 1684 he went to sea again in the cygnet (captain swan), to traffic with the spanish colonies. but the spaniards refused to trade with them. in october, 1684, they met the famous captain edward davis at that favourite haunt of the buccaneers, the isle of plate. the two captains agreed to join forces and to go together "on the account," so all the cargo was thrown overboard the cygnet, and the ships set out to make war on any spanish ships they might meet with.
-in february, 1686, ringrose with one hundred men took the town of santiago in mexico, but while returning with the plunder to their ship were caught by the spaniards in an ambush, and ringrose was killed.
-ringrose never attained any rank among the buccaneers beyond occasionally being put in charge of a boat or a small company on shore, but as a recorder of the doings of his companions he proved both careful and painstaking. dampier had a great regard for him, and in his book he writes: "my ingenious friend ringrose had no mind to this voyage, but was necessitated to engage in it or starve."
-the title of ringrose's book, first published in 1685, is "the dangerous voyage and bold assaults of captain bartholomew sharp and others."
-written by mr. basil ringrose.
-printed for william crooke, 1685.
-when captain quelch was captured with his crew, roach escaped near the cape by snake island. he was afterwards captured and thrown into the gaol at salem. tried for piracy at the star tavern at boston, and on june 30th, 1704, was hanged. at the place of execution roach disappointed the onlooking crowd, as, instead of the expected and hoped-for repentant speech, "he seemed little concerned, and said but little or nothing at all."
-one of captain gow's crew. hanged at execution dock, wapping, in june, 1724. he was not one of the original crew of the george galley, but was taken out of a prize and joined the pirates of his own free-will.
-hanged in virginia in 1718 along with the rest of captain teach's crew.
-one of the crew of the royal james. hanged in 1718 at charleston, south carolina.
-roberts, captain bartholomew. welsh pirate.
-born 1682. died 1722.
-if a pirate is to be reckoned by the amount of damage he does and the number of ships he takes there can be no doubt that captain roberts should be placed at the very head of his profession, for he is said to have taken over 400 vessels. the only man who can be said to rival him is sir henry morgan, but morgan, although in some ways an unmitigated blackguard, was a man of much greater breadth of outlook than roberts ever was, and, moreover, was a buccaneer rather than a pirate.
-bartholomew must have looked the very part of a pirate when dressed for action. a tall, dark man, he used to wear a rich damask waistcoat and breeches, a red feather in his cap, a gold chain round his neck with a large diamond cross dangling from it, a sword in his hand, and two pairs of pistols hanging at the end of a silk sling flung over his shoulders.
-we first hear of roberts as sailing, in honest employ, as master of the princess (captain plumb), from london in november, 1719, bound for the coast of guinea to pick up a cargo of "black ivory" at anamaboe. here his ship was taken by the welsh pirate howel davis. at first roberts was disinclined for the pirate life, but soon changed his mind.
-on the death of davis there were several candidates for the post of commander, all brisk and lively men, distinguished by the title of "lords," such as sympson, ashplant, anstis, and others. one of these "lords," dennis, concluded an eloquent harangue over a bowl of punch with a strong appeal for roberts to be the new chief. this proposal was acclaimed with but one dissenting voice, that of "lord" sympson, who had hopes of being elected himself, and who sullenly left the meeting swearing "he did not care who they chose captain so it was not a papist." so roberts was elected after being a pirate only six weeks; thus was true merit quickly appreciated and rewarded amongst them.
-roberts's speech to his fellow-pirates was short but to the point, saying "that since he had dipped his hands in muddy water, and must be a pyrate, it was better being a commander than a common man," not perhaps a graceful nor grateful way of expressing his thanks, but one which was no doubt understood by his audience.
-he then took a dutch ship, and two days later an english one, and sailed back to brazil, refitting and cleaning at the island of ferdinando.
-in a work such as this is, it is impossible to recount all, or even a few, of the daring adventures, or the piratical ups and downs of one pirate. roberts sailed to the west indies devastating the commerce of jamaica and barbadoes. when things grew too hot there, he went north to newfoundland, and played the very devil with the english and french fishing fleets and settlements.
-his first ship he called the fortune, his next, a bigger ship, the royal fortune, another the good fortune.
-on two occasions roberts had been very roughly handled, once by a ship from barbadoes and once by the inhabitants of martinica, so when he designed his new flag, he portrayed on it a huge figure of himself standing sword in hand upon two skulls, and under these were the letters a.b.h. and a.m.h., signifying a barbadian's and a martinican's head.
-in april, 1721, roberts was back again on the guinea coast, burning and plundering. amongst the prisoners he took out of one of his prizes was a clergyman. the captain dearly wished to have a chaplain on board his ship to administer to the spiritual welfare of his crew, and tried all he could to persuade the parson to sign on, promising him that his only duties should be to say prayers and make punch. but the prelate begged to be excused, and was at length allowed to go with all his belongings, except three prayer-books and a corkscrew--articles which were sorely needed aboard the royal fortune.
-the end of roberts's career was now in sight. a king's ship, the swallow (captain chaloner ogle), discovered roberts's ships at parrot island, and, pretending to fly from them, was followed out to sea by one of the pirates. a fight took place, and after two hours the pirates struck, flinging overboard their black flag "that it might not rise in judgement over them." the swallow returned in a few days to parrot island to look for roberts in the royal fortune. roberts being at breakfast, enjoying a savoury dish of solomongundy, was informed of the approach of the ship, but refused to take any notice of it. at last, thoroughly alarmed, he cut his cables and sailed out, but most of his crew being drunk, even at this early hour, the pirates did not make as good a resistance as if they had been sober. early in the engagement roberts was hit in the throat by a grape-shot and killed; this being on february 10th, 1722. his body, fully dressed, with his arms and ornaments, was thrown overboard according to his repeated request made during his lifetime. thus the arch-pirate died, as he always said he wished to die, fighting. his motto had always been "a short life and a merry one." one good word can be said for roberts, that he never forced a man to become a pirate against his wish.
-roberts, owen. welsh pirate.
-carpenter in the queen ann's revenge, and killed on november 22nd, 1718, off the north carolina coast.
-hanged at charleston, south carolina, in 1718.
-roche, captain philip, alias john eustace.
-in company with three other mariners--cullen, wife, and neale--this irish pirate shipped himself on board a french snow at cork in november, 1721, for a passage to nantes. owing to roche's briskness, genteel manners, and knowledge of navigation, the master used occasionally to place him in charge of the vessel. one night a few days out a pre-arranged mutiny took place, the french crew being butchered and thrown overboard. the captain, who pleaded for mercy, was also thrown into the sea. driven by bad weather to dartmouth, the new captain, roche, had the ship repainted and disguised, and renamed her the mary. then sailing to rotterdam he sold the cargo of beef and took on a fresh cargo with the owner, mr. annesly. the first night out of port they threw mr. annesly overboard, and he swam alongside for some while pleading to be taken in. on going into a french port, and hearing that an enquiry was being made about his ship, roche ran away. the crew took the ship to scotland, and there landed and disappeared, and the ship was seized and taken to the thames.
-later on roche was arrested in london and committed to newgate prison, found guilty of piracy, and hanged on august 5th, 1723, at execution dock, at the age of 30. the hanging was not, from the public spectators point of view, a complete success, for the culprit "was so ill at the time that he could not make any public declaration of his abhorrence of the crime for which he suffered."
-commanded a dutch vessel, the edward and thomas, that sailed from boston in 1674, and took several small english vessels along the coast of maine. tried for piracy at cambridge, massachusetts, and condemned to be hanged, but was afterwards pardoned.
-rogers, captain thomas.
-commanded a ship, the forlorn. routed the spaniards at venta cruz in 1671. one of morgan's captains in his attack on panama.
-rogers, captain woodes.
-as the life of this famous navigator and privateer is, very justly, treated fully in the "dictionary of national biography" it is unnecessary to mention more than a few incidents in his adventurous career. woodes rogers was not only a good navigator, for on many occasions he showed a remarkable gift for commanding mutinous crews in spite of having many officers on whom he could place little reliance. on leaving cork in 1708, after an incompetent pilot had almost run his ship on two rocks off kinsale called "the sovereigne's bollacks," rogers describes his crew thus: "a third were foreigners, while of her majestie's subjects many were taylors, tinkers, pedlars, fiddlers, and hay-makers, with ten boys and one negro." it was with crews such as these that many of the boldest and most remarkable early voyages were made, and they required a man of woodes rogers stamp to knock them into sailors. rogers had a gift for inspiring friendship wherever he went. on arriving at the coast of brazil, his boat was fired on when trying to land at angre de reys. this settlement had but lately received several hostile visitors in the way of french pirates. but before a week was passed woodes rogers had so won the hearts of the portuguese governor and the settlers that he and his "musick" were invited to take part in an important religious function, or "entertainment," as rogers calls it, "where," he says, "we waited on the governour, signior raphael de silva lagos, in a body, being ten of us, with two trumpets and a hautboy, which he desir'd might play us to church, where our musick did the office of an organ, but separate from the singing, which was by the fathers well perform'd. our musick played 'hey, boys, up go we!' and all manner of noisy paltry tunes. and after service, our musicians, who were by that time more than half drunk, march'd at the head of the company; next to them an old father and two fryars carrying lamps of incense, then an image dressed with flowers and wax candles, then about forty priests, fryars, etc., followed by the governor of the town, myself, and capt. courtney, with each of us a long wax candle lighted. the ceremony held about two hours; after which we were splendidly entertained by the fathers of the convent, and then by the governour. they unanimously told us they expected nothing from us but our company, and they had no more but our musick."
-what a delightful picture this calls to the mind--the little brazilian town, the tropical foliage, the holy procession, "wax figure" and priests, followed by the governor with an english buccaneer on either side, and headed by a crew of drunken protestant english sailors playing "hey, boys, up go we!"
-rogers, not to be outdone in hospitality, next day entertained the governor and fathers on board the duke, "when," he says, "they were very merry, and in their cups propos'd the pope's health to us. but we were quits with 'em by toasting the archbishop of canterbury; and to keep up the humour, we also proposed william pen's health, and they liked the liquor so well, that they refused neither." alas! the good governor and the fathers were not in a fit state to leave the ship when the end came to the entertainment, so slept on board, being put ashore in the morning, "when we saluted 'em with a huzza from each ship, because," as rogers says, "we were not overstocked with powder."
-it was in march, 1710, that rogers brought his little fleet into the harbour of guam, one of the ladrone islands. although at war with spain, the captain soon became on his usual friendly terms with the governor of this spanish colony, and gave an entertainment on board his ship to him and four other spanish gentlemen, making them "as welcome as time and place would afford, with musick and our sailors dancing." the governor gave a return party on shore, to which rogers and all his brother officers were invited, partaking of "sixty dishes of various sorts." after this feast rogers gave his host a present, consisting of "two negro boys dress'd in liveries." one other instance of woodes rogers adaptability must suffice. in the year 1717 he was appointed governor to the bahama islands, at new providence, now called nassau. his chief duty was to stamp out the west india pirates who had made this island their headquarters for many years, and were in complete power there, and numbered more than 2,000 desperadoes, including such famous men as vane and teach. rogers's only weapon, besides the man-of-war he arrived in, was a royal proclamation from king george offering free pardon to all pirates or buccaneers who would surrender at once to the new governor. at first the pirates were inclined to resist his landing, but in the end the tactful rogers got his own way, and not only landed, but was received by an armed guard of honour, and passed between two lines of pirates who fired salutes with their muskets.
-most of the pirates surrendered and received their pardons, but some, who reverted shortly afterwards to piracy and were captured and brought back to new providence, were tried and actually hanged by rogers's late buccaneer subjects.
-woodes rogers eventually died in nassau in the year 1729.
-he was the author of a delightful book entitled "a cruising voyage round the world, begun in 1708 and finish'd in 1711, by captain woodes rogers, commander-in-chief on this expedition, with the ships duke and duchess of bristol."
-this was published in london in 1712.
-captain gow's gunner in the revenge. hanged at execution dock, wapping, in june, 1725.
-ross, george, or rose.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew of the royal james. was hanged at charleston, south carolina, on november 8th, 1718, and buried in the marsh below low-water mark.
-in june, 1717, in company with four other carolina pirates, was placed on trial for his life. convicted with de cossey, de mont, and ernandos, of piratically taking the vessels the turtle dove, the penelope, and the virgin queen in july of the previous year, and, after being sentenced to death by judge trott, rossoe and his fellow-pirates were promptly executed.
-roundsivel, captain george.
-of the bahama islands.
-he refused to avail himself of king george's pardon to all pirates in 1717, and went off again on the "main chance" till captured.
-row, captain. buccaneer.
-in 1679, at the boca del toro, was with the buccaneer fleet that attacked and sacked santa maria. row commanded a small vessel of twenty tons, a crew of twenty-five men, and no guns.
-one of captain gilbert's crew in the pirate schooner panda, which plundered the salem brig mexican in 1834. tried in boston and condemned to be hanged. pleading insanity, he was respited for sixty days and then hanged on september 12th, 1835.
-rupert. prince of the rhine.
-after an adventurous life as a soldier on the continent, he sailed from ireland in 1648 with seven ships. his own ship was the swallow. he was a man of boundless energy, who was never happy if not engaged in some enterprise, and as legitimate warfare gave him few opportunities he turned pirate. he spent five years at sea, largely in the west indies, meeting with every kind of adventure.
-in 1653 he was caught in a storm in the virgin islands, and his fleet was wrecked. his brother, prince maurice, was lost with his ship, the defiance, the only ship saved being the swallow. prince rupert returned in the swallow to france in the same year. hitherto the prince had been a restless, clever man, "very sparkish in his dress," but this catastrophe to his fleet and the loss of his brother broke his spirit, and he retired to england, where he died in his bed in 1682 at spring gardens.
-le sage, captain. french filibuster.
-in 1684 was at san domingo, in command of the tigre, carrying thirty guns and a crew of 130 men.
-hanged in virginia in 1718 with the rest of captain teach's crew.
-sample, captain richard. buccaneer.
-was at new providence island in 1718, and received the royal pardon from king george, offered to those pirates who surrendered themselves to governor woodes rogers. like many another, he fell again into his former wicked ways, and ended his life by being hanged.
-sample, captain robert.
-one of england's crew in the royal james. in 1720 they took a prize, the elizabeth and katherine, off the coast of west africa. fitting her out for a pirate, they named her the flying king, and sample was put in command. in company with captain low, he sailed to brazil and did much mischief amongst the portuguese shipping. in november of the same year the two pirate ships were attacked by a very powerful man-of-war. lane got away, but sample was compelled to run his ship ashore on the coast. of his crew of seventy men, twelve were killed and the rest taken prisoners, of whom the portuguese hanged thirty-eight. of these, thirty-two were english, three dutch, two french, and one portuguese.
-an elizabethan mariner who was taken prisoner by the moors. he wrote a narrative of his life as a slave on a barbary pirate galley.
-"i and sixe more of my fellowes," he wrote, "together with four-score italians and spaniards, were sent foorth in a galeot to take a greekish carmosell, which came into africa to steale negroes. we were chained three and three to an oare, and we rowed naked above the girdle, and the boteswaine of the galley walked abaft the masts, and his mate afore the maste ... and when their develish choller rose, they would strike the christians for no cause. and they allowed us but halfe a pound of bread a man in a day without any other kind of sustenance, water excepted.... we were then so cruelly manackled in such sort, that we could not put our hands the length of one foote asunder the one from the other, and every night they searched our chains three times, to see if they were fast riveted."
-sawkins, captain richard. buccaneer.
-the buccaneers, ever since they defeated the spanish fleet, had blockaded the harbour, and a correspondence took place between the governor of panama and sawkins, the former wishing to know what the pirates had come there for. to this message sawkins sent back answer "that we came to assist the king of darien, who was the true lord of panama and all the country thereabouts. and that since we were come so far, there was no reason but that we should have some satisfaction. so that if he pleased to send us five hundred pieces of eight for each man, and one thousand for each commander, and not any farther to annoy the indians, but suffer them to use their own power and liberty, as became the true and natural lords of the country, that then we would desist from all further hostilities, and go away peaceably; otherwise that we should stay there, and get what we could, causing to them what damage was possible."
-this message was just bluff on sawkins's part, but having heard that the bishop of santa martha was in the city, sawkins sent him two loaves of sugar as a present, and reminded the prelate that he had been his prisoner five years before, when sawkins took that town. further messengers returned from panama next day, bringing a gold ring for sawkins from the well-disposed bishop, and a message from the governor, in which he inquired "from whom we had our commission and to whom he ought to complain for the damage we had already done them?" to this sawkins sent back answer "that as yet all his company were not come together; but that when they were come up we would come and visit him at panama, and bring our commissions on the muzzles of our guns, at which time he should read them as plain as the flame of gunpowder could make them."
-after lying off panama for some while without meeting with any plunder, and their victuals running short, the crews began to grumble, and persuaded sawkins to sail south along the coast. this he did, and, arriving off the town of puebla nueva on may 22nd, 1679, sawkins landed a party of sixty men and led them against the town. but the spaniards had been warned in time, and had built up three strong breastworks.
-sawkins, who never knew what fear meant, stormed the town at the head of his men, but was killed by a musket-ball.
-basil ringrose, the buccaneer who wrote the narrative of this voyage, describes sawkins as being "a man who was as valiant and courageous as any man could be, and the best beloved of all our company"; and on another occasion he speaks of him as "a man whom nothing on earth could terrifie."
-a pirate of new providence island in the bahamas. in this pirate republic this old man lived in the best hut, and was playfully known as "governor sawney."
-de sayas, francisco.
-a spanish pirate hanged at kingston, jamaica, in 1823.
-distinguished as being the first pirate to carry on the trade on land as well as at sea. before this time pirates were never known to be anything but harmless drunkards when on shore, whatever they might be on board their ships. scot changed all this when he sacked and pillaged the city of campeachy. so successful was he that his example was quickly followed by mansfield, john davis, and other pirates.
-born at bristol.
-one of captain roberts's crew. tried for piracy in april, 1722, at cape coast castle, west africa, after the great defeat of the pirates by h.m.s. swallow. on this occasion no less than 267 pirates were accounted for. the finding of the honourable the president and judges of the court of admiralty for trying of pirates was as follows:
-the rest were accounted for as follows:
-a number of the prisoners signed a "humble petition" begging that, as they, being "unhappily and unwisely drawn into that wretched and detestable crime of piracy," they might be permitted to serve in the royal african company in the country for seven years, in remission of their crimes. this clemency was granted to twenty of the prisoners, of which scot was one.
-a very impressive indenture was drawn up, according to which the prisoners were to become the slaves of the company for seven years, and this was signed by the prisoners and by the president.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew in the royal james. tried for piracy in 1718 at charleston, south carolina, and hanged at white point on november 8th.
-one of captain john quelch's crew. tried for piracy at the star tavern in hanover street, boston, in 1704, and hanged on charles river, boston side, on june 30th. a report of the trial and execution of these pirates, describing scudamore's conduct on the gallows, says: "he appeared very penitent since his condemnation, was very diligent to improve his time going to, and at the place of execution."
-belonging to bristol.
-surgeon in the mercy galley, and taken by captain roberts in 1721. it was a rule on all pirate vessels for the surgeon to be excused from signing the ship's articles. when the next prize was taken, if she carried a surgeon, he was taken in place of their present one, if the latter wished to leave. but when scudamore came on board the royal fortune he insisted on signing the pirate articles and boasted that he was the first surgeon that had ever done so, and he hoped, he said, to prove as great a rogue as any of them.
-when the african company's guinea ship, the king solomon, was taken, scudamore came aboard and helped himself to their surgeon's instruments and medicines. he also took a fancy for a backgammon board, but only kept it after a violent quarrel with another pirate. it came out at his trial that on a voyage from the island of st. thomas, in a prize, the fortune, in which was a cargo of slaves, scudamore had tried to bring about a mutiny of the blacks to kill the prize crew which was on board, and he was detected in the night going about amongst the negroes, talking to them in the angolan language. he said that he knew enough about navigation to sail the ship himself, and he was heard to say that "this were better than to be taken to cape corso to be hanged and sun dried."
-the same witness told how he had approached the prisoner when he was trying to persuade a wounded pirate, one james harris, to join him in his scheme, but fearing to be overheard, scudamore turned the conversation to horse-racing.
-scudamore was condemned to death, but allowed three days' grace before being hanged, which he spent in incessant prayers and reading of the scriptures. on the gallows he sang, solo, the thirty-first psalm. died at the age of 35.
-searles, captain robert.
-in 1664 he brought in two spanish prizes to port royal, but as orders had only lately come from england to the governor to do all in his power to promote friendly relations with the spanish islands, these prizes were returned to their owners. to prevent searle's doing such things again, he was deprived of his ship's rudder and sails. in 1666, searle, in company with a captain stedman and a party of only eighty men, took the island of tobago, near trinidad, from the dutch, destroying everything they could not carry away.
-selkirk, alexander. the original robinson crusoe.
-born in 1676 at largo in fifeshire, he was the seventh son of john selcraig, a shoemaker. in 1695 he was cited to appear before the session for "indecent conduct in church," but ran away to sea. in 1701 he was back again in largo, and was rebuked in the face of the congregation for quarrelling with his brothers. a year later selkirk sailed to england, and in 1703 joined dampier's expedition to the south seas. appointed sailing-master to the cinque ports, commanded by captain stradling.
-in september, 1704, he arrived at the uninhabited island of juan fernandez, in the south pacific. selkirk, having quarrelled with the captain, insisted on being landed on the island with all his belongings. he lived alone here for nearly four years, building himself two cabins, hunting the goats which abounded, and taming young goats and cats to be his companions.
-on the night of january 31st, 1709, seeing two ships, selkirk lit a fire, and a boat was sent ashore. these ships were the duke and duchess of bristol, under the command of captain woodes rogers, while his old friend dampier was acting as pilot. selkirk was at once appointed sailing-master of the duchess, and eventually arrived back in the thames on october 14th, 1711, with booty worth £800, having been away from england for eight years. while in england he met steele, who described selkirk as a "man of good sense, with strong but cheerful expression." whether selkirk ever met defoe is uncertain, though the character of robinson crusoe was certainly founded on his adventures in juan fernandez. in 1712 he returned to largo, living the life of a recluse, and we must be forgiven for suspecting that he rather acted up to the part, since it is recorded that he made a cave in his father's garden in which to meditate. this life of meditation in an artificial cave was soon rudely interrupted by the appearance of a certain miss sophia bonce, with whom selkirk fell violently in love, and they eloped together to bristol, which must have proved indeed a sad scandal to the elders and other godly citizens of largo. beyond the fact that he was charged at bristol with assaulting one richard nettle, a shipwright, we hear no more of selkirk until his first will was drawn up in 1717, in which he leaves his fortune and house to "my loving friend sophia bonce, of the pall mall, london, spinster." shortly after this, alexander basely deserted his loving friend and married a widow, one mrs. francis candis, at oarston in devon.
-in 1720 he was appointed mate to h.m.s. weymouth, on board of which he died a year later at the age of 45.
-selkirk is immortalized in literature, not only by defoe, but by cowper in his "lines on solitude," beginning: "i am monarch of all i survey."
-of bath town in north carolina.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew. tried for piracy at charleston in 1718 and found "not guilty."
-one of captain heidon's crew of the pirate ship john of sandwich, which was wrecked on the coast of alderney. shaster was arrested and hanged at st. martin's point, guernsey, in 1564.
-one of captain lowther's crew. hanged at st. kitts on march 11th, 1722.
-shergall, henry, or sherral. buccaneer.
-a seaman with captain bartholomew sharp in his south sea voyage. one october day he fell into the sea while going into the spritsail-top and was drowned. "this incident several of our company interpreted as a bad omen, which proved not so, through the providence of the almighty."
-shirley, sir anthony.
-in january, 1597, headed an expedition to the island of jamaica. he met with little opposition from the spaniards, and seized and plundered st. jago de la vega.
-this south sea pirate cruised in company with culliford and nathaniel north in the red sea, preying principally on moorish ships, and also sailed about the indian ocean as far as the malacca islands. he accepted the royal pardon to pirates, which was brought out to madagascar by commodore littleton, and apparently gave up his wicked ways thereafter.
-hanged at rhode island in july, 1723, at the age of 40.
-one of captain pound's crew. found guilty of piracy, but pardoned.
-simms, henry, alias "gentleman harry." pickpocket, highwayman, pirate, and old etonian.
-born in 1716 at st. martin's-in-the-fields. sent while quite young to school at eton, where he "shewed an early inclination to vice," and at the age of 14 was taken from school and apprenticed to a breeches-maker. no old etonian, either then or now, would stand that kind of treatment, so simms ran away, becoming a pickpocket and later a highwayman. after numerous adventures and escapes from prison, he was pressed on board h.m.s. rye, but he deserted his ship at leith. after an "affair" at croydon, simms was transplanted with other convicts to maryland, in the italian merchant. on the voyage he attempted, but without success, to raise a mutiny. on his arrival in america he was sold to the master of the two sisters, which was taken a few days out from maryland by a bayonne pirate. carried to spain, simms got to oporto, and there was pressed on board h.m.s. king fisher. eventually he reached bristol, where he bought, with his share of booty, a horse and two pistols, with which to go on the highway.
-hanged on june 17th, 1747, for stealing an old silver watch and 5s. from mr. francis sleep at dunstable.
-commanded a pirate ship, in which he sailed in company with captain spriggs. being chased by h.m.s. diamond off the coast of cuba, skipton ran his sloop on to the florida reef. escaping with his crew to an island, they were attacked by the indians, and many of them were captured and eaten. the survivors, embarking in a canoe, were caught by the man-of-war and taken prisoner.
-skyrm, captain james. welsh pirate.
-hanged at the advanced age--for a pirate--of 44.
-commanded the ranger, one of captain roberts's ships that cruised in 1721 and 1722 off the west coast of africa. in the fight with the king's ship that took him he was very active with a drawn sword in his hand, with which he beat any of his crew who were at all backward. one of his legs was shot away in this action, but he refused to leave the deck and go below as long as the action lasted. he was condemned to death and hanged in chains.
-smith, george. welsh pirate.
-one of captain roberts's pirates. hanged at the age of 25.
-one of the mutinous crew of the antonio. hanged at boston in 1672.
-smith, john williams.
-of charleston, carolina.
-hanged in 1718 for piracy, at charleston.
-smith, major samuel. buccaneer.
-at one time a buccaneer with the famous mansfield.
-in 1641 he was sent, by the governor of jamaica, with a party to reinforce the troops which under mansfield had recaptured the new providence island from the spanish. in 1660 he was taken prisoner by the spanish and carried to panama and there kept in chains in a dungeon for seventeen months.
-de soto, bernado.
-one of the crew of the schooner panda that took and plundered the salem brig mexican. the crew of the panda were captured by an english man-of-war and taken to boston. de soto was condemned to death, but eventually fully pardoned owing to his heroic conduct in rescuing the crew of an american vessel some time previously.
-de soto, captain benito.
-a most notorious pirate in and about 1830.
-in 1827 he shipped at buenos ayres as mate in a slaver, named the defenser de pedro, and plotted to seize the ship off the african coast. the pirates took the cargo of slaves to the west indies, where they sold them. de soto plundered many vessels in the caribbean sea, then sailed to the south atlantic, naming his ship the black joke. the fear of the black joke became so great amongst the east indiamen homeward bound that they used to make up convoys at st. helena before heading north.
-in 1832 de soto attacked the morning star, an east indiaman, and took her, when he plundered the ship and murdered the captain. after taking several more ships, de soto lost his own on the rocky coast of spain, near cadiz. his crew, although pretending to be honest shipwrecked sailors, were arrested, but de soto managed to escape to gibraltar. here he was recognized by a soldier who had seen de soto when he took the morning star, in which he had been a passenger. the pirate was arrested, and tried before sir george don, the governor of gibraltar, and sentenced to death. he was sent to cadiz to be hanged with the rest of his crew. the gallows was erected at the water's edge, and de soto, with his coffin, was conveyed there in a cart. he died bravely, arranging the noose around his own neck, stepping up into his coffin to do so; then, crying out, "adios todos," he threw himself off the cart.
-this man must not be confused with one bernado de soto, who was tried for piracy at boston in 1834.
-of the city of westminster.
-hanged, at the age of 28, at newport, rhode island, in 1723.
-a newfoundland fisherman.
-in august, 1723, with john phillips and three others, ran away with a vessel to go "on the account." sparks was appointed gunner.
-a member of captain avery's crew, and described by one of his shipmates as being "a true cock of the game." a thief, he robbed his fellow-shipmates, and from one, philip middleton, he stole 270 pieces of gold.
-hanged at execution dock in 1696.
-was one of dampier's party which in 1681 crossed the isthmus of darien, when he was left behind in the jungle with wafer. spratlin was lost when the little party attempted to ford the swollen chagres river. he afterwards rejoined wafer.
-spriggs, captain francis farrington.
-an uninteresting and bloody pirate without one single redeeming character.
-he learnt his art with the pirate captain lowther, afterwards serving as quartermaster with captain low and taking an active part in all the barbarities committed by the latter.
-about 1720 low took a prize, a man-of-war called the squirrel. this he handed over to some of the crew, who elected spriggs their captain. the ship they renamed the delight, and in the night altered their course and left low. they made a flag, bearing upon it a white skeleton, holding in one hand a dart striking a bleeding heart, and in the other an hourglass. sailing to the west indies, spriggs took several prizes, treating the crews with abominable cruelty. on one occasion the pirates chased what they believed to be a spanish ship, and after a long while they came alongside and fired a broadside into her. the ship immediately surrendered, and turned out to be a vessel the pirate had plundered only a few days previously. this infuriated spriggs and his crew, who showed their disappointment by half murdering the captain. after a narrow escape from being captured by a french man-of-war near the island of st. kitts, spriggs sailed north to the summer isles, or bermudas. taking a ship coming from rhode island, they found her cargo to consist of horses. several of the pirates mounted these and galloped up and down the deck until they were thrown. while plundering several small vessels of their cargo of logwood in the bay of honduras, spriggs was surprised and attacked by an english man-of-war, and the pirates only escaped by using their sweeps. spriggs now went for a cruise off the coast of south carolina, returning again to honduras. this was a rash proceeding on spriggs's part, for as he was sailing off the west end of cuba he again met the man-of-war which had so nearly caught him before in the bay. spriggs clapped on all sail, but ran his ship on rattan island, where she was burnt by the spence, while captain spriggs and his crew escaped to the woods.
-he fought gallantly with sawkins and ringrose in the battle of perico off panama on st. george's day in 1680. he gave his name to springer's cay, one of the samballoes islands. this was the rendezvous chosen by the pirates, where dampier and his party found the french pirate ship that rescued them after their famous trudge across the isthmus of darien.
-stanley, captain. buccaneer.
-with a few other buccaneers in their stronghold at new providence island in 1660, withstood an attack by a spanish fleet for five days. the three english captains, stanley, sir thomas whetstone, and major smith, were carried to panama and there cast into a dungeon and bound in irons for seventeen months.
-stedman, captain. buccaneer.
-in 1666, with captain searle and a party of only eighty men, he took and plundered the dutch island of tobago. later on, after the outbreak of war with france, he was captured by a french frigate off the island of guadeloupe. stedman had a small vessel and a crew of only 100 men, and found himself becalmed and unable to escape, so he boldly boarded the frenchman and fought for two hours, being finally overcome.
-died on january 14th, 1682, on board of captain sharp's ship a few days before their return to the barbadoes from the south seas. his death was supposed to have been caused by indulging too freely in mancanilla while ashore at golfo dulce. "next morning we threw overboard our dead man and gave him two french vollies and one english one."
-sailed as an honest seaman in the onslow (captain gee) from sestos. taken in may, 1721, by the pirate captain roberts, he willingly joined the pirates. when roberts was killed on board the royal fortune, stephenson burst into tears, and declared that he wished the next shot might kill him. hanged in 1722.
-hanged in virginia in 1718 with the rest of captain teach's crew.
-one of william coward's crew which stole the ketch elinor in boston harbour. condemned to be hanged on january 27th, 1690, but afterwards reprieved.
-st. quintin, richard.
-a native of yorkshire.
-o'sullivan, lord. receiver of pirate plunder.
-the sulivan bere, of berehaven in ireland.
-a notorious friend of the english pirates, he bought their spoils, which he stored in his castle. he helped to fit out pirate captains for their cruises, and protected them when queen elizabeth sent ships to try and arrest them.
-born at berwick in 1699.
-gunner in roberts's ship the royal fortune. at his trial he was proved to have been particularly active in helping to take a dutch merchantman, the gertruycht. hanged in chains at cape coast castle in april, 1722, at the age of 23.
-commanded the nicholas, and met dampier when in the batchelor's delight at the island of juan fernandez in 1684. the two captains cruised together off the west coast of south america, the nicholas leaving dampier, who returned to england by way of the east indies.
-swan, captain. buccaneer.
-of the cygnet. left england as an honest trader. rounded the horn and sailed up to the bay of nicoya, there taking on a crew of buccaneers who had crossed the isthmus of darien on foot. dampier was appointed pilot or quartermaster to the cygnet, a post analogous to that of a navigating officer on a modern man-of-war, while ringrose was appointed supercargo. swan had an adventurous and chequered voyage, sometimes meeting with successes, but often with reverses. eventually he sailed to the philippine islands, where the crew mutinied and left swan and thirty-six of the crew behind. after various adventures the cygnet, by now in a very crazy state, just managed to reach madagascar, where she sank at her anchorage.
-of boston in new england.
-tried for piracy at rhode island in 1723, but found to be "not guilty."
-born at north berwick.
-one of roberts's crew. tried and hanged at cape coast castle in 1722. on the day of execution sympson was among the first six prisoners to be brought up from the ship's hold to have their fetters knocked off and to be fitted with halters, and it was observed that none of the culprits appeared in the least dejected, except sympson, who "spoke a little faint, but this was rather imputed to a flux that had seized him two or three days before, than fear." there being no clergyman in the colony, a kindly surgeon tried to take on the duties of the ordinary, but with ill-success, the hardened ruffians being quite unmoved by his attempts at exhortation. in fact, the spectators were considerably shocked, as indeed they well might be, by sympson, suddenly recognizing among the crowd a woman whom he knew, calling out "he had lain with that b----h three times, and now she was come to see him hanged."
-sympson died at the age of 36, which was considerably above the average age to which a pirate might expect to live.
-this formidable south sea pirate must indeed have looked, as well as acted, the part, since his appearance is described by captain johnson as follows: "a fellow with a terrible pair of whiskers, and a wooden leg, being stuck round with pistols, like the man in the almanack with darts."
-this man taylor it was who stirred up the crew of the victory to turn out and maroon captain england, and elect himself in his place. he was a villain of the deepest dye, and burnt ships and houses and tortured his prisoners.
-the pirates sailed down the west coast of india from goa to cochin, and returned to mauritius. thence sailing to the island of mascarine they found a big portuguese ship, which they took. in her they discovered the conde de eviceira, viceroy of goa, and, even better, four million dollars worth of diamonds.
-taylor, now sailing in the cassandra, heard that there were four men-of-war on his tracks, so he sailed to delagoa bay and spent the winter of the year 1722 there. it was now decided that as they had a huge amount of plunder they had better give up piracy, so they sailed away to the west indies and surrendered themselves to the governor of porto bello. the crew broke up and each man, with a bag of diamonds, went whither he would; but captain taylor joined the spanish service, and was put in command of a man-of-war, which was sent to attack the english logwood cutters in the bay of honduras.
-one of captain phillips's crew. wounded in the leg while attempting to desert. there being no surgeon on board, a consultation was held over the patient by the whole crew, and these learned men were unanimous in agreeing that the leg should be amputated. some dispute then arose as to who should act the part of surgeon, and at length the carpenter was chosen as the most proper person. "upon which he fetch'd up the biggest saw, and taking the limb under his arm, fell to work, and separated it from the body of the patient in as little time as he could have cut a deal board in two." this surgeon-carpenter evidently appreciated the importance of aseptics, for, "after that he had heated his ax red hot in the fire, cauteriz'd the wound but not with so much art as he perform'd the other part for he so burnt the flesh distant from the place of amputation that it had like to have mortify'd." taylor was tried and condemned to death at boston on may 12th, 1714, but for some reason not explained was reprieved.
-teach, captain edward, or thatch, or thach, alias drummond, alias blackbeard. arch-pirate.
-a bristol man who settled in jamaica, sailing in privateers, but not in the capacity of an officer.
-the next ship he met with was the sloop of that amateur pirate and landsman, major stede bonnet. teach and bonnet became friends and sailed together for a few days, when teach, finding that bonnet was quite ignorant of maritime matters, ordered the major, in the most high-handed way, to come aboard his ship, while he put another officer in command of bonnet's vessel. teach now took ship after ship, one of which, with the curious name of the protestant cæsar, the pirates burnt out of spite, not because of her name, but because she belonged to boston, where there had lately been a hanging of pirates.
-blackbeard now sailed north along the american coast, arriving off charleston, south carolina. here he lay off the bar for several days, seizing every vessel that attempted to enter or leave the port, "striking great terror to the whole province of carolina," the more so since the colony was scarcely recovered from a recent visit by another pirate, vane.
-being in want of medicines, teach sent his lieutenant, richards, on shore with a letter to the governor demanding that he should instantly send off a medicine chest, or else teach would murder all his prisoners, and threatening to send their heads to government house; many of these prisoners being the chief persons of the colony.
-teach, who was unprincipled, even for a pirate, now commanded three vessels, and he wanted to get rid of his crews and keep all the booty for himself and a few chosen friends. to do this, he contrived to wreck his own vessel and one of his sloops. then with his friends and all the booty he sailed off, leaving the rest marooned on a small sandy island. teach next sailed to north carolina, and with the greatest coolness surrendered with twenty of his men to the governor, charles eden, and received the royal pardon. the ex-pirate spent the next few weeks in cultivating an intimate friendship with the governor, who, no doubt, shared teach's booty with him.
-a romantic episode took place at this time at bath town. the pirate fell in love, not by any means for the first time, with a young lady of 16 years of age. to show his delight at this charming union, the governor himself married the happy pair, this being the captain's fourteenth wife; though certain bath town gossips were heard to say that there were no fewer than twelve mrs. teach still alive at different ports up and down the west india islands.
-in june, 1718, the bridegroom felt that the call of duty must be obeyed, so kissing good-bye to the new mrs. teach, he sailed away to the bermudas, meeting on his way half a dozen ships, which he plundered, and then hurried back to share the spoils with the governor of north carolina and his secretary, mr. knight.
-for several months, blackbeard remained in the river, exacting a toll from all the shipping, often going ashore to make merry at the expense of the planters. at length, things became so unbearable that the citizens and planters sent a request to the governor of the neighbouring colony of virginia for help to rid them of the presence of teach. the governor, spotswood, an energetic man, at once made plans for taking the pirate, and commissioned a gallant young naval officer, lieutenant robert maynard, of h.m.s. pearl, to go in a sloop, the ranger, in search of him. on november 17, 1718, the lieutenant sailed for kicquetan in the james river, and on the 21st arrived at the mouth of okerecock inlet, where he discovered the pirate he was in search of. blackbeard would have been caught unprepared had not his friend, mr. secretary knight, hearing what was on foot, sent a letter warning him to be on his guard, and also any of teach's crew whom he could find in the taverns of bath town. maynard lost no time in attacking the pirate's ship, which had run aground. the fight was furious, teach boarding the sloop and a terrific hand-to-hand struggle taking place, the lieutenant and teach fighting with swords and pistols. teach was wounded in twenty-five places before he fell dead, while the lieutenant escaped with nothing worse than a cut over the fingers.
-maynard now returned in triumph in his sloop to bath town, with the head of blackbeard hung up to the bolt-spit end, and received a tremendous ovation from the inhabitants.
-during his meteoric career as a pirate, the name of blackbeard was one that created terror up and down the coast of america from newfoundland to trinidad. this was not only due to the number of ships teach took, but in no small measure to his alarming appearance. teach was a tall, powerful man, with a fierce expression, which was increased by a long, black beard which grew from below his eyes and hung down to a great length. this he plaited into many tails, each one tied with a coloured ribbon and turned back over his ears. when going into action, teach wore a sling on his shoulders with three pairs of pistols, and struck lighted matches under the brim of his hat. these so added to his fearful appearance as to strike terror into all beholders. teach had a peculiar sense of humour, and one that could at times cause much uneasiness amongst his friends. thus we are told that one day on the deck of his ship, being at the time a little flushed with wine, blackbeard addressed his crew, saying: "come let us make a hell of our own, and try how long we can bear it," whereupon teach, with several others, descended to the hold, shut themselves in, and then set fire to several pots of brimstone. for a while they stood it, choking and gasping, but at length had to escape to save themselves from being asphyxiated, but the last to give up was the captain, who was wont to boast afterwards that he had outlasted all the rest.
-then there was that little affair in the cabin, when teach blew out the candle and in the dark fired his pistols under the table, severely wounding one of his guests in the knee, for no other reason, as he explained to them afterwards, than "if he did not shoot one or two of them now and then they'd forget who he was."
-teach kept a log or journal, which unfortunately is lost, but the entries for two days have been preserved, and are worth giving, and seem to smack of robert louis stevenson in "treasure island." the entries, written in teach's handwriting, run as follows:
-"1718. rum all out--our company somewhat sober--a damn'd confusion amongst us!--rogues a plotting--great talk of separation--so i look'd sharp for a prize.
-"1718. took one, with a great deal of liquor on board, so kept the company hot, damned hot, then all things went well again."
-a scotch pirate, one of captain gow's crew. on may 26th, 1725, the crew were tried in london and found guilty and sentenced to death, except teague and two others who were acquitted.
-one of captain john quelch's crew of the ship charles. tried for piracy at boston in 1704, but, being discovered to be not yet 14 years of age and only a servant on board the pirate ship, was acquitted.
-tew, captain thomas, or too.
-a famous pirate, whose headquarters were at madagascar. he was mentioned by name in king william iii.'s royal warrant to captain kidd to go hunting for pirates, as a specially "wicked and ill-disposed person."
-he sailed with captain dew from the barbadoes with a commission from the governor to join with the royal african company in an attack on the french factory at goori, at gambia. instead of going to west africa, tew and his crew turned pirates, and sailed to the red sea. here he met with a great indian ship, which he had the hardiness to attack, and soon took her, and each of his men received as his share £3,000, and with this booty they sailed to madagascar. he was already held in high esteem by the pirates who resided in that favourite stronghold. at one time he joined misson, the originator of "piracy-without-tears" at his garden city of libertatia. a quarrel arose between misson's french followers and tew's english pirates. a duel was arranged between the two leaders, but by the tact of another pirate--an unfrocked italian priest--all was settled amicably, tew being appointed admiral and the diplomatic ex-priest suitably chosen as secretary of state to the little republic. such a reputation for kindness had tew that ships seldom resisted him, but on knowing who their assailant was they gave themselves up freely. some of tew's men started a daughter colony on their own account, and the admiral sailed after them to try and persuade them to return to the fold at libertatia. the men refused, and while tew was arguing and trying to persuade them to change their minds, his ship was lost in a sudden storm. tew was soon rescued by the ship bijoux with misson on board, who, with a few men, had escaped being massacred by the natives. misson, giving tew an equal share of his gold and diamonds, sailed away, while tew managed to return to rhode island in new england, where he settled down for a while. to show the honesty of this man, being now affluent, he kept a promise to the friends in bermuda who originally set him up with a ship, by sending them fourteen times the original cost of the sloop as their just share of the profits.
-at last, tew found the call of the sea and the lure of the "grand account" too great to resist, and he consented to take command of a pirate ship which was to go on a cruise in the red sea. arrived there, tew attacked a big ship belonging to the great mogul, and during the battle was mortally wounded.
-his historian tells us "a shot carried away the rim of tew's belly, who held his bowels with his hands for some space. when he dropped, it struck such terror to his men that they suffered themselves to be taken without further resistance." thus fell fighting a fine sailor, a brave man, and a successful pirate, and one who cheated the gallows awaiting him at execution dock.
-thomas, captain, alias stede bonnet.
-this welsh pirate was one of major stede bonnet's crew of the royal james. hanged at charleston, south carolina, in 1718.
-tried for piracy at boston in 1704.
-thurston, captain. buccaneer.
-of tortuga island.
-refused to accept the royal offer of pardon of 1670, when all commissions to privateer on the spanish were revoked. thurston, with a mulatto, diego, using obsolete commissions issued by the late governor of jamaica, modyford, continued to prey upon spanish shipping, carrying their prizes to tortuga.
-thwaites, captain joseph.
-coxswain to captain hood, he was promoted in 1763 to be a midshipman in h.m.s. zealous, cruising in the mediterranean. putting into algiers, thwaites was sent ashore by the captain to buy some sheep, but did not return to the boat and, it being supposed he had been assassinated, the ship sailed without him. the fact was that young thwaites, who spoke turkish and greek, had accepted an invitation to enter the ottoman service. embracing the mohammedan religion, thwaites was put in command of a forty-four gun frigate.
-his first engagement was with the flagship of the tunisian admiral, which he took and carried to algiers. he soon brought in another prize, and so pleased the dey that he presented him with a scimitar, the hilt of which was set with diamonds.
-thwaites, having soiled his hands with blood, now became the pirate indeed, taking vessels of any nation, and drowning all his prisoners by tying a double-headed shot round their necks and throwing them overboard.
-he stopped at no atrocity--even children were killed, and one prisoner, an english lieutenant and an old shipmate of his, called roberts, he murdered without a second thought. when thwaites happened to be near gibraltar, he would go ashore and through his agents, messrs. ross and co., transmit large sums of money to his wife and children in england. but thwaites had another home at algiers fitted with every luxury, including three armenian girls.
-for several years this successful pirate plundered ships of all nations until such pressure was brought to bear on the dey of algiers that thwaites thought it best to collect what valuables he could carry away and disappear.
-landing at gibraltar in 1796, dressed in european clothes, he procured a passage to new york in an american frigate, the constitution. arriving in the united states, he purchased an estate not far from new york and built himself a handsome mansion, but a year later retribution came from an unlooked-for quarter, for he was bitten by a rattlesnake and died in the most horrible agonies both of mind and body.
-hanged at the age of 23 at rhode island in 1723. one of charles harris's crew.
-he shipped on board the sloop buck at providence in 1718, in company with anstis and other famous pirates. was killed at the taking of a rich portuguese ship off the coast of brazil.
-townley, captain. buccaneer.
-a buccaneer who in the year 1684 was one of the mixed english and french fleet blockading panama. on this occasion, he commanded a ship with a crew of 180 men. by the next year the quarrels between the english had reached such a pitch that townley and swan left davis and sailed in search of their french friends. in may, 1685, townley was amongst the company that took and sacked guayaquil. in january, 1686, townley rescued the french pirate grogniet and some 350 frenchmen who, when attacking the town of quibo, were surprised by a spanish squadron, which burnt their vessels while the crews were on shore. townley then sailed north with his french comrades and sacked granada.
-his next adventure was to take the town of lavelia, near to panama, where he found a rich cargo which the viceroy had placed on shore because he was afraid to send it to sea when so many pirates were about.
-in august of the same year, townley's ship was attacked by three spanish men-of-war. a furious fight took place, which ended by two of the spanish ships being captured and the third burnt. in this action the gallant townley was gravely wounded, and died shortly afterwards.
-tristrian, captain. french buccaneer.
-in the year 1681 dampier, with other malcontents, broke away from captain sharp and marched on foot across the isthmus of darien. after undergoing terrible hardships for twenty-two days, the party arrived on the atlantic seaboard, to find captain tristrian with his ship lying in la sounds cay.
-the buccaneers bought red, blue, and green beads, and knives, scissors, and looking-glasses from the french pirates to give to their faithful indian guides as parting gifts.
-a carolina pirate, accused and acquitted on a charge of having captured a sloop belonging to samuel salters, of bermuda, in 1699.
-of the island of jamaica.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew. tried, condemned, and hanged at charleston, south carolina, on november 8th, 1718. the prisoners were not defended by counsel, because the members of the south carolina bar still deemed it "a base and vile thing to plead for money or reward." we understand that the barristers of south carolina have since persuaded themselves to overcome this prejudice. the result was that, with the famous judge trott, a veritable terror to pirates, being president of the court of vice-admiralty, the prisoners had short and ready justice, and all but four of the thirty-five pirates tried were found guilty.
-sailed with captain porter in the west indies. captain johnson gives an account of the meeting between these two pirate novices and the great captain roberts at hispaniola.
-turnley, captain richard.
-a new providence pirate who received the general pardon from captain woodes rogers in 1718. when, a little later, the scandal of captain rackam's infatuation for anne bonny was causing such gossip among the two thousand ex-pirates who formed the population of the settlement, it was turnley who brought news of the affair to the notice of the governor. in revenge for this action, rackam and his lady, one day hearing that turnley had sailed to a neighbouring island to catch turtles, followed him. it happened that turnley was on shore hunting wild pigs and so escaped, but rackam sank his sloop and took his crew away with him as prisoners.
-tyle, captain ort van.
-a dutchman from new york.
-a successful pirate in the days of the madagascan sea-rovers. for some time he sailed in company with captain james, taking several prizes in the indian ocean.
-van tyle had a plantation at madagascar and used to put his prisoners to work there as slaves, one in particular being the notorious welsh pirate, david williams, who toiled with van tyles's other slaves for six months before making his escape to a friendly tribe in the neighbourhood.
-upton, boatswain john.
-born in 1679 of honest parents at deptford.
-apprenticed to a waterman, he afterwards went to sea, serving on different men-of-war as a petty officer. until july, 1723, when 40 years of age, upton lived a perfectly honest life, but his wife dying, upton found she had contracted various debts and that he was in danger of being arrested by the creditors. leaving his four orphans, upton hurried to poole in dorsetshire, and was taken on as boatswain in the john and elizabeth (captain hooper), bound for bonavista in newfoundland. he seems to have continued to sail as an honest seaman until november 14th, 1725, when serving as boatswain in the perry galley, on a voyage between barbadoes and bristol, the vessel was taken by a pirate, cooper, in the night rambler. at his subsequent trial witnesses declared that upton willingly joined the pirates, signed their articles, and was afterwards one of their most active and cruel men.
-upton kept a journal, which was his only witness for his defence, in which he described how he was forced to sign the pirates' articles under threats of instant death. if his journal is to be believed, upton escaped from the pirates at the first opportunity, landing on the mosquito coast. after being arrested by the spaniards as a spy, he was sent from one prison to another in central america, at last being put on board a galleon at porto bello, to be sent to spain. escaping, he got aboard a new york sloop and arrived at jamaica in december, 1726. while at port royal he was pressed on board h.m.s. nottingham, serving in her for more than two years as quartermaster, until one day he was accused of having been a pirate. under this charge he was brought a prisoner to england in 1729, tried in london, and hanged, protesting his innocence to the last.
-uruj. see barbarossa.
-commanded in 1831 a small gaff-topsail schooner, the general morazan, armed with a brass eight-pounder and carrying a mixed crew of forty-four men, french, italian, english, and creoles of st. domingo.
-vanclein, captain moses. dutch filibuster.
-was serving with l'ollonais's fleet off the coast of yucatan when a mutiny broke out, of which vanclein was the ringleader. he persuaded the malcontents to sail with him along the coast till they came to costa rica. there they landed and marched to the town of veraguas, which they seized and pillaged. the pirates got little booty, only eight pounds of gold, it proving to be a poor place.
-vane, captain charles.
-famous for his piratical activities off the coast of north america, specially the carolinas.
-in 1718, when woodes rogers was sent by the english government to break up the pirate stronghold in the bahama islands, all the pirates at new providence island surrendered to rogers and received the king's pardon except vane, who, after setting fire to a prize he had, slipped out of the bay as rogers with his two men-of-war entered. vane sailed to the coast of carolina, as did other west indian pirates who found their old haunts too warm for them.
-vane is first heard of as being actively engaged in stealing from the spaniards the silver which they were salving from a wrecked galleon in the gulf of florida. tiring of this, vane stole a vessel and ranged up and down the coast from florida to new york, taking ship after ship, until at last the governor of south carolina sent out a colonel rhet in an armed sloop to try and take him. on one occasion vane met the famous blackbeard, whom he saluted with his great guns loaded with shot. this compliment of one pirate chief to another was returned in like kind, and then "mutual civilities" followed for several days between the two pirate captains and their crews, these civilities taking the form of a glorious debauch in a quiet creek on the coast.
-at last a ship put in for water, commanded by one captain holford, who happened to be an old friend of vane's. vane naturally was pleased at this piece of good fortune, and asked his dear old friend to take him off the island in his ship, to which holford replied: "charles, i shan't trust you aboard my ship, unless i carry you as a prisoner, for i shall have you caballing with my men, knock me on the head, and run away with my ship a-pirating." no promises of good behaviour from vane would prevail on his friend to rescue him; in fact, captain holford's parting remark was that he would be returning in a month, and that if he then found vane still on the island he would carry him to jamaica to be hanged.
-vanhorn, captain nicholas. a dutch filibuster.
-it is significant that vanhorn had originally been sent out by the governor of hispaniola to hunt for pirates, but once out of sight of land and away from authority the temptation to get rich quickly was too great to resist, so that he joined the pirates in the expedition to sack vera cruz.
-on july 1st, 1685, he arrived at new london in a sloop, but was compelled to hurry away, being recognized as a pirate by one of the crew of a ship he had previously taken in virginia.
-one of four new england pirates who in the middle of the seventeenth century rowed up the saugus river and landed at a place called lynn woods. the boat contained, besides the pirates, a quantity of plunder and a beautiful young woman. they built a hut on dungeon rock, dug a well, and lived there until the woman died. three of the pirates were captured, and ended their days on the gallows in england.
-thomas veale escaped and went to live in a cave, where he is supposed to have hidden his booty, but he continued to work as a cordwainer. in the earthquake of 1658 the cave was blocked up by pieces of rock, and veale was never seen again.
-verpre, captain. french filibuster.
-his ship le postillion carried a crew of twenty-five men and was armed with two guns.
-vigeron, captain. french filibuster.
-of san domingo.
-commanded a bark, la louse, thirty men and four guns.
-van vin, moses. buccaneer.
-one of l'ollonais's officers. after burning puerto cavallo and torturing and murdering the inhabitants, l'ollonais marched away to attack the town of san pedro with 300 of his crew, leaving van vin as his lieutenant to govern the rest of his men during his absence.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew of the royal james. hanged for piracy at white point, charleston, south carolina, on november 8th, 1718, and buried in the marsh below low-water mark.
-vivon, captain m. la. french filibuster.
-commanded the cour valant of la rochelle. in december, 1668, his ship was seized by captain collier for having robbed an english ship of provisions.
-wafer, lionel. surgeon, buccaneer, and author.
-believed to have been born about the year 1660.
-he could speak gaelic and also erse, which languages he had learnt during his childhood, which was spent partly in the highlands of scotland and partly in ireland.
-in 1677 he sailed as mate to the surgeon of the great ann, of london (captain zachary browne), bound for java.
-two years later, he again sailed as surgeon's mate on a voyage to the west indies. he deserted his ship at jamaica and set himself up as a surgeon at port royal, but one day meeting with two noted buccaneers, captain linch and captain cook, he agreed to sail with them as ship's surgeon.
-wafer's subsequent adventures are recounted by basil ringrose in his "dangerous voyage and bold assaults of captain bartholomew sharp and others," and by william dampier in his "new voyage round the world." after taking part in 1679 in the futile expedition of the buccaneers to panama, wafer joined the party of malcontents who left captain sharp and returned on foot across the isthmus of darien. wafer was accidentally wounded in the knee by an explosion of gunpowder on may 5th, 1681, which he recounts in his narrative as follows: "i was sitting on the ground near one of our men, who was drying of gunpowder in a silver plate: but not managing it as he should, it blew up and scorch'd my knee to that degree, that the bone was left bare, the flesh being torn away, and my thigh burnt for a great way above it. i applied to it immediately such remedies as i had in my knapsack: and being unwilling to be left behind by my companions, i made hard shift to jog on."
-the whole story of these adventures is told by wafer in a book he wrote, and which was published in london in 1699. it is called "a new voyage and description of the isthmus of america, giving an account of the author's abode there," and is illustrated by some quaint copperplates.
-wafer and his companions suffered extreme hardships as they struggled through the dense tropical jungle during the wettest season of the year.
-on one occasion when in danger of his life, wafer was spared by the indians owing to his skill as a phlebotomist, after he had been allowed to exhibit his skill to an indian chief called lacentra, when he bled one of his wives so successfully that the chief made wafer his inseparable companion, to the no little discomfort of the buccaneer, who wished to reach the atlantic and rejoin his companions who had left him behind.
-wafer described the birds, animals, fishes, and insects with considerable minuteness, although it is obvious that he had no special training in, or great gift for, natural history. wafer eventually reached philadelphia, where he availed himself of king james's general pardon to pirates.
-wake, captain thomas.
-a notorious pirate, one of those particularly named in the royal warrant issued in 1695 to captain kidd, authorizing him to go in search of the american pirates.
-walden, john, alias "miss nanney."
-born in somersetshire.
-taken in the blessing, of lymington, by roberts in newfoundland, he joined the pirates, and was later on hanged at the age of 24 in west africa. walden was one of captain roberts's most active men. on taking captain traher's ship, walden carried a pole-axe with which he wrenched open locked doors and boxes. he was a bold and daring man, of violent temper, and was known amongst his shipmates by the nickname of miss nanney. he lost a leg during the attack on the swallow. after the pirates took the king solomon, walden had to get up the anchor, but he cut the cable, explaining to the captain that the weather was too hot to go straining and crying "yo hope," and he could easily buy another anchor when he got to london.
-a negro steward on the brig vineyard, he mutinied and assisted to murder the captain and mate, afterwards becoming one of captain charles gibbs's crew. hanged at new york in february, 1831.
-a carolina pirate who was referred to at the trial of captain avery's crew at london in 1696.
-one of the first english pirates to establish himself on the barbary coast in north africa. by the year 1613 some thirty others had their headquarters at the mouth of the sebu river.
-as a poor english sailor he went to barbary, turned mohammedan, offered his services to the moors, and became captain of a galley. he grew to be very rich, and "lived like a bashaw in barbary."
-joined captain pound's crew from lovell's island.
-quartermaster to captain charles harris. tried and hanged at newport, rhode island, on july 19th, 1734. aged 35.
-an english soldier stationed at fort loyal, falmouth, maine. deserted and sailed with the pirate pound. killed at tarpaulin cove in 1689.
-watling, captain john. buccaneer.
-watling began his command by giving orders for the strict keeping of the sabbath day, and on january 9th the buccaneers observed sunday as a day apart, the first for many months. one of the first acts of this godly captain watling was to cruelly shoot an old man, a prisoner, whom he suspected, quite wrongly, of not telling the truth.
-on january 30th watling headed a surprise attack on the town of arica in north chile, but it turned out later that the spaniards had three days' warning of the intended attack, and had gathered together no less than 2,000 defenders. a furious attack was made, with great slaughter of the spanish defenders and considerable loss amongst the pirates. in one attack watling placed 100 of his prisoners in front of his storming party, hoping this would prevent the enemy firing at them. after taking the town, the buccaneers were driven out owing to the arrival of a number of lima soldiers. during the retreat from the town watling was shot in the liver and died. perhaps he gave his name to watling island in the bahama islands, the first spot of america that christopher columbus ever saw, and a great resort of the buccaneers.
-one of captain lowther's crew in the happy delivery. hanged at st. kitts on march 11th, 1722.
-born at dunmore.
-one of captain roberts's crew. hanged in 1722 at the age of 22.
-of lovell's island.
-one of captain pound's crew.
-hanged, at the age of 23, along with the rest of roberts's crew.
-tried at boston in 1704 for piracy with the rest of the crew of the charles brigantine.
-weaver, captain brigstock.
-of hereford, england.
-one of captain anstis's crew in the good fortune when he took the morning star. after the prize had been converted for anstis's use, weaver was given command of the good fortune. he proved himself to be a capable pirate captain, taking between fifty and sixty sailing ships in the west indies and on the banks of newfoundland.
-here are particulars of a few of his prizes:
-in august, 1722, he took a dutch ship, and out of her got 100 pieces of holland, value £800, and 1,000 pieces of eight. on november 20th in the same year he plundered the dolphin, of london (captain william haddock), of 300 pieces of eight and forty gallons of rum.
-out of the don carlos (lot neekins, master) he stole 400 ounces of silver, fifty gallons of rum, 1,000 pieces of eight, 100 pistols, and other valuable goods.
-out of the portland, ten pipes of wine valued at £250.
-this period of prosperity came to an end, for in may, 1723, weaver, dressed in rags, was begging charity at the door of a mr. thomas smith in bristol, telling a plausible tale of how he had been taken and robbed by some wicked pirates, but had lately managed to escape from them. the kindly mr. smith, together with a captain edwards, gave weaver £10 and provided him with a lodging at the griffin inn. being now dressed in good clothes, weaver enjoyed walking about the streets of bristol, until one day he met with a sea-captain who claimed former acquaintance and invited him into a neighbouring tavern to share a bottle of wine with him. over this the captain reminded the pirate that he had been one of his victims, and that weaver had once stolen from him a considerable quantity of liquor; but at the same time he had not forgotten that the pirate had used him very civilly, and that therefore, if he would give him four hogsheads of cider, nothing further would be said about the matter. weaver would not, or could not, produce these, and was apprehended, brought to london, and there tried and sentenced to death, and hanged at execution dock.
-wells, lieutenant joseph.
-an officer on board captain john quelch's charles galley. attempted to escape at gloucester, massachusetts, in the larimore, but was captured by major sewell and brought to salem, and there secured in the town gaol until tried for piracy at boston in june, 1704.
-one of captain lowther's crew. hanged at st. kitts in march, 1722.
-a massachusetts pirate, with only one eye. captured in 1699 with the pirate joseph bradish and put in prison. they escaped two months later. a reward of £200 was offered for the recapture of wetherley, which was gained by a kennekeck indian called essacambuit, who brought him back to prison. he was taken, in irons, to england in h.m.s. advice in 1700, and tried and hanged in london.
-whetstone, sir thomas, or whitstone. buccaneer.
-in 1663 he commanded a ship, a spanish prize, armed with seven guns and carrying a crew of sixty men. in august, 1666, sir thomas was with a small english garrison of some sixty men in the buccaneer stronghold of new providence in the bahama islands. suddenly a spanish fleet arrived from porto bello, and after a siege of three days the garrison capitulated. the three english captains were carried prisoners to panama and there cast into a dungeon and bound in irons for seventeen months.
-white, captain thomas. south sea pirate. an englishman. born at plymouth.
-as a young man he was taken prisoner by a french pirate off the coast of guinea. the french massacred their prisoners by painting targets on their chests and using them for rifle practice. white alone was saved by an heroic frenchman throwing himself in front of him and receiving the volley in his own body. white sailed with the french pirates, who were wrecked on the coast of madagascar. white himself managed to escape, and found safety with a native, king bavaw, but the french pirates were all massacred. white not very long afterwards joined another pirate ship, commanded by a captain read, with whom he sailed, helping to take several prizes, amongst others a slave ship, the speaker. white soon found himself possessed of a considerable fortune, and settled down with his crew at a place called methelage in madagascar, marrying a native woman, and leading the peaceful life of a planter. the call of piracy at length proving irresistible, he sailed before the mast with captain halsey, then returned to his native wife and home, shortly afterwards to die of fever.
-in his will, he left legacies to various relatives and friends, and appointed three guardians for his son, all of different nationalities, with instructions that the boy should be taken to england to be educated, which was duly done.
-white was buried with the full ceremonies of the church of england, his sword and pistols being carried on his coffin, and three english and one french volley fired over his grave.
-hanged in virginia in 1718 along with the rest of captain edward teach's crew.
-one of captain george lowther's crew. hanged on march 22nd, 1722, at st. kitts.
-a newfoundland fish-splitter. with john phillips and three others, he stole a fishing-boat at st. peter's harbour in newfoundland in august, 1723. the other four were made officers in the pirate craft, white having the distinction of being the only private man in the crew of five. he appears to have been a man lacking in ambition, as he never showed any desire to become even a petty officer amongst the pirates; in fact, we hear no more of william until june 2nd, 1724, when he was hanged at boston and "dy'd very penitently, with the assistance of two grave divines that attended him."
-one of captain quelch's crew. in 1704 we read that he "lyes sick, like to dye, not yet examined" in the gaol at marblehead, when awaiting trial for piracy.
-an unwilling mutineer with philip roche in a french vessel sailing from cork in 1721.
-one of john quelch's crew of the brigantine charles. tried at boston in 1704.
-wilgress, captain. buccaneer.
-sent by the governor of jamaica in 1670 to search for, and capture or sink, a dutchman called captain yallahs, who had entered the spanish service to cruise against the english logwood cutters. but wilgress, instead of carrying out his orders, went a-buccaneering on his own account, chasing a spanish vessel ashore, stealing logwood, and burning spanish houses along the coast.
-williams, captain john, alias "yanky." buccaneer.
-in 1683, when the pirate hamlin in his famous ship, la trompeuse, was playing havoc with the english shipping around jamaica, governor lynch offered williams a free pardon, men, victuals, and naturalization, and £200 as well if he would catch the frenchman.
-williams, captain morris. buccaneer.
-in november, 1664, he applied to governor modyford to be allowed to bring into port royal, jamaica, a rich prize of logwood, indigo, and silver, and, in spite of the governor's refusal, he brought the ship in. the goods were seized and sold in the interest of the spanish owner. at this time the english government was doing all it could to stamp out the pirates and buccaneers.
-williams, captain paul.
-a carolina pirate, who began as a wrecker with the pirate bellamy in the west indies. he later on took to piracy and ended a not too glorious career by being hanged at eastman, massachusetts. williams was one of the pirates who accepted king george's offer of pardon at new providence island in 1718.
-this son of a welsh farmer was a poor pirate but a born soldier. he was described by one who knew him as being morose, sour, unsociable, and ill-tempered, and that he "knew as little of the sea or of ships as he did of the arts of natural philosophy." but it is recorded to his credit that he was not cruel. he started life in a merchant ship bound for india, and was accidentally left behind in madagascar. taken care of by friendly natives, he fought so well on the side of his benefactors in an inter-tribal battle that the king made him his intimate friend. a little later this tribe was wiped out and williams taken prisoner. the king of this hostile tribe, knowing williams to be a brave man, put him in charge of his army, for his success as a leader was known far and wide. he was next seized by a very powerful king, dempaino, who made him commander-in-chief over his army of 6,000 men, and supplied him with slaves, clothes, and everything he could want. after several years as commander of dempaino's army, a pirate ship, the mocha (captain culliford), arrived on the coast, and williams escaped in her and went for a cruise. he was afterwards captured by the dutch pirate ort van tyle of new york, and made to work as a slave on his plantation. after six months he escaped and sought safety with a prince rebaiharang, with whom he lived for a year. he next joined a dutchman, pro, who had a small settlement, to be again taken prisoner by an english frigate. in a skirmish between the crew and some natives, williams and pro managed to escape, and, procuring a boat, joined captain white's pirates at methalage, in madagascar.
-williams now spent his time pirating, unsuccessfully, until one day in a sloop he attempted a raid on an arab town at boyn. this attempt proved a fiasco, and williams was caught by the arabs, cruelly tortured, and finally killed by a lance thrust. he was so loved and admired by the madagascar natives that his friend and benefactor, king dempaino, seized the arab chief of boyn and executed him in revenge for the death of williams. williams seems to have been as much beloved by the natives as he was hated by men of his own colour. as a pirate he was a failure, but as a soldier of fortune with the native tribes he was a great success.
-a cornish pirate, who sailed from jamaica with captain morrice, and was captured by the dutch. eventually he reached boston, and sailed with captain roderigo in 1674 in the edward and thomas, a boston vessel.
-tried for piracy, but acquitted.
-williams, lieutenant james. welsh pirate.
-sailed as a hand on board the george galley from amsterdam in 1724. conspiring with gow to bring about a mutiny, he took an active part in murdering the captain, the chief mate, super cargo, and surgeon. gow promoted him to be his mate. he was a violent, brutal man, and a bully. on one occasion, he accused gow of cowardice, and snapped his pistol in gow's face, but the weapon failed to go off, and two seamen standing by shot williams, wounding him in the arm and belly. the next day gow sent away a crew of prisoners in a sloop he had taken and plundered, and williams, heavily manacled, was cast into the hold of this vessel, with orders that he should be given up as a pirate to the first english man-of-war they should meet with. he was taken to lisbon and there put on board h.m.s. argyle, and carried to london. when gow and his crew eventually arrived in irons at the marshalsea prison, they found williams already there awaiting trial. hanged at newgate on june 11th, 1725, his body being hanged in chains at blackwall.
-one of captain roberts's crew. deserted the pirates at sierra leone, but was delivered up by the negroes, and as a punishment received two lashes from the whole ship's company. hanged at the age of 40.
-one of captain george lowther's crew. tried for piracy at st. kitts in march, 1722, and acquitted.
-one of the mutineers of the ship antonio. hanged at boston in 1672.
-wilson, george. surgeon and pirate.
-originally he sailed as surgeon in a liverpool ship, the tarlton, which was taken by the pirate bartholomew roberts. wilson voluntarily joined the pirates. one day, being accidentally left on shore, he had to remain amongst the negroes at sestos on the west coast of africa for five months, until he was eventually rescued by a captain sharp, of the elizabeth, who ransomed wilson for the value of £3 5s. in goods. wilson was again captured by roberts, and served with him as surgeon. at his trial for piracy at cape coast castle in 1722, witnesses proved that wilson was "very alert and cheerful at meeting with roberts, hailed him, told him he was glad to see him, and would come on board presently, borrowing a clean shirt and drawers" from the witness "for his better appearance and reception: signed the articles willingly," and tried to persuade him, the witness, to sign also, as then they would each get £600 or £700 a man in the next voyage to brazil.
-when the election of senior surgeon took place, wilson wanted to be appointed, as then he would receive a bigger share of the booty. wilson became very intimate with captain roberts, and told him that if ever they were taken by one of the "turnip-man's ships"--i.e., a man-of-war--they would blow up their ship and go to hell together. but the surgeon proved such a lazy ruffian, neglecting to dress the wounded crew, that roberts threatened to cut his ears off.
-at the trial wilson was found guilty and condemned to be hanged, but his execution was withheld until the king's pleasure was known, because it was believed that owing to information given by wilson a mutiny of the prisoners was prevented.
-one of major stede bonnet's crew in the royal james. hanged at charleston, south carolina, on november 8th, 1718, and buried in the marsh below low-water mark.
-of new london county.
-tried for piracy in 1723 at newport, rhode island, and acquitted.
-winter, captain christopher.
-of new providence island.
-he took a sloop off the coast of jamaica, the mate on board which was one edward england, who, on winter's persuasion, turned pirate and soon reached the summit of his new profession.
-in 1718 winter accepted the king's offer of pardon to all pirates who surrendered. winter soon afterwards not only returned to piracy, but did even worse, for he surrendered to the spanish governor of cuba, and turned papist. from cuba he carried on piracy, chiefly preying on english vessels, and made raids on the coast of jamaica, stealing slaves, which he took away to cuba. the governor of jamaica, sir nicholas laws, sent lieutenant joseph laws, in h.m.s. happy snow, to demand the surrender of winter and another renegade, nicholas brown, but nothing resulted but an exchange of acrimonious letters between the lieutenant and the governor of cuba.
-one of gow's crew in the revenge. hanged in 1725 at wapping.
-winter, william, alias mustapha.
-a renegade english sailor amongst the algiers pirates. taken prisoner in the exchange, on which vessel he was carpenter.
-one of fly's crew. took an active part in the mutiny aboard the elizabeth. winthrop it was who chopped off the hand of captain green, and in a fight with jenkins, the mate, severed his shoulder with an axe and then threw the still living officer overboard. he was hanged at boston on july 4th, 1726.
-witherborn, captain francis.
-captured, with his ship, by major beeston and brought to jamaica. tried for piracy at port royal, he was condemned to death, and sent a prisoner to england.
-wollervy, captain william.
-a new england pirate who sailed in company with a captain henley in 1683 off the island of elenthera. he burnt his vessel near newport, rhode island, where he and his crew disappeared with their plunder.
-native of york.
-one of captain roberts's crew. hanged in april, 1722, at the age of 27.
-master on the brigantine charles, commanded by captain john quelch. attempted to escape from gloucester, massachusetts, by sailing off in the larimore galley, but was followed and caught by major sewell and taken to salem. here he was kept in the town gaol until sent to boston to be tried for piracy in june, 1704.
-yallahs, captain, or yellows. a dutch buccaneer.
-in 1671 fled from jamaica to campeachy, there selling his frigate to the spanish governor for 7,000 pieces of eight. he entered the spanish service to cruise against the english logwood cutters, at which business he was successful, taking more than a dozen of these vessels off the coast of honduras.
-in 1718 this carolina pirate commanded a sloop which acted as tender to captain vane. when at sullivan island, carolina, yeates, finding himself master of a fine sloop armed with several guns and a crew of fifteen men, and with a valuable cargo of slaves aboard, slipped his anchor in the middle of the night and sailed away.
-yeates thought highly of himself as a pirate and had long resented the way vane treated him as a subordinate, and was glad to get a chance of sailing on his own account. yeates, having escaped, came to north edisto river, some ten leagues off charleston. there, sending hurried word to the governor to ask for the royal pardon, he surrendered himself, his crew, and two negro slaves. yeates was pardoned, and his negroes were returned to captain thurston, from whom they had been stolen.
-a dutch pirate, one of peter m'kinlie's gang, who murdered captain glass and his family on board a ship sailing from the canary islands to england. zekerman was the most brutal of the whole crew of mutineers.
-he was hanged in chains near dublin on december 19th, 1765.
-some famous pirate ships, with their captains
-despite consuming (i suspect) large amounts of rum while writing this, the author saved none of it for me. i, therefore, refuse to correct any of his mistakes.
-... except this one on page 321: wiliams corrected to williams, as per rest of same entry.
-the entry on page 75 for "church, charles" ends abruptly, as per original.
-the guests of hercules
-books by c. n. and a. m. williamson
-the golden silence the motor maid lord loveland discovers america set in silver the lightning conductor the princess passes my friend the chauffeur lady betty across the water rosemary in search of a father the princess virginia the car of destiny the chaperon
-the guests of hercules
-by c. n. and a. m. williamson
-illustrated by m. leone bracker & arthur h. buckland
-copyright, 1912, by c. n. & a. m. williamson
-all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian
-to the lord of the garden
-the guests of hercules
-long shadows of late afternoon lay straight and thin across the garden path; shadows of beech trees that ranged themselves in an undeviating line, like an inner wall within the convent wall of brick; and the soaring trees were very old, as old perhaps as the convent itself, whose stone had the same soft tints of faded red and brown as the autumn leaves which sparsely jewelled the beeches' silver.
-a tall girl in the habit of a novice walked the path alone, moving slowly across the stripes of sunlight and shadow which inlaid the gravel with equal bars of black and reddish gold. there was a smell of autumn on the windless air, bitter yet sweet; the scent of dying leaves, and fading flowers loth to perish, of rose-berries that had usurped the place of roses, of chrysanthemums chilled by frost, of moist earth deprived of sun, and of the green moss-like film overgrowing all the trunks of the old beech trees. the novice was saying goodbye to the convent garden, and the long straight path under the wall, where every day for many years she had walked, spring and summer, autumn and winter; days of rain, days of sun, days of boisterous wind, days of white feathery snow--all the days through which she had passed, on her way from childhood to womanhood. best of all, she had loved the garden and her favourite path in spring, when vague hopes like dreams stirred in her blood, when it seemed that she could hear the whisper of the sap in the veins of the trees, and the crisp stir of the buds as they unfolded. she wished that she could have been going out of the garden in the brightness and fragrance of spring. the young beauty of the world would have been a good omen for the happiness of her new life. the sorrowful incense of nature in decay cast a spell of sadness over her, even of fear, lest after all she were doing a wrong thing, making a mistake which could never be amended.
-the spirit of the past laid a hand upon her heart. ghosts of sweet days gone long ago beckoned her back to the land of vanished hours. the garden was the garden of the past; for here, within the high walls draped in flowering creepers and ivy old as history, past, present, and future were all as one, and had been so for many a tranquil generation of calm-faced, dark-veiled women. suddenly a great homesickness fell upon the novice like an iron weight. she longed to rush into the house, to fling herself at reverend mother's feet, and cry out that she wanted to take back her decision, that she wanted everything to be as it had been before. but it was too late to change. what was done, was done.
-deliberately, she had given up her home, and all the kind women who had made the place home for her, from the time when she was a child eight years old until now, when she was twenty-four. sixteen years! it was a lifetime. memories of her child-world before convent days were more like dreams than memories of real things that had befallen her, mary grant. and yet, on this her last day in the convent, recollections of the first were crystal clear, as they never had been in the years that lay between.
-her father had brought her a long way, in a train. something dreadful had happened, which had made him stop loving her. she could not guess what, for she had done nothing wrong so far as she knew: but a few days before, her nurse, a kind old woman of a comfortable fatness, had put her into a room where her father was and gently shut the door, leaving the two alone together. mary had gone to him expecting a kiss, for he was always kind, though she did not feel that she knew him well--only a little better, perhaps, than the radiant young mother whom she seldom saw for more than five minutes at a time. but instead of kissing her as usual, he had turned upon her a look of dislike, almost of horror, which often came to her afterward, in dreams. taking the little girl by the shoulder not ungently, but very coldly, and as if he were in a great hurry to be rid of her, he pushed rather than led her to the door. opening it, he called the nurse, in a sharp, displeased voice. "i don't want the child," he said. "i can't have her here. don't bring her to me again without being asked." then the kind, fat old woman had caught mary in her arms and carried her upstairs, a thing that had not happened for years. and in the nursery the good creature had cried over the "poor bairn" a good deal, mumbling strange things which mary could not understand. but a few words had lingered in her memory, something about its being cruel and unjust to visit the sins of others on innocent babies. a few days afterward mary's father, very thin and strange-looking, with hard lines in his handsome brown face, took her with him on a journey, after nurse had kissed her many times with streaming tears. at last they had got out of the train into a carriage, and driven a long way. at evening they had come to a tall, beautiful gateway, which had carved stone animals on high pillars at either side. that was the gate of the convent of saint ursula-of-the-lake, the gate of mary's home-to-be: and in a big, bare parlour, with long windows and a polished oak floor that reflected curious white birds and dragons of an escutcheon on the ceiling, reverend mother had received them. she had taken mary on her lap; and when, after much talk about school and years to come, the child's father had gone, shadowy, dark-robed women had glided softly into the room. they had crowded round the little girl, like children round a new doll, petting and murmuring over her: and she had been given cake and milk, and wonderful preserved fruit, such as she had never tasted.
-some of those dear women had gone since then, not as she was going, out into an unknown, maybe disappointing, world, but to a place where happiness was certain, according to their faith. mary had not forgotten one of the kind faces--and all those who remained she loved dearly; yet she was leaving them to-day. already it was time. she had wished to come out into the garden alone for this last walk, and to wear the habit of her novitiate, though she had voluntarily given up the right to it forever. she must go in and dress for the world, as she had not dressed for years which seemed twice their real length. she must go in, and bid them all goodbye--reverend mother, and the nuns, and novices, and the schoolgirls, of whose number she had once been.
-she stood still, looking toward the far end of the path, her back turned toward the gray face of the convent.
-"goodbye, dear old sundial, that has told so many of my hours," she said. "goodbye, sweet rose-trees that i planted, and all the others i've loved so long. goodbye, dear laurel bushes, that know my thoughts. goodbye, everything."
-her arms hung at her sides, lost in the folds of her veil. slowly tears filled her eyes, but did not fall until a delicate sound of light-running feet on grass made her start, and wink the tears away. they rolled down her white cheeks in four bright drops, which she hastily dried with the back of her hand; and no more tears followed. when she was sure of herself, she turned and saw a girl running to her from the house, a pretty, brown-haired girl in a blue dress that looked very frivolous and worldly in contrast to mary's habit. but the bushes and the sundial, and the fading flowers that tapestried the ivy on the old wall, were used to such frivolities. generations of schoolgirls, taught and guarded by the sisters of saint ursula-of-the-lake, had played and whispered secrets along this garden path.
-"dearest mary!" exclaimed the girl in blue. "i begged them to let me come to you just for a few minutes--a last talk. do you mind?"
-mary had wanted to be alone, but suddenly she was glad that, after all, this girl was with her. "you call me 'mary'!" she said. "how strange it seems to be mary again--almost wrong, and--frightening."
-"but you're not sister rose any longer," the girl in blue answered. "there's nothing remote about you now. you're my dear old chum, just as you used to be. and will you please begin to be frivolous by calling me peter?"
-mary smiled, and two round dimples showed themselves in the cheeks still wet with tears. she and this girl, four years younger than herself, had begun to love each other dearly in school days, when mary grant was nineteen, and mary maxwell fifteen. they had gone on loving each other dearly till the elder mary was twenty-one, and the younger seventeen. then molly maxwell--who named herself "peter pan" because she hated the thought of growing up--had to go back to her home in america and "come out," to please her father, who was by birth a scotsman, but who had made his money in new york. after three gay seasons she had begged to return for six months to school, and see her friend mary grant--sister rose--before the final vows were taken. also she had wished to see another mary, who had been almost equally her friend ("the three maries" they had always been called, or "the queen's maries"); but the third of the three maries had disappeared, and about her going there was a mystery which reverend mother did not wish to have broken.
-"peter," sister rose echoed obediently, as the younger girl clasped her arm, making her walk slowly toward the sundial at the far end of the path.
-"it does sound good to hear you call me that again," molly maxwell said. "you've been so stiff and different since i came back and found you turned into sister rose. often i've been sorry i came. and now, when i've got three months still to stay, you're going to leave me. if only you could have waited, to change your mind!"
-"if i had waited, i couldn't have changed it at all," sister rose reminded her. "you know----"
-"yes, i know. it was the eleventh hour. another week, and you would have taken your vows. oh, i don't mean what i said, dear. i'm glad you're going--thankful. you hadn't the vocation. it would have killed you."
-"no. for here they make it hard for novices on purpose, so that they may know the worst there is to expect, and be sure they're strong enough in body and heart. i wasn't fit. i feared i wasn't----"
-"you weren't--that is, your body and heart are fitted for a different life. you'll be happy, very happy."
-"i wonder?" mary said, in a whisper.
-"in a way, you would have lost me if--if i'd stayed, and--everything had been as i expected."
-"i know. they've let you be with me more as a novice than you could be as a professed nun. still, you'd have been under the same roof. i could have seen you often. but i am glad. i'm not thinking of myself. and we'll meet just as soon as we can, when my time's up here. father's coming back to his dear native fifeshire to fetch me, and i'll make him take me to you, wherever you are, or else you'll visit me; better still. but it seems a long time to wait, for i really did come back here to be a 'parlour boarder,' a heap more to see you than for any other reason. and, besides, there's another thing. only i hardly know how to say it, or whether i dare say it at all."
-sister rose looked suddenly anxious, as if she were afraid of something that might follow. "what is it?" she asked quickly, almost sharply. "you must tell me."
-"why, it's nothing to tell--exactly. it's only this: i'm worried. i'm glad you're not going to be a nun all your life, dear; delighted--enchanted. you're given back to me. but--i worry because i can't help feeling that i've got something to do with the changing of your mind so suddenly; that if ever you should regret anything--not that you will, but if you should--you might blame me, hate me, perhaps."
-"i never shall do either, whatever happens," the novice said, earnestly and gravely. she did not look at her friend as she spoke, though they were so nearly of the same height as they walked, their arms linked together, that they could gaze straight into one another's eyes. instead, she looked up at the sky, through the groined gray ceiling of tree-branches, as if offering a vow. and seeing her uplifted profile with its pure features and clear curve of dark lashes, peter thought how beautiful she was, of a beauty quite unearthly, and perhaps unsuited to the world. with a pang, she wondered if such a girl would not have been safer forever in the convent where she had lived most of her years. and though she herself was four years younger, she felt old and mature, and terribly wise compared with sister rose. an awful sense of responsibility was upon her. she was afraid of it. her pretty blond face, with its bright and shrewd gray eyes, looked almost drawn, and lost the fresh colour that made the little golden freckles charming as the dust of flower-pollen on her rounded cheeks.
-"but i have got something to do with it, haven't i?" she persisted, longing for contradiction, yet certain that it would not come.
-"i hardly know--to be quite honest," mary answered. "i don't know what i might have done if you hadn't come back and told me things about your life, and all your travels with your father--things that made me tingle. maybe i should never have had the courage without that incentive. but, peter, i'll tell you something i couldn't have told you till to-day. since the very beginning of my novitiate i was never happy, never at rest."
-"truly? you wanted to go, even then, for two whole years?"
-"i don't know what i wanted. but suddenly all the sweet calm was broken. you've often looked out from the dormitory windows over the lake, and seen how a wind springing up in an instant ruffles the clear surface. it's just like a mirror broken into a thousand tiny fragments. well, it was so with me, with my spirit. and after all these years, when i'd been so contented, so happy that i couldn't even bear, as a schoolgirl, to go away for two or three days to visit lady macmillan in the holidays, without nearly dying of homesickness before i could be brought back! as a postulant i was just as happy, too. you know, i wouldn't go out into the world to try my resolve, as reverend mother advised. i was so sure there could be no home for me but this. then came the change. oh, peter, i hope it wasn't the legacy! i pray i'm not so mean as that!"
-"how long was it after your novitiate began that the money was left you?" peter asked: for this was the first intimate talk alone and undisturbed that she had had with her old school friend since coming back to the convent three months ago. she knew vaguely that a cousin of mary's dead father had left the novice money, and that it had been unexpected, as the lady was not a roman catholic, and had relations just as near, of her own religion. but peter did not quite know when the news had come, or what had happened then.
-"it was the very next day. that was odd, wasn't it? though i don't know, exactly, why it should have seemed odd. it had to happen on some day. why not that one? i was glad i should have a good dowry--quite proud to be of some use to the convent. i didn't think what i might have done for myself, if i'd been in the world--not then. but afterward, thoughts crept into my head. i used to push them out again as fast as they crawled in, and i told myself what a good thing i had a safe refuge, remembering my father, what he wrote about himself, and my mother."
-for a moment she was silent. there was no need to explain, for peter knew all about the terrible letter that had come from india with the news of major grant's death. it had arrived before mary resolved to take vows, while she was still a fellow schoolgirl of peter's, older than most of the girls, looked up to and adored, and probably it had done more than anything else to decide her that she had a "vocation." mary had told about the letter at the time, with stormy tears: how her father in dying wrote down the story of the past, as a warning to his daughter, whom he had not loved; told the girl that her mother had run away with one of his brother officers; that he, springing from a family of reckless gamblers, had himself become a gambler; that he had thrown away most of his money; and that his last words to mary were, "you have wild blood in your veins. be careful: don't let it ruin your life, as two other lives have been ruined before you."
-"until after i came?" peter broke in.
-"oh, i was happier for a while after you came. you took my mind off myself."
-"and turned it to myself, or, rather, to the world i lived in. i'm glad, yes, i'm glad, i was in time, and yet--oh, mary, you won't go to monte carlo, will you?"
-mary stopped short in her walk, and turned to face peter.
-"why do you say that?" she asked, sharply. "what can make you think of monte carlo?"
-"only, you seemed so interested in hearing me tell about staying with father at stellamare, my cousin's house. you asked me such a lot of questions about it and about the casino, more than about any other place, even rome. and you looked excited when i told you. your cheeks grew red. i noticed then, but it didn't matter, because you were going to live here always, and be a nun. now----"
-"now what does it matter?" the novice asked, almost defiantly. "why should it occur to me to go to monte carlo?"
-"only because you were interested, and perhaps i may have made the riviera seem even more beautiful and amusing than it really is. and besides--if it should be true, what your father was afraid of----"
-"that you inherit his love of gambling. oh, i couldn't bear it, darling, to think i had sent you to monte carlo."
-"he didn't know enough about me to know whether i inherited anything from him or not. i hardly understand what gambling means, except what you've told me. it's only a word like a bird of ill omen. and what you said about the play at the casino didn't interest me as other things did. it didn't sound attractive at all."
-"it's different when you're there," peter said.
-"i don't think it would be for me. i'm almost sure i'm not like that--if i can be sure of anything about myself. perhaps i can't! but you described the place as if it were a sort of paradise--and all the riviera. you said you would go back in the spring with your father. you didn't seem to think it wicked and dangerous for yourself."
-"monte carlo isn't any more wicked than other places, and it's dangerous only for born gamblers," peter argued. "i'm not one. neither is my father, except in wall street. he plays a little for fun, that's all. and my cousin jim schuyler never goes near the casino except for a concert or the opera. but you--all alone there--you who know no more of life than a baby! it doesn't bear thinking of."
-"don't think of it," said mary, rather dryly. "i have no idea of going to monte carlo."
-"thank goodness! well, i only wanted to be sure. i couldn't help worrying. because, if anything had drawn you there, it would have been my fault. you would hardly have heard of monte carlo if it hadn't been for my stories. a cloistered saint like you!"
-"is that the way you think of me in these days?" the novice blushed and smiled, showing her friendly dimples. "i wish i felt a saint."
-"you are one. and yet"--peter gazed at her with sudden keenness--"i don't believe you were made to be a saint. it's the years here that have moulded you into what you are. but, there's something different underneath."
-"nothing very bad, i hope?" mary looked actually frightened, as if she did not know herself, and feared an unfavourable opinion, which might be true.
-"no, indeed. but different--quite a different you from what any of us, even yourself, have ever seen. it will come out. life will bring it out."
-"you talk," said mary, "as if you were older than i."
-"so i am, in every way except years, and they count least. oh, mary, how i do wish i were going with you!"
-"so do i. and yet perhaps it will be good for me to begin alone."
-"you won't be alone."
-"no. of course, there will be lady macmillan taking me to london. and afterward there'll be my aunt and cousin. but i've never seen them since i was too tiny to remember them at all, except that my cousin elinor had a lovely big doll she wouldn't let me touch. it's the same as being alone, going to them. i shall have to get acquainted with them and the world at the same time."
-"are you terrified?"
-"a little. oh, a good deal! i think now, at the last moment, i'd take everything back, and stay, if i could."
-"no, you wouldn't, if you had the choice, and you saw the gates closing on you--forever. you'd run out."
-"i don't know. perhaps. but how i shall miss them all! reverend mother, and the sisters, and you, and the garden, and looking out over the lake far away to the mountains."
-"but there'll be other mountains."
-"yes, other mountains."
-"think of the mountains of italy."
-"oh, i do. when the waves of regret and homesickness come i cheer myself with thoughts of italy. ever since i can remember, i've wanted italy; ever since i began to study history and look at maps, and even to read the lives of the saints, i've cared more about italy than any other country. when i expected to spend all my life in a convent, i used to think that maybe i could go to the mother-house in italy for a while some day. you can't realize, peter--you, who have lived in warm countries--how i've pined for warmth. i've never been warm enough, never in my life, for more than a few hours together. even in summer it's never really hot here, never hot with the glorious burning heat of the sun that i long to feel. how i do want to be warm, all through my veins. i've wanted it always. even at the most sacred hours, when i ought to have forgotten that i had a body, i've shivered and yearned to be warm--warm to the heart. i shall go to italy and bask in the sun."
-"marie used to say that, too, that she wanted to be warm," peter murmured in an odd, hesitating, shamefaced way. and she looked at the novice intently, as she had looked before. mary's white cheeks were faintly stained with rose, and her eyes dilated. peter had never seen quite the same expression on her face, or heard quite the same ring in her voice. the girl felt that the different, unknown self she had spoken of was beginning already to waken and stir in the nun's soul.
-"marie!" sister rose repeated. "it's odd you should have spoken of marie. i've been thinking about her lately. i can't get her out of my head. and i've dreamed of seeing her--meeting her unexpectedly somewhere."
-"perhaps she's been thinking of you, wherever she is, and you feel her mind calling to yours. i believe in such things, don't you?"
-"i never thought much about them before, i suppose because i've had so few people outside who were likely to think of me. no one but you. or perhaps marie, if she ever does think of old times. i wish i could meet her, not in dreams, but really."
-"is monte carlo like that?" mary asked, with the quick, only half-veiled curiosity which peter had noticed in her before when relating her own adventures on the riviera.
-"yes. more than any other place i've ever been to in the world. every one comes--anything can happen--there. but i don't want to talk about monte carlo. you really wouldn't find it half as interesting as your beloved italy. and i shouldn't like to think of poor marie drifting there, either--marie as she must be now."
-"i used to hope," mary said, "that she might come back here, after everything turned out so dreadfully for her, and that she'd decide to take the vows with me. reverend mother would have welcomed her gladly, in spite of all. she loved marie. so did the sisters; and though none of them ever talk about her--at least, to me--i feel sure they haven't forgotten, or stopped praying for her."
-"do you suppose they guess that we found out what really happened to marie, after she ran away?" peter wanted to know.
-"i hardly think so. you see, we couldn't have found out if it hadn't been for janet churchill, the one girl in school who didn't live in the convent. and janet wasn't a bit the sort they would expect to know such things."
-"or about anything else. her stolidity was a very useful pose. you'd find it a useful one, too, darling, 'out in the world,' as you call it; but you'll never be clever in that way, i'm afraid."
-"in what way?"
-"in hiding things you feel. or in not feeling things that are uncomfortable to feel."
-"don't frighten me!" mary exclaimed. they had walked to the end of the path, and were standing by the sundial. she turned abruptly, and looked with a certain eagerness toward the far-off façade of the convent, with its many windows. on the leaded panes of those in the west wing the sun still lingered, and struck out glints as of rubies in a gold setting. all the other windows were in shadow now. "we must go in," mary said. "lady macmillan will be coming soon, and i have lots to do before i start."
-"what have you to do, except to dress?"
-"oh!--to say goodbye to them all. and it seems as if i could never finish saying goodbye."
-peter did not meet her friend again after they had gone into the house until mary had laid away the habit of sister rose the novice and put on the simple gray travelling frock in which mary grant was to go "out into the world." peter had been extremely curious to see her in this, for it was three years ago and more since she had last had a sight of mary in "worldly dress." that was on the day when molly maxwell had left the convent as a schoolgirl, to go back to america with her father; and almost immediately mary grant had given up such garments, as she thought forever, in becoming a postulant.
-not since then had peter seen mary's hair, which by this time would have been cut close to her head if she had not suddenly discovered, just in time, that she had "lost her vocation." mary had beautiful hair. all the girls in school had admired it. peter had hated to think of its being cut off; and lately, since the sudden change in mary's mind, the american girl had wondered if the peculiar, silvery blond had darkened. it would be a pity if it had, for her hair had been one of mary's chief beauties, and if it had changed she would not be as lovely as of old, particularly as she had lost the brilliant bloom of colour she had had as a schoolgirl, her cheeks becoming white instead of pink roses.
-it seemed to peter that she could not remember exactly what mary had been like, in those first days, for the novice's habit had changed her so strangely, seeming to chill her warm humanity, turning a lovely, glowing young girl into a beautiful marble saint. but under the marble, warm blood had been flowing, and a hot, rebellious heart throbbing, after all. peter delighted in knowing that this was true, though she was anxious about the statue coming to life and walking out of its sheltered niche. when she was called to say goodbye formally, with other friends who had loved mary as schoolgirl and novice, peter's own heart was beating fast.
-the instant she caught sight of the tall, slight, youthful-looking figure in gray, the three years fell away like a crumbling wall, and gave back the days of the "three maries." no, the silvery blond hair had not faded or lost its sparkle.
-mary grant, in her short gray skirt and coat, with her lovely hair in an awkwardly done clump at the nape of a slender neck, looked a mere schoolgirl. she was twenty-four, and nearing her twenty-fifth birthday. of late, she had had anxieties and vigils, and the life of a novice of saint ursula-of-the-lake was not lived on down or roses: but the tranquil years of simple food, of water-drinking, of garden-work, of quiet thinking and praying had passed over her like the years in dreams, which last no longer than moments. they had left her a child, with a child's soft curves and a child's rose-leaf skin. yet she looked to peter very human now, and no saint. her large eyes, of that golden gray rimmed with violet, called hazel, seemed to be asking, "what is life?"
-peter thought her intensely pathetic; and somehow the fact that new shoes had been forgotten, and that mary still wore the stubby, square-toed abominations of her novitiate, made her piteous in her friend's eyes. the american girl hotly repented not writing to her father in new york and telling him that she must leave the convent with mary grant. probably he would not have consented, but she might have found some way of persuading him to change his mind. or she could have gone without his consent, and made him forgive her afterward. even now she might go; but dimly and sadly she felt that mary did not really wish for her superior knowledge of the world to lean upon; mary longed to find out things for herself.
-peter did not sleep well that night, and when she did sleep she dreamed a startling dream of mary at monte carlo.
-"she'll go there!" the girl said to herself, waking. "i know she'll go. i don't know why i know it, but i do."
-trying to doze again, she lay with closed eyes; and a procession of strange, unwished-for thoughts busily pushed sleep away from her brain. she seemed to see people hurrying from many different parts of the world, with their minds all bent on the same thing: getting to monte carlo as soon as possible. she saw these people, good and bad, mingling their lives with mary's life; and she saw the fates, like macbeth's witches, laughing and pulling the strings which controlled these people's actions toward mary, hers toward them, as if they were all marionettes.
-lady macmillan of linlochtry castle, who was a devout catholic, came often from her place in the neighbourhood to see her half-sister, mother superior at the convent of st. ursula-of-the-lake. mary grant's only knowledge of the world outside the convent had been given her by lady macmillan, with whom when a schoolgirl she had sometimes spent a few days, and might have stopped longer if she had not invariably been seized by pangs of homesickness. lady macmillan's household, to be sure, did not afford many facilities for forming an opinion of the world at large, though a number of carefully selected young people had been entertained for mary's benefit. its mistress was an elderly widow, and had been elderly when the child saw her first: but occasionally, before she became a postulant, mary had been taken to perth to help lady macmillan do a little shopping; and once she had actually stayed from saturday to tuesday at aberdeen, where she had been to the theatre. this was a memorable event; and the sisters at the convent had never tired of hearing the fortunate girl describe her exciting experiences, for theirs was an enclosed order, and it was years since most of them had been outside the convent gates.
-lady macmillan was a large, very absent-minded and extremely near-sighted lady, like her half-sister, mary's adored reverend mother; but neither so warm-hearted nor so intelligent. still, mary was used to this old friend, and fond of her as well. it was not like going away irrevocably from all she knew and loved, to be going under lady macmillan's wing. still, she went weeping, wondering how she had ever made up her mind to the step, half passionately grateful to reverend mother for not being angry with her weakness and lack of faith, half regretful that some one in authority had not thought it right to hold her forcibly back.
-there was no railway station within ten miles of the old convent by the lake. lady macmillan came from her little square box of a castle still farther away, in the old-fashioned carriage which she called a "barouche," drawn by two satin-smooth, fat animals, more like tightly covered yet comfortable brown sofas than horses.
-it was a great excitement for lady macmillan to be going to london, and a great exertion, but she did not grudge trouble for mary grant. not that she approved of the girl's leaving the convent. it was reverend mother who had to persuade her half-sister that, if mary had not the vocation, it was far better that she should read her own heart in time, and that the girl was taking with her the blessings and prayers of all those who had once hoped to keep their dear one with them forever. still it was the greatest sensation the convent had known, that mary should be going; and reverend mother would not let her half-sister even mention, in that connection, the name of the other mary--or marie--grant, who also had gone away sensationally. the eldest of the "three maries," the three prettiest, most remarkable girls in the convent school, had left mysteriously, in a black cloud of disgrace. she had run off to join a lover who had turned out to be a married man, unable to make her his wife, even if he wished; and sad, vague tidings of the girl had drifted back to the convent since, as spray from the sea is blown a long way on the wind.
-reverend mother would not hear lady macmillan say, "strange that the two mary grants should be the only young women to leave you, except in the ordinary way," the ordinary way being the end of school days for a girl, or the end of life for a nun.
-"i want dear mary to be happy in the manner that's best for her," answered the good woman, whose outlook was very wide, though her orbit was limited, "if it had been best for mary to stay with us, she would have stayed; or else some day, when she has learned enough to know that the world can be disappointing, she will return. if that day ever comes, she'll have a warm welcome, and it will be a great joy to us all; but the next best thing will be hearing that she is happy in her new life; and she promises to write often." then the clever lady proceeded to ask advice about mary's wardrobe. should the girl do such shopping as she must do in aberdeen, or should she wait and trust to the taste of mrs. home-davis, the widowed aunt in london, who had agreed to take charge of her?
-the question had fired lady macmillan to excitement, as reverend mother knew it would. lady macmillan believed that she had taste in dress. she was entirely mistaken in this idea; but that was not the point. nothing so entranced her as to give advice, and the picture of an unknown aunt choosing clothes for mary was unbearable. she made up her mind at once that she would escort her young friend to london, and stay long enough at some quiet hotel in cromwell road to see mary "settled." mrs. home-davis lived in cromwell road; and it was an extra incentive to lady macmillan that she would not be too far from the oratory.
-it was evening when the two arrived at king's cross station, after the longest journey mary had ever made. there was a black fog, cold and heavy as a dripping fur coat. out of its folds loomed motor-omnibuses, monstrous mechanical demons such as mary had never seen nor pictured. the noise and rush of traffic stunned her into silence, as she drove with her old friend in a four-wheeled cab toward cromwell road. there, she imagined, would be peace and quiet; but not so. they stopped before a house, past which a wild storm of motor-omnibuses and vans and taxicabs and private cars swept ceaselessly in two directions. it seemed impossible to mary that people could live in such a place. she was supposed to stay for a month or two in london, and then, if she still wished to see italy, her aunt and cousin would make it convenient to go with her. but, before the dark green door behind corinthian pillars had opened, the girl was resolving to hurry out of london somehow, anyhow, with or without her relatives. she decided this with the singular, silent intensity of purpose that she did not even know to be characteristic of herself, though it had carried her through a severe ordeal at the convent; for mary had never yet studied her own emotions or her own nature. the instant that the home-davises, mother and daughter, greeted her in their chilly drawing-room, she lost all doubt as to whether she should leave london with or without them. it would be without them that she must go. how she was to contrive this, the girl did not know in the least, but she knew that the thing would have to be done. she could not see italy in the company of these women.
-suddenly mary remembered them both quite well, though they had not met since a visit the mother and daughter had made to scotland when she was seven years old, before convent days. she recalled her aunt's way of holding out a hand, like an offering of cold fish. and she remembered how the daughter was patterned after the mother: large, light eyes, long features of the horse type, prominent teeth, thin, consciously virtuous-looking figure, and all the rest.
-they had the sort of drawing-room that such women might be expected to have, of the coldest grays and greens, with no individuality of decoration. the whole house was the same, cheerless and depressing even to those familiar with london in a november fog, but blighting to one who knew not london in any weather. even the servants seemed cold, mechanical creatures, made of well-oiled steel or iron; and when lady macmillan had driven off to a hotel, mary cried heartily in her own bleak room, with motor-omnibuses roaring and snorting under her windows.
-at dinner, which was more or less cold, like everything else, there was talk of the cousin who had left mary a legacy of fifty thousand pounds; and it was easy to divine in tone, if not in words, that the home-davises felt deeply aggrieved because the money had not come to them. this cousin had lived in the cromwell road house during the last invalid years of her life, and had given them to understand that elinor was to have almost, if not quite, everything. the poor lady had died, it seemed, in the room which mary now occupied, probably in the same bed. mary deeply pitied her if she had been long in dying. the wall-paper was atrocious, with a thousand hideous faces to be worried out of it by tired eyes. the girl had wondered why the money had been left entirely to her, but now she guessed in a flash why the home-davises had had none of it. the years in this cromwell house had been too long.
-"we've always imagined that cousin katherine must have been in love with your father, uncle basil, before he married," said elinor, when they had reached the heavy stage of sweet pudding; "and when the will was read, we were sure of it. for, of course, mother was just as nearly related to her as uncle basil was."
-it was difficult for mary to realize that this aunt sara could be a sister of the handsome, dark-faced man with burning eyes whose features had remained cameo-clear in her memory since childhood. but mrs. home-davis was the ugly duckling of a handsome and brilliant family, an accident of fate which had embittered her youth, and indirectly her daughter's.
-"how shall i get away from them?" mary asked herself, desperately, that night. but fate was fighting for her in the form of a man she had never seen, a man not even in london at the moment.
-in a room below mary's elinor was asking mrs. home-davis how they could get rid of the convent cousin.
-"she won't do," the young woman said.
-"she reminds me of her mother," remarked mrs. home-davis. "i thought she would grow up like that."
-"yet there's a look in her eyes of uncle basil," elinor amended, brushing straight hair of a nondescript brown, which she admired because it was long.
-"with such a combination of qualities as she'll probably develop, she'd much better have stayed in her convent," the elder woman went on.
-"i wish to goodness she had," snapped elinor.
-"you are--er--thinking of doctor smythe, dear?"
-"ye-es--partly," the younger admitted, reluctantly; for there was humiliation to her vanity in the admission. "not that arthur'd care for that type of girl, particularly, or that he'd be disloyal to me--if he were let alone. but you can see for yourself, mother--is she the kind that will let men alone? at dinner she made eyes even at the footman. i was watching her."
-"she can't have met any men, unless at that old scotchwoman's house," replied mrs. home-davis. "perhaps even their romish consciences would have forced them to show her a few, before she took her vows--catholic young men, of course."
-"perhaps one of them decided her to break the vows."
-"she hasn't really broken them, you know, elinor. we must be just."
-"well, anyhow, she hasn't the air of an engaged person. and if she's here when arthur gets back to london, i feel in my bones, mother, there'll be ructions."
-"arthur" was doctor smythe, a man not very young, whom elinor home-davis had known for some time; but it was only lately that she had begun to hope he might ask her to marry him. she valued him, for he was the one man she had ever succeeded in attracting seriously, and though she knew he would not think of proposing if she had not some money which would be helpful in his career, she was eager to accept him. had she realized sooner that there was a chance with arthur smythe, she would not have let her mother make that promise concerning italy, for she could not be left alone in london all winter. arthur smythe would think that too strange; yet now she would not go out of england for anything. he was in paris attending a medical congress, and planned afterward to visit the châteaux country with a friend; but he would be back in two or three weeks. now that elinor had seen mary, she felt that changes must be made quickly. in other circumstances, it would have been pleasant to loiter about italy, stopping at the best hotels at mary's expense, on money that ought to have been the home-davises; but as it was, elinor could think of nothing better to do than to send mary off by herself, in a hurry. or, as mrs. home-davis said, "some one suitable" might be travelling at the right time, and they could perhaps find an excuse for stopping at home themselves.
-"you can be ill, if necessary," suggested elinor.
-"yes, i can be ill, if necessary--or you can," replied her mother.
-mary had not known that there could be such noise in the world as the noise of london. she did not sleep that night; and the fog was blacker than ever in the morning. shopping had to be put off for three days; and then lady macmillan was too near-sighted and too absent-minded to be of much use. she was telegraphed for from her box of a castle, at the end of the week, because her housekeeper was ailing--an old woman who was almost as much friend as servant. mary would have given anything to return with her, even if to go back must mean retiring into the convent forever; but the gate of the past had gently shut behind her. she could not knock upon it for admittance, at least not until she had walked farther along the path of the future.
-when lady macmillan had gone, mrs. home-davis and elinor showed no interest in the convent cousin. they went about their own concerns as if she did not exist, leaving her to go about hers, if she chose. they were both interested, they explained, in the suffragist movement; also they had charities to look after. there was no time to bother with mary's shopping, but of course she could have their maid, jennings, to go out with: in fact, she must not attempt to go alone. consequently, mary bought only necessaries, in the big, confusing shops that glared white in the foggy twilight, for jennings as a companion was more depressing than the cold. she was middle-aged, very pinched and respectable in appearance, with a red nose, always damp at the end; and she disapproved of lace and ribbons on underclothing. mrs. home-davis and miss elinor would never think of buying such things as miss grant admired. jennings would have pioneered miss grant to the british and south kensington museums if miss grant had wished to go, but mary had no appetite for museums in the dark and forbidding november, which was the worst that london had known for years. her aunt never suggested a theatre, or the opera, or anything which mary was likely to find amusing, for a plan decided upon with elinor was being faithfully carried out. the convent cousin was to be disgusted with cromwell road, and bored with london, so that she might be ready to snatch at the first excuse to get away. and once away, mrs. home-davis promised elinor to find some pretext for refusing to receive her back again.
-the plan succeeded perfectly, though, had the ladies but guessed, no complicated manoeuvres would have been necessary, mary having determined upon escape in the moment of arrival. she was shut up in her room for a few days with a cold, after she had been a week in cromwell road, and when she was let out, after all danger of infection for her relatives had passed, she dared to propose italy as a cure for herself.
-"i know you have important engagements," mary said, hastily, "and of course you couldn't go with me at such short notice; but i don't feel as if i could wait. i may be ill on your hands. i feel as if i should be, unless i run away where it's warm and bright."
-mrs. home-davis, much as she wanted to take the girl at her word, could not resist retorting: "it's not very bright and warm in scotland at this time of year, yet you don't seem to have been ill there."
-mary could have replied that in the convent she had had the warmth and brightness of love, but she merely mumbled that she had often taken cold in the autumn.
-"it will be impossible for us to leave home at present," her aunt went on. "if you're determined to go, i must get you some one to travel with, or you must have an elderly maid-companion. perhaps that would be best. one can't always find friends travelling at the time they're wanted."
-"mary isn't such a baby that she ought to need looking after," said elinor. "she's nearly twenty-five--as old as i am--and you don't mind my going to exeter alone."
-elinor was twenty-eight. when she was a child she had assumed airs of superiority on the strength of her age, mary remembered, but now she and her cousin seemed suddenly to match their years. mary was glad of this, however, and bolstered elinor's argument by admitting her own maturity. "i don't want a companion-maid, please," she said, with the mingling of meekness and violent resolution which had ended her novitiate. "it will be better for my italian, to get one in italy. i shall be safe alone till i arrive. you see, reverend mother has given me a letter to the superior in the mother-house, and other letters, too. i shall have friends in florence and rome, and lots of places."
-"but it wouldn't look well for you to travel alone," mrs. home-davis objected.
-"nobody will be looking at me. nobody will know who i am," mary argued. then, desperately, "rather than you should find me a companion, aunt sara, i won't go to italy at all. i----"
-she could have chosen no more efficacious threat; though if she had been allowed to finish her sentence, she would have added, "i'll go back to scotland to lady macmillan's, or stay in the convent."
-thus the sting would have lost its venom for the home-davises, but elinor, fearing disaster, cut the sentence short. "oh, for mercy's sake, mother, let mary have her own way," she broke in. "you can see she means to in the end, so why disturb yourself? nothing can happen to her."
-elinor's eyes anxiously recalled to her mother a letter that had come from doctor smythe that morning announcing his return at the end of the week. it was providential that mary should have proposed going, as it would have been awkward otherwise to get her out of the house in time; and elinor was anxious that she should be taken at her word.
-"it's more of appearances than danger that i'm thinking," mrs. home-davis explained, retiring slowly, face to the enemy, yet with no real desire to win the battle. "perhaps if i write mrs. larkin in florence--a nice, responsible woman--to find a family for you to stay with, it may do. only in that case, you mustn't stop before you get to florence. i'll buy your ticket straight through, by the mont cenis."
-"no, please," mary protested, mildly. "not that way. i've set my heart on going along the riviera, not to stop anywhere, but to see the coast from the train. it must be so lovely: and after this blackness to see the blue mediterranean, and the flowers, and oranges, and the red rocks that run out into the sea; it's a dream of joy to think of it. i've a friend who has been twice with her father. she told me so much about the riviera. it can't be much farther than the other way."
-so it was settled, after some perfunctory objections on the part of mrs. home-davis, who wished it put on record that she had been overruled by mary's obstinacy. if undesirable incidents should happen, she wanted to say, "mary would go by herself, without waiting for me. she's of age, and i couldn't coerce her."
-mary felt like an escaped prisoner as the train began to move out of victoria station--the train which was taking her toward france and italy. it was like passing through a great gray gate, labeled "this way to warmth and sunshine and beauty." already, though the gate itself was not beautiful, mary seemed to see through it, far ahead, vistas of lovely places to which it opened. she sat calmly, as the moving carriage rescued her from aunt sara and elinor on the platform, but her hands were locked tightly inside the five-year-old squirrel muff, which would have been given away, with everything of hers, if sister rose had not changed a certain decision at the eleventh hour. she was quivering with excitement and the wild sense of freedom which she had not tasted in london.
-in leaving the convent she had not felt this sense of escaping, for the convent had been "home," the goodbyes had drowned her in grief, and she had often before driven off with lady macmillan, in the springy barouche behind the fat horses. even the journey to london had not given her the thrill she hoped for, as rain had fallen heavily, blotting out the landscape. besides, she had even then regarded her stay in london with the home-davises only as a stage on the journey which was eventually to lead her into warmth and sunlight.
-this train, with the foreign-looking people who rushed about chattering french and german, italian and arabic on the platform and in the corridors, seemed to link london mysteriously with other lands. even the strong, active porters, who sprang at huge trunks piled on cabs, and carried them off to the weighing-room, were different from other porters, more important, part of a great scheme, and their actions added to her excitement. she liked the way that an alert guard put her into her compartment, as if he were posting a letter in a hurry, and had others to post. then the great and sudden bustle of the train going out made her heart beat.
-mary had been brought to the station early, for elinor had been nervous lest she might miss the train, and doctor smythe was coming at four o'clock that afternoon. but others who were to share the compartment were late. it was violently exciting to have them dash in at the last moment, and dispose of bags and thick rugs in straps to be used on the channel.
-they were two, mother and daughter perhaps; a delicate birdlike girl and a plump middle-aged woman with an air of extreme self-satisfaction.
-in themselves they did not appear interesting, but mary was interested, and wondered where they were going. when they took out fashion-papers and sixpenny novels, however, she felt that they were no longer worth attention. how could they read, when they were saying goodbye to england, and when each minute the windows framed charming pictures of skimming kentish landscape? the strangely shaped oast-houses puzzled mary. she longed to ask what they were, but the woman and the girl seemed absorbed in their books and papers. mary thought they must be dull and stupid; but suddenly it came to her that to many people, these among others, maybe, this journey was a commonplace, everyday affair. even going to france or italy might not be to them a high adventure. extraordinary to reflect that all over the world men and women were travelling, going to wonderful new places, seeing wonderful new things, and taking it as a matter of course!
-mary would have been surprised if she had known their real feelings toward her, which were not as remote as she supposed.
-she looked, they both thought, like a schoolgirl going abroad for her christmas holidays, only it was early for holidays: but if she were a schoolgirl it was strange that she should be travelling alone. her furs were old-fashioned and inexpensive, her gray tweed dress plain and without style, her hat had a home-made air, but from under the short skirt peeped smart patent-leather shoes with silver buckles and pointed toes, and there was a glimpse of silk stockings thin as a mere polished film. a schoolgirl would not be allowed to have such shoes and stockings, which, in any case, were most unsuited to travelling. (poor mary had not known this, in replacing the convent abominations which had struck peter as pathetic; and mrs. home-davis had not troubled to tell her); nor would a schoolgirl be likely to have delicate gray suède gloves, with many buttons, or a lace handkerchief like a morsel of seafoam. these oddities in mary's toilet, due to her inexperience and untutored shopping, puzzled her companions; and often, while she supposed them occupied with the fashions, they were stealing furtive glances at her clear, saintly profile, the full rose-red lips which contradicted its austerity, and the sparkling waves of hair meekly drawn down over the small ears. her rapt expression, also, piqued their curiosity.
-they were inclined to believe it a pose, put on to attract attention; and though they could not help acknowledging her beauty, they were far from sure that she was a person to be approved. at one instant the mother of the birdlike girl fancied her neighbour a child. the next, she was sure that the stranger was much more mature than she looked, or wished to look. and when, on leaving the train at dover, mary spoke french to a young frenchman in difficulties with an english porter, the doubting hearts of her fellow-travellers closed against the offender. with an accent like that, this was certainly not her first trip abroad, they decided. with raised eyebrows they telegraphed each other that they would not be surprised if she had an extremely intimate knowledge of paris and parisian ways.
-even the frenchman she befriended was ungrateful enough not to know quite what to think of mary. he raised his hat, and gave her a look of passionate gratitude, in case anything were to be got by it: but the deep meaning of the gaze was lost on the lately emancipated sister rose. she blushed, because it happened to be the first time she had ever spoken to a young man unchaperoned by lady macmillan: but she was regarding him as a fellow-being, and remembering that she had been instructed to seize any chance of doing a kindness, no matter how small. she had never been told that it was not always safe for a girl to treat a frenchman as a fellow-being.
-afterward, on the boat, when a porter had placed her in a sheltered deck-seat with a curved top, the fellow-being ventured again to thank the english mees for coming to his rescue. it was a pleasure to mary to speak french, which had been taught her by sister marie-des-anges, a french nun from paris; and she and the young man plunged into an animated conversation. her travelling companions had chairs on deck not far off, and they knew what to think of the mystery now. they were on the way to mentone, but as they intended stopping a day in paris, and going on by a cheaper train than the train de luxe, mary did not see them again during the journey.
-she was unconscious of anything in her appearance or conduct to arouse disapproval. her one regret concerning the thin silk stockings and delicate shoes (which she had bought because they were pretty) was that her ankles were cold. she had no rug; but the frenchman insisted on lending her his, tucking it round her knees and under her feet. then she was comfortable, and even more grateful to him than he had been to her for translating him to the porter. he was dark and thin, cynically intelligent looking, of a type new to mary; and she thanked him for being disappointed that she could not stop in paris. he inquired if, by chance, she were going to monte carlo. when she said no, she was passing on much farther, he was again disappointed, because, being an artist, he often ran down to monte carlo himself in the winter, and it would have been a great privilege to renew acquaintance with so charming an english lady.
-mary had feared that she might be ill in crossing the channel, as she had never been on the water before, and could not know whether she were a good or a bad sailor. aunt sara and elinor had told her unpleasant anecdotes of voyages; but when dover castle on its gray height, and white shakespeare cliff with its memories of "lear," had faded from her following eyes, still she would hardly have known that the vessel was moving. the purring turbines scarcely thrilled the deck; and presently mary ate sandwiches and drank a decoction of coffee, brought by her new friend. he laughed when she started at a mournful hoot of the siren, and was enormously interested to hear that she had never set eyes upon the sea until to-day. mademoiselle, for such an ingenue, was very courageous, he thought, and looked at mary closely; but her eyes wandered from him to the phantom-shapes that loomed out of a pale, wintry mist: tramps thrashing their way to the north sea: a vast, distant liner with tiers of decks one above the other: a darting torpedo-destroyer which flashed by like a streak of foam.
-everything was so interesting that mary would far rather not have had to talk, but she had been brought up in a school of old-fashioned courtesy. to her, a failure in politeness would have been almost a crime: and as the sisters had never imagined the possibility of her talking with a strange young man, they had not cautioned her against doing so.
-she had meant to scribble a few notes of her impressions during the journey, for the benefit of reverend mother and the nuns, posting her letter in paris; but as the frenchman appeared surprised at her travelling alone, and everybody else seemed to be with friends, she decided not to write until florence. there, when she could say that she had reached her journey's end safely, she might confess that she had left london without her relatives or even the companion-maid they advised.
-"if reverend mother saw aunt sara, even for five minutes," mary said to herself, "she couldn't blame me."
-as it happened, there had been such a rush at the last, after the great decision was made, that mary had not written to the convent. she had only telegraphed: "leaving at once for florence. will write."
-she was hoping that reverend mother would not scold her for what she had done, when suddenly another cliff, white as the cliffs of dover, glimmered through the haze. then she forgot her sackcloth, for, completely, as well as from scepticism. in the seventh book of his confessions he has acknowledged his indebtedness to the reading of neoplatonic writings. in the most essential doctrines, viz., those about god, matter, the relation of god to the world, freedom and evil, augustine always remained dependent on neoplatonism; but at the same time, of all theologians in antiquity he is the one who saw most clearly and shewed most plainly wherein christianity and neoplatonism are distinguished. the best that has been written by a father of the church on this subject, is contained in chapters 9-21 of the seventh book of his confessions.
-the question why neoplatonism was defeated in the conflict with christianity, has not as yet been satisfactorily answered by historians. usually the question is wrongly stated. the point here is not about a christianity arbitrarily fashioned, but only about catholic christianity and catholic theology. this conquered neoplatonism after it had assimilated nearly everything it possessed. further, we must note the place where the victory was gained. the battle-field was the empire of constantine, theodosius and justinian. only when we have considered these and all other conditions, are we entitled to enquire in what degree the specific doctrines of christianity contributed to the victory, and what share the organisation of the church had in it. undoubtedly, however, we must always give the chief prominence to the fact that the catholic dogmatic excluded polytheism in principle, and at the same time found a means by which it could represent the faith of the cultured mediated by science as identical with the faith of the multitude resting on authority.
-in the theology and philosophy of the middle ages, mysticism was the strong opponent of rationalistic dogmatism; and, in fact, platonism and neoplatonism were the sources from which in the age of the renaissance and in the following two centuries, empiric science developed itself in opposition to the rationalistic dogmatism which disregarded experience. magic, astrology, alchemy, all of which were closely connected with neoplatonism, gave an effective impulse to the observation of nature and, consequently, to natural science, and finally prevailed over formal and barren rationalism consequently, in the history of science, neoplatonism has attained a significance and performed services of which men like iamblichus and proclus never ventured to dream. in point of fact, actual history is often more wonderful and capricious than legends and fables.
-history of dogma
-dr. adolph harnack ordinary prof. of church history in the university, and fellow of the royal academy of science, berlin
-translated from the third german edition
-chapter i.--historical survey
-the old and new elements in the formation of the catholic church; the fixing of that which is apostolic (rule of faith, collection of writings, organization, cultus); the stages in the genesis of the catholic rule of faith, the apologists; irenæus, tertullian, hippolytus; clement and origen; obscurities in reference to the origin of the most important institutions; difficulties in determining the importance of individual personalities; differences of development in the churches of different countries.
-i. fixing and gradual secularising of christianity as a church
-chapter ii.--the setting up of the apostolic standards for ecclesiastical christianity. the catholic church
-a. the transformation of the baptismal confession into the apostolic rule of faith
-necessities for setting up the apostolic rule of faith; the rule of faith is the baptismal confession definitely interpreted; estimate of this transformation; irenæus; tertullian; results of the transformation; slower development in alexandria: clement and origen.
-b. the designation of selected writings read in the churches as new testament scriptures or, in other words, as a collection of apostolic writings
-plausible arguments against the statement that up to the year 150 there was no new testament in the church; sudden emergence of the new testament in the muratorian fragment, in (melito) irenæus and tertullian; conditions under which the new testament originated; relation of the new testament to the earlier writings that were read in the churches; causes and motives for the formation of the canon, manner of using and results of the new testament; the apostolic collection of writings can be proved at first only in those churches in which we find the apostolic rule of faith; probably there was no new testament in antioch about the year 200, nor in alexandria (clement); probable history of the genesis of the new testament in alexandria up to the time of origen; addendum. the results which the creation of the new testament produced in the following period.
-c. the transformation of the episcopal office in the church into an apostolic office. the history of the remodelling of the conception of the church
-the legitimising of the rule of faith by the communities which were founded by the apostles; by the "elders"; by the bishops of apostolic churches (disciples of apostles); by the bishops as such, who have received the apostolic charisma veritatis; excursus on the conceptions of the alexandrians; the bishops as successors of the apostles; original idea of the church as the holy community that comes from heaven and is destined for it; the church as the empiric catholic communion resting on the law of faith; obscurities in the idea of the church as held by irenæus and tertullian; by clement and origen; transition to the hierarchical idea of the church; the hierarchical idea of the church: calixtus and cyprian; appendix i. cyprian's idea of the church and the actual circumstances; appendix ii. church and heresy; appendix iii. uncertainties regarding the consequences of the new idea of the church.
-chapter iii.--continuation.--the old christianity and the new church
-introduction; the original montanism; the later montanism as the dregs of the movement and as the product of a compromise; the opposition to the demands of the montanists by the catholic bishops: importance of the victory for the church; history of penance: the old practice; the laxer practice in the days of tertullian and hippolytus; the abolition of the old practice in the days of cyprian; significance of the new kind of penance for the idea of the church; the church no longer a communion of salvation and of saints, but a condition of salvation and a holy institution and thereby a corpus permixtum; after effect of the old idea of the church in cyprian; origen's idea of the church; novatian's idea of the church and of penance, the church of the catharists; conclusion: the catholic church as capable of being a support to society and the state; addenda i. the priesthood; addenda ii. sacrifice; addenda iii. means of grace. baptism and the eucharist; excursus to chapters ii. and iii.--catholic and roman.
-ii. fixing and gradual hellenising of christianity as a system of doctrine
-the historical position of the apologists; apologists and gnostics; nature and importance of the apologists' theology.
-2. christianity as philosophy and as revelation
-aristides; justin; athenagoras; miltiades, melito; tatian; pseudo-justin, orat. ad gr.; theophilus; pseudo-justin, de resurr.; tertullian and minucius; pseudo-justin, de monarch.; results.
-3. the doctrines of christianity as the revealed and rational religion
-arrangement; the monotheistic cosmology; theology; doctrine of the logos; doctrine of the world and of man; doctrine of freedom and morality; doctrine of revelation (proofs from prophecy); significance of the history of jesus; christology of justin; interpretation and criticism, especially of justin's doctrines.
-1. the theological position of irenæus and of the later contemporary church teachers
-characteristics of the theology of the old catholic fathers, their wavering between reason and tradition; loose structure of their dogmas; irenæus' attempt to construct a systematic theology and his fundamental theological convictions; gnostic and anti-gnostic features of his theology; christianity conceived as a real redemption by christ (recapitulatio); his conception of a history of salvation; his historical significance: conserving of tradition and gradual hellenising of the rule of faith.
-2. the old catholic fathers' doctrine of the church
-the antithesis to gnosticism; the "scripture theology" as a sign of the dependence on "gnosticism" and as a means of conserving tradition; the doctrine of god; the logos doctrine of tertullian and hippolytus; (conceptions regarding the holy spirit); irenæus' doctrine of the logos; (conceptions regarding the holy spirit); the views of irenæus regarding the destination of man, the original state, the fall and the doom of death (the disparate series of ideas in irenæus; rudiments of the doctrine of original sin in tertullian); the doctrine of jesus christ as the incarnate son of god; assertion of the complete mixture and unity of the divine and human elements; significance of mary; tertullian's doctrine of the two natures and its origin; rudiments of this doctrine in irenæus; the gnostic character of this doctrine; christology of hippolytus; views as to christ's work; redemption, perfection; reconciliation; categories for the fruit of christ's work; things peculiar to tertullian; satisfacere deo; the soul as the bride of christ; the eschatology; its archaic nature, its incompatibility with speculation and the advantage of connection with that; conflict with chiliasm in the east; the doctrine of the two testaments; the influence of gnosticism on the estimate of the two testaments, the complexus oppositorum; the old testament a uniform christian book as in the apologists; the old testament a preliminary stage of the new testament and a compound book; the stages in the history of salvation; the law of freedom the climax of the revelation in christ.
-3. results to ecclesiastical christianity, chiefly in the west, (cyprian, novation)
-chapter vi.--the transformation of the ecclesiastical tradition into a philosophy of religion, or the origin of the scientific theology and dogmatic of the church: clement and origen
-schools and teachers in the church at the end of the second and the beginning of the third century; scientific efforts (alogi in asia minor, cappadocian scholars, bardesanes of edessa, julius africanus, scholars in palestine, rome and carthage); the alexandrian catechetical school. clement; the temper of clement and his importance in the history of dogma; his relation to irenæus, to the gnostics and to primitive christianity; his philosophy of religion; clement and origen
-introductory: the personality and importance of origen; the elements of origen's theology; its gnostic features; the relative view of origen; his temper and final aim: relation to greek philosophy; theology as a philosophy of revelation, and a cosmological speculation; porphyry on origen; the neutralising of history, esoteric and exoteric christianity; fundamental ideas and arrangement of his system; sources of truth, doctrine of scripture.
-i. the doctrine of god and its unfolding
-doctrine of god; doctrine of the logos; clement's doctrine of the logos; doctrine of the holy spirit; doctrine of spirits.
-ii. doctrine of the fall and its consequences
-doctrine of man
-iii. doctrine of redemption and restoration
-the notions necessary to the psychical; the christology; the appropriation of salvation; the eschatology; concluding remarks: the importance of this system to the following period.
-the laying of the foundations.
-the movement which resulted in the catholic church owes its right to a place in the history of christianity to the victory over gnosticism and to the preservation of an important part of early christian tradition. if gnosticism in all its phases was the violent attempt to drag christianity down to the level of the greek world, and to rob it of its dearest possession, belief in the almighty god of creation and redemption, then catholicism, inasmuch as it secured this belief for the greeks, preserved the old testament, and supplemented it with early christian writings, thereby saving--as far as documents, at least, were concerned--and proclaiming the authority of an important part of primitive christianity, must in one respect be acknowledged as a conservative force born from the vigour of christianity. if we put aside abstract considerations and merely look at the facts of the given situation, we cannot but admire a creation which first broke up the various outside forces assailing christianity, and in which the highest blessings of this faith have always continued to be accessible. if the founder of the christian religion had deemed belief in the gospel and a life in accordance with it to be compatible with membership of the synagogue and observance of the jewish law, there could at least be no impossibility of adhering to the gospel within the catholic church.
-but these considerations are scarcely needed as soon as we turn our attention to the second series of developments that make up the history of this period. the church did not merely set up dykes and walls against gnosticism in order to ward it off externally, nor was she satisfied with defending against it the facts which were the objects of her belief and hope; but, taking the creed for granted, she began to follow this heresy into its own special territory and to combat it with a scientific theology. that was a necessity which did not first spring from christianity's own internal struggles. it was already involved in the fact that the christian church had been joined by cultured greeks, who felt the need of justifying their christianity to themselves and the world, and of presenting it as the desired and certain answer to all the pressing questions which then occupied men's minds.
-4. from the time that the clergy acquired complete sway over the churches, that is, from the beginning of the second third of the third century, the development of the history of dogma practically took place within the ranks of that class, and was carried on by its learned men. every mystery they set up therefore became doubly mysterious to the laity, for these did not even understand the terms, and hence it formed another new fetter.
-i. fixing and gradual secularising of christianity as a church
-a. the transformation of the baptismal confession into the apostolic rule of faith.
-be this as it may, if we understand by the new testament a fixed collection, equally authoritative throughout, of all the writings that were regarded as genuinely apostolic, that is, those of the original apostles and paul, then the alexandrian church at the time of clement did not yet possess such a book; but the process which led to it had begun. she had come much nearer this goal by the time of origen. at that period the writings included in the new testament of the west were all regarded in alexandria as equally authoritative, and also stood in every respect on a level with the old testament. the principle of apostolicity was more strictly conceived and more surely applied. accordingly the extent of "holy scripture" was already limited in the days of origen. yet we have to thank the alexandrian church for giving us the seven catholic epistles. but, measured by the canon of the western church, which must have had a share in the matter, this sifting process was by no means complete. the inventive minds of scholars designated a group of writings in the alexandrian canon as "antilegomena." the historian of dogma can take no great interest in the succeeding development, which first led to the canon being everywhere finally fixed, so far as we can say that this was ever the case. for the still unsettled dispute as to the extent of the canon did not essentially affect its use and authority, and in the following period the continuous efforts to establish a harmonious and strictly fixed canon were solely determined by a regard to tradition. the results are no doubt of great importance to church history, because they show us the varying influence exerted on christendom at different periods by the great churches of the east and west and by their learned men.
-continuation. the old christianity and the new church.
-1. the legal and political forms by which the church secured herself against the secular power and heresy, and still more the lower moral standard exacted from her members in consequence of the naturalisation of christianity in the world, called forth a reaction soon after the middle of the second century. this movement, which first began in asia minor and then spread into other regions of christendom, aimed at preserving or restoring the old feelings and conditions, and preventing christendom from being secularised. this crisis (the so called montanist struggle) and the kindred one which succeeded produced the following results: the church merely regarded herself all the more strictly as a legal community basing the truth of its title on its historic and objective foundations, and gave a correspondingly new interpretation to the attribute of holiness she claimed. she expressly recognised two distinct classes in her midst, a spiritual and a secular, as well as a double standard of morality. moreover, she renounced her character as the communion of those who were sure of salvation, and substituted the claim to be an educational institution and a necessary condition of redemption. after a keen struggle, in which the new testament did excellent service to the bishops, the church expelled the cataphrygian fanatics and the adherents of the new prophecy (between 180 and 220); and in the same way, during the course of the third century, she caused the secession of all those christians who made the truth of the church depend on a stricter administration of moral discipline. hence, apart from the heretic and montanist sects, there existed in the empire, after the middle of the second century, two great but numerically unequal church confederations, both based on the same rule of faith and claiming the title "ecclesia catholica," viz., the confederation which constantine afterwards chose for his support, and the novatian catharist one. in rome, however, the beginning of the great disruption goes back to the time of hippolytus and calixtus; yet the schism of novatian must not be considered as an immediate continuation of that of hippolytus.
-so he went to the fairy queen and asked for leave of absence for thirty-three and a third years, that he might go and live among mortals and learn things.
-at the end of thirty-three and a third years he came back again, and he found the fairies dancing just as if they had never left off. they were all perfectly delighted to see him, and they left off dancing and crowded round him and cried out all together, which is the way the fairies sometimes talk: "o gillibloom, what have you learned?"
-gillibloom looked at them a few minutes very solemnly, as if he wanted them to pay great attention to what he was going to say. then he answered: "i have not really learned anything, but i have almost learned to cry."
-"to cry, gillibloom?" called the fairies. "what is that?"
-"i know," cried a fairy who was a great traveller, and had once gone on a moonbeam excursion to a large town. "it's what mortals do when they want something they haven't got, or have something they don't want."
-"yes," said gillibloom, "that is it."
-"but what good is it?" asked the other fairies.
-"i don't really know," said gillibloom: "but i think it is really very good indeed, because so many of them do it. sometimes if you are very little and want something, and cry and cry, somebody brings it to you."
-"but we don't want anything we can't get without crying," said the fairies.
-"yes, that is true," said gillibloom. "but it can't be that so many people would cry if there wasn't some use in it. try as i may, i can't find out what the use is, but i thought i might form a class and we could all cry together, and then we should see what happened."
-now some of the fairies were too busy painting flowers to join a class, and more were too busy riding on bees' wings, but there were a few dozen who said:
-"we might as well join. why not? it will please gillibloom, and maybe there is some use in it, after all."
-so gillibloom appointed the next night by the banks of the standing pool, for, he said, it would be quite impossible at first to cry anywhere except by the side of still water.
-the next night they were all there, twenty-seven of them, each with a moss-cup in his hand.
-so the fairies all sat down in a circle, and looked pleasantly about at one another and said: "we are here to cry."
-so the first three ran gaily at him and knocked off his cap, but they might as well not have done it, for another cap, just as green and with just as red a feather, blew right down from somewhere else and settled on his head, and the fairies laughed, and gillibloom did, too.
-"well," said he, "the next three of you must trip me up, and i'll fall down on the ground, and then i'll show you how to cry."
-so the next three tripped him up, and gillibloom didn't mind it in the least, because, whatever you do in the fairy woods, it never hurts. but he remembered that he was the teacher, and if he didn't begin to teach he would pretty soon be no teacher at all. so he sat there on the ground and made up a dreadful face, and wrinkled his forehead and shut his eyes and pulled down the corners of his mouth. and then he dipped his own moss-cup carefully into the standing pool, and brought up a drop of water. and he put his fingers in it and splashed some on his face; and it ran down his cheeks, and he said proudly: "now i am almost crying."
-"ho!" said the fairies, "is that all? we can do that without being taught."
-so they wrinkled up their foreheads and shut their eyes and drew down their mouths and dipped their fingers in the moss-cups, and sprinkled their faces, and made a bellowing noise, and they said proudly: "now we are almost crying, too."
-gillibloom had opened his eyes and wiped his cheeks on a bit of everlasting petal.
-"that was very good," he said, "very good indeed! to-morrow we will go on with the second lesson."
-but the twenty-seventh fairy was thinking just then that he might have been dancing all this time, and he said: "gillibloom, i don't see what good it will do."
-"it must be remembered that we have only learned almost crying to-day," said gillibloom, with dignity. "when we have learned quite crying it will be a different matter."
-"i can't help it," said the twenty-seventh fairy. "i'm not coming any more. anybody want my cup?"
-but nobody did, because all the other pupils had kept their cups very carefully, and he tossed it into the standing pool and danced away through the forest, singing:
-"school's dismissed! school's dismissed! out of so many i shan't be missed. by and by they'll learn to cry. but if any one's there, it won't be i. i'd rather sing or dance or fly, or swim in a puddle where star-shines lie. i'll not cry--not i!"
-and the next day it was just the same. the twenty-six fairies, sat by the side of the standing pool, and gillibloom wrinkled up his forehead and shut his eyes and drew down his mouth and bellowed and wet his cheeks with water out of his moss-cup, and they all did the same, and then they said: "now we are almost crying."
-but when the lesson was over, the twenty-sixth fairy said he had some wheat ripening to attend to in a field ever so far away, and the next day the twenty-fifth fairy said there was a crow caucus on, and he wanted to see what they meant to do about the scare-crow in the field they owned, and he couldn't come any more, and the next day the twenty-fourth fairy said there were ever so many dancing steps he hadn't practised for a long time, and he couldn't come any more, and the next day the twenty-third fairy said there was a queer-shaped leaf on the watercress down by the spring, and he thought he ought to look round a bit and see if there were any more like it, and he couldn't come any more.
-and so it went on until gillibloom was the only one left, and he sat by the standing pool and dished up water to splash his face and wrinkled up his forehead and shut his eyes and drew down his mouth and bellowed; and whenever the rest of the fairies heard him or saw him, they clapped their hands over their eyes, and put their fingers in their ears, and ran away as hard as they could. and so it happened that the forest about the standing pool was perfectly quiet, for no bird or squirrel or bee or any other thing that lives and breathes in the forest will stay after the fairies are gone.
-and the sun looked in and said: "there is nobody there but that silly gillibloom, and he is almost crying all the time. i'll go away somewhere else."
-and the moon looked down at night and said: "why, there's nothing in that forest but a dreadful sound. there's no use in my troubling myself to squeeze down through the branches, for sounds can get along just as well by themselves."
-so she drove off very fast to the fairy green, and rolled such a river of light into the fairy ring that the fairies gave up dancing, and got flower-cups and sailed on the river, and some who couldn't stop to get flower-cups swam in it, and it was the gayest night ever to be remembered.
-now, when gillibloom found that the fairies had all gone and left him to himself, and the four-footed things and the two-footed things, and the things that have feathers and fur and gauze-wings and shell-wings had gone too, he had felt differently from what he ever had before. he had been bellowing for a long time that night, because he was determined to learn to cry and get it over, and then go back to his people, but now he said to himself: "i will not cry any more. and anyway it is not quite crying, and if almost crying makes everything run away from me, i don't know what quite crying would do."
-"oh," said gillibloom to himself, "what has happened to me! what has happened to me!"
-and he started running as fast as he could through the silent forest to the earth-woman's house, and as he ran he said to himself: "what has happened to me? what has happened to me? am i afraid?"
-now for a fairy to be afraid is just as impossible as for it not to be a fairy, but gillibloom knew he was somehow changed, and he could only run and call aloud at the top of his voice, "am i afraid? am i afraid?"
-now the earth-woman lives in the very middle of the wood, in a green house that nobody can see by day, and a dark brown house that nobody can see by night. and when she heard gillibloom come screaming through the forest, she stepped to her door and stood waiting for him, and in a minute he was there, and laid hold of her skirts and clung to them.
-"well! well!" said the earth-woman, "and who is this?" then she stooped down and took up gillibloom between her thumb and forefinger, and looked at him. "by acorns and nuts!" said she. "it's the cry fairy."
-"no! no!" said gillibloom. "no! no! i'm the almost cry fairy. i'm never going to quite cry, for i don't know what it would do to me."
-the earth-woman laid her finger to gillibloom's cheek and touched it and put it, all wet, to her lips. she nodded and then shook her head.
-"well," said she, "you were a silly, weren't you? now what do you want me to do?"
-gillibloom kept on bellowing.
-"i want to be with the others."
-"what others?" asked the earth-woman severely. "the other cry-babies?"
-"the fairies and the furs and the feathers and the wings and the fins and the tails and the sun and the moon," bellowed gillibloom, though now you could hardly have understood a word he said.
-but the earth-woman could understand. she understood everything.
-"then," she said, "you must open your eyes, smooth out your forehead and pull up your mouth, and stop that noise."
-gillibloom tried, because, whatever the earth-woman says in the forest, it has to be done. but he could not do it. and worse than that, he found he didn't really want to.
-"do you like to have your throat feel all pinched up, as if you couldn't swallow a drop of honey?" the earth-woman asked him.
-"no!" screamed gillibloom. and then he roared louder than ever. you could have heard him across twenty violets.
-"do you like to have your mouth all salt with tears, and your pretty tunic wet with them?"
-"no! no!" said gillibloom.
-but he kept on roaring.
-"there, you see!" said the earth-woman. "now i'll tell you something, gillibloom, and you keep it in your mind until you forget it. the more you cry, the harder it is to stop, and the only way to stop crying is to smile."
-"cry?" said gillibloom. "is this quite crying? isn't it almost crying?"
-"that's as may be," said the earth-woman wisely. "now you come in here with me."
-so she carried him into her hut, where it is very dark but light enough to see to do all sorts of wonderful things, and she ironed out his forehead and put a nice polish on it, and she opened his eyes and told them to stay open, and she shut his mouth and told it to stay shut, and when it had really done it, she stretched it very carefully indeed, until it was perhaps two cat's hairs wider than it had been for a long time.
-"there!" said she, "i can't do any more until it softens a little. lie down there, gillibloom, and think about leaves in spring."
-so gillibloom lay down on a very soft couch that was perhaps rose-leaves and perhaps thistledown and perhaps cornsilk, and when he had lain there a day and a night, the earth-woman stretched his mouth a little more, and a little more. and one night she said to him: "now, gillibloom, your cure will take quite a long time yet, but you must do the rest of it yourself. and this is what you must do. whenever you think of crying, you must stretch your mouth just as wide as you can."
-"why, that's what the mortals call smiling," said gillibloom.
-"and you must keep on doing it until you've forgotten to cry. now. i wish you were in the fairy ring."
-and she had no sooner said it than he was there. all the fairies were dancing the new dance that is called, "remember the robins and roses to-day and think of the lilies and larks." now when they saw gillibloom standing there among them, balancing on one foot and trying to look very bold and gay, they stopped dancing and half turned away, and looked at him over their shoulders. if gillibloom was going to teach, they didn't propose to stay more than a second and a half in his company.
-gillibloom looked very nice. the earth-woman had got the salt stains out of his tunic, and pressed it neatly for him, and brought him a new pair of grasshopper tights. they were very much worn at that time. and he was stretching his mouth as hard as he could, and he put up one hand and touched his cheek, and it was quite dry. that gave him courage.
-"come on, fellows," he said. "on with the dance!"
-just then the moon looked down, and she was so pleased to see gillibloom back again that she tossed a moon-wreath down over his shoulders, and it brightened up the old tunic wonderfully and sent a splendid light up into his face. and the fairies could see he was smiling, and they began singing together.
-"gillibloom!" they sang, "gillibloom! gillibloom's come back!"
-once upon a time there was a king who had twelve sons. when they were grown big, he told them they must go out into the world and win themselves wives, but these wives must be able to spin, and weave, and sew a shirt in one day. if they could not, he would not have them for daughters-in-law.
-to each son he gave a horse and a new suit of clothes, and they went out into the world to look for brides. when they had gone a little way together, they said that they would not have boots, their youngest brother, with them, for he was stupid.
-so boots had to stay behind, and he did not know what to do or where to turn. he became very downcast, and got off his horse, and sat down in the tall grass to think. but after he had sat there a while, one of the tufts in the grass began to stir and move, and out of it came a little white thing. when it came nearer, boots saw that it was a charming little lassie, and such a tiny bit of a thing, no larger than a small doll.
-the lassie went up to boots and asked him if he would like to come down and call on her, and she said that her name was doll-in-the-grass.
-boots said that he would be greatly pleased to accept her invitation. when he leaned down a little closer, there sat doll-in-the-grass on a chair. she was the tiniest lassie you can imagine, and very, very beautiful. she asked boots where he was going, and what was his business. so he told her how there were twelve brothers of them, and how the king had told each one of them to go out into the world and find himself a wife who could spin, and weave, and sew a shirt all in one day.
-"but if you will only say at once that you will be my wife," boots said to doll-in-the-grass, "i will not go a step farther."
-she was willing, and so she made haste and spun, and wove, and sewed the shirt, but it was very, very tiny. it was no more than two inches long. boots went off home with it, but when he took it out he was almost ashamed of it, it was so small. but the king was pleased with it, and said he should have her. so boots set off, glad and happy, to fetch the little lassie.
-when he came to doll-in-the-grass, he wished to take her up before him on his horse. but she would not have that, for she said she would sit and drive along in a silver spoon, and that she had two white horses to draw it. so off they started, boots on his horse, and doll-in-the-grass in her silver spoon; and the two horses that drew her were two tiny white mice. but boots always kept on the other side of the road, for he was afraid lest he should ride over her, she was so little.
-when they had gone a little way they came to a great piece of water. here boots' horse grew frightened, and shied across the road. the spoon upset, and doll-in-the-grass tumbled into the water. then boots was in great distress, for he did not know how to get her out again; but, suddenly, up came a merman with her. how wonderful; doll-in-the-grass was now as tall and well grown as other girls! so boots took her up before him on his horse, and rode home.
-all boots' brothers had come back with their sweethearts, but not one had woven so dainty a little shirt as had doll-in-the-grass, and none was half so lovely. when the brothers saw her they were as jealous as could be of their brother. but the king was so delighted with her that he gave them the finest wedding feast of all. he allowed them to live with him in his palace, and gave out word that they should succeed him on the throne.
-the ploughman and his sons
-a wealthy ploughman, drawing near his end, called in his sons apart from every friend, and said, "when of your sire bereft, the heritage your father left guard well, nor sell a single field. a treasure in it is concealed. the place, precisely, i don't know, but industry will serve to show. the harvest past, time's forelock take, and search with plough, and spade, and rake; turn over every inch of sod, nor leave unsearched a single clod!" the father died. the sons in vain turned o'er the soil, and o'er again. that year their acres bore more grain than e'er before. though hidden money found they none, yet had their father wisely done, to show by such a measure that toil itself is treasure.
-the farmer's patient care and toil are oftener wanting than the soil.
-the bag of dust
-there was once a prince who went to his father, the king, to receive his fortune. and when the king ordered it to be brought in, what do you think it was--a great, gray bag of dust!
-the prince, now that he was old enough to go out in the world, had expected a very different fortune from this--a kingdom all his own in some other land, a chest of jewels, and a gold crown.
-but his father, the king, helped the prince to put the bag of dust, which was very heavy indeed, upon his back.
-"you are to carry this to the boundary line of the kingdom without once dropping it," he said. and the prince, who always did what his father, the king, said, set out.
-before the prince had gone very far he came to a field where all the princes from the kingdoms near by were playing games and riding their beautiful horses. the prince stopped a moment, because he wanted to join them. he could ride a horse without a saddle, and hit the centre of a target with his bow and arrow. but as he stopped he remembered the bag of dust upon his back which his father, the king, had said that he must not set down.
-so he started on again, but the bag was heavier now.
-he had not gone much farther, when he came to a beautiful park, set in the midst of a green forest. there were rustic seats, placed beneath trees whose branches hung low with ripe fruit of all kinds. some one must have known that the prince was coming, for a table was set for him with sweets and other fruits and all manner of dainty things to eat. the prince was very hungry, for it was long past noon and he had eaten nothing. he was about to sit down at the table when he remembered the bag of dust upon his back. he knew that he must not set it down.
-so he started on again, but the bag was even heavier now.
-he went on, farther and farther, and the way was strange to him now, for he had come a long way. the bag seemed to grow larger with every step that he took; it covered his back, and bent his shoulders, and bowed his head. although he had come so far, he seemed no nearer the boundary of the kingdom than he had been when he started out. suddenly he saw, like a white cloud in front of him, a great lovely castle.
-there was no one in the pretty rose garden in front save soft-eyed deer. there was no one looking out of the bright windows, or at the door which stood wide open. it seemed as if the castle was waiting for the prince and, because he was very tired from carrying his load of dust so far, he went through the garden and up to the door. but, just as he was going inside, he discovered that the door was not large enough to let his bag through, too, and he knew that he must not set it down.
-so he started on again, but the bag was heavier than it had ever been before.
-on and on went the prince, but he felt like an old man and his steps were slow because he was so tired. he wanted to turn back, and he wanted to set down his load, but his father, the king, had said that he must carry it to the boundary of the kingdom. the day was almost done, but it seemed as if he would never reach it.
-suddenly, though, he came to the end of the road and looked over the edge of the kingdom.
-there was a castle, not white, but gold. all about it were more beautiful gardens than those which he had left behind. in the door stood his father, the king, come in his chariot by another road to welcome him.
-"set down your bag," said the king, so the prince did and he felt suddenly rested and young again.
-"look inside it," said the king. so the prince looked inside the bag, and he found out what had made it so heavy.
-each grain of dust had turned to gold!
-the camel and the pig
-a camel and a pig chanced to meet in a far country, and as neither had seen the other before, they began at once to boast.
-"the greatest distinction and the most good in the world comes from being tall," said the camel. "look at me, pig; behold how tall i am!"
-the pig looked at the camel, so far above him in height, but he had made up his mind not to be outdone by him.
-"you are in the wrong, camel," argued the pig. "there is nothing in the world so important as being short. look at me, and behold how short i am!"
-"that is well spoken," replied the pig. "and if i cannot show you the truth of what i have said i will give up my snout."
-"it is a bargain!" said the camel.
-"agreed!" said the pig.
-so the camel and the pig started on a journey together to find out which of the two was the more honorable, and in the course of time they came to a garden. it was entirely surrounded by a low stone wall in which there was no opening.
-the camel stood beside the wall and looked at the green plants, growing in such profusion inside the garden. then he stretched his long neck over the wall and ate a hearty breakfast of juicy green leaves and stalks. then he turned and jeered at the pig who stood at the bottom of the wall and could not catch a glimpse even of the good things in the garden.
-"which would you rather be, pig, tall or short?" asked the camel as they travelled on again, and the pig did not answer.
-soon, though, they came to a second garden, enclosed by a very high wall. at one end there was a wicket gate. the pig quickly squeezed himself under the gate and went into the garden. he ate a hearty meal of the ripe vegetables that he found there, and came out, laughing in his turn at the camel who had not been able to reach over the wall.
-"which would you rather be, camel, short, or tall?" asked the pig, and the camel did not answer.
-so the two thought the matter over and they decided that the camel had reason to keep his hump and the pig to keep his snout. for it is good to be tall when height is needed; and it is also important, at times, to be short.
-how the moon was kind to her mother
-once upon a time, a long, long while ago, the sun, the wind, and the moon were three sisters, and their mother was a pale, lovely star that shone, far away, in the dark evening sky.
-one day their uncle and aunt, who were no more or less than the thunder and lightning, asked the three sisters to have supper with them, and their mother said that they might go. she would wait for them, she said, and would not set until all three returned and told her about their pleasant visit.
-so the sun in her dress of gold, the wind in a trailing dress that rustled as she passed, and the moon in a wonderful gown of silver started out for the party with the thunder and lightning. oh, it was a supper to remember! the table was spread with a cloth of rainbow. there were ices like the snow on the mountain tops, and cakes as soft and white as clouds, and fruits from every quarter of the earth. the three sisters ate their fill, especially the sun and the wind, who were very greedy, and left not so much as a crumb on their plates. but the moon was kind and remembered her mother. she hid a part of her supper in her long, white fingers to take home and share with her mother, the star.
-then the three sisters said good-bye to the thunder and lightning and went home. when they reached there, they found their mother, the star, waiting and shining for them as she had said she would.
-"what did you bring me from the supper?" she asked.
-the sun tossed her head with all its yellow hair in disdain as she answered her mother.
-"why should i bring you anything?" she asked. "i went out for my own pleasure and not to think of you."
-it was the same with the wind. she wrapped her flowing robes about her and turned away from her mother.
-"i, too, went out for my own entertainment," she said, "and why should i think of you, mother, when you were not with me?"
-but it was very different with the moon who was not greedy and selfish as her two sisters, the sun and the wind, were. she turned her pale sweet face toward her mother, the star, and held out her slender hands.
-"see, mother," cried the moon, "i have brought you part of everything that was on my plate. i ate only half of the feast for i wanted to share it with you."
-so the mother brought a gold plate and the food that her unselfish daughter, the moon, had brought her heaped the plate high. she ate it, and then she turned to her three children, for she had something important to say to them. she spoke first to the sun.
-"you were thoughtless and selfish, my daughter," she said. "you went out and enjoyed yourself with no thought of one who was left alone at home. hereafter you shall be no longer beloved among men. your rays shall be so hot and burning that they shall scorch everything they touch. men shall cover their heads when you appear, and they shall run away from you."
-and that is why, to this day, the sun is hot and blazing.
-next the mother spoke to the wind.
-"you, too, my daughter, have been unkind and greedy," she said. "you, also, enjoyed yourself with no thought of any one else. you shall blow in the parching heat of your sister, the sun, and wither and blast all that you touch. no one shall love you any longer, but all men will dislike and avoid you."
-and that is why, to this day, the wind, blowing in hot weather, is so unpleasant.
-but, last, the mother spoke to her kind daughter, the moon.
-"you remembered your mother, and were unselfish," she said. "to those who are thoughtful of their mother, great blessings come. for all time your light shall be cool, and calm, and beautiful. you shall wane, but you shall wax again. you shall make the dark night bright, and all men shall call you blessed."
-and that is why, to this day, the moon is so cool, and bright, and beautiful.
-the rabbit who was grateful
-everything in the woods was covered deep with snow, the berries, the juicy young bushes, and the roots. the animals had stowed themselves away for the winter to sleep; the bear in a deep cave, the chipmunk in a hollow log, and the wild mouse in a cozy hole beneath the roots of a tree. the wind sang a high, shrill song in the tops of the pine trees, and the doors of the wigwams were shut tight.
-but the door of son-of-a-brave's wigwam suddenly opened a little way and the indian boy, himself, looked out. he had his bow and a newly tipped arrow in his hands.
-while the snow and the ice had been piling up outside in the indian village, son-of-a-brave had been very busy working beside the home fire making his new arrow head. first, he had gone to the wigwam of the village arrow maker to ask him for a piece of stone, and the arrow maker had been good enough to give son-of-a-brave a piece of beautiful white quartz. then son-of-a-brave had set to work on it. he had shaped it with a big horn knife and chipped it with a hammer. he had polished it in a dish of sand until it shone like one of the icicles outside. then he had fitted it to a strong arrow and wished that he had a chance to shoot. that was why son-of-a-brave stood at the entrance of the wigwam, looking out across the snow that not even a deer had tracked because the winter was so severe.
-all at once son-of-a-brave saw something. an old hare struggled out of a snow bank and limped down the path that led by the wigwam. in the summer the hare was gray, the color of the trees among which he lived, but in the winter he turned white so as not to be seen by hunters when he went along through the snow. he did not think now, however, whether any one saw him or not. he was a very old hare indeed, and the winter was proving too hard for him. he was lame and hungry and half frozen. he stopped right in front of son-of-a-brave and sat up on his haunches, his ears drooping.
-"don't shoot me," he was trying to say. "i am at your mercy, too starved to run away from you."
-son-of-a-brave slipped his newly tipped arrow in his bow and aimed at the old hare. it would be very easy indeed to shoot him, for the hare did not move, and the boy thought what a warm pair of moccasin tops his skin would make. then son-of-a-brave took his arrow out again, for another thought had come to him. he knew that it would be cowardly to shoot a hare that was too weak to run away.
-the boy stooped down and picked up the old hare, wrapping him up close to his own warm body in his blanket. then he went with him through the snow of the woods until they came to a place where a stream lay, and there were young willow trees growing along the edge. here he set down the hare, and began to dig away the ice and frozen earth with his new arrow tip until the roots of the trees could be seen, and the soft bark. how the hare did eat these! as son-of-a-brave left him and went home, he could still see the famished creature nibbling the food for which he had been so hungry.
-the indian boy never saw the hare again that winter. he knew that he had dug a large enough hole so that the hare could find shelter and have enough food. his bow and arrow were hung on the wall, and son-of-a-brave sat by the fire with his mother and father until spring came.
-one day a bird sang out in the forest. then the streams began to sing, and the moss that made a carpet all over the ground outside the wigwam was again green. son-of-a-brave felt like running and shouting. he left off his blanket and went out into the woods to play.
-he had scarcely gone a rod from the wigwam when he saw a large gray hare, following him. this was strange for one usually ran away. son-of-a-brave waited, and the hare came close to him. then he saw, because it limped, that it was the old hare that he had befriended in the winter, but fat and well fed, and dressed in his summer coat.
-the hare flopped his ears to son-of-a-brave and hopped a little way ahead, so the boy followed. he went on, without stopping, until he came to the very spot beside the stream where son-of-a-brave had dug away the snow with his new arrow head to give the hare food.
-oh, what did the boy see there!
-blossoming out of the bare earth were beautiful flowers, as white outside as a hare's ears in the winter time, and pink inside, like their lining. they had a sweet perfume, different from anything that had grown in the woods before. the grateful hare stood beside them and seemed to be trying to say that these new flowers were his gift to the boy who had helped him.
-the indian story tellers say that those were the first mayflowers, and that they have been blossoming in the woods ever since because the hare brought them out of thankfulness to son-of-a-brave.
-why the bees gather honey
-once upon a time, when it was the story age, and things were very different from what they are now, two tribes of pygmies lived very near each other.
-these tribes of little people looked just alike, they both were very, very tiny, and they both lived out of doors in the fields. but in one respect they were quite different. one tribe of little folks spent a great deal of time gathering food of all kinds from the woods and the wild orchards, and storing it away for the winter. the other tribe of little people never harvested or saved at all; they spent all their time playing.
-"come and have a good time with us; winter is a long way off, and you are wasting these sunny days," the lazy pygmies would call to the industrious ones. but the busy pygmies always made the same reply to their little neighbors,
-"it is you who are wasting these days. winter may be far away, but it will be cold and barren when it does come. everything will be covered deep with snow, and what will we eat if we do not harvest now?"
-but the lazy little people danced, and sang, and played on all summer. "why should we think of the winter?" they said to one another. "our neighbors who are gathering food so busily will probably have a large enough store for two tribes. they will feed us."
-and that is just what happened. when the snow flew, and the lazy pygmies were almost at the point of starving, their kind little neighbors brought them pots of wild honey on which they feasted and grew fat.
-then another summer came. like all industrious folk, the working pygmies planned to accomplish more that season than they had the year before.
-"if we move, so as to live nearer the wild flowers, we can gather more honey," they said. and the whole tribe of industrious little people went to another field where wild roses and lilies, dripping with nectar, grew.
-at first the lazy pygmies did not even miss their kind little neighbors. they danced, and sang, and played again through all the long, bright summer days. when it grew cold, and they had to hide themselves to escape the frost and had no food, they said,
-"what does it matter? our friends will come back to us soon with supplies for the winter."
-it was too long a journey, though, for the little workers to take through the snow. the days grew more and more cold, and storms swept the earth. the lazy little people cried out in their hunger to the manito, the spirit who watched all outdoors, to come and help them.
-so the manito came, but first he went to the industrious tribe of little folk to reward them.
-"you shall have wings," the manito said, "to take you from flower to flower that you may gather honey with ease. you shall be called honey bees, and, as you fly, you shall hum so that mortals may hear you and take pattern from your industry. all your life long, you shall live on honey."
-then the manito visited the lazy pygmies. "you, too, shall have wings," he said, "but they shall be to carry you away as mortals drive you from place to place. you shall have buzzing voices to tell mortals you are near that they may kill you. your food shall be only that which is thrown away. you are the despised flies."
-and ever since then the bees have gathered honey, and the flies have been killed in memory of the day when one tribe of little people was busy and kind, and the other tribe indolent and selfish.
-the birthday present
-one afternoon, as mother sat out on the long porch paring apples, the children came running in. there were cousin pen, who was visiting at the farm, and brother fred, and little ben, and they all began to talk at the same time.
-"to-morrow is grandmother's birthday," they cried. "what can we give her for a birthday present?"
-"i think a silk dress would be nice if we had enough money to buy it," said cousin pen.
-"let's give her a watermelon, the biggest one we can find," said brother fred.
-"or one of the new kittens; grandmother likes cats," said little ben.
-"a roll of fresh butter, as yellow as gold and as sweet as clover," said mother, "if you will do the churning yourselves."
-"oh, yes, we will churn," promised the children, and they ran off to their play, well satisfied, for they could think of nothing nicer than a roll of fresh butter, as yellow as gold and as sweet as clover, for grandmother's birthday present.
-by and by the cows came home. their names were daisy and dandelion and dolly, and as soon as the children heard the tinkle of their bells in the lane they made haste to open the big back gate, for it was milking time.
-father milked, and when he carried his buckets of sweet white milk to the house, mother strained the milk into the bright tin pans that stood in a row on the dairy room shelves. the next afternoon every pan was covered with thick yellow cream, all ready for the churning. mother skimmed the cream into the great stone churn.
-"who will churn first?" she asked.
-"i will," said cousin pen. "i like to make the dasher go dancing up and down."
-so cousin pen put on one of mother's gingham aprons and began to churn. "it is easy to churn," she said at first, but after a little her arms grew tired and the dasher grew heavy. she did not think of giving up, though, for she was churning to get her grandmother's birthday butter, and the dasher seemed to say to her as it splashed up and down:
-oh, the cream to butter's turning, in the churning, churning, churning. it will turn, turn, turn, as you churn, churn, churn, all the cream to butter turning, in the churning, churning, churning.
-"brother fred's turn," called mother, and brother fred came running up the kitchen steps to take the dasher from cousin pen.
-"i think it is fun to churn. i don't believe i will ever get tired," he said.
-he did get tired, but he would not stop even to rest, for he was churning to get his grandmother's birthday butter, and the dasher seemed to say to him:
-hear the buttermilk a-bumming, for the yellow butter's coming. it will come, come, come, with a bum, bum, bum, all the buttermilk a-bumming, when the yellow butter's coming.
-"little ben's turn," called mother. little ben had to stand on a box to churn, and his cheeks were as red as roses as he worked away.
-"don't you want us to help you?" asked the other children.
-"no, indeed," said little ben; "i guess i can churn to get my grandmother some birthday butter," and he churned with a will, till the dasher seemed to say to him:
-bum, bum, butter's come.
-mother looked in the churn and, sure enough, the flakes of golden butter were floating on the milk.
-"hurrah!" cried little ben. "hurrah!" cried cousin pen and brother fred, and they hurried into the kitchen to watch mother as she gathered the butter, and worked it, and salted it, and patted it into a very fine roll. when she had done that she printed a star on top of the roll, and the butter was ready to take to grandmother.
-"you must make grandmother guess what it is," said mother as she put the butter into a nice little basket and covered it with a white napkin.
-"all right," said the children; so when they got to grandmother's house they called, "grandmother, grandmother, guess what we have brought you for a birthday present."
-"it is yellow as gold," said brother fred.
-"it's sweet as clover," said cousin pen.
-"we churned it ourselves," said little ben; and grandmother guessed what it was with her very first guess.
-"it is just what i wanted," she said, and she kissed them every one. she had been thinking about them, too, all the long day, and she had baked a beautiful cake for their tea.
-mother and father came to tea, and all together they had the best birthday party they had ever known.
-the children thought the birthday cake was the nicest that they had ever tasted, but grandmother said she thought nothing could be nicer than her birthday butter.
-the birthday of the infanta
-it was the birthday of the infanta. she was just twelve years old, and the sun shone brightly in the garden of the palace.
-on ordinary days, she was only allowed to play with children of her own rank, but on this, her birthday, the king had given orders that she was to invite any one whom she liked to amuse her. so she had many children with whom to play, but she was the most beautiful of them all. her robe was of gray satin, embroidered with silver and studded with pearls. two tiny slippers with big pink rosettes peeped out beneath her dress as she walked. pink and pearl was her great gauze fan, and in her hair, which, like an aureole of gold, stood out stiffly around her pale little face, she had a beautiful white rose.
-the infanta watched her companions play hide and seek round the stone vases and the old moss-grown statues of the garden. then a procession of noble boys came out to meet her and led her solemnly to a little gilt and ivory chair that was placed on a raised dais above an arena. the children grouped themselves all round, laughing and whispering, for the infanta's birthday sports were now to begin.
-there was a marvellous bull fight in which some of the boys pranced about on richly caparisoned hobby horses and vanquished a bull made of wicker work and stretched hide. next came the puppet show, and then a juggler who played on a curious reed pipe for two green and gold snakes to dance. he made a tiny orange tree grow out of sand, and blossom and bear fruit; and he took the infanta's fan and changed it into a bluebird that flew about and sang. then a shaggy brown bear and some little apes were brought in. the bear stood on his head, and the apes fought with tiny swords and went through a regular soldiers' drill like the king's own bodyguard.
-but the funniest part of the whole morning's entertainment was undoubtedly the dancing of the little dwarf.
-when he stumbled into the arena, waddling on his crooked legs and wagging his huge misshapen head from side to side, the children went off into a loud shout of delight; and the infanta, herself, laughed so much that one of the court ladies had to remind her that such merriment was not befitting a princess.
-it was the dwarf's first appearance, too. he had been discovered only the day before, running wild in the forest, and had been brought to the palace to surprise the infanta. his father, a poor charcoal burner, was pleased to get rid of so ugly and useless a child. perhaps the most amusing thing about the little dwarf was his happiness. he did not know how ugly he was; he did not know that he was a dwarf.
-when the children laughed, he laughed as joyously as any of them. at the close of each dance he made the funniest bows, smiling and nodding to them just as if he were one of them. as for the infanta, he could not keep his eyes off her and seemed to dance for her alone. when, in jest, she took the beautiful white rose out of her hair and threw it at him, the dwarf put his hand on his heart and knelt before her, his little bright eyes sparkling with pleasure.
-now when the little dwarf heard that he was to dance a second time before the infanta, he was so proud that he ran about the garden, kissing the white rose in his great delight. she had given him her beautiful rose; she must love him, he thought. perhaps she would put him at her right hand in the throne room and let him be her playmate, for, although the dwarf had never been in a palace before, he knew a great many wonderful things.
-he could make little cages out of rushes for the grasshoppers to sing in, and he knew where the wood pigeon built her nest. all the wild dances he knew: the swift dance in a red mantle with the autumn, the light dance in blue sandals over the corn, the dance with white snow wreaths in the winter, and the blossom dance through the orchards in the spring. the infanta would love his forest friends, too, the rabbits that scurried about in the fern, the hedgehogs that could curl themselves up into prickly balls, and the great wise tortoises that crawled slowly about, nibbling the leaves and shaking their heads. yes, she must certainly come to the forest to play with him!
-he would give her his own little bed, and would watch outside the window until dawn to see that the wolves did not creep too near the hut. then, in the morning, he would tap at the shutters and wake her, and they would go out and play together all day long.
-but where was the infanta?
-the infanta? no, it was a monster; not properly shaped as all other people were, but with a crooked back and limbs! the little dwarf frowned and the monster frowned. he struck at it, and it returned blow for blow. what was it, he asked himself? he took the infanta's rose from his coat and kissed it to comfort himself, for he was afraid. the monster had a rose, too, and kissed it also.
-so the truth came to the little dwarf. it was he who was misshapen and ugly to look at; a mirror had shown him. he could not bear it and he fell, crying, to the floor.
-at that moment the infanta, herself, came in through the open door, and when she saw the ugly little dwarf lying on the ground and beating it with his clenched hands, she went off into shouts of happy laughter.
-"his dancing was funny," said the infanta, "but his acting is funnier still. he is almost as good as the puppets," and she clapped her hands.
-but the little dwarf never looked up, and his sobs grew fainter and fainter, and suddenly he gave a curious gasp and clutched his side. and then he fell back, and lay quite still.
-"that was splendid!" said the infanta, "and now you must get up and dance for me!"
-but the little dwarf made no answer.
-the infanta stamped her foot, and called to the court chamberlain.
-"my funny little dwarf is sulking," she cried. "you must wake him up and tell him to dance for me!"
-so the chamberlain came in from the terrace where he had been walking and bent over the dwarf, tapping him on his cheek with his embroidered glove.
-but the little dwarf never moved.
-the chamberlain looked grave, and he knelt beside the dwarf, putting his hand on his heart. and after a few moments he rose up, and making a low bow to the infanta, said,
-"my beautiful princess, your funny little dwarf will never dance again. it is a pity, for he is so ugly that he might have made the king smile."
-"but why will he not dance again?" asked the infanta, laughing.
-"because his heart is broken," answered the chamberlain.
-and the infanta frowned, and her rose-leaf lips curled in scorn. "for the future let those who come to play with me have no hearts," she cried, and she ran out into the garden.
-the prickly bush
-it was the only growing thing in the whole, beautiful garden that was prickly. it stood beside the sunny path, so low that the white rabbit could jump over it. it longed to spread its branches across the path to be touched by the gardener and the children, but no one cared to go very near the little bush that was so covered with thorns.
-the day lily had broad, soft leaves without a single thorn. it spread them away from the prickly bush. the tulips had tall, smooth leaves. they held them very high, and away from the bush that was so full of thorns. the white rabbit that lived in the garden and loved to sun himself beneath the plants was very careful not to go near the prickly little bush.
-"i must tie this bush so that it cannot hurt any one," the gardener said one day as he passed it. "the thorns on it are growing larger and larger every day." so he cut a long, straight stick, and painted it green, and stuck it in the ground beside the prickly little bush. then he tied the bush tightly to the stick, which kept it from leaning over the path.
-"be very careful not to go near that ugly little bush," said the children to each other. "it will scratch you even worse than the cat scratches."
-all this was very discouraging, and the prickly little bush drooped and did not feel like growing.
-the days of the summer grew warmer, the sun shone, and soft rains fell upon the garden. a pleasant breeze came singing down the path, and the sun, and the rain, and the breeze, each one, spoke to the prickly little bush.
-"climb up a little higher," the great, yellow sun seemed to say. so the prickly little bush pulled and stretched its prickly branches up toward the blue sky, and as it grew higher and higher, its thorns went, too, out of the way of the rabbit and the children.
-"push harder," the pattering raindrops seemed to say to the roots of the prickly little bush as they soaked down through the ground. so the roots of the prickly little bush pushed, and pushed until the branches seemed bursting, and green leaves and tiny buds came and covered over the thorns so that they could scarcely be seen at all.
-"open your buds as wide as you can," the warm breezes seemed to sing as they stopped in the branches of the prickly little bush. so the little bush unfolded its brown buds as wide and as prettily as it could.
-then it came to be the most beautiful day of all, the mother's birthday. the children went out to the garden to try to find the loveliest thing that grew there to be their mother's birthday gift. and that was not easy because the garden was so full of lovely things.
-"i am sure that she will like this tall white lily," said one of the children.
-"but our mother loves pink better than she loves red," said the youngest child. "do let us go on a little farther before we decide what to take her for her birthday. oh, how pretty--" the youngest child stopped in front of the prickly little bush, and the others crowded close to see, too.
-they never would have known that it was the prickly bush, at all. it stood as proudly and as straight as a little tree, and its green leaves covered it like a beautiful dress. peeping out from between the leaves were the most lovely pink flowers, as soft as velvet and with so many curling petals that one could not count them. they smelled more sweetly than any other flower in the garden, and the children could scarcely speak at first, they were so surprised.
-"roses!" said one child.
-"pink roses!" said another child.
-"the prickly little bush has turned into a rose bush for our mother's birthday," said the youngest child.
-so they smelled of the beautiful pink roses, and touched them to feel how soft and like velvet the petals were. then they decided that the pink roses that had bloomed on the prickly little bush were the loveliest flowers in the whole garden, and they picked the largest pink rose of all to carry into the house for their mother's birthday gift.
-on the way they met the gardener, and they showed him the beautiful rose, telling him how it had grown upon the prickly little bush. he smiled, for he knew a great deal about the strange ways of his plants.
-"i thought it would bear roses this year," the gardener said. "it often happens that the bush with the sharpest thorns to carry, once it blooms, has the prettiest roses."
-the tinker's willow
-one day, when my grandfather gifford was about seven years old, he looked across the road to his father's blacksmith shop, and seeing some one sitting on the bench by the door, went over to learn who it was.
-he found a little old man, with thick, bushy eyebrows and bright blue eyes. his clothes were made all of leather, which creaked and rattled when he moved. by his side was a partly open pack, in which grandfather could see curious tools and sheets of shiny tin. by that he knew that the man was the travelling tinker, who came once or twice a year to mend leaky pans and pails, and of whom he had heard his mother speak.
-the old man was eating his luncheon--a slice or two of bread, a bit of cold meat, and a cold potato; and because it seemed so poor a luncheon, grandfather went back to the house and brought two big apples from the cellar. the old man thanked him and ate the apples. then he got up, brushed the bread crumbs from his leather breeches, and taking a little tin dipper from his pack, went down to the brook for a drink of water. when he had had his fill, he came back to the bench and sat down.
-"now, my boy," he said, "we will make a tree to grow here by the brook. there ought to be one, for shade."
-"make a tree!" cried grandfather. "how can we make a tree? i thought only god made trees."
-"true," said the old man. "only god makes trees, but sometimes we can help him."
-with that, he took from the bench at his side a stick that he had cut somewhere by the road, and had been using for a cane. it was slender and straight, and grandfather noticed that the bark was smooth and of a beautiful light green.
-"of this," said the old man, "we will make a tree in which the birds of the air shall build their nests, and under which the beasts of the field shall find shelter, and rest in the heat of the day. but first there shall be music, to please the spirits of the springtime. take this stick down to the brook, and wet it all over."
-so my grandfather took the stick and did as the old man told him. when he came back to the bench, the tinker had a large horn-handled knife open in his hand. with the blade, which seemed very sharp, he made a single cut through the bark of the stick, about a foot from one end, and by holding the knife still, and spinning the stick slowly toward him in his fingers, he carried the cut all the way round. then, near the end, he cut a deep notch, and four or five smaller notches in a line farther down; and after that he laid the stick across his knee, and turning it all the while, began to pound it gently with the handle of the knife.
-when he had pounded a long time, he laid down the knife, and taking the stick in both hands, gave it a little twist. at that, grandfather heard something pop, and saw the bark slip from the end of the stick above the knife-cut, all whole except for the notches, a smooth, green tube.
-of the part of the stick from which he had slipped the bark, the old man cut away more than half, and across the upper end he made a smooth, slanting cut. then he bade grandfather wet the stick again, and when he had done it, he slipped the bark back to its place, and put the end of the stick in his mouth and began to blow; and out of the holes that he had cut, and which he stopped, one after another, with his fingers, came what grandfather said was the sweetest music he had ever heard--music like the voice of a bird singing a long way off, or like that of a tiny bell.
-as the old man played, he seemed to forget all about my grandfather; but by and by he laid down the whistle, and smiled and said, "come. now we will make the tree." and together the old man and the boy walked down to the brook, and crossed over on some stepping stones, to a place where the ground was soft and black and wet; and there, while the boy held the stick straight, the old man pushed it far down into the mud until it stood firm and true, with the whistle at the upper end of it. and the old man took off his hat, and bowing to the stick, seemed to my grandfather to make a speech to it.
-"little brother," he said, "we leave you here, where you will never be hungry or thirsty. you have made your little music for us to-day, but when you have grown tall and strong, one who is greater than i shall play upon you with the breath of his mighty winds; and when this little boy is older than i am now,"--and here he put his hand on my grandfather's head,--"his children's children shall hear your music and be glad."
-in a little while after that, the old man put on his pack and went away; but my grandfather could not forget him, and almost every day he looked at the stick by the brook. the whistle at the top began to wither and dry up, and the loose bark cracked open and fell away, until it seemed as if the whole stick must be dead; but one day my grandfather saw that a tiny bud had appeared below where the whistle had been; and the bud became a little sprout, and the sprout a shoot, and other shoots followed, until the stick was indeed a little tree.
-through all the years that came after, it grew taller and stronger, until "the tinker's willow" was known as the greatest tree in all the countryside, and the birds did, indeed, build their nests among its branches, and the cattle lay in its shade in the hot noontide.
-even when my grandfather was an old, old man, and had grown-up sons and daughters, and many grandchildren, he loved to sit on the bench by the shop and listen to the voice of the wind among the leaves of the great tree; and then, if we asked him, he would tell us again of the tinker who planted it, and of the music that came from the stick out of which it grew.
-the story of the laurel
-once upon a time there was a great flood over all the earth. some wicked people had angered the gods, and jupiter sent all the waters of the earth and sky to cover the earth.
-he did not want the waters to dry up until all the people were drowned, so he shut fast in their caverns all the winds except the south wind, which was sometimes called the messenger of the rain. and jupiter sent this messenger of his to wander over all the earth.
-a mighty figure of ruin he was, as he swept along, emptying the clouds as he passed. his face was covered with a veil like the night, his hair was loaded with showers, and his wings and his cloak were dripping wet. the gods of the ocean and the river gods all helped him in his work; till, in a short time the whole earth was out of sight under a vast sea and all the wicked were drowned.
-then jupiter was sorry to see the earth looking so empty and deserted, so he called home the south wind and set the other winds free. the north wind and the east wind and the gentle west wind swept over the earth until it was again dry and green. after that jupiter sent a new race of better men and women to live upon it.
-but, strange to say, the water had brought forth many queer new animals; and among them was a huge monster, so ugly that i will not even try to tell you what it looked like, and so wicked and cruel that the people for miles around the swampy land where it dwelt lived in constant terror.
-no one dared go near the hideous creature until one day, the archer apollo, the sun-god, came with his glittering arrows, and slew it, after a fierce battle. the people were then very happy. they made a great hero of apollo, and he left the country feeling very proud of himself.
-as he was going along, whom should he meet but the little god cupid, armed with his bow and arrows. cupid was the young god of love, sometimes called the god of the bow, and there are many stories about how wonderful his arrows were.
-some of cupid's arrows were sharp-pointed and made of shining gold, and whoever was pierced by one of these felt love very deeply, at once. but his other arrows were blunt and made of dull lead and, strange as it may seem, made the people whom they struck hate each other.
-when apollo met cupid thus armed, he began to taunt him.
-"what have you to do with the arrow?" he said in a boastful tone. "that is my weapon. i have just proved it by slaying the terrible monster. come, cupid, give up the bow which rightfully belongs to me."
-now, cupid was a very quick tempered little god, and he cried in a passion, "though your arrow may pierce all other things, my arrow can wound you." then he flew off in a very bad humor, and tried to think of some way in which he could make apollo feel which of them was a better marksman.
-by and by, he came to a grove in which a beautiful nymph, daphne, was wandering. this was just what cupid wanted. he shot an arrow of lead into her heart, and the nymph felt a cold shiver run through her. she looked up to see what had happened, and caught a glimpse of apollo's golden garments above the tree-tops.
-cupid saw him at the same instant, and, quick as a flash, he planted a golden arrow in apollo's heart. then he flew away, satisfied.
-the golden arrow did its work only too well. no sooner had the sun-god caught a glimpse of the beautiful nymph, daphne, than he began to feel a deep love for her. and, just as quickly, daphne had been made to fear apollo, and turned and fled from him into the woods.
-apollo followed daphne in hot haste, calling to her not to be afraid and not to run so fast, for fear she might hurt herself on the thorns and brambles. at last he cried, "do not try to run from me. i love you, and will do you no harm. i am the great sun-god apollo!"
-but daphne was only the more terrified at these words and fled more swiftly, while apollo still pursued her. he had almost reached her side, when she stretched out her arms to her father, the god of the river, along whose banks she was fleeing.
-"oh, father," she cried, "help me! either let the earth open and swallow me, or so change this form of mine that apollo will not love me."
-hardly had daphne finished her plea, when her limbs grew heavy, and a thin bark began to cover her flesh. her hair changed to green leaves, her arms to slender branches, and her feet, which had borne her along so swiftly, were now rooted to the ground. her father had answered her plea. daphne, the nymph, was changed into a laurel tree.
-when apollo saw that his beautiful daphne had become a tree, he threw his arms about the newly-formed bark and cried, "since you cannot be my wife, fair daphne, at least you shall be my tree, my laurel. your leaves shall be used to crown the heads of the victorious brave, and they shall remain green alike in summer and in winter."
-and so it came to pass. the laurel, apollo's emblem from that day on, became the sign of honor and triumph.
-the little acorn
-it was a little acorn that hung on the bough of a tree.
-it had a tender green cup and a beautifully carved saucer to hold it. the mother oak fed it with sweet sap every day, the birds sang good-night songs above it, and the wind rocked it gently to and fro. the oak leaves made a soft green shade above it, so the sun might not shine too warmly on its green cover, and it was as happy as an acorn could be.
-there were many other acorns on the tree, and the mother tree, through her wind voices, whispered loving words to all her babies.
-the summer days were so bright and pleasant that the acorn never thought of anything but sunshine and an occasional shower to wash the dust off the leaves. but summer ends, and the autumn days came. the green cup of the acorn turned to a brown cup, and it was well that it grew stiffer and harder, for the cold winds began to blow.
-the leaves turned from green to golden brown, and some of them were whisked away by the rough wind. the little acorn began to grow uneasy.
-"isn't it always summer?" it asked.
-"oh, no," whispered the mother oak, "the cold days come and the leaves must go and the acorns too. i must soon lose my babies."
-"oh, i could never leave this kind bough," said the frightened acorn. "i should be lost and forgotten if i were to fall."
-so it tried to cling all the closer to its bough; but at last it was alone there. the leaves were blown away, and some of them had made a blanket for the brown acorns lying on the ground.
-one night the tree whispered a message to the lonely acorn. "this tree is your home only for a time. this is not your true life. your brown shell is only the cover for a living plant, which can never be set free until the hard shell drops away, and that can never happen until you are buried in the ground and wait for the spring to call you. so, let go, little acorn, and fall to the ground, and some day you will wake to a new and glorious life."
-the acorn listened and believed, for was not the tree its mother? it bade her good-bye, and, loosing its hold, dropped to the ground.
-then, indeed, it seemed as if the acorn were lost. that night a high wind blew and covered it deep under a heap of oak leaves. the next day a cold wind washed the leaves closer together, and trickling streams from the hillside swept some earth over them. the acorn was buried.
-if you had walked through the woods that winter, you would have said that the acorn was gone. but spring came and called to all the sleeping things underground to waken and come forth. the acorn heard and tried to move, but the brown shell held it fast. some raindrops trickled through the ground to moisten the shell, and one day the pushing life within set it free. the brown shell was of no more use and was lost in the ground, but the young plant lived. it heard voices of birds calling it upward. it must grow. "a new and glorious life," the mother oak had said.
-"i must arise," the acorn thought, and up the living plant came, up into the world of sunshine and beauty. it looked around. there was the same green moss in the woods; it could hear the same singing brook.
-"now i know that i shall live and grow," it said.
-"yes," rustled the mother oak, "you are now an oak tree. this is your real life."
-and the little oak tree was glad, and stretched higher and higher toward the sun.
-books by carolyn sherwin bailey
-daily program of gift and occupation work
-for the children's hour
-stories and rhymes for a child
-songs of happiness
-for the story teller
-every child's folk songs and games
-stories children need
-tell me another story
-my lady of the chinese courtyard by elizabeth cooper.
-my lady of the chinese courtyard by elizabeth cooper.
-author of "sayonara," etc.
-with thirty-one illustrations in duotone from photographs.
-dedicated, to my husband.
-i wish to thank them for their help in making it possible to render into english the imagery and poetry used by "my lady of the chinese courtyard."
-acknowledgment is also made to mr. donald mennie of shanghai, china, who took most of the photographs from which the illustrations have been made.
-a writer on things chinese was asked why one found so little writing upon the subject of the women of china. he stopped, looked puzzled for a moment, then said, "the woman of china! one never hears about them. i believe no one ever thinks about them, except perhaps that they are the mothers of the chinese men!"
-such is the usual attitude taken in regard to the woman of the flowery republic. she is practically unknown, she hides herself behind her husband and her sons, yet, because of that filial piety, that almost religious veneration in which all men of eastern races hold their parents, she really exerts an untold influence upon the deeds of the men of her race.
-less is known about chinese women than about any other women of oriental lands. their home life is a sealed book to the average person visiting china. books about china deal mainly with the lower-class chinese, as it is chiefly with that class that the average visitor or missionary comes into contact. the tourists see only the coolie woman bearing burdens in the street, trotting along with a couple of heavy baskets swung from her shoulders, or they stop to stare at the neatly dressed mothers sitting on their low stools in the narrow alleyways, patching clothing or fondling their children. they see and hear the boat-women, the women who have the most freedom of any in all china, as they weave their sampans in and out of the crowded traffic on the canals. these same tourists visit the tea-houses and see the gaily dressed "sing-song" girls, or catch a glimpse of a gaudily painted face, as a lady is hurried along in her sedan-chair, carried on the shoulders of her chanting bearers. but the real chinese woman, with her hopes, her fears, her romances, her children, and her religion, is still undiscovered.
-i hope that this book, based on letters shown me many years after they were written, will give a faint idea of the life of a chinese lady. the story is told in two series of letters conceived to be written by kwei-li, the wife of a very high chinese official, to her husband when he accompanied his master, prince chung, on his trip around the world.
-she was the daughter of a viceroy of chih-li, a man most advanced for his time, who was one of the forerunners of the present educational movement in china, a movement which has caused her youth to rise and demand western methods and western enterprise in place of the obsolete traditions and customs of their ancestors. to show his belief in the new spirit that was breaking over his country, he educated his daughter along with his sons. she was given as tutor ling-wing-pu, a famous poet of his province, who doubtless taught her the imagery and beauty of expression which is so truly eastern.
-within the beautiful ancestral home of her husband, high on the mountains-side outside of the city of su-chau, she lived the quite, sequestered life of the high-class chinese woman, attending to the household duties, which are not light in these patriarchal homes, where an incredible number of people live under the same rooftree. the sons bring their wives to their father's house instead of establishing separate homes for themselves, and they are all under the watchful eye of the mother, who can make a veritable prison or a palace for her daughters-in-law. in china the mother reigns supreme.
-the mother-in-law of kwei-li was an old-time conservative chinese lady, the woman who cannot adapt herself to the changing conditions, who resents change of methods, new interpretations and fresh expressions of life. she sees in the new ideas that her sons bring from the foreign schools disturbers only of her life's ideals. she instinctively feels that they are gathering about her retreat, beating at her doors, creeping in at her closely shuttered windows, even winning her sons from her arms. she stands an implacable foe of progress and she will not admit that the world is moving on, broadening its outlook and clothing itself in a new expression. she feels that she is being left behind with her dead gods, and she cries out against the change which is surely but slowly coming to china, and especially to chinese women, with the advent of education and the knowledge of the outside world.
-in a household in china a daughter-in-law is of very little importance until she is the mother of a son. then, from being practically a servant of her husband's mother, she rises to place of equality and is looked upon with respect. she has fulfilled her once great duty, the thing for which she was created: she has given her husband a son to worship at his grave and at the graves of his ancestors. the great prayer which rises from the heart of all chinese women, rich and poor, peasant and princess, is to kwan-yin, for the inestimable blessing of sons. "sons! give me sons!" is heard in every temple. to be childless is the greatest sorrow that can come to chinese women, as she fully realizes that for this cause her husband is justified in putting her away for another wife, and she may not complain or cry out, except in secret, to her goddess of mercy, who has not answered her prayers. understanding this, we can dimly realise the joy of kwei-li upon the birth of her son, and her despair upon his death.
-at this time, when she was in very depths of despondency, when she had turned from the gods of her people, when it was feared that her sorrow, near to madness, she would take the little round ball of sleep-- opium-- that was brought rest to so many despairing women in china, her servants brought her the gospel of st. john, which they bought of an itinerant colporteur in the market-place, hoping that it might interest her. in the long nights when sleep would not come to her, she read it-- and found the peace she sought.
-1 my dear one, the house on the mountain-top has lost its soul. it is nothing but a palace with empty windows. i go upon the terrace and look over the valley where the sun sinks a golden red ball, casting long purple shadows on the plain. then i remember that thou art not coming from the city to me, and i stay to myself that there can be no dawn that i care to see, and no sunset to gladden my eyes, unless i share it with thee.
-but do not think i am unhappy. i do everything the same as if thou wert here, and in everything i say, "would this please my master?" meh-ki wished to put thy long chair away, as she said it was too big; but i did not permit. it must rest where i can look at it and imagine i see thee lying it, smoking thy water pipe; and the small table is always near by, where thou canst reach out thy hand for thy papers and the drink thou lovest. meh-ki also brought out the dwarf pine-tree and put it on the terrace, but i remembered thou saidst it looked like an old man who had been beaten in his childhood, and i gave it to her for one of the inner courtyards. she thinks it very beautiful, and so i did once; but i have learned to see with thine eyes, and i know now that a tree made straight and beautiful and tall by the gods is more to be regarded than one that has been bent and twisted by man.
-such a long letter i am writing thee. i am so glad that though madest me promise to write thee every seventh day, and to tell thee all that passes within my household and my heart. thine honourable mother says it is not seemly to send communication from mine hand to thine. she says it was a thing unheard of in her girlhood, and that we younger generations have passed the limits of all modesty and womanliness. she wishes me to have the writer or thy brother send thee the news of thine household; but that i will not permit. it must come from me, thy wife. each one of these strokes will come to thee bearing my message. thou wilt not tear the covering roughly as thou didst those great official letters; nor wilt thou crush the papers quickly in thy hand, because it is the written word of kwei-li, who sends with each stroke of brush a part of her heart.
-2 my dear one, my first letter to thee was full of sadness and longing because thou wert newly gone from me. now a week has passed, the sadness is still in my heart, but it is buried deep for only me to know. i have my duties which must be done, my daily tasks that only i can do since thine honourable mother has handed me the keys of the rice-bin. i realise the great honour she does me, and that at last she trusts me and believes me no child as she did when i first entered her household.
-can i ever forget that day when i came to my husband's people? i had the one great consolation of a bride, my parents had not sent me away empty-handed. the procession was almost a li in length and i watched with a swelling heart the many tens of coolies carrying my household goods. there were the silken coverlets for the beds, and they were folded to show their richness and carried on red lacquered tables of great value. there were the household utensils of many kinds, the vegetable dishes, the baskets, the camphor-wood baskets containing my clothing, tens upon tens of them; and i said within my heart as they passed me by, "enter my new home before me. help me find a loving welcome." then at the end of the chanting procession i came in my red chair of marriage, so closely covered i could barely breathe. my trembling feet could scarce support me as they helped me from the chair, and my hand shook with fear as i was being led into my new household. she stood bravely before you, that little girl dressed in red and gold, her hair twined with pearls and jade, her arms tiny finger, but with all her bravery she was frightened-- frightened. she was away from her parents for the first time, away from all who love her, and she knew if she did not meet with approval in her new home her rice-bowl would be full of bitterness for many moons to come.
-after the obeisance to the ancestral tablet and we had fallen upon our knees before thine honourable parent, i then saw for the first time the face of my husband. dost thou remember when first thou raised my veil and looked long into my eyes? i was thinking, "will he find me beautiful?" and in fear i could look but for a moment, then my eyes fell and i would not raise then to thine again. but in that moment i saw that thou wert tall and beautiful, that thine eyes were truly almond, that thy skin was clear and thy teeth like pearls. i was secretly glad within my heart, because i have known of brides who, when they saw their husbands for the first time, wished to scream in terror, as they were old or ugly. i thought to myself that i could be happy with this tall, strong young man if i found favour in his sight, and i said a little prayer to kwan-yin. because she has answered that prayer, each day i place a candle at her feet to show my gratitude.
-i think thine honourable mother has passed me the keys of the household to take my mind from my loss. she says a heart that is busy cannot mourn, and my days are full of duties. i arise in the morning early, and after seeing that my hair is tidy, i take a cup of tea to the aged one and make my obeisance; then i place the rice and water in their dishes before the god of the kitchen, and light a tiny stick of incense for his altar, so that our day may begin auspiciously. after the morning meal i consult with the cook and steward. the vegetables must be regarded carefully and the fish inspected, and i must ask the price that has been paid, because often a hireling is hurried and forgets that a bargain is not made with a breath.
-i carry the great keys and feel much pride when i open the door of the storeroom. why, i do not know, unless it is because of the realisation that i am the head of this large household. if the servants or their children are ill, they come to me instead of to thine honourable mother, as they be too rare or heavy for one of my mind and experience.
-then i go with the gardener to the terrace and help him arrange the flowers for the day. i love the stone-flagged terrace, with its low marble balustrade, resting close against the mountain to which it seems to cling.
-i always stop a moment and look over the valley, because it was from here i watched thee when thou went to the city in the morning, and here i waited thy return. because of my love for it and the rope of remembrance with which it binds me, i keep it beautiful with rugs and flowers.
-it speaks to me of happiness and brings back memories of summer days spent idling in a quite so still that we could hear the rustle of the bamboo grasses on the hillside down below; or, still more dear, the evenings passed close by thy side, watching the brightened into jade each door and archway as it passed.
-i long for thee, i love thee, i am thine.
-3 my dear one, the hours of one day are as like each other as are twin blossoms from the pear-tree. there is no news to tell thee. the mornings are passed in the duties that come to all women who have the care of a household, and the afternoons i am on the terrace with thy sister. but first of all, thine august mother must be made comfortable for her sleep, and then the peace indeed is wonderful.
-mah-li and i take our embroidery and sit upon the terrace, where we pass long hours watching the people in the valley below. the faint blue smoke curls from a thousand dwellings, and we try to imagine the lives of those who dwell beneath the rooftrees. we see the peasants in their rice-fields; watch them dragging the rich mud from the bottoms of the canal for fertilizing; hear the shrill whistle of the duck man as, with long bamboo, he drives the great flock of ducks homeward or sends them over the fields to search for insects. we see the wedding procession far below, and can but faintly follow the great covered chair of the bride and the train of servants carrying the possessions to the new home. often the wailing of the mourners in a funeral comes to our ears, and we lean far over the balcony to watch the coolie scatter the spirit money that will pay the dead man's way to land of the gods. but yesterday we saw the procession carrying the merchant wong to his resting-place of sycee spent upon his funeral. thy brothers tell me his sons made great boast that no man has been buried with such pomp in all the province. but it only brings more clearly the remembrance that he began this life a sampan coolie and ended it with many millions. but his millions did not bring him happiness. he laboured without ceasing, and then without living to enjoy the fruit, worn out, departed, one knows not whither.
-yesterday we heard the clang-clang of a gong and saw the taotai pass by, his men carrying the boards and banners with his official rank and virtues written upon them, and we counted the red umbrellas and wondered if some poor peasant was in deep trouble.
-it is beautiful here now. the hillside is purple with the autumn bloom and air is filled with a golden haze. the red leaves drift slowly down the canal and tell me that soon the winter winds will come. outside the walls the insects sing sleepily in grass, seeming to know that their brief life is nearly spent. the wild geese on their southward flight carry my thoughts to thee. all is sad, and sad as the clouded moon my longing face, and my eyes are filled with tears. not at twilight nor at grey of dawn can i find happiness without thee, my lord, mine own, and "endless are the days as trailing creepers."
-4 my dear one, i have much to tell thee. my last letter was unhappy, and these little slips of paper must bring to thee joy, not sorrow, else why the written word?
-first, i must tell thee that thy brother chih-peh will soon be married. thou knowest he has long been betrothed to li-ti, the daughter of the governor of chih-li, and soon the bride will be here. we have been arranging her apartments. we do not know how many home servants she will bring, and we are praying the gods to grant her discretion, because with servants from a different province there are sure to be jealousies and the retailing of small tales that disturb the harmony of a household.
-many tales have been brought us of her great beauty, and we hear she has much education. thine august mother is much disturbed over the latter, as she says, and justly too, that over-learning is not good for women. it is not meet to give them books in which to store their embroidery silks. but i-- i am secretly delighted, and mah-li, thy sister, is transported with joy. i think within our hearts, although we would not even whisper it to the night wind, we are glad that there will be three instead of two to bear the burden of the discourses of thine honourable mother. not that she talks too much, thou understandest, nor that her speech is not stored full of wisdom, but-- she talks-- and we must listen.
-the summer wanes and autumn is upon us with all its mists and shadows of purple and grey. the camphor-trees look from the distance like great balls of fire, and the eucalyptus-tree, in its dress of brilliant yellow, is a gaily painted court lady. if one short glimpse of thee my heart could gladden, then all my soul would be filled with the beauty of this time, these days of red and gold. but now i seek thee the long night through, and turn to make my arm thy pillow-- but thou art gone.
-i am thy wife who longs for thee.
-5 my dear one, we have a daughter-in-law. not only have we a daughter-in-law, but we have servants and household furnishings and clothing-- and clothing-- and clothing. i am sure that if her gowns could be laid side by side, they would reach around the world. she is as fair as the spring blossoms, and of as little use. an army encamped upon us could not have so upset our household as the advent of this one maiden. she brought with her rugs to cover the floors, embroideries and hangings for the walls, scrolls and saying of confucius and mencius to hang over the seats of honour-- to show us that she is an admirer of the classics-- screens for the doorways, even a huge bed all carved and gilded and with hangings and tassels of gay silk.
-thine honourable mother, after viewing the goods piled in the courtyards, called her bearers and told us she was taking tea with a friend in the village of sung-dong. i think she chose this friend because she lives the farthest from our compound walls. i alone was left to direct the placing of this furniture. li-ti was like a butterfly, flitting hither and thither, doing nothing, talking much. the bed must be so placed that the spirits of evil passing over it in the night-time could not take the souls of sleepers away with them. the screens must stand at the proper angle guarding the doorways from the spirits who, in their straight, swift flight through the air, fall against these screens instead of entering the house. she gravely explained to me that the souls who dwell in darkness like to take up their abode in newly organised households, and many precautions must be made against them. she even seriously considered the roof, to see if all the points curved upward, so that the spirits lighting upon them be carried high above the open courtyards. i do not know what would have happened to thine ancestral rooftree if it had not met with her approval. i was many heartfuls glad that thine august mother was taking tea in a far-off village, as li-ti even wanted to install a new god in the kitchen. this i would not permit. canst thou imagine thy mother's face if a god from a stranger family was in the niche above the stove? happily all was over when thine honourable mother returned. she is not pleased with this, her newest, daughter-in-law, and she talks-- and talks-- and talks. she says the days will pass most slowly until she sees the father of li-ti. she yearns to tell him that a man knows how to spend a million pieces of money in marrying off his daughter, but knows not how to spend a hundred thousand in bringing up his child. if this great governor of chih-li has much wisdom, he will stay long within his province. i have just heard for the hundredth time the saying of confucius, "birth is not a beginning, nor is death an end." in my despair i said deep down within my breast, "i am sure it will not be an end for thee, o mother-in-law. thou wilt go to the river of souls talking, talking, always talking-- but the gods will be good to me. thou must pass before me, and i will not hasten so as to overtake thee on the way." i beg thy pardon, dear one. i lack respect to thy most honourable parent, but my soul is sore tried and i can find no quite.
-i am, thy wife.
-6 my dear one, "the five worst infirmities that afflict the female are indocility, discontent, slander, jealousy, and silliness. the worst of them all, and the parent of the other four, is silliness. "does that not sound familiar to thine ears? life is serious here in thine ancestral home since we have taken to ourselves a daughter-in-law. the written word for trouble is two women beneath one rooftree, and i greatly fear that the wise man who invented writing had knowledge that cost him dear. perhaps he, too, had a daughter-in-law.
-yet, with it all, li-ti is such a child. ah, i see thee smile. thou sayest she is only three years less in age than i; yet, thou seest, i have had the honour of living a year by the side of thy most august mother and have acquired much knowledge from the very fountain-head of wisdom. perchance li-ti also will become a sage, if-- she be not gathered to her ancestors before her allotted time, which depends upon the strength of body and mind which they may have willed her.
-to me she is the light of this old palace. she is the true spirit of laughter, and, "when the happy laugh, the gods rejoice." she is continually in disgrace with thine honourable mother, and now the elder one has decided that both she and mah-li, thy sister, shall learn a text from the sage confucius each day for penance. they are now in the inner courtyard, studying the six shadows which attend the six virtues. i can hear them saying over and over to each other, "love of goodness without the will to learn casts the shadow called foolishness--" now a laugh-- then again they begin, "love of knowledge without the will to learn casts the shadow called instability--" giggle and much talking. i am afraid they will never arrive at the shadow cast the love of truth, and after i have written thee i will go in and help them, that they may not be reprimanded.
-li-ti takes her duties now most seriously, these same duties consisting of dressing for the day. in the morning she seats herself before her mirror, and two maids attend her, one to hold the great brass bowl of water, the other to hand her the implements of her toilet. while the face is warm she covers it with honey mixed with perfume, and applies the rice-powder until her face is as white as the rice itself. then the cheeks are rouged, the touch of red is placed upon the lower lip, the eyebrows are shaped like the true willow leaf, and the hair is dressed. her hair is wonderful (but i say within, my hearty not so long or so thick as mine), and she adorn it with many jewels of jade and pearls. over her soft clothing of fine linen she draws the rich embroidered robes of silk and satin. then her jewels, earrings, beads, bracelets, rings, the tiny mirror in the embroidered case, the bag with its rouge and powder fastened to her side by long red tassels. when all things are in place, she rises a being glorified, a thing of beauty from her glossy hair to the toe of her tiny embroidered shoe. i watch her with a little envy, because when thou wast here i did the same. now that my husband is away, it is not meet that i make myself too seemly for other eyes. the rouge brush and the powder have not been near my face, and i have searched my clothing chests to find gowns fitting for a woman who is alone.
-thy mother says poor li-ti is o'ervain, and repeats to her the saying, "more precious in a woman is a virtuous heart than a face of beauty." but i say she is our butterfly, she brings the joys of summer. one must not expect a lace kerchief to hold tears, and she fulfills her woman's destiny. chih-peh, thy brother, is inexpressibly happy. he adores his pretty blossom. he follows her with eyes worship, and when she is in disgrace with thine august mother, he is desolate. when needs be she is sent to her apartment, he wanders round and round the courtyards until the honourable one has retired from sight, then he hurriedly goes to his beloved. soon i hear them laughing gaily, and know the storm is over.
-the rains have come and we cannot pass long days upon the terrace. the whole valley is shrouded in grey mists and the peasants have gone from the fields. the path down the mountain-side is empty, except for the men with the great umbrella hats and capes of straw, bringing the vegetables to the monastery below. the old abbot of the monastery is in great trouble. some men have come and wish to erect long poles with wires on them. it is feared it will interrupt the feng-shui of the temple, the good spirits of the air cannot pass, and will rest upon these ugly poles instead of coming to the temple rooftree. the abbot has wailed and gone to the magistrate; but he will not interfere, as the men have many tens of thousands of sycee and quite likely will work their will.
-such foolish letters as i write thee! they are filled with the little life that passes within the women's courtyard. it is all the life i know. my world is bounded by these walls, and i ask no more.
-i am thy loving wife.
-7 my dear one, all thy women-folk have been shopping! a most unheard-of event for us. we have li-ti to thank for this great pleasure, because, but for her, the merchants would have brought their goods to the courtyard for us to make our choice. li-ti would not hear of that; she wanted to see the city, and she wanted to finger the pretty goods within the shops. she knew exactly what she wished, and life was made uncomfortable for us all until thy mother ordered the chairs and we went into the city. we were a long procession. first, the august one with her four-bearer chair; then your most humble wife, who has only two bearers-- as yet; then li-ti; and after her mah-li, followed by the chairs of the servants who came to carry back our purchases.
-it was most exciting for us all, as we go rarely within the city gate. it was market day and the streets were made more narrow by the baskets of fish and vegetables which lined the way. the flat stones of the pavements were slippery and it seemed our bearers could not find a way amongst the crowd of riders on horses and small donkeys, the coolies with their buckets of hot water swinging from their shoulders, the sweetmeat sellers, the men with bundles, and the women with small baskets. they all stepped to one side at the sound of the ah-yo of our leader, except a band of coolies carrying the monstrous trunk of a pine-tree, chanting as they swung the mast between them, and keeping step with the chant. it seemed a solemn dirge, as if some great were being carried to the resting-place of the dead.
-but sadness could not come to us when shopping, and our eager eyes looked long at the signs above the open shopways. there were long black signs of lacquer with letters of raised gold, or red ones with the characters carved and gilded. above a shoe-shop was a made for the king of the mountains, in front of a pipe-shop was a water pipe fit for his mate. from the fan-shop hung delicate, gilded fans; and framing the silk-shop windows gaily coloured silk was draped in rich festoons that nearly swept the pathway.
-we bought silks and satins and gay brocades, we chatted and we bargained and we shopped. we handled jade and pearls and ornaments of twisted gold, and we priced amulets and incense pots and gods. we filled our eyes with luxury and our amahs' chairs with packages, and returned home three happy, tired, hungry women, thinking with longing of the hissing tea-urn upon the charcoal brazier.
-that crowded, bustling, threatening city seems another world from this, our quiet, walled-in dwelling. i feel that here we are protected, cared for, guarded, and life's hurry and distress will only pass us by, not touch us. yet-- we like to see it all, and know that we are part of that great wonder-thing, the world.
-i am thy happy, tired, wife.
-8. my dear one, i am carrying a burden for another that is causing me much sorrow. dost thou remember chen-peh, who is from my province and who married ling peh-yu about two moons after i came to thy household? she came to me yesterday in dire distress. she is being returned to her home by her husband's people, and, as thou knowest, if a woman is divorced shame covers her until her latest hour. i am inexpressibly saddened, as i do not know what can be done. the trouble is with his mother and, i fear, her own pride of family. she cannot forget that she comes from a great house, and she is filled with pride at the recollection of her home. i have told her that the father and mother of one's husband should be honoured beyond her own. i can see that she has failed in respect; and thus she merits condemnation. we have all learned as babes that "respect" is the first word in the book of wisdom. i know it is hard at times to still the tongue, but all paths that lead to peace are hard.
-she will remain with me two nights. last night she lay wide-eyed, staring into the darkness, with i know not what within her soul. i begged her to think wisely, to talk frankly with her husband and his mother, to whom she owes obedience. there should be no pride where love is. she must think upon the winter of her days, when she will be alone without husband and without children, eating bitter rice of charity, though 'tis given by her people. i put her in remembrance of that saying of the poet:
-"rudely torn may be a cotton mantle, yet a skillful hand may join it; snapped may be the string where pearls are threaded, yet the thread all swiftly knotted; but a husband and his wife, once parted, never more may meet."
-i must not bring thee the sorrows of another. oh, dear one, there will never come 'twixt thee and me the least small river of distrust. i will bear to thee no double heart, and thou wilt cherish me and love me always.
-9 my dear one, i cannot wait until the seventh day to write thee again, as my letter to thee yestereve was full of sadness and longing. now i have slept, and troubles from a distance do not seem so grave.
-it seems small, but it is the retailing of little calumnies that disturbs the harmony of kinsmen and ruins the peace of families. finally i found it necessary to talk to li-ti's nurse, and i told her many things it were good for her to know. i warned her that if she did not wish to revisit her home province she must still her tongue. things were better for a time, but they commenced again, and i called her to my courtyard and said to her, "the sheaves of rice have been beaten across the wood for the last time. you must go." li-ti was inconsolable, but i was firm. such quarrels are not becoming when we are so many beneath one rooftree.
-the servant went away, but she claimed her servant's right of reviling us within our gate. she lay beneath our outer archway for three long hours and called down curses upon the liu family. one could not get away from the sound of the enumeration of the faults and vices of thy illustrious ancestors even behind closed doors. i did not know, my husband, that history claimed so many men of action by the name of liu. it pleased me to think thou mayest claim so long a lineage, as she went back to the dynasty of ming and brought forth from his grave each poor man and woman and told us of-- not his virtues. i should have been more indignant, perhaps, if i had not heard o'ermuch the wonders of thy family tree. i was impressed by the amount of knowledge acquired by the family of li-ti. they must have searched the chronicles which evidently recorded only the unworthy acts of thy men-folk in the past. i hope that i will forget what i have heard, as some time when i am trying to escape from thine ancestors the tongue might become unruly.
-at the end of three hours the woman was faint and very ill. i had one of the servants take her down to the boat, and sent a man home with her, bearing a letter saying she was sickening for home faces. she is old, and i did not want her to end her days in disgrace and shame.
-but thine honourable mother! thine honourable mother! art thou not glad that thou art in a far-off country? she went from courtyard to courtyard, and for a time i fully expected she would send to the yamen for the soldiers; then she realised the woman was within her right, and so restrained her-self. it nearly caused her death, as thou knowest thine honourable mother has not long practised the virtue of restraint, especially of the tongue. she was finally overcome taken to her chamber, and we brought her tea and heated wine, and tried in all our ways to make her forget the great humiliation. as she became no better, we sent for the man of medicine from the eastern gate, and he wished to burn her shoulders with a heated cash to remove the heat within her. to this she objected so strongly that he hastily gathered his utensils and departed looking fearfully over his shoulder from time to time as he passed quickly down the hillside.
-then i thought of her favourite priest from the monastery down below, and sent for him. he came with candle and incense and, i think, some rose wine for which the monastery is justly famous; and he chanted prayers, striking from time to time a little gong, until peace was restored and sleep came to her eyelids.
-in the morning she wished to talk to li-ti; but i feared for her, and i said, "you cannot speak of the ocean to a well-frog, nor sing of ice to a summer insect. she will not understand. she said li-ti was without brains, a senseless thing of paint and powder. i said, "we will form her, we will make of her a wise woman in good time. she replied with bitterness, "rotten wood cannot be carved nor walls of dirt be plastered." i could not answer, but i sent li-ti to pass the day with chih-peh at the goldfish temple, and when she returned the time was not so stormy.
-all this made me unhappy, and the cares of this great household pressed heavily upon my shoulders. please do not think the cares too heavy, nor that i do not crave the work. i know all labour is done for the sake of happiness, whether the happiness comes or no; and if i find not happiness, i find less time to dream and mourn and long for thee, my husband.
-10 my dear one, we have been to a great festival at the temple of the goddess of a thousand hands. thine honourable mother decided that we should go by boat part of the way, so the chairs were told to meet us at the western village rest-house.
-we hired from the city one of those great pleasure-boats, but it was not too great for us all. there was the august one, and four of her friends, then li-ti, mah-li and myself. we took the cook, the steward and three amahs, and it was indeed a time of feasting. it was the first time i had been upon the canal, and it was different from seeing it from the terrace. as we passed slowly along we could watch the life of the water people. on the banks were the great water-wheels turned by the village buffalo. in the deserted districts women were gathering reeds to make the sleeping mats and boat covers. the villages with their blue-grey houses and thatched roofs nestling among the groves of bamboos looked like chicklets sheltering under the outstretched wings of the mother hen.
-we pushed our way through the crowded water-ways of the cities, where we could catch glimpses of the guests in the tea-houses or the keepers of the shops, or could watch the children leaning over the balconies. on the steps between the houses which led to the waterside women were washing clothes, or the dyers were cleansing the extra dye from the blue cotton which clothes all china's poor. we caught small bits of gossip and heard the laughter of all these people, who seemed happy at their work.
-when we could again pass to the open canal we would watch the boats. i did not know there were so many boats in all the world. they floated slowly past us-- big boats, little boats, those that went by sail, and those that went by oar. there were the boats of mandarins and merchants, those for passengers, and great unwieldy boats for rice. we saw the fishing-boats with their hungry, fierce-eyed cormorants sitting quietly in their places, waiting for the master to send them diving in the water for the fish they may not eat.
-the canal was a great broad highway. even the tow-paths had their patrons. travellers on wheelbarrows, rich men in sedan-chairs, soldiers, coolies, chanting as they swung along with their burdens swinging from the bamboo on their shoulders, all going to or coming from the great city to which we drew nearer with each stroke.
-at the rest-house the bearers were awaiting us, and we were carried up the long paved roadway to the temple. it seemed as if all the world had turned to praying-- all the women world, that is. they were here, rich and poor, peasant and official's wife, but in the temple all of a sisterhood. we descended from our chairs in the courtyard and put our spirit money in the great burner, where it ascended in tiny flames side by side with that of the beggar woman, to the great god in the heavens. we entered the temple, placed our candles, and lighted our incense. we made our obeisance to the many-handed goddess and asked her blessing on our household for the year to come. then i went to the mother of mercies, kwan-yin, and made my deepest reverence, because for her my heart is full of love and gratitude. the other gods i respect and make them all due worship, but, i feel they are far away from me. kwan-yin, is the woman's god, and i feel her love for me. she shapes my way, and i know it is to her i owe it that my life flows on as a gentle stream, and i know that she cares for me and guards me now that thou art away and i have no one on whom to lean. when i go before her all fire of passion is extinguished in my heart, and my troubles and cares pass away and become small in the distance, even as the light of the morning stars pales and wanes at the coming of the sun. my heart is full of love for her, of a love that i cannot express. she has heard my prayers and answered them. she is my kwan-yin, my mother of mercy, and each day i do some little deed for her, some little thing to show remembrance, so she will know the hours are not too full nor the days too short for me to place my offering on an altar built of love.
-as we turned to leave the temple i glanced back at the great dark chamber and i saw the god of light, the buddha, sitting there so calm upon his throne, with the light of many candles before him and clouds of incense that floated to the roof. i thought, "he is all-powerful. i only prayed to him from out my lips, not with my heart. perhaps--" so i returned. i prayed the mighty god with humble prayer to bring my loved one swiftly home to me; and then we left the temple. we walked slowly through the courtyards, looking at the great trees that stood like tall, grim sentinels guarding the place of prayer. then we were taken by our bearers to the goldfish monastery in the hills. dost thou remember it? thou and i were there once in the springtime.
-we bought the small round cakes from the priests and fed the greedy fish. they swarmed over the pool, pushing, nudging, fighting one another to get the morsels we threw them. tiring of that, we had tea and sweetmeats served upon the terrace; then, after chatting for a time, we left for the boat. we drifted slowly homeward. thy mother and her friends discussed the earth, the moon, the sun and stars, as well as smaller matters, such as children, husbands, servants, schools-- and upon the last thy mother waxed most eloquent; as thou knowest, it is a sore subject with her, this matter of the new education. i heard her say: "all my sons have book knowledge. of what use is it in the end? the cock crows and the dog barks. we know that, but the wisest of my sons cannot say why one crows and the other barks, nor why they crow or bark at all." canst thou hear her, and see her shake her head dolefully over the dismal fact that thou hast left the narrow way of confucius and the classics?
-we came to the pathway just at sunset, and as i looked up at the old palace a little hurt came to my heart that thou wert not close by my side. it lay so peaceful there and quiet, the curving roofs like flights of doves who had settled down with their wings not yet quite folded. it brought remembrance that for me it was an empty palace. i will see no one-- as li-ti will-- within the archway.
-thy wife who loves thee.
-11 my dear one, thy letter and the photographs received. thou sayest it is a "flashlight" of a reception to thy master, the prince. i do not know exactly what that means, but there seem to be many people and-- ladies. i have not shown thine honourable mother the picture, as she might ask thee to return at once. i do not criticise thy friends, nor could our prince go to a place not fitting to his dignity, but-- the ladies seem in my poor judgment most lightly clad.
-the papers here are full of thy reception in that foreign land and of the honour that is paid the embassy. thy brother read to all within the courtyard of the feasts that are given in honour of his highness, and we were full proud, knowing well thou stoodst close by him at the time. thy letters are a joy to me. we read them many times, and then i read those of chih-peh, which talk of things i do not understand. thou must not give the foolish boy ideas, as he prates most glibly of "republics" and "government of the people by the people," after he has received thy letters. that is for men of wisdom like thee, but not for foolish boys to carry with them to the tea-house.
-12 my dear one, thou askest me if i still care for thee, if the remembrance of thy face has grown less dear with the passing of the days. dear one, thou knowest we chinese women are not supposed to know of love, much less to speak of it. we read of it, we know it is the song of all the world, but it comes not to us unless by chance. we go to you as strangers, we have no choice, and if the gods withhold their greatest gift, the gift of love, then life is grey and wan as the twilight of a hopeless day. few women have the joy i feel when i look into my loved one's face and know that i am his and he is mine, and that our lives are twined together for all the days to come.
-do i love thee? i cannot tell. i think of thee by day and i dream of thee by night. i never want to hurt thee nor cause thee a moment's sorrow. i would fill my hands with happiness to lay down at thy feet. thou art my life, my love, my all, and i am thine to hold through all the years.
-13 my dear one, it is the time of school, and now all the day from the servants' courtyard i hear their droning voices chanting the sayings of confucius. i did not know we had so many young lives within our compound until i saw them seated at their tables. i go at times and tell them tales which they much prefer to lessons, but of which thine honourable mother does not approve. i told them the other day of pwan-ku. dost thou remember him? how at the beginning of time the great god pwan-ku with hammer and chisel formed the earth. he toiled and he worked for eighteen thousand years, and each day increased in stature six feet, and, to give him room, the heavens rose and the earth became larger and larger. when the heavens were round and the earth all smooth, he died. his head became mountains, his breath the wind and the clouds, his voice the thunder. his arms and legs were the four poles, his veins the rivers, his muscles the hills and his flesh the fields. his eyes became the stars, his skin and hair the herbs and the trees, and the insects which touched him became people. does not that make thee think of thy childhood's days?
-they crowd around me and say, "tell us more," just as i did with my old amah when she stilled me with the tales of the gods. yesterday, one small boy, the son of the chief steward, begged for a story of the sun. i had to tell him that my wisdom did not touch the sun, although i, in my foolish heart, think it a great god because it gives us warmth and we can feel its kindly rays. i said, "thou hast seen the coolies tracking on the tow-path with their heavy wadded clothing wet with rain. if it were not for the kindly sun which dries them, how could they toil and work and drag the great rice-boats up to the water-gate? is he not a god to them?"
-i told them also of chang-ngo, the great, great beauty who drank the cup of life eternal. she went to the moon, where the jealous gods turned her into a great black toad. she is there, forever thinking, mourning over her lost beauty, and when we see the soft haze come over the face of the moon, we know that she is weeping and filling the space with her tears.
-i perhaps am wrong to tell the foolish tales to the children, but they grow so tired of the hard benches and chang-tai, the teacher, who glares at them so fiercely when they speak not quickly enough to please him.
-there has been much gossip from the valley over the mountain-side. it seems an iron bridge is being put across the river, and strange men come and peer at the countryside through witch glasses. it has made the good spirits of the air to draw apart from the valley, and the cattle have died and the rice not ripened, and much sorrow has gone broadcast. the river overflowed, because they desecrated the dragon's back by digging down into the earth that was sacred. i know nothing except what is brought from the market-place, and, as it does not concern us here on the mountain-side, i listen only with my ears, not with my mind.
-the nights are long and cold. the moon casts silver shimmering lights over the valley below. we cannot stand long on the terrace but must stay close within our rooms near to the charcoal braziers. the wind sweeps o'er the rooftree with the wailing voice of a woman.
-oh, soul of mine, with weary heart the creeping days i'm counting.
-14 my dear one, we have had a serious sickness come to all the countryside; rich and poor, peasant and merchant have suffered from a fever that will not abate. it raged for more than a moon before it was known the cause thereof. dost thou remember the kwan-lin pagoda? its ruin has long been a standing shame to the people of the province, and finally the gods have resented their neglect and sent them this great illness. over all the city the yellow edicts of the priests have been placed so as to meet the eye of all who travel. they are in the market-places, at the entrance of the tea-houses, standing on great boards at the doorways of the temples, in front of the water-gates, and at each city postern. they state that the gods are angry and send to each man or household that will not give three days' work upon the pagoda the fever that leaves him weak and ailing. they demand the labour of the city; and if it is not given freely, toil is sent the people in their sleep and they waken weary, and must so remain until the work is finished.
-we did not hearken to the summons until chih-peh, thy brother, fell ill with the sickness. he grew worse each day, until li-ti and thine honourable mother were panic-stricken. at last the chairs were ordered, and thy mother and i went to the monastery on the hillside to consult with the old abbot, who is most full of wisdom. thine honourable mother told him of the illness which had assailed her son, and begged him to tell her if it were the illness of the pagoda. he meditated long and seriously, then he said, "my daughter, the gods are no respecter of persons; they wish the service of your son." "but," thine honourable mother objected, "he is no workman. he cannot labour upon the pagoda." the abbot said, "there are more ways of giving service than the labour of the hands. the gods will allow him to contribute of his wealth and buy the toil of other men, and thus he may cancel his obligation." the august one satisfied the greedy heart of the priest, and then he told her to go and make her beisance to the god of light, the great buddha, and see what message he had for her.
-she took the hollow bamboo filled with the numbered slices of wood and, prostrating herself three times before the great one, shook it slowly until one detached itself from its brothers and fell to the floor. the abbot then handed her a slip of paper which read:
-"wisdom sits by the western gate and gives health and happiness to those who wait."
-these words meant nothing to thine honourable mother; and after giving the abbot more silver, he said, "beside the western gate sits the owl of wisdom, the great doctor chow-fong. his father and his father's father were wise; their study was mankind, and to him has come all their stores of knowledge. he has books of wonderful age, that tell him the secret of the world. go to him; he will give you the plan of healing."
-we started for the western gate, and i, in my wicked heart, spoke thoughts that should have been closely locked within my breast. i said, "perhaps the doctor and the priest have formed a combination most profitable to the two. if we had gone to the doctor first, we might have been sent to the abbot." it was a great mistake to mention such a dreadful thing, and i realised it instantly; as thou knowest, the elder one has a tongue of eloquence, and i was indeed glad that her bearers carried her at least ten paces from my bearers-- and the way was long.
-even thine honourable mother was awed at the solemn looks of this great man of medicine who, in his dim room with dried bats hanging from the ceiling beams and a dragon's egg close by his hand, glared at her through his great goggles like a wise old owl. she apologised for disturbing so great a man at his studies, but she was the bearer of a message from the abbot. he read it carefully, then took down a monstrous book entitled "the golden mirror of medical practice," and solemnly pored over its pages. at last he wrote upon a paper, then chanted:
-"in a building tall, by the city wall, in the street of the tower of gold, is the plant of health, long life and wealth, in the claws of the dragon bold."
-the august one took the paper, laid some silver upon the table, and we hurried from his doorway, glad to be free from his fearful presence. when we entered the chairs and looked to the paper for directions to give the bearers, the characters were meaningless to us. i repeated his chant, and the head bearer said, "there is a shop of drugs in the street of the tower of gold, and the sign of the place is a golden dragon's claw."
-we soon were there, and waited in our chairs while the bearer took the paper into the maker of medicines. we waited long, and thine honourable mother would have been impatient if sleep had not kindly made her forget the waiting hours. i, sitting in my chair, could look through the archways into the big covered courtyards where blind men were grinding herbs. they were harnessed to great stones, and went round and round all day, like buffalo at the water-wheel. i wondered why the gods had put them at this service. what sins they had committed in their other life, to be compelled to work like beasts, grinding the herbs that would bring health and life to others, while they lived on in darkness. often i would hear the soft call of the deer as they moved restlessly in their tiny cells. i know their horns, when powdered fine with beetles' wings, is the cure for fevers and all ailments of the blood, but why could not the wise ones of the earth have found some herb or weed to take their place and give these wild ones of the woods their freedom? finally, the bearer came with a tiny jar, too small, it seemed, to take such time in mixing, and we returned to the waiting li-ti.
-the medicine was black and nasty and smelled not sweetly, which proved its strength. chih-peh got slowly better, and the world again looked fair to li-ti, and the song came to her lips. the flowers were put in the hair, the gay dresses were brought out of their boxes, and she was, as of old, our butterfly.
-we laughed at her for her fright, but i thought, if it had been thou who wast ill, and i did not know the cure! oh, dear one, dost thou understand that, to a woman who loves, her husband is more than heaven, more than herself? all that she is not, all that she lacks, all that she desires to be, is her beloved. his breath alone can bring peace to her heart, and it is he alone who teaches her the depth of passionate joy there is in love and life and all things beautiful.
-i am, thy wife.
-15 my dear one, thine honourable mother is beset by the desire or marrying. no, do not start; it is not or herself she is thinking. she will go to the river or souls mourning thine honourable father, and a pailo will be erected in her honour. it is or her household she is thinking. she says our rooftree is too small to shelter four women, three or whom have little brains-- and that includes thy humble, loving wire-- but why she should wish to exchange mah-li, whom she knows, for a strange woman whom she does not know, passes my understanding. she seems not overfond of daughters-in-law, if one judge from chance remarks.
-first, before i speak or mah-li, i must tell thee of thy brother. thine honourable mother is right-- it were better that he marry and have a heel rope that leads him homewards. he is unruly and passes overmuch time at the golden lotus tea-house. he is not bad or wicked. he lives but for the moment, and the moment is often wine-flushed. he will not work or study, and many times at night i send away the gatekeeper and leave my amah at the outer archway, so thy mother will not know the hour he enters. he is young, and has chosen friends not equal to himself, and they have set his feet in the path-way that slopes downward.
-he does not wish to marry. we have told him that marriage is a will of the gods and must be obeyed. "man does not attain by himself, nor, woman by herself, but like the one-winged birds of our childhood's tale, they must rise together." it is useless to talk to him. a spark of fire will not kindle wood that is still too green, and i rear he is in love with life, and youth, and freedom.
-i do not wish to doubt the wisdom of the august one, but i think she made a mistake in her choice of a bride for chih-mo. she chose tai-lo, the daughter of the prefect of chih-ii. the arrangements were nearly made, the dowry even was discussed, but when the astrologer cast their horoscopes to see if they could pass their life in peace together, it was found that the ruler of chih-mo's life was a lion, and that of the bride's, a swallow, so it was clearly seen they could not share one rooftree. i fear (i would not have this come to the ears of thine honourable mother) that some silver was left upon the doorstep of the astrologer. chih-mo asked of me the loan of an hundred taels, and i saw the wife of the reader of the stars pass by with a new gown of red and gold brocade.
-i think chih-mo had seen tai-lo. report gives her small beauty. yet, as the elder one says, "musk is known by its perfume, and not by the druggist's label." quite likely she would have made a good wife; and-- we have one beauty in the household-- it is enough.
-there is much wailing in the courtyards. the gardener and the bearer and the watchman are having bound the feet of their small daughters. the saying, "for every pair of golden lillies' there is a kang of tears," is true. i am so sorry for them. just when they want to run and play, they must sit all day with aching feet. my amah wished to put on the heavy bindings, but i would not permit it. i said, "do you want little eyes to fill with tears each time they see you coming across the courtyard? if their grandmothers do not come, let some old women from the village do the cruel thing."
-the happy rains of the spring are here. it is not the cold, drear rain of autumn, but dancing, laughing rain that comes sweeping across the valley, touching the rice-fields lovingly, and bringing forth the young green leaves of the mulberry. i hear it patter upon the roof at night-time, and in the morning all the earth seems cleansed and new; fresh colours greet mine eye when i throw back my casement.
-when wilt thou come to me, thou keeper of my heart?
-16 dear one, "he whose faults are never told him doubtless deems the angels mould him."
-that cannot be said of three women of thy household.
-it is mah-li this time on whom the wrath descends. she and li-ti were broidering in the western room, where they could get the last rays of the sun. perhaps they were speaking on forbidden subjects-- i do not know; but thine honourable mother entered quietly and reproved them, and (even when i write it i blush for her) mah-li said to her honourable mother, "only cats and cranes and thieves walk silently." thy mother was speechless with anger, and justly so, and now it is decided that mah-li must be married. she needs a stronger hand than a woman's. is it not ridiculous, little mah-li needing a strong hand?
-at first the august one considered meng-wheh, the prefect at sung-dong. he is old and cross, but when i remonstrated, i was told that he was rich. his many tens of thousands of sycee are supposed to weigh more than youth and love. i said, "though he bar with gold his silver door," a man cannot keep the wife who loves him not. thine honourable mother thought more wisely, and after days of consideration entered into consultation with the family of sheng ta-jen in regard to his son. it seems mah-li is doomed to marriage soon, and she does not know whether she is happy or sorrowful. she is turned this way and that, as the seed of the cotton-tree is swayed by the coming and going of the wind. to-day she laughs, to-morrow she weeps. thy mother has lost all patience with her, and, as she always does when her own words rail her, i heard her quoting the sage: "just as ducks' legs though short cannot be lengthened without pain, nor cranes' legs though long be shortened without misery to the crane, neither can sense be added to a silly woman's head."
-i feel that thine honourable mother is unkind to mah-li. she is a flower, a flower that has her place in life the same as the morning-glory, which is loved just as fondly by the gods as the pine-tree which stands so stately upon the hillside. she is light and pure and dainty as the fragrance of perfumed air, and i do not want to see her go to a family who will not understand her youth and love of play.
-mah-li has asked of me money, and with it bought a great candle for each day, which she sends down the mountain-side to be placed before kwan-yin. i asked her to tell me her prayer, that needed so large an offering. the unfilial girl said she prayed, "kwan-yin, send me a husband with no family."
-such a lot of petty gossip i pour into thine ears, yet thou wouldst know the happenings of thine household. of the world outside, thy brother writes thee. my world is here within these walls.
-17 my dear one, thine house of intrigue. deep, dark intrigue and plotting. thy wife has lent herself to a most unwomanly thing, and doubtless thou wilt tell her so, but mah-li begged so prettily, i could refuse her nothing. i told thee in my last letter that thine honourable mother had been regarding the family of sheng ta-jen with a view to his son as husband of mah-li. it is settled, and mah-li leaves us in the autumn. none of us except chih-peh has seen the young man, and mah-li did a most immodest thing the other day. she came to me and asked me to find out from chih-peh if he were handsome, if he were young-- all the questions that burn the tongue of a young girl, but which she must keep within tightly closed lips if she would not be thought unmaidenly. i asked thy brother; but his answer was not in regard to the questions mah-li wished so much to know. so we arranged a plan-- a plan that caused me many nights of sleeplessness. it was carried out and-- still the sky is blue, the stars are bright at night, and the moon shines just as softly on the valley.
-the first part of the plan was for li-ti. she must persuade chih-peh to ask shen-go to spend the day with him at the fir-tree monastery. when he knew the meaning of the invitation he refused. he was shocked, and properly; as it was a thing unheard-of. he could not understand why mah-li would not be content with her mother's choice. li-ti brought all her little ways to bear-- and chih-peh can refuse her nothing. at the feast of the moon thy brother asked three friends to join him at the monastery and stroll amongst its groves.
-the rest of the plan was for me to carry out; and i, thy wife, displayed a talent for diplomacy. i noticed that the cheeks of our honourable mother were pale, that she seemed listless, that her step was wearied. i said doubtless she was tired of being shut within the compound walls with three aimless, foolish women, and proposed a feast or pilgrimage. i mentioned the goldfish pond, knowing she was tired of it; spoke of the pagoda on the hills, knowing full well that she did not like the priests therein; then, by chance, read from a book the story of the two kings. it is the tale of the king of hangchow and the king of soochow who, in the olden time, divided our great valley between them. the king of hangchow was an old man and the cares of state fell heavily upon his shoulders. the king of soochow was a man, eaten up with mad ambitions. he began to tread upon the lands of the old king, taking now a farmhouse, now a village, and at last a city, until the poor old king was threatened at his very gateway by the army of the young man. the young king had strength, but the old king had guile, so he made a peace with his enemy for one year. he sent him presents, costly silks and teas, and pearls and jade and ginseng, and, last and best, a beautiful slave-girl, the most beautiful in the province. the young king was delighted, and forgot his warring, passing all his days within the women's quarters.
-as the winter waned and the spring came, the slave-girl sickened, said she panted for the hillsides, and she pointed to the mountain outside his city walls. he was a foolish king, and he builded for her a palace, and she moved there with her women. the king was lonely in the city, and he passed his days with the women in the palace on the mountain. while living there in pleasure, and his army in the city, the old king of hangchow sent his soldiers; and soon there was no king of soochow, only a slave-girl decked with many jewels was taken back with honour to the old king's city.
-i read all this to thine honourable mother, and told her we could see the ruins of the fish-pond, of the palace, see the fallen marbles from the tea-house, and-- the chairs were ordered, and we went. we wandered over deserted pathways, saw the lotus pools once filled with goldfish, picked our way through lonely courtyards, climbed the sunken steps of terraces that had once been gay with flowers. it all was melancholy, this palace built for pleasure, now a mass of crumbling ruins, and it saddened us. we sat upon the king's bench that overlooked the plain, and from it i pointed out the fir-tree monastery in the distance. i spoke of their famous tea, sun-dried with the flowers of jessamine, and said it might bring cheer and take away the gloom caused by the sight of death and vanished grandeurs now around us.
-we were carried swiftly along the pathways that wound in and out past farm villages and rest-houses until we came to the monastery, which is like a yellow jewel in its setting of green fir-trees. the priests made us most welcome, and we drank of their tea, which has not been overpraised, sitting at a great open window looking down upon the valley. strolling in the courtyard was chih-peh with his three friends. mah-li never raised her eyes; she sat as maidens sit in public, but-- she saw.
-we came home another pathway, to pass the resting-place of sheng-dong, the man who at the time of famine fed the poor and gave his all to help the needy. the gods so loved him that when his body was carried along the road-way to the resting-place of his ancestors, all the stones stood up to pay him reverence. one can see them now, standing straight and stiff, as if waiting for his command to lie down again.
-art thou dissatisfied with me? have i done wrong? dear one, it means so much to mah-li. let her dream these months of waiting. it is hard to keep wondering, doubting, fearing one knows not what, hoping as young girls hope. but now she has seen him. to me he was just a straight-limbed, bright-faced boy; to her he is a god. there are no teeth so white, no hair so black, and man were not born who walked with such a noble stride. it will make the summer pass more quickly, and the thought of the marriage-chair will not be to her the gateway of a prison.
-art thou not tired of that far-off country? each time i break the seal of thy dear letter i say, "perhaps this time-- it holds for me my happiness. it will say, 'i am coming home to thee'." i am longing for that message.
-18 my dear one, it will soon be the feast of the springtime. even now the roads are covered with the women coming to the temple carrying their baskets of spirit money and candles to lay before the buddha.
-spring will soon be truly here; the buds are everywhere. everything laughs from the sheer joy of laughter. the sun looks down upon the water in the canal and it breaks into a thousand little ripples from pure gladness. i too am happy, and i want to give of my happiness. i have put a great kang of tea down by the rest-house on the tow-path, so that they who thirst may drink. each morning i send chang-tai, the gate-keeper, down to the man who lives in the little reed hut he has builded by the grave of his father. for three years he will live there, to show to the world his sorrow. i think it very worthy and filial of him, so i send him rice each morning. i have also done another thing to express the joy that is deep within my heart. the old abbot, out of thankfulness that the tall poles were not erected before the monastery gateway, has turned the fields back of the temple into a freeing-place for animals. there one may acquire merit by buying a sheep, a horse, a dog, a bird, or a snake that is to be killed, and turning it loose where it may live and die a natural death, as the gods intended from the beginning. i have given him a sum of money, large in his eyes but small when compared to my happiness, to aid him in this worthy work. i go over in the morning and look at the poor horses and the dogs, and wonder whose soul is regarding me from out of their tired eyes.
-let me hear that thou art coming, man of mine, and i will gather dewdrops from the cherry-trees and bathe me in their perfume to give me beauty that will hold thee close to me.
-i am, thy wife.
-19. my dear one, i have received thy letter telling me thou wilt not be here until the summer comes. then, i must tell thee my news, as the springtime is here, the flowers are budding, the grass is green, soon the plum-tree in the courtyard will be white. i am jealous of this paper that will see the delight and joy in thine eyes. in the evening i watch the rice boats pass along the canal, where the water is green and silvery like the new leaves of the willow, and i say, "perhaps when you return, i shall be the mother of a child." ah--! i have told thee. does it bring thee happiness, my lord? does it make a quick little catch in thy breath? does thy pulse quicken at the thought that soon thou wilt be a father?
-thou wilt never know what this has meant to me. it has made the creature live that was within my soul, and my whole being is bathed with its glory. thou wilt never know how many times i have gone down the pathway to the temple and asked this great boon of our lady of mercy. she granted it, and my life is made perfect. i am indeed a woman, fulfilling a woman's destiny. if a woman bear not sons for her lord, what worth her life? do we not know that the first of the seven causes for putting away a wife is that she brings no sons into the world to worship at the graves of her husband's ancestors? but i, kwei-li, that will not be said of me.
-sometimes i think, "if something should happen; if the gods should be jealous of my happiness and i should not see thee more?" then the heart of the woman throbs with fear, and i throw myself at the feet of kwan-yin and beg for strength. she gives me peace and brings to my remembrance that the bond of fate is sealed within the moon. there is no place for fear, for aught but love; my heart is filled so with its happiness.
-20 my dear one, the spring has come, and with it some new pulse of life beats through my quiet veins. i spend long hours upon the terrace, breathing in the perfume of the many flowers. the cherry-blossoms are a glory. the whole steep hillside is covered with a fairy lace, as if some god knew how we hungered after beauty and gave us these pink blossoms to help us to forget the bare cold earth of winter.
-it is the time of praying, and all the women with their candles and their incense are bending knees and chanting prayers to kwan-yin for the blessing of a son. there is a pilgrimage to the kwem-li pagoda. i can see it in the distance, with its lotus bells that sway and ring with each light breath of wind. one does not think of it as a thing of brick and mortar, or as a many-storied temple, but as a casket whose jewels are the prayers of waiting, hoping women.
-you ask me how i pass my days? i cannot tell. at dawn, i wake with hope and listen to the song of the meadow-lark. at noon, i dream of my great happiness to come. at sunset, i am swept away into the land of my golden dreams, into the heart of my golden world that is peopled with but three-- thou, him, and me. i am drifting happily, sleepily, forgetting care, waiting for the gods to bring my joy.
-21. my dear one, my courtyard is filled with the sounds of chatting women. i have sent for the sewiing-women and those who do embroidery, and the days are passed in making little garments. we are all so busy; li-ti, mah-li, even thine honourable mother takes again the needle and shows us how she broidered jackets for thee when thou wert young. the piles of clothing grow each day, and i touch them and caress them and imagine i can see them folding close a tiny form. there are jackets, trousers, shoes, tiny caps and thick warm blankets.
-i send for blind chun, the story-teller, and he makes the hours pass quickly with his tales of by-gone days. the singers and the fortune-tellers all have found the path that leads up to our gateway, knowing they will find a welcome.
-i am, thy happy wife.
-22 i send thee cherry-blossoms. they grew within thy courtyard, and each tiny petal will bring to thee remembrance of thy wife who loves thee well.
-23 if thou couldst see my courtyard! it seems carpeted with snow, so many are the cherry-blossoms on its pavement. they say i am untidy that i permit it to be untouched by broom or brush. it is cleaned and spotless all the year, save at this the time of cherry-blossoms, when 'tis untrodden and unswept.
-24 he is here, beloved, thy son! i put out my hand and touch him, and the breath of the wind through the pine-trees brings the music of the gods to me. he is big and strong and beautiful. i see in his eyes as in a mirror the reflection of thy dear face, and i know he is thine and mine, and we three are one. he is my joy, my son, my first-born. i am tired, my lord, the brush is heavy, but it is such a happy, happy tired.
-25 is there anything so wonderful as being the mother of a son? i simply sing, and laugh, and live-- oh, how i live the long days through. i have happiness enough for all the world, and i want to give and give and give. thy mother says that all the beggers within the province know there is rice outside our gateway; but when i look into my son's eyes, and feel his tiny fingers groping in my neck, i feel i must give of my plenty to those who have no joy.
-oh, husband mine, come back and see thy son!
-26 dost thou know what love is? thou canst not till thou holdest love itself within thy very arms. i thought i loved thee. i smile now at the remembrance of that feeble flickering flame that was as like unto the real love as the faint, cold beam of the candle is to the rays of the glorious sun. now-- now-- thou art the father of my son. thou hast a new place in my heart. the tie that binds our hearts together is stronger than a rope of twisted bamboo, it is a bond, a love bond, that never can be severed. i am the mother of thy first-born-- thou hast given me my man-child. love thee-- love thee--! now i know!
-i am thine own.
-27 i am wroth with thy brother chih-peh. he is a man of very small discernment. he does not see the wonders of thy son. he says he cannot see that he is a child of more than mortal beauty. i sorrow for him. the gods have surely drawn a film before his eyes.
-but i cannot bear resentment, there is no room in me for aught but love and the days are far too short to hold my happiness. i pass them near my baby. i croon to him sweet lullabies at which the others laugh. i say, "thou dost not understand? of course not, 'tis the language of the gods," and as he sleeps i watch his small face grow each day more like to thine. i give long hours to thinking of his future. he must be a man like thee, strong, noble, kindly, bearing thy great name with honour, so that in years to come it will be said, "the first-born son of kwei-li was a great and worthy man."
-at night i lie beside him and am jealous of the sleep that takes him from my sight. the morning comes and sets my heart to beating at the thought that one more long, sweet day has come to me in which to guard, and love, and cherish him.
-thy happy wife.
-28 it has been a wonderful day. thy son has had his first reception. it is just one moon ago since i found him lying by my side, and now we have had the feast of the shaving of the head. all our friends came, and they brought him beautiful presents. chih-lo gave a cap with all the gods upon the front and long red tassels to hang down by each ear. li-ti gave him shoes that she herself had broidered, with a cat's face on the toes and the ears and whiskers outstanding. they will make him careful or his steps and sure-footed as the cat. mah-li gave him a most wonderful silver box to hang around his neck and in which i will keep his amulets. there were many things which i will not take the time to tell thee. i am sorry to say that thy son behaved himself unseemly. he screamed and kicked as the barber shaved his tiny head. i was much distressed, but they tell me it is a sign that he will grow to be a valiant man.
-i gave a feast, and such a feast! it will be remembered for many moons. even thine honourable mother said i showed the knowledge of what was due my guests upon so great an occasion. we also gave to him his milk name. it is ten thousand springtimes, as he came at blossom-time; but i call him that only within my heart, as i do not wish the jealous gods to hear. "then i speak of him, i say "the stupid one," "the late-born," so they will think i do not care for him and will not covet me my treasure.
-i am tired; it has been a happy day. the gods are good to, kwei-li.
-29 my dear one, another marriage within our compound. dost thou remember the servant cho-to, who came to us soon after i became thy bride? she will soon marry a man in the village of soong-tong, and she is very happy. she has not seen him, of course, but her mother says he is good and honest and will make for her a suitable husband. i talked to her quite seriously, as my age and many moons of marriage allow me. i told her that only by practising modesty, humility and gentleness could she walk safely on the path that leads to being the mother of sons.
-to be the mother of sons is not always a happiness. ling-ti, the shoemaker, was here this morning, and he was in great distress. his baby, three months old, died with a fever and he had no money to pay for burial. this morning he arose early, before the mother awakened, and took it to the baby tower outside the city. it is lying in there now, with all the other little children whose parents were too poor to give them proper burial. it made a quick, sad hurt within me, and i went quickly to find my baby. thou wilt not laugh, but i have pierced his right ear and put a ring therein, so the gods will think he is a girl and not desire him.
-i hear thy son.
-30 my dear one, there has been great talk of evil eyes. not that i believe the servants' tales; but-- thine honourable mother, li-ti, and thy wife have been to the holy man who dwells underneath the great magnolia-tree near the street of the leaning willow. he lives alone within a little house of matting, and has acquired great merit by his virtuous acts. he wears around his unbound hair a band of metal that is the outward sign of his great holiness. he lives alone in peace and with untroubled mind. in his great wisdom he has learned that peace is the end and aim of life; not triumph, success, nor riches, but that the greatest gift from all the gods is peace. i purchased from him an amulet for my "stupid one," my treasure, as some one might come within our courtyard and cast his eye upon our child with bad intent.
-come to me, my husband. tell me thou art coming. thou wilt find me standing in the outer archway with thy son within mine arms. i long for thee.
-31 my days are filled with happiness. i go out on the terrace and look far down the hillside that is covered with azaleas, pink and orange and mauve. i hold my son and say, "look, thy father will come to us from the city yonder. our eyes of love will see him from far away, there by the willow-pattern tea-house. he will come nearer-- nearer-- and we will not hear the beat of his bearers' feet upon the pathway because of the beating of our hearts." he smiles at me, he understands. he is so wonderful, thy son. i would "string the sunbeams for his necklace or draw down the moon with cords to canopy his bed."
-come back and see thy son.
-32 my dear one, thy letter has come saying thou wilt be here soon. it came on the day i went to the temple to make my offering of thanks for the gift of our son.
-i put on my richest gown, the blue one with the broidery of gold. i dressed my hair with jessamine flowers, and wore all the jewels thou hast given me. my boy was in his jacket of red, his trousers of mauve, his shoes of purple, and his cap with the many gods. when i was seated in the chair he was placed in my lap, and a man was sent ahead with cash to give the beggars, because i wished all the world to be happy on this my day of rejoicing.
-my bearers carried me to the very steps of the throne on which kwan-yin was seated. i made my obeisance, i lighted the large red candles and placed them before the goddess of heaven. then i took our son before the buddha, the name, the lord of light, the all-powerful, and touched his head three times to the mat, to show that he would be a faithful follower and learn to keep the law.
-we went home by the valley road, and my heart kept beating in tune to the pat-pat of the bearers' feet on the pathway. it was all so beautiful. the trailing vines on the mountain-side, the ferns in the cool dark places, the rich green leaves of the mulberry-trees, the farmers in the paddy fields, all seemed filled with the joy of life. and i, kwei-li, going along in my chair with my son on my knee, was the happiest of them all. the gods have given me everything; they have nothing more to bestow. i am glad i have gone to the mountain-side each day to thank them for their gifts.
-the gods are good, my loved one, they are good to thy, kwei-li.
-my son, my man-child is dead. the life has gone from his body, the breath from his lips. i have held him all the night close to my heart and it does not give him warmth. they have taken him from me and told me he has gone to the gods. there are no gods. there are no gods. i am alone.
-34 he had thine eyes-- he was like to thee. thou wilt never know thy son and mine, my springtime. why could they not have left thy son for thee to see? he was so strong and beautiful, my first-born.
-35 do not chide me. i cannot write. what do i do? i do not know. i lie long hours and watch the tiny mites that live within the sun's bright golden rays, and say, "why could i not exchange my womanhood, that hopes and loves and sorrows, for one of those small dancing spots within the sunbeams? at least they do not feel."
-at night sleep does not touch my eyelids. i lie upon the terrace. i will not go within my chamber, where 'tis gloom and darkness. i watch the stars, a silver, mocking throng, that twinkle at me coldly, and then i see the moon mount slowly her pathway of the skies. the noises of the night come to me softly, as if they knew my sorrow, and the croaking frogs and the crickets that find lodging by the lotus pool seem to feel with me my loneliness, so plaintive is their cry.
-i feel the dawn will never come, as if 'twere dead or slumbered; but when at last he comes, i watch him touch the hillside, trees, and temples with soft grey fingers, and bring to me a beauty one does not see by day. the night winds pass with sighs among the pine-trees, and in passing give a loving touch to bells upon pagodas that bring their music faint to me. the dawn is not the golden door of happiness. it only means another day has come and i must smile and talk and live as if my heart were here.
-oh, man of mine, if but thy dream touch would come and bid me slumber, i would obey.
-36 they have put a baby in my arms, a child found on the tow-path, a beggar child. i felt i could not place another head where our dear boy had lain, and i sat stiff and still, and tried to push away the little body pressing close against me; but at touch of baby mouth and fingers, springs that were dead seemed stirring in my heart again. at last i could not bear it, and i leaned my face against her head and crooned his lullaby:
-"the gods on the rooftree guard pigeons from harm and my little pigeon is safe in my arms."
-i cannot tell thee more. my heart is breaking.
-37 i have given to this stranger-child, this child left to die upon the tow-path, the clothes that were our son's. she was cold, and thy mother came to me so gently and said, "kwei-li, hast thou no clothing for the child that was found by thy servants?" i saw her meaning, and i said, "would'st thou have me put the clothing over which i have wept, and that is now carefully laid away in the camphor-wood box, upon this child?" she said-- and thou would'st not know thy mother's voice, her bitter words are only as the rough shell of the lichee nut that covers the sweet meat hidden within-- she said, "why not, dear one? this one needs them, and the hours thou passest with them are only filled with saddened memories." i said to her, "this is a girl, a beggar child. i will not give to her the clothing of my son. each time i looked upon her it would be a knife plunged in my heart." she said to me, "kwei-li, thou art not a child, thou art a woman. of what worth that clothing lying in that box of camphor-wood? does it bring back thy son? some day thou wilt open it, and there will be nothing but dust which will reproach thee. get them and give them to this child which has come to us out of the night."
-i went to the box and opened it, and they lay there, the little things that had touched his tiny body. i gave them, the trousers of purple, the jackets of red, the embroidered shoes, the caps with the many buddhas. i gave them all to the begger child.
-i am, thy wife.
-38 i am reproached because i will not go to the temple. it is filled with the sounds of chanting which comes to me faintly as i lie upon the terrace. there are women there, happy women, with their babies in their arms, while mine are empty. there are others there in sorrow, laying their offerings at the feet of kwan-yin. they do not know that she does not feel, nor care, for womankind. she sits upon her lotus throne and laughs at mothers in despair. how can she feel, how can she know, that thing of gilded wood and plaster?
-i stay upon my terrace, i live alone within my court of silent dreams. for me there are no gods.
-39 they have brought to me from the market-place a book of a new god. i would not read it. i said, "there are too many gods-- why add a new one? i have no candles or incense to lay before an image." but-- i read and saw within its pages that he gave rest and love and peace. peace-- what the holy man desired, the end of all things-- peace. and i, i do not want to lose the gift of memory; i want remembrance, but i want it without pain.
-the cherry-blossoms have bloomed and passed away. they lingered but a moment's space, and, like my dream of spring, they died. but, passing, they have left behind the knowledge that we'll see them once again. there must be something, somewhere, to speak to despairing mothers and say, "weep not! you will see your own again."
-i do not want a god of temples. i have cried my prayers to kwan-yin, and they have come back to me like echoes from a deadened wall. i want a god to come to me at night-time, when i am lying lonely, wide-eyed, staring into darkness, with all my body aching for the touch of tiny hands. i want that god who says, "i give thee peace," to stand close by my pillow and touch my wearied eyelids and bring me rest.
-i have been dead-- enclosed within a tomb of sorrow and despair; but now, at words but dimly understood, a faint new life seems stirring deep within me. a voice speaks to me from out these pages, a voice that says, "come unto me all ye weary and heavy-laden, and i will give thee rest." my longing soul cries out, "oh, great and unknown god, give me this rest!" i am alone, a woman, helpless, stretching out my arms in darkness, but into my world of gloom has come a faint dim star, a star of hope that says to me, "there is a god."
-these letters were written by kwei-li twenty-five years after those written to her husband when she was a young girl of eighteen. they are, therefore, the letters of the present-day chinese woman of the old school, a woman who had by education and environment exceptional opportunities to learn of the modern world, but who, like every eastern woman, clings with almost desperate tenacity to the traditions and customs of her race. indeed, however the youth of oriental countries may be changing, their mothers always exhibit that characteristic of woman-hood, conservatism, which is to them the safe-guard of their homes. unlike the western woman, accustomed to a broader horizon, the woman of china, secluded for generations within her narrow courtyards, prefers the ways and manners which she knows, rather than flying to ills she knows not of. it is this self-protective instinct that makes the eastern woman the foe to those innovations which are slowly but surely changing the face of the entire eastern, yard.
-the former letters were written out of the quiet, domestic scenes of the primitive, old china, while the present letters come out of the confused revolutionary atmosphere of the new china. kwei-li's patriotism and hatred of the foreigner grows out of the fact that, as wife of the governor of one of the chief provinces, she had been from the beginning en rapport with the intrigues, the gossip, and the rumours of a revolution which, for intricacy of plot and hidden motive, is incomparable with any previous national change on record. her attitude toward education as seen in her relationship with her son educated in england and america reveals the attitude of the average chinese father and mother if they would allow their inner feelings to speak.
-kwei-li's religion likewise exhibits the tendency of religious attitude on the part of the real chinese, especially those of the older generation. it is touched here and there by the vital spark of christianity, but at the centre continues to be chinese and inseparably associated with the worship of ancestors and the reverence for those gods whose influence has been woven into the early years of impressionable life.
-that the hope of the educational, social, and religious change in china rests with the new generation is evident to all. the chinese father and mother will sail in the wooden ships which their sons and daughters are beginning to leave for barks of steel.
-there is little doubt that new china will be westernised in every department of her being. no friend of china hopes for such sudden changes, however, as will prevent the chinese themselves from permeating the new with their own distinctive individuality. there is a charm about old china that only those who have lived there can understand, and there is a charm about these dainty ladies, secluded within their walls, which the modern woman may lose in a too sudden transition into the air of the western day.
-let europe, let america, let the west come to china, but let the day be far distant when we shall find no longer in the women's courtyards such mothers as kwei-li.
-1 my dear mother, thy son has received his appointment as governor of this province, and we are at last settled in this new and strange abode. we are most proud of the words pronounced by his excellency yuan when giving him his power of office. he said:
-"you, liu, are an example of that higher patriotism rarely met with in official life, which recognises its duty to its government, a duty too often forgotten by the members of a great family such as that of which you are the honoured head, in the obligation to the clan and the desire to use power for personal advantage. your official record has been without stain; and especially your work among the foreigners dwelling in our land has been accomplished with tact and discretion. i am sending you to shanghai, which is the most difficult post in the republic because of its involved affairs with the foreign nations, knowing that the interests of the republic will be always safe in your hands."
-i write thee this because i know thy mother-heart will rejoice that our president shows such confidence in thy son, and that his many years of service to his country have been appreciated.
-shanghai truly is a difficult place at present. there are fifteen nationalities here represented by their consuls, and they are all watching china and each other with jealous eyes, each nation fearing that another will obtain some slight advantage in the present unsettled state of our country. the town is filled with adventurers, both european and chinese, who are waiting anxiously to see what attitude the new governor takes in regard to the many projects in which they are interested. my husband says nothing and allows them to wonder. it is better for them, because, like all schemers, if they had nothing to give them anxious nights and troubled dreams, they would not be happy.
-we found the yamen not suitable for our large household, as it did not lend itself readily to the reception of foreigners and the innovations and new customs that seem to be necessary for the fulfillment of the duties of a chinese official under this new order. as thy son was selected governor of this province because of his knowledge of foreign lands and customs, it is necessary for him to live, partly at least, the life of a european; but let me assure thee that, so far as i am concerned, and so far as i can influence it, our life behind the screens will always be purely chinese, and the old, unchanged customs that i love will rule my household. i will surrender no more than is necessary to this new tide of westernism that seems to be sweeping our china from its moorings; but-- i must not dwell o'ermuch upon that theme, though it is a subject on which i can wax most eloquent, and i know thou desirest to hear of this house which would seem so ugly in thine eyes.
-there are no quiet courtyards, no curving roofs, no softly shaded windows of shell, no rounded archways; but all is square and glaring and imposing, seeming to look coldly from its staring windows of glass at the stranger within its gates. it says loudly, "i am rich; it costs many thousands of taels to make my ugliness." for me, it is indeed a "foreign" house. yet i will have justice within my heart and tell thee that there is much that we might copy with advantage. in place of floors of wide plain boards, and walls of wood with great wide cracks covered with embroideries and rugs, as in the chinese homes, the floors are made of tiny boards polished until they glisten like unto the sides of the boats of the tea-house girls, and the walls are of plaster covered, as in our rooms of reception, with silk and satin, and the chairs and couches have silken tapestry to match their colour. this furniture, strange to me, is a great care, as i do not understand its usages, and it seems most stiff and formal. i hope some day to know a foreign woman on terms of friendship, and i will ask her to touch the room with her hands of knowledge, and bring each piece into more friendly companionship with its neighbour. now chairs look coldly at tables, as if to say, "you are an intruder!" and it chills me.
-this house is much more simple than our homes, because of the many modern instruments that make the work less heavy and allow it to be done by few instead of many, as is our way. it is not necessary to have a man attend solely to the lighting of the lamps. upon the wall is placed a magic button which, touched even by the hand of ignorance, floods the room with the light of many suns. we see no more the water-carrier with his two great wooden buckets swinging from the bamboo as he comes from river or canal to pour the water into the great kangs standing by the kitchen door. nor do we need to put the powder in it to make it clear and wholesome. that is all done by men we do not see, and they call it "sanitation." the cook needs only to turn a small brass handle, and the water comes forth as from a distant spring. it reminds me of the man who came to my father, when he was governor of wuseh, and wished to install a most unheard-of machine to bring water to the city from the lake upon the hillside. my father listened most respectfully to the long and stupid explanation, and looked at the clear water which the foreign man produced to show what could be done, then, shaking his head, said, "perhaps that water is more healthful, as you say, but it is to me too clear and white. it has no body, and i fear has not the strength of the water from our canals."
-another thing we do not hear is the rattle of the watchman as he makes his rounds at night, and i miss it. in far sezchuan, on many nights when sleep was distant, i would lie and listen as he struck upon his piece of hollow bamboo telling me that all was well within our compound. now the city has police that stand outside the gateway. many are men from india-- big black men, with fierce black beards and burning eyes. our people hate them, and they have good cause. they are most cruel, and ill-treat all who come within their power. but we must tread with cat-like steps, as they are employed by the english, who protect them at all times. they are the private army of that nation here within our city, and at every chance their numbers are constantly increased. i do not understand this question of police. there are in thousands of our cities and villages no police, no soldiers, yet there is less lawlessness and vice in a dozen purely chinese cities than in this great mongrel town that spends many tens of thousands of taels each year upon these guardians of the people's peace. it seems to me that this should tell the world that the force of china is not a physical force, but the force of the law-abiding instinct of a happy common people, who, although living on the verge of misery and great hunger, live upright lives and do not try to break their country's laws.
-there is a garden within our walls, but not a garden of winding pathways and tiny bridges leading over lotus ponds, nor are there hillocks of rockery with here and there a tiny god or temple peeping from some hidden grotto. all is flat, with long bare stretches of green grass over which are nets, by which my children play a game called tennis. this game is foolish, in my eyes, and consists of much jumping and useless waste of strength, but the english play it, and of course the modern chinese boy must imitate them. i have made one rule: my daughters shall not play the game. it seems to me most shameful to see a woman run madly, with great boorish strides, in front of men and boys. my daughters pout and say it is played by all the girls in school, and that it makes them strong and well; but i am firm. i have conceded many things, but this to me is vulgar and unseemly.
-need i tell thee, mother mine, that i am a stranger in this great city, that my heart calls for the hills and the mountain-side with its ferns and blossoms? yesterday at the hour of twilight i drove to the country in the motor (a new form of carrying chair that thou wouldst not understand-- or like) and i stopped by a field of flowering mustard. the scent brought remembrance to my heart, and tears flowed from beneath my eyelids. the delicate yellow blossoms seemed to speak to me from out their golden throats, and i yearned to hold within my arms all this beauty of the earth flowering beneath my feet. we stayed until the darkness came, and up to the blue night rose from all the fields "that great soft, bubbling chorus which seems the very voice of the earth itself-- the chant of the frogs." when we turned back and saw the vulgar houses, with straight red tops and piercing chimneys, i shut my eyes and in a vision saw the blue-grey houses with their curved-up, tilted roofs nestling among the groves of bamboo, and i felt that if it were my misfortune to spend many moons in this great alien city, my heart would break with longing for the beautiful home i love.
-i felt sympathy with kang tang-li, of my father's province, who heard of a new god in anhui. he had eaten bitter sorrow and he felt that the old gods had forgotten him and did not hear his call, so he walked two long days' journey to find this new god who gave joy and peace to those who came to him. he arrived at eventime, the sun was setting in a lake of gold, but even with its glory it could not change the ugly square-built temple, with no curves or grace to mark it as a dwelling-place of gods. kang walked slowly around this temple, looked long at its staring windows and its tall and ugly spire upon the rooftree which seemed to force its way into the kindly blue sky; then, saddened, sick at heart, he turned homeward, saying deep within him no god whom he could reverence would choose for a dwelling-place a house so lacking in all beauty.
-is this a long and tiresome letter, my honourable mother? but thou art far away, and in thy sheltered walls yearn to know what has come to us, thy children, in this new and foreign life. it is indeed a new life for me, and i can hardly grasp its meaning. they are trying hard to force us to change our old quietude and peace for the rush and worry of the western world, and i fear i am too old and settled for such sudden changes.
-tell mah-li's daughter that i will send her news of the latest fashions, and tell li-ti that the hair is dressed quite differently here. i will write her more about it and send her the new ornaments. they are not so pretty in my eyes, nor are the gowns so graceful, but i will send her patterns that she may choose.
-we all give thee our greetings and touch my hand with love.
-2 my dear mother, i have not written thee for long, as my days have been filled with duties new and strange to me. the wives of the foreign officials have called upon me, as that appears to be their custom. it seems to me quite useless and a waste of time; but they come, and i must return the calls. i do not understand why the consuls cannot transact their business with the governor without trying to peer into his inner life. to us a man's official life and that which lies within his women's courtyard are as separate as two pathways which never meet.
-of course, these foreign women do not say these things in words, but their looks are most expressive, and i understand. i serve them tea and cake, of which they take most sparingly, and when the proper time has come they rise, trying not to look relief that their martyrdom is over. i conduct them to the doorway, or, if the woman is the wife of a great official, to the outer entrance. then i return to my own rooms midst the things i understand; and i fear, i fear, mother mine, that i gossip with my household upon the ways and dress and manners of these queer people from distant lands.
-i have been asked to join a society of european and chinese ladies for the purpose of becoming acquainted one with the other, but i do not think that i will do so. i believe it impossible for the woman of the west to form an alliance with the woman of the east that will be deep-rooted. the thoughts within our hearts are different, as are our points of view. we do not see the world through the same eyes. the foreign woman has children like myself, but her ambitions and her ideals for them are different. she has a home and a husband, but my training and my instincts give my home and my husband a different place in life than that which she gives to those of her household. to me the words marriage, friendship, home, have a deeper meaning than is attached to them by a people who live in hotels and public eating-places, and who are continually in the homes of others. they have no sanctity of the life within; there are no shrines set apart for the family union, and the worship of the spirits of their ancestors. i cannot well explain to thee, the something intangible, the thick grey mist that is always there to put its bar across the open door of friendship between the woman of the occident and those of oriental blood.
-it is the hour for driving with the children. we all are thine and think of thee each day.
-3 my mother, i have such great news to tell thee that i hardly know where to begin. but, first, i will astonish thee-- ting-fang is home! yes, i can hear thee say, "hi yah!" and i said it many times when, the evening before last, after thy son and the men of the house-hold had finished the evening meal, and i and the women were preparing to eat our rice, we saw a darkness in the archway, and standing there was my son. not one of us spoke a word; we were as if turned to stone; as we thought of him as in far-off america, studying at the college of yale. but here he stood in real life, smiling at our astonishment. he slowly looked at us all, then went to his father and saluted him respectfully, came and bowed before me, then took me in his arms in a most disrespectful manner and squeezed me together so hard he nearly broke my bones. i was so frightened and so pleased that of course i could only cry and cling to this great boy of mine whom i had not seen for six long years. i held him away from me and looked long into his face. he is a man now, twenty-one years old, a big, strong man, taller than his father. i can hardly reach his shoulder. he is straight and slender, and looks an alien in his foreign dress, yet when i looked into his eyes i knew it was mine own come to me again.
-no one knows how all my dreams followed this bird that left the nest. no one knows how long seemed the nights when sleep would not come to my eyes and i wondered what would come to my boy in that far-off land, a strange land with strange, unloving people, who would not care to put him on the pathway when he strayed. thou rememberest how i battled with his father in regard to sending him to england to commence his foreign education. i said, "is not four years of college in america enough? why four years' separation to prepare to go to that college? he will go from me a boy and return a man. i will lose my son." but his father firmly said that the english public schools gave the ground-work for a useful life. he must form his code of honour and his character upon the rules laid down for centuries by the english, and then go to america for the education of the intellect, to learn to apply the lessons learned in england. he did not want his son to be all for present success, as is the american, or to be all for tradition, as is the englishman, but he thought the two might find a happy meeting-place in a mind not yet well formed.
-but thoughts of learning did not assuage the pain in my mother-heart. i had heard of dreadful things happening to our chinese boys who are sent abroad to get the western knowledge. often they marry strange women who have no place in our life if they return to china, and who lose their birthright with the women of their race by marrying a chinese. neither side can be blamed, certainly not our boys. they go there alone, often with little money. they live in houses where they are offered food and lodging at the cheapest price. they are not in a position to meet women of their own class, and being boys they crave the society of girls. perhaps the daughter of the woman who keeps the lodging-house speaks to them kindly, talks to them in the evening when they have no place to go except to a lonely, ugly room; or the girl in the shop where they buy their clothing smiles as she wraps for them their packages. such attentions would be passed by without a thought at ordinary times, but now notice means much to a heart that is trying hard to stifle its loneliness and sorrow, struggling to learn in an unknown tongue the knowledge of the west; in lieu of mother, sister, or sweetheart of his own land, the boy is insensibly drawn into a net that tightens about him, until he takes the fatal step and brings back to his mother a woman of an alien race.
-one sorrows for the girl, whatever may be her station, as she does not realize that there is no place for her in all the old land of china. she will be scorned by those of foreign birth, and she can never become one of us. dost thou remember the wife of wang, the secretary of the embassy at london? he was most successful and was given swift promotion until he married the english lady, whose father was a tutor at one of the great colleges. it angered her majesty and he was recalled and given the small post of secretary to the taotai of our city. the poor foreign wife died alone within her chinese home, into which no friend had entered to bid her welcome. some say that after many moons of solitude and loneliness she drank the strong drink of her country to drown her sorrow. perhaps it was a bridge on which she crossed to a land filled with the memories of the past which brought her solace in her time of desolation.
-but i have wandered, mother mine; my mind has taken me to england, america, to chinese men with foreign wives, and now i will return and tell thee of thine own again, and of my son who has returned to me. when at last the gods gave us our breath, we asked the many questions which came to us like a river that has broken all its bounds. thy son, the father of ting-fang, was more than angry-- he was white with wrath, and demanded what ting-fang did here when he should have been at school. my son said, and i admired the way he spoke up boldly to his father, "father, i read each day of the progress of the revolution, of the new china that was being formed, and i could not stay on and study books while i might be helping here." his father said, "thy duty was to stay where i, thy father, put thee!" ting-fang answered, "thou couldst not have sat still and studied of ancient greece and rome while thy country was fighting for its life;" and then he added, most unfilially, "i notice thou art not staying in sezchuan, but art here in shanghai, in the centre of things. i am thy son; i do not like to sit quietly by the road and watch the world pass by; i want to help make that world, the same as thou."
-his father talked long and bitterly, and the boy was saddened, and i crept silently to him and placed my hand in his. it was all i could do, for the moment, as it would not be seemly for me to take his part against his father, but-- i talked to thy son, my husband, when we were alone within our chamber.
-the storm has passed. his father refused to make ting-fang a secretary, as he says the time is past when officials fill their yamens with their relatives and friends. i think that as the days go on, he will relent, as in these troublous times a high official cannot be sure of the loyalty of the men who eat his rice, and he can rely upon his son. a liu was never known to be disloyal.
-there is too much agitation here. the officials try to ignore it as much as possible, believing that muddy water is often made clear if allowed to stand still. yet they must be ready to act quickly, as speedily as one springs up when a serpent is creeping into the lap, because now the serpent of treachery and ingratitude is in every household. these secret plottings, like the weeds that thrust their roots deep into the rice-fields, cannot be taken out without bringing with them some grain, and many an innocent family is now suffering for the hot-headedness of its youth.
-i sometimes think that i agree with the wise governor of the olden time whose motto was to empty the minds of the people and fill their stomachs, weaken their wills and strengthen their bones. when times were troublous he opened the government granaries and the crowds were satisfied.
-but the people are different now; they have too much knowledge. new ambitions have been stirred; new wants created; a new spirit is abroad and, with mighty power, is over-turning and recasting the old forms and deeply rooted customs. china is moving, and, we of the old school think, too quickly. she is going at a bound from the dim light of the bean-oil brazier to the dazzling brilliance of the electric light; from the leisured slowness of the wheelbarrow pushed by the patient coolie to the speed of the modern motor-car; from the practice of the seller of herbs to the science of the modern doctor. we all feel that new china is at a great turning-point because she is just starting out on her journey that may last many centuries, and may see its final struggle to-morrow. it is of great importance that the right direction shall be taken at first. a wrong turn at the beginning, and the true pathway may never be found. so much depends upon her leaders, on men like yuan, wu, and thy son, my husband; the men who point out the road to those who will follow as wild fowl follow their leader. the chinese people are keen to note disinterestedness, and if these men who have risen up show that they have the good of the people at heart much may be done. if they have the corrupt heart of many of the old-time officials, china will remain as before, so far as the great mass of her men are concerned.
-i hear the children coming from their school, so i will say good-by for a time. ting-fang sends his most respectful love, and all my household join in sending thee good wishes.
-4 my dear mother, dost thou remember liang tai-tai, the daughter of the princess tseng, thine old friend of pau-chau? thou rememberest we used to laugh at the pride of liang in regard to her mother's clan, and her care in speaking of her father who was only a small official in the governor's yamen. thou wert wont to say that she reminded thee of the mule that, when asked who was his father, answered, "the horse is my maternal uncle." she comes to see me often, and she worries me with her piety; she is quite mad upon the subject of the gods. i often feel that i am wrong to be so lacking in sympathy with her religious longings; but i hate extremes. "extreme straightness is as bad as crookedness, and extreme cleverness as bad as folly." she is ever asking me if i do not desire, above all things, the life of the higher road-- whatever that may mean. i tell her that i do not know. i would not be rare, like jade, or common, like stone; just medium. anyway, my days are far too full to think about any other road than the one i must tread each day in the fulfillment of the duties the gods have given me.
-some people seem to be irreverently familiar with the gods, and to be forever praying. if they would only be a little more human and perform the daily work that lies before them (liang's son is the main support of the golden lotus tea-house) they might let prayer alone a while without ceasing to enjoy the protection of the gods. it is dangerous to over-load oneself with piety, as the sword that is polished to excess is sometimes polished away. and there is another side that liang should remember, her husband not having riches in abundance: that the rays of the gods love well the rays of gold.
-but to-day she came to me with her rice-bowl overflowing with her sorrows. her son has returned from the foreign lands with the new education from which she hoped so much, but it seems he has acquired knowledge of the vices of the foreigner to add to those of the chinese. he did not stay long enough to become westernised, but he stayed long enough to lose touch with the people and the customs of his country. he forgets that he is not an american even with his foreign education; he is still an oriental and he comes back to an oriental land, a land tied down by tradition and custom, and he can not adapt himself. he tries instead, to adapt china to his half-europeanised way of thought, and he has failed. he has become what my husband calls an agitator, a tea-house orator, and he sees nothing but wrong in his people. there is no place in life for him, and he sits at night in public places, stirring foolish boys to deeds of treason and violence. another thing, he has learned to drink the foreign wines, and the mixture is not good. they will not blend with chinese wine, any more than the two civilisations will come together as one.
-why did the gods make the first draught of wine to curse the race of men, to make blind the reason, to make angels into devils and to leave a lasting curse on all who touch it? "it is a cataract that carries havoc with it in a road of mire where he who falls may never rise again." it seems to me that he who drinks the wine of both lands allows it to become a ring that leads him to the land of nothing, and ends as did my friend's son, with the small round ball of sleep that grows within the poppy. one morning's light, when he looked long into his own face and saw the marks that life was leaving, he saw no way except the bridge of death; but he was not successful.
-his mother brought him to me, as he has always liked me, and is a friend (for which i sorrow) of my son. i talked to him alone within an inner chamber, and tried to show to him the error of his way. i quoted to him the words spoken to another foolish youth who tried to force the gates of heaven: "my son, thou art enmeshed within these world's ways, and have not cared to wonder where the stream would carry thee in coming days. if thou mere human duties scorn, as a worn sandal cast aside, thou art no man but stock-stone born, lost in a selfish senseless pride. if thou couldst mount to heaven's high plain, then thine own will might be thy guide, but here on earth thou needs must dwell. thou canst well see that thou art not wanted in the halls of heaven; so turn to things yet near; turn to thy earthly home and try to do thy duty here. thou must control thyself, there is no escape through the eastern gateway for the necessity of self-conquest."
-he wept and gave me many promises; and i showed him that i believed in him, and saw his worth. but-- we think it wiser to send him far away from his companions, who only seek to drag him down. thy son will give to him a letter and ask the prefect of canton to give him work at our expense.
-i felt it better that liang tai-tai should not be alone with her son for several hours, as her tongue is bitter and reproaches come easily to angry lips, so i took her with me to the garden of a friend outside the city. it was the dragon boat festival, when all the world goes riverward to send their lighted boats upon the waters searching for the soul of the great poet who drowned himself in the olden time, and whose body the jealous water god took to himself and it nevermore was found. dost thou remember how we told the story to the children when the family all were with thee-- oh, it seems many moons ago.
-the garden of my friend was most beautiful, and we seemed within a world apart. the way was through high woods and over long green plots of grass and around queer rocks; there were flowers with stories in their hearts, and trees who held the spirits of the air close 'neath their ragged covering. pigeons called softly to their mates, and doves cooed and sobbed as they nestled one to the other. we showed the children the filial young crow who, when his parents are old and helpless, feeds them in return for their care when he was young; and we pointed out the young dove sitting three branches lower on the tree than do his parents, so deep is his respect.
-when the western sky was like a golden curtain, we went to the canal, where the children set their tiny boats afloat, each with its lighted lantern. the wind cried softly through the bamboo-trees and filled the sails of these small barks, whose lights flashed brightly from the waters as if the spirits of the river laughed with joy.
-we returned home, happy, tired, but with new heart to start the morrow's work.
-thy daughter, kwei-li.
-5 my dear mother, we are in the midst of a most perplexing problem, and one that is hard for us to cope with, as it is so utterly new. my children seem to have formed an alliance amongst themselves in opposition to the wishes of their parents on all subjects touching the customs and traditions of the family. my son, as thou rememberest, was betrothed in childhood to the daughter of his father's friend, the governor of chili-li. he is a man now, and should fulfill that most solemn obligation that we, his parents, laid upon him-- and he refuses. i can see thee sit back aghast at this lack of filial spirit; and i, too, am aghast. i cannot understand this generation; i'm afraid that i cannot understand these, my children. my boy insists that he will marry a girl of his own choice, a girl with a foreign education like unto his own. we have remonstrated, we have urged, we have commanded, and now at last a compromise has been effected. we have agreed that when she comes to us, teachers shall be brought to the house and she shall be taught the new learning. along with the duties of wife she shall see the new life around her and from it take what is best for her to know.
-i can understand his desire to have a wife with whom he may talk of the things or common interest to them both, a wife who can share with him, at least in part, the life beyond the woman's courtyard. i remember how i felt when thy son returned from foreign lands, filled with new sights, new thoughts in which i could not share. i had been sitting quietly behind closed doors, and i felt that i could not help in this new vision that had come to him. i could speak to only one side of his life, when i wished to speak to all; but i studied, i learned, and, as far as it is possible for a chinese woman, i have made my steps agree with those or my husband, and we march close, side by side.
-my son would like his wife to be placed in a school, the school from which my daughter has just now graduated; but i will not allow it. i am not in favour of such schools for our girls. it has made or wan-li a half-trained western woman, a woman who finds music in the piano instead of the lute, who quotes from shelley, and wordsworth, instead of from the chinese classics, who thinks embroidery work for servants, and the ordering of her household a thing beneath her great mental status.
-i, of course, wish her to marry at once; as to me that is the holiest desire of woman-- to marry and give men-- children to the world; but it seems that the word "marry" has opened the door to floods of talk to which i can only listen in silent amazement. i never before had realised that i have had the honour of bearing children with such tongues of eloquence; and i fully understand that i belong to a past, a very ancient past-- the mings, from what i hear, are my contemporaries. and all these words are poured upon me to try to persuade me to allow wan-li to become a doctor. canst thou imagine it? a daughter of the house of liu a doctor! from whence has she received these unseemly ideas except in this foreign school that teaches the equality of the sexes to such an extent that our daughters want to compete with men in their professions! i am not so much of the past as my daughter seems to think; for i believe, within certain bounds, in the social freedom of our women; but why commercial freedom? for centuries untold, men have been able to support their wives; why enter the market-places? is it not enough that they take care of the home, that they train the children and fulfill the duties of the life in which the gods place women? my daughter is not ugly, she is most beautiful; yet she says she will not marry. i tell her that when once her eyes are opened to the loved one, they will be closed to all the world beside, and this desire to enter the great world of turmoil and strife will flee like dew-drops before the summer's dawn. i also quoted her what i told chih-peh many moons ago, when he refused to marry the wife thou hadst chosen for him: "man attains not by himself, nor woman by herself, but like the one-winged birds of the ancient legend, they must rise together."
-my daughter tossed her head and answered me that those were doubtless words of great wisdom, but they were written by a man long dead, and it did not affect her ideas upon the subject of her marriage.
-we dare not insist, for we find, to our horror, that she has joined a band of girls who have made a vow, writing it with their blood, that, rather than become wives to husbands not of their own choice, they will cross the river of death. fifteen girls, all friends of my daughter, and all of whom have been studying the new education for women, have joined this sisterhood; and we, their mothers, are in despair. what can we do? shall we insist that they return to the old regime and learn nothing but embroidery? why can they not take what is best for an eastern woman from the learning of the west, as the bee selects honey from each flower, and leave the rest? it takes centuries of training to change the habits and thoughts of a nation. it cannot be done at once; our girls have not the foundation on which to build. our womanhood has been trained by centuries of caressing care to look as lovely as nature allows, to learn obedience to father as a child, to husband as a wife, and to children when age comes with his frosty fingers.
-yet we all know that the last is a theory only to be read in books. where is there one so autocratic in her own home as a chinese mother? she lives within its four walls, but there she is supreme. her sons obey her even when their hair is touched with silver. did not thy son have to ask thy leave before he would decide that he could go with his highness to the foreign lands? did he not say frankly that he must consult his mother, and was he not honoured and given permission to come to his home to have thy blessing? dost thou remember when yuan was appointed secretary to the embassy in london, and declined the honour because his mother was old and did not wish her only son to journey o'er the seas; he gave up willingly and cheerfully the one great opportunity of his life rather than bring sorrow to the one who bore him.
-but it is as foolish to talk to wan-li as "to ask the loan of a comb from a buddhist nun." she will not listen; or, if she does, a smile lies in the open lily of her face, and she bows her head in mock submission; then instantly lifts it again with new arguments learned from foreign books, and arguments that i in my ignorance cannot refute.
-i feel that i am alone on a strange sea with this, my household; and i am in deadly fear that she will do some shocking thing, like those girls from the school in foochow who, dressed in their brothers' clothing, came to nanking and asked to be allowed to fight on the side of the republic. patriotism is a virtue, but the battle-field is man's place. let the women stay at home and make the bandages to bind the wounded, and keep the braziers lighted to warm returning men.
-i will not write thee more of troubles, but i will tell thee that thy box of clothing came and is most welcome; also the cooking oil, which gave our food the taste of former days. the oils and sauces bought at shops are not so pure as those thy servants make within the compound, nor does the cook here prepare things to my taste. canst send me feng-yi, who understands our customs? thy son has no great appetite, and i hope that food prepared in homely ways may tempt him to linger longer at the table. he is greatly over-worked, and if he eat not well, with enjoyment of his rice, the summer will quite likely find him ill.
-thy daughter and thy family who touch thy hand, kwei-li
-6 my dear mother, thy letter came, and i thank thee for thy advice. it is most difficult to act upon. i cannot shut wan-li within an inner chamber, nor can i keep her without rice until she sees the wisdom of her ways. the times are truly different; we mothers of the present have lost our power to control our children, and cannot as in former days compel obedience. i can only talk to her; she laughs. i quote to her the words of the sage: "is any blessing better than to give a man a son, man's prime desire by which he and his name shall live beyond himself; a foot for him to stand on, a hand to stop his falling, so that in his son's youth he will be young again, and in his strength be strong." be the mother of men; and i hear that, that is china's trouble. she has too many children, too many thousands of clutching baby fingers, too many tiny mouths asking for their daily food. i am told, by this learned daughter of mine, that china has given no new thing to the world for many tens of centuries. she has no time to write, no time to think of new inventions; she must work for the morrow's rice. "how have you eaten?" is the salutation that one chinese makes to another when meeting on a pathway; and in that question is the root of our greatest need. i am told that we are a nation of rank materialists; that we pray only for benefits that we may feel or see, instead of asking for the blessings of the spirit to be sent us from above; that the women of my time and kind are the ruin of the country, with our cry of sons, sons!
-but if our girls flaunt motherhood, if this thought of each one for himself prevails, what will become of us, a nation that depends upon its worship of the ancestors for its only practical religion? the loosening of the family bonds, the greater liberty of the single person, means the lessening of the restraining power of this old religion which depends upon the family life and the unity of that life. to do away with it is to do away with the greatest influence for good in china to-day. what will become of the filial piety that has been the backbone of our country? this family life has always been, from time immemorial, the foundation-stone of our empire, and filial piety is the foundation-stone of the family life.
-i read not long since, in the christian's sacred book, the commandment, "honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the lord thy god hath given thee," and i thought that perhaps in the observance of that rule is to be found one of the chief causes for the long continuance of the chinese empire. what is there to compare in binding power to the family customs of our people? their piety, their love one for the other and that to which it leads, the faithfulness of husband to his wife-- all these, in spite of what may be said against them by the newer generation, do exist and must influence the nation for its good. and this one great fact must be counted amongst the forces, if it is not the greatest force, which bind the chinese people in bonds strong as ropes of twisted bamboo.
-our boys and girls will not listen; they are trying to be what they are not, trying to wear clothes not made for them, trying to be like nations and people utterly foreign to them; and they will not succeed. but, "into a sack holding a ri, only a ri will go," and these sacks of our young people are full to overflowing with this, which seems to me dearly acquired knowledge, and there is not room for more. time will help, and they will learn caution and discretion in life's halls of experience, and we can only guard their footsteps as best we may.
-7 my dear mother, these are most troublous times, and thy son is harassed to the verge of sickness. shanghai is filled with chinese who come seeking foreign protection. within the narrow confines of the foreign settlements, it is said, there are nearly a million chinese, half of them refugees from their home provinces, fearing for their money or their lives, or both. the great red houses on the fashionable streets, built by the english for their homes, are sold at fabulous prices to these gentlemen, who have brought their families and their silver to the only place they know where the foreign hand is strong enough to protect them from their own people. there are many queer tales; some are simply the breath of the unkind winds that seem to blow from nowhere but gain in volume with each thing they touch. tan toatai, who paid 300,000 taels for his position as toatai of shanghai, and who left for his home province with 3,000,000 taels, as the gossips say, was asked to contribute of his plenty for the help of the new government. he promised; then changed his mind, and carefully gathered all his treasures together and left secretly one night for shanghai. now he is in fear for his life and dares not leave the compound walls of the foreigner who has befriended him.
-it makes one wonder what is the use of these fortunes that bring endless sorrow by the misery of winning them, guarding them, and the fear of losing them. they who work for them are as the water buffalo who turns the water-wheel and gets but his daily food and the straw-thatched hut in which he rests. for the sake of this food and lodging which falls to the lot of all, man wastes his true happiness which is so hard to win.
-these chinese of the foreign settlements seem alien to me. yuan called upon thy son the other day, and had the temerity to ask for me-- a most unheard-of thing. i watched him as he went away, dressed in european clothes, as nearly all of our younger men are clothed these days, and one would never know that he had worn his hair otherwise than short. there are no more neatly plaited braids hanging down the back, and the beautiful silks and satins, furs and peacock feathers are things of the past. these peacock feathers, emblems of our old officialdom, are now bought by foreign ladies as a trimming on their hats. shades of li hung-chang and chang chih-tung! what will they say if looking over the barriers they see the insignia of their rank and office gracing the glowing head-gear of the tourists who form great parties and come racing from over the seas to look at us as at queer animals from another world?
-it is not only the men who are copying the foreign customs and clothing. our women are now seen in public, driving with their husbands, or walking arm in arm upon the public street. i even saw a chinese woman driving that "devil machine," a motor-car, with her own hands. she did not seem a woman, but an unsexed thing that had as little of woman-hood as the car that took her along so swiftly. i promised to send tah-li the new hair ornaments, but there are no hair ornaments worn now. the old jewels are laid aside, the jade and pearls are things of the past. the hair is puffed and knotted in a way most unbecoming to the face. it is neither of the east nor of the west, but a half-caste thing, that brands its wearer as a woman of no race.
-dost thou remember the story over which the chinese in all the empire laughed within their sleeves? her majesty, the empress dowager, was on most friendly terms with the wife of the minister of the united states of america, and on one occasion gave her as a gift a set of combs enclosed within a box of silver. the foreign lady was delighted, and did not see the delicate sarcasm hidden within the present. combs-- the foreign ladies need them! we chinese like the locks most smoothly brushed and made to glisten and shine with the scented elm, but they, the foreign ladies, allow them to straggle in rude disorder around their long, grave faces, which are so ugly in our eyes.
-thou hast asked me for the latest style in dress. it is impossible to say what is the latest style. some women wear a jacket far too short and trousers tight as any coat sleeve. the modest ones still cover them with skirts; but i have seen women walking along the street who should certainly stay within the inner courtyard and hide their shame. for those who wear the skirt, the old, wide-pleated model has gone by, and a long black skirt that is nearly european is now worn. it is not graceful, but it is far better than the trousers worn by women who walk along so stiffly upon their "golden lilies." these tiny feet to me are beautiful, when covered with gay embroidery they peep from scarlet skirts; but they too are passing, and we hear no more the crying of the children in the courtyards. i am told that the small-footed woman of china is of the past, along with the long finger-nails of our gentlemen and scholars; and i am asked why i do not unbind my feet. i say, "i am too old; i have suffered in the binding, why suffer in the unbinding?" i have conceded to the new order by allowing unbound feet to all my girls, and everywhere my family is held up as an example of the new chinese. they do not know of the many bitter tears i have shed over the thought that my daughters would look like women of the servant class and perhaps not make a good marriage; but i was forced to yield to their father, whose foreign travel had taught him to see beauty in ugly, natural feet. even now, when i see wan-li striding across the grass, i blush for her and wish she could walk more gracefully. my feet caused me many moons of pain, but they are one of the great marks of my lady-hood, and i yet feel proud as i come into a room with the gentle swaying motions of the bamboo in a breeze; although my daughter who supports me takes one great step to five of mine.
-the curse of foot binding does not fall so heavily upon women like myself, who may sit and broider the whole day through, or, if needs must travel, can be borne upon the shoulders of their chair bearers, but it is a bane to the poor girl whose parents hope to have one in the family who may marry above their station, and hoping thus, bind her feet. if this marriage fails and she is forced to work within her household, or, even worse, if she is forced to toil within the fields or add her mite gained by most heavy labour to help fill the many eager mouths at home, then she should have our pity. we have all seen the small-footed woman pulling heavy boats along the tow-path, or leaning on their hoes to rest their tired feet while working in the fields of cotton. to her each day is a day of pain; and this new law forbidding the binding of the feet of children will come as heaven's blessing. but it will not cease at once, as so many loudly now proclaim. it will take at least three generations; her children's children will all quite likely have natural feet. the people far in the country, far from the noise of change and progress, will not feel immediately that they can wander so far afield from the old ideas of what is beautiful in their womanhood.
-i notice, as i open wide my casement, that the rain has come, and across the distant fields it is falling upon the new-sown rice and seems to charm the earth into the thought that spring is here, bringing forth the faint green buds on magnolia, ash, and willow. dost thou remember the verse we used to sing:
-"oh she is good, the little rain, and well she knows our need, who cometh in the time of spring to aid the sun-drawn seed. she wanders with a friendly wind through silent heights unseen, the furrows feel her happy tears, and lo, the land is green!"
-i must send a servant with the rain coverings for the children, that they may not get wet in returning from their schools.
-we greet thee, all.
-8 my dear mother, last night i heard a great wailing in the servants' courtyard, and found there the maid of thy old friend, tang tai-tai. she came from nanking to us, as she has no one left in all the world. she is a manchu and has lived all her life in the manchu family of tang within the tartar city of nanking. it seems the soldiers, besieging the city, placed their guns on purple hill, so that they would cause destruction only to the tartar city, and it was levelled to the ground. no stone remains upon another; and the family she had served so faithfully were either killed in the battle that raged so fiercely, or were afterward taken to the grounds of justice to pay with their life for the fact that they belonged to the imperial clan. she is old, this faithful servant, and now claims my protection. it is another mouth to feed; but there is so much unhappiness that if it were within my power i would quench with rains of food and drink the anguish this cruel war has brought upon so many innocent ones. a mat on which to sleep, a few more bowls of rice, these are the only seeds that i may sow within the field of love, and i dare not them withhold.
-each hour brings us fresh rumours of the actions of the rebels, poor liang tai-tai was here and in the sorest trouble. her husband and her brother were officers in the army of yuan, and when in ranking were shot along with twenty of their brother officers, because they would not join the southern forces. to add to china's trouble, the southern pirates are attacking boats; and i am glad to say, although it sounds most cruel, that the government is taking measures both quick and just. ten men were captured and were being brought by an english ship to canton, and when in neutral waters it is said a chinese gunboat steamed alongside with an order for the prisoners. as they stepped upon the chinese boat, each man was shot. the english were most horrified, and have spoken loudly in all the papers of the acts of barbarism; but they do not understand our people. they must be frightened; especially at a time like this, when men are watching for the chance to take advantage of their country's turmoil.
-these pirates of canton have always been a menace. each village in that country must be forever on the defensive, for no man is safe who has an ounce of gold. when father was the prefect of canton, i remember seeing a band of pirates brought into the yamen, a ring of iron around the collarbone, from which a chain led to the prisoner on either side. it was brutal, but it allowed no chance of escape for these men, dead to all humanity, and desperate, knowing there awaited them long days of prison, and in the end they knew not what.
-in those days imprisonment was the greatest of all evils; it was not made a place of comfort. for forty-eight long hours, the man within the clutches of the law went hungry; then, if no relative or friend came forth to feed him, he was allowed one bowl of rice and water for each day. a prison then meant ruin to a man with money, because the keepers of the outer gate, the keepers of the inner gate, the guardian of the prison doors, the runners in the corridor, the jailer at the cell, each had a hand that ached for silver. a bowl of rice bought at the tea-shop for ten cash, by the time the waiting hungry man received it, cost many silver dollars. yet a prison should not be made a tempting place of refuge and vacation; if so in times of cold and hunger it will be filled with those who would rather suffer shame than work.
-another thing the people who cry loudly against our old-time courts of justice do not understand, is the crushing, grinding, naked poverty that causes the people in this over-crowded province to commit most brutal deeds. the penalties must match the deeds, and frighten other evil-doers. if the people do not fear death, what good is there in using death as a deterrent; and our southern people despise death, because of their excessive labour in seeking the means of life. but-- what a subject for a letter! i can see thee send for a cup of thy fragrant sun-dried tea, mixed with the yellow flower of the jessamine, to take away the thoughts of death and evil and the wickedness of the world outside thy walls. it will never touch thee, mother mine, because the gods are holding thee all safe within their loving hands.
-thy daughter, kwei-li.
-9 my mother, i have most joyful news to tell thee. my father has arrived! he came quite without warning, saying he must know the changing times from word of mouth instead of reading it in papers. he has upset my household with his many servants. my father keeps to his old ways and customs and travels with an army of his people. his pipe man, his hat man, his cook, his boy-- well, thou rememberest when he descended upon us in sezchuan-- yet he could bring ten times the number, and his welcome would be as warm. the whole town knows he is our guest, and foreigners and chinese have vied one with the other to do him honour. the foreign papers speak of him as "the greatest chinese since li hung-chang," and many words are written about his fifty years' service as a high official. the story is retold of his loyalty to her majesty at the time of the boxer uprising, when he threatened the foreigners that if her majesty was even frightened, he would turn his troops upon shanghai and drive the foreigners into the sea. i wonder if the present government can gain the love the dowager empress drew from all who served her.
-my father was the pioneer of the present education, so say the papers, and it is remembered that his school for girls in the province where he ruled, nearly caused him the loss of his position, as his excellency, chang chih-tung, memorialised the throne and said that women should not have book learning; that books would only give them a place in which to hide their threads and needles. it is also said of him that he was always against the coming of the foreigners. they could obtain no mine, no railway, no concession in a province where he was representing his empress. china was closed, so far as lay within his power, to even men of religion from other lands. it was he who first said, "the missionary, the merchant, and then the gunboat."
-my father will not talk with men about the present trials of china; he says, most justly, that he who is out of office should not meddle in the government. when asked if he will give the results of his long life and great experience to the republic, he answers that he owes his love and loyalty to the old regime under which he gained his wealth and honours; and then he shakes his head and says he is an old man, nothing but wet ashes. but they do not see the laughter in his eyes; for my father "is like the pine-tree, ever green, the symbol of unflinching purpose and vigorous old age."
-so many old-time friends have been to see him. father, now that the heavy load of officialdom is laid aside, delights to sit within the courtyards with these friends and play at verse-making. no man of his time is found lacking in that one great attribute of a chinese gentleman. he has treasures of poetry that are from the hands of friends long since passed within the vale of longevity. these poems are from the pens of men who wrote of the longing for the spiritual life, or the beauties of the world without their doors, or the pleasure of association with old and trusted friends. i read some scrolls the other day, and it was as though "aeolian harps had caught some strayed wind from an unknown world and brought its messages to me." it is only by the men of other days that poetry is appreciated, who take the time to look around them, to whom the quiet life, the life of thought and meditation is as vital as the air they breathe. to love the beautiful in life one must have time to sit apart from the worry and the rush of the present day. he must have time to look deep within his hidden self and weigh the things that count for happiness; and he must use most justly all his hours of leisure, a thing which modern life has taught us to hold lightly.
-but with our race verse-making has always been a second nature. in the very beginning of our history, the chinese people sang their songs of kings and princes, of the joys of family life and love and home and children. it is quite true that they did not delve deep into the mines of hidden passions, as their songs are what songs should be, telling joyful tales of happiness and quiet loves. they are not like the songs of warrior nations, songs of battle, lust and blood, but songs of peace and quiet and deep contentment. when our women sang, like all women who try to voice the thoughts within them, they sang their poems in a sadder key, all filled with care, and cried of love's call to its mate, of resignation and sometimes of despair.
-my father learned to love the poets in younger days, but he still reads them o'er and o'er. he says they take him back to other years when life with all its dreams of beauty, love, and romance, lay before him. it brings remembrance of youth's golden days when thoughts of fame and mad ambition came to him with each morning's light. this father of mine, who was stiffly bound with ceremony and acts of statecraft for ten long months of the year, had the temerity to ask two months' leave of absence from his duties, when he went to his country place in the hills, to his "garden of the pleasure of peace." it was always in the early spring when "that goddess had spread upon the budding willow her lovely mesh of silken threads, and the rushes were renewing for the year." he sat beneath the bamboos swaying in the wind like dancing girls, and saw the jessamine and magnolia put forth their buds.
-what happy days they were when father came! for me, who lived within the garden all the year, it was just a plain, great garden; but when he came it was transformed. it became a place of rare enchantment, with fairy palaces and lakes of jewelled water, and the lotus flowers took on a loveliness for which there is no name. we would sit hand in hand in our gaily painted tea-house, and watch the growing of the lotus from the first unfurling of the leaf to the fall of the dying flower. when it rained, we would see the leaves raise their eager, dark-green cups until filled, then bend down gracefully to empty their fulness, and rise to catch the drops again.
-the sound of the wind in the cane-fields came to us at night-time as we watched the shimmer of the fireflies. we sat so silently that the only thing to tell us that the wild duck sought his mate amidst the grass, was the swaying of the reed stems, or the rising of the teal with whirring wings.
-my father loved the silence, and taught me that it is in silence, in the quiet places, rather than on the house-tops, that one can hear the spirit's call, and forget the clanging of the world. it is the great gift which the god of nature alone can give, and "he has found happiness who has won through the stillness of the spirit the perfect vision, and this stillness comes through contentment that is regardless of the world."
-he often said to me that we are a caravan of beings, wandering through life's pathways, hungering to taste of happiness, which comes to us when we find plain food sweet, rough garments fine, and contentment in the home. it comes when we are happy in a simple way, allowing our wounds received in life's battles to be healed by the moon-beams, which send an ointment more precious than the oil of sandalwood.
-i could go on for pages, mother mine, of the lessons of my father, this grand old man, "who steeled his soul and tamed his thoughts and got his body in control by sitting in the silence and being one with nature, god, the maker of us all." and when i think of all these things, it is hard to believe that men who love the leisure, the poetry, the beautiful things of life, men like my father, must pass away. it seems to me it will be a day of great peril for china, for our young ones, when these men of the past lose their hold on the growing mind. as rapidly as this takes place, the reverence for the old-time gentleman, the quiet lady of the inner courtyards, will wane, and reverence will be supplanted by discourtesy, faith by doubt, and love of the gods by unbelief and impiety.
-yet they say he does not stand for progress. what is progress? what is life? the poet truly cries: "how short a time it is that we are here! why then not set our hearts at rest, why wear the soul with anxious thoughts? if we want not wealth, if we want not power, let us stroll the bright hours as they pass, in gardens midst the flowers, mounting the hills to sing our songs, or weaving verses by the lily ponds. thus may we work out our allotted span, content with life, our spirits free from care."
-my father has a scroll within his room that says:
-"for fifty years i plodded through the vale of lust and strife, then through my dreams there flashed a ray of the old sweet peaceful life. no scarlet tasselled hat of state can vie with soft repose; grand mansions do not taste the joys that the poor man's cabin knows. i hate the threatening clash of arms when fierce retainers throng, i loathe the drunkard's revels and the sound of fife and song; but i love to seek a quiet nook, and some old volume bring, where i can see the wild flowers bloom and hear the birds in spring."
-ah, dear one, my heart flows through my pen, which is the messenger of the distant soul to thee, my mother.
-10 my dear mother, my days are passed like a water-wheel awhirl, and i can scarcely find time to attend to the ordinary duties of my household. i fear i seem neglectful of thee, and i will try to be more regular with my letters, so that thou wilt not need reproach me. to-night my house is quiet and all are sleeping, and i can chat with thee without the many interruptions that come from children, servants, and friends during the waking hours.
-i have had callers all the day; my last, the wife of the japanese consul, who brought with her two children. they were like little butterflies, dressed in their gay kimonas and bright red obis, their straight black hair framing their tiny elfin faces. i was delighted and could scarcely let them go. their mother says she will send to me their photographs, and i will send them to thee, as they seem children from another world. they are much prettier, in my eyes, than the foreign children, with their white hair and colourless, blue eyes, who always seem to be clothed in white. that seems not natural for a child, as it is our mourning colour, and children should wear gay colours, as they are symbols of joy and gladness.
-my husband watched them go away with looks of hatred and disdain within his eyes, and when i called them butterflies of gay nippon, he gave an ejaculation of great disgust, as at this time he is not o'erfond of the japanese. he believes, along with others, that they are helping the rebels with their money, and we know that many japanese officers are fighting on the side of the southern forces. he could not forget the words i used, "dainty butterflies," and he said that these dainty butterflies are coming far too fast, at the rate of many tens of thousands each year, and they must be fed and clothed and lodged, and japan is far too small. these pretty babies searching for a future home are china's greatest menace. japan reels that her destiny lies here in the far east, where she is overlord, and will continue as such until the time, if it ever comes, when new china, with her far greater wealth and her myriads of people, dispute the power of the little island. at present there is no limit to japan's ambition. poor china! it will take years and tens of years to mould her people into a nation; and japan comes to her each year, buying her rice, her cotton and her silk.
-these wily merchants travel up her path-ways and traverse her rivers and canals, selling, buying, and spreading broadcast their influence. there are eight thousand men of japan in shanghai, keen young men, all looking for the advantage of their country. there is no town of any size where you cannot find a japanese. they have driven the traders of other nationalities from many places; the americans especially have been compelled to leave; and now there is a bitter struggle between the people from the british isles and the japanese for the trade of our country. in the olden time the people from great britain controlled the trade of our yang-tse valley, but now it is almost wholly japanese.
-the british merchant, in this great battle has the disadvantage of being honest, while the trader from japan has small thoughts of honesty to hold him to a business transaction. we say here, "one can hold a japanese to a bargain as easily as one can hold a slippery catfish on a gourd." the sons of nippon have another point in their favour: the british merchant is a westerner, while the japanese uses to the full his advantage of being an oriental like ourselves. trade-- trade-- is what japan craves, and it is according to its need that she makes friends or enemies. it is her reason for all she does; her diplomacy, her suavity is based upon it; her army and her vast navy are to help gain and hold it; it is the end and aim of her ambitions.
-we, chinese, have people-- millions, tens of millions of them. when they are better educated, when china is more prosperous, when new demands and higher standards of living are created, when the coolie will not be satisfied with his bowl of rice a day and his one blue garment, then possibilities of commerce will be unlimited. japan sees this with eyes that look far into the future, and she wants to control this coming trade-- and i fear she will. she has an ambition that is as great as her overpowering belief in herself, an ambition to be in the east what england is in the west; and she is working patiently, quietly, to that end. we fear her; but we are helpless. i hear the men talk bitterly; but what can they do. we must not be another corea; we must wait until we are strong, and look to other hands to help us in our struggle.
-we hope much from america, that country which has so wonderful an influence upon us, which appeals to our imagination because it is great and strong and prosperous. the suave and humorous american, with his easy ways, is most popular with our people, although he cannot always be trusted nor is his word a bond. he is different from the man of england, who is not fond of people not of his own colour and will not try to disguise the fact. he is cold and shows no sympathy to those of an alien race, although we must admit he always acts with a certain amount of justice. america is contemptuous of china and her people, but it is a kindly contempt, not tinged with the bitterness of the other powers, and we hope, because of that kindliness and also because of trade interests (the american is noted for finding and holding the place that yields him dollars), she will play the part of a kindly friend and save china from her enemies who are now watching each other with such jealous eyes. there is another reason why we like america: she does not seem to covet our land. there is no shang-tung nor wei-hai-wei for her. i would that she and england might form a bond of brotherhood for our protection; because all the world knows that where germany, russia, or japan has power, all people from other lands are barred by close-shut doors.
-since hearing my husband talk i see those babies with other eyes, with eyes of knowledge and dislike. i see them becoming one of the two great classes in japan-- merchants with grasping hands to hold fast all they touch, or men of war. there is no other class. and, too, they have no religion to restrict them, irreverence already marks their attitude toward their gods. they will imitate and steal what they want from other countries, even as their ancestors took their religion, their art, their code of ethics, even their writing, from other peoples. their past is a copy of the east; their present is an attempt to be a copy of the west. they cannot originate or make a thing from within them-selves.
-their lives are coarse and sordid when stripped of the elaborate courtesy and sham politeness that marks their dealings with the outside world. their courtesy, what is it? this thin veneer of politeness is like their polished lacquer that covers the crumbling wood within. but we have a proverb, "even a monkey falls"; and some distant day the western world that thinks so highly of japan will see beneath the surface and will leave her, and the great pagoda she has builded without foundation will come tumbling down like the houses of sand which my children build in the garden. it will be seen that they are like their beautiful kimonas, that hang so gracefully in silken folds. but take away the kimonas, and the sons and daughters of that empire are revealed in all their ugliness-- coarse, heavy, sensual, with no grace or spirit life to distinguish them from animals.
-do i speak strongly, my mother? we feel most strongly the action of the japanese in this, our time of trouble. we have lost friends; the husbands, brothers, fathers of our women-folk are lying in long trenches because of training given to our rebels by members of that race. i should not speak so frankly, but it is only to thee that i can say what is within my heart. i must put the bar of silence across my lips with all save thee; and sitting here within the courtyard i hear all that goes on in yamen, shop, and women's quarters. one need not leave one's doorway to learn of the great world. i hear my sons speak of new china, and many things i do not understand; my husband and his friends talk more sedately, for they are watching thoughtful men, trying hard to steer this, our ship of state, among the rocks that now beset it close on every side. my daughters bring their friends, my servants their companions, and the gossip of our busy world is emptied at my feet.
-the clock strikes one, and all the world's asleep except, kwei-li.
-11 dear mother, she is here, my daughter-in-law, and i can realise in a small degree thy feelings when i first came to thy household. i know thou wert prepared to give me the same love and care that my heart longs to give to this, the wife of my eldest son. i also know how she feels in this strange place, with no loved faces near her, with the thought that perhaps the new home will mean the closed doors of a prison, and the husband she never saw until the marriage day the jealous guardian thereof. i have tried to give her welcome and let her see that she is heart of our hearts, a part of us.
-she is different from the young girls i have seen these latter days, different from my daughters, and-- i may say it to thee, my mother-- a sweeter, dearer maiden in many ways. she has been trained within the courtyards in the old-fashioned customs that make for simplicity of heart, grace of manner, that give obedience and respect to older people; and she has the delicate high-bred ways that our girls seem to feel unnecessary in the hurry of these days. she takes me back to years gone by, where everything is like a dream, and i can feel again the chair beneath me that carried me up the mountain-side with its shadowing of high woods, and hear the song of water falling gently from far-off mountain brooks, and the plaintive cry of flutes unseen, that came to welcome me to my new home.
-with her dainty gowns, her tiny shoes, her smooth black hair, she is a breath from another world, and my sons and daughters regard her as if she were a stray butterfly, blown hither by some wind too strong for her slight wings. she is as graceful as the slender willow, her youthful charm is like the cherry-tree in bloom, and the sweet thoughts natural to youth and the springtime of life, flow from her heart as pure as the snow-white blossoms of the plum-tree. she does not belong to this, our modern world; she should be bending with iris grace above goldfish in the ponds, or straying in gardens where there are lakes of shimmering water murmuring beneath great lotus flowers that would speak to her of love.
-we are all more than charmed, and gather to the sunshine she has brought. as they knelt before us for our blessing, i thought what a happy thing is youth and love. "kings in their palaces grow old, but youth dwells forever at contentment's side."
-but i must tell thee of the marriage. instead of the red chair of marriage, my new daughter-in-law was brought from the house of her uncle in that most modern thing, a motor-car. i insisted that it should be covered with red satin, the colour of rejoicing; and great rosettes trailed from the corners to the ground. the feasting was elaborate and caused me much care in its preparation, as not only had been provided the many different kinds of food for our chinese friends, but foreigners, who came also, were served with dishes made expressly for them, and with foreign wines, of which they took most liberally. the europeans, men and women, ate and drank together with a freedom that to me is most unseemly, and i cannot understand the men who have no pride in their women's modesty but allow them to sit at table with strange men close by their side. behind the archway, we chinese women "of the old school," as my daughter calls us, feasted and laughed our fill, just as happy as if parading our new gowns before the eyes of stranger-men.
-li-ti is delighted with thy gift, the chain of pearls. it is a most appropriate present, for "pearls belong of right to her whose soul reflects the colour of youth's purity"; and i, i am so happy in this new life that has come to dwell beneath our rooftree. i had many fears that she would not be to my liking, that she would be a modern chinese woman; and another one, oh, mother mine, would fill to overflowing my bowl of small vexations; but the place is perfumed by her scent, the scent of sandalwood, which represents the china that i love, and flowers of jessamine and purple hyacinths and lilies-of-the-valley, which speak to us of youth and spring and love and hope.
-thy daughter, who gives the messages from all thy family, who touch thy hand with deep respect.
-12 my dear mother, i am sorry that thou hast been troubled by news of the fighting within the province. all is well with us, as we sent thee word by telegraph. if anything happens that touches any of thy household, we will send thee word at once.
-this town is a hotbed of rebellion, and it is all because the rebels have been enabled to perfect their plans through the existence of the foreign settlements. how i dislike these foreigner adventurers! i wish they would take their gilded dust, their yellow gold, and leave us to our peace; but they walk our streets as lords and masters, and allow the plotting traitors to make their plans, and we are helpless. if i were china's ruler and for one day had power, there would not be one white man left within the borders of my country. we hear each day of friends who give their lives on the field of battle, these battles and this conflict which would not be present with us were it not for the foreign powers, who within these settlements, protect the low-browed ruffians who are plotting china's ruin.
-did i say i disliked these foreigners? how mild a word! thou, in sezchuan, far from the touch of the alien life, hast never seen these people who cause us so much trouble. how can i describe them to thee so that thou wilt understand? they are like unto the dragons of the earth, for ugliness. men have enormous stature and mighty strength, and stride with fierce and lordly steps. their faces have great noses between deep-set eyes, and protruding brows, and ponderous jaws like animals-- symbols of brute force which needs but to be seen to frighten children in the dark. we are the gentler race, and we feel instinctively the dominating power of these men from over the seas, who all, american, russian, german, english, seem to be cast in the same brutal mould. their women have long, horse-like faces, showing the marks of passion and discontent, which they try to cover with the contents of the powder-jar and with rouge; they are utterly unlike the women of our race, who are taught to express no hate, no love, nor anything save perfect repose and gentleness, as befits true ladyhood.
-one has but to see a chinese gentleman, with his easy manners, composed, self-contained, with a natural dignity, to know that we are better trained than the people from the west. it is because we are true idealists. we show it in our grading of society. with us the scholar is honoured and put first, the farmer second, the artisan third, and the merchant and the soldier last. with them, these worshippers of the dollar, the merchant is put first, and the man to guard that dollar is made his equal! that is a standard for a nation! the barterer and the murderer; let others follow where they lead.
-these foreigners rate china low, who have never met a chinese gentleman, never read a line of chinese literature, and who look at you in ignorance if you mention the names of our sages. they see no chinese except their servants, and they judge the world about them from that low point of view. i know a lady here who is a leader in their society, a woman who has lived within our land for many tens of years; when asked to meet a prince of our house imperial, she declined, saying she never associated with chinese. a prince to her was no more than any other yellow man; she said she would as soon think of meeting her gate coolie at a social tea. how can there be a common meeting-ground between our people and the average european, of whom this woman is a representative and who is not alone in her estimation of the people amongst whom she lives but whom she never sees. they get their knowledge of china from servants, from missionaries who work among the lower classes, and from newspaper reports that are always to the disadvantage of our people.
-more and more the west must see that the east and west may meet but never can they mingle. foreigners can never enter our inner chamber; the door is never wholly opened, the curtain never drawn aside between chinese and european. the foreign man is a materialist, a mere worshipper of things seen. with us "the taste of the tea is not so important as the aroma." when chinese gentlemen meet for pleasure, they talk of poetry and the wisdom of the sages, of rare jade and porcelains and brass. they show each other treasures, they handle with loving fingers the contents of their cherished boxes, and search for stores of beauty that are brought to light only for those who understand. but when with foreigners, the talk must be of tea, its prices, the weight of cotton piece goods, the local gossip of the town in which they live. their private lives are passed within a world apart, and there is between these men from different lands a greater bar than that of language-- the bar of mutual misunderstanding and lack of sympathy with the other race.
-poor china! she is first clubbed on the head and then stroked on the back by these foreigners, her dear friends. friends! it is only when the cold season comes that we know the pine-tree and the cypress to be evergreens, and friends are known in adversity. the foreigners who profess to be our friends are waiting and hoping for adversity to come upon us, that they may profit by it. they want our untouched wealth, our mines of coal and iron and gold, and it is upon them they have cast their eyes of greed.
-the foreigners have brought dishonesty in business dealings to our merchants. at first, the trader from the foreign land found that he could rely on old-time customs and the word of the merchant to bind a bargain; but what did the chinese find? there are no old-time customs to bind a foreigner, except those of bond and written document. he has no traditions of honour, he can be held by nothing except a court of law. for years the word "china" has meant to the adventurers of other lands a place for exploitation, a place where silver was to be obtained by the man with fluent tongue and winning ways. even foreign officials did not scruple to use their influence to enter trade.
-an old case has recently come before the governor. it has been brought many times to the ears of the officials, but they have said nothing, for fear of offending the great government whose representative is involved in the not too pleasant transaction. one of our great inland cities had no water nearer than the river, several miles away. a foreign official with a machine of foreign invention digged deep into the earth and found pure, clear water. then he thought, "if there is ater here for me, why not for all this great city of many tens of thousands?" which was a worthy thought, and he saw for himself great gains in bringing to the doors of rich and poor alike the water from the wells. he told the taotai that he would go to his country and bring back machines that would make the water come forth as from living springs. the official met his friends and the plan was discussed and many thousands of taels were provided and given into the hands of the official from over the seas. the friends of the taotai felt no fear for their money, as the official signed a contract to produce water from the earth, and he signed, not as a simple citizen but as the representative of his government, with the great seal of that government attached to the paper. of course our simple people thought that the great nation was behind the project; and they were amazed and startled when, after a trip to his home land and a return with only one machine, a few holes were made but no water found, and the official announced that he was sorry but there was nothing more that he could do. he did not offer to return the money, and in his position he could not be haled into a court of law; there was nothing for his dupes to do but to gaze sadly into the great holes that had taken so much money, and remember that wisdom comes with experience.
-"when a man has been burned once with hot soup he forever after blows upon cold rice"; so these same men of china will think o'erlong before trusting again a foreigner with their silver.
-"perhaps bert calkins found him," contended will.
-"do you really think the miner is still hanging around this cabin?" asked sandy. "do you think he is the man who gave bert the clout on the head? if you do think so, we'd better keep a sharp lookout."
-"garman wouldn't know anything about our coming here after the plans!" suggested george.
-"any man who steals another man's invention, or tries to steal it, will go to almost any length to protect the thing he has stolen. even if garman had no previous knowledge of our visit to this place our arrival here would at once excite his suspicions."
-"i see that now," agreed george, "and the first thing the fellow would do would be to try to discover what we were doing here."
-"yes," continued will, "and that would be sufficient motive for him to attack the bearer of the code despatch."
-"i guess we've got it all doped out now," laughed george. "all we've got to do is to find this man garman, take the original plans away from him, mail them back to chicago, and go on about our business."
-"and the lawyers in chicago will do the rest!" grinned sandy.
-"it looks easy, doesn't it?" suggested will.
-"why, if this miner doesn't know anything about what we're here for, we can tell him any story we're a mind to. we can tell him we're here on a vacation and have money to invest in a mine, if he can find the right kind of a mine for us," laughed george. "in twenty-four hours after we get hold of him, we can have him eating corn out of our hands, like a billy goat."
-"you say it well!" laughed sandy.
-"that's all very well," will agreed, "provided garman isn't the man who took the code despatch from bert calkins."
-"and provided, too," george declared, "that garman didn't force the boy to translate the despatch for his benefit."
-"and provided, also," sandy cut in, "that the code despatch doesn't give away the whole snap to the miner. if he sees the machine plans referred to in any way, he'll think we want to get them away from him, because they are the stolen plans, and then it will be all off for us!"
-"and so, when you come to round up on the proposition," will argued, "we are not much further along than we were when we left chicago, except that we have found the cabin."
-"who said anything about getting dinner?" asked sandy, after a short pause. "i remember having a little snack about twelve o'clock, but that wasn't to be considered as a full meal, i hope."
-"what have we got to eat?" asked will.
-"nothing but a lot of canned stuff!" declared sandy.
-"well, then, go out and get a deer, or half a dozen rabbits, or go back here to the little creek that runs into copper river and see if you can get a mess of fish. there ought to be plenty of fish in alaska!"
-"what kind of fish can you get?" asked sandy.
-"salmon!" answered will.
-"how far is it to the creek?" was the next question.
-"something over a mile, i should say," replied will.
-"it can't be any further than that," george cut in. "the glacier this cabin is built on supplies most of the water for it."
-"all right, then," sandy replied. "i'll get myself up a little lunch consisting of a couple of slices of bacon and three or four eggs, and go out and catch a ten-pound salmon for dinner. want to go with me, george?" he added. "no need of all three staying here."
-"let will go," replied george. "i'm tired, and there's a particularly interesting book i'd like to finish this afternoon."
-will went pawing among the fishing tackle, and finally called out to george who was just crawling into a bunk with his book:
-"what do they catch fish with in alaska?"
-"hooks!" replied george.
-"hooks and eyes?" asked will, with a chuckle.
-"sure! hooks and eyes! you see 'em with the eyes, and grab 'em with the hooks!"
-"aw, never mind that gink!" laughed sandy. "he doesn't know any more about fishing in alaska than a hog knows about sunday! bring along all the flies we've got and some red flannel, and some pieces of dirty bacon, and we'll manage to get fish. if one bait won't answer, another will."
-"do we have to cut a hole through the ice?" asked will.
-"cut a hole through the ice!" repeated george. "eighty or ninety in the shade! if you don't get this boy out of here, sandy," george added, "i'll give him a poke in the eye!"
-after selecting such flies, hooks, and lines as they thought might prove alluring to the fish, will and sandy started away in the direction of the little stream which ran out of the glacier a mile or so to the north and took a general direction toward copper river.
-after walking half a mile or more, they came to a line of rocks which seemed to extend from the open ice of the glacier to the coast, a distance of perhaps five or six miles. west of this line of moraine rocks the land sloped gradually to the northwest and here the headwaters of the little creek they sought were found.
-straight away to the north, west of the glacier, rose a range of wooded hills just now bright with blossoms and swarming with insect life. the little creek crept along to the south of this range, and, further down, separated the ground to the south from the hills.
-sandy leaped across the little rivulet as it came bubbling out of the ice hidden under the moraine and started down the bank next to the line of hills. will kept to the other side.
-"why don't you come across?" shouted sandy.
-"what's the good of crossing over at all?" will asked. "before long the stream will be so wide that you can't cross back, and then you'll have to retrace your steps clear to the headwaters!"
-"i can swim, can't i?" laughed sandy.
-"not in that cold water!" replied will.
-sandy only laughed in reply to the warning, and the two boys proceeded downstream, one on each side of the rivulet.
-within half an hour they caught half a dozen salmon of fair size, weighing from four to six pounds, using only red flannel for bait.
-"what do you think of a fish in his right mind that'll try to eat red flannel?" asked sandy, speaking from the opposite side of the creek.
-"boys do more foolish things than that!" answered will.
-"explanation!" grinned sandy.
-"they smoke cigarettes, for one thing!" replied will. "even a fish that tries to make a meal off red flannel won't smoke a cigarette."
-"we don't seem to get anything very big!" shouted sandy.
-"well," will answered back with a faint smile, "take a look up the hillside and see if that bear coming is large enough for you!"
-a missing boy
-"bear nothing!" laughed sandy. "there isn't a bear within a hundred miles of us! you can't fool your uncle isaac!"
-"look back and see!" advised will.
-sandy paid no attention to the remark, but kept on fishing, following on down stream until he was some yards in advance of his chum.
-so interested was he in the sport in which he was engaged that he thought no more of what had been said to him regarding the bear until a pistol shot reached his ears.
-then he glanced quickly in the rear, taking in the whole line of the hillside at one glance.
-just at that moment the whole landscape seemed to consist principally of bear! will had wounded a great brown bear, and he was charging down toward the place where sandy stood. the boy drew his automatic and faced about, hardly knowing what else to do, as the creek was too wide to leap across. the bear came on with a rush.
-"run!" shouted will.
-"i guess you'll have to show me a place to run to!" sandy shouted back. "this bear seems to have taken possession of about all the territory there is on this side of the creek."
-"shoot, you dunce, shoot before he gets up to you!" shouted will. "if he gets one swipe at you with that paw, you'll land out in the gulf of alaska! fill him full of lead!"
-sandy began firing, but the bear came steadily on.
-"you'll have to swim for it!" shouted will in a moment. "you mustn't let that big brute get near enough to hand you one with that educated left of his. jump in and swim and i'll help pull you out!"
-sandy looked at the creek and shivered. the water looked blue, as if shivering from the cold. he faced about and decided to take a few more shots at the bear before risking his life in the cold water.
-"you'll have to jump!" will shouted from the other side.
-"i wouldn't have to jump," sandy cried back, "if you'd do more shooting and less talking! go on and use up your lead!"
-in the excitement of the time, will had, indeed, forgotten to keep his automatic busy. he now began shooting as fast as the weapon would carry the lead away, and bruin seemed to take offense at the activity with which the bullets flew about him. he was bleeding in several places, and was in a perfect frenzy of rage.
-"i guess that's an armored bear!" will shouted across the creek. "i don't believe our bullets have any effect on him!"
-by this time the bear was within a few paces of sandy. the boy's automatic was empty now, yet he obstinately refused to spring into the water. bruin reached out one paw and sandy ducked, coming up behind the clumsy animal and landed a blow with the butt of the automatic on his head.
-the next few moments were something of a blank in the mind of the boy. he heard will calling to him, he knew that he had been struck by the bear, knew that his chum's bullets were still flying across the river, and knew that things were turning black around him.
-then he felt a dash of cold water in his face, and looked up to see will standing over him, pouring water out of his hat.
-"what did i do to the bear?" he asked faintly.
-"wait till you get to a mirror and see what the bear did to you!" replied will. "what you got was a plenty!"
-"why didn't i jump in and swim across?" asked sandy feebly.
-"because you're the most obstinate little customer that ever drew the breath of life," answered will. "you took a chance on being eaten alive by a bear rather than get your feet wet!"
-"did i get my feet wet?" asked sandy.
-"no, but i did!" answered will. "i had to swim across. the bear handed you one between the eyes and then dropped dead. i was afraid you'd lie here all night if i didn't do something, so i swam over."
-"so you're the one that got wet?" grinned sandy.
-"yes, i'm the one that got wet, but you're the one that got beat up!" replied will. "do you think you can walk home now?"
-"sandy straightened out one arm at a time, then one leg at a time, then arose to a sitting position.
-"i don't know why not!" he replied.
-"get up and see if you can walk!" advised will.
-"'course i can walk!" replied sandy. "i just went down for the count!"
-he scrambled slowly to his feet and turned about to gaze at his late antagonist. the bear was lying stone dead close to the stream.
-"he's a big one, isn't he?" he asked.
-"he certainly is," was the reply. "if he'd got a good swipe at you before he became weak from loss of blood, you'd be in the 'good-night' land all right now!" the boy added, with a grin.
-"well, i'm glad he didn't, then!" answered sandy.
-"do you think we can carry the rug home?" asked will.
-"perhaps you can," replied sandy. "i don't feel as if i could carry an extra ounce. i guess bruin did pass me a stiff jolt!"
-"you bet he did!" replied will. "anyway," he added, "we'll have to leave the rug until some other time, because we've got quite a lot of fish to carry. if any one steals the hide, we'll have to stand it."
-"we might skin the bear and put the hide up in a tree," suggested sandy. "we'll have to tan the pelt in the sunshine, anyway!"
-"that's a good idea, too!" exclaimed will, getting busy at once with his knife. "and that reminds me that we can have bear steak for supper if we want it. we all like bear steak, you know!"
-"i should say so!" replied sandy.
-it took the boys only a short time to remove the pelt from the bear and provide themselves with a few pounds of steak. then leaving part of their fish, they started away up the creek toward the cabin.
-now and then will stopped in the hurried walk to look toward sandy and grin in the most provoking manner.
-"if you see anything about me you don't like," sandy said, half-angrily, on the third or fourth inspection, "you can just step over here and knock it out of me! what are you making fun of me for?"
-"you look like you'd been through a battle with a cage of monkeys," replied will. "you've got a swipe on the side of the face, and your cheek is scratched and bloody, and you got a swipe on your shoulder, and there's a tear on your shoulder, in the flesh as well as in your coat, and one eye will be black as soon as the blood settles under the contusion. take it up one side and down the other, you're a pretty disreputable looking object!"
-"you wait until you get into a fight with a bear, and see how you come out! i'll bet you won't look as if you'd just dropped in from a pink tea! you'll look about like thirty cents!"
-"when i see a bear coming," replied will, "i hope i'll have the sense to run! i won't stay and get into a knock-down argument with him!"
-it was nearly sundown when the boys came in sight of the cabin. they looked eagerly through the twilight for a light, expecting that george would have the great acetylene lamp in working order.
-but no light showed from the cabin, and all was still as they approached the door. when will looked in he saw the interior was in confusion.
-"i should think george might straighten things out a little bit," he grumbled. "i'll bet he's been asleep all the afternoon!"
-"i presume he has," agreed sandy.
-will reached to the top of a shelf for an electric flashlight and swung the circle of flame about the room.
-"why, look here!" he said excitedly, "what do you know about that?"
-"about what?" demanded sandy, who was looking the other way.
-"about bert's bed being empty!"
-"that's another joke!"
-"not on your life!" exclaimed will.
-sandy turned around, gave one glance at the vacant bunk, and dropped weakly back into a chair.
-"do you think he got up and walked away?" he asked.
-"no," replied will, "i don't!"
-"then, who carried him away?" demanded sandy.
-will turned the rays of the searchlight on the bunk where he had seen george cuddle down and then walked over toward it.
-"george didn't!" he answered, "because george is here sound asleep!"
-"sound asleep?" repeated sandy. "do you suppose he'd lie here and sleep and let some one come and carry away bert?"
-will took hold of the boy's leg and half drew him out of the bunk.
-"wake up, here!" he shouted.
-george yawned and rubbed his eyes.
-"first good sleep i've had in a week!" he said.
-"did you sleep all the afternoon?" asked will.
-"i guess i did!"
-"hear any one around the cabin?"
-"how could i, when i was sound asleep?"
-"well," will went on, "while you were having that fine sleep, some one came to the cabin and carried off bert calkins!"
-"what are you talking about?" demanded george.
-"look in his bunk and see!" advised sandy.
-"how was it ever done?" demanded george.
-"i'm not asking how it was done," will returned. "what i want to know is: why was it done? what object could any one have in carrying away that kid? i wouldn't believe he was gone if i didn't see the empty bunk."
-"it's something connected with that code message!" sandy suggested.
-"i've got it!" replied will. "the man took the message away before he knew whether he could read it or not. when he found he couldn't read it, he came back to get bert to read it for him."
-"but bert is in no condition to be kept prisoner," george insisted. "he won't give the information the man seeks, and the man will probably mistreat him because he can't! what we've got to do is to get a move on and find the boy before he is starved or beaten to death."
-"that's just what we've got to do!" agreed will. "we've got to drop everything until we find that boy!"
-a lost "bulldog"
-"how much do you know about this case?" asked tommy of frank, as the two stumbled over the uneven moraine.
-"how much do i know about what?" asked frank.
-"why, this case that your father talked with you about when he used the wireless; the case referred to in the code message."
-"why, i know that you boys are out here in search of the print of a man's right thumb!" laughed frank.
-"is that all?"
-"yes, i know a little more than that. i know that two men are soon to be tried for burglary, and that the discovery of the thumb marks is quite essential to a successful defense."
-"did your father tell you all that?"
-"oh, we talked quite a lot by wireless."
-tommy considered the situation for a moment and then said:
-"i wish you'd tell me all you know about it."
-in as few words as possible, frank related the story practically as told to george and sandy by will.
-"does bert know all about this?" asked tommy when the recital was finished. "did you talk the matter over with him?"
-"i certainly did."
-"i hope," tommy mused, "that he wasn't forced to tell anything about the thumb marks when the man robbed him."
-"i don't think he would do that," suggested frank. "he would be apt to plead ignorance."
-the boys came, about nine in the evening, to the little station of katalla, which is just a mite of a town sitting perched high above the gulf of alaska. the first thing they did was to make inquiries at the water front regarding transportation to cordova.
-"are you looking for me?" he asked.
-"i would like to speak with you," was the reply.
-"well, then, why didn't you come up like a man and say so?" demanded tommy. "you needn't have skulked along in the dark!"
-"fact is," the man answered, "that i heard you making inquiries regarding the possibility of getting to cordova tonight."
-"yes, that's where we want to go."
-"have you secured transportation yet?"
-"we have not!" tommy answered.
-"well, i was going to let you inquire at one more place," said the other, "and then tender you the use of my boat."
-"why were you going to wait?"
-"because i wanted you to exhaust your last chance so that i could get my own price for the service."
-"you must be a yankee!" laughed tommy.
-"right!" was the reply. "i'm a yankee direct from boston. i don't have many opportunities of acquiring wealth out here, and i smelt real money as soon as i saw you boys come to town a couple of days ago."
-"what kind of a boat have you?" asked tommy.
-"a swift little motor boat."
-"can you get us to cordova and back by seven or eight in the morning?"
-"i don't think i can do the job as soon as that, but i'll do the best i can! why are you in such a hurry?"
-"there's a boy sick at the camp!" was the short reply.
-"how much are you going to charge for the use of your boat?" asked frank. "we're willing to pay for fast service."
-"i think a couple of hundred dollars will be about right," was the reply. "it's a little bit risky going out in the night."
-tommy was about to protest against the exorbitant charge, but frank motioned him to remain silent.
-"the price is satisfactory," he said. "when can you start?"
-"in an hour," was the answer.
-after promising to meet the boys at the floating dock in an hour's time, the owner of the motor boat took his departure, and the two lads dropped into a smoky and smelly restaurant for supper.
-the place was foul with evil language as well as evil smells, and the boys did not remain long. instead of sitting down at the table and ordering their meal, they bought such provisions as they could get and took their way to the water front. when they sat down to eat their rather unpalatable repast, they saw that a boy of about their own size and age was loitering not far away.
-"i'll gamble you a five cent piece," tommy whispered to frank, "that that is a boy scout! what do you say?"
-"you're on!" exclaimed frank.
-tommy struck three times on the planking of the dock with his open hand. instantly there came back to his ears the low snarling voice of a bulldog. then footsteps advanced down the dock, and the boy soon stood close to the others.
-"you're a beaver?" he asked.
-"and you're a bulldog!" said tommy.
-the boys presented their hands, palm out, in the full salute of the boy scouts and then stood examining each other's faces.
-"where's the bulldog patrol located?" asked tommy.
-"portland, oregon," was the reply.
-"do you live here now?" asked frank, who had already been introduced as a member of the fox patrol.
-"i'm obliged to live here," was the answer, "because i can't get out of town. i wish i could get away!"
-"you may go with us," offered tommy.
-"where?" was the question.
-"to cordova tonight, and to a camp out on a glacier tomorrow."
-"tickled to death!" exclaimed the boy.
-"you're welcome!" declared tommy;
-"who're you going with?" was the next question.
-"he didn't give us his name, but he said he owned a fast motor boat, and he said he'd get us there and back before noon tomorrow!"
-"jamison is the only man here who has a motor boat, but you want to look out for him. he's as crooked as a corkscrew!"
-"that's the impression i received when he fixed his price."
-"well," the stranger said in a moment, "i've got a little baggage up the street and i'll go and get it."
-he was gone perhaps half an hour, and when he returned the boys saw an anxious expression on his face.
-"are you sure that man jamison is going out with you tonight?" he asked.
-"he said he would," was the reply.
-"he's up there loading in whiskey," the boy, who had given his name as samuel white, continued, "and has surrounded himself with about as tough a bunch of crooks as there is in all alaska."
-"perhaps he wants them to help run the boat," suggested tommy.
-"no, there's something crooked on foot!" declared sam. "the fellows are whispering together in a bar-room up the street, and pounding the tables, and letting cut great shouts of laughter as if they had a good joke on some one."
-"do you know any of the men with jamison?" asked frank.
-"one of them," the boy replied, "is a crooked mine agent, and one is a fellow who hangs around town without revealing any business whatever, but seems to have plenty of money."
-while the boys talked, jamison, accompanied by two men who seemed to be somewhat under the influence of liquor, came down to the dock.
-after nodding familiarly to the lads, he gave a signal with a lantern which he carried in his hand, and in a short time a very capable looking motor boat came puffing out of the darkness.
-"there you are, boys!" he said. "jump in, and i'll have you up to cordova in no time. i've got a good crew on board, and i may be able to get you back long before noon."
-the boys did not exactly like the looks of the "good" crew, but they said nothing as they took their seats in the little trunk cabin and waited for the boat to get under motion.
-when at last the motors began whirling and the rocking motion told the lads that they were out among the high waves, jamison came in and seated himself by tommy's side.
-"little bit bumpy tonight," he said, "but you'll soon get used to that. if you have the money ready, i'll collect fares now."
-frank took two hundred dollars in bank notes from a pocket and passed it over to the owner of the boat.
-"a hundred apiece," jamison said. "i was to have a hundred for each passenger. you owe me a hundred more."
-"don't pay any hundred for me," sam white exclaimed, springing to his feet. "i'll jump overboard and swim back."
-frank laid a hand on the boy's arm and pushed him back into a seat.
-"it's all right," he said. "i did agree to pay a hundred dollars a passenger. you're quite welcome to the ride at my expense."
-as frank spoke he took a roll of bank notes from another pocket and stripped off one of the denomination of one hundred dollars.
-jamison saw large denominations, some as high as five hundred dollars, in the roll, and his evil eyes glittered greedily.
-when frank put up the roll, the fellow's eyes followed it until it passed out of sight in the pocket. other members of the crew had seen the money also, and tommy was decidedly uncomfortable as he thought of the situation they were in.
-having received his pay, jamison grew very friendly and confidential, and began pointing out the show places along the dim coast.
-presently sam whispered cautiously in tommy's ear:
-"he is headed for the barren islands, and not cordova," he said.
-on the gulf of alaska
-"where are the barren islands, and why should he want to take us there?" asked tommy, apprehensively.
-"the barren islands," replied sam, "lie in the gulf of alaska, just south of the mouth of copper river, west of controller bay. they extend along the coast, only a short distance out, for twenty miles or more, and are just what the local name signifies, barren islands."
-"but why should he want to take us there?" insisted tommy, slipping a hand toward his hip pocket to make sure that his automatic was ready for any emergency.
-sam did not answer the question, for tommy's quick start of surprise, his low exclamation of dismay, checked the words which were on his lips. instead, he pushed closer to the lad and asked:
-"what is it? what's wrong?"
-"my revolver has been taken!" replied tommy.
-frank, sitting close to his chum on the other side, now pushed his hand into his hip pocket and brought it forth empty.
-"so is mine!" he said.
-the boys looked at each other for a moment in the gathering darkness without speaking. the situation was a serious one.
-"who did it?" asked tommy presently.
-"no one has been near me except that man jamison," replied frank.
-"he's the only one who's been within reaching distance of me," tommy observed. "he must be a clever pickpocket!"
-"i saw him eyeing that roll of money rather greedily," sam cut in, speaking in a very low tone, for jamison had new turned back from the prow and was looking in their direction.
-"i noticed that, too," frank answered. "i'm afraid we're going to get into trouble with that gink. anyway," he continued, "he's started in right. he did well to get our guns before he started anything!"
-"he didn't get my revolver," sam said with a low chuckle. "it's a little bit of a baby thing, but it's a great deal better than none!"
-"it will shoot, won't it?" asked tommy.
-"it will shoot, all right, but it's only a twenty-two," replied the boy. "i've been trying for the last two days to get a square meal on it, but couldn't get even a ham sandwich. they don't look with favor on baby guns up in alaska. they want the real thing!"
-"well, keep your gun where you can reach it at any moment!" advised frank. "even a twenty-two caliber may prove effective at short range."
-"i presume," sam went on, "that my coming on board in shabby clothes, and as an object of charity, convinced jamison that i wasn't worth searching. i saw him looking me over, though!"
-"object of charity--not!" returned frank. "we're mighty glad you're with us right now! you say he's taking us to the barren islands. well, we wouldn't know the barren islands from any other place without you. you've put us on our guard, at least, and that's worth more than the price of the ticket! we're glad of your company, too!"
-"now, see here, boys," tommy whispered, "we mustn't let this man jamison know that we have discovered that we have been robbed. the minute he knows that we are suspicious of him, the matter will come to a focus immediately. we've got to have time to think this matter over before anything is done."
-this plan of action was agreed to, and the boys sat for some minutes in silence. after a time jamison came to where they were seated, just at the doorway of the trunk cabin, and began asking questions about the need for a doctor. tommy explained that a member of their party had been injured by a fall, and that they were going to cordova in quest of a surgeon. he again asked jamison to put on full speed.
-"there's a man over here on the coast, this side of katalla, who is said to be a fine surgeon," jamison explained, after tommy had finished his statement. "he's a sort of a recluse, people say, and lives alone in a shabby hut, high up above the tide. you might stop and consult him. that would be better, it seems to me, than going away up to cordova. still," he went on with a grim smile, "i've been paid to take you to cordova and back, and, if you insist, i mean to live up to my bargain!"
-sam gave frank a quick poke in the ribs and whispered in his ear:
-"yes, he does!"
-"let him play out his string," whispered frank in return.
-"this surgeon," jamison went on, "is a queer old fellow. sometimes he'll take a case, and sometimes he won't. if he feels in an ugly mood, he's likely to kick us out of his cabin."
-tommy listened with apparent interest to what the treacherous jamison was saying, but it is needless to remark that he did not accept it as truth. it was his belief that the fellow was manufacturing a pretext for getting himself and his friends quietly on shore as soon as one of the barren islands was reached.
-there were three men on board the motor boat besides jamison. they were evil-looking fellows, and spent most of their time on the forward deck, where the steering wheel and the motors were located.
-the men frequently drank out of a black bottle, and were fast becoming intoxicated. instead of attempting to restrain the fellows, jamison seemed to encourage them in their debauch.
-"he's getting them in trim to start something," sam whispered, as the three men broke into a rough drinking song.
-"yes," agreed tommy, "i imagine that he wants whatever takes place on board the boat tonight to be regarded as the acts of men made irresponsible by whisky. you'd better keep your gun handy, sam!"
-"i've got my hand on it every minute!" replied the boy. "and if anything is started here, jamison will be the first one to know that i've got it! he's the man that needs the lesson!"
-it was very dark now, and the sea was rough. the motor boat plunged about like a leaf, tossing from wave to wave, and dropping into one trough after another. it was plain that the members of the crew were becoming too drunk to handle the boat.
-jamison finally approached the cabin doorway and sat down on one of the stationary seats. notwithstanding the fact that the boat was taking water at almost every jump, the fellow's face bore a satisfied look.
-"what are those fellows trying to do with the boat?" asked tommy.
-"oh, they're all right!" answered jamison.
-"looks to me like they were trying to drop us to the bottom," frank said. "there won't be any boat left directly!"
-"i guess they have got a little too much john barleycorn on board!" laughed jamison, as the boat gave a lurch which sent him head foremost from his seat. "i'd go and take the wheel myself, only i don't know much about running a motor boat under present conditions."
-frank gave tommy a quick nudge in the side.
-"i can run the boat," he whispered, "shall i?"
-"if he'd let you, yes!" replied tommy.
-"where shall i take her?"
-"to cordova, of course, but perhaps you'd better wait until the men get a little bit drunker. jamison will become frightened for the safety of his boat before long, and then he won't object to your taking charge of her. he's beginning to look sick already."
-"if i ever get hold of that wheel," frank whispered to tommy, "i'll send her flying toward cordova! i hope the members of the crew will be too drunk to know which, way i'm taking them."
-directly the boat gave another tremendous lurch, soaking the boys with cold salt water. jamison rose to his feet with an oath and, steadying himself by clinging to the top of the cabin, shook a fist angrily at the man at the wheel. the man frowned back.
-"what are you doing, you drunken hobo?" shouted jamison.
-the man grinned foolishly but said not a word.
-"i wish i knew how to operate a motor boat as well as he does when he's sober," gritted jamison.
-"the owner of a boat ought to know how to run her!" suggested frank.
-"i bought the boat only a few days ago," replied jamison.
-"look here," frank said, as the boat gave another sickening whirl, "i can run a boat all right. shall i take hold?"
-"no," replied jamison sourly, "we've got to land!"
-"but there is no place to land," urged sam.
-"there is a place on the point where the doctor lives," answered jamison, "where we can land in a rowboat. i'm glad now that i brought the dinghy along with us. we can anchor the motor boat under the point and take refuge in the doctor's cabin until this storm blows over."
-the boys were greatly disappointed at this decision on the part of jamison, but they dare not argue the point with him for fear that he would suspect that they were watching his every movement.
-in a few moments a dark bulk showed directly in front of the racing motor boat, and only the quick action of the man at the wheel prevented a collision with a bold headland which showed dimly under the light of the few stars which looked down from the cloudy sky.
-in a moment the boys saw a light, and then sam whispered to frank:
-"that's not a coast point," he said. "it's one of the barren islands. i don't believe there's any doctor there, as he said! what shall we do if he asks us to go ashore?"
-"we'll have to go, i suppose," returned tommy, "but, all the same," he went on, "if we get a chance to get possession of the boat, we'll let these outlaws take a swim to the shore!"
-presently the boat came under the shelter of the headland, and then a member of the crew, in obedience to whispered orders from jamison, dropped into the dinghy which had been trailing behind, and shouted to his mate to follow. then jamison himself stepped into the dinghy, which was swinging about wildly in the surf.
-"now boys," he said, "if you'll get aboard, we'll take you ashore for an interview with the doctor. he'll demand big pay, but he's skillful and you ought to secure his services if you can."
-"only one man on board now," cried tommy, "now's our chance!"
-the clues will found
-"i wish one of you boys would give me a good swift kick," george exclaimed as the three lads stood in the cabin discussing the strange disappearance of bert calkins.
-"i'd do that all right if it would accomplish anything!" laughed will.
-"i'll do it anyhow, if you insist upon it!" grinned sandy.
-"it was a rotten thing for me to do!" exclaimed george. "i never expected to go to sleep when i lay down in my bunk, but i did go to sleep, and some one walked into the cabin and carried bert away! i'll never get over it if anything serious happens to him!"
-"aw, cut it out!" exclaimed sandy. "we'll find him all right. the question before the house right now is whether we're going to get supper before we start out on a hunt for the kid."
-"we may as well get supper," will advised. "there's no use whatever of our running around in circles in the dark. we've got to sit down here and reason it out. before we do anything at all, we ought to reach some conclusion as to why the poor kid was taken away."
-"why, i thought that was all understood," sandy interrupted. "i thought we decided not long ago that the man who stole the code wireless came back to get bert to translate it for him."
-"there was some talk of that kind," will agreed, "and i guess it's as near to the truth as we can get with our present knowledge of the incident. anyway, i can conceive of no other reason for the abduction."
-"then we may as well get supper while we're studying out the proposition," george said, "and, by way of penance, i'll do the cooking!"
-the lad turned to sandy to ask a question regarding the sudden appearance of the bear steak, and then for the first time noted his dilapidated and generally disreputable condition.
-"where did you get it?" he asked, pointing to the bruised face and torn garments. "you've gone and spoiled a perfectly good boy scout suit."
-"and the bear we're going to have for supper," will chuckled, "came very near spoiling a perfectly good boy scout."
-"did the bear hand him that?" asked george.
-"he certainly did!" replied sandy. "and he put me out for the count, too!"
-"then i'll take great joy in eating him!" declared george.
-while george fried the bear steak over the gasoline "plate," sandy told the story of the fishing trip, while will listened with a grin on his face, now and then interrupting with what sandy declared to be an entirely irrelevant remark.
-the big acetylene lamp which, had come in with the boys' baggage had not been set up, so the cabin was now lighted only by flashlights. this made cooking difficult, and george protested against it, so will went to work setting up the tank and getting the big lamp into use.
-"that's better!" exclaimed george, as the great light flashed out. "now, while i'm cooking the supper, you might look about and see what you can discover in the way of clues. there is an old theory, you know, that no person can enter a room and leave it without their leaving behind some trace of having been there!"
-"that's a part of the sherlock holmes business that i entirely overlooked!" laughed will. "come to think of it, the fellow must have left some clue here. we'll see if we can find it!"
-while sandy and george worked industriously over the gasoline "plate," frying bear meat and fish, and making toast and coffee, will began a thorough search of the cabin floor. he moved about for some moments on his hands and knees, studying the rough boards through a microscope.
-when he came to the bunk he examined that in the same careful and painstaking way. sandy and george pretended to be very much amused at his alleged posing as an investigator, but the boy paid no attention to their smiles and sarcastic remarks.
-all through the meal will kept his own counsel as to what he had discovered, if anything. his chums quizzed him unmercifully, but he gave out no information regarding discoveries until after the meal was completed and they sat, wrapped in their heavy coats, before the stripped table, now bearing only empty dishes.
-"now tell us about it!" demanded sandy. "how tall was this man who carried bert, away?"
-"five feet six," replied will.
-"black or white?"
-"black hair and eyes and whiskers."
-"fat or lean?"
-"neither, just heavily built."
-"come, smarty," sandy laughed, "perhaps you'll be kind enough to go on now and tell us the color of his necktie."
-"he didn't wear any necktie!" answered will. "he wore a leather hunting shirt and leather leggings. his hands were protected from the mosquitos by leather gloves. he wore moccasins."
-"will you be kind enough to tell us what he had for supper last night?" asked sandy. "also, can you tell us which side he sleeps on nights?"
-"this is no joke!" will answered. "i really think i have a good description of the man who abducted bert. and i think, too, that the description will serve to locate him."
-"that's all right!" laughed george, "when tommy comes back, we'll have him get out his dream book and read you to sleep!"
-"yes," will said gravely, "when tommy comes back with the surgeon."
-"it would be a rotten proposition, wouldn't it, if tommy should get back with the surgeon before we found bert?"
-"it certainly would," answered will.
-"tommy can't possibly get back before some time tomorrow night," sandy argued, "and we ought to be able to find the boy before that time!"
-"especially as will has a perfect description of the outlaw," said george with a wink at sandy.
-then the boy added with a laugh:
-"go on, will, and tell us how you know the man's size and weight."
-"yes," sandy broke in. "tell us how you know he's exactly five feet six. you weren't here to measure him!"
-"the wall measured him!" replied will.
-"oh!" exclaimed sandy with a grin.
-"that's reasonable!" replied sandy. "now tell us how you know he has black hair and eyes."
-"he left half a dozen hairs on the pillow at bert's bunk," replied will. "also he left coarser black hairs which evidently came from his face. they lie there on the table."
-the boys examined the hairs curiously, and then will asked:
-"what do you think of it?"
-"i think," replied sandy, "that bert regained consciousness while he was being lifted from the bunk and got in a couple of digs at the fellow's hair and whiskers."
-"the motion which removed the hair and whiskers," suggested george, "might have been entirely involuntary."
-"that's very true!" answered will. "it doesn't seem to me that the boy regained consciousness. if he had, he would have made such objections to being taken away that george would have been awakened. at any rate the hairs are here, and that is sufficient!"
-"now tell us how you know about the bulk of the fellow."
-"the marks on the wall show that," replied will.
-"what do you know about his leather leggings, hunting shirt and gloves?" asked sandy. "i know about the moccasins, because i saw the tracks on the floor myself. he must be an indian if he wore moccasins."
-"i never saw an indian with long whiskers!" replied will.
-"well, go on and tell us about the leather he wore," urged george.
-"the hunting shirt," will replied with a smile, as he pointed to a small piece of leather lying on the table, "was patched and in the struggle at the bunk the patch was torn away. a cloth garment, you know," he continued, "wouldn't be apt to be patched with leather."
-the boys looked at the leather patch, not much larger than a silver dollar, and nodded their heads.
-"the marks on the wall where the outlaw seems to have balanced his burden, show that he wore leather gloves," will continued. "you can see the blunt mark where he threw up a hand to steady himself. the fingers of a cloth glove would have shown narrower."
-"i guess you've got the sherlock holmes part of it all right!" said george, "so all we've got to do now is to find the boy!"
-"but this will help!" sandy argued. "at least we know what kind of a man to look for. by the way, how did you know that he wore leather leggings?"
-"he lost a buckle!" replied will. "i found it on the floor under bert's bunk. and so, you see," the boy went on, "when we find a man wearing leather leggings from which a buckle has been lost, we'll be perfectly justified in keeping close watch of him."
-"it seems as if there must have been a struggle here!" george argued in a moment. "the man lost hair, whiskers, a buckle, and a patch off his hunting shirt! i don't see how i could have slept through it all!"
-"well, you did!" returned sandy, "and that's all there is to it!"
-"are we going out tonight?" asked george.
-"of course, we are!" answered sandy. "we're not going to crawl into bed in comfort and leave bert in the hands of some brigand!"
-will held up his hand for silence, and the boys sat looking at each other with questioning eyes as a soft knock came on one of the windows.
-in an instant their eyes were turned in the direction of the sound, and what they saw caused them to spring excitedly to their feet.
-during the silence which followed, the sound of a heavy footstep was heard at the door of the cabin. when they looked again nothing was to be seen at the window.
-in luck at last
-instead of moving toward the dinghy, the boys sprang to the top of the trunk cabin and dashed forward toward the wheel.
-with an oath jamison tried to clamber back to the deck of the motor boat, but the dinghy was just then performing a bit of nautical gymnastics at the bottom of a trough and he did not succeed in reaching the desired footing. he fell back into the bottom of the boat, cursing the two rowers because they had not assisted him.
-as frank and tommy sprang forward over the cabin the man at the wheel released his hold and reached for a pistol. the boat swung around and would have been capsized only that frank seized the wheel and brought her head to the waves again.
-the wheelsman struck a savage blow at the boy as he threw the wheel around, and was in turn the object of attack from tommy. the two went to the deck together and came near being thrown into the sea.
-when the short battle ended the wheelsman lay on the deck unconscious, his head rolling from side to side as the boat tossed about on the waves. in the fall his head had struck the rail.
-seeing that jamison and the rowers were still trying to board the motor boat, sam rushed to the after deck and threatened them with his revolver. in a moment jamison presented a thirty-eight at the boy's head.
-"this is piracy!" he shouted. "surrender, or i'll blow your head off! this is piracy, i tell you!"
-the only reply to the man's threat was the increased clatter of the motors. tommy had turned on full power, and frank was heading the craft for the mouth of copper river. as she drew away from the dinghy, several harmless shots were fired.
-"that was a close shave!" tommy declared as the three boys gathered on the forward deck. "if jamison hadn't been a fool, we couldn't have done it! can you find your way to cordova, frank?" he added.
-"sure i can!" was the reply, "but i take it that we don't want to go there just now."
-"and why not?" asked tommy is surprise.
-"because this is piracy, all right!" exclaimed the boy. "old jamison was right, and he'll have all the officers along the coast after us as soon as he gets to land. we're in bad with the cops now."
-"but jamison won't be able to get to land tonight!" suggested sam.
-"indeed he won't!" agreed frank. "he'll have to pull in toward the island and lie there on his oars until daylight."
-"can't he land?" asked tommy.
-"i don't think he can land in the dark!" was the reply.
-"why can't we get to cordova and get back here with the surgeon before he can communicate with the officers?" asked tommy. "we can't afford to go into hiding just now. we've got to get the doctor up to the cabin, and we've got to find out what that code message contained."
-"how far is it from here to cordova?" asked frank.
-"it must be about thirty-five or forty miles," replied sam. "if the waves wouldn't keep us traveling up and down all the time, we ought to make it in about three hours."
-"jamison was trying to make us believe he was doing a fine thing if he took us to cordova and back in ten or twelve hours!" said tommy.
-"i don't think he intended to take us to cordova at all!" insisted sam.
-"well," tommy argued, "there's no way he can stop us until we get to cordova, and he can't stop us then unless he reaches the coast or gains the wireless station before we leave the town. once out on the gulf again, with the surgeon on board, we'll reach katalla in spite of jamison, and start the doctor toward the cabin."
-"then here goes for the town!" cried frank, turning on an extra bit of power and sending the boat through the waves like a meteor.
-it was rough riding, but the boys were fairly good seamen and stood the shaking up well.
-about midnight the wheelsman began showing signs of consciousness. he sat up on the swaying deck and motioned for water.
-"tip him overboard!" advised sam.
-"aw, give him a drink," argued tommy. "if you'd had had as much red liquor during the last few hours as he's had, you'd want to connect with the water cooler, i guess! give the man a show!"
-"where are you taking the motor boat?" asked the wheelsman.
-"is that right about your wanting a surgeon?"
-"that is right!" replied tommy.
-"where is he wanted?" asked the wheelsman, who had given the name of boswell. "why didn't you bring the sick boy out with you?"
-"because we thought it better to take the surgeon to him!" replied tommy. "the boy really wasn't able to be moved!"
-"fever?" asked boswell.
-tommy hesitated a moment before replying. he was in doubt as to just how much he ought to tell boswell. the fellow seemed to be friendly enough, and might be useful in case the lads were arrested for piracy, as, if he saw fit, he could testify that jamison was not carrying out his agreement with them, but, instead, was planning to maroon them on a barren island in the gulf. owing to these considerations it seemed best to keep on good terms with the fellow, and yet tommy did not care to describe in full what had taken place at the cabin.
-"no, the boy isn't sick of fever," tommy finally answered. "he received a wound on the head and lies unconscious."
-both boys thought they saw boswell give a quick start, but in a moment his face was as impassive as ever.
-"do you know what jamison was up to?" asked sam after a short pause.
-boswell looked keenly at the boy before answering.
-"i only know what he told me!" he replied.
-"what did he tell you?"
-"he said he had a joke on you boys; that he was charging you three hundred dollars for a trip to cordova, and that he meant to leave you on the first little island in the gulf that he came to."
-"did he tell you why he was going to do that?" asked tommy.
-again boswell looked keenly at his questioner.
-"i guess i'd better not answer that question," he said finally.
-"i wish you would answer it," tommy urged. "i ought to know just what motive the fellow has for throwing obstacles in my way.
-"he thinks it's funny!" answered boswell.
-"that isn't the correct answer," tommy insisted. "he has some motive for what he is trying to do. i'd like to know what that motive is."
-"you can't find out from me!" declared boswell.
-"you must be a chum of his!" sneered sam.
-"i hate the ground he walks on!" replied boswell. "i wouldn't have hired out to him at all if i hadn't been drunk. but i'm not going to repeat to any one what he told me in confidence!"
-"we shall have to put you off some distance this side of cordova," tommy suggested, "because if we don't you're likely to make us trouble by reporting the case of alleged piracy as soon as we land."
-"you needn't trouble yourself about my reporting anything," boswell answered. "i'm not mixing with jamison's affairs! if you boys are arrested for piracy, i'll tell all i know about it, and that won't do you any harm."
-dawn came slowly that morning, for heavy clouds were gathering in the sky. the short arctic night came to an end at last, however, and in the murky distance the boys saw the long coast line. shortly after three o'clock they passed the wireless station and landed, not without some difficulty at cordova.
-they found the town asleep, of course, but after a time an early riser directed them to the residence of a surgeon. they arranged with him to meet them later in the day and at once set out for the wireless station. it was two hours before they saw the operator coming to his post of duty.
-he remembered frank, and willingly promised to at once open communication with seattle and take up the work of securing a duplicate of the code message. he explained that a copy had been kept, but that it had been destroyed by a careless janitor, who had said that he could make nothing at all of the jumble of words and letters!
-as soon as seattle answered the cordova call, a duplicate of the code telegram was asked for, and seattle undertook to place the request on the wire and cause it to be rushed through to chicago.
-"we ought to receive the answer some time this afternoon," the operator said as the boys started away.
-making new plans
-when the boys returned to the floating dock at which the motor boat had been tied during their absence at the station they found boswell sitting in the cabin in a crouching attitude.
-"did you get what you wanted?" he asked.
-tommy shook his head.
-"then," continued the sailor, "you'd better give over trying to get it for the present and duck away from here! you'll have trouble if you don't!"
-"what do you mean by that?" asked frank.
-"do you see the tug coming up the bay?" asked boswell.
-"certainly!" was the reply.
-"well, she's been signalling to have this boat held until she arrives! and the chances are that she picked up jamison and his pirates somewhere near the island where you left them."
-"then, of course, jamison will want us arrested for piracy?" asked tommy tentatively. "i presume that's what it means."
-"well," boswell replied, "when you take another man's boat and leave him afloat in a dinghy, you must expect something to come of it besides kisses. of course you'll be arrested!"
-frank gave a long, low whistle of dismay.
-"then," he said, "we'll have to go and notify the surgeon of what's coming off and get him to go on to the cabin alone."
-"yes," tommy added, "and we can tell him to inform the boys what's going on here. we may have to remain here for several days if we are actually arrested."
-"but how about the code duplicate?" asked sam.
-"i presume that will have to remain with us unless it comes before the doctor leaves for the cabin," tommy answered.
-"look here," sam said, "you two boys are the fellows jamison wants. he won't put up much of a search for me. you go back to the wireless station and tell the operator to deliver the code duplicate to me and i'll see that it gets to the cabin."
-"it's all right of you to make the offer," tommy replied, "but there's no one at the camp that can read it."
-"then why can't frank slip away and get the message to camp?" inquired sam.
-"will certainly ought to have it," suggested tommy.
-"i'll tell you what we'd better do," frank advised. "we'd better make a rush for the cordova dock before that tug gets in. then we can arrange with the doctor to go on to the cabin by any conveyance he can secure while we take a sneak into the wilderness and get back when we can and as we can. that's better than being arrested."
-"i'm for it!" declared sam. "but how will you obtain possession of the wireless when it comes if you duck away in advance of the arrival of the tug? the message won't be here as soon as the tug is."
-the boys pondered over this proposition for a moment, and then frank came to the front with another suggestion.
-"i'll go back to the wireless station," he said, "and arrange for the operator to leave the message in some secret hiding place where we can get it after nightfall."
-"i don't like this fugitive-from-justice business!" exclaimed tommy.
-"i don't either," replied frank, "but it's a long ways better than lying in some dirty old jail. we can arrange here with father's agent to find out what sort of a case they've got against us, and pick out a good lawyer to represent us, so we'll be all ready to defend ourselves when the arrest is finally made."
-"your father has an agent here?" asked tommy, regarding frank suspiciously. "what business is he in?"
-"oh, quit it!" replied frank. "we haven't any time to talk about private affairs. what we've got to do right now is to find out how we're going to escape arrest at this time. i'll go and make the arrangement with the operator, and we'll all make the arrangements with the doctor, and then we three boys will start across country to the little old log cabin in the lane!"
-"there ain't no lane there!" grinned tommy.
-"there may be some time, when that part of the country becomes a suburb of cordova!" laughed frank. "but i reckon i'd better be getting back to the wireless office. that tug's coming in hand over hand!"
-the boy was back from the office inside of ten minutes, but by that time the tug was so near that the motor boat was obliged to shoot ahead at full speed in order to keep clear of her. the boys saw jamison standing by the captain urging him to greater efforts in the speed direction, and saw him shake a huge, ham-like fist in their direction as the motor boat left the tug behind.
-"i'll tell you why i want to leave the case in the hands of a lawyer here," frank said, as the boat shot toward the cordova dock, "jamison doesn't want to prosecute us boys for piracy. he's interested in some way in this case you are here to handle, and he wants to keep us under lock and key until something he wants done can be accomplished."
-"i'm sure that's right!" tommy answered.
-"i don't know much about this thumb-print case," frank went on, "but i believe that this man jamison is trying to make sure that you boys don't get hold of the drawings you are looking for. of course i have no proof, but i'm sure that, in the long run, you'll find that i'm right?"
-the motor boat made such good time in the run for the cordova dock that the tug was nearly out of sight when the boys climbed into the main street of the town.
-"but we can't get the wireless until night!" urged frank. "he's going to bring it to cordova tonight and leave it in the old blacksmith shop just back of the line of store buildings."
-"well, we can get all ready to go," tommy urged. "we don't want to take any chances on being pinched just as we get ready to leave!"
-"we'll meet at the old shop in half an hour," frank suggested, "and then we can make all the plans necessary."
-tommy noticed that afternoon that a strange fatality seemed to accompany all of jamison's efforts to cause the arrest of the boys. first, there was no federal officer in the town. next, there was no judicial or ministerial officer before whom a complaint of piracy could be made. next, the motor boat owner and his two outlaws accosted boswell on the street and made to him insulting remarks concerning his championship of the boys.
-tommy wondered vaguely at the hostility displayed toward jamison, but frank explained it all by saying that the fellow was a common loafer and hadn't a friend in town.
-the boys might have been arrested a dozen times that day had the hostility to jamison and his men not taken such positive form. but while jamison, half-intoxicated, roared about the street, the boys kept as quiet as possible and so escaped general notice.
-about two in the afternoon the boys were very much surprised to see a gentleman who had been pointed out to them as the surgeon walk into the old blacksmith shop where they sat. he beckoned frank to one side and the two engaged in a short but apparently satisfactory conversation, at the conclusion of which the doctor shook the boy's hand heartily.
-"all right," he said on taking his departure, "i'll attend to the matter at once! i know the operator and it'll be all right there."
-"now, what's up?" demanded tommy suspiciously.
-"i've got a new scheme!" replied the boy.
-"pass it around!" urged tommy.
-"now, you just wait until i see whether the doctor gets the message or not!" replied frank. "if he does, it's us for a ride home!"
-"i'd like to steal that old drunkard's motor boat!" tommy said.
-frank broke into a hearty laugh.
-"you just wait and see!" he said. "we've got to be mighty careful to keep away from the federal officers, for a deputy marshal has been sent for. can you get up a good hot run if you have to?"
-"you bet i can!" answered tommy.
-"well, we may get a signal to make a hot foot to the dock directly," the boy went on, "and if we do, there mustn't be any mistake about the pace you set."
-"are you really going to steal the motor boat?" asked sam.
-"i don't know!" replied frank. "we've been waiting around here all day for something to take place, and i guess it's about time there was something doing."
-"i thought you were going to wait until night before sneaking out with the despatch," suggested tommy, eyeing his friend suspiciously.
-"when we made those plans," replied frank with a grin, "i didn't know how many friends i had in town."
-"is the doctor going with us?" asked tommy.
-"no," was the reply, "we are going with him!"
-"aw, have it your own way," tommy exclaimed. "i never could get any satisfaction talking with you!"
-the doctor returned to the old blacksmith shop in an hour and called frank outside. the two talked together for a moment, and then the boy called out the wonderful news that they wouldn't even have to run to the dock; that a carriage was waiting for them!
-"something mighty funny about this!" mused tommy. "i'd like to know who that boy is that has such luck in alaska! anyone would think he owns the town, the way things are shaping themselves here!"
-a moment later a wagon drawn by a pair of sturdy horses made its appearance in front of the old blacksmith shop, and the boys took their seats. as they did so the sound of a pistol shot came from around the corner and jamison dashed into view, hatless, coatless, very red in the face and very excited as to manner.
-by his side appeared a man whom the doctor at once recognized as a federal officer. he came to a halt when he saw the boys in the wagon.
-"wait!" he commanded, "i have warrants for your arrest!"
-another lost "bulldog"
-the step outside the cabin door halted, and the boys stood silent for a moment, hardly knowing whether to dispute the stranger's entrance or to admit him with a show of courtesy.
-while they waited, will glanced at the window and saw the flutter of a white hand on the pane.
-"that's the boy scout salute!" he said.
-"another boy scout?" whispered sandy. "i wonder if it rains boy scouts up here in alaska!"
-"i wish there were a thousand here!" george declared.
-"i don't care how many boy scouts show up just now," will argued, "but i would like to know where they all come from!"
-there now came a knock on the door and a gruff voice demanded admittance.
-"shall i open the door?" whispered will.
-"may as well," answered george.
-when the door swung open, a stout man of middle age presented himself in the opening. after casting a keen glance about the interior he stepped inside and closed the door.
-"you boys seem to have taken possession of my home!" he said.
-"we found the cabin unoccupied, and took the liberty of using it," will answered in a conciliatory tone.
-"oh, it's all right!" returned the other. "that's the way i took possession of the place! i found the cabin deserted and just moved in."
-"we can vacate if necessary," will suggested.
-"oh, there's room enough for all of us, i take it!" answered the stranger. "my name is cameron, and i spend only a day or two here occasionally. i was hoping when i saw your light that you were having a midnight supper. how about something to eat?"
-"there's plenty in the cabin!" george replied. "we can give you either fish or bear steak for supper."
-"then i'm glad to find you here!" laughed the other, "for i've been traveling all day and i'm as hungry as a wolf!"
-the visitor threw himself into a chair and began a careful survey of the interior, far more searching than the one made from the doorway.
-"my name is cameron, as i said before," he said, "and i'm prospecting for gold."
-"prospecting for gold on a glacier?" asked will.
-"young man," cameron replied, "there is plenty of gold in this vicinity. the ice brought it here. i'm being laughed at by my friends," he continued, "because i'm searching for the mother lode. but, all the same, i've every prospect of discovering it!"
-"the mother lode in a glacier?" asked sandy.
-"it is my theory," cameron went on, "that the range of mountains to the north holds gold in large quantities. it is a part of my theory, too, that the drifting ice brought tons of it down to the moraine. if i find any gold here at all, i'll find it in quantities sufficient to clog the money markets of the world!"
-cameron looked from face to face as he spoke, apparently anticipating a burst of enthusiasm from his listeners.
-"up on the yukon," he went on, "the gold was found under the ice, where it had been deposited by glaciers which are now dead. the same conditions exist here. for all we know, there may be tons of the precious metal at the bottom of the first layer of ice."
-"that's very true!" replied will. "and if you don't mind, we'll stick around a short time and see what you discover."
-"remember," cameron said then, "that this is my claim!"
-"of course," will answered, "we wouldn't attempt to rob you of any legitimate discovery."
-in the meantime george and sandy were preparing a supper for the visitor. with their heads bent low over the gasoline "plate," they discussed the personality of the man and his theory in low conversation.
-"how tall should you say that fellow was?" asked sandy.
-"about five foot six!" was the reply.
-"and he's stout!"
-"and he wears a leather hunting shirt, and leather leggings, and he took off a pair of serviceable leather gloves when he entered?"
-"i see what you're getting at," george replied, "can you see whether there's a buckle missing from his leggings?"
-"there is!" answered sandy.
-"and a patch missing from his hunting shirt?"
-"just as sure as you're a foot high!"
-"did you ever see such nerve?" whispered george. "he comes here and steals a sick boy, and then has the nerve to return and claim the cabin!"
-"well, i'm glad he came," sandy whispered back. "all we've got to do now is to play the sleuth when he leaves the cabin."
-"you mean that if we follow him in his journeys over the country we'll be apt to find bert?" asked george.
-"that's just the idea!" replied sandy. "i wonder if his mug is sore where bert extracted the whiskers?"
-"i wonder if he expects to get a good night's sleep, with bert lying in some uncomfortable hiding place?" george asked. "i'd like to poke him in the mug, just for luck!"
-"that wouldn't help us find bert," sandy cautioned. "we've just got to be good to him and follow him wherever he goes."
-"watch me put him off his guard," george suggested.
-"how long have you been in this neighborhood?" he asked, turning to cameron. "i ask," the boy continued, "because one of our chums wandered away from the cabin while we were out fishing and hasn't returned."
-cameron's eyes sought the floor for a moment.
-"i have just returned from the coast," he said, "so, unless your friend strayed off in that direction, i wouldn't have caught sight of him. do you mean that he strayed away in the darkness?" he asked.
-"no," replied george, "he strayed away this afternoon while temporarily out of his mind. my friends were out fishing, and i was asleep at the time. he received a slight wound on the head, from a fall, not long ago, and that is probably the cause of his aberration of mind."
-the boys thought they saw a sudden expression of satisfaction creep over cameron's face as george finished his explanation.
-"if you'll serve mr. cameron's supper," sandy said, giving george a sly wink, "i'll go with will, and we'll take different directions so as to cover more ground. we are getting anxious about bert."
-of course the object of the boys in leaving the cabin was to meet the boy scout who had signalled to them from the window. when they turned the corner of the cabin, they found a thin, pale lad in a torn and faded khaki uniform leaning against the outer wall.
-"why don't you come in?" asked will.
-"is the miner in there yet?" asked the boy.
-"yes, he says the cabin belongs to him, and he's going to remain all night! what do you know of him?"
-"did you call out to him?" asked will.
-"no," was the answer. "i was afraid he would send me back if i did. miners in this section are not fond of leading strangers to their claims."
-"where do you belong?" asked sandy pointing to the bulldog badge displayed on the boy's ragged coat.
-"bulldog patrol, portland," was the reply.
-"how'd you get out into this country in such a plight?" asked will.
-"my chum and i," was the reply, "started out to seek our fortunes. we got to katalla and couldn't get a thing to do. sam--his name is sam white--insisted on remaining in town, but i made a break for the country."
-"how long since you've had anything to eat?" asked sandy.
-"about twenty-four hours," was the reply.
-"of course i'll go, now that i know that you are running the camp," replied the boy. "i suppose i should have gone in anyway, directly, for just as i came up i heard the man knocking at the door. i was still afraid i'd get kicked out if i put in an appearance at any miner's cabin and asked for food, but i should have risked it."
-"i didn't know that miners did such things," sandy observed.
-"some of them do, and some of them don't," replied the boy.
-"you haven't given us your name yet," suggested will.
-"ed hannon," was the reply.
-"well come on in the cabin, ed hannon," laughed sandy, "and we'll fill you up, but you mustn't say a word about having seen that miner, and if he talks to you about the route by which you approached the cabin lie like a thief! which way did he come from, anyway?"
-"he came from the west," was the reply. "i plumped into him not far from one of the little rivulets which joins copper river not very far away."
-"there!" said sandy. "now i guess we've got something tangible."
-the beginning of the trail
-when will and sandy entered the cabin with ed hannon, cameron sprang up to meet them. there was a show of excitement in his manner as he exclaimed:
-"so you found the lost boy, did you?"
-"no," will replied, "this is not the lost boy, but it is a lost boy!"
-"where did you come from?" asked cameron hastily, regarding ed with a pair of bold, black eyes. "how long have you been in this district?"
-"i came from katalla today," answered the boy.
-"tonight, you mean," corrected cameron.
-"i started early this morning," replied ed, "but i guess i've been wandering around the country a good deal. it seems that i came up to the cottage from the north."
-cameron sank back into his chair with a look of satisfaction on his face. the boys now busied themselves getting a substantial meal for ed, and the boy was soon attacking a generous slice of bear steak.
-if cameron had the plans bearing the thumb marks, he was certainly the man to keep them concealed if he believed them to be of any value whatever to any one. if he did not have charge of the plans, then the chances were that vin. chase, the crooked clerk, had them and that any reference to them in the presence of cameron would be communicated as soon as possible to the actual holder.
-will was certain that cameron was the man who had given the name of len garman by mr. horton in the interview in which he had received his instructions. at that time he did not believe that cameron, or garman, whichever his name was, knew anything whatever of the thumb prints on the plans.
-he did believe, however, that the fellow would fight to the death for the drawings, not because he believed them to be of value as evidence, but because he believed them to be of great value to one in quest of mining machinery suitable for that section of the country.
-directly cameron began pacing to and fro in the cabin and occasionally glancing out of the window. there were only a few stars in sight and no moon, but for all that the fellow appeared greatly interested in the landscape outside.
-"are you expecting some one?" will finally asked.
-"certainly not," was the reply. "why do you ask such a question?"
-"because you seem anxious about something."
-"i am anxious about something," replied cameron seating himself by will once more. "i don't like the idea of this boy coming in here with his story of being lost on the moraine.
-"you think he came here for a purpose?"
-"i must say that i do!"
-will saw that cameron was fearful that ed had brought in a message of some kind, and so talked to the point for some moments in the hope of drawing the miner out. but the miner only stared at ed with his evil eyes and said nothing of importance.
-"i know what's eating you, old fellow," will thought to himself. "you think that there's a gang of boy scouts scattered over the moraine looking for bert, and you're afraid they'll find him!"
-sure enough this prognostication seemed to be the true one, for directly cameron drew on his head net and leather gloves and walked to the door. he paused there a moment and turned back to say to will:
-"it will soon be morning, and i desire to get to the point of my investigation before daylight. i have been very courteously entertained and shall return to your cabin at night, with your permission."
-"i guess it's your cabin rather than mine!" replied will with a smile. "i think you are acting very decently about our taking possession of it. of course you'll always find food here as long as we remain."
-with a wave of the hand at the group of boys gathered about the table, cameron went out and closed the door. they heard him moving heavily along toward the east and then came silence.
-"he's stopping to see if he's watched," suggested sandy.
-"he'll be watched all right!" george declared.
-"but how?" asked sandy.
-"i'm the original sleuth!" george replied with a grin. "i can follow the fellow by the sound of his footsteps, even if he is wearing moccasins!"
-"does any one doubt that cameron is the man formerly known as len garman?" asked will.
-the boys all shook their heads, but ed turned an inquiring face toward the speaker.
-"he gave the name of cameron here, did he?" he asked.
-"well, that isn't the name i heard him called by at katalla," ed declared.
-"so you saw him at katalla, did you?" asked sandy.
-"yes, i saw him at katalla two days ago. he seemed to have a lot of business with a young fellow who appeared to be a stranger in the town."
-"what name did he give there?"
-"brooks!" replied ed.
-"well, we mustn't stand here chinning while the fellow is getting out of sight," suggested george. "i'm going to take after him right now!"
-"wait," sandy suggested, "and i'll go with you."
-"do you think he will go straight to bert?" asked will.
-"i have no doubt of it!" was the reply.
-"it's just this way," george went on, "cameron is suspicious that a great effort is being made to discover the whereabouts of the kidnapped boy, and he can't rest easy until he knows that he is safe. besides, the fellow would like to know whether bert had regained consciousness."
-"yes, i presume he is anxious to learn what the code despatch he stole contains," will answered.
-"there was some talk," sandy said, directly, "about bert regaining consciousness before he left the cabin. do you think that possible?"
-"no, i don't!" replied george. "i should have heard a struggle had anything of the kind taken place. the fact of the matter is," the boy went on, "that cameron thinks some one is after the drawings he values so greatly. he found bert here with the code message and naturally concluded that the cipher referred in some way to his plans."
-"well, come on, then," sandy urged. "we'll have to be moving if we follow cameron. i think we've talked too long already."
-"locate him?" repeated sandy. "we've got to locate him. he'll go straight to bert and that's exactly where we want to go."
-the boys made a great commotion in the cabin as if preparing for bed, and finally the lamp was extinguished, leaving the room in complete darkness.
-"now, be careful when you open the door," whispered will.
-for a wonder the door opened noiselessly on its hinges, and was closed without the slightest jar. directly will heard a soft tap at the window and pressed his face against the pane.
-"cameron is still in sight," sandy's voice said, "and not very far away. he seems to be satisfied that we've all gone to bed, and is heading for the west. looks like he was following the trail we followed when we went out after fish."
-"go to it, then," will said. "don't expose yourselves by being too rash, and don't come back in the morning without bringing bert with you."
-"you watch me!" sandy replied, and then he was gone.
-the lad with the "drag"
-"run him down!" tommy insisted.
-"jump the rig over him!" sam advised.
-the doctor, however, stretched forth a detaining hand and the driver held in the horses.
-"that's right!" frank exclaimed.
-"you mustn't get into any quarrel with the officers," dr. pelton suggested. "we can soon settle this matter."
-"je-rusalem!" exclaimed tommy. "here we've been hanging around an old blacksmith shop all day, and skulking through the streets, and not getting half enough to eat, only to get pinched at the last minute! if i had my way, i'd bump that officer on the coco and make for the landing. we can't stay in this blooming little burg all the rest of our natural lives. will will be anxious."
-"now don't get excited!" laughed frank. "we'll get out in, a few minutes, all right."
-"if it was so easy to get out in a few minutes," argued tommy, "why didn't you get out hours ago?"
-frank only laughed as the impatient question and sprang out of the carriage. the doctor alighted, too, and they both stood for a moment in close consultation with the officer.
-jamison, who was now very drunk, stood weaving about in the street, demanding that all the boys, and the doctor, and the driver of the carriage, be thrown into jail on a charge of piracy.
-"don't you think," frank suggested to the officer, "that this man is too drunk to be out on the street?"
-"why, of course he is," replied the officer beckoning to an associate who stood watching the group from the next corner.
-when the associate came up, jamison was ordered under arrest, and was taken away with many threats and exclamations of rage.
-"i don't like this man jamison any better than you do," the officer said, speaking to frank and dr. pelton, "but the case did look rather bad for the boys, and i had to do something."
-"he collected three hundred dollars of me, for a trip to and from cordova," frank explained, "and then tried to maroon us on one of the barren islands. there's a member of his crew back here in the blacksmith shop who will tell you the same story."
-"so you paid him three hundred dollars, did you?" asked the officer.
-"yes, sir," answered the boy.
-"and you have proof that he tried to maroon you?"
-"and you took the boat only to enforce the contract you had made?"
-"that's the idea!" replied frank.
-"then i'm not going to bother with the case at all!" replied the officer. "if you had come to me with this story the minute jamison began to rave about arrest, you wouldn't have been put to all this inconvenience."
-"i think," grinned frank, "that jamison ought to pay us back the three hundred dollars, because he never brought us to cordova at all, and even if he had, he wouldn't have earned the money until he returned us to katalla. he ought not to keep the money."
-"that's a fact!" exclaimed the officer with a smile at the boy. "i'll go down to the jail and make him give it back."
-the officer started away, and tommy and sam sat in the carriage regarding frank with wide open eyes.
-"say, who is that kid?" tommy asked.
-"i don't know," replied sam.
-"did you notice that any time he said anything to the officer that the officer just fell right in with his ideas?"
-"sure i did," was the reply.
-"and did you notice how the doctor paid special attention to every remark he made?"
-"i couldn't help but notice it," was the reply.
-"well, that kid's got these fellows up here buffaloed all right," tommy declared. "and that being the case, i wonder why he didn't use some of his influence hours ago and get us started on the road to katalla."
-"i give it up!" sam replied.
-frank and the doctor stood talking together for a few moments, and then the federal officer returned and handed two hundred dollars in bank notes over to frank.
-"jamison thinks he ought to have a hundred dollars because he paid the tug for bringing him and his crew in," the officer said, "and because he's going to let you run his motor boat up to katalla."
-"what do you know about that?" whispered sam.
-"i'll bet that boy's father is president of the united states," replied tommy. "or he may be king of england."
-"whoever he is, he's got a pull," replied sam.
-"drag!" exclaimed tommy. "whenever a man's got a dead sure cinch like that, it's a drag and not a pull!"
-"well," the doctor said, "we're losing time! we may as well go to the wireless office and get our code message. i presume it's ready for delivery by this time."
-"it's about time we were thinking about that boy with his head in a sling, too!" tommy suggested.
-"it won't take us long to get there now," doctor pelton remarked.
-the gulf of alaska was remarkably smooth, when the vicious habits of that body of water are taken into consideration, and the boys made the run to katalla without accident in little less than three hours, arriving at the floating dock with the sun still more than three hours in the sky.
-"now for the rotten part of the journey," tommy suggested. "if we hadn't had to wait for the wireless after we landed at the dock we should have arrived here in time to reach the cabin before dark."
-"who's got the wireless?" asked sam.
-"frank's got it tucked away under his uniform!" laughed doctor pelton. "he wouldn't even let me take a look at the envelope!"
-"do you know what's in it, frank?" asked tommy.
-"sure i do," was the reply.
-"then, what's all this mystery about? why don't you pass the information around?" demanded tommy impatiently.
-"all in good time!" laughed the boy.
-"i don't see any use of all this mystery!" tommy grumbled, turning to sam, "i get shut out of the inside features of every game i'm in!"
-"now, how do we get to the cabin?" asked the doctor.
-"walk, i suppose," grumbled tommy. "it's only about fourteen or fifteen miles, and the country between the two points is mostly on end. we ought to get there by an hour or two after midnight, if we don't stop to play marbles on the way."
-"if you will all wait here a few moments," frank said, "i'll go and see what i can do in the shape of a rig."
-"a rig!" repeated tommy. "fat lot of fun you'd have driving a rig over that moraine!"
-"of course we can't drive clear to the cabin," frank replied, "but we can get quite along way from the coast if we have a strong team and a good wagon!"
-"yes, i remember smooth country somewhere on the route," replied tommy.
-"but even at best," frank explained, "we shall have to walk five or six miles, so we may as well be getting busy."
-in a very few minutes frank returned with a pair of strong horses and wagon more desirable for its strength than its comfort.
-"where'd you find it?" asked tommy.
-"sent a wireless ahead asking for it!" replied frank.
-"i wish you'd send a wireless over to the cabin," tommy grinned, "and ask the boys to have supper all ready when we get there, and you might suggest that sandy and george meet us a half a mile this side with a pie under each arm."
-"i believe if that kid should ask to have some one dip him a blue blazer out of an ice cold spring it would be done," sam whispered to tommy, as the party clambered into the wagon.
-"he's certainly got a drag somewhere!" replied tommy.
-"things are running pretty smoothly boys," suggested doctor pelton as the straggling buildings of the coast town disappeared from view.
-"they're running too smoothly!" exclaimed tommy. "first thing we know, there'll be a cylinder head blowing out, or a volcanic eruption, or something of that kind. we've been having things altogether too easy ever since we landed at cordova."
-"just listen a moment," frank said, "i guess there's something going to happen, right now!"
-there came a long, low rumbling sound, apparently moving from east to west, followed by a tipping of the moraine which almost brought the horses to their knees.
-"it would never answer," tommy grumbled, "for us to make a trip to alaska without bunting into a glacier ready to smash up things!"
-"that's not a glacial slide!" frank said. "it's an earthquake!"
-a break in the glacier
-"an earthquake?" repeated tommy. "i thought they never had earthquakes in alaska any more!"
-"there are few weeks when there are no earthquakes!" was the reply.
-"well, when's it going to stop quaking?" asked sam, springing out of the wagon. "it seems to me that we're getting a sleigh ride!"
-the others followed his example, and stood in a moment within fifty feet of a slowly widening chasm which seemed to run from east to west across the entire moraine. they had just reached the timber line when the disturbance began, and now they saw trees a hundred feet in height and from six to eight inches in diameter dropping like matches into the great opening in the earth.
-"gee!" exclaimed tommy. "the breath of the earthquake is enough to freeze one! i wish i had a couple of fur coats!"
-the boy expressed the situation very accurately, for the opening of the moraine revealed the mighty mass of ice which lay under it. the glacier which had lain dead under the mat of vegetation for how many hundred years no one would ever know, showed far down in the great cavern, and a gust of wind sighing through the ragged jaws laid a chill over the little party.
-slowly the chasm widened. the ground under the boys' feet seemed to be unsteady. with a swaying motion it dropped off toward the coast, except at the very edge of the cavern, which seemed to be doubling down like a lip folded inside the mouth.
-tommy and sam both sprang forward, but it was too late! the southern line of the chasm seemed, to drop away for fifty feet or more, and trees and rocks crashed into the opening. the horses and the wagon went down with the rest. the screams of the frightened horses cut the air for an instant, and then all was silent.
-"rotten!" cried tommy.
-"fierce!" shouted sam.
-"awful!" declared doctor pelton.
-frank stood looking at the ever-widening chasm for a moment and then faced toward the coast.
-"we'll have to walk around it now, i'm thinking," tommy said, in a moment. "and a nice job we've got!"
-as far as the eye could see the chasm extended, now growing in size, now contracting. a pale blue mist rose out of the opening, and the air was that of an august day no longer.
-the sliding motion continued, and the chasm increased its width.
-"will it never stop?" asked sam, almost thrown to the ground by a quick convulsion of the surface.
-"not just yet!" replied the doctor gravely. "i can tell you in a moment just what has taken place. the weight of soil and timber on top of the dead glacier is shifting. the volcanic action tipped the moraine to the south and it broke, opening the way to the ice below. there is no knowing how serious the break may be. for all we know, the upheaval may send this whole moraine into the gulf of alaska."
-"that's a cheerful proposition, too!" tommy exclaimed.
-"i wish i could get close enough to the chasm to look down," sam observed. "i'll bet it's a thousand feet!"
-"you'd better not try that!" advised frank.
-"the question before the house at the present moment," the doctor said, "is how i am going to get to my patient."
-"can't we get across this little crack in the earth?" asked sam.
-"that depends on the length of it!" answered frank. "if the doctor's theory is correct, this whole point has cracked away from the glacier above. in that case, we may be obliged to in some way work ourselves to the bottom of the chasm and up on the other side."
-"we never can do that!" sam insisted.
-"alaska is full of just such gorges as this one," frank explained. "the whole country is resting on an icy foundation, and earthquakes find congenial conditions when it comes to cracking the crust. we don't know how long this chasm is, but the chances are that it isn't as long now as it will be!"
-"yes," agreed the doctor. "the chances are that the chasm started here today will continue to grow in length until it cuts across the point of land between controller bay and the bering glacier. i have known chasms of this character to travel fifty miles in a night, and i have known them to walk with such dignity that it took them ten years to go ten miles."
-"but there must be some way of getting across it!" exclaimed tommy. "everything has been going all right up to now, and we're not going to be kept away from the cabin by any such playful little earthquake as this!"
-"we'll do the best we can," frank said gravely.
-the boys turned to the east and west and traversed the line of the chasm for long distances. in places the width was not more than thirty feet. in others it was at least a hundred. occasionally the walls of soil and ice sloped down at an angle of forty degrees, in other places the wall was vertical.
-within an hour the sound of running water was plainly heard, and the boys understood that the convulsion of nature had opened a reservoir somewhere in the glacier, and that the long chasm would soon become a rushing torrent. the prospect was discouraging.
-"i wish we had an airship!" suggested tommy, as they came back to the starting place, a few minutes before the night closed down upon the moraine. "it's provoking to think that we can't get across a little chasm not any wider than a street in old chicago!"
-"i think i could get along very well with a derrick!" said sam.
-after a long conference, it was decided to keep to the west and endeavor to pass around the chasm in that direction.
-"we certainly can't remain here inactive," the doctor argued. "we've got to go one way or the other, and i think the chances are better toward the west!"
-"it will soon be good and dark," cried tommy, "and then we'll have to make some kind of a camp for the night."
-"i've got a searchlight with me," suggested frank.
-"so've i," answered tommy.
-"i'll tell you one thing we forgot," sam cut in. "you didn't make jamison give up your automatics!"
-"seems to me," tommy added, looking at frank critically, "that you've got some kind of a drag with the people at cordova."
-"never mind that now," frank replied. "what we need now is some kind of a drag to get us across this chasm."
-the electrics illuminated only a narrow path, but the boys and the doctor made fairly good time as they advanced toward the west.
-after walking at least a mile and finding no narrowing in the surface opening, the boys stopped once more for consultation.
-while they stood on the edge of the chasm considering the situation, a bright blaze leaped up some distance to the north.
-"some one's burning green boughs!" exclaimed tommy.
-"how do you know that?" asked sam.
-"look at the white smoke!" answered tommy. "i guess if you had made and answered as many boy scout smoke signals as i have, you'd know how to make a smudge."
-"it's so bloomin' dark i couldn't tell whether the smoke is while or black!" declared sam. "i can see only the bulk of it."
-"if it was good and black," tommy answered, "we couldn't see it so plainly. and, come to think about it," he added, laying a hand excitedly on frank's shoulder, "there are two columns of smoke."
-"i see the two now," frank answered. "one column has just begun to show. you know what that means, of course!"
-"it means a boy scout signal for assistance," replied tommy.
-doctor pelton turned to the boys with an anxious face.
-"do you really mean that?" he asked.
-"then there must be boy scouts in trouble on the other side of the chasm!" the doctor concluded.
-"that's about the size of it!" frank exclaimed.
-"look here," tommy declared, "we've just got to get across that crack! i wonder if it would be possible to find walls so slanting that we could pass down this side and up the other."
-"well, even if we did," sam argued, "there's a rush of water at the bottom. i don't see how we could get across that."
-"i know how we can get across it if we find the walls accommodating," tommy exclaimed. "you saw how the trees tumbled into the chasm, didn't you? well, if we can find a place where the moraine was heavily wooded, we'll find a bridge of tree trunks across any water there may be at the bottom! and the bridge may not be very far down, either!"
-"great head, little man!" laughed frank.
-"you ought to consider the matter very seriously before entering the chasm at all," suggested the doctor. "remember that it is uncertain as to size and that the walls are liable to crumble."
-"but see here," exclaimed tommy, "there's a boy scout signal for help on the other side, and we've just got to get across! for all we know, the cabin may have been wrecked by the earthquake, and the boys may have been injured in some way!"
-"i'm game to go!" shouted sam.
-"of course i'll go with you," the doctor went on. "in fact, i am satisfied that you are doing the right thing in making the attempt to cross. i only uttered a warning which we must all heed whenever we come to a place where a crossing seems possible."
-the boys soon discovered a place where the walls did not appear to be very steep and where the mass of trees which had fallen completely covered the bottom. then, cautiously feeling their way, they crept down.
-george and sandy caught
-when george and sandy left the cabin they saw the figure of the miner very dimly outlined away to the west.
-"we ought to get closer," sandy whispered. "first thing we know, he'll duck down into some hollow, and that'll be the last of him for the night. i guess we can creep up without his catching us at it."
-"of course we can!" replied george. "he's making so much noise himself that he can't hear us! he wouldn't make much of a boy scout when it came to stalking, would he?"
-the boys succeeded in getting pretty close to the miner; so close in fact, that occasionally they heard him muttering to himself as he stumbled over rocks and occasionally became entangled in such underbrush as grew along the top of the moraine.
-"we can't be very far away from the place where the bear tried to beat me up," sandy whispered, as they drew up for a moment. "i wouldn't mind having a bite out of that same bear just about now!"
-after a time they came to the head waters of the creek in which will and sandy had fished, and saw cameron standing on the other side.
-"he's going into the mountains!" whispered sandy.
-"that's exactly where he's keeping bert," george agreed.
-in a short time cameron paused in his walk and uttered a low whistle.
-"what do you think of that?" asked sandy. "he's going to meet some one here. and that means," the boy went on, "that he's had a pal watching bert while he's been away."
-"and it also means," george added, "that we can't be very far from the spot where bert is concealed. i hope so, anyway, for i'm about tired enough to crawl into my little nest in the cabin."
-"i should think you'd talk about sleep!" scoffed sandy. "you slept all the afternoon!"
-"if you mention that long sleep of mine again," george said half-angrily, "i'll tip you over into the creek. i'm sore over that myself!"
-while the boys stood waiting end listening an answering whistle came from the side of a mountain not far from the rivulet.
-"there's his chum!" whispered sandy. "if we get up nearer, we may be able to hear what they say."
-the boys crept along under the dim light of the infrequent stars, and finally crouched down behind an angle of rock which was not more than twenty feet removed from where cameron stood.
-they had hardly taken their position when a second figure made its appearance. the two stood talking together in whispers for a short time and then started to walk away.
-"there's something doing, all right!" exclaimed sandy.
-"yes, indeed, there is!" agreed george. "they wouldn't come out into such a hole as this after midnight to tell each other what good fellows they are, or anything like that."
-"i'm getting suspicious!" sandy chuckled.
-"because those fellows whispered!"
-"i see the point," replied george. "from our standpoint those fellows were all alone here in one of the wild places of alaska, yet they drew close together and whispered when they communicated with each other!"
-"they wouldn't do that," urged tommy, "unless they were afraid of being overheard. it shows that they believe some one to be watching them."
-the two men were now moving quite swiftly up the slope of the mountain. at times they were entirely hidden by the luxuriant growths, and at times they came out on little bald spots where rock outcropped to the exclusion of vegetation. the boys followed on into the thickets, pausing now and then to listen for the sounds of the advance of the others.
-presently they came to a shelf of rock which overlooked the valley of the rivulet. they paused for a moment to listen for the sounds of those in advance when a strong electric searchlight was thrown on their faces and they saw the grim, round barrel of an automatic pointing at their breasts.
-"you may as well hand over your automatics, boys!" cameron said.
-"and be quick about it, too."
-this last sentence came from a thin, cadaverous looking fellow whose face was only half revealed through the meshes of the head net.
-there was nothing for the boys to do but to pass over their revolvers. their searchlights were also taken from them, and then their hands were tied tightly behind their backs.
-"did you have a pleasant tramp through the woods?" asked cameron.
-"say," growled sandy, "if you'll just turn my hands loose, i'll give you a poke in the jaw!"
-"that wouldn't be polite!" sneered cameron.
-"don't take any lip from the young imps," snarled the other. "they've given us enough trouble already!"
-"you're a foxy old gink!" exclaimed sandy. "i wish i had you on south clark street, chicago, for a few minutes!"
-"so that's why you came to the cabin is it?" asked george.
-"certainly," replied cameron. "i had an idea that you'd follow me away! you see i figured it out exactly right!"
-"why did you want to make trouble for us?" asked sandy.
-"because you're too smart!" answered cameron.
-"what do you mean by that?"
-"when you sat sizing me up in the cabin while i was eating supper," cameron went on, "you informed me as plainly as words could have done that you knew me to be the man who had abducted your friend."
-"you didn't show that you knew," george suggested.
-"i tried not to show that i knew," answered the other.
-"what'd you steal bert for?" asked sandy.
-"i needed him in my business," answered cameron.
-"come, don't stand here all night talking with the little gutter-snipes!" exclaimed cameron's companion. "we've got work to do!"
-"march along, then, boys!" cameron ordered.
-the lads were now pushed forward into a cavern which opened on the shelf of rock where they had been taken prisoners. the opening in the mountain side seemed to be of considerable size, for the boys passed from an outer chamber of fair dimensions to two smaller ones further in.
-in the last of these chambers, on a huddle of blankets, lay the boy for whom they had been searching.
-"is he dead?" asked sandy.
-"no such luck," snarled cameron.
-"if you'll untie my hands, i'll look after him," george said.
-the bonds were cut and george bent over the still figure.
-"has he regained consciousness at all?" he asked.
-cameron turned to his companion.
-"tell them, fenton," he said, "whether the lad woke up during my absence. you were here all the time?" he added.
-"yes, i was here all the time!" answered fenton. "and the lad never opened his eyes once. that was a deuce of a blow you gave him, cameron!"
-"and what did you gain by it?" demanded sandy.
-"we'll show you directly what we gained by it!" cameron answered.
-seeing a bucket of water at one side of the cavern, george carried it over to the heap of blankets where the boy lay and began bathing his forehead and wrists. the boy groaned feebly but did not speak.
-"what did you hit him with?" asked george angrily.
-"the handle of my gun!" was the sullen reply.
-"why?" asked sandy.
-"because i wanted to get a paper he had."
-"well, you got it, didn't you?" asked the boy.
-"yes, i got it!"
-"and much good it did you, too!" said george angrily.
-"look here!" cameron almost shouted, "can either one of you boys read that code despatch?"
-george shook his head.
-"is there any one at the cabin who can read it?"
-"i have never known of any member of the party reading the cipher," replied george. "i never have seen a code despatch before."
-"you are lying to me!" shouted cameron. "the boy to whom the despatch was addressed can certainly read it! which one of you bears the name of will smith? don't lie to me now!"
-"will smith is at the cabin!" replied sandy.
-"just my luck!" shouted cameron.
-"what do you want to know about the code despatch?" asked sandy.
-"i want to know what it contains. and what is more, i'm going to know, too! i want one of you boys to write a note to this will smith and get him to come here to this cave."
-"not for mine!" exclaimed sandy.
-george made no verbal reply, but the expression of his face showed that he had no intention of doing anything of the kind.
-"it will be the worse for you if you don't!" shouted cameron.
-"oh, you've got the top hand for a few minutes now," sandy said, tauntingly, "but you'll soon find out that you're not the only man in the world that's got a gun!"
-this last as cameron flourished an automatic in his hand.
-"you'll write the note, or you'll starve to death!" replied fenton.
-"then we'll starve!" answered george.
-"no, we won't starve!" declared sandy. "we'll get the best of you outlaws in some shape, and give you a beating up that will put you in the hospital for six months!"
-fenton raised his fist as if to strike the speaker, but cameron caught his arm.
-"not now," he said. "wait until all other plans have been tried."
-"we have other work to do at this time, anyway," fenton said, with a scowl, "so we'll just lock the door on these young gutter-snipes and leave them to think the matter over!"
-the men passed out of the small cavern, but before they left the outer one, they rolled a great stone into the opening they had just passed through and blocked it firmly on the outer side.
-the morse code
-"and this," said sandy, as the great stone began to render the atmosphere of the place close and unpleasant, "is what i call a fine little boy scout excursion! did they leave one of the searchlights?"
-"not intentionally," replied george, "but i swiped one!"
-"well, we mustn't show a light until they get some distance away!" advised sandy. "we don't want them to know that we have it."
-"and we'll need it badly," george suggested, "if we're to give bert any attention! i wonder if the poor boy has had any care since he's been here! it doesn't seem to me that they would be heartless enough to leave him here in an unconscious condition very long!"
-"you can never tell what such fellows'll do," sandy observed.
-the boys remained silent for a long time, each one busy with his own thoughts. after what seemed an aeon, they saw that it was daylight outside. then they turned on their electric and made an examination of their wounded chum.
-they found that the bandage on his head had been changed, and that his pulse was not so high as when he had been discovered in an unconscious condition at the cabin.
-"i guess they've done the best they could," sandy observed, "and i'm much obliged to them for that! have you got anything to eat?"
-"now, look here, sandy," george replied whimsically, "have you any idea that i'd ever go away with you without taking something to eat? you got up from the table one minute and demand something to masticate the next! you're about the most regular boy at your meals i over knew. what'll you have now, pie or cake?"
-"pie!" laughed sandy.
-"well, you get a bear sandwich!" replied george. "i've got four great big thick ones wrapped up in paper and stowed away in my pockets. if those ginks had suspected anything of the kind, they would have taken them away from me. they're a bum lot, those men!"
-"produce one of the sandwiches!" demanded sandy. "they named me sandy at first because i'm such a hand for sandwiches!"
-george brought forth two great slices of bread and about a pound of fried bear meat. sandy's eyes sparkled at the sight.
-"we'll have one apiece now," george suggested, "and one apiece tonight. but every time they come near the cave, we'll tell them how hungry we are. that will make them think we're suffering."
-"you don't think we're going to stay here till night, do you?" demanded sandy munching away at his meat.
-"i hope not," answered george.
-"i wonder if bert's had anything to eat since he got the wallop on the coco?" asked sandy. "suppose we mince some of this meat up very fine and feed it to him. he may not know when he swallows it, but it will give him strength just the same."
-the suggested plan was followed, and bert was given quite a quantity of the tender meat. at first it was necessary to pass it down his throat with draughts of water, but later, much to the surprise and joy of the boys, he began, to swallow naturally.
-"he's coming back to life!" shouted sandy. "a boy's all right as soon as he begins to eat! sprinkle some water in his face and we'll see what effect that has."
-the boys were so pleased that they almost cheered with delight when at length bert opened his eyes and looked about.
-"time to get up?" he asked.
-"naw," replied sandy. "go to sleep again!"
-"that you, sandy?" asked bert.
-"that's sandy all right!" replied the boy.
-"why don't you open a door or window and let in some air?" asked bert.
-"aw, go to sleep!" advised sandy.
-"nice old dive you've got here!" bert went on. "here i've walked about nineteen thousand miles to find a boy named sandy and a boy named will, and a boy named tommy, and a boy named george, and when i find them they shut me up in a rotten old morgue."
-"how'd you come to ask for sandy?" demanded the boy.
-"the name struck me as being funny!" was the reply. "where are the others? are you here alone?"
-"george is over there on the floor," replied sandy. "ring off, now, and go to sleep! you're in no shape to talk."
-"i remember something about getting a dip on the head," bert said in a moment, evidently after long cogitation. "what was there about it?"
-"you got it!" replied sandy. "go to sleep!"
-"if you'll give me some more of that meat, i'll go to sleep!"
-george pushed forward about half of one of the sandwiches and the boy began eating it greedily. in a moment, however, his arm dropped to his side and he appeared to be unconscious again.
-"he's too weak to go at the grub like that," george advised, turning on the light. "we'll have to be careful!"
-but bert was not unconscious again. he was only sleeping.
-"i'd like to know what brought him out of that trance," remarked george as the boys sat regarding the youngster with inquiring eyes.
-"i don't know any more about it than you do," answered sandy, "but, if you'll leave it to me, setting the stomach to work put the blood in circulation, and that swept the cobwebs out of his brain."
-"sounds all right, but i don't believe it!" replied george.
-the day passed slowly. bert slept continuously until george's watch told him that it was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon. then he opened his eyes for a few moments, finished the rest of the sandwich and went to sleep again.
-"weak as a cat!" exclaimed sandy.
-the boy had scarcely closed his eyes when cameron's voice was heard at the entrance.
-"are you boys ready to write that note?" he asked.
-"come in here a minute," requested sandy. "i want to get a good poke at that ugly mug of yours!"
-"you won't feel quite so lively after going hungry for a day or two," sneered cameron. "you needn't mind about the letter, anyway," he added. "i have information that there's a boy coming in from cordova who can read the code despatch and we're laying for him now."
-"i don't want to seem to be irreligious," sandy replied, "but i beg leave to state that if i owed the devil a debt of a thousand of the greatest liars on earth and he wouldn't take you and call the debt square, i'd cheat him out of it! your fabrications are too cheap!"
-"don't get fresh now," advised cameron. "if you do, i'll come in there and take it out of your hide!"
-"come on in!" urged sandy. "i'd just like to get a good crack at your crust! i think i could fix you up in about five minutes so you'd want to lie in bed for about five months!"
-"aw, what's the good of stirring him up!" whispered george.
-"i want to get him so mad that he'll say something that he wouldn't say if he wasn't angry!" replied sandy. "what's your idea about this boy coming in, anyway? do you believe it?"
-"no!" was the reply. "there isn't any one to come in. and even if there was, there is no way in which he could be notified that he was coming! so you see, he's just lying for the fun of it!"
-"well, i'm sorry, boys," cameron observed, "that you won't take advantage of the offer i'm making you. i brought a basket of provisions with me, and you might be having a square meal in five minutes if you'd only do what i ask you to do."
-"i thought you didn't want the letter now!" scoffed sandy.
-"oh, i'll get it all right whether you write it or not!" answered cameron. "but if you have anything to say to me, you'd better say it now, because you won't see me again until tomorrow morning. i've just come from the cabin, and the boys there are about wild over your disappearance. i explained that i found your hats not far from a piece of torn and bloody turf, and that seemed to make them feel worse than ever."
-"let him alone," advised george. "what's the use of starting anything? he can make us trouble if he wants to!"
-"run along now," continued sandy. "we were having a quiet little snooze when you butted in. it's all right this time, but don't you ever do it again. here's hoping you remain away until morning!"
-cameron was heard to pass through the outer caverns and all was still, about the place. notwithstanding the assumed lightheartedness of the boys, they realized that they were in a serious situation.
-"i'm going to dig this stone out!" declared sandy shortly after the departure of the miner. "i believe we can move this beautiful door if we go at it right. come on and help me push."
-the boys pushed with all their might, but the stone was firmly blocked on the outside, and could not be moved.
-"it's after five o'clock," george said looking at his watch, "and if we do anything tonight, we'll have to do it right away. what time did tommy say he would be back with the doctor?"
-"there was some talk about his being back early in the evening," replied sandy. "and that gives me an idea!" the boy continued.
-"pass it out!" said george.
-"first," sandy said, hesitatingly, "let me ask a question. do you know how the boys are going to get in from the coast? what i mean is, have you any idea which way they will take on leaving katalla?"
-"that's all a guess," replied george.
-"they may come this way, though," suggested sandy.
-"yes, if they keep straight to the north until they strike the valley of this little creek and then turn east to the cabin, they'll be apt to pass this way."
-"here's hoping they do," sandy said fervently.
-"i don't see how that will help," george complained. "we're shut up in a hole, and might yell for a thousand years without being heard."
-"just you wait a minute," sandy advised. "let me see that searchlight of yours. have you the red and blue caps with you?"
-"they're right at the end," replied george. "just unscrew that cover and take them out. i thought you knew where to find everything connected with an electric searchlight!"
-sandy unscrewed the false cover at the end of the battery case and brought forth two celluloid caps; one blue, and one red.
-"it's been so long since we've used these boy scout signals," he add, "that i've almost forgotten which color we use for the dash and which for the dot when we signal in the morse code."
-"the red is the dash," explained. george. "what are you going to do?"
-"i'm going to hoist a signal of distress," laughed sandy.
-"expect it to show through the rocks?"
-"i guess it'll show out of any opening we can look out of!" exclaimed sandy. "i'm going to put on the red cap and set the light where it'll shine through the two outer caverns. if any of the boys come within sight of it, they'll understand the scrape we're in."
-"great head!" exclaimed george. "the boys will be coming back from katalla before long, and will and ed will naturally be searching for us, so we're pretty sure to have the signal seen and answered before morning!"
-"that's our only hope!" replied sandy. "unless our boy scout signal brings one party or the other, we're likely to starve to death in this rotten old cavern. let's see how it works," the boy went on, screwing the red celluloid cap firmly over the eye of the electric.
-"there you are!" he said with a chuckle. "if one of the boys sees the red light, he'll read it for a morse dash and if he sees the blue light, he'll read it for a morse dot!"
-the rocks tumble down
-after the departure of george and sandy from the cabin, will and ed decided that the best thing they could do would be to go to bed. they had been without sleep for many hours, and were thoroughly exhausted.
-no answer came from the bunk occupied by ed save a prolonged snore, and will knew that his companion was already in the land of dreams.
-when will awoke it was broad daylight and the sun was high in the heavens. looking at his watch, he was surprised to see that it was after twelve o'clock. in a moment, he heard ed stirring in his bunk, and then the boy sat up, rubbing a pair of sleepy eyes.
-"that was a corker!" will exclaimed.
-"have any of the boys returned?" asked ed.
-"oh, they're back before this, of course," will answered. "they've probably gone outside in order to give us a chance to sleep!"
-"i don't see any indications of their presence," ed said. "everything looks exactly as it did when we went to bed last night."
-will, after arranging his head net, and drawing on a pair of gloves, opened the door and cast an anxious glance over the landscape.
-"they haven't been out here!" he said. "what do you think it means?"
-"it means that they're giving that fat miner along chase!" answered ed.
-"i'm afraid they're in some trouble," replied will apprehensively.
-"suppose i look for them while you get breakfast," suggested ed.
-"good idea," replied will "i'll get pancakes and coffee and eggs for breakfast and then, after we eat, we'll both go out and look for the boys. i'm afraid they've been led into a trap!"
-"how about leaving the cabin alone?" asked ed.
-"the cabin can go hang!" answered will.
-ed returned in half an hour and reported that no trace of the lost lads had been discovered. the boys then ate breakfast and started away.
-"which way did they go?" asked ed.
-"sandy said they were headed to the west."
-"then to the west we go," ed exclaimed, darting forward in advance.
-the boys searched patiently until five o'clock without discovering any trace of the missing lads. then, they returned to the cabin and prepared supper. as they came within sight of the cabin they saw a stout figure dodging away into the grove of trees to the east.
-"that's that sneak of a cameron," will said. "if he keeps shoving his ugly nose into our business, i'll ornament it with lead!"
-after supper the boys loaded their pockets with sandwiches and a bottle of cold coffee and set forth again.
-"i don't think we went far enough to the west," will said, as they made their way over the moraine. "you remember the line of hills across the little creek? well, i have an idea that if the boys have been captured they have been taken there."
-"and if bert has been hidden away anywhere in this vicinity," ed answered, "he is there, too! in fact," the boy added, "it is my belief that if the miner is responsible for the disappearance of george and sandy the three boys will be found together somewhere!"
-"you are probably right!" will agreed. "the miner and his gang wouldn't care about watching two separate points."
-"i don't think they'd be apt to murder the boys, do you?" asked ed.
-it was seven o'clock when the boys finally came to the south bank of the rivulet, in the vicinity of the place where sandy had encountered the bear. the sun was now well in the west and the south side of the line of cliffs lay in heavy shadows.
-"if there's any deviltry going on," will said, pointing to the summits above, "it's right over there under those peaks!"
-"i guess there's plenty of room under the peaks for mischief to be plotted," ed suggested, "i can see pigeon holes all along the cliff."
-"caves, do you mean?" asked will.
-"sure," was the reply. "those cliffs are of volcanic formation, and some of the strata are softer than others, and the water has cut into the heart of the range in many places."
-"one would naturally suppose that such openings would be filled with ice in alaska," will suggested.
-"they may be filled with ice in the winter," answered ed, "but in the summer time they are hiding places for bears and crooked miners."
-the boys advanced to the edge of the stream and will swept his field glass along the distant slope.
-presently he handed the glass to ed.
-"tell me what you see," he said.
-"i see something that looks like the eye of a wild animal looking out over the valley!" answered the boy. "what can it be?"
-"my first idea was that some one had built a fire in a cave," will answered, "but the more i look at it, the more i suspect that the light comes from an electric."
-"then that must be the boys!" exclaimed ed excitedly.
-"but why don't they come on out?" asked will, anxiously.
-"perhaps they have found bert and don't want to leave him!" suggested ed.
-while the boys watched the red light, which seemed to glimmer from the very extremity of the cavern, it turned to blue!
-"now i've got it," cried will almost dancing up and down in his excitement, "you know what that means, don't you?"
-"i can't say that i do!" replied ed.
-"it seems to me that the portland boy scouts are not very well posted," laughed will. "one of the boys--which one, i don't know, of course--is talking to us in the morse code!"
-"still i don't understand," said ed.
-"the red light means a dash," will explained, "and the blue light means the dot. now we'll see if we can catch what the boy is saying."
-"but where does he get the red and blue lights?" asked ed.
-"from red and blue caps screwed over the electric searchlight," was the reply. "all of our electrics are provided with these signal caps."
-"there, the light is red again!" cried ed.
-"i'll show how it works," will said, bringing out his own flashlight and unscrewing the false cover from the loading end.
-directly he had the blue and red caps out, and then the red one was fastened over the eye of the searchlight.
-"there, you see!" will exclaimed turning on the light. "we've got a beautiful red light and that means a morse dash."
-"i see," answered ed. "and when you turn on the blue, that means a dot. i learned the morse code, of course, when i was admitted to the boy scouts, but i never knew that it was used in that way."
-"i wonder if he sees this?" asked will as he swung the red light back and forth in the growing twilight.
-"we'll have to wait and see," replied ed. "of course, he'll answer if he knows we're here!"
-swiftly the light changed from red to blue and from blue back to red again. this took place several times and then will said:
-"red," said ed. "red again. red again."
-"that's 'o'," exclaimed will. "i guess we've got him at last!"
-"now there's another red," ed went on. "now there's a blue. then one more red. oh, this seems to be easy!"
-"that's 'k'!" cried will. "o. k., don't you see? o. k. that means that he knows we're here!"
-"glory be!" shouted ed. "the boys are all right or they wouldn't be signalling. i hope they've found bert!"
-will signalled back "o. k.," and then the lads turned back up the rivulet, the idea being to cross over to the north side.
-"i want to find out why the boys don't show themselves instead of signalling," will explained. "there must be some good reason."
-after a walk of half a mile upstream the boys found it possible to cross without wading, and then they turned down toward the mouth of the cavern where the lights had been seen.
-as they did so, two figures detached themselves from a group of trees which stood not far to the east and followed stealthily along behind them.
-if the lads could have heard the conversation carried on at that time between cameron and fenton, they would have proceeded on their way with less confidence.
-"just what we've been looking for!" chuckled cameron.
-"we surely have them trapped now!" replied fenton.
-"they'll naturally step into the outer cavern to see why their chums don't walk out, and when they do so, we'll hold them up with our guns until we can build up a barrier which will keep them in."
-"one of the boys certainly must understand the code we are so anxious about," fenton observed. "that's the kid we want. we've certainly got to find out what that message contains! if the people in the east are trying to steal our plans, we certainly ought to know it!"
-the boys, however, heard nothing of this talk and passed on down the north side of the creek. as soon as they came opposite the cavern, in sight of the light once more, they stopped and began signalling.
-as they did so, cameron and fenton came nearer and waited anxiously for the lads to enter the cavern.
-"i'd like to know what all that signalling means!" said cameron.
-"boy scout signals," replied fenton.
-"you can't read them, can you?" asked the miner.
-"of course not," replied fenton, "i'm no boy scout!"
-the boys continued to signal back and forth until the situation was fairly well understood. will and ed knew that bert had been found and that all three were barricaded in the cave.
-they were disposed to make their way to the rescue of the boys without further delay, but george advised them to wait until it became darker, as cameron might return at almost any moment. the news that bert had regained consciousness was very welcome and, confident of their ability to thwart the plans of the miner, the boys looked forward to quiet hours in the cabin.
-of course the boys had no suspicion that their enemies were close at hand watching every movement. cameron and fenton became impatient, after a time, and began advancing slowly toward the boys, who were now not very far from the mouth of the outer cavern.
-something better than an hour passed, and then george signalled from the interior of the cavern that it might be well for the boys to come up and begin the work of removing the rocks which barred their egress.
-"sneak in," george signalled. "don't show yourself more than you have to. cameron may be about! it may be that he has seen our signals already!"
-sandy replied that he had not discovered any indications of the presence of the miner, and the two boys advanced to the shelf of rock which faced the opening. it was nine o'clock then.
-"what's that strange noise?" asked will as they moved along the shelf.
-"you've got me!" replied ed, "the ground's tipping!"
-there came a deafening crash and the whole face of the cliff fell away! when will and ed regained their feet and looked through the dust which was rising over the scene, they saw that there was no longer any cavern in view. the rock on which they stood was sliding down the slope.
-"buried alive!" cried will with a sob, "buried alive!"
-victims of the quake
-the broad rock upon which the boys stood slid down the declivity for some distance and brought up against a thicket of trees which stood not far from the bank of the creek. the boys were fairly thrown from their feet as the rock struck, but fortunately they were not injured in the least. it was quite dark now, and the dust rising from the disturbed earth made the scene still more dim.
-"sandy! george!" called will.
-there was no answer from above, but a faltering voice was heard just at the edge of the thicket, where the rock had crushed into a hemlock of unusual size.
-"help," the voice said. "help!"
-will threw his searchlight in the direction of the sound and soon saw a writhing figure in the underbrush which had been crushed down by the fall of the rock.
-"who are you?" asked will.
-"fenton," was the answer.
-"where'd you come from?" asked the boy in amazement.
-"for god's sake," exclaimed the writhing man, "don't stop to ask questions now. my leg is smashed under the rock upon which you are standing! it is enough to say that i came here with cameron!"
-"where is cameron?" asked will. fenton pointed further down the slope.
-"he fell over in that direction when a rock struck him," he said.
-will and george made a thorough examination of the slope where the cavern had been before wasting any time on their injured enemies.
-they called loudly to george and sandy but received no answer.
-"i'm afraid," ed said, "that the boys were crushed under the falling rocks! if they were, we ought to leave the men responsible for their death where they are! they are not deserving of human help!"
-"and yet," will replied, "i can't find it in my heart to leave them in such a plight. we ought at least to see if we can get them out of their present cramped quarters."
-after much exertion the boys managed to manufacture something like a handspike from one of the broken saplings, and with this they began prying at the heavy rock. it gave, but slowly.
-while they worked away, hoping every instant to be able to draw fenton from under the stone and so lessen his sufferings, they saw the hand of the man they were so unselfishly assisting stealing toward his hip pocket.
-"watch him!" whispered will. "he means to shoot us as soon as he is released! that shows what kind of a dirty dog he is!"
-as the rock was lifted by slow degrees and propped so that its weight was not so heavy upon the unfortunate man the boys saw that his hand was creeping closer to his hip pocket.
-when at last the weight was removed, fenton's first act was to attempt to draw his weapon. ed kicked it from his hand and then proceeded to tie the fellow's wrists together behind his back.
-"you're a dirty sneak," the boy exclaimed, "or you wouldn't try to kill the people who have saved your life! from this time on, you get no assistance from us!"
-"i didn't mean anything!" whined fenton.
-"don't lie about it!" fritted will. "where's cameron?"
-"you'll find him lower down!" was the reply.
-"i hope he's broken his neck!" ed cut in.
-but cameron had not broken his neck. instead, he had broken an arm, and one foot had been badly bruised by a falling stone. he was unconscious when the boys lifted him and laid him in an easier position.
-the two men were at once searched for weapons and left for the time being to take care of themselves. there was no fear of their escaping, for one of fenton's legs had sustained a compound fracture and cameron's foot was badly injured.
-"what next?" asked will as the two boys stood facing the spot where they believed george, sandy and bert to be buried under many tons of rock. "it seems as if we ought to do something for the boys!"
-"i'm afraid it's too late!" replied ed, dejectedly.
-"we never can dig under those rocks without help," commented will, "therefore, i think we'd better be on the watch for tommy and frank and the surgeon. they surely ought to be somewhere near the cottage by this time, if not already in it."
-"if they've had such blooming bad luck as we have," ed observed, "they're probably in jail somewhere! i don't think i ever saw anything in a worse mess! the very old nick seems to be after us!"
-"this," will observed with a grave smile, "is what we call a quiet little boy scout excursion! we have visited the pictured socks, the everglades, the great continental divide, the hudson bay country and got trapped in an anthracite mine in pennsylvania since we started out on our quests for adventure."
-"you seem to have found adventure all right!" smiled ed.
-"you bet we have!" replied will.
-the boys made still another inspection of the spot where the cliff had fallen, and thought that they heard a faint call from the inside.
-"they are there!" cried will. "i'm sure they're there, and alive!"
-"but they can't live there very long!" suggested ed. "so we'd better be doing something to get them, out!"
-"the first thing to do," will stated, "is to signal to the other fellows. i'm sure tommy and frank must be in with the surgeon before this!"
-"there'll be plenty of work for the surgeon, i imagine," ed added.
-"i'm afraid so," will admitted.
-"but how are you going to signal to the cabin?" asked ed.
-"indian smoke signals!" was the reply.
-almost before the words were out of will's mouth, ed was gathering both dry and green branches from the thicket.
-"if the boys are at the cabin, or even on their way there," will continued, "they'll be sure to see the signal, for the night is not so very dark now, and the land where we are is considerably higher than the moraine upon which the cabin is built. we'll have to get a blazing fire of dry wood and then pile on green branches."
-"that ought to make a smudge visible ten miles off!" said ed.
-"not quite so far as that!" smiled will, "but it's a sure thing the signals ought to be seen as far as the cabin."
-"perhaps this earthquake shook the cabin down," suggested ed. "i heard a racket over to the south which seemed to indicate that the moraine was being crumpled up like a piece of leather in a blaze."
-"it seems to me," will agreed, "that the earthquake did change the map of alaska in some particulars. now, if you've got enough dry wood, we'll start the fire and in five minutes we'll be ready for the green boughs!"
-two roaring fires were soon going on the mountainside, and then both cameron and fenton pleaded to be assisted nearer to the circle of warmth. they were both shivering with the cold.
-"we ought to give you a swift toss into the blaze!" exclaimed will. "and we may do it, too," he went on, "if we find that our chums have been brought to their death by your abducting them!"
-"we had nothing to do with their being in the cave!" lied cameron.
-"what were you doing in the edge of the thicket?" asked ed.
-"we were watching you and your friends," was the reply. "we thought that you were in quest of our mine!"
-"did you see those red and blue lights?" asked will.
-"certainly we did," replied cameron.
-"well, they told the story of what has taken place since the boys left the cabin to follow your footsteps last night, so you may as well save your breath. lies won't help you any!"
-however, the lads managed to bring the two men closer to the fire and then set about piling on more green boughs.
-"now," will said, as he stood regarding the two columns of smoke with no little satisfaction, "if our friends are within five miles of us, they ought to understand that we are in need of a little friendly assistance."
-time and again the two boys went back to the place where the cavern had been and listened patiently for some further indication that their friends were still alive. several times they heard the rumbling of a voice but they could not distinguish the words of it.
-finally will went back to where cameron lay on the ground by the fire and asked abruptly:
-"is your name garman, cameron or brooks?"
-the fellow gave a quick start of surprise but made no answer.
-"is this man fenton the clerk who stole the machine drawings?" was the next question. "where are the plans now?"
-"i don't know anything about any plans!" declared cameron.
-"what do you fellows expect to do with the plans?" asked will.
-"we haven't got them!" was the surly reply.
-"don't lie about it!" will advised. "we know that the plans were sent to fenton's employer and that fenton stole them."
-"how do the plans concern you?" demanded cameron.
-"we don't want the plans because they are alleged to represent a valuable invention," will replied. "we want them because they are needed in the criminal court of chicago."
-"i suppose you boys planned this costly and dangerous expedition for the purpose of seeing how the plans look!" sneered fenton.
-"that's about the size of it!" replied will.
-"well, we don't know anything about the plans!" declared cameron, "and we wouldn't give you any information on the subject if we did!"
-"all right," will replied. "we can tie you up out here and the mosquitos will do the rest!"
-before will could ask the question which was on his lips, three quick pistol shots came from the south.
-"there!" the boy said excitedly, "the signals have brought a response!"
-"friend or foe?" asked ed.
-"that's more than i know!" will replied.
-down in the chasm
-when tommy, frank, sam and the doctor started toward the bottom of the chasm in order that they might reach the spot from which the smoke signal was ascending on the other side, they anticipated rough going, but the actuality was much worse than anything which had been expected.
-the soil extended only six or eight feet. passing this they came to a point where the solid glacier had been opened by the earthquake.
-the break was uneven, there being little shelves and ledges upon which the feet might rest, but the going was uncertain for all that.
-the roaring of the fast-lifting torrent prevented conversation, and the darkness made signalling impossible except when the searchlights were held in position.
-it was very cold at the bottom of the break, too, and the boys felt their hands growing numb.
-frank and tommy sprang to his assistance at once, reaching down in the hope of getting hold of his hand, but the swift current carried the boy along until he was beyond their reach.
-they saw his head come to the surface and saw him strike out for the floating logs on the north side of the chasm.
-then the bushy top of a tree drifted down upon him and he went under.
-the boys stood for a moment as if paralyzed at what had taken place, and then tommy sprang into the mass of floating boughs and, clinging to one which sustained his weight, called out to frank to turn his searchlight on the place where he stood.
-frank did as requested, but it showed only a half-frozen and dripping boy clinging to the boughs of a tree which was already beginning to drop down beneath his weight.
-the lads had about abandoned all hope of rescue when sam's head once more appeared above the surface. he was within a short distance of tommy and the boy, dropping his searchlight, sprang toward him.
-he succeeded in getting hold of the boy's arm.
-then frank, appreciating the situation, dropped in and, while retaining hold of a reasonably firm log on the west side of the chasm, caught the rescuer by the hand. doctor pelton, who had been creeping nearer to the point of danger, now seized frank by the arm and slowly and with great effort the human chain drew the half-drowned boy to the little platform of logs and brush upon which the doctor stood.
-sam lay there for a moment panting and shivering, and then sprang to his feet. the north wall was still to climb.
-the slope here was more gradual and all four soon found themselves at the top of the chasm, wet and cold, but on the side where the boy scout signal had shown.
-"we ought to tell the boys we are coming, hadn't we?" asked tommy.
-he drew his automatic from his pocket as he spoke and pressed the trigger, but there was no explosion.
-"try mine!" advised doctor pelton. "i guess i'm the only person who didn't get wet."
-as he spoke the doctor fired three quick shots.
-"i wonder if they'll answer?" asked tommy.
-"they will if they can," replied sam. "i don't know your chums, of course, but when a boy scout sends up a signal for help and shots are fired, it is only good manners to acknowledge the courtesy."
-no answering shots came for a moment, however, for will and ed were at that moment some distance away from the place where their automatics had been thrown after having been taken from cameron and fenton.
-the shots came before long, however, and the party of wet and shivering boys pressed on.
-"i'd like to know what the boys are doing so far away from the cabin," tommy grumbled. "they ought to have sense enough to stay put!"
-the party was met just beyond the illumination of the fire by will and ed, who greeted their chums with such cordiality that a rather perilous situation was at once suspected.
-"what are you boys doing out here in the scenery, anyhow?" demanded tommy. "you ought to be at home in the cabin with a hot supper ready for us! you always go wrong when i go away!" he added with a grin.
-"there's no time to tell long stories now," will hastened to say. "the thing we've got to do is to pry open that mountain and dig george, sandy and bert out."
-"are they dead?" asked tommy, turning very white.
-"there's some one alive in there," replied will. "we hear something which sounds like the human voice but we can't distinguish any words."
-"earthquake?" asked tommy.
-"earthquake!" replied will.
-will cut frank off with a gesture and pointed to the cliff.
-"we've got to get to work!" he said.
-just then a low groan reached the ears of the members of the group and doctor pelton sprang toward the place where cameron and fenton lay.
-tommy dashed after him and looked down on the two men.
-"where did you get 'em?" he asked.
-"we didn't get 'em," was the reply. "the earthquake got 'em."
-"then i'll bet they were trying to do something to bert!" tommy declared.
-"right, little man!" replied will. "but we haven't got time to talk about it now. this, i suppose," he added, turning to the surgeon, "is the doctor you brought from cordova?"
-"that's doctor pelton," tommy answered, "and this," he continued, pointing to sam, "is sam white, bulldog patrol, portland, oregon. he isn't as hungry as he looks to be, for we fed him up good and proper on the way out!"
-during this brief introduction, sam and ed had been eyeing each other with half concealed grins.
-"you boys seem to know each other," tommy said.
-"that's my chum," sam replied, pointing to ed. "i saw fit to seek my fortunes in town while he made a break for the mines."
-the boys greeted each other warmly and then all turned their attention to that portion of the cliff where the caverns had once stood.
-"they're still alive," frank exclaimed as he reached a little fissure in the rock and bent downward. "i can hear some one talking!"
-"did you say that george and sandy and bert were all in there?" asked tommy, turning to will. "how did they get in there?"
-"they were all in there just before the earthquake," replied will. "i can't stop now to tell you how it all happened. they were signalling to us when the shock came."
-"signalling, how?" asked tommy.
-"morse code, red and blue lights!" replied will. "it's all the work of the miner and his bum friend," will continued. "the boys were barricaded in the cave when the earthquake stirred things up, and the same convulsion which wrecked the cave injured the two men who were responsible for the condition the boys were in. now you know all about it that i'm going to tell you until we get the lads out and get back to the cabin!"
-"they're not dead, anyway," frank exclaimed "i can hear sandy's voice!"
-explaining cordova incidents
-"i've found the door to the hole in the ground!" shouted tommy, a few moments later, as he sent a great rock rolling down the slope.
-the boys rushed to the opening so made and were overjoyed at seeing a light in the cavity thus exposed.
-"your door isn't big enough!" laughed frank. "a good-sized cat couldn't get through there!"
-"what are you boys talking about?" came a voice from the inside.
-"another one of those foolish questions!" laughed tommy. "we're not talking at all, little man!" he continued. "we're getting our shoes shined! what are you doing in there?"
-"we're not in here at all!" replied sandy. "we're up on the masonic temple, watching a columbia yacht club regatta!"
-"aw, cut it out!" advised will. "are you boys all safe?"
-"sure we're all safe!" answered sandy, "george has a grouch because he hasn't anything to eat here, but the rest of us are all right!"
-"where's bert?" asked frank.
-"in here!" was the answer.
-"we brought a surgeon for him," frank went on.
-"he doesn't need a surgeon now!" replied george. "what he needs more than anything else is a cook!"
-"we'll give him two cooks!" shouted tommy.
-"why don't you hurry up and get us out?" demanded bert, in a weak voice.
-"if you remain in there a few weeks," tommy laughed, "perhaps you'll get so thin you can crawl out of this crack!"
-"well, get to digging!" replied george.
-"and for the love of mike," exclaimed sandy, "when you get to digging, don't drop any rocks on top of us! we have a little hole here now about four feet square!"
-after making a study of the situation and advising with doctor pelton as to the proper course to pursue, the boys began prying at a large rock which lay almost on top of the shelf upon which the boys had ridden to the thicket. the rock moved, but grudgingly.
-"if you can move that rock," the doctor said, "i think the one just above it will slide down and leave an opening large enough for the boys to pass out of. it ought not to be much trouble to move it!"
-notwithstanding the doctor's predictions, the boys worked at the rock with their home-made handspikes for an hour before it broke loose and rattled down upon the shelf just above the fire.
-"come out of that now," cried tommy stooping down and looking into the cavern. "come on out, now!"
-sandy was not long in obeying instructions. george came next and then the two lads turned about and lifted bert out of his cramped position.
-"that pigeon hole we've been occupying is about four inches square!" sandy declared. "and i'm just about dead for a good long breath of fresh air! i never knew before how good air tasted."
-bert glanced around the circle of faces and smiled amusedly as he saw that his chum was there with the rest.
-"where'd you go, frank?" he asked.
-frank hastened to the lad's side and bent over him.
-will now approached the spot where the two boys were talking and pointed to cameron and fenton now sitting with their faces illuminated by the blaze. they both scowled at the inspection.
-"which one of those men gave you the clout on the head?" will asked.
-"that fellow with the alfalfas," replied bert.
-"and he stole the code message you were carrying?"
-"i don't know!" replied bert. "i had it when he came into the cabin and began talking with me and i haven't thought of it since. was it stolen?"
-"you bet it was!" replied frank. "but we've been to cordova and got a duplicate of it!"
-cameron and fenton scowled fiercely as they listened to the conversation.
-"have you got the code message with you now?" asked will.
-"sure i have!" answered frank.
-"suppose you read it, then."
-frank took an envelope from his pocket, tore off one end, and brought out an ordinary sheet of letter paper bearing the heading of the wireless company. the boys gathered about him eagerly.
-"it isn't very much!" frank said with a laugh. "say, you two fellows," he added, waving the paper in the direction of cameron and fenton, "would, you like to hear this code despatch read?"
-"you bet they would," cut in sandy. "that's all they've been thinking about for the last two days!"
-"well, it's short and sweet and very satisfying!" frank laughed.
-"aw, read it!" demanded tommy. "what's the use of making a monkey of yourself? let's see what it has to say for itself."
-frank bent a searchlight on the paper and read:
-"will smith, in camp near katalla, alaska: the machine plans have been traced to the cabin to which you were directed. make close examination there before looking elsewhere. horton."
-"what do you know about that, cameron?" asked will with a smile. "are the plans really hidden in our cabin?"
-"your cabin!" sneered cameron.
-"i guess the cabin belongs to us as much as it does to you!" tommy cut in. "are the machine plans hidden there?"
-"what do you want of the machine plans?" demanded cameron.
-"they don't belong to you!" roared fenton.
-"we have no claim upon them," replied will. "in fact, we have no use for them at all, except that we want to identify the mark of a human thumb which soiled one of the papers."
-"all lies!" shouted cameron.
-"i'm telling you the truth," declared will.
-"then why didn't you come right to me and say so?" demanded cameron.
-"you didn't give us a chance!" replied will.
-"are the plans hidden in the cabin?" asked sandy.
-"this is all a faked-up story you are telling me!" fenton shouted. "whoever wired you that the plans were in the cabin didn't know what he was talking about! we don't know anything about the plans."
-"that doesn't agree with what cameron just said," frank laughed.
-"cameron doesn't know anything about the plans, either," raged fenton.
-"are you the clerk who stole the plans from your employer?" asked will.
-"i tell you that i don't know anything about any plans!" stormed fenton. "cameron and i are prospecting this moraine for gold, and we have no interest in any plans whatever!"
-"and yet cameron gave bert a crack on the coco and stole the code message!" suggested will.
-"he probably thought the message referred to our mining properties!" declared fenton. "we had a right to suppose it had."
-"then you won't tell us where the plans are?" demanded will.
-"i tell you that i don't know anything about the plans," screamed fenton. "i never saw the plans."
-"all right," will replied. "we'll leave you fellows out here to think the matter over. by morning you will probably know where the plans are hidden. the mosquitos may be able to convince you."
-"a little meditation may refresh his memory," frank said.
-"what have you got to do about it, anyhow?" demanded cameron. "i don't think you've got any right to butt in here!"
-"who is that freshie?" asked fenton.
-"frank disbrow," replied the doctor with a smile. "he's the son of the military officer in charge of the military stations in alaska."
-the boys all turned and regarded frank curiously.
-"so that's why the walls all fell down when you knocked!" exclaimed tommy. "that's why the federal officer refused to make any arrests. that's why jamison returned the money and gave us the use of his motor boat. i begin to understand some of the things that took place at cordova now. why didn't you tell us something about it before we had all that trouble?"
-"oh, i didn't want to mix father up in the combination," frank replied with a smile. "besides," he added, "it did look something like piracy."
-"it certainly did," observed doctor pelton. "if frank hadn't been a member of the pirate crew, i rather imagine that you boys would be cooling your heels in some alaska prison about now. of course, you would have been released in time, but the affair would have made you considerable trouble."
-"who's bert, then?" demanded tommy.
-"bert is the son of a prominent federal official at chicago," replied frank. "but we've had enough of this," the boy declared modestly. "i didn't do any more than any other boy would have done."
-"you undertook that long trip out to the cabin when you didn't have to!" exclaimed will. "that was good of you!"
-the plans at last
-with a parting glance at cameron and fenton, the boys, accompanied by the doctor, turned away in the direction of the cabin.
-"wait!" shouted fenton. "don't go off and leave us in this plight! we'll starve to death if you do!"
-"what about those plans?" demanded will.
-"i'll help you find the plans!" screamed cameron. "i'll see that you get the plans; if you get us out of this scrape!"
-"keep still!" commanded fenton.
-"i refuse to keep still!" declared cameron. "i'm not going to be left here to be devoured by insects. tell me the truth about the plans," he went on, "what do you want of them?"
-"we want to introduce the plans in evidence in the criminal court at chicago," replied will.
-"and that will betray our secret," commented fenton fiercely. "those plans are worth millions of dollars to us! they represent the only perfect mining machine ever invented."
-"we don't care anything about your mining machine," will answered.
-"have you noticed anything peculiar about the plans?" frank asked.
-"nothing except that they are dirty!" was the reply.
-"marked up with thumb prints, for instance?"
-"yes, there are thumb prints," replied cameron.
-"well, we want the thumb prints," frank laughed.
-"you're a fool if you listen to any such arguments!" screamed fenton. "why should these gutter snipes want the papers for the thumb prints?"
-"that's what we want them for!" insisted frank. "are you going to tell us where the plans are?"
-"i'll tell you!" replied cameron.
-fenton turned his back on his friend and refused to discuss the question further. when the lads started away carrying cameron on a rude litter, they left his follow conspirator lying by the fire.
-"please bring him along," pleaded cameron. "he'll die if you leave him there! i can tell you where the plans are, and i'll do so, whether he likes it or not. this has been a misunderstanding all around. we were only trying to protect our interest in the mines which we believed to exist in this neighborhood, and in the plans, which we believed to be very valuable!"
-thus urged, the boys turned back and constructed a second stretcher for fenton. the journey to the cabin was a long one, but the shelter was reached about daylight. then tommy at once began the preparation of breakfast.
-"we'll have to get out pretty soon," will laughed, "because the population of this county seems to be increasing with amazing rapidity. at the present time we have four beavers, two foxes, and two bulldogs besides a very eminent surgeon. in other words," the boy went on, "we have this collection of wild animals in addition to a very eminent surgeon and two men with busted legs. if some one doesn't bring in provisions pretty soon, we'll have to exist on mosquito soup!"
-"the mosquitos have been living off us long enough!" tommy answered. "they ought not to find fault if we begin living off them!"
-"i heard you boys talking about thumb prints on a set of plans," doctor pelton said, addressing will. "i'd like to know what it all means."
-"the story is soon told," will answered. "on a night in chicago not long ago, three men, spaulding, hurley and babcock, worked until nearly daylight on the plans which we came to alaska to find. they are experts in their line and were examining the plans of an invention which the inventor claimed would revolutionize mining.
-"the three men rejected the plans as impractical, and spaulding and hurley left for home, leaving babcock at the office. after the departure of the two men, the company's safe was broken open and robbed of a large sum of money. naturally the men who had worked in the office during the night were questioned concerning the disappearance of the cash. spaulding and hurley replied, truthfully, that they had left babcock in the office and that the safe was intact at the time of their departure.
-"babcock's reply to this statement was that he had not been at the office that night at all, and that he could furnish a perfect alibi which he proceeded to do. spaulding and hurley were arrested and thrown into prison, while babcock, secure in his fraudulent alibi, was not even suspected until mr. horton, a noted criminal lawyer, was retained by the two respondents.
-"in discussing the case, spaulding and hurley explained how babcock had participated in the discussion of the plans, and added that if the plans could be found, his thumb marks would be noted on the paper. they said he handled the attached sheets carelessly, and that the marks of both thumbs showed very plainly."
-"that will be a perfect defense!" said the doctor.
-cameron and fenton who had been listening intently to the recital, now both spoke at once:
-"were the plans really rejected by the experts?" they asked.
-"they certainly were!" replied will.
-"then we've been through all this trouble for nothing!" exclaimed fenton.
-"if you two fellows hadn't been engaged in this dirty game," will said severely, "you would have been mixed up in some other dirty deal, so you're probably no worse off than you would have been in any event."
-"if you'll go to the peg driven into the wall near the north window," cameron remarked, "pull out the peg and run your finger into the augur hole, you'll find the plans rolled into a very small package."
-will rushed to the peg indicated, and the plans were soon in his hands.
-"this settles it!" exclaimed will. "the case is finished!"
-"are the thumb marks there?" asked frank.
-"plain as the nose on your face!" replied the boy.
-"and to think that they have been right under our nose all the time!" exclaimed tommy. "i shall certainly have to partake of a large meal before i can recover my reason!"
-"and to think that, after we came all the way to alaska, we received the correct tip regarding the hiding place from chicago by wireless!"
-"i know how the people at chicago came to discover the whereabouts of the plans," shouted fenton. "there's a sneak of a clerk in the office where i was employed who gave me away. he saw me looking over the plans and betrayed me."
-"perhaps he didn't want to see you make a fool of yourself!" will suggested. "he probably knew the plans had been rejected."
-"i'll settle with him!" declared fenton.
-"if you do," will replied, "you'll serve a term in an alaska prison for abduction!"
-"yes," fenton went on, "he probably wired the truth to chicago after the search for the plans began in the office! when he saw me looking over the plans, i was obliged to tell him what they represented. i also told him where we were going to hide the plans, and of course, he had to wire that, too!"
-"that clerk must be rewarded!" smiled tommy.
-such a supper as the boys ate that night!
-notwithstanding the dreary predictions of tommy, there was plenty of provisions in the cabin, and the party feasted on the game which was brought in as an addition to the supply until they returned to civilization.
-they were obliged to bridge the chasm in order to reach katalla, where they found the jamison motor boat waiting for them.
-they also found the wheelsman, boswell, waiting for them there, he having made the trip from cordova in a tug. at the request of jamison, who had been released after the departure of the boys, he had made the journey in order to take possession of the motor boat.
-when, after many delightful trips about the gulf of alaska, the boy scouts all turned their faces homeward, the wheelsman was left in charge of the boat. they afterwards learned that jamison never claimed the craft, and that boswell retained undisputed possession of it.
-doctor pelton saw that cameron and fenton were well cared for on their arrival at katalla, and a handsome present was sent to the federal officer by frank disbrow.
-frank and bert accompanied the boy scouts to chicago and later on became very warm friends. the two members of the fox patrol, sam white and ed hannon, traveled with the boys as far as portland.
-when the boys reached chicago, babcock was arrested and the unmistakable thumb prints secured the immediate release of hurley and spaulding.
-"there's one thing we've forgotten," tommy said as the boys landed in chicago, one autumn morning.
-"what's that?" asked will.
-"we neglected to bring back that bear hide!"
-"i should think you'd want that bear hide!" laughed frank.
-"i should think you'd be ashamed to look the bear in the face!" declared sandy.
-the boys received the promised reward for the discovery of the plans and once more settled down in chicago to take up their studies.
-black art in cincinnati
-mr. quinsey of cincinnati was not an apollo; neither had he ever assumed a name other than his own. he had never conducted a scheme to defraud by use of the mails; nor had he ever robbed a post-office or shot any body; yet his character is so interesting that i cannot, in justice to myself, omit a passing notice.
-quinsey was known as a mesmerist, a ventriloquist, an illusionist, a prestidigitator and a master of the black art, and occasionally in "pleasing sorcery that charms the sense" he would entertain audiences at church fairs, picnics and the like for simple fees, while he found much pleasure amusing friends gratuitously at their homes, at his home and sometimes at his place of business.
-one evening, at a little entertainment given by himself in neighboring glendale, after he had knocked the spots off of several decks of cards; after he had taken half a dozen watches that belonged to people in the audience from the janitor's pocket; after he had received communications from departed spirits; after he had removed the head from a beautiful woman and had made the removed head talk; after he had paralyzed four men and a woman on the stage and had allowed the committee to stick pins in them, and after the curtain had dropped, one of the awe-stricken auditors, who had been instrumental in introducing mr. quinsey in glendale, asked the wonderful magician why he did not follow this business in preference to any other?
-the professor smiled blandly and appeared silent, but a voice that seemed to come from the bakery underneath the hall, was heard to remark in a deep melodious tone: "he has something better."
-there were something like thirty bills to make out, and the same number of pouches to properly close and send out. when the mails were running heavy the clerks never had a minute to spare, but when they were light, as they frequently were one or two nights each week, there was some opportunity for sociability and innocent amusement.
-on these occasions quinsey would sometimes tell the boys how easy it was for people to be mistaken; how much quicker was the hand than the eye; how it was that frequently things were not what they appeared; how easy it was to deceive the keenest intellect by doing something different than your actions would indicate, and how figures and objects are materialized and made to do their master's bidding.
-sometimes he would illuminate his ideas by a few practical illustrations, and after the young men had seen him shake any number of big silver dollars, a wheelbarrow full of handkerchiefs, and a lot of lanterns from a common gesture, and, in transfixed amazement, had beheld ordinary registered letters vanish before their eyes, without being able to tell where they went, they longed for the nights to come when the work was light. quinsey was immense!
-about this time, while in chicago, kidder came to me for conference with an armful of documentary evidence of skillful depredations. here were the envelopes in which registered letters had from time to time been mailed at offices in southern indiana, ohio, kentucky, and west virginia, addressed to offices in all portions of the great northwest, and which had been rifled of large portions of their contents. everyone of the letters had passed through the chicago post-office, where they had been handled during the night time. at first glance one would say it surely indicated trouble in chicago.
-but why, if the thief was in chicago, did he confine himself to operations on the letters from this particular section, when he could probably have access to those from any other as well. a few minutes later when we discovered that everyone of the letters referred to had also passed through the cincinnati office, and in every instance had been dispatched from that office in the morning in through pouches to chicago, kidder adjusted his eye-glasses, and offered as a reward, for the capture of the villain, a claim near that beautiful miniature salt-water sea, known as devil's lake in dakota.
-on the following morning when i tapped herrick on the shoulder in cincinnati, and asked who wrote the chicago registry bills at night that were dispatched in the morning, he answered, "quinsey," and seemed so amused at my question that he asked why i wanted to know.
-"for the reason that i think whoever is doing it is too inquisitive."
-"well, if its quinsey, i am afraid we'll have our hands full to catch him, for he's just a little bit the slickest man in america. he does all the seemingly impossible things ever heard of, and he does them right before your eyes, too. quinsey is absolutely marvelous. why, one night i was in the registry room looking around when, suddenly, i discovered my watch was gone. i had looked to see what time it was when i entered. well, a little later somebody found it in the boston pouch, with a tag on it marked: 'covington.'"
-"yes," said salmon, who was listening, "and i understand he charms birds, too; while somebody told me a few days ago that at cards he was so expert that nobody would sit in with him; that when it came his deal he could hold anything he wanted; that the high cards, figuratively speaking, would come to him in carriages; and remain till after the show-down."
-the next day i went to lexington, ky., and while there i wrote a letter to mr. abram hayden, of aberdeen, dakota, on one of the letter-head sheets of mills, jackson & johnson, which read as follows:
-"dear friend abe:
-jim turner was in from east hickman half an hour ago and left the enclosed $200 for me to send to you, and he said you would know how to use it. he has just sold a car-load of mules to springer, of cincinnati, but he said he believed there was more profit in loaning money at 20 per cent. in dakota, than there was in raising mules in kentucky at present prices.
-jim just stuck his head in the door and told me to tell you if you couldn't get a gilt edge loan at 20, not to let it go less than 18. jim is a cuss.
-i suppose your brother wrote you what happened up at gil. harper's recently.
-if the cyclones haven't got you by the time this reaches aberdeen, write.
-very truly, your friend,
-frank n. mills."
-this letter i registered at lexington and at night, about 11 o'clock, when i had followed it into the cincinnati post-office, herrick and salmon were in the money-order division on a step-ladder, peering through a glass transom into the registry division. as soon as possible i joined them, and patiently we waited for quinsey to turn a trick.
-it was exactly two a. m. when he commenced on the chicago bill. he reached the letter from lexington at precisely 2:45. it was fat and tempting. herrick was on the top of the ladder at that instant, and he sent a peculiar thrill of surprise through me when he turned and whispered:
-"now he's feeling of it."
-"he's laid it down and placed a book over it; somebody is moving around."
-"it's quiet now and he's looking at the back again."
-"hush, don't move, he's carefully feeling again."
-"it's under the blotter now; somebody at the other table got up to get a drink. there's no one at his table but himself."
-"hush now, he's making a close examination to see how well its sealed."
-"hush now, for god's sake don't move; he's trying to open it with his knife."
-"hush, hush, hush, he'll have it opened in an instant."
-"its open now, and he's looking at the letter envelope very closely."
-"there, d----n it, some fellow has moved again and he's shoved it under the blotter."
-"hush, hush, don't stir; he's feeling of the letter again."
-"hush, don't breathe, he's trying to raise the flap of the envelope; it comes up hard; don't move."
-"hush, he's got the money out and is reading the letter."
-"he's smiling as he reads."
-"we must open the door and rush, in now."
-"come, be quick and be quiet; you know he's chain lightning."
-"the door's unlocked; now, all together, go!"
-an instant later there was a flutter, and all was over. the great conjurer had at last performed an illusion that was not optical--an act not mentioned on the bill.
-applause. curtain. prison.
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-6.--motorcycle chums storm bound; or, the strange adventures of a road chase.
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-note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see 20044-h.htm or 20044-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/0/4/20044/20044-h/20044-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/0/0/4/20044/20044-h.zip)
-riders of the silences
-with frontispiece by frank tenney johnson
-a. l. burt company publishers -------- new york published by arrangement with the h. k. fly company copyright, 1920, by the h. k. fly company copyright, 1920, the munsey co.
-riders of the silences
-it seemed that father anthony gathered all the warmth of the short northern summer and kept it for winter use, for his good nature was an actual physical force. from his ruddy face beamed such an ardent kindliness that people literally reached out towards him as they might extend their hands toward a comfortable fire.
-all the labors of his work as an inspector of jesuit institutions across the length and breadth of canada could not lessen the flame of the good father's enthusiasm; his smile was as indefatigable as his critical eyes. the one looked sharply into every corner of a room and every nook and hidden cranny of thoughts and deeds; the other veiled the criticism and soothed the wounds of vanity.
-on this day, however, the sharp eyes grew a little less keen and somewhat wider, while that smile was fixed rather by habit than inclination. in fact, his expression might be called a frozen kindliness as he looked across the table to father victor.
-it required a most indomitable geniality, indeed, to outface the rigid piety of jean paul victor. his missionary work had carried him far north, where the cold burns men thin. the eternal frost of the arctics lay on his hair, and his starved eyes looked out from hollows shadowed with blue. he might have posed for a painting of one of those damned souls whom dante placed in the frozen circle of the "inferno."
-it was his own spirit which tortured him--the zeal which drove him north and north and north over untracked regions, drove him until his body failed, drove him even now, though his body was crippled.
-a mighty yearning, and a still mightier self-contempt whipped him on, and the school over which he was master groaned and suffered under his régime, and the disciples caught his spirit and went out like warriors in the name of god to spread the faith.
-he despised them as he despised himself, for he said continually in his heart: "how great is the purpose and how little is our labor!"
-some such thought as that curled his thin lip as he stared across at father anthony like a wolf that has not eaten for a fortnight. the good father sustained the gaze, but he shivered a little and sighed. there was awe, and pity, and even a touch of horror in his eyes.
-he said gently: "are there none among all your lads, dear father victor, whom you find something more than imperfect machines?"
-the man of the north drew from a pocket of his robe a letter. his marvelously lean fingers touched it almost with a caress, and when he spoke the softening which could not appear in the rigid features came into his voice and made it lower and deeper.
-father anthony started in astonishment, as one might start to hear a divine prophet admit a mistake, but being wise he remained silent, waiting. jean paul victor peered into space.
-"pierre ryder. he is like a pleasant summer, and i"--he clasped his colorless hands--"am frozen--frozen to the heart."
-still father anthony waited, but his eyes were like diamonds for brightness.
-"he shall carry on my mission in the north. i, who am silent, have done much; but pierre sings, and he will do more. i had to fight my first battle to conquer my own stubborn soul, and the battle left me weak for the great work in the snows, but pierre will not fight that battle, for i have trained him."
-he repeated after a pause: "for those who sing forget themselves and their weariness. i, jean paul victor, have never sung."
-he bowed his head, submitting to the judgment of god.
-"this letter is for him. shall we not carry it to him? for two days i have not seen pierre."
-father anthony winced.
-he said: "do you deny yourself even the pleasure of the lad's company? alas, father victor, you forge your own spurs and goad yourself with your own hands. what harm is there in being often with the lad?"
-the sneer returned to the lips of jean paul victor.
-"the purpose would be lost--lost to my eyes and lost to his--the purpose for which i have lived and for which he shall live--the purpose to which you are dedicated, gabrielle antoine anthony."
-he relented in his fierceness, and continued with the strange gentle note in his voice: "our love for the young, it is like a vine that climbs through the branches of a strong tree. when the vine is young it may be taken away in safety and both the tree and the vine will live, but if it grows old it will kill the tree when the vine is torn away.
-"i am the strong tree, and pierre has grown into my heart. it is time that he be torn away. he is almost ready. the work is prepared. he must start forth."
-even while he announced his purpose the sweat poured out on his forehead. he rose and paced noiselessly up and down the bare room, his black robe catching around the long, bony legs. father anthony drew a great breath. at last jean paul victor could speak again.
-"in all the history of our order, there is hardly one man who will go out armed like pierre ryder. he is young, he is strong, he is fearless, he is pure of heart and single of mind. he has never tasted wine; he has never looked wrongly on a woman."
-"a prodigy--but it is your work."
-the whole soul of the man stood up in his eyes in a fierce triumph.
-"hear how i worked. when i first saw him he was a child, a baby, but he came to me and took one finger of my hand in his small fist and looked up to me. ah, gabrielle the smile of an infant goes to the heart swifter than the thrust of a knife! i looked down upon him and thought many things, and i knew that i was chosen to teach the child. there was a voice that spoke in me. you will smile, but even now i think i can hear it."
-"i swear to you that i believe," said father anthony, and his voice trembled.
-"another man would have given pierre a bible and a latin grammar and a cell. i gave him the testament and the grammar; i gave him also the wild north country to say his prayers in and patter his latin. i taught his mind, but i did not forget his body.
-"he is to go out among wild men. he must have strength of the spirit. he must also have a strength of the body that they will understand and respect. how else can he translate for them the truths of the holy spirit? every day of his life i have made him handle firearms. other men think, and aim, and fire; pierre thinks and shoots, and has forgotten how to miss.
-"he goes among wild men. these lessons must be learned. he is a soldier of god. he can ride a horse standing; he can run a hundred miles in a day behind a dog-team. he can wrestle and fight with his hands, for i have brought skilled men to teach him. i have made him a thunderbolt to hurl among the ignorant and the unenlightened; and this is the hand which shall wield it. ha!"
-a flash of cold fire came for a single instant in his eyes as he stood with upturned face. he changed.
-"yet he is gentle as a woman. he goes out through the villages and comes back unharmed, and after him come letters from girls and old men and dames. even strong men come many miles to see him and they write to him. he is known. it is now hardly a six month since he saved a trapper from a bobcat and killed the animal with a knife."
-his heart failed him at the thought, and he murmured: "it must have been my prayers which saved him from the teeth and the claws."
-good father anthony rose.
-"you have described a young david. i am eager to see him. let us go."
-"wait. before you go you must know that he does not suspect that he differs from other youths. women have looked lewdly upon him and written him letters with singing words, but pierre being of a simple nature, he answers them briefly and commends them to god. in fact, the flattery of women he does not understand, and the flattery of men he thinks is mere kindliness. are you prepared to meet him, father?"
-father anthony nodded, and the two went out together. the chill of the open was hardly more than the bitter cold inside the building, but there was a wind that drove the cold through the blood and bones of a man.
-they staggered along against it until they came to a small outhouse, long and low. on the sheltered side of it they paused to take breath, and feather victor explained: "this is his hour in the gymnasium. to make the body strong required thought and care. mere riding and running and swinging of the ax will not develop every muscle. so i made this gymnasium, and here pierre works every day. his teachers of boxing and wrestling have abandoned him."
-there was almost a smile on the lean face.
-"the last man left with a swollen jaw and limping on one leg."
-conscience-stricken, he stopped short, crossed himself, and then went on: "so i give him for partners men who have committed small sins. their penance is to stand before pierre and box each day for a few minutes and then to wrestle against him. they are fierce men, these woodsmen and trappers, and big of body; but little pierre, they dread him like a whip of fire. one and all, they come to me within a fortnight and beg for an easier penance."
-here he opened the door, and they slipped inside. the air was warmed by a big stove, and the room--for the afternoon was dark--lighted by two swinging lanterns suspended from the low roof. by that illumination father anthony saw two men stripped naked, save for a loin-cloth, and circling each other slowly in the center of a ring which was fenced in with ropes and floored with a padded mat. certainly father victor had spared nothing in expense to make the fittings of the gymnasium perfect.
-of the two wrestlers, one was a veritable giant of a canuck, swarthy of skin, hairy-chested. his great hands were extended to grasp or to parry--his head lowered with a ferocious scowl--and across his forehead swayed a tuft of black, shaggy hair. he might have stood for one of those northern barbarians whom the romans loved to pit against their native champions in the arena. he was the greater because of the opponent he faced, and it was upon this opponent that the eyes of father anthony centered.
-like father victor, he was caught first by the bright hair. it was a dark red, and where the light struck it strongly there were places like fire. down from this hair the light slipped like running water over a lithe body, slender at the hips, strong-chested, round and smooth of limb, with long muscles everywhere leaping and trembling at every move.
-he, like the big canuck, circled cautiously about, but the impression he gave was as different from the other as day is from night. his head was carried high; in place of a scowl, he smiled with a sort of boyish eagerness, and a light which was partly exultation and partly mischief sparkled in his eyes. once or twice the giant caught at the other, but david slipped from under the grip of goliath easily. it seemed as if his skin were oiled. the big man snarled with anger, and lunged more eagerly at pierre. father anthony caught the shoulder of his friend.
-"quick!" he whispered anxiously. "stop them, for if the black fellow sets his fingers on the boy he will break him like a willow wand, and--in the name of god, jean paul!"
-for the two, abandoning their feints, suddenly rushed together, and the swarthy arms of the monster slipped around the white body of pierre. for a moment they whirled, twisting and struggling.
-"now!" murmured father victor; and as if in answer to a command, pierre slipped down, whipped his hands to a new grip, and the two crashed to the mat, with pierre above.
-"open your eyes, father anthony. the lad is safe. how goliath grunts!"
-the boy had not cared to follow his advantage, but rose and danced away, laughing softly. the canuck floundered up and rushed like a furious bull. his downfall was only the swifter. the impact of the two bodies sounded like hands clapped together, and then goliath rose into the air, struggling mightily, and pitched with a thud to the mat.
-he writhed there, for the wind was knocked from his body by the fall. at length he struggled to a sitting posture and glared up at the conqueror. the boy reached out a hand to his fallen foe.
-"you would have thrown me that way the first time," he said, "but you let me change grips on you. in another week you will be too much for me, bon ami."
-the other accepted the hand after an instant of hesitation and was dragged to his feet. he stood resting one elbow on the gleaming shoulder of pierre and looking down into the boy's face with a singular grin. but there was no triumph in the eye of pierre--only a good-natured interest.
-"in another week," answered the giant, "there will not be a sound bone in my body. this very night i shall go to father victor. i had rather starve for three days in the forest than stand up to you for three minutes, little brother."
-"you have seen him," murmured the tall priest. "now let us go back and wait for him. i will leave word."
-he touched one of the two or three men who were watching the athletes, and whispered his message in the other's ear. then he went back with father anthony.
-"you have seen him," he repeated, when they sat once more in the cheerless room. "now pronounce on him."
-the other answered: "i have seen a wonderful body--but the mind, father victor?"
-"it is as simple as that of a child--his thoughts run as clear as spring water."
-"ah, but they are swift thoughts. suppose the spring water gathers up a few stones and rushes on down the side of the mountain. very soon it is wearing a deeper channel--then but a little space, and it is a raging torrent and tears down great trees from its banks and goes shouting and leaping out toward the sea.
-"suppose a strange thought came in the mind of your pierre. it would be like the pebbles in the swift-running spring water. he would carry it on, rushing. it would tear away the old boundaries of his mind--it might wipe out the banks you have set down for him--it might tear away the choicest teachings."
-father victor sat straight and stiff with stern, set lips.
-he said dryly: "father anthony has been much in the world."
-"i speak from the best intention, good father. look you, now, i have seen that same red hair and those same lighted blue eyes before, and wherever i have seen them has been war and trouble and unrest. i have seen that same whimsical smile which stirs the heart of a woman and makes a man reach for his revolver. this boy whose mind is so clear--arm him with a single wrong thought, with a single doubt of the eternal goodness of god's plans, and he will be a thunderbolt indeed, dear father, but one which even your strong hand could not control."
-"i have heard you," said the priest; "but you will see. he is coming now."
-there was a knock at the door; then it opened and showed a modest novice in a simple gown of black serge girt at the waist with the flat encircling band. his head was downward; it was not till the blue eyes flashed inquisitively up that father anthony recognized pierre.
-the hard voice of jean paul victor pronounced: "this is that father anthony of whom i have spoken."
-the novice slipped to his knees and folded his hands. the two priests exchanged glances, one of triumph and one of wonder, while the plump fingers of father anthony poised over that dark red hair, pressed smooth on top where the skull-cap rested, and curling somewhat at the sides. the blessing which he spoke was latin, and father victor looked somewhat anxiously toward his protégé till the latter answered in a diction so pure that cicero himself would have smiled to hear it:
-"father, i thank thee, and if my mind were as old as thine i might be able to wish blessings as great as these in return."
-"stand up!" cried father anthony. "by heavens, jean paul, it is the purest latin i have heard this twelvemonth."
-and the lad answered: "it must be pure latin; father victor has taught me."
-gabrielle anthony stared, and to save him from too obvious confusion the other priest interrupted: "i have a letter for you, my son."
-and he passed the envelope to pierre. the latter examined it with interest.
-"the writing sprawls like the knees of a boy of ten. what old man has written to you, pierre?"
-"no man that i know. this comes from the south. it is marked from the united states."
-"so far!" exclaimed the tall priest. "give me the letter, lad."
-but here he caught the whimsical eyes of father anthony, and he allowed his outstretched hand to fall. yet he scowled as he said: "no; keep it and read it, pierre."
-"i have no great wish to keep it," answered pierre, studying anxiously the dark brow of the priest.
-"it is yours. open it and read."
-the lad obeyed instantly. he shook out the folded paper and moved a little nearer the light. then he read aloud, as if it had never entered his mind that what was addressed to him might be meant for his eyes alone. and as he read he reminded father anthony of some childish chorister pronouncing words beyond his understanding. the tears came to the eyes of the good father.
-and he said in his heart: "alas! i have been too much in the world of men, and now a child can teach me."
-the musical voice of the boy began:
-"morgantown, "r. f. d. no. 4.
-pierre lowered the letter and looked gravely upon father victor.
-"there are blasphemies coming. shall i read on?"
-he began again, a little spot of red coming into either cheek:
-"hell ain't none too bad for me, i know. i ain't whining none. i just lie here and watch the world getting dimmer until i begin to be seeing things out of my past. that shows the devil ain't losing no time with me. but the thing that comes back oftenest and hits me the hardest is the sight of your mother, lying with you in the hollow of her arm and looking up at me and whispering, 'dad,' just before she went out."
-the hand of the boy fell, and his wide eyes sought the face of father victor. the latter was standing.
-"you told me i had no father--"
-an imperious arm stretched toward him.
-"give me the letter."
-conscious that many eyes were on us, in wonder that i was so long with him, in speculation on what our business might be and whence came the favour that gained me such distinction. i paid little heed, for i was seeking to follow the thoughts of the king and hoping that i had won him to my side. i asked only leave to lead a quiet life with her whom i loved, setting bounds at once to my ambition and to the plans which he had made concerning her. nay, i believe that i might have claimed some hold over him, but i would not. a gentleman may not levy hush-money however fair the coins seem in his eyes. yet i feared that he might suspect me, and i said:
-"to-day, i leave the town, sir, whether i have what i ask of you or not; and whether i have what i ask of you or not i am silent. if your majesty will not grant it me, yet, in all things that i may be, i am your loyal subject."
-to all this--perhaps it rang too solemn, as the words of a young man are apt to at the moments when his heart is moved--he answered nothing, but looking up with a whimsical smile said,
-"tell me now; how do you love this mistress quinton?"
-at this i fell suddenly into a fit of shame and bashful embarrassment. the assurance that i had gained at court forsook me, and i was tongue-tied as any calf-lover.
-"i--i don't know," i stammered.
-"nay, but i grow old. pray tell me, mr dale," he urged, beginning to laugh at my perturbation.
-for my life i could not; it seems to me that the more a man feels a thing the harder it is for him to utter; sacred things are secret, and the hymn must not be heard save by the deity.
-the king suddenly bent forward and beckoned. rochester was passing by, with him now was the duke of monmouth. they approached; i bowed low to the duke, who returned my salute most cavalierly. he had small reason to be pleased with me, and his brow was puckered. the king seemed to find fresh amusement in his son's bearing, but he made no remark on it, and, addressing himself to rochester, said:
-"here, my lord, is a young gentleman much enamoured of a lovely and most chaste maiden. i ask him what this love of his is--for my memory fails--and behold he cannot tell me! in case he doesn't know what it is that he feels, i pray you tell him."
-rochester looked at me with an ironical smile.
-"am i to tell what love is?" he asked.
-"ay, with your utmost eloquence," answered the king, laughing still and pinching his dog's ears.
-rochester twisted his face in a grimace, and looked appealingly at the king.
-"there's no escape; to-day i am a tyrant," said the king.
-"hear then, youths," said rochester, and his face was smoothed into a pensive and gentle expression. "love is madness and the only sanity, delirium and the only truth; blindness and the only vision, folly and the only wisdom. it is----" he broke off and cried impatiently, "i have forgotten what it is."
-"why, my lord, you never knew what it is," said the king. "alone of us here, mr dale knows, and since he cannot tell us the knowledge is lost to the world. james, have you any news of my friend m. de fontelles?"
-"such news as your majesty has," answered monmouth. "and i hear that my lord carford will not die."
-"let us be as thankful as is fitting for that," said the king. "m. de fontelles sent me a very uncivil message; he is leaving england, and goes, he tells me, to seek a king whom a gentleman may serve."
-"is the gentleman about to kill himself, sir?" asked rochester with an affected air of grave concern.
-"he's an insolent rascal," cried monmouth angrily. "will he go back to france?"
-"why, yes, in the end, when he has tried the rest of my brethren in europe. a man's king is like his nose; the nose may not be handsome, james, but it's small profit to cut it off. that was done once, you remember----"
-"and here is your majesty on the throne," interposed rochester with a most loyal bow.
-"james," said the king, "our friend mr dale desires to wed mistress barbara quinton."
-monmouth started violently and turned red.
-"his admiration for that lady," continued the king, "has been shared by such high and honourable persons that i cannot doubt it to be well founded. shall he not then be her husband?"
-monmouth's eyes were fixed on me; i met his glance with an easy smile. again i felt that i, who had worsted m. de perrencourt, need not fear the duke of monmouth.
-"if there be any man," observed rochester, "who would love a lady who is not a wife, and yet is fit to be his wife, let him take her, in heaven's name! for he might voyage as far in search of another like her as m. de fontelles must in his search for a perfect king."
-"shall he not have her, james?" asked the king of his son.
-monmouth understood that the game was lost.
-"ay, sir, let him have her," he answered, mustering a smile. "and i hope soon to see your court graced by her presence."
-well, at that, i, most inadvertently and by an error in demeanour which i now deplore sincerely, burst into a short sharp laugh. the king turned to me with raised eye-brows.
-"pray let us hear the jest, mr dale," said he.
-"why, sir," i answered, "there is no jest. i don't know why i laughed, and i pray your pardon humbly."
-"yet there was something in your mind," the king insisted.
-"then, sir, if i must say it, it was no more than this; if i would not be married in calais, neither will i be married in whitehall."
-there was a moment's silence. it was broken by rochester.
-"i am dull," said he. "i don't understand that observation of mr dale's."
-"that may well be, my lord," said charles, and he turned to monmouth, smiling maliciously as he asked, "are you as dull as my lord here, james, or do you understand what mr dale would say?"
-monmouth's mood hung in the balance between anger and amusement. i had crossed and thwarted his fancy, but it was no more than a fancy. and i had crossed and thwarted m. de perrencourt's also; that was balm to his wounds. i do not know that he could have done me harm, and it was as much from a pure liking for him as from any fear of his disfavour that i rejoiced when i saw his kindly thoughts triumph and a smile come on his lips.
-"plague take the fellow," said he, "i understand him. on my life he's wise!"
-i bowed low to him, saying, "i thank your grace for your understanding."
-rochester sighed heavily.
-"this is wearisome," said he. "shall we walk?"
-"you and james shall walk," said the king. "i have yet a word for mr dale." as they went he turned to me and said, "but will you leave us? i could find work for you here."
-i did not know what to answer him. he saw my hesitation.
-"the basket will not be emptied," said he in a low and cautious voice. "it will be emptied neither for m. de perrencourt nor for the king of france. you look very hard at me, mr dale, but you needn't search my face so closely. i will tell you what you desire to know. i have had my price, but i do not empty my basket." having said this, he sat leaning his head on his hands with his eyes cast up at me from under his swarthy bushy brows.
-there was a long silence then between us. for myself i do not deny that youthful ambition again cried to me to take his offer, while pride told me that even at whitehall i could guard my honour and all that was mine. i could serve him; since he told me his secrets, he must and would serve me. and he had in the end dealt fairly and kindly with me.
-the king struck his right hand on the arm of his chair suddenly and forcibly.
-i had never before seen him so moved, and never had so plain a glimpse of his heart, nor of the resolve which lay beneath his lightness and frivolity. whence came that one unswerving resolution i know not; yet i do not think that it stood on nothing better than his indolence and a hatred of going again on his travels. there was more than that in it; perhaps he seemed to himself to hold a fort and considered all stratagems and devices well justified against the enemy. i made him no answer but continued to look at him. his passion passed as quickly as it had come, and he was smiling again with his ironical smile as he said to me:
-"but my gospel need not be yours. our paths have crossed, they need not run side by side. come, man, i have spoken to you plainly, speak plainly to me." he paused, and then, leaning forward, said,
-"perhaps you are of m. de fontelles' mind? will you join him in his search? abandon it. you had best go to your home and wait. heaven may one day send you what you desire. answer me, sir. are you of the frenchman's mind?"
-his voice now had the ring of command in it and i could not but answer. and when i came to answer there was but one thing to say. he had told me the terms of my service. what was it to me that he sat there, if honour and the kingdom's greatness and all that makes a crown worth the wearing must go, in order to his sitting there? there rose in me at once an inclination towards him and a loathing for the gospel that he preached; the last was stronger and, with a bow, i said:
-"yes, sir, i am of m. de fontelles' mind."
-he heard me, lying back in his chair. he said nothing, but sighed lightly, puckered his brow an instant, and smiled. then he held out his hand to me, and i bent and kissed it.
-"good-bye, mr dale," said he. "i don't know how long you'll have to wait. i'm hale and--so's my brother."
-he moved his hand in dismissal, and, having withdrawn some paces, i turned and walked away. all observed or seemed to observe me; i heard whispers that asked who i was, why the king had talked so long to me, and to what service or high office i was destined. acquaintances saluted me and stared in wonder at my careless acknowledgment and the quick decisive tread that carried me to the door. now, having made my choice, i was on fire to be gone; yet once i turned my head and saw the king sitting still in his chair, his head resting on his hands, and a slight smile on his lips. he saw me look, and nodded his head. i bowed, turned again, and was gone.
-since then i have not seen him, for the paths that crossed diverged again. but, as all men know, he carried out his gospel. there he sat till his life's end, whether by god's grace or the devil's help i know not. but there he sat, and never did he empty his basket lest, having given all, he should have nothing to carry to market. it is not for me to judge him now; but then, when i had the choice set before me, there in his own palace, i passed my verdict. i do not repent of it. for good or evil, in wisdom or in folly, in mere honesty or the extravagance of sentiment, i had made my choice. i was of the mind of m. de fontelles, and i went forth to wait till there should be a king whom a gentleman could serve. yet to this day i am sorry that he made me tell him of my choice.
-i come home
-i have written the foregoing for my children's sake that they may know that once their father played some part in great affairs, and, rubbing shoulder to shoulder with folk of high degree, bore himself (as i venture to hope) without disgrace, and even with that credit which a ready brain and hand bring to their possessor. here, then, i might well come to an end, and deny myself the pleasure of a last few words indited for my own comfort and to please a greedy recollection. the children, if they read, will laugh. have you not seen the mirthful wonder that spreads on a girl's face when she comes by chance on some relic of her father's wooing, a faded wreath that he has given her mother, or a nosegay tied with a ribbon and a poem attached thereto? she will look in her father's face, and thence to where her mother sits at her needle-work, just where she has sat at her needle-work these twenty years, with her old kind smile and comfortable eyes. the girl loves her, loves her well, but--how came father to write those words? for mother, though the dearest creature in the world, is not slim, nor dazzling, nor a queen, nor is she venus herself, decked in colours of the rainbow, nor a goddess come from heaven to men, nor the desire of all the world, nor aught else that father calls her in the poem. indeed, what father wrote is something akin to what the squire slipped into her own hand last night; but it is a strange strain in which to write to mother, the dearest creature in the world, but no, not venus in her glory nor the queen of the nymphs. but though the maiden laughs, her father is not ashamed. he still sees her to whom he wrote, and when she smiles across the room at him, and smiles again to see her daughter's wonder, all the years fade from the picture's face, and the vision stands as once it was, though my young mistress' merry eyes have not the power to see it. let her laugh. god forbid that i should grudge it her! soon enough shall she sit sewing and another laugh.
-carford was gone, well-nigh healed of his wound, healed also of his love, i trust, at least headed off from it. m. de fontelles was gone also, on that quest of his which made my lord rochester so merry; indeed i fear that in this case the scoffer had the best of it, for he whom i have called m. de perrencourt was certainly served again by his indignant subject, and that most brilliantly. well, had i been a frenchman, i could have forgiven king louis much; and i suppose that, although an englishman, i do not hate him greatly, since his ring is often on my wife's finger and i see it there without pain.
-it was the day before my wedding was to take place; for my lord, on being informed of all that had passed, had sworn roundly that since there was one honest man who sought his daughter, he would not refuse her, lest while he waited for better things worse should come. and he proceeded to pay me many a compliment, which i would repeat, despite of modesty, if it chanced that i remembered them. but in truth my head was so full of his daughter that there was no space for his praises, and his well-turned eulogy (for my lord had a pretty flow of words) was as sadly wasted as though he had spoken it to the statue of apollo on his terrace.
-i had been taking dinner with the vicar, and, since it was not yet time to pay my evening visit to the manor, i sat with him a while after our meal, telling him for his entertainment how i had talked with the king at whitehall, what the king had said, and what i, and how my lord rochester had talked finely of the devil, and tried, but failed, to talk of love. he drank in all with eager ears, weighing the wit in a balance, and striving to see, through my recollection, the life and the scene and the men that were so strange to his eyes and so familiar to his dreams.
-"you don't appear very indignant, sir," i ventured to observe with a smile.
-we were in the porch, and, for answer to what i said, he pointed to the path in front of us. following the direction of his finger i perceived a fly of a species with which i, who am a poor student of nature, was not familiar. it was villainously ugly, although here and there on it were patches of bright colour.
-"yet," said the vicar, "you are not indignant with it, simon."
-"no, i am not indignant," i admitted.
-"but if it were to crawl over you----"
-"i should crush the brute," i cried.
-"yes. they have crawled over you and you are indignant. they have not crawled over me, and i am curious."
-"but, sir, will you allow a man no disinterested moral emotion?"
-"as much as he will, and he shall be cool at the end of it," smiled the vicar. "now if they took my benefice from me again!" stooping down, he picked up the creature in his hand and fell to examining it very minutely.
-"i wonder you can touch it," said i in disgust.
-"you did not quit the court without some regret, simon," he reminded me.
-i could make nothing of him in this mood and was about to leave him when i perceived my lord and barbara approaching the house. springing up, i ran to meet them; they received me with a grave air, and in the ready apprehension of evil born of a happiness that seems too great i cried out to know if there were bad tidings.
-"there's nothing that touches us nearly," said my lord. "but very pitiful news is come from france."
-the vicar had followed me and now stood by me; i looked up and saw that the ugly creature was still in his hand.
-"it concerns madame, simon," said barbara. "she is dead and all the town declares that she had poison given to her in a cup of chicory-water. is it not pitiful?"
-indeed the tidings came as a shock to me, for i remembered the winning grace and wit of the unhappy lady.
-"but who has done it?" i cried.
-"i don't know," said my lord. "it is set down to her husband; rightly or wrongly, who knows?"
-a silence ensued for a few moments. the vicar stooped and set his captive free to crawl away on the path.
-"god has crushed one of them, simon," said he. "are you content?"
-"i try not to believe it of her," said i.
-in a grave mood we began to walk, and presently, as it chanced, barbara and i distanced the slow steps of our elders and found ourselves at the manor gates alone.
-"i am very sorry for madame," said she, sighing heavily. yet presently, because by the mercy of providence our own joy outweighs others' grief and thus we can pass through the world with unbroken hearts, she looked up at me with a smile, and passing her arm, through mine, drew herself close to me.
-"ay, be merry, to-night at least be merry, my sweet," said i. "for we have come through a forest of troubles and are here safe out on the other side."
-"safe and together," said she.
-"without the second, where would be the first?"
-"yet," said barbara, "i fear you'll make a bad husband; for here at the very beginning--nay, i mean before the beginning--you have deceived me."
-"i protest----!" i cried.
-"for it was from my father only that i heard of a visit you paid in london."
-i bent my head and looked at her.
-"i would not trouble you with it," said i. "it was no more than a debt of civility."
-"simon, i don't grudge it to her. for i am, here in the country with you, and she is there in london without you."
-"and in truth," said i, "i believe that you are both best pleased."
-"for her," said barbara, "i cannot speak."
-for a long while then we walked in silence, while the afternoon grew full and waned again. they mock at lovers' talk; let them, say i with all my heart, so that they leave our silence sacred. but at last barbara turned to me and said with a little laugh:
-"art glad to have come home, simon?"
-verily i was glad. in body i had wandered some way, in mind and heart farther, through many dark ways, turning and twisting here and there, leading i knew not whither, seeming to leave no track by which i might regain my starting point. yet, although i felt it not, the thread was in my hand, the golden thread spun here in hatchstead when my days were young. at length the hold of it had tightened and i, perceiving it, had turned and followed. thus it had brought me home, no better in purse or station than i went, and poorer by the loss of certain dreams that haunted me, yet, as i hope, sound in heart and soul. i looked now in the dark eyes that were, set on me as though there were their refuge, joy, and life; she clung to me as though even still i might leave her. but the last fear fled, the last doubt faded away, and a smile came in radiant serenity on the lips i loved as, bending down, i whispered:
-"ay, i am glad to have come home."
-but there was one thing more that i must say. her head fell on my shoulder as she murmured:
-"and you have utterly forgotten her?"
-her eyes were safely hidden. i smiled as i answered, "utterly."
-see how i stood! wilt thou forgive me, nelly?
-for a man may be very happy as he is and still not forget the things which have been. "what are you thinking of, simon?" my wife asks sometimes when i lean back in my chair and smile. "of nothing, sweet," say i. and, in truth, i am not thinking; it is only that a low laugh echoes distantly in my ear. faithful and loyal am i--but, should such as nell leave nought behind her?
-martin pippin in the apple orchard
-i have been asked to introduce miss farjeon to the american public, and although i believe that introductions of this kind often do more harm than good, i have consented in this case because the instance is rare enough to justify an exception. if miss farjeon had been a promising young novelist either of the realistic or the romantic school, i should not have dared to express an opinion on her work, even if i had believed that she had greater gifts than the ninety-nine other promising young novelists who appear in the course of each decade. but she has a far rarer gift than any of those that go to the making of a successful novelist. she is one of the few who can conceive and tell a fairy-tale; the only one to my knowledge--with the just possible exceptions of james stephens and walter de la mare--in my own generation. she has, in fact, the true gift of fancy. it has already been displayed in her verse--a form in which it is far commoner than in prose--but martin pippin is her first book in this kind.
-i am afraid to say too much about it for fear of prejudicing both the reviewers and the general public. my taste may not be theirs and in this matter there is no opportunity for argument. let me, therefore, do no more than tell the story of how the manuscript affected me. i was a little overworked. i had been reading a great number of manuscripts in the preceding weeks, and the mere sight of typescript was a burden to me. but before i had read five pages of martin pippin, i had forgotten that it was a manuscript submitted for my judgment. i had forgotten who i was and where i lived. i was transported into a world of sunlight, of gay inconsequence, of emotional surprise, a world of poetry, delight, and humor. and i lived and took my joy in that rare world, until all too soon my reading was done.
-my most earnest wish is that there may be many minds and imaginations among the american people who will be able to share that pleasure with me. for every one who finds delight in this book i can claim as a kindred spirit.
-j. d. beresford.
-foreword introduction prologue--part i part ii part iii prelude to the first tale the first tale: the king's barn first interlude the second tale: young gerard second interlude the third tale: the mill of dreams third interlude the fourth tale: open winkins fourth interlude the fifth tale: proud rosalind and the hart-royal fifth interlude the sixth tale: the imprisoned princess postlude--part i part ii part iii part iv epilogue conclusion
-in adversane in sussex they still sing the song of the spring-green lady; any fine evening, in the streets or in the meadows, you may come upon a band of children playing the old game that is their heritage, though few of them know its origin, or even that it had one. it is to them as the daisies in the grass and the stars in the sky. of these things, and such as these, they ask no questions. but there you will still find one child who takes the part of the emperor's daughter, and another who is the wandering singer, and the remaining group (there should be no more than six in it) becomes the spring-green lady, the rose-white lady, the apple-gold lady, of the three parts of the game. often there are more than six in the group, for the true number of the damsels who guarded their fellow in her prison is as forgotten as their names: joscelyn, jane and jennifer, jessica, joyce and joan. forgotten, too, the name of gillian, the lovely captive. and the wandering singer is to them but the wandering singer, not martin pippin the minstrel. worse and worse, he is even presumed to be the captive's sweetheart, who wheedles the flower, the ring, and the prison-key out of the strict virgins for his own purposes, and flies with her at last in his shallop across the sea, to live with her happily ever after. but this is a fallacy. martin pippin never wheedled anything out of anybody for his own purposes--in fact, he had none of his own. on this adventure he was about the business of young robin rue. there are further discrepancies; for the emperor's daughter was not an emperor's daughter, but a farmer's; nor was the sea the sea, but a duckpond; nor--
-but let us begin with the children's version, as they sing and dance it on summer days and evenings in adversane.
-the singing-game of "the spring-green lady"
-the wandering singer
-lady, lady, my spring-green lady, may i come into your orchard, lady? for the leaf is now on the apple-bough and the sun is high and the lawn is shady, lady, lady, my fair lady! o my spring-green lady!
-you may not come into our orchard, singer, because we must guard the emperor's daughter who hides in her hair at the windows there with her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-the wandering singer
-lady, lady, my spring-green lady, but will you not hear an alba, lady? i'll play for you now neath the apple-bough and you shall dance on the lawn so shady, lady, lady, my fair lady, o my spring-green lady!
-o if you play us an alba, singer, how can that harm the emperor's daughter? no word would she say though we danced all day, with her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-the wandering singer
-but if i play you an alba, lady, get me a boon from the emperor's daughter-- the flower from her hair for my heart to wear though hers be a thousand leagues over the water, lady, lady, my fair lady, o my spring-green lady!
-now you may play us an alba, singer, a dance of dawn for a spring-green lady, for the leaf is now on the apple-bough, and the sun is high and the lawn is shady, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-the wandering singer plays on his lute, and the ladies break their ranks and dance. the singer steals up behind the emperor's daughter, who uncovers her face and sings--)
-the emperor's daughter
-mother, mother, my fair dead mother, they have stolen the flower from your weeping daughter!
-the wandering singer
-o dry your eyes, you shall have this other when yours is a thousand leagues over the water, daughter, daughter, my sweet daughter! love is not far, my daughter!
-the singer then drops a second flower into the lap of the child in the middle, and goes away, and this ends the first part of the game. the emperor's daughter is not yet released, for the key of her tower is understood to be still in the keeping of the dancing children. very likely it is bed-time by this, and mothers are calling from windows and gates, and the children must run home to their warm bread-and-milk and their cool sheets. but if time is still to spare, the second part of the game is played like this. the dancers once more encircle their weeping comrade, and now they are gowned in white and pink. they will indicate these changes perhaps by colored ribbons, or by any flower in its season, or by imagining themselves first in green and then in rose, which is really the best way of all. well then--
-the wandering singer
-lady, lady, my rose-white lady, may i come into your orchard, lady? for the blossom's now on the apple-bough and the stars are near and the lawn is shady, lady, lady, my fair lady, o my rose-white lady!
-you may not come into our orchard, singer, lest you bear a word to the emperor's daughter from one who was sent to banishment away a thousand leagues over the water, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-the wandering singer
-lady, lady, my rose-white lady, but will you not hear a roundel, lady? i'll play for you now neath the apple-bough and you shall trip on the lawn so shady, lady, lady, my fair lady, o my rose-white lady!
-o if you play us a roundel, singer, how can that harm the emperor's daughter? she would not speak though we danced a week, with her thoughts a thousand leagues over the water, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-the wandering singer
-but if i play you a roundel, lady, get me a gift from the emperor's daughter-- her finger-ring for my finger bring though she's pledged a thousand leagues over the water, lady, lady my fair lady, o my rose-white lady!
-now you may play us a roundel, singer, a sunset-dance for a rose-white lady, for the blossom's now on the apple-bough, and the stars are near and the lawn is shady, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-as before, the singer plays and the ladies dance; and through the broken circle the singer comes behind the emperor's daughter, who uncovers her face to sing--)
-the emperor's daughter
-mother, mother, my fair dead mother, they've stolen the ring from your heart-sick daughter.
-the wandering singer
-o mend your heart, you shall wear this other when yours is a thousand leagues over the water, daughter, daughter, my sweet daughter! love is at hand, my daughter!
-the third part of the game is seldom played. if it is not bed-time, or tea-time, or dinner-time, or school-time, by this time at all events the players have grown weary of the game, which is tiresomely long; and most likely they will decide to play something else, such as bertha gentle lady, or the busy lass, or gypsy, gypsy, raggetty loon!, or the crock of gold, or wayland, shoe me my mare!--which are all good games in their way, though not, like the spring-green lady, native to adversane. but i did once have the luck to hear and see the lady played in entirety--the children had been granted leave to play "just one more game" before bed-time, and of course they chose the longest and played it without missing a syllable.
-the wandering singer
-lady, lady, my apple-gold lady, may i come into your orchard, lady? for the fruit is now on the apple-bough, and the moon is up and the lawn is shady, lady, lady, my fair lady, o my apple-gold lady!
-you may not come into our orchard, singer, in case you set free the emperor's daughter who pines apart to follow her heart that's flown a thousand leagues over the water, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-the wandering singer
-lady, lady, my apple-gold lady, but will you not hear a serena, lady? i'll play for you now neath the apple-bough and you shall dream on the lawn so shady, lady, lady, my fair lady, o my apple-gold lady!
-o if you play a serena, singer, how can that harm the emperor's daughter? she would not hear though we danced a year with her heart a thousand leagues over the water, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-the wandering singer
-but if i play a serena, lady, let me guard the key of the emperor's daughter, lest her body should follow her heart like a swallow and fly a thousand leagues over the water, lady, lady, my fair lady, o my apple-gold lady!
-now you may play a serena, singer, a dream of night for an apple-gold lady, for the fruit is now on the apple-bough and the moon is up and the lawn is shady, singer, singer, wandering singer, o my honey-sweet singer!
-lover, lover, thy/my own true lover has opened a way for the emperor's daughter! the dawn is the goal and the dark the cover as we sail a thousand leagues over the water-- lover, lover, my dear lover, o my own true lover!
-in they go.
-you see the treatment is a trifle fanciful. but romance gathers round an old story like lichen on an old branch. and the story of martin pippin in the apple-orchard is so old now--some say a year old, some say even two. how can the children be expected to remember?
-but here's the truth of it.
-martin pippin in the apple-orchard
-one morning in april martin pippin walked in the meadows near adversane, and there he saw a young fellow sowing a field with oats broadcast. so pleasant a sight was enough to arrest martin for an hour, though less important things, such as making his living, could not occupy him for a minute. so he leaned upon the gate, and presently noticed that for every handful he scattered the young man shed as many tears as seeds, and now and then he stopped his sowing altogether, and putting his face between his hands sobbed bitterly. when this had happened three or four times, martin hailed the youth, who was then fairly close to the gate.
-"young master!" said he. "the baker of this crop will want no salt to his baking, and that's flat."
-the young man dropped his hands and turned his brown and tear-stained countenance upon the minstrel. he was so young a man that he wanted his beard.
-"they who taste of my sorrow," he replied, "will have no stomach for bread."
-and with that he fell anew to his sowing and sighing, and passed up the field.
-when he came down again martin observed, "it must be a very bitter sorrow that will put a man off his dinner."
-"it is the bitterest," said the youth, and went his way.
-at his next coming martin inquired, "what is the name of your sorrow?"
-"love," said the youth. by now he was somewhat distant from the gate when he came abreast of it, and martin pippin did not catch the word. so he called louder:
-"love!" shouted the youth. his voice cracked on it. he appeared slightly annoyed. martin chewed a grass and watched him up and down the meadow.
-at the right moment he bellowed:
-"i was never yet put off my feed by love."
-"then," roared the youth, "you have never loved."
-at this martin jumped over the gate and ran along the furrow behind the boy.
-"i have loved," he vowed, "as many times as i have tuned lute-strings."
-"then," said the youth, not turning his head, "you have never loved in vain."
-"always, thank god!" said martin fervently.
-the youth, whose name was robin rue, suddenly dropped all his seed in one heap, flung up his arms, and,
-"alas!" he cried. "oh, gillian! gillian!" and began to sob more heavily than ever.
-"tell me your trouble," said the minstrel kindly.
-"sir," said the youth, "i do not know your name, and your clothes are very tattered. but you are the first who has cared whether or no my heart should break since my lovely gillian was locked with six keys into her father's well-house, and six young milkmaids, sworn virgins and man-haters all, to keep the keys."
-"the thirsty," said martin, "make little of padlocks when within a rope's length of water."
-"but, sir," continued the youth earnestly, "this well-house is set in the midst of an apple-orchard enclosed in a hawthorn hedge full six feet high, and no entrance thereto but one small green wicket, bolted on the inner side."
-"indeed?" said martin.
-"and worse to come. the length of the hedge there is a great duckpond, nine yards broad, and three wild ducks swimming on it. alas!" he cried, "i shall never see my lovely girl again!"
-"love is a mighty power," said martin pippin, "but there are doubtless things it cannot do."
-"i ask so little," sighed robin rue. "only to send her a primrose for her hair-band, and have again whatever flower she wears there now."
-"would this really content you?" said martin pippin.
-"i would then consent to live," swore robin rue, "long enough at all events to make an end of my sowing."
-"well, that would be something," said martin cheerfully, "for fields must not go fallow that are appointed to bear. direct me to your gillian's apple-orchard."
-"it is useless," robin said. "for even if you could cross the duckpond, and evade the ducks, and compass the green gate, my sweetheart's father's milkmaids are not to be come over by any man; and they watch the well-house day and night."
-"yet direct me to the orchard," repeated martin pippin, and thrummed his lute a little.
-"oh, sir," said robin anxiously, "i must warn you that it is a long and weary way, it may be as much as two mile by the road." and he looked disconsolately at the minstrel, as though in fear that he would be discouraged from the adventure.
-"it can but be attempted," answered martin, "and now tell me only whether i go north or south as the road runs."
-"gillman the farmer, her father," said robin rue, "has moreover a very big stick--"
-"heaven help us!" cried martin, and took to his heels.
-"that ends it!" sighed the sorry lover.
-"at least let us make a beginning!" quoth martin pippin.
-he leaped the gate, mocked at a cuckoo, plucked a primrose, and went singing up the road.
-robin rue resumed his sowing and his tears.
-"maids," said joscelyn, "what is this coming across the duckpond?"
-"it is a man," said little joan.
-the six girls came running and crowding to the wicket, standing a-tiptoe and peeping between each other's sunbonnets. their sunbonnets and their gowns were as green as lettuce-leaves.
-"is he coming on a raft?" asked jessica, who stood behind.
-"no," said jane, "he is coming on his two feet. he has taken off his shoes, but i fear his breeches will suffer."
-"he is giving bread to the ducks," said jennifer.
-"he has a lute on his back," said joyce.
-"man!" cried joscelyn, who was the tallest and the sternest of the milkmaids, "go away at once!"
-martin pippin was by now within arm's-length of the green gate. he looked with pleasure at the six virgins fluttering in their green gowns, and peeping bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked under their green bonnets. beyond them he saw the forbidden orchard, with cuckoo-flower and primrose, daffodil and celandine, silver windflower and sweet violets blue and white, spangling the gay grass. the twisted apple-trees were in young leaf.
-"go away!" cried all the milkmaids in a breath. "go away!"
-"my green maidens," said martin, "may i not come into your orchard? the sun is up, and the shadow lies fresh on the grass. let me in to rest a little, dear maidens--if maidens indeed you be, and not six leaflets blown from the apple-branches."
-"you cannot come in," said joscelyn, "because we are guarding our master's daughter, who sits yonder weeping in the well-house."
-"that is a noble and a tender duty," said martin. "from what do you guard her?"
-the milkmaids looked primly at one another, and little joan said, "it is a secret."
-martin: i will ask no more. and what do you do all day long?
-joyce: nothing, and it is very dull.
-martin: it must be still duller for your master's daughter.
-joan: oh, no, she has her thoughts to play with.
-martin: and what of your thoughts?
-joscelyn: we have no thoughts. i should think not indeed!
-martin: i beg your pardon. but since you find the hours so tedious, will you not let me sing and play to you upon my lute? i will sing you a song for a spring morning, and you shall dance in the grass like any leaf in the wind.
-jane: i think there can be no harm in that.
-jessica: it can't matter a straw to gillian.
-joyce: she would not look up from her thoughts though we footed it all day.
-joscelyn: so long as he is on one side of the gate--
-jennifer: --and we on the other.
-"i love to dance," said little joan.
-"man!" cried the milkmaids in a breath, "play and sing to us!"
-"oh, maidens," answered martin merrily, "every tune deserves its fee. but don't look so troubled--my hire shall be of the lightest. let me see! you shall fetch me the flower from the hair of your little mistress who sits weeping on the coping with her face hidden in her shining locks."
-at this the milkmaids clapped their hands, and little joan, running to the well-house, with a touch like thistledown drew from the weeper's yellow hair a yellow primrose. she brought it to the gate and laid it in martin's hand.
-"now you will play for us, won't you?" said she. "a dance for a spring-morning when the leaves dance on the apple-trees."
-then martin tuned his lute and played and sang as follows, while the girls took hands and danced in a green chain among the twisty trees.
-the green leaf dances now, the green leaf dances now, the green leaf with its tilted wings dances on the bough, and every rustling air says, i've caught you, caught you, leaf with tilted wings, caught you in a snare! whose snare? spring's, that bound you to the bough where you dance now, dance, but cannot fly, for all your tilted wings pointing to the sky; where like martins you would dart but for spring's delicious art that caught you to the bough, caught, yet left you free to dance if not to fly--oh see! as you are dancing now, dancing on the bough, dancing on the bough, dancing with your tilted wings on the apple-bough.
-now as martin sang and the milkmaids danced, it seemed that gillian in her prison heard and saw nothing except the music and the movement of her sorrows. but presently she raised her hand and touched her hair-band, and then she lifted up the fairest face martin had ever seen, so that he needs must see it nearer; and he took the green gate in one stride, and the green dancers never observed him. then gillian's tender mouth parted like an opening quince-blossom, and--
-"oh, mother, mother!" she said, "if you had only lived they would not have stolen the flower from my hair while i sat weeping."
-above her head a whispering voice made answer, "oh, daughter, daughter, dry your sweet eyes. you shall wear this other flower when yours is gone over the duckpond to adversane."
-it happened that on an afternoon in may martin pippin passed again through adversane, and as he passed he thought, "now certainly i have been here before," but he could not remember when or how, for a full month had run under the bridges of time since then, and man's memory is not infinite.
-but in walking by a certain garden he heard a sound of sobbing; and curiosity, of which he was largely made, caused him to climb the old brick wall that he might discover the cause. what he saw from his perch was a garden laid out in neat plots between grassy walks edged with double daisies, red, white and pink, or bordered with sweet herbs, or with lavender and wallflower; and here and there were cordons of fruit-trees, apple, plum and cherry, and in a sunny corner a clump of flowering currant heavy with humming bees; and against the inner walls flat pear-trees stretched their long straight lines, like music-staves whereon a lovely melody was written in notes of snow. and in the midst of all this stood a very young man with a face as brown as a berry. he was spraying the cordons with quassia-water. but whenever he filled his syringe he wept so many tears above the bucket that it was always full to the brim.
-when he had watched this happen several times, martin hailed the young man.
-"young master!" said martin, "the eater of your plums will need sugar thereto, and that's flat."
-the young man turned his eyes upward.
-"there is not sugar enough in all the world," he answered, "to sweeten the fruits that are watered by my sorrows."
-"then here is a waste of good quassia," said martin, "and i think your name is robin rue."
-"it is," said robin, "and you are martin pippin, to whom i owe more than to any man living. but the primrose you brought me is dead this five-and-twenty days."
-"and what of your gillian?"
-"alas! how can i tell what of her? she is where she was and i am here where i am. what will become of me?"
-"there are riddles without answers," observed martin.
-"i can answer this one. i shall fall into a decline and die. and yet i ask no more than to send her a ring to wear on her finger, and have her ring to wear on mine."
-"would this satisfy you?" asked martin.
-"i could then cling to life," said robin rue, "long enough at least to finish my spraying."
-"we may praise god as much for small mercies," said martin pleasantly, "as for great ones; and trees must not be blighted that were appointed to fruit."
-so saying, he unstraddled his legs and dropped into the road, tickled an armadillo with his toe, twirled the silver ring on his finger, and went away singing.
-"maidens," said joscelyn, "here is that man come again."
-maids' memories are longer than men's. at all events, the milkmaids knew instantly to whom she referred, although nearly a month had passed since his coming.
-"has he his lute with him?" asked little joan.
-"he has. and he is giving cake to the ducks; they take it from his hand. man, go away immediately!"
-martin pippin propped his elbows on the little gate, and looked smiling into the orchard, all pink and white blossom. the trees that had been longest in bloom were white cascades of flower, others there were flushed like the cheek of a sleeping child, and some were still studded with rose-red buds. the grass was high and full of spotted orchis, and tall wild parsley spread its nets of lace almost abreast of the lowest boughs of blossom. so that the milkmaids stood embraced in meeting flowers, waist-deep in the orchard growth: all gowned in pink lawn with loose white sleeves, and their faces flushed it may have been with the pink linings to their white bonnets, or with the evening rose in the west, or with i know not what.
-"go away!" they cried at the intruder. "go away!"
-"my rose-white maidens," said martin, "will you not let me into your orchard? for the stars are rising with the dew, and the hour is at peace. let me in to rest, dear maidens--if maidens indeed you be, and not six blossoms fallen from the apple-boughs."
-"you cannot come in," said joscelyn, "lest you are the bearer of a word to our master's daughter who sits weeping in the well-house."
-"from whom should i bear her a word?" asked martin pippin in great amazement.
-the milkmaids cast down their eyes, and little joan said, "it is a secret."
-martin: i will inquire no further. but shall i not play a little on my lute? it is as good an hour for song and dance as any other, and i will make a tune for a sunny may evening, and you shall sway among the grasses like any flower on the bough.
-jane: in my opinion that can hurt nobody.
-jessica: gillian wouldn't care two pins.
-joyce: she would utter no word though we tripped it for a week.
-joscelyn: so long as he keeps to his side of the hedge--
-jennifer: --and we to ours.
-"oh, i do love to dance!" cried little joan.
-"man!" they commanded him as one voice, "play and sing to us instantly!"
-"my pretty ones," laughed martin pippin, "songs are as light as air, but worth more than pearls and diamonds. what will you give me for my song? wait, now!--i have it. you shall fetch me the ring from the finger of your little mistress, who sits hidden beneath the fountain of her own bright tresses."
-the milkmaids at these words nodded gayly, and little joan tip-toed to the well-house, and slipped the ring from gillian's finger as lightly as a daisy may be slipped from its fellow on the chain. then she ran with it to the gate, and martin held up his little finger, and she put it on, saying:
-"now you will keep your promise, honey-sweet singer, and play a dance for a may evening when the blossom blows for happiness on the apple-trees."
-so martin pippin tuned his lute and sang what follows, while the girls floated in ones and twos among the orchard grass:
-a-floating, a-floating, what saw i a-floating? fairy ships rocking with pink sails and white smoothly as swans on a river of light saw i a-floating? no, it was apple-bloom, rosy and fair, softly obeying the nod of the air i saw a-floating. a-floating, a-floating, what saw i a-floating? white clouds at eventide blown to and fro lightly as bubbles the cherubim blow, saw i a-floating? no, it was pretty girls gowned like a flower blown in a ring round their own apple-bower i saw a-floating. or was it my dream, my dream only--who knows?-- as frail as a snowflake, as flushed as a rose, i saw a-floating? a-floating, a-floating, what saw i a-floating?
-martin sang, and the milkmaids danced, and gillian in her prison only heard the dropping of her tears, and only saw the rainbow prisms on her lashes. but presently she laid her cheek against her hand, and missed a touch she knew; and on that revealed her lovely face so full of woe, that martin needs must comfort her or weep himself. and the dancers took no heed when he made one step across the gate and went under the trees to the well-house.
-"oh, mother, mother!" sighed gillian, "if you had only lived they would never have stolen the ring from my finger while i sat heartsick."
-above her head a whispering voice replied, "oh, daughter, daughter, mend your dear heart! you shall wear this other ring when yours is gone over the duckpond to adversane."
-oh wonder! out of the very heavens fell a silver ring into her bosom. and if that night gillian slept not, neither wept she.
-in the beginning of the first week in september martin pippin came once more to adversane, and he said to himself when he saw it:
-"now this is the prettiest hamlet i ever had the luck to light on in my wanderings. and if chance or fortune will, i shall some day come this way again."
-while he was thinking these thoughts, his ears were assailed by groans and sighs, so that he wet his finger and held it up to find which way the wind blew on this burning day of blue and gold. but no wind coming, he sought some other agency for these gusts, and discovered it in a wheat-field where was a young fellow stooking sheaves. a very young fellow he was, turned copper by the sun; and as he stooked he heaved such sighs that for every shock he stooked two tumbled at his feet. when martin had seen this happen more than once he called aloud to the harvester.
-"young master!" said martin, "the mill that grinds your grain will need no wind to its sails, and that's flat."
-the young man looked up from his labors to reply.
-"there are no mill-stones in all the world," said he, "strong enough to grind the grain of my grief."
-"then i would save these gales till they may be put to more use," remarked martin, "and if i remember rightly you wear a lady's ring on your little finger, though i cannot remember her name or yours."
-"her heavenly name is gillian," said the youth, "and mine is robin rue."
-"and are you wedded yet?" asked martin.
-"wedded?" he cried. "have you forgotten that she is locked with six keys inside her father's well-house?"
-"but this was long ago," said martin. "is she there yet?"
-"she is," said robin rue, "and here am i."
-"well, all states must end some time," said martin pippin.
-"even life," sighed robin, "and therefore before the month is out i shall wilt and be laid in the earth."
-"that would be a pity," said martin. "can nothing save you?"
-"i remember," said martin. "six milkmaids."
-"with hearts of flint!" cried robin.
-"sparks may be struck from flint," said martin, in his inconsequential way. "but tell me, if gillian's prison were indeed unlocked, would all be well with you for ever?"
-"oh," said robin rue, "if her prison were unlocked and the prisoner in these arms, this wheat should be flour for a wedding-cake."
-"it is the best of all cakes," said martin pippin, "and the grain that is destined thereto must not rot in the husk."
-with these words he strolled out of the cornfield, gathered a harebell, rang it so loudly in the ear of a passing rabbit that it is said never to have stopped running till it found itself in france, and went up the road humming and thrumming his lute.
-on the road he met a gypsy.
-"maids," said joscelyn, "somebody is at the gate."
-the milkmaids, who were eating apples, came clustering about her instantly.
-"is it a man?" asked little joan, pausing between her bites.
-"no, thank all our stars," said joscelyn, "it is a gypsy."
-the milkmaids withdrew, their fears allayed. joan bit her apple and said, "it puckers my mouth."
-joyce: mine's sour.
-jessica: mine's hard.
-jane: mine's bruised.
-jennifer: there's a maggot in mine.
-they threw their apples away.
-"who'll buy trinkets?" said the gypsy at the gate.
-"what have you to sell?" asked joscelyn.
-"knick-knacks and gew-gaws of all sorts. rings and ribbons, mirrors and beads, silken shoe-strings and colored lacings, sweetmeats and scents and gilded pins; silver buckles, belts and bracelets, gay kerchiefs, spotted ones, striped ones; ivory bobbins, sprigs of coral, and sea-shells from far places, they'll murmur you secrets o' nights if you put em under your pillow; here are patterns for patchwork, and here's a sheet of ballads, and here's a pack of cards for telling fortunes. what will ye buy? a dream-book, a crystal, a charmed powder that shall make you see your sweetheart in the dark?"
-"oh!" six voices cried in one.
-"or this other powder shall charm him to love you, if he love you not?"
-"fie!" exclaimed joscelyn severely. "we want no love-charms."
-"i warrant you!" laughed the gypsy. "what will ye buy?"
-jennifer: i'll have this flasket of scent.
-joyce: i'll have this looking-glass.
-jessica: and i this necklet of beads.
-jane: a pair of shoe-buckles, if you please.
-joan: this bunch of ribbons for me.
-joscelyn: have you a corset-lace of yellow silk?
-the gypsy: here's for you and you. no love-charms, no. here's for you and you and you. i warrant, no love-charms! ay, i've a yellow lace, twill keep you in as tight as jealousy, my pretty. out upon all love-charms!--and what will she have that sits crouched in the well-house?
-"oh, gypsy!" cried joscelyn, "have you among your charms one that will make a maid fall out of love?"
-"nay, nay," said the gypsy, growing suddenly grave. "that is a charm takes more black art than i am mistress of. i know indeed of but one remedy. is the case so bad?"
-"she has been shut into the well-house to cure her of loving," said joscelyn, "and in six months she has scarcely ceased to weep, and has never uttered a word. if you know the physic that shall heal her of her foolishness, i pray you tell us of it. for it is extremely dull in this orchard, with nothing to do except watch the changes of the apple-trees, and meanwhile the farmstead lacks water and milk, there being no entry to the well nor maids to milk the cows. daily comes old gillman to tell us how, from morning till night, he is forced to drink cider and ale, and so the farm goes to rack and ruin, and all because he has a lovesick daughter. what is your remedy? he would give you gold and silver for it."
-"i do not know if it can be bought," said the gypsy, "i do not even know if it exists. but when a maid broods too much on her own love-tale, the like weapons only will vanquish her thoughts. nothing but a new love-tale will overcome her broodings, and where the case is obstinate one only will not suffice. you say she has pined upon her love six months. let her be told six brand-new love-tales, tales which no woman ever heard before, and i think she will be cured. these counter-poisons will so work in her that little by little her own case will be obliterated from her blood. but for my part i doubt whether there be six untold love-tales left on earth, and if there be i know not who keeps them buttoned under his jacket."
-"alas!" cried joscelyn, "then we must stay here for ever until we die."
-"it looks very like it," said the gypsy, "and my wares are a penny apiece."
-so saying she collected her moneys and withdrew, and for all i know was never seen again by man, woman, or child.
-"my apple-gold maidens," said martin pippin, leaning on the gate in the bright night, "may i come into your orchard?"
-as he addressed them he gazed with delight at the enclosure. by the light of the queen moon, now at her full in heaven, he saw that the orchard grass was clipped, and patterned with small clover, but against the hedges rose wild banks of meadow-sweet and yarrow and the jolly ragwort, and briony with its heart-shaped leaf and berry as red as heart's-blood made a bower above them all. and all the apple-trees were decked with little golden moons hanging in clusters on the drooping boughs, and glimmering in the recesses of the leaves. under each tree a ring of windfalls lay in the grass. but prettiest sight of all was the ring of girls in yellow gowns and caps, that lay around the midmost apple-tree like fallen fruit.
-"dear maidens," pleaded the minstrel, "let me come in."
-at the sound of his voice the six milkmaids rose up in the grass like golden fountains. and fountains indeed they were, for their eyes were running over with tears.
-"we did not hear you coming," said little joan.
-"go away at once!" commanded joscelyn.
-then all the girls cried "go away!" together.
-"my apple-gold maidens," said martin pippin, "i entreat you to let me in. for the moon is up, and it is time to be sleeping or waking, in sweet company. so i beseech you to admit me, dear maidens--if maidens in truth you be, and not six apples bobbed off their stems."
-"you may not come in," said joscelyn, "in case you should release our master's daughter, who sits in the well-house pining to follow her heart."
-"why, whither would she follow it?" asked martin much surprised.
-the milkmaids turned their faces away, and little joan murmured, "it is a secret."
-martin: i will put chains on my thoughts. but shall i not sing you a tune you may dance to? i will make you a song for an august night, when the moon rocks her way up and down the cradle of the sky, and you shall rock on earth like any apple on the twig.
-jane: for my part, i see nothing against it.
-jessica: gillian won't care little apples.
-joyce: she would not hear though we danced the round of the year.
-joscelyn: so long as he does not come in--
-jennifer: --or we go out.
-"oh, let us dance, do let us dance!" cried little joan.
-"man," they importuned him in a single breath, "play for us and sing for us, as quickly as you can!"
-"sweet ones," said martin pippin, shaking his head, "songs must be paid for. and yet i do not know what to ask you, some trifle in kind it should be. why, now, i have it! if i give you the keys to the dance, give me the keys to your little mistress, that i may keep her secure from following her heart like a bird of passage, whither it's no business of mine to ask."
-at this request, made so gayly and so carelessly, the girls all looked at one another in consternation. then joscelyn drew herself up to full height, and pointing with her arm straight across the duckpond she cried:
-and the six girls, turning their backs upon him, moved away into the shadows of the moon.
-"well-a-day!" sighed martin pippin, "how a fool may trip and never know it till his nose hits the earth. i will sing to you for nothing."
-but the girls did not answer.
-then martin touched his lute and sang as follows, so softly and sweetly that they, not regarding, hardly knew the sound of his song from the heavy-sweet scent of the ungathered apples over their heads.
-toss me your golden ball, laughing maid, lovely maid, lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your ball! i'll catch it and throw it, and hide it and show it, and spin it to heaven and not let it fall. boy, run away with you! i will not play with you-- this is no ball! we are too old to be playing at ball.
-toss me the golden sun, laughing maid, lovely maid, lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me the sun! i'll wheel it, i'll whirl it, i'll twist it and twirl it till cocks crow at midnight and day breaks at one. boy, i'll not sport with you! boy, to be short with you, this is no sun! we are too young to play tricks with the sun.
-toss me your golden toy, laughing maid, lovely maid, lovely maid, laughing maid, toss me your toy! it's all one to me, girl, whatever it be, girl so long as it's round that's enough for a boy. boy, come and catch it then!--there now! don't snatch it then! here comes your toy! apples were made for a girl and a boy.
-there was no sound or movement from the girls in the shadows.
-"farewell, then," said martin. "i must carry my tunes and tales elsewhere."
-like pebbles from a catapult the milkmaids shot to the gate.
-"tales?" cried jessica.
-"do you know tales?" exclaimed jennifer.
-"what kind of tales?" demanded jane.
-"love-tales?" panted joyce.
-"six of them?" urged little joan.
-"a thousand!" said martin pippin.
-joscelyn's hand lay on the bolt.
-"man," she said, "come in."
-she opened the wicket, and martin pippin walked into the apple orchard.
-prelude to the first tale
-"and now," said martin pippin, "what exactly do you require of me?"
-"if you please," said little joan, "you are to tell us a love-story that has never been told before."
-"but we have reason to fear," added jane, "that there is no such story left in all the world."
-"there you are wrong," said martin, "for on the contrary no love-story has ever been told twice. i never heard any tale of lovers that did not seem to me as new as the world on its first morning. i am glad you have a taste for love-stories."
-"we have not," said joscelyn, very quickly.
-"no, indeed!" cried her five fellows.
-"then shall it be some other kind of tale?"
-"no other kind will do," said joscelyn, still more quickly.
-"we must all bear our burdens," said martin; "so let us make ourselves as happy as we can in an apple-tree, and when the tale becomes too little to your taste you shall munch apples and forget it."
-"will you sit in the swing?" asked jennifer, pointing to the midmost apple-tree, which was the largest in the orchard, and had a little swing hanging from a long upper limb.
-close to the apple-tree, a branch of which indeed brushed its mossed pent-roof, stood the well-house. it had a round wall of old red bricks growing green with time, and a pillar of oak rose up at each point of the compass to support the pent. between the south and west pillars was a green door, held by a rusty chain and a padlock with six keyholes. the little circular court within was flagged, and three rings of worn steps led to the well-head and the green wooden bucket inverted on the coping. between the cracks of the flags sprang grass, and pink-starred centaury, and even a trail of mallow sprawled over the steps where gillian lay in tears, as though to wreathe her head with its striped blooms.
-"what luck you have," said martin, "not only to live in an orchard, but to have a swing to swing in."
-"it is our one diversion," said joyce, "except when you come to play to us."
-"it is delightful to swing," said little joan invitingly.
-"so it is," agreed martin, "and i beg you to sit in the swing while i sit on this bough, and when i see your eyelids growing heavy with my tale i will start the rope and rouse you--thus!"
-so saying, he lifted the littlest milkmaid lightly into her perch and gave her so vigorous a push that she cried out with delight, as at one moment the point of her shoe cleared the door of the well-house, and at the next her heels were up among the apples. then martin ensconced himself upon a lower limb of the tree, which had a mossy cushion against the trunk as though nature or time had designed it for a teller of tales. the milkmaids sprang quickly into other branches around him, shaking a hail of sweet apples about his head. what he could he caught, and dropped into the swinger's lap, whence from time to time he helped himself; and she did likewise.
-"begin," said joscelyn.
-"a thought has occurred to me," said martin pippin, "and it is that my tale may disturb your master's daughter."
-"we desire it to," said joscelyn looking down on the well-house and the yellow head of gillian. "the fear is rather that you may not arouse her attention, so i hope that when you speak you will speak clearly. for to tell you the truth we have heard that nothing but six love-tales will wash from her mind the image of--"
-"of whom?" inquired martin as she paused.
-"it does not matter whom," said joscelyn, "but i think the time is ripe to confess to you that the silly damsel is in love."
-"the world is so full of wonders," said martin pippin, "that one ceases to be surprised at almost anything."
-"is love then," said little joan, "so rare a thing in the world?"
-"the rarest of all things," answered martin, looking gravely into her eyes. "it is as rare as flowers in spring."
-"i am glad of that," said joan; while joscelyn objected, "but nothing is commoner."
-"do you think so?" said martin. "perhaps you are right. yet spring after spring the flowers quicken my heart as though i were perceiving them for the first time in my life--yes, even the very commonest of them."
-"what do you call the commonest?" asked jessica.
-"could any be commoner," said martin, "than robin-run-by-the-wall? yet i think he has touched many a heart in his day."
-and fixing his eyes on the weeper in the well-house, martin pippin tried his lute and sang this song.
-run by the wall, robin, run by the wall! you might hear a secret a lady once let fall. if you hear her secret tell it in my ear, and i'll whisper you another for her to overhear.
-the weeper stirred very slightly.
-"the song makes little sense," said joscelyn, "and would make none at all if you called this flower by its right name of jack-in-the-hedge."
-"let us do so," said martin readily, "and then the nonsense will run this way as easily as that."
-hide in the hedge, jack, hide in the hedge! you might catch a letter dropped over the edge. if you catch her letter slip it in my hand, and i'll write another that she'll understand.
-as he concluded, gillian lifted up her head, and putting her hair from her face gazed over the duckpond beyond the green wicket.
-"the lady," said joscelyn with some impatience, "who understand the letter must outdo me in wits, for i find no understanding whatever in your silly song. however, it seems to have brought our master's daughter out of her lethargy, and the moment is favorable to your tale. therefore without further ado i beg you to begin."
-"i will," said martin, "and on my part entreat your forbearance while i relate to you the story of the king's barn."
-the king's barn
-there was once, dear maidens, a king in sussex of whose kingdom and possessions nothing remained but a single barn and a change of linen. it was no fault of his. he was a very young king when he came into his heritage, and it was already dwindled to these proportions. once his fathers had owned a beautiful city on the banks of the adur, and all the lands to the north and the west were theirs, for a matter of several miles indeed, including many strange things that were on them: such as the wapping thorp, the huddle stone, the bush hovel where a wise woman lived, and the guess gate; likewise those two communities known as the doves and the hawking sopers, whose ways of life were as opposite as the poles. the doves were simple men, and religious; but the hawking sopers were indeed a wild and rowdy crew, and it is said that the king's father had hunted and drunk with them until his estates were gambled away and his affairs decayed of neglect, and nothing was left at last but the solitary barn which marked the northern boundary of his possessions. and here, when his father was dead, our young king sat on a tussock of hay with his golden crown on his head and his golden scepter in his hand, and ate bread and cheese thrice a day, throwing the rind to the rats and the crumbs to the swallows. his name was william, and beyond the rats and the swallows he had no other company than a nag called pepper, whom he fed daily from the tussock he sat on.
-but at the end of a week he said:
-"it is a dull life. what should a king do in a barn?"
-so saying, he pulled the last handful of hay from under him, rising up quickly before he had time to fall down, and gave it to his nag; and next he tied up his scepter and crown with his change of linen in a blue handkerchief; and last he fetched a rope and a sack and put them on pepper for bridle and saddle, and rode out of the barn leaving the door to swing.
-"let us go south, pepper," said he, "for it is warmer to ride into the sun than away from it, and so we shall visit my father's lands that might have been mine."
-south they went, with the great downs ahead of them, and who knew what beyond? and first they came to the hawking sopers, who when they saw william approaching tumbled out of their dwelling with a great racket, crying to him to come and drink and play with them.
-"not i," said he. "for so i should lose my barn to you, and such as it is it is a shelter, and my only one. but tell me, if you can, what should a king do in a barn?"
-"he should dance in it," said they, and went laughing and singing back to their cups.
-"what sort of advice is this, pepper?" said the king. "shall we try elsewhere?"
-the nag whinnied with unusual vehemence, and the king, taking this for yea, and not observing that she limped as she went, rode on to the doves: the gentle gray-gowned brothers who spent their days in pious works and their nights in meditation. between the twelve hours of twilight and dawn they were pledged not to utter speech, but the king arriving there at noon they welcomed him with kind words, and offered him a bowl of rice and milk.
-he thanked them, and when he had eaten and drink put to them his riddle.
-"what should a king do in a barn?"
-they answered, "he should pray in it."
-"this may be good advice," said the king. "pepper, should we go further?"
-the little nag whinnied till her sides shook, which the king took, as before, to be an affirmative. however, because it was sunday he remained with the doves a day and a night, and during such time as their lips were not sealed they urged him to become one of them, and found a new settlement of brothers in his barn. he spent his night in reflection, but by morning had come to no decision.
-"to what better use could you dedicate it?" asked the chief brother, who was known as the ringdove because he was the leader.
-"none that i can think of," said the king, "but i fear i am not good enough."
-"when you have passed our initiation," said the ringdove, "you will be."
-"is it difficult?" asked william.
-"no, it is very easy, and can be accomplished within a month. you have only to ride south till you come to the hills, on the highest of which you will see a ring of beech-trees. under the hills lies the little village of washington, and there you may dwell in comfort through the week. but on each of the four saturdays of the lunar month you must mount the hill at sunset and keep a vigil among the beeches till sunrise. and you must see that these saturdays occur on the fourth quarters of the moon--once when she is in her crescent, once at the half, again at the full, and lastly when she is waning."
-"and is this all?" said william. "it sounds very simple."
-"not quite all, but the rest is nearly as simple. you have but to observe four rules. first, to tell no living soul of your resolve during the month of initiation. second, to keep your vigil always between the two great beeches in the middle of the ring. third, to issue forth at midnight and immerse your head in the dewpond which lies on the hilltop to the west, and having done so to return to your watch between the trees. and fourth, to make no utterance on any account whatever from sunset to sunrise."
-"suppose i should sneeze?" inquired the king anxiously.
-"there's no supposing about it," said the ringdove. "sneezing, seeing that your head will be extremely wet, is practically inevitable. but the rule applies only to such utterance as lies within human control. when the fourth vigil has been successfully accomplished, return to us for a blessing and the gray robe of our order."
-"but how," asked the king, "during my vigils shall i know when midnight is due?"
-"in the third quarter after eleven a bird sings. at the beginning of its song go forth from the ring, and at the ending plunge your head into the pond. for on these nights the bird sings ceaselessly for fifteen minutes, but stops at the very moment of midnight."
-"and is this really all?"
-"this is all."
-"how easy it is to become good," said william cheerfully. "i will begin at once."
-so impatient was he to become a brother dove--
-(but here martin pippin broke off abruptly, and catching the rope of the swing in his left hand he gave it a great lurch.
-joan: oh! oh! oh!
-martin: i perceive, mistress joan, that you lose interest in my story. your mouth droops.
-joan: oh, no! oh, no! it is only--it is a very nice story--but--
-martin: what cannot be said aloud can frequently be whispered.
-he leaned his ear close to her mouth, and very shyly she whispered into it.
-joan (whispering very shyly): why must the young king join a brotherhood? i thought...this was to be a...love story.
-"keep this for me," said he, "until i ask for it; and if you are not then satisfied, neither will i be")
-of the guess gate, as you may know, all men ask a question in passing through, and in the back-swing of the gate it creaks an answer. so nothing more natural than that the king, having flung the gate open, should cry aloud once more:
-"gate, gate! what should a king do in a barn?"
-"now at last," thought he, "i shall be told whether to dance or to pray in it." and he stood listening eagerly as the gate hung an instant on its outward journey and then began to creak home.
-"he--should--rule--in--it--he--should--rule--in--it--he--should--" squeaked the guess gate, and then latch clicked and it was silent.
-this disconcerted william.
-"now i am worse off than ever," he sighed. "pray, pepper, can this advice be bettered?"
-as usual when he questioned her, the nag pricked up her ears and whinnied so violently that he nearly fell off her back. nevertheless, he kept pepper's head in a beeline for chanctonbury, never noticing how very ill she was going, and presently crossed the great high road beyond which lay the bush hovel. the wise woman was at home; from afar the king saw her sitting outside the hovel mending her broom with a withe from the bush.
-"here if anywhere," rejoiced william, "i shall learn the truth."
-he dismounted and approached the old woman, cap in hand.
-"wise woman," he said respectfully, "you know most things, but do you know this--whether a king should dance or pray or rule in his barn?"
-"he should do all three, young man," said the wise woman.
-"but--!" exclaimed william.
-"i'm busy," snapped the wise woman. "you men will always be chattering, as though pots need never be stewed nor cobwebs swept." so saying, she went into the hovel and slammed the door.
-"pepper," said the poor king, "i am at my wits' ends. go where yours lead you."
-at this pepper whinnied in a perfect frenzy of delight, and the king had to clasp both arms round her neck to avoid tumbling off.
-now the little nag preferred roads to beelines over copses and ditches, and she turned back and ambled along the highway so very lamely that it became impossible even for her preoccupied rider not to perceive that she had cast all her four shoes.
-"poor beast!" he cried dismayed, "how has this happened, and where? oh, pepper, how could you be so careless? i have not a penny in my purse to buy you new shoes, my poor pepper. do you not remember where you lost them?"
-the little nag licked her master's hand (for he had dismounted to examine her trouble), and looked at him with great eyes full of affection, and then she flung up her head and whinnied louder than ever. the sound of it was like nothing so much as laughter. then she went on, hobbling as best she could, and the king walked by her side with his hand on her neck. in this way they came to a small village, and here the nag turned up a by-road and halted outside the blacksmith's forge. the smith's lad stood within, clinking at the anvil, the smuttiest lad smith ever had.
-"lad!" cried the king.
-the lad looked up from his work and came at once to the door, wiping his hands upon his leather apron.
-"where am i?" asked the king.
-"in the village of washington," said the lad.
-"what! under the ring?" cried the king.
-"yes, sir," said the lad.
-"a blessing on you!" said the king joyfully, and clapped his hand on the lad's shoulder. "pepper, you have solved the problem and led me to my destiny."
-"is pepper your nag's name?" asked the blacksmith's lad.
-"it is," said the king; "her only one."
-"then she has one more name than she has shoes," said the lad. "how came she to lose them?"
-"i didn't notice," confessed the king.
-"you must have been thinking very deeply," remarked the lad. "are you in love?"
-"i am not quite twenty-one," said the king.
-"i see. do you want your nag shod?"
-"i do. but i have spent my last penny."
-"earn another then," said the lad.
-"i did not even earn the last one," said the king shamefacedly. "i have never worked in my life."
-"why, where have you lived?" exclaimed the lad.
-"in a barn."
-"but one works in a barn--"
-"stop!" cried the king, putting his fingers in his ears. "one prays in a barn."
-"very likely," said the lad, looking at him curiously. "are you going to pray in one?"
-"yes," said the king. "when is the new moon?"
-"hurrah!" cried the king. "that settles it. but what's to-day?"
-"alas!" sighed william, wondering how he should make shift to live for five days.
-"i don't know what you mean, sir," said the lad.
-"i would tell you my meaning," said the king, "but am pledged not to."
-then the lad said, "let it pass. i have a proposal to make. my father is dead, and for two years i have worked the forge single-handed. now i am willing to teach you to shoe your nag with four good shoes and strong, if you will meanwhile blow the bellows for whatever other jobs come to the forge; and if the shoes are not done by dinner-time you shall have a meal thrown in."
-the king looked at the lad kindly.
-"i shall blow your bellows very badly," he said, "and shoe my nag still worse."
-said the lad, "you'll learn in time."
-"not before dinner-time, i hope," said the king, "for i am very hungry."
-"you look hungry," said the lad. "it's a bargain then."
-the king held out his hand, but the lad suddenly whipped his behind his back. "it's so dirty, sir," he said.
-"give it me all the same," said the king; and they clasped hands.
-the rest of that morning the king spent in blowing the bellows, and by dinner-time not so much as the first of pepper's hoofs was shod. for a great deal of business came into the forge, and there was no time for a lesson. so the king and the lad took their meal together, and the king was by this time nearly as black as his master. he would have washed himself, but the lad said it was no matter, he himself having no time to wash from week's end to week's end. in the afternoon they changed places, and the king stood at the anvil and the lad at the bellows. he was a good teacher, but the king made a poor job of it. by nightfall he had produced shoes resembling all the letters of the alphabet excepting u, and when at last he submitted to the lad a shoe like nothing so much as a drunken s, his master shrugged and said:
-they supped; and afterwards the lad showed the king a small bedroom as neat as a new pin.
-"i shall sully the sheets," said william, "and you will excuse me if i fetch the kettle, which is on the boil."
-"as you please," said the lad, and took himself off.
-in the morning the king came clean to breakfast, but the lad was as black as he had been.
-tuesday passed as monday had passed; now william took the bellows, marveling at his youthful master's deftness, and now the lad blew, groaning at his pupil's clumsiness. by nightfall, however, he had achieved a shoe faintly recognizable as such. for a second time the king washed himself and slept again in the little trim chamber, but the lad in the morning resembled midnight. in this way the week went by, the king's heart beating a little faster each morning as saturday approached, and he wondered by what ruse he could explain his absence without creating suspicion or breaking his pledge.
-on saturday morning the lad said to the king: "this is a half-day. you must make your shoe this morning or not at all. it is my custom at one o'clock to close the forge and go to visit my great-aunt. i will be work again on monday, till when you must shift for yourself."
-the king could hardly believe his luck in having matters so well settled, and he spent the morning so diligently that by noon he had produced a shoe which, if not that of a master-craftsman, was at least adaptable to the purpose for which it had been fashioned.
-the lad examined it and said reluctantly, "it will do," and proceeded to show the king how to fasten it to pepper's hoof.
-"why," said the king, having the nag's off forefoot in his hand, "here's a stone in it. small wonder she limped."
-"it isn't a stone," said the lad, extracting it, "it is a ruby."
-and he exhibited to the king a ruby of such a glowing red that it was as though the souls of all the grapes of burgundy had been pressed to create it.
-"you are a rich man now," said the lad quietly, "and can live as you will."
-but william closed the lad's fingers over the stone. "keep it," he said, "for you have filled me for a week, and i have paid you with nothing but my breath."
-"as you please," said the lad carelessly, and, tossing the stone upon a shelf, locked up the forge. "now i am going to my great-aunt. there's a cake in the larder."
-so saying, he strolled away, and the king was left to his own devices. these consisted in bathing himself from head to foot till his body was as pure without as he desired his heart to be within; and in donning his fresh suit of linen. he would not break his fast, but waited, trembling and eager, till an hour before sundown, and then at last he set forth to mount the great hill with the sacred crown of trees upon its crest.
-when at last he stood upon the boundary of the ring, his heart sprang for joy in his breast, and his breath nearly failed him with amazement at the beauty of the world which lay outspread for leagues below him.
-"oh, lovely earth!" he cried aloud, "never till now have i known what beauty i lived in. how is it that we cannot see the wonder of our surroundings until we gaze upon them from afar? but if you look so fair from the hilltops, what must you appear from the very sky?" and lost in delight he turned his eyes upward, and was recalled to his senses by the sight of the sinking sun. "lovely one, how nearly you have betrayed me!" he said, and smiling waved his hand to the dear earth, sealed up his lips, and entered the ring.
-and here between two midmost beeches he knelt down and buried his face in his hands, and prayed the spirits of that place to make him worthy.
-the hours passed, quarter by quarter, and the king stayed motionless like one in a dream. presently, however, the dream was faintly shaken by a little lirrup of sound, as light as rain dropping from leaves above a pool. again and again the sweet round notes fell on the meditations of the king, and he remembered with entrancement that this was the tender signal by which he was summoned to the pond. so, rising silently, he wandered through the trees, and keeping his eyes fixed on the soft dim turf, lest some new beauty should tempt him to speech, he went across the open hill the pond. here he knelt down again, listening to the childlike bird, until at last the young piping ceased with a joyous chuckle. and at that instant, reflected in the pond, he saw the silver star that watches the invisible young moon, and dipped his head.
-oh, my dear maids! when he lifted it again, all wet and bewildered, he saw upon the opposite border of the pond, a figure, the white figure of--a woman! a girl! a child! he could not tell, for she lay three parts in the shadowy water with her back towards him, and his gaze and senses swam; but in that faint starlight one bare and lovely arm, as white as the crescent moon, was clear to him, upcurved to her shadowy hair. so she reclined, and so he knelt, both motionless, and his heart trembled (even as it had trembled at the bird's song) with a wish to go near to her, or at least to whisper to her across the water. indeed, he was on the point of doing so, when a sudden contraction seized him, his eyes closed in a delicious agony, and he sneezed once vigorously; and in that moment of shattering blackness he recalled his vow, and rising turned his back upon the vision and groped his way again to the shelter of the trees.
-here he remained till dawn in meditation, but as to the nature of his meditations i am, dear maidens, ignorant. nor do i know in what restless wise he passed his sunday.
-it is enough to know that on monday when he went into the forge he found the lad already at work, and if he had been pitch-black at their parting he was no less so at their meeting. he appeared to be out of humor, and for some time regarded his apprentice with dissatisfaction, but only remarked at last:
-"you look fatigued."
-"my sleep was broken with dreams," said the king. "i am sorry if i am late. let me to my shoeing. since saturday ended in success, i suppose i shall now finish the business without more ado."
-he was, however, too hopeful as it appeared, for though he managed to fashion a shoe which was in his eyes the equal of the other, the lad was captious and would not commend it.
-"i should be an ill craftmaster," said he, "if i let you rest content on what you have already done. i made such a shoe as this on my thirteenth birthday, and my father's only praise was, you must do better yet.'"
-so particular was the young smith that william spent the whole of another week in endeavoring to please him. this might have chafed the king, but that it agreed entirely with his desires to remain in that place, sleeping and eating at no cost to himself, and working so strenuously that his hands grew almost as hard as the metal he worked in; for the lad now began to entrust him with small jobs of various sorts, although in the matter of the second shoe he refused to be satisfied.
-when saturday came, however, the king contrived a shoe so much superior to any he had yet made that the lad, examining it, was compelled to say, "it is better than the other." then pepper, who always stood in a noose beside the door awaiting her moment, lifted up her near forefoot of her own accord, and the king took it in his hand.
-"how odd!" he exclaimed a moment later. "the nag has a stone in this foot also. it is not strange that she went so ill."
-"it is not a stone," said the lad. "it is a pearl."
-and he held out to the king a pearl of such a shining purity that it was as though it had been rounded within the spirit of a saint.
-"this makes you a rich man," said the lad moodily, "and you can journey whither you please."
-but the king shook his head. "keep it," he said, "for you have lodged me for a week, and i have given you only the clumsy service of my hands."
-"very well," said the lad simply, and put the pearl in his pocket. "my great-aunt is expecting me. there's a cake in the larder."
-so saying he walked off, and the king was left alone. as before, he bathed himself and changed his linen, and left the contents of the larder untouched; and an hour before sunset he climbed the hill for the second time, and presently stood panting on the edge of the ring. and again a pang of wonder that was akin to pain shot through his heart at the loveliness of the world below him.
-"beautiful earth!" he cried once more, "how fair and dear you are become to me in your remoteness. but oh, if you appear so beautiful from this summit, what must you appear from the summit of the clouds?" and he glanced from the earth to the sky, and saw the sun running down his airy hill. "dear temptress!" he said, "how cunningly you would snare me from my purpose." and he kissed his hand to her thrice, sealed up his lips, and entered the ring.
-between the two tall beeches he knelt down, and drowned the following hours in thought and prayer; till that deep lake of meditation was divided by the sound of singing, as though a shoal of silver fishes swam and leaped upon its surface, putting all quietness to flight, and troubling its waters with a million lovelinesses. for now it was as though the bird's enchanting song came partly from within and partly from without, and if the fall of its music shattered his dream like falling fish, certain it seemed to him that the fish had first leaped from his own heart, out of whose unsuspected caves darted a shoal of nameless longings. he too leaped up and darted through the trees, and with head bent down, for fear of he knew not what, made his way to the pond. here he knelt again, drinking in the tremulous song of the bird, as tremulous as youth and maidenhood, until at last it ceased with a sweet uncompleted cry of longing. and at that instant, in the mirror of the pond, he saw the uncompleted disc of the half-moon, and dipped his head.
-ah wonder! when he lifted it again, dazzled and dripping, he saw across the pond a figure rising from the water, the figure, as he could now perceive in the fuller light, of a girl, clear to the waist. her face was half turned from him, and her hair flowed half to him and half away, but within that cloudy setting gleamed the lines of her lovely neck and one white shoulder and one moonlit breast, whose undercurve appeared to float upon the pond like the petal of a waterlily. so he knelt on his side and she on hers, both motionless, and he heart leaped (even as it had leaped at the bird's song) with a longing to kneel beside and even touch that loveliness; or, if he could not, at least to call to her across the pond so that he would turn and reveal to him what still was hidden. he was in fact about to do so, when suddenly his senses were overwhelmed with a sweet anguish, darkness fell on him, and from its very core he sneezed twice, violently. this interruption of the previous spell was sufficient to bring him to a realization of his peril, and rising hastily he ran back to the ring, where he remained till morning. but to what pious thoughts he then committed himself i cannot tell you; neither in what feverish fashion he got through sunday.
-on monday morning when he arrived at the forge he found the lad at work before him, and ebony was not blacker than his face. he glanced at the king with some show of temper, but only said:
-"you look worn out."
-"i have had bad dreams," said the king. "excuse me for being behind my time. i will try to make up for it by wasting no more, and fashioning instantly two shoes as good as that i made on saturday."
-but though he handled his tools with more dexterity than he had yet exhibited, the lad petulantly pushed aside the first shoe he made, which to the king appeared to be, if anything, superior to the one he had made on saturday. the lad, however, quickly explained himself, saying:
-"a master-smith who intends to make his apprentice his equal will not let him rest at the halfway house. i made a shoe like this when i was fourteen, and all my father said was, i have hopes of you.'"
-so for yet another week the king's nose was kept to the grindstone, and it would have irritated most men to find their good work repeatedly condemned; but william was, as you may have observed, singularly sweet-tempered, besides which he desired nothing so much as to remain where he was. and for another five days he slept and ate and worked, until the muscles of his arms began to swell, and he swung the hammer with as much ease as his master, who now left a great part of the work entirely in his hands. although in this matter of the third shoe he refused to be satisfied.
-nevertheless on saturday morning the king, making a last effort before the forge was shut, submitted a shoe so far beyond anything he had yet achieved, that the lad could not but say, "this is a good shoe." and pepper, seeing them coming, lifted her off hind-foot to be shod.
-"now as i live!" cried the king. "another stone! and how she contrived to hobble so far is a miracle."
-"it isn't a stone," said the lad, "it is a diamond."
-and he presented to the king a diamond of such triumphant brilliance that it might have been conceived of the ambitions of the mightiest monarch of the earth.
-"you now own surpassing wealth," said the lad dejectedly, "and you have no more need to work."
-but william would not even touch the stone. "keep it," he said, "for you have befriended me for a week, and i have given you only the strength of my arms."
-"let it be so," said the lad gently, and put the diamond in his belt. "i must not keep my great-aunt waiting. there's a cake in the larder."
-so saying he went his way, and the king went his; which, as you may surmise, was to the bath and his clean clothes. he did not go into the larder, and an hour before sunset made the ascent of the hill, and for the third time stood like a conqueror upon the crest. and as he gazed over the lands below his heart throbbed with a passion for the earth that was half agony and half love, unless indeed it was the whole agony of love.
-"most beautiful earth!" he cried aloud, "only as you recede from me do i realize how necessary it is for me to possess you. how is it that when i possess you i know you not as i know you now? but oh! if you are so wonderful from these great hills, what must you be from the greater hills of air?" and he looked up, and saw the sun descending in the west. "sweet earth," he sighed, "you would hold me when i should be gone, and never remind me that the moment to depart is due." and he stretched out his arms to her, sealed up his lips, and went into the ring.
-once more he knelt between the giant beeches, and sank all thoughts in pious contemplation; till suddenly those still waters were convulsed as though with stormy currents, and a wild song beat through his breast, so that he could not believe it was the bird singing from a short distance: it was as though the storm of music broke from his singing heart--yes, from his own heart singing for some unexpressed fulfillment. he was barely conscious of going through the trees, with eyes shut tight against the outer world, but soon he was kneeling at the brink of the pond, while the surge of joy and pain in the song broke on his spirit like waves upon a shore, or love upon a man and a woman--washed back, towered up, and broke on him again. at last on one full glorious phrase it ceased. and at that instant, deep in the pond, he saw the full orb of the moon, and dipped his head.
-oh, when he lifted it, startled and illuminated, he saw on the further side of the pond a woman standing. the moonlight bathed her form from head to foot, her hair was thrown behind her, and she stood facing him, so that in the cold clear light he could see her fully revealed: her strong tender face, her strong soft body, her strong slim legs, her strong and lovely arms. as white as mayblossom she was, and beauty went forth from her like fragrance from the shaken bough. so he knelt on his side and she stood on hers, both motionless, but gazing into each other's eyes, and his heart broke (even as it had broken at the bird's song) with a passion to take her in his arms, for it seemed to him that this alone would mend its breaking. or if he might not do this, at least to send his need of her in a great cry across the pond. and as his passion grew she slowly lifted her arms and opened them to him as though to bid him enter; and her lips parted, and she cried out, as though she were uttering the cry of his own soul:
-all the joy and the pain, fulfilled, of the bird's song were gathered in that word.
-glorified he leaped up, his whole being answering the cry of hers, but before his lips could translate it he was gripped by a mighty agony, and sneeze after sneeze shook all his senses, so that he was utterly helpless. when he was able to look up again he saw the woman moving towards him round the pond, and suddenly he clapped his hands over his eyes and fled towards the ring, as though pursued by demons. here he passed the remainder of the night, but in what sort of prayers i leave you to imagine; as also amid what ravings he passed his sunday.
-on monday the lad was again before him at the forge, and a crow's wing had looked milky beside his face. he did not raise his eyes as the king came in, but said:
-"you look very ill." he said it furiously.
-"i have had nightmares," said the king. "pardon me if you can. i will get to work and make my final shoe."
-but though he now had little more to learn in his craft, the lad, when the shoe was made, picked it up in his pincers and flung it to the other end of the forge; yet the king now knew enough to know that few smiths could have made its equal. so he looked surprised; at which the lad, controlling himself, said:
-"when i pass your fourth shoe you will need no more masters--i forged a shoe like that one yonder when i was fifteen, and my father said of it, you will make a smith one day.'"
-and on neither tuesday nor wednesday nor thursday nor friday could the king succeed in pleasing the lad; the better his shoes the angrier grew his young master that they were not good enough. yet between these gusts of temper he was gentle and remorseful, and once the king saw tears in his eyes, and another time the lad came humbly to ask for pardon. then william laughed and put out his hand, but, as once before, the lad slipped his behind his back and said:
-"it is so dirty, friend."
-and this time he would not let william take it. so the king was forced instead to lay his arm about the lad's shoulder, and press it tenderly; but the lad made no response, and only stood hanging his head until the king removed his arm. all the same, when next the king made a shoe he was full of rage, and stamped on it, and ran out of the forge. which surprised the king all the more because it was so excellent a shoe. yet he was secretly glad of its rejection, for he felt it would break his heart to go away from that place; and he could think of no good cause for remaining, once pepper was shod. so there he stayed, eating, sleeping, and working, while the thews of his back became as strong under the smooth skin as the thews of a beech-tree under the smooth bark; and his craft was such that the lad at last left the whole of the work of the forge in his charge. for there was nothing he could not do surpassingly well. and this the lad admitted, save only in the case of the fourth shoe.
-but on saturday, just before closing-time, the king set to and made a shoe so fine that when the lad saw it he said quietly, "i could not make a better." had he not said so he must have lied, or proved that he did know a masterpiece when he saw it. and he too good a craftsman for that, besides being honest.
-pepper instantly lifted up her near hind-foot.
-"upon my word!" exclaimed the king, "the world is full of stones, and pepper has found them all. the wonder is that she did not fall down on the road."
-"this is not a stone," said the lad, "it is an opal."
-and he displayed an opal of such marvelous changeability, such milk and fire shot with such shifting rainbows, that it was as though it had had birth of all the moods of all the women of all time.
-"this enriches you for life," said the lad gloomily, "and now you are free of masters for ever."
-but william thrust his hands into his pockets. "keep it," he said, "for this week you have given me love, and i have given you nothing but the sinews of my body."
-the lad looked at him and said, "i have given you hard words, and fits of temper, and much injustice."
-"have you?" said william. "i remember only your tenderness and your tears. so keep the opal in love's name."
-the lad tried to answer, but could not; and he slipped the opal under his shirt. then he faltered, "my great-aunt--" and still he could not speak. but he made a third effort, and said, "there is a cake in the larder," and turned on his heel and went away quickly. and the king looked after him till he was out of sight, and then very slowly went to his bath and his fresh linen. but he left the cake where it was.
-and he sat by the door of the forge with his face in his hands until the length of his shadow warned him that he must go. and he rose and went for the last time up the hill, but with a sinking heart; and when he stood on the top and gazed upon the beauty of the earth he had left below, in his breast was the ache of loss and longing for one he had loved, and with his eyes he tried to draw that beauty into himself, but the void in him remained unfulfilled. yet never had her beauty been so great.
-"beloved and lovely earth!" he whispered, "why do you appear most fair and most desirable now that i am about to lose you? why when i had you did you not hold me by force, and tell me what you were? only now i discover you from mid-heaven--but oh! in what way should i discover you from heaven itself?" and he looked upward, and lo! a blurred sun shone upon him, swimming to its rest. "farewell, dear earth!" said the king. "since you cannot mount to me, and i may not descend to you." and he knelt upon the turf and laid his cheek and forehead to it, and then he rose, sealed up his lips, and passed into the ring.
-between the two tall beeches he sank down, and all sense and thought and consciousness sank with him, as though his being had become a dead forgotten lake, hidden in a lifeless wood; where birds sang not, nor rain fell, nor fishes played, nor currents moved below the stagnant waters. but presently a wind seemed to wail among the trees, and the sound of it traveled over the king's senses, stirred them, and passed. but only to return again, moan over him, and trail away; and so it kept coming and going till first he heard, then listened to, and at last realized the haunting signal of the bird. and he went forth into the open night, his eyes wide apart but seeing nothing until he stumbled at the pond and crouched beside it. the bird grew fainter and fainter, and presently the sound, like a ghost at dawn, ceased to exist; and at that instant, under the pond, he beheld the lessening circle of the moon, and dipped his head.
-alas! when he lifted it, shivering and stunned, he saw the form he longed to see on the other side of the pond; but not, as he had longed to see it, gazing at him with the love and glory of seven nights ago. now she stood on the turf, half turned from him, and the wave of her hair blew to and fro like a cloud, now revealing her white side, now concealing it. and he looked, but she would not look. so he knelt on his side and she remained on hers, both motionless. and suddenly the impulse to sneeze arose within him, and at that instant she began to move--not towards him, as before, but away from him, downhill.
-at that he could bear no more, and quelling the impulse with a mighty effort, he got upon his feet crying, "beloved, stay! beloved, stay, beloved!"
-and he staggered round the pound as quickly as his shaking knees would let him; but quicker still she slid away, and when he came where she had been the place was as empty as the sky in its moonless season. he called and ran about and called again; but he got no answer, nor found what he sought. all that night he spent in calling and running to and fro. what he did on sunday you may know, and i may know, but he did not. on sunday night he stayed beside the pond, but whatever his hopes were they received no fulfillment. on monday night he was there again, and on tuesday, and on wednesday; and between the mornings and the nights he went from hill to hill, seeking her hiding-place who came to bathe in the lake. there was not a hill within a day's march that did not know him, from duncton to mount harry. but on none of them he found the woman. how he lived is a puzzle. perhaps upon wild raspberries.
-after the sun had set on chanctonbury on saturday night, he came exhausted to the ring again, and stood on that high hill gazing earthward. but there was no light above or below, and he said:
-"i have lost all. for the earth is swallowed in blackness, and the woman has disappeared into space, and i myself have cast away my spiritual initiation. i will sit by the pond till midnight, and if the bird sings then i will still hope, but if it does not i will dip my head in the water and not lift it again."
-so he went and lay down by the pond in the darkness, and the hours wore away. but as the time of the bird's song drew near he clasped his hands and prayed. but the bird did not sing; and when he judged that midnight was come, he got upon his knees and prepared to put his head under the water. and as he did so he saw, on the opposite side of the pond, the feeble light of a lantern. he could not see who held it, because even as he looked the bearer blew out the light; but in that moment it appeared to him that she was as black as the night itself.
-so for awhile he knelt upon his side, and she remained on hers, both trembling; but at last the king, dreading to startle her away, rose softly and went round the pond to where he had seen her.
-he said into the night in a shaking voice, "i cannot see you. if you are there, give me your hand."
-and out of the night a shaking voice replied:
-"it is so dirty, beloved."
-then he took her in his arms, and felt how she trembled, and he held her closely to him to still her, whispering:
-"you are my lad."
-"yes," she said in a low voice. "but wait."
-and she slipped out of his embrace, and he heard her enter the pond, and she stayed there as it seemed to him a lifetime; but presently she rose up, and even in that black night the whiteness of her body was visible to him, and she came to him as she was and laid her head on his breast and said:
-"i am your woman."
-("i want my apple," said martin pippin.
-"but is this the end?" cried little joan.
-"why not?" said martin. "the lovers are united."
-joscelyn: nonsense! of course it is not the end! you must tell us a thousand other things. why was the woman a woman on saturday night and a lad all the rest of the week?
-joyce: what of the four jewels?
-jennifer: which of the answers to the king's riddle was the right one?
-jessica: what happened to the cake?
-jane: what was her name?
-"please," said little joan, "do not let this be the end, but tell us what they did next."
-"women will be women," observed martin, "and to the end of time prefer unessentials to the essential. but i will endeavor to satisfy you on the points you name.")
-in the morning william said to his beloved:
-"now tell me something of yourself. how come you to be so masterful a smith? why do you live as a black lad all the week and turn only into a white woman on saturdays? have you really got a great-aunt, and where does she live? how old are you? why were you so hard to please about the shoeing of pepper? and why, the better my shoes the worse your temper? why did you run away from me a week ago? why did you never tell me who you were? why have you tormented me for a whole month? what is your name?"
-"trust a man to ask questions!" said his beloved, laughing and blushing. "is it not enough that i am your beloved?"
-"more than enough, yet not nearly enough," said the king, "for there is nothing of yourself which you must not tell me in time, from the moment when you first stole barley sugar behind your father's back, down to that in which you first loved me."
-"then i had best begin at once," she smiled, "or a lifetime will not be long enough. i am eighteen years old and my name is viola. i was born in falmer, and my father was the best smith in all sussex, and because he had no other child he made me his bellows-boy, and in time, as you know, taught me his trade. but he was, as you also know, a stern master, and it was not until, on my sixteenth birthday, i forged a shoe the equal of your last, that he said i could not make a better.' and so saying he died. now i had no other relative in all the world except my great-aunt, the wise woman of the bush hovel, and her i had never seen; but i thought i could not do better in my extremity than go to her for counsel. so, shouldering my father's tools, i journeyed west until i came to her place, and found her trying to break in a new birch-broom that was still too green and full of sap to be easily mastered; and she was in a very bad temper. good day, great-aunt,' i said, i am your great-niece viola.' i have no more use for great nieces,' she snapped, than for little ones.' and she continued to tussle with the broomstick and took no further notice of me. then i went into the hovel, where a fire burned on the hearth, and i took out my tools and fashioned a bit on the hob; and when it was ready i took it to her and said, this will teach it its manners'; and she put the bit on the broom, which became as docile as a lamb. great-niece,' said she, it appears that i told you a lie this morning. what can i do for you?' tell me, if you please, how i am to live now that my father is dead.' there is no need to tell you,' said she; you have your living at your fingers' ends.' but women cannot be smiths,' said i. then become a lad,' said she, and ply your trade where none knows you; and lest men should suspect you by your face, which fools though they be they might easily do, let it be so sooted from week's end to week's end that none can discover what you look like; and if any one remarks on it, put it down to your trade.'
-but great-aunt,' i said, i could not bear to go dirty from week's end to week's end.' if you will be so particular,' she said, take a bath every saturday night and spend your sundays with me, as fair as when you were a babe. and before you go to work again on monday you shall once more conceal your fairness past all men's penetration.' but, dear great-aunt,' i pleaded, it may be that the day will come when i might not wish--'"
-and here, dear maidens, viola faltered. and william put his arm about her a little tighter--because it was there already--and said, "what might you not wish, beloved?" and she murmured, "to be concealed past one man's penetration. and my great-aunt said i need not worry. because though men, she said, were fools, there was one time in every man's life when he was quick enough to penetrate all obscurities, whether it were a layer of soot or a night without a moon." and she hid her face on the king's shoulder, and he tried to kiss her but could not make her look up until he said, "or even a woman's waywardness?" then she looked up of her own accord and kissed him.
-"in this way," she resumed, "it became my custom on each saturday, after closing the forge, to come here with my woman's raiment, and wait in a hollow until night had fallen, and make myself clean of the week's blackness. for i dared not do this by daylight, or be seen going forth from my forge in my proper person."
-"but why did you choose to bathe at midnight?" asked the king.
-she was silent for a few moments, and then said hurriedly, "i did not choose to bathe at midnight until a month ago.--for the rest," she resumed, "i was hard to please in the matter of the shoes because i knew that when they were finished you would ride away. and therefore the more you improved the crosser i became. and if i have tormented you for a month it was because you tormented me by refusing to speak when you saw me here, in spite of your hateful vow; and you would not even look at my cake in the larder."
-"women are strange," said the king. "how do you know i did not look at the cake?"
-"i do know," she said as hurriedly as before. "and if i would not tell you who i was, it was because i could not bear, on the other hand, to extort from you a love you seemed so reluctant to endure; until indeed it became of its own accord too strong even for the purpose which brought you every week to the ring. for i knew that purpose, since all dwellers in washington know why men go up the hill with the new moon."
-"but when my love did become too strong for my vow, and opened my lips at last," said the king, "why did you run away?"
-viola said, "had you not run away the week before? and now i have answered all your questions."
-"no," said the king, "not all. you haven't told me yet when you first loved me."
-viola smiled and said, "i first stole barley sugar when my father said this is for the other little girl over the way'; and i first loved you when, seeing you had been too absent-minded to know that pepper had cast her shoes, i feared you were in love."
-"but that was three minutes after we met!" cried the king.
-"was it as much as that!" said she.
-now after awhile viola said, "let us get down to the world again. we cannot stay here for ever."
-"why not?" said the king. however, they walked to the brow of the hill, and stood together gazing awhile over the sunlit earth that had never been so beautiful to either of them; for their sight was newly-washed with love, and all things were changed.
-"now i know how she looks from heaven," said the king, "and that is like heaven itself. let us go; for i think she will still look so at our coming, seeing that we carry heaven with us."
-so they went downhill to the forge, and there viola said to her lover, "i can stay no longer in this place where all men have known me as a lad; and besides, a woman's home is where her husband lives."
-"but i live only in a barn," said william the king.
-"then i will live there with you," said viola, "and from this very night. but first i will shoe pepper anew, for she is so unequally shod that she might spill us on the road. and that she may be shod worthily of herself and of us, give me what you have tied up in your blue handkerchief." the king fetched his handkerchief and unknotted it, and gave her his crown and scepter; and she set him at the bellows and made three golden shoes and shod the nag on her two fore-feet and her off hind-foot. but when she looked at the near hind-foot, which the king had shod last of all, she said: "i could not make a better. and therefore, like his father, the lad must shut his smithy, for he is dead." then she put the three shoes she had removed into a bag with some other trifles; and while she did so the king took what remained of the gold and made it into two rings. this done, they got on to pepper's back, and with her three shoes of gold and one of iron she bore them the way the king had come. when they passed the bush hovel they saw the wise woman currying her broomstick, and viola cried:
-"great-aunt, give us a blessing."
-"great-niece," said the wise woman, "how can i give you what you already have? but i will give you this." and she held out a horseshoe.
-"good gracious," said the king, "this was once pepper's."
-"it was," said the wise woman. "in her merriment at hearing you ask a silly question, she cast it outside my door."
-a little further on they came to the guess gate, but when the king, dismounting, swung it open, it grated on something in the road. he stooped and lifted--a horseshoe.
-"wonder of wonders!" exclaimed the king. "this also was pepper's. what shall we do with it?"
-"hang--it--up--hang--it--up--hang--" creaked the gate; and clicked home.
-in due course they reached the doves, and at the sound of pepper's hoofs the brothers flocked out to meet them.
-"is all well?" cried the ringdove, seeing the king only. "and have you returned to us for the final blessing?"
-"i have," replied the king, "for i bring my bride behind me, and now you must make us one."
-the gentle brothers, rejoicing at the sight of their happiness and their beauty, led them in; and there they were wedded. the doves offered them to eat, but the king was impatient to reach his barn by nightfall; so they got again on pepper's back, and as they were about to leave the ringdove said:
-"i have something of yours which is in itself a thing of no moment; yet, because it is of good augury, take it with you."
-and he gave the king pepper's third shoe.
-"thank you," said the king, "i will hang it over my barn door."
-now he urged pepper to her full speed, and they went at a gallop past the hawking sopers, who, hearing the clatter, came running into the road.
-"stay, gallopers, stay!" they cried, "and make merry with us."
-"we cannot," called the king, "for we are newly married."
-"good luck to you then!" shouted the sopers, and with huzzas and laughter flung something after them. viola stretched out her hand and caught it in mid-air, and it was a horseshoe.
-"the tale is complete," she laughed, "and now you know where pepper picked up her stones."
-soon after the king said, "here is my barn." and he sprang down and lifted his bride from the nag's back and brought her in.
-"it is a poor place," he said gently, "but it is all i have. what can i do for you in such a home?"
-"i will tell you," said viola, and putting her hand into her left pocket, she drew out the ruby winking with the wine of mirth. "you can dance in it." and suddenly they caught each other by the hands and went capering and laughing round the barn like children.
-"hurrah!" cried william, "now i know what a king should do in a barn!"
-"but he should do more than dance in it," said viola; and putting her hand into her right pocket she gave him the pearl, as pure as a prayer; "beloved, he should pray in it too."
-and william looked at her and knelt, and she knelt by him, and in silence they prayed the same prayer, side by side.
-then william rose and said simply, "now i know."
-but she knelt still, and took from her girdle the diamond, as bright as power, and she put it in his hand, saying very low, "oh, my dear king! but he should also rule in it." and she kissed his hand. but the king lifted her very quickly so that she stood equal with his heart, and embracing her he said, with tears in his eyes:
-"and you, beloved! what will a queen do in a barn?"
-"the same as a king," she whispered, and drew from her bosom the opal, as lovely and as variable as the human spirit. "with the other three stones you may, if you will, buy back your father's kingdom. but this, which contains all qualities in one, let us keep for ever, for our children and theirs, that they may know there is nothing a king and a queen may not do in a barn, or a man and a woman anywhere. but the best thing they can do is to work in it."
-then, going out, she came back with the bag which she had slung on pepper's back, and took from it her father's tools.
-"in three weeks you learned all i learned in three years," said she. "when i shod pepper this morning i did my last job as a smith; for now i shall have other work to do. but you, whether you choose to get your father's lands again or no, i pray to work in the trade i have given you, for i have made you the very king of smiths, and all men should do the thing they can do best. so take the hammer and nail up the horseshoes over the door while i get supper; for you look as hungry as i feel."
-"but there's nothing to eat," said the king ruefully.
-however, he went outside, and over the door he hung as many shoes as there are nails in one--the four pepper had cast on the road, and the three he had first made for her. as he drove the last nail home viola called:
-"supper is ready."
-and the king went into the barn and saw a wedding cake.
-and now, if you please, mistress joan, i have earned my apple.
-now there was a great munching of apples in the tree, for to tell the truth during the latter part of the story this business had been suspended, and between bites the milkmaids discussed the merits of what they had just heard.
-jessica: what is your opinion of this tale, jane?
-jane: it surprised me more than anything. for who could have suspected that the lad was a woman?
-martin: lads are to be suspected of any mischief, mistress jane.
-joscelyn: it is not to be supposed, master pippin, that we are acquainted with the habits of lads.
-martin: i suppose nothing. but did the story please you?
-joscelyn: as a story it was well enough to pass an hour. i would be willing to learn whether the king regained his kingdom or no.
-martin: i think he did, since you may go to this day to the little city on the banks of the adur which is re-named after his barn. but i doubt whether he lived there, or anywhere but in the barn where he and his beloved began their life of work and prayer and mirth and loving-rule. and died as happily as they had lived.
-joan: i am glad they lived happily. i was afraid the tale would end unhappily.
-joyce: and so was i. for when the king roamed the hills for a whole week without success, i began to fear he would never find the woman again.
-jennifer: i for my part feared lest he should not open his lips during the fourth vigil, and so must become a dove for the remainder of his days.
-jane: it was but by the grace of a moment he did not drown himself in the pond.
-jessica: or what if, by some unlucky chance, he had never come to the forge at all?
-martin: in any of these events, i grant you, the tale must have ended in disaster. and this is the special wonder of love-tales: that though they may end unhappily in a thousand ways, and happily in only one, yet that one will vanquish the thousand as often as the desires of lovers run in tandem. but there is one accident you have left out of count, and it is the worst stumbling-block i know of in the path of happy endings.
-all the milkmaids: what is it?
-martin: suppose the lovely viola had been a sworn virgin and a hater of men.
-there was silence in the apple-orchard.
-joscelyn: she would have been none the worse for that, singer. and the tale would have been none the less a tale, which is all we look for from you. this talk of happy endings is silly talk. the king might have sought the woman in vain, or kept his vow, or drowned himself, or ridden to the confines of kent, for aught i care.
-joyce: or i.
-jennifer: or i.
-jessica: or i.
-jane: or i.
-martin: i am silenced. tales are but tales, and not worth speculation. and see, the moon is gone to sleep behind a cloud, which shows us nothing save the rainbow of her dreams. it is time we did as she does.
-now all this while she had kept between her hands the promised apple, turning and turning it like one in doubt; and presently martin looked aside at her with a smile, and held his open palm to receive his reward. and first she glanced at him, and then at the sleepers, and last she tossed the apple lightly in the air. but by some mishap she tossed it too high, and it made an arc clean over the tree and fell in a distant corner by the hedge. so she ran quickly to recover it for him, and he ran likewise, and they stooped and rose together, she with the apple in her hands, he with his hands on hers. at which she blushed a little, but held fast to the fruit.
-"what!" said martin pippin, "am i never to have my apple?"
-she answered softly, "only when i am satisfied, as you promised."
-"and are you not? what have i left undone?"
-joan: please, master pippin. what did the young king look like?
-martin: fool that i am to leave these vital things untold! i shall avoid this error in future. he was more than middle tall, and broad in the shoulders; and he had gray-blue eyes, and a fresh color, and a kind and merry look, and dark brown hair that was not always as sleek as he wished it to be.
-martin: with this further oddity, that above the nape of his neck was a whitish tuft which, though he took great pains to conceal it, continually obtruded through the darker hair like the cottontail on the back of a rabbit.
-joan: oh! oh!
-and she became as red as a cherry.
-martin: may i have my apple?
-joan: but had not he a--mustache?
-martin: he fondly believed so.
-joan (with unexpected fire): it was a big and beautiful mustache!
-martin (fervently): there was never a king of twenty years with one so big and beautiful.
-she gave him the apple.
-martin: thank you. will you, because i have answered many questions, now answer one?
-martin: then tell me this--what is your quarrel with men?
-joan: oh, master pippin! they say that one and one make two.
-martin: is this possible? good heavens, are men such numskulls! when they have but to go to the littlest woman on earth to learn--what you and i well know--that one and one make one, and sometimes three, or four, or even half-a-dozen; but never two. fie upon these men!
-joan: i am glad you think i am in the right. but how obstinate they are!
-martin: as obstinate as children, and should be birched as roundly.
-joan: oh! but-- you would not birch children.
-martin: you are right again. they should be coaxed.
-joan: yes. no. i mean-- good night, dear singer.
-martin: good night, dear milkmaid. sleep sweetly among your comrades who are wiser than we, being so indifferent to happy endings that they would never unpadlock sorrow, though they had the key in their keeping.
-then he took her hands in one of his, and put his other hand very gently under her chin, and lifted it till he could look into her face, and he said: "give me the key to gillian's prison, little joan, because you love happy endings."
-joan: dear martin, i cannot give you the key.
-martin: why not?
-joan: because i stuck it inside your apple.
-so he kissed her and they parted, and lay down and slept; she among her comrades under the apple-tree, and he under the briony in the hedge; and the moon came out of her dream and watched theirs.
-with morning came a hoarse voice calling along the hedge:
-"maids! maids! maids!"
-up sprang the milkmaids, rubbing their eyes and stretching their arms; and up sprang martin likewise. and seeing him, joscelyn was stricken with dismay.
-"it is old gillman, our master," she whispered, "come with bread and questions. quick, singer, quick! into the hollow russet before he reaches the hole in the hedge."
-swiftly the milkmaids hustled martin into the russet tree, and concealed him at the very moment when the farmer was come to the peephole, filling it with his round red face and broad gray fringe of whiskers, like the winter sun on a sky that is going to snow.
-"good morrow, maids," quoth old gillman.
-"good morrow, master," said they.
-"is my daughter come to her mind yet?"
-"no, master," said little joan, "but i begin to have hopes that she may."
-"if she do not," groaned gillman, "i know not what will happen to the farmstead. for it is six months now since i tasted water, and how can a man follow his business who is fuddled day and night with barley wine? life is full of hardships, of which daughters are the greatest. gillian!" he cried, "when will ye come into your senses and out of the well-house?"
-but gillian took no more heed of him than of the quacking of the drake on the duckpond.
-"one moment, dear master," entreated little joan. "tell me, please, how nancy my jersey fares."
-"pines for you, pines for you, maid, though charles does his best by her. but it is as though she had taken a vow to let down no milk till you come again. rack and ruin, rack and ruin!"
-and the old man retreated as he had come, muttering "rack and ruin!" the length of the hedge.
-the maids then set about preparing breakfast, which was simplicity itself, being bread and apples than which no breakfast could be sweeter. there was a loaf for each maid and one over for gillian, which they set upon the wall of the well-house, taking away yesterday's loaf untouched and stale.
-"does she never eat?" asked martin.
-"she has scarcely broken bread in six months," said joscelyn, "and what she lives on besides her thoughts we do not know."
-"thoughts are a fast or a feast according to their nature," said martin, "so let us feed the ducks, who have none."
-they broke the stale bread into fragments, and when the ducks had made a meal, returned to their own; and of two loaves made seven parts, that martin might have his share, and to this they added apples according to their fancies, red or russet, green or golden.
-after breakfast, at martin's suggestion, they made little boats of twigs and leaves and sailed them on the duckpond, where they met with many adventures and calamities from driftweed, small breezes, and the curiosity of the ducks. and before they were aware of it the dinner hour was upon them, when they divided two more loaves as before and ate apples at will.
-then martin, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, proposed a game of blindman's-buff, and the girls, delighted, counter eener-meener-meiner-mo to find the blindman. and joyce was he. so martin tied the handkerchief over her eyes.
-"can you see?" asked martin.
-"of course i can't see!" said joyce.
-"promise?" said martin.
-"i hope, master pippin," said jane reprovingly, "that you can take a girl's word for it."
-"i'm sure i hope i can," said martin, and turned joyce round three times, and ran for his life. and joyce caught jane on the spot and guessed her immediately.
-then jane was blindfolded, and she was so particular about not seeing that it was quite ten minutes before she caught jennifer, but she knew who she was by the feel of her gown; and jennifer caught joscelyn, and guessed her by her girdle; and joscelyn caught jessica and guessed her by the darn in her sleeve; and jessica caught joan, and guessed her by her ribbon; and joan caught martin, and guessed him by his difference.
-so then martin was blindman, and it seemed as though he would never have eyes again; for though he caught all the girls, one after another, he couldn't guess which was which, and gave jane's nose to jessica, and jessica's hands to joscelyn, and joscelyn's chin to joyce, and joyce's hair to jennifer, and jennifer's eyebrows to joan; but when he caught joan he guessed her at once by her littleness.
-in due course the change of light told them it was supper-time; and with great surprise they ate the last two loaves to the sweet accompaniment of the apples.
-"i would never have supposed," said joscelyn, as they gathered under the central tree at the close of the meal, "that a day could pass so quickly."
-"bait time with a diversion," said martin, "and he will run like a donkey after a dangled carrot."
-"it has nearly been the happiest day of my life," said joyce with a sly glance at martin.
-"and why not quite?" said he.
-"because it lacked a story, singer," she said demurely.
-"what can be rectified," said martin, "must be; and the day is not yet departed, but still lingers like a listener on the threshold of night. so set the swing in motion, dear mistress joyce, and to its measure i will endeavor to swing my thoughts, which have till now been laggards."
-with these words he set joyce in the swing and himself upon the branch beside it as before. and the other milkmaids climbed into their perches, rustling the fruit down from the shaken boughs; and he made of joyce's lap a basket for the harvest. and he and each of the maids chose an apple as though supper had not been.
-"we are listening," said joscelyn from above.
-"not all of you," said martin. and he looked up at joscelyn alert on her branch, and down at gillian prone on the steps.
-"you are here for no other purpose," said joscelyn, "than to make them listen that will not. i would not have you think we desire to listen."
-"i think nothing but that you are the prey of circumstances," said martin, "constrained like flowers to bear witness to that which is against all nature."
-"what do you mean by that?" said joscelyn. "flowers are nature itself."
-"so men have agreed," replied martin, "yet who but men have compelled them repeatedly to assert such unnaturalnesses as that foxes wear gloves and cuckoos shoes? out on the pretty fibbers!"
-"please do not be angry with the flowers," said joan.
-"how could i be?" said martin. "the flowers must always be forgiven, because their inconsistencies lie always at men's doors. besides, who does not love fairy-tales?"
-then martin kicked his heels against the tree and sang idly:
-when cuckoos fly in shoes and foxes run in gloves, then butterflies won't go in twos and boys will leave their loves.
-"a silly song," said joscelyn.
-martin: if you say so. for my part i can never tell the difference between silliness and sense.
-jane: then how can a good song be told from a bad? you must go by something.
-martin: i go by the sound. but since mistress joscelyn pronounces my song silly, i can only suppose she has seen cuckoos flying in shoes.
-joscelyn: you are always supposing nonsense. who ever heard of cuckoos flying in shoes?
-jane: or of foxes running in gloves?
-joan: or of butterflies going in ones?
-martin: or of boys--
-joscelyn: i have frequently seen butterflies going in ones, foolish joan. and the argument was not against butterflies, but cuckoos.
-martin: and their shoes. please, dear mistress joan, do not look so downcast, nor you, dear mistress joscelyn, so vexed. let us see if we cannot turn a more sensible song upon this theme.
-and he sang--
-cuckoo shoes aren't cuckoos' shoes, they're shoes which cuckoos never don; and cuckoo nests aren't cuckoos' nests, but other birds' for a moment gone; and nothing that the cuckoo has but he does make a mock upon. for even when the cuckoo sings he only says what isn't true-- when happy lovers first swore oaths an artful cuckoo called and flew, yes! and when lovers weep like dew the teasing cuckoo laughs cuckoo! what need for tears? cuckoo, cuckoo!
-as martin ended, gillian raised herself upon an elbow, and looked no more into the green grass, but across the green duckpond.
-"the second song seems to me as irrelevant as the first," said joscelyn, "but i observe that you cuckooed so loudly as to startle our mistress out of her inattention. so if you mean to tell us another story, by all means tell it now. not that i care, except for our extremity."
-"it is my only object to ease it," said martin, "so bear with me as well as you may during the recital of young gerard."
-there was once, dear maidens, a shepherd who kept his master's sheep on amberley mount. his name was gerard, and he was always called young gerard to distinguish him from the other shepherd who was known as old gerard, yet was not, as you might suppose, his father. their master was the lord of combe ivy that lay in the southern valleys of the hills toward the sea; he owned the grazing on the whole circle of the downs between the two great roads--on amberley and perry and wepham and blackpatch and cockhill and highdown and barnsfarm and sullington and chantry. but the two gerards lived together in the great shed behind the copse between rackham hill and kithurst, and the way they came to do so was this.
-one night in april when old gerard's gray beard was still brown, the door of the shed was pushed open, letting in not only the winds of spring but a woman wrapped in a green cloak, with a lining of cherry-color and a border of silver flowers and golden cherries. in one hand she swung a crystal lantern set in a silver frame, but it had no light in it; and in the other she held a small slip of a cherry-tree, but it had no bloom on it. her dress was white, or had been; for the skirts of it, and her mantle, were draggled and sodden, and her green shoes stained and torn, and her long fair hair lay limp and dank upon her mantle whose hood had fallen away, and the shadows round her blue eyes were as black as pools under hedgerows thawing after a frost, and her lovely face was as white as the snowbanks they bed in. behind her came another woman in a duffle cloak, a crone with eyes as black as sloes, and a skin as brown as beechnuts, and unkempt hair like the fireless smoke of old man's beard straying where it will on the november woodsides. she too was wet and soiled, but full of life where the young one seemed full of death.
-the shepherd looked at this strange pair and said surlily, "what want ye?"
-"shelter," replied the crone.
-she pushed the lady, who never spoke, into the shed, and took from her shoulders the wet mantle, and from her hands the lantern and the tree; and led her to the shepherd's bed and laid her down. then she spread the mantle over the shepherd's bench and,
-"lie there," said she, "till love warms ye."
-next she hung the lantern up on a nail in the wall, and,
-"swing there," said she, "till love lights ye."
-last she took the shepherd's trowel and went outside the shed, and set the cherry-slip beside the door. and she said:
-"grow there, till love blossoms ye."
-after this she came inside and sat down at the bedhead.
-gerard the shepherd, who had watched her proceedings without word or gesture, said to himself, "they've come through the floods."
-he looked across at the women and raised his voice to ask, "did ye come through the floods?"
-the shepherd said no more, for though he was both curious and ill-tempered he had not the courage to disturb the lady, knowing by the richness of her attire that she was of the quality; and the iron of serfdom was driven deep into his soul. so he went to sleep on his stool, as he had been bidden. but in the middle of the night he was awakened by a gusty wind and the banging of his door; and he started up rubbing his knuckles in his eyes, saying, "i've been dreaming of strange women, but was it a dream or no?" he peered about the shed, and the crone had vanished utterly, but the lady still lay on his bed. and when he went over to look at her, she was dead. but beside her lay a newborn child that opened its eyes and wailed at him.
-then the shepherd ran to his open door and stared into the blowing night, but there were no more signs of the crone without than there were within. so he fastened the latch and came back to the bedside, and examined the child.--
-(but at this point martin pippin interrupted himself, and seizing the rope of the swing set it rocking violently.
-joyce: i shall fall! i shall fall!
-martin: then you will be no worse off than i, who have fallen already. for i see you do not like my story.
-joyce: what makes you say so?
-martin: till now you listened with all your ears, but a moment ago you turned away your head a moment too late to hide the disappointment in your eyes.
-joyce: it is true i am disappointed. because the beautiful lady is dead, and how can a love-story be, if half the lovers are dead?
-martin: dear mistress joyce, what has love to do with death? love and death are strangers and speak in different tongues. women may die and men may die, but lovers are ignorant of mortality.
-joyce (pouting): that may be, singer. but lovers are also a man and a woman, and the woman is dead, and the love-tale ended before we have even heard it. you should not have let the woman die. what sort of love-tale is this, now the woman is dead?
-martin: are not more nests than one built in a spring-time?--give me, i pray you, two hairs of your head.
-she plucked two and gave them to him, turning her pouting to laughing. one of them martin coiled and held before his lips, and blew on it.
-"there it flies," said he, and gave her back the second hair. "hold fast by this and keep it from its fellow with all your might, for to part true mates baffles the forces of the universe. and when you give me this second hair again i swear i will send it where it will find its fellow. but i will never ask for it until, my story ended, you say to me, i am content.'")
-examining the child (repeated martin) the shepherd discovered it to be a lusty boy-child, and this rejoiced him, so that while the baby wept he laughed aloud.
-"it is better to weep for something than for nothing," said he, "and to laugh for something likewise. tears are for serfs and laughter is for freedmen." for he had conceived the plan of selling the child to his master, the lord of combe ivy, and buying his freedom with the purchase money. so in the morning he carried the body of the lady into the heart of the copse, and there he dug a grave and laid her in it in her white gown. and afterwards he went up hill and down dale to his master, and said he had a man for sale. the lord of combe ivy, who was a jovial lord and a bachelor, laughed at the tale he had to tell; but being always of the humor for a jest he paid the shepherd a gold piece for the child, and promised him another each midnight on the anniversary of its birth; but on the twenty-first anniversary, he said, the shepherd was to bring back the twenty-one gold pieces he had received, and instead of adding another to them he would take them again, and make the serf a freedman, and the child his serf.
-"for," said the lord of combe ivy, "an infant is a poor deal for a man in his prime, as you are, but a youth come to manhood is a good exchange for a graybeard, as you will be. therefore rear this babe as you please, and if he live to manhood so much the better for you, but if he die first it's all one to me."
-the shepherd had hoped for a better bargain, but he must needs be content with seeing liberty at a distance. so he returned to his shed on the hills and made a leather purse to keep his gold-piece in, and hung it round his neck, touching it fifty times a day under his shirt to be sure it was still there. and presently he sought among his ewes one who had borne her young, saying, "you shall mother two instead of one." and the baby sucked the ewe like her very lamb, and thrived upon the milk. and the shepherd called the child gerard after himself, "since," he said, "it is as good a name for a shepherd as another"; and from that time they became the young and old gerards to all who knew them.
-so the young gerard grew up, and as he grew the cherry-tree grew likewise, but in the strangest fashion; for though it flourished past all expectation, it never put forth either leaf or blossom. this bitterly vexed old gerard, who had hoped in time for fruit, and the frustration of his hopes became to him a cause of grievance against the boy. a further grudge was that by no manner of means could he succeed in lighting any wick or candle in the silver lantern, of which he desired to make use.
-"but if your tree and your lantern won't work," said he, "it's no reason why you shouldn't." so he put young gerard to work, first as sheepboy to his own flock, but later the boy had a flock of his own. there was no love lost between these two, and kicks and curses were the young one's fare; for he was often idle and often a truant, and none was held responsible for him except the old shepherd who was selling him piece-meal, year by year, to their master. because of what depended on him, old gerard was constrained to show him some sort of care when he would liever have wrung his neck. the boy's fits exasperated the man; whether he was cutting strange capers and laughing without reason, as he frequently did, or sitting a whole evening in a morose dream, staring at the fire or at the stars, and saying never a word. the boy's coloring was as mingled as his moods, a blend of light and dark--black hair, brown skin, blue eyes and golden lashes, a very odd anomaly.
-(martin: what is it, mistress joyce?
-joyce: i said nothing, master pippin.
-martin: i thought i heard you sigh.
-joyce: i did not--you did not.
-martin: my imagination exceeds all bounds.)
-because of their mutual dislike, when the boy was put in charge of his own sheep the two shepherds spent their days apart. the old gerard grazed his flock to the east as far as chantry, but the young gerard grazed his flock to the west as far as amberley, whose lovely dome was dearer to him than all the other hills of sussex. and here he would sit all day watching the cloud-shadows stalk over the face of the downs, or slipping along the land below him, with the sun running swiftly after, like a carpet of light unrolling itself upon a dusky floor. and in the evening he watched the smoke going up from the tiny cottages till it was almost dark, and a hundred tiny lights were lit in a hundred tiny windows. sometimes on his rare holidays, and on other days too, he ran away to the wildbrooks to watch the herons, or to find in the water-meadows the tallest kingcups in the whole world, and the myriad treasures of the river--the giant comfrey, purple and white, meadowsweet, st. john's wort, purple loose-strife, willowherb, and the ninety-nine-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-five others, or whatever number else you please, that go to make a myriad. he came to know more about the ways of the wildbrooks than any other lad of those parts, and one day he rediscovered the lost causeway that can be traveled even in the floods, when the land lies under a lake at the foot of the hills. he kept this, like many other things, a secret; but he had one more precious still.
-for as he lay and watched the play of sun and shadow on the plains, he fancied a world of strange places he had known, somewhere beyond the veils of light and mist that hung between his vision and the distance, and he fell into a frequent dream of tunes and laughter, and sunlit boughs in blossom, and dancing under the boughs; or of fires burning in the open night, and a wilder singing and dancing in the starlight; and often when his body was lying on the round hill, or by the smoky hearth, his thoughts were running with lithe boys as strong and careless as he was, or playing with lovely free-limbed girls with flowing hair. sometimes these people were fair and bright-haired and in light and lovely clothing, and at others they were dark, with eyes of mischief, and clad in the gayest rags; and sometimes they came to him in a mingled company, made one by their careless hearts.
-one evening in april, on the twelfth anniversary, when young gerard came to gather his flock, a lamb was missing; so to escape a scolding he waited awhile on the hills till old gerard should be gone about his business. what this was young gerard did not know, he only knew that each year on this night the old shepherd left him to his own devices, and returned in the small hours of the morning. not therefore until he judged that the master must have left the hut, did the boy fold his sheep; and this done he ran out on the hills again, seeking the lost lamb. for careless though he was he cared for his sheep, as he did for all things that ran on legs or flew on wings. so he went swinging his lantern under the stars, singing and whistling and smelling the spring. now and then he paused and bleated like a ewe; and presently a small whimper answered his signal.
-"my lost lamb crying on the hills," said young gerard. he called again, but at the sound of his voice the other stopped, and for a moment he stood quite still, listening and perplexed.
-"where are you, my lamb?" said he.
-"here," said a little frightened voice behind a bush.
-he laughed aloud and went forward, and soon discovered a tiny girl cowering under a thorn. when she saw him she ran quickly and grasped his sleeve and hid her face in it and wept. she was small for her years, which were not more than eight.
-young gerard, who was big for his, picked her up and looked at her kindly and curiously.
-"what is it, you little thing?" said he.
-"i got lost," said the child shyly through her tears.
-"well, now you're found," said young gerard, "so don't cry any more."
-"yes, but i'm hungry," sobbed the child.
-"then come with me. will you?"
-"to a feast in a palace."
-"oh, yes!" she said.
-young gerard set her on his shoulder, and went back the way he had come, till the dark shape of his wretched shed stood big between them and the sky.
-"is this your palace?" said the child.
-"that's it," said young gerard.
-"i didn't know palaces had cracks in the walls," said she.
-"this one has," explained young gerard, "because it's so old." and she was satisfied.
-then she asked, "what is that funny tree by the door?"
-"it's a cherry-tree."
-"my father's cherry-trees have flowers on them," said she.
-"this one hasn't," said young gerard, "because it's not old enough."
-"one day will it be?" she asked.
-"one day," he said. and that contented her.
-he then carried her into the shed, and she looked around eagerly to see what a palace might be like inside; and it was full of flickering lights and shadows and the scent of burning wood, and she did not see how poor and dirty the room was; for the firelight gleamed upon a mass of golden fruit and silver bloom embroidered on the covering of the settle by the hearth, and sparkled against a silver and crystal lantern hanging in the chimney. and between the cracks on the walls young gerard had stuck wands of gold and silver palm and branches of snowy blackthorn, and on the floor was a dish full of celandine and daisies, and a broken jar of small wild daffodils. and the child knew that all these things were the treasures of queens and kings.
-"why don't you have that?" she asked, pointing to the crystal lantern as young gerard set down his horn one.
-"because i can't light it," said he.
-"let me light it!" she begged; so he fetched it from its nail, and thrust a pine twig in the fire and gave her the sweet-smoking torch. but in vain she tried to light the wick, which always spluttered and went out again. so seeing her disappointment young gerard hung the lantern up, saying, "firelight is prettier." and he set her by the fire and filled her lap with cones and dry leaves and dead bracken to burn and make crackle and turn into fiery ferns. and she was pleased.
-then he looked about and found his own wooden cup, and went away and came back with the cup full of milk, set on a platter heaped with primroses, and when he brought it to her she looked at it with shining eyes and asked:
-"is this the feast?"
-"that's it," said young gerard.
-and she drank it eagerly. and while she drank young gerard fetched a pipe and began to whistle tunes on it as mad as any thrush, and the child began to laugh, and jumped up, spilling her leaves and primroses, and danced between the fitful lights and shadows as though she were, now a shadow taken shape, and now a flame. whenever he paused she cried, "oh, let me dance! don't stop! let me go on dancing!" until at the same moment she dropped panting on the hearth and he flung his pipe behind him and fell on his back with his heels in the air, crying, "pouf! d'you think i've the four quarters of heaven in my lungs, or what?" but as though to prove he had yet a capful of wind under his ribs, he suddenly began to sing a song she'd never heard before, and it went like this:
-i looked before me and behind, i looked beyond the sun and wind, beyond the rainbow and the snow, and saw a land i used to know. the floods rolled up to keep me still a captive on my heavenly hill, and on their bright and dangerous glass was written, boy, you shall not pass! i laughed aloud, you shining seas, i'll run away the day i please! i am not winged like any plover yet i've a way shall take me over, i am not finned like any bream yet i can cross you, lake and stream. and i my hidden land shall find that lies beyond the sun and wind-- past drowned grass and drowning trees i'll run away the day i please, i'll run like one whom nothing harms with my bonny in my arms.
-"what does that mean?" asked the child.
-"i'm sure i don't know," said young gerard. he kicked at the dying log on the hearth, and sent a fountain of sparks up the chimney. the child threw a dry leaf and saw it shrivel, and young gerard stirred the white ash and blew up the embers, and held a fan of bracken to them, till the fire ran up its veins like life in the veins of a man, and the frond that had already lived and died became a gleaming spirit, and then it too fell in ashes among the ash. then young gerard took a handful of twigs and branches, and began to build upon the ash a castle of many sorts of wood, and the child helped him, laying hazel on his beech and fir upon his oak; and often before their turret was quite reared a spark would catch at the dry fringes of the fir, or the brown oakleaves, and one twig or another would vanish from the castle.
-"how quickly wood burns," said the child.
-"that's the lovely part of it," said young gerard, "the fire is always changing and doing different things with it."
-the child sighed a little and yawned a little and said:
-"how nice it is to live in a palace. who lives here with you?"
-"my friends," said young gerard, poking at the log with a bit of stick.
-"what are your friends like?" she asked him, rubbing her knuckles in her eyes.
-he was silent for a little, stirring up sparks and smoke. then he answered, "they are gay in their hearts, and they're dressed in bright clothes, and they come with singing and dancing."
-"who else lives in your palace with you?" she asked drowsily.
-"you do," said young gerard.
-for a little while young gerard held and watched her in the firelight, and then he rose and wrapped her in the old embroidered mantle on the settle, and went out. and sure-foot as a goat he carried her over the dark hills by the tracks he knew, for roads there were none, and his arms ached with his burden, but he would not wake her till they stood at her father's gates. then he shook her gently and set her down, and she clung to him a little dazed, trying to remember.
-"this is combe ivy," he whispered. "you must go in alone. will you come again?"
-"one day," said thea.
-"one day there'll be flowers on my cherry-tree," said young gerard. "don't forget."
-"no, i won't," she said.
-he returned through the night up hill and down dale, but did not go back to the shed until he had recovered his lamb. by then it was almost dawn, and he found his master awake and cursing. he had feared the boy had made off, and he had had curt treatment at combe ivy, which was in a stir about the loss of the little daughter. young gerard showed the lamb as his excuse, nevertheless the old shepherd leathered the young one soundly, as he did six days in seven.
-after this when young gerard sat dreaming on the hills, he dreamed not only of his happy land and laughing friends, but of the next coming of little thea. but combe ivy was far away, and the months passed and the years, and she did not come again. meanwhile young gerard and his tree grew apace, and the limbs of the boy became longer and stronger, and the branches of the tree spread up to the roof and even began to thrust their way through the holes in the wall; but the boy's life, save for his dreaming, was as friendless as the tree's was flowerless. and of a tree's dreaming who shall speak? meanwhile old gerard thrashed and rated him, and reckoned his gold pieces, and counted the years that still lay between him and his freedom. at last came another april bringing its hour.
-for as he sat on the mount in the early morning, when he was in his seventeenth year, young gerard saw a slender girl running over the turf and laughing in the sunlight, sometimes stopping to watch a bird flying, or stooping to pluck one of the tiny down-flowers at her feet. so she came with a dancing step to the top of the mount, and then she saw him, and her glee left her and shyness took its place. but a little pride in her prevented her from turning away, and she still came forward until she stood beside him, and said:
-"good morning, shepherd. is it true that in april the country north of the hills is filled with lakes?"
-"yes, sometimes, mistress thea," said young gerard.
-she looked at him with surprise and said, "you must be one of my father's shepherds, but i do not remember seeing you at combe ivy."
-"i was only once near combe ivy," said young gerard, "when i took you there five years ago the night you were lost on these hills."
-"oh, i remember," she said with a faint smile. "how they did scold me. is your cherry-tree in flower yet, shepherd?"
-"no, mistress," said young gerard.
-"i want to see it," she said suddenly.
-young gerard left his flock to the dog, and walked with her along the hillbrow.
-"i wouldn't do that," said young gerard, hiding a smile. "it's dangerous to swim in the april floods. and it would be rather cold."
-"what lies beyond?" she asked.
-"i'm not able to know," said young gerard.
-"some day i mean to know, shepherd."
-"yes, mistress," he said, "you'll be free to."
-she looked at him quickly and reddened a little, it might have been from shame or pity, young gerard did not know which. and her shyness once more enveloped her; it always came over her unexpectedly, taking her breath away like a breaking wave. so she said no more, and they walked together, she looking at the ground, he at the soft brown hair blowing over the curve of her young cheek. she was fine and delicate in every line, and in her color, and in the touch of her too, young gerard knew. he wanted to touch her cheek with his finger as he would have touched the petal of a flower. her neck, the back of it especially, was one of the loveliest bits of her, like a primrose stalk. he fell a step behind so that he could look at it. they did not speak as they went. he did not want to, and she did not know what to say.
-when they reached the shed she lingered a moment by the tree, tracing a bare branch with her finger, and he waited, content, till she should speak or act, to watch her. at last she said with her faint smile, "i am very thirsty." then he went into the shed and came out with his wooden cup filled with milk. she drank and said, "thank you, shepherd. how pretty the violets are in your copse."
-"would you like some?" he asked.
-"not now," she said. "perhaps another day. i must go now." she gave him back his cup and went away, slowly at first, but when she was at some distance he saw her begin to run like a fawn.
-she did not come again that spring. and so the stark lives of the boy and the tree went forward for another year. but one evening in the following april, when the green was quivering on wood and hedgerow, he came to the door of the shed and saw her bending like a flower at the edge of the copse, filling her little basket and singing to herself. she looked up soon and said:
-"good evening, shepherd. how does your cherry-tree?"
-"as usual, mistress thea."
-"so i see. what a lazy tree it is. have you some milk for me?"
-he brought her his cup and she drank of it for the third time, and left him before he had had time to realize that she had come and gone, but only how greatly her delicate beauty had increased in the last year.
-however, before the summer was over she came again--to swim in the river, she told him, as she passed him on the hills, without lingering. and in the autumn she came to gather blackberries, and he showed her the best place to find them. any of these things she might have done as easily nearer combe ivy, but it seemed she must always offer him some reason for her small truancies--whether to gather berries or flowers, or to swim in the river. he knew that her chief delight lay in escaping from her father's manor.
-winter closed her visits; but young gerard was as patient as the earth, and did not begin to look for her till april. as surely as it brought leaves to the trees and flowers to the grass, it would, he knew, bring his little mistress's question, half shy, half smiling, "is your cherry-tree in blossom, shepherd?" and later her request, smiling and shy, for milk.
-they seldom exchanged more than a few words at any time. sometimes they did not speak at all. for he, who was her father's servant, never spoke first; and she, growing in years and loveliness, grew also in timidity, so that it seemed to cost her more and more to address her greeting or her question even to her father's servant. the sweet quick reddening of her cheek was one of young gerard's chief remembrances of her.
-but after a while, when they met by those sly chances which she could control and he could not; and when she did not speak, but glanced and hesitated and passed on; or glanced and passed without hesitation; or passed without a glance; he came to know that she would not mind if he arose and walked with her, if he could control the pretext, which she could not. and he did so quietly, having always something to show her.
-he showed her his most secret nests and his greatest treasures of flowers, his because he loved them so much. he would have been jealous of showing these things to any one but her. in a great water-meadow in the valley, he had once shown her kingcups making sheets of gold, enameled with every green grass ever seen in spring--thousands of kingcups and a myriad of milkmaids in between, dancing attendance in all their faint shades of silver-white and rosy-mauve. when a breeze blew, this world of milkmaids swayed and curtsied above the kings' daughters in their glory. then gerard and thea looked at each other smiling, because the same delight was in each, and soon she looked away again at the gentle maids and the royal ladies, but he looked still at her, who was both to him.
-in silence he showed her what he loved.
-but you must not suppose that she came frequently to those hills. she was to be seen no more often than you will see a kingfisher when you watch for it under a willow. yet because in the season of kingfishers you know you may see one flash at any instant, so to young gerard each day of spring and summer was an expectancy; and this it was that kept his lift alight. this and his young troop of friends in a land of fruit in blossom and a sky in stars. for men, dear maids, live by the daily bread of their dreams; on realizations they would starve.
-at last came the winter that preceded young gerard's twenty-first year. with the stripping of the boughs he stripped his heart of all thoughts of seeing her again till the green of the coming year. the snows came, and he tended his sheep and counted his memories; and old gerard tended his sheep and counted his coins. the count was full now, and he dreamed of april and the freeing of his body. young gerard also dreamed of april, and the freeing of his heart. and under the ice that bound the flooded meadows doubtless the earth dreamed of the freeing of her waters and the blooming of the land. the snows and the frosts lasted late that year as though the winter would never be done, and to the two gerards the days crawled like snails; but in time march blew himself off the face of the earth, and april dawned, and the swollen river went rushing to the sea above the banks it had drowned with its wild overflow. and as old gerard began to mark the days off on a tally, young gerard began to listen on the hills. when the day came whose midnight was to make the old man a freedman, thea had not appeared.
-on the morning of this day, as the two shepherds stood outside their shed before they separated with their flocks, their ears were accosted with shoutings and halloos on the other side of the copse, and soon they saw coming through the trees a man in gay attire. he had a scalloped jerkin of orange leather, and his shoes and cap were of the same, but his sleeves and hose and feather were of a vivid green, like nothing in nature. he looked garish in the sun. seeing the shepherds he took off his cap, and solemnly thanked heaven for having after all created something besides hills and valleys. "for," said he, "after being lost among them i know not how many hours, with no other company than my own shadow, i had begun to doubt whether i was not the only man on earth, and my name adam. a curse of all lords who do not live by highroads!"
-"where are you bound for, master?" asked old gerard.
-"combe ivy," said the stranger, "and the wedding."
-old gerard nodded, as one little surprised; but to young gerard this mention of a wedding at combe ivy came as news. it did not stir him much, however, for he was not curious about the doings of the master and the house he never saw; all that concerned him was that to-day, at least, he must cease to listen on the hills, since his young mistress would be at the wedding with the others.
-old gerard said to the stranger, "keep the straight track to the south till you come under wepham, then follow the valley to the east, and so you'll be in time for the feasting, master."
-"that's certain," said the stranger, "for the lord of combe ivy and the rough master of coates have had no peers at junketing since gay street lost its lord; and the feast is like to go on till midnight."
-with that he went on his way, and old gerard followed him with his eyes, muttering,
-"would i also were there! but for you," he said, turning on the young man with a sudden snarl, "i should be! had ye not come a day too late, i'd be a freedman to-night instead of to-morrow, and junketing at the wedding with the rest."
-young gerard did not understand him. he was not in the habit of questioning the old man, and if he had would not have expected answers. but certain words of the stranger had pricked his attention, and now he said:
-"where is gay street?"
-"far away over the stor and the chill," growled old gerard.
-"it's a jolly name."
-"maybe. but they say it's a sorry place now that it lacks its lord."
-"what became of him?"
-"how should i know? what can a man know who lives all his life on a hill with pewits for gossips?"
-"you know more than i," said young gerard indolently. "you know there's a wedding down yonder. who's the rough master of coates?"
-"the bridegroom, young know-nothing. you've a tongue in your head to-day."
-"why do they call him the rough master?"
-"because that's what he is, and so are his people, as rough as furze on a common, they say. have you any more questions?"
-"yes," said young gerard. "who is the bride?"
-"who should the bride be? combe ivy's mother?"
-"she's dead," said young gerard.
-"his daughter then," scoffed old gerard.
-young gerard stared at him.
-"get about your business," shouted the old shepherd with sudden wrath. "why do ye stare so? you're not drunk. ah! down yonder they'll be getting drunk without me. enough of your idling and staring!"
-he raised his staff, but young gerard thrust it aside so violently that he staggered, and the boy went away to his sheep and they met no more till evening. the whole of that day young gerard sat on the mount, not looking as usual to the busy north dreaming of the unknown land beyond the water, but over the silent slopes and valleys of the south, whose peoples were only birds and foxes and rabbits, and whose only cities were built of lights and shadows. somewhere beyond them was combe ivy, and little thea getting married to the rough master of coates, in the midst of feasting and singing and dancing. he thought of her dancing over the downs for joy of being free, he thought of her singing to herself as she gathered flowers in his copse, and he thought of her feasting on wild berries he had helped her to find--that also was a feasting and singing and dancing. all day long his thoughts ran, "she will not come any more in the mornings to bathe in the river over the hill. she will not come with her little basket to gather flowers and berries. she will not stop and ask for a cup of milk, or say, let me see the young lambs, or say, is your cherry-tree in flower yet, shepherd? she will not ask me with her eyes to come with her--oh, she will not ask me by turning her eyes away, with her little head bent. you! you rough master of coates, what are you like, what are you like?"
-in the evening when he gathered his sheep, one was missing. he had to take the flock back without it. old gerard was furious with him; it seemed as though on this last night that separated him from the long fulfillment of his hopes he must be more furious than he had ever been before. he was furious at being thwarted of the fun in the valley, furious at the loss of the lamb, most furious at young gerard's indifference to his fury. he told the boy he must search on the hills, and young gerard only sat down by the side of the shed and looked to the south and made no answer. so he went himself, leaving the boy to prepare the mess for supper; for he feared that if he went to combe ivy that night with a bad tale to tell, his master for a whim might say that a young sheep was a fair deal for an old shepherd, and take his gold, and keep him a bondman still. for the lord of combe ivy lived by his whimsies. but old gerard could not find the lost sheep, and when he came back the boy was where he had left him, looking over the darkening hills.
-"is the mess ready?" said old gerard.
-"no," said young gerard.
-"because i forgot."
-old gerard slashed at him with a rope he had taken in case of need. "that will make you remember."
-"no," said young gerard.
-young gerard said, "you beat me too often, i cannot remember all the reasons."
-"then," said old gerard full of wrath, "i will beat you out of all reason."
-and he began to thrash young gerard will all his might, talking between the blows. "haven't you been the curse of my life for twenty-one years?" snarled he. "can i trust you? can i leave you? would the sheep get their straw? would the lambs be brought alive into the world? bah! for all you care the sheep would go cold and their young would die. and down yonder they are getting drunk without me!"
-"old shepherd," said a voice behind him.
-the angry man, panting with his rage and the exertion of his blows, paused and turned. near the corner of the shed he saw a woman in a duffle cloak standing, or rather stooping, on her crutch. she was so ancient that it seemed as though death himself must have forgotten her, but her eyes in their wrinkled sockets were as piercing as thorns. old gerard, staring at them, felt as though his own eyes were pricked.
-"where have i seen you before, hag?" he said.
-"have you ever seen me before?" asked the old woman.
-"i thought so, i thought so"--he fumbled with his memory.
-"then it must have been when we went courting in april, nine-and-ninety years ago," said the old woman dryly, "but you lads remember me better than i do you. can i sleep by your hearth to-night?"
-"where are you going to?" asked old gerard, half grinning, half sour.
-"where i'll be welcome," said she.
-"you're not welcome here. but there's nothing to steal, you may sleep by the hearth."
-"thank you, shepherd," said the crone, "for your courtesy. why were you beating the boy?"
-"because he's one that won't work."
-"is he your slave?"
-"he's my master's slave. but he's idle."
-"i am not idle," said young gerard. "the year round i'm busy long before dawn and long after dark."
-"then why are you idle to-day," sneered old gerard, "of all the days in the year?"
-"i've something else to think of," said the boy.
-"you see," said the old man to the crone.
-"well," said she, "a boy cannot always be working. a boy will sometimes be dreaming. life isn't all labor, shepherd."
-"what else is it?" said old gerard.
-"ho, ho, ho!" went old gerard.
-"ho, ho, ho!"
-"not for serfs," said old gerard.
-"for serfs and lords," she said.
-"ho, ho, ho!"
-"you were young once," said the crone.
-old gerard said, "what if i was?"
-"good night," said the crone; and she went into the shed.
-the shepherds looked after her, the old one stupidly, the young one with lighted eyes.
-"will you get supper?" growled old gerard.
-"no," said young gerard, "i won't. i want no supper. put down that rope. i am taller and stronger than you, and why i've let you go on beating me so long i don't know, unless it is that you began to beat me when you were taller and stronger than i. if you want any supper, get it yourself."
-old gerard turned red and purple. "the boy's mad!" he gasped. "do you know what happens to servants who defy their masters?"
-"yes," said young gerard, "then they're lords." and he too went into the shed.
-"try that on combe ivy!" bawled old gerard, "and see what you'll get for it. i thank fortune, i'll be quit of you tomorrow-- what's that to-do in the valley?" he muttered, and stared down the hill.
-away in the hollows and shadows he saw splashes of moving light, and heard far-off snatches of song and laughter, but the movements and sounds were still so distant that they seemed to be only those of ghosts and echoes. nearer they came and nearer, and now in the night he could discern a great rabble stumbling among the dips and rises of the hills.
-"they're heading this way," said old gerard. "why, tis the wedding-party," he said amazed, "if it's not witchcraft. but why are they coming here?"
-"hola! hola! hola!" shouted a tipsy voice hard by.
-"here's dribblings from the wineskin," said old gerard; and up the track struggled a drunken man, waving a torch above his head. it was the guest whom he had directed in the morning.
-"hola!" he shouted again on seeing old gerard.
-"well, racketer?" said the shepherd, with a chuckle.
-"shall a man not racket at another man's wedding?" he cried. "let some one be jolly, say i!"
-"the bridegroom," said old gerard.
-"ha, ha!" laughed the other, "the bridegroom! he was first in high feather and last in the sulks."
-"the bride, then."
-"ha, ha! ha, ha! during the toasts he tried to kiss her."
-"hark!" said old gerard, "here they come." the sound of rollicking increased as the rout drew nearer.
-"he's taking her home across the river," said the guest. "i wouldn't be she. there she sat, her pretty face fixed and frozen, but a fright in her that shook her whole body. you could see it shake. and we drank, how we drank! to the bride and the groom and their daughters and sons, to the sire and the priest, and the ring and the bed, to the kiss and the quarrel, to love which is one thing and marriage which is another--lord, how we drank! but she drank nothing. and for all her terror the rough could do no more with her than with a stone. something in her turned him cold every time. suddenly up he gets. we'll have no more of this,' he says, we'll go.' combe ivy would have had them stay, but she's where she's used to lord it here,' says rough, i'll take her where i lord it, and teach her who's master,' and he pushes down his chair and takes her hand and pulls her away; and out we tumble after him. combe ivy cries to him to wait for the horses, but no, we'll foot it,' says he, up hill and down dale as the crow flies, and if she hates me now without a cause i swear she'll love me with one at the end of the dance.' we're dancing them as far as the wildbrooks; on t'other side they may dance for themselves. here they come dancing--dance, you!" cried the guest, and whirled his torch like a madman. and as he whirled and staggered, up the hill came the wedding-party as tipsy as he was: a motley procession, waving torches and garlands, winecups, flagons, colored napkins, shouting and singing and beating on trenchers and salvers--on anything that they could snatch from the table as they quitted it. they came in all their bravery--in doublets of flame-colored silk and blue, in scarlet leather and green velvet, in purple slashed with silver and crimson fringed with bronze; but their vests were unlaced, their hose sagged, and silk and velvet and leather were stained bright or dark with wine. some had stuck leaves and flowers in their hair, others had tied their forelocks with ribbons like horses on a holiday, and one had torn his yellow mantle in two and capered in advance, waving the halves in either hand like monstrous banners, or the flapping wings of some golden bird of prey. in the midst of them, pressing forward and pressed on by the riot behind, was the rough master of coates, and with him, always hanging a little away and shrinking under her veil, thea, whose right wrist he grasped in his left hand. breathless she was among the breathless rabble, who, gaining the hilltop seized each other suddenly and broke into antics, shaking their napkins and rattling on their plates. their voices were hoarse with laughter and drink, and their faces flushed with it; only among those red and swollen faces, the bridegroom's, in the flare of the torches, looked as black as the bride's looked white. the night about the newly-wedded pair was one great din and flutter.
-then in a trice the dancers all lost breath, and the dance parted as they staggered aside; and at the door of the shed young gerard stood, and gazed through the broken revel at little thea, and she stood gazing at him. and behind and above him, along the walls of the hut, and over the doorway, and making lovely the very roof, she saw a cloud of snowwhite blossom.
-somebody cried, "here's a boy. he shall dance too. boy, is there drink within?"
-the others took up the clamor. "drink! bring us something to drink!"
-"the red grape!" cried one.
-"the yellow grape!" cried another.
-"the sap of the apple!"
-"the juice of the pear!"
-"the spirit that burns!"
-"bring us drink!" they cried in a breath.
-"will you have milk?" said young gerard.
-at this the company burst into a roar of laughter. they laughed till they rocked. but when they were silent little thea spoke. she said in a faint clear voice:
-"i would like a cup of milk."
-young gerard went into the hut and came out with his wooden cup filled with milk, and brought it to her, and she drank. none spoke or moved while she drank, but when she gave him the cup again one of the crew said chuckling, "now she has drunk, now she's merrier. try her again, rough, try her on milk!"
-again the night reeled with their laughter. they surrounded the wedded pair crying, "kiss her! kiss her! kiss her!" then the rough master of coates pulled her round to him, dark with anger, and tried to kiss her. but she turned sharply in his arms, bending her head away. and despite his force, and though he was a man and she little more than a child, he could not make her mouth meet his. and the laughter of the guests rose higher, and infuriated him.
-then he who had spoken before said, "by hymen, the bride should kiss something. if the lord's not good enough, let her kiss the churl!" at this the revelers, wild with delight, beat on their trenchers and shouted, "ay, let her!"
-and suddenly they surged in, parting thea from the rough; while some pulled him back others dragged young gerard forward, till he stood where the bridegroom had stood; and in that seething throng of mockery he felt her clinging helplessly to him, and his arm went round her.
-"kiss him! kiss him! kiss him!" cried the guests.
-she looked up pitifully at him, and he bent his head. and she heard him whisper:
-"my cherry-tree's in flower."
-she whispered, "yes."
-and they kissed each other.
-then the tumult of laughter passed all bounds, so that it was a wonder if it was not heard at combe ivy; and the guests clashed their trenchers one against another, and whirled their torches till the sparks flew, yelling, "the bride's kiss! ha, ha! the bride's kiss!"
-but the rough master of coates had had enough; snarling like a mad dog he thrust his way through the crowd on one side, as old gerard, seeing his purpose, thrust through on the other, and both at the same instant fell on the boy, the one with his scabbard, the other with his staff.
-"kisses, will ye?" cried the rough master of coates, "here's kisses for ye!"
-"ha, ha!" cried the guests, "more kisses, more kisses for him that kissed the bride!"
-and then they all struck him at once, kicking and beating him without mercy, till he lay prone on the earth. when he had fallen, the rough shouted, "away to the wildbrooks, away!"
-and he seized thea in his arms, and rushed along the brow of the hill, and all the company followed in a confusion, and were swallowed up in the night.
-but young gerard raised himself a little, and groaned, "the wildbrooks--are they going to the wildbrooks?"
-"ay, and over the wildbrooks," said old gerard.
-"but they're in flood," gasped young gerard. "they'll never cross it in the spring floods."
-"they'll manage it somehow. the rough--did you see his eyes when you--? ho, ho! he'll cross it somehow."
-"he can't," the boy muttered. "the april tide's too strong. he will drown in the flood."
-"and she," said old gerard.
-"perhaps she will swim on the flood," said young gerard faintly. and he sighed and sank back on the earth.
-"ay, you'll be sore," chuckled the old man. "you had your salve before you had your drubbing. lie there. i must be gone on business."
-he took up his staff and went down the hill for the last time to combe ivy, to purchase his freedom.
-but young gerard lay with his face pressed to the turf. "and that was the bridegroom," he said, and shook where he lay.
-"young shepherd," said a voice beside him. he looked up and saw the hooded crone, come out of the hut. "why do you water the earth?" said she. "have not the rains done their work?"
-"what work, dame?"
-"you've as fine a cherry in flower," said she, "as ever blossomed in gay street in the season of singing and dancing."
-"singing and dancing!" he cried, his voice choking, and he sprang up despite his pains. "don't speak to me, dame, of singing and dancing. you're old, like the withered branch of a tree, but did you not see with your old eyes, and hear with your old ears? did you not see her come up the green hillside with singing and dancing? oh, yes, my cherry's in flower, like a crown for a bride, and the spring is all in movement, and the birds are all in song, and she--she came up the hillside with singing and dancing."
-"i saw," said the crone, "and i heard. i'm not so old, young shepherd, that i do not remember the curse of youth."
-"what's that?" he said moodily.
-"to bear the soul of a master in the body of a slave," said she; "to be a flower in a sealed bud, the moon in a cloud, water locked in ice, spring in the womb of the year, love that does not know itself."
-"but when it does know?" said young gerard slowly.
-"oh, when it knows!" said she. "then the flower of the fruit will leap through the bud, and the moon will leap like a lamb on the hills of the sky, and april will leap in the veins of the year, and the river will leap with the fury of spring, and the headlong heart will cry in the body of youth, i will not be a slave, but i will be the lord of life, because--"
-"because?" said young gerard.
-"because i will!"
-young gerard said nothing, and they sat together in a long silence in the darkness, and time went by filling the sky with stars.
-now as they sat the hilltop once more began to waver with shadows and voices, but this time the shadows came on heavy feet and weary, and the voices were forlorn. one feebly cried, "hola!" and round the belt of trees straggled the rout that had left them an hour or so earlier. but now they were sodden and dejected, draggled and woebegone, as sorry a spectacle as so many drowned rats.
-"fire!" moaned one. "fire! fire!"
-"who's burning?" said young gerard, and got quickly on his feet; but he did not see the two he looked for.
-"none's burning, fool, but many are drowning. do we not look like drowned men? how shall we ever get back to combe ivy, and warmth and drink and comforts? would we were burning!"
-"what has happened?" the boy demanded.
-"we went in search of the ferry," he said, "but the ferry was drowned too."
-"we couldn't find the ferry," said a second.
-the miserable crew broke out into plaints and questions--"have you no fire? have you no food? no coverings?"
-"none," said young gerard. "where is the bride?"
-"have you do drink?"
-"where is the bride?"
-"the groom stumbled," said one. "let us to combe ivy, in comfort's name. there'll be drink there."
-he staggered down the hill, and his fellows made after him. but young gerard sprang upon one, and gripped him by the shoulder and shook him, and for the third time cried:
-"where is the bride?"
-"in the water," he answered heavily, "because--there was--no wine."
-then he dragged himself out of the boy's grasp, and fell down the hill after his companions.
-young gerard stood for one instant listening and holding his breath. suddenly he said, "my lost lamb, crying on the hills." he ran into the shed and looked about, and snatched from the settle the green and cherry cloak, and from the wall the crystal and silver lantern. he struck a spark from a flint and lit the wick. it burned brightly and steadily. then he ran out of the shed. the old woman rose up in his path.
-"that's a good light," said she, "and a warm cloak."
-"don't stop me!" said young gerard, and ran on. she nodded, and as he vanished in one direction, she vanished in the other.
-he had not run far when he saw one more shadow on the hills; and it came with faltering steps, and a trembling sobbing breath, and he held up his lantern and the light fell on thea, shivering in her wet veil. as the flame struck her eyes she sighed, "oh, i can't see the way--i can't see!"
-young gerard hurried to her and said, "come this way," and he took her hand; but she snatched it quickly from him.
-"go, man!" she said. "don't touch me. go!"
-"don't be frightened of me," said young gerard gently.
-then she looked at him and whispered, "oh--it is you--shepherd. i was trying to find you. i'm cold."
-young gerard wrapped the cloak about her, and said, "come with me. i'll make you a fire."
-he took her back to the shed. but she did not go in. she crouched on the ground under the cherry-tree. young gerard moved about collecting brushwood. they scarcely looked at each other; but once when he passed her he said, "you're shivering."
-"it's because i'm so wet," said thea.
-"did you fall in the water?"
-she nodded. "the floods were so strong."
-"it's a bad night for swimming," said young gerard.
-"yes, shepherd." she then said again, "yes." he could tell by her voice that she was smiling faintly. he glanced at her and saw her looking at him; both smiled a little and glanced away again. he began to pile his brushwood for the fire.
-after a short pause she said timidly, "are you sore, shepherd?"
-"no, i feel nothing," said he.
-"they beat you very hard."
-"i did not feel their blows."
-"how could you not feel them?" she said in a low voice. he looked at her again, and again their eyes met, and again parted quickly.
-"now i'll strike a spark," said young gerard, "and you'll be warm soon."
-he kindled his fire; the branches crackled and burned, and she knelt beside the blaze and held her hands to it.
-"i was never here by night before," she said.
-"yes, once," said young gerard. "you often came, didn't you, to gather flowers in the morning and to swim in the river at noon. but once before you were here in the night."
-"was i?" said she.
-he dropped a handful of cones into her lap, throwing the last on the fire. she threw another after it, and smiled as it crackled.
-"i remember," she said. "thank you, shepherd. you were always kind and found me the things i wanted, and gave me your cup to drink of. who'll drink of it now?"
-"no one," he said, "ever again."
-he went and fetched the cup and gave it to her. "burn that too," said young gerard. thea put it into the fire and trembled. when it was burned she asked very low, "will you be lonely?"
-"i'll have my sheep and my thoughts."
-"yes," said thea, "and stars when the sheep are folded. the stars are good to be with too."
-"good to see and not be seen by," he said.
-"how do you know they don't see you?" she asked shyly.
-"one shepherd on a hill isn't much for the eye of a star. he may watch them unwatched, while they come and go in their months. sometimes there aren't any, and sometimes not more than one pricking the sky near the moon. but to-night, look! the sky's like a tree with full branches."
-thea looked up and said with a child's laugh, "break me a branch!"
-"i'd want jacob's ladder for that," smiled young gerard.
-"then shake the tree and bring them down!" she insisted.
-"here come your stars," said young gerard. suddenly she was enveloped in a falling shower, white and heavenly.
-"the stars--!" she cried. "oh, what is it?"
-"my cherry-tree--it's in flower--" said young gerard, and his voice trembled. she looked up quickly and saw that he was standing beside her, shaking the tree above her head. and now their eyes met and did not separate. he put out his hand and broke a branch from the tree and offered it to her. she took it from him slowly, as though she were in a dream, and laid it in her lap, and put her face in her hands and began to cry.
-young gerard whispered, "why are you crying?"
-thea said, "oh, my wedding, my wedding! only last year i thought of the night of my wedding and how it would be. it was not with torchlight and shouting and wine, but moonlight and silence and the scent of wild blossoms. and now i know that it was not the night of my wedding i dreamed of."
-"what did you dream of?" asked young gerard.
-"the night of my first love."
-"thea," said young gerard, and he knelt beside her.
-"and my love's first kiss."
-"oh, thea," said young gerard, and he took her hands.
-"why did you not feel their blows?" she said. "i felt them."
-their arms went round each other, and for the second time that night they kissed.
-young gerard said, "i've always wondered if this would happen."
-and thea answered, "i didn't know it would be you."
-"didn't you? didn't you?" he whispered, stroking her head, wondering at himself doing what he had so often dreamed of doing.
-"oh," she faltered, "sometimes i thought--it might--be you, darling."
-"when i came over the mount to swim in the river, and saw you in the distance among your sheep, there was a swifter river running through all my body. when i came every april to ask for your cherry-tree, what did it matter to me that it was not in bloom? for all my heart was wild with bloom, oh, gerard, my--lover!"
-"oh, thea, my love! what can i give you, thea, i, a shepherd?"
-"you were the lord of the earth, and you gave me its flowers and its birds and its secret waters. what more could you give me, you, a shepherd and my lord?"
-"the wild white bloom of its fruit-trees that comes to the branches in april like love to the heart. i'll give it you now. sit here, sit here! i'll make you a bower of the cherry, and a crown, and a carpet too. there's nothing in all april lovely and wild enough for you to-night, your bridal night, my lady and my darling!"
-and in a great fit of joy he broke branch after branch from the tree as she sat at its foot, and set them about her, and filled her arms to overflowing, and crowned her with blossoms, and shook the bloom under her feet, till her shy happy face, paling and reddening by turns, looked out from a world of flowers and she cried between laughing and weeping, "oh, gerard, oh, you're drowning me!"
-"it's the april floods," shouted young gerard, "and i must drown with you, thea, thea, thea!" and he cast himself down beside her, and clasped her amid all the blossoming, and with his head on her shoulder kissed and kissed her till he was breathless and she as pale as the flowers that smothered their kisses.
-and then suddenly he folded her in the green mantle, blossoms and all, and sprang up and lifted her to his breast till she lay like a child in the arms of its mother; and he picked up the lantern and said, "now we will go away for ever."
-"where are we going?" she whispered with shining eyes.
-"to the wildbrooks," he said.
-"to drown in the floods together?" she closed her eyes.
-"there's a way through all floods," said young gerard.
-and he ran with her over the hills with all his speed.
-and old gerard returned to a hut as empty as it had been one-and-twenty years ago. and they say that combe ivy, having never set eyes on the boy in his life, swore that the shepherd's tale had been a fiction from first to last, and kept him a serf to the end of his days.
-("what a night of stars it is!" said martin pippin, stretching his arms.
-"good heavens, master pippin," cried joyce, "what a moment to mention it!"
-"it is worth mentioning," said martin, "at all moments when it is so. i would not think of mentioning it in the middle of a snowstorm."
-"you should as little think of mentioning it," said joyce, "in the middle of a story."
-"but i am at the end of my story, mistress joyce."
-joscelyn: preposterous! oh! oh, how can you say so? i am ashamed of you!
-martin: dear mistress joscelyn, i thank you in charity's name for being that for me which i have never yet succeeded in being for myself.
-joscelyn: what! are you not ashamed to offer us a broken gift? your story is like a cracked pitcher with half the milk leaked out. what was the secret of the lantern, the cloak, and the cherry-tree?
-joyce: who was the lovely lady, his mother? and who the old crone?
-jennifer: what was the end of the rough master of coates?
-jessica: did not the lovers drown in the floods?
-jane: and if they did not, what became of them?
-"please," said little joan, "tell us why young gerard dreamed those dreams. oh, please tell us what happened."
-"women's taste is for trifles," said martin. "i have offered you my cake, and you wish only to pick off the nuts and the cherries."
-"no," said joan, "we wish you to put them on. do you not love nuts and cherries on a cake?"
-"more than anything," said martin.)
-a long while ago, dear maidens, there were lords in gay street, and up and down the street the cherry-trees bloomed in spring as they bloomed nowhere else in sussex, and under the trees sang and danced the loveliest lads and lasses in all england, with hearts like children. and on all their holiday clothes they worked the leaf and branch and flower and fruit of the cherry. and they never wore anything else but their holiday clothes, because in gay street it was always holidays.
-and a long while ago there were gypsies on nyetimber common, the merriest gypsies in the southlands, with the gayest tatters and the brightest eyes, and the maddest hearts for mirth-making. they were also makers of lanterns when they were anything else but what all gypsies are.
-and once the son of a gypsy king loved the daughter of a lord of gay street, and she loved him. and because of this there was wrath in gay street and scorn on nyetimber, and all things were done to keep the lovers apart. but they who attempt this might more profitably chase wild geese. so one night in april they were taken under one of her father's own wild cherries by the light of one of his father's own lanterns. and it was her father and his father who found them, as they had missed them, in the same moment, and were come hunting for sweethearts by night with their people behind them.
-then the lord of gay street pronounced a curse of banishment on his own daughter, that she must go far away beyond the country of the floods, and another on his own tree, that it might never blossom more. and there and then it withered. and the gypsy king pronounced as dark a curse of banishment on his own son, and a second on his own lantern, that it might never more give light. and there and then it went out.
-then from the crowd of gypsies came the oldest of them all, who was the king's great-grandmother, and she looked from the angry parents to the unhappy lovers and said, "you can blight the tree and make the lantern dark; nevertheless you cannot extinguish the flower and the light of love. and till these things lift the curse and are seen again united among you, there will be no lords in gay street nor kings on nyetimber."
-and she broke a shoot from the cherry and picked up the lantern and gave them to the lady and her lover; and then she took them one by each hand and went away. and the lord of gay street and the gypsy king died soon after without heirs, and the joy went out of the hearts of both peoples, and they dressed in sad colors for one-and-twenty years.
-but the three traveled south through the country of the floods, and on the way the king's son was drowned, as others had been before him, and after him the rough master of coates. but the crone brought the lady safely through, and how she was at once delivered of her son and her sorrow, dear maidens, you know.
-and for one-and-twenty years the crone was seen no more, and then of a sudden she re-appeared at daybreak and bade her people put on their bright apparel because their king was coming with a young queen; and after this she led them to gay street where she bade the folk to don their holiday attire, because their lord was on his way with a fair lady. and all those girls and boys, the dark and the light, felt the child of joy in their hearts again, and they went in the morning with singing and dancing to welcome the comers under the cherry-trees.
-i entreat you now, mistress joyce, for the second hair from your head.
-the milkmaids put their forgotten apples to their mouths, and the chatter began to run out of them like juice from bitten fruit.
-jessica: what did you think of this story, jane?
-jane: i did not know what to think, jessica, until the very conclusion, and then i was too amazed to think anything. for who would have imagined the young shepherd to be in reality a lord?
-martin: few of us are what we seem, mistress jane. even chimney-sweeps are jacks-in-green on may-days; for the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days in the year they pretend to be chimney-sweeps. and i have actually known men who appeared to be haters of women, when they secretly loved them most tenderly.
-joscelyn: it does not surprise me to hear this. i have always understood men to be composed of caprices.
-martin: they are composed of nothing else. i see you know them through and through.
-joscelyn: i do not know anything at all about them. we do not study what does not interest us.
-martin: i hope, mistress joscelyn, you found my story worthy of study?
-joscelyn: it served its turn. might one, by going to rackham hill, see this same cherry-tree and this same shed?
-martin: alas, no. the shed rotted with time and weather, and bit by bit its sides were rebuilt with stone. and the cherry-tree old gerard chopped down in a fury, and made firewood of it. but it too had served its turn. for as every man's life (and perhaps, but you must answer for this, every woman's life), awaits the hour of blossoming that makes it immortal, so this tree passed in a single night from sterility to immortality; and it mattered as little if its body were burned the next day, as it would have mattered had gerard and thea gone down through the waters that night instead of many years later, after a life-time of great joy and delight.
-joyce: i am glad of that. there were moments when i feared it would not be so.
-jennifer: i too. for how could it be otherwise, seeing that he was a shepherd and she a lord's daughter?
-jessica: and when it was related how she was to wed the rough master of coates, my hopes were dashed entirely.
-jane: and when they beat young gerard i was perfectly certain he was dead.
-joan: i rather fancied the tale would end happily, all the same.
-martin: i fancied so too. for though any of these accidents would have marred the ending, love is a divinity above all accidents, and guards his own with extraordinary obstinacy. nothing could have thwarted him of his way but one thing.
-five of the milkmaids: oh, what?
-martin: had thea been one of those who are not interested in the study of men.
-nobody said anything in the apple-orchard.
-joscelyn: she need not have been condemned to unhappiness on that account, singer. and what does the happiness or unhappiness of an idle story weigh? whether she wedded another, or whether they were parted by whatever cause, such as her superior station, or even his death, it's all one to me.
-jennifer: and me.
-jessica: and me.
-jane: and me.
-martin: the tale is judged. let it go hang. for a cloud has dropped over nine-tenths of the moon, like the eyelid of a girl who still peeps through her lashes, but will soon fall asleep for weariness. i have made her lids as heavy as yours with my poor story. let us all sleep and forget it.
-so the girls lay down in the grass and slept. but joyce went on swinging. and every time she swayed past him she looked at martin, and her lips opened and shut again, nothing having escaped them but a very little laughter. the tenth time this happened martin said:
-"what keeps your lashes open, mistress joyce, when your comrades' lie tangled on their cheeks? is it the same thing that opens your lips and peeps through the doorway and runs away again?"
-"must my lashes shut because others' do?" said joyce. "may not lashes have whims of their own?"
-"nothing is more whimsical," said martin pippin. "i have known, for instance, lashes that will be golden though the hair of the head be dark. it is a silly trick."
-"i don't dislike such lashes," said joyce. "that is, i think i should not if ever i saw them."
-martin: perhaps you are right. i should love them in a woman.
-joyce: i never saw them in a woman.
-martin: in a man they would be regrettable.
-joyce: then why did you give them to young gerard?
-martin: did i? it was pure carelessness. let us change the color of his lashes.
-joyce: no, no! i will not have them changed. i would not for the world.
-martin: dear mistress joyce, if i had the world to offer you, i would sit by the road and break it with a pickax rather than change a single eyelash in young gerard's lids. since you love them.
-joyce: oh, did i say so?
-martin: didn't you?--mistress joyce, when you laugh i am ready to forgive you all your debts.
-joyce: why, what do i owe you?
-martin: an eyelash.
-joyce: i am sure i do not.
-martin: no? then a hair of some sort. how will you be able to sleep to-night with a hair on your conscience? for your own sake, lift that crowbar.
-joyce: to tell you the truth, i fear to redeem my promise lest you are unable to redeem yours.
-martin: which was?
-joyce: to blow it to its fellow, who is now wandering in the night like thistledown.
-martin: i will do it, nevertheless.
-joyce: it is easier promised than proved. but here is the hair.
-martin: are you certain it is the same hair?
-joyce: i kept it wound round my finger.
-martin: i know no better way of keeping a hair. so here it goes!
-and he held the hair to his lips and blew on it.
-martin: a blessing on it. it will soon be wedded.
-joyce: i have your word on it.
-martin: you shall have your eyes on it if you will tell me one thing.
-joyce: is it a little thing?
-martin: it's as trifling as a hair. i wish only to know why you have fallen out with men.
-joyce: for the best of reasons. why, master pippin! they say the world is round!
-martin: heaven preserve us! was ever so giddy a statement? round? why, he so beamed upon her, kissed her hands with such a lofty stoop, that she felt ashamed of herself, and begged his pardon.
-this brought the captain to his knees. "by the god who made the jews," he swore, "i leave not this raw flagstone till you have unsaid those words!"
-in the end, after a prodigious fuss, he drifted away down the corridor and left her to go about her business.
-truth, and timely truth, was what the captain felt he had at last. with it he braved the supercilious doorkeeper; with it he forced the fellow to lift his intolerable eyelids.
-"by the powers of darkness, my friend," he said, "it will be a bad day's work for you if you deny me this time." so he won his admission and faced his master.
-"now, mosca, your lie," said the count, with his cold-steel delivery. mosca did not stumble.
-"master," he said, "i can do you service."
-"do it then," whipped in the count.
-"i can tell your excellence why he succeeds no better with la bellaroba."
-"ah!" the count was suspicious, but interested.
-"the little lady has a lover."
-"body of a dog!"
-"body of angioletto, excellence."
-"angioletto? that spaniel? how many more laps will he cradle in? cut his tongue out, my good fellow, and then come to me again."
-"excellence, may i speak?"
-"i suppose so. speak."
-the captain waited no further invitation, but told the whole story from the beginning. guarino thought upon it for a moment.
-"he will come to-night?" he asked.
-"then we have him. you have done well, mosca--it was time, my friend, for you are an expensive hack to keep at grass. now listen. take bellaroba away--command of the contessa, of course. take her to the little house in the borgo. make all fast, and return here in time for the steeple-jack. when you have him in the trap, run him through the body, raise the devil's uproar, and denounce him to the patrol. do you understand me?"
-"take my purse from the table and off with you then."
-captain mosca bowed to the ground and backed out.
-first midnight conversation
-the borgo of borso's day was, as you might say, a sucker of the city of the po, a flowery crop of villas and gardens about the city's root. there was the discreet house which captain mosca had once chosen for his olimpia; there also was that which guarino guarini maintained for his (or any) bellaroba. it is probable that there were many such houses in the borgo; it was a very pleasant place, heavy scented with lilac and hawthorn in the spring, drowsy all the summer through with rustling leaves and the murmur of innumerable bees. the place was quiet; there was no traffic, no hint of the city bustle; on the other hand there was the notoriety which must always attach to any act done where no others are doing. time, day-time especially, hangs heavy in the borgo. one machinates in the face of many green shutters, which are not necessarily dead because they are shut.
-this reasoning does not attack the sagacity of count guarini, for the only circumstance which could give it force was entirely unknown to him. he did not know that the borgo held bellaroba's friend, olimpia, or that it sheltered under the same roof olimpia, the captain's enemy. he knew nothing of bellaroba's friends and cared nothing for the captain's enemies. but, as a matter of history, the proceedings of mosca upon that eventful day were of the greatest possible interest to signorina castaneve. donna matura, trust her, had not failed to report his first appearance, stork-like, in the borgo. no subsequent voyage of his into those parts (and he made many) was lost upon olimpia. captain mosca, honest man, made a preposterous accomplice. his rusty cloak, the white of his observant eye, the craning of his neck, the very angle of his sword--cocked up for frolic like a wren's tail--spoke the profuse conspirator. he spent money liberally, seemed to have plenty more, had his finger to his nose with every other word. he brought a troop of underlings; a bevy of young women under his orders turned the little shuttered house out of doors--at every window carpets, curtains, hangings of all sorts, fluttered as if for a triumphal procession. flowers came in stacks: "h'm!" said olimpia, "there's a woman in this." a couple of asses brought skins of wine. "that will be wash for the lean hog himself," she added. from that time forth she never left her shutter. to make herself the more sure she gave orders to donna matura to close all the shutters alike. captain mosca, on one of his returns to the borgo, looked up at the blind green eyes of his former haven and, chuckling, rubbed his hands. this artless outlet to his feelings was interpreted for what it was worth behind the shutter.
-by six of the evening mosca, seeing olimpia's house still keep a dead face, threw off the last remnant of his cares and bade himself be merry. "my handsome friend is either asleep or on a journey, it appears," said he to himself. "that, on the whole, is well. i cannot think she would be pleased at the advent of little bellaroba riding pillion to me. still less would the honour about to be paid the young lady afford her any gratification. least of all would her observations on the subject tend to clear the air. no, no. everything is for the best, it seems, and the world still a tolerable place. now for my little wood-bird." he paid and dismissed his work-people, then rode off himself to fetch bellaroba. and olimpia, from her shutter, watched him go.
-there was no trouble on the child's score. the countess was away; a feigned message from her was enough. had she been at home and in a good humour, she would have accorded a real one, no doubt; so the deceit was quite harmless. bellaroba demurred a little that she could not in person warn angioletto, but the captain begged her to have no fears. time pressed; it was evident the countess's service was urgent. yet the captain swore by all that he held sacred--to be sure no great things, but bellaroba could not know that--to deliver her message to the lad with his own hand. "for," said he, and confirmed it with an oath, "if i don't see him this very night it will be a pity:" words which were afterwards thought to have been prophetic by the curious in such matters. so bellaroba entrusted him with her scrawl to "my love angilotto," and the captain chewed and swallowed it when she was not looking. then he lifted her to his horse and rode with her into the green-sheltered borgo, just as it was settling into twilight. and olimpia, from her shutter, saw them come.
-i spare you the picture of her fury: it was not seemly, for all it was very white and still. the sight of a handsome girl shuddering in a cold stare under the grip of an evil spirit can never be pleasant; and where the experienced donna matura shrank from what she saw and heard, it becomes not me to tread. donna matura was of her country, that cheerful, laughing midland of the po, and neither felt the venetian throb of pleasure nor conceived the excesses of venetian pain. extremes touch on the lagoon. donna matura saw her gold-haired mistress white and drawn, saw her witless shaking, saw her tear and rend herself, heard her jerked words of loathing, blasphemy, and obscene defiance--and fairly fled the house. "for," as she said, "if words of man or woman could bring the rafters about our ears, or open a pit to send us lightly whither we all must go who have heard them, those words which madam olimpia spat about her must surely do it." so much she confessed to afterwards, but no more; for she stayed nothing more.
-olimpia may have leaned twisting against her wall for about an hour, mouthing insane babble from her blued lips. it was at least quite dark when she came to herself, lit the lamp, wiped the cold beads from her forehead, smoothed and bound her hair. she was not herself, nor looked to be so; she had a face completely colourless, lips like grey mould, and burning black eyes. but her hand was steady; she hardly winked; her breath, which came through her nose, was even, though it whistled rather sharply. whatever she was about--and she seemed to be acting a part--she did with extraordinary care, down to the changing of her crimson dress for a dark green one. the former had been loose and clinging, made of velvet; the dark green was of cloth, fitted her close, and, as she ascertained by a few gestures, gave free play to her arms. she knocked off her heeled venetian shoes, whose clatter was familiar to the house, and bound on flat-soled sandals instead. over her head she had a black lace scarf, on her hands leather gauntlets. lastly, she took from a press a long, double-edged knife, felt its temper, and stuck it inside her stocking, under the garter. she made a final hasty sweep of the room with her unquiet eyes as she went out of it.
-the door of the house she knocked upon was opened by a page, who asked her business.
-"mosca, captain mosca, is my business," said she in a whisper.
-"the signor capitano is occupied, madonna," replied the boy.
-"i know it, i know it," she answered. "but my business is the lady's business also. i must see them both--and at once. let me pass."
-the page vowed and swore by all the company of heaven that those were her actual words. he was put to the torture and cried in the most heartrending manner; but he held to it, so long as he could hold to anything, that the visitor had said "her business was the other lady's business." what a further application of the question might have brought we cannot tell, since he fainted before it could be tried. "the boy gasparo appeared to take no further interest in the elucidation of the truth," reported the judges, "and we recommend that he be chastised for contumacy." he was, at any rate, no witness of the scene which followed olimpia's entry. there was that about her, a subdued haste, a deliberation, a kind of intensity got by rote, which fascinated the youngster and left him staring in the hall.
-olimpia walked across it alone, went straight to a door at the bottom on the right-hand side, turned the handle, and entered. there was a table spread with supper; there was captain mosca seated at it eating a peach from his wine-glass; there was bellaroba, flushed and marred with tears, leaning against the further wall. she gave a little gasp of fear when she saw what the doorway framed; after that she followed olimpia about the room with the same incurable fascination which the page-boy had felt. olimpia shut the door as softly as she had opened it, and as softly shot the bolt.
-then it seemed that mosca felt her presence, for he turned, saw, and jumped up with a cry mingled of fear and rage. it was found out afterwards that he was unarmed. this will explain his alarm. disastrous honesty! his sword was upstairs in the bed.
-there followed a most curious scene. the captain stood up by the table and dogged olimpia with his narrow eyes. when she advanced, he backed; when she stopped, he stopped. in this manner, eyeing each other without a blink, they made the round of the table. bellaroba cowered by the wall; pursued and pursuer brushed against her in turn. she shivered and moaned a little at every touch; but they were too intent upon their game to know that she was there. in the second round, mosca, who was again close to her, reached out his hand for a knife from the table. quick as thought olimpia was at him, reached across and drove her knife through his hand into the wood. mosca howled, but his fear by now was such that he must be free to run as before, though he maimed himself. he tore his hand away and left olimpia holding a fixed blade. she wrenched it out and made a pounce. the miserable mosca turned to bellaroba. he laid what he had left of hands upon her shoulders; he pulled her from the wall; he set her before him and hugged her close to his breast. thus he made her back a shield against the long knife, and with her he fenced and held off his enemy for minutes more. olimpia, horribly busy, scorched the girl's neck with her breath--but she never made to hurt her.
-then came the end. olimpia made a lunge at his right side. the captain hugged bellaroba there. at the next moment the long knife was below his left arm, buried to the hilt, and defender and defence rolled heavily to the floor. olimpia walked to the table and helped herself to the captain's val pulicella.
-the watch (whom the page had roused after mosca's first cry) broke in by the window, disentangled bellaroba, bound the hands of both prisoners behind their backs, and marched them and the boy off to the castle. count guarini, coming in an hour later, found his murdered lieutenant for his only guest.
-second midnight conversation
-at the stroke of three, with a scarcely perceptible rustling, angioletto slid down the chimney and stepped into the room. he carefully brushed himself with a brush which hung by the hearth. the chimney was by now thoroughly clean, however. he next washed his face and hands, undressed, and crept softly to the bed. very quietly he inserted himself between the sheets, very softly kissed the shoulder of the sleeper; very soon he was as sound as his bedfellow.
-the duke awoke, as his habit was, with the first light, and saw the curly head on the pillow beside him. he whistled softly to himself.
-"now, by the tears of the virgin," said he, "how did this lady come in? it would be as well to know it, since plainly i must go out." he sat up in bed, clasped his knees, and frowned a little. "it is clean against the traditions of my house," he ruminated, "but i think i will go. and the sooner the better."
-suiting action to word, he had one foot on the floor when angioletto, with a long sigh, opened his eyes, turned over, and saw him.
-"the devil!" said duke borso.
-"madonna," was his second venture, when he had recognised the impropriety of his first, "madonna, i am this moment about to retire--"
-angioletto, whose eyes had attained their fullest stretch of wonder, opened his mouth--but not to speak. he gaped at the lord of the land.
-"madonna--" borso began once more. then the other found his voice--
-"alas, my lord duke, it is madonna i thought to find. where is my wife?"
-that was borso's cue to stare.
-"your wife?" he cried, "your wife! heaven above us, man, why the devil should your wife be in my bed?"
-angioletto, with the deepest respect always, suffered a smile to play askew about his lips.
-"alas, magnificence," he said, "if i dared i would ask him, why the devil he should be in my wife's bed?"
-it was the youth's way to preface his audacities by the assurance that he dared not utter them. but the retort pleased borso. his eyes began to twinkle.
-"look ye, young gentleman," said he, suppressing his wish to chuckle, "if this is your wife's bed, i am sorry for you, for i give you my word she has not been in it to-night. but i confess i should like to know why your wife has a bed in my house."
-angioletto nodded gravely.
-"i should be the last person to deny your grace's right to all information. bellaroba is my dear wife's name, her country is venice, her duties are to be about madama lionella's person. my own duties are to be about hers, so far as i may."
-"fair and softly, my friend," said the duke, "not so fast, if you please. do you know that maids of honour may not marry without permission, and, in any case, may not be visited by their husbands during their service?"
-"magnificence, she was not married without permission. or rather, she was married before permission was needed."
-"eh, how may that be now?" said borso, tucking in his chin. "did she come here as signora qualcosa?"
-"she came here as bellaroba, magnificence. no one knows of our marriage but your grace and the holy virgin."
-"then you are not married, but should be. that is your meaning--eh?"
-"ah, by heaven, magnificence," cried angioletto, "we are the most married couple in the world!"
-"h'm," was all borso had to say to that. "and who made her of madama's court?"
-"it was your grace."
-"oh, of course, of course, man! but why the deuce did i do it?"
-"it was at the request of count guarino guarini, magnificence?"
-"eh, eh! now i recollect. ah, to be sure! that must be a very agreeable reflection for you at this moment, my friend," he said, with a sly look.
-angioletto took the equivoque with dignity, "i have perfect confidence in my wife, my lord duke."
-borso shrugged. "well, it is your affair--not mine," he said. then he changed his tone. "i think, however, we will come back to what is my affair as well as yours. be so good as to tell me how you came here."
-"upon my word," borso said, "this is a fine story i am piecing together! how long have you been of that trade, pray?"
-angioletto received this shot with firmness, even dignity. "i was formerly a poet attached to the court, magnificence. but when madama turned me away it became necessary that i should see my young wife; so i became a chimney-sweep for the purpose."
-the duke's mouth twitched too much for his own dignity. he pulled the bedclothes up to his nose, therefore, before he asked--
-"why did madama turn you away, sir?"
-angioletto, for the first time, was confused. he hung his head.
-"i hope your grace will not insist upon an answer," he replied in a troubled voice.
-borso looked keenly at him for a time. "no, i think i will not," said he. "are you the lad who sang me the caccia col falcone?"
-"the same, my lord duke."
-"i thought so. now, sir, to come back to this performance of yours, which i suppose is not the first by any means--eh?"
-"it appears to be the last, my lord," said angioletto ruefully.
-"i think it is the last," replied the duke; "for i hope you understand that i can have you clapped into gaol for it."
-"pardon, magnificence--he can do more. he can have me hanged for it."
-"i don't agree with you," said borso. "if my name were ferdinand of arragon, or sforza, or della rovere, yes; but being borso d'este, no."
-"your grace puts me to shame," said angioletto, with feeling. "i am to take it then--"
-"you shall take it as you please, my friend," borso rejoined, with his chin once more upon his clasped knees. "for my part i propose to take you and keep you under lock and key for a season--as at present advised."
-angioletto bowed, as well as one may who is sitting up in a very soft bed. his voice was quite meek.
-"i shall in all duty obey your grace's directions, and will leave behind me but one small request, which i am persuaded borso d'este will not refuse his prisoner."
-"and what is that, my good friend?"
-"it is the care for the person and honour of my wife, my lord duke," answered angioletto.
-this set borso rubbing his nose. he thought before he spoke again.
-"as for your wife's person, my man," said he, "it will be as safe in my dominions as all persons, whatever their ages or conditions. her honour is another affair. that is neither for me nor my laws, but for herself. and perhaps you will let me add that if to-night is a sample of her course of living, you are putting upon me a rather onerous charge."
-"my lord, my lord," cried angioletto here, "i will answer for my wife's honour with my last drop of blood. it is her person i cannot answer for if i am in prison."
-"i have told you that i will answer for her person, master poet. i would much rather leave her honour to you and your drops of blood. so you may go to the castle with a clear mind. to the castle, moreover, you shall undoubtedly go, if it is only to teach you that the possession of a wife is no passport to other men's chimneys. first, however, i will ask you to do me a small service, which is to go to my bedchamber and send me my gentlemen, my dresser, and my clothes. i am, you perceive, entirely at your mercy. you will follow these persons back to me here, and will then give yourself up as i shall direct."
-angioletto, out of bed by this time, knelt to the duke's hand.
-"i am your grace's servant," said he. he hastily dressed himself and went about the business he was bidden on.
-"madam the virgin," said borso, with a half-laugh, "that is a fine young man! if he had not made so free with my chimneys i would advance him. advanced he shall be!" he cried out after a while. "zounds! has not guarino made free with his wife? eh, but i fear it." he shook his nightcap at the thought. "a couple of days' reflection in a half light will do the lad no harm. he'll dream of his wife, or compose me some songs. bellaroba, he called her. i remember the jade--a demure, rosy-cheeked little cat, for ever twiddling her fingers or her apron-ends. those sleek ones are the worst. poor boy! i'll advance him. he shall be librarian, go secretary to rome or florence. i'll have him about my own person. by the sons of heaven, but he's as good as gold! ah, i hear him."
-the duke's gentlemen bowed themselves into the room, followed by the dresser.
-"good morning, my friends," said borso. "but where is my messenger?"
-"magnificence, he is at the door," said the usher.
-"bring him in, foppa, bring him in," cried the duke; "we know each other by now."
-angioletto was introduced.
-"master angioletto," the twinkling old tyrant said, "get you downstairs to the captain of the archers. say to him as follows: 'captain, my lord the duke begs you to conduct me surely to the castle, and keep me prisoner there during his grace's pleasure.' will you oblige me so far?"
-"i shall obey you exactly, my lord duke," said angioletto, making a reverence.
-ordeal by rope
-the prison chills made olimpia shiver, the prison silences made her afraid. the wavering moan of the page-boy, who had been tumbled on to a straw bed after his first bout of the question, drove home the reality of her situation, and made her sick. olimpia was one of your snug pretty women; she loved to be warmed, coaxed, petted; liked her bed, her fire; liked sweetmeats, and to see people about her go smiling. mostly, too, she had had her way in these matters, for she was a beautiful creature, smooth and handsome as a persian cat. jealousy, on this account, was a new experience; she had never suffered it before, did not realise it now. besides, it was over; she had killed her faithless lover. but the dark, the cold, the silence, the calm enmity of the dim walls--these were but an intensification of familiar discomforts. she had always been afraid of the dark, often cold, often quelled by quiet, made sullen by indifference. she hated all this, and felt it all, in spite of the glory of the captain's killing. it seemed more awful now, more unendurable than ever, because--she knew there was no good disguising it--because it stood for something else. ah, ah! she was in danger. so sure as she thought of this, olimpia's heart stood still, and then suddenly throbbed as if it must break. it surged up into her throat. her tongue clove to her palate, she felt the bristling of her flesh, could hear her heart quite loud making double knocks at her side. the page-boy moaned to himself through it all; a rat hidden somewhere bore him company by scratching most diligently at the brickwork. she could not hear anything of bellaroba--the only familiar thing in this vast black horror. the panic gained upon her till her head swam in it. she could not die! ah, never, never, never, by christ on his throne!
-borso had before him the deposition of the page-boy and the report of the watch. from the words of the first he suspected that both women were concerned--until he had heard the second. this was to the effect that the captain's head had been cut off.
-"no, no," said borso to himself, "i am heartily sorry for my young friend the chimney-sweeping poet, but i can't think him a fool. he would never have married a woman who could cut off a man's head. yet stay! it may be that she floored the captain and that the other rounded off the job with that gratuitous touch. she--that other--was eating walnuts when the watch came, i gather. she could have cut a dead man's head off, never doubt it. well, let us see, let us see."
-then it was that he gave the order: "bring the two women before me."
-he did justice ever in the open. a broad green field outside one of the gates served him for court. two gibbets and an open pit stood for the terror of the law; he himself, on a gilt chair under a canopy, for the majesty of it. the day was bright, breezy, and white-clouded. the poplars twinkled innumerably, the long este gonfalon flacked and strained in the wind. spectators with soldiery to hedge them kept a wide square about the plain. from their side the figures in the midst--the red, gold, and white about the pavilion, the steel of the soldiers, the drooping women between them--were about as real as a handful of marionettes. it seemed impossible such puppets could decide issues of life and death. but the red hangman and his machines were grim touches for a puppet-show.
-olimpia castaneve was brought forward first. she was more composed by now--the air, the sun, the cheerful colours of the court, had warmed her. she stood alone facing borso. he, at first glance, remembered every shred of her; but he betrayed nothing. there was no one more blankly cool in this world than borso on the judgment-seat.
-"what is your name, mistress?"
-"magnificence, i am well known in ferrara."
-"your name," thundered the duke, "by the face of the sky!"
-"did you cut off the head of the captain of lances, who was called il mosca?"
-olimpia was looking very handsome, and knew it.
-"magnificence," she said, "my hand is on my heart." it was.
-"what the devil has that got to do with it?" asked borso, looking about him for a reason.
-"serenity, if my heart were guilty, it would burn my hand. if my hand were red, it would soil my heart."
-"pouf!" said borso, and puckered his face. "stand back, castaneve. now for the little one. how are you called, baggage?"
-bellaroba shivered a very little, and looked solemn.
-"bellaroba, my lord."
-"very pretty; but i must have more."
-"there is no more, my lord. i am wife of angioletto."
-ten minutes passed; then angioletto came up between a detachment of men, unbound. he was not observed to falter throughout his course over the broad field; but his eyes were fever bright and colour noticeably high. bellaroba did not look up at him; her eyelids fluttered, but she kept her head hung, and as for her blushes they were curtained by her long hair. he, on the contrary, directly he had bent his knee to the duke, turned to where she stood, and, in face of the whole city, put his arms about her, and found a way to kiss her cheek. the broad ring of onlookers wavered; the twitches played like summer lightning over borso's face.
-"come here, angioletto," he said. angioletto drew near the throne.
-"you see now, my friend," the duke continued in a low voice, "what may happen to one's wife if she keeps not her bed o' nights. a certain captain mosca has been stabbed. more than that, his head was attacked when he had ceased to take any interest in it, and cut off. i ask no words from you, no comments, no adjurations, for you are a prejudiced party. your wife and this other woman between them have done the captain's business. mine is to find out how. stand aside now and listen."
-angioletto started, opened his mouth to speak--but the duke put up his hand. "young man," said he sternly, "i am duke of ferrara, and you are my prisoner. be good enough to remember that."
-angioletto hung his head. borso turned again to bellaroba, but kept the other in his eye.
-"now, missy, what had you to do with captain mosca's headpiece?"
-"nothing, my lord."
-"what!" he roared. "did you not cut it off?"
-"no, my lord."
-"why not, girl? he was your enemy, i suppose?"
-"i think he was, my lord."
-"think! do you not know it? what did he want of you?"
-"he wanted to make me bad, my lord."
-"ah! so you stabbed him, eh?"
-"no, my lord."
-"come now, come now, girl. look at your frock."
-she did look and was silent.
-"well!" borso continued, after a sharp glance at angioletto. "did your husband cut it off?"
-"no, my lord, he wasn't there--but--"
-"he would have killed him, my lord."
-"oh, the devil he would! why?"
-"because he loves me, my lord."
-"h'm. well, miss bellaroba, where's your hand?"
-she held it out. "here, sir."
-"what a little one! well, put it on your heart. now, how does it feel?"
-"it jumps, my lord."
-"does it burn you, child?"
-"no, my lord; it's quite cold."
-"stand down, bellaroba. castaneve, come forward."
-his face just now was a sight to be seen--crumpled, infinitely prim, crow-footed like an ivied wall; but extraordinarily wise; with that tempered resolve which says, "i know evil and i know good, and dare be just to either." he was thinking profoundly; every one could see it. best of the company before him angioletto, the little tuscan, read his thought. his own was, "unless i fear justice i need not fear borso. dante saw the death of his lady to be just. courage then!"
-"mistress castaneve," said duke borso, "you declare yourself innocent?"
-"excellency, i do, i do! ah, mother of god!" the panic was creeping up olimpia's legs, to loosen the joints of her knees.
-the judge turned half. "mistress bellaroba, you also declare yourself innocent?"
-"yes, my lord," she said.
-"diavolo!" muttered angioletto, "he is not 'my lord'; he is 'magnificence.' i must scold her for this afterwards."
-"the position of affairs is this," said the duke, aloud. "one of these prisoners is guilty of the deed, and the guilty one is the liar. now, i will not put an innocent person to death if i can avoid it; and i will not put these women to the question, because i should wring a confession of guilt from each, and be no more certain than i was before. i may have my own opinion, and may have proved it on various grounds. that again, i do not care to obtrude. i do not see that i can better the precedent set me by a very wise man and patriarch, king solomon of zion. let the women judge each other. my judgment is that the innocent of these two shall hang the guilty."
-the bystanders were silent, till one man shivered. the shiver swept lightly through the company like a wind in the reeds, and ran wider and wider till it stirred the farthest edge of the field. all eyes were upon the prisoners. borso's blinked from below his shaggy brows, young teofilo calcagnini's were misty, angioletto's hard and bright. bellaroba had been motionless throughout, except when her lips moved to speak; she was motionless now. but olimpia was panting. the unearthly quiet was only broken by that short sound for ten minutes.
-"bellaroba," then said the duke, "what say you? you declare that you are innocent. will you hang the guilty and go free?"
-for the first time she looked up, but not at her judge. it was at angioletto she looked, angioletto at her.
-"no, my lord, i cannot," said bellaroba in the hush. the wind shivered the reeds again, then fainted down.
-"castaneve," said the dry voice, "what say you? you declare that you are innocent. will you hang the guilty and go free?"
-the drowning olimpia threw up her hands to clutch at this plank in the sea-swirl. free! o god! the word turned her.
-"magnificence, i must, i must, i must!" she wailed, and fell a heap to the ground. bellaroba covered her eyes. teofilo calcagnini shook the tears from his. borso sat on immovably, working his jaws.
-it is at this point that the conduct of angioletto touches the sublime--a position never accorded by posterity to his verse. it proves him, nevertheless, the greater artist to this extent, that he was equally the slave of the idea, though working in more intractable stuff: himself, namely; his own little heart throbbing in his own young body. therefore he deserves well of posterity, which finds his verses thin. said angioletto: "yes, bellaroba is my adorable wife, loved beyond all women, deserving beyond all price. yet if she killed the captain she is guilty of death, and the sentence is just whoever perform it. and if, being guiltless, she is hanged by the guilty, the action will glorify her; for it is the price she pays for clean hands."
-then, in the midst of that waiting assembly, he called the girl to him by her name, took her face in both his hands and kissed it very tenderly, smiling all the time through his quick tears.
-"my dear little heart," said he, "your husband is proud of you. all that you have done is admirable in this black business. in a very short time i shall see you again. though it is a higher flight than the schifanoia chimney, it is quicker done. trust me, bellaroba; you know i have never failed you yet."
-he could say no more, but took her in his arms and held her there, speechless as he was with inspiration. she, seeming to burn in the fire that consumed him, lay quite still, neither sobbing any more, nor shivering. so they clung together for a little. then angioletto lifted up his face from her cheek, and put her gently away from him.
-"let justice be done, excellency," he called out in his shrill boy's voice, "we have said our say to each other."
-"justice shall be done. the innocent has condemned the guilty: let that woman be hanged. we have learned the value of clean hands this day. mistress bellaroba, you have a man in ten thousand; angioletto, my friend, you have what you deserve, a woman in ten million. it is not fair that the worth of you two should be known only to me and the blessed virgin; you shall tell it now to a priest. come along, and let me have the whole story with my breakfast."
-thus duke borso did judgment for his good town of ferrara in times very remote from our own. the ferrarese used to say that it needs a sound lawyer to know how to break the laws.
-the substance of a dream
-translated from the original manuscript
-f. w. bain
-mix, with sunset's fleeting glow, kiss of friend, and stab of foe, ooze of moon, and foam of brine, noose of thug, and creeper's twine, hottest flame, and coldest ash, priceless gems, and poorest trash; throw away the solid part, and behold--a woman's heart.
-the inexpressibly gentle genius
-my own mother
-i could almost persuade myself, that others will like this little fable as much as i do: so curiously simple, and yet so strangely profound is its delicate epitome of the old old story, the course of true love, which never did run smooth.
-and since so many people have asked me questions as to the origin of these stories, i will say a word on the point here. where do they come from? i do not know. i discovered only the other day that some believe them to have been written by a woman. that appears to me to be improbable. but who writes them? i cannot tell. they come to me, one by one, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, all together: i see them in the air before me, like a little bayeux tapestry, complete, from end to end, and write them down, hardly lifting the pen from the paper, straight off "from the ms." i never know, the day before, when one is coming: it arrives, as if shot out of a pistol. who can tell? they may be all but so many reminiscences of a former birth.
-the substance of a dream is half a love-story, and half a fairy tale: as indeed every love-story is a fairy tale. because, although that unaccountable mystery, the mutual attraction of the sexes, is the very essence of life, and everything else merely accidental or accessory, yet only too often in the jostle of the world, in the trough and tossing of the waves of time, the accidental smothers the essential, and life turns into a commonplace instead of a romance. and so, like every other story, this little story will perhaps be very differently judged, according to the reader's sex. the bearded critic will see it with eyes very different from those with which it may be viewed by the fair voter with no beard upon her chin; for women, as the great god says at the end, have scant mercy on their own sex, and the heroine of the story is a strange heroine, an enigmatical mona lisa, so to say, who will not appeal to everybody so strongly as she does to the moony-crested deity, when he sums her up at the close. i venture, with humility, to concur in the opinion of the deity, for she holds me under the same spell as her innumerable other lovers. the reader, a more formidable authority even than the god, must decide: only i must warn him that to understand, he must go to the very end. he will not think his time wasted, if he take half the delight in reading, as i did, in transcribing, the evidence in the case. only, moreover, when he closes the book will he appreciate the mingled exactitude and beauty of its name: for no story ever had a name which fitted it with such curious precision as this one. for the essence of a dream is always that along with its weird beauty, it counters expectation, often in such queer, ludicrous, kaleidoscopic ways. so it is, here.
-many bitter things, since the beginning, have men said of women, though neither so many nor so bitter, as the witty frenchman cynically remarks, as the things women have said of one another. poor eve has paid very dear for that apple: the only wonder is, that she was not made responsible also for the flood: but we have not got the whole of that story: noah's wife may have dropped some incriminating documents into the water, for the higher criticism to unearth by and by: the eternal feminine may have had a hand in it after all, as she is generally to be found somewhere behind the scenes, wherever mischief brews for mortal man. she comes down the ages, loaded with accusations; and yet, somehow or other, they do not seem to have done her much harm. and the reason is, that she possesses, in supreme perfection, the art of disarming her antagonist, having been very cunningly constructed by the creator for that very purpose: she is like a cork; she will not drown, under any flood of charges: she floats, quand même: (two words that she might very well take, like the inimitable sarah, for her motto:) so that, be as angry as you please with her, you generally find yourself not only unable to condemn her, but even ready to beg her pardon, and rather glad, on the whole, to get it. it is a hopeless case. and all the more, because no woman ever lived, bad or good, who could be got to understand what is meant by "playing cricket": you cannot make her keep the rules in any game: she plays to win, like a german, and invariably cheats, if she can: international law counts, only as long as it is for and not against her: if you find her out, and scold her, she pouts, and will not play. and then, if, as is commonly the situation, you want her to play, very badly, what are you to do? yes, it is a hopeless case.
-and yet, if we look into the matter with that stern impartiality which its public importance demands, we may perceive, that though there is, it must be candidly owned, an element of truth in the charges brought against her, they are founded, for all that, largely on misunderstanding. it is man himself, her accuser, who is very nearly always to blame. his intelligence as compared with her own, is clumsy: (it is the difference between the dog and the cat:) he does not realise the unfathomable gulf that divides her nature from his own, and for lack of imaginative tact, judging her by himself, he enormously overestimates the part played by reason in her behaviour. hence when, as she is always doing, she lets him down, he breaks out, (obtusely) into denunciation and reproach, taking it for granted, that what she did, she did, deliberately. but that is his mistake. women never act by deliberation, least of all in their relations with men. reason has hardly anything to do with it. a woman is a weapon, designed by the creator, who generally knows what he is doing, to fascinate the other sex: that is her essence and her raison d'être: the woman who does not do it is a failure, and she is nature's triumph and entelechy, who does it best. and this every woman knows, by instinct, and feels, long before she knows it, almost as soon as she can stand upon her feet: consequently, no artificially elaborated compliment, no calculated flattery, ever touches her so near, as it does, when she perceives that her personality tells, acts like a charm, on any given man: a point about which no woman ever blunders, as a man often so ridiculously does about himself: she invariably detects, by unerring instinct, when her arrow hits its mark. and this involuntary homage she finds so irresistibly delectable, going as it does down to the very depths of her being, and endorsing it, that she literally cannot deny herself the pleasure of basking in it, making hay, so to say, while her sun shines, revelling in the consciousness of her power all the more delicious because she knows only too well that she must lose it later on, as youth flies: old age, i.e. the loss of her charm, being every woman's ogre, the skeleton in her cupboard, which she dreads far more than death, just as the only disease which she shudders to face is the smallpox, for a similar reason. and so, when she finds her spell working, she lets herself go: never dreaming what interpretation her victim puts on her behaviour: and then, all at once, she awakes to discover with what fire she was ignorantly playing. and then it is, that she recoils, on the verge: and then it is, that thwarted in the very moment that he deemed triumph secured, the baffled lover falls into fury and abuse, because he imagines her to have been all along clearly aware of what she was about, which is exactly what hardly one woman in a million does. not being a man, she does not understand: her end is only his beginning: his object is possession, still to come: hers is already gained in the form of the tribute to her charm: she was only playing (every woman is a child), he was in deadly earnest, and took her purely instinctive self-congratulation for a promise deliberately made. suddenly illuminated, she lets him down abruptly with a bump, all the harder that she never meant to do it (the coquette does: but she is a horrible professional, methodising feminine instinct, for prey: a psychological ghoul, feeding on souls instead of bodies, and deserving extermination without benefit of clergy). the real crime of woman is not so much a crime as a defect: she is weak, as all the sages know, and all languages prove, though "democracy" ignores it; it is her strength, and half her charm, that she cannot stand alone, like a creeper. but that is why you cannot depend on her, good or bad. irresolution is her essence: she will "determine" one way, and act in another, according to the pressure. instinct, inclination or aversion, vanity, emotion, pity or fear, or even mere chance: these are her motives, the forces that move her: reason counts with her for absolutely nothing, a thing like arithmetic, useful, even indispensable, but only for adding up a grocer's bill, or catching a train. it has literally nothing to do with her heart. there is no folly like the folly of supposing that it has: yet on this folly rest most of the accusations against her. reduce her to a rational being, and you degrade her to the level of an inferior man. but she is not his inferior: she is his dream, his magnet, his force, his inspiration, and his fate. take her away, and you annihilate him: othello's occupation's gone. nine-tenths of the great things done in the world have been done for a woman. why? exactly because she would burn down a street to boil her baby's milk. no rational being would do that: but we all owe our lives to it.
-and hence, misogyny is only a pique. to fall foul of the sea, like xerxes, when it wrecks your ambitions, is to behave as he did, like a spoiled child, without the child's excuse. "if you burn your fingers, is the flame to blame?" you should have known better. when aristotle was reproved, by some early political economist, for giving alms to a beggar, he replied: i gave not to the man, but humanity. admirable retort! which is exactly in point here. when she requited your homage with such encouraging smiles, it was not you but the man in you, that appealed to her. and because you are a man, are you necessarily the man? not at all. and argument is mere waste of time: reason is not the court of appeal. if of herself she will not love, nothing can make her. yet why draw the poet's ungallant conclusion? why should the devil take her? because she was weak (were you not weak?) is she therefore to be damned beyond redemption? because flattery was sweet, must she give herself away to every male animal that confesses the spell? surely that is not only harsh, but preposterous, even outrageous. are you sure that your merit is worthy of such generosity?
-and yet, here is the human catastrophe. why did the creator scatter his sexual attraction so anomalously that it is so rarely reciprocated, each lover pursuing so often another who flies him for a third, as in midsummer night's dream, an imbroglio oddly enough found in a little poem identical in the greek moschus and the hindoo bhartrihari? was it blunder or design? why could he not have made action and reaction equal and opposite, as they are in mechanics? for if affection could not operate at all, unless it was mutual, there would be no unhappy, because ill-assorted, marriages. what a difference it would have made! had mutual gravitation been the law of the sexes, as it is of the spheres, this earth would never have stood in need of a heaven, since it would have existed already: for the only earthly heaven is a happy marriage. as it is, even when it is not a hell, a marriage is only too often but an everlasting sigh.
-and not marriage only, but life. for here lies the solution of a mystery that has baffled the sages, who have failed to discover it chiefly because they have blinded themselves by their own theological and philosophical delusions, idealism and monotheism. why is it, that gazing at nature's inexhaustible beauty, thrown at us with such lavish profusion in her dawns and her sunsets, her shadows and her moods, in the roar of her breakers and the silence of her snows, the gloom of her thunder and the spirit of her hills, the blue of her distance and the tints of her autumns, the glory of her blossom and the dignity of her decay, her heights and her abysses, her fury and her peace--why is it, that as we gaze insatiably at these never ending miracles, we are haunted by so unaccountable a sadness, which is not in the things themselves, for nature never mourns, but in some element that we ourselves import? for if the soul be only nature's mirror, her looking-glass, whence the melancholy? it is because beneath our surface consciousness, far away down below, in the dark organic depths that underlie it, we feel without clearly understanding that, as the hindoos put it, we have missed the fruit of our existence, owing to our never having found our other half. for every one of us, so far from being a self-sufficient whole, an independent unity, is incomplete, requiring for its metaphysical satisfaction, its complement, apart from which it never can attain that peace which passeth all understanding, for which it longs obscurely, and must ever be uneasy, till it finds it. for just as no misfortunes whatever can avail to mar the bliss of the man who has beside him the absolute sympathy of his feminine ideal, so on the other hand no worldly success of any kind can compensate for its absence. all particular causes of happiness or misery are swallowed up and sink into insignificance and nullity compared with this: this present, they disappear: this absent, each alone is sufficient to wreck the soul, fluttering about without rudder or ballast on the waves of the world. duality is the root, out of which alone, for mortals, happiness can spring. and the old hindoo mythology, which is far deeper in its simplicity than the later idealistic pessimism, expresses this beautifully by giving to every god his other half; the supreme instance of which dualism is the divine pair, the moony-crested god and his inseparable other half, the daughter of the snow: so organically symbolised that they coalesce indistinguishably into one: the arddanárí, the being half male half female, he whose left half is his wife. that is the true ideal: cut in two, and destroyed, by the dismal inhuman monotheism of later sophistical speculation.
-the sunset was like every other sunset, the garment of a dying deity, and a gift of god: but it had a special peculiarity of its own, and it was this strange peculiarity that arrested the attention of the child. for children are little animals, terram spectantia, taking sunsets and other commonplaces such as mother, father, home, furniture and carpets, generally for granted, being as a rule absorbed in the great things of life, that is, play. this child was very diligently blowing bubbles, occasionally turning aside up a by-path to make a bubble-pudding in the soap-dish: the ruckling noise of this operation possessing some magical fascination for all childhood. and in the meanwhile, yellow dusk was gradually deepening in the quiet air. presently the tired sun sank like a weight, red-hot, burning his way down through filmy layers of indian ink. the day had been rainy, but the clouds had all dissolved imperceptibly away into a broken chain of veils of mist, which looked with the sun behind them like dropping showers of liquid gold, or copper-coloured waterfalls: while underneath or through them the lines of low blue hills showed now half obscured, now clear and sharp in outline as if cut with scissors out of paper and stuck upon the amber background of the sky. and then came the miracle. right across the horizon, a little higher than the sun, a long thin bar of cloud suddenly changed colour, becoming rich dark purple, and all along its jagged upper edge the light shot out in one continuous sheet of bright glory to the zenith, while below there poured from the bar a long cascade, a very niagara of golden mist and rain, as if the flood-gates of some celestial dam had suddenly given way, and all the precious stuff were escaping in a cataract through the rift, in one gigantic plunge, to be lost for ever in some bottomless abyss.
-suddenly, the dead silence struck me: my ear missed the "ruckle," and the occasional exclamations of delight. i turned abruptly, and glanced at the child. she was standing still as a stone, with one hand just in front of her holding the forgotten pipe, arrested on the way to her mouth, as the heavenly vision struck her: rapt, lost in her eyes, which were filled with wonder to the brim, open-mouthed, entranced, with a smile on her lips of which she was totally unconscious, faint, involuntary, seraphic, indescribable. the ecstasy of union had swallowed her: she was gone. i called her by her name: she never heard: her soul was away at the golden gates.
-and i said to myself, as i gazed at her with intense curiosity, mixed with regret that i was not raffael, so marvellous was the picture: this, this is the wisdom of the sages, the secret of plotinus and the buddhists: this is nirwána, moksha, yoga, the unattainable ecstasy of bliss, the absolute fruition, which men call by many names: the end towards which the adult strives, in vain, to recover what he lost by ceasing to be a child: a child, which is sexless, knowing as yet nothing of the esoteric dissatisfaction of the soul that wants and has not found. aye! to reach the mystic union, the absolute extinction of the knower in the all; to lose one's self in infinity, without a remnant of regret; to attain to the unattainable, the point of self-annihilation where all distinction between subject and object, something and nothing, disappears, it is necessary to be a child: to be born again. rebirth! the key to the enigma of unhappiness lies there!
-and after a while, as i watched her, she came back to herself. our eyes met: and she looked at me long, with a far-off expression that i could not define. and at last, she gave a little sigh. daddy, she said, why does the golden rain never fall here? our rain is always only common rain.
-and i said solemnly: little girls are the reason why. but she didn't understand. she looked at me reproachfully with puzzled eyes--such great, grey, beautiful, sea-green eyes!--and then drew a long breath. and she went back to her bubbles, and together we watched them go as they floated away into the valley, wild with excitement as to whether my bubble or her bubble would go farthest before it burst--till the rhadamanthine summons came, and the bubble-blower went to bed.
-the vignette i owe to the artistic genius of my friend, arthur hight.
-on the banks of ganges
-and then, párwatí burst into tears. and she exclaimed: out of my sight, thou clumsy one! for i cannot bear to see thee. and she turned away, sobbing. and maheshwara looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and he said to himself: now, then, i must do something to console her for the elephant, and bring back her good humour. for ill humour in a woman spoils all. and presently he said: come now, enough! for nandi has gone off in disgrace, sufficiently punished by banishment for a time, and very sad to have been the unwitting cause of thy distress. and let us roam about awhile, in search of something new, that may help to obliterate recollection, and change thy gloom into a smile.
-and he took the goddess in his arms, and set her as she sobbed upon his knee, and rose from the peak of kailàs, and shot like a falling star down into the plain below. and coming to haradwára, where gangá issues from the hills, he began to follow the holy stream down its course, gliding along just above it like a cloud that was unable to refrain from watching its own beautiful reflection in the blue mirror of her wave. and so they went, until at last they reached an island that was nothing but a sandbank in the very middle of the river, covered with crocodiles lying basking in the sun. and then he said: see! we will go down, and rest awhile among the crocodiles on this sand, whose banks resemble nothing so much as the outline of thy own graceful limbs. and umá said tearfully: pish! what do i care for crocodiles, that sit for hours never even moving, like a yogí in a trance?
-then said the cunning god: none the less, we will go down: for it may be that the island contains something besides its crocodiles. and as they settled on it, he said again: did i not say we should find something? for yonder it lies, and it is a very great curiosity indeed. and now, canst thou tell me what it is?
-and she looked at it with scrutiny, and presently she said: i can tell this only, that it must have been in the water for a very long time, before it was washed up at last upon this bank by the river's flood: since it is but a shapeless lump, covered with sand and rust and dirt. who but thyself could even guess what it might be? and maheshwara said: it has had a very long journey, and been not only in the river, but in a crocodile too. for crocodiles swallow everything. and long ago, this was carried by a man, who was drowned in another stream by the upsetting of his boat, and became with all he carried the prey of an old crocodile, which died long ago, and rotted away, letting this at last escape out of its tomb, and roll along, till at last it got into the ganges, and was thrown up here in the rainy season, only the other day. and when at last the water sank, lo! there it lay, as it has lain until this moment, as if expecting thy arrival, to provide thee with entertainment. and when all is over, thou wilt very likely bless nandi, instead of cursing him; since but for his awkwardness in rolling on thy elephant, thou wouldst never have known anything about it.
-and párwatí said peevishly: where is the entertainment in this foolish lump of flotsam, of which thou hast related the adventures without ever saying what it is?
-and then, the goddess suddenly threw her arms about his neck, and hid her face on his breast. and she said: what is the use of trying to hide anything at all from thee? read. but for all that, i will go to sleep, if i choose. and the moony-crested god said with a smile: aye! but thou wilt not choose.
-and then he began to read, throwing away the leaves as they ended, one by one into the stream, which carried them away. and the crocodiles all lay round him in a circle, worshipping their lord, as he read.
-the heart of a woman
-and the daughter of the snow exclaimed, in wrath: why hast thou stopped, to tell me the end of the story, before even reaching the beginning?
-what i have told thee does not matter in the least; what matters is the queen, for she was the most extraordinary of all women, past, present, or to come.
-and párwatí said: let the letter speak for itself: and if thou hast anything to say, keep it for the end. for nothing is more unendurable than a commentary upon a text which is unknown.
-and maheshwara said: thus the letter continues:--for there is not room in one world for us both. and well thou knowest the reason why. for the queen told me, the very last time that i saw her, that it would be the very last time, as indeed it was. and when i asked why she would see me no more, she said, that thine was the order, to send me away. dog! was she thine to command, or was i? and yet, i knew very well, it was all thy doing, before ever she told me. for never would she have behaved as she did, had she not been pushed from behind: and the very first time that we met, when she told me of thee, i understood, and foresaw, and expected, the very thing that has happened, looking to find thee hiding behind her, to rid thee of a rival whom thou hadst not the courage openly to face. and dost thou dare to condemn me for doing the very same thing thou wast doing thyself? was not my claim to love her as good as thy own? or what, o cowardly dastard, does that man deserve, who screens himself behind the clothes of a woman to strike at a foe? i will answer the question, and show thee, by ocular proof, very soon. but now in the meantime, i will open thy eyes, and tell thee, from the very beginning, all that took place. and thou shalt learn how i stole her away from thee, in spite of thee, as presently i will come to rob thee also of thy life. and i will embitter thy life, and poison it, first: and then i will take it away.
-and i turned round, and looked, and lo! there was a lady, looking at me with a smile. and she was standing so absolutely still, that she resembled an image made of copper, for exactly like the lotuses, she was all red in the rays of the sun, and her dark clothing shone like the leaf of a palm seen at midnight in the glow of a fire. and her hair was massed like that of an ascetic high over her brow, and on its dull black cloud there shone a gem that resembled a star, shooting and flickering and changing colour like a diamond mixed with an opal: while underneath, her eyes, that resembled pools filled with dusk instead of water, were fixed on me as if in meditation, as if half in doubt as to whether i was i. and yet her lips were smiling, not as if they meant to smile, but just because they could not help it, driven by the sweetness of the soul that lay behind them to betray its secret unawares. and the perfect oval of the outline of her face was lifted, so to say, into the superlative degree of soft fascination by a faint suggestion of the round ripeness of a fruit in its bloom, as if the creator, by some magical extra touch of his chisel, had wished to exclaim: see how the full loveliness of a woman surpasses the delicate promise of a girl! and she was rather tall, and she stood up very straight indeed, so straight, that my heart laughed within me as i looked at her, for sheer delight, so admirably upright was the poise of her figure, and yet so round and delicious was the curve of her arms and her slender waist, that rose as if with exultation into the glorious magnificence of her splendid breast, on which her left hand rested, just touching it very lightly with the tips of her fingers, like a wind-blown leaf lying for a moment exactly at the point of junction of two mounds of snow, as if to chide it very gently for challenging the admiration of the three worlds. and she stood with her weight thrown on her left foot, so that her right hip, on which her right hand rested, swelled out in a huge curve that ran down to her knee, which was bent in, and then turned outwards, ending in a little foot that was standing very nearly on the tip of its toe.
-and so as we stood, gazing at one another in dead silence, all at once she smiled outright, holding out both her hands. and at that very moment, the sun sank. and as i strove in vain to move, rooted to the spot like a tree, she faded away, very slowly, back again into the dark, growing little by little paler, till she vanished into the night, leaving nothing but her star, that seemed to glimmer at me from a great distance, low down on the very edge of a deep-red sky. and i strove and struggled in desperation to break the spell that held me chained, and suddenly i woke with a loud cry, and saw before me only the river, on whose bank i was lying alone.
-aye! then for the first time in my life, i knew what it meant, to be alone, which had been to me but a mere word, without any meaning at all. for as i sat by the river, i knew i had left my soul behind in the dream that had disappeared. and my heart was burning with such a pain that i could only breathe with great difficulty, and tears rose into my eyes, as it were of their own accord. and i said sadly to myself: now, beyond all doubt, i have seen some feminine incarnation of a fallen star, and unless i can find it somewhere on earth, i shall lose the fruit of being born at all. so one thing only remains to do, and that is to look for her, and keep on looking until i find her. for if only i was sure, that she was absolutely beyond finding, i would not consent to remain in this miserable body without her, even for a single moment. but she must be alive somewhere, and able to be found: for how could such a thing as she was exist only in a dream? for nobody could possibly have invented her, no, not even in a dream: and it must be that my soul went roaming about as i slept, and actually caught sight of her. and if the soul could find her, then, she is somewhere to be found, even by the body; but alas! the body cannot travel so easily as the soul: since, in his haste, the creator has forgotten to give wings to anything but birds. and yet, the only thing to do is to hunt for her incessantly, and go from place to place without stopping for a moment: since very certainly she will never be discovered if i remain here as motionless as a hill. so i must escape at once, on some pretence, without letting anybody know why.
-and as i said, i did: and this was the very reason why i broke with my relations, and became a vagrant instead of a king's heir. and every night i went to sleep yearning to dream the dream again, and yet it never came, though even in my sleep i seemed in every dream to be roaming everlastingly in jungles, and along roads that never ended, always on the very point of finding something that i never found. and strange! instead of driving me to despair, this constant failure actually gave me courage, for i said: if the dream had really been only a dream and nothing more, it would surely have returned, beyond a doubt: since, as a rule, dreams are only pictures in the night of what men think of in the day. and yet she never comes again, although i think of nothing else, all day long, and she was very certainly no picture of anything that i ever saw before. and clearly, it must be that my soul did actually find her, though now it has lost its way, and does not know how to return.
-and in the meanwhile, as time went on, the less i found her, the more i fell back upon my lute, which became the only confidante of my secret, and my sole refuge in my desolation. and i used to sit playing, thinking all the while of nothing but herself, so that she gradually became as it were the theme and the undertone of every air. and the listeners would say: ha! now beyond a doubt this player on the lute must be some incarnation of a kinnara, for the sound of his music resembles that of the wind singing in the hollows of the bamboos that wave over waterfalls on the sides of the snowy mountain: and his lute seems to sob, in the vain endeavour to express some melancholy secret that for want of words it cannot articulately tell, wringing as it were its hands of strings, for very grief: and i became a byword, and the fame of my music was carried into the quarters of the world, like the scent of the sandal that the breeze blows from the malaya hill in the region of the south.
-and then he went away. and instantly i forgot all about her, absorbed in my lute and the recollection of my dream.
-and instantly, that strange damsel broke into a peal of laughter. and she exclaimed: i, táráwalí? art thou stark mad? or dost thou imagine táráwalí would come to people's doors? ha! then, but as it seems, thy thoughts are already running on táráwalí. but let me come inside, for why should the whole street listen to our conversation? and she came in quickly and stood just inside the door, holding it by the handle, as if she wanted to make sure of her escape. and she said: art thou shatrunjaya, the lute-player? and i said: yes. then she said: thou deservest almost to be slain, for such an extraordinary blunder as to confound such a thing as i am with the queen. and yet, after all, thy chance arrow is somewhere near the mark: for if i am not táráwalí, at least i am her shadow, and never very far from her, being her confidential maid. and i have come to thee now with a message from herself: and it is this: táráwalí the pupil stands in sore need of shatrunjaya the master, to help her in disentangling the quarter-tones of a theme: and she will await him in her garden, as the sun goes down.
-and long i sat debating, balanced in the swing of indecision, as to whether i should go, or not. and at last i exclaimed: i will give her just a chance. and i drew my kattári from its sheath, and i said: now i will throw it into the air. and if it falls back upon its point, i will go and see her: but if not, not. and i threw it up, like a juggler, so that it spun very quickly like a wheel: and lo! it fell back, and stuck exactly on its point, standing straight up, as if on purpose to imitate chaturiká's forefinger, and saying as it were: see! thou shalt go, willy nilly, at sunset to the queen.
-and so, seeing that i must absolutely go, i dismissed it, as a thing determined, from my mind. and a little before sunset, i went out, and moved slowly through the streets, making for the palace with unwilling feet. and when i reached it, i stood still, opposite the palace gates, saying to myself: there is still just time to turn back and go away. for my reluctance grew upon me as i went, with every step, as if some presentiment that i could not understand was warning me beforehand of all that would come about. and i said: now then, i will give myself one last chance. i will stand here still, and count a hundred. and if in the time, i do not see an elephant go by, i will go away, bidding good-bye for ever to the queen. and then i began to count. and strange! at that very moment, i looked, and saw the ankusha of a maháwat, high up above the crowd, coming round the corner. and the elephant on which he sat passed by the palace gates, looking at me as it were with laughter in its little eye, and saying: i am just in time: while yet i had fifty still to count.
-so near i came, to never seeing táráwalí at all!
-and then, like a flash of lightning, recollection rushed into my soul. and my heart gave a bound, as if it wanted to leap from my body. and i exclaimed, with agitation: ha! why, it is the very lake, and these are the very lotuses, and the very sun that i saw in my dream! and even as i spoke, i heard behind me the low sweet voice of a woman, saying slowly: i fear that i have kept thee waiting for a long time: and canst thou forgive me?
-and instantly i cried out: the words! the words! and i turned sharp round, shaking like a leaf, with a heart that beat in my body like a drum. lo! there, just before me, stood the lady of my dream. and exactly as before, her dark blue garments shone like copper in the red sun's rays, and the star stood trembling in her high dark hair. and exactly as before, she stood up, absolutely straight, as if on purpose to throw into strong relief the undulating curves of her lovely form, and yet she differed from her own dream in this, that her soft round bosom was rising and falling like an agitated wave, as if she had been running very fast with nimble feet, that had stopped short, at the sight of me. and she held her pretty head, with appealing grace, just a very little on one side, looking at me with great sweet eyes, and lips that smiled, half-open, as if to let her breathe, saying as it were: i know that i am very guilty, and yet i am absolutely sure to be forgiven, since you cannot find it in your heart to scold. and somehow or other, there came from every part of her as it were the delicious fragrance of an extreme desire to oblige and please, that exactly corresponded with the excessive gentleness of the voice that had just spoken; and yet it was mixed in some inexplicable way with a very faint suggestion of authority, as though to say: all will willingly obey me; but those who will not, must. and one hand hung down by her side, holding a lute by a yellow string: while the other was playing with the beads of a necklace of great pearls, that lay on the ocean of her surging breast, so that it was carried up and down on its wave. and she looked, as she stood before me, like a faultless feminine incarnation of the essence of a bosom friend, turned into an instrument of supernatural seduction by the infusion of the intoxication of the other sex, and seeming as it were to say: how much dearer is a dear friend, that looks at thee with a woman's eyes!
-and i stood for a single instant, looking, with a soul that struggled to leave me, as if it had recognised at once, the moment it caught sight of her, whose claim it should obey. and i made a step towards her, stretching out both my hands: and all at once, i uttered a sharp cry, and fell at her feet in a swoon.
-and when i came back to myself, i opened my eyes, and saw her, standing close beside me, bending over towards me, and watching me with eyes that were full of an expression that was half anxiety and half compassion. and as i rose to my feet, in confusion, she said quietly: nay, it would be better for thee to sit still, for a little while, until thou art recovered. art thou ill, or what is the matter with thee? and i looked at her, making as it were sure of her being really there, and i said with emotion: nay, on the contrary, i am very well indeed, now that i find thee still here, as i never hoped to see thee. for i was terribly afraid, lest i should lose thee as i did before. and the shock was like a blow, for i have waited so long, to see thee again. and she looked at me with astonishment, and she said: before? again? what dost thou mean? when have we ever met before? and i said: in a dream. and it may be, even earlier, in some former birth. i cannot tell. but instantly, i knew thee again, and my heart stopped, unable to endure the unutterable joy, and the choking pain, and the suddenness of the surprise: for it came upon me like a thunderbolt, without warning. and as i said, i was white with terror, lest thou shouldst have taken advantage of my swoon, to disappear, as thou didst before. for if i had not seen thee, when i woke up, i should have died.
-and she looked at me for a while, with curiosity, and as if meditating over what i said. and then she sighed. and she said in a low voice, as if speaking to herself: this is my fault. alas! i foresaw that there would be danger in thy coming. and i exclaimed: danger! be under no concern. thou hast nothing at all to fear from me, or indeed from anything whatever, as long as i am near thee. then she said: nay, but thou dost not understand. it is not for myself that i was afraid, but for thee. and as i looked at her, as if to ask her what she meant, she said again: it is i who am the danger. for i know by experience that i always act on thy sex like a spell: only in thy case, the spell was very strong: so strong, as almost to destroy thee. and yet, it is not my fault, after all. blame me not, but rather blame the creator who made me as i am. and i exclaimed: blame him! nay, rather worship and adore him, for the wonder of his work: as thou art very certainly his masterpiece. what! wouldst thou have me blame him, for producing a thing that i could worship, instead of himself? and she shook her head slowly as i spoke, and she said: thou seest: it is exactly as i said. i am a poison to thee. and i looked at her, trembling with sheer ecstasy to look at her and listen to her: and suddenly i burst out laughing, with my eyes full of tears. and i said: poison! thou! ah! let me only drink such poison to its dregs! i ask for nothing more. and she said: come! let us sit on the step, and thou wilt recover. and when we were seated, she said, after a while: forget me, if thou canst, for a moment, and listen, and i will tell thee of the difficulty which led me to summon thee to my assistance.
-and then she began to speak to me of the musical intervals, while i sat gazing at her, drunk with admiration, and growing hot and cold by turns, never so much as hearing a single word she said, but listening only to the unutterable sweetness of the voice that spoke, that sounded in my ears like the noise of a waterfall coming from a distance to the ear of one that lies dying of thirst. and all at once, i broke in abruptly, without any reference whatever to her words: and i said: o táráwalí, they named thee well who chose thy name: for thou art indeed like the star on thy brow. and when i think how nearly i never came to thee at all, i shudder for sheer terror, to think i all but missed my opportunity, and lost thee for ever. and i owe thee an apology, for a crime, done to thy divinity in ignorance. aye! chaturiká was right, when she told me i was worthy of death, for confounding thee with her.
-and she said, with a sigh: thou art not listening to what i say. and then she smiled, with a little smile that shook my heart for delight, and she said: aye! chaturiká told me of thy error. but trust her not, when she speaks of me, for she is a flatterer. and yet, thy crime was venial, and one easily forgiven: for she is very pretty, as i am not. but we are wandering from the point, and wasting time, and talking nonsense. forget us both, and listen with attention, and i will begin all over again. and i swept away her beginning with a wave of my hand, and i exclaimed: it is useless, for i can listen at present to absolutely nothing. there is no room in my soul for anything but thee. speak to me of thyself, and i will listen never moving for the remainder of my life. and once again she sighed, lifting her hands, and letting them fall again, as if in despair. and she said gently: if thou absolutely wilt not attend, where was the use of thy coming at all? and i said: if thou wilt only send for me every day, at sunset, for a year, it may be that i shall at last be able to forget thee sufficiently, for a very little while, to attend to something else.
-and suddenly she laughed, with laughter that exactly resembled the laughter of a child, and she said: thou art very crafty indeed, but thy cunning plan would take a long time, with but little result. and even then, i am not sure i could rely on thy forgetting. and i exclaimed, with emphasis: thou art absolutely right, for the moment of oblivion would never come at all. but o thou miracle of a queen, tell me at least one thing about thyself. and she said: what? and i said: how can the king thy husband be so utterly bereft of his reason as to let any other man see his star? or is he, in very truth, actually blind? for i could understand it, if he really cannot see.
-and she looked at me with surprise: and she said slowly: dost thou actually not know, what everybody knows? and i said: i know nothing that everybody knows, being as i am a stranger. but this i know, very well, that if thou wert my pearl, i would take very good care to hide thee. for even an honest man might well turn robber, tempted by the sight of such an ocean pearl. and she said, very quietly: it needs no thief to steal the pearl, if indeed it be a pearl, which its owner cast away long ago as a thing of no value, for anyone to pick up as he passes by.
-and i stared at her in stupefaction, and i struck my hands together and exclaimed: art thou mad, or am i dreaming? and she said gently: it is true. and anybody but a stranger like thyself would have known it, without needing to be told. and she dropped her eyes, and sat for a while, fingering the string of her lute, as if on purpose to make herself into a picture for my intoxicated gaze: and suddenly she said: why should i make a secret of a thing that another will tell thee, if i do not, adding to the truth slanders that are false? it is better for thee, and for me, to learn from my own mouth what it is impossible to hide. there is a relation of the king, whose name is narasinha. and one day he saw me by accident, on the roof of the palace, and instantly he lost his reason, as all the men who see me always do. and not long after, the king was set upon by numbers in a battle, and within a very little of being slain; and narasinha saved his life, very nearly losing his own. and the king said, when all was over: now, then, o narasinha, ask me for anything i have, no matter what: it is thine. and narasinha saw his opportunity. and he shut his eyes, like one that leaps from a precipice to life or death. and he said: give me thy queen, táráwalí: or else, slay me, here and now, with this very sword that saved thy life. and then, to his amazement, as he stood with his head bowed, expecting death, the king burst out laughing. and he said: is that all? aha! narasinha, we were both frightened, thou and i: thou, of asking, and i, of what thou mightest ask. didst thou not think, i should slay thee, for thinking of her even in a dream? but my life were worth little, if i haggled with its saviour over its price. and táráwalí is thine, to do with as thou wilt. for i have only one life, whereas queens can be found in all directions, and i can very easily replace her, whenever i choose. only she must not leave the palace, for after all, she is my queen, and so she must remain, for everyone but me and thee. and so he gave me clean away to narasinha, in secret, but it is a secret that everybody knows, and tells in secret to everybody else. and i have gained by the exchange. for narasinha risked his life, twice, to win me, and the king would never have risked so much as his little finger to save the life of a hundred queens, and gave me away, like a straw, for the mere asking, not even stopping to consider, that in the straw he gave away his own honour lay hidden, which he gave away with me. and i could have forgiven him for giving me away, but who could forgive the king who valued his own honour less than his own life? and to the king i was never more than a necessary ornament, a thing like a sceptre and a throne, and a mere piece of royal furniture: whereas i am more than the life of narasinha, and the apple of his eye.
-and she looked at me with a smile, and she leaned towards me, and she said, with gentle mischief in her eyes: shall i tell thee thy very thoughts, and it may be, tumble down for thee the unsubstantial castles thou art even already building in the air? thou art marvelling at the king, for giving me so carelessly away: and thou art wondering, why i am telling thee about it: and last of all, it may be, thou art counting on my independence. is it not so? and i hung my head in silence, ashamed at being so accurately detected by the subtle penetration of this extraordinary queen. and presently she said, as if to console me for my confusion, with unutterable sweetness in her voice: come, do not allow delusive imagination to run away with thee, but curb him, and rein him up, and stop him, and be wise. for i belong, body and soul, to narasinha. and yet, for all that, i am my own mistress, and act exactly as i choose. and i see anyone i please, and at my own time, and go, like a wild elephant, wherever inclination leads me. and music is my passion, and i heard of thee, and sent for thee, and now that i have seen thee, i like thee. and now, shall we be friends?
-and as she ended, she put out towards me both her hands, leaning towards me, and looking at me with a smile, and eyes full of an invitation so irresistibly caressing that it swept away my self-control, consuming it like a blade of grass in a forest fire. and i started to my feet, and instantly she rose herself. and i seized her right hand in my own, with a grip that made it an unwilling prisoner beyond all hope of escape. and i exclaimed with agitation: friends! only friends! alas! o táráwalí, hast thou given thyself, body and soul, so absolutely to narasinha, as not to have left even the very smallest atom over, for me, now that i have discovered thee at last? o i have dreamed of thee, and thy sweetness, and thy eyes, so long, so long.
-and as i gazed at her, forgetting everything in the world, but my incontrollable thirst for herself, she sighed, and she said with compassion: poor boy! i did ill, to summon thee at all. thou art only drinking poison, and yet i know not any antidote, save only to bid thee go away.
-and i stood, bereft of my senses, and without knowing what i did, pulling her by the hand, that lay reluctantly in mine, endeavouring to free itself in vain. and half resisting, half consenting, against her own will, to be pulled, she came slowly towards me, leaning back, and looking at me with eyes that seemed to implore me to release her, and yet, unable to be harsh, no matter what i did. and at last, she reached me, and she closed her eyes, as i kissed her, with a shudder of delight that was almost terror, on the lips. and then instantly i let her go, and stood aghast at what i had done. and i stammered: forgive! for i did not know what i was doing.
-and she shook her head, and said very gently: nay, it is i myself who am to blame: since i might have known that this would be the inevitable end. but now, good-bye! for thou hast been here already far too long. and then, she hesitated for an instant, looking at me as if with pity; and she said with a smile: thou must absolutely go, and yet my heart is sorry for thee, for i understand, what going means, to thee. come, if thou wilt, i will allow thee, to bid me good-bye.
-and as she held out her arms, looking at me with a smile, my reason fled. and i caught her anyhow, with one arm round her waist, and the other round her neck, turning round unawares, so that suddenly i found her lying in my arms, gazing up into my eyes, with lips that trembled as they smiled. and i drew a deep sigh, and then i kissed her in a frenzy with a kiss that seemed as if it would never end.
-and then, i almost threw her from me, with a cry. and i turned and fled away, without looking back, and found, i know not how, the door, and knocked, and it was opened; and i got, somehow or other, into the street. and i went home like one walking in a dream, with feet that found their way of their own accord.
-and i threw myself on my bed, and lay, all night long, asleep or awake, i know not which, but gazing with eyes that as it were shone into the dark, and a heart burning with the fire of joy, and a soul lost in the ecstasy of recollection, saying to myself without ceasing: i have found her, i have found her: and the reality is sweeter far even than the dream. and morning arrived, as it seemed, even before night had begun, for time was lost altogether in the abyss of reminiscence. and i rose up, and stood still, with my eyes fixed upon the ground, going over every detail, and striving to recall every atom of the meeting of the day before. and i said to myself: ha! and fool that i was, i very nearly missed her, by refusing to go at all. and unless that lucky elephant had chanced to come along, i was absolutely lost. and yet, how could i possibly have guessed that táráwalí would turn out to be the lady of my dream? o joy, that she caught me just before i went away! o the star in her hair, and the sound of her voice, and o the unendurable torture of being absent for an instant from the possibility of the nectar of her kiss!
-and my knees shook, and i sank down, with my head buried in my hands, ready to cry, for sheer anguish, at the thought of my inability to get at her, and the horror on purpose to keep me in suspense, and torture my impatience. and then at last, she said: sunset! what! didst thou fear i was going to say farewell?
-and as she laughed again, i caught her by the hand, in exultation, and her laughter suddenly changed into a shriek. and she said, with more laughter: nay, thou hast come within a little of breaking my hand in pieces, gripping it like one that catches at a twig, to save himself from drowning. what! wouldst thou requite a benefit, by injuring thy benefactor? or hast thou again mistaken one hand for another? and again she began to laugh, looking at me slily, with her provoking pretty eyes: and she said: no matter, i forgive thee, for as i said, i understand. but o shatrunjaya the lute-player, what is it that has made thee change thy mind, since yesterday? or am i to go back and tell the queen, once more, that her music-master will not come?
-and she turned, laughing still, to go away. but i sprang forward, and caught her in my arms again, and said: nay, dear chaturiká, do not go. stay just a little longer, for art thou not her shadow?
-and yet once more she began to laugh, pushing me away, as she exclaimed: it is utterly impossible, o shatrunjaya, for i have many things to do, and very little time. and i am not sure that i care to be embraced, merely because i am the shadow of another. thou must contrive how thou canst, without me, to restrain thy insatiable appetite of embracing other people, till sunset. patience! thou hast not long to wait.
-and she went out and shut the door, and suddenly, just as it was closing, she opened it again, and put in her head. and she said: shall i tell her of thy anxiety to embrace me, or leave it to thee? dear chaturiká! ah! ah! nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away!
-and then she shut the door and disappeared.
-and as the door shut behind her, she left the whole room filled to the very brim with the red glow of triumphant love's emotion, and the atmosphere of the ecstasy of happiness; and the laughter, of which she seemed to be the incarnation, hung, so to say, in every corner of the room. and my heart sang and my blood bubbled with the wave of the ocean of anticipation that surged and swelled within me, so that i was utterly unable to sit still, for sheer joy; and my soul began as it were to dance in such excitement, that i could hardly refrain from shouting, resembling one intoxicated by the abruptness of a sudden change from certain death to the very apex of life's sweetness. and i said to myself: sunset! so, then, beyond a doubt, she has either forgiven me, or is willing to forgive. and who knows? for if she has forgiven once, she may forgive again: when again, it may be, she will allow me to say good-bye. and at the thought, my heart began to burn with dull fire, hurting me so that i could hardly breathe: and yet strange! the pain was divided only by a hair from a sweetness so intense that i laughed aloud, without knowing why, like one hovering on the very verge of being mad. and so i remained, drowned in the ocean of the torture and the nectar of love-longing, every now and then waking as from a day-dream to wonder at the sun, who seemed to dawdle on his way, as if on purpose to separate my soul from my body with impatience. but at last, after all, day began slowly to come to an end, and i set out for the palace, with feet that could hardly be restrained from running as fast as they could go.
-and at the gate the very same pratihárí was waiting, and she led me away, exactly as before, to the door, and opened it, and i went in. and i stood, listening to its sound as it shut behind me, hardly able to believe that it was not a dream, as i found myself once more in the garden that contained the queen. and i stopped for a while, for my heart was beating so furiously that i was afraid it would break. and i said to myself, with a sigh of ineffable relief: ah! now, then, i am actually here, once more. and o now, very soon, comes the agonising rapture of seeing her again. and i wonder where she is, and how i shall find her to-night. and now i must begin to hunt for a very sweet quarry. and suddenly i started almost running, paying absolutely no attention to the trees at all, with eyes that were blind for everything in the world, except one.
-and i stared at her, in utter stupefaction: and then, all at once i began to laugh. and i exclaimed: waste! i do not understand. what dost thou mean? or what was thy object in bidding me to come to thee at sunset? surely not merely to talk to me of music? and she looked at me gently, with surprise. and she said: of course. what other object could i have? and i looked at her in silence, saying to myself: can it really be possible that she means exactly what she says, and that this was the only significance of the word she sent to me? and suddenly i leaned towards her, with hunger in my eyes. and i said: then indeed, i was mistaken. it was not so, that i interpreted thy summons. alas! o táráwalí, the only music that i came for was the music of thy incomparable voice, and i thought it was thy own deliberate intention to send for me simply that i might listen to it again, as i gazed on its owner with adoration.
-and she looked at me reproachfully, and she said: again! alas! i imagined that thou wouldst ere now have recovered from thy shock of yesterday, and be able now to help me; and yet, here is thy delusion returning, as it seems, even worse than before. see now, forget altogether that i am a woman, and let us talk of music, like two friends. and i laughed in derision, and i exclaimed: forget that thou art a woman! ask me rather to forget i am a man. art thou blind, or hast thou never even looked into a mirror? dost thou imagine me less than a man, bidding me forget that she is a woman who stands before me, as thou dost, smiling, and bewildering my soul with her maddening loveliness, and the absolute perfection of her body and her soul, showing the hungry man food, and forbidding him to eat, and the thirsty man water, and requiring him to think of it as something it is not? or art thou all the time only playing, having no heart in thy body, or a stone for a heart? didst thou summon me only to torture and torment me? dost thou not know, canst thou not see, the agony of my suffering, standing close enough to seize thee in my arms, and yet kept at a distance, to listen to what i cannot even understand? i tell thee, i am drunk with thy beauty, and mad with intolerable desire for the incomprehensible fascination of thy charm, and dost thou dream of quenching my fire by talking about friends? i want no friendship from thee. i will be more than a friend to thee, or less: aye! i would give all the friendship in the three worlds for a single drop of nectar, mixed of thy body and thy soul.
-and as i spoke, she listened, putting up every now and then her hand, as if to stop me: and when i ended, she stood, looking at me in perplexity, as if utterly unable to decide what to do. and at last, i said: why dost thou say nothing? and she said, simply; i do not know what to say. and i laughed aloud, lost in admiration of the extraordinary simplicity of her incomparable reply. and i exclaimed: o thou wonderful woman, how can i find words to express what i feel for thee? and she said, as if with despair: i counted on thy recovery. and i said: count not on my recovery, for i never shall recover. and she said, with a smile: then, as it seems, i shall never have my music lesson. and perhaps it would be better, if it ended here, without ever having begun. and in any case, to-night, thy visit must of necessity be a very short one, since i have other business, unexpectedly arisen, to do. and so, shall we say good-night, without any more delay?
-and i said slowly: if i must go, i must: for i will obey thee, order what thou wilt. and yet, wilt thou not allow me at least to bid thee good-bye, as thou didst last night?
-and she looked at me, as i leaned towards her, as if with reproach, and she stood for a moment, hesitating, and as it were, balanced in the swing of her own beautiful irresolution. and then, after a while, she sighed, and put out her hand, as if with resignation. and i drew her to me with a clutch, and caught her in my arms, showering on her lips and her eyes and her hair kisses that resembled a rain of fire: while all the time she offered absolutely no resistance, allowing me to do with her exactly as i pleased. and when at last i stopped to breathe, looking at her with eyes dim with emotion, she said, very gently, with a smile, lying just as she was, fettered in my arms: hast thou yet bid me good-bye, to thy satisfaction? and i said in a low voice: nay, not at all. for thou hast not yet kissed me in return, even once. and as if out of compassion, she did as she was told: kissing me gently, over and over again, for i would not let her stop, with kisses that resembled snowflakes that burned as they fell.
-and at last, i let her go. and holding her two hands, i gazed at her for a while in adoration, while she looked at me as if patiently waiting to be released, with a little smile. and i said: now then i will obey thee, and go: for thou hast given me something that will keep me alive. and yet thou art cheating me by sending me away before the time, and thou owest me the rest. promise me, that thou wilt summon me to-morrow, or i cannot go away, even if i try. for if i go, not knowing when i shall see thee again, i will slay myself on thy palace steps.
-and she drew away her hands, very gently, and turned away, and stood looking down upon the ground, reflecting. and i watched her, as i waited, with anxiety: for she seemed to be meditating, not so much of me, as of something unknown to me, that stood in the way of her decision. and then at last, she turned towards me, looking at me, as it seemed, with pity. and she said, almost sadly, and yet with a smile: poor moth, thou wilt only burn away thy wings. thou little knowest, what eyes are on thee, or the danger thou art running by overestimating me, and coming here at all. and yet, the mischief has been done, and thou art greatly to be pitied, having fallen under a spell: and thou art suffering from a fever to which nothing can bring any alleviation but myself. and it would be far better to refuse thee, since to grant thy request cannot possibly do thee any good. and yet i cannot find it in my heart to deny thee what thou cravest, since i am myself the involuntary cause of all thy delusion, and can give thee such extraordinary pleasure, with so very little trouble to myself. and so, i will give thee thy desire, and to-morrow's sunset shall be thine.
-and i uttered a cry of joy. and utterly unable to control my emotion, i caught her once more in my arms, kissing her passionately with trembling lips. and suddenly i shuddered with delight, for i felt her lips kissing me again. and my senses reeled, and i murmured with emotion: ah! thou lady of my dream, art thou real, or am i still only dreaming after all? and she stood back, putting me away with her hand, and she said, gently: i am real, but thou seest me through the eyes of thy dream. for what is there, after all, in me, save what thou puttest there thyself, with the aid of thy fancy, and thy passion, and the recollection of thy dream?
-and i looked at her in silence for a while, and then i said: promise me yet one thing more. and she smiled, and said: thou art insatiable: and yet, what is it? and i said: send me chaturiká in the morning, just to tell me what i know already. for i shall be dying of impatience, and she is like a foretaste of thyself, and will help to keep me alive.
-and she laughed, and she said: ah! thou art very crafty, for chaturiká is far prettier than i. but i will send her for all that, to gratify thee to the full. and moreover, i am not jealous. but now, thou must absolutely go: for i must also. and she leaned towards me, with eyes that were full of an unutterable caress: and she said: to-morrow, at sunset, i will be thy dream. only remember, not to blame me, for anything that may happen when awaking comes.
-and i turned and went away, with a heart that trembled in the extremity of joy. and when i had gone a little way, i looked back, and saw her still standing, looking after me, with her two hands clasped behind her head, as motionless as a tree. and after a little while, i looked again, and she was gone.
-and when i got home, i threw myself on my bed, and instantly fell fast asleep, for i was worn out by emotion and fatigue: and my slumber resembled the deep peace of my own heart. and a little before the dawn, i woke up, and went out, wandering where my footsteps led me, with a soul lost in meditation on táráwalí, bathed in the nectar of reminiscence and anticipation, and yet puzzled by a doubt that it could not resolve. and i said to myself as i went along: how in the world can a queen like her, who laughs all other women to utter scorn, for beauty and understanding and gentleness and sweetness, and some unintelligible magic charm that is somehow spread all over her, and echoes in the tone of her delicious voice that makes every fibre of my heart tremble every time i hear it; how can such a queen as she show such extraordinary favour to such a thing as me? for i could understand it, if it were any other man. for then i should say that beyond all doubt, she actually preferred him to all others in the world, for sheer affection. and yet, as it is, it is quite incomprehensible. for, it might seem, that she must be in love with me herself, returning my affection: and yet it cannot be. for how could such a miracle as she is, the supreme achievement of the creator, and the concentrated essence of the charm of all her sex, think of such a one as me, even in a dream, as an object of affection? and yet, if not, how is her behaviour to be explained? for i might perhaps believe that she was merely playing with me for her own amusement, were she any other woman than exactly the one she is: but as it is, no one could believe it that had ever seen her for an instant: and she needs no other argument in her defence than every glance at her supplies. and it may be, after all, that she took up with narasinha merely out of pique, at being so unceremoniously slighted and cast off as a thing of no value by her booby of a husband, and, as it were, also out of gratitude to find herself appreciated at her true value, which she must very well understand notwithstanding all her own beautiful self-depreciation, which is an extra charm enhancing all her other charms: and afterwards, it may be, she has changed her mind, as women do, about narasinha, without being willing to admit it, even to herself; and come, only the other day, suddenly on me. aye! beyond a doubt, this would be the true conclusion, and the answer to the riddle, but for one consideration that makes it utterly impossible, that i am only i.
-and i exclaimed in delight: ah! haridása, thou art come in the very nick of time, the very man, at this moment, that i need most. get off thy camel, for a while, and come and sit beside me, and find me, if thou canst, an answer to a question that i cannot find myself. and so he did. and as soon as we were seated by the roadside, i said to him: haridása, listen. thou knowest me well. now tell me thy opinion: am i one that a woman might choose out of many for a lover?
-and haridása began to laugh. and he looked at me shrewdly, and he said: aha! shatrunjaya the lute-player, so this was thy preoccupation? art thou one to catch a woman's fancy? o shatrunjaya, why not? for art thou not a musician, famous in the world, and a man among men, into the bargain? all women love a giant, such as thou art. any woman of them all might do worse than fall in love with thee. and yet thy very question shows, that in this matter of women, thou art little better than a child, as indeed thou always wert. for even the deity himself can never tell what man any woman will prefer, or why: as how should he, seeing that she does not even know, herself? and there never yet existed any man whom some woman would not worship, let him be as ugly as you please, or even for that very reason: and yet, let a man be a very kámadewa, woman after woman will pass him by, without even so much as casting a glance at him out of the very corner of her eye. for a woman's affection depends on her fancy, and that is like the wind, that comes and goes and wavers how and where it will, without a reason that anybody can discover. and it is sheer waste of time to sit and wonder, whether thou art or art not a man that a woman might love. thou art both, or neither: for the only way to settle thy question is to try. and she will, or she will not, of her own accord. and now, who is she, this beauty who has set thee so knotty a problem to solve?
-and i said with indifference: there is no such beauty; for all my perplexity arose from the line of an old song: nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away.
-and haridása turned sharp towards me, and looked at me intently for a very long while, saying absolutely nothing. and we sat talking of other things till he rose to go away. and then, at the very moment he was mounting on his camel, he turned, and came back. and he said: listen! thou art hiding from me something that maybe i could startle thee by guessing: but no matter. keep thy secret: but listen to a piece of good advice, which may serve thee at a pinch. if ever thou wouldst have a woman prize thee, never let her see that thou settest any store by her. treat her as a straw, and she will run after thee as if thou wert a magnet: make thyself her slave, and she will hold thee cheap, and discard thee for another. for women think meanly of their sex, and utterly despise the man who places them above himself: since in her heart every woman longs to be a man, bewailing her misfortune in being born a woman, and praying all her life for one thing only, to be born a man in another birth. and one thing above all she cannot understand, how or why any man should make a fuss about any woman, as all men do: which, just because she is not a man herself, she cannot comprehend. and like jugglers, that are not taken in by their own tricks, women look upon men as mere fools, for being taken in at all. for a woman's charm, to a woman, is not only not a charm at all, but a trick, and a lure, understood, and utterly despised. so now, be a man, and whatever folly thou art meditating, at least beware of being guilty of the very greatest of them all, by doubting of thy own superiority of manhood to the womanhood of any woman, no matter who she be: and earning her contempt, by lying at her feet. and now, farewell! for i have business with narasinha.
-and at the name of narasinha, i pricked up my ears. and i said, with feigned indifference: who is narasinha?
-and haridása spat upon the ground. and he said: one, whom thou art lucky not to know: and yet, his name is apropos. for he is the queen's lover, and an instance in point: since he leads her by a string, just because he treats her as a trifle, and not, as all her other lovers do, as a gem not to be matched by any other in the sea. and yet he is not, like thee, a man among men, but a man among women. for just as a dancing-girl loves to be treated as a queen, so does a queen love to be treated as a dancing-girl.
-and then, all at once, he struck me on the shoulder. and he said, in a low voice: why didst thou start, when i named narasinha?
-and without waiting for any answer, he got quickly on his camel, and rode away, never looking back.
-and i stood, looking after him, with a startled heart, and then i went home slowly, saying to myself: how in the world did he guess my secret, and what did he mean? was there a warning in his words? and what is all this about the queen? did he ever see her in his life? for if he had, he would long ago have discovered that all his rules have exceptions, of which táráwalí is one: being not only the very gem beyond comparison that he spoke of with contempt, but a woman of women who very certainly never would despise any one at all, least of all the man who thought her exactly what she is, a star, far, far above his own muddy earth: a thing made of some rare celestial matter, differing altogether from anything to be found here below, fetched by the creator when he meant to make her from some abysmal intermundane mine, where ocean foam and lunar ooze and sandal-wood and camphor lie jumbled up together with the essence of all curves and smiles and whispers and soft kisses and sweet glances and irresolution and long hair. and the image of the queen rose up before me, laughing as it were in scorn at haridása, and utterly obliterating everything he said. and i said to myself in ecstasy: sunset will be here, very soon. and i reached my house, and looked, and lo! there was sitting at the door a rajpoot, covered with the desert's dust, and holding by the rein a horse that hung its head, trembling still, and white with foam.
-and as i came towards him, he stood up, and made obeisance. and he said: maháráj, thou art come at last, and it was time. and i said: what is the matter? then he said: thy mother sent me, and i have ridden night and day. the king thy father is dying, and every moment he may be dead. and now, if thou carest, either for thy father, or thy mother, or thy throne, there is only one chance for thee, to fly to them as fast as any horse can take thee, without the delay of a single moment. so my message is delivered, and the maháráj is judge.
-and again he made obeisance, and went away on foot, leading his horse behind. and i stood, looking after him in a stupor, like one struck by a bolt from heaven, in the form of his appalling news. and i said to myself: go i must, or my mother is ousted, and the ráj lost. and yet if i go, the sun will set in the queen's garden, and i shall not be there.
-and i pushed my door wide open, and went in, and sat down, with my face buried in my hands. and my own words sang in my head, over and over again: go i must, or the ráj is lost, and my mother ousted. and the sun will set in the queen's garden, and i shall not be there.
-and i stood up, and seized my hair with both my hands. and i groaned aloud, and said: alas! o chaturiká, what is a man to do, when two suns set, in opposite directions? and instantly, all the laughter died out of her face. and she looked at me with dark eyes, and she said: two suns! what dost thou mean? and i told her all, and she listened in silence, till i ended. and then she said, with a sigh of relief: ah! is that all? and i exclaimed: all? is it not enough for thee? and she said: i was terrified, by thy talking of two suns. for i began to think the queen had a rival in thy affection. and i laughed, in anger and derision, and i exclaimed: a rival! thou little fool! i am sorely tempted to beat thee, for daring to think anything of the kind, even in a dream. what! a rival! to táráwalí! thou art stark mad. how could she possibly have a rival in the three worlds? but what am i to do? and she said: it is thy choice, not mine. only when once a sun has set, who can tell, if it will ever rise again? and what am i to say to the queen?
-and as she stood, looking at me, for an answer, there rose into my recollection the image of táráwalí, leaning towards me in the moonlight, and saying: to-morrow, at sunset, i will be thy dream. and suddenly i exclaimed: go back to her, o chaturiká, and tell her that my only sun is the sun that sets in a queen's garden.
-and then, to my astonishment, that singular chaturiká suddenly threw herself into my arms, and kissed me without waiting to be asked. and seeing me look at her in perplexity, she burst out laughing, and she said with delight: ah! ah! so then, after all, there is a difference, as it seems, between chaturiká and táráwalí. no doubt some kisses are far sweeter, but the sun must set, ere the lovely digit of the moon rises, and i must do what i can meanwhile, to help thee to keep alive. it was her own order. and moreover she will not be jealous, and will not scold me when i tell her all about it on my return. and i said: nay, thou saucy little beauty, tell her with all my heart, and add, that her drug was efficacious, since sandal-wood and camphor turn everything that touches them into a little bit of fragrance exactly like their own. and take her hand, and kiss it, and say i send the kiss, like her message, by thy mouth, and here it is.
-and i caught her in my arms, and kissed her as she struggled, not willing this time to be kissed at all, exactly on her laughing lips, and then she went away.
-and so i mused, waiting all the time with fierce impatience for the sun to sink, till at last day came to an end. and then i rose in delight, exclaiming: at last, at last, separation is over, and now it is time! and i went very quickly to the palace, and found the pratihárí: and she led me away straight to the door, and opened it, and i went in.
-and then, once more, i stood still, listening in ecstasy to the door as it shut behind me, and tasting, as it were, for an instant the delicious promise that the dusky garden gave me, standing like a diver on the edge of ocean, just before he plunges in, knowing well that it holds a pearl. and i stretched my arms towards the trees, saying to myself: this is not like the other times, but far, far better: for to-night she will not ask me to give her a music lesson, but she said herself, she would be my dream. and i wonder how she will do it, and what she is going to do. and then i went on through the trees, looking from side to side, with a soul as it were on tiptoe with curiosity and anticipation. and far away through the trees i saw the red rim of the full moon rising in a great hurry as if like myself he was dying with impatience just to see her, and saying as it were: i am the only lamp fit to light her, and i am just coming in another moment, like herself. and i passed by her swing that hung drooping, as it were, sadly from its tree, because she was not there. and little by little, my heart began to crave for the sight of her, growing restless and uneasy, and saying to itself with anxiety: what if something had actually prevented her from coming, and the garden were really as empty as it seems, and she were not here at all. and then at last i reached the terrace by the pool, exactly where i saw her first, and looked round with eager eyes, and she was not there. and then, just as i was on the verge of sinking into the black abyss of disappointment, all at once she came out of the shadow of a clump of great bamboos, in which she had been hiding, as it seemed, just to tease me into the belief she was not there, in order to intensify the unutterable delight of her abrupt appearance. and she stood still, as if to let me look at her, between two bamboo stems, just touching them with the very tips of the fingers of each hand, and saying in her soft sweet voice with a smile: was i not right in choosing this as the only proper place for thee to meet the lady of thy dream, where we met each other first?
-and she stood quite still, as i gazed at her in ecstasy, lost in the wonder of my own eyes, looking back at me with her head just a little on one side, and her eyebrows just a very little raised, as if with appeal, and great soft sweet caressing smiling eyes. and then, after a while, she said, looking down: see, my feet are prisoners to-night, to do thee honour, as their lord, and they cannot walk fast or far, but it does not matter, as they will not be wanted, for i have a surprise coming for thee, by and by. but as to my arms, i thought it better to leave them without the encumbrance of any ornament at all. and she waved them gently in the air, and a little smile stole over her lips, and she said: it would only have been in the way, if the fancy should come upon thee to say good-bye in thy own fashion. and now, it was very difficult for me to know exactly what to do, so as to place the lady of thy dream before thee, since thou hast never told me what she looked like in the dream. and so thou must forgive me, if i have come in anything short of thy expectation, for i have done what i could. art thou satisfied with her, as she stands? for if not, i must call my soul to the assistance of its body.
-and i stood, unable to speak or move, gazing at her almost in a swoon by reason of the excess of my intoxication; and after a while, i drew a very deep sigh. and she came towards me, very slowly, as i stood rooted to the ground; and she put up her arms, and laid one hand on each shoulder, with a touch like the fall of a flake of snow. and she said: i know what is the matter: thou art spellbound by a return of thy original delusion. but it will leave thee, and thy senses will return to thee, once thou hast said good-bye. and then, seized with frenzy, i caught her in my arms, and suddenly she prevented me from kissing her by putting her hand over my mouth. and she said with a smile: wait! am i equal to chaturiká, for as it seems, thou hast been playing me false? and for all answer, i took her hand, and kissed it, and put it round my neck, and then fell to kissing her in madness, continuing for i know not how long, bereft of my senses by the perfume of her hair and the touch of her arms. and then at last, i took her face in my hands. and i said: away with chaturiká! thou knowest all, and art only jesting: and my soul quivers in my body at the sound of thy name. and she laughed, as i kissed her very gently on her two eyes, and she said: perhaps i know: and yet, i will not forgive thee for chaturiká, but on one condition. and i said: ask anything thou wilt: it matters not. then she said: look at me very carefully, and think ere thou speakest: and tell me, exactly what it is, in me, that chains thee so to me, which chaturiká and others are without.
-and i said: stand still, and let me look at thee, and think. and i put her away, and stood back, examining her very carefully just as she had wished, walking round and round her, and saying to myself: it is absolutely useless, for i know what to say without any need of looking, and yet i do not know if i can ever bring myself to stop, since she has given me, as if on purpose to delight me, a task more delicious than i ever had to do before. and all the time she stood absolutely still, patiently waiting till i ended, and looking at me every time i came round, with raised eyebrows and a smile. and at last, i could not endure it any longer, and i said: ah! come back into my arms, which hunger for thee, and i will answer. and instantly, she came and stood, listening attentively, and caressing my ear unawares, as she listened, with her hand. and i said: thy question is unanswerable, and my examination nothing to the purpose: since where was the use of looking at thy lovely body to find what is only to be found in thy soul, to which thy body owes the essence of even its own intoxication? for thy soul peeps out, from behind it, in the poise of thy head, and the straight erectness of its carriage, and the aroma of the royalty of sex that oozes, as it were, from its every gesture, mixed, in some unintelligible way, with a soft grace that seems to be all its own. but the spell thou art asking me to catch for thee looks from thy eyes, and lurks in thy lips, and murmurs in thy marvellous voice, which was silent all the while i was considering: and it is, some naive and submissive gentleness in the quality of thy soul, which turns all thy other perfections into instruments of delirium, and yet notwithstanding contradicts them all. for any other woman but thyself possessing even one of them would be proud, whereas thou dost not even seem to be aware that there is anything about thee other than the common. and as it seems to me, it is this, which is the core of thy irresistible fascination, giving to all thy particular elements of loveliness a kind of salt, that mixes with their sweetness to drive me mad.
-and she looked at me silently with meditative eyes; and after a while she said slowly: i wish i were a man, only for a moment, to judge of myself and thy answer: for in one way thou art right, since i cannot understand why all men seem to lose their reason, as soon as they see me. and i said: there it is again, the very thing i spoke of, in thy words: and it is so simple, and yet so indescribably delicious, that very glad indeed i am that thou art not a man, but a woman, and that it is i that am the man. and it would be a crime in the creator to gratify thy wish by making thee a man, who art the very essence of all womanly perfection and attraction. and for satisfaction of thy wish, look at thyself through my eyes, and thy wish is attained, since i am myself the very mirror provided thee by the creator for that very purpose. and so learn, by my mouth, that thy spell is something in thee that resembles the peace of a forest pool. and even to-night, all the while we have been together, thou hast been, and art, so curiously quiet, like the breast of a swan, bathing in the water of passion and emotion without even getting wet, and like the snow of kailàs, never melting even in the sun of noon.
-and again she looked at me with curiosity: and she sighed, as if to dismiss what she could not comprehend. and she said: see! the moon has climbed high, and is gazing on the lotuses, and i am tired of standing, and the time has come to give thee thy surprise. and she drew me away by the hand along the terrace, and down its marble steps, till we came to a great tree that hung down over the water like an umbrella, leaning from the bank of the pool, so that nothing could be seen through its wall. and she took me and turned me with my face to the water, and she said: stand here absolutely still, and do not look round, and i will bring thee thy surprise. and then she went quickly into the trees.
-and i stood waiting, exactly as i was told, listening to her steps as she went away, and wondering where she was going, and what she was meditating, and what the surprise was, when it came. and so as i stood, i said to myself: can i really be awake, or is it all only a long dream? for i seem to have been dreaming ever since i saw her first. and time slipped away, and still i stood, straining my ears for the sound of her steps returning, and dying to look round, but never looking, and haunted by a feeling that was almost terror, saying to myself: why is she away so long, and what if she never returns at all?
-and so as i stood, with my soul in my ears, turned as it were behind me, suddenly there came round the tree upon the water a great boat of the colour of a lotus leaf, turned up at each end like the neck of a swan. and it came straight towards me, and as it reached me, its boatman stood up, looking at me with a smile.
-and i started, and all at once i laughed aloud, for amazement and delight: and even so, i hardly knew her to be herself. for she had cast away all her deity, and turned herself into a chetí, resembling a fragrant essence of midnight without a moon, clothed with absolute simplicity in soft dead black, with her own dark hair for her only decoration, tied in a knot around her head like a cloud of misty intoxication, and floating about her shoulders in confusion. and she looked at me with questioning eyes that shone bright in the moon's rays, and said naively, with a smile that almost broke my heart in two: now i am within a little of being equal to chaturiká? is the maid a substitute for the queen that has disappeared?
-and as i gazed at her in rapture without giving any answer, she said again: see! now we will float for a little while among the moon-lotuses, before we say good-bye. and this is thy surprise. and it is a delight that i keep for myself alone, and very few indeed are privileged to share it: but to-night, i am the lady of thy dream, and i will not do my favours by halves: and so thou shalt be my partner. and this is my swan's nest, and my floating cradle, in which i do my dreaming: for i can dream dreams as well as thou. and now i am going to dream a little, and we will dream together. and come, for the lotuses are waiting for us.
-and when i awoke, lo! the moon was standing on the very edge of the western sky, and dawn was glimmering in the east. and the queen was gone! and i leaped out of the boat, which was fastened to the bank, and ran up into the garden, which was as dark and as empty of anything living as a tomb. and after looking for her a long time in vain, at last in despair i went away to the door, and knocked, and it was opened; and there stood, not the pratihárí, but chaturiká. and i said: chaturiká, what has become of the queen? and she said, with emphasis: forget the queen, and remember thy father: it is time.
-and i started, as if she had run a poisoned needle into my ears; for i had utterly forgotten all about him. and no sooner had i got out of the palace than i ran all the way home through the empty streets. and i found my horse waiting, and i sprang on him, just as i was, and i went out of kamalapura, making for the desert as if i were running a race with the god of death, to determine which of us should reach my father first. and yet as i rode, i was thinking all the time of one thing only, to return, quicker even than i went away, and listening to my heart that sang without ceasing táráwalí, táráwalí, as if keeping time to the rattle of the hoofs of the horse. and after a while, i began to say: if i am to return, it will have to be on another horse: for whatever else dies, or does not die, this horse will die, beyond a doubt, either at the end of his race, or it may be, even before.
-and as i said, so i did: and so it came about, that faint and tired and overcome, by hunger and thirst and the long journey and the fierceness of the desert sun, i began to reach my own city only as he was going down. and as i slowly drew near it, making all the haste i could, suddenly there fell on my ear a sound, coming to me from the city, that smote it like a blow. and i stopped short, to listen; and all the hair on my body stood erect. and i said slowly to myself: i have lost the race, after all, for they are wailing in the city, and it can be for one thing only, that it is widowed of its king. aye! i am too late. and i have killed my horse for nothing, since death has arrived before me, after all, having annihilated my competition, by taking my horse upon the way. and i have reached my journey's end, just in time to hear the wailing, as if death were jeering at me, saying as it were in irony: they must travel very fast who think to outstrip me.
-and i went on to the palace, never stopping at the gate to ask what i already knew. and they ran to warn my mother, and she came out of the women's quarters, and stood looking at me grimly, covered as i was with dust and perspiration, and almost ready to fall down, for sheer fatigue. and then she said: fool! thou art too late, and thy brother has the throne. and now thou art little better than an outcast, and hast lost thy father, and thy crown, and me.
-and i looked at her, and i said: when did the king die? and she said: sunset.
-and i uttered a shout of laughter, and threw my hands into the air, and fell at her feet in a swoon.
-and when i had recovered, in a day or two, i came, so to say, to terms with my loss and my condition: saying to myself: after all, my father had to die, whether i came to him in time, or not: and i could not have saved his life, by my coming, no matter when i came. and so, the only thing i lost, by coming late, is my ráj. but what do i care for any ráj, which, in comparison with táráwalí, resembles a mere pinch of dust, thrown into the other scale? away with the miserable ráj! as if another sunset with the queen would not be cheaply purchased at the price of all the kingdoms in the world! and i passed my days of absence in doing absolutely nothing but thinking of táráwalí, and waiting, with a soul almost unable to endure, till the moment of return. and i sent a secret messenger to kamalapura, saying to him: go to the palace gate, and ask the pratihárí for a chetí called chaturiká. and when she comes, tell her by word of mouth, so that nobody may hear thee but herself: greetings to the queen from shatrunjaya, who has lost his throne on her account, and does not care. and when the obsequies are over, he will return to kamalapura, on the night before the moon is full.
-and having sent him off, i waited, while the obsequies went slowly on, with a soul that almost parted from its body with impatience for an answer to my message that might help me to keep alive, saying to myself: she cannot send chaturiká, as she did before, since it is too far off for anything but a letter or a message, which will have to do instead. but neither a letter nor a message ever came: though in the meanwhile, my messenger returned with empty hands. and i tortured him with questions, but all he had to say was that chaturiká had listened, and bidden him to go away. and notwithstanding my bitter disappointment, i racked my brain to find excuses for them both, saying: i am a fool. how could i expect any reply, since after all i never put a question, and silence was the only answer to be given: and beyond all doubt, she is waiting till i come? and is it likely that she would trust a message to a man she did not know? she is keeping her answer to be sent in the form of a summons on the eve of the full moon, which was the only answer i was asking for. and yet, in spite of all that i could think of to cool the fever that burned in my heart, i chafed and pined, sick with anxiety and disappointment, and longing in vain for the thing that never came. and i said sadly to myself: well, only too well, she knew, that the very shadow of a sign of any kind, from her, would have set my heart dancing like a peacock at the first symptom of the coming of the rain. or can it be, after all, that she really did send an answer, which has somehow or other lost its way? aye! no doubt, it must be so, for she is kind, and could not bear to think of the misery she knew i must be suffering every moment that i am not by her side.
-and so, perforce, i waited, gnawing at my own heart, until at last the funeral ceremonies were over. and instantly, i took leave of my mother, and turned my back on my relations, and set off at a gallop for kamalapura, with my heart singing for delight, like an arrow from a bow.
-and when morning came, i arose, and went to and fro, singing aloud for joy, and saying to myself: now the moment of reunion approaches, and the miserable fever of separation is nearing its end, for the sun has arisen and is rushing to his home in the western mountain, and his race, and my desolation, will finish exactly together. and now, chaturiká is on her way, and will soon be here, looking like the dawn of my delight in a delicious feminine form. and she will look at me with her laughing eyes, and murmur, sunset, exactly as before: and exactly as before, i shall kiss her, and send her back to the queen. and so i waited eagerly, on the very tiptoe of expectation, with my eyes fixed upon the door. but day slowly travelled on, and yet she never came. and little by little, my delight slowly turned into perplexity, and anxiety, till at last, as hour succeeded hour, each longer than a yuga, my heart began to sink, lower and lower still, and i became actually sick with the agony of my disappointment. for the sun was indeed rushing down into the night, and yet she never came. and time after time, i went to the door, and opened it, and looked out, but no chaturiká was there, and nothing was to be seen but the people in the street.
-and when at last night actually fell, and found me still waiting, i could endure no longer, but i threw myself upon my bed, and lay in a stupor in the dark, abandoning all hope, and on the very verge of crying like a child. and i said to myself: is she ill, or is she dead, or has she gone away, or what on earth can be the matter? or can it be, after all, that my messenger played me false, and never went? for if she really got my message, long ago she would surely have sent chaturiká to summon me, knowing that it was impossible for me to come of my own accord, and that i should be sitting waiting with my heart on fire for her summons to arrive. and so i lay, tossing all night long sleepless on my bed, and cursing the moon, which poured as if to mock me a silver flood of light upon the floor, seeming to say: think what a night it must be in the garden! until in an agony of reminiscence and humiliation, i turned my back to it, and lay with my face to the wall. and when at last day returned, i arose and sat, in deep dejection, worn out, and at my wits' very end, never even daring to look towards the door, which remained obstinately shut. and all day long i sat still in a kind of dream, neither eating nor drinking, and hopelessly waiting still. and at last once more the sun went down, after a day that was longer than a year, leaving me lying in the dark.
-and i know not how i got through the night, which i shudder even to remember; but when morning came, i was within a very little of being mad. and burning with fever, hot and cold by turns, for sheer impotence i got up and went out, and wandered up and down the streets, till at last for weariness i was obliged to return, though the thought of my deserted house was almost more horrible than death. and all at once, i looked up, and lo! there was chaturiká herself, coming towards me in the street.
-and at the sight of her, my heart leaped into my mouth, for she resembled the very last link that joined me to the queen, in a feminine form. but at the very moment that i saw her, she saw me also; and she turned away, pretending not to see me, and went round the corner into another street. and instantly, i leaped after her like a deer, and caught her, almost running to escape me. and then, seeing that there was absolutely no help for it, she stopped, and stood looking at me with defiance, like an animal at bay.
-and presently i said: dost thou not know me, that thou runnest so fast to get away? and she said: i never saw thee: i was only in a hurry. and i said: now, from bad, it is worse; thou art lying. and why, instead of running away, art thou not rather hastening to meet me? hast thou no message for me from the queen? and she said: no: none. and i exclaimed: what! none? did not my message come to thee? and she said, reluctantly: it came. then i said: then the queen must know that i am here. and why has she never sent? and chaturiká said: is it for me to give orders to the queen? how can i know why she does not want thy presence? if she did, she would send. i am not the mistress, but only the maid: is chaturiká the equal of táráwalí?
-and as she spoke, the tears rose into my eyes, for i remembered the words of táráwalí, as she stood up in the boat. and i took her by the hand, and looked into her eyes. and i said slowly: thou knowest only too well, for if thou art not her equal, thou art at least her familiar. and now, then, cheat me not: since the matter is to me one of life or death. am i thy enemy, or art thou mine? was it not only the other day that thou didst kiss me of thy own accord, as i have sat, these last two days, hoping against hope for thee to come and do again? and what have i done, to bring about such change? i liked thee better, far better, laughing: thou wert so joyous, and so pretty, and like the ecstasy in my own heart, in a woman's form. aye! as i looked at thee, it made my heart echo, to hear thee laugh, since we were both of us devotees of one and the same deity, táráwalí, thy queen and mine. and now, something has come about, i know not how, to spoil it all.
-and as i spoke, all unconsciously i gripped the hand that i held of hers in mine, and it may be, that my hand whispered to her own what my voice alone strove in vain to say. for as i gazed at her in anguish, with tears in my eyes, strange! all at once i saw her face change, and her lip quiver, and tears stealing, as if against her will, into her eyes too. and she tried to laugh, without succeeding: and all at once, she squeezed my hand that held her own, with force. and she said, in a voice that trembled as it spoke, half laughing and half weeping: nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away. and suddenly she snatched her hand away from mine, and turned as if to go.
-and i took her by the shoulder as she stood with her face averted, and i said: see, chaturiká, my life is in thy hands. come, do me this last favour, and i will never trouble thee any more. wilt thou go straight to the queen, and say i met thee in the street, and somehow or other, by hook or crook, contrive, that she shall send for me again, and very soon, for otherwise i cannot live much longer? wilt thou? wilt thou? and she hung her head, and said in a voice so low that i could hardly hear it: i will try. and i said: go then, for i will delay thee no longer. and yet, listen! come to me often, as thou art passing by, for the very sight of thee is life.
-and without speaking, she rolled her head up in her veil, and went away very quickly. and i stood, looking after her as she went: saying to myself: there goes my last hope. and lucky for me it was that i caught her: for without her, i would by this have driven my own sword home into my heart.
-and i went home feeling like a man saved from the very mouth of death, saying to myself: now then, happen what will! for at least i have secured the key of the door leading to táráwalí, in the form of her maid. and now, it may be, i shall see her very soon. for beyond a doubt, there has been some blunder, or perhaps she was occupied with business of moment, that left her no leisure for affairs like mine. and all my fears may have been in vain. and at least, i can wait with hope, and not as i did before, in horrible despair, cut off from every means of communication. and i sat with a heart almost at peace, prepared to wait till the coming of chaturiká on the following day. but it turned out contrary to my expectation. for i had been waiting for little more than a single hour, when there came a knock at the door. and when i opened, there stood chaturiká again. and she said rapidly: the queen will await thee in the garden to-night at sunset.
-and i exclaimed, with a shout of joy: ha! sunset! it is as i thought. well i knew there was some mistake, and that she could not fail. and beyond a doubt, she had forgotten the time, remembering only when reminded by thee. victory to thee, o chaturiká! for to thee alone i owe the sunset, and now i will give thee for it almost anything thou canst ask. and chaturiká said: give me nothing. and she stood in silence, looking at me with strange eyes, in which, as it seemed, pity and curiosity seemed to be mingled with compunction and some element that i could not understand. and suddenly she came to me, and laid her hand upon my arm. and she whispered very quickly, as if she was half afraid of what she said: do not go. and then, she turned and vanished from the room, as if to escape before i had time to ask for explanation.
-and i said to myself, looking after her in wonder: what! do not go? so then, as it seems, there will be danger. but little does she know me, if she thinks that any danger would keep me from the queen. and indeed, in the garden there is room for any number of assassins, if narasinha or anybody else were jealous of my visiting táráwalí. danger! and i laughed in derision, that was mixed with intoxication, as if the very notion of danger from a rival added, somehow or other, to the sweetness of anticipation, by stamping me as a claimant to the affection of táráwalí who was greatly to be feared. and all at once, light broke in, as it were, upon my soul. and i cried out in ecstasy: danger! ha! at last, all the mystery is solved. it was danger that prevented my táráwalí from sending me any message or bidding me to come. and all the while she knew it, and she had to be very careful, fearing for my life. and suddenly, i struck my hands together, and i cried: ha! what a fool i am! why, she told me so herself, when i saw her for the second time, and yet i had forgotten it. and all this while, in the peevishness of my own oblivion and presumption, i have been blaming her, expecting things utterly unreasonable, and loading her extraordinary sweetness with miserable suspicions arising from my own imagination, and the blindness of my insatiable passion. ah! táráwalí, forgive me if i wronged thee! but i will make it up to thee to-night, and beg for thy divine forgiveness at thy feet. and all this hesitation was all the while only on my account: and yet, brute that i was! i never guessed it, till chaturiká gave me, as it were, a hint, and put me upon the scent. and what else was her delay but an irrefutable proof of her affection, showing that she chose even to allow herself to be misinterpreted rather than let me run on her account into the danger that she knew.
-and instantly, all the clouds of darkness and desolation rolled away in a body from my soul, leaving it bathing in the ruddy glow of sunset, and passion, and emotion, exactly as it was before. and i waited, plunged in the ecstasy of reminiscence and anticipation, till at last the sun began to sink. and then, once more i went, on feet dancing with agitation and delight, to the palace gates, and saw the pratihárí standing waiting as before. and as i entered, never doubting that she had instructions of my coming, she barred the way, saying: what is thy business? and i said: i have come by appointment to see the queen. then said the pratihárí: thou must come another time, for the queen is not here.
-and i stopped short, as if she had suddenly run a dagger into my heart. and i said in a low voice: not here? it cannot be. thou art mistaken. and the pratihárí said: there is no mistake at all. she is gone. and i said: gone? where? when? and she said: she went within this hour, to visit her maternal uncle; for want, as i think, of something better to do. and when she will return, i cannot say.
-and then, my heart stopped. and i stood for a single instant, erect, and i turned, as if to go away. and all at once, there came from the very middle of my heart, a cry, that tore me as it were to pieces, and i fell in the street like a dead man.
-and i closed my eyes for a while, as if to rest: and after a while i said: o father, there is nothing to tell, to one of thy experience and skill: for since childhood, it happens to me, every now and then, to fall down and lie in a trance: and when once i come back, all is over, and i go on as before, till next time. and now there is nothing to be done, but for me to reward thee for thy care, to which i owe my life. and though it is a thing of little or no worth, i will count it, for thy sake, as if it were a thing of price. and i gave that old man gold, and sent him away delighted, for all i wanted was to be rid of him as quickly as i could, lest i should fall into a fever and begin to rave, and betray my secret against my will.
-and then, for many days, i lay, living very slowly, like one in a long dream, drinking water, and eating almost nothing, and going over in my mind every detail of my life since first i saw the queen. and it seemed to me, as i mused, as if i had died long ago; and everything appeared to me like something that had happened long ago, to some other than myself. and day very slowly followed day, and life came back to me as it were with hesitating steps, as though it knew that it was coming to one that scarcely cared to bid it welcome. and then at last there came a day when i looked about with curiosity to see what might be seen, and lo! there in a corner lay my lute upon the floor.
-so, after a while, i said: lute, canst thou tell me, how it feels to be discarded? and i went and took it up, and strung it, and began to play. and as fate would have it, there came over the strings as i touched them a sadness like my own, that seemed to say: come, we are fellow-sufferers, and now let us weep together, since there is absolutely nothing else to do. and suddenly, the lute fell from my hands of its own accord, and i fell with it upon the floor. and i wept, as if my very soul was about to abandon my body, for sheer despair. and as i wept, i came slowly back to the self i was before; yet so, that the half of me was left behind, and lost for ever. and i said to myself: i have been robbed by táráwalí of all that was worth anything in my soul, and it only remains to consider, what is the next thing to be done.
-and the second voice said: what a fool must this shatrunjaya have been, to go mad, over such an abhisariká as this queen! then said the first with emphasis: thou art thyself the fool, speaking at random without ever having seen her: for she is a very shrí, laughing all the other women to utter scorn; and small wonder that he fell a victim to such a spell, being as he is very young. and moreover, she is the cleverest woman in the three worlds, and easily persuades every lover that she is doing as he wishes to oblige him, and not as is really the case making him a puppet of her own. and not one of them all ever even knows of the existence of any other lover than himself. and shatrunjaya is all the more to be excused, because she really took a momentary fancy to him, and cloyed him for a day or two with nectar that soon turned poison, as chaturiká says.
-and the second voice said: who is chaturiká? and the first replied: she is the niece of my cousin on the mother's side, and she tells me all. and táráwalí took her for a confidential chetí on account of her cleverness and beauty: as well she might, since the little jade is very pretty, and clever enough to be prime minister to any king. and between the two of them, who are more than a match for any man that ever lived, shatrunjaya had no chance at all. little did he know táráwalí, thinking to keep her beauty to himself, or confine the ocean of her charms to a tank! poor fool! what a trick they played him! for chaturiká says, that táráwalí gave another lover the very rendezvous she fixed for him, bidding her pratihárí say she was gone. well he might go mad, for as i think, any other man might lose his reason, to be kept standing outside the door, while his mistress was kissing another man!
-and i left them lying, and went home quickly, laughing to myself, and saying: now they are paid beforehand, with their work still to do, in coin very different from that of narasinha. and his own turn will come, by and by. and i wonder whose life i have saved, for i never caught his name. but no matter: i have learned, what is left for me to do: and it only remains to determine on the way. alas! narasinha, thy star is beginning to decline. thou hast just lost thy assassins, and presently i will deprive thee of táráwalí, and last, i will rob thee of thy life.
-and then, day by day, i rose early in the morning, and ate the breakfast of a bull-elephant, and went out into the streets, hunting, not for a forest beast, but for a human quarry. and i roamed up and down through the city all day long, examining everything i met that had the shape of a woman with the eye of a hunting leopard. and so i continued, day after day, without success. and then at last, on the night of the dipáwali, when the streets were full of people, suddenly i saw her coming straight towards me. but she never saw me, by reason of the crowd: and the prey is not thinking of the hunter, when the hunter is thinking of the prey. and i hid myself in a doorway, and let her pass by; and i followed her with stealthy steps until at last she turned away into a narrow lane that resembled the jaws of death. and i caught her up with silent tread, and all at once i took her by the wrist as she went, with a grip like an iron band.
-and she turned and saw me, and she started, and uttered a faint cry. and instantly i said: cry out, even once, and i will sever thy head from its body. make absolutely no noise, and i will do thee absolutely no harm. but come with me, for i need thee for a little while. i have been at pains to find thee, and now i will not let thee go. but unless thou dost exactly as i tell thee, i will treat thee as i did thy accomplice on the river bank, a little while ago. and she turned a little paler as she listened, understanding that i did not speak in jest. and i said: go on before me, in silence, to my house, for well thou art acquainted with the way. and i will follow, just behind, and if thou makest, as thou goest, so much as a sign, thy head will roll from its shoulders on the instant. and she bowed her head, and went. and when we reached the door, i opened it and we went in. and i shut the door, and there was no other light than the moonlight, which fell in a flood upon the floor. and i said: sit there in the moonlight, for i have something to say to thee. and she sat upon the floor, watching me with fascination like a bird before a snake.
-and i walked to and fro before her, and suddenly i stopped, and i said: tell me, o chaturiká, what would the queen say, if i told her of thy habit of babbling to thy relations of her secrets? and for answer, chaturiká began to sob, grovelling upon the floor at my feet. and i said: sit still, thou little fool, and listen: for thou shalt earn my forgiveness by doing as i bid thee: and if not, i will save the queen trouble by becoming thy executioner myself. to-morrow night, i must see her in the garden as before: and it can only be by thy contrivance. and now, how is it to be done?
-and chaturiká said, weeping: to-morrow night it cannot be, since she has given that evening to another. and moreover, for thee every night is equally impossible, for she will not see thee any more. and how canst thou pass the pratihárí, or enter by the door, without her permission? and now between the queen and thee, i am in the jaws of death. for thou wilt slay me, if i do not find thee entrance into the garden: and she will, if i do.
-and i looked at her with scrutiny and i said: i will help thee out of jeopardy. there must be another entrance to the garden. is there no other door? and she said unwillingly: there is, but none can enter from without, unless he has the key, which the queen trusts to no custody but her own.
-and i said: then the way is found, luckily for thee: and thou art saved, since none will ever guess thy part in the arranging for my entry, if as i imagine thou art only sufficiently adroit to procure for me a key without her knowledge. and that i leave to thee, only be careful to bring it in good time, before to-morrow evening. and in the meanwhile, go and tell that other lover that the queen has changed her mind: and put him off to any other day, it does not matter which, seeing that it will never come at all: since for the future, i am going to be the only lover of the queen.
-and then, chaturiká looked at me in such amazement that it deprived her for an instant of her terror, and suddenly she began to laugh. and i stooped and lifted her, and whirled her in the air, and stood her breathless on her feet. and i took her two hands and held them tight, and i said: dost thou feel what thou art in hands like mine, a feather, and a nothing, and a straw? now listen and be wise. stand out of the way, between the queen and me, for we shall crush thee, and the battle is one that i mean to win. and now i am going to show her something that she never saw before, the strength of a man: for a woman presumes, forgetting altogether that she owes all to the forbearance of one who can sweep her away if he chooses, like a wild elephant snapping a twig. and if anything goes amiss by any treachery of thine, i will break thee in pieces with my bare hands, hide where thou wilt, making it unnecessary even to betray thee to the queen. and now, what have i ordered thee to do?
-and chaturiká said humbly, quivering like a wild heifer that is suddenly tamed by the sound of a tiger's roar: to put off a lover and bring thee a key.
-and i said: thou hast still forgotten the thing without which both are useless, and that is, to show me the outside of the door to be opened by the key. and that thou shalt do at once. go out now, and walk without stopping straight to the door: and i will follow in thy steps. and do not look back, until thou art standing just beside it, and then turn for a single instant, and meet my eye without a sign. and then begone where thou wilt until to-morrow.
-and i opened the door and let her out, and she went away very quickly, leading me through the city and past the palace gates, and a long way round the palace wall, until at last she suddenly came to a dead stop, beside a little door in the wall, that stood exactly opposite a ruined temple of the great god. and there she turned and looked at me, and then continued on her way until she disappeared. and i stood and watched her go, saying to myself: i think she will bring me the key to-morrow, without dreaming of betraying me: for i scared her almost to death, and she is frightened. and i was very sorry for her, and yet it was the only thing to do, for there was no other means of reducing her to absolute submission. and yet she was beautiful to look at, even so, resembling as she did a feminine incarnation of audacity suddenly changed into unconditional obedience by standing between two appalling dangers, and only doubting which was the most to be feared. and very strange is the difference fixed by the creator between a woman and a man: since the very timidity that makes him utterly contemptible only makes her even more beautifully delicious than she was before.
-and next day, i waited all the morning for chaturiká to come, and noon arrived without her coming. and i said to myself as i sat waiting: she will come by and by, and i cannot expect her very early, for she may have many other things to do as well as mine. and it may be no easy task that i have given her to do. and now, what am i to say to táráwalí, when i come upon her in the garden, and see her, o ecstasy! again? and strange! at the very thought of seeing her again, my heart began to burn, as if turning traitor to my own determination. and i said sadly to myself: alas! i am afraid, or rather i am sure, that the very sight of her will be like a flood, in which every fragment of my resentment against her for treating me as she has done, and every atom of my resolution, and every recollection of all that i have heard to her discredit, will be swept away like chips and straws. do what she may, i cannot drive my affection for her out of my heart, which obstinately clings to her image, utterly refusing to be torn away. and notwithstanding all that those two rascals said in her disparagement, my soul laughs them to utter scorn, telling them they lie. and who knows? for who could believe that a body so unutterably lovely could harbour a soul so unutterably base as they said, on evidence such as theirs? aye! my recollection of her soul is an argument in her favour that nothing that they said can overcome, and i could forgive her absolutely anything, when i think of the gentle sweetness that echoed in her every word, resembling a perfume somehow mixed with her voice. and yet if my resolution wavers, even now, how will it be when she actually stands before me as she will to-night? and yet, how is it possible to absolve her for her inexplicable behaviour to me?
-and so as i mused, touching all unconsciously the strings of my lute which was lying in my hands suddenly a thought came into my mind of its own accord. and i took the lute and unstrung it, and chose from among its strings one, which i rolled like a bangle on my wrist. and i said to the lute aloud: old love, we will work together: for if indeed she is my enemy, she is thine as well. and if, as those assassins said, she is only a body without a soul, playing on us both merely for her own amusement, then we will give her together a music lesson of a novel kind, and teach her that the deadliest of all poisons is a love that has been betrayed.
-and seeing that i was not alone, chaturiká turned, as if to go away. and i called out to her, saying: wait but for a single instant, o thou destitute of patience, and give me back my key that i gave thee last night, since i am in sore need of it. and then she came to me in silence and gave me a key. and i said: hast thou put off the petitioner as i desired, to another day? and she said: yes. and then i went to the door, and shut it. and i said to haridása: i have an appointment, with one who may be friend or foe, for i cannot tell. but here is a hostage, that i leave behind me. keep her for me, and never take thy eyes off her, and give her back to me, safe and sound, on my return. but if the sun rises to-morrow, and i am not here, cut her head off, for she will have led me into a trap, all unaware that she was setting it for herself as well.
-and he led me away out at the door, and shut it behind him. and he said: shall i tell thee the name of thy very pretty deposit? dost thou think i do not know what thou art endeavouring so clumsily to hide? nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away?
-and as i started, staring at him in stupefaction, he said with a laugh: ha! thou hast heard it before? didst thou not betray to me thy secret unawares, repeating it before? what! dost thou not know, it is the queen's verse, which all the people in the city sing of every man who dooms himself by becoming the queen's lover? i could have told thee, even without seeing chaturiká at all, that it was táráwalí herself who was thy nectar, and is going to be thy poison; and well i understand who is the friend or foe to whom thou art just about to go. it is the queen.
-and he took me by both hands, and looked straight into my eyes. and he said: fool! and art thou actually hoping still for the nectar that is gone? thy hope will be in vain. i told thee, without naming her, to hold her very cheap, if ever thou wouldst have her hold thee dear. it was useless to restrain thee, for thou wouldst not have believed me, no matter what i said. there was but a single chance. for the moment that she sees that her fascination works, and that her lover lies gazing without reason or senses at her terrible beauty, she is satisfied, and throws him away: whereas had he only the strength to resist it, she might against her will fall in love with him herself for sheer exasperation at her impotence, in his case alone. but she swept thee clean away like a straw in a flood, and thou art lost. thou hast been playing unaware with a queen-cobra, that has smitten thy soul with the poisonous fascination of its magnificent hood and its deadly eyes, and bitten thy heart with its venomed fang; and now all remedies are worse than useless, and come too late. i can see death written on thy brow, and almost smell its odour in the air. beware of narasinha!
-and he went in, and shut the door upon himself and chaturiká, leaving me alone in the street.
-and i stood in the street, staring at the door as it shut behind him, as motionless as a tree. and i murmured to myself: nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away! so then, it is the queen's verse, sung of others and sung of me! and this was the meaning all the time! and this is what chaturiká was thinking of, every time she said it, laughing at me in her sleeve, as beyond a doubt she has laughed at many another man before! and this is what the people say! and all the time i thought myself exceptional, i was only being made a fool, and one of a large number, and a laughing-stock for the whole city, and branded, as it were, with ridicule and ignominy as a plaything of the queen, and going about unconsciously with her label round my neck: nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away!
-and suddenly, rage rushed into my heart in such a flood that it felt as if it were about to burst. and from motionless that i was, i began all at once to run in the direction of the palace, as though about to wreak my vengeance on the queen without waiting for a single instant. and then i stopped abruptly and began to laugh. and i exclaimed: am i actually going mad, for as yet it is still day, and i cannot even get into the garden till the sun has set. and after thinking for a moment, i went away to the river bank to wait till the sun was down. and there i threw myself down at full length upon the ground, with my chin upon my hands.
-and who could find it in his heart to blame her for delighting in the exercise of her own spell, like a child rejoicing in its toy, aye! even were he himself its victim, as its effect would be the same, no matter what she did, seeing that she must attract whether she will or no? being what she is, she cannot help it: it is involuntary and beyond her control. and alas! i fell before it without a shadow of resistance, enslaved even before i saw it by her own dream, not even affording her the pleasure of watching her fascination gradually overcoming opposition, and asserting its power, and subduing me to her domination, against my will. and so i became a thing of no value to her at all, since in my case there was nothing to overcome. ah! had i only been capable of seeming to be one on whom her charm would not work, then indeed, as haridása says, i might have prevailed: and she might herself have fallen victim to the man who defied her fascination and laughed in her face, out of pique and irritation at her own impotence. and all the more, if what that rascal said have any truth, that she actually took a momentary fancy to me, strange as it seems. but alas! as he said, it is all too late.
-and suddenly i started to my feet with a beating heart. and i exclaimed: too late! but what if it were not too late, after all?
-and as i stood, thinking of it, struck into sudden agitation by my own idea, hope glimmered in the darkness of my soul like the first faint streak of rosy dawn at the end of a black night. and the dream of the bare possibility of bringing back táráwalí with all her old intoxicating sweetness almost took away my breath. and after a while, i said to myself: yes, indeed, he actually said, that she took a fancy to me, even though it were only for a moment. and how could he have known it, if she had not herself confessed it to chaturiká, from whom alone he could have heard it, since very certainly he never learned it from táráwalí herself? aye! and was not chaturiká herself far sweeter at the beginning, just as if she knew i was no ordinary lover, but one with a little foothold in the queen's heart? and if, then, i was ever there, why could i not return? and if her fancy has gone to sleep, could i not awake it? can it be already so absolutely dead as never to revive, with not a single spark among the ashes to be refanned into a flame? how would it be, could i but manage to persuade her she was utterly mistaken, in supposing that i was only a miserable victim of her spell? how, if i could convince her that i valued all her fascinations at a straw? would she not at least be tempted to try them all on me again, if only to test them and discover whether i was lying or in very truth proof against all the power of her charm? and if only she did, what then? for once she began, it would all depend on me, whether she ever stopped any more.
-and all at once, i uttered a shout of hope and exultation and excitement, suddenly taking fire at the picture painted by my own craving imagination. and i exclaimed: ha! who knows? and at least, i can try. and even if i fail, it cannot possibly be worse than it is already, drowned as i am in misery without her: whereas, if i could succeed! ah! i would barter even emancipation for a single kiss! and o that my courage may not fail, turning coward at the very first sight of her again! for the struggle to appear indifferent, in such an ocean of rapture, will be terrible indeed, since even now, the very thought of it makes me tremble, being enough to make me fall weeping at her feet. and now the sun is setting, and it is time to go: and in a very little while, fate will decide, whether she and i are to die or live. for i cannot live without her, and unless she will allow me to live with her, she shall not live at all, either alone, or with anybody else. for she will kill me, by driving me away, and i will take her with me, if i am to die.
-and i went on slowly in the shadow of the trees, guessing my direction, for i was going by a way i did not know, fearing not at all the death that might suddenly spring out upon me, but dreading far more than death the possibility of its anticipating my discovery of the queen. and little by little, as nothing happened, i forgot my fears, saying to myself: to-morrow i will give chaturiká anything in the world, and beg her pardon for suspecting her of breaking faith. but in the meantime, i must above all manage to come upon táráwalí unawares, and escape her observation until i catch sight of her myself: for if she saw me first, she might hide, or even go away altogether, leaving me to look for her in vain, and making all assassination superfluous, since if i do not find her i shall simply die of my own accord, long before morning, of disappointment and despair. and so i went on very slowly, making absolutely no noise, like a shabara stalking a wild elephant in the forest, dying of expectation, and yet not daring to make haste, for fear of losing all: until at last, after a very long time, i came to the terrace by the pool once more. and then i looked, and suddenly i caught sight of her, standing alone, like a pillar, on the very verge of the terrace steps.
-and i stopped short in the shadow of a tree, to watch her for a little and master my emotion, holding my breath, and lost, not only in the ecstasy of being close to her again, but in sheer admiration of the wonder that i saw. for she was dressed as it seemed all in silver gauze, looking ashy pale in the moonlight, and she was standing absolutely straight up, with her two hands clasped behind her head, turning half towards me, so that i could just see her dark hair between her two bent arms, lit up not by a star, but a diadem like a young moon, that shone all yellow as if made by a row of topaz suns, so that she looked like a feminine incarnation of the moony-crested god, smeared with silver sheen instead of ashes. and as she stood still with her two feet close together, gazing at the pool, with her head leaning a little back against the pillow of her hands, alone in the very middle of the terrace on the very edge of its top step, with nothing but the dusk for her background, resembling a great jar, her solitary silent figure, rising from its narrow base into lustrous moonlit curves that ended in the tall bosses of her breast, spread wide by her opened arms, stood out in a vision of exact and perfect balance, so marvellously lovely, that as i gazed at it, remembering how i held it in my arms, unable to contain my agitation, i uttered a deep sigh.
-and instantly, she spoiled the picture, by changing her position, and looking straight towards me. and not being able to see me clearly by reason of the deep shadow that obscured me, she came back along the terrace in my direction, walking exactly as she did before, with the same intoxicating straightness of carriage, and the same rapid and undulating step, till i could have laughed aloud for very joy to see her coming to me, like the desire of my own heart incarnate in her round and graceful form. and as she reached me, she said, with exactly the same low and sweet and gentle voice that i was yearning with all my soul to hear again: thou art late, for i have been waiting for thee a long time.
-and she started back, with a faint cry, exclaiming in the extremity of sheer amazement: shatrunjaya! how in the world hast thou got in here?
-and i answered with a smile, though my heart beat like a drum within me: ah! thou delicious queen, in this lower world many things come about contrary to expectation, of which this is one. and if thy own surprise is extreme, so is mine: since, as it seems, my coming is not only unexpected, but unwelcome. and yet how short a time it is, since thou didst entertain me with a sweetness so extraordinary, and so spontaneous, and so mutually tasted, that i thought only to give thee pleasure by repeating the experience, and that is why i came. and if thou art sorry to look at me again, i do not share in thy feeling, since all the pains i have taken to arrive are repaid by even a single glance at thyself. for surely even indra's heaven cannot hold anything so unimaginably lovely as thou art to-night.
-and still she stood, gazing at me with strange eyes, and she murmured to herself, half aloud: shatrunjaya! it cannot be! and i said: nay, thou very lovely lady, but it can: since here i am, and i am i. and why not? didst thou think i had forgot, what could not easily be forgotten, how we floated together in thy cradle among the lotuses? or is it any wonder if i have thought of nothing else, ever since, but how to return? but as to how i came, it is a secret, that i do not choose to tell, since the fancy may take me to come again. and judging by thy excessive condescension when we met before, i did not think very much to displease thee, if i ventured to substitute myself this evening for another, who cannot even hope to rival me in the only thing that matters, my unutterable adoration of thyself: since of thy favour we are both of us equally unworthy. and yet, if, as it seems, i was utterly mistaken and the substitution is not to thy taste, i can very easily atone for my blunder by going away again at once. dost thou really imagine me one to force himself upon a lady who wishes him away? o thou very lovely queen, not at all. for i am just as good a man among men, as thou art a woman among women: and if i am not to thy taste, then, o thou fastidious beauty, neither art thou to mine. for the essence of every lovely woman's charm is her caress, which springs from her affection, and the desire to make herself nectar to her lover, without which salt, even beauty is beautiful in vain. and i care absolutely nothing for a beauty that does not take the trouble to be sweet. and well i know, by experience, how sweet thou canst be, aye! sweeter by far than any honey whatsoever, if it pleases thee to try. so choose for thyself, whether i shall stay, and revel like a great black bee in thy sweetness, as once i did before; or go away. but let me tell thee, pending thy decision, that if thou dost not take thy opportunity when it offers, it will never more return; for as i said, i do not like coming where my coming is met with distaste. but as i think, if thou wilt allow me to advise thee, and help thee to decision, we may as well make the most of one another, now that we are here, otherwise the moonlight will be wasted altogether, since to-night at least, thy other lover will not come. for i have taken care to exclude him, and we shall not be disturbed by any disagreeable interruption. and so, either thou wilt have to do without a lover altogether, or take me, for sheer want of something else. and the first would be a pity, and all the delicious trouble thou hast taken to deck thy beauty for its proper object, the delight of a lover, would be lost. for in thy silver ashes and thy moony tire, thou needest no third eye to destroy thy enemies, since thy divinity is so overpowering that not to employ it as it was designed to be employed would be a crime.
-and all the while i spoke, she stood, as curiously still as if she were made of marble, looking at me quietly, with her head thrown just a little back, and her left hand pressed very tight against her breast, and eyes that i could not understand. for they rested on me absolutely without anger, seeming as it were not to see me at all, but filled with some strange perplexity, as if she were hunting for something in her recollection that she could not find. and when i ended, she continued to stand, exactly in the same position, for so long, that i began to wonder what could possibly be passing in her soul. and i said to myself, as i waited in terrible suspense: now very likely, in another moment, she will summon her attendants, and have me ejected, as well she might, for my almost inconceivable impertinence, which almost broke my own heart in two, to utter it at all. and if so it seems, even to myself, what must it seem to her? aye indeed! for every word, i deserve ten thousand deaths, and i could forgive her, no matter what she did. aye! and if, in a very little while, she does not speak, i shall be throwing myself at her feet and begging to be forgiven, unable any longer to endure.
-and then at last, all at once, her tension relaxed, and she sank back suddenly into her old soft sweetness, with a deep sigh. and her eyes seemed, as it were, to come back to me, and find me for the first time, and there stole over her lips a little smile. and as i saw it, my heart almost broke with delight, for i said to myself: she has changed her mind about me; after all, and now my plan is beginning to succeed. alas! little did i fathom the unfathomable intelligence of that extraordinary queen! and presently she said, with exactly the same gentleness in her low voice that made my heart tremble exactly as before, every time it spoke: thou art, beyond all doubt, the very first man in all the world, not only for effrontery and impertinence, but also, for this, that thou hast succeeded in imposing upon me, which no man ever yet did before. for in my simplicity i had thought thee quite another, making in thy solitary instance a mistake, unusual with me, and making me ashamed: since as a rule, men's hearts are no secret for my own, and i read them at a glance.
-and she looked at me with a smile, and inscrutable clear eyes, whose expression was a puzzle to my soul. and i said: then, since thou readest hearts so easily, why couldst thou not read mine also, as it is very plain thou didst not? and she said: why very plain? and i said: why didst thou send no answer to my message, and why didst thou summon me at sunset, and yet go away, leaving me nothing but the scorn of thy servants at thy gate?
-and she looked at me in blank amazement, and she said: what dost thou mean? i never got any message, and if any summons came to thee, it was not sent by me. for i have not heard anything of thee at all, since i left thee at midnight in my boat.
-and as she spoke, there came a mist before my eyes, and all the blood in my body rushed suddenly into my heart, as if to burst it, and then as suddenly left it, so that i almost swooned. and all at once, i exclaimed with a shout: chaturiká! ah! then i was deceived! ah! then it was not thou! ah! then i was not slighted by thee as a thing to be despised! ah! then thou art not as they say, one that forgets and throws away her lovers almost as soon as she has seen them first! ah! had i only known, i never would have stolen unawares into thy privacy to-night! say, say, that thou art not such a woman as they say!
-and again she looked at me, with those strange quiet eyes; and after a while, she said with a sigh: thou art right. they say, but they do not understand. and yet, what does it matter what they say? is it my fault, if every man that sees me is seized as it were with madness, and instantly steps over the line that divides friendship from passionate affection, asking me for what i cannot give him, with such eager insistence, that in my own defence i am driven to dismiss him altogether? and she smiled, and she said, with playfulness and wistful eyes: must i belong to everyone, merely because he claims me as his own, and his property, and give myself to everyone that sees me in a dream?
-and i trembled from head to foot, and i said in a voice that shook with entreaty and emotion like a leaf: ah! then have i thy permission to stay with thee to-night, notwithstanding my overweening presumption in coming of my own accord without an invitation? ah! i did not know: my heart is breaking: do not send me away!
-and as she stood, looking at me with irresolution, i stretched my hands towards her, absolutely senseless, and not knowing what i did. and she hesitated for yet a little while; and then, with a sigh, she put her two hands into my own. and with a shudder of joy, i pulled her to me, and caught her once more in my arms, and began to kiss her, with hot tears that fell upon her face, quivering all over with the extremity of my agitation, and not believing that it was not a dream.
-and as i held her still in my arms, with her own arms round my neck, she said: ask. then i said: didst thou know, when i came to thee last time, that my coming delayed me in a matter of life and death? and she said: something i knew, from the chatter of chaturiká. and i said: didst thou know that my kingdom depended on my going fast? for as it is, i lost it, all by coming late. and she said: it was no business of mine. and i said: what! wouldst thou deprive me of a kingdom, by placing thyself, for a single sunset, in the other scale? and she said: i did not bid thee stay. i had sent to thee already, asking thee to come: and if another summons called thee, after mine, the choice was thine, between them. i told thee only, i awaited thee: and it was true. and i said: what if i had not come? and she said: then it may be, thou wouldst have kept thy kingdom, and lost thy interview with me. that is all. it was not i, who had anything to do either with causing thy dilemma, or determining its conclusion. and i said: beyond a doubt, the loss of any kingdom would be a trifle in comparison with thy affection: and yet the loss is certain, and the affection doubtful. for i showed thee very plainly which i chose, and my kingdom is gone. i have thrown it clean away for thy sake. and have i its equivalent? wilt thou make it up to me by giving me thy soul? and she said, gently: it is not mine, to give away, for i belong to narasinha, body and soul, as i told thee long ago.
-and i said: how canst thou say so, when i hold thee in my arms? and she said, quietly: thou art but a momentary accident, due rather to my yielding myself, against my own will, and of pity for thy unhappy passion, than to any hold that thou hast on my heart. and narasinha learned of thy former visit to me in this garden, as very soon he will learn of this also, since i tell him every detail of my life, great or small. and he made me promise never to see thee any more. and so i had intended: but thou hast managed to steal in, somehow or other, of thy own accord. it is not by my doing that thou art here now at all.
-and i said with emphasis: i have bought thee at the price of a kingdom, and become a beggar on thy account, and mine thou art, by right. dost thou actually tell me, i am to lose my kingdom, and get absolutely nothing in exchange? and she said, always with the same sweet and quiet voice, whose tone never varied, adding by the very charm of its gentle music fire to the exasperating sting that lay in the words it said: i have nothing at all to do with thy kingdom, and if thou hast lost it, i am very sorry: yet blame not me for its loss, but thyself alone, for the choice was thine. and moreover, i am not for sale. i give myself, or part of me, to anyone i choose. it is for dealers and merchants to bargain. i never bargain. i am a queen. and i said in wrath: thou shalt give thyself no longer to anyone but me. thou hast already cheated me by making me the loser in a bargain where i lose all, gaining nothing in exchange. but i will have either my kingdom or thyself: and if not the kingdom, which is gone, then thee. and she said quietly: say nothing rash, or harsh, or ill-considered. it is not i that have cheated thee out of thy kingdom: it is no one but thyself.
-and i exclaimed: what! didst thou not cheat me by telling me thou didst love me long ago? and she broke in instantly, and said: i said nothing of the kind: it is thy own imagination. i never told thee anything so false as that i loved thee. and i said: nay, not in words, but in a language deeper far than any words. what woman ever gave a man what thou hast given me, without telling him very plainly, he was the object of her love? and she said quietly: it was but thy own inference, and utterly unwarranted. and i said: why didst thou then allow me to make love to thee at all? and she said, very gently: i did not ask, nor even wish thee, to make love to me at all. but i was touched by thy emotion, and thy passion, and thy miserable longing, and willing to soothe it, and gratify it, for an instant, letting thee taste that nectar for which thou wert so obviously dying: for i am kind.
-and i exclaimed with a shout: kind! why, what is thy kindness but the very extremity of unkindness? what! and did all thy caresses mean absolutely nothing? and she said, very gently: they meant exactly what they were, gifts and boons, bestowed of sheer compassion: and if from their receipt, thou hast drawn the conclusion that thy affection was returned, it is not so: it is only thy own unjustified construction, for thou art not, and never can be, anything to me, but the thing that thou wilt not be, a mere friend. and i said: what kind of a woman art thou to betray me with kisses? and she said: i am only what i am: but thou art most unfair to me, and instead of peevishly demanding of me what i cannot give, and growing so unreasonably angry, thou oughtest rather to be very grateful to me, for giving thee anything at all. i told thee almost as soon as i had seen thee, in the very beginning of all, that i belonged, body and soul, to narasinha: and yet notwithstanding, i took pity on thee, for thy misery, and gave thee, by concession, what i might very easily have refused, humouring thy weakness like that of a child, crying for what he cannot have. but never did i promise thee anything beyond: and i even told thee, if thou canst remember it, that it might injure thee and could not do thee any good. but thou wert blind, and as it were buried in thy dream. did i not warn thee, and entreat thee beforehand, not to blame me, when the dream was over, and reality returned? and when i had surfeited thy longing, and dismissed thee, i meant it to be the end, for it was all i had to give. in all, it is not i, that have in any way whatever deceived thee: thou hast all along only deceived thyself. and if i have deceived at all, it is myself alone i have deceived, by expecting any gratitude for the boon of my compassion, and the favour that i poured on thee with no miser's band, because i blamed myself for being innocently guilty of becoming the unintentional object of thy passion, and its involuntary cause.
-and i listened, so utterly confounded by the very simplicity of her apology, which overturned all my accusations, and put me in the wrong, that i stood in silence, unable to find anything to say. and in my stupefaction, i began to laugh. and i said: ha! nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away! hast thou never heard the queen's verse? and she said: what! wilt thou actually lay on me the burden of refuting the silly slander of a rhyme, circulated by little rascals merely for want of something else to say? can i help what they say, or shall i even stoop to listen when they say it, who will say anything of queens, without shame for the envious venom of their own base insignificance, knowing all the time absolutely nothing, but making mere noise, like frogs all croaking together in a marsh? or if i must absolutely answer, in spite of my disdain, how can i prevent any lover, such as thyself, from persuading himself of what he wishes to believe? for all of them resemble thee, behaving like unreasonable bulls, the very moment that they see me, and pestering me like flies, to my torment, and yet would blame me for driving them away. and every one of them, exactly like thee, imagines me his own, for no reason that i am ever able to discover, although i tell them all, exactly as i told thee, that i belong to narasinha.
-and i said in wrath: i will slice off the head of narasinha, by and by, as i have done already for some of his tools. and i will not be the plaything of a moment, to be cast aside the next. i have lost a kingdom for thy sake, and will have thee to repay me, whether thou wilt or no. and she said with a smile: thou art angry, and talking nonsense in thy anger, as angry men will. dost thou not see that thou art bereft of thy senses? for, kingdom or no kingdom, how canst thou be so silly as to propose to force me, willy nilly, to love thee when i do not love? if i loved thee, i should say so, and all force would be superfluous: if not, it would be not only useless, but injurious to thy own cause, seeing that the more thou forcest, the less wilt thou obtain: nay, whereas now thou art indifferent, thou wilt bring it about that i shall hate thee in the end, as i am beginning to do a very little even now. and then it will be worse for thee in every way. for thou dost not seem ever to remember that i am, after all, not only a woman, but a queen.
-and i looked at her as she spoke, saying to myself: she is wrong, for nobody looking at her ever could forget it, even for a moment, just because, like the grace of a lily, it is forgotten by herself, and she would still be a queen, even if she were not a queen at all. and she looks at me, notwithstanding the biting reproof in her words, with exactly the same intoxicating and caressing sweetness, as if i were still a dear friend with whom she were unwilling to quarrel. and i gazed at her, yearning towards her with every fibre of my soul, and yet exasperated almost beyond endurance at the thought that she was keeping me like a stranger at a distance from her heart, in order to preserve it for another. and after a while, i said slowly: if thy affection is not to be given to me, it shall never be given to anybody else. and she said, as if with curiosity: thou art surely mad. for how canst thou prevent any other from following thy own example, and doing just what thou hast done thyself, losing thy reason at the sight of me, as all men always do? dost thou not see that my power to excite affection is far greater than thine to prevent it? and i said: it would be very very easy for me to prevent all others from ever loving thee again.
-and she looked at me with eyes, in whose unruffled calm there was not even the faintest shadow of any fear. and she said quietly: i understand thee very well, and yet for all that i tell thee thou art raving, and thou art, without knowing it, very like the very man thou hatest most, narasinha. for often he has said to me the very same thing that thou art saying now: and yet, though according to thee, the thing is very easy, he finds it so difficult as to be utterly impossible. for he cannot endure to do without me, even in a dream, and cannot therefore bring himself to slay me, as he is constantly threatening to do, knowing very well that he might rather slay himself, since once i am gone, he will never find another me, to put in my place. and this is true, even though i cannot understand it: just as i cannot understand what it is that makes me indispensable to thee or to anybody else. for i know it only by its effect. and so i am my own protection, against all his threats, or thine. and if i had thought otherwise, what could have been easier, since thou talkest of easy things, than to have summoned my attendants and bade them put thee out, when it may be, thy life would have paid for thy marvellous impertinence, in intruding unbidden, as perhaps it still may, without any instigation of my own at all? thou dost not seem to understand that all this while thy own life is in far greater danger than mine; since thou hast done a thing that will not be forgiven thee by others, though i myself have not only forgiven thee, but well understanding the fiery goad that drove thee into my presence, have treated thee, for yet once more, with kindness and condescension far beyond any deserts of thine. and for all return, thou art threatening even to slay me. but i am destitute of fear.
-and she stood before me in the moonlight, that turned her as it clung to all her limbs into a thing beautiful beyond all earthly dreams, absolutely fearless, and with a dignity whose royalty was not only that of a queen, but of loveliness laughing to scorn all possible comparison, seeming to say without the need of any words: art thou brave enough, and fool enough, to lay rude hands on such a thing as i am, or even if thy folly were equal to thy courage, canst thou find it in thy heart to think of violence offered to it, by thyself or any other, even in a dream? and my heart burned, for sheer adoration, and yet strange! it began to sink at the very same time, as i gazed at her, looking at me quietly in return. for there was something absolutely unanswerable, not only in herself, but in everything she said, and yet her very simplicity that overwhelmed me with its soft irrefutable sweetness increased the torture of my hopeless admiration every time she spoke. and suddenly i struck my hands together in despair. and i exclaimed: ah! thou marvel of a woman and a queen, i am conquered by thee, and i am on the very verge of falling at thy feet in a passion of tears, craving thy forgiveness as a criminal, so bewildering is the double spell of thy beauty and thy intelligence, and the candour of thy strange soul, which drives me mad with its inexplicable charm. but what does it matter to me, hate me or love me, if i am never to see thee any more? aye! narasinha may not find it in him to slay thee for thy wayward and beautiful independence, but then he can see thee every day, exactly as he chooses: whereas i, once i go away this night, am outcast: for well i understand that thou or he will see to it that i never come again. dost thou imagine i can bear it? and again i struck my hands together with a cry. and i exclaimed: curse on my birth, and the crimes of the births that went before it, that i was not born narasinha! for he has cut me from my happiness, and stolen from me the very fruit of being born at all!
-and in my frenzy, i seized her in my arms once more, desperately clutching, as it were, at the bliss escaping from my reach in her form. and i said to her, as i held her tight: tell me, had narasinha never lived, could i have been to thee what he is now? and she extricated herself, very gently, from my arms, and stood back, looking at me with meditative eyes; and after a while, she said doubtfully, yet with a little smile on her lips: perhaps. but i am not sure. thou art a little over-bearing. and yet i like thee, somehow, but i love thee not at all. and yet again, it may be, that had i met thee sooner, i might have looked at thee with other eyes. and i bear thee no malice, if indeed thou art a criminal, for any of thy crimes, since i was their occasion. but what after all is the use of supposition as to what might be were narasinha away, since as it is, he is here, an obstacle in the way, not to be surmounted by any means whatever? and so, thy case is hopeless. and i tried to make thee understand, in vain: since thou wilt not take denial or listen to any reason. and i went to such a length, out of kindness, as to give thee one single evening, packed as full as it could hold with all the sweetness i could think of, giving myself up, so to say, to the insatiable thirst of thy arms, and thy craving desire to be caressed and kissed by only me, and embodying thy dream, and turning myself into an instrument of that nectar of feminine intoxication for which thou wert ready to die, and putting myself without reserve absolutely at thy disposal, only to find my kindness miserably requited by ingratitude and undeserved reproaches, and even menaces and threats. and as i said, to-night, when by underhand contrivance thou didst force thyself upon me, i never punished thee at all, as many another queen might do, but took pity on thy desolation and forgave and overlooked all thy insolence, without being in the very least deceived by thy fustian beginning, which i easily discerned to be a ruse, to enable thee perhaps to steal back into my favour, all founded on a misinterpretation of the woman that i am. for had i really been what people say, and what, listening to them, thou didst imagine me, thy foolish plan might perhaps have been successful, but i am very different indeed. and yet, even so, thy part was played so poorly, that it failed almost as soon as it began, since it needed but a touch of my finger to make thee drop thy mask, and reveal thyself to be, what all the time i knew thee, a lover in the depths of despair. for love is very hard to hide, and thou couldst scarcely hope to deceive even those who are very easy to deceive, as i am not. and as i watched thy clumsy effort, sitting as it did so ill on one so simple and direct as thou art, i could not prevent my compassion from mixing with a very little laughter, remembering the ass in the panchatantra, who clothed him in a lion's skin, forgetting that his ears betrayed him, to say nothing of his voice. and now for the second time i have given thee something that i would have refused thee altogether, had caresses of compassion been any argument of love. but understand well, that there will be no third opportunity: for this is thy farewell. go as thou hast come, for i will not attempt to penetrate thy secret, nor have thy footsteps dogged.
-and as i listened, i knew that all was over, and that her words were my doom: for i understood that she was stronger far than i, and in a position absolutely impregnable by any efforts i might make. and i stood gazing at her silently with a tumult in my soul that could find no utterance in words. and i said at last, in a very low voice: is thy decision irrevocable, and am i really never to see thee any more? and she said: even this time is more than i had allowed thee, and i am afraid for thee. aye! i fear that thy life is the forfeit thou wilt pay. yet blame not me for anything that may occur. for narasinha would have slain thee already, as he is furiously jealous of anything that comes near me in the form of a man, had i not myself expressly interfered in thy behalf, making him swear to overlook thy former trespass on a ground that he considers as his own. but he will not listen to me now. and to-morrow, as soon as he discovers what has taken place to-night, for i cannot hide it, he will take measures to prevent thy ever coming back, very likely such as thou thyself hinted at, of me, a little while ago. thou art looking at me now for the very last time; and remember, i told thee myself, i will take no blame, if thy temerity turns out to have cost thee dear. farewell, and if thou canst, forget me, and go away to a great distance, without the loss of a single moment. for in a very little while, thou mayst find, there will not even be the chance, and it will be too late.
-and instead of going, i stood, rooted to the spot like a tree, gazing at her thirstily, in a stupor of despair, and saying to myself: what! can it really be possible that i am actually looking at her now, as she says, for the very last time in my life, doomed to go here, or there, in the world, without ever seeing her again, knowing all the while that she is, still, somewhere to be seen, and actually being seen, only not by me? out upon such horror, for it would be less, even if she were dead! and she, so kind, so gentle, how in the world can she stand there, bidding me with a wave of her hand, in that low sweet voice of hers, to go away to a great distance, to save my life, knowing well, for she is very clever, that she is taking it away, by banishing me for ever? and am i just to be thrown away at the bidding of narasinha?
-and at the thought, all at once i began to laugh with sheer rage. and i said to myself: what! must i turn my back on heaven, and go meekly down to hell, at the order of narasinha? would she banish me at all, but for narasinha? who in the world is narasinha? is narasinha my master? is he even her master, for as it seems, she is rather his? are these his orders, or her own? ha! now, i wonder. what if after all this narasinha were only a man of straw, doing exactly as he is told, and acting as her agent and her instrument, for the sake of what she gives him? is it likely, after all, that he orders, and she obeys? and am i being fooled, and handed over by herself to banishment, or even death, behind the screen of narasinha?
-and i looked at her as she stood, patiently waiting for me to go, with a soul torn to pieces by rage, and suspicion, and love-longing, and flat refusal to go away. and suddenly there came into my recollection haridása, saying as he stood outside the door: nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away. and i said to myself: so now, she turns away. and can she possibly not know, what becomes of all her lovers?
-and i went up to her, all at once, and took her by her two hands, and looked straight into her eyes. and i said: táráwalí, thou choosest thy servants well. i know the use of chaturiká. and now dimly i begin to see the use of narasinha. does he never tell thee where he throws the bodies of thy old lovers, when thou hast finished with their souls?
-and then, strange! her eyes wavered, as if unable to meet my own. and like a flash of lightning, i understood. and i exclaimed: ha! have i found at last the question that thou canst not answer, and laid my finger on the flaw in thy consummate skill? so then, this was all but a comedy that thou wert playing, to shift the blame from thy own shoulders and turn me over to extinction at the hands of narasinha? ah! thou art thy own mistress, and not one to obey. but ah! thou lovely lady that hast no pity for thy poisoned lovers, it is not the lover this time that shall die. and thou shalt meet thy master for the first time in thy life.
-and i looked at her for a single instant in a frenzy of fierce hatred that suddenly blazed up from the ashes of my dead devotion, lying scorned and cheated and betrayed by the idol it adored. and i seized her in the grip of death, and tore from my arm the lute-string that was wound about my wrist. and i said: dear, i never gave thee thy music-lesson: but now i will give thee a very long one on a single string. and in an instant, i twisted it about her neck, and drew it tight, holding her still as she struggled, in an ecstasy of giant strength. and so i stood, trembling all over, for a very long time. and at last, i felt that she lay in my arms like a dead weight, hanging as it were against her will in the terrible embrace of a lover that loved with hatred instead of love.
-and i laid her down very gently, turning carefully away, that i might not see her face. and i went away very quickly, and all at once, as i went, i fell down and began to sob, as if my heart would break. and at last, after a long while, i got up, and stood, thinking, and looking back under the trees. and i crept back on tiptoe, and looked and saw her at a distance, lying in the moonlight, very still, like the tomb of my own heart. and then i turned sharp round, and went away for good and all, without a soul. and i said to myself in agony: now i have made the whole world empty with my own hand, and it was myself that i have killed, as well as her. and now i will go after her as soon as i possibly can. but there is one thing still to do, before i go, for i have to give another lesson to narasinha. only this time i will not use a lute-string, but crush out his soul with my bare hands.
-ha! narasinha, i have told thee, and thou knowest all. and now thou hast only to count the hours that are left to thee, for i am coming very soon.
-a story without an end
-and then, maheshwara tossed the last leaf into the air. and as it floated away down the stream, he said to the goddess, as she listened with attention: and yet he never came, as i told thee at the beginning. for narasinha was beforehand with him, after all.
-and the daughter of the snow sat silent, looking away down the river after the floating leaf, until it was lost to sight. and then she said slowly: why didst thou say in the beginning that táráwalí was the most extraordinary of all women, past, present, or to come? for i was deceived by thy encomium, expecting a woman altogether different from her, who was only but a specimen of her sex.
-and párwatí said: how canst thou lavish such praise on a woman so deservedly slain by her infuriated lover, when he suddenly awoke to the discovery of the real nature behind the mask?
-and the great god laughed again, and he looked at her shrewdly and he said: aha! snowy one, said i not that thou wert asleep as i read? i shall have to repeat to thee the story all over again another time. dost thou actually not see that all she said, from beginning to end, was absolutely true? for shatrunjaya told the whole story very well, as he understood it; but he did not understand completely, and made a terrible error in the most important point of all, being led astray by what he had heard, and easily taken in. for blinded by his rage against his rival narasinha, he came suddenly to the wrong conclusion, and slew her by mistake, never so much as giving her time for any explanation. for her eyes never wavered, as he thought, for guilt, but for quite another reason. and narasinha really was, exactly as she said, her tyrant, nor had she anything to do with his assassination of her lovers, which he committed all on his own account, out of jealousy, paying no attention at all to her intercession. but in her gentleness, she shrank from the very idea of any violence, and this was the true cause of the wavering of her eyes, foreseeing as she did another attempt on shatrunjaya, which she could not avert. and my heart was grieved at her death at the hands of a lover whose life she had saved, and would have saved again if she could. for she was worth far more than he.
-and the daughter of the snow said: but what was she doing with such a multitude of lovers at all?
-and maheshwara said: thou art like shatrunjaya himself, biased against her by the insinuations of haridása, and the discreditable behaviour of that little liar chaturiká, who betrayed her as well as others, and by the idle talk of the people, which she rightly compared herself to the croaking of so many frogs. for low people always put the very worst interpretation upon the actions of kings, and especially of queens, of whom all the time they know less than nothing, exactly as she said. and shatrunjaya's opinion of her wavered, in spite of all his worship, being coloured by the scandal that he heard, so that he saw her through its mist, as strangers always do. and if she had too many lovers, it was all the fault of the creator, who endowed her with such fascination, combined with the kindness of her heart: since she blamed herself for their misery, and could not bear to send them away without making them as it were some reparation for her crime of being beautiful beyond all resistance. and this was her only fault.
-then said the mountain-born, with emphasis: i hate her: for a woman should confine herself to one.
-and the daughter of the snow said: how in the world can i guess his name, of whom i never heard before?
-file made using scans of public domain works at the university of georgia.)
-the new society
-authorized translation by arthur windham
-walther rathenau, author of die neue gesellschaft and other studies of economic and social conditions in modern germany, was born in 1867. his father, emil rathenau, was one of the most distinguished figures in the great era of german industrial development, and his son was brought up in the atmosphere of hard work, of enterprise, and of public affairs. after his school days at a gymnasium, or classical school, he studied mathematics, physics and chemistry at the universities of berlin and of strassburg, taking his degree at the age of twenty-two. certain discoveries made by him in chemistry and electrolysis led to the establishment of independent manufacturing works, which he controlled with success, and eventually to his connexion with the world-famous a.e.g.--allgemeine electrizitätsgesellschaft--at the head of which he now stands. during the war he scored a very remarkable and exceptional success as controller of the organization for the supply of raw materials. he is thus not merely a scholar and thinker, but one who has lived and more than held his own in the thick of commercial and industrial life, and who knows by actual experience the subject-matter with which he deals.
-the present study, with its wide outlook and its resolute determination to see facts as they are, should have much value for all students of latter-day politics and economics in europe; for though rathenau is mainly concerned with conditions in his own land the same conditions affect all countries to a greater or less degree, and he deals with general principles of human psychology and of economic law which prevail everywhere in the world. it is not too much to say that "the new society" constitutes a landmark in the history of economic and social thought, and contains matter for discussion, for sifting, for experiment and for propaganda which should occupy serious thinkers and reformers for many a day to come. his suggestions and conclusions may not be all accepted, or all acceptable, but few will deny that they constitute a distinct advance in the effort to bring serious and disinterested thought to the solution of our social problems, and in this conviction we offer the present complete and authorized translation to english readers.
-the new society
-is there any sign or criterion by which we can tell that a human society has been completely socialized?
-there is one and one only: it is when no one can have an income without working for it.
-that is the sign of socialism; but it is not the goal. in itself it is not decisive. if every one had enough to live on, it would not matter for what he received money or goods, or even whether he got them for nothing. and relics of the system of income which is not worked for will always remain--for instance, provision for old age.
-the goal is not any kind of division of income or allotment of property. nor is it equality, reduction of toil, or increase of the enjoyment of life. it is the abolition of the proletarian condition; abolition of the lifelong hereditary serfage, the nameless hereditary servitude, of one of the two peoples who are called by the same name; the annulment of the hereditary twofold stratification of society, the abolition of the scandalous enslavement of brother by brother, of that western abuse which is the basis of our civilization as slavery was of the antique, and which vitiates all our deeds, all our creations, all our joys.
-nor is even this the final goal--no economy, no society can talk of a final goal--the only full and final object of all endeavour upon earth is the development of the human soul. a final goal, however, points out the direction, though not the path, of politics.
-but the sign that this far-reaching socialization has been actually carried out is the cessation of all income without work. i say the sign, but not the sole postulate; for we must postulate a complete and genuine democratization of the state and public economy, and a system of education equally accessible to all: only then can we say that the monopoly of class and culture has been smashed. but the cessation of the workless income will show the downfall of the last of class-monopolies, that of the plutocracy.
-it is not very easy to imagine what society will be like when these objects have been realised, at least if we are thinking not of a brief period like the present russian régime, or a passing phase as in hungary, but an enduring and stationary condition. a dictatorial oligarchy, like that of the bolshevists, does not come into consideration here, and the well-meaning utopias of social romances crumble to nothing. they rest, one and all, on the blissfully ignorant assumption of a state of popular well-being exaggerated tenfold beyond all possibility.
-the knowledge of the sort of social condition towards which at present we germans, and then europe, and finally the other nations are tending in this vertical migration of the peoples, will not only decide for each of us his attitude towards the great social question, but our whole political position as well. it is quite in keeping with german traditions that in fixing our aims and forming our resolves we should be guided not by positive but by negative impulses--not by the effort to get something but to get away from it. to this effort, which is really a flight, we give the positive name of socialism, without troubling ourselves in the least how things will look--not in the sense of popular watchwords but in actual fact--when we have got what we are seeking.
-this is not merely a case of lack of imagination; it is that we germans have, properly speaking, no understanding of political tendencies. we are more or less educated in business, in science, in thought, but in politics we are about on the same level as the east slavonic peasantry. at best we know--and even that not always--what any good result by an attack on the part of the fleet. and so strict a watch was maintained by its garrison, that our leaders soon became convinced of the impossibility of effecting a surprise. naturally the subjugation of this redoubt became the all-absorbing topic of conversation.
-while the interest was at its highest, it happened that mr annesley had occasion to go on shore, and he took a passage with me in the little "mouette." he had never landed on the island before, and so, as we ran down toward the creek, i pointed out to him the various points of interest in the landscape. he was very anxious to get a sight of the convention redoubt, but this was not just then possible, a high rocky acclivity close to the shore shutting out the view. i had often looked at this rock, and had thought what a fine view of the redoubt might be had from its summit, and how easily the place might be reduced, were it only possible to plant guns there, and i mentioned something of this while we were going ashore.
-our worthy "first" remained silent for a good ten minutes after i had concluded my remarks, intently examining through his telescope the face of the rock meanwhile. at last he said,--
-"i should like to give that rock a bit of an overhaul, chester. are you a good hand at climbing?"
-"pretty fair, sir, i believe," was my modest reply.
-"well, then, as soon as i have transacted my business, we will both go and see what it looks like," said he.
-accordingly, as soon as he was at liberty, we made our way to the base of the rock. i call it a rock, and so it certainly was; but there was a considerable depth of soil in many places about its sides, which soil was thickly covered with short close herbage, upon which a few goats were browsing here and there, and it sent a thrill through us both to see these active animals leaping from one projection to another, or clinging like flies to the almost perpendicular faces of the thinly- scattered grassy slopes. looking up at them through our telescopes, it frequently seemed that they had got themselves into such a position, that it would be equally impossible for them to attempt either to go forward or to return without precipitating themselves headlong to the bottom of the precipice.
-it was not an encouraging spectacle to two persons who entertained serious thoughts of scaling such a cliff, especially as stones detached by the feet of the scrambling goats above occasionally came plunging down about our ears; but sailors are not easily, daunted when it comes to a question of climbing, and accordingly after a careful examination, with the view of selecting the most practicable path, we went resolutely at it.
-it was not quite so bad as it looked for about two-thirds of the way up; but when we neared the top, the rocky face became so nearly perpendicular--indeed, it actually overhung in places--that we had serious thoughts of abandoning the enterprise altogether. however, we did not like to be beaten after having achieved so much, so we persevered, and at last, after a most perilous and laborious climb, actually succeeded in reaching the summit.
-the view from our exalted situation was superb. we were standing upon the highest eminence for many miles round, and the air was so clear and transparent that distant objects were as distinctly seen as though viewed through a telescope. on our left the blue expanse of the mediterranean stretched far away to the northward and westward, dotted here and there with the sails of a few tiny coasting or fishing craft. below us, and apparently near enough for us to have thrown a stone on board any of them, lay the fleet of men-o'-war and transports, with their sails loose to dry from a heavy shower of the previous night, and the men about their decks reduced to mere moving specks. in front of, and still below us, and so near that we could distinguish the accoutrements of the men forming its garrison, was the redoubt, with its twenty-one guns projecting their muzzles threateningly over the sod parapet, and symmetrical little pyramidal piles of shot heaped up alongside each gun. beyond it lay san fiorenzo, with its narrow streets, red-tiled, white-washed houses, terraced gardens, insignificant-looking churches, and the harbour beyond, with the cliffs stretching away beyond it again as far as cape corso, and away out at sea the small island of capriaja. upon our right a continuous chain of hills reared themselves, thickly wooded to their very summits; while in our rear calvi, although something like thirty miles distant, was clearly distinguishable.
-but the redoubt was with us the chief point of interest. we examined it with the utmost minuteness, and mr annesley, who possessed some skill with the pencil, made an accurate sketch of it, indicating clearly what seemed to us its weakest points. this done, we made a very careful examination on all sides of the face of the rock upon which we stood, finally coming to the conclusion that, though a difficult feat, it was possible to raise a few 18-pounders to the summit.
-that same evening mr annesley, accompanied by the skipper, proceeded on board the "victory," and reported to the admiral the fact of our having scaled the rock, exhibited his sketch of the redoubt, and explained his ideas as to the practicability of establishing a battery upon the summit. the result was that, on the following morning, lord hood, commodore linzee, sir hyde parker, captain (afterwards lord) nelson, the skipper, and mr annesley took a passage ashore with me in the "mouette," and all hands of us shinned aloft--the first luff and i to show the way, the rest to reconnoitre.
-on reaching the foot of the cliff our superiors (with the exception of captain nelson) rather threw cold water upon the proposed scheme of raising guns to the top; mr annesley, however, with respectful firmness maintained his belief in the practicability of his ideas; and after a great deal of discussion they decided to at least attempt the ascent themselves, and see how the project looked from the lofty stand-point of the summit.
-by the time that we had accomplished our climb their views had become somewhat modified, captain nelson's quick eye having lighted upon several spots, in the progress of his ascent, where it would be practicable to erect sheers or to secure tackles. but it was the sight of the redoubt itself, as seen from the top of the rock, and the complete command of it which would be obtained by a battery planted at the spot whereon they stood, which finally decided the admiral to make the attempt.
-the details of the plan were arranged there and then, the most advantageous positions for sheers, etcetera, fixed upon during the descent, the resources of the fleet discussed on the passage off, and, immediately on our arrival alongside the "victory," the preparations were commenced. anchors, chains, ropes, blocks, etcetera, were loaded into the ships' boats, spare spars were launched overboard and formed into a raft, and that same evening the "mouette" left the fleet, with fourteen boats and the raft in tow; and the wind happening to be dead fair, and just a nice little breeze for the purpose, enabling us all to crowd every stitch of canvas we could set, we ran gaily down before it, and by dusk had everything ashore in readiness for the commencement of our task the first thing on the following morning.
-it is not necessary to describe in detail the operations which eventually resulted in the planting of a battery of 18-pounder guns, together with the necessary ammunition, upon the summit of that precipitous rock, at a height of no less than 700 feet above the sea- level; suffice it to briefly say that by the almost unparalleled skill and perseverance of the officers in charge, and the equally extraordinary exertions of the bluejackets, the feat was actually accomplished, and by sunset on the 15th of february, 1794, everything was ready for opening fire.
-i had hoped that, as the idea might fairly be said to have originated with me, i should be entrusted with the charge of one of the working parties engaged in the task of establishing the battery; but, much to my disappointment, i was left in charge of the cutter, which, during the progress of the operations, was kept going between the fleet and the shore literally day and night, in consequence of which mr robert summers was turned over to me as my first lieutenant. we grumbled almost incessantly at our hard lot in not being allowed to render our valuable assistance more directly to the work in hand, but the reward for our enforced self-denial was nearer at hand than either of us expected.
-the morning of the 16th broke fair and clear, with scarcely a breath of air to ruffle the surface of the water, and with the first streak of dawn all hands were aroused by the roar of the cannonade from the cliff battery, as we had named it. all day long without a moment's intermission was the fire kept up, and on into the evening as long as there was light enough to see. then the fire slackened down somewhat, the efforts of our gunners being merely directed through the night to the prevention of all attempts on the part of the enemy to execute repairs. on the following morning our guns again opened upon the devoted redoubt, and shortly after midday a message was brought down to me for conveyance to the admiral, the substance of which was that there was every indication of a practicable breach being effected before sunset.
-there was a fresh breeze dead against us, but we crowded sail on the cutter to such an extent, in our eagerness to get off to the fleet with the welcome news, that it is the greatest wonder in the world we did not carry the sticks out of her. arrived under the lee of the "victory," bob and i jumped into our dinghy, and, rowing alongside the flag-ship, sprang up her lofty sides, and, finding the admiral on the quarter-deck, went up to him and delivered our message.
-"i was wondering," said sir hyde parker, who was also on the quarter- deck, "what good news you young monkeys had to tell, that you were carrying-on upon the boat in that unmerciful manner. if you are not more careful, young gentlemen, that craft will turn the turtle with you some day, and our friend hood will lose two of his most promising officers, eh?"
-"i have arranged with dundas," he said, "to send a brigade on shore to help make up the storming-party, and i think it will be best to let each captain call for a certain number of volunteers."
-bob and i stepped forward with one accord, just as sir hyde whipped round upon his heel and said sharply,--
-"if you have no objection, sir, i should like to lead our bluejackets in this affair. you will have to send some one with them; they will be worse than useless in the hands of the soldier-officers, since they will not understand each other, and i might as well go as another."
-"not to be thought of for a moment, sir," returned the admiral. "no, no, no; give one or other of the captains a chance to distinguish himself; you have already made your mark. well, what can i do for you, young gentlemen?" turning to us.
-"we shall volunteer, sir," said i, as bold as brass; "and we should feel very much obliged if you will put in a word for us with the sk-- with captain hood, sir, if you please."
-"have either of you ever been present at the storming of a fortress?" asked the admiral.
-"no, sir," cut in bob, taking the words out of my mouth, "but we have boarded an enemy's ship before now, sir, which is pretty much the same thing."
-we accordingly retreated down the side, very much crestfallen and disappointed indeed, and, jumping into the dinghy, returned to the "mouette," just as the captains' gigs from the various ships were coming up alongside.
-seating ourselves upon the companion-slide, and dangling our legs disconsolately down the companion, we abandoned ourselves to the most gloomy reflections, watching meanwhile the boats as they dashed up alongside the flag-ship, and cynically criticising the stroke and action of the several crews; and i am afraid the skippers themselves did not altogether escape our disparaging remarks.
-we had been sitting thus for about a quarter of an hour, giving unrestrained vent to our feelings of dissatisfaction, when bob's countenance suddenly brightened, and, turning to me, he exclaimed in an animated tone of voice,--
-"i say, chester, what fools we are! let's go aboard the old `juno' and wait until the skipper returns, and when he calls for volunteers we'll be the first to step to the front. old hood," (it was in this unpardonably disrespectful manner he alluded to the admiral) "has forgotten all about us by this time, and so he will never think of mentioning to the skipper our request, and i don't see why we haven't a good chance yet. do you?"
-no sooner said than done. we knew that the chiefs would at that moment be seated in the admiral's cabin, so, filling upon the cutter, we bore away and ran down under the lee of the "juno," whose deck we gained just as the captains' gigs were shoving off from the "victory's" accommodation-ladder.
-ten minutes afterwards captain hood came up the side, and immediately gave orders for all hands to come aft. he then, accompanied by mr annesley, went up on the poop, and stood there, watching the eager and expectant faces of the men as they clustered thickly in the waist on both sides of the deck. the officers were all grouped together upon the quarter-deck.
-waiting until all hands were present, the skipper stepped forward to the head of the poop-ladder, and, waving his hand for silence, said,--
-"my lads, i have just weturned from a conference with the admiwal, at which every captain in the fleet was pwesent. and i am--ah--charged by lord hood to expwess to you all--officers and men alike--his thanks for your wecent exertions in waising the guns to the top of yonder wock. the battewy thus--er--ah--placed in position will, it is expected, effect a--a pwacticable bweach in the wall of the convention wedoubt by sunset this evening, and it is intended to storm the place as soon as-- ah--darkness sets in. the storming-party is to be made up of an equal number of soldiers and bluejackets,"--here the speaker was interrupted by an enthusiastic cheer from his audience, the repetition of which was checked by the skipper's uplifted hand--"the storming-party," he continued, "is to be composed equally, i say, of soldiers and bluejackets, and the admiwal has authowized each captain to call for fifty volunteers--keep steady, men; be silent and--ah--wait until i have quite finished, if you please. i am authowized to call for fifty volunteers; but i wish you all distinctly to understand that no man who has in any way misconducted himself will be accepted. now let those who volunteer for the storming-party come abaft the mainmast."
-bob and i, knowing what was coming, had gradually edged to the front--we were of course, with the rest of the officers, already abaft the mainmast--and, directly the skipper ceased, we stepped smartly out and posted ourselves at the foot of the poop-ladder, to show that we were volunteering; and then faced round to witness the effect of captain hood's speech upon the crew.
-the scene was irresistibly comic. in the first place we found that the group of officers had simply shifted position in a compact body, so that we all stood pretty much as we were before. the front ranks of the men had also advanced until they were well abaft the mainmast, when they halted--that is, they would have baited had it not been for the pressure behind, which was pretty steady in the front portion of the mass, but in the rear something very like a panic ensued, and almost before one could count ten those unfortunates who had not already gained the coveted position began to clamber over the booms, along the hammock- rail, and actually out through the ports, along the main-channels, and in again through the ports farther aft, in their eagerness to volunteer. the struggling and elbowing increased until it became almost desperate, when one of the boatswain's mates--a brawny, muscular, old sea-dog, with a mahogany visage, a gigantic pig-tail, and his chest and arms elaborately tattooed--stepped out, and, facing round, exclaimed in stentorian tones,--
-"avast heaving there, ye unmannerly swabs; do you take his majesty's quarter-deck,"--lifting his hat--"for a playhouse-booth on southsea common? belay all, and stand fast, every mother's son of ye, and let me speak to the skipper for ye."
-then, facing the poop once more, he stepped forward out of the crowd, and doffing his hat, while he made an elaborate sea-scrape with his right foot and gave a tug at his forelock, he addressed the skipper somewhat as follows,--
-"i hope your honour'll kindly overlook this little bit of a scrimmage that's just took place, and forgive our unperliteness, seeing as how a many of us has never had a chance of larnin' how to behave ourselves in delicate sitivations. your honour doesn't need to be told--at least, we hopes not--that we didn't mean nothing in any way unbecoming or disrespectable to you or the rest of the hofficers--no, not by no manner of means whatsomever. all we want to say is just this here: that all hands on us, down to the powder-monkeys, begs most respectably to wolunteer for this here boardin'-party; and we hopes as how you'll take the whole kit of us, 'ceptin' of course the black-sheep as your honour spoke of just now, and let them and the `jollies' look arter the old barkie, who won't mind takin' care of herself for an hour or two--god bless her!--while us, her precious hinfants, is havin' a little bit of a lark with the crapoos ashore there."
-a loud murmur of approval greeted this effort on the part of the boatswain's mate, and then everybody awaited in silence the reply.
-a deep flush of gratification lighted up captain hood's features as he said,--
-"i thank you from my heart, men, for your--um--generous wesponse to my call, and i am sincerely sowwy that i cannot take you--er--eh--at your words. but the admiwal's instwuctions are impewative, and i have no power to dwaw more than the specified number. as therefore you have all volunteered, the `juno's' contingent shall be chosen by lot, whereby all partiality or unfairness will be avoided, and i hope that the awwangement will pwove satisfactowy."
-the crew were accordingly arranged in a double rank, fore and aft the deck, and lots drawn--each man choosing a folded slip of paper from a bundle, fifty of which were marked, the remainder being blank.
-then came the question of selecting officers, a proper quota of which were to go with the men. it came out at this stage of the proceedings that our skipper had been chosen to command the naval brigade; mr annesley therefore, much to his chagrin, found that he had no option but to remain on board. the second and third lieutenants tossed up to decide which of them should go, and the "second" was lucky enough to win. one other officer was required, and the lot fell on percival, the master's-mate. the doctor was to go, as a matter of course, but he was to be a non-combatant. little summers and i--poor pilgarlic--were so entirely consumed with disgust, that we could find no words sufficiently powerful to express our feelings, and we simply stood glaring at each other in moody silence.
-suddenly a brilliant idea flashed through my brain. winking encouragingly at the disconsolate bob, i stepped boldly up to the skipper, and, touching my cap, said,--
-"i hope, sir, as the officers will doubtless go ashore in the cutter, that you will allow summers and me to land and join the storming-party. we will try to make ourselves useful, sir, in the carrying of messages and so on, and--and we have been looking forward so much to the affair that--that we hope you will not disappoint us, sir."
-"oh!" said the skipper; "you wish--you and summers--to join the storming-party, eh? well, i weally don't know what to say about that; it would scarcely be fair to the other young gentlemen, you know. still--um--ah--let me see. the admiwal and some of the officers, not forming part of the stormers, are going on shore, and they will doubtless use the cutter; and as they will stay until all is over, i think you may venture to join us, and if you get into twouble over the affair, i must do the best i can to make excuses for you."
-"hurrah, bob!" i exclaimed, as i rejoined my despondent friend. "faint heart never won fair lady; the skipper has given us permission to slip ashore and join the stormers, so off you go at once and get ready. and don't be long, old chap, for the admiral and a lot more are going ashore in the little `mouette,' and we must be on hand directly our signal is made."
-"never fear," joyously responded bob. "i'll be ready in a brace of shakes; i've only to get my `weepons' as our scotch doctor calls them, and i'll be on deck again as soon as you are."
-having already so successfully enacted the part of a petitioner, i determined to try my luck once more, and accordingly hunted up the honourable mortimer, who had retired to his cabin. one of the hobbies of our somewhat eccentric "third" was the collection of choice weapons, several valuable specimens of which adorned his state-room. if he ever saw anything specially curious or choice in the shape of sword or pistol, he never rested until he had made it his own; but when once the coveted article had come into his possession he seemed to lose all further interest in it, and accordingly, being also a good-natured individual enough, he was always ready to lend from his stock, provided an undertaking were entered into to take due care of the borrowed article, and to faithfully return it.
-to this accommodating friend i briefly stated my case, which was simply, that as there was just a bare possibility--i did not like to put it any stronger, remembering that he was one of the disappointed ones--of my being present at the storming of the redoubt, i was anxious to be provided with some more efficient weapon than my dirk, and that i would feel very much obliged to him if he would lend me one of his swords. this he at once did, bidding me take my choice, and i thereupon selected a beautiful turkish scimitar, the curved blade of which, inlaid with a delicate scroll pattern in gold, was as keen as a razor. tucking this under my arm, and thanking him duly for his kindness, i next hurried away to the armourer, and wheedled him out of a pair of ship's pistols, together with the necessary ammunition; after which i returned to the deck and awaited my ally, calm in the consciousness that i was now prepared for any and every emergency. i was almost immediately afterwards joined by bob, whose face beamed with delight as he directed my attention to a ship's cutlass which he had girded to his thigh, and a pair of long-barrelled duelling-pistols which our fire-eating "second" had entrusted to his care. we at once trundled down over the side into our cockleshell of a boat, and, getting on board the "mouette" with all speed, roused up the anchor and dodged about well in view of the admiral, keeping a sharp lookout for the "whiff" in the mizzen-rigging, which was our especial signal for service.
-the storming of the redoubt, and the attack on bastia.
-as the afternoon wore on the wind grew light, and by eight bells it had so far died away that it was practically valueless to the boats which were to convey the naval brigade to the shore. the admiral, however, would not allow the men to row, being anxious that they should reach the scene of action fresh and vigorous; at the last moment, therefore, one of the lieutenants belonging to the "victory" was sent onboard the "requin"--or the "shark," as she was now almost universally called--with orders to get under weigh and tow the flotilla down to the cove.
-at the same time our signal was made, in obedience to which we went through the fleet and took on board lord hood, sir hyde parker, vice- admiral hotham, captain purvis of the "princess royal," commodore linzee, captain elphinstone of the "robust," captain nelson of the "agamemnon," and some half a dozen other officers who were going on shore to witness the attack.
-by the time that we had embarked all our passengers, the "shark" was under weigh and dodging about, waiting for the boats, which were alongside their respective ships, taking in their proper complement of men.
-when all was ready, the boats shoved off and pulled for the brig, which was by this time hove-to in readiness for taking them in tow. admiral hood himself marshalled the boats in the order which he wished them to take; and two stout hawsers being passed out of the brig's stern-ports, the boats were lashed to them in two divisions, larboard and starboard; and when everything was arranged to the satisfaction of our chief, he gave the order for the brig to fill, and away we went.
-it took us an hour and a half to reach the cove, the wind being so light; and in order to remain in company, the little "mouette's" canvas had to be reduced to a close-reefed mainsail and small jib, under which we were still able to sail round the flotilla occasionally, in order that lord hood might see that all was right.
-it was just growing dusk when the boats, having cast off from the towing hawsers, pulled into the cove and grounded on its steep shingly beach. we anchored the "mouette" about a cable's length from the beach, landed our passengers, and watched them fairly out of sight on the san fiorenzo road, when bob and i leaped into our dinghy and were pulled ashore. the naval brigade was by this time in motion; and, hurrying forward, we soon found ourselves alongside the "juno's" contingent, under the command of the second lieutenant, whose irish blood was already up, and who greeted our appearance with a rollicking joke, which would in almost any other man have been unbecoming the dignity of his rank. but "paddy" flinn--or micky flinn, as he was indifferently called by his friends--had a subtle knack of behaving in an undignified manner, without jeopardising the respect due to him; for, let his vagaries take what form they would, he never by any chance descended to the committal of a mean, cowardly, or ungentlemanly act.
-the camp of the land forces was pitched at a distance of about two miles from the beach; and the march was accomplished in about three-quarters of an hour, our tars beguiling the way with jokes and yarns of the most outrageous and improbable character. the strictest discipline was always maintained on board ship; but on land-expeditions, which would admit of it, a little more freedom was tacitly permitted.
-when we reached the point of rendezvous, we found the troops who were to share with us the honours of the night already on the ground, and waiting. the guns of the cliff battery were still thundering away far above us; and the redoubt was replying with apparently undiminished vigour.
-the place of rendezvous was a sort of ravine, situated about midway between the two opposing batteries; the ground being masked from the redoubt by one of the precipitous sides of the ravine. at the farther end, the precipice gradually merged into a steep slope, from the summit of which rose the hill upon which the redoubt stood; and up these two steep slopes the storming-party had to go.
-by the time that all was ready, night had completely set in. contrary to our hopes, it was exquisitely fine, not a single shred of cloud obscuring the deep blue vault of heaven. the wind had died away to the faintest zephyr, and the dew was falling so copiously that it promised soon to wet us to the skin. at a signal, made by the waving of a lantern, the guns of the cliff battery above us suddenly became mute, as though the artillerymen had given up for the night; and a calm and tranquil silence ensued, broken only by the gentle rustle of the fitful breeze through the foliage of some firs which were dotted here and there along the precipitous sides of the ravine, the chirping of insects, the occasional twitter of a sleeping bird, or a low murmur here and there in the serried ranks of armed men which stood awaiting the order to rush forth to death or victory. the stars flooded the scene with their subdued and mellow radiance, and, but for the occasional gleam of a naked weapon, everything was suggestive of restfulness and peace.
-it had been hoped that we should be able to take the garrison of the redoubt at least partially by surprise; but the fineness and silence of the night rendered this impossible; as soon, therefore, as everything was ready, the party moved forward toward the farther end of the ravine, the soldiers leading the way, in accordance with the proviso of major- general dundas, who refused to co-operate with the naval brigade upon any other terms. it took us but a few minutes to reach the end of the ravine; and directly we were clear and had reached a point where the first slope became practicable, we were led up it at an easy pace, and halted just beneath its brow--and consequently under cover--in order that all hands might recover their wind in readiness for the rush up the second slope to the redoubt.
-i was not, at that period of my life, particularly susceptible to serious thought or grave reflections; but as i stood on that steep hill- side in the hush and solemn beauty of the starlit night, and looked upon that band of silent men, every one of them with the pulses of life beating quick and strong within him, his frame aglow with health, and every nerve quivering with intense excitement, the awful thought flashed through my brain that, with many of them, a few brief seconds only stood between them and eternity. i wondered to how many of them had the same idea presented itself; and then came the question, "does god ever in his infinite mercy, in such supreme moments as this, inspire similar reflections in the minds of the doomed ones, in order that they may not be hurried into his presence wholly unprepared?" it might be so, i thought; and if that were the case, was it not probable that, coming to me at such a time, they foreshadowed my own doom, and warned me to prepare for it while still i had an opportunity? five minutes hence, perhaps, and time would be, for me, no more. the signal to advance--the breathless rush--the flash and roar of artillery, a sickening crash, a hideous whirl, in which all nature becomes blotted out, and then--the great white throne.
-was that what lay before me? the oppressive excitement under which i had been labouring passed away; tears of emotion welled up into my eyes, and my heart went up to god in a brief, silent, fervent prayer for mercy and forgiveness; that if i were about to die i might be pardoned for christ's sake and received into everlasting life. for a minute or two the fear of death--or rather, of the eternity beyond death--had been upon me; but with the conclusion of my hurried prayer the mantle of fear fell from my shoulders, and a blessed peace--"the peace of god, which passeth all understanding," as i reverently believed--took its place. i was supported by a consciousness, or perhaps it was only a belief, that whatever happened i was safe; and from that moment my only anxiety was to faithfully do my duty.
-at length, sufficient time having been allowed for the men to completely recover their breath and brace themselves for the final rush up the hill to the redoubt, the word was given, and we dashed over the brow of the slope and charged up the steep ascent; and at the same instant the artillerymen in the cliff battery--who had been keenly watching our movements--reopened with a terrific fire upon the devoted redoubt.
-our men gave a single ringing, soul-stirring cheer, as they sprang into view, and then were silent, the exertion of pressing up that steep acclivity leaving them no breath to waste in profitless noise. the distance to be traversed was not more than 200 yards--no great matter upon level ground--but the hill rose so abruptly that, after the first fifty yards, our pace was reduced to something between a walk and a climb. the french, too, had evidently expected and been on the watch for us; for we had hardly advanced twenty paces before the parapet of the redoubt blazed out above us in a long line of fire; a storm of round shot and grape swept down upon us; great ghastly gaps were mown out of our ranks, a hideous chorus of shrieks and groans rose above the thundering roar of the artillery, and long lines of dead and dying men marked the path of the pitiless shot. the calmness and stillness of night gave place to a horrible discord of deafening sounds; the earth beneath our feet shook and vibrated with the ceaseless discharge of heavy guns; the baleful glare of portfires and fireballs flung down the hill by the enemy to enable them more clearly to ascertain our position, and the incessant flash of the cannon, cast a fierce, unearthly light upon the scene. again, again, and again came the hissing storm of iron, each time with more deadly effect; the ground before and around us was ploughed and gashed by the rushing shot; our men were swept away before it like withered leaves before a hurricane; the death-cries of cherished comrades continually pierced the ear; the storming-party was melting away like snow beneath the scorching breath of that fiery tempest; and still the remnant struggled on.
-at length that fearful breathless climb was nearly over. we were so near the redoubt that the muzzles of the guns could no longer be depressed sufficiently for the shot to take effect; the artillerymen, therefore, left their cannon and joined the grenadiers in throwing down hand-grenades upon us, or in pouring in a ceaseless musketry-fire. the guns in the cliff battery also became silent, in dread of striking friends as well as foes. a few yards more, and we were close enough to distinguish the stern, bronzed features of the defenders clustering thick in the breach to bar our entrance, the musketry flashes gleaming on their glistening eyeballs, and flickering on their levelled bayonet- points. my recent runs on shore, and the exercise of climbing up and down the cliff rock seemed to have given me an advantage over the rest; for there was by this time no one in front of me. two individuals there were, however, close at hand, in one of whom i recognised the skipper, the other being major-general dundas. they were evidently racing for the breach, and the skipper was getting the worst of it, being thoroughly blown. we were all three pretty evenly in line, but the soldier had chosen his road with the greater judgment. at last the skipper, too exhausted to keep upright any longer, put his sword between his teeth and went down on his hands and knees. i saw at once the nature of the rivalry, it was a struggle which should reach the breach first, the army or the navy; and i knew captain hood would rather lose a hundred pounds than be beaten.
-like them, i was dreadfully exhausted, the fatigue i experienced being so great that it amounted to positive pain; the muscles of my legs in particular ached and quivered violently with the exertions i had been making. still, i was not nearly so bad as the other two, being decidedly strong and vigorous for my age, and i determined that the skipper should be gratified if it lay in my power; so i scrambled to his side and held out my hand to him shouting,--
-"let me give you a tow, sir; and we'll be in before the red-coat yet."
-he grasped my hand without a word, rose to his feet, and together we strained and pressed upward. a couple of yards still lay between us and the hedge of bayonets which guarded the breach. the bullets flew about us thick as hail; one passing through my hat, another shredding away half the bullion from the skipper's starboard epaulette, two more actually passing through my jacket and razing the skin; yet by a miracle we escaped unwounded.
-one more desperate effort, and we staggered up the loose debris and into the breach, a clear yard ahead of our rival; and then, shoulder to shoulder, we stood and tried to recover our breath as best we could, defending ourselves meanwhile from the innumerable cuts and thrusts which were aimed at us. the next to arrive was, of course, major- general dundas; then came mr flinn, closely followed by the captain of the "juno's" main-top; then five or six soldiers; and, thus strengthened, we pressed forward, foot by foot, the frenchmen obstinately contesting every inch of the way, until we had fairly penetrated to the interior of the redoubt, when--a path being thus cleared for those who came behind--the relics of the storming-party surged in and rushed upon the enemy with such resistless impetuosity that some of the garrison threw down their arms and surrendered; while the rest broke and fled in direst confusion.
-a feeble cheer announced our success, which was immediately answered by a ringing "three times three--and one cheer more, for the storming- party," from the occupants of the cliff battery away aloft in the cool night-air.
-poor little bobby summers came panting in with the ruck, after all was over; and the first use he made of his breath, after he had recovered it sufficiently to speak, was to abuse me in unmeasured terms for what he was pleased to term my "meanness," in leaving him to struggle up the hill unaided.
-all hands remained on shore that night, to make everything secure, and to guard against the possibility of an attempt to retake the redoubt; the storming-party being quickly reinforced by a strong detachment from the camp, which had been held in readiness to march in as soon as the redoubt should be carried.
-then came the sickening task of collecting the dead and wounded, arranging the former for burial, and attending to the wants of the latter and making them as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. but i will not go into the details of this accompaniment to the "pomp and circumstance of war," lest i should unnecessarily harrow the feelings of my readers; suffice it to say that our task was not accomplished until long after sun-rise; while that of the naval and military surgeons of course lasted for weeks.
-the fall of the convention redoubt left the town of san fiorenzo at our mercy, and accordingly, when next day our troops marched into the town, it was found that the french had evacuated it, and had retired to bastia.
-this, the most important town in the island, and, at the period of my story, also the most strongly fortified--whatever it may be at the present day--is about six miles from san fiorenzo; and is situated on the eastern or opposite side of the long narrow peninsula which forms the northern extremity of corsica. it was against it that, in lord hood's opinion, our next operations ought to be directed.
-his views, however, and those of major-general dundas were widely divergent as to the practicability of the proposed scheme; the latter being of opinion that we had neither strength nor means sufficient to effect the reduction of so strongly fortified a place as bastia; while lord hood, on the other hand, was sanguine of success. this difference of opinion between the heads of the forces led to a protracted and vexatious delay, during which we of the fleet busied ourselves successfully in raising the french thirty-eight-gun frigate, "minerve," which her crew had sunk in san fiorenzo harbour. this ship was afterwards added to our navy under the name of the "san fiorenzo."
-i must not omit to mention that, a few days after the taking of the convention redoubt, captain hood publicly thanked me, on the "juno's" quarter-deck, for the assistance i had rendered him on that memorable night; and the story also reaching the admiral's ears, i had the gratification of being warmly commended by that great chief, as well as of finding that my name had been prominently mentioned in his despatches home. several other officers also thanked me for supporting the reputation of the navy, captain nelson being especially eulogistic--for him--on the subject. so that, altogether, i received a far greater share of credit than it seemed to me so simple a matter merited.
-at length, meeting after meeting having taken place between lord hood and major-general dundas, without those officers being able to agree upon the question of investing bastia, something very like a rupture took place; the admiral declaring that so confident was he of success, that, since general dundas would not co-operate with him, he would undertake alone the task of reducing the place with the seamen and marines belonging to the fleet.
-this resolution once arrived at, lord hood forthwith set about the work of carrying it out with his accustomed energy. an old twenty-eight-gun frigate, called the "proselyte," was specially fitted up as a floating battery, and, with the rest of the fleet, taken round to bastia roads. the marines were then landed, and, aided by a strong contingent of bluejackets, who were placed under the command of captain horatio nelson, at once set to work to throw up a chain of sod batteries, completely investing the town on the land side.
-so much precious time had been wasted in discussing the pros and cons of this matter, that, notwithstanding our utmost exertions, it was not until the second week of april, 1794, that our batteries were finished, the guns mounted, and everything ready for the projected attack. the evening of the 10th, however, saw our preparations completed; and on the morning of the 11th the "proselyte" was moved inshore and moored in a convenient position for battering the seaward defences of the town.
-the attack immediately afterwards commenced; the "proselyte" and the shore batteries opening fire simultaneously. the french replied with the utmost spirit, their guns being admirably served, especially those which played upon the "proselyte;" and it soon became evident that that unfortunate craft was getting decidedly the worst of it. she was the only ship engaged, the admiral having early come to the conclusion that it would be madness to expose his fleet, unprotected, to the fire of the heavy metal mounted in the french defences; we therefore--the few of us, that is, who were not detailed for duty on shore--had nothing to do for the time being but watch the fun.
-the action had been in progress but a short time, when we observed that the "proselyte" was swinging round; and on looking at her more attentively, with the aid of our telescopes, we discovered that some of her moorings had been shot away. her remaining cables soon brought her up again; but not until she had drifted into a frightfully exposed position. the fire of the french batteries was immediately concentrated upon the devoted craft with increased energy; and presently little jets of greyish smoke, issuing here and there from her sides, showed that the enemy was effectively firing red-hot shot.
-about ten minutes afterwards a little string of balls was seen soaring aloft to her mast-head. the balls burst apart, and four signal flags fluttered in the breeze.
-i raised my telescope to my eye and read out the numbers to mr annesley, who was busy turning over the leaves of the signal-book.
-he ran his finger hastily along the column of figures, and read out to the skipper, who was looking over his shoulder,--
-"ship on fire--send assistance."
-"now, mr chester, keep your eye on the admiral, and see what he says," remarked the skipper.
-as he spoke i saw a signal going aloft on board the "victory," and managed to get it into the field of my telescope just as the flags burst abroad at the mast-head.
-i read out the numbers again.
-"all right; i know what that means, without turning up the numbers," said the skipper quickly. "it means, `send away boats to ship in distress.' so have the goodness to pipe away the pinnace and first and second cutters, if you please, mr annesley."
-in another moment the boatswain's shrill pipe was sounding throughout the ship; the boats, which were hanging at the boom, were brought alongside, manned, placed in charge of a midshipman to each boat, and despatched with all speed to the assistance of the unlucky "proselyte," from which, by this time, dense clouds of dark smoke were issuing.
-meanwhile the boats from the rest of the fleet were also pushing off with the same object as ourselves; and an exciting race ensued. we were among the last to arrive alongside, having had a longer distance to pull than any of the other boats; and when we reached the doomed craft, the flames were bursting out through her ports, roaring fiercely up through her hatchways, and soaring aloft by means of her rigging like fiery serpents. some of her guns were already nearly red-hot. part of her main-deck had fallen in; and her main and mizzen-masts were so far burnt through at the foot that they threatened momentarily to fall.
-although the flames were blazing so fiercely, and had obtained such a complete hold upon the ship that the magazine was expected to explode at any moment, and although the enemy, taking full advantage of the disaster, was concentrating a terrific fire upon that part of the ship where her crew were mustered, awaiting their turn to go down over the side into the boats which were waiting to receive them, there was not a trace of hurry or confusion. commander serocold, who had been given the command of the unfortunate craft, stood on the rail and personally directed the process of trans-shipping; sending down first the injured, then the younger and rawer portion of the crew, then the veterans--the sturdy old bronzed and weather-beaten salts, whose nerves were thoroughly proof against the worst terrors of battle, fire, or flood,-- next the officers, and finally, when he was quite satisfied that no living being but himself remained on board, he raised his uniform cap as if in salute, slipped down the side, and gave the order to "give way."
-"stretch out to your work, lads," he exclaimed, as the oars dashed into the water; "throw your whole hearts into it; the fire must be close to the magazine, and--"
-a terrific concussion, a dull heavy roar, and the poor old "proselyte" was rent to pieces, as a broad sheet of flame flashed up from her hull skyward. a wall of water some five feet high leapt up just under our stern, and immediately afterwards curled over upon us, completely swamping the boat. fragments of planks and beams, heavy bolts, spars, and other wreckage whizzed through the air all around us; and one of the guns, still mounted on its carriage, and with its shattered tackles streaming in the air, was hurled outwards and fell into the water with a tremendous splash, within six feet of where we were all left struggling in the water. then a great cloud of black smoke shot up into the air; and the blackened remains of the hull, collapsing amidships, sank out of sight, creating a great seething whirl, which dragged us all helplessly into its vortex, and sucked us ruthlessly down, down deep into the darkening bosom of the ocean.
-stunned, and almost insensible from the violence of the shock, i still had presence of mind left to close my nostrils with the fingers of one hand, and to hold my breath, as i was helplessly whirled hither and thither; and at last, just as my powers of endurance had reached the point of exhaustion, i rose again to the surface, and beheld once more the welcome sight of the bright sunlight flashing upon the dancing billows.
-the water all round me was thickly strewn with wreckage; and a few pieces were still falling here and there, showing the height to which the fragments had been projected. a dozen or so of human heads appeared on the surface of the water at no great distance from me; and others were momentarily popping up above the waves; the owners, one and all, immediately striking out, more or less scientifically, for the nearest floating object.
-looking round me, i soon had the satisfaction of discovering the gallant commander of the ill-fated "proselyte," clinging to the keel of our boat, which was floating bottom-up at no great distance from me. seeing that all hands appeared pretty well able to take care of themselves, i at once struck out and joined him.
-"ah! mr chester," he exclaimed, as i ranged alongside, "glad to see that you have weathered it so well. it was a very narrow squeak; and we have come out of it a good deal better than i dared expect. i have been trying to count heads, and i make out thirty-eight, all told; how many men had you with you?"
-"twelve," i answered.
-i remarked that i thought there was not very much danger; an opinion which soon received singular confirmation; for while we were still speaking, immense numbers of fish of all sizes and descriptions, some killed, and others merely stunned by the violence of the explosion, floated up to the surface; and shortly afterwards, when the boats had picked us all up, and we were pulling out toward the fleet, we fell in with an enormous shark, floating helplessly on his back, in an apparently paralysed condition. a running bowline was promptly slipped over his tail and drawn taut; and he was triumphantly and unresistingly towed alongside the "victory," and hoisted inboard.
-a foolhardy adventure.
-short time after this, a melancholy event occurred, which cast a gloom over the entire fleet.
-the siege was not progressing to the admiral's satisfaction; the garrison showed no sign of yielding; and our chief became anxious to learn something with regard to the condition of things within the walls of bastia.
-the moment that this desire became known, a host of volunteers stepped forward, with offers to do their best to make their way inside and gain the required information. admiral hood, however, felt very reluctant to allow any of these volunteers to expose themselves to so great a risk; particularly as it turned out, when questioned, that not one of them had been able to devise a really practicable and promising scheme.
-the least unpromising idea of them all, was that suggested by lieutenant carre tupper, of the flag-ship; which was, that he should endeavour to effect a landing inside the chain of defences, and, penetrating into the town, gain all the information he could; and trust to his good fortune for the means of getting off to the ship again. this plan seemed all the more feasible, from the fact that he spoke the french language with the ease and fluency of a parisian.
-after much consideration, therefore, the admiral accepted this gallant young officer's offer, and gave his consent to the experiment.
-a disguise was accordingly prepared under lieutenant tupper's own supervision; and on the first favourable night the experiment was tried.
-it was perfectly calm, with an overcast sky and no moon, when he stood, dressed in his disguise, in the gangway of the "victory," receiving from the admiral his last instructions; and many a hearty hand-shake, and many a fervent "success attend you, my dear fellow," did he receive before passing down the lofty side of the 100-gun ship, into the pinnace which, with muffled oars and a crew armed to the teeth, awaited him at the foot of the side-ladder.
-at last the final parting was spoken, the final shake of the hand given, and with a gay laugh, in response to the half-serious, half-jocose warnings to take care of himself which followed him, he sprang lightly down the side, took his seat in the stern-sheets, and gave the order to shove off.
-he had most carefully reconnoitred the place beforehand, both from the topgallant-yard of the "victory," and from the deck of the little "mouette;" so that he knew exactly for what point to steer; and there was no hesitation whatever upon that score.
-all went well with the little expedition until the boat arrived within half a mile of bastia, when a little breeze sprang up; the canopy of cloud which had overspread the heavens cleared away as if by magic, and the stars shone out brilliantly, flooding earth and sea with a light which, though subdued, was sufficient to reveal to the sharp-eyed french sentinels the small dark object which was silently stealing toward the shore.
-the alarm was immediately given; but instead of opening upon the boat with their heavy guns, at the risk of missing their object, and driving off their prey, the french allowed the boat still to approach, and, marking carefully the spot for which she was making, silently placed a strong body of sharpshooters in ambush to await her coming.
-had the frenchmen in ambush but observed the most ordinary caution, there is no doubt they would easily have captured the boat and the whole of her crew, but instead of this they gave way to the excitement which is one of their failings, and indulged in such loud and continuous chatter that the coxswain of the pinnace heard them when within about twenty yards of the landing-place, and the boat was at once pulled round with her head off shore, and the crew ordered to "give way with a will," in order to escape the very obvious danger.
-but it was too late. the moment that it was observed that their destined prey had taken the alarm, a terrific volley of musketry was poured into the boat, and the gallant young officer who had undertaken the chief risk of the expedition fell forward into the bottom of the boat, dead and riddled with bullets. the coxswain also and two of the crew were more or less severely wounded. the boat was as speedily as possible taken out of range, and though, when it was found that there was a prospect of her escaping, some of the batteries opened upon her, and two or three boats started from the shore in chase, she reached the "victory" without further mishap, about an hour and a half from the time when she started upon the disastrous expedition.
-much grief was felt throughout the fleet at the loss of this gallant and promising young officer, whose distinguished services at the evacuation of toulon, as well as his kindly and genial disposition, had made him universally liked and respected.
-after this, there was no further talk of obtaining information respecting the condition of the enemy.
-but the idea had taken hold of me, and i had thought about it until i had become completely fascinated.
-it certainly seemed to me a preposterous piece of presumption that i should flatter myself i could succeed where an older and much more talented officer had failed, but the idea had got into my head, and the more i thought of it, the more sanguine did i become of success.
-i had, after much thought, evolved a scheme which appeared to me so very promising that i determined to put it to the test without delay, taking care, however, not to breathe a word of my purpose to any of the officers, because i felt certain that after the late lamentable failure, no further attempts of a like kind would be permitted.
-i needed assistance, however, to carry this notable scheme into effect, and i accordingly took little bobby summers into my confidence.
-the "mouette," i ought to mention, had been brought round with the rest of the fleet, and was occasionally employed in communicating between the ships and the forces on shore. bobby and i retained our former posts in her, and as she was required at all hours of the day and night, we had removed our chests and hammocks to her little cabin, merely visiting the old "juno" at odd times, to maintain our connexion with her, when we had nothing else in particular to do.
-this arrangement was most favourable to my scheme, inasmuch as it allowed of my embarking upon it unmolested, and it also rendered little bobby's assistance available at whatever moment i might require it.
-there seemed to be only one serious difficulty in my way, and that was the want of a really good and effective disguise; and this difficulty was quite unexpectedly removed by the merest accident.
-i had taken summers into my confidence, and had received from him a prompt promise of his heartiest co-operation; the first dark night therefore which followed upon the unfolding of my purpose to my enthusiastic shipmate, we took the first steps necessary to its accomplishment.
-i am, as i think i have already mentioned, an excellent swimmer, and it was upon the possession of this accomplishment that i chiefly based my hopes of success. my plan was simply to row in as near the shore as possible, accompanied by summers, in the cockleshell of a dinghy belonging to the "mouette," and then quietly slip into the water and swim the remainder of the distance. the dinghy in question was so very diminutive a craft that i felt sure we might under favourable circumstances get quite close in without being discovered.
-the first thing which i considered necessary, was to ascertain the set and rate of the tide, such as it was; and to do this, we started away in the dinghy one very dark night, armed with a cutlass and a brace of pistols each, and paddled leisurely in toward the shore.
-we arrived in due time within about half a mile of the harbour's mouth, and then laid upon our oars to watch the drift of a small piece of plank, painted white, which we launched overboard, keeping the boat just far enough away to prevent her influencing its course, while at the same time able to distinguish its position pretty clearly.
-we had been occupied thus for nearly an hour, and had seen enough to very nearly satisfy me upon the point in question, when, at no great distance away, we heard a sound as of some one laying in an oar upon a boat's thwart.
-curiosity at once urged us to ascertain, if possible, the source and meaning of this sound, as we felt pretty confident it could proceed from no boat belonging to the fleet, and we easily arrived at the logical conclusion that it must therefore proceed from some boat belonging to the enemy. abandoning, therefore, our float to its fate, we loosened our cutlasses in their sheaths, and our pistols in the belts which supported them, and very cautiously paddled in the direction from whence the sound appeared to proceed.
-we had not gone very far when we heard the sound of voices speaking in a low tone, apparently just inshore of us, and we accordingly turned the boat's head in that direction.
-as we proceeded, the sound of talking rapidly became more distinct, and at length we were near enough to distinguish that the speakers, whoever they were, ere conversing in french.
-at this point we rested on our oars again, and peered eagerly into the darkness in the endeavour to see something of our neighbours.
-after perhaps a minute's intense gaze shoreward, bobby leaned over, and whispered,--
-"there they are, right ahead, and close under our bows. it is a boat, with two men in her, and as nearly as i can make out, they are leaning over the side and hauling something into the boat."
-i looked intently in the direction indicated, and at length succeeded in making out the craft. there were, as bob had said, two men in her; they were leaning over the side, and as i watched, one of them raised his arm, and i detected, just for a moment, the faint glitter of some object just beneath it. at the same instant a voice said in french,--
-"here is another, and a fine fellow he is, too. he will make a splendid dinner for the general to-morrow."
-"fishermen, by all that is lucky!" i exclaimed, in an excited whisper. "now, bob, let's dash alongside and board the craft; a selection from the rig of those two men will make exactly the rig i want."
-"all right," returned bob. "you're the skipper, give the word, and we'll nab the mossoos in a jiffy."
-"now!" said i.
-we dashed our oars into the water, and in half a dozen strokes were alongside the astonished fishermen.
-as the two boats touched, bob laid in his oar, and with the dinghy's painter in one hand and his drawn cutlass in the other, leaped on board the stranger, treading as he did so upon a mass of fish which lay writhing and flapping feebly in the bottom of the boat, and instantly assuming, quite unintentionally on his part, you may be sure, a sitting position amongst the thickest of the slimy, scaly cargo. as he boarded forward, i did so aft, and presenting a pistol in each hand, as sternly as i could, while struggling to suppress my laughter at bob's exploit, ordered the fishermen to surrender, and to keep perfect silence, upon pain of instant death as the penalty of disobedience.
-the poor fellows were taken completely by surprise, and seemed to have no idea of resistance. they meekly cast off that portion of their lines which still remained overboard, and taking to their oars, pulled quietly away in the direction which i ordered, or towards the "mouette," the dinghy being in tow astern.
-as we, or rather they, rowed off to the cutter i questioned the men as to their reason for running so great a risk for the sake of a few fish, and in reply gained the information that the garrison, though still in possession of a moderate supply of food, foresaw that a time of scarcity was rapidly approaching; and the general had, accordingly, a few days previously taken the remaining provisions under his own control, issuing to each inhabitant a daily ration upon a very reduced scale. under these circumstances, the fishermen of the place thought they saw their way to a good market for any fish they could contrive to capture, and a few of them had accordingly ventured out at night with their hooks and lines.
-this was most valuable information, if true, but coming from the enemy i thought it scarcely reliable--though the men spoke with the utmost freedom, and apparently in perfectly good faith. i therefore determined, while slightly modifying my original plan, still to carry it out.
-on our arrival on board the "mouette," i invited our two prisoners down into the cabin, and pouring them out a stiff "nor'wester" each, to cheer them up a little and loosen their tongues, i told them frankly that it was necessary i should make my way into bastia, and intimated to them, that as they would be retained as hostages until my safe return, and liberated immediately afterwards, it would obviously be to their interest to give me all the information and help in their power to enable me to provide for my safety. i also informed them that it would be necessary for me to borrow certain portions of their habiliments, to be used as a disguise.
-"it is a dangerous game which you are about to play, monsieur," remarked the elder of the two, who gave his name as jean leferrier. "the greatest precautions are taken to prevent the access of spies into the place. most of the inhabitants are well known, and any stranger would certainly be noticed and sharply questioned as to how he came there, and upon what business. i greatly fear you will be arrested before you have been three hours in the place. if monsieur will condescend to accept the advice of a poor, ignorant fisherman like myself, he will abandon his idea, and not embark upon so hazardous an enterprise."
-this, however, i would not listen to for a moment, in fact every word spoken only made me the more determined to go on; and this i intimated pretty plainly.
-"perhaps if monsieur were to adopt the role of an escaped prisoner from the british fleet he might succeed in disarming suspicion," remarked pierre cousin, the other prisoner. "monsieur's accent is certainly not quite perfect (if he will pardon my presuming to say so); still it may pass without attracting much notice, and if you, jean, were to give him a note to la mere, she could take him in and look after him,--that is, if monsieur could endure the poor accommodation to be found under her roof."
-"certainly," replied jean, "that might be done. but monsieur would have to report himself to monsieur le maire immediately on his arrival, and would therefore have to be prepared with a good detailed plausible story."
-i replied that i thought i could manufacture a story which would hold water sufficiently to satisfy the functionary referred to, the thought flashing into my mind that i could personate the lad whom we had found in charge of the "mouette" on the eventful evening of her capture.
-"then if monsieur is still determined to pursue his adventure, i will write the letter," remarked jean.
-"do so at once, by all means," said i. "tell her that, venturing too far out, you have been made prisoners by a boat's crew from the british fleet, and that you found, on board the ship to which you have been taken, another prisoner, who had contrived to make preparations for his escape, and that you had only time to write this note, informing your mother of your whereabouts, and recommending the bearer to her good offices, before he proceeded to put his plans into execution, the night being favourable for the attempt."
-"there is no time like the present," i continued to summers. "the night is dark, and altogether favourable for the enterprise. i have the locality fresh in mind, so i shall go at once."
-"and when do you intend to return?" asked bob.
-"ah!" i replied, "that is more than i can tell you. you may depend upon it, i shall not stay an hour longer than is absolutely necessary for obtaining the required information, but whether i shall be able to get out again when that is obtained, it is impossible to say. there is one thing you must do, summers, and that is, keep a constant lookout, from the time i leave you until i turn up again, and if you observe anything unusual inshore, leading you to suppose i am attempting to get out, do the best you can to help me. i shall leave a note with you for the skipper, explaining what i intend to do; and that note i want you to take on board, and deliver into his own hands, the first thing in the morning."
-i then set about writing the note, and by the time that i had finished, jean had also brought his communication to a close. he passed it over the table for me to read, and i found that it was substantially to the same effect as i had suggested, but written in his own homely and not very precise style of composition. i looked it very carefully through to see that there was no covert suggestion therein of a character intended to betray me; but as far as i could see it was a perfectly straightforward affair from beginning to end.
-this matter settled, i borrowed a pair of breeches, and the long boots belonging to one of them; and the dirty ragged canvas overalls of the other; topping off with a dilapidated blue worsted cap which i had been wearing continually since joining the "mouette," and my rig-out was complete.
-i intended pulling boldly ashore in the boat belonging to the captured fishermen, that being infinitely preferable to my mind to swimming ashore as i had originally proposed; so, as soon as i was ready i sat down once more, and questioned them very minutely respecting the position of the landing-place, the locality of la mere's domicile, and everything else i could think of likely to be of service in my undertaking.
-jean, the elder of the two, replied freely to all my inquiries; adding such information as suggested itself to him at the moment, and winding up by saying,--
-"monsieur must not be surprised if he is challenged on entering the harbour, that is almost certain to occur; and if it does he has only to give the watch-word, and he will not be further interfered with."
-"and what is the watch-word?" i asked.
-"simply `bateau-pecheur; bastia,'" he replied. "if you are challenged give the pass-word, and lie upon your oars; that will show them that you are one of us, and you will at once receive permission to proceed."
-"very well, i think i am pretty well primed now, and may venture to start. good-bye, bob, old fellow. keep a sharp lookout, and bear a hand with your assistance if you see that i need any when returning. and don't forget my letter to the skipper."
-"all right, never fear; i'll remember everything. i only wish i could have gone instead of you, chester. if you succeed it will be no end of a feather in your cap, but if you fail,"--he concluded the sentence with a pantomimic gesture expressive of strangulation. "but there," he added, "i've no fear of that; i never saw such a fellow as you for pulling through; good-bye, old boy; ta-ta; `be sure you write.'"
-and he wrung my hand heartily; with a gay laugh upon his lips, but something very like a tear glittering in his eye, as the feeble rays of the cabin lamp struggled through the skylight and fell upon his face.
-i stepped into the heavy, clumsy, and slimy boat belonging to the fishermen; and, shipping the oars, shoved off and gave way for the shore; a faint twinkling light here and there in the town serving to guide me upon my proper course.
-it took me nearly two hours to reach the harbour; the boat being heavy, and the oars much more cumbersome than any i had ever handled before; but i passed in between the two piers at last; and as i did so a dark figure appeared on the extremity of one of them, looming up indistinctly against the dusky sky; and a voice exclaimed sharply, in french,--
-"who goes there?"
-"bateau-pecheur; bastia," i replied composedly, resting on my oars at the same time.
-"you are late, comrade," remarked the sentry. "what luck?"
-"very poor," i replied. "i have only been able to find half my lines, the darkness is so great; and in searching for the others i have lost a good deal of time."
-"ah," returned he, "you are lucky to have found any of them. pass on, monsieur le pecheur; and good-night."
-"good-night," i shouted back, stretching out at the oars once more, and rowing laboriously up the harbour against a slight ebb-tide.
-i had no difficulty in finding the landing-place. it was a sort of slipway leading down from the top of the quay to the water's edge; and some ten or a dozen other fishing-boats were either hauled up there, or moored alongside. there was not a soul to be seen about the place when i ranged up alongside the green and slimy piles of which the slipway was constructed; i was consequently able to moor the boat at leisure, and in such a way that if i wanted her again in a hurry, i should have no difficulty in quickly casting her adrift.
-i then gathered up the fish and placed them in a basket which was stowed away in the eyes of the boat; and throwing the rope strap over my shoulders, trudged with my load up the slipway until i stood upon the top of the quay.
-i had been very minute in my inquiries as to how i was to proceed on landing, so as to be able to go direct to the abode of dame leferrier; and the fisherman jean had been equally minute and careful in directing me; i had only to stand a few seconds, therefore, as though taking breath after the steep ascent, and look carefully about, to recognise the landmarks which he had given me to determine the direction i ought to take.
-a low and villainous-looking waterside tavern stood at the corner of a street at no great distance, dimly visible in the light of a grimy lantern which swung over the door; and making for this, and keeping it on my right, i found myself in a narrow, wretchedly-paved street; up which i passed for about a couple of hundred yards, when i found myself opposite a rickety little hovel, having a light burning in its window. i was directed to look for such a light in the house to which i was bound; and as this appeared to be the only place in the street so distinguished, i walked boldly up to the door, raised the wooden latch, and entered.
-i found myself in a small, low-ceiled room, stone-paved; with a heavy wooden table in the centre, having a rough wooden bench on each side; a couple of three-legged stools against the wall; a pair of clumsy oars and a boat-hook in one corner; a boat's mast and sails in another; a fireplace, with a few smouldering logs, over which was suspended an iron pot, occupied nearly the whole of one side of the room; and, by the side of the hearth, with her back toward me, sat an old dame, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, gazing, half-asleep, at the almost extinct fire.
-on my entrance, she rose wearily to her feet, and looked round in feeble surprise, but without any sign of perturbation at seeing a stranger before her.
-"have i the honour to address madame leferrier?" i inquired, with as polite a bow as the heavy fish-basket on my back permitted me to make.
-"i am dame leferrier," she replied. "who are you, young man? as far as my dim eyes will allow me to judge, i have never seen you before."
-"you are quite right, madame," said i. "i am a perfect stranger to you. this note, however, from your son jean will tell you who i am."
-"a note from jean!" she exclaimed. "what is the meaning of it? why is he not here, himself?"
-"i am sorry to inform you that a slight misfortune has befallen him," i replied. "he and his comrade pierre are at present prisoners in the hands of the english; but they will no doubt soon find the means to escape, as i have just done."
-"prisoners!" she exclaimed. "mon dieu! what will become of them? and what," she added, "will become of me, now that i have lost the support which they only would give me?"
-"be not distressed, madame," i replied, "either on their account or your own. they will be treated with the utmost kindness, prisoners though they are; and, for yourself, i shall need a home until i can get out of bastia and return to my own; and if you will give me shelter, i am both able and willing to pay you well for it."
-i still held the note in my hand, and as i ceased speaking i offered it her again.
-"read it out to me, monsieur, if you please," said she. "my sight is but poor at the best of times; and is certainly not equal to reading poor jean's letter by this light."
-i accordingly read the letter over to her, and when i had finished, she remarked,--
-"poor boys! poor boys! prisoners! well, well, it cannot be helped. we must be patient, and trust to the mercy of le bon dieu. and now, monsieur, as to yourself. you are doubtless hungry and tired. here is the supper which i had prepared for my two; alas! they are not here to eat it; but draw up, monsieur; put the basket in the corner there, and draw up to the table. you are heartily welcome to such as a poor widow has to give; and when you have satisfied your hunger i will show you to your bed. it was my boy's--my poor jean's--ah! will he ever sleep on it again?"
-i drew up to the table, in accordance with the poor old soul's invitation; and while partaking of what turned out to be a very savoury meal, did my best to cheer her up with the hope of speedily seeing her jean once more.
-my meal concluded, she conducted me up a rickety, worm-eaten staircase, to a small room above that which we had just left; and indicating one of the two beds therein as the one belonging to her jean, and the one, therefore, which i was to occupy, bade me good-night and retired.
-i must admit that, now i had fairly embarked upon my adventure, i found there were certain physical discomforts incidental to it, which were by no means to my taste. thus, the disguise upon which my safety to a great extent depended, consisted of clothing the reverse of clean, and though it was certainly odoriferous enough, the perfume was by no means that of "araby the blest." then there was my lodging. it was moderately clean, perhaps, compared with the condition of a few of the places in the immediate neighbourhood; but ideas of cleanliness, like ideas upon many other matters, vary, and this place, though doubtless considered scrupulously clean by the rightful occupants, was sufficiently the reverse to make me really uncomfortable; and for a short time i abandoned myself to reflections the reverse of self- complimentary with regard to the impulse which had led me into such a situation. but the fact remained that i was there; and common-sense suggested the desirability of making the best of the situation; i accordingly arranged matters as comfortably as i could, and flinging myself upon the coarse pallet was soon wrapped in a dreamless slumber.
-my first business in the morning was to find out and report myself to the maire. i had given a great deal of consideration to this matter while rowing ashore on the previous night, weighing carefully the arguments for and against such a course; and had finally arrived at the conclusion that, though such a proceeding would undoubtedly be fraught with great danger, yet it would in reality be the safest thing to do. the great thing to avoid was the exciting of suspicion; and the surest means of achieving this seemed to me to be, not the actual courting of observation, certainly, but the careful avoidance of anything which seemed like shunning it.
-accordingly, after an early breakfast, during the discussion of which i easily extracted from my unsuspicious hostess all the information necessary to enable me to find my way to the various points i deemed it most important to visit, i shouldered my basket of fish, and set out on my way to the residence of monsieur le maire.
-as i slouched heavily and leisurely along the streets, affecting as nearly as i could the clumsy gait of a common seaman on terra firma, i glanced carefully about me to note such signs as might make themselves visible of the state of things within the town. it was not however until i reached the more respectable business quarter of the town that i was able to detect much. then i observed tickets in the windows and on the stalls, announcing the various articles for sale--and especially provisions--at only--such a price--and exorbitantly high these prices were, too.
-i soon had reason to see that my resolution to report myself was a wise one; for i had not proceeded far on my way before i found myself the subject of sundry suspicious glances, and shortly afterwards a corporal of infantry hurried up behind, and, laying his hand upon my shoulder, exclaimed,--
-"halt, friend, and give me your name and place of residence, if you please. you are a fisherman, apparently, yet two of your own people have just pointed you out to me as certainly a stranger."
-"i am a stranger, comrade," i replied composedly. "i only arrived in bastia late last night, after effecting my escape from the british fleet two hours previously. two of the fishermen belonging to this place-- jean leferrier and pierre cousin by name--venturing too far off shore last night, were pounced upon and made prisoners by a boat belonging to the fleet. they were placed in irons, and confined between the same two guns as myself, and learning that i intended trying to escape, they directed me how to find my way on shore, and how to behave when here; giving me also a note to convey to madame leferrier. i am now on my way to the house of monsieur le maire to report myself."
-"good!" exclaimed my unwelcome companion; "i will accompany you there, and show you the house, since you are a stranger."
-i did not, of course, dare to manifest any objection to such a proposal, or i should instantly have been made a prisoner, if indeed i might not consider myself in reality one already.
-i accordingly acquiesced in the most cheerful manner i could assume; and we trudged on together, i describing, in response to the corporal's questioning, the details of my assumed escape.
-just as i had finished my recital, we arrived at the corner of a street, and my companion stopped.
-"this," said he, "is the street in which monsieur le maire resides. but before we go further, may i ask, comrade, what you are going to do with those fish in your basket?" casting at the same time a hungry glance over my shoulder.
-"well," said i, "they really belong to poor jean leferrier and his mate; and i intended asking monsieur le maire to accept one or two of the finest of them, after which i should sell the remainder, and hand over the proceeds to jean's mother, who i find depended entirely upon her son for house, food, and clothing. but i suppose one or two more or less will not make much difference to the good dame, especially,"--a bright idea striking me--"as i intend going out to-night and trying my luck; so if you would like a bit of fish for dinner and will accept one or two, make your choice, comrade; you have been very kind in guiding me thus far, and i am sure you are heartily welcome."
-i was about to unsling the basket from my shoulders, as i spoke, but he hastily stopped me.
-"you are a good fellow, mon ami," said he, "and i accept your offer. but not here--it would never do for me to be seen here in public accepting such a present; it would be sure to get to our general's ears, and i should be simply flogged for my presumption. why, if you had not told me yourself that you are a stranger, i should have known it at once, from your ignorance of the value of the contents of your basket. why, we are closely besieged, mon cher; provisions are growing scarce, and your fish are worth--well--almost their weight in silver. come this way; never mind monsieur le maire, he would only send you on to the general's quarters to report yourself there; so you may as well save your intended present to him--or, better still, hand it to the general's cook, and that will insure you from all further trouble in the future, especially if you happen to make a point of leaving a little bit of fish at the general's whenever you happen to be passing that way. ah! here we are at the barracks!"
-we turned in, as he spoke, through a pair of large, high folding gates of wood, thickly studded along the top with sharp iron spikes, and i found myself in the barrack square, a large open space, surrounded on three sides by buildings, and on the fourth--that side which abutted on the street--by a wall about twenty feet high.
-the two adjacent sides of the square were occupied by plain brick buildings, three storeys high, which evidently constituted the men's quarters.
-my companion conducted me across the square to the great centre door already mentioned, and, on our safely reaching the shelter of its deep recess, bade me place my basket on the ground. i did so; whereupon-- first glancing round to see whether there were any curious eyes turned in our direction, and apparently satisfied that there were not--he stooped down, and planting himself well in front of my basket, hastily selected a couple of moderate-sized fish, which he thrust up inside his tunic. this done, he seized a wooden handle which hung at the extremity of a rusty chain issuing from a small aperture in the wall, and tugged smartly at it. the result was a clanging from a large bell, imperfectly heard in the remote distance of the interior.
-a minute or so elapsed; and then a wicket, cut in the woodwork of the door, opened; and an individual in plain clothes, apparently an officer's orderly, became visible inside.
-"can monsieur lemaitre be seen?" inquired my companion.
-"doubtless," replied the individual to whom the question was put. "come in, jacques. what do you want with him?"
-"that i will tell him myself, comrade, when i see him," responded jacques, passing through the wicket and beckoning me to follow; which of course i did.
-"as you please, mon ami," replied the other; and without further parley he departed to apprise that important personage, the general's cook, that he was wanted.
-in the interval i employed myself in looking round me.
-i found myself in a sort of entrance-hall of considerable size. the wall opposite the door contained a huge fireplace, sunk in the thickness of the masonry. the side walls were pierced, on my right and left, with semicircular archways, deeply moulded, and closed with strong wooden doors; and on the left, a massive and elaborately carved stone staircase, of much more modern date than the building itself, led upward to a stone gallery which ran all round the wall, with doors communicating with the apartments above. the hall ceiling, two storeys above the pavement, was of stone, groined; the ribs of the groins boldly moulded, and massively keyed in the centre with a stone of considerable size, boldly carved with the representation of a dragon or griffin coiled into a circle. over the great fireplace hung a trophy of rusty and dinted armour, surmounted by another trophy of faded and dusty silken banners; and two other flag trophies adorned the side walls.
-by the time that i had completed my survey, a sound of shuffling footsteps was heard; and immediately afterwards there emerged from a passage underneath the staircase, a short, stout good-tempered-looking personage, dressed in a blouse and military trousers, with a cook's cap on his head, and a long white apron in front, reaching from his neck almost to his feet. he held a huge meat-knife in one hand, and a basting-ladle in the other. as he approached, my friend jacques hastily informed me in a whisper that this was monsieur lemaitre.
-in answer to this individual's inquiries, the corporal related the story of my pretended escape from the enemy, hinting also my desire to report myself to the general; and winding up with a description of my anxiety to procure monsieur lemaitre's acceptance, on behalf of the general, of the pick of my basket.
-i began dimly to see that the general--whoever he was--was a much- dreaded individual; and that this present of fish, suggested by my friend the corporal, was intended by him, in all kindness, as a bribe, whereby i might obtain as favourable an introduction as possible to the presence of the great man.
-monsieur lemaitre stooped down and, with much deliberation, turned over the various fish which i had brought, finally selecting a quantity of the choicest, amounting to about half my stock, which he laid upon the stone pavement of the hall. this done, he, in a very gracious and patronising manner, assured me i might count upon his best services to obtain for me an early interview with his master, and retired; promising to send some one forthwith to remove the fish he had selected.
-the moment he was out of sight, my friend the corporal turned to me, and congratulated me warmly upon the favourable reception which had been accorded me by the great man's great man; congratulating himself, at the same time, upon the opportunity which had been afforded him of rendering a service of some little importance to a stranger. as he spoke thus, he cast such an expressive glance into my fish-basket, that there was no possibility of my misunderstanding him. accordingly, when he immediately added that, as he could now be of no further service to me, he would take his departure, i uttered a few words of thanks for his kindness; and expressed a hope that he would oblige me by making a further selection of fish, as a slight token of my gratitude.
-"well, comrade," said he, "since you are so anxious about the matter, i will; and i do it all the more readily since--between you and me--you will find these fellows about here such sharks that you will have to part with every fish in your basket before you will get an opportunity of reporting yourself. for my part, i detest such greediness; nothing is more abhorrent to a sensitive soul like mine; i consider that it ought to be baulked and discouraged in every way; and in order to aid in so good a work as far as possible i will just take this--and this--and these three--under my own care. and now--good-bye, comrade--nay, no thanks; you are heartily welcome; and i wish you a pleasant interview with the general."
-saying which he hastily retired through the wicket; just as a sound of footsteps along the passage under the staircase announced the approach of monsieur lemaitre's assistants.
-how the adventure terminated.
-the new-comers proved to be a couple of the kitchen servants. they were provided with a basket, in which they removed the fish selected by monsieur lemaitre, taking them up and conveying them away without vouchsafing to favour me with so much as a single word.
-the time passed on without any one else appearing; a silence, as if of the grave, prevailed in the building; and had it not been for the bugle- calls in the adjacent barrack-yard, the shouts of command and the measured tramp of the men at drill, together with the loud and frequent boom of artillery from the walls, and the fainter echo of our own ordnance in the distance, i might have supposed myself to be in a deserted city.
-at length the tramp of horses became audible outside; the sound increased rapidly; and in another minute i became aware that a cavalcade of some sort had approached the great door of the building; then there came the sound of champing of bits, the clatter of accoutrements, the jingle of spurs, and loud voices talking and laughing. finally the heavy latch of the door was turned, one leaf swung heavily back upon its well-oiled hinges, and a group of some fourteen officers entered the hall; among whom was one who i had no doubt was the general.
-the majority of the officers merely glanced carelessly at me and passed on; one of them, however, apparently a lieutenant, stopped and asked me what i wanted.
-i replied by telling him shortly the story i had arranged; adding that i had been advised to come up and report myself to the general. when i had finished he ordered me to follow him; and we made sail in the wake of the others; passing through a door at the far end of the hall, which led, not, as i had supposed, to a room, but to a long passage terminating in a yard, in one side of which was an archway leading through the building into the barrack-yard, and on the opposite side a group of one-storey buildings, the first of which appeared to be a sort of guard-room.
-entering this room, in which were some twenty men, who rose and saluted my conductor as we passed, we continued on through it into another and very large room, the tables in which were strewed with plans and drawings.
-here we found a great many of the officers who had preceded us, engaged in unbuckling their swords, etcetera, preparatory, as it seemed to me, to sitting down to work upon some of the drawings which lay scattered about.
-crossing this room also, followed by curious glances from many of its occupants, we paused before a door, at which my guide tapped.
-"entrez," exclaimed a voice from the inside.
-the lieutenant turned the handle, threw open the door, and passed into the other apartment, signing to me to follow. i did so, and found myself in a small but very comfortably furnished room, containing a press full of papers, a case of books, half a dozen chairs, and a large writing-table, at which the individual whom i had rightly taken to be the general was just seating himself.
-he was a man apparently between fifty and sixty years of age, a trifle above medium height, thin and spare of body, with a bronzed complexion, and grey hair and moustache, both cut quite short. his eyes were dark and piercing; the expression of his features severe and cruel; and his beauty--if he ever had any--was completely destroyed by a great ghastly scar which reached from the outer corner of his right eyebrow to his chin, splitting both the upper and under lip in its course.
-"well, saint croix; what now?" exclaimed he sharply, as we entered.
-"i have taken the liberty of introducing this man to you at once, sir," said my guide. "he informs me that he is an escaped prisoner from the english fleet; and that in accordance with advice received, he wishes, as a stranger in the town, to report himself to you and to be duly registered."
-"call montrouge here."
-the lieutenant retired into the adjoining room, and presently reappeared, accompanied by another officer; the general, meanwhile, taking no notice whatever of me, but busying himself in searching among a large bundle of papers which lay on the table.
-on the entrance of the two officers, their surly senior looked fiercely at the new-comer, and pointing to the opposite side of the table said,--
-"sit down there; take paper; and note down what this fellow has to say for himself."
-then turning angrily to me, he ordered me to proceed.
-i told my story; stopping at intervals, when desired, in order that the officer who was taking it down might properly follow me. when i had finished, the officer called montrouge was ordered to read over to me what he had written; and at the close i was asked by the general if that was a correct transcription of my story.
-i replied that it was.
-i was then ordered to give all the information i possessed with regard to the fleet; its strength; number and calibre of guns; and so on.
-to this i replied that having been confined during the whole of my captivity between two guns, on the lower-deck, i had had no means of gaining any information whatever, either upon the points mentioned, or indeed any others.
-my statement was received with a look of incredulity and a dissatisfied grunt.
-"what think you, gentlemen," exclaimed the old martinet, "does this young man's story strike you as being truthful?"
-"it sounds plausible enough," replied the officer called montrouge. "i see no reason to doubt it."
-"what is your opinion, saint croix?"
-"i believe it to be the truth," replied the individual addressed.
-"good! we differ slightly in opinion, that is all, gentlemen," remarked the general. "for my own part, i am convinced that this story,"-- striking disdainfully the written statement, which he held in his hand--"is a simple tissue of falsehood. luckily, we possess the means of putting the matter to the test. send for guiseppe the corsican."
-guiseppe the corsican! the man who had sold me into the hands of the enemy once already, and who, i had every reason to believe, had betrayed count lorenzo di paoli also. if this man and i were brought face to face, i was hopelessly lost.
-at that moment, and not until then, did i feel what a shameful and despicable course of conduct i had entered upon. i had not only assumed voluntarily the role of a spy; but i had sought to shelter myself beneath a cloak of falsehood; and now, out of my own mouth was i to be judged--and surely condemned.
-i felt thoroughly crestfallen and humiliated; not so much at my certain detection as a spy, but at having placed myself in a position where deliberate falsehood had become an absolute necessity to my safety, which after all it had not only failed to assure, but had hopelessly compromised.
-a long and--to me--most painful pause ensued, neither of the officers questioning me further. had they done so, i feel certain i should have thrown off the mask and avowed myself to be that hateful thing, a disguised and secret enemy.
-at length a tap came to the door; and lieutenant saint croix, who had gone out in search of guiseppe, returned, bringing the man with him. a single glance was sufficient to satisfy me that my former enemy once more stood before me.
-he approached the table, and, saluting the general, stood waiting, as it seemed to me, with some trepidation, to learn why he had been summoned to the dreaded presence of the chief.
-"attention, sir!" exclaimed the general harshly. "do you recollect the circumstances connected with the theft of captain leroux's yacht, `mouette,' from ajaccio?"
-"perfectly, sig-- i mean, monsieur," he replied.
-"did you happen to know the lad who was taken away in her?"
-"francois? yes, i knew him," he replied.
-"is he at all like this fisherman?" asked the general.
-the fellow turned his gaze on me with an expression of stolid indifference. regarding me steadfastly for a full minute, i saw his eyes brighten and gleam with an expression of fiendish malice; he approached me so closely that his hot breath fell full upon my cheek, his eyes glaring into mine like those of a tiger when he scents blood; then, turning to the general, he replied,--
-"no, monsieur le general. this is the young naval officer who conveyed the despatches to count lorenzo di paoli, and who, it is believed, stole the `mouette' on the night when the count's chateau was attacked; afterwards leading the `vigilant' into an ambush whereby she was captured."
-"are you certain?" inquired the general.
-"quite certain," replied the corsican. "it was i who watched him land from the frigate, and afterwards discovered his lurking-place in the woodman's hut. and i also saw him frequently, after his escape from the troops, in the chateau of count lorenzo."
-"that is sufficient," replied the general. then, turning to me, he remarked sarcastically,--
-"if you have anything to say in refutation of this man's statement, say it. but no, i see you have not. it is well, sir. you have chosen to enter this town in disguise and with a false story; the inference is plain. you are a spy; and as such you will be shot at daybreak to- morrow morning."
-"take him away," he continued, turning to lieutenant saint croix; "confine him securely in the tower; and you, guiseppe, take charge of him; i can spare none of my own men to play the part of gaoler. and remember, i shall hold you responsible for his safety!"
-"i will answer for it with my own life," exultingly exclaimed the scoundrel, as he roughly seized me by the collar and led me away.
-as we passed through the guard-room, lieutenant saint croix summoned a file of soldiers, who promptly placed themselves one on each side of me; and in this humiliating manner i was conducted to the prison from which, in a few short hours, i was to go to my grave.
-on leaving the guard-room, we crossed the small open court, and passed under the archway into the passage which led through to the barrack- yard.
-midway through the passage we came to a halt before a low door of solid oak, which was opened with the aid of a ponderous key, when a steep narrow stairway of stone lay before us. it wound upwards, corkscrew fashion, in the thickness of the wall, and, ascending it, we eventually reached a stone landing or short passage, very dimly lighted by two narrow unglazed windows, one at each end. there were two doors on each side of this passage, one of which the young officer unlocked and flung open, motioning me to enter. i did so, seeing that i had no choice in the matter; the door slammed heavily to, the massive bolts grated harshly back into their places, and i was alone.
-it was so dark that, until my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, i could see nothing except a narrow opening in the wall, far above my head, which admitted all the light and air the architect had considered necessary for the miserable occupants of the dungeon.
-i shut my eyes, and clasped my hands tightly over them, keeping them so for about five minutes; and when i opened them again, i was able to see with tolerable distinctness.
-i then found that i had been thrust into a chamber about ten feet square and as many feet high, the walls of which were of massive masonry. a stone bench ran along one side of the wall, and that was all; furniture of any kind there was absolutely none. the aperture in the wall, which i have already mentioned, was close up under the stone ceiling of the cell, and measured about two feet long and six inches wide. so thick was the wall in which this was pierced, that standing back against the opposite wall i was unable to see the sky out through it. i felt all round the walls of my prison. they were perfectly smooth, and slimy with the accumulated damp of centuries. i then examined the door. it was of oak or some other hard wood, and evidently very thick, from the dead sound which my knuckles made when i rapped upon it. it was quite useless, then, to think of escape. so strong, indeed, was the place, that they had not thought it worth while to search me, being no doubt convinced that it would be impossible for me to break out with any tools or weapons i might happen to have in my possession. i had a stout knife in my pocket; but five minutes' work with it on the door satisfied me that it would be a labour of days, instead of the few hours which remained to me, to carve my way out with such an instrument.
-nothing then remained but to devote those few remaining hours to the work of preparation for my inevitable fate.
-i flung myself down upon the rough stone bench, and let my thoughts wander far away to my dear old hampshire home, and to the loved ones there whose hearts the vague tidings of my uncertain fate would go far to break. they would of course hear, through captain hood, of the mad venture upon which i had embarked; and would doubtless also be furnished with full details of my doings up to the moment when i disappeared from bob's lingering gaze into the darkness of the murky night. and from that moment all further trace of me would be lost, unless indeed bastia should eventually fall into the hands of the british; and even then it was improbable that, in the general bustle and excitement, anyone would remember to make inquiries about me. and so the years would drag slowly on; and while my body lay mouldering in an obscure and unmarked grave, those loved ones would be hoping against hope for tidings of me, until, under the long-continued and cruel strain, their hearts would slowly but surely break.
-the subject was of too painful a character to be longer dwelt upon; and i turned from it to seek in my hour of need the support and consolation of religion. i recalled to mind some of those sublime passages, so lavishly scattered through the pages of the "book of books," each solemn word breathing comfort, hope, and promise; but the words chased each other idly through my throbbing brain, which refused to grasp their meaning; turning aside instead to interest itself in all manner of idle fancies. then i strove to quell the tumult of my mind by earnest prayer; but it was of no use; words came readily enough to my dry and fevered lips; but they were words only, not aspirations of the soul. and so at length i had to abandon my useless efforts and allow my thoughts to be dragged away a helpless prey to every mad fancy born of my whirling brain. and all the while i was conscious that the sands in the hour-glass of my life were fast running out, and that the precious moments which were passing so swiftly away bore with them the possibilities of an eternity of bliss or an eternity of woe for me beyond the great boundary line which i was so soon to cross.
-and thus the hours sped swiftly on, until a thin shaft of golden light streamed in through the narrow opening above my head, and, striking on the opposite wall, gleamed there for a few minutes in radiant and dazzling beauty, passing obliquely upward the while until it grew narrower and more narrow, dwindled down to the thinness of a thread, and finally vanished. i had witnessed the last gleam of earthly sunlight i was ever to see.
-darkness now rapidly gathered round me; and in a short time it was impossible for me to distinguish anything but the faint outline of the loophole in the wall above me.
-as night descended upon the earth, a soft and gentle breeze sprang up, which, entering through the loophole, cooled my fevered blood and permitted me so far to regain control of myself that i once more became cognisant of outward sounds, of which i seemed to have lost all consciousness from the moment i had been thrust into that horrible dungeon. there was the roar of the artillery, the fainter boom of our own guns, the occasional rattle of vehicles along the street, the rumble of heavy ammunition waggons, the frequent clatter of horses' feet; and, now and then, the sound of a human voice. gradually most of these sounds lulled, and became more infrequent, until finally they died away altogether; and long intervals of perfect silence ensued, broken only by the occasional crashing discharge of a single gun. and so i knew that night had fallen upon the earth without as well as upon the unhappy prisoner within.
-after the lapse of some hours, as it seemed to me, i became conscious of a faint sound outside my prison-door; a key rattled in the lock, the bolts jarred back; the door was flung open; a stream of light flooded the cell, blinding me for the moment; and when my eyesight returned guiseppe the corsican was standing in the chamber, in the act of closing the door carefully behind him.
-placing upon the floor the small hand-lamp which he carried, he flung himself carelessly down on the stone bench; and, with an evil smile hovering about his lips, began to jeer at my unfortunate situation.
-"well, signor englishman," he commenced, "how like you your new lodging? it is scarcely so large, and i fear it is not as elegantly furnished, as francesca paoli's silken chamber, is it? but never mind, my friend; your stay here is but short; and i daresay you can contrive to put up with a little temporary inconvenience in the meantime, can you not?"
-"are you here to make sport of my misfortunes?" i asked.
-"certainly," he replied; "what other purpose do you suppose i could have in visiting you here in the dead of night? perhaps you thought i had come to set you free and help you to rejoin your accursed countrymen? no! i hate you all--you englishmen--and you especially; and i could not deny myself the pleasure of looking in upon you to see how you face the approach of a disgraceful death. i am rejoiced to see how pale and haggard you look. it has told upon you, as it must necessarily tell upon all cowards. let me note carefully how you look, now; so that i may compare it with your appearance a few hours hence, when you face the muskets of your executioners. pah! why you are quailing already, you white-livered poltroon; what will it be in the morning?"
-i had resolved the moment i perceived the villain's object, that nothing he might say or do should wring any outward manifestation from me. but as he went on, the apathy which had before possessed me gave way under the influence of his taunts; my indignation was gradually aroused until my blood boiled; and now, rising suddenly, i sprang upon him with the bound of a tiger, clutching his sinewy neck with both hands and pressing my thumbs with all my strength into his throat.
-the ruffian was so completely taken by surprise by the suddenness and violence of this unexpected attack that he went down unresistingly before me, the back of his head striking violently upon the hard stone bench upon which he had been seated.
-i was now fully roused; i felt possessed of the strength and fury of a demon; and, still retaining my vice-like grasp upon his throat, i raised his head again and again and again, only to dash it with intensified violence against the stones each time. the miserable wretch grasped at the knife in his belt and drew it out; but before he had time to use it i had dashed his head yet once more against the stones, with such superhuman strength and violence that a dull crushing sound accompanied the blow, the man uttered a deep groan, and the knife fell clinking on the floor from his nerveless hand. relaxing my grasp upon his throat, i raised the lamp and allowed its rays to fall upon my victim's face. it was of a livid purple hue. the tongue, hanging out of the mouth, was bitten nearly through; his whiskers were wet with blood, which oozed in two thin streams from his throat where i had grasped it; and a slowly widening pool of blood was steadily spreading over the bench beneath his head.
-the first thought which presented itself was, "is he dead, or merely stunned?" the next--which flashed into my brain with the rapidity of lightning--was, that there lay my gaoler, the man who stood between me and liberty, helpless before me; and the chance of escape was once more in my hands.
-i rolled the senseless body off the bench on to the floor. it fell, and lay there motionless; the muscles all relaxed, and the same livid hue upon the face.
-hastily unrolling the crimson sash which encircled his waist, i cut it into convenient lengths; and, rolling the body over face downwards, quickly and with all the dexterity of a seaman secured the arms together at the wrists, and the feet at the ankles; after which i lashed the heels and hands close together, rolled the body back as far as it would come, and thrust into the mouth, as a gag, the long haft of his murderous sheath-knife, securing it in position by means of the handkerchief which he wore round his throat.
-i next possessed myself of the keys, of which there were two; one, of course, for the cell-door, and the other, doubtless, for the door at the foot of the stairs.
-i had no difficulty in fitting the right key to the cell-door; and as soon as i had done so i blew out the lamp, and placed it outside the cell, closed and locked the door, and, removing my boots, stealthily crept down the winding staircase.
-the door at the bottom was open; and as it folded inwards i noiselessly adjusted the key in the lock before venturing outside. i then stepped through the doorway; drew the door quietly to, and, with the utmost precaution, turned the key in the lock, managing to do so with very little noise.
-as i removed the key, and stood back in the recess to deliberate upon my next steps, i became conscious of the sound of running water; and looking along the passage into the barrack-yard, and the courtyard at the back of the tower, i saw, by the faint light of one or two lamps, that the ground was flooded, and that it was raining heavily. so much the better; there would be fewer people about, and my chances of escape would thereby be all the greater.
-the first question was, how to get beyond the boundaries of the barracks. the front or barrack-yard was bounded on three sides by lofty buildings and on the fourth by a high wall, with gates in it, it is true, but gates which would be closed and locked at that hour of the night. the difficulties of escape by way of the front were great, and might very possibly prove insurmountable; i therefore determined to make my first attempt at the back.
-keeping close within the deepest part of the shadow, i moved cautiously in the direction of the guard-room; and had just gained the courtyard when i heard footsteps entering the passage behind me. i darted out from under the archway, and hastily concealed myself behind one of the massive buttresses which supported the back wall of the building. peering cautiously out from my hiding-place, i saw the individual, whoever he was, emerge from the archway, cross the yard, and enter the guard-room.
-still crouching close behind the buttress, i looked carefully round to note the possibilities of escape which presented themselves in the rear of the tower. the yard, like the one in front, was enclosed by a wall, but it was only about twelve feet high. on the other side of this wall, looming indistinctly up against the murky sky, were some trees, one or two of which appeared to be near enough to enable me to spring into their branches, could i but reach the top of the wall.
-at first i could see no way of doing this. but a little closer scrutiny, and the exercise of a little consideration, at length suggested a means of escape. a sort of wing, projecting out from the main building of the old castle, formed one boundary of the courtyard, and joined the wall, the top of which i desired to reach; and i suddenly remembered the rough, uneven, and time-worn appearance of the masonry of this building which had attracted my attention in the morning. i thought that perhaps the masonry might be rough and uneven enough to permit of my climbing the face of it; and, as it seemed to be the only road of escape, i resolved to try it.
-i accordingly made my way to the point which i had resolved to attack, and set about the attempt. but i was unable to manage it. i found i required something more than the slight hold i was able to obtain with my hands, while working my way upward with my feet; and after a trial which must have lasted quite an hour i found myself just where i had started; namely, on the pavement of the courtyard.
-trembling with my violent exertions, and weak from my long fast (i had neither eaten nor drank since breakfast the previous morning), i was almost on the point of despairing, when a bright idea occurred to me. i would attempt my climb at the point where the wing jutted out from the main wall of the building, the two walls forming an angle.
-a stream of water was pouring down the wall from somewhere off the roof; and i took a hearty draught from this, which greatly refreshed me. i then renewed my attempt; and found to my great satisfaction that, though the labour was still severe, i was able to make slow but steady progress by bracing myself into the angle between the two walls with my arms and knees.
-in this way i gradually worked my way up the wall, until i arrived at a point where a bold moulding--called, i believe, a string-course--ran horizontally along the wall. i continued my climb until my feet rested upon this moulding, which constituted quite a firm foot-hold compared with what i had hitherto been able to obtain.
-i was now about five-and-twenty feet from the ground; and had it been light i should have been able to see over the wall; but as it was i could distinguish nothing but the indistinct masses of the trees, and, among them, a few greyish objects which looked to me like tomb-stones.
-the next thing was to pass along the face of the wing-wall to the point where it joined the boundary-wall of the courtyard; and the sooner this journey was accomplished the better; for the muscles of my hands were beginning to feel cramped and nerveless from the extraordinary strain which had been put upon them. i accordingly set out on my dangerous way; and, with the aid of the string-course, got on better than i expected; but my strength was going so rapidly that, by the time i had accomplished about a quarter of the distance, it was all i could do to support myself. i had no choice, however, but still to push on; and i persevered a short time longer; when, just as i felt that i was incapable of further effort, when my nerveless fingers were actually relaxing their hold upon the slight irregularities in the surface of the wall, and i felt that i must go helplessly crashing down again to the ground, i distinguished, within a yard of me, on my right, a dark cavity in the face of the wall; and the remembrance at once flashed upon me that i had noticed when crossing the yard in the morning, without paying any attention to it at the moment, a large window in this part of the wall. one more feeble but despairing effort enabled me to reach the opening; and with a frame quivering with exhaustion, and an incoherent thanksgiving upon my lips, i flung my body forward, and lay, breathless and half-fainting, partly in and partly out of the unglazed window.
-after recovering myself a little, i raised myself into a somewhat more secure and comfortable position, and took a good look round me.
-it was still as dark as ever--a circumstance at which i greatly rejoiced, since it would still take a considerable amount of time to make good my escape--but my eyes had by this time become so accustomed to the darkness that i was able to discern with some degree of clearness such objects as happened to be in my immediate vicinity; and the first thing i noticed was that there was another window at no great distance from me, but it was pierced in the end wall of the building, and consequently overlooked the piece of ground which i took to be a cemetery. the next thing which attracted my attention was a sort of ledge about a foot wide on the inner side of the wall, which had apparently, at some time or other in the history of the building, supported a floor. this ledge seemed to offer an easy and safe approach to the other window; and i at once scrambled in through the opening wherein i was perched, and, lowering myself cautiously down on the inside, soon had the satisfaction of finding my feet firmly planted on the ledge. somewhat restored in strength, and my nerves steadied by my short rest, i set forward once more; and at length, without much difficulty, gained the other window.
-peering anxiously out through it, to see what facilities might exist for enabling me to effect a descent, i was overjoyed to find that the time- worn wall was covered with a thick growth of ivy. a descent by means of this was, after my perilous climb and passage along the face of the wall, a mere trifle; and in a couple of minutes more i was standing, safe and sound, in the burial-ground, and outside the boundaries of my prison. i wasted no time in looking about me; but rapidly crossing the enclosure, and stumbling over the graves as i went, i soon reached a high railing, which was easily surmounted, when i found myself in a dark and lonely road, bounded on one side by a wall and on the other by a steep descent thickly planted with trees.
-pausing here for a moment, i rapidly recalled to mind the route by which i had arrived at the barracks on the previous day, and was by this means enabled to decide upon the direction which i ought to take in order to reach the harbour. this point settled, i stepped quickly out; and after two or three turns and windings, found myself in a street which i remembered passing through before.
-the rain was still pouring down in torrents, and not a soul was to be seen in any direction, nor a sound heard; and if any one had seen me flitting noiselessly along the silent and deserted street, i should assuredly have been taken for a washed-out ghost, for i had left my boots behind, and my feet gave only a faint, scarcely audible, pit-pat on the flooded causeway.
-half an hour of sharp walking brought me down to the harbour; and i at once proceeded to the slipway where i had moored the boat on the previous night. the previous night? ay; it was only some twenty-four hours since i had entered bastia; but it seemed as though i had been there at least a month.
-the boat was still there, with several others; and as my own safety was just then of more importance to me than any one else's convenience, i did not hesitate, on finding a much smaller and lighter boat among them, to help myself to her.
-casting the little craft adrift, i shipped the oars and paddled leisurely down the harbour until i approached the pierheads, when, noiselessly laying in my oars, i shipped one of them in the notch at the stern; and, sheering close in under the walls of the pier from which i had been hailed on the previous night, i sculled gently out to the open sea. i almost held my breath until i had gone far enough to lose sight of the pier altogether in the darkness, when i once more shipped my oars and pulled steadily out toward a line of twinkling lights which indicated the position of the fleet.
-the dawn was just breaking, grey, cheerless, and chill, as i reached the cutter and stepped in on deck over her low bulwarks, wet to the skin, nerveless from exhaustion and hunger, and with my feet, elbows, and knees lacerated and bleeding from my battle with the rough stone walls of my prison.
-chapter twenty one.
-my first act on regaining the cutter was to rouse bob and the boy who officiated as cook on board the "mouette;" with the object of obtaining from the former any news he might have to impart, and from the latter as substantial a breakfast as the resources of the cutter would permit.
-i listened to bob's story while engaged upon the highly necessary operation of cleansing my person and encasing it once more in "the uniform proper to my rank." bobby had very little to tell me; and that little was by no means reassuring. it appeared that a despatch-boat had arrived from malta on the previous day bringing letters for the fleet; and, among the rest, there had been a couple of epistles for me. bob had gone on board the "juno" for whatever letters there might be for the cutter's crew, and had been ordered by the skipper to request my presence on board. thereupon master bob had presented my note informing the skipper of my proposed expedition. instead of expressing his gratification at my zeal, as bobby had fully expected he would, it appeared that the skipper had exhibited a very considerable amount of irritation; finally ordering friend robert somewhat peremptorily back to the cutter, with instructions to send me without fail on board the "juno" immediately on my return, if (which the skipper seemed to consider highly improbable) i ever succeeded in returning at all.
-by the time that summers had brought his story to a close i was ready for the breakfast which meantime had been preparing; and as it was still much too early to present myself before captain hood (who seldom appeared before eight bells) i sat down to the meal, with--it must be confessed--a somewhat diminished appetite; hastily skimming through my letters as i munched away at the weevily biscuits. there were two; one from my dear old dad, and one from sir peregrine. there was nothing of very special interest in either; my father's epistle dealing chiefly with a few items of home gossip, such as that farmer giles of the glebe had met with an accident in the hunting-field, his colt falling with him and breaking the worthy farmer's leg--doctor pronounced it a compound fracture; that the wife of lightfoot, the gamekeeper, had presented her husband with twins once more--two girls this time; mother and twins doing well; that old jane martin had been laid up all the winter with rheumatism, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera; and that finally, all at home were enjoying excellent health, and would be glad if i could find time to write to them a little more frequently. my great-uncle, sir peregrine, was not nearly so voluminous in his correspondence as my father--sailors are not as a rule very good correspondents--what he had to say was said in as few words as possible. two pages of note-paper sufficed the worthy admiral to inform me that he had been intensely gratified at the terms in which my name had been mentioned in connexion with the storming of the convention redoubt, and that he was writing per same mail to "his friend hood" (the admiral, not the captain), asking him to give me as many opportunities as he could of distinguishing myself--"or of getting knocked on the head," thought i; and that if i needed any cash my drafts upon him would be duly honoured. also, that he had not been out much during the winter, his old enemy the gout having attacked him so pertinaciously that he had been confined to the house for weeks at a time, moored "stem and stern" before the library fire, like a prison-hulk in portsmouth harbour!
-my letters and my breakfast were got through in about the same time; and as bob and i emerged from our tiny cabin on to the cutter's narrow deck the ship's bells were musically chiming out the eight strokes which proclaimed the end of one watch and the commencement of another. the skipper would, i knew, be stirring by this time, so i jumped into the dinghy, and proceeded on board the frigate.
-as i stepped in on the "juno's" deck, captain hood made his appearance at the cabin-door. touching my hat, i went up and reported myself.
-"good morning, mr chester," observed he affably; "i am very glad to see you have come safely out of your escapade. but what do you mean, sir," (assuming a tone of severity), "by presuming to undertake such an expedition without asking and obtaining permission? it is a manifest breach of discipline, and, as such, must be punished. i placed you in charge of the cutter as a kind of promotion, and by way of reward for your exemplary conduct generally. now i shall be compelled to deprive you of your command. you will return forthwith to your duty on board the frigate, sir."
-"ay, ay, sir," i responded, considerably crestfallen. "i am extremely sorry to have incurred your displeasure, sir, i am sure. i would have asked permission, sir, but i was afraid that, after poor mr tupper's death, it would be refused."
-"very well, mr chester. i have no doubt you meant well, and therefore i have been lenient in the punishment which your breach of discipline demanded. you have been reprimanded on the quarter-deck, sir, and so we will say nothing more about it. only i must impress upon you the necessity of being careful to avoid a repetition of the offence. now come into the cabin and have some breakfast with me, and you can then tell us how you fared among the frenchmen. if you have not already breakfasted, mr annesley," (to the first lieutenant, who at this moment approached), "i shall be glad to have the pleasure of your company."
-so saying, the skipper turned on his heel, and led the way into the cabin, where we found the table well provided with a variety of good things highly provocative of appetite in a midshipman, even though he might have partaken of one breakfast already within an hour.
-as soon as we had seated ourselves, and were supplied from the stock of delicacies before us,--
-"now," said the skipper, "overhaul your log, mr chester, and let us hear how you managed to conduct your difficult enterprise. that young scamp, summers, told me all about your gallant capture," (with just the faintest possible ironical emphasis on the word gallant) "of the unfortunate fishermen, so you may as well commence at the point where you left the cutter in their boat."
-in obedience to this command i at once proceeded with my story, giving a detailed account of everything that had happened from the time of leaving the cutter to the moment of my return.
-my auditors evinced the greatest interest in my narration, and were mightily tickled when i described the manner in which i had been relieved of my fish by the condescending cook and the friendly corporal. their interest increased when i described my imprisonment in and the mode of escape from my dungeon; and when i had finished they both congratulated me very heartily upon what captain hood called "the resolution and courage" which i had exhibited. "it was a remarkably narrow squeak, mr chester," remarked the skipper, "and i hope it will be a warning to you not to unnecessarily expose yourself to danger for the future. when duty calls it is of course quite another thing; and i am perfectly willing to give you credit for a desire in the present instance to perform a very important service. i have already reprimanded you for the breach of discipline which you committed in undertaking this expedition without first obtaining leave; let me now express my satisfaction with the way in which--apart from that--you have conducted yourself. you have succeeded in obtaining information which, i believe, will be of great value to the admiral, and i will endeavour so to represent your conduct to him as that he shall view it in a favourable light. now, if you have finished breakfast, you had better go on board the cutter and transfer your chest and hammock to the frigate, and by-and-by i will take you on board the flag-ship and introduce you to the admiral, when you can make your report."
-accepting this as a hint to be off about my business, i rose, and making my bow, left the cabin.
-on reaching the deck i found that the whole of the inmates of the midshipmen's berth, already apprised by the loquacious bob of my escapade, were anxiously awaiting my reappearance, to learn all particulars, including the result of my private interview with the skipper. briefly informing them, however, that i had been ordered to rejoin the frigate, and postponing all further information until a more convenient season, i hurried down over the side, and stepping into the cockleshell of a dinghy pulled on board the "mouette," where master bob received my narration with a show of sympathy which thinly veiled his exultation at being left in sole command of the cutter.
-somehow i did not greatly regret the change. i was beginning to tire of the cramped accommodation on board the "mouette;" and although i had been formally reprimanded for my "breach of discipline" i was acute enough to see that my conduct had, after all, made a favourable impression upon the skipper, and that i had, on the whole, risen, rather than fallen, in his estimation.
-hurriedly bundling my few belongings together and stowing them away in the boat, i shook hands with bob, and was soon once more on board the "juno."
-the "victory" was lying at no great distance from us, and we were soon alongside.
-i followed the skipper up the side-ladder, and found myself in the presence of the admiral, who was taking a constitutional up and down the quarter-deck in company with sir hyde parker and vice-admiral hotham from the "britannia."
-captain hood immediately joined company (i remaining discreetly in the background, in accordance with previous instructions), and in the course of a minute or two the party, no doubt in consequence of a suggestion from the skipper, retired to the cabin.
-in about twenty minutes afterwards i was sent for.
-i entered the cabin with, i must confess, some slight degree of trepidation; for the admiral was a very queer sort of man in some respects, and one never knew in what light he would be likely to view such an exploit as mine. i had known of his having disrated more than one luckless mid for a far less heinous offence than so serious a breach of discipline as that of which i had been guilty; and disrating was the one thing which presented itself to me as more objectionable than anything else in the shape of punishment--except flogging; but i built my hopes upon the skipper's good offices; and the result showed that i had no grounds for fear.
-on entering, i was invited to take a chair which lord hood pointed out, and then, waiting until the cabin-door was shut, he rested his elbows on the table, and supporting his chin upon his hands, looked across at me and said--
-"your captain informs me, young gentleman, that, understanding i was anxious to obtain information respecting the condition of the enemy in bastia, you voluntarily undertook a most hazardous journey thither, and were enabled, during your stay in the town, to make observations of considerable value. i should like to hear from your own lips a detailed narrative of the adventure."
-thus commanded, i once more told my story, lord hood interrupting me from time to time to jot down memoranda in his note-book. when i had concluded my narration the admiral thanked me heartily for the "very important service" which i had rendered, and i was also complimented by my audience upon "the skill and intrepidity" with which i had carried out the reconnoissance. taking these last remarks as a polite intimation that the interview was at an end, i bowed and withdrew. a few minutes afterwards the admiral's boat was ordered, and as soon as she was manned, lord hood, sir hyde parker, and the skipper got into her, and pulled away for the british lines on shore--captain hood directing me, as he passed down the side, to take his gig back to the frigate.
-on the following day a flag of truce was sent into the town negotiations were opened, and on the 22nd of may, 1794, the garrison capitulated on very favourable terms to themselves.
-from this date i find nothing in my diary worthy of remark until we come to the reduction of calvi on the 10th of august following. i was at the time recovering from an attack of low fever, and had been off duty for some four or five weeks.
-on the evening of the capture i was walking slowly up and down the poop, when captain hood came up the poop-ladder and very kindly inquired after my health. i replied that i was getting rapidly stronger, and should be very glad when the doctor would allow me to return to duty.
-"ah! yes," said he, "i daresay you will. very irksome to be idling about the decks all day. i should think change of air would do you good."
-"i believe it would, sir," i replied, thinking from his manner of speaking that he had a proposal of some sort to make.
-"yes, no doubt about it," returned the skipper. "and you would like it? then be so kind as to find mr malcolm," (the surgeon), "and ask him to step into my cabin for a moment, if he is disengaged."
-certain now that there was something in the wind, i lost no time in hunting up the worthy medico and delivering the skipper's message, which i supplemented by a request upon my own account, that if any proposal were made to send me away upon another expedition, the doctor would kindly throw no difficulties in the way.
-to which the canny scotchman replied,--
-"before makin' any sic a promise, i'll just bide a wee and speir a few particulars anent the nature o' the said expedition, laddie. if it's o' a nature to prove benefecial to your health--why then i'm no saying but what i may be induced to do what i can to forward your views; but no' itherwise."
-i watched him into the cabin, and then "stood off and on" outside upon the quarter-deck, awaiting his reappearance.
-i had not long to wait. in less than five minutes he came out upon the quarter-deck, and seeing me, beckoned me to approach.
-i promised the kind-hearted old fellow i would be sure to do his bidding and then joyously entered the cabin.
-"sit down, mr chester," said the skipper, when i made my appearance. i took the chair which he had indicated, and he then proceeded,--
-"the admiral has some important despatches to send away, which he is anxious should reach england as speedily as possible. the `vigilant' will take them hence to gibraltar, and the admiral there will be requested to despatch a frigate with them for the rest of the journey, as lord hood thinks the `vigilant' scarcely fit to cross the bay of biscay. the only question has been who to send with them, as there is still a great deal to be done before the fleet can leave the island, and there are no officers to spare. lord hood mentioned the matter to me, and i immediately thought of you. you will have nothing to do but simply navigate the craft to gibraltar, which, i learn, you are quite able to do; and it will be a pleasant change for you--beneficial, too, malcolm says. there is only one thing i feel called upon to suggest to you, and that is--caution. recollect that you are a despatch-boat, not a cruiser; and let nothing which you can possibly avoid tempt you to delay the delivery of the despatches or endanger their safety. you are very young for such a trust, i know; but you seem to have as much tact and discretion as a good many of your seniors, and i see no reason why you should not execute the service satisfactorily. at all events i have answered for you, and i trust you will do all you can to justify my good opinion of you. you had better shift your traps over to the `vigilant' at once, and then proceed on board the admiral's ship for the despatches and your instructions, as he is anxious for you to sail at once."
-i thanked the skipper heartily both for the thoughtfulness and consideration which had procured for me the change of air which seemed needed for my complete recovery, and also for the confidence in me which such a commission argued; and i promised him most earnestly that the safe delivery of the despatches should be my paramount care.
-in less than an hour afterwards i was on board the "vigilant," with the despatch-box safely stowed away in the most secret hiding-place i could find, and my instructions in my breast-pocket.
-the night was lovely, not the faintest breath of air ruffled the surface of the glassy waters, in whose dark mysterious depths glittered a perfect reflection of every star which beamed in the blue-black vault overhead. so perfect was the stillness of nature that we could hear, with the utmost distinctness, the songs of the men on board the different ships, and even the talking and laughing on board those in our more immediate vicinity; and when we rigged out our sweeps to sweep the craft into the offing, where i hoped we might the sooner catch a breeze, their roll and rattle seemed almost unbearably loud in contrast with the quiet which prevailed around us.
-having a good strong crew on board, i kept them at the sweeps for a couple of hours, by which time we had gained an offing of about eight miles, when i ordered the sweeps to be laid in and the canvas to be set. shortly afterwards the moon rose, and, bringing up a nice little southerly breeze with her, we were soon slipping through the water, close-hauled on the port tack, and laying well up on our course for old gib.
-the skipper had been considerate enough to send with me another midshipman, a quiet, steady, and gentlemanly lad named harold smellie, a year younger than myself, and a boatswain's mate named tom hardy, a very superior and well-educated man for his position, a prime seaman, and thoroughly reliable in every way. these two i put in charge of the watches, and then, having seen that everything was satisfactory on deck and in the look of the weather, i went below and tumbled into my hammock, leaving of course the stereotyped charge to be called in the event of anything "turning up" out of the usual way.
-on awaking next morning, i found that the breeze had freshened very considerably during the night, so much so indeed that when i went on deck the "vigilant" was tearing through it with her lee-rail under, although the lateens were reefed to their utmost capacity. there was a very awkward jump of a sea on already, and it was fast increasing; but the light beamy little craft, although she tossed the spray in blinding showers from her weather-bow right aft and out over her lee quarter, never shipped a drop of green water, and i was highly delighted at her excellent sea-going qualities. i thought, however, that she would take the seas much more easily if she were relieved of the strain and leverage aloft of her long heavy swaying yards; i therefore had the lateens taken in and the lugs substituted for them, and was rewarded for my trouble by finding my anticipations amply realised.
-the wind continued to increase all through the morning, and by noon it was blowing quite a fresh gale, with a correspondingly heavy sea.
-"what do you make her out to be?" demanded i.
-"she looks large enough for a frigate," replied the man; "but i shall have a better sight of her in a few minutes, sir; she is steering this way."
-"i say, chester, suppose it's a frigate from gibraltar with despatches for the admiral; what will you do?" exclaimed young smellie, as we stood together by the weather-bulwarks, hanging on to the main-rigging.
-"there is only one thing that we can do, and that is, exchange despatches, and each return as quickly as possible to our respective starting-points. it will be a great bore if we are obliged to cut short our cruise; but our despatches are urgent, and our duty plainly is to forward them with all possible speed; and as this vessel, if she prove to be a frigate, will almost certainly be a much faster craft than ourselves, we shall be in duty bound to put our despatch-box on board of her."
-"how will you get them on board?" inquired my companion. "it would be a very ticklish business to launch a boat in this sea."
-"we must get near enough, if possible, to effect the exchange without the aid of a boat," returned i. "with care on both sides i think it might be safely managed. what does the stranger look like by this time?" i continued to the lookout.
-"seems to me that he has a very frenchified look about him, sir," replied he.
-"phew! i hope not," said i to smellie. "lend me your glass a moment, will you? mine is down below. i think i'll take a trip aloft and see what i can make out about him."
-i accordingly went aloft to the fore-yard, and sitting astride it, close to the parrals, took as good a look at the fast-approaching craft as the swaying of the yard and the lively motion of the little "vigilant" would permit.
-i remained there for quite ten minutes, and by the end of that time felt perfectly satisfied as to her nationality. she was french, from her truck downwards, without a doubt.
-this was an extremely awkward rencontre, and one which i scarcely expected. indeed, our own frigates were at that time so thoroughly scouring the mediterranean, particularly that portion of it lying between gibraltar and malta, that an enemy's ship was almost the last object we might expect to see.
-"i'm afraid we're in a mess here," said i to smellie, as i joined him aft, by the companion. "that fellow is a frenchman, and he has the weather-gage, to say nothing of his ability to sail round and round us in this weather, if we took to our heels. now, the question is, how can we hoodwink him and slip through his fingers?"
-"perhaps we could personate some other craft of about our size and rig," suggested little smellie doubtfully.
-"um! possibly. let's get the french navy list, and just run through it. if there's anything at all like ourselves we shall soon find it."
-my companion dived down below, and in less than a minute afterwards returned with the list and the french signal-book.
-we turned it over together, and presently came upon a craft named the "vidette," which seemed, from her description, to be almost a sister- ship to the "vigilant." we accordingly determined to assume her name during the communications which would soon pass between us and the frigate. the french ensign was bent on, and we then turned up the "vidette's" number, and bent these flags also on the halliards, after which we could do nothing but wait.
-suddenly a thought struck me. there were several old red nightcaps still on board, which had been found when the vessel fell into our hands. these i at once routed out, and made each man on deck don one instead of his sou'-wester; we were then effectually disguised, as the rest of our clothing was concealed by the oilskins which we were wearing to protect ourselves from the drenching spray.
-we had scarcely finished our preparations when smellie, who was watching the frigate through his telescope, reported that our unwelcome neighbour had hoisted the tricolour, which was of course a polite request that we would show the colour of our bunting.
-"run up the ensign and number," said i to the men who were stationed at the signal-halliards; and away went the bunting fluttering aloft, the flags all abroad, in the lubberly fashion which prevailed at that time in the french navy.
-in a few seconds our signal was read; and, in response, up went the frigate's number, which little smellie read out as it was going aloft. "private signal pennant. eight, two, seven, four."
-"run up the answering pennant," said i to the signal-man, as i turned up the number in the signal-book.
-"le narcisse" was the name corresponding to this number; and i was about to turn up the navy list, to learn what particulars i could respecting the craft, when my companion exclaimed, "more bunting. white flag with blue cross, diagonal. three, nine, nought, one."
-we acknowledged the signal, and, on turning it up, found that it was a request to "round-to under my lee: wish to communicate with you."
-this brought the signalling to a close; and in about a quarter of an hour afterwards, we rounded-to on the frigate's lee beam, while that craft laid her main-topsail to the mast.
-as soon as the two craft were within hailing distance a dapper little figure, dressed in the full uniform of a french naval captain, leaped into the mizzen-rigging with all the activity of a monkey, and, raising his hat slightly in salute (which i of course scrupulously returned), gave a preliminary flourish or two with a speaking-trumpet almost as big as himself, and then, applying it to his lips squeaked out, in french of course, in a shrill falsetto which set all our people on the broad grin,--
-"`vidette ahoy!' are you the guarda-costa of that name?"
-"ay, ay, monsieur," i briefly replied.
-"oh! very well," said he. "i am citizen alphonse latour, captain of `le narcisse' frigate, in the service of the french republic. whither are you bound?"
-"we are cruising to the southward and eastward on the lookout for an english fleet which is reported to be somewhere hereabouts," i replied, with a mischievous desire to see what effect the mention of an english fleet would have upon him.
-"an english fleet! hereabouts!! diable!!!" he exclaimed. "i should like to fall in with them. i hope, however, they will not fall in with my prize. ah! good!! listen, monsieur, i fell in with and captured an english merchantman yesterday, with a valuable cargo on board. you shall oblige me by going on until you fall in with him--he is only about one hundred miles south-east of us--and you shall escort him into toulon; while as for `le narcisse'--parbleu, she will remain here in waiting for the accursed english fleet, and fight them all when they shall arrive. is it not so?"
-"your orders shall have my best attention, monsieur," i replied; "and i trust you will not have to wait long for the english. i have the honour to wish you a very good day."
-we raised our hats and bowed simultaneously; the little french captain scrambled down out of the rigging; i sprang off the low rail on to the deck; and we filled away upon our course once more, leaving the fire- eating frenchman with his topsail still to the mast, waiting for "the accursed english."
-little smellie and i enjoyed a good laugh over the rencontre, now that it was past and we had escaped undetected; and we united in a cordial hope that the gallant little skipper of "le narcisse" would have his wish for a meeting with the english speedily gratified.
-he had, as we subsequently found out, but the result could scarcely have been satisfactory to him; for when next i saw malta "le narcisse" was in harbour there, a prize.
-at six o'clock next morning we were fortunate enough to fall in with the prize--a barque of about 800 tons, loaded with various products of the east, forming, as captain alphonse latour had truly remarked, a very valuable cargo--she had been steering a course which threw her fairly into our arms, so to speak; and, as the weather had moderated, and the sea gone down a good deal we simply ran her on board, drove the astonished french prize crew below, and took possession.
-on instituting a search, we found that the astute skipper of "le narcisse" had taken out the entire crew except the second mate and three hands--whom he had left on board to assist in working the ship--so as to prevent all possibility of a rising and a recapture. we transferred the frenchmen to the "vigilant;" put eight of our own men on board, in charge of young smellie; and then made sail in company for gibraltar. as, however, the "vigilant" sailed two feet to the barque's one, we had run her completely out of sight by noon; and we could only hope that she would reach the rock in safety--which she luckily did, and we of the "vigilant" ultimately netted a good round sum in the shape of prize- money on her account.
-in about another hour we had neared each other sufficiently to permit of our colours being seen; and no sooner was this the case than the stranger flew her ensign--the english--and fired a gun for us to heave- to. i at once obeyed; and in about twenty minutes afterwards she rounded-to within pistol-shot to windward of us and lowered a boat.
-the day being fine i was of course in my ordinary uniform; and i could not wholly conceal a smile at the look of disappointment and disgust which overspread the features of the officer in charge, as the boat approached sufficiently near to permit of his seeing that, whatever the ship might be, the crew were english.
-i awaited him at the lee gangway; and on his stepping up out of the boat, raised my hat in due form, a salute which he very gracefully returned.
-"well, young gentleman," said he, "what craft have you here, pray, and where are you bound to?"
-i told him briefly what we were, and so on; and in reply to his questions, gave him a short account of the way in which the "vigilant" had come into our hands, at which he seemed much interested.
-"well," said he, when i had finished the story, "i must say i am sorry you are not french; for we should then have had an opportunity of making a prize of some sort, even though you would have been but very small fry; but anything will be fish which comes to our net now. we have been knocking about here for nearly a month, and never a sign of a frenchman have we seen during the whole time."
-"indeed!" said i, "you have been unlucky; but i hope your luck has now changed at last. though you cannot make a prize of us, i think i can put you on the track of one."
-"ah! do you indeed? come, that's a great deal better," said he, in a very different tone from that which had characterised his conversation hitherto. "my dear boy, pray let us have your news without further ado."
-i accordingly described to him our meeting with "le narcisse," and mentioned captain alphonse latour's enthusiastic and patriotic determination to await on that spot the approach of the "accursed english;" concluding my story by giving the exact latitude and longitude of the place where our meeting with "le narcisse" took place.
-when i had given him all particulars he rose to take his leave.
-"good-bye," said he, "and accept, through me, the thanks of captain lacey, the officers, and the whole ship's company of the `diamond' for the very valuable information you have afforded us. i only hope monsieur latour was sincere in his resolve; we will not keep him waiting very long. a pleasant passage to you and i hope your prize will get safely in. lucky young dog, you are, and no mistake."
-"good-bye," i returned. "i wish you a speedy and pleasant meeting with monsieur latour."
-and with another shake of the hand we parted. poor fellow! he little knew what lay before him. the "diamond" actually found "le narcisse" cruising about the spot i had indicated, and one of the shot of the frenchman's first broadside took his head off.
-four days afterwards we anchored at gibraltar just in time to hear the evening gun, having been favoured, during the entire passage, with a wind which permitted us to lay our course with every thread of canvas drawing to its utmost.
-chapter twenty two.
-"in the bay of biscay, ho!"
-my instructions were to see the admiral without the delay of a single moment, should we happen to arrive at any hour when the worthy chief might be reasonably supposed to be out of his bed; i accordingly had the boat lowered, and proceeded to the shore the instant that our anchor was let go.
-when i reached the admiral's house, i found him busy at the entertainment of a party of "sodger officers" from the garrison.
-i was shown into his private room; and in a few minutes the gallant old veteran stumped in on his wooden leg, and saluted me with,--
-"well, youngster, whose cat is dead now? are you aware that i very strongly object to be troubled after business hours, unless the matter happens to be one of very great importance?"
-"i must apologise for intruding upon you at so late an hour, sir," i replied; "but my instructions are that i should not lose a moment in placing in your hands the despatches from lord hood of which i have the honour to be the bearer."
-"you have the honour! despatches from lord hood? the d--?" he exclaimed. "do you mean to say that you have charge of the despatch- boat signalled this evening?"
-"i do sir, certainly," i rather resentfully replied. the somewhat contemptuous emphasis he laid on the word you slightly nettled me.
-"what, in the name of--um! um! what's your name, pray, young gentleman?" said he.
-"ralph chester, midshipman, of the frigate `juno,' at your service, sir," i replied.
-"ralph chester, eh? of the `juno.' ah! um! let me see. um! your name seems familiar to me. where did i hear it before? must have heard it before, somewhere; never make mistakes about names; never. where did i hear it before, eh, youngster?"
-"it is quite impossible for me to say, sir," i replied. "the only way in which an officer in your high position is likely to become acquainted with the name of an obscure midshipman is, it seems to me, through the gazette."
-"gazette? gazette? oh, ay; to be sure. yes, yes; certainly; that was it. `juno'--captain hood--of course. and are you the lad who distinguished himself so conspicuously at the storming of the convention redoubt?"
-"i was named in the despatches in connection with that affair, sir," i modestly replied.
-"then i congratulate you most heartily, my boy," said he, shaking hands with me vigorously, and changing his hitherto gruff and somewhat churlish demeanour for one of almost paternal cordiality. "ha! ha! you made the whole service your debtor that night, by helping your skipper to get into the breach before the red-coat. the rascals! they like to `top the officer' over us, and claim to be the more useful arm of the service; but you gave us the pull on them that night, my boy, and no mistake. poor dundas! how awfully disgusted he must have felt. but-- sit down, and let me see your despatches--we can talk afterwards."
-i produced my box, and handed to him the letter from lord hood which was addressed to himself.
-he hastily tore open the envelope, and soon ran over the few lines which formed the contents of the letter.
-"can't do it," he exclaimed, testily, crumpling up the letter in his hand. "haven't a single frigate at my disposal; not even a corvette nor a despatch-boat--nothing, in fact, but my own barge. sheer impossibility; so there's an end of it. why, in the name of all that's ridiculous, could he not send one of his own frigates, so that these confounded despatches might have gone straight on? much more sensible than to send them here in a little hooker which is not fit to cross the bay of biscay. why is she not fit, eh? what's the matter with her?"
-"there is nothing the matter with her, sir; nothing whatever," i replied. "it is only an idea of lord hood's that she is unfit to cross the bay. she, no doubt, appears to him a mere boat, compared with the `victory,' but i should have no hesitation whatever about taking her across the bay, or across the atlantic itself, for that matter."
-"ah! is that the case?" he quickly returned. "um! um! that is a possible way out of the difficulty. look here. i've a few red-coats in the other room, spending the evening with me; i shall be very glad to have the pleasure of your company for the remainder of the evening, if you will join us, young gentleman. i can give you a bed here; and to- morrow i will go on board this little hooker of yours with you, and see for myself whether or no she seems fit to make the trip to england."
-we accordingly adjourned to the dining-room, where we found some dozen or so of military men seated round the table, discussing their wine and cigars, chatting over the events of the war, and bewailing their own ill-luck in being shut up in gibraltar instead of sharing in the miseries and glories (?) of the field.
-i was introduced by the admiral to his guests as one fresh from the seat of the operations in corsica, and was welcomed cordially and freely plied with questions of all kinds, to some of which, by-the-bye, i found it rather difficult to reply without exciting a feeling of jealousy in the breasts of the red-coats.
-fortunately, however, the evening passed without the occurrence of any incident of a disagreeable character; and at a late, or, more strictly speaking, at an early, hour next morning i turned in, so thoroughly tired that i felt scarcely able to remain awake until i had undressed.
-about 7:30 a knock sounded at my door, and a voice announced--in tones which struck me as being somewhat tremulous with suppressed laughter--"your shaving-water, sir." now, i may as well confess that at this particular period of my life the one subject upon which, above all others, i was most sensitive was shaving. i shaved with the most scrupulous regularity every morning; but it was done furtively, so far, at least as my elders were concerned. in the presence of my fellow- mids, the act was performed openly and with all due ceremony and solemnity--all the mids on board the "juno" shaved--but i had noticed, upon more than one occasion, that any reference in the hearing of my elders to the punctuality with which i performed this duty was invariably received by them with a silence more eloquent than words, and with an expression of ironical incredulity which could only be adequately atoned for by the shedding of their heart's blood. therefore i had ceased to refer to a subject the mention of which was invariably followed by much annoyance, and hence the preternatural sensitiveness which caused me to suspect, rather than to absolutely detect, a quiver of suppressed laughter in the voice of the man who on this morning awoke me with the announcement of "your shaving-water, sir."
-the temporary irritation arising out of this painful and humiliating suspicion had one good result, however; it effectually awoke me and enabled me to promptly turn out; while, but for it, the late hours of the previous night might otherwise have caused me to doze off again, and so become guilty of the quite unpardonable offence of keeping an admiral waiting.
-as it was, i was dressed and down in the breakfast-room so promptly that the admiral rather kept me waiting; which was quite a different matter. by eleven o'clock however, we were on board the "vigilant;" and after going carefully through and over the craft--accompanied by myself, tom hardy, and the carpenter's mate--the old boy came to the conclusion that she was strong enough to go round the world if required, and that he therefore need have no hesitation whatever about ordering us to proceed to england forthwith.
-he would, however, he said, take it upon himself to detain us until evening; by which time he would have ready some despatches of his own, which he wished to forward.
-we utilised the time by filling up provisions and water; a task which was left to the superintendence of tom hardy, while smellie and i had a scramble through the gun-galleries and to the telegraph-station at the summit of the rock; and just as the sunset-gun boomed out on the evening air we weighed and stood out of the bay, with a light north-easterly breeze, passing tarifa point shortly before midnight.
-by breakfast-time on the morning but one following, we were abreast of cape saint vincent. eighteen hours later, we made the rock of lisbon; and, on the fifth day out from gibraltar, finding ourselves in the latitude of cape finisterre, we hauled up to the northward and eastward for ushant; and entered the bay of biscay.
-so far, all had gone well. we had been favoured with fine weather, and winds which, while somewhat inclined to be light and variable, had still allowed us to lay our course, and we had really made a very fair passage up to this point.
-but we had scarcely entered the notorious bay of biscay when the aspect of affairs began to change.
-the first omen of evil revealed itself in a steadily and rather rapidly falling barometer. the wind for the previous twenty-four hours had been moderate, and steady at about east, but toward evening it became fitful, now dying away until the roll of the ship caused the canvas to flap heavily against the masts, and anon freshening up again for a few minutes, quite to a seven-knot breeze. then it would drop once more; and nothing would be heard but the heavy flap of the canvas, the creak of the spars, the swish of the water as it lapped in over our bulwarks--the craft rolling gunwale-under--and a low weird moaning of pent-up wind, which teemed to be imprisoned in a heavy cloud-bank rapidly piling itself up on the north-western horizon. the sky, which had been clear all day, became overspread with a canopy of dirty lead- coloured vapour, between which and ourselves soon appeared small ragged patches of fast-flying scud. the moaning sound became louder and more weird and dismal in tone; while the sea--its surface curiously agitated by waves which leaped up and subsided without any apparent cause--grew black as ink.
-fortunately, we had ample and unmistakable notice of the impending change; and we fully availed ourselves of it by making every possible preparation for the expected gale, and adopting every possible precaution for the safety of our craft.
-our first act was to take in and secure our lofty lateen-canvas by getting the yards down on deck and firmly lashing them there; we then set a storm-jib and a leg-of-mutton mizzen, just to steady the craft and place her under command when the breeze should come. this done, we divided our crew into two parties, one of which, under the gunner's mate, secured the guns with extra breechings, while the other, under hardy, battened down everything, and put extra lashings upon the booms and boats.
-we were ready in excellent time; all our preparations being complete a good half-hour before the breeze came.
-at length, about the time of sunset, a sudden break appeared in the mass of cloud piled up to the north-westward, revealing a long narrow strip of fiery copper-coloured sky; and at the same instant the wind, which had hitherto blown in fitful gusts, died completely away.
-"here it comes!" was the exclamation which issued simultaneously from a dozen throats, as the eyes of the more watchful caught the glare of the tawny streak of sky away on our port beam; and even as we spoke the roar of the wind became apparent; and far away on the verge of the horizon we caught a glimpse of the whitening water, as it was lashed into foam by the first mad fury of the approaching squall.
-"port your helm! hard over with it!" i exclaimed; "and stand by to brail up the mizzen if she fails to pay off."
-we had at the wheel one of the best helmsmen on board, a cool, smart, active topman; and, almost before the words were out of my mouth, he sent the wheel spinning hard over with a single jerk of his muscular arm, while hardy mustered some three or four hands at the mizzen-brails.
-the squall, however, furious as it was at its commencement, had spent its greatest strength before it reached us; and when it struck the "vigilant" it came with merely sufficient force to lay her down to her bearings for a moment, when she gathered way, and, answering her helm at once, paid off before it, and began to surge away to leeward at the rate of about six knots.
-the squall proved to be merely the precursor of a strong but steady gale from the north-west: and as soon as this became sufficiently apparent we hauled our wind once more and hove the craft to on the larboard tack under her jib and mizzen. this arrangement, while it promised to be the best that could be made for the safety of the ship and our own comfort, also enabled us to drift along at the rate of about three knots an hour on our proper course.
-we found that under her short canvas the little "vigilant," with her flat and beamy build, sharp lines, and flaring bow, laid-to admirably, riding as lightly and almost as dry as a seagull over the mountainous sea which rapidly got up under the influence of the gale.
-i remained on deck long enough to thoroughly satisfy myself upon this point, and then, leaving the deck in charge of hardy (who had the watch), with one man to tend the wheel, and two others on the lookout, i sent the remainder of the hands below to get a good meal with plenty of strong hot coffee; while little smellie and i sat down to our own almost equally humble spread in the small but cosy cabin.
-the change from the cold wet sloppy deck, with its accompaniments of darkness, driving spray, and frequent rain-squalls, to the dry warm comfort of the cabin, lighted up with the brilliant rays of its single handsome swinging-lamp, its carpeted floor and well-cushioned lockers, was agreeable in the extreme; and the sound of the gale, as it roared overhead and shrieked through the rigging, the patter and drip of the rain on the deck, and the occasional heavy "swish" of the drenching spray-showers, served but to increase the feeling of comfort which we enjoyed. we spent some time, after the table was cleared, in consulting the chart, interspersed with frequent references to the book of sailing directions, and when we tired of these a book apiece served to wile away the time until midnight, when smellie had to turn out once more and take charge of the deck. as the eight strokes upon the bell proclaimed the expiration of the first watch, we donned our oilskins and repaired to the deck in company.
-the wind had been steadily increasing from the commencement of the gale, and was now blowing so heavily that every time the "vigilant" rose upon the crest of a sea she careened almost gunwale-to, even with the scanty shred of canvas under which she was hove-to. the sea, moreover, had increased with as great rapidity as the wind, and was now running tremendously high, breaking from time to time in a manner which made me somewhat uneasy. still, the little craft was behaving beautifully and making excellent weather of it; not a drop of anything heavier than spray having come on board her so far. the night was as dark as a wolf's mouth, there being no moon, and the sky remaining obscured by an impenetrable canopy of heavy black cloud-vapour which was darkest about the horizon, against which the phosphorescent wave-crests reared themselves portentously in startling relief. the intense darkness was my greatest source of anxiety, for we were directly in the track of outward-bound ships, and the wind was blowing from a quarter which, while not exactly fair, was sufficiently free to enable them to keep going, and that too at a speed which would send a ship of any size right over us almost without her crew knowing anything about it. we had, of course, our lights in their places, and brightly burning; but we were so frequently hidden in the trough of the sea that a very bright lookout would be needed to discover us in time to avoid a collision, which was then, as it is now, the thing i most dread at sea--excepting fire. it seems needless to say that a bright lookout was kept on board the "vigilant" that night; a man on each cat-head, two in the waist--one on the weather and one on the lee side--and our two selves aft were kept constantly on the alert; and with these precautions i was obliged to rest satisfied. as it happened, our elaborate precautions proved unnecessary, for not a single sail passed us during the night; and at four o'clock next morning, when the watch was relieved, i went below and turned in, as the sky appeared to be lightening up a trifle, and i knew that it would be daylight in a short time.
-when i went on deck again at seven bells (7:30 a.m.) things looked pretty much as i had left them, excepting that the sea had continued to get up and was now running higher than i had ever seen it before. our little craft was tossed about on its angry surface lightly as a withered leaf; now rising up as though about to take flight into the midst of the rushing storm-wrack overhead, and anon plunging down the steep sides of the watery hills as though intent on reaching the very ocean's bed itself. it was very exciting, as well, it must be confessed, as somewhat trying to the nerves, to stand on the deck and watch the approach of the mountainous seas, rushing with threatening upreared crest upon the little craft, as though determined to engulf her. but, by watchful attention to the helm, her bows always met them at a safe angle, and away they would sweep past us, harmless, but hissing and seething in impotent fury.
-according to custom, tom hardy had charge of the deck while smellie and i were below at breakfast. on our returning to the deck at the conclusion of the meal, he joined us to remark that he was under the impression he had once or twice heard the sound of firing to windward.
-"surely not," said little smellie; "you must be mistaken, mr hardy," (we always mistered tom, to his intense gratification, now that he had charge of a watch). "what ships could possibly fight in this weather?"
-"depends on the course they happen to be steering, sir," responded tom. "it's poorish weather for a fight, i'll allow; but if one ship happens to be chasing t'other, and they'm both running before it, both bow and stern-chasers might be worked, heavy as the sea is. besides, it looks a deal worse to us, afloat here in this cock-boat, than 'twould if we was aboard the old `juno,' for instance; and a'ter all--hark! didn't you hear anything just then, gentlemen?"
-the boom of a gun, muffled by the roar of the gale, but still heard with sufficient distinctness to render the sound unmistakable, at that moment broke upon the ear.
-i pulled out my watch and noted the time. "now listen for the next report!" i exclaimed; "perhaps it is a ship in distress."
-but it was immediately evident that it could be nothing of that sort, for even as i spoke, another report came floating down upon the wings of the gale, and then two others in quick succession.
-tom hardy sprang into the main-rigging, and, going aloft as far as our short masts would permit, stood for nearly a minute, swaying about with the roll and pitch of the vessel, his eyes shaded by one hand, gazing eagerly to windward.
-"here they comes!" he hailed; "one a'ter t'other. two frigates, seemin'ly; and one on 'em's a frenchman all over--the chap that's leadin'; t'other's of course one of our ships."
-"how are they steering?" i hailed.
-"straight for us as ever they can come, sir," replied tom, as he nimbly descended the rigging again, and swung himself off the low rail to the deck.
-ten minutes afterwards the upper spars of the leading ship were in sight from the deck, when we rose upon the crest of a sea, and in another five minutes both craft were visible. the firing continued briskly on both sides, the rapidly-increasing distinctness of the reports testifying to the speed with which the chase was hurrying along.
-from the moment that the frigates became visible from the deck, our telescopes remained glued to our eyes, so to speak, and it was not long before we were able to distinguish that both were flying their colours, the leading ship showing the tricolour, and the other the white ensign.
-"i say, chester!" exclaimed little smellie; "what a lark! can't we have a flying shot at johnnie as he goes past. who knows? perhaps we might knock away one of his spars and so help our own craft to get alongside. my eye! ain't they carrying on, too; topgallant-s'ls and stunsails on both sides. what a strain upon their spars and rigging! cut away a brace or a backstay, now, aboard that frenchman, and away would go a whole heap of his canvas. what a splendid craft she is! it is a true saying, if ever there was one, that `the french know how to build ships, and the english how to sail them!' what do you say, chester; shall we have a shot at him as he goes by?"
-"and have his whole broadside poured into us by way of saying thankee," dryly remarked hardy.
-"i doubt whether he has his broadside guns cleared away, yet," i remarked; "and even if he has we are a very small target to fire at. i feel half inclined to take a shot at him if we get a good chance. at all events, you may clear away the long nine and load it; we can then be governed by circumstances."
-no sooner said than done. the men set to work with all the glee of a parcel of school-boys intent upon some piece of mischief, and in a very short time the long nine-pounder mounted amidships was ready for service and loaded.
-in the meantime pursuer and pursued continued their rapid flight down before the wind; both ships staggering along under a press of canvas which clearly indicated the alarm of the one and the determination of the other. as we stood watching them in breathless interest, the weather cleared somewhat; the dense canopy of cloud which had obscured the heavens for many hours broke up into rifts which permitted an occasional watery gleam of sunshine to penetrate through and light up the scene, glancing in streaks and patches here and there upon the mountain-surges, and changing their dull leaden hue into a dirty green, and shimmering for a moment upon the snowy canvas and bright copper of one or other of the frigates, only to fade away next instant and leave the picture, as it was before, a dull lifeless grey.
-by the time that the french ship had approached to within a mile of us, it became evident that if we both continued on our respective courses, without any alteration in our speeds, we should pass within perilous proximity of each other; the "vigilant's" fore-sheet was therefore let draw and the helm righted, so that we might forge ahead and cross the flying craft at a safe distance.
-she was yawing about most frightfully, sheering first to port and then to starboard in a manner which seemed every moment to threaten that she would broach-to. should such an accident occur in the then condition of the weather the total dismasting of the ship would be the least calamity which could reasonably be expected to follow; while it was far more probable that she would either capsize or founder stern foremost. the steering of the english ship was in marked contrast to this, though she also sheered about to a certain extent; still, it was so trifling in comparison with that of the frenchman, that it appeared to us as though the englishman was gaining upon the chase more by superior helmsmanship than by the possession of any advantage over him in point of actual speed.
-as the french frigate continued to sweep down towards us i became exceedingly anxious; for it now seemed as though we had delayed a trifle too long the act of filling away upon the "vigilant," and that, at our low rate of speed, we should be unable to draw out of her immediate path. the ship, now distant not more than half a mile, came surging on, with her broad expanse of canvas fully distended by the following gale, and straining at the stout spars and tough hemp rigging as though it would tear the very masts themselves out of the hull and come flying down to leeward like cobwebs before a summer breeze; or as though, when the ship rose upon the ridge of a sea, lifting her fore-foot and some forty feet of her keel clear out of the water, she would take flight, and, leaving the sea altogether, soar away upon her canvas pinions like a startled sea-fowl. she was rolling heavily, so much so indeed that we more than once saw her dip her stunsail-boom-ends alternately on the port and starboard sides into the water.
-at length, as we rose to the crest of one mountainous sea, which had completely hidden the french ship from us, up to her very royal-mast- heads, we saw her surging madly forward upon the breast of the one which followed it, the hissing foam-crest which pursued her rearing itself high and threateningly above her taffrail, while the ship herself, with her port gunwale deep buried in the water, was taking a desperate and uncontrollable sheer to starboard which we saw in a moment would hurl her crashing into the little "vigilant" somewhere about the mainmast.
-a cry, something between a yell and a shriek of horror and dismay, burst simultaneously from the lips of our crew as this awful danger burst upon us; and, in a momentary panic, a general rush was made by all hands to that part of the vessel which appeared likely to receive the annihilating blow, with the intention of making a spring for life at the frigate's bowsprit and headgear. even the helmsman was so infected by the sight that, abandoning the wheel, he too joined in the rush.
-passing each other in such disagreeably close proximity, we had of course a perfect view of the french frigate, and a most superb craft she certainly was. a bran-new ship, to all appearance: she seemed to have been at sea scarcely long enough to wash the varnish off her teak and mahogany deck-fittings. the planks of her deck were almost snow-white, and some little taste and trouble appeared to have been expended in a successful effort to impart a graceful effect to the decorations about the front of her spacious poop, beneath the over-hanging pent-house of which appeared her handsome steering-wheel, with four men hard--a great deal too hard, it seemed to me--at work at it. she showed eighteen ports of a side, all closed, and carried her due proportion of carronades on her forecastle and quarter-deck. her masts, magnificent sticks, and her short stout yards were bending like fishing-rods under the tremendous strain of her new canvas, which appeared as though it had not yet fully stretched into its proper shape; and every rope was coiled down in its proper place with the most scrupulous neatness. but, oh! the confusion and jabber and excitement of her crew. as she shaved past us, every man on deck jumped upon the hammock-rail and had his separate say to us--whether it were a word of caution, of congratulation at our escape from being run down, or of objurgation, it was quite impossible to tell; but, from the threatening character of their actions, i judged it to be the latter. there was only one calm individual among the whole, and he was the first lieutenant. he stood by the mizzen-rigging on the port side, clinging to a belaying-pin, and he vouchsafed us not so much as a passing glance, his whole attention being given to his spars and rigging, on which he kept his eyes anxiously fixed. the skipper, on the other hand, seemed to be more excited than any one else. when my eye lighted upon him he was grasping the poop-rail with his right hand and shaking his left fist at us. just then our eyes met, when, to my surprise and disgust, he turned to a marine near him and pointed at me, at the same time apparently giving the man an order. the fellow raised his piece and fired, and the next instant i felt a violent blow accompanied by a sharp burning pain in my left arm, which dropped helplessly at my side, broken between the elbow and the shoulder.
-all this passed in a single moment of time; the next instant we were vividly recalled to a sense of our own danger. as we rose upon the next wave our port quarter was exposed to its advancing crest, and there was only time to shout to all hands to "hold on for your lives!" before it came hissing up, and, arching over us quite six feet above our low bulwarks, tumbled on board, a regular comber, filling us to the gunwale, bursting in the companion-doors, flooding the cabin, smashing one of our boats to atoms, and washing away everything that was not securely lashed. by something approaching a miracle, none of the men were swept overboard; and as soon as i had ascertained this by a hasty glance round the deck, directly i got my head above water, i gave the order for the fore-lug to be loosed and set. the men wanted no second bidding; they knew that if we got pooped a second time it would be all over with us; and in an incredibly short space of time we had the sail set, and were bowling away to leeward after the frenchman.
-my friend sawbones had just arrived at that stage of his operations which required him to torture me almost beyond my powers of endurance by grinding the two broken bone-ends together to get them in proper position, when we felt a violent concussion, accompanied by a loud explosion on deck, speedily followed by vociferous cheering; and the next moment down trundled that young scamp smellie, his face beaming all over with a broad grin, as he exclaimed,--
-"hurrah, chester, i've done it! did it myself, hardy will tell you so."
-"did what, for goodness' sake?" groaned i, as the medico, under the influence of a terrific roll, gave my arm a most awful wrench. "what did you fire for?"
-"fired at the frenchman, of course," replied he, somewhat disconcerted. "i understood that you agreed we should have a shot at him, so we gave him one from long tom. i pointed the gun myself; and--only fancy!-- knocked away his mizzen-topmast, which brought down his main-topgallant- mast with it; and there he is now in a pretty mess. my eye! that was a close one," he added, as a twelve-pound shot sung close over our heads, without hitting anything however.
-"it sounds remarkably as though he were anxious to return the compliment, if he can," said i. "you had better go on deck again and hurry the men up with that mizzen; and round-to as soon as you possibly can. if one of those shot happen to plump on board us we shall probably have cause to remember the circumstance."
-the lad darted up the companion-way again, three stairs at a time; and very shortly afterwards i heard him shout down to me,--
-"i say, chester, the mizzen is bent and all ready for setting; shall we hoist away?"
-"watch for a good opportunity," i shouted back, "and as soon as it comes, down with your helm, and sway up the sail at the same time."
-"ay, ay; we will do so," was the response.
-a few minutes elapsed; and then i felt the little craft rising up, up, up, until it seemed as though she were about to turn a summersault with us; there was a thud at her stern, and a heavy swish of water on her deck as the crest of the sea struck her and broke over the taffrail, and then tom hardy's voice exclaimed,--
-"now--now's your time, sir! jam your helm hard-a-port, you dick! hard over with it, man; that's your sort. now, sway away upon these here mizzen halliards; down with your fore-lug; ease up the fore-sheet there, for'ard; up with the mizzen, lads; bowse it well up; that's well; belay. haul your fore-sheet over to wind'ard, and make fast. there! that's capital. now let's see what we can do to these here shrouds."
-from all of which, and the altered character of the little craft's motion, i learned that the ticklish manoeuvre of rounding-to had been safely executed.
-a quarter of an hour afterwards the medico finished me off, and i was able, with hardy's assistance, to go on deck again and take a look round before turning into my hammock to nurse my wounded arm.
-we were now hove-to upon the starboard tack, with our head to the southward; the english frigate had passed us, and was by this time some two miles to leeward, on our port quarter, the frenchman still leading, though he had lost ground considerably, and he seemed yet to be in the thick of his trouble with the wreck of his spars. the bow and stern- chasers of the two ships were still playing merrily away, but without any very marked result, as far as we could see; and shortly afterwards we lost sight of both ships in the thick weather to leeward, and saw no more of them.
-we were not long in getting our larboard mizzen shrouds knotted and set up afresh; and as soon as this was done we watched our chance and wore round once more, with our head to the northward--i remaining on deck to watch the operation--after which i was glad to get into my hammock and seek relief to my wounded fin.
-chapter twenty three.
-the french frigate.
-the gale lasted through the night and all next day, moderating about sun-down, however, sufficiently to allow of our setting our fore and main-lugs close-reefed, and keeping away upon our course. the wind continued to drop after that all through the night, the sea also going down rapidly; and next day we were able to shift our canvas, setting the lateens in place of the lugs; after which we bowled gaily along without further adventure, passing ushant on the evening of the fourth day after the gale had blown itself out, and arriving at spithead somewhat within the next forty-eight hours.
-the anchor let go, smellie and i jumped into the gig, and, taking the despatch-box with us, pulled ashore, landing at the sally-port. from thence we proceeded, first to the admiral's office, and afterwards to the "george" in high street, where i ordered a post-chaise; and then the pair of us sat down to a hastily-prepared dinner while the carriage was in process of fitting-out.
-in consequence of my representations to the admiral, he had ordered the "vigilant" into harbour immediately, to refit and make good the slight damage inflicted on us during the gale in the bay of biscay, and, when the post-chaise was announced, smellie only remained long enough to see me fairly under way, when he returned on board to take the little hooker into harbour, and superintend the operation of refitting.
-the evening passed on; the lovely, silent twilight insensibly deepened into night; the stars twinkled forth, one by one, in the pure, clear, deepening blue overhead; the road gradually widened; the houses along its sides became more and more frequent, the atmosphere thickened; the horizon ahead grew luminous; lights appeared and rapidly increased in number, soon they were glancing on both sides of us; a dull, heavy roar became audible, and finally, as the church-clocks were striking the hour of midnight, the chaise pulled up before the door of my uncle's house in saint james's square; and i had arrived in town.
-as the post-boy let down the steps and threw open the carriage-door for me to alight, i could see through the fanlight over the door that there was a light in the hall, so i felt pretty certain that my uncle had not yet retired. i ran up the steps and gave the bell-handle a tug which speedily brought old timothy to the door.
-"has sir peregrine retired yet, tim?" said i.
-"he has not, sir," replied the ancient, "but i much doubt if he will see any one at such a late--why, i declare, if it ain't master ralph! come in, sir; come in. sir peregrine is in the libr'y. won't he be glad to see you, just! he's always looking through the paper to see if there's any news of the `juno,' or if your name is mentioned, sir. this is an unexpected visit, though, master ralph; i hope there's nothing wrong, sir."
-"oh dear, no! quite the reverse i hope, tim, my boy. i've been sent home with despatches. now, lead the way to the library, if you please."
-this short confabulation passed in the hall while tim was relieving me of my cloak and hat. he now preceded me to the library, at the door of which he knocked, and then, flinging open the portal, he announced me.
-"master ralph, sir peregrine."
-i passed into the lofty apartment, its walls lined from floor to ceiling with well-stocked book-shelves, and found the worthy knight seated in his own particular old easy-chair, with one foot--ominously swathed in flannel--reposing upon another; his specs on his nose, and the gazette in his hand.
-he looked round with a start as my name was mentioned, shaded his eyes with his hand for an instant, as his eyes fell upon my advancing figure, and then--forgetting all about his gout--started to his feet with both hands outstretched.
-"why, ralph! my dear boy, where--confound this gout! it always attacks me at exactly the wrong moment--but never mind; what cloud have you dropped from?"
-"from no cloud at all, my dear sir, but just from an ordinary post- chaise, in which i have come up from portsmouth. how are you, sir? i hope you have nothing worse than the gout to complain of. wish you were free of that, for it must be very troublesome."
-"troublesome enough, my boy, you may take my word for that; but the present attack is luckily very trifling--a mere fleabite, in fact. and how are you? you don't look particularly bright, rather the reverse, indeed; and what is the matter with your arm?"
-thereupon i gave him a hasty outline of my story, so far at least as the cruise in the "vigilant" was concerned; and then old richards, the butler, brought in the supper; serving it, by sir peregrine's orders, in the library, so that we might not be disturbed or my yarn interrupted by passing from one room to another.
-we sat until close upon three o'clock a.m., my uncle forgetting all about bed in his anxiety to hear full particulars of my doings since i had last parted from him. at length, however, he glanced at the clock upon the mantelpiece, and at once pulled me up short.
-"there, there! that will do for to-night, my dear boy. i've forgotten everything in listening to you, and have allowed you to talk all this time instead of sending you straight off to your bunk, as i ought to have done, and you with a broken arm, too. but i am delighted to have heard all that you have told me--the gazette tells one nothing--and i can afford you the satisfaction of knowing that your name has attracted attention in the right quarter; sir james has spoken to me about you on more than one occasion; and your promotion is certain. if you go on as you have begun, ralph, i predict that you will mount the ratlines rapidly. now, we will breakfast at ten o'clock, if that will suit you, and then i will go with you myself to the admiralty with the despatches. my gout? pooh! i'll lay a crown it will be gone by the time i turn out in the morning; and if it is not, it is not bad enough to keep me at anchor here when i can perhaps do you a good turn. i'll introduce you to sir james; i should like him to see for himself the sort of lad you are. now; good-night! tim will attend to you. god bless you, my boy."
-the arrangement of the previous night was duly carried out, sir peregrine's gout having, as he had predicted, been merciful enough to afford him a respite.
-we drove to the admiralty, and i sent in my despatch-box. my uncle also sent in his card.
-half an hour elapsed, sir james happening to be engaged when we arrived, and then sir peregrine was admitted to the august presence. another half-hour passed, at the expiration of which time i also was invited into the sanctum. my uncle introduced me; sir james uttered a few complimentary phrases upon my past conduct, informed me that "he had his eye upon me," presented two fingers for me to shake, gave his entire hand to my uncle, and we were dismissed. as we passed through the outer office it was intimated to me that my presence would be required there at noon next day.
-"that's a good job well over," ejaculated my uncle, as we once more seated ourselves in the carriage and drove off. "you are in high favour, let me tell you, my boy," he continued. "lord hood has referred to you in very flattering terms in his despatches, in connexion with that hare-brained escapade of yours at bastia; and sir james has assured me of the very great satisfaction with which he views your conduct, and has promised moreover that he will take the earliest possible opportunity to show his appreciation of it. now, where shall we go? i suppose you do not feel very much in cue for sight-seeing, with your wounded arm, eh? very well; then we'll drive to my tailor's--you want a new gang of rigging put over your mast-head badly, my boy, and then we'll go home and you shall rest a bit. i have a few friends coming to dinner this evening; but you need not join us if you do not feel equal to it, you know."
-the "new gang of rigging" was duly ordered, and faithfully promised for next day at noon--sir peregrine insisting upon its being charged to his account--and then we returned to saint james's square.
-with the dinner-hour my uncle's guests arrived, some twenty in number; and, as i rather fancied the dear old gentleman would be glad if i were present, i put in an appearance. my suspicions were no doubt well founded, as it turned out that one of the guests was no less a personage than my new acquaintance of the morning--the great sir james himself. the old boy was a good deal less taut in the backstays than he had been in the morning, giving me his whole hand to shake on this occasion. during dinner he addressed himself to me several times, putting questions to me with reference to our recent operations in corsica--that happening to be one of the topics of conversation; and after the meal was over he invited me to haul alongside, and chatted with me quite half an hour upon the same subject. later on in the evening i happened to overhear him remark to my uncle,--
-"like your nephew, portfire--am much pleased with him--promising young officer--very--smart and intelligent--seems steady too--shall keep my eye on him."
-which, of course, was very gratifying.
-i drove to the office next day at noon, sir peregrine accompanying me, but this time he remained in his carriage while i went inside. my despatch-box was handed back to me, together with written orders--which were read over to me--to proceed without delay to malta, there to hand over the contents of the said box to lord hood. in the event of his lordship not being there, i was to search for and find him.
-"well, ralph, what news?" asked my uncle, as i rejoined him.
-"i must leave you at once, dear sir," i replied. "i have orders to sail forthwith for malta, with these despatches. i had hoped they would have given me time to run down home, if only for a few hours; but all that is quite knocked on the head. as it is, i shall not be able to enjoy above another hour of your society, uncle, for i must start for portsmouth without a moment's delay."
-"ah!" remarked sir peregrine, "i anticipated this, from a remark which sir james let fall last night, and i have so far provided for it that we can start in an hour's time. i feel so much better that i shall run down with you. we will post down in my own carriage, and after i have seen you fairly off, i will look in upon your father and spend a day or two with them on my way back to town. i shall then be able to tell them all about you."
-we put up at the "george;" and, after ordering dinner, walked down to the harbour, and soon made out the "vigilant," anchored about a quarter of a mile away. the tide was still flowing a little; so, jumping into a wherry, we were soon alongside.
-i found smellie on board, and all hands, including a strong gang of dockyard workmen, still busy, late as it was, putting the finishing touches to the repairs. the provisions, water, and other stores had been shipped during the day; but the boat, to replace the one destroyed, would not be ready until the next morning.
-my uncle had been trotting round, giving the little craft a thorough inspection, during the time i had been engaged with my junior, and expressed himself as being much pleased with her handsome model. when we were ready to return to the shore he proposed that we should take little smellie with us; and we accordingly all three trundled over the side into the shore-boat, which we had detained--leaving hardy to superintend the finishing touches--and rowed down the harbour again in the light of a beautiful, clear full moon.
-sir peregrine was in high spirits that evening at dinner; he said it reminded him of his young days to be down there once more, and he completely unbent from his usual stateliness, so that we spent a most delightful evening, turning in about midnight.
-i awoke early next morning, and, having roused out my second in command, we walked down to the dockyard to hurry the people up with the new boat, which they were just finishing off.
-we returned to the hotel to breakfast at eight o'clock; and by ten a.m., having completed all my business on shore, we once more chartered a wherry, and went on board, my uncle accompanying us. on reaching the "vigilant" i found that the new boat had been delivered and was hoisted in, the dockyard gang was clear of the ship, and everything was ready for an immediate start. i accordingly gave the word to unmoor, and in another quarter of an hour we passed out of the harbour with a nice little breeze from about n.n.e.
-my uncle remained on board until we were abreast of cowes, when he ordered the wherry--which had been towing astern--to be hauled alongside. the "vigilant" was hove-to; my uncle shook hands with little smellie, slipped a five-pound note into the hand of chips, the carpenter's mate, for the crew to drink my health, and then, taking a hasty but most affectionate leave of me, hurried over the side into the wherry, seized the yoke-lines, and bade the boatman make sail for portsmouth harbour. we at once filled away again; and two hours afterwards passed through the needles.
-nothing worthy of note occurred until we were half-way across the bay of biscay, when, about four bells in the forenoon watch of a most delightful day, with a moderate breeze from the westward, and a very long swell, but no sea, the lookout man aloft reported a sail broad on our lee bow.
-i was in the cabin at the time, reading.
-"what does she look like?" inquired smellie, who had the watch.
-"i can only see the heads of her fore and main-topgallantsails," replied the man, "but i believe she is a frigate, sir."
-smellie came to the open skylight and spoke down through it:--
-"i say, chester, if it's not troubling you too much, will you hand me up my glass, please? it is in the beckets, just inside the door of my berth. here's a strange sail to leeward, and i want to take a squint at her."
-i found the telescope, and carried it on deck myself. master harold slung it over his shoulder, and in another minute was perched on the long tapering yard of the lateen mainsail.
-"what do you make her out to be?" i hailed him, after he had given her a careful overhauling for some three or four minutes.
-"as like as not," returned i. "if we can see her, she can see us; and as a craft of our rig is a rather unusual sight just about here, it is not improbable that her skipper may wish to learn a little more about us. what is she--english or french, think you?"
-"i believe she is french," was the reply. "i had a good look at her canvas as she hove about, and it appeared to me to be decidedly frenchified in shape."
-we were already hugging the wind as closely as was possible, and had every possible inch of canvas spread; so we could do nothing but stand on as we were going, and await the course of events.
-her sails rose rapidly above the horizon for the first hour or so, but after that, as we brought her more on our quarter, they began to sink again. when about abeam of us, the stranger hoisted the tricolour at her gaff-end, fired a gun, and showed a signal from her main-royal mast- head, of which we could make nothing. we, however, hoisted the french flag also, and left them to make the best they could of it. after the first signal had been flying some time, it was hauled down, and another substituted, but with no better luck than before, and it was soon hauled down.
-"she is after us, for a guinea," said i.
-"ay, ay, nae doot o' that," quoth the old quarter-master; "but she'll no catch us the gait she's ganging the noo. this is oor ain weather, and i wad like brawly to see the freegate that can beat us wi' nae mair wind than this. yon frenchman wad gie a hantle o' siller to see the breeze freshen, but it'll no do that yet awhile."
-the frigate stood on until she was well upon our weather quarter, by which time the heads of her topgallantsails were just visible from the deck, when, to remove any doubt that might have remained as to her intentions, she once more hove in stays and stood after us.
-i went below and looked anxiously at the barometer; it was perfectly steady. i then returned to the deck and keenly scrutinised the sky; it was covered with patches of thin fleecy cloud which allowed the sun to show through, with broad patches of clear blue sky between; and the breeze was just fresh enough to curl the tops of the wavelets over in tiny flecks of foam, and to heel the "vigilant" until our lee covering- board was just awash, with the clear, sparkling water occasionally welling up through the lee scuppers. it was, indeed, as old sandy had remarked, the weather in which the little "vigilant" stepped out to the greatest advantage, and i had very little fear of any square-rigged vessel being able to overhaul us so long as matters remained in statu quo. i knew that we were sailing a good couple of points nearer the wind than was the frenchman astern, and i believed we were going through the water nearly if not quite as fast as he was. by two bells in the afternoon watch the craft had dropped to leeward until she was a couple of points on our lee quarter, but she had certainly risen us a little, for by standing on the weather-rail i could see the heads of her topsails.
-matters remained in pretty much the same state for the rest of the day, excepting that our pursuer gradually tagged away farther and farther to leeward, until he was broad upon our lee quarter. toward sun-down, however, the breeze began to freshen, and our pertinacious companion soon showed us how great an advantage this was to him, by the way in which he drew up on our lee beam.
-when i went below to tea, i found that the barometer had fallen a little, and by the time that i had finished the meal and regained the deck, we were jerking through a short, choppy head-sea, with our lee bulwarks half-buried in the foam which hissed past our sides, the fore- deck drenched with the continuous heavy shower of spray which flew in over our weather bow, and our long yards swaying and bending as though each had been a fishing-rod with a lively salmon at the end of the line. i began to feel rather anxious, for the sea which the freshening breeze had knocked up was very detrimental to our speed, while upon the frigate, owing to her vastly superior power, it had little or no effect.
-"umph!" i muttered, "their night-glasses are as good as my own, apparently."
-i began to see a french prison looming in the distance; for, from the rapidity with which she had tacked, and the manner in which, notwithstanding our superior weatherliness, she was overhauling us, i knew that our pursuer must be an exceedingly smart ship, and her skipper was acting like a man who had all his wits about him.
-all our lights were of course most carefully masked--a tarpaulin being thrown over the cabin skylight, and a seaman's jacket over the binnacle, the helmsman steering by a star.
-we stood on thus for about a couple of hours after tacking, and i was seriously debating in my mind the possibility of giving the frenchman the slip by lowering away all our canvas and then running to leeward under bare poles, my eyes resting abstractedly upon a brilliant planet broad upon our weather bow, which was just on the point of dipping below the horizon, when suddenly the said planet vanished. i took no notice of this until it as suddenly reappeared in the space of a few seconds.
-"another sail, by all that's complicating!" i ejaculated.
-"another sail! where away, sir?" exclaimed hardy, who was standing between me and the helmsman.
-"just to the southward of that bright planet on the horizon, broad on our larboard bow," said i, as i levelled my glass. "ah! there she is. another frigate, by the look of her--hull up, too."
-"phew!" whistled hardy; "that's rather awk'ard; she may pick us out any minute. but perhaps she's english, sir. you don't often see two french ships so close together as this here. can you see her pretty plain, sir?"
-"not very," i replied. "but i fancy there's an english look about her."
-"let me take a squint at her, sir."
-i handed him over the glass, and he took a good long look at her. suddenly he handed the glass back to me.
-"she's english, sir! i'll take my oath of it!" he exclaimed. "she's the `amethyst,' that's what she is. i knows her by the way her fore- topmast and topgallant-mast is looking over her bows. there ain't another ship afloat as has got such a kink in her foremast as the `amethyst,' and that's her, sir, as sure as i'm tom hardy."
-"are you quite certain?" i inquired. "do not speak rashly because the consequences may prove serious to us. if you are positive about the matter, i will signal him and turn the tables upon our friend astern."
-"let me take another look, sir."
-i handed over the glass, and he took another long look at her.
-"fire away with your lanterns, sir, as soon as you like," said he. "i'll stake my liberty that yon craft is none other than the `amethyst.' she's a twenty-eight; but her skipper is man enough to give a good account of johnny, i'll be bound."
-"then rouse out the lanterns, and let's make the private signal," said i. "but instead of hoisting them at our peak, where the frenchman will see them and perhaps suspect something, haul the staysail down, get a block well up on the fore-stay, and we will run them up there; our sails will then hide them from the craft astern."
-so said, so done; we showed the private signal, and in less than a minute it was properly answered, upon which we telegraphed the news that a french frigate was about ten miles astern in chase of us.
-i now looked for the french frigate, to see if i could observe anything to show that they had seen the english frigate's signal lanterns; but she was still carrying on upon the same tack, and, as i judged that she and the "amethyst" were about seventeen miles apart, i hoped that the lights had escaped her notice.
-in about twenty minutes the "amethyst" passed us, a mile to windward, and apparently steering a course which would run her slap on board the frenchman in another half-hour. there was not a light to be seen anywhere about her; but for all that i knew that her crew were wide awake and busy. she was running down under courses, topsails, spanker, and jib, her topgallant-yards down upon the caps, with the sails clewed up, but not furled; royals stowed.
-"now we shall see some fun shortly," exclaimed smellie, in high glee-- he having got an inkling that something out of the common was toward, in that mysterious way in which people do learn such things on board a small ship, and had accordingly come on deck. but he was mistaken for once, if by the term fun he meant a frigate action; for old clewline, the skipper of the "amethyst," was too seasoned a hand to do anything rashly. he ran down, his ship as dark as the grave, until he had attained a position about two miles dead to windward of our pursuer, when he hauled up and showed the private signal at his gaff-end. the french frigate immediately edged away about four points and showed some lanterns, but they were not a reply to the "amethyst's" signal; so clewline tried another--to make quite sure of avoiding any mistake. this was not answered at all; on the contrary, the frenchman hauled down his lanterns and wore short round, crowding sail at the same moment; whereupon the "amethyst" also bore up again and--clewline must have had his men aloft all the time, ready for the emergency--as she squared away in chase, we saw her stunsails fluttering out to their boom-ends on both sides. we then tacked and resumed our original course once more, heartily thankful for our escape, and chuckling mightily at the thought of the trap johnny crapaud had run his nose into. in less than half an hour afterwards we lost sight of both ships.
-on our arrival at malta i learned that the "victory" was lying at genoa, and thither we accordingly went, picking up on the way a small french schooner from the levant, laden with fruit. we were over three weeks on the passage, having an alternation of calms and strong head-winds to contend with; so that i was heartily glad when we at length found ourselves in port, and the mud-hook down.
-"hurrah for old england!" was now the cry; everybody was in the highest of spirits, for there was literally nothing to do but up anchor and away, which was promptly done, so that i scarcely spent half a dozen hours in the port of genoa, the "juno" sailing on the evening of the day on which the "vigilant" had arrived.
-we were nearly a month in reaching as far as gibraltar; but after getting fairly through the gut and round saint vincent we made short miles of it, the girls having taken hold of the tow-rope, as jack says, and eventually arrived at spithead without the occurrence of any circumstance worth recording. the ship was paid off next day, and i was enabled to return once more, after an absence of nearly two years, to the paternal roof.
-chapter twenty four.
-i found all hands at home in the best of health, and received of course a hearty welcome from them. my father appeared to be exactly as i had left him, not a day older; but my mother had gathered an extra wrinkle or two about the comers of her eyes, i thought, and the grey hairs were mustering pretty strongly. poor soul! all the stress and strain fell upon her; it was she who had all the planning, the cutting, and contriving to make both ends meet; and it was no wonder if she showed here and there a scar received in the tough battle. the girls showed the greatest alteration, and, i may add, improvement of appearance, for they had developed from pretty girls into most lovely women--at least i thought so.
-i had been home a fortnight when my uncle, sir peregrine portfire, to whom i had written shortly after my arrival, came down, and took up his quarters with us. life under the old roof-tree was very quiet and uneventful, and nothing worthy of note occurred for the first six weeks of my stay. i was taking matters quietly for a while, as i thought i was justified in doing, when, about the end of the time i have named, a chaise drove up to the door one evening, about half an hour before the appearance of dinner upon the table, and out jumped mr annesley. i was delighted to see him, and forthwith introduced him to my father and sir peregrine, both of whom gave him a most cordial welcome. my mother and the girls were dressing for dinner at the time.
-on dinner being announced, our newly-arrived and self-invited guest took my sister florrie in tow, and, having convoyed her safely to a chair, brought himself to an anchor alongside her, playing the agreeable so effectively that he quite absorbed miss florrie's attention during the meal. on the departure of the ladies, the object of his visit came out. he had, in just recognition of his services, been appointed to the command of a new frigate, named the "astarte," which was then fitting- out at portsmouth for the west india station; and he had hunted me up to see if i would go with him. i at once frankly told him there was nothing i should like better; and, as my uncle also approved of the proposal, the question was settled then and there.
-i learned, with a great deal of pleasure, that he had secured as his first lieutenant, mr flinn, our quondam "second" on board the "juno." bob summers and little smellie were also going to be with us once more, so that we promised to be quite a family party. mr flinn, it appeared, had already joined, as well as the second lieutenant, summers, smellie, and another midshipman; the former, assisted by smellie and the new mid, being engaged in superintending the fitting-out of the ship, while the second lieutenant and master bob were getting together a crew. the two latter were taking their time about this business--captain annesley being very anxious to have a thorough picked crew--but they had succeeded in securing some five and twenty of the primest seamen lately paid off from the "juno," as well as about forty other good men. my new skipper was kind enough to say that i need be in no hurry to join, as he would write and let me know when my services were required.
-these matters settled, we joined the ladies, and, as it seemed to me, the skipper was again very attentive to florrie, turning over the pages of her music, joining her in a duet or two, and reeling off small-talk by the fathom between whiles.
-next morning, after an early breakfast, we--that is, captain annesley, my uncle, and i--started for portsmouth; the former to remain there and watch the progress of work on board the "astarte," my uncle and i to just take a look at the new craft and get back home again in time for dinner.
-a smart drive of an hour and a half landed us at the "george" in portsmouth, and we forthwith proceeded to the dockyard and on board. the craft was still alongside the sheers, but her lower-masts were in and rigged, the tops over the mast-heads, and the three topmasts all ready for going aloft. she proved to be an 18-pounder 38-gun frigate, with a flush upper-deck fore and aft, which presented a beautifully spacious appearance to us who had been accustomed to the cramped look of the "juno's" upper-deck, cut into by the poop and topgallant-forecastle. her hull was very long, and rather lower in proportion than that of the "juno;" and her lines were as fine as it had been possible to make them. the joiners were still busily at work upon the captain's cabin and the gun-room, and everything was in a state of indescribable litter and confusion, but i saw enough to satisfy me that my new ship was as fine a craft of her class as ever slid off the stocks, and i looked forward to a happy and stirring life on board her. having taken a good look round her in every part, shaken hands with little smellie, and made the acquaintance of the new mid, a little shrimp of a fellow named fisher, my uncle and i started for home again.
-on the day but one following, sir peregrine and i trundled up to town to see about my outfit, as there were several things i should require on the west india station that had not been necessary in the mediterranean. on our return we found the skipper comfortably domiciled in his former quarters. things, he said, were going on so satisfactorily at portsmouth that he had felt no hesitation about leaving everything to mr flinn and accepting an invitation--which my father had pressed upon him on the occasion of his first visit--to spend christmas at the rectory, and to indulge in the unwonted luxury of a thorough rest.
-my father was always busy with his parish-work, and sir peregrine's gout precluded the possibility of his taking much outdoor exercise, so the duty of entertaining our guest devolved almost wholly upon the girls and myself. and i must say that our efforts in that direction appeared to be crowned with signal success. we had a spin after the hounds once or twice, and did a little shooting, but my superior officer appeared to enjoy the skating-parties most, when the frost would allow us to indulge in this pastime, and i could not help noticing how regularly we seemed to separate into two parties; the skipper invariably pairing off with florrie, and leaving amy to my care and pilotage.
-at length a letter came from mr flinn to say that the ship was all ataunto, and would in another eight-and-forty hours be quite ready for sea. it arrived while we were at breakfast; and as he announced its contents and intimated that we must both be off forthwith, i saw my sister florence go pale to the lips for a moment and then flush up as though the blood would burst through her delicate skin. the news threw a complete damper upon the previously merry party, and the meal was finished in almost perfect silence. at length my father returned thanks and rose to retire to his study. as he did so captain annesley also rose and said something to him in a low tone, which seemed to me to be a request for a few moments' private conversation. my father bowed, and led the way to the library, with the skipper following close in his wake.
-they were closeted together nearly an hour, and when the man-o'-war rejoined us, the first thing he did was to carry florrie off to the conservatory. my mother was, as usual, at that hour, busy in her own snuggery with the cook, so that amy and i found ourselves left alone in the drawing-room, sir peregrine having retired to the terrace for his morning smoke. i began by this time to see pretty clearly what was in the wind; so when amy proposed that i should accompany her as far as old mrs jones' cottage, i assented with effusion. we returned just in time to sit down to luncheon; and when we took our places at table, florrie's look of mingled joy and sadness, the sparkling diamond upon her engaged finger, and the elated look upon my skipper's handsome face told me all that i had before only shrewdly suspected.
-immediately after luncheon, the carriage was brought round, our traps tumbled on board, and the skipper and i started for portsmouth, after a most affecting leave-taking all round. poor florrie bore up bravely until the very last moment, when, as annesley took her hand and bent over her to say good-bye, her fortitude completely deserted her, and, flinging herself into his arms, she sobbed as if her heart would break. i felt a lump rise in my own throat as i sat an unwilling witness to her distress; while as for annesley--but avast! we are bound on a quest for honour and glory, so stow away the tear-bottles, coil down all tender feeling out of sight, and westward ho! for the land of yellow jack.
-on the day but one following, we sailed from spithead in half a gale of wind from e.n.e., with frequent snow-squalls; pretty much the same weather in fact as we had on the eventful occasion of my sailing in the "scourge." we looked into plymouth sound on out way, assumed the convoy of a fleet of some seventeen sail, and proceeded.
-oh! the misery of convoy-duty. to feel that you have a smart ship underfoot and a crew who will shrink from nothing their skipper may put them alongside, and to be doomed to drag along, day after day, under close-reefed topsails, in order to avoid running away from the sluggish, deep-laden merchantmen; with signalling and gun-firing going on day and night, restraining the swift and urging on the slow; with an occasional cruise round the entire fleet to keep them well together, and an everlasting anxious lookout to see that no fast-sailing privateer or pirate sneaks in and picks up one of your charges--it is almost as bad as blockading.
-however, all things come to an end sooner or later; and we were looking forward to a speedy release from our annoyances--having arrived within a couple of days' sail of the mona passage--when just after sun-rise the lookout aloft reported a small object apparently a boat, about five miles distant on our port bow. as the weather was beautifully fine, with our convoy bowling along under every rag of canvas they could spread, and no sign of any lurking picaroons in our neighbourhood, the skipper had our course altered, so as to give the strange object an overhaul. as we ran rapidly down upon it, we perceived that it was indeed a boat, but she showed neither mast nor oar, and we were unable to distinguish any one on board her. when within a mile of her, however, the lookout hailed to say he thought he saw some people lying down in her bottom. a few minutes more, and our doubts were removed by the sight of some person rising for a moment into a sitting position and then sinking down into the bottom of the boat again.
-"a shipwrecked crew, apparently," observed the skipper; "but why don't they out oars and stand by to pull alongside?"
-"perhaps they are lying asleep, tired out with a long spell of pulling already?" suggested mr woods, the second lieutenant.
-five minutes afterwards we swept close past her.
-"boat ahoy!" hailed the skipper; and once more a figure appeared for a moment above the boat's gunwale, waved its hand feebly, and sank down again. but--merciful heaven! what a sight it was, which was thus momentarily presented to our view. the figure was that of a full-grown man clad in the ordinary garb of a spanish seaman, but the clothes hung about it in rags, and the features were so shrunken that the skin appeared as though strained over a naked skull.
-"good god!" ejaculated captain annesley. "why, they are in the last stage of starvation. round-to and back the main-yard, if you please, mr flinn. mr chester, take the gig, and tow them alongside. where's the doctor?"
-i jumped into the gig, with six hands; she was lowered down, the tackles unhooked, and away we went. a few strokes took us alongside the boat; and i then saw a sight which i shall never forget. the boat seemed full of bodies, all huddled together in the bottom in such a way that it was impossible to count them as they lay there, and the stench which arose was so sickening that we had to hold our nostrils while the painter was being cleared away and made fast.
-we were soon alongside the frigate once more, and the doctor with his assistant at once jumped down into the spanish boat and proceeded to examine its occupants. three of them proved to be still alive; the remainder were dead and rotted almost out of the semblance of humanity. the survivors were hoisted as carefully as possible on board the frigate; and then, as the best means we could think of for disposing of the boat and her dreadful freight, half a dozen eighteen-pound shot were passed down into her, a plank knocked out of her bottom, and she was left to sink, which she did before the frigate had sailed many yards from the spot.
-the survivors were tended all that day with the utmost care by our worthy medico, and toward evening he was enabled to announce the gratifying intelligence that he hoped to save them all. the next day they were very much better; and on the day following one of them--the man whom we had seen rise up in the boat--was strong enough to tell us his story. i will not repeat it in all its dreadful details of suffering; suffice it to say that their ship, homeward-bound from saint iago, had been attacked by a piratical schooner, the crew of which, after rifling and scuttling the ship, had turned the crew adrift in one of their own boats, without provisions or water, masts or sails; and there they had been, drifting helplessly about the ocean for the to them endless period of nineteen days, without seeing a single sail until we hove in sight.
-on the fifth day after rescuing these poor creatures we arrived at port royal, where we anchored, while such of our convoy as were bound for kingston went on up the harbour.
-i had heard much respecting the beauty of the island of jamaica; and its appearance from the sea, as we had drawn in toward our anchorage, was such as to satisfy me that its attractions had not been overrated. i was anxious to have a run ashore; and was therefore very glad when the skipper, who had business at kingston, invited me to go with him. i ought to have mentioned, by-the-bye, that he had long ago taken me into his confidence with regard to his engagement to florrie--had done so, in fact, within a quarter of an hour of the time when he bade her good-bye, so that, though of course he was still the skipper in public, when we happened to be by ourselves he sank the superior officer, and merged into the friendly intimacy of the prospective brother-in-law.
-we jumped into the gig and rowed ashore to the wharf at port royal, it being the skipper's intention to take a wherry for the trip to kingston. the moment that our wants were made known, the black boatmen crowded round us in a perfect mob, each extolling the merits of his own boat and depreciating those of the others. from words they soon came to blows, the combatants lowering their heads and butting at each other like goats, until one hercules of a fellow, having won by force of arms--or rather, by the superior thickness and strength of his woolly skull--the right to convey us to our destination, we were led in triumph by him to his boat, and comfortably stowed away in the stern-sheets. the sea- breeze had by this time set in; and in a few minutes more we were tearing along the five-foot channel at a slashing pace. as we spun along toward our destination, i could not help remarking upon the perfect safety from attack by an enemy which kingston enjoys. in the first place, the approach from the outside is of so difficult a character, in consequence of the narrowness and intricacy of the channels between the outlying shoals and reefs, that it would be almost impossible for a stranger to find his way in. if, however, he should by any chance get safely as far as port royal, its defences would assuredly stop his further progress; and then, as though these were not deemed sufficient, a little way up the harbour we come to the apostle's battery; beyond which again is fort augusta. altogether i think i never saw a more strongly-defended place, excepting, of course, gibraltar.
-in due time we reached the wherry-wharf at kingston, and landed. a quarter of an hour's walk under the piazzas which line the streets in the lower part of the town brought us to mr martin's store, whither we were bound, and on inquiring for him, we were at once shown into his office. the skipper introduced himself and me, explained his business, which was soon done, and then we rose to leave.
-as mr martin shook hands with us, he said,--
-"excuse me, gentlemen, but have you any engagements for to-day?"
-the skipper replied that we had not, we were both strange to the place, and we proposed chartering a carriage for a drive into the country, in order that we might see a few of the far-famed beauties of the island.
-"then pray allow me to be your pilot," said our new friend. "i have really nothing particular to attend to to-day, and i shall be very happy to show you round. if you can spare so much time, i am going this afternoon to visit a sugar-estate of mine a few miles out of town, stay the night, and return to-morrow morning after breakfast, and i shall be delighted to have the pleasure of your company."
-nothing could have suited us better; we accordingly accepted his invitation, and forthwith set off to see what there was to be seen of the town. in the course of our peregrinations we met and were introduced to several of our host's friends, each of whom shook hands with us as though he had known us all our lives, and forthwith gave us a pressing invitation to his "place."
-about four o'clock we returned to mr martin's store, where we found his ketureen--a sort of gig--waiting, and also that of a mr finnie, another sugar-planter who was going to make one of the party. the skipper jumped in alongside of mr martin, i stowed myself away alongside his friend, and away we dashed up the sandy streets and out of town in the direction of the blue mountains.
-we reached the estate, and the house upon it, just in time to escape a violent thunder-storm, accompanied by such rain as i had never seen before. it came down literally in sheets, completely obscuring everything beyond a couple of dozen yards distant, and rattling upon the thatched roof as though it would beat it in. it lasted about an hour, ceasing as suddenly as it had commenced, and leaving the air clear, cool, and pure.
-the next morning we took a walk over the estate before breakfast, visiting the negroes' quarters, the sugar-mill, and other buildings, and gaining thereby an appetite which proved most destructive to our host's pickled mackerel, cold boiled tongue, eggs, etcetera. we made a clean sweep of the comestibles, washed all down with a cup or two of tea, and then started for kingston, finally arriving on board the "astarte" about noon.
-we remained at port royal two days longer, during which we gave the craft a brush of paint inside and out, and otherwise titivated her up after her run out from england, when we received orders to sail upon a three-months' cruise among the windward islands. we accordingly weighed, and stood out to sea with the first of the land breeze; and, having cleared the shoals, hauled up on the port tack, keeping close under the land to take all possible advantage of the land breeze in making our easting. by midnight we were off morant point, from which we took our departure; and in another hour were tearing along under topgallant-sails, upon a taut bowline, and looking well up for the island of grenada, under the influence of a strong trade-wind.
-the skipper was most anxious to thoroughly test the sailing powers of the "astarte," this being the first time that an opportunity had occurred for so doing; and we accordingly carried on all next day, taxing the toughness of our spars to their utmost limit, and so satisfactory was the result that all hands, fore and aft, felt sanguine that we should meet with very few craft able to beat us either in the matter of speed or weatherliness. the "astarte" also proved to be a very pretty sea-boat, though a trifle wet when being driven hard--but then, what craft is not?
-as we drew to the southward the trade-wind hauled round a trifle farther from the eastward, its prevailing direction being about e.n.e. this broke us off a couple of points, and set us so much the more to leeward, but beyond that we had nothing to complain of, for the weather continued fine, and the breeze strong and steady.
-on the evening of our third day out from kingston we sighted land on the lee bow, which turned out to be the south end of the island of oruba, off the entrance to the gulf of maracaybo. we weathered the island cleverly before dark, though without very much room to spare, and passed in between it and curacao, making land again about six bells in the middle watch, on the mainland this time, about hicacos point. at eight bells in the same watch we tacked ship and stood off shore; and when the sun rose, the island of curacao appeared upon our weather bow. continuing upon the starboard tack all that day, we hove about again at the beginning of the first dog-watch, thinking that we might possibly be able to pick up a stray spaniard or dutchman.
-"land!" murmured little fisher--who from his diminutive stature had acquired from his fellow-mids the sobriquet of "six-foot"--"land! it's nothing but `land ho!' what land is it, for gracious sake?" to mr carter, the master's-mate, who happened to be standing near him.
-"the rocca islands," answered carter. "the master says it's a very likely spot in which to find a pirate's nest--just a group of some five- and-twenty rocks, they are not much larger, and one island about ten miles long and six wide, with reefs and shoals all round. did you ever smell gunpowder, six-foot?"
-"not yet," answered little fisher, "but you know this is only my second voyage?"
-"and your first was from london to margate, eh? well, perhaps you'll have a chance of smelling it before long." and carter walked away forward.
-the little fellow flushed up crimson, and then went pale to the lips.
-"why, six-foot, what's the matter with you; you are not frightened, are you? carter was only joking."
-"was he?" said the boy, "i didn't know. you asked me if i felt frightened, ralph, i don't know whether it was fright or not, but i felt very queer. you know i have never been in action yet, and i think it must be so dreadful to hear the shot crashing in through the ship's sides, and to see strong men struck down maimed and bleeding, or perhaps killed outright, and i have a horrible feeling that when i see these things for the first time i shall turn sick and faint, and perhaps misbehave in some way. and i wouldn't act like a coward for the world; my father is a very proud man, and i don't think he would ever forgive me for bringing such disgrace on his name."
-i could understand the poor little fellow's feelings perfectly, i thought, for had i not experienced something of the same kind myself? i cheered him up as well as i could; telling him that whenever the time came i felt sure he would behave perfectly well, and that with the firing of the first shot all trace of the peculiar and unpleasant sensations of which he spoke would pass completely away.
-i was still talking with him when the skipper's steward came up to us with an invitation for both to dinner in the cabin. the subject was accordingly dropped, and we hurried away to dress.
-we were just finishing our soup when mr vining, the third lieutenant, came down to say that two ships had just rounded the southernmost end of the large island, and were working their way in among the shoals towards a small shallow bay on the north, western side.
-"what do they look like, mr vining?" queried the skipper.
-"one is a full-rigged ship, apparently of about six hundred tons; the other is a low, wicked-looking brigantine, sir, very loftily rigged, and with an immense spread of canvas."
-"um!" said the skipper. "just keep a sharp eye upon them, if you please, mr vining, and see what you can make of them. i'll be on deck shortly."
-the second lieutenant withdrew, and we hurried on with the meal. by the time that we had finished and were on deck once more, the sun had set, and the short twilight of the tropics was upon us. the islands--mere rocks, as carter had said--forming the western extremity of the group were already on our lee beam; the nearest of them being about three miles distant, while others stretched away to leeward of them right away to the horizon, and even beyond it. key grande, the largest of the group, lay right ahead, distant about fifteen miles; while el roque, another island, lay broad upon our weather bow, about five miles distant. the lookout aloft reported the two strange sail to be just anchoring.
-"we've stayed below a trifle too long, i'm afraid," said the skipper; "we shall have darkness upon us in ten minutes. mr chester, kindly slip up to the topsail-yard and see what you can make out about the strangers, if you please."
-"i'll come with you, ralph, my boy," said mr flinn. "four eyes are better than two; and, as i see that the skipper means to give them an overhaul, it is as well that we should learn all we can about them beforehand."
-we accordingly shinned up the ratlines together, and were soon comfortably settled on the fore-topsail-yard. we remained there until the brief twilight had so far faded that it was impossible to make out more than the general outline of the ships, and then we descended and made our report.
-the said report amounted to this. the brigantine, we had quite made up our minds, was either a privateer or a pirate, but of what nationality, if the former, we were not quite clear, and the ship we took to be a spaniard of about five hundred tons. the water was breaking so confusedly among and over the reefs ahead of us that we felt very doubtful whether the boats--much less the ship--could find a way through; but we were of opinion that there was a narrow belt of clear water close to the shore.
-mr martin, the master, had meanwhile brought up the chart and spread it open upon the capstan-head; but the moment that we looked at it and compared it with what we saw around us, it became evident that it was by no means to be relied upon, so far at least as this particular spot was concerned.
-"'bout ship at once, if you please, mr flinn," said the skipper. "we'll go no nearer--on this side at all events--i don't half like being so close as we are now. we'll furl the topgallant-sails and take down a reef in the topsails also."
-it was done. the reefs now lay astern of us, key grande bore well upon our starboard quarter, and el roque was ahead of us, a trifle upon our weather bow.
-"keep her away a point, quarter-master, and give that island ahead a wide berth," said the skipper.
-"ay, ay, sir," answered gimbals; and i thought his voice sounded strange and melancholy in the deepening gloom.
-we were now standing to the northward, or about n. by w., under single- reefed topsails, and were going about nine knots, the spot we were in being sheltered by the islands and shoals to windward, and the water consequently smooth. in about half an hour's time, however, the frigate passed out from under the lee of el roque, and we were once more tearing and thrashing through the short head-sea. the sky to leeward, still aglow with the fading splendour which marked the path of the departed sun, strongly tinged the water in its wake with tints of the purest amber and ruby, against which the wave-crests leaped up black as ink, while the ocean everywhere else showed a dark indigo hue. overhead, in the darkening ether, the stars were twinkling out one by one; while away to windward the sky, already nearly as dark as it would be that night, was thickly powdered with a million glittering points.
-we continued upon the starboard tack until two bells in the first watch, when, the skipper being of opinion that we had made sufficient offing to go to windward of everything, we tacked ship and stood to the southward and eastward again. it was by this time quite dark, although starlight; and we knew that if the strangers inside had kept a watch upon us, they would have seen us still standing off the land as long as it was possible to see anything at all; and, this being the case, we hoped they would jump to the conclusion that they had seen the last of us, for that night at least, and think no more about us.
-by six bells we were dead to windward of the eastern end of el roque, and about ten miles from it, when we edged away a couple of points, and, getting a good pull upon the weather-braces, went rolling and plunging down past the weather side of key grande, giving the land a wide berth however, and stationing extra lookouts--the keenest-eyed men in the ship--to watch for any signs of broken water.
-two hours after bearing up, we were off the south-east angle of the island, when we wore ship, and, shortening sail to close-reefed topsails, jib, and spanker, dodged quietly in toward the land, under the lee of which we soon found ourselves. a couple of leadsmen were sent into the chains, and the lead kept constantly going, but we found there was plenty of water, so we stood on until we got into eight fathoms, when, being completely sheltered, we let go the anchor, and stowed our canvas.
-it was by this time about two o'clock a.m. the boats had been prepared long before, and nothing now remained but to lower away, unhook, and be off.
-as soon as the sails were furled, captain annesley went below to his cabin, and immediately sent for mr flinn, mr vining, mr martin, and me. we trundled down one after the other, and found our chief bending anxiously over a chart which was lying spread open upon the cabin-table.
-"pray be seated, gentlemen," said he; "draw your chairs up to the table, and you will all be able to follow me upon the chart. here is where we are,"--making a pencil dot on the chart to indicate the position of the frigate--"and here, as nearly as possible, is where the ship and brigantine are lying,"--a cross serving to indicate their position. "now i feel myself to be in a position of some little difficulty. i have very little doubt in my own mind that these two ships belong to our enemies, but i am not sure of it; and to attack a vessel belonging to a friendly power would be a most deplorable accident. on the other hand, if we wait until daylight before doing anything, we run the risk of losing a good many of our men; for i should not feel justified in taking the frigate into the midst of so many unknown dangers, and an attack with the boats in broad daylight would give them ample time to make all their preparations for giving us a hot reception. i am inclined to think that the crews of those two craft will have no expectation of hearing from us to-night; and i have therefore determined to send in the boats to reconnoitre. you, mr flinn, will have charge of the expedition, and will take the launch. mr vining will take the first cutter, and mr martin the second, while mr chester, in the gig, must go ahead and endeavour to steal alongside the strange craft without giving the alarm, find out their nationality--while you lie off at a distance--and return to you with his report. if they are friends, there is no harm done; and if they are enemies, do as you think best."
-a few words of advice followed, and we then returned to the deck. the boats were lowered, a twelve-pound carronade placed in the bows of the launch, the fighting-crews paraded, and their weapons examined to see that everything was in fighting order, and then we trundled down over the side and shoved off.
-chapter twenty five.
-the rocca islets.
-the night had grown somewhat darker within the last hour, a few light clouds having come up to windward, spreading themselves over the sky and obscuring a good many of the stars; so that by the time we had been away from the ship about a quarter of an hour it was impossible to see anything of her except the light which twinkled at her gaff-end, and which might easily have been mistaken for a star.
-we rounded the south-west angle of the island; and soon afterwards found ourselves pulling up a narrow channel between the island and the reefs, in perfectly smooth water, save for the slight undulations of the ground-swell. we reckoned that the strangers were now about two miles distant, so with muffled oars, and in the strictest silence, we paddled gently on, mr flinn leading in the launch. after about half an hour of this work, the launch ceased pulling, the other boats following suit; and the word was passed for the gig--in which i had been bringing up the rear--to pass ahead. we did so, and in another minute were alongside the leading boat.
-"we can't be far off them now, ralph," said paddy in a loud whisper, "so just go aisy ahead, me darlint, and see what you can find out. and don't be a month of sundays about it, aither, you spalpeen, for we'll soon be havin' the daylight upon us; indade it looks to me as if the sky is lightin' up to the east'ard already, so we've no time to spare."
-we swept silently away, the stroke oar having orders to keep his eye on the boats as long as it was possible to see them; and he was just reporting to me in a whisper that he had lost sight of them when the bow man gave the word "oars," and said he could see something broad on our port bow. the boat's head was sheered to port, and at the same moment i caught sight of the brigantine's spars showing up black and indistinct against the dark sky. she was not above fifty yards away from us, and i had just given the word to paddle quietly ahead when a voice hailed us in spanish, ordering us to keep off or they would fire. before we could reply, crash came a volley of musketry at us, tearing up the water all round the boat, and one poor fellow dropped his oar and fell forward off his seat.
-"give way, men!" i shouted. "dash at her and get alongside before they have time to load again. the other boats will be here to support us in a moment."
-the men required no second bidding, but, bending to their oars until the stout ash bent like fishing-rods and the water flashed from the blades in luminous foam, they sent the boat like an arrow in under the main chains, dropping their oars and seizing their cutlasses as we sheered alongside, and springing like grey-hounds slipped from the leash at the craft's low bulwarks.
-but we had been reckoning without our hosts. instead of finding the crew all below comfortably asleep in their hammocks, there they were at quarters, with guns loaded and run out, boarding-nettings triced up, and in fact everything ready to repel an attack, and it was only our extremely cautious approach which had saved us from a broadside or two of grape. our people cut and slashed at the netting in a vain attempt to hew a passage through it, and were either shot down or thrust back with boarding-pikes; those who attempted to creep in at the ports receiving similar treatment. and all the time the small-arm men were playing briskly upon us with their muskets; so that at the end of five minutes i found myself with all hands beaten back into the boat, and every one of us, fore and aft, suffering from wounds more or less severe.
-"come, lads!" i exclaimed; "take another slap at them; we must get on deck somehow. you jones, give me a hoist up on your shoulders; i think i can see a hole in the netting; here--a foot farther aft--so, that's well. now, heave."
-and up i went, clear above the craft's gunwale and neatly in through the hole which i had espied. i should have fallen on the deck on my head, and probably dislocated my neck had not a brawny spaniard happened to be immediately beneath me. taken by surprise at my abrupt appearance, he had not time to get out of my way or even to strike at me, and before he could recover himself my pistol was at his temple and he staggered backward, shot through the head. in his fall, he forced back two or three of those nearest him, creating a momentary confusion. one of the gigs was at that instant struggling to get in through the open port near me, and i bent down, seized him by the collar, and lugged him in on deck, recovering myself just in time to ward off a savage cutlass-blow.
-jones--who happened to be the man i had dragged inboard--was on his feet in an instant, and, placing himself alongside me, we both pressed a little forward, so as to leave room for the rest of the gigs to follow by the same entrance while we covered them.
-at the same moment a ringing cheer was heard forward; there was a rush of many feet, and flinn with his party poured aft, having come quietly in over the bows while the crew were engaged with us aft.
-"launches to the rescue!" he shouted; "hurroo, me bhoys! lay it on thick and heavy. don't give them time to recover themselves; if the naygurs won't go below or throw down their arrums, just haive them overboard."
-the onslaught of the three other boats' crews--which, having stolen quietly up in the confusion and slipped in over the bows without molestation, were perfectly fresh--was irresistible. the brigantine's crew were forced in a body right aft to the taffrail, when, to avoid being cut down where they stood, or driven overboard, they threw down their arms and begged for quarter.
-lights were procured; the prisoners were passed below and secured; and we then had time to turn our attention to the other craft. where was she? during the skirmish i had caught a momentary glimpse of her at about a cable's length on our port beam through the glancing of the pistol-flashes on her spars and rigging, but now she was nowhere to be seen.
-"matthews," said mr flinn, "take a blue-light from the launch into the fore-top and burn it."
-in less than a minute the glare of the blue-light illumined the scene with a ghastly radiance; and there, about a quarter of a mile distant, was the ship under way, standing to the northward and westward under jib and spanker, with her topsails just let fall ready for sheeting home.
-"oh, ho! is it that you're afther thin, me foine fellow?" exclaimed flinn, who always dropped into his native brogue under the influence of excitement. "by the powers but we'll soon sthop that little game. fore-top there! that'll do with the blue-light. jump on the topsail- yard and cast off the gaskets. lay out and loose the jib and fore- topmast-staysail, some of you; and mr chester, kindly get this mainsail set at once, if you please."
-"all ready with the topsail, sir," sang out the man aloft.
-"then let fall, and come down, casting loose the foresail as you do so. sheet home the topsail, lads; that's well! man the halliards and up with the yard. hoist away the jib and staysail; fore-sheets over to starboard. one hand to the wheel and put it hard-a-port. cut the cable, forward there. round-in upon the starboard braces--ease off your mainsheet, slack it away and let the boom go well out. now she has stern-way upon her. capital. now fill your topsail--smartly, lads!-- and haul aft your lee head sheets. steady your helm. now she draws ahead. hard up with the helm. there she pays off! square the fore- yard; gently with your weather-braces--don't round-in upon them too quickly. well there; belay!"
-all this had passed almost as quickly as the description can be read, and we were now under way and steering directly after the ship, which had only succeeded in getting her topsails sheeted home and the fore- topsail partially hoisted.
-"is that gun ready forward, mr vining?" asked flinn.
-"all ready, sir," answered vining.
-"then burn another blue-light and throw a shot over him."
-up flared once more the ghostly light; the ship, like a vast phantom, loomed out against the black sky directly ahead, and after a momentary pause the sharp report of the brass nine-pounder rang out forward, the flash lighting up the chase for an instant, and bringing every rope, spar, and sail into clear relief, while the sound was repeated right and left by the echoing cliffs of the island astern, and the startled sea- birds wheeled screaming all round us.
-no notice was taken by the ship of our polite request that she should heave-to; on the contrary, every effort seemed to be put forth to get the canvas set as speedily as possible.
-but the brigantine was slipping through the water three feet to their one, under the influence of the light baffling breeze which came down to us from over the lofty cliffs astern, and we were soon within hailing distance.
-"mr martin, are the starboard guns loaded?" asked mr flinn.
-"yes, sir," was the reply. "loaded with round and grape."
-we were by this time close to the chase, on board which all was dark and silent as the grave.
-"stand by to heave the grapplings, fore and aft. now port your helm, my man--jones, isn't it? that's right, hard-a-port and run her alongside. this way, lads, our cat-head is your best chance. hurroo! boarders away!" shouted flinn, and away went the whole party swarming over the ship's lofty bulwarks helter-skelter, like a parcel of school-boys at play, our entire starboard broadside going off with a rattling crash at the same instant.
-and then uprose from the deck of the ship an infernal chorus of shrieks, groans, yells, and curses from those of her crew who had been mown down by our shot, mingling horribly with the cheers of our people, the oaths of those who opposed us, the popping of pistols, and the clash of steel. there were about forty men on board, chiefly spanish desperadoes, who fought like incarnate fiends; but they had no chance when once we were on board, and after contesting every inch of the deck until they, like the crew of their consort, had been driven aft to the taffrail, in which obstinate resistance they lost more than half their number, the survivors sullenly flung down their arms and surrendered.
-the next business was to attend to the safety of both vessels, which were now perilously near the reefs ahead. half a dozen men were sent on board the brigantine to assist those already there in working her, when the grapplings were cast off, the brigantine starboarded her helm while we ported ours, and the two ships separated, to haul up on opposite tacks.
-the ship's sails were not above half set, so as soon as we had hauled her to the wind the halliards were manned and the topsail-yards got chock up to their sheaves, the courses let fall, tacks boarded, and sheets hauled aft, when we eased the helm down and threw her in stays.
-day was by this time beginning to break. the sky overhead was lighting up, the stars paling out and fading away, while surrounding objects began to loom ghost-like and indistinct in the first grey of the early dawn. the brigantine was just visible about half a mile ahead and inshore of us, apparently hove-to. as we drew up abreast of her she filled her topsail and stood on in company, the ship by this time under every stitch of canvas, up to topgallantsails, while the brigantine drew ahead of us under mainsail, topsail, and jib, and was obliged to shiver her topsail every now and then in order to avoid running away from us.
-in twenty minutes more we rounded the point, and there lay the "astarte," a couple of miles off, rolling heavily upon the ground-swell. on reaching her, both our prizes were hove-to as close to the frigate and to each other as was consistent with safety, and mr flinn and i jumped into the gig and went on board to report.
-"well, mr flinn," said the skipper, meeting us at the gangway, "glad to see you back safe and sound; you too, mr chester," shaking hands with us both. "but how is this? are you hurt, ralph?" as on my facing to the eastward the light fell upon my face, and he saw blood upon it.
-"a broken skull, sir;" i replied, "nothing very serious though, i believe."
-"and what's the news?" continued the skipper. "i see you have brought both vessels out with you. what are they?"
-"to tell you the truth, sir," answered flinn, "we have had no time yet to find out what they are. they are both spaniards, however, and, if i am not greatly mistaken, we shall find that the brigantine is little better than a pirate."
-"um!" said the skipper, "likely enough; she has all the look of it. and now, what about casualties? have you suffered much?"
-"rather severely, sir, i am sorry to say. five killed, and eighteen--or rather, nineteen with mr chester--wounded; eight of them severely. i am afraid we shall lose little fisher, sir."
-"lose little fisher!" exclaimed the skipper. "why, whoever was thoughtless enough to let that poor child go upon so dangerous an expedition?"
-flinn looked at me, and i at him; but neither of us could plead guilty, so the matter dropped for the time.
-the surgeon and his assistant now trundled down over the side, with their tools under their arms, and went on board the prizes to attend to the poor fellows who were wounded, mr flinn returning with them to arrange the prize crews, and to anchor the prizes, the skipper having come to the determination to remain in smooth water until the wounded had all been attended to and placed comfortably in their own hammocks on board the frigate.
-in the mean time i trundled down into the midshipmen's berth, bathed my wound--a scalp-wound about six inches long--in cold water, clapped on a quarter of a yard of diachylon plaster, a sheet of which i always took the precaution to keep in my own chest, snatched a mouthful or so of biscuit and cold meat, and then returned to the deck to see if i could be of use.
-"oh! i've been looking for you, sir," said the captain's steward, as i put my head above the coamings. "the captain wishes to see you in his cabin at once, if you please, sir."
-"is he there now, polson? all right, then, i'll go down to him forthwith," and away i went.
-"come in!" said the deep, musical voice of the skipper, in answer to my knock. i entered.
-"oh! it's you, ralph. come in and sit down. i see you have been doing a little patching up on your own account. is it very bad?"
-"thank you, no; a mere breaking of the skin," i replied. "i shall be as good as new in a day or two, i hope."
-"that's well. still you had better let mr oxley look at it when he is at leisure. very trifling wounds turn out badly sometimes in this hot climate. and now--i want to speak to you about that poor lad fisher. i am told he was in the gig with you."
-"in the gig with me!" i echoed taken thoroughly by surprise. "i assure you, captain annesley, i was quite unaware of it, then. indeed, i was not aware that he had left the ship until mr flinn spoke of him as being wounded. i haven't even seen him throughout the affair."
-"i am glad to hear that," said the skipper, his brow clearing. "to tell you the whole truth, ralph, i have been feeling very angry with you; for when i heard that the poor boy had gone in your boat, i quite thought it must have been with your connivance. and i need scarcely point out to you that i could not approve of such a child as that being allowed to take part in an expedition of so dangerous a character, where he would only be in the way, and could be of no possible assistance. however, since you say that you know nothing about it, i suppose he must have slipped down into the boat surreptitiously and stowed himself away. now, as there is nothing particular for you to do, you may as well--"
-at this moment mr flinn entered.
-"sit down, mr flinn, sit down, man," said the skipper. "well, how are things looking on board the prizes by this time?"
-"capitally, sir, i am happy to say," replied flinn, with a beaming phiz. "the wounded have nearly all been attended to, and we may begin to transfer them at once. little fisher seems in a somewhat more promising condition now that his wounds have been dressed, and the others are also doing well. as to the prizes, the brigantine has such a heterogeneous assortment of goods in her hold that her cargo alone, which is very valuable, is sufficient to betray her character. her skipper was killed--by you, ralph, if i understand them rightly--early in the attack, but the mate, or lieutenant as he calls himself, swears she is a privateer. however, as he cannot produce anything like a commission, i am very glad i am not in his shoes. the craft is called the `juanita,' and the mate says they were bound from cumana to cartagena, but his papers look to me remarkably like forgeries. the ship is the `san nicolas,' bound from la guayra to cadiz, with a general cargo and--two large boxes of silver bricks, which we found stowed away down in the run. her papers are all perfectly correct, and she is evidently a prize to the brigantine. the rascals on board her profess to be her regular crew, and disown all acquaintance with the crew of the `juanita,' but there are twice as many men on board as are entered in the ship's books, and altogether their tale is far too flimsy to hold water. i have no doubt they are a prize crew from the `juanita,' and that the ship's crew have all been murdered. so that we have done a very good-night's work, i think."
-"capital," said the skipper. "couldn't well be better, except for our losses in killed and wounded. let the poor fellows be transferred at once, if you please, mr flinn. when they are all stowed comfortably away, we will shift the silver into the frigate also; then there will not be much fear of its recapture. and lastly, we will shift the prisoners over to the frigate; then the prizes will not require such large prize crews."
-we then went on deck together, and i went away in the launch to effect the transfer of our killed and wounded. this was a long and painful business, some of the wounded requiring the most careful handling; but it was done at last, and by the end of the afternoon watch everything was ready for us to weigh and proceed to sea again, which we at once did; the prizes being ordered to rendezvous at barbadoes. were present, as far as my experience went, it was, however, only a matter of importance as to the prolongation of a miserable existence. all the patients eventually died; those with higher lesions at the end of a few days; the lower ones, at the completion on an average of six weeks of suffering.
-the actual causes of death resembled exactly those met with in civil practice, except in so far as it was more often influenced or determined by concurrent injuries, a complication so characteristic of modern gunshot wounds. thus exhaustion, septicæmia from absorption from suppurating bed-sores or from severe cystitis, secondary myelitis, and pulmonary complications, carried off most of the patients.
-treatment.--the general treatment of the cases demanded nothing special to military surgery, except in so far as it was modified by the disadvantage to the patient of necessarily having to be transported, often for some distance. the ill effects of this, particularly in cases of hæmorrhage, are obvious, but in so far as fracture was concerned the question of transport did not acquire the importance that it does in civil practice, since the nature of the fractures and their strict localisation did not render movement either painful or particularly hurtful. it was indeed striking how little pain movement, made for the purposes of examination, caused these patients. the treatment of bed-sores, cystitis, or other secondary complications possessed no special features.
-the importance of insuring rest in the early stages of the cases of hæmorrhage is self-evident; hence, if the possibility exists of not moving the patient, its advantage cannot be too strongly insisted upon. again, if transport is inevitable, the shorter distance that can be arranged for the better. it should be borne in mind, also, that from the peculiar nature of causation of the injuries, stretcher or wagon transport for short distances is preferable to the vibratory movements of a long railway journey. beyond this the administration of opium, and in some cases the assumption of the prone position, are both useful in the recent or possibly progressive stage of hæmorrhage.
-lastly, as to active surgical treatment by operation. in no form of spinal injury is this less often indicated, or less likely to be useful. it is useless in the cases of severe concussion, contusion, or medullary hæmorrhage which form such a very large proportion of those exhibiting total tranverse lesion, and equally unsuited to cases of partial lesion of the same character. extra-medullary hæmorrhage can rarely be extensive enough to produce signs calling for the mechanical relief of pressure; the section of the cord cannot be remedied. in one case with signs of total transverse lesion, in which a laminectomy was performed, no apparent lesion was discovered, and this would frequently be the case, since the damage is parenchymatous. the experience was indeed exactly comparable to that which followed early exposure of the peripheral nerves.
-only three indications for operation exist. 1. excessive pain in the area of the body above the paralysed segment; operation is here of doubtful practical use, except in so far as it relieves the immediate sufferings of the patient.
-2. an incomplete or recovering lesion, when such is accompanied by evidence furnished by the position of the wounds, pain, and signs of irritation of pressure from without, or possibly palpable displacement of parts of the vertebra, that the spinal canal is encroached upon by fragments of bone.
-3. retention of the bullet, accompanied by similar signs to those detailed under 2.
-in both the latter cases the aid of the x-rays should be invoked before resorting to exploration.
-operation, if decided upon, in either of the two latter circumstances, may be performed at any date up to six weeks; but if pressure be the actual source of trouble, it is obvious that the more promptly operation is undertaken the better for early relief and ulterior prognostic chances.
-in only one case of the whole series i observed did it seem possible to regret the omission of an exploration.
-injuries to the peripheral nerve trunks
-the occurrence of these injuries has undoubtedly increased in frequency with the employment of bullets of small calibre, and no other class of case more strikingly illustrates the localised nature of the lesions produced by small projectiles of high velocity. again, no other series of injuries affords such obvious indications of the firm and resistent nature of the cicatricial tissue formed in the process of repair of small-calibre wounds, and in none is the advantage of a conservative and expectant attitude so forcibly impressed upon the surgeon. implication of the nerves may be primary, or secondary to an injury which left them originally unscathed.
-nature of the anatomical lesions.--in degree these vary in mathematical progression, but the extent of the lesion is not always readily differentiated by the early clinical manifestations, and again the actual damage is not to be estimated by the gross apparent anatomical lesion alone; but, in addition, consists in part in changes of a less easily demonstrable nature, varying with the velocity with which the bullet was travelling and the consequent comparative degree of vibratory force to which the nerve has been subjected. in these injuries, as in those of every part of the nervous system, the degree of velocity appears to gain especial importance both in regard to the general symptoms and the local effect on the functional capacity of the nerve.
-this is perhaps a fitting place for the introduction of a few further remarks as to the significance of the term 'concussion' in connection with the injuries produced by bullets of small calibre, since the most striking exemplification of the results following the transmission of the vibratory force of the projectile is afforded by the behaviour of the comparatively densely ensheathed and supported peripheral nerves.
-as already pointed out in chapters vii. and viii. the chief concussion effects on the nervous tissue of the brain and spinal cord are of a destructive nature, far exceeding those accompanying the injuries designated by the same term seen in the ordinary accidents met with in civil practice, and this damage is comparatively localised in extent.
-in the case of the peripheral nerves i have still employed the terms 'concussion' and 'contusion' to designate certain groups of symptoms and clinical phenomena, but any sharp distinction between the two conditions on a morbid anatomical basis is impossible. the results of severe vibratory concussion may, in fact, be more generally destructive than those of contusion, and the subsequent effects more prolonged. a certain length of the affected nerve is apparently completely destroyed as a conductor of impulses, the connective-tissue element alone remaining intact. under these circumstances a nerve, the subject of the most serious degree of vibratory concussion, which, if cut down upon, may exhibit no macroscopic change, may take a longer period to recover than one in which the presence of considerable local thickening points to direct contact with the bullet, with resulting hæmorrhage into the nerve sheath and perhaps partial gross rupture of nerve fibres.
-the therapeutic and prognostic importance of the above remarks, if correct, is obvious. the course of the nerve is preserved by its intact connective-tissue framework, and ultimate recovery by a regeneration of the nerve fibres is more likely to be complete, and will be just as rapid, if nature be relied on and the nerve be left untouched by the hand of the surgeon.
-it is, i think, undeniable that nerve trunks may escape severe or irrecoverable injury by lateral displacement. the mere fact that the trunk itself may be perforated by a slit in its long axis would suggest the possibility of displacement of the whole structure, and this no doubt occurred with some frequency. displacement would naturally be most frequent in the case of nerves, such as those of the arm, which run long courses in comparatively loose tissue. in a remarkable case already narrated, an exploratory operation showed the musculo-spiral nerve in the upper part of the arm to have been driven into a loop which projected into, and provisionally closed, an opening in the brachial artery.
-i. simple concussion.--anatomically, or histologically, no information exists as to the changes which give rise to the often transitory symptoms dependent on this condition. we are reduced to the same theories of molecular disturbance and change which have been invoked to account for similar affections of the central nervous system. the causation of concussion is, however, materially influenced in its degree by the velocity of flight of the bullet and consequent severity of the vibratory force exerted. hence actual contact of the bullet with the nerves is not necessary for its production, as is seen in the temporary complete loss of functional capacity in the limbs in many cases of fracture, where the vibrations are rendered still more far-reaching and effective as the result of their wider distribution from the larger solid resistance afforded by the bone. the relative density and resistance offered by the different parts of the bone acquire great significance in this relation, since local shock due to nerve concussion is far more profound when the shafts are struck than when the cancellous ends furnish the point of impact.
-the form of concussion which most nearly interests us in this chapter is that affecting single nerve trunks in wounds of the soft parts alone, and here the passage of the bullet is, as a rule, so contiguous to the nerve that there is difficulty in drawing a strict line of demarcation between such cases and those dealt with in the next paragraph.
-ii. contusion.--clinically this was the form of nerve injury both of greatest comparative frequency and of interest from the points of view both of diagnosis and prognosis.
-the seriousness of a contusion depends on two factors: first, the relative degree of violence exerted upon the nerve, which is dependent on the force still retained by the travelling bullet; and, secondly, on the extent of tissue actually implicated. the range of fire at which the injury was received determines the importance of the first factor; the second varies with the degree of exactness with which the nerve is struck, and on the direction taken by the bullet. naturally transverse wounds affect a small area; while an oblique or longitudinal direction of the track may indefinitely increase the extent of injury to the nerve trunk, and hence acquire prognostic significance in direct ratio to the amount of tissue which needs to be regenerated.
-as to the actual anatomical lesion resulting in the cases which we designated clinically as contusion i can give no information. on many occasions when the symptoms were considered of such a nature as to render an exploration advisable, no macroscopic evidence of gross injury was obtained. it was therefore impossible to draw a definite line of demarcation between such cases and those which we considered merely concussion. it could only be assumed that the vibration transmitted to the nerve had occasioned such changes as to destroy its capacity as a conductor of impressions.
-in some cases the presence of a certain amount of interstitial blood extravasation was suggested clinically by early hyperæsthesia and signs of irritation; in others the paralysis was of such a degree as to lead to the inference that a complete regeneration of the existing nerve would be necessary prior to the restitution of functional capacity.
-in a certain proportion of the injuries the development of a distinct fusiform swelling in the course of the nerve pointed to the existence of considerable tissue damage, while in others this was evidenced clinically by early signs of neuritis.
-iii. division or laceration.--the varying mechanical conditions affecting the last class of injury play a similar rôle here. thus the degree of laceration depends on the direction of the wound track, and as all lacerations are accompanied by contusion, the relative velocity retained by the travelling bullet assumes the same importance.
-i saw every degree of injury to the trunks, from notching to complete solution of continuity, and in some cases destruction and disappearance of pieces from one to two or more inches in length. such lesions as the latter were most common in the forearm. in this segment of the limbs tracks of varying degrees of longitudinal obliquity are readily produced, whether the patient be in the upright or prone position, since the upper extremities are commonly in forward action whichever position is assumed.
-the most peculiar form of injury consisted in perforation of the trunk without gross destruction of its fibres, and without in many cases prolonged or permanent loss of functional capacity. i cannot speak with any confidence as to the comparative frequency of occurrence of this form of injury, but judging by the analogous perforations of the vessels, it is probably not uncommon in trunks large enough to allow of its production. the trunk nerves of the arm, and the great sciatic nerve, were probably the most frequent seats of such wounds. as, however, a very short experience of the futility of early interference in the case of nerve lesions warned me against exploration before a date at which observations of this nature were unsatisfactory, i gained less experience on this point than i could have wished.
-in the case of completely divided nerves the development of a bulbous enlargement on the proximal end was constant, and very marked in degree. i saw few cases in which primary effects could be certainly referred to pressure or laceration by bone spicules, excepting in some fractures of the humerus, and perhaps some injuries of the seventh nerve accompanying perforating wounds of the mastoid process.
-the effect of cicatrisation of the tissues surrounding the nerves varied somewhat according to the degree of fixation of the individual nerve implicated. thus if a nerve lay in a fixed bed some form of circular constriction resulted; if, on the other hand, the nerve was readily displaceable, the cicatrix often drew it considerably out of its course; in either case symptoms corresponding with those of pressure resulted.
-symptoms of nerve lesion.--these differed little in character from those common to such injuries in civil practice, except in the relative frequency with which they assumed a serious aspect. after all in civil practice nerve concussion is most familiar to us in the degree common after knocking the elbow against a hard object, and the same may be said in regard to the allied injury of contusion. it is in small-calibre bullet wounds alone that the occurrence of such severe and sharply localised injury to deep parts as was observed is possible.
-concussion.--temporary loss of function was often observed in the limbs, corresponding to the distribution of one or more nerve trunks when wound tracks had passed in their vicinity. interference with function sometimes amounted to loss of sensation alone: in others to loss of both sensation and motor power. such symptoms were of a transitory character, lasting for a few days or a week; if both sensation and motion were impaired, sensation was usually the first to be regained. in these cases secondary trouble was not uncommon, since the near proximity of the track to the originally affected nerve offered every chance for implication of the latter in the resulting cicatrix. this sequence was often observed, and its symptoms are described under the heading of secondary implication below. equally striking were the instances of concussion in the case of the nerves of special sense and their end organs, temporary loss of smell, vision, or hearing being not uncommon, often passing off in the course of a few days with no apparent ulterior ill-effect.
-one of the most interesting illustrations of the occurrence of concussion was furnished by cases in which complete paralysis of a limb rapidly cleared up with the exception of that corresponding to a single individual nerve of the complex apparently originally implicated. instances of severe contusion or division of one nerve of the arm, for instance, accompanied by transient signs of concussion of varying degrees of severity in all the others, were by no means uncommon.
-contusion.--the symptoms of contusion were somewhat less simple, since, in addition to lowering or loss of function, signs of irritation were often observed. in the slighter cases irritation was often a marked feature, as was evidenced by hyperæsthesia and pain combined with loss of power. in cases in which pain and hyperæsthesia were primary symptoms, these were often transitory. i will quote an illustrative case which, though affecting the nerve roots, is characteristic of the effects of slight contusion in the case of the nerve trunks in any part of their course:--
-i observed an identical case of injury to the cervical roots, and many similar instances in injuries of the nerve trunks of the limbs in which the course was exactly parallel. in the more severe, pain was often added to hyperæsthesia.
-in the most severe cases the signs corresponded in all particulars, except in the early entire loss of reaction of the muscles to electricity, with those of complete section. loss of sensation and motion was immediate, complete, and prolonged, the limbs being lowered in temperature, flaccid, and powerless. general systemic shock was also severe. in the case either of plexus or multiple contusions, or where the injury was more local, correspondingly complete signs were present in the area supplied by the affected nerves.
-in the cases in which the contusion was not of extreme degree, hyperæsthesia often developed as a later sign, and was probably due to the irritation of hæmorrhage, when the sensory portion of the nerve began to regain functional capacity. the date of appearance of the hyperæsthesia varied from a few days to a week or later. it might then persist for weeks or many months.
-in a few instances large blebs rose on the back of the hand, or patches of vesicles appeared over the terminal distribution of the nerve, pointing to early trophic changes.
-the period of recovery varied greatly; in some instances of very complete paralysis, function was regained and became apparently normal at the end of three or four weeks; in others, even after severe wasting of muscles for weeks, rapid improvement occurred often suddenly, while in some there was no apparent recovery at the end of months. in cases of long-deferred improvement, wasting of the muscles became a very prominent feature; but this without complete loss of reaction of the muscles to electrical stimulation.
-recovery of sensation usually preceded by some time that of motion, the former often reappearing in some degree at an early date, and, even if very modified in character, it formed a most useful and valuable aid both in diagnosis and prognosis.
-when in a position allowing of direct examination, the contused portion of the nerve sometimes developed a palpable fusiform thickening, manipulation of which might give rise to formication in the area of distribution--a favourable prognostic sign.
-many of the cases bore a very marked resemblance in character to those in which paralysis results from tight constriction of the limb, as in the arm after the application of an esmarch's tourniquet.
-laceration.--if incomplete, the signs corresponded very nearly to those of severe contusion, since partial section is impossible without the occurrence of the latter. the condition indeed was only to be distinguished by the partial nature of the recovery, and even this latter might be only more prolonged.
-the same remarks hold good with regard to perforation of the nerve trunks; but, as regards function, these injuries are not so serious in prognosis as very much more limited transverse divisions or mere notching, and in some cases the disturbance of function was by no means profound or prolonged.
-absolute loss of reaction to electrical stimulus from above was the only pathognomonic sign of actual section, unless the position of the nerve was such as to allow of palpation, when the presence of a bulbous end at once settled the difficulty. in many cases of superficial tracks with division of such nerves as the long or short saphenous, the early development of bulbs in the course of the trunks gave positive information, and these were often observed.
-traumatic neuritis.--this was a common sequence of contusion of the nerve itself, or of its subsequent inclusion in a cicatrix or callus. it was evidenced by hyperæsthesia both superficial and deep, pain, contracture, wasting of the muscles, local sweating, and the development of glossy skin.
-examples of this condition were seen in the case of nearly every nerve in the body. in frequency of occurrence, degree of severity, and in its selection of individual nerves considerable variation was met with. with regard to the two former points, personal idiosyncrasy, and degree of or peculiarity in the nature of the injury, are the only explanations i can suggest. perhaps in some instances exposure to wet or cold in the early stages of the injury was of some import. thus, i saw several severe cases of musculo-spiral neuritis in men who were wounded during the trying and wet march on bloemfontein. i did not observe that suppuration or wound complications seemed important explanatory moments, as most of the cases occurred in wounds that healed rapidly.
-with regard to the question of selection; the same nerves that appear particularly liable to suffer from idiopathic inflammations, toxic influences, or to be the seat of ascending changes (e.g. ulnar, musculo-spiral, and external popliteal), were those most often affected by secondary neuritis. many of the most severe cases i saw were in the musculo-spiral nerve.
-scar implication.--the signs of this most commonly commenced with neuralgia, or painful sensations when such movements were made as to put the cicatrix on the stretch. although such neuralgia might not be constant, it was often observed to be troublesome when the patients were exposed to cold in sleeping out at night, or to extra fatigue, as in long marches. the results in many cases stopped at this point, but the size and wide distribution of certain nerves rendered even such slight symptoms of importance; while in others well-marked signs of neuritis declared themselves, such as glossy skin, pain, muscular wasting, and paralysis.
-ascending neuritis.--in a few cases i observed very remarkable instances of ascending neuritis, after comparatively slight wounds. i will quote three of these as illustrations and make no further remarks as to the symptoms. it will be observed that one is a case of ulnar, both the others of external popliteal, neuritis:--
-the resulting gap allowed considerable overlapping of the fingers, and shortening of the corresponding digit; the index finger also became flexed as a result of destruction of the extensor tendons. three months later the man was still in hospital in consequence of the tardiness with which the wound had healed: at this time pain was noted, which became very severe in the whole course of the ulnar nerve; superficial hyperæsthesia and deep muscular tenderness developed, but no wasting. several crops of herpetic vesicles also developed over the distribution of the radial nerve in the hand. this pain was followed by spastic contracture, first of the ulnar fingers and later of the wrist and elbow, which could only be straightened by the application of considerable force. the limb was, therefore, kept straight by the application of a splint; and warm baths, and a blister applied over the course of the ulnar nerve, were resorted to: under this treatment the condition improved until the patient was well enough to be transferred as a prisoner, and i saw him no more.
-in many other cases of nerve concussion or contusion, the recovery of power and sensation, or the disappearance of neuralgia or contractures, was so sudden and rapid after prolonged continuance of the symptoms, as to suggest a very strong functional element in their origin. the influence of the general shock to the nervous system received by the patients had an important bearing on these phenomena, and their interest from a prognostic point of view was very great.
-injuries to special nerves
-cranial nerves.--it will be convenient first to make a few remarks concerning the nerves of special sense.
-olfactory.--i observed temporary loss of smell on three occasions. in two instances this accompanied transverse wounds of the bones of the face in which the upper third of the nasal cavities was crossed; in the third a track passing obliquely downwards from the frontal region passed through the inner wall of the orbit, and crossed the nose at a lower level. in view of the small area of the olfactory distribution which was directly implicated, i was at first inclined to regard the loss of smell as dependent on the presence of dried blood on the surface of the mucous membrane, or on obstruction of the cavities from the same cause. further observation, however, appeared to show that it was due to concussion of the branches of the olfactory nerve, since the loss of function persisted when the cavities were manifestly clear.
-in all these cases we were confronted with the same difficulty which was experienced both in lesions of sight and hearing, the determination as to whether the concussion was of the branches or of the olfactory bulb. when the symptom was the accompaniment of a fracture of the roof of the orbit, the possibility of concussion of the olfactory lobe was manifest. in all, again, it was difficult to say what part the accompanying concussion of the branches of the fifth nerve took in the production of the symptom. in all three cases mentioned the return of function was gradual, but apparently fairly complete at the end of three weeks. in one it was noted that at first the patient was conscious of an odour before he was able to discriminate its actual nature; later he could determine the latter readily.
-optic.--some remarks concerning lesions of the optic nerve have already been made under the heading of wounds of the orbit. concussion and contusion of the nerve both occurred, but i was unable to differentiate between the effects of these on the nerve itself, apart from the effects on the globe of the eye, which usually accompanied wounds of the orbit.
-in some cases the nerve was directly divided in orbital wounds, and either pressure on or division of the nerve in the intra-cranial portion of its course, or as it traversed the optic foramen, was not uncommon.
-i only once observed any interference with the sense of taste.
-remaining cranial nerves.--i have little to say regarding the third, fourth, and sixth nerves. in the case of the third nerve, ptosis was occasionally seen in wounds of the skull involving the roof of the orbit, but the relative parts taken by injury to nerve and laceration or fixation of muscle respectively, were usually hard to determine. again, the fourth and sixth nerves may have been damaged in some of the more extensive orbital wounds, especially those in which the globe suffered injury, but the signs under such circumstances were difficult to discriminate, and the injury was of slight practical importance, in view of the major injury to the globe itself.
-fifth nerve.--concussion, contusion, or laceration of the different branches of the three divisions of the fifth nerve were common in wounds of the head, but most frequent in fractures of the upper or lower jaws. localised anæsthesia was common from one or other of these causes, but for the most part transitory in the cases of contusion or concussion. i saw no case of entire loss of function in any one division, symptoms being mostly confined to certain branches, as the supra-orbital, the temporo-malar, the dental branches of the second division, the auriculo-temporal nerve, and the lingual, dental, and mental branches of the third division. i did not observe any cases in which modification of the special senses accompanied these injuries beyond those mentioned in the remarks already made on the subject of anosmia, and one case in which some modification of the sense of taste accompanied an injury to the floor of the mouth. it was a matter of surprise, considering the frequency with which subsequent neuritis was met with in the nerves generally, that trifacial neuralgia in some form was not more often met with. i never observed any serious case. perhaps this is one of the fields in which a longer after-period may increase our knowledge. lastly, i never observed motor paralysis in the case of the third division, although sensory symptoms in some of the branches were common, evident proof that injuries to the trunk were rare.
-seventh nerve.--facial paralysis was most commonly observed in cases of wound of the mastoid process, apart from central cortical facial paralyses, of which several are quoted in the chapter on injuries of the head. all the wounds of the mastoid process were, in addition, accompanied by absolute deafness. i am sorry to be unable to give any details as to the electrical condition of the muscles in these cases, but i believe that in the great majority the paralysis was mainly the result of nerve concussion, since the perforations were clean in character and not obviously accompanied by comminution. pressure from hæmorrhage into the fallopian canal may, of course, have been present, and in some instances, particularly those in which the bullet traversed the tympanic cavity, spicules of bone may have caused laceration. in every case, however, all the branches were equally affected; the paralysis was absolute, and in none did any improvement occur while the cases were under my observation.
-the following are a few illustrative examples:--
-there was complete anæsthesia over the area of distribution of the third division of the fifth nerve; this improved rapidly, and at the end of five weeks was hardly to be detected; neither at that time could any impairment of power on the part of the muscles of mastication be detected. no impairment of the sense of taste was noted.
-in this place i might mention two other cases of lesion of the seventh nerve secondary to wound of peripheral branches. in one a patient was struck by several fragments of lead from a bullet which broke up against a neighbouring stone. these for the most part lodged in the skin over the left orbicularis muscle, but one also lodged in the conjunctiva and was removed. some ten days later the patient complained that he could not lift the upper lid. the levator palpebræ was normal, but spasm of the orbicularis held the eye firmly closed. the condition did not improve, and the patient was invalided home. he recovered later.
-in another patient a bullet entered above the right zygoma and traversed the orbits, without wounding the globes. at the time no want of power of the muscles of the face was noted, but a year later there was evident weakness of the whole of the muscles of the right side of the face, with loss of symmetry.
-in the former case the functional element was strong, but in both an ascending neuritis was probably present.
-the nerve must have been very frequently damaged in wounds of the neck; it is possible that this injury may have been an important factor in the death of some of the patients with cervical wounds upon the field.
-eleventh nerve.--i append the only case of localised spinal accessory paralysis i observed. this was one of my earliest experiences, and when i examined the neck, in the field hospital, i assumed from the completeness of the sterno-mastoid and trapezius paralysis that the nerve was severed. the patient, however, made such a rapid recovery that it became evident that the nerve had been contused only, and that the recovery of function was not due, as is so often the case, to vicarious compensation by the cervical supply to the muscles.
-the twelfth nerve was occasionally damaged in wounds of the floor of the mouth. i saw no case of permanent paralysis.
-injury to the systemic nerves. cervical plexus.--evidence of injury to the superficial branches of the cervical plexus was not rare; thus i saw cases of small occipital anæsthesia, and great occipital neuralgia, but none of motor paralysis from injury to the deeper muscular branches. i take it that the smallness of the branches, and the multiple supply possessed by many of the muscles of the neck, would both take part in rendering certain evidence of the injury of an individual motor nerve rare.
-brachial plexus.--injury to this plexus in the neck was common; the main peculiarity observed was the partial nature of the damage inflicted.
-thus injury to a single nerve, or to a complex of two or more, was far more common than one implicating the whole plexus. again, while complete paralysis might affect one set of nerves, another might simply exhibit signs of irritation in the form of hyperæsthesia or pain.
-the wounds producing these injuries varied much in direction; thus some crossed the neck transversely, some were obliquely transverse, while others took a more or less vertical course.
-these same remarks hold good in the case of the nerves of the arm. in the upper half, especially, complex injury was not rare, while in the lower third affection of individual nerves was more common. another important difference must be mentioned in regard to the upper and lower segments of the course of the brachial nerves; they are not only more widely distributed below, but also more fixed in position, a fact antagonistic to the escape of the nerve by displacement and liable to expose it to more severe contusion.
-the latter point holds good in the forearm also; here, individual injuries often occurred.
-while at work in the field hospital alone i gained the impression that the musculo-spiral nerve would not retain the unenviable character of being the most vulnerable nerve of the upper extremity, since the chances of each individual nerve seemed about equal, putting the question of the long course of the musculo-spiral nerve against the humerus out of question. this expectation was, however, not confirmed, since the musculo-spiral itself, if not primarily affected, was so often the seat of secondary mischief in fractures of the humerus. the posterior interosseous branch seemed to exhibit a similar vulnerability to slight injuries, to be referred to later under the external popliteal of the lower extremity. again, in complex injuries of the brachial plexus, or nerve trunks, the musculo-spiral branch rarely escaped being a member, if not individually singled out.
-of the thoracic nerves i have little to say. they must have been often injured in the thoracic wounds, yet, as far as my experience went, intercostal neuralgia was uncommon, or at any rate not a special feature. one observation of interest, however, does exist; in the cases in which the ribs were fractured by bullets travelling across them within the thorax, pain was distinctly a prominent feature. this was no doubt referable to the facts that in such instances the intercostal nerves were especially liable to direct injury, and that this was often multiple. on one occasion a crop of herpetic vesicles developed along the course of a dorsal nerve in an injury implicating a single intercostal space posteriorly.
-lumbar plexus.--although not quite so well arranged to escape bullet wounds as the thoracic nerves, the lumbar, by reason of their deep position and the comparatively wide area they cover, together with the rarity of wounds taking a sufficiently longitudinal direction to cross the course of more than one or two branches, were also comparatively rarely damaged. i never saw an uncomplicated case of anterior crural paralysis, and rarely cruralgia. i think this is to be explained in two ways: first, that the trunk course of the nerve is short; secondly, that it lies in the inguinal fossa. the second fact is of importance, since wounds in this region were in my experience responsible for a considerable percentage of the deaths on the field or shortly afterwards. such deaths probably occurred from internal hæmorrhage from the iliac arteries, and it was in such cases that the anterior crural nerve stood in greatest danger of injury. i also never saw a case of localised obturator paralysis. on the other hand, anæsthesia or hyperæsthesia in the area of distribution of the lumbar nerves in the groin, the external cutaneous and the long saphenous in the thigh, were not uncommon. hyperæsthesia developed in more than one case in which injury to the psoas had led to hæmorrhage into the muscle sheath.
-sacral plexus.--the sacral plexus is far more liable to extensive direct injury than either of the two preceding. its cords are larger, gathered up into a much smaller space, and more liable to injury, from the fact that the slope in which they lie is more readily followed by a bullet track. again, the cords rest for a considerable portion of their course on a bony bed, a particularly dangerous position in gunshot wounds, since the nerves are not only exposed to the danger of direct wound, or pressure from bony spicules, but also readily receive transmitted vibrations secondary to impact of the bullet with the bone.
-none the less i had few occasions to observe extensive injuries of the plexus. in one instance damage particularly affecting the lumbo-sacral cord occurred, but this was complicated by signs of irritation of the anterior crural and obturator nerves, as the result of retro-peritoneal hæmorrhage and injury to the psoas muscle. two cases in which the sacro-coccygeal plexus suffered isolated injury on account of their characteristic nature as gunshot injuries will be shortly quoted:
-this patient subsequently died on the homeward voyage, but i am unable to say from what cause.
-the same explanation of the comparative rarity of injuries to the sacral plexus that has been already given in the case of the anterior crural nerve holds good--viz. that in a great many of the pelvic wounds involving the plexus early death followed from the severity of the concurrent injuries.
-injuries to the great sciatic nerve outside the pelvis, or to one of its constituent elements, on the other hand, formed one of the most familiar of the nerve lesions. the wounds giving rise to these were of the most diverse character; some crossed the buttock in a vertical, transverse, or oblique direction; others travelled through the thigh in corresponding directions, while a third series involved both buttock and thigh.
-the size of the great sciatic nerve renders complete laceration by a bullet of small calibre a matter almost of impossibility; hence complete division may almost be left out of consideration in the case of this nerve. on the other hand, partial division, perforation, and severe contusion are each and all favoured by the same factor.
-with an extended thigh the nerve is in a state of comparatively slight tension, and this may be still lessened if the knee be flexed. this factor, together with the density of the sheath of the nerve, favours the possibility of displacement, and this occurrence is more likely in the lower segment than in the upper, which is comparatively fixed in position.
-clinical experience appeared to illustrate the importance of these anatomical factors, as the worst cases of sciatic injury that i saw were in connection with wounds of the buttock or the junction of that segment of the trunk with the thigh.
-the most striking observation with regard to the injuries of the great sciatic nerve was the comparatively frequent escape of the popliteal element and the severe lesion of the peroneal. this was so pronounced as to amount to as high a proportion of peroneal symptoms as 90 per cent., and often when the whole nerve was implicated the popliteal signs were of the irritative, the peroneal of the paralytic type. when bullets crossed the popliteal space, given wounds of equal severity in corresponding degrees of contiguity to the respective nerves, the peroneal element always suffered in greater degree. again, the peroneal nerve symptoms were more obstinate and prolonged, and instances of ascending neuritis were more common than in the case of any other nerve of the lower extremity, and the trophic wasting of muscles was more marked.
-the peroneal nerve, therefore, acquires the same unenviable degree of importance in the lower extremity enjoyed by the musculo-spiral in the upper. here, again, we are confronted with the fact that the peroneal element of the great sciatic nerve is the more prone to idiopathic inflammations or toxic influences, and hence we can only assume it to possess a special vulnerability. the peroneal element is of course somewhat the more exposed, as lying posterior; but it seems unreasonable to assume that so large a proportion of the injuries can implicate the posterior segment of the nerve as to make the startling difference in the incidence of degeneration explicable. in this relation we may bear in mind that the muscles supplied by this nerve suffer most in the degeneration subsequent to anterior polio-myelitis, and again that in cerebral hemiplegia or spinal-cord injuries they are the last to recover. unfortunately no explanation of these remarkable facts, so forcibly impressed by the large series of cases with peroneal symptoms seen in a short time, is forthcoming.
-i may dismiss the other branches of the sacral plexus in a few words. the small sciatic was occasionally injured in its course in the buttock, and the small saphenous in the leg. when either element of the latter was injured, it was surprising how sharply the imperfections in the anæsthesia corresponded with the composite character of the nerve.
-cases of nerve injury
-the following cases are added mainly to give some idea of the comparative frequency with which the individual nerves were injured, and also to exemplify the more common forms of complex injury met with. circumstances, unfortunately, did not always allow of extended observation at the time, and i have not been very fortunate in my attempts to obtain subsequent information on this series since my return. a certain amount of prognostic information is, however, furnished by some of the records, and i am very much indebted to my colleague, dr. turney, for help in this matter.
-considerable shock attended the primary injury; when reaction had taken place, complete motor and sensory paralysis was noted of the whole upper extremity, with the exception of some power of movement of the posterior interosseous group of muscles. three weeks later the patient could extend the wrist, but sensation was imperfect in the arm, and completely absent in the forearm and hand. the track was now hard and palpable, but there was no hyperæsthesia in any area; when the track was manipulated slight formication in the hand was experienced. the biceps and triceps were equally paralysed. there was no wasting in any of the muscles.
-four months after the original injury, the nerves were explored by mr. eve, who kindly gives me the following information. all the nerves and vessels of the arm were united into one firm bundle by cicatricial tissue. when dissected clear, the median nerve was found to be thickened and enlarged for about 1-1/2 inch of its length; the ulnar was not completely freed, but was found to be continuous and indurated; the musculo-spiral was also intact, but at its entrance into the humeral groove a mass of callus was felt. a sclerosed and thickened portion of the median nerve 3-1/2 inches in length was resected, also 1 inch of sclerosed ulnar nerve, and both were sutured. the musculo-spiral nerve was left for future exploration. a small traumatic aneurism was found on the brachial artery, and the vessel was ligatured above it.
-ten months later no improvement in the median or ulnar nerves. electrical reaction present in musculo-spiral group of muscles.
-the nerve was freed and resumed its normal outline. for a few days the patient was much relieved, but the neuralgia then returned in greater intensity than ever. morphia was injected hypodermically, and other hypnotics employed, but with little effect, the patient developing the hysterical condition so common in the subjects of severe sciatica. some five weeks later a sudden improvement took place, the morphia was decreased, and the patient became sufficiently well to return to england, but there was still deep tenderness in the calf, and well-marked hyperæsthesia of the sole.
-calf muscles practically normal. in the anterior tibial and peroneal groups the faradic irritability is much diminished, that in the peroneus longus being the lowest of all. contraction can be induced in the extensor longus hallucis, extensor longus digitorum, and peroneus brevis; but reaction is doubtful in the case of the tibialis anticus and peroneus longus.
-with the galvanic current contraction is sluggish, and the irritability diminished. no serious changes are present except in the peroneus longus. acc > kcc at 10 m. a.
-these symptoms persisted, and on his return to england an exploration was made by sir thomas smith, and the two fragments of mantle seen in the skiagram were removed from the substance of the sciatic nerve. eight months after the injury, the patient still walked with foot-drop; there was modified sensation in the musculo-cutaneous area, and a feeling as if the bones of the foot were uncovered when he walked. the circumference of the affected leg was more than 1 inch less than that of the sound one. steady but slow improvement was taking place.
-beyond these local phenomena there was marked tremor of the upper extremities on any exertion, and slight lateral nystagmus. the patient was not sure that this had not been present ever since he recovered from the enteric fever, but it was sufficiently marked to give rise to the suspicion of the development of disseminated sclerosis.
-the patient was a hard-headed, sensible man. he remained in the hospital under the care of dr. turney, to whom i am indebted for notes of the case, forty-six days. during this period he was treated by faradic electricity, and, with some checks, notably the development of passive effusion into the left knee-joint, and a fugitive attack of redness over the dorsum of the foot, both suggesting trophic changes, steadily improved. the anæsthesia became limited to the outer half of the leg, at the end of one month was limited to the dorsum of the foot only, and at the end of six weeks entirely disappeared. meanwhile the tendency to drawing up of the heel by the calf muscles became less, and the gait improved. the man left the hospital at the end of two months, very satisfied with his condition, although the tremor of the hands was still present in a lessened degree.
-prognosis and treatment.--in considering the prognosis in cases of nerve injury, several of the points already raised as to the nature of the lesion are of importance. short of actual section, it may be broadly stated that no lesion is too serious to render ultimate recovery impossible.
-in cases in which the injury has been produced by a bullet fired at a short range, or in which contact with the nerve has been close, the return of functional activity is very slow. in such instances the condition probably resembles that in which a divided nerve has been sutured, with the additional disadvantage that a considerable portion of the nerve, both above and below the point actually struck, has been destroyed as far as the conduction of nervous impulses is concerned. this may reasonably be concluded in the light of the evidence offered by the injuries of the spinal cord, in which several segments usually suffered if the velocity of the bullet was great, and also if the fact is remembered that, when thickening takes place, a considerable length of the nerve is usually implicated.
-recovery is notably slow in the case of certain nerves, e.g. musculo-spiral and peroneal, even when the injury has not been of extreme severity. again, these same nerves are apparently more seriously affected by moderate degrees of damage than are others.
-as favourable prognostic elements we may bear in mind: low velocity on the part of the travelling bullet, and with this a lesser degree of contiguity of the track to the nerve. the early return of sensation is a favourable sign, and in this relation the development of hyperæsthesia, whether preceded by anæsthesia or no, points to the maintenance of continuity of, and a moderate degree of damage to, the nerve. the early return of sensation, even if modified in acuteness, was always a very hopeful sign; also the production of formication in the area of distribution of the nerve on manipulation of the injured spot. as in the case of nerve injuries of every nature, the disposition and temperament of the patient exerted considerable influence on the course of the cases.
-complete section of the nerves in these bullet wounds only obtained special importance in two ways: first, in that a considerable portion of the trunk might be shot away in oblique tracks, and, secondly, in that very severe contusion might affect the nerve for a considerable distance beyond the point actually implicated. in point of fact, complete section when treated by suture was often more rapidly recovered from than an injury in which only a portion of the width of a trunk was divided. this was no doubt to be explained on the theory that the contiguous portion of the nerve suffered less when tension and resistance were lessened by complete severance of the cord.
-the treatment of slight nerve contusion was simple; rest alone was necessary, and in the course of hours or days paralysis was recovered from. the symptoms were most troublesome in patients of a neurotic temperament, or those who had suffered from severe systemic shock.
-in severe concussions and contusions the first care had to be devoted to the discrimination of the lesion from that of division. a period of rest then needed to be followed by one of massage and movement, to maintain the nutrition of the muscles. in a considerable portion of the cases a stage of neuritis had to be expected. in all cases, either of severe concussion, contusion, or complete section, accompanied by the fracture of a bone, especial care was necessary that the bandaging and fixation of the limb were not sufficiently tight to add the dangers of muscular ischæmia to those of the nerve injury already present.
-splints were often temporarily required to resist contracture, or the assumption of false positions; in either case they needed to be frequently removed, and movement &c. made, in order to avoid any chance of troublesome stiffness.
-operative treatment.--early interference was only warranted by positive knowledge that some source of irritation or pressure could be removed; thus a bone spicule, or a bullet, or part of one, particularly portions of mantles.
-with regard to the early exploration of cases of traumatic neuralgia, it may be pointed out that when this was undertaken the results were as a rule very temporary. in many cases in which the measure was resorted to, either no macroscopic evidence of injury to the nerve was discovered, or a bulbous thickening was met with of such extent as to make excision inadvisable, even if it were considered otherwise the most suitable treatment.
-even when complete section of the nerve was assured by the absence of any power of reaction to stimulation by electricity from above on the part of the muscles, operation was better not undertaken until cicatrisation had reached a certain stage. if done earlier than at the end of three weeks, the sutured spot became implicated in a hard cicatrix, and any advantage to be obtained by early interference was lost. when partial division of a trunk was determined, the same date was the most favourable one for exploration, the gap in the nerve being freshened and closed by suture. there is little doubt, however, that in some cases such injuries were recovered from spontaneously.
-in view of the uniformly bad results observed in the case of the seventh nerve, i am inclined to think that the above rules might be tentatively relaxed, and the nerve primarily explored by an operation resembling that for mastoid suppuration. it is of course doubtful whether the trouble does not generally result from the vibratory concussion alone; but as this is not certain, and the operation would only have to be performed on patients already permanently deaf, it might be worth while at any rate opening the fallopian canal with the object of relieving tension. it is not probable that in any of the cases quoted much splintering of the bone had occurred, as the wounds appeared to be of the nature of pure perforations.
-injuries to the chest
-in regard to prognosis wounds of the chest furnished the most hopeful class of the whole series of trunk or visceral injuries. cases of wound of the heart and great vessels afforded the only exceptions to an almost universally favourable course, both as regards life and the non-occurrence of serious after-effects.
-this was mainly explicable on two grounds: first, the sharply localised character of the lesion produced by the bullet of small calibre; and, secondly, the fact that the lung, the most frequently injured organ, is not materially affected by the grade of velocity with which the bullet strikes. in point of fact, wounds of this organ probably afford an instance in which high grades of velocity are distinctly favourable to the nature of the injury, and this is possibly true in the case of wounds of the chest-wall also.
-the significance of the calibre of the bullet in wounds of the chest is evident. the late mr. archibald forbes, in one of his letters from the seat of the franco-german war, remarked that in crossing a battlefield it was easy to recognise the patients who had suffered a wound of the lung from the fact that the whistle of the air entering and leaving the chest was plainly audible. this was, indeed, not uncommonly the case in wounds produced by the older bullets of large calibre, but with the employment of the smaller projectile it has become an experience of the past. some evidence as to the comparative severity of wounds produced by the larger forms of bullet was, moreover, afforded by the present campaign, since martini-henry wounds were occasionally met with. of some instances observed by myself, in one, external hæmorrhage was a prominent symptom; in another, a piece of lung was prolapsed from a wound in the back, and twice i observed pneumothorax, an uncommon sequela to wounds from bullets of small calibre.
-it may be remarked, however, that all these more serious injuries were recovered from, also that when we consider that the patients were comparatively young and healthy subjects, the favourable prognosis was what might have reasonably been expected. when, as occasionally happened, a patient of more mature years, with enlarged facial capillaries, received a wound of the lung, the course was in no way so favourable as that witnessed in the case of the younger men.
-in support of this opinion i may add that wounds from shrapnel and fragments of shell also did remarkably well, although they sometimes gave rise to more troublesome symptoms than did wounds produced by bullets of the mauser type. again, these injuries as a whole were of nothing like so serious a nature as the lacerations of the lung produced by fractured ribs, which we commonly have to treat in civil practice, and are not accustomed to regard as especially dangerous.
-it is also a striking fact that the most common and troublesome complication of wounds of the chest, hæmothorax, was usually the result of the wound of the chest-wall and not of the lung. i preface these remarks to the detailed account of the thoracic injuries, because i think the favourable course usually taken by patients with wounds of the lung has been accorded somewhat greater prominence than the circumstances warranted.
-non-penetrating wounds of the chest-wall.--surface wounds were not very common, and were chiefly of interest in so far as they illustrated the very superficial course that may be occasionally taken by a bullet without breach of the integument, and as sometimes affording opportunity for the exercise of diagnostic skill when the track traversed the axilla.
-the most common situation for tracks taking a long course on the surface of the thoracic skeleton was the back. such wounds were usually received while the patients were prone on the ground; thus i might instance a case in which the bullet entered the posterior aspect of the shoulder 3 inches above the spine of the scapula, passed downwards, pierced that process, and emerged 2 inches below the inferior angle of the bone. wounds of a similar nature coursing in transverse and oblique directions, and not implicating bone, were also seen. those implicating the vertebræ have been already dealt with. the scapular region was also a favourite one for the lodgment of retained bullets, some resting in the supra- and infra-spinatus muscles, others lying beneath the bone itself.
-on the anterior aspect of the chest, bullets coming from the front sometimes traversed and fractured the clavicle, and then took a short course downwards, emerging over the ribs or sternum. figure 81 represents a particularly long track in this region. in other cases the precordial region was crossed, but i never witnessed any serious effect on the heart's action in any such injury at the time the patients came under my notice.
-wounds received with the arm outstretched and traversing the axilla sometimes gave considerable trouble in excluding with certainty a perforation of the thoracic cavity. thus a bullet entered below the centre of the right clavicle and emerged 2-1/2 inches below, above the angle of the scapula, at its axillary margin. the arm was outstretched at the moment of the reception of the injury; but when the wound was viewed with the limb placed alongside the trunk, it seemed almost impossible that the chest cavity could have escaped. in some cases of this kind the difficulty was at once cleared up by noting evidence of injury to the axillary nerves.
-a word will suffice as to the treatment of these wounds. the only special indication was to keep the scapula at rest for a sufficient period. i have dealt with the anatomy of them at such length only because in their extreme form they are so highly characteristic of the nature of the injuries which may be produced by bullets of small calibre.
-penetrating wounds of the chest.--tracks crossing the thoracic cavity in every direction were common. when the erect attitude was maintained, frontal and sagittal wounds, pure or oblique, were received; when the prone position was assumed, longitudinal tracks, either purely or obliquely vertical, were the rule. experience of wounds of the latter class was extensive in the present campaign, from the fact that so many of the advances were made in prone or crawling attitudes. the vertical and transverse tracks each possessed the special characteristic of frequently implicating both the thoracic and abdominal cavities, but the vertical were often prolonged into the neck, or even downwards through the pelvis. the vertical wounds in addition sometimes exhibited one very important feature, the fracture of several ribs from within, often at a very considerable distance from the aperture of either entry or exit.
-characters of the apertures of entry and exit.--as has already been mentioned, the chest-wall was one of the situations in which the aperture of entry was often large, and the oval form due to obliquity of impact on the part of the bullet was particularly well marked. the exit wounds were often smaller than those of entry, especially if the bullet emerged by an intercostal space; even when the ribs were comminuted, the fragments were, as a rule, too small to occasion more than a slightly enlarged and irregular aperture. taken as a class, however, and putting aside explosive exit wounds, wounds of the chest afforded more numerous examples of irregular outline and variation in size than were met with in any other region of the body.
-when the tracks penetrated the broad upper intercostal spaces, an interesting feature, due to the tense and rigid nature of the muscles closing the intervals, and their large admixture of fibrous tissue, was sometimes noticed. the bullet, especially if passing obliquely, was apt to cut a slit in the muscles far exceeding in size the opening in the overlying integument, with the result of leaving a palpable subcutaneous defect. under these circumstances the yielding spot was often noticed to rise and fall with the movements of respiration, external palpation met with an absence of normal resistance, and there was impulse on coughing.
-fractures of the ribs.--these injuries were produced in either transverse or longitudinal coursing tracks, their special feature being a sharp localisation of the lesion of the bone.
-in tracks crossing the chest transversely the injury to the ribs might consist in notching, perforation, or complete solution of continuity, sometimes with fine comminution. in the incomplete injuries some importance attached to the localisation of the lesion to the upper or lower border of the rib, in so far as the intercostal artery was concerned. comminution at the wound of entry was, as a rule, not so extensive as at the aperture of exit, and in any case was less apparent, since the fragments were driven inward. the wider comminution at the exit aperture depends on the lesser degree of support afforded by the thoracic coverings to the convex outer surface of the rib, and on the fact that the velocity of the bullet has been lowered by its passage through the opposite rib and the chest cavity.
-the splinters of comminuted ribs are small, and wide-reaching fissures rare. these characters depend on the elastic nature of the resistance offered by the curved rib to the passage of the bullet, which is calculated to preserve the bone from the full force of impact, except at the point actually impinged upon.
-fractures of the ribs, produced from within by bullets taking a longitudinal course through the thorax, were still more special in character. they were also more important, as giving rise to troublesome symptoms.
-in these, again, the degree of injury to the bones varied considerably. in some cases the bones were merely grooved internally, without any external deformity; in other cases a sort of green-stick fracture was produced, accompanied by the projection of a tender salient angle externally; in others complete solution of continuity was effected.
-another feature of importance was the occasional implication of several ribs. in this case the symptoms accompanying the injury were very much more like those observed in the corresponding injuries resulting from indirect violence seen in civil practice.
-injuries to the costal cartilages closely resembled those to the ribs. perforation, bending from injury to the inner aspect, and comminution were observed. the latter condition differed from the similar one seen in the case of the ribs only in so far as the tougher consistence of the cartilage did not lend itself to such free comminution, and the splinters remained in great part attached. the nature of the fractures, in fact, somewhat resembled that seen on breaking a piece of cane.
-i saw no fracture of the sternum except of the nature of a pure perforation; these were not uncommon in the hospitals, either in the upper or the extreme lower portions of the bone. fractures in other portions were no doubt usually associated with fatal injuries to the heart. the openings were usually so small as to be difficult of palpation, and i never had the opportunity of examining one post mortem.
-perforations of the body of the scapula were common, but they were of little importance in symptoms or prognosis.
-symptoms of fracture of the ribs.--fractures accompanying transverse wounds of the chest were characterised by the insignificance of the symptoms produced. every common sign of fracture of the rib was in fact absent. neither pain, stitch on inspiration, nor crepitus, either audible or palpable, was, as a rule, present. this absence of signs was accounted for by the nature of the lesion: thus in perforations or notchings there was no loss of continuity, while in the freely comminuted fractures the loss of continuity was so absolute as to allow no possibility of the main fragments rubbing together. again, part of the symptoms attending these injuries, as seen in civil practice, depends upon contusion and laceration of the surrounding structures--a condition precluded by the localised nature of the application of the violence by a bullet of small calibre. in order to establish a diagnosis, therefore, we were in many cases reduced to palpation, and occasionally to direct examination of the wound.
-fractures accompanying longitudinal tracks formed a class rather apart in the matter of symptoms. in these mere groovings might also be accompanied by no signs, or at the most by slight local pain and tenderness. when, however, the grooving was sufficiently deep to be accompanied by deformity, or a complete solution of continuity was effected, the signs were often severe. the tender salient angle, or, in the absence of this, a highly tender localised spot, often pointed to the less severe injuries, and when the fractures were complete or multiple, pain was a very prominent symptom, both constant and in the form of inspiratory stitch. the severity of the pain was probably to be in part ascribed to implication of the intercostal nerves, which in these injuries was direct and often multiple. again, severe contusion or actual laceration of the nerves, with resulting anæsthesia, was less common than when the bullet directly implicated the nerves in transverse wounds. free comminution and absolute solution of continuity were also less common than in the fractures accompanying transverse wounds; hence pain from rubbing of the fragments on inspiratory movement or palpation was more common, and crepitus, either on auscultation or palpation, was more often met with. patients with this class of fracture often suffered greatly from painful dyspnoea, and were unable to assume the supine position.
-external hæmorrhage of severity was rare from these thoracic wounds; in many cases it did not amount to more than local staining of the shirt; altogether i saw only one or two cases where any serious bleeding occurred. internal hæmorrhage into the pleura, in consequence of the position of the intercostal arteries, was common, and often abundant; this will be treated of under the heading of hæmothorax.
-treatment of fractured ribs.--transverse wounds of the thorax, with no symptoms of fractured ribs, needed to be dealt with as wounds of the soft parts alone.
-in multiple fractures accompanying longitudinal tracks, bandaging or strapping for the purpose of fixation was necessary to relieve pain. a few fragments of bone sometimes needed primary removal, and occasionally small sequestra were removed at a later date; but necrosis was rare, unless some complication led to the development of a fistula.
-retained bullets were occasionally met with in the chest wall. in such cases the last remaining energy of the bullet often seemed to have been spent in diving under the margin of a rib and turning longitudinally up or down. removal was sometimes necessary, either from the prominence produced, the presence of pain, or the continuance of suppuration. some of the specimens removed offered interesting evidence of the capacity of the ribs to withstand considerable violence from a bullet. these were slightly bent, and marked by a half-spiral groove. i saw such bullets removed from the thoracic and the abdominal wall, and the evidence seemed rather against the groove having been produced prior to their entrance into the body.
-wounds of the diaphragm.--perforations of the diaphragm were very frequent, and as a rule of small significance. when, however, the course taken by the bullet was parallel with that of the slope of the diaphragm, a more or less extensive slit was the result. i saw such a wound still gaping, and 2 inches in length, in the body of a patient who died three weeks after the infliction of a fatal abdominal injury.
-in several other obliquely transverse thoracic wounds there was reason to assume the existence of similar slits. certain signs were more or less constant under these circumstances. these consisted in shallow respiration, often accompanied by a groan or the slightest degree of hiccough on inspiration, and considerable increase in respiratory frequency. in one patient the respirations were at first 48, only dropping to 36 some seventy hours after the reception of the injury. in some of the cases in which the abdominal cavity was implicated, wound to the diaphragm seemed a more likely explanation of early, frequent, and painful vomiting than did visceral injury. the possibility of the later development of diaphragmatic herniæ in some of these patients will have to be borne in mind in the future.
-visceral injuries.--the frequent escape of the thoracic viscera from injury, putting aside the lungs which fill so great a part of the cavity, was very remarkable. i never saw a case in which i could assume injury to any of the posterior mediastinal viscera, although such may have occurred on the field of battle. an injury to the oesophagus, for instance, would almost of necessity be accompanied by wound of either one of the large vessels, even the thoracic aorta, or the spinal column. i was somewhat surprised, however, to learn on enquiry from surgeons who had seen a large number of the dead and dying on the field, that thoracic wounds, putting aside those that directly implicated the heart, were responsible for but a small proportion of the fatalities.
-the escape of the posterior mediastinal viscera, the great vessels, and the heart, is, i believe, to be explained by the fact that all are supported and held in position by the loose meshed mediastinal tissue, which allows for their displacement after the manner observed in the case of the vessels and nerves lying in the loose tissue of the great vascular clefts.
-wounds of the heart.--perforating wounds of the heart were probably fatal in all instances, in spite of the fact that, in some patients who survived, the position of wound apertures on the surface of the body made it difficult to believe that the heart had not been penetrated. (see cases below.)
-in the case of this organ, we must bear in mind its constant variations in bulk, its elastic compressibility, and its variations in position in systole and diastole. the variations in bulk and position would be capable of explaining the escape of the organ from injury at some particular moment, when a second shot apparently through the same wound track might implicate it. beyond this, reasoning from the case of analogous hollow viscera, as the arteries or the intestine, a bullet might readily score the surface of the heart without perforating its cavity.
-such accidents were observed. thus, in a case examined by mr. cheatle, the patient died of suppurative pericarditis, secondary to a wound of which the external apertures had closed. in this patient both auricle and ventricle were scored externally by the passage of the bullet.
-i am, however, disinclined to allow that many patients survived direct blows on the heart, since i believe that in the majority if not in all cardiac wounds the actual cause of death was not hæmorrhage, but sudden stoppage of the heart's action. this is to be inferred from the fact that severe external hæmorrhage did not occur; in some cases the shirt was hardly stained, and in all death occurred in the course of a very few minutes. again, in none of the patients whom i saw who had received possible wounds of the heart-wall were there evident signs of hæmo-pericardium. in view of the difficulty of detecting this condition from physical signs, this argument is naturally not of great weight, but must be allowed.
-one or two death scenes from cardiac wound were described to me. in one the patient muttered 'they have got me this time,' and died quietly; in a second the patient's face became ghastly pale, he lay on his back with the knees flexed, clutching the ground, gasping for breath, and died only after some minutes of evident great agony. the absence of any post-mortem details as to the condition of the heart in these injuries is much to be regretted.
-this track in all probability involved the diaphragm twice, both lungs and pleuræ, and passed immediately beneath the heart. the liver was also perforated, but the spleen and stomach probably escaped as far as could be judged from the symptoms. the patient afterwards developed a pneumo-hæmo-thorax on the right side. the immediate symptoms were great distress in breathing and rapid irregular pulse. the difficulty in respiration was probably in part accounted for by the injuries to the lung and diaphragm. the pulse remained from 112 to 120 for three days, at first soft and hardly perceptible, later very irregular, and dropping one every fifth or sixth beat; and it seemed fair to attribute this to the shock to the nervous mechanism of the heart. the patient recovered from the chest injury.
-in some other patients in whom the track passed close below the heart a disturbance of the pulse rate was noted, but this was in some cases a slowing, not below 48, in others quickening to 100, with irregularity both in force and beat.
-in other cases the signs were almost nil.
-wounds of the lungs.--numerically, pulmonary wounds formed the most important series of visceral injuries met with in the thorax, the frequency of incidence corresponding with the proportionate sectional area occupied by the organs. although these injuries did well, and needed little interference on the part of the surgeon, many points of interest were raised by them.
-thus the comparative importance of the wound in the chest-wall to that in the lung itself, was scarcely what, without actual experience, would have been expected, the former proving so very much the more important element of the two.
-the question of velocity on the part of the bullet took a very secondary position in these injuries. i saw a number of cases in which the patients estimated the range at which they received their wounds as from 30 to 50 yards, and although some of the wounds were of a severe type, the increased gravity depended rather on the injury to the chest-wall than to that of the lung. if the bullet passed by the intercostal space, avoiding the rib, i very much doubt if the relative velocity was of any importance, further than from the fact that a sufficiently low degree to allow of lodgment of the bullet was distinctly unfavourable.
-in view of the general lack of significance in these injuries it was interesting to note how very definite was the ill effect of early transport on the after course. this depended on the frequent development of parietal hæmothorax in patients who were not kept absolutely at rest.
-the tracks produced in the lungs by the bullets were very minute, and in the few cases in which opportunity arose for their examination post mortem some little time after the infliction of the wound, there was great difficulty in localising them. the slight damage incurred by the pulmonary tissue is due to its elasticity and non-resistent character.
-pulmonary hæmothorax was distinctly rare. reasoning from the analogous wounds of the liver, tracks scoring the surface of these organs might be much more to be feared than clean perforations. the elasticity of the lung tissue, however, must make such lesions rare. in point of fact, there is no reason why a perforation by a bullet of small calibre should be much more feared than a puncture from an exploring trocar, and the danger of the two wounds is probably very nearly the same.
-the only points of importance as to the particular region of the lung traversed were the distance from the periphery as affecting the probable size of the vessels injured, and perhaps the implication of the base or apex of the organ respectively. i am under the impression that wounds in the apical region were somewhat more liable to be followed by the development of pneumothorax, and possibly hæmothorax, while wounds at the base gained their chief importance from the frequency of concurrent injury to the abdominal viscera. i had no experience of the immediate results of wound of the great vessels at the root of the lung, but assume that they led to speedy death.
-symptoms of wound of the lung.--i shall describe the whole complex usually observed, although it is obvious that the wound of the chest-wall is responsible for a large proportion of the signs.
-the majority of these injuries were accompanied by a certain degree of systemic shock, and this was more marked in wounds received at a short range. the shock was, however, rather to be attributed to the injury to the chest-wall and thoracic concussion than to that to the lung itself. i think it may also be stated that few patients were inclined to walk or remain in the erect position after receiving these wounds; this feature was also noted in horses in whom a bullet passed through the lungs.
-the remarks made as to the pain accompanying fractures of the ribs apply equally here. pain was not a prominent symptom, except in so far as the actual impact caused temporary suffering. it was striking how often patients who received wounds through the arm prior to the same bullet traversing the chest appreciated the chest wound only, yet the chest might pass unnoticed when a still more sensitive part was struck later, as has been already mentioned in the section on wounds in general.
-dyspnoea was not a prominent primary symptom. the patients sometimes had 'all the wind knocked out of them' at the moment of impact, but when seen at the field hospitals a short time later, the respirations were shallow, but easy and regular, and only moderately quickened; thus 24 was a not uncommon rate. naturally if accumulation of blood in the pleura began early and continued, these remarks do not hold good; and again in some older men of full-blooded type and the subjects of recurrent attacks of bronchitis, a considerable degree of pain, dyspnoea, and even cyanosis was sometimes present soon after the injury. the complication of wound of the diaphragm has already been referred to in this relation.
-local respiratory immobility of the thoracic parietes and consequent asymmetry of movement were constant. this was especially a marked feature when the upper part of the chest was implicated on one side only. it rather corresponded, however, to the local shock observed in wounds of the limbs than to the instinctive immobility accompanying fractures of the ribs; since, as already explained, small-calibre bullet wounds of the ribs are not necessarily painful on movement, and the sign existed even when the bullet had passed by an intercostal space. this sign was naturally a transitory one.
-hæmoptysis was a fairly constant sign, but sometimes quite absent when no doubt could exist as to the perforation of the lung. as a rule, a considerable quantity of blood might be coughed up shortly after the injury; but i never knew this to be sufficient in amount to give rise to any misgivings as to danger from the hæmorrhage. after the first evacuation of blood from the wounded lung, the sign varied much; in the majority of instances the patients continued to expectorate small quantities of blood mixed with mucus, for some three or four days, the blood gradually assuming a coagulated condition. sometimes only the primary hæmoptysis was noted, and still more rarely the expectoration of clots was continued for a week, or even longer. this probably depended partly on personal idiosyncrasy, partly on the size of the vessels which had been implicated in the track.
-cough was not commonly the troublesome symptom noted in the contused wounds of the lung seen in civil practice accompanying fracture of the ribs. moist sounds were usually audible on auscultation, but in many cases over a very limited area and only on the first few days.
-cellular emphysema was distinctly rare, and usually limited in extent: thus i saw it in the posterior triangle of the neck alone in an apical wound; over about a third of the upper part of the thorax in another wound through the second intercostal space, and in this case oddly enough the emphysema was the only sign of injury to the lung; and very occasionally widely distributed--in the latter case there were also usually multiple fractures of the ribs. neither issue of air from the external wound nor frothy blood was ever seen with small-calibre wounds, but i saw one instance in a case of martini-henry wound.
-pneumothorax was also rare. i saw pneumothorax three times out of about half a dozen martini-henry wounds, but i do not think it occurred as often in 100 small-calibre wounds. the martini-henry wounds all recovered; but convalescence was very prolonged, and the same remark to a less degree holds good in the small-calibre cases.
-that the slow recovery in cases of pneumothorax in the martini-henry wounds was due mainly to the size of the opening in the thoracic parietes was, i think, proved by the fact that in the small-calibre bullet wounds, followed by the development of pneumothorax, the external wounds were usually large and irregular in type; also, that in the only pneumothorax which i saw produced during an extraction operation, the air was very rapidly absorbed. in the latter case, however, there was little reason to conclude that wound of the lung had occurred primarily, and certainly no opening existed at the time the thorax was incised.
-hæmothorax.--this was the most frequent and also the most interesting of the complications of wound of the chest. in 90 per cent. or more of the cases, the hæmorrhage was of parietal source, and due either to direct injury to the intercostal vessels by the bullet or to laceration by spicules of comminuted ribs. for this reason, the passage of the bullet whether by an intercostal space, or through a rib, provided the wound was not at the posterior part of the space where the artery crosses, was a point of considerable prognostic importance. exclusion of the lung as the source of hæmorrhage was, i think, amply justified by the absence of continuous recurrent or progressive hæmoptysis in the majority of the cases, and by the very small trace of injury found in the lungs of patients who died some weeks after the injury. in such it was difficult to discriminate the tracks at all. i only happened to see one case where free hæmoptysis, during the course of development of a hæmothorax, pointed to the lung as the source of the blood.
-hæmorrhage into the pleural cavity occurred in some degree in a very large proportion of the chest wounds, but it was especially interesting to note how greatly its extent was influenced by the amount of transport to which the patients were subjected in the early stages after the injury. during the early part of the campaign, on the western side, i saw a large number of chest wounds, and had i been asked my opinion as to the relative frequency of occurrence of hæmothorax i should have placed it at about 30 per cent. the patients in these early battles needed little wagon transport, and when sent down to the base travelled in comfortable ambulance trains. after the commencement of the march from modder river to bloemfontein, however, these conditions were changed, and all the chest as other cases were exposed to the necessity of three days and nights' journey to the stationary hospitals and afterwards to the long journey to cape town. of these patients, at least 90 per cent. suffered with hæmothorax of varying degrees of severity.
-the general course of these effusions was towards spontaneous absorption and recovery. coagulation of the blood took place early, the fluid serum separated, and tended to undergo absorption with some rapidity, leaving a small amount of coagulum at the base, which evidenced its presence for many weeks by a persistence of a certain degree of dulness on percussion. early coagulation, i think, accounted for the usual absence of gravitation ecchymosis as a sign.
-the course to recovery was sometimes broken by signs of slight pleuritic inflammation, which, as affecting the amount of effusion, will be spoken of under the heading of symptoms. in some cases the amount of blood was so great as to necessitate means being taken for its removal; in these a reaccumulation often took place. occasionally an empyema followed in cases thus treated.
-the nature of the blood evacuated on tapping varied much. in very early aspirations unchanged blood was often met with, but clot sometimes made evacuation difficult and necessitated a second puncture. in the tappings done at the end of a week or more a dark porter-like fluid was common, while when suppuration was imminent a brick-red-coloured grumous fluid replaced normal blood. in the cases where early incision was resorted to, blood both fluid and in clots was often mixed with a certain proportion of lymph flakes, perhaps indicating the part taken by inflammatory reaction to the irritation of the clot in producing the rise of temperature.
-symptoms of hæmothorax.--in the more severe cases of primary bleeding the symptoms did not, as a rule, reach their full height until the third or fourth day after the injury. the patients then often suffered severely. the pulse and temperature rose, and to general symptoms of loss of blood were added: occasional lividity of countenance; severe dyspnoea, accompanied by inability to lie on the sound side or to assume the supine position; absence of respiratory movement on the injured side; pain, restlessness, cough, and sometimes continuance of hæmoptysis, small clots usually being expectorated.
-accompanying these symptoms were the usual physical signs of fluid in the pleura in differing degrees and combination. dulness of varying extent up to complete absence of resonance on one side, often accompanied in the incomplete cases by well-marked skodaic resonance anteriorly. loss of vocal resonance, and fremitus; oegophony, tubular respiration over the root of the lung or at the upper limit of the dulness, and more or less extensive displacement of the heart. obvious increase in girth, fulness of the intercostal spaces, or gravitation ecchymosis was rare. the latter was most common in instances in which multiple fracture of the ribs existed (see fig. 83). i think the rarity of the last sign must have been due to the early coagulation of the blood, and its retention by the pleura, as i saw well-marked gravitation ecchymosis in one or two cases of mediastinal hæmorrhage.
-the above complex of symptoms was common to all the cases, but in the slighter ones they gave rise to little trouble, and cleared up with great rapidity.
-the most interesting feature was offered by the temperature, as this was very liable to lead one astray. a primary rise always occurred with the collection of blood in the pleura, this reaching its height on the third or fourth day, usually about 102° f. in well-marked cases; it then fell, and in favourable instances remained normal. in a large number of cases, however, where the amount of blood was considerable, this was not the case, the primary fall not reaching the normal, and a second rise occurred which reached the same height as before or higher. the second rise was accompanied by sweating, quickened pulse, and the probability of the development of an empyema had always to be considered. i believe in most cases this secondary rise was an indication of a further increase in the hæmorrhage, for the dulness usually increased in extent, and such rises were often seen when the patient had been moved or taken a journey. again, the temperature often fell to normal after paracentesis and removal of the blood, to rise again with a fresh accumulation, which was not uncommon. i have already mentioned the large proportional incidence of hæmothorax observed in the patients who had to travel down from paardeberg, and i might instance another case related to me by dr. flockemann of the german ambulance, which was very striking. a boer, wounded at colesberg, developed a hæmothorax which quieted down, and he was removed to bloemfontein; on arrival at the latter place the temperature rose, and other signs of fever suggested the development of an empyema; an exploring needle, however, only brought blood to light. after a short stay at bloemfontein the symptoms entirely subsided, and the man was sent to kroonstadt, when an exactly similar attack resulted, again quieting down with rest.
-similar recurrent attacks of hæmorrhage and fever occurred, however, in patients confined to their beds without moving after the first journey. some temperature charts, in illustration of this point, are added to the cases quoted later. the explanation of the recurrent hæmorrhages is, i think, to be found in the reduction of the intra-thoracic pressure with coagulation and shrinkage of the clot in the pleura in the patients kept quiet in bed, while in the patients who had to travel it was probably the result of direct mechanical disturbance.
-in many of these cases a pleural rub was audible at the upper margin of the dulness with the development of the fresh symptoms. whether this was due to actual pleurisy or to the rubbing of surfaces rough from the breaking down of slight recent adhesions which had formed a barrier to the effusion, i am unable to say, but the signs were fairly constant. in some instances the increase in the amount of fluid was, no doubt, due to pleural effusion resulting from irritation from the presence of blood-clot, or perhaps the shifting of the latter; in these the secondary rise of temperature may well be ascribed to the development of pleurisy.
-it is, of course, manifest that the fever might also be ascribed to the infection of the clot or serum from without, and in the first cases i saw i was inclined to take this view, since we had in every case the primary wounds of chest-wall, and possibly of lung, and in some the addition of a puncture by an exploring needle between the first and second rise. after a wider experience, however, i abandoned the infection theory, as it seemed opposed by the very infrequent sequence of suppuration. the effect of simple removal of the blood or serum was also often so striking as to strongly suggest that it alone was responsible for the fever. exactly the same result, moreover, followed evacuation of the interstitial blood effusions already mentioned elsewhere.
-the common course of all the cases of hæmothorax was to spontaneous recovery, the rapidity of the subsidence of the signs depending mainly on the quantity of the primary hæmorrhage, and the occurrence of further increases. the blood serum tended to collect at the upper limit of the original blood effusion (as was often proved on tapping), and this was first absorbed; the clot deposited on the pleural surface and at the basal part of the cavity was, however, not absorbed with the same rapidity. in the majority of the patients when they left the hospitals, at the end of six weeks on an average, some dulness and deficiency of vesicular murmur always remained, and the clot and the surrounding surface, irritated by its presence, will, no doubt, be responsible for permanent adhesions in many cases. that such adhesions do form in the majority of cases i feel certain, as, although these patients when they left the hospital were to all intents and purposes apparently well, few of them could undertake sustained exertion without getting short of breath, and sometimes suffering from transitory pain, and for this reason it became customary to invalid them home.
-in a small proportion of the cases empyema followed; but i never saw this in any case that had neither been tapped nor opened, and i saw only one patient die from a chest wound uncomplicated by other injuries. this case was an interesting one of recurrent hæmorrhage followed by inflammatory troubles:--
-empyema.--i may here add the little that i have to say on this subject. during the whole campaign the single case of primary empyema that i saw was the one recorded below, which deserves special mention as illustrating the disadvantage of extracting bullets on the field. under the conditions which necessarily accompanied this operation the ensurance of asepsis was impossible, and the additional wound no doubt proved the source of infection.
-on the fifth day pus escaped from the extraction wound, and when the case was examined at the base, the temperature was 101°, the pulse over 100, the respirations 30, and the whole side of the chest was dull, with the exception of a patch of boxy resonance over the apex anteriorly. on the following day the chest was drained, and a considerable amount of pus evacuated, which was mixed with breaking-down blood-clot. a fortnight later a second operation had to be performed to improve the drainage, and the patient made a tedious recovery.
-the following case well illustrates the symptoms in a severe case of hæmothorax, and empyema following aspiration:--
-there was no great pain at the moment of the injury; the man again got up to the firing line, and later walked two miles to the field hospital without aid. he remained here a week, when he was sent down to the base, and during the first three days' journey in the wagon he began to get worse. on the fourth day cough began to be very troublesome.
-when he arrived at the base, fifteen days after the original injury, there was much dyspnoea; the temperature was 102°, and the pulse 110. the left side of the chest was dull throughout; an aspirating needle was introduced, and a pint of very dark liquid blood drawn off. the whole of the blood was not removed on account of the very severe cough and pain which the evacuation occasioned. the man appeared to steadily improve until three weeks later, when the temperature, which throughout had been uneven, became consistently high, and signs of fluid at the base increased. an aspirating needle was introduced, and 16 ounces of pus were drawn off. two days later a piece of rib was resected (mr. pegg) and another pint of pus evacuated. after this, rapid improvement took place, and in ten days the man was able to be up and dressed, although a small amount of discharge still persisted. he eventually made an excellent recovery.
-secondary empyemata not uncommonly followed incision of the chest, or excision of a rib for draining a hæmothorax. these operations in the early part of the campaign were more freely undertaken on the supposition that rise of temperature and other symptoms of fever pointed to incipient breaking down of the clot. subsequent experience showed this not to be the case, and early operations for drainage ceased to be undertaken. in these operations a primary difficulty was met with in effectively clearing out the clot, a drain had to be left, and suppuration occurred later in a considerable proportion. the suppurations were most troublesome; local adhesions formed, and the pus collected in small pockets, which were difficult to find and to drain, and even when the collections seemed to have been successfully dealt with at the time, residual abscesses often followed at a very late date. thus, i saw a case with a contracted chest and a fresh abscess the day before i left cape town, in whom i had advised and witnessed an operation for the evacuation of clot in the presence of signs of fever a week after my arrival in the country, nine months previously. i saw another case where general infection followed incision of a hæmothorax, but the patient fortunately recovered.
-the question of pleurisy has already been mentioned in connection with hæmothorax; it no doubt accounted for secondary effusion in some cases, and beyond this i have nothing to add to what has been there said.
-pneumonia was rare; there were occasionally signs of consolidation, but, i think, quite as often in the opposite lung as in the one injured. i never saw a fatal case, and i am inclined to think that when it occurred it was as often the result of cold and exposure as of the injury to the lung. abscess of the lung i only saw once, and that in a case in which the injury to the chest was complicated by paraplegia from spinal injury and septicæmia, and it was possibly pyæmic.
-diagnosis.--no difficulties special to small-calibre wounds were experienced, except such as have been already dealt with. the only class of case which frequently gave rise to difficulty was hæmothorax. here two points especially needed consideration. (1) the source of the hæmorrhage as parietal or visceral. as has been already foreshadowed, this was mainly to be decided by the amount and persistence of the hæmoptysis, but naturally free hæmoptysis did not negative concurrent parietal bleeding. then the actual source of the bleeding other than from the lung had to be considered; in the great majority of cases the intercostal vessels were responsible, and attention to the course of the tracks often allowed this to be definitely decided upon.
-prognosis.--the prognosis both as to life and as to subsequent ill-effects was remarkably good; in many cases of uncomplicated injury to the lung the patients rejoined their regiments at the end of a month or six weeks. in the more serious cases complicated by the collection of blood in the pleura, convalescence was more prolonged, and an average time of six to eight weeks often elapsed before the patients could be safely discharged from hospital. in the more serious a certain amount of dulness always persisted at this time over the base of the lung, and the chest was usually somewhat contracted on the injured side, with evidence in the way of decreased vesicular murmur that the lung was still not free from compression. with regard to the persistence of dulness on percussion, it is well to bear in mind that a thin layer of blood apparently produces as serious impairment of resonance as a much larger quantity of serum. the signs appeared to favour the view that the space necessary for the location of the hæmorrhage had been obtained at the expense of the lung rather than by distension of the thoracic parietes, and also, i think, denoted the presence of adhesions. possibly they will entirely disappear with the return of full excursion movements of respiration, the latter being often still somewhat restricted when the patients left hospital. all the patients with such signs were liable to attacks of pain and shortness of breath on actual bodily exertion. i happened to meet with an officer, the subject of a lee-metford wound of the thorax, sustained five years previously, and he told me that he was nine months before he could take active exercise without feeling short of breath.
-as to the cases of hæmothorax and empyema which needed drainage, all did well; but expansion of the lung was much less satisfactory than would have been expected, probably on account of especially firm adhesions. the importance of concurrent injury i need hardly dwell on; but i might add that perforation of one or both arms, the most common one, did not materially affect the general statements above made.
-treatment.--in the early stages of the pulmonary wounds rest was the all-important indication, and when this was assured few serious cases of hæmothorax occurred. beyond simple rest, the administration of opium with a view to checking internal hæmorrhage was used with good effect. the wounds needed simple dressing only.
-the treatment of hæmothorax at a later date, however, was of much interest and difficulty. i think the following lines may be laid down for guidance in such cases:--
-in such cases the collection of blood has usually been rapid and continuous; hence a fresh hæmorrhage is always probable when the local pressure has been removed. tapping therefore should not necessarily mean complete evacuation, and should be followed by careful firm binding up of the chest, the administration of opium, and the most stringent precautions for rest.
-care in carrying out asepsis in tapping, which should be performed with an aspirator, need hardly be more than mentioned. it will be noted that in some of the cases quoted suppuration followed tapping, but it must be remembered that in these the two primary wounds already existed as possible channels of infection.
-retained bullets of small calibre in the thoracic cavity were not common, unless the lodgment had occurred in the bodies of the vertebræ. i saw very few. shrapnel bullets and fragments of shells, however, were, in proportion to the frequency of wounds from such projectiles, more commonly retained. the rules to be followed in such cases do not materially deviate from those to be observed in the body generally.
-when the bullet is causing no trouble, and is lodged in either the bone of the spine or the lung substance, no interference is advisable. when, on the other hand, the bullet as viewed by the x-rays is seen to be in the pleural cavity, and any symptoms of its presence exist, it may be justifiable to remove it. i saw this done in one case for the removal of a shrapnel bullet from the lower reflexion of the pleura on account of fixed pain and tenderness complained of by the patient. the bullet, a shrapnel, had perforated the arm, which the patient was sure was by his side at the moment of injury, and the x-rays showed it to lie at the bottom of the pleural cavity, where we assumed it had fallen. when, however, the bullet was removed by mr. watson, he found that the fixed pain and tenderness had been the result of a fracture of a rib from the inner side, not involving loss of continuity; hence the actual indication for the operation had been a delusive one, since the bullet had not fallen, but expended its last force in injuring the rib. the patient made an excellent recovery, and rejoined his regiment at the end of six weeks. i saw several cases in which the bullet was lodged in either the lung or bones of the spine do well with no interference. the great disadvantage of primary removal in inducing an artificial pneumo-thorax and in laying open a hæmothorax is obvious.
-in case of lodgment of the bullet in the lung, bearing in mind the infrequency of untoward symptoms, the latter should be watched for prior to interference.
-the following cases illustrate some typical instances of wound of chest accompanied by the development of hæmothorax:--
-after the preliminary puncture, the man refused any further operative treatment, although a second rise of temperature commenced on the fifteenth day, culminating in a temperature of 103.2° on the eighteenth. the further treatment of the patient consisted in the ensurance of rest and the alleviation of pain. a steady fall in the temperature extended over another three weeks, together with diminution in the signs of fluid in the pleura. at the end of seventy-four days the man was sent home, some slight dulness at the left base, and contraction of the chest sufficient to influence the spine in the way of lateral curvature, being the only remaining signs.
-on the tenth day after admission a pleural rub was detected at the upper margin of the dulness, and the latter shortly extended upwards over a little more than half the back. meanwhile, there was no further hæmoptysis, respiration was fairly easy, 24 per minute, but accompanied by slight dilatation of the alæ nasi, and the temperature, which had been ranging from 99° to 100°, began to rise steadily, on the fifteenth day reaching 102.5°. the patient refused even an exploratory puncture, and was treated on the expectant plan. the temperature slowly subsided, with a steady improvement in the physical signs, and at the end of about ten weeks he left for home with only slight dulness and incapacity for active exertion remaining. (now again on active service.)
-on the nineteenth day the thorax was aspirated (mr. hanwell) and 50 ounces of dirty red-coloured fluid, half clot, half serum, were evacuated. considerable relief was afforded; the respirations became slightly less frequent; the heart returned to a normal position, and distant tubular respiration was audible. the temperature dropped to normal the third day after evacuation of the fluid, but on the sixth day it again commenced to rise, and meanwhile fluid again began to collect.
-on the twenty-sixth day a second aspiration resulted in the evacuation of 35 ounces of bloody fluid in which flakes of lymph were found. three days later the temperature became normal. the respirations fell to 22, and the patient made an uninterrupted recovery.
-the patient arrived at the base on the sixth day; he said he expectorated some blood at the end of about ten minutes after being shot, and experienced a 'half-choking sensation.' a small quantity of phlegm and occasional clots had been expectorated since. he had walked about a good deal; movement occasioned cough, and he became 'blown' very rapidly.
-on admission there were signs of fluid in the lower third of the pleural cavity, but no general symptoms beyond an evening rise of temperature to an average of 99°. about the twentieth day the temperature commenced to rise, and on the twenty-third and four following evenings reached 102°. the fever was accompanied by some distress, and a well-marked increase in the physical signs of the presence of fluid in the chest. the pulse rose to 96, and the respirations considerably above the average of 24, which was at first noted. a strictly expectant attitude was maintained, and the temperature steadily fell in a curve corresponding to the rise, gradually reaching the normal at the end of a week. the physical signs at the base steadily cleared up, and at the end of six weeks the patient returned to england convalescent.
-injuries to the abdomen
-perhaps no chapter of military surgery was looked forward to with more eager interest than that dealing with wounds of the abdomen. in none was greater expectation indulged in with regard to probable advance in active surgical treatment, and in none did greater disappointment lie in store for us.
-wounds of the solid viscera, it is true, proved to be of minor importance when produced by bullets of small calibre; but wounds of the intestinal tract, although they showed themselves capable of spontaneous recovery in a certain proportion of the cases observed, afforded but slight opportunity for surgical skill, and results generally deviated but slightly from those of past experience. such success as was met with depended rather on the mechanical genesis and nature of the wounds than upon the efforts of the surgeon, and operative surgery scored but few successes.
-it is true that to the civil surgeon accustomed to surroundings replete with every modern appliance and convenience, and the possibility of exercising the most stringent precautions against the introduction of sepsis from without, abdominal operations presented difficulties only faintly appreciated in advance; but this alone scarcely accounted for the want of success attending the active treatment of wounds of the intestine when occasion demanded. failure was rather to be referred to the severity of the local injury to be dealt with, or to the operations being necessarily undertaken at too late a date. many fatalities, again, were due to the association of other injuries, a large proportion of the wound tracks involving other organs or parts beyond the boundaries of the abdominal cavity.
-the frequent association of wounds of the thoracic cavity with those of the abdomen afforded many of the most striking examples of immunity from serious consequences as a result of wound of the pleura. it must be conceded that in a large number of such injuries only the extreme limits of the pleural sac were encroached upon, yet in some the tracks passed through the lungs, although without serious consequences. under the heading of injury to the large intestine a somewhat special form of pleural septicæmia will be referred to.
-it may at once be stated that such favourable results as occurred in abdominal injuries were practically limited to wounds caused by bullets of small calibre, and that, although in the short chapter dealing with shell injuries a few recoveries from visceral wounds will be mentioned, i never met with a penetrating visceral injury from a martini-henry or large sporting bullet which did not prove fatal.
-wounds of the abdominal wall.--it is somewhat paradoxical to say that these injuries possessed special interest from their comparative rarity of occurrence, since they were not of intrinsic importance. their infrequency depended on the difficulty of striking the body in such a plane as to implicate the belly wall alone, and their interest in the diagnostic difficulty which they gave rise to.
-in many cases the position of the openings and the strongly oval or gutter character possessed by them were sufficient proof of the superficial passage of the bullet; in others we had to bear in mind that the position of the patient when struck was rarely that of rest in the supine position, in which the surgical examination was made, and considerable difficulty arose. some superficial tracks crossing the belly wall have already been referred to in the chapter on wounds in general and in that dealing with injuries to the chest, in which the above characters sufficed to indicate that penetration of the abdominal cavity had not occurred. in other instances a definite subcutaneous gutter could be traced, and often in these a well-marked cord in the abdominal wall corresponding to the track could be felt at a later date. again, limitation to the abdominal wall was sometimes proved by the position of the retained bullet, or sometimes by the presence in the track of foreign bodies carried in with the projectile. see case 160.
-fig. 84 illustrates an example where the limitation to the abdominal wall was evident on inspection. here the division of the thick muscles of the abdominal wall had led to the formation of a swelling exactly similar to that seen after the subcutaneous rupture of a muscle, and two soft fluctuating tumours bounded by contracted muscle existed in the substance of the oblique and rectus muscles.
-in a certain proportion of the injuries the peritoneal cavity was no doubt perforated without the infliction of any further visceral injury, and in these also the doubt as to the occurrence of penetration was never solved.
-no signs of intra-peritoneal injury were noted, but free suppuration occurred in left loin; the ilium was tunnelled.
-the same patient was wounded by a jeffrey bullet in the hand; the third metacarpal was pulverised, although the bullet, which was longitudinally flanged, was retained.
-penetration of the intestinal area without definite evidence of visceral injury.--this accident occurred with a sufficient degree of frequency to obtain the greatest importance, both from the point of view of diagnosis and prognosis, and as affecting the question of operative interference. amongst the cases reported below a number occurred in which it was impossible to settle the question whether injury to the bowel had occurred or not, and i will here shortly give what explanation i can for the apparent escape of the intestine from serious injury.
-we may first recall the general question of the escape of structures lying to one or other side of the track of the bullet. i believe that there can be no doubt as to the accuracy of the remarks already made as to the escape of such structures as the nerves by means of displacement, and that the occurrence of such escapes is manifestly dependent on the degree of fixity of the nerve or the special segment of it implicated. the general tendency of the tissues around the tracks to escape extensive destruction from actual contusion has also been referred to, and is, i think, indisputable.
-if these observations be accepted, i think there can be no difficulty in allowing that the small intestine is exceptionally well arranged to escape injury. first of all, it is very moveable; secondly, it is so arranged that in certain directions a bullet may pass almost parallel to the long axis of the coils; thirdly, it is elastic, capable of compression, and light, and hence offers but a small degree of resistance to the passage of the bullet across the abdominal cavity.
-certain evidence both clinical and pathological supports the contention that the small intestine may escape injury from the passing bullet.
-first of all, the fact may be broadly stated that injuries to the small intestine were fatal in the great majority of certainly diagnosed cases, while, on the other hand, many tracks crossed the area occupied by the small intestine without serious symptoms of any kind resulting. secondly, experience showed that when the bullet crossed the line of the fixed portions of the large intestine the gut rarely escaped, and that, although a considerable proportion of these cases recovered spontaneously, in a large number of them immediate symptoms, or secondary complications, clearly substantiated the nature of the original injury. as far as my experience went, however, i never saw any instance in which an undoubted injury of the small intestine was followed by the development of a local peritoneal suppuration and recovery, a sequence by no means uncommon in the case of wounds of the large intestine. although, therefore, i am not prepared to deny the possibility of spontaneous recovery from an injury to the small intestine, under certain conditions which will be stated later, i believe that in the immense majority of cases in which a bullet crossed the small intestine area without the supervention of serious symptoms, the small intestine escaped perforating injury.
-beyond the clinical evidence offered above, certain pathological observations support the view that the intestine escapes perforation by displacement. most of my knowledge on this subject was derived from the limited number of abdominal sections i performed on cases of injury to the small intestine, and may be summed up as follows.
-the implication and perforation of the small intestine are to some extent influenced by the direction of the wound. a striking case is included below, no. 201, in which a bullet passed from the loin to the iliac fossa on each side of the body, approximately parallel to the course of the inner margin of the colon, and i also saw some other wounds in this direction in which no evidence of injury to the small intestine was detected, and which got well. again wounds from flank to flank were, as a rule, very fatal; but i saw more than one instance where these wounds were situated immediately below the crest of the ilium, in which the intestine escaped injury (see case 171). a very striking observation was made by mr. cheatle in such a wound. the patient died as a result of a double perforation of both cæcum and sigmoid flexure; none the less the bullet had crossed the small intestine area without inflicting any injury.
-the sum of my experience, in fact, was to encourage the belief that, unless the intestine was struck in such a direction as to render lateral displacement an impossibility, the gut often escaped perforation.
-as a rule, the wounds of the abdomen which from their position proved the most dangerous to the intestine were--
-1. wounds passing from one flank to the other were very dangerous, as crossing complicated coils of the small intestine, and two fixed portions of the colon. this danger was most marked when the wounds were situated between the eighth rib in the mid axillary line and the crest of the ilium; above this level the liver, or possibly liver and stomach, were sometimes alone implicated, and the cases did well. again, when the wounds crossed the false pelvis the patients sometimes escaped all injury to viscera.
-2. antero-posterior wounds in the small intestine area were very fatal if the course was direct; in such the small intestine seldom escaped injury.
-3. wounds with a certain degree of obliquity from anterior wall to flank, or from flank to loin, were on the other hand comparatively favourable, as the small intestine often escaped, and if any gut was wounded, it was often the colon.
-4. vertical wounds implicating the chest and abdomen, or the abdomen and pelvis, were on the whole not very unfavourable. for instance, when the bullet entered by the buttock and emerged below the umbilicus, a number of patients escaped fatal injury; this depended on the comparatively good prognosis in wounds of the rectum and bladder. a good many patients in whom the bullet entered by the upper part of the loin, and escaped 1-1/2 inch within the anterior superior spine of the ilium, also did well. the same holds good when the wounds either entered or emerged under the anterior costal margin of the thorax, either prior to or after traversing the thorax.
-wounds passing directly backward from the iliac regions were in my experience very unfavourable; but i believe mainly as a result of hæmorrhage from the iliac arteries.
-the occurrence of wounds of the abdomen of an 'explosive' character.--the vast majority of the abdominal wounds observed in the stationary or base hospitals were of the type dimensions. a certain number of the abdominal injuries which proved fatal on the field or shortly afterwards were described as explosive in character, and were referred by the observers to the employment of expanding bullets.
-a few words on this subject seem necessary, because it seems doubtful whether such injuries could be produced by any of the forms of expanding bullet of small calibre in use, unless the track crossed one of the bones in the abdominal or pelvic wall. that this was sometimes the case there is no doubt: thus i saw two cases in which the splenic flexure of the colon was wounded, in which the external opening was large, and a comminuted fracture of the ribs of the left side existed. one can well believe that bullets passing through the pelvic bones might 'set up' to a considerable extent, and although i never happened to see such a case, an explanation of some of the wounds described by others might be found in this occurrence.
-in instances in which the soft parts alone were perforated, i am disinclined to believe that bullets of small calibre, either regulation or soft-nosed, were responsible for the injuries. i had the opportunity of examining two mauser bullets of the jeffreys variety which crossed the abdomen and caused death. in the first (figured on page 94, fig. 40) very little alteration beyond slight shortening had occurred. in the second the deformity was almost the same, except that the side of the bullet was indented, probably from impact with some object prior to its entry into the body. in each case the bullet was of course travelling at a low rate of velocity; hence no very strong inference can be drawn from either. in the case of the second specimen, which was removed by mr. cheatle, a remarkable observation was made, which tends to throw some light on one possible mode of production of large exit apertures. this bullet crossed the cæcum, making two small type openings; but later, when it crossed the sigmoid flexure, it tore two large irregular openings in the gut. this might be explained on the ground that the velocity was so small as only just to allow of perforation, which therefore took the nature of a tear. i am inclined to suggest, as a more likely explanation, that the spent bullet turned head over heels in its course across the abdomen, and made lateral or irregular impact with the last piece of bowel it touched. a slightly greater degree of force would have allowed a similar large and irregular opening to be made in the abdominal wall also.
-in this relation the question will naturally be raised as to how far the explosive appearances may have been due to high velocity alone on the part of the bullet. i am disinclined from my general experience to believe that explosive injuries of the soft parts were to be thus explained. on the other hand, i believe that the possession of a low degree of velocity very greatly increased the danger in abdominal wounds. i believe that the bowel was, under these circumstances, less likely to escape by displacement, and was more widely torn when wounded; again, that inexact impact led to increase of size in the external apertures, and the bullet was of course more often retained.
-i believe the majority of the wounds designated as explosive were the result of the passage of large leaden bullets, either of the martini-henry or express type. the small opportunity of observing such injuries in the hospitals of course depended on the fact that the majority were rapidly fatal.
-nature of the anatomical lesion in wounds of the intestine.--the openings in the parietal peritoneum tended to assume the slit or star forms, probably on account of the elasticity of the membrane. a diagram of one of these forms is appended to fig. 89. in this instance the opening in the peritoneum was made from the abdominal aspect, prior to the escape of the bullet from the cavity, and on the impact of the tip, the long axis of the bullet was oblique to the surface of the abdominal wall.
-in the intestinal wall the openings varied in character according to the mode of impact.
-in some cases the gut was merely contused by lateral contact of the passing bullet. the result of this was evidenced later by the presence of localised oval patches of ecchymosis. these were identical in appearance with the patches shown surrounding the wounds in fig. 87.
-more forcible lateral impact produced a split of the peritoneum, or of this together with the muscular coat. such a lateral slit is shown in fig. 85, although the clearness of outline is somewhat impaired by the presence of a considerable amount of inflammatory lymph.
-fig. 86 exhibits a lateral injury of a more pronounced form. the bullet here struck the most prominent portion of the under surface of the bowel, and produced a circular perforation not very unlike one produced by rectangular impact, except in the lesser degree of eversion of the mucous membrane. here again the appearance is somewhat altered by the presence of a considerable amount of lymph, but this is of less importance in this figure because the lymph is localised to the portion of the bowel in the immediate neighbourhood of the opening which had suffered contusion and erasion.
-fig. 87, a b, illustrates a symmetrical perforation of the small intestine; the aperture of entry (a) is roughly circular, and a ring of mucous membrane protrudes and partially closes the opening. the aperture of exit is a curved slit, again partially occluded by the mucous membrane. the same amount of difference between the two apertures did not always exist; in many cases both were circular, and apparently symmetrical. beyond this i have seen three apertures in close proximity, two lying on the same aspect of the bowel, and the first of these was no doubt an opening due to lateral impact similar to that seen in fig. 86. in the recent condition little difference existed between the three apertures.
-the localised ecchymosis surrounding the apertures is quite characteristic of this form of injury, and is a valuable aid to finding the openings during an operation.
-fig. 88 shows the interior of the same segment of bowel, as fig. 87. it shows the localised ecchymosis as seen from the inner surface, here rather more extensive from the fact that the blood spreads more readily in the submucous tissue.
-it will be noted that the main feature of the form of injury is the regular outline and the small size of the wounds. another feature not illustrated by the figures should also be mentioned. in the ruptures of intestine with which we are acquainted in civil practice the wound in the gut is almost without exception situated at the free border of the bowel, but in these injuries it was just as frequently at the mesenteric margin. the importance of this factor is considerable, since wounds near the mesenteric edge are much more likely to be accompanied by hæmorrhage, and thus the opportunity for diffusion of infection is considerably multiplied, to say nothing of the danger from loss of blood.
-beyond these more or less pure perforations, long slits or gutters were occasionally cut. i saw instances of these in the case of the ascending colon, and in the small curvature of the stomach. the comparative fixity of the portion of bowel struck is a matter of great importance in the production of this form of injury.
-it may be well to add that, although the figures inserted are all taken from small-intestine wounds, the nature of the wounds of the peritoneum-clad part of the large intestine in no way differed from them, except in so far as fixity of the bowel exposed it to a more extensive wound when the bullet took a parallel course to its long axis.
-wounds of the mesentery.--i had little experience of this injury; in fact, case 169, on which i operated, was my sole observation. it stands to reason, however, that injuries to the mesentery would be much more frequent proportionately to wounds of the gut than is the case in the ruptures seen in civil practice, since the whole area of the mesentery is equally open to injury. viewing the extreme danger of hæmorrhage into the peritoneal cavity in these injuries, i should be inclined to expect that a considerable proportion of those deaths from abdominal wounds which took place on the field of battle were due to this source.
-wounds of the omentum.--here, again, i am unable to express any opinion, although the supposition that hæmorrhage from this source took place is natural.
-prolapse of omentum was comparatively rare, except in cases with large wounds; it was apparently seen with some frequency among patients who died rapidly on the field of battle. i only saw it twice, and on each occasion in shell wounds. the wounds from small-calibre bullets were as a rule too small to allow of external prolapse.
-fig. 89, however, illustrates a very interesting observation. a patient in the german ambulance in heilbron, under dr. flockemann, died as a result of suppuration and hæmorrhage secondary to an injury to the colon. at the autopsy a portion of the omentum was found adherent in the wound of exit, but it had not reached the external surface. the chief interest of the observation lies in the light it throws on the mechanism of these injuries. it is impossible to conceive that a small-calibre bullet coming into direct contact with the omentum could do anything but perforate it. it, therefore, appears clear that in a displacement like that figured, only lateral impact occurred with the omentum, which was carried along by the spin and rush of the bullet into the canal of exit, where it lodged.
-results of injury to the intestine. 1. escape of contents and infection of the peritoneal cavity.--i think there is little special to be said on this subject. the escape of contents into the peritoneal cavity was by no means free, unless the injury was multiple. thus in one case of injury to the small intestine, no. 166, on which i operated, there was absolutely no gross escape until the bowel was removed from the abdominal cavity, when the contents spurted out freely. in one case of very oblique injury to the colon there was a considerable quantity of fæcal matter in a localised space, but as a rule the ordinary condition best described as 'peritoneal infection' from the wound was found. the bad effect of anything like free escape was well shown in multiple perforations; in these suppurative peritonitis rapidly developed and the patients died at the end of thirty-six hours or less. a typical case is quoted in no. 168.
-2. peritoneal infection, and general septicæmia.--as is evident from the results quoted among the cases, the degree which this reached varied greatly. it may of course be assumed that in some measure it occurred in every case in which the bowel was perforated, but it was sometimes so slight as to be scarcely noticeable. this may be said to have been most common in injuries to the large intestine. wounds of the cæcum, ascending and descending colon, the sigmoid flexure, or the rectum, were sometimes followed by no serious symptoms, either local or general. again in these portions of the bowel the development of local signs, and the later formation of an abscess, were by no means uncommon.
-in the case of the small intestine i never observed this sequence, and the same may be said of the transverse colon, which in its anatomical arrangement and position so nearly approximates to the small bowel. in suspected wounds of these portions of the bowel either the symptoms were so slight as to render it doubtful whether a perforation had occurred, or marked signs of general peritoneal septicæmia developed, and death resulted.
-the condition of the peritoneum in fatal cases varied much. in some a dry peritonitis, or one in which a considerable quantity of slightly turbid fluid was effused, was found. in others a rapid suppurative process, accompanied by the effusion of large quantities of plastic lymph, was met with. my experience suggested that the latter condition was the result of free infection from multiple wounds of the gut, the former the accompaniment of single wounds. hence i should ascribe the difference mainly to the extent of the primary infection.
-this is perhaps a suitable place to further discuss the explanation of the escape of a considerable number of the patients who received wounds of the abdomen, possibly implicating the bowel. although this was not, i think, so common an occurrence as has been sometimes assumed, yet many examples were met with. several reasons have been advanced.
-some of the men did, however, drink freely, and in one case which terminated fatally a comrade gave a man wounded through the belly an immediate dose of beecham's pills.
-i should be inclined to ascribe the escape from serious infection in these injuries to the same cause which accounts for their comparative insignificance in other regions--namely, the small calibre of the bullet and consequent small size of the lesion: in point of fact to the minimal nature of the primary infection. i very much doubt if any patient who had more than one complete perforation of the small intestine got well during the whole campaign. this opinion is, moreover, supported by the fact that the prognosis was so far better in cases of injury to the large than to the small intestine, in which former segment of the bowel we have the advantages of a position beyond the region in which intestinal movement is most free, the unlikelihood of multiple injury, and a drier and more solid type of fæcal contents.
-in the instances in which recovery followed perforating injuries without any bad signs we can only assume a minimal infection, and sufficient irritation and reaction on the part of the bowel to produce rapid adhesion between contiguous coils, and thus provisional closure.
-the other mode of spontaneous recovery which i saw several times take place in the injuries to the large bowel consisted in the limitation of the spread of infection by early adhesions and the development of a local abscess. the non-observance of this process in any case of injury to the small intestine raises very great doubts in my mind as to the frequent recovery of patients in whom the small intestine was perforated.
-injuries to the intestinal tract
-1. wounds of the stomach.--a considerable number of wounds in such a situation as to have possibly implicated the stomach were observed, and of these a certain number recovered spontaneously. the only two instances that came under my own observation are recorded below. it will be noted that in each the special symptoms were the classic ones of vomiting and hæmatemesis. in the first case blood was also passed per anum, and in the second the diagnosis was reinforced by the escape of stomach contents from the external wound.
-i believe that the secondary hæmorrhage was the main element in robbing us of a success in this case, and that this depended on the digestion of the wound by the gastric secretion. the early troubles which arose in the treatment of this patient well illustrate the difficulties by which the military surgeon is at times met; but the patient was admirably attended to and nursed by my friend mr. pershouse, and an orderly who was specially put on duty for the purpose.
-ten days after the injury the temperature was still rising to 100°, and did not become normal till the fourteenth day. the pulse averaged 80. the abdomen, meanwhile, moved fairly well, respirations 18 to 20. some tenderness was present in the epigastrium and towards the spleen. resonance throughout. ordinary diet was now resumed, and beyond slight epigastric pain on deep inspiration, no further symptoms were observed, and the patient left for england at the end of the month. the spleen may have been traversed in this patient, as well as the lower margin of the right lung.
-on the commencement of the third day the patient's expression was extremely anxious, and he was suffering great pain. pulse 96, temperature 100°. tongue moist, occasional vomiting, bowels open yesterday. has taken fluid nourishment since injury. the abdomen moved with respiration, but was moderately distended, especially in the line of the transverse colon; it was tympanitic on percussion, there was no dulness in the flanks, and only moderate rigidity of the wall on palpation. frothy fluid stained with bile and fæcal in odour was escaping from the wound of exit, and the everted margins of the latter were bile-stained.
-a vertical incision was carried downwards from the wound for 4 inches. a rugged furrow was found on the under surface of the left lobe of the liver; the stomach was contracted and firmly adherent by recent lymph to the under surface of the liver and the diaphragm. the transverse colon was much distended. on separating the stomach a slit wound was found at the lesser curvature, immediately to the right of the oesophagus. this wound was closed with some difficulty with two tiers of sutures; the cavity was mopped out, and then irrigated with boiled water; a plug was introduced along the line of the furrow in the liver, and the lower part of the abdominal incision closed.
-on the second day after operation there was some improvement; the pulse still numbered 116, and the temperature was raised to 100°, but the belly moved fairly, and pain was moderate. abundant foul-smelling, bile-stained discharge came from the wound when the plug was removed. rectal feeding was supplemented by small quantities of milk and soda by the mouth.
-the condition did not materially change, but on the fourth day it was evident that the suturing of the stomach wound had given way, and liquid food escaped readily when taken. the discharge remained bile-stained and very foul. no extension of inflammation to the general peritoneal cavity occurred, but it was evident that the patient was suffering from constitutional infection from the foul wound, the lower part of which opened up somewhat after the removal of the stitches on the seventh day. the wound was irrigated three times daily with 1-300 creolin lotion, but remained very foul. the man slowly lost strength, although escape from the stomach considerably decreased. on the tenth day a sudden severe hæmorrhage occurred, presumably from a large branch of the coeliac axis. the bleeding was readily controlled by a plug, and did not recur; but the patient rapidly sank, and died on the twelfth day after the operation, and fourteen days after reception of the injury. no post-mortem examination was made.
-2. wounds of the small intestine.--these were comparatively common, but offered little that was special either in their symptoms or the results attending them. wounds were met with in every part of the small gut; but i saw no case in which an injury to the duodenum could be specially diagnosed.
-as to the symptoms which attended these injuries, it is somewhat difficult to speak with precision, and it must be left to my readers to form an opinion as to how many of the cases recounted below were really instances of perforating wounds. my own view is that in the majority of the cases that got well spontaneously, the injury was not of a perforating nature, and that for reasons which have been already set forth. it will, however, be at once noted that in all the five cases in which the injury was certainly diagnosed in hospital death occurred.
-the cases of injury to the small intestine are perhaps best arranged in three classes.
-1. those who died upon the field, or shortly after removal from it. in these the external wounds were often large, the omentum was not rarely prolapsed, and escape of fæces sometimes occurred early. shock from the severity of the lesion, and hæmorrhage, were no doubt important factors in the early lethal issue in this class. many of the injuries were no doubt produced by bullets striking irregularly, by ricochets, by bullets of the expanding forms, or by bullets of large calibre. as being beyond the bounds of surgical aid, this class possessed the least interest.
-2. cases brought into the field, or even the stationary hospitals, with symptoms of moderate severity, or even of an insignificant character, in which evidence of septic peritonitis suddenly developed and death ensued.
-3. cases in which the position of the wounds raised the possibility of injury to the intestine, but in which the symptoms were slight or of moderate severity, and which recovered spontaneously.
-the whole crux in diagnosis lay in the attempt to separate the two latter classes, and, personally, i must own to having been no nearer a position of being able to form an opinion on this point, in the late than in the early stage of my stay in south africa. the advent of peritoneal septicæmia was in many instances the only determining moment. on this matter i can only add that, in civil practice, an exploratory abdominal section is often the only means of determination of a rupture of the bowel wall.
-with regard to the cases of suspected injury to the bowel which recovered spontaneously, the symptoms were somewhat special in their comparative slightness, and in the limited nature of the local signs. thus the pulse seldom rose to as much as 100 in rate, 80 was a common average. respiration was never greatly quickened, 24 was a common rate. the temperature rarely exceeded 100°. vomiting was occasionally severe, but usually not persistent, ceasing on the second day. a good quantity of urine was passed. as to the local signs, these again were of a limited nature; distension did not occur, or was slight; movement of the abdominal wall was only restricted in the neighbourhood of the wound, the affected area amounted to a quarter, or at most half, the abdominal wall, and rigidity was localised to a similar segment. local tenderness usually existed; but, as a rule, there was little or no dulness to point to the occurrence either of fluid effusion or a considerable deposition of lymph.
-again many of the patients suffered with very slight symptoms of constitutional shock, although there was considerable variation in this particular.
-the abdomen was opened at 5 a.m. on the fourth day, as the local signs had become more pronounced, and the patient had passed a restless night in great abdominal pain. a local incision was chosen, as the wound was presumably in the sigmoid flexure. the sigmoid flexure was adherent to the abdominal wall opposite the wound of exit, and a dark ecchymosed patch was found, but no perforation could be detected. foul pus and gas escaped freely from the pelvis, but no wound of the large bowel could be discovered here. on enlarging the incision upwards three openings were found in a coil of jejunum, probably that about five feet from the duodenal junction usually provided with the longest mesentery. no fourth opening could be found. the openings were circular, about 1/3 inch in diameter, clean cut, with a ring of everted mucous membrane, and the wall of the bowel in the neighbourhood was thickened. all three openings were included within a length of 2-1/2 inches. there was no surrounding ecchymosis of the bowel wall. very little escaped intestinal contents were found in the situation of the bowel. the latter had apparently been retracted upwards, and lay to the left of the lumbar spine. the wounds were readily closed by five lembert's sutures, three crossing the openings, and one at each end. the belly was then washed out with boiled water and closed. the delay in finding the wounds due to the mistaken impression that they would be found in the pelvis materially prolonged the operation, which lasted an hour and a half. the patient never rallied, and died seventeen hours later. it is possible that a wound in the sigmoid flexure was present which had already closed at the time of operation.
-abdominal section. median incision. a considerable quantity of bloody effusion was evacuated. intestine generally congested and distended. no lymph. two wounds were found in the ileum on the opposite sides of one coil; the openings were circular, with the mucous membrane everted. no escape of fæcal matter was visible until the intestine was delivered, when intestinal contents spurted freely across the room. the openings were sutured with five lembert's stitches. the bowel was punctured in two places to relieve distension, and then returned into the belly, after washing with boiled water.
-four pints of saline solution were infused into the median basilic vein, and 1/30 grain strychnine sulph. was injected hypodermically.
-the patient did not rally, and died twelve hours after the operation.
-in the evening the patient was apparently dying. face blue and sunken and covered with sweat, eyes dull, speechless, pulse imperceptible, restlessness extreme, bowels acting involuntarily, no urine in bladder.
-the man was placed in a tent by himself, and to my surprise was alive and better the next morning; the expression was still anxious, but the face brighter and not sweating; the pulse only numbered 100, but was very weak, and the hands and feet were cold. the condition of the abdomen was unaltered, but the thoracic respiration had decreased in rapidity from 48 to 28.
-his condition still seemed to preclude any chance of successful intervention, but none the less life was retained until the morning of the seventh day, the state alternating between a moribund one and one of slight improvement. he was lucid at times, although for the most part wandering, and was so restless that no covering could be kept upon him. vomiting was continuous, so that no nourishment could be retained; the bowels acted frequently involuntarily, and little or no urine was passed. meanwhile, the abdomen became flat, then sunken, an area of induration and tenderness about 6 inches in diameter developing around the wound of entry. slight variations in the pulse, and from normal to subnormal in the temperature, were noted, and death eventually occurred from septicæmia and inanition.
-post-mortem condition.--belly not distended, dull anteriorly in patches, and right flank dull throughout. when the belly was opened, extensive adhesion of omentum and intestine enclosing numerous collections of pus were disclosed, and on disturbing the adhesions a large collection of turbid blood-stained fluid was set free from the right loin. the great omentum was much thickened and matted, with deposition of thick patches of lymph; very firm recent adhesions also united numerous coils of small intestine. the pus was foetid, but no appreciable quantity of intestinal contents was detected in it. the lower half or more of the small intestine was injected, reddened, and thickened. the wounds which were situated in the lower part of the jejunum and ileum were multiple, and seven perforations were detected; besides these the intestine was marked by bruises, and some gutter slits affecting the serous and muscular coats only. considerable ecchymosis surrounded these latter. the clean perforations were circular, less than 1/4 inch in diameter, and for the most part closed by eversion of the mucous membrane. intestinal contents were not apparent, but escaped freely on manipulation of the bowel.
-the next morning the patient was comfortable; temperature 100.2°, pulse 100. tongue clean and moist; he vomited once during the night.
-some bloody discharge had collected in the dressing, and at the lower angle of wound there was a local swelling, apparently in the abdominal wall. the flank was resonant.
-death was apparently due to renewal of the previous hæmorrhage. no post-mortem examination was made.
-no further signs, however, developed under an expectant treatment, and he remained some two months in hospital, while the wound in the thigh and a third injury to the elbow-joint were healing.
-two days later the temperature rose to 104°, and enteric fever was diagnosed, no local signs pointing to the injury existing. the patient made a good recovery.
-when the patient came under observation on the third day the condition was as follows:--complains of little pain, temperature normal, pulse 72, respirations 24, tongue moist, bowels confined. rigidity of abdominal wall and deficient mobility of nearly whole right half of belly, the whole lower half of which moves little with respiration. no track palpable in abdominal parietes. no dulness, no distension. the temperature rose to 99.5° at night. on the fourth day the bowels acted freely, the pulse fell to 60, the respirations were 24, and the temperature normal.
-tenderness and rigidity persisted in the right flank to the end of a week, after which time no further signs persisted.
-the next day the pulse fell to 60 and the bowels acted, but there was no change in the local condition. the man looked somewhat ill until the end of a week, but was then sent to the base, and at the expiration of a month was sent home well.
-forty-six hours after the injury the condition was as follows: face slightly anxious and pale; skin moist, temperature 100.4°; pulse 116, regular and of fair strength; respirations 24; abdomen slightly tumid; tenderness over lower half, especially on left side; the lower half moves little with respiration.
-99°. pulse 104. respirations 24. abdomen flatter; general respiratory movement; tenderness now mainly localised to an area 2-1/2 inches in diameter, to the left of the umbilicus, above exit wound.
-the patient continued to improve, and on the fifth day travelled six hours in a bullock wagon to bloemfontein. soon after arrival his temperature was normal: pulse 80, respirations 16, with good abdominal movement. local tenderness persisted in the same area, but was less in degree. tongue rather dry, bowels confined. micturition normal. two drachms of castor oil and an enema were given.
-on the ninth day patient was practically well, except for slight deep tenderness. he remained in bed on ordinary light diet, but at the end of the third week he was seized by a sudden attack of pain, the temperature rising to 103° and the pulse to 140, the abdomen becoming swollen and tender. he was then under the charge of mr. bowlby, who ordered some opium, and the symptoms rapidly subsided. although this wound crossed the small intestine area, it is probable that the symptoms may have been due to an injury of the rectum or sigmoid flexure.
-3. wounds of the large intestine.--injuries to every part of the large bowel were observed, and spontaneous recoveries were seen in all parts except the transverse colon, which, as already remarked, is near akin to the small intestine with regard to its position and anatomical arrangement.
-the only case of perforation of the vermiform appendix that i heard of, one under the care of mr. stonham, died of peritoneal septicæmia. several cases of recovery from wounds of the cæcum and ascending colon are recounted below. the only points of importance in the nature of the signs of these injuries were their primary insignificance, and the comparative frequency with which local peritoneal suppuration followed them. the absence of a similar sequence in some of the cases in which wounds of the small intestine were assumed, was, in my opinion, one of the strongest reasons for doubting the correctness of the diagnosis. it is also a significant fact that injuries of the ascending colon--that is to say, of the portion of the large bowel which perhaps lies most free from the area occupied by the small intestine--were those which most frequently recovered.
-the following cases afford examples of the course followed in a number of injuries to the large intestine, and illustrate both the uncomplicated and the complicated modes of spontaneous recovery.
-no. 180 affords a good example of an extra-peritoneal injury, and of the especially fatal character of such lesions. this case was also one of my surgical disappointments.
-nos. 182, 183 are of great interest in several particulars. first, the aperture of exit was large and allowed the escape of fæces, not a very common feature in wounds not proving immediately fatal. secondly, in neither were any peritoneal signs observed. thirdly, in each the exit wound communicated with the pleura, and the patients died from septicæmia mainly due to absorption from the surface of that membrane (pleural septicæmia).
-no. 190 is a most striking instance of spontaneous cure, since no doubt can exist that both rectum and bladder were perforated.
-entry (lee-metford), in right thigh, 3 inches below and 1 inch within anterior superior spine of ilium; exit, in back, on a level with the fourth lumbar spinous process and 3 inches from that point.
-half an hour after the wound the patient commenced to suffer severe stabbing pain; he lay on the field one hour; later he was taken to a field hospital, and on the second day was sent by train a distance of twenty-five miles.
-when seen at the end of fifty hours the condition was as follows. face anxious, complexion dusky. great abdominal pain, especially about the umbilicus. vomiting frequent and distressing; bowels confined since the accident; tongue dry and furred. urine scanty. pulse full and strong, 125; respirations, entirely thoracic, 30.
-abdomen generally distended and tympanitic, wall rigid and motionless. dulness in right flank, together with superficial oedema and emphysema.
-during the succeeding six days progress was not unsatisfactory: the abdomen became soft, moved with respiration, there was no sickness, and the bowels acted. the pulse fell to 90, respirations to 20, and the temperature did not exceed 102° f. the wound suppurated freely, however, and although there were no further signs of peritoneal septicæmia, it was evident that general infection had taken place, and on the sixth day a parotid bubo developed on the right side, which was opened.
-on the seventh day the patient suddenly commenced to fail rapidly; vomiting was almost continuous--at first curdled milk, later frothy watery fluid--and on the eighth day he died. the abdomen remained soft, sunken, and flaccid, and death no doubt resulted from general septicæmia rather than from peritoneal infection, absorption taking place from the large foul cavity behind the colon. as the cavity in part surrounded the descending duodenum, this possibly accounted for the attack of vomiting which preceded death.
-the injury was followed by little abdominal pain, but a strange sensation of local gurgling was noted. the bowels acted as soon as the patient reached camp, some hours after being wounded. there was no sickness and nothing abnormal was noted in the motions, except that they were loose and light-coloured.
-on the evening of the third day the patient came under observation in the ambulance train for capetown. he looked somewhat anxious and ill, but he complained of little pain; the temperature was 102°, pulse 88, fair strength, soft and regular. there was local dulness, tenderness, and deficiency of movement in the right iliac region. as it was night, he was removed from the train and an operation was performed the next morning.
-the after-treatment of the case gave rise to no anxiety, but healing of the resulting sinus was slow; fæcal-smelling pus escaped for some days, and a number of small sloughs came away. on the twelfth day the patient was sent down to wynberg, where he remained twelve weeks. a counter-incision was needed in the loin to drain the suppurating cavity three weeks after the primary operation, and five weeks after the operation an escape of gas and fæces took place from the anterior wound, while the bowels were acting, as a result of a dose of castor oil. no further escape of fæces occurred, and he left for england with a small sinus only. no extension of inflammation into the original wound track ever occurred, both openings and the canal healing by primary union.
-the sinus remained open, and occasionally discharged for a further period of six months, and then healed firmly; since when the patient has been in perfect health.
-when seen on the sixth day the condition was as follows:--patient cheerful and not in great pain. temperature 99.2°; pulse 120; respirations 48, very shallow. abdomen soft, moving freely, no distension or general tenderness. fluid fæces escaping in abundance from the wound in loin. redness of skin and swelling below level of wound, and cellular emphysema above. fæcal-smelling fluid was also escaping from the thoracic wound.
-the wound was enlarged, but the patient rapidly sank, and died of septicæmia on the seventh day.
-no post-mortem examination was made in either case, but i believe in both the extra-peritoneal aspect of the colon was implicated and that the septicæmia was in great part due to absorption from the pleural rather than the peritoneal cavity, since in neither case were the abdominal symptoms a prominent feature.
-the injury was followed by pain in the left half of the abdomen and vomiting, which continued for two days. the bowels acted on the third day; no nourishment was taken for two days, but a small quantity of water was allowed. no further symptoms were noted, and at the end of a fortnight the patient was well, except for slight local tenderness. the bullet could not be detected with the x-rays.
-on the tenth day he arrived at the base, when he was lying on his back suffering considerable pain. the temperature ranged to 101°. there was diarrhoea and cystitis, with a considerable amount of pus in the urine, which was very offensive. a small fluctuating spot existed on the back, just to the right of the original exit wound which was firmly healed. the abdomen moved fairly with respiration in its upper part, but was motionless below, especially in the right iliac fossa; some induration was to be felt here. the right thigh was kept flexed.
-during the next few days the pus disappeared from the urine, and with this change the induration in the right iliac fossa increased. an incision (mr. gairdner) was made into the fluctuating spot behind, and pus evacuated. the patient recovered.
-the patient was starved for the first thirty-six hours, a little warm water then being allowed. no symptoms developed, and a perfect recovery followed.
-at the post-mortem examination a large quantity of chocolate-coloured fluid was found free in the abdomen and pelvis. a chain of small local abscesses was found surrounding the ascending colon, and a larger one over the front of the cæcum. the wall of the ascending colon was generally thickened, and from this, in three places, openings with rounded margins connected the abscess cavities with the lumen of the bowel. one of the openings, larger than the others, was possibly the aperture of entry of the bullet; the others were apparently spontaneous.
-at the anterior border of the right lobe of the liver an abscess cavity existed in connection with the wound of the liver, and this was continuous with the aperture of exit, although not discharging. the aperture of exit was plugged by a tag of omentum (see fig. 89). no obvious source of the hæmorrhage was forthcoming, but it probably originated in one of the large branches of the vena cava. the bullet had struck the transverse process of the lumbar vertebra, but had not given rise to any signs of spinal concussion.
-a year later the man had resumed active duty, and, except for occasional pain on stooping, considered himself well.
-the following cases are appended as of some general interest. the first two (191, 192) illustrate extra-peritoneal injuries to the rectum. in neither did positive evidence exist of wound of the bowel, but the symptoms in each rendered this accident probable. case 193 is an illustration of apparent escape of the anal canal in a wound in which from the position of the external apertures this escape would have appeared impossible.
-wounds of the extra-peritoneal portion of the rectum, as a rule, appeared to have a somewhat better prognosis than would have been expected; in any case, the prognosis was far better than that obtaining in wounds of the base of the urinary bladder. my experience on the subject of these wounds was, however, limited to the two cases quoted.
-case 194 is inserted as an example of the complicated nature of the abdominal injuries not so very unfrequently met with. it illustrates well the difficulty which may arise at any stage in the course of treatment of an injury, in the certain determination or exclusion of wound of a part of the alimentary canal.
-the wounds granulated slowly with continuous suppuration, but were healed, and the patient returned home at the end of fourteen weeks, the bowels acting normally.
-on the fifth day there was considerable induration around the wound of exit, and the upper half of the abdomen was immobile and tender. the temperature rose to 100°, and the pulse was 96. shortly afterwards a similar condition was noted in the lower half of the abdomen; the temperature continued to be raised and the pulse quickened, when on the thirteenth day a considerable quantity of pus was passed per rectum, and diarrhoea set in; this continued for three days, with marked improvement in the general symptoms. micturition, which had been painful, became normal; the pulse and temperature fell, and the expression became less anxious. the patient continued to sleep badly, however, and complained of pain.
-at the end of the third week he still looked ill, but was easier. temperature normal in the morning, 100° in evening, pulse 80. tongue thickly furred, but moist. still on milk diet; appetite bad; bowels irregular.
-the abdomen moved little in the lower half, induration persisted in the left iliac fossa, the left thigh continued flexed, and resonance was impaired to the left of the umbilicus.
-at the end of six weeks a distinct hard swelling in two parts, separated by a resonant area, was noted to the left of the umbilicus and in the left iliac fossa. the abdomen moved fairly, and there was little tenderness over the swelling. during the next week the swelling appeared to increase and to fluctuate; at the same time the temperature again began to rise to 100° and 101° at eve. the swelling was taken to be a localised peritoneal suppuration, and an incision was made over it; but this led down to a free peritoneal cavity, with a tumour pressing up from the posterior abdominal wall. the wound was therefore closed, and a fresh extra-peritoneal incision made, immediately above poupart's ligament, when the swelling proved to be a large retro-peritoneal hæmatoma. as the cavity extended into the pelvis and up to the level of the costal margin, it was deemed wise only to evacuate a part of the blood-clot. the origin of the bleeding was not determined, and the wound was closed and healed by first intention. the man continued to improve, and left for home five weeks later.
-this patient has continued to improve since his return, but the left thigh is still somewhat flexed.
-prognosis in intestinal injuries.--this was of a most discouraging character compared with the prognosis in abdominal injuries as a whole. the cases were of two classes, however: those that died within twenty-four hours, and those that died at the end of from three days to a week.
-cases falling into the first category are obviously of little importance from the point of view of surgical treatment. many of them died from the widespread nature of the injury, and the shock produced by it; others from hæmorrhage from the large abdominal vessels. it is unlikely that any could have been saved, even under the most satisfactory conditions.
-in the following small table, therefore, i have included only the cases which have been already quoted, which survived long enough to be amenable to surgical treatment, and which were for some days under my own observation. some of them, in fact almost all, i watched until they were either convalescent, or died, and in six i performed operations.
-i am aware, and have short details of the histories of eight patients wounded in the same battles who died prior to the termination of the first thirty-six hours; but these are not included, for the reason stated above, and also because i am uncertain whether all the injuries were produced by bullets of small calibre.
-included in the above table are thirty instances of intestinal injury, and these are divided up according to the segment of the intestinal canal implicated, and also as to whether the perforation was certain, or only assumed from the position of the external apertures and the presence of abdominal symptoms of a noticeable grade.
-from this analysis it appears clear--
-1. that wounds of the stomach have a comparatively good prognosis, and that they may recover spontaneously. it is true that only two examples are included in my table; but i was at various times shown patients with similar injuries and histories, and a number of cases which have been published appear to substantiate the opinion. from our experience of the occasional spontaneous recovery of gastric perforations from disease, i think we might be prepared to expect that the stomach would offer a comparatively favourable seat for these wounds. it may be pointed out, however, that hæmatemesis, the main feature in the symptoms pointing to wound, is by no means direct proof of more than contusion.
-2. that perforating wounds of the small intestine are very fatal injuries; every patient in whom the condition was certainly diagnosed died.
-3. that in the cases in which a perforation was inferred from the position of the external apertures and the symptoms, not one patient suffered from the secondary complications--e.g. local peritonitis and suppuration, which were common in the case of the large intestine, and which we are accustomed to see after perforation from disease. this renders the occurrence of actual perforation in the majority of the cases a matter of very grave doubt.
-if spontaneous recovery does take place after this injury, it is only in cases in which the wounds are single, and slight in character.
-4. that in eight cases in which perforation of the large intestine was certain, four recoveries took place; but in each instance suppuration occurred. i am, however, quite prepared to believe that perforation may have occurred in some or all of the other four cases included as 'possible,' provided the wounds were intra-peritoneal.
-wounds of the cæcum and ascending colon are those which have the best prognosis, and after these of the rectum. the comparatively good prognosis in these parts is what would be expected, on account of their greater fixity, and lesser tendency to be covered by the small intestine.
-an extra-peritoneal wound of any of these portions of the bowel is more dangerous than an intra-peritoneal, and more likely to give rise to septicæmia.
-of the cases included in my table eighteen of the possible intestinal injuries were observed among the wounded of the four battles of the kimberley relief force. these cases i saw early and followed to their termination, and i believe the list contains the great majority of all the patients who received intestinal wounds in those battles. on inquiry i could not learn of others from the officers of the field hospitals; but no doubt some patients died before their reception into hospital, and some may have been overlooked; again, i know of two cases in which death took place within the first week, but which went direct to the base and did not come under my observation. these exceptions being made, we have a fairly complete series, from which some deductions may be drawn. the cases included are marked with an asterisk.
-of the eighteen cases, eight or 44.4 per cent. died. these were made up as follows:--stomach, one case; this patient died at the end of fourteen days, as a result of secondary hæmorrhage and septicæmia. it was complicated by a severe wound of the liver and also one of the lung.
-small intestine, four certain cases; all died, two after operation in the stage of septicæmia, and one after operation from recurrent hæmorrhage, possibly from the mesentery. of the other six cases one can only say that the position of the wounds was such as to render wound of the intestine possible, and that all suffered with abdominal symptoms of some severity.
-large intestine. of six cases in which wound was certain, three died, one after operation. one recovered after operation, two recovered with local peritoneal suppuration. in one case the injury could only be returned as possible.
-'the number of the wounded was 154, and in fifteen it was considered that the abdominal cavity had been penetrated. of these patients, five had already died within twenty-four to twenty-eight hours after the injury, and i saw ten who were still alive. of these nine were left alone, and four died within the next twenty-four or thirty-six hours; five were still alive when i left karee on sunday afternoon, april 1. on one i operated, but he died on april 2.
-the karee statistics are really the only complete ones which i have as yet been able to obtain. the following are the notes of the cases above alluded to.
-besides the five cases of abdominal wounds which had already died, and of which i could get no complete details, the following ten are cases which i saw from twenty-four to thirty hours after they were shot:--
-cases from the action at karee
-case i.--the point of entrance was 2 inches to the right of the umbilicus, and the bullet was found lying under the skin far back in the left loin. the patient was pulseless, and there was much rigidity of the abdomen, tenderness, and vomiting. he died a few hours later.
-case ii.--the bullet, coming from the side, had entered the abdomen 4 inches below and behind the right nipple. there was no exit wound. the patient had been vomiting a good deal, but not any blood; the abdomen was very rigid and tender. he was obviously very ill, and died the next morning. the bullet had probably perforated the liver and stomach.
-case iii.--there was a large wound above the right anterior iliac spine (probably the point of exit), and a small opening behind and near the spine on the same side. there was great tenderness and rigidity of the abdomen. he died a few hours later.
-case vi.--the place of entrance of the bullet was 1 inch in front of the right anterior superior spine, and of exit behind the left sacro-iliac synchondrosis. there was much hæmorrhage at the time. his condition when i saw him was fair, and there was no marked abdominal tenderness. on april 1 his morning temperature was 101°. there were no signs of general peritonitis, and his condition was good.
-case vii.--the bullet had entered from behind, about the tip of the twelfth rib on the left side, and had left about the middle of the epigastrium, and rather to the left of the middle line.
-vomiting was still going on, but not of blood. there was much tenderness and rigidity of the abdomen, and he was almost pulseless. on april 1 his general condition was better, but the abdomen was very rigid and tender. (subsequently died.)
-case viii.--the point of entrance of the bullet was about 2 inches from the anterior end of the seventh left intercostal space, and of exit rather lower down and further back on the right side. the patient said that he had vomited brown fluid after the injury. there was much abdominal pain, but his general condition was fair. on april 1 there was still much pain, but his general condition was good.
-case ix.--the bullet had entered about 1-1/2 inch in front of the anterior inferior spine on the right side, had gone directly backwards, and had come out in the buttock. the patient, however, suffered very little. on march 31 there was slight tympanites and tenderness in the right iliac fossa. the bowels acted well, and no blood was passed. on april 1 he was very well, and it was considered very doubtful if any viscus was wounded.
-the above statistics are particularly valuable, as they give the incidence of abdominal injuries compared with those in general in one definite battle. this amounted to the high number of 15 in 154 or 9.74 per cent. wounded. i am inclined to think that this is a higher proportion than the average of the campaign, and that more of the men must have been exposed in the erect position than was ordinarily the case during the fighting.
-the statistics also show that 33.33 per cent. of the patients with abdominal injuries died within from twenty-four to twenty-eight hours, and that the percentage of deaths had risen to 73.33 per cent. at the end of the third day. these numbers again seem high, but in this relation it may be noted that, as a small force only was present, and as all the patients were together, mr. cheyne had unusually good opportunities for seeing all the cases.
-one other point is doubtful from the report, and that is what percentage of the wounds were caused by bullets of small calibre. in one case it is definitely stated that the wound was large, and in the second that gas escaped from the wound; both of these may have been instances in which a large bullet, or some expanding form, had been employed, and there is no doubt that the use of such projectiles was more common at this stage of the campaign than it was earlier.
-treatment of injuries to the intestine.--some general rules for the immediate treatment of all cases may be laid down. first, the patients must be removed with as little disturbance as possible, and absolute starvation must be insisted upon. if the patients be suffering from severe shock, hypodermic injections of strychnine should be administered, or possibly some stimulant by the rectum.
-after a battle, when these cases may be brought in in considerable number, they should be collected and placed in the same tent. the objection to congregating a number of severely wounded patients together must be disregarded in the face of the manifest advantage of being able to treat all alike in the matter of feeding. after the battles of the kimberley relief force, surgeon-general wilson, at my request, had all the abdominal cases placed in a large marquee, where we were able to carefully watch the whole of the patients from hour to hour, and little chance existed for any indiscretion on the part of the patients in the way of eating or drinking.
-if possible, the patients should be kept absolutely quiet until they are evidently out of danger. a week's stay at orange river sufficed for this object in the cases referred to. the avoidance of transport is manifestly of extreme prognostic importance.
-when feeding is commenced at the end of twenty-four or thirty-six hours, it must be in the form at first of warm water, then milk administered in tea-spoonfuls only.
-in doubtful cases the use of morphia must be avoided.
-operative treatment is required in a certain number of the cases, but in the majority of instances we are met with the extreme difficulty that in a very large proportion of the occasions upon which these wounds are received an exploratory abdominal section is not warranted in consequence of the conditions under which it has to be performed.
-a word must be added as to these difficulties; they are in part purely of an administrative nature, partly surgical. after a great battle the wounded are numerous, and amongst them a very considerable proportion of the wounds and injuries are of such a nature as to do extremely well if promptly dealt with, and each of these makes small demands on the time of the staff. abdominal operations, on the other hand, are unsatisfactory from a prognostic point of view, and their performance requires much time and the assistance of a considerable number of the men, who are obliged to neglect the treatment of the more promising cases for those of doubtful issue. this difficulty, although not surgical in its nature, is nevertheless a practical one of great importance and appeals strongly to the principal medical officers in charge of the arrangements. it is only to be avoided by an increase of the staff, which is not likely to be made except on very special occasions.
-other difficulties are purely surgical. first, the difficulty of diagnosing with certainty a perforating lesion. in the presence of the fact that many incomplete lesions follow wounds crossing the intestinal area, and that these give rise to modified symptoms, i believe this determination to be impossible without the aid of an exploratory incision. here we are met with the remaining surgical difficulties--disadvantages such as the absence of sufficient aid to the operating surgeon, difficulties connected with the temperature, wind, and dust, and as to the subsequent treatment of the patient. again difficulty in obtaining the most important adjunct, suitable water, or indeed any water in a sufficient quantity.
-it is of course obvious that conditions may exist in which all these troubles may be avoided. again, the practical difficulty adverted to above does not come in the way when a single man happens to sustain an abdominal wound on the march. under such circumstances an exploration may be not only justifiable, but obligatory, and the general rules of surgery must be followed rather than such incomplete indications as are suggested below.
-my own experience led me to the following conclusions:
-1. a wound in the intestinal area should be watched with care. in the face of the numerous recoveries in such cases, habitual abdominal exploration is not justified, under the conditions usually prevailing in the field.
-2. the very large class of patients excluded by this rule from operation leads us to a smaller and less satisfactory number to be divided into two categories:
-patients who die during the first twelve hours. the whole of these are naturally unfit for operation, and their general condition when seen often precludes any thought of it.
-patients with very severe injuries, as evidenced by the escape of fæces, or with wounds from flank to flank or taking an antero-posterior course in the small intestinal area. these patients die, and the majority of them will always die whether operated upon or not. the undertaking of operations upon them is unpleasant to the surgeon, as being unlikely to be attended with any great degree of success, whence the impression may gain ground that patients are killed by the operations. none the less, i think these operations ought to be undertaken when the attendant conditions allow, and it is from this class of case that the real successes will be drawn in the future. the history of such injuries, after all, corresponds exactly with what we were long familiar with in traumatic ruptures in civil practice, and now know may be avoided by a sufficiently early interference. the whole question here is one of time, and this will always be the trouble in military work.
-3. the expectant attitude which is obligatory under the above rules in doubtful cases, brings us face to face with a large proportion of patients in the early or late stage of peritoneal septicæmia. these cases run on exactly the same lines as those in which the same condition is secondary to spontaneous perforation of the bowel, in which we consider it our duty to operate, and in which a definite percentage of recoveries is obtained. hence another unpleasant duty is here imposed upon the surgeon. two such cases on which i operated are recounted above, and although i cannot say they give much encouragement, i should add that in the only one i left untouched, i regretted my want of courage for the five days during which the patient continued to carry on a miserable existence.
-4. the treatment of the cases in which an expectant attitude is followed by the advent of localised suppuration presents no difficulty; simple incision alone is needed, and healing follows.
-as a rule this is a late condition. in one case of injury to the ascending colon recounted above, however, considerable local escape of fæces had occurred, and a successful result was obtained by a local incision on the third day without suture of the bowel. in this case i believe the wound in the bowel to have been of the nature of a long slit, but the surrounding adhesions were so firm as to render any interference with them a great risk, and a successful result was obtained at the cost of a somewhat prolonged recovery. i am convinced that the best course was followed here. (no. 131.)
-when the suppuration was of a less acute character, it was generally advisable to allow the pus to make its way towards the surface before interference.
-5. cases of injury to the colon in which the posterior aspect is involved should be treated by free opening up of the wound, and either by suture of the bowel or else its fixation to the surface. i operated on one such case, and although the patient eventually died on the eighth day, from septicæmia, he certainly had a chance. two cases where the opening looked so free that one almost thought the wound could be regarded as a lumbar colotomy did badly; in both infection of the pleura took place, besides extension of suppuration into the retro-peritoneal areolar tissue. in the future i should always feel inclined to enlarge such wounds and bring the bowel to the surface.
-as regards actual technique the majority of the wounds are particularly well suited to suture; three stitches across the opening and one at either end of the resulting crease sufficed to close the opening effectively. the openings in the small intestine were not as a rule difficult to find, on account of the ecchymosis which surrounded them. from what i have seen stated in the reports given by other surgeons, there seems to have been more difficulty in discovering wounds in the large gut. under ordinary circumstances the only instruments specially needed are a needle and some silk. at my first two operations, as my instruments had gone astray, the wounds were readily closed by a needle and cotton borrowed from the wife of a railway porter.
-if aseptic sponges or pads are not available, boiled squares of ordinary lint may be employed for the belly, and towels wrung out of 1 to 20 carbolic acid solution used to surround the field of operation. whenever there is any likelihood of the necessity for operations, water boiled and filtered should be kept ready in special bottles.
-when septic peritonitis was already present, the ordinary procedure of dry mopping, followed by irrigation, was necessary, before closing the belly.
-the after-treatment should be on the usual lines as to feeding, &c.
-i am unaware to what degree success followed intestinal operations generally during the campaign. i saw only one case in which the small intestine had been treated by excision and the insertion of a murphy's button in which a cure followed: this case was in the scottish royal red cross hospital under the care of mr. luke. i heard of two cases in which the large intestine was successfully sutured, and of one other in which recovery followed the removal of a considerable length of the small bowel for multiple wounds.
-in concluding these most unsatisfactory remarks, i should add that the impressions are those that were gained as the result of the conditions by which we were bound in south africa, and which might recur even in a more civilised region. under really satisfactory conditions nothing i saw in my south african experience would lead me to recommend any deviation from the ordinary rules of modern surgery, except in so far as i should be more readily inclined to believe that wounds in certain positions already indicated might occur without perforation of the bowel when produced by bullets of small calibre; and further in cases where i believed the fixed portion of the large bowel was the segment of the alimentary canal that had been exposed to risk, i should not be inclined to operate hastily.
-a careful consideration of the whole of the cases that i saw leaves me with the firm impression that perforating wounds of the small intestine differ in no way in their results and consequences when produced by small-calibre bullets, from those of every-day experience, although when there is reason merely to suspect their presence an exploration is not indicated under circumstances that may add a fresh danger to the patient.
-wounds of the urinary bladder.--perforating wounds of the bladder are the injuries nearest akin to those we have just considered, but a great gulf separates them, in so far as the escape of a few drops or even a considerable quantity of normal urine does not necessarily mean peritoneal infection. the difference in this particular was very forcibly demonstrated in my experience, since an uncomplicated perforation of the bladder in the intra-peritoneal portion of the viscus proved to be an injury that not infrequently recovered spontaneously, i believe in a considerable proportion of the cases.
-i include only one such case in my list because it was the only example which happened to be under my personal observation during its whole course, but from time to time i was shown several others in which the position of the external apertures and the transient presence of hæmaturia left little doubt as to the nature of the injury. the case recounted above, no. 190, is of especial interest, since the patient recovered from an injury which involved both the bladder and a fixed portion of the large intestine in contact with its posterior surface.
-in another, no. 194, a transient inflammatory thickening pointed to a local inflammation of a non-infective character, since no suppuration ensued, and this may have been a case of extra-peritoneal wound; on the other hand, the bladder may have entirely escaped injury. in wounds of the portions of the viscus not clad in peritoneum, as a rule, a very different prognosis obtains. two typical cases are related, which i believe fairly represent the general results which follow when the bladder is either wounded behind the symphysis or at the base. the first case, no. 195, exemplifies a very characteristic form of wound when small-calibred bullets are concerned. the bullet, taking a course more or less parallel to that of the wall of the viscus, cut a long slit in its anterior wall. this bullet in its onward passage comminuted the horizontal ramus of the pubes, and lodged in the thigh. into the latter region the greater part of the extravasated urine escaped. i think the history of this case fully shows that i made a blunder in not performing a proper exploration, instead of contenting myself with an incision in the thigh. my only excuse was that the patient at the time i saw him was in a very collapsed state, and a severe grade of abdominal distension suggested that septic peritonitis was already in an advanced stage. in point of fact, the patient at once improved, sufficiently so to be able to undergo a second exploration at a later date by mr. hanwell at the base, only dying of septicæmia at the end of twenty-one days. even a free supra-pubic vent might, i believe, have given him a chance of life.
-when the perforation was at the base of the bladder, however, the prognosis was very bad, and, as far as i know, not a single patient escaped death. the increase of risk in an extra-peritoneal wound of this viscus is indeed very great, while an intra-peritoneal perforation may be considered an injury of lesser severity, provided the urine be of normal character.
-on the patient's arrival at wynberg there were signs of local peritonitis in the lower half of the abdomen, and all his urine was passed from the wound in the left thigh. some days later this wound was enlarged to allow of the freer exit of pus, and a fragment of bone was removed. the wound granulated healthily, but the man steadily emaciated and lost ground, with signs of chronic septicæmia, and he died on the twenty-first day. at the post-mortem examination a transverse wound of the anterior wall of the bladder behind the pubes, below the peritoneal reflexion, was found gaping somewhat widely, and 2 inches in length. there was little sign of previous peritonitis. the retained bullet was discovered beneath the femoral vessels in the left thigh.
-as there was evidence of considerable infiltration in the buttock, the original entry wound was enlarged, and a catheter was tied into the bladder. little change occurred in the symptoms and the local condition, urine and pus continued to escape freely from the posterior wound, and the patient gradually sank, dying on the thirty-eighth day. at the post-mortem examination the peritoneum was found intact and unaltered, but there was extensive pelvic cellulitis around the bladder, a large slough and some pus lying in the cavum retzii. an aperture of entry still open existed in the centre of the anterior wall of the bladder, and a patent exit opening at the base of the trigone. the bullet had passed out of the pelvis by the great sciatic notch.
-the above remarks and cases sufficiently set forth the prognosis in these injuries. for the intra-peritoneal lesions an expectant plan of treatment may be followed by uncomplicated recovery. mention has already been made of a case in which a mauser bullet was retained in the bladder and was subsequently passed per urethram. in such a case a cystotomy would be indicated were the bullet discovered in the viscus.
-as to extra-peritoneal injuries it is difficult to lay down guiding lines. i believe the ideal treatment would be a supra-pubic cystotomy and drainage of the bladder by a sprengel's pump apparatus, such as we employ at home. under these circumstances, with the possibility of keeping the bladder actually empty, i believe good results might be obtained. certainly drainage of the bladder by a catheter tied in proved worse than useless, and i very much doubt whether a simple supra-pubic opening would give any better results under the circumstances under which a patient has to be treated in a field hospital.
-cases might, however, occur in which oblique passage of the bullet cuts a groove and makes a large opening in the peritoneum-clad portion of the viscus. under satisfactory conditions a laparotomy would be here indicated. i take it that this condition would most probably be accompanied by retention of bloody urine, which fact would arouse suspicion.
-injuries to the solid abdominal viscera
-wounds of the kidney.--tracks implicating the kidneys were of comparatively common occurrence. as uncomplicated injuries they healed rapidly, and without producing any serious symptoms beyond transient hæmaturia.
-the nature of the lesion appeared to vary with the direction of the wound. in many cases a simple puncture no doubt alone existed, an injury no more to be feared than the exploratory punctures often made for surgical purposes. in other cases the wounds may have been of the nature of notches and grooves.
-two of the cases recounted below were of a more severe variety; in one (no. 201) both kidneys were implicated by symmetrical wounds of the loin, and in the case of the right organ a transverse rupture was produced, which was followed by the development of a hydro-nephrosis, and later by suppuration. this injury was probably the result of a wound from a short range, as the patient was one of those wounded in the early part of the day at the battle of magersfontein. it was complicated by a wound of the spleen and an injury to the spinal cord producing incomplete paraplegia accompanied by retention of urine. the last complication was responsible for the death of the patient, since ascending infection from the bladder led to the development of pyo-nephrosis and death from secondary peritonitis.
-case 202 is an instance of a transverse wound of the upper part of the abdominal cavity; it is impossible to say what further complications were present. the early development of a tympanitic abscess suggested an injury to the colon, but this was not by any means certain. the condition of the kidney was very likely similar to that in the last case, but the ultimate recovery of the patient left this a matter of doubt. the case was also one dependent on a short-range wound, since the patient, one of the scandinavian contingent, was wounded at magersfontein during close fighting.
-the common history of the symptoms after a wound of the kidney was moderate hæmorrhage from the organ, persisting for two to four days. in one of the cases recounted below the hæmaturia was accompanied by the passage of ureteral clots, but this was not a common occurrence.
-for the sake of comparison i have included one case of wound of the kidney from a large bullet, in which death was due to internal hæmorrhage. in this instance the injury was a complex one, the lung certainly, and the back of the liver probably, being concurrently injured. none the less if the same track had been produced by a bullet of small calibre i believe the injury would not have proved a fatal one. i never saw such free renal hæmorrhage in any of the mauser or lee-metford wounds.
-on the left side recent pleural adhesions and consolidation of base of lung, rent of diaphragm; spleen soft and disorganised and presenting a yellow cicatrix at its upper end, and at antero-external aspect of left kidney was a soft yellow puckered spot about the size of a florin, dipping 3/4 of an inch into the organ, which was otherwise healthy, beyond congestion. the capsules of both kidneys were adherent, but there was no sign of suppuration.
-a week later the man was much improved, suffering no pain. temperature ranged from 99 to 100°, and the pulse about 80. the abdomen was normal in appearance, except for general prominence of the right thorax in the hepatic area.
-during the third week a large tympanitic abscess developed at the aperture of exit, and this was opened (mr. s. w. f. richardson) through the chest, and a large collection of foul-smelling pus, but no fæcal matter, evacuated. the patient again improved, but a fortnight later a swelling and apparent signs of local peritonitis developed in the right inguinal and lower umbilical and lumbar regions. an incision made over this, however, disclosed a normal peritoneal cavity and was closed.
-at the end of ten weeks the patient was sent to the base hospital; a large firm swelling was then evident, extending from the liver to the inguinal region, and nearly to the median line. this gradually increased until it filled half the belly; it was at first thought to be a retro-peritoneal hæmatoma (similar to that described in case 194), but it became quite the skipper ground his teeth, and strove to maintain an air of judicial calm.
-“if you'll only be reasonable—,” he remarked, severely.
-“i thought there was something secret going on,” said mrs. hunt. “i've often looked at you when you've been sitting in that chair, with a worried look on your face, and wondered what it was. but i never thought it was so bad as this. i'll do you the credit to say that i never thought of such a thing as this.... what did you say?... what?”
-“i said ‘damn!'” said the skipper, explosively.
-“yes, i've no doubt,” said his wife, fiercely. “you think you're going to carry it off with a high hand and bluster; but you won't bluster me, my man. i'm not one of your meek and mild women who'll put up with anything. i'm not one of your—”
-“i tell you,” said the skipper, “that the boy calls everybody his father. i dare say he's claimed another by this time.”
-even as he spoke the handle turned, and the door opening a few inches disclosed the anxious face of master jones. mrs. hunt, catching the skipper's eye, pointed to it in an ecstasy of silent wrath. there was a breathless pause, broken at last by the boy.
-“mother!” he said, softly.
-mrs. hunt stiffened in her chair and her arms fell by her side as she gazed in speechless amazement. master jones, opening the door a little wider, gently insinuated his small figure into the room. the skipper gave one glance at his wife and then, turning hastily away, put his hand over his mouth, and, with protruding eyes, gazed out of the window.
-“mother, can i come in?” said the boy.
-“oh, polly!” sighed the skipper. mrs. hunt strove to regain the utterance of which astonishment had deprived her.
-“i... what... joe... don't be a fool!”
-“yes, i've no doubt,” said the skipper, theatrically. “oh, polly! polly! polly!”
-he put his hand over his mouth again and laughed silently, until his wife, coming behind him, took him by the shoulders and shook him violently.
-“this,” said the skipper, choking; “this is what—you've been worried about—— this is the secret what's—”
-he broke off suddenly as his wife thrust him by main force into a chair, and standing over him with a fiery face dared him to say another word. then she turned to the boy.
-“what do you mean by calling me ‘mother'?” she demanded. “i'm not your mother.”
-“yes, you are,” said master jones.
-mrs. hunt eyed him in bewilderment, and then, roused to a sense of her position by a renewed gurgling from the skipper's chair, set to work to try and thump that misguided man into a more serious frame of mind. failing in this, she sat down, and, after a futile struggle, began to laugh herself, and that so heartily that master jones, smiling sympathetically, closed the door and came boldly into the room.
-the statement, generally believed, that captain hunt and his wife adopted him, is incorrect, the skipper accounting for his continued presence in the house by the simple explanation that he had adopted them. an explanation which mr. samuel brown, for one, finds quite easy of acceptance.
-it wanted a few nights to christmas, a festival for which the small market town of torchester was making extensive preparations. the narrow streets which had been thronged with people were now almost deserted; the cheap-jack from london, with the remnant of breath left him after his evening's exertions, was making feeble attempts to blow out his naphtha lamp, and the last shops open were rapidly closing for the night.
-in the comfortable coffee-room of the old boar's head, half a dozen guests, principally commercial travellers, sat talking by the light of the fire. the talk had drifted from trade to politics, from politics to religion, and so by easy stages to the supernatural. three ghost stories, never known to fail before, had fallen flat; there was too much noise outside, too much light within. the fourth story was told by an old hand with more success; the streets were quiet, and he had turned the gas out. in the flickering light of the fire, as it shone on the glasses and danced with shadows on the walls, the story proved so enthralling that george, the waiter, whose presence had been forgotten, created a very disagreeable sensation by suddenly starting up from a dark corner and gliding silently from the room. “that's what i call a good story,” said one of the men, sipping his hot whisky. “of course it's an old idea that spirits like to get into the company of human beings. a man told me once that he travelled down the great western with a ghost and hadn't the slightest suspicion of it until the inspector came for tickets. my friend said the way that ghost tried to keep up appearances by feeling for it in all its pockets and looking on the floor was quite touching. ultimately it gave it up and with a faint groan vanished through the ventilator.”
-“that'll do, hirst,” said another man.
-“it's not a subject for jesting,” said a little old gentleman who had been an attentive listener. “i've never seen an apparition myself, but i know people who have, and i consider that they form a very interesting link between us and the afterlife. there's a ghost story connected with this house, you know.”
-“never heard of it,” said another speaker, “and i've been here some years now.���
-“it dates back a long time now,” said the old gentleman. “you've heard about jerry bundler, george?”
-“well, i've just ‘eard odds and ends, sir,” said the old waiter, “but i never put much count to ‘em. there was one chap ‘ere what said ‘e saw it, and the gov'ner sacked ‘im prompt.”
-“my father was a native of this town,” said the old gentleman, “and knew the story well. he was a truthful man and a steady churchgoer, but i've heard him declare that once in his life he saw the appearance of jerry bundler in this house.”.
-“and who was this bundler?” inquired a voice.
-“a london thief, pickpocket, highwayman—anything he could turn his dishonest hand to,” replied the old gentleman; “and he was run to earth in this house one christmas week some eighty years ago. he took his last supper in this very room, and after he had gone up to bed a couple of bow street runners, who had followed him from london but lost the scent a bit, went upstairs with the landlord and tried the door. it was stout oak, and fast, so one went into the yard, and by means of a short ladder got onto the window-sill, while the other stayed outside the door. those below in the yard saw the man crouching on the sill, and then there was a sudden smash of glass, and with a cry he fell in a heap on the stones at their feet. then in the moonlight they saw the white face of the pickpocket peeping over the sill, and while some stayed in the yard, others ran into the house and helped the other man to break the door in. it was difficult to obtain an entrance even then, for it was barred with heavy furniture, but they got in at last, and the first thing that met their eyes was the body of jerry dangling from the top of the bed by his own handkerchief.”
-“which bedroom was it?” asked two or three voices together.
-the narrator shook his head. “that i can't tell you; but the story goes that jerry still haunts this house, and my father used to declare positively that the last time he slept here the ghost of jerry bundler lowered itself from the top of his bed and tried to strangle him.”
-“that'll do,” said an uneasy voice. “i wish you'd thought to ask your father which bedroom it was.”
-“what for?” inquired the old gentleman.
-“well, i should take care not to sleep in it, that's all,” said the voice, shortly.
-“there's nothing to fear,” said the other. “i don't believe for a moment that ghosts could really-hurt one. in fact my father used to confess that it was only the unpleasantness of the thing that upset him, and that for all practical purposes jerry's fingers might have been made of cottonwool for all the harm they could do.”
-“that's all very fine,” said the last speaker again; “a ghost story is a ghost story, sir; but when a gentleman tells a tale of a ghost in the house in which one is going to sleep, i call it most ungentlemanly!”
-“pooh! nonsense!” said the old gentleman, rising; “ghosts can't hurt you. for my own part, i should rather like to see one. good night, gentlemen.”
-“good night,” said the others. “and i only hope jerry'll pay you a visit,” added the nervous man as the door closed.
-“bring some more whisky, george,” said a stout commercial; “i want keeping up when the talk turns this way.”
-“shall i light the gas, mr. malcolm?” said george.
-“no; the fire's very comfortable,” said the traveller. “now, gentlemen, any of you know any more?”
-“i think we've had enough,” said another man; “we shall be thinking we see spirits next, and we're not all like the old gentleman who's just gone.”
-“old humbug!” said hirst. “i should like to put him to the test. suppose i dress up as jerry bundler and go and give him a chance of displaying his courage?”
-“bravo!” said malcolm, huskily, drowning one or two faint “noes.” “just for the joke, gentlemen.”
-“no, no! drop it, hirst,” said another man.
-“only for the joke,” said hirst, somewhat eagerly. “i've got some things upstairs in which i am going to play in the rivals—knee-breeches, buckles, and all that sort of thing. it's a rare chance. if you'll wait a bit i'll give you a full-dress rehearsal, entitled, ‘jerry bundler; or, the nocturnal strangler.'”
-“you won't frighten us,” said the commercial, with a husky laugh.
-“i don't know that,” said hirst, sharply; “it's a question of acting, that's all. i'm pretty good, ain't i, somers?”
-“oh, you're all right—for an amateur,” said his friend, with a laugh.
-“done!” said hirst. “i'll take the bet to frighten you first and the old gentleman afterwards. these gentlemen shall be the judges.”
-“you won't frighten us, sir,” said another man, “because we're prepared for you; but you'd better leave the old man alone. it's dangerous play.”
-he ran lightly upstairs to his room, leaving the others, most of whom had been drinking somewhat freely, to wrangle about his proceedings. it ended in two of them going to bed.
-“he's crazy on acting,” said somers, lighting his pipe. “thinks he's the equal of anybody almost. it doesn't matter with us, but i won't let him go to the old man. and he won't mind so long as he gets an opportunity of acting to us.”
-“well, i hope he'll hurry up,” said malcolm, yawning; “it's after twelve now.”
-nearly half an hour passed. malcolm drew his watch from his pocket and was busy winding it, when george, the waiter, who had been sent on an errand to the bar, burst suddenly into the room and rushed towards them.
-“‘e's comin', gentlemen,” he said breathlessly.
-“why, you're frightened, george,” said the stout commercial, with a chuckle.
-“it was the suddenness of it,” said george, sheepishly; “and besides, i didn't look for seein' ‘im in the bar. there's only a glimmer of light there, and ‘e was sitting on the floor behind the bar. i nearly trod on ‘im.”
-“oh, you'll never make a man, george,” said malcolm.
-“well, it took me unawares,” said the waiter. “not that i'd have gone to the bar by myself if i'd known ‘e was there, and i don't believe you would either, sir.”
-“nonsense!” said malcolm. “i'll go and fetch him in.”
-“you don't know what it's like, sir,” said george, catching him by the sleeve. “it ain't fit to look at by yourself, it ain't, indeed. it's got the—what's that?”
-they all started at the sound of a smothered cry from the staircase and the sound of somebody running hurriedly along the passage. before anybody could speak, the door flew open and a figure bursting into the room flung itself gasping and shivering upon them.
-“what is it? what's the matter?” demanded malcolm. “why, it's mr. hirst.” he shook him roughly and then held some spirit to his lips. hirst drank it greedily and with a sharp intake of his breath gripped him by the arm.
-“light the gas, george,” said malcolm.
-the waiter obeyed hastily. hirst, a ludicrous but pitiable figure in knee-breeches and coat, a large wig all awry and his face a mess of grease paint, clung to him, trembling.
-“now, what's the matter?” asked malcolm.
-“i've seen it,” said hirst, with a hysterical sob. “o lord, i'll never play the fool again, never!”
-“seen what?” said the others.
-“him—it—the ghost—anything!” said hirst, wildly.
-“rot!” said malcolm, uneasily.
-“i was coming down the stairs,” said hirst. “just capering down—as i thought—it ought to do. i felt a tap—”
-he broke off suddenly and peered nervously through the open door into the passage.
-“i thought i saw it again,” he whispered.
-“look—at the foot of the stairs. can you see anything?”
-“no, there's nothing there,” said malcolm, whose own voice shook a little. “go on. you felt a tap on your shoulder—”
-“i turned round and saw it—a little wicked head and a white dead face. pah!”
-“that's what i saw in the bar,” said george. “‘orrid it was—devilish!”
-hirst shuddered, and, still retaining his nervous grip of malcolm's sleeve, dropped into a chair.
-“well, it's a most unaccountable thing,” said the dumbfounded malcolm, turning round to the others. “it's the last time i come to this house.”
-“i leave to-morrow,” said george. “i wouldn't go down to that bar again by myself, no, not for fifty pounds!”
-“it's talking about the thing that's caused it, i expect,” said one of the men; “we've all been talking about this and having it in our minds. practically we've been forming a spiritualistic circle without knowing it.”
-“hang the old gentleman!” said malcolm, heartily. “upon my soul, i'm half afraid to go to bed. it's odd they should both think they saw something.”
-“i saw it as plain as i see you, sir,” said george, solemnly. “p'raps if you keep your eyes turned up the passage you'll see it for yourself.”
-they followed the direction of his finger, but saw nothing, although one of them fancied that a head peeped round the corner of the wall.
-“who'll come down to the bar?” said malcolm, looking round.
-“you can go, if you like,” said one of the others, with a faint laugh; “we'll wait here for you.”
-the stout traveller walked towards the door and took a few steps up the passage. then he stopped. all was quite silent, and he walked slowly to the end and looked down fearfully towards the glass partition which shut off the bar. three times he made as though to go to it; then he turned back, and, glancing over his shoulder, came hurriedly back to the room.
-“did you see it, sir?” whispered george.
-“don't know,” said malcolm, shortly. “i fancied i saw something, but it might have been fancy. i'm in the mood to see anything just now. how are you feeling now, sir?”
-“oh, i feel a bit better now,” said hirst, somewhat brusquely, as all eyes were turned upon him.
-“i dare say you think i'm easily scared, but you didn't see it.”
-“not at all,” said malcolm, smiling faintly despite himself.
-“i'm going to bed,” said hirst, noticing the smile and resenting it. “will you share my room with me, somers?”
-“i will with pleasure,” said his friend, “provided you don't mind sleeping with the gas on full all night.”
-he rose from his seat, and bidding the company a friendly good-night, left the room with his crestfallen friend. the others saw them to the foot of the stairs, and having heard their door close, returned to the coffee-room.
-“well, i suppose the bet's off?” said the stout commercial, poking the fire and then standing with his legs apart on the hearthrug; “though, as far as i can see, i won it. i never saw a man so scared in all my life. sort of poetic justice about it, isn't there?”
-“never mind about poetry or justice,” said one of his listeners; “who's going to sleep with me?”
-“i will,” said malcolm, affably.
-“and i suppose we share a room together, mr. leek?” said the third man, turning to the fourth.
-“no, thank you,” said the other, briskly; “i don't believe in ghosts. if anything comes into my room i shall shoot it.”
-“that won't hurt a spirit, leek,” said malcolm, decisively.
-“well the noise'll be like company to me,” said leek, “and it'll wake the house too. but if you're nervous, sir,” he added, with a grin, to the man who had suggested sharing his room, “george'll be only too pleased to sleep on the door-mat inside your room, i know.”
-“that i will, sir,” said george, fervently; “and if you gentlemen would only come down with me to the bar to put the gas out, i could never be sufficiently grateful.”
-they went out in a body, with the exception of leek, peering carefully before them as they went george turned the light out in the bar and they returned unmolested to the coffee-room, and, avoiding the sardonic smile of leek, prepared to separate for the night.
-“give me the candle while you put the gas out, george,” said the traveller.
-the waiter handed it to him and extinguished the gas, and at the same moment all distinctly heard a step in the passage outside. it stopped at the door, and as they watched with bated breath, the door creaked and slowly opened. malcolm fell back open-mouthed, as a white, leering face, with sunken eyeballs and close-cropped bullet head, appeared at the opening.
-for a few seconds the creature stood regarding them, blinking in a strange fashion at the candle. then, with a sidling movement, it came a little way into the room and stood there as if bewildered.
-not a man spoke or moved, but all watched with a horrible fascination as the creature removed its dirty neckcloth and its head rolled on its shoulder. for a minute it paused, and then, holding the rag before it, moved towards malcolm.
-the candle went out suddenly with a flash and a bang. there was a smell of powder, and something writhing in the darkness on the floor. a faint, choking cough, and then silence. malcolm was the first to speak. “matches,” he said, in a strange voice. george struck one. then he leapt at the gas and a burner flamed from the match. malcolm touched the thing on the floor with his foot and found it soft. he looked at his companions. they mouthed inquiries at him, but he shook his head. he lit the candle, and, kneeling down, examined the silent thing on the floor. then he rose swiftly, and dipping his handkerchief in the water-jug, bent down again and grimly wiped the white face. then he sprang back with a cry of incredulous horror, pointing at it. leek's pistol fell to the floor and he shut out the sight with his hands, but the others, crowding forward, gazed spell-bound at the dead face of hirst.
-before a word was spoken the door opened and somers hastily entered the room. his eyes fell on the floor. “good god!” he cried. “you didn't—”
-“i told him not to,” he said, in a suffocating voice. “i told him not to. i told him—”
-he leaned against the wall, deathly sick, put his arms out feebly, and fell fainting into the traveller's arms.
-of course, there is a deal of bullying done at sea at times,” said the night-watchman, thoughtfully. ‘the men call it bullying an' the officers call it discipline, but it's the same thing under another name. still, it's fair in a way. it gets passed on from one to another. everybody aboard a'most has got somebody to bully, except, perhaps, the boy; he ‘as the worst of it, unless he can manage to get the ship's cat by itself occasionally.
-“i don't think sailor-men mind being bullied. i never ‘eard of its putting one off ‘is feed yet, and that's the main thing, arter all's said and done.
-“fust officers are often worse than skippers. in the fust place, they know they ain't skippers, an' that alone is enough to put ‘em in a bad temper, especially if they've ‘ad their certifikit a good many years and can't get a vacancy.
-“i remember, a good many years ago now, i was lying at calcutta one time in the peewit, as fine a barque as you'd wish to see, an' we ‘ad a fust mate there as was a disgrace to ‘is sects. a nasty, bullying, violent man, who used to call the hands names as they didn't know the meanings of and what was no use looking in the dictionary for.
-“there was one chap aboard, bill cousins, as he used to make a partikler mark of. bill ‘ad the misfortin to ‘ave red ‘air, and the way the mate used to throw that in ‘is face was disgraceful. fortunately for us all, the skipper was a very decent sort of man, so that the mate was only at ‘is worst when he wasn't by.
-“we was sitting in the fo'c's'le at tea one arter-noon, when bill cousins came down, an' we see at once ‘e'd ‘ad a turn with the mate. he sat all by hisself for some time simmering, an' then he broke out. ‘one o' these days i'll swing for ‘im; mark my words.'
-“‘don't be a fool, bill,' ses joe smith.
-“‘if i could on'y mark ‘im,' ses bill, catching his breath. ‘just mark ‘im fair an' square. if i could on'y ‘ave ‘im alone for ten minutes, with nobody standing by to see fair play. but, o' course, if i ‘it ‘im it's mutiny.'
-“‘you couldn't do it if it wasn't, bill,' ses joe smith again.
-“‘he walks about the town as though the place belongs to ‘im,' said ted hill. ‘most of us is satisfied to shove the niggers out o' the way, but he ups fist and ‘its ‘em if they comes within a yard of ‘im.'
-“‘why don't they ‘it ‘im back?' ses bill. ‘i would if i was them.'
-“joe smith grunted. ‘well, why don't you?' he asked.
-“‘'cos i ain't a nigger,' ses bill.
-“‘well, but you might be,' ses joe, very softly. ‘black your face an' ‘ands an' legs, and dress up in them cotton things, and go ashore and get in ‘is way.'
-“‘if you will, i will, bill,' ses a chap called bob pullin.
-“well, they talked it over and over, and at last joe, who seemed to take a great interest in it, went ashore and got the duds for ‘em. they was a tight fit for bill, hindoos not being as wide as they might be, but joe said if ‘e didn't bend about he'd be all right, and pullin, who was a smaller man, said his was fust class.
-“after they were dressed, the next question was wot to use to colour them with; coal was too scratchy, an' ink bill didn't like. then ted hill burnt a cork and started on bill's nose with it afore it was cool, an' bill didn't like that.
-“‘look ‘ere,' ses the carpenter, ‘nothin' seems to please you, bill—it's my opinion you're backing out of it.'
-“‘you're a liar,' ses bill.
-“‘well, i've got some stuff in a can as might be boiled-down hindoo for all you could tell to the difference,' ses the carpenter; ‘and if you'll keep that ugly mouth of yours shut, i'll paint you myself.'
-“well, bill was a bit flattered, the carpenter being a very superior sort of a man, and quite an artist in ‘is way, an' bill sat down an' let ‘im do ‘im with some stuff out of a can that made ‘im look like a hindoo what ‘ad been polished. then bob pullin was done too, an' when they'd got their turbins on, the change in their appearance was wonderful.
-“‘feels a bit stiff,' ses bill, working ‘is mouth.
-“‘that'll wear off,' ses the carpenter; ‘it wouldn't be you if you didn't ‘ave a grumble, bill.'
-“‘and mind and don't spare ‘im, bill,' ses joe. ‘there's two of you, an' if you only do wot's expected of you, the mate ought to ‘ave a easy time abed this v'y'ge.'
-“‘let the mate start fust,' ses ted hill. ‘he's sure to start on you if you only get in ‘is way. lord, i'd like to see his face when you start on ‘im.
-“well, the two of ‘em went ashore arter dark with the best wishes o' all on board, an' the rest of us sat down in the fo'c's'le spekerlating as to what sort o' time the mate was goin' to ‘ave. he went ashore all right, because ted hill see ‘im go, an' he noticed with partikler pleasure as ‘ow he was dressed very careful.
-“‘you don't mean to tell me, mr. fingall,' ses the skipper, in surprise, ‘that you've been knocked about like that by them mild and meek hindoos?'
-“‘hindoos, sir?' roared the mate. ‘certainly not, sir. i've been assaulted like this by five german sailor-men. and i licked ‘em all.'
-“‘i'm glad to hear that,' ses the skipper; and the second and third pats the mate on the back, just like you pat a dog you don't know.
-“‘big fellows they was,' ses he, ‘an' they give me some trouble. look at my eye!'
-“the second officer struck a match and looked at it, and it cert'n'y was a beauty.
-“‘i hope you reported this at the police station?' ses the skipper.
-“‘no, sir,' ses the mate, holding up ‘is ‘ead. ‘i don't want no p'lice to protect me. five's a large number, but i drove ‘em off, and i don't think they'll meddle with any british fust officers again.'
-“‘you'd better turn in,' ses the second, leading him off by the arm.
-“the mate limped off with him, and as soon as the coast was clear we put our ‘eads together and tried to make out how it was that bill cousins and bob ‘ad changed themselves into five german sailor-men.
-“‘it's the mate's pride,' ses the carpenter. ‘he didn't like being knocked about by hindoos.'
-“that was bob. he came down without a word, and then we see ‘e was holding another black foot and guiding it to where it should go. that was bill, an' of all the ‘orrid, limp-looking blacks that you ever see, bill was the worst when he got below. he just sat on a locker all of a heap and held ‘is ‘ead, which was swollen up, in ‘is hands. bob went and sat beside ‘im, and there they sat, for all the world like two wax figgers instead o' human beings.
-“‘well, you done it, bill,' ses joe, after waiting a long time for them to speak. ‘tell us all about it.'
-“‘nothin' to tell,' ses bill, very surly. ‘we knocked ‘im about.'
-“‘and he knocked us about,' ses bob, with a groan. ‘i'm sore all over, and as for my feet—'
-“‘wot's the matter with them?' ses joe.
-“‘trod on,' ses bob, very short. ‘if my bare feet was trod on once they was a dozen times. i've never ‘ad such a doing in all my life. he fought like a devil. i thought he'd ha' murdered bill.'
-“‘i wish ‘e ‘ad,' ses bill, with a groan; ‘my face is bruised and cut about cruel. i can't bear to touch it.'
-“‘do you mean to say the two of you couldn't settle ‘im?' ses joe, staring.
-“‘i mean to say we got a hiding,' ses bill. ‘we got close to him fust start off and got our feet trod on. arter that it was like fighting a windmill, with sledge-hammers for sails.'
-“he gave a groan and turned over in his bunk, and when we asked him some more about it, he swore at us. they both seemed quite done up, and at last they dropped off to sleep just as they was, without even stopping to wash the black off or to undress themselves.
-“i was awoke rather early in the morning by the sounds of somebody talking to themselves, and a little splashing of water. it seemed to go on a long while, and at last i leaned out of my bunk and see bill bending over a bucket and washing himself and using bad langwidge.
-“‘wot's the matter, bill?' ses joe, yawning and sitting up in bed.
-“‘my skin's that tender, i can hardly touch it,' ses bill, bending down and rinsing ‘is face. ‘is it all orf?'
-“‘orf?' ses joe; ‘no, o' course it ain't. why don't you use some soap?'
-“‘soap,' answers bill, mad-like; ‘why, i've used more soap than i've used for six months in the ordinary way.'
-“that's no good,' ses joe; ‘give yourself a good wash.'
-“bill put down the soap then very careful, and went over to ‘im and told him all the dreadful things he'd do to him when he got strong agin, and then bob pullin got out of his bunk an' ‘ad a try on his face. him an' bill kept washing and then taking each other to the light and trying to believe it was coming off until they got sick of it, and then bill, ‘e up with his foot and capsized the bucket, and walked up and down the fo'c's'le raving.
-“‘well, the carpenter put it on,' ses a voice, ‘make ‘im take it orf.'
-“‘i don't believe as there's anything will touch it,' he says, at last. ‘i forgot all about that.'
-“‘do you mean to say,' bawls bill, ‘that we've got to be black all the rest of our life?'
-“‘cert'nly not,' ses the carpenter, indignantly, ‘it'll wear off in time; shaving every morning ‘ll ‘elp it, i should say.'
-“‘i'll get my razor now,' ses bill, in a awful voice; ‘don't let ‘im go, bob. i'll ‘ack ‘is head orf.'
-“he actually went off an' got his razor, but, o' course, we jumped out o' our bunks and got between ‘em and told him plainly that it was not to be, and then we set ‘em down and tried everything we could think of, from butter and linseed oil to cold tea-leaves used as a poultice, and all it did was to make ‘em shinier an' shinier.
-“‘it's no good, i tell you,' ses the carpenter, ‘it's the most lasting black i know. if i told you how much that stuff is a can, you wouldn't believe me.'
-“‘well, you're in it,' ses bill, his voice all of a tremble; ‘you done it so as we could knock the mate about. whatever's done to us'll be done to you too.'
-“‘i don't think turps'll touch it,' ses the carpenter, getting up, ‘but we'll ‘ave a try.'
-“he went and fetched the can and poured some out on a bit o' rag and told bill to dab his face with it. bill give a dab, and the next moment he rushed over with a scream and buried his head in a shirt what simmons was wearing at the time and began to wipe his face with it. then he left the flustered simmons an' shoved another chap away from the bucket and buried his face in it and kicked and carried on like a madman. then ‘e jumped into his bunk again and buried ‘is face in the clothes and rocked hisself and moaned as if he was dying.
-“‘don't you use it, bob,' he ses, at last
-“‘'tain't likely,' ses bob. ‘it's a good thing you tried it fust, bill.'
-“‘'ave they tried holy-stone?' ses a voice from a bunk.
-“‘no, they ain't,' ses bob, snappishly, ‘and, what's more, they ain't goin' to.'
-“both o' their tempers was so bad that we let the subject drop while we was at breakfast. the orkard persition of affairs could no longer be disregarded. fust one chap threw out a ‘int and then another, gradually getting a little stronger and stronger, until bill turned round in a uncomfortable way and requested of us to leave off talking with our mouths full and speak up like englishmen wot we meant.
-“‘you see, it's this way, bill,' ses joe, soft-like. ‘as soon as the mate sees you there'll be trouble for all of us.'
-“‘for all of us,' repeats bill, nodding.
-“‘whereas,' ses joe, looking round for support, ‘if we gets up a little collection for you and you should find it convenient to desart.'
-“‘'ear, ‘ear,' ses a lot o' voices. ‘bravo, joe.'
-“‘oh, desart is it?' ses bill; ‘an' where are we goin' to desart to?'
-“‘well, that we leave to you,' ses joe; ‘there's many a ship short-'anded as would be glad to pick up sich a couple of prime sailor-men as you an' bob.'
-“‘ah, an' wot about our black faces?' ses bill, still in the same sneering, ungrateful sort o' voice.
-“‘that can be got over,' ses joe.
-“‘ow?' ses bill and bob together.
-“‘ship as nigger cooks,' ses joe, slapping his knee and looking round triumphant.
-“it's no good trying to do some people a kindness. joe was perfectly sincere, and nobody could say but wot it wasn't a good idea, but o' course mr. bill cousins must consider hisself insulted, and i can only suppose that the trouble he'd gone through ‘ad affected his brain. likewise bob pullin's. anyway, that's the only excuse i can make for ‘em. to cut a long story short, nobody ‘ad any more breakfast, and no time to do anything until them two men was scrouged up in a corner an' ‘eld there unable to move.
-“‘i'd never ‘ave done ‘em,' ses the carpenter, arter it was all over, ‘if i'd know they was goin' to carry on like this. they wanted to be done.'
-“the mate'll half murder ‘em,' ses ted hill.
-“‘he'll ‘ave ‘em sent to gaol, that's wot he'll do,' ses smith. ‘it's a serious matter to go ashore and commit assault and battery on the mate.'
-“‘you're all in it,' ses the voice o' bill from the floor. ‘i'm going to make a clean breast of it. joe smith put us up to it, the carpenter blacked us, and the others encouraged us.'
-“‘joe got the clothes for us,' ses bob. ‘i know the place he got ‘em from, too.'
-“the ingratitude o' these two men was sich that at first we decided to have no more to do with them, but better feelings prevailed, and we held a sort o' meeting to consider what was best to be done. an' everything that was suggested one o' them two voices from the floor found fault with and wouldn't ‘ave, and at last we ‘ad to go up on deck with nothing decided upon, except to swear ‘ard and fast as we knew nothing about it.
-“the only advice we can give you,' ses joe, looking back at ‘em, ‘is to stay down ‘ere as long as you can.'
-“a'most the fust person we see on deck was the mate, an' a pretty sight he was. he'd got a bandage round ‘is left eye, and a black ring round the other. his nose was swelled and his lip cut, but the other officers were making sich a fuss over ‘im, that i think he rather gloried in it than otherwise.
-“‘where's them other two ‘ands?' he ses, by and by, glaring out of ‘is black eye.
-“‘down below, sir, i b'lieve,' ses the carpenter, all of a tremble.
-“‘go an' send ‘em up,' ses the mate to smith.
-“‘yessir,' ses joe, without moving.
-“‘well, go on then,' roars the mate.
-“‘they ain't over and above well, sir, this morning,' ses joe.
-“‘send ‘em up, confound you,' ses the mate, limping towards ‘im.
-“well, joe give ‘is shoulders a ‘elpless sort o' shrug and walked forward and bawled down the fo'c's'le.
-“‘they're coming, sir,' he ses, walking bade to the mate just as the skipper came out of ‘is cabin.
-“we all went on with our work as ‘ard as we knew ‘ow. the skipper was talking to the mate about ‘is injuries, and saying unkind things about germans, when he give a sort of a shout and staggered back staring. we just looked round, and there was them two blackamoors coming slowly towards us.
-“‘good heavens, mr. fingall,' ses the old man. ‘what's this?'
-“i never see sich a look on any man's face as i saw on the mate's then. three times ‘e opened ‘is mouth to speak, and shut it agin without saying anything. the veins on ‘is forehead swelled up tremendous and ‘is cheeks was all blown out purple.
-“that's bill cousins's hair,' ses the skipper to himself. ‘it's bill cousins's hair. it's bill cous—'
-“bob walked up to him, with bill lagging a little way behind, and then he stops just in front of ‘im and fetches up a sort o' little smile.
-“‘don't you make those faces at me, sir?' roars the skipper. ‘what do you mean by it? what have you been doing to yourselves?'
-“‘nothin', sir,' ses bill, ‘umbly; ‘it was done to us.'
-“the carpenter, who was just going to cooper up a cask which ‘ad started a bit, shook like a leaf, and gave bill a look that would ha' melted a stone.
-“‘who did it?' ses the skipper.
-“‘we've been the wictims of a cruel outrage, sir,' ses bill, doing all ‘e could to avoid the mate's eye, which wouldn't be avoided.
-“‘so i should think,' ses the skipper. ‘you've been knocked about, too.'
-“‘yessir,' ses bill, very respectful; ‘me and bob was ashore last night, sir, just for a quiet look round, when we was set on to by five furriners.'
-“‘what?' ses the skipper; and i won't repeat what the mate said.
-“‘we fought ‘em as long as we could, sir,' ses bill, ‘then we was both knocked senseless, and when we came to ourselves we was messed up like this ‘ere.'
-“what sort o' men were they?' asked the skipper, getting excited.
-“‘sailor-men, sir,' ses bob, putting in his spoke. ‘dutchies or germans, or something o' that sort.'
-“‘was there one tall man, with a fair beard,' ses the skipper, getting more and more excited.
-“‘yessir,' ses bill, in a surprised sort o' voice.
-“‘same gang,' ses the skipper. ‘same gang as knocked mr. fingall about, you may depend upon it. mr. fingall, it's a mercy for you you didn't get your face blacked too.'
-“i thought the mate would ha' burst. i can't understand how any man could swell as he swelled without bursting.
-“‘i don't believe a word of it,' he ses, at last.
-“‘why not?' ses the skipper, sharply.
-“‘well, i don't,' ses the mate, his voice trembling with passion. ‘i ‘ave my reasons.'
-“‘i s'pose you don't think these two poor fellows went and blacked themselves for fun, do you?' ses the skipper.
-“the mate couldn't answer.
-“‘and then went and knocked themselves about for more fun?' ses the skipper, very sarcastic.
-“the mate didn't answer. he looked round helpless like, and see the third officer swopping glances with the second, and all the men looking sly and amused, and i think if ever a man saw ‘e was done ‘e did at that moment.
-“he turned away and went below, and the skipper arter reading us all a little lecture on getting into fights without reason, sent the two chaps below agin and told ‘em to turn in and rest. he was so good to ‘em all the way ‘ome, and took sich a interest in seeing ‘em change from black to brown and from light brown to spotted lemon, that the mate daren't do nothing to them, but gave us their share of what he owed them, as well as an extra dose of our own.”
-w. w. jacobs
-a pretty girl stood alone on the jetty of an old-fashioned wharf at wapping, looking down upon the silent deck of a schooner below. no smoke issued from the soot-stained cowl of the galley, and the fore-scuttle and the companion were both inhospitably closed. the quiet of evening was over everything, broken only by the whirr of the paddles of a passenger steamer as it passed carefully up the centre of the river, or the plash of a lighterman's huge sweep as he piloted his unwieldy craft down on the last remnant of the ebb-tide. in shore, various craft sat lightly on the soft thames mud: some sheeting a rigid uprightness, others with their decks at various angles of discomfort.
-the girl stood a minute or two in thought, and put her small foot out tentatively towards the rigging some few feet distant. it was an awkward jump, and she was still considering it, when she heard footsteps behind, and a young man, increasing his pace as he saw her, came rapidly on to the jetty.
-“this is the foam, isn't it?” enquired the girl, as he stood expectantly. “i want to see captain flower.”
-“he went ashore about half an hour ago,” said the other.
-the girl tapped impatiently with her foot. “you don't know what time he'll be back, i suppose?” she enquired.
-he shook his head. “i think he's gone for the evening,” he said, pondering; “he was very careful about his dress.”
-the ghost of a smile trembled on the girl's lips. “he has gone to call for me,” she said. “i must have missed him. i wonder what i'd better do.”
-“wait here till he comes back,” said the man, without hesitation.
-the girl wavered. “i suppose, he'll guess i've come here,” she said, thoughtfully.
-“sure to,” said the other promptly.
-“it's a long way to poplar,” she said, reflectively. “you're mr. fraser, the mate, i suppose? captain flower has spoken to me about you.”
-“that's my name,” said the other.
-“my name's tyrell,” said the girl, smiling. “i daresay you've heard captain flower mention it?”
-“must have done,” said fraser, slowly. he stood looking at the girl before him, at her dark hair and shining dark eyes, inwardly wondering why the captain, a fervid admirer of the sex, had not mentioned her.
-“will you come on board and wait?” he asked. “i'll bring a chair up on deck for you if you will.”
-the girl stood a moment in consideration, and then, with another faint reference to the distance of poplar from wapping, assented. the mate sprang nimbly into the ratlins, and then, extending a hand, helped her carefully to the deck.
-“how nice it feels to be on a ship again!” said the girl, looking contentedly about her, as the mate brought up a canvas chair from below. “i used to go with my father sometimes when he was alive, but i haven't been on a ship now for two years or more.”
-the mate, who was watching her closely, made no reply. he was thinking that a straw hat with scarlet flowers went remarkably well with the dark eyes and hair beneath it, and also that the deck of the schooner had never before seemed such an inviting place as it was at this moment.
-“captain flower keeps his ship in good condition,” said the visitor, somewhat embarrassed by his gaze.
-“he takes a pride in her,” said fraser; “and it's his uncle's craft, so there's no stint. she never wants for paint or repairs, and flower's as nice a man to sail under as one could wish. we've had the same crew for years.”
-“he's very kind and jolly,” said the girl.
-“he's one of the best fellows breathing,” said the mate, warmly; “he saved my life once—went overboard after me when we were doing over ten knots an hour, and was nearly drowned himself.”
-“that was fine of him,” said miss tyrell, eagerly. “he never told me anything about it, and i think that's rather fine too. i like brave men. have you ever been overboard after anybody?”
-fraser shook his head somewhat despondently. “i'm not much of a swimmer,” said he.
-“but you'd go in for anybody if you saw them drowning?” persisted miss tyrell, in a surprised voice.
-“i don't know, i'm sure,” said fraser. “i hope i should.”
-“do you mean to say,” said miss tyrell, severely, “that if i fell into the river here, for instance, you wouldn't jump in and try to save me?”
-“of course i should.” said fraser, hotly. “i should jump in after you if i couldn't swim a stroke.”
-miss tyrell, somewhat taken aback, murmured her gratification.
-“i should go in after you,” continued the mate who was loath to depart from the subject, “if it was blowing a gale, and the sea full of sharks.”
-“what a blessing it is there are no sharks round our coast,” said miss tyrell, in somewhat of a hurry to get away from the mate's heroism. “have you ever seen one?”
-“saw them in the indian ocean when i was an apprentice,” replied fraser.
-“you've been on foreign-going ships then?” said the girl. “i wonder you gave it up for this.”
-“this suits me better,” said fraser; “my father's an old man, and he wanted me home. i shall have a little steamer he's got an interest in as soon as her present skipper goes, so it's just as well for me to know these waters.”
-in this wise they sat talking until evening gave way to night, and the deck of the foam was obscured in shadow. lamps were lit on the wharves, and passing craft hung out their side-lights. the girl rose to her feet.
-“i won't wait any longer; i must be going,” she said.
-“he may be back at any moment,” urged the mate.
-“no, i'd better go, thank you,” replied the girl; “it's getting late. i don't like going home alone.”
-“i'll come with you, if you'll let me,” said the mate, eagerly.
-“all the way?” said miss tyrell, with the air of one bargaining.
-“of course,” said fraser.
-“well, i'll give him another half-hour, then,” said the girl, calmly. “shall we go down to the cabin? it's rather chilly up here now.”
-the mate showed her below, and, lighting the lamp, took a seat opposite and told her a few tales of the sea, culled when he was an apprentice, and credulous of ear. miss tyrell retaliated with some told her by her father, from which fraser was able to form his own opinion of that estimable mariner. the last story was of a humourous nature, and the laughter which ensued grated oddly on the ear of the sturdy, good-looking seaman who had just come on board. he stopped at the companion for a moment listening in amazement, and then, hastily descending, entered the cabin.
-“poppy!” he cried. “why, i've been waiting up at the wheelers' for you for nearly a couple of hours.”
-“i must have missed you,” said miss tyrell, serenely. “annoying, isn't it?”
-the master of the foam said it was, and seemed from his manner to be anxious to do more justice to the subject than that.
-“i didn't dream you'd come down here,” he said, at length.
-“no, you never invited me, so i came without,” said the girl softly; “it's a dear little schooner, and i like it very much. i shall come often.”
-a slight shade passed over captain flower's face, but he said nothing.
-“you must take me back now,” said miss tyrell. “good-bye, mr. fraser.”
-she held out her hand to the mate, and giving a friendly pressure, left the cabin, followed by flower.
-the mate let them get clear of the ship, and then, clambering on to the jetty, watched them off the wharf, and, plunging his hands into his pockets, whistled softly.
-“poppy tyrell,” he said to himself, slowly. “poppy tyrell! i wonder why the skipper has never mentioned her. i wonder why she took his arm. i wonder whether she knows that he's engaged to be married.”
-he was awakened suddenly from a dream of rescuing a small shark surrounded by a horde of hungry poppies, by the hurried and dramatic entrance of captain fred flower. the captain's eyes were wild and his face harassed, and he unlocked the door of his state-room and stood with the handle of it in his hand before he paused to answer the question in the mate's sleepy eyes.
-“it's all right, jack,” he said, breathlessly.
-“i'm glad of that,” said the mate, calmly.
-“i hurried a bit,” said the skipper.
-“anxious to see me again, i suppose,” said the mate; “what are you listening for?”
-“thought i heard somebody in the water as i came aboard,” said flower glibly.
-“what have you been up to?” enquired the other, quickly.
-captain flower turned and regarded him with a look of offended dignity.
-“good heavens! don't look like that,” said the mate, misreading it. “you haven't chucked anybody overboard, have you?”
-“if anybody should happen to come aboard this vessel,” said flower, without deigning to reply to the question, “and ask questions about the master of it, he's as unlike me, jack, as any two people in this world can be. d'ye understand?”
-“you'd better tell me what you've been up to,” urged the mate.
-“as for your inquisitiveness, jack, it don't become you,” said flower, with severity; “but i don't suppose it'll be necessary to trouble you at all.”
-“i shall just turn in for an hour,” he said, amiably; “good-night, jack.”
-“good-night,” said the curious mate. “i say——” he sat up suddenly in his bunk and looked seriously at the skipper.
-“well?” said the other.
-“i suppose,” said the mate, with a slight cough—“i suppose it's nothing about that girl that was down here?”
-“certainly not,” said flower, violently. he extinguished the lamp, and, entering his state-room, closed the door and locked it, and the mate, after lying a little while drowsily wondering what it all meant, fell asleep again.
-while the skipper and mate slumbered peacefully below, the watchman sat on a post at the extreme end of the jetty, yearning for human society and gazing fearfully behind him at the silent, dimly-lit wharf. the two gas-lamps high up on the walls gave but a faint light, and in no way dispelled the deep shadows thrown by the cranes and the piled-up empties which littered the place. he gazed intently at the dark opening of the floor beneath the warehouse, half fancying that he could again discern the veiled apparition which had looked in at him through the office window, and had finally vanished before his horror-struck eyes in a corner the only outlet to which was a grating. albeit a careful man and tender, the watchman pinched himself. he was awake, and, rubbing the injured part, swore softly.
-“if i go down and tell 'em,” he murmured softly, in allusion to the crew, “what'll they do? laugh at me.”
-he glanced behind him again, and, rising hastily to his feet, nearly fell on to the deck below as a dark figure appeared for a moment at the opening and then vanished again. with more alacrity than might have been expected of a man of his figure, he dropped into the rigging and lowered himself on to the schooner.
-the scuttle was open, and the seamen's lusty snores fell upon his ears like sweet music. he backed down the ladder, and groped in the darkness towards the bunks with outstretched hand. one snore stopped instantly.
-“eh!” said a sleepy voice. “wot! 'ere, what the blazes are you up to?”
-“a' right, joe,” said the watchman, cheerfully.
-“but it ain't all right,” said the seaman, sharply, “comin' down in the dark an' ketchin' 'old o' people's noses. give me quite a start, you did.”
-“it's nothing to the start i've 'ad,” said the other, pathetically; “there's a ghost on the wharf, joe. i want you to come up with me and see what it is.
-“yes, i'm sure to do that,” said joe, turning over in his bunk till it creaked with his weight. “go away, and let me get to sleep again. i don't get a night's rest like you do, you know.”
-“what's the matter?” enquired a sleepy voice.
-“old george 'ere ses there's a ghost on the wharf,” said joe.
-“i've seen it three times,” said the watchman, eager for sympathy.
-“i expect it's a death-warning for you, george,” said the voice, solemnly. “the last watchman died sudden, you remember.”
-“so he did,” said joe.
-“his 'art was wrong,” said george, curtly; “'ad been for years.”
-“'ow d'yer know it's a ghost,” said a third voice, impatiently; “very likely while you're all jawing about it down 'ere it's a-burglin' the offis.”
-joe gave a startled grunt, and, rolling out of his bunk, grabbed his trousers, and began to dress. three other shadowy forms followed suit, and, hastily dressing, followed the watchman on deck and gained the wharf. they went through the gloomy ground floor in a body, yawning sleepily.
-“i shouldn't like to be a watchman,” said a young ordinary seaman named tim, with a shiver; “a ghost might easy do anything with you while you was all alone. p'r'aps it walks up an' down behind you, george, makin' faces. we shall be gorn in another hour, george.”
-the office, when they reached it, was undisturbed, and, staying only long enough to drink the watchman's coffee, which was heating on a gas-jet, they left it and began to search the wharf, joe leading with a small lantern.
-“are we all 'ere?” demanded tim, suddenly.
-“i am,” said the cook, emphatically.
-“'cos i see su'thing right behind them bags o' sugar,” said the youth, clutching hold of the cook on one side and the watchman on the other. “spread out a bit, chaps.”
-joe dashed boldly round with the lantern. there was a faint scream and an exclamation of triumph from the seaman. “i've got it!” he shouted.
-the others followed hastily, and saw the fearless joe firmly gripping the apparition. at the sight the cook furtively combed his hair with his fingers, while tim modestly buttoned up his jacket.
-“take this lantern, so's i can hold her better,” said joe, extending it.
-the cook took it from him, and holding it up, revealed the face of a tall, good-looking woman of some seven or eight and twenty.
-“what are you doin' here?” demanded the watchman, with official austerity.
-“i'm waiting for a friend of mine,” said the visitor, struggling with joe. “make this man leave go of me, please.”
-“joe,” said the watchman, with severity. “i'm ashamed of you. who is your friend, miss?”
-“his name is robinson,” said the lady. “he came on here about an hour ago. i'm waiting for him.”
-“there's nobody here,” said the watchman, shaking his head.
-“i'm not sure he didn't go on that little ship,” said the lady; “but if he has, i suppose i can wait here till he comes off. i'm not doing any harm.”
-“the ship'll sail in about an hour's time, miss,” said tim, regretfully, “but there ain't nobody o' the name of robinson aboard her. all the crew's 'ere, and there's only the skipper and mate on her besides.”
-“you can't deceive me, young man, so don't try it,” said the lady, sharply. “i followed him on here, and he hasn't gone off, because the gate has been locked since.”
-“i can't think who the lady means,” said joe.
-“i ain't seen nobody come aboard. if he did, he's down the cabin.”
-“well, i'll go down there,” said the lady, promptly.
-“well, miss, it's nothing to do with us,” said joe, “but it's my opinion you'll find the skipper and mate has turned in.”
-“well, i'm going down,” said the lady, gripping her parasol firmly by the middle; “they can't eat me.”
-she walked towards the foam, followed by the perplexed crew, and with the able assistance of five pairs of hands reached the deck. the companion was open, and at joe's whispered instructions she turned and descended the steps backwards.
-it was at first quite dark in the cabin, but as the visitor's eyes became accustomed to it, she could just discern the outlines of a small table, while a steady breathing assured her that somebody was sleeping close by. feeling her way to the table she discovered, a locker, and, taking a seat, coughed gently. the breathing continuing quite undisturbed, she coughed again, twice.
-the breathing stopped suddenly. “who the devil's that coughing?” asked a surprised voice.
-“i beg pardon, i'm sure,” said the visitor, “but is there a mr. robinson down here?”
-the reply was so faint and smothered that she could not hear it. it was evident that the speaker, a modest man, was now speaking from beneath the bedclothes.
-“is mr. robinson here?” she repeated loudly.
-“never heard of him,” said the smothered voice.
-“it's my opinion,” said the visitor, hotly, “that you're trying to deceive me. have you got a match?”
-the owner of the voice said that he had not, and with chilly propriety added that he wouldn't give it to her if he had. whereupon the lady rose, and, fumbling on the little mantel-piece, found a box and struck one. there was a lamp nailed to the bulkhead over the mantel-piece, and calmly removing the chimney, she lit it.
-a red, excited face, with the bedclothes fast about its neck, appeared in a small bunk and stared at her in speechless amaze. the visitor returned his gaze calmly, and then looked carefully round the cabin.
-“where does that lead to?” she asked, pointing to the door of the state-room.
-the mate, remembering in time the mysterious behaviour of flower, considered the situation. “that's the pantry,” he said, untruthfully.
-the visitor rose and tried the handle. the door was locked, and she looked doubtfully at the mate. “i suppose that's a leg of mutton i can hear asleep in there,” she said, with acerbity.
-“you can suppose what you like,” said the mate, testily; “why don't you go away? i'm surprised at you.”
-“you'll be more surprised before i've done with you,” said the lady, with emotion. “my fred's in there, and you know it.”
-“your fred!” said fraser, in great surprise.
-“mr. robinson,” said the visitor, correcting herself.
-“i tell you there's nobody in there except the skipper,” said the mate.
-“you said it was the pantry just now,” exclaimed the other, sharply.
-“the skipper sleeps in the pantry so's he can keep his eye on the meat,” explained fraser.
-the visitor looked at him angrily. “what sort of a man is he?” she enquired, suddenly.
-“you'll soon know if he comes out,” said the mate. “he's the worst-tempered man afloat, i should think. if he comes out and finds you here, i don't know what he'll do.”
-“i'm not afraid of him,” said the other, with spirit. “what do you call him? skipper?”
-the mate nodded, and the visitor tapped loudly at the door. “skipper!” she cried, “skipper!”
-no answer being vouchsafed, she repeated her cry in a voice louder than before.
-“he's a heavy sleeper,” said the perturbed fraser; “better go away, there's a good girl.”
-“halloa!” it said.
-“my goodness,” said the visitor, aghast. “what a voice! what a terrible voice!”
-she recovered herself and again approached the door.
-“is there a gentleman named robinson in there?” she asked, timidly.
-“gentleman named who?” came the thunderclap again.
-“robinson,” said the lady, faintly.
-the reverberation of that mighty voice rolled and shook through the cabin. it even affected the mate, for the visitor, glancing towards him, saw that he had nervously concealed himself beneath the bedclothes, and was shaking with fright.
-“i daresay his bark is worse than his bite,” said the visitor, trembling; “anyway, i'm going to stay here. i saw mr. robinson come here, and i believe he's got him in there. killing him, perhaps. oh! oh!”
-to the mate's consternation she began to laugh, and then changed to a piercing scream, and, unused to the sex as he was, he realised that this was the much-dreaded hysteria of which he had often heard, and he faced her with a face as pallid as her own.
-“chuck some water over yourself,” he said, hastily, nodding at a jug which stood on the table. “i can't very well get up to do it myself.”
-the lady ignored this advice, and by dint of much strength of mind regained her self-control. she sat down on the locker again, and folding her arms showed clearly her intention to remain.
-half an hour passed; the visitor still sat grimly upright. twice she sniffed slightly, and, with a delicate handkerchief, pushed up her veil and wiped away the faint beginnings of a tear.
-“i suppose you think i'm acting strangely?” she said, catching the mate's eye after one of these episodes.
-“oh, don't mind me,” said the mate, with studied politeness; “don't mind hurting my feelings or taking my character away.”
-“pooh! you're a man,” said the visitor, scornfully; “but character or no character, i'm going to see into that room before i go away, if i sit here for three weeks.”
-“how're you going to manage about eating and drinking all that time?” enquired fraser.
-“how are you?” said the visitor; “you can't get up while i'm here, you know.”
-“well, we'll see,” said the mate, vaguely.
-“i'm sure i don't want to annoy anybody,” said the visitor, softly, “but i've had a lot of trouble, young man, and what's worse, i've been made a fool of. this day three weeks ago i ought to have been married.”
-“i'm sure you ought,” murmured the other.
-the lady ignored the interruption.
-“travelling under government on secret service, he said he was,” she continued; “always away: here to-day, china to-morrow, and america the day after.”
-“flying?” queried the interested mate.
-“i daresay,” snapped the visitor; “anything to tell me, i suppose. we were to be married by special license. i'd even got my trousseau ready.”
-“got your what ready?” enquired the mate, to whom the word was new, leaning out of his bunk.
-“everything to wear,” explained the visitor. “all my relations bought new clothes, too; leastways, those that could afford it did. he even went and helped me choose the cake.”
-“well, is that wrong?” asked the puzzled mate.
-“he didn't buy it, he only chose it,” said the other, having recourse to her handkerchief again. “he went outside the shop to see whether there was one he would like better, and when i came out he had disappeared.”
-“he must have met with an accident,” said the mate, politely.
-“i saw him to-night,” said the lady, tersely.
-“once or twice he had mentioned wapping in conversation, and then seemed to check himself. that was my clue. i've been round this dismal heathenish place for a fortnight. to-night i saw him; he came on this wharf, and he has not gone off.... it's my belief he's in that room.”
-before the mate could reply the hoarse voice of the watchman came down the company-way. “ha' past eleven, sir; tide's just on the turn.”
-“aye, aye,” said the mate. he turned imploringly to the visitor.
-“would you do me the favour just to step on deck a minute?”
-“what for?” enquired the visitor, shortly.
-“because i want to get up,” said the mate.
-“i sha'n't move,” said the lady.
-“but i've got to get up, i tell you,” said the mate; “we're getting under way in ten minutes.”
-“and what might that be?” asked the lady.
-“why, we make a start. you'd better go ashore unless you want to be carried off.”
-“i sha'n't move,” repeated the visitor.
-“well, i'm sorry to be rude,” said the mate. “george.”
-“sir,” said the watchman from above.
-“bring down a couple o' men and take this lady ashore,” said the mate sternly.
-“i'll send a couple down, sir,” said the watchman, and moved off to make a selection.
-“i shall scream 'murder and thieves,'” said the lady, her eyes gleaming. “i'll bring the police up and cause a scandal. then perhaps i shall see into that room.”
-in the face of determination like this the mate's courage gave way, and in a voice of much anxiety he called upon his captain for instruction.
-“cast off,” bellowed the mighty voice. “if your sweetheart won't go ashore she must come, too. you must pay her passage.”
-“well, of all the damned impudence,” muttered the incensed mate. “well, if you're bent on coming,” he said, hotly, to the visitor, “just go on deck while i dress.”
-the lady hesitated a moment and then withdrew. on deck the men eyed her curiously, but made no attempt to interfere with her, and in a couple of minutes the mate came running up to take charge.
-“where are we going?” enquired the lady with a trace of anxiety in her voice.
-“france,” said fraser, turning away.
-the visitor looked nervously round. at the adjoining wharf a sailing barge was also getting under way, and a large steamer was slowly turning in the middle of the river. she took a pace or two towards the side.
-“cast off,” said fraser, impatiently, to the watchman.
-“wait a minute,” said the visitor, hastily, “i want to think.”
-“cast off,” repeated the mate.
-the watchman obeyed, and the schooner's side moved slowly from the wharf. at the sight the visitor's nerve forsook her, and with a frantic cry she ran to the side and, catching the watchman's outstretched hand, sprang ashore.
-“good-bye,” sang out the mate; “sorry you wouldn't come to france with us. the lady was afraid of the foreigners, george. if it had been england she wouldn't have minded.”
-“aye, aye,” said the watchman, significantly, and, as the schooner showed her stern, turned to answer, with such lies as he thought the occasion demanded, the eager questions of his fair companion.
-captain flower, learning through the medium of tim that the coast was clear, came on deck at limehouse, and took charge of his ship with a stateliness significant of an uneasy conscience. he noticed with growing indignation that the mate's attitude was rather that of an accomplice than a subordinate, and that the crew looked his way far oftener than was necessary or desirable.
-“i told her we were going to france,” said the mate, in an impressive whisper.
-“her?” said flower, curtly. “who?”
-“the lady you didn't want to see,” said fraser, restlessly.
-“you let your ideas run away with you, jack,” said flower, yawning. “it wasn't likely i was going to turn out and dress to see any girl you liked to invite aboard.”
-“or even to bawl at them through the speaking-trumpet,” said fraser, looking at him steadily.
-“what sort o'looking girl was she?” enquired flower, craning his neck to see what was in front of him.
-“looked like a girl who meant to find the man she wanted, if she spent ten years over it,” said the mate grimly. “i'll bet you an even five shillings, cap'n, that she finds this mr. robinson before six weeks are out—whatever his other name is.”
-“maybe,” said flower, carelessly.
-“it's her first visit to the foam, but not the last, you mark my words,” said fraser, solemnly. “if she wants this rascal robinson——”
-“what?” interrupted flower, sharply.
-“i say if she wants this rascal robinson,” repeated the mate, with relish, “she'll naturally come where she saw the last trace of him.”
-captain flower grunted.
-“women never think,” continued fraser, judicially, “or else she'd be glad to get rid of such a confounded scoundrel.”
-“what do you know about him?” demanded flower.
-“i know what she told me,” said fraser; “the idea of a man leaving a poor girl in a cake-shop and doing a bolt. he'll be punished for it, i know. he's a thoughtless, inconsiderate fellow, but one of the best-hearted chaps in the world, and i guess i'll do the best i can for him.”
-flower grinned safely in the darkness. “and any little help i can give you, jack, i'll give freely,” he said, softly. “we'll talk it over at breakfast.”
-the mate took the hint, and, moving off, folded his arms on the taffrail, and, looking idly astern, fell into a reverie. like the pharisee, he felt thankful that he was not as other men, and dimly pitied the skipper and his prosaic entanglements, as he thought of poppy. he looked behind at the dark and silent city, and felt a new affection for it, as he reflected that she was sleeping there.
-the two men commenced their breakfast in silence, the skipper eating with a zest which caused the mate to allude impatiently to the last breakfasts of condemned men.
-“shut the skylight, jack,” said the skipper, at length, as he poured out his third cup of coffee.
-fraser complied, and resuming his seat gazed at him with almost indecent expectancy. the skipper dropped some sugar into his coffee, and stirring it in a meditative fashion, sighed gently.
-“i've been making a fool of myself, jack,” he said, at length. “i was always one to be fond of a little bit of adventure, but this goes a little too far, even for me.”
-“but what did you get engaged to her for?” enquired fraser.
-flower shook his head. “she fell violently in love with me,” he said, mournfully. “she keeps the blue posts up at chelsea. her father left it to her. she manages her step-mother and her brother and everybody else. i was just a child in her hands. you know my easy-going nature.”
-“but you made love to her,” expostulated the mate.
-“in a way, i suppose i did,” admitted the other. “i don't know now whether she could have me up for breach of promise, because when i asked her i did it this way. i said, 'will you be mrs. robinson?' what do you think?”
-“i should think it would make it harder for you,” said fraser. “but didn't you remember miss banks while all this was going on?”
-“in a way,” said flower, “yes—in a way. but after a man's been engaged to a woman nine years, it's very easy to forget, and every year makes it easier. besides, i was only a boy when i was engaged to her.”
-“twenty-eight,” said fraser.
-“anyway, i wasn't old enough to know my own mind,” said flower, “and my uncle and old mrs. banks made it up between them. they arranged everything, and i can't afford to offend the old man. if i married miss tipping—that's the blue posts girl—he'd leave his money away from me; and if i marry elizabeth, miss tipping'll have me up for breach of promise—if she finds me.”
-“if you're not very careful,” said fraser, impressively, “you'll lose both of 'em.”
-the skipper leaned over the table, and glanced carefully round. “just what i want to do,” he said, in a low voice. “i'm engaged to another girl.”
-“what?” cried the mate, raising his voice. “three?”
-“three,” repeated the skipper. “only three,” he added, hastily, as he saw a question trembling on the other's lips.
-“i'm ashamed of you,” said the latter, severely; “you ought to know better.”
-“i don't want any of your preaching, jack,” said the skipper, briskly; “and, what's more, i won't have it. i deserve more pity than blame.”
-“you'll want all you can get,” said fraser, ominously. “and does the other girl know of any of the others?”
-“of either of the others—no,” corrected flower. “of course, none of them know. you don't think i'm a fool, do you?”
-“who is number three?” enquired the mate suddenly.
-“poppy tyrell,” replied the other.
-“oh,” said fraser, trying to speak unconcernedly; “the girl who came here last evening.”
-flower nodded. “she's the one i'm going to marry,” he said, colouring. “i'd sooner marry her than command a liner. i'll marry her if i lose every penny i'm going to have, but i'm not going to lose the money if i can help it. i want both.”
-the mate baled out his cup with a spoon and put the contents into the saucer.
-“i'm a sort of guardian to her,” said flower. “her father, captain tyrell, died about a year ago, and i promised him i'd look after her and marry her. it's a sacred promise.”
-“besides, you want to,” said fraser, by no means in the mood to allow his superior any credit in the matter, “else you wouldn't do it.”
-“you don't know me, jack,” said the skipper, more in sorrow than in anger.
-“no, i didn't think you were quite so bad,” said the mate, slowly. “is—miss tyrell—fond of you?”
-“of course she is,” said flower, indignantly; “they all are, that's the worst of it. you were never much of a favourite with the sex, jack, were you?”
-fraser shook his head, and, the saucer being full, spooned the contents slowly back into the cup again.
-“captain tyrell leave any money?” he enquired.
-“other way about,” replied flower. “i lent him, altogether, close on a hundred pounds. he was a man of very good position, but he took to drink and lost his ship and his self-respect, and all he left behind was his debts and his daughter.”
-“well, you're in a tight place,” said fraser, “and i don't see how you're going to get out of it. miss tipping's got a bit of a clue to you now, and if she once discovers you, you're done. besides, suppose miss tyrell finds anything out?”
-“it's all excitement,” said flower, cheerfully. “i've been in worse scrapes than this and always got out of 'em. i don't like a quiet life. i never worry about things, jack, because i've noticed that the things people worry about never happen.”
-“i shall come out of it all right,” said flower. “i rather enjoy it. there's gibson would marry elizabeth like a shot if she'd have him; but, of course, she won't look at him while i'm above ground. i have thought of getting somebody to tell elizabeth a lot of lies about me.”
-“why, wouldn't the truth do?” enquired the mate, artlessly.
-the skipper turned a deaf ear. “but she wouldn't believe a word against me,” he said, with mournful pride, as he rose and went on deck. “she trusts me too much.”
-from his knitted brows, as he steered, it was evident, despite his confidence, that this amiable weakness on the part of miss banks was causing him some anxiety, a condition which was not lessened by the considerate behaviour of the mate, who, when any fresh complication suggested itself to him, dutifully submitted it to his commander.
-“i shall be all right,” said flower, confidently, as they entered the river the following afternoon and sailed slowly along the narrow channel which wound its sluggish way through an expanse of mud-banks to seabridge.
-the mate, who was suffering from symptoms hitherto unknown to him, made no reply. his gaze wandered idly from the sloping uplands, stretching away into the dim country on the starboard side, to the little church-crowned town ahead, with its out-lying malt houses and neglected, grass-grown quay, a couple of moribund ship's boats lay rotting in the mud, and the skeleton of a fishing-boat completed the picture. for the first time perhaps in his life, the landscape struck him as dull and dreary.
-two men of soft and restful movements appeared on the quay as they approached, and with the slowness characteristic of the best work, helped to make them fast in front of the red-tiled barn which served as a warehouse. then captain flower, after descending to the cabin to make the brief shore-going toilet necessary for seabridge society, turned to give a last word to the mate.
-“i'm not one to care much what's said about me, jack,” he began, by way of preface.
-“that's a good job for you,” said fraser, slowly.
-“same time let the hands know i wish 'em to keep their mouths shut,” pursued the skipper; “just tell them it was a girl that you knew, and i don't want it talked about for fear of getting you into trouble. keep me out of it; that's all i ask.”
-“if cheek will pull you through,” said fraser, with a slight display of emotion, “you'll do. perhaps i'd better say that miss tyrell came to see me, too. how would you like that?”
-“ah, it would be as well,” said flower, heartily. “i never thought of it.”
-he stepped ashore, and at an easy pace walked along the steep road which led to the houses above. the afternoon was merging into evening, and a pleasant stillness was in the air. menfolk working in their cottage gardens saluted him as he passed, and the occasional whiteness of a face at the back of a window indicated an interest in his affairs on the part of the fairer citizens of seabridge. at the gate of the first of an ancient row of cottages, conveniently situated within hail of the grapes, the thorn, and the swan, he paused, and walking up the trim-kept garden path, knocked at the door.
-it was opened by a stranger—a woman of early middle age, dressed in a style to which the inhabitants of the row had long been unaccustomed. the practised eye of the skipper at once classed her as “rather good-looking.”
-“captain barber's in the garden,” she said, smiling. “he wasn't expecting you'd be up just yet.”
-the skipper followed her in silence, and, after shaking hands with the short, red-faced man with the grey beard and shaven lip, who sat with a paper on his knee, stood watching in blank astonishment as the stranger carefully filled the old man's pipe and gave him a light. their eyes meeting, the uncle winked solemnly at the nephew.
-“this is mrs. church,” he said, slowly; “this is my nevy, cap'n fred flower.”
-“i should have known him anywhere,” declared mrs. church; “the likeness is wonderful.”
-captain barber chuckled—loudly enough for them to hear.
-“me and mrs. church have been watering the flowers,” he said. “give 'em a good watering, we have.”
-“i never really knew before what a lot there was in watering,” admitted mrs. church.
-“there's a right way and a wrong in doing everything,” said captain barber, severely; “most people chooses the wrong. if it wasn't so, those of us who have got on, wouldn't have got on.”
-“that's very true,” said mrs. church, shaking her head.
-“and them as haven't got on would have got on,” said the philosopher, following up his train of thought. “if you would just go out and get them things i spoke to you about, mrs. church, we shall be all right.”
-“who is it?” enquired the nephew, as soon as she had gone.
-captain barber looked stealthily round, and, for the second time that evening, winked at his nephew.
-“a visitor?” said flower.
-captain barber winked again, and then laughed into his pipe until it gurgled.
-“it's a little plan o' mine.” he said, when he had become a little more composed. “she's my housekeeper.”
-“housekeeper?” repeated the astonished flower.
-“bein' all alone here,” said uncle barber, “i think a lot. i sit an' think until i get an idea. it comes quite sudden like, and i wonder i never thought of it before.”
-“but what did you want a housekeeper for?” enquired his nephew. “where's lizzie?”
-“i got rid of her,” said captain barber. “i got a housekeeper because i thought it was time you got married. now do you see?”
-“no,” said flower, shortly.
-captain barber laughed softly and, relighting his pipe which had gone out, leaned back in his chair and again winked at his indignant nephew.
-“mrs. banks,” he said, suggestively.
-his nephew gazed at him blankly.
-captain barber, sighing good-naturedly at his dulness, turned his chair a bit and explained the situation.
-“mrs. banks won't let you and elizabeth marry till she's gone,” said he.
-his nephew nodded.
-“i've been at her ever so long,” said the other, “but she's firm. now i'm trying artfulness. i've got a good-looking housekeeper—she's the pick o' seventeen what all come here wednesday morning—and i'm making love to her.”
-“making love to her,” shouted his nephew, gazing wildly at the venerable bald head with the smoking-cap resting on one huge ear.
-“haven't you ever heard of breach of promise cases?” asked his nephew, aghast.
-“there's no fear o' that,” said captain barber, confidently. “it's all right with mrs. church she's a widder. a widder ain't like a young girl she knows you don't mean anything.”
-it was useless to argue with such stupendous folly; captain flower tried another tack.
-“and suppose mrs. church gets fond of you,” he said, gravely. “it doesn't seem right to trifle with a woman's affections like that.”
-“i won't go too far,” said the lady-killer in the smoking-cap, reassuringly.
-“elizabeth and her mother are still away, i suppose?” said flower, after a pause.
-his uncle nodded.
-“so, of course, you needn't do much love-making till they come back,” said his nephew; “it's waste of time, isn't it?”
-“i'll just keep my hand in,” said captain barber, thoughtfully. “i can't say as i find it disagreeable. i was always one to take a little notice of the sects.”
-he got up to go indoors. “never mind about them,” he said, as his nephew was about to follow with the chair and his tobacco-jar; “mrs. church likes to do that herself, and she'd be disappointed if anybody else did it.”
-his nephew followed him to the house in silence, listening later on with a gloomy feeling of alarm to the conversation at the supper-table. the rôle of gooseberry was new to him, and when mrs. church got up from the table for the sole purpose of proving her contention that captain barber looked better in his black velvet smoking-cap than the one he was wearing he was almost on the point of exceeding his duties.
-he took the mate into his confidence the next day, and asked him what he thought of it. fraser said that it was evidently in the blood, and, being pressed with some heat for an explanation, said that he meant captain barber's blood.
-“it's bad, any way i look at it,” said flower; “it may bring matters between me and elizabeth to a head, or it may end in my uncle marrying the woman.”
-“very likely both,” said fraser, cheerfully. “is this mrs. church good-looking?”
-“i can hardly say,” said flower, pondering.
-“well, good-looking enough for you to feel inclined to take any notice of her?” asked the mate.
-“when you can talk seriously,” said the skipper, in great wrath, “i'll be pleased to answer you. just at present i don't feel in the sort of temper to be made fun of.”
-he walked off in dudgeon, and, until they were on their way to london again, treated the mate with marked coldness. then the necessity of talking to somebody about his own troubles and his uncle's idiocy put the two men on their old footing. in the quietness of the cabin, over a satisfying pipe, he planned out in a kindly and generous spirit careers for both the ladies he was not going to marry. the only thing that was wanted to complete their happiness, and his, was that they should fall in with the measures proposed.
-at no. 5 liston street, poppy tyrell sat at the open window of her room reading. the outside air was pleasant, despite the fact that poplar is a somewhat crowded neighbourhood, and it was rendered more pleasant by comparison with the atmosphere inside, which, from a warm, soft smell not to be described by comparison, suggested washing. in the stone-paved yard beneath the window, a small daughter of the house hung out garments of various hues and shapes, while inside, in the scullery, the master of the house was doing the family washing with all the secrecy and trepidation of one engaged in an unlawful task. the wheeler family was a large one, and the wash heavy, and besides misadventures to one or two garments, sorted out for further consideration, the small girl was severely critical about the colour, averring sharply that she was almost ashamed to put them on the line.
-“they'll dry clean,” said her father, wiping his brow with the upper part of his arm, the only part which was dry; “and if they don't we must tell your mother that the line came down. i'll show these to her now.”
-he took up the wet clothes and, cautiously leaving the scullery, crossed the passage to the parlour, where mrs. wheeler, a confirmed invalid, was lying on a ramshackle sofa, darning socks. mr. wheeler coughed to attract her attention, and with an apologetic expression of visage held up a small, pink garment of the knickerbocker species, and prepared for the worst.
-“they have,” said her husband, “all by itself,” he added, in hasty self-defence.
-“you've had it in the soda,” said mrs. wheeler, disregarding.
-“i've not,” said mr. wheeler, vehemently. “i've got the two tubs there, flannels in one without soda, the other things in the other with soda. it's bad stuff, that's what it is. i thought i'd show you.”
-“it's management they want,” said mrs. wheeler, wearily; “it's the touch you have to give 'em. i can't explain, but i know they wouldn't have gone like that if i'd done 'em. what's that you're hiding behind you?”
-thus attacked, mr. wheeler produced his other hand, and shaking out a blue and white shirt, showed how the blue had been wandering over the white territory, and how the white had apparently accepted a permanent occupation.
-“what do you say to that?” he enquired, desperately.
-“you'd better ask bob what he says,” said his wife, aghast; “you know how pertickler he is, too. i told you as plain as a woman could speak, not to boil that shirt.”
-“well, it can't be helped,” said mr. wheeler, with a philosophy he hoped his son would imitate. “i wasn't brought up to the washing, polly.”
-“it's a sin to spoil good things like that,” said mrs. wheeler, fretfully. “bob's quite the gentleman—he will buy such expensive shirts. take it away, i can't bear to look at it.”
-mr. wheeler, considerably crestfallen, was about to obey, when he was startled by a knock at the door.
-“that's captain flower, i expect,” said his wife, hastily; “he's going to take poppy and emma to a theatre to-night. don't let him see you in that state, peter.”
-but mr. wheeler was already fumbling at the strings of his apron, and, despairing of undoing it, broke the string, and pitched it with the other clothes under the sofa and hastily donned his coat.
-“good-evening,” said flower, as mr. wheeler opened the door; “this is my mate.”
-“glad to see you, sir,” said mr. wheeler.
-the mate made his acknowledgments, and having shaken hands, carefully wiped his down the leg of his trousers.
-“moist hand you've got, wheeler,” said flower, who had been doing the same thing.
-“got some dye on 'em at the docks,” said wheeler, glibly. “i've 'ad 'em in soak.”
-flower nodded, and after a brief exchange of courtesies with mrs. wheeler as he passed the door, led the way up the narrow staircase to miss tyrell's room.
-“i've brought him with me, so that he'll be company for emma wheeler,” said the skipper, as fraser shook hands with her, “and you must look sharp if you want to get good seats.
-“i'm ready all but my hat and jacket,” said poppy, “and emma's in her room getting ready, too. all the children are up there helping her.”
-fraser opened his eyes at such a toilet, and began secretly to wish that he had paid more attention to his own.
-“i hope you're not shy?” said miss tyrell, who found his steadfast gaze somewhat embarrassing.
-fraser shook his head. “no, i'm not shy,” he said, quietly.
-“because emma didn't know you were coming,” continued miss tyrell, “and she's always shy. so you must be bold, you know.”
-the mate nodded as confidently as he could. “shyness has never been one of my failings,” he said, nervously.
-further conversation was rendered difficult, if not impossible, by one which now took place outside. it was conducted between a small wheeler on the top of the stairs and mrs. wheeler in the parlour below. the subject was hairpins, an article in which it appeared miss wheeler was lamentably deficient, owing, it was suggested, to a weakness of mrs. wheeler's for picking up stray ones and putting them in her hair. the conversation ended in mrs. wheeler, whose thin voice was heard hotly combating these charges, parting with six, without prejudice; and a few minutes later miss wheeler, somewhat flushed, entered the room and was introduced to the mate.
-“all ready?” enquired flower, as miss tyrell drew on her gloves.
-they went downstairs in single file, the builder of the house having left no option in the matter, while the small wheelers, breathing hard with excitement, watched them over the balusters. outside the house the two ladies paired off, leaving the two men to follow behind.
-the mate noticed, with a strong sense of his own unworthiness, that the two ladies seemed thoroughly engrossed in each other's company, and oblivious to all else. a suggestion from flower that he should close up and take off miss wheeler, seemed to him to border upon audacity, but he meekly followed flower as that bold mariner ranged himself alongside the girls, and taking two steps on the curb and three in the gutter, walked along for some time trying to think of something to say.
-“there ain't room for four abreast,” said flower, who had been scraping against the wall. “we'd better split up into twos.”
-at the suggestion the ladies drifted apart, and flower, taking miss tyrell's arm, left the mate behind with miss wheeler, nervously wondering whether he ought to do the same.
-“i hope it won't rain,” he said, at last.
-“i hope not,” said miss wheeler, glancing up at a sky which was absolutely cloudless.
-“so bad for ladies' dresses,” continued the mate.
-“what is?” enquired miss wheeler, who had covered some distance since the last remark.
-“rain,” said the mate, quite freshly. “i don't think we shall have any, though.”
-miss wheeler whose life had been passed in a neighbourhood in which there was only one explanation for such conduct, concluded that he had been drinking, and, closing her lips tightly, said no more until they reached the theatre.
-“oh, they're going in,” she said, quickly; “we shall get a bad seat.”
-“hurry up,” cried flower, beckoning.
-“i'll pay,” whispered the mate.
-“no, i will,” said flower. “well, you pay for one and i'll pay for one, then.”
-he pushed his way to the window and bought a couple of pit-stalls; the mate, who had not consulted him, bought upper-circles, and, with a glance at the ladies, pushed open the swing-doors.
-“come on,” he said, excitedly; and seeing several people racing up the broad stone stairs, he and miss tyrell raced with them.
-“round this side,” he cried, hastily, as he gave up the tickets, and, followed by miss tyrell, quickly secured a couple of seats at the end of the front row.
-“best seats in the house almost,” said poppy, cheerfully.
-“where are the others?” said fraser, looking round.
-“coming on behind, i suppose,” said poppy glancing over her shoulder.
-“i'll change places when they arrive,” said the other, apologetically; “something's detained them, i should think. i hope they're not waiting for us.”
-he stood looking about him uneasily as the seats behind rapidly filled, and closely scanned their occupants, and then, leaving his hat on the seat, walked back in perplexity to the door.
-“never mind,” said miss tyrell, quietly, as he came back. “i daresay they'll find us.”
-fraser bought a programme and sat down, the brim of miss tyrell's hat touching his face as she bent to peruse it. with her small gloved finger she pointed out the leading characters, and taking no notice of his restlessness, began to chat gaily about the plays she had seen, until a tuning of violins from the orchestra caused her to lean forward, her lips parted and her eyes beaming with anticipation.
-“i do hope the others have got good seats,” she said, softly, as the overture finished; “that's everything, isn't it?”
-“i hope so,” said fraser.
-he leaned forward, excitedly. not because the curtain was rising, but because he had just caught sight of a figure standing up in the centre of the pit-stalls. he had just time to call his companion's attention to it when the figure, in deference to the threats and entreaties of the people behind, sat down and was lost in the crowd.
-“they have got good seats,” said miss tyrell. “i'm so glad. what a beautiful scene.”
-the mate, stifling his misgivings, gave himself up to the enjoyment of the situation, which included answering the breathless whispers of his neighbour when she missed a sentence, and helping her to discover the identity of the characters from the programme as they appeared.
-“i should like it all over again,” said miss tyrell, sitting back in her seat, as the curtain fell on the first act.
-fraser agreed with her. he was closely watching the pit-stalls. in the general movement on the part of the audience which followed the lowering of the curtain, the master of the foam was the first on his feet.
-“i'll go down and send him up,” said fraser, rising.
-miss tyrell demurred, and revealed an unsuspected timidity of character. “i don't like being left here all alone,” she remarked. “wait till they see us.”
-she spoke in the plural, for miss wheeler, who found the skipper exceedingly bad company, had also risen, and was scrutinising the house with a gaze hardly less eager than his own. a suggestion of the mate that he should wave his handkerchief was promptly negatived by miss tyrell, on the ground that it would not be the correct thing to do in the upper-circle, and they were still undiscovered when the curtain went up for the second act, and strong and willing hands from behind thrust the skipper back into his seat.
-“i expect you'll catch it,” said miss tyrell, softly, as the performance came to an end; “we'd better go down and wait for them outside. i never enjoyed a piece so much.”
-the mate rose and mingled with the crowd, conscious of a little occasional clutch at his sleeve whenever other people threatened to come between them. outside the crowd dispersed slowly, and it was some minutes before they discovered a small but compact knot of two waiting for them.
-“where the—” began flower.
-“i hope you enjoyed the performance, captain flower,” said miss tyrell, drawing herself up with some dignity. “i didn't know that i was supposed to look out for myself all the evening. if it hadn't been for mr. fraser i should have been all alone.”
-she looked hard at miss wheeler as she spoke, and the couple from the pit-stalls reddened with indignation at being so misunderstood.
-“i'm sure i didn't want him,” said miss wheeler, hastily. “two or three times i thought there would have been a fight with the people behind.”
-“oh, it doesn't matter,” said miss tyrell, composedly. “well, it's no good standing here. we'd better get home.”
-she walked off with the mate, leaving the couple behind, who realised that appearances were against them, to follow at their leisure. conversation was mostly on her side, the mate being too much occupied with his defence to make any very long or very coherent replies.
-they reached liston street at last, and separated at the door, miss tyrell shaking hands with the skipper in a way which conveyed in the fullest possible manner her opinion of his behaviour that evening. a bright smile and a genial hand-shake were reserved for the mate.
-“and now,” said the incensed skipper, breathing deeply as the door closed and they walked up liston street, “what the deuce do you mean by it?”
-“mean by what?” demanded the mate, who, after much thought, had decided to take a leaf out of miss tyrell's book.
-“mean by leaving me in another part of the house with that wheeler girl while you and my intended went off together?” growled flower ferociously.
-“well, i could only think you wanted it,” said fraser, in a firm voice.
-“what?” demanded the other, hardly able to believe his ears
-“i thought you wanted miss wheeler for number four,” said the mate, calmly. “you know what a chap you are, cap'n.”
-his companion stopped and regarded him in speechless amaze, then realising a vocabulary to which miss wheeler had acted as a safety-valve all the evening, he turned up a side street and stamped his way back to the foam alone.
-the same day that flower and his friends visited the theatre, captain barber gave a small and select tea-party. the astonished mrs. banks had returned home with her daughter the day before to find the air full of rumours about captain barber and his new housekeeper. they had been watched for hours at a time from upper back windows of houses in the same row, and the professional opinion of the entire female element was that mrs. church could land her fish at any time she thought fit.
-“old fools are the worst of fools,” said mrs. banks, tersely, as she tied her bonnet strings; “the idea of captain barber thinking of marrying at his time of life.”
-“why shouldn't he?” enquired her daughter.
-“why because he's promised to leave his property to fred and you, of course,” snapped the old lady; “if he marries that hussy it's precious little you and fred will get.”
-“i expect it's mostly talk,” said her daughter calmly, as she closed the street door behind her indignant parent. “people used to talk about you and old mr. wilders, and there was nothing in it. he only used to come for a glass of your ale.”
-this reference to an admirer who had consumed several barrels of the liquor in question without losing his head, put the finishing touch to the elder lady's wrath, and she walked the rest of the way in ominous silence.
-captain barber received them in the elaborate velvet smoking-cap with the gold tassel which had evoked such strong encomiums from mrs. church, and in a few well-chosen words—carefully rehearsed that afternoon—presented his housekeeper.
-“will you come up to my room and take your things off?” enquired mrs. church, returning the old lady's hostile stare with interest.
-she unfastened the strings of her bonnet, and, taking off that article of attire, placed it in her lap while she unfastened her shawl. she then held both out to mrs. church, briefly exhorting her to be careful.
-“oh, what a lovely bonnet,” said that lady, in false ecstasy. “what a perfect beauty! i've never seen anything like it before. never!”
-captain barber, smiling at the politeness of his housekeeper, was alarmed and perplexed at the generous colour which suddenly filled the old lady's cheeks.
-“mrs. banks made it herself,” he said, “she's very clever at that sort of thing.”
-“there, do you know i guessed as much,” said mrs. church, beaming; “directly i saw it, i said to myself: 'that was never made by a milliner. there's too much taste in the way the flowers are arranged.'”
-“i'll take yours up, too, shall i?” said the amiable housekeeper, as mrs. banks, with an air of defying criticism, drew a cap from a paper-bag and put it on.
-“i'll take mine myself, please,” said miss banks, with coldness.
-“oh, well, you may as well take them all then,” said mrs. church, putting the mother's bonnet and shawl in her arms. “i'll go and see that the kettle boils,” she said, briskly.
-she returned a minute or two later with the teapot, and setting chairs, took the head of the table.
-“and how's the leg?” enquired captain barber, misinterpreting mrs. banks' screwed-up face.
-“which one?” asked mrs. banks, shortly.
-“the bad 'un,” said the captain.
-“they're both bad,” said mrs. banks more shortly than before, as she noticed that mrs. church had got real lace in her cuffs and was pouring out the tea in full consciousness of the fact.
-“dear, dear,” said the captain sympathetically.
-“swollen?” enquired mrs. church, anxiously.
-“swelled right out of shape,” exclaimed captain barber, impressively; “like pillars almost they are.”
-“poor thing,” said mrs. church, in a voice which made mrs. banks itch to slap her. “i knew a lady once just the same, but she was a drinking woman.”
-again mrs. banks at a loss for words, looked at her daughter for assistance.
-“dear me, how dreadful it must be to know such people,” said mrs. banks, shivering.
-“yes,” sighed the other. “it used to make me feel sorry for her—they were utterly shapeless, you know. horrid!”
-“that's how mrs. banks' are,” said the captain, nodding sagely. “you look 'ot, mrs. banks. shall i open the winder a bit?”
-“i'll thank you not to talk about me like that, captain barber,” said mrs. banks, the flowers on her hat trembling.
-“as you please, ma'am,” said captain barber, with a stateliness which deserved a better subject. “i was only repeating what dr. hodder told me in your presence.”
-mrs. banks made no reply, but created a diversion by passing her cup up for more tea; her feelings, when mrs. church took off the lid of the teapot and poured in about a pint of water before helping her, belonging to that kind known as in-describable.
-“water bewitched, and tea begrudged,” she said, trying to speak jocularly.
-“well, the fourth cup never is very good, is it,” said mrs. church, apologetically. “i'll put some more tea in, so that your next cup'll be better.”
-as a matter of fact it was mrs. banks' third cup, and she said so, mrs. church receiving the correction with a polite smile, more than tinged with incredulity.
-“it's wonderful what a lot of tea is drunk,” said captain barber, impressively, looking round the table.
-mrs. banks, who had been making noble efforts, could contain herself no longer. she put down the harmless beverage which had just been handed to her, and pushed her chair back from the table.
-“are you speaking of me, young woman?” she asked, tremulous with indignation.
-“oh, no, certainly not,” said mrs. church, in great distress. “i never thought of such a thing. i was alluding to the people captain barber was talking of—regular tea-drinkers, you know.”
-“i know what you mean, ma'am,” said mrs. banks fiercely.
-“there, there,” said captain barber, ill-advisedly.
-“don't you say 'there, there,' to me, captain barber, because i won't have it,” said the old lady, speaking with great rapidity; “if you think that i'm going to sit here and be insulted by—by that woman, you're mistaken.”
-“you're quite mistook, mrs. banks,” said the captain, slowly. “i've heard everything she said, and, where the insult comes in, i'm sure i don't know. i don't think i'm wanting in common sense, ma'am.”
-he patted the housekeeper's hand kindly, and, in full view of the indignant mrs. banks, she squeezed his in return and gazed at him affectionately. there is nothing humourous to the ordinary person in a teacup, but mrs. banks, looking straight into hers, broke into a short, derisive laugh.
-“anything the matter, ma'am?” enquired captain barber, regarding her somewhat severely.
-mrs. banks shook her head. “only thoughts,” she said, mysteriously.
-it is difficult for a man to object to his visitors finding amusement in their thoughts, or even to enquire too closely into the nature of them. mrs. banks, apparently realising this, laughed again with increased acridity, and finally became so very amused that she shook in her chair.
-“i'm glad you're enjoying yourself, ma'am,” said captain barber, loftily.
-with a view, perhaps, of giving his guest further amusement he patted the housekeeper's hand again, whereupon mrs. banks' laughter ceased, and she sat regarding mrs. church with a petrified stare, met by that lady with a glance of haughty disdain.
-“s'pose we go into the garden a bit?” suggested barber, uneasily. the two ladies had eyed each other for three minutes without blinking, and his own eyes were watering in sympathy.
-mrs. banks, secretly glad of the interruption, made one or two vague remarks about going home, but after much persuasion, allowed him to lead her into the garden, the solemn elizabeth bringing up in the rear with a hassock and a couple of cushions.
-“yes, i wonder i never thought of it before,” said the artful barber; “you wouldn't believe how comfortable it is.”
-“i daresay,” said mrs. banks, grimly.
-“it's nice to have a woman about the house,” continued captain barber, slowly, “it makes it more homelike. a slip of a servant-gal ain't no good at all.”
-“how does fred like it?” enquired mrs. banks.
-“my ideas are fred's ideas,” said uncle barber, somewhat sharply. “what i like he has to like, naturally.”
-“i was thinking of my darter,” said mrs. banks, smoothing down her apron majestically. “the arrangement was, i think, that when they were, married they was to live with you?”
-captain barber nodded acquiescence.
-“elizabeth would never live in a house with that woman, or any other woman, as housekeeper in it,” said the mother.
-“well, she won't have to,” said the old man; “when they marry and elizabeth comes here, i sha'n't want a housekeeper—i shall get rid of her.”
-mrs. banks shifted in her chair, and gazed thoughtfully down the garden. “of course my idea was for them to wait till i was gone,” she said at length.
-“just so,” replied the other, “and more's the pity.”
-“but elizabeth's getting on and i don't seem to go,” continued the old lady, as though mildly surprised at providence for its unaccountable delay; “and there's fred, he ain't getting younger.”
-captain barber puffed at his pipe. “none of us are,” he said profoundly.
-“and fred might get tired of waiting,” said mrs. banks, ruminating.
-“he'd better let me hear him,” said the uncle, fiercely; “leastways, o' course, he's tired o' waiting in a sense. he'd like to be married.”
-“there's young gibson,” said mrs. banks in a thrilling whisper.
-“what about him?” enquired barber, surprised at her manner.
-“comes round after elizabeth,” said mrs. banks.
-“no!” said captain barber, blankly.
-mrs. banks pursed up her lips and nodded darkly.
-“pretends to come and see me,” said mrs. banks; “always coming in bringing something new for my legs. the worst of it is he ain't always careful what he brings. he brought some new-fangled stuff in a bottle last week, and the agonies i suffered after rubbing it in wouldn't be believed.”
-“it's like his impudence,” said the captain.
-“i've been thinking,” said mrs. banks, nodding her head with some animation, “of giving fred a little surprise. what do you think he'd do if i said they might marry this autumn?”
-“jump out of his skin with joy,” said captain barber, with conviction. “mrs. banks, the pleasure you've given me this day is more than i can say.”
-“and they'll live with you just the same?” said mrs. banks.
-“certainly,” said the captain.
-“they'll only be a few doors off then,” said mrs. banks, “and it'll be nice for you to have a woman in the house to look after you.”
-captain. barber nodded softly. “it's what i've been wanting for years,” he said, heartily.
-“and that huss—husskeeper,” said mrs. banks, correcting herself—“will go?”
-“o' course,” said captain barber. “i sha'n't want no housekeeper with my nevy's wife in the house. you've told elizabeth, i s'pose?”
-“not yet,” said mrs. banks, who as a matter of fact had been influenced by the proceedings of that afternoon to bring to a head a step she had hitherto only vaguely contemplated.
-elizabeth, who came down the garden again, a little later, accompanied by mrs. church, received the news stolidly. a feeling of regret, that the attention of the devoted gibson must now cease, certainly occurred to her, but she never thought of contesting the arrangements made for her, and accepted the situation with a placidity which the more ardent barber was utterly unable to understand.
-“fred'll stand on his.'ed with joy,” the unsophisticated mariner declared, with enthusiasm.
-“he'll go singing about the house,” declared mrs. church.
-mrs. banks regarded her unfavourably.
-“he's never said much,” continued uncle barber, in an exalted strain; “that ain't fred's way. he takes arter me; he's one o' the quiet ones, one o' the still deep waters what always feels the most. when i tell 'im his face'll just light up with joy.”
-“it'll be nice for you, too,” said mrs. banks, with a side glance at the housekeeper; “you'll have somebody to look after you and take an interest in you, and strangers can't be expected to do that even if they're nice.”
-“we shall have him standing on his head, too,” said mrs. church, with a bright smile; “you're turning everything upside down, mrs. banks.”
-“there's things as wants altering,” said the old lady, with emphasis. “there's few things as i don't see, ma'am.”
-“i hope you'll live to see a lot more,” said mrs. church, piously.
-“she'll live to be ninety,” said captain barber, heartily.
-“oh, easily,” said mrs. church.
-captain barber regarding his old friend saw her face suffused with a wrath for which he was utterly unable to account. with a hazy idea that something had passed which he had not heard, he caused a diversion by sending mrs. church indoors for a pack of cards, and solemnly celebrated the occasion with a game of whist, at which mrs. church, in partnership with mrs. banks, either through sheer wilfulness or absence of mind, contrived to lose every game.
-as a result of the mate's ill-behaviour at the theatre, captain fred flower treated him with an air of chilly disdain, ignoring, as far as circumstances would permit, the fact that such a person existed. so far as the social side went the mate made no demur, but it was a different matter when the skipper acted as though he were not present at the breakfast table, and being chary of interfering with the other's self-imposed vow of silence, he rescued a couple of rashers from his plate and put them on his own. also, in order to put matters on a more equal footing, he drank three cups of coffee in rapid succession, leaving the skipper to his own reflections and an empty coffee-pot. in this sociable fashion they got through most of the day, the skipper refraining from speech until late in the afternoon, when, both being at work in the hold, the mate let a heavy case fall on his foot.
-“i thought you'd get it,” he said, calmly, as flower paused to take breath; “it wasn't my fault.”
-“whose was it, then?” roared flower, who had got his boot off and was trying various tender experiments with his toe to see whether it was broken or not.
-“if you hadn't been holding your head in the air and pretending that i wasn't here, it wouldn't have happened,” said fraser, with some heat.
-the skipper turned his back on him, and meeting a look of enquiring solicitude from joe, applied to him for advice.
-“what had i better do with it?” he asked.
-“well, if it was my toe, sir,” said joe regarding it respectfully, “i should stick it in a basin o' boiling water and keep it there as long as i could bear it.”
-“you're a fool,” said the skipper, briefly. “what do you think of it, ben? i don't think it's broken.”
-the old seaman scratched his head. “well, if it belonged to me,” he said, slowly, “there's some ointment down the fo'c's'le which the cook 'ad for sore eyes. i should just put some o' that on. it looks good stuff.”
-the skipper, summarising the chief points in ben's character, which, owing principally to the poverty of the english language, bore a remarkable likeness to joe's and the mate's, took his sock and boot in his hand, and gaining the deck limped painfully to the cabin.
-the foot was so painful after tea that he could hardly bear his slipper on, and he went ashore in his working clothes to the chemist's, preparatory to fitting himself out for liston street. the chemist, leaning over the counter, was inclined to take a serious view of it, and shaking his head with much solemnity, prepared a bottle of medicine, a bottle of lotion and a box of ointment.
-“let me see it again as soon as you've finished the medicine,” he said, as he handed the articles over the counter.
-flower promised, and hobbling towards the door turned into the street. then the amiable air which he had worn in the shop gave way to one of unseemly hauteur as he saw fraser hurrying towards him.
-“look out,” cried the latter, warningly.
-the skipper favoured him with a baleful stare.
-“all right,” said the mate, angrily, “go your own way, then. don't come to me when you get into trouble, that's all.”
-flower passed on his way in silence. then a thought struck him and he stopped suddenly.
-“you wish to speak to me?” he asked, stiffly.
-“no, i'm damned if i do,” said the mate, sticking his hands into his pockets.
-“if you wish to speak to me,” said the other, trying in vain to conceal a trace of anxiety in his voice, “it's my duty to listen. what were you going to say just now?”
-the mate eyed him wrathfully, but as the pathetic figure with its wounded toe and cargo of remedies stood there waiting for him to speak, he suddenly softened.
-“don't go back, old man,” he said, kindly, “she's aboard.”
-eighteen pennyworth of mixture, to be taken thrice daily from tablespoons, spilled over the curb, and the skipper, thrusting the other packets mechanically into his pockets, disappeared hurriedly around the corner.
-“it's no use finding fault with me,” said fraser, quickly, as he stepped along beside him, “so don't try it. they came down into the cabin before i knew they were aboard, even.”
-“they?” repeated the distressed flower. “who's they?”
-“the young woman that came before and a stout woman with a little dark moustache and earrings. they're going to wait until you come back to ask you a few questions about mr. robinson. they've been asking me a few. i've locked the door of your state-room and here's the key.”
-flower pocketed it and, after a little deliberation thanked him.
-flower gave an apologetic cough. “i've had a lot of worry lately, jack,” he said, humbly; “come in and have something. perhaps it will clear my head a bit.”
-“i told 'em you wouldn't be back till twelve at least,” said the mate, as flower rapidly diagnosed his complaint and ordered whisky, “perhaps not then, and that when you did turn up you'd sure to be the worse for liquor. the old lady said she'd wait all night for the pleasure of seeing your bonny face, and as for you being drunk, she said she don't suppose there's a woman in london that has had more experience with drunken men than she has.”
-“let this be a warning to you, jack,” said the skipper, solemnly, as he drained his glass and put it thoughtfully on the counter.
-“don't you trouble about me,” said fraser; “you've got all you can do to look after yourself. i've come out to look for a policeman; at least, that's what i told them.”
-“all the police in the world couldn't do me any good,” sighed flower. “poppy's got tickets for a concert to-night, and i was going with her. i can't go like this.”
-“well, what are you going to do?” enquired the other.
-flower shook his head and pondered. “you go back and get rid of them the best way you can,” he said, at length, “but whatever you do, don't have a scene. i'll stay here till you come and tell me the coast is clear.”
-“and suppose it don't clear?” said fraser.
-“then i'll pick you up at greenwich in the morning,” said flower.
-“and suppose they're still aboard?” said fraser.
-“i won't suppose any such thing,” said the other, hotly; “if you can't get rid of two women between now and three in the morning, you're not much of a mate. if they catch me i'm ruined, and you'll be responsible for it.”
-the mate, staring at him blankly, opened his mouth to reply, but being utterly unable to think of anything adequate to the occasion, took up his glass instead, and, drinking off the contents, turned to the door. he stood for a moment at the threshold gazing at flower as though he had just discovered points about him which had hitherto escaped his notice, and then made his way back to the wharf.
-“they're still down below, sir,” said joe, softly, as he stepped aboard, “and making as free and as comfortable as though they're going to stay a month.”
-fraser shrugged his shoulders and went below. the appearance of the ladies amply confirmed joe's remark.
-“never can find one when you want him, can you?” said the elder lady, in playful allusion to the police.
-“well, i altered my mind,” said fraser, amiably, “i don't like treating ladies roughly, but if the cap'n comes on board and finds you here it'll be bad for me, that's all.”
-“what time do you expect him?” enquired miss tipping.
-“not before we sail at three in the morning.” said the mate, glibly; “perhaps not then. i often have to take the ship out without him. he's been away six weeks at a stretch before now.”
-“well, we'll stay here till he does come,” said the elder lady. “i'll have his cabin, and my step-daughter'll have to put up with your bed.”
-“if you're not gone by the time we start, i shall have to have you put off,” said fraser.
-“those of us who live longest'll see the most,” said mrs. tipping, calmly.
-an hour or two passed, the mate sitting smoking with a philosophy which he hoped the waiting mariner at the “admiral cochrane” would be able to imitate. he lit the lamp at last, and going on deck, ordered the cook to prepare supper.
-mother and daughter, with feelings of gratitude, against which they fought strongly, noticed that the table was laid for three, and a little later, in a somewhat awkward fashion, they all sat down to the meal together.
-“very good beef,” said mrs. tipping, politely.
-“very nice,” said her daughter, who was ex-changing glances with the mate. “i suppose you're very comfortable here, mr. fraser?”
-the mate sighed. “it's all right when the old man's away,” he said, deceitfully. “he's got a dreadful temper.”
-“i hope you didn't get into trouble through my coming aboard the other night,” said miss tipping, softly.
-“don't say anything about it,” replied the mate, eyeing her admiringly. “i'd do more than that for you, if i could.”
-miss tipping, catching her mother's eye, bestowed upon her a glance of complacent triumph.
-“you don't mind us coming down here, do you?” she said, languishingly.
-“i wish you'd live here,” said the unscrupulous fraser; “but of course i know you only come here to try and see that fellow robinson,” he added, gloomily.
-“i like to see you, too,” was the reply. “i like you very much, as a friend.”
-the mate in a melancholy voice thanked her, and to the great annoyance of the cook, who had received strict orders from the forecastle to listen as much as he could, sat in silence while the table was cleared.
-“what do you say to a hand at cards?” he said, after the cook had finally left the cabin.
-“three-handed cribbage,” said mrs. tipping, quickly; “it's the only game worth playing.”
-no objection being raised, the masterful lady drew closer to the table, and concentrating energies of no mean order on the game, successfully played hands of unvarying goodness, aided by a method of pegging which might perhaps be best described as dot and carry one.
-“you haven't seen anything of this mr. robinson since you were here last, i suppose?” said fraser, noting with satisfaction that both ladies gave occasional uneasy glances at the clock.
-“no, an' not likely to,” said mrs. tipping; “fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, and a pair's eight.”
-“where's the fifteen six?” enquired fraser, glancing over.
-“eight and seven,” said the lady, pitching the cards with the others and beginning to shuffle for the next deal.
-“it's very strange behaviour,” said the mate; “robinson, i mean. do you think he's dead?”
-“no, i don't,” said mrs. tipping, briefly. “where's that captain of yours?”
-fraser, whose anxiety was becoming too much for his play, leaned over the table as though about to speak, and then, apparently thinking better of it, went on with the game.
-“eh?” said mrs. tipping, putting her cards face downwards on the table and catching his eye. “where?”
-“o, nowhere,” said fraser, awkwardly. “i don't want to be dragged into this, you know. it isn't my business.”
-“if you know where he is, why can't you tell us?” asked mrs. tipping, softly. “there's no harm in that.”
-“what's the good?” enquired fraser, in a low voice; “when you've seen the old man you won't be any forwarder—he wouldn't tell you anything even if he knew it.”
-“well, we'd like to see him,” said mrs. tipping, after a pause.
-“you see, you put me in a difficulty,” said fraser; “if the skipper doesn't come aboard, you're going with us, i understand?”
-mrs. tipping nodded. “exactly,” she said, sharply.
-“that'll get me into trouble, if anything will,” said the mate, gloomily. “on the other hand, if i tell you where he is now, that'll get me into trouble, too.”
-he sat back and drummed on the table with his fingers. “well, i'll risk it,” he said, at length; “you'll find him at 17, beaufort street, bow.”
-the younger woman sprang excitedly to her feet, but mrs. tipping, eyeing the young man with a pair of shrewd, small eyes, kept her seat.
-“and while we're going, how do we know the capt'n won't come back and go off with the ship?” she enquired.
-fraser hesitated. “well, i'll come with you, if you like,” he said, slowly.
-“and suppose they go away and leave you, behind?” objected mrs. tipping.
-“oh, well, you'd better stay then,” said the mate, wearily, “unless we take a couple of the hands with us. how would that suit you? they can't sail with half a crew.”
-mrs. tipping, who was by no means as anxious for a sea voyage as she tried to make out, carefully pondered the situation. “i'm going to take an arm of each of 'em and matilda'll take yours,” she said, at length.
-mrs. tipping, pushing her captives in first, stepped heavily into the cab followed by her daughter, while the mate, after a brief discussion, clambered onto the box.
-“go on,” he said, nodding.
-“wot, ain't the rest of you comin'?” enquired the cabman, eyeing the crowd at the gate, in pained surprise.
-“no. 17, beaufort street, bow,” said mrs. tipping, distinctly, as she put her head out of the window.
-“you could sit on 'er lap,” continued the cabman, appealingly.
-no reply being vouchsafed to this suggestion, he wrapped himself up in various rugs and then sat down suddenly before they could unwind themselves. then, with a compassionate “click” to his horse, started up the road. except for a few chance wayfarers and an occasional coffee-stall, the main streets were deserted, but they were noisy compared with beaufort street. every house was in absolute darkness as the cab, with instinctive deference to slumber, crawled slowly up and down looking for no. 17.
-it stopped at last, and the mate, springing down, opened the door, and handing out the ladies, led the way up a flight of steps to the street door.
-“perhaps you won't mind knocking,” he said to mrs. tipping, “and don't forget to tell the cap'n i've done this to oblige you because you insisted upon it.”
-mrs. tipping, seizing the knocker, knocked loud and long, and after a short interval repeated the performance. somebody was heard stirring upstairs, and a deep voice cried out that it was coming, and peremptorily requested them to cease knocking.
-“that's not flower's voice,” said fraser.
-“not loud enough,” said miss tipping.
-the bolts were drawn back loudly and the chain grated; then the door was flung open, and a big, red-whiskered man, blinking behind a candle, gruffly enquired what they meant by it.
-“come inside,” said mrs. tipping to her following.
-“ain't you come to the wrong house?” demanded the red-whiskered man, borne slowly back by numbers.
-“i don't think so,” said mrs. tipping, suavely; “i want to see captain flower.”
-“well, you've come to the wrong house,” said the red-whiskered man, shortly, “there's no such name here.”
-“think,” said mrs. tipping.
-the red-whiskered man waved the candle to and fro until the passage was flecked with tallow.
-“go away directly,” he roared; “how dare you come disturbing people like this?”
-“you may just as well be pleasant over it,” said mrs. tipping, severely; “because we sha'n't go away until we have seen him. after all, it's got nothing to do with you.”
-“we don't want anything to say to you,” affirmed her daughter.
-“will—you—get—out—of—my—house?” demanded the owner, wildly.
-“when we've seen capt'n flower,” said mrs. tipping, calmly, “and not a moment before. we don't mind your getting in a temper, not a bit. you can't frighten us.”
-the frenzied and reckless reply of the red-whiskered man was drowned in the violent slamming of the street-door, and he found himself alone with the ladies. there was a yell of triumph outside, and the sounds of a hurried scramble down the steps. mrs. tipping, fumbling wildly at the catch of the door, opened it just in time to see the cabman, in reply to the urgent entreaties of the mate, frantically lashing his horse up the road.
-“so far, so good,” murmured the mate, as he glanced over his shoulder at the little group posing on the steps. “i've done the best i could, but i suppose there'll be a row.”
-the watchman, with the remainder of the crew, in various attitudes of expectant curiosity, were waiting to receive them at the wharf. a curiosity which increased in intensity as the mate, slamming the gate, put the big bar across and turned to the watchman.
-“don't open that to anybody till we're off,” he said, sharply. “cap'n flower has not turned up yet, i suppose?”
-“no, sir,” said ben.
-they went aboard the schooner again, and the mate, remaining on deck, listened anxiously for the return of the redoubtable mrs. tipping, occasionally glancing over the side in expectation of being boarded from the neighbouring stairs; but with the exception of a false alarm caused by two maddened seamen unable to obtain admittance, and preferring insulting charges of somnolency against the watchman, the time passed quietly until high water. with the schooner in midstream slowly picking her way through the traffic, any twinges of remorse that he might have had for the way he had treated two helpless women left him, and he began to feel with his absent commander some of the charm which springs from successful wrong-doing.
-he brought up off greenwich in the cold grey of the breaking day. craft of all shapes and sizes were passing up and down, but he looked in vain for any sign of the skipper. it was galling to him as a seaman to stay there with the wind blowing freshly down the river; but over an hour elapsed before a yell from tim, who was leaning over the bows, called his attention to a waterman's skiff, in the stern of which sat a passenger of somewhat dejected appearance. he had the air of a man who had been up all night, and in place of returning the hearty and significant greeting of the mate, sat down in an exhausted fashion on the cabin skylight, and eyed him in stony silence until they were under way again.
-“well,” he said at length, ungraciously.
-chilled by his manner, fraser, in place of the dramatic fashion in which he had intended to relate the events of the preceding night, told him in a few curt sentences what had occurred. “and you can finish this business for yourself,” he concluded, warmly; “i've had enough of it.”
-“you've made a pretty mess of it,” groaned the other; “there'll be a fine set-out now. why couldn't you coax 'em away? that's what i wanted you to do. that's what i told you to do.”
-“well, you'll have plenty of opportunities of coaxing yourself so far as i can see,” retorted fraser, grimly. “then you'll see how it works. it was the only way of getting rid of them.”
-“you ought to have sent round to me and let me know what you were doing,” said flower. “i sat in that blamed pub till they turned me out at twelve, expecting you every minute. i'd only threepence left by then, and i crossed the water with that, and then i had to shuffle along to greenwich as best i could with a bad foot. what'll be the end of it all, i don't know.”
-“well, you're all right at present,” said fraser, glancing round; “rather different to what you'd have been if those two women had come to ipswich and seen cap'n barber.”
-the other sat for a long time in thought. “i'll lay up for a few weeks with this foot,” he said, slowly, “and you'll have to tell the tipping family that i've changed into another trade. what with the worry i've had lately, i shall be glad of a rest.”
-he made his way below, and turning in slept soundly after his fatigue until the cook aroused him a few hours later with the information that breakfast was ready.
-a wash and a change, together with a good breakfast, effected as much change in his spirits as in his appearance. refreshed in mind and body, he slowly paced the deck, his chest expanding as he sniffed the fresh air, and his soul, encouraged by the dangers he had already passed through, bracing itself for fresh encounters.
-“i 'ope the foot is goin' on well, sir,” said tim, breaking in upon his meditations, respectfully.
-“much easier this morning,” said the skipper, amiably.
-tim, who was lending the cook a hand, went back into the galley to ponder. as a result of a heated debate in the fo'c's'le, where the last night's proceedings and the mysterious appearance of the skipper off greenwich had caused a great sensation, they had drawn lots to decide who was to bell the cat, and tim had won or lost according as the subject might be viewed.
-“you don't want to walk about on it much, sir,” he said, thrusting his head out again.
-the skipper nodded.
-“i was alarmed last night,” said tim. “we was all alarmed,” he added, hastily, in order that the others might stand in with the risk, “thinking that perhaps you'd walked too far and couldn't get back.”
-the master of the foam looked at him, but made no reply, and tim's head was slowly withdrawn. the crew, who had been gazing over the side with their ears at the utmost tension, gave him five minutes' grace and then, the skipper having gone aft again, walked up to the galley.
-“i've done all i could,” said the wretched youth.
-“done all ye could?” said joe, derisively, “why you ain't done nothin' yet.”
-“i can't say anything more,” said tim. “i dassent. i ain't got your pluck, joe.”
-“pluck be damned!” said the seaman, fiercely; “why there was a chap i knew once, shipwrecked he was, and had to take to the boats. when the grub give out they drew lots to see who should be killed and eaten. he lost. did 'e back out of it? not a bit of it; 'e was a man, an' 'e shook 'ands with 'em afore they ate 'im and wished 'em luck.”
-“well, you can kill and eat me if that's what you want,” said tim, desperately. “i'd sooner 'ave that.”
-“mind you,” said joe, “till you've arsked them questions and been answered satisfactorily—none of us'll 'ave anything to do with you, besides which i'll give you such a licking as you've never 'ad before.”
-he strolled off with ben and the cook, as the skipper came towards them again, and sat down in the bows. tim, sore afraid of his shipmates' contempt, tried again.
-“i wanted to ask your pardon in case i done wrong last night, sir,” he said, humbly.
-“all right, it's granted,” replied the other, walking away.
-tim raised his eyes to heaven, and then lowering them, looked even more beseechingly at his comrades.
-“go on,” said ben, shaping the words only with his mouth.
-“i don't know, sir, whether you know what i was alloodin' to just now,” said tim, in trembling accents, as the skipper came within earshot again. “i'm a-referring to a cab ride.”
-“and i told you that i've forgiven you,” said flower, sternly, “forgiven you freely—all of you.”
-“it's a relief to my mind, sir,” faltered the youth, staring.
-“don't mix yourself up in my business again, that's all,” said the skipper; “you mightn't get off so easy next time.”
-“it's been worrying me ever since, sir,” persisted tim, who was half fainting. “i've been wondering whether i ought to have answered them ladies' questions, and told 'em what i did tell 'em.”
-the skipper swung round hastily and confronted him. “told them?” he stuttered, “told them what?”
-“i 'ardly remember, sir,” said tim, alarmed at his manner. “wot with the suddenness o' the thing, an' the luckshury o' riding in a cab, my 'ead was in a whirl.”
-“what did they ask you?” demanded the shipper.
-“they asked me what cap'n flower was like an' where 'e lived,” said tim, “an' they asked me whether i knew a mr. robinson.”
-captain flower, his eyes blazing, waited.
-“i said i 'adn't got the pleasure o' mr. robinson's acquaintance,” said tim, with a grand air. “i was just goin' to tell 'em about you when joe 'ere gave me a pinch.”
-“well?” enquired the skipper, stamping with impatience.
-“i pinched 'im back agin,” said tim, smiling tenderly at the reminiscence.
-“tim's a fool, sir,” said joe, suddenly, as the overwrought skipper made a move towards the galley. “'e didn't seem to know wot 'e was a sayin' of, so i up and told 'em all about you.”
-“you did, did you? damn you,” said flower, bitterly.
-“in answer to their questions, sir,” said joe, “i told 'em you was a bald-headed chap, marked with the small-pox, and i said when you was at 'ome, which was seldom, you lived at aberdeen.”
-the skipper stepped towards him and laid his hand affectionately on his shoulder. “you ought to have been an admiral, joe,” he said, gratefully, without intending any slur on a noble profession.
-“i also told george, the watchman, to tell 'em the same thing, if they came round again worrying,” said joe, proudly.
-the skipper patted him on the shoulder again.
-“one o' these days, joe,” he remarked, “you shall know all about this little affair; for the present it's enough to tell you that a certain unfortunate young female has took a fancy to a friend o' mine named robinson, but it's very important, for robinson's sake, that she shouldn't see me or get to know anything about me. do you understand?”
-“perfectly,” said joe, sagely.
-his countenance was calm and composed, but the cook's forehead had wrinkled itself into his hair in a strong brain effort, while ben was looking for light on the deck, and not finding it. flower, as a sign that the conversation was now ended, walked aft again, and taking the wheel from the mate, thoughtfully suggested that he should go below and turn in for five minutes.
-“i'll get through this all right, after all,” he said, comfortably. “i'll lay up at seabridge for a week or two, and after that i'll get off the schooner at greenwich for a bit and let you take her up to london. then i'll write a letter in the name of robinson and send it to a man i know in new york to post from there to miss tipping.”
-his spirits rose and he slapped fraser heartily on the back. “that disposes of one,” he said, cheerily. “lor', in years to come how i shall look back and laugh over all this!”
-“yes, i think it'll be some time before you do any laughing to speak of,” said fraser.
-“ah, you always look on the dark side of things,” said flower, briskly.
-“of course, as things are, you're going to marry miss banks,” said fraser, slowly.
-“no, i'm not,” said the other, cheerfully; “it strikes me there's plenty of time before that will come to a head, and that gives me time to turn round. i don't think she's any more anxious for it than i am.”
-“but suppose it does come to a head,” persisted fraser, “what are you going to do?”
-“i shall find a way out of it,” said the skipper, confidently. “meantime, just as an exercise for your wits, you might try and puzzle out what would be the best thing to do in such a case.”
-his good spirits lasted all the way to seabridge, and, the schooner berthed, he went cheerfully off home. it was early afternoon when he arrived, and, captain barber being out, he had a comfortable tête à tête with mrs. church, in which he was able to dilate pretty largely upon the injury to his foot. captain barber did not return until the tea was set, and then shaking hands with his nephew, took a seat opposite, and in a manner more than unusually boisterous, kept up a long conversation.
-it was a matter of surprise to flower that, though the talk was by no means of a sorrowful nature, mrs. church on three separate occasions rose from the table and left the room with her handkerchief to her eyes. at such times his uncle's ideas forsook him, and he broke off not only in the middle of a sentence, but even in the middle of a word. at the third time flower caught his eye, and with a dumb jerk of his head toward the door enquired what it all meant.
-“tell you presently,” said his uncle, in a frightened whisper, “hush! don't take no notice of it. not a word.”
-“what is it?” persisted flower.
-captain barber gave a hurried glance towards the door and then leaned over the table “broken 'art,” he whispered, sorrowfully.
-flower whistled, and, full of the visions which this communication opened up, neglected to join in the artificial mirth which his uncle was endeavouring to provoke upon the housekeeper's return. finally he worked up a little mirth on his own account, and after glancing from his uncle to the housekeeper, and from the housekeeper back to his uncle again, smothered his face in his handkerchief and rushed from the room.
-“bit on a bad tooth,” he said, untruthfully, when he came back.
-captain barber eyed him fiercely, but mrs. church regarded him with compassionate interest, and, having got the conversation upon such a safe subject, kept it there until the meal was finished.
-“what's it all about?” enquired flower, as, tea finished, captain barber carried his chair to the extreme end of the garden and beckoned his nephew to do likewise.
-“you're the cause of it,” said captain barber, severely.
-“me?” said flower, in surprise.
-“you know that little plan i told you of when you was down here?” said the other.
-his nephew nodded.
-“it came off,” groaned captain barber. “i've got news for you as'll make you dance for joy.”
-“i've got a bad foot,” said flower, paling.
-“up! up where?” gasped flower.
-“why—in the church,” said the other, staring at him; “where do you think? i got the old lady's consent day before yesterday, and had 'em put up at once.”
-“is she dead, then?” enquired his nephew, in a voice the hollowness of which befitted the question.
-“how the devil could she be?” returned his uncle, staring at him.
-“no, i didn't think of that,” said flower; “of course, she couldn't give her consent, could she—not if she was dead, i mean.”
-captain barber drew his chair back and looked at him. “his joy has turned his brain,” he said, with conviction.
-“no, it's my foot,” said flower, rallying. “i've had no sleep with it. i'm delighted! delighted! after all these years.”
-“you owe it to me,” said his uncle, with a satisfied air. “i generally see my way clear to what i want, and generally get it, too. i've played mrs. banks and mrs. church agin one another without their knowing it. both 'elpless in my hands, they was.”
-“but what's the matter with mrs. church?” said his depressed nephew.
-“oh, that's the worst of it,” said uncle barber, shaking his head. “while i was in play, that pore woman must have thought i was in earnest. she don't say nothing. not a word, and the efforts she makes to control her feelings is noble.”
-“have you told her she has got to go then?” enquired flower.
-captain barber shook his head. “mrs. banks saved me that trouble,” he said, grimly.
-“but she can't take notice from mrs. banks,” said flower, “it'll have to come from you.”
-“all in good time,” said captain barber, wiping his face. “as i've done all this for you, i was going to let you tell her.”
-“me!” said flower, with emphasis.
-“certainly,” said captain barber, with more emphasis still. “just get her to yourself on the quiet and allude to it casual. then after that bring the subject up when i'm in the room. as it's to make room for you and your wife, you might fix the date for 'er to go. that'll be the best way to do it.”
-“it seems to me it is rather hard on her,” said his nephew, compassionately; “perhaps we had better wait a little longer.”
-“i'm cheerful enough,” said flower, recovering himself. “i'm thinking of you.”
-“me?” said his uncle.
-“you and mrs. church,” said his nephew. “so far as i can see, you've committed yourself.”
-“i can manage,” said uncle barber. “i've always been master in my own house. now you'd better step round and see the bride that is to be.”
-“well, you be careful,” said his nephew, warningly.
-“i'm coming, too,” said captain barber, with some haste; “there's no need to stay and wait for trouble. when you go into the house, come back as though you'd forgotten something, and sing out to me that you want me to come too—hard enough for 'er to hear, mind.”
-the bewildered master of the foam spent the remainder of the time at seabridge in a species of waking nightmare.
-a grey-haired dressmaker and a small apprentice sat in the banks' best parlour, and from a chaos of brown paper patterns stuck over with pins a silk dress of surpassing beauty began slowly to emerge. as a great concession flower was allowed to feel the material, and even to rub it between his finger and thumb in imitation of captain barber, who was so prone to the exercise that a small piece was cut for his especial delectation. a colour of unwonted softness glowed in the cheek of elizabeth and an air of engaging timidity tempered her interview with flower, who had to run the gauntlet of much friendly criticism on the part of his fair neighbours.
-up to the time of sailing for london again the allusion to mrs. church's departure, desired by captain barber, had not been made by the younger man. the housekeeper was still in possession, and shook hands with him at the front door as he limped slowly off with miss banks and his uncle to go down to the schooner. his foot was still very bad, so bad that he stumbled three times on the way to the quay despite the assistance afforded by the arm of his betrothed.
-“seems to be no power in it,” he said smiling faintly; “but i daresay it'll be all right by the time i get back.”
-he shook hands with captain barber and, as a tribute to conventionality, kissed miss banks. the last the two saw of him, he was standing at the wheel waving his handkerchief. they waved their own in return, and as the foam drew rapidly away gave a final farewell and departed.
-“what's the game with the foot?” enquired the mate, in a low voice.
-“tell you by-and-by,” said the skipper; “it's far from well, but even if it wasn't i should pretend it was bad. i suppose that doesn't suggest anything to you?”
-the mate shook his head.
-“can you see any way out of it?” enquired the other. “what would you do if you were in my place?”
-“marry the girl i wanted to marry,” said the mate, sturdily, “and not trouble about anything else.”
-“and lose thirteen cottages and this ship and my berth in the bargain,” said the skipper. “now you try and think of some other way, and if you haven't thought of it by dinner-time, i'll tell you what i'm going to do.”
-no other scheme having suggested itself to the mate by the time that meal arrived, he prepared to play the part of listener. the skipper, after carefully closing both the door and the skylight, prepared to speak.
-“i'm in a desperate fix, jack, that you'll admit,” he said, by way of preparation.
-the mate cordially agreed with him.
-“there's poppy down at poplar, matilda at chelsea, and elizabeth at seabridge,” continued flower, indicating various points on the table with his finger as he spoke. “some men would give up in despair, but i've thought of a way out of it. i've never got into a corner i couldn't get out of yet.”
-“you want a little help though sometimes,” said fraser.
-“all part of my plans,” rejoined flower, airily. “if it hadn't been for my uncle's interference i should have been all right. a man's no business to be so officious. as it is, i've got to do something decided.”
-“if i were you,” interrupted fraser, “i should go to captain barber and tell him straight and plain how the thing stands. you needn't mention anything about miss tipping. tell him about the other, and that you intend to marry her. it'll be beat in the long run, and fairer to miss tyrell, too.”
-“you don't know my uncle as well as i do,” retorted the skipper. “he's as obstinate an old fool as ever breathed. if i did as you say i should lose everything. now, i'll tell you what i'm going to do:—to-night, during your watch, i shall come up on deck and stand on the side of the ship to look at something in the water, when i shall suddenly hear a shout.”
-the mate, who had a piece of dumpling on his fork, half-way to his mouth, put it down again and regarded him open-mouthed.
-“my foot,” continued the skipper, in surprisingly even tones, answering his subject, “will then give way and i shall fall overboard.”
-the mate was about to speak, but the skipper, gazing in a rapt manner before him, waved him into silence.
-“you will alarm the crew and pitch a life-belt overboard,” he continued; “you will then back sails and lower the boat.”
-“you'd better take the lifebelt with you, hadn't you?” enquired the mate, anxiously.
-“i shall be picked up by a norwegian barque, bound for china,” continued the skipper, ignoring the interruption; “i shall be away at least six months, perhaps more, according as things turn out.”
-the mate pushed his scarcely tasted dinner from him, and got up from the table. it was quite evident to him that the skipper's love affairs had turned his brain.
-“by the time i get back, matilda'll have ceased from troubling, anyway,” said the skipper, “and i have strong hopes that elizabeth'll take gibson. i shall stay away long enough to give her a fair chance, anyway.”
-“but s'pose you get drowned before anything can pick you up!” suggested the mate, feebly.
-“drowned?” repeated the skipper. “why, you didn't think i was really going overboard, did you? i shall be locked up in my state-room.”
-the mate's brow cleared and then darkened again, suddenly. “i see, some more lies for me to tell, i suppose,” he said, angrily.
-“after you've raised the alarm and failed to recover the body,” said the skipper, with relish, “you'll lock my door and put the key in your pocket. that would be the proper thing to do if i really did go overboard, you know, and when we get to london i'll just slip quietly ashore.”
-the mate came back to his dinner and finished it in silence, while the skipper kept up a rambling fire of instructions for his future guidance.
-“and what about miss tyrell?” said the mate, at length. “is she to know?”
-“i won't do it at all,” said the mate.
-“yes, you will,” said flower, “and if matilda or her mother come down again, show it to 'em in the paper. then they'll know it'll be no good worrying cap'n flower again. if they see it in the paper they'll know it's true; it's sure to be in the local papers, and in the london ones, too, very likely. i should think it would; the master of a vessel!”
-fraser being in no mood to regard this vanity complacently, went up on deck and declined to have anything to do with the matter. he maintained this attitude of immovable virtue until tea-time, by which time flower's entreaties had so won upon him that he was reluctantly compelled to admit that it seemed to be the only thing possible in the circumstances, and more reluctantly still to promise his aid to the most unscrupulous extent possible.
-“i'll write to you when i'm fixed up,” said the skipper, “giving you my new name and address. you're the only person i shall be able to keep touch with. i shall have to rely upon you for everything. if it wasn't for you i should be dead to the world.”
-“i know what you'll do as well as possible,” said fraser; “you've got nothing to do for six months, and you'll be getting into some more engagements.”
-“i don't think you have any call to say that, jack,” remarked flower, with some dignity.
-“well, i wish it was well over,” said the mate, despondently. “what are you going to do for money?”
-“i drew out £40 to get married with—furniture and things,” said flower; “that'll go overboard with me, of course. i'm doing all this for poppy's sake more than my own, and i want you to go up and see her every trip, and let me know how she is. she mightn't care what happened to her if she thinks i'm gone, and she might marry somebody else in desperation.”
-“i don't care about facing her,” said fraser, bitterly; “it's a shady business altogether.”
-“it's for her sake,” repeated flower, calmly, “take on old ben as mate, and ship another hand forward.”
-the mate ended the subject by going to his bunk and turning in; the skipper, who realised that he himself would have plenty of time for sleep, went on deck and sat silently smoking. old ben was at the wheel, and the skipper felt a glow of self-rightousness as he thought of the rise in life he was about to give the poor fellow.
-at eight o'clock the mate relieved ben, and the skipper with a view of keeping up appearances announced his intention of turning in for a bit.
-the sun went down behind clouds of smoky red, but the light of the summer evening lasted for some time after. then darkness came down over the sea, and it was desolate except for the sidelights of distant craft. the mate drew out his watch and by the light of the binnacle-lamp, saw that it was ten minutes to ten. at the same moment he heard somebody moving about forward.
-“who's that for'ard?” he cried, smartly.
-“me, sir,” answered joe's voice. “i'm a bit wakeful, and it's stiflin' 'ot down below.”
-the mate hesitated, and then, glancing at the open skylight, saw the skipper, who was standing on the table.
-“send him below,” said the latter, in a sharp whisper.
-“you'd better get below, joe,” said the mate.
-“w'y, i ain't doin' no 'arm, sir,” said joe, in surprise.
-“get below,” said the mate, sharply. “do you hear?—get below. you'll be sleeping in your watch if you don't sleep now.”
-the sounds of a carefully modulated grumble came faintly aft, then the mate, leaning away from the wheel to avoid the galley which obstructed his view, saw that his order had been obeyed.
-“now,” said the skipper, quietly, “you must give a perfect scream of horror, mind, and put this on the deck. it fell off as i went over, d'ye see?”
-he handed over the slipper he had been wearing, and the mate took it surlily.
-“there ought to be a splash,” he murmured. “joe's awake.”
-the skipper vanished, to reappear a minute or two later with a sack into which he had hastily thrust a few lumps of coal and other rubbish. the mate took it from him, and, placing the slipper on the deck, stood with one hand holding the wheel and the other the ridiculous sack.
-“now,” said the skipper.
-the sack went overboard, and, at the same moment, the mate left the wheel with an ear-splitting yell and rushed to the galley for the life-belt which hung there. he crashed heavily into joe, who had rushed on deck, but, without pausing, ran to the side and flung it overboard.
-“skipper's overboard,” he yelled, running back and putting the helm down.
-joe put his head down the fore-scuttle and yelled like a maniac; the others came up in their night-gear, and in a marvellously short space of time the schooner was hove to and the cook and joe had tumbled into the boat and were pulling back lustily in search of the skipper.
-half an hour elapsed, during which those on the schooner hung over the stern listening intently. they could hear the oars in the rowlocks and the shouts of the rowers. tim lit a lantern and dangled it over the water.
-“have you got 'im?” cried ben, as the boat came over the darkness and the light of the lantern shone on the upturned faces of the men.
-“no,” said joe, huskily.
-ben threw him a line, and he clambered silently aboard, followed by the cook.
-“better put about,” he said to the mate, “and cruise about until daylight. we ain't found the belt either, and it's just possible he's got it.”
-the mate shook his head. “it's no good,” he said, confidently; “he's gone.”
-“well, i vote we try, anyhow,” said joe, turning on him fiercely. “how did it happen?”
-“he came up on deck to speak to me,” said the mate, shortly. “he fancied he heard a cry from the water and jumped up on the side with his hand on the rigging to see. i s'pose his bad foot slipped and he went over before i could move.”
-“we'll cruise about a bit,” said joe, loudly, turning to the men.
-“are you giving orders here, or am i?” said the mate sternly.
-“i am,” said joe, violently. “it's our duty to do all we can.” there was a dead silence. joe, pushing himself in between ben and the cook, eyed the men eagerly.
-“what do you mean by that?” said the mate at last.
-“wot i say,” said joe, meeting him eye to eye, and thrusting his face close to his.
-the mate shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly aft; then, with a regard for appearances which the occasion fully warranted, took the schooner for a little circular tour in the neighbourhood of the skipper's disappearance.
-at daybreak, not feeling the loss quite as much as the men, he went below, and, having looked stealthily round, unlocked the door of the state-room and peeped in. it was almost uncanny, considering the circumstances, to see in the dim light the skipper sitting on the edge of his bunk.
-“what the blazes are you doing, dodging about like this?” he burst out, ungratefully.
-“looking for the body,” said the mate. “ain't you heard us shouting? it's not my fault—the crew say they won't leave the spot while there's half a chance.”
-“blast the crew,” said the skipper, quite untouched by this devotion. “ain't you taking charge o' the ship?”
-“joe's about half mad,” said the mate. “it's wonderful how upset he is.”
-the skipper cursed joe separately, and the mate, whose temper was getting bad, closed the interview by locking the door.
-at five o'clock, by which time they had cleared three masses of weed and a barnacle-covered plank, they abandoned the search and resumed the voyage. a gloom settled on the forecastle, and the cook took advantage of the occasion to read tim a homily upon the shortness of life and the suddenness of death. tim was much affected, but not nearly so much as he was when he discovered that the men were going to pay a last tribute to the late captain's memory by abstaining from breakfast. he ventured to remark that the excitement and the night air had made him feel very hungry, and was promptly called an unfeeling little brute by the men for his pains. the mate, who, in deference to public opinion, had to keep up appearances the same way, was almost as much annoyed as tim, and, as for the drowned man himself, his state of mind was the worst of all. he was so ungrateful that the mate at length lost his temper and when dinner was served allowed a latent sense of humour to have full play.
-it consisted of boiled beef, with duff, carrots, and potatoes, and its grateful incense filled the cabin.
-the mate attacked it lustily listening between mouthfuls for any interruption from the state-room. at length, unable to endure it any longer, the prisoner ventured to scratch lightly on the door.
-“hist!” said the mate, in a whisper.
-the scratching ceased, and the mate, grinning broadly, resumed his dinner. he finished at last, and lighting his pipe sat back easily in the locker watching the door out of the corner of his eye.
-with hunger at his vitals the unfortunate skipper, hardly able to believe his ears, heard the cook come down and clear away. the smell of dinner gave way to that of tobacco, and the mate, having half finished his pipe, approached the door.
-“are you there?” he asked, in a whisper.
-“of course i am, you fool!” said the skipper, wrathfully; “where's my dinner?”
-“i'm very sorry,” began the mate, in a whisper.
-“what?” enquired the skipper, fiercely.
-“i've mislaid the key,” said the mate, grinning fiendishly, “an', what's more, i can't think what i've done with it.”
-at this intelligence, the remnants of the skipper's temper vanished, and every bad word he had heard of, or read of, or dreamt of, floated from his hungry lips in frenzied whispers.
-“i can't hear what you say,” said the mate. “what?”
-the prisoner was about to repeat his remarks with a few embellishments, when the mate stopped him with one little word. “hist!” he said, quietly.
-at the imminent risk of bursting, or going mad, the skipper stopped short, and the mate, addressing a remark to the cook, who was not present, went up on deck.
-he found the key by tea-time, and, his triumph having made him generous, passed the skipper in a large hunk of the cold beef with his tea. the skipper took it and eyed him wanly, having found an empty stomach very conducive to accurate thinking.
-“the next thing is to slip ashore at wapping, jack,” he said, after he had finished his meal; “the whar'll be closed by the time we get there.”
-“the watchman's nearly sure to be asleep,” said fraser, “and you can easily climb the gate. if he's not, i must try and get him out of the way somehow.”
-the skipper's forebodings proved to be correct. it was past twelve by the time they reached wapping, but the watchman was wide awake and, with much bustle, helped them to berth their craft. he received the news of the skipper's untimely end with well-bred sorrow, and at once excited the wrath of the sensitive joe by saying that he was not surprised.
-“i 'ad a warning,” he said solemnly, in reply to the indignant seaman. “larst night exactly as big ben struck ten o'clock the gate-bell was pulled three times.”
-“i went to the gate at once,” continued george, addressing himself to the cook; “sometimes when i'm shifting a barge, or doing any little job o' that sort, i do 'ave to keep a man waiting, and, if he's drunk, two minutes seems like ages to 'im.”
-“you ought to know wot it seems like,” muttered joe.
-“when i got to the gate an' opened it there was nobody there,” continued the watchman, impressively, “and while i was standing there i saw the bell-pull go up an' down without 'ands and the bell rung agin three times.”
-the cook shivered. “wasn't you frightened, george?” he asked, sympathetically.
-“i knew it was a warning,” continued the vivacious george. “w'y'e should come to me i don't know. one thing is i think 'e always 'ad a bit of a fancy for me.”
-“he 'ad,” said joe; “everybody wot sees you loves you, george. they can't help theirselves.”
-“and i 'ave 'ad them two ladies down agin asking for mr. robinson, and also for poor cap'n flower,” said the watchman; “they asked me some questions about 'im, and i told 'em the lies wot you told me to tell 'em, joe; p'r'aps that's w'y i 'ad the warning.”
-joe turned away with a growl and went below, and tim and the cook after greedily waiting for some time to give the watchman's imagination a further chance, followed his example. george left to himself took his old seat on the post at the end of the jetty, being, if the truth must be told, some-what alarmed by his own fertile inventions.
-three times did the mate, in response to the frenzied commands of the skipper, come stealthily up the companion-way and look at him. time was passing and action of some kind was imperative.
-“george,” he whispered, suddenly.
-“sir,” said the watchman.
-“i want to speak to you,” said fraser, mysteriously; “come down here.”
-george rose carefully from his seat, and lowering himself gingerly on board, crept on tiptoe to the galley after the mate.
-“wait in here till i come back,” said the latter, in a thrilling whisper; “i've got something to show you. don't move, whatever happens.”
-his tones were so fearful, and he put so much emphasis on the last sentence, that the watchman burst hurriedly out of the galley.
-“i don't like these mysteries,” he said, plainly.
-“there's no mystery,” said the mate, pushing him back again; “something i don't want the crew to see, that's all. you're the only man i can trust.”
-he closed the door and coughed, and a figure which had been lurking on the companion-ladder, slipped hastily on deck and clambered noiselessly onto the jetty. the mate clambered up beside it, and hurrying with it to the gate helped it over, and with much satisfaction heard it alight on the other side.
-“good-night, jack,” said flower. “don't forget to look after poppy.”
-“good-night,” said the mate. “write as soon as you're fixed.”
-he walked back leisurely to the schooner and stood in some perplexity, eyeing the galley which contained the devoted george. he stood for so long that his victim lost all patience, and, sliding back the door, peered out and discovered him.
-“have you got it?” he asked, softly.
-“no,” replied fraser; “there isn't anything. i was only making a fool of you, george. good-night.”
-he walked aft, and stood at the companion watching the outraged george as he came slowly out of the galley and stared about him.
-“good-night, george,” he repeated.
-the watchman made no reply to the greeting, but, breathing heavily, resumed his old seat on the post; and, folding his arms across his panting bosom, looked down with majestic scorn upon the schooner and all its contents. long after the satisfied mate had forgotten the incident in sleep, he sat there striving to digest the insult of which he had been the victim, and to consider a painful and fitting retribution.
-the mate awoke next morning to a full sense of the unpleasant task before him, and, after irritably giving orders for the removal of the tarpaulin from the skylight, a substitution of the ingenious cook's for the drawn blinds ashore, sat down to a solitary breakfast and the composition of a telegram to captain barber. the first, a beautiful piece of prose, of which the key-note was resignation, contained two shillings' worth of sympathy and fourpence-halfpenny worth of religion. it was too expensive as it stood, and boiled down, he was surprised to find that it became unfeeling to the verge of flippancy. ultimately he embodied it in a letter, which he preceded by a telegram, breaking the sad news in as gentle a form as could be managed for one-and-three.
-the best part of the day was spent in relating the sad end of captain fred flower to various enquirers. the deceased gentleman was a popular favourite, and clerks from the office and brother skippers came down in little knots to learn the full particulars, and to compare the accident with others in their experience. it reminded one skipper, who invariably took to drink when his feelings were touched, of the death of a little nephew from whooping-cough, and he was so moved over a picture he drew of the meeting of the two, that it took four men to get him off the schooner without violence.
-the mate sat for some time after tea striving to summon up sufficient courage for his journey to poplar, and wondering whether it wouldn't perhaps be better to communicate the news by letter. he even went so far as to get the writing materials ready, and then, remembering his promise to the skipper, put them away again and prepared for his visit. the crew who were on deck eyed him stolidly as he departed, and joe made a remark to the cook, which that worthy drowned in a loud and troublesome cough.
-the wheeler family were at home when he arrived, and received him with some surprise, mrs. wheeler, who was in her usual place on the sofa, shook hands with him in a genteel fashion, and calling his attention to a somewhat loudly attired young man of unpleasant appearance, who was making a late tea, introduced him as her son bob.
-“is miss tyrell in?” enquired fraser, shaking his head as mr. wheeler dusted a small wheeler off a chair and offered it to him.
-“she's upstairs,” said emma wheeler; “shall i go and fetch her?”
-“no, i'll go up to her,” said the mate quietly. “i think i'd better see her alone. i've got rather bad news for her.��
-“about the captain?” enquired mrs. wheeler, sharply.
-“yes,” said fraser, turning somewhat red. “very bad news.”
-he fixed his eyes on the ground, and, in a spasmodic fashion, made perfect by practice, recited the disaster.
-“pore feller,” said mrs. wheeler, when he had finished. “pore feller, and cut down suddenly like that. i s'pose he 'adn't made any preparation for it?”
-“not a bit,” said the mate, starting, “quite unprepared.”
-“you didn't jump over after him?” suggested miss wheeler, softly.
-“i did not,” said the mate, firmly; whereupon miss wheeler, who was fond of penny romance, sighed and shook her head.
-“there's that pore gal upstairs,” said mrs. wheeler, sorrowfully, “all innocent and happy, probably expecting him to come to-night and take her out. emma'd better go up and break it to 'er.”
-“i will,” said fraser, shortly.
-“better to let a woman do it,” said mrs. wheeler. “when our little jemmy smashed his finger we sent emma down to break it to his father and bring 'im 'ome. it was ever so long before she let you know the truth, wasn't it, father?”
-“made me think all sorts of things with her mysteries,” said the dutiful mr. wheeler, in triumphant corroboration. “first of all she made me think you was dead; then i thought you was all dead—give me such a turn they 'ad to give me brandy to bring me round. when i found out it was only jemmy's finger, i was nearly off my 'ed with joy.”
-“i'll go and tell her,” interrupted mr. bob wheeler, delicately, using the inside edge of the table-cloth as a serviette. “i can do it better than emma can. what she wants is comforting; emma would go and snivel all over her.”
-mrs. wheeler, raising her head from the sofa, regarded the speaker with looks of tender admiration, and the young man, after a lengthy glance in the small pier-glass ornamented with coloured paper, which stood on the mantel-piece, walked to the door.
-“you needn't trouble,” said fraser, slowly; “i'm going to tell her.”
-mrs. wheeler's dull eyes snapped sharply. “she's our lodger,” she said, aggressively.
-“yes, but i'm going to tell her,” rejoined the mate; “the skipper told me to.”
-a startled silence was broken by mr. wheeler's chair, which fell noisily.
-“i mean,” stammered fraser, meeting the perturbed gaze of the dock-foreman, “that he told me once if anything happened to him that i was to break the news to miss tyrell. it's been such a shock to me i hardly know what i am saying.”
-“yes, you'll go and frighten her,” said bob wheeler, endeavouring to push past him.
-the mate blocked the doorway.
-“are you going to try to prevent me going out of a room in my own house?” blustered the young man.
-“of course not,” said fraser, and, giving way, ascended the stairs before him. mr. wheeler, junior, after a moment's hesitation, turned back and, muttering threats under his breath, returned to the parlour.
-miss tyrell, who was sitting by the window reading, rose upon the mate's entrance, and, observing that he was alone, evinced a little surprise as she shook hands with him. it was the one thing necessary to complete his discomfiture, and he stood before her in a state of guilty confusion.
-“cap'n flower couldn't come,” he stammered.
-the girl said nothing, but with her dark eyes fixed upon his flushed face waited for him to continue.
-“it's his misfortune that he couldn't come,” continued fraser, jerkily.
-“business, i suppose?” said the girl, after another wait. “won't you sit down?”
-“bad business,” replied fraser. he sat down, and fancied he saw the way clear before him.
-“you've left him on the foam, i suppose?” said poppy, seeing that she was expected to speak.
-“no; farther back than that,” was the response.
-“seabridge?” queried the girl, with an air of indifference.
-fraser regarded her with an expression of studied sadness. “not so far back as that,” he said, softly.
-miss tyrell manifested a slight restlessness. “is it a sort of riddle?” she demanded.
-“no, it's a tale,” replied fraser, not without a secret admiration of his unsuspected powers of breaking bad news; “a tale with a bad ending.”
-the girl misunderstood him. “if you mean that captain flower doesn't want to come here, and sent you to say so—” she began, with dignity.
-“he can't come,” interrupted the mate, hastily.
-“did he send you to tell me?” she asked
-fraser shook his head mournfully. “he can't come,” he said, in a low voice; “he had a bad foot—night before last he was standing on the ship's side—when he lost his hold—”
-he broke off and eyed the girl nervously, “and fell overboard,” he concluded.
-poppy tyrell gave a faint cry and, springing to her feet, stood with her hand on the back of her chair regarding him. “poor fellow,” she said, softly—“poor fellow.”
-she sat down again by the open window and nervously plucked at the leaves of a geranium. her face was white and her dark eyes pitiful and tender. fraser, watching her, cursed his resourceful skipper and hated himself.
-“it's a terrible thing for his friends,” said poppy, at length. “and for you,” said fraser, respectfully.
-“i am very grieved,” said poppy, quietly; “very shocked and very grieved.”
-“i have got strong hopes that he may have got picked up,” said fraser, cheerfully; “very strong hopes, i threw him a life-belt, and though we got the boat out and pulled about, we couldn't find either of them. i shouldn't be at all surprised if he has been picked up by some vessel outward bound. stranger things have happened.”
-the girl shook her head. “you didn't go overboard after him?” she asked, quietly.
-“i did not,” said the mate, who was somewhat tired of this tactless question; “i had to stand by the ship, and besides, he was a much better swimmer than i am—i did the best i could.”
-miss tyrell bowed her head in answer. “yes,” she said, softly.
-“if there's anything i can do,” said fraser, awkwardly, “or be of use to you in any way, i hope you'll let me know—flower told me you were all alone, and—”
-he broke off suddenly as he saw the girl's lips quiver. “i was very fond of my father,” she said, in extenuation of this weakness.
-“i suppose you've got some relatives?” said fraser.
-the girl shook her head.
-“no cousins?” said fraser, staring. he had twenty-three himself.
-“i have some in new zealand,” said poppy, considering. “if i could, i think i should go out there.”
-“and give up your business here?” enquired the mate, anxiously.
-“it gave me up,” said poppy, with a little tremulous laugh. “i had a week's pay instead of notice the day before yesterday. if you know anybody who wants a clerk who spells 'impatient' with a 'y' and is off-hand when they are told of it, you might let me know.”
-the mate stared at her blankly. this was a far more serious case than captain flower's. “what are you going to do?” he asked.
-“try for another berth,” was the reply.
-“but if you don't get it?”
-“i shall get it sooner or later,” said the girl.
-“but suppose you don't get one for a long time?” suggested fraser.
-“i must wait till i do,” said the girl, quietly.
-“you see,” continued the mate, twisting his hands, “it might be a long job, and i—i was wondering—what you would do in the meantime. i was wondering whether you could hold out.”
-“hold out?” repeated miss tyrell, very coldly.
-“whether you've got enough money,” blurted the mate.
-miss tyrell turned upon him a face in which there was now no lack of colour. “that is my business,” she said, stiffly.
-“mine, too,” said fraser, gazing steadily at the pretty picture of indignation before him. “i was flower's friend as well as his mate, and you are only a girl.” the indignation became impatience. “little more than a child,” he murmured, scrutinising her.
-“i am quite big enough to mind my own business,” said poppy, reverting to chilly politeness.
-“i wish you would promise me you won't leave here or do anything until i have seen you again,'' said fraser, who was anxious to consult his captain on this new phase of affairs.
-“certainly not,” said miss tyrell, rising and standing by her chair, “and thank you for calling.”
-fraser rubbed his chin helplessly.
-“thank you for calling,” repeated the girl, still standing.
-“that is telling me to go, i suppose?” said, fraser, looking at her frankly. “i wish i knew how to talk to you. when i think of you being here all alone, without friends and without employment, it seems wrong for me to go and leave you here.”
-miss tyrell gave a faint gasp and glanced anxiously at the door. fraser hesitated a moment, and then rose to his feet.
-“if i hear anything more, may i come and tell you?” he asked.
-“yes,” said poppy, “or write; perhaps it would be better to write; i might not be at home. goodbye.”
-the mate shook hands, and, blundering down the stairs, shouted good-night to a segment of the wheeler family visible through the half-open door, and passed out into the street. he walked for some time rapidly, gradually slowing down as he collected his thoughts.
-“flower's a fool,” he said, bitterly; “and, as for me, i don't know what i am. it's so long since i told the truth i forget what it's like, and i'd sooner tell lies in a church than tell them to her.”
-he looked expectantly on the cabin table for a letter upon his return to the ship, but was disappointed, and the only letter yielded by the post next morning came from captain barber. it was couched in terms of great resignation, and after bemoaning the unfortunate skipper's untimely demise in language of great strength, wound up with a little scripture and asked the mate to act as master and sail the schooner home.
-“you'll act as mate, ben, to take her back,” said the new skipper, thrusting the letter in his pocket.
-“aye, aye, sir,” said ben, with a side glance at joe, “but i'll keep for'ard, if you don't mind.”
-“as you please,” said fraser, staring.
-“and you're master, i s'pose?” said joe, turning to fraser.
-fraser, whose manner had already effected the little change rendered necessary by his promotion from mate to master, nodded curtly, and the crew, after another exchange of looks, resumed their work without a word. their behaviour all day was docile, not to say lamb-like, and it was not until evening that the new skipper found it necessary to enforce his authority.
-the exciting cause of the unpleasantness was mr. william green, a slim, furtive-eyed young man, whom fraser took on in the afternoon to fill the vacancy caused by ben's promotion. he had not been on board half an hour before trouble arose from his attempt to introduce the manners of the drawing-room into the forecastle.
-“mr. will-yum green,” repeated joe, when the new arrival had introduced himself; “well, you'll be bill 'ere.”
-“i don't see why, if i call you mr. smith, you shouldn't call me mr. green,” said the other.
-“call me wot?” enquired joe, sternly; “you let me 'ear you callin' me mister anythink, that's all; you let me 'ear you.”
-“i'm sure the cook 'ere don't mind me callin' 'im mr. fisher,” said the new seaman.
-“cert'nly not,” said the gratified cook; “only my name's disher.”
-the newcomer apologised with an urbanity that rendered joe and old ben speechless. they gazed at each other in silent consternation, and then ben rose.
-“we don't want no misters 'ere,” he said, curtly, “an' wot's more, we won't 'ave 'em. that chap's name's bob, but we calls 'im slushy. if it's good enough for us, it's good enough for a ordinary seaman wot's got an a. b. discharge by mistake. let me 'ear you call 'im slushy. go on now.”
-“i've no call to address 'im at all just now,” said mr. green, loftily.
-“slushy,” said mr. green, sullenly, and avoiding the pained gaze of the cook; “slushy, slushy, slushy, slushy, sl——”
-“that'll do,” said the cook, rising, with a scowl. “you don't want to make a song abart it.”
-joe, content with his victory, resumed his seat on the locker and exchanged a reassuring glance with ben; mr. green, with a deprecatory glance at the cook, sat down and offered him a pipe of tobacco.
-“been to sea long?” enquired the cook, accepting it
-“not long,” said the other, speaking very distinctly.
-the cook, with an eye on joe, ventured on a gentle murmur of sympathy, and said that he had experienced the same thing.
-“i 'ad money,” continued mr. green, musingly, “and i run through it; then i 'ad more money, and i run through that.”
-“ben,” said joe, suddenly, “pass me over that boot o' yours.”
-“wha' for?” enquired ben, who had just taken it off.
-“to chuck at that swab there,” said the indignant seaman.
-ben passed it over without a word, and his irritated friend, taking careful aim, launched it at mr. green and caught him on the side of the head with it. pain standing the latter in lieu of courage, he snatched it up and returned it, and the next moment the whole forecastle was punching somebody else's head, while tim, in a state of fearful joy, peered down on it from his bunk.
-victory, rendered cheap and easy by reason of the purblindness of the frantic cook, who was trying to persuade mr. green to raise his face from the floor so that he could punch it for him, remained with joe and ben, who, in reply to the angry shouts of the skipper from above, pointed silently to the combatants. explanations, all different and all ready to be sworn to if desired, ensued, and fraser, after curtly reminding ben of his new position and requesting him to keep order, walked away.
-a silence broken only by the general compliments of the much gratified tim, followed his departure, although another outbreak nearly occurred owing to the cook supplying raw meat for mr. green's eye and refusing it for joe's. it was the lack of consideration and feeling that affected joe, not for the want of the beef, that little difficulty being easily surmounted by taking mr. green's. the tumult was just beginning again, when it was arrested by the sound of angry voices above. tim, followed by joe, sprang up the ladder, and the couple with their heads at the opening listened with appreciative enjoyment to a wordy duel between mrs. tipping and daughter and the watchman.
-“call me a liar, then,” said old george, in bereaved accents.
-“i have,” said mrs. tipping.
-“only you're so used to it you don't notice it,” remarked her daughter, scathingly.
-“i tell you he's drownded,” said the watchman, raising his voice; “if you don't believe me, go and ask mr. fraser. he's skipper in his place now.”
-he waved his hand in the direction of fraser, who, having heard the noise, was coming on deck to see the cause of it. mrs. tipping, compressing her lips, got on board, followed by her daughter, and marching up to him eyed him severely.
-“i wonder you can look us in the face after the trick you served us the other night,” she said, fiercely.
-“you brought it on yourselves,” said fraser, calmly. “you wouldn't go away, you know. you can't always be coming here worrying.”
-“we shall come whenever we choose,” said mrs. tipping. “in the first place, we want to see mr. robinson; anyway we intend to see captain flower, so you can save that fat old man the trouble of telling us lies about him.”
-“captain flower fell overboard night before last, if that's what you mean,” said fraser, gravely.
-“i never saw such a man in all my life,” exclaimed mrs. tipping, wrathfully. “you're a perfect—what's the man's name in the scriptures?” she asked, turning to her daughter.
-miss tipping, shaking her head despondently, requested her parent not to worry her.
-“well, it doesn't signify. i shall wait here till he comes,” said mrs. tipping.
-“what, ananias?” cried fraser, forgetting himself.
-mrs. tipping, scorning to reply, stood for some time gazing thoughtfully about her. then, in compliance with her whispered instructions, her daughter crossed to the side and, brushing aside the outstretched hand of the watchman, reached the jetty and walked into the office. two of the clerks were still working there, and she came back hastily to her mother with the story of the captain's death unmistakably confirmed.
-mrs. tipping, loath to accept defeat, stood for some time in consideration. “what had captain flower to do with mr. robinson?” she asked at length, turning to fraser.
-“can't say,” was the reply.
-“have you ever seen mr. robinson?” enquired the girl.
-“i saw him one night,” said the other, after some deliberation. “rather good-looking man, bright blue eyes, good teeth, and a jolly laugh.”
-“are you likely to see him again?” enquired miss tipping, nodding in confirmation of these details.
-“not now poor flower's gone,” replied fraser. “i fancy we shipped some cases of rifles for him one night. the night you first came. i don't know what it all was about, but he struck me as being rather a secretive sort of man.”
-“he was that,” sighed miss tipping, shaking her head.
-“i heard him say that night,” said the mate, forgetful of his recent longings after truth, “that he was off abroad. he said that something was spoiling his life, i remember, but that duty came first.”
-“there, do you hear that, mother?” said miss tipping.
-“yes, i hear,” said the other, with an aggressive sniff, as she moved slowly to the side. “but i'm not satisfied that the captain is dead. they'd tell us anything. you've not seen the last of me, young man, i can tell you.”
-“i hope not,” said fraser, cordially. “any time the ship's up in london and you care to come down, i shall be pleased to see you.”
-mrs. tipping, heated with the climb, received this courtesy with coldness, and having enquired concerning the fate of captain flower of six different people, and verified their accounts from the landlord of the public-house at the corner, to whom she introduced herself with much aplomb as being in the profession, went home with her daughter, in whom depression, in its most chronic form, had settled in the form of unfilial disrespect.
-two hours later the foam got under way, and, after some heated language owing to the watchman mistaking mr. green's urbanity for sarcasm, sailed slowly down the river. the hands were unusually quiet, but their behaviour passed unnoticed by the new skipper, who was too perturbed by the falsehoods he had told and those he was about to tell to take much heed of anything that was passing.
-“i thought you said you preferred to keep for-'ard?” he said to ben, as that worthy disturbed his meditations next morning by bustling into the cabin and taking his seat at the breakfast table.
-“i've changed my mind; the men don't know their place,” said the mate, shortly.
-fraser raised his eyebrows.
-“forget who i am,” said ben, gruffly. “i was never one to take much count of such things, but when it comes to being patted on the back by an a. b., it's time to remind 'em.”
-“did they do that?” said fraser, in a voice of horror.
-“joe did,” said ben. “'e won't do it ag'in, i don't think. i didn't say anything, but i think 'e knows my feelings.”
-“there's your berth,” said fraser, indicating it with a nod.
-ben grunted in reply, and being disinclined for conversation, busied himself with the meal, and as soon as he had finished went up on deck.
-“wot yer been down there for, bennie?” asked joe, severely, as he appeared; “your tea's all cold.”
-“i've 'ad my breakfast with the skipper,” said ben, shortly.
-“you was always fond of your stummick, bennie,” said joe, shaking his head, sorrowfully. “i don't think much of a man wot leaves his old mates for a bit o' bacon.”
-the new mate turned away from him haughtily, “tim,” he said, sharply.
-“yes, ben,” said the youth. “why, wot's the matter? wot are you looking like that for? ain't you well?” “wot did you call me?” demanded the new mate.
-“i didn't call you anything,” said the startled tim.
-“let me 'ear you call me ben ag'in and you'll hear of it,” said the other, sharply. “go and clean the brasswork.”
-the youth strolled off, gasping, with an envious glance at the cook, who, standing just inside the galley, cheerfully flaunted a saucepan he was cleaning, as though defying the mate to find him any work to do.
-“bill,” said the mate.
-“sir,” said the polite seaman.
-“help joe scrub paintwork,” was the reply.
-“me!” broke in the indignant joe.
-“scrub—look 'ere, ben.”
-“pore old joe,” said the cook, who had not forgiven him for the previous night's affair. “pore old joe.”
-“don't stand gaping about,” commanded the new mate. “liven up there.”
-“it don't want cleaning. i won't do it,” said joe, fiercely.
-“i've give my orders,” said the new mate, severely; “if they ain't attended to, or if i 'ear any more about not doing 'em, you'll hear of it. the idea o' telling me you won't do it. the idea o' setting such an example to the young 'uns. the idea—wot are you making that face for?”
-“i've got the earache,” retorted joe, with bitter sarcasm.
-“i thought you would 'ave, joe,” said the vengeful cook, retiring behind a huge frying-pan, “when i 'eard you singing this morning.”
-fraser, coming on deck, was just in time to see a really creditable imitation of a famous sculpture as represented by joe, tim, and ben, but his criticism was so sharp and destructive that the group at once broke and never re-formed. indeed, with a common foe in the person of ben, the crew adjusted their own differences, and by the time seabridge was in sight were united by all the fearful obligations of a secret society of which joe was the perpetual president.
-captain barber, with as much mourning as he could muster at such short notice, was waiting on the quay. his weather-beaten face was not quite so ruddy as usual, and fraser, with a strong sense of shame, fancied, as the old man clambered aboard the schooner, that his movements were slower than of yore.
-“this is a dreadful business, jack,” he said, giving him a hearty grip, when at length he stood aboard the schooner.
-“shocking,” said fraser, reddening.
-“i've spoken to have the coast-guards look out for him,” said the old man. “he may come ashore, and i know he'd be pleased to be put in the churchyard decent.”
-captain barber shook his head. “it's a mysterious thing,” he said slowly; “a man who'd been at sea all his life to go and tumble overboard in calm weather like that.”
-“there's a lot that's mysterious about it, sir,” said joe, who had drawn near, followed by the others. “i can say that, because i was on deck only a few minutes before it happened.”
-“pity you didn't stay up,” said captain barber, ruefully.
-“so i thought, sir,” said joe, “but the mate saw me on deck and made me go below. two minutes afterwards i heard a splash, and the skipper was overboard.”
-there was a meaning in his words that there was no mistaking. the old man, looking round at the faces, saw that the mate's was very pale.
-“what did he make you go below for?” he asked, turning to joe.
-“better ask him, sir,” replied the seaman. “i wanted to stay up on deck, but i 'ad to obey orders. if i 'ad stayed on deck, he wouldn't have been cap'n.”
-captain barber turned and regarded the mate fixedly; the mate, after a vain attempt to meet his gaze, lowered his eyes to the deck.
-“what do you say to all this?” enquired barber, slowly.
-“nothing,” replied the mate. “i did send joe below and the skipper fell overboard a minute or two afterwards. it's quite true.”
-“fell?” enquired captain barber.
-“fell,” repeated the other, and looked him squarely in the eyes.
-for some time captain barber said nothing, and the men, finding the silence irksome, shuffled uneasily.
-“fred saved your life once,” said barber, at length.
-“he did,” replied fraser.
-the old man turned and paced slowly up and down the deck.
-“he was my sister's boy,” he said, halting in front of the mate, “but he was more like my son. his father and mother were drownded too, but they went down fair and square in a gale. he stuck by his ship, and she stuck by him, god bless her.”
-“i'm obliged to you for bringing my ship from london,” said barber, slowly. “i sha'n't want you to take 'er back. i sha'n't want you to stay in 'er at all. i don't want to see you again.”
-“that's as you please,” said fraser, trying to speak unconcernedly. “it's your ship, and it's for you to do as you like about her. i'll put my things together now.”
-“you don't ask for no reason?” asked barber, eyeing him wistfully.
-the other shook his head. “no,” he said, simply, and went below.
-he came up some little time later with his belongings in a couple of chests, and, the men offering no assistance, put them ashore himself, and hailing a man who was sitting in a cart on the quay, arranged with him to convey them to the station.
-“is 'e to be let go like this?” said joe, hotly.
-“will you stop me?” demanded fraser, choking with rage, as he stepped aboard again.
-“joe,” said ben, sharply.
-the seaman glared at him offensively.
-“go for'ard,” said the new mate, peremptorily, “go for'ard, and don't make yourself so busy.”
-the seaman, helpless with rage, looked to captain barber for guidance, and, the old man endorsing the new mate's order, went forward, indulging in a soliloquy in which ben as a proper noun was mixed up in the company of many improper adjectives.
-fraser, clambering into the cart, looked back at the foam. the old man was standing with his hands clasped behind his back looking down on the deck, while the hands stood clumsily by. with an idea that the position had suddenly become intolerable he sat silent until they reached the station, and being for the first time for many months in the possession of a holiday, resolved for various reasons to pay a dutiful visit to his father at bittlesea.
-captain barber walked to his house in thoughtful mood, and sighed as he thought of the uncertainty of life and the futility of earthly wishes. the blinds at his windows were all decently drawn, while the union jack drooped at half-mast in the front garden. he paused at the gate, with a strong distaste for encountering the subdued gloom and the wealth of womanly love which awaited him indoors, and bethinking himself of the masterless state of his craft, walked slowly back and entered the thorn inn.
-“no news, i suppose, captain barber?” said the landlady, regarding him with great sympathy.
-the captain shook his head, and exchanging greetings with a couple of neighbours, ordered something to drink.
-“it's wonderful how you bear up, i'm sure,” said the landlady. “when my poor dear died i cried every day for five weeks. i came down to skin and bone almost.”
-“well, if i was you—” said the old man, irritably, and regarding the lady's ample proportions with an unfavourable eye.
-“if i was you,” repeated captain barber, slowly, in order to give time for full measure, “i should go an' cry for five months all day and all night.”
-the landlady put the glass in front of him sharply, and after giving him his change without looking at him, thoughtfully wiped down the counter.
-“mrs. church quite well?” she enquired, with studied artlessness.
-“quite well,” replied the captain, scenting danger.
-the landlady, smiling amiably, subsided into a comfortable windsor-chair, and shook her head at him so severely that, against his better sense, he felt compelled to demand an explanation.
-“there, there,” replied the landlady, “get along with you, do! innocence!”
-“it's no good, cap'n barber,” said one of the customers, with the best intentions in the world.
-“it struck me all of a heap,” said the landlady.
-“so it did me,” said the other man.
-“my missus knew it all along,” said the first man; “she said she knew it by the way they looked at one another.”
-“might i ask who you're talking of?” demanded the incensed barber, who had given up the effort to appear unconscious as being beyond his powers.
-“a young engaged couple,” said the landlady.
-the captain hesitated. “what have you been shaking your head at me and telling me it's no good for, then?” he demanded.
-“at your pretending not to have heard of it,” said the landlady.
-“i have not 'eard of it,” said captain barber, fiercely, as he took up his glass and walked towards the parlour. “i've got something better to do than talk about my neighbours' affairs.”
-“yes, of course you have,” said the landlady. “we know that.”
-the indignant barber closed the door behind him with a bang, and, excited with the controversy, returned with a short and suspicious nod the greeting of a small man of shrunken and forlorn aspect who was sitting at the other side of the room.
-“mornin', cap'n nibletts,” he growled.
-“mornin, sir,” said nibletts; “how's things?”
-captain barber shook his head. “bad as bad can be,” he replied, slowly; “there's no hope at all. i'm looking for a new master for my vessel.”
-nibletts looked up at him eagerly, and then looked away again. his last command had hoisted the green flag at the mouth of the river in a position which claimed attention, respect, and profanity from every craft which passed, its master having been only saved from the traditional death of the devoted shipmaster by the unpardonable conduct of the mate, who tore him from his craft by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his trousers.
-“what about harris?” he suggested.
-“i don't like harris's ways,” said barber, slowly.
-“well, what about fletcher?” said nibletts.
-“fletcher's ways are worse than wot harris's ways are,” commented captain barber.
-“i can understand you being careful,” said captain nibletts; “she's the prettiest little craft that ever sailed out of seabridge. you can't be too careful.”.
-“if things 'ad been different,” said the gratified owner, rolling his whisky round his mouth and swallowing it gently, “i'd have liked you to have 'ad her.”
-“thankee,” said nibletts, quietly.
-there was a pause, during which both men eyed the noble specimens of fish which are preserved for tavern parlours. captain barber took another sip of whisky.
-captain nibletts, rising from his seat, crossed over, and taking his hand, thanked him in broken accents for this overpowering expression of confidence in him. then he walked back, and taking his whisky from the table, threw it on the floor.
-“i've had enough of that,” he said briefly. “when am i to take her over, cap'n barber?”
-“so soon as ever you please,” said his benefactor. “old ben'll stay on as mate; fraser's gone.”
-captain nibletts thanked him again, and, clapping on his hard hat, passed hastily into the bar, his small visage twisted into a smile, to which it had long been a stranger. with the customers in the bar he exchanged remarks of so frivolous a nature in passing that the landlady nearly dropped the glass she was wiping, and then, crimson with indignation, as the door swung behind him, realised that the melancholy and usually respectful nibletts had thought fit to publicly address her as “gertie.”
-in the same high spirits the new master swung hastily down the road to his new command. work had already commenced, and the energetic ben, having been pushed over once by a set of goods in the slings owing to the frantic attempts of the men at the hand-crane to keep pace with his demands, was shouting instructions from a safe distance. he looked round as nibletts stepped aboard, and, with a wary eye on the crane, bustled towards him.
-“wot can we do for you, cap'n nibletts?” he enquired, with a patronising air.
-“i'm to be master,” replied the other, quietly.
-“you?” said ben, with offensive astonishment, as he saw the death of his own ambitious hopes in that quarter. “you to be master?”
-nibletts nodded and coloured. “cap'n barber just gave me the berth,” he remarked.
-ben sighed and shook his head. “he'll never be the same man ag'in,” he affirmed, positively; “'e went away: from 'ere dazed, quite dazed. 'ow was 'e when you saw 'im?”
-“he was all right,” was the reply.
-ben shook his head as one who knew better. “i 'ope he won't get no more shocks,” he observed, gravely. “it'll be nice for you to get to sea ag'in, cap'n.”
-captain nibletts raised his weather-beaten countenance and sniffed the air with relish.
-“you'll be able to see the diadem as we go by,” continued the sorely-aggravated ben. “there's just her masts showing at 'igh water.”
-a faint laugh rose from somebody in the hold, and nibletts, his face a dull red, stole quietly below and took possession of his new quarters. in the course of the day he transferred his belongings to the schooner, and, as though half fearful that his new command might yet slip through his fingers, slept on board.
-on the way back to london a sum in simple proportion, set by joe, helped to exercise the minds of the crew in the rare intervals which the new mate allowed them for relaxation: “if ben was bad on the fust v'y'ge, and much wuss on the second, wot 'ud he be like on the tenth?” all agreed that the answer would require a lot of working. they tarred the rigging, stropped the blocks, and in monkey-like attitudes scraped the masts. even the cook received a little instruction in his art, and estranged the affections of all hands by a “three-decker,” made under ben's personal supervision.
-the secret society discussed the matter for some time in vain. the difficulty was not so much in inventing modes of retaliation as in finding some bold spirit to carry them out. in vain did the president allot tasks to his admiring followers, preceded by excellent reasons why he should not perform them himself. the only one who showed any spirit at all was tim, and he, being ordered to spill a little tar carelessly from aloft, paid so much attention to the adverb that joe half killed him when he came down again.
-then mr. william green, having learnt that the mate was unable to read, did wonders with a piece of chalk and the frying pan, which he hung barometer fashion outside the galley when the skipper was below, the laughter of the delighted crew bearing witness to the success of his efforts, laughter which became almost uncontrollable as the mate, with as stately an air as he could assume, strode towards the galley and brought up in front of the frying-pan.
-“wot's all that, cook?” he demanded, pointing to the writing.
-“wot, sir?” asked the innocent.
-“on the frying-pan,” replied ben, scowling.
-“that's chalk-marks,” explained the cook, “to clean it with.”
-“it looks to me like writing,” snapped the mate.
-“lor, no, sir,” said the cook, with a superior smile.
-“i say it does,” said ben, stamping.
-“well, o' course you know best, sir,” said the cook, humbly. “i ain't nothing of a scholard myself. if it's writing, wot does it say, please?”
-“i don't say it is writing,” growled the old man. “i say it looks like it.”
-“i can assure you you're mistook, sir,” said the cook, blandly; “you see, i clean the sorsepans the same way. i only 'eard of it lately. look 'ere.”
-he placed the articles in question upside down in a row on the deck, and tim, reading the legends inscribed thereon, and glancing from them to the mate, was hastily led below in an overwrought condition by the flattered mr. green.
-“cook,” said the mate, ferociously.
-“sir,” said the other.
-“i won't 'ave the sorsepans cleaned that way.
-“no, sir,” said the cook, respectfully, “it does make 'em larf, don't it, sir, though i can't see wot they're larfing at any more than wot you can.”
-the mate walked off fuming, and to his other duties added that of inspector of pots and pans, a condition of things highly offensive to the cook, inasmuch as certain culinary arrangements of his, only remotely connected with cleanliness, came in for much unskilled comment.
-the overworked crew went ashore at the earliest possible moment after their arrival in london, in search of recuperative draughts. ben watched them a trifle wistfully as they moved off, and when nibletts soon after followed their example without inviting him to join him in a social glass of superior quality, smiled mournfully as he thought of the disadvantages of rank.
-he sat for some time smoking in silence, monarch of all he surveyed, and then, gazing abstractedly at the silent craft around him, fell into a pleasant dream, in which he saw himself in his rightful position as master of the foam, and nibletts, cashiered for drunkenness, coming to him for employment before the mast. his meditations were disturbed by a small piece of coal breaking on the deck, at which he looked lazily, until, finding it followed by two other pieces, he reluctantly came to the conclusion that they were intended for him. a fourth piece, better aimed, put the matter beyond all reasonable doubt, and, looking up sharply, he caught the watchman in the act of launching the fifth.
-“you thought wrong, then,” said the mate, sourly; “don't you do that ag'in.”
-“why, did i 'urt you?” said the other, surprised at his tone.
-“next time you want to chuck coal at anybody,” continued ben, with dignity, “pick out one o' the 'ands; mates don't like 'aving coal chucked at 'em by watchmen.”
-“look who we are,” gasped the petrified george. “look who we are,” he repeated, helplessly. “look who we are.”
-“keep your place, watchman,” said the mate, severely; “keep your place, and i'll keep mine.”
-the watchman regarded him for some time in genuine astonishment, and then, taking his old seat on the post, thrust his hands in his pockets, and gave utterance to this shocking heresy, “mates ain't nothing.”
-“you mind your business, watchman,” said the nettled ben, “and i'll mind mine.”
-“you don't know it,” retorted the other, breathing heavily; “be—sides, you don't look like a mate. i wouldn't chuck coal at a real mate.”
-he said no more, but sat gazing idly up and down the river with a face from which all expression had been banished, except when at intervals his gaze rested upon the mate, when it lit up with an expression of wonder and joy which made the muscles ache with the exercise.
-he was interrupted in this amusement by the sound of footsteps and feminine voices behind him; the indefatigable tippings were paying another of their informal visits, and, calmly ignoring his presence, came to the edge of the jetty and discussed ways and means of boarding the schooner.
-“mr. fraser's gone,” said the watchman, politely and loudly, “there's a new skipper now, and that tall, fine, 'andsome, smart, good-looking young feller down there is the new mate.”
-the new mate, looking up fiercely, acknowledged the introduction with an inhospitable stare, a look which gave way to one of anxiety as mrs. tipping, stepping into the rigging, suddenly lost her nerve, and, gripping it tightly, shook it in much the same fashion as a stout gentlemen--the bell, children! church in a church, just like before we went to fighting! trust you'll all come, gentlemen, and you, too, boys! the general hopes you'll all come."
-within headquarters, in a large bare room, jackson was having his customary morning half-hour with his heads of departments--an invariably recurring period in his quiet and ordered existence. it was omitted only when he fought in the morning. he sat as usual, bolt upright, large feet squarely planted, large hands stiff at sides. on the table before him were his sabre and bible. before him stood a group of officers. the adjutant, colonel paxton, finished his report. the general nodded. "good! good! well, major harman?"
-the chief quartermaster saluted. "the trains, sir, had a good night. there are clover fields on either side of the staunton road and the horses are eating their fill. a few have sore hoof and may have to be left behind. i had the ordnance moved as you ordered, nearer the river. an orderly came back last night from the convoy on the way to staunton. sick and wounded standing it well. prisoners slow marchers, but marching. i sent this morning a string of wagons to cross keys, to general ewell. we had a stampede last night among the negro teamsters. they were sitting in a ring around the fire, and an owl hooted or a bat flitted. they had been telling stories of ha'nts, and they swore they saw general ashby galloping by on the white stallion."
-"poor, simple, ignorant creatures!" said jackson. "there is no witch of endor can raise that horse and rider!--major hawks!"
-the chief commissary came forward. "general banks's stores are holding out well, sir. we are issuing special rations to the men to-day--sunday dinner--fresh beef, rice and beans, canned fruits, coffee, sugar--"
-"good! good! they deserve the best.--colonel crutchfield--"
-"i have posted wooding's battery as you ordered, sir, on the brow of the hill commanding the bridge. there's a gun of courtney's disabled. i have thought he might have the parrott we captured day before yesterday. ammunition has been issued as ordered. caissons all filled."
-"good!--captain boswell--ah, mr. hotchkiss."
-"captain boswell is examining the south fork, sir, with a view to finding the best place for the foot bridge you ordered constructed. i have here the map you ordered me to draw."
-"good! put it here on the table.--now, doctor mcguire."
-"very few reported sick this morning, sir. the good women of the village are caring for those. three cases of fever, two of pneumonia, some dysentery, measles among the recruits. the medicines we got at winchester are invaluable; they and the better fare the men are getting. best of all is the consciousness of victory,--the confidence and exaltation that all feel."
-"yes, doctor. god's shield is over us.--captain wilbourne--"
-"i brought the signal party in from peaked mountain last night, sir. a yankee cavalry company threatened to cut us off. had we stayed we should have been captured. i trust, sir, that i acted rightly?"
-"you acted rightly. you saw nothing of general shields?"
-"nothing, sir. it is true that the woods for miles are extremely thick. it would perhaps be possible for a small force to move unseen. but we made out nothing."
-jackson rose and drew closer the sabre and the bible. "that is all, gentlemen. after religious services you will return to your respective duties."
-the sun was now above the mountain tops, the mist beginning to lift. it lay heavily, however, over the deep woods and the bottom lands of the south fork, through which ran the luray road, and on the south fork itself.--clatter, clatter! shots and cries! shouting the alarm as they came, splashing through the ford, stopping on the hither bank for one scattering volley back into the woolly veil, came confederate infantry pickets and vedettes. "yankee cavalry! look out! look out! yankees!" in the mist the foremost man ran against the detail from the 65th. coffin seized him. "where? where?" the other gasped. "coming! drove us in! whole lot of them! got two guns. all of shields, i reckon, right behind!" he broke away, tearing with his fellows into the village.
-sergeant coffin and his men stared into the mist. they heard a great splashing, a jingling and shouting, and in another instant were aware of something looming like a herd of elephants. from the village behind them burst the braying of their own bugles--headquarters summoning, baggage train on the staunton road summoning. the sound was shrill, insistent. the shapes in the mist grew larger. there came a flash of rifles, pale yellow through the drift as of lawn. zzzzzz! zzzzzz! sang the balls. the twenty men of the 65th proceeded to save themselves. some of them tore down a side street, straight before the looming onrush. others leaped fences and brushed through gardens, rich and dank. others found house doors suddenly and quietly opening before them, houses with capacious dark garrets and cellars. all the dim horde, more and more of it, came splashing through the ford. a brazen rumbling arose, announcing guns. the foremost of the horde, blurred of outline, preternaturally large, huzzaing and firing, charged into the streets of port republic.
-in a twinkling the village passed from her sunday atmosphere to one of a highly work-a-day monday. the blue cavalry began to harry the place. the townspeople hurried home, trumpets blared, shots rang out, oaths, shouts of warning! men in grey belonging with the wagon train ran headlong toward their posts, others made for headquarters where the flag was and stonewall jackson. a number, headed off, were captured at once. others, indoors when the alarm arose, were hidden by the women. three staff officers had walked, after leaving jackson's council, toward a house holding pretty daughters whom they meant to take to church. when the clangour broke out they had their first stupefied moment, after which they turned and ran with all their might toward headquarters. there was fighting up and down the street. half a dozen huzzaing and sabring troopers saw the three and shouted to others nearer yet. "officers! cut them off, you there!" the three were taken. a captain, astride of a great reeking horse, towered above them. "staff? you're staff? is jackson in the town?--and where? quick now! eh--what!"
-"that's a lovely horse. looks exactly, i imagine, like rozinante--"
-"on the whole i should say that mcclellan might be finding richmond like those mirages travellers tell about. the nearer he gets to it the further it is away."
-"it has occurred to me that if after the evacuation of corinth beauregard should come back to virginia--"
-the captain in blue, hot and breathless, bewildered by the very success of the dash into town, kept saying, "where is jackson? what? quick there, you! where--" behind him a corporal spoke out cavalierly. "they aren't going to tell you, sir. there's a large house down there that's got something like a flag before it--i think, too, that we ought to go take the bridge."
-the streams of blue troopers flowed toward the principal street and united there. some one saw the flag more plainly. "that's a headquarters!--what if jackson were there? good lord! what if we took jackson?" a bugler blew a vehement rally. "all of you, come on! all of you, come on!" the stream increased in volume, began to move, a compact body, down the street. "there are horses before that door! look at that nag! that's jackson's horse!--no."--"yes! saw it at kernstown! forward!"
-stonewall jackson came out of the house with the flag before it. behind him were those of his staff who had not left headquarters when the invasion occurred, while, holding the horses before the door, waited, white-lipped, a knot of most anxious orderlies. one brought little sorrel. jackson mounted with his usual slow deliberation, then, turning in the saddle, looked back to the shouting blue horsemen. they saw him and dug spurs into flanks. first he pulled the forage cap over his eyes and then he jerked his hand into the air. these gestures executed he touched little sorrel with the rowel and, his suite behind him, started off down the street toward the bridge over the shenandoah. one would not have said that he went like a swift arrow. there was, indeed, an effect of slowness, of a man traversing, in deep thought, a solitary plain. but for all that, he went so fast that the space between him and the enemy did not decrease. they came thunderingly on, a whole federal charge--but he kept ahead. seeing that he did so, they began to discharge carbine and pistol, some aiming at little sorrel, some at the grey figure riding stiffly, bolt upright and elbows out. little sorrel shook his head, snorted, and went on. ahead loomed the bridge, a dusky, warm, gold-shot tunnel below an arch of weather-beaten wood. under it rolled with a heavy sound the shenandoah. across the river, upon the green hilltops, had arisen a commotion. all the drums were beating the long roll. stonewall jackson and little sorrel came on the trodden rise of earth leading to the bridge mouth. the blue cavalry shouted and spurred. their carbines cracked. the balls pockmarked the wooden arch. jackson dragged the forage cap lower and disappeared within the bridge. the four or five with him turned and drew across the gaping mouth.
-the blue cavalry came on, firing as they came. staff and orderlies, the grey answered with pistols. behind, in the bridge, sounded the hollow thunder of little sorrel's hoofs. the sound grew fainter. horse and rider were nearly across. staff and orderlies fired once again, then, just as the blue were upon them, turned, dug spur, shouted, and disappeared beneath the arch.
-the federal cavalry, massed before the bridge and in the field to either side, swore and swore, "he's out!--jackson's out! there he goes--up the road! fire!--damn it all, what's the use? he's charmed. we almost got him! good lord! we'd all have been major-generals!"
-the cavalry divided. a strong body stayed by the bridge, while one as large turned and galloped away. those staying chafed with impatience. "why don't the infantry come up--damned creeping snails!"--"yes, we could cross, but when we got to the other side, what then?--no, don't dare to burn the bridge--don't know what the general would say."--"listen to those drums over there! if stonewall jackson brings all those hornets down on us!"--"if we had a gun--speak of the angels!--unlimber right here, lieutenant!--got plenty of canister? now if the damned infantry would only come on! thought it was just behind us when we crossed the ford--what's that off there?"
-"that" was a sharp sputter of musketry. "firing! who are they firing at? there aren't any rebels--we took them all prisoners--"
-"there's fighting, anyway--wagon escort, maybe. the devil! look across the river! look! all the hornets are coming down--"
-the three kneeling in the mire, watching through triangular spaces between the branchy leaves, grew suddenly, amazingly calm. what was the sense in being frightened? you couldn't get away. was there anywhere to go to one might feel agitation enough, but there wasn't! coffin handled his rifle with the deliberation of a woman smoothing her long hair. the man next him--jim watts--even while he settled forward on his knees and raised his musket, turned his head aside and spat. "derned old fog always gits in my throat!" a branch of elder was cutting billy maydew's line of vision. he broke it off with noiseless care and raised to his shoulder the enfield rifle which he had acquired at winchester. there loomed, at thirty feet away, colossal beasts bestridden by giants.
-suddenly the mist thinned, lifted. the demon steeds and riders resolved themselves into six formidable looking federal troopers. from the main street rang the federal bugles, vehemently rallying, imperative. shouting, too, broke out, savage, triumphant, pointed with pistol shots. the bugle called again, rally to the colours! rally!
-"i calculate," said one of the six blue horsemen, "that the boys have found stonewall."
-"then they'll need us all!" swore the trooper leading. "if anybody's in the cow-house they can wait."--right about face! forward! trot!
-the men within the elder settled down on the wet black earth. "might as well stay here, i suppose," said coffin. jim watts began to shiver. "it's awful damp and cold. i've got an awful pain in the pit of my stomach." he rolled over and lay groaning. "can't i go, sir?" asked billy. "i kind of feel more natural in the open."
-now mathew coffin had just been thinking that while this elder bush springing from muddy earth, with a manure heap near, was damned uncomfortable, it was better than being outside while those devils were slashing and shooting. perhaps they would ride away, or the army might come over the bridge, and there would be final salvation. he had even added a line to the letter he was writing, "an elder bush afforded me some slight cover from which to fire--" and now billy maydew wanted to go outside and be taken prisoner! immediately he became angry again. "you're no fonder of the open than i am!" he said, and his upper lip twitched one side away from his white teeth.
-billy, his legs already out of the bush, looked at him with large, calm grey eyes. "kin i go?"
-"go where? you'll get killed."
-"you wouldn't grieve if i did, would you? i kinder thought i might get by a back street to the wagons. a cousin of mine's a wagon master and he ain't going ter give up easy. i kinder thought i might help--"
-"i'm just waiting," said coffin, "until jim here gets over his spasm. then i'll give the word."
-jim groaned. "i feel sicker'n a yaller dog after a fight--'n' you know i didn't mind 'em at all when they were really here! you two go on, 'n' i'll come after awhile."
-coffin and billy found the back street. it lay clear, warm, sunny, empty. "they're all down at the bridge," said billy. "bang! bang! bang!" they came to a house, blinds all closed, shrinking behind its trees. houses, like everything else, had personality in this war. a town occupied changed its mien according to the colour of the uniform in possession. as the two hurrying grey figures approached, a woman, starting from the window beside which she had been kneeling, watching through a crevice, ran out of the house and through the yard to the gate. "you two men, come right in here! don't you know the yankees are in town?"
-her eyes grew luminous. "how brave you are! go, and god bless you!"
-the two ran on. mathew coffin added another line to his letter: "a lady besought me to enter her house, saying that i would surely be killed, and that she could conceal me until the enemy was gone. but i--"
-they were nearly out of town--they could see the long train hurriedly moving on the staunton road. there was a sudden burst of musketry. a voice reached them from the street below. "halt, you two confeds running there! come on over here! rally to the colours!" there was a flash of the stars and bars, waved vigorously. "oh, ha, ha!" cried billy, "thar was some of us wasn't taken! aren't you glad we didn't stay behind the cowshed?"
-it came into coffin's head that billy might tell that his sergeant had wished to stay behind the cowshed. the blood rushed to his face; he saw the difficulty of impressing men who knew about the cowshed with his abilities in the way of storming batteries single-handed. he had really a very considerable share of physical courage, and naturally he esteemed it something larger than it was. he began to burn with the injustice of billy maydew's thinking him backward in daring and so reporting him around camp-fires. as he ran he grew angrier and angrier, and not far from the shaken flag, in a little grassy hollow which hid them from view, he called upon the other to halt. billy's sense of discipline brought him to a stop, but did not keep him from saying, "what for?" they were only two soldiers, out of the presence of others and in a pretty tight place together--mathew coffin but three years older than he, and no great shakes anyhow. "what for?" asked billy.
-"i just want to say to you," said coffin thickly, "that as to that shed, it was my duty to protect my men; just as it is my duty as an officer to report you for disobedience and bad language addressed to an officer--"
-billy's brow clouded. "i had forgotten all about that. i was going along very nicely with you. you were really behaving yourself--like a--like a gentleman. the cow-house was all right. you are brave enough when it comes to fighting. and now you're bringing it all up again--"
-"'gentleman.'--who are you to judge of a gentleman?"
-billy looked at him calmly. "i air one of them.--i air a-judging from that-a stand."
-"you are going to the guardhouse for disobedience and bad language and impertinence."
-"it would be right hard," said billy, "if i had to leave su-pe-ri-or-i-ty outside with my musket. but i don't."
-coffin, red in the face, made at him. the thunder run man, supple as a moccasin, swerved aside. "air you finished speaking, sergeant? fer if you have, 'n' if you don't mind, i think i'll run along--i air only fighting yankees this mornin'!"
-an aide of jackson's, cut off from headquarters and taking shelter in the upper part of the town, crept presently out of hiding, and finding the invaders' eyes turned toward the bridge, proceeded with dispatch and quietness to gather others from dark havens. when he had a score or more he proceeded to bolder operations. in the field and on the staunton road all was commotion; wagons with their teams moving in double column up the road, negro teamsters clamouring with ashen looks, "dose damn yanks! knowed we didn't see dat ghos' fer nothin' las' night!" wagon masters shouted, guards and sentries looked townward with anxious eyes. the aide got a flag from the quartermaster's tent; found moreover a very few artillery reserves and an old cranky howitzer. with all of these he returned to the head of the main street, and about the moment the cavalry at the bridge divided, succeeded in getting his forces admirably placed in a strong defensive position: coffin and billy maydew joined just as an outpost brought a statement that about two hundred yankee cavalry were coming up the street.
-the two guns, federal parrott, confederate howitzer, belching smoke, made in twenty minutes the head of the street all murk. in the first charge coffin received a sabre cut over the head. the blood blinded him at first, and when he had wiped it away, and tied a beautiful new handkerchief from a broadway shop about the wound, he found it still affected sight and hearing. he understood that their first musketry fire had driven the cavalry back, indeed he saw two or three riderless horses galloping away. he understood also that the yankees had brought up a gun, and that the captain was answering with the superannuated howitzer. he was sure, too, that he himself was firing his musket with great precision. fire!--load, fire!--load, fire! one, two,--one, two! but his head, he was equally sure, was growing larger. it was now larger than the globe pictured on the first page of the geography he had studied at school. it was the globe, and he was atlas holding it. fire--load, fire--load! now the head was everything, and all life was within it. there was a handsome young man named coffin, very brave, but misunderstood by all save one. he was brave and handsome. he could take a tower by himself--fire, load--fire, load--one, two. the enemy knew his fame. they said, "coffin! which is coffin?"--fire, load, one, two. the grey armies knew this young hero. they cheered when he went by. they cheered--they cheered--when he went by to take the tower. they wrote home and lovely women envied the loveliest woman. "coffin! coffin! coffin's going to take the tower! watch him! yaaaaih! yaaaih!"--he struck the tower and looked to see it go down. instead, with a roar, it sprang, triple brass, height on height to the skies. the stars fell, and suddenly, in the darkness, an ocean appeared and went over him. he lay beneath the overturned federal gun, and the grey rush that had silenced the gunners and taken the piece went on.
-for a long time he lay in a night without a star, then day began to break. it broke curiously, palely light for an instant, then obscured by thick clouds, then faint light again. some part of his brain began to think. his head was not now the world; the world was lying on his shoulder and arm, crushing it. with one piece of his brain he began to appeal to people; with another piece to answer the first. "mother, take this thing away! mother, take this thing away! she's dead. she can't, however much she wants to. father! he's dead, too. rob, carter--jack! grown up and moved away. judge allen, sir!--mr. boyd!--would you just give a hand? here i am, under purgatory mountain. darling--take this thing away! darling--darling! men!--colonel cleave!--boys--boys--" all the brain began to think. "o god, send somebody!"
-when purgatory mountain was lifted from his shoulder and arm he fainted. water, brought in a cap from a neighbouring puddle and dashed in his face, brought him to. "thar now!" said billy, "i certainly air glad to see that you air alive!" coffin groaned. "it must ha' hurt awful! s'pose you let me look before i move you?" he took out a knife and gently slit the coat away. "sho! i know that hurts! but you got first to the gun! you ran like you was possessed, and you yelled, and you was the first to touch the gun. thar now! i air a-tying the han'kerchief from your head around your arm, 'cause there's more blood--"
-"they'll have to cut it off," moaned coffin.
-"no, they won't. don't you let 'em! now i air a-going to lift you and carry you to the nearest house. all the boys have run on after the yanks."
-"sergeant coffin," said billy. "he air right badly hurt! he was the first man at the gun. he fired, an' then he got hold of the sponge staff and laid about him--he was that gallant. the men ought to 'lect him back. he sure did well."
-the nearest house flung open its doors. "bring him right in here--oh, poor soldier! right here in the best room!--run, maria, and turn down the bed. oh, poor boy! he looks like my robert down at richmond! this way--get a little blackberry wine, betty, and the scissors and my roll of lint--"
-billy laid him on the bed in the best room. "thar now! you air all right. the doctor'll come just as soon as i can find him, 'n' then i'll get back to the boys--wait--i didn't hear, i'll put my ear down. you couldn't lose all that blood and not be awful weak--"
-"i'd be ashamed to report now!" whispered coffin. "maybe i was wrong--"
-"sho!" said billy. "we're all wrong more or less. here, darn you, drink your wine, and stop bothering!"
-across the shenandoah stonewall jackson and the 37th virginia came down from the heights with the impetuosity of a torrent. behind them poured other grey troops. on the cliff heads poague and carpenter came into position and began with grape and canister. the blue parrott, full before the bridge mouth, menacing the lane within, answered with a shriek of shells. the 37th and jackson left the road, plunged down the ragged slope of grass and vines, and came obliquely toward the dark tunnel. jackson and little sorrel had slipped into their battle aspect. you would have said that every auburn hair of the general's head and beard was a vital thing. his eyes glowed as though there were lamps behind, and his voice rose like a trumpet of promise and doom. "halt!--aim at the gunners!--fire! fix bayonets! charge!"
-the 37th rushed in column through the bridge. the blue cavalry fired one volley. the unwounded among the blue artillerymen strove to plant a shell within the dusky lane. but most of the gunners were down, or the fuse was wrong. the grey torrent leaped out of the tunnel and upon the gun. they took it and turned it against the horsemen. the blue cavalry fled. on the bluff heads above the river three grey batteries came into action. the 37th virginia began to sweep the streets of port republic.
-the blue cavalry, leaving the guns, leaving prisoners they had taken and their wounded, turned alike from the upper end of the village and rode, pell-mell, for the south fork. one and all they splashed through, not now in covering mist, but in hot sunshine, the 37th volleying at their heels and from the bluffs above the shenandoah, poague and carpenter and wooding strewing their path with grape and canister.
-a mile or two in the deep woods they met shields's infantry advance. there followed a movement toward the town--futile enough, for as the vanguard approached, the confederate batteries across the river limbered up, trotted or galloped to other positions on the green bluff heads, and trained the guns on the ground between port republic and the head of the federal column. winder's brigade came also and took position on the heights commanding lewiston, and taliaferro's swung across the bridge and formed upon the townward side of south fork. shields halted. all day he halted, listening to the guns at cross keys.
-sitting little sorrel at the northern end of the bridge, stonewall jackson watched taliaferro's men break step and cross. a staff officer ventured to inquire what the general thought general shields would do.
-"i think, sir, that he will stay where he is."
-"all day, sir?"
-"he has ten thousand men. will he not try to attack?"
-"no, sir! no! he cannot do it. i should tear him to pieces."
-a heavy sound came into being. the staff officer swung round on his horse. "listen, sir!"
-"yes. artillery firing to the northwest. fremont will act without shields."
-"good! good! my compliments to general ewell, and i expect him to win it."
-judith and stafford
-the cortege bearing ashby to his grave wound up and up to the pass in the blue ridge. at the top it halted. the ambulance rested beside a grey boulder, while the cavalry escort dismounted and let the horses crop the sweet mountain grass. below them, to the east, rolled piedmont virginia; below them to the west lay the great valley whence they had come. as they rested they heard the cannon of cross keys, and with a glass made out the battle smoke.
-for an hour they gazed and listened, anxious and eager; then the horsemen remounted, the ambulance moved from the boulder, and all went slowly down the long loops of road. down and down they wound, from the cool, blowing air of the heights into the warm june region of red roads, shady trees and clear streams, tall wheat and ripening cherries, old houses and gardens. they were moving toward the virginia central, toward meechum's station.
-a courier had ridden far in advance. at meechum's was a little crowd of country people. "they're coming! that's an ambulance!--is he in the ambulance? everybody take off their hats. is that his horse behind? yes, it is a horse that he sometimes rode, but the three stallions were killed. how mournful they come! albert sidney johnston is dead, and old joe may die, he is so badly hurt--and bee is dead, and ashby is dead." three women got out of an old carryall. "one of you men come help us lift the flowers! we were up at dawn and gathered all there were--"
-the train from staunton came in--box cars and a passenger coach. the coffin, made at port republic, was lifted from the ambulance, out of a bed of fading flowers. it was wrapped in the battle-flag. the crowd bowed its head. an old minister lifted trembling hand. "god--this thy servant! god--this thy servant!" the three women brought their lilies, their great sprays of citron aloes. the coffin was placed in the aisle of the passenger coach, and four officers followed as its guard. the escort was slight. never were there many men spared for these duties. the dead would have been the first to speak against it. every man in life was needed at the front. the dozen troopers stalled their horses in two of the box cars and themselves took possession of a third. the bell rang, slowly and tollingly. the train moved toward charlottesville, and the little crowd of country folk was left in the june sunshine with the empty ambulance. in the gold afternoon, the bell slowly ringing, the train crept into charlottesville.
-in this town, convenient for hospitals and stores, midway between richmond and the valley, a halting place for troops moving east and west, there were soldiers enough for a soldier's escort to his resting place. the concourse at the station was large, and a long train followed the bier of the dead general out through the town to the university of virginia, and the graveyard beyond.
-there were no students now at the university. in the white-pillared rotunda surgeons held council and divided supplies. in the ranges, where were the cell-like students' rooms, and in the white-pillared professors' houses, lay the sick and wounded. from room to room, between the pillars, moved the nursing women. to-day the rotunda was cleared. surgeons and nurses snatched one half-hour, and, with the families from the professors' houses, and the men about the place and the servants, gathered upon the rotunda steps, or upon the surrounding grassy slopes, to watch the return of an old student. it was not long before they heard the dead march.
-for an hour the body lay between the white columns before the rotunda that jefferson had built. soldiers and civilians, women and children, passing before the bier, looked upon the marble face and the hand that clasped the sword. then, toward sunset, the coffin lid was closed, the bearers took the coffin up, the dead march began again, and all moved toward the graveyard.
-dusk gathered, soft and warm, and filled with fireflies. the greenwood carriage, with the three sisters and miss lucy, drew slowly through the scented air up to the dim old house. julius opened the door. the ladies stepped out, and in silence went up the steps. molly had been crying. the little handkerchief which she dropped, and which was restored to her by julius, was quite wet.
-julius, closing the carriage door, looked after the climbing figures: "fo' de lawd, you useter could hear dem laughin' befo' dey got to de big oaks, and when dey outer de kerriage an' went up de steps dey was chatterin' lak de birds at daybreak! an' now i heah dem sighin' an' miss molly's handkerchief ez wet ez ef 't was in de washtub! de ol' times is evaporated."
-"dat sholy so," agreed isham, from the box. "des look at me er-drivin' horses dat once i'd er scorned to tech!--an' all de worl' er-mournin'. graveyards gitting full an' ginerals lyin' daid. what de use of dis heah war, anyhow? w'ite folk ought ter hab more sence."
-in the greenwood dining-room they sat at table in silence, scarcely touching car'line's supper, but in the parlour afterward judith turned at bay. "even aunt lucy--of all people in the world! aunt lucy, if you do not smile this instant, i hope all the greenwood shepherdesses will step from out the roses and disown you! and unity, if you don't play, sing, look cheerful, my heart will break! who calls it loss this afternoon? he left a thought of him that will guide men on! who doubts that to-morrow morning we shall hear that cross keys was won? oh, i know that you are thinking most of general ashby!--but i am thinking most of cross keys!"
-"judith, judith, you are the strongest of us all--"
-"judith, darling; nothing's going to hurt richard! i just feel it--"
-"hush, molly! judith's not afraid."
-"no. i am not afraid. i think the cannon have stopped at cross keys, and that they are resting on the field.--now, for us women. i do not think that we do badly now. we serve all day and half the night, and we keep up the general heart. i think that if in any old romance we read of women like the women of the south in this war we would say, 'those women were heroic.' we have been at war for a year and two months. i see no end of it. it is a desert, and no one knows how wide it is. we may travel for years. beside every marching soldier, there marches invisible a woman soldier too. we are in the field as they are in the field, and doing our part. no--we have not done at all badly, but now let us give it all! there is a plane where every fibre is heroic. let us draw to full height, lift eyes, and travel boldly! we have to cross the desert, but from the desert one sees all the stars! let us be too wise for such another drooping hour!" she came and kissed her aunt, and clung to her. "i wasn't scolding, aunt lucy! how could i? but to-night i simply have to be strong. i have to look at the stars, for the desert is full of terrible shapes. some one said that the battle with shields may be fought to-morrow. i have to look at the stars." she lifted herself. "we finished 'villette,' didn't we?--oh, yes! i didn't like the ending. well, let us begin 'mansfield park'--molly, have you seen my knitting?"
-having with his fellows of the escort from port republic seen the earth heaped over the dead cavalry leader, maury stafford lay that night in charlottesville at an old friend's house. he slept little; the friend heard him walking up and down in the night. by nine in the morning he was at the university. "miss cary? she'll be here in about half an hour. if you'll wait--"
-"i'll wait," said stafford. he sat down beneath an elm and, with his eyes upon the road by which must approach the greenwood carriage, waited the half-hour. it passed; the carriage drew up and judith stepped from it. her eyes rested upon him with a quiet friendliness. he had been her suitor; but he was so no longer. months ago he had his answer. all the agitation, the strong, controlling interest of his world must, perforce, have made him forget. she touched his hand. "i saw you yesterday afternoon. i did not know if you had ridden back--"
-"no. i shall be kept here until to-morrow. will you be sister of mercy all day?"
-"i go home to-day about four o'clock."
-"if i ride over at five may i see you?"
-"yes, if you wish. i must go now--i am late. is it true that we won the battle yesterday? tell me--"
-"we do not know the details yet. it seems that only ewell's division was engaged. trimble's brigade suffered heavily, but it was largely an artillery battle. i saw a copy of general jackson's characteristic telegram to richmond. 'god gave us the victory to-day at cross keys.'--fremont has drawn off to harrisonburg. there is a rumour of a battle to-day with shields."
-he thought that afternoon, as he passed through the road gates and into the drive between the oaks, that he had never seen the greenwood place look so fair. the sun was low and there were shadows, but where the light rays touched, all lay mellow and warm, golden and gay and sweet. on the porch he found unity, sitting with her guitar, singing to a ragged grey youth, thin and pale, with big hollow eyes. she smiled and put out her hand. "judith said you were coming. she will be down in a moment. major stafford--captain howard--go on singing? very well,--
-"soft o'er the fountain, lingering falls the southern moon--"
-"why is it that convalescent soldiers want the very most sentimental ditties that can be sung?
-"far o'er the mountain, breaks the day too soon!"
-"i know that string is going to snap presently! then where would i buy guitar strings in a land without a port?
-"nita! juanita! ask thy soul if we should part-- nita! juanita! lean thou on my heart!"
-judith came down in a soft old muslin, pale violet, open at the throat. it went well with that warm column, with the clear beauty of her face and her dark liquid eyes. she had a scarf in her hand; it chanced to be the long piece of black lace that stafford remembered her wearing that april night.--"it is a lovely evening. suppose we walk."
-there was a path through the flower garden, down a slope of grass, across a streamlet in a meadow, then gently up through an ancient wood, and more steeply to the top of a green hill--a hill of hills from which to watch the sunset. stafford unlatched the flower-garden gate. "the roses are blooming as though there were no war!" said judith. "look at george the fourth and the seven sisters and my old giant of battle!"
-"sometimes you are like one flower," answered stafford, "and sometimes like another. to-day, in that dress, you are like heliotrope."
-judith wondered. "is it wise to go on--if he has forgotten so little as that?" she spoke aloud. "i have hardly been in the garden for days. suppose we rest on the arbour steps and talk? there is so much i want to know about the valley--"
-stafford looked pleadingly. "no, no! let us go the old path and see the sunset over greenwood. always when i ride from here i say to myself, 'i may never see this place again!'"
-they walked on between the box. "the box has not been clipped this year. i do not know why, except that all things go unpruned. the garden itself may go back to wilderness."
-"you have noticed that? it is always so in times like these. we leave the artificial. things have a hardier growth--feeling breaks its banks--custom is not listened to--"
-"it is not so bad as that!" said judith, smiling. "and we will not really let the box grow out of all proportion!--now tell me of the valley."
-they left the garden and dipped into the green meadow. stafford talked of battles and marches, but he spoke in a monotone, distrait and careless, as of a day-dreaming scholar reciting his lesson. such as it was, the recital lasted across the meadow, into the wood, yet lit by yellow light, a place itself for day dreams. "no. i did not see him fall. he was leading an infantry regiment. he was happy in his death, i think. one whom the gods loved.--wait! your scarf has caught."
-he loosed it from the branch. she lifted the lace, put it over her head, and held it with her slender hand beneath her chin. he looked at her, and his breath came sharply. a shaft of light, deeply gold, struck across the woodland path. he stood within it, on slightly rising ground that lifted him above her. the quality of the light gave him a singular aspect. he looked a visitant from another world, a worn spirit, of fine temper, but somewhat haggard, somewhat stained. lines came into judith's brow. she stepped more quickly, and they passed from out the wood to a bare hillside, grass and field flowers to the summit. the little path that zigzagged upward was not wide enough for two. he moved through the grass and flowers beside her, a little higher still, and between her and the sun. his figure was dark; no longer lighted as it was in the wood. judith sighed inwardly. "i am so tired that i am fanciful. i should not have come." she talked on. "when we were children and read 'pilgrim's progress' unity and i named this the hill difficulty. and we named the blue ridge the delectable mountains--war puts a stop to reading."
-"yes. the hill difficulty! on the other side was the valley of humiliation, was it not?"
-"yes: where christian met apollyon. we are nearly up, and the sunset will be beautiful."
-at the top, around a solitary tree, had been built a bench. the two sat down. the sun was sinking behind the blue ridge. above the mountains sailed a fleet of little clouds, in a sea of pale gold shut in by purple headlands. here and there on the earth the yellow light lingered. judith sat with her head thrown back against the bark of the tree, her eyes upon the long purple coast and the golden sea. stafford, his sword drawn forward, rested his clasped hands upon the hilt and his cheek on his hands. "are they not like the delectable mountains?" she said. "almost you can see the shepherds and the flocks--hear the pilgrims singing. look where that shaft of light is striking!"
-"there is heliotrope all around me," he answered. "i see nothing, know nothing but that!"
-"you do very wrongly," she said. "you pain me and you anger me!"
-"judith! judith! i cannot help it. if the wildest tempest were blowing about this hilltop, a leaf upon this tree might strive and strive to cling to the bough, to remain with its larger self--yet would it be twisted off and carried whither the wind willed! my passion is that tempest and my soul is that leaf."
-"it is more than a year since first i told you that i could not return your feeling. last october--that day we rode to the old mill--i told you so again, and told you that if we were to remain friends it could only be on condition that you accepted the truth as truth and let the storm you speak of die! you promised--"
-"even pale friendship, judith--i wanted that!"
-"if you wish it still, all talk like this must cease. after october i thought it was quite over. all through the winter those gay, wonderful letters that you wrote kept us up at greenwood--"
-"i could hear from you only on those terms. i kept them until they, too, were of no use--"
-"when i wrote to you last month--"
-"i knew of your happiness--before you wrote. i learned it from one nearly concerned. i--i--" he put his hand to his throat as if he were choking, arose, and walked a few paces and came back. "it was over there near gordonsville--under a sunset sky much like this. what did i do that night? i have a memory of all the hours of blackness that men have ever passed, lying under forest trees with their faces against the earth. you see me standing here, but i tell you my face is against the earth, at your feet--"
-"it is madness!" said judith. "you see not me, but a goddess of your own making. it is a chain of the imagination. break it! true goddesses do not wish such love--at least, true women do not!"
-"i cannot break it. it is too strong. sometimes i wish to break it, sometimes not."
-judith rose. "let us go. the sun is down."
-she took the narrow path and he walked beside and above her as before. darker crimson had come into the west, but the earth beneath had yet a glow and warmth. they took a path which led, not by way of the wood, but by the old greenwood graveyard, the burying-place of the carys. at the foot of the lone tree hill they came again side by side, and so mounted the next low rise of ground. "forgive me," said stafford. "i have angered you. i am very wretched. forgive me."
-they were beside the low graveyard wall. she turned, leaning against it. there were tears in her eyes. "you all come, and you go away, and the next day brings news that such and such an one is dead! with the sound of death's wings always in the air, how can any one--i do not wish to be angry. if you choose we will talk like friends--like a man and a woman of the south. if you do not, i can but shut my ears and hasten home and henceforth be too wise to give you opportunity--"
-"i go back to the front to-morrow. be patient with me these few minutes. and i, judith--i will cling with all my might to the tree--"
-a touch like sunlight came upon him of his old fine grace, charming, light, and strong. "i won't let go! how lovely it is, and still--the elm tops dreaming! and beyond that gold sky and the mountains all the fighting! let us go through the graveyard. it is so still--and all their troubles are over."
-within the graveyard, too, was an old bench around an elm. "a few minutes only!" pleaded stafford. "presently i must ride back to town--and in the morning i return to the valley." they sat down. before them was a flat tombstone sunk in ivy, a white rose at the head. stafford, leaning forward, drew aside with the point of his scabbard the dark sprays that mantled the graved coat of arms.
-he let the ivy swing back. "i have seen many die this year who wished to live. if death were forgetfulness! i do not believe it. i shall persist, and still feel the blowing wind--"
-"listen to the cow-bells!" said judith. "there shows the evening star."
-"can a woman know what love is? this envelope of the soul--if i could but tear it! judith, judith! power and longing grow in the very air i breathe!--will to move the universe if thereby i might gain you!--your presence always with me in waves of light and sound! and you cannot truly see nor hear me! could you do so, deep would surely answer deep!"
-"do you not know," she said clearly, "that i love richard cleave? you do not attract me. you repel me. there are many souls and many deeps, and the ocean to which i answer knows not your quarter of the universe!"
-"do you love him so? i will work him harm if i can!"
-she rose. "i have been patient long enough.--no! not with me, if you please! i will go alone. let me pass, major stafford!--"
-she was gone, over the dark trailing periwinkle, through the little gate canopied with honeysuckle. for a minute he stayed beneath the elms, calling himself fool and treble fool; then he followed, though at a little distance. she went before him, in her pale violet, through the gathering dusk, unlatched for herself the garden gate and passed into the shadow of the box. a few moments later he, too, entered the scented alley and saw her waiting for him at the gate that gave upon the lawn. he joined her, and they moved without speaking to the house.
-they found the family gathered on the porch, an old horse waiting on the gravel below, and an elderly, plain man, a neighbouring farmer, standing halfway up the steps. he was speaking excitedly. molly beckoned from above. "oh, judith, it's news of the battle--"
-he was gone, riding in a sturdy, elderly fashion toward his home in a cleft of the hills. "major stafford cannot stay to supper, aunt lucy," said judith clearly. "is that julius in the hall? tell one of the boys to bring major stafford's horse around."
-as she spoke she turned and went into the house. the group upon the porch heard her step upon the polished stair. unity proceeded to make conversation. a negro brought the horse around. judith did not return. stafford, still and handsome, courteous and self-possessed, left farewell for her, said good-bye to the other greenwood ladies, mounted and rode away. unity, sitting watching him unlatch the lower gate and pass out upon the road, hummed a line--
-"nita! juanita! ask thy soul if we should part!"
-"i have a curious feeling about that man," said miss lucy, "and yet it is the rarest thing that i distrust anybody!--what is it, molly?"
-"it's no use saying that i romance," said molly, "for i don't. and when mr. hodge said 'the stonewall brigade suffered heavily' he looked glad--"
-"who looked glad?"
-"major stafford. it's no use looking incredulous, for he did! there was the most curious light came into his face. and judith saw it--"
-"she did! you know how edward looks when he's white-hot angry--still and greek looking? well, judith looked like that. and she and major stafford crossed looks, and it was like crossed swords. and then she sent for his horse and went away, upstairs to her room. she's up there now praying for the stonewall brigade and for richard."
-"molly, you're uncanny!" said unity. "oh me! love and hate--north and south--and we'll not have the bulletin until to-morrow--"
-miss lucy rose. "i am going upstairs to judith and tell her that i simply know richard is safe. there are too many broken love stories in the world, and the carys have had more than their share."
-the longest way round
-having, in a month and ten days, marched four hundred miles, fought four pitched battles and a whole rosary of skirmishes, made of naught the operations of four armies, threatened its enemy's capital and relieved its own, the army of the valley wound upward toward the blue ridge from the field of port republic. it had attended shields some distance down the luray road. "drive them!--drive them!" had said jackson. it had driven them then, turning on its steps it had passed again the battlefield. fremont's army, darkening the heights upon the further side of that river of burned bridges, looked impotently on. fremont shelled the meadow and the wheat fields over which ambulances and surgeons were yet moving, on which yet lay his own wounded, but his shells could not reach the marching foe. brigade after brigade, van, main and rear, cavalry, infantry, artillery, quartermaster, commissary and ordnance trains, all disappeared in the climbing forest. a cold and chilling rain came on; night fell, and a drifting mist hid the army of the valley. the next morning fremont withdrew down the valley toward strasburg. shields tarried at luray, and the order from washington directing mcdowell to make at once his long delayed junction with mcclellan upon the chickahominy was rescinded.
-the rear guard of the army of the valley buried the dead of port republic in trenches, and then it, too, vanished. to the last wagon wheel, to the last poor straggler, all was gone. it was an idiosyncrasy of jackson's to gather and take with him every filing. he travelled like a magnet; all that belonged to him went with him. long after dark, high on the mountain-side, an aide appeared in the rain, facing the head of the rear brigade.
-"the general says have you brought off every inch of the captured guns?"
-"tell him all but one unserviceable caisson. we did not have horses for that."
-the aide galloped forward, reported, turned, and galloped back. "general jackson says, sir, that if it takes every horse in your command, that caisson is to be brought up before daylight."
-the other swore. "all those miles--dark and raining!--lieutenant parke!--something told me i'd better do it in the first place!"
-the rain came down, fine as needles' points and cold. somewhere far below a mountain stream was rushing, and in the darkness the wind was sighing. the road wound higher. the lead horses, drawing a gun, stepped too near the edge of the road. the wet earth gave way. the unfortunate brutes plunged, struggled, went down and over the embankment, dragging the wheel horses after them. gun, carriage, and caisson followed. the echoes awoke dismally. the infantry, climbing above, looked down the far wooded slopes, but incuriously. the infantry was tired, cold, and famished; it was not interested in artillery accidents. perhaps at times the old guard had felt thus, with a sick and cold depression, kibed spirits as well as heels, empty of enthusiasm as of food, resolution lost somewhere in the darkness, sonority gone even from "l'empereur" and "la france." slowly, amid drizzling rain, brigade after brigade made brown's gap and bivouacked within the dripping forest.
-morning brought a change. the rain yet fell, but the army was recovering from the battlefield. it took not long, nowadays, to recover. the army was learning to let the past drop into the abyss and not to listen for the echoes. it seemed a long time that the country had been at war, and each day's events drove across and hid the event of the day before. speculation as to the morrow remained, but even this hung loosely upon the army of the valley. wonderment as to the next move partook less of deep anxiety than of the tantalization of guessing at a riddle with the answer always just eluding you. the army guessed and guessed--bothering with the riddle made its chief occupation while it rested for two days and nights, beside smoky camp-fires, in a cold june rain, in the cramped area of brown's gap; but so assured was it that old jack knew the proper answer, and would give it in his own good time, that the guessing had little fretfulness or edge of temper. by now, officers and men, the confidence was implicit. "tell general jackson that we will go wherever he wishes us to go, and do whatever he wishes us to do."
-on the morning of the twelfth "at early dawn" the army found itself again in column. the rain had ceased, the clouds were gone, presently up rose the sun. the army turned its back upon the sun; the army went down the western side of the mountains, down again into the great valley. the men who had guessed "richmond" were crestfallen. they who had stoutly held that old jack had mounted to this eyrie merely the better again to swoop down upon fremont, shields, or banks crowed triumphantly. "knew it tuesday, when the ambulances obliqued at the top and went on down toward staunton! he sends his wounded in front, he never leaves them behind! knew it wasn't richmond!"
-brigade by brigade the army wound down the mountain, passed below port republic, and came into a lovely verdurous country, soft green grass and stately trees set well apart. here it rested five days, and here the commanding general received letters from lee.
-"your recent successes have been the cause of the liveliest joy in this army as well as in the country. the admiration excited by your skill and boldness has been constantly mingled with solicitude for your situation. the practicability of reinforcing you has been the subject of the gravest consideration. it has been determined to do so at the expense of weakening this army. brigadier-general lawton with six regiments from georgia is on his way to you, and brigadier-general whiting with eight veteran regiments leaves here to-day. the object is to enable you to crush the forces opposed to you. leave your enfeebled troops to watch the country and guard the passes covered by your artillery and cavalry, and with your main body, including ewell's division and lawton's and whiting's commands, move rapidly to ashland, by rail or otherwise as you find most advantageous, and sweep down between the chickahominy and the pamunkey, cutting up the enemy's communications, etc., while this army attacks mcclellan in front. he will then, i think, be forced to come out of his entrenchments where he is strongly posted on the chickahominy, and apparently preparing to move by gradual approaches on richmond."
-and of a slightly earlier date.
-"should there be nothing requiring your attention in the valley, so as to prevent your leaving it in a few days, and you can make arrangements to deceive the enemy and impress him with the idea of your presence, please let me know, that you may unite at the decisive moment with the army near richmond."
-it may be safely assumed that these directions could have been given to no man more scrupulously truthful in the least of his personal relations, and to no commander in war more gifted in all that pertains to "deceiving the enemy and impressing him with an idea of your presence." infantry and artillery, the army of the valley rested at mt. meridian under noble trees. the cavalry moved to harrisonburg. munford had succeeded ashby in command, and munford came to take his orders from his general. he found him with the dictionary, the bible, the maxims, and a lemon.
-"you will draw a cordon quite across, north of harrisonburg. see, from here to here." he drew a map toward him and touched two points with a strong, brown finger.
-"very well, sir."
-"you will arrest all travellers up and down the valley. none is to pass, going north or going south."
-"very well, sir."
-"i wish the cavalry outposts to have no communication with the infantry. if they know nothing of the latter's movements they cannot accidentally transmit information. you will give this order, and you will be held accountable for its non-obedience."
-"very well, sir."
-"you will proceed to act with boldness masking caution. press the outposts of the enemy and, if possible, drive him still further northward." he broke off and sucked the lemon.
-"very well, sir."
-"create in him the impression that you are strongly supported. drive it into his mind that i am about to advance against him. general lee is sending reinforcements from richmond. i do not object to his knowing this, nor to his having an exaggerated idea of their number. you will regard these instructions as important."
-"i will do my best, sir."
-"good, good! that is all, colonel."
-munford returned to harrisonburg, drew his cordon across the valley, and pushed his outposts twelve miles to the northward. here they encountered a federal flag of truce, an officer with several surgeons, and a demand from fremont for the release of his wounded men. the outposts passed the embassy on to munford's headquarters at harrisonburg. that cavalryman stated that he would take pleasure in forwarding general fremont's demand to general jackson. "far? oh, no! it is not far." in the mean time it was hoped that the federal officers would find such and such a room comfortable lodging. they found it so, discovered, too, that it was next to munford's own quarters, and that the wall between was thin--nothing more, indeed, than a slight partition. an hour or two later the federal officers, sitting quietly, heard the confederate cavalryman enter, ask for writing materials, demand of an aide if the courier had yet returned from general jackson, place himself at a table and fall to writing. one of the blue soldiers tiptoed to the wall, found a chair conveniently placed and sat down with his ear to the boards. for five minutes, scratch, scratch! went munford's pen. at the expiration of this time there was heard in the hall without a jingling of spurs and a clanking of a sabre. the scratching ceased; the pen was evidently suspended. "come in!" the listeners in the next room heard more jingling, a heavy entrance, munford's voice again.
-"very good, gilmer. what did the general say?"
-"he says, sir, that general fremont is to be told that our surgeons will continue to attend their wounded. as we are not monsters they will be as carefully attended to as are our own. the only lack in the matter will be medicines and anaesthetics."
-"very good, gilmer, i will so report to the officer in charge of the flag of truce.--well, what is it, man? you look as though you were bursting with news!"
-"i am, sir! whiting, and hood, and lawton, and the lord knows who besides, are coming over the rockfish gap! i saw them with my own eyes on the staunton road. about fifteen thousand, i reckon, of lee's best. gorgeous batteries--gorgeous troops--hood's texans--thousands of georgians--all of them playing 'dixie,' and hurrahing, and asking everybody they see to point out jackson!--no, sir, i'm not dreaming! i know we thought that they couldn't get here for several days yet--but here they are! good lord! i wouldn't, for a pretty, miss the hunting down the valley!"
-the blue soldiers heard munford and the courier go out. an hour later they were conducted to the colonel's presence. "i am sorry, major, but general jackson declines acceding to general fremont's request. he says--"
-the party with the flag of truce went back to fremont. they went like lieutenant gilmer, "bursting with news." the next day munford pushed his advance to new market. fremont promptly broke up his camp, retired to strasburg, and began to throw up fortifications. his spies brought bewilderingly conflicting reports. a deserter, who a little later deserted back again, confided to him that stonewall jackson was simply another cromwell; that he was making his soldiers into ironsides: that they were presbyterian to a man, and believed that god almighty had planned this campaign and sent jackson to execute it; that he--the deserter--being of cavalier descent, couldn't stand it and "got out." there was an affair of outposts, in which several prisoners were taken. these acknowledged that a very large force of cavalry occupied harrisonburg, and that jackson was close behind, having rebuilt the bridge at fort republic across the shenandoah, and advanced by the keezletown road. an old negro shambled one morning into the lines. "yaas, sah, dat's de truf! i ain' moughty unlike ol' brer eel. i cert'ny slipped t'roo dat 'cordion gineral jackson am er stretchin'! how many on de oder side, sah? 'bout er half er million." fremont telegraphed and wrote to washington. "the condition of affairs here imperatively requires that some position be immediately made strong enough to be maintained. reinforcements should be sent here without an hour's delay. whether from richmond or elsewhere, forces of the enemy are certainly coming into this region. casualties have reduced my force. the small corps scattered about the country are exposed to sudden attack by greatly superior force of an enemy to whom intimate knowledge of country and universal friendship of inhabitants give the advantage of rapidity and secrecy of movements. i respectfully submit this representation to the president, taking it for granted that it is the duty of his generals to offer for his consideration such impressions as are made by knowledge gained in operations on the ground."
-south of the impenetrable grey curtain stretched across the valley began a curious series of moves. a number of federal prisoners on their way from port republic to richmond, saw pass them three veteran brigades. the guards were good-naturedly communicative. "who are those? those are whiting and hood and lawton on their way to reinforce stonewall. if we didn't have to leave this railroad you might see longstreet's division--it's just behind. how can lee spare it?--oh, beauregard's up from the south to take its place!" the prisoners arrived in richmond. to their surprise and gratification the officers found themselves paroled, and that at once. they had a glimpse of an imposing review; they passed, under escort, lines of entrenchments, batteries, and troops; their passage northward to mcdowell's lines at fredericksburg was facilitated. in a remarkably short space of time they were in washington, insisting that longstreet had gone to the valley, and that beauregard was up from the south--they had an impression that in that glimpse of a big review they had seen him! certainly they had seen somebody who looked as though his name ought to be pierre gustave toutant beauregard!
-in the mean time hood, lawton, and whiting actually arrived in the valley. they came into staunton, in good order, veteran troops, ready to march against shields or fremont or banks or sigel, to keep the valley or to proceed against washington, quite as stonewall jackson should desire! seven thousand troops, georgia, texas, north carolina, and virginia, lean, bronzed, growing ragged, tall men, with eyes set well apart, good marchers, good fighters, good lovers, and good haters.--there suddenly appeared before them on the pike at staunton stonewall jackson, ridden through the night from mt. meridian.
-the three brigades paraded. jackson rode up and down the line. his fame had mounted high. to do with a few men and at a little cost what, by all the rules of war, should have involved strong armies and much bloodshed--that took a generalship for which the world was beginning to give him credit. with cross keys and port republic began that sustained enthusiasm which accompanied him to the end. now, on the march and on the battlefield, when he passed his men cheered him wildly, and throughout the south the eyes of men and women kindled at his name. at staunton the reinforcing troops, the greater number of whom saw him for the first time, shouted for him and woke the echoes. grave and unsmiling, he lifted the forage cap, touched little sorrel with the spur and went on by. it is not to be doubted that he was ambitious, and it lies not in ambitious man, no, nor in man of any type, to feel no joy in such a cry of recognition! if he felt it, however, he did not evince it. he only jerked his hand into the air and went by.
-two hours later he rode back to mt. meridian. the three brigades under orders to follow, stayed only to cook a day's rations and to repack their wagons. their certainty was absolute. "we will join the army of the valley wherever it may be. then we will march against shields or fremont, or maybe against banks or sigel."
-breaking camp in the afternoon, they moved down the pike, through a country marvellous to the georgians and texans. sunset came, and still they marched; dark, and still they marched; midnight, and, extremely weary, they halted in a region of hills running up to the stars. reveille sounded startlingly soon. the troops had breakfast while the stars were fading, and found themselves in column on the pike under the first pink streakings of the dawn. they looked around for the army of the valley. a little to the northeast showed a few light curls of smoke, such as might be made by picket fires. they fancied, too, that they heard, from behind the screen of hills, faint bugle-calls, bugle answering bugle, like the cocks at morn. if it were so, they were thin and far away, "horns of elfland." evidently the three brigades must restrain their impatience for an hour or two.
-in the upshot it proved that they were not yet to fraternize with the army of the valley. when presently, they marched, it was up the valley, back along the pike toward staunton. the three brigadiers conferred together. whiting, the senior, a veteran soldier, staunch and determined, was angry. "reasonable men should not be treated so! 'you will start at four, general whiting, and march until midnight, when you will bivouac. at early dawn a courier will bring you further instructions.' very good! we march and bivouac, and here's the courier. 'the brigades of whiting, hood, and lawton will return to staunton. there they will receive further instructions.'" whiting swore. "we are getting a taste of his quality with a vengeance! very well! very well! it's all right--if he wins through i'll applaud, too--but, by god! he oughtn't to treat reasonable men so!--column forward!"
-under the stately trees at mt. meridian, in the golden june weather, the army of the valley settled to its satisfaction that it was about to invade maryland. quite an unusual number of straws showed which way the wind was blowing. northern news arrived by grapevine, and northern papers told the army that was what it was going to do,--"invade maryland and move on washington--sixty thousand bloody-minded rebels!"--"look here, boys, look here. multiplication by division! the yanks have split each of us into four!" richmond papers, received by way of staunton, divulged the fact that troops had been sent to the valley, and opined that the other side of mason and dixon needed all the men at home. the engineers received an order to prepare a new and elaborate series of maps of the valley. they were not told to say nothing about it, so presently the army knew that old jack was having every rabbit track and rail fence put down on paper. "poor old valley! won't she have a scouring!"
-the sole question was, when would the operations begin. the "foot cavalry" grew tired of verdant meads, june flowers, and warbling birds. true, there were clear streams and mr. commissary banks's soap, and the clothes got gloriously washed! uniforms, too, got cleaned and patched. "going calling. must make a show!" and shoes were cobbled. (cartridge boxes surreptitiously cut to pieces for this.) morning drills occurred of course, and camp duties and divine services; but for all these diversions the army wearied of mt. meridian, and wanted to march. twenty miles a day--twenty-five--even thirty if old jack put a point on it! the foot cavalry drew the line at thirty-five. it had tried this once, and once was enough! in small clasped diaries, the front leaves given over to a calendar, a table of weights and measures, a few 1850 census returns, and the list of presidents of the united states, stopping at james buchanan, the army recorded that nothing of interest happened at mt. meridian and that the boys were tired of loafing.
-"how long were they going to stay?" the men pestered the company officers, the company asked the regimental, field asked staff, staff shook its head and had no idea, a brigadier put the question to major-general ewell and old dick made a statement which reached the drummer boys that evening. "we are resting here for just a few days until all the reinforcements are in, and then we will proceed to beat up banks's quarters again about strasburg and winchester."
-on the morning of the seventeenth there was read a general order. "camp to be more strictly policed. regimental and brigade drill ordered. bridge to be constructed across the shenandoah. chapel to be erected. day of fasting and prayer for the success of our arms on the mississippi."--"why, we are going to stay here forever!" the regimental commanders, walking away from drill, each found himself summoned to the presence of his brigadier. "good-morning, colonel! just received this order. 'cook two days' rations and pack your wagons. do it quietly.'"
-by evening the troops were in motion, ewell's leading brigade standing under arms upon a country road, the red sunset thrown back from every musket barrel. the brigadier approached old dick where he sat rifle beneath a locust tree. "might i be told in which direction, sir--"
-ewell looked at him with his bright round eyes, bobbed his head and swore. "by god! general taylor! i do not know whether we are to march north, south, east, or west, or to march at all!" there was shouting down the line. "either old jack or a rabbit!" five minutes, and jackson came by. "you will march south, general ewell."
-the three brigades of whiting, hood, and lawton, having, like the king of france, though not with thirty thousand men, marched up the hill and down again, found at staunton lines of beautifully shabby virginia central cars, the faithful, rickety engines, the faithful, overworked, thin-faced railroad men, and a sealed order from general jackson. "take the cars and go to gordonsville. go at once." the reinforcements from lee left the valley of virginia without having laid eyes upon the army they were supposed to strengthen. they had heard its bugles over the hilltops--that was all.
-the morning of the nineteenth found the army bivouacked near charlottesville. an impression prevailed--heaven knows how or why--that banks had also crossed the blue ridge, and that the army was about to move to meet him in madison county. in reality, it moved to gordonsville. here it found whiting, hood, and lawton come in by train from staunton. now they fraternized, and now the army numbered twenty-two thousand men. at gordonsville some hours were spent in wondering. one of the chaplains was, however, content. the presbyterian pastor of the place told him in deep confidence that he had gathered at headquarters that at early dawn the army would move toward orange court house and culpeper, thence on to washington. the army moved at early dawn, but it was toward louisa court house.
-cavalry, artillery, and wagon trains proceeded by the red and heavy roads, but from gordonsville on the virginia central helped the infantry as best it might. the cars were few and the engine almost as overworked as the train men, but the road did its best. the trains moved back and forth, took up in succession the rear brigade and forwarded them on the march. the men enjoyed these lifts. they scrambled aboard, hung out of the window, from the platform and from roof, encouraged the engine, offered to push the train, and made slighting remarks on the tameness of the scenery. "not like god's country, back over the mountains!" they yelled encouragement to the toiling column on the red roads. "step spryer! your turn next!"
-being largely valley of virginia virginians, louisianians, georgians, texans, and north carolinians, the army had acquaintance slight or none with the country through which it was passing. gordonsville left behind, unfamiliarity began. "what's this county? what's that place over there? what's that river? can't be the potomac, can it? naw, 't aint wide enough!"--"gentlemen, i think it is the rappahannock."--"go away! it is the headwaters of the york."--"rapidan maybe, or rivanna."--"probably pamunkey, or the piankatank,
-where the bullfrogs jump from bank to bank."
-"why not say the james?"--"because it isn't. we know the james."--"maybe it's the chickahominy! i'm sure we've marched far enough! think i hear mcclellan's cannon, anyhow!"--"say, captain, is that the river dan?"--"forbidden to give names!"--"good lord! i'd like to see--no, i wouldn't like to see old jack in the inquisition!"--"i was down here once and i think it is the south anna."--"it couldn't be--it couldn't be acquia creek, boys?"--"acquia creek! absurd! you aren't even warm!"--"it might be the north anna."--"gentlemen, cease this idle discussion. it is the tiber!"
-on a sunny morning, somewhere in this terra incognita, one of hood's texans chanced, during a halt, to stray into a by-road where an ox-heart cherry tree rose lusciously, above a stake and rider fence. the texan looked, set his musket against the rails, and proceeded to mount to a green and leafy world where the cherries bobbed against his nose. a voice came to him from below. "what are you doing up there, sir?"
-the texan settled himself astride a bough. "i don't really know."
-"don't know! to what command do you belong?"
-"i don't know."
-"you don't know! what is your state?"
-"really and truly, i don't--o lord!" the texan scrambled down, saluted most shamefacedly. the horseman looked hard and grim enough. "well, sir, what is the meaning of this? and can you give me any reason why you should not mount guard for a month?"
-tears were in the texan's eyes. "general, general! i didn't know 't was you! give you my word, sir, i thought it was just anybody! we've had orders every morning to say, 'i don't know'--and it's gotten to be a joke--and i was just fooling. of course, sir, i don't mean that it has gotten to be a joke--only that we all say 'i don't know' when we ask each other questions, and i hope, sir, that you'll understand that i didn't know that 't was you--"
-"i understand," said jackson. "you might get me a handful of cherries."
-the morrow came, a warm, bright sunday. the last brigade got up, the artillery arrived, the head of the ammunition train appeared down the road. there were divine services, but no battle. the men rested, guessing fredericksburg and mcdowell, guessing richmond and mcclellan, guessing return to the valley and shields, fremont, banks, and sigel. they knew now that they were within fifty miles of richmond; but if they were going there anyhow, why--why--why in the name of common sense had general lee sent whiting, hood, and lawton to the valley? was it reasonable to suppose that he had marched them a hundred and twenty miles just to march them back a hundred and twenty miles? the men agreed that it wasn't common sense. still, a number had richmond firmly fixed in their minds. others conceived it not impossible that the army of the valley might be on its way to tennessee to take memphis, or even to vicksburg, to sweep the foe from mississippi. the men lounged beneath the trees, or watched the weary virginia central bringing in the fag end of things. fredericksburg was now the road's terminus; beyond, the line had been destroyed by a cavalry raid of mcclellan's.
-stonewall jackson made his headquarters in a quiet home, shaded with trees and with flowers in the yard. sunday evening the lady of the house sent a servant to the room where he sat with his chief of staff. "ole miss, she say, gineral, dat she hope fer de honour ob yo' brekfastin' wif her--"
-the general rolled a map and tied it with a bit of pink tape. "tell mrs. harris, with my compliments, that if i am here at breakfast time i shall be most happy to take it with her."
-"thank you, sah. an' what hour she say, gineral, will suit you bes'?"
-"tell her, with my compliments, that i trust she will breakfast at the usual hour."
-morning came and breakfast time. "ole miss" sent to notify the general. the servant found the room empty and the bed unslept in--only the dictionary and napoleon's maxims (the bible was gone) on the table to testify to its late occupancy. jim, the general's body servant, emerged from an inner room. "gineral jackson? fo' de lawd, niggah! yo' ain't looking ter fin' de gineral heah at dis heah hour? he done clar out 'roun' er bout midnight. reckon by now he's whipping de yankees in de valley!"
-in the dark night, several miles from frederickshall, two riders, one leading, one following, came upon a picket. "halt!" there sounded the click of a musket. the two halted.
-"jest two of you? advance, number one, and give the countersign!"
-"i am an officer bearing dispatches--"
-"that air not the point! give the countersign!"
-"i have a pass from general whiting--"
-"this air a stonewall picket. ef you've got the word, give it, and ef you haven't got it my hand air getting mighty wobbly on this gun!"
-"i am upon an important mission from general jackson--"
-"it air not any more important than my orders air! you get down from that thar horse and mark time!"
-"that is not necessary. call your officer of guard."
-"thank you for the sug-ges-tion," said billy politely. "and don't you move while i carry it out!" he put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. a sergeant and two men came tumbling out of the darkness. "what is it, maydew?"
-"it air a man trying to get by without the countersign."
-the first horseman moved a little to one side. "come here, sergeant! have you got a light? wait, i will strike a match."
-he struck it, and it flared up, making for an instant a space of light. both the sergeant and billy saw his face. the sergeant's hand went up to his cap with an involuntary jerk; he fell back from the rein he had been holding. billy almost dropped his musket. he gasped weakly, then grew burning red. jackson threw down the match. "good! good! i see that i can trust my pickets. what is the young man named?"
-"billy maydew, sir. company a, 65th virginia."
-"good! good! obedience to orders is a soldier's first, last, and best lesson! he will do well." he gathered up the reins. "there are four men here. you will all forget that you have seen me, sergeant."
-he was gone, followed by the courier. billy drew an almost sobbing breath. "i gave him such a damned lot of impudence! he was hiding his voice, and not riding little sorrel, or i would have known him."
-the sergeant comforted him. "just so you were obeying orders and watching and handling your gun all right, he didn't care! i gather you didn't use any cuss words. he seemed kind of satisfied with you."
-the night was dark, louisa county roads none of the best. as the cocks were crowing, a worthy farmer, living near the road, was awakened by the sound of horses. "wonder who's that?--tired horses--one of them's gone lame. they're stopping here."
-he slipped out of bed and went to the window. just light enough to see by. "who's there?"
-"two confederate officers on important business. our horses are tired. have you two good fresh ones?"
-"if i've got them, i don't lend them to every straggler claiming to be a confederate officer on important business! you'd better go further. good-night!"
-"i have an order from general whiting authorizing me to impress horses."
-the farmer came out of the house, into the chill dawn. one of the two strangers took the stable key and went off to the building looming in the background. the other sat stark and stiff in the grey light. the first returned. "two in very good condition, sir. if you'll dismount i'll change saddles and leave our two in the stalls."
-the officer addressed took his large feet out of the stirrups, tucked his sabre under his arm, and stiffly dismounted. waiting for the fresh horses, he looked at the angry farmer. "it is for the good of the state, sir. moreover, we leave you ours in their places."
-"i am as good a virginian as any, sir, with plenty of my folks in the army! and one horse ain't as good as another--not when one of yours is your daughter's and you've ridden the other to the court house and to church for twelve years--"
-"that is so true, sir," answered the officer, "that i shall take pleasure in seeing that, when this need is past, your horses are returned to you. i promise you that you shall have them back in a very few days. what church do you attend?"
-the second soldier returned with the horses. the first mounted stiffly, pulled a forage cap over his eyes, and gathered up the reins. the light had now really strengthened. all things were less like shadows. the louisa county man saw his visitor somewhat plainly, and it came into his mind that he had seen him before, though where or when--he was all wrapped up in a cloak, with a cap over his eyes. the two hurried away, down the richmond road, and the despoiled farmer began to think: "where'd i see him--richmond? no, 't wasn't richmond. after manassas, when i went to look for hugh? rappahannock? no, 't wasn't there. lexington? good god! that was stonewall jackson!"
-the nine-mile road
-in the golden afternoon light of the twenty-third of june, the city of richmond, forty thousand souls, lay, fevered enough, on her seven hills. over her floated the stars and bars. in her streets rolled the drum. here it beat quick and bright, marking the passage of some regiment from the defences east or south to the defences north. there it beat deep and slow, a muffled drum, a dead march--some officer killed in a skirmish, or dying in a hospital, borne now to hollywood. elsewhere, quick and bright again, it meant home guards going to drill. from the outskirts of the town might be heard the cavalry bugles blowing,--from the brook turnpike and the deep run turnpike, from meadow bridge road and mechanicsville road, from nine-mile and darbytown and williamsburg stage roads and osborne's old turnpike, and across the river from the road to fort darling. from the hilltops, from the portico or the roof of the capitol, might be seen the camp-fires of lee's fifty thousand men--the confederate army of the potomac, the army of the rappahannock, the army of norfolk, the army of the peninsula--four armies waiting for the arrival of the army of the valley to coalesce and become the army of northern virginia. the curls of smoke went up, straight, white, and feathery. with a glass might be seen at various points the crimson flag, with the blue st. andrew's cross and the stars, eleven stars, a star for each great state of the confederacy. by the size you knew the arm--four feet square for infantry, three feet square for artillery, two and a half by two and a half for cavalry.
-the light lay warm on the richmond houses--on mellow red brick, on pale grey stucco. it touched old ironwork balconies and ivy-topped walls, and it gilded the many sycamore trees, and lay in pools on the heavy leaves of the magnolias. below the pillared capitol, in the green up and down of the capitol square, in main street, in grace street by st. paul's, before the exchange, the ballard house, the spotswood, on shockoe hill by the president's house, through all the leafy streets there was vivid movement. in this time and place life was so near to death; the ocean of pain and ruin so evidently beat against its shores, that from very contrast and threatened doom life took a higher light, a deeper splendour. all its notes resounded, nor did it easily relinquish the major key.
-in the town were many hospitals. these were being cleaned, aired, and put in order against the impending battles. the wounded in them now, chiefly men from the field of seven pines, looked on and hoped for the best. taking them by and large, the wounded were a cheerful set. many could sit by the windows, in the perfumed air, and watch the women of the south, in their soft, full gowns, going about their country's business. many of the gowns were black.
-about the hotels, the president's house, the governor's mansion, and the capitol, the movement was of the official world. here were handsome men in broadcloth, grown somewhat thin, somewhat rusty, but carefully preserved and brushed. some were of the old school and still affected stocks and ruffled shirts. as a rule they were slender and tall, and as a rule wore their hair a little long. many were good latinists, most were good speakers. one and all they served their states as best they knew how, overworked and anxious, facing privation here in richmond with the knowledge that things were going badly at home, sitting long hours in congress, in the hall of delegates, in courts or offices, struggling there with herculean difficulties, rising to go out and listen to telegrams or to read bulletins. sons, brothers, kinsmen, and friends were in the field.
-this golden afternoon, certain of the latter had ridden in from the lines upon this or that business connected with their commands. they were not many, for all the world knew there would be a deadly fighting presently, deadly and prolonged. men and officers must stay within drum-beat. those who were for an hour in richmond, in their worn grey uniforms, with the gold lace grown tarnished (impossible of replacement!), with their swords not tarnished, their netted silk sashes, their clear bright eyes and keen thin faces, found friends enough as they went to and fro--more eager questioners and eager listeners than they could well attend to. one, a general officer, a man of twenty-nine, in a hat with a long black plume, with the most charming blue eyes, and a long bronze, silky, rippling beard which he constantly stroked, could hardly move for the throng about him. finally, in the capitol square, he backed his horse against the railing about the great equestrian washington. the horse, a noble animal, arched his neck. there was around it a wreath of bright flowers. the rider spoke in an enchanting voice. "now if i tell you in three words how it was and what we did, will you let me go? i've got to ride this afternoon to yellow tavern."
-"yes, yes! tell us, general stuart."
-"my dear people, it was the simplest thing in the world! a man in the first has made a song about it, and sweeney has set it to the banjo--if you'll come out to the camp after the battle you shall hear it! general lee wanted to know certain things about the country behind mcclellan. now the only way to know a thing is to go and look at it. he ordered a reconnoissance in force. i took twelve hundred cavalrymen and two guns of the horse artillery and made the reconnoissance. is there anything else that you want to know?"
-"be good, general, and tell us what you did."
-"i am always good--just born so! i rode round mcclellan's army--don't cheer like that! the town'll think it's jackson, come from the valley!"
-"tell us, general, how you did it!"
-"gentlemen, i haven't time. if you like, i'll repeat the man in the first's verses, and then i'm going. you'll excuse the metre? a poor, rough, unlearned cavalryman did it.
-"fitz lee, roony lee, breathed and stuart, martin to help, and heros von borcke, first virginia, fourth, ninth, two guns and a legion-- from hungary run to laurel hill fork,
-"by ashland, winston, hanover, cash corner, enon church, salem church, totopotomoy, old church,
-"you observe that we are trotting.
-"by hamstead, garlick, tunstall station, talleyville, forge mill, chickahominy, sycamore, white birch.
-"here we change gait.
-"by hopewell and christian, wilcox and westover, turkey bridge, malvern hill, deep bottom and balls four days, forty leagues, we rode round mcclellan as jeremiah paced round jericho's walls.--"
-"it wasn't jeremiah, general! it was joshua."
-"is that so? i'll tell sweeney. anyhow, the walls fell.
-"halt! advance! firing! engagement at hanover. skirmish at taliaferro's. skirmish at hawes. tragic was totopotomoy, for there we lost latane hampden-like, noble, dead for his cause.
-"at old church broke up meeting. faith! 'twas a pity but indigo azure was pulpit and pew! fitz lee did the job. sent his love to fitz porter. good lord! of mac's army the noble review!
-"there isn't anything our horses can't do.
-"tunstall station was all bubbly white with wagons. we fired those trains, those stores, those sheltering sheds! and then we burned three transports on pamunkey and shook the troops at white house from their beds!
-"loud roars across our path the swollen chickahominy 'plunge in, confeds! you were not born to drown.' we danced past white oak swamp, we danced past fighting joseph hooker! we rode round mcclellan from his sole to his crown!
-"there are strange, strange folk who like the infantry! men have been found to love artillery. mcclellan's quoted thus 'in every family there should exist a gunboat'--ah, but we, whom all arms else do heap with calumny, saying, 'daily those damned centaurs put us up a tree!' we insist upon the virtues of the cavalry!
-"now, friends, i'm going! it was a beautiful raid! i always liked little mac. he's a gentleman, and he's got a fine army. except for poor latane we did not lose a man. but i left a general behind me."
-"a general? general who--"
-stuart gave his golden laugh. "general consternation."
-the sun slipped lower. two horsemen came in by the deep run road and passed rapidly eastward through the town. the afternoon was warm, but the foremost wore a great horseman's cloak. it made all outlines indefinite and hid any insignia of rank. there was a hat or cap, too, pulled low. it was dusty; he rode fast and in a cloud, and there came no recognition. out of the town, on the nine-mile road, he showed the officer of the guard who stopped him a pass signed "r. e. lee" and entered the confederate lines. "general lee's headquarters?" they were pointed out, an old house shaded by oaks. he rode hither, gave his horse to the courier with him, and spoke to the aide who appeared. "tell general lee, some one from the valley."
-the aide shot a quick glance, then opened a door to the left. "general lee will be at leisure presently. will you wait here, sir?"
-he from the valley entered. it was a large, simply furnished room, with steel engravings on the walls,--the 1619 house of burgesses, spotswood on the crest of the blue ridge with his golden horseshoe knights, patrick henry in old st. john's, jefferson writing the declaration of independence, washington receiving the sword of cornwallis. the windows were open to the afternoon breeze and the birds were singing in a rosebush outside. there were three men in the room. one having a large frame and a somewhat heavy face kept the chair beside the table with a kind of granite and stubborn air. he rested like a boulder on a mountain slope; marked with old scars, only waiting to be set in motion again to grind matters small. the second man, younger, slender, with a short red beard, leaned against the window, smelled the roses, and listened to the birds. the third, a man of forty, with a gentle manner and very honest and kindly eyes, studied the engravings. all three wore the stars of major-generals.
-the man from the valley, entering, dropped his cloak and showed the same insignia. d. h. hill, leaving the engravings, came forward and took him by both hands. the two had married sisters; moreover each was possessed of fiery religious convictions; and hill, though without the genius of the other, was a cool, intelligent, and determined fighter. the two had not met since jackson's fame had come upon him.
-it clothed him now like a mantle. the man sitting by the table got ponderously to his feet; the one by the window left the contemplation of the rosebush. "you know one another by name only, i believe, gentlemen?" said d. h. hill. "general jackson--general longstreet, general ambrose powell hill."
-the four sat down, jackson resting his sabre across his knees. he had upon him the dust of three counties; he was all one neutral hue like a faded leaf, save that his eyes showed through, grey-blue, intense enough, though quiet. he was worn to spareness.
-longstreet spoke in his heavy voice. "well, general, fate is making of your valley the flanders of this war."
-"god made it a highway, sir. we must take it as we find it."
-jackson shifted the sabre a little. "marlborough is not my beau ideal. he had circumstances too much with him."
-an inner door opened. "the artillery near cold harbour--" said a voice, cadenced and manly. in a moment lee entered. the four rose. he went straight to stonewall jackson, laid one hand on his shoulder, the other on his breast. the two had met, perhaps, in mexico; not since. now they looked each other in the eyes. both were tall men, though lee was the tallest; both in grey, both thin from the fatigue of the field. here the resemblance ended. lee was a model of manly beauty. his form, like his character, was justly proportioned; he had a great head, grandly based, a face of noble sweetness, a step light and dauntless. there breathed about him something knightly, something kingly, an antique glamour, sunny shreds of the golden age. "you are welcome, general jackson," he said; "very welcome! you left frederickshall--?"
-"last night, sir."
-"the army is there?"
-"it is there, sir."
-"you have become a name to conjure with, general! i think that your valley will never forget you." he took a chair beside the table. "sit down, gentlemen. i have called this council, and now the sun is sinking and general jackson has far to ride, and we must hasten. here are the maps."
-the major-generals drew about the table. lee pinned down a map with the small objects upon the board, then leaned back in his chair. "this is our first council with general jackson. we wait but for the army of the valley to precipitate certainly one great battle, perhaps many battles. i think that the fighting about richmond will be heavier than all that has gone before." an aide entered noiselessly with a paper in his hand. "from the president, sir," he said. lee rose and took the note to the window. the four at table spoke together in low tones.
-"are there good maps?"
-"no," said longstreet; "damned bad."
-jackson stiffened. d. h. hill came in hastily. "it's rather difficult to draw them accurately with a hundred and ten thousand yankees lying around loose. they should have been made last year."
-lee returned. "yes, the next ten days will write a page in blood." he sighed. "i do not like war, gentlemen. now, to begin again! we are agreed that to defend richmond is imperative. when richmond falls the confederacy falls. it is our capital and seat of government. here only have we railroad communications with the far south. here are our arsenals and military manufactories, our depots of supply, our treasury, our hospitals, our refugee women and children. the place is our heart, and arm and brain must guard it. leave richmond and we must withdraw from virginia. abandon virginia, and we can on our part no longer threaten the northern capital. then general jackson cannot create a panic every other day, nor will stanton then withdraw on every fresh alarm a division from mcclellan."
-he leaned his head on his hand, while with the firm fingers of the other he measured the edge of the table. "no! it is the game of the two capitals, and the board is the stretch of country between. to the end they will attempt to reach richmond. to the end we must prevent that mate. let us see their possible roads. last year mcdowell tried it by manassas, and he failed. it is a strategic point,--manassas. there may well be fighting there again. the road by fredericksburg ... they have not tried that yet, and yet it has a value. now the road that mcclellan has taken,--by sea to fortress monroe, and so here before us by the york, seeing that the merrimac kept him from the james. it is the best way yet, though with a modification it would be better! there is a key position which i trust he'll not discover--"
-"he won't," said d. h. hill succinctly. "the fairies at his cradle didn't give him intuition, and they made him extremely cautious. he's a good fellow, though!"
-lee nodded. "i have very genuine respect for general mcclellan. he is a gentleman, a gallant soldier, and a good general." he pushed the map before him away, and took another. "of late richmond's strongest defence has been general jackson in the valley. well! mcdowell and fremont and banks may be left awhile to guard that capital which is so very certain it is in danger. i propose now to bring general jackson suddenly upon mcclellan's right--"
-jackson, who had been holding himself with the rigidity of a warrior on a tomb, slightly shifted the sabre and drew his chair an inch nearer the commander-in-chief. "his right is on the north bank of the chickahominy--"
-"yes. general stuart brought me much information that i desired. fitz john porter commands there--the 5th army corps--twenty-five thousand men. i propose, general, that you bring your troops as rapidly as possible from frederickshall to ashland, that from ashland you march by the ashcake road and merry oaks church to the totopotomoy creek road and that, moving by this to beaver dam creek, you proceed to turn and dislodge porter and his twenty-five thousand, crumpling them back upon mcclellan's centre--here." he pointed with a quill which he took from the ink-well.
-"good! good! and the frontal attack?"
-"good! good! this is the afternoon of the twenty-third."
-"yes. frederickshall is forty miles from this point--" he touched the map again. "now, general, when can you be here?"
-"thursday morning, the twenty-sixth, sir."
-"that is very soon."
-"time is everything in war, sir."
-"that is perfectly true. but the time is short and the manoeuvre delicate. you and your troops are at the close of a campaign as arduous as it is amazing. the fatigue and the strain must be great. you and general hill are far apart and the country between is rough and unmapped. yet victory depends on the simultaneous blow."
-jackson sat rigid again, his hand stiffly placed upon the sabre. "it is not given to man to say with positiveness what he can do, sir. but it is necessary that this right be turned before mcclellan is aware of his danger. each day makes it more difficult to conceal the absence of my army from the valley. between the danger of forced marching and the obvious danger that lies in delay, i should choose the forced marching. better lose one man in marching than five in a battle not of our selecting. a straw may bring failure as a straw may bring victory. i may fail, but the risk should be taken. napoleon failed at eylau, but his plan was correct."
-"very well," said lee. "then the morning of the twenty-sixth be it! final orders shall await you at ashland."
-jackson rose. "good! good! by now my horses will have been changed. i will get back. the army was to advance this morning to beaver dam station."
-he rode hard through the country all night, it being the second he had spent in the saddle. beaver dam station and the bivouacking army of the valley saw him on tuesday morning the twenty-fourth. "old jack's back from wherever he's been!" went the rumour. headquarters was established in a hut or two near the ruined railroad. arriving here, he summoned his staff and sent for ewell. while the former gathered he read a report, forwarded from munford in the rear. "scout gold and jarrow in from the valley. fremont still fortifying at strasburg--thinks you may be at front royal. shields at luray considers that you may have gone to richmond, but that ewell remains in the valley with forty thousand men. banks at winchester thinks you may have gone against shields at luray, or king at catlett's, or doubleday at fredericksburg, or gone to richmond--but that ewell is moving west on moorefield!"
-"good! good!" said jackson. staff arrived, and he proceeded to issue rapid and precise orders. all given, staff hurried off, and the general spoke to jim. "call me when general ewell comes." he stretched himself on a bench in the hut. "i am suffering," he said, "from fever and a feeling of debility." he drew his cloak about him and closed his eyes. it was but half an hour, however, that he slept or did not sleep, for ewell was fiery prompt.
-ashland was not reached until the late evening of this day. the men fell upon the earth. even under the bronze there could be seen dark circles under their eyes, and their lips were without colour. jackson rode along the lines and looked. there were circles beneath his own eyes, and his lips shut thin and grey. "let them rest," he said imperturbably, "until dawn." there rode beside him an officer from lee. he had now the latter's general order, and he was almost a day behind.
-somewhat later, in the house which he occupied, his chief of staff, ewell and the brigadiers gone, the old man, jim, appeared before him. "des you lis'en ter me er minute, gineral! ob my sartain circumspection i knows you didn't go ter bed las' night--nurr de night befo'--nurr de night befo' dat--'n' i don' see no preperation for yo' gwine ter bed dish-yer night! now, dat ain' right. w'at miss anna gwine say w'en she heah erbout hit? she gwine say you 'stress her too much. she gwine say you'll git dar quicker, 'n' fight de battle better, ef you lie down erwhile 'n' let jim bring you somethin' ter eat--"
-"i have eaten. i am going to walk in the garden for awhile."
-he went, all in bronze, with a blue gleam in his eye. jim looked after him with a troubled countenance. "gwine talk wif de lawd--talk all night long! hit ain' healthy. pray an' pray 'n' look up ter de sky 'twel he gits paralysis! de gineral better le' me tek his boots off, 'n' go ter bed 'n' dream ob miss anna!"
-at three the bugles blew. again there was incalculable delay. the sun was up ere the army of the valley left ashland. it was marching now in double column, jackson by the ashcake road and merry oaks church, ewell striking across country, the rendezvous pole green church, a little north and east of mechanicsville and the federal right. the distance that each must travel was something like sixteen miles.
-the spell of yesterday persisted and became the spell of to-day. sixteen miles would have been nothing in the valley; in these green and glamoury lowlands they became like fifty. stuart's cavalry began to appear, patrols here, patrols there, vedettes rising stark from the broom sedge, or looming double, horsemen and shadow, above and within some piece of water, dark, still, and clear. time was when the army of the valley would have been curious and excited enough over jeb stuart's troopers, but now it regarded them indifferently with eyes glazed with fatigue. at nine the army crossed the ruined line of the virginia central, hood's texans leading. an hour later it turned southward, stuart on the long column's left flank, screening it from observation, and skirmishing hotly through the hours that ensued. the army crossed crump's creek, passed taliaferro's mill, crossed other creeks, crept southward through hot, thick woods. mid-day came and passed. the head of the column turned east, and came shortly to a cross-roads. here, awaiting it, was stuart himself, in his fighting jacket. jackson drew up little sorrel beside him. "good-morning, general."
-"good-morning, general--or rather, good-afternoon. i had hoped to see you many hours ago."
-"my men are not superhuman, sir. there have occurred delays. but god is over us still."
-the army turned southward again, marching now toward totopotomoy creek, the head of the column approaching it at three o'clock. smoke before the men, thick, pungent, told a tale to which they were used. "bridge on fire!" it was, and on the far side of the creek appeared a party in blue engaged in obstructing the road. hood's texans gave a faint cheer and dashed across, disappearing in flame, emerging from it and falling upon the blue working party. reilly's battery was brought up; a shell or two fired. the blue left the field, and the grey pioneers somehow fought the flames and rebuilt the bridge. an hour was gone before the advance could cross on a trembling structure. over at last, the troops went on, southward still, to hundley corner. here ewell's division joined them, and here to the vague surprise of an exhausted army came the order to halt. the army of the valley went into bivouac three miles north of that right which, hours before, it was to have turned. it was near sunset. as the troops stacked arms, to the south of them, on the other side of beaver dam creek, burst out an appalling cannonade. trimble, a veteran warrior, was near jackson. "that has the sound of a general engagement, sir! shall we advance?"
-jackson looked at him with a curious serenity. "it is the batteries on the chickahominy covering general hill's passage of the stream. he will bivouac over there, and to-morrow will see the battle--have you ever given much attention, general, to the subject of growth in grace?"
-at the president's
-a large warehouse on main street in richmond had been converted into a hospital. conveniently situated, it had received many of the more desperately wounded from williamsburg and seven pines and from the skirmishes about the chickahominy and up and down the peninsula. typhoid and malarial cases, sent in from the lines, were also here in abundance. to a great extent, as june wore on, the wounded from williamsburg and seven pines had died and been buried, or recovered and returned to their regiments, or, in case of amputations, been carried away after awhile by their relatives. typhoid and malaria could hardly be said to decrease, but yet, two days before the battle of mechanicsville, the warehouse seemed, comparatively speaking, a cool and empty place.
-it was being prepared against the battles for which the beleaguered city waited--waited heartsick and aghast or lifted and fevered, as the case might be. on the whole, the tragic mask was not worn; the city determinedly smiled. the three floors of the warehouse, roughly divided into wards, smelled of strong soap and water and home-made disinfectants. the windows were wide; swish, swish! went the mops upon the floors. a soldier, with his bandaged leg stretched on a chair before him, took to scolding: "women certainly are funny! what's the sense of wiping down walls and letting james river run over the floors? might be some sense in doing it after the battle! here, sukey, don't splash that water this a-way!--won't keep the blood from the floor when they all come piling in here to-morrow, and makes all of us damned uncomfortable to-day!--beg your pardon, mrs. randolph! didn't see you, ma'am.--yes, i should like a game of checkers--if we can find an island to play on!"
-the day wore on in the hospital. floors and walls were all scrubbed, window-panes glistening, a sunday freshness everywhere. the men agreed that housecleaning was all right--after it was over. the remnant of the wounded occupied the lower floor; typhoid, malaria, and other ills were upstairs. stores were being brought in, packages of clothing and lint received at the door. a favorite surgeon made his rounds. he was cool and jaunty, his hands in his pockets, a rose in his buttonhole. "what are you malingerers doing here, anyhow? you're eating your white bread, with honey on it--you are! propped up and walking around--mrs. mcguire reading to you--mrs. randolph smilingly letting you beat her at her own game--miss cooper writing beautiful letters for you--miss cary leaving really ill people upstairs just because one of you is an albemarle man and might recognize a home face! well! eat the whole slice up to-day, honey and all! for most of you are going home to-morrow. yes, yes! you're well enough--and we want all the room we can get."
-he went on, judith cary with him. "whew! we must be going to have a fight!" said the men. "bigger'n seven pines."
-"seven pines was big enough!"
-"that was what i thought--facing casey's guns!--your move, mrs. randolph."
-the surgeon and nurse went on through cool, almost empty spaces. "this is going," said the surgeon crisply, "to be an awful big war. i shouldn't be surprised if it makes a napoleonic thunder down the ages--becomes a mighty legend like greece and troy! and, do you know, miss cary, the keystone of the arch, as far as we are concerned, is a composition of three,--the armies in the field, the women of the south, and the servants."
-"i mean that the conduct of the negroes everywhere is an everlasting refutation of much of the bitter stuff which is said by the other side. this war would crumble like that, if, with all the white men gone, there were on the plantations faithlessness to trust, hatred, violence, outrage--if there were among us, in virginia alone, half a million incendiaries! there aren't, thank god! instead we owe a great debt of gratitude to a dark foster-brother. the world knows pretty well what are the armies in the field. but for the women, miss cary, i doubt if the world knows that the women keep plantations, servants, armies, and confederacy going!"
-"i think," said judith, "that the surgeons should have a noble statue."
-"even if we do cut off limbs that might have been saved--hey? god knows, they often might! and that there's haste and waste enough!--here's sam, bringing in a visitor. a general, too--looks like a titian i saw once."
-"it is my father," said judith. "he told me he would come for me."
-a little later, father and daughter, moving through the ward, found the man from albemarle--not one of those who would go away to-morrow. he lay gaunt and shattered, with strained eyes and fingers picking at the sheet. "don't you know me, mocket?"
-mocket roused himself for one moment. "course i know you, general! crops mighty fine this year! never saw such wheat!" the light sank in his eyes; his face grew as it was before, and his fingers picked at the sheet. he spoke in a monotone. "we've had such a hard time since we left home--we've had such a hard time since we left home--we've had such a hard time since we left home--we--"
-judith dashed her hand across her eyes. "come away! he says just that all the time!"
-they moved through the ward, warwick cary speaking to all. "no, men! i can't tell you just when will be the battle, but we must look for it soon--for one or for many. almost any day now. no, i cannot tell you if general jackson is coming. it is not impossible. 'washington artillery?' that's a command to be proud of. let me see your tiger head." he looked at the badge with its motto try us, and gave it back smilingly. "well, we do try you, do we not?--on every possible occasion!--fifth north carolina? wounded at williamsburg!--king william artillery?--did you hear what general d. h. hill said at seven pines? he said that he would rather be captain of the king william artillery than president of the confederate states.--barksdale's mississippians? why, men, you are all by-words!"
-the men agreed with him happily. "you've got pretty gallant fellows yourself, general!" the king william man cleared his throat. "he's got a daughter, too, that i'd like to--i'd like to cheer!"
-"that's so, general!" said the men. "that's so! she's a chip of the old block."
-father and daughter laughed and went on--out of this ward and into another, quite empty. the two stood by the door and looked, and that sadly enough. "all the cots, all the pallets," said cary, in a low voice. "and out in the lines, they who will lie upon them! and they cannot see them stretching across their path. i do not know which place seems now the most ghostly, here or there."
-"it was hard to get mattresses enough. so many hospitals--and every one has given and given--and beds must be kept for those who will be taken to private houses. so, at last, some one thought of pew cushions. they have been taken from every church in town. see! sewed together, they do very well."
-they passed into a room where a number of tables were placed, and from this into another where several women were arranging articles on broad wooden shelves. "if you will wait here, i will go slip on my outdoor dress." one of the women turned. "judith!--cousin cary!--come look at these quilts which have been sent from over in chesterfield!" she was half laughing, half crying. "rising suns and morning stars and jonah's gourds! oh me! oh me! i can see the poor souls wrapped in them! the worst of it is, they'll all be used, and we'll be thankful for them, and wish for more! look at this pile, too, from town! tarletan dresses cut into nets, and these surgeons' aprons made from damask tablecloths! and the last fringed towels that somebody was saving, with the monogram so beautifully done!" she opened a closet door. "look! i'll scrape lint in my sleep every night for a hundred years! the young girls rolled all these bandages--" another called her attention. "will you give me the storeroom key? mrs. haxall has just sent thirty loaves of bread, and says she'll bake again to-morrow. there's more wine, too, from laburnum."
-the first came back. "the room seems full of things, and yet we have seen how short a way will go what seems so much! and every home gets barer and barer! the merchants are as good as gold. they send and send, but the stores are getting bare, too! kent and paine gave bales and bales of cotton goods. we made them up into these--" she ran her hand over great piles of nightshirts and drawers. "but now we see that we have nothing like enough, and the store has given as much again, and in every lecture room in town we are sewing hard to get more and yet more done in time. the country people are so good! they have sent in quantities of bar soap--and we needed it more than almost anything!--and candles, and coarse towelling, and meal and bacon--and hard enough to spare i don't doubt it all is! and look here, cousin cary!" she indicated a pair of crutches, worn smooth with use. to one a slip of paper was tied with a thread. her kinsman bent forward and read it: "i kin mannedge with a stick."
-judith returned, in her last year's muslin, soft and full, in the shady eugenie hat which had been sent her from paris two years ago. it went well with the oval face, the heavy bands of soft dark hair, the mouth of sweetness and strength, the grave and beautiful eyes. father and daughter, out they stepped into the golden, late afternoon.
-main street was crowded. a battery, four guns, each with six horses, came up it with a heavy and jarring sound over the cobblestones. behind rode a squad or two of troopers. the people on the sidewalk called to the cannoneers cheerful greetings and inquiries, and the cannoneers and the troopers returned them in kind. the whole rumbled and clattered by, then turned into ninth street. "ordered out on mechanicsville pike--that's all they know," said a man.
-the two carys, freeing themselves from the throng, mounted toward the capitol square, entered it, and walked slowly through the terraced, green, and leafy place. there was passing and repassing, but on the whole the place was quiet. "i return to the lines to-morrow," said warwick cary. "the battle cannot be long postponed. i know that you will not repeat what i say, and so i tell you that i am sure general jackson is on his way from the valley. any moment he may arrive."
-"and then there will be terrible fighting?"
-"yes; terrible fighting--look at the squirrels on the grass!"
-as always in the square, there were squirrels in the great old trees, and on the ground below, and as always there were negro nurses, bright turbaned, aproned, ample formed, and capable. with them were their charges, in perambulators, or, if older, flitting like white butterflies over the slopes of grass. a child of three, in her hand a nut for the squirrel, started to cross the path, tripped and fell. general cary picked her up, and, kneeling, brushed the dust from her frock, wooing her to smiles with a face and voice there was no resisting. she presently fell in love with the stars on his collar, then transferred her affection to his sword hilt. her mammy came hurrying. "ef i des' tuhn my haid, sumpin' bound ter happen, 'n' happen dat minute! dar now! you ain' hut er mite, honey, 'n' you's still got de goober fer de squirl. come mek yo' manners to de gineral!"
-released, the two went on. "have you seen edward?"
-"yes. three days ago--pagan, insouciant, and happy! the men adore him. fauquier is here to-day."
-"oh!--i have not seen him for so long--"
-"he will be at the president's to-night. i think you had best go with me--"
-"if you think so, father--"
-"i know, dear child!--that poor brave boy in his cadet grey and white.--but richard is a brave man--and their mother is heroic. it is of the living we must think, and this cause of ours. we are on the eve of something terrible, judith. when jackson comes general lee will have eighty-five thousand men. without reinforcements, with mcdowell still away, mcclellan must number an hundred and ten thousand. north and south, we are going to grapple, in swamp, and poisoned field, and dark forest. we are gladiators stripped, and which will conquer the gods alone can tell! but we ourselves can tell that we are determined--that each side is determined--and that the grapple will be of giants. well! to-night, i think the officers who chance to be in town will go to the president's house with these thoughts in mind. to-morrow we return to the lines; and a great battle chant will be written before we tread these streets again. for us it may be a paean or it may be a dirge, and only the gods know which! we salute our flag to-night--the government that may last as lasted greece or rome, or the government which may perish, not two years old! i think that general lee will be there for a short time. it is something like a recognition of the moment--a libation; and whether to life or to death, to an oak that shall live a thousand years or to a dead child among nations, there is not one living soul that knows!"
-"i will go, father, of course. will you come for me?"
-"i or fauquier. i am going to leave you here, at the gates. there is something i wish to see the governor about, at the mansion."
-he kissed her and let her go; stood watching her out of the square and across the street, then with a sigh turned away to the mansion. judith, now on the pavement by st. paul's, hesitated a moment. there was an afternoon service. women whom she knew, and women whom she did not know, were going in, silent, or speaking each to each in subdued voices. men, too, were entering, though not many. a few were in uniform; others as they came from the capitol or from office or department. judith, too, mounted the steps. she was very tired, and her religion was an out-of-door one, but there came upon her a craving for the quiet within st. paul's and for the beautiful, old, sonorous words. she entered, found a shadowy pew beneath the gallery, and knelt a moment. as she rose another, having perhaps marked her as she entered, paused at the door of the pew. she saw who it was, put out a hand and drew her in. margaret cleave, in her black dress, smiled, touched the younger woman's forehead with her lips, and sat beside her. the church was not half filled; there were no people very near them, and when presently there was singing, the sweet, old-world lines beat distantly on the shores of their consciousness. they sat hand in hand, each thinking of battlefields; the one with a constant vision of port republic, the other of some to-morrow's vast, melancholy, smoke-laden plain.
-as was not infrequently the case in the afternoon, an army chaplain read the service. one stood now before the lectern. "mr. corbin wood," whispered judith. margaret nodded. "i know. we nursed him last winter in winchester. he came to see me yesterday. he knew about will. he told me little things about him--dear things! it seems they were together in an ambulance on the romney march."
-the hour passed, and men and women left st. paul's. the two beneath the gallery waited until well-nigh all were gone, then they themselves passed into the sunset street. "i will walk home with you," said judith. "how is miriam?"
-"she is beginning to learn," answered the other; "just beginning, poor, darling child! it is fearful to be young, and to meet the beginning! but she is rousing herself--she will be brave at last."
-judith softly took the hand beside her and lifted it to her lips. "i don't see how your children could help being brave. you are well cared for where you are?"
-"yes, indeed. though if my old friend had not taken us in, i do not know what we should have done. the city is fearfully crowded."
-"i walked from the hospital with father. he says that the battle will be very soon."
-"i know. the cannon grow louder every night. i feel an assurance, too, that the army is coming from the valley."
-"sometimes," said judith, "i say to myself, 'this is a dream--all but one thing! now it is time to wake up--only remembering that the one thing is true.' but the dream goes on, and it gets heavier and more painful."
-"yes," said margaret. "but there are great flashes of light through it, judith."
-they were walking beneath linden trees, fragrant, and filled with murmurous sound. the street here was quiet; only a few passing people. as the two approached the corner there turned it a slight figure, a girl dressed in homespun with a blue sunbonnet. in her hands was a cheap carpet-bag, covered with roses and pansies. she looked tired and discouraged, and she set the carpet-bag down on the worn brick pavement and waited until the two ladies came near. "please, could you tell me--" she began in a soft, drawling voice, which broke suddenly. "oh, it's mrs. cleave! it's mrs. cleave!--oh! oh!"
-"christianna maydew!--why, christianna!"
-christianna was crying, though evidently they were joyful tears. "i--i was so frightened in this lonely place!--an'--an' thunder run's so far away--an'--an' billy an' pap an' dave aren't here, after all--an' i never saw so many strange people--an' then i saw you--oh! oh!"
-christianna dried her eyes. her sunbonnet had fallen back. she looked like a wild rose dashed with dew. "i am such a fool to cry!" said christianna. "i ought to be laughin' an' clappin' my hands. i reckon i'm tired. streets are so hard an' straight, an' there's such a terrible number of houses."
-"how did you come, christianna, and when, and why?"
-"it was this a-way," began christianna, with the long mountain day before her. "it air so lonesome on thunder run, with pap gone, an' dave gone, an' billy gone, an'--an' billy gone. an' the one next to me, she's grown up quick this year, an' she helps mother a lot. she planted," said christianna, with soft pride, "she planted the steep hillside with corn this spring--yes, violetta did that!"
-"and so you thought--"
-"an' pap has--had--a cousin in richmond. nanny pine is her name. an' she used to live on thunder run, long ago, an' she wasn't like the rest of the maydews, but had lots of sense, an' she up one mahnin', mother says, an' took her foot in her hand, an' the people gave her lifts through the country, an' she came to richmond an' learned millinery--"
-"yes'm. to put roses an' ribbons on bonnets. an' she married here, a man named oak, an' she wrote back to thunder run, to mother, a real pretty letter, an' mother took it to mr. cole at the tollgate (it was long ago, before we children went to school) an' mr. cole read it to her, an' it said that she had now a shop of her own, an' if ever any thunder run people came to richmond to come right straight to her. an' so--"
-"and you couldn't find her?"
-"an' so, last week, i was spinning. an' i walked up an' down, an' the sun was shining, clear and steady, an' i could see out of the door, an' there wasn't a sound, an' there wa'n't anything moved. an' it was as though god almighty had made a ball of gold with green trees on it and had thrown it away, away! higher than the moon, an' had left it there with nothin' on it but a dronin', dronin' wheel. an' it was like the world was where the armies are. an' it was like i had to get there somehow, an' see pap again an' dave an' billy an'--an' see billy. there wa'n't no help for it; it was like i had to go. an' i stopped the wheel, an' i said to mother, 'i am going where the armies are.' an' she says to me, she says, 'you don't know where they are.' an' i says to her, i says, 'i'll find out.' an' i took my sunbonnet, an' i went down the mountain to the tollgate and asked mr. cole. an' he had a letter from--from mr. gold--"
-"oh!" thought margaret. "it is allan gold!"
-"an' he read it to me, an' it said that not a man knew, but that he thought the army was goin' to richmond an' that there would be terrible fightin' if it did. an' i went back up the mountain, an' i said to mother, 'violetta can do most as much as i can now, an' i am goin' to richmond where the army's goin'. i am goin' to see pap an' dave an'--an' billy, an' i am goin' to stay with cousin nanny pine.' an' mother says, says she, 'her name is oak now, but i reckon you'll know her house by the bonnets in the window.' mother was always like that," said christianna, again, with soft pride. "always quick-minded! she sees the squirrel in the tree quicker'n any of us--'ceptin' it's billy. an' she says, 'how're you goin' to get thar, christianna--less'n you walk?' an' i says, 'i'll walk.'"
-"oh, poor child!" cried judith! "did you?"
-"no, ma'am; only a real little part of the way. it's a hundred and fifty miles, an' we ain't trained to march, an' it would have taken me so long. no, ma'am. mrs. cole heard about my goin' an' she sent a boy to tell me to come see her, an' i went, an' she gave me a dollar (i surely am goin' to pay it back, with interest) an' a lot of advice, an' she couldn't tell me how to find pap an' dave an' billy, but she said a deal of people would know about allan gold, for he was a great scout, an' she gave me messages for him; an' anyhow the name of the regiment was the 65th, an' the colonel was your son, ma'am, an' he would find the others for me. an' she got a man to take me in his wagon, twenty miles toward lynchburg, for nothin'. an' i thanked him, an' asked him to have some of the dinner mother an' violetta had put in a bundle for me; but he said no, he wasn't hungry. an' that night i slept at a farmhouse, an' they wouldn't take any pay. an' the next day and the next i walked to lynchburg, an' there i took the train." her voice gathered firmness. "i had never seen one before, but i took it all right. i asked if it was goin' to richmond, an' i climbed on. an' a man came along an' asked me for my ticket, an' i said that i didn't have one, but that i wanted to pay if it wasn't more than a dollar. an' he asked me if it was a gold dollar or a confederate dollar. an' there were soldiers on the train, an' one came up an' took off his hat an' asked me where i was goin', an' i told him an' why, an' he said it didn't matter whether it was gold or confederate, and that the conductor didn't want it anyhow. an' the conductor--that was what the first man was called--said he didn't reckon i'd take up much room, an' that the road was so dog-goned tired that one more couldn't make it any tireder, an' the soldier made me sit down on one of the benches, an' the train started." she shut her eyes tightly. "i don't like train travel. i like to go slower--"
-"but it brought you to richmond--"
-christianna opened her eyes. "yes, ma'am, we ran an' ran all day, making a lot of noise, an' it was so dirty; an' then last night we got here--an' i slept on a bench in the house where we got out--only i didn't sleep much, for soldiers an' men an' women were going in and out all night long--an' then in the mahnin' a coloured woman there gave me a glass of milk an' showed me where i could wash my face--an' then i came out into the street an' began to look for cousin nanny pine--"
-"and you couldn't find her?"
-"she isn't here, ma'am. i walked all mahnin', looking, but i couldn't find her, an' nobody that i asked knew. an' they all said that the army from the valley hadn't come yet, an' they didn't even know if it was coming. an' i was tired an' frightened, an' then at last i saw a window with two bonnets in it, and i said, 'oh, thank the lord!' an' i went an' knocked. an' it wasn't cousin nanny pine. it was another milliner. 'mrs. oak?' she says, says she. 'mrs. oak's in williamsburg! daniel oak got his leg cut off in the battle, an' she boarded up her windows an' went to williamsburg to nurse him--an' god knows i might as well board up mine, for there's nothin' doin' in millinery!' an' she gave me my dinner, an' she told me that the army hadn't come yet from the valley, an' she said she would let me stay there with her, only she had three cousins' wives an' their children, refugeein' from alexandria way an' stayin' with her, an' there wasn't a morsel of room. an' so i rested for an hour, an' then i came out to look for some place to stay. an' it's mortal hard to find." her soft voice died. she wiped her eyes with the cape of her sunbonnet.
-"she had best come with me," said margaret to judith. "yes, there is room--we will make room--and it will not be bad for miriam to have some one.... are we not all looking for that army? and her people are in richard's regiment." she rose. "christianna, child, neighbours must help one another out! so come with me, and we shall manage somehow!"
-hospitality rode well forward in the thunder run creed. christianna accepted with simplicity what, had their places been changed, she would as simply have given. she began to look fair and happy, a wild rose in sunshine. she was in richmond, and she had found a friend, and the army was surely coming! as the three rose from the church step, there passed a knot of mounted soldiers. it chanced to be the president's staff, with several of stuart's captains, and the plumage of these was yet bright. the confederate uniform was a handsome one; these who wore it were young and handsome men. from spur to hat and plume they exercised a charm. somewhere, in the distance, a band was playing, and their noble, mettled horses pranced to the music. as they passed they raised their hats. one, who recognized judith, swept his aside with a gesture appropriate to a minuet. with sword and spur, with horses stepping to music, by they went. christianna looked after them with dazzled eyes. she drew a fluttering breath. "i didn't know things like that were in the world!"
-a little later the three reached the gate of the house which sheltered margaret and miriam. "i won't go in," said judith. "it is growing late.... margaret, i am going to the president's to-night. father wishes me to go with him. he says that we are on the eve of a great battle, and that it is right--" margaret smiled upon her. "it is right. of course you must go, dear and darling child! do not think that i shall ever misunderstand you, judith!"
-the other kissed her, clinging for a moment to her. "oh, mother, mother!... i hear the cannon, too, louder and louder!" she broke away. "i must not cry to-night. to-night we must all have large bright eyes--like the women in brussels when 'there was revelry by night'--isn't it fortunate that the heart doesn't show?"
-the town was all soft dusk when she came to the kinsman's house which had opened to her. crowded though it was with refugee kindred, with soldier sons coming and going, it had managed to give her a small quiet niche, a little room, white-walled, white-curtained, in the very arms of a great old tulip tree. the window opened to the east, and the view was obstructed only by the boughs of the tree. beyond them, through leafy openings, night by night she watched a red glare on the eastern horizon--mcclellan's five-mile-distant camp-fires. entering presently this room, she lit two candles, placed them on the dressing table, and proceeded to make her toilette for the president's house.
-through the window came the sound of the restless city. it was like the beating of a distant sea, with a ground swell presaging storm. the wind, blowing from the south, brought, too, the voice of the river, passionate over its myriad rocks, around its thousand islets. there were odours of flowers; somewhere there was jasmine. white moths came in at the window, and judith, rising, put glass candle-shades over the candles. she sat brushing her long hair; fevered with the city's fever, she saw not herself in the glass, but all the stress that had been and the stress that was to be. cleave's latest letter had rested in the bosom of her dress; now the thin oblong of bluish paper lay before her on the dressing table. the river grew louder, the wind from the south stirred the masses of her hair, the jasmine odour deepened. she bent forward, spreading her white arms over the dark and smooth mahogany, drooped her head upon them, rested lip and cheek against the paper. the sound of the warrior city, the river and the wind, beat out a rhythm in the white-walled room. love--death! love--death! dear love--dark death--eternal love--she rose, laid the letter with others from him in an old sandalwood box, coiled her hair and quickly dressed. a little later, descending, she found awaiting her, in the old, formal, quaint parlour, fauquier cary.
-the two met with warm affection. younger by much than was the master of greenwood, he was to the latter's children like one of their own generation, an elder brother only. he held her from him and looked at her. "you are a lovely woman, judith! did it run the blockade?"
-judith laughed: "no! i wear nothing that comes that way. it is an old dress, and it is fortunate that easter darns so exquisitely!"
-"warwick will meet us at the house. we both ride back before dawn. why, i have not seen you since last summer!"
-"no. just before manassas!"
-they went out. "i should have brought a carriage for you. but they are hard to get--"
-"i would rather walk. it is not far. you look for the battle to-morrow?"
-"that depends, i imagine, on jackson. perhaps to-morrow, perhaps the next day. it will be bloody fighting when it comes--heigho!"
-"the bricks of the pavement know that," said judith. "sometimes, fauquier, you can see horror on the faces of these houses--just as plain! and at night i hear the river reading the bulletin!"
-"poor child!--yes, we make all nature a partner. judith, i was glad to hear of richard cleave's happiness--as glad as i was surprised. why, i hardly know, and yet i had it firmly in mind that it was maury stafford--"
-judith spoke in a pained voice. "i cannot imagine why so many people should have thought that. yes, and richard himself. it never was; and i know i am no coquette!"
-"no. you are not a coquette. ideas like that arrive, one never knows how--like thistledown in the air--and suddenly they are planted and hard to uproot. stafford himself breathed it somehow. that offends you, naturally; but i should say there was never a man more horribly in love! it was perhaps a fixed idea with him that he would win you, and others misread it. well, i am sorry for him! but i like richard best, and he will make you happier."
-he talked on, in his dry, attractive voice, moving beside her slender, wiry, resolute, trained muscle and nerve, from head to foot. "i was at the officer's hospital this morning to see carewe. he was wounded at port republic, and his son and an old servant got him here somehow. he was talking about richard. he knew his father. he says he'll be a brigadier the first vacancy, and that, if the war lasts, he won't stop there. he'll go very high. you know carewe?--how he talks? 'yes, by god, sir, dick cleave's son's got the stuff in him! always was a kind of dumb, heroic race. lot of iron ore in that soil, some gold, too. only needed the prospector, big public interest, to come along. shouldn't wonder if he carved his name pretty high on the cliff.'--now, judith, i have stopped beneath this lamp just to see you look the transfigured lover--happier at praise of him than at garlands and garlands for yourself!--hm! drawn to the life. now we'll go on to the president's house."
-the president's house on shockoe hill was all alight, men and women entering between white pillars, from the long windows music floating. beyond the magnolias and the garden the ground dropped suddenly. far and wide, a vast horizon, there showed the eastern sky, and far and wide, below the summer stars, there flared along it a reddish light--the camp-fires of two armies, the grey the nearer, the blue beyond. faint, faint, you could hear the bugles. it was a dark night; no moon, only the flicker of fireflies in magnolias and roses and the gush of light from the tall, white-pillared house. the violins within were playing "trovatore." warwick cary, an aide with him, came from the direction of the capitol and joined his daughter and brother. the three entered together.
-there was little formality in these gatherings at the white house of the confederacy. the times were too menacing, the city too conversant with alarm bells, sudden shattering bugle notes, thunderclaps of cannon, men and women too close companions of great and stern presences, for the exhibition of much care for the minuter social embroidery. no necessary and fitting tracery was neglected, but life moved now in a very intense white light, so deep and intense that it drowned many things which in other days had had their place in the field of vision. there was an old butler at the president's door, and a coloured maid hovered near to help with scarf or flounce if needed. in the hall were found two volunteer aides, young, handsome, gay, known to all, striking at once the note of welcome. close within the drawing-room door stood a member of the president's staff, colonel ives, and beside him his wife, a young, graceful, and accomplished woman. these smilingly greeted the coming or said farewell to the parting guest.
-the large drawing-room was fitted for conversation. damask-covered sofas with carved rosewood backs, flanked and faced by claw-foot chairs, were found in corners and along the walls; an adjoining room, not so brightly lit, afforded further harbourage, while without was the pillared portico, with roses and fireflies and a view of the flare upon the horizon. from some hidden nook the violins played italian opera. on the mantles and on one or two tables, midsummer flowers bloomed in parian vases.
-scattered in groups, through the large room, were men in uniform and civilians in broadcloth and fine linen. so peculiarly constituted were the confederate armies that it was usual to find here a goodly number of private soldiers mingling with old schoolmates, friends, kindred wearing the bars and stars of lieutenants, captains, majors, colonels, and brigadiers. but to-night all privates and all company officers were with their regiments; there were not many even of field and staff. it was known to be the eve of a fight, a very great fight; passes into town were not easy to obtain. those in uniform who were here counted; they were high in rank. mingling with them were men of the civil government,--cabinet officers, senators, congressmen, judges, heads of bureaus; and with these, men of other affairs: hardly a man but was formally serving the south. if he were not in the field he was of her legislatures; if not there, then doing his duty in some civil office; if not there, wrestling with the management of worn-out railways; or, cool and keen, concerned in blockade running, bringing in arms and ammunition, or in the engineer bureau, or the bureau of ordnance or the medical department, or in the service of the post, or at the treasury issuing beautiful promises to pay, or at the tredegar moulding cannon, or in the newspaper offices wrestling with the problem of worn-out type and wondering where the next roll of paper was to come from, or in the telegraph service shaking his head over the latest raid, the latest cut wires; or he was experimenting with native medicinal plants, with balloons, with explosives, torpedoes, submarine batteries; or thinking of probable nitre caves, of the possible gathering of copper from old distilleries, of the scraping saltpetre from cellars, of how to get tin, of how to get chlorate of potassium, of how to get gutta-percha, of how to get paper, of how to get salt for the country at large; or he was running sawmills, building tanneries, felling oak and gum for artillery carriages, working old iron furnaces, working lead mines, busy with foundry and powder mill.... if he was old he was enlisted in the city guard, a member of the ambulance committee, a giver of his worldly substance. all the south was at work, and at work with a courage to which were added a certain colour and elan not without value on her page of history. the men, not in uniform, here to-night were doing their part, and it was recognized that they were doing it. the women, no less; of whom there were a number at the president's house this evening. with soft, southern voices, with flowers banded in their hair, with bare throat and arms, with wide, filmy, effective all-things-but-new dresses, they moved through the rooms, or sat on the rosewood sofas, or walking on the portico above the roses looked out to the flare in the east. some had come from the hospitals,--from the officer's, from chimborazo, robinson's, gilland's, the st. charles, the soldier's rest, the south carolina, the alabama,--some from the sewing-rooms, where they cut and sewed uniforms, shirts, and underclothing, scraped lint, rolled bandages; several from the nitre and mining bureau, where they made gunpowder; several from the arsenal, where they made cartridges and filled shells. these last would be refugee women, fleeing from the counties overrun by the enemy, all their worldly wealth swept away, bent on earning something for mother or father or child. one and all had come from work, and they were here now in the lights and flowers, not so much for their own pleasure as that there might be cheer, music, light, laughter, flowers, praise, and sweetness for the men who were going to battle. men and women, all did not come or go at once; they passed in and out of the president's house, some tarrying throughout the evening, others but for a moment. the violins left "il trovatore," began upon "les huguenots."
-the president stood between the windows, talking with a little group of men,--judge campbell, r. m. t. hunter, randolph the secretary of war, general wade hampton, general jeb stuart. very straight and tall, thin, with a clear-cut, clean-shaven, distinguished face, with a look half military man, half student, with a demeanour to all of perfect if somewhat chilly courtesy, by temperament a theorist, able with the ability of the field marshal or the scholar in the study, not with that of the reader and master of men, the hardest of workers, devoted, honourable, single-minded, a figure on which a fierce light has beaten, a man not perfect, not always just, nor always wise, bound in the toils of his own personality, but yet an able man who suffered and gave all, believed in himself, and in his cause, and to the height of his power laboured for it day and night--mr. davis stood speaking of indian affairs and of the defences of the western waters.
-warwick cary, his daughter on his arm, spoke to the president's wife, a comely, able woman, with a group about her of strangers whom she was putting at their ease, then moved with judith to the windows. the president stepped a little forward to meet them. "ah, general cary, i wish you could bring with you a wind from the blue ridge this stifling night! we must make this good news from the mississippi refresh us instead! i saw your troops on the nine-mile road to-day. they cheered me, but i felt like cheering them! miss cary, i have overheard six officers ask to-night if miss cary had yet come."
-warwick began to talk with judge campbell. judith laughed. "it was not of me they were asking, mr. president! there is hetty cary entering now, and behind her constance, and there are your six officers! i am but a leaf blown from the blue ridge."
-"gold leaf," said wade hampton.
-the president used toward all women a stately deference. "i hope," he said, "that, having come once to rest in this room, you will often let a good wind blow you here--" other guests claimed his attention. "ah, mrs. stanard--mrs. enders--ha, wigfall! i saw your texans this afternoon--" judith found general stuart beside her. "miss cary, a man of the black troop came back to camp yesterday. says he, 'they've got an angel in the stonewall hospital! she came from albemarle, and her name is judith. if i were holofernes and a judith like that wanted my head, by george, i'd cut it off myself to please her!'--yes, yes, my friend!--miss cary, may i present my chief of staff, major the baron heros von borcke? talk poetry with him, won't you?--ha, fauquier! that was a pretty dash you made yesterday! rather rash, i thought--"
-judith, with her prussian soldier of fortune, a man gentle, intelligent, and brave, crossed the room to one of the groups of men and women. those of the former who were seated rose, and one of the latter put out an arm and claimed her with a caressing touch. "you are late, child! so am i. they brought in a bad case of fever, and i waited for the night nurse. sit here with us! mrs. fitzgerald's harp has been sent for and she is going to sing--"
-judith greeted the circle. a gentleman pushed forward a chair. "thank you, mr. soule. my father and i stay but a little while, mrs. randolph, but it must be long enough to hear mrs. fitzgerald sing--yes, he is here, colonel gordon--there, speaking with judge campbell and general hill.--how is the general to-day, mrs. johnston?"
-its entrance, borne by two servants, was noted. the violins were hushed, the groups turned, tended to merge one into another. a voice was heard speaking with a strong french accent--colonel the count camille de polignac, tall, gaunt, looking like a knight of malta--begging that the harp might be placed in the middle of the room. it was put there. jeb stuart led to it the lovely louisianian. mrs. fitzgerald drew off her gloves and gave them to general magruder to hold, relinquished her fan to mr. jules de saint martin, her bouquet to mr. francis lawley of the london times, and swept her white hand across the strings. she was a mistress of the harp, and she sang to it in a rich, throbbingly sweet voice, song after song as they were demanded. conversation through the large room did not cease, but voices were lowered, and now and then came a complete lull in which all listened. she sang old creole ditties and then scotch and irish ballads.
-judith found beside her chair the vice-president. "ah, miss cary, when you are as old as i am, and have read as much, you will notice how emphatic is the testimony to song and dance and gaiety on the eve of events which are to change the world! the flower grows where in an hour the volcano will burst forth; the bird sings in the tree which the earthquake will presently uproot; the pearly shell gleams where will pass the tidal wave--" he looked around the room. "beauty, zeal, love, devotion--and to-morrow the smoke will roll, the cannon thunder, and the brute emerge all the same--just as he always does--just as he always does--stamping the flower into the mire, wringing the bird's neck, crushing the shell! well, well, let's stop moralizing. what's she singing now? hm! 'kathleen mavourneen.' ha, benjamin! what's the news with you?"
-judith, turning a little aside, dreamily listened now to the singer, now to phrases of the vice-president and the secretary of state. "after this, if we beat them now, a treaty surely.... palmerston--the emperour--the queen of spain--mason says ... inefficiency of the blockade--cotton obligations--arms and munitions...." still talking, they moved away. a strident voice reached her from the end of the room--l. q. c. lamar, here to-night despite physicians. "the fight had to come. we are men, not women. the quarrel had lasted long enough. we hate each other, so the struggle had to come. even homer's heroes, after they had stormed and scolded long enough, fought like brave men, long and well--"
-"ye banks and braes and streams around the castle o' montgomery--"
-sang mrs. fitzgerald.
-there was in the room that slow movement which imperceptibly changes a well-filled stage, places a figure now here, now there, shifts the grouping and the lights. now judith was one of a knot of younger women. in the phraseology of the period, all were "belles"; hetty and constance cary, mary triplett, turner macfarland, jenny pegram, the three fishers, evelyn cabell, and others. about them came the "beaux,"--the younger officers who were here to-night, the aides, the unwedded legislators. judith listened, talked, played her part. she had a personal success in richmond. her name, her beauty, the at times quite divine expression of her face, made the eye follow, after which a certain greatness of mind was felt and the attention became riveted. the pictures moved again, mrs. fitzgerald singing "positively, this time, the last!" some of the "belles," attended by the "beaux," drifted toward the portico, several toward the smaller room and its softly lowered lights. a very young man, an artillerist, tall and fair, lingered beside judith. "'auld lang syne!' i do not think that she ought to sing that to-night! i have noticed that when you hear music just before battle the strain is apt to run persistently in your mind. she ought to sing us 'scots wha hae--'"
-a gentleman standing near laughed. "that's good, or my name isn't ran tucker! mrs. fitzgerald, captain pelham does not wish to be left in such 'a weavin' way.' he says that song is like an april shower on a bag of powder. the inference is that it will make the horse artillery chicken-hearted. i move that you give john pelham and the assemblage 'scots wha hae wi wallace bled'--"
-the singing ended, there was a wider movement through the room. judith, with pelham still beside her, walked on the portico, in the warm, rose-laden air. there was no moon, and the light in the east was very marked. "if we strike mcclellan's right," said the artillerist, "all this hill and the ground to the north of it will be the place from which to watch the battle. if it lasts after nightfall, you will see the exploding shells beautifully." they stood at the eastern end, judith leaning against one of the pillars. here a poet and editor of the southern literary messenger joined them; with him a young man, a sculptor, alexander galt. a third, washington the painter, came, too. the violins had begun again--mozart now--"the magic flute." "oh, smell the roses!" said the poet. "to-night the roses, to-morrow the thorns--but roses, too, among the thorns, deep and sweet! there will still be roses, will there not, miss cary?"
-"yes, still," said judith. "if i could paint, mr. washington, i would take that gleam on the horizon."
-"yes, is it not fine? it is a subject, however, for a mystic. i have an idea myself for a picture, if i can get the tent-cloth to paint it on, and if some brushes and tubes i sent for ever get through the block."
-"if i had a tent i certainly would give it to you," said pelham. "what would you paint?"
-"a thing that happened ten days ago. the burial of latane. the women buried him, you know. at summer hill.--mrs. brockenborough, and her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. somebody read me a letter about it--so simple it wrung your heart! 'by god,' i said, 'what roman things happen still!' and i thought i'd like to paint the picture."
-"i read the letter, too," said the poet. "i am making some verses about it--see if you like them--
-"for woman's voice, in accents soft and low, trembling with pity, touched with pathos, read o'er his hallowed dust the ritual for the dead:
-"'tis sown in weakness, it is raised in power'-- softly the promise floated on the air, while the low breathings of the sunset hour came back responsive to the mourner's prayer. gently they laid him underneath the sod and left him with his fame, his country and his god!"
-"yes," said judith, sweetly and gravely. "how can we but like them? and i hope that you will find the tent-cloth, mr. washington."
-reentering, presently, the large room, they found a vague stir, people beginning to say good-night, and yet lingering. "it is growing late," said some one, "and yet i think that he will come." her father came up to her and drew her hand through his arm. "here is general lee now. we will wait a moment longer, then go."
-they stood in the shadow of the curtains watching the commander-in-chief just pausing to greet such and such an one in his progress toward the president. an aide or two came behind; the grand head and form moved on, simple and kingly. judith drew quicker breath. "oh, he looks so great a man!"
-"he looks what he is," said warwick cary. "now let us go, too, and say good-night."
-the first of the seven days
-miriam and christianna sat at the window, watching. the day was parching, the sky hot blue steel, the wind that blew the dust through the streets like a breath from the sun himself. people went by, all kinds of people, lacking only soldiers. there seemed no soldiers in town. miriam, alternately listless and feverishly animated, explained matters to the mountain girl. "when there's to be a battle, every one goes to the colours.--look at that old, old, old man, hobbling on his stick. you'd think that death was right beside him, wouldn't you?--ready to tap him on the shoulder and say, 'fall, fall, old leaf! but it isn't so; death is on the battlefield looking for young men. listen to his stick--tap, tap, tap, tap, tap--"
-christianna rose, looked at the clock, which was about to strike noon, left the room and returned with a glass of milk. "mrs. cleave said you was to drink this--yes, miss miriam, do!--there now! don't you want to lie down?"
-"no, no!" said miriam. "i don't want to do anything but sit here and watch.--look at that old, old woman with the basket on her arm! i know what is in it--things for her son; bread and a little meat and shirts she has been making him--there's another helping her, as old as she is. i mean to die young."
-the people went by like figures on a frieze come to life. the room in which the two girls sat was on the ground floor of a small, old-fashioned house. outside the window was a tiny balcony, with a graceful ironwork railing, and heavy ropes and twists of wistaria shaded this and the window. the old brick sidewalk was almost immediately below. for the most part the people who passed went by silently, but when there was talking the two behind the wistaria could hear. a nurse girl with her charges came by. "what's a 'cisive battle, honey? yo'd better ask yo' pa that. reckon it's where won't neither side let go. why won't they? now you tell me an' then i'll tell you! all i knows is, they're gwine have a turrible rumpus presently, an' yo' ma said tek you to yo' gran'ma kaze she gwine out ter git jes' ez near the battle an' yo' pa ez she kin git!" nurse and children passed, and there came by an elderly man, stout and amiable-looking. his face was pale, his eyes troubled; he took off his straw hat, and wiped his forehead with a large white handkerchief. appearing from the opposite direction, a young man, a case of surgeon's instruments in his hand, met him, and in passing said good-day. the elder stopped him a moment, on the hot brick pavement before the wistaria. "well, doctor, they're all out mechanicsville way! i reckon we may expect to hear the cannon any moment now. i saw you at gilland's, didn't i, yesterday?"
-"yes, i am there--"
-"well, if by ill luck my boy is wounded and brought there, you'll look out for him, eh? youngest boy, you know--blue eyes, brown hair. i'm on the ambulance committee. we've got a string of wagons ready on the nine-mile road. you look out for him if he's brought in--"
-the surgeon promised and each went his way. three women passed the window. one was knitting as she walked, one was in deep black, and a third, a girl, carried a great silver pitcher filled with iced drink for some near-by convalescent. two men came next. a negro followed, bearing a spade. one of the two was in broadcloth, with a high silk hat. "i told them," he was saying, "better bury her this morning, poor little thing, before the fighting begins. she won't mind, and it will be hard to arrange it then--" "yes, yes," said the second, "better so! leave to-morrow for the dead march from 'saul.'"
-they passed. a church bell began to ring. miriam moved restlessly. "is not mother coming back? she ought to have let me go with her. i can't knit any more,--the needles are red hot when i touch them,--but i can sew. i could help her.--if i knew which sewing-room she went to--"
-christianna's hand timidly caressed her. "better stay here, miss miriam. i'm going to give you another glass of milk now, directly--there's a soldier passing now."
-it proved but a battered soldier--thin and hollow-eyed, arm in a sling, and a halt in his walk. he came on slowly, and he leaned for rest against a sycamore at the edge of the pavement. miriam bent out from the frame of wistaria. "oh, soldier! don't you want a glass of milk?"
-"oh, soldier" looked nothing loath. he came over to the little balcony, and miriam took the glass from christianna and, leaning over, gave it to him. "oh, but that's nectar!" he said, and drank it. "yes--just out of hospital. said i might go and snuff the battle from afar. needed my pallet for some other poor devil. glad i'm through with it, and sorry he isn't!--yes, i've got some friends down the street. going there now and get out of this sun. reckon the battle'll begin presently. hope the accomac invincibles will give them hell--begging your pardon, i'm sure. that milk certainly was good. thank you, and good-bye, hebe--two hebes." he wavered on down the street. christianna looked after him critically. "they oughtn't to let that thar man out so soon! clay white, an' thin as a bean pole, an' calling things an' people out of their names--"
-men and women continued to pass, the church bell to ring, the hot wind to blow the dust, the sun to blaze down, the sycamore leaves to rustle. a negro boy brought a note. it was from margaret cleave. "dearest: there is so much to do. i will not come home to dinner nor will cousin harriet neither. she says tell sarindy to give you two just what you like best. christianna must look after you. i will come when i can."
-sarindy gave them thin crisp toast, and a pitcher of cool milk, and a custard sweetened with brown sugar. sarindy was excited. "yaas, lawd, dar's sho' gwine ter be doin's this day! what you reckon, miss miriam? dar's er lady from south callina stayin' cross't de street, 'n' she's got er maid what's got de impidence ob sin! what you reckon dat yaller gal say ter me? she say dat south callina does de most ob de fightin' 'n' de bes' ob it, too! she say virginia pretty good, but dat south callina tek de cake. she say south callina mek 'em run ebery time! yaas'm! 'n' i gits up 'n' i meks her er curtsy, 'n' i say ter her, 'dat's er pretty way ter talk when you're visitin' in virginia, 'n' ef dat's south callina manners i'se glad i wuz born in virginia!' yaas'm. 'n' i curtsy agin, 'n' i say, 'ain' nobody or nothin' ever lay over virginia fer fightin' 'n' never will! 'n' ef virginia don' mek 'em run ebery time, south callina needn't hope ter!' 'n' i asks her how come she never hear ob gineral stonewall jackson? yaas'm. 'n' i curtsy ter her ebery time--lak dis! 'n' ain' she never hear ob gineral lee? an' i ain' er doubtin' dat gineral wade hampton is a mighty fine man--'deed i knows he is--but ain' she never heard ob gineral johnston? 'n' how erbout gineral stuart--yaas'm! 'n' the black troop, 'n' the crenshaw battery, 'n' the purcell battery. yaas'm! 'n' the howitzers, 'n' the richmon' blues--yaas'm! i sho' did mek her shet her mouf!--braggin' ter er virginia woman ob south callina!"
-the two went back to the large room. the air was scorching. miriam undressed, slipped her thin, girlish arms into a muslin sacque, and lay down. christianna drew the blinds together, took a palm-leaf fan and sat beside her. "i'll fan you, jest as easy," she said, in her sweet, drawling voice. "an' i can't truly sing, but i can croon. don't you want me to croon you 'shining river'?"
-miriam lay with closed eyes. a fly buzzed in the darkened room. the fan went monotonously to and fro. christianna crooned "shining river" and then "shady grove." outside, on the brick pavement, the sound of feet went by in a slender stream.
-"shady grove! shady grove-- going to church in shady grove--"
-the stream without grew wide and deep, then hurrying. christianna looked over her shoulder, then at miriam. the latter's long lashes lay on her cheek. beneath them glistened a tear, but her slight, girlish bosom rose and fell regularly. christianna crooned on,
-"shady grove! shady grove-- children love my shady grove--"
-boom! boom!--boom, boom! boom, boom, boom, boom!
-miriam started up with a cry. outside the window a hoarse and loud voice called to some one across the street. "that's beyond meadow bridge! d' ye know what i believe? i believe it's stonewall jackson!" the name came back like an echo from the opposite pavement. "stonewall jackson! stonewall jackson! he thinks maybe it's stonewall jackson!"
-miriam rose, threw off the muslin sacque and began to dress. her eyes were narrowed, her fingers rapid and steady. christianna opened the window-blinds. the sound of the hurrying feet came strongly in, and with it voices. "the top of the capitol!--see best from there--i think the hills toward the almshouse--can you get out on the brook turnpike?--no; it is picketed--the hill by the president's house--try it!" christianna, turning, found miriam taking a hat from the closet shelf. "oh, miss miriam, you mustn't go--"
-miriam, a changed creature, steady and sure as a fine rapier, turned upon her. "yes, i am going, christianna. if you like, you may come with me. yes, i am well enough.--no, mother wouldn't keep me back. she would understand. if i lay there and listened, i should go mad. get your bonnet and come."
-the cannon shook the air. christianna got her sunbonnet and tied the strings with trembling fingers. all the wild rose had fled from her cheeks, her lips looked pinched, her eyes large and startled. miriam glanced her way, then came and kissed her. "i forgot it was your first battle. i got used to them in winchester. don't be afraid."
-they went out into the hot sunshine. by now the greater part of the stream had hurried by. they saw that it flowed eastward, and they followed. the sun blazed down, the pavement burned their feet. the mountain girl walked like a piece of thistledown; miriam, light and quick in all her actions, moved beside her almost as easily. it was as though the hot wind, rushing down the street behind them, carried them on with the dust and loosened leaves. there were other women, with children clinging to their hands. one or two had babes in their arms. there were old men, too, and several cripples. the lighter-limbed and unencumbered were blown ahead. the dull sound rocked the air. this was a residence portion of the city, and the houses looked lifeless. the doors were wide, the inmates gone. only where there was illness, were there faces at the window, looking out, pale and anxious, asking questions of the hurrying pale and anxious folk below. the cannonading was not yet continuous. it spoke rather in sullen thunders, with spaces between in which the heart began to grow quiet. then it thundered again, and the heart beat to suffocation.
-the wind blew miriam and christianna toward the president's house. tall, austere, white-pillared, it stood a little coldly in the heat. before the door were five saddle horses, with a groom or two. the staff came from the house, then the president in grey confederate cloth and soft hat. he spoke to one of the officers in his clear, incisive voice, then mounted his grey arab. a child waved to him from an upper window. he waved back, lifted his hat to the two girls as they passed, then, his staff behind him, rode rapidly off toward the sound of the firing.
-miriam and christianna, turning a little northward, found themselves on a hillside thronged with people. it was like a section of an amphitheatre, and it commanded a great stretch of lowland broken here and there by slight elevations. much of the plain was in forest, but in some places the waist-deep corn was waving, and in others the wheat stood in shocks. there were marshes and boggy green meadows and old fields of pine and broom sedge. several roads could be seen. they all ran into a long and low cloud of smoke. it veiled the northern horizon, and out of it came the thunder. first appeared dull orange flashes, then, above the low-lying thickness, the small white expanding cloud made by the bursting shell, then to the ear rushed the thunder. on the plain, from the defences which rimmed the city northward to the battle cloud, numbers of grey troops were visible, some motionless, some marching. they looked like toy soldiers. the sun heightened red splashes that were known to be battle-flags. horsemen could be seen galloping from point to point. in the intervals between the thunders the hillside heard the tap of drum and the bugles blowing. the moving soldiers were going toward the cloud.
-miriam clasped her thin brown hands about her knee, rested her chin on them, and fastened her great brown eyes on the distant battle cloud. christianna, her sunbonnet pushed back, looked too, with limpid, awe-struck gaze. were pap and dave and billy fighting in that cloud? it was thicker than the morning mist in the hollow below thunder run mountain, and it was not fleecy, pure, and white. it was yellowish, fierce, and ugly, and the sound that came from it made her heart beat thick and hard. was he there--was allan gold there in the cloud? she felt that she could not sit still; she wished to walk toward it. that being impossible, she began to make a little moaning sound. a woman in black, sitting on the grass near her, looked across. "don't!" she said. "if you do that, all of us will do it. we've got to keep calm. if we let go, it would be like rachel weeping. try to be quiet."
-christianna, who had moaned as she crooned, hardly knowing it, at once fell silent. another woman spoke to her. "would you mind holding my baby? my head aches so. i must lie down here on the grass, just a minute." christianna took the baby. she handled it skilfully, and it was presently cooing against her breast. were pap and dave over there, shooting and cutting? and billy--billy with a gun now instead of the spear the blacksmith had made him? and allan gold was not teaching in the schoolhouse on thunder run....
-the woman took the baby back. the sun blazed down, there came a louder burst of sound. a man with a field-glass, standing near, uttered a "tchk!" of despair. "impenetrable curtain! the ancients managed things better--they did not fight in a fog!"
-a boy, breathing excitement from top to toe, sent up a shrill voice. "isn't jackson coming, sir? aren't they looking for jackson?"
-"there's a battery galloping to the front," said the man with the glass. "look, one of you! wipe the glass; it gets misty. if it's the purcell, i've got two sons--"
-the soldier took the glass, turning it deftly with one hand. "yes, think it is the purcell. don't you worry, sir! they're all right. artillerymen are hard to kill--that's pender's brigade going now--"
-christianna clutched miriam. "look! look! oh, what is it?"
-it soared into the blue, above the smoke. the sunlight struck it and it became a beautiful iridescent bubble, large as the moon. "oh, oh!" cried the boy. "look at the balloon!"
-the hillside kept silence for a moment while it gazed, then--"is it ours?--no; it is theirs!--it is going up from the hill behind beaver dam creek.--oh, it is lovely!--lovely! no, no, it is horrible!--look, look! there is another!"
-a young man, a mechanic, with sleeves rolled up, began to expatiate on "ours." "we haven't got but one--it was made in savannah by dr. langon cheves. maybe they'll send it up to-day, maybe not. i've seen it. it's like joseph's coat in the bible. they say the ladies gave their silk dresses for it. here'll be a strip of purple and here one of white with roses on it, and here it is black, and here it is yellow as gold. they melted rubber car-springs in naphtha and varnished it with that, and they're going to fill it with city gas at the gas works--"
-the bubbles floated in the clear air, above and beyond the zone of smoke. it was now between four and five in the afternoon. the slant rays of the sun struck them and turned them mother-of-pearl. an old man lifted a dry, thin voice like a grasshopper's. "once i went to niagara, and there was a balloon ascension. everybody held their breath when the fellow went up, and he got into some trouble, i don't remember just what it was, and we almost died of anxiety until he came down; and when he landed we almost cried we were so glad, and we patted him on the back and hurrahed--and he was a yankee, too! and now it's war time, and there's nothing i 'd like better than to empty a revolver into that fine windbag!"
-he was gone. "i don't believe it's much more than long-range firing yet," said the soldier. "our batteries on the chickahominy--and they are answering from somewhere beyond beaver dam creek. no musketry. hello! the tune's changing!"
-it changed with such violence that after a moment's exclamation the people sat or stood in silence, pale and awed. speculation ceased. the plunging torrent of sound whelmed the mind and stilled the tongue. the soldier held out a moment. "close range now. the north's always going to beat us when it comes to metal soldiers. i wonder how many they've got over there, anyhow!" then he, too, fell silent.
-the deep and heavy booming shook air and earth. it came no longer in distinct shocks but with a continuous roar. the smoke screen grew denser and taller, mounting toward the balloons. there was no seeing for that curtain; it could only be noted that bodies of grey troops moved toward it, went behind it. a thin, elderly man, a school-teacher, borrowed the glass, fixed it, but could see nothing. he gave it back with a shake of the head, sat down again on the parched grass, and veiled his eyes with his hand. "'hell is murky,'" he said.
-no lull occurred in the firing. the sun as it sank reddened the battle cloud that by now had blotted out the balloons. "when it is dark," said the soldier, "it will be like fireworks." an hour later the man with the glass discovered a string of wagons on one of the roads. it was coming citywards. "ambulances!" he said, in a shaking voice.
-"ambulances--ambulances--" the word went through the crowd like a sigh. it broke the spell. most on the hillside might have an interest there. parents, wives, brothers, sisters, children, they rose, they went away in the twilight like blown leaves. the air was rocking; orange and red lights began to show as the shells exploded. christianna put her hand on miriam's. "miss miriam--miss miriam! mrs. cleave'll say i didn't take care of you. let's go--let's go. they're bringing back the wounded. pap might be there or dave or billy or--miss miriam, miss miriam, your brother might be there."
-the long june dusk melted into night, and still the city shook to the furious cannonading. with the dark it saw, as it had not seen in the sunshine. as the soldier said, it was like fireworks.
-beginning at twilight, the wagons with the wounded came all night long. ambulances, farm wagons, carts, family carriages, heavy-laden, they rumbled over the cobblestones with the sound of the tumbrels in the terror. it was stated that a number of the wounded were in the field hospitals. in the morning the knowledge was general that very many had lain, crying for water, all night in the slashing before beaver dam creek.
-all the houses in richmond were lighted. through the streets poured a tide of fevered life. news--news--news!--demanded from chance couriers, from civilian spectators of the battle arriving pale and exhausted, from the drivers of wagon, cart, and carriage, from the less badly wounded--"ours the victory--is it not? is it not?--who led?--who fought?--who is fighting now? jackson came? jackson certainly came? we are winning--are we not? are we not?" suspense hung palpable in the hot summer night, suspense, exaltation, fever. it breathed in the hot wind, it flickered in the lights, it sounded in the voice of the river. for many there sounded woe as well--woe and wailing for the dead. for others, for many, many others, there was a misery of searching, a heart-breaking going from hospital to hospital. "is he here?--are they here?" the cannon stopped at nine o'clock.
-the stonewall hospital was poorly lighted. in ward number 23 the oil lamps, stuck in brackets along the walls, smoked. at one end, where two pine tables were placed, the air from the open window blew the flames distractingly. a surgeon, half dead with fatigue, strained well-nigh to the point of tears, exclaimed upon it. "that damned wind! shut the window, miss cary. yes, tight! it's hell anyhow, and that's what you do in hell--burn up!"
-judith closed the window. as she did so she looked once at the light on the northern horizon. the firing shook the window-pane. the flame of the lamp now stood straight. she turned the wick higher, then lifted a pitcher and poured water into a basin, and when the surgeon had washed his hands took away the reddened stuff. two negroes laid a man on the table--a gaunt north carolinian, his hand clutching a shirt all stiffened blood. between his eyelids showed a gleam of white, his breath came with a whistling sound. judith bent the rigid fingers open, drew the hand aside, and cut away the shirt. the surgeon looked. "humph! well, a body can but try. now, my man, you lie right still, and i won't hurt you much. come this side, miss cary--no, wait a moment!--it's no use. he's dying."
-the ward was long, low ceiled, with brown walls and rafters. between the patches of lamplight the shadows lay wide and heavy. the cots, the pallets, the pew cushions sewed together, were placed each close by each. a narrow aisle ran between the rows; by each low bed there was just standing room. the beds were all filled, and the wagons bringing more rumbled on the cobblestones without. all the long place was reekingly hot, with a strong smell of human effluvia, of sweat-dampened clothing, of blood and powder grime. there was not much crying aloud; only when a man was brought in raving, or when there came a sharp scream from some form under the surgeon's knife. but the place seemed one groan, a sound that swelled or sank, but never ceased. the shadows on the wall, fantastically dancing, mocked this with nods and becks and waving arms,--mocked the groaning, mocked the heat, mocked the smell, mocked the thirst, mocked nausea, agony, delirium, and the rattle in the throat, mocked the helpers and the helped, mocked the night and the world and the dying and the dead. at dawn the cannon began again.
-dawn broke cold and pure, the melancholy ashen seas slowly, slowly turning to chill ethereal meads of violets, the violet more slowly yet giving place to adonis gardens of rose and daffodil. the forests stood dew-drenched and shadowy, solemn enough, deep and tangled woodlands that they were, under the mysterious light, in the realm of the hour whose finger is at her lips. the dawn made them seem still, and yet they were not still. they and the old fields and the marshes and the wild and tangled banks of sluggish water-courses, and the narrow, hidden roads, and the low pine-covered hilltops, and all the vast, overgrown, and sombre lowland were filled with the breathing of two armies. in the cold glory of the dawn there faced each other one hundred and eighty thousand men bent on mutual destruction.
-a body of grey troops, marching toward cold harbour, was brought to a halt within a taller, deeper belt than usual. oak and sycamore, pine and elm, beech, ash, birch and walnut, all towered toward the violet meads. a light mist garlanded their tops, and a graceful, close-set underbrush pressed against their immemorial trunks. it was dank and still, dim and solemn within such a forest cavern. minutes passed. the men sat down on the wet, black earth. the officers questioned knew only that fitz john porter was falling back from beaver dam creek, presumably on his next line of intrenchments, and that, presumably, we were following. "has jackson joined?" "can't tell you that. if he hasn't, well, we'll beat them anyhow!"
-this body of troops had done hard fighting the evening before and was tired enough to rest. some of the men lay down, pillowing their heads on their arms, dozing, dozing in the underbrush, in the misty light, beneath the tall treetops where the birds were cheeping. in the meantime a federal balloon, mounting into the amethyst air, discovered that this stretch of woodland was thronged with grey soldiers, and signalled as much to fitz john porter, falling back with steadiness to his second line at gaines's mill. he posted several batteries, and ordered them to shell the wood.
-in the purple light the guns began. the men in grey had to take the storm; they were in the wood and orders had not come to leave it. they took it in various ways, some sullenly, some contemptuously, some with nervous twitchings of head and body, many with dry humour and a quizzical front. the confederate soldier was fast developing a characteristic which stayed with him to the end. he joked with death and gave a careless hand to suffering. a few of the more imaginative and aesthetically minded lost themselves in open-mouthed contemplation of the bestormed forest and its behaviour.
-the cannonade was furious, and though not many of the grey soldiers suffered, the grey trees did. great and small branches were lopped off. in the dim light they came tumbling down. they were borne sideways, tearing through the groves and coverts, or, caught by an exploding shell and torn twig from twig, they fell in a shower of slivers, or, chopped clean from the trunk, down they crashed from leafy level to level till they reached the forest floor. beneath them rose shouts of warning, came a scattering of grey mortals. younger trees were cut short off. their woodland race was run; down they rushed with their festoons of vines, crushing the undergrowth of laurel and hazel. other shells struck the red brown resinous bodies of pines, set loose dangerous mists of bark and splinter. as by a whirlwind the air was filled with torn and flying growth, with the dull crash and leafy fall of the forest non-combatants. the light was no longer pure; it was murky here as elsewhere. the violet fields and the vermeil gardens were blotted out, and in the shrieking of the shells the birds could not have been heard to sing even were they there. they were not there; they were all flown far away. it was dark in the wood, dark and full of sound and of moving bodies charged with danger. the whirlwind swept it, the treetops snapped off. "attention!" the grey soldiers were glad to hear the word. "forward! march!" they were blithe to hear the order and to leave the wood.
-"somebody's dropped his photograph album."
-the man in front and the man behind and the man on the other side all looked. "one of those folding things! pretty children! one, two, three, four, and their mother.--keep it for him, henry. think the crenshaw battery, or braxton's, or the king william, or the dixie was over this way."
-beyond the poisoned field were more woods, dipping to one of the innumerable sluggish creeks of the region. there was a bridge--weak and shaken, but still a bridge. this crossed at last, the troops climbed a slippery bank, beneath a wild tangle of shrub and vine, and came suddenly into view of a line of breastworks, three hundred yards away. there was a halt; skirmishers were thrown forward. these returned without a trigger having been pulled. "deserted, sir. they've fallen back, guns and all. but there's a meadow between us and the earthworks, sir, that--that--that--"
-they left the meadow and took a road that skirted another great piece of forest. the sun came up, drank off the vagrant wreaths of mist and dried the dew from the sedge. there was promise of a hot, fierce, dazzling day. another halt. "what's the matter this time?" asked the men. "god! i want to march on--into something happening!" rumour came back. "woods in front of us full of something. don't know yet whether it's buzzards or yankees. get ready to open fire, anyway." all ready, the men waited until she came again. "it's men, anyhow. woods just full of bayonets gleaming. better throw your muskets forward."
-the column moved on, but cautiously, with a strong feeling that it, in its turn, was being watched--with muskets thrown forward. then suddenly came recognition. "grey--grey!--see the flag! they're ours! see--" rumour broke into jubilant shouting. "it's the head of jackson's column! it's the valley men! hurrah! hurrah! stonewall! stonewall jackson! yaaaih! yaaaaaihhhh!--'hello, boys! you've been doing pretty well up there in the blessed old valley!' 'hello, boys! if you don't look out you'll be getting your names in the papers!' 'hello, boys! come to help us kill mosquitoes? haven't got any quinine handy, have you?' 'hello, boys! hello kernstown, mcdowell, front royal, winchester, harper's ferry, cross keys, port republic! yaaaih! yaaaaaihh!' 'hello, you damned cohees! are you the foot cavalry?'--65th virginia, stonewall brigade? glad to see you, 65th! welcome to these here parts. what made you late? we surely did hone for you yesterday evening. oh, shucks! the best gun'll miss fire once in a lifetime. who's your colonel? richard cleave? oh, yes, i remember! read his name in the reports. we've got a good one, too,--real proud of him. well, we surely are glad to see you fellows in the flesh!--oh, we're going to halt. you halted, too?--regular love feast, by jiminy! got any tobacco?"
-the two cousins sat down on the grass beneath the sycamore. for a little they eyed each other in silence. edward cary was more beautiful than ever, and apparently happy, though one of his shoes was nothing more than a sandal, and he was innocent of a collar, and his sleeve demanded a patch. he was thin, bright-eyed, and bronzed, and he handled his rifle with lazy expertness, and he looked at his cousin with a genuine respect and liking. "richard, i heard about will. i know you were like a father to the boy. i am very sorry."
-"i know that you are, edward. i would rather not talk about it, please. when the country bleeds, one must put away private grief."
-he sat in the shade of the tree, thin and bronzed and bright-eyed like his cousin, though not ragged. dundee grazed at hand, and scattered upon the edge of the wood, beneath the little dogwood trees, lay like acorns his men, fraternizing with the "tuckahoe" regiment. "your father and fauquier--?"
-"both somewhere in this no-man's land. what a wilderness of creeks and woods it is! i slept last night in a swamp, and at reveille a beautiful moccasin lay on a log and looked at me. i don't think either father or fauquier were engaged last evening. pender and ripley bore the brunt of it. judith is in richmond."
-"yes. i had a letter from her before we left the valley."
-"i am glad, richard, it is you. we were all strangely at sea, somehow--she is a noble woman. when i look at her i always feel reassured as to the meaning and goal of humanity."
-"i know--i love her dearly, dearly. if i outlive this battle i will try to get to see her--"
-off somewhere, on the left, a solitary cannon boomed. the grey soldiers turned their heads. "a signal somewhere! we're spread over all creation. crossing here and crossing there, and every half-hour losing your way! it's like the maze we used to read about--this bottomless, mountainless, creeky, swampy, feverish, damned lowland--"
-the two beneath the sycamore smiled. "'back to our mountains,' eh?" said edward. cleave regarded the forest somewhat frowningly. "we are not," he said, "in a very good humour this morning. yesterday was a day in which things went wrong."
-"it was a sickening disappointment," acknowledged edward. "we listened and listened. he's got a tremendous reputation, you know--jackson. foreordained and predestined to be at the crucial point at the critical moment! backed alike by calvin and god! so we looked for a comet to strike fitz john porter, and instead we were treated to an eclipse. it was a frightful slaughter. i saw general lee afterwards--magnanimous, calm, and grand! what was really the reason?"
-cleave moved restlessly. "i cannot say. perhaps i might hazard a guess, but it's no use talking of guesswork. to-day i hope for a change."
-"you consider him a great general?"
-"a very great one. but he's sprung from earth--ascended like the rest of us. for him, as for you and me, there's the heel undipped and the unlucky day."
-the officers of the first grey regiment began to bestir themselves. fall in--fall in--fall in! edward rose. "well, we shall see what we shall see. good-bye, richard!" the two shook hands warmly; cary ran to his place in the line; the "tuckahoe" regiment, cheered by the 65th, swung from the forest road into a track leading across an expanse of broom sedge. it went rapidly. the dew was dried, the mist lifted, the sun blazing with all his might. during the night the withdrawing federals had also travelled this road. it was cut by gun-wheels, it was strewn with abandoned wagons, ambulances, accoutrements of all kinds. there were a number of dead horses. they lay across the road, or to either hand in the melancholy fields of sedge. from some dead trees the buzzards watched. one horse, far out in the yellow sedge, lifted his head and piteously neighed.
-over in the forest on the left, near cold harbour, where stonewall jackson had his four divisions, his own, d. h. hill's, ewell's, and whiting's, there was long, long waiting. the men had all the rest they wanted, and more besides. they fretted, they grew querulous. "oh, good god, why don't we move? there's firing--heavy firing--on the right. are we going to lie here in these swamps and fight mosquitoes all day? thought we were brought here to fight yankees! the general walking in the forest and saying his prayers?--oh, go to hell!"
-a battery, far over on the edge of a swamp, broke loose, tearing the sultry air with shell after shell tossed against a federal breastwork on the other side of the marsh. the stonewall brigade grew vividly interested. "that's d. h. hill over there! d. h. hill is a fighter from way back! o lord, why don't we fight too? holy moses, what a racket!" the blazing noon filled with crash and roar. ten of fitz john porter's guns opened, full-mouthed, on the adventurous battery.
-it had nerve, elan, sheer grit enough for a dozen, but it was out-metalled. one by one its guns were silenced,--most of the horses down, most of the cannoneers. hill recalled it. a little later he received an order from jackson. "general hill will withdraw his troops to the left of the road, in rear of his present position, where he will await further orders." hill went, with shut lips. one o'clock--two o'clock--half-past two. "o god, have mercy! is this the army of the valley?"
-allan gold, detached at dawn on scout duty, found himself about this time nearer to the confederate centre than to his own base of operations at the left. he had been marking the windings of creeks, observing where there were bridges and where there were none, the depth of channels and the infirmness of marshes. he had noted the federal positions and the amount of stores abandoned, set on fire, good rice and meat, good shoes, blankets, harness, tents, smouldering and smoking in glade and thicket. he had come upon dead men and horses and upon wounded men and horses. he had given the wounded drink. he had killed with the butt of his rifle a hissing and coiled snake. he had turned his eyes away from the black and winged covering of a dead horse and rider. kneeling at last to drink at a narrow, hidden creek, slumbering between vine-laden trees, he had raised his eyes, and on the other side marked a blue scout looking, startled, out of a hazel bush. there was a click from two muskets; then allan said, "don't fire! i won't. why should we? drink and forget." the blue scout signified acquiescence. "all right, reb. i'm tired fighting, anyway! was brought up a quaker, and wouldn't mind if i had stayed one! got anything to mix with the water?"
-"well, let's take it just dry so." both drank, then settled back on their heels for a moment's conversation. "awful weather," said the blue scout. "didn't know there could be such withering heat! and malaria--lying out of nights in swamps, with owls hooting and jack-o'-lanterns round your bed! ain't you folks most beat yet?"
-"no," said the grey scout. "don't you think you've about worn your welcome out and had better go home?--look out there! your gun's slipping into the water."
-the blue recovered it. "it's give out this morning that stonewall jackson's arrived on the scene."
-"yes, he has."
-"well, he's a one-er! good many of you we wish would desert.--no; we ain't going home till we go through richmond."
-"well," said allan politely, "first and last, a good many folk have settled hereabouts since captain john smith traded on the chickahominy with the indians. there's family graveyards all through these woods. i hope you'll like the country."
-the other drank again of the brown water. "it wasn't so bad in the spring time. we thought it was awful lovely at first, all spangled with flowers and birds.--are you married?"
-"neither am i. but i'm going to be, when i get back to where i belong. her name's flora."
-"that's a pretty name."
-"yes, and she's pretty, too--" he half closed his eyes and smiled blissfully, then rose from the laurels. "well, i must be trotting along, away from cold harbour. funniest names! what does it mean?"
-"it was an inn, long ago, where you got only cold fare. shouldn't wonder if history isn't going to repeat itself--" he rose, also, tall and blonde. "well, i must be travelling, too--"
-"rations getting pretty low, aren't they? how about coffee?"
-"oh, one day," said allan, "we're going to drink a lot of it! no, i don't know that they are especially low."
-the blue scout dipped a hand into his pocket. "well, i've got a packet of it, and there's plenty more where that came from.--catch, reb!"
-allan caught it. "you're very good, yank. thank you."
-"have you got any quinine?"
-the blue scout tossed across a small box. "there's for you! no, i don't want it. we've got plenty.--well, good-bye."
-"i hope you'll get back safe," said allan, "and have a beautiful wedding."
-through the thinning woods showed a great open plain, with knolls where batteries were planted. the regiment to which allan had attached himself lay down on the edge of the wood, near one of the cannon-crowned eminences. allan stretched himself beneath a black gum at the side of the road. everywhere was a rolling smoke, everywhere terrific sound. a battery thundered by at a gallop, six horses to each gun, straining, red-nostrilled, fiery-eyed. it struck across a corner of the plain. over it burst the shells, twelve-pounders--twenty-pounders. a horse went down--the drivers cut the traces. a caisson was struck, exploded with frightful glare and sound. about it, when the smoke cleared, writhed men and horses, but the gun was dragged off. through the rain of shells the battery gained a lift of ground, toiled up it, placed the guns, unlimbered and began to fire. a south carolina brigade started with a yell from the woods to the right, tore in a dust cloud across the old fields, furrowed with gullies, and was swallowed in the forest about the creek which laved the base of the federal position. this rose from the level like a gibraltar, and about it now beat a wild shouting and rattle of musketry. allan rose to his knees, then to his feet, then, drawn as by a magnet, crept through a finger of sumach and sassafras, outstretched from the wood, to a better vantage point just in rear of the battery.
-the staff reinforced the statement, but without avail. general lee shook his head, and with his field-glasses continued to gaze toward the left, whence should arise the dust, the smoke, the sound of jackson's flanking movement. there was no sign on the left, but here, in the centre, the noise from the woods beyond the creek was growing infernal. he lowered the glass. "captain chamberlayne, will you go tell general longstreet--"
-out of the thunder-filled woods, back from creek and swamp and briar and slashing, from abattis of bough and log, from the shadow of that bluff head with its earthworks one above the other, from the scorching flame of twenty batteries and the wild singing of the minies, rushed the south carolina troops. the brigadier--maxey gregg--the regimental, the company officers, with shouts, with appeals, with waved swords, strove to stop the rout. the command rallied, then broke again. hell was in the wood, and the men's faces were grey and drawn. "we must rally those troops!" said lee, and galloped forward. he came into the midst of the disordered throng. "men, men! remember your state--do your duty!" they recognized him, rallied, formed on the colours, swept past him with a cheer and reentered the deep and fatal wood.
-the battery in front of allan began to suffer dreadfully. the horses grew infected with the terror of the plain. they jerked their heads back; they neighed mournfully; some left the grass and began to gallop aimlessly across the field. the shells came in a stream, great, hurtling missiles. where they struck flesh or ploughed into the earth, it was with a deadened sound; when they burst in air, it was like crackling thunder. the blue sky was gone. a battle pall wrapped the thousands and thousands of men, the guns, the horses, forest, swamp, creeks, old fields; the great strength of the federal position, the grey brigades dashing against it, hurled back like atlantic combers. it should be about three o'clock, allan thought, but he did not know. every nerve was tingling, the blood pounding in his veins. time and space behaved like waves charged with strange driftwood. he felt a mad excitement, was sure that if he stood upright or tried to walk he would stagger. an order ran down the line of the brigade he had adopted. attention!
-he found himself on his feet and in line, steady, clear of head as though he trod the path by thunder run. forward! march! the brigade cleared the wood, and in line of battle passed the exhausted battery. allan noted a soldier beneath a horse, a contorted, purple, frozen face held between the brute's fore-legs. the air was filled with whistling shells; the broom sedge was on fire. right shoulder. shift arms! charge!
-he helped himself as best he could, staunched some blood, drew his own conclusions as to his wounds. he was not suffering much; not over much. by nature he matched increasing danger with increasing coolness. all that he especially wanted was for that charge to succeed--for the grey to succeed. his position here, on the rim of the gully, was an admirable one for witnessing all that the shifting smoke might allow to be witnessed. it was true that a keening minie or one of the monstrous shells might in an instant shear his thread of life, probably would do so; all the probabilities lay that way. but he was cool and courageous, and had kept himself ready to go. an absorbing interest in the field of gaines's mill, a passionate desire that victory should wear grey, dominated all other feeling. half in the seam of the gully, half in the sedge at the top, he made himself as easy as he could and rested a spectator.
-in the next onrush a man stumbled and came to his knees beside him. not badly hurt, he was about to rise. allan caught his arm. "for god's sake--if you've got any water--" the man, a tall alabamian, looked down, nodded, jerked loose another u. s. canteen, and dropped it into the other's hand. "all right, all right--not at all--not at all--" he ran on, joining the hoar and shouting wave. allan, the flask set to his lips, found not water, but a little cold and weak coffee. it was nectar--it was happiness--it was life--though he could have drunk ten times the amount!
-the shadow deepened. a horse, with a blood-stained saddle, unhurt himself, approached him, stood nickering for a moment, then panic-struck again, lashed out with his heels and fled. all the plain, the sedge below, the rolling canopy above, was tinged with reddish umber. the sighing wind continued, but the noise of firing died and died. for all the moaning of the wounded, there seemed to fall a ghastly silence.
-over allan came a feeling as of a pendulum forever stopped, as of time but a wreck on the shore of space, and space a deserted coast, an experiment of some power who found it ineffective and tossed it away. the now and here, petrified forever, desolate forever, an obscure bubble in the sea of being, a faint tracing on the eternal mind to be overlaid and forgotten--here it rested, and would rest. the field would stay and the actors would stay, both forever as they were, standing, lying, in motion or at rest, suffering, thirsting, tasting the sulphur and feeling the heat, held here forever in a vise, grey shadows suffering like substance, knowing the lost battle.... a deadly weakness and horror came over him. "o god!--let us die--"
-the sound increased; the earth began to shake with the tread of men; the tremendous guns began again their bellowing. longstreet swung into action, with the brigades of kemper, anderson, pickett, willcox, pryor, and featherstone. on the left, with his own division, with ewell's, with d. h. hill's, jackson struck at last like jackson. whiting, with two brigades, should have been with jackson, but, missing his way in the wood, came instead to longstreet, and with him entered the battle. the day was descending. all the plain was smoky or luridly lit; a vast shield of mars, with war in action. with longstreet and with jackson up at last, lee put forth his full strength. fifty thousand men in grey, thirty-five thousand men in blue, were at once engaged--in three hundred years there had been in the western hemisphere no battle so heavy as this one. the artillery jarred even the distant atmosphere, and the high mounting clouds were tinged with red. six miles away, richmond listened aghast.
-allan forgot his wounds, forgot his thirst, forgot the terror, sick and cold, of the minute past. he no longer heard the groaning. the storm of sound swept it away. he was a fighter with the grey; all his soul was in the prayer. "let them come! let them conquer!" he thought, let the war bleed and the mighty die. he saw a charge approaching. willingly would he have been stamped into the earth would it further the feet on their way. the grey line hung an instant, poised on the further rim of the gully, then swept across and onward. until the men were by him, it was thick night, thick and stifling. they passed. he heard the yelling as they charged the slope, the prolonged tremendous rattle of musketry, the shouts, the foiled assault, and the breaking of the wave. another came, a wall of darkness in the closing day. over it hung a long cloud, red-stained. allan prayed aloud. "o god of battles--o god of battles--"
-the wave came on. it resolved itself into a moving frieze, a wide battle line of tall men, led by a tall, gaunt general, with blue eyes and flowing, tawny hair. in front was the battle-flag, red ground and blue cross. beside it dipped and rose a blue flag with a single star. the smoke rolled above, about the line. bursting overhead, a great shell lit all with a fiery glare. the frieze began to sing.
-"the race is not to them that's got the longest legs to run, nor the battle to that people that shoots the biggest gun--"
-allan propped himself upon his hands. "fourth texas! fourth texas!--fourth--"
-the frieze rushed down the slope of the gully, up again, and on. a foot came hard on allan's hand. he did not care. he had a vision of keen, bronze faces, hands on gun-locks. the long, grey legs went by him with a mighty stride. gun-barrel and bayonet gleamed like moon on water. the battle-flag with the cross, the flag with the single star, spread red and blue wings. past him they sped, gigantic, great ensigns of desperate valour, war goddesses, valkyries, ... rather the great south herself, the eleven states, rio grande to chesapeake, potomac to the gulf! all the shells were bursting, all the drums were thundering--
-the texans passed, he sank prone on the earth. other waves he knew were following--all the waves! jackson with ewell, longstreet, the two hills. he thought he saw his own brigade--saw the stonewall. but it was in another quarter of the field, and he could not call to it. all the earth was rocking like a cradle, blindly swinging in some concussion and conflagration as of world systems.
-as dusk descended, the federal lines were pierced and broken. the texans made the breach, but behind them stormed the other waves,--d. h. hill, ewell, the stonewall brigade, troops of longstreet. they blotted out the triple breastworks; from north, west, and south they mounted in thunder upon the plateau. they gathered to themselves here twenty-two guns, ten thousand small arms, twenty-eight hundred prisoners. they took the plateau. stubbornly fighting, fitz john porter drew off his exhausted brigades, plunged downward through the forest, toward the chickahominy. across that river, all day long mcclellan, with sixty-five thousand men, had rested behind earthworks, bewildered by magruder, demonstrating in front of richmond with twenty-eight thousand. now, at the twelfth hour, he sent two brigades, french and meagher.
-night fell, black as pitch. the forest sprang dense, from miry soil. the region was one where nature set traps. in the darkness it was not easy to tell friend from foe. grey fired on grey, blue on blue. the blue still pressed, here in disorder, here with a steady front, toward the grapevine bridge across the chickahominy. french and meagher arrived to form a strong rearguard. behind, on the plateau, the grey advance paused, uncertain in the darkness and in its mortal fatigue. here, and about the marshy creek and on the vast dim field beyond, beneath the still hanging battle cloud, lay, of the grey and the blue, fourteen thousand dead and wounded. the sound of their suffering rose like a monotonous wind of the night.
-the heel of achilles
-east and south, sloping toward the chickahominy, ran several miles of heavy forest. it was filled with sound,--the hoofs of horses, the rumbling of wheels, the breaking through undergrowth of masses of men,--sound that was dying in volume, rolling toward the chickahominy. on the trampled brow of the plateau, beneath shot-riddled trees, general d. h. hill, coming from the northern face, found general winder of the first brigade standing with several of his officers, trying to pierce the murk toward the river. "you rank here, general winder?" said hill.
-"i think so, general. such a confusion of troops i have never seen! they have been reporting to me. it is yours now to command."
-"have you seen general jackson?"
-"no. not lately."
-"i don't know. mcclellan may have sent reinforcements."
-"have you pickets out?"
-"yes. what do you think, cleave?"
-"i think, sir, the rout outweighs the reinforcements. i think we should press on at once."
-"if we had cavalry!" said winder impatiently. "however, general stuart has swept down toward the pamunkey. that will be their line of retreat--to the white house."
-"there is the chance," said cleave, "that general mcclellan will abandon that line, and make instead for the james and the gunboats at harrison's landing."
-hill nodded. "yes, it's a possibility. general lee is aware of it. he'll not unmask richmond and come altogether on this side the chickahominy until he knows. all that crowd down there may set to and cross to-night--"
-"how many bridges?" asked lawton.
-"i do not believe that there are three, sir. there is a report that two are burned. i believe that the grapevine is their only road--"
-"you believe, colonel, but you do not know. what do you think, general winder?"
-"i think, sir, with colonel cleave, that we should push down through the woods to the right of the grapevine bridge. they, too, are exhausted, their horses jaded, their ammunition spent. we could gather a little artillery--poague's battery is here. they are crushed together, in great masses. if we could fall upon them, cause a great panic there at the water, much might come of it."
-hill looked with troubled eyes about the plateau. "and two or three thousand men, perhaps, be swallowed up and lost! a grand charge that took this plateau--yes! and a grand charge at beaver dam creek yesterday at dark, and a grand charge when albert sidney johnston was killed, and a grand charge when ashby was killed, and on a number of other occasions, and now a grand night-time charge with worn-out troops. all grand--just the kind of grandeur the south cannot afford!... an army yet of blue troops and fresh, shouting brigades, and our centre and right on the other side of the creek.... i don't dare do it, gentlemen!--not on my own responsibility. what do you think, general lawton?"
-"i think you are right, sir."
-"more and more troops are coming upon the plateau," said winder. "general hill, if you will order us to go we will see to it that you do not repent--"
-"speaking largely, that is true," said hill. "but--i wish general jackson were here! i think you know, gentlemen, that, personally, i could wish, at this minute, to be down there in the woods, beside the grapevine bridge. but with the knowledge that the enemy is bringing up reserves, with the darkness so thick, with no great force, and that exhausted, and with no artillery, i cannot take the responsibility of the advance. if general jackson were here--"
-"may i send in search of him, sir?"
-"yes, general winder, you may do that. and if he says, 'go!' there won't one of you be happier than i."
-"we know that, general.--cleave, i am going to send you. you're far the likeliest. we want him to come and lead us to the completest victory. by god, we want front royal and port republic again!"
-"no, sir. not yet."
-the short path to mcgehee's house was not trodden without difficulty. all the great plateau was cumbered with debris of the struggle. on the cut and furrowed ground one stumbled upon abandoned stores and arms. there were overturned wagons and ambulances with dead horses; there were ruined gun-carriages; there were wrecked litters, fallen tents, dead men and the wounded. here, and on the plain below, the lanterns of the surgeons and their helpers moved like glowworms. they gathered the wounded, blue and grey. "treat the whole field alike," had said lee. everywhere were troops seeking their commands, hoarsely calling, joining at last their comrades. fires had been kindled. dim, dim, in the southwestern sky beyond the yet rolling vapour, showed a gleaming where was richmond. d. h. hill and fauquier cary went indoors. an aide managed to find some biscuits, and there was water from the well. "i haven't touched food since daybreak," said the general.
-"nor i. much as i like him, i am loath to let fitz john porter strike down the york river line to-night, if that's his road, or cross the chickahominy if that's the road! we have a victory. press it home and fix it there."
-"i believe that you are right. surely jackson will see it so."
-"where is general jackson?"
-"god knows!--thank you, reid. poor fare, cary, but familiar. come, reid, get your share."
-they ate the hard biscuits and drank the well-water. the air was still and sultry; through the windows they heard, afar off, the bugles--their own and those of the foe.
-"high, over all the melancholy bugle grieves."
-moths came in to the candle. with his hand cary warned them away. one lit on his sleeve. "i wonder what you think of it," he said, and put him out of window. there was a stir at the door. a sergeant appeared. "we're gathering up the wounded, general--and we found a yankee officer under the trees just here--and he said you'd know him--but he's fainted dead away--" he moved aside. "litters gave out long ago, so we're taking u. s. blankets--"
-four men, carrying by the corners a blanket with an unconscious man upon it, came into the room. the confederate officers looked. "no, i don't know him. why, wait--yes, i do! it's clitz--clitz that was so young and red-cheeked and our pet at the point!... yes, and one day in mexico his regiment filed past, going into a fight, and he looked so like a gallant boy that i prayed to god that clitz might not be hurt!... reid, have him put in a room here! see that dr. mott sees him at once.--o god, cary, this fratricidal war! fighting george sykes all day, and now this boy--"
-"yes," said cary. "once to-day i was opposed to fitz john porter. he looked at me out of a cloud, and i looked at him out of one, and the battle roared between. i always liked him." he walked across the room, looked out of the window upon the battlefield, and came back. "but," he said grimly, "it is a war of invasion. what do you think is wrong with jackson?"
-the other looked at him with his fine, kindly eyes. "why, let me tell you, cary,--since it won't go any further,--i am as good a presbyterian as he is, but i think he has prayed too much."
-"i see!" said cary. "well, i would be willing to put up a petition of my own just now.--delay! delay! we have set opportunity against a wall and called out the firing party." he rose. "thanks for the biscuits. i feel another man. i'll go now and look after my wounded. there are enough of them, poor souls!"
-another stir occurred at the door. the aide appeared. "they've taken some prisoners in the wood at the foot of the hill, sir. one of them says he's general reynolds--"
-"reynolds! good god, reynolds! bring him in--"
-general reynolds came in. "reynolds!"--"hill!"--"how are you, reynolds?"--"good lord, it's fauquier cary!"
-"i'll agree with you there, reynolds. it's ghastlier than ghastly.--you aren't hurt?"
-outside, over the great hilltop upon which richard cleave was moving, the darkness might be felt. the air smelled strongly of burned powder, was yet thickened by smoke. where fires had been kindled, the ruddy light went up like pillars to sustain a cloudy roof. there were treetops, burnished, high in air; then all the land fell to the swampy shores of the creek, and beyond to the vast and sombre battle plain, where the shells had rained. the masses of grey troops upon it, resting on their arms, could be divined by the red points of camp-fires. lanterns, also, were wandering like marsh lights, up and down and to and fro. here, on the plateau, it was the same. they danced like giant fireflies. he passed a blazing log about which were gathered a dozen men. some wag of the mess had said something jocular; to a man they were laughing convulsively. had they been blamed, they would perhaps have answered that it was better to laugh than to cry. cleave passed them with no inclination to blame, and came to where, under the trees, the 65th was gathered. here, too, there were fires; his men were dropped like acorns on the ground, making a little "coosh," frying a little bacon, attending to slight hurts, cognizant of the missing but not referring to them loudly, glad of victory, burying all loss, with a wide swing of courage making the best of it in the darkness. when they saw cleave they suspended all other operations long enough to cheer him. he smiled, waved his hand, spoke a short word to hairston breckinridge, and hurried on. he passed the 2d virginia, mourning its colonel--colonel allen--fallen in the front of the charge. he passed other bivouacs--men of rodes's, of garland's, of trimble's. "where is general jackson?"--"can't tell you, sir--" "here is general ewell."
-"old dick" squatted by a camp-fire, was broiling a bit of bacon, head on one side, as he looked up with bright round eyes at cleave, whom he liked. "that you, richard cleave? by god, sir, if i were as excellent a major-general as i am a cook!--have a bit?--well, we wolloped them! they fought like men, and we fought like men, and by god, i can't get the cannon out of my ears! general jackson?--i thought he was in front with d. h. hill. going to do anything more to-night? it's pretty late, but i'm ready."
-"nothing--without general jackson," said cleave. "thank you, general--if i might have a mouthful of coffee? i haven't the least idea when i have eaten."
-a red light proclaimed the place as cleave approached it. it seemed a solitary flame, night around it and a sweep of scarped earth. cleave, coming into the glow, found only the old negro jim, squat beside it like a gnome, his eyes upon the jewelled hollows, his lips working. jim rose. "de gineral, sah? de gineral done sont de staff away ter res'. fo' de lawd, de gineral bettah follah dat 'zample! yaas, sah,--ober dar in de big woods."
-cleave descended the embankment and entered a heavy wood. a voice spoke--jackson's--very curtly. "who is it, and what is your business?"
-"it is the colonel of the 65th virginia, sir. general winder sends me, with the approval of general d. h. hill, from the advance by the mcgehee house."
-a part of the shadow detached itself and came forward as jackson. it stalked past cleave out of the belt of trees and over the bare red earth to the fire. the other man followed, and in the glare faced the general again. the leaping flame showed jackson's bronzed face, with the brows drawn down, the eyes looking inward, and the lips closed as though no force could part them. cleave knew the look, and inwardly set his own lips. at last the other spoke. "well, sir?"
-"the enemy is cramped between us and the chickahominy, sir. our pickets are almost in touch of theirs. if we are scattered and disorganized, they are more so,--confused--distressed. we are the victors, and the troops still feel the glow of victory."
-"there might be a completer victory. we need only you to lead us, sir."
-"you are mistaken. the men are wearied. they worked very hard in the valley. they need not do it all."
-"they are not so wearied, sir. there is comment, i think, on what the army of the valley has not done in the last two days. we have our chance to refute it all to-night."
-"general lee is the commander-in-chief. general lee will give orders."
-"general lee has said to himself: 'he did so wonderfully in the valley, i do not doubt he will do as wonderfully here. i leave him free. he'll strike when it is time.'--it is time now, sir."
-"sir, you are forgetting yourself."
-"sir, i wish to rouse you."
-jackson walked past the fire to a fallen tree, sat himself down and looked across to the other man. the low flame more deeply bronzed his face. his eyes looked preternaturally sunken. he sat, characteristically rigid, a figure in grey stone. there was about him a momentary air of an indian, he looked so ruthless. if it was not that, thought cleave, then it was that he looked fanatic. whichever it might be, he perceived that he himself stood in arctic air. he had been liked, he knew; now he saw the mist of disfavour rise. jackson's voice came gratingly. "who sent you?"
-"general winder and general d. h. hill."
-"you will tell general hill that i shall make no further attack to-night. i have other important duties to perform."
-"i know what i risk," said cleave, "and i do not risk it lightly. have you thought of how you fell on them at front royal and at winchester? here, too, they are confused, retreating--a greater force to strike, a greater result to win, a greater service to do for the country, a greater name to make for yourself. to-morrow morning all the world may say, 'so struck napoleon--'"
-"napoleon's confidence in his star was pagan. only god rules."
-"and the man who accepts opportunity--is he not his servant? may we not, sir, may we not make the attack?"
-"no, sir; not to-night. we have marred too many sundays--"
-"it is not sunday!"
-jackson looked across with an iron countenance. "so little the fighter knows! see, what war does! but i will keep, in part at least, the sabbath. you may go, sir."
-"general jackson, this is friday evening."
-"colonel cleave, did you hear my order? go, sir!--and think yourself fortunate that you do not go under arrest."
-jackson rose. "one other word, and i take your sword. it occurs to me that i have indulged you in a freedom that--go!"
-cleave turned with sharp precision and obeyed. three paces took him out of the firelight into the overhanging shadow. he made a gesture of sorrow and anger. "who says that magic's dead? now, how long will that potion hold him?" he stumbled in the loose, bare earth, swamp and creek below him. he looked down into that trough of death. "i gained nothing, and i have done for myself! if i know him--ugh!"
-he shook himself, went on through the sultry, smoky night, alternate lantern-slides of glare and darkness, to the eastern face of the plateau. here he found winder, reported, and with him encountered d. h. hill coming with fauquier cary from the mcgehee house. "what's that?" said hill. "he won't pursue to-night? very well, that settles it! maybe they'll be there in the morning, maybe not. look here, winder! reynolds's taken--you remember reynolds?"
-cary and cleave had a moment apart. "all well, fauquier? the general?--edward?"
-"i think so. i saw warwick for a moment. a minie had hurt his hand--not serious, he said. edward i have not seen."
-"i had a glimpse of him this morning.--this morning!"
-"yes--long ago, is it not? you'll get your brigade after this."
-the other looked at him oddly. "will i? i strongly doubt it. well, it seems not a large thing to-night."
-she looked at her watch. it was two o'clock. rising, she put on her dark, thin muslin, and took her shady hat. the room seemed to throb to the booming guns. all the birds had flown from the tulip tree outside. she went downstairs and tapped at her cousin's door. "how is he?"--"conscious now, thank god, my dear! the doctor says he will be spared. how the house shakes! and walter and ronald out there. you are going back?"
-"yes. do not look for me to-night. there will be so much to be done--"
-"yes, yes, my dear. louder and louder! and ronald is so reckless! you must have something to eat."
-"shirley will give me a glass of milk. tell rob to get well. good-bye."
-she kissed her cousin, drank her glass of milk in the dining-room where the silver was jingling on the sideboard, and went out into the hot, sound-filled air. at three she was at her post in the hospital.
-the intermittent thunder, heavier than any on the continent before, was stilled at last,--at nine, as had happened the night before. the mazed city shook the mist from before its eyes, and settled to the hot night's work, with the wagons, bringing the dead and the wounded, dull on the cobblestones to the ear, but loud, loud to the heart. all that night the stonewall hospital was a grisly place. by the next morning every hospital in town was choked with the wounded, and few houses but had their quota. the surgeons looked like wraiths, the nursing women had dark rings beneath their eyes, set burningly in pale faces, the negroes who valiantly helped had a greyish look. more emotional than the whites, they burst now and then into a half wail, half chant. so heavy was the burden, so inadequate the small, beleaguered city's provision for the weight of helpless anguish, that at first there was a moment of paralysis. as easy to strive with the tornado as with this wind of pain and death! then the people rallied and somewhat outstripped a people's best.
-from the troops immediately about the city came the funeral escorts. all day the dead march from "saul" wailed through the streets, out to hollywood. the churches stayed open; old and young, every man in the city, white or black, did his part, and so did all the women. the need was so great that the very young girls, heretofore spared, found place now in hospital or house, beside the beds, the pallets, the mere blanket, or no blanket, on the floor. they could keep away the tormenting flies, drawn by the heat, the glare, the blood and effluvia, could give the parched lips water, could watch by the less terrifically hurt. all the city laboured; putting aside the personal anguish, the private loss known, suspected, or but fearfully dreaded. glad of the victory but with only calamity beneath its eyes, the city wrestled with crowding pain, death, and grief.
-christianna took the wooden bucket and the tin dipper. for all she looked like a wild rose she was strong, and she had a certain mountain skill and light certainty of movement. she went down the long room, giving water to all who moaned for it. they lay very thick, the wounded, side by side in the heat, the glare of the room, where all the light possible must be had. some lay outstretched and rigid, some much contorted. some were delirious, others writhed and groaned, some were most pathetically silent and patient. nearly all were thirsty; clutched the dipper with burning fingers, drank, with their hollow eyes now on the girl who held it, now on mere space. some could not help themselves. she knelt beside these, raised the head with one hand, put water to the lips with the other. she gained her mountain steadiness and did well, crooning directions in her calm, drawling voice. this bucket emptied, she found where to fill it again, and pursued her task, stepping lightly between the huddled, painful rows, among the hurrying forms of nurses and surgeons and coloured helpers.
-at the very end of the long lane, she came upon a blanket spread on the blood-stained floor. on it lay a man, blond and straight, closed eyes with a line between them, hand across his breast touching his shirt where it was stiff with dried blood. "air you thirsty?" began christianna, then set the bucket suddenly down.
-allan opened his eyes. "very thirsty.... i reckon i am light-headed. i'm not on thunder run, am i?"
-the frightful day wore on to late afternoon. no guns shook the air in these hours. richmond understood that, out beyond the entrenchments, there was a pause in the storm. mcclellan was leaving his own wonderful earthworks. but would he retreat down the peninsula by the way he had come, or would he strike across and down the james to his gunboats by westover? the city gathered that general lee was waiting to find out. in the meantime the day that was set to the dead march in "saul" passed somehow, in the june heat and the odour of flowers and blood.
-toward five o'clock judith left the stonewall hospital. she had not quitted it for twenty-four hours, and she came now into the light and air like a form emerging from hades, very palely smiling, with the grey of the underworld, its breath and its terror still about her. there was hardly yet a consciousness of fatigue. twelve hours before she had thought, "if i do not rest a little, i shall fall." but she had not been able to rest, and the feeling had died. for the last twelve she had moved like an automaton, swift, sure, without a thought of herself. it was as though her will stood somewhere far above and swayed her body like a wand. even now she was going home, because the will said she must; must rest two hours, and come back fresher for the night.
-as she came out into the golden light, cleave left the group of young and old about the door and met her. in the plane along which life now moved, nothing was unnatural; certainly richmond did not find it so, that a lover and his beloved should thus encounter in the street, a moment between battles. her dark eyes and his grey ones met. to find him there seemed as natural as it had been in her dream; the street was no more to her than the lonely beach. they crossed it, went up toward the capitol square, and, entering, found a green dip of earth with a bench beneath a linden tree. behind them rose the terraced slope to the pillared capitol; as always, in this square children's voices were heard with their answering nurses, and the squirrels ran along the grass or upon the boughs above. but the voices were somewhat distant and the squirrels did not disturb; it was a leafy, quiet nook. the few men or women who passed, pale, distrait, hurrying from one quarter of the city to another, heeded as little as they were heeded. lovers' meetings--lovers' partings--soldiers--women who loved them--faces pale and grave, yet raised, hands in hands, low voices in leafy places--man and woman together in the golden light, in the breathing space before the cannon should begin again--richmond was growing used to that. all life was now in public. for the most part a clear altruism swayed the place and time, and in the glow smallness of comment or of thought was drowned. certainly, it mattered not to cleave and judith that it was the capitol square, and that people went up and down.
-"i have but the shortest while," he said. "i came this morning with allen's body--the colonel of the 2d. i ride back directly. i hope that we will move to-night."
-"to get across his path, if possible."
-"there will be another battle?"
-"yes. more than one, perhaps."
-"i have believed that you were safe. i do not see that i could have lived else."
-"many have fallen; many are hurt. i found allan gold in the hospital. he will not die, however.... judith, how often do i see your face beside the flag!"
-"when i was asleep i dreamed of you. we were drifting together, far out at sea--your arm here--" she lifted his hand, drew his arm about her, rested her head on his breast. "i love you--i love you--i love you."
-they stayed in the leafy place and the red-gold light for half an hour, speaking little, sitting sometimes with closed eyes, but hand in hand. it was much as though they were drifting together at sea, understanding perfectly, but weary from battling, and with great issues towering to the inner vision. they would have been less nobly minded had their own passion inexorably claimed them. all about them were suffering and death and the peril of their cause. for one half-hour they drew happiness from the darkly gigantic background, but it was a quiet and lofty form, though sweet, sweet! with whom they companioned. when the time was passed the two rose, and cleave held her in his arms. "love--love--"
-when he was gone she waited awhile beneath the trees, then slowly crossed the capitol square and moved toward the small room behind the tulip tree. the streets were flooded with a sunset glow. into franklin from main came marching feet, then, dull, dull! the muffled drums. soldiers and furled colours and the coffin, atop it the dead man's cap and gauntlets and sword; behind, pacing slowly, his war horse, stirrups crossed over saddle. soldiers, soldiers, and the drums beating like breaking hearts. she moved back to a doorstep and let the dead march from "saul" go by.
-the railroad gun
-the troops, moving at dawn to the chickahominy, over a road and through woods which testified in many ways of the blue retreat, found the grapevine bridge a wreck, the sleepers hacked apart, framework and middle structure cast into the water. fitz john porter and the 5th army corps were across, somewhere between the river and savage station, leaving only, in the thick wood above the stream, a party of sharpshooters and a battery. when the grey pioneers advanced to their work, these opened fire. the bridge must be rebuilt, and the grey worked on, but with delays and difficulties. d. h. hill, leading jackson's advance, brought up two batteries and shelled the opposite side. the blue guns and riflemen moved to another position and continued, at short intervals, to fire on the pioneers. it was sunday the twenty-ninth; fearfully hot by the mcgehee house, and on turkey hill, and in the dense midsummer woods, and in the mosquito-breeding bogs and swamps through which meandered the chickahominy. the river spread out as many arms as briareus; short, stubby creeks, slow waters prone to overflow and creep, between high knotted roots of live-oak and cypress, into thickets of bog myrtle. the soil hereabouts was black and wet, further back light and sandy. the valley troops drew the most uncomplimentary comparisons. to a man they preferred mountains, firm rolling champaign, clean rivers with rocky bottoms, sound roads, and a different vegetation. they were not in a good humour, anyhow.
-the hours passed in languid sunshine on the north bank of the chickahominy. the troops were under arms, but the bridge was not finished. the smoke and sound of the rival batteries, the crack of the hidden rifles on the southern side, concerned only those immediately at issue and the doggedly working pioneers. mere casual cannonading, amusement of sharpshooters, no longer possessed the slightest tang of novelty. where the operation was petty, and a man in no extreme personal danger, he could not be expected to be much interested. the troops yawned; some of the men slept; others fretted. "why can't we swim the damned old trough? they'll get away! thank the lord, i wasn't born in tidewater virginia! oh, i'd like to see the shenandoah!"
-it was well filled, but with things steve did not want. "o gawd! picters and pincushions and testaments with united states flags in them--i never did have any luck, anyhow!--in this here war nor on thunder run neither!"
-dave maydew rolled over. "steve says thunder run didn't like him--gosh! when you look at the sun for a while you can see suns everywhere you look; that's the way it is with me."
-the colour was fading from the sky; only the faintest trace of rose-pink tinged the gray clouds.
-"i think i shall go home to england," arthur said, after a long silence. "i shall go home for a while, and then, perhaps--pshaw! i don't know what i shall do." in the failing light he could not see the pallor of martha's face, neither did he notice that she shivered as if with cold.
-the sunset glory had all gone from the clouds; there was nothing left now but the ashes.
-"i am sorry you are going," martha said steadily. "we will miss you."
-the schoolmaster, who was sitting by the kitchen window, noticed martha's white face when she came into the house and guessed the cause. looking after arthur as he walked rapidly down the road to his own house, mr. donald shook his head sadly, murmuring to himself: "lord, who did sin, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
-when martha went up to her own room she sat before the mirror as she had done that at other night two years before, and looked sadly at her face reflected there. she recalled his words: "she is lovelier than ever"--this was what had won and held his love. oh, this cruel, unjust world, where the woman without beauty has to go lonely, hungry, unmated--it was not fair; she stretched out her arms in an agony of longing.
-"thursa cares nothing for him, and i would gladly die to save him pain!" she whispered hoarsely.
-she tore off her collar roughly and threw it from her; she took down her hair and brushed it almost savagely; then she went to the open window, and, leaning on the casement, listened to the rustling of the wheat. it no longer sang to her of peace and plenty, but inexorable, merciless as the grave itself, it spoke to her of heart-break and hopes that never come true.
-in september arthur went to england. after he had gone, martha went about her work with the same quiet cheerfulness. she had always been a kind-hearted neighbour, but now she seemed to delight in deeds of mercy. she still studied with the school-master, who daily admired the bravery with which she hid her heartache. martha was making a fight, a brave fight, with an unjust world. she would study--she would fit herself yet for some position in life when her parents no longer needed her. surely, there was some place where a woman would not be disqualified because she was not beautiful.
-arthur had written regularly to her. looking ahead, she dreaded the time when he would cease to write, though she tried to prepare for it by telling herself over and over again that it must surely come.
-arthur's last letter came in november, and now with christmas coming nearer, martha was lonelier than ever for a word from him. the week before christmas she looked for his letter every day. christmas eve came, a beautiful moonlight, sparkling night, with the merry jingle of sleighbells, in the air, but no letter had yet come.
-mr. and mrs. perkins and bud had driven in to millford to attend the concert given by the sunday-school, but martha stayed at home. when they were gone, and she sat alone in the quiet house, a great restlessness seized her. she tried to read and then to sew, but her mind, in spite of her, would go back to happier days. it was not often that martha allowed herself to indulge in self-pity; but to-night, as she looked squarely into the future and saw it stretching away before her, barren and gray, it seemed hard to keep back the tears. it was not like martha to give way to her emotions; perhaps it was the christmas feel in the air that gripped her heart with new tenderness.
-she finished making the pudding for the christmas dinner, and put the last coat of icing on the christmas cake, and then forced herself to dress another doll for one of the neighbour's children. sometimes the tears dimmed her eyes, but she wiped them away bravely.
-suddenly a loud knock sounded on the door. martha sprang up in some confusion, and hastily tried to hide the traces of her tears, but before she was ready to open the door it opened from without and arthur stood smiling before her.
-"oh, arthur!" she cried, her face glowing with the love she could not hide. "i was just thinking that you had stopped writing to me."
-"well, i have, too," he laughed; "letters are not much good anyway. i knew you were here, for i met the others on the road," he continued, as he hung his overcoat on its old nail behind the door, "and so i hurried along, for i have a great many things to tell you. no," in answer to her question, "i have not had supper--i couldn't wait. i wanted to see you. i've made, a big discovery."
-martha had put the tea-kettle on and was stirring the fire.
-"don't bother getting any supper for me until i tell you what i found out."
-she turned around and faced him, her heart beating faster at the eagerness in his voice.
-"martha, dear," he said, "i cannot do without you--that's the discovery i made. i have been lonely--lonely for this broad prairie and you. the old country seemed to stifle me; everything is so little and crowded and bunched up, and so dark and foggy--it seemed to smother me. i longed to hear the whirr of prairie chickens and see the wild ducks dipping in the river; i longed to hear the sleighs creaking over the frosty roads; and so i've come home to all this--and you, martha," he came nearer and held out his arms. "you're the girl for me."
-martha drew away from him. "arthur, are you sure?" she cried. "perhaps it's just the country you're in love with. are you sure it isn't just the joy of getting back to it all. it can't be me--i am only a plain country girl, not pretty, not educated, not clever, not----"
-he interrupted her in a way that made further speech not only impossible but quite unnecessary.
-"martha, i tell you it is you that makes me love this country. when i thought of the sunlit prairie it was your dear eyes that made it glorious. your voice is sweeter than the meadowlark's song at sunrise. you are the soul of this country for me--you stand for it all. you are the sunshine, the birdsong, the bracing air, the broad outlook, the miles of golden wheat. now, tell me, dear, for you haven't told me yet, are you glad to see me back?"
-"but what would your mother say?" martha asked, evading his question. "arthur, think of the people at home."
-he opened his pocket-book and took out a leather case. springing the lid, he handed it to her, saying: "my mother knows all about you, and she sends you this."
-martha took out the beautiful necklace of pearls and read the tender little note, inside the case. her eyes filled with happy tears, and looking up into arthur's smiling face, her last doubt vanished.
-a few hours later, when the old clock on the wall, slowly struck the midnight hour, telling them that another christmas morning had come, they listened to it, hand in hand without a spoken word, but in their hearts was the echo of all the christmas bells that were ringing around the world.
-bold and small cap text has been rendered as all caps in the text version.
-by-lines after various sections sometimes show as "patrika," and at other times as "a. b. patrika." a. b. patrika is not a person, but is rather "amrita bazar patrika," an english language daily newspaper in india. to reduce confusion i have standardized the by-lines to "amrita bazar patrika."
-sir jagadis chunder bose
-his life and speeches
-the cambridge press, madras.
-sir jagadis chunder bose
-his early education
-his collegiate education in india
-his study abroad
-appointed as a professor
-after having completed his education abroad. jagadis chose the teaching of science as his vocation. he was appointed as professor of physical science at the presidency college, calcutta. he joined the service on the 7th january, 1885. although he was appointed in class iv of the then bengal educational service, (which afterwards merged in the present indian educational service), he was not admitted to the full scale of pay of the service. he, being an indian, was allowed to draw only two-thirds the pay of his grade. this humiliating distinction was, however, removed in his case, on the 21st september 1903, when the bureaucracy could not any longer ignore the pressure of enlightened opinion that was brought to bear on it.
-his researches on electric waves
-it was in 1887, some times after professor j. c. bose had joined the presidency college, hertz demonstrated, by direct experiment, the existence of electric waves--the properties of which had been predicted by clerk maxwell long before. this great discovery sent a reverberation through the gallery of the scientific world. and, at once, the scientists in all countries began to devote their best energies to explorations in this new realm of nature. young j. c. bose--who had drunk deep at the springs of scientific knowledge and whose imagination had been very deeply touched by the scientific activities of the west and who had in him the burning desire that india should 'enter the world movement for that advancement of knowledge'--also followed suit.
-difficulties of researches
-when, however, prof. j. c. bose joined the presidency college, there was no laboratory worth the name there, nor had he any of 'those mechanical facilities at his disposal which every prominent european and american experimental scientist commands'. he had to work under discouraging difficulties before he could begin his investigations. he was, however, not a man to quarrel with circumstances. he bravely accepted them and began to work in his own private laboratory and with appliances which, in any other country, would be deemed inadequate. he applied himself closely to the investigation of the invisible etheric waves and, with the simple means at his command, accomplished things, which few were able to perform in spite of their great wealth of external appliances.
-his early contributions and their appreciations
-his first contribution was 'on polarisation of electric rays by double refracting crystals.' it was read at a meeting of the asiatic society of bengal, held on the 1st may 1895, and was published in the journal of the society in vol. lxiv, part ii, page 291. his next contributions were 'on a new electro polariscope' and 'on the double refraction of the electric ray by a strained di-electric.' they appeared, in the electrician, the leading journal on electricity, published in london. these 'strikingly original researches' won the attention of the scientific world. lord kelvin, the greatest physicist of the age, declared himself 'literally filled with wonder and admiration for so much success in the novel and difficult problem which he had attacked.' lord rayleigh communicated the results of his remarkable researches to the royal society. and the royal society showed its appreciation of the high scientific value of his investigation, not only, by the publication, with high tributes, of a paper of his 'on the determination of the indices of electric refraction,' in december 1896, and another paper on the 'determination of the wave-length of electric radiation,' in june 1896, but also, by the offer, of their own accord, of an appropriation from the special parliamentary grant made to the society for the advancement of knowledge, for continuation of his work.
-in recognition of the importance of the contribution made by prof. bose, the university of london conferred on him the degree of doctor of science and the cambridge university, the degree of m.a., in 1896. and, to crown all, the royal institution of great britain--rendered famous by the labour of davy and faraday, of rayleigh and dewar--honoured him by inviting to deliver a 'friday evening discourse' on his original work. it would not be out of place to observe that the rare privilege of being invited to deliver a 'friday evening discourse' is regarded as one of the highest distinction that can be conferred on a scientific man.
-his first scientific deputation. (1896-97)
-the government of india showed its appreciation of his work by deputing him to europe to place the results of his investigations before the learned scientific bodies. he remained on his deputation from the 22nd july 1896 to the 19th april 1897. he read a paper 'on a complete apparatus for studying the properties of electric waves' at the meeting of british association, held at liverpool, in 1896. he then communicated a paper 'on the selective conductivity exhibited by polarising substances,' which was published by the royal society, in january 1897. he next delivered his 'friday evening discourse,' at the royal institution, 'on electric waves,' on the 29th january 1897. "there is, however, to our thinking" wrote the spectator at the time "something of rare interest in the spectacle presented of a bengalee of the purest descent possible, lecturing in london to an audience of appreciative european savants upon one of the most recondite branches of the modern physical science." he was then invited to address the scientific societies in paris. "prof. j. c. bose" wrote the review encyclopedique, paris "exhibited on the 9th of march before the sorbonne, an apparatus of his invention for demonstrating the laws of reflection, refraction, and polarisation of electric waves. he repeated his experiments on the 22nd, before a large number of members of the academie des sciences, among whom were poincare, cornu, mascart, lipmann, cailletet, becquerel and others. these savants highly applauded the investigations of the indian professor." m. cornu, president of the academy of science, was pleased to address professor bose as follows:--
-"by your discoveries you have greatly furthered the cause of science. you must try to revive the grand traditions of your race which bore aloft the torch light of art and science and was the leader of civilization two thousand years ago. we, in france applaud you." this fervent appeal, we shall see, as we proceed, did not go in vain.
-he was next invited to lecture before the universities in germany. at berlin, before the leading physicists of germany, he gave an address on electric radiation, which was subsequently published in the physikaliscen gesellschaft berlin, in april 1897.
-further researches on electric waves
-his researches take a new turn
-response in living and non-living
-opposition of the physiologists
-the opposition of the physiologists, however, did one good. it spurred dr. bose on and made him stronger in his determination not to encompass himself, within the narrow groove of physical investigation. he took furlough for one year, in extension of the period of his deputation, and applied himself vigorously to the investigations, which he had already commenced in india and received facilities from the managers of the royal institution to work in the davy-faraday laboratory. he next read, at the glasgow meeting of the british association, in 1901, a paper 'on the conductivity of metallic particles under cyclic electro-magnetic variation.' then, in march 1902, "prof. bose" says the nature "performed a series of experiments before the linnean society showing electric response for certain portions of the plant organism, which proved that as concerning fatigue, behaviour at high and low temperatures, the effects produced by poisons and anaesthetics, the responses are identical with those held to be characteristic of muscle and nerve." the linnean society published, in its journal, in march 1902, his paper 'on electric response of ordinary plants under mechanical stimulus.' he then communicated to the société de physique, paris, his paper 'sur la résponse electrique dans les métaux, les tissu animaux et végétaux.' the royal society published, in april 1902, his contribution 'on the electromotive wave accompanying mechanical disturbance in metals in contact with electrolyte.' he was next asked by the royal photographic society to give a discourse 'on the strain theory vision and of photographic action,' which was published by the society, in its journal, in june 1902. he then wrote a paper 'on the electric response in animal, vegetable and metal,' which was read before the belfast meeting of the british association, in 1902. the president of the botanical section at belfast, in his address, observed "some very striking results were published by bose on electric response in ordinary plants. bose's investigations established a very close similarity in behaviour between the vegetable and the animal. summation effects were observed and fatigue effect demonstrated, while it was definitely shown that the responses were physiological. they ceased as soon as the piece of tissue was killed by heating. these observations strengthen considerably the view of the identical nature of the animal and vegetable protoplasm."
-dr. bose then brought out a systematic treatise embodying the results of his researches under the significant title of 'response in the living and non-living.' he returned to india, in october, 1902.
-after he had come back, from the second scientific deputation, the government of india conferred on him the distinction of companion of the order of the indian empire, in 1903, in recognition of his valuable researches.
-plant life and animal life
-next dr. bose, in natural sequence to the investigation of the response in 'inorganic' matter commenced 'a prolonged study of the activities of plant life as compared with corresponding functioning of animal life.'
-all plants are "sensitive"
-it was believed that so-called 'sensitive' plants alone exhibited excitation by electric response. but dr. bose, believing in continuity of responsive phenomena, used the same experimental devices, with which he had already succeeded in obtaining the electric response of inorganic substances, to test whether ordinary plants also--meaning those usually regarded as 'insensitive'--would or would not exhibit excitatory electrical response to stimulus. with the help of very delicate instruments, dr. bose demonstrated the very startling fact that not only every plant, but every organ of every plant gave true excitatory electric response--and that response was not confined alone to 'sensitive' plants like mimosa.
-extended application of mechanical theory
-with an extended application of his mechanical theory, dr. bose has gradually removed the veil of obscurity from many a phenomenon in plant life. the 'autonomous' movements of plants, for example, which remained enveloped in mystery, received a satisfactory solution at his hands.
-it was believed that automatically pulsating tissues draw their energy from a mysterious "vital force" working within. by controlling external forces, dr. bose stopped the pulsation and re-started it and thus demonstrated that the 'automatic action' was not due to any internal vital force. he pointed out that the external stimulus--instead of causing, as was customary to suppose, an explosive chemical change and an inevitable run-down of energy--brings about an accumulation of energy by the plant. and with the accumulation of absorbed energy, a point is reached when there is an overflow--the excess of energy bubbles over, as it were, and shows itself in 'spontaneous' movements. the stimulus being strong a single response--a single twitching of the leaflets--is not enough to express the whole of the leaf's responsive energy and it yields a multiple response--it reverberates--it manifests itself in 'automatic' pulsations. when, however, the accumulated energy is exhausted, then there is also an end of 'spontaneous movements.' there are strictly speaking, no 'spontaneous' movements; those known by that name are really due either to the immediate effects of external stimulus or to the stimulus previously absorbed and held latent in the plant to find subsequent expression--due to the direct or indirect action of external forces which are transformed in the machinery of the plants in obedience to the principle of the conservation of energy.
-"ascent of sap" "and growth"
-dr. bose then showed that, not gross mechanical movements alone, but also other invisible movements are initiated by the action of stimulus, and that the various activities, such as the "ascent of sap" and "growth" are in reality different reactions to the stimulating action of energy supplied by the environment. in this way, dr. bose showed that several obscure phenomena, in the life-processes of the plant, can be very satisfactorily explained by the mechanical theory.
-it would not be out of place to mention that dr. bose, to carry on his researches on the ascent of sap, invented a new type of instrument (shoshungraph). and for an accurate investigation on the phenomenon of growth of plants he devised an instrument (growth recorder) for instantaneous measurement of the rate of growth and another instrument (balanced crescograph) for determining the influences of various agencies on growth. so very marvellous these instruments that the growth, which takes place, during a few beats of pendulum, is measured, and, in less than a quarter of an hour, the action of fertilizers, foods, electrical currents and various stimulants are determined. "what is the tale of aladdin and his wonderful lamp" exclaims the editor of the scientific american "compared with the true story told by the crescograph?... instead of waiting a whole season, perhaps years, to discover whether or not it is wise to mix this or that fertilizer with the soil one can now find in a few minutes!" yet these are the instruments which are better known in washington than in calcutta! the question of their application to practical agriculture has excited more interest in the united states of america than in this unfortunate land, which is an essentially agricultural country!
-fundamental identity of reactions
-these remarkable researches on plant response have 'revolutionised in some respects and very much extended in others our knowledge of the response of plants to stimulus.'
-dr. bose communicated his paper 'on the electric pulsation accompanying automatic movements in desmodium gyrans' to the linnaean society, which was published, in december 1902. then, in 1903, he communicated to the royal society his researches on 'investigation on mechanical response in plants,' 'on polar effects of currents on the stimulation of plants,' 'on the velocity of transmission of excitatory waves in plants,' 'on the excitability and conductivity of plant tissues,' 'on the propagation of the electromotive wave concomitant of excitatory waves in plants,' 'on multiple response in plants,' 'on an enquiry into the cause of automatic movements.'
-he built his life on the rock of faith
-but these difficulties--sufficient to crush many a spirit--could hardly quench the ardour of his burning soul, which was 'hungering and thirsting' for the establishment of a truth in which he had a firm faith. though the surges would beat against him, he would not give way. with the true spirit of a sadhak, he devoted himself to the realisation of the great dream of his life. and, for the next ten years, the one tap, jap and aradhana of his life--the one all-engrossing idea of his mind--was how to make the plant give testimony by means of its own autograph.
-publication of "plant response"
-though his researches did not find an outlet, in the proceedings of the royal society, he did not lose heart. he brought out, in april 1906, a systematic treatise--"the plant response as a means of physiological investigation"--in which he incorporated the results of his investigations on plant life.
-adopts a new method of investigation
-result of the investigation
-clash with current views
-the results, which dr. bose obtained from actual experiments, clashed, however, with the theories in vogue. the reactions of different issues were hitherto regarded as special differences. as against this, a continuity is shown to exist between them. thus, nerve was universally regarded as typically non-motile; its responses were believed to be characteristically different from those of muscle. dr. bose, however, has shown that nerve is indisputably motile and that the characteristic variations in the response of nerve are, generally speaking, similar to those of the muscle.
-it was customary to regard plants as devoid of the power to conduct true excitation. dr. bose had already shown that this view was incorrect. he now showed, by experiment, that the response of the isolated vegetal nerve is indistinguishable from that of animal nerve, throughout a large series of parallel variations of condition. so complete, indeed, is the similarity between the responses of plant and animal, found, of which this is one instance, that the discovery of a given responsive characteristic in one case proves a sure guide to its observation in the other, and the explanation of phenomenon, under the simpler conditions of the plant, is found fully sufficient for its elucidation under the more complex circumstances of the animal. dr. bose found 'differential excitability' is widely present as a factor in determining the character of special responses and showed that many anomalous conclusions, with regard to the response of certain animal tissues, had arisen from the failure to take account of the 'differential excitability' of anisotropic organs. hitherto pfluger's law of the polar effects of currents was supposed to rest on secure foundations. but dr. bose showed that pfluger's law was not of such universal application as was supposed. he demonstrated that, above and below a certain range of electromotive intensity, the polar effects of currents are precisely opposite to those enunciated by pfluger.
-it was supposed that nervous impulse, which, must necessarily form the basis of sensation, was beyond any conceivable power of visual scrutiny. but dr. bose showed that this impulse is actually attended by change of form, and is, therefore capable of direct observation. he also showed that the disturbance, instead of being single, is of two different kinds--viz., one of expansion (positive) and the other of contraction (negative)--and that, when the stimulus is feeble, the positive is transmitted, and, when the stimulus is stronger, both positive and negative are transmitted, but the negative, however, being more intense, masks the positive. he identified the wave of expansion travelling along the nerve with the tendency to pleasure, and the wave of contraction, with the tendency to pain. it thus appears that all pain contains an element of pleasure, and that pleasure, if carried too far becomes pain--that "the tone of our sensation is determined by the intensity of nervous excitation that reaches the central perceiving organ."
-memory image and its revival
-dr. bose next pointed out that there remains, for every response, a certain residual effect. a substance, which has responded to a given stimulus, retains, as an after-effect, a 'latent impression' of that stimulus and this 'latent impression' is capable of subsequent revival by bringing about the original condition of excitation. the impress made by the action of stimulus, though it remains latent and invisible, can be revived by the impact of a fresh excitatory impulse.
-experimenting with a metallic leaf, dr. bose demonstrated the revival of a latent impression under the action of diffused stimulus. the investigation by dr. bose on the after-effects of stimulus has thrown some light on the obscure phenomenon, of 'memory.' it appears that, when there is a mental revival of past experience, the diffuse impulse of the 'will' acts on the sensory surface, which contains the latent impression and re-awakens the image which appears to have faded out. memory is concerned, thus, with the after-effect of an impression induced by a stimulus. it differs from ordinary sensation in the fact that the stimulus which evokes the response, instead of being external and objective, is merely psychic and subjective.
-dr. bose has, by experimental devises, shown the possibility of tracing 'memory-impression' backwards even in inorganic matter, such latent impression being capable of subsequent revival. an investigation of the after-effects of stimulus, on living tissues would open out the great problem of the influence of past events on our present condition.
-death-struggle and memory revival
-dr. bose published the results of these new researches, in 1907, in another remarkable volume, which was styled 'the comparative electro-physiology.'
-after the publication of 'the comparative electro-physiology,' the government of india again sent dr. bose on a scientific deputation. he went over to england and america and placed the results of his researches before the learned scientific bodies. he read a paper 'on mechanical response of plants' at the liverpool meeting of british association, in 1907. he then read a paper on 'the oscillating recorder for automatic tracing of plant movements' before the new york academy of sciences, and, in december 1908, he gave an address on 'mechanical and electrical response in plants,' at the annual meeting of the american association for the advancement of science, held at baltimore, and, in january 1909, he delivered a lecture on 'growth response of plants' before the united states department of agriculture and, in february 1909, he read a paper on 'death-spasm in plants,' before the university of illinois, and, in march 1909, a paper on 'multiple and autonomous response in plants' before the madison university. he also lectured before the new york botanical society, the medical society of boston, the society of western electric engineers at chicago. he also delivered a series of post-graduate lectures on electro-physics and plant physiology at the universities of wisconsin, chicago, ann arbor. he returned to india, in july 1909.
-further experimental exploration
-transmission of excitation in mimosa
-dr. bose had shown that all plants are sensitive--that there is no difference between the so-called 'sensitive' and the supposed 'non-sensitive'--that they gave alike the true excitatory electric response as well as motile response. the evidence of plant's script now removed beyond any doubt the long-standing error which divided the vegetable world into 'sensitive' and 'insensitive.' there remained, however, the question of nervous impulse in plants, the discovery of which, though announced by dr. bose, ten years ago, did not yet find full acceptance.
-finding that the scope of his investigation has been very much enlarged by the devise of the resonant recorder, dr. bose proceeded to attack the current view "that there was no transmission of true excitation in mimosa, the propagated impulse being regarded as merely hydromechanical." this conclusion was based on the experiments of the leading german plant physiologists, pfeffer and haverlandt who failed to bring on any variation in the propagated impulse in plants either by scalding or by application of an anaesthetic. dr. bose pointed out that, as pfeffer applied the chloroform to the outer stalk and haverlandt scalded the outer stem, neither the stimulant nor the anaesthetic reached the nerves. so he, instead of applying the stimulant or the anaesthetic, in the liquid form, to the outer stalk or stem, confined the mimosa, in a little chamber, and subjected it to the influence of the vapour of the drug. the fumes now penetrated and reached the nerves and the plant was made to record, by its own script, the variations, if any, produced by the drugs. the plant, by its self-made records, showed exultation with alcohol, depression with chloroform, rapid transmission of a shock with the application of heat, and an abolition of the propagated impulse with the application of a deadly poison like potassium cyanide. this variation in the transmitted impulse, under physiological variations, showed that it was not a physical one. this sealed the fate of the hydromechanical theory.
-dr. bose went further and showed that the impulse is transmitted in both directions along the nerve but not at the same rate. and, by interposing an electric block, he arrested the nervous impulse in a plant in a manner similar to the corresponding arrest in the animal nerve and thereby produced nervous paralysis in plant, such paralysis being afterwards cured by appropriate treatment. "if he had made no other discovery," says the editor of the scientific american "dr. bose would have earned an enduring reputation in the annals of science. we know very little about paralysis in the human body, and practically nothing about its cause. the nervous system of the higher animals is so complicated, so intricate, that it is hard to understand its derangement. the human nerve dies when isolated. it is killed by the shock of removal, and responds for the moment abnormally and therefore deceptively. but, if we study the simplest kind of a nerve,--and the simplest is that of a plant,--we may hope to understand what occurs when a hand or a foot cannot be made to move. to find out that plants have nerves, to induce paralysis in such nerves and then to cure them--such experiments will lead to discoveries that may ultimately enable physicians to treat more rationally than they do, the various forms of paralysis now regarded as incurable."
-mimosa and man
-having found that his investigation on mimosa had broken down the barriers which separated kindred phenomena, dr. bose next communicated the results of his wonderful researches to the royal society. his paper was read, at a meeting of the society, held on the 6th march 1913. the royal society now found that dr. bose had rendered the seemingly impossible, possible--had made the plant tell its own story by means of its self-made records. it could no longer withhold the recognition which was his due. the barred gates, at last, opened and the paper of dr. bose "on an automatic method, for the investigation of the velocity of transmission of excitation in mimosa" found publication in the "philosophical transactions of the royal society" in vol. 204, series b.
-his further investigations
-dr. bose next pursued with great vigour his investigations on the irritability of plants. by making the plant tell its own story, by means of its self-made records, he showed that there is hardly any phenomenon of irritability observed in the animal which is not also found in the plant and that the various manifestations of irritability in the plant are identical with those in the animal and that many difficult problems in animal physiology find their solution in the experimental study of corresponding problems under simpler conditions of vegetable life.
-hours of sleep of the plant
-it may be mentioned that dr. bose showed one very remarkable fact--from the summaries of the automatic records of the responses given by a plant (which was subjected to an impulse during all hours of the day and night)--that it wakes up during morning slowly, becomes fully alert by noon, and becomes sleepy only after midnight, resembling man in a surprising manner.
-"irritability of plants"
-dr. bose embodied the results of his fascinating researches, obtained by the introduction of new methods, in another remarkable volume--"researches on irritability of plants"--which was published, in 1913.
-in recognition of his valuable researches, dr. j. c. bose was invested with the insignia of the companion of the order of the star of india by his majesty the king emperor, on the occasion of his coronation durbar, at delhi, in 1911.
-the calcutta university next showed its belated recognition, by conferring on him the degree of d.sc. honoris causa, in 1912.
-and the punjab university also showed its appreciation by inviting him, in 1913, to deliver a course of lectures on the results of his investigation.
-public service commission
-he then dwelt on what should be the aim of higher education in india and observed as follows:--
-he was called, on the 18th december 1913, and was put to a searching examination by the members of the royal commission. the evidence that he gave is instinct with patriotism and is highly remarkable for its simplicity and directness about the things he said. to the chairman (lord islington) he stated that he "favoured an arrangement by which indians would enter the higher ranks of the service, either through the provincial service or by direct recruitment in india. the latter class of officers, after completing their education in india, should ordinarily go to europe with a view to widening their experience. by this he did not wish to decry the training given in the indian universities, which produce some of the very best men, and he would not make the rule absolute. it was not necessary for men of exceptional ability to go to england in order to occupy a high chair. unfortunately, on account of there being no openings for men of genius in the educational service, distinguished men were driven to the profession of law. in the present condition of india a larger number of distinguished men were needed to give their lives to the education of the people.
-fourth scientific deputation (1914-15)
-though the theories of dr. bose received acceptance from the leading scientific men of the royal society, yet dr. bose realised the necessity of bringing about a general conviction as to the truth of the identity of life-reactions in plant and in animal. so he looked for an opportunity of giving demonstration of his discoveries before the leading scientific societies of the world. and that opportunity came. the royal institution of great britain again invited him to deliver a 'friday evening discourse' on the results of his new researches. the university of oxford and cambridge also followed suit. the government of india also showed their appreciation by sending him again on a deputation for placing his discoveries before the scientific world. he remained on deputation from the 3rd april 1914 to the 12th june 1915.
-dr. bose in europe
-the maida vale laboratory
-from england dr. bose proceeded to the continent, where his researches had already evoked keen interest.
-on his return to london, medical men evinced great interest in his researches. sir john reid, president of the royal society of medicine, and sir lauder brunton, physician of his majesty the king emperor, paid a visit to his laboratory to witness the action of drugs upon plants. sir lauder brunton became of opinion that 'much light would be thrown on action of drugs on animals, by first observing their effects on plants.' as a result of this visit, dr. bose was invited to give an address to the royal society of medicine in the beginning of winter. but, as the period of his deputation was about to expire, the society cabled to the government of india for an extension, which was granted. dr. bose then delivered a lecture, before the royal society of medicine, on the 30th october 1914. the royal society of medicine officially addressed the secretary of state for india as follows:--
-dr. bose in america
-the columbia university, the largest in the united states, requested dr. bose to provide facilities in his laboratory "for the reception of foreign students, who are desirous of familiarising themselves first hand with his apparatus and methods."
-what dr. bose saw in japan
-a patriotic call
-back to india
-after his return to india, dr. bose attended the indian science congress at lucknow. he then attended the ceremony of the laying of the foundation stone of the hindu university at benares. on that occasion he delivered a masterly address. he said:--
-"in tracing the characteristic phenomena of life from simple beginnings in that vast region which may be called unvoiced, as exemplified in the world of plants, to its highest expression in the animal kingdom, one is repeatedly struck by the one dominant fact that in order to maintain an organism at the height of its efficiency something more than a mechanical perfection of its structure is necessary. every living organism, in order to maintain its life and growth, must be in free communion with all the forces of the universe about it.
-"further, it must not only constantly receive stimulus from without, but must also give out something from within, and the healthy life of the organism will depend on these two-fold activities of inflow and outflow. when there is any interference with these activities, then morbid symptoms appear, which ultimately must end in disaster and death. this is equally true of the intellectual life of a nation. when through narrow conceit a nation regards itself self-sufficient and cuts itself from the stimulus of the outside world, then intellectual decay must inevitably follow.
-"so far as regards the receptive function. then there is another function in the intellectual life of a nation, that of spontaneous flow, that going out of its life by which the world is enriched. when the nation has lost this power, when it merely receives, but cannot give out, then its healthy life is over, and it sinks into a degenerate existence, which is purely parasitic.
-"how can our nation give out of the fulness of the life that is in it, and how can a new indian university help in the realisation of this object? it is clear that its power of directing and inspiring will depend on its world status. this can be secured to it by no artificial means, nor by any strength in the past....
-outcome of the scientific mission
-retirement from government service
-after his retirement, the secretary of state, who had already been impressed with the high value of his researches, sanctioned a recurring grant of rs. 30,000 a year (for him and his assistants) for 5 years and a non-recurring grant of rs. 25,000 (for equipment) for continuation of his original work.... and, in further recognition of his valuable scientific work, the government conferred on him a knighthood, on the 1st january 1917. it may, however, be mentioned that this high honour has been bestowed for the first time on an indian for his original work in science.
-feels the necessity for the foundation of an institute
-the bose institute
-though the realisation of such a glorious institute would not be effected through one life or one fortune, he wanted to accomplish something--something, so far as it lay in his power. so he proceeded to build and equip an institute--the "bose institute"--at a cost of about 5 lakhs, the entire savings of his lifetime. while it was being constructed their excellencies the viceroy and the governor of bengal paid a visit to dr. bose's private laboratory. on the 30th november 1917--the anniversary of his sixtieth birthday--he dedicated the institute to the nation, for the progress of science and for the glory of india.
-the aims of the institute
-the efforts of dr. bose have also animated our countrymen. maharaja sir manindra chandra nandy of kasimbazar has made a gift of two lakhs to the institute. mr. s. r. bomanji has given one lakh. mr. moolraj khatao has endowed the institute with two lakh and a quarter. other contributions are still pouring in.
-a great 'sadhak'
-with a true sanyasin spirit, dr. bose applied himself to the study of nature. his ardour was ever compassable. even the limitations of the senses would hardly fetter him in his explorations in the regions of the unknown. he expended the range of perception by means of wonderfully sensitive instrumental devices. by acute observations and patient experiment he wrung out from nature some of her most jealously guarded secrets in the realm of electric radiation, which "literally filled with wonder and admiration" the greatest scientist of the age. allurements of great material prospects--which might lead him to the path of immense fortune--came to him, in the shape of the patents of his inventions. but they had no attraction for him. in utter disregard of all worldly advancement, he continued in his pursuit of knowledge.
-in pursuit of his investigations on electric radiation, he was unconsciously led into the border region of physics and physiology. he caught a glimpse of ineffable wonder that remained hidden behind the view. he attempted to lift the veil. and, at once, difficulties presented themselves one after another. an unfamiliar caste in the domain of science got offended. he was asked not to encroach on the special preserve of the physiologists and, as he did not pay any heed to the warning, misrepresentations began. even the evidence of his supersensitive appliances failed to convince many. and the royal society withheld publication of his researches. he was recompensed with ridicule and reviling. the limited facilities that he had in the prosecution of his researches were in danger of being withdrawn. but he had a burning faith in the vision and was not to be boggled at with these difficulties. he became stronger in his determination. realising an inner call, he dedicated himself for the establishment of the truth underlying his faith. he cast his life, as an offering, regarding success and failure as one, and engaged himself in a protracted struggle to get behind the deceptive seeming into the reality that remained unseen. after years of sustained efforts, he succeeded in overcoming almost insuperable difficulties in the way of the realisation of the great dream of his life. the closed doors at last opened, and the seemingly impossible became possible. the secret of the plant world stood revealed by the autographs of the plants themselves. "it was when i came upon the mute witness of these self-made records," said sir j. c. bose, when he stood before the royal institution "and perceived in them one phase of a pervading unity that bears within it all things: the mote that quivers in ripples of light, the teeming life upon our earth, and the radiant suns that shine above us--it was then that i understood for the first time a little of that message proclaimed by my ancestors on the banks of the ganges thirty centuries ago."
-effect of his work
-it is impossible to estimate the effect of his epoch-making researches. the psychic stone flung by him into the pool of physical botany, has made the ripples run in so many directions. there have been produced "unexpected revelations in plant life, foreshadowing the wonders of the highest animal life." and there "have opened out very extended regions of inquiry in physics, in physiology, in medicine, in agriculture and even in psychology. problems, hitherto regarded as insoluble, have now been brought within the sphere of experimental investigation."
-sir j.c. bose has not only extended the distant boundaries of science, but, by his peculiarly indian contribution, has secured a recognised place for india and has revived a hope in the indian mind that india may yet regain a place among the intellectual nations of the world. men like him are rare not only in india but rare any where in the world. may he live long!
-literature and science
-the following is a substance of the address delivered in bengali by prof. j. c. bose, on the 14th april 1911, as the president of the bengal literary conference, which met in the easter of 1911 at mymensing.
-in this literary congress it would appear that you have interpreted letters in no exclusive sense. we are not met to discuss the place that literature is to hold in the gospel of beauty. rather are we set upon conceiving of her in larger ways. to us to-day literature is no mere ornament, no mere amusement. instead of this, we desire to bring beneath her shadow all the highest efforts of our minds. in this great communion of learning, this is not the first time that a scientific man has officiated as priest. the chair which i now occupy has already been held by one whom i love and honour as friend and colleague, and glory in our countryman, praphulla chandra ray. in honouring him, your society has not only done homage to merit, but has also placed before our people a lofty and inclusive ideal of literature.
-you are aware that in this west, the prevailing tendency at the moment is, after a period of synthesis, to return upon the excessive sub-division of learning. the result of this specialisation is rather to accentuate the distinctiveness of the various sciences, so that for a while the great unity of all tends perhaps to be obscured. such a caste system in scholarship, undoubtedly helps at first, in the gathering and classification of new material. but if followed too exclusively, it ends by limiting the comprehensiveness of truth. the search is endless. realisation evades us.
-the eastern aim has been rather the opposite, namely, that in the multiplicity of phenomena, we should never miss their underlying unity. after generations of this quest, the idea of unity comes to us almost spontaneously, and we apprehend no insuperable obstacle in grasping it.
-i feel that here in this literary congress, this characteristic idea of unity has worked unconsciously. we have never thought of narrowing the bounds of literature by a jealous definition of its limits. on the contrary, we have allowed its empire to extend. and you have felt that this could be adequately done only, if in one place you could gather together all that we are seeking, all that we are thinking, all that we are examining. and for this you have to-day invited those who sing along with those who meditate, and those who experiment. and this is why, though my own life has been given to the pursuit of science, i had yet no hesitation in accepting the honour of your invitation.
-poetry and science
-the poet, seeing by the heart, realises the inexpressible and strived to give it expression. his imagination soars, where the sight of others fails, and his news of realm unknown finds voice in rhyme and metre. the path of the scientific man may be different, yet there is some likeness between the two pursuits. where visible light ends, he still follows the invisible. where the note of the audible reaches the unheard, even there he gathers the tremulous message. that mystery which lies behind the expressed, is the object of his questioning also; and he, in his scientific way, attempts to render its abstruse discoveries into human speech.
-this vast abode of nature is built in many wings, each with its own portal. the physicist, the chemist, and the biologist entering by different doors, each one his own department of knowledge, comes to think that this is his special domain, unconnected with that of any other. hence has arisen our present rigid division of phenomena, into the worlds of the inorganic, vegetal, and sentient. but this attitude of mind is philosophical, may be denied. we must remember that all enquiries have as their goal the attainment of knowledge in its entirety. the partition walls between the cells in the great laboratory are only erected for a time to aid this search. only at that point where all lines of investigation meet, can the whole truth be found.
-both poet and scientific worker have set out for the same goal, to find a unity in the bewildering diversity. the difference is that the poet thinks little of the path, whereas the scientific man must not neglect. the imagination of the poet has to be unrestricted. the intuitions of emotion cannot be established by rigid proof. he has, therefore, to use the language of imagery, adding constantly the words 'as if.'
-the road that the scientific man has to tread is on the other hand very rugged, and in his pursuit of demonstration he must pay a severe restraint on his imagination. his constant anxiety is lest he should be self-deceived. he has, therefore, at every step to compare his own thought with the external fact. he has remorselessly to abandon all in which these are not agreed. his reward is that he gets, however little is certain, forming a strong foundation for what is yet to come. even by this path of self-restraint and verification, however, he is making for a region surpassing wonder. in the range of that invisible light, gross objects cease to be a barrier, and force and matter become less aesthetic. when the veil is suddenly lifted, upon the vision hitherto unsuspected, he may for a moment lose his accustomed self-restraint and, exclaim "not 'as if'--but the thing itself!"
-in illustration of this sense of wonder which links together poetry and science, let me allude briefly to a few matters that belong to my own small corner in the great universe of knowledge, that of light invisible and of life unvoiced. can anything appeal more to the imagination than the fact that we can detect the peculiarities in the internal molecular structure of an opaque body by means of light that is itself invisible? could anything have been more unexpected than to find that a sphere of china-clay focuses invisible light more perfectly than a sphere of glass focuses the visible; that in fact, the refractive power of this clay to electric radiation is at least as great as that of the most costly diamond to light? from amongst the innumerable octaves of light, there is only one octave, with power to excite the human eye. in reality, we stand, in the midst of a luminous ocean, almost blind! the little that we can see is nothing, compared to the vastness of that which we cannot. but it may be said that out of the very imperfection of his senses man has been able, in science, to build for himself a raft of thought by which to make daring adventure on the great seas of the unknown.
-again, just as, in following up light from visible to invisible, our range of investigation transcends our physical sight, so also does our power of sympathy become extended, when we pass from the voiced to the unvoiced, in the study of life: is there then any possible relation between our own life and that of the plant world? that there may be such a relation, some of the foremost of scientific men have denied. so distinguished a leader as the late burdon-sanderson declared that the majority of plants were not capable of giving any answer, by either mechanical or electrical excitement, to an outside stock. pfeffer, again, and his distinguished followers, have insisted that the plants have neither a nervous system, nor anything analogous to the nervous impulse of the animal. according to such a view, that two streams of life, in plant and animal, flow side by side, but under the guidance of different laws. the problems of vegetable life are, it must be said, extremely obscure, and for the penetrating of that darkness we have long had to wait for instruments of a superlative sensitiveness. this has been the principal reason for our long clinging to mere theory, instead of looking for the demonstration of facts. but to learn the truth we have to put aside theories, and rely only on direct experiment. we have to abandon all our preconceptions, and put our questions direct, insisting that the only evidence we can accept is that which bears the plant's own signature.
-how are we to know what unseen changes take place within the plant? if it be excited or depressed by some special circumstance, how are we, on the outside, to be made aware of this? the only conceivable way would be, if that were possible, to detect and measure the actual response of the organism to a definite external blow. when an animal receives an external shock it may answer in various ways if it has voice, by a cry; if it be dumb, by the movement of its limbs. the external shock is a stimulus; the answer of the organism is the response. if we can find out the relation between this stimulus and the response, we shall be able to determine the vitality of the plant at that moment. in an excitable condition, the feeblest stimulus will evoke an extraordinarily large response: in a depressed state, even a strong stimulus evokes only a feeble response; and lastly, when death has overcome life, there is an abrupt end of the power to answer at all.
-we might therefore have detected the internal condition of the plant, if, by some inducement, we could have made it write down its own responses. if we could once succeed in this apparently impossible task we should still have to learn the new language and the new script. in a world of so many different scripts, it is certainly undesirable to introduce a new one! i fear the uniform script association will cherish a grievance against us for this. it is fortunate however that the plant-script bears, after all, a certain resemblance to the devanagari--inasmuch as it is totally unintelligible to any but the very learned!
-but there are two serious difficulties in our path; first, to make the plant itself consent to give its evidence; second, through plant and instrument combined, to induce it to give it in writing. it is comparatively easy to make a rebellious child obey: to extort answers from plants is indeed a problem! by many years of close contiguity, however, i have come to have some understanding of their ways. i take this opportunity to make public confession of various acts of cruelty which i have from time to time perpetrated on unoffending plants, in order to compel them to give me answers. for this purpose, i have devised various forms of torment,--pinches simple and revolving, pricks with needles, and burns with acids. but let this pass. i now understand that replies so forced are unnatural, and of no value. evidence so obtained is not to be trusted. vivisection, for instance, cannot furnish unimpugnable results, for excessive shock tends of itself to make the response of a tissue abnormal. the experimental organism must therefore be subjected only to moderate stimulation. again, one has to choose for one's experiment a favourable moment. amongst plants, as with ourselves, there is, very early in the morning, especially after a cold night, certain sluggishness. the answers, then, are a little indistinct. in the excessive heat of midday, again, though the first few answers are very distinct, yet fatigue soon sets in. on a stormy day, the plant remains obstinately silent. barring all these sources of aberration, however, if we choose our time wisely, we may succeed in obtaining clear answers, which persist without interruption.
-it is our object, then, to gather the whole history of the plant, during every moment between its birth and its death. through how many cycle of experience it has to pass! the effects on it of recurring light and darkness; the pull of the earth, and the blow of the storm; how complex is the concatenation of circumstances, how various are the shocks, and how multiplex are the replies which we have to analyse! in this vegetal life which appears so placid and so stationary, how manifold are the subtle internal reactions! then how are we to make this invisible visible?
-the diary of the plant.
-the little seedling we know to be growing, but the rate of its growth is far below anything we can directly perceive. how are we to magnify this so as to make it instantly measurable? what are the variations in this infinitesimal growth under external shock? what changes are induced by the action of drugs or poisons? will the action of poison change with the dose? is it possible to counteract the effect of one by another?
-supposing that the plant does not give answers to external shock, what time elapses between the shock and the reply? does this latent period undergo any variation with external conditions? is it possible to make the plant itself write down this excessively minute time-interval?
-next, does the effect of the blow given outside reach the interior of the plant? if so, is there anything analogous to the nerve of the animal? if so, again, at what rate does the nervous impulse travel the plant? by what favourable circumstances will this rate of transmission become enhanced, and by what will be retarded or arrested? is it possible to make the plant itself record this rate and its variations? is there any resemblance between the nervous impulse in plants and animals? in the animal there are certain automatically pulsating tissues like the heart. are there any such spontaneously beating tissues in a plant? what is the meaning of spontaneity? and lastly, when by the blow of death, life itself is finally extinguished, will it be possible to detect the critical moment? and does the plant then exert itself to make one overwhelming reply, after which response ceases altogether? its autobiography can only be regarded as complete, if, with the help of efficient instruments, all these questions can be answered by it, so as to form the different chapters.
-"if the plant could have been made thus to keep its own diary, then the whole of its history might have been recovered!" but words like these are born of day dreams merely. vague imaginings of this kind may furnish much gratification to an idle life. when, awaking from these pleasant dreams of science, we seek to actualise the conditions imposed by them, we find ourselves face to face with a dead wall. for the doorway of nature's court is barred with iron, and through it can penetrate no mere cry of childish petulance. it is only by the gathered force of many years of concentration, that the gate can be opened, and the seeker enter to explore the secrets that have baffled him so long.
-difficulties of research in india.
-we often hear that without a properly equipped laboratory, higher research in this country is an absolute impossibility. but while there is a good deal in this, it is not by any means the whole truth. if it were all, then from these countries where millions have been spent on costly laboratories, we should have had daily accounts of new discoveries. such news we do not hear. it is true that here we suffer from many difficulties, but how does it help us, to envy the good fortune of others? rise from your depression! cast off your weakness! let us think, "in whatever condition we are placed, that is the true starting-point for us." india is our working-place, and all our duties are to be accomplished here, and nowhere else. only he who has lost his manhood need repine.
-in carrying out research, there are other difficulties, besides the want of well-equipped laboratories. we often forget that the real laboratory is one's own mind. the room and the instruments only externalise that. every experiment has first to be carried out in that inner region. to keep the mental vision clear, great struggles have to be undergone. for its clearness is lost, only too easily. the greatest wealth of external appliances is of no avail, where there is not a concentrated pursuit, utterly detached from personal gain. those whose minds rush hither and thither, those who hunger for public applause instead of truth itself, by them the quest is not won. to those on the other hand, who do long for knowledge itself, the want of favourable conditions does not seem the principle obstacle.
-in the first place, we have to realise that knowledge for the sake of knowledge is our aim, and that the world's common standard of utility have no place in it. the enquirer must follow where he is led, holding the quiet faith that things which appear to-day to be of no use, may be of the highest interest to-morrow. no height can be climbed, without the hewing of many an unremembered step! it is necessary, then, that the enquirer and his disciples should work on ceaselessly, undeterred by years of failure, and undistracted by the thunder of public applause. we may one day come to realise that india in the past has shared her knowledge with the world, and we may ask ourselves, is that destiny now ended for us? are we of to-day to be debtors only? perhaps when we have once felt this, a new nalanda may arise.
-i was speaking of the need of various delicate instruments--phytographs, as i shall call them--for the automatic record of the plant's responses. what was, ten years ago, a mere aspiration, has now after so many years of effort, become actual fact. it is unnecessary to tell here of many a fruitless and despairing attempt. nor shall i trouble you with any account of intricate mechanism. i need only say that with the aid of different types of apparatus, it is now possible for all the responsive activities of the plant to be written down. for instance, we can make an instantaneous record of the growth and its variations, moment by moment. scripts can be obtained of its spontaneous movement. and a recording arm will demarcate the line of life from that of death. the extreme delicacy of one of these instruments will be understood, when it is said that it measures and records a time-interval so short as one-thousandth part of a second!
-it has been supposed that instruments for research of this delicacy and precision, were only possible of construction in the best scientific manufactories of europe. it will therefore be regarded as interesting and encouraging to know that every one of these has been executed entirely in india, by indian workmen and mechanicians.
-with perfect instruments at our disposal, we may proceed to describe a few amongst the many phenomena which now stand revealed. but before this, it is necessary to deal briefly with the superstition that has led to the division of plants into sensitive and insensitive. by the electrical mode of investigation, it can be shown that not only mimosa and the like, but all plants of all kinds are sensitive, and give definite replies to impinging stimuli. ordinary plants, it is true, are unable to give any conspicuous mechanical indication of excitement. but this is not because of any insensitiveness, but because of equal and antagonistic reactions which neutralise each other. it is possible, however, by employing appropriate means, to show that even ordinary plants give mechanical replies to stimulus.
-the determination of the latent period
-when an animal is struck by a blow, it does not respond at once. a certain short interval elapses between the incidence of the blow, and the beginning of the reply. this lost time is known as the latent period. in the leg of a frog, the latent period according to helmwoltz, is about one-hundredth of a second. this latent period, however, undergoes appropriate variation with changing external conditions. with feeble stimulus, it has a definite value, which, with an excessive blow, is much shortened. in the cold season, it is relatively long. again, when we are tired our perception time, as we may call it, may be greatly prolonged. every one of these observations is equally applicable to the perception time of the plant. in mimosa, in a vigorous condition, the latent period is six one hundredth of a second, that is to say, only six times its value in an energetic frog! another curious thing is that a stoutish tree will give its response in a slow and lordly fashion, whereas a thin one attains the acme of its excitement in an incredibly short time! perhaps some of us can tell from our own experience whether similar differences obtain amongst human kind or not? the plant's latent period in our cold weather may be almost doubled. ordinarily speaking it takes mimosa about fifteen minutes to recover from a blow. if a second blow be given, before the full recovery of its equanimity, then the plant becomes fatigued, and its latent period is lengthened. when over-fatigued, it may temporarily lose its power of perception altogether, what this condition is like, my audience is only too likely to realise, at the end of my long address!
-the relation between stimulus and response
-according to varying circumstances, the same blow will evoke responses of different amplitudes. early in the morning, after the prolonged inactivity of a cold night, we find the plant inclined to be lethargic, and its first answers correspondingly small. but as blow after blow is delivered, this lethargy passes off, and the replies become stronger and stronger. a good way to remove this lethargy quickly, is to give the plant a warm bath. in the heat of the midday, this state of things is reversed. that is to say, after giving vigorous replies the plant becomes fatigued, and its responses grow smaller. this fatigue passes off, however, on allowing it a period of rest. on increasing the intensity of the impinging stimulus, the response also increases. but a limit is attained, beyond which response can no longer be enhanced. again, just as the pain of a blow persists longer with ourselves, in winter than in summer, so the same holds good of the reaction of the plant also. for instance, in summer it takes mimosa ten to fifteen minutes to recover from a blow, whereas in winter the same thing would take over half an hour. in all this, you will recognise the similarity between human response and that of the plant.
-in certain tissues, a very curious phenomenon is observed. in man and other animals, there are tissues which beat, as we say, spontaneously. as long as life lasts, so long does the heart continue to pulsate. there is no effect without a cause. how then was it that these pulsations became spontaneous? to this query, no fully satisfactory answer has been forthcoming. we find, however, that similar spontaneous movements are also observable in plant tissues, and by their investigation the secret of automatism in the animal may perhaps be unravelled.
-physiologists, in order to know the heart of man, play with those of the frog and tortoise. "to know the heart," be it understood, is here meant in a purely physical, and not in a poetic sense. for this it is not always convenient to employ the whole of the frog. the heart is therefore cut out, and make the subject of experiments, as to what conditions accelerate, and what retard, the rate and amplitude of its beat. when thus isolated, the heart tends of itself to come to a standstill, but if, by means of fine tubing, it be then subjected to interval blood pressure, its beating will be resumed, and will continue uninterrupted for a long time. by the influence of warmth, the frequency of the pulsation may be increased, but its amplitude diminished. exactly the reverse is the effect of cold. the natural rhythm and the amplitude of the pulse undergo appropriate changes, again, under the action of different drugs. under either, the heart may come to a standstill, but on blowing this off the beat is renewed. the action of chloroform is more dangerous, any excess in the dose inducing permanent arrest. besides these, there are poisons also which arrest the heart beat, and a very noticeable fact in this connection is, that some stop in a contracted, and others in a relaxed condition. knowing these opposed effects, it is sometimes possible to counteract the effect of one poison by administering another.
-i have thus briefly stated some of the most important phenomena in connection with spontaneous movements in animal tissues. is it possible that in plants also any parallel phenomena might be observed? in answer to this question, i may say that i have found numerous instances of automatic movements in plants.
-rhythmic pulsations in desmodium
-the existence of such spontaneous movements can easily be demonstrated, by means of our indian bon charal, the telegraph plant, or desmodium gyrans, whose small leaflets dance continually. the popular belief that they dance in response to the clapping of the hands is quite untrue. from readings of the scripts made by this plant, i am in a position to state that the automatic movements of both plants and animals are guided by laws which are identical.
-it appears to me that we have here a suggestive parallel to certain phenomena with which this audience will surely prove more familiar than i, namely, the facts of literary inspiration. for the attainment of this exalted condition, also, is it not necessary to have previous storage, with a consequent bubbling overflow? certain indications incline me to suspect that perhaps in this also we have an example of so-called spontaneity, or automatic responsiveness. if this be so, aspirants, to the condition might well be asked to decide in whose footsteps they will choose to tread--those of kamranga, with its dependence on outside influences, and inevitably ephemeral activity, or those of bon charal, with its characteristic of patient long enduring accumulation of forces, to find uninterrupted and sustained expression.
-the plant's response to the shock of death
-a time comes when, after one answer to a supreme shock, there is a sudden end of the plant's power to give any response. this supreme shock is the shock of death. even in this crisis, there is no immediate change in the placid appearance of the plant. drooping and withering are events that occur long after death itself. how does the plant then, give this last answer? in man, at the critical moment, a spasm passes through the whole body, and similarly in the plant, i find that a great contractile spasm takes place. this is accompanied by an electrical spasm also. in the script of the morograph, or death recorder, the line that up to this point was being drawn, becomes suddenly reversed, and then ends. this is the last answer of the plant.
-these are mute companions, silently, growing beside our door, have now told us the tale of their life-tremulousness and their death spasm, in script that is as inarticulate as they. may it not be said that this their story has a pathos of its own, beyond any that the poets have conceived?
-prof. j. c. bose at mayavati
-marvels of plant life
-on the 8th june 1912, dr j. c. bose, who had gone to advaita ashrama, mayavati, on a holiday trip, gave an illuminating discourse on the marvels of plant life.
-he began by stating that a stimulus takes a certain time before it gets a response. this stimulus may be of different forms, e.g., it may be a sound stimulus, a light stimulus, an electric stimulus, and so on. the feebler the stimulus, the greater is the time it takes to elicit the response. for instance if one is called by a distant voice, one doubts whether he has been called at all, but in the case of a piercing scream, he starts up at once.
-now, the difficulty is that when the stimulus, the blow, is so strong as to get an instantaneous response, how is one to measure this infinitesimal time between the blow and the response? and this must be done absolutely free from any personal interference, so as to ensure correct results.
-dr. bose here described how after deep thought and careful experiments and researches of several years he invented and manufactured a highly sensitive instrument which could automatically record the "response time" of a plant even to one thousandth part of a second. and in order to convey a graphic idea of the principles under which it worked, he had even made by means of a few simple things a crude form of his instrument, which helped the audience to form a clear idea of how a shock given to a plant which was experimented upon, would be recorded automatically by the apparatus by means of dots on its writing pad, and also how to ascertain the exact time each plant took to respond to the stimulus received. thus the plant now records its own history unerringly by its own hand as it were. and that the same results are obtained each time the experiment is repeated under similar conditions, shows that this recording of the response time is a scientific phenomenon.
-as an example of the similarities of reactions in plant and animal, prof. bose described the rhythmic activities of certain plants, in which automatic pulsations are maintained as in the animal heart. this phenomenon is exemplified by the telegraph plant, which grows wild in the gangetic plane; its indian name is bon charal or 'forest churl', the popular belief being that it dances to the clapping of the hand. there is no foundation however for this belief. it is a papilionaceous plant with trifoliate leaves, of which the terminal leaflet is large, and the two lateral, very small. each of these is inserted on the petiole by means of pulvinule. the lateral leaflets are seen to execute pulsating movements which are apparently uncaused, and are not unlike the rhythmic movement of the heart to which we shall see later that their resemblance is more than superficial.
-in the intact plant, under favourable conditions, these movements are easily observed to take place more or less continuously; but there are times when they come to a standstill. for this reason and because of the fact that a large plant cannot easily be manipulated as a whole and subjected to various changing conditions which the purpose of the investigation demands, it is desirable, if possible, to experiment with the detached petiole, carrying the pulsating leaflet. the required amputation however may be followed by arrest of the pulsating movements. but, as in the case of the isolated heart in a state of standstill, dr. bose found that the movement of the leaflet can be renewed, in the detached specimen, by the application of the internal hydrostatic pressure. under these conditions, the rhythmic pulsations are easily maintained uniform for several hours. this is a great advantage, in as much as in the undetached specimen, the pulsations are not usually found to be so regular as they now become. so small a specimen, again, can easily be subjected to changing experimental conditions, such as the variation of internal hydrostatic pressure and temperature, application of different drugs, vapours and gases.
-under varying conditions the same plant has been observed to take different response times, as for instance, less in heat than in cold, less in summer than in winter, less in the morning than in the evening, and so forth. again, different plants have different response times.
-it is a remarkable fact that the mimosa is ten times as sensitive as a frog in giving the response. and the native idea that plants are of a lower order than animal life will cost many a sad disappointment.
-in the course of his lecture dr. bose spoke of some of his startling discoveries recently made.... the lecturer gave quite a spiritual turn to his discourse as he finished it with the remark that, as it has been the earnest endeavour of scientists to minimise material friction in order to get the best results, so in our human concerns, it should be our best aim to minimise friction,--which is, ignorance.
---modern review, vol. xii, pages 314-315.
-how plants can record their own story
-under the presidency of his excellency lord carmichael, prof. j. c. bose delivered on friday, the 17th january 1913 an interesting address on his recent researches at the physical laboratory of the presidency college, calcutta, his subject being "plant autographs."
-professor bose has been long engaged in researches on the "irritability of plants," with results of great interest. these results have been made possible by the invention of a series of instruments of extraordinary precision and delicacy. some of professor bose's instruments measure and record a thousandth of a second. invisible movements in plants, hitherto beyond human scrutiny, have been brought within the range of immediate perception through the wonderful devices shown by the lecturer's demonstration of same on the screen.
-his excellency, as president, called upon dr. bose to deliver his lecture.
-professor bose commenced with a reference to the claims made by those who profess to discriminate character by handwriting. as to the authenticity of such claims, scepticism was permissible; but there was no doubt that one's handwriting might be modified profoundly by conditions, physical and mental. there still existed, at hatfield house, documents which contained the signature of the historical guy fawkes. a photograph projected on the screen showed a sinister variation in those signatures. the crabbed and distorted characters of the last words which guy fawkes wrote on earth told their own tale of that fateful night. such was the tale that might be unfolded by the lines and curves of a human autograph. could plants be made similarly to write their own autographs revealing their hidden story? storm and sunshine, the warmth of summer and the frost of winter, drought and rain, would come and go about the plants. what subtle impress did they leave behind? how were the invisible, internal changes to be made externally visible?
-the lecturer had succeeded in devising experimental methods and apparatus by which the plant was made to give an answering signal, which was then automatically recorded into an intelligible script. the results of the new investigations were so novel that professor bose spent several years in perfecting automatic instruments which completely eliminated all personal equations. the plant attached to the recording apparatus was automatically excited by a stimulus absolutely constant, making its own responsive records, going through its period of recovery, and embarking on the same cycle over again without assistance at any point from the observer. the most sensitive organ for perception of a stimulus was the human tongue. an average european could by his tongue detect an electrical current as feeble as six micro-amperes, a micro-ampere being a millionth part of a unit of electrical current. professor bose found that his hindu peoples could detect a much feebler current, namely, 1.5 micro-amperes. it was an open question whether such a high excitability of the tongue was to be claimed as a distinct advantage. but the fact might explain the eminence of his countrymen in forensic domains! (laughter.) the plant, when tested, was found to be ten times more sensitive than a human being.
-effect of food and drugs
-it was shown that when the plant had a surfeit of drink, it became excessively lethargic and irresponsive. by extracting fluid from the gorged plant, its motor activity was at once re-established. under alcohol its responsive script became ludicrously unsteady. a scientific superstition existed regarding carbonic acid as being good for a plant. but professor bose's experiments showed distinctly that the gas would suffocate the plant as readily as it did the animal. only in the presence of sunlight could the effect be modified by secondary reaction.
-automatism and growth
-it was impossible in a limited space, said professor bose, to do more than mention the numerous other remarkable experiments which riveted the attention of the audience. by means of apparatus specially devised, pulsative plants were made to record their rhythmic throbbings. it was shown that the pulse beats of the plants were affected by the action of various drugs, and divers stimuli, in a manner similar to that of the animal heart. perhaps the most weird experience was to watch the death-struggle of a plant under the action of poison. turning from death to its antithesis life and growth, the audience were shown how the latter was made visible by means of the appliances invented by professor bose. the infinitesimal growth of a plant became highly magnified in the experiment.
-researches at presidency college
-when the lecturer commenced his investigations, original research in india was regarded as an impossibility. no proper laboratory existed, nor was there any scientific manufactory for the construction of a special apparatus. in spite of these difficulties it had been a matter of gratification to the lecturer that the various investigations already carried out at the presidency college had done something for the advancement of knowledge. the delicate instruments seen in operation at the lecture, which had been regarded with admiration by many distinguished scientific men in the west, were all constructed at the college workshops by indian mechanics.
-it was also with pride that the lecturer referred to the co-operation of his pupils and assistants, through whose help the extensive works, requiring ceaseless labour by day and night, had been accomplished. doubt had been cast on the capacity of indian students in the field of science. from his personal experience professor bose bore testimony to their special fitness in this respect. an intellectual hunger had been created by the spread of education. an indian student demanded something absorbing to think about and to give scope for his latent energies. if this could be done, he would betake himself ardently to research into nature, which could never end. there was room for such toilers who by incessant work would extend the bounds of human knowledge.
-from plant to animal life
-before concluding the lecturer dwelt on the fact that all the varied and complex responses of the animal had been foreshadowed in the plant. the phenomena of life in the plant were thus not so remote as had been hitherto supposed. the plant world, like the animal, was a thrill and a throb with responsiveness to all the stimuli which fell upon it. thus, community throughout the great ocean of life, in all its different forms, outweighed apparent dissimilarity. diversity was swallowed up in unity.
---amrita bazar patrika, 20-1-1913.
-a most instructive and interesting lecture was delivered on thursday, the 30th january, 1913, at the calcutta university institute hall, by dr. j. c. bose, on the above subject. it was illustrated with experiments and in spite of the technical nature of the subject, the manner of treatment made the discourse extremely palatable and easy of apprehension to the lay understanding and intelligence. the truths of science could seldom be exposed so light-heartedly and in language leavened with balmy humour. the lecture was very largely attended by ladies and gentlemen, european and indian, representing the light and leading of the city. the chair was taken by mr. w. r. gourlay. amongst those present we noticed the hon. mr. ramsay mcdonald, mr. justice harington, mr. justice chaudhuri, hon'ble mr. gokhale, hon'ble mr. lyon, hon'ble mr. d. n. sarvadhikari, sir gurudas banerji, hon'ble mr. apcar and dr. chuni lal bose rai bahadur.
-the chairman, in a few well chosen words introduced the lecturer.
-professor bose in going to deliver his highly interesting lecture first showed how on account of the imperfection of our senses we fail to detect various forces which play around us. we are not only deaf, but practically blind. while we perceive eleven octaves of sound, we can see only a single octave of other vibration which is called light. in order to detect the invisible light a special detector has to be devised. prof. bose showed his artificial retina previously exhibited at the royal institution which not only detected luminous radiation but also invisible lights in the intra red and ultra violet regions. in the course of his remarks illustrating the nature of electric or hertzian waves, which gave rise to the invisible radiation he proceeded to enumerate some of the conditions necessary for experimenting with them, and to describe the apparatus he had invented for the purpose. hertz had used waves which were about 10 metres in length. it was impossible to attempt any quantitative measurement of their optical properties on account of large waves curling round corners. the lecturer had succeeded in producing the shortest waves, with frequency of 50,000 millions of vibrations per second, the particular invisible radiation being only thirteen octaves below visible light. his generator produced the small sharp beam which alone could be employed for quantitative measurements. by means of this apparatus experiments on electric radiation could be carried on with as much certainty as could experiments with ordinary light. prof. bose then performed experiments illustrative of the properties possessed in common by light waves and electric waves. he exhibited the power of selective absorption to electric rays displayed by many substances pointing out that while water stopped them, pitch, coal tar, and others were quite transparent to them. he showed how the rays were reflected by mirrors, obeying the same laws as light. the hand of the experimenter was found to be a good reflector, the rays rebounding after impact. electric rays also undergo refraction and he described an ingenious method he had devised by which the index of refraction of numerous opaque substances could be obtained with the highest exactitude. in conclusion he gave an account of his discovery of the polarisation of electric rays by crystals. he showed that these polarised the electric rays just as they did ordinary light. he further proved that substances under pressure and strain could produce double refraction in them, as did glass under the same conditions in light. tourmaline was useless for electric rays; but a lock of human hair was extraordinarily efficient. according to this theoretical prediction, an ordinary book was shown to exhibit selective absorption in a striking manner. thus while the calcutta university calendar was, usually, very opaque, it became quite transparent when held in a particular direction as regards the impinging ray.
-mr. gourlay observed that the lecture opened out to himself, as well as to other vistas, which they had never dreamt of before.
---amrita bazar patrika, 31-1-1913.
-professor j. c. bose at lahore
-lecture on electric radiation
-a crowded assembly met at the university hall, on the 22nd february, 1913, to hear the first of prof. bose's discourses before the university of lahore.
-dr. bose opened his address by alluding to the historic journey of jivaka, who afterwards became the physician of buddha, making his way from bengal to the university of taxila, in quest of knowledge. twenty-five centuries had gone by and there was before them another pilgrim who had journeyed the same distance to bring, as an offering what he had gathered in the domain of knowledge.
-the lecturer called attention to the fact that knowledge was never the exclusive possession of any particular race nor did it ever recognise geographical limitations. the whole world was interdependent, and a constant interchange of thought had been carried on throughout the ages enriching the common heritage of mankind. hellenistic greeks and eastern aryans had met here in taxila to exchange the best each had to offer. after many centuries the east and west had met once more, and it would be the test of the real greatness of the two civilisations that both should be finer and better for the shock of contact. the apparent dormancy of intellectual life in india had been only a temporary phase. just like the oscillations of the seasons found the globe, great pulsations of intellectual activity pass over the different peoples of the earth.
-with the coming of the spring the dormant life springs forth; similarly the life that india conserves, by inheritance, culture and temperament, was only latent and was again ready to spring forth into the blossom and fruit of knowledge. although science was neither of the east nor of the west, but international in its universality, certain aspect of it gained richness of colour by reason of their place of origin. india, perhaps through its habit of synthesis, was apt to realise instinctively the idea of unity and to see in the phenomenal world an universe instead of a multiverse. it was this tendency, the lecturer thought, which had led indian physicist, like himself, when studying the effect of forces on matter to find boundary lines vanishing, and to see points of contact emerge between the realms of the living and non-living. in taking up the subject of the evening's discourse on electric radiation of hertzian waves, the lecturer explained the constitution of the apparatus which he had devised for an exhaustive study of the properties of electric waves. his apparatus permitted experiments with the electric rays to be carried on with as much certainty as experiments with ordinary light, and he demonstrated the identity of electric radiation and light. the electric rays are reflected from plane and curved mirrors in the same way and subject to the same laws. electric rays, like rays of light are refracted. like race of light too, electric waves can be selectively stopped by various substances, which are "electrically" coloured. water which is a conductor of electricity stops the electric ray; where as liquid air which is a non-conductor is quite transparent to the rays.
-finally professor bose explained his discovery of polarisation of these rays by various crystals. tourmaline, which was a good polariser for ordinary light, was not so effective. the lecturer discovered that the crystal nemalite possessed the power of polarising the electric rays in the most perfect manner. professor bose also explained how the internal constitution of an opaque mass was revealed by the help of light which was itself invisible.
-the lecturer concluded his discourse by drawing attention to the limitations of human perception. man's power of hearing was confirmed to eleven octaves of sound notes. in the case of vision the limitation was far more serious, his power of sight extending only through a single octave of those ether waves which constituted light. these ether vibrations of various frequencies could be maintained by electrical means. by pressing the stop button of the apparatus which was exhibited, ether vibrations, 50,000 millions per second, were produced. a second stop gave rise to a different vibration. let his audience imagine a large electric organ provided with an infinite number of stops, each stop giving rise to a particular ether note. let the lowest stop produce one vibration a second. they should then get a gigantic wave of 186,000 miles long. let the next stop give rise to two vibrations in a second, and let each succeeding stop produce higher and higher notes. let them imagine an unseen hand pressing the different stops in rapid succession, producing higher and higher notes. the ether note would thus rise in frequency from one vibration in a second, to tens, to hundreds, to thousands, to hundreds of thousands, to millions, to millions of millions! while the ethereal sea in which they were all immersed were being thus agitated by these multitudinous waves, they would remain entirely unaffected, for they possessed no organs of perception, to respond to these waves.
-as the ether note rose still higher in pitch, they would for a brief moment perceive a sensation of warmth. this would be the case when the ether vibration reached a frequency of several billions of times in a second. as the note rose still higher, their eyes would begin to be affected, a red glimmer of light being the first to make its appearance. from this point the few visible colours would be comprised within a single octave of vibration--from 400 to 800 billions in one second. as the frequency of vibration rose still higher their organs of perception would fail them completely; a great gap in their consciousness would obliterate the rest. the brief flash of light would be succeeded by unbroken darkness. how circumscribed was their knowledge? in reality they stood in the midst of a luminous ocean almost blind! the little they could see was as nothing compared to the vastness of that which they could not. but it may be said that, out of the very imperfection of his senses, man has been able, in science, to build for himself a raft of thought by which to make daring adventure on the great seas of the unknown.
---amrita bazar patrika, 24-2-1913.
-dr. bose in lahore
-in his third lecture delivered, on the 25th february 1913, at the punjab university hall, dr. bose of calcutta dealt with "plant response." he said:--
-in strong contrast to the energetic animal, with its various reflex movements and pulsating organs, stands the plant, in its apparent placidity and immobility. yet that same environment which with its changing influences affects the animal is playing upon it also. storm and sunshine, the warmth of summer and the frost of winter, drought and rain, all these come and go about it. what coercion do they exercise upon it? what subtle impress do they leave behind? these internal changes are entirely beyond our visual scrutiny. is it possible in any way to have these revealed to us? dr. bose had shown the possibility of this by detecting and measuring the actual response of the organism to a questioning shock. in an excitable condition the feeblest stimulus should evoke in the plant an extraordinarily large reply in a depressed state even a strong stimulus would only call forth a feeble response; and lastly, when death overcome life, there would be an abrupt end of the power to answer to all. by the invention of different types of apparatus, the lecturer had succeeded in making the plant itself write an answering script to a testing stimulus. scripts could also be obtained of the plant's spontaneous movements; and a recording arm demarcated the line of life from that of death.
-in taking the self-made records made by the plant it was found that after the prolonged inactivity of a cold night the plant was apt to be lethargic, and its first answers indistinct. but as blow after blow was delivered, the lethargy passed off, and the replies became stronger and stronger. after the fatigue of the day, the state of things was reversed. the plant became very lethargic after excessive absorption of food; but the normal activity might be restored by artificial removal of the excess. the effect of alcohol and of various narcotics were clearly followed in the modification of the automatic record made by the plant.
-a prevailing scientific error had overcome in life, there would be an abrupt end regarding a certain class of plants to be alone sensitive. the lecturer showed by certain remarkable experiments that all plants and all organs of plants were sensitive.
-in certain animal tissues, a very curious phenomenon was observed. in man and other animals there were tissues which beat spontaneously. as long as life lasted, so long did the heart continue to pulsate. there could be no effect without a cause. how then was it that these pulsations became spontaneous? to this query, no satisfactory answer had been forthcoming. similar spontaneous movements were also observable in plant tissues, and by their investigation the secret of automatism in the animal world became unravelled. the existence of these spontaneous movements could easily be demonstrated by means of the indian "bon charal", the telegraph plant, whose small leaflets danced continuously up and down. the popular belief that they danced in response to the clappings of the hand was quite erroneous. from the readings of the scripts made by this plant, the lecturer was in a position to state that the automatic movements of both plants and animals were guided by laws which were identical. thus in the rhythmic tissues of the plant and the animal the pulsation frequency was increased under the action of warmth and lessened under cold, increased frequency being attended by diminution of amplitude, and "vice versa". under ether, there was a temporary arrest, revival being possible when the vapour was blown off. more fatal was the effect of chloroform. the most extraordinary parallelism, however, lay in the fact that those poisons which arrested the beat of the heart in a particular way arrested the plant pulsation in a corresponding manner. the lecturer had succeeded in reviving a leaflet poisoned by the application of one with a dose of counteracting poison.
-a time came when after one answer to a supreme shock there was a sudden end of the plant's power to give any response. this supreme shock was the shock of death. even in this crisis, there was no immediate change in the placid appearance of the plant. in man at the critical moment, a spasm passed through the whole body, and similarly in the plant the lecturer had discovered that a great contractile spasm took place. this was accompanied by an electrical spasm also. in the script of the death recorder the line that up to this point was being drawn became suddenly reversed, and then ended. this was the last answer of the plants.
-thus the responsiveness of the plant world was one. there was no difference of any kind between sunshine plants, and those which had hitherto been regarded as insensitive or ordinary. it had also been shown that all the varied and complex responses of the animal were foreshadowed in the plant. an impressive spectacle was thus revealed of that vast unity in which all living organisms, from the simplest plant to the highest animal, were linked together and made one.
---amrita bazar patrika, 5-3-1913.
-evidence before the public services commission
-the following is the evidence given by dr. j. c. bose, c. s. i., c. i. e., professor of physics, presidency college, calcutta, on the 18th december, 1913, before the royal commission on the public services in india, presided over by lord islington, and published, in the minutes of evidence relating to the education department, at pages 135 to 137, in volume xx, appendix to the report of the commissioners:
-written statement relating to the education department
-83, 627 (i) method of recruitment.--the first question on which i have been asked to give my opinion is as regards the method of recruitment. i think that a high standard of scholarship should be the only qualification insisted on. graduates of well-known universities, distinguished for a particular line of study, should be given the preference. i think the prospects of the indian educational service are sufficiently high to attract the very best material. in colonial universities they manage to get very distinguished men without any extravagantly high pay. possibly the present departmental method of election does not admit of sufficiently wide publicity of notice to attract the best candidates.
-83, 628 (ii) system of training and probation.--as regards probation and training, educational officers should first win a reputation as good teachers before the appointment is confirmed as they are transferred to important colleges.
-83, 629 (iv) conditions of salary.--as regards conditions of salary, the pay should be moderately high, but not extravagant, and settled once for all under some simple and well-defined rules. it is not only very humiliating but degrading to a true scholar to be scrambling for money. the difference between the pay of the higher and lower services should be minimised.
-83, 630 (vi) conditions of pension.--with reference to pension, i think it is very unfair that more favourable terms are offered, when the pensioner elects to retire in england.
-83, 631 (vii) such limitations as exist in the employment of non-europeans.--passing on to the question of limitations that exist in the employment of indians in the higher service, i should like to give expression to an injustice which is very keenly felt. it is unfortunate that indian graduates of european universities who have distinguished themselves in a remarkable manner do not for one reason or other find facilities for entering the higher educational service.
-as teachers and workers it is an incontestable fact that indian officers have distinguished themselves very highly, and anything which discriminates between europeans and indians in the way of pay and prospects is most undesirable. a sense of injustice is ill-calculated to bring about that harmony which is so necessary among all the members of an educational institution, professors and students alike.
-83, 632 (viii) relations of the service with the indian civil service and with other services.--as regards the relations with the indian civil service, i am under the impression that they are somewhat strained, but of this i have no personal experience.
-83, 633 (ix) other points.--i have endeavoured to give my opinion on the definite questions which have been asked. there is another aspect of educational work in india which i think of the highest importance, though i am not exactly sure whether it falls within the terms of reference to the royal commission. i think that all the machinery to improve the higher education in india would be altogether ineffectual unless india enters the world movement for the advancement of knowledge. and for this it is absolutely necessary to touch the imagination of the people so as to rouse them to give their best energies to the work of research and discovery, in which all the nations of the world are now engaged. to aim at anything less will only end in a lifeless and mechanical system from which the soul of reality has passed away. on this subject i could have said much, but i will confine myself to one point which i think at the present juncture to be of importance. the government of bengal has been foremost in a tentative way in encouraging research. what is necessary is the extension and continuity of this enlightened policy.
-83, 634. supplementary note.--i would like to add a few remarks to make the meaning of paragraphs 83, 627 and 83, 631 in my note more explicit.
-at the present recruitment in the indian educational service is made in england and is practically confined to englishmen. such racial preference is in my opinion, prejudicial to the interest of education. the best man available, english or indian should be selected impartially, and high scholarship should be the only test.
-in paragraph 83,631 i have stated that even these indians who have distinguished themselves in european universities have little chance of entering the higher educational service. i should like to add that these highly qualified indians need only opportunities to render service which would greatly advance the cause of higher education. as regards graduates of indian universities, i have known men among them whose works have been highly appreciated. if promising indian graduates are given the opportunity of visiting foreign universities, i have no doubt that they would stand comparison with the best recruits that can be obtained from the west.
-dr. j. c. bose called and examined
-83,635. (chairman). the witness favoured an arrangement by which indians would enter the higher ranks of the service, either through the provincial service or by direct recruitment in india. the latter class of officers, after completing their education in india, should ordinarily go to europe with a view to widening their experience. by this he did not wish to decry the training given in the indian universities, which produced some of the very best men, and he would not make the rule absolute. it was not necessary for men of exceptional ability to go to england in order to occupy a high chair. unfortunately, on account of there being no openings for men of genius in the educational service, distinguished men were driven to the profession of law. in the present condition of india a larger number of distinguished men were needed to give their lives to the education of the people.
-83,636. the witness himself had spent part of his career in europe, and looking back he could say that this had been of great profit to him, not so much on account of the training he got, as by being brought into personal contact with eminent men whose influence extorted his admiration, and create in him a feeling of emulation. in this way he owed a great deal to lord rayleigh under whom he worked, but he did not see why that advantage should not eventually be secured by indians in india under an indian lord rayleigh.
-83,637. there should be only one educational service, but men who were distinguished in any subject should not start from its very lowest rung but should be placed somewhere in the middle of it.
-83,638. there were men in the provincial service who were very distinguished; it was all a question of genius. the educational service ought to be regarded not as a profession, but as a calling. some men were born to be teachers. it was not a question of race, of course; in order to have an efficient educational system, there must be an efficient organisation, but this should not be allowed to become fossilised, and thus stand in the way of healthy growth.
-83,639. in the presidency college a young man fresh from an english university was at once appointed a professor regardless of his lack of experience, whereas an indian who passed in highest examination with honours in india was appointed as an assistant professor. this grounding often made him more efficient as a teacher than the professor recruited from england. there were now several professors in the college, in the provincial service, who were highly qualified, and who lectured to the highest classes with very great success.
-83,640. in the physics department he had under his direction several assistants who were so well qualified that they were allowed to give lectures to several classes. these assistants, after their experience at the presidency college, would be best fitted to become professors in the mofussil at colleges. he would like to see them promoted to the higher service after they had had experience. but before he gave them the highest positions, he would make it compulsory for them to go to europe.
-83,641. a proportion of europeans in the service was needed, but only as experts and not as ordinary teachers. only the very best men should be obtained from europe, and for exceptional cases. the general educational work should be done entirely by indians, who understood the difficulties of the country much better than any outsider.
-83,642. he advocated the direct recruitment of indians in india by the local government in consultation with the secretary of state, rather than by the secretary of state alone. indians were under a great difficulty, in that they could not remain indefinitely in england after taking their degrees and being away from the place of recruitment their claims were overlooked.
-83,643. there was no reason why a european should be paid a higher rate of salary than an indian on account of the distance he came. an indian felt a sense of inferiority if a difference was made as regards pay. the very slight saving which government made by differentiating between the two did not compensate for the feeling of wrong done. this feeling would remain even if the pay was the same, but an additional grant in the shape of a foreign service allowance was made to europeans. all workers in the field of education should feel a sense of solidarity, because they were all serving one great cause, namely, education.
-83,644. the term "professor", as at present used in india, was undoubtedly a comprehensive one, but it was equally comprehensive in the west.
-83,645. (sir murray hammick). the witness did not wish to recruit definite proportions of the service in england and in india respectively. he would for various reasons prefer a large number of indians engaged in education.
-83,646. even in calcutta he would not make any difference between the pay of the indian and the pay of the european.
-83,647. (sir valentine chirol). the witness attached great value to the influence of the teacher upon the student in the earlier stages of his education, and it was in these stages that that influence could best be exercised. at the same time he desired to limit the appointment of non-indians to men of very great distinction.
-83,648. if a foreign professor would not come and serve in india for the same remuneration as he obtained in his own country, the witness would certainly not force him to come.
-83,649. (mr. abdur rahim). recruitment for the educational service should be made in the first place in india, if suitable men were available; but if not then he would allow the best outsiders to be brought in. in the present state of the country it would be very easy to fill up many of the chairs by selecting the best men in india.
-83,650. the aim of the universities should be to promote two classes of work--first, research; and secondly, an all-round sound education. men of different types would be required for these two duties.
-83,651. (mr. madge). any idea that the educational system of india was so far inferior to that of england, that indians, who had made their mark, had done so, not because of the educational system of the country, but in spite of it, was quite unfounded. the standard of education prevailing in india was quite up to the mark of several british universities. it was as true of any other country in the world as of india that education was valued as a means for passing examinations, and not only for itself, and there was no more cramming in india than elsewhere.
-83,652. the west certainly brought to the east a modern spirit, which was very valuable, but it would be dearly purchased by the loss of an honorable career for competent indians in their own country.
-83,653. the educational system in india had in the past been too mechanical, but a turn for the better was now taking place and the universities were recognising the importance of research work, and were willing to give their highest degrees to encourage it.
-83,654. (mr. macdonald). the witness did not think it was necessary to have a non-indian element in the service in order to stiffen it up, but he accepted the principle that there should be a certain small proportion of non-indians.
-83,655. the title of professor at a college or university should carry with it dignity and honour, and ought not to be so freely used as at present. all he asked was that it should not be abolished at the expense of such indians as were doing as good work as their european colleagues.
-83,656. if the calcutta university continued to develop its teaching side, there would be no objection to recruiting university professors from aided colleges. this would have certain advantages.
-83,657. (mr. fisher). the witness desired to secure for india europeans who had european reputations in their different branches of study. if it was necessary to go outside india or england to procure good men, he would prefer to go to germany. this was the practice in america where they were annexing all the great intellects of europe.
-83,658. the witness would like to see india entering the world movement in the advance and march of knowledge. it was of the highest importance that there should be an intellectual atmosphere in india. it would be of advantage if there were many indians in the educational service. for they came more in contact with the people, and influenced their intellectual activity. besides, on retirement they would live in india and their life experience would be at their countrymen's service.
-83,659. there was very little in the complaint made in certain quarters that the work of the professors in the colleges in india was hampered by the government regulations as to curricula. a good teacher was not troubled by such matters.
-83,660. (mr. sly). there was no scope for the employment of non-indians in the high schools as apart from the colleges. it was in the professorial line that more help from the west was required.
-83,661. (mr. gokhale). the witness knew of three instances in which the colonies had secured distinguished men on salaries which were lower than these given to officers of the indian educational service. one was at toronto, another was in new zealand and the third at yale university. the salaries on the two latter cases were £600 and £500 a year. the same held good as regards japan. the facts there had been stated in a government of india publication as follows: "subsequent to 1895 there were 67 professors recruited in europe and america, of those, 20 came from germany, 16 from england and 16 from the united states. the average pay was £384. in the highest imperial university the average pay is £684. as soon as japanese could be found to do the work, even tolerably well, the foreigner was dropped."
-83,662. when the witness first started work in india, he found that there was no physical laboratory, or any grant made for a practical experimental course. he had to construct instruments with the help of local mechanics, whom he had to train. all this took him ten years. he then undertook original investigation at his own expense. the royal society became specially interested in his work and desired to give him a parliamentary grant for its continuation. it was after this that the government of bengal came forward and offered him facilities for research.
-83,663. in the educational service he would take men of achievement from anywhere; but men of promise he would take from his own country.
-83,664. (mr. chaubal). he did not know whether the salaries he had mentioned as having been paid in japan, new zealand and yale were on an incremental scale or not.
-83,665. there was a difference of kind between the way in which students were taught in schools and the way in which they were taught in colleges. he did not agree with the witnesses who had said that during the first year or two years at college the instruction given was similar to that given in a school. it was very difficult to disprove or to prove such statements. there would be no advantage in keeping boys to a school course up the intermediate standard and making the colleges deal with only those students who had passed the intermediate examination.
-83,666. (sir theodore morison). there should be one scale of pay for all persons in the higher educational department. the rate of salary, rs. 200 rising to rs. 1,500 per month, was suitable, subject to the proviso that the man of great distinction, instead of beginning at the lowest rate of pay, should start some where in the middle of the list, say, at rs. 400 or rs. 500. he would make no reference in regard to europeans or indians in that respect. in effect this no doubt amounted to making indians eligible for higher educational posts both by direct recruitment and by promotion.
-83,667. he would not favour the handing over of all the government institutions in bengal to private agencies; there must be one or two government colleges in order to keep up the standard. he should be sorry to see the government dissociating itself from one of its primary duties, which was education.
-83,668. privately managed colleges paid less in salary than the government colleges. they paid about the same as was given in the provincial service, and they obtained fairly good men. it would not be right for a great government to grant a minimum pay to indian professors and an extravagantly high pay to their european colleagues, for doing the same kind of work.
-83,669. at the presidency college the facilities for scientific work were now greater than in many institutions in england. india was now becoming a great country for biological research. again, the physical and chemical laboratories at the presidency college were finer than many in england. if young men of science in england thought they obtained better opportunities in pursuing their subjects in new zealand and toronto than in india, the india office ought to remove that impression at once.
-83,670. (lord ronaldshay). when an indian graduate under the witnesses' scheme was appointed direct to the higher service in india he would not compel him to go to england for a period of training. the person who would be appointed in india directly from the indian universities would have to have previously served with distinction in subordinate positions; a visit to europe would be an advantage but not absolutely necessary.
-83,671. (mr. biss). the cost of living in calcutta to an indian professor or lecturer would all depend as the style in which he lived. in each service there is always a standard of living to which every member is expected to conform. an indian professor had to go to europe from time to time to keep himself in touch with the developments of his subject. an indian officer had to support a large number of relations. the question of a man's private expenses should not be raised in fixing his pay. one might as well inquire whether the candidate for admission to the service was a bachelor or married, or as to how many children he had. he had known europeans who had led a simple life, and had been all the better for it.
-83,672. he could not understand why men went to japan and canada instead of coming to india on better terms. it was a mystery to him. he thought it was either sheer ignorance or the spread of the commercial spirit.
-83,673. all the students coming to his side of the university, were, as a rule, keen and anxious to learn; he could not wish for better students.
-83,674. (mr. gupta). he desired one service, because he thought it was most degrading that certain men, although they were doing the same work, should be classed in a provincial service, while others should be classed in an imperial service. the prospect of the members of the provincial service were not at all what they ought to be, and that was the reason why the best men were not attracted to it.
-prof. j. c. bose at madura
-on his way back to calcutta from the fourth scientific deputation to the west, prof. j. c. bose visited madura, 14th june 1915. the tamil sangam presented him with an address. in reply dr. bose made an important speech, in course of which he said:--
-i am no longer a representative of bengal nor have i come to a strange place, but as an indian addressing the mighty india and her people. when we realise that unity of our destiny then a great future opens out for us.
-it may be we may theorise and attribute to the plants all the characteristics of the animals; but that will be merely theory: there will be no proof. there are certain classes of people who think that plants are utterly unlike animals and some hold that they are like animals. the mere theory is absolutely worthless in order to find out the truth. we have to find by investigation, by means of researches, by means of proofs, that one is identical with the other. we have not only to drop all theory but we have to make the plant itself write down the answers to the questions that we have to put to them. that was the great problem,--how to make the plant itself answer and write down answers to the question....
-if the plants are acted on by various medicines and drugs like ourselves, then we can create an agent or a spokesman on which we can carry out all future investigations on the action of drugs. then there is opened out a great vista for the scientific study of medicine. and let me tell you medicine is not yet an exact science. it is merely a phase of tradition. we have not been able to make medicine scientific. now by the data of the influence of drugs on the fundamental basis of life, as is seen in the plant, we shall be able to make the science of medicine purely scientific.
-in travelling all over the world, which i have done several times, i was struck by two great characteristics of different nations. one characteristic of certain nations is living for the future. all the modern nations are striving to win force and power from nature. there is another class of men who live on the glory of the past. now, what is to be the future of our nation? are we to live only on the glory of the past and die off from the face of the earth, to show that we are worthy descendants of the glorious past and to show by our work, by our intellect and by our service that we are not a decadent nation? we have still a great and mighty future before us, a future that will justify our ancestry. in talking about ancestry, do we ever realise that the only way in which we can do honour to our past is not to boast of what our ancestors have done but to carry out in the future something as great, if not greater than they. are we to be a living nation, to be proud of our ancestry and to try to win renown by continuous achievements? these mighty monuments that i see around me tell us what has been done till very recent times. i have travelled over some of the greatest ruins of the universities of india. i have been to the ruins of the university of taxilla in the farthest corner of india which attracted the people of the west and the east. i had been to the ruins of nalanda, a university which invited all the west to gain knowledge under its intellectual fostering. i had been all there and seen them. i have come here also and want to visit conjeevaram. but are you to foster the dead honours or to try to bring back your university in india and drag once more from the rest of the world people who would come down and derive knowledge from india? it is in that way and that way alone we can win our self-respect and make our life and the life of the nation worthy. the present era is the era of temples of learning. in order to erect temples of learning we require all the offerings of our mighty people. we want to erect temples and "viharas" which are so indispensable to the study of nature and her secrets. it is a problem which appeals to every thoughtful indian. it is by the effort of the people and by their generosity that all these mighty temples arose; and now are we to worship the dead stones or are we to erect living temples so that the knowledge that has been made in india shall be perpetuated in india? i received requests from the different universities in america and germany to allow students from those countries to come and learn the science that has been initiated in india. now, is this knowledge to pass beyond our boundaries to that again in future time we may have to go to the west to get back this knowledge or are we to keep this flame of learning burning all the time?
-dr. j. c. bose entertained
-party at ram mohan library
-on saturday, 24th july, 1915, the members of the ram mohan library and reading room received dr. j. c. bose, the president of the library in a right royal fashion, on his return to india from his scientific deputation to the west.
-there was a large and influential gathering, and the spacious hall was tastefully decorated.
-babu bhupendra nath bose, vice-president of the library, made a brilliant speech welcoming dr. bose and detailing the great services done to the country by him.
-dr. bose's reply
-dr. bose in reply expressed his thanks for the great interest shown in different parts of this country in the success of his work. this was the fourth occasion on which he had been deputed to the west by the government of india on a scientific mission, and the success that has attended his visit to foreign countries has exceeded all his expectations. in vienna, in paris, in oxford, cambridge and london, in harvard, washington, chicago and columbia, in tokio and in many other places his work has uniformly been received with high appreciation. in spite of the fact that his researches called into question some of the existing theories, his results have notwithstanding received the fullest acceptance. this was due to a great extent to the convincing character of the demonstration afforded by the very delicate instruments he had been able to invent and which worked under extremely difficult tests with extraordinary perfection. even the most critical savants in vienna felt themselves constrained to make a most generous admission. in these new investigations on the border land between physics and physiology, they held that europe has been left behind by india, to which country they would now have to come for inspiration. it has also been fully recognised that science will derive benefit when the synthetic intellectual methods of the east co-operate with the severe analytical methods of the west. these opinions have also been fully endorsed in other centres of learning and dr. bose had received applications from distinguished universities in europe and america for admission of foreign post graduate scholars to be trained in his laboratory in the new scientific methods that have been initiated in india.
-research laboratory for india
-this recognition that the advance of human knowledge will be incomplete without india's special contributions, must be a source of great inspiration for future workers in india. his countrymen had the keen imagination which could extort truth out of a mass of disconnected facts and the habit of meditation without allowing the mind to dissipate itself. inspired by his visits to the ancient universities, at taxila, at nalanda and at conjevaram, dr. bose had the strongest confidence that india would soon see a revival of those glorious traditions. there will soon rise a temple of learning where the teacher cut off from worldly distractions would go on with his ceaseless pursuit after truth, and dying, hand on his work to his disciples. nothing would seem laborious in his inquiry; never is he to lose sight of his quest, never is he to let it go obscured by any terrestrial temptation. for he is the sanyasin spirit, and india is the only country where so far from there being a conflict between science and religion. knowledge is regarded as religion itself. such a misuse of science as is now unfortunately in evidence in the west would be impossible here. had the conquest of air been achieved in india, her very first impulse would be to offer worship at every temple for such a manifestation of the divinity in man.
-economic danger of india
-one of the most interesting events in his tour round the world was his stay in japan, where he had ample opportunity of becoming acquainted with the efforts of the people and their aspirations towards a great future. no one can help being filled with admiration for what they have achieved. in materialistic efficiency, which in a mechanical era is regarded as an index of civilisation, they have even surpassed their german teachers. a few decades ago they had no foreign shipping and no manufacture. but within an incredibly short time their magnificent lines of steamers have proved so formidable a competitor that the great american line in the pacific will soon be compelled to stop their sailings. their industries again, through the wise help of the state and other adventitious aids are capturing foreign markets. but far more admirable is their foresight to save their country from any embroilment with other nations with whom they want to live in peace. and they realise any predominant interest of a foreign country in their trade or manufacture is sure to lead to misunderstanding and friction. actuated by this idea they have practically excluded all foreign manufactured articles by prohibitive tariffs.
-revival of indian industries
-is our country slow to realise the danger that threatens her by the capture of her market and the total destruction of her industries? does she not realise that it is helpless passivity that directly provokes aggression? has not the recent happenings in china served as an object lesson? there is, therefore, no time to be lost and the utmost effort is demanded of the government and the people for the revival of our own industries. the various attempts that have hitherto been made have not been as successful as the necessity of the case demands. the efforts of the government and of the people have hitherto been spasmodic and often worked at cross purposes. the government should have an advisory body of indian members. there should be some modification of rules as regards selection of industrial scholars. before being sent out to foreign countries they should be made to study the conditions of manufacture in this country and its difficulties. for a particular industry there should be a co-ordinated group of three scholars, two for the industrial and one for the commercial side. difficulties would arise in adapting foreign knowledge to indian conditions. this can only be overcome by the devoted labour of men of originality, who have been trained in our future research laboratory. the government could also materially help (i) by offering facilities for the supply of raw materials (ii) by offering expert advice (iii) by starting experimental industries. he had reason to think that the government is full alive to the crucial importance of the subject and is determined to take every step necessary. in this matter the aims of the people and the government are one. in facing a common danger and in co-operation there must arise mutual respect and understanding. and perhaps through the very catastrophe that is threatening the world there may grow up in india a realisation of community of interest and solidarity as between government and people.
-a call for nobler patriotism
-a very serious danger is thus seen to be threatening the future of india, and to avert it will require the utmost effort of the people. they have not only to meet the economic crisis but also to protect the ideals of ancient aryan civilisation from the destructive forces that are threatening it. nothing great can be conserved except through constant effort and sacrifice. there is a danger of, regarding the mechanical efficiency as the sole end of life; there is also the opposite danger of a life of dreaming, bereft of struggle and activity, degenerating into parasitic habits of dependence. only through the nobler call of patriotism can our nation realise her highest ideals in thought and in action; to that call the nation will always respond. he had the inestimable privilege of winning the intimate friendship of mr. g. k. gokhale. before leaving england, our foremost indian statesman whose loss we so deeply mourn, had come to stay with the speaker for a few days at eastbourne. he knew that this was to be their last meeting. almost his parting question to dr. bose was whether science had anything to say about future incarnations. for himself, however he was certain that as soon as he would cast off his worn out frame he was to be born once more in the country he loved, and bear all the country that may be laid on him in her service. there can be no doubt that there must be salvation for a country which can count on sons as devoted as gopal krishna gokhale.
---amrita bazar patrika, 26-7-1915.
-history of a discovery
-at the tournament held before the court at hastinapur, more than twenty-five centuries ago, karna, the reputed son of a charioteer, had challenged the supremacy of prince arjuna. to this challenge arjuna had returned a scornful answer; a prince could not cross swords with one who could claim no nobility of descent. "i am my own ancestor," replied karna, and this perhaps the earliest assertion of the right of man to choose and determine his own destiny. in the realm of knowledge also the great achievements have been won only by men with determined purpose and without any adventitious aids. undismayed by human limitations they had struggled in spite of many a failure. in their inquiry after truth they regarded nothing as too laborious, nothing too insignificant, nothing too painful. this is the process which all must follow; there is no easier path.
-the lecturer's research on the properties of electric waves was begun just twenty-one years ago. in this he was greatly encouraged by the appreciation shown by the royal society, which not only published his researches, but also offered a parliamentary grant for the continuance of his work. the greatest difficulty lay in the construction of a receiver to detect invisible ether disturbances. for this a most laborious investigation had to be undertaken to find the action of electric radiation on all kinds of matter. as a result of this long and very patient work a new type of receiver was invented, so perfect in its action that the electrician suggested its use in ships and electro-magnetic high houses for the communication and transmission of danger signals at sea through space. this was in 1895, several years in advance of the present wireless system. practical application of the result of dr. bose's investigations appear so important that great britain and the united states granted him patents for his invention of a certain crystal receiver which proved to be the most sensitive detector of wireless signals.
-universal sensitiveness of matter
-in the course of his investigations dr. bose found that the uncertainty of the early type of his receiver was brought on by fatigue, and that the curve of fatigue of his instrument closely resembled the fatigue curve of animal muscle. he was soon able to remove the 'tiredness' of his receiver by application of suitable stimulants; application of certain poisons, on the other hand, permanently abolished its sensitiveness. dr. bose was thus amazed at the discovery that inorganic matter was anything but inert, but that its particles were a thrill under the action of multitudinous forces that were playing on it. the lecturer was at this time constrained to choose whether to go on with the practical applications of his work, the success of which appeared to be assured, or to throw himself into a vortex of conflict for the establishment of some truth the glimmerings of which he was then but dimly beginning to perceive. it is very curious that the human mind is sometimes so constituted that it rejects lines of least resistance in favour of the more difficult path. dr. bose chose the more difficult path, and entered into a phase of activity which was to test all his strength.
-caste in science
-dr. bose's discovery of universal sensitiveness of matter was communicated to the royal society on may 7th, 1901, when he himself gave a successful experimental demonstration. his communication was, however, strongly assailed by sir john burden-sanderson, the leading physiologist, and one or two of his followers. they had nothing to urge against his experiments but objected to a physicist straying into the preserve that had been specially reserved for the physiologist. he had unwittingly strayed into the domain of a new and unfamiliar caste system and offended its etiquette. in consequence of this opposition his paper, which was already in print, was not published. this is not by any means to be regarded as an injustice done to a stranger. even lord rayleigh, who occupies an unique position in the world of science, was subjected to fierce attacks from the chemists, because he, a physicist, had ventured to predict that the air would be found to contain new elements not hitherto discovered.
-it is natural that there should be prejudice against all innovations, and the attitude of sir john burden-sanderson is easily explained. unfortunately there was another incident about which similar explanation could not be urged. dr. bose's paper had been placed in the archives of the royal society, so that technically there was no publication. and it came about that eight months after the reading of his paper, another communication found publication in the journal of a different society which was practically the same as dr. bose's but without any acknowledgment. the author of this communication was a gentleman who had previously opposed him at the royal society. the plagiarism was subsequently discovered and led to much unpleasantness. it is not necessary to refer any more to the subject except as explanation of the fact that the determined hostility and misrepresentations of one man succeeded for more than ten years to bar all avenues of publication for his discoveries. but every cloud has its silver lining; this incident secured for him many true friends in england who stood for fair play, and whose friendship has proved to be a source of great encouragement to him.
-dr. bose's next work in 1903 was the discovery of the identity of response and of automatic activity in plant and animal and of the nervous impulse in plant. these new contributions were regarded as of such great importance that the royal society showed its special appreciation by recommending it to be published in their philosophical transactions. but the same influence which had hitherto stood in his way triumphed once more, and it was at the very last moment that the publication was withheld. the royal society, however, informed him that his results were of fundamental importance, but as they were so wholly unexpected and so opposed to the existing theories, that they would reserve their judgment until, at some future time, plants themselves could be made to record their answers to questions put to them. this was interpreted in certain quarters here as the final rejection of dr. bose's theories by the royal society, and the limited facilities which he had in the prosecution of his researches were in danger of being withdrawn. and everything was dark for him for the next ten years. the only thought that possessed him was how to make the plant give testimony by means of its own autograph.
-long delayed success
-and when the night was at its darkest, light gradually appeared, and after innumerable difficulties had been overcome his resonant recorder was perfected, which enabled the plant to tell its own story. and in the meantime something still more wonderful came to pass. hitherto all gates had been barred and he had to produce his passports everywhere. he now found friends who never asked him for credentials. his time had come at last. the royal society found his new methods most convincing and honoured him by publication of his researches in the philosophical transactions. and his discoveries, which had so long remained in obscurity, found enthusiastic acceptance.
-though his theories had thus received acceptance from the leading scientific men of the royal society, there was yet no general conviction of the identity of life reactions in plant and animal. no amount of controversy can remove the tendency of the human mind to follow precedents. the only thing left was to make the plant itself bear witness before the scientific bodies in the west, by means of self-records. at the recommendation of the minister of education, and of the government of bengal, the secretary of state sanctioned his scientific deputation to europe and america.
-journey of indian plant round the world
-the special difficulty which he had to contend against lay in the fact that the only time during which the plant flourished at all in the west, was in the months of july and august, when the universities and scientific societies were in vacation. the only thing left was to take the bold step of carrying growing plants from india and trust to human ingenuity to keep them alive during the journey. four plants, two mimosas and two telegraph plants, were taken in a portable box with glass cover, and never let out of sight. in the mediterranean they encountered bitter cold for the first time and nearly succumbed. they were unhappier still in the bay of biscay, and when they reached london there was a sharp frost. they had to be kept in a drawing room lighted by gas, the deadly influence of which was discovered the next morning when all the plants were found to be apparently killed. two had been killed, and the other two were brought round after much difficulty. the plants were at once transferred to the hot-house in regents park. for every demonstration in dr. bose's private laboratory at maida vale, the plant had to be brought and returned in a taxicab with closed doors so that no sudden chill might kill them. when travelling, the large box in which they were, could not be trusted out of sight in the luggage van. they had practically to be carried in a reserved compartment. the unusual care taken of the box always roused the greatest curiosity, and in an incredibly short time large crowds would gather. when travelling long distances, for example from london to vienna, the carriage accommodation had to be secured in advance. it was this that saved dr. bose from being interned in germany, where he was to commence his lectures on the 4th august. he was to start for the university of bonn on the 2nd, but on account of hasty mobilisation of troops in germany he could not secure the reserved accommodation. two days after came the proclamation of war!
-outcome of his work
-the success of his scientific mission exceeded his most sanguine expectations. the work in which he long persevered in isolation and under most depressing difficulties, bore fruit at last. apart from the full recognition that the progress of the world's science would be incomplete without india's special contributions, mutual appreciation and better understanding resulted from his visit. one of the greatest of medical institutions, the royal society of medicine, has been pleased to regard his address before the society as one of the most important in their history and they expected that their science of medicine would be materially benefited by the researches that are being carried out by him in india. india has also been drawn closer to the great seats of learning in the west, to the universities of oxford and cambridge; for there also the methods of inquiry initiated here have found the most cordial welcome. many indian students find their way to america, strangers in a strange land; hitherto they found few to advise and befriend them. it will perhaps be different now, since their leading universities have begged from india the courtesy of hospitality for their post graduate scholars. some of these universities again have asked for a supply of apparatus specially invented at dr. bose's laboratory which in their opinion will mark an epoch in scientific advance.
-the ineffable wonder behind the veil
-as for the research itself, he said its bearings are not exclusively specialistic, but touch the foundation of various branches of science. to mention only a few; in medicine it had to deal with the fundamental reaction of protoplasm to various drugs, the solution of the problem why an identical agent brings about diametrically opposite effects in different constitutions; in the science of life it dealt with the new comparative physiology by which any specific characteristic of a tissue is traced from the simplest type in plant to the most complex in the animal; the study of the mysterious phenomenon of death and the accurate determination of the death point and the various conditions by which this point may be dislocated backwards and forwards; in psychology it had to deal with the unravelling of the great mystery that underlies memory and tracing it backwards to latent impressions even in the inorganic bodies which are capable of subsequent revival; and finally, the determination of the special characteristic of that vehicle through which sensiferous impulses are transmitted and the possibility of changing the intensity and the tone of sensation. all these investigations, dr. bose said, are to be carried out by new physical methods of the utmost delicacy. he had in these years been able to remove the obstacles in the path and had lifted the veil so as to catch a glimpse of the ineffable wonder that had hitherto been hidden from view. the real work, he said, had only just begun.
-a social gathering
-at the social gathering held on the 16th december 1915, in the compound of the calcutta presidency college, to meet him after his highly successful tour through europe, america and japan, dr. bose spoke as follows:--
-he said that it was his rare good fortune to have been amply rewarded for the hardships and struggles that he had gone through by the generous and friendly feelings of his colleagues and the love and trust of his pupils. he would say a few words regarding his experience in the presidency college for more than three decades, which he hoped would serve to bring all who loved the presidency college--present and past pupils and their teachers--in closer bonds of union. he would speak to them what he had learnt after years of patient labour, that the impossible became possible by persistent and determined efforts and adherence to duty and entire selflessness. the greatest obstacle often arises out of foolish misunderstanding of each other's ideals, such as the differing points of view, first of the indian teacher, then of his western colleague, and last but not least, the point of view of the indian pupils themselves. in all these respects his experience had been wide and varied. he had both been an undergraduate and a graduate of the calcutta university with vivid realization of an indian student's aspirations; he had then become a student of conservative cambridge and democratic london. and during his frequent visits to europe and america he had become acquainted with the inner working of the chief universities of the world. finally he had the unique privilege of being connected with the presidency college for thirty-one years, from which no temptation could sever him. he had the deepest sense of the sacred vocation of the teacher. they may well be proud of a consecrated life--consecrated to what? to the guidance of young lives, to the making of men, to the shaping and determining of souls in the dawn of their existence, with their dreams yet to be realised.
-education in the west and in the east showed how different customs and ways might yet express a common ideal. in india the teacher was, like the head of a family, reverenced by his pupils so deeply as to show itself by touching the feet of their master. this in no servile act if we come to think of it; since it is the expression of the pupils' desire for his master's blessings, called down from heaven in an almost religious communion of souls. this consecration is renewed every day, calling forth patient foresight of the teacher. as the father shows no special favour, but lets his love and compassion go out to the weakest, so it is with the indian teacher and his pupil. there is the relation something very human, something very ennobling. he would say it was essentially human rather than distinctively eastern. for do we not find something very like it in mediaeval europe? there too before the coming of the modern era with its lack of leisure and its adherence to system and machinery, there was a bond as sacred between the master and his pupils. luther used to salute his class every morning with lifted hat, "i bow to you, great men of the future, famous administrators yet to be, men of learning, men of character who will take on themselves the burden of the world." such is the prophetic vision given to the greatest of teachers. the modern teacher from england will set before him an ideal not less exalted--regarding his pupils as his comrades, he as an englishman will instill into them greater virility and a greater public spirit. this will be his special contribution to the forming of our indian youths.
-turning to the indian students he could say that it was his good fortune never to have had the harmonious relation between teacher and pupils in any way ruffled during his long connection with them for more than three decades. the real secret of success was in trying at times to see things from the student's point of view and to cultivate a sense of humour enabling him to enjoy the splendid self-assurance of youth with a feeling not unmixed with envy. in essential matters, however, one could not wish to meet a better type or one more quickly susceptible to finer appeals to right conduct and duty as indian students. their faults are rather of omission than of commission, since in his experience he formed that the moment they realised their teachers to be their friends, they responded instantly and did not flinch from any test, however severe, that could be laid on them.
---the presidency college magazine. vol. ii, pages 339-341.
-light visible and invisible
-on the 14th january 1916, dr. j. c. bose delivered a public lecture, on light visible and invisible, at the third indian science congress held at lucknow, before a crowded audience which included the lieutenant-governor (sir james meston).
-dr. bose, in course of his lecture, spoke of the imperfection of our senses. our ear, for example, fails to respond to all sounds. there are many sounds to which we are deaf. this was because our ear was tuned to answer to the narrow range of eleven octaves of sound vibrations. he showed a remarkable experiment of an artificial ear which remained irresponsive to various sounds, but when a particular note, to which it was tuned, was sounded even at the distant end of the hall, this ear picked it up and responded violently. as there were sounds audible and inaudible, so there were lights visible and invisible. the imperfection of our eye as a detector of ether vibrations was, however, far more serious. the eye could detect ether vibrations lying within a single octave--between 400 to 800 billion vibrations per second. comparatively slow vibrations of ether did not affect our eye and the disturbances they give rise to well-known as electric waves. the electric waves, predicted by maxwell, were discovered by hertz. these waves were about three metres long. they were about ten million times larger than the beams of visible light. dr. bose showed that the three short electric waves have the same property as a beam of light, exhibiting reflections, refraction, even total reflection, through a black crystal, double refraction, polarisation, and rotation of the plane of polarisation. the thinnest film of air was sufficient to produce total reflection of visible light with its extremely short wave lengths. but with the new electric waves which he produced, dr. bose showed that the critical thickness of air space determined by the refracting power of the prison and by the wave length of electric oscillations. dr. bose determined the index of refraction of electric waves for different materials, and eliminated a difficulty which presented itself in maxwell's theory as to the relation between the index of refraction of light and the di-electric constant of insulators. he also measured the wave lengths of various oscillations. the order to produce short electric oscillations, to detect them and study their optical properties, he had to construct a large number of instruments. it was a hard task to produce very short electric waves which had enough energy to be detected, but dr. bose overcame this difficulty by constructing radiators or oscillators of his own type, which emitted the shortest waves with sufficient energy. as a receiver he used a sensitive metallic coherer, which in itself led to new and important discoveries. when electric waves fall on a loose contact between two pieces of metals, the resistance of the contact changes and a current passes through the contact indicating the existence of electrical oscillations. dr. bose discovered the surprising fact that with potassium metal the resistance of the contact increases under the action of electric waves and that this contact exhibits an automatic recovery. he found further that the change of the metallic contact resistance when acted upon by electric waves, is a function of the atomic weight. these phenomena led to a new theory of metallic coherers. before these discoveries it was assumed that the particles of the two metallic pieces in contact are, as it were, fused together, so that the resistance decreases. but the increasing resistance appearing for some elements, led to the theory that the electric forces in the waves produced a peculiar molecular action or a re-arrangement of the molecules, which may either increase or decrease the contact resistance.
-hindu university address
-the foundation of the hindu university was laid by lord hardinge on the 4th february 1916. "many striking addresses were delivered on the occasion. professor j.c. bose in his masterly address went to the root of the matter and pointed in an inspiring manner what should be done to make the hindu university worthy of its name. he deprecated a repetition of the universities of the west." he said:--
-in tracing the characteristic phenomenon of life from simple beginnings in that vast region which may be called unvoiced, as exemplified in the world of plants, to its highest expression in the animal kingdom, one is repeatedly struck by the one dominant fact that in order to maintain an organism at the height of its efficiency something more than a mechanical perfection of its structure is necessary. every living organism, in order to maintain its life and growth, must be in free communion with all the forces of the universe about it.
-stimulus within and without
-further, it must not only constantly receive stimulus from without, but must also give out something from within, and the healthy life of the organism will depend on these two fold activities of inflow and outflow. when there is any interference with these activities, then morbid symptoms appear, which ultimately must end in disaster and death. this is equally true of the intellectual life of a nation. when through narrow conceit a nation regards itself self-sufficient and cuts itself from the stimulus of the outside world, then intellectual decay must inevitably follow.
-special function of a nation
-so far as regards the receptive function. then there is another function in the intellectual life of a nation, that of spontaneous outflow, that giving out of its life by which the world is enriched. when the nation has lost this power, when it merely receives, but cannot give out, then its healthy life is over, and it sinks into a degenerate existence which is purely parasitic.
-how india can teach
-how can our nation give out of the fulness of the life that is in it, and how can a new indian university help in the realisation of this object? it is clear that its power of directing and inspiring will depend on its world status. this can be secured to it by no artificial means, nor by any strength in the past; and what is the weakness that has been paralysing her activities for the accomplishment of any great scientific work? there must be two different elements, and these must be evenly balanced. any excess of either will injure it.
-how to secure this status
-this world status can only be won by the intrinsic value of the great contributions to be made by its own indian scholars for the advancement of the world's knowledge. to be organic and vital our new university must stand primarily for self-expression, and for winning for india a place she has lost. knowledge is never the exclusive possession of any particular race, nor does it recognise geographical limitations. the whole world is interdependent, and a constant stream of thought had been carried out throughout the ages enriching the common heritage of mankind. although science was neither of the east nor of the west but international, certain aspects of it gained richness by reason of their place of origin.
-in any case if india need to make any contribution to the world it should be as great as the hope they cherished for her. let them not talk of the glories of the past till they have secured for her, her true place among the intellectual nations of the world. let them find out how she had fallen from her high estate and ruthlessly put an end to all that self satisfied and little-minded vanity which had been the cause of their fatal weakness. what was it that stood in her way? was her mind paralysed by weak superstitious fears? that was not so; for her great thinkers, the rishis, always stood for freedom of intellect and while galileo was imprisoned and bruno burnt for their opinions, they boldly declared that even the vedas were to be rejected if they did not conform to truth. they urged in favour of persistent efforts for the discovery of physical causes yet unknown, since to them nothing was extra-physical but merely mysterious because of a hitherto unascertained cause. were they afraid that the march of knowledge was dangerous to true faith? not so. for their knowledge and religion were one.
-these are the hopes that animate us. for there is something in the hindu culture which is possessed of extraordinary latent strength by which it has resisted the ravages of time and the destructive changes which have swept over the earth. and indeed a capacity to endure through infinite transformations must be innate in that mighty civilisation which has seen the intellectual culture of the nile valley, of assyria and of babylon war and wane and disappear and which to-day gazes on the future with the same invincible faith with which it met the past.
---modern review, vol. xix, pages 277, 278.
-the history of a failure that was great
-it is the obvious, the insistent, the blatant that often blinds us to the essential. and in solving the mystery that underlies life, the enlightenment will come not by the study of the complex man, but through the simpler plant. it is the unsuspected forces, hidden to the eyes of men,--the forces imprisoned in the soil and the stimuli of alternating flash of light and the gloomings of darkness these and many others will be found to maintain the ceaseless activity which we know as the fulness of throbbing life.
-this is likewise true of the congeries of life which we call a society or a nation. the energy which moves this great mass in ceaseless effort to realise some common aspiration, often has its origin in the unknown solitudes of a village life. and thus the history of some efforts, not forgotten, which emanated from faridpore, may be found not unconnected with which india is now meeting her problems to-day. how did these problems first dawn in the minds of some men who forecast themselves by half a century? how fared their hopes, how did their dreams become buried in oblivion? where lies the secret of that potency which makes certain efforts apparently doomed to failure, rise renewed from beneath the smouldering ashes? are these dead failures, so utterly unrelated to some great success that we may acclaim to day? when we look deeper we shall find that this is not so, that as inevitable as in the sequence of cause and effect, so unrelenting must be the sequence of failure and success. we shall find that the failure must be the antecedent power to lie dormant for the long subsequent dynamic expression in what we call success. it is then and then only that we shall begin to question ourselves which is the greater of the two, a noble failure or a vulgar success.
-as a concrete example, i shall relate the history of a noble failure which had its setting in this little corner of the earth. and if some of the audience thought that the speaker has been blessed with life that has been unusually fruitful, they will soon realise that the power and strength that nerved me to meet the shocks of life were in reality derived at this very place, where i witnessed the struggle which overpowered a far greater life.
-stimulus of contact with western culture
-in educational matters he had very definite ideas which is now becoming more fully appreciated. english schools were at that time not only regarded as the only efficient medium for instruction. while my father's subordinates sent their children to the english schools intended for gentle folks, i was sent to the vernacular school where my comrades were hardy sons of toilers and of others who, it is now the fashion to regard, were belonging to the depressed classes. from these who tilled the ground and made the land blossom with green verdure and ripening corn, and the sons of the fisher folk, who told stories of the strange creatures that frequented the unknown depths of mighty rivers and stagnant pools, i first derived the lesson of that which constitutes true manhood. from them too i drew my love of nature. when i came home accompanied by my comrades i found my mother waiting for us. she was an orthodox hindu, yet the "untouchableness" of some of my school fellows did not produce any misgivings in her. she welcomed and fed all these as her own children; for it is only true of the mother heart to go out and enfold in her protecting care all those who needed succour and a mother's affection. i now realise the object of my being sent at the most plastic period of my life to the vernacular school, where i was to learn my own language, to think my own thoughts and to receive the heritage of our national culture through the medium of our own literature. i was thus to consider myself one with the people and never to place myself in an equivocal position of assumed superiority. this i realised more particularly when later i wished to go to europe and to compete for the indian civil service, his refusal as regards that particular career was absolute. i was to rule nobody but myself, i was to be a scholar not an administrator.
-the history of a failure that was great
-there has been some complaint that the experiment of meeting out cut and dried moral texts as a part of school routine has not proved to be so effective as was expected by their promulgators. the moral education which we received in our childhood was very indirect and came from listening to stories recited by the 'kathas' on various incidents connected with our great epics. their effect on our minds was very great; this may be because our racial memory makes us more prone to respond to certain ideals that have been impressed on the consciousness of the nation. these early appeals to our emotions have remained persistent; the only difference is that which was there as a narrative of incidents more or less historical, is now realised as eternally true, being an allegory of the unending struggle of the human soul in its choice between what is material and that other something which transcends it. the only pictures now in my study are a few frescoes done for me by abanindra nath tagore and nanda lal bose. the first fresco represents her, who is the sustainer of the universe. she stands pedestalled on the lotus of our heart. the world was at peace; but a change has come. and she under whose veil of compassion we had been protected so long, suddenly flings us to the world of conflict. our great epic, the mahabharata, deals with this great conflict, and the few frescoes delineate some of the fundamental incidents. the coming of the discord is signalled by the rattle of dice, thrown by yudhisthira, the pawn at stake, being the crown. two hostile arrays are set in motion, mighty kaurava armaments meeting in shock of battle the pandava host with arjuna as the leader, and krishna as his divine charioteer. at the supreme moment arjuna had flung down his earthly weapon, gandiva. it was then that the eternal conflict between matter and spirit was decided. the next panel shows the outward or the material aspect of victory. behind a foreground of waving flags is seen the battle field of kurukshetra with procession of white-clad mourning women seen by fitful lights of funeral pyres. in the last panel is seen yudhisthira renouncing the fruits of his victory setting out on his last journey. in front of him lies the vast and sombre plain and mountain peaks, faintly visible by gleams of unearthly light, unlocalised but playing here and there. his wife and his brothers had fallen behind and dropped one by one. there is to be no human companion in his last journey. the only thing that stood by him and from which he had never been really separated is dharma or the spirit of righteousness.
-life of action
-faridpur at that time enjoyed a notoriety of being the stronghold of desperate characters, dacoits by land and water. my father had captured single-handed one of the principal leaders, whom he sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. after release he came to my father and demanded some occupation, since the particular vocation in which he had specialised was now rendered impossible. my father took the unusual course to employ him as my special attendant to carry me, a child of four, on his back to the distant village school. no nurse could be tenderer than this ex-leader of lawless men, whose profession had been to deal out wounds and deaths. he had accepted a life of peace but he could not altogether wipe out his old memories. he used to fill my infant mind with the stories of his bold adventures, the numerous fights in which he had taken part, the death of his companions and his hair-breadth escapes. numerous were the decorations he bore. the most conspicuous was an ugly mark on his breast left by an arrow and a hole on the thigh caused by a spear thrust. the trust imposed on this marauder proved to be not altogether ill placed for once in a river journey we were pursued by several long boats filled with armed dacoits. when these boats came too near for us to effect an escape the erstwhile dacoit leader, my attendant, stood up and gave a peculiar cry, which was evidently understood. for the pursuing boats vanished at the signal.
-i come now to another period of his life fifty years from now, when he foresaw the economic danger that threatened his country. this agricultural and industrial exhibition was one of the first means he thought of to avert the threatened danger. here also he attempted to bring together other activities. evening entertainments were given by the performances of "jatras," which have been the expression of our national drama and which have constantly enriched our bengali literature by the contributions of village bards and composers. there were athletic tournaments also and display of physical strength and endurance. he also established here the people's bank, which is now in a most flourishing condition. he established industrial and technical schools, and it was there that the inventive bend of my mind received its first impetus. i remember the deep impression made on my mind by the form of worship rendered by the artisans to viswakarma god in his aspect as the great artificer: his hand it was that was moulding the whole creation; and it seemed that we were the instruments in his hand, through whom he intended to fashion some great design.
-in practical agriculture my father was among indians one of the first to start a tea industry in assam, now regarded as one of the most flourishing. he gave practically everything in the starting of some weaving mills. he stood by this and many other efforts in industrial developments. the success of which i spoke did not come till long after--too late for him to see it. he had come before the country was ready, and it happened to him as it must happen to all pioneers. every one of his efforts failed and the crash came. and a great burden fell on us which was only lifted by our united effects just before his work here was over.
-a failure? yes but not ignoble or altogether futile. since it was through the witnessing of this struggle that the son learned to look on success or failure as one, to realise that some defeat was greater than victory. and if my life in any way proved to be fruitful, then that came through the realisation of this lesson.
-to me his life had been one of blessing and daily thanksgiving. nevertheless every one had said that he wrecked his life which was meant for far greater things. few realise that out of the skeletons of myriad lives have been built vast continents. and it is on the wreck of a life like his and of many such lives there will be built the greater india yet to be. we do not know why it should be so, but we do know that the earth mother is hungry for sacrifice.
-quest of truth and duty
-in your congratulations for the recent honour, you have overlooked a still greater that came to me a year ago, when i was gazetted as your perpetual professor, so that the tie which binds me to you is never to be severed. thirty-two years ago i sought to be your teacher. for the trust that you imposed on me could i do anything less than place before you the highest that i knew? i never appealed to your weaknesses but your strength. i never set before you that was easy but used all the compulsion for the choice of the most difficult. and perhaps as a reward for these years of effort i find all over india those who have been my pupils occupying positions of the highest trust and responsibility in different walks of life. i do not merely count those who have won fame and success but i also claim many others who have taken up the burden of life manfully and whose life of purity and unselfishness has brought gleams of joy in suffering lives.
-the law universal
-through science i was able to teach you how the seeming veils the real; how though the garish lights dazzle and blind us, there are lights invisible, which glow persistently after the brief flare burns out. one came to realise how all matter was one, how unified all life was. in the various expressions of life even in the realm of thought the same universal law prevails. there was no such thing as brute matter, but that spirit suffused matter in which it was enshrined. one also realised dimly a mysterious cyclic law of change, seen not merely in inorganic matter but also in organised life and its highest manifestations. one saw how inertness passes into the climax of activity and how that climax is perilously near its antithetic decline. this basic change puzzles us by its seeming caprice not merely in our physical instruments but also in the cycle of individual life and death and in the great cycle of the life and death of nations. we fail to see things in their totality and we erect barriers that keep kindreds apart. even science which attempts to rise above common limitations, has not escaped the doom which limited vision imposes. we have caste in science as in religion and in politics, which divides one into conflicting many. the law of cyclic change follows us relentlessly even in the realm of thought. when we have raised ourselves to the highest pinnacle, through some oversight we fall over the precipice. men have offered their lives for the establishment of truth. a climax is reached after which the custodians of knowledge themselves bar further advance. men who have fought for liberty impose on themselves and on others the bond of slavery. through centuries have men striven to erect a mighty edifice in which humanity might be enshrined; through want of vigilance the structure crumbled into dust. many cycles must yet be run and defeats must yet be borne before man will establish a destiny which is above change.
-and through science i was able to teach you to seek for truth and help to discover it yourself. this attitude of detachment may possess some advantage in the proper understanding of your duties. you will have, besides, the heritage of great ideals that have been handed down to you. the question which you have to decide is duty to yourself, to the king and to your country. i shall speak to you of the ideals which we cherish about these duties.
-duty to self
-as regards duty to self, can there be anything so inclusive as being true to your manhood? stand upright and do not be either cringing or vulgarly self-assertive. be righteous. let your words and deeds correspond. lead no double life. proclaim what you think right.
-ideal of kingship
-the indian ideal of kingship will be clear to you if i recite the invocation with which we crowned our kings from the vedic times:
-which is more potent, matter or spirit? is the power with which the people endow their king identical with the power of wealth with which we enrich him by paying him his royal dues? we make him irresistible not by wealth but by the strength of our lives, the strength of our mind, may, we have to pay him more according to our ancient lawgivers, in as much as the eighth part of our deeds and virtues, and the merit we have ourselves acquired. we can only make him irresistible by the strength of our lives, the strength of our minds, and the strength that comes out of righteousness.
-duty to our country
-and lastly, what are our duties to our country? these are essentially to win honour for it and also win for it security and peace. as regards winning honour for our country, it is true that while india has offered from the earliest times welcome and hospitality to all peoples and nationalities her children have been subjected to intolerable humiliations in other countries even under the flag of our king.
-there can be no question of the fundamental duty of every indian to stand up and uphold the honour of his country and strove for the removal of wrong.
-the general task of redressing wrong is not a problem of india alone, but one in which the righteous men are interested the world over. for wrong cries for redress everywhere, in the clashings interests of the rich and poor, between capital and labour, between those who hold the power and those from whom it has been withheld,--in a word in the struggle of the disinherited.
-when any man is rendered unable to uphold his manhood and self-respect and woman are deprived of the chivalrous protection and consideration of men and subjected to degradation, the general level of manhood or womanhood in the world is lowered. it then becomes an outrage to humanity and a challenge to all men to safeguard the sacredness of our common human nature.
-what is the machinery which sets a going a world movement for the redress of wrong? for this i need not cite instances from the history of other countries but take one which is known to you and in which the living actors are still among us. in the midst of the degradation of his countrymen in south africa, there stood up a man himself nurtured in luxury, to take up the burden of the disinherited. his wife too stood by him, a lady of gentle birth. we all know who that man is--he is gandhi,--and what humiliations and suffering he went through. do you think he suffered in vain and that his voice remained unheard? it was not so, for in the great vortex of passion for justice, there were caught others--men like polak and andrews. are they your countrymen? not in the narrow sense of the word but truly in a larger sense, that these who choose to bear and suffer belong to one clan the clan from which kshatriya chivalry is recruited. the removal of suffering and of the cause of suffering is the dharma of the strong kshatriya. the earth is the wide and universal theatre of man's woeful pageant. the question is who is to suffer more than his share. is the burden to fall on the weak or the strong? is it to be under hopeless compulsion or of voluntary acceptance?
-defence of homeland
-in your services for your country there is no higher at the present moment than to ensure for her security and peace. we have so long enjoyed the security of peace without being called upon to maintain it. but this is no longer so.
-at no time within the recent history of india has there been so quick a readjustment and appreciation as regards proper understanding of the aspiration of the indian people. this has been due to what india has been able to offer not merely in the regions of thought but also in the fields of battle.
-and remember that when the world is in conflagration, this corner which has hitherto escaped it, will not evade the peril which threatens it. the march of disaster will then be terribly rapid. you have soon to prepare yourself against any hostile sides. you can only withstand it if the whole people realise the imminent danger. you can by your thought and by your action awaken and influence the multitude. do not have any misgivings about the want of long previous preparations. have you not already seen how mind triumphs over matter and have not some of you with only a few months' preparation stood fearless at your post in mesopotamia and won recognition by your calm collectedness and true heroism? they may say that you are but a small handful, what of the vast illiterate millions? illiterate in what sense? have not the ballads of these illiterates rendered into english by our poet touched profoundly the hearts of the very elect of the west? have not the stories of their common life appealed to the common kinship of humanity? if you still have some doubts about the power of the multitude to respond instantly to the call of duty, i shall relate an incident which came within my own personal experience. i had gone on a scientific expedition to the borders of the himalayan terrai of kumaun; a narrow ravine was between me and the plateau on the other side. terror prevailed among the villagers on the other side of the ravine; for a tigress had come down from the forest. and numerous had been the toll in human lives exacted. petitions had been sent up to the government and questions had been asked in parliament. a reward of rs. 500 had been offered. various captains in the army with battery of guns came many a time, but the reward remained unclaimed. the murderess of the forest would come out even in broad day-light and leisurely take her victims from away their companions. nothing could circumvent her demoniac cunning. when all hopes had nearly vanished, the villagers went to kaloo singh, who possessed an old matchlock. at the special sanction of the magistrate he was allowed to buy a quantity of gunpowder; the bullets he himself made by melting bits of lead. with his primitive weapon with the entreaties of his villagers ringing in his ears kaloo singh started on his perilous journey. at midday i was startled by the groanings of some animals in pain. the tigress had sprung among a herd of buffalo and with successive strokes of its mighty paws had killed two buffaloes and left them in the field. kaloo singh waited there for the return of the tigress to the kill. there was not a tree near by; only there was a low bush behind which he lay crouched. after hours of waiting as the sun was going down he was taken aback by the sudden apparition of the tigress which stood within six feet of him. his limbs had become half paralysed from cold and his crouching position. trying to raise his gun he could take no aim as his arm was shaking with involuntary fear. kaloo singh explained to me afterwards how he succeeded in shaking off his mortal terror. "i quietly said to myself, kaloo singh, kaloo singh, who sent you here? did not the villagers put their trust on you! i could then no longer lie in hiding, and i stood up and something strange and invigorating crept up strength into my body. all the trembling went and i became as hard as steel. the tigress had seen me and with eyes blazing crouched for the spring lashing its tail. only six feet lay between. she sprang and my gun also went off at the same time and she missed her aim and fell dead close to me." that was how a common villager went off to meet death at the call of something for which he could give no name and the mother and wife of kaloo singh had also bidden him go. there are millions of kaloo singhs with mother and sisters and wife to send them forth. and you too have many loved ones who would themselves bid you arm for the defence of your homes.
-difference of temperament
-the concessions made by a modern form of government safeguarded by necessary limitations may appear almost as grudging gifts. the indian wants something which comes with unhesitating frankness and warmth and strikes his ideality and imagination. but ancient and modern kingship are sometimes at one in direct and spontaneous pronouncement of the royal sympathy. such was the proclamation of queen victoria which stirred to its depths the popular heart.
-"in the prosperity of our subjects will be our strength, in their contentment our security, in their gratitude our best reward."
-that there are increasingly frequent reflexes in our government to popular needs and wishes is happily illustrated at a most opportune moment from the statements in the recent gazette of india and cables received from london. in the former we find that the viceroy and his council had recommended the abolition of the system of indentured labour. in the telegram from london mr. chamberlain states that the viceroy has informed him that indians will be eligible for commissions in the new defence of india army.
-march of world tragedy
-in the meantime the embodiment of world tragedy is marching with giant strides. brief will be his hesitation whether he will choose to step first to the east or to the west. already across the atlantic, they are preparing for the dreaded visitation. in the farthest east they have long been prepared. we alone are not ready. pity for our helplessness will not stay the impending disaster, rather provoke it. when that comes, as assuredly it will unless we are prepared to resist, havoc will be let loose and horrors perpetrated before which the imagination quails back in dismay.
-i have tried to lay before you as dispassionately as i could the issues involved. but some of you may cry out and say, we can not live in cold scientific and philosophic abstractions. emotion is more to us than pure reasoning. we cannot stay in this indecision which is paralysing our wills and crushing the soul out of us. the world is offering their best and behold them marching to be immolated so that by the supreme offering of death they might win safety and honor for their motherland. there is no time for wavering. we too will throw in our lot with those who are fighting. they say that by our lives we shall win for our birth-land an honoured place in their federation. we shall trust them. we shall stand by their side and fight for our home and homeland. and let providence shape the issue.
-the voice of life
-the following is the inaugural address delivered by sir j. c. bose, on the 30th november 1917, in dedicating the bose institute to the nation.
-i dedicate to-day this institute--not merely a laboratory but a temple. the power of physical methods applies for the establishment of that truth which can be realised directly through our senses, or through the vast expansion of the perceptive range by means of artificially created organs. we still gather the tremulous message when the note of the audible reaches the unheard. when human sight fails, we continue to explore the region of the invisible. the little that we can see is as nothing compared to the vastness of that which we cannot. out of the very imperfection of his senses man has built himself a raft of thought by which he makes daring adventures on the great seas of the unknown. but there are other truths which will remain beyond even the supersensitive methods known to science. for these we require faith, tested not in a few years but by an entire life. and a temple is erected as a fit memorial for the establishment of that truth for which faith was needed. the personal, yet general, truth and faith whose establishment this institute commemorates is this: that when one dedicates himself wholly for a great object, the closed doors shall open, and the seemingly impossible will become possible for him.
-thirty-two years ago i chose teaching of science as my vocation. it was held that by its very peculiar constitution, the indian mind would always turn away from the study of nature to metaphysical speculations. even had the capacity for inquiry and accurate observation been assumed present, there were no opportunities for their employment; there were no well-equipped laboratories nor skilled mechanicians. this was all too true. it is for man not to quarrel with circumstances but bravely accept them; and we belong to that race and dynasty who had accomplished great things with simple means.
-failure and success
-this day twenty-three years ago, i resolved that as far as the whole-hearted devotion and faith of one man counted, that would not be wanting and within six months it came about that some of the most difficult problems connected with electric waves found their solution in my laboratory and received high appreciation from lord kelvin, lord rayleigh and other leading physicists. the royal society honoured me by publishing my discoveries and offering, of their own accord, an appropriation from the special parliamentary grant for the advancement of knowledge. that day the closed gates suddenly opened and i hoped that the torch that was then lighted would continue to burn brighter, and brighter. but man's faith and hope require repeated testing. for five years after this, the progress was interrupted; yet when the most generous and wide appreciation of my work had reached almost the highest point there came a sudden and unexpected change.
-living and non-living
-in the pursuit of my investigations i was unconsciously led into the border region of physics and physiology and was amazed to find boundary lines vanishing and points of contact emerge between the realms of the living and non-living. inorganic matter was found anything but inert; it also was a thrill under the action of multitudinous forces that played on it. a universal reaction seemed to bring together metal, plant and animal under a common law. they all exhibited essentially the same phenomena of fatigue and depression, together with possibilities of recovery and of exaltation, yet also that of permanent irresponsiveness which is associated with death. i was filled with awe at this stupendous generalisation; and it was with great hope that i announced my results before the royal society,--results demonstrated by experiments. but the physiologists present advised me, after my address, to confine myself to physical investigations in which my success had been assured, rather than encroach on their preserve. i had thus unwittingly strayed into the domain of a new and unfamiliar caste system and so offended its etiquette. an unconscious theological bias was also present which confounds ignorance with faith. it is forgotten that he, who surrounded us with this ever-evolving mystery of creation, the ineffable wonder that lies hidden in the microcosm of the dust particle, enclosing within the intricacies of its atomic form all the mystery of the cosmos, has also implanted in us the desire to question and understand. to the theological bias was added the misgivings about the inherent bent of the indian mind towards mysticism and unchecked imagination. but in india this burning imagination which can extort new order out of a mass of apparently contradictory facts, is also held in check by the habit of meditation. it is this restraint which confers the power to hold the mind in pursuit of truth, in infinite patience, to wait, and reconsider, to experimentally test and repeatedly verify.
-it is but natural that there should be prejudice, even in science, against all innovations; and i was prepared to wait till the first incredulity could be overcome by further cumulative evidence. unfortunately there were other incidents and misrepresentations which it was impossible to remove from this insulating distance. thus no conditions could have been more desperately hopeless than those which confronted me for the next twelve years. it is necessary to make this brief reference to this period of my life; for one who would devote himself to the search of truth must realise that for him there awaits no easy life, but one of unending struggle. it is for him to cast his life as an offering, regarding gain and loss, success and failure, as one. yet in my case this long persisting gloom was suddenly lifted. my scientific deputation in 1914, from the government of india, gave the opportunity of giving demonstrations of my discoveries before the leading scientific societies of the world. this led to the acceptance of my theories and results, and the recognition of the importance of the indian contribution to the advancement of the world's science. my own experience told me how heavy, sometimes even crushing, are the difficulties which confront an inquirer here in india; yet it made me stronger in my determination, that i shall make the path of those who are to follow me less arduous, and that india, is never to relinquish what has been won for her after years of struggle.
-the two ideals
-what is it that india is to win and maintain? can anything small or circumscribed ever satisfy the mind of india? has her own history and the teaching of the past prepared her for some temporary and quite subordinate gain? there are at this moment two complementary and not antagonistic ideals before the country. india is drawn into the vortex of international competition. she has to become efficient in every way,--through spread of education, through performance of civic duties and responsibilities, through activities both industrial and commercial. neglect of these essentials of national duty will imperil her very existence; and sufficient stimulus for these will be found in success and satisfaction of personal ambition.
-but these alone do not ensure the life of a nation. such material activities have brought in the west their fruit, in accession of power and wealth. there has been a feverish rush even in the realm of science, for exploiting applications of knowledge, not so often for saving as for destruction. in the absence of some power of restraint, civilisation is trembling in an unstable poise on the brink of ruin. some complementary ideal there must be to save man from that mad rush which must end in disaster. he has followed the lure and excitement of some insatiable ambition, never pausing for a moment to think of the ultimate object for which success was to serve as a temporary incentive. he forgot that far more potent than competition was mutual help and co-operation in the scheme of life. and in this country through milleniums, there always have been some who, beyond the immediate and absorbing prize of the hour, sought for the realisation of the highest ideal of life--not through passive renunciation, but through active struggle. the weakling who has refused the conflict, having acquired nothing has nothing to renounce. he alone who has striven and won, can enrich the world by giving away the fruits of his victorious experience. in india such examples of constant realisation of ideals through work have resulted in the formation of a continuous living tradition. and by her latent power of rejuvenescence she has readjusted herself through infinite transformations. thus while the soul of babylon and the nile valley have transmigrated, ours still remains vital and with capacity of absorbing what time has brought, and making it one with itself.
-the ideal of giving, of enriching, in fine, of self-renunciation in response to the highest call of humanity is the other and complementary ideal. the motive power for this is not to be found in personal ambition but in the effacement of all littlenesses, and uprooting of that ignorance which regards anything as gain which is to be purchased at others' loss. this i know, that no vision of truth can come except in the absence of all sources of distraction, and when the mind has reached the point of rest.
-public life, and the various professions will be the appropriate spheres of activity for many aspiring young men. but for my disciples, i call on those very few, who, realising inner call, will devote their whole life with strengthened character and determined purpose to take part in that infinite struggle to win knowledge for its own sake and see truth face to face.
-advancement and diffusion of knowledge
-the work already carried out in my laboratory on the response of matter, and the unexpected revelations in plant life, foreshadowing the wonders of the highest animal life, have opened out very extended regions of inquiry in physics, in physiology in medicine, in agriculture and even in psychology. problems, hitherto regarded as insoluble, have now been brought within the sphere of experimental investigation. these inquiries are obviously more extensive than those customary either among physicists or physiologists, since demanding interests and aptitudes hitherto more or less divided between them. in the study of nature, there is a necessity of the dual view point, this alternating yet rhythmically unified interaction of biological thought with physical studies, and physical thought with biological studies. the future worker with his freshened grasp of physics, his fuller conception of the inorganic world, as indeed thrilling with "the promise and potency of life" will redouble his former energies of work and thought. thus he will be in a position to win now the old knowledge with finer sieves, to research it with new enthusiasm and subtler instruments. and thus with thought and toil and time he may hope to bring fresher views into the old problems. his handling of these will be at once more vital and more kinetic, more comprehensive and unified.
-the farther and fuller investigation of the many and ever-opening problems of the nascent science which includes both life and non-life are among the main purposes of the institute i am opening to-day; in these fields i am already fortunate in having a devoted band of disciples, whom i have been training for the last ten years. their number is very limited, but means may perhaps be forthcoming in the future to increase them. an enlarging field of young ability may thus be available, from which will emerge, with time and labour, individual originality of research, productive invention and some day even creative genius.
-but high success is not to be obtained without corresponding experimental exactitude, and this is needed to-day more than ever, and to-morrow yet more again. hence the long battery of supersensitive instruments and apparatus, designed here, which stand before in their cases in our entrance hall. they will tell you of the protracted struggle to get behind the deceptive seeming into the reality that remained unseen;--of the continuous toil and persistence and of ingenuity called forth for overcoming human limitations. in these directions through the ever-increasing ingenuity of device for advancing science, i see at no distant future an advance of skill and of invention among our workers; and if this skill be assured, practical applications will not fail to follow in many fields of human activity.
-the advance of science is the principal object of this institute and also the diffusion of knowledge. we are here in the largest of all the many chambers of this house of knowledge--its lecture room. in adding this feature, and on a scale hitherto unprecedented in a research institute, i have sought permanently to associate the advancement of knowledge with the widest possible civic and public diffusion of it; and this without any academic limitations, henceforth to all races and languages, to both men and women alike, and for all time coming.
-the lectures given here will not be mere repetitions of second-hand knowledge. they will announce to an audience of some fifteen hundred people, the new discoveries made here, which will be demonstrated for the first time before the public. we shall thus maintain continuously the highest aim of a great seat of learning by taking active part in the advancement and diffusion of knowledge. through the regular publication of the transactions of the institute, these indian contributions will reach the whole world. the discoveries made will thus become public property. no patents will ever be taken. the spirit of our national culture demands that we should for ever be free from the desecration of utilising knowledge for personal gain. besides the regular staff there will be a selected number of scholars, who by their work have shown special aptitude, and who would devote their whole life to the pursuit of research. they will require personal training and their number must necessarily be limited. but it is not the quantity but quality that is of essential importance.
-it is my further wish, that as far as the limited accommodation would permit, the facilities of this institute should be available to workers from all countries. in this i am attempting to carry out the traditions of my country, which so far back as twenty-five centuries ago, welcomed all scholars from different parts of the world, within the precincts of its ancient seats of learning, at nalanda and at taxilla.
-the surge of life
-with this widened outlook, we shall not only maintain the highest traditions of the past but also serve the world in nobler ways. we shall be at one with it in feeling the common surgings of life, the common love for the good, the true and the beautiful. in this institute, this study and garden of life, the claim of art has not been forgotten, for the artist has been working with us, from foundation to pinnacle, and from floor to ceiling of this very hall. and beyond that arch the laboratory merges imperceptibly into the garden, which is the true laboratory for the study of life. there the creepers, the plants and the trees are played upon by their natural environments,--sunlight and wind, and the chill at midnight under the vault of starry space. there are other surroundings also, where they will be subjected to chromatic action of different lights, to invisible rays, to electrified ground or thunder-charged atmosphere. everywhere they will transcribe in their own script the history of their experience. from this lofty point of observation, sheltered by the trees, the student will watch this panorama of life. isolated from all distractions, he will learn to attune himself with nature; the obscuring veil will be lifted and he will gradually come to see how community throughout the great ocean of life outweighs apparent dissimilarity. out of discord he will realise the great harmony.
-these are the dreams that wove a network round my wakeful life for many years past. the outlook is endless, for the goal is at infinity. the realisation cannot be through one life or one fortune but through the co-operation of many lives and many fortunes. the possibility of a fuller expansion will depend on very large endowments. but a beginning must be made, and this is the genesis of the foundation of this institute. i came with nothing and shall return as i came; if something is accomplished in the interval, that would indeed be a privilege. what i have i will offer, and one who had shared with me the struggles and hardships that had to be faced, has wished to bequeath all that is hers for the same object. in all my struggling efforts i have not been altogether solitary while the world doubted, there had been a few, now in the city of silence, who never wavered in their trust.
-till a few weeks ago it seemed that i shall have to look to the future for securing the necessary expansion of scope and for permanence of the institute. but response is being awakened in answer to the need. the government have most generously intimated their desire to sanction grants towards placing the institute on a permanent basis the extent of which will be proportionate to the public interest in this national undertaking. out of many who would feel an interest in securing adequate endowment, the very first donations have come from two of the merchant princes of bombay, to whom i had been personally unknown.
-a note that touched me deeply came from some girl students of the western province, enclosing their little contribution "for the service of our common motherland." it is only the instinctive mother-heart that can truly realise the bond that draws together the nurselings of the common homeland. there can be no real misgiving for the future when at the country's call man offers the strength of his life and woman her active devotion, she most of all, who has the greater insight and larger faith because of the life of austerity and self-abnegation. even a solitary wayfarer in the himalayas has remembered to send me message of cheer and good hope. what is it that has bridged over the distance and blotted out all differences? that i will come gradually to know; till then it will remain enshrined as a feeling. and i go forward to my appointed task, undismayed by difficulties, companioned by the kind thoughts of my well-wishers, both far and near.
-india's special aptitudes in contribution to science
-the excessive specialisation of modern science in the west has led to the danger of losing sight of the fundamental fact that there can be but one truth, one science which includes all the branches of knowledge. how chaotic appear the happenings in nature? is nature a cosmos! in which the human mind is some day to realise the uniform march of sequence, order and law? india through her habit of mind is peculiarly fitted to realise the idea of unity, and to see in the phenomenal world an orderly universe. this trend of thought led me unconsciously to the dividing frontiers of different sciences and shaped the course of my work in its constant alternations between the theoretical and the practical, from the investigation of the inorganic world to that of organised life and its multifarious activities of growth, of movement, and even of sensation. on looking over a hundred and fifty different lines of investigations carried on during the last twenty-three years, i now discover in them a natural sequence. the study of electric waves led to the devising of methods for the production of the shortest electric waves known and these bridged over the gulf between visible and invisible light; from this followed accurate investigation on the optical properties of invisible waves, the determination of the
-bettina shivered. "it's so big and dark."
-"when it's furnished and the lights are on it will seem different."
-delia, arriving at that moment, added her contribution to the conversation.
-"miss diana came over yesterday. them's her white lilacs on the shelf."
-the doctor held his candle higher. the flowers, in a great bowl of gray pottery, showed ghostly outlines beneath the flickering flame. to anthony the air seemed thick and faint with their perfume.
-"let us go," he said to bettina, quickly, and with his hand on her arm he led her away and shut the door.
-diana and sophie, coming home at half-past ten, found the lovers on the porch, and the four talked together until anthony said "good-bye."
-he made a professional call in a side street and found himself, afterward, turning toward the big empty house on the rocks. in that south room diana's lilacs were wasting their sweetness, and he coveted the subtle suggestion they gave of her presence there.
-diana, helping delia to lock up, asked, "where's peter?"
-"goodness knows," said delia; "he followed me when we went over to the doctor's house, and i ain't seen him since."
-diana turned and looked at her. "the doctor's house? who went?"
-"dr. anthony and miss betty and me. they asked me. she hadn't ever seen it, and he wanted to show it to her."
-diana felt her heart stand still.
-"did you go--into every room, delia?"
-so he had taken little betty there. they had entered that room to which, that very morning, she had carried white lilacs, moved by some impulse to call it her own until some one else should have the right to claim it.
-"i'll look up peter," she told delia, hastily. "you needn't wait for me."
-"peter," she called softly, "peter, peter."
-following the path over the rocks, she came at last to the empty house.
-a faint mew sounded from within. she turned the knob, and found the door unlocked. "peter," she called again, and the big cat came forth, his tail waving like a plume.
-diana, facing the darkness of the great hall, felt impelled to enter, to slip silently up the stairs, to stand on the threshold of the moonlighted chamber, whence came the perfume of white lilacs.
-and as she stood there, she saw, with a sudden leap of the heart, that anthony was before her. silhouetted against the wide space of the open window he was looking out at the flashing light.
-she put her hand to her throat. she stepped back as if to escape. then, swayed by an impulse which cast prudence to the winds, she spoke his name.
-he had turned from the window, and was peering through the dimness. he came toward her. she held out her hands to keep him back.
-but he took her in his arms.
-when he let her go his face was white.
-"there is no excuse for me," he said. "i know that. i've given my word of honor to that little child--who trusts me. yet--this room belongs to you. before you came to-night i touched the lilacs with my lips, and it seemed to me as if they were your lips--that i touched. and when i turned and saw you--white--like a bride--on the threshold--it was as i had seen you, night after night--in my dreams. you belong here and no other, diana!"
-what she said in reply diana could never remember with any great distinctness. she only knew that she was trying to hold on as best she could to the best that was within her. anthony in this moment of weakness was hers. whatever she did now would bring him to her or send him away--perhaps forever. she struggled to think clearly--to raise some barrier between his awakened passion and her own wild desire to take what the gods had placed within easy reach of her hand.
-suddenly she found herself speaking. her throat was dry and she was shaking from head to foot. but she was telling him that she had tried to use common sense. that she had asked bettina to come to her hoping that there might be found some way out. but there wasn't any way out, not any honorable way. and she didn't dare play fate any longer. not after to-night. not after--to-night.
-her voice broke.
-he put both of his strong hands on her shoulders, and so they faced each other in the illumined night.
-"for just one little moment," he said, "we will have the truth. if i had not asked betty you would have married me, diana?"
-"if there is any honorable way in which i can release myself, will you marry me now?"
-she had a sudden vision of the slender, lonely child in shabby black as she had first seen her in the shadowy room.
-"no, oh, no," she whispered.
-"because there isn't any honorable way; because i should feel little and mean; because it would make me think less--of you, anthony."
-her eyes met his steadily. she was as pale as the spectral lilacs, whose perfume floated about them. but her nervous fears were gone. she knew now that they would triumph--she and anthony--that they were not to leave the heights.
-when at last he spoke, it was in a moved voice. "if you were less than you are i should not love you so much. you know that, diana?"
-"yes, i know----"
-"in the years to come, what you have been to me will be my light--in the darkness----"
-unable to speak, she held out her hands to him. he took them, and bent his head.
-with a little murmured cry she released herself, and flitted away into the engulfing darkness. the echoes of her swift descent came whispering up the stairs; in the distance a door was shut. the emptiness of the unfinished house seemed symbolic of the future which stretched before him.
-the golden age
-justin ford had not been unsuccessful with women. many of them had liked him, and might have loved him if he had cared to make them, but until he met bettina dolce he had not cared.
-there was about bettina, however, a certain remoteness which puzzled him. she responded to his advances with girlish gayety, but her cool sweet glance held no hint of self-consciousness, and beyond a certain point of light flirtation he had, as yet, dared not go.
-he pondered these things one morning as he worked on his delicate machine in the great shed with its wide opening toward the water.
-why had little bettina erected a barrier? she knew nothing of the arts of sophisticated coquetry, so he absolved her from any intention to rouse his interest. was she unawakened? was there another man?
-he laid down his pipe to think out that last startling proposition. there had been no men in her secluded life.
-except anthony blake! gracious peter, could it be anthony? there came to justin, suddenly, a vision of bettina in the shadowy room. of her childish dependence upon the doctor, of her little claims of intimacy, her evident preference for the older man's society, her vehement denial the night of the dinner that there could be anything but friendship between anthony and diana.
-putting, thus, two and two together, he decided that bettina believed herself in love with anthony. yes, that was it--and anthony--well, for anthony there was just diana!
-there you had it, and the only way to save bettina and, incidentally, himself from heartbreak was to take things into his own hands, and play prince to this exquisite cinderella.
-unconsciously his mind assumed a sort of king cophetua attitude toward the charming beggar maid. he found himself humming:
-"in robe and crown the king stept down, to meet and greet her on her way----"
-justin knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put it in his pocket. there was no time like the present, and he at once went toward diana's, "clothed all in leather," like the old man in the nursery rhyme.
-he found bettina in the garden. she wore a strong little suit of blue serge with a crimson silk scarf knotted under her sailor collar. on her fair head was a shady hat. she stood by the stone wall looking expectantly down the road. but it was not justin whom she expected, although she smiled at him, and gave him her hand.
-"did you meet miss matthews?" she inquired.
-"you know. you met her the first time you saw me."
-"i can only remember that time that i met--you."
-she laughed. "how nicely you say it."
-"but you do not take me seriously."
-"does anybody take you seriously?"
-"kind people do."
-"and i'm not kind?"
-"not to me--you just give me remnants and fragments of your time. i have hardly seen you for three days."
-"nobody has seen me," she informed him. "i've been doing all sorts of stunts in the shops. i was in town yesterday with mrs. martens, and you should see my hats----"
-"i'd rather see your hair. do you know how lovely it is with the sunshine on it----"
-"white and gold--sophie was foxy to choose that," he said.
-"oh, the pinks and blues don't suit you. you need the unusual tints. that amethyst frock you had on the other night fitted in with the twilight, and the old garden and the lilacs; and in the yellow and white you'll be a primrose, flashing in the sun."
-"mrs. martens has the most wonderful taste," she informed him. "there's a tea-gown of white crape with a little lace wrap--i don't know when i'll wear it, but mrs. martens insisted--and a new gown for the yacht club dance to-morrow night,--and you should see my shoes--five pairs of them."
-"such richness!" he smiled into her eager eyes. "did diana help you choose?"
-"diana's away--on business in the city. that's why i'm free to do as i please to-day."
-she shook her head. "oh, i can't. i have an engagement with captain stubbs and miss matthews. we are going fishing in the captain's boat, and have lunch on the rocks later."
-justin looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then he said, "three's a crowd. you ought to have four."
-"are you asking--to be invited?"
-"but it's captain stubbs' party."
-"i am perfectly sure that if you'll give me a certificate of good character captain stubbs will take me aboard."
-she seemed to be summing up the situation. "i'm not sure," she said, at last, "that you'd fit in----"
-"oh, the captain's old-fashioned, and miss matthews is old-fashioned, and i love them both, and so i don't care. but you don't love them."
-he flushed. "i see. you're afraid that i'll make them feel uncomfortable. i am sorry you should think that. i'm not quite a cad, you know."
-there were sparks in his eyes. he wondered that he should be so angry. but he was desperately angry with this cool little creature who didn't seem to care.
-and now she was passing frigid judgment on his blazing words. "of course you aren't a cad. i didn't say you were. but you aren't like bobbie tucker or dr. blake. they have always known these people, and they understand them. there are no class distinctions in a town like this, you know----"
-"have i seemed such a prig to you?"
-she cocked her head on one side and considered him, "not since i talked to mrs. martens about you. she told me how nice you were in germany."
-in germany; ye gods! was he nice only in germany?
-he stared at her blankly. he had a feeling that he would like to shake her; that he would like to--kiss her.
-in the midst of her conflicting emotions little miss matthews arrived, and behind her steamed captain stubbs.
-justin, murmuring inarticulately, acknowledged the introduction to the captain, and greeted miss matthews.
-miss matthews was very prim and trim in a white shirt-waist and stiff collar. she had a gray sweater over her arm, and a green veil was tied over her soft felt hat. she carried in her hand a brown boston bag, the contents of which she explained to bettina.
-"i told the captain i would bring some home-made pickles."
-justin gave immediate attention.
-"miss matthews," he said, "do you mean to say that you three will eat fish chowder and home-made pickles, and that i shan't be there?"
-the little captain, in a glow of hospitality, said heartily, "now, look here; can't you come with us?"
-justin showed his white teeth in a flashing smile. "it's an invitation that i've been fishing for all the morning, but miss dolce won't ask me."
-"don't you want him?" the little captain demanded of bettina.
-"of course," in the tone of one to whom it didn't really matter. "perhaps he can help you with the boat, captain."
-justin, carrying miss matthews' bag, helping the captain over with the supplies, lifting bettina over the side of the boat with strong arms which yearned to show their strength, was in a mental attitude far removed from his king cophetua mood of the earlier morning. he was at this moment a slave chained to bettina's chariot wheel. and the strange part of it was that he gloried in his chains! he realized that he was going out with her on a forced invitation, but he was going! and the sea was like sapphire, and the sun shone!
-little miss matthews, looking back afterward on that glorified fishing trip, was forced to confess that justin left nothing undone for her which could be done. never in her life had she been deferred to by such a charming youth, never had her little budget of small talk received such respectful consideration, never had she been waited on, hand and foot, by such a cavalier!
-rarely did justin's eyes stray to where bettina sat beside the captain, chatting to him in her confiding voice, making his old heart happy by her interest in his sea-seasoned reminiscences.
-it was really a most altruistic performance. one might have imagined that for justin there was just one woman in the world--miss matthews; and for bettina, just one man--captain stubbs. yet, as the little boat rounded the lighthouse point and came into the rougher waters outside, young hearts were thrilling to the sound of young voices, and the music of the spheres was being played to the accompaniment of beating waves.
-when at last they anchored, the fishing was really incidental. to be sure it was exciting, and they had an excellent catch, but bettina's hat was off and justin could see her hair. and justin, standing up in the bow of the boat with his line outflung, was, in bettina's eyes, more than ever like a young olympian god.
-it was the same at lunch time. they landed on a crescent-shaped strip of beach, backed by rocky walls, where there was plenty of driftwood for their fire. there the captain gave his mind to the making of chowder, and miss matthews rendered expert service in the cutting up of onions and potatoes, and in the frying of salt pork.
-justin opened the pickle bottle and did other prosaic and ungodlike acts, and bettina laid the table on the sands like a real girl instead of a transported nymph, yet each saw the other through a golden haze which magnified the most trivial act and made it important.
-thus, when bettina set four blue bowls at exact geometric distances on the cloth, justin thought not of the bowls, but of bettina's slim white hands; and likewise justin, gathering driftwood, commended himself to bettina not for his industry, but for his swinging walk and square shoulders.
-for several days bettina had been heavy-hearted. she had not seen anthony. he had called her up over the telephone, and had made his excuses; there was the little girl with the appendicitis and the old man with the pneumonia--how bettina hated the repetition. he would come and see her as soon as possible, he promised, but he had not come.
-diana, too, had not been like herself. on the morning after bettina's visit to anthony's house she had not appeared until luncheon. she had looked like a ghost, and had been very busy all the afternoon. she had hinted at affairs which would take her to town for a time, and finally she had gone away. even mrs. martens had seemed disturbed and restless. hence bettina had welcomed the invitation from captain stubbs. justin's high spirits, his evident delight in her society, his anger at her rebuffs--these things soothed and flattered her. above all there was the charm of his glorious youth. she found herself swayed to his mood. might she not for one little fleeting moment dance to the tune that he piped?
-letting herself go, therefore, she was at luncheon bewildering in her beauty. justin's mocking eyes grew tender as he watched her. here was no pretty beggar maid for masculine condescension, but rather a little goddess to be put on a pedestal and worshiped.
-captain stubbs and miss matthews, unconscious of the forces which were charging the air about them, ate their chowder and took their enjoyment placidly.
-"a fish chowder," said the little captain, "never tastes so good in the house as it does out-of-doors, with the cod fresh caught, and with the smell of the sea for sauce."
-bettina passed her bowl for more.
-"it is delicious," she said; "everything is--lovely."
-"isn't it?" said justin. "there never was such a feast--there never was such a day----!"
-yet there had been many such days; there had been many such feasts. but not for them! it was the golden age of their existence. the moment of youth and joy, unmarred by disillusion.
-the wind, rising, blew miss matthews' green veil into a long thin wisp which flapped toward the northwest.
-the captain, noticing it, glanced over his shoulder.
-"we'll have a storm before we know it," he said. "it's dark enough over there in the south----"
-above the horizon rose the clouds, black with wind; the waves began to murmur and run in, in long lines of white.
-"there'll be no getting back now," said the captain.
-justin's eyes searched the land for shelter. beyond the rocky wall was a hillside of hemlock, which formed part of the estate of a magnate from the west. beyond the trees was a great house, shut up now, and in the hands of a caretaker. nothing else seemed to offer refuge from the storm.
-"what do you think, captain?" he asked. "had we better try to make the house?"
-"i've got my oilskins," the captain said. "i'll stay here, but perhaps you folks had better run in."
-miss matthews protested. "i've lived too long on this coast to mind a storm. i'll wrap up in my rubber coat and let it rain. but we'd better get that child in somewhere; she's scared of storms."
-"are you?" justin asked bettina.
-"if there's going to be wind," she said, "i'm awfully afraid."
-"then we'll run for it," he told her; "up the hill to the house."
-as he helped her climb the rocks, they took a last glance back at the stolid pair who didn't mind storms. captain stubbs in brilliantly yellow new oilskins and miss matthews in a sad-colored waterproof coat sat side by side with their backs against the beached boat.
-"perhaps we should have stayed with them," said bettina, doubtfully, as justin drew her up to his level.
-but justin had no doubts. ahead of them was the dimness of the hemlock forest; the solitude of the storm. he coveted the brief moments when they might be alone together.
-"come," he urged, and they entered upon the darkness of the wood.
-as they sped along over the cushioned earth, justin helped her strongly, half lifting her at times over the rough places.
-"are you afraid?" he asked her, and she shook her head.
-with a roar and a rush the storm was upon them. for a few moments they were in the midst of chaos. the air was full of flying things, and the branches crashed and fell.
-to bettina, emotionally tense, the real world had disappeared. she was a disembodied spirit, floating through infinite space with another spirit as joyous, as exalted, as triumphant as her own.
-when he asked her again, "are you afraid?" and she again shook her head, it came to her, suddenly, that she was not afraid because she was with him. she felt no wonder that it was so. in this wild world there was no place for wonder. she and justin were laughing madly as they raced. her hair, loosed by the wind, streamed out behind her. once it caught on a button of justin's coat, and held her so close to him that, when he unwound it, she felt the quickened beating of his heart.
-as they again sped on, she felt as if never before had she been alive in such a radiant wonderful sense.
-"are you afraid?" he asked for the third time, bending down to catch her answer.
-"it's glorious," she panted. then as the rain came, he shielded her with his arm, and shouted:
-"we'll have to make a dash through the open; here's the house ahead!"
-the great house was closed and deserted, but they found a cloistered porch from which they could look out on the storm.
-below them the trees were whipped and bent by the gale. against the horizon the sea rose like a great gray wall. straining their eyes, they could catch a glimmer of the captain's yellow coat on the strip of sand.
-"the worst of the wind is over," said justin; "we were lucky to escape the heavy rain."
-bettina, who was braiding her hair, looked up at him. "wasn't it wonderful down there in the wood?"
-"did you think it wonderful?"
-something in his eyes made her say, hastily "i've never been out in a storm before."
-he did not reply at once. he was watching her slender fingers twist the shining strands.
-"let me do that for you," he said, suddenly.
-"no, oh, no----"
-"because." she walked away from him, and seated herself on a marble bench under one of the closed windows.
-he sat down beside her. "i didn't mean that impertinently; truly i did not. i used to braid my little sister's hair. she was lame and i took care of her, and, as i watched you, i thought of--my little sister."
-"tell me about her."
-"there isn't much to tell, except that when i was a great hulking youngster, with only her to love--she died----"
-"oh,--i'm so sorry----"
-he went on slowly, still watching her busy fingers "since then i have never had a friend. not the kind she was. why, she used to love to listen to my boy's talk--of how i was going to be great, of how i was going to conquer the world,--and she has been dead ten years--and i have done nothing."
-it was a new justin who spoke in this fashion. to bettina he had always seemed as light as air, and she had enjoyed his frivolity, but now she felt something more than enjoyment,--a yearning to be of use to this big boy who was all alone, and who missed his little sister.
-surely to be his friend need not interfere in any way with anthony's claims. she loved anthony and was going to marry him, of course. but friendship and love were different things. why, mrs. martens was married, and she had been justin's friend in germany.
-she spoke her thought. "but mrs. martens?"
-"she was a dear--but she is older than i--and i stood a bit in awe of her--she sympathized with me--but she could not dream with me, and i wanted some one to share my dreams."
-bettina's blue eyes were wistful. what a wonderful thing it would be to share somebody's dreams. she was perfectly sure that she did not share anthony's. he had never told her of his dreams. perhaps he didn't have any. his life was so practical and full of work, and then he was old--oh, yes, indeed, he was older than mrs. martens--and justin had said that sophie was too old to understand.
-she found herself asking, "what were your dreams?"
-"shan't i bore you?"
-"well, there was one dream which my little sister and i used to discuss as i braided her hair at night. it was a dream that some day i should be great. she had a different idea of greatness from mine, and we used to argue the question. i don't think she ever wanted me to be president of the united states or to hold high office; she wanted me to do something which would help humanity. she used to wish that i might preach or teach; she was such a good little thing. and i would tell her that none of these vocations were for me; i must win fame in a different way. i wanted to invent something which would make the world stare. perhaps that's the reason i took up aviation after she died. i thought i might make some great advance on the inventions of other men. but the other men made them first, you see, and i've just frivoled and played. yet, as i saw you braiding your hair, it brought back my little sister so vividly, and i wondered what she would think of me--now."
-for the first time in her life her heart was stirred by the maternal tenderness which is the heritage of good women. her timid hand touched his sleeve, lightly.
-"i am sure," said her little voice, unsteadily, "that if she knew you now, she would think you were--very nice."
-"you darling," he was saying in his heart, but he dared not say it with his lips. and he went on as calmly as he could.
-she was thrilled as she had never been. justin began to loom up in her mind's eye as the knight of the tender heart--that was what sophie had called him. and how wonderful that he should be telling her all this!
-"then," he continued, "the money came to me, and since then i've been a butterfly. i have not made good use of my wealth. i have needed a friend, you see, to help me make my dreams come true."
-he looked down at her. "would you?" he asked.
-"be your friend?"
-"oh, but i'm not good enough. i've always been a little selfish thing, except with mother. i loved her and i wasn't selfish with her. but i've wanted a good time, and i haven't cared for anything but my own pleasure. i'm not like your little sister, you see. i'm just a butterfly, too."
-"oh, you--you're an angel," ardently.
-again she was thrilled. anthony had never said such things to her. anthony had called her a child, and he had not needed her. and justin wanted her friendship! all her awakened womanhood rose to meet his demand.
-so intent was she on her thought that she did not feel the cold. but her lips were blue, and she shivered as the wind swept around the corner.
-justin jumped at once to his feet.
-"i'm a brute to keep you here. there must be some one around the place who can take us in."
-he left her, to come back presently with the news that there was a man down at the stables, and that there was a fire in the harness room. he brought a rain coat, and wrapped her in it, scolding himself all along the way for his neglect of her comfort.
-she stopped to pet them, then the groom led the way to the harness room.
-it was a picturesque place, with its lacquered leather, its shining brass, its racing trophies, blue ribbons, gold-handled whips and crops, silver cups and medals.
-"i'll telephone for my car," justin said, "and send a boy down to captain stubbs and miss matthews. they'll probably go back in the boat, now that the storm is over."
-with the message sent, and the smiling groom, pleased with justin's generous tip, dismissed, the two were again alone.
-"this is better," said justin, as they settled themselves in front of the fire. "now you'll get some color in your cheeks."
-with her chin on her hand, she said slowly, "do you know that nobody ever asked me to be his friend before?"
-"that's luck for me. there'll be no one else to share----"
-she glanced up at him with enchanting shyness. "the trouble with most men is, i imagine, that they don't want friendship--they want love, and that isn't easy for a woman to give, is it?"
-silence, then at last, uncertainly, "i suppose not."
-"any man can fall in love with a woman," she informed him, "but it seems to me that it must take certain kinds of men and women to be friends. that's why it seems so wonderful. why, even if i married some one else, i could still be your friend, couldn't i?"
-"ye-es. oh, yes, of course."
-"perhaps that's what i've missed all my life--the chance to really inspire some one. you know it's nice to feel that you're helping. and some men are so self-sufficient, so secure. you wouldn't feel that you'd dare to suggest. you'd only be a child to them--and while it might be nice to marry a man like that, it would be nice, too, to have the other kind for a friend."
-of all the bewildering little creatures! if she married some other man, forsooth! he set his teeth. well, she shouldn't marry any other man.
-"look here," he asked, suddenly, "have you ever been in love?"
-she nodded, all rosy color and drooped lashes. the unexpectedness of her answer made him hesitate, but finally he ventured, "how did it feel?"
-she considered gravely. "why, it's comfortable to know that you'll always have some one to take care of you, some one who's tender and good--too good, perhaps----"
-justin was perplexed. she had spoken in the present tense. was it possible that her fancy was really held by anthony? had their wild race in the storm meant nothing to her? to him it had seemed a sort of spiritual mating, with the storm crashing out a brilliant bridal chorus.
-he leaned forward. "what you're talking of isn't love," he said, almost roughly. "love doesn't mean being comfortable; it doesn't mean being petted and coddled like a pussy cat, or being looked after like a child. it means what it meant to romeo when he killed himself for love of juliet. it means what it meant to orpheus when he followed eurydice to the underworld. it means what it will mean to me when i have found the one woman--that i'll work for her, live for her, die for her, and count the future blank if she does not love me in return."
-"how wonderful!" she whispered after a moment "how wonderful--to be loved--like that----"
-his heart leaped. some day he would make it wonderful! but not now. it was too soon to say the things he had to say.
-"the most wonderful thing right now," he said, "is that you are going to be--my friend."
-she responded radiantly. "it will be lovely to have a--big brother."
-"it will be lovelier to have--a little sister."
-he held out his hand to her, and she took it, laughing lightly. and just then the smiling groom came to say that the gentleman's car was at the door.
-the rain had stopped, but storm signals still showed in the south where the heavy clouds hung over the horizon. overhead the sun shone, making kaleidoscope effects of the spring flowers in the checkered beds. against the gray wall of the terraced garden the peach trees had been trained in foreign fashion and were full of rosy bloom.
-bettina, coming out of the darkened stable, opened her eyes wide.
-"what a different world it seems," she said, "from the one we left in the storm."
-justin helped her into the car. "we'll reach home before the next storm breaks," he remarked, as he took his seat beside her, "but there's trouble ahead."
-to him the words held no sinister meaning, nor to bettina. in their hearts was no fear of the future, nor of the storms which might some day wreck their happiness.
-the white maiden
-bettina, lonely in her tower, had often looked across enviously to the brilliantly lighted yacht club on the nights of the weekly dances.
-and now she was going to a yacht club dance with justin in attendance, and with sophie for chaperon; with sara and doris and sara's brother duke to be added to the party when they reached the club-house pier.
-the question of bettina's gown had been a puzzling one. sophie had brought out everything of her own, and diana, white-faced after a sleepless night, had tried to put her mind on the matter.
-"these are all too elaborate," she said; "she is such a child. perhaps it will be best for her to get some new things now, and if you will help her choose them, it will be a great favor to me, sophie."
-sophie came over and kissed her. "poor dear," she murmured.
-diana leaned back against her friend. "don't," she said in a stifled voice. "i can't bear it."
-they clung together for a moment, then diana went on steadily, "i am going to town for a few days, sophie--i must get away for a bit, and if you don't mind, you can take bettina in while i am gone and get her things. she insists that they shall not be gifts from me. she says that she's already under great obligations--and that her own little bank account is sufficient for her needs. then, too, she can use all of her new things in her trousseau, and it does seem rather sensible, doesn't it?"
-diana had said nothing to sophie of the meeting with anthony in the empty house. it was an experience too sacred for discussion. but sophie had guessed much. anthony's continued absence, diana's restlessness, her haggard eyes, her insistent tenderness and care of bettina, showed the sympathetic and anxious friend that something unusual had occurred, and that diana was fighting a tremendous battle alone.
-"just let things run on here," diana said, "as they always do. you can take my place as bettina's chaperon, and delia will take care of the house. i shan't be missed, and i can--get a perspective on the situation."
-sophie protested. "it's too great a strain on you--you'd better send bettina away--she and i could have a little trip somewhere."
-"no, it is i who must go," diana insisted. "bettina must get acquainted with anthony's friends. if he is going to marry her, he must be proud of her. you know that, sophie," sharply, "it won't do for him to take a girl as the mistress of his home whom nobody ever heard of, and who could be criticized."
-sophie rubbed her fingers lightly across diana's forehead. "you think only of anthony--do you never think of yourself?"
-"but, dearest-dear, how could you know?"
-"i couldn't know. but, oh, i wish that i had never come."
-thus it happened that sophie and bettina had gone into town, and the primrose gown and the little serge suit and the new hats and the five pairs of shoes, together with a wonderful creation for the yacht club dance, had been sent out, and tried on, and pronounced perfect.
-sophie's taste had supplemented bettina's meager funds. from her own store of exquisite laces and brocades, of buckles and bows, she had added finishing touches to frocks which might otherwise have been commonplace.
-when, therefore, on the day after her adventure with justin bettina took off her wrap in the cloak room of the yacht club, sara duffield drew a sharp breath of amazement.
-"will you look at that gown, doris?" she said to her placid friend. "would any one but an artist have dared to put on that side sash of rose-colored tulle with the silver tassel, and the wide collar of silver lace?"
-justin ford, knowing nothing of dressmakers, was none the less aware of the inspired creation.
-"and i said yesterday that you could not wear pink! but this isn't pink, is it? it's a rosy cloud on a may morning."
-"do you really like it?" demanded bettina.
-bettina laughed light-heartedly. it was great fun to have such a friendly understanding with this very charming young man. she wondered how she had quite--dared. things seemed so different under this blaze of light. had she really promised to be a "little sister" to this most distinguished gentleman?
-they had come over in bobbie's motor boat, and just before they reached the club-house pier, justin had said, "the first dance is mine, you know. i'd like the second and the third, but i suppose that is forbidden. but you must give me all you can. i feel that i have special brotherly privileges."
-she danced exquisitely, her little satin-shod feet slipping silently through all the difficult twists and turns of the syncopated modern dances. justin, guiding her expertly, knew that many glances were being leveled at them, knew that questions were being asked, that bettina was being weighed in the social balance by the men and women who could make her success secure.
-when he gave her over, presently, to another partner he became aware of undercurrents. the girl with whom he danced shrugged her shoulders when he spoke with enthusiasm of bettina's beauty.
-justin looked across the room to where sara was dancing with bobbie. and he made up his mind that before the evening was ended he should have something to say to the haughty little lady in blue.
-his opportunity came, presently, when he claimed sara for a spanish variation of the ever-popular boston, in which his step particularly suited hers.
-"look here," he remarked, as they swayed to the music, "it's up to us, sara, to see that bettina makes a hit."
-sara, tilting her chin, demanded, "why?"
-"because she is diana gregory's friend, and diana's anxious to have people like her."
-he gazed down at the irritating profile.
-"you know why," he said with great distinctness. "diana gregory has a big heart, and this child has had a hard time. diana wants to make her happy----"
-"but why is diana so interested, justin? there are plenty of lonely and unhappy girls. so why should diana especially pick out bettina? she's years younger than diana, and they really haven't much in common."
-"she's very sweet----" justin was quite unaware of the intense fervor of his tones.
-sara's eyes narrowed to little flashing points, as she asked, "are you in love with her?"
-their eyes met. "oh, sara, sara," he teased, "do you expect me to wear my heart upon my sleeve?"
-"i expect you to keep it from wandering toward the daughter of an italian singer," she said, sharply. "i always fancied that you had rather decided ideas about family, justin."
-"if you mean that i'm proud of my knickerbocker ancestry, i am," he told her; "just as you are proud of your pilgrim forefathers. but bettina dolce's blood is bluer than any that ran in the veins of our middle-class english and dutch grandsires. her father was a venetian, and bettina has the beauty of those lovely ladies of old italy."
-sara's beauty was of an essentially modern type. "i don't see," she said, somewhat resentfully, "why i should be expected to fight the social battles of a girl who is really nothing to me."
-"surely not," easily, "but i rather fancy that any one who snubs bettina will have to reckon with diana--and with me----"
-sara's lashes hid her sharp little eyes. she was thinking rapidly. she did not care to offend diana--but more, oh, much more than that, she did not care to offend justin.
-she capitulated pensively. "why, justin, i don't know why you are calling me to account in this way. i'm sure i'm perfectly willing to help things along."
-"good," was his delighted comment, and after that he danced with a heart as light as his heels.
-when the music stopped, duke duffield made his way toward them. "oh, look here," he said to his sister; "why didn't you present me sooner to miss dolce? gee, sara, she's some dream--and her dance card was filled before i could get to it."
-justin smiled at this slangy confirmation of his own opinion. he drifted presently through the room, looking for bettina, and just as the music began again its rhythmical beat he saw her.
-far at the other end of the room she was dancing with anthony blake!
-bettina had never been so happy. anthony's coming had pleased her. he had half promised that he might come, but there had been, as always, the possibility in the background that he would be kept away by some inconsiderate patient. but now he was here, and she was to have her next dance with justin. could anything be lovelier than to spend her evening thus between lover and friend, having anthony's strength and kindliness to make her feel secure, and justin's glowing youth to match her own.
-she decided that when she and anthony were alone she would tell him about the race in the storm, and about her friendly compact with justin. she was never going to keep anything from anthony. why, he was the best man in the whole wide world--the very best.
-she looked up at him with her eyes like stars and he, meeting that radiant glance, asked, "are you happy, child?"
-she blushed and nodded. "very, very happy!"
-and after that she danced in dreamy silence until justin came for her.
-at supper, anthony claimed bettina as a matter of course, leaving mrs. martens to justin. the four of them, with bobbie and doris and sara and her brother ate at a little table on the club-house porch. in the pale light of the lanterns bettina's beauty was more than ever ethereal.
-justin, watching her with puzzled eyes, took note of her dependence upon anthony, of her confiding manner, of her undoubted interest in him. now and then she flashed a glance at justin, and he was forced to content himself with such occasional crumbs from the queen's table.
-justin, beside him, felt young and crude. he told himself that he had nothing to fear. everybody knew that anthony cared only for diana. yet, even as he comforted himself, he saw bettina's look of triumphant pride as anthony brought a clever story to its climax, and his heart raged in impotent jealousy.
-they all went back together in bobbie's motor boat, and in the darkness justin managed to say to bettina, "so you've deserted me."
-"oh, no," she protested, "but you see i couldn't desert--anthony."
-"has he, then, the first claim?" his voice shook as his dull resentment flamed.
-she hesitated. "he--has been so kind--and he's a sort of guardian--you know----"
-she dared not tell him more than that, for had she not promised diana that she would not? her nature was so crystal clear that she would have been glad to set things straight, to tell him that she was going to marry anthony, but that she would always be his friend. it was such a perfect arrangement; he would surely understand.
-she sighed a little, wishing that she had nothing to hide. and with her sigh his moodiness vanished.
-"if it's because he's your guardian, all right--but i'm not going to give you up always so easily."
-"why must you give me up at all?" she challenged.
-at diana's door she said "good-bye." "it has been the loveliest evening of my life," she told him. "i shall never forget."
-anthony came in, ostensibly to telephone, but really to have a moment alone with bettina. sophie, with sympathetic insight, made the excuse of a letter, which anthony could mail, and withdrew to write it.
-in the dimly-lighted music room, anthony said, "you must forgive me, dear child, for seeming to neglect you, but i've been such a busy man."
-"i know." she looked up at him. "but it seems nice to have you now."
-"and it seems nice to have you."
-he smiled at her, but he did not touch her. somehow since that night in the empty house with diana he had felt that there were things which must come slowly. if he was to play the lover to little betty, it must be when he could shut out from his heart the image of that pale tall woman in the lilac-scented room.
-but bettina missed nothing from his manner. she felt for him a grateful affection, an unbounded respect, but her wish for impulsive demonstration was gone. she was content to be near him, to know that he cared for her--beyond that she had no conscious desires.
-still smiling at her, he took from his pocket a little box. "i haven't been too busy to remember that i wanted to give you this," he said, and handed it to her.
-set in a slender ring were three great diamonds, and for a guard there was a little circlet of sapphires.
-"perhaps you won't care to wear it now," he said, as she gave a gasp of delight, "but i wanted you to have it. i wanted it to be the sign and seal of the bond which is between us."
-she came to him, then all gratitude and clinging sweetness, and put up her face to be kissed.
-he touched his lips to her forehead. and he said he was glad that he had made her happy. but he did not tell her that he had forced himself to plight thus, tangibly, his troth to her that there might be no escape from the path of honor which he must follow.
-little bettina, alone that night in her room, took off the rosy dress and laid it on her bed. then, enveloped in her long white motor coat, she went out on her porch, and curled up in one of the big chairs. across the harbor the lights were out at the yacht club. between the neck and the main shore little starlike points showed where the lanterns were swung on the sleeping boats. it was long after midnight, and the cold morning mists were already coming in.
-she turned the ring on her finger. how strange it seemed to think that in a few short months she would be--married. that she would belong to anthony until death should part them.
-her breath came quickly. she stood up, slim and white in her long coat. then suddenly she slipped to her knees.
-"oh, please, please," she prayed, with her face upturned to the waning stars, "make me worthy of his love. make me worthy to be his wife."
-youth and beauty
-it was two days after the dance at the yacht club that diana came home. she arrived late and unexpectedly. bettina had gone to bed, and the only light which burned to welcome her was sophie's, on the third floor.
-diana paid her cabman, and set her key in the lock, to be welcomed by peter pan's purring note as she opened the door.
-she stooped and picked up the big cat. "dear peter," she whispered.
-peter, held against her heart, sang his little song of content, and, standing for a moment in the darkness, diana fought for self-control before she went up to sophie's room.
-mrs. martens, wrapped in her gray kimono, was writing letters. she looked up with a glad cry as diana entered.
-"why, diana," she said, "you darling!"
-"i didn't telegraph," diana said, as she kissed her friend, "for there wasn't any use. i had my key, and i knew i could get a cab----"
-"you're tired, dearest-dear." sophie's worried eyes noted the weariness of gesture and tone, and the shadows under diana's eyes as she untied her veil and took off her hat.
-"yes, i'm tired, dead tired." diana dropped into a chair, and laid her head against the cushioned back.
-sophie bent over her. "you're not comfortable," she said; "come on down to your room and take a hot bath, and i'll heat a cup of milk, and then you can rest all warm and comfy, and i'll rub your head."
-"sophie," said diana, suddenly, "i wonder if i ever rubbed anybody's head?"
-"of course," said sophie; "what makes you say that?"
-"because i've been thinking a lot since i went to town, and it seems to me that all my life i've just taken and have not given. i took anthony's love--i've taken your service----" she held out her hand. "oh, i've been a selfish pig, sophie, darling."
-sophie took the extended hand and patted it. "what a silly thing to say," soothingly; "you've always been everything--to me, diana. you've done so much for me that i can never repay."
-"oh, yes, in giving big things--but it's the little things that count--like heating cups of milk and rubbing people's heads."
-she said it whimsically, but there were tears in her eyes.
-"you come right down and go to bed," sophie advised. "and we can talk all about it afterward."
-diana, propped up among her pillows, watched her friend as she flitted like a gray moth about the room, intent on various comforting offices, and when at last sophie brought to her a steaming cup diana said, "do you know, sophie, i've always thought myself a rather superior person."
-"well, you are," sophie agreed.
-"i'm not. oh, i've made up my mind about things at last, and i know that it hasn't been bettina's happiness, nor anthony's happiness that i have been thinking about, but my own.
-"if i had not stayed on after i found out the state of things here," she continued, "anthony would have learned to care for betty--every man loves youth and beauty----"
-sophie shook her head. "it takes us women all of our lives to learn that it is not for the red of our lips or the blue of our eyes that we are loved----"
-"oh, but you know it is the beautiful women who draw men----"
-"but it is not the beautiful women who hold them. i'll set any demure little soul with a loving heart against all the faultlessly-regular -splendidly-null persons in the world when it comes to keeping the affections of a husband--and what has bettina that she can give anthony to take the place of the things which he has loved in you?"
-"she has youth."
-"how you harp on that string! you have a mind and soul which meets anthony's. and your beauty equals hers. you must not forget that, diana."
-"i don't forget it. i know what i mean to anthony. but bettina will mean other things to him. and who shall say which of us would make the better wife?
-"oh, i've thought these things all out, and i know that i could never be happy, sophie, if my happiness were founded on the hurt heart of that child. and so--i am going away--and let things go back to where they would have been if i had never come----"
-"do you think they can--ever go back, diana?"
-diana, remembering anthony's face in the moonlight, hesitated, then she said, bravely, "i shall not ask myself that question, sophie. i shall simply do the thing which will seem right to me, and i am sure it is right for me to go away."
-"she must stay here with you until she is married. you won't mind, will you? there will be plenty of things to do. you can help with her wedding outfit. and after they are--married, you and i will go back--to berlin. no, we won't, sophie. we'll go to the desert, and down the nile, and we'll go to japan, and see fujiyama; and we'll visit the temples in china, and we'll find out from some of those old buddhists how they acquire--peace----"
-"we will go to the ends of the earth if you wish--but there's only one place that i shall ask you to take me, diana."
-"where, dear heart?"
-"to that quiet spot over there in germany, where the big cross stands up against the sky----"
-"sophie--of course you shall go there, dear."
-mrs. martens knelt by the bed. "i've been thinking of my lover, too, while you've been away. we have each lost the man who made the world a wonderful place--henceforth you and i must live among the shadows--but because we have each other, it shall not be quite so hard."
-it was a long time before they came back to the question of diana's departure.
-"but what excuse can you give for going now, diana?"
-"my health," said diana, promptly. "everybody knows that i first went to germany for the baths, and i can say what is true,--that the dampness here disagrees with me, with my throat."
-"but where will you go?"
-"to the mountains; oh, sophie, i shall lift up my eyes to the hills, and hope for strength----"
-out of the ensuing silence came the sound of a little tap at the door.
-"is diana there?" asked bettina on the other side. "i thought i heard her voice."
-as bettina came in, the radiance of youth shone from within and round about her. she kissed diana. "oh, so many things have happened," rapturously, "since you went away. do you want me to tell you about them?"
-"you blessed baby," said diana, and it seemed to sophie that in her voice was a note of sincere affection.
-bettina curled herself up on the foot of diana's bed. "well, in the first place," she said, "anthony gave me a ring--a lovely ring, and a little guard to wear with it."
-diana did not flinch. "and why aren't you wearing your lovely ring," she asked, "for all the world to see?"
-"oh, but you said i mustn't," bettina told her, "and so i keep it here."
-she tugged at a slender chain which hung around her neck, and brought forth from beneath the embroidered thinness of her gown the two rings, which gave out flashing lights as she bent toward diana.
-diana did not touch them. "they're lovely," she said, steadily; "aren't they, sophie?"
-"i'm glad he didn't give me pearls," bettina went on, as mrs. martens exclaimed at their beauty, "because pearls mean tears."
-"i've always worn pearls," said diana.
-"oh, but not as love gifts," said bettina, quickly. "it's only when your lover gives you a pearl that you weep--my mother's gift from my father was a great pearl--and when--he went away--she dropped it--into the sea.
-"and i didn't blame her." bettina was swinging her own rings back and forth, and they gave out a silvery tinkle like a chime of fairy bells. "i didn't blame her, although the pearl was worth a great deal of money and we were poor. i shouldn't want a ring after a man had ceased to love me, would you?"
-"of course not," said diana, "and now--tell me, what were the other nice things which happened while i was away?"
-"oh," bettina laughed, "i went fishing with captain stubbs and miss matthews, and justin----"
-"yes. justin ford. he invited himself. i told mrs. martens when i came home that i tried not to have him go, but he would, and it stormed---- oh, well, we had a lovely time."
-somehow she had found it hard to tell mrs. martens, as she was finding it hard to tell diana, just what had made the day so lovely. and as for her compact of friendship, she would tell anthony but no other.
-"then there was the yacht club dance," she continued, "and oh, diana, you should have seen my gown--it was a dream."
-sophie confirmed her verdict. "she was lovely in it, diana," she said, "and everybody is talking of the success she made."
-"and anthony came," said bettina, "and when we reached home he gave me the ring, and yesterday i had a long ride with him; oh, yes, and the day before, justin and sara and doris and i had lunch on bobbie's boat."
-"i thought bobbie's boat was in the yard for repairs?"
-"it is," said bettina, "and that's the fun of it. he's living on board, and yesterday he and justin looked up and saw me on the porch, and they insisted on having a lunch party, and bobbie made his man get up a perfectly wonderful little lunch, and he telephoned for the other girls, and duke, and we climbed the ladder and ate up there in the air, and sophie chaperoned us from your front porch."
-"they wanted me to climb the ladder too," said sophie, "but i told them i would be a little angel up aloft, and play propriety at a safe distance. it's a good thing the yacht yard happens to be at the foot of your rocks, diana, or i'm afraid bettina would have gone unchaperoned. it's a dizzy height up that ladder."
-"and bobbie sent things up to her in a basket," bettina related; "we let down a piece of hammock rope, and we tied the basket to it."
-diana, listening to the light chatter, felt set apart by the tragedy of her own unhappiness. once she would have enjoyed an escapade like the lunch party; now she was glad that she could go away--and leave it all behind her and perhaps--forget.
-"bobbie is such a funny fellow"--bettina was still swinging the tinkling rings--"and he's awfully in love with doris. and doris worships him, and it makes sara furious."
-"but, my dear, sara isn't the least bit in love with bobbie."
-"i know, but she thinks doris is so silly to let bobbie see--but that's just what bobbie adores in her. he likes to be worshiped, and he's positively puffed up with pride like a pouter pigeon because he's going to marry doris."
-"then it's settled?" diana asked.
-"yes. it seems he proposed on the night of the yacht club dance, and yesterday at lunch bobbie announced it, and he blushed and doris blushed--but really it was awfully sweet, diana--they are so happy."
-"at first i thought bobbie liked sara," bettina stated, later.
-"oh, no." diana laughed. "it's justin, you know, with sara."
-the flashing rings tinkled, tinkled. bettina's eyes were on them.
-"oh, are they--engaged?"
-"oh, no; it's just a friendship, i fancy."
-so? other girls were his friends! bettina's head went up, and she slipped the rings back in their hiding place.
-"they've always known each other," diana explained. "you see sara was a sharp-tongued little girl, and justin could get along with her better than the other boys because of his easy-going ways. and he gets along with her now, but usually it is a sort of armed truce."
-bettina felt better, but needing further assurance, she ventured, "i suppose he has a sort of brotherly feeling for her."
-it was sophie who answered that question.
-"no, he hasn't. justin adores the memory of his own little sister. she was a dear child and lame. and she was about as like sara, i imagine, as a white dove is like a peacock. justin has often told me that when he marries he wants to find a woman to whom he can tell his dreams as he told them to his little sister--it is perhaps because he has failed to find such a woman that he is unmarried."
-it seemed to bettina, suddenly, that all the stars sang! "oh, it's such a lovely world"--she was all aglow--"and you've made it lovely for me, diana, by having me here, and doing wonderful things for me."
-"i want you to stay for a long time, dear, until you are married. but you'll forgive me if i go away and leave you alone with sophie for a while?"
-"oh, must you go away again?"
-"yes. i'm not well. this air doesn't agree with--my throat," diana stammered, not caring to meet the clear eyes.
-"oh, but i'm afraid that i'm terribly in the way," bettina said distressfully. "you'll want mrs. martens to go with you. you mustn't have her stay on my account. i can go back to my rooms with miss matthews. really i can--i shouldn't mind."
-"my dear, i should mind very much." diana reached out her hand to her. "don't make me unhappy by taking it that way--i want you here."
-"but you've done enough for me, putting yourself out in this way----"
-"i have done only the things that i wanted to do. and now don't make me unhappy by suggesting that you won't keep poor sophie company. what would she do without you?"
-bettina looked from one to the other. "are you very sure you shouldn't go away together, if it weren't for me?"
-"very sure--i should bore her terribly."
-they all laughed, and bettina said, "of course i know you're doing it all for my sake----"
-"and for anthony," said diana, softly; "for the sake of my old friend anthony."
-"how wonderful your friendship is," said bettina, softly. "it makes me believe in all friendship, diana."
-but diana held her for a moment.
-"anthony will soon want to be going into the big house--when will you be ready, bettina?"
-"oh, not yet," said bettina, breathlessly, "not yet. i'd rather wait. don't you think it will be best to wait?"
-"oh," her cheeks flamed, "i don't know why--only i don't want to get married--for a long time, diana."
-diana looked at her with puzzled eyes. there was some change in the child which she could not fathom. what had happened to little bettina in the short time since she had been away? she would ask sophie--she would ask--anthony.
-in the adjoining room the telephone rang. sophie, going to answer it, came back with the announcement, "it's anthony. he wanted to know if you had returned. he needs you at the hospital. that little girl with the appendicitis is very much worse. but i told him that you had just reached home, and that you were so tired, and it was so late----"
-"sophie, how could you? tell him i'll come. ask him to send his car for me. bettina, dear, hand me my slippers, and help me with my hair."
-bettina was shivering and white. "is it the girl anthony operated on?" she asked.
-"yes. sophie, i'll wear the white serge. it's the easiest to get into, and my long coat----"
-bettina's shaking voice went on: "wouldn't it be--dreadful--if anything happened? wouldn't it be dreadful--if she should die?"
-sophie laid her hand on the girl's shoulder. "help diana now, dear," she advised; "we'll talk about it afterward."
-her letter to anthony
-diana never forgot that ride in the dark to harbor light. it was a clear night, with the sea like a sheet of silver under the moon. the big building, which loomed up, at last, before her, seemed, with its yellow-lighted windows, like some monster of giant size, gazing wide-eyed upon the waters.
-the gardens, through which she passed, were heavy with the scent of hyacinths; the slight wash of the waves on the beach only emphasized the stillness.
-as she drove up to the doorway, two night nurses flitted through the corridor, ghost-like in their white uniforms.
-then came anthony. his face looked worn and worried.
-"we couldn't save her, diana," he said, tensely.
-"oh, the poor little thing!"
-"we made a fight for it. i sent for you because if she roused i wanted you to be there."
-"if you had telephoned sooner."
-"i could not. the change was very sudden." he flung himself into a chair. "oh, what is all my skill worth, diana, when i couldn't save that child?"
-she had seen him in such moods before, when he had felt powerless against all the opposing forces of disease and death.
-but she did not care that others should see him. it was enough that she should know that this great doctor anthony had his weaknesses. the rest of the world should not know it.
-"come out into the garden," she coaxed; "the air will do you good."
-as they walked up and down the garden paths he gave her more definite details. "she did not know that she was going. there was no reason to trouble her gentle soul with fears. and so, at last, when she drifted off into the silence, she was smiling."
-"and i am sure that she was still smiling when on the other side she found love waiting."
-"how wonderfully you put it, di."
-"it is not because i put it that way; it is because it is wonderful. do you know, anthony, that has always been my idea of heaven--as a place where infinite love waits. if that little child had lived she would have faced a future of loneliness--now she will never be lonely--never sick--never unhappy."
-"but she wanted to live."
-"but she didn't know life, anthony--as some of us know it, as a place of unfulfilled dreams----"
-they had reached the beach, and the track of the moon spread out before them, ending only at the horizon.
-"she followed the path o' the moon," said diana, softly, "a little white soul in a silver boat. death is a great adventure, anthony."
-"sometimes i feel as if i were merely a longshoreman, who helps to load the boats as they start on that great adventure----"
-"what do you mean?"
-"oh, we doctors see so much of pain which we cannot ease, so much misery which we cannot prevent. we see the innocent suffering for the guilty--the weak bearing the burdens which belong to the strong--and even if we try our hardest we can't change these things--and the boats still go sailing out to the unknown----"
-"anthony, i wish i might be sure of one thing----"
-"what, dear girl----?"
-"that you would never change your present point of view. so many doctors lose faith in human nature because they see only the diseased side, and their vision becomes distorted. and, losing their faith in man, they lose faith in god. the thing which has always made you, in my eyes, a great man as well as a great surgeon has been the fact that you have seemed to understand that you were working with infinite love toward the completion of a perfect plan; you have seemed to understand that life is good as long as it is lived wisely and well; that death is good when it ends suffering and sorrow. these things you have seen and known--i want you always to see and know them."
-"if any one could make me see and know them it is you, diana."
-they were silent after that, and presently she said that she must go.
-anthony took her home himself in his little car, and when at last they reached her door he said, gratefully: "what should i do without your friendship? at least i have that, diana."
-she hesitated. "it must be a long distance friendship, anthony."
-"what do you mean?"
-"i am going away."
-"oh, why should you? we are self-controlled man and woman, not impulsive boy and girl. we have set our feet on a hard path. why shouldn't we cheer each other along the way?"
-"i'm afraid it wouldn't be fair--to bettina."
-"why not? my friendship for you need deprive her of nothing."
-"i must think it over."
-"don't think. don't analyze at all. just stay." a grave smile lighted his face. "i'm not making this as a selfish proposition, diana. i shan't expect to absorb you, to take you away from other friendships. but i want you to be near me at such times as this; when my world was without a ray of light, you illumined it with your friendly taper."
-diana climbed the steps in an uplifted mood. this, then, was the solution of the difficulty. she had been making high tragedy of the situation when it might be solved sensibly. she remembered a quotation which she had copied in her school note-book: "my friend is one with whom i can associate my choicest thought." her friendship with anthony could go on as before. she could be an inspirational force in his life. had she the right to refuse?
-she found bettina and sophie sitting up for her.
-"oh, you're back so soon," bettina said. "is she better? is that little girl better?"
-diana returned to realities with a shock. how selfish she had been! she had almost forgotten that poor little soul at the hospital.
-"no, she isn't better." she shrank from voicing the truth. "they couldn't save her, and before i reached there she was--gone."
-"dead!" bettina shuddered. "oh, i think such things are dreadful; i don't see how anthony stands it."
-"it has made him very miserable," diana told her; "he hates to lose a case."
-"then why does he do it?" bettina demanded. "why doesn't he give up his surgery? he has enough to do with his freaks at the sanatorium, and his sick people who need medicine."
-"would you have a man give up a thing which he can do better than other men?"
-sophie, looking on, wondered if there had ever been a greater contrast than these two women who faced each other in the rose-colored room. diana, tall and pale, with wisps of hair flying a bit untidily from beneath her soft hat, yet still beautiful and with the light of high resolve shining in her steady eyes; bettina, a little slender slip of a child, her fair shining braids falling below her knees, her eyes demanding why men and women should be dedicated to hardness.
-"i have been telling bettina," mrs. martens interposed, gently, "that she will understand some day what such a man means to the world."
-for once in her life diana, tired diana, lost patience. "she ought to know what such a man means," she said.
-bettina put her hands before her face and stood very still.
-"oh, dear child," said diana, remorsefully, "i shouldn't have said such a thing to you. i didn't mean it."
-bettina's hands dropped straight at her sides. her blue eyes were misty. "but it's true," she said. "i'm afraid--i'm afraid i'm not the wife for anthony."
-never had there been a truer saying. yet the two older women stood abashed before the hurt look on the little white face.
-"he has always seemed to me to be the noblest man," bettina went on. "i don't think i have ever felt that he was anything but great. you people, who have always had everything, can't understand what he seemed to me when he used to come when mother was ill. you can't understand what it meant when he came to me when i was almost dead with loneliness, and told me that he wanted to marry me--you can't understand how every night--i pray--on my knees, that i'll be good enough for him--you can't understand how grateful i am--and how i try to appreciate his work; but i'm made that way--to hate pain. i hate to know about it--to see it----" again she shuddered.
-diana drew her close. "oh, you poor little thing," she said, "you poor little thing."
-when the dawn, not many hours later, peeped into the three rooms, it showed, in one, sophie asleep beneath the picture of her lost lover. in another bettina, asleep, with tears still on her lashes, and with the flashing rings rising and falling above her heart. in the third room it showed diana, awake, after hours of weariness--writing a letter to anthony.
-when anthony had read that letter, he left the sanatorium and took a path which led him to the hills and into the hemlock forest. the walk up the hills was long, and the sun was hot, so that when he reached the depths of the wood he threw himself down with a grateful sense of the stillness which could not be disturbed by telephone or tap at the door. for a little while he lay with his eyes shut, steeping himself in that blessed silence.
-when at last he sat up, he took from his pocket diana's letter, and read it again, passing his hand now and then nervously through his hair, until it stood up like the ruffled plumage of an eagle.
-"it will be easier for me to talk with you in this way than face to face. when you are with me, my point of view seems to get mixed up with your point of view, and before i know it, i find myself making promises which i cannot keep, as to-night, when i almost said i would stay--and be your friend.
-"i have always been your friend, anthony. haven't i? even when i was a little girl, and you were a big boy, you seemed to find something in me which made it worth while for you to leave the other big boys and stay with me and talk about my books. will i ever forget how you read some of them aloud to me? i never open now my thumbed little copy of 'cranford' without hearing your laughing voice stumbling over the mincing phrases, and as for 'little women,' i believe that i worshiped in you the personification of 'laurie.'
-"but those were not the best times, anthony. the best were when it was too dark to read, and i would curl up on the big bench by the side of the fire, and you would lie at full length on the hearth-rug, and the wind would blow and the waves would boom, and you would weave tales for me out of your wonderful wealth of boyish dreams.
-"blessed memories! but even then i believe i resented your masterfulness a bit, anthony. there was that time when you told me that i must get my lessons before you would finish the story which was so near the end. and i cried and coaxed, but you stood firm--and i respected you for it, and hated you and loved you in one breath.
-"oh, my big boy anthony! shall i ever forget you, with your brown lock over your blue eyes, your unswerving honesty of purpose, your high ideals. when you came home from college, and i had just put up my hair, and lengthened my dresses, you started to kiss me, then stopped. 'i thought i could,' you said, with such a funny note of surprise in your voice, 'but there's something about you that sort of--holds me off, di.'
-"i think then that i began to know my power over you. and how i have used it, anthony! i have kept you single and alone all these years, because something in me would not yield to your kind of wooing.
-"if only you could have been a cave man and could have carried me off! so many women wish that of men, especially proud women. it isn't that we admire brutality, but we want to have all of our little feminine doubts and fears overcome by the man's decisive action. and you made the mistake of waiting patiently, asking me now and then, 'will you?' instead of saying, 'you must.'
-"yet while you could not win me, in other ways you dominated me. do you remember the holidays when i came home from boarding-school, and you were interne at a hospital? you asked me to go to the theater with you, and at the last moment you were called to the operating room to help one of the surgeons. you telephoned that you'd send a carriage for me and my chaperon, but that you couldn't go;--and i wouldn't go either, but stayed at home and sulked, and looked at myself in the glass, now and then, to mourn over the fact that you couldn't see me in my pink organdie with the rosebuds.
-"but you wouldn't even apologize for what i called your neglect. i said i should never go with you. you said it wasn't neglect, and that i should go. and go i did, finally, as meekly as possible, and i wore the pink organdie and had a lovely time.
-"it's the memory of that night when you couldn't fit your plans to mine which has made me write this letter. when i came home from harbor light i found bettina waiting up for me, and she broke down as the depressing realities of your work were forced upon her. i was very toploftical, anthony--and was prepared to read her a sermon on the duties of a doctor's wife, when all at once i had a vision of myself in that rosebud organdie. i hated your work then, and i felt that you lacked something of devotion to me, to let it keep you from me.
-"but later i felt differently. the world began to call you a great man--and i began to see with clearer eyes what you were doing for the world. and so i helped you at harbor light, and saw you there at your best--with your forceful control of all those helpless people, with your steadiness of hand and eye, a king who ruled by virtue of his power over life and death.
-"it was in those days, i think, that i began to worship you. but i never called my worship love. i wanted to be me, myself, and somehow i felt that when i was once promised to you i should have no separate identity. it was the rebellion of a strong personality against a stronger one. i was not wise enough to see that you who protected others from the storms of life might want some little haven of your own--a haven which would be--home.
-"but because you failed to be masterful in the one way which would have won me, because you said, always, 'will you?' instead of, 'come--let there be no more of this between you and me, diana,' i went away, not understanding you, not understanding myself.
-"and over there with sophie, i met van rosen. as i look back upon it, i do not wonder that he charmed me. he was different from our american men, a lover of pleasure. he typified the spirit of joy to me--there was never a moment when he had not some vivid plan for me. we did things of which i had always dreamed.
-"he gave a house party for me in his ancestral castle on the rhine. and he proposed to me in an ancient chapel with the moonlight making the effigies of his old ancestors seem like living knights in golden armor.
-"it was all so picturesque that practical america--that you, oh, i must confess it, anthony,--seemed miles away. it seemed to me that in my own country we lived dreary lives in a workaday atmosphere. it was only in that castle on the rhine that there were people who knew how to play. so i became engaged, and through all those months, van rosen and i played together.
-"but i grew so tired of it, so deadly tired of it! life seemed to have no meaning. and after a time i grew a little afraid. van rosen was different. i can't define exactly where the difference lay. but between us was the barrier of centuries of opposing traditions. i began to feel that as his wife i should be a princess in name, but a slave in fact. always laughing, always seeming to dance in the sunshine, he had a hardness which nothing could soften. i saw him now and then with those whom he considered his inferiors. i saw his treatment of his servants, his horses, his dogs. i heard him speak once to an old and dependent aunt, at another time to a young governess--and my cheeks burned--and i was afraid.
-"it came back to me then how you had always treated those who were weaker than yourself. you had always been a champion of old ladies and children. every animal, from peter pan to your old fat horse--that old fat horse now is living in clover since you acquired your motor cars--adored and followed you.
-"and one day i told van rosen--that i couldn't marry him. you don't know how humble i felt to think that i might have hurt him. but in that moment his real self showed. he was angry, furiously angry, and i knew all at once that it was my money, and not me that he wanted.
-"and so i came back to you----
-"but you had bettina, and there was no place for me. no place for the little dark-eyed girl who had listened to the big boy on stormy nights, no place for the woman who had not known her own heart----
-"bettina is very young, but she has depths of which you have not dreamed, of which i had not dreamed, until i talked with her last night. i went up to her room, and we had a very sweet and tender confidence. it was almost dawn before i left her. she showed me much of her heart, as she will, i hope, some day show it to you----
-"hers is a little white soul, dear friend. on the surface she has her girlish petulances, her youthful prejudices. but these? why, i had a thousand of them, anthony. how i snubbed those poor students whom you brought with you one afternoon to tea because their elbows were shiny and their shoes rusty. i was such a little snob, anthony. how i should welcome them now--those great doctors, who have done so much for humanity.
-"it is life which teaches us, dear friend. it will teach bettina. and it must teach me this: to bear the hard things. do you remember in those days when we read of knights on the battle-field that we loved those who died fighting? and how we hated those who ran away? well, i'm going to fight--but my fight must begin by running away.
-"it isn't a battle which we can fight together. the two who must do things together are you and bettina. any friendship of ours would shut her out. that's the plain truth, and you and i are old enough to know it, anthony.
-"there's much more that i could say to you. much more. but you must read between the lines. all my days i shall have in my heart the memory of my dear--big boy. some day when i am old and you are old, we can be friends. i'll look forward to that day, and it shall be my beacon light in the darkness.
-"it's good-bye, dear, for a long time--good-bye.
-how still it was in the hemlock forest! a squirrel which had ventured down from the branches flattened himself against the trunk of a tree and peered curiously at the figure which lay face downward on the fragrant carpet. one hand, outflung, caught at a little bush and held on as if in agony. the other hand grasped the sheets of gray paper, which, close-written, in feminine script, had brought a message of infinite pain and loss.
-the little silver ring
-the yacht yard in which bobbie's boat was hauled up for repairs lay at the foot of the rocks to the north of diana's house. from the north porch, therefore, one could look down on the activities which had to do with the bringing in, and putting into shape the fine craft which through the summer were anchored in the harbor. a marine railway floated the boats in and out at high tide, and at such times creaked complainingly.
-it was on the north porch that sophie and bettina sat on the morning after diana's departure--sophie knitting a motor scarf for anthony, bettina hemstitching white frills.
-below in the yacht yard the master gave orders, and the machinery of the marine railway began its clanking chorus. bettina glanced over the rail. "bobbie's boat is going out," she said, "and he and justin are on board."
-justin saw her and called, "may i come up?"
-bettina shook her head at him. "if he thinks i'm going to shriek an answer to the housetops, he's mistaken."
-again she shook her head at him, and justin immediately offered excuses to bobbie.
-"you won't mind," he said, "if i go up there?"
-bobbie jeered. "talk about me! you're here to-day and there to-morrow. yesterday it was sara, and now it's betty dolce."
-"it was never sara."
-"that's what i said when i fell in love with doris, but you wouldn't believe me. and i can't quite see the difference."
-"i've never cared for sara in that way."
-"then you have jolly well flirted with her."
-"don't try to be english with your 'jolly wells.'"
-bobbie turned his back on justin. "i suppose, then, you're not going to have lunch with me?" he said over his shoulder.
-"why can't we all have lunch with you?"
-"betty, and mrs. martens--and me----"
-"doesn't doris come into it?"
-nobody but bettina! justin admitted it to himself triumphantly. please god, there should never be any one but bettina!
-perhaps something of his thought showed in his face, for bobbie clapped him on the shoulder with a hearty, "go in and win her, old man, and we'll have a double wedding."
-"if my wedding," solemnly, "were as sure as yours, i'd burn incense to the gods."
-"well, why don't you make it sure?"
-"i can't. she stands on her pedestal, and i can't reach up to her."
-"man, you're afraid of her."
-"it isn't that. but i'm not in this race to fall out, bobbie. i guess you can see that."
-bobbie nodded. "anybody who has eyes can see it," he said.
-the little yacht was in the water now, still helpless because of her furled sails.
-justin, making a bridge of the small boats tied to the floating pier, gained dry land, and continued his conversation with bobbie across the intervening space. "suppose we cut the luncheon out, and go for a sail this afternoon. we can land off gloucester way and have tea at the lobster pot."
-"tea, meaning lobster sandwiches," said bobbie. "do you know, justin, that the whole coast is blossoming with lobster sandwiches? once upon a time one ate muffins with their tea. but now nobody takes tea. they take coffee and lobster sandwiches. and i don't like sea foods, and i don't drink coffee. otherwise it is all right."
-"we'll have muffins and jam. and you and doris shall have a table by yourselves, and bettina and i, and we'll ask anthony to look after mrs. martens." he stopped. "no, we won't ask anthony--he has a fashion of claiming bettina. he's her guardian, you know."
-"look here, justin. did it ever occur to you that he'd like to be more--than a guardian?"
-"it's diana for anthony, bobbie."
-"i'm not so sure. doris says there is something queer about it all----"
-"oh, about diana having bettina here, and then going away and leaving her----"
-"sara's been talking. doris wouldn't think such unpleasant things, bobbie--there isn't anything between anthony and betty. there can't be anything----"
-but even as he said it he was stabbed by the memory of bettina's radiant look of pride as she sat beside anthony on the night of the yacht club dance.
-"no man," said bobbie, "is going to wait forever, and betty dolce is a very lovely little lady. all the boys at the club are crazy about her, and if it hadn't been for doris there's no telling how i might have felt--but doris is the last one, justin."
-"good. i'll wigwag from the porch, bobbie. keep your eyes open for my signal."
-bettina, still hemstitching on white frills, welcomed justin with a charming smile, but with a decided negative to his invitation.
-"i'm going out with anthony."
-justin eyed her reproachfully. "i told you once before that three was a crowd----"
-"oh, but this time it isn't three, but two--anthony and i are going alone in his little car, and we are to have dinner at green gables."
-all the laughter died out of his face. "oh, i'm afraid you must think me all kinds of fool." he turned abruptly to sophie. "mrs. martens, you'll go in bobbie's boat, won't you? he's dying to ask doris."
-"do you really want me?" sophie asked, brightly.
-"always, dear lady."
-bettina, bending over her frills, felt a sudden sense of desolation.
-"oh, dear," she said, wistfully. "why do all the nice things come at once?"
-with that sigh, joy came back to justin.
-he dropped into a chair beside her. "what time will you get home to-night?" he asked.
-"at eight. anthony's office hours begin then."
-"may i come up?"
-"may he, sophie?"
-"it's my bridge night at the club, dear----"
-"please," justin pleaded.
-sophie laughed. "well, delia shall chaperon you. of course you may come, justin."
-justin, signaling bobbie a moment later, was conscious of a wild desire to shout to the four winds of heaven the fact that for one little hour he was to have his goddess to himself.
-for justin's coming that night bettina put on her white crêpe tea gown with the little lace mantle. she was very tired after her ride with anthony. there had been no reason for fatigue. he had been most kind and considerate. but bettina's little efforts at conversation had seemed to her childishly inadequate. she had felt a sense of deadly depression. what should she do to interest him through all the years? would he always have his mind on the things of which she knew nothing? would she always try and never make a success of her efforts to enter into his life?
-she had tried to tell him about justin--about their compact of friendship--yet the words had died on her lips. suppose he did not understand? suppose he did not approve? suppose he should forbid her to have a big brother--as he had forbidden her to fly in the "gray gull" with justin?
-she dared not risk such a catastrophe. she clung desperately to the thought of justin's youth and gayety. no, anthony might not understand, so why should she discuss it with him?
-at dinner anthony roused himself and had played the gracious host. yet on the return trip he had relapsed into silence, and she had again felt that sense of desperate failure. oh, what kind of wife was she going to make for this grave anthony, this great dr. anthony, who loved her and whom she loved?
-it was on the return trip, too, that he had spoken of their coming marriage. "why can't it be soon, bettina?" he had said. "why should we wait, you and i?"
-she knew that there was no good reason. that a few weeks ago she would have been radiant at the prospect.
-yet she told him, nervously, that if he didn't mind, it would be better to wait--a little. there were things to do.
-and he had acquiesced, because of his masculine ignorance of the things which must really be done.
-"the big house will be ready," he said, "when you are ready."
-as she changed her gown on her return home, bettina meditated soberly on the situation. diana, when they had talked together, had pointed out that the women who married such men as anthony must be content to make sacrifices. "he belongs to the world, dear child," she had said; "you must remember that, if you would be happy. it must be your joy to help him in his great work."
-bettina was beginning to be a little afraid of the future. it was not that she did not love anthony--why, anthony was the best man in the whole wide world. but everybody expected so much of her, and she was not quite sure that she should come up to the full measure of their expectations.
-as she came down the stairs, justin was waiting for her.
-"oh, you little beauty," his heart whispered; "you little white and gold beauty."
-she had twisted her hair low on her neck, and her delicate lace mantle fell about her like folded gossamer wings.
-"we will sit in the library," she said. "i have had a fire built. it is so damp and foggy outside. sophie said you had to come in early from your sail on account of it."
-"we came near not coming in at all," justin told her. "doris was terribly scared. but mrs. martens was as cool as possible. it's rather risky business outside on such a day. the rocks are like needle points under the water."
-"i'm a terrible coward."
-"you only think you are. when are you going to fly with me?"
-he had placed a chair for her by the fire, and stood leaning over the back of it.
-"never is a long time--little sister."
-"but i should be afraid."
-"not with me."
-"not with me." he came around so that he could look into her face. "would you be afraid with me?"
-she knew that she would not. she had not been afraid in the storm. but these things were not to be told.
-she did not meet his eyes, but shook her head.
-he was struck by her troubled look.
-"tired--little sister?" he asked.
-her lips quivered. "very tired."
-his heart yearned over her. she seemed such a little thing in that stately room with its high ceilings, its massive furniture, its book-lined walls. the only light came from the fire, and from a silver lamp which hung over diana's desk. on the table near bettina was a bowl of pink hyacinths, which filled the room with the fresh fragrance of spring.
-he was conscious of these things, however, only as a setting for her beauty. and he was more than ever conscious of his desire to place himself between her and the world which might hurt her. "let me help you," he said, earnestly. "don't you know that my only desire is to serve you?"
-she considered him, wistfully. "it's dear of you to say that."
-he sat down, leaning toward her.
-"it isn't dear of me. it isn't even good of me. it's simply self-preservation. don't you know, can't you see that i have only one thought--your happiness; only one wish--to be always near you?"
-there was no mistaking the significance of his flaming words.
-she shrank back. "oh, you must not say such things."
-"because. oh, you called yourself my friend."
-"i am more than that," he said, steadily. "i am your lover."
-she began to sob like a little child. "oh, big brother," she told him, "you have spoiled everything."
-he knelt beside her chair. "how have i spoiled things?"
-"i wanted you for my friend."
-"i am your friend, dear one."
-very still and pale she fought against the sweetness of the truth he was forcing upon her.
-"please--go away," she whispered.
-she rose also, a frail little thing in her floating draperies, and laid her hand lightly on his arm.
-"there are things which i cannot tell you. but i need a friend. if you care for me you'll let me be your--little sister; you won't trouble me by saying such things as you have said--to-night."
-he tried with all the strength of his young manhood to hide his own hurt and meet her need.
-"i could kill myself for making you cry. i'm going to be good now. really and truly your good big brother."
-she glanced up at him with charming shyness.
-"i'll forget the things that you have said to-night--if you won't say them again."
-"i shall not tie myself to an impossible promise," he repeated, "but i am going to tie you to a promise."
-"me?" she faced him.
-"yes. oh, see here," boyishly, "i brought something for you to-night. i have noticed that you don't wear rings, but i want you to wear this." he opened his hand and showed her, lying on the palm, a little silver ring. "it's just a simple trinket that my sister wore as a child. i'd like to think that it would tie you to me always--for remembrance. i had hoped that you would let me give you another some time. but this--why, you can't object to wearing it--and it would mean a lot to me if you would----"
-her slender fingers touched it. "how sweet of you to think of it----"
-"then you'll wear it?"
-"yes--because you are--my friend."
-he took her hand in his and fitting the slender band first on one finger and then on another found a place for it at last on the little finger of her left hand.
-"with this ring," he said, softly, "i take you always--for my friend----"
-then he stood looking down at her. "what a lovely little thing you are," he said. "you're so tiny that i could pick you up and carry you off, yet i tremble when i touch your hand."
-she drew a quick short breath.
-"you aren't to say such things to me--you know."
-"i'll be good."
-she knelt down like a child on the hearth-rug, and held her hand forward so that the light of the fire might shine on the silver circlet.
-"why, it's engraved," she said, "with two hearts."
-"yes," he said; "your heart and mine."
-as she bent forward, the thin chain which she wore about her neck swung forward from among the laces of her gown, and, "tinkle, tinkle," sounded the chime of the flashing rings which anthony had given her.
-justin saw her catch at them, saw her look of frightened appeal as she thrust them hurriedly back into their hiding-place.
-she rose slowly from the rug; slowly she took the little silver ring from her finger; slowly she handed it back to him.
-"please, i must not wear it," she said, with a break in her voice. "i must give it back to you--my friend."
-in which bettina flies
-in the clear days which followed, justin gave his undivided attention to flying. not once did he see bettina. not once did he join the party of young people of which he had been the leading spirit.
-in vain did bobbie formulate enticing plans.
-"we'll go to cat island with captain stubbs, fish all day, and have chowder on the rocks."
-there had been one glorified fishing trip for justin with bettina. he wanted no other.
-"i've wasted enough time," he said shortly. "i came here to practice flying, not to do social stunts."
-sara urged him also. "you haven't played a set of tennis with me since you came up," she complained. "of course i know you're simply crazy over betty dolce, but that needn't cut me out entirely. i thought my friendship meant something to you, justin."
-"it does," justin told her, honestly, "but i'm not in a mood for tennis, and as for betty dolce, i haven't seen her for a week."
-sara was cheered by his statement. if his absorption was simply in his flying machine, she could wait. men always returned finally from machines to femininity.
-so justin flew and flew, looking down at times upon the tops of the houses in the quaint coast towns, at other times having beneath him and above him blue sea and blue sky.
-and everywhere he went, he knew that people were craning their necks and crying out in wonder, for in this part of the world, at least, such aerial craft were rare visitors.
-and when he grew tired of great heights, he would let his shining ship slide down the air currents until it touched the water; then like a mammoth aquatic bird it would swim the surface, and the sailors on the big yachts would lean out over the sides and hail him, and the motor boats would follow him, until, at last, growing impatient of their close observance, he would rise again, higher and higher in the golden haze; earth would be left behind, and he would be alone with his thoughts.
-and he thought always of bettina.
-he thought of her as he had first seen her, in the shadowy room, with her shabby black dress and her white and gold beauty. he thought of her as she had come toward him under the lilacs, a flower among the flowers. again he saw her dancing, like a wraith, in the moonlight; he saw her, in the little blue serge frock and shady hat, measuring him with her cool eyes; and again, laying plates on the flapping cloth with white hands, or racing with him against the wildness of the storm. he saw her with her fair wet braids hanging to her knees, and her slender fingers twisting among the gold. he saw her with the light of the harness-room fire upon her as she promised to be his friend.
-but most of all he saw her as she had been that last night in the great library, frail and white in her floating draperies.
-"you have spoiled everything," she had said.
-how had he spoiled everything?
-in one moment he would resolve to have it out with her. in the next he would plan to go away, to give her up, to forget her.
-a few weeks ago he had not known her. he had liked many women, but had loved none. he had been heart-whole and fancy free. and now his life, his happiness, all of his future, were bound up in this little pale child with the wonderful hair!
-up and up, higher and higher. it was like the flight of an eagle.
-and far below, on a porch which overhung the harbor, two women watched with beating hearts.
-"oh, why will he do it?" sophie asked, in agonized tones. "it is so dangerous."
-bettina caught her breath. "somehow i can't think of the danger," she said. "he isn't afraid, and to me it seems--very wonderful--as if he had wings, and could fly--straight up--to heaven----"
-as justin had thought all that week of bettina, so she had thought of him; every moment of the day, and into the night, the vision was upon her.
-again she was held by those mocking eyes, again she was thrilled by that mad race in the rain. she saw him as he had been on the night of the yacht club dance, with his laughing air of conquest; as he had been in the great library, saying steadily, "i am your lover----"
-he had gone from her, angry, that night because she would give him no explanation of her refusal to take the silver ring.
-"i cannot, i cannot," she had repeated.
-he had caught hold of her hands. "you are not a flirt," he had said; "you are too sweet and good for that--but what do you mean by your mysteries----oh, why can't you tell me the truth?"
-she had looked at him, dumbly, and he had rushed away, leaving her unforgiven.
-she had written at once to diana, asking to be released from her promise to keep her engagement secret. "people ought to know," was the reason she gave.
-she had also telephoned to anthony. she wanted to see him. to tell him that she would marry him as soon as he wished. that would be the solution. then justin would understand, and would forgive her.
-she felt that more than anything in the whole wide world she wanted justin's forgiveness.
-anthony had come, and they had gone into the library where she had talked with justin, and anthony, preoccupied and silent, had placed a chair for her, and had stood where justin had stood. and she had shivered and had begged, "sit down where i can see you."
-he had taken the chair opposite her, and suddenly she had surprised herself and him by coming over to him, and slipping to her knees beside his chair, and sobbing with her face hidden.
-he had lifted her in his arms, and had soothed her like a child. "what is it, dear heart?" he had demanded.
-and, like a child, she had answered:
-"oh, please, let's get married right away----"
-she had explained haltingly that she had been lonely since diana went away, and unhappy. she--she missed her mother--and diana's house wasn't her home. sophie was dear, but, oh, it would be much better to be married as soon as she could get ready.
-"and how soon will that be?" gravely.
-"in a month. i think everybody should be told now."
-he agreed. "perhaps it should have been announced at once, but diana seemed to think that it was best to wait."
-"diana doesn't know--everything."
-"no, but she is wise in many things."
-"when we are--married, will you and diana be just as good friends?"
-"i hope that we may----"
-something in his tone had made her look up and say quickly, "oh, i want you to be friends. you didn't think that i was jealous--of diana?"
-he had thought she might be. if she knew the truth she would surely have a right to be. but she did not know the truth.
-"why did you ask?" he probed.
-"because," feverishly, "it doesn't seem right, does it, that just because a man and a woman are married they should never have any men or women friends? there's bobbie, for example--and--and justin--i shan't have to be just your wife, shall i? i can have them for friends?"
-"of course." yet even as he said it he wondered if he would care to have her allegiance divided--as his was divided. oh, wise diana, who had refused to be what she had no right to be, what he would not want his own wife to be, when once she was bound to him--the dear friend of another man.
-"you and i," he said, "must try to be all in all to each other." then after a pause, "do you really love me, child?"
-"oh, yes." again she drew a sobbing breath.
-"i am such an old fellow," he said, in a troubled way, "and you are made for bright things and gay things. i wonder if you will be happy with an old tired fellow like me----"
-in her simplicity she believed that his appeal was that of love, and out of the gratitude which she felt that she owed him she tried to respond.
-"oh, i do love you," she whispered, "and when we are married--we shall be happy----"
-presently she tugged at the thin chain about her neck, and brought forth the rings.
-"after this i shall wear them," she said, "for all the world to see."
-when anthony went home he answered diana's letter. he had sent her flowers on the day that she had left--her favorite violets and valley lilies. beyond that he had made no sign.
-but now he wrote:
-"oh, dear wise woman:
-"during all the days since i received your letter i have not been able to see things as you wanted me to see them. i have raged against fate, and have been pursued by furies. i have shut myself away, as far as possible, from the world. at one moment i have doubted your love for me; at the next, i have resolved to follow you, play cave man, and carry you off.
-"i have read and reread your letter, trying to find some weakness to which i could appeal--but i could find none. but finally, as i read, one sentence began to stand out: 'we loved those who died--fighting.' when i got into the swing of that thought it stirred me. i am going to live--fighting--perhaps i shall die--fighting----
-"to-day bettina has told me that she will marry me in a month. she says that she has written you that it is best that people should know at once. and i think that it is best. i shall try to make her happy, but if i conquer life, if i ever do any great thing or good thing or wise thing, it will be because you have shown me the way.
-"you say, 'when we are old, we can be friends.' how i shall welcome old age, diana! may the years fly swiftly!
-having squared himself thus with the inevitable, anthony, a little grayer, perhaps, a little more worn and worried, took up life where he had left off before diana came home from europe.
-he had seen nothing, of late, of justin, except as he had glimpsed him, now and then, in the air.
-but on the morning on which bettina and sophie had watched the flight from their porch he came upon the young aviator, near the sheds, standing in the midst of an eager group of young folks, adored by the girls, envied by the boys.
-amid the clamor of voices he caught the question, "are you going up again this afternoon?"
-then, over their heads, justin saw anthony.
-"bring betty dolce up this afternoon," he called, "and i'll show you through the shops. there are four ships beside mine in the sheds, and they'll be sent out to-morrow. you and she may never have a chance to see so many together."
-anthony agreed, and called up bettina.
-she assented eagerly. to-day, then, justin should see her rings. he would ask for an explanation. she would tell him,--and he would understand. when he knew that she belonged to anthony he would forget that he had wanted to be anything but her friend, and things would be as they had been before.
-so, knowing nothing of the hearts of men, she argued in her innocence.
-when she saw justin, she felt that even through her gloves he must see the rings. but his eyes were on her face, and she burned red beneath his glance.
-on an impulse he had asked her. if anthony brought her, he should see her, talk to her. that, for the moment, would give his heart respite from the pain which gnawed it.
-as a matter of fact, she heard not a word. her mind was on her rings. she began to take off her gloves, slowly; dreading, yet craving the moment, when justin should look at her hands.
-but he was still explaining to anthony: "these pontoons do the trick. an aeroplane simply flies. but the hydro-aeroplanes fly and swim, and that's what makes them so safe when there's water to cross."
-as he touched the delicate wires of the framework they gave forth a humming noise. "when you're up in the air," he said, "it sounds like the crash of chords."
-bettina's gloves were off now. the big diamonds on her left hand seemed to catch all the light in the dim room and to blaze like suns!
-but justin was thinking only of bettina's eyes under her drooping veil, and of her cheeks which burned red, and of her lips which were closed against any speech with him.
-they went on to the last shed, which was open, and from which a track descended into the water.
-poised there, in the half-darkness, like a bird at rest, was another ship, ready for flight.
-"this is mine," said justin; "the 'gray gull.' i wanted to call her 'the wild hawk,' but changed my mind. do you remember kipling's
-"'the wild hawk to the wind-swept sky, the deer to the wholesome wold, and the heart of a man to the heart of a maid, as it was in the days of old'?"
-"it is one of diana's favorites," said anthony. but bettina said never a word.
-and just then a boy came to say that dr. blake was wanted at the telephone.
-"it's a hurry call," anthony came back to tell them. "would you mind walking home with bettina, justin?"
-would he mind? suddenly all the stars sang!
-the moment that anthony's back was turned bettina felt a frantic desire to hide her rings. what would justin say when he saw them? with anthony there she had felt brave. but now--she turned the rings inward and began hastily to put on her gloves. oh, to-night, after she reached home, she would write justin a prim little note and tell him of her engagement! that would be better, of course! she should have thought of it before!
-crashing across her trembling decision came justin's demand.
-"look here. why can't you fly with me now? just a little way, low over the harbor? come----"
-it seemed to her that between them was beating and throbbing darkness, out of which his eager eyes said, "come."
-"oh, no," she protested, with dry lips. "anthony wouldn't like it."
-"what has anthony to do with it?" he had taken her hands in his and was crushing them. the rings cut and hurt, but she made no sign; she only looked at him large-eyed, and said, not knowing what she said, "he has nothing to do with it----"
-she was conscious that he was taking the pins out of her big hat. that he was winding her white chiffon veil, nun-like, about her head, so that her face was framed. and within this frame glowed her hot cheeks and questioning eyes.
-"come," he said, again, and lifted her to her seat and fastened her in, and took his place beside her. he whistled, and two men came, and the buoyant ship slid down the track toward the water; the big propeller waved for a moment its octopus arms, then started with a mighty roar.
-for a moment they swam the surface, then, light as a bird, the "gray gull" soared.
-up and up, with the white yachts in the harbor just beneath them, with the gold of the sunshine surrounding them; and out of it his face bending down to her.
-"are you afraid?" he asked, as he had asked in the storm.
-and she, with her cheeks still burning hot, looked up at him and laughed.
-"afraid--with you? oh, justin, justin, i could fly like this--forever."
-voices in the dark
-captain stubbs' cottage was one of the show places of the town. built before the revolution, it was of typical english rural architecture--one-storied, with a square chimney, and with a garden which made it the delight of artists who came from far and near to paint it; in the spring crocuses starred the borders, violets studded the lawn with amethyst, pale irises and daffodils, narcissus and jonquils stood in slim beauty. later came sweet peas, and the roses followed, hiding with their beauty the weather-beaten boards. the late summer brought nasturtiums in all their richness of orange and bronze-brown, and in the fall, the dahlias blazed.
-the captain lived alone, attending to his domestic affairs in a fashion which was the envy of less spick and span housekeepers. he would not have his home invaded by prying folk, but to his invited and welcome guests he would show his carved ivories, his embroideries, heavy with gold, his dragon-encircled jars and vases. everywhere was the charm of shining neatness, and flowers were everywhere.
-a faint glimmer of resentment had shone in miss matthews' eyes. "i guess most women are kept so busy that they haven't time to think about their looks."
-"well, if i had a wife," the captain had said, "i'd like to have her wear bright things. my mother had dimity dresses--there was a pink one, like a rose, and a green one that looked like the young grass in the spring, and there was one that made me think of forget-me-nots, or the sky when there isn't a cloud in it."
-bettina had smiled at him. "how pretty your mother must have been."
-"it wasn't that she was so pretty; it was her soft, quiet ways, and those bright-colored roses. and i've been looking for that kind of woman ever since."
-"if your mother," little miss matthews had told him, "had lived in this day of shirt-waists and short skirts, she'd probably be wearing high collars and sad colors with the rest of us."
-the emphasis with which the little lady had offered her opinion and the flush on her face had made bettina look at her with awakened eyes. "why--i believe she likes him. she'd be really nice-looking if she'd fix her hair----"
-to-day, as miss matthews stopped for a moment at the captain's gate to admire his sweet peas, she was not even "nice-looking." she was pale and thin, and had a hoarse cough.
-"i'm going home and to bed," she said. "i took cold that day in the rain, captain, and it hasn't left me since, and i took more cold yesterday, going to school without my overshoes."
-"you come right in, and i'll make you a cup of tea," said the captain, hospitably. but miss matthews refused, wearily.
-as she turned away, however, mrs. martens came to get the flowers which were the captain's daily offering for diana's table, and the little man extended a beaming invitation to both of them.
-"you pick your posies," he said, "and i'll get some tea for you and bring it right out here. you make her stay, mrs. martens; she needs a rest."
-sophie smiled at the little teacher. "you ought not to be out at all," she said, sympathetically.
-"school closes in four days," explained little miss matthews; "after that i think i shall fall down and die, but i've got to keep up until then."
-as the two women stood there at the gate together, they presented a striking contrast: sophie in her black, modish garments, with the look upon her face of the woman who has been loved, and who has bloomed because of it; miss matthews, a faded shadow of what she might have been if love had not passed her by.
-"how's betty?" miss matthews asked, as she sat down on a bench on the little covered porch, and watched sophie's slender fingers pull the sweet peas.
-captain stubbs, appearing with a big loaded tray, gave important information.
-"did she have on a white dress?"
-"then she's gone flying with justin ford."
-"what?" sophie stood up, and all the fragrant blooms fell at her feet. "oh, surely he wouldn't take betty up with him. it would be dreadful."
-"now, don't you worry," said the captain; "he ain't goin' to let a hair of her head get hurt--he's daffy over her."
-"daffy?" sophie stared.
-miss matthews, drinking her tea thirstily, took up the captain's story. "it rained, and the captain and i wrapped up and stayed by the boat. but those young folks ran off, and he was helping her along, and she was looking up at him--and--everybody knows what's going to happen when two people look at each other that way."
-"and if they are flying," the captain chuckled, "they're probably as near heaven as it's possible to be this side of the pearly gates."
-but sophie would not treat the subject lightly. "it's bad enough for a man to fly," she said, "but he had no right to take that child up with him. where did you see them, captain?"
-"i was standing on those rocks out there, and i saw him rise up over the harbor. i could see that he had someone with him, so i went in, and got my glass, and sure enough, there she was, all in white, with a white veil wrapped tight about her head."
-"which way did they go?"
-"straight out beyond the harbor, and up toward gloucester way--but don't you worry, mrs. martens; they'll be back before they know it."
-"but i do worry," sophie declared, "and i shall certainly tell justin what i think of his foolhardiness."
-"well, you take your tea," said the captain, soothingly, "and i'll call up and see if they have come in."
-taking tea with the captain meant the tasting of many strange and wonderful flavors. the little man had clung to all the traditions of his seagoing forefathers, who had brought back from the orient spicy things and sweet things--conserved fruits and preserved ginger, queer nuts in syrup, golden-flavored tea, and these he served with thick slices of buttered bread of his own making.
-"you might have had a lobster," he said to sophie, "if it hadn't been so near your dinner time. i've got 'em fresh cooked."
-but sophie shook her head. "i like your sweet things better. bobbie and i are the ones who don't like lobster. he says that i'm a sort of oasis in a desert of shell-fish."
-"he's got a nice boat," said the captain, "and he's got a nice girl. i like doris."
-sophie's mind went back to bettina. "oh, will you telephone, please, captain?"
-the captain came back with the news that nothing had been seen of the "gray gull," but that there was no need to worry, as the day was perfectly calm, and that, as he had miss dolce with him, he would certainly not fly high.
-sophie refused to be comforted. "i shall tell anthony," she said; "he must speak to justin."
-"i don't see what blake's got to do with it," said the blunt captain; "young ford may tell him to mind his business----"
-miss matthews bristled. "you ought to have seen the care he took of her that day in the rain. i shall never forget the sight of those two young creatures running up the hill--the captain said then he had never seen a prettier pair."
-in the midst of her worry sophie felt an insane desire to laugh. was this tragedy only or, after all, a comedy? if betty loved justin? her imagination could scarcely compass the consequences of this possibility.
-sophie walked home with miss matthews, and, returning to diana's, met sara half-way.
-"is bettina flying with justin?" sara asked, abruptly.
-"captain stubbs says that she is. i am very much displeased with justin. it is really unpardonable that bettina should be subjected to such danger."
-"she didn't have to go if she didn't want to," said sara, sharply, "but she's crazy about him----"
-"my dear----how do you know?"
-"anybody can see it. and i guess it's the real thing this time with justin."
-the wistful expression on the sharp little face touched sophie's kind heart.
-"it's hardly likely. they have known each other for such a short time."
-"time has nothing to do with love," said the sophisticated sara. "a man and a girl can meet and love in a week and live happy ever after. oh, yes, they can. and they can know each other all their lives and be perfectly miserable. dad and mother grew up together, and you've heard, mrs. martens, what a life they lived."
-the story of the unhappiness of sara's parents was common property. yet it hurt sophie to see the hard look in the girl's eyes.
-"my dear child," she said, "everything depends on the amount of affection which two people give each other--time doesn't count."
-sara was digging the point of her parasol into the sand. "i've never seen anything like it with justin. why, he's never asked any woman to fly with him. and when i looked up a while ago, and saw that he had--her--i knew he wouldn't have--asked her--if he hadn't--cared----"
-"perhaps we are making things more serious than they really are," sophie said. but as the two women walked on together, her mental disturbance continued. what if miss matthews and sara had spoken the truth? how would it affect bettina--how would it affect--diana?
-"i can't quite understand what all the men see in her," sara was saying. "of course she's a beauty. but she's so little and white--and she doesn't seem so terribly clever----"
-"there's a charm she has inherited from those sleepy venetian ladies, who only waked now and then to flash a glance at some man--and hold him captive. those beauties were without conscience. but bettina has a puritan streak in her which she gets from her mother--that's what makes her such a fascinating combination, sara. she's like a little nun; yet one feels instinctively that back of that calm exterior there is force and fire."
-sara nodded. "i know. men don't like the obvious. that's why so many of us american girls fail to inspire grand passions. we have no surprises--no high lights or shadows--it's all glare----"
-"i'm not sure, my dear, but that, in the long run, such women make men happier than the other kind. in this practical world there's little room for varying moods."
-"if justin marries bettina," said sara, "they'll live on rhapsodies." she drew a quick short breath. "there won't be any commonplaces. they're both made that way. it will be all romance and roses----"
-"my dear--aren't we taking things a bit for granted?"
-"you'll see. you haven't watched them as i have."
-they had reached diana's house, and sophie asked sara to come in.
-"i can't. it's getting late and i must dress for dinner----"
-"some other time then, dear?"
-"yes--i shall love it." then, with some hesitation, "i'm afraid i've said more than i should----"
-sophie bent and kissed her. "not a bit. i'm a perfect keeper of confidences--and not a soul shall share what you've told me----"
-delia met mrs. martens in the hall.
-"dr. blake's on the porch," she said, "and he's asking about bettina----"
-"hasn't she come?"
-"what time is it, delia----"
-"of all the mad things to do," said anthony, as sophie went out to him. "i shall certainly call justin to strict account--for asking her----"
-"she shouldn't have gone," sophie said. "i can't imagine how he induced her. she's such a little coward."
-"they've been away three hours. i went over to the sheds and started a motor boat to search for them. they are beginning to realize over there that something may have happened."
-"did justin ask betty while you were with her?"
-"no. he simply showed us around, and said he'd walk home with her. oh, the young fool, the young fool. he can risk his own life if he chooses--but he had no right to take--that child----"
-the telephone rang, and sophie, answering, found justin at the other end.
-"we're at gloucester, safe and sound. i'm awfully sorry if you've worried, mrs. martens. but i could not get to a 'phone before this. we'll come back by train, and betty says you're not to wait dinner. we'll get something here. we're all right, really--only sorry if you are upset."
-"we are very much upset," sophie told him, severely. "anthony is here, and he is extremely anxious."
-"he needn't worry," grimly. "i can take care of her."
-mrs. martens, explaining the situation to anthony a few minutes later, refrained, tactfully, from giving justin's exact words.
-anthony dined with her, then went off to see miss matthews, who had asked him to prescribe for her cold.
-"call me up when bettina comes," he said, as he left.
-sophie promised, and watched him drive away in his little car. she had never seen him so nervous, so irritable. was this what the thwarting of his life would mean--that he would let go of the serenity which had made his presence a benediction to his little world?
-or was it really love for bettina which so disturbed him? stranger things had happened. diana was away--bettina was beautiful--justin was in the field to measure lances.
-with peter pan for company, sophie waited on the porch for the recreant pair.
-when they arrived it was very dark, and she could not see their faces. but what had made that difference in their voices--that subtle, thrilling difference?
-glory of youth
-when bettina cried, "i could fly with you,--forever," the light of a great joy leaped in justin's eyes. but he said nothing; he merely set his hand more steadily to steering.
-and bettina was content to be silent; to drift on and on in this golden world, where there was just herself and the youth with the shining eyes.
-far beneath them several racing yachts seemed flung like white flower petals on the surface of the sea; two girls in red coats on the club-house tennis courts made glowing spots of color; the crowds of people on the rocks, with their heads upturned to view the fairy ship of the air, were as formless and as lacking in life and movement as a patchwork quilt.
-bettina felt no wonder. her mood was one of heavenly enchantment; having passed the first gate of the great adventure, no small detail could seem strange.
-if in those exquisite moments she remembered anthony, she gave no sign. somewhere, perhaps, down there in the darkness, was a weary man working; there were sick people; pain was there and suffering. but such things belonged to an existence in which she had no part. it was as if she had died, and, rising above the earth, looked pityingly on those who still struggled and strove.
-she had a sudden whimsical memory of a sunday-school song which had appealed to her childish imagination:
-"i shall have wings, i shall have wings, i shall have wings, some day----"
-years ago she had sung it with a half hundred enthusiastic youngsters. her vision, then, had dealt, somewhat hazily, with golden crowns, with plumed pinions, and with ultimate bliss; but never had her imagination compassed such a moment as this!
-above the noise of the motor justin was aware of the lilt of her fresh young voice:
-"i shall have wings, i shall have wings----"
-the humming wires keyed the hackneyed tune to a sort of celestial harmony:
-"bright wings of love, from god above, to bear my glad soul away----"
-justin glanced down at her rapt face.
-"do you like it?"
-as she again took up the little song, he joined in, and they finished the last verse triumphantly; then they looked at each other and laughed.
-"i used to sing it in sunday-school," bettina explained.
-"so did i," and these simple sentences, in their uplifted mood, seemed fraught with great meaning.
-they were beyond the harbor now. ahead of them and to the right was the open sea; to the left, the town, with its church steeples like pin points beneath them, its most imposing buildings no bigger than mushrooms.
-"are we so very high?"
-"not so high, perhaps, as it seems to you. it is perfectly safe."
-on and on they went, leaving the lighthouse behind them, leaving behind them the harbor and the town, passing, finally, the great forest through which they had raced in the rain.
-then justin had asked, "do you remember?"
-and bettina had answered, "shall i ever forget?"
-the gulls circled below them, uttering mewing cries. it was as if they protested against the intrusion of this bird man and bird woman in a realm which had belonged to winged things since the world began.
-they came presently to a long and lonely stretch of beach, above which justin sailed, low, and, relaxing his vigilance for the first time, he began his eager wooing--all fire and rapture.
-and bettina trembled--and listened.
-it seemed to her that throughout her life she had waited to hear that which justin was saying to her now.
-"you were made for me--dear. in my dreams there has always been a girl like you--little and white and helpless--but vivid, too, in flashes. when i saw you for the first time in that dark room on that rainy day i knew that you were--mine. i know i'm not good enough for you. i know that if you should ever marry me i should thank god on my knees every day of my life. but it isn't conceit which makes me believe that you and i have been coming toward each other always. i don't know why you gave me back the silver ring. at this moment i don't care--although the other night my world went to pieces--but just now, what you said,--and the way you said it, that you would fly with me forever,--made me feel that all the things i had hoped were true----"
-bettina felt as if their souls were bared. what conventional thing could she say which would hide her joy? her eyes would tell him though her lips might not.
-as if he read her thoughts he bent down to her. "look at me," he urged, and again, "my dear one--is it, then, really--true?"
-she knew now that she was justin's and he was hers until the end of time. by all the white wonder of her thoughts she knew it. by all the quickened blood in her beating heart. what she had felt for anthony was the affection of an unawakened nature--she had given him gratitude, friendship--but between them were the years across which she must look somewhat timidly; between them was his sadness, which oppressed her, and his profession, which she feared.
-but here was youth, which she understood, and romance, for which she had longed, and love at white-heat.
-thus, as she soared with justin, she forgot past promises and future judgments, and whispered, "it is true----"
-after that they talked in the language of youth and love.
-"do you know how pretty you are?"
-"you think that i am pretty because you--like me."
-"i think it because i--love you."
-the echo of their light laughter went trailing after them as the song of a lark trails through the blue.
-softly, at last, justin brought his shining ship down to the surface of a little bay.
-two men at work on the beach came out in a dory in answer to his call.
-they were eager and curious, and glad to tow the queer craft into shallow water, to make it fast, and to watch it for a time.
-"we will walk about for a bit," justin said to bettina, "and go back at sunset."
-bettina demurred. "it's really late now," she said, with her eyes on the eastern horizon, where the first gray haze of twilight was beginning to gather.
-"look the other way. there's all the gold of the west, and it won't be dark for hours."
-"but sophie will worry."
-"she will think you're with anthony--he's nice and safe."
-"perhaps some one will have seen us, and have told her, and anyhow, i must get back for dinner."
-"any one may eat a dinner, but for you and me there may never be another moment like this!"
-following a steep path they came presently to a curious and lonely spot. here was an ancient burying place. on a rocky headland, overlooking the entrance to the harbor and the wide sweep of the sea beyond, the first dead of the colony had been buried; here lay the forefathers of the town. many of the stones had fallen; others stood sturdily where they had stood for centuries. strange old stones they were, of gray slate, etched with forbidding symbols of skulls and crossbones.
-in one corner was a monument of later erection. it had to do with the memory of more than a hundred men who had been lost in a september gale off the fishing banks.
-bettina shivered as she read the carved history.
-"oh, how did the women stand it," she said, "to come here to the top of this hill, week after week, watching? to wonder and worry and fear. to wake in the middle of the night and know that their husbands and lovers were out in the blackness and storm. and then at last to see the boats coming in, and not know whether the ones they loved were on board--to find, perhaps, at last, that they were not on board. how did they stand it?"
-"as you would have stood it, if you had been one of them----"
-"would i?" wistfully. "do you think i could be brave and patient?"
-"you could be everything that is good and beautiful----"
-she did not smile or blush. all the glamour of their flight had fallen from her. the old cemetery with its gruesome headstones oppressed her. the purple shadows of the twilight seemed to circle the world.
-she shuddered and one little hand caught at the sleeve of justin's coat.
-he glanced down at her. "my dear one, what is it?"
-her frightened eyes pleaded. "i--i don't like it here. i'm afraid."
-"with me--silly. you weren't afraid up there in the clouds."
-"this is--different. it seems down here as if the whole world were--dead----"
-"you're tired. look here, i'm going to carry you up this hill."
-as he said it, masterfully, she felt herself swept up into his strong young arms.
-"put me down!"
-he drew his head back to look at her.
-"i'll tell you in a minute. put me down."
-he set her on her feet, and she stood there, swaying, her lips parted.
-at last she said, "i love you," but held out her hand as if to keep him from her. "i love you--but i mustn't let you--love me."
-"because--oh, justin," she was stripping off her gloves, "oh, i've tried to hide these," pitifully, "to hide these from you. i wanted my little moment of happiness, too. but now you've got to know."
-the gloves were off, and the last rays of the setting sun, striking the great jewels, brought fire which seemed to blind justin's eyes.
-he caught her hands in his, roughly. "who gave them to you?" he demanded. "who gave them to you, bettina?"
-but all his doubts and fears had crystallized to certainty before she whispered, "anthony."
-"do you mean that you are going to marry--anthony?"
-she nodded. "he loves me, justin."
-"and you love him?"
-his eyes, which had been stern, softened.
-"and now that you know," he asked, "what are you going to do?"
-she twisted her fingers nervously.
-"i don't know," she faltered. "what shall i do, justin?"
-"oh, my dear," he said, brokenly, "anthony is my friend. i can't steal you--like a thief--in the night----"
-her lips quivered. "i knew that--you'd say that. i am glad--you--said it."
-he turned away. "if you knew how hard it is for me to say it."
-she laid her little hand on his arm.
-"if you only won't be angry with me."
-he turned back to her. "i am not angry," he said, "only i have been--all sorts of a fool."
-she sank down hopelessly on a broken stone bench, backed by evergreen trees. "you haven't been a fool," she said. "i should have told you. but i couldn't. diana wouldn't let me."
-"what did diana have to do with it?"
-"she said that anthony's friends ought to know me before the engagement was announced."
-"so you and she have talked it over, and sophie, i suppose--and how many others?" his laugh was not good to hear.
-"oh, please. i don't think any of us could have guessed that--things would have turned out like this. i didn't dream how you felt and how i felt until the other night, when you tried to give me the little ring. then i knew."
-"that you loved me?"
-"no. that you loved me. i--i didn't know the other until to-day when you said--'come.'"
-"didn't you know that day in the rain?"
-"no, oh, no. i thought it was just because we were both young, and good friends, and happy together."
-"and i thought it was because our spirits met--in the storm."
-he flung himself down beside her. "to me the whole thing seems monstrous. anthony is years too old for you, even if you loved him. and you don't love him."
-"yet i can't break a promise, can i?"
-he moved restlessly.
-"if you told him, he would release you, of course. but somehow i'd feel an awful cad to have anthony think that i had taken you from him."
-"how do you think i should feel?" the color flamed in her cheeks. "don't you know that a woman has just as fine a sense of honor in such things as a man?"
-as she made a movement to rise, he caught at the floating ends of her white veil, and held them, as if he would thus anchor her to himself.
-"forgive me," he pleaded. "i'm afraid i'm too desperately unhappy to know what i am saying."
-"i know--i'm unhappy, too."
-with the fatalism of youth they had accepted their tragedy as final. he still held the end of her veil in his hand, but her face was turned away from him.
-a little breeze came from the west, and there was a dark line of cloud below the gold.
-"we shall have to go home on the train," justin said, as he noted the whitecaps beyond the bay. "there's too much wind to make it safe for us to fly."
-"then we must go now. it is very late."
-"i can telephone sophie from the gatekeeper's house. it's on the other side of the church. and i'll telephone to the men to come after the hydro-plane."
-she assented listlessly, and they walked on.
-the church, when they reached it, showed itself an ancient edifice. built of english brick, it had withstood the storms of years. its bell still rang clearly the call to sunday service, and at its font were baptized the descendants of the men who slept in the old cemetery.
-as they reached the steps, a man who was digging a grave hailed them. "if you and your wife would like to look in," he said to justin, "you can bring the key to me at the gate. i'll be there when you come."
-he unlocked the door for them. they heard his retreating footsteps, and knew that they were alone. then justin spoke with quickened breath. "that is as it should be--my wife----"
-out of a long silence she whispered, "please--we must not--we must not----"
-"surely we have a right to happiness----"
-she had left his side, and her voice seemed to come faintly from among the shadows: "hasn't everybody a right to happiness?"
-"why should we think of everybody--it is my happiness and yours which concerns us--sweetheart."
-she did not answer, and, following her, he found that she had entered one of the high-backed, old-fashioned pews, and was on her knees.
-hesitating, he presently knelt beside her.
-it was very still in the old church--the old, old church, with its history of sorrow and stress and storm. one final blaze of light illumined the stained glass window above the altar, and touched the bent heads with glory--the bright uncovered head and the veiled one beside it.
-then again came dimness, darkness--silence.
-they were in the vestibule of the church before he spoke to her.
-"did you pray," he asked, "for me?"
-"i prayed for all men and women--who love----"
-he laid his hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her with all of his heart in his sad young eyes. "there must be some way out of this," he said. "surely god can't be so cruel as to keep us apart. why, we are so young, dear one, and there's all of life before us--think of all the years."
-the look with which she met his glance had in it all the steadfastness of awakened womanhood. "you said out there that i could be brave and patient. help me to be brave--big brother."
-"don't," he said, hoarsely; "don't call me that. it's got to be all or nothing. but whatever comes, whether you marry me or marry anthony--i'm going to love you always. i'm going to love you until i die, bettina."
-miss matthews' cold proved to be bronchitis, and bettina insisted on nursing her.
-"please let me," she said to anthony the morning after her flight with justin. "i suppose i'm in disgrace, anyhow, and this shall be my penance. only it won't be very severe punishment, for i shall love to take care of her."
-"what good is penance if you aren't penitent? i'm perfectly sure that if that young rascal should ask you to go again you'd go."
-"it was glorious."
-"but very dangerous."
-she shrugged. "you do dangerous things every day. doesn't he, sophie?"
-"that's different. i do such things to help others."
-"and i do them to please myself."
-"and to please justin?" there was an impatient note in his voice. "i have told him that he must not ask you again, bettina."
-"what did he say?"
-"he didn't say a word." anthony smiled at the memory. "he just looked at me as if he would like to punch my head, and turned on his heel and left me."
-"are you angry with him?" anxiously.
-"he's angry with me."
-"oh, dear!" betty sighed. "sophie gave me a terrible lecture when i came home last night; didn't you, sophie? and now you and justin have fallen out, and i'm the cause of all the trouble. i'll go and look after letty matthews, and you can learn to love me when i'm gone."
-in spite of the lightness of her tone, there was a quiver in her voice which brought both of them to her feet.
-"my dear child----!"
-bettina smiled at them with misty eyes. "please let me go, and when i come back everything will be straightened out--and we'll all live--happy--ever after----"
-nothing that they could say would change her decision, and they were vaguely troubled by it, feeling that she had erected between herself and them some barrier of reserve which they could not break down.
-sophie voiced this in a worried way when bettina had gone up to pack the little bag which anthony was to convey with her precious self to miss matthews. "perhaps i shouldn't have said so much, but when she came she seemed so unconscious of the dreadfulness and danger that i'm afraid i scolded a bit."
-"she's such a child! do you think she will ever grow up?"
-"of course. diana feels that she has many womanly qualities----"
-anthony, standing by the window, fixed his eyes steadily on the blue distance as he asked:
-"what do you hear--from diana?"
-"i've a letter." sophie rummaged among the papers on her desk. "and there's a bit at the end that will please you--you know diana and her enthusiasms----"
-"yes, i know----"
-his head was still turned away as she opened the thick folded sheets.
-"shall i read it to you?"
-"she says she likes the hotel, and the people, although she doesn't see much of them. but this is the part you'll appreciate:
-"'there's a wonderful bit of woodland, sophie, back in the hills, and every day i go there and dream. i thought for a while that i had lost my dreams--but now they are coming to me again in flocks--like doves. and yesterday came the best dream of all. i have been trying to think what i could do with my future, and i've thought of this: i'll build a place up here in the forest where anthony's sick folk can come when they begin to get well, and thus i can finish the work which he begins----'"
-she paused, as anthony faced her. "why didn't she write that to me?" he demanded, almost roughly. "didn't she know it would mean more to me than to you--than to anybody----?"
-then with the sudden consciousness that he was showing his heart he stammered, "forgive me--but you know what i think--of diana?"
-sophie was infinitely tactful. "of course i know what you think of her--she's the most wonderful woman in the whole wide world; and that's a great plan of hers--to have a haven for your convalescents."
-he made no answer, but just stood very still, looking out, and when bettina came down with her little bag, they went away together.
-miss matthews in a gray flannel wrapper was shivering over an inadequate fire.
-"why aren't you in bed?" the doctor asked.
-"because there is no one to answer my bell, and no one to wait on me--and i'm perfectly sure that if i ever let myself go to bed i shall die."
-"nonsense," briskly. "i've brought betty back with me, and she's going to stay and see that you're made comfortable."
-miss matthews' face brightened. "she's the only person in the world that i'd have fussing over me."
-"i shall stay here and boss you to my heart's content," bettina told her.
-"oh, dear," miss matthews sighed rapturously, "how good that sounds. i--i want to be bossed. i'm so tired of telling other people what to do--that last day at school i thought i should go to pieces."
-bettina, coaxing miss matthews to be comfortable, brushed her hair in front of the revived fire.
-"what pretty hair you have," she said, as she held it up so that the light might shine upon it. "what makes you spoil it by doing it up in that tight knot?"
-"i don't know any other way," wailed miss matthews. "i've never had time to be pretty."
-"i'm going to braid it," said bettina, "and by evening it will be waved."
-miss matthews submitted, luxuriously. "it seems so nice to have some one fussing over me. i don't believe anybody ever brushed my hair before."
-bettina, having hunted out a box of her own belongings, was trying different colored ribbons on the little lady's pale brown locks.
-"do you know, letty, pink is your color? yes, it is. blue makes you look ghastly. now i'm going to tie this twice around your head so that it will hide all the tight pigtails--i got that idea from diana."
-as she finished the somewhat elaborate process, there came steps outside.
-"it's just me," said the voice of the little captain.
-bettina peeped through the door, and announced; "miss matthews is sick."
-"i know. i met anthony blake, and he told me; and what i want to know is, can i do anything----?"
-"yes, he can," said the hoarse voice of the invalid. "he can come in. if he doesn't mind my head, i shan't mind him."
-the captain, entering, found miss matthews in a big chair, her feet covered by a steamer rug, her gray flannel apparel hidden by a white wool shawl which had belonged to betty's mother, and topping all was the wonderful head-dress of rose-colored ribbon, beneath which miss matthews' plain little peaked face looked out wistfully.
-"well, now," said the captain, as he shook hands, "that pink becomes her, don't it?"
-miss matthews blushed. "betty fixed it."
-"i always did like bright things on wimmen," said the captain, earnestly, "and i like that pink."
-"of course you do," said betty; "all men like pink, except those who like blue, and now you must go away, for i've got to put my patient to bed."
-"don't you cook anything for her," said the captain, as he backed out of the door, his eyes still gloating over the rosy-beribboned lady on the hearth-rug. "i'll bring you over a bowl of hot chowder to-night, and if there's anything else you want, you just let me know."
-"delia will look out for the other things," said betty; "she's going to send little jane to help me. but we shall be very glad to have the chowder."
-with miss matthews asleep at last, bettina sat down to write a note to justin.
-it was very brief, and began abruptly:
-"i am going to tell anthony. i lay awake all night and thought it out. it wouldn't be fair for me to marry him--unless he knew. i'd get to be just a shivery shadow, justin, afraid that he would find that i didn't love him--that i loved somebody else.
-"but i can never tell him with his grave eyes watching me, so i'm going to write, now--to-night. it almost seems as if poor letty had been made a sort of instrument of providence so that i could be here at this time. i couldn't stay at diana's with everything over between me--and anthony.
-"oh, justin, will he ever want to be friends with us again? will diana ever forgive us?
-"i wish you were here. yet you mustn't be here--not until everything is settled. somehow i don't dare think that we can ever be happy. it doesn't seem right to think of it, does it?
-"but i love you."
-she gave her note to the little captain when he came with the chowder.
-he brought something beside the chowder. in a square box, smelling of sandalwood, was an exquisite kimono of palest pink crêpe, embroidered with wisteria blossoms.
-"it has been lying in an old trunk for years," he exulted, as he shook it out before her delighted eyes. "when i saw her," he nodded toward the door of the inner room, "when i saw her with that pink ribbon in her hair, it just came to me how nice it would be if she had a wrapper or somethin' to go with it. and after i got home i went rummagin' around until i found this."
-"it's lovely," said bettina; "she'll be simply crazy over it, captain."
-"the funny part of it is that i bought it in foreign lands, thinking that some day i might get married, and i'd give it to my wife--and now i'm givin' it to her."
-bettina sparkled. "oh," she said, "i believe you're in love with her, captain."
-the captain sat down in a chair by the fire. "well," he said earnestly, "it's like this. i ain't ever thought of her that way, exactly. it always seemed to me that she knew so much, and that i was such a rough old fellow. but lately--well, she's been lonely, and she ain't been well. and all of a sudden it has kind o' seemed to me that, if i ain't smart, i've got a tender heart, and i'd know how to make a soft nest for her to live in, and it seems to me that maybe, after all, she might throw me in along with all the rest of the reasons for getting married. i guess most men are sort of thrown in. of course the wimmen don't know it, but what they get married for is to have a parlor of their own, and a kitchen of their own, and somebody to fuss over, and it don't make much difference what man they hang their tender affections on, just so he provides the kitchen and parlor. now here's letty matthews, all tired out with teaching, and this is my time to step in. if she'll ever take me she'll take me now, and as soon as she's well enough to hear me say it, i'm going to ask her."
-"if letty marries you, it will be because she loves you--she's that kind. she'd die sooner than take a man for what he could give her."
-the captain's face fell. "oh, lord," he groaned, "she won't take me just for--myself----"
-"you try and see."
-"if you can put in a good word for me," the captain urged anxiously, "you do it."
-"when a man wants to marry a woman," said his young adviser, "there's just one way to get her. he must just keep at it, captain."
-he went away after that, and bettina carried the pink robe to miss matthews. "oh, letty, dear," she said, "just see how gorgeous you're going to be."
-she opened the box, and let out a whiff of foreign fragrance. but when the beautiful pale-tinted thing was laid across the bed, and bettina had explained that it was the captain's gift, miss matthews looked solemnly at her friend. "if you think i'm going to wear that," she croaked, hoarsely, "you're mistaken."
-"of course you're going to wear it."
-"of course i'm not. i--i'd be afraid."
-"yes, i would. i've never worn such things. i'd be afraid i'd get a spot on it, and it wouldn't come out. now when a woman like me has a thing like that she just lays it away to look at. then she always knows that she has one lovely garment. but if she wears it, she feels that the day will come when it will be gone, and then--she won't own one beautiful thing in the wide world--not one single beautiful thing."
-bettina bent over her soothingly. "there," she said, "you wear it once, letty, and then, if you wish, you can put it away."
-late at night, anthony came on his last round of calls and urged that bettina should have a nurse to take her place. but bettina refused.
-"i took care of mother alone," she said. "i can surely do this."
-every moment that she was with him she was conscious of the difference in her attitude toward him. she had a nervous fear that he might notice the change in her, that he might read her heart with his keen eyes.
-but he seemed preoccupied, and just before he went away he said:
-"you haven't promised me one thing, bettina."
-"that you won't fly again with justin. i think i shall have to ask that you make it a definite promise."
-"suppose i won't--promise."
-"i think you will," he said, in his decided way. "you and i, all through our lives, will each have to defer to the wishes of the other. if i knew that a thing worried you greatly i am sure i should refrain from doing it--i should like to know that you felt that way about me--bettina."
-something of the old tender quality had crept into his voice. once more they were alone in the shadowy room--but outside now was the darkness of the night instead of the darkness of the storm. perhaps some memory of her first impulsive response to his wooing came to him as he took both of her hands in his. "there's some barrier between us of late," he said. "i'm a plain blunt man, and i don't know what i may have said or done. have i hurt you in any way, child?"
-here was fate bringing opportunity to her. this was the moment for revelation, confession.
-but she could not tell him.
-she stood before him with bent head.
-"you haven't hurt me, but there is something i should like to say to you. may i write it--anthony?"
-he put a finger under her chin and turned her face up to him.
-"are you afraid of me--dear?"
-"then tell me now----"
-for a moment he studied her drooping face, then he patted her on the cheek. "write it if you must--but you're making me feel like an awful bear, bettina."
-he sighed and turned away.
-she put out her hand as if to stop him, but drew it back. then she followed him into the hall, and stood watching him, with the light from the old lantern again making a halo of her fair hair. but this time she did not go down to him in the darkness. the spell was upon her of a pair of mocking eyes, and of a voice which had sung with her celestial harmonies.
-her father's ring
-it was late the next night before bettina found time to write a letter to anthony. the town clock had struck ten, and miss matthews was asleep in the inner room. as bettina settled herself at her desk there came through the open window the fragrance of the sea--the night was very still; she could hear across the harbor the beat of the music in the yacht club ballroom, and there was the tinkle of a mandolin on some anchored boat.
-she found it difficult to put on paper the things which she decided must be said. striving to explain she tore up sheet after sheet, then, growing restless at her repeated failure, she rose from her desk and crossed the room to the cabinet in the corner. in one of the drawers was a packet of letters from her mother. they were exquisite in phrasing and in sentiment. she wondered if she might not borrow from them something of their grace.
-as she opened the drawer, her eyes fell on the little carved box. mechanically she reached for it, and touched the spring. then she stood staring down at her father's ring!
-the words which she had once said to diana echoed insistently in her ears: "people who can love many times, who can go from one person to another, aren't worth thinking about."
-why--she was like her father! he had loved once, and then he had loved again--and he had broken her mother's heart!
-shuddering, she flung the ring from her, and it rolled under the cabinet. she knelt to grope for it, and, having found it, she shut the box. but, like pandora, she had let out a whole army of evil fancies, and they continued to oppress her.
-when she went back to her desk she could not write, and at last she put away her papers and, wrapping herself in her long white coat, climbed to the cupola.
-she had slept there many times with her mother. with only the stars above them, and on each side a view of the wide stretches of the sea, they had talked together, and bettina had learned the beauty of the older woman's nature; having suffered much, she had forgiven everything.
-"your father," she would say, "was like a child seeking the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. he was always looking for romance, forgetting that the most wonderful romance is that of the hearthstone and of the quiet heart. if he had ever really loved he would have known the joy of self-sacrifice, of self-effacement--but he did not love----"
-"love is self-sacrifice." such had been the verdict of the woman who had given all, and who had received nothing. it was a hard philosophy, acquired after years of dreariness, and the child had listened and absorbed and believed. she had heard nothing of love's fulfilment, of the raptures of mutual tenderness. hence she had been content with anthony's somewhat somber wooing, until that moment when she had drifted with justin through infinite space, and had learned the things which might be.
-the thought of herself as mistress of anthony's big house by the sea weighed heavily upon her. in those great rooms she would move softly for the rest of her days. anthony would work and read and ponder, and when he was at harbor light she would sit lonely through the gray winter evenings, and the sad summer twilights. but with justin--oh, the limitless possibilities!
-with him each day would bring its wealth of vivid experience--there would be always the glory of his strength, the uplift of his radiant youth!
-she put the vision from her. so had her father striven for joy, and he had missed all the great meanings of life--and she would not be like her father.
-the wind was rising, and wailed fretfully above the waters. the stars were blotted out.
-bettina shivered. what a dark world it was!
-she rose and went down-stairs. again she sat down to her desk. but this time she wrote rapidly, and the letter that she wrote was not to anthony!
-when she had sealed and stamped it, she crept down the shadowy stairway, thence to the narrow street.
-the mail box was at the corner, and she sped toward it; as she came back on flying feet, a whisper reached her from the darkness of the garden--a whisper which made her heart stand still.
-he emerged from the shadows. "i didn't dare to hope i should see you. i ran away from the yacht club dance--and i'm due back there now. but i wanted you. i think i must have wished so hard that i wished you here. i wouldn't ring for fear i should wake poor miss matthews."
-his eager whisper met no like response. "you shouldn't have come," she said, dully.
-he bent down to look at her. under the light from the street lamp he could see the disorder of her fair hair, the frightened look in her eyes.
-"dear one--what is it?"
-"you mustn't call me that. did you get my letter?"
-"yes. that's why i came--i knew that by this time you would have written to anthony--that you were--free----"
-"but i haven't written to anthony."
-"you haven't? wasn't that the letter you just mailed?"
-"no--i was mailing a letter to you----"
-a sudden fear clutched him. "what did you have to say to me?"
-"that--oh, justin, i can't give anthony up----"
-"oh----we can't talk here. come up-stairs quietly--we mustn't disturb letty."
-she glided ahead of him, and when he came into the shadowy room she was standing by the cabinet.
-"i've something to show you," she said, and opened the carved box and held it out to him.
-"it's my father's ring," she said; "he broke my mother's heart--and i won't break anthony's."
-then, in halting sentences, she told him how that day she had come upon the ring. she told him her mother's history. and he listened, and insisted at last, tenderly, that she had made mountains out of mole-hills. but he found her obstinate.
-"i must not break my promise," she insisted. "happiness could never come to us."
-and, white and wistful in the face of his flaming arguments, she held to her determination until he left her.
-he had turned away wrathfully, and had reached the top of the winding stairway, when he heard her sobbing.
-he came back swiftly, and gathered her in his arms.
-"you're mine," he said, holding her close. "you know that, betty."
-she drew back from him. "please," she begged, and so he let her go, and made his way blindly out of the room.
-miss matthews sleeping feverishly, became aware above the sighing of the wind of an intermittent sound of woe.
-she sat up and listened, put one foot out of bed, then the other, and throwing on her old gray wrapper, wavered toward the threshold of the door between the two rooms.
-by the flickering light of the candle which burned on bettina's desk she could see the little shaking white figure on the floor.
-"betty child," she said in a hoarse whisper, "dear child--what's the matter?"
-"you come right into my room," she said. "i don't dare stay up another minute. but i couldn't sleep if i tried, with a storm coming, and you can tell me all about it----"
-but when she was settled luxuriously once more among her pillows, and with betty curled up at the foot of the bed, an awkward silence fell between them.
-at last betty said, "justin ford was here. he's in love with me--letty--but i sent him away----"
-"why did you send him away?"
-"because--because i'm not going to marry him, letty----"
-"there's some one else. some one who gave me these--letty----"
-she lifted her left hand with its burden of sparkling jewels.
-"who on earth?" miss matthews demanded.
-miss matthews dropped back limply.
-"you'll have to tell me from the beginning," she said, faintly. "i can't quite grasp it----"
-and bettina told--of her loneliness, of anthony's wonderful offer, and of her glad acceptance of it.
-"well, your mother would have been delighted," miss matthews said; "but somehow it doesn't seem right."
-"oh, i'd fixed it up that you were going to marry justin ford. captain stubbs and i watched you that day we went fishing, and if ever two young things seemed to be in love--well----"
-"i--we are in love, letty."
-"then why in the world are you going to marry anthony blake?"
-"because i've promised--and i can't be like my--father. and i can't hurt anthony--not when he has been so good to me."
-she was sobbing again, and into the eyes of the little woman who had never had a daughter came a look of motherly solicitude.
-"dear child," she said, "if you are just going to marry anthony blake because you are grateful, don't you do it. no man wants a woman who feels that way--and you wouldn't make him happy----"
-"but--i've sent justin away--and he's angry with me. that is why i was crying when you found me----"
-she was on her knees now beside the bed, and the old maid's arms were about her.
-"there--there, dearie, you've thought too much about it, and you've come to believe that it's the things you like to do which are wrong. and it's really the other way."
-miss matthews was thinking rapidly. there was some mystery. anthony blake was in love with diana gregory. he had always been in love with her. no one need try to tell her that he was not, for she knew. then why was he engaged to betty, and why had diana gone away?
-she had a sudden inspiration.
-"listen, betty, there's just one person who can straighten things out, and that person is diana gregory. men aren't any good at a time like this. they think with their heads, but women think with their hearts, and that's the kind of thinking that you need most now----"
-miss matthews waved her away. "you go and write to diana and mail it to-night, and then come back and keep me company. i'm afraid of the storm."
-it was at that very moment that anthony was also writing to diana. when he had left bettina he had gone straight to harbor light and into a little inner office where he was guarded from all intruders by the assistant who sat in the anteroom. not even a telephone could sound its insistent note in this place where the doctor gained, in a reclining chair, his few brief moments of rest, or where he worked out the intricacies of perplexing problems. now and then he saw a patient there, but rarely. usually he shut his door against all distracting influences, and gave his attention to the things which concerned himself alone.
-what sophie had told him about diana had sent his thoughts flying to the wonder-woman up there in the woods. even when he had talked to bettina he had felt the consciousness of his thought of her.
-out of a full heart he wrote, holding back nothing, and when he had sealed and stamped his bulky missive, he, like bettina, went forth to mail it.
-as he passed through the garden a sudden gust of wind scattered a shower of rose petals in his path. that there were storms in the distance was evidenced by the low rumble of thunder and the vivid flashes of light.
-it was on nights like this that his patients grew restless--poor abnormal things they were, afraid of life, afraid of death, seeing in wind and rain and in the battle of the elements the terrors of the supernatural.
-but the night fitted in with anthony's mood. he still wore his white linen office coat. his hat was off, and his gray hair was blown back from his forehead. the salt air exhilarated him. he felt a sudden lightness of heart. he wanted to shout like a boy. he had been grave for so long--but now his message had gone forth to diana--to-morrow she would read it, and in two short days the answer would come.
-he made his way to the beach; the vivid flashes showed the heaving blackness of the waters--the waves came in with a sullen roar.
-he thought of the night when he had stood there with diana, and when the moon had made a silver track. to-night there was no light--except minot's--like a star. "i-love-you," it said to the lonely man who stood there in the darkness.
-from somewhere in the garden a voice called him, then a nurse came running.
-"i saw you go out," she panted; "perhaps you'd better come, doctor--they are getting all worked up about the storm."
-thus was his life made up of duty. there was never an uninterrupted moment. his strength was always being drawn upon to uphold the weakness of others. to-night his whole nature craved the tumult of the wild night. yet he must calm himself to meet the needs of those who leaned upon him.
-as he turned to follow the nurse, a big car whirled through the gate, and there sounded the trilling laughter of girls, the deeper jovial bass of young men.
-beneath the brilliantly-lighted entrance of harbor light the car stopped, and as anthony came up, sara and doris descended with much shaking out of filmy dancing frocks.
-sophie, with seeming unconsciousness of the havoc which the rain had wrought on her lovely black gown, made a smiling explanation to anthony.
-"justin and bobbie tried to get the top up--but something caught and i thought we should all be drenched. and then your harbor light shone out to welcome us----"
-anthony was glad that they had come. he craved the lightness and brightness. he seemed suddenly to be one of them again--not a sad and somber being set apart. he had a sense of relief in bettina's absence. it was as if her youth and beauty showed the contrast of his age.
-he took them up to his sitting-room, then excused himself to make his rounds. "i'm going to have something sent up for you to eat--i know what slim fare they give at the club on the nights of the dances. i'll be with you soon."
-while they waited for him sara played; bobbie and doris danced--and justin talked with sophie.
-he looked worn and white, and a line cut deeply into his forehead.
-"i owe you an apology," he said, "for yesterday. but i couldn't help it. bettina was so little and lovely--you know i wouldn't harm a hair of her head----"
-something in his voice made sophie lay her hand on his. "my dear boy, my dear boy----"
-"i'm awfully hard hit," he said, "but she--she's turned me down. i fancy it was our last flight together. do you remember browning's 'last ride'--
-"'and heaven just prove that i and she, ride, ride--together--forever ride----'?
-"well, my heaven will be a place where she and i shall drift through infinite space--together----"
-"i'm not going to bore you with my worries," justin said, quickly--"but--i--i wish you'd be awfully good--to bettina."
-sophie carried away with her that night the vision of his tragic young face, and before she went to bed she wrote to diana, and her letter ended thus:
-"oh, dearest girl, oh, dearest girl, what have we done, what have we done----!"
-the "gray gull"
-the morning after the storm justin went forth, moodily, for his morning flight.
-he found opposition, however, to his ascension. "wait until the afternoon," was the advice given him; "there's a nasty wind."
-he would not listen, but he delayed his departure, preferring to start alone, and eventually the other aviators drifted off, and he made the "gray gull" ready.
-going down to the pier for a last peep at the weather, he was hailed by captain stubbs.
-"i am going to take anthony blake out for a day's fishin'," the little man said, as his motor boat chugged comfortably within easy talking distance. "he telephoned last night that he wanted a day away from his work, and i said that the fish would be running after the rain. i'm always mighty glad to have him go with me. he's a born fisherman. his great-grandfather and mine fished together on the banks, and our grandfathers were part owners in the same schooner. but anthony's father went to the city and studied medicine, and his son followed in his footsteps, so that's the way the blake boys got switched off from fishin' as a business. but it's in their blood."
-"look here," justin interrupted, "i want to ask you a question, captain, and it's about anthony. did you ever think he was in love with diana gregory?"
-"well," the captain meditated, "i ain't ever thought much about it. but miss matthews sees a lot, and she told me once that anthony blake wouldn't ever look at any other woman but diana, and that diana was just keeping him on the string."
-"i can't exactly fancy diana as that sort of woman."
-"well, it ain't anything against a woman that she don't know her own mind," was the captain's philosophical reflection. "most men don't know their own mind when it comes to marryin'. only the difference is this: a man loses his head and asks a girl, and then he wonders if she's going to make him happy. and a woman hesitates about sayin' 'yes,' but when she once decides, she sticks to a man through thick and thin."
-in spite of his gloom justin smiled. "where did you learn it all, captain? you are as wise as if you had been married to a half dozen wives."
-"there's a sayin'," the captain explained, "that a sailor has a wife in every port. that ain't true. sailors as a rule are constant men. but they see a lot of wimmen creatures, and they learn that there ain't much difference, when it comes to lovin', between a spanish lady who flirts with her eyes, and a boston lady who flirts with her brain. they're all after the same thing, and that's a home, with a big h, and it's a credit to them that they are--otherwise we men wouldn't ever know when to settle down."
-"yet it's because of a woman that some of us never settle down." justin's young eyes were looking out stormily upon the gray world. "it's because of some woman that we wander and are never satisfied."
-the little captain gave him a keen glance. "well, you won't ever have to worry," he said; "all you've got to do is to keep at it till you find the right woman. that's what that betty child said to me the other day. 'captain, if a man wants a woman, he's got to keep after her until she says 'yes.'"
-"did betty dolce say that?"
-"yes--she's a smart little thing."
-but justin's thoughts were not of her "smartness" but of her pathetic loveliness. all night her sobs had echoed in his heart. when he had driven his gay party home after their stop at anthony's, he had ridden for miles alone in the storm. he had welcomed the beat of the rain in his face. he had yearned for some adventure which would shut out that vision of the shadowy room.
-but no adventure had been forthcoming, and so he had sought his uneasy couch, and had tried to sleep, and had risen at the first crow of cocks.
-he brought his mind back with difficulty to the captain. "i'm going up this morning, captain. i'll wigwag to you and anthony if you're outside."
-"don't you go," the little captain advised earnestly; "this isn't any morning to fly. there's all sorts of storms about, and you can't tell what minute you'll get into one."
-"didn't you like to sail your ship in a storm--didn't you like the excitement of it--the battle with the wind and waves?"
-"that's different. i knew my ship was seaworthy. i knew what i had to face in an ordinary storm. but you take one of those chinese typhoons, or a hurricane that blew up from the gulf, and i didn't enjoy it. not a bit. i'd go miles to get out of one, and i learned this, after i had looked death in the face a hundred times, that foolhardiness doesn't pay. you go slow, and wait for a quiet day."
-justin laughed recklessly. "i'll take my chances."
-"well, there's no fool like a young fool." the little captain started his motor with a jerk, and its comfortable chugging was at once changed to an angry snort.
-justin did not at once go back to the sheds. he climbed a path which led to the adjoining hotel, and made his way to the writing rooms.
-the people who lounged on the porches looked at him curiously as he passed. those who had been there longest whispered to the newcomers the magic of his name. more than one girl remarked the beauty of the somber young countenance, and the strength of the straight young figure.
-in the writing room of the big hotel justin wrote to diana. it was his last hope. he wrote hurriedly, using the elaborately monogrammed house paper, and his script was interspersed with dashes, with now and then a boyish blot.
-anthony was delayed, somewhat, in starting out with captain stubbs by the news that miss matthews was worse.
-he found her with a high fever, and he also found bettina in a state of agitated apology.
-"i'm afraid i talked to her too late. but we--we were afraid of the storm."
-"she'll be all right in a few hours, but you've got to get some rest. i'll send a nurse."
-"no--sophie said she would come--early this afternoon--and then i can sleep--and i've had little naps on the couch----"
-as he turned to go he stopped and said, with some hesitation: "you didn't write the letter to the big bear, betty."
-she blushed. "i'm not going to write it."
-"because--i've changed my mind about it--i've really nothing to tell you--and every woman has a right to change her mind."
-she tried to say it saucily, but was not successful, and he, vaguely relieved, responded, "i'm glad--that you are not troubled," kissed her lightly on her forehead, and went away. and she looked after him and sighed, and wondered if all the years which stretched before them would be as dreary as this.
-the arrival of the little captain broke in upon her thoughts. "you give her these," he said. "i can't stay a minute. i'm going out with anthony for a day's fishin'."
-he rushed away, leaving bettina with her arms full of pink roses.
-she took them in to miss matthews. "letty," she said, "the captain brought them. isn't he romantic? he is making pink your color. i think it's dear of him."
-miss matthews blushed. "i'd surely never have picked out captain stubbs for the romantic kind, but you never can tell."
-"no, you never can tell," betty agreed, and stood looking idly out of the window.
-all at once she gave startled attention.
-"letty," she said, "justin is flying."
-miss matthews, half asleep, murmured, "well, i'm glad you're not with him," and bettina, recalled to her obligations to the invalid, answered with assumed carelessness, "so am i," and measured out miss matthews' medicine, and talked no more.
-but her heart was beating madly as she followed his flight. he was up there--alone. up there in that wonderful world! was he thinking of her? was he hearing, again, those celestial harmonies?
-to-day there was no sunshine--but as he circled against the background of moving clouds her thoughts went to that wild hawk in "the wind swept sky."
-she knew nothing of the danger. she did not know that, as yet, his machine was not perfected to a point where it could brave with immunity such weather as was threatened by the brooding sky. she only saw his flight--and her hurt heart craved the place which had been hers for a few brief moments of rapture.
-when at last he was out of sight, she went about her little duties, but came back again and again to the window, watching for the time when he should reappear.
-anthony and the captain, half-way across the harbor, said things about justin's recklessness, and spoke of the danger.
-"some day he'll get hurt," was the captain's conclusion, "and then he won't ever fly again."
-"yes." anthony's eyes were following the "gray gull," which was now beyond the harbor and heading for the open sea; growing smaller and smaller, it was at last a mere speck on the horizon.
-then the captain and anthony, having reached a place offshore which promised a good catch, put out their lines and entered at once upon that ecstatic state of watchfulness which is the heritage of the true fisherman.
-the relief which anthony felt from the cares which had oppressed him was magical. he was sailor enough to love the swell of the waves and the rippling music of the water as it slipped under the anchored boat; he was fisherman enough to be thrilled by the chances of capture; he was artist enough to gloat over the beauty of the dull morning--the white gulls circling overhead, the black rocks sticking their spines above the gray sea, a phantom four-masted ship sailing straight toward them out of the mists.
-and he was man enough to think of the woman he loved, and to forget the pensive appealing child in the shadowy room. he had a vision of diana up there in the forest--strong of spirit, wresting from life, even in her exile, the things which were worth while.
-as they ate their lunch the little captain confided to anthony the hope of his heart. "i'm going to ask letty matthews to marry me--i want to get her away from that school----"
-"good. i'll dance at your wedding."
-"when am i to dance at yours?" the captain demanded, bluntly. "i should think it was about time that you were putting your furniture in that big house for diana gregory."
-"some of the furniture is in." anthony slurred over the greater question by tactfully emphasizing the lesser. "i had my mother's piano sent over yesterday, and some of the things for the living-room and library. we haven't a place for them at harbor light--and then there's the china. i wish i could match up some of those pieces of white canton, captain. i wonder if we could make an exchange. i've a lot of crown medallion which would fill out your set----"
-having thus started the little captain on his chief hobby, anthony breathed a sigh of relief, and went on with his fishing.
-the subject of the china sufficed to fill the captain's mind until the fish stopped biting, and they decided to go in.
-it was just as they began their trip toward the harbor that justin came back.
-the wind was blowing now straight from the south, and the "gray gull" was making slow headway against it.
-"why don't he come down to the water? it's safer," said the little captain, anxiously. "there's every sign of a squall----"
-but justin kept on; between him and the harbor was the neck, with its jagged shore line of rocks. he was evidently planning to cross the strip of land obliquely, as, in rounding the point to come up the harbor, he must get the full force of the wind--
-as he sailed over them they caught the strong beat of his motor. it seemed, too, that he waved his hand; then he left them behind, keeping close to shore and above that jagged line of rocks.
-"oh, the fool," the captain murmured. "why don't he get away from the land?"
-the wind came with a mighty sweep; the air-ship gave a backward tilt, fluttered for a moment like a bird in a storm--then shot down with sickening swiftness!
-"his motor has stopped," the captain shouted, "and he's lost control! if he strikes the rocks he's done for!"
-down--down! they had one glimpse of justin struggling to free himself; they saw him jump clear, and the big machine crashed on the beach.
-it was the little captain who forced his boat to record speed, but it was anthony who went over the side and through the breakers to where justin lay prostrate, half in and half out of the water.
-wet and dripping the doctor bent over the boy, put his hand to his heart and felt it beating faintly, then looked at the broken body and said, unsteadily:
-"there's only a slim chance of saving him. we must get him to harbor light."
-the accident had been seen from the harbor, and as the captain's boat shot around the point with its precious burden, it met other boats coming out to meet it, and orders were shouted back and forth, so that when the rescuers reached the pier, there was a car ready for that which had gone out full of life and strength and which had come back beaten and bruised.
-the girls on the porch of the big hotel cried in each other's arms, hysterically, as the car passed, and talked of the way the young aviator had looked in the morning.
-but far up in a tall old house, crowned by a cupola, was a girl who did not cry. she had seen the "gray gull" come down and had guessed at the catastrophe. she had fainted away quietly, and lay now on the floor by the window with all of her fair hair shaken over her still white face.
-it was sophie who found bettina. she came in quietly, wondering at the silence, then growing suddenly afraid she passed swiftly to the inner room to discover miss matthews still asleep and bettina in a huddled heap on the floor.
-she picked the girl up in her strong arms, and carried her back to the big room and brought water and bathed her face, murmuring anxiously, "my dear, what is it? what has happened?"
-and, after a little while, bettina whispered, "justin," and then, a little louder, "justin," and coming to the surface through the darkness for a third time, she clutched sophie's arm, and cried, "oh, is he killed? is justin killed?"
-holding the shuddering little creature close, sophie protested: "my dear, what is it? what have you dreamed?"
-"i didn't dream. oh, sophie, i didn't dream. i saw him up in the air, and i saw him--fall----"
-so it had come. so it came to all men who flew. every bit of blood was drained from sophie's face. but, fighting for composure, she held out such hope as she could. "my dear, are you sure? how did you know?"
-"i was standing by the window when he--came down----"
-"but there may have been some one to help him--and he was over the water--and he can--swim----"
-footsteps were ascending the stairs lightly but hurriedly. the two women turned their white faces to the door. captain stubbs stood on the threshold.
-"he's hurt," he said. "justin's hurt. he's at harbor light--and he's asked for betty--and anthony says that she must come."
-in a big room that overlooked the sea lay the bird man with broken wings. after that first murmured plea for "betty" he had showed no sign of returning consciousness.
-on the floor above him they were getting ready for the operation. nurses and doctors, in ghostly white, had set themselves to various preparatory tasks. and presently everything was in readiness for the great dr. anthony.
-he was delayed by a white-faced slip of a thing, whom he led at once into his private office, leaving captain stubbs outside as a proud and patient sentinel.
-when he had closed the door, anthony took the little cold hands in his. "he is going to get well, betty, if my skill can make him. i've got to operate at once--and there's a big chance--the other way----" he hesitated, then said, gently, "you love him, child?"
-"and he loves you--how blind i've been! how much trouble might have been saved if i had known."
-there was no bitterness in his voice, only a great regret.
-"and now," he went on, "i'm going to save him for you, if i can. and i've sent a nurse to take care of letty matthews so that you can have sophie with you."
-he had thought of everything. it came to bettina then what he meant to the world--this great dr. anthony--she had hated his mission of healing--and the skill which might now mean to her a lifetime of happiness instead of unutterable woe.
-she tried, faltering, to tell him something of what she was feeling.
-"hush, dear child. you could not know. and now you must be very brave, and pray your little white prayers for justin, and, please god, we shall bring him through."
-then he had gone away and sophie had come, and the dreadful time of waiting had begun.
-sophie, who had walked in the valley of the shadow with her own beloved, knew the right things to say to the child who clung to her.
-"dearest, think of all you will mean to him when he gets well. why, there's never an opportunity for a woman like that of having the man she loves dependent upon her--you can do all of the lovely little things for him."
-"but if he should not--get well?"
-"you are not to think of that."
-"i must think of it."
-"hush, dear, don't. you can't help him or yourself by crying--i know how you feel--but think of this. if you should lose him, you will still have known love at its best. and you will never be content with a lesser thing. oh, betty, child, it is the shallow people who ask, 'is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved?' how can there be any doubt? the woman who has not loved is only a half creature."
-"i know. oh, sophie, it seems such an awful thing to say, but if this hadn't happened i should never have been sure that for me there could never be any one else but justin."
-tactfully, the older woman led her on to talk of her doubts and fears, and of her terror lest she might deal with love lightly, as her father had done. and then sophie spoke reverently of her own perfect marriage.
-there was a silence in which not only the "white prayers" of bettina ascended, but the fervent ones of the woman who had suffered and lost.
-then came a nurse with the message, "dr. blake wishes me to say that all conditions are favorable," and they permitted themselves to hope.
-other people were coming now to harbor light--great men from the yachts, people from the big hotels, fellow-aviators of justin's--the townsfolk and sailors--children who had worshiped the flying man of the smiling countenance.
-but no one was shown into the inner office except bobbie and doris and sara.
-it was in that first moment of her meeting with bettina that sara blotted out the last vestige of smallness and of jealousy.
-she went straight up to the girl whom justin loved, and put her arms about her. "oh, you poor dear thing," and they wept together.
-then bettina asked, "how did you know?"
-"everybody knows," sara said, hysterically. "did you think you could hide it?"
-doris was weeping, too, in bobbie's arms, and bobbie's white, set face showed what he was feeling for his friend. "oh, what made him go out on such a day--of all the crazy things----"
-"i told him not to," said captain stubbs, who had kept hitherto in the background, "but there's no fool like a young fool, and i said it at the time. but it was god's own providence that we were there when he fell. and if any one can fix him up it's anthony."
-bettina heard, and thought of her former fear of this place, which seemed now a sacred house of healing. was she the same girl who had railed so bitterly against anthony's profession? she felt that she wanted to tell him how great he was. why, he was a wonderful man--and he was going to save justin as he had saved others. daily he fought battles with death and conquered. he must conquer now!
-up-stairs in the operating room was being played a game of skill which had for its pawns human life and human reason.
-the worst trouble lay in the wounds about the head. but there were other dreadful complications, and many times in the hours that followed it seemed that the game was lost.
-all through the tiresome ordeal not once did a muscle of the great surgeon quiver. not once did he show dismay at that which was most baffling; not once did he show weakness at that which was most pitiful.
-but when at last his great task was ended, his face was worn and gray.
-yet as he went to change his clothes, through the fabric of his weariness and of his anxiety ran a thread of joy in the thought that the barriers were down between himself and diana, and that he might love her now without reproach.
-when at last he descended to his little office, he spoke hopefully. "his strength and youth are in his favor--and i'm going to pull him through."
-yet he knew in his heart that he was flinging a defiance at destiny.
-he arranged to keep bettina at harbor light.
-"justin might ask for you again," was his explanation.
-so bobbie and doris and sara and sophie went away together, and when there was no one else to hear, anthony said to bettina, gently, "my dear, why didn't you tell me?"
-curled up in a big leather chair, she spoke of her fear of hurting him, of being inconstant--like her father.
-she seemed such a child in her blue serge suit with its red silk tie, and with the shady hat which had been pinned on hastily when the summons came. but the things she was saying were womanly things, and for the first time since he had known her anthony perceived the possibilities of which diana had been so sure--this little betty child, transformed by love, would one day be an inspiration and a help to the man she would marry.
-"if i have hurt you," she said, as she finished, "i--i can only ask you to forgive me. if this had not happened, i think i should have--kept my promise. but now you know--and you will not want me to keep it."
-"no. i do not want you to keep it. oh, what a tragedy we have made of it all. i might have made it so easy for you."
-he sat silent for a moment, his fingers tapping the arm of his chair, those strong flexible fingers which an hour ago had done such magical feats of surgery. bettina's eyes were held by them.
-"i hardly know how to begin; it has to do with--diana."
-"i love her, dear----"
-"diana?" bettina spoke, breathlessly. "oh, and does she love you--anthony?"
-"i have always loved her--but i thought i had lost her--then when she came back from europe i found that she was still free--and that--she cared. but by that time i had engaged myself to a dear child who really didn't love me at all."
-"but why didn't you tell me, anthony?"
-"because, my dear, i thought you might be made unhappy."
-to others there might have seemed something humorous in the situation--in its almost farcical complications and misunderstandings. but these two saw none; the issues were too deep, too serious; death was too near in that upper room.
-"was that why--she went away----?" bettina whispered.
-"oh, write and tell her to come back."
-"i have written. i wrote yesterday. i saw that you were not happy. i felt that i had no right to permit you to marry me when my heart was bound up in another woman--as it was bound up in her. i felt that in marriage there is something which goes beyond conventional honor. as a physician i have seen much of unhappiness--and i could not sanction in myself that which i would not have sanctioned in another. so i told diana. i think instinct warned me there was some one else, after your flight with justin."
-"and now--if he gets--well."
-if she wept now in his arms, it was as a daughter might weep in the arms of a father--there was love between them at last, but it was the love of tried friendship, of passionate gratitude on her part, of protective affection on his.
-when he had quite soothed her, she drew off the sparkling rings. "these must go back to you," she said; "some day you must give them to diana."
-he shook his head. "i shall give her pearls. she belongs to the sea, bettina; she's the wife for a man of sailor instincts like myself--we love the harbor, and the great lights that are high above it, and the little lights that are low--and so i shall give her pearls.
-"but you must keep these," he went on; "not to wear on your third finger--justin, please god, shall some day look after that--but to wear on your right hand, as my gift to you--for luck and a long and happy life."
-"and i want to know," said anthony, sternly, "why you are out of bed?"
-"because i am better," said letty matthews, "there's nothing in this world that can cure a person like curiosity--and i had to know what was going on."
-so anthony told her, and she wept to think of the fate of the bird man with the broken wings.
-but she was cheered by the coming of captain stubbs. he bore on a tray such a supply of delicious viands that miss matthews urged that bettina and anthony should stay and have supper.
-bettina could not eat.
-"please, i'm not hungry," she said, and went down the winding stairway, and when she came back her arms were full of roses.
-"will you let him have them in his room?" she asked anthony.
-"he shall see them first when he opens his eyes," anthony promised; "they shall carry all of your messages to him."
-in the hushed room at harbor light there was darkness--and there was the fragrance of many flowers.
-out of the darkness a faint voice wavered, "lilacs?"
-the nurse bent over the high hospital bed. "roses--lovely ones."
-a long silence. then, "lovely ladies?" said the faint voice.
-he could see them with his eyes shut--a whole procession of pretty ladies, all floating in the dimness. just their faces on a broad band of light, over which the gray mists rolled now and then and blurred the outlines. then the faces would again shine out, smiling--gay and sad, pensive and glad.
-"lovely ladies," he said again.
-they followed him into his dreams, and kept him company until the pain began--that racking, wrenching pain; then they flew from him and left him alone to suffer.
-after a long time, when the nurse had bared his shoulder and had pricked it with something that felt like a pin, they came back--all those lovely faces; only now they seemed to peep from behind clouds of smoke, heavier than the mists, and more tantalizing in their concealments.
-so they came and went through the long night, leaving when the pain racked him, returning always when the nurse did things to his shoulder with her little shining instrument.
-they fled from him, too, when he opened his eyes and saw hazily that there was a light, and a great many flowers, and that anthony was standing in a sort of bower of them.
-and anthony was saying to some unseen person who stood at the head of the bed, "did he notice the flowers?"
-"good--you can take them out now--nurse."
-he had tried to tell anthony about the pretty ladies. but they had come back and were whirling about him on that band of light--and there was one with dark hair with a crescent moon above the parting--and there was one who came closer than the others, and who had hair that shone like gold, and a little white face.
-the nurse did not catch the name--but anthony's quick ear was at once attentive.
-"she loves you, dear boy; and i'm going to make you well, so you may marry her."
-the enchanted forest
-far up in the hills the beautiful lady went daily to the post-office for her mail.
-it was a long walk, and the path skirted the edge of the forest. leaving the path one entered upon a world of dim green light, a world of soft whispering sounds, a world of enchantment; and it was into this world that diana's feet strayed as she came and went. it was here she spent most of her mornings; it was here she found the solitude she craved.
-the guests at the mountain house called the beautiful lady exclusive; but it was an exclusiveness which matched her air of remoteness, and since such friendships as she encouraged were with those who were lonely and tired and sick, she made no enemies by her withdrawal from the conventional life of the place.
-the lazy folk on the porch who were content to wait for the mail bag which came at noon by carrier always watched with curiosity the departure and return of the stately woman who was said to be wealthy and of great social eminence. she went alone and came back just in time for lunch, having loitered on the way to read her letters.
-the letters, however, were not always satisfying. they brought such meager news of that which lay so near her heart! sophie kept persistently away from topics which might be disturbing; bettina's girlish epistles really told nothing--and anthony wrote not at all.
-yet such scraps as she could glean formed the excitement of diana's day, and always she had a vague and formless hope--a hope for which she reproached herself. always she hoped for a letter from anthony.
-she knew that he ought not to write. she knew that if he did write she would not answer--but the longing of her heart would not be stilled.
-as far as possible she forced her mind to thoughts of the future, and it was thus she had evolved the plan which she had written to sophie. it was the only way in which her life could be linked with anthony's; they would thus share in a work which might continue in interest to the end of their days.
-there were times, however, when all of her optimism, all of her philosophy failed, and when her whole nature cried out for reality--not for dreams.
-it was on one of these days of depression that she left behind her the hotel piazza with its chattering crowd, and drifted somewhat languidly across the lawn, past the tennis courts, and out into the mountain path.
-in her modish frock of gray linen, with a parasol of leaf green, she seemed to merge gradually into the grayness and greenness of the forest beyond. she might have been a dryad returning to her tree, or as an artist in the group on the porch remarked, "a nymph in a corot setting."
-how still it was in the forest! even the birds seemed to respect the silences, and slipped from branch to branch like shadows. the squirrels, flattened heads downward against gray tree trunks, whisked up and out of sight as the intruder advanced. a strayed butterfly went by in a wavering flight, seeking the sunshine and the flowers of the open fields.
-diana loved the forest, but more than all she loved the sea. she missed the wild music of the waves and wind. the hills seemed to shut her in; she wanted the wide spaces, the limitless expanse of blue--she wanted the harbor with its many lights. with certain hints about getting some law on his own account. he had sworn over and over in most ferocious fashion that the poquette carry road should not be built so long as law and dynamite could be bought.
-for two days parker peacefully transported material, twenty tons a trip and two trips a day. on the evening of the third day colonel ward arrived from the city, accompanied by a sharp-looking lawyer. the two immediately hastened away across the lake toward poquette.
-parker had twenty men garrisoned in a log camp at the carry, and had little fear that his supplies would be molested. it was hardly credible, either, that a man with as extensive property interests as colonel ward possessed would dare to destroy wantonly the goods of a railroad company in the strong position of the poquette road. however, parker resolved to make a survey at once, in order to put the swampers at work chopping trees and clearing the right of way.
-when he left the cab of his engine the next forenoon at poquette, he saw the furred figure of colonel ward in front of his carry camp a sort of half-way station for the timber operator's itinerant crews. the lawyer was at his elbow.
-parker ignored their presence.
-the young man wondered what card his antagonists were preparing to play. he found out promptly when he ordered his swampers to advance with their axes and begin chopping down the trees on the right of way. at the first “chock” ringing out on the crisp silence of the woods ward came running down the snowy stretch of tote-road, presenting much the same appearance as would an up reared and enraged polar bear. the lawyer hurried after him, and several woodsmen followed more leisurely.
-“not another chip from those trees! not another chip!” bawled the colonel. the men stopped chopping and looked at each other doubtfully.
-“we've been told to go ahead here,” said the “boss.”
-“i don't care what yeh've been told. you all know me, don't you?” ward slapped his breast. “you know me? well, i say stop that chopping on my--understand?--on my land.”
-parker, who was in advance of the choppers with his instruments, heard, and came plowing through the snow. he found colonel ward roaring oaths and abuse, brandishing his fists, and backing the crew of a dozen men fairly off the right of way. ward's own band of “gideonites” stood at a little distance, grinning admiringly.
-parker set himself squarely in front of the old man, elbowing aside a woodsman to whom the colonel was addressing himself. the young engineer's gaze was level and determined.
-“colonel ward,” he said, “you are interfering with my men.”
-the answer was a wordless snarl of ire and contempt.
-“there's no mistaking your disposition,” continued parker. “you have set yourself to balk this enterprise. but i haven't any time to spend in a quarrel with you.”
-“then get off my land.”
-“now, see here, colonel ward, you know as well as i that my principals have complied with all the provisions of law in taking this location. this road is going through. i am going to put it through.”
-“talk back to me, will you? talk to me! ni--i'll--” ward's rage choked his utterance.
-“certainly i'll talk to you, sir, and i am perfectly qualified to boss my men. go ahead there, boys!” he called.
-“a moment, mr. parker,” broke in the suave voice of the lawyer. “i see you don't understand the entire situation. briefly, then, mr. ward has a telephone-line across this carry. you may see the wires from where you stand. i find that your right of way trespasses on colonel ward's telephone location. in this confusion of locations, you will see the advisability of suspending operations until the matter can be referred to the courts.”
-“there is room for colonel ward's telephone and for our railroad, too,” he retorted. “if we are compelled to remove any poles, we'll replace them.”
-of course parker did not know that the telephone-line was, in fact, only colonel ward's private line, and after the taking by the railroad was on the location wholly without right. but that was a matter for his superiors, and not for him.
-“another point that i fear you have not noted. colonel ward's telephone wires are affixed to trees, and your men are preparing to cut down these same trees in clearing your right of way. you see it can't be done, mr. parker.”
-there was an unmistakable sneer in the lawyer's tones. parker's anger mounted to his cheeks.
-“i'm no lawyer,” he cried, “but i have been assured by our counsel that i have the right to build a railroad here, and i reckon he knows! i've been told to build this railroad and, mr. attorney, i'm going to build it. i've been told to have it completed by a certain time, and i haven't days and weeks to spend splitting hairs in court.”
-“no, i see you're not much of a lawyer!” jeered the other. “mr. parker, you may as well take your plaything,” pointing to the engine, “and trundle it along home.”
-“we'll see about that!” parker snatched an ax from the nearest man. “mr. lawyer, you may go back to the city and fight your legal points with the man my principals hire for that purpose, and enjoy yourself as much as you can. in the meantime i'll be building a railroad. men, those trees are to come down at once.” he began to hack at a tree with great vigor.
-the choppers, encouraged by his firm attitude, promptly moved forward and began to use their axes.
-“the club you must use, colonel, is an injunction,” advised the crestfallen lawyer after he had watched operations a few moments. ward was swearing violently. “i'll have one here in twenty-four hours.”
-the irate lumberman whirled on his counsel.
-“get out of here!” he snarled. “your injunction would prob'ly be like the law you've handed out here to-day. you said you'd stop him, but you haven't.”
-“there's no law for a fool!” snapped the attorney.
-“get along with your law!” roared ward. “i was an idiot ever to fuss with it or depend on it. 'tain't any good up here. 'tain't the way for real men to fight. i've got somethin' better'n law.”
-he shook his fists at parker. “better'n law!” he repeated, in a shrill howl. “better'n law!” he cried again. “and you'll get it, too.”
-at first the engineer believed that ward was about to rally his little band at the carry camp, but the old man turned and stumped away. his lawyer tried to interpose and address him, but the colonel angrily shoved him to one side with such force that the attorney tumbled backward into the snow.
-“better'n law!” he shouted again. “that for your law!” and he struck his rangy horse with a crack as loud as a pistol-shot.
-the animal leaped like a deer, fairly lifting the narrow sleigh, and with tails fluttering from his fur robes, his cap's coon tail streaming behind, away up the tote-road went gideon ward on his return to the deep woods, the mighty din of his myriad bells clashing down the forest aisles. at the distant turn of the road he hooted with the vigor of a screech owl, “better'n law!” and disappeared.
-“your client doesn't seem to be in an especially amiable and lamb-like mood this morning,” said parker.
-the lawyer dusted the snow from his garments.
-“beautiful disposition, old gid ward has!” he snarled. “left me here to walk sixteen miles to a railroad-station, and never offered to settle with me.”
-“you forget the 'poquette and sunkhaze air-line,” parker smiled. “you are free to ride back with us when we go.”
-“no hard feelings, then?” asked the lawyer.
-“i'm not small-minded, i trust,” returned parker. the lawyer looked at the self-possessed young man with pleased interest. this generous attitude appealed to him.
-“do you realize, young man,” he inquired, “that old gideon ward never had a man really back him down before?”
-“i don't know much about colonel ward personally, except that he has a very disagreeable disposition.”
-“you've made him just as near a maniac as a man can be and still go about his business. there'll be a lot of trouble come from this. hadn't you better advise your folks to call it off? they haven't the least idea, i imagine, what a proposition you are up against.”
-“i shall keep on attending to my business,” parker replied. “if any one interferes with that business, he'll do so at his own risk.”
-“i am afraid you are depending too much on your legal rights and on the protection of the law. now gideon ward has always made might right in this section. he is rough and ignorant, but the old scamp has a heap of money and a rich gang to back him. i tell you, there are a lot of things he can do to you, and then escape by using his money and his pull.”
-“oh, he has been whaled once or twice, but it never did him any good. for instance, a favorite trick of his is to make every one flounder out of a tote-road into the deep snow. he won't turn out an inch. most of the men he meets are working for him or selling him goods, and they don't dare to complain. however, one teamster he crowded off in that way broke two ox-goads on the old man. but that whipping only set him against other travellers more than ever.
-“another time ward got what he deserved down at sunkhaze. a man opened a store there and put in a plate-glass window, being anxious to show a bit of progress. there's nothing old ward hates so much as he does what he calls 'slingin' on airs,' when he drove down from the woods and saw that new window he growled, 'wal, it seems to me we're gettin' blamed high-toned all of a sudden!' he got out, rooted up a big rock and hove it right through the middle of that new pane of glass the only pane of plate glass sunkhaze ever saw. well, the storeman tore out and licked ward till he cried. storeman didn't know who the old man was till after it was all over. neither did old gid know how big that storeman was till he saw him coming out through that broken glass. otherwise both might have thought twice.
-“ward boycotted and persecuted him till he had to sell out and leave town. he has persecuted everybody. his wife has been in the insane asylum going on ten years; his only girl ran away and got married to a cheap fellow, and his son is in state prison. the boy ran away from home, got into bad company, and shot a policeman who was trying to arrest him. if you are not crazy or dead before he gets done with you, then you'll come out luckier than i think you will.”
-with this consoling remark the lawyer plodded up to the camp, to wait until it should be time to start down the lake.
-as parker toiled through the woods that day he reflected seriously on his situation. he fully appreciated the fact that ward's malice intended some ugly retaliation. the danger viewed here in the woods and away from the usual protections of society seemed imminent and to be dreaded.
-but the young man realized how skeptically whittaker and jerrard would view any such apprehensions as he might convey to them, reading his letter in the comfortable and matter-of-fact serenity of the city. he knew how impatient it made president whittaker to be troubled with any subordinate's worry over details. his rule was to select the right man, say, “let it be done,” and then, after the manner of the modern financial wizard inspect the finished result and bestow blame or praise.
-parker regretfully concluded that he must keep his own counsel until some act more overt and ominous forced him to share his responsibility.
-that evening, as he sat in his room at the tavern, busy with his first figures of the survey, some one knocked and entered at his call, “come in!”
-chapter six--in which “the cat-hermit of moxie” casts his shadow long before him
-it was the postmaster who appeared at parker's invitation to enter. that official stroked down his beard, tipped his chair back, surveyed the young man with the solemnity of the midnight raven and observed:
-“i hear you and colonel gid had it hot and tight up to poquette to-day.”
-“there was an argument,” returned parker, quietly.
-“i don't want to be considered as meddlin' with your affairs, mr. parker, but i've known gid ward for a good many years, and i want to advise you to look sharp that he doesn't do you some pesky mean kind of harm.”
-“i have been warned already, mr. dodge.”
-“yes, but you don't seem to take it to heart enough. or if you do, you don't show it. that was the reason i was afraid you didn't realize what a man you have to deal with.”
-“he seems to me like a blustering coward. your really brave and determined men don't make so much talk.”
-“oh, gid ward has tried his usual game of scare with his mouth, and it didn't work. he won't come again at you that way in the open right way. but”--the postmaster brought his chair down on its four legs and leaned forward to whisper--“he'll come again at you in the dark, and it's then that he's dangerous.”
-“of course i needn't tell you, mr. dodge, that i do not propose to be backed down and driven out of this section by a man like that. i dare say he is planning mischief, but i have my work to do here, and i shall keep on as best i can.”
-“his brother joshua ward, enlisted for the war in the sixties. bachelor, joshua was. he was going with one of the marshall girls in carmel, and the thing was settled final. hows'ever, josh went away to the war without getting married, because he allowed that if he got killed, an unmarried girl wouldn't have to take last pickings of the men, like a widow would. mighty kind, square, good-hearted chap that josh ward now i can tell ye! thought of others first all the time. he owned a mighty nice place that his aunt had willed to him. she liked josh, but hated the sight of gid, same's every one else did.
-“before josh went away he deeded his farm and everything to that marshall girl. told her that if he came back they would get married, and it would be all right. if he didn't come back, he wanted her to marry a good man, and told her that the farm would make a home for them and help her to get the best kind of a husband. as i told you, that joshua ward was as good as wheat.
-“for a year that marshall girl heard from josh regularly, and then the papers reported that he was killed in a big battle, and from then to the end of the war--two years or more--there wasn't a word from him or of him. meanwhile gid laid his plan. the marshall girl had an idea that if she married gid--though he wasn't her style--it would please josh, for then the place would stay in the family. she mourned for josh terribly, but gid was right after her all the time, and there she was with a farm on her hands, and so she finally up and married him.
-“in joshua ward's case it happened, as it did in hundreds of other cases, where the poor chaps weren't important enough to be heard about or from. he was just captured instead of killed, and went from libby to andersonville, from andersonville to macon, and when lee surrendered he came home, thin's a shadow, shaking with ague and with eyes bigger than burnt holes in a blanket. pitiful figure he was, i tell you. i was running a livery business in carmel village then, and josh hired me to take him out to the farm.
-“i broke the thing to him on the way. made my throat ache, now i tell you, mr. parker. made my eyes smart and the fields and sky look blurry to see that poor wreck, with everything gone, and know that the hog that had stayed to home was enjoying it all.
-“and what made me, as a man, despise gid ward more was the fact that he had been colonel of a state regiment in old militia days, boosted there by a gang that trained with him, and as soon as war broke out and the regiment was mustered in he resigned like a sneak, and couldn't be touched by a draft.
-“mr. parker, i haven't got the language to tell ye how that woman looked when she came to the door and saw me helping josh out to the ground. no sir, i don't want to think of it--how she sank right down in that doorway, and her head went over sidewise and her eyes shut and--and her heart stopped, i guess.”
-the postmaster blew his nose and snapped his eyes and cleared his throat with difficulty. parker had forgotten his figures.
-“gid came round the corner of the house, seeing the team drive up, and what do you suppose he said when he saw his brother back from the grave, as you might say? he looked him over, not offering to shake his hand, and then he says, 'well, living skelington, it's goin' to cost something to plump you out again, ain't it?'
-“when i saw the look on josh's face at that, i'd have hauled off and cuffed gid's head up to a pick, swan if i wouldn't, but the marshall girl--excuse me, mis' ward--came tearin' down the path, and threw her arms round josh's neck and cried, 'o my poor brother!' and i came away.
-“it was too much for me. my eyes were so full that i run against a tree, and pretty near took a wheel off.
-“wal, josh stayed, and as soon as he was able he took a-hold of farm-work, and things went along for a time all quiet. one evening josh was sitting out at the corner of the house, smoking as usual, and meditatin' in the way he had, when gid came along and sat down on the door-stone.
-“''bout time to have a business understanding, ain't it, josh?' gid asked.
-“'yes, perhaps it is,' said joshua.
-“'well then, ye'll answer a fair question. if ye continue to stay here, where's the money for your board comin' from?'
-“'board?' says josh.
-“'yes, board! you don't reckon to run a visit over three months, do ye?'
-“'why, i didn't think there'd be any question of this sort between us, gid.'
-“'business is business. if you'd had more business to you, you wouldn't be a pauper now.'
-“'that's what i said. you deeded this place to cynthy marshall, didn't ye? well, she has deeded it to me. 'tain't much of a husband that don't have his property in his own name.'
-“'but see here, gideon, you know why i deeded this property. you know how matters have come out. between brothers in such a case there should be no such thing as stickin' to the letter of deeds.'
-“'nearer the relatives be to ye, closer you ought to follow the law,' snapped gid, 'or else ye'll get cheated worse than by a stranger!'
-“'he didn't seem to be takin' any of that to himself.'
-“'i've been thinkin' i'd give half the place to cynthy as a weddin' present, and we could--'
-“'why, you've given it all to her, hain't ye?'
-“josh had to say yes, of course. never was any hand to argue his own rights.”
-“'well, she has given it to me and it was hers to give. now, i say, can ye pay board?'
-“'i haven't any money, gid.'
-“'well, then, ye'll have to get a job somewhere. i don't need a hired man just now. ye won't starve, josh. the gov'ment will take care of soldiers,' he sneered. then he got up and went into the house.
-“that's the way it was told to me by joshua ward himself, mr. parker,” concluded the postmaster. “he had to get out. he didn't have any money to fight in law. he didn't want to stir up the thing on poor cynthy's account. and he was ashamed to have the whole world know how mean a man he had for a brother.”
-“what has become of this joshua?” asked the young man, his heart hot with new and fresh bitterness against this unspeakable tyrant of the timber country.
-“josh did what so many other heart-broken men have done. he went into the woods, on an island in little moxie, built a cabin, has his pension to live on, and has become one of those queer old chaps such as you will find scattered all the way from holeb to new brunswick. there's old young at gulf hagas, and the mediator at boarstone, and a lot like them. they call joshua the 'cat hermit of moxie.'
-“they say he's got cats round his place by the hundred. spends all his time in hunting meat and catching fish for 'em. well, most everybody is cranky about some notion or others, whether it's in the city or in the woods, and i reckon that josh has a right to keep cats if he wants to. no one ever sees him out in civilization now. cynthy's in the asylum. most people think it's just the trouble of the thing preying on her mind. and then again, i guess that gid wasn't ever any too good to her. hard case, ain't it, mr. parker?” the postmaster's voice trembled.
-“it's as sad a story--as anger-stirring a story as i ever listened to, mr. dodge,” replied the young man, passionately. “i cannot understand how a scoundrel of that style should have been allowed to stamp roughshod over people without a champion arising in some quarter. it is small wonder that he has come to think that he can run the universe. he needs a lesson.”
-“there's no doubt about his needin' the lesson,” replied the postmaster. “but for years half the wages that are paid out in this section have come through the hands of gideon ward. laboring men with families to support and the traders have to stand in with him or be side-tracked. i don't know as gid ever did a real up-and-down crime, any more than what i've been telling you--and some men in the world would be mean enough to gloss all that over, saying that it's only right to look out for number one first of all. but i tell ye honestly, mr. parker, gid would have to do something pretty desperate and open to have the prosecuting officers of this county take it up against him. now you can understand the width of the swath he cuts in these parts. where would the witnesses come from? he owns his men, body and soul.”
-parker's forehead wrinkled doubtfully.
-“what do you think will be his next move in regard to me?”
-“i can't make a guess, but you need smellers as long as a bobcat's and as many eyes as a spider.” with this cheering opinion expressed, the postmaster went away.
-there was no more work for parker on his plans that night.
-the grim pathos of the story that he had heard haunted him. this pitiful tragedy in real life stirred his youthful and impressionable sensibilities to their depths.
-despite his brave outward demeanor during his tilt with the ferocious old man he had feared within himself. he possessed no gladiatorial spirit and did not relish fray for the sake of it. but he did have accurate notions of right and wrong, of the justice of a cause and of manliness in standing for it. he had exhibited that trait many times to the astonishment of those who had been deceived by his quiet exterior. in this instance his employers had put a trust into his hands. he had resolved to go through with his task. but now there was added another incentive--a very distinct determination to give gideon ward at least one check and lesson in his career of wholesale domination.
-a queer grief worked in his heart and a wistful tenderness moistened his eyes as he thought upon that injured brother, living out his wrecked life somewhere in the heart of those great woods about him. perhaps there was a bit of prescience in the warmth with which he dwelt on the subject, for fate had written that joshua ward was to play an important part in the life of rodney parker.
-he went to sleep with the sorrow of it all weighing his mind, and his teeth gritting with determination as he reflected on gideon ward and his ugly threats.
-chapter seven--how “the fresh-water corsairs” came to sunkhaze
-in the morning parker's foreman was waiting for him in the men's room of the tavern. it was so early that the smoky kerosine lamp was still struggling with the red glow of the dawn.
-“mr. parker,” said the foreman earnestly, “have you go it figured what the old chap is goin' to do to us?”
-“that is hardly a fair question to put to me mank,” said the engineer, pulling on his mittens. “you knew him up this way better than i. now you tell me what you expect him to do.”
-but the foreman shook his head dubiously.
-“it'll never come at a man twice alike,” he said.
-“sometimes he just snorts and folks just run. sometimes he kicks, sometimes he bites, sometimes he rears and smashes things all to pieces. but the idea is, you can depend on him to do something and do it quick and do it mighty hard. we've known gideon ward a good many years up this way and we've never seen him so mad before nor have better reason for being mad. the men are worrying. i thought it right to tell you that much.”
-“well, i'm worrying, too,” said parker. he tried to speak jestingly, but the heaviness of the night's foreboding was still upon him and the foreman detected the nervousness in his voice. the man now showed his own depression plainly.
-“i was in hopes i could tell the men that you could see your way all free and clear” he said.
-“then the men are worrying?”
-“that they are, sir. a good many of us own houses here in sunkhaze and there's more than one way for colonel gideon ward to get back at us. several of the boys came to me last night and wanted to quit. i understand that the postmaster has been talking to you and he must have told you some of the things that the old man done and hasn't been troubled about, either by his conscience or the law. you see what kind of a position that puts us in.”
-“you don't mean that the crew is going to strike, or rather slip out from under, do you, mank?” asked parker, struck by the man's demeanor.
-“well, i'd hardly like to say that. i ain't commissioned to put it that strong. but we've got to remember the fact that we'll probably want to live here a number of years yet, and railroad building won't last forever. still, it's hardly about future jobs that we're thinking now. it's what is liable to happen to us in the next few days. it will be tough times for sunkhaze settlement if the gideonites swoop down on us, mr. parker.”
-the engineer threw out his arms impetuously.
-“but i'm in no position, mank, to guarantee safety to the men who are working for the company,” he cried. “it looks to me as tho i were standing here pretty nigh single-handed. if i understand your meaning, i can't depend on my crew to back me up if it comes to a clinch with the old bear?”
-“the boys here are not cowards,” replied the foreman with some spirit. “they're good, rugged chaps with grit in 'em. turn 'em loose in a woods clearing a hundred miles from home and i'd match 'em man for man with any crowd that gid ward could herd together. i don't say they wouldn't fight here in their own door yards, mr. parker. they'd fight before they'd see their houses pulled down or their families troubled. but as to fighting for the property of this railroad company and then taking chances with the gideonites afterward--well, i don't know about that! it's too near home!” again the foreman shook his head dubiously. “as long as you can reckon safely that the old one is goin' to do something, the boys thought perhaps you'd notify the sheriff.”
-but parker remembered his instructions. reporting his predicament to the sheriff would mean sowing news of the sunkhaze situation broadcast in the papers.
-“it isn't a matter for the sheriffs,” he replied shortly. “we'll consider that the men are hired to transport material and not to fight. we can only wait and see what will happen. but, mank, i think that when the pinch comes you will find that my men can be as loyal to me, even if i am a stranger, as ward's men are to the infernal old tyrant who has abused them all these years. i'm going to believe so at any rate.”
-he turned away and started out of doors into the crisp morning. “i'm going to believe that last as long as i can,” he muttered.
-“it'll help to keep me from running away.”
-he found his crew gathered in the railroad yard near the heaps of unloaded material for construction. the men eyed him a bit curiously and rather sheepishly.
-“i know how you stand, men,” he said cheerily. “i don't ask you to undertake any impossibilities. i simply want help in getting this stuff across spinnaker lake. let's at it!”
-his tone inspired them momentarily.
-they were at least dauntless toilers, even if they professed to be indifferent soldiers.
-even parker himself was surprised to find what a load the little locomotive could manage. he made four trips the first day and at dusk had the satisfaction of beholding many tons of rails, fish-plates and spikes unloaded and neatly piled in the yarding place at the spinnaker end of the carry.
-between trips, while the men were unloading, he had opportunity to extend his right-of-way lines for his swampers and attend to other details of his engineering problem.
-'twas a swift pace he set!
-in three days fully half the weight of material had been safely landed across the lake.
-but on the evening of the third day parker was more seriously alarmed by the weather-frowns than he had been by the threats of gideon ward himself.
-the postmaster presaged it, sniffing into the dusk with upturned nose and wagging his head ominously.
-“i reckon old gid has got one more privilege of these north woods into his clutch and is now handlin' the weather for the section,” he said. “for if we ain't goin' to have a spell of the soft and moist that will put you out of business for a while, then i miss my guess.”
-it began with a fog and ended in a driving rainstorm that converted the surface of the lake into an expanse of slush that there was no dealing with.
-parker's experience had been with climatic conditions in lower latitudes and in his alarm he believed that spring had come swooping in on him and that the storm meant the breaking up of the ice or at least would weaken it so that it would not bear his engine.
-but the postmaster, who could be a comforter as well as a prophet of ill, took him into the little enclosure of his inner office and showed him a long list of records pencilled on the slide of his wicket.
-“ice was never known to break up in spinnaker earlier than the first week in may,” said dodge, “and this rain-spitting won't open so much as a riffle. you just keep cool and wait.”
-at the end of the rain-storm the weather helped parker to keep cool. he heard the wind roaring from the northwest in the night. the frame of the little tavern shuddered. ice fragments, torn from eaves and gables, went spinning away into the darkness over the frozen crust with the sound of the bells of fairy sleighs.
-when parker, fully awakening in the early dawn, looked out upon the frosty air, his breath was as visibly voluminous as the puff from an escape-valve of the “swogon.” with his finger-nail he scratched the winter enameling from his window-pane, and through that peep-hole gazed out upon the lake. the frozen expanse stretched steel-white, glary and glistening, a solid sheet of ice.
-he at once put a crew at work getting out more saplings for sleds. in two more trips, with his extra “cars” and with that glassy surface, he believed that every ounce of railroad material could be “yarded” at the po-quette carry. when the sun went down redly, spreading its broad bands of radiance across ice-sheeted spinnaker, the swogon stood bravely at the head of twenty heavily loaded sleds. the start for the carry was scheduled to occur at daybreak.
-the moon was round and full that evening, and parker before turning in went out and remained at the edge of the lake a moment, looking across spinnaker's vast expanse of silvery glory.
-“you could take that train acrost the lake to-night, mr. parker,” suggested the foreman, who had followed him from the post-office. “it's as light as day.”
-“do you know,” admitted the young man, “i just came out with the uneasy feeling, somehow, that i ought to fire up and start out. i suppose the old women would call it a presentiment. but the men have worked too hard to-day to be called out for a night job. with a freeze like that we haven't got to hurry on account of the weather.”
-the foreman patted his ears briskly, for the night wind was sweeping down the lake and squalling shrewishly about the corners of buildings in the little settlement. suddenly the man shot out a mittened hand, and pointed up the lake.
-“what's that?” he ejaculated.
-parker gazed. far up spinnaker a dim white bulk seemed to hover above the ice. it was almost wraith-like in the moonlight. it flitted on like a huge bird, and seemed to be rapidly advancing toward sunkhaze.
-“if it were summer-time and this were sandy hook,” said parker, with a smile, “i should think that perhaps the cup-race might be on.”
-“i should say, rather, it is the ghost of gid ward's boom gunlow,” returned the man, not to be outdone in jest. “he's got an old scow with a sail like that.”
-both men surveyed the dim whiteness with increasing interest.
-“are there any ice-boats on the lake?” inquired the engineer.
-“i never heard of any such thing hereabouts.”
-“so will i,” agreed his employé.
-the approaching sail grew rapidly. soon the craft was to be descried more in detail. under the sail was a flat, black mass. and now on the breeze came swelling a chorus of rude songs, the melody of which was shot through with howls and bellows of uproarious men.
-“trouble's coming there, mr. parker!” gasped the foreman, apprehensively. “the wind behind 'em an' rum inside 'em.”
-“ward's men, eh?” suggested the engineer.
-“that they are! the gideonites! they can't be anything else.”
-“get our men together!” parker cried, clapping his gloved hands. “rout out every man in the settlement.”
-the foreman started away on the run, banging on house doors and bawling the cry:
-“whoo-ee! all up! parker's crew turn out! all hands wanted at the lake!”
-in the excitement of the moment mank did not question the command nor pause to reflect that he might be calling his neighbors into trouble that they would not relish.
-chapter eight--the locomotive that went swimming and the engineer who was stolen
-in a few moments the bell of the little chapel was sending its jangling alarm out over the village. doors banged, men burst out of the houses and poured down to the lake shore, buttoning their jackets as they ran.
-they required no explanation. ever since the incident at poquette some such irruption of ward's reckless woods hordes had been anticipated. but this tempestuous night arrival under sail, this sudden and terrifying descent appalled the newly awakened men.
-the craft was now close to shore, and was making for the stolid swogon and its waiting sleds. the stranger's method of construction could now be distinguished, a good half-score of tote-sleds had been lashed together into a sort of runnered raft the sail was the huge canvas used in summer on ward's lake scow.
-as the great boat swung into the wind, a jostling crowd of men poured out on the ice from under the flapping sail. each man bore a tool of some sort, either ax, cant-dog, iron-shod peavey-stick, or cross-cut saw; and the moonshine flashed on the steel surfaces. it was plain that the party viewed its expedition as an opportunity for reckless roistering, and spirits had added a spur to the natural boisterous belligerency of the woodsmen.
-most of parker's crew had brought axes, and now as he advanced across the ice toward the locomotive, his men followed with considerable display of valor.
-'a giant whiskered woodsman led the onrush of the attacking force; and the gang interposed itself between the railroad property and its defenders.
-“hold up there, right where ye are, all of ye!” the giant shouted.
-“what is your business here?” demanded the young man.
-“are you that little railro'd chap that thinks he's runnin' this end of the country on the kid-glove basis?” roared the big man. he swung his ax menacingly.
-“my name is parker,” replied the engineer. “that is my property yonder. you will have to let my men pass to it.”
-the giant looked squarely over the engineer's head into the crowd of sunkhaze men.
-“you all know me,” he cried, “an' if ye don't know me ye've heard of me! i reckon dan connick is pretty well known hereabouts. wal, that's me. never was licked, never was talked back to. these men behind me are all a good deal like me. i know the most o' you men. i should hate to hurt ye. your wives are up there waitin' for ye to come home. ye'd better go.”
-but the crowd made no movement to retreat. parker still stood at their head.
-“ye'd better go!” bellowed connick. “understand? i said ye'd better go. go an' mind your business, an' if ye do that, not a man in my crew will step a foot on the sunk-haze shore. but if ye stay here and meddle, then down come your houses and out go your cook-stoves. you know me! get back on shore.”
-a tremendous roar from his men emphasized his demand.
-“if ye want these hearties loose up there, ye can have 'em in about two minutes!” he cried, threateningly.
-the sunkhaze contingent rubbed elbows significantly, mumbled in conference, and scuffled slowly toward the shore.
-“are you going to back down, men?” parker shouted.
-“we've got wives an' children an' houses up there, mister,” said a voice from the crowd, “an' it's a cold night to be turned out-o'-doors. we know these fellers better'n what you do.”
-“but, men,” persisted parker, “they won't dare to sack your village. such things are not done in these days. the law--”
-“law!” burst from connick, jeeringly. “law! law!” echoed his men, with mocking laughter.
-“why,” yelled connick, “there ain't deputy sheriffs enough in this county to round us up once we get acrost the poquette divide! there ain't a deputy sheriff that will dare to poke his nose within ten miles of our camps.”
-“that's right, mr. parker,” agreed one of the sunkhaze crowd. “once a crew burnt a smokin'-car when they were comin' up from--”
-“no yarns now, no yarns now!” connick thrust himself against the sunkhaze men and roughly elbowed them back. “get on shore an' stay there.”
-parker was left standing alone on the ice. his supporters scuffled away, muttering angry complaints, but offering no resistance. when the giant woodsman returned after hastening their departure, he was faced by the young man, still defiant. connick cocked his head humorously and looked down on the engineer. under all the big man's apparent fierceness there had been a flash of rough jocoseness in his tones at times. parker saw plainly that he and his followers viewed the whole thing as a “lark,” and entertained little respect for their adversaries.
-“connick, i warn you--” parker began; but the giant chuckled, and said, tauntingly:
-“'cluck, cluck!' said the bear.
-“i want to say to you, sir, that you are dealing with a large proposition if you propose to interfere with this railroad property. my backers--”
-“'bow-wow!' said the fish.” the woodsman cried the taunt more insolently, and yet with a jeering joviality that irritated parker more than downright abuse would have done.
-he started toward his engine, but connick put out his big arm to interpose.
-“poodle,” he said, “i've got a place for you. i'm the champion dog-catcher of the west branch region.” he reached for parker's collar, but parker ducked under his arm, and as he came up struck out with a force that sent the astonished giant reeling backward. fury and desperation were behind the blow.
-“wal, of all the--” gasped connick, pushing back his cap and staring in astonishment. his men laughed.
-“i'll wring your neck, you bantam!” he bawled; and he came down on parker with a rush.
-on that slippery surface the odds were with the defensive. moreover, parker, having an athlete's confidence in his fists, suddenly responded to the instincts of primordial man. he leaped lightly to one side, caught the rushing giant's foot across his instep, and as connick's moccasined feet went out from under him, the young engineer struck him behind the ear. he fell with a dismal thump of his head on the ice, and lay without motion.
-but parker's panting triumph was shortlived. as he stood over the giant, gallantly waiting for him to rise, he discovered that the rules of scientific combat were not observed in the woods. a half-dozen brawny woodsmen leaped upon him, seized him, threw him down, tied his arms and legs with as little ceremony as if he were a calf, and tossed him upon the ice-boat.
-connick had risen to a sitting posture, and viewed the struggle with mutterings of wrath while he rubbed his bumped head.
-he scrambled up as if to interfere, but as his antagonist had by this time been disposed of, he roared a few sharp orders, and his willing crew set at work. men with axes chopped holes a few feet apart in a circle about the engine. there were many choppers, and although the ice was three feet thick, the water soon came bubbling through. as soon as a hole was cut, other men stuck down their huge cross-cuts and began to saw the ice.
-all too soon parker, craning his neck where he lay on the ice-boat, heard an ominous buckling and crackling of ice, and saw his faithful swogon disappear below the surface of the lake, her mighty splash sending the water gushing like a silvery geyser into the moonlight. the attached sleds, loaded with the rails and spikes and other material, followed like a line of huge, frightened beavers seeking their hole.
-“there,” ejaculated connick, wiping the sweat from his brow, “when that hole freezes up the poquette carry railro'd will be canned for a time, anyway. now three cheers for colonel gid ward!”
-the cheers were howled vociferously.
-he pointed to the men of the settlement, who were now joined by their wives and children, and were watching operations from the bank.
-“three cheers for the brave men and the sweet ladies o' sunkhaze!”
-loud laughter followed these cheers. the people on the shore remained discreetly silent.
-“three groans for the poquette railro'd!”
-the hoarse cries rang out on the crisp night wind, and at the close one of those queer, splitting, wide-reaching, booming crackles, heard in the winter on big waters, spread across the lake from shore to shore.
-“even the old lake's with us!” a woodsman shouted.
-connick and his men had finished what they had come to sunkhaze to do. they climbed aboard the huge ice-craft. the sheet was paid off, and with dragging peavey-sticks instead of centerboard to hold the contrivance into the wind, the boat moved away on its tack across the lake.
-“say good-by to your friend here!” connick bellowed. “he says he thinks he'll go with us, strange country for to see.”
-“tell inquirin' admirers that his address in futur' will be north pole, shady side,” another rough humorist added.
-the men on the shore did not reply. they understood perfectly the uncertain temper of “larking” woodsmen. there had been cases in times past when a taunting word had turned rude jollity into sour hankering for revenge.
-the bottle began to go about on the sleds, and the refrain of a lumberman's chorus, with its riotous, “whoop fa la larry, lo day!” came floating back to sunkhaze long after the great sail had merged itself with the silvery radiance of the brilliant surface of the lake.
-“apparently there's other folks as have new schemes of travellin' acrost spinnaker lake,” observed the postmaster, breaking a long silence in the group of spectators. “wal, i did all i could to post him on what he might expect when gid ward got his temper good an' started. it's too bad to see that property dumped that way, tho.”
-“ain't gid ward ever goin' to suffer for any of his actions?” demanded parker's foreman, disgustedly.
-“what are we goin' to do?” bleated another man.
-“i'll write a letter to the high sheriff,” said the postmaster, and then he added, bitterly, “an' he'll prob'ly wait till it's settled goin' in the spring, same's he did when we sent down that complaint about ward's men wreckin' johnson's store. an' by that time he'll forget all about comin'. talk about kings and emperors! if we hain't got one on west branch waters, then you can brand me for a liar with one of my own date stamps.”
-parker maintained grim silence as he lay on the sled. no one spoke to him. the men were too busy with songs and rough jests over the business of the evening. the engineer would not confess to himself that he was frightened, but the wantonness and alacrity with which the irresponsible men had destroyed valuable property impressed him with ominous apprehension of what they might do to him. he wondered what revenge connick was meditating.
-it was a strange and tedious ride for the young man. the woodsmen sat jammed so closely about him that he could see only the frosty stars glimmering wanly in the moonlight. when the songs and the roaring conversations were stilled for a moment, he could hear the lisp of the runners on the smooth surface and the slashing grind of the iron-clad peavey-sticks.
-although the bodies of his neighbors had kept the cold blast from him, he staggered on his numb feet when they untied his bonds at poquette and ordered him to get off the sled. connick came along and gazed on the young man grimly while they were freeing him.
-“aha, my bantam!” he growled.
-parker braced himself to meet a blow. he felt that the giant would now take satisfactory vengeance for the discomfiture he had suffered before his men at sunkhaze. connick raised his hand, that in its big mitten seemed like a cloud against the moon, and brought it down. the young man gathered himself apprehensively, but the expected assault was merely a slap on his shoulder--a slap with such an unmistakable air of friendliness about it that parker gazed up into the man's face with astonishment. now he was to experience his first taste of the rude chivalry of the woods, a chivalry often based on sudden whim, but none the less sincere and manly--a chivalry of which he was to have further queer experience.
-“my bantam,” said the big man, admiringly, “faith, but that was a tidy bito' footwork ye done down at sunkhaze.” good-humored grins and rueful scowls chased one another over his face, according as he patted parker's back or rubbed the bump on his own head. “sure, there's a big knob there, my boy. there's only one thing that's harder than your fist, an' that's spinnaker ice.”
-parker attempted some embarrassed reply in way of apology, for this magnanimity of his foe touched him. the giant put up a protesting hand.
-“ye sartin done it good, my little man, an' i'm glad to know ye better. but colonel gid ward, sure he lied about ye, or i'd never called ye names at sunkhaze.”
-“you didn't expect that man to tell the truth about me, did you?” parker demanded.
-“why, he said ye was a little white-livered sneak that wouldn't dare to put up your hands to a sunkhaze mosquito of the june breed, an' that ye were tryin' to come in here an' do business amongst real men. i couldn't stand that, i couldn't!”
-“but my business--my reasons for being here--my responsibilities!” cried parker. “i see he must have lied about that part of it.”
-“ah, i don't know anything about your business, nor care!” connick growled. “i only know there's something about a poquette railro'd in it. but all that's between you and gid ward. you can talk that over with him.”
-“do you mean to tell me that you and your men have destroyed that railroad property without having any special grudge against the project?”
-“why, railro'ds ain't any of our business,” the giant replied, with his eyes wide open and frank.
-“what are you--slaves?” parker cried, angrily. in addition to his lesson in woods' thivalry he was getting education regarding the irresponsibility of these unconventional children of the wild lands.
-the taunt did not seem to anger the men.
-“this railro'd is gid ward's business,” said connick. “we work for gid ward, he owns the poquette land, don't he? he said he didn't want any railro'd there. he told us to come down an' dump the thing. we come down, of course it's been dumped. you can fix that with him. but you're a good little fighter, my man. he didn't tell the truth about you.”
-the young man groaned. the ethics of the woods were growing more opaque to his understanding.
-“i'll introduce myself more formal,” said the woodsman, apparently with affable intent to be better acquainted with this young man who had shown that he possessed the qualities admired in the forest. “my name is dan connick, and these here are my hearties from number 7 cuttin'.” he waved his hand, and the nearest men growled good-humored greetings.
-“well, mr. connick,” said parker, dryly, “i thank you for the evening's entertainment, and now that you have done your duty to colonel ward i suppose i may return to sunkhaze.” his heart sank as he thought of the poor swogon weltering in the depths of the lake.
-“oh, ye've got to come along with us!” beamed connick. “colonel ward has sent for ye!”
-chapter nine--up the winding way to the “ogre of the big woods.”
-“i have no further business with colonel ward at this time,” protested parker, amazed at connick's refusal to release him. “wal, he says you have, an' them's our orders. the men that work for gid ward have to obey orders.”
-“your colonel ward has already injured me enough,” exclaimed parker, bitterly, “without dragging me away into the woods fifty or a hundred miles from my duty! i'll not see any more of him.”
-“oh, but ye will, tho!” connick was grinning, but under his amiability his tones were decisive. “i don't know what he wants to talk with you about, but i reckon it's railroad. we here can't do that with ye. so ye'll have to come along. but we all think you're a smart little man. ain't that so, hearties?”
-the men growled gruff assent.
-“how far is it to number 7?” the young man inquired, despondently.
-“they call it fifty miles from the other end of the carry. ye needn't walk a step if ye don't want to. there's a moose sled an' plenty of men to haul ye.”
-after a breakfast of hot beans, biscuits and steaming tea at the camp, the procession moved. parker was wrapped in tattered bunk blankets and installed in state on a long, narrow sledge. he was given the option of getting off and walking whenever he needed the exercise to warm himself.
-the march was brisk all that day, for the brawny woodsmen followed the snowy trail unflaggingly. after the six miles of the carry tote-road, their way led up the crooked west branch on the ice. there were detours where the open waters roared down rough gorges fast enough to dodge the chilling hand of jack frost; there were broad dead waters where the river widened into small lakes. parker was oppressed by the nervous dread of one who enters a strange new country and faces a danger toward which a fate stronger than he is pressing him.
-parker walked during the afternoon to ease his cold-stiffened limbs. toward dusk the party left the river and turned into a tote-road that writhed away under snow-laden spruces and hemlocks, coiled its way about rocky hummocks, and curved in “whip-lashes” up precipitous hillsides. there was not a break in the forest that stretched away on either hand.
-late in the evening they saw in a valley below them a group of log huts, their snowy roofs silvered by the moonlight. yellow gleams from the low windows showed that the camp was occupied.
-“that's the sourdanheunk baitin'-place,” connick explained, in answer to a question from his captive. “one o' ward's tote-team hang-ups an' feedin'-places.”
-the cook, a sallow, tall man encased in a dirty canvas shroud of an apron, was apparently expecting the party. more beans, more biscuits, more steaming tea--and then a bunk was spread for parker. his previous night of vigil and his day spent in the wind had benumbed his faculties, and he speedily forgot his fears and his bitter resentment in profound slumber.
-the next morning the cook's “whoo-ee!” called the men before the dawn, and they were away while the first flushes presaged the sunrise. it seemed that day that the tortuous tote-road would never end. valley succeeded to “horseback” and “horseback” to valley. woods miles are long miles.
-parker's railroad eye and engineer's discernment bitterly condemned the divagations of the wight who wandered first along that trail and imposed his lazy dodgings on all who might come after him. the young man amused himself by reflecting that the tote-road was an excellent example of the persistence of human error, and in these and other philosophical ponderings he was able to draw his mind partially from its uncomfortable dwellings on the probabilities awaiting him at the hands of gideon ward.
-the sun was far down in the west and the road under the spruces was dusky, when a singular obstacle halted the march. a tremendous thrashing and crashing at one side of the road signaled the approach of some large animal. a network of undergrowth hid the identity of this unknown, and the men instinctively huddled together and displayed some uncertainty as to whether they should remain or run. but the suspense was soon over, for the nearer bushes parted suddenly and out upon the tote-road floundered an immense moose, his bulbous nose wagging, his bristly mane twitching, his stilted fore legs straddled defiantly.
-the next moment a great bellow of laughter went up from the crowd.
-“the joke's on us!” cried a woodsman, who had been among the first to retreat.
-“hullo, ben bouncer!” connick shouted.
-“what do you mean by playin' peek-a-boo with your friends in that manner?”
-the moose uttered a hoarse whuffle.
-the engineer gazed on the moose with considerable interest, for the spectacle was entirely new.
-“ben went to loafin' round 7 camp early this winter. he yarded down here two miles or so. you understand, of course, that a moose picks out a good feedin'-place in winter, when the deep snows come, a place where he can reach a lot of twigs and yards there, as they call it in the woods.”
-the moose finished his critical survey of the group, snorted, and then thrust himself out of sight in the bushes.
-“if we ever have any serious fallin' out with colonel gid it's like to be over that moose,” drawled a man.
-“to judge by the moose, we must be near number 7 camp,” parker suggested.
-“just over the hossback,” was the laconic answer.
-“colonel left word to lock him in the wangan,” reported the cook, rolling his bare arms more tightly in his dingy apron.
-“where is the colonel?” asked connick.
-“he's out at the log landin'. be in at supper-time, so he said.” the cook eyed the captive with curiosity not unmixed with commiseration. “has he been takin' on much?” he inquired of one of the men.
-“nope. stiff upper lip--an' he licked dan,” the man added, behind his palm.
-“sho!” the cook ejaculated, looking on parker with new interest. “ain't he worried by thinkin' of the colonel?”
-“naw-w! says he'll eat him raw!” fabricated the men, enjoying the cook's amazement. “says he's glad to come up here. been hankerin' to get at ward, he says.”
-“wal, you don't say!” the cook surveyed parker from head to foot with critical inspection. this scrutiny annoyed the young man at last.
-“do i owe you anything?” he snapped.
-“heh--wal--blorh-h--wal, i hope ye don't!” spluttered the cook, retreating. “land, ain't he a savage one?” he gasped, as he hastened back into his realm of pots. he transferred his news to the amazed cookee.
-“they tell me,” he magnified, so as not to be outdone in sensationalism, “that this feller has licked every man that they've turned him loose on between here and sunkhaze, an' now is just grittin' his teeth a-waitin' for the colonel.”
-“wal,” said the cookee, solemnly, “if the r'yal asiatic tiger--meanin' colonel gid--and the great human bengal--meanin' him as is in the wangan--get together in this clearin', i think i'd rather see it from up a tree.” and the two were only diverted from their breathless discussion of possibilities by the noisy arrival of gideon ward, clamoring for his supper.
-parker had hardly finished in solitude his humble supper brought by the cookee, when there was a rattling of the padlock outside. open flew the door of bolted planks, and colonel ward stamped in, kicking the snow from his feet with wholly unnecessary racket of boots. a hatchet-faced man, whose chin was framed between the ends of a drooping yellow mustache, followed meekly and closed the door. parker rose with a confident air he was far from feeling.
-ward gazed on his prisoner a moment, his gray hair bristling from under his fur cap, his little eyes glittering maliciously. his cheek knobs were more irately purple than ever. he took up his cry where he had left it at poquette carry, and began to shout:
-“better'n law, hey? better'n law! ye remember what i said, don't yeh? better'n law!”
-the young man faced him.
-“colonel ward, there's a law against trespass, a law against conspiracy, a law against riots and destruction of property, and a law against abduction. i promise you here and now that you'll learn something about those laws later.”
-“still threat'nin' me right on my own land, are yeh, hey?”
-“i am not threatening. i am simply standing up for my rights as a citizen under the law.”
-“wal, i ain't here to argue law nor nothin' else with yeh. i've had you brought up here so's i can talk straight business with you. you've had a pretty tart lesson, but i hope you've learned somethin' by it. i've showed ye that a railro'd can't be built over gideon ward's property till he says the word. an' he'll never say the word. ye're licked. own up to it, now ain't ye?” ward's voice was mighty with a conqueror's confidence.
-“not by any means. you have simply incurred the penalty of being sent to state prison. and while you're there i'll be building that railroad.”
-fury fairly streamed from ward's eyes. he choked, grasped at his throat, writhed as if he were strangling, and stamped his foot until the camp shook. at last he recovered his voice.
-“i'll pay ye for that! now see here!” he jammed a paper into parker's hands. “sign that docyment, there an' now. sign it an' swear ye'll stick by your agreement; 'cause if ye go back on it, may the lord have mercy on your soul, for gid ward never will!”
-parker glanced at the crudely drawn agreement. it bound him as agent for his principals to withdraw all material from the po-quette carry, and abandon his railroad undertaking. it furthermore promised that he would make no complaint on account of damages to property or himself--admitting that he had been guilty of trespass.
-parker indignantly held the paper toward the colonel. the latter refused to take it.
-“sign it!” he roared. “sign it, or you'll take your medicine!”
-“do you think i am a fool, colonel ward? or are you one? i cannot bind my principals in any such manner. furthermore, a signature obtained under duress is of no value in court. i claim that i am under duress.”
-“you refuse to sign, then?”
-“absolutely. it would be easy enough to sign that paper and then go away and do as i like. but i am not going to lie to you even for a moment. the paper would be worthless in court.”
-“it ain't a paper that's goin' into court,” ward retorted. “it's a paper by which you agree to get out of here. it's you an' me. it just means that ro'd shan't be built.”
-“put into other words, i am to be scared out, and run back home and report that the road is impracticable?”
-“there's no one else in the world but you that would be fool enough to start in here an' buck me!” ward shouted.
-“and therefore you think if i agree to leave, no one else will dare to undertake the thing? you do me too much honor, colonel ward. but i repeat, i shall not run away.”
-“don't you realize i have gone too far into this thing to pull back now? i warn you that i may have to do things i don't like to do in order to protect myself. i can't back out now--no, sir!”
-“you shouldn't have started in, then!” parker sat down and looked away as if the incident were closed. he slowly tore up the agreement and tossed the pieces on the floor.
-this bravado made ward choke.
-“stand right up, do you, an' threaten to put me into state prison?”
-“you went into this with your eyes open. you must take the consequences. you are a business man, and are supposed to have arrived at years of understanding. this matter isn't like kicking over a mud house at school.”
-“look here, i've got every lumber operator in this section behind me in this matter. you hain't realized yet what you're up against.”
-“if that is the case,” parker replied, his eyes kindling, “i can see that this state is in for one of the big scandals of its history.”
-ward, who had been carried away by his passion and desire to intimidate, understood now how this admission would compromise men who would be ruined politically if any hint of such an illegal combination should be noised abroad.
-when he had offered to defeat the actual construction of the road, he had been warned that he must take all the responsibility upon himself. he had willingly assumed it, for he was as proud of his reputation for savage obstinacy as other men are of popular credit for more noble attributes. col. gideon ward had confidently boasted to his associates that he would prevent the building of the poquette railroad. he would rather lose half his fortune than confess to them that he had been beaten by a youth.
-now his hardy nature shivered at the thought that not only might the youth win, but that he had the power to make the agent of the timber barons doubly execrated and an outcast among his own people. ward was faced by the most serious problem of his life, and the uncomfortable reflection pricked him that he had allowed his anger to steal his brains.
-“young man,” said he, “i've been on earth a good while longer'n you have. i expect to stay some time yet. and i expect to live right here in this section. you hain't got to live here. now do you think gid ward can afford to be put on his back just yet? i know just who'd tromp on me, an' i know it better'n you. now i tell you fair an' square you've got to give in.” he bellowed the word “got” and thunked his fist on his knee.
-“there is no answer to that required from me, colonel ward.”
-“all right, then. come along, hackett!” ward commanded. “we'll give this critter a little time to figure this thing over, an' think whether he's got any friends that he'd like to get back to.” they went out and locked the door.
-chapter ten--the wangan duel
-after the fashion of any prisoner, parker's initial impulse was to examine the place in which he was confined. at first, escape was in his mind. the more he pondered on the lawless performance of the old timber baron and on the wilful destruction of the company's property, the more eager he was to get to a telegraph instrument.
-nothing had been taken from his person. he had his huge, sharp, jack-knife. the door was strong and thick but he believed that if he attacked the wood vigorously he might be able to whittle out the lock.
-there were wooden bars on the windows outside and within, rude protection against thieves who might want to ransack the stock of the wangan store. his stout knife would take care of them, too.
-but after whittling vigorously at a bar for a few moments he stopped suddenly, shut his knife and rammed it into his pocket with an exclamation of sudden resolve.
-he reflected that even if he got out of the camp that night, he was more than fifty miles from poquette, the only point in that wilderness whose location was known to him. he was without food for a journey and had his weary way to make through gideon ward's own country.
-“he has brought me here to bluster at me and frighten me into running away out of the section,” he reflected. “i'll stay and disappoint him.”
-his own respect for law and order was still so strong within him that he feared no extreme measures. his honest belief was that the colonel, like most men who find they have picked up a brick too hot for them, would drop him in good time and allow him to return to his work.
-in order to force the old man to this issue he determined to put on a bold front, defy his captor still more doggedly and in the end accept release under conditions of his own making. he felt that ward was compromised and now to a certain extent in his power.
-it was a decidedly comforting reflection, that, for a prisoner, and he tucked himself into the blankets of his bunk and went to sleep with his mind eased.
-the engineer was up and dressed when the key rattled in the door. colonel ward came first, “sipping” his tongue against his teeth in a manner that showed he had just finished breakfast. the morning light showed redly on his face as he came ill, and in that glow he seemed to be in more gracious spirit than on the evening before.
-the man who had previously accompanied him, the man of the hatchet visage, followed at his heels bearing several tin dishes that contained breakfast.
-“there ain't no intention here to starve ye nor use ye in any ways contrary to gen'ral regulations--that is, so fur as we can help,” began the colonel. “of course, if you were a little more reasonable and bus'ness-like we could use you better. hackett, set down the breakfast! fall to, young man, and eat hearty jest as tho ye relished your vittles.”
-it was evident that colonel ward was making desperate attempts to appear cordial.
-he even endeavored to force a smile but it was hardly more than a ridging of his cheek muscles under his bristly beard. parker imagined that he could hear the skin crackling at this unaccustomed facial twist. the struggle to appear cheerful was so grim that the engineer dreaded his antagonist in this new guise more than he did when he was brutally open in his warfare.
-“sit down, hackett,” commanded the colonel. “hackett's a friend o' mine--that is, in so far as i have friends, and he might as well be here to listen to what i have to say to you and what you have to say to me. there's northin' like a witness of transactions, mr. parker. now you and me ain't got together right up to now. i'm allus pretty much fussed up by my bus'ness and kept cross-grained all the time by havin' to handle so many blasted fool woodsmen, and the man that meets me for the first time might natch-rally think i was uglier'n a injun devil in fly-time--which i ain't, parker, no, i ain't i want you and me should be good friends and bus'ness men together, which we ain't been so far, all on account of a misunderstandin'. now, you're goin' to find me square and honest and open.”
-ward looked at the young man eagerly and waited as tho for some encouraging word.
-“even under the circumstances in which you have placed me, not only on my personal account but with my employers, by destroying their property,” said parker, after pondering a moment, “i am ready to talk business with you if you are now ready to talk it.”
-“well, let's say that we can talk it all nice and friendly. won't you say that you'll talk it all nice and friendly?” he had hackett in the corner of his eye, as tho soliciting that individual to take careful note of the conversation.
-“the fact is, colonel ward,” replied the engineer, “human nature isn't to be driven to and fro quite like an ox team. what i mean by that is, i might say, 'go to, now! be friends!'--say that to myself. but that wouldn't make me feel friendly--not in present circumstances. but i'm going to say to you that i'd like to be friends, and if you will start in now and show me some reason why we should be friends i'll give you my word to come more than half way.”
-“wal, that sounds reasonable and as much as any one can expect on short notice,” broke in hackett, who sat straining his attention.
-“you shut up, hackett,” roared the colonel, who realized parker's mental reservation better than his man friday. “i'll show ye all in good time why we should be friends, parker,” he went on, addressing the engineer. “but first of all i'll show ye how much it is goin' to hurt me to have that railroad built acrost poquette. and when i show you that, then you'll understand what the trouble was that you and me didn't start in on the basis of good friends. i tell ye, parker, it's a serious proposition for me and my associates. i can tell ye just why that road can't and mustn't be built.”
-the old man straddled his legs, leaned forward and set his right forefinger into his left palm with the confident air of one who is prepared to prove his contentions.
-“i say,” he went on, “that the road must not be built, and as a business man--”
-“colonel ward,” broke in parker, mildly yet firmly, “if that line of talk is what you are proposing to me i think i'd better tell you at the start that you'll have to take the question of whether the road must or must not be built to my employers. i have no right to enter upon any such discussion. nothing will be gained. they have sent me to poquette to build the road. i shall keep on with the work until my first orders are countermanded from our headquarters. and if you want them countermanded you'll be obliged to go to headquarters. it seems to me that ought to be pretty plain to you.”
-the old man, his finger still boring his palm, sat for some moments and stared at the engineer. he tried to keep from scowling but his brows twisted into knots in spite of himself.
-“you will keep on till orders are countermanded, hey?” he inquired grimly. “ain't you got no commonsense nor reason to you?”
-“it isn't a question of that, colonel. it's a question of obeying my employers.”
-the old man gave him another thorough looking-over and then whirled on hackett.
-“you go 'tend to something else,” he ordered bluffly. and after hackett had closed the door on himself he again turned to his scrutiny of the young engineer.
-“i ain't no great hand to beat about the bush, young feller,” he declared. “now look at the position you're in. you might say, you're more than half queered already with your company. your engine and all that collateral has been dumped into the lake--sayin' nothin' about how it happened. the main point is, it's there! and you're here! i ain't makin' any threats--not as yet--but you're here, and you can't gainsay that much. now the idea is, with your stuff under water and you here, how long do you think it's goin' to be before you git to work ag'in?”
-parker made no reply.
-“needn't answer any question that you can't answer,” continued ward. “and that's one that you can't answer. you tell me you've got to build that road. you're goin' to tell me that if you don't build it some one else will. mebbe they will! mebbe they will!” his eyes grew shrewd. “mebbe i'll build it myself! i can say this much, that i'd rather build it than have outsiders come in here and git a foothold. there's too big interests in this region and owned by them that's allus lived here, my son, to have outsiders come in now and meddle. it's the very first run of potater bugs that you want to keep out of the garden. and the first run can be handled easier than the settlers after they have set up housekeeping. now you see the point, i reckon! so the whole thing simmers down to this: i want to discourage them city fellers. it's a long arm they're reachin' down this way, and i won't have to tread on their fingers many times till they'll be mighty glad to pull back. it's only a side issue with them, and they won't let a side issue keep 'em awake too many nights when there's a way to get rid of the bother. when they are discouraged enough to be willin' to sell the charter and the stuff they've got on the spot--and under water,” he added with a wicked grin, “then i'll step in with the cash in my hand. i reckon we can handle our own railroad build-in' down this way. if i ain't got you discouraged already, young man, then i don't understand human natur' as well as i think i do. so now i want to hire you in the discouragin' business--you understand it fairly well. i need an assistant discourager. and here's my proposition! i'll give ye five thousand dollars bonus smack down in your fist and promise you in the name of the lumbermen's association a steady job. we're goin' to build three big dams along the west branch and a four-mile canal cut-off at headwaters. you'll find work enough, if that's what you're lookin' for.”
-“and you'll be looking for me to sell out your interests at my first opportunity,” said parker.
-“ours is a different proposition--a different proposition,” blurted ward earnestly. “your men ain't got any right to be here on our own stamping ground--not as bus'ness men. we ain't goin' down where they are to bother them. they hadn't ought to be up here. if you leave 'em and come with us we'll consider that it's showin' that you understand what a square deal in bus'ness matters means. and furthermore,” he said with a certain air as tho he had reserved his trump card, “we'll make our trade in black and white for a ten years' contract at a third more wages than your railroad people are paying and tip you off regular on timber deals where you can make an extry dollar. i don't mind tellin' ye, parker, that i've had ye looked up and i know that we ain't buyin' any gold brick.” this with a certain cordiality.
-“i must say, colonel ward, that you have taken a rather peculiar method of getting me interested in your enterprises.” parker's tone was a bit resentful, but the old man believed he could understand that resentment, and grew more cheerful and confident.
-parker sat with his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor, his forehead wrinkled. he was a pretty sturdy young american in principles and conduct, but at the same time he had all of young america's appreciation of the main chance. and the main chance in these days lies along the road where the dollars are sprinkled thickest. he reflected that the building of the little bob-tail railroad had been tossed at him as a rather silly and secret escapade of two big men who were already half ashamed of the whole business. he realized that in their present frame of mind they would be inclined to close out the whole thing in disgust as soon as they received news of the destruction of the property.
-when he got back to town he would simply remind them of a mutual failure to accomplish, and the history of such reminders is that they have been side-tracked in some places where their presence could not remind.
-“you know there isn't goin' to be any hurry about your givin' up your present job--not till spring has got well opened and the ice is out of spinnaker,” said colonel ward slyly, breaking in on the young man's meditations. “there's always a right time for re-signin' and we'll discover that time. but your five thousand will be put to your credit in kenduskeag bank the next day after you sign our papers, and your salary with us will begin the minute the ink is dry. you'll have double pay for a while, but i reckon you'll be earnin' it.” he chuckled once more.
-parker, surveying his red cheek knobs, his cruel gray eyes narrowed now in evil mirth, recollected with a photographic flash of memory of the details of that story the postmaster at sunkhaze had told him. this was the same man who had coolly stolen wife and property from his own brother and then had jeered at him, probably with that same expression puckering about his evil, gray eyes. in the sudden revulsion of his feelings parker wondered if he really had been tempted by the bait held out to him. at least, he had been weighing the chances. he remembered cases where other men who had stopped to weigh advantages had ended in becoming disloyal. he promptly forgot with a mental wrench the bribe that had been offered. it was a coaxing bait and he bravely owned that it had tempted for a moment. he was honest enough to own to himself that, offered by another, it might have won him--and he felt a little quiver of fear at the thought.
-but when he pictured himself as the associate of this old harpy who sat leering at him, hands on his knees, and already swelling with a sense of proprietorship, he almost forgot his personal wrongs in the hot flush of his indignation on behalf of the cheated brother.
-“that's a proposition that sort of catches ye, hey?” inquired ward, misunderstanding the nature of the flush that sprung to parker's cheeks.
-“i'm going to be honest enough to say that it did catch me for a moment,” replied the young man.
-“oh, i know all about what temptation is to any men--especially a young man,” said the colonel blandly.
-“but i'll bet you a hundred dollars to a toothpick you never knew what it was to resist temptation,” shouted parker. “and i'm going to tell you now and here that i'd no more accept your offer and take a job with you than i'd poison myself with paris green.” he flung himself back in his chair and glared at his tempter with honest indignation.
-for a little while ward stared at him, open-mouthed. his surprise was greater, for he believed that he had landed his fish.
-“and don't you make me any more offers. i've no use for them or for you, either,” cried the young man, his voice trembling.
-“i've read about such critters as you be,” said the colonel slowly, “but it was in a dime novel and it was a good many years ago and i didn't believe it. i believe it said in the novel that the young man died young and went to heaven--the only one of his kind. p'raps i'm wrong and he didn't die--went to heaven jest as he stood in his shoes and co't and pants.”
-parker merely scowled back at the biting irony of this rejoinder.
-“there's no dime novel or any other kind of a novel to this affair, colonel ward. i'm not especially fitted to be the hero of a book. nor to be one of your hired men, either.”
-“then ye've made up your mind to straddle out your legs and play branscome's mule, hey?”
-“what was his special characteristic?”
-the question was drawled coolly.
-“he kicked when ye tried to drive him with a whip and he bit and squealed when ye tried to coax him along with sweet apples. so if ye won't neither lead nor drive, then out with it man fashion.”
-“i simply demand my liberty.”
-“and what be ye goin' to do with it?”
-“that is my own affair.”
-the two men sat and looked at each other a long time, the old man's choler rising the higher from the fact that it had been so long repressed. the young man's glance did not fall before this furious regard.
-at last ward quivered his fists above his head, stamped around the little room and went to the door.
-“you've got a few hours to do a little more thinkin' in, and then you look out for yourself, for it's up to you, you--,” he slammed and locked the door and went away, cursing horribly.
-chapter eleven--the bear that walked like a man
-that in this age of law and order gideon ward meditated any actual violence to his person parker found it hard to believe as he sat there in the “wangan” and pondered on his situation. he could not avoid the conclusion that at heart colonel ward was a coward. but sometimes circumstances that a brave man will not suffer to rule him will drive a coward into crime.
-it was a long and dreary day for him.
-from the window he saw colonel ward go scurrying away on a jumper, evidently bound for the choppings.
-the cook and cookee surveyed his prison at a distance. they seemed to have no desire to come into close contact with a man of whom they had heard such sinister reports.
-hackett, who hung about camp, apparently to serve as general “striker” and man of all work, brought food at noon and left it without engaging in conversation.
-parker made a dull day of it.
-after the chill dusk had fallen and he had stuffed his rusty little stove with all the wood it would hold, he heard the men returning.
-a colloquy that occurred after supper interested him.
-he heard colonel ward bellow at some one who was evidently advancing toward the wangan.
-“here you, connick, where are you goin'?”
-“just to pass a word with the lad,” the man replied.
-“have you got your knittin'?” squalled ward sarcastically. “there's no call for you to go passin' talk around that wangan camp, connick. you come away from it.”
-but when connick spoke again it was evident he had not retired.
-“it's only right to let him come into the men's camp for a bit this evening, colonel ward. there'll be a snatch or so of fiddlin' that he'll like, to cheer him up, and a jig and a song or so. i don't see the harm in mentionin' it to him, to find if he'd like to come. i'll answer for it that he's put back in his nest ag'in all right.”
-“who's runnin' this camp, me or you?”
-“you're the man, sir.”
-“well, then, there'll be no invitin' out nor passin' talk. you men have nothin' to do with that chap in that wangan and you'll keep away from him or get your heads broken open. do you hear what i say? why don't you come away when i speak?”
-“i'm not the man to disobey orders,” growled connick. “but i'm a man as likes man's style. i've always done your biddin', colonel ward, and i done your biddin' when i brought him here. now i've found him a lively young chap that i'm proud to know and tho i speak for myself alone i speak as a man that likes fair play, and i say it's dirty bus'ness keepin' him like a chicken in a coop, after you've had your bus'ness talk with him.”
-“you infernal bundle of hair and rags, do you dare to stand there and tell me how to run my own affairs?” roared ward, thoroughly incensed.
-“keep your bus'ness your own bus'ness for all i care,” connick answered angrily. “but when it gits to be bus'ness that can't be backed up man-fashion then ye may find that day's wages don't buy the whole earth for ye.”
-the reply was a bit enigmatical but ward understood that it signified mutiny. he gasped a few times and then parker heard connick exclaim:
-“don't ye strike me with that sled-stake, colonel gideon, or it might be the worse for ye. i'll not bother your man in the wangan till i find out more about what you're doin' to him--but don't you hit me with that stick.”
-gideon ward sat until midnight in his little pen off the main camp, poking his fire and meditating. he had reckoned that he was justified in proceeding to extremes with this young man, confident that in the end he would break his spirit and frighten him out of the woods. but he realized now with sinking heart that his violence had endangered all the political influence of the gigantic timber interests. the youth had a powerful weapon, and he, gideon ward, would be accused of furnishing it.
-“hackett,” said he, “yeh have worked for me a good many years.”
-“i've let yeh have money on a mortgage for one or two little favors yeh've done me.”
-hackett began to grow pale.
-“now i'll lift that whole mortgage for another favor--an' don't get scared. i sha'n't ask yeh to do any more'n i propose to do myself.” ward had noted the look of alarm on the man's face. “if we're both in it neither can say anything. i took yeh along with me last night and to-day so's yeh could hear how that young fool insults me on my own land.”
-“i heard what he said, colonel, an' no man can blame ye for feelin' put out.”
-ward looked at him steadily for a moment.
-“listen to me. few words when there's work to do: that's my motto. i've done the thinkin' part of this thing. what i want you for is to help on the work.”
-the man stared with stupid inquiry.
-“hackett, here's my plan. you and i don't want to hurt that man. we can't afford to hurt him. but he's on my hands, an' he won't back down, an' it puts me in a hard place--a mighty hard place, hackett. you heard what passed between us? now he's got to be put out of this camp an' shoved where he can't blab this thing round about. why, he's half got that fool of a connick on his side already.
-“'tain't any extra sort of job for me, colonel ward!” grumbled hackett “i've got to watch that critter day in an' day out, an' tumble-dick camp is all o' twenty miles from here, or from any other camp, for that matter.”
-his voice became low and husky. “yeh needn't hitch him too tight in tumble-dick camp, hackett, providin' you hide the most of his clothes an' it looks like a storm comin' on. if he wants to duck out away from a good home into the woods, with grub an' fire twenty-five miles away, why, that's his own lookout.”
-the man licked his lips nervously.
-“that ain't our liability, yeh knew.”
-the man pondered.
-“it's eight hundred for you, hackett, an' always a good job with me as long as i hire men,” persisted colonel ward.
-at last hackett got up and struck his elbows against his sides.
-“i'll do it!” he grunted.
-parker's first alarmed awakening was with a cloth about his neck, choking him so that his cry of fright rattled in his throat. he fought bravely, but two strong men are better than one who has struggled and gasped until he has only a trickle of air in his lungs. he was bound, his head muffled in a strip of torn blanket, and he was carried out into the night. he could not see his captors, but he knew that ward was one of the assailants, because a hoarse command to hackett had betrayed him.
-after he had been dragged a distance parker realized by a penetrating odor that he was near the horse hovels. there was a mumbled discussion between his captors as to whether he should be tied to the moose sled. it was decided that his arms should be left pinioned as they were, and hackett growled:
-“i won't tie him to the sled! i'll be needin' him on the steep pitches.”
-as his arms were tied behind his back, when they put an old fur coat on him they pulled the sleeves of it on his legs and buttoned the coat behind. in spite of the bandage over his eyes, he easily recognized these operations, and then felt himself lifted upon the familiar moose sled. several bags full of something were thrown on. with his ears strained for every sound that would give him any information, he heard some one approaching even before the two men, busy between camp and sled, were warned.
-“hark!” grunted the voice of colonel ward, at last. “who's that movin' round back of the hoss hovel? look out, hackett! throw something acrost the sled. he's comin' this way.” a moment after, his tones full of disgust, he snorted, “it's that infernal old moose! here, hand me that ax!”
-a hurry of feet, and then parker heard the impact of a crushing blow and the muffled groan of a stricken animal. the ax blows continued, apparently dealt with fury, and in a few moments the old man creaked across the crust, dragging some heavy object.
-“here's your fresh meat, hackett--two hind-quarters,” he panted. “load it on.”
-“the boys will be r'iled to find ben here in the mornin'!” whined the other man.
-“he won't eat any more grain f'r me!” the colonel boomed, wrathfully. “then again, it will show that after mister railroad man broke out of the wangan camp he killed the moose to get grub to last him for his trip, bein' afraid to tackle gid ward's camps. the boys will be ready to massacree him if they can lay hands on him, but,” his tones became ominously significant, “remember your lines now, man! get away and i'll look after this end.”
-parker felt the loaded sled glide over the crust. he could hardly believe that these men meditated anything except a change in his place of imprisonment; but as the sled moved on and on, and in his helplessness he weighed the situation, he began to feel a vague fear of possibilities. he began to plan means of escape. when at last the sled went scaling down a long slope, he rolled off on the crust.
-as he lay there, he expected every moment to hear the man shout an oath and return. when the hasty creaking of the footsteps died away, he knew that the lightened sled, following of its own momentum, had not betrayed him.
-hoodwinked and pinioned, it was no easy task to travel among the trees and across the slippery crust. as parker scrambled along, he was tempted to cry out and appeal to the man to return. now that his sudden panic of the flitting sled was over, the dull, cold fear of a helpless and abandoned man came upon him. but he clinched his teeth to keep back the cry that struggled to follow the man of the sled, and kept pushing on into the undergrowth.
-at last he stopped and began to scrub his forehead against the rough bark of a tree, endeavoring to remove the bandage. after a time he worked it above his eyes, although it still bound his head like a turban.
-he could see the crisp stars through the interlocking branches. he found the pole star. but as he had been unable to guess the direction his captor had taken in leaving the camp, the points of the compass mattered little in this wilderness, where all was strange.
-he pondered a while. then he shut his eyes, whirled until he dropped, scrambled up, and started away in the direction in which chance had faced him. he smiled as he thought upon this childish resource, but in that bewildering region he had at least been enabled to make up his mind quickly by the device.
-the rosy light of the dawn touched him as he plodded along. his advance was slow, for the sleeves of the fur coat impeded free use of his legs. the day was clear and cold, with a stinging wind that tossed the roaring branches of the spruce-trees. the crust held firm. parker's constrained arms were aching and his hands were numb. he jerked and twisted at the thongs until his wrists were raw, but the knots were too strong for him.
-he had passed so many crossings and fork-ings of the bush-grown road that he gave up trying to keep the ramifications in mind for his use should he find it necessary to turn back. he now went on doggedly, choosing this way or that, as it chanced, hoping to hear a ringing ax or a hunter's gun or a teamster's shout somewhere in those solitudes.
-in the late afternoon the road led him to an ice-sheathed stream. here the way divided.
-he took the road that led down-stream. it undoubtedly ended at a lake, thought he. log-landings are on lakes. there would be men to release him from the torture of aching muscles and gnawing stomach. parker would have welcomed the sight of colonel gideon ward himself when that second night came through the trees.
-it was beyond human endurance to walk farther, but parker realized that if he lay down in that state of cold, weariness and hunger he would never rise again. he marshaled in his mind all the people, all the interests he had to live for; the parents who depended on him, a certain young girl who was waiting so anxiously for his return, his prospects in life. he did this methodically, as if he were piling fagots for a fire at which to warm himself. then he mentally kindled the heap with the blaze of a mighty determination to live, and standing under a great spruce, he began to stamp about it and count aloud. half a dozen times during that long night he staggered and fell, as if an invisible hand had struck him down. but the next moment, with a cry of “i'll stay awake!” he was up again and at his self-set task, mind, muscles and nerves centering in his one desperate resolve.
-then the dawn came peeping over the big spruces, and found him still at his grim gambols. he set forth once more down the road, slipping and stumbling, his body doubled forward. a few miles and a few hours more--it was the most he could hope for.
-all at once his dull ears heard the zin-n-ng of a rifle-bullet close to his head; and almost immediately, as he ducked and rolled upon his back, the sinister shriek of another ball made it plain that he was the game aimed at. two smart cracks at some distance indicated the location of the marksman.
-animal instinct is alike in brute and man. parker leaped at the sound of the first bullet, fell, and rolled behind a snow-covered boulder. had ward or his minion tracked him? were they now carrying out their desperate plan? the double report was proof that the man or men were determined on slaughter.
-after a long time he dared to peer cautiously. at some distance down the tote-road an old man was crouching beside a moose sled. on the sled was the carcass of a deer. parker realized that this old man must be a poacher.
-an assassin sent after a man would not be wasting his ammunition on deer in close time.
-the old man remained motionless, with the stolidity of the veteran hunter waiting to make sure. torpor rapidly seized on parker's mind. he shouted as best he could, but his voice was hoarse from hours of shouting into the vastness of the deserted woods. his faculties were growing befogged. he dared not exert himself enough to keep awake, for his rock was but a narrow bulwark. it seemed to be a choice of deaths, only.
-at last he desperately leaped up and danced behind his protecting boulder, uttering such cries as he could. but he saw the old man throw his rifle up and take aim. down he dropped, and the bullet sang overhead.
-he realized then that his garb made him resemble some strange beast--a bear, perhaps--and he gritted his teeth as he pondered that this might be part of gideon ward's vindictive scheme. if he attempted to show himself long enough to convince the old man that he was human he would only be inviting the bullet.
-until his blurring senses left him he occasionally shouted or thrust up his head; but the old still-hunter was relentless, and evidently had not the clear vision of a youth. he was always ready with a shot.
-at last, with tears freezing on his cheeks, parker gave himself up to the fatuous comfort of the man succumbing to cold and hunger.
-chapter twelve--the strange “cat-hermit of moxie”
-afterward it seemed that he began to dream. somber individuals were crushing his limbs between great rollers. frisky little ghouls were sticking needles into him, and there were so many needles that it seemed that every inch of his skin was being tortured at the same instant.
-the agony grew intense. he was trying to cry out, and a giant hand was over his mouth. and when the pain became so excruciating that it did not seem as if nature could longer endure it, he opened his eyes.
-a sludge-dish hooked to a beam shed its yellow glimmer of light upon a strange interior.
-there was no more strange figure in the place than parker himself. he was stripped and seated in a half-hogshead filled with water, from which vapors were rising. his first wild thought was that the water was hot and was blistering him. he screamed in the agony of alarm and strove to rise.
-but hands on his shoulders forced him down again. these hands were rubbing snow upon him. then the young man realized that his sensations were produced by icy cold water. parker felt that cloths bound snow and ice to his ears and face.
-the most astonishing of all in the place were its visible tenants--a multitude of cats. some were huddled on benches, their assorted colors and markings composing a strange medley. others stalked about the cabin. many sat before the embers in the fireplace. a half-score were grouped about the hogshead and its occupant, with their tails wound round their feet, and were solemnly observing the work of reanimating the stranger. here and there among taciturn felines of larger growth little spike-tail kits were rolling, cuffing, frolicking and miauing. for a moment the scene seemed a part of his delirium.
-parker turned round to survey his benefactor. he found him to be an old man, shaggy of beard and hair. a pointed cap of fur covered his head.
-he was dressed in rough garb--belted woolen jacket, trousers awkwardly patched, leggings rolled above the knee, and yellow moccasins. although he was the ordinary type of the woods recluse, there was kindliness in his expression, as well as a benignant gleam in his eye that was not usual.
-“how d'ye feel?” he asked, solicitously.
-“as if i were being pounded with mallets and torn by pincers.”
-“yes, all over!” snapped parker, rather ungraciously.
-“that's good,” drawled the old man, rubbing more snow briskly on the aching flesh. “i guess i'm goin' to save ye, down to the last toe.”
-“if aches will do it i'm saved!” groaned the young man.
-“i wouldn't 'a' gi' a copper cent for ye when i got ye here to camp,” the old man proceeded, “but i've done the very best i could, mister, to fetch ye round. i hope ye ain't a-goin' to complain on me,” he added, wistfully.
-“complain on you?” parker demanded. “do you think i owe myself a grudge for coming back to life?”
-“i should like to ask ye a fair question,” said the old man.
-“i'll answer any questions.”
-“be ye a game-warden?”
-“no, sir, i am not.”
-the honest ring of that negative was unmistakable. the old man sighed with relief.
-“when i found ye done up in that co't i thought ye was a game-warden, sure.”
-“look here,” parker demanded, with asperity, “did you sit there and blaze away at me with any suspicion that i was a human being?”
-“land bless ye, no!” cried the old man, with a shocked sincerity there was no doubting. “i never harmed any one in all my life. but i was feelin' so good over savin' ye that i had to have my little joke. i was out this mornin' as us'al, after meat for my cats. i have to work hard to keep 'em in meat, mister. i can't stand round and see my kitties starve--no, s'r! wal, i was out after meat, an' was takin' home a deer when i see what any man, even with better eyesight than mine, would have called a brown bear trodgin' round a tree an' sharp'nin' his claws. what he was up to out of his den in such weather i didn't know, but of course i fired, an' i kept firin'. an' when at last i fired an' he didn't bob out any more, i crept up an' took a look. i thought i'd faint when i see what i see--a man in a buffl'ler co't wrong side to an' his head all tied up an' his arms fastened behind him. land, if it didn't give me a start! wal, i left my deer right there an' h'isted ye on my sled, and struck across little moxie for my camp here on the double-quick, now i can tell ye. ye was froze harder'n a doorknob, but i guess i'm goin' to have ye out all complete. lemme see your ears.”
-he carefully undid the cloths, to an accompaniment of groans from parker.
-“they're red's pinys. no need to worry one mite, mister. come out o' your water whilst i rub ye down. then to bed with a cup o' hot tea, and hooray for doctor joshua ward!”
-“i might have known you were joshua ward when i noticed all those cats,” said parker. so this was colonel gideon's brother! he was too weak and ill to feel or display much surprise at the meeting.
-“most every one hereabouts has heard o' me,” the old man admitted, mildly. “some men have fast hosses, some men have big liberies, some men like to spend their money on paintin's an' statues. but for me, i like cats, even if they do keep me running my legs off after meat. hey, pussy?” and he stooped and stroked the head of a huge cat that arched its back and leaned against his leg.
-“mr. joshua ward,” said parker, grimly, “you'd probably like to know how i happened to be prowling round through the forest dressed up so as to play bear?”
-“i was meditatin' that ye'd tell me by n' by, if it wa'n't any secret,” the old man replied, humbly.
-“well, i think you have a right to know. you possess a personal interest in the matter, mr. ward. i was tied up and sent away to be killed or to be turned out to die by a man named colonel gideon ward.”
-“you have pretty good reason to know how much chance there is for improvement in gideon ward,” suggested parker, bitterly.
-“fam'ly matters, fam'ly matters, young man,” murmured joshua, reprovingly. “but i ain't tryin' to excuse brother gideon, ye understand. i'm afeard that when the time of trial does come to him, he will find that the hand of the lord is heavy in punishment. i've had a good part of a lifetime, young man, to think all these things over in this place up here. a man gets near to god in these woods. a man can put away the little thoughts. the warm sun thaws his hate; the big winds blow out the flame of anger; the great trees sing only one song, and high or low, it's 'hush--hush-h-h--hush-h-h-h!'” the voice of the man softly imitated the soughing of the pines.
-parker stumbled to his bunk, his feet still uncertain, drank his tea, and slept.
-the next morning, after the breakfast of bread and venison, the host said: “young man, now that you have slept on your anger, i wish you'd tell me the story of your trouble with my brother gideon. i know that he has been rough and hard with men, but many have been rough and hard with him. this is a country where all the men are rough and hard. but i fear that had it not been for the good god and these old hands of mine, my brother would be now little else than a murderer. tell me the story.” his voice trembled with apology and apprehension.
-parker stated all the circumstances faithfully and impartially. at the conclusion joshua's eyes glowed with fires that had not been seen in them for years. he struck his brown fist down on his rude table.
-“defying god's law and man's law to the disgrace of himself and all his name! and you had not been rough and hard to him,” he cried. “bitter, bitter news you bring to me, mr. parker.”
-there was a long pause, and at last joshua ward went on:
-“mr. parker, that man is my own--my only brother, no matter how other people look at him. i have saved your life. will you give me one chance to straighten this matter out?”
-“i mean that if gideon ward will pay for the damage he has done your property, ask your forgiveness as a man, and promise to keep away and let you alone, will you be charitable enough to let the matter rest?”
-parker pondered a while with set lips. it cost a struggle to forego vengeance on that wretch, but many issues were involved, principally the early completion of the railroad and his consequent favor with his employers.
-“mr. ward,” he declared, at last, “i came down here to build a railroad, not to get entangled in the courts. for your sake and the sake of my project i will give your brother an opportunity to make atonement on the conditions you name. i owe my life to you, and i will discharge part of my obligation in the way you ask.”
-“are you afraid to accompany me back to number 7 camp?”
-“no, sir!” in his turn parker struck the table. “i am ready to go back there alone and charge that man with his crime, and depend on the manhood of his crew to stand neutral while i take him and deliver him over to the law. and that i will do if you fail in your endeavors.”
-the old man was silent. he made no attempt to soften the young man's indignation or resolution. parker noted that his lips tightened as tho with solemn, inward resolve.
-during the remainder of his convalescing stay in the camp the subject of gideon ward was not broached again.
-the hermit beguiled the hours with simple narratives of the woods, his cats on knees and shoulders. he had no complaints for the past or the present and no misgivings as to the future, so it appeared from his talk.
-parker came to realize that under his peculiar and, to the casual observer, erratic mode of life there was a calm and sound philosophy that he had cultivated in his retirement. he had the strange notions of those who have lived much alone and in the wilderness. an unkind critic would have dismissed him brusquely with the belief that his troubles had unbalanced his mind. but parker saw beneath all his eccentricity, and as the hermit wistfully discoursed of the peace that the woods had given him the young man conceived both respect and affection for this strange character. his knowledge of joshua's life tragedy pre-disposed him to pity. he was grateful for the tender solicitude the old man had shown toward him. at the end of his stay he sincerely loved the brother of his enemy.
-chapter thirteen--the bear of the big woods “baited” after his own fashion
-on the third morning parker was able to travel. joshua ward had brought the carcass of the slain deer across the lake on his sled, and the cats of little moxie were left to rule the island and feast at will until the return of the master.
-a hundred men were ranged on the long benches called “deacons' seats,” or lounged on the springy browse in their bunks. a man, with one leg crossed over his knee, and flapping it to beat his time, was squawking a lively tune on a fiddle, and a perspiring youth danced a jig on a square of planking before the roaring fire. the air was dim with the smoke of many pipes and with the steam from drying garments hung on long poles.
-connick removed his pipe when the door opened, and gazed under his hand, held edgewise to his forehead.
-“why, hello, my bantam boy!” he bawled, in greeting. “what did you break out o' the wangan and run away for?”
-the fiddle stopped. the men crowded up from the bunks and deacons' seats. all were as curious as magpies. they gazed with interest on parker's companion. but no one threatened them by look or gesture.
-“is gideon ward here?” inquired joshua, blandly.
-“yes, i'm here!” came the answer, shouted from the pen at the farther end. “what's wanted?”
-“it's joshua!” called the brother. “i'll come in.”
-“stay where you are!” cried gideon; and the next moment he came shouldering through the men, who fell back to let him pass.
-the instant his keen gaze fell on the person who bore his brother company he seemed to understand the situation perfectly. there was just the suspicion of fear when he faced the blazing eyes of parker, but he snorted contemptuously and turned to his brother.
-“wal, josh,” he cried, “out with it! what can i do for you?”
-“the matter isn't one to be talked over in public, brother,��� suggested joshua.
-“i hain't any secrets in my life!” shouted gideon, defiantly, as if he proposed to anticipate and discount any allegations that his visitors might produce.
-“ye don't refuse to let me talk a matter of business over with ye in private, do ye, gideon?”
-“colonel ward,” said parker, stepping forward, “your brother is ashamed to show you up before these men.”
-“here, connick, hackett, any of you! seize that runaway, and throw him into the wangan till i get ready to attend to him!” commanded ward.
-the men did not move.
-“do as i tell ye!” bawled the colonel. “twenty dollars to the men--fifty dollars to the men who ketch an' tie him for me!”
-several rough-looking fellows came elbowing forward, tempted by the reward. parker raised his gun, but connick was even quicker. the giant seized an ax, and shouted:
-“keep back, all of ye! there's goin' to be fair play here to-night, an' it's dan connick says so!”
-“connick,” gideon's command was almost a scream, “don't you interfere in what's none o' your business!”
-“it's my business when a square man don't get his rights,” connick cried, with fully as much energy as the colonel, “and that chap is a man, for he licked me clean and honest!”
-a murmur almost like applause went through the crowd.
-“men,” broke in parker, “i cannot expect to have friends here, and you may all be enemies, but i have come back, knowing that woodsmen are on the side of grit and fair dealing. listen to me!”
-in college parker had been class orator and a debater of power. now he stood on a block of wood, and gazed upon a hundred bearded faces, on which the flickering firelight played eerily. in the hush he could hear the big winds wailing through the trees outside.
-ward stood in advance of the rest, his mighty fists clinched, his face quivering and puckering in his passion. as the young man began to speak, he attempted to bellow him into silence. but connick strode forward, put his massive hands on gideon's shoulders, and thrust him down upon a near-by seat. the big woodsman, his rebellion once started, seemed to exult in it.
-“one of the by-laws of this ly-cee-um is that the meetin' sha'n't be disturbed!” he growled. “colonel gid ward, ye will kindly listen to this speech for the good of the order or i'll gag ye! you've had a good many years to talk to us in and you've done it. go ahead, young man! you've got the floor an' dan connick's in the chair.” he rolled his sleeves above his elbows and gazed truculently on the assemblage.
-“for your brother's sake,” cried the young engineer, “i offer you one more chance to listen to reason, colonel gideon ward! do you take it?”
-“no!” was the infuriated shout.
-“then listen to the story of a scoundrel!”
-the men did listen, for parker spoke with all the eloquence that indignation and honest sentiment could inspire. he first told the story of the wrecked life of the brother, and pointed to the bent figure of the hermit of little moxie, standing in the shadows. once or twice joshua lifted his quavering voice in feeble protest, but the ringing tones of the young man overbore his halting speech. several times connick was obliged to force the colonel back on the deacons' seat, each time with more ferocity of mien.
-then parker came to his own ambitions to carry out the orders of his employers. he explained the legal status of the affair, and passed quickly on to the exciting events of the night on which he had been bound and sent upon his ride into the forest, to meet some fate, he knew not what. he described the brutal slaughter of the moose, and the immediate dismemberment of the animal. he noticed with interest that many men who had displayed no emotion as he described poor old joshua's sufferings now grunted angrily at hearing the revelation concerning the fate of ben, the camp mascot. this dramatic explanation of ward's furious cruelty to the poor beast proved, curiously enough, the turning point in parker's favor, even with the roughest of the crew. then parker described how he had been rescued and brought back to life by the old man whom gideon ward had so abused.
-“and now, my men,” he concluded, “i am come back among you; and i ask you all to stand back, so that it may now be man to man--so that i may take this brutal tyrant who has abused us all, and deliver him over to the law that is waiting to punish him as he deserves.”
-he leaped down, seized a halter, and advanced with the apparent intention of seizing and binding the colonel.
-“are ye goin' to stand here, ye hunderd cowards, an' see the man that gives ye your livin' lugged away to jail?” gideon shouted, retreating. he glared on their faces. the men turned their backs and moved away.
-he crouched almost to the floor, brandishing his fists above his head. “i've got ten camps in this section,” he shrieked, “an' any one of them will back me aginst the whole united states army if i ask 'em to! they ain't the cowards that i've got here. i'll come back here an' pay ye off for this!”
-before any one could stop him, for the men had left him standing alone, he precipitated his body through the panes of glass of the nearest window, and almost before the crash had ceased he was making away into the night connick led the rush of men to the narrow door, but the mob was held them for a few precious moments, fighting with one another for egress.
-“if we don't catch him,” the foreman roared, “he'll be back on us with an army of cut-throats!”
-but when the crew went streaming forth at last, colonel ward was out of sight in the forest. lanterns were brought, and the search prosecuted earnestly, but his moccasined feet were not to be traced on the frozen crust.
-the chase was abandoned after an hour, for the clouds that had hung heavy all day long began to sift down snow; and soon a blizzard howled through the threshing spruces and hemlocks.
-“it's six miles to the nearest camp,” said connick, when the crew was again assembled at number 7, “an' in order to dodge us he prob'ly kept out of the tote-road. i should say that the chances of gid ward's ever get-tin' out o' the woods alive in this storm wa'n't worth that!” he snapped his fingers.
-“it is not right for us to come back here an' leave him out there!” cried the brother.
-“he took his chances,” the foreman replied, “when he went through that window. there's a good many reasons why i'd like to see him back here, mr. ward, but i'm sorry to have to tell ye, ye bein' a brother of his, that love ain't one o' them.”
-“i shall go alone, then,” said the old man, firmly.
-“brotherly love is worth respect, mr. ward,” connick declared, “but i ain't the kind of man that stands idle an' sees suicide committed. ye've done your full duty by your brother. now i'm goin' to do my duty by you. you don't go through that door till this storm is over!”
-the next day the wind raged on and the snow piled its drifts. joshua ward sat silent by the fire, his head in his hands, or stood in the “dingle,” gazing mournfully out into the smother of snowflakes. it would be a mad undertaking to venture abroad. he realized it and needed no further restraint.
-but the dawn of the third day was crisp and bright. soon after sunrise a panting woodsman, traveling at his top speed on snow-shoes, halted for a hasty bite at number 7. he was a messenger from the camp above.
-“colonel gid ward was picked up yesterday froze pretty nigh solid!” he gulped out, between his mouthfuls. “i'm goin' down for a doctor,” and then he went striding away, even as joshua ward took the up-trail.
-parker spent all that day in sober thought, and then, forming his resolution, took passage on the first tote-team that went floundering through toward sunkhaze. his departure was neither hindered nor encouraged.
-chapter fourteen--how rodney parker paid an honest debt
-the engineer found his little garrison holding the fort at the poquette carry camp--and confining their attentions wholly to holding the fort. not an ax blow had been struck since his hurried departure.
-“we didn't work no more,” explained one of the men, “because we'd give up all idea of seein you ag'in. of course we reckoned that a new boss would prob'ly be comin' along pretty quick and we thought we'd wait and find out just what he wanted us to do.”
-“well, it will be the same old boss and the same old plan,” replied parker curtly. the idea that the men had considered him such easy prey made him indignant. “you'll consider after this that i'm the colonel gideon ward of this six-mile stretch here.”
-but with self-repression truly admirable parker told them that he had no news to give out concerning colonel ward, of any nature whatsoever. he ordered the driver of the tote-team to whip up and rode away toward sunkhaze, leaving the men gaping after him.
-he observed the same reticence at the settlement, tho he was received with a demonstration that was something like an ovation.
-although his better sense told him that the men were justified in preserving neutrality at the time of the raid, yet he could not rid himself of the very human feeling of resentment because they had surrendered him so readily into the hands of his adversaries. but the chief influence that prompted silence was the fear lest details of his mishap and the reasons therefor would get into the newspapers to the annoyance of his employers.
-“i am back and the work is going on just as tho nothing had happened,” he said to the men who crowded into the office of the tavern to congratulate him. “matters have been straightened out and the less talk that's made the better.”
-but the postmaster, presuming on more intimate acquaintance, followed him up to his room, where his effects had been carefully preserved for him.
-“i reckoned you'd get back some time,” said dodge. “i've predicted that much. but, i swanny, i didn't look for you to come back with your tail over the dasher, as you've done. that is, i didn't look for you to come that way not until that feller blew in here to telegraft for a doctor for old gid. then i see that it was him that was got done up instead of you. but speakin' of telegraftin', there ain't no word gone out from here as yit about the hoorah--not a word.”
-“a good many was all of a to-do to telegraft it to the sheriff and to your bosses,” said the postmaster calmly. “but it seemed better to me to wait a while. i says, 'look here, neighbors, it's goin' to be some time before the sheriff can git his crowd together and git at ward--and even then there'll be politics to consider. the sheriff won't move anyway till he gits the word of the lumbermen's association. and it'll probably happen by that time that the young man will show up here again. all we'll git out of it hereabouts is a black eye in the newspapers--it bein' held up that sunkhaze ain't a safe place to settle in. and all that truck--you know! furthermore, from things you've dropped to me, mr. parker, i knew you were playin' kind of a lone hand and a quiet game here. my old father used to say, 'run hard when you run, but don't start so sudden that you stub your toe and tumble down.' so in your case i just took the responsibility and held the thing back.”
-the postmaster's eyes were searching parker's face for signal of approbation.
-the engineer went to him and shook his hand with hearty emphasis.
-“you've got a level head, mr. postmaster,” he said, delightedly. “we'll start exactly where we left off and so far as i am concerned the place will never get a bad name from me. in return for your frankness and your service to me, i'll give you a hint as to what happened to colonel ward. i know you won't abuse my confidence.”
-when he had finished, the postmaster said earnestly, “mr. parker, however much old gid ward owes you, you owe josh ward a good deal more. he ain't a man to dun for his pay. but if he ever does ask you to square the account you won't be the man i take you for if you don't settle. if you feel that you owe me anything for the little service i've done you and your bus'ness, just take and add it to the josh ward account. of all the men on earth i pity that man the most.”
-there were tears in dodge's eyes when he stumbled down the tavern stairs.
-one cheerful moment for parker had been when the postmaster informed him of sunkhaze's equilibrium in the matter of news-monging but a more cheerful moment was when mank, his foreman, standing with him on the ice above the submerged swogon told him that a sandbar made out into the lake at that point and that the locomotive was probably lodged on the bar, only a little way below the surface.
-when they had sawed the ice and sounded they found this to be true. as soon as a broad square of ice had been removed they saw her, all her outlines clear against the white sand. the sunken sleds were equally in evidence. it was not a diver's job, then, as parker, in his worryings, had feared. on the thick ice surrounding the whole there was solid foothold for the raising apparatus and parker's crew set at work with good cheer.
-all the material that could not be recovered by the grapples was duplicated by means of quick replies to wired orders, and the work of transportation across the lake was successfully completed.
-it was well into a warm may, and his men for the last week had been moving soil and building culverts before the case of col. gideon ward was brought to parker's attention in a manner requiring action. one evening just after dusk his foreman scratched on the flap of the engineer's tent, in which he was now living at poquette.
-“come in!” he called.
-the canvas was lifted and a man entered. parker turned the reflector of his lantern on the visitor.
-“joshua ward!” he exclaimed, as he started up and seized the old man's outstretched hand.
-he led him to a camp-stool. they looked at each other for a time in silence. tears trembled on joshua's eyelashes, and he passed his knotted hand over his face before he spoke.
-“mr. parker,” he said, tremulously, “i've come to bring ye money to pay for every cent's worth o' damage to property 'an loss o' time an' everything.” he laid a package in the young man's hand. “help yourself,” he quavered. “i'm goin' to trust to your honesty, for i'm certain i can. take what's right. gid and i don't know anythin' about railroads an' what such things as you lost are worth. all we can do is to show that we mean to square things the best we can now. gid's sorry now, mr. parker, he's sorry--sorry--sorry--poor gid!” the old man sobbed outright.
-“did he--” the young man paused, half-fearing to ask the question.
-joshua again ran his rough palm across his eyes. then, in dumb grief, he set the edge of his right hand against his left wrist, the left hand to the right wrist, and then marked a place on each leg above the ankle.
-“all off there, mr. parker.” the old man bent his head into his hollowed palms. tears trickled through his fingers. there was a long silence. the young man did not know how to interrupt that pause.
-“i'm feedin' an' tendin' him like i used to when he was a baby an' i a six-year-old. he's at my camp, mr. parker. he don't ever want to be seen agin in the world, he says--only an old, trimmed, dead tree, he says. poor old gid! no matter what he's been, no matter what he's done, you'd pity him now, mr. parker, for the hand o' punishment has fell heavy on my poor brother.”
-the engineer, truly shocked, stood beside joshua, and placed his hand on the bowed shoulders.
-“mr. ward,” he said, with a quiver in his voice, “never will i do anything to add one drop to the bitterness in the cup that has come to you and yours.”
-“i told gid, i told gid,” cried the old man, “that you'd say somethin' like that! i had to comfort him, you know, mr. parker; but i felt that you, bein' a young man, couldn't make it too hard for us old men. he ain't the same gid now. see here, sir!”
-with tremulous hands he drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to parker. it was a writing giving sole power of attorney to joshua ward. the old man pointed to a witnessed scrawl--a shapeless hieroglyph at the bottom of the sheet.
-“gid's mark!” he sobbed. “no hands--no hands any more! i feed him, i tend him like i would a baby, an' the only words he says to me now are pleasant an' brotherly words.
-“an' more'n that, mr. parker, i'm on my way down to town. i've got some errands that are sweet to do--sweet an' bitter, too. there's new fires been lit in the dark corners of my poor brother's heart. i've got here a list of the men that gideon ward hain't done right by in this life,--that he's cheated,--an' a list of the widows of the men he hain't done right by, an' by that power of attorney he's given me the means, an' he says to me to make it square with them people if it takes every cent he's worth. it won't cost much for me an' gid to live at little moxie, mr. parker--an' poor cynthy--”
-he looked into vacancy a while and was silent. then he went on:
-“we'll have our last days together, me an' gid. all these years that i've lived alone up there the trees an' the winds an' the skies an' the waves of the lake have been sayin' good things to me. i told gid about them voices. he has been too busy all his life to listen before now. but sittin' there in these days--sit-tin' there, always a-sittin' there, mr. parker! nothing to do but bend his ear to catch the whispers that come up out o' the great, deep lungs o' the universe! he has been listenin', an'”--the old man rose and shook the papers above the head of the engineer--“god an' the woods have been talkin' the truth to my poor brother gideon.”
-the old man slept that night in parker's tent and went on his way at morning light, and tho the engineer pressed back again into his hands, unopened, the packet that was proffered, and assured him that no harm should befall gideon ward through complaint or report for which he was responsible, parker still felt that somehow there was a balance due old joshua ward on their books of tacit partnership in well-doing;--such was the honest faith, and patient self-abnegation of the good old man, who had endured so much for others' sake.
-chapter fifteen--the day when poquette burst wide open
-through the spring and the early summer poquette carry was an animated theater of action. woodsmen, went up and woodsmen came down, and mingled with the busy railroad crews. all examined the progress of construction with curiosity, and passed on, uttering picturesque comment. strange old men came paddling down west branch from unknown wildernesses, and trudged their moccasined way from end to end of the line, as if to convince themselves that colonel gideon ward really had been conquered on his own ground. newspaper reporters came from the nearest city, and pressed engineer parker to make a statement “gentlemen,” he said, with a laugh, “not a word for print from me. i was sent here to build this bit of a railroad quietly and unobtrusively. circumstances have paraded our affairs before the public in some measure. now if you quote me, or twist anything i may say into an interview, my employers will have good reason to be disgusted with me, as well as with the situation here. furthermore, there are personal reasons why i do not wish to talk.”
-whether parker's eager appeal had effect upon the reporters, or whether the timber barons influenced the editors, the whole affair of the sunken engine was lightly passed over as the prank of roistering woodsmen, and colonel ward was left wholly undisturbed in his retreat. even the calamity that had befallen him was not mentioned except by word of mouth among the woodsmen of the region.
-with self-restraint that is rare in young men, parker still refused to talk about the matter even in sunkhaze. when he first returned, a sense of chagrin at his discomfiture along with reasons that have been mentioned kept him silent, it is true, but now, with complete victory in his hands, he was sincerely affected by the misfortune that had overtaken his enemy.
-the “swamp swogon,” now that it was running on its own rails and was hauling building materials along the crooked railroad, was renicknamed “the stump dodger.” parker's chief pride in the road was necessarily based on the fact that it had been constructed without exceeding the appropriation, a fact that excused many curves.
-late in june the last rails were laid and the ballasting, such as it was, was well under way.
-the “terminal stations,” as the engineer jocosely called them, were neat little structures of logs, and there was a log roundhouse, where the stump dodger retired in smutty and smoky seclusion when its day's toil was finished.
-at first he had not intended to make any event of this. his idea had been that, after the commissioners authorized traffic, he would merely arrange a time-table instead of the irregular service of the construction days, and would start his trains, observing the care that had been promised in seasons of drought.
-but his foreman of construction--none other than big dan connick, who had chosen railroad work under parker instead of the usual summer labor on the drive--came to him at the head of a group of men.
-there was no denying such earnestness as that nor gainsaying the propriety of the demand. parker made his principals understand the situation. and the result was that they themselves set the opening date, and promised to be on hand with a party of friends.
-parker announced that on the opening day no fares would be collected, that the train would make hourly trips, and that all might ride who could get aboard.
-not to be outdone in generosity, the crew through big dan connick, declaring that they proposed to make all the preparations for the celebration free of charge--that is, they would accept no wages for their work.
-they built benches on the platform cars and fitted up the box cars in similar fashion. they trimmed the stump dodger with spruce fronds till the locomotive looked like a moving wood-lot. every flag in sunkhaze was borrowed for the decoration of the coach, and then, in a final burst of enthusiasm, the men subscribed a sum sufficient to hire the best brass band in that part of the state.
-“it took us some little time to wake up enough to know how much we needed a railroad acrost here,” said dan, “but now that we're awake we propose to let folks know it. them whose hearin' is sensitive had better take to the tall timber that day.”
-“i expect,” said parker, as the little steamer puffed across sunlit spinnaker toward poquette, “that the men have arranged a rather rugged celebration for to-day; but i know them well, gentlemen, and i want to assure you that all they do is meant in the best spirit.”
-as the steamer approached the wharf, tooting its whistle, there was an explosion ashore that made the little craft appear to hop out of the water. all the anvils of the construction crew had been stuffed with powder, and all were fired simultaneously with a battery current!
-with a yell the shore crowd rushed to the side of the steamer. dan was leading, his broad face glowing with good humor. groups of cheering men clutched the squirming, protesting railroad owners and their friends, and bore them on sturdy shoulders to the waiting train. the band from its station on a platform car boomed “hail to the chief,” the engine whistle screaming an obligato.
-then the men swarmed upon the cars, crowding every corner, occupying every foothold--but with the thoughtful deference of the woods not venturing to encroach upon the privacy of the coach after they had deposited their guests there.
-on the “half-way horseback,” so-called, parker ordered the train halted, for he wished to show mr. jerrard an experiment in culvert construction, in which he took an originator's pride. the band kept on playing and the men roared choruses.
-after the young engineer had bellowed his explanation in jerrard's ear, and jerrard had howled back some warm compliments, striving to make himself heard above the uproar, the two climbed the embankment and approached the coach. the band was quiet now.
-“speech!” cried some one, as jerrard mounted the steps. he smiled and shook his head.
-“speech! speech!” the manager turned to enter his car, still smiling, tolerant but disregarding. at a sudden command from connick, men reached out on both sides of the train and clutched the branches of sturdy undergrowth that the haste of the construction work had not permitted the crews to clear entirely away.
-“hang on, my hearties!” shouted dan.
-parker, when he mounted the steps, had given the signal to start, but when the engineer opened his throttle, the wheels of the little engine whirled in a vain attempt at progress. with a grade, a heavy load, and the determined grip of all these brawny hands to contend against, the panting stump dodger was beaten. sparks streamed and the smokestack quivered, but the train did not start.
-“speech! speech!” the men howled. “we won't let go till we hear a speech.”
-entreaties had no effect. first jerrard, then whittaker, then parker, and after them all the guests were compelled to come out on the car platform and satisfy the truly american passion for a speech. and not until the last man had responded did the woodsmen release their hold on the trees.
-“who ever heard of a railroad being formally opened and dedicated without speeches?” cried connick, as he gave the word to let go. “we know the style, an' we want everything.”
-the guides served a lunch at the west branch end of the line that afternoon, and while the railroad party was lounging in happy restfulness awaiting the repast, a big bateau came sweeping down the river, driven by a half dozen oarsmen. several passengers disembarked at the end of the carry road, and were received respectfully yet uproariously by the woodsmen who had just arrived in a fresh train-load from the spinnaker end.
-connick came elbowing through the press that surrounded them.
-“mr. shayne,” he cried, “she's come, after all, hasn't she? are you and your friends goin' to ride back on her across the carry? i tell you she beats a buckboard!”
-the man whom he addressed smiled with some constraint, and exchanged glances with his companions.
-“i guess we'll stick to our own tote-team as usual, connick,” said another in the party, jerking his thumb at the muddy buckboard that was waiting.
-“oh say, now, ye've got to meet these here railroad fellers. they're your style--all business!” bawled connick. “we ain't fit to entertain 'em up here, but you rich fellers are. just come along. they'll be glad to see you. bring 'em along, boys.”
-the crowd obediently hustled the new arrivals toward whittaker and his friends, disregarding the surly protests.
-“here's some of the kings of the spruce country, gentlemen!” big dan cried, by way of introduction. “here's mr. shayne, the great timber operator on the seboois waters. here's mr. barber of the upper chamberlain, an'--”
-several of the new arrivals began to deprecate this unceremonious manner of introduction, but the railroad men, recognizing their peers in the business world in these sturdy land barons, came forward with a hearty welcome.
-ten minutes later the timber kings were eating lunch, although with some embarrassment. occasionally they eyed the railroad men, wondering if the memory of the stubborn legislative battle still lingered. but the railroad men constantly grew more affable.
-“gentlemen,” said whittaker, at last, “we are not affected in this case by any interstate commerce regulations. therefore, on behalf of myself and my associates, i should like to tender you annual passes over our new road. of course the courtesy is a trifling one, but it will indicate that we shall appreciate your cooperation in turning your freight business our way. we'll save you at least two-thirds of the expense on the haul across poquette.”
-chapter sixteen--the pact that opened rodney parker's professional future
-when one understood all that had gone before, the moment was an electric one for the future of the poquette region.
-in this apparently trivial offer the railroad king had formally offered the olive branch. he gazed at the lumber barons eagerly yet shrewdly.
-it was evident that they had silently fixed on shayne to reply.
-after a moment shayne began his answer, and as he had glanced from one to another of his companions, he evidently understood from their eyes that he had permission to speak for all. “mr. whittaker,” he said, with hearty frankness, “on behalf of myself and my associates i am going to make an earnest apology to you for the obstacles we threw in your way at the outset of this enterprise. but you must take into account the isolation of our lumbering interests and the jealousy we felt at the intrusion of outside men and capital. we feared what it might lead to. we have been doing business as our fathers did it, and we probably needed this awakening that the new railroad has given us. for now that it is built, we, as business men, see that the advantages it will afford us are desirable in every way. i speak for my friends here when i say that we are heartily glad you have beaten us.”
-his tone was jocose yet sincere.
-“now we are going to afford you a proof that we mean what we say. we--this party right here--control fifty miles or more of timber country, reaching from here up to the west branch on both sides, and extending as far inland. the river is broken by rapids and falls along this stretch. our drives from up-country are sometimes held up a whole season when a bad jam forms in dry times. every year in dynamiting these jams thousands of feet of logs are shattered. more are split on the ledges. we have agreed that we need a railroad. considering our losses, we can afford to pay well for having our logs hauled to the smooth water. if you and your friends will finance and build such a road, we'll give you free right of way, turn over to you annually twenty million feet of timber for your log trains, and give you the haul of all our crews and camp supplies. further than that, with spur tracks to lots now inaccessible by water, you can quadruple the value of our holdings and your own business at the same time. and this will be only the first link of a railroad system that we need all through the region. the thing has come to us in its right light at last, and we're ready to meet you half-way in everything.” he smiled. “we want the right sort of men behind the scheme, and you have plainly showed us that you are the right sort of men.”
-president whittaker thought a little.
-“gentlemen,” he said, at last, “i cannot give you a conclusive answer to-day, of course, but i can guarantee that no such offer as that is going to be refused by my associates and myself. bring forward your proposition in writing. we'll come half-way, too, and be glad of the chance. if men and money can accomplish it, a standard gage road will be ready for your season's haul next year.”
-he turned and touched parker's shoulder.
-“this young man,” he said, “will be our representative, with full powers to treat with you. parker, are you ready for two years more in the wilderness? it's a big project, and your financial encouragement will be correspondingly big. i haven't said yet how thoroughly i appreciate your energy and loyalty and self-reliance in the matter of this little plaything of the past winter. i do not need to say anything, do i, except to urge you to take this new responsibility, and to add that your acceptance will encourage me to go ahead at once?”
-parker reached out his brown hand to meet the one extended to him.
-“we also want to say to mr. parker,” went on shayne, “that on our part we'll do more to assist him than we'd do for any other man you could place here. we have a little explanation to make to him and--”
-“no explanations for me--if it's along the lines i apprehend, mr. shayne!” cried the young man, jokingly yet meaningly. he bent a significant look on the lumber king as he went forward to take his hand.
-“hush!” he murmured. “i keep my own counsels in business matters when i can do so without betraying the interests of my employers, and when they don't want to be bothered by my personal affairs.”
-shayne gave the engineer a long stare of honest admiration.
-“parker,” he gasped, “you never said a word? you're a---- here, give me you hand again!”
-a half hour later the lumbermen went across the poquette carry in a train made up of the engine and the coach--“the first real special train over the road,” parker said.
-before the young engineer left for his summer vacation, he made a long canoe journey up into the moxie section, ostensibly on a fishing expedition. he was gone ten days, a longer period than he had predicted to his assistant manager.
-when he came down the west branch one afternoon he helped joshua ward to lift a crippled man out of their canoe, and he carefully directed the helpers who carried the unfortunate person to the coach.
-“i'm afraid the trip across the carry in a buckboard after the old manner would have been too rough for you, colonel ward,” remarked parker, as the train clanked along under the big trees. “i think i was never more glad to offer modern conveniences to any traveller across this carry. you understand how deep my sincerity is in this, i am positive.”
-“i understand everything better than i did, parker,” returned colonel ward, feelingly, turning away wet eyes.
-the astonishment in sunkhaze settlement when the doughty ex-tyrant was borne through to the “down-country” train, accompanied by parker and joshua, was so intense that only the postmaster recovered himself in season to put a few leading questions. after the train had gone he announced the results of his findings to the crowd that clustered about him on the station platform.
-“near's i can find out,” he said, “that young parker has been way up into the moxie region an' found old gid, and spent a week gettin' round him and coaxin' him to go 'long with him and josh to the city, and be fitted to new hands and feet, that, so they tell me, is so ingenious a fellow can walk round and cut his own victuals and all that. well, that will help old gid a little. if the blamed old sanup could only be fitted out with a new disposition at the same time, we folks round here would be more pleased to see him, come back.”
-“postmaster,” cried dan connick, who had been one of those who bore the colonel from the landing in a chair, “don't you ever worry any more about a new disposition for gid ward. those things come from the hand of god, and colonel gid has already been fitted out with the heart and soul of a man!”
-“then,” declared dodge, gazing to where the smoke wreaths from the departing locomotive hung above the distant treetops, “i reckon we've just seen in bodily shape the passin' of the old in this section as well as the comin' of the new.”
-joan of arc of the north woods
-books by holman day
-joan of arc of the north woods when egypt went broke all-wool morrison the rider of the king log the skipper and the skipped the red lane the ramrodders the landloper where your treasure is squire phin blow the man down
-harper & brothers publishers new york and london
-joan of arc of the north woods
-author of "the rider of the king log," "when egypt went broke," etc.
-harper & brothers, publishers new york and london
-joan of arc of the north woods
-copyright, 1922 by harper & brothers printed in the u.s.a.
-first edition h-w
-joan of arc of the north woods
-the timber situation in the tomah country was surcharged.
-when ward latisan came upon rufus craig, one afternoon in autumn, steel struck flint and trouble's fuse was lighted.
-their meeting was on the holeb tote road just below hagas falls.
-young ward was the grandson of old john, a pioneer who was in his day a saw-log baron of the times of pumpkin pine; by heredity ward was the foremost champion in the cause of the modern independent operators.
-in his own way, craig, the field director of the comas consolidated paper company, was the chief gladiator for an invading corporation which demanded monopoly of the tomah timber by absorption of the independents.
-latisan tramped down the tote road from the shoulder of holeb mountain, where he had been cruising alone for a week on the walpole tract, blazing timber for the choppers, marking out twitch roads and haul-downs, locating yards; his short-handled ax was in his belt, his lank haversack flapped on his back; he carried his calipers in one hand; with the other hand he fed himself raisins from his trousers pocket, munching as he went along. he had eaten the last of his scanty supply of biscuits and bacon; but, like other timber cruisers--all of them must travel light--he had his raisins to fall back on, doling them one by one, masticating them thoroughly and finding the nourishment adequate.
-he had been on the go every day from sunup till dark; nights he cinched his belted jacket closely and slept as best he could, his back against a tree; he had cruised into every nook and corner of the tract, spending strength prodigally, but when he strode down the tote road his vitality enabled him to hit it off at a brisk gait; his belt was a few holes tighter, yet his fasting made him keenly awake; he was more alert to the joy of being alive in the glory of the crisp day; his cap was in his pocket, his tousled brown hair was rampant; and he welcomed the flood of sunshine on his bronzed face.
-craig was making his way along the tote road in a buckboard, with a driver. the road bristled with rocks and was pitted with hollows; the fat horses dragged their feet at a slow walk. craig was a big man, a bit paunchy, and he grunted while he was bounced. he wore his city hard hat as if he wished by his headgear to distinguish himself from the herd of woodsmen whom he bossed.
-latisan overtook the toiling buckboard, and his stride was taking him past when craig hailed.
-"i've got some business to talk with you, latisan."
-"if that's so i can listen while i walk alongside."
-but craig ordered the driver to halt. then the comas director swung around and faced latisan. "i'm putting it up to you again--will you and your father sell to the comas?"
-"what is it going to be--a fight to a finish?"
-"if you keep your hands off us saw-log fellows, mr. craig, there'll be no fight. we were here first, you know!"
-"that's got nothing to do with the present situation, latisan. we've built a million-dollar paper mill on the toban, and it's up to me to feed it with pulp stuff. we can't lug our plant off in a shawl strap if supply fails."
-"nor can the folks who have built villages around the sawmills lug away their houses if the mills are closed."
-"paper dominates in this valley nowadays, instead of lumber. latisan, you're old-fashioned!"
-the young man, feeling his temper flame, lighted his pipe, avoiding too quick retort.
-"you stand to lose money in the lumber market, with conditions as they are," proceeded craig, loftily counseling another man about his own business. the comas director, intent on consolidation, had persistently failed to understand the loyalty, half romantic, which was actuating the old-line employers to protect faithful householders. "let the workers move down the river to our model town."
-"and live in those beehives of yours, paying big rent, competing with the riffraff help you hire from employment agencies? we can't see it that way, mr. craig!"
-"look here! i've got some news for you. i've just pulled five of the independents in with us--gibson, sprague, tolman, brinton, and bodwell. the comas now controls the timber market on the toban. how about logs for your mills?"
-craig believed he was hitting latisan five solid jolts to the jaw when he named the recreant operators.
-however, the young man had heard rumors of what the bludgeoning methods of the comas had accomplished; he surveyed craig resolutely through the pipe smoke.
-he had come down from the walpole tract that day in a spirit of new confidence which put away all weariness from him. he was armed with a powerful weapon. in his exultation, fired by youth's natural hankering to vaunt success in an undertaking where his elders had failed, he was willing to flourish the weapon.
-craig waggled a thick forefinger. "what are you going to saw, latisan?"
-"two million feet from the walpole tract--where no ax has chipped a tree for twenty-five years."
-it was a return jolt and it made the comas man blink. "but nobody can buy the right to cut there."
-"i have bought the right, mr. craig. an air-tight stumpage contract--passed on by the best lawyer in this county--a clear title."
-"latisan, the comas has never been able to round up those heirs--and what we can't do with all our resources can't be done by you."
-"the latisans know this region better than the comas folks know it, sir. five cousins by hard hunting--two gravestones by good luck! all heirs located! why don't you congratulate me?"
-just then the comas director was thinking instead of talking.
-in his operations he was a cocksure individual, mr. craig was! in his hands, by his suggestion, his new york superiors had placed all the details of business in the field of the north country. he had promised consolidation with full belief in his ability to perform; one explicit promise had been that this season would mark the end of the opposition by the independents; the comas would secure complete control of the toban timber and fix prices. but here were the ringleader latisans in a way to smash the corner which craig had manipulated by bulldozing and bribery! in the past craig had not bothered headquarters with any minute explanations of how he accomplished results. this crusher which threatened all his plans and promises would make a monkey of him in new york, he reflected.
-"don't you dare!"
-"i do dare. i'm going. i expect you to run in ahead of me, but no matter. and speaking of tales behind a man's back----"
-craig was having difficulty in finding speech for retort; latisan was rushing the affair. again craig blustered, "don't you dare!"
-"yes, i do dare. when i went away last summer i had good reasons for keeping my plans to myself. i got back to the toban and found slander accusing me of sporting in the city, deviling around with liquor and women. that's a damnable lie!"
-latisan delivered the accusation hotly; there was unmistakable challenge in his demeanor. "you yourself have handed around some of that slander, mr. craig. i get it straight from men whose word is good!"
-"i only said what others were saying."
-craig, bouncing alone on the middle seat of the buckboard, grunted.
-"excuse me, mr. craig, but that's some news--what he said about getting aholt of the old walpole tract."
-the comas boss did not comment.
-the driver said nothing more for some time; he was a slouchy woodsman of numb wits; he chewed tobacco constantly with the slow jaw motion of a ruminating steer, and he looked straight ahead between the ears of the nigh horse, going through mental processes of a certain sort. "now 't i think of it, i wish i'd grabbed in with a question to young latisan. but he doesn't give anybody much of a chance to grab in when he's talking. still, i'd have liked to ask him something." he maundered on in that strain for several minutes.
-"ask him what?" snapped craig, tired of the monologue.
-"whuther he's talked with my old aunt dorcas about the heir who went off into the west somewheres. grandson of the old sir who was the first walpole of the toban--real heir, if he's still alive! my aunt dorcas had letters about him, or from him, or something like that, only a few years ago."
-"look here!" stormed craig. "why haven't you said something about such letters or such an heir?"
-"nobody has ever asked me. and he's prob'ly dead, anyway. them lawyers know everything. and he's a roving character, as i remember what my aunt said. no use o' telling anybody about him--it would cost too much to find him."
-"cost too much!" snarled the comas director. "oh, you----" but he choked back what he wanted to say about the man's intellect. craig pulled out notebook and pencil and began to fire questions.
-latisan was headed for home, the old family mansion in the village of toban deadwater where ward and his widowed father kept bachelor's hall, with a veteran woods cook to tend and do for them. the male cook was ward's idea. the young man had lived much in the woods, and the ways of women about the house annoyed him; a bit of clutter was more comfortable.
-it was a long tramp to the deadwater, but he knew the blazed-trail short cuts and took advantage of the light of the full moon for the last stage of the journey. he was eager to report progress and prospects to his father.
-ward was not anticipating much in the way of practical counsel from garry latisan.
-old john had been a tartar, a blustering baron of the timberlands.
-garry, his son, had taken to books and study. he was slow and mild, deprecatory and forgiving. ward latisan had those saving qualities in a measure, but he was conscious in himself of the avatar of old john's righteous belligerency when occasion prompted.
-ward, as he was trudging home, was trying to keep anger from clouding his judgment. when he felt old john stirring in him, young latisan sought the mild counsel of garry, and then went ahead on a line of action of his own; he was steering a safe course, he felt, by keeping about halfway between john's violence in performance and garry's toleration.
-ward was the executive of the latisan business and liked the job; his youth and vigor found zest in the adventures of the open. old john's timber man's spirit had been handed along to the grandson. ward finished his education at a seminary--and called it enough. his father urged him to go to college, but he went into the woods and was glad to be there, at the head of affairs.
-the operations on the old tracts, thinned by many cuttings, had been keeping him closely on the job, because there were problems to be solved if profits were to be handled.
-his stroke in getting hold of the walpole tract promised profits without problems; there were just so many trees to cut down--and the river was handy!
-in spite of his weariness, ward sat till midnight on the porch with his father, going over their plans. the young man surveyed the latisan mill and the houses of the village while he talked; the moon lighted all and the mill loomed importantly, reflected in the still water of the pond. if craig prevailed, the mill and the homes must be left to rot, empty, idle, and worthless. as ward viewed it, the honor of the latisans was at stake; the spirit of old john blazed in the grandson; but he declared his intention to fight man fashion, if the fight were forced on him. he would go to the comas headquarters in new york, he said, not to ask for odds or beg for favors, but to explain the situation and to demand that craig be required to confine himself to the tactics of square business rivalry.
-"and my course in engineering was a good investment; i can talk turkey to them about our dams and the flowage rights. i don't believe they're backing up craig's piracy!"
-"your sympathy and your praise are help enough, father," ward declared, with enthusiasm. "we're sure of our cut; all i'm asking from the comas is gangway for our logs. there must be square men at the head of that big corporation!"
-in new york young latisan plunged straight at his business.
-the home office of the comas consolidated company was in a towering structure in the metropolis's financial district. on the translucent glass of many doors there was a big c with two smaller c's nested. in the north country everybody called the corporation the three c's.
-after a fashion, the sight of the portentous monogram made ward feel more at home. up where he lived the letters were familiar. those nested c's stood for wide-flung ownership along the rivers of the north. the monogram was daubed in blue paint on the ends of countless logs; it marked the boxes and barrels and sacks of mountains of supplies along the tote roads; it designated as the property of the comas company all sorts of possessions from log camps down to the cant dog in the hands of the humblest polack toiler. those nested c's were dominant, assertive, and the folks of the north were awed by the everlasting reduplication along the rivers and in the forests.
-ward, indignantly seeking justice, resolved not to be awed in the castle of the giant. he presented himself at a gate and asked to see the president. the president could not be seen except by appointment, latisan learned.
-what was the caller's business? latisan attempted to explain, but he was halted by the declaration that all details in the timber country were left to rufus craig, field manager!
-when ward insisted that his previous talks with craig had only made matters worse for all concerned, and when he pleaded for an opportunity to talk with somebody--anybody--at headquarters, he finally won his way to the presence of a sallow man who filmed his hard eyes and listened with an air of silent protest. he also referred latisan back to craig. "we don't interfere with his management of details in the north."
-evidently mr. craig had been attending to his defenses in the home office.
-ward's temper was touched by the listener's slighting apathy. "i've come here to protest against unfair methods. our men are tampered with--told that the latisans are on their last legs. we are losing from our crews right along. we have been able to hire more men to take the places of those who have been taken away from us. but right now we are up against persistent reports that we shall not be able to get down our cut in the spring. sawmill owners are demanding bonds from us to assure delivery; otherwise they will cancel their orders."
-"do you know any good reason why you can't deliver?" probed the comas man, showing a bit of interest.
-"your mr. craig seems to know. i blame him for these stories."
-"i'm afraid you're laboring under a delusion, mr. latisan. why don't you sell out to our company? most of the other independents have found it to their advantage--seen it in the right light."
-"mr. craig's tactics have driven some small concerns to see it that way, sir. but my grandfather was operating in the north and supplying the sawmills with timber before the paper mills began to grab off every tree big enough to prop a spruce bud. villages have been built up around the sawmills. if the paper folks get hold of everything those villages will die; all the logs will be run down to the paper mills."
-"naturally," said the sallow man. "paper is king these days."
-then he received a handful of documents from a clerk who entered, again referred ward to mr. craig, advised him to treat with the latter in the field, where the business belonged, and hunched a dismissing shoulder toward the caller.
-ward had not been asked to sit down; he swung on his heel, but he stopped and turned. "as to selling out, even if we can bring ourselves to that! mr. craig has beaten independents to their knees and has made them accept his price. it's not much else than ruin when a man sells to him."
-"persecutional mania is a dangerous hallucination," stated the sallow man. "mr. craig has accomplished certain definite results in the north country. we have used the word consolidated in our corporation name with full knowledge of what we are after. we assure stable conditions in the timber industry. you must move with the trend of the times."
-latisan had been revolving in his mind certain statements which he proposed to make to the big men of the comas. he had assorted and classified those statements before he entered the castle of the great corporation. with youth's optimism he had anticipated a certain measure of sympathy--had in some degree pictured at least one kindly man in the comas outfit who would listen to a young chap's troubles.
-walking to the door, standing with his hand on the knob, he knew he must go back to the woods with the dolorous prospect of being obliged to fight to hold together the remnants of the latisan business. he set his teeth and opened the door. he would have gone without further words, but the sallow man snapped a half threat which brought ward around on his heels.
-"mr. latisan, i hope you will carry away with you the conviction that fighting the comas company will not get you anything."
-ward choked for a moment. old john was stirring in him. a fettered yelp was bulging in his throat, and the skin of the back of his head tingled as if the hair were rising. but he spoke quietly when he allowed his voice to squeeze past the repressed impulse. "there's a real fight ready to break in the north country, sir."
-"do you propose to be captain?"
-"i have no such ambition. but your mr. craig is forcing the issue. no company is big enough to buck the law in our state."
-"look here, my good fellow!" the sallow man came around in his chair. ward immediately was more fully informed as to the personage's status. "i am one of the attorneys of this corporation. i have been attending to the special acts your legislature has passed in our behalf. we are fully protected by law."
-"the question is how much you'll be protected after facts are brought out by a fight," replied ward, stoutly. "i know the men who have been sent down to the legislature from our parts and how they were elected. but even such men get cold feet after the public gets wise."
-"that'll be enough!" snapped the attorney. he turned to his desk again.
-"yes, it looks like it," agreed young latisan; he did not bang the door after him; he closed it softly.
-the attorney was obliged to look around to assure himself that his caller was not in the room. then he pushed a button and commanded a clerk to ask if mr. craig was still in the president's office. informed that mr. craig was there, the attorney went thither.
-"i have just been bothered by that young chap, latisan, from the tomah region," reported dawes, the attorney. "he threatens a fight which will rip the cover off affairs in the north country. how about what's underneath, provided the cover is ripped off, craig?"
-"everything sweet as a nut! any other kind of talk is bluff and blackmail. so that's young latisan's latest move, eh?" he ejaculated, squinting appraisingly at dawes and turning full gaze of candor's fine assumption on horatio marlow, the president.
-"just who is this young latisan?" inquired marlow.
-"oh, only the son of one of the independents who are sticking out on a hold-up against us. did he name his price, dawes?"
-"he didn't try to sell anything," acknowledged the attorney. "craig, let me ask you, are you moving along the lines of the law we have behind us in those special acts i steered through?"
-"sure thing!" asserted the field director, boldly.
-"we've got to ask for more from the next legislature," stated the lawyer.
-the president came in with a warning. "credit is touchy these days, mr. craig. we're going into the market for big money for further development. it's easy for reports to be made very hurtful."
-"i'm achieving results up there," insisted craig, doggedly.
-"we're very much pleased with conditions," agreed the president. "we're able to show capital a constantly widening control of properties and natural advantages. but remember achilles's heel, mr. craig."
-"i haven't been able to fight 'em with feathers all the time," confessed the field director. "there wasn't much law operating up there when i grabbed in. i have done the best i could, and if i have been obliged to use a club once in a while i have made the fight turn something for the corporation." he exhibited the pride of the man who had accomplished.
-the attorney warned craig again. "we can't afford to have any uproar started till we get our legislation properly cinched. tomah seems to be attended to. but we need some pretty drastic special acts before we can go over the watershed and control the noda waters and pull old flagg into line. he's the last, isn't he?--the king-pin, according to what i hear."
-"i'll attend to his case all right," declared craig, with confidence. "i'll tackle the noda basin next. flagg must be licked before he'll sell. he's that sort. a half lunatic on this independent thing. i reckon you'll leave it to me, won't you?"
-"we'll leave all the details of operation in the field to you, craig," promised the president. "but you must play safe."
-"i'll take full responsibility," affirmed craig, whose pride had been touched.
-"then we shall continue to value you as our right bower in the north," said marlow. "the man on the ground understands the details. we don't try to follow them here in the home office."
-craig walked out with dawes.
-"that talk has put the thing up to you square-edged, craig."
-craig had been heartened and fortified by the president's compliments. "leave it to me!"
-latisan had eaten his breakfast in the grill of a big hotel with a vague idea that such an environment would tune him up to meet the magnates of the comas company.
-in his present and humbler state of mind, hungry again, he went into a cafeteria.
-waiting at the counter for his meat stew and tea--familiar woods provender which appealed to his homesickness--he became aware of a young woman at his elbow; she was having difficulty in managing her tray and her belongings. there was an autumn drizzle outside and ward had stalked along unprotected, with a woodman's stoicism in regard to wetness. the young woman had her umbrella, a small bag, and a parcel, and she was clinging to all of them, impressed by the "not responsible" signs which sprinkled the walls of the place. when her tray tipped at an alarming slant, as she elbowed her way from the crowded counter, ward caught at its edge and saved a spill.
-the girl smiled gratefully.
-the table section was as crowded as the counter space. he did not offer to sit opposite her at the one vacant table he found; he lingered, however, casting about himself for another seat.
-"may i not exchange my hospitality for your courtesy?" inquired the girl. she nodded toward the unoccupied chair and he sat down and thanked her.
-she was an extremely self-possessed young woman, who surveyed him frankly with level gaze from her gray eyes.
-"you performed very nicely, getting through that crush as you did without spilling anything," she commended.
-"i've had plenty of practice."
-she opened her eyes on him by way of a question. "not as a waiter," he proceeded. "but with those trays in my hand it was like being on the drive, ramming my way through the gang that was charging the cook tent."
-"the drive!" she repeated. he was surprised by the sudden interest he roused in her. "are you from the north country?" her color heightened with her interest. she leaned forward.
-latisan, in his infrequent experiences, had never been at ease in the presence of pretty girls, even when their notice of him was merely cursory. in the region where he had toiled there were few females, and those were spouses and helpers of woods cooks, mostly.
-he replied, telling what he was but not who he was; he felt a twinge of disappointment because she did not venture to probe into his identity. her questions were concerned with the north country as a region. at first her quizzing was of a general nature. then she narrowed the field of inquiry.
-"you say the tomah waters are parallel with the noda basin! do you know many folks over in the noda region?"
-"very few. i have kept pretty closely on my own side of the watershed."
-"isn't there a village in the noda called adonia?"
-"oh yes! it's the jumping-off place--the end of a narrow-gauge railroad."
-"you have been in adonia?"
-"a few times."
-"i had--there were friends of mine--they were friends of a man in adonia. his name was--let's see!" he wondered whether the faint wrinkle of a frown under the bronze-flecked hair on her forehead was as much the expression of puzzled memory as she was trying to make it seem; there did appear something not wholly ingenuous in her looks just then. "oh, his name is flagg."
-"yes, that's it. my friends were very friendly with him, and i'd like to be able to tell them----" she hesitated.
-"you have given me some news," he declared, bluntly; in his mood of the day he was finding no good qualities in mankind. "i never heard of eck flagg having any friends. well, i'll take that back! i believe he's ace high among the tarratine indians up our way; they have made him an honorary chief. but it's no particular compliment to a white man's disposition to be able to qualify as an indian, as i look at it."
-this time he was not in doubt about the expression on her face; a sudden grimace like grief wreathed the red lips and there was more than a suspicion of tears in her eyes. he stared at her, frankly amazed.
-"if i have stepped on toes i am sorry. i never did know how to talk to young ladies without making a mess sooner or later."
-she returned no reply, and he went on with his food to cover his embarrassment.
-"do you know mr. flagg?" she asked, after the silence had been prolonged.
-"not very well. but i know about him."
-"that he's a hard man. he never forgets or forgives an injury. perhaps that's why he qualified so well as an indian."
-she straightened in her chair and narrowed those gray eyes. "couldn't there have been another reason why he was chosen for such an honor?"
-"i beg your pardon for passing along to you the slurs of the north country, miss----" he paused but she did not help him with her name. "it's mostly slurs up there," he went on, with bitterness, "and i get into the habit, myself. the indians did have a good reason for giving flagg that honor. he is the only one in the north who has respected the indians' riparian rights, given by treaty and then stolen back. he pays them for hold-boom privileges when his logs are on their shores. they are free to come and go on his lands for birch bark and basket stuff--he's the only one who respects the old treaties. that's well known about flagg in the north country. it's a good streak in any man, no matter what folks say about his general disposition."
-"i'm glad to hear you say that much!"
-she pushed back her chair slightly and began to take stock of her possessions. a sort of a panic came upon him. there were a lot of things he wanted to say, and he could not seem to lay a tongue to one of them. he stammered something about the wet day and wondered whether it would be considered impudence if he offered to escort her, holding over her the umbrella or carrying her parcel. he had crude ideas about the matter of squiring dames. he wanted to ask her not to hurry away. "do you live here in new york--handy by?"
-the cafeteria was just off lower broadway, and she smiled. he realized the idiocy of the question.
-"i work near here! you are going home to the north soon?" the polite query was in a tone which checked all his new impulses in regard to her.
-"i'm headed north right now. if there's any information i can send you----"
-she shook her head slowly, but even the negative was marked by an indecisive quality, as if she were repressing some importunate desire.
-"i wish you a pleasant journey, sir." all her belongings were in her hands.
-"it's queer--it's almost more than queer how we happened to meet--both interested in the north country," he stuttered, wanting to detain her.
-he was hoping she would make something of the matter.
-but she merely acknowledged the truth of his statement, adding, "there would be more such coincidences in life if folks took the trouble to interest themselves a bit in one another and compare notes."
-she started to walk away; then she whirled and came back to the table and leaned over it. her soul of longing was in her eyes--they were filled with tears. "you're going back there," she whispered. "god bless the north country! give a friendly pat to one of the big trees for me and say you found a girl in new york who is homesick."
-she turned from him before he could summon words.
-he wanted to call after her--to find out more about her. he saw her gathering up her change at the cashier's wicket. the spectacle reminded him of his own check. even love at first sight, if such could be the strange new emotion struggling within him, could not enable him to leap the barrier of the cashier's cold stare and rush away without paying scot. he hunted for his punched check. he pawed all over the marble top of the table, rattling the dishes.
-a check--it was surely all of that!
-the search for it checked him till the girl was gone, mingled with the street crowds. he found the little devil of a delayer in the paper napkin which he had nervously wadded and dropped on the floor. he shoved money to the cashier and did not wait for his change. he rushed out on the street and stretched up his six stalwart feet and craned his neck and hunted for the little green toque with the white quill.
-it was a vain quest.
-he did not know just what the matter was with him all of a sudden. he had never had any personal experience with that which he had vaguely understood was love; he had merely viewed it from a standpoint of a disinterested observer, in the case of other men. he hated to admit, as he stood there in the drizzle, his defeat by a cafeteria check.
-he remained in new york for another night, his emotions aggravatingly complex. he tried to convince his soul that he had a business reason for staying. he lied to himself and said he would make another desperate sortie on the castle of the comas company. but he did not go there the next day. near noon he set himself to watch the entrance of the cafeteria. when he saw a table vacant near the door he went in, secured food, and posted himself where he could view all comers.
-the girl did not come.
-at two o'clock, after eating three meals, he did not dare to brave the evident suspicions of that baleful cashier any longer. undoubtedly the girl had been a casual customer like himself. he gave it up and started for the north.
-when ward latisan was home again and had laced his high boots and buttoned his belted jacket, he was wondering, in the midst of his other troubles, why he allowed the matter of a chance-met girl to play so big a part in his thoughts. the exasperating climax of his adventure with the girl, his failure to ask her name frankly, his folly of bashful backwardness in putting questions when she was at arm's length from him, his mournful certainty that he would never see her again--all conspired curiously to make her an obsession rather than a mere memory.
-he had never bothered with mental analysis; his effort to untangle his ideas in this case merely added to his puzzlement; it was like one of those patent trick things which he had picked up in idle moments, allowing the puzzle to bedevil attention and time, intriguing his interest, to his disgust. he had felt particularly lonely and helpless when he came away from comas headquarters; instinctively he was seeking friendly companionship--opening his heart; he had caught something, just as a man with open pores catches cold. he found the notion grimly humorous! but latisan was not ready to own up that what he had contracted was a case of love, though young men had related to him their experiences along such lines.
-he went into the woods and put himself at the head of the crews. he had the ability to inspire zeal and loyalty.
-in the snowy avenues of the walpole tract sounded the rick-tack of busy axes, the yawk of saws, and the crash of falling timber. the twitch roads, narrow trails which converged to centers like the strands of a cobweb, led to the yards where the logs were piled for the sleds; and from the yards, after the snows were deep and had been iced by watering tanks on sleds, huge loads were eased down the slopes to the landings close to the frozen tomah.
-therefore, when the april rains began to soften the march snow crusts and the spring flood sounded its first murmur under the blackening ice of tomah, the latisan logs were ready to be rolled into the river.
-and then something happened!
-that contract with the walpole second cousins--pronounced an air-tight contract by the lawyer--was pricked, popped, and became nothing.
-an heir appeared and proved his rights. he was the only grandson of old isaac. the cousins did not count in the face of the grandson's claims.
-in the past, in the tomah region, there had been fictitious heirs who had worked blackmail on operators who took a chance with putative heirs and tax titles. but the latisans were faced with proofs that this heir was real and right.
-why had he waited until the cut was landed?
-the latisans pressed him with desperate questions, trying to find a way out of their trouble.
-he was a sullen and noncommunicative person and intimated that he had suited his own convenience in coming on from the west.
-the latisans, when the heir appeared, were crippled for ready cash, after settling with the cousin heirs for stumpage and paying the winter's costs of operating. those cousins were needy folks and had spent the money paid to them; there was no hope of recovering any considerable portion of the amounts.
-the true heir attached the logs as they lay, and a court injunction prevented the latisans from moving a stick. the heir showed a somewhat singular disinclination to have any dealings with the latisans. he refused their offer to share profits with him; he persistently returned an exasperating reply: he did not care to do business with men who had tried to steal his property. he said he had already traded with responsible parties. comas surveyors came and scaled the logs and nested c's were painted on the ends of the timber.
-the latisans had "gone bump"; the word went up and down the tomah.
-"well, go ahead and say it!" suggested rufus craig when he had set himself in the path of ward latisan, who was coming away from a last, and profitless, interview with the obstinate heir.
-"i have nothing to say, sir."
-craig calculatingly chose the moment for this meeting, desiring to carry on with the policy which he had adopted. by his system the comas had maneuvered after the python method--it crushed, it smeared, it swallowed.
-the latisans had been crushed--craig quieted his conscience with the arguments of business necessity; he had a big salary to safeguard; he had promised boldly to deliver the goods in the north country. though his conscience was dormant, his fears were awake. he was not relishing latisan's manner. the repression worried him. the grandson had plenty of old john in his nature, and craig knew it!
-craig tried to smear!
-"latisan, i'll give you a position with the comas, and a good one."
-"and the conditions are?"
-"that you'll turn over your operating equipment to us at a fair price and sign a ten-year contract."
-"i knew you'd name those conditions. i refuse."
-"you're making a fool of yourself--and what for?"
-"for a principle! i've explained it to you."
-"and i've explained how our consolidated plan butts against your old-fashioned principle. do you think for one minute you can stop the comas development?"
-"i'm still with the independents. we'll see what can be done."
-"you're licked in the toban."
-"there's still good fighting ground over in the noda valley--and some fighters are left there."
-craig squinted irefully at the presumptuous rebel.
-latisan hid much behind a smile. "you see, mr. craig, i'm just as frank as i was when i said i was going to new york. you may find me in the noda when you get there with your consolidation plans."
-"another case of david and goliath, eh?"
-"perhaps! i'll hunt around and see what i can find in the way of a sling and pebble."
-a summons sent forth by echford flagg, the last of the giants among the independent operators on the noda waters, had made that day in early april a sort of gala affair in the village of adonia.
-men by the hundred were crowded into the one street, which stretched along the river bank in front of the tavern and the stores. the narrow-gauge train from downcountry had brought many. others had come from the woods in sledges; there was still plenty of snow in the woods; but in the village the runner irons squalled over the bare spots. men came trudging from the mouths of trails and tote roads, their duffel in meal bags slung from their shoulders.
-an observer, looking on, listening, would have discovered that a suppressed spirit of jest kept flashing across the earnestness of the occasion--grins lighting up sharp retort--just as the radiant sunshine of the day shuttled through the intermittent snow squalls which dusted the shoulders of the thronging men.
-there was a dominant monotone above all the talk and the cackle of laughter; ears were dinned everlastingly by the thunder of the cataract near the village. the noda waters break their winter fetters first of all at adonia, where the river leaps from the cliffs into the whirlpool. the roar of the falls is a trumpet call for the starting of the drive, though the upper waters may be ice-bound; but when the falls shout their call the rivermen must be started north toward the landings where logs are piled on the rotting ice.
-on that day echford flagg proposed to pick his crew.
-to be sure, he had picked a crew every year in early april, but the hiring had been done in a more or less matter-of-fact manner.
-this year the summons had a suggestion of portent. it went by word o' mouth from man to man all through the north country. it hinted at an opportunity for adventure outside of wading in shallows, carding ledges of jillpoked logs, and the bone-breaking toil of rolling timber and riffling jams.
-"eck flagg wants roosters this year," had gone the word. spurred roosters! fighting gamecocks! one spur for a log and one for any hellion who should get in the way of an honest drive!
-the talk among the men who shouldered one another in the street and swapped grins and gab revealed that not all of them were ready to volunteer as spurred roosters, ready for hazard. it was evident that there were as many mere spectators as there were actual candidates for jobs. above all, ardent curiosity prevailed; in that region where events marshaled themselves slowly and sparsely men did not balk at riding or hoofing it a dozen miles or more in order to get first-hand information in regard to anything novel or worth while.
-finally, echford flagg stalked down the hill from his big, square house--its weather-beaten grayness matching the ledges on which it was propped. his beard and hair were the color of the ledges, too, and the seams in his hard face were like ledgerifts. his belted jacket was stone gray and it was buttoned over the torso of a man who was six feet tall--yes, a bit over that height. he was straight and vigorous in spite of the age revealed in his features. he carried a cant dog over his shoulder; the swinging iron tongue of it clanked as he strode along.
-the handle of the tool was curiously striped with colors. there was no other cant dog like it all up and down the noda waters. carved into the wood was an emblem--it was the totem mark of the tarratines--the sign manual by sachem nicola of flagg's honorary membership in the tribe.
-he was no popular hero in that section--it was easy to gather that much from the expressions of the men who looked at him when he marched through the crowd. there was no acclaim, only a grunt or a sniff. too many of them had worked for him in days past and had felt the weight of his broad palm and the slash of his sharp tongue. ward latisan had truthfully expressed the noda's opinion of flagg in the talk with the girl in the cafeteria.
-the unroofed porch of the tavern served flagg for a rostrum that day. he mounted the porch, faced the throng, and drove down the steel-shod point of his cant dog into the splintering wood, swinging the staff out to arm's length.
-"i'm hiring a driving crew to-day," he shouted. "as for men----"
-"here's one," broke in a volunteer, thrusting himself forward with scant respect for the orator's exordium.
-flagg bent forward and peered down into the face uplifted hopefully.
-"i said men," he roared. "you're larsen. you went to sleep on the lotan ledges----"
-"i had been there alone for forty-eight hours, carding 'em, and the logs----"
-"you went to sleep on the lotan ledges, i say, and let a jam get tangled, and it took twenty of my men two days to pull the snarl loose."
-the man was close to the edge of the porch. flagg set his boot suddenly against larsen's breast and drove him away so viciously that the victim fell on his back among the legs of the crowd, ten feet from the porch.
-"i never forget and i never forgive--and that's the word that's out about me, and i'm proud of the reputation," declared flagg. "i don't propose to smirch it at this late day. and now i look into your faces and realize that what i have just said and done adds to the bunch that has come here to-day to listen and look on instead of hiring out. i'm glad i'm sorting out the sheep from the goats at the outset. it happens that i want goats--goats with horns and sharp hoofs and----"
-"the word was you wanted roosters," cried somebody from the outskirts of the crowd.
-there was laughter, seeking even that small excuse for vent; the hilarity was as expressive as a viva voce vote, and its volume suggested that there were more against flagg than there were for him.
-he did not lower his crest. "you all know what is happening this season. you know why i have sent out for men. the three c's crowd has started stealing from my crews. i want men who have a grudge against the three c's. i want men who will fight the three c's. rufe craig proposes to steal the noda as he has stolen the tomah. he has been making his brags of what he'll do to me. he won't do it, even if i have to make a special trip to hell and hire a crew of devils. now let me test out this crowd." he was searching faces with a keen gaze. "all proper men to the front ranks! let me look at you!"
-a slow movement began in the throng; men were pushing forward.
-"lively on the foot!" yelled flagg. "i'm standing here judging you by the way you break this jam of the jillpokes. walk over the cowards, you real men! come on, you bully chaps! come running! hi yoop! underfoot with 'em!"
-he swung his cant dog and kept on adjuring.
-the real adventurers, the excitement seekers, the scrappers, drove into the press of those who were in the way. the field became a scene of riot. the bullies were called on to qualify under the eyes of the master. there were fisticuffs aplenty because husky men who might not care to enlist with old eck flagg were sufficiently muscular and ugly to strike back at attackers who stamped on their feet and drove fists into their backs.
-flagg, on the porch, followed all phases of the scattered conflict, estimated men by the manner in which they went at what he had set them to do, and he surveyed them with favor when they crowded close to the edge of his rostrum, dwelling with particular interest on the faces which especially revealed that they had been up against the real thing in the way of a fight. behind and around the gladiators who had won to the porch pressed the cordon of malcontents who cursed and threatened.
-"much obliged for favor of prompt reply to mine of day and date," said flagg, with his grim humor. he drove his cant-dog point into the floor of the porch and left the tool waggling slowly to and fro. he leaped down among the men. he did not waste time with words. he went among them, gripping their arms to estimate the biceps, holding them off at arm's length to judge their height and weight. he also looked at their teeth, rolling up their lips, horse-trader fashion. the drive provender did not consist of tender tidbits; a river jack must be able to chew tough meat, and the man in the wilderness with a toothache would have poor grit for work in bone-chilling water after a sleepless night.
-flagg carried a piece of chalk in his right hand. when he accepted a man he autographed the initials "e f" on the back of the fellow's shirt or jacket, in characteristic handwriting. "show your back as you go north," he proclaimed for the benefit of the strangers to his custom. "my initials are good for stage team, tote team, lodging, and meals--the bills are sent to flagg. the sooner you start the sooner you'll get to headwaters."
-a big chap followed at flagg's back as the despot moved among the men. he was ben kyle, flagg's drive boss, the first mate of the flagg ship of state. he was writing down the names of the men as they were hired. occasionally the master called on the mate to give in an opinion when a candidate ran close to the line between acceptance or rejection.
-flagg began to show good humor beyond his usual wont. he was finding men who suited him. many of them growled anathema against the three c's. they had worked for that corporation. they had been obliged to herd with roughscuff from the city employment agencies, unskilled men who were all the time coming and going and were mostly underfoot when they were on the job. one humorist averred that the three c's had three complete sets of crews--one working, one coming in, and one going out.
-kyle began to loosen up and copy some of flagg's good humor.
-he encouraged the wag who had described the three shifts to say more about the comas crews; he had some witticisms of his own to offer.
-and so it came to pass that when he tackled one hulking and bashful sort of a chap who stuttered, kyle was in most excellent mood to have a little fun with a butt. even echford flagg ceased operations to listen, for the humor seemed to be sharp-edged enough to suit his satiric taste.
-"you say you're an ox teamster!" bawled the boss. "well, well! that's good. reckon we'll put some oxen onto the drive this spring so as to give you a job. how much do you know about teaming oxen?"
-after a great deal of mirth-provoking difficulty with b and g, the man meekly explained that he did know the butt end of a gad from the brad end.
-"who in the crowd has got an ox or two in his pocket?" queried kyle. "we can't hire an ox teamster for the drive"--he dwelt on oxen for the drive with much humorous effect--"without being sure that he can drive oxen. it would be blasted aggravating to have our drive hung up and the oxen all willing enough to pull it along, and then find out that the teamster was no good."
-martin brophy, tavernkeeper, was on the porch, enjoying the events that were staged in front of his place that day.
-"hey, martin, isn't there a gad in the cultch under your office desk?"
-"most everything has been left there, from an umbrella to a clap o' thunder," admitted brophy. "i'll look and see."
-"better not go to fooling too much, ben," warned the master. "i've seen fooling spoil good business a lot of times."
-it was rebuke in the hearing of many men who were showing keen zest in what might be going to happen; it was treating a right-hand man like a child. kyle resented it and his tone was sharp when he replied that he knew what he was doing. he turned away from the glaring eyes of the master and took in his hand the goad which brophy brought.
-there was a sudden tautness in the situation between flagg and kyle, and the crowd noted it. the master was not used to having his suggestions flouted.
-the boss thrust the goad into the hand of the bashful fellow. "there's a hitchpost right side of you, my man. make believe it's a yoke of oxen. what are your motions and your style of language in getting a start. go to it!"
-the teamster swished the goad in beckoning fashion after he had rapped it against the post in imitation of knocking on an ox's nose to summon attention. his efforts to vault lingually over the first "double-u" excited much mirth. even the corners of flagg's mouth twitched.
-"wo, wo hysh! gee up, bright! wo haw, star!" such was the opening command.
-"they don't hear you," declared kyle. "whoop 'er up!"
-the teamster did make a desperate effort to drive his imaginary yoke of oxen. he danced and yelled and brandished the goad as a crazy director might slash with his baton. he used up all his drive words and invective.
-kyle could not let the joke stop there after the man had thrown down the goad, wiped his forehead, and declared that it wasn't fair, trying to make him start a hitching post.
-"pick up your gad," commanded the boss. he dropped on his hands and knees. "now you show us what you can do. i'm a yoke of oxen."
-"i tell you i am. get busy. start your team."
-"that's about enough of that!" warned flagg, sourly. "kyle, get up onto your feet where you belong."
-but the spirit of jest made the boss reckless and willfully disobedient. he insisted doggedly on his rôle as a balky ox and scowled at the teamster. "if you want a job you'll have to show me!"
-the teamster adjured mr. kyle in very polite language, and did not bring the swishing goad within two feet of the scornful nose; the candidate wanted a job and was not in a mood to antagonize a prospective boss.
-"you're a hell of a teamster!" yapped kyle. "what's your system? do you get action by feeding an ox lollypops, kissing him on the nose and saying, 'please,' and 'beg your pardon'?"
-the big chap began to show some spirit of his own under the lash of the laughter that was encouraging kyle.
-"i ain't getting a square deal, mister. that post wa'n't an ox; you ain't an ox."
-"i am, i tell you! start me."
-"you vow and declare that you're an ox, do you, before all in hearing?"
-"that's what!" mr. kyle was receiving the plaudits and encouragement of all his friends who enjoyed a joke, and was certain in his mind that he had that bashful stutterer sized up as a quitter. flagg folded his arms and narrowed his eyes--his was the air of one who was allowing fate to deal with a fool who tempted it.
-the candidate did not hurry matters. he spat meditatively into first one fist and then into the other. he grasped the goad in both hands. he looked calculatingly at mr. kyle, who was on his hands and knees, and was cocking an arch and provocative look upward, approving the grins of the men near him.
-when the teamster did snap into action his manner indicated that he knew how to handle balky oxen. first he cracked mr. kyle smartly over the bridge of the nose. "wo haw up!" was a command which kyle tried to obey in a flame of ire, but a swifter and more violent blow across the nose sent him back on his heels, his eyes shut in his agony.
-"gee up into the yoke, you crumpled-horn hyampus!" the teamster welted the goad across kyle's haunches and further encouraged the putative ox by a thrust of a full inch of the brad.
-when the boss came onto his feet with a berserker howl of fury and started to attack, the ox expert yelled, "dat rat ye, don't ye try to hook your horns into me!" then he flailed the stick once more across kyle's nose with a force that knocked the boss flat on his back.
-echford flagg stepped forward and stood between the two men when kyle struggled to his feet and started toward the teamster with the mania of blood lust in his red eyes. the master put forth a hand and thrust back the raging mate. flagg said something, but for a time he could not be heard above the tempest of howling laughter.
-it was riotous abandonment to mirth. men hung helplessly to other men or flapped their hands and staggered about, choking with their merriment. the savageness of the punishment administered to the boastful kyle might have shocked persons with squeamish dispositions; it was wildly humorous in the estimation of those men o' the forest. they were used to having their jokes served raw.
-the roar that fairly put into the background the riot of the falling waters of the noda was what all the region recognized as the ruination of a man's authority in the north country; it was the big laugh.
-flagg, when he could make himself heard by his boss, holding kyle in his mighty grip, made mention of the big laugh, too. "kyle, you've got it at last by your damn folly. you're licked forever in these parts. i warned you. you went ahead against my word to you. you're no good to me after this." he yanked the list of names from kyle's jacket pocket.
-"let me loose! i'm going to kill that----"
-"you're going to walk out--and away! you're done. you're fired. you can't boss men after this. a boss, are you?" he demanded, with bitter irony. "all up and down this river, if you tried to boss men, they'd give you the grin and call you 'co boss'. they'd moo after you. look at 'em now. listen to 'em. get out of my sight. i don't forgive any man who goes against my word to him and then gets into trouble." he thrust kyle away with a force that sent the man staggering. he turned to the bashful chap, who had resumed his former demeanor of deprecation. "you're hired. you've showed that you can drive oxen and i reckon you can drive logs."
-the teamster was too thoroughly bulwarked by admirers to allow the rampant kyle an opportunity to get at him. and there was flagg to reckon with if violence should be attempted. the deposed first mate slunk away.
-"that, my men," proclaimed the master, "is what the big laugh can do to a boss. no man can be a boss for me after he gets that laugh. i reckon i've hired my crew," he went on, looking them over critically. "stand by to follow me north in the morning."
-when the autocrat of the noda strode away, a stalwart young man instantly obeyed flagg's command--seizing the occasion to follow then and there. he had been standing on the outskirts of the throng, surveying the happenings with great interest. the men who were in his immediate vicinity, lumberjacks who were strangers in the noda region, were plainly of his appanage and had obeyed his advice to keep out of the mêlée that had been provoked by flagg's methods of selection.
-when the big fellow hurried in pursuit of flagg a bystander put a question to one of the strangers.
-"you ought to know who he is," returned the questioned. "that's ward latisan."
-and just then, apart from the crowd, having overtaken the autocrat, the young man was informing flagg to that same effect.
-flagg halted, swung around, and rammed his cant dog into the ground. "you've changed from a sapling into fair-sized timber since i saw you last. you look like old john, and that's compliment enough, i reckon. how do you happen to be over in the noda country?"
-"i don't happen! i heard of the word you sent out. i came here on purpose, sir."
-"to hire with you."
-flagg looked latisan up and down and showed no enthusiasm. "yes, i heard that you and your father had let the three c's slam you flat. and what makes you think i want that kind of a quitter in my crew?"
-ward met the disparaging stare with a return display of undaunted challenge. "because i belong in the crew of a man who is proposing to fight the three c's."
-latisan kept on. "you have been hiring men because they have been parading a lot of little grouches against the comas folks. you need a man who has a real reason for going up against that outfit. and i'm the man."
-"what you think about yourself and what i may think about you are two different things," retorted flagg, with insolence. "looks to me like you had got the big laugh over in your section. you have probably noticed what i just did in a case of that sort."
-"i took it all in, sir."
-"well, what then?"
-"they are not laughing with us or against us over in the tomah, mr. flagg. they all know what happened, and that we fought the comas fair and square as long as we could keep on our feet. it was a trick that licked us. craig held out the walpole heir on us."
-"i know about it; i manage to get most of the news." flagg started to go on his way, but ward put his clutch on the autocrat's arm.
-"pardon me, mr. flagg, but you're going to hear what i have to ask of you."
-mere apologetic suit would not have served with flagg. he found this bold young man patterning after the flagg methods in dealings with men. the boldness of the grip on his arm gained more effectively than pleading.
-"ask it. i'm in a hurry."
-"you have fired kyle. i want his place."
-"well, i'll be----"
-"you needn't be, sir. i'm a latisan and i have bossed our drives. i have brought along a bunch of my own men who have bucked white water with me and are with me now in standing up for the principle of the independents. allow me to say that luck is with you. here's your chance to get hold of a man who can put heart and soul into this fight you're going to make."
-"and now go on and tell me how much you admire me," suggested flagg, sarcastically.
-"i can't do that, sir. i'm going to tell you frankly i don't relish what i have heard about you. it's for no love of you that i'm asking for a chance to go up against the comas people. it's because you're hard--hard enough to suit me--hard enough to let me go to it and show the three c's they can't get away with what they're trying to do up here through rufus craig."
-"all right. you're hired. you've got ben kyle's job," stated flagg.
-latisan was not astonished by this precipitate come-about. he was prepared for flagg's tactics by what he had set himself to learn about the autocrat's nature--quick to adjudge, tenacious in his grudges, inflexible in his opinion, bitterly ruthless when he had set himself in the way his prejudices selected.
-"you have seen what happened to kyle. can you govern yourself accordingly?" flagg in his turn had set his grip on ward's arm.
-"i'll kick you out just as sudden as i kicked him if anything happens to make men give you the grin. can you start north with me in the morning?"
-"now or in the morning; it makes no difference to me, sir."
-flagg shifted his hand from ward's arm to the young man's shoulder and propelled him back a few paces toward the crowd in front of the tavern. "listen, one and all! here's my drive boss. he's old john latisan's grandson. if that isn't introduction enough, ask questions about old john from those who remember him; this chap is like his grandfather."
-latisan went into the tavern after flagg had marched away to the big house on the ledges. the crowd made way for the new drive boss; those in his path stared at him with interest; mumble of comment followed as the men closed in behind him. when he sat down in a corner of the tavern office and lighted his pipe his subalterns showed him deference by leaving him to himself. that isolation gave landlord brophy his opportunity to indulge his bent in gossip unheard by interlopers.
-brophy plucked a cigar from a box in the little case on the desk and sat down beside ward. "i sympathize with you," he said by way of backhanded congratulation.
-"i was born in this tavern; my father built it and run it before me," said brophy, tucking his cigar through the shrubbery of his gray mustache. "and so i've had the chance to know ech flagg a good many years. he's a turk."
-"i have heard so."
-"he has always had a razor edge to his temper. maybe you know what put the wire edge onto it?" it was query with the cock of an eyebrow accompanying.
-"what i know about mr. flagg is only a general reputation of being a hard man. i can say that much to you because i told him the same thing. and that's as far as i care to gossip about an employer," stated ward, stiffly.
-"i'm not at all likely to," snapped latisan, with asperity.
-"oh, such a subject is easy out when folks get to going confidential," pursued the persistent brophy. the suggestion that he would ever be on confidential terms with flagg provoked an ill-tempered rebuke from ward, but brophy paid no attention.
-"eck's wife died when the daughter sylvia was small, and he sent the girl off to school somewheres when she was big enough to be sent. and she fell in with a dude kind of a fellow and came back home married to him. she was so much in love that she dared to do a thing like that with eck flagg--and that's being in love a whole lot, i'll say. well, none of us knew what was said back and forth in the family circle, but we figured that the new husband's cheeks didn't tingle with any kisses that eck gave him. at any rate, eck set kennard to work--that was the name, alfred kennard. eck was never much good at ciphering. office had been in his hip pocket, where he carried his timebook and his scale sheet. kennard had an education and it came about that eck let alf do the ciphering; then he let him keep the books; then he let him handle contracts and the money; then he gave him power of attorney so that alf wouldn't be hampered whilst eck was away in the woods. just handed everything over for the first and the only time in his life, figuring that it was all in the family. i guess that alf went to figuring the same way, seeing that he was good at figures; felt that what was eck's was his, or would be later--and alf proceeded to cash in. stole right and left, that was the amount of it. prob'ly reckoned he'd rather have a sore conscience than have his feelings all ripped to pieces when he asked eck for money.
-"we all knew when eck found out that he had been properly trimmed by the only man he had ever trusted.
-"it happened in the dooryard of the big house up there, when eck came home, wised up, and tackled alf. eck felt that the inside of the house might get mussed up by his language, so he stood in the yard and hollered for alf to come out. we all went up and stood around; it seemed to be a free show, all welcome. we got the full facts in the case from eck.
-"sylvia came out on the heels of alf, and she had with her the little lida, eck's granddaughter. and after eck had had his say to alf and had thrown him over the fence, he gave sylvia her choice--stay with her father or go away with alf. well, she had loved alf well enough to come home and face eck with him; she loved alf enough to turn her back on eck and face the world with her husband. natural, of course! eck tried to grab the little girl away--to save his own from the thieves, so he said. sylvia fought him off and hung to the girl. it was a tough sight, latisan! and he stood there and shook his fists and cast 'em all off for ever and aye. that's his nature--no allowance made if anybody does him dirt.
-"i'll admit that eck did make an allowance later, after alf died and the news of it got back here to adonia. lida was grown up to around sixteen by that time. i got this from rickety dick. know him?"
-latisan, relighting his pipe, shook his head with an indifferent wag.
-"well, you soon will. he cooks and waits and tends on eck. looks up to eck. loves eck--and that's going some! dick told me about the allowance eck made for once in his life after i had touched dick up by telling him that eck flagg never made an allowance to anybody. eck allowed to dick that lida was too young to choose the right way that day in the yard. when she had grown up eck sent old dick to hunt for her in the city, to tell her she could come back to him, now that she was old enough to make her choice. said sylvia couldn't come back. now that was a devil of a position to put a girl in. what? hey?"
-latisan nodded, displaying faint interest.
-"and sylvia right then was in bed with her never-get-over, so dick told me. of course lida wouldn't come back. and she was working her fingers to the bone to take care of her mother. old dick cried like a baby when he was telling me. he cries pretty easy, anyway. he never dared to give to eck the word that lida sent back. she's got the spirit of the flaggs, so i judge from what dick told me. she wouldn't even take the eggs and the truck dick lugged down, though dick had bought 'em with his own money; she thought the stuff came from her grandfather. dick had to hide 'em under the table when he came away. and so eck has crossed lida off for ever and aye. now that's some story, ain't it?"
-"i haven't enjoyed it," said ward, brusquely.
-"prob'ly not. i wasn't telling it thinking you'd give three cheers when i finished. but i've been warning you not to make a foolish break by stubbing your toe over the family topic. i've heard what has happened to the latisans over tomah way. you're our real sort, and i'm blasted sorry for you. i reckon you need a job and i'm trying to help you hold it. i like your looks, young latisan. i hate the comas crowd. craig has never set down to my table but what he has growled about the grub. the cheap rowdies he hires for his operations on these waters come through here with bootleg booze and try to wreck my house. i'd like to be friends with you, young latisan, and if you feel that way about it, put it there!"
-brophy held out a fat hand and latisan grasped it cordially.
-"in my position i hear all the news," stated the landlord. "i'll sift the wheat out of the chaff and hand you what's for your own good. and now you'll have to excuse me whilst i go and pound steak and dish up dinner and wait on the table. that's the trouble with running a tavern up here in the woods. i can't keep help of the girl kind. they either get homesick or get married."
-there was an ominous crash in the dining room.
-brophy swore roundly and extricated his rotund haunches from the arms of his chair. "there goes dirty-shirt sam! i have to double him as hostler and waiter. he'd smash the feed pails in the stable if they wasn't galvanized iron."
-he pounded with heavy gait across the office and flung open the dining-room door, disclosing a lop-sided youth who was listlessly kicking broken dishes into a pile.
-"you're fourteen dollars behind your wages, already, with dishes you've dropped and smashed," shouted brophy. "i'd give a thousand dollars for the right kind of a girl to stay here and wait on tables if she wouldn't get married or homesick. i'll make it a standing offer." he cuffed the youth in a circle around the heap of broken crockery and went on his way to the kitchen.
-latisan smoked and reflected on the nature of echford flagg as brophy had exposed it from the family standpoint.
-then he looked at the sullen youth who was sweeping up the fragments of the dishes. the whimsical notion occurred to ward that he might post brophy on the advantages of a cafeteria plan of operating his hostelry. but he had by these thoughts summoned the memory of one certain cafeteria, and of a handsome girl who sat across from him and who had so suddenly been swallowed up in the vortex of the city throngs--gone forever--only a memory that troubled him so much and so often that he was glad when his own tomah men appeared to him, asking for commands and taking his mind off a constantly nagging regret.
-the set-off of the flagg expedition in the gray of early dawn had an element of picaresque adventure about it.
-latisan was making an estimate of his crew while he mixed with the men, checking them up, as they assembled again in front of the tavern of adonia. old cap'n blackbeard would have cheerfully certified to the eminent fitness of many of them for conscienceless deeds of derring-do. the nature of flagg's wide-flung summons and his provocative method of selection must needs bring into one band most of the toughest nuts of the region, latisan reflected, and he had brought no milk-and-water chaps from the tomah. he had come prepared for what was to face him. he had led his willing men in more or less desperate adventures in his own region; his clan had been busy passing the word among the strangers that old john latisan's grandson was a chief who had the real and the right stuff in him. it was plain that all the men of the crew were receiving the information with enthusiasm. some of them ventured to pat him on the shoulder and volunteered profane promises to go with him to the limit. they did not voice any loyalty to flagg. flagg was not a man to inspire anything except perfunctory willingness to earn wages. the men saw real adventure ahead if they followed at the back of a heroic youth who was avenging the wrongs dealt to his family fortunes.
-there were choruses of old river chanteys while the men waited for the sleds. a devil-may-care spirit had taken possession of the crew. latisan began to feel like the brigand chief of bravos.
-he was jubilantly informed by one enthusiast that they were all in luck--that larry o'gorman, the woods poet, had picked that crew as his own for that season on the river.
-the songs of larry o'gorman are sung from the mirimichi to the megantic. he is analyst as well as bard. he makes it a point--and he still lives and sings--to attach himself only to forces which can inspire his lyre.
-it was conveyed to the new boss that already was larry busy on a new song. ward, his attention directed, beheld the lyricist seated on the edge of the tavern porch, absorbed in composition, writing slowly on the planed side of a bit of board, licking the end of a stubby pencil, rolling his eyes as he sought inspiration.
-a bit later larry rehearsed his choristers and latisan heard the song.
-come, all ye bold and bully boys--come lis-sun unto me! 'tis all abowit young latis-an, a riverman so free. white water, wet water, he never minds its roar, 'cause he'll take and he'll kick a bubble up and ride all safe to shore. come, all, and riffle the ledges! come, all, and bust the jam! and for all o' the bluff o' the comas crowd we don't give one good-- hoot, toot, and a hoorah! we don't give a tinker's dam.
-every man in the crowd was able to come in on the simple chorus.
-they were singing when echford flagg appeared to them. he was riding on a jumper, with runners under it, and he was galloping his strapping bay horses down from the big house on the ledges. on the bare ground the runners shrieked, and he snapped his whip over the heads of the horses.
-"what is this, a singing school or a driving crew?" he demanded, raucously.
-"the sleds have just come, sir," explained latisan, who had been marshaling the conveyances.
-"listen, all ye!" shouted flagg. "nothing but dunnage bags go on those sleds till the runners hit the woods tote road and there's good slipping on the snow. the man who doesn't hoof it till then hears from me."
-he ordered latisan to get onto the jumper seat beside him, slashed his horses with the whip, and led the way toward the north.
-there was no word between the two for many a mile.
-near noon they arrived at a wayside baiting place, a log house in a clearing. they ate there and the horses were fed. there was plenty of snow in the woods and the first rains of april had iced the surface so that the slipping had been good.
-as if the chewing of food had unlocked flagg's close-set jaws, he talked a bit to latisan after the meal and while the horses were put to the jumper.
-"i'm going to swing off here and ride down to skulltree dam. i'm hearing reports of something going on there."
-they heard something very definite in the way of reports before they reached skulltree. the sound of explosions came booming through the trees. it was dynamite. its down-thrusting thud on the frozen ground was unmistakable.
-"i knew that all those boxes of canned thunder that have been going through adonia, with the three c's on the lid, weren't intended to blow up log jams," vouchsafed flagg, after a few oaths to spice his opinion of the comas company.
-latisan knew something about the lay of the land at skulltree, himself. when he was a young chap the latisans had operated in a small way as a side-line on the noda waters. there was a rift in the watershed near skulltree. there was a cañon leading down to the tomah end, and the waters of the gorge were fed by a chain of ponds whose master source was near the noda. the latisans had hauled over to the pond from the noda valley.
-when flagg pulled his horses to a halt on the edge of a cliff which commanded a view of the skulltree and its purlieus, he sat in silence for five minutes until he had taken in every detail of what was going on there.
-every little while there was an explosion across the river among the trees, and clotted frozen earth and rocks shot up into the air. when the horses leaped in fright flagg slashed them and swore. it was plain that his ire was mounting as he made sure of what was taking place.
-"by the red-hot hinges of tophet!" bawled flagg, having made sure that the enormity he was viewing was not a dream. he cut his whip under the bellies of his horses, one stroke to right and the other to left, and the animals went over the cliff and down the sharp slope, skating and floundering through the snow. the descent at that place would have been impossible for horses except for the snow which trigged feet and runners in some degree; it was damp and heavy; but the frantic threshing of the plunging beasts kicked up a smother of snow none the less. it was like a thunderbolt in a nimbus--the rush of flagg down the mountain.
-rufus craig was in the shack at the end of skulltree dam--his makeshift office. somebody called to him, and from his door he beheld the last stages of flagg's harebrained exploit, a veritable touch-and-go with death.
-"there ain't much doubt about who it is that's coming for a social call," said the understrapper who had summoned the field director. "and the question is whether he's bound for hell or skulltree."
-craig did not comment; he had the air of one who had been expecting a visitor of this sort and was not especially astonished by the mode of getting there suddenly, considering the spur for action.
-tempestuous was the rush of the horses across the narrow flats between the cliff and the end of the dam. so violently did flagg jerk them to a standstill in front of the shack, one horse fell and dragged down the other in a tangle of harness. flagg left them to struggle to their feet as best they were able. he leaped off the jumper and thrust with the handle of his whip in the direction of the dynamite operations.
-the old man's features were contorted into an arabesque--a pattern of maniacal rage. his face was purple and its hue was deepened because it was set off against the snow which crusted his garments after his descent through the drifts. knotted veins stood out on his forehead. there was no coherence in the noises he was making in his effort to speak words. he kept jabbing with his whip handle.
-evidently craig's first thought was that the menace of the whip was for him; he half put up a curved arm to ward off blows. in spite of his attention to flagg he surveyed latisan with considerable astonishment.
-ward had not recovered his poise. a passenger is usually more perturbed than a driver in desperate situations. that crazy dash down the cliff had frightened him into speechless and numb passivity. he still clung to the jumper seat with his stiffened fingers.
-"before you do anything you'll be sorry for, mr. flagg, let me assure you that we have the law behind us in what we're doing," suggested craig, with nervous haste. "the legislature extended our charter for development purposes and a special act protects us."
-erasmus, and professor of divinity at louvain, had, in 1514, in the name of his faculty, rebuked erasmus in a letter for the audacity of the praise of folly, his derision of divines and also his temerity in correcting the text of the new testament. erasmus had defended himself elaborately. at present war was being waged in a much wider field: for or against reuchlin, the great hebrew scholar, for whom the authors of the epistolae obscurorum virorum had so sensationally taken up the cudgels. at louvain erasmus was regarded with the same suspicion with which he distrusted dorp and the other louvain divines. he stayed during the remainder of 1516 and the first half of 1517 at antwerp, brussels and ghent, often in the house of peter gilles. in february 1517, there came tempting offers from france. budaeus, cop, étienne poncher, bishop of paris, wrote to him that the king, the youthful francis i, would present him with a generous prebend if he would come to paris. erasmus, always shy of being tied down, only wrote polite, evasive answers, and did not go.
-in the meantime he received the news of the papal absolution. in connection with this he had, once more, to visit england, little dreaming that it would be the last time he should set foot on british soil. in ammonius's house of saint stephen's chapel at westminster on 9 april 1517, the ceremony of absolution took place, ridding erasmus for good of the nightmare which had oppressed him since his youth. at last he was free!
-invitations and specious promises now came to him from all sides. mountjoy and wolsey spoke of high ecclesiastical honours which awaited him in england. budaeus kept pressing him to remove to france. cardinal ximenes wanted to attach him to the university of alcalá, in spain. the duke of saxony offered him a chair at leipzig. pirckheimer boasted of the perfections of the free imperial city of nuremberg. erasmus, meanwhile, overwhelmed again with the labour of writing and editing, according to his wont, did not definitely decline any of these offers; neither did he accept any. he always wanted to keep all his strings on his bow at the same time. in the early summer of 1517 he was asked to accompany the court of the youthful charles, who was on the point of leaving the netherlands for spain. but he declined. his departure to spain would have meant a long interruption of immediate contact with the great publishing centres, basle, louvain, strassburg, paris, and that, in turn, would have meant postponement of his life-work. when, in the beginning of july, the prince set out for middelburg, there to take ship for spain, erasmus started for louvain.
-he was thus destined to go to this university environment, although it displeased him in so many respects. there he would have academic duties, young latinists would follow him about to get their poems and letters corrected by him and all those divines, whom he distrusted, would watch him at close quarters. but it was only to be for a few months. 'i have removed to louvain', he writes to the archbishop of canterbury, 'till i shall decide which residence is best suited to old age, which is already knocking at the gate importunately.'
-the years 1516-18 may be called the culmination of erasmus's career. applauding crowds surrounded him more and more. the minds of men were seemingly prepared for something great to happen and they looked to erasmus as the man! at brussels, he was continually bothered with visits from spaniards, italians and germans who wanted to boast of their interviews with him. the spaniards, with their verbose solemnity, particularly bored him. most exuberant of all were the eulogies with which the german humanists greeted him in their letters. this had begun already on his first journey to basle in 1514. 'great rotterdamer', 'ornament of germany', 'ornament of the world' were some of the simplest effusions. town councils waited upon him, presents of wine and public banquets were of common occurrence. no one expresses himself so hyperbolically as the jurist ulrich zasius of freiburg. 'i am pointed out in public', he asserts, 'as the man who has received a letter from erasmus.' 'thrice greatest hero, you great jove' is a moderate apostrophe for him. 'the swiss', zwingli writes in 1516, 'account it a great glory to have seen erasmus.' 'i know and i teach nothing but erasmus now,' writes wolfgang capito. ulrich von hutten and henry glareanus both imagine themselves placed beside erasmus, as alcibiades stood beside socrates. and beatus rhenanus devotes to him a life of earnest admiration and helpfulness that was to prove of much more value than these exuberant panegyrics. there is an element of national exaltation in this german enthusiasm for erasmus: it is the violently stimulated mood into which luther's word will fall anon.
-the other nations also chimed in with praise, though a little later and a little more soberly. colet and tunstall promise him immortality, étienne poncher exalts him above the celebrated italian humanists, germain de brie declares that french scholars have ceased reading any authors but erasmus, and budaeus announces that all western christendom resounds with his name.
-this increase of glory manifested itself in different ways. almost every year the rumour of his death was spread abroad, malignantly, as he himself thinks. again, all sorts of writings were ascribed to him in which he had no share whatever, amongst others the epistolae obscurorum virorum.
-but, above all, his correspondence increased immensely. the time was long since past when he asked more to procure him more correspondents. letters now kept pouring in to him, from all sides, beseeching him to reply. a former pupil laments with tears that he cannot show a single note written by erasmus. scholars respectfully sought an introduction from one of his friends, before venturing to address him. in this respect erasmus was a man of heroic benevolence, and tried to answer what he could, although so overwhelmed by letters every day that he hardly found time to read them. 'if i do not answer, i seem unkind,' says erasmus, and that thought was intolerable.
-we should bear in mind that letter-writing, at that time, occupied more or less the place of the newspaper at present, or rather of the literary monthly, which arose fairly directly out of erudite correspondence. it was, as in antiquity--which in this respect was imitated better and more profitably, perhaps, than in any other sphere--an art. even before 1500 erasmus had, at paris, described that art in the treatise, de conscribendis epistolis, which was to appear in print in 1522. people wrote, as a rule, with a view to later publication, for a wider circle, or at any rate, with the certainty that the recipient would show the letter to others. a fine latin letter was a gem, which a man envied his neighbour. erasmus writes to budaeus: 'tunstall has devoured your letter to me and re-read it as many as three or four times; i had literally to tear it from his hands.'
-unfortunately fate did not always take into consideration the author's intentions as to publicity, semi-publicity or strict secrecy. often letters passed through many hands before reaching their destination, as did servatius's letter to erasmus in 1514. 'do be careful about letters,' he writes more than once; 'waylayers are on the lookout to intercept them.' yet, with the curious precipitation that characterizes him, erasmus was often very careless as to what he wrote. from an early age he preserved and cared for his letters, yet nevertheless, through his itinerant life, many were lost. he could not control their publication. as early as 1509 a friend sent him a manuscript volume of his own (erasmus's) letters, that he had picked up for sale at rome. erasmus had it burnt at once. since 1515 he himself superintended the publication of his letters; at first only a few important ones; afterwards in 1516 a selection of letters from friends to him, and after that ever larger collections till, at the end of his life, there appeared a new collection almost every year. no article was so much in demand on the book market as letters by erasmus, and no wonder. they were models of excellent style, tasteful latin, witty expression and elegant erudition.
-the semi-private, semi-public character of the letters often made them compromising. what one could say to a friend in confidence might possibly injure when many read it. erasmus, who never was aware how injuriously he expressed himself, repeatedly gave rise to misunderstanding and estrangement. manners, so to say, had not yet adapted themselves to the new art of printing, which increased the publicity of the written word a thousandfold. only gradually under this new influence was the separation effected between the public word, intended for the press, and the private communication, which remains in writing and is read only by the recipient.
-meanwhile, with the growth of erasmus's fame, his earlier writings, too, had risen in the public estimation. the great success of the enchiridion militis christiani had begun about 1515, when the times were much riper for it than eleven years before. 'the moria is embraced as the highest wisdom,' writes john watson to him in 1516. in the same year we find a word used, for the first time, which expresses better than anything else how much erasmus had become a centre of authority: erasmiani. so his german friends called themselves, according to johannes sapidus. more than a year later dr. johannes eck employs the word still in a rather friendly sense, as a generally current term: 'all scholars in germany are erasmians,' he says. but erasmus did not like the word. 'i find nothing in myself', he replies, 'why anyone should wish to be an erasmicus, and, altogether, i hate those party names. we are all followers of christ, and to his glory we all drudge, each for his part.' but he knows that now the question is: for or against him! from the brilliant latinist and the man of wit of his prime he had become the international pivot on which the civilization of his age hinged. he could not help beginning to feel himself the brain, the heart and the conscience of his times. it might even appear to him that he was called to speak the great redeeming word or, perhaps, that he had already spoken it. the faith in an easy triumph of pure knowledge and christian meekness in a near future speaks from the preface of erasmus's edition of the new testament.
-how clear did the future look in those years! in this period erasmus repeatedly reverts to the glad motif of a golden age, which is on the point of dawning. perennial peace is before the door. the highest princes of the world, francis i of france, charles, king of spain, henry viii of england, and the emperor maximilian have ensured peace by the strongest ties. uprightness and christian piety will flourish together with the revival of letters and the sciences. as at a given signal the mightiest minds conspire to restore a high standard of culture. we may congratulate the age, it will be a golden one.
-but erasmus does not sound this note long. it is heard for the last time in 1519; after which the dream of universal happiness about to dawn gives place to the usual complaint about the badness of the times everywhere.
-erasmus's mind: ethical and aesthetic tendencies, aversion to all that is unreasonable, silly and cumbrous--his vision of antiquity pervaded by christian faith--renascence of good learning--the ideal life of serene harmony and happy wisdom--love of the decorous and smooth--his mind neither philosophic nor historical, but strongly philological and moralistic--freedom, clearness, purity, simplicity--faith in nature--educational and social ideas
-what made erasmus the man from whom his contemporaries expected their salvation, on whose lips they hung to catch the word of deliverance? he seemed to them the bearer of a new liberty of the mind, a new clearness, purity and simplicity of knowledge, a new harmony of healthy and right living. he was to them as the possessor of newly discovered, untold wealth which he had only to distribute.
-what was there in the mind of the great rotterdamer which promised so much to the world?
-the negative aspect of erasmus's mind may be defined as a heartfelt aversion to everything unreasonable, insipid, purely formal, with which the undisturbed growth of medieval culture had overburdened and overcrowded the world of thought. as often as he thinks of the ridiculous text-books out of which latin was taught in his youth, disgust rises in his mind, and he execrates them--mammetrectus, brachylogus, ebrardus and all the rest--as a heap of rubbish which ought to be cleared away. but this aversion to the superannuated, which had become useless and soulless, extended much farther. he found society, and especially religious life, full of practices, ceremonies, traditions and conceptions, from which the spirit seemed to have departed. he does not reject them offhand and altogether: what revolts him is that they are so often performed without understanding and right feeling. but to his mind, highly susceptible to the foolish and ridiculous things, and with a delicate need of high decorum and inward dignity, all that sphere of ceremony and tradition displays itself as a useless, nay, a hurtful scene of human stupidity and selfishness. and, intellectualist as he is, with his contempt for ignorance, he seems unaware that those religious observances, after all, may contain valuable sentiments of unexpressed and unformulated piety.
-through his treatises, his letters, his colloquies especially, there always passes--as if one was looking at a gallery of brueghel's pictures--a procession of ignorant and covetous monks who by their sanctimony and humbug impose upon the trustful multitude and fare sumptuously themselves. as a fixed motif (such motifs are numerous with erasmus) there always recurs his gibe about the superstition that a person was saved by dying in the gown of a franciscan or a dominican.
-fasting, prescribed prayers, the observance of holy days, should not be altogether neglected, but they become displeasing to god when we repose our trust in them and forget charity. the same holds good of confession, indulgence, all sorts of blessings. pilgrimages are worthless. the veneration of the saints and of their relics is full of superstition and foolishness. the people think they will be preserved from disasters during the day if only they have looked at the painted image of saint christopher in the morning. 'we kiss the shoes of the saints and their dirty handkerchiefs and we leave their books, their most holy and efficacious relics, neglected.'
-erasmus's dislike of what seemed antiquated and worn out in his days, went farther still. it comprised the whole intellectual scheme of medieval theology and philosophy. in the syllogistic system he found only subtlety and arid ingenuity. all symbolism and allegory were fundamentally alien to him and indifferent, though he occasionally tried his hand at an allegory; and he never was mystically inclined.
-now here it is just as much the deficiencies of his own mind as the qualities of the system which made him unable to appreciate it. while he struck at the abuse of ceremonies and of church practices both with noble indignation and well-aimed mockery, a proud irony to which he was not fully entitled preponderates in his condemnation of scholastic theology which he could not quite understand. it was easy always to talk with a sneer of the conservative divines of his time as magistri nostri.
-his noble indignation hurt only those who deserved castigation and strengthened what was valuable, but his mockery hurt the good as well as the bad in spite of him, assailed both the institution and persons, and injured without elevating them. the individualist erasmus never understood what it meant to offend the honour of an office, an order, or an establishment, especially when that institution is the most sacred of all, the church itself.
-erasmus's conception of the church was no longer purely catholic. of that glorious structure of medieval-christian civilization with its mystic foundation, its strict hierarchic construction, its splendidly fitting symmetry he saw hardly anything but its load of outward details and ornament. instead of the world which thomas aquinas and dante had described, according to their vision, erasmus saw another world, full of charm and elevated feeling, and this he held up before his compatriots.
-it was the world of antiquity, but illuminated throughout by christian faith. it was a world that had never existed as such. for with the historical reality which the times of constantine and the great fathers of the church had manifested--that of declining latinity and deteriorating hellenism, the oncoming barbarism and the oncoming byzantinism--it had nothing in common. erasmus's imagined world was an amalgamation of pure classicism (this meant for him, cicero, horace, plutarch; for to the flourishing period of the greek mind he remained after all a stranger) and pure, biblical christianity. could it be a union? not really. in erasmus's mind the light falls, just as we saw in the history of his career, alternately on the pagan antique and on the christian. but the warp of his mind is christian; his classicism only serves him as a form, and from antiquity he only chooses those elements which in ethical tendency are in conformity with his christian ideal.
-and because of this, erasmus, although he appeared after a century of earlier humanism, is yet new to his time. the union of antiquity and the christian spirit which had haunted the mind of petrarch, the father of humanism, which was lost sight of by his disciples, enchanted as they were by the irresistible brilliance of the antique beauty of form, this union was brought about by erasmus.
-in order to understand erasmus's mind and the charm which it had for his contemporaries, one must begin with the ideal of life that was present before his inward eye as a splendid dream. it is not his own in particular. the whole renaissance cherished that wish of reposeful, blithe, and yet serious intercourse of good and wise friends in the cool shade of a house under trees, where serenity and harmony would dwell. the age yearned for the realization of simplicity, sincerity, truth and nature. their imagination was always steeped in the essence of antiquity, though, at heart, it is more nearly connected with medieval ideals than they themselves were aware. in the circle of the medici it is the idyll of careggi, in rabelais it embodies itself in the fancy of the abbey of thélème; it finds voice in more's utopia and in the work of montaigne. in erasmus's writings that ideal wish ever recurs in the shape of a friendly walk, followed by a meal in a garden-house. it is found as an opening scene of the antibarbari, in the numerous descriptions of meals with colet, and the numerous convivia of the colloquies. especially in the convivium religiosum erasmus has elaborately pictured his dream, and it would be worth while to compare it, on the one hand with thélème, and on the other with the fantastic design of a pleasure garden which bernard palissy describes. the little dutch eighteenth-century country-seats and garden-houses in which the national spirit took great delight are the fulfilment of a purely erasmian ideal. the host of the convivium religiosum says: 'to me a simple country-house, a nest, is pleasanter than any palace, and, if he be king who lives in freedom and according to his wishes, surely i am king here'.
-life's true joy is in virtue and piety. if they are epicureans who live pleasantly, then none are more truly epicureans than they who live in holiness and piety.
-the ideal joy of life is also perfectly idyllic in so far that it requires an aloofness from earthly concerns and contempt for all that is sordid. it is foolish to be interested in all that happens in the world; to pride oneself on one's knowledge of the market, of the king of england's plans, the news from rome, conditions in denmark. the sensible old man of the colloquium senile has an easy post of honour, a safe mediocrity, he judges no one and nothing and smiles upon all the world. quiet for oneself, surrounded by books--that is of all things most desirable.
-on the outskirts of this ideal of serenity and harmony numerous flowers of aesthetic value blow, such as erasmus's sense of decorum, his great need of kindly courtesy, his pleasure in gentle and obliging treatment, in cultured and easy manners. close by are some of his intellectual peculiarities. he hates the violent and extravagant. therefore the choruses of the greek drama displease him. the merit of his own poems he sees in the fact that they pass passion by, they abstain from pathos altogether--'there is not a single storm in them, no mountain torrent overflowing its banks, no exaggeration whatever. there is great frugality in words. my poetry would rather keep within bounds than exceed them, rather hug the shore than cleave the high seas.' in another place he says: 'i am always most pleased by a poem that does not differ too much from prose, but prose of the best sort, be it understood. as philoxenus accounted those the most palatable fishes that are no true fishes and the most savoury meat what is no meat, the most pleasant voyage, that along the shores, and the most agreeable walk, that along the water's edge; so i take especial pleasure in a rhetorical poem and a poetical oration, so that poetry is tasted in prose and the reverse.' that is the man of half-tones, of fine shadings, of the thought that is never completely expressed. but he adds: 'farfetched conceits may please others; to me the chief concern seems to be that we draw our speech from the matter itself and apply ourselves less to showing off our invention than to present the thing.' that is the realist.
-from this conception results his admirable, simple clarity, the excellent division and presentation of his argument. but it also causes his lack of depth and the prolixity by which he is characterized. his machine runs too smoothly. in the endless apologiae of his later years, ever new arguments occur to him; new passages to point, or quotations to support, his idea. he praises laconism, but never practises it. erasmus never coins a sentence which, rounded off and pithy, becomes a proverb and in this manner lives. there are no current quotations from erasmus. the collector of the adagia has created no new ones of his own.
-the true occupation for a mind like his was paraphrasing, in which, indeed, he amply indulged. soothing down and unfolding was just the work he liked. it is characteristic that he paraphrased the whole new testament except the apocalypse.
-erasmus's mind was neither philosophic nor historic. his was neither the work of exact, logical discrimination, nor of grasping the deep sense of the way of the world in broad historical visions in which the particulars themselves, in their multiplicity and variegation, form the image. his mind is philological in the fullest sense of the word. but by that alone he would not have conquered and captivated the world. his mind was at the same time of a deeply ethical and rather strong aesthetic trend and those three together have made him great.
-the foundation of erasmus's mind is his fervent desire of freedom, clearness, purity, simplicity and rest. it is an old ideal of life to which he gave new substance by the wealth of his mind. without liberty, life is no life; and there is no liberty without repose. the fact that he never took sides definitely resulted from an urgent need of perfect independence. each engagement, even a temporary one, was felt as a fetter by erasmus. an interlocutor in the colloquies, in which he so often, spontaneously, reveals his own ideals of life, declares himself determined neither to marry, nor to take holy orders, nor to enter a monastery, nor into any connection from which he will afterwards be unable to free himself--at least not before he knows himself completely. 'when will that be? never, perhaps.' 'on no other account do i congratulate myself more than on the fact that i have never attached myself to any party,' erasmus says towards the end of his life.
-liberty should be spiritual liberty in the first place. 'but he that is spiritual judgeth all things, yet he himself is judged of no man,' is the word of saint paul. to what purpose should he require prescriptions who, of his own accord, does better things than human laws require? what arrogance it is to bind by institutions a man who is clearly led by the inspirations of the divine spirit!
-in erasmus we already find the beginning of that optimism which judges upright man good enough to dispense with fixed forms and rules. as more, in utopia, and rabelais, erasmus relies already on the dictates of nature, which produces man as inclined to good and which we may follow, provided we are imbued with faith and piety.
-in this line of confidence in what is natural and desire of the simple and reasonable, erasmus's educational and social ideas lie. here he is far ahead of his times. it would be an attractive undertaking to discuss erasmus's educational ideals more fully. they foreshadow exactly those of the eighteenth century. the child should learn in playing, by means of things that are agreeable to its mind, from pictures. its faults should be gently corrected. the flogging and abusive schoolmaster is erasmus's abomination; the office itself is holy and venerable to him. education should begin from the moment of birth. probably erasmus attached too much value to classicism, here as elsewhere: his friend peter gilles should implant the rudiments of the ancient languages in his two-year-old son, that he may greet his father with endearing stammerings in greek and latin. but what gentleness and clear good sense shines from all erasmus says about instruction and education!
-the same holds good of his views about marriage and woman. in the problem of sexual relations he distinctly sides with the woman from deep conviction. there is a great deal of tenderness and delicate feeling in his conception of the position of the girl and the woman. few characters of the colloquies have been drawn with so much sympathy as the girl with the lover and the cultured woman in the witty conversation with the abbot. erasmus's ideal of marriage is truly social and hygienic. let us beget children for the state and for christ, says the lover, children endowed by their upright parents with a good disposition, children who see the good example at home which is to guide them. again and again he reverts to the mother's duty to suckle the child herself. he indicates how the house should be arranged, in a simple and cleanly manner; he occupies himself with the problem of useful children's dress. who stood up at that time, as he did, for the fallen girl, and for the prostitute compelled by necessity? who saw so clearly the social danger of marriages of persons infected with the new scourge of europe, so violently abhorred by erasmus? he would wish that such a marriage should at once be declared null and void by the pope. erasmus does not hold with the easy social theory, still quite current in the literature of his time, which casts upon women all the blame of adultery and lewdness. with the savages who live in a state of nature, he says, the adultery of men is punished, but that of women is forgiven.
-here it appears, at the same time, that erasmus knew, be it half in jest, the conception of natural virtue and happiness of naked islanders in a savage state. it soon crops up again in montaigne and the following centuries develop it into a literary dogma.
-erasmus's mind: intellectual tendencies--the world encumbered by beliefs and forms--truth must be simple--back to the pure sources--holy scripture in the original languages--biblical humanism--critical work on the texts of scripture--practice better than dogma--erasmus's talent and wit--delight in words and things--prolixity--observation of details--a veiled realism--ambiguousness--the 'nuance'--inscrutability of the ultimate ground of all things
-simplicity, naturalness, purity, and reasonableness, those are to erasmus the dominant requirements, also when we pass from his ethical and aesthetic concepts to his intellectual point of view; indeed, the two can hardly be kept apart.
-the world, says erasmus, is overloaded with human constitutions and opinions and scholastic dogmas, and overburdened with the tyrannical authority of orders, and because of all this the strength of gospel doctrine is flagging. faith requires simplification, he argued. what would the turks say of our scholasticism? colet wrote to him one day: 'there is no end to books and science. let us, therefore, leave all roundabout roads and go by a short cut to the truth.'
-truth must be simple. 'the language of truth is simple, says seneca; well then, nothing is simpler nor truer than christ.' 'i should wish', erasmus says elsewhere, 'that this simple and pure christ might be deeply impressed upon the mind of men, and that i deem best attainable in this way, that we, supported by our knowledge of the original languages, should philosophize at the sources themselves.'
-here a new watchword comes to the fore: back to the sources! it is not merely an intellectual, philological requirement; it is equally an ethical and aesthetic necessity of life. the original and pure, all that is not yet overgrown or has not passed through many hands, has such a potent charm. erasmus compared it to an apple which we ourselves pick off the tree. to recall the world to the ancient simplicity of science, to lead it back from the now turbid pools to those living and most pure fountain-heads, those most limpid sources of gospel doctrine--thus he saw the task of divinity. the metaphor of the limpid water is not without meaning here; it reveals the psychological quality of erasmus's fervent principle.
-'how is it', he exclaims, 'that people give themselves so much trouble about the details of all sorts of remote philosophical systems and neglect to go to the sources of christianity itself?' 'although this wisdom, which is so excellent that once for all it put the wisdom of all the world to shame, may be drawn from these few books, as from a crystalline source, with far less trouble than is the wisdom of aristotle from so many thorny books and with much more fruit.... the equipment for that journey is simple and at everyone's immediate disposal. this philosophy is accessible to everybody. christ desires that his mysteries shall be spread as widely as possible. i should wish that all good wives read the gospel and paul's epistles; that they were translated into all languages; that out of these the husbandman sang while ploughing, the weaver at his loom; that with such stories the traveller should beguile his wayfaring.... this sort of philosophy is rather a matter of disposition than of syllogisms, rather of life than of disputation, rather of inspiration than of erudition, rather of transformation than of logic.... what is the philosophy of christ, which he himself calls renascentia, but the insaturation of nature created good?--moreover, though no one has taught us this so absolutely and effectively as christ, yet also in pagan books much may be found that is in accordance with it.'
-such was the view of life of this biblical humanist. as often as erasmus reverts to these matters, his voice sounds clearest. 'let no one', he says in the preface to the notes to the new testament, 'take up this work, as he takes up gellius's noctes atticae or poliziano's miscellanies.... we are in the presence of holy things; here it is no question of eloquence, these matters are best recommended to the world by simplicity and purity; it would be ridiculous to display human erudition here, impious to pride oneself on human eloquence.' but erasmus never was so eloquent himself as just then.
-what here raises him above his usual level of force and fervour is the fact that he fights a battle, the battle for the right of biblical criticism. it revolts him that people should study holy scripture in the vulgate when they know that the texts show differences and are corrupt, although we have the greek text by which to go back to the original form and primary meaning.
-he is now reproached because he dares, as a mere grammarian, to assail the text of holy scripture on the score of futile mistakes or irregularities. 'details they are, yes, but because of these details we sometimes see even great divines stumble and rave.' philological trifling is necessary. 'why are we so precise as to our food, our clothes, our money-matters and why does this accuracy displease us in divine literature alone? he crawls along the ground, they say, he wearies himself out about words and syllables! why do we slight any word of him whom we venerate and worship under the name of the word? but, be it so! let whoever wishes imagine that i have not been able to achieve anything better, and out of sluggishness of mind and coldness of heart or lack of erudition have taken this lowest task upon myself; it is still a christian idea to think all work good that is done with pious zeal. we bring along the bricks, but to build the temple of god.'
-he does not want to be intractable. let the vulgate be kept for use in the liturgy, for sermons, in schools, but he who, at home, reads our edition, will understand his own the better in consequence. he, erasmus, is prepared to render account and acknowledge himself to have been wrong when convicted of error.
-erasmus perhaps never quite realized how much his philological-critical method must shake the foundations of the church. he was surprised at his adversaries 'who could not but believe that all their authority would perish at once when the sacred books might be read in a purified form, and when people tried to understand them in the original'. he did not feel what the unassailable authority of a sacred book meant. he rejoices because holy scripture is approached so much more closely, because all sorts of shadings are brought to light by considering not only what is said but also by whom, for whom, at what time, on what occasion, what precedes and what follows, in short, by the method of historical philological criticism. to him it seemed so especially pious when reading scripture and coming across a place which seemed contrary to the doctrine of christ or the divinity of his nature, to believe rather that one did not understand the phrase or that the text might be corrupt. unperceived he passed from emendation of the different versions to the correction of the contents. the epistles were not all written by the apostles to whom they are attributed. the apostles themselves made mistakes, at times.
-the foundation of his spiritual life was no longer a unity to erasmus. it was, on the one hand, a strong desire for an upright, simple, pure and homely belief, the earnest wish to be a good christian. but it was also the irresistible intellectual and aesthetic need of the good taste, the harmony, the clear and exact expression of the ancients, the dislike of what was cumbrous and involved. erasmus thought that good learning might render good service for the necessary purification of the faith and its forms. the measure of church hymns should be corrected. that christian expression and classicism were incompatible, he never believed. the man who in the sphere of sacred studies asked every author for his credentials remained unconscious of the fact that he acknowledged the authority of the ancients without any evidence. how naïvely he appeals to antiquity, again and again, to justify some bold feat! he is critical, they say? were not the ancients critical? he permits himself to insert digressions? so did the ancients, etc.
-erasmus is in profound sympathy with that revered antiquity by his fundamental conviction that it is the practice of life which matters. not he is the great philosopher who knows the tenets of the stoics or peripatetics by rote--but he who expresses the meaning of philosophy by his life and his morals, for that is its purpose. he is truly a divine who teaches, not by artful syllogisms, but by his disposition, by his face and his eyes, by his life itself, that wealth should be despised. to live up to that standard is what christ himself calls renascentia. erasmus uses the word in the christian sense only. but in that sense it is closely allied to the idea of the renaissance as a historical phenomenon. the worldly and pagan sides of the renaissance have nearly always been overrated. erasmus is, much more than aretino or castiglione, the representative of the spirit of his age, one over whose christian sentiment the sweet gale of antiquity had passed. and that very union of strong christian endeavour and the spirit of antiquity is the explanation of erasmus's wonderful success.
-the mere intention and the contents of the mind do not influence the world, if the form of expression does not cooperate. in erasmus the quality of his talent is a very important factor. his perfect clearness and ease of expression, his liveliness, wit, imagination, gusto and humour have lent a charm to all he wrote which to his contemporaries was irresistible and captivates even us, as soon as we read him. in all that constitutes his talent, erasmus is perfectly and altogether a representative of the renaissance. there is, in the first place, his eternal à propos. what he writes is never vague, never dark--it is always plausible. everything seemingly flows of itself like a fountain. it always rings true as to tone, turn of phrase and accent. it has almost the light harmony of ariosto. and it is, like ariosto, never tragic, never truly heroic. it carries us away, indeed, but it is never itself truly enraptured.
-the more artistic aspects of erasmus's talent come out most clearly--though they are everywhere in evidence--in those two recreations after more serious labour, the moriae encomium and the colloquia. but just those two have been of enormous importance for his influence upon his times. for while jerome reached tens of readers and the new testament hundreds, the moria and colloquies went out to thousands. and their importance is heightened in that erasmus has nowhere else expressed himself so spontaneously.
-in each of the colloquies, even in the first purely formulary ones, there is the sketch for a comedy, a novelette or a satire. there is hardly a sentence without its 'point', an expression without a vivid fancy. there are unrivalled niceties. the abbot of the abbatis et eruditae colloquium is a molière character. it should be noticed how well erasmus always sustains his characters and his scenes, because he sees them. in 'the woman in childbed' he never forgets for a moment that eutrapelus is an artist. at the end of 'the game of knucklebones', when the interlocutors, after having elucidated the whole nomenclature of the latin game of knuckle-bones, are going to play themselves, carolus says: 'but shut the door first, lest the cook should see us playing like two boys'.
-as holbein illustrated the moria, we should wish to possess the colloquia with illustrations by brueghel, so closely allied is erasmus's witty clear vision of incidents to that of this great master. the procession of drunkards on palm sunday, the saving of the shipwrecked crew, the old men waiting for the travelling cart while the drivers are still drinking, all these are dutch genre pieces of the best sort.
-we like to speak of the realism of the renaissance. erasmus is certainly a realist in the sense of having an insatiable hunger for knowledge of the tangible world. he wants to know things and their names: the particulars of each thing, be it never so remote, such as those terms of games and rules of games of the romans. read carefully the description of the decorative painting on the garden-house of the convivium religiosum: it is nothing but an object lesson, a graphic representation of the forms of reality.
-in its joy over the material universe and the supple, pliant word, the renaissance revels in a profusion of imagery and expressions. the resounding enumerations of names and things, which rabelais always gives, are not unknown to erasmus, but he uses them for intellectual and useful purposes. in de copia verborum ac rerum one feat of varied power of expression succeeds another--he gives fifty ways of saying: 'your letter has given me much pleasure,' or, 'i think that it is going to rain'. the aesthetic impulse is here that of a theme and variations: to display all the wealth and mutations of the logic of language. elsewhere, too, erasmus indulges this proclivity for accumulating the treasures of his genius; he and his contemporaries can never restrain themselves from giving all the instances instead of one: in ratio verae theologiae, in de pronuntiatione, in lingua, in ecclesiastes. the collections of adagia, parabolae, and apophthegmata are altogether based on this eagerness of the renaissance (which, by the way, was an inheritance of the middle ages themselves) to luxuriate in the wealth of the tangible world, to revel in words and things.
-the senses are open for the nice observation of the curious. though erasmus does not know that need of proving the secrets of nature, which inspired a leonardo da vinci, a paracelsus, a vesalius, he is also, by his keen observation, a child of his time. for peculiarities in the habits and customs of nations he has an open eye. he notices the gait of swiss soldiers, how dandies sit, how picards pronounce french. he notices that in old pictures the sitters are always represented with half-closed eyes and tightly shut lips, as signs of modesty, and how some spaniards still honour this expression in life, while german art prefers lips pouting as for a kiss. his lively sense of anecdote, to which he gives the rein in all his writings, belongs here.
-and, in spite of all his realism, the world which erasmus sees and renders, is not altogether that of the sixteenth century. everything is veiled by latin. between the author's mind and reality intervenes his antique diction. at bottom the world of his mind is imaginary. it is a subdued and limited sixteenth-century reality which he reflects. together with its coarseness he lacks all that is violent and direct in his times. compared with the artists, with luther and calvin, with the statesmen, the navigators, the soldiers and the scientists, erasmus confronts the world as a recluse. it is only the influence of latin. in spite of all his receptiveness and sensitiveness, erasmus is never fully in contact with life. all through his work not a bird sings, not a wind rustles.
-but that reserve or fear of directness is not merely a negative quality. it also results from a consciousness of the indefiniteness of the ground of all things, from the awe of the ambiguity of all that is. if erasmus so often hovers over the borderline between earnestness and mockery, if he hardly ever gives an incisive conclusion, it is not only due to cautiousness, and fear to commit himself. everywhere he sees the shadings, the blending of the meaning of words. the terms of things are no longer to him, as to the man of the middle ages, as crystals mounted in gold, or as stars in the firmament. 'i like assertions so little that i would easily take sides with the sceptics whereever it is allowed by the inviolable authority of holy scripture and the decrees of the church.' 'what is exempt from error?' all subtle contentions of theological speculation arise from a dangerous curiosity and lead to impious audacity. what have all the great controversies about the trinity and the virgin mary profited? 'we have defined so much that without danger to our salvation might have remained unknown or undecided.... the essentials of our religion are peace and unanimity. these can hardly exist unless we make definitions about as few points as possible and leave many questions to individual judgement. numerous problems are now postponed till the oecumenical council. it would be much better to put off such questions till the time when the glass shall be removed and the darkness cleared away, and we shall see god face to face.'
-'there are sanctuaries in the sacred studies which god has not willed that we should probe, and if we try to penetrate there, we grope in ever deeper darkness the farther we proceed, so that we recognize, in this manner, too, the inscrutable majesty of divine wisdom and the imbecility of human understanding.'
-erasmus's character: need of purity and cleanliness-- delicacy--dislike of contention, need of concord and friendship--aversion to disturbance of any kind--too much concerned about other men's opinions--need of self- justification--himself never in the wrong--correlation between inclinations and convictions--ideal image of himself--dissatisfaction with himself--self-centredness--a solitary at heart--fastidiousness--suspiciousness--morbid mistrust--unhappiness--restlessness--unsolved contradictions of his being--horror of lies--reserve and insinuation
-erasmus's powerful mind met with a great response in the heart of his contemporaries and had a lasting influence on the march of civilization. but one of the heroes of history he cannot be called. was not his failure to attain to still loftier heights partly due to the fact that his character was not on a level with the elevation of his mind?
-and yet that character, a very complicated one, though he took himself to be the simplest man in the world, was determined by the same factors which determined the structure of his mind. again and again we find in his inclinations the correlates of his convictions.
-at the root of his moral being we find--a key to the understanding of his character--that same profound need of purity which drove him to the sources of sacred science. purity in the material and the moral sense is what he desires for himself and others, always and in all things. few things revolt him so much as the practices of vintners who doctor wine and dealers who adulterate food. if he continually chastens his language and style, or exculpates himself from mistakes, it is the same impulse which prompts his passionate desire for cleanliness and brightness, of the home and of the body. he has a violent dislike of stuffy air and smelly substances. he regularly takes a roundabout way to avoid a malodorous lane; he loathes shambles and fishmongers' shops. fetors spread infection, he thinks. erasmus had, earlier than most people, antiseptic ideas about the danger of infection in the foul air of crowded inns, in the breath of confessants, in baptismal water. throw aside common cups, he pleaded; let everybody shave himself, let us be cleanly as to bed-sheets, let us not kiss each other by way of greeting. the fear of the horrible venereal disease, imported into europe during his lifetime, and of which erasmus watched the unbridled propagation with solicitude, increases his desire for purity. too little is being done to stop it, he thinks. he cautions against suspected inns; he wants to have measures taken against the marriages of syphilitic persons. in his undignified attitude towards hutten his physical and moral aversion to the man's evil plays an unmistakable part.
-his hygienics amount to temperance, cleanliness and fresh air, this last item in moderation: he takes the vicinity of the sea to be unwholesome and is afraid of draughts. his friend gilles, who is ill, he advises: 'do not take too much medicine, keep quiet and do not get angry'. though there is a 'praise of medicine' among his works, he does not think highly of physicians and satirizes them more than once in the colloquies.
-also in his outward appearance there were certain features betraying his delicacy. he was of medium height, well-made, of a fair complexion with blond hair and blue eyes, a cheerful face, a very articulate mode of speech, but a thin voice.
-in the moral sphere erasmus's delicacy is represented by his great need of friendship and concord, his dislike of contention. with him peace and harmony rank above all other considerations, and he confesses them to be the guiding principles of his actions. he would, if it might be, have all the world as a friend. 'wittingly i discharge no one from my friendship,' he says. and though he was sometimes capricious and exacting towards his friends, yet a truly great friend he was: witness the many who never forsook him, or whom he, after a temporary estrangement, always won back--more, peter gilles, fisher, ammonius, budaeus, and others too numerous to mention. 'he was most constant in keeping up friendships,' says beatus rhenanus, whose own attachment to erasmus is a proof of the strong affection he could inspire.
-at the root of this desire of friendship lies a great and sincere need of affection. remember the effusions of almost feminine affection towards servatius during his monastic period. but at the same time it is a sort of moral serenity that makes him so: an aversion to disturbance, to whatever is harsh and inharmonious. he calls it 'a certain occult natural sense' which makes him abhor strife. he cannot abide being at loggerheads with anyone. he always hoped and wanted, he says, to keep his pen unbloody, to attack no one, to provoke no one, even if he were attacked. but his enemies had not willed it, and in later years he became well accustomed to bitter polemics, with lefèvre d'étaples, with lee, with egmondanus, with hutten, with luther, with beda, with the spaniards, and the italians. at first it is still noticeable how he suffers by it, how contention wounds him, so that he cannot bear the pain in silence. 'do let us be friends again,' he begs lefèvre, who does not reply. the time which he had to devote to his polemics he regards as lost. 'i feel myself getting more heavy every day,' he writes in 1520, 'not so much on account of my age as because of the restless labour of my studies, nay more even by the weariness of disputes than by the work, which, in itself, is agreeable.' and how much strife was still in store for him then!
-if only erasmus had been less concerned about public opinion! but that seemed impossible: he had a fear of men, or, we may call it, a fervent need of justification. he would always see beforehand, and usually in exaggerated colours, the effect his word or deed would have upon men. of himself, it was certainly true as he once wrote: that the craving for fame has less sharp spurs than the fear of ignominy. erasmus is with rousseau among those who cannot bear the consciousness of guilt, out of a sort of mental cleanliness. not to be able to repay a benefit with interest, makes him ashamed and sad. he cannot abide 'dunning creditors, unperformed duty, neglect of the need of a friend'. if he cannot discharge the obligation, he explains it away. the dutch historian fruin has quite correctly observed: 'whatever erasmus did contrary to his duty and his rightly understood interests was the fault of circumstances or wrong advice; he is never to blame himself'. and what he has thus justified for himself becomes with him universal law: 'god relieves people of pernicious vows, if only they repent of them,' says the man who himself had broken a vow.
-there is in erasmus a dangerous fusion between inclination and conviction. the correlations between his idiosyncrasies and his precepts are undeniable. this has special reference to his point of view in the matter of fasting and abstinence from meat. he too frequently vents his own aversion to fish, or talks of his inability to postpone meals, not to make this connection clear to everybody. in the same way his personal experience in the monastery passes into his disapproval, on principle, of monastic life.
-the distortion of the image of his youth in his memory, to which we have referred, is based on that need of self-justification. it is all unconscious interpretation of the undeniable facts to suit the ideal which erasmus had made of himself and to which he honestly thinks he answers. the chief features of that self-conceived picture are a remarkable, simple sincerity and frankness, which make it impossible to him to dissemble; inexperience and carelessness in the ordinary concerns of life and a total lack of ambition. all this is true in the first instance: there is a superficial erasmus who answers to that image, but it is not the whole erasmus; there is a deeper one who is almost the opposite and whom he himself does not know because he will not know him. possibly because behind this there is a still deeper being, which is truly good.
-does he not ascribe weaknesses to himself? certainly. he is, in spite of his self-coddling, ever dissatisfied with himself and his work. putidulus, he calls himself, meaning the quality of never being content with himself. it is that peculiarity which makes him dissatisfied with any work of his directly after it has appeared, so that he always keeps revising and supplementing. 'pusillanimous' he calls himself in writing to colet. but again he cannot help giving himself credit for acknowledging that quality, nay, converting that quality itself into a virtue: it is modesty, the opposite of boasting and self-love.
-this bashfulness about himself is the reason that he does not love his own physiognomy, and is only persuaded with difficulty by his friends to sit for a portrait. his own appearance is not heroic or dignified enough for him, and he is not duped by an artist who flatters him: 'heigh-ho,' he exclaims, on seeing holbein's thumbnail sketch illustrating the moria: 'if erasmus still looked like that, he would take a wife at once'. it is that deep trait of dissatisfaction that suggests the inscription on his portraits: 'his writings will show you a better image'.
-erasmus's modesty and the contempt which he displays of the fame that fell to his lot are of a somewhat rhetorical character. but in this we should not so much see a personal trait of erasmus as a general form common to all humanists. on the other hand, this mood cannot be called altogether artificial. his books, which he calls his children, have not turned out well. he does not think they will live. he does not set store by his letters: he publishes them because his friends insist upon it. he writes his poems to try a new pen. he hopes that geniuses will soon appear who will eclipse him, so that erasmus will pass for a stammerer. what is fame? a pagan survival. he is fed up with it to repletion and would do nothing more gladly than cast it off.
-sometimes another note escapes him. if lee would help him in his endeavours, erasmus would make him immortal, he had told the former in their first conversation. and he threatens an unknown adversary, 'if you go on so impudently to assail my good name, then take care that my gentleness does not give way and i cause you to be ranked, after a thousand years, among the venomous sycophants, among the idle boasters, among the incompetent physicians'.
-the self-centred element in erasmus must needs increase accordingly as he in truth became a centre and objective point of ideas and culture. there really was a time when it must seem to him that the world hinged upon him, and that it awaited the redeeming word from him. what a widespread enthusiastic following he had, how many warm friends and venerators! there is something naïve in the way in which he thinks it requisite to treat all his friends, in an open letter, to a detailed, rather repellent account of an illness that attacked him on the way back from basle to louvain. his part, his position, his name, this more and more becomes the aspect under which he sees world-events. years will come in which his whole enormous correspondence is little more than one protracted self-defence.
-yet this man who has so many friends is nevertheless solitary at heart. and in the depth of that heart he desires to be alone. he is of a most retiring disposition; he is a recluse. 'i have always wished to be alone, and there is nothing i hate so much as sworn partisans.' erasmus is one of those whom contact with others weakens. the less he has to address and to consider others, friends or enemies, the more truly he utters his deepest soul. intercourse with particular people always causes little scruples in him, intentional amenities, coquetry, reticences, reserves, spiteful hits, evasions. therefore it should not be thought that we get to know him to the core from his letters. natures like his, which all contact with men unsettles, give their best and deepest when they speak impersonally and to all.
-after the early effusions of sentimental affection he no longer opens his heart unreservedly to others. at bottom he feels separated from all and on the alert towards all. there is a great fear in him that others will touch his soul or disturb the image he has made of himself. the attitude of warding off reveals itself as fastidiousness and as bashfulness. budaeus hit the mark when he exclaimed jocularly: 'fastidiosule! you little fastidious person!' erasmus himself interprets the dominating trait of his being as maidenly coyness. the excessive sensitiveness to the stain attaching to his birth results from it. but his friend ammonius speaks of his subrustica verecundia, his somewhat rustic gaucherie. there is, indeed, often something of the small man about erasmus, who is hampered by greatness and therefore shuns the great, because, at bottom, they obsess him and he feels them to be inimical to his being.
-it seems a hard thing to say that genuine loyalty and fervent gratefulness were strange to erasmus. and yet such was his nature. in characters like his a kind of mental cramp keeps back the effusions of the heart. he subscribes to the adage: 'love so, as if you may hate one day, and hate so, as if you may love one day'. he cannot bear benefits. in his inmost soul he continually retires before everybody. he who considers himself the pattern of simple unsuspicion, is indeed in the highest degree suspicious towards all his friends. the dead ammonius, who had helped him so zealously in the most delicate concerns, is not secure from it. 'you are always unfairly distrustful towards me,' budaeus complains. 'what!' exclaims erasmus, 'you will find few people who are so little distrustful in friendship as myself.'
-when at the height of his fame the attention of the world was indeed fixed on all he spoke or did, there was some ground for a certain feeling on his part of being always watched and threatened. but when he was yet an unknown man of letters, in his parisian years, we continually find traces in him of a mistrust of the people about him that can only be regarded as a morbid feeling. during the last period of his life this feeling attaches especially to two enemies, eppendorf and aleander. eppendorf employs spies everywhere who watch erasmus's correspondence with his friends. aleander continually sets people to combat him, and lies in wait for him wherever he can. his interpretation of the intentions of his assailants has the ingenious self-centred element which passes the borderline of sanity. he sees the whole world full of calumny and ambuscades threatening his peace: nearly all those who once were his best friends have become his bitterest enemies; they wag their venomous tongues at banquets, in conversation, in the confessional, in sermons, in lectures, at court, in vehicles and ships. the minor enemies, like troublesome vermin, drive him to weariness of life, or to death by insomnia. he compares his tortures to the martyrdom of saint sebastian, pierced by arrows. but his is worse, for there is no end to it. for years he has daily been dying a thousand deaths and that alone; for his friends, if such there are, are deterred by envy.
-he mercilessly pillories his patrons in a row for their stinginess. now and again there suddenly comes to light an undercurrent of aversion and hatred which we did not suspect. where had more good things fallen to his lot than in england? which country had he always praised more? but suddenly a bitter and unfounded reproach escapes him. england is responsible for his having become faithless to his monastic vows, 'for no other reason do i hate britain more than for this, though it has always been pestilent to me'.
-he seldom allows himself to go so far. his expressions of hatred or spite are, as a rule, restricted to the feline. they are aimed at friends and enemies, budaeus, lypsius, as well as hutten and beda. occasionally we are struck by the expression of coarse pleasure at another's misfortune. but in all this, as regards malice, we should not measure erasmus by our ideas of delicacy and gentleness. compared with most of his contemporaries he remains moderate and refined.
-erasmus never felt happy, was never content. this may perhaps surprise us for a moment, when we think of his cheerful, never-failing energy, of his gay jests and his humour. but upon reflection this unhappy feeling tallies very well with his character. it also proceeds from his general attitude of warding off. even when in high spirits he considers himself in all respects an unhappy man. 'the most miserable of all men, the thrice-wretched erasmus,' he calls himself in fine greek terms. his life 'is an iliad of calamities, a chain of misfortunes. how can anyone envy me?' to no one has fortune been so constantly hostile as to him. she has sworn his destruction, thus he sang in his youth in a poetical complaint addressed to gaguin: from earliest infancy the same sad and hard fate has been constantly pursuing him. pandora's whole box seems to have been poured out over him.
-that immoderate love of liberty had indeed been as fate to him. he had always been the great seeker of quiet and liberty who found liberty late and quiet never. by no means ever to bind himself, to incur no obligations which might become fetters--again that fear of the entanglements of life. thus he remained the great restless one. he was never truly satisfied with anything, least of all with what he produced himself. 'why, then, do you overwhelm us with so many books', someone at louvain objected, 'if you do not really approve of any of them?' and erasmus answers with horace's word: 'in the first place, because i cannot sleep'.
-a sleepless energy, it was that indeed. he cannot rest. still half seasick and occupied with his trunks, he is already thinking about an answer to dorp's letter, just received, censuring the moria. we should fully realize what it means that time after time erasmus, who, by nature, loved quiet and was fearful, and fond of comfort, cleanliness and good fare, undertakes troublesome and dangerous journeys, even voyages, which he detests, for the sake of his work and of that alone.
-he is not only restless, but also precipitate. helped by an incomparably retentive and capacious memory he writes at haphazard. he never becomes anacoluthic; his talent is too refined and sure for that; but he does repeat himself and is unnecessarily circumstantial. 'i rather pour out than write everything,' he says. he compares his publications to parturitions, nay, to abortions. he does not select his subjects, he tumbles into them, and having once taken up a subject he finishes without intermission. for years he has read only tumultuarie, up and down all literature; he no longer finds time really to refresh his mind by reading, and to work so as to please himself. on that account he envied budaeus.
-'do not publish too hastily,' more warns him: 'you are watched to be caught in inexactitudes.' erasmus knows it: he will correct all later, he will ever have to revise and to polish everything. he hates the labour of revising and correcting, but he submits to it, and works passionately, 'in the treadmill of basle', and, he says, finishes the work of six years in eight months.
-in that recklessness and precipitation with which erasmus labours there is again one of the unsolved contradictions of his being. he is precipitate and careless; he wants to be careful and cautious; his mind drives him to be the first, his nature restrains him, but usually only after the word has been written and published. the result is a continual intermingling of explosion and reserve.
-the way in which erasmus always tries to shirk definite statements irritates us. how carefully he always tries to represent the colloquies, in which he had spontaneously revealed so much of his inner convictions, as mere trifling committed to paper to please his friends. they are only meant to teach correct latin! and if anything is said in them touching matters of faith, it is not i who say it, is it? as often as he censures classes or offices in the adagia, princes above all, he warns the readers not to regard his words as aimed at particular persons.
-erasmus was a master of reserve. he knew, even when he held definite views, how to avoid direct decisions, not only from caution, but also because he saw the eternal ambiguity of human issues.
-erasmus ascribes to himself an unusual horror of lies. on seeing a liar, he says, he was corporeally affected. as a boy he already violently disliked mendacious boys, such as the little braggart of whom he tells in the colloquies. that this reaction of aversion is genuine is not contradicted by the fact that we catch erasmus himself in untruths. inconsistencies, flattery, pieces of cunning, white lies, serious suppression of facts, simulated sentiments of respect or sorrow--they may all be pointed out in his letters. he once disavowed his deepest conviction for a gratuity from anne of borselen by flattering her bigotry. he requested his best friend batt to tell lies in his behalf. he most sedulously denied his authorship of the julius dialogue, for fear of the consequences, even to more, and always in such a way as to avoid saying outright, 'i did not write it'. those who know other humanists, and know how frequently and impudently they lied, will perhaps think more lightly of erasmus's sins.
-for the rest, even during his lifetime he did not escape punishment for his eternal reserve, his proficiency in semi-conclusions and veiled truths, insinuations and slanderous allusions. the accusation of perfidy was often cast in his teeth, sometimes in serious indignation. 'you are always engaged in bringing suspicion upon others,' edward lee exclaims. 'how dare you usurp the office of a general censor, and condemn what you have hardly ever tasted? how dare you despise all but yourself? falsely and insultingly do you expose your antagonist in the colloquia.' lee quotes the spiteful passage referring to himself, and then exclaims: 'now from these words the world may come to know its divine, its censor, its modest and sincere author, that erasmian diffidence, earnest, decency and honesty! erasmian modesty has long been proverbial. you are always using the words "false accusations". you say: if i was consciously guilty of the smallest of all his (lee's) false accusations, i should not dare to approach the lord's table!--o man, who are you, to judge another, a servant who stands or falls before his lord?'
-this was the first violent attack from the conservative side, in the beginning of 1520, when the mighty struggle which luther's action had unchained kept the world in ever greater suspense. six months later followed the first serious reproaches on the part of radical reformers. ulrich von hutten, the impetuous, somewhat foggy-headed knight, who wanted to see luther's cause triumph as the national cause of germany, turns to erasmus, whom, at one time, he had enthusiastically acclaimed as the man of the new weal, with the urgent appeal not to forsake the cause of the reformation or to compromise it. 'you have shown yourself fearful in the affair of reuchlin; now in that of luther you do your utmost to convince his adversaries that you are altogether averse from it, though we know better. do not disown us. you know how triumphantly certain letters of yours are circulated, in which, to protect yourself from suspicion, you rather meanly fasten it on others ... if you are now afraid to incur a little hostility for my sake, concede me at least that you will not allow yourself, out of fear for another, to be tempted to renounce me; rather be silent about me.'
-those were bitter reproaches. in the man who had to swallow them there was a puny erasmus who deserved those reproaches, who took offence at them, but did not take them to heart, who continued to act with prudent reserve till hutten's friendship was turned to hatred. in him was also a great erasmus who knew how, under the passion and infatuation with which the parties combated each other, the truth he sought, and the love he hoped would subdue the world, were obscured; who knew the god whom he professed too high to take sides. let us try ever to see of that great erasmus as much as the petty one permits.
-erasmus at louvain, 1517--he expects the renovation of the church as the fruit of good learning--controversy with lefèvre d'étaples--second journey to basle, 1518--he revises the edition of the new testament--controversies with latomus, briard and lee--erasmus regards the opposition of conservative theology merely as a conspiracy against good learning
-when erasmus established himself at louvain in the summer of 1517 he had a vague presentiment that great changes were at hand. 'i fear', he writes in september, 'that a great subversion of affairs is being brought about here, if god's favour and the piety and wisdom of princes do not concern themselves about human matters.' but the forms which that great change would assume he did not in the least realize.
-he regarded his removal as merely temporary. it was only to last 'till we shall have seen which place of residence is best fit for old age, which is already knocking'. there is something pathetic in the man who desires nothing but quiet and liberty, and who through his own restlessness, and his inability not to concern himself about other people, never found a really fixed abode or true independence. erasmus is one of those people who always seem to say: tomorrow, tomorrow! i must first deal with this, and then ... as soon as he shall be ready with the new edition of the new testament and shall have extricated himself from troublesome and disagreeable theological controversies, in which he finds himself entangled against his wish, he will sleep, hide himself, 'sing for himself and the muses'. but that time never came.
-where to live when he shall be free? spain, to which cardinal ximenes called him, did not appeal to him. from germany, he says, the stoves and the insecurity deter him. in england the servitude which was required of him there revolted him. but in the netherlands themselves, he did not feel at his ease, either: 'here i am barked at a great deal, and there is no remuneration; though i desired it ever so much, i could not bear to stay there long'. yet he remained for four years.
-erasmus had good friends in the university of louvain. at first he put up with his old host johannes paludanus, rhetor of the university, whose house he exchanged that summer for quarters in the college of the lily. martin dorp, a dutchman like himself, had not been estranged from him by their polemics about the moria; his good will was of great importance to erasmus, because of the important place dorp occupied in the theological faculty. and lastly, though his old patron, adrian of utrecht, afterwards pope, had by that time been called away from louvain to higher dignities, his influence had not diminished in consequence, but rather increased; for just about that time he had been made a cardinal.
-erasmus was received with great complaisance by the louvain divines. their leader, the vice-chancellor of the university, jean briard of ath, repeatedly expressed his approval of the edition of the new testament, to erasmus's great satisfaction. soon erasmus found himself a member of the theological faculty. yet he did not feel at his ease among the louvain theologians. the atmosphere was a great deal less congenial to him than that of the world of the english scholars. here he felt a spirit which he did not understand and distrusted in consequence.
-in the years in which the reformation began, erasmus was the victim of a great misunderstanding, the result of the fact that his delicate, aesthetic, hovering spirit understood neither the profoundest depths of the faith nor the hard necessities of human society. he was neither mystic nor realist. luther was both. to erasmus the great problem of church and state and society, seemed simple. nothing was required but restoration and purification by a return to the original, unspoilt sources of christianity. a number of accretions to the faith, rather ridiculous than revolting, had to be cleared away. all should be reduced to the nucleus of faith, christ and the gospel. forms, ceremonies, speculations should make room for the practice of true piety. the gospel was easily intelligible to everybody and within everybody's reach. and the means to reach all this was good learning, bonae literae. had he not himself, by his editions of the new testament and of jerome, and even earlier by the now famous enchiridion, done most of what had to be done? 'i hope that what now pleases the upright, will soon please all.' as early as the beginning of 1517 erasmus had written to wolfgang fabricius capito, in the tone of one who has accomplished the great task. 'well then, take you the torch from us. the work will henceforth be a great deal easier and cause far less hatred and envy. we have lived through the first shock.'
-budaeus writes to tunstall in may 1517: 'was anyone born under such inauspicious graces that the dull and obscure discipline (scholasticism) does not revolt him, since sacred literature, too, cleansed by erasmus's diligence, has regained its ancient purity and brightness? but it is still much greater that he should have effected by the same labour the emergence of sacred truth itself out of that cimmerian darkness, even though divinity is not yet quite free from the dirt of the sophist school. if that should occur one day, it will be owing to the beginnings made in our times.' the philologist budaeus believed even more firmly than erasmus that faith was a matter of erudition.
-it could not but vex erasmus that not everyone accepted the cleansed truth at once. how could people continue to oppose themselves to what, to him, seemed as clear as daylight and so simple? he, who so sincerely would have liked to live in peace with all the world, found himself involved in a series of polemics. to let the opposition of opponents pass unnoticed was forbidden not only by his character, for ever striving to justify himself in the eyes of the world, but also by the custom of his time, so eager for dispute.
-there were, first of all, his polemics with jacques lefèvre d'étaples, or in latinized form, faber stapulensis, the parisian theologian, who as a preparer of the reformation may, more than anyone else, be ranked with erasmus. at the moment when erasmus got into the travelling cart which was to take him to louvain, a friend drew his attention to a passage in the new edition of faber's commentary on st. paul's epistles, in which he controverted erasmus's note on the second epistle to the hebrews, verse 7. erasmus at once bought faber's book, and soon published an apologia. it concerned christ's relation to god and the angels, but the dogmatic point at issue hinged, after all, on a philological interpretation of erasmus.
-not yet accustomed to much direct wrangling, erasmus was violently agitated by the matter, the more as he esteemed faber highly and considered him a congenial spirit. 'what on earth has occurred to the man? have others set him on against me? all theologians agree that i am right,' he asserts. it makes him nervous that faber does not reply again at once. badius has told peter gilles that faber is sorry about it. erasmus in a dignified letter appeals to their friendship; he will suffer himself to be taught and censured. then again he growls: let him be careful. and he thinks that his controversy with faber keeps the world in suspense: there is not a meal at which the guests do not side with one or the other of them. but finally the combat abated and the friendship was preserved.
-towards easter 1518, erasmus contemplated a new journey to basle, there to pass through the press, during a few months of hard labour, the corrected edition of the new testament. he did not fail to request the chiefs of conservative divinity at louvain beforehand to state their objections to his work. briard of ath declared he had found nothing offensive in it, after he had first been told all sorts of bad things about it. 'then the new edition will please you much better,' erasmus had said. his friend dorp and james latomus, also one of the chief divines, had expressed themselves in the same sense, and the carmelite nicholas of egmond had said that he had never read erasmus's work. only a young englishman, edward lee, who was studying greek at louvain, had summarized a number of criticisms into ten conclusions. erasmus had got rid of the matter by writing to lee that he had not been able to get hold of his conclusions and therefore could not make use of them. but his youthful critic had not put up with being slighted so, and worked out his objections in a more circumstantial treatise.
-thus erasmus set out for basle once more in may 1518. he had been obliged to ask all his english friends (of whom ammonius had been taken from him by death in 1517) for support to defray the expenses of the journey; he kept holding out to them the prospect that, after his work was finished, he would return to england. in a letter to martin lypsius, as he was going up the rhine, he answered lee's criticism, which had irritated him extremely. in revising his edition he not only took it but little into account, but ventured, moreover, this time to print his own translation of the new testament of 1506 without any alterations. at the same time he obtained for the new edition a letter of approval from the pope, a redoubtable weapon against his cavillers.
-at basle erasmus worked again like a horse in a treadmill. but he was really in his element. even before the second edition of the new testament, the enchiridion and the institutio principis christiani were reprinted by froben. on his return journey, erasmus, whose work had been hampered all through the summer by indisposition, and who had, on that account, been unable to finish it, fell seriously ill. he reached louvain with difficulty (21 september 1518). it might be the pestilence, and erasmus, ever much afraid of contagion himself, now took all precautions to safeguard his friends against it. he avoided his quarters in the college of the lily, and found shelter with his most trusted friend, dirck maertensz, the printer. but in spite of rumours of the plague and his warnings, first dorp and afterwards also ath came, at once, to visit him. evidently the louvain professors did not mean so badly by him, after all.
-but the differences between erasmus and the louvain faculty were deeply rooted. lee, hurt by the little attention paid by erasmus to his objections, prepared a new critique, but kept it from erasmus, for the present, which irritated the latter and made him nervous. in the meantime a new opponent arose. directly after his return to louvain, erasmus had taken much trouble to promote the establishment of the collegium trilingue, projected and endowed by jerome busleiden, in his testament, to be founded in the university. the three biblical languages, hebrew, greek and latin, were to be taught there. now when james latomus, a member of the theological faculty and a man whom he esteemed, in a dialogue about the study of those three languages and of theology, doubted the utility of the former, erasmus judged himself concerned, and answered latomus in an apologia. about the same time (spring 1519) he got into trouble with the vice-chancellor himself. erasmus thought that ath had publicly censured him with regard to his 'praise of marriage', which had recently appeared. though ath withdrew at once, erasmus could not abstain from writing an apologia, however moderate. meanwhile the smouldering quarrel with lee assumed ever more hateful forms. in vain did erasmus's english friends attempt to restrain their young, ambitious compatriot. erasmus on his part irritated him furtively. he reveals in this whole dispute a lack of self-control and dignity which shows his weakest side. usually so anxious as to decorum he now lapses into invectives: the british adder, satan, even the old taunt ascribing a tail to englishmen has to serve once more. the points at issue disappear altogether behind the bitter mutual reproaches. in his unrestrained anger, erasmus avails himself of the most unworthy weapons. he eggs his german friends on to write against lee and to ridicule him in all his folly and brag, and then he assures all his english friends: 'all germany is literally furious with lee; i have the greatest trouble in keeping them back'.
-alack! germany had other causes of disturbance: it is 1520 and the three great polemics of luther were setting the world on fire.
-though one may excuse the violence and the petty spitefulness of erasmus in this matter, as resulting from an over-sensitive heart falling somewhat short in really manly qualities, yet it is difficult to deny that he failed completely to understand both the arguments of his adversaries and the great movements of his time.
-it was very easy for erasmus to mock the narrow-mindedness of conservative divines who thought that there would be an end to faith in holy scripture as soon as the emendation of the text was attempted. '"they correct the holy gospel, nay, the pater noster itself!" the preacher exclaims indignantly in the sermon before his surprised congregation. as if i cavilled at matthew and luke, and not at those who, out of ignorance and carelessness, have corrupted them. what do people wish? that the church should possess holy scripture as correct as possible, or not?' this reasoning seemed to erasmus, with his passionate need of purity, a conclusive refutation. but instinct did not deceive his adversaries, when it told them that doctrine itself was at stake if the linguistic judgement of a single individual might decide as to the correct version of a text. and erasmus wished to avoid the inferences which assailed doctrine. he was not aware of the fact that his conceptions of the church, the sacraments and the dogmas were no longer purely catholic, because they had become subordinated to his philological insight. he could not be aware of it because, in spite of all his natural piety and his fervent ethical sentiments, he lacked the mystic insight which is the foundation of every creed.
-it was this personal lack in erasmus which made him unable to understand the real grounds of the resistance of catholic orthodoxy. how was it possible that so many, and among them men of high consideration, refused to accept what to him seemed so clear and irrefutable! he interpreted the fact in a highly personal way. he, the man who would so gladly have lived in peace with all the world, who so yearned for sympathy and recognition, and bore enmity with difficulty, saw the ranks of haters and opponents increase about him. he did not understand how they feared his mocking acrimony, how many wore the scar of a wound that the moria had made. that real and supposed hatred troubled erasmus. he sees his enemies as a sect. it is especially the dominicans and the carmelites who are ill-affected towards the new scientific theology. just then a new adversary had arisen at louvain in the person of his compatriot nicholas of egmond, prior of the carmelites, henceforth an object of particular abhorrence to him. it is remarkable that at louvain erasmus found his fiercest opponents in some compatriots, in the narrower sense of the word: vincent dirks of haarlem, william of vianen, ruurd tapper. the persecution increases: the venom of slander spreads more and more every day and becomes more deadly; the greatest untruths are impudently preached about him; he calls in the help of ath, the vice-chancellor, against them. but it is no use; the hidden enemies laugh; let him write for the erudite, who are few; we shall bark to stir up the people. after 1520 he writes again and again: 'i am stoned every day'.
-but erasmus, however much he might see himself, not without reason, at the centre, could, in 1519 and 1520, no longer be blind to the fact that the great struggle did not concern him alone. on all sides the battle was being fought. what is it, that great commotion about matters of spirit and of faith?
-the answer which erasmus gave himself was this: it is a great and wilful conspiracy on the part of the conservatives to suffocate good learning and make the old ignorance triumph. this idea recurs innumerable times in his letters after the middle of 1518. 'i know quite certainly', he writes on 21 march 1519 to one of his german friends, 'that the barbarians on all sides have conspired to leave no stone unturned till they have suppressed bonae literae.' 'here we are still fighting with the protectors of the old ignorance'; cannot wolsey persuade the pope to stop it here? all that appertains to ancient and cultured literature is called 'poetry' by those narrow-minded fellows. by that word they indicate everything that savours of a more elegant doctrine, that is to say all that they have not learned themselves. all the tumult, the whole tragedy--under these terms he usually refers to the great theological struggle--originates in the hatred of bonae literae. 'this is the source and hot-bed of all this tragedy; incurable hatred of linguistic study and the bonae literae.' 'luther provokes those enemies, whom it is impossible to conquer, though their cause is a bad one. and meanwhile envy harasses the bonae literae, which are attacked at his (luther's) instigation by these gadflies. they are already nearly insufferable, when things do not go well with them; but who can stand them when they triumph? either i am blind, or they aim at something else than luther. they are preparing to conquer the phalanx of the muses.'
-this was written by erasmus to a member of the university of leipzig in december 1520. this one-sided and academic conception of the great events, a conception which arose in the study of a recluse bending over his books, did more than anything else to prevent erasmus from understanding the true nature and purport of the reformation.
-first years of the reformation
-about the close of 1516, erasmus received a letter from the librarian and secretary of frederick, elector of saxony, george spalatinus, written in the respectful and reverential tone in which the great man was now approached. 'we all esteem you here most highly; the elector has all your books in his library and intends to buy everything you may publish in future.' but the object of spalatinus's letter was the execution of a friend's commission. an augustinian ecclesiastic, a great admirer of erasmus, had requested him to direct his attention to the fact that in his interpretation of st. paul, especially in that of the epistle to the romans, erasmus had failed to conceive the idea of justitia correctly, had paid too little attention to original sin: he might profit by reading augustine.
-the nameless austin friar was luther, then still unknown outside the circle of the wittenberg university, in which he was a professor, and the criticism regarded the cardinal point of his hardly acquired conviction: justification by faith.
-erasmus paid little attention to this letter. he received so many of that sort, containing still more praise and no criticism. if he answered it, the reply did not reach spalatinus, and later erasmus completely forgot the whole letter.
-nine months afterwards, in september 1517, when erasmus had been at louvain for a short time, he received an honourable invitation, written by the first prelate of the empire, the young archbishop of mayence, albert of brandenburg. the archbishop would be pleased to see him on an occasion: he greatly admired his work (he knew it so little as to speak of erasmus's emendation of the old testament, instead of the new) and hoped that he would one day write some lives of saints in elegant style.
-the young hohenzoller, advocate of the new light of classical studies, whose attention had probably been drawn to erasmus by hutten and capito, who sojourned at his court, had recently become engaged in one of the boldest political and financial transactions of his time. his elevation to the see of mayence, at the age of twenty-four, had necessitated a papal dispensation, as he also wished to keep the archbishopric of magdeburg and the see of halberstadt. this accumulation of ecclesiastical offices had to be made subservient to the brandenburg policy which opposed the rival house of saxony. the pope granted the dispensation in return for a great sum of money, but to facilitate its payment he accorded to the archbishop a liberal indulgence for the whole archbishopric of mayence, magdeburg and the brandenburg territories. albert, to whom half the proceeds were tacitly left, raised a loan with the house of fugger, and this charged itself with the indulgence traffic.
-when in december 1517, erasmus answered the archbishop, luther's propositions against indulgences, provoked by the archbishop of mayence's instructions regarding their colportage, had already been posted up (31 october 1517), and were circulated throughout germany, rousing the whole church. they were levelled at the same abuses which erasmus combated, the mechanical, atomistical, and juridical conception of religion. but how different was their practical effect, as compared with erasmus's pacific endeavour to purify the church by lenient means!
-during the greater part of 1518, erasmus was too much occupied by his own affairs--the journey to basle and his red-hot labours there, and afterwards his serious illness--to concern himself much with luther's business. in march he sends luther's theses to more, without comment, and, in passing, complains to colet about the impudence with which rome disseminates indulgences. luther, now declared a heretic and summoned to appear at augsburg, stands before the legate cajetanus and refuses to recant. seething enthusiasm surrounds him. just about that time erasmus writes to one of luther's partisans, john lang, in very favourable terms about his work. the theses have pleased everybody. 'i see that the monarchy of the pope at rome, as it is now, is a pestilence to christendom, but i do not know if it is expedient to touch that sore openly. that would be a matter for princes, but i fear that these will act in concert with the pope to secure part of the spoils. i do not understand what possessed eck to take up arms against luther.' the letter did not find its way into any of the collections.
-the year 1519 brought the struggle attending the election of an emperor, after old maximilian had died in january, and the attempt of the curia to regain ground with lenity. germany was expecting the long-projected disputation between johannes eck and andreas karlstadt which, in truth, would concern luther. how could erasmus, who himself was involved that year in so many polemics, have foreseen that the leipzig disputation, which was to lead luther to the consequence of rejecting the highest ecclesiastical authority, would remain of lasting importance in the history of the world, whereas his quarrel with lee would be forgotten?
-on 28 march 1519 luther addressed himself personally to erasmus for the first time. 'i speak with you so often, and you with me, erasmus, our ornament and our hope; and we do not know each other as yet.' he rejoices to find that erasmus displeases many, for this he regards as a sign that god has blessed him. now that his, luther's, name begins to get known too, a longer silence between them might be wrongly interpreted. 'therefore, my erasmus, amiable man, if you think fit, acknowledge also this little brother in christ, who really admires you and feels friendly disposed towards you, and for the rest would deserve no better, because of his ignorance, than to lie, unknown, buried in a corner.'
-there was a very definite purpose in this somewhat rustically cunning and half ironical letter. luther wanted, if possible, to make erasmus show his colours, to win him, the powerful authority, touchstone of science and culture, for the cause which he advocated. in his heart luther had long been aware of the deep gulf separating him from erasmus. as early as march 1517, six months before his public appearance, he wrote about erasmus to john lang: 'human matters weigh heavier with him than divine,' an opinion that so many have pronounced about erasmus--obvious, and yet unfair.
-the attempt, on the part of luther, to effect a rapprochement was a reason for erasmus to retire at once. now began that extremely ambiguous policy of erasmus to preserve peace by his authority as a light of the world and to steer a middle course without committing himself. in that attitude the great and the petty side of his personality are inextricably intertwined. the error because of which most historians have seen erasmus's attitude towards the reformation either in far too unfavourable a light or--as for instance the german historian kalkoff--much too heroic and far-seeing, is that they erroneously regard him as psychologically homogeneous. just that he is not. his double-sidedness roots in the depths of his being. many of his utterances during the struggle proceed directly from his fear and lack of character, also from his inveterate dislike of siding with a person or a cause; but behind that is always his deep and fervent conviction that neither of the conflicting opinions can completely express the truth, that human hatred and purblindness infatuate men's minds. and with that conviction is allied the noble illusion that it might yet be possible to preserve the peace by moderation, insight, and kindliness.
-in april 1519 erasmus addressed himself by letter to the elector frederick of saxony, luther's patron. he begins by alluding to his dedication of suetonius two years before; but his real purpose is to say something about luther. luther's writings, he says, have given the louvain obscurants plenty of reason to inveigh against the bonae literae, to decry all scholars. he himself does not know luther and has glanced through his writings only cursorily as yet, but everyone praises his life. how little in accordance with theological gentleness it is to condemn him offhand, and that before the indiscreet vulgar! for has he not proposed a dispute, and submitted himself to everybody's judgement? no one has, so far, admonished, taught, convinced him. every error is not at once heresy.
-the best of christianity is a life worthy of christ. where we find that, we should not rashly suspect people of heresy. why do we so uncharitably persecute the lapses of others, though none of us is free from error? why do we rather want to conquer than cure, suppress than instruct?
-but he concludes with a word that could not but please luther's friends, who so hoped for his support. 'may the duke prevent an innocent man from being surrendered under the cloak of piety to the impiety of a few. this is also the wish of pope leo, who has nothing more at heart than that innocence be safe.'
-on the same day he writes to john lang, one of luther's friends and followers, a short note, not meant for publication: 'i hope that the endeavours of yourself and your party will be successful. here the papists rave violently.... all the best minds are rejoiced at luther's boldness: i do not doubt he will be careful that things do not end in a quarrel of parties!... we shall never triumph over feigned christians unless we first abolish the tyranny of the roman see, and of its satellites, the dominicans, the franciscans and the carmelites. but no one could attempt that without a serious tumult.'
-as the gulf widens, erasmus's protestations that he has nothing to do with luther become much more frequent. relations at louvain grow ever more disagreeable and the general sentiment about him ever more unkind. in august 1519 he turns to the pope himself for protection against his opponents. he still fails to see how wide the breach is. he still takes it all to be quarrels of scholars. king henry of england and king francis of france in their own countries have imposed silence upon the quarrellers and slanderers; if only the pope would do the same!
-in october he was once more reconciled with the louvain faculty. it was just at this time that colet died in london, the man who had, better perhaps than anyone else, understood erasmus's standpoint. kindred spirits in germany still looked up to erasmus as the great man who was on the alert to interpose at the right moment and who had made moderation the watchword, until the time should come to give his friends the signal.
-but in the increasing noise of the battle his voice already sounded less powerfully than before. a letter to cardinal albert of mayence, 19 october 1519, of about the same content as that of frederick of saxony written in the preceding spring, was at once circulated by luther's friends; and by the advocates of conservatism, in spite of the usual protestation, 'i do not know luther', it was made to serve against erasmus.
-it became more and more clear that the mediating and conciliatory position which erasmus wished to take up would soon be altogether untenable. the inquisitor jacob hoogstraten had come from cologne, where he was a member of the university, to louvain, to work against luther there, as he had worked against reuchlin. on 7 november 1519 the louvain faculty, following the example of that of cologne, proceeded to take the decisive step: the solemn condemnation of a number of luther's opinions. in future no place could be less suitable to erasmus than louvain, the citadel of action against reformers. it is surprising that he remained there another two years.
-the expectation that he would be able to speak the conciliating word was paling. for the rest he failed to see the true proportions. during the first months of 1520 his attention was almost entirely taken up by his own polemics with lee, a paltry incident in the great revolution. the desire to keep aloof got more and more the upper hand of him. in june he writes to melanchthon: 'i see that matters begin to look like sedition. it is perhaps necessary that scandals occur, but i should prefer not to be the author.' he has, he thinks, by his influence with wolsey, prevented the burning of luther's writings in england, which had been ordered. but he was mistaken. the burning had taken place in london, as early as 12 may.
-the best proof that erasmus had practically given up his hope to play a conciliatory part may be found in what follows. in the summer of 1520 the famous meeting between the three monarchs, henry viii, francis i and charles v, took place at calais. erasmus was to go there in the train of his prince. how would such a congress of princes--where in peaceful conclave the interests of france, england, spain, the german empire, and a considerable part of italy, were represented together--have affected erasmus's imagination, if his ideal had remained unshaken! but there are no traces of this. erasmus was at calais in july 1520, had some conversation with henry viii there, and greeted more, but it does not appear that he attached any other importance to the journey than that of an opportunity, for the last time, to greet his english friends.
-it was awkward for erasmus that just at this time, when the cause of faith took so much harsher forms, his duties as counsellor to the youthful charles, now back from spain to be crowned as emperor, circumscribed his liberty more than before. in the summer of 1520 appeared, based on the incriminating material furnished by the louvain faculty, the papal bull declaring luther to be a heretic, and, unless he should speedily recant, excommunicating him. 'i fear the worst for the unfortunate luther,' erasmus writes, 9 september 1520, 'so does conspiracy rage everywhere, so are princes incensed with him on all sides, and, most of all, pope leo. would luther had followed my advice and abstained from those hostile and seditious actions!... they will not rest until they have quite subverted the study of languages and the good learning.... out of the hatred against these and the stupidity of monks did this tragedy first arise.... i do not meddle with it. for the rest, a bishopric is waiting for me if i choose to write against luther.'
-indeed, erasmus had become, by virtue of his enormous celebrity, as circumstances would have it, more and more a valuable asset in the great policy of emperor and pope. people wanted to use his name and make him choose sides. and that he would not do for any consideration. he wrote evasively to the pope about his relations with luther without altogether disavowing him. how zealously he defends himself from the suspicion of being on luther's side as noisy monks make out in their sermons, who summarily link the two in their scoffing disparagement.
-but by the other side also he is pressed to choose sides and to speak out. towards the end of october 1520 the coronation of the emperor took place at aix-la-chapelle. erasmus was perhaps present; in any case he accompanied the emperor to cologne. there, on 5 november, he had an interview about luther with the elector frederick of saxony. he was persuaded to write down the result of that discussion in the form of twenty-two axiomata concerning luther's cause. against his intention they were printed at once.
-at cologne erasmus also met the man with whom, as a promising young humanist, fourteen years younger than himself, he had, for some months, shared a room in the house of aldus's father-in-law, at venice: hieronymus aleander, now sent to the emperor as a papal nuncio, to persuade him to conform his imperial policy to that of the pope, in the matter of the great ecclesiastical question, and give effect to the papal excommunication by the imperial ban.
-it must have been somewhat painful for erasmus that his friend had so far surpassed him in power and position, and was now called to bring by diplomatic means the solution which he himself would have liked to see achieved by ideal harmony, good will and toleration. he had never trusted aleander, and was more than ever on his guard against him. as a humanist, in spite of brilliant gifts, aleander was by far erasmus's inferior, and had never, like him, risen from literature to serious theological studies; he had simply prospered in the service of church magnates (whom erasmus had given up early). this man was now invested with the highest mediating powers.
-to what degree of exasperation erasmus's most violent antagonists at louvain had now been reduced is seen from the witty and slightly malicious account he gives thomas more of his meeting with egmondanus before the rector of the university, who wanted to reconcile them. still things did not look so black as ulrich von hutten thought, when he wrote to erasmus: 'do you think that you are still safe, now that luther's books are burned? fly, and save yourself for us!'
-ever more emphatic do erasmus's protestations become that he has nothing to do with luther. long ago he had already requested him not to mention his name, and luther promised it: 'very well, then, i shall not again refer to you, neither will other good friends, since it troubles you'. ever louder, too, are erasmus's complaints about the raving of the monks at him, and his demands that the mendicant orders be deprived of the right to preach.
-in april 1521 comes the moment in the world's history to which christendom has been looking forward: luther at the diet of worms, holding fast to his opinions, confronted by the highest authority in the empire. so great is the rejoicing in germany that for a moment it may seem that the emperor's power is in danger rather than luther and his adherents. 'if i had been present', writes erasmus, 'i should have endeavoured that this tragedy would have been so tempered by moderate arguments that it could not afterwards break out again to the still greater detriment of the world.'
-the imperial sentence was pronounced: within the empire (as in the burgundian netherlands before that time) luther's books were to be burned, his adherents arrested and their goods confiscated, and luther was to be given up to the authorities. erasmus hopes that now relief will follow. 'the luther tragedy is at an end with us here; would it had never appeared on the stage.' in these days albrecht dürer, on hearing the false news of luther's death, wrote in the diary of his journey that passionate exclamation: 'o erasmus of rotterdam, where will you be? hear, you knight of christ, ride forth beside the lord christ, protect the truth, obtain the martyr's crown. for you are but an old manikin. i have heard you say that you have allowed yourself two more years, in which you are still fit to do some work; spend them well, in behalf of the gospel and the true christian faith.... o erasmus, be on this side, that god may be proud of you.'
-it expresses confidence in erasmus's power, but at bottom is the expectation that he will not do all this. dürer had rightly understood erasmus.
-the struggle abated nowise, least of all at louvain. latomus, the most dignified and able of louvain divines, had now become one of the most serious opponents of luther and, in so doing, touched erasmus, too, indirectly. to nicholas of egmond, the carmelite, another of erasmus's compatriots had been added as a violent antagonist, vincent dirks of haarlem, a dominican. erasmus addresses himself to the faculty, to defend himself against the new attacks, and to explain why he has never written against luther. he will read him, he will soon take up something to quiet the tumult. he succeeds in getting aleander, who arrived at louvain in june, to prohibit preaching against him. the pope still hopes that aleander will succeed in bringing back erasmus, with whom he is again on friendly terms, to the right track.
-but erasmus began to consider the only exit which was now left to him: to leave louvain and the netherlands to regain his menaced independence. the occasion to depart had long ago presented itself: the third edition of his new testament called him to basle once more. it would not be a permanent departure, and he purposed to return to louvain. on 28 october (his birthday) he left the town where he had spent four difficult years. his chambers in the college of the lily were reserved for him and he left his books behind. on 15 november he reached basle.
-soon the rumour spread that out of fear of aleander he had saved himself by flight. but the idea, revived again in our days in spite of erasmus's own painstaking denial, that aleander should have cunningly and expressly driven him from the netherlands, is inherently improbable. so far as the church was concerned, erasmus would at almost any point be more dangerous than at louvain, in the headquarters of conservatism, under immediate control of the strict burgundian government, where, it seemed, he could sooner or later be pressed into the service of the anti-lutheran policy.
-it was this contingency, as dr. allen has correctly pointed out, which he feared and evaded. not for his bodily safety did he emigrate; erasmus would not have been touched--he was far too valuable an asset for such measures. it was his mental independence, so dear to him above all else, that he felt to be threatened; and, to safeguard that, he did not return to louvain.
-erasmus at basle
-basle his dwelling-place for nearly eight years: 1521-9--political thought of erasmus--concord and peace--anti-war writings--opinions concerning princes and government--new editions of several fathers--the colloquia--controversies with stunica, beda, etc.--quarrel with hutten--eppendorff
-it is only towards the evening of life that the picture of erasmus acquires the features with which it was to go down to posterity. only at basle--delivered from the troublesome pressure of parties wanting to enlist him, transplanted from an environment of haters and opponents at louvain to a circle of friends, kindred spirits, helpers and admirers, emancipated from the courts of princes, independent of the patronage of the great, unremittingly devoting his tremendous energy to the work that was dear to him--did he become holbein's erasmus. in those late years he approaches most closely to the ideal of his personal life.
-he did not think that there were still fifteen years in store for him. long before, in fact, since he became forty years old in 1506, erasmus had been in an old-age mood. 'the last act of the play has begun,' he keeps saying after 1517.
-he now felt practically independent as to money matters. many years had passed before he could say that. but peace of mind did not come with competence. it never came. he never became truly placid and serene, as holbein's picture seems to represent him. he was always too much concerned about what people said or thought of him. even at basle he did not feel thoroughly at home. he still speaks repeatedly of a removal in the near future to rome, to france, to england, or back to the netherlands. physical rest, at any rate, which was not in him, was granted him by circumstances: for nearly eight years he now remained at basle, and then he lived at freiburg for six.
-erasmus at basle is a man whose ideals of the world and society have failed him. what remains of that happy expectation of a golden age of peace and light, in which he had believed as late as 1517? what of his trust in good will and rational insight, in which he wrote the institutio principis christiani for the youthful charles v? to erasmus all the weal of state and society had always been merely a matter of personal morality and intellectual enlightenment. by recommending and spreading those two he at one time thought he had introduced the great renovation himself. from the moment when he saw that the conflict would lead to an exasperated struggle he refused any longer to be anything but a spectator. as an actor in the great ecclesiastical combat erasmus had voluntarily left the stage.
-but he does not give up his ideal. 'let us resist,' he concludes an epistle about gospel philosophy, 'not by taunts and threats, not by force of arms and injustice, but by simple discretion, by benefits, by gentleness and tolerance.' towards the close of his life, he prays: 'if thou, o god, deignst to renew that holy spirit in the hearts of all, then also will those external disasters cease.... bring order to this chaos, lord jesus, let thy spirit spread over these waters of sadly troubled dogmas.'
-erasmus had, in spite of a certain innate moderation, a wholly non-political mind. he lived too much outside of practical reality, and thought too naïvely of the corrigibility of mankind, to realize the difficulties and necessities of government. his ideas about a good administration were extremely primitive, and, as is often the case with scholars of a strong ethical bias, very revolutionary at bottom, though he never dreamed of drawing the practical inferences. his friendship with political and juridical thinkers, as more, budaeus and zasius, had not changed him. questions of forms of government, law or right, did not exist for him. economic problems he saw in idyllic simplicity. the prince should reign gratuitously and impose as few taxes as possible. 'the good prince has all that loving citizens possess.' the unemployed should be simply driven away. we feel in closer contact with the world of facts when he enumerates the works of peace for the prince: the cleaning of towns, building of bridges, halls, and streets, draining of pools, shifting of river-beds, the diking and reclamation of moors. it is the netherlander who speaks here, and at the same time the man in whom the need of cleansing and clearing away is a fundamental trait of character.
-vague politicians like erasmus are prone to judge princes very severely, since they take them to be responsible for all wrongs. erasmus praises them personally, but condemns them in general. from the kings of his time he had for a long time expected peace in church and state. they had disappointed him. but his severe judgement of princes he derived rather from classical reading than from political experience of his own times. in the later editions of the adagia he often reverts to princes, their task and their neglect of duty, without ever mentioning special princes. 'there are those who sow the seeds of dissension between their townships in order to fleece the poor unhindered and to satisfy their gluttony by the hunger of innocent citizens.' in the adage scarabeus aquilam quaerit he represents the prince under the image of the eagle as the great cruel robber and persecutor. in another, aut regem aut fatuum nasci oportere, and in dulce bellum inexpertis he utters his frequently quoted dictum: 'the people found and develop towns, the folly of princes devastates them.' 'the princes conspire with the pope, and perhaps with the turk, against the happiness of the people,' he writes to colet in 1518.
-he was an academic critic writing from his study. a revolutionary purpose was as foreign to erasmus as it was to more when writing the utopia. 'bad monarchs should perhaps be suffered now and then. the remedy should not be tried.' it may be doubted whether erasmus exercised much real influence on his contemporaries by means of his diatribes against princes. one would fain believe that his ardent love of peace and bitter arraignment of the madness of war had some effect. they have undoubtedly spread pacific sentiments in the broad circles of intellectuals who read erasmus, but unfortunately the history of the sixteenth century shows little evidence that such sentiments bore fruit in actual practice. however this may be, erasmus's strength was not in these political declamations. he could never be a leader of men with their passions and their harsh interests.
-his life-work lay elsewhere. now, at basle, though tormented more and more frequently by his painful complaint which he had already carried for so many years, he could devote himself more fully than ever before to the great task he had set himself: the opening up of the pure sources of christianity, the exposition of the truth of the gospel in all the simple comprehensibility in which he saw it. in a broad stream flowed the editions of the fathers, of classic authors, the new editions of the new testament, of the adagia, of his own letters, together with paraphrases of the new testament, commentaries on psalms, and a number of new theological, moral and philological treatises. in 1522 he was ill for months on end; yet in that year arnobius and the third edition of the new testament succeeded cyprian, whom he had already annotated at louvain and edited in 1520, closely followed by hilary in 1523 and next by a new edition of jerome in 1524. later appeared irenaeus, 1526; ambrose, 1527; augustine, 1528-9, and a latin translation of chrysostom in 1530. the rapid succession of these comprehensive works proves that the work was done as erasmus always worked: hastily, with an extraordinary power of concentration and a surprising command of his mnemonic faculty, but without severe criticism and the painful accuracy that modern philology requires in such editions.
-neither the polemical erasmus nor the witty humorist had been lost in the erudite divine and the disillusioned reformer. the paper-warrior we would further gladly have dispensed with, but not the humorist, for many treasures of literature. but the two are linked inseparably as the colloquies prove.
-what was said about the moria may be repeated here: if in the literature of the world only the colloquies and the moria have remained alive, that choice of history is right. not in the sense that in literature only erasmus's pleasantest, lightest and most readable works were preserved, whereas the ponderous theological erudition was silently relegated to the shelves of libraries. it was indeed erasmus's best work that was kept alive in the moria and the colloquies. with these his sparkling wit has charmed the world. if only we had space here to assign to the erasmus of the colloquies his just and lofty place in that brilliant constellation of sixteenth-century followers of democritus: rabelais, ariosto, montaigne, cervantes, and ben jonson!
-when erasmus gave the colloquies their definite form at basle, they had already had a long and curious genesis. at first they had been no more than familiarium colloquiorum formulae, models of colloquial latin conversation, written at paris before 1500, for the use of his pupils. augustine caminade, the shabby friend who was fond of living on young erasmus's genius, had collected them and had turned them to advantage within a limited compass. he had long been dead when one lambert hollonius of liége sold the manuscript that he had got from caminade to froben at basle. beatus rhenanus, although then already erasmus's trusted friend, had it printed at once without the latter's knowledge. that was in 1518. erasmus was justly offended at it, the more so as the book was full of slovenly blunders and solecisms. so he at once prepared a better edition himself, published by maertensz at louvain in 1519. at that time the work really contained but one true dialogue, the nucleus of the later convivium profanum. the rest were formulae of etiquette and short talks. but already in this form it was, apart from its usefulness to latinists, so full of happy wit and humorous invention that it became very popular. even before 1522 it had appeared in twenty-five editions, mostly reprints, at antwerp, paris, strassburg, cologne, cracow, deventer, leipzig, london, vienna, mayence.
-at basle erasmus himself revised an edition which was published in march 1522 by froben, dedicated to the latter's six-year-old son, the author's godchild, johannes erasmius froben. soon after he did more than revise. in 1523 and 1524 first ten new dialogues, afterwards four, and again six, were added to the formulae, and at last in 1526 the title was changed to familiarium colloquiorum opus. it remained dedicated to the boy froben and went on growing with each new edition: a rich and motley collection of dialogues, each a masterpiece of literary form, well-knit, spontaneous, convincing, unsurpassed in lightness, vivacity and fluent latin; each one a finished one-act play. from that year on, the stream of editions and translations flowed almost uninterruptedly for two centuries.
-erasmus's mind had lost nothing of its acuteness and freshness when, so many years after the moria, he again set foot in the field of satire. as to form, the colloquies are less confessedly satirical than the moria. with its telling subject, the praise of folly, the latter at once introduces itself as a satire: whereas, at first sight, the colloquies might seem to be mere innocent genre-pieces. but as to the contents, they are more satirical, at least more directly so. the moria, as a satire, is philosophical and general; the colloquia are up to date and special. at the same time they combine more the positive and negative elements. in the moria erasmus's own ideal dwells unexpressed behind the representation; in the colloquia he continually and clearly puts it in the foreground. on this account they form, notwithstanding all the jests and mockery, a profoundly serious moral treatise and are closely akin to the enchiridion militis christiani. what erasmus really demanded of the world and of mankind, how he pictured to himself that passionately desired, purified christian society of good morals, fervent faith, simplicity and moderation, kindliness, toleration and peace--this we can nowhere else find so clearly and well-expressed as in the colloquia. in these last fifteen years of his life erasmus resumes, by means of a series of moral-dogmatic disquisitions, the topics he broached in the enchiridion: the exposition of simple, general christian conduct; untrammelled and natural ethics. that is his message of redemption. it came to many out of exomologesis, de esu carnium, lingua, institutio christiani matrimonii, vidua christiana, ecclesiastes. but, to far larger numbers, the message was contained in the colloquies.
-the colloquia gave rise to much more hatred and contest than the moria, and not without reason, for in them erasmus attacked persons. he allowed himself the pleasure of ridiculing his louvain antagonists. lee had already been introduced as a sycophant and braggart into the edition of 1519, and when the quarrel was assuaged, in 1522, the reference was expunged. vincent dirks was caricatured in the funeral (1526) as a covetous friar, who extorts from the dying testaments in favour of his order. he remained. later sarcastic observations were added about beda and numbers of others. the adherents of oecolampadius took a figure with a long nose in the colloquies for their leader: 'oh, no,' replied erasmus, 'it is meant for quite another person.' henceforth all those who were at loggerheads with erasmus, and they were many, ran the risk of being pilloried in the colloquia. it was no wonder that this work, especially with its scourging mockery of the monastic orders, became the object of controversy.
-erasmus never emerged from his polemics. he was, no doubt, serious when he said that, in his heart, he abhorred and had never desired them; but his caustic mind often got the better of his heart, and having once begun to quarrel he undoubtedly enjoyed giving his mockery the rein and wielding his facile dialectic pen. for understanding his personality it is unnecessary here to deal at large with all those fights on paper. only the most important ones need be mentioned.
-since 1516 a pot had been boiling for erasmus in spain. a theologian of the university at alcalá, diego lopez zuñiga, or, in latin, stunica, had been preparing annotations to the edition of the new testament: 'a second lee', said erasmus. at first cardinal ximenes had prohibited the publication, but in 1520, after his death, the storm broke. for some years stunica kept persecuting erasmus with his criticism, to the latter's great vexation; at last there followed a rapprochement, probably as erasmus became more conservative, and a kindly attitude on the part of stunica.
-no less long and violent was the quarrel with the syndic of the sorbonne, noel bedier or beda, which began in 1522. the sorbonne was prevailed upon to condemn several of erasmus's dicta as heretical in 1526. the effort of beda to implicate erasmus in the trial of louis de berquin, who had translated the condemned writings and who was eventually burned at the stake for faith's sake in 1529, made the matter still more disagreeable for erasmus.
-it is clear enough that both at paris and at louvain in the circles of the theological faculties the chief cause of exasperation was in the colloquia. egmondanus and vincent dirks did not forgive erasmus for having acridly censured their station and their personalities.
-more courteous than the aforementioned polemics was the fight with a high-born italian, alberto pio, prince of carpi; acrid and bitter was one with a group of spanish monks, who brought the inquisition to bear upon him. in spain 'erasmistas' was the name of those who inclined to more liberal conceptions of the creed.
-in this way the matter accumulated for the volume of erasmus's works which contains, according to his own arrangement, all his apologiae: not 'excuses', but 'vindications'. 'miserable man that i am; they just fill a volume,' exclaimed erasmus.
-two of his polemics merit a somewhat closer examination: that with ulrich von hutten and that with luther.
-hutten, knight and humanist, the enthusiastic herald of a national german uplift, the ardent hater of papacy and supporter of luther, was certainly a hot-head and perhaps somewhat of a muddle-head. he had applauded erasmus when the latter still seemed to be the coming man and had afterwards besought him to take luther's side. erasmus had soon discovered that this noisy partisan might compromise him. had not one of hutten's rash satires been ascribed to him, erasmus? there came a time when hutten could no longer abide erasmus. his knightly instinct reacted on the very weaknesses of erasmus's character: the fear of committing himself and the inclination to repudiate a supporter in time of danger. erasmus knew that weakness himself: 'not all have strength enough for martyrdom,' he writes to richard pace in 1521. 'i fear that i shall, in case it results in a tumult, follow st. peter's example.' but this acknowledgement does not discharge him from the burden of hutten's reproaches which he flung at him in fiery language in 1523. in this quarrel erasmus's own fame pays the penalty of his fault. for nowhere does he show himself so undignified and puny as in that 'sponge against hutten's mire', which the latter did not live to read. hutten, disillusioned and forsaken, died at an early age in 1523, and erasmus did not scruple to publish the venomous pamphlet against his former friend after his demise.
-hutten, however, was avenged upon erasmus living. one of his adherents, henry of eppendorff, inherited hutten's bitter disgust with erasmus and persecuted him for years. getting hold of one of erasmus's letters in which he was denounced, he continually threatened him with an action for defamation of character. eppendorff's hostility so thoroughly exasperated erasmus that he fancied he could detect his machinations and spies everywhere even after the actual persecution had long ceased.
-controversy with luther and growing conservatism
-erasmus persuaded to write against luther--de libero arbitrio: 1524--luther's answer: de servo arbitrio--erasmus's indefiniteness contrasted with luther's extreme rigour--erasmus henceforth on the side of conservatism--the bishop of basle and oecolampadius--erasmus's half-hearted dogmatics: confession, ceremonies, worship of the saints, eucharist--institutio christiani matrimonii: 1526--he feels surrounded by enemies
-at length erasmus was led, in spite of all, to do what he had always tried to avoid: he wrote against luther. but it did not in the least resemble the geste erasmus at one time contemplated, in the cause of peace in christendom and uniformity of faith, to call a halt to the impetuous luther, and thereby to recall the world to its senses. in the great act of the reformation their polemics were merely an after-play. not erasmus alone was disillusioned and tired--luther too was past his heroic prime, circumscribed by conditions, forced into the world of affairs, a disappointed man.
-erasmus had wished to persevere in his resolution to remain a spectator of the great tragedy. 'if, as appears from the wonderful success of luther's cause, god wills all this'--thus did erasmus reason--'and he has perhaps judged such a drastic surgeon as luther necessary for the corruption of these times, then it is not my business to withstand him.' but he was not left in peace. while he went on protesting that he had nothing to do with luther and differed widely from him, the defenders of the old church adhered to the standpoint urged as early as 1520 by nicholas of egmond before the rector of louvain: 'so long as he refuses to write against luther, we take him to be a lutheran'. so matters stood. 'that you are looked upon as a lutheran here is certain,' vives writes to him from the netherlands in 1522.
-ever stronger became the pressure to write against luther. from henry viii came a call, communicated by erasmus's old friend tunstall, from george of saxony, from rome itself, whence pope adrian vi, his old patron, had urged him shortly before his death.
-erasmus thought he could refuse no longer. he tried some dialogues in the style of the colloquies, but did not get on with them; and probably they would not have pleased those who were desirous of enlisting his services. between luther and erasmus himself there had been no personal correspondence, since the former had promised him, in 1520; 'well then, erasmus, i shall not mention your name again.' now that erasmus had prepared to attack luther, however, there came an epistle from the latter, written on 15 april 1524, in which the reformer, in his turn, requested erasmus in his own words: 'please remain now what you have always professed yourself desirous of being: a mere spectator of our tragedy'. there is a ring of ironical contempt in luther's words, but erasmus called the letter 'rather humane; i had not the courage to reply with equal humanity, because of the sycophants'.
-in order to be able to combat luther with a clear conscience erasmus had naturally to choose a point on which he differed from luther in his heart. it was not one of the more superficial parts of the church's structure. for these he either, with luther, cordially rejected, such as ceremonies, observances, fasting, etc., or, though more moderately than luther, he had his doubts about them, as the sacraments or the primacy of st. peter. so he naturally came to the point where the deepest gulf yawned between their natures, between their conceptions of the essence of faith, and thus to the central and eternal problem of good and evil, guilt and compulsion, liberty and bondage, god and man. luther confessed in his reply that here indeed the vital point had been touched.
-de libero arbitrio diatribe (a disquisition upon free will) appeared in september 1524. was erasmus qualified to write about such a subject? in conformity with his method and with his evident purpose to vindicate authority and tradition, this time, erasmus developed the argument that scripture teaches, doctors affirm, philosophers prove, and human reason testifies man's will to be free. without acknowledgement of free will the terms of god's justice and god's mercy remain without meaning. what would be the sense of the teachings, reproofs, admonitions of scripture (timothy iii.) if all happened according to mere and inevitable necessity? to what purpose is obedience praised, if for good and evil works we are equally but tools to god, as the hatchet to the carpenter? and if this were so, it would be dangerous to reveal such a doctrine to the multitude, for morality is dependent on the consciousness of freedom.
-luther received the treatise of his antagonist with disgust and contempt. in writing his reply, however, he suppressed these feelings outwardly and observed the rules of courtesy. but his inward anger is revealed in the contents itself of de servo arbitrio (on the will not free). for here he really did what erasmus had just reproached him with--trying to heal a dislocated member by tugging at it in the opposite direction. more fiercely than ever before, his formidable boorish mind drew the startling inferences of his burning faith. without any reserve he now accepted all the extremes of absolute determinism. in order to confute indeterminism in explicit terms, he was now forced to have recourse to those primitive metaphors of exalted faith striving to express the inexpressible: god's two wills, which do not coincide, god's 'eternal hatred of mankind, a hatred not only on account of demerits and the works of free will, but a hatred that existed even before the world was created', and that metaphor of the human will, which, as a riding beast, stands in the middle between god and the devil and which is mounted by one or the other without being able to move towards either of the two contending riders. if anywhere, luther's doctrine in de servo arbitrio means a recrudescence of faith and a straining of religious conceptions.
-but it was luther who here stood on the rockbed of a profound and mystic faith in which the absolute conscience of the eternal pervades all. in him all conceptions, like dry straw, were consumed in the glow of god's majesty, for him each human co-operation to attain to salvation was a profanation of god's glory. erasmus's mind after all did not truly live in the ideas which were here disputed, of sin and grace, of redemption and the glory of god as the final cause of all that is.
-was, then, erasmus's cause in all respects inferior? was luther right at the core? perhaps. dr. murray rightly reminds us of hegel's saying that tragedy is not the conflict between right and wrong, but the conflict between right and right. the combat of luther and erasmus proceeded beyond the point at which our judgement is forced to halt and has to accept an equivalence, nay, a compatibility of affirmation and negation. and this fact, that they here were fighting with words and metaphors in a sphere beyond that of what may be known and expressed, was understood by erasmus. erasmus, the man of the fine shades, for whom ideas eternally blended into each other and interchanged, called a proteus by luther; luther the man of over-emphatic expression about all matters. the dutchman, who sees the sea, was opposed to the german, who looks out on mountain tops.
-'this is quite true that we cannot speak of god but with inadequate words.' 'many problems should be deferred, not to the oecumenical council, but till the time when, the glass and the darkness having been taken away, we shall see god face to face.' 'what is free of error?' 'there are in sacred literature certain sanctuaries into which god has not willed that we should penetrate further.'
-the catholic church had on the point of free will reserved to itself some slight proviso, left a little elbow-room to the consciousness of human liberty under grace. erasmus conceived that liberty in a considerably broader spirit. luther absolutely denied it. the opinion of contemporaries was at first too much dominated by their participation in the great struggle as such: they applauded erasmus, because he struck boldly at luther, or the other way about, according to their sympathies. not only vives applauded erasmus, but also more orthodox catholics such as sadolet. the german humanists, unwilling, for the most part, to break with the ancient church, were moved by erasmus's attack to turn their backs still more upon luther: mutianus, zasius, and pirckheimer. even melanchthon inclined to erasmus's standpoint. others, like capito, once a zealous supporter, now washed their hands of him. soon calvin with the iron cogency of his argument was completely to take luther's side.
-the hyperaspistes, a voluminous treatise in which erasmus again addressed luther, was nothing but an epilogue, which need not be discussed here at length.
-erasmus had thus, at last, openly taken sides. for, apart from the dogmatical point at issue itself, the most important part about de libero arbitrio was that in it he had expressly turned against the individual religious conceptions and had spoken in favour of the authority and tradition of the church. he always regarded himself as a catholic. 'neither death nor life shall draw me from the communion of the catholic church,' he writes in 1522, and in the hyperaspistes in 1526: 'i have never been an apostate from the catholic church. i know that in this church, which you call the papist church, there are many who displease me, but such i also see in your church. one bears more easily the evils to which one is accustomed. therefore i bear with this church, until i shall see a better, and it cannot help bearing with me, until i shall myself be better. and he does not sail badly who steers a middle course between two several evils.'
-but was it possible to keep to that course? on either side people turned away from him. 'i who, formerly, in countless letters was addressed as thrice great hero, prince of letters, sun of studies, maintainer of true theology, am now ignored, or represented in quite different colours,' he writes. how many of his old friends and congenial spirits had already gone!
-a sufficient number remained, however, who thought and hoped as erasmus did. his untiring pen still continued to propagate, especially by means of his letters, the moderating and purifying influence of his mind throughout all the countries of europe. scholars, high church dignitaries, nobles, students, and civil magistrates were his correspondents. the bishop of basle himself, christopher of utenheim, was a man after erasmus's heart. a zealous advocate of humanism, he had attempted, as early as 1503, to reform the clergy of his bishopric by means of synodal statutes, without much success; afterwards he had called scholars like oecolampadius, capito and wimpfeling to basle. that was before the great struggle began, which was soon to carry away oecolampadius and capito much further than the bishop of basle or erasmus approved. in 1522 erasmus addressed the bishop in a treatise de interdicto esu carnium (on the prohibition of eating meat). this was one of the last occasions on which he directly opposed the established order.
-the bishop, however, could no longer control the movement. a considerable number of the commonalty of basle and the majority of the council, were already on the side of radical reformation. about a year after erasmus, johannes oecolampadius, whose first residence at basle had also coincided with his (at that time he had helped erasmus with hebrew for the edition of the new testament), returned to the town with the intention of organizing the resistance to the old order there. in 1523 the council appointed him professor of holy scripture in the university; at the same time four catholic professors lost their places. he succeeded in obtaining general permission for unlicensed preaching. soon a far more hot-headed agitator, the impetuous guillaume farel, also arrived for active work at basle and in the environs. he is the man who will afterwards reform geneva and persuade calvin to stay there.
-though at first oecolampadius began to introduce novelties into the church service with caution, erasmus saw these innovations with alarm. especially the fanaticism of farel, whom he hated bitterly. it was these men who retarded what he still desired and thought possible: a compromise. his lambent spirit, which never fully decided in favour of a definite opinion, had, with regard to most of the disputed points, gradually fixed on a half-conservative midway standpoint, by means of which, without denying his deepest conviction, he tried to remain faithful to the church. in 1524 he had expressed his sentiments about confession in the treatise exomologesis (on the way to confess). he accepts it halfway: if not instituted by christ or the apostles, it was, in any case, by the fathers. it should be piously preserved. confession is of excellent use, though, at times, a great evil. in this way he tries 'to admonish either party', 'neither to agree with nor to assail' the deniers, 'though inclining to the side of the believers'.
-in the long list of his polemics he gradually finds opportunities to define his views somewhat; circumstantially, for instance, in the answers to alberto pio, of 1525 and 1529. subsequently it is always done in the form of an apologia, whether he is attacked for the colloquia, for the moria, jerome, the paraphrases or anything else. at last he recapitulates his views to some extent in de amabili ecclesiae concordia (on the amiable concord of the church), of 1533, which, however, ranks hardly any more among his reformatory endeavours.
-on most points erasmus succeeds in finding moderate and conservative formulae. even with regard to ceremonies he no longer merely rejects. he finds a kind word to say even for fasting, which he had always abhorred, for the veneration of relics and for church festivals. he does not want to abolish the worship of the saints: it no longer entails danger of idolatry. he is even willing to admit the images: 'he who takes the imagery out of life deprives it of its highest pleasure; we often discern more in images than we conceive from the written word'. regarding christ's substantial presence in the sacrament of the altar he holds fast to the catholic view, but without fervour, only on the ground of the church's consensus, and because he cannot believe that christ, who is truth and love, would have suffered his bride to cling so long to so horrid an error as to worship a crust of bread instead of him. but for these reasons he might, at need, accept oecolampadius's view.
-from the period at basle dates one of the purest and most beneficent moral treatises of erasmus's, the institutio christiani matrimonii (on christian marriage) of 1526, written for catherine of aragon, queen of england, quite in the spirit of the enchiridion, save for a certain diffuseness betraying old age. later follows de vidua christiana, the christian widow, for mary of hungary, which is as impeccable but less interesting.
-all this did not disarm the defenders of the old church. they held fast to the clear picture of erasmus's creed that arose from the colloquies and that could not be called purely catholic. there it appeared only too clearly that, however much erasmus might desire to leave the letter intact, his heart was not in the convictions which were vital to the catholic church. consequently the colloquies were later, when erasmus's works were expurgated, placed on the index in the lump, with the moria and a few other works. the rest is caute legenda, to be read with caution. much was rejected of the annotations to the new testament, of the paraphrases and the apologiae, very little of the enchiridion, of the ratio verae theologiae, and even of the exomologesis. but this was after the fight against the living erasmus had long been over.
-so long as he remained at basle, or elsewhere, as the centre of a large intellectual group whose force could not be estimated, just because it did not stand out as a party--it was not known what turn he might yet take, what influence his mind might yet have on the church. he remained a king of minds in his quiet study. the hatred that was felt for him, the watching of all his words and actions, were of a nature as only falls to the lot of the acknowledged great. the chorus of enemies who laid the fault of the whole reformation on erasmus was not silenced. 'he laid the eggs which luther and zwingli have hatched.' with vexation erasmus quoted ever new specimens of narrow-minded, malicious and stupid controversy. at constance there lived a doctor who had hung his portrait on the wall merely to spit at it as often as he passed it. erasmus jestingly compares his fate to that of saint cassianus, who was stabbed to death by his pupils with pencils. had he not been pierced to the quick for many years by the pens and tongues of countless people and did he not live in that torment without death bringing the end? the keen sensitiveness to opposition was seated very deeply with erasmus. and he could never forbear irritating others into opposing him.
-at war with humanists and reformers
-erasmus turns against the excesses of humanism: its paganism and pedantic classicism--ciceronianus: 1528--it brings him new enemies--the reformation carried through at basle--he emigrates to freiburg: 1529--his view concerning the results of the reformation
-nothing is more characteristic of the independence which erasmus reserved for himself regarding all movements of his time than the fact that he also joined issue in the camp of the humanists. in 1528 there were published by froben (the chief of the firm of johannes froben had just died) two dialogues in one volume from erasmus's hand: one about the correct pronunciation of latin and greek, and one entitled ciceronianus or on the best diction, i.e. in writing and speaking latin. both were proofs that erasmus had lost nothing of his liveliness and wit. the former treatise was purely philological, and as such has had great influence; the other was satirical as well. it had a long history.
-erasmus had always regarded classical studies as the panacea of civilization, provided they were made serviceable to pure christianity. his sincere ethical feeling made him recoil from the obscenity of a poggio and the immorality of the early italian humanists. at the same time his delicate and natural taste told him that a pedantic and servile imitation of antique models could never produce the desired result. erasmus knew latin too well to be strictly classical; his latin was alive and required freedom. in his early works we find taunts about the over-precise latin purists: one had declared a newly found fragment of cicero to be thoroughly barbaric; 'among all sorts of authors none are so insufferable to me as those apes of cicero'.
-in spite of the great expectations he cherished of classical studies for pure christianity, he saw one danger: 'that under the cloak of reviving ancient literature paganism tries to rear its head, as there are those among christians who acknowledge christ only in name but inwardly breathe heathenism'. this he writes in 1517 to capito. in italy scholars devote themselves too exclusively and in too pagan guise to bonae literae. he considered it his special task to assist in bringing it about that those bonae literae 'which with the italians have thus far been almost pagan, shall get used to speaking of christ'.
-how it must have vexed erasmus that in italy of all countries he was, at the same time and in one breath, charged with heresy and questioned in respect to his knowledge and integrity as a scholar. italians accused him of plagiarism and trickery. he complained of it to aleander, who, he thought, had a hand in it.
-in a letter of 13 october 1527, to a professor at toledo, we find the ébauche of the ciceronianus. in addition to the haters of classic studies for the sake of orthodox belief, writes erasmus, 'lately another and new sort of enemies has broken from their ambush. these are troubled that the bonae literae speak of christ, as though nothing can be elegant but what is pagan. to their ears jupiter optimus maximus sounds more pleasant than jesus christus redemptor mundi, and patres conscripti more agreeable than sancti apostoli.... they account it a greater dishonour to be no ciceronian than no christian, as if cicero, if he should now come to life again, would not speak of christian things in other words than in his time he spoke of his own religion!... what is the sense of this hateful swaggering with the name ciceronian? i will tell you briefly, in your ear. with that pearl-powder they cover the paganism that is dearer to them than the glory of christ.' to erasmus cicero's style is by no means the ideal one. he prefers something more solid, succinct, vigorous, less polished, more manly. he who sometimes has to write a book in a day has no time to polish his style, often not even to read it over.... 'what do i care for an empty dish of words, ten words here and there mumped from cicero: i want all cicero's spirit.' these are apes at whom one may laugh, for far more serious than these things are the tumults of the so-called new gospel, to which he next proceeds in this letter.
-and so, in the midst of all his polemics and bitter vindication, he allowed himself once more the pleasure of giving the reins to his love of scoffing, but, as in the moria and colloquia, ennobled by an almost passionate sincerity of christian disposition and a natural sense of measure. the ciceronianus is a masterpiece of ready, many-sided knowledge, of convincing eloquence, and of easy handling of a wealth of arguments. with splendid, quiet and yet lively breadth flows the long conversation between bulephorus, representing erasmus's opinions, hypologus, the interested inquirer, and nosoponus, the zealous ciceronian, who, to preserve a perfect purity of mind, breakfasts off ten currants.
-erasmus in drawing nosoponus had evidently, in the main, alluded to one who could no longer reply: christopher longolius, who had died in 1522.
-the core of the ciceronianus is where erasmus points out the danger to christian faith of a too zealous classicism. he exclaims urgently: 'it is paganism, believe me, nosoponus, it is paganism that charms our ear and our soul in such things. we are christians in name alone.' why does a classic proverb sound better to us than a quotation from the bible: corchorum inter olera, 'chick-weed among the vegetables', better than 'saul among the prophets'? as a sample of the absurdity of ciceronianism, he gives a translation of a dogmatic sentence in classical language: 'optimi maximique jovis interpres ac filius, servator, rex, juxta vatum responsa, ex olympo devolavit in terras,' for: jesus christ, the word and the son of the eternal father, came into the world according to the prophets. most humanists wrote indeed in that style.
-was erasmus aware that he here attacked his own past? after all, was it not exactly the same thing which he had done, to the indignation of his opponents, when translating logos by sermo instead of by verbum? had he not himself desired that in the church hymns the metre should be corrected, not to mention his own classical odes and paeans to mary and the saints? and was his warning against the partiality for classic proverbs and turns applicable to anything more than to the adagia?
-we here see the aged erasmus on the path of reaction, which might eventually have led him far from humanism. in his combat with humanistic purism he foreshadows a christian puritanism.
-as always his mockery procured him a new flood of invectives. bembo and sadolet, the masters of pure latin, could afford to smile at it, but the impetuous julius caesar scaliger violently inveighed against him, especially to avenge longolius's memory. erasmus's perpetual feeling of being persecuted got fresh food: he again thought that aleander was at the bottom of it. 'the italians set the imperial court against me,' he writes in 1530. a year later all is quiet again. he writes jestingly: 'upon my word, i am going to change my style after budaeus's model and to become a ciceronian according to the example of sadolet and bembo'. but even near the close of his life he was engaged in a new contest with italians, because he had hurt their national pride; 'they rage at me on all sides with slanderous libels, as at the enemy of italy and cicero'.
-there were, as he had said himself, other difficulties touching him more closely. conditions at basle had for years been developing in a direction which distressed and alarmed him. when he established himself there in 1521, it might still have seemed to him as if the bishop, old christopher of utenheim, a great admirer of erasmus and a man after his heart, would succeed in effecting a reformation at basle, as he desired it; abolishing acknowledged abuses, but remaining within the fold of the church. in that very year, 1521, however, the emancipation of the municipality from the bishop's power--it had been in progress since basle, in 1501, had joined the swiss confederacy--was consummated. henceforth the council was number one, now no longer exclusively made up of aristocratic elements. in vain did the bishop ally himself with his colleagues of constance and lausanne to maintain catholicism. in the town the new creed got more and more the upper hand. when, however, in 1525, it had come to open tumults against the catholic service, the council became more cautious and tried to reform more heedfully.
-oecolampadius desired this, too. relations between him and erasmus were precarious. erasmus himself had at one time directed the religious thought of the impulsive, sensitive, restless young man. when he had, in 1520, suddenly sought refuge in a convent, he had expressly justified that step towards erasmus, the condemner of binding vows. and now they saw each other again at basle, in 1522: oecolampadius having left the monastery, a convinced adherent and apostle of the new doctrine; erasmus, the great spectator which he wished to be. erasmus treated his old coadjutor coolly, and as the latter progressed, retreated more and more. yet he kept steering a middle course and in 1525 gave some moderate advice to the council, which meanwhile had turned more catholic again.
-the old bishop, who for some years had no longer resided in his town, in 1527 requested the chapter to relieve him of his office, and died shortly afterwards. then events moved very quickly. after berne had, meanwhile, reformed itself in 1528, oecolampadius demanded a decision also for basle. since the close of 1528 the town had been on the verge of civil war. a popular rising put an end to the resistance of the council and cleared it of catholic members; and in february 1529 the old service was prohibited, the images were removed from the churches, the convents abolished, and the university suspended. oecolampadius became the first minister in the 'münster' and leader of the basle church, for which he soon drew up a reformatory ordinance. the new bishop remained at porrentruy, and the chapter removed to freiburg.
-the moment of departure had now come for erasmus. his position at basle in 1529 somewhat resembled, but in a reversed sense, the one at louvain in 1521. then the catholics wanted to avail themselves of his services against luther, now the evangelicals would fain have kept him at basle. for his name was still as a banner. his presence would strengthen the position of reformed basle; on the one hand, because, as people reasoned, if he were not of the same mind as the reformers, he would have left the town long ago; on the other hand, because his figure seemed to guarantee moderation and might attract many hesitating minds.
-it was, therefore, again to safeguard his independence that erasmus changed his residence. it was a great wrench this time. old age and invalidism had made the restless man a stay-at-home. as he foresaw trouble from the side of the municipality, he asked archduke ferdinand--who for his brother charles v governed the german empire and just then presided over the diet of speyer--to send him a safe conduct for the whole empire and an invitation, moreover, to come to court, which he did not dream of accepting. as place of refuge he had selected the not far distant town of freiburg im breisgau, which was directly under the strict government of the austrian house, and where he, therefore, need not be afraid of such a turn of affairs as that at basle. it was, moreover, a juncture at which the imperial authority and the catholic cause in germany seemed again to be gaining ground rapidly.
-erasmus would not or could not keep his departure a secret. he sent the most precious of his possessions in advance, and when this had drawn attention to his plan, he purposely invited oecolampadius to a farewell talk. the reformer declared his sincere friendship for erasmus, which the latter did not decline, provided he granted him to differ on certain points of dogma. oecolampadius tried to keep him from leaving the town, and, when it proved too late for that, to persuade him to return later. they took leave with a handshake. erasmus had desired to join his boat at a distant landing-stage, but the council would not allow this: he had to start from the usual place near the rhine bridge. a numerous crowd witnessed his embarkation, 13 april 1529. some friends were there to see him off. no unfavourable demonstration occurred.
-his reception at freiburg convinced him that, in spite of all, he was still the celebrated and admired prince of letters. the council placed at his disposal the large, though unfinished, house built for the emperor maximilian himself; a professor of theology offered him his garden. anthony fugger had tried to draw him to augsburg by means of a yearly allowance. for the rest he considered freiburg by no means a permanent place of abode. 'i have resolved to remain here this winter and then to fly with the swallows to the place whither god shall call me.' but he soon recognized the great advantage which freiburg offered. the climate, to which he was so sensitive, turned out better than he expected, and the position of the town was extremely favourable for emigrating to france, should circumstances require this, or for dropping down the rhine back to the netherlands, whither many always called him. in 1531 he bought a house at freiburg.
-the old erasmus at freiburg, ever more tormented by his painful malady, much more disillusioned than when he left louvain in 1521, of more confirmed views as to the great ecclesiastical strife, will only be fully revealed to us when his correspondence with boniface amerbach, the friend whom he left behind at basle--a correspondence not found complete in the older collections--has been edited by dr. allen's care. from no period of erasmus's life, it seems, may so much be gleaned, in point of knowledge of his daily habits and thoughts, as from these very years. work went on without a break in that great scholar's workshop where he directs his famuli, who hunt manuscripts for him, and then copy and examine them, and whence he sends forth his letters all over europe. in the series of editions of the fathers followed basil and new editions of chrysostom and cyprian; his editions of classic authors were augmented by the works of aristotle. he revised and republished the colloquies three more times, the adages and the new testament once more. occasional writings of a moral or politico-theological nature kept flowing from his pen.
-from the cause of the reformation he was now quite estranged. 'pseudevangelici', he contumeliously calls the reformed. 'i might have been a corypheus in luther's church,' he writes in 1528, 'but i preferred to incur the hatred of all germany to being separate from the community of the church.' the authorities should have paid a little less attention at first to luther's proceedings; then the fire would never have spread so violently. he had always urged theologians to let minor concerns which only contain an appearance of piety rest, and to turn to the sources of scripture. now it was too late. towns and countries united ever more closely for or against the reformation. 'if, what i pray may never happen,' he writes to sadolet in 1530, 'you should see horrible commotions of the world arise, not so fatal for germany as for the church, then remember erasmus prophesied it.' to beatus rhenanus he frequently said that, had he known that an age like theirs was coming, he would never have written many things, or would not have written them as he had.
-'just look,' he exclaims, 'at the evangelical people, have they become any better? do they yield less to luxury, lust and greed? show me a man whom that gospel has changed from a toper to a temperate man, from a brute to a gentle creature, from a miser into a liberal person, from a shameless to a chaste being. i will show you many who have become even worse than they were.' now they have thrown the images out of the churches and abolished mass (he is thinking of basle especially): has anything better come instead? 'i have never entered their churches, but i have seen them return from hearing the sermon, as if inspired by an evil spirit, the faces of all showing a curious wrath and ferocity, and there was no one except one old man who saluted me properly, when i passed in the company of some distinguished persons.'
-he hated that spirit of absolute assuredness so inseparably bound up with the reformers. 'zwingli and bucer may be inspired by the spirit, erasmus from himself is nothing but a man and cannot comprehend what is of the spirit.'
-there was a group among the reformed to whom erasmus in his heart of hearts was more nearly akin than to the lutherans or zwinglians with their rigid dogmatism: the anabaptists. he rejected the doctrine from which they derived their name, and abhorred the anarchic element in them. he remained far too much the man of spiritual decorum to identify himself with these irregular believers. but he was not blind to the sincerity of their moral aspirations and sympathized with their dislike of brute force and the patience with which they bore persecution. 'they are praised more than all others for the innocence of their life,' he writes in 1529. just in the last part of his life came the episode of the violent revolutionary proceedings of the fanatic anabaptists; it goes without saying that erasmus speaks of it only with horror.
-one of the best historians of the reformation, walter köhler, calls erasmus one of the spiritual fathers of anabaptism. and certain it is that in its later, peaceful development it has important traits in common with erasmus: a tendency to acknowledge free will, a certain rationalistic trend, a dislike of an exclusive conception of a church. it seems possible to prove that the south german anabaptist hans denk derived opinions directly from erasmus. for a considerable part, however, this community of ideas must, no doubt, have been based on peculiarities of religious consciousness in the netherlands, whence erasmus sprang, and where anabaptism found such a receptive soil. erasmus was certainly never aware of these connections.
-some remarkable evidence regarding erasmus's altered attitude towards the old and the new church is shown by what follows.
-the reproach he had formerly so often flung at the advocates of conservatism that they hated the bonae literae, so dear to him, and wanted to stifle them, he now uses against the evangelical party. 'wherever lutherism is dominant the study of literature is extinguished. why else,' he continues, using a remarkable sophism, 'are luther and melanchthon compelled to call back the people so urgently to the love of letters?' 'just compare the university of wittenberg with that of louvain or paris!... printers say that before this gospel came they used to dispose of 3,000 volumes more quickly than now of 600. a sure proof that studies flourish!'
-during the last years of erasmus's life all the great issues which kept the world in suspense were rapidly taking threatening forms. wherever compromise or reunion had before still seemed possible, sharp conflicts, clearly outlined party-groupings, binding formulae were now barring the way to peace. while in the spring of 1529 erasmus prepared for his departure from basle, a strong catholic majority of the diet at speyer got the 'recess' of 1526, favourable for the evangelicals, revoked, only the lutherans among them keeping what they had obtained; and secured a prohibition of any further changes or novelties. the zwinglians and anabaptists were not allowed to enjoy the least tolerance. this was immediately followed by the protest of the chief evangelical princes and towns, which henceforth was to give the name to all anti-catholics together (19 april 1529). and not only between catholics and protestants in the empire did the rupture become complete. even before the end of that year the question of the lord's supper proved an insuperable stumbling-block in the way of a real union of zwinglians and lutherans. luther parted from zwingli at the colloquy of marburg with the words, 'your spirit differs from ours'.
-in switzerland civil war had openly broken out between the catholic and the evangelical cantons, only calmed for a short time by the first peace of kappel. the treaties of cambray and barcelona, which in 1529 restored at least political peace in christendom for the time being, could no longer draw from old erasmus jubilations about a coming golden age, like those with which the concord of 1516 had inspired him. a month later the turks appeared before vienna.
-all these occurrences could not but distress and alarm erasmus. but he was outside them. when reading his letters of that period we are more than ever impressed by the fact that, for all the width and liveliness of his mind, he is remote from the great happenings of his time. beyond a certain circle of interests, touching his own ideas or his person, his perceptions are vague and weak. if he still meddles occasionally with questions of the day, he does so in the moralizing manner, by means of generalities, without emphasis: his 'advice about declaring war on the turks' (march 1530) is written in the form of an interpretation of psalm 28, and so vague that, at the close, he himself anticipates that the reader may exclaim: 'but now say clearly: do you think that war should be declared or not?'
-in the summer of 1530 the diet met again at augsburg under the auspices of the emperor himself to try once more 'to attain to a good peace and christian truth'. the augsburg confession, defended all too weakly by melanchthon, was read here, disputed, and declared refuted by the emperor.
-erasmus had no share in all this. many had exhorted him in letters to come to augsburg; but he had in vain expected a summons from the emperor. at the instance of the emperor's counsellors he had postponed his proposed removal to brabant in that autumn till after the decision of the diet. but his services were not needed for the drastic resolution of repression with which the emperor closed the session in november.
-the great struggle in germany seemed to be approaching: the resolutions of augsburg were followed by the formation of the league of schmalkalden uniting all protestant territories and towns of germany in their opposition to the emperor. in the same year (1531) zwingli was killed in the battle of kappel against the catholic cantons, soon to be followed by oecolampadius, who died at basle. 'it is right', writes erasmus, 'that those two leaders have perished. if mars had been favourable to them, we should now have been done for.'
-in switzerland a sort of equilibrium had set in; at any rate matters had come to a standstill; in germany the inevitable struggle was postponed for many years. the emperor had understood that, to combat the german protestants effectively, he should first get the pope to hold the council which would abolish the acknowledged abuses of the church. the religious peace of nuremberg (1532) put the seal upon this turn of imperial policy.
-it might seem as if before long the advocates of moderate reform and of a compromise might after all get a chance of being heard. but erasmus had become too old to actively participate in the decisions (if he had ever seriously considered such participation). he does write a treatise, though, in 1533, 'on the sweet concord of the church', like his 'advice on the turks' in the form of an interpretation of a psalm (83). but it would seem as if the old vivacity of his style and his power of expression, so long unimpaired, now began to flag. the same remark applies to an essay 'on the preparation for death', published the same year. his voice was growing weaker.
-during these years he turned his attention chiefly to the completion of the great work which more than any other represented for him the summing up and complete exposition of his moral-theological ideas: ecclesiastes or, on the way to preach. erasmus had always regarded preaching as the most dignified part of an ecclesiastic's duties. as preachers, he had most highly valued colet and vitrarius. as early as 1519 his friend, john becar of borselen, urged him to follow up the enchiridion of the christian soldier and the institutio of the christian prince, by the true instruction of the christian preacher. 'later, later,' erasmus had promised him, 'at present i have too much work, but i hope to undertake it soon.' in 1523 he had already made a sketch and some notes for it. it was meant for john fisher, the bishop of rochester, erasmus's great friend and brother-spirit, who eagerly looked forward to it and urged the author to finish it. the work gradually grew into the most voluminous of erasmus's original writings: a forest of a work, operis sylvam, he calls it himself. in four books he treated his subject, the art of preaching well and decorously, with an inexhaustible abundance of examples, illustrations, schemes, etc. but was it possible that a work, conceived already by the erasmus of 1519, and upon which he had been so long engaged, while he himself had gradually given up the boldness of his earlier years, could still be a revelation in 1533, as the enchiridion had been in its day?
-ecclesiastes is the work of a mind fatigued, which no longer sharply reacts upon the needs of his time. as the result of a correct, intellectual, tasteful instruction in a suitable manner of preaching, in accordance with the purity of the gospel, erasmus expects to see society improve. 'the people become more obedient to the authorities, more respectful towards the law, more peaceable. between husband and wife comes greater concord, more perfect faithfulness, greater dislike of adultery. servants obey more willingly, artisans work better, merchants cheat no more.'
-at the same time that erasmus took this work to froben, at basle, to print, a book of a young frenchman, who had recently fled from france to basle, passed through the press of another basle printer, thomas platter. it too was to be a manual of the life of faith: the institution of the christian religion, by calvin.
-even before erasmus had quite completed the ecclesiastes, the man for whom the work had been meant was no more. instead of to the bishop of rochester, erasmus dedicated his voluminous work to the bishop of augsburg, christopher of stadion. john fisher, to set a seal on his spiritual endeavours, resembling those of erasmus in so many respects, had left behind, as a testimony to the world, for which erasmus knew himself too weak, that of martyrdom. on 22 june 1535, he was beheaded by command of henry viii. he died for being faithful to the old church. together with more he had steadfastly refused to take the oath to the statute of supremacy. not two weeks after fisher, thomas more mounted the scaffold. the fate of those two noblest of his friends grieved erasmus. it moved him to do what for years he had no longer done: to write a poem. but rather than in the fine latin measure of that carmen heroïcum one would have liked to hear his emotion in language of sincere dismay and indignation in his letters. they are hardly there. in the words devoted to fisher's death in the preface to the ecclesiastes there is no heartfelt emotion. also in his letters of those days, he speaks with reserve. 'would more had never meddled with that dangerous business, and left the theological cause to the theologians.' as if more had died for aught but simply for his conscience!
-when erasmus wrote these words, he was no longer at freiburg. he had in june 1535 gone to basle, to work in froben's printing-office, as of old; the ecclesiastes was at last going to press and still required careful supervision and the final touches during the process; the adagia had to be reprinted, and a latin edition of origenes was in preparation. the old, sick man was cordially received by the many friends who still lived at basle. hieronymus froben, johannes's son, who after his father's death managed the business with two relatives, sheltered him in his house zum luft. in the hope of his return a room had been built expressly for him and fitted up as was convenient for him. erasmus found that at basle the ecclesiastical storms which had formerly driven him away had subsided. quiet and order had returned. he did feel a spirit of distrust in the air, it is true, 'but i think that, on account of my age, of habit, and of what little erudition i possess, i have now got so far that i may live in safety anywhere'. at first he had regarded the removal as an experiment. he did not mean to stay at basle. if his health could not stand the change of air, he would return to his fine, well-appointed, comfortable house at freiburg. if he should prove able to bear it, then the choice was between the netherlands (probably brussels, malines or antwerp, perhaps louvain) or burgundy, in particular besançon. towards the end of his life he clung to the illusion which he had been cherishing for a long time that burgundy wine alone was good for him and kept his malady in check. there is something pathetic in the proportions which this wine-question gradually assumes: that it is so dear at basle might be overlooked, but the thievish wagoners drink up or spoil what is imported.
-in august he doubted greatly whether he will return to freiburg. in october he sold his house and part of his furniture and had the rest transported to basle. after the summer he hardly left his room, and was mostly bedridden.
-though the formidable worker in him still yearned for more years and time to labour, his soul was ready for death. happy he had never felt; only during the last years he utters his longing for the end. he was still, curiously enough, subject to the delusion of being in the thick of the struggle. 'in this arena i shall have to fall,' he writes in 1533. 'only this consoles me, that near at hand already, the general haven comes in sight, which, if christ be favourable, will bring the end of all labour and trouble.' two years later his voice sounds more urgent: 'that the lord might deign to call me out of this raving world to his rest'.
-most of his old friends were gone. warham and mountjoy had passed away before more and fisher; peter gilles, so many years younger than he, had departed in 1533; also pirckheimer had been dead for years. beatus rhenanus shows him to us, during the last months of his life, re-perusing his friends' letters of the last few years, and repeating: 'this one, too, is dead'. as he grew more solitary, his suspiciousness and his feeling of being persecuted became stronger. 'my friends decrease, my enemies increase,' he writes in 1532, when warham has died and aleander has risen still higher. in the autumn of 1535 he thinks that all his former servant-pupils betray him, even the best beloved ones like quirin talesius and charles utenhove. they do not write to him, he complains.
-in october 1534, pope clement vii was succeeded by paul iii, who at once zealously took up the council-question. the meeting of a council was, in the eyes of many, the only means by which union could be restored to the church, and now a chance of realizing this seemed nigh. at once the most learned theologians were invited to help in preparing the great work. erasmus did not omit, in january 1535, to address to the new pope a letter of congratulation, in which he professed his willingness to co-operate in bringing about the pacification of the church, and warned the pope to steer a cautious middle course. on 31 may followed a reply full of kindliness and acknowledgement. the pope exhorted erasmus, 'that you too, graced by god with so much laudable talent and learning, may help us in this pious work, which is so agreeable to your mind, to defend, with us, the catholic religion, by the spoken and the written word, before and during the council, and in this manner by this last work of piety, as by the best act to close a life of religion and so many writings, to refute your accusers and rouse your admirers to fresh efforts.'
-would erasmus in years of greater strength have seen his way to co-operate actively in the council of the great? undoubtedly, the pope's exhortation correctly represented his inclination. but once faced by the necessity of hard, clear resolutions, what would he have effected? would his spirit of peace and toleration, of reserve and compromise, have brought alleviation and warded off the coming struggle? he was spared the experiment.
-he knew himself too weak to be able to think of strenuous church-political propaganda any more. soon there came proofs that the kindly feelings at rome were sincere. there had been some question also of numbering erasmus among the cardinals who were to be nominated with a view to the council; a considerable benefice connected with the church of deventer was already offered him. but erasmus urged the roman friends who were thus active in his behalf to cease their kind offices; he would accept nothing, he a man who lived from day to day in expectation of death and often hoping for it, who could hardly ever leave his room--would people instigate him to hunt for deaneries and cardinals' hats! he had subsistence enough to last him. he wanted to die independent.
-in march 1536, he still thinks of leaving for burgundy. money matters occupy him and he speaks of the necessity of making new friends, for the old ones leave him: the bishop of cracow, zasius at freiburg. according to beatus rhenanus, the brabant plan stood foremost at the end of erasmus's life. the regent, mary of hungary, did not cease to urge him to return to the netherlands. erasmus's own last utterance leaves us in doubt whether he had made up his mind. 'though i am living here with the most sincere friends, such as i did not possess at freiburg, i should yet, on account of the differences of doctrine, prefer to end my life elsewhere. if only brabant were nearer.'
-this he writes on 28 june 1536. he had felt so poorly for some days that he had not even been able to read. in the letter we again trace the delusion that aleander persecutes him, sets on opponents against him, and even lays snares for his friends. did his mind at last give way too?
-on 12 july the end came. the friends around his couch heard him groan incessantly: 'o jesu, misericordia; domine libera me; domine miserere mei!' and at last in dutch: 'lieve god.'
-conclusion--erasmus and the spirit of the sixteenth century--his weak points--a thorough idealist and yet a moderate mind--the enlightener of a century--he anticipates tendencies of two centuries later--his influence affects both protestantism and catholic reform--the erasmian spirit in the netherlands
-looking back on the life of erasmus the question still arises: why has he remained so great? for ostensibly his endeavours ended in failure. he withdraws in alarm from that tremendous struggle which he rightly calls a tragedy; the sixteenth century, bold and vehement, thunders past him, disdaining his ideal of moderation and tolerance. latin literary erudition, which to him was the epitome of all true culture, has gone out as such. erasmus, so far as regards the greater part of his writings, is among the great ones who are no longer read. he has become a name. but why does that name still sound so clear and articulate? why does he keep regarding us, as if he still knew a little more than he has ever been willing to utter?
-what has he been to his age, and what was he to be for later generations? has he been rightly called a precursor of the modern spirit?
-regarded as a child of the sixteenth century, he does seem to differ from the general tenor of his times. among those vehemently passionate, drastically energetic and violent natures of the great ones of his day, erasmus stands as the man of too few prejudices, with a little too much delicacy of taste, with a deficiency, though not, indeed, in every department, of that stultitia which he had praised as a necessary constituent of life. erasmus is the man who is too sensible and moderate for the heroic.
-what a surprising difference there is between the accent of erasmus and that of luther, calvin, and saint teresa! what a difference, also, between his accent, that is, the accent of humanism, and that of albrecht dürer, of michelangelo, or of shakespeare.
-erasmus seems, at times, the man who was not strong enough for his age. in that robust sixteenth century it seems as if the oaken strength of luther was necessary, the steely edge of calvin, the white heat of loyola; not the velvet softness of erasmus. not only were their force and their fervour necessary, but also their depth, their unsparing, undaunted consistency, sincerity and outspokenness.
-erasmus had never passed through those depths of self-reprobation and that consciousness of sin which luther had traversed with toil; he saw no devil to fight with, and tears were not familiar to him. was he altogether unaware of the deepest mystery? or did it rest in him too deep for utterance?
-let us not suppose too quickly that we are more nearly allied to luther or loyola because their figures appeal to us more. if at present our admiration goes out again to the ardently pious, and to spiritual extremes, it is partly because our unstable time requires strong stimuli. to appreciate erasmus we should begin by giving up our admiration of the extravagant, and for many this requires a certain effort at present. it is extremely easy to break the staff over erasmus. his faults lie on the surface, and though he wished to hide many things, he never hid his weaknesses.
-he was too much concerned about what people thought, and he could not hold his tongue. his mind was too rich and facile, always suggesting a superfluity of arguments, cases, examples, quotations. he could never let things slide. all his life he grudged himself leisure to rest and collect himself, to see how unimportant after all was the commotion round about him, if only he went his own way courageously. rest and independence he desired most ardently of all things; there was no more restless and dependent creature. judge him as one of a too delicate constitution who ventures out in a storm. his will-power was great enough. he worked night and day, amidst the most violent bodily suffering, with a great ideal steadfastly before him, never satisfied with his own achievements. he was not self-sufficient.
-as an intellectual type erasmus was one of a rather small group: the absolute idealists who, at the same time, are thoroughly moderate. they can not bear the world's imperfections; they feel constrained to oppose. but extremes are uncongenial to them; they shrink back from action, because they know it pulls down as much as it erects, and so they withdraw themselves, and keep calling that everything should be different; but when the crisis comes, they reluctantly side with tradition and conservatism. here too is a fragment of erasmus's life-tragedy: he was the man who saw the new and coming things more clearly than anyone else--who must needs quarrel with the old and yet could not accept the new. he tried to remain in the fold of the old church, after having damaged it seriously, and renounced the reformation, and to a certain extent even humanism, after having furthered both with all his strength.
-our final opinion about erasmus has been concerned with negative qualities, so far. what was his positive importance?
-two facts make it difficult for the modern mind to understand erasmus's positive importance: first that his influence was extensive rather than intensive, and therefore less historically discernible at definite points, and second, that his influence has ceased. he has done his work and will speak to the world no more. like saint jerome, his revered model, and voltaire, with whom he has been occasionally compared, 'he has his reward'. but like them he has been the enlightener of an age from whom a broad stream of culture emanated.
-as historic investigation of the french revolution is becoming more and more aware that the true history of france during that period should be looked for in those groups which as 'centre' or 'marais' seemed for a long time but a drove of supernumeraries, and understands that it should occasionally protect its eyes a little from the lightning flashes of the gironde and mountain thunderstorm; so the history of the reformation period should pay attention--and it has done so for a long time--to the broad central sphere permeated by the erasmian spirit. one of his opponents said: 'luther has drawn a large part of the church to himself, zwingli and oecolampadius also some part, but erasmus the largest'. erasmus's public was numerous and of high culture. he was the only one of the humanists who really wrote for all the world, that is to say, for all educated people. he accustomed a whole world to another and more fluent mode of expression: he shifted the interest, he influenced by his perfect clarity of exposition, even through the medium of latin, the style of the vernacular languages, apart from the numberless translations of his works. for his contemporaries erasmus put on many new stops, one might say, of the great organ of human expression, as rousseau was to do two centuries later.
-he might well think with some complacency of the influence he had exerted on the world. 'from all parts of the world'--he writes towards the close of his life--'i am daily thanked by many, because they have been kindled by my works, whatever may be their merit, into zeal for a good disposition and sacred literature; and they who have never seen erasmus, yet know and love him from his books.' he was glad that his translations from the greek had become superfluous; he had everywhere led many to take up greek and holy scripture, 'which otherwise they would never have read'. he had been an introducer and an initiator. he might leave the stage after having said his say.
-his word signified something beyond a classical sense and biblical disposition. it was at the same time the first enunciation of the creed of education and perfectibility, of warm social feeling and of faith in human nature, of peaceful kindliness and toleration. 'christ dwells everywhere; piety is practised under every garment, if only a kindly disposition is not wanting.'
-in all these ideas and convictions erasmus really heralds a later age. in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries those thoughts remained an undercurrent: in the eighteenth erasmus's message of deliverance bore fruit. in this respect he has most certainly been a precursor and preparer of the modern mind: of rousseau, herder, pestalozzi and of the english and american thinkers. it is only part of the modern mind which is represented by all this. to a number of its developments erasmus was wholly a stranger, to the evolution of natural science, of the newer philosophy, of political economy. but in so far as people still believe in the ideal that moral education and general tolerance may make humanity happier, humanity owes much to erasmus.
-this does not imply that erasmus's mind did not directly and fruitfully influence his own times. although catholics regarded him in the heat of the struggle as the corrupter of the church, and protestants as the betrayer of the gospel, yet his word of moderation and kindliness did not pass by unheard or unheeded on either side. eventually neither camp finally rejected erasmus. rome did not brand him as an arch-heretic, but only warned the faithful to read him with caution. protestant history has been studious to reckon him as one of the reformers. both obeyed in this the pronouncement of a public opinion which was above parties and which continued to admire and revere erasmus.
-to the reconstruction of the catholic church and the erection of the evangelical churches not only the names of luther and loyola are linked. the moderate, the intellectual, the conciliating have also had their share of the work; figures like melanchthon here, sadolet there, both nearly allied to erasmus and sympathetically disposed towards him. the frequently repeated attempts to arrive at some compromise in the great religious conflict, though they might be doomed to end in failure, emanated from the erasmian spirit.
-nowhere did that spirit take root so easily as in the country that gave erasmus birth. a curious detail shows us that it was not the exclusive privilege of either great party. of his two most favoured pupils of later years, both netherlanders, whom as the actors of the colloquy astragalismus (the game of knucklebones), he has immortalized together, the one, quirin talesius, died for his attachment to the spanish cause and the catholic faith: he was hanged in 1572 by the citizens of haarlem, where he was a burgomaster. the other, charles utenhove, was sedulous on the side of the revolt and the reformed religion. at ghent, in concert with the prince of orange, he turned against the narrow-minded protestant terrorism of the zealots.
-a dutch historian recently tried to trace back the opposition of the dutch against the king of spain to the influence of erasmus's political thought in his arraignment of bad princes--wrongly as i think. erasmus's political diatribes were far too academic and too general for that. the desire of resistance and revolt arose from quite other causes. the 'gueux' were not erasmus's progeny. but there is much that is erasmian in the spirit of their great leader, william of orange, whose vision ranged so widely beyond the limitations of religious hatred. thoroughly permeated by the erasmian spirit, too, was that class of municipal magistrates who were soon to take the lead and to set the fashion in the established republic. history is wont, as always with an aristocracy, to take their faults very seriously. after all, perhaps no other aristocracy, unless it be that of venice, has ruled a state so long, so well and with so little violence. if in the seventeenth century the institutions of holland, in the eyes of foreigners, were the admired models of prosperity, charity and social discipline, and patterns of gentleness and wisdom, however defective they may seem to us--then the honour of all this is due to the municipal aristocracy. if in the dutch patriciate of that time those aspirations lived and were translated into action, it was erasmus's spirit of social responsibility which inspired them. the history of holland is far less bloody and cruel than that of any of the surrounding countries. not for naught did erasmus praise as truly dutch those qualities which we might also call truly erasmian: gentleness, kindliness, moderation, a generally diffused moderate erudition. not romantic virtues, if you like; but are they the less salutary?
-one more instance. in the republic of the seven provinces the atrocious executions of witches and wizards ceased more than a century before they did in all other countries. this was not owing to the merit of the reformed pastors. they shared the popular belief which demanded persecution. it was the magistrates whose enlightenment even as early as the beginning of the seventeenth century no longer tolerated these things. again, we are entitled to say, though erasmus was not one of those who combated this practice: the spirit which breathes from this is that of erasmus.
-cultured humanity has cause to hold erasmus's memory in esteem, if for no other reason than that he was the fervently sincere preacher of that general kindliness which the world still so urgently needs.
-selection from the letters of erasmus
-this selection from the vast correspondence of erasmus is intended to exhibit him at a few points in his strenuous and rather comfortless life, always overworked, often ill, and perpetually hurried--many of his letters have the postscript 'in haste' or 'i had no time to read this over'--but holding always tenaciously to his aim of steering a middle course; in religion between the corruption and fossilization of the old and the uncompromising violence of the new: in learning between neo-paganism on the one hand and the indolent refusal, under the pretext of piety, to apply critical methods to sacred texts on the other. the first letter has been included because it may provide a clue to his later reluctance to trust his feelings when self-committal to any cause seemed to be required of him, a reluctance not unnaturally interpreted by his enemies as an arrogant refusal to 'yield to any'.
-to his friend servatius, greetings:
-it is certain then, my servatius, that there is something which troubles you, which is destroying your former good health. but what am i to do now? must i comfort you or scold you? why do you hide your pain from me as if we did not know each other by this time? you are so deep that you do not believe your closest friend, or trust even the most trustworthy; or do you not know that the hidden fire burns stronger?... and for the rest, my servatius, what is it makes you draw in and hide yourself like a snail? i suspect what the matter is: you have not yet convinced yourself that i love you very much. so i entreat you by the things sweetest to you in life, by our great love, if you have any care for your safety, if you want me to live unharmed, not to be at such pains to hide your feelings, but whatever it is, entrust it to my safe ears. i will assist you in whatever way i can with help or counsel. but if i cannot provide either, still it will be sweet to rejoice with you, to weep with you, to live and die with you. farewell, my servatius, and look after your health.
-to the religious father nicholas werner, greetings:
-the bishop of cambrai is marvellously fond of me: he makes liberal promises; the remittances are not so liberal, to tell the truth. i wish you good health, excellent father. i beg and entreat you to commend me in your prayers to god: i shall do likewise for you. from my library in paris.
-to robert fisher, englishman, abiding in italy, greetings:
-... i hesitated not a little to write to you, beloved robert, not that i feared lest so great a sunderance in time and place had worn away anything of your affection towards me, but because you are in a country where even the house-walls are more learned and more eloquent than are our men here, so that what is here reckoned polished, fine and delectable cannot there appear anything but crude, mean and insipid. wherefore your england assuredly expects you to return not merely very learned in the law but also equally eloquent in both the greek and the latin tongues. you would have seen me also there long since, had not my friend mountjoy carried me off to his country when i was already packed for the journey into italy. whither indeed shall i not follow a youth so polite, so kindly, so lovable? i swear i would follow him even into hades. you indeed had most handsomely commended him and, in a word, precisely delineated him; but believe me, he every day surpasses both your commendation and my opinion of him.
-to the most illustrious prelate antony, abbot of st. bertin, greetings:
-to the reverend father in christ, william, archbishop of canterbury, primate of england, many greetings from erasmus of rotterdam, canon of the order of st. augustine:
-then for me the lure of this poet's more than honeyed eloquence, which even his enemies allow him, proved stronger than the deterrent of these great examples and the many difficulties of the work, so that i have been bold to attack a task never before attempted, in the hope that, even if i failed, my honest readers would consider even this poor effort of mine not altogether unpraiseworthy, and the more grudging would at least be lenient to an inexperienced translator of a work so difficult: in particular because i have deliberately added no light burden to my other difficulties through my conscientiousness as a translator, in attempting so far as possible to reproduce the shape and as it were contours of the greek verse, by striving to render line for line and almost word for word, and everywhere seeking with the utmost fidelity to convey to latin ears the force and value of the sentence: whether it be that i do not altogether approve of the freedom in translation which cicero allows others and practised himself (i would almost say to an immoderate degree), or that as an inexperienced translator i preferred to err on the side of seeming over-scrupulous rather than over-free--hesitating on the sandy shore instead of wrecking my ship and swimming in the midst of the billows; and i preferred to run the risk of letting scholars complain of lack of brilliance and poetic beauty in my work rather than of lack of fidelity to the original. finally i did not want to set myself up as a paraphraser, thus securing myself that retreat which many use to cloak their ignorance, wrapping themselves like the cuttle-fish in darkness of their own making to avoid detection. now, if readers do not find here the grandiloquence of latin tragedy, 'the bombast and the words half a yard long,' as horace calls it, they must not blame me if in performing my function of translator i have preferred to reproduce the concise simplicity and elegance of my original, and not the bombast to which he is a stranger, and which i do not greatly admire at any time.
-furthermore, i am encouraged to hope with all certainty that these labours of mine will be most excellently protected against the calumnies of the unjust, as their publication will be most welcome to the honest and just, if you, most excellent father, have voted them your approval. for me it was not difficult to select you from the great host of illustrious and distinguished men to be the recipient of this product of my vigils, as the one man i have observed to be--aside from the brilliance of your fortune--so endowed, adorned and showered with learning, eloquence, good sense, piety, modesty, integrity, and lastly with an extraordinary liberality towards those who cultivate good letters, that the word primate suits none better than yourself, who hold the first place not solely by reason of your official dignity, but far more because of all your virtues, while at the same time you are the principal ornament of the court and the sole head of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. if i have the fortune to win for this my work the commendation of a man so highly commended i shall assuredly not repent of the exertions i have so far expended, and will be forward to promote theological studies with even more zeal for the future.
-to aldus manutius of rome, many greetings:
-i should not have hesitated to attempt the publication at my own risk and expense, were it not that i have to leave italy within a few months: so i should much like to have the business concluded as soon as possible; in fact it is hardly ten days' work. if you insist on my taking a hundred or two hundred volumes, though the god of gain does not usually favour me and it will be most inconvenient to transport the package, i shall not refuse, if only you fix a horse as the price. farewell, most learned aldus, and reckon erasmus as one of your well-wishers.
-if you have any rare authors in your press, i shall be obliged if you will indicate this--my learned british friends have asked me to search for them. if you decide not to print the tragedies, will you return the copy to the bearer to bring back to me?
-to his friend thomas more, greetings:
-and indeed there will perhaps be no lack of brawlers to represent that trifles are more frivolous than becomes a theologian, or more mordant than suits with christian modesty, and they will be crying out that i am reviving the old comedy or lucian and assailing everything with biting satire. but i would have those who are offended by the levity and sportiveness of my theme reflect that it was not i that began this, but that the same was practised by great writers in former times; seeing that so many centuries ago homer made his trifle the battle of frogs and mice, virgil his gnat and dish of herbs and ovid his nut; seeing that busiris was praised by polycrates and his critic isocrates, injustice by glaucon, thersites and the quartan fever by favorinus, baldness by synesius, the fly and the art of being a parasite by lucian; and that seneca devised the apotheosis of the emperor claudius, plutarch the dialogue of gryllus and ulysses, lucian and apuleius the ass, and someone unknown the testament of grunnius corocotta the piglet, mentioned even by st. jerome.
-so, if they will, let my detractors imagine that i have played an occasional game of draughts for a pastime or, if they prefer, taken a ride on a hobby-horse. how unfair it is truly, when we grant every calling in life its amusements, not to allow the profession of learning any amusement at all, particularly if triflings bring serious thoughts in their train and frivolous matters are so treated that a reader not altogether devoid of perception wins more profit from these than from the glittering and portentous arguments of certain persons--as when for instance one man eulogizes rhetoric or philosophy in a painfully stitched-together oration, another rehearses the praises of some prince, another urges us to begin a war with the turks, another foretells the future, and another proposes a new method of splitting hairs. just as there is nothing so trifling as to treat serious matters triflingly, so there is nothing so delightful as to treat trifling matters in such fashion that it appears that you have been doing anything but trifle. as to me, the judgement is in other hands--and yet, unless i am altogether misled by self-love, i have sung the praise of folly and that not altogether foolishly.
-and now to reply to the charge of mordacity. it has ever been the privilege of wits to satirize the life of society with impunity, provided that licence does not degenerate into frenzy. wherefore the more do i marvel at the fastidiousness of men's ears in these times, who by now can scarce endure anything but solemn appellations. further, we see some men so perversely religious that they will suffer the most hideous revilings against christ sooner than let prince or pope be sullied by the lightest jest, particularly if this concerns monetary gain. but if a man censures men's lives without reproving anyone at all by name, pray do you think this man a satirist, and not rather a teacher and admonisher? else on how many counts do i censure myself? moreover he who leaves no class of men unmentioned is clearly foe to no man but to all vices. therefore anyone who rises up and cries out that he is insulted will be revealing a bad conscience, or at all events fear. st. jerome wrote satire in this kind far more free and biting, not always abstaining from the mention of names, whereas i myself, apart from not mentioning anyone by name, have moreover so tempered my pen that the sagacious reader will easily understand that my aim has been to give pleasure, not pain; for i have at no point followed juvenal's example in 'stirring up the murky bilge of crime', and i have sought to survey the laughable, not the disgusting. if there is anyone whom even this cannot appease, at least let him remember that it is a fine thing to be reviled by folly; in bringing her upon the stage i had to suit the words to the character. but why need i say all this to you, an advocate so remarkable that you can defend excellently even causes far from excellent? farewell, most eloquent more, and be diligent in defending your moria.
-to his friend colet, greetings:
-x. to servatius roger
-to the reverend father servatius, many greetings:
-... most humane father, your letter has at last reached me, after passing through many hands, when i had already left england, and it has afforded me unbelievable delight, as it still breathes your old affection for me. however, i shall answer briefly, as i am writing just after the journey, and shall reply in particular on those matters which are, as you write, strictly to the point. men's thoughts are so varied, 'to each his own bird-song', that it is impossible to satisfy everyone. my own feelings are that i want to follow what is best to do, god is my witness. those feelings which i had in my youth have been corrected partly by age, partly by experience of the world. i have never intended to change my mode of life or my habit--not that i liked them, but to avoid scandal. you are aware that i was not so much led as driven to this mode of life by the obstinate determination of my guardians and the wrongful urgings of others, and that afterwards, when i realized that this kind of life was quite unsuited to me (for not all things suit all men), i was held back by cornelius of woerden's reproaches and by a certain boyish sense of shame. i was never able to endure fasting, through some peculiarity of my constitution. once roused from sleep i could never fall asleep again for several hours. i was so drawn towards literature, which is not practised in the monastery, that i do not doubt that if i had chanced on some free mode of life i could have been numbered not merely among the happy but even among the good.
-so, when i realized that i was by no means fit for this mode of life, that i had taken it up under compulsion and not of my own free will, nevertheless, as public opinion in these days regards it as a crime to break away from a mode of life once taken up, i had resolved to endure with fortitude this part of my unhappiness also--you know that i am in many things unfortunate. but i have always regarded this one thing as harder than all the rest, that i had been forced into a mode of life for which i was totally unfit both in body and in mind: in mind, because i abhorred ritual and loved liberty; in body, because even had i been perfectly satisfied with the life, my constitution could not endure such labours. one may object that i had a year of probation, as it is called, and that i was of ripe age. ridiculous! as if anyone could expect a boy of sixteen, particularly one with a literary training, to know himself (an achievement even for an old man), or to have succeeded in learning in a single year what many do not yet understand in their grey hairs. though i myself never liked the life, still less after i had tried it, but was trapped in the way i have mentioned; although i confess that the truly good man will live a good life in any calling. and i do not deny that i was prone to grievous vices, but not of so utterly corrupt a nature that i could not have come to some good, had i found a kindly guide, a true christian, not one given to jewish scruples.
-meanwhile i looked about to find in what kind of life i could be least bad, and i believe indeed that i have attained this. i have spent my life meantime among sober men, in literary studies, which have kept me off many vices. i have been able to associate with true followers of christ, whose conversation has made me a better man. i do not now boast of my books, which you at steyn perhaps despise.
-but many confess that they have become not merely more knowledgeable, but even better men through reading them. passion for money has never affected me. i am quite untouched by the thirst for fame. i have never been a slave to pleasures, although i was formerly inclined to them. over-indulgence and drunkenness i have ever loathed and avoided. but whenever i thought of returning to your society, i remembered the jealousy of many, the contempt of all, the conversations how dull, how foolish, how un-christlike, the feasts how unclerical! in short the whole way of life, from which if you remove the ritual, i do not see what remains that one could desire. lastly i remembered my frail constitution, now weakened by age, disease and hard work, as a result of which i should fail to satisfy you and kill myself. for several years now i have been subject to the stone, a severe and deadly illness, and for several years i have drunk nothing but wine, and not all kinds of wine at that, owing to my disease; i cannot endure all kinds of food nor indeed all climates. the illness is very liable to recur and demands a very careful regimen; and i know the climate in holland and your style of living, not to mention your ways. so, had i come back to you, all i would have achieved would have been to bring trouble on you and death on myself.
-but perhaps you think it a great part of happiness to die amid one's fellow-brethren? this belief deceives and imposes not on you alone but on nearly everyone. we make christian piety depend on place, dress, style of living and on certain little rituals. we think a man lost who changes his white dress for black, or his cowl for a cap, or occasionally moves from place to place. i should dare to say that christian piety has suffered great damage from these so-called religious practices, although it may be that their first introduction was due to pious zeal. they then gradually increased and divided into thousands of distinctions; this was helped by a papal authority which was too lax and easy-going in many cases. what more defiled or more impious than these lax rituals? and if you turn to those that are commended, no, to the most highly commended, apart from some dreary jewish rituals, i know not what image of christ one finds in them. it is these on which they preen themselves, these by which they judge and condemn others. how much more in conformity with the spirit of christ to consider the whole christian world one home and as it were one monastery, to regard all men as one's fellow-monks and fellow-brethren, to hold the sacrament of baptism as the supreme rite, and not to consider where one lives but how well one lives! you want me to settle on a permanent abode, a course which my very age also suggests. but the travellings of solon, pythagoras and plato are praised; and the apostles, too, were wanderers, in particular paul. st. jerome also was a monk now in rome, now in syria, now in antioch, now here, now there, and even in his old age pursued literary studies.
-it now remains to satisfy you on the question of my dress. i have always up to now worn the canon's dress, and when i was at louvain i obtained permission from the bishop of utrecht to wear a linen scapular instead of a complete linen garment, and a black capuce instead of a black cloak, after the parisian custom. but on my journey to italy, seeing the monks all along the way wearing a black garment with a scapular, i there took to wearing black, with a scapular, to avoid giving offence by any unusual dress. afterwards the plague broke out at bologna, and there those who nurse the sick of the plague customarily wear a white linen cloth depending from the shoulder--these avoid contact with people. consequently when one day i went to call on a learned friend some rascals drew their swords and were preparing to set about me, and would have done so, had not a certain matron warned them that i was an ecclesiastic. again the next day, when i was on my way to visit the treasurer's sons, they rushed at me with bludgeons from all directions and attacked me with horrible cries. so on the advice of good men i concealed my scapular, and obtained a dispensation from pope julius ii allowing me to wear the religious dress or not, as seemed good, provided that i wore clerical garb; and in this document he condoned any previous offences in the matter. in italy i continued to wear clerical garb, lest the change cause offence to anyone. on my return to england i decided to wear my usual dress, and i invited to my lodging a friend of excellent repute for his learning and mode of life and showed him the dress i had decided to wear; i asked him whether this was suitable in england. he approved, so i appeared in public in this dress. i was at once warned by other friends that this dress could not be tolerated in england, that i had better conceal it. i did so; and as it cannot be concealed without causing scandal if it is eventually discovered, i stored it away in a box, and up to now have taken advantage of the papal dispensation received formerly. ecclesiastical law excommunicates anyone who casts off the religious habit so as to move more freely in secular society. i put it off under compulsion in italy, to escape being killed; and likewise under compulsion in england, because it was not tolerated there, although myself i should much prefer to have worn it. to adopt it again now would cause more scandal than did the change itself.
-there you have an account of my whole life, there you have my plans. i should like to change even this present mode of life, if i see a better. but i do not see what i am to do in holland. i know that the climate and way of living will not agree with me; i shall have everyone looking at me. i shall return a white-haired old man, having gone away as a youth--i shall return a valetudinarian; i shall be exposed to the contempt of the lowest, used as i am to the respect of the highest. i shall exchange my studies for drinking-parties. as to your promising me your help in finding me a place where i can live with an excellent income, as you write, i cannot conjecture what this can be, unless perhaps you intend to place me among some community of nuns, to serve women--i who have never been willing to serve kings nor archbishops. i want no pay; i have no desire for riches, if only i have money enough to provide for my health and my literary leisure, to enable me to live without burdening anyone. i wish we could discuss these things together face to face; it cannot be done in a letter conveniently or safely. your letter, although it was sent by most reliable persons, went so far astray that if i had not accidentally come to this castle i should never have seen it; and many people had looked at it before i received it. so do not mention anything secret unless you know for certain where i am and have a very trustworthy messenger. i am now on my way to germany, that is, basle, to have my works published, and this winter i shall perhaps be in rome. on my return journey i shall see to it that we meet and talk somewhere. but now the summer is nearly over and it is a long journey. farewell, once my sweetest comrade, now my esteemed father.
-to the distinguished theologian wolfgang fabricius capito of hagenau, skilled in the three languages, greetings:
-yet those who snarl out suchlike dirges, which any laundryman with a little sense would scoff at, think themselves great theologians ... not that i want the kind of theology which is customary in the schools nowadays consigned to oblivion; i wish it to be rendered more trustworthy and more correct by the accession of the old, true learning. it will not weaken the authority of the scriptures or theologians if certain passages hitherto considered corrupt are henceforth read in an emended form, or if passages are more correctly understood on which up till now the mass of theologians have entertained delusions: no, it will give greater weight to their authority, the more genuine their understanding of the scriptures. i have sustained the shock of the first meeting, which terence calls the sharpest.... one doubt still troubles me; i fear that under cover of the rebirth of ancient learning paganism may seek to rear its head, as even among christians there are those who acknowledge christ in name only, but in their hearts are gentiles; or that with the renascence of hebrew studies judaism may seek to use this opportunity of revival; and there can be nothing more contrary or more hostile to the teaching of christ than this plague. this is the nature of human affairs--nothing good has ever so flourished but some evil has attempted to use it as a pretext for insinuating itself. i could wish that those dreary quibblings could be either done away with or at least cease to be the sole activity of theologians, and that the simplicity and purity of christ could penetrate deeply into the minds of men; and this i think can best be brought to pass if with the help provided by the three languages we exercise our minds in the actual sources. but i pray that we may avoid this evil without falling into another perhaps graver error. recently several pamphlets have been published reeking of unadulterated judaism.
-xii. to thomas more
-to his friend more, greeting:
-the pope and the princes are up to some new tricks on the pretext of the savagery of the war against the turks. wretched turks! may we christians not be too cruel! even wives are affected. all married men between the ages of twenty-six and fifty will be compelled to take up arms. meanwhile the pope forbids the wives of men absent at the war to indulge in pleasure at home; they are to eschew elegant apparel, must not wear silk, gold or any jewellery, must not touch rouge or drink wine, and must fast every other day, that god may favour their husbands engaged in this cruel war. if there are men tied at home by necessary business, their wives must none the less observe the same rules as they would have had to observe if their husbands had gone to the war. they are to sleep in the same room but in different beds; and not a kiss is to be given meanwhile until this terrible war reaches a successful conclusion under christ's favour. i know that these enactments will irritate wives who do not sufficiently ponder the importance of the business; though i know that your wife, sensible as she is, and obedient in regard to a matter of christian observance, will even be glad to obey.
-i beg you to let my servant sleep one or two nights with yours, to prevent his chancing on an infected house, and to afford him anything he may need, although i have supplied him with travelling money myself. i have at last seen the utopia at paris printed, but with many misprints. it is now in the press at basle; i had threatened to break with them unless they took more trouble with that business than with mine. farewell, most sincere of friends.
-to his friend rhenanus, greetings:
-after arriving at boppard, as i was taking a walk along the bank while a boat was being procured, someone recognized me and betrayed me to the customs officer, 'that is the man.' the customs officer's name is, if i mistake not, christopher cinicampius, in the common speech eschenfelder. you would not believe how the man jumped for joy. he dragged me into his house. books by erasmus were lying on a small table amongst the customs agreements. he exclaimed at his good fortune and called in his wife and children and all his friends. meanwhile he sent out to the sailors who were calling for me two tankards of wine, and another two when they called out again, promising that when he came back he would remit the toll to the man who had brought him a man like myself. from boppard john flaminius, chaplain to the nuns there, a man of angelic purity, of sane and sober judgement and no common learning, accompanied me as far as coblenz. at coblenz matthias, chancellor to the bishop, swept us off to his house--he is a young man but of staid manners, and has an accurate knowledge of latin, besides being a skilled lawyer. there we supped merrily.
-with the count i stayed five days very pleasantly, in such peace and quiet that while staying with him i completed a good part of the revision--i had taken that part of the new testament with me. would that you knew him, my dear beatus! he is a young man but of rare good sense, more than you would find in an old man; he speaks little, but as homer says of menelaus, he speaks 'in clear tones,' and intelligently too; he is learned without pretentiousness in more than one branch of study, wholly sincere and a good friend. by now i was strong and lusty, and well pleased with myself, and was hoping to be in a good state when i visited the bishop of liége and to return hale and hearty to my friends in brabant. what dinner-parties, what felicitations, what discussions i promised myself! but ah, deceptive human hopes! ah, the sudden and unexpected vicissitudes of human affairs! from these high dreams of happiness i was hurled to the depths of misfortune.
-i had hired a carriage and pair for the next day. my companion, not wanting to say goodbye before night, announced that he would see me in the morning before my departure. that night a wild hurricane sprang up, which had passed before the next morning. nevertheless i rose after midnight, to make some notes for the count: when it was already seven o'clock and the count did not emerge, i asked for him to be waked. he came, and in his customary shy and modest way asked me whether i meant to leave in such bad weather, saying he was afraid for me. at that point, my dear beatus, some god or bad angel deprived me, not of the half of my senses, as hesiod says, but of the whole: for he had deprived me of half my senses when i risked going to cologne. i wish that either my friend had warned me more sharply or that i had paid more attention to his most affectionate remonstrances! i was seized by the power of fate: what else am i to say? i climbed into an uncovered carriage, the wind blowing 'strong as when in the high mountains it shivers the trembling holm-oaks.' it was a south wind and blowing like the very pest. i thought i was well protected by my wrappings, but it went through everything with its violence. towards nightfall a light rain came on, more noxious than the wind that preceded it: i arrived at aachen exhausted from the shaking of the carriage, which was so trying to me on the stone-paved road that i should have preferred sitting on my horse, lame as he was. here i was carried off from the inn by a canon, to whom the count had recommended me, to suderman's house. there several canons were holding their usual drinking-party. my appetite had been sharpened by a very light lunch; but at the time they had nothing by them but carp, and cold carp at that. i ate to repletion. the drinking went on well into the night. i excused myself and went to bed, as i had had very little sleep the night before.
-on the following day i was taken to the vice-provost's house; it was his turn to offer hospitality. as there was no fish there apart from eel (this was certainly the fault of the storm, as he is a magnificent host otherwise) i lunched off a fish dried in the open air, which the germans call stockfisch, from the rod used to beat it--it is a fish which i enjoy at other times: but i discovered that part of this one had not been properly cured. after lunch, as the weather was appalling, i took myself off to the inn and ordered a fire to be lit. the canon whom i mentioned, a most cultured man, stayed talking with me for about an hour and a half. meanwhile i began to feel very uncomfortable inside; as this continued, i sent him away and went to the privy. as this gave my stomach no relief i inserted my finger into my mouth, and the uncured fish came up, but that was all. i lay down afterwards, not so much sleeping as resting, without any pain in my head or body; then, having struck a bargain with the coachman over the bags, i received an invitation to the evening compotation. i excused myself, without success. i knew that my stomach would not stand anything but a few sups of warmed liquor.... on this occasion there was a magnificent spread, but it was wasted on me. after comforting my stomach with a sup of wine, i went home; i was sleeping at suderman's house. as soon as i went out of doors my empty body shivered fearfully in the night air.
-on the morning of the next day, after taking a little warmed ale and a few morsels of bread, i mounted my horse, who was lame and ailing, which made riding more uncomfortable. by now i was in such a state that i would have been better keeping warm in bed than mounted on horseback. but that district is the most countrified, roughest, barren and unattractive imaginable, the inhabitants are so idle; so that i preferred to run away. the danger of brigands--it was very great in those parts--or at least my fear of them, was driven out of my mind by the discomfort of my illness.... after covering four miles on this ride i reached maastricht. there after a drink to soothe my stomach i remounted and came to tongres, about three miles away. this last ride was by far the most painful to me. the awkward gait of the horse gave me excruciating pains in the kidneys. it would have been easier to walk, but i was afraid of sweating, and there was a danger of the night catching us still out in the country. so i reached tongres with my whole body in a state of unbelievable agony. by now, owing to lack of food and the exertion in addition, all my muscles had given way, so that i could not stand or walk steadily. i concealed the severity of my illness by my tongue--that was still working. here i took a sup of ale to soothe my stomach and retired to bed.
-in the morning i ordered them to hire a carriage. i decided to go on horseback, on account of the paving stones, until we reached an unpaved road. i mounted the bigger horse, thinking that he would go better on the paving and be more sure-footed. i had hardly mounted when i felt my eyes clouding over as i met the cold air, and asked for a cloak. but soon after this i fainted; i could be roused by a touch. then my servant john and the others standing by let me come to myself naturally, still sitting on the horse. after coming to myself i got into the carriage.... by now we were approaching the town of st. trond. i mounted once more, not to appear an invalid, riding in a carriage. once again the evening air made me feel sick, but i did not faint. i offered the coachman double the fare if he would take me the next day as far as tirlemont, a town six miles from tongres. he accepted the terms. here a guest whom i knew told me how ill the bishop of liége had taken my leaving for basle without calling on him. after soothing my stomach with a drink i went to bed, and had a very bad night.... here by chance i found a coach going to louvain, six miles away, and threw myself into it. i made the journey in incredible and almost unendurable discomfort; however we reached louvain by seven o'clock on that day.
-my appetite came back within three days.... i then immediately returned to my studies and completed what was still wanting to my new testament.... i had given orders as soon as i arrived that no one was to visit me unless summoned by name, lest i should frighten anyone or suffer inconvenience from anyone's assiduity; but dorp forced his way in first of all, then ath. mark laurin and paschasius berselius, who came every day, did much to make me well with their delightful company.
-my dear beatus, who would have believed that this meagre delicate body of mine, weakened now by age also, could have succeeded, after all the troubles of travel and all my studious exertions, in standing up to all these physical ills as well? you know how ill i was not long ago at basle, more than once. i was beginning to suspect that that year would be fatal to me: illness followed illness, always more severe. but, at the very time when this illness was at its height, i felt no torturing desire to live and no trepidation at the fear of death. my whole hope was in christ alone, and i prayed only that he would give me what he judged most salutary for me. in my youth long ago, as i remember, i would shiver at the very name of death. this at least i have achieved as i have grown older, that i do not greatly fear death, and i do not measure man's happiness by number of days. i have passed my fiftieth year; as so few out of so many reach this age, i cannot rightly complain that i have not lived long enough. and then, if this has any relevance, i have by now already prepared a monument to bear witness to posterity that i have lived. and perhaps if, as the poets tell, jealousy falls silent after death, fame will shine out the more brightly: although it ill becomes a christian heart to be moved by human glory; may i have the glory of pleasing christ! farewell, my dearest beatus. the rest you will learn from my letter to capito.
-best greetings, most beloved brother in christ. your letter was most welcome to me, displaying a shrewd wit and breathing a christian spirit.
-i could never find words to express what commotions your books have brought about here. they cannot even now eradicate from their minds the most false suspicion that your works were composed with my aid, and that i am the standard-bearer of this party, as they call it. they thought that they had found a handle wherewith to crush good learning--which they mortally detest as threatening to dim the majesty of theology, a thing they value far above christ--and at the same time to crush me, whom they consider as having some influence on the revival of studies. the whole affair was conducted with such clamourings, wild talk, trickery, detraction and cunning that, had i not been present and witnessed, nay, felt all this, i should never have taken any man's word for it that theologians could act so madly. you would have thought it some mortal plague. and yet the poison of this evil beginning with a few has spread so far abroad that a great part of this university was running mad with the infection of this not uncommon disease.
-i declared that you were quite unknown to me, that i had not yet read your books, and accordingly neither approved nor disapproved of anything in them. i only warned them not to clamour before the populace in so hateful a manner without having yet read your books: this matter was their concern, whose judgement should carry the greatest weight. further i begged them to consider also whether it were expedient to traduce before a mixed multitude views which were more properly refuted in books or discussed between educated persons, particularly as the author's way of life was extolled by one and all. i failed miserably; up to this day they continue to rave in their insinuating, nay, slanderous disputations. how often have we agreed to make peace! how often have they stirred up new commotions from some rashly conceived shred of suspicion! and these men think themselves theologians! theologians are not liked in court circles here; this too they put down to me. the bishops all favour me greatly. these men put no trust in books, their hope of victory is based on cunning alone. i disdain them, relying on my knowledge that i am in the right. they are becoming a little milder towards yourself. they fear my pen, because of their bad conscience; and i would indeed paint them in their true colours, as they deserve, did not christ's teaching and example summon me elsewhere. wild beasts can be tamed by kindness, which makes these men wild.
-there are persons in england, and they in the highest positions, who think very well of your writings. here, too, there are people, among them the bishop of liége, who favour your followers. as for me, i keep myself as far as possible neutral, the better to assist the new flowering of good learning; and it seems to me that more can be done by unassuming courteousness than by violence. it was thus that christ brought the world under his sway, and thus that paul made away with the jewish law, by interpreting all things allegorically. it is wiser to cry out against those who abuse the popes' authority than against the popes themselves: and i think that we should act in the same way with the kings. as for the schools, we should not so much reject them as recall them to more reasonable studies. where things are too generally accepted to be suddenly eradicated from men's minds, we must argue with repeated and efficacious proofs and not make positive assertions. the poisonous contentions of certain persons are better ignored than refuted. we must everywhere take care never to speak or act arrogantly or in a party spirit: this i believe is pleasing to the spirit of christ. meanwhile we must preserve our minds from being seduced by anger, hatred or ambition; these feelings are apt to lie in wait for us in the midst of our strivings after piety.
-i have written to melanchthon. the lord jesus impart you his spirit each day more bountifully, to his own glory and the good of all. i had not your letter at hand when writing this.
-to the illustrious knight ulrich hutten, greetings:
-he likes to dress simply and does not wear silk or purple or gold chains, excepting where it would not be decent not to wear them. it is strange how careless he is of the formalities by which the vulgar judge good manners. he neither insists on these from any, nor does he anxiously force them on others whether at meetings or at entertainments, although he knows them well enough, should he choose to indulge in them; but he considers it effeminate and not becoming masculine dignity to waste a good part of one's time in suchlike inanities.
-formerly he disliked court life and the company of princes, for the reason that he has always had a peculiar loathing for tyranny, just as he has always loved equality. (now you will hardly find any court so modest that has not about it much noisy ostentation, dissimulation and luxury, while yet being quite free of any kind of tyranny.) indeed it was only with great difficulty that he could be dragged into the court of henry viii, although nothing more courteous and unassuming than this prince could be desired. he is by nature somewhat greedy of independence and leisure; but while he gladly takes advantage of leisure when it comes his way, none is more careful or patient whenever business demands it.
-in social intercourse he is of so rare a courtesy and charm of manners that there is no man so melancholy that he does not gladden, no subject so forbidding that he does not dispel the tedium of it. from his boyhood he has loved joking, so that he might seem born for this, but in his jokes he has never descended to buffoonery, and has never loved the biting jest. as a youth he both composed and acted in little comedies. any witty remark he would still enjoy, even were it directed against himself, such is his delight in clever sallies of ingenious flavour. as a result he wrote epigrams as a young man, and delighted particularly in lucian; indeed he was responsible for my writing the praise of folly, that is for making the camel dance.
-in human relations he looks for pleasure in everything he comes across, even in the gravest matters. if he has to do with intelligent and educated men, he takes pleasure in their brilliance; if with the ignorant and foolish, he enjoys their folly. he is not put out by perfect fools, and suits himself with marvellous dexterity to all men's feelings. for women generally, even for his wife, he has nothing but jests and merriment. you could say he was a second democritus, or better, that pythagorean philosopher who saunters through the market-place with a tranquil mind gazing on the uproar of buyers and sellers. none is less guided by the opinion of the herd, but again none is less remote from the common feelings of humanity.
-he takes an especial pleasure in watching the appearance, characters and behaviour of various creatures; accordingly there is almost no kind of bird which he does not keep at his home, and various other animals not commonly found, such as apes, foxes, ferrets, weasels and their like. added to this, he eagerly buys anything foreign or otherwise worth looking at which comes his way, and he has the whole house stocked with these objects, so that wherever the visitor looks there is something to detain him; and his own pleasure is renewed whenever he sees others enjoying these sights.
-when he was of an age for it, he was not averse to love-affairs with young women, but kept them honourable, preferring the love that was offered to that which he must chase after, and was more drawn by spiritual than by physical intercourse.
-he had devoured classical literature from his earliest years. as a lad he applied himself to the study of greek literature and philosophy; his father, so far from helping him (although he is otherwise a good and sensible man), deprived him of all support in this endeavour; and he was almost regarded as disowned, because he seemed to be deserting his princess victoria, the duchess of york and the duke and duchess of fife. badges and gifts were presented to the nursing sisters and the men of the royal army medical corps and st. john ambulance brigade and a brief speech delivered by the prince. to this object, it may be added, the princess had given £1000, and a committee formed by her and composed of lady lansdowne, lady wolseley, lady wantage, sir donald currie and others, had raised the large additional sum required. at windsor, on december 15th, the prince of wales, accompanied by his wife, the duke of cambridge and prince christian, presented to the grenadier guards the medals they had won in the soudan. on january 26th, 1900, he reviewed six hundred officers and men of the imperial yeomanry under command of colonel, lord chesham. he thanked them for making him their hon. colonel, and then added: "you have all, like true men, volunteered for active service to do your duty to your sovereign and your country. i feel sure that when you leave your homes and country you will feel that a great duty devolves on you--to maintain the honour of the british flag--and that you will ably assist the regular forces of her majesty abroad and do credit to your country and your corps."
-a little later, on february 9th, another contingent of yeomanry, under colonel mitford, were inspected by the prince ere they departed for south africa. "most heartily" he said to them, "do i hope that the services you intend to render your sovereign and your country will bring credit upon yourselves. i feel sure that, under your commanders, you will know that one of the first principles is good discipline. then, i hope you are good shots and good riders." in the afternoon, at devonshire house, his royal highness received the one hundred and fifty nurses and men connected with the imperial yeomanry hospital. when the princess of wales' hospital ship returned with its sorrowful burdens of wounded men the prince and princess were the first to visit it and do what was possible by kind thought and word and action to soothe the suffering of the soldiers. netley hospital they visited again and again, and more than one canadian or australian, or other colonial soldier of the queen, will always speak of the gracious personal kindness of the royal couple.
-when the naval brigade returned in triumph from its achievements at ladysmith there was added to the seething, cheering, enthusiastic popular welcome the formal reception and inspection by the heir apparent, accompanied by the princess and other members of the royal family and the lords of the admiralty. after brief speeches from mr. goschen and his royal highness the former, as first lord of the admiralty, entertained the officers of the brigade and the prince of wales at luncheon. on november 2nd, following, the prince presided at a great banquet given in london to the officers and men of the honourable artillery company and the city imperial volunteers. colonel mackinnon of the latter force sat on the right of the royal chairman and the lord mayor on the left. in his speeches the prince gave a brief history of the origin and the war achievements of the artillery and the city imperial volunteers, congratulated many of the officers by name, spoke of the opportunity they had been given of taking part in "a great and important war and of maintaining the honour of the british flag," and referred in pathetic terms to the death of prince christian victor--who had been through five campaigns and was under thirty-four years of age.
-when the composite regiment of the household cavalry went to war in november 1899 they had been inspected by the heir apparent. upon their return, december 3rd 1900, he paid them the same compliment, accompanied by various members of the royal family and leading officers of the army. he expressed pride at being colonel-in-chief of a corps which had so greatly distinguished itself--in the distant past as well as the near present. following them came the royal canadian regiment, commanded by colonel w. d. otter. to them the prince made a neat and patriotic speech. "i am well aware of what you have gone through and the splendid way in which you have served in south africa and i deeply regret and mourn with you the loss of so many brave men." ever anxious, like the queen and her own husband, to promote the well-being of the soldiers and sailors the princess of wales had acted since the beginning of the war as president of the soldiers and sailors' families association and, on december 31st, 1900, reported through the press that £500,000 had been directly subscribed to their purposes, £190,000 given through the mansion house subscription, and £50,000 through a special lord mayor's fund. the whole of this sum had now been expended in caring for the wives and families of those at the front and distributed through the voluntary services of eleven hundred ladies and gentlemen throughout the united kingdom. at least £50,000 was still being expended monthly and her royal highness made and personally signed an earnest appeal for the further funds required.
-when lord roberts left to take command in south africa, the prince of wales personally saw him off at the station--accompanied by the duke of connaught, who had been again praying the military authorities to allow him to go to the front in the new crisis which had arisen and who had even obtained lord roberts' approval to his taking a place upon his staff. but the war office would only say that with so many general officers out of the country his royal highness could do better service by remaining with the army at home.
-there were many reasons for the prince of wales taking a keen interest in the war apart altogether from the natural and patriotic reason. a peculiarly large number of the sons of personal friends were at the front and many of them were fated to fall from time to time. the reputation of the officers engaged in the struggle was necessarily very dear to him. he knew them all and had many associations with their regiments and themselves. a blow to sir george white, a disaster to sir redvers buller, a danger to col. baden powell, a threatened illness in the case of lord roberts, were all matters of personal concern to him as well as of national or patriotic interest. the central figure in the beginning of the war--the great personality of mr. cecil rhodes--had long been a friend and had been received by the prince upon a kindly social footing. through the duke of fife's connection with the south african chartered company, the prince must have been closely interested in all the earlier developments of the struggle and it could only have been by special permission that his son-in-law held a director's place up to the actual outbreak of the war. mr. chamberlain and lord milner were both men who had been closely associated with his own imperialistic projects and ideals and there can be little doubt--though it was never publicly expressed--that the prince of wales sympathised with the policy which has since made south african expansion and empire possible.
-personal interest in the war
-following this and other similar events came the re-organization of the army, in which the king no doubt took a great deal of interest though it would only be shown the form of advice or expressions of opinion. by mr. st. john brodrick's scheme, as outlined on march 9th, and ultimately accepted in the main, it was decided to have the military forces so organized that three army corps could be sent abroad at any time; that the artillery and mounted troops should be increased and the medical and transport service reformed; that officers should be better trained, with less barrack-square drill and more musketry, scouting and individuality. it was proposed also to "decentralize administration, centralize responsibility;" to increase the militia from 100,000 to 115,000, to increase the pay of the soldiers, to utilize the yeomanry and to affiliate, if possible, the colonial forces. the new arrangements would provide, it was hoped, a home force of 155,000 regulars, 90,000 reserves, 150,000 militia, 35,000 yeomanry and 250,000 volunteers--a total of 680,000 men.
-meanwhile, peace negotiations had been progressing. on february 28th a long interview took place between lord kitchener and general louis botha who, according to the british general's despatch, "showed very good feeling and seemed anxious to bring about peace." the question of government, grading from a crown colony system up to full self-government, was discussed; the licensing of rifles for protection and hunting; the use of english and dutch languages; the enfranchising of kaffirs; the protection of church and trust funds and the guarantee of legal debts and notes of the late republics; the question of a war-tax on the farms and the time of return of prisoners of war; pecuniary assistance to the burghers, so as to enable them to start afresh; the question of amnesty and the proposal to disfranchise cape rebels; were all freely discussed. after considerable interchange between lord kitchener and mr. brodrick and lord milner and mr. chamberlain, a definite statement of terms was offered general botha and by letter, dated march 16th, declined. the details of this cabled correspondence and the proposed terms were, of course, submitted to the king and approved by his majesty, and it is certain that had the war then ended the coronation would have taken place at an earlier date than was afterwards fixed.
-the question of honours conferred by the crown in peace or war has always been one of considerable discussion in colonial, if not in home circles. how far the sovereign acts in this connection with, or without the advice of responsible ministers, cannot be exactly known. the action is unquestionably guided by circumstances based primarily upon the admitted fact that all honours and titles, constitutionally as well as theoretically, lie in the hands of the sovereign. it is probable that the recommendations made are generally accepted; that the name of any one known to be disapproved of by the king would never be submitted; that the slightest hint of disapproval would suffice for any name to be at once dropped; that any suggestion made by the sovereign is at once included in the official list as a matter of course; that the interest taken by the sovereign in the honours bestowed depends somewhat upon whether they are conferred in the ordinary way for routine services or granted for special reasons of action or state; that colonial honours are seldom changed as they come from the hands of the governor-general or viceroy.
-various ceremonies and incidents
-on may 24th, his majesty helped to make the welcome home to sir alfred milner splendid and impressive and worthy of the statesman who had toiled amidst personal danger and depressive surroundings, public disasters and continuous misrepresentation, to maintain british rights and justice in south africa. the high commissioner was received at the station by lord salisbury, mr. chamberlain, lord roberts, lord lansdowne, mr. balfour and many others. thence he was driven to buckingham palace and received by the king in a prolonged and private audience. the honour of a peerage was conferred upon him and on the following day lord milner was entertained at a large luncheon given by the colonial secretary and mrs. chamberlain and attended by the most eminent public men of the metropolis--outside of the liberal party ranks. on the same day the king presented colours to the third scots guards.
-on june 13th a most imposing ceremony was held by his majesty on the horse guards parade when thirty-two hundred officers and men from south africa were presented with war medals by the king amid scenes which had not been duplicated since the memorable function when the late queen victoria and the crimean soldiers had been the central figures. the royal platform was covered with crimson cloth and in its centre was spread a beautiful persian silk carpet above which a canopy of crimson and gold, supported on silver poles, had been erected. around the platform was a bewildering display of splendid uniforms and, after the arrival of the king and queen alexandra, accompanied by princess victoria, the distribution of the medals lasted over two hours--major-general sir henry trotter handing them to his majesty who, in turn, presented them to the officer or soldier as he filed past. the first recipients were lord roberts, lord milner and sir ian hamilton. a most brilliant and successful function concluded with cheers and the national anthem.
-the war now dragged on its weary way. victories and occasional defeats marked the stages of attrition by which the bravery and obstinacy of a determined foe was gradually worn down. on august 16th, 1901, lord kitchener issued his proclamation banishing all boer leaders taken in arms after september 15th: three days later the duke of cornwall landed at cape town; on august 27th lord milner returned to take up his arduous duties. mr. cecil rhodes died on march 26th, 1902, and on april 9th boer delegates met at klerksdorp under safe conducts from lord kitchener, and there mr. steyn, general delary and general de wet, and others, conferred upon the possibilities of peace. three days later they proceeded to pretoria and were given every facility for discussion and consultation by the british authorities. on april 18th they temporarily dispersed to consult their commandos after being given the terms and concessions which it was decided to grant. there were supposed to be, at the most liberal computation--london times of april 25th--some 10,000 boers in the field at this time, while the women, children and boer residents of the refugee camps, who were being fed and cared for by the authorities, numbered 110,000.
-the keenest interest had been taken by the king in the course of the war during this period and in the negotiations which ensued. he had been hoping for its termination before his coronation and, some months prior to this, on january 15th, had addressed a re-inforcement of the grenadier guards in rather sanguine terms: "i trust that the duties you will be called upon to perform will be less arduous than those of some of the men who have gone before you and that the war will shortly be brought to a close. but, whatever duties you may be called upon to perform, i am sure you will fulfil them efficiently and will keep up the old spirit and traditions for which the guards are famous." his wishes, like so many entertained throughout the empire, were not speedily realized, but it is safe to say that his majesty would no more have unduly hurried the course of negotiations or changed their effective and final character in order to attain his natural desire for a peaceful celebration of the coronation--as was asserted in some sensational quarters--than he would have cut his own hand off.
-it is sometimes forgotten that the king not only embodies the authority of his vast realm in his position, but must concentrate in his own person a natural strength of pride in his empire so great as to be far beyond the possibility of a reflection upon its patriotism. he would hardly be human in his qualities if the most intense patriotic pride in the unity and power of his realms was not the first and strongest instinct of his nature. but this in passing. lord salisbury illustrated the attitude of both the sovereign and his ministers when speaking at the albert hall, london, on may 7th, during the pending negotiations: "i only wish to guard against misapprehension which i think i have seen, to the effect that the willingness we have shown to listen to all that may be said to us is a proof that we have retreated or receded from our former position and are willing to recognize that the rights we claimed are no longer valid. there is no ground for such an assertion. we cannot afford after such terrible sacrifice, not only of treasure but of men, after the exertions, unexampled in our history, that we have made--we cannot afford to submit to the idea that we are to allow things to slide back into a position where it will be in the power of our enemy again, when the opportunity suits him and the chance is favourable to him, to renew again the issue that we have fought this last three years."
-termination of the war
-thus ended a war in which great britain had spent £200,000,000, raised and equipped some three hundred thousand men, of whom one-sixth were colonial troops, and performed the unparalleled feat of supplying quick and satisfactory transport and subsistence for this great body of troops to a distance of seven thousand miles from the seat of government. the people had never wavered, the government had, apparently, never hesitated, the credit of the country had not been affected, even the prosperity of great britain had not been touched. speaking of the conduct of the people in this connection the times of july 2d paid the following personal tribute: "a splendid example of patriotism and devotion was set them by our late sovereign lady, and they nobly followed it. it is worth recalling now that, while she deplored the necessity of war, she never wavered to the end in her conviction that it must be fought through. it is to her, perhaps, above all others, that we owe the calm dignity of temper with which the peoples of her empire have passed through the greatest ordeal they have been called upon to undergo since the days of napoleon. her son, king edward, has inherited her spirit and kept before his subjects the ideals she held up to them."
-the terms of peace included the promise by great britain of self-government in gradual stages and "as soon as circumstances will permit"; the exemption of burghers from civil or criminal proceedings in connection with the war (with certain specified exceptions); the recognition of english as the official language, and the promise that dutch should be taught in the schools when desired; the granting of arms, under license, to the burghers and the postponement of native franchise questions until the period of free government had arrived; the grant of £3,000,000 to be expended by commissioners in the work of repatriation and the supply of shelter, seed, stock, etc., to the returning burghers; and the reference of rebels to their own colonial courts for trial, with the proviso that the death penalty should not in any case be inflicted.
-the settlement was well received by the burghers, of whom fully twenty thousand came in and gave up their arms in the course of a week or two. many of the commandos fraternized with the british troops and joined them in singing "god save the king." as soon as the decision for peace had been ratified lord kitchener paid a visit to vereeniging and addressed the assembled boer leaders. he congratulated them upon the splendid fight they had made. "if he had been one of them himself he would have been proud to have done as they had done. he welcomed them as citizens of a great empire and hoped they would do their duty to the sovereign as loyally as they had to the old state." messrs. schalk-burger and louis botha had, meanwhile, written farewell letters to the burghers which concluded by asking them to be obedient and respectful to their new government.
-immediately on receipt of the information that peace had been signed king edward issued the following message: "the king has received the welcome news of the cessation of hostilities in south africa with infinite satisfaction, and trusts that peace may be speedily followed by the restoration of prosperity in his new dominions, and that the feelings necessarily engendered by war will give place to the earnest co-operation of all his majesty's south african subjects in promoting the welfare of their common country." at the same time his majesty cabled lord milner: "i am overjoyed at the news of the surrender of the boer forces and i warmly congratulate you on the able manner in which you have conducted the negotiations." a similar despatch went to lord kitchener, with hearty congratulations on the termination of hostilities: "i also most heartily congratulate my brave troops under your command for having brought this long and difficult campaign to so glorious and successful a conclusion." the king also announced that he had created lord kitchener a viscount and promoted him to be full general. following the public announcement of peace on sunday, june 1st, came a flood of congratulatory telegrams to the king from public bodies and private individuals, and celebrations were held all over the united kingdom and the british empire.
-on june 8th, by order of the king, a special thanksgiving service was held in st. paul's cathedral and his majesty attended in person accompanied by queen alexandra, princess victoria, the prince and princess of wales, prince and princess charles of denmark, the duke and duchess of connaught, the veteran duke of cambridge, and other members of the royal family. a great gathering of representative britons was present in the crowded cathedral, including most of the members of the houses of lords and commons and the corporation of london. amongst many other notabilities were the duke and duchess of argyll, mr. balfour, the earl of rosebery, the marquess of lansdowne, earl and countess roberts, earl and countess carrington, lady macdonald of earnscliffe, sir redvers and lady audrey buller. a short and eloquent sermon was preached by bishop winnington-ingram, of london, in which he referred to the blessings of peace for the people and the completion of the causes for rejoicing at the approaching coronation. meanwhile, on june 4th, the king had followed up the honours already conferred on lord kitchener by sending a special message to the house of commons at the hands of mr. a. j. balfour, the government leader, to the following effect: "his majesty taking into consideration the eminent services rendered by lord kitchener and being desirous, in recognition of such services, to confer on him some signal mark of his favour, recommends that he, the king, should be enabled to grant lord kitchener £50,000." the vote was carried by a majority of three hundred and eighty-two to forty-two and marked the final stage in the war--its prolonged struggles, its negotiations, its honours and its rewards. to the king this result was the one thing needful and seemed to leave a fair field, a peaceful empire, a loyal people, waiting without a shadow on the sun to share in the splendid celebration of his approaching coronation. to the lord mayor and corporation of london and the london county council his majesty addressed, on june 13th, some words in reply to their expressions of loyalty and congratulation at the conclusion of peace, which may appropriately be quoted here:
-"i heartily join in your expression of thankfulness to almighty god at the termination of a struggle which, while it has entailed on my people at home and beyond the seas so many sacrifices, borne with admirable fortitude, has secured a result which will give increased unity and strength to my empire. the cordial and spontaneous exertions of all parts of my dominions, as well as of your ancient and loyal city, have done much to bring about this happy result."
-"you give fitting expression to the admiration universally felt for the valour and endurance of the officers and men who have been engaged in fighting their country's battles. they have been opposed by a brave and determined people, and have had to encounter unexampled difficulties. these difficulties have been cheerfully overcome by steady and persistent effort, and those who were our opponents will now, i rejoice to think, become our friends. it is my earnest hope that, by mutual co-operation and good-will, the bitter feelings of the past may speedily be replaced by ties of loyalty and friendship and that an era of peace and prosperity may be in store for south africa."
-arrangements for the coronation
-the preparations for the coronation of the king were of a character which eclipsed anything in the history of the world. it was unquestionably his aim and intention to make the event an illustration of the power of the british empire, the loyalty of its people and the unity of its complex races. the pride of the king in his great position, the knowledge which he had acquired of the empire in his innumerable travels, the statecraft which he had inherited and developed, were all factors in the determination to make this occasion memorable. connected with the splendour of the event, as planned, was the personal relationship and friendship of most of the sovereigns of europe with and for his majesty and, associated with every detail of its anticipated success, was the enthusiastic loyalty of indian princes and great self-governing british dominions beyond the seas. finally, the end of the south african war came as if to add the one thing wanting to the entire success of the most magnificent coronation in all history. preparations went on apace from the beginning of spring, 1902. the mere material evidences of the coming event transformed busy and commercial london into a forest of boards and poles and platforms. westminster abbey was changed inside and out and a special entrance was made for the king and queen alexandra to enter through, and so made as to harmonize with the general architecture and character of the building.
-a thousand great beacon lights were built over the united kingdom so that from shore to shore the news of the crowning of the king might be flashed in flames of light to the people. in london and other centres every kind of device for electrical display and illumination was prepared and, toward the middle of june, flags and bunting in myriad forms began to show themselves. in other parts of the empire almost every city and town and village arranged for some kind of demonstration. banquets and garden parties and band concerts and processions and military reviews and all the varied means by which the english-speaking person expresses his feelings were in full tide of preparation as the time of the coronation grew near. india had its own unique and oriental modes of expressing loyalty and the feeling there was enhanced by the news that the new prince of wales was going to repeat the state visit of his father, the king, in december of this year and see the people of practically the only part of the british realms which he had not yet visited. south africa was to celebrate peace and loyalty at the same time and the great centres of australia were not behind the rest of the empire despite the existing gloom of draughts and sheep famine.
-the guests invited to attend the great function might be divided into two classes--those who came to a common centre for the celebration of their sovereign's crowning, for the presentation of a picture of imperial unity, and for the discussion of questions incident to the wide-spread dominions of the king; and those who came from foreign nations as a tribute to the position of great britain in the world and as a token of their friendship for its people as well as their respect for its ruler. in the first list the first place may be given to india because of the element of gorgeousness and oriental pomp which its representatives were to bring to the function. calcutta was to be represented by maharajah kumar tagore; bombay by sir jamsetjee jeejeebhoy, the scion of a series of great merchants; madras by rajah sir savalai ramaswami mudaliyar; bengal and the presidencies of bombay and madras by distinguished gentlemen of long names and varied titles; the united provinces of agra and oudh by the hon. n. m. d. f. ali khan, who had served in both the provincial and supreme councils, and by rajah pertab singh; the punjab sent two representatives of whom sir harnman singh ahluwalia belonged to the viceroy's legislative council and represented indirectly the native christians; the central provinces, assam, burmah and the new north-west frontier province also appointed representatives. other guests from india included the sultan muhammad agha khan of the khoga community.
-every foreign country or state of importance had its official representative appointed and they poured into london and were received with varying degrees of state and ceremony as the eventful day approached. prominent amongst them were the hon. whitelaw reid, special ambassador from the united states and, in an unofficial capacity, senator chauncey m. depew. from russia came the grand duke michael, heir presumptive to the throne; from italy his royal highness the duke d'aosta; from greece the crown prince and heir to the throne; from bulgaria, the reigning prince ferdinand i.; from belgium, prince albert of flanders; from germany, prince henry of prussia; from denmark the crown prince frederick, heir to the throne; from roumania the crown prince; from austria the arch-duke francis ferdinand, heir presumptive; from france, admiral gervais, special ambassador; from rome, mgr. merry del val; from abyssinia, ras makonnen, the victorious general and special envoy of the emperor menelik; from bavaria, prince leopold; from sweden and norway the crown prince; from portugal, the crown prince.
-other foreign representatives were duke albert of würtemberg, prince waldemar of denmark, general dubois of france, field marshal count von waldersee and admiral von koeter of germany, prince george, prince nicholas and prince andrew of greece, the grand duke of mecklenburg-strelitz, prince danilo of montenegro, the duke of saxe-coburg and princess beatrice of saxe-coburg, prince george of saxony, the prince of the asturias from spain, prince chen of china, prince mohamed ali of egypt, prince akihito komatsu of japan, prince yo chai-kak of korea, baron de stein of liberia, the prince of monaco, the crown prince of siam and special ministers from luxemburg, the netherlands, turkey, honduras, mexico, morocco, nicaragua, persia, servia and uruguay.
-various foreign regiments were to be represented including the 1st prussian dragoons of germany, the 12th hussars of austria, the guard hussars of denmark and the forces of russia and portugal. all the great british regiments were to be included, either in the procession as cavalry, or along the route as infantry. preparations for the great naval review were elaborate. the channel, home and cruiser squadrons were to be in attendance with admiral sir charles hotham as commander-in-chief. besides a number of foreign warships, which were specially sent to participate in the function, the british battle-ships numbered twenty-one, the cruisers twenty-six, the torpedo gun-boats seventeen, the torpedo boat destroyers twenty-eight and the sea-going training vessels ten. amongst the foreign contributors to the review were germany, the united states, russia, sweden and norway, denmark, greece, france, japan, italy, spain, the netherlands, portugal, chili, austro-hungary and the argentine.
-june 23 state dinner at buckingham palace.
-june 24 the king and queen to receive foreign envoys and deputations. state dinner at buckingham palace.
-june 25 royal reception of colonial premiers. dinner by prince of wales to princes and envoys at st. james's palace.
-june 26 the coronation.
-june 27 procession through london, luncheon at buckingham palace. dinner at landsdowne house to king and queen. lady lansdowne's reception.
-june 28 the naval review.
-june 29 ambassadors and ministers give dinners to their respective princes.
-june 30 the king and queen proceed from portsmouth to london. gala opera.
-july 1 royal garden party at windsor castle.
-july 2 dinner at londonderry house to the king and queen.
-july 3 the king and queen to attend a special service at st. paul's cathedral and a luncheon at the guildhall given by lord mayor and corporation.
-july 4 reception at the india office in honour of the indian princes to be attended by the king and queen.
-july 5 the king's coronation dinner to the poor.
-many other functions developed around these central ones until the weeks before and after the event were to be crowded with every sort of festivity and celebration--partly in honour of the occasion, partly as evidences of hospitality to colonial, indian and foreign visitors. at portsmouth arrangements were made for a banquet in the drill-hall, on june 26th, to one thousand men from the foreign war-ships, with five hundred british seamen and marines as hosts. on the following day there were to be athletic sports for the sailors and a garden party by the mayor and mayoress for the officers of the fleets and distinguished visitors. following the review, on june 28th, arrangements were made for a garden party at whale island, for an admiralty ball in the town-hall, for a luncheon to the officers, a civic entertainment to the men and a ball given by the mayor and mayoress. in london a coronation bazaar, in aid of the sick children's hospital, was announced with various stalls in charge of princess henry of pless, the duchess of westminster, lady tweedmouth, mrs. harmsworth, the countess of bective, mrs. choate, the duchess of somerset and countess carrington. the king's dinner to the poor of london was planned upon an enormous scale and his majesty stated that he would spend £30,000 in thus entertaining half-a-million of his poorer subjects. sir thomas lipton, who had been in charge of a smaller affair at the diamond jubilee, was given control of the details. similar preparations, upon a minor scale of course, were going on all over the empire and in new york a coronation ode was issued by mr. bliss carman--a canadian by birth--which did the subject noble justice and commenced with the following verse:
-"there are joy-bells over england, there are flags in london town; there is bunting on the channel where the fleets go up and down; there are bon-fires alight in the pageant of the night; there are bands that blare for splendour and guns that speak for might; for another king of england is coming to the crown."
-meanwhile, a colonial conference had also been arranged to take place during these weeks of celebration and the delegates were to be special royal guests for the coronation--sir francis w. grenfell, sir wilfrid laurier, mr. seddon, mr. barton, sir w. j. sendall, sir william macgregor, sir gordon sprigg, sir albert hime, sir robert bond, and sir west ridgeway--together with mr. chamberlain and the earl of onslow, under-secretary of the colonies. the official programme, published a few days before the date set for the coronation, gave the details of the royal procession on that and the following days. on june 26th, in passing from buckingham abbey, there were to be eight carriages containing the royal visitors and members of the royal family, the prince and princess of wales and then the state coach with the king and queen--having the duke of connaught riding to its right and a considerable staff and brilliant escort of life guards behind.
-the procession of the following day was to be essentially an imperial pageant and was to pass over a popular city route. the colonial portion came first on the programme, headed by lieut.-general sir a. hunter, and with detachments of canadian artillery and cavalry and australian cavalry preceding a carriage containing sir wilfrid and lady laurier and mr. and mrs. barton. then followed carriages with sir r. bond and mr. and mrs. seddon, sir gordon and miss sprigg, sir albert and miss hime, sir w. ridgeway and sir f. grenfell, sir w. sendall, and sir w. macgregor, the sultan of perak and king lewanika--each preceded or followed by detachments of new zealand, cape, natal, ceylon, trinidad, cyprus and other colonial cavalry, in accordance with the country represented. then was to come the indian portion of the procession including varied detachments of native cavalry, and with carriages containing the maharajahs of jaipur, kolapore and bikanur. following these was to be a long line of british artillery and aids-de-camp to the king, representing the volunteers, yeomanry, militia and regular forces and the marines. the head-quarters staff came next, then field marshals in the army, foreign naval and military attachés, deputations of foreign officers, then indian aides-de-camp to the king--the maharajahs of gwalior, gooch and idur--and several members of the royal family on horseback. then came thirteen carriages containing royal visitors, special ambassadors and members of the royal family, followed by special escorts of colonial and indian troops and royal horse guards. the king and queen were to come next, in a splendid state coach drawn by eight horses, with the duke of connaught riding on one side of them and the prince of wales on the other.
-the king's preliminary work and illness
-some of the incidents connected with the coronation as preliminaries were carried out by the king with apparent energy and in the midst of what were known to be very heavy labours. on may 30th his majesty presented colours to the irish guards, received the maharajah sir pertab singh, held an investiture of the garter in great state, visited westminster abbey to see the coronation preparations, and gave a large dinner party. during the next three days he presented medals to the st. john ambulance brigade and held a levée and investiture of the bath. on june 4th he gave audiences to various ministers, proceeded with the queen to the derby, gave a dinner to the jockey club and then joined the queen at the duchess of devonshire's dance. on june 6th the king received the indian princes at buckingham palace and afterwards, with queen alexandra, held a stately court function. two days later the king and royal family attended a service of thanksgiving for peace at st. paul's cathedral. other incidents followed and on june 14th his majesty, accompanied by queen alexandra, the prince and princess of wales, the duke and duchess of connaught, princess victoria and princess margaret, of connaught, visited aldershot to inspect the forty thousand troops which had been slowly gathering there for weeks. a stormy and wet day changed to brightness as the royal party arrived and the town was found to be prettily decorated and filled with enthusiastic people. a great tattoo was held in the evening with massed bands and myriad torch-lights, but with not very pleasant weather.
-on the following day it was announced in the times that the king could not attend church owing to a slight attack of lumbago caused by a chill contracted the night before. queen alexandra attended the service, however, and in the afternoon visited several charitable institutions. monday the 16th saw his majesty still too much indisposed to take his part in reviewing the troops and this function was fulfilled by the queen, accompanied by the prince and princess of wales. in the afternoon the king and queen returned to windsor and in the evening his majesty was able to be present at a dinner party in the castle. on the following day the times expressed editorial pleasure at the king's apparent recovery but urged caution and suggested that, despite the disappointment of the people, it might be better if ascot were not visited by him on that day and the next but a substantial rest taken instead. the same idea seemed to occur to the royal physicians because not only was the visit to ascot cancelled but also a long-expected visit to eton which had been arranged for june 21st.
-other functions were postponed or cancelled and it was announced that his majesty was resting quietly and preparing himself for the essential and heavy functions of the coronation week. such was the apparent position of affairs in connection with this great event as massed myriads of people roamed the streets of london and the other and varied millions of the british empire threw themselves into the final stages of preparation. such was the position on june 21st when the toronto globe, in a very fitting editorial, embodied the popular feeling of canada. it declared that on the following thursday the historic abbey of westminster and the streets of london would see "the greatest ceremonial which our times have known"; that no king "ever ascended a throne with the more universal consent of the governed than does edward vii."; and that the british people had never been fickle in their feelings toward him who was once prince of wales and was now king. "their affection for him has never faltered and they will feel gratified on thursday that the concluding ceremony of coronation has fixed him firmly on the most glorious of earthly thrones".
-the illness of the king
-if the almost fatal sickness of the prince of wales in 1871 was historic, from the sympathy it evoked and the influence it wielded, that of the king in june 1902 was infinitely more memorable. at the latter period the attention of the whole civilized world was focussed upon the figure of the sovereign who was about to be crowned amid scenes of unprecedented splendour; the press of the empire and the united states was filled with the record of his movements; the representatives of the courts of europe had arrived or were arriving; the prime ministers of a dozen countries and the governors of many other countries of his far-flung realm were in london; dense crowds were swarming through the streets of the gaily-decorated metropolis; the approaching day was being looked forward to by many millions of people in many lands as an evidence, in its successful splendour, of the power and prosperity of the empire. three days before the 26th of june the king and queen alexandra had arrived in london from windsor and the coronation festivities proper had commenced. his majesty had looked well and had smiled and bowed freely to the welcoming multitudes along the line of route. rumors of his having caught cold had prevailed, it is true, and in certain sensational quarters there had been statements as to serious illness and even allegations of paralysis.
-the trouble approximated to the disease known in the united states and canada as appendicitis and was of a character which made certainty as to recovery quite impossible and left the widest scope for fears and discussion and speculation. it was analysed by dr. cyrus edson, a well-known new york physician, as follows: "perityphlitis is inflammation, including the formation of an abscess of the tissues around the vermiform appendix and hence it is very hard to distinguish from appendicitis. usually an operation is necessary to ascertain whether the appendix or the surrounding tissue is diseased." the king's physicians gave the public all the information they wisely could. the operation was performed by sir frederick treves, the most eminent living surgeon in this connection, shortly after the first bulletin was issued and at six o'clock it was announced that "his majesty continues to make satisfactory progress and has been much relieved by the operation." five hours later the physicians stated that the king's condition was "as good as could be expected after so serious an operation." it would be some days, however, they added, before it would be possible to say he was out of danger. the doctors remained at buckingham palace all that night and but little news crept out from the silence surrounding the great pile of buildings to that stirring outer world which had grown so suddenly and strangely quiet.
-following the startling announcement of the king's illness came the necessary statement that the coronation ceremony was indefinitely postponed and the further intimation that the king himself had asked that celebrations in the provinces outside london might be continued. in london, he had specified his wish, before the operation took place, that the dinner which was to be given to half-a-million of poor people should not be postponed and his majesty had expressed keen sorrow, not at what he had already suffered himself or was likely to suffer, but at the disappointment which his people would everywhere feel. gradually it came out that for over a week he had been ill; that the pain had been very great at times; that the physicians had acceded to his determination to go on with the ceremonies and the coronation until longer delay in operation would have made the result fatal; that the king's one anxiety had been not to disappoint the millions who would be in london and the millions who would look on from abroad during the long-looked for event.
-the story of the illness as it developed was made known by the lancet on june 27th. it seems that on friday june 13th his majesty had gone through a particularly arduous day and next morning was attended by sir francis laking who found him suffering from considerable abdominal discomfort. in the afternoon he felt better and went to aldershot where the unfortunately wet and cold weather at the tattoo caused a distinct revival of the trouble in the early morning accompanied by severe pain. sir f. laking was sent for and in turn telegraphed sir thomas barlow. on the 15th, the royal patient had a chilly fit but on monday returned to windsor and bore the journey well. two days later he was seen by sir frederick treves who found symptoms of perityphlitis. these, however, gradually disappeared and on saturday, the 21st, his majesty was believed to be on the road to rapid recovery and to be able to go through the coronation ceremonies.
-"sunday was uneventful. on monday the king travelled from windsor to london. next day the necessity for an operation became clear." the lancet gave no reason for this sudden change in condition and it may have been the excitement and strain of the drive through cheering masses of the london populace. "at ten o'clock tuesday morning (24th) the urgency of an operation was explained to his majesty. recognizing that his ardent hope that the coronation arrangements might not be upset must be disappointed he cheerfully resigned himself to the inevitable. before the actual decision upon an operation was arrived at sir frederick treves took the advice of two other sergeant-surgeons to the king, lord lister and sir thomas smith. they, as well as sir thomas barlow and sir francis laking, came to the unanimous conclusion that no course but an operation was possible in all the circumstances. to delay would, in fact, be to allow his majesty to risk his life." such appears to have been the plain statement of this serious incident. following the operation the course of the disease was steadily towards recovery and without serious complications of any kind. danger at first there was and neither physicians, nor family, nor the public could feel anything like assurance of recovery.
-progress towards recovery
-the london times went out of its way to warn the people against over-confidence in the result, and the bulletins were cautious in the extreme. on june 25th the king was said to have been very restless and without sleep during the early part of the night. he was, however, free from pain, and his five physicians declared that, under all the circumstances, he might be described as "progressing satisfactorily." on june 26th they reported his majesty's condition as satisfactory, his strength as having been well maintained, and the wound as doing well. the reports of june 27th showed a normal temperature, no disquieting symptoms and, finally, a substantial improvement. on the next day the five physicians issued the following bulletin: "we are happy to be able to state that we consider his majesty out of immediate danger. his general condition is satisfactory. the operation wound, however, still needs constant attention and such concern as attaches to his majesty's case is connected with the wound. under the most favourable condition his majesty's recovery must of necessity be protracted." the bulletins thenceforward were regular in their statements of slow and steady improvement. on july 2d it was announced that the wound was beginning to heal; then only daily reports were issued; and finally, on july 13th, the royal patient was taken by private train from buckingham palace to his yacht at portsmouth and, during the next few weeks, while it was anchored or quietly cruising off cowes, the king was steadily growing stronger and better.
-the bare details of an illness such as this can give no idea of the burden of apprehension which it entailed upon millions of people, the financial losses which it meant to thousands of merchants and others in all parts of the world, the dislocation of a political, social, and general character which it involved in london, the consternation which it naturally caused in every centre in the empire. the first effect of the king's illness was to create a new tie of sympathy between himself and his subjects. human suffering borne so patiently during that week of concealed sickness and with such earnest determination to go through what must have come to appear the frightful ordeal of the coronation appealed strongly to people everywhere in the empire, while the externally dramatic passage from preparations for the greatest of national festivities down into the valley of the shadow of death came home to the hearts of every one with peculiar force. this was particularly apparent in westminster abbey where the last rehearsal of the great coronation choir, in the presence of the bishop of london and under the musical direction of sir frederick bridge, was proceeding at noon on june 24th. suddenly, lord esher entered and told the sad news to the bishop, who, in a few words, turned the service of national rejoicing into one of solemn intercession. everywhere there were similar services and similar sudden changes. coronation day, despite the king's kindly wish that demonstrations and functions outside of london should proceed, was turned into a season of special service and prayer in great britain and in the many other countries of the empire.
-a pathetic service was held in st. paul's cathedral on the evening of the announced illness, and the bishop of stepney spoke in most impressive terms. "as the days have passed, our thoughts and, i trust, our prayers have been centred in the king as he has moved to his coronation watched by millions of eyes. only yesterday we welcomed him to london with heartfelt joy. all around us is the glamour of preparation for a splendid festival. the very air is vivid with the glow of popular enthusiasm. from all parts of the earth our brethren have come to rivet anew the links which bind them to our ancient monarchy. and now come the tidings that this king is laid low with sickness and that the great day has been postponed. we are bewildered. we cannot realize, except in imagination, the dislocation of the life of a whole empire." meanwhile, the archbishops of canterbury and york had asked their clergy to hold intercessory services on june 26th, and cardinal vaughan, for his church, had given similar orders. "the finger of god," he wrote to his clergy, "has appeared in the midst of our national rejoicing and on the eve of what promised to be one of the most splendid pageants in english history. this is in order to call the thoughts of all men to himself. the king's life is in danger. danger being imminent, let us have immediate recourse to the divine mercy and by public prayer seek his majesty's recovery." the chief rabbi held special jewish supplications and the chairman of the congregational union of england and wales telegraphed to sir francis knollys their hope that it might please god to spare the king's valuable life so "that he may rule for many years over his devoted people."
-telegrams of inquiry and sympathy poured into the palace, the departments of the government, and the guildhall, for days after the eventful incident of the operation. on the day that should have witnessed the stately splendour of the coronation, st. paul's cathedral was the scene of a solemn service of intercession for the recovery of the king. the bishops of london and stepney, the archdeacon of london and canons holland and newbolt were the officiating clergy and with them were the archbishops of canterbury and york and a dozen other bishops. the lord mayor of london was present officially and the duke of cambridge and duke of teck. so were the special missions of france, spain, germany, mexico and other countries, the hon. whitelaw reid and mr. choate, the american ambassador. lord selborne, lord cadogan and mr. ritchie represented the cabinet while the premiers of canada, australia, cape colony, natal, new zealand, western australia, and south australia, with the sultan of perak, the rajah of bobbili, sir jamesetjee jejeebhoy, and others represented the colonial and indian empire. a large number of the leaders in the public, social and general life of the country were also there. at the same time a similarly impressive service was held in margaret's, westminster, the official church of the house of commons, attended by the lord chancellor and speaker, the duke and duchess of devonshire, sir h. campbell-bannerman, lord and lady londonderry, and many members of both houses of parliament. a multitude of other churches held intercessory services at home and abroad on this day--notably, perhaps, one arranged by the national council of free churches and held in the city temple. orders were given by the heads of all kinds of denominations in all kinds of countries to pray for the king on the succeeding sunday and, in most of the great colonies of the crown, that day was specially set apart for the purpose.
-expressions of sympathy
-meanwhile, the messages continued to pour in from governments as well as individuals or institutions. general sir neville lyttelton for the army in south africa, lord hopetoun for the government and people of australia, sir edmund barton, the premier of australia, the legislature of new south wales, the governors of the other australian states and new zealand, the governors of fiji, gambia, cape colony, mauritius, bermuda, newfoundland, and gibraltar, the administrators of sierra leone, seychelles, ceylon, hong-kong and wei-hai-wei, the governor of the straits settlements and the premier of natal sent despatches of sympathy and regret. in the united states much kindly feeling was expressed. papers such as the new york commercial-advertizer, tribune and post were more than kindly and generous in their regrets; others were merely sensational. the president hastened to cable an expression of the nation's sentiments and, at harvard university on june 25th, said: "let me speak for all americans when i say that we watch with the deepest concern and interest the sick-bed of the english king and that all americans, in tendering their hearty sympathy to the people of great britain will now remember keenly the outburst of genuine grief with which all england last fall greeted the calamity which befell us in the death of president mckinley." prayers were also offered up for his majesty in the senate and house of representatives. germany was largely silent in its press but outspoken and warmly sympathetic in the person of its emperor. austria was more than friendly and at rome a resolution passed unanimously through both houses expressing earnest wishes for "the prompt recovery of the head of the state which has long been italy's best friend." the french press was moderately sympathetic and dwelt upon king edward's love of peace, while the leading russian newspapers paid tribute to the same elements in his character and laid stress upon his high qualities as a man and a sovereign.
-on the sunday following the serious stage in the king's illness the metropolis was the scene of many special services. at marlborough house chapel, queen alexandra, the prince and princess of wales and other members of the royal family were present in the morning, together with a crowded gathering of members of the court and old friends of his majesty. bishop randall davidson of winchester preached a sermon of eloquent retrospect--a picture of the events of the past few days and weeks. almost from his seat on a great throne their sovereign had passed to a hushed sick-room; during a crowded week the people had passed from bouyant expectancy to crushing disappointment, from loyal admiration of a splendid occasion to personal sympathy with a stricken king. at the chapel royal the bishop of london preached and drew a lesson of humility from the tragic event, while in st. paul's cathedral the bishop of stepney preached to an audience which included various indian chiefs and king lewanika of barotze. mgr. merry del val, the papal envoy to the coronation, addressed a gathering at the brompton oratory attended by sir wilfrid and lady laurier and mr. justice girouard of canada, sir nicholas o'conor, british ambassador at constantinople, lord edmund talbot, lord walter kerr, first sea lord of the admiralty, lord howard glossop and lord clifford of chudleigh. the reverend bernard vaughan, at the warwick street roman catholic church, dwelt upon the great loyalty of his people to the throne and declared that much might and should be done by roman catholics "to build up and consolidate an empire where every man could breathe the air of freedom, claim his share of justice and practice his religion in peace."
-amongst the special incidents of the day were prayers for king edward in all the principal towns of greece as well as in the churches of athens and prayers and sermons upon the subject in many of the churches of new york. on july 3rd cape town was brilliantly illuminated as an expression of pleasure at the king's recovery. four days later the prince and princess of wales visited grey's hospital and his royal highness in speaking to the institution, for which the king had done so much when heir apparent, referred to the occasion as the first on which he had been able to attempt an expression of the unbounded gratitude which they all felt for "the merciful recovery of my dear father, the king." he spoke of the important work undertaken by the hospital and then proceeded: "i wish to take this first opportunity to say how his majesty the king, the queen, and whole of our family have been cheered and supported during a time of severe trial by the deep sympathy which has been displayed towards them from every part of the empire. and i should like to say that we who have watched at the sick bed of the king fully realize how much, humanly speaking, is due to the eminent surgical and medical skill, as well as to the patient and highly-trained nursing which it has been his majesty's good-fortune to enjoy".
-in the middle of july it was announced that the royal patient had recovered sufficiently to be able to fix a date once more for the coronation ceremony and that, with the advice of his physicians, august 9th had been decided upon. many of the events surrounding and connected with the central function originally proposed for june 26th had already taken place by special wish or consent of the king. deeply regretting the disappointment of his people and keenly thoughtful, as he always had been, for the feelings and anticipations of others, his majesty had specially ordered the carrying out of two incidents of the coronation festivities upon the date arranged--the dinner to the london poor and the publication of the coronation honours. in both cases much disappointment would have followed delay though it would necessarily have been different in degree and effect. on june 26th, as already decided upon and expected, the honour list was made public and the names of those whom the king desired to especially compliment were announced. the promotion of the earl of hopetoun to be marquess of linlithgow, was well deserved by his services as governor-general of australia and the creation of lord milner as a viscount by his work in south africa. a number might almost be called personal honours. sir francis knollys, the veteran and efficient private secretary became lord knollys; lord rothschild and sir ernest cassel, old friends of the king when prince of wales, were made members of the privy council; lord colville of culross, chamberlain to the queen alexandra since 1873, was made a viscount; sir francis laking and sir frederick treves, the well-known surgeons, and sir thomas lipton, the king's yachting companion upon more than one occasion, were created baronets; the earl of clarendon, lord chamberlain to the king, and general the right hon. sir dighton probyn, so long the faithful official of his household, were given the g.c.b.; viscount esher was made a k.c.b. general h. r. h. the duke of connaught, brother of the king and commanding the forces in ireland, was made a field marshal, and h. r. h. the prince of wales, was created a general.
-coronation honours and incidents
-in the more general list every rank and profession was represented--the army and the navy in honours conferred upon a large number of officers; art in the creation of sir edward poytner as baronet, and the knighting of sir f. c. burnand and sir ernest waterlow; literature in the knighting of sir conan doyle, sir gilbert parker and sir leslie stephen; medicine and surgery in the same honour conferred upon sir halliday croom, sir thomas fraser, sir h. g. howse and sir william church; science in the person of sir arthur rucker; music in that of sir charles villiers stanford; architecture in that of sir william emerson; the stage in that of sir charles wyndham, the colonies were amply honoured. australia saw knighthoods bestowed upon sir e. a. stone, sir j. l. stirling, sir henry mclaurin, sir a. j. peacock, sir arthur rutledge, sir john see, sir a. thorpe-douglas, sir n. e. lewis. in new zealand, captain sir w. russell-russell and sir j. l. campbell received their knighthoods. sir john gordon sprigg of cape colony, received a g.c.m.g., as did sir edmund barton of australia. in canada, sir d. h. mcmillan, sir f. w. borden and sir william mulock received the k.c.m.g. the king also announced the establishment of a new order of merit, restricted in numbers and for the purpose of special royal recognition of distinguished and exceptional merit in the army and navy services, and in art, science and literature. the first list of members included lord roberts, lord wolseley, lord kitchener, lord rayleigh, lord lister, lord kelvin, admiral sir henry keppel, mr. john morley, mr. w. e. h. lecky, admiral sir e. h. seymour, sir william huggins and mr. george frederick watts.
-a very important event connected with the coronation--though not exactly a part of it--and which proceeded in spite of the king's illness, at his earnest desire, was the colonial conference composed of general lord grenfell, sir j. w. ridgeway, sir w. j. sendall and sir william mcgregor representing the lesser colonies, protectorates and military posts and the premiers of canada, australia, new zealand, natal, cape colony and newfoundland. it was called by mr. chamberlain, largely as a result of so many colonial leaders being in london at this time, and partly because of negotiations between australia and canada looking to a discussion during the coronation period of such questions as trade relations between the commonwealth and the dominion, the establishment of a fast mail service, the organization of a better steamship service between canada and australia, the establishment of a line of steamers from australia to canada via south africa, and the position of the pacific cable scheme. the conference met a few days after the king's illness was announced and proceeded to discuss these and other questions in secret session during the next few weeks.
-a great many of the functions surrounding and forming part of the coronation festivities took place during the period immediately following the coronation day, which was to have been, and these increased in number and brilliancy as the days of actual danger passed away. on june 26th it was determined not to disappoint the twelve hundred children from orphanages and homes who had been looking forward for many weeks to an entertainment promised them by the prince and princess of wales in marlborough house grounds. they were according received on that day and another twelve hundred on the succeeding day, and enjoyed their feasts and games to the uttermost. on july 1st, amid perfect weather, immense and enthusiastic crowds and in the presence of queen alexandra and the prince and princess of wales, a parade of colonial troops took place at the horse guards. the route was lined by regular troops and the colonial force of about two thousand men was headed by general sir henry trotter and the canadian contingent. the duke of connaught commanded the whole and was supported by a brilliant staff.
-the queen came first on the review ground accompanied by many members of the royal family, and soon afterwards there appeared a glittering cavalcade headed by the prince of wales in general's uniform. with him were lord roberts, commander-in-chief, the duke d'aosta, the crown princes of denmark, greece, sweden and roumania, the grand duke of hesse, prince nicholas and prince andrew of greece, the duke of saxe-coburg, prince akihitu komatsu of japan, prince christian and prince albert of schleswig-holstein and two indian princes. after the inspection the prince of wales personally conferred the distinguished service order, the victoria cross, the companionship of the bath and the distinguished conduct medal upon a number of colonial officers and men who had won them in the south african war. the parade followed and men from canada and australia, new zealand, cape colony and natal, ceylon, cyprus and many other parts of the british world filed past the queen and the heir apparent--special cheers greeting the gallant sir edward brabant of cape colony. well might the times in its description express the keen regret of all at the absence of the king, and then add: "perhaps never in the whole history of the world has there been such a display of empire power as was witnessed yesterday. here we had men of every colour, creed, denomination and descent, all answering to the same word of command, all performing the same manoeuvre, all animated with the single object of paying homage to the head of the greatest empire the world has ever seen."
-meanwhile, on june 30th, some fifteen hundred colonial officers and men and one thousand indian troops had embarked on special transports to see the great fleet at spithead and to obtain an insight into that mighty naval power of england which the coronation review was to have brought before the world once more. in the evening a multitude of bon-fires around the kingdom, intended to celebrate the coronation, were fired to mark the king's having passed the danger-point in his illness, and they afforded a most weird and striking effect. on the evening of july 1st a number of important festivities took place. at the inner temple the colonial premiers and distinguished visitors were banquetted. amongst the guests were the lord chancellor, mr. chamberlain, lord cross, lord davy, lord macnaghten, lord lindley, lord knutsford, lord robertson, and sir edmund barton of australia, sir john forrest of australia, sir robert bond of newfoundland, sir albert hime of natal, sir west ridgeway, general sir francis grenfell, sir w. j. sendall, sir john carrington, sir william macgregor, sir julian salomons, mr. justice girouard of canada, the hon. arthur peters and hon. f. w. g. haultain. the premiers of australia, newfoundland and natal spoke and paid loyal tributes to the king and the empire. in his speech mr. chamberlain referred to sir albert hime's statement that the colonies would be glad to join the councils of the motherland. "if that be their feeling, i say--and i know i speak the view of the whole of the people of great britain--we shall welcome them. they have enjoyed all the privileges of the empire; if they are now willing to take upon themselves their share of its responsibilities and its burdens we shall be only too glad of their support." the canadian dinner, to celebrate dominion day, was held the same evening; as was lady lansdowne's reception. at the first-mentioned event, the speakers included lord strathcona, sir charles tupper, the hon. g. w. ross, the earl of dundonald, sir f. w. borden, the earl of minto, the duke of argyll, sir w. mulock and mr. seddon.
-royal and colonial functions
-lady lansdowne's function was given in the magnificent drawing-rooms of lansdowne house in honour of the special envoys to the coronation and the colonial and indian guests of the king. nearly all the colonial premiers were present at some period during the evening and the crown princes of roumania, sweden, japan and siam, mgr. merry del val, king lewanika, the duke and duchess d'aosta, the maharajahs of gwalior, jaipur, kolapore, bikanur, and kuch behar, sir pertab singh, and mr. and mrs. whitelaw reid. the ambassadors of france, austria, turkey, spain, united states, germany, persia, belgium and half the countries in the world were also in attendance on what had been originally intended to be a reception by the foreign secretary and his wife in honour of the coronation. after the dominion day banquet lord strathcona also held a reception in piccadilly attended by a great gathering of canadian and other colonial celebrities.
-the review of the indian coronation contingent on july 2nd by the queen and the prince of wales was a brilliant spectacle, the enthusiasm of the reception accorded the members of the royal family as great as on the preceding day, the massed crowds even larger than on that occasion, the kaleidoscopic colour and glittering splendour of the scene even more marked. the ordinary incidents of the parade were much the same as in that of the day before but british officers from british countries were superseded by a staff of native princes blazing with gems, while the white soldier in ordinary british uniform, with only an occasional contingent of houssas, or fiji troops, or some other dark-coloured colonial subjects, were replaced by an oriental combination of varied uniform and complex colours. they numbered twelve hundred strong and the eastern side of the display was one which the stricken king--deeply sensitive to the imperial significance of the coronation as he was--would have greatly appreciated and understood. the times description was an eloquent one: "to those sitting in the stands it appeared as if a great rich ornamental carpet of kaleidoscopic colour had been suddenly unrolled across the gravel of the parade-ground; a line of dazzling tints, before which the impressive grandeur of household uniforms with attendant cuirasses, bear-skins, scarlet and bullion, dwarfed into insignificance. the front of the asiatic line was crested with fluttering lance pennons, and beneath these flags were stalwart frames in vermillion, rich orange, purple-drab, french-grey, and gold-tipped navy-blue, dressed shoulder to shoulder, making a nether border of snow-white or orange breeching."
-one after another the representatives of famous indian regiments passed by and no roman emperor, or conqueror of old, ever had such a triumphal gathering in victorious procession through his ancient capital as this which passed the windows of the room where the emperor-king lay slowly verging toward recovery. finally, they had all passed--rajpoot, sikh, pathan, afridi, jat, hazura, gurkha, dogra, multani, madrassee, baluchi, dekani--and, after a great cheer for the emperor of india and to the strains of the national anthem and personal cheering of another kind, the queen and princess of wales drove from the grounds followed by the prince and the rest of the royal family.
-the day was beautiful, the arrangements, which had been so largely in the hands of sir thomas lipton, were excellent, and the assistance abundant. the coronation mugs gave tremendous pleasure and it would be a problem in psychology to say why the mere sight of royalty should give the intense satisfaction which it unquestionably afforded the crowds--especially the women. decorations were everywhere and the prince and princess of wales drove in semi-state all through east london. the final climax to the day was the physicians' announcement from the palace that the king was out of danger. princess christian, the duke and duchess of connaught, the duke and duchess of fife, the prince and princess charles of denmark, the duchess of albany, the duke and duchess of argyll did more than their duty in visiting the various points and giving the feasters a glimpse of those who represented, even indirectly, their royal host. on the following day lord knollys wrote the lord mayor, by command of the king, expressing the greatest satisfaction at the success of the affair and at the energy, foresight and skill displayed by those who had taken it in hand. "i am further commanded", he wrote, "to repeat how sincerely his majesty regretted his inability to be present at any of his dinners and how deeply also he has been touched by the loyal and kind feeling so universally displayed when the bulletin of yesterday morning was read at the various dining-places."
-on the following day and at various times and places in the succeeding weeks the queen entertained thousands of young servants at tea. mayors and other officials or prominent persons presided, and each guest, after listening to a musical programme, was sent away happy with a box of chocolate bearing queen alexandra's portrait in colours. a function of a different character was the great state dinner given by the prince and princess of wales at st. james's palace on july 8th in honour of the colonial guests and visitors. the leading members of the suite during the late empire tour were present together with the countess of hopetoun, the earl and countess of onslow, the earl and countess of minto, the lord and lady lamington, the lord and lady strathcona, mrs. chamberlain, sir wilfrid and lady laurier, sir edmund and lady barton, mr. seddon, sir gordon and miss sprigg, sir albert and miss hime, sir r. bond, sir john and lady forrest, general sir edward brabant, sir w. mulock, the hon. mr. fielding and hon. mr. paterson. during this week the countess of jersey gave three garden parties at osterley park in honour of the visitors, and lady howard de walden entertained the colonial and indian dignitaries at a reception and concert on july 7th. three days later the queen opened the imperial coronation bazaar which was held on behalf of the ormonde st. hospital for sick children. her majesty was accompanied by princess victoria, the duke and duchess of connaught, the princess christian and other members of the royal family, and the occasion was successful despite a storm of wind and rain. in the evening the prince and princess of wales held a reception of some nine hundred more or less distinguished people at st. james's palace in honour of the colonial visitors. most of the members of the royal family were present as well as royal representatives of roumania, denmark, greece and mecklenburg-strelitz, and the colonial premiers and other officials or visitors from the outside empire. it was a really brilliant function, delightful in its surroundings, decorations and illuminations, and elaborate in its final incident of supper. on the preceding day a detachment of troops from australia and new zealand, under arrangements made by lord carrington and the duke of argyll, visited windsor castle and were given luncheon in the town with the former nobleman as host. about the same time twelve thousand kensington school-children were entertained under the auspices of princess louise, duchess of argyll, and revelled in a pleasure such as had perhaps never come before to the most of them.
-there were various functions and incidents of interest in the second week following the postponed coronation. one of the most picturesque scenes ever witnessed in london occurred on july 3rd, when the fijian soldiers, who had come to the empire capital for the great event, were being driven around the city. on reaching buckingham palace they expressed a wish to sing an intercessory hymn for the king. with their bare heads, legs and feet, their long and frizzy hair, their white cotton skirts and quaint tunics, they made a most unique appearance as they turned toward the palace and chanted words of which the following is a rough translation:
-"the king is great, and noble, and good. may he find favour in the sight of the ruler of kings; may he wax strong and stay the tears of us all, for his people are sad. mighty is the king and his people shall be glad."
-other parties of west african and indian troops were driven up and cheered the bare walls of the palace with fervour. the duke of connaught, and afterwards the duke of cambridge, visited the indian troops at hampton court. on july 9th, colonel lord binning and the officers and men of the royal horse guards provided an entertainment for the colonial contingents at the albany barracks. entertainments for the colonial premiers were almost continuous. the duke and duchess of westminster gave an afternoon party in their honour at grosvenor house; lady lucy hicks-beach gave a garden party at the official residence of the chancellor of the exchequer; parties of the king's indian guests were taken at different times by lord esher and lord churchill to see windsor castle; sir gilbert parker gave a dinner in honour of the premiers of australia and canada; lady wimborne gave a dinner and reception for the colonial premiers; the constitutional club on july 7th entertained the guests from the colonies at a banquet presided over by the duke of marlborough. sir wilfrid laurier, in the course of his speech, made a notable declaration: "the bond of the british empire, let me tell you this my fellow-countrymen, and accept it from a man not of your own race, the bond of union of the british empire is allegiance to the king without distinction of race or colour." the primrose league in london entertained the visiting premiers at a banquet; and the fishmonger's company did the same. an interesting incident was the visit of mr. r. j. seddon, premier of new zealand, and his wife and daughters to windsor castle whence, on july 3rd, they were driven to frogmore mausoleum and placed a wreath of lilies and rosebuds on the tomb of the queen and on behalf of the people of new zealand.
-the empire coronation banquet was the great event of these weeks in the way of dining and speaking, although mr. chamberlain's unfortunate accident and absence created a serious void. the earl of onslow presided, and amongst the speakers were sir wilfrid laurier, the maharajah of kolapore, sir gordon sprigg and sir edmund barton. earl cromer and lord lansdowne, lord minto, lord kelvin and the maharajahs of bikanur and cooch-behar were also present together with a distinguished array of colonial dignitaries.
-an event of historic importance occurred on july 11th when the marquess of salisbury waited upon the king and tendered his resignation of the post of prime minister. the fact that his majesty was able to receive him and deal with the questions involved also served to indicate his progress toward recovery. mr. a. j. balfour was at once sent for and, after an interview with mr. chamberlain, accepted the task of forming a new ministry. it had been pretty well understood that lord salisbury intended to resign when peace had come and the coronation ceremonies were disposed of. delay had naturally occurred owing to the king's illness, but his majesty's progress toward recovery and the fact of the principal coronation functions having been disposed of--outside of the event itself--induced the premier to feel that he could now lay down his burdensome position. mr. balfour was received again by the king on july 12th and a little later in the day general lord kitchener, after passing in triumphal procession through the streets of london on his return from south africa, was also admitted into audience by the king and personally decorated from his couch with the special coronation honour--the new order of merit. lord kitchener then dined with the prince of wales, as representing his majesty, at st. james's palace.
-meanwhile, the king had been winning golden opinions from all sorts and conditions of men. his plucky conduct at the beginning of the illness, his thoughtful consideration for others through every stage of its continuance, his evidently strong place in the hearts of his subjects, combined to increase the personal popularity of the sovereign at home while enhancing or promoting respect for him abroad. as the new york tribune put it on the day before the coronation: "the king is showing himself 'every inch a king' in some of those respects which are most prized and cherished by all men of his race, and which unfailingly command admiration among all men and all races. those are the qualities of unselfishness, and indomitable and uncomplaining pluck." he had struggled long and earnestly against the malady--not for his own sake, because safety and ease would have early been found in surrender to its natural course. when that became finally necessary, and recovery then succeeded the period of suspense, his whole desire seemed to be the re-assuring of the popular mind and the relieving of public inconvenience. on august 6th the king and queen alexandra had landed at portsmouth from the royal yacht and proceeded to london. the stations were profusely decorated, and dense crowds were awaiting their arrival in the capital. at the metropolitan station the king walked easily to the end of the platform and to his carriage, helped the queen to enter, and followed himself without any apparent difficulty. the route to buckingham palace was lined with great throngs of people, and his majesty acknowledged the continuous cheering with a most cheerful expression and by frequently raising his hat. he was described as looking better than for a long time past--while the queen appeared positively radiant. on the evening of august 8th, the king issued an autograph message of thanks and appreciation to the nation, through the home secretary, couched in the following terms:
-"to my people:--on the eve of my coronation, an event which i look upon as one of the most solemn and most important in my life, i am anxious to express to my people at home and in the colonies and india, my heartfelt appreciation of the deep sympathy they have manifested towards me during the time my life was in such imminent danger.
-"the postponement of the ceremony, owing to my illness, caused, i fear, much inconvenience and trouble to all those who intended to celebrate it, but their disappointment was borne by them with admirable patience and temper.
-"the prayers of my people for my recovery were heard, and i now offer up my deepest gratitude to divine providence for having preserved my life and given me strength to fulfil the important duties which devolve upon me as sovereign of this great empire.
-edward r. i."
-while this tactful and sympathetic letter was being written by the sovereign, his people in london were preparing for the great event of the morrow. the streets were crowded with moving masses of people; the decorations, though not as numerous or imposing as in june, were nevertheless effective; the streets were illuminated to a considerable extent, and the stands were nearly all sold out of their seating capacity. during the afternoon the king walked in the grounds of buckingham palace and held an investiture, at which he gave the order of the garter to the dukes of wellington and sutherland and of the thistle to the duke of roxburghe and the earl of haddington. a little later, he received in audience ras maronnen, the abyssinian envoy. two interesting announcements were also made at this time--that lord salisbury was unwell and would be unable to attend the coronation, and that bramwell booth had been granted special permission by the king to appear at westminster abbey in salvation army garb. the first incident marked the closing of an era of statecraft; of an age marked by the name and fame of queen victoria and her ministers. the other illustrated the tact of the sovereign as it proved the existence of a religious toleration and equality characteristic of the new period in which the new reign was commencing.
-on august 9th the great ceremony finally took place. though shorn of some of the international splendour of the first arrangements and without some of the military and naval glory which would have then surrounded the event its imperial significance was in some respects enhanced and there was a deeper note in the festivities and an even more enthusiastic tone in the cheering than would have been possible on the 26th of june. the solemn ceremony in the ancient abbey--which had not been used or opened to the public since that final practice of the choir--was brilliant in all the colours and shadings and dresses and gems and uniforms of a royal function while it presented that other and more sacred side which all the traditions and forms of the coronation ceremony so clearly illustrate. the enthusiasm of the people in the streets can hardly be described but the spirit and thought and feeling were well summed up in the words of a canadian poet--jean blewett:
-"long live the king! long live the king who hath for his own the strongest sceptre the world has known, the richest crown and the highest throne, the staunchest hearts, and the heritage of a glorious past, whose every page reads--loyalty, greatness, valour, might."
-the day opened with brilliant promise and bright sunshine, but became overcast and gloomy by the time the royal progress from the palace had commenced. the crowds gathered early, and soon every seat in the many stands were filled with expectant and interested people who numbered in the end fully half a million. picked troops, chiefly household cavalry and colonial and indian soldiers of the king, to the number of 30,000, guarded the route, with a picturesque line of white, black, brown and yellow men of many countries and varied uniforms. when the king and queen appeared in their gorgeous state coach from out the gates of buckingham palace they were greeted with tremendous cheers from the multitude, and these cheers continued all along the way to the abbey. in the royal procession were the prince and princess of wales with thirty-one other members of the royal family. the princess was beautiful in a long court mantle of purple velvet trimmed with bands of gold and a minever cape fastened with hooks of gold over a dress of white satin embroidered in gold and jewelled with diamonds and pearls. then followed lord knollys and lord wolseley and admiral seymour, lord kitchener and general gaselee and lord roberts, with many other notabilities. the indian maharajahs, who acted as aides-de-camp to the king, were brilliant in red and white and brown and blue and gold and jewels. immediately in front of the king was the royal escort of princes and equerries with a body of colonial and indian troops. the arrival at the abbey was marked by great enthusiasm in the massed multitudes surrounding the famous building and seated in the crimson-covered stands which had been built on every side.
-the scene in the interior was indescribable. the blend of many colours in costume mixed with the time-mellowed harmonies of shade and substance in the mighty structure, while the air was permeated with the solemn sounds of the recently sung litany and the slowly pealing bells of loyal welcome. around were the greatest men and noblest and most beautiful women of great britain, and in the stalls was a veritable roll-call of fame in a world-wide empire. lord salisbury was practically the only british personage of historic repute who was not present while the veteran duke of cambridge appeared as one of the two living links present between the coronation which had marked the beginning of the victorian era and that which was now to illustrate the birth of a new period. into this scene of splendour and revel of colour came the king and the state officials of his realm.
-the procession as it passed from the west door of the abbey through the standing and brilliantly-garbed gathering was one of the most stately spectacles recorded in history. first came the clergy of the abbey in copes of brown shot with gold, the archbishops in purple velvet and gold, the gorgeously-clad officers of the orders of knighthood, and the heralds. then came the standard of ireland, carried by the right hon. o'conor don, the standard of scotland by mr. h. s. wedderburn, the standard of england by mr. f. s. dymoke and the union standard borne by the duke of wellington. various great officials and nobles followed, the coronet of each borne by a beautifully dressed page. they included the lord privy seal, the lord president of the council the lord chancellor of ireland, the lord archbishop of york, the lord high chancellor, the lord archbishop of canterbury. then came the earl of gosford as lord chamberlain, lord harris carrying the queen's regalia and the duke of roxburghe carrying her majesty's crown. the queen herself followed in robes of exquisite character and splendour and looking as only the most beautiful woman in england could look. on either side of her were the bishops of oxford and norwich with five gentlemen-at-arms to the right and left of them and her majesty's train was borne by the duchess of buccleuch assisted by eight youthful personages of title or heirship to aristocratic position. the ladies of the bedchamber followed and then came the king's regalia, carried by the earl of carrington, the duke of argyll, the earl of loudoun, lord grey de ruthven, viscount wolseley, the duke of grafton and earl roberts.
-the next personage in this splendid procession of rich-robed noblemen and gorgeously-clad officials was the lord mayor of london and then came the marquess of cholmondeley, as lord great chamberlain, the duke of abercorn as high constable of ireland, the earl of erroll as high constable of scotland, the earl of shrewsbury as lord high steward of ireland, the earl of crawford as lord high steward of scotland (deputy to the duke of rothesay and prince of wales), the duke of norfolk as earl marshal of england, the marquess of londonderry carrying the sword of state, and the duke of fife as lord high constable of england. following these high officers of state came central figures in the procession--the duke of marlborough as lord high steward carrying st. edward's ancient crown, the earl of lucan carrying the sceptre, and the duke of somerset bearing the orb. the bishop of ely followed bearing the patina, the bishop of winchester bearing the chalice, the bishop of london carrying the bible and then, behind him came the sovereign of the mighty little islands and of an empire girdling the world in power and wealth and service to civilization.
-the services and ceremonies in the abbey were beautiful and impressive in the extreme. enriched with a thousand years' traditions, moulded upon ancient forms of a sacred and essentially religious character, symbolizing and expressing a solemn compact between the sovereign and his subjects, registering by forms of popular acceptance, homage and ecclesiastical ritual the final consecration of the king to the government of his nation, it was a ceremony of exceeding solemnity as well as of impressive splendour. the great abbey had been transformed by tier above tier of seats, covered with blue and yellow velvet, and so arranged as to form one dazzling mass of brightness and colour when filled with the peers in their gorgeous robes and peeresses in their crimson velvet mantles, ermine capes and beautiful gowns. as the king and queen entered the abbey on this eventful day and moved toward their chairs the choir of trained voices sang with exquisite feeling and sound the anthem: "i was glad when they said unto me, we will go into the house of the lord." the king at different times during the ceremonies was clad in vestments combining an ecclessiastical character with royal magnificence. the dalmatic was a robe of cloth of gold, the stole was lined with crimson cloth and richly embroidered, the alb, or sleeveless tunic of fine cambric, was trimmed with beautiful lace. the whole effect was one of harmonized colour and splendour.
-after brief prayer, kneeling on faldstools in front of their chairs, the king and queen took their seats and then the archbishop of canterbury turned north, south, east and west and, while the king stood, he said to the people: "sirs, i here present unto you king edward, the undoubted king of this realm; wherefore all you who have come this day to do your homage, are you willing to do the same?" ringing acclamations of "god save the king," to the sound of trumpets strongly blown, greeted this part of the ceremony. the bible, patina, chalice and regalia were then borne to the altar, and the communion service of the church of england proceeded with. then followed the taking of the coronation oath, the archbishop of canterbury first asking his majesty if he was willing to do so and receiving an affirmative reply. the questions and answers were as follows, the king holding a bible in his hands:
-the king. i solemnly promise to do so.
-the king. i will.
-the king. all this i promise to do.
-incidents of the ceremony
-various typical or symbolic functions were then performed. the lord great chamberlain touched the king's feet with a pair of golden spurs as constituting the ancient emblems of knighthood; a sword of state, with scabbard of purple velvet, was then handed with elaborate ceremony to the archbishop who, after placing it upon the altar and delivering a short prayer proffered it to his majesty about whom it was girt by the lord great chamberlain, his grace of canterbury giving the following injunction: "with this sword do justice, stop the growth of iniquity, protect the holy church of god, help and defend widows and orphans, restore the things that are going to decay, maintain the things that are restored, furnish and reform what is amiss and confirm what is in good order; that by doing these things you may be glorious in all virtue; and so faithfully serve our lord jesus christ in this life that you may reign for ever with him in the life that is to come." the king then placed the sword upon the altar from which it was presently taken and held drawn from the scabbard before him during the rest of the ceremony. the dean of westminster then invested his majesty with the armilla, or gold bracelets, and with the imperial mantle of cloth of gold, while the archbishop presented the orb of empire--a golden ball, made originally for charles ii. with a band covered with gems and a cross set in brilliants. as he did so his grace said: "receive this imperial robe and orb; and the lord your god endow you with knowledge and wisdom, with majesty and with power from on high; the lord clothe you with the robe of righteousness and with the garments of salvation."
-after the te deum was sung by the choir, his majesty for the first time took his place upon the throne surrounded by the leading officials, nobles and clergy, and listened to a brief exordium from the archbishop, ending with the hope that god would "establish your throne in righteousness that it may stand fast for evermore." then came the impressive ceremony of homage. first the archbishop of canterbury, kneeling in front of his majesty with all the bishops in their places, repeated an oath of allegiance. then the prince of wales, taking off his coronet, knelt in front of the king and the other princes of the blood royal knelt in their places and repeated the quaint mediæval formula in which they swore "to become your liege man of life and limb and of earthly worship, and faith and truth i will bear unto you, to live and die against all manner of folks." at this point occurred an abbreviation of the ceremony as well as an impromptu change in the proceedings. as the prince rose from his knees touched the crown on his father's head and kissed his left cheek in the the formal manner prescribed, the king rose, threw his arms round his son's neck for a moment and then took his hand and shook it warmly. after the homage of the heir apparent each peer of the realm should have followed the traditionary form in the order of his rank and touched the crown and kissed the king's cheek. this was modified, however, so as to enable each grade of the nobility to perform the function through its representative of oldest patent--the duke of norfolk, the marquess of winchester, the earl of shrewsbury, the viscount hereford and the baron de ros. after this had been done the trumpets once more sounded their acclaims and the audience joined in shouting "god save king edward."
-a short but stately ceremony of crowning the queen then followed. the archbishop of york officiated and four peeresses upheld the cloth of gold over her majesty as she was anointed upon the head. a ring was placed upon her finger with a brief prayer, and a sceptre in her hand with the following words: "grant unto this thy servant alexandra, our queen, that by the powerful and mild influence of her piety and virtue, she may adorn the high dignity which she hath obtained, through jesus christ our lord." her majesty was then escorted from the altar to her own throne, bowing reverently to the king as she passed him to take her place.
-there were several incidents in connection with the coronation ceremonies which deeply impressed the onlookers. one was the spontaneous and obvious sincerity of the king's affectionate greeting to his son. another was the enfeebled condition of the aged archbishop of canterbury. with his massive frame, brilliant intellect, and piercing eyes dr. temple had lived a life of intense mental activity and religious zeal, but in these declining days the massive form had become bent and trembling, the memory and the eyes found difficulties in the solemn words of the service, and his shaking hands could hardly place the crown upon the head of his king. but the latter's solicitude and anxious care to save the primate any exertion, not absolutely essential, were marked and noticed by all that vast assemblage. the royal patient was transformed, by kindly sympathy, into a guardian of the archbishop's weakness. when tendering his homage as first of all the subjects of the king, the aged primate almost fainted and was unable to rise from his knees until his majesty assisted him. prior to the actual coronation, mr. edwin a. abbey, r.a., who had been commissioned by the king to paint a picture of the historic scene, was allowed to take note of the surroundings. another incident of the event was the presence of the duchess of mecklenburg-strelitz--placed by desire of queen alexandra in a seat at the exact spot which she had held during the coronation of queen victoria.
-on the day following the great event a final bulletin was issued by sir f. laking and sir f. treves, which stated that "his majesty bore the strain of the coronation ceremony perfectly well, and experienced but little fatigue. the king has had a good night, and his condition is in every way satisfactory." being sunday, special services were held in the st. james's chapel royal, at st. paul's cathedral, in marlborough house chapel, and at st. margaret's, westminster. on monday, a royal message to the nation was made public through mr. balfour, the prime minister. dated on coronation day, it described the osborne house estate, on the isle of wight, as being the private property of the sovereign, and expressed his wish to establish this once favourite residence of the late queen as a national convalescent home for officers of the army and navy--maintaining intact, however, the rooms which were in her late majesty's personal occupation. "having to spend a considerable part of the year in the capital of this kingdom and in its neighbourhood, at windsor, and having also strong home ties in the county of norfolk, which have existed now for nearly forty years, the king feels he will be unable to make adequate use of osborne house as a royal residence, and he accordingly has determined to offer the property in the isle of wight as a gift to the nation." following the coronation came multitudes of editorial comments upon the event, and one of the most concise and expressive was that of the london times: "the significance of the coronation ceremony on saturday lay in its profound sincerity, as a solemn compact between the sovereign and his subjects, ratified by oath, and blessed by the highest dignitaries of the national church. it was a covenant between a free people, accustomed for long centuries to be governed according to statutes in parliament agreed on, and their hereditary king, and a supplication from both to god that the king may be endowed with all princely virtues in the exercise of his great office. though the details of the ceremony do not mean to us all they meant to our forefathers, the ceremony itself is a no less strong and enduring bond between the king and subjects. the most striking feature of the coronation was that it was the first to be attended by the statesmen of self-governing colonies, and by the feudatory princes of india."
-various functions of a coronation character or connection ensued. on august 12th some 2000 colonial troops who were present at the event, in a representative capacity, from british dominions beyond the seas, were received by the king on the grounds of buckingham palace. under the royal canopy were the queen and the children of the prince of wales, and in attendance were earl roberts, lord kitchener, mr. chamberlain and various colonial premiers, including sir wilfrid and lady laurier. after the march past, the king pinned a victoria cross on the breast of sergeant lawrence, and the prince of wales conferred coronation medals upon the officers and men. his majesty then addressed the troops as follows: "it has afforded me great pleasure to see you here to-day and to have the opportunity of expressing my high appreciation of your patriotism and the way you distinguished yourselves in south africa. the services you have rendered the mother-country will never be forgotten by me, and they will, i am sure, cement more firmly than ever the union of our distant colonies with the other parts of my great empire."
-on the following day the indian troops sent from the great eastern realm to honour the coronation of its emperor were reviewed at the same place. his majesty wore a jewelled sword which cost some $50,000, and had been presented to him on the previous day by the maharajah of jaipur. the scene was a most brilliant and picturesque one. the british notables present wore military or levée dress; the great lawn of the palace was a splendid spectacle in red, yellow, green and blue; the eastern princes were gorgeous in jewels and many-coloured raiment, and the little princes edward and albert of wales constituted themselves aides of the king and brought several general officers up to have an audience. after the march past and the distribution of medals at the hands of the prince of wales, his majesty addressed the troops in the following words: "i wish to convey to all ranks the high satisfaction it has given me to see this splendid contingent from india. i almost feared, owing to my serious illness, that i would be prevented from having the advantage of seeing you, but i am glad to say that by god's mercy i am well again. i recognize among you many of the regiments i had the advantage of seeing at delhi during my tour of india." during the next few days various minor functions took place, and the colonial leaders especially were feasted and entertained in every possible way.
-on august 17th the final event occurred in connection with the coronation. it was the mighty greeting of a great fleet to the sovereign of a wide-flung realm. it was the inspection of a naval force which a generation before could have dominated the seas of the world and put all civilized nations under tribute. gathered together from the home station, the channel squadron and the cruising squadron; without the detachment of a ship from foreign waters or colonial stations, it included 20 battleships, 24 cruisers and 47 torpedo crafts, with an outer fringe of foreign vessels contributed in complimentary fashion to honour the occasion. from spithead to the isle of wight the horizon was black with great grim vessels of war decked out with flags, and as the king's yacht approached the first line of ships, a hundred royal salutes made a tremendous burst of sound such as probably the greatest battle-fields of history had never heard. as the king, in admiral's uniform, stood upon the deck of his vessel and passed slowly down the lines, a signal given at a certain moment evoked one of the most impressive incidents which even he had ever encountered--a simultaneous roar of cheers from the powerful throats of 50,000 enthusiastic sailors. the sound rolled from shore to shore, and ship to ship, was echoed from 100,000 spectators on land and sea, and repeated again from the battleships. the king was deeply moved by this crowning tribute of loyalty, and at once signaled his gratification to the fleet and an invitation to its flag officers to come aboard his yacht and receive a personal expression of his feelings. in the evening electric and coloured lights of every kind and in countless number combined with flashing searchlights to illuminate the great fleet and to cast a glamour of fairy land over the splendid scene.
-meanwhile, in the morning, his majesty had received on board his yacht the celebrated boer generals, botha, de wet and de la rey. afterwards, in company with lord kitchener and earl roberts they had returned to london greatly pleased with the cordiality of their reception and especially gratified at the kind manner of queen alexandra. following the official naval review, the king on the next day visited the fleet in a stormy sea and watched it go through certain manoeuvres of a practical kind before being dispersed to its different local stations. on his return to london he found the shah of persia a guest of the nation and awaiting formal reception at the hands of its monarch. and thus king edward took up again his unceasing round of duty and ceremonial and high responsibility. in the past year or two he had gone through every variety of emotional experience and official work and brilliant ceremony--his mother's death and the consequent mourning of a nation and empire; his own assumption of new and heavy duties; the special labours of an expectant period; the time of serious illness and the anxieties of complex responsibility to a world-wide public; the realization of his coronation hopes; the change from an old to a new period stamped by the change in his national advisers and the presence of his colonial premiers. he now entered upon his further lifework, with chastened feelings in a personal sense but, it is safe to say, with high and brilliant hopes for the future of his own home country and its far-flung empire.
-the reign of king edward
-the history of this reign--not long in years--is yet crowded with events, rich in national and imperial developments, conspicuous in the importance of its discussions and international controversies. the first brief months, which have been already reviewed, saw the completion of the memorable empire tour of the new prince of wales and the settling down of australia to a life of national unity and progress; the conclusion of the south african war and the beginning of an extraordinary process of unification which was in a few years to evolve the union of south africa; the almost spectacular incidents of the coronation and the important proceedings of the colonial conference of 1902. in july of this latter year the marquess of salisbury retired and was succeeded in the premiership by his nephew, arthur j. balfour. to the king this meant the removal of a strong arm and powerful intellect and respected personality from his side and increased the importance of his own experience and prestige as a statesman.
-following the visit to paris of this year, which paved the way for better relations in the future between britain and france, the king made a successful tour of a part of ireland--july 21st to august 1st--and impressed himself upon the mercurial temperament of the sons of erin. in september came the memorable retirement of mr. chamberlain from the balfour government; his declaration of devotion to the new-old ideal of limited protective tariffs for the united kingdom plus preferential duties in favour of the external empire; the split in the conservative party and the presentation of a great issue to the people which, however, was clouded over by other policies in either party and had not, up to the time of the king's death, won a clear presentation to the people as a whole. mr. chamberlain's letter to mr. balfour dated september 8th expressed regret that the all-important question of fiscal reform had been made a party issue by its opponents; recognised the present political force of the cry against taxing food and the impossibility of immediately carrying his preferential policy; suggested that the government should limit their immediate advocacy to the assertion of greater fiscal freedom in foreign negotiations with a power of tariff retaliation, when necessary, as a weapon; and declared his own intention to stand aside, with absolute loyalty to the government in their general policy but in an independent position, and with the intention of "devoting myself to the work of explaining and popularizing those principles of imperial union which my experience has convinced me are essential to our future welfare and prosperity." in his reply the premier paid high tribute to mr. chamberlain's services to the empire, sympathized personally with his imperial ideals and agreed with him that the time was not ripe for the government or the country to go to the extreme length of his preferential policy.
-mr. chamberlain's action and policy gave a thrill of pleasant hopefulness to imperialists everywhere; it stirred up innumerable comments in the british, colonial and foreign press; it made germany pause in a system of fiscal retaliation and tariff war into which she had intended to enter with canada--and with australia and south africa if they presumed to grant a tariff preference to britain. meanwhile, the king had suffered the loss, a personal as well as national one, of lord salisbury's retirement from office and his death not long afterwards; the balfour-chamberlain government had struggled along until the tariff reform movement, as above described, broke in upon and dissipated the party's unanimity of opinion and uniformity of action; a long series of liberal victories at bye-elections reduced the conservative majority from 134 as it was in 1900 to 69 in november, 1905; mr. balfour, in his newcastle speech of november 14th, defined his fiscal policy as (1) retaliation with a view to compelling the removal of some of the restrictions in foreign markets and (2) the calling of a conference of empire leaders to arrange, if possible, a closer commercial union of the empire. as to himself he had never been and was not now "a protectionist." in december he resigned and the king called on sir h. campbell-bannerman, the liberal leader in the commons, to form a government.
-a general election followed in which the liberals swept the great towns of the country--excluding london and birmingham--and came back with the largest majority in modern english history; the total of the labour, home rule, liberal and radical majority being 376 over the supporters of tariff reform. the result, however, evoked on february 14, 1906, a declaration from mr. balfour in favour of "a moderate general tariff on manufactured goods and the imposition of a small duty on foreign corn," and this united the conservative or unionist party with the exception of about sixteen free-trade members who still followed the duke of devonshire. the rise of the labour party began at this election; the serious illness of mr. chamberlain followed and hampered conservative work and progress; the retirement of the premier took place early in 1908 and, on april of that year, the king called on mr. asquith to form the ministry which carried its election in 1910 by so small a liberal majority. the reconstruction of 1908 was notable for the rise or promotion of the fighting, aggressive, youthful elements in the new liberalism--men like david lloyd-george, winston churchill and reginald mckenna. there followed the establishment of old-age pensions at an initial expenditure of $40,000,000 a year; the prolonged and ultimately successful struggle to increase the taxation upon landed interests, property, and invested income by means of the much-discussed budget of 1909; the natural resentment of the lords, the conservatives, and many who were neither--as illustrated in the subsequent wiping out of the liberal majority in england itself; the constitutional issue which the liberals so cleverly forced to the front with the house of lords as their chief antagonists and which relegated tariff reform temporarily to the background; the prolonged period in which king edward took minute and anxious and personal interest in the question.
-there can be no doubt as to this interest or as to the natural and valid reasons for it. a house of lords, either abolished or existing without power in the constitution, would leave no check upon the commons except the king and this might be bad for both the commons and the sovereign. over and over again in english history the people have reversed the action or vote of the commons but if this was ever to be done in future it could only be through the interjection of the king's veto, and the bringing of the crown into the hurly-burly of party struggle. this would be the very thing which all parties had hitherto endeavoured to prevent and for at least seventy years had been successful in preventing. then came the general elections of 1909-10, with their continual query as to what the king would do if the liberals did win. would he accept the government's policy and the proposed commons legislation as to the lords and thus take an active part in the destruction of one portion of the constitution which he was pledged to guard--through and by means of the creation of hundreds of peers to swamp the conservative vote in that house? or would he take the situation boldly in hand and insist on another election with this question of practical abolition of the lords as the distinct issue before the people? it was little wonder that his majesty's physicians should declare after his death that the political situation had been one of its causes! it must be remembered that in all countries the upper house and the aristocracy are natural and inevitable, if not necessary, adjuncts to and supporters of a throne. where, as in britain, that house and that aristocracy have upon the whole much to be proud of in personal achievement, much to be credited with in social legislation and still more to be approved of in the individual public work of its salisburys, roseberys, devonshires, and a multitude of other historic personalities with, also, a close and vital interest in the country through large landed responsibilities, the situation can readily be appreciated. not that the monarchy was an issue in itself; but there can be no doubt, despite such speeches as the following quotation from mr. winston churchill's address at southport on december 8, 1909, that king edward felt the danger of weakening his immediate, natural and fitting environment of (with certain exceptions) an energetic and patriotic aristocracy surrounding a popular throne:
-"there is no difficulty in vindicating the principle of a hereditary monarchy. the experience of every country and of all the ages show the profound wisdom which places the supreme leadership of the state beyond the reach of private ambition and above the shocks and changes of party strife. and, further, let it not be forgotten that we live under a limited and constitutional monarch. the sovereign reigns but does not govern; that is a maxim we were all taught out of our school-books. the british monarchy has no interests divergent from those of the british people. it enshrines only those ideas and causes upon which the whole british people are united. it is based upon the abiding and prevailing interests of the nation and thus, through all the swift changes of the last hundred years, through all the wide developments of a democratic state, the english monarchy has become the most secure, as it is the most ancient and the most glorious monarchy in the whole of christendom."
-while all this political change and controversy was going on the king was performing a multitude of personal and social and state duties. there was always the vast amount of detailed study of current documents--all of which he looked into before signing as had queen victoria before him; there was the strenuous and incessant round of state functions including the reception of visiting sovereigns and ambassadors, and special deputations, visits to cities and towns and the private houses of his greater subjects, state dinners to men and women of every school of thought and life in its higher branches, frequent trips to the continent and continuous conferences with public men. in this connection it is interesting to note that just before the general elections--towards the close of 1909--he did what no sovereign had done for many a long year and did it not only without criticism but with public approval when he called lord lansdowne, lord rosebery and mr. balfour into quiet conference regarding the political situation. how many others of all parties he may have invited to similar discussions in the privacy of buckingham or windsor only such a personage as his faithful and old-time secretary, lord knollys, really knows. military and naval reviews were amongst the more important general functions of these years coupled with gracious and conciliatory visits to ireland in 1904 and 1907. in this latter year he reviewed a magnificent fleet of warships at portsmouth eleven miles long, headed by the first of the dreadnaughts, and manned by 35,000 officers and men. upon another occasion in 1909, the greatest fleet ever gathered together in any waters in the history of the world was also reviewed by his majesty as, perhaps, a comment on the recently revealed crisis caused by german naval construction. as to this the king was intensely concerned and we can safely assume that if one cause of his latter ill-health was political worry another cause may well have been the naval rivalry of a power which boasted 4,000,000 of a trained army to britain's 250,000 men.
-with all these varied home duties and his many diplomatic efforts king edward never forgot his own external empire, never overlooked his vast interests overseas. to india in 1908 had gone a vivid and statesmanlike royal message, on november 2d, which recalled to the minds of its princes and peoples their fifty years of progress under the crown, the obligations which they were under to the liberty-loving rule of britain, and the pride of their emperor in governing so vast a congeries of races and interests. to them also in 1906 he had sent the prince and princess of wales in a tour which repeated his own triumphs of 1876. to south africa, upon frequent and appropriate occasions, came expressions of the king's interest in the people's welfare, in their strivings for unity, in their efforts to retrieve the misfortunes of war. it was king edward's imperial policy that dictated the sending of the prince of wales to open the first parliament of the union of south africa--a policy which his own death rendered impossible--as curiously enough, it had been queen victoria's last public duty to send the duke of cornwall--as he then was--to open the first parliament of the australian commonwealth. it was the king who sent the duke of connaught to visit east africa in 1906 and prince arthur of connaught to return from japan via canada in the same year. to the people of australia lord northcote, the new governor-general, on january 28, 1904, conveyed a royal message of greeting and then proceeded to say that: "every constitutional process having for its object the linking together of the different component parts of this great empire is sure to be sympathetically regarded by our sovereign and i know his hope is that his people who live outside the narrow seas of great britain may believe that his majesty regards them primarily, not as inhabitants of colonies or dependencies of the mother-country, but as equally valued component parts of one mighty nation."
-as to canada and king edward much might be said. on july 22, 1905, his majesty was at bisley and presented the kolapore cup to the proud canadian team which had won it and to whose commander, lieutenant-colonel a. g. hesslein, a few kind and tactful words were addressed. about the same time it was announced that the london hospital fund in which the king had for many years taken a deep personal interest, and in the maintenance of which he was really the chief power, had received a gift of $1,000,000 from lord mount stephen of canadian pacific railway fame. in 1906 his majesty showed special interest in canadian affairs. a cablegram through lord elgin, on january 2d, expressed the king's regret at the sudden death of the honorable r. prefontaine; he received canadian delegates to the empire commercial congress at windsor on july 13th, when sir d. h. mcmillan, sir sandford fleming, messrs. r. wilson-smith, g. e. drummond, f. h. mathewson, j. f. ellis and w. f. cockshutt were presented; a deputation of indian chiefs from british columbia was received by him on august 13th and submitted an address and a petition; a number of shire-horses were lent by his majesty in the autumn for exhibition at toronto and as a proof of his interest in that branch of canadian development. but the chief event of the year in this respect was canada's invitation to the king, and queen alexandra, to pay the country and its people a visit. in the house of commons on april 18th, the hon. n. a. belcourt, seconded by mr. w. b. northrup, moved a resolution expressive of canadian loyalty and devotion to the king's person and of the hope that his majesty and the queen would be pleased to visit canada at such time as might be found possible and convenient.
-in his short speech the prime minister laid stress upon the king's personal qualities and his work in the cause of peace. sir wilfrid laurier then made a reference which was probably of more consequence in the final decision than was supposed at the time, "i believe it is the opinion of all who sit in this house that if the king were to visit canada--and he could not visit canada without visiting the united states also--the effect would be to bring more closely together than they are at the present time--and they are more so than ever before--the two great branches of the anglo-saxon race on both sides of the atlantic." this additional suggestion involved tremendous considerations of travel, functions, ceremonial, time, and responsibility. after being spoken to by men of such opposite opinions as colonel s. hughes and mr. h. bourassa, as well as warmly endorsed by the opposition leader, the resolution was passed unanimously, as it was later in the senate. all the provincial legislatures, then in session, joined in this invitation, while centres such as montreal, ottawa, toronto, winnipeg, quebec, three rivers, st. hyacinthe, valleyfield, hamilton, london, guelph, woodstock, halifax, sydney, st. john, fredericton, regina, calgary, vancouver, victoria and about forty others warmly endorsed the request; as did every newspaper of standing in canada. in reply lord elgin, colonial secretary, under date of july 7th wrote a long despatch to the governor-general in which he expressed the king's appreciation of the invitation, his pleasant memories of the royal visit to canada in 1860, and his comprehension of the wonderful growth of the country since that time, and continued:
-"i need scarcely remind your lordship of two circumstances which must not be overlooked in the consideration of these proposals. in the first place the current business of the empire, which is continuous and incessant, imposes a heavy tax on the time and strength of its sovereign and it is well known that the absence of his majesty from this country for any length of time is difficult, if not impossible except under very definite limitations and restrictions; even when considerations of health and the need for comparative rest can render it expedient. in the second place it must be remembered that there can be practically no limits within the habitable globe of the distance which must be traveled to reach all parts of the british empire and that it would be very difficult to visit one important part and decline to visit the other. in spite of the many and strong inducements which prompt him to gratify the loyal wishes of his canadian subjects, i am to say that the king feels unable at present to entertain the idea of a journey to canada."
-it would be quite impossible to indicate here the great regret expressed by the canadian press, and the people generally, at this result of the invitation. many reasons were adduced, other than those given in the despatch, and including diplomatic requirements in europe, royal visits and delicate negotiations then pending, eastern troubles and complications, australian jealousy if omitted from such a tour, as well as the difficulties involved in any possible visit to the united states. during the year a full-length portrait of the king was received at government house, ottawa, painted by luke fildes, r.a., and the portraits of the king and queen, specially painted by j. colin forbes, the canadian artist, were also received and hung in the parliament houses. in 1907 king edward visited the canadian pavilion at the dublin exhibition of that year and inspected its exhibits while queen alexandra accepted from one of the departments the gift of a rug made by french-canadian women. in the next year much practical appreciation was shown in canada of his majesty's special arrangement under which the "life and letters of queen victoria" was offered for sale at a low popular price; a royal cablegram of sympathy was sent to the sufferers by the fernie (b. c.) fire; the edward medal, established by the king for the recognition of courage in saving or trying to save life in quarries or mines, was extended to canada and all parts of the empire. in the last year of his reign the king's third derby victory was a popular one in canada and throughout the empire and his establishment of a police medal for the recognition of "exceptional service, heroism or devotion to duty" was also applied to canada and all the british dominions. during the year his majesty presented a gift of money to t. l. wood, a blacksmith at port elgin, n. s., and accepted a horse-shoe of exquisite workmanship which had been wrought by him while lying on a sick-bed; visited and praised the exhibition of british columbia fruit at islington on december 6th.
-on october 21, 1909, a tuberculosis institute, established at montreal by lieutenant-colonel j. h. burland, was opened by the king through special electric communication between the library of west dean park, colchester, where he was staying, and the institute at montreal, with a cablegram which read as follows: "i have much pleasure in declaring the royal edward institute at montreal now open. the means by which i make this declaration testifies to the power of modern science and i am confident that the future history of the institute will afford equally striking testimony to the beneficent results of that power when applied to the conquest of disease and the relief of human suffering. i shall always take a lively interest in the institute and i pray that the blessing of the almighty may rest upon all those who work in and for it and also upon those for whom it works. edward r. & i." on november 20th his majesty sent a personal despatch to sir wilfrid laurier in the following terms: "let me express my hearty congratulations to you on the anniversary of your birthday. i hope you will be spared for many years to come to serve the crown and empire, edward." the premier replied with an expression of "humble duty and deep gratitude."
-the king as a diplomatist and peace-maker.
-in 1902 king edward had received the german emperor in england and had entertained other visiting monarchs and statesmen and diplomats. early in 1903 he visited rome, was received by his holiness, the pope, and by the king of italy, and managed the difficult situation of the moment with a delicacy and tact which prevented even a hint of unpleasantness; and served to greatly increase the traditional friendship of italy and britain while sending a glow of appreciation throughout the roman catholic world which lives under the british flag, and helping to settle troubles which had arisen in malta between the government and the italian residents. a little later he was in portugal and proved a prime factor in promoting an understanding in lisbon which substantially facilitated arrangements at far-away delagoa bay which, in turn, were of great advantage to south africa. then, on may 1st, came his famous visit to paris and the commencement of an era of new and better feeling. it was not an easy task or one entirely without risk. french sentiment had been greatly excited during the south african war, the parisian populace had not been friendly to britain, the press had, at times, been grossly abusive and relations were undoubtedly strained. through all the formal ceremonies of this visit, however, the king showed his usual tact and powers of conciliation. a difficult situation was successfully met; ill-feeling engendered by the misrepresentations of the war period were greatly ameliorated; the friendly settlement of controversial questions rendered probable. in his speech to the british chamber of commerce in paris, on may 1st, his majesty touched the key-note of the visit:
-"a divine providence has designed that france should be our near neighbour and i hope always a dear friend. there are no two countries in the world whose mutual prosperity is more dependent upon each other. there may have been misunderstandings and causes of dissension in the past but all such differences are, i believe, happily removed and forgotten, and i trust that the friendship and admiration which we all feel for the french nation and their glorious traditions may in the near future develop into a sentiment of the warmest affection and attachments between the peoples of the two countries. the achievement of this aim is my constant desire."
-but the continental tour of 1903 by king edward did more than effect great results in france. the signing of a treaty of arbitration with italy in january, 1904, with spain in march, and with germany on july 12th--following upon the king's visit to berlin in june--were supposed to be largely due to his majesty's personal influence with the rulers of those countries and to a popularity with the masses which, in two cases at least, helped greatly in soothing current animosities. on april 8th of this year a treaty was signed with france, in addition to the arbitration treaty already mentioned, which disposed of all outstanding and long-standing subjects of dispute and as to which, while lord lansdowne was the negotiator, king edward was a most potent factor. under this arrangement egypt was freed from foreign control and practically admitted to be british territory, while newfoundland was finally relieved of its coast troubles and conflicts of a century. on november 9th, preceding, sir w. mcgregor, governor of newfoundland, had, during a banquet at st. john's, conveyed a personal message from the king which assured the people of that colony of his earnest endeavours to promote a settlement of the french shore question. to canada this matter was also one of the most vital importance, because of its large french population. in the controversy with russia over the hull fishing fleet outrage of october 23, 1904, which so nearly plunged the empire into a great war, it may be said that the king's influence, coupled with the statecraft of lord lansdowne, as exhibited in the latter's historic speech of november 9th, alone held the dogs of war in leash. the remark of a member of the trades' union congress at leeds on september 7th of this year that in his opinion "king edward was about the only statesman that england possessed" was significant in this connection even if it was unfair. still more significant was the description of his majesty in the radical news of london, on november 10th, as "the first citizen of the world and the chief minister of peace."
-during 1905 king edward continued his public services along these lines of international statecraft. on april 30th he paid an unofficial visit to paris, accompanied by the marquess of salisbury as minister in attendance. a great banquet was given at the elysée by president loubet and there followed a general press discussion of the entente between england and france. in june the king of spain visited england and at a state banquet given by king edward at buckingham palace, on june 6th, the latter said: "spain and england have often been allies; may they always remain so; and above all march together for the benefit of peace, progress and the civilization of mankind." on august 7th a french fleet arrived in the solent and its men fraternized with those of the british cruiser squadron while the king gave a banquet on board the royal yacht to the chief french officers. on the following day his majesty reviewed two fleets which together made a splendid aggregation of seventy warships; while the press of the civilized world commented upon the new friendship of the two nations and very largely credited king edward with the achievement.
-early in 1907 the king's visit of two months' duration in europe did more service in the cause of international friendliness; later on the german emperor visited england, as did the king and queen of denmark, and the king and queen of portugal. in june a triple agreement was concluded between great britain, france and spain for the joint protection of their mutual interests in the mediterranean and on the atlantic. this arrangement and the improved relations with germany were credited largely to the efforts of king edward, just as the entente cordiale with france had previously been conceded to be greatly due to his tact and popularity. in october he was able to crown his work by accepting a convention with russia which dealt primarily with the affairs of persia, afghanistan and thibet, but really made future war between the two powers a matter of difficulty. the year 1908 saw state visits to copenhagen, stockholm and christiana in april; the king's opening of the franco-british exhibition in london on may 26th and reception of president fallières of france; his visit, with queen alexandra and a large suite, to russia--the first of the kind in british history--and a meeting with the czar at revel on june 8th; his conference with the german emperor at cronberg on august 11th and with the austrian emperor at ischl on the 12th. during the last year of his reign, king edward's personal intercourse and diplomatic meetings with other rulers were undoubtedly conducive to continued peace and to better mutual understandings. his majesty met the german emperor at berlin on february 8, 1909, the french president at paris on march 6th, the king of spain at biarritz on march 31st, the king of italy on april 29th, the emperor of russia at cowes on august 2d. just as britain was an american power at this time because of canada, an asiatic power because of india and an african power because of many possessions, so canada was an european power because of its connection with great britain, and australia an eastern power because of its proximity to china and japan, and a european power because of the nearness of germany in new guinea and of france in new caledonia. hence, to all these countries and for obvious reasons of common interest, the importance in an empire sense of the king's personality and diplomacy during these years.
-king edward's training was of a nature which fitted into his personal characteristics in this respect. his royal mother had cultivated his boyhood memory for faces and names most carefully; from the days of his youth he was thoroughly conversant with many foreign languages; from his coming of age he was in constant touch with the best of british and european leaders. he had not reached maturity before experiencing the difficulties of a tour of canada and the united states in days when there was no royal road mapped out by precedent for the management of the tour and at a time when orange and green were in frequent conflict in the british-american provinces and feelings of international kindliness were not quite so strong in the united states as they were at the close of his reign. in 1876 he had toured india amidst gorgeous ceremonial and amid an infinite variety of racial and religious occasions, or incidents, which only rare tact could successfully meet. how much exercise there was of this royal statecraft behind the scenes during his nine years of sovereignty only the distant future can reveal and then but partially. his secretaries of state for foreign affairs, lord salisbury, lord lansdowne and sir edward grey, were all men of exceptional capacity and rare experience.
-it is probable, in view of the broad statecraft and high standing of these ministers and the uniformity of policy which they pursued, that advice was frequently given by the king and consultations continuously held. they were only too glad, as was lord rosebery during the late queen's reign, to benefit personally by his knowledge and experience; they were only too happy that the nation and other nations should benefit by his tactful conduct of delicate negotiations with monarchs and rulers abroad. the alliance with japan may or may not stand to his credit; the probabilities are that it does, in part at least. it safeguarded british interests in the east, checkmated the, at that time, dangerous ambitions of russia, put up a barrier against certain efforts of germany. the french entente cordiale and subsequent treaties gave british interests in the mediterranean and northern africa an ally against german plans and settled the newfoundland troubles while solidifying britain's position in egypt. italy was partially separated from its german alliance; spain was brought close to britain by the young king's marriage with the princess ena; russia was swung into the circle of a friendship which not even the japanese alliance has broken; norway made king edward's son-in-law its king. if germany did not become one of this circle of friendly nations it was not due to any lack of diplomacy, or effort, or desire on the part of the british sovereign; it was because of national ambitions and an aggressive personal leadership by the kaiser which had other ends in view. nominally, at any rate, the friendly relations existed, and it is safe to say that there was no greater admirer of king edward's character and statecraft in europe than the emperor william.
-the death of king edward
-so unexpected was any serious or immediate issue of his majesty's condition that the queen was still on the continent when he was taken ill and the king himself was transacting state business in an arm-chair the day before he died. a pathetic incident of the latter date was the bearing of the well-known purple and gold colours to victory at kempton park races by "the witch of the air." when the news came it was hard to believe. people throughout the empire were entirely unprepared. in britain, canada, australia, etc., public functions and social arrangements were at once cancelled; black and purple drapings rapidly covered the important buildings--and many that were even more important as representing individual and spontaneous feeling--of the british world; mourning was seen everywhere in the united kingdom and to a lesser extent in the other countries; papers appeared universally draped in black. in canada, h. e. the governor-general cabled to lord crewe an official expression of regret--one which was real as well as official: "the announcement of the death of king edward vii, which has just reached canada, has created universal sorrow. his majesty's canadian ministers desire that you will convey to his majesty, king george, and the members of the royal family, an assurance that the people of canada share in the great grief that has visited them. in discharge of the duties of his exalted station his late majesty not only won the respect and devotion of all british subjects, but by his efforts on behalf of international harmony and good-will he became universally esteemed as a great peacemaker. nowhere was this gracious attribute of royal character more deeply appreciated than in his majesty's dominion of canada."
-every kind of loyal tribute was paid to the late king by the press and in the pulpit of all the countries concerned, while from the united states came expressions of admiration and respect very little short of those dictated by the natural loyalty and knowledge of his own subjects. in canada the premiers of the provinces were amongst the first to express their feelings. at quebec sir lomer gouin, supported by the opposition leader, moved the adjournment of the legislature on may 6th: "those who love in a chief of state the greatest qualities, peace, goodness, nobility and entente cordiale, all feel his loss. it is for that reason that we cannot do otherwise than suspend our sittings, and i am convinced that all the members of this house will endorse this proposal for adjournment."
-in toronto sir james whitney, the provincial premier, declared that "it would be difficult to express the feeling of love, respect, and admiration entertained by british peoples for their late sovereign, who in his comparatively short reign, has so borne himself and has so done his part, that the whole human race has participated in the benefit resulting from the wisdom shown by him. probably no wiser monarch ever reigned over a nation." to the new brunswick press the local premier, hon. douglas hazen, said: "king edward's reign was a comparatively short one, but the verdict of history will undoubtedly be that he was one of the wisest and greatest rulers that ever sat upon a throne. he took a most keen and active interest in all his country's institutions, endeavouring at all times to promote the well-being of his subjects and to show his appreciation of the british dominions beyond the seas." the hon. a. k. maclean, acting-premier of nova scotia, stated that "to his pacific tendencies and his powerful mediation is due the existence of friendly relations between great britain and other nations and the removal of many long-standing differences and historic prejudices." the conservative leader at ottawa, mr. r. l. borden, gave eloquent expression to his feelings:
-"the tidings of sorrow which have just been flashed across the ocean come to the people of canada with startling suddenness. words of foreboding had hardly reached us before the last message came; 'god's finger touched him and he slept.' to the people of the overseas dominions the crown personifies the dignity and majesty of the whole empire; and through the throne each great dominion is linked to the others and to the motherland. thus the sovereign's death must always thrill the empire. but to-day's untimely tidings bring to the people of canada the sense of a still deeper and more personal bereavement. they gloried in their king's title of peacemaker, and they believed him to be the greatest living force for right within the empire. in him died the greatest statesman and diplomat of europe."
-there is no need to largely quote the tributes of britain, australia or south africa. their people thought and felt and acted as canada's did. great britain felt the loss, of course, in a more strictly personal sense than the dominions beyond the seas. the reverent crowds with bared heads, and every sign of severe personal grief, standing outside buckingham palace grounds could hardly be exactly duplicated abroad, though the scenes in countless churches, as memorial sermons were delivered and memorial services held amidst tokens of obvious and sincere sorrow, came very near to it. in particular, was the open-air service in toronto facing the parliament buildings and attended by silent masses of people, with respectful and sympathetic addresses, with drapings and evidences of mourning on every hand, with the solemn strains of muffled music from many bands, and the presence of thousands of loyal troops, an indication of the popular feeling shown throughout the dominion on may 20th, which was appointed to be a day of mourning, a holiday of sorrow for the people. but this is anticipating. perhaps, in england, the tribute of mr. premier asquith, at the special meeting of parliament on may 11th, was most significant of the innumerable tributes of earnest loyalty and appreciation expressed at the passing of one who was not only a great king but a much-loved personality.
-after pointing out the nature of events in recent years, the growth of international friendships and new understandings and stronger safeguards for peace, together with the ever-tightening bonds of corporate unity within the british realms, mr. asquith went on to say that: "in all these multiform manifestations of national and imperial life, the history of the world will assign a part of singular dignity to the great ruler great britain has lost. in external affairs king edward's powerful influence was directed not only to the avoidance of war, but to the causes of and pretexts of war, and he well earned the title by which he will always be remembered, the peace-maker of the world." continuing, the premier said, that within the boundaries of the empire his late majesty, by his broad and elastic sympathies, had won a degree of loyalty and affectionate confidence which few sovereigns had ever enjoyed. "here at home," he added, "all recognized that above the din and dust of their hard-fought controversies, detached from party, and attached only to the common interest, they had in the late king an arbiter ripe in experience, judicial in temper, and at once a reverent worshipper of their traditions, and a watchful guardian of their constitutional liberties." king edward's life as a devotee of duty, as a sportsman in the best sense of the word, as an ardent and discriminating patron of the arts, as a good business man at the head of a great business community, possessed of intuitive shrewdness in the management of men and difficult situations, as a keen social reformer with "no self apart from his people," was then dwelt upon. it would be impossible in any limited space to analyze the views of the british press. the times declared that "his people loved him for his honesty and kindly courtesy. to all he was not merely every inch a king but every inch an english king and an english gentleman. his influence was not the same as that of queen victoria, but in some respects it was almost stronger." the daily mail considered that "to his initiative his subjects and the empire owe the pacification of south africa and the final reconciliation with the boers. the system of understandings with foreign powers which is our security to-day was in a great part his handiwork." to the radical daily news he was "the supreme example of a people's king by common consent" and this the liberal morning leader echoed with a further tribute to "the sheer instinctive deference paid to his proved wisdom, his large-minded statesmanship, his unequaled knowledge of the world, and the tact that never failed him in the greatest or the least occasion."
-"we mourn the loss in him of a monarch whose chief aim was to draw all the nations closer together and to promote universal peace. ever mindful of the great principles of the british constitution, through his broad-mindedness, his tolerance, and the exquisite charm of his personality, he succeeded in creating a potent bond of union between the various parts of our common country, and in closely consolidating the different branches of the greatest empire that ever existed. representing as we do the province of quebec it gives us pleasure to recall that the development of the idea of a powerful canadian nation, devoted to the interest of the mother-country, was favoured by that great king. imbued with the grandeur and nobility of his mission he won our admiration and our love through his solicitude in respecting our laws and our dearest traditions, aspirations and liberties."
-the view of foreign countries was unique in its friendliness, in its expressions of admiration for the great qualities of heart and head in the late sovereign, for appreciation of his broad sympathies and international statecraft. one of the earliest official telegrams of sympathy to king george was from president fallières of france: "i learnt with emotion of the death of your beloved father. the french government and the french people will regret profoundly the demise of the august sovereign who upon so many occasions has given them evidence of his sincere friendship; and associate themselves fully in the great grief which his unexpected loss brings to you, the royal family, and the entire british empire. it is with a heart full of sadness that i ask your royal highness to accept my personal condolences, those of the french government and of all france." from the president of the united states came a prompt message of condolence to queen alexandra, and from the american congress a unanimous resolution of adjournment and expressive words of sympathy with the british people "in the loss of a wise and upright ruler whose great purpose was the cultivation of friendly relations with all nations and the preservation of peace"; from ex-president roosevelt, speaking at stockholm on may 8th, came words of regret and of regard for the people "who mourn the loss of a wise ruler whose sole thought was for their welfare and for the good of mankind, and the citizens of other nations can join with them in mourning for a man who showed throughout his term of kingship that his voice was always raised for justice and peace among the nations."
-from united states newspapers, the exponents of public opinion in a great kindred nation, came a wonderfully unanimous and kindly expression of real feeling. to the new york herald the late king appeared as blessed with "a genial personality, a kind heart and a strong common sense, together with that highest quality of supreme importance in a ruler and statesman--tact"; to the buffalo news king edward was "the ablest royal ruler england has known in centuries;" to the baltimore american "he was, and the world to-day generously accords him the distinction, the first diplomatist of his time, the man who beyond all others shaped the policies of the world." to the indianapolis news he had "served his country and the world wisely and well, and will go into history as one of the most successful monarchs that england has ever had." the new york journal of commerce paid special and high tribute to king edward's diplomacy and, after dealing with the french entente cordiale went on as follows: "even more marvelous than the closing of the secular feud with france was the termination of that with russia, which seemed more bitter and more hopeless of adjustment. the seemingly impossible was, nevertheless, accomplished, and the power which but a few short years before had been the chief menace to the safety of british india became one of the guarantors of its immunity from attack. it will be reckoned one of the miracles of history that russia could have been induced to abandon a policy which she had steadfastly supported and been ready to concede that the affairs of afghanistan were purely a british interest and those of korea exclusively japanese."
-in most of these tributes of regard and respect--british, imperial or foreign--there was a reference of affectionate admiration for the queen consort who, at this moment, allowed it to be understood that she would like in future to be known as the queen mother. the far-famed beauty of person, the charm and graciousness of manner, and nobility of mind and character, which had won a way so quickly and permanently into the hearts of the british people and had been such potent forces in the life of king edward and of her own family, brought to queen alexandra at this time a world-tribute of sympathy and regard. british subjects all over the empire, multitudes outside of its bounds, were ready to echo those famous words of lord tennyson, applied to the similar sorrow of queen victoria:
-may all love, his love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow thee, the love of all thy sons encompass thee the love of all thy daughters cherish thee the love of all thy people comfort thee till god's love set thee at his side again.
-few more touching words have been written than the queen's message to the nation which was made public on may 10th: "from the depth of my poor broken heart," she wrote, "i wish to express to the whole nation and our own kind people we love so well, my deep-felt thanks for all their touching sympathy in my overwhelming sorrow and unspeakable anguish. not alone have i lost everything in him, my beloved husband, but the nation, too, has suffered an irreparable loss in their best friend, father, and sovereign thus suddenly called away. may god give us all his divine help to bear this heaviest of crosses which he has seen fit to lay upon us. his will be done. give to me a thought in your prayers which will comfort and sustain me in all that i have to go through. let me take this opportunity of expressing my heartfelt thanks for all the touching letters and tokens of sympathy i have received from all classes, high and low, rich and poor, which are so numerous that i fear it would be impossible for me ever to thank everybody individually. i confide my dear son to your care, who i know, will follow in his dear father's footsteps, begging you to show him the same loyalty and devotion you showed his dear father. i know that both my dear son and daughter-in-law will do their utmost to merit and keep it."
-it may be added that the surviving children of king edward and queen alexandra at the time of the king's death were his successor--george frederick ernest albert, prince of wales; princess louise, duchess of fife, who was born in 1867 and married in 1889; princess victoria, who was born in 1868 and was unmarried; princess maud, queen of norway, who was born in 1869 and married in 1896 to charles, then crown prince of denmark. king edward's only surviving brother was h. r. h., the duke of connaught, who was born in 1850. his surviving sisters were princess helena, married to prince christian of schleswig-holstein; princess louise, married to the duke of argyll; and princess beatrice, widow of the late prince henry of battenberg.
-the solemn funeral of the king
-the death of king edward was an event of more than british importance, of more than imperial significance. his funeral was a stately, solemn and splendid ceremony preceded by two weeks of real mourning throughout his empire, of obvious and sincere regret throughout the world. in london and cape town, in melbourne and toronto, in wellington and dawson city, in ottawa and khartoum, in calcutta and in cairo; wherever the british flag flies, efforts were made to mark the funeral as one of individual and local and national sorrow. all the great cities of the empire, the smaller towns, and even the hamlets, had their drapings of purple and black. in every church and chapel and sunday meeting-house during the two weeks of mourning at least one service was given up to the memory of the late king. in all foreign countries preparations were made for the formal expression of the general admiration which the qualities and reign of the dead monarch had aroused. formal resolutions, public meetings, the appointment of national representatives to the coming funeral were world-wide incidents.
-at home in london the casket to contain the royal remains was fashioned of british oak from the forest of windsor and on may 14th, the body of king edward was removed from the room in which he died to the throne room of buckingham palace, and there placed on a catafalque in front of a temporary altar where it was guarded night and day by four royal grenadiers. on may 16th, amidst a solemn and imposing but preliminary pageant the late king was carried from the palace where he died to westminster hall, where the remains were to lie in solemn state. a farewell family service had been held by the bishop of london and then the body at 11.30 in the morning was transported to its new resting-place between double lines of red-coated soldiers, flanked by dense and silent masses of mourning people, with buildings on every hand heavily draped.
-preceded by the booming of minute guns, the slow pealing of bells and the roll of muffled drums the procession passed to its destination. it included the headquarters staff of the army with lord roberts leading, the admiralty board, the great officers of army and navy, dismounted troops, indian officers. these preceded the plain gun-carriage on which rested the royal remains, the coffin covered with a white satin pall and the royal standard, on which rested the crown, the orb and the sceptre. drawn by eight magnificent black horses and flanked by the king's company of the royal grenadiers the bier was followed by king george on foot with his two eldest sons and behind them were the kings of denmark and norway, the duke of connaught, various visiting royalties, or representatives, and the household of the late king. a mounted escort succeeded and then came a carriage containing the queen-mother, her sister the dowager empress of russia, the princess royal and princess victoria, another with queen mary, and others with the queen of norway and various members of the royal family. last of all came a body of mounted troops. all along the route, which was scarcely half a mile in length, the attitude of the uncounted multitude was one of deep personal grief. no word was spoken and after heads had been uncovered, the masses of people were described as looking like an assembly of graven images. at the noble hall, famous in british history for more than 800 years, the archbishop of canterbury and the duke of norfolk received the coffin and preceded it to the catafalque. no attempt at funeral decoration marred the noble simplicity of the grand interior. the spacious floor was laid with dull grey felt. in the centre, on a slightly elevated dais spread with a purple carpet stood the lofty purple draped catafalque. no flowing draperies softened its outlines and it appeared like smoothly chiselled blocks of purple granite.
-and god poured him an exquisite wine, that was daily renewed to him in the clear welling love of his peoples, that daily accrued to him. honour and service we gave him, rejoicingly, fearless; faith absolute, trust beyond speech, and a friendship as peerless. and since he was master and servant in all that we asked him we leaned hard on his wisdom in all things, knowing not how we tasked him.
-for on him each new day laid command, every tyrannous hour to confront, or confirm or make smooth some dread issue of power. to deliver true judgment aright at the instant unaided in the strict, level, ultimate phrase that allowed or dissuaded; to foresee, to allay, to avert from us perils unnumbered; to stand guard at our gates when he guessed that our watchman had slumbered; to win time, to turn hate, to woo folly to service, and mightily schooling his strength to the use of his nations; to rule as not ruling. these were the works of our king; earth's peace is the proof of them. god gave him great works to fulfil and to use the behoof of them.
-following these events westminster hall for two days was thrown open to the public and a continuous procession of half a million mourners passed the coffin and looked for the last time upon the face of their well-loved sovereign. into windsor, meanwhile, there poured innumerable evidences of the peoples' sympathy from the costliest tribute of wealth and aristocracy to the thousands of simple green wreaths sent in by the poorer classes. to westminster hall, on may 19th, the emperor william of germany, soon after his arrival, proceeded with king george, stood for a while in the private enclosure as the countless stream of people passed slowly by, then descended to the floor of the hall--the kaiser carrying a wreath of purple and white flowers--and together knelt within the rails while the stream of passers-by was temporarily suspended. when the two monarchs arose the emperor william held out his hand which king george clasped and held for some moments.
-by may 20th the preparations were all in readiness for the final functions and splendid ceremonial. the streets were draped from buckingham palace to westminster hall, and thence to paddington station, in great masses of purple and white and black; venetian masts lined the route on which hung masses of funeral wreaths from the people; half-masted flags were everywhere. the town of windsor was almost buried from sight in the purple trappings of grief and royalty. on the day itself solemn, silent multitudes of men and women, estimated at from three to five millions, were massed along the route of the procession with 35,000 soldiers lining the streets and a parade which even london had never equalled for mingled splendour and solemnity. at 9:10 a. m., the deep-toned bell of westminster announced the beginning of the royal obsequies. king george, queen mary, the queen mother, the royal family and the visiting monarchs and representatives of the powers and the empire, left buckingham palace and proceeded with a small escort to westminster hall amidst the tolling of bells and the firing of minute guns. only queen alexandra, the princess victoria, the king and the emperor william entered the hall and saw the body removed from the catafalque to the gun-carriage outside where it rested under conditions similar to those of the earlier removal from buckingham palace. outside, the queen mother entered her coach and, as the body-guard of kings wheeled around and passed her carriage, three by three, each saluted her with silent reverence.
-the procession left westminster at 9.30 headed by a long column of troops and bluejackets and the greater officers of the army and navy. bands of the household cavalry, the new territorial troops, colonial soldiers, were first and then came various volunteer corps, the honourable artillery company, officers of the indian regiments in their picturesque uniforms and turbans, followed by detachments of infantry, foot guards, royal engineers, garrison, field and horse artillery. naval representatives came next with the military attaches of the foreign embassies, the officers of the headquarters staff of the army and the field marshals and massed bands playing solemn funeral marches. then followed the chief officers of state, followed by the duke of norfolk and succeeded by a single soldier carrying the royal standard; the gun-carriage carrying the mortal remains of the king came next and just behind it walked a groom leading his favourite charger and another with his favourite dog "caesar"; king george followed, riding between the german emperor and the duke of connaught, all clad in brilliant uniforms with a long and unique line of nine monarchs, princes of great states and special ambassadors and imperial representatives. they rode in the following order:
-the duke of connaught, king george and the emperor william.
-king haakon of norway, king george of greece, and king alfonso of spain.
-king ferdinand of bulgaria, king frederick of denmark and king manuel of portugal.
-prince yussof zvyeden, the heir apparent of turkey, king albert of belgium and archduke francis ferdinand, heir to the throne of austro-hungary.
-prince sadanaru fushimi of japan, grand duke michael of russia, the duke of aosta, representing italy, the duke of sparta, crown prince of greece, and the crown prince ferdinand of roumania.
-prince henry of prussia representing the german navy, prince charles of sweden, prince henry of holland, the duke of saxe-cobourg-gotha, the crown prince of montenegro and crown prince alexander of servia.
-prince mohammed ali, said pasha zulfikar, watsen pasha of egypt and the sultan of zanzibar. then followed the princely and ducal representatives of a dozen german states, the members of the british royal family, the duc d'alencon, and prince bovaradej of siam.
-the mounted group was followed by twelve state carriages. the first was occupied by the queen-mother, alexandra, and her sister the russian dowager empress marie, the princess royal and the princess victoria; the second carriage contained queen mary of great britain, queen maud of norway, the duke of cornwall, heir to the british throne, and the princess mary; the next four carriages carried royal ladies and ladies-in-waiting; the seventh carriage contained prince tsai-tao of china and his suite; the eighth carriage was shared by special american ambassador theodore roosevelt, m. pichon, french foreign minister, and the representative of persia; the ninth carriage was occupied by lord strathcona, high commissioner for canada, sir george reid, high commissioner for australia and william hall-jones, high commissioner for new zealand.
-the train to windsor contained a funeral car upholstered in purple and white silk with a catafalque on which the casket was placed and around it were grouped the near members of the royal family and eight sovereigns of foreign states. from windsor station to the castle the procession formed in the previous order except that the royal mourners walked while sailors drew the gun-carriage to the famous home of britain's monarchs and to the entrance of the historic st. george's chapel. here, where king edward was christened and married and shared in so many stately functions, the final religious ceremonies were performed by the archbishops of canterbury and york. while the coffin rested on a purple catafalque before the altar, which was almost buried in floral emblems, and minute guns boomed and bells tolled, the briefest service of the church of england--at queen alexandra's request--was proceeded with and the body slowly, reverently, lowered into the vault. a prayer was then uttered for the new king and the benediction pronounced by the archbishop of canterbury.
-what can be said of the day elsewhere? a full record would fill many volumes. in canada, in australia, in south africa, in new zealand, in newfoundland, in all british countries and territories, there was a great similarity of solemn and popular demonstration. everywhere factories and financial institutions and commercial establishments closed their doors. wherever that was impossible in canadian factories work was stopped at a certain stage in the funeral ceremonies and every man stood in silence, with bared head for the time arranged; on all the great railways of canada at the moment when the king's body was lowered into his grave, and for three minutes, everything stopped, every kind of work ceased, every one of at least 40,000 men stood in reverent silence. military parades took place with muffled drums and passage through long lanes of silent people, in montreal, toronto, hamilton, chatham, london, st. catharines, kingston, woodstock, ottawa, st. thomas, winnipeg and victoria, and other places. memorial services were everywhere held; in ottawa, vice-royalty and the ministers took part in a great open-air ceremony in front of the parliament buildings, with troops and massed bands and superb drapings, to still further emphasize the solemnity of the occasion. toronto had 100,000 people attend a similar service under the auspices of the government in front of its parliament buildings and so with other centres. it may be added here that besides lord strathcona, canada had as representatives at the funeral ceremonies hon. a. b. aylesworth, minister of justice; sir charles fitzpatrick, chief justice of the supreme court; hon. c. marcil, speaker of the house of commons; hon. s. a. fisher, minister of agriculture; sir d. m. mcmillan, lieut.-governor of manitoba; mayors geary of toronto, sanford evans of winnipeg, and guerin of montreal.
-in other parts of the empire similar scenes occurred. throughout south africa the most solemn memorial services were held and attended by vast congregations. there were scenes of heartfelt sorrow and hundreds of magnificent wreaths were deposited on the statue of the king at cape town. funeral services were held throughout india, the hindus joining in the services in a remarkable manner. all military trains were halted for fifteen minutes. in australia the governor-general and all the ministers assembled on the great tier of steps at the parliament buildings, melbourne, in the presence of perhaps the most solemn assembly ever gathered together in that country. for a long space there was a reverent silence and the crowd then sang the national anthem. the day was observed as a day of mourning in sydney, bells were tolled from noon to sunset, and salutes of sixty-eight minute guns fired in the afternoon. a hundred thousand persons attended the memorial service in centennial park at wellington, new zealand. services were general throughout that dominion while every outpost of the empire flew the union jack at half-mast and paid a tribute to the dead sovereign's memory.
-thus there passed away and was buried a great king, a man of whole-souled, genial and honourable type, a character rich in graces granted to few in this world, a ruler who combined intellect with heart and knowledge with discrimination, a briton who could love and believe in the greatness of his own country and empire without antagonizing the legitimate pride and aspirations of other nations, a diplomatist made by nature's own hand to soothe international acerbities and embody the ideal of peace in an age of preparation for war.
-the new king and his imperial responsibilities
-in assuming the burden of his great position and manifold duties king george v had the disadvantage of succeeding a great monarch; he had also the advantage of having been trained in statecraft, diplomacy, and the science and practice of government, by a master in the art. he was young in years--only forty-five--strong, so far as was known, in body and health, equipped with a vigorous intelligence and wide experience of home and european politics and, what was of special importance at the time of his accession, instinct with imperial sentiment and acquainted, practically and personally, with the politics and leaders of every country in the british empire--notably india, canada, south africa and australia. he was not known to the public as a man of genial temperament but rather as a strong, reserved, quiet thinker and student of men and conditions. great patience and considerable tact, common sense and natural ability, eloquence in speech and fondness for home life and out-door sports, he had shown as prince of wales or duke of cornwall. he spoke german, french, and, of course, english with ease and accuracy; he had seen much service in the royal navy and was understood to be devotedly attached to the wide spaces of the boundless seas; his consort was beautiful, kindly, and graceful in bearing, with a profound sense of the importance of her place and duties and a sincere belief in the beneficence and splendid mission of british power.
-the prince of wales became, of course, king at the moment of his father's death; on may 7th his majesty met the privy council, signed the proclamation relating to his accession and accepted the oath of fealty from the lords and gentlemen assembled. to them he delivered a brief address expressive of his personal sorrow and sense of his onerous responsibilities: "in this irreparable loss, which has so suddenly fallen upon me and the whole empire, i am comforted by the feeling that i have the sympathy of my future subjects, who will mourn with me for their beloved sovereign, whose own happiness was found in sharing and promoting theirs. i have lost not only a father's love, but the affectionate and intimate relations of a dear friend and adviser. no less confident am i of the universal and loving sympathy which is assured to my dearest mother in her overwhelming grief.
-"standing here, little more than nine years ago, our beloved king declared that so long as there was breath in his body he would work for the good and amelioration of his subjects. i am sure that the opinion of the whole nation will be that this declaration has been fully carried out. to endeavour to follow in his footsteps, and at the same time to uphold the constitutional government of these realms will be the earnest object of my life. i am deeply sensible of the heavy responsibilities which have fallen upon me. i know that i can rely upon the parliament and on the people of these islands and my dominions beyond the seas for their help in the discharge of these arduous duties and their prayers that god will grant me strength and guidance. i am encouraged by the knowledge that i have in my dear wife one who will be a constant helpmate in every endeavour for our people's good."
-this speech, delivered with obvious feeling and indicating a real understanding and appreciation of his late father's character and career, made a most favourable impression upon the council, the nation, and the empire. it was followed by others--all showing tact and a clear grasp of the fundamental conditions of the time and of his new responsibilities. to the british army king george issued the following message: "my beloved father was always closely associated with the army by ties of strong personal attachment, and from the first day he entered the service he identified himself with everything conducive to its welfare. on my accession to the throne i take this earliest opportunity of expressing to all ranks my gratitude for their gallant and devoted service to him. although i have been always interested in the army, recent years have afforded me special opportunities of becoming more intimately acquainted with our forces both at home and in india, as well as in other parts of the empire. i shall watch over your interests and efficiency with continuous and keen solicitude and shall rely on that spirit of loyalty which has at all times animated and been the proud tradition of the british army." to the royal navy his majesty's message was issued with special and personal interest. he was devoted to that arm of the service. from the year 1877 when he entered as a cadet of twelve years old, and 1879 when, with prince albert victor--afterwards duke of clarence--he went around the world in h. m. s. bacchante, and 1885 when he became a midshipman, he had delighted in the naval service, imbibed the free air of the seas of the world and become instinct with pride in england's naval record and achievements. he had been attached to and served in several great battleships; in 1888 he commanded a torpedo boat and in 1890 the gunboat thrush; in succeeding years he held more important commands and finally in 1897 had become an admiral. to his navy king george spoke as follows:
-"it is my earnest wish on succeeding to the throne to make known to the navy how deeply grateful i am for its faithful and distinguished services rendered to the late king, my beloved father, who ever showed great solicitude for its welfare and efficiency. educated and trained in that profession which i love so dearly my retirement from active duty has in no sense diminished my feelings of affection for it. for thirty-three years i had the honour of serving in the navy, and such intimate participation in its life and work enables me to know how thoroughly i can depend upon that spirit of loyalty and zealous devotion to duty of which the glorious history of our navy is the outcome. that you will ever continue to be, as in the past, the foremost defenders of your country's honour i know full well, and your fortunes will always be followed by me with deep feelings of pride and affectionate interest."
-parliament met in special session on may 11th to tender its combined condolences and congratulations to the new sovereign. the addresses from both houses were identical in terms and referred eulogistically to the great work of the late king in building up and maintaining friendly foreign relations. to them his majesty replied briefly as to his personal grief and the national sorrow and then added: "king edward's care for the welfare of his people, his skill and prudent guidance of the nation's affairs, his unwavering devotion to public duty during his illustrious reign, his simple courage under pain, will long be held in honour by his subjects both at home and beyond the seas." meanwhile an infinite variety of articles were being written about the new king. in canada and the united states the same despatches, practically, came to the leading papers; in canada were reproduced many of the attractive articles written by special american correspondents in england. some of them could hardly have come from personal knowledge; others contained much of current gossip, passing stories, hasty impressions; all were interesting. a remarkable feature of nearly all that was written regarding his majesty was the absence of serious criticism or the slightest cause for condemnation in a life of forty-five years lived in the continuous white light which beats upon royalty with such merciless precision.
-the facts are that king george was and had been essentially a sailor prince; that he had in his younger days been open-handed, free, and possessed of a certain natural and bluff and pleasant geniality which was, however, quite different from the urbane, charming, courtly geniality of king edward; that something of this characteristic had disappeared from public view after the death of his brother, the duke of clarence, and his own assumption of public duties and public work as heir presumptive--functions greatly enlarged by the accession of his father to the throne; that in his travels through the outer spaces, the vast colonial dominions, of the empire he was too hedged about with etiquette, too much surrounded by a varied, and constantly changing, and bewildering environment to exhibit anything except devotion to the immediate duty of the moment; that under the circumstances of his imperial tours, amidst political conditions wherein a wrong word or even an unwise gesture might, upon occasions, evoke a storm, where not even his carefully-selected suite could be expected to understand all the varied shades of political strife and the infinite varieties of public opinion, it would have been more than human for him to show continuous geniality--as that word is interpreted in democratic countries; that upon many occasions and despite these obstacles he did thoroughly indicate a personal and unaffected enjoyment very different in manner from that of a prince receiving a formal address--notably so in his drives around quebec during the tercentenary; that the responsibilities of his position, the personal limitations of his environment, the difficulties always surrounding an heir to the throne, had however, and upon the whole, sobered the one-time "jolly" prince into a serious and thoughtful personage--a statesman in the making; that he was, what none of the royal family had ever been, something of an orator as he proved by his splendid speech in london upon returning from the empire tour of 1901 and by his delivery of otherwise routine addresses upon many occasions; that there could be absolutely no doubt as to his love of home, his devotion to wife and family, his personal preference for a quieter life than that which destiny had given him. king george was married to princess may of teck, on july 6, 1893, and the children of the royal pair at the accession were as follows:
-of the new queen mary much might be said. unspoiled by the social adulation, the personal power of her environment; devoted to her home, its duties and its responsibilities, and believing her children to be the first object and aim of a woman's study and attention, she yet found time to master the underlying principles of her future position, to become thoroughly conversant with all the details of sovereignty--not only in the ordinary sense but in that new meaning which has come to stamp the british monarchy with such an international and imperial prestige. the future queen had some special qualifications for her position. she was british by birth and training and habit of thought--the first queen-consort who could claim these conditions in centuries of history. a great-granddaughter of george the third she was the popular child of a popular mother--princess mary of teck--and was born in kensington palace on may 26, 1867, in a room adjacent to that in which queen victoria first saw the light of day. interested in the theatre, in music, and the drama, charitable by nature and incessant in her work for, and amongst, the poor, a cheerful though not exactly eager participant in social affairs and presiding at the marlborough house functions with tact and distinction; winning during her tour around the empire the unstinted liking and respect of the people; the mistress and careful head of her household, a constant friend and adviser and associate of her royal husband, a loving and devoted mother; the princess of wales before she entered upon her inheritance of power had well proved her right to help in holding the reins of a greater position and in setting the example of leadership in her natural and important share of the duties surrounding the throne of britain and its far-flung realm.
-what can be said of the future? it may be assumed that king george v will know his people well. he is thoroughly english in life, character, feelings; he knows europe and the empire better perhaps than any other living man; he is in sympathetic touch with rich and poor alike and has taken for many years deep interest in philanthropic and other schemes for the betterment of the poor; he has been trained in the school of constitutional monarchy by the personal teachings of his father and the potent example of queen victoria. the london daily telegraph said of him at the time of his accession--speaking probably with the knowledge of lord burnham, its proprietor, who had for many years been on intimate terms of friendship with the royal family--that the new king had undergone sedulous training and been educated to rule by learning to obey. "the country will discover in him what those admitted to his confidence have always realized--admirable traits of kindliness and strength; wise common sense, practical judgment of affairs; shrewd insight into character; and a singularly upright and lofty conception of his kingly duty. he has a frank, generous, unspoiled nature, is quick in apprehension, deliberate in thought, careful in expression, controlled by a far-reaching consciousness of duty and is animated by a vivid sense of his exalted mission. he is a keen sportsman, an admirable father and husband, and a lovable man."
-king george has also been trained imperially. he has trod the soil of his empire in every part of the globe and visited seas and lands which no other british sovereign ever saw; he has seen the courage and commercial skill and success of his more distant peoples, the pioneering activities and growing civilizations of new states and territories thousands of miles apart; he has obviously learned from them lessons of great import. it required considerable courage in 1902 to make that speech of "wake up, england," to a people who do not readily take advice from their rulers and who notoriously dislike being hurried along the lines of their development. in other directions there is much to be hopeful for. his majesty has chosen his friends well. they are said, in an intimate sense, to be few in number, but the fact of lord rosebery being one of them augurs well of the others. he has a strong sense of duty, his addresses indicate the principle of imperialism in its best sense, his life has commanded the respect of his people. it may well be, and surely will be in his case, as with the late queen, with wellington and nelson and king edward himself, that
-"not once or twice in our fair island's story the path of duty was the road to glory."
-to the political situation at his accession, therefore, king george brings a trained intelligence, detailed and intimate knowledge, a keen perception of the basic interests and feelings of his people. no one knows, no one can know, what are his political opinions. the probabilities are that his principles are not those of any so-called party. if they were closely analyzed in the light of environment, education, instincts, and natural predelictions the king's policy might, perhaps, be found to be something like this: (1) the maintenance of british power, including a strong navy and a united empire; (2) the maintenance of the monarchy in all its essential rights and privileges and absolute independence of party. these two lines of ambition would really be, and are, one, as in his opinion and, indeed, in that of most thinking men who are not blinded by passing party phantoms the interests of great britain, of the empire, and the monarchy, are identical.
-in the political crisis of 1910 two questions are uppermost--a constitutional change and a fiscal change. in order to defeat the latter proposals the liberals in part have created the former situation. the king can act only upon the advice of his ministry unless tacitly and by unusual agreement, as latterly was the case with king edward, he acts as a conciliatory force. if the government asks him to create 300 peers so as to compel the acceptance of legislation curbing and crippling, if not abolishing, the upper house, he can either assent or refuse. assent means the destruction of a portion of the constitution--and a portion very close to the throne and which acts as a real buffer against the hasty action of an impetuous and sometimes imperious commons. refusal means that the ministry must resign or go to the country on an issue in which it is quite possible the people will not support them.
-against the government, also, in this contest will be urged the full force of the growing fiscal feeling, the desire for tariff reform, the development of an imperial sentiment which wants some means of giving the colonies a preference in the british market, the pressing need for some weapon of retaliation upon highly protective foreign nations. whatever course the king takes under all these conditions will bring the crown into the conflict--either as yielding to the liberals and thus antagonizing the conservatives, or by refusing the demands of the former, raising up a party--small but vehement--against the monarchy itself. there is another element in the situation to be remembered. england, "the dominant partner," is not really behind the asquith government. its majority at the recent elections was infinitesimal; what there was came from wales and ireland and scotland; and that of ireland was divided upon the fiscal issue. the whole situation is, therefore, very much clouded to the eye.
-so far as one writer can estimate the end of such a crisis it will probably be one of compromise. almost everything in the british constitution is in the nature of a compromise. constitutional monarchy in its essence is a half-way house between autocracy and republicanism and its great advantage to the minds of its supporters is that the system has the extremes of neither, the best qualities of each, and all the advantages of that strength and permanence which moderation and toleration always afford. in britain the system certainly has the affection and devotion of the great mass of the people. mr. asquith is not an extremist, mr. haldane and sir edward grey are moderate forces in the cabinet, and though messrs. lloyd-george and winston churchill are more heard of it does not follow, and it certainly is not the fact, that they are more influential. they hold the same place in liberalism that mr. chamberlain with his republican tendencies (which they do not profess) and his "three acres and a cow" held to mr. gladstone and the liberal leaders of thirty or forty years ago. the conservatives, also, are not desirous of pushing the issue too far. they believe in and have tested the affection of rural england for the aristocracy and the preference of nearly all england for a second chamber of some kind. but they do not intend to fight the issue on the hereditary principle. the acceptance, by a very large majority, of lord rosebery's motion in the lords declaring that "the possession of a peerage should no longer, of itself, give the right to sit and vote in the house of lords," removes this point from the actual conflict and leaves the conservatives as urging a strong, reformed and democratised upper house against the liberal policy of a weakened, emasculated echo of the house of commons.
-whereas it has pleased almighty god to call to his mercy our late sovereign lord king edward the seventh, of blessed and glorious memory, by whose decease the imperial crown of the united kingdom of great britain and ireland is solely and rightfully come to the high and mighty prince george frederick ernest albert:
-we, therefore, the lords spiritual and temporal of this realm, being here assisted with these of his late majesty's privy council, with numbers of other principal gentlemen of quality, with the lord mayor, aldermen, and citizens of london, do now hereby, with one voice and consent of tongue and heart, publish and proclaim, that the high and mighty prince george frederick ernest albert, is now by the death of our late sovereign of happy memory, become our only lawful and rightful liege lord george the fifth by the grace of god, king of the united kingdom of great britain and ireland, and of the british dominions beyond the seas, defender of the faith, emperor of india:
-to whom we do acknowledge all faith and constant obedience, with all hearty and humble affection; beseeching god, by whom kings and queens do reign, to bless the royal prince george the fifth with long and happy years to reign over us.
-king george's first official act.
-showing descent of king george v, from egbert (a. d. 827)
-there is plenty of room for compromise in this, and there is every possibility that something will be done along the lines of, perhaps, restricting the financial veto of the lords, leaving the other questions open, and, meantime, reforming the structure of the house. whatever the developments of the future, the new king may be depended upon to preserve the general principle of a second chamber; to conserve the legitimate interests and influence of the aristocracy and landed classes in the state--when, of course, they do not conflict with the well-being of the people as a whole; to stand for stability and gradual reform rather than change for the sake of change; to prefer and enforce evolution rather than revolution. in all this his majesty will voice the deliberate and well-known opinions--instinct it may almost be said--of his people in general. be it also said, in conclusion, that these thoughts are generalizations; that the king's opinions are his own and are not known to the people; that newspaper writers in england, the united states, or canada, who proclaim an intimate acquaintance with his views, and hidden qualities, and private conversations, only betray their absolute ignorance of actual conditions. king george is an honest, honourable and patriotic englishman, guarding the greatest birthright that a man can have, watching over the evolution of the greatest of world-empires, sitting at the heart of vital and powerful political movements. the steps he takes, or does not take, will be carefully considered, and all public knowledge of the new king's character and life leads one to believe that they will be wisely taken--in this respect following the precedents left by his august father and grandmother and realizing the principles and training and looming responsibilities of a lifetime.
-the scan of page 287 is unclear, but it makes sense for the text to be: "the king was accompanied by sir frank lascelles, ambassador at berlin, and by his physician, sir francis laking."
-modern saints and seers
-translated from the french of
-william rider & son, ltd.
-cathedral house, paternoster row, e.c.
-the forest of illusions
-"listen within yourselves, and gaze into the infinity of space and time. there resounds the song of the stars, the voice of numbers, the harmony of the spheres."--hermes trismegistus.
-in these days the phenomenon of religion, which we believed to have receded into the background of human life, is reappearing among us, more vigorous than ever. the four years' desolation into which the world was plunged has rendered the attraction of "the beyond" irresistible, and man turns towards it with passionate curiosity and undisguised longing. the millions of dead who have vanished from mortal sight seem to be drawing the present towards the unsounded deeps of the future. in many cases their loss has taken all joy and colour from the lives of those who survive them, and tear-stained faces are instinctively turned towards the portals of the great mystery.
-occultism is triumphant. in its many different forms it now emerges from obscurity and neglect. its promises excite our deepest thoughts and wishes. eagerly we examine the strength of the bridge that it has built between this world and the next; and though we may see our hopes slip down between the crevices, though we may find those who have been disappointed in a more despairing state than before--what matter? we still owe thanks to occultism for some cherished moments of illusion.
-the number of its followers increases steadily, for never before has man experienced so ardent a desire for direct contact with the unknowable. science will have to reckon with this movement which is carrying away even her own high-priests. she will have to widen her frontiers to include the phenomena that she formerly contemned.
-the supernatural world, with its abnormal manifestations, fascinates modern humanity. the idea of death becomes more and more familiar. we even demand, as renan happily expressed it, to know the truth which shall enable us not to fear, but almost to love, death: and an irresistible force urges us to explore the depths of subconsciousness, whence, it is claimed, may spring the desired renewal and intensification of man's spiritual life.
-but why is it that we do not return to the old-established religions? it is because, alas, the great agony through which the world has passed has not dealt kindly with any form of established faith. dogmatic theology, which admits and exalts the direct interference of the divinity in our affairs, has received some serious wounds. the useless and unjustifiable sacrifice of so many innocent lives, of women, of old men, of children, left us deeply perplexed. we could not grasp the reason for so much suffering. never, at any period in the past, have the enemies of humanity and of god so blasphemed against the eternal principles of the universe--yet how was it that the authors of such crimes went unpunished?
-agonising doubts seized upon many faithful hearts, and amid all the misery with which our planet was filled we seemed to distinguish a creeping paralysis of the established faiths. just at the time when we most had need of religion, it seemed to weaken and vanish from our sight, though we knew that human life, when not enriched and ennobled by spiritual forces, sinks into abysmal depths, and that even any diminution in the strength of these forces is fatally injurious to our most sacred and essential interests.
-attempts to revive our faith were bound to be made sooner or later, and we shall no doubt yet witness innumerable pilgrimages towards the source of religion.
-the psychology of the foundations of the spiritual life; the mysterious motives which draw men towards, or alienate them from, religious leaders; the secret of the influence exercised by these latter upon mankind in the mass--all these things are now and always of intense interest. through the examination of every kind of disease, the science of medicine discovers the laws of health; and through studying many religions and their followers we may likewise arrive at a synthesis of a sane and wholesome faith. the ever-increasing numbers of strange and attractive places of worship which are springing up in all countries bear witness to man's invincible need to find shelter behind immediate certainties, even as their elaborate outer forms reflect the variety of his inward aspirations.
-in the great forest of ecstasies and illusions which supplies spiritual nourishment to so many of our fellow-humans, we have here confined ourselves to the examination of the most picturesque and unusual plants, and have gathered them for preference in the soil of russia and of the united states. these two countries, though in many respects further apart than the antipodes, furnish us with characteristic examples of the thirst for renewal of faith which rages equally in the simple soul of an uncultured peasant and in that of a business man weary of the artificialities of modern life.
-many of us held mistakenly that our contemporaries were incapable of being fired to enthusiasm by new religions, whose exponents seemed to us as questionable as their doctrines. but we need only observe the facts to behold with what inconceivable ease an age considered prosaic and incredulous has adopted spiritual principles which frequently show up the lack of harmony between our manner of life and our hidden longings.
-the religious phenomena which we see around us in so many complex forms seem to foreshadow a spiritual future whose content is illimitable.
-such examples of human psychology, whether normal or morbid, as are here offered to the reader, may well recall to mind some of the strangest products of man's imagination. the tales of hoffmann or of edgar allan poe pale before these inner histories of the human soul, and the most moving novels and romances appear weak and artificial when compared to the eruptions of light and darkness which burst forth from the depths of man's subconsciousness.
-these phenomena will interest the reader of reflective temperament no less than the lover of the sensational and the improbable in real life.
-preface: the forest of illusions
-the salvation of the poor
-a. the organised sects
-b. the non-sectarian visionaries
-i. the brothers of death ii. the divinity of father ivan iii. among the miracle-workers
-c. the rising flood
-the salvation of the wealthy
-a. religion and economy
-i. the mormons, or latter-day saints ii. the religion of business iii. the adepts of the sun of suns
-b. religion and miracles
-i. the christian scientists ii. schlatter, the miracle-man
-the depths of the subconscious mind
-i. sects in france and elsewhere ii. the religion of murder iii. the reincarnationists' paradise conclusion
-modern saints and seers
-the salvation of the poor
-a. the organised sects
-the tragic death of the monk rasputin made a deep impression upon the civilised world, and truth was lost to view amid the innumerable legends that grew up around his life and activities. one leading question dominated all discussions:--how could an individual so lacking in refinement and culture influence the life of a great nation, and become in indirect fashion one of the main factors in the struggle against the central powers? through what miracle did he succeed in making any impression upon the thought and conduct of a social order infinitely superior to himself?
-psychologists are fascinated by the career of this adventurer who ploughed so deep a furrow in the field of european history; but in seeking to detach the monk from his background, we run the risk of entirely failing to comprehend the mystery of his influence, itself the product of a complex and little understood environment. the misery of the russian people, combined with their lack of education, contributed largely towards it, for the desire to escape from material suffering drove them to adopt the weirdest systems of salvation for the sake of deliverance and forgetfulness.
-the perception of the ideal is often very acute among the uneducated. they accept greedily every new "message" that is offered them, but alas, they do not readily distinguish the true from the false, or the genuine saint from the impostor.
-the orthodox clergy of the old russian régime, recruited under deplorable conditions, attained but rarely the moral and intellectual eminence necessary to inspire their flock with feelings of love and confidence; while, on the other hand, the false prophets and their followers, vigorously persecuted by official religion, easily gained for themselves the overwhelming attraction of martyrdom. far from lessening the numbers of those who deserted the established church, persecution only increased them, and inflamed the zeal of its victims, so that they clung more passionately than ever to the new dogmas and their hunted exponents.
-these sects and doctrines, though originating among the peasantry, did not fail to spread even to the large towns, and waves of collective hysteria, comparable to the dances of death of the middle ages, swept away in their train all the hypersensitives and neurotics that abound in the modern world. even the highest ranks of russian society did not escape the contagion.
-we shall deal in these pages with the most recent and interesting sects, and with those that are least known, or perhaps not known at all. beginning with the doctrines of melancholia, of tenderness, of suffering, of exalted pietism, and of social despair--which, whether spontaneous or inspired, demoniac or divine, undoubtedly embody many of the mysterious aspirations of the human soul--we shall find ourselves in a strange and moving world, peopled by those who accomplish, as a matter of course, acts of faith, courage and endurance, foreign to the experience of most of us.
-these pages must be read with an indulgent sympathy for the humble in spirit who adventure forth in search of eternal truth. we might paraphrase on their behalf the memorable discourse of the athenian statesman: "when you have been initiated into the mystery of their souls you will love better those who in all times have sought to escape from injustice."
-we should feel for them all the more because for so long they have been infinitely unhappy and infinitely abused. against the dark background of the abominations committed by harsh rulers and worthless officials, the spectacle of these simple souls recalls those angels described by dante, who give scarcely a sign of life and yet illuminate by their very presence the fearful darkness of hell; or those beautiful greek sarcophagi upon which fair and graceful scenes are depicted upon a background of desolation. these "pastorals" of religious faith have a strangely archaic atmosphere, and i venture to think that my readers will enjoy the contemplation of such virgin minds, untouched by science, in their swift and effortless communings with the divine.
-the mental profundities of the moujik exhale sweetness and faith like mystic flowers opening under the breath of the holy spirit. in them, as in the celebrated psychomachy of prudence, the christian virtues meet with the shadows of forgotten gods, holy faith is linked to idolatry, humility and pride go hand in hand, and libertinism seeks shelter beneath the veils of modesty.
-this thirst for the supreme good will in time find its appeasement in the just reforms brought by an organised democracy to a long-suffering people. some day it may be that order, liberty and happiness shall prevail in the muscovite countries, and their inhabitants no longer need to seek salvation by fleeing from reality. then there will exist on earth a new paradise, wherein god, to use saint theresa's expression, shall henceforth "take his delight."
-the most propitious and fertile soil in which collective mania can grow is that of unhappiness. famine, unjust taxation, unemployment, persecution by local authorities, and so on, frequently lead to a dull hatred for the existing social, moral and religious order, which the simple-minded peasant takes to be the direct cause of his misfortunes.
-thus it was that the negativists denied everything--god, the devil, heaven, hell, the law, and the power of the tsar. they taught that there is no such thing as right, religion, property, marriage, family or family duties. all those have been invented by man, and it is man who has created god, the devil, and the tsar.
-in the record of the proceedings taken against one of the principal upholders of this sect, we find the following curious conversation between him and the judge.
-"i have none."
-"in what god do you believe?"
-"in none. your god is your own, like the devil, for you have created both. they belong to you, like the tsar, the priests, and the officials."
-these people believe neither in generosity nor in gratitude. men give away only what is superfluous, and the superfluous is not theirs. labour should be free; consequently they kept no servants. they rejected both trade and money as useless and unjust. "give to thy neighbour what thou canst of that of which he has need, and he in turn will give thee what thou needest." love should be entirely free. marriage is an absurdity and a sin, invented by man. all human beings are free, and a woman cannot belong to any one man, or a man to any one woman.
-here are some extracts taken from some other legal records. two of the believers were brought before the judge, accompanied by a child.
-"is this your wife?" the judge inquired of the man.
-"no, she is not my wife."
-"how is it then that you live together?"
-"we live together, but she is not mine. she belongs to herself."
-turning to the woman, the judge asked:
-"is this your husband?"
-"he is not mine. he does not belong to me, but to himself."
-"and the child? is he yours?"
-"no, he is not ours. he lives with us; he is of our blood; but he belongs to himself."
-"but the coat you are wearing--is that yours?" demanded the exasperated judge.
-"it is on my back, but it is not mine. it belonged once to a sheep; now it covers me; but who can say whose it will be to-morrow?"
-the negativists invented, long before tolstoi, the doctrine of inaction and non-resistance to evil. they were deceived, robbed and ruined, but would not apply to the law, or to the police. their method of reasoning and their way of speaking had a peculiar charm. a solicitor who visited one of the siberian prisons reports the following details concerning a man named rojnoff. arrested and condemned to be deported for vagabondage, he escaped repeatedly, but was at length imprisoned. the inspector was calling the roll of the prisoners, but rojnoff refused to answer to his name. purple with rage, the inspector approached him and asked, "what is your name?"
-"it is you who have a name. i have none."
-after a series of questions and answers exchanged between the ever more furious official and the prisoner, who remained perfectly calm, rojnoff was flogged--but in spite of raw and bleeding wounds he still continued to philosophise.
-"confess the truth," stormed the inspector.
-"seek it," replied the peasant, "for yourself, for indeed you have need of it. as to me, i keep my truth for myself. let me be quiet--that is all i ask."
-the solicitor visited him several months later, and implored him to give his name, so that he might obtain his passport and permission to rejoin his wife and children.
-"but i have no need of all that," he said. "passports, laws, names--all those are yours. children, family, property, class, marriage--so many of your cursed inventions. you can give me only one single thing--quietness."
-the siberian prisons swarmed with these mysterious beings. poor souls! their one desire was to quit as soon as possible this vale of injustice and of tears!
-the white-robed believers
-sometimes this longing for a better world, where suffering would be caused neither by hunger nor by laws, took touching and poetic forms.
-about the month of april, 1895, all eyes in the town of simbirsk were turned upon a sect founded by a peasant named pistzoff. these poor countryfolk protested against the injustices of the world by robing themselves in white, "like celestial angels."
-"we do not live as we should," taught pistzoff, an aged, white-haired man. "we do not live as our fathers lived. we should act with simplicity, and follow the truth, conquering our bodily passions. the life that we lead now cannot continue long. this world will perish, and from its ruins will arise another, a better world, wherein all will be robed in white, as we are."
-the believers lived very frugally. they were strict vegetarians, and ate neither meat nor fish. they did not smoke or drink alcohol, and abstained from tea, milk and eggs. they took only two meals daily--at ten in the morning, and six in the evening. everything that they wore or used they made with their own hands--boots, hats, underclothing, even stoves and cooking utensils.
-the story of pistzoff's conversion inevitably recalls that of tolstoi. he was a very rich merchant when, feeling himself inspired by heavenly truth, he called his employés to him and gave them all that he had, including furniture and works of art, retaining nothing but white garments for himself and his family. his wife protested vehemently, especially when pistzoff forbade her to touch meat, on account of the suffering endured by animals when their lives are taken from them. the old lady did not share his tastes, and firmly upheld a contrary opinion, declaring that animals went gladly to their death! pistzoff then fetched a fowl, ordered his wife to hold it, and procured a hatchet with which to kill it. while threatening the poor creature he made his wife observe its anguish and terror, and the fowl was saved at the same time as the soul of madame pistzoff, who admitted that fowls, at any rate, do not go gladly into the cooking-pot.
-the number of pistzoff's followers increased daily, and the sect of the "white-robed believers" was formed. their main tenet being loving-kindness, they lived peacefully and harmed none, while awaiting the supreme moment when "the whole world should become white."
-for the rest, the white-robed ones and their prophet followed the doctrines of the molokanes, who drank excessive quantities of milk during lent--hence their name. this was one of the most flourishing of all the russian sects. violently opposed to all ceremonies, they recognised neither religious marriages, churches, priests nor dogmas, claiming that the whole of religion was contained in the old and new testaments. though well-educated, they submitted meekly to a communal authority, chosen from among themselves, and led peaceful and honest working lives. all luxuries, even down to feminine ornaments or dainty toilettes, were banned. they considered war a heathen invention--merely "assassination on a large scale"--and though, when forced into military service, they did their duty as soldiers in peace-time, the moment war was in view it was their custom to throw away their arms and quietly desert. there were no beggars and no poor among them, for all helped one another, the richer setting aside one-tenth of their income for the less fortunate.
-hunted and persecuted by the government, they multiplied nevertheless, and when banished to far-away districts they ended by transforming the waste, uncultivated lands into flourishing gardens.
-a sect no less extraordinary than the last was that of the stranglers (douchiteli). it originated towards the end of 1874, and profited by a series of law cases, nearly all of which ended in acquittal. the stranglers flourished especially in the tzarevokokschaisk district, and first attained notoriety under the following circumstances.
-a large number of deaths by strangling had been recorded, and their frequency began to arouse suspicion. whether they were due to some criminal organisation, or to a series of suicidal impulses, the local police were long unable to decide, but in the end the culprits were discovered.
-were they, however, in reality culpable?
-the unfortunate peasants, after much reflection, had come to the conclusion that death is not terrible, but that what is indubitably to be feared is the last agony--the difficult departure from terrestrial life. they decided, therefore, to come to the assistance of the death angel, and, when any sufferer approached the final struggle, his neighbours or relatives would carry him off to some isolated spot, tie up his head firmly but kindly in a cushion--and soon all was over.
-before, however, they had recourse to such drastic measures, they would inquire from the wizards (or znachar) of the district, doctors being almost unknown, whether the invalid still had any chance of recovery, and it was only after receiving a negative reply that the pious ceremony took place. we say "pious" because there is something strangely pathetic in this "crowning of the martyrs," as the peasants called it. arising in the first place from compassion, the motive for the deed was, after all, a belief in the need for human sacrifice. the invalid who consents to give up his life for the honour of heaven accomplishes thereby an act of sublime piety; but what merit has he who dies only from necessity?
-the corpses were buried in the forest and covered with plants and leaves, but no sign was left that might betray them to the suspicious authorities. when a member of the community disappeared, and the police made inquiries, they always had the greatest possible difficulty in finding his remains. sometimes even his nearest relations did not know where the "saviours of his soul" had hidden him.
-but there was one thing that marked the discovery of a dead strangler. his body never bore any trace of violence, and as dissection always proved, in addition, the existence of some more or less serious disease, the sham "murderers" were eventually left in peace. a small local paper, the volgar (april, 1895), from which these facts are taken, reports that several actions brought against them ended in their acquittal.
-lord avebury recounts that certain cannibal tribes kill those of their members who have reached the stage of senile decay, and make them the substance of a more or less succulent repast. these savages act, no doubt, whether consciously or unconsciously, from some perception of the misery and uselessness of old age, but the russian peasants cannot be compared to them. the stranglers are not moved by any unconscious sentiment. their belief is the logical application of a doctrine of pessimism, whose terrible consequences they have adopted, although they know not its terminology. what is the life of a moujik worth? nothing, or nearly nothing. is it not well, then, to accelerate the coming of deliverance? let us end the life, and, snapping the chains that bind us to mortals, offer it as a sacrifice to heaven! so reason these simple creatures, inexorable in their logic, and weighed down by untold misery.
-the suffering of a people nourishes the spirit of rebellion, enabling it to come to birth and to survive. there are some religious sects based exclusively upon popular discontent. the biegouny, or fugitives, did nothing but flee from one district to another. they wandered throughout russia with no thought of home or shelter. those who joined the sect destroyed their passports, which were considered a work of satan, and adopted a belief in the satanic origin of the state, the church and the law. they repudiated the institution of marriage, the payment of taxes, and all submission to authority. their special imagery included, among other things, the devil offering a candle to the tsar, and inviting him to become the agent for satanic work upon earth. sometimes their feelings led them to commit acts of violence; one, for instance, would interrupt divine service; another would strike the priest. a peasant named samarin threw himself upon the priest in a russian church, forced him away from the altar, and, having trampled the holy sacraments under foot, cried out, "i tread upon the work of satan!"
-when arrested and condemned to penal servitude for life, samarin was in despair because the death sentence had not been passed, so sure was he that he would have gone straight to heaven as a reward for his heroic exploit.
-the soutaïevtzi (founded in 1880 by a working-man of tver, named soutaïeff) scoffed at the clergy, the ikons, the sacraments, and military service, while upholding the principle of communal possession. they very soon became notorious. soutaïeff travelled all over the country preaching that true christianity consists in the love of one's neighbour, and was welcomed with open arms by tolstoi himself. he taught that there was only one religion, the religion of love and pity, and that churches, priests, religious ceremonies, angels and devils, were mere inventions which must be rejected if one wished to live in conformity with the truth.
-as to paradise, when all the principles of love and compassion were realised upon earth, earth itself would be paradise. private ownership being the cause of all misery, as well as of crimes and lies, it must be abolished, together with armies and war. further, soutaïeff preached non-resistance to evil, and the avoidance of all violence. one of his sons, when enrolled as a conscript, refused to carry a rifle. arguments and punishments had no effect. he proved that heaven itself was opposed to the bearing of arms by quoting the gospel to all who tried to compel him; and in the end he was imprisoned.
-neither did soutaïeff allow that a man should be judged by his neighbour. "judge not, that ye be not judged," was his motto, and his life filled his followers with enthusiasm, and many besides with astonishment. this uncultured peasant, who had the courage to throw on the fire the money he had earned as a mason in st. petersburg, who carried the idea of compassion to such lengths that he followed thieves in order to give them good flour in place of the bad that they had stolen from him by mistake--this simple-minded being, whose only desire was to suffer for the "truth," possessed without doubt the soul of a saint and a visionary.
-the sons of god
-the "sons of god" held that men were really gods, and that as divinity is manifested in our fellows and in ourselves, it is sufficient to offer prayers unto--our neighbours! every man being a god, there are as many christs as there are men, as many holy virgins as there are women.
-the "sons of god" held assemblies at which they danced wildly, first together and then separately, until the moment when the women, in supreme ecstasy, turned from the left, and the men from the right, towards the rising sun. the dance continued until all reached a state of hysterical excitement. then a voice was heard--"behold the holy spirit!"--and the whole company, emitting cries and groans, would pursue the dizzy performance with redoubled vigour until they fell to the ground exhausted.
-their sect originated in the neighbourhood of a great hill, where dwelt a man named philipoff with his disciples. he had retired there to work against the influence of anti-christ, and it was there that god appeared to him, and said, "truth and divinity dwell in your own conscience. neither drink nor marry. those among you who are already married should live as brothers and sisters."
-women were held in high esteem by the "sons of god," being venerated as "mothers or nieces of the saviour."
-the numerous admirers of count tolstoi will find in his writings some derivations, whether conscious or unconscious, from the principles elaborated by many of the russian sects. the doctrine of non-resistance, or inaction, the abolition of the army, vegetarianism, the defiance of law, and of dogmatic christianity, together with many other conceptions which either scandalised or enraptured his readers, were already widespread among the russian peasantry; though tolstoi was able to give them new forms of expression and an original, if disquieting, philosophic basis.
-but even as the products of the earth which we consume return to earth again, so do ideas and doctrines ever return to the source from which they sprang. a great reformer usually gathers his ideas from his environment, until, transformed by the workings of his brain, they react once more upon those to whom they actually owed their origin.
-renan has traced very accurately the evolution of a religious leader, and tolstoi passed through all its logical phases, only stopping short of the martyrdom necessary ere he could enter the ranks of the prophets.
-imbued with the hopes and dreams that flourished all around him, he began, at a ripe age and in full possession of his faculties, to express his philosophy in poetic and alluring parables, the hostility of the government having only served to fire his enthusiasms and embitter his individual opinions. after first declaring that the masters of men are their equals, he taught later on that they are their persecutors, and finally, in old age, arrived at the conclusion that all who rule or direct others are simply criminals!
-"you are not at all obliged to fulfil your duties," he wrote, in the life and death of drojine, 1895, dedicated to a tolstoyan martyr. "you could, if you wished, find another occupation, so that you would no longer have to tyrannise over men. . . . you men of power, emperors and kings, you are not christians, and it is time you renounced the name as well as the moral code upon which you depend in order to dominate others."
-it would be difficult to give a complete list either of the beliefs of the tolstoyans, or of their colonies, in many of which members of the highest aristocracy were to be found.
-"we have in russia tens of thousands of men who have refused to swear allegiance to the new tsar," wrote tolstoi, a couple of years before his death, "and who consider military service merely a school for murder."
-we have no right to doubt his word--but did tolstoi know all his followers? like all who have scattered seed, he was not in a position to count it. but however that may be, he transformed the highest aspirations of man's soul into a noble philosophy of human progress, and attracted the uneducated as well as the cultured classes by his genuine desire for equality and justice.
-early in june, 1895, several hundreds of verigintzi (members of a sect named after veregine, their leader) came from the south of russia to the karsk district. the government's suspicions were aroused, and at karsk the pilgrims were stopped, and punished for having attempted to emigrate without special permission. inquiries showed that all were tolstoyans, who practised the doctrine of non-resistance to evil on a large scale. for their co-religionists in elisabethpol suddenly refused to bear arms, and nine soldiers also belonging to the sect repeated without ceasing that "our heavenly father has forbidden us to kill our fellowmen." those who were in the reserve sent in their papers, saying that they wished to have nothing more to do with the army.
-one section of the verigintzi especially distinguished themselves by the zeal with which they practised the tolstoyan doctrines. they reverenced their leader under the name of "general tolstoi," gave up sugar as well as meat, drank only tea and ate only bread. they were called "the fasters," and their gentleness became proverbial. in the village of orlovka they were exposed to most cruel outrages, the inhabitants having been stirred up against them by the priests and officials. they were spat upon, flogged, and generally ill-treated, but never ceased to pray, "o god, help us to bear our misery." their meekness at last melted the hearts of their persecutors, who, becoming infected by their religious ardour, went down on their knees before those whom they had struck with whips a few minutes before.
-the spiritual christians
-the slavonic atmosphere exhales an intense longing for the ideal and for heaven. often a kind of religious ecstasy seems to sweep over the whole length and breadth of the russian territories, and tolstoi's celebrated doctrines reflected the dreamy soul of the moujik and the teachings of many russian martyrs. it would, however, be a mistake to suppose that it is only the peasants buried in the depths of the country who provide favourable soil for the culture of the religious bacillus. it is the same with all classes--merchants, peasants, labourers and aristocrats.
-the working-classes, especially those of the large towns, usually offer more resistance to the influence of religious fanatics, but in petrograd and moscow they are apt to follow the general current. lack of space forbids us to study in all their picturesque details the birth and growth of religious sects in these surroundings. we must confine ourselves to one of the more recent manifestations--that of the mysterious "spiritual christians."
-in 1893, a man named michael raboff arrived in st. petersburg. peasant by birth, carpenter by trade, he immediately began to preach the tenets of his "spiritual christianity." he became suspect, and with his friend nicholas komiakoff was deported to a far-distant neighbourhood; but in spite of this his seed began to bear fruit, for the entire district where he and komiakoff were sent to work was soon won over to the new religion. the director himself, his wife, and all his workmen embraced it, and though the workshops were closed by the police, the various members distributed themselves throughout the town and continued to spread raboff's "message." borykin, the master-carpenter, took employment under a certain grigorieff, and succeeded in converting all his fellow-workers. finally grigorieff's house was turned into a church for the new sect, and an illiterate woman named vassilisa became their prophetess. under the influence of the general excitement, she would fall into trances and give extravagant and incomprehensible discourses, while her listeners laughed, danced and wept ecstatically. by degrees the ceremonial grew more complex, and took forms worthy of a cult of unbalanced minds.
-at the time when the police tried to disperse the sect it possessed a quite considerable number of adherents; but it died out in may, 1895, scarcely two years after its commencement.
-the "spiritual christians" called themselves brothers and sisters, and gave to raboff the name of grandfather, and to the woman vassilisa that of mother. they considered themselves "spiritual christians" because they lived according to the spirit of christianity. for the rest, their doctrine was innocent enough, and, but for certain extravagances and some dangerous dogmas borrowed from other sects, their diffusion among the working-classes of the towns might even have been desirable. sexual chastity was one of their main postulates, and they also recommended absolute abstention from meat, spirits, and tobacco. but at the same time they desired to abolish marriage.
-when the police raided grigorieff's workshops, they found there about fifty people stretched on the ground, spent and exhausted as a result of the excessive efforts which raboff's cult demanded of them. at their meetings a man or woman would first read aloud a chapter from holy scripture. the listeners would make comments, and one of the more intelligent would expound the selected passage. growing more and more animated, he would finally reach a state of ecstasy which communicated itself to all present. the whole assembly would cry aloud, groan, gesticulate and tear their hair. some would fall to the ground, while others foamed at the mouth, or rent their garments. suddenly one of the most uplifted would intone a psalm or hymn which, beginning with familiar words, would end in incoherency, the whole company singing aloud together, and covering the feet of their "spiritual mother" with kisses.
-a laboratory of sects
-we will now travel to the south of russia, and examine more closely what might be called a laboratory of sects, or in other words a breeding-ground of religions whose idealism, whether foolish or sublime, is often sanctified by the blood of believers, and descends like dew from hermon into the midst of our busy civilisation.
-an orthodox missionary named schalkinsky, who was concerned especially with the erring souls of the region of saratov, has published a work in which he gives a fantastic picture of the events of quite recent years. he was already the author of several books dealing with the sect of the bezpopovtzi, and his high calling and official position combine to give authority to his words.
-when we consider the immense variety of these sects, we can easily imagine what takes place in every small village that becomes possessed of the craving for religious perfection. prophets, gods and demi-gods, holy spirits and apostles, all kinds of saints and mystics, follow thick and fast upon one another's heels, seeking to gain the ascendancy over the pious souls of the villagers. some are sincere and genuinely convinced believers; others, mere shameless impostors; but all, manifesting the greatest ardour and eloquence, traverse the countryside, imploring the peasants to "abandon their old beliefs and embrace the new holy and salutary dogmas." the orthodox missionaries seem only to increase the babel by organising their own meetings under the protection of the local authorities.
-some of the sectarians will take part in public discussions, either in the open air or in the churches, but most of them content themselves with smiling mockingly at the assertions of the "anti-christian faith" (i.e. the orthodox official religion). with the new régime conditions may undergo a radical change, but in former times religious doubts, when too openly manifested by the followers of the "new truths," were punished by imprisonment or deportation.
-sometimes the zeal of the missionaries carried them too far, for, not content with reporting the culprits to the ecclesiastical authorities, they would denounce them publicly in their writings. the venerable father arsenii, author of fifteen pamphlets against the molokanes, delivered up to justice in this way sufficient individuals to fill a large prison; and another orthodox missionary crowned his propaganda by printing false accusations against those who refused to accept the truth as taught by him.
-in a centre like pokourleï, which represented in miniature the general unrest of the national soul, there were to be found among the classified sects more than a dozen small churches, each having its own worshippers and its own martyrs. an illiterate peasant, theodore kotkoff, formed what was called the "fair-spoken sect," consisting of a hundred and fifty members who did him honour because he invented a new sort of "holy communion" with a special kind of gingerbread. another, chaïdaroff, nicknamed "money-bags," bought a forest and built a house wherein dwelt fifteen aged "holy men," who attracted the whole neighbourhood. many men in the prime of life followed the example of the aged ones, and retired to live in the forest, while women went in even greater numbers and for longer periods. husbands grew uneasy, and bitter disputes took place, in which one side upheld the moral superiority of the holy men, while the other went so far as to forbid the women to go and confess to them. one peasant claimed to be inspired by the "holy ghost," and promenaded the village, summer and winter, in a long blouse without boots or trousers, riding astride a great stick on which he had hung a bell and a flag, and announcing publicly the reign of anti-christ. in addition the village was visited by orthodox missionaries, but, as the reverend father schalkinsky naïvely confesses, "the inhabitants fled them like the plague." they interviewed, however, the so-called chiefs of the new religions, who listened to them with gravity and made some pretence of being convinced by the purveyors of official truth.
-the religious ferment of south russia was due to some special causes, its provinces having served since the seventeenth century as lands of exile for revolutionaries of all kinds, religious, political and social. dangerous criminals were also sent there, and a population of this nature naturally received with open arms all who preached rebellion against established principles and doctrines.
-the beliefs of the sect were that the material world is merely a prison for our souls, and that our passions carry in themselves the germs of our punishments. nothing is more to be decried than the desire for worldly honour and glory. did not our lord himself say that he was not of this world? emperors and kings reign only over the wicked and sinful, for honest men, like the douchobortzi, have nothing to do with their laws or their authority. war is contrary to the will of god. christ having declared that we are all brothers and sisters, the words "father" and "mother" are illogical, and opposed to his teachings. there is only one father, the father in heaven, and children should call their parents by their christian names.
-except for these leading tenets, their doctrine was variable, and they not only gave rise to about a hundred other sects, but were themselves in a continual state of evolution and change. at one time it was their custom to put to death all children who were diseased in mind or body. as god dwells in us, they said, we cannot condemn him to inhabit a body that is diseased. one leader of the sect believed himself to be the judge of the universe, and terrorised his co-religionists. another ordered all who betrayed the doctrines of the sect to be buried alive, and legal proceedings which were taken against him and lasted several years showed him to be responsible for twenty-one "religious murders."
-a sect of considerable importance, that of the molokanes, owed its origin to the douchobortzi. it was founded by a sincere and ardent man named oukleïne, about the end of the eighteenth century. moloko means milk; hence the name of the sect, whose adherents drank nothing else.
-improving upon the principles of liberty professed by the douchobortzi, the molokanes taught that "where the holy ghost is, there is liberty"; and as they believed the holy ghost to be in themselves they consequently needed neither laws nor government. had not christ said that his true followers were not of this world? down, then, with all law and all authority! the apostle paul states that all are equal, men and women, servants and masters; therefore, the tsar being a man like other men, it is unnecessary to obey him.
-the molokanes have always been led by clever and eloquent men. uplifted by a sense of the constant presence of the holy ghost, they would fall into ecstatic trances, fully convinced of their own divinity and desiring only to be transported to heaven.
-of this type was the peasant kryloff, a popular agitator who inflamed the whole of south russia at the beginning of the nineteenth century. intoxicated by the success of his oratory, he grew to believe in his own mission of saviour, and undertook a pilgrimage to st. petersburg in order to be made a priest of the "spiritual christians." poor visionary! he was flogged to death.
-another molokane leader was one andreïeff, who long preached the coming of the prophet elijah. one fine day, excited by the eloquence of his own discourses, he set forth with his followers to conquer the "promised land," a rich and fertile district in the neighbourhood of mount ararat, but accomplished nothing save a few wounds gained in altercations with the inhabitants. on returning to his own country, he was deported to siberia for having hidden some dangerous criminals from justice.
-as the number of molokanes increased, they decided to emigrate en masse to the caucasus. their kind actions and enthusiastic songs attracted crowds of the poor and sick, as well as many who were troubled by religious doubts. at their head marched terentii bezobrazoff, believed by his followers to be the prophet elijah, who announced that when his mission was accomplished he would ascend to heaven to rejoin god, his father, who had sent him. but alas, faith does not always work miracles! the day being fixed beforehand, about two thousand believers assembled to witness the ascension of their elijah. by the prophet's instructions, the crowd knelt down and prayed while elijah waved his arms frantically. finally, with haggard mien, he flung himself down the hillside, and fell to the ground. the disillusioned spectators seized him and delivered him up to justice. he spent many years in prison, but in the end confessed his errors and was pardoned.
-many other elijahs wished to be transported to heaven, but all met with the same fate as bezobrazoff. these misfortunes, however, did not weaken the religious ardour of the molokanes. a regular series of "false christs," as the russians called them, tormented the imaginations of the southern peasantry. some believed themselves to be elijah, some the angel gabriel; while others considered themselves new saviours of the world.
-one of these latter made his début in the rôle of saviour about 1840, and after having drained the peasants of simbirsk and saratov of money, fled to bessarabia with his funds and his disciples. later he returned, accompanied by twelve feminine "angels," and with them was deported to siberia.
-but the popular mind is not discouraged by such small matters. side by side with the impostors there existed men of true faith, simple and devout dreamers. taking advantage of freedom to expound the gospel, they profited by it for use and abuse, and it seemed to be a race as to who should be the first to start a new creed.
-even as the douchobortzi had given birth to the molokanes, so were the latter in turn the parents of the stoundists.
-this sect believed that man could attain to perfection of life and health only by avoiding the fatigue of penance and fastings; and that all men should equally enjoy the gifts of nature, jesus christ having suffered for all. land and capital should belong to the community, and should be equally divided, all men being brothers, and sons of the same god. wealth being thus equalised, it was useless to try to amass it. trade was similarly condemned, and a system of exchange of goods advocated. the stoundists did not attend church, and avoided public-houses, "those sources of disease and misery." the government made every effort to crush them, but the more they were persecuted, the more they flourished. the seers and mystics among them were considered particularly dangerous, and were frequently flogged and imprisoned--in fact, the sect as a whole was held by the russian administration, to be one of the most dangerous in existence. it originated in the year 1862, and from then onwards its history was one of continuous martyrdom.
-like the molokanes, the stoundists refused to reverence the ikons, the sacraments, or the hierarchy of the orthodox church, and considered the holy scriptures to be simply a moral treatise. they abominated war, referring to it as "murder en masse," and never entered a court of law, avoiding all quarrels and arguments, and holding it to be the most degrading of actions for a man to raise his hand against his fellow. all their members learnt to read and write, in order to be able to study the scriptures. they recognised no power or authority save that of god, refused to take oaths, and protested against the public laws on every possible occasion. their doctrine was really a mixture of the molokane teachings and of communism as practised by the german colonists, led by gutter, who settled in russia about the end of the eighteenth century and were banished to new russia in 1818.
-strengthened by persecution and smacking of the soil, it was no wonder that stoundism became the religion par excellence of the russian moujik, assuming in time proportions that were truly disquieting to the authorities.
-the merchants of paradise
-side by side with these flourishing sects whose followers could be numbered by millions, there existed other communities, founded upon naïve and child-like superstitions, strange fruits of the tree of faith. the members of one of these believed that it was only necessary to climb upon the roofs in order to take flight to heaven. the deceptions practised on them by charlatans, the relentless persecution of the government, even the loss of reason, all counted for nothing if only they might enjoy some few moments of supreme felicity and live in harmony with the divine! to experience such ecstasy they despoiled themselves of their worldly goods, and gave away their money to impostors in exchange for pardon for their sins.
-the famous sect called the "merchants of paradise" was founded by a peasant, athanasius konovaloff. together with his son andrew, he preached at osikovka, from 1885 to 1892, the absolution of sins in return for offerings "in kind." there was need for haste, he declared. time was flying, and there were but few vacant places left in paradise. these places were of two kinds--those of the first class, at ten roubles each, which enabled the purchaser to repose upon a celestial sofa; and those of the second class, at five roubles, whose occupiers had to spend eternity seated upon footstools. the credulous peasants actually deprived themselves of food in order to procure their places.
-in 1887, a man who was much respected in the village sold his crops, and went to buy himself one of the first-class places. his son heard of it, and was in despair over this lavish expenditure of ten roubles. why, he demanded, could not his father be content with a second-class place, like so many of their neighbours?
-the dispute was brought into the courts, and the old man loudly lamented the criminal indifference of his son.
-"in my poor old age," he cried, "after having worked so hard, am i to be condemned to sit for ever on a footstool for the sake of five roubles?"
-then, addressing his offspring--"and you, my son, are you not ashamed so to disregard the future life of your parent, who maintained you throughout your childhood? it is a great sin with which you are me to look out for them and try and correct them. i'd a lot rather be playing than doing this, kirkwell, but while i am doing it i'm going to do it the best i know how. a fellow who isn't in the game sees a lot the player doesn't, and when----"
-"oh, all right. only don't tell me stuff i know as well as i know my name, gilbert. don't nag."
-"sorry. i'll try not to. but you see what i mean about that stiff-arm business, don't you? don't get out of position when you're not sure where the play's coming, kirkwell. stiff-arm your man and hold him off until you see what's doing. then you can play him right or left or shove him back. once or twice you waited too long to find out where the play was coming and you didn't hold your man off. get me?"
-"yes, but we don't all play the position the same way, you know. what's the good of sparring with your man when you've got to find where the play's coming? you can't watch the ball and your opponent too, can you?"
-"it doesn't sound reasonable," said don, "but you can! you watch hall do it, if you don't believe me. maybe you don't actually look two ways at once, kirkwell, but you can watch your man and locate the play at the same time. i suppose it comes with practice."
-"i'd like to see you do it," replied kirkwell aggrievedly.
-"watch hall do it. he's the best guard around here. i'm not setting up as an example."
-"you talk like it," muttered kirkwell. but merton, who had been a silent audience, stepped in to don's support.
-in spite of mutinous objections kirkwell profited by don's advice and instruction and soon showed an improvement in his defensive playing. it didn't appear that day, for kirkwell was replaced by don before the second period was more than a few minutes old, while merton gave way to goodhugh. don's advent considerably strengthened the left of the second team's line and more than once during his brief presence there he had the satisfaction of outwitting tom hall and once got clear through and smeared a play well behind the first team's line.
-boots cut his squad from day to day and on friday only some eighteen candidates remained. brace went with the discard. between parting with brace and goodhugh, don, when consulted, chose to sacrifice the former. possibly young brace suspected don's part in his release, for, for some time after that, he viewed don with scowls.
-don's hand was now entirely healed, although the scars still showed, and, according to the doctor, would continue to show for a long time. mr. boutelle used don at right guard during some portion of every scrimmage game against the first, a fact which caused kirkwell a deal of anxiety. kirkwell had from the first, and not unreasonably, resented don's appearance with the second team squad. don had been, as every fellow knew, slated for the first team, and kirkwell thought it was unfair of him to drop back to the second and "try to do him out of his place." feeling as he did, it isn't surprising that he took more and more unkindly to don's teaching. it took all of don's good nature at times to prevent an open break with kirkwell. once the latter accused don of trying to "ball him up" so that he would play poorly and don would get the position. the next day, though, he made an awkward apology for that accusation and was quite receptive to don's criticisms and instructions. but don's task was no easy one and it grew harder as the season progressed and the second team, especially as to its linemen, failed to develop the ability mr. boutelle looked for. don more than once was on the point of resigning his somewhat thankless task, but tim refused to sanction it, and what tim said had a good deal of influence with don.
-"well, then," he said moodily, "i hope kirkwell will break something and get out of it."
-"tut, tut," remonstrated tim. "them's no christian sentiments."
-"i do, though. or, anyway, i hope something will happen to let me out of it. boots said he was afraid robey would take me on the first, but i don't see any chance of it."
-"i don't see why he doesn't, though," mused tim. "your hand's all right now and you're playing a corking good game. you can work all around any guard he's got except, maybe, tom. tom's rather a bit above the average, if you ask me. neither walton nor pryme amounts to a whole lot."
-"robey's been playing walton a good deal lately," said don. "i wouldn't be surprised if he put him in ahead of gafferty before long."
-"there isn't a lot to choose between them, i guess," answered tim. "gafferty's no earthly good on offence. wait till we run up against benton tomorrow. those huskies will show gafferty up finely. and maybe some more of us," tim added with a chuckle.
-"oh, well----" began don, vaguely, after a minute.
-but tim interrupted. "know what i think? i think robey means to take you on the first later and is letting you stay with boots just so you'll get fined down and speeded up a bit. you know you're still a little slow, donald."
-"i am?" don asked in genuine surprise. "i didn't know it. how do you mean, slow, tim?"
-tim leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. "every way, donald. i'm telling you this for your own good, dearie. i thought you realised it, though, or i'd have said it before. you start slow and you don't get up steam until the play's about over. if it wasn't that you're an indecently strong chap we'd get the jump on you every time. we do, as it is, only it doesn't do us much good, because you're a tough chap to move. now you think it over, don. see if you can't ginger up a bit. bet you anything that when you do robey'll have you yanked off that second team in no time at all!"
-"i'm glad you told me," said don, after a moment's consideration. "i thought i was doing pretty well this fall. i know well enough it was being all-fired slow that kept me off the first last fall, but i surely thought i'd picked up a whole lot of speed. i'll have to go back to practising starts, i guess."
-"oh, never mind the kindergarten stuff, old man. just put more jump into it. you'll find you can do it all right, now that you know about it. why, i'll bet you'll be performing like a jack rabbit before the season's over!"
-"like a jackass, more likely," responded don ruefully.
-"no, for a jackass, dearie, doesn't take a hint."
-"well, but i don't believe i can play any faster, tim. if i could i'd be doing it, wouldn't i? just naturally, i mean."
-"never mind the conundrums, don. you try it. if you do i'll be willing to guarantee you a place on the first."
-"i guess your guarantee wouldn't cut much ice," objected don, with a laugh. then he sobered and added: "funny game, though, me coaching kirkwell and merton and goodhugh. looks as if i was the one needed the coaching."
-"sure. we all need it. no one's perfect, don, although, without boasting, i will say that i come pretty near it."
-"you come pretty near being a perfect chump, if that's what you mean."
-tim shook his head. "it isn't at all what i mean. now cut out the artless prattle and let me find some sense in this history stuff--if there is any!"
-the width of a finger
-silence ensued, a silence broken only by a few whispers and some shuffling of feet. every fellow's eyes searched the room, or, at least, that is true of almost every fellow. tim smiled innocently and expectantly at the principal, clint studied the back of the head in front of him most interestedly, don observed the scar in his hand absorbedly and tom grinned because steve edwards was whispering from the side of his mouth: "why don't you get up, you bloomin' hero, why don't you get up?" harry walton was smiling that knowing smile of his and doing his best to catch don's eye. and don somehow knew it and didn't dare look toward him.
-"i'm disappointed," said mr. fernald after a minute. "either the paper is mistaken or the fellows are over-modest. well, if they won't speak for themselves perhaps someone else will volunteer to wrest them from the obscurity they so evidently court. how about that, boys? anyone know who the heroes are?"
-"no heroes amongst us, eh? well, doubtless if any of you had been there you'd have performed quite as well as these unknown young gentlemen did. i like to think so. dismissed."
-"do you think he suspects us?" asked tom as he ranged himself beside tim on the way out. "gee, i thought once he was looking right at me!"
-"that's what it is to have a guilty conscience," replied tim, in a virtuous tone. "of course he doesn't suspect. if he did he'd have named us, sure as shooting. the funny part of it is that he hasn't thought about what time the fire was! maybe the paper didn't say. if he knew that he'd probably be a sight more anxious to find us!"
-"i was scared stiff that harry walton would blab. i didn't dare look at him."
-"harry doesn't know you were with us. he recognised don, or says he did, and he naturally thinks i was along, but he doesn't know who the other two were. if he opens his mouth i'll brain him."
-"i guess he won't. he's a sort of a pup, but he isn't mean enough for that. gee, but it almost ruined my appetite for breakfast!"
-"even if josh did find out," said tim as they turned into wendell, "he wouldn't do much to us, i guess. it wasn't our fault the fire was late in getting started, and the paper calls us heroes----"
-"i don't believe it does. that's some of josh's nonsense. i'm going to get a copy of the times and see what it does say."
-"take my advice and let the times alone," advised tim. "why, i wouldn't be seen with a copy of it in my possession! it would be circumstantial evidence, or corroborative evidence or something horrid, and i'd get pinched for sure. you keep away from the times, dearie."
-there was a good deal of interested speculation as to the identity of the four youths who had participated in the rescue of farmer corrigan's dwelling, but the general opinion was to the effect that the local paper had erred. one fellow made the suggestion in don's hearing that if faculty would look it up and see who had leave of absence saturday night they might spot the chaps. don sincerely hoped the idea wouldn't occur to mr. fernald!
-but interest in the matter soon waned, for brimfield was to play benton military academy that afternoon and what sort of a showing she would make against that very worthy opponent was a far more absorbing subject for speculation. benton had been defeated handily enough last year, but reports from the military academy this fall led brimfield to expect a hard contest. and her expectations were fulfilled.
-benton brought at least a hundred neatly uniformed rooters along and the field took on a very gallant appearance. the visitors seemed gaily confident of victory and from the time they marched into the field and took their places in the stand until the kick-off there was no cessation of the songs and cheers from the blue-clad cohorts. coach robey started his best men in that game and, as was quickly proved, needed to. the first period was a bitterly contested punting duel in which rollins, and, later, st. clair came off second best. but the difference in the kicking of the rival teams was not sufficient to allow of much advantage, and the first ten-minute set-to ended without a score. in fact, neither team had been at any time within scoring distance of the other's goal line. when play began again benton changed her tactics and started a rushing game that for a few minutes made headway. but a fumble cost her the ball and a possible score on the maroon-and-grey's twenty-yard line and the latter adopted the enemy's plan and banged at the soldiers' line for fair gains. a forward pass brought the spectators to their feet and gained twenty-two yards for brimfield, steve edwards being on the receiving end of a very pretty play. but benton stiffened presently and brimfield was forced to kick.
-that kick spelled disaster for brimfield. rollins dropped back to near his own thirty yards and sent a remarkable corkscrew punt to benton's twenty. it was one of the prettiest punts ever seen on the brimfield gridiron, for it was so long that it went over the quarter-back's head, so high that it enabled the maroon-and-grey ends to get well down under it and was nicely placed in the left-hand corner of the field. the benton quarter made no effort to touch it while it was bounding toward the goal line, for with both edwards and holt hovering about him a fumble might easily have resulted, and it was only when the pigskin had settled down to a slow, toppling roll and it was evident that it did not mean to go over the line that the benton quarter seized it. what happened then was little short of a miracle. both captain edwards and holt took it for granted that the quarter-back meant to drop on the ball and call it down, and, since there was no necessity to smother the opponent, each waited for the other to tackle and hold him. but the first thing anyone knew the benton quarter had the ball in his hands, had squirmed somehow between edwards and holt and was speeding up the middle of the field!
-between him and the fifty-yard line friend and foe were mingled, and to win through seemed a preposterous undertaking. and yet first one and then another of the enemy was passed, team-mates formed hasty interference for the runner and, suddenly, to the consternation of the brimfield stand, the quarter, with the ball snuggled in the crook of his left elbow, was out of the mêlée, with a clear field before him and two benton players guarding his rear. crewe made a desperate effort to get him near the thirty-yard line, but the interference was too much for him, and after that, although brimfield trailed the runner to the goal line and over, there was no doubt as to the result. and when the benton quarter deposited the ball squarely between the posts and laid himself down beside it friend and foe alike arose from their seats and cheered him long and loudly. never had a more spectacular run been made there, for not only had the quarter practically traversed the length of the field, but had eluded the entire opposing eleven.
-benton deserved to secure the odd point by kicking goal, but goal-kicking was the quarter-back's business and he was far too tuckered to try, and so the player who did make the attempt failed miserably, and benton had to be satisfied with those six points. probably she was, for she cheered madly and incessantly while the period lasted and then spent the half-time singing triumphant paeans. and those military academy chaps could sing, too! brimfield, a bit chastened, listened and applauded generously and only found her own voice when the maroon-and-grey warriors trotted back again.
-carmine had given place to mcphee at quarter and holt to cheep at right end. otherwise brimfield's line was the same as in the first half. mcphee opened his bag of tricks soon after play began and double-passes and delayed-passes and a certain fake plunge at guard with quarter running wide outside the drawn-in end made good gains and took the ball down the field with only one halt to benton's twenty-three yards. there the military academy team solved a fake-kick and st. clair was laid low behind his line. rollins made up the lost distance and a little more besides, and finally, with the ball on benton's nineteen yards on fourth down, captain edwards called for a try-at-goal and rollins dropped back to the thirty. fortunately the maroon-and-grey forwards held back the plunging enemy in good style, rollins had all the time he wanted, the pigskin dropped neatly over the bar, and the score-board figures proclaimed 6 to 3.
-benton kicked off and once more brimfield started up the field, st. clair, tim otis and rollins banging the line from end to end and edwards varying the monotony by sweeping around behind and launching himself off on wide runs. but the advance slackened near the middle of the field and an attempted forward pass was captured by benton. that play brought the ten-minute period to an end.
-benton tried the brimfield centre and got through for four yards, hit it again and made three and placed the ball on the home team's forty-yard line. time was called for brimfield and danny moore trotted on to administer to gafferty. the left guard was soon on his feet again, although a trifle unsteady, it seemed, and benton, with three yards to gain, swung into the other side and pushed a half-back through for the distance. carmine replaced mcphee and holt went back to end position. benton once more thrust at gafferty and, although the secondary defence plugged the hole, went through for two yards. time was again called and this time the trainer led joe gafferty off the field, the latter protesting bitterly, and harry walton was hurried in. benton tried a forward pass and made it go for a small gain and then, on third down, got past thayer and reached the eighteen before carmine tipped up the runner. across the gridiron, benton's supporters yelled mightily and a second touchdown looked imminent.
-benton fumbled and recovered for a two-yard loss and then sent that heroic quarter up the field to try a drop kick. it looked easy enough, for the ball was near the twenty-eight yards and in front of the right hand goal post. captain edwards implored his men to block the kick and comparative quiet fell over the field. back shot the ball and the quarter's foot swung at it, but the left side of the benton line crumbled and hall and crewe flung themselves into the path of the ball. four seconds later it was snuggled under tim otis's chest near the thirty-five yards, for tim had followed the forwards through and trailed the bouncing pigskin up the field.
-that misadventure seemed to take the heart out of the visitors, and when brimfield, with new courage and determination, smashed at her line she fell back time and again. substitutes were sent in lavishly, but although the right side of the benton line stiffened for awhile, the left continued weak. coach robey sent in compton to replace steve edwards and, later, howard for st. clair. with the best part of five minutes left, brimfield hoped to put over a winning touchdown, and the backs responded gallantly to carmine's demands. near the enemy's forty-yard line rollins threw a neat forward to holt and the latter raced along the side of the field for a dozen yards before he was forced over the line. that took the ball to benton's twenty-one. two tries at the line netted but six yards and compton took the pigskin on an end-around play and just made the distance.
-brimfield hammered the enemy's left wing and reached her five-yard line in three downs, but benton, fiercely determined, her feet on the last line mark, was putting up a strong defence. tom hall, captain pro tem., and carmine consulted. a forward pass might succeed, and if it did would win the game, but benton would be watching for it and neither holt nor compton was a brilliant catcher of thrown balls. a goal from the field would only tie the score, but it seemed the wisest play. so rollins dropped back to the twenty and stretched his arms. but benton was sure a forward was to result and when the ball went back her attempts to block the kick were not very enthusiastic. that was fortunate for brimfield, for thursby's pass had been short and rollins had to pick the ball from the turf before he could swing at it. that delay was almost his undoing, since the benton forwards were now trickling through, and it was only by the veriest good fortune that the ball shot between them from rollins's toe and, after showing an inclination to pass to the left of the goal and changing its mind in mid-air, dropped over the bar barely inside the post. brimfield cheered and the 3 on the board changed to 6. coach robey called rollins and tim otis out, replacing them with martin and gordon. brimfield kicked off once more and, with a scant minute and a half to play, the maroon-and-grey tried valiantly to add another score.
-carmine caught on his twenty and took the ball to the thirty-six before he was stopped, and brimfield cheered wildly and danced about in the stand. plugging the line would never cover that distance to the farther goal line and so carmine sent gordon off around the left end. but gordon couldn't find the hole and was run down for no gain. a forward pass, carmine to compton, laid the ball on the forty-eight yards. howard slid off right tackle for six and, on a fake-kick play, martin ran around left end for seven more. brimfield shouted imploringly from the stand and, across the field, benton cheered incessantly, doggedly, longing for the whistle.
-the benton team used all allowable methods to waste time. the timekeeper hovered nearby, his eyes darting from the galloping hand of his watch to the players. "twenty-nine seconds," he responded to tom hall's question. carmine clapped his hands impatiently.
-"signals now! make this good! left tackle over! 27--57--88--16! hep! 27--57--88----"
-the backs swung obliquely to the right, carmine dropped from sight, his back to the line, benton's left side was borne slowly away, fighting hard, and confusion reigned. then carmine whirled around, sprang, doubled over, through the scattered right side of the enemy's line, challenged only by the end, who made a desperate attempt at a tackle but failed, and, with only the opposing quarter between him and the goal line, raced like the wind. about him was a roaring babel of sound, voices urging him on, shouts of dismay, imploring shrieks from behind. then the quarter was before him, crouching with out-reached hands, a strained, anxious look on his dirt-streaked face.
-they met near the twenty-yard line. the benton quarter launched himself forward. carmine swung to the left and leaped. a hand groped at his ankle, caught, and carmine fell sprawling to the turf. but he found his feet like a cat, wrenched the imprisoned ankle free and went staggering, stumbling on. again he fell, on the five-yard line, and again the benton quarter dived for him. but carmine was not to be stopped with the line only five short yards away. he wrested himself to his feet again, the arms of the benton quarter squirming about his knees, plunged on a stride, dragging the enemy with him, found his legs locked firmly now, struggled desperately and then flung himself sidewise toward the last white streak. and as he fell his hands, clasping the ball, reached forward and a whistle blew.
-it was said afterward that a half-inch decided that touchdown. and the half-inch was on the wrong side of the line! carmine wept frankly when he heard the decision and tom hall had to be held away from the referee, but facts were facts and carmine had lost his touchdown and brimfield the victory by the width of a finger!
-benton departed joyously, cheering and singing, and brimfield tried hard to be satisfied with a drawn game. but she wasn't very successful, and for the next few days the referee's decision was discussed and derided and regretted.
-what sorrow don felt was largely mitigated when, after supper that evening, steve edwards found him in front of billings. "you come to us monday, don," said the captain. "robey told me to tell you. joe gafferty's got a rib caved in and is out of it for a fortnight at least. get tim to coach you up on the signals. don't forget."
-as though he was likely to!
-tim exults and explains
-when don told tim the latter insisted on performing a triumphal dance about the room to the tune of "boola." when don squirmed himself loose tim continued alone until the droplight was knocked to the floor at the cost of one green shade. then he threw himself, panting but jubilant, on his bed and hilariously kicked his feet in air. don observed him with a faint smile.
-"you wooden indian, you!" exclaimed tim, sitting up and dropping his feet to the floor with a crash. "there you stand like a--a graven image, looking as though you'd just received an invitation to a funeral! cheer, you idiot! make a noise! aren't you tickled to death?"
-"you bet i am!" replied don.
-"well, do something, then! you ought to have a little of my latin temperament, don. you'd be a heap easier to live with. if it was i who had just been waited on humbly by the first team captain and invited to join the eleven i'd--i'd make a--a noise!"
-"what do you think you've been doing?" laughed don. "you'll have horace in here in a minute. steve says you're to coach me on the signals."
-"tomorrow!" tim waved his hand. "time enough for that, don. just now it behooves us to celebrate."
-"how?" asked don.
-tim thought long and earnestly. finally, "let's borrow larry jones's accordion and serenade josh!" he said.
-"let's not. and let's not go to a fire, either! think of something better, timmy."
-"then we'll go out and bay at the moon. i've got to do something! by the time joe's got his busted rib mended you'll have that left guard position nailed to the planks, don."
-"how about walton?" asked don dubiously.
-"a fig for walton! two figs for him! a whole box of figs! all you've got to do is speed up a bit and----"
-"suppose i can't?"
-"suppose nothing! you've got to! if you don't you'll have me to fight, donald. if you don't cinch that position in just one week i--i'll take you over my knee and spank you with a belt! come on over to clint's room. let us disseminate the glorious tidings. let us----"
-"i'd rather learn the signals," said don. "there's only tonight and tomorrow, you know."
-"all right? mark 'em down, then. starting at the left, number your holes 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 6, 4, 2. got that? number your left end 1, the next man 3, the next 5. omit centre. right guard 6, right tackle 4, right end 2. now, your backfield. quarter 0, left half 7, right half 8, full-back 9."
-"gee, that's hard to remember," murmured don.
-"and hard to guess," answered tim. "now, your first number, unless it's under thirty, is a fake. if it's under thirty it means that the next number is the number of a play. over thirty, it means nothing. your second digit of your second number is your runner. the second digit of the third number is the hole. the fourth number, as you doubtless surmise, is also a fake. now, then, sir! 65--47--23--98! what is it?"
-"left half between end and tackle."
-"on the left. correct. 19--87--77--29?"
-"i don't know. nineteen calls for a numbered play."
-"right again, mr. gilbert, your performance is startling! the pity of it is, though, that about the time you get these signals pat robey'll change them for the claflin game. so far we've only got eight numbered plays, and they aren't complicated. want to go into them tonight?"
-"no, i guess not. i'd rather get these holes and players sort of fixed in my mind first. we'll go over the plays tomorrow, if you don't mind."
-"it will break my heart, but i'll do it for you. now will you come over to clint's?"
-"i'd rather not, tim. you go. i want to mull over these signals."
-presently, having exhausted his vocabulary on his room-mate, tim went. don settled his head in his hands and studied the numbered diagram for the better part of an hour. don was slow at memorising, but what was once forced into his mind stayed there. a little before ten o'clock he slipped the diagram under a box in a bureau drawer and went to bed with a calm mind, and when tim returned riotously a few minutes later don was sleeping peacefully.
-on monday, in chapel, don and the "heroes" of farmer corrigan's conflagration had another shock, and don, for one, wondered when he was to hear the last of that affair. "since last week," said mr. fernald drily, "when i requested the four boys who helped to put out a fire at the corrigan farm to make themselves known to an admiring public, i have gained an understanding of their evident desire to conceal their identities. i am forced to the conclusion that it was not altogether modesty that kept them silent. the fire, it appears, did not break out until nearly half-past nine. consequently the young gentlemen were engaged in their heroic endeavours at a time when they should have been in their dormitories. i have not yet found out who they were, but i am making earnest efforts to do so. meanwhile, if they wish to lighten the consequences of their breach of school regulations, i'd earnestly advise them to call and see me. i may add that, in view of the unusual circumstances, had they made a clean breast of the affair i should have dealt very leniently with them. that is all, i think. dismissed."
-none of the culprits dared to so much as glance at the others on the way out of the hall, but afterward, when breakfast was over, they gathered anxiously together in number 6 billings and discussed the latest development with lowered voices, like a quartette of anarchists arranging a bomb party.
-"he's right up on his ear," said clint gloomily. "if he gets us now he will send us all packing, and don't you doubt it!"
-"piffle!" this from tim, the least impressed of the four. "probation is all we'd get. didn't the paper say we were heroes?"
-"no, it didn't," answered tom shortly. "and i wish that paper was in halifax!"
-"might as well be fired as put on pro," said clint. "it would mean no more football this year for any of us. my word, wouldn't robey be mad!"
-"wouldn't i be!" growled tom. "look here, do you really suppose he's trying to find out who we were, or was that just a bluff to scare us into 'fessing up!"
-"josh isn't much of a bluffer," observed don judiciously. "what he says he means. what i don't savvy is why he hasn't found out already. every hall master has a record of leaves."
-"yes, but it was saturday night and i'll bet half the school had leave," said tim. "i dare say, though, that if any fellows are suspected we're amongst 'em, don. being on the first floor, josh knows we could sneak in easily. still, he can't prove it on us."
-"i'm not so sure," replied don thoughtfully. "suppose he asked mr. brady?"
-a dismayed silence ensued until tom laughed mirthlessly.
-"that's one on us," he said. "we never thought of that. maybe he has asked brady already."
-"brady doesn't know our names," said tim. "you didn't tell him, did you, don?"
-"no, he didn't ask. but he could easily describe us so that josh would recognise us, i guess."
-"that's the trouble with being so plaguy distinguished looking," mourned tim. "seems to me, fellows, that there's just one thing to be did, and did sudden."
-"you mean warn mr. brady?" asked clint.
-"exactly, my discerning young friend. maybe the horse is stolen----"
-"what horse?" asked tom perplexedly.
-"merely a figure of speech, tom. i was about to observe when so rudely interrupted----"
-"oh, cut out the verbiage," growled tom.
-"that possibly it was too late to lock the stable door," continued tim, "but we'd better do it, just the same. let's see if he has a telephone."
-"he wouldn't get a letter until tomorrow, maybe," objected don. "one of us had better beat it over to his place as soon as possible and ask him to keep mum."
-"i can't go," said tom. "i've got four recits this morning and robey would never let me off practice."
-"i don't believe any of us will do much work this afternoon," said tim. "i'll go if robey'll let me cut. i wish someone would come along, though. it's a dickens of a trip to make alone. you come, clint."
-"i will if i can. we'll ask robey at dinner. what shall we say to this brady man?"
-"just tell him what's doing and ask him to forget what we looked like if josh writes to him or calls him up or anything. brady's a good old scout, i'll bet," added tim with conviction. "maybe we'd better buy a setting of eggs to get on the good side of him."
-"don't be a chump," begged tim. "i don't call this a comedy situation, if you do, tim. i'd certainly hate to get on pro and have to drop football!"
-"don't be a chump," begged tom. "i don't say it's a comedy, but there's no use weeping, is there? what's done is done, and we've got to make the best of it, and a laugh never hurt anyone yet."
-"well, then, let's make the best of it," answered tom peevishly. "talking doesn't do any good."
-"neither does grouching," said tim sweetly. "you leave it all to clint and me, tom. we're a swell pair of fixers. if we can get to brady before josh does we're all right. and it's a safe wager josh hasn't asked brady yet, for if he had he'd be on to us. there's the nine o'clock bell, fellows, and i've got a recit. see you later. hope for the best, tom, and fear the worst!"
-tim seized his books and dashed out, followed more leisurely by clint. tom remained a few minutes longer and then he, too, took his departure, still filled with forebodings. don, left to himself, drew a chair to the table and began to study. truth, however, compels me to state that what he studied was not his german, although he had a recitation coming in forty minutes, but two sheets of buff paper torn from a scratch-pad and filled with writing interspersed with numerals and adorned with strange diagrams, in short, tim's elucidation of the eight numbered plays which up to the present comprised brimfield's budget of tricks. it can't be said that don covered himself with glory in mr. daley's german class that morning or that the instructor was at all satisfied, but don had the secret satisfaction of knowing that stored away in the back of his brain was a very thorough knowledge of the brimfield football signal code and of mr. robey's special plays.
-mr. brady forgets
-that afternoon don's knowledge stood him in good stead, for with more than half the first-string players excused from practice, his services were called on at the start, and, with mcphee and cotter running the squad, the signal drill was long and thorough. harry walton viewed don's advent with disfavour. that was apparent to don and anyone else who thought of the matter, although he pretended a good-natured indifference that wasn't at all deceiving. don more than once caught his rival observing him with resentment and dislike, and, remembering that harry walton had been a witness of his unconventional return to hall that night, he experienced misgivings. of course, harry wouldn't "peach," but--well, don again wished anyone rather than harry had stumbled on the secret.
-but he didn't have much time for worrying about that matter, for coach robey went after them hard that day. in the practice game with the second team don started at left guard and played the position until within a few minutes of the whistle. then harry walton, who had been disgruntledly adorning the bench, took his place. he didn't look at don as he accepted the latter's head-guard, but don was well aware that harry felt anything but good-will for him. naturally enough, harry had, don reflected, expected to step into gafferty's place without opposition when news of the extent of the latter's injury had become known, and it was undoubtedly a big disappointment to him to discover that he had to fight a new opponent. don could sympathise with harry, for he had endured disappointments himself during his brief football career, but it is difficult to sympathise very enthusiastically when the subject of your sympathy shows his dislike for you, and don metaphorically shrugged his shoulders as he trotted up to the gymnasium.
-"it isn't my fault," he said to himself. "i didn't bust joe gafferty's rib and i'm not responsible for robey's taking me on the first team. walton will just have to make the best of it."
-don couldn't flatter himself that he had played that afternoon with especial brilliancy, although he had managed to hold his end up fairly well. the fact was that he had been so intent on getting speeded into his performance that he had rather skimped the niceties of line-play. and he wasn't at all certain that he had shown any more speed than usual, either. he awaited mr. robey's appearance in the locker-room with some apprehension, certain that if he had erred badly he would soon learn of it. when the coach did arrive at the tail of the procession of panting players and said his say without once singling out don for special attention, the latter was relieved. he couldn't, he told himself, have done so very badly, after all!
-tom walked back to billings with don to learn the result of tim's and clint's embassy to the cedar ridge poultry farm, for the two had obtained leave of absence from mr. robey and had set forth on their journey the minute a three o'clock recitation was finished. tim wasn't in number 6 when they reached it, but he and clint tramped in soon after, dusty and weary but evidently triumphant. tim narrated their experiences.
-"missed the three-fifty car, just as i told clint we would if he didn't hustle----"
-"i had to find a cap to wear, didn't i?" interpolated clint.
-"well, we found the place all right, fellows, and, say, it's some poultry farm, believe me, dearies! isn't it corking, clint?"
-clint grunted assent, stretching tired legs across the floor.
-"there's about a thousand acres of it, i guess, and a mile of red chicken houses and runs, or whatever you call 'em. how many hens and things did he tell us he had, clint?"
-"eighteen hundred, i think. maybe it was eighteen thousand. i don't remember. all i know is there were chickens as far as you could see, and then some."
-"never mind the descriptive matter," urged tom. "what did he say? had josh been at him? did he promise----"
-"i'm coming to that, dearie. when we found him he was doing something to that car of his in a cute little garage. and, say, it's an eight-cylinder lothrop, and a regular jim-dandy! well, he took us into his house first----"
-tom groaned in despair.
-"----and fed us on crackers and cake and ginger ale. say, he's got a peach of a bungalow there; small but entire; and a cute little jap who cooks and looks after things for him. well, then he took us out and showed us around the place. chickens! gee, i didn't know there were so many in the world! and we saw the incubators and the--what you call them--brooders, and----"
-"for the love of mud!" exclaimed tom. "can't you get down to dots? is it all right or isn't it?"
-tim smiled exasperatingly. "then he showed us----"
-tom arose to his feet and took a step toward him.
-"it's all right," said tim hurriedly. "everything, thomas! we told him what was up and how we didn't want josh to find out it was us who attended mr. corrigan's fire party and asked him if he would please not remember what we looked like if josh asked him. and he said----"
-"he laughed," interrupted clint, and chuckled himself.
-"that's right! he laughed a lot. 'you're a little bit late,' he said. 'mr. fernald called me up by telephone nearly a week ago, fellows, and wanted to know all about it.' 'you didn't tell him?' i yelped. 'no, i couldn't,' he said. 'you see, you hadn't told me your names, and it was pretty dark that night and somehow or other i just couldn't seem to recall what you looked like! mr. fernald sounded considerably disappointed and like he didn't quite believe me, but that can't be helped.' say, fellows, i wanted to hug him! or--or buy an egg or something! honest, i did! he's all right, what?"
-"he's a corker!" said tom, sighing with relief. "you don't suppose corrigan or any of the others there that night would remember us, do you?"
-"not likely. mr. brady didn't think so, anyway."
-"then it's all to the merry!" cried tom. "gee, but that's a load off my mind!"
-"off your what?" asked tim curiously.
-"it's all right if harry walton keeps quiet," said don. "if he gets to talking----"
-"if he does i'll beat him up," said tim earnestly. "but he won't. he wouldn't be such a snip, in the first place, and he wouldn't dare to in the second."
-"n-no, i guess not," agreed don. but his tone didn't hold much conviction. "only, if----"
-"i'll tell you fellows one thing," announced tom vehemently.
-"don't strain yourself," advised tim.
-"and that," continued the other, scowling at the interruption, "is that no one gets me into any more scrapes until after the claflin game!"
-"gee, to hear you talk," exclaimed tim indignantly, "anyone would think we'd tied you up with a rope and forcibly abducted you! who's idea was it, anyway, to go to the village that night?"
-"yours, if you want to know! i don't say i didn't go along willingly enough, tim. what i do say is--never again! anyway," he added, "not until football's over!"
-on the whole it could not be said that brimfield's performance that blustery saturday afternoon was impressive, for she was frequently caught napping on the defensive, showed periods of apathy and did more fumbling, none of which resulted disastrously, than she should have. tim otis had a remarkably good day and was undeniably the best man in the backfield for the home team. carmine played a heady, snappy game, and don, who played the most of three quarters at left guard, conducted himself very well. don's work was never of the spectacular sort, but at his best he was a steady and thoroughly reliable lineman and very effective on defence. he was still slow in getting into plays, a fact which made him of less value than joe gafferty on attack. even harry walton showed up better than don when brimfield had the ball. but neither gafferty nor walton was as strong on defence as don.
-walton had been very earnestly striving all the week to capture the guard position, but the fact that don had been played through most of the morgan's game indicated that the latter was as yet a slight favourite in coach robey's estimation. during the week succeeding the morgan's game the two rivals kept at it nip and tuck, and their team-mates looked on with interest. at practice mr. robey showed no favour to either, and each came in for his full share of criticism, but when, the next saturday, the team journeyed away from home and played cherry valley, it was again don who started the game between thayer and thursby and who remained in the line-up until the fourth period, by which time brimfield had piled up the very satisfactory score of twenty-six points. in the final five minutes cherry valley managed to fool the visitors and get a forward pass off for a gain that placed the ball on brimfield's fourteen yards, and from there her drop-kicker put the pigskin over the cross-bar and tallied three points. the game was uninteresting unless one was a partisan, and even then there were few thrills. brimfield played considerably better than in the morgan's game and emerged with no more important damages than a wrenched ankle, which fell to the share of martin, who had taken rollins's place in the last period.
-joe gafferty came back to practice the following monday, but was missing again a day or two later, and the school heard with some dismay that joe's parents had written to mr. fernald and forbidden joe to play any more football that year. joe was inconsolable and went around for the next week or so looking like a lost soul. after that he accepted the situation and helped mr. boutelle coach the second. that second had by that time been shaken together into a very capable and smooth-running team, a team which was giving the first more and more trouble every day. coach robey had again levied on it for a player, taking merton to the first when gafferty was lost to him, and again mr. boutelle growled and protested and, finally, philosophically shrugged his shoulders. a week later merton was released to the second once more and pryme, who had been playing at right guard as a substitute for tom hall, was tried out on the other side of centre with good results. pryme's advent as a contender for the left guard position complicated the battle between don and harry walton, and until after the southby game the trio of candidates indulged in a three-cornered struggle that was quite pretty to watch.
-unfortunately for don, that struggle for supremacy threatened to affect his class standing, for it occupied so much of his thought that there was little left for study. when, however, the office dropped a hint and mr. daley presented an ultimatum, don realised that he was taking football far too seriously, and, being a rather level-headed youth, he mended his ways. he expected, as a result, to find himself left behind in the race with walton and pryme, but, oddly enough, his game was in no degree affected so far as he could determine. in fact, within a few days the situation was simplified by the practical elimination of pryme as a contender. this happened when, just before the southby game, tom hall, together with eight other members of mr. moller's physics class went on probation, and pryme was needed at right guard.
-i have mentioned tom's probation very casually, quite as if it was a matter of slight importance, but you may be sure that the school viewed it in no such way. coming as it did little more than a fortnight before the big game, it was looked on as a dire catastrophe, no more and no less; and the school, which had laughed and chuckled over the incident which had caused the catastrophe, and applauded the participants in it, promptly turned their thumbs down when the effect became known and indignantly dubbed the affair "silly kid's play" and blamed tom very heartily. how much of the blame he really deserved you shall judge for yourself, but the affair merits a chapter of its own.
-the joke on mr. moller
-amy byrd started it.
-or, perhaps, in the last analysis, mr. moller began it himself. mr. moller's first name was caleb, a fact which the school was quick to seize on. at first he was just "caleb," then "caleb the conqueror," and, finally, "the conqueror." the "conqueror" part of it was added in recognition of mr. moller's habit of attiring himself for the class room as for an afternoon tea. he was a new member of the faculty that fall and brimfield required more than the few weeks which had elapsed since his advent to grow accustomed to his grandeur of apparel. mr. caleb moller was a good-looking, in fact quite a handsome young man of twenty-five or six, well-built, tall and the proud possessor of a carefully trimmed moustache and vandyke beard, the latter probably cultivated in the endeavour to add to his apparent age. he affected light grey trousers, fancy waistcoats of inoffensive shades, a frock coat, grey gaiters and patent leather shoes. his scarf was always pierced with a small black pearl pin. there's no denying that mr. moller knew how to dress or that the effect was pleasing. but brimfield wasn't educated to such magnificence and brimfield gasped loudly the first time mr. moller burst on its sight. afterward it laughed until the novelty began to wear off. mr. moller was a capable instructor and a likeable man, although it took brimfield all of the first term to discover the latter fact owing to the master's dignified aloofness. being but a scant eight years the senior of some of his pupils, he perhaps felt it necessary to emphasise his dignity a little. by the last of october, however, the school had accepted mr. moller and was, possibly, secretly a little proud to have for a member of its faculty one who possessed such excellent taste in the matter of attire. he was universally voted "a swell dresser," and not a few of the older fellows set themselves to a modest emulation of his style. there remained, however, many unregenerate youths who continued to poke fun at "the conqueror," and of these was amy byrd.
-it isn't beyond the bounds of reason that jealousy may have had something to do with amy's attitude, for amy was "a swell dresser" himself and had a fine eye for effects of colour. amy's combinations of lavender or dull rose or pearl-grey shirts, socks and ties were recognised masterpieces of sartorial achievement. the trouble with amy was that when the tennis season was over he had nothing to interest himself in aside from maintaining a fairly satisfactory standing in class, and i'm sorry to say that amy didn't find the latter undertaking wildly exciting. he was, therefore, an excellent subject for the mischief microbe, and the mischief microbe had long since discovered the fact. usually amy's escapades were harmless enough; for that matter, the present one was never intended to lead to any such unfortunate results as actually attended it; and in justice to amy it should be distinctly stated that he would never have gone into the affair had he foreseen the end of it. but he couldn't see any further into the future than you or i, and so--yes, on the whole, i think it may be fairly said that amy byrd started it.
-it was on a tuesday, what time amy should have been deep in study, that clint thayer, across the table, had his attention wrested from his book by the sound of deep, mirthful chuckles. he glanced over questioningly. amy continued to chuckle until, being bidden to share the joke or shut up, he took clint into his confidence. clint was forced to chuckle some himself when he had heard amy through, but the chuckles were followed by earnest efforts to dissuade his friend from his proposed scheme.
-"he won't stand for it, amy," clint protested. "he will report the lot of you to josh and you'll be in a peck of trouble. it would be terribly funny, all right, but you'd better not try it."
-"funny! my friend, it would be excruciating! and i certainly am going to have a stab at it. let's see who will go into it. steve edwards--no, steve wouldn't, of course. tom hall will, i'll bet. and roy draper and harry wescott, probably. we ought to get as many of the fellows as we can. i wish you were in that class, clint."
-"i don't. you're a chump to try such a trick, amy. you'll get pro for sure. maybe worse. i don't believe moller can take a joke; he's too haughty."
-"oh, rot! he will take it all right. anyway, what kick can he have? we fellows have just as much right to----"
-"you'll wish you hadn't," said clint. "see if you don't!"
-clint's prophecy proved true, and amy did wish he hadn't, but that was some days later, and just now he was far too absorbed in planning his little joke to trouble himself about what might happen as a result. as soon as study hour was over he departed precipitately from number 14. torrence and clint saw no more of him until bedtime. then his questions met only with more chuckles and evasion.
-the result did not appear until two days later, which brings our tale to the forenoon of that unlucky thursday preceeding the southby contest. mr. moller's class in physics 2 met at eleven o'clock that morning. physics was an elective course with the fifth form and a popular one, many of the fellows taking it only to fill out their necessary eighteen hours a week. mr. moller, attired as usual with artistic nicety, sat in his swivel chair, facing the windows, and drummed softly on the top of the desk with immaculate finger-tips and waited for the class to assemble.
-had he been observing the arriving students instead of the tree-tops outside he might have noticed the peculiar fact that this morning, as though by common consent, the students were avoiding the first two rows of seats nearest the platform. but he didn't notice it. in fact, he didn't turn his head until the gong in the lower hall struck and, simultaneously, there sounded in the room the carefully-timed tread of many feet. then "the conqueror" swung around in his chair, felt for the black ribbon which held his tortoise shell glasses and, in the act of lifting the glasses to his well-shaped nose, paused and stared.
-down the side aisle of the room, keeping step, grave of mien, walked nine boys led by the sober-countenanced amy byrd. each was attired in as near an approach to mr. moller's style as had been possible with the wardrobes at command. not all--in fact, only two--wore frock coats, and not all had been able to supply themselves with light grey trousers, but the substitutions were very effective, and in no case was a fancy waistcoat wanting. wing collars encircled every throat, grey silk scarves were tied with careful precision, stick-pins were at the proper careless tilt, spats, some grey, some tan, some black, covered each ankle, a handkerchief protruded a virgin corner from every right sleeve and over every vest dangled a black silk ribbon. that only a few of them ended in glasses was merely because the supply of those aids to vision had proved inadequate to the demand. soberly and amidst an appalling silence the nine exquisites paced to the front of the room and disposed themselves in the first two rows.
-mr. moller, his face extremely red, watched without word or motion. the rest of the class, their countenances too showing an unnatural ruddiness, likewise maintained silence and immobility until the last of the nine had shuffled his feet into place. then there burst upon the stillness a snigger which, faint as it was, sounded startlingly loud. whereupon pent up emotions broke loose and a burst of laughter went up that shook the windows.
-"i am going to give you young gentlemen"--was it imagination on amy's part or had the instructor placed the least bit of emphasis on the last word--"two minutes more in which to recover from your merriment. at the end of that time i shall expect you to be quiet and orderly and ready to begin this recitation." he drew his watch from his pocket and laid it on the desk. "so that you may enjoy this--this brilliant jest to the full, i'll ask the nine young gentleman in the front rows to stand up and face you. if you please, hall, stearns, draper, fanning, byrd----"
-it was several seconds before this request was responded to. then amy arose and, one by one, the others followed and faced the room. amy managed to retain his expression of calm innocence, but the others were ill at ease and many faces looked very sheepish.
-"now, then," announced mr. moller quietly. "begin, please. you have two minutes."
-a dismal silence ensued, a silence broken at intervals by a nervous cough or the embarrassed shuffling of feet. mr. moller calmly divided his attention between the class and the watch. surely never had one hundred and twenty seconds ticked themselves away so slowly. there was a noticeable disinclination on the part of the students to meet the gaze of the instructor, nor did they seem any more eager to view the various and generally painful emotions expressed on the countenances of the nine. at last mr. moller took up his watch and returned it with its dangling fob to his pocket, and as he did so some thirty sighs of relief sounded in the stillness.
-"time's up," announced the instructor. "be seated, young gentlemen. thank you very much." the nine sank gratefully into their chairs. "i am sure that we have all enjoyed your joke vastly. you must pardon me if, just at first, i seemed to miss the humour of it. i can assure you that i am now quite--quite sympathique. we are told that imitation is the sincerest flattery, and i accept the compliment in the spirit in which you have tendered it. again i thank you."
-mr. moller bowed gravely and sat down.
-glances, furtive and incredulous, passed from boy to boy. amy heaved a sigh of relief. after all, then, mr. moller could take a joke! and for the first time since the inception of the brilliant idea amy felt an emotion very much like regret! and then the recitation began.
-that would have ended the episode had not chance taken a hand in affairs. mr. fernald very seldom visited a class room during recitations. one could count such occurrences on one hand and the result would have sufficed for the school year. and yet today, for some reason never apparent to the boys, mr. fernald happened in.
-harry westcott was holding forth when the principal's tread caught his attention. westcott turned his head, saw and instantly stopped.
-"proceed, westcott," said mr. fernald.
-westcott continued, stammeringly and much at random. mr. fernald quietly walked up the aisle to the platform. mr. moller arose and for a moment the two spoke in low tones. then the principal nodded, smiled and turned to retrace his steps. as he did so his smiling regard fell upon the occupants of the two front rows. a look of puzzlement banished the smile. bewilderment followed that. westcott faltered and stopped altogether. a horrible silence ensued. then mr. fernald turned an inquiring look upon the instructor.
-"may i ask," he said coldly, "what this--this quaint exhibition is intended to convey?"
-mr. moller hesitated an instant. then: "i think i can explain it better, sir, later on," he replied.
-mr. fernald bowed, again swept the offenders with a glance of withering contempt and took his departure. mr. moller looked troubledly after him before he turned to westcott and said kindly: "now, westcott, we will go on, if you please."
-what passed between principal and instructor later that day was not known, but the result of the interview appeared the next morning when mr. fernald announced in chapel that because they had seen fit to publicly insult a member of the faculty he considered it only just to publicly inform the following students that they were placed on probation until further notice. then followed the names of hall, westcott, byrd, draper and five others. mr. fernald added that but for the intercession of the faculty member whom they had so vilely affronted the punishment would have been far heavier.
-nine very depressed youths took their departure from chapel that morning. to tom hall, since the edict meant that he could not play any more football that season, unless, which was scarcely probable, faculty relented within a week or so, the blow was far heavier than to any of the others. being on probation was never a state to be sought for, but when one was in his last year at school and had looked forward to ending his football career in a blaze of glory, probation was just about as bad as being expelled. in fact, for a day or two tom almost wished that mr. fernald had selected the latter punishment. what made things harder to bear was the attitude of coaches and players and the school at large. after the first shock of surprise and dismay, they had agreed with remarkable unanimity that tom had not only played the fool, but had proved himself a traitor, and they didn't fail to let tom know their verdict. for several days he was as nearly ostracised as it was possible to be, and those days were very unhappy ones for him.
-"you see, sir," amy had pleaded earnestly, "i was the one who started it. the others would never have gone into it if i hadn't just simply made them. why----"
-mr. fernald smiled faintly. "you're trying to convince me, byrd, that boys like draper and hall and stearns and westcott are so weak-willed that they allowed you to drag them into this thing against their better judgment and inclinations?"
-"it's decent of you, byrd, to try to assume all the blame, but your story doesn't carry conviction. even if it did, i should be sorely tempted to let the verdict stand, for i should consider boys who were so easily dragged into mischief badly in need of discipline. i do wish you'd tell me one thing, byrd. how could a fellow, a manly, decent fellow like you, think up such a caddish trick? wounding another man's feelings, byrd, isn't really funny, if you stop to consider it."
-"i didn't mean to hurt mr. moller's feelings, sir," replied amy earnestly. "we--i thought it would just be a--a sort of a good joke to dress like him, sir, and--and get a laugh from the class. i'm sorry. i guess it was a pretty rotten thing to do, sir. only i didn't think about it that way."
-"i believe that. since you've been here, byrd, you've been into more or less mischief, but i've never known you to be guilty before of anything in such utterly bad taste. unfortunately, however, i can't excuse you because you didn't think. you should have thought."
-"yes, sir," agreed amy eagerly, "and i don't expect to be excused, sir. i only thought that maybe you'd let up on the others if you knew how it all happened. i thought maybe it would do just as well if you expelled me, sir, and let the other fellows off easy. tom hall----"
-"i see. it's hall who's worrying you, is it? you're afraid hall's absence from the team may result disastrously! possibly it will. if it does i shall be sorry, but hall will have to take his medicine just like the rest of you. perhaps this will teach you all to think a little before you act. no, byrd, i shall have to refuse your offer. expelling you would not be disciplining the rest, nor would it be an equitable division of punishment. the verdict must stand, my boy."
-amy went sorrowfully forth and announced the result to clint. "i think he might have done what i wanted," he complained a trifle resentfully.
-"you're an utter ass," said clint with unflattering conviction. "what good would it do you to get fired in your last year?"
-"none, but if he'd have let the others off----"
-"do you suppose that the others would have agreed to any such bargain? they're not kids, even if you try to make them out so. they went into the thing with their eyes open and are just as much to blame as you are. they wouldn't let you be the goat, you idiot!"
-"they needn't have known anything about it, clint. oh, well, i suppose there's no use fussing. i don't care about the others. it's tom i'm sorry for. and the team, too. pryme can't fill tom's shoes, and we'll get everlastingly walloped, and it'll be my fault, and----"
-"piffle! tom's a good player, one of the best, but he isn't the whole team. pryme will play the position nearly as well. i'm sorry for tom, too, but he's the one who will have to do the worrying, i guess. now you buck up and quit looking like a kicked cur."
-"if only the fellows didn't have it in for him the way they have," mourned amy. "everyone's down on him and he knows it and he's worried to death about it. they're a lot of rotters! after the way tom's worked on that team ever since he got on it! why, he's done enough for the school if he never played another lick at anything! and i'll tell you another thing. someone's going to get licked if i hear any more of this knocking!"
-"if we're beaten by claflin i'll get out of school," answered amy dolefully.
-"all right, son, but don't begin to pack your trunk yet. we won't be."
-the game with southby academy that week was played away from home. as a general thing southby was not a formidable opponent and last year's contest had resulted in a 17 to 3 win for brimfield. but this fall southby had been piling up larger scores against her opponents and her stock had risen. consequently brimfield, being deprived of tom hall's services at right guard and of rollins's at full-back, journeyed off that morning more than a little doubtful of the result of the coming conflict. most of the school went along, since southby was easily reached by trolley and at a small outlay for fares, and brimfield was pretty well deserted by one o'clock. out of some one hundred and eighty students a scant forty remained behind, and of that two-score we can guess who nine were!
-the game started with edwards at left end for brimfield, thayer at left tackle, gilbert at left guard, peters at centre, pryme at right guard, sturges at right tackle, holt at right end, carmine at quarter, st. clair at left half, otis at right half and martin at full-back. later on, toward the end of the second quarter, thursby went in at centre, and in the fourth period several substitutes had their chances, amongst them harry walton.
-walton had begun to realise that he was playing a losing game. since pryme had been shifted back to the right side of the line don gilbert had come more than ever to the fore and harry had spent a deal more time with the substitute squad in practice and on the bench during scrimmage than he approved of. harry had a very special reason for wanting to win that left guard position and to play in it during the claflin game, and this afternoon, sitting on the side line with a dozen other blanketed substitutes and enviously watching don in the coveted place, his brain evolved a plan that promised so well that by the time the second period had started he was looking almost cheerful. and that is saying a good deal, since harry walton's countenance very seldom expressed cheer.
-southby showed her mettle within five minutes of the kick-off, when, getting the ball on a fumble on her forty-five yard line, she tore off thirty-three yards on a complicated double-pass play and then, ripped another down from the astonished adversary. on the maroon-and-grey's nine yards, however, her advance was halted, and after two downs had resulted in a loss, she sent her kicker back and placed a neat drop over the cross-bars, scoring three points before the stop-watch had ticked off six minutes of playing time.
-that score was apparently just what brimfield needed to bring her to her senses, for the rest of the period was marked by brilliant defensive work on her part, followed toward the end of the twelve minutes by some equally good attacks. when the teams changed places brimfield had the pigskin on southby's thirty-eight yards with four to go on third down. a forward pass, carmine to st. clair, produced three of the required four and martin slipped through between left guard and tackle for the rest. after that ten well-selected plays took the ball to the sixteen yards. but there southby rallied, and steve edwards, dropping back as if to kick, tore off five more around the left end. a touchdown seemed imminent now, and the hundred or so brimfield rooters shouted and cheered madly enough. but two plunges at the right of the southby line were stopped for scant gain and, with martin back, a forward pass to holt missed that youth and fell plump into the hands of a southby end, and it was southby's ball on her eight yards when the dust of battle had cleared away.
-that was brimfield's last chance to score in that half and when the whistle sounded southby had the pigskin once more in her adversary's territory.
-so far the teams had proved evenly matched in all departments, with a possible slight superiority in punting belonging to the visitors. st. clair and martin divided the punting between them and together they managed to outmatch the efforts of the southby kicker. in the line both teams were excellent on defence, and both showed similar weakness in attack. in tom hall's place pryme had worked hard and had, on the whole, done all that was expected of him. but he wasn't tom hall, and no amount of coaching would make him tom's equal that fall. pryme lacked two factors: weight and, more especially, experience. southby had made some good gains through him in the first half and would have made more had not peters and sturges helped him valiantly. as to the backfields, a disinterested spectator would have liked the brimfield players a bit the better, less perhaps for what they actually accomplished that day than for what they promised. even with rollins out, the maroon-and-grey backs showed a fine and consistent solidarity that was lacking in the opponents. coach robey was a believer in team-play as opposed to the exploitation of stars, while southby, with a remarkable half-back in the person of a blonde-haired youth named elliston, had built her backfield about one man. as a consequence, when elliston was smothered, as was frequently the case, since southby's opponents naturally played for him all the time, the play was stopped. today captain edwards had displayed an almost uncanny ability to "get" elliston when the play was in his direction, and so far the blonde-haired star had failed to distinguish himself save in that one thirty-three-yard gambol at the beginning of the contest. what might happen later was problematical, but so far brimfield had solved elliston fairly well.
-a guard seldom has an opportunity to pose in the limelight, and so you are not to hear that don pulled off any brilliant feats that afternoon. what he did do was to very thoroughly vindicate mr. robey's selection of him for gafferty's position by giving an excellent impersonation of a concrete block on defence and by doing rather better than he had ever done before when his side had the ball. don had actually speeded up considerably, much as tim had assured him he could, and while he was still by no means the snappiest man in the line, nor was ever likely to be, he was seldom far behind his fellows. for that matter the whole line of forwards was still much slower than mr. robey wanted them at that time of year, and don showed up not badly in comparison. after all, what is needed in a guard is, first and foremost, fighting spirit, and don had that. if he was a bit slower to sense a play, a little later in getting into it, at least when he did start he started hard and tackled hard and always played it safe. in the old days when a guard had only his small territory between centre and tackle to cover, don would have been an ideal player for the position, but now, when a guard's duties are to free-lance, so to speak, from one end of the line to the other and to get into the play no matter where it comes, don's qualifications were more limited. a guard in these amazing times is "soldier and sailor too," and don, who liked to deal with one idea at a time, found it a bit confusing to have to grapple with a half-dozen!
-brimfield returned to the battle at the beginning of the second half highly resolved to take no more fooling from her opponent. fortune ordered it that the south goal should fall to her portion and that a faint but dependable breeze should spring up between the halves. that breeze changed coach robey's plans, and the team went on with instructions to kick its way to within scoring distance and then batter through the line at any cost. and so the spectators were treated to a very pretty punting exhibition by both teams, for, wisely or unwisely, southby accepted the challenge and punted almost as often as her adversary. that third period supplied many thrills but no scoring, for although brimfield did manage to get the ball on southby's twenty-five-yard line when a back fumbled, the advantage ended there. two rushes failed, a forward pass grounded and when st. clair tried to skirt his own left end he was pulled down just short of his distance and southby soon punted out of danger.
-when time was called both teams made several substitutions. don yielded his place to harry walton, crewe went in at right tackle and mcphee took carmine's position at quarter. with the advantage of the wind no longer hers, brimfield abandoned the kicking game and used her backfield for all it was worth. from the middle of the field to southby's thirty yards she went without much difficulty, st. clair, martin and tim otis carrying the ball for short but consistent gains. but at the thirty southby braced and captured the pigskin on downs by a matter of inches. it was then that elliston repeated. following two attempts at pryme's position, which yielded a scant four yards, elliston got away around steve edwards's end and, with some good interference for the first ten or twelve yards, passed the whole field except mcphee and was only brought down by that player after he had run to brimfield's twenty-six yards.
-southby's adherents cheered wildly and demanded a touchdown, and it looked for awhile as though their team was to give them what they asked for. southby twice poked a back through the centre of the maroon-and-grey line and then tore off ten yards around clint thayer, steve edwards being put wholly out of the play. then, however, brimfield dug her cleats and held the enemy, giving a very heartening exhibition of stubborn defence, and again southby decided that half a loaf was better than none and tried a field-goal. she ought never to have got it, for the left side of her line was torn to ribbons by the desperate defenders. but she did, nevertheless, the ball in some miraculous manner slipping through the upstretched hands and leaping bodies and just topping the bar.
-those three added points seemed to spell defeat for brimfield, and many of her supporters in the stand conceded the victory to southby then and there. but the team refused to view the matter in that light and came back fighting hard. with only some seven minutes of the twelve left, mcphee opened the line when southby had finally been forced to punt from her twelve yards and st. clair had caught on his forty-five, and started a series of direct-pass plays that, coming as they did on the heels of an afternoon of close-formation plays, confused the enemy until the ball had been planted near her thirty-five yards. brimfield fought desperately then, closing her line again and sending edwards off on an end-around run that took the pigskin eight yards nearer the last white mark.
-it was then that st. clair really showed what was in him. four times he took the ball and four times he plunged, squirming, fighting, through the southby centre and, with the brimfield shouts cheering him on, put the leather down at last on southby's eighteen. otis got three off left tackle and mcphee tried the same end for no gain. martin went back and, faking a kick, threw forward to edwards, who romped to the nine yards before he was smothered. it was fourth down then, with less than a yard to go, and st. clair was called on. a delayed-pass did the business and southby was digging her toes into her seven yards. martin slid off right tackle for two, bringing the ball nearly in front of goal, and the defenders again fell back.
-carmine was sent in again for mcphee and lawton took pryme's place. carmine evidently brought instructions, for captain edwards fell back to kicking position after the conference, and the ball was passed to him. but with only five to go and three downs to do it in a drop-kick was not likely, especially as three points would still leave brimfield beaten, and so southby disregarded the bluff. but if a kick was out of the question a forward pass was not, and it was a forward pass that southby set herself for. and so, with her ends drawn out and her backs spread, the touchdown came easily. for steve faked a throw to the right, where holt apparently waited, and then dashed straight ahead, the ball against his ribs, his head down and his feet flying, struck the hastily-formed massing of southby's centre like a battering ram and literally tore his way through until, when he was at last pulled down, he was five yards over the line!
-since brimfield needed that goal badly, rollins, in spite of bandages, was sent in for martin, and, when carmine had canted the ball to his liking, very calmly put it squarely between the uprights above the bar.
-the remaining minute and a half of play brought no results and brimfield trotted off victor by the narrow margin of one point, while her adherents flowed across the field cheering and flaunting their banners in triumph.
-walton writes a note
-the southby game was played on the sixth of november, a fortnight before the final contest with claflin school, and practically marked the end of the preparatory season. brimfield would meet her blue-legged rival with what plays she had already learned and the time for instruction was passed. the remaining two weeks, which held but ten playing days, would be devoted to perfecting plays already known, to polishing off the rough angles of attack and defence and to learning a new set of signals as a matter of precaution. those ten days were expected to work a big improvement in the team. whether they would or not remained to be seen.
-on the whole, brimfield had passed through a successful season. she had played seven games, of which she had lost one, won five and tied one. next week's adversary, chambers, would in all likelihood supply a sixth victory, in which case the maroon-and-grey would face claflin with a nearly clean slate. claflin, on her part, had hung up a rather peculiar record that fall. she had played one more game than brimfield, had won four, lost one and tied three. she had started out strongly, had had a slump in mid-season and was now, from all evidence at hand, recovering finely. on comparative scores there was little to choose between the rivals. if any perceptible advantage belonged to brimfield it was only because she had maintained a steadier pace.
-there was a lay-off for most of the first-string players on monday, a fact which gave harry walton a chance to conduct himself very capably at left guard during the four ten-minute periods of scrimmage with the second. don didn't go near the field that afternoon and so was saved any of the uneasiness which the sight of walton's performance might have caused him. rollins got back for a short workout and showed few signs of his injury. the second team, profiting by some scouting done by coach boutelle and joe gafferty on saturday, tried out the claflin formation and such claflin plays as had been fathomed against the first team and made some good gains thereby until the second-string players solved them. on tuesday harry walton disgruntledly found himself again relegated to the bench during most of the practice game and saw don open holes in the second team's line in a style that more than once brought commendation from coach robey. walton glowered from the bench until cotter disgustedly asked if he felt sick. whereupon walton grinned and cotter, with a sigh, begged him to scowl again!
-the first team presented its full strength that afternoon, and mr. boutelle's claflin plays made little headway. with rollins back in place, the first team scored almost at will during three periods, and even after an entirely new backfield was put in it continued to smash the second up very effectually. mr. boutelle scolded and raved and threatened, but all to scant purpose. the first got its plays off very smoothly, played low and hard and, for once, played together. the final score that day was the biggest ever piled up in a practice contest, 30 to 3. had mr. robey allowed rollins to try goals from touchdowns it would have been several points larger.
-tom hall had so far carefully avoided the field, but today he appeared there and sat in the stand with roy draper and tried his best to be cheerful. but his best wasn't very good. already the feeling against him had largely subsided, and the school, realising, perhaps, that tom's loss to the team did not necessarily spell defeat for it, was inclined to be sorry for him. but tom didn't realise that, since he still kept to himself and was suspicious of advances. he hadn't quarrelled with the school's verdict, but it had hurt him and, as he didn't like being hurt any more than most of us, he avoided the chance of it. in those days he stuck pretty close to his room, partly because the office required it and partly because he had no heart for mingling with his fellows. roy draper had to plead long and earnestly that afternoon to get him to the gridiron. as badly as he felt about losing his place on the team, however, tom didn't begrudge pryme his good fortune, and he was honestly pleased to see that the latter, in spite of his deficiencies, would doubtless fill the right guard position very capably in the claflin game. he studied pryme's work attentively that afternoon, criticised it and praised it and showed no trace of animosity.
-"he will do all right," he confided to roy. "crewe will help him a lot, and so will thursby. if he could use his hands a bit better he'd be fine. he holds himself nicely, doesn't he? on his toes all the time. i hate to see a lineman play flat-footed. that's one trouble with don gilbert. don's doing a heap better than he did last year, though. i guess he's every bit as good as joe gafferty. he's a regular whale on defence, isn't he? he's a queer chap, don, but a mighty nice one."
-"don," replied roy in his somewhat didactic manner, "is the sort of fellow i'd pick out to be cast away on a desert island with. he isn't so scintillant, you know, but he'd wear forever."
-"that's him to a t." tom chuckled. "they tell me harry walton is as mad as a hatter because don butted in and grabbed that position away from him. can't say i altogether blame him, either. that is, there's no use getting mad about it, but it is tough luck. harry isn't a half-bad guard, either."
-"if he can play good football," answered roy, "i'm glad to know it. i've always wondered what walton was for."
-tom laughed. "oh, he isn't so bad, i guess. his manner's against him."
-"i've noticed it," said roy drily. "also his looks and his remarks and a number of other things. larry jones says he comes from the best sort of family."
-"a fellow's family doesn't prove anything, i guess."
-"evidently not. there's the whistle. let's go back." presently roy added, as they headed for torrence: "i can quite understand why walton's family sent him to school."
-"why they sent him to school?" repeated tom questioningly.
-"yes, it was to get rid of him."
-"you've certainly got your little hammer with you," said tom, with a smile. "what's harry done to you?"
-"oh, that's all right," replied tom, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "fellows can think what they like about me. i don't blame them. but you can't expect me to like it!"
-"i know, tom, but they don't feel that way now. it was just for a day or two. i've heard a lot of fellows say lately that it's nonsense blaming you, tom. so come out of your shell, like a sensible chap, and show that you don't feel any--any ill-will."
-"well, i don't, i suppose. as for coming out of my shell, i'll be crawling out pretty soon. don't bother about me, roy. i'm feeling fine. so long."
-perhaps what tom really meant was that he was feeling a whole lot better than he had a few days before, for he certainly had not become quite reconciled to the loss of his position with the team. he was getting used to the idea, but he wasn't happy over it. when he squarely faced the fact that when claflin came trotting onto the field on the twentieth he would be sitting in the grand stand instead of being out there in togs, his heart sank miserably and he hardly knew whether he wanted to kick something or get off in a corner and cry. at such moments the question of whether his school fellows liked him or detested him bothered little. if he could only play against claflin, he assured himself, the school might hate him to its heart's content!
-going on to billings and his room, he considered what roy had told him of the altered sentiment toward him, but somehow he didn't seem to care so much today. watching practice had brought back the smart, and being liked or disliked seemed a little thing beside the bigger trouble. still, he thought, if roy was right perhaps he had better meet fellows half-way. there was no use in being a grouch. as a starter and in order to test the accuracy of roy's statement, he decided that he would drop in on carl bennett, who roomed in number 3. bennett was a chap he rather respected and, while they had never been very close friends, tom had seen a good deal of the other during the fall. but bennett was not in and tom was making his way back to the stairs when the door of number 6 opened and harry walton came out. perhaps it was roy's dressing-down of that youth that prompted tom to be more decent to him than usual. at all events, tom stopped and hailed him and they conversed together on their way up the stairs. it wasn't until later that tom, recalling harry's grudge against don, wondered what had taken him to the latter's room. then he concluded that harry had probably been calling on tim, and thought no more of it. just now he asked harry how he was getting on with the team and was a little puzzled when harry replied: "all right, i guess. of course, gilbert's got the call right now, but i'm going to beat him out before the big game. did you see practice today?"
-"yes. you fellows put up a great game, harry."
-"i didn't get into it for more than ten minutes. robey's playing don gilbert for all he knows." harry laughed disagreeably. "robey's a bit of a fox."
-"how's that!" tom inquired.
-"oh, he's sort of keeping me guessing, you see. thinks i'll get worried and dig harder."
-"huh. i see. you seem mighty certain of that place, harry."
-as a matter of fact, harry hadn't been calling on anyone in number 6 for the simple reason that he had found no one at home. moreover, he had expected to find no one, for he had left tim at the gymnasium and seen don and harry westcott sitting in the window of the latter's room in torrence as he passed. what he had done was leave a hastily scrawled note for don on the table in there, a note which don discovered an hour later and which at once puzzled and disturbed him.
-"come up and see me after supper will you," the note read, with a superb disdain of punctuation, "i want to see you. important. h. walton."
-"what's he want to see you about?" asked tim when don tossed the note to him to read.
-"i don't know." don frowned thoughtfully.
-"i hope he isn't going to make trouble about that old business."
-"what old business?" asked tim carelessly, more interested in a set of bruised knuckles than anything else just then.
-"why, you know harry saw us climbing in the window that night."
-"saw us climb--well, what of it? that was years ago. why should he want to make trouble about that? and how could he do it? i'd like to see him start anything with me."
-"oh, well, i just happened to think of that."
-"more likely he's going to ask you to break a leg or something so he can get your place," chuckled tim. "don't you do it, don, if he does. it doesn't pay to be too obliging. ready for eats?"
-"in a minute." don dropped the note and began his toilet, but he didn't speak again until they were on their way down the stairs. then: "if it should be that," he remarked, "i wouldn't know whether to punch his head or laugh at him."
-"don't take any chances," advised tim grimly. "punch his head. better still, bring the glad tidings to me and let me do it. why, if that idiot threatened to open his face about us i'd give him such a walloping that his own folks wouldn't recognise the remnants! gee, but i'm hungry tonight! toddle along faster and let's get there before rollins and holt and the rest swipe all the grub."
-don sought harry walton's room soon after supper was over and found neither harry nor his room-mate, jim rose, at home. he lighted the droplight, found a magazine several months old and sat down to wait. he had, however, scarcely got into a story before harry appeared.
-"hello," greeted the latter. "sorry i was late. had to stop at the library for a book." in proof of it he tossed a volume to the table. "i asked you to come up here, gilbert, because i have a proposition to make and i thought you wouldn't want anyone around." harry seated himself, took one knee into his clasped hands and smiled at the visitor. it was a peculiarly unattractive smile, don decided.
-"proposition?" don frowned perplexedly. "what sort of a proposition, walton?"
-"well, i'll tell you. it's like this, gilbert. you see, old man, you and i are fighting like the mischief for the left guard position and so far it's about nip-and-tuck, isn't it?"
-don viewed the speaker with some surprise. "is it?" he asked. "i thought i had rather the best of it, walton."
-harry smiled and shrugged. "that's only robey's foxiness. i'm not saying he might not pick you for the place in the end, of course, but i stand just as good a show. robey doesn't like to show his hand. he likes to keep you guessing. i'm willing to bet that if nothing happened he'd drop you next week and stick me in there. of course you might get in for awhile in the claflin game, if i got hurt, but i wouldn't advise you to bank much on that because i'm rather lucky about not getting hurt. honestly, gilbert, i don't really think you've got much of a chance of final selection."
-don observed his host's countenance with some bewilderment. "well," he said at last, "that may be so or not. what is it you want me to do?"
-"i'll tell you." harry tried hard to look ingenuous, but only succeeded in grinning like a catfish. "it's this way. my folks are coming up for the claflin game; father and mother and kid brother, you know. well, naturally, i'd like to have them see me play. they think i'm going to, of course, because i've mentioned it once or twice in my letters. i'd feel pretty cheap if they came up here and watched me sitting on the bench all through the game. see what i mean, old man?"
-don nodded and waited.
-"well, so i thought that as your chance is pretty slim anyway maybe you wouldn't mind dropping out. i wouldn't ask you to if i really thought you had much chance, you know, gilbert."
-"oh! that's it? well, i'm sorry if you're folks are going to be disappointed, walton, but i don't feel quite like playing the goat on that account. you might just write them and sort of prepare them for the shock, mightn't you? tell them there's a bare chance that you won't get into the fracas, you know. i would. it would soften the blow for them, walton."
-walton scowled. "don't be funny," he said shortly. "i've given you the chance to drop out gracefully, gilbert, and you're a fool not to take it."
-"but why should i drop out! don't you suppose i want to play in the claflin game just as much as you do?"
-"perhaps you do, but you won't play in it any way you figure it. if you don't quit willingly you'll quit the other way. i'm giving you a fair chance, that's all. you've only got to make believe you're sick or play sort of rottenly a couple of times. that will do the trick for you and there won't be any other trouble."
-"say, what are you hinting at?" demanded don quietly. "what have you got up your sleeve?"
-"plenty, gilbert. i've got enough up my sleeve to get you fired from school."
-there was a moment of silence. then don nodded thoughtfully. "so that's it, is it?" he murmured.
-"that's it, old man." harry grinned. "think it over now."
-"what do you think you've got on me?" asked don.
-"i don't think. i know that you and three other fellows helped put out that fire that night and that you didn't get back to hall until long after ten-thirty." harry dropped his knee, thrust his hands into his pockets, leaned back in his chair and viewed don triumphantly. "i don't want to go to faculty with it, gilbert, although it's really my duty and i certainly shall if you force me."
-"hm," mused don. "but wouldn't faculty wonder why you'd been so long about it?"
-"probably. i'd have to tell the truth and----"
-"i guess that would hurt," interpolated the other drily.
-"and explain that i'd tried to shield you fellows, but that my conscience had finally prevailed." and harry grinned broadly. "josh wouldn't like it, but he wouldn't do anything to me. what he'd do to you, though, would be a plenty, gilbert. it would be expulsion, and you know that as well as i do."
-"yes, i do." don dropped his gaze to his hands and was silent a moment. then: "of course you've thought of what it would mean to you, walton? i wouldn't be likely to keep you out of it, you know."
-harry shrugged. "fellows might talk some, but i'd only be doing my duty. as long as my conscience was clear----"
-"you're a dirty pup, walton," said don, "and if i wasn't afraid of getting the mange i'd give you the beating you deserve."
-"calling names won't get you anything, gilbert. i'm not afraid of anything you could do to me, anyway. i may be a pup, but i'm where i can make you sit up and beg, and i'm going to do it."
-"you think you are," said don contemptuously. "let me tell you now that i'd rather be fired a dozen times than make any bargains with a common skunk like you!"
-"that means you want me to go ahead and tell josh, does it?"
-"what fellows say or think won't hurt me a mite, thank you, and i'm not afraid of you or any of your friends, gilbert. wait a minute now. we're not through yet."
-"i am, thanks," replied don, moving toward the door.
-"oh, no you're not. you may feel heroic and all that and too mad to give in just now, but you're not considering what it will mean if you make me squeal to faculty. why, we wouldn't have a ghost of a show with claflin!"
-"i thought you considered yourself quite as good a guard as me, walton," answered don.
-"i do, old man. but i don't think i'm able to take the places of all the other fellows who would be missing from the team."
-don turned, with his hand on the door-knob, and stared startledly. "what do you mean by that?" he asked.
-"i thought that would fetch you," chuckled harry. "i mean that you're not the only one who would quit the dear old school, gilbert. you haven't forgotten, i suppose, that there were three other fellows mixed up in the business?"
-"no, but faculty would have to know more than i'd tell them before they'd find out who the others were."
-"oh, you wouldn't have to tell them, old man."
-"meaning you would? you don't know, walton."
-"don't i, though? you bet i do! i know every last one of them!"
-"you told me----"
-"oh, i let you think i didn't, gilbert. no use telling everything you know."
-"i don't believe it!" but, in spite of the statement, don did believe it and was trying to realise what it meant. .
-"don't be a fool! why wouldn't i know? if i could see you why couldn't i see clint thayer and tim otis and tom hall? you were all as plain as daylight. of course, tom's out of it, anyway, but i guess losing a left tackle and a right half-back a week before the game would put rather a dent in our chances, what? and that's just what will happen if you make me go to josh with the story!"
-"you wouldn't!" challenged don, but there was scant conviction in his tone. harry shrugged his shoulders.
-"oh, i'd rather not. i don't want to play on a losing team, and that's what i'd be doing, but you see i've sort of set my heart on playing right guard a week from saturday, gilbert, and i hate to be disappointed. hate to disappoint my folks, too."
-"they must be proud of you!"
-"they are, take it from me." harry's smile vanished and he looked ugly as he went on. "don't be a fool, gilbert! you'd do the same thing yourself if you had the chance. you're playing the hypocrite, and you know it. i've got you dead to rights and i mean to make the most of it. if you don't get off the team inside of two days i'll go to josh and tell him everything i know. it isn't pretty, maybe, but it's playing your hand for what there is in it, and that's my way! now you sit down again and just think it all over, gilbert. take all the time you want. and remember this, too. if i keep my mouth shut you've got to keep yours shut. no blabbing to tim otis or clint thayer or anyone else. this is just between you and me, old man. now what do you say?"
-"the thing's as crazy as it is rotten, walton! how am i to get off the team without having it look funny?"
-"and how much do i care whether it looks funny or not? that's up to you. you can play sick or you can get out there and mix your signals a few times or you can bite robey in the leg. i don't give a hang what you do so long as you do it, and do it between now and saturday. that's right, sit down and look at it sensibly. mull it over awhile. there's no hurry."
-don visits the doctor
-"what did walton want of you?" asked tim a half-hour later, when the occupants of number 6 were settled at opposite sides of the table for study.
-"walton?" repeated don vaguely. "oh, nothing especial."
-"nothing especial? then why the mysterious summons? did he make any crack about that little escapade of ours?"
-"he mentioned it. shut up and let me get to work, tim."
-"mentioned it how? what did he say? any chance of beating him up? i've always had a longing, away down deep inside me, donald, to place my fist violently against some portion of walton's--er--facial contour. say, that's good, isn't it? facial contour's decidedly good, don."
-"fine," responded the other listlessly.
-tim peered across at him under the droplight. "say, you look as if you'd lost a dozen dear friends. anything wrong? look here, has walton been acting nasty?"
-"don't be a chump, tim. i'm all right. or, anyway, i'm only sort of--sort of tired. dry up and let me stuff."
-"oh, very well, but you needn't be so haughty about it. i don't want to share your secrets with dear harry. everyone to his taste, as the old lady said when she kissed the cow."
-tim's sarcasm, however, brought no response, and presently, after growling a little while he pawed his books over and dropped the subject, to don's relief, and silence fell. don made a fine pretence of studying, but most of the time he couldn't have told what book lay before him. when the hour was up tim, who had by then returned to his usual condition of cheerful good nature, tried to induce don to go over to hensey to call on larry jones, who, it seemed, had perfected a most novel and marvellous trick with a ruler and two glasses of water. but don refused to be enticed and tim went off alone, gravely cautioning his room-mate against melancholia.
-"try to keep your mind off your troubles, donald. think of bright and happy things, like me or the pretty birds. remember that nothing is ever quite as bad as we think it is, that every line has a silver clouding and that--that it's always dawnest before the dark. farewell, you old grouch!"
-don didn't have to pretend very hard the next day that he was feeling ill, for an almost sleepless night, spent in trying to find some way out of his difficulties, had left him hollow-eyed and pale. breakfast had been a farce and dinner a mere empty pretence, and between the two meals he had fared illy in classes. it was scarcely more than an exaggeration to tell coach robey that he didn't feel well enough to play, and the coach readily believed him and gave him over to the mercies of danny moore.
-the trainer tried hard to get don to enumerate some tangible symptoms, but don could only repeat that he was dreadfully tired and out of sorts. "eat anything that didn't agree with you?" asked danny.
-"no, i didn't eat much of anything. i didn't have any appetite."
-don took the tonic--when he thought of it--ate a fair supper and went early to bed, not so much in the hope of curing his ailment as because he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. he slept pretty well, but was dimly conscious of waking frequently during the night, and when morning came felt fully as tired as when he had retired. breakfast was beyond him, although mr. robey, his attention drawn to don by harry walton's innocent "you're looking pretty bum, gilbert," counselled soft boiled eggs and hot milk. don dallied with the eggs and drank part of the milk and was glad to escape as soon as he could.
-danny gave him a very thorough inspection in the rubbing room after breakfast, but could find nothing wrong. "sure, you're as sound as colin meagher's fiddle, me boy. where is it it hurts ye?"
-"it doesn't hurt anywhere, danny," responded don. "i'm all right, i suppose, only i don't feel--don't feel very fit."
-"a bit fine, you are, and i'm thinking you'd better lay off the work for today. be outdoors as much as you can, but don't be tiring yourself out. have you taken the tonic like i told ye?"
-"i've taken enough of the beastly stuff," answered don listlessly.
-"oh, i'm all right, danny, thanks. maybe if i rest off today i'll be fine tomorrow."
-"that's what i'm tellin' you. see that ye do it."
-that afternoon he watched practice from the bench without getting into togs and saw harry walton play at left guard. he would much rather have remained away from the field, but to have done so might, he thought, have looked queer. coach robey was solicitous about him, but apparently did not take his indisposition very seriously. "'take it easy, gilbert," he said, "and don't worry. you'll be all right for tomorrow, i guess. you've been working pretty hard, my boy. better pull a blanket over your shoulders. this breeze is rather biting. can't have you laid up for long, you know."
-harry walton performed well that afternoon, playing with a vim and dash that was something of a revelation to his team-mates. tim was evidently troubled when he walked back to hall with don after practice. "for the love of mud, don," he pleaded, "get over it and come back! did you see the way walton played today? if he gets in tomorrow and plays like that against chambers robey'll be handing him the place! what the dickens is wrong with you, anyway?"
-"i'm just tired," responded don.
-"tired!" tim was puzzled. "what for? you haven't worked since day before yesterday. what you've got is malaria or something. tell you what we'll do, don; we'll beat it over to the doctor's after supper, eh?"
-but don shook his head. "danny's tonic is all i need," he said. "i dare say i'll be feeling great in the morning."
-"you dare say you will! don't you feel sure you will? because i've got to tell you, donald, that this is a plaguy bad time to get laid off, son. if you're not a regular little bright eyes by monday robey'll can you as sure as shooting!"
-"i wouldn't much care if he did," muttered don.
-"you wouldn't much---- say, are you crazy?" tim stopped short on the walk and viewed his chum in amazement. "is it your brain that's gone back on you? don't you want to play against claflin?"
-"i suppose so. yes, of course i do, but----"
-"then don't talk like a piece of cheese! you'll come with me to the doctor after supper if i have to drag you there by one heel!"
-and so go he did, and the doctor looked at his tongue and felt his pulse and "pawed him over," as don put it, and ended by patting him on the back and accepting a nice bright half-dollar--half-price to academy students--in exchange for a prescription.
-"you're a little nervous," said the doctor. "thinking too much about that football game, i guess. don't do it. put it out of your mind. take that medicine every two hours according to directions on the bottle and you'll be all right, my boy."
-don thanked him, slipped the prescription in a pocket and headed for school. but tim grabbed him and faced him about. "you don't swallow the prescription, donald," he said. "you take it to a druggist and he gives you something in a bottle. that's what you swallow, the stuff in the bottle. i'm not saying that it mightn't do you just as much good to eat the paper, but we'd better play by the rules. so come on, you lunk-head."
-"oh, i forgot," murmured don.
-"of course you did," agreed the other sarcastically. "and, look here, if anyone asks you your name, it's donald croft gilbert. think you can remember that? donald croft----"
-"oh, dry up," said don. "how much will this fool medicine cost me?"
-"how much have you got?"
-"about eighty cents, i think."
-"it'll cost you eighty cents, then. ask me something easier. i don't pretend to know how druggists do it, but they can always look right through your clothes and count your money. never knew it to fail!"
-but it failed this time, or else the druggist counted wrong, for the prescription was a dollar and tim had to make up the balance. he insisted on don taking the first dose then and there, so that he could get in another before bedtime, and don meekly obeyed. after he had swallowed it he begged a glass of soda water from the druggist to take the taste out of his mouth, and the druggist, doubtless realising the demands of the occasion, stood treat to them both. on the way back tim figured it that if they had only insisted on having ice-cream sodas they would have reduced the price of the medicine to its rightful cost. don, though, firmly insisted that it was worth every cent of what he had paid for it.
-"no one," he said convincedly, "could get that much nastiness into a small bottle for less than a dollar!"
-dropped from the team
-whether owing to danny moore's tonic, the doctor's prescription or a good night's rest, don awoke the next morning feeling perfectly well physically, and his first waking moments were cheered by the knowledge. then, however, recollection of the fact that physical well-being was exactly what wasn't required under the circumstances brought quick reaction, and he jumped out of bed to look at himself in the mirror above his dresser in the hope of finding pale cheeks and hollow eyes and similar evidences of impending dissolution. but fate had played a sorry trick on him! his cheeks were not in the least pale, nor were his eyes sunken. in short, he looked particularly healthy, and if other evidence of the fact was needed it was supplied by tim. tim, when don turned regretfully away from the glass, was sitting up and observing him with pleased relief.
-"ata boy!" exclaimed tim. "feeling fine and dandy, aren't you? i guess that medicine was cheap at the price, after all! you look about a hundred per cent better than you did yesterday, donald."
-don started to smile, caught himself in time and drew a long sigh. "you can't always tell by a fellow's looks how he's really feeling," he replied darkly.
-"oh, run away and play! what's the matter with you? you've got colour in your face and look great."
-"too much colour, i'm afraid," said don, shaking his head pessimistically. "i guess--i guess i've got a little fever."
-tim stared at him puzzledly. "fever? what for? i mean---- say, are you fooling?"
-"no. my face is sort of hot, honest, tim." and so it was, possibly the consciousness of fibbing and the difficulty of doing it successfully was responsible for the flush. tim pushed his legs out of bed and viewed his friend disgustedly.
-"don, you're getting to be one of those kleptomaniacs--no, that isn't it! what's the word? hydrochondriacs, isn't it? anyway, whatever it is, you're it! you've got so you imagine you're sick when you aren't. forget it, donald, and cheer up!"
-"oh, i'll be all right, thanks," responded the other dolefully. "i guess i'm lots better than i was."
-"of course you are! why, hang it, man, you've simply got to be o. k. today! if you're not robey'll can you as sure as shooting! smile for the gentleman, don, and then get a move on and come to breakfast."
-"i don't think i want any breakfast, thanks."
-"you will when you smell it. want me to start the water for you?"
-"if i was a hydrochondriac i wouldn't want any water, would i?"
-"hypochondriac's what i meant, i guess. hurry up before the mob gets there."
-tim struggled into his bath-robe and pattered off down the corridor, leaving don to follow at his leisure. but, instead of following, don seated himself on the edge of his bed and viewed life gloomily. if tim refused to believe in his illness, how was he to convince coach robey of it? he might, he reflected, rub talcum on his face, but he was afraid that wouldn't deceive anyone, the coach least of all. and, according to his bargain with harry walton, he must sever his connection with the team today. if he didn't walton would go to the principal and tell what he had witnessed from his window that saturday night, and not only he, but tim and clint as well, would suffer. and, still worse, the team would be beaten by claflin as surely as--as tim was shouting to him from the bathroom! he got up and donned his bath-robe and set off down the corridor with lagging feet, so wretched in mind by this time that it required no great effort of imagination to believe himself ailing in body.
-to his surprise--and rather to his disgust--he found himself intensely hungry at breakfast and it was all he could do to refuse the steak and baked potato set before him. under the appraising eye of mr. robey, he drank a glass of milk and nibbled at a piece of toast, his very soul longing for that steak and a couple of soft eggs! afterward, when he reported to danny, the trainer produced fresh discouragement in him.
-"fine, me boy!" declared the trainer. "you're as good as ever, aren't you? keep in the air all you can and go light with the dinner."
-"i--i don't feel very fit," muttered don.
-"get along with you! you're the picture of health! don't be saying anything like that to mr. robey, or he might believe it and bench you. run along now and mind what i tell you. game's at two-fifteen today."
-it was fortunate that don had but two recitations that morning, for he was in no condition for such unimportant things. his mind was too full of what was before him. at dinner it was easy enough to obey danny's command and eat lightly, for he was far too worried to want food. the noon meal was eaten early in order that the players might have an hour for digestion before they went to the field. chambers came swinging up to the school at half-past one, in all the carriages to be found at the station, while her supporters trailed after on foot. the stands filled early and, by the time the chambers warriors trotted on to the gridiron for their practice, looked gay and colourful with waving pennants.
-don kept close to tim from the time dinner was over until they reached the locker-room in the gymnasium. tim was puzzled and disgusted over his chum's behaviour and secretly began to think that perhaps, after all, he was not in the condition his appearance told him to be. don listlessly dragged his playing togs on and was dressed by the time coach robey came in. he hoped that the coach would give him his opportunity then to declare his unfitness for work, but mr. robey paid no attention to him. he said the usual few words of admonition to the players, conferred with manager morton and the trainer and disappeared again. captain edwards led the way out of the building at a few minutes before two and they jogged down to the field and, heralded by a long cheer from the stand, took their places on the benches. it was a fine day for football, bright and windless and with a true november nip in the air.
-chambers yielded half the gridiron and coach robey approached the bench. "all right, first and second squads," he said cheerfully. "try your signals out, but take it easy. rollins, you'd better try a half-dozen goals. martin, too. how about you, gilbert? you feeling all right?"
-don felt the colour seeping out of his cheeks as the coach turned toward him, and there was an instant of silence before he replied with lowered eyes.
-"n-no, sir, i'm not feeling very--very fit. i'm sorry."
-"you're not?" mr. robey's voice had an edge. "danny says you're perfectly fit. what's wrong?"
-"i--i don't know, sir. i don't feel--well."
-a number of the players still within hearing turned to listen. mr. robey viewed don with a puzzled frown. then he shrugged impatiently.
-"you know best, of course," he said shortly, "but if you don't work today, gilbert, you're plumb out of it. i can't keep your place open for you forever, you know. what do you say? want to try it?"
-"i don't think it would be any good, sir," replied don huskily. "i--i'm not feeling very well."
-there was a long silence. then mr. robey's voice came to him as cold as ice. "very well, gilbert, clean your locker out and hand in your things to the trainer. walton!"
-"go in at left guard on the first squad." mr. robey turned again to don. "gilbert," he said very quietly, "i don't understand you. you are perfectly able to play, and you know it. the only explanation that occurs to me is that you're in a funk. if that's so it is a fortunate thing for all of us that we've discovered it now instead of later. there's no place on this team, my boy, for a quitter."
-coach and players turned away, leaving don standing alone there before the bench. miserably he groped his way to it and sat down with hanging head. his eyes were wet and he was horribly afraid that someone would see it. a hand fell on his shoulder and he glanced up into tim's troubled face.
-"i heard, don," said tim. "i'm frightfully sorry, old man. are you sure you can't do it!"
-don shook his head silently. tim sighed.
-"gee, it's rotten, ain't it? maybe he didn't mean what he said, though. maybe, if you're all right monday, he'll give you another chance. i'm--i'm beastly sorry, don!"
-the hand on his shoulder pressed reassuringly and drew away and tim hurried out to his place. presently don took a deep breath, got to his feet and, trying his hardest to look unconcerned but making sorry work of it, skirted the stand and retraced his steps to the gymnasium. his one desire was to get out of sight before any of the fellows found him, and so he pulled off his togs as quickly as he might, got into his other clothes, made a bundle of his suit and stockings and shoes and left them in the rubbing-room where danny could not fail to find them and then hurried out of the building and through the deserted yard to billings and the sunlit silence and emptiness of his room.
-there was very little consolation in the knowledge that he had done only what was right. martyrdom has its drawbacks. he had lost his position with the team and had been publicly branded a quitter. the fact that his conscience was not only clear but even approving didn't help much. being thought a quitter, a coward, hurt badly. if he could have got at harry walton any time during the ensuing half-hour it would have gone hard with that youth. after a time, though, he got command of his feelings again and, since there was nothing better to do, he seated himself at the window and watched as much of the football game as was visible from there. once or twice he was able to forget his trouble for a brief moment.
-chambers put up a good game that day and it was all the home team could do to finally win out by the score of 3 to 0. for two periods chambers had brimfield virtually on the run, and only a fine fighting spirit that flashed into evidence under the shadow of her goal saved the latter from defeat. as it was, luck took a hand in matters when a poor pass from centre killed chambers's chance of scoring by a field-goal in the second quarter.
-brimfield showed better work in the second half and twice got the ball inside the visitor's twenty-yard line, once in the third period and again shortly before the final whistle blew. the first opportunity to score was lost when carmine called for line-plunges to get the pigskin across and howard, who was playing in st. clair's position because of a slight injury to the regular left half, fumbled for a four-yard loss. chambers rallied and took the ball away a minute later. in the fourth period dazzling runs outside of tackles by tim otis and hard line-plugging by rollins and howard took the ball from brimfield's thirty-five to the enemy's twenty-five. there a forward pass grounded--chambers had a remarkable defence against that play--and, on third down, rollins slid off left tackle for enough to reach the twenty. but with only one down remaining and time nearly up, a try-at-goal was the only course left, and rollins, standing squarely on the thirty-yard line, drop-kicked a scanty victory.
-in some ways that contest was disappointing, in others encouraging. team-play was more in evidence than in any previous game and the maroon-and-grey backfield had performed prodigiously. and the plays had, as a general thing, gone off like clock-work. but there were weak places in the line still. pryme, at right guard, had proved an easy victim for the enemy and the same was true, in a lesser degree, of harry walton, on the other side of centre. and crewe, at right tackle, had allowed himself to be boxed time after time. it might be said for crewe, however, that today he was playing opposite an opponent who was more than clever. but the way in which chambers had torn holes in brimfield's first defence promised poorly for next saturday and the spectators went away from the field feeling a bit less sanguine than a week before. "no team that is weak at both guard positions can hope to win," was the general verdict, and it was fully realised that claflin's backs were better than chambers's. for a day or two there was much talk of a petition to the faculty asking for the reinstatement of tom hall, but it progressed no further than talk. josh, it was known, was not the kind to reverse his decision for any reason they could present.
-and yet, although the weekly faculty conference on monday night had no written petition to consider, the subject of tom's reinstatement did come before it and in a totally unprecedented manner.
-tim found a dejected and most unsatisfactory chum when he got back to the room after the chambers game that saturday afternoon. all of tim's demands for an explanation of the whole puzzling affair met only with evasion. don was not only uncommunicative, but a trifle short-tempered, a condition quite unusual for him. all tim could get from him was that he "felt perfectly punk" and wasn't going to try to change mr. robey's decision.
-"i'm through," he said. "i don't blame robey a bit. i'm no use on the team as i am. he'd be foolish to bother with me."
-"well, all i can say," returned tim, with a sigh of exasperation, "is that the whole thing is mighty funny. i guess there's more to it than you're telling. you look like thirty cents, all right enough, but i'll wager anything you like that you could go out there and play just as good a game as ever on monday if robey would let you and you cared to try. now couldn't you!"
-"i don't know. what does it matter, anyhow? i tell you i'm all through, and so there's no use chewing it over."
-"oh, all right. nuff said." tim walked to the window, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and, after a minute's contemplation of the darkening prospect without, observed haltingly: "look here, don. if you hear things you don't like, don't get up on your ear, eh?"
-"what sort of things?" demanded the other.
-tim hesitated a long moment before he took the plunge. then: "well, some of the fellows don't understand, don. you can't altogether blame them, i suppose. i shut two or three of them up, but there's bound to be some talk, you know. some fellows always manage to think of the meanest things possible. but what fellows like that say isn't worth bothering about. so just you sit snug, old man. they've already found that they can't say that sort of thing when i'm around."
-"thanks," said don quietly. "what sort of things do you mean?"
-"you mean that they're calling me a quitter?"
-"well, some of them heard robey get that off and they're repeating it like a lot of silly parrots. i called holt down good and hard. told him i'd punch his ugly face if he talked that way again."
-"don't bother," said don listlessly. "i guess i do look like a quitter, all right."
-"piffle! and, hang it all, robey had no business saying that, don! he couldn't really believe it."
-"why couldn't he? on the face of it, tim, i'd say that i looked a whole lot like a quitter."
-"but that's nonsense! why would you or any fellow want to quit just before the claflin game? why, all the hard work's done with, man! only a little signal practice to go through with now. why would you want to quit? it's poppycock!"
-"well, some fellows do get cold feet just before the big game. we've both known cases of it. look at----"
-"yes, i know what you're going to say, but that was different. he never had any spunk, anyway. nobody believed in him but robey, and robey was wrong, just as he is about you. anyway, all i'm trying to say is that there's no use getting waxy if some idiot shoots off his mouth. the fellows who really count don't believe you a--a quitter. and the whole business will blow over in a couple of days. look how they talked about tom at first!"
-"they didn't call him a quitter, though. they were just mad because he'd done a fool thing and lost the team. i wouldn't blame anyone for thinking me a--a coward, and i can't resent it if they say it."
-"can't, eh? well, i can!"
-don smile wanly. "thought you were telling me not to, tim."
-tim muttered. there was silence for a minute in the twilit room. then tim switched on the lights and rolled up his sleeves preparatory to washing. "the whole thing's perfectly rotten," he growled, "but we'll just have to make the best of it. ten years from now----"
-"yes, but it isn't ten years from now that troubles me," interrupted don thoughtfully. "it--it's right this minute. and tomorrow and the next day. and the day after that. i've a good mind to----"
-"to what?" demanded tim from behind his sponge.
-"nothing. i was just--thinking."
-"well, stop it, then. you weren't intended to think. you always do something silly when you get to thinking. wash up and come on to supper."
-"i'm not going over tonight," answered don. "i'm not hungry. and, anyway, i don't feel quite like facing it yet."
-"now, look here," began tim severely, "if you're going to take it like that----"
-"i'm not, i guess. only i'd rather not go to supper tonight. i am through at the training-table and i funk going back to the other table just now. besides, i'm not the least bit hungry. you run along."
-tim observed him frowningly. "well, all right. only if it was me i'd take the bull by the horns and see it through. fellows will talk more if you let them see that you give a hang."
-"they'll talk enough anyway, i dare say. a little more won't matter."
-"i just hope holt gets gay again," said tim venomously, shying the towel in the general direction of the rack and missing it by a foot. "want me to bring something over to you?"
-"no, thanks. i don't want a thing."
-"we-ell, i guess i'll beat it then." tim loitered uncertainly at the door. "i say, donald, old scout, buck up, eh?"
-"oh, yes, i'll be all right, timmy. don't you worry about me. and--and thanks, you know, for--for calling holt down."
-"oh, that!" tim chuckled. "holt wasn't the only one i called down either." then, realising that he had not helped the situation any by the remark, he tried to squirm out of it. "of course, holt was the one, you know. the others didn't really say anything, or--or mean anything----"
-don laughed. "that'll do, tim. beat it!"
-and tim, red-faced and confused, "beat it."
-for the next five minutes doors in the corridor opened and shut and footfalls sounded as the fellows hurried off to wendell. but i doubt if don heard the sounds, for he was sunk very low in the chair and his eyes were fixed intently on space. presently he drew in his legs, sat up and pulled his watch from his pocket. a moment of speculation followed. then he jumped from the chair as one whose mind is at last made up and went to his closet. from the recesses he dragged forth his bag and laid it open on his bed. from the closet hooks he took down a few garments and tossed them beside the bag and then crossed to his dresser and pulled open the drawers. don had decided to accept coach robey's title. he was going to quit!
-there was a train at six-thirty-four and another at seven-one for new york. with luck, he could get the first. if he missed that he was certain of the second. the dormitory was empty, it was quite dark outside by now and there was scarcely a chance of anyone's seeing him. if he hurried he could be at the station before tim could return from supper. or, even if he didn't get away until the seven-one train, he would be clear of the hall before tim could discover his absence and surmise the reason for it. to elude tim was the all-important thing, for tim would never approve and would put all sorts of obstacles in his way. in fact, it would be a lot like tim to hold him back by main force! don's heart sank for a moment. it was going to be frightfully hard to leave old timmy. perhaps they might meet again at college in a couple of years, but they would not be likely to see each other before that time, and even that depended on so many things that it couldn't be confidently counted on.
-don paused in his hurried selection of articles from the dresser drawers and dropped into a chair at the table. but, with the pad before him and pen in hand, he shook his head. a note would put tim wise to what was happening and perhaps allow him to get to the station in time to make a fuss. no, it would be better to write to him later; perhaps from new york tonight, for don was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to get a through train before morning. so, with another glance at his watch, he began to pack again, throwing things in every which-way in his feverish desire to complete the task and leave the building before tim got back. he came across a scarf that tim had admired and laid it back in the top drawer. it had never been worn and tim should have it. and as he hurried back and forth he thought of other things he would like tim to have. there was his tennis racket, the one tim always borrowed when don wasn't using it, and a scarf-pin made of a queer, rough nugget of opal matrix. he would tell tim he was to have those and not to pack them with the other things. the thought of making the gifts almost cheered him for awhile, and, together with the excitement of running away, caused him to hum a little tune under his breath as he jammed the last articles in the bag and snapped it shut.
-it was sixteen minutes past now. he would, he acknowledged, never be able to make the six-thirty-four, with that burden to carry. but the seven-one would do quite as well, and he wouldn't have to hurry so. in that case, then, why not leave just a few words of good-bye for tim? he could put the note somewhere where tim wouldn't find it until later; tuck it, for instance, under the bed-clothes so that he would find it when he pulled them down. he hesitated a moment and then set his bag down by the door, dropped his overcoat and umbrella on the bed and seated himself again at the table. tim was never known to take less than a half-hour for supper and he still had a good ten minutes' leeway:
-"your friend always, "don."
-that note took longer to write than he had counted on, and when he got up from the table and looked at his watch he was alarmed to find that it was almost half-past six. he folded the paper and tucked it just under the clothes at the head of tim's bed, took a last glance about the room, picked up coat and umbrella and turned out the light. then he strode toward the door, groping for his bag.
-friends fall out
-tim didn't enjoy supper very much that evening. the game had left him pretty weary of body and mind, and on top of that was don and his trouble, and try as he might he couldn't get them out of his thoughts. mr. robey was not at table; someone said he had gone to new york for over sunday; and so tim didn't have to make a pretence of eating more than he wanted. and he wanted very little. a slice of cold roast beef, rather too rare to please him, about an eighth of one of the inevitable baked potatoes, a few sips of milk and a corner of a slice of toast as hard as a shingle, and tim was more than satisfied. tonight he was not especially interested in the talk, which, as usual after a game, was all football, and didn't see any good reason for sitting there after he had finished and listening to it. all during his brief meal he was on the alert for any mention of don's name, and more than once he glared, almost encouragingly, at holt. but holt had already learned his lesson and was doing very little talking, and none at all about don. nor was the absent player's name mentioned by anyone at that table, although what might be being said of him at the other tim had no way of knowing. he stayed on a few minutes after he had finished, eyeing the apple-sauce and graham crackers coldly, and then asked steve edwards to excuse him.
-"off his feed," remarked carmine as tim passed down the dining hall on his way out. "first time i ever saw old tim have nerves."
-"it's don gilbert, probably," said clint thayer. "they're great pals. tim's worried about him, i guess."
-"what do you make of it, steve?" asked crewe, helping himself to a third slice of meat.
-"what is there to make of it?" asked steve carelessly. "the chap's all out of shape, i suppose. i don't know what his trouble is, but i guess he's a goner for this year."
-"it's awfully funny, isn't it?" asked rollins. "gilbert always struck me as an awfully plucky player."
-"has anyone said he isn't?" inquired clint quietly.
-"n-no, no, of course not!" rollins flushed. "i didn't mean anything like that, clint. only i don't see----"
-"he hasn't been looking very fit lately," offered harry walton. "i noticed it two or three days ago. too bad!"
-"yes, you're feeling perfectly wretched about it, i guess," said big thursby drily, causing a smile around the table. walton shrugged and rewarded the speaker with one of his smiles that were always unfortunately like leers.
-"oh, i can feel sorry for him," said walton, "even if i do get his place. gilbert gave me an awfully good fight for it."
-"oh, was there a fight?" asked thursby innocently. "i didn't notice any."
-thursby got a real laugh this time and harry walton joined in to save his face, but with no very good grace.
-"if anyone has an idea that don gilbert is scared and quit for that reason," observed st. clair, "he'd better keep it to himself. or, anyhow, he'd better not air it when tim is about. he nearly bit my head off in the gym because i said that don was a chump to give up like this a week before the claflin game. tim flared up like--like a gasoline torch and wanted to fight! i didn't mean a thing by my innocent remark, but i had the dickens of a time trying to prove it to tim! and he almost jumped into you, too, didn't he, holt?"
-"yes, he did, the touchy beggar! you all heard what robey said, and----"
-"i didn't hear," interrupted steve, "and----"
-"why, he said----"
-"that's so," agreed several, and others nodded, holt amongst them.
-"i didn't say he was a quitter, steve. i was only repeating what robey said, and tim happened to hear me. gee, i like don as well as any of you. gee, didn't i play a whole year with him on the second?"
-"gee, you did indeed!" replied crewe, and, laughing, the fellows pushed back their chairs and left the table.
-tim didn't hurry on his way along the walk to billings, for he was earnestly trying to think of some scheme that would take don's mind off his trouble that evening. perhaps he could get don to take a good, long walk. walking always worked wonders in his own case when, as very infrequently happened, he had a fit of the blues. yes, he would propose a walk, he told himself. and then he groaned at the thought of it, for he was very tired and he ached in a large number of places!
-the light from the corridor and the fact that don had stopped startledly at the sound of the turning knob prevented an actual collision between them. tim, pushing the door slowly shut behind him, viewed don questioningly. "hello," he said, "where are you going?"
-"for a walk," replied don.
-"why the coat and umbrella? and--oh, i see!" tim's glance took in the bag and comprehension dawned. "so that's it, eh?"
-there was an instant of silence during which tim closed the door and leaned against it, hands in pockets and a thoughtful scowl on his face. finally:
-"yes, that's it," said don defiantly. "i'm off for home."
-"what's the big idea?"
-"you know well enough, tim. i--i'm not going to stay here and be--be pointed out as a quitter. i'm----"
-"wait a sec! what are you doing now but quitting, you several sorts of a blind mule? think you're helping things any by--by running away? don't be a chump, donald."
-"that's all well enough for you. it isn't your funeral. i don't care what they say about me if i don't have to hear it. i'm sorry, tim, but--but i've just got to do it. i--there's a note for you in your bed. i didn't expect you'd be back before i left."
-"i'll bet you didn't, son!" said tim grimly. "now let me tell you something, don. you're acting like a baby, that's what you're doing! it's all fine enough to say that you don't care what fellows say as long as you don't hear it, but you don't mean it, don. you would care. and so would i. if you don't want them to think you a quitter, for the love of mud don't run away like--like one!"
-"i've thought of all that, tim, but it's the only thing to do."
-"the only thing to do, your grandmother! the thing to do is to stick around and show folks that you're not a quitter. don't you see that getting out is the one thing that'll make them believe robey was right?"
-"oh, i dare say, but i've made up my mind, tim. i'm going to get that seven-one train, old man, and i'll have to beat it. if you want to walk along to the station with me----"
-"and carry your bag?" asked tim sweetly. he turned the key in the lock and then dropped it in his pocket. don took a stride forward, but was met by tim's challenging frown. "there's no seven-one train for you tonight, donald," said tim quietly, "nor any other night. put your bag down, old dear, and hang your overcoat back in the closet."
-"don't act like a silly ass," begged don. "put that key back and let me out, tim!"
-"yes, i will--like fun! the only way you'll get that key will be by taking it out of my pocket, and by the time you do that the seven-one train will be half-way to the city."
-"please, tim! you're not acting like a good chum! just you think----"
-"that's just what i am acting like," returned tim, stepping past the other and switching on the lights. "and you'll acknowledge it tomorrow. just now you're sort of crazy in the head. i'll humour you as much as possible, donald, but not to the extent of letting you make a perfect chump of yourself. sit down and behave."
-"tim, i want that key," said don sternly.
-tim shrugged. "can't have it, don, unless you fight for it. and i'm not sure you'd get it then. now look here----"
-"you've no right to keep me here!"
-"i don't give a hang whether i've got the right or not. you're going to stay here."
-"there are other trains," said don coldly. "you can't keep that door locked forever."
-"i don't intend to try, but it'll stay locked until the last train tonight has whistled for the crossing back there. make up your mind to that, son!"
-don looked irresolutely from tim to the door and back again. he didn't want to fight tim the least bit in the world. he wasn't so sure now that he wanted to get that train, either. but, having stated his purpose, he felt it encumbent on him to carry it out. then his gaze fell on the windows and he darted toward them.
-but tim had already thought of that way of escape and before don had traversed half the distance from door to windows tim had planted himself resolutely in the way. "no you don't, donald," he said calmly. "you'll have to lick me first, boy, and i'm feeling quite some scrappy!"
-"i don't want to lick you," said don irritably, "but i mean to get that train. you'd better either give up that key or stand out of my way, tim."
-"will you unlock that door?" demanded don angrily.
-"no, confound you, i won't!"
-"then i'm going out by the window!"
-"and i say you're not." tim swiftly peeled off his coat. "anyway, not in time to get that train."
-don dropped his bag to the floor and tossed overcoat and umbrella on his bed. "i've given you fair warning, tim," he said in a low voice. "i don't want to hurt you, but you'd better stand aside."
-"i don't want to get hurt, don," replied the other quietly, "but if you insist, all right. i'm doing what i'd want you to do, don, if i went crazy in the head. you may not like it now, but some day you'll tell me i did right."
-"you're acting like a fool," answered don hotly. "it's no business of yours if i want to get out of here. now you let me pass, or it'll be the worse for you!"
-"don, will you listen to reason? sit down calmly for five minutes and let's talk this thing over. will you do that?"
-"no! and i won't be dictated to by you, tim otis! now get out of the way!"
-"you'll have to put me out," answered tim with set jaw. "and you're going to find that hard work, donald. we're both going to get horribly mussed up, and----"
-but tim didn't finish his remark, for at that instant don rushed him. tim met the onslaught squarely and in a second they were struggling silently. no blows were struck. don was bent only on getting the other out of the way and making his escape through the open window there, while tim was equally resolved that he should do nothing of the sort. in spite of don's superior weight, the two boys were fairly equally matched, and for a minute or two they strained and tussled without advantage to either. then tim, his arms wrapped around don's body like iron bands, forced the latter back a step and against a chair which went crashing to the floor. don tore at the encircling arms, panting.
-"i don't--want to--hurt you," he muttered, "but--i will--if you don't--let go!"
-"let go or i'll punch you, tim," he panted.
-don strained until he felt tim's other hand giving, and then, with a sudden fling of his body, rolled clear and jumped to his feet. but tim was only an instant behind him and, panting and dishevelled, the two boys confronted each other, silent.
-"i'm going out there," said don after a moment.
-tim only shook his head and smiled crookedly.
-"i am, tim, and--and you mustn't try to stop me this time!"
-"i've--got to, don!"
-"i'm giving you fair warning!"
-don took a deeper breath and stepped forward. "don't touch me!" he warned. but tim was once more in his path, hands stretched to clutch and hold. "out of my way, tim! fair warning!" don's face was white and his eyes blazing.
-"no!" whispered tim, and crouched.
-then don went on again. tim threw himself in the way, a fist shot out and tim, with a grunt, went back against the pillows and slipped heavily to the floor.
-don's hands fell to his sides and he stared bewilderedly. then, with a groan, he dropped to his knees and raised tim's head from the floor. "gee, but i'm sorry, timmy!" he stammered. "i didn't mean to do it, honest! i was crazy, i guess! timmy, are you all right!"
-tim's eyes, half-closed, fluttered, he drew a deep breath and his head rolled over against don's arm.
-"timmy!" cried don anxiously. "timmy! don't you hear me! i didn't hit you awfully hard, timmy!"
-tim sighed. "what--time is it?" he murmured.
-"time? never mind the time. are you all right, tim?"
-tim opened his eyes and grinned weakly. "hear the birdies sing, don! it was a lovely punch! help me up, will you?"
-don lifted him to the window-seat. "i'm horribly sorry, tim," he said abjectedly. "i--i didn't know what i was doing, chum! i wish--i wish you'd hand me one, tim! go on, will you?"
-tim laughed weakly. "it's all right, donald. just give me a minute to get my breath. gee, things certainly spun around there for a second!"
-"where'd i hit you?"
-"right on the point of the jaw." tim felt of the place gingerly. "no harm done, though. it just sort of--jarred me a bit. what time is it?"
-don glanced at the tin alarm clock on his dresser. "ten of seven," he answered. "what's that got to do with it?"
-"well, you can't make the seven-one now, donald, unless you fly all the way, can you?"
-"oh!" said don, rather blankly. "i--i'd forgotten!"
-"good thing," muttered tim. "wish you'd forgotten before! if anyone ever tells you you're a nice good-natured, even-tempered chap, don, don't you believe him. you send 'em to me!"
-"i didn't know i could lose my temper like that," replied the other shamefacedly. "timmy, i'm most awfully sorry about it. you believe that, don't you?"
-"sure!" tim laughed. "but i'll bet you're not half as sorry as you would have been tomorrow if i'd let you go! don, you're an awful ass, now aren't you?"
-don nodded. "i guess i am, timmy. and you're a--a brick, old man!"
-"huh! any more trains to new york tonight?"
-"there's one at twelve-something," answered don, with a grin.
-"thinking of catching it?"
-"not a bit!"
-"all right then." tim dug in his pocket and then tossed the door-key beside him on the cushion. "better unpack your bag, you silly ass. then we'll go out and get some air. i sort of need it!"
-some three hours later tim, tossing back his bed-clothes, exclaimed: "hello! what have we here?"
-"that's just a note i wrote you," said don hurriedly. "hand it here, tim."
-"i should say not! i'm going to read it!"
-"no, please, tim! it's just about two or three things i was going to leave you! hand it over, like a good chap!"
-"something you were going to leave me?" said tim as he let don wrest the sheet of paper from him. "oh, i see. well,"--he felt carefully of the lump on his chin--"i guess you left me enough as it is, dearie!"
-amy appears for the defence
-don and tim went up to number 12 that night after supper to call on tom hall. tim was having hard work making don face the music. if don could have had his way he would have kept to himself, but tim insisted on dragging him around. "just keep a firm upper lip, donald," he counselled, "and show the fellows that there's nothing in it. that's the only way to do. if you keep skulking off by yourself they'll think you're ashamed."
-"so i am," muttered don.
-"you're not, either! you've done nothing to be ashamed of! keep that in mind, you silly it. now come along and we'll go up and jolly tom a bit."
-steve edwards was not at home, but amy byrd was enthroned on the window-seat when they entered in response to tom's invitation, and amy had evidently been holding forth very seriously on some subject.
-"don't mind us," said tim. "go ahead, amy, and get it off your chest."
-"hello," said amy. "hello, don, old man. haven't seen you for an age. make yourselves at home. never mind tom, he's only the host. how did you like the practice today, tim?"
-"i didn't see it, but i heard enough about it. it must have been fierce!"
-"it was perfectly punk," growled tom. "i should think robey would want to throw up his hands and quit!"
-"did you see it, don?" asked amy.
-"no, i didn't go over. what was the trouble?"
-"oh, we're going to get a fine old drubbing next saturday," said tom pessimistically. "and what a fine exhibition for that chap proctor! i'll bet robey could have kicked the whole team all the way back to the gym. he looked as though it would have done him a world of good to have a try at it!"
-"slump be blowed!" said tom. "this is a fine time to slump, five days before the game!"
-"i know that, too, but there's no use howling about it. what we need, tom, is to have you get back there at right guard, old man."
-"that's what i've been saying," exclaimed amy earnestly. "i want tom to go to josh and ask him to let him play, but he won't. says it wouldn't be any good. you don't know whether it would or not, tom, until you try it. look here, josh doesn't want us to get beaten saturday any more than we want it ourselves, and if you sort of put it up to him like that----"
-"i'd look well, wouldn't i?" laughed tom. "telling josh that unless he let me off pro the team would get licked! gee, that's some modest, isn't it?"
-"you don't have to put it like that," replied amy impatiently. "be--be diplomatic. tell him----"
-"what we ought to do," interrupted tim, "is get up a petition and have everyone sign it."
-"i thought of that, too," said amy, "but this dunder-headed turk won't stand for even that."
-"why not, tom?" asked don.
-"and after that?" asked amy sweetly.
-"well, look here, you chaps." tom scowled intently for a moment. "look here. it's this way. josh put a bunch of us on pro, didn't he? well, what right have i to go and ask to be let off just because i happen to be a football man? you don't suppose those other fellows like it any better than i do, do you?"
-"oh, forget that! i'm one of them, and i'm having the time of my life. it's been the making of me, tom. i'm getting so blamed full of learning that i'll be able to loaf all the rest of the year; live on my income, so to say." and amy beamed proudly.
-"that's all right," answered tom doggedly, "but i don't intend to cry-baby. i'm just as much in it as any of you. if josh wants to let us all off, all right, but i'm not going to ask for a--a special dispensation!"
-"you don't need to," said tim. "let the fellows do it. that has nothing to do with you. what's to keep us from going ahead and getting up a petition?"
-"because i ask you not to," replied tom simply. "it's only fair that we should all be punished alike."
-"but you're not," said don.
-"we're not? why aren't we?" asked tom in surprise.
-"because you're getting it harder than amy and harry westcott and the others," answered don quietly. "they aren't barred from any sport, and you are."
-"by jove, that's a fact!" exclaimed amy.
-"but--but we all got the same sentence," protested tom.
-"i know you did, but"--don smiled--"put it like this. i hate parsnips; can't bear them. suppose you and i were punished for something we'd done by being made to eat parsnips three times a day for--for a month! you like them, don't you? well, who'd get the worst of that? the sentence would be the same, but the--the punishment would be a heap worse for me, wouldn't it?"
-"'father was right'!" said tim.
-"oh, father never spoke a truer word!" cried amy, jumping up from the window-seat. "that settles it, tom! get some paper, tim, and we'll write that petition this minute and i'll guarantee to get fifty signatures before ten o'clock!"
-"you'll do nothing of the sort," said tom stubbornly. "don talks like a lawyer, all right, but he's all wrong. and, anyway, i'm out of football and i'm going to stay out for this year. i've quit training and i probably couldn't play if josh said i might. so that----"
-"oh, piffle," said amy. "quit training! everyone knows you never quit training, tom. you could go out there tomorrow and play as good a game as you ever did. don't talk like a sick duck!"
-"there's no reason why i should play, though. pryme's putting up a bully game----"
-"pryme is doing the best he knows how," said tim, "but pryme can't play guard as you can, tom, and he never will, and you know it! now have a grain of sense, won't you? just sit tight and let us put this thing through. there isn't a fellow in school who won't be tickled to death to sign that petition, and i'll bet you anything you like that josh will be just as tickled to say yes to it. whatever you say about josh fernald, you've got to hand it to him for being fair and square, tom."
-"josh is all right, sure. i haven't said anything against him, have i? but i won't stand for any petition, fellows, so you might as well get that out of your heads. besides, my being on the team or off it isn't going to make a half of one per cent's difference next saturday."
-there was silence in the room for a moment. then amy went dejectedly back to the window-seat and threw himself on it at full length. "i think you might, tom," he said finally, "if only on my account!"
-"why on your account?" laughed tom.
-"because i'm the guy that got you all into the mess, that's why. and i've felt good and mean about it ever since. and now, when we think up a perfectly good way to--to undo the mischief i made, you act like a mule. think what a relief it would be to my conscience, tom, if you got off pro and went back and played against claflin!"
-"i don't care a continental about your conscience, amy. in fact i never knew before that you had one!"
-"what time is it?" he demanded.
-"most eight," said tim. "we'd better beat it."
-"what time----" began amy. then he stopped, pulled his cap on his head and literally hurled himself across the room and through the door, leaving the others to gaze at each other amazedly.
-"well, what's wrong with him?" gasped tim.
-"he's got something in that crazy head of his," answered tom uneasily. "don't let him start that petition business, tim, will you? i don't want to seem mean or anything, you know, but i'd rather let things be as they are. come up again, fellows. and maybe today's showing doesn't mean anything, tim, just as you said. we'll hope so, eh?"
-faculty conferences took place on monday evenings at half-past seven in the faculty meeting room in main hall. at such times, with the principal, mr. fernald, presiding at the end of the long table and all members of the faculty able to attend ranged on either side, all and sundry matters pertaining to the government of the school came up for discussion. the business portion of the conference was followed by an informal half-hour of talk, during which many of the students were subjected to a dissection that would have surprised them vastly had they known of it. tonight, however, the executive session was still going on and mr. brooke, the secretary, was still making notes at the foot of the table, when there came a rap at the door.
-mr. fernald nodded to mr. brooke. "see who it is, please," he said.
-the secretary laid down his pen very carefully on the clean square of blue blotting-paper before him, pushed back his chair and opened the door a few inches. when he turned around his countenance expressed a sort of pained disapprobation. "it's byrd, sir," announced mr. brooke in a low, shocked voice. "he says he'd like to speak to you."
-"byrd? well, tell him i'm busy," replied the principal. "if he wants to wait i'll see him after the conference. although"--mr. fernald glanced at the clock--"it's only four minutes to eight and he'd better get back to his room. tell him i'll see him at the cottage at nine, mr. brooke. as i was saying," and mr. fernald faced the company again, "i think it would be well to arrange for a longer course this winter. last year, as you'll recall---- eh? what is it?"
-"he says, sir, that it's a faculty matter," announced mr. brooke deprecatingly, "and asks to be allowed to come in for a minute."
-"a faculty matter? well, in that case----all right, mr. brooke, tell him to come in."
-as amy entered eight pairs of eyes regarded him curiously; nine, in fact, for mr. brooke, closing the door softly behind the visitor, gazed at him in questioning disapproval.
-"well, byrd, what can we do for you?" mr. fernald smiled, doubtless with the wish to dispel embarrassment. but he needn't have troubled about that, for amy didn't look or act in the least embarrassed. "i'm afraid," continued the principal, "that i can't offer you a chair, for we're rather busy just now. what was it you wanted to speak of?"
-"i guess it looks pretty cheeky, sir, for me to butt in here," replied amy, with a smile, "but it's rather important, sir, and--and if anything's to be done about it it'll have to be done tonight."
-"really? well, it does sound important. suppose you tell us about it, byrd."
-"thank you, sir." amy paused, gathering his words in order. "it's this, mr. fernald: when we fellows were put on pro--probation, i mean, it was intended that we should all get the same punishment, wasn't it, sir?"
-"let me see, that was the affair of---- ah, yes, i recall it. why, yes, byrd, naturally it was meant to treat you all alike. what complaint have you?"
-"it isn't exactly a complaint, sir. but it's this way. there were nine of us altogether. it was my fault in the first place because i put them up to it. they'd never thought of it if i hadn't." amy glanced at mr. moller. "it was a pretty silly piece of business, sir, and we got what we deserved. but--but none of us meant to--to hurt anyone's feelings, sir. it was just a lark. we didn't think that----"
-"we'll allow that, byrd. please get down to the purpose of this unusual visit," said mr. fernald drily.
-"yes, sir. well, eight of us it doesn't matter so much about. we aren't football men and being on probation doesn't cut so much--i mean it doesn't matter so much. but tom hall's a football man, sir, and it's different for him. this is his last year here and losing his place on the team was hard lines. that's what i'm trying to get at, sir. you meant that we were all to be punished the same, but we weren't. it's just about twice as hard on tom as it is on the rest of us. you see that, sir, don't you?"
-there was a moment of silence and then mr. simkins coughed. or did he chuckle? amy couldn't tell. but the principal dropped his eyes and tapped his blotter with the tip of the pencil he held. at last:
-"that's a novel point of view, byrd," he said. "there may be something in it. but i must remind you that the law--and the faculty stands for the law here--takes no cognisance of conditions existing--hem!" mr. fernald glanced doubtfully down the table. "perhaps it should, though. we'll pass that question for the moment. what is it you suggest, byrd?"
-"well, sir, the team's in punk shape. it was awful today. it needs tom, sir; needs him awfully. i don't say that we'll beat claflin if he should play, mr. fernald, but i'm mighty sure we won't if he doesn't. and it seemed to me that maybe you and the other faculty members hadn't thought of how much harder you were giving it to tom than to the rest of us, and that if you did know, realise it, sir, you'd maybe consider that he'd had about enough and let him off so he might play saturday. the rest of us haven't any kick coming, sir. it's just tom. and he doesn't know that i'm here, either. we tried to get him to let us petition faculty, but he wouldn't. he said he was going to take the same punishment as the rest of us."
-"then he doesn't agree with your contention, byrd?"
-"oh, he sees i'm right, mr. fernald, but he--he's obstinate!"
-mr. fernald smiled, as did most of the others.
-"byrd, i think you ought to take a law course," said the principal. "i might answer you as i started to by pointing out that it is no business of ours whether a punishment is going to hit one fellow harder than another; that just because it might should make that one fellow more careful not to transgress. but you've taken the wind out of my sails by getting me to testify that we intended the punishment to be the same for all. you've put us in a difficult place, byrd. if we should lift probation in hall's case it would seem that we had different laws for team members than for boys unconnected with athletics. you've made a very eloquent plea, but i don't just see----" mr. fernald hesitated. then: "possibly someone has some suggestion," he added, and it seemed to amy that his gaze rested on mr. moller for an instant.
-at all events it was the new member of the faculty who spoke. "if i might, sir," he said hesitatingly, "i'd like to make the suggestion that probation be lifted from all. it seems to me that that would--would simplify things, mr. fernald."
-"hm. yes. possibly. as the target of the extremely vulgar proceeding, mr. moller, the suggestion coming from you bears weight. byrd, you'd better get to your studies. you'll learn our decision in the morning. your action is commendable, my boy, and we'll take that into consideration also. good-night."
-"good-night, sir. good-night, sirs. thank you."
-amy retired unhurriedly, unembarrassedly, and with dignity, as befitted one who had opened the eyes of authority to the error of its ways!
-the next morning mr. fernald announced in chapel that at the request of mr. moller, and in consideration of good behaviour, the faculty had voted to lift probation from the following students: hall----
-but just there the applause began and the other eight names were not heard.
-the doctor tells a story
-tuesday, with the return of all first-string players to the line-up and the appearance of tom hall once more at right guard, practice went about a hundred per cent better, and those who turned out to watch it went back to the campus considerably encouraged. the showing of the team naturally had an effect on the spirit of the mass meeting that evening. ever since the southby game the school had been holding meetings and "getting up steam" for the claflin contest, but they had been tame affairs in contrast with tonight's. brimfield was football-crazy now, for the big game loomed enormous but four days away. fellows read football in the papers, talked football and, some of them, dreamed football. the news from claflin was read and discussed eagerly. the fortunes of the rival eleven were watched just as closely as those of the home team. when a claflin player wrenched an ankle brimfield gasped excitedly. when it was published that cox, of the blue team, had dropped fourteen goals out of twenty tries from the thirty-five-yard line and at a severe angle, depression prevailed at brimfield. the news that the claflin scrubs had held the first to only one touchdown in thirty minutes of play sent brimfield's spirits soaring! fellows neglected lessons brazenly and during that week of the final battle there was a scholastic slump that would undoubtedly have greatly alarmed the faculty if the latter, rendered wise by experience, hadn't expected it.
-the first team players were excused from study hour subsequent to monday in order that they might attend blackboard lectures and signal drills in the gymnasium. on tuesday night, after an hour's session, and in response to public clamour, they filed onto the platform just before the meeting was to begin at nine-fifteen and, somewhat embarrassedly, seated themselves in the chairs arranged across the back. mr. fernald was there, and mr. conklin, the athletic director, and coaches robey and boutelle, and trainer danny moore, and manager morton and childers, captain of the baseball team. and steve payne was at the piano. also, sitting beside mr. robey, was doctor proctor.
-childers, who was cheer leader that fall, presided, and, after the assemblage had clapped and shouted "a-a-ay!" as each newcomer appeared on the platform, opened proceedings with the school song. then mr. fernald spoke briefly, captain edwards followed, each being cheered loudly and long, and childers introduced mr. robey. "what we are all anxious to know tonight," said childers, "is whether we're going to win next saturday. mr. fernald has said that he hopes we shall, captain edwards has said that he thinks we shall, and now we're going to hear from the only one who knows! fellows, a long cheer for mr. robey, and make it good! are you all ready? now then! one--two--three!"
-"brimfield! brimfield! brimfield! rah, rah, rah! rah, rah, rah! rah, rah, rah! brimfield! brimfield! brimfield! robey!"
-when the cheering, and the shouting and clapping and stamping that followed for good measure, had quieted down, mr. robey said: "fellows, captain childers is much too flattering. i'm not gifted with second-sight, even if he thinks so. i don't know any more than he does or you do whether we're going to win on saturday. like mr. fernald, i hope we are and, like captain edwards, i think we are." cheers interrupted then. "but i don't want to make any prediction. i'll say one thing, though, and that is this: if the team plays the way it can play, if it makes full use of the ability that's in it, there's only one thing that can happen, and that's a brimfield victory! i've got every reason to expect that the team will do its utmost, and that is why i say that i think we'll win. we must remember that we're going up against a strong team, a team that in some ways has shown itself so far this season our superior. i don't say that the claflin eleven is any better than ours. i don't think so, not for a moment. our team this fall is as good as last year's team. we've had our little upsets; we always do; but we've come down to practically the eve of the game in good shape. every fellow has done his best and, i am firmly convinced, is going to do a little better than his best on saturday afternoon. and that little better is what will decide the game, fellows. after the coaches have done their part and the players have toiled hard and earnestly and enthusiastically, why then it all comes down to fight! and so it's fight that's going to win the game.
-"you fellows must do your part, though. you must be right back of the team, every minute--and let them know it. cheering helps a team to win, no matter what anyone may say to the contrary. only cheer at the right times, fellows. just making a noise indiscriminately is poor stuff. but i don't need to tell you this, i guess, because your cheer leader knows what to do better than i do. but let the team know that you're right with them, backing them up all the time, fighting behind them, boosting them along! it counts, fellows, take my word for it!
-"and now there's one other thing i want to say before i make way for someone who can really talk. it's this, fellows. don't forget the team that has helped us all season, the team that doesn't get into the limelight. and don't forget the coach, who has worked just as hard, perhaps a good deal harder, to develop that team than i've worked. i'm going to ask you to show your appreciation of the unselfish devotion of coach boutelle and one of the finest second teams brimfield has ever had!"
-mr. robey bowed and retreated and childers jumped to his feet.
-"a cheer for coach boutelle, fellows!" he shouted. "a long cheer and a whopper!" and, when it had been given lustily: "and now one for the second team!" he cried. "everyone into it! one--two--three!" the enthusiasm was mounting high now, and, after the cheer had died away, there were demands for a song. "we want to sing!" proclaimed the meeting. "we want to sing!"
-childers held up a hand. "all right, fellows! just a minute, please! we've got a guest with us this evening, an honoured guest, fellows. those of you who know football history know his name as well as you know the names of heffelfinger and dewitt and coy and brickley and--and many others in the football hall of fame! i know you want to hear from him and i hope he will be willing to say a few words." childers glanced at doctor proctor and the latter, smiling, shook his head energetically. "he says he will be glad to, fellows," continued childers mendaciously, amidst laughter, "and so i'm going to call first for a cheer for--if the gentleman will pardon me--'gus' proctor, famous princeton and all-america tackle, and after that we're going to listen very attentively to him. now, then, everyone into this! a long cheer for doctor proctor!"
-"i'm an awfully poor speaker, fellows," began the doctor, when he had advanced to the front of the platform. "i appreciate this honour and if i don't do justice to the fine reputation your--your imaginative cheer leader has provided me with you must try to forgive me. speaking isn't my line. if any of you would like to have a leg sawed off or something of that sort i'd be glad to do it free of charge just to prove that--well, that there's something i can do fairly decently!
-"i saw your team practice yesterday and i thought then that perhaps an operation would benefit it. then i saw it again today and discovered that my first diagnosis was wrong. fellows, i call it a good team. i think you've got material there that's equal to any i've ever seen on a school team. your coach says he won't prophesy as to your game on saturday. i've known george robey for ten years. he isn't a bad sort, take him all around, but he's a pessimist of the most pessimistic sort. he's the kind of chap who, if you sprang that old reliable one on him about every cloud having a silver lining, would shrug his shoulders and say, 'humph! more likely nickel-plated!' that's the sort he is, boys. now i'm just the opposite, and, at the risk of displeasing george, i'm going to tell you that, from what i've seen of the brimfield football team in practice, i'm firmly convinced that it's going to win!"
-loud and prolonged cheering greeted that prediction, and it was fully a minute before the speaker could proceed.
-"i've played the game in my day and i've coached teams, boys, and i think i've got a little of what your coach disclaimed. i mean a sort of--well, not second-sight, but a sort of ability to tell what a team will do from the looks of the players on it. in my profession we have to study human nature a lot and we get so we can classify folks after we've looked them over and watched them awhile. we make mistakes sometimes, but on the whole we manage fairly well to put folks in the classes they belong in. doing that with the members of your team i find that almost without exception they class with the kind of fellows who don't like to be beaten! and when a fellow doesn't like to be beaten he isn't--not very often.
-"i think i can read in the faces i see here tonight a great deal of that same spirit, and if the team has it and you fellows behind the team have it, why, i wouldn't give a last year's plug-hat for claflin's chances next saturday!
-"football," continued doctor proctor presently, "is a fine game. it's fun to play and it's a wonderful thing to train a fellow's body and mind. i've heard lots of folks object to it on various scores, but i've never heard an objection yet that carried any weight. more often than not those who run football down don't know the game. why, if it did no more than teach us obedience and discipline it would be worth while. but it does far more than that. it gives us strong, dependable bodies, it teaches us to think--and think quick, and it gives us courage, physical and moral. i'm going to tell you of an incident that i witnessed only a few weeks since if you'll let me. i fear i'm taking up too much time----"
-there were cries of "no, no!" and "go ahead!"
-"there is always more or less confusion in an affair of that sort and it was some minutes after the accident before the rescue work got under way. but one of the first rescuers i noticed was a young chap, a boy in fact, probably about seventeen years old. he didn't have a great deal on, i remember, but he was certainly johnny-on-the-spot that morning! it was he who brought the first patient to me, a little dried-up hebrew peddler i judged him, who had been caught under some wreckage in the forward day-coach. he had a broken forearm and while i was busy with him i saw this young chap climbing in and out of windows and wading through wreckage and always coming out again with someone. how many folks he pulled away from the flames and the scalding steam i don't know, but i never saw anyone work harder or more--more efficiently. yes, efficiently is just the word i want! and i said to myself at the time: 'that fellow is a football man! and i'll bet he's a good one!' you see, it wasn't only that he had courage to risk himself, but he had the ability to see what was to be done and to do it, and do it quick! why, he was pulling injured women and children and men from those burning, overturned cars before a grown-up man had sensed what had happened! and later on, when we'd done what we could for the burned and scalded bodies and limbs, i got hold of the boy for a moment. i asked him his name and he told it, and then i said: 'you've played football, haven't you?' and he said he had, a little. he wasn't much of a talker, and when some of us said some nice things about what he had done he got horribly fussed and tried to get away. but someone wanted to shake hands with him, and he wouldn't, and i saw that his own hand was burned all inside the palm, deep and nasty. 'how did you do that?' i asked him as i dressed it. oh, he didn't know. he thought he'd got his hand caught between some beams or something; couldn't get it out for a minute. it wasn't much of a burn! well, the wrecking train and a hospital train came along about then and i lost sight of that chap, and i didn't see him again.
-"i've told the story because i think it bears me out when i say that football is fine training. i don't say that that boy wouldn't have been just as brave and eager to help if he hadn't been a football player, but i do maintain that he wouldn't have known what to do as readily or how to do it and wouldn't have got at it as quickly. and when the flames are eating their way back from car to car quickness means a whole lot! that's the end of my story, boys. but while i've been telling it i've been looking for some sign to tell me that you recognised the hero of it. i don't find the sign and i'm puzzled. perhaps you're so accustomed to heroes here at brimfield that one more or less doesn't stir you. for the satisfaction of my own curiosity i'm going to ask you if you know who i've been talking about."
-a deep silence was the only answer. the doctor's audience looked extremely interested and curious, but no one spoke.
-"i see. you don't know. well, perhaps i'd better not tell then." but a chorus of protest arose. the doctor hesitated, and his gaze seemed to rest intently on a spot at one side of the hall and about half-way back. finally, when silence had fallen again: "i guess i will tell," he said. "it can't do him or you any harm. it may help a little to know that there's one amongst you fine enough to do what i've described. i've never seen that boy from the moment the wrecking train reached the scene of the wreck until tonight, and so i've never spoken to him again. but as i sat on the platform here awhile ago i looked and saw him. i don't forget faces very easily, and as you can understand, i wasn't likely to forget his. as i say, i haven't spoken to him yet, but i'm going to now."
-there was a silence in which a dropped pin would have made a noise like a crowbar. half the audience had turned their heads in the direction of doctor proctor's smiling gaze, but all eyes were fixed on his lips. the breathless silence lengthened. then the doctor spoke.
-"how is your hand, gilbert?" he asked.
-coach robey is puzzled
-some twenty minutes later don dropped into a chair in number 6 and heaved a deep sigh of relief. "gee," he muttered, "i wouldn't go through that again for--for a million dollars!"
-tim chuckled as he seated himself beyond the table. "why not?" he asked innocently. "i thought everyone treated you very nicely."
-a smile flitted across don's face. "i suppose they did, only--i guess that was the trouble! i felt like an awful fool, tim! look here, what did he have to go and tell everything he knew for? i was afraid he was going to and i wanted like anything to sneak out of there, but the place was so quiet i didn't have the nerve! at first i didn't suspect that he had seen me. i didn't recognise him until he stood up to speak this evening. yesterday i thought he looked sort of familiar, but i couldn't place him. he--he talks too much!"
-"he said some awfully nice things about you, old man."
-"he said a lot of nonsense, too! exaggerated the whole thing, he did. why, to listen to him you'd think i saved about a thousand people from certain death! well, i didn't. i helped about six or seven folks out of those cars. they were sort of rattled and didn't seem to know enough to beat it."
-"they weren't in any danger, then?"
-"no, not much. all they had to do was crawl out of the way."
-"then they weren't any of them burned, don?"
-"a few were."
-"how about the man with the broken arm?"
-"oh, he'd got caught somehow." don looked up and saw tim's laugh. "well," he added defensively, "he needn't have told about it like that, right out in front of the whole school, need he?"
-"you bet he need! donald, you're a bloomin', blushin' hero, and we're proud of you! and when i say blushing i mean it, for you haven't stopped yet!"
-"i guess you'd blush," growled don, "if it happened to you!"
-"i dare say, but it never will. i'll never have the whole school get up on their feet and cheer me like mad for three solid minutes! and i'll never have josh shake my hand off and beam at me and tell me i'm a credit to the school! such beautiful things are not for poor little tim!"
-don sighed. "well, it's over with, anyway."
-"i didn't say that," replied don defensively.
-"you let us think it. gee, if i'd done anything like that i'd have put it in the papers!" tim chuckled and then went on seriously. "you don't need to worry about the fellows thinking you a quitter any more, do you? i guess proctor settled that once and for all, don. and suppose you'd run away home the other night. this wouldn't have happened and fellows would have said you had a yellow streak. i guess it was a mighty lucky thing you have little tim to look after you, dearie!"
-"i'm glad i didn't," said don earnestly. "i'd have made a worse mess of it, shouldn't i? i--i'm sorry you got that punch, though, timmy."
-"forget it! it was worth it! being the room-mate of a hero atones for everything you ever did to me, donald. i'm that proud----"
-but tim didn't finish, for don started around the table for him.
-at the time this conversation was taking place mr. robey and doctor proctor were walking back to the former's room in the village through a frosty, starlit night.
-"you certainly managed to spring a sensation, gus," observed the coach as they turned into the road.
-"i should say so! well, that boy deserved all the cheering and praise he received. and i'm glad i told that story."
-"well, it's got me guessing," responded the other. "look here, gus, take a chap like the one you described tonight. what would you think if he quit cold a week before the big game?"
-"quit? how do you mean, george?"
-"just that. develops an imaginary illness. tells you he doesn't feel well enough to play, in spite of the fact that he has nothing more the matter with him than you or i have. probably not so much. shows absolute relief when you tell him he's dropped. what would you say to that?"
-"you mean gilbert did that?" mr. robey assented. "i wondered why he wasn't on the platform with the rest of the team," mused the doctor. "i'd say there was something queer about it, george. when did this happen?"
-"last week. thursday or friday, i think. he'd been laid off for a day or so and i thought he'd gone a bit fine, although he's rather too phlegmatic to suffer much from nerves. some of the high-strung chaps do go to pieces about this time and you have to nurse them along pretty carefully. but gilbert! well, on saturday--yes, that was the day--he'd been reported perfectly fit by the trainer and just as a matter of form i asked him if he was ready to play. and, by jove, he had the cheek to face me and say he wasn't well enough! it was nonsense, of course. he'd simply got scared. i told him so and dropped him. but it's curious that a boy who could do what you told of this evening could prove a quitter like that."
-"you say he seemed relieved when you let him go?"
-"yes, he showed it plainly."
-"that is funny! i wonder what the truth of it is?"
-"nerves, i suppose. cold feet, as the fellows say."
-"never! there's something else, old man, that you haven't got hold of. can he play?"
-"y-yes. yes, he can play. he's the sort that comes slow and plays a bit logy, but he's steady and works hard. not a brilliant man, you know, but dependable. he's been playing guard. losing him has left us a bit weak on that side, too."
-"why not take him back then? look here, george, you're a good coach and all that, but you're a mighty poor judge of human nature."
-"it's so, though. you've only got to study that chap gilbert to see that he isn't the quitting kind. his looks show it, his manner shows it, the way he talks shows it. he's the sort that might want to quit; we all do sometimes; but he couldn't because he's got stuff in him that wouldn't let him!"
-"that's all well enough, gus, but facts are facts. gilbert did quit, and quit cold on me. so theories don't count for much. and this human nature flapdoodle----"
-"i don't say he didn't quit. but i do say that you've made the wrong diagnosis, george. did you talk to him? ask him what the trouble was? go after the symptoms?"
-"no, i'm no physician. he said he wasn't feeling well enough to play. i told him we had no place for quitters on the team. he had nothing to say to that. if you think i can feel the pulse and look at the tongue of every fellow----"
-doctor proctor laughed. "and take his temperature too, eh? no, i don't expect you to do that, george. but i'll tell you what i would do, and i'd do it tomorrow too. i'd call around and see gilbert. i'd tell him that i wasn't satisfied with the explanation he'd made and i'd ask him to make a clean breast of the trouble, for he must be in some trouble or he wouldn't thank you for firing him. and then i'd stop cutting off my nose to spite my face and i'd reinstate him tomorrow afternoon!"
-"hmph! the trouble with you doctors is that you're too romantic. you imagine things, you----"
-"i certainly won't! as the kids say, seeing's believing."
-"well, there's a very unattractive board fence across the road, george. on the other side of it there are shrubs and grass. i can't see them, but i know they're there."
-"more likely tin-cans and ashes," grunted mr. robey.
-"pessimist!" laughed the other. "but never mind; ashes or grass, something's there, and you can't see it and yet you've got to acknowledge the existence of it. now haven't you?"
-"i suppose so, but"--mr. robey laughed--"i'd rather see it!"
-"climb the fence and have a look then! but you'll try my plan with the boy, won't you?"
-"yes, i will. if only to satisfy my curiosity, gus. hang it, the chap can't be a quitter!"
-"he isn't. i'll stake my reputation as--as a romanticist on that! i'd like mighty well to stay and solve the mystery with you, but i'll have to jump for that early train. i wish, though, that you'd drop me a line and tell me the outcome. i'm interested--and puzzled."
-"all right. i'm not much of a letter-writer, though. i'll see you before you go back and tell you about it. you'll be in new york on sunday, won't you?"
-"until two o'clock. have lunch with me and see me off. come to the hotel as early as you can and we'll hold post-mortems on the games. let's hope that princeton and brimfield both win next saturday, george!"
-don found being a hero an embarrassing business the next day. the masters bothered him by stopping and shaking hands and saying nice things, and the fellows beamed on him if they weren't well enough acquainted to speak and insisted on having a full and detailed history of that train-wreck if they were! of course they all, masters and students, meant well and wanted to show their admiration, but don wished they wouldn't. it made him feel horribly self-conscious, and feeling self-conscious was distinctly uncomfortable. at breakfast table his companions referred to last evening's incident laughingly and poked fun at don and enjoyed his embarrassment, but it wasn't difficult to tell that doctor proctor's narrative had made a strong impression on them and increased their liking for don. when, just before don had finished his meal, mr. robey left the training-table and crossed the room toward him he braced himself for another scene in which he would have to stand up and be shaken by the hand, and possibly, and worst of all, listen to some sort of an apology from the coach. but don was spared, for mr. robey only placed a hand on the back of his chair, included the rest of the occupants of the table in his "good-morning," and said carelessly: "gilbert, i wish you'd drop over to mr. conklin's office some time this morning and see me. what time can you come?"
-"half-past ten, sir?"
-"that will be all right, thanks."
-"great stuff, gilbert," he said with an attempted heartiness. "some hero, eh, what?"
-"drop it, walton!" don lowered his voice, for others were passing toward the doorway. "and i'll thank you not to speak to me. you know my opinion of you. now shut up!"
-walton found nothing to say until it was too late. don approached the gymnasium after his ten o'clock recitation with lagging feet. he had scant taste for the impending interview and would have gladly avoided it if such a thing had been possible. but he didn't see any way out of it and he heard the big door bang to behind him with a sinking heart. why, he hadn't even thought up any new excuse!
-mr. robey and mr. conklin, the athletic director, were both in the latter's room when don knocked at the half-opened door. mr. conklin said "good-morning" and then followed it with: "i've got something to attend to on the floor, robey, if you'll excuse me," and went out, closing the door behind him. don wished he had stayed. he took the chair vacated by the director and faced coach robey with as much ease as he could assume, which was very little. the coach began without much preamble.
-"i didn't ask you over here to talk about last night, gilbert, or to offer you any apology for what i said on the field last saturday. i don't believe much in spoken apologies. if i'm wrong i show it and there's no mistake about it. i think i was wrong in your case, gilbert. and i'll say so, if you like, very gladly, and act so if you'll prove it."
-"i don't want any apology, sir," answered don. "i guess you were right enough."
-"well, that's what i want to find out. what was the trouble, gilbert?"
-"why, just what i said, coach. i--i didn't feel very fit and i didn't think it would be any use playing, feeling like i did. if you don't feel well you can't play very well, and so i thought i'd say so. i didn't mind being dropped, sir. i deserved it. and--and that's quite all right." don got up, his eyes shifting to the door.
-"wait a minute! let's get the truth of this. you're lying, aren't you?"
-don tried to look indignant and failed, tried to look hurt and failed again. then he gave it up and dropped his gaze before the searching eyes of the other. "i'm feeling some better now," he muttered.
-coach robey laughed shortly. "gilbert, you can't lie worth a cent! now, look here. i'm your friend. why not come across and tell me what's up? i know you weren't sick. danny gave you a clean bill of health that morning. and i know you haven't got any nerves to speak of. there's something else, gilbert. now what is it?"
-"then why did you act that way?"
-"i--i just didn't want to play."
-"didn't want to play! why not?"
-"i wasn't doing very well, and it was pretty hard work, and there was walton after the place, too. he could play better than i could."
-"who told you so? walton?" asked the coach drily.
-"i could see it," murmured don.
-"so you were suddenly afraid of hard work, eh? it had never bothered you before, had it? last year or this year either?"
-"no, i guess not."
-"perhaps it was more because you felt that walton would be a better man for the place, then?" surmised the coach.
-don agreed eagerly. it was a case of any port in a storm by now and he was glad enough to have the coach find an explanation. "yes, sir, i guess that was it."
-"well, that was generous of you," said the other approvingly. "but didn't it occur to you that perhaps i would be a better one to decide that matter than you? you've never known me to keep a fellow on the team for sentimental reasons, have you?"
-"hm. now when was it--i mean how long before last saturday was it--that you and walton talked it over?"
-"sir?" don looked up startledly. "i--we--there wasn't any talk about it," he stammered.
-"well, what did walton say?"
-don hesitated, studying mr. robey's face in the hope of discovering how much that gentleman knew. finally: "when do you mean?" he asked.
-"i mean the time you and walton talked about which was the best man for the position," replied the other easily. to himself he reflected that he was following gus proctor's advice with a vengeance! but he was by this time pretty certain of his ground.
-"i don't remember that we ever--exactly did that," don faltered. "there was some talk, maybe, but he--he never said anything like that."
-"why, that he was a better guard."
-"then what put the idea in your head, gilbert?"
-"i suppose i just saw it myself."
-"but you were playing the position pretty regularly before thursday or whatever day it was you were taken ill, weren't you?"
-"then how could you tell that walton was better?"
-"i don't know. he--he seemed better. and then tim told me i was too slow."
-"tim otis? otis had better mind his own business," grumbled the coach. "so that was it, then. all right. i'm glad to get the truth of the matter." the little tightening of don's mouth didn't escape him. "now, then, i'm going to surprise you, gilbert. i'm going to surprise you mightily. i'm going to tell you that walton is not a better left guard than you. he isn't nearly so good. that does surprise you, doesn't it?"
-don nodded, his eyes fixed uneasily on the coach's.
-"well, there it is, anyway. and so i think the best thing for all of us, gilbert, is for you to come back to work this afternoon."
-don's look of dismay quite startled the other.
-"but i'd rather not, sir! i--i'm out of practice now. i've quit training. i've been eating all sorts of things; potatoes and fresh bread and pastry--no end of pastry, sir!--and--and candy----"
-mr. robey grunted. "you don't show it," he said. "anyway, i guess that won't matter. i'll chance it. three o'clock, then, gilbert."
-don's gaze sought the floor and he shook his head. "i'd rather not, sir, if you don't mind," he muttered.
-"but i do mind. the team needs you, gilbert! and now that i know that you didn't quit because you were afraid----"
-"i did, though!" don looked up desperately. "that was the truth of it!"
-mr. robey sighed deeply. "gilbert," he said patiently, "if i couldn't lie better than you can i wouldn't try it! you weren't afraid and you aren't afraid and you know it and i know it! so, then, is it walton?"
-after a moment don nodded silently.
-"you think he's a better man than you are, eh?"
-don nodded again, but hesitatingly.
-"or you've taken pity on him and want him to play against claflin, perhaps."
-"yes, sir. you see, his folks are going to be here and they'll expect him to play!"
-"oh, i see. you and walton come from the same town? but of course you don't. how did you know his folks were coming, then?"
-"he told me."
-"about--some time last week."
-"was it the day you had that talk about the position and which of you was to have it?"
-"i guess so. yes, sir, it was that time."
-"and he, perhaps, suggested that it would be a nice idea for you to back out and let him in, eh?"
-don was silent.
-"did he?" insisted the coach.
-"he said that his folks were coming----"
-"and that he'd like to get into the game so they wouldn't be disappointed?"
-"something like that," murmured don.
-"and you consented?"
-"not exactly, but i thought it over and--and----"
-mr. robey suddenly leaned forward and laid a hand on don's knee.
-"gilbert," he asked quietly, "what has walton got on you?"
-"all ready, brimfield?"
-those who braved a chill east wind and went out that afternoon to watch practice enjoyed a sensation, for when the first team came trotting over from the gymnasium, a half-hour later because of a rigorous signal quiz, amongst them, dressed to play, was don gilbert! a buzz of surprise and conjecture travelled through the ranks of the shivering onlookers, that speedily gave place to satisfaction, and as don, tossing aside his blanket, followed the first-string players into the field a small and enthusiastic first form youth clapped approvingly, others took it up and in a moment the applause crackled along the side line.
-"that's for you," whispered tim to don. "lift off your head-guard!"
-but don glanced alarmedly toward the fringe of spectators and hid as best he could behind thursby! practice went with a new vim today. doubtless the return of don heartened the team, for one thing, and then there was a snap of winter in the air that urged to action. the second was as nearly torn to tatters this afternoon as it had ever been, and the first scored twice in each of the two fifteen-minute periods. "boutelle's babies" were a lame and tired aggregation when the final whistle blew!
-later it became known that walton was out of it, had emptied his locker and retired from football affairs for the year. all sorts of stories circulated. one had it that he had quarrelled with coach robey and been incontinently "fired." another that he had become huffy over gilbert's reinstatement and had resigned. none save don and coach robey and walton himself knew the truth of the matter for a long time. don did tell tim eventually, but that was two years later, when his vow of secrecy had lapsed. just now he was about as communicative as a sphinx, and tim's eager curiosity had to go unsatisfied.
-"but what did he say?" tim demanded after practice that afternoon. "he must have said something!"
-don considered leisurely. "no, nothing special. he said i was to report for work."
-"well, what did you say?"
-"i said i would!"
-"well, what about walton? where does he get off?"
-"i don't know."
-tim gestured despairingly. "gee, you're certainly a chatty party! don't tell me any more, please! you may say something you'll be sorry for!"
-"i'll tell you some day all about it, tim. i can't now. i said i wouldn't."
-don shook his head. "no, we didn't."
-"well, then, why----"
-"you said you'd shut up," reminded the other.
-"oh, all right," grumbled tim. "anyway, i'm mighty glad. every fellow on the team is as pleased as punch. i guess the whole school is, too. it was mighty decent of robey, wasn't it? do you know, don, robey's got a lot of sense for a football coach?"
-don often wondered what had occurred and been said at the interview between mr. robey and harry walton. the coach had sworn don to silence at the termination of their interview. "if walton asks you whether you told me about the business you can say you did, if you like. or tell him i wormed it out of you, which is just about what i did do. but don't say anything to anyone else about it; at all events, not as long as walton's here. i'm going to find him now and have a talk with him. i don't think you need be at all afraid of anything he may do after i get through with him. you fellows clearly did wrong in outstaying leave that night, but you had a fairly good excuse and if you'd had enough sense to go to faculty the next morning and explain you'd have all got off with only a lecture, i guess. your mistake was in not confessing. however, i don't consider it my place to say anything. it's an old story now, anyhow. be at the gym at three with your togs, gilbert, and do your best for us from now on. i'm glad to have you back again. what i said that afternoon you'd better forget. i'll show the school that i've changed my mind about you. i suppose i ought to make some sort of an apology, but----"
-"please don't say anything more about it, sir," begged don.
-"well, i'll say this, gilbert: you acted like a white man in taking your medicine and keeping the others out of trouble. you certainly deserve credit for that."
-"i don't see it," replied the boy. "i don't see what else i could have done, mr. robey!"
-the coach pondered a moment. then he laughed. "i guess you're right, at that! just the same, you did what was square, gilbert. all right, then. three o'clock." he held out his hand and don put his in it, and the two gripped firmly.
-hurrying back to main hall, don regretted only one thing, which was that he had in a way broken his agreement with walton to say nothing about their bargain. coach robey, though, had pointed out that the agreement had been terminable by either party to it, and that in confessing to him don had been within his rights. "walton can now go ahead and take the matter to faculty, as he threatened to do," said the coach. "only, when i get through talking to him i don't think he will care to!"
-and apparently he hadn't, for no dire summons reached don from the office that day or the next, nor did he ever hear more of the matter. walton displayed a retiring disposition that was new and novel. on such infrequent occasions as don ran across him walton failed to see him. the day of the game the latter was in evidence with his father, mother and younger brother; don saw him making the rounds of the buildings with them and he wondered in what manner walton had accounted to his folks for his absence from the football team. walton stayed on at school, very little in evidence, until christmas vacation, but when the fellows reassembled after the recess he was not amongst them. rumour had it that he had been taken ill and would not be back. rumour was proved partly right, at all events, for brimfield knew him no more.
-the first and second teams held final practice on thursday. the first only ran through signals for awhile, did some punting and catching and then disappeared, leaving the second to play two fifteen-minute periods with a team composed of their own second-string and the first team's third-string players. after that was over, the second winning without much effort, the audience, which had cheered and sung for the better part of an hour, marched back to the gymnasium and did it some more, and the second team, cheering most enthusiastically for themselves and the first and the school and, last but by no means least, for mr. boutelle, joyously disbanded for the season.
-there was another mass-meeting that evening, an intensely fervid one, followed by a parade about the campus and a good deal of noise that was finally quelled by mr. fernald when, in response to demands, he appeared on the porch of the cottage and made a five-minute speech which ended with the excellent advice to return to hall and go to bed.
-the players didn't attend the meeting that night, nor were they on hand at the one that took place the night following. instead, they trotted and slithered around the gymnasium floor in rubber-soled shoes and went through their entire repertoire of plays under the sharp eyes of coaches robey and boutelle. there was a blackboard lecture, too, on each evening, and when, at nine-thirty on friday, they were dismissed, with practice all over for the year, most of them were very glad to slide into bed as quickly as possible. if any of them had "the jumps" that night it was after they were asleep, for the coach had tired them out sufficiently to make them forget that such things as nerves were a part of their system!
-but the next morning was a different matter. those who had never gone through a claflin contest were inclined to be finicky of appetite and to go off into trances with a piece of toast or a fork-full of potato poised between plate and mouth. even the more experienced fellows showed some indication of strain. thursby, for instance, who had been three years on the first team as substitute or first-choice centre, who had already taken some part in two claflin games, and who was apparently far too big and calm to be affected by nerves, showed a disposition to talk more than was natural.
-don never really remembered at all clearly how that saturday morning passed. afterward he had vague recollections of sitting in clint thayer's room and hearing amy byrd rattle off a great deal of nonsensical advice to him and clint and tim as to how to conduct themselves before the sacrifice (amy had insisted that they should line up and face the grand-stand before the game commenced, salute and recite the immortal line of claudius's gladiators: "morituri te salutant!"); of seeing manager jim morton dashing about hither and thither, scowling blackly under the weight of his duties; of wandering across to the woods beyond the baseball field with tim otis and larry jones and some others and sitting on the stone wall there and watching larry take acorns out of tim's ears and nose; and, finally, of going through a perfectly farcical early dinner in a dining hall empty save for the members of the training-table. after that events stood out more clearly in his memory.
-claflin's hosts began to appear at about half-past one. they wore blue neckties and arm-bands or carried blue pennants which they had the good taste to keep furled while they wandered around the campus and poked inquisitive heads into the buildings. then the claflin team, twenty-six strong, rolled up in two barges just before two, having taken their dinner at the village inn, disembarked in front of wendell and meandered around to the gymnasium laden with suit-cases and things looking insultingly care-free and happy, and, as it couldn't be denied, particularly husky!
-don, observing from the steps of torrence, wondered how they managed to appear so easy and careless. no one, as he confided to tom hall and tim, would ever suspect that they were about to do battle for the brimfield-claflin championship!
-"huh," said tom, "that's nothing. that's the way we all do when we go away to play. it's this sticking at home and having nothing to do but think that takes the starch out of you. when you go off you feel as if you were on a lark. things take your mind off your troubles. but, just the same, a lot of those grinning dubs are doing a heap of worrying about now. they aren't nearly as happy as they look!"
-"they're a lot happier than they're going to be about three hours from now," said tim darkly. that struck the right note, and tom and don laughed, and tim laughed with them, and they all three put their shoulders back and perked up a lot!
-and then it was two o'clock and they were pulling on their togs in the locker-room; and danny moore was circulating about in very high spirits, cracking jokes and making them laugh, and coach robey was dispatching jim morton and jim's assistant on mysterious errands and referring every little while to his red-covered memorandum book and looking very untroubled and serene. and then there was a clamping of feet on the stairs above and past the windows some two dozen pairs of blue-stockinged legs moved briskly as the visitors went across to the field for practice. and suddenly the noise was stilled and coach robey was telling them that it was up to them now, and that they hadn't a thing in the world to do for the next two hours but knock the tar out of those blue-clad fellows, and that they had a fine day for it! and then, laughing hard and cheering a little, they piled out and across the warm, sunlit grass, past the line of fellow-students and home-folks and towners, with here and there a pretty girl to glance shyly and admiringly at them as they trotted by, and so to the bench. nerves were gone now. they were only eager and impatient. "squads out!" sang mr. robey. off came sweaters and faded blankets and they were out on the gridiron, with carmine and mcphee cheerily piping the signals, with their canvas legs rasping together as they trotted about, and with the brimfield cheer sounding in their ears, making them feel a little chokey, perhaps, but wonderfully strong and determined and proud!
-and presently they were back in front of the bench, laughing at and pummelling one another, and the rival captains and the referee were watching a silver coin turn over and over in the sunlight out there by the tee in midfield. behind them the stand was packed and colourful. beyond, brimfield was cheering lustily again. across the faded green, at the end of the newly-brushed white lines, nearly a hundred claflin youths were waving their banners and cheering back confidently.
-"claflin kicks off," sang captain edwards. "we take the west goal. come on, fellows! everyone on the jump now!"
-a long-legged claflin guard piled the dirt up into a six-inch cone, laid the ball tenderly upon it, viewed the result, altered it, backed off and waited.
-"all ready, claflin? all ready, brimfield?"
-the whistle blew.
-tim goes over
-coach robey put his best foot forward when the first period started by presenting the strongest line-up he had. fortunately, brimfield had reached the claflin game with every first-string man in top shape, something that doesn't often happen with a team. there was captain edwards at left end, thayer at left tackle, gilbert at left guard, thursby at centre, hall at right guard, crewe at right tackle, holt at right end, carmine at quarter, st. clair at left half, otis at right half and rollins at full.
-opposed to them was a team fully their equal in age, weight and experience. the claflin forwards were a bit taller and rangier, and their centre, unlike thursby, was below rather than above average size. behind their line, the four players were, with the exception of grady, full-back, small and light. but they were known to be fast and heady and claflin didn't make the mistake of underestimating their ability. the left half, cox, was a broken-field runner of renown as well as claflin's best goal-kicker. perhaps it would have been difficult that fall to have picked two teams to oppose each other that were more evenly matched than those representing the maroon-and-grey and the blue.
-for the first few minutes of play each eleven seemed to be feeling out its opponent. two exchanges of punts gained ground for neither side. brimfield got her backfield working then on her twenty yards and st. clair and tim tried each side of the blue line and in two downs gained a scant six yards. rollins punted out at claflin's forty-seven. the blue got past hall for two and slid off holt for three more. the next rush failed and claflin punted to carmine on the fifteen. the blue's ends were down on carmine and he was stopped for a five-yard gain. rollins tried a forward pass to edwards, but threw short and the ball grounded. tim otis ran the left end for four and, on a delayed pass, rollins heaved himself through centre for the distance, and brimfield cheered loudly when the linesmen pulled up stakes and trailed the chain ten yards nearer the centre of the field.
-a second forward pass was caught by holt, but he was brought down for a scant three-yard gain. once more rollins attempted the centre of the blue line, but this time he was stopped short. on third down rollins punted and claflin caught on her forty and ran the ball back to the middle of the field. claflin then found crewe for four yards and completed her distance on a straight plunge between gilbert and thayer. it was the blue's turn to cheer then and she performed valiantly. claflin tried edwards's end, but made nothing of it, poked cox past crewe for a couple of yards, made three around holt and then punted. st. clair misjudged the distance and the ball went over his head and there was a scamper to the goal line. carmine finally fell on the ball for a touchback and the excitement in the stands subsided. brimfield smashed otis at the blue's centre and reached the twenty-five-yard line. st. clair made three on a skin-tackle play at the right and rollins got the distance on a plunge after a fake-kick. brimfield again made first down on the forty-two yards and her supporters howled gleefully. a moment later they had new cause for rejoicing when rollins pegged the ball across the field to edwards and the maroon-and-grey's captain scampered and dodged along the side of the field for thirteen yards before he was tackled. time was called for a claflin back and brimfield drew off for a consultation, the result of which was seen in the next play.
-carmine called gilbert to the right side of centre, the backs spread themselves in wide formation ten yards behind the line and steve edwards, as the first signal began, ran back, straightened out as the ball was snapped, raced along behind his forwards and swept around his right end. claflin's right end and half-back plunged outside of thayer, were met by st. clair and rollins, and carmine, having taken the ball on a long pass from thursby, raced past them and then swung quickly in and found an almost clear field ahead.
-two white lines passed under his twinkling feet and then, near the twenty, he was challenged by a claflin back. carmine eluded him, crossed a third line, found himself confronted by the blue's quarter, attempted to slip by on the outside, was tackled and borne struggling across the side line and deposited forcibly on the ground.
-when the ball was stepped in by the referee it was set down some four inches inside the fifteen-yard line. in the stands and along the side of the field brimfield was cheering triumphantly, imploringly, and waving her banners. the linesmen scampered in obedience to the referee's waving arm.
-"first down!" shouted the official. "all right, brimfield? ready, claflin?" the whistle piped again.
-rollins was stopped squarely on a try at right guard and otis made a scant three past the left tackle. under the shadow of her goal-posts, claflin was digging her cleats in the turf and fighting hard. rollins went back. "get through, claflin! block this kick!" cried the blue's quarter-back. "get through! get through!" back went the ball from thursby, a trifle high but straight enough, rollins poised it, swung his leg, and then, tucking the pigskin under his arm, sprang away to the left. shouts of alarm, cries of warning, the hurried rush of feet and rasping of canvas! bodies crashed together and went down. rollins, at the ten yards now, side-stepped and got past a blue-legged defender, turned in and went banging straight into the mêlée. arms clutched at him. he was stopped momentarily. then he wrested free, plunged on for another yard and went to earth.
-"second down!" cried the referee when he had bored through the pile of squirming bodies and found the ball. he glanced along the five-yard line, set the pigskin to earth again, and "about two feet to go!" he added. brimfield was shouting incessantly now, standing and waving. "touchdown! touchdown! touchdown!" across the field claflin sent back a dogged chant: "hold 'em, claflin! hold 'em, claflin! hold 'em, claflin!"
-but surely claflin couldn't do that! it seemed too much to ask or expect. otis made it first down off left tackle, placing the ball on the three yards. before the next play could be started the period ended and the teams flocked to the water pails and then tramped down to the other end of the field. the cheering never paused, even if the playing did. childers, red-faced and perspiring, kept the brimfield section busy every instant. "once more, now! a long cheer with nine 'brimfields'! that's good! keep it up! we're going to score, fellows! let's have it again! all into it!"
-only three yards to go and four downs to do it! claflin lined up desperately, her forwards digging their toes barely inside their last line, her backfield men skirmishing anxiously about behind it. "push 'em back, claflin! you can do it! don't give 'em an inch! stop 'em right here, fellows! low, low, get low, you fellows! charge into 'em and smother this play!" the claflin quarter, pale of face, thumped crouching backs and watched the foe intently.
-"put it over now!" shrilled carmine. "here we go! get down there, hall! signals!"
-rollins leaped forward, took the ball from carmine and smashed straight ahead. there was a moment of doubt. his plunging body stopped, went on, stopped, was borne back.
-"second down! two and a half to go!"
-again the signals, the line shifted, claflin changed to meet the shift. st. clair slewed across and slammed past the claflin left tackle. but the secondary defence had him in the next instant and he was thrust, fighting, back and still back. but he had gained. "a yard and a half!" proclaimed the referee.
-"you've got to do it, brimfield!" shouted edwards intensely. "don't let them get the jump on you like that! get into it, crewe! watch that man, gilbert! come on now! put it over!"
-"signals!" shrieked carmine. "make it go this time! over with it!"
-back went rollins, hands outstretched. "fake!" shouted claflin. "watch the ball! watch the ball!"
-rollins's arms fell, empty, as st. clair grabbed the pigskin and swept wide to the right. "in! in!" cried carmine. st. clair turned and shot toward the broken line. his interference did its part, but the claflin left end had fooled holt and it was that blue-legged youth who got st. clair and thumped him to the sod. an anxious, breathless moment followed. brimfield called for time and st. clair, on his back, kicked and squirmed while they pumped the air back into his lungs. the referee, kneeling over the ball, squinted along the line. then:
-"fourth down and about two to go!" he announced.
-st. clair had lost a half-yard! claflin cheered weakly. steve edwards and carmine consulted.
-"we'd better kick it over," said carmine. "they're getting the jump on us every time, steve." carmine's voice was husky and he had to gasp his words out. steve, panting like an engine, shook his head.
-"we need the touchdown," he said. "we'll put it over. try 11. tim can make it."
-st. clair walked back to his place. the whistle sounded again. "come on, brimfield!" gasped carmine. "this is your last chance! if you don't do it this time you'll never do it! play like you meant it! stop your fooling and show 'em football! every man into this and make it go! hall over! signals!" hall pushed his way to the left of the line. claflin shuffled to meet the change. "signals! 83--38--11--106!"
-"signals!" cried st. clair. carmine turned on him, snarling. "use your bean! change signals! hall over! 61--16--11--37! 61--16--11----"
-back shot the ball to the quarter. off sped st. clair around his end, followed by rollins. carmine crouched, back to the line, while he counted five. then tim otis shot forward, took the delayed pass, jammed the ball against his stomach and went in past thursby on the right.
-tim struck the line as if shot out of a gun. there was no hole there, but tim made one. if the secondary defence, overanxious, had not been fooled by that fake attack at their end tim would never have gained a foot. but as it was claflin was caught napping in the centre of her line. tim banged against a brawny guard, carmine, following him through, added impetus, the claflin line buckled inward! shouts and grunts, stifled groans of despair from the yielding blue line! then brimfield closed in behind tim and he was borne off his feet and on and over to fall at last in a chaos of struggling bodies well across the goal line!
-the ball went over to the right of the goal and carmine decided on a punt-out. unfortunately, thayer juggled the catch and so brimfield lost her try-at-goal. but six points looked pretty big just then and continued to look big all the rest of the half and during the succeeding intermission. brimfield's supporters were confident and happy. they sang and cheered and laughed, and the sun, sinking behind the wooded ridge, cast long golden beams on the flaunting maroon banners.
-and then the teams came trotting back once more and cheers thundered forth from opposing stands. howard had taken st. clair's place, it was seen, and claflin had replaced her right guard. but otherwise the teams were unchanged. brimfield kicked off and claflin brought her supporters to their feet by running the ball back all the way to the forty-five-yard line. that was cox, the fleet-footed and elusive, and the blue's left half got a mighty cheer from his friends and generous applause from the enemy. after that claflin tried a forward pass and gained another down, and then, from near the middle of the field, marched down to brimfield's thirty-three before she was stopped. the maroon-and-grey got the ball on downs by an inch or two only.
-brimfield tried the claflin ends out pretty thoroughly and with otis and howard carrying, took back most of claflin's gain. but a forward pass finally went to a claflin end instead of holt and the tables were suddenly turned. it was the blue's ball on brimfield's forty-six then, and claflin opened her bag of tricks. just how cox got through the centre of the brimfield line no one ever explained satisfactorily, but get through he did, and after he was through he romped past otis and rollins and raced straight for the goal. carmine and howard closed in on him and it was carmine who brought him down at last on the twelve yards.
-how claflin shouted and triumphed then! the blue came surging down the field to line up against the astounded enemy, determination written large on every countenance. a plunge at gilbert gained a yard and was followed by a three-yard gain off holt. then claflin fumbled and recovered for a two-yard loss and, with eight to go on fourth down, decided that a goal from field was the best try. and, although brimfield tried hard to get through to the nimble-footed cox, and did smear the blue's line pretty fairly, the ball went well and true across the bar, and the 0 on the score-board was changed to a 3!
-left guard gilbert
-mcphee brought instructions from coach robey. brimfield was to hold what she had and play the kicking game. if she got within the blue's thirty-yard line she was to let rollins try a drop-kick.
-rollins punted regularly on second down and just as regularly claflin rushed until the fourth and then punted back. after five minutes of play, during which the ball went back and forth from one thirty-yard line to the other, it dawned on claflin that she was making no progress. a new full-back trotted in and displayed his ability by sending the ball over mcphee's head on his first attempt. fortunately, though, the punt, while long, was much too low, and mcphee had plenty of time to go after the pigskin, gather it in and run back a dozen yards before the claflin ends reached him. but after that mcphee played further back and rollins put still more power into his drives.
-with almost ten minutes of the final period gone, claflin, grown desperate, tried what forward passing would do. the first time, she lost the ball to thayer, and clint got ten yards before he was thrown, but the second attempt went better and cox, who made the catch, ran across three white lines and only stopped when edwards dragged him down from behind. claflin got another first down by two plunges at the right of the opponent's line and a wide end-run. then a penalty set her back fifteen yards and she had to punt after two ineffectual attempts at rushing. otis got through for five yards and then rollins punted again.
-the head linesman announced five minutes to play. on the stands the spectators were beginning to depart. claflin was back on her thirty-five yards, banging desperately at the maroon-and-grey line, desperately and a bit hopelessly. a forward pass was knocked down by captain edwards, an assault at the left of the brimfield line was smeared badly, cox tried the other end and was laid low for a loss. claflin punted.
-howard, on a double pass, swept around the enemy's left for fifteen yards and then squirmed past tackle for six more. rollins kicked to claflin's ten and edwards nailed the blue's quarter before he could move. brimfield cheered encouragingly. but claflin, after getting four around sturges, punted out of danger to brimfield's forty-seven.
-"three minutes!" announced the timekeeper.
-otis got two at centre and rollins again fell back to kick. the ball came to him low and he juggled it. claflin poured through the right of the line, the ball bounded back from some upthrown arm and went dancing along the field. blue players and maroon dashed after it. hall almost had it, but was toppled aside by a claflin man. carmine dived for it and missed. then tim otis and a claflin forward dropped upon it simultaneously and struggled for its possession. tim always maintained that he got more of it than his opponent, and got it first, but the referee awarded it to claflin and dismayedly brimfield gathered together and lined up only twenty yards from her goal!
-"two minutes, fellows!" shouted the claflin quarter-back exultantly. "we've got time to do it! come on now, come on! we can win it right now! all together, claflin! we've got them on the run! they're all-in! they're ready to quit!"
-the claflin full-back faked a kick and circled around lee's end for a six-yard gain. then the blue's right half plugged the line and got three more past hall. it was one to go on third down. another attack on hall was pushed back, but claflin made it first down by sending cox squirming around thayer. the ball was on the eleven yards now. it was brimfield's turn to know the fear of defeat. edwards implored and bullied. claflin banged at gilbert for a yard. a quarter-back run caught steve edwards napping and put the pigskin on the seven yards. brimfield's adherents, massed along the side line, shouted defiantly. across the darkening, trampled field, the claflin cohorts were imploring a touchdown.
-"third down! six to go!" shouted the referee, hurrying out of the way.
-"on side, claflin right end and tackle!" warned the umpire.
-the signals came again and the claflin full-back smashed into the left of the opposing team. but it was like striking a stone wall that time. perhaps the ball nestled a few inches nearer the goal, but no more than that. it was don who bore the brunt of that attack and after the piled-up bodies had been pulled aside he and the claflin full-back remained on the ground. on came the trainers with splashing buckets. don came to with the first swash of the big, smelly sponge on his face. danny moore was grinning down at him.
-"are ye hurt?" he asked.
-"don't be in a hurry. take all the time the law allows ye." danny's fingers travelled inquiringly over the boy's body. "where do you feel it?" he asked.
-don kept his eyes stoically on the trainer's. if he flinched a little when danny's strong fingers pressed his right shoulder it was so little that the trainer failed to see it. nearby, the claflin full-back was already on his feet. tim came over and knelt by the trainer's side.
-"anything wrong, don?" he asked in a tired, anxious voice.
-"not a thing," replied don cheerfully. "give me a hand, will you? i'm sort of wabbly, i guess."
-on the side line pryme, head-guard in hand, was trotting up and down. coach robey was looking across intently. don shook himself, stretched his arms--no one ever knew what that cost him!--and trotted around a few steps. then, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the coach say something to pryme, saw the disappointed look on the substitute's face and was half sorry for him. the whistle blew again and don was crouching once more beside thursby--why, no, it wasn't thursby any longer! it was peters, stout, complacent peters, wearing a strangely fierce and ugly look on his round countenance!
-"now hold 'em, brimfield!" chanted mcphee. "hold 'em hard! don't let them have an inch!"
-far easier said than done, though! a quick throw across the end of the line, a wild scramble and jumble of arms, a faint "down!" and, at the right end of the brimfield line, a mound of bodies with the ball somewhere down beneath and to all appearances across the goal line! anxious moments then! one by one the fallen warriors were pulled to their feet while into the pile dove the referee. the timekeeper hovered nearby, watch in hand. then the referee's voice:
-"claflin's ball! first down! a foot to go!"
-"line-up! line-up!" shrieked the claflin quarter. "we've got time yet! put it over!"
-"fight, brimfield!" shouted steve edwards. "there's only forty seconds! hold them off! don't let them get it! tom! peters! don! get into it now!"
-then a moment of silence save for the gasping breath of the players. the claflin quarter shouted his signals, the ball sped back, the lines heaved. straight at the left guard position plunged the back. "stop him!" growled peters. the secondary defence leaped to the rescue. back went the man with the ball. "down!" he cried in smothered tones. the referee pushed in and heeled the mark.
-"second down! a foot and a half to go!"
-don knew now that if he had fooled danny moore he had not fooled the claflin quarter-back. that quarter knew or guessed that he had been hurt and was playing for him. don gritted his teeth and ground his cleats into the sod. well, they'd see!
-the signals again, broken into by steve edwards's shrill voice in wild appeal. steve was wellnigh beside himself now. peters was growling like a bear in a cage. then again the plunge, hard and quick, the whole claflin backfield behind it! don felt an intolerable pain as he pushed and struggled. despair seized him for an instant, for he was being borne back. then someone hurtled into him from behind, driving the breath from his lungs, and he was staggering forward.
-peters was yanking him to his feet, a wild-eyed peters mouthing strange exultant words. "they can't do it! no, never! not if they were to try all night! we put 'em back again, gilbert! we'll do it again! come on, you blue-legged babies! try it again! you'll never do it!"
-don, dazed, swaying giddily, groped back to his place. thayer was muttering, too, now. don wondered if they were all crazy. he was quite certain that he was, for otherwise things wouldn't revolve around him in such funny long sweeps. then his mind was suddenly clear again. the claflin quarter was hurling his signals out hurriedly, despairingly, fighting against time. don didn't listen to those signals for he knew where the attack would come. and he was right, for once more the blue right guard and tackle sprang at him to bear him back. and then the runner smashed into sight, wild-faced for an instant before he put his head down and charged in. but don didn't yield. peters, roaring loudly, was fighting across him, and, front and rear, reinforcements hurled themselves into the mêlée. don closed his eyes, every muscle in his body straining forward. a roar of voices came to him only dimly. ages passed.
-he wondered if danny moore had nothing better to do than eternally swab his face with that beastly old sponge! why didn't he pick on some other fellow? don felt quite aggrieved and tried to say so, but couldn't seem to make any sound. then he realised that he had forgotten to open his lips. when he did he got a lot of cold water in his mouth and that made him quite peevish. he tried to raise his right hand, changed his mind about it and raised his left instead. with that he pushed weakly at the offending sponge.
-"take it away," he muttered. "i'm--drowned."
-"can you walk or will we carry you?" asked danny in businesslike tones.
-"they did not. lie still a bit."
-"yes, but----" don's voice grew faint and he closed his eyes again. the sponge gave a final pat and disappeared. "what--what down was that?" asked don anxiously.
-"then--then they've got another! help me up, danny, will you? we've got to stop them, you know. i don't believe they--can do it, do you? we put them back twice, you know."
-"sure you did," said the trainer soothingly. "here you are, tim. take his feet. and you get your arm under his middle, martin. so! careful of the shoulder, boys. he's got a fine broken blade in there!"
-"wait!" don kicked tim's hands away from his ankles as, raised to a sitting posture by danny and martin, his puzzled glance swept the field. "where's--where's everyone?" he gasped.
-"if you mean the team," laughed tim, "they're beating it for the gym."
-"oh!" said don. "but--but what happened? they didn't"--his voice sank--"they didn't do it, did they, tim?"
-"of course they didn't, old man! we pushed them back three times and we'd have done it again if the whistle hadn't saved them!"
-"then we won!" exclaimed don.
-"surest thing you know, dearie! if you don't believe it listen to that band of wild indians over in front of the gym! now are you ready to be lugged along?"
-"yes, thanks," sighed don.
-obvious punctuation errors repaired.
-page 22, "usully" changed to "usually" (daley was usually)
-page 24, "acknowlegement" changed to "acknowledgment" (the acknowledgment that)
-page 65, "muskateers" changed to "musketeers" (four "three musketeers")
-page 89, "castenets" changed to "castanets" (chattering like castanets)
-page 115, "rom" changed to "from" (darting from the galloping)
-page 129, "disgruntedly" changed to "disgruntledly" (had been disgruntledly)
-page 136, "that's" changed to "that" (that joe's parents had)
-page 145, "startingly" changed to "startlingly" (sounded startlingly loud)
-page 167, "disgruntedly" changed to "disgruntledly" (walton disgruntledly found)
-page 172, "positon" changed to "position" (of his position with)
-page 223, "demanded" changed to "demanded" on illustration caption. (demanded don angrily)
-the tapestry book
-helen churchill candee
-author of "decorative styles and periods"
-with four plates in colour and ninety-nine illustrations in black-and-white
-new york frederick a. stokes company mcmxii
-renaissance brussels tapestry, italian cartoon. w. de pannemaker, weaver.
-copyright, 1912, by frederick a. stokes company
-all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian
-to two certain byzantine madonnas and their owners
-modesty so dominates the staff in art museums that i am requested not to make mention of those officers who have helped me with friendly courtesy and efficiency. to the officers and assistants at the metropolitan museum of art in new york, the art institute of chicago, the museum of fine arts in boston, and the print department in the library of congress in washington, indebtedness is here publicly acknowledged with the regret that i may not speak of individuals. photographs of tapestries are credited to messrs. a. giraudon, paris; j. laurent, madrid; alinari, florence; wm. baumgarten, and albert herter, new york, and to those private collectors whose names are mentioned on the plates.
-h. c. c.
-starve. maybe so you could caught meat, but all the tam your tail will mark you for a thief!'
-"from that time," said moise, concluding, "the ermine, cigous, has always been a good honter. but always he's brown in the summer-tam, an' in the winter-tam he isn't not quite white. that is because he is such thief. i know this is so, because my onkle she'll tol' me. i have finish."
-trailing the bear
-"i'll tell you what," said john, in the morning, as they still lingered at their pleasant camp; "we're not apt to have a much nicer stopping place than this, so why not make a little hunt, and come back here to-night?"
-"not a bad idea," said alex.
-"what's the best way to plan it out?" asked john. "ought we to go by boats down the river, and then come back here?"
-"i would suggest that moise and rob take the dugout and go down the river a little way," replied alex, "and that you and i and jess climb to the top of the bank, taking our time, to see if we could find any moose sign, or maybe a bear trail in the country back from the river. in that way we could cover both the top and bottom of the valley. we might find a grizzly higher up, although we are out of the grizzly country here by rights."
-this plan suggested by alex was followed out, and at no very late hour in the morning camp was deserted by our travelers, whose hunting spirit seemed still unabated. they did not meet again until almost dusk. alex and his companions found no fresh game trails on the heights above, and, in short, concluded their hunt rather early in the afternoon and returned to camp, where they remained for some hours before at length they saw the dugout, which the boys had christened the plug, slowly making its way up the river.
-john and jesse, themselves pretty tired from their long walk, summoned up energy enough to go down to the beach and peer into the dugout. they saw no sign of any game. they did not, however, ask any questions, for they were learning the dignity of indian hunters. alex looked at moise, but asked him no question. he noticed that moise was whistling, and apparently not very unhappy, as after a time he went about making his evening fire.
-"so you didn't get any bear, mr. rob?" said alex at last.
-"no, not quite," said rob, "but i ought to have got one--i had a pretty fair shot, although it was rather dark where the bear was standing."
-alex spoke a few words to moise in the cree language.
-"never mind," said he to rob at length. "we'll get him to-morrow very easily."
-"sure," said moise, "i'll tol' those boy he'll shoot those bear two tam, once in the front an' once in the back. with those rifle, he'll not go far. to-morrow we'll catch heem easy."
-"he was a big bear, too," said rob, "although not as big as our grizzly--just a black bear, that's all. i don't like to cripple any animal and then lose it."
-"i don't think we'll lose this one," said alex, reassuringly.
-the judgment of the old hunters proved to be correct, for on the next day, when all hands dropped down the river to the point where rob had shot at the bear, it was not five minutes before they found the trail where a considerable amount of blood showed that the bear had been badly wounded. at once they began to follow this trail back into the high country away from the river.
-alex did not ask any questions, and there was little talk between him and moise. moise, however, took the lead on the trail. alex did not even carry his rifle, but loitered along, picking berries and enjoying himself, after his own fashion.
-"keep close up to moise, young gentlemen," he said. "this bear, although only a black bear, is apt to be very ugly if you find him still alive. if he comes for you, kill him quick. i doubt, however, very much whether he will be alive when we come up with him."
-"how do you know about that, alex?" demanded john.
-"it's our business to know about such things," answered alex, smiling.
-all the boys now could see where the bear had scrambled up the bank, and where it had gone through the bushes on its way to the forest, leaving a plain blood trail on the ground.
-"moise will lead on the trail," said alex. "he's more injun than i am. in some ways i can beat him, in others he can beat me. he is one of the best trailers on the river."
-"heem awful mad," whispered moise. "s'pose you'll seen heem here, he'll fight sure. he'll bite all the tree an' fight the bush."
-after a while alex showed them a deep excavation in the soft dirt.
-"he'll dig hole here an' lie down," said moise. "plenty mad now, sure!"
-they kept on after the trail, following it deeper into the forest and higher up the slope, minute after minute, for a time which seemed short, but which really was over an hour and a half in extent. moise still remained silent and not in the least excited, and alex still continued to pick his berries and eat them leisurely as he followed along in the rear. once they lost the trail on an open hillside covered with wintergreen plants, and the boys thought the hunt was over. moise however, swung around like a hound on the trail, clear to the other side of the hill, and in the course of a few minutes picked up the spoor again when it struck softer ground beyond. they passed on then, moving upward deeper into the forest for some minutes, until at length moise turned about.
-"about five minute now, we'll found heem," said he, quietly.
-"how does he know, alex?" demanded jesse, who was farther to the rear.
-"easy enough," answered alex. "he says the bear has lain down ten times now, and he would not do that unless he was very weak. he would travel as far as he could. now he is lying down very often. i'm sorry, but i don't think we'll get any fight out of this bear. moise thinks you'll find him dead."
-surely enough, they had hardly gone another hundred yards before moise, stepping back quietly, pointed through an opening in the bushes. there, lying before them in a little glade, lay a vast, black body, motionless.
-rob grounded his rifle-butt, almost in disappointment, but later expressed his satisfaction.
-"now, boys, i got him," said he, "and i guess it's just as well he didn't have to wait till now for us to come. but speaking of trailing, moise, you certainly know your business."
-"oh yes," said moise, "every man in this country he'll mus' know how to trail, else he'll go hongree some tam. my onkle she'll taught me how for follow trail."
-"well," said alex, "here's some more meat to get down to the boat, i suppose, and we need meat badly, too. we ought not to waste it, but if we take it all on board we'll have to hurry to get down to peace river landing with it, because it is more than we can possibly eat."
-the two older hunters now drew their big buffalo knives and fell to work skinning and dismembering the carcass of the bear, the boys helping as they could. it was plainly the intention of alex and moise to make one trip with meat and hide.
-in order to carry the green bear hide--always a slippery and awkward thing to pack--moise now showed a little device often practised, as he said, among the crees. he cut two sharpened sticks, each about a couple of feet in length, and placing these down on the hide, folded the hide around them, so that it made a sharp, four-cornered pack. he lashed the hide tightly inside these four corners, and then lifting it up and down, smilingly showed the boys that the green hide now would not slip, but would remain in place, thus making a much better pack. he slung his belt at the corners of the pack, and then motioned to alex to throw up on top of his pack one of the hams of the bear which had been detached from the carcass. when moise got his load he started off at a trot, taking a course different from that on which they had come.
-alex in turn used his belt and some thongs he had in making a pack of the remainder of the meat, which, heavy as it seemed, he managed to shoulder, leaving the boys nothing to carry except the skull of the bear, which they had expressed a wish to retain with the robe.
-"do you suppose we'll ever get to be men as strong as that?" asked rob in a whisper, pointing to the solitary figure of the breed now passing rapidly down the slope.
-"i didn't know anybody was so strong," admitted jesse. "they must be pretty good men, i'm thinking."
-"but which way are they going?" asked john. "do you suppose they're lost?"
-"we'll follow and see," answered rob. "they seem to know their own way pretty well."
-they now kept alex in sight, and in the course of about fifteen or twenty minutes came up with moise, who was sitting down, resting his back against the root of a tree.
-"i suppose you'll know where we are now?" he asked of rob.
-rob shook his head. "no, i don't recognize the place."
-moise pointed with a thumb to a point just back of the tree. rob stepped over, and gazing down, saw a deep hole in the ground.
-"why, i know!" said he. "this is one of the holes the bear dug--one of the first ones, i should think."
-"oh, i see, you cut across-lots and didn't follow the back trail." john was as much surprised as rob.
-"no," said alex, "we saved perhaps half a mile by coming straight across, for, you see, the bear was wandering all around on the hillside as he was trying to get away. you'll find the boats are directly below us here, and not very far away."
-"this," said rob, "seems to me pretty wonderful! you men certainly do know how to get along in this country. i'd never have thought this was the direct course, and if i had been in there alone i certainly would have followed the bear's trail back--if i could have found it."
-yet it all came out quite as alex and moise had planned, for in less than ten minutes more they scrambled down the steep bank to the rocky beach where the two boats lay. the men distributed the hide and meat between the two, covering up both with green willow boughs.
-"now," said alex, "for a fast run down this river. we've got more meat than we can use, and we must get to the landing."
-the end of the old war-trail
-it is possible to make twenty-five miles a day with pole and tracking-line against a current even so strong as that of the peace river. twice or thrice that distance down-stream is much easier, so that no greatly difficult journey remained ahead of our travelers between their last camp and the old hudson bay post known as peace river landing, which perhaps moise would have called the end of the old war-trail from little slave lake--the point near the junction of the peace and smoky rivers which has in it so much strategic value, whether in war or in peace. the two boats, pausing only for the briefest possible encampments, now swung on down, day after day, not pausing at the ultimate western settlements, st. john and dunvegan, but running on down, between high and steep banks, through a country clean and beautiful with its covering of poplar growth. at last, well wearied with steady paddling, they opened up a great "v" in the valley, so that they knew they were at the junction of the smoky and the peace, and hence at the end of this stage of their journey.
-it was evening at the time of their arrival, and rob was much for finishing the journey that day, yet yielded to the wish of moise, who thought it would be better to camp some few miles above the town, although almost within sight of the great ferry which here crosses the main river from the wagon trail of the north bank.
-"we'll must go in like real voyageurs," insisted moise. "we'll not look good to go in to-night--too much tire an' dirt."
-in the morning moise appeared at the breakfast table attired in his best. he had in some way managed a clean shave, and now his long, black hair was bound back with a gaudy handkerchief, his old shirt replaced by a new and bright one, and his old moccasins discarded for a pair of new and brilliantly beaded ones, so that in all he made a brave figure of a voyageur indeed. alex also in a quiet way had followed the lead of moise. the boys themselves, falling into the spirit of this, hunted through their war-bags for such finery as they could compass, and decked themselves out in turn with new moccasins, new gloves, and new kerchiefs for their necks. moise looked on them all with the utmost approbation.
-"it's the best for return like some braves hommes," said he. "well, en avant!"
-they all bent gaily to the paddles now, and sped down the flood of the great stream until at length they sighted the buildings of the hudson bay post, just below the ferry. here, finishing with a great spurt of speed, they pulled alongside the landing bank, just below where there lay at mooring the tall structure of the hudson bay steamboat, peace river, for the time tarrying at this point. moise rolled his paddle along the gunwale, making the spray fly from the blade after the old fashion of the voyageurs ending a journey, and the boys followed his example. many willing hands aided them to disembark. a little later they found themselves ready for what seemed apt to be one of their last encampments.
-a tall breed woman stood at a little distance up the bank, silently awaiting their coming. moise pointed to her with no great emotion.
-"he's my womans," said he. "he'll fix the camp for us an' take care of those meat, yes."
-moise and his wife met, undoubtedly glad to see each other, though making no great show at the time. pretty soon the breed woman came down and lifted the bear hides and the meat from the boats.
-"she'll fix up the hides for you, all right," said alex, quietly. "as we don't need the meat, and as i don't live here, but a hundred miles below on little slave, i think we had better give moise all of the meat for himself and his people--he probably has fifty or more 'uncles' and 'cousins' in this village. meantime, i think it might be well for us to make a little camp over here in the cottonwoods just back of the lodges."
-they saw now on the flat between the river and the company post quite a little village of indian conical tepees, from which now came many indians and half-breeds, and a multitude of yelping dogs.
-the boys, aided by one or two taciturn but kindly natives, who seemed to know who they were, and so lent a hand without any request, soon had their simple little camp well under way. at about this time they were approached by a stalwart man wearing the cap of the hudson bay company's river service.
-"i'm saunders, of the hudson bay company," said he, "and i suppose you're the nephews of mr. wilcox, an engineer, who has gone down the river?"
-"yes, sir," said rob; "we have just come down, and we expected to meet him below here."
-"i have a letter for you," said captain saunders. "mr. wilcox came up from little slave awhile back, and went down to fort vermilion with us on our last trip--i'm the captain of the boat over yonder. he asked me to bring you down to vermilion on our next run. i suppose the letter explains it all."
-"yes, sir," said rob, after reading it and handing it to the others. "that's about the size of it. we thought our trip was ended here, but he asks us to come on down and meet him at fort vermilion! it seems a long way; but we're very glad to meet you, captain saunders."
-they all shook hands, and the grizzled veteran smiled at them quizzically.
-"well, young gentlemen," said he, "i hardly know what to think about your trip, but if you really made it, you're lucky to get through in as good shape as you have."
-"we had a perfectly bully time, sir," said rob. "we lost one of our boats west of the cañon, but we got another this side, and we're all safe and sound, with every ounce of our property along."
-"you have the best of me, i must admit," said the hudson bay man, "for i have never been west of st. john myself, although we make the dunvegan run regularly all the time, of course. they tell me it is pretty wild back there in the mountains."
-"yes, sir," said rob. "the water's pretty fast sometimes; but, you see, we had two good men with us, and we were very careful."
-"you had pretty fair men with you, too, didn't you, alex?" smiled saunders, as the tall half-breed came up at that time.
-"and quite right, too," nodded saunders.
-"oh, well, of course we couldn't have done any of those things without you and moise," said rob. "anybody can shoot a rifle a little bit, but not every one could bring the boats out of such water as we have had."
-"well, now, what do you want to do?" resumed saunders, after a little. "here's the peace river steamer, and you can get a room and a bath and a meal there whenever you like. or you can stay here in your tent and eat with the factor up at the post beyond. i would suggest that you take in our city before you do much else."
-"when were you planning to leave for vermilion, captain saunders?" inquired rob.
-"some time to-morrow morning, as soon as we get plenty of wood from the yard across the river. it's about three hundred and fifty miles to vermilion down-stream--that is to say, north of here--but we run it in two or three days with luck. coming up it's a little slower, of course."
-"if you don't mind, sir," said rob at length, "i think we'd rather sleep in our tent as long as we can--the steamboat would be very nice, but it looks too much like a house."
-saunders laughed, and, turning, led the way through the indian villages and up toward the single little street which made the village of peace river landing, ancient post of the hudson bay. here he introduced the young travelers, who at once became the sensation of the hour for all the inhabitants, who now thronged the streets about them, but who all stood silent and respectful at a distance.
-they found the hudson bay post, as jesse had said, more like a country store than the fur-trading post which they had pictured for themselves. they saw piled up on the shelves and counters all sorts of the products of civilization--hardware of every kind, groceries, tinned goods, calicoes, clothes, hats, caps, guns, ammunition--indeed, almost anything one could require.
-john was looking behind the counters with wistful eye, for the time ceasing his investigation of the piles of bright new moccasins.
-"i don't see any, alex," said he, at last.
-"any what, mr. john?"
-"well, you said there'd be toffy."
-alex laughed and beckoned to the clerk. when john made known his wishes, the latter ran his hand in behind a pile of tobacco and brought out a number of blue-covered packages marked "imperial toffy."
-"i think you will find this very nice, sir," said he. "it's made in the old country, and we sell quite a bit of it here."
-john's eyes lighted up at this, and, if truth be told, both of the other boys were glad enough to divide with him his purchase, quantities of which he generously shared also with the indian and half-breed children whom he presently met in the street.
-"i don't see but what this is just the same as any other town," said he at length, his mouth full.
-they were received with great courtesy by the factor of the hudson bay company, who invited them to have lunch with him. to their surprise they found on the table all the sorts of green vegetables they had ever known--potatoes, beans, tomatoes, lettuce, many varieties, and all in the greatest profusion and excellence.
-"we don't encourage this sort of thing," said the factor, smilingly pointing to these dishes of vegetables, "for the theory of our company is that all a man needs to eat is meat and fish. but just to be in fashion, we raise a few of these things in our garden, as you may see. when you are at vermilion, moreover, although that is three hundred and fifty miles north from here, you'll see all sorts of grain and every vegetable you ever heard of growing as well as they do twelve or fifteen hundred miles south of here."
-"it's a wonderful country, sir," said rob. "i don't blame alex and moise for calling this the land of plenty."
-"moise said that the old war-trail over from the little slave country used to end about here," ventured john.
-the factor smiled, and admitted that such was once said to have been the case.
-"those days are gone, though, my young friend," said he. "there's a new invasion, which we think may unsettle our old ways as much as the invasion of the crees did those of the stoneys and beavers long ago. i mean the invasion of the wagon-trains of farmers."
-steamboating in the far north
-captain saunders finished the operation of getting wood for the peace river by ten o'clock of the next morning, and as the steamer once more came alongside the steep bank at the landing the hoarse note of her whistles notified every one to get ready for the journey down the stream. the boys, who had passed the night in their tent with alex--moise having gone to his own tepee for the night--now began to bestir themselves before going aboard the steamer.
-"what are we going to do with all our things, alex?" asked rob.
-"how do you mean, sir?"
-"why, our tent and the skins and trophies and blankets and everything--we won't need them on board the boat, will we?"
-"no, sir, and the best way will be to leave them here."
-"what! in our tent, with no one to care for them? you know, moise is going with us, as i understand it."
-"everything will be perfectly safe right there in the tent, if only you tie the flaps so the dogs can't get in," answered alex. "you see, it's only white men that steal in this country--the injuns and breeds won't do that. until the klondike pilgrims came through here we didn't know what theft was. i can answer for these people here. everything you leave will be perfectly safe, and, as you say, it will be less bother than to take this stuff along on the boat."
-rob motioned to his companions, and they stepped aside for a little while.
-"what are we going to do about the stuff we've got left over, fellows?" asked he. "of course, we've got to get down by wagon as far as little slave, and we'll need grub enough, if uncle dick hasn't got it, to last us two or three days. but we won't boat, and we've got quite a lot of supplies which i think we had better give to moise--they have to charge pretty good prices for everything they sell at the store up here, and maybe moise will like this stuff."
-"that suits me," said john, "and i think it would be a good idea. give moise all the meat and such supplies as we don't need going out."
-"and then, how about the boats?"
-"well, old picheu sold us the dugout, and i don't suppose he'll ever get down here any more, and we certainly couldn't take it out with us. i'm in favor of making moise a present of that. he seems to like it pretty well."
-"a good idea," said rob. "and how about the jaybird? wouldn't it be fine to give that to alex!"
-both the other boys thought this would be a good idea, and they accordingly proposed these plans to alex before they went aboard the steamer.
-the old hunter smiled with great pleasure at their generosity. "i don't want to rob you young men," said he, "and without doubt you could sell both of those boats here if you liked. but if you want us to keep them, they will be of great value to us. moise hunts up and down the river all the time, and can use the dugout. i live on little slave, and hunt miles below here, but i have plenty of friends with wagons, and they'll take the jaybird across for me. i'll keep her as long as she lasts, and be very glad indeed."
-"well, then," said rob, "i don't see any reason why we shouldn't go aboard. i'm almost sorry, too, because it seems to me as though we were pretty near to the end of our trip now."
-"don't be so sure," said the old hunter to him. "some of the best bear country on this river is below this point, and unless i am very much mistaken, you will probably see a dozen or two bear between here and vermilion."
-on board the steamboat the boys found a long table spread with clean linen, comfortable bunks with linen sheets, something they had not seen for a long time, and a general air of shipshapeness which did not seem to comport with a country so wild and remote as this. each was assigned to a room, where he distributed his belongings, and soon they were all settled down comfortably, alex and moise also having rooms given to them, according to the instructions which uncle dick had sent up to the company.
-during the last few minutes before the mooring-lines of the boat were cast loose all the party stood along the rail watching the breed deck-hands carrying aboard the remainder of the boat's cargo. rob expressed the greatest surprise at the enormous loads which these men carried easily from the storehouse down the slippery bank and up the steep gang-plank. "i didn't think such strong men lived anywhere in the world," said he. "i never saw anything like it!"
-"yes," said alex, "there are some pretty good men on the river, that's true. the man who couldn't shoulder three hundred pounds and get it aboard would be back of the first rank."
-"three hundred pounds!" said rob. "that's pretty heavy, isn't it?"
-"non! non!" broke in moise. "she's no heavy. on the trail those man he'll take three packets, two hundred seventy poun', an' he'll trot all same dog--we'll both told you that before. my onkle, billy loutit, he'll carry seex hondred poun' one tam up a heell long tam. he'll take barrel of pork an' ron on the bank all same deer."
-rob turned a questioning glance on alex, who nodded confirmation. "men have been known to carry four or five hundred pounds considerable distances on the portage," said he. "it isn't best for them, but they're always rivaling one another in these feats of strength. saunders here, the captain, used to carry five hundred pounds in his day--all the salt pork and boxes you could rake up on top of him. you see this is a country of large distances and the seasons are short. you talk about 'hustling' down in the cities, but i suppose there never was a business carried on which 'hustled' as long and hard as the old fur trade a hundred years ago. that's where these men came from--from fathers and grandfathers who were brought up in the work."
-at last the steamer cast loose her mooring-lines and stood off for midstream with a final roar of her whistles. a row of indians and breeds along the bank again gave the salute of the north with a volley of rifle-fire. they were off for the last lap of their long journey down the great river, this time under somewhat different circumstances from those under which they had begun their journey.
-the boys rapidly explored the steamboat, and found her a comfortable side-wheeler, especially built for this river work, with powerful engines and abundance of room on her lower deck for heavy cargo. her cabin-deck provided good accommodations for passengers, and, all in all, she was quite a wonderful vessel for that far-off country, in their belief.
-"i found something down below," said john, coming up the companion-stair after a time.
-"what's that?" asked jesse.
-"well, he'll have to beat us," said rob, stoutly.
-"alex," inquired jesse, after a time, "how many bear did you ever see on this river in one day?"
-"i wouldn't like to say," answered alex, "for we don't always count them. i'm told that one of our passengers counted twenty-eight in one afternoon right on this part of the river where we are now. i've often seen a dozen a day, i should say."
-"you're joking about that, alex!" said rob.
-"wait and see--i may show you pretty soon," was the answer.
-the boys, always ready enough when there was game to be seen, secured their rifles and took their stand at the front rail of the cabin-deck, ready for anything which might appear.
-"i don't see how you can shoot off this boat," said jesse, trying to sight his rifle. "it wobbles all the time when the engine goes."
-alex gave him a little advice. "i think you'll find it better to stand with your feet pretty close together," said he, "and keep your hands as close together as you can on your rifle, too. then, when you catch sight of your mark as you swing by, pull, and don't try to hold dead on."
-for some time they saw nothing, and, leaning their rifles against the cabin walls, were talking about something else, when all at once they heard the whistle of the steamer boom out above them. at about the same time, one of the deck-hands at the bow deck below picked up a piece of plank and began to beat loudly with it upon the side structure of the boat.
-"what's the matter?" asked rob. "has everybody gone crazy, alex?"
-"no; they're just trying to beat up the game," said alex, smiling. "you see that island below? it nearly always has bears feeding on it, where the berries are thick. when the boat comes down above them the men try to scare the bears out into the river. just wait a minute, and perhaps you'll see some of the strangest bear hunting you ever heard of in your life."
-almost as he spoke they all heard the crack of a rifle from the pilot-house above them, and saw the spit of a bullet on the water many hundreds of yards below them.
-"i see him," said rob, "i see him--there he goes! look at that little ripple on the water."
-"yes," said alex, quietly, "there was one on the island, as i supposed there would be. he is swimming off now for the mainland. too far yet, i should say. just take your time, and let showan waste his ammunition."
-it was all the boys could do to hold their fire, but presently, since almost every one else on the boat began to shoot, alex signaled to his young charges to open up their battery. he knew very well that the rifles they were using were more powerful than the carbines which made the usual arm in that country.
-"be careful now, young men," said he, "and watch where your bullets go."
-for the first few shots the boys found the difficulty which jesse had prophesied, for shooting from an unstable platform is always difficult. they had the added advantage, however, of being able to tell where their bullets were falling. as they were all firing close together, and were using rifles of the same caliber, it was difficult to tell who really was the lucky marksman, but, while the little triangle of moving water still seemed two or three hundred yards below the boat, suddenly it ceased to advance. there lay upon the surface of the water a large oblong, black mass.
-"through the head!" said alex, quietly. "i don't know which one."
-all the deck-hands below began to laugh and shout. the captain of the boat now came forward. "i don't know which one of you to congratulate," said he, "but that was good work. now my men will have plenty of meat for the trip down, that's sure."
-he now passed down to the floor of the deck, and under his instructions one of the deck-hands picked up a long, stout pole which had a hook fastened on the end of it.
-"look down there below now, young gentlemen," said alex, "and you'll see something you never will see anywhere but here. we gaff a bear here, the same as you do a salmon."
-this literally was true. the engineer now shut off his engines, and the great boat drifted slowly down upon the floating body of the dead bear, with just steerageway enough to enable the pilot to lay her alongside. at last the deck-hand made a quick sweep with his gaff-hook, and calling two of his fellows to hold onto the pole with him, and so stopping the tremendous pull which the body of the bear made on the pole, they finally succeeded in easing down the strain and presently brought the dead bear close alongside. then a noose was dropped over its neck and it was hauled aboard. all this time the boys were excitedly waiting for the end of their strange hunt, and to them this sort of bear hunting seemed about the most curious they had ever known.
-the deck-hands now, in obedience to a word in their own language from the captain, rapidly began to skin and quarter the dead bear.
-moise explained to them that his young hunters wanted the skin saved for them, with the claws and the skull, so that they were more particular than they usually are in skinning a bear which they intend to eat. truth to say, the carcass of this bear scarcely lasted for the rest of the voyage, for black bear is a regular article of diet for these people, although they will not often eat the grizzly.
-these operations were scarcely well advanced before once more the whistle began to roar, and once more the rifle-fire began from showan's place up in the pilot-house. this time they all saw a big bear running up the bank, but perhaps half a mile away. it made good speed scrambling up over the bare places, and was lost to sight from time to time among the bushes. but it had no difficulty in making its escape unhurt, for now the boys, although they fired rapidly at it, could not tell where their bullets were dropping, and were unable to correct their aim.
-"i don't care," said rob, "if it did get away. we've got almost bears enough now, and besides, i don't know whether this is sportsmanlike or not, shooting bears from a boat. anyhow, when an animal is swimming in the water and can't get away, i don't see the fun in killing it. let's wait on the next one and let the pilot shoot it."
-they did not have half an hour to wait before they saw that very thing happen. the whistles once more stirred the echoes as they swung down to a group of two or three islands, and this time two bears started wildly across the channel for the mainland. rob and his friends did not shoot at these, but almost every one else did. one escaped unhurt, but another, although it almost reached the bank, was shot dead with a bullet from showan's rifle. once more the manoeuvers of the gaff-hook were repeated, and once more a great black bear was hauled on board. in fact, they saw during the afternoon no less than six full-grown bears, none of which got away unsaluted, but only two of which really were "bagged," as alex called it, by the men with the gaff-hook.
-a moose hunt
-the great flues of the peace river devoured enormous quantities of the soft pine fuel, so that soon after noon of the second day they found it well to haul alongshore at a wood-yard, where some of the employés of the company had stacked up great heaps of cord-wood. it was the duty of the deck-hands to get this aboard the boat, an operation which would require perhaps several hours.
-as alex did not think there would be any hunting, he concluded to remain on the boat, but moise volunteered to walk along the beach with the boys, to explain anything they might see, and to be of assistance in case they should happen to meet with any game, although no one suspected that such would be the case, since the arrival of the boat had necessarily made considerable disturbance.
-"maybe so we'll seen some of these mooses somewhere," said moise after a time. "you'll seen his track on the sand all along."
-"that's so," said rob. "they look just like cattle, don't they? i should think all the game in the country must be coming down into this valley to see what's going on. here's a wolf track, too, big as a horse's foot, almost. and what are all of these little scratches, like a cat, on the beach, moise?"
-"some beevaire, he'll sweem across an' come out here. he'll got a house somewhere, i'll s'pose. plenty game on this part of the river all tam. plenty meat. my people he'll live here many year. i got some onkle over on battle river, an' seven, five, eight cousin on cadotte river, not far from here. all good honter, too."
-"i can believe that, moise, after seeing you," said john.
-the happy-go-lucky moise laughed light-heartedly. "if she'll don' hont on this land, she'll starve sure. a man he'll mus' walk, he'll mus' hont, he'll mus' portage, he'll mus' trap, he'll mus' walk on the track-line, an' know how for paddle an' pole, else he'll starve sure."
-they walked on down along the narrow beach covered with rough stones, and showing only here and there enough of the sand or earth to hold a track. at length, however, moise gave a sharp word of caution, and hurriedly motioned them all to get under cover at the bank.
-"what is it, moise?" whispered rob, eagerly.
-"moose!" he pointed down the bank. for a long time the boys could discover nothing, but at last they caught sight of a little splash of water four or five hundred yards below, where a trickling stream entered the main river at a low place.
-"he'll stood there an' fight the fly, maybe so," said moise. "ha-hum! why he'll don' see us i don' know, me. why the boat he'll not scare heem i'll don' know, me, too. how we'll get heem i don' know, me. but we'll try. come!"
-the boys now found that moise was once more turned hunter, and rather a relentless and thoughtless one at that, for he seemed to pay no attention to the weakness of other members of his company. they scarcely could keep him in sight as he made his way through the heavy cover to an upper bench, where the forest was more open. here he pointed to the steep slope which still rose above them.
-"we must make surround," said he, in a whisper.
-not so bad a general was moise, for, slight as was his chance to approach so wary an animal as a moose under these conditions, he used the only possible plan by which success might have been attained.
-the little trickle of water in which the moose stood at the beach below came down out of a steep coulée, which at the point where they stood ran between deep banks, rapidly shallowing farther up the main slope. fortunately the wind was right for an approach. moise left john at a rock which showed on an open place pretty well up the hill, and stationed jesse a little closer to the coulée. moise and rob scrambled across the steep slopes of the ravine, and hurried on as fast as they could go, to try to get below the moose in case it should attempt to take the water. thus they had four rifles distributed at points able to cover the course of the moose should it attempt to escape up the bank, and close enough to hear it if it passed beneath in the forest growth.
-rob and moise paused only long enough partly to get their breath before moise motioned to rob to remain where he was, while he himself hastened to the right and down toward the beach.
-for some time the half-breed hunter remained at the edge of the cover, listening intently. apparently he heard no sound, and neither he nor rob could detect any ripple on the water showing that the moose was going to undertake escape by swimming. thus for a time, for what indeed seemed several minutes, all the hunters continued in their inaction, unable to determine upon a better course than simply to wait to see what might happen.
-they saw lying almost at the head of the coulée, which here had shallowed up perceptibly, a great, long-legged, dark body, with enormous head, tremendously long nose, and widely palmated antlers--the latter in the velvet, but already of extreme size.
-for a time they could hardly talk for fatigue and excitement, but presently each could see how the hunt had happened to terminate in this way. the moose, smelling or hearing moise when he got on the wind below, at the edge of the cover, had undertaken to make its escape quietly under the cover of the steep coulée down which it had come. with the silence which this gigantic animal sometimes can compass, it had sneaked like a rabbit quite past rob and almost to the head of the coulée. a little bit later and it might have gained the summit and have been lost in the poplar forest beyond. jesse, however, had happened to see it as it emerged, and had opened fire, with the result which now was obvious. his last bullet had struck the moose through the heart as it ran and killed it almost instantly.
-"well, jess," said rob, "i take off my hat to you! that moose must have passed within a hundred yards of me and i never knew it, and from where you killed him he must have been three hundred yards at least."
-"those boy she'll be good shot," said moise, approvingly, slapping jesse warmly on the shoulder. "plenty meat now on the boat, hein?"
-"when i shot him," said jesse, simply, "he just fell all over the hill."
-"i was just going to shoot," said john, "but i couldn't see very well from where i was, and before i could run into reach jesse had done the business."
-"well," said moise, "one thing, she'll been lucky. we'll make those deck-hand come an' carry in this meat--me, i'm too proud to carry some more meat, what?"
-he laughed now as he began to skin out and quarter the meat in his usual rapid and efficient fashion.
-they had finished this part of their work, and were turning down the hill to return to the steamer when they were saluted by the heavy whistle of the boat, which echoed in great volume back and forth between the steep banks of the river, which here lay at the bottom of a trough-like valley, the stream itself several hundred yards in width.
-"don't hurry," said moise; "she'll wait till we come, an' she'll like plenty moose meat on his boat."
-all of which came out as moise had predicted, for when they told captain saunders that they really had a dead moose ready to be brought aboard the latter beamed his satisfaction.
-"that's better than bear meat for me!" said he. "we'll just lie here while the boys go out and bring in the meat."
-"now," said rob to his friends, as, hot and dusty, they turned to their rooms to get ready for dinner, "i don't know what you other fellows think, but it seems to me we've killed about all the meat we'll need for a while. let's wait now until we see uncle dick--it won't be more than a day or so, and we've all had a good hunt."
-as they had been told, our travelers found the banks of their river at this far northern latitude much lower than they had been for the first hundred miles below the landing. now and again they would pass little scattered settlements of natives, or the cabin of some former trading-station. for the most part, however, the character of the country was that of an untracked wilderness, in spite of the truth, which was that the hudson bay company had known it and traded through it for more than a century past.
-by no means the most northerly trading-posts of the great fur-trading company, fort vermilion, their present destination, seemed to our young friends almost as though it were at the edge of the world. their journey progressed almost as though they were in a dream, and it was difficult for them to recall all of its incidents, or to get clearly before their minds the distance back of them to the homes in far-off alaska, which they had left so long ago. the interest of travelers in new land, however, still was theirs, and they looked forward eagerly also to meeting the originator of this pleasant journey of theirs--uncle dick wilcox, who, as they now learned from the officers of the boat, had been summoned to this remote region on business connected with the investigation of oil-fields on the athabasca river, and had returned as far as fort vermilion on his way out to the settlements.
-when finally they came within sight of the ancient post of fort vermilion, the boys, as had been the case in such other posts as they previously had seen, could scarcely identify the modest whitewashed buildings of logs or boards as really belonging to a post of the old company of hudson bay. the scene which they approached really was a quiet and peaceful one. at the rim of the bank stood the white building of the company's post, or store, with a well-shingled red roof. beyond this were some houses of the employés. in the other direction was the residence of the factor, a person of considerable importance in this neighborhood. yet farther up-stream, along the bank, stood a church with a little bell; whereas, quite beyond the scattered settlement and in the opposite direction there rose a tall, two-story building with projecting smoke-stack. rob inquired the nature of this last building, which looked familiar to him.
-"that is the grist-mill," said captain saunders to him. "you see, we raise the finest wheat up here you'll find in the world."
-"i've heard of it," said rob, "but i couldn't really believe it, although we had good vegetables away back there at peace river landing."
-"it's the truth," said captain saunders; "yonder is the company's wheat-field, a hundred acres of it, and the same sort of wheat that took the first prize at the centennial, at your own city of philadelphia, in 1876. i'll show you old brother regnier, the man who raised that wheat, too. he can't speak any english yet, but he certainly can raise good wheat. and at the experimental farm you shall see nearly every vegetable you ever heard of."
-"i don't understand it," said rob; "we always thought of this country as being arctic--we never speak of it without thinking of dog-trains and snowshoes."
-"the secret is this," said captain saunders. "our summers are short, but our days are very long. now, wheat requires sunshine, daylight, to make it grow. all right; we give it more hours of sunshine in a month than you do in a month in dakota or iowa. the result is that it grows quicker and stronger and better, as we think. it gets ripe before the nights become too cold. this great abundance of sunlight is the reason, also, that we raise such excellent vegetables--as i'm sure you will have reason to understand, for here we always lay in a supply for our return voyage. i am thinking, however," added the captain, presently, as the boat, screaming with her whistle, swung alongside of her landing-place, "that you'll see some one in this crowd here that you ought to know."
-all along the rim of the bank there was rather a gaily-clad line of indians and half-breeds, men and women, many of whom were waving salutations to members of the boat's crew. the boys studied this line eagerly, but for some time none of them spoke.
-"i see him!" said jesse at last. "that's uncle dick sitting up there on the bench."
-the others also identified their relative and friend as he sat quietly smoking and waiting for the boat to make her landing. at length he arose and came to the staging--a rather slender, bronzed man, with very brown face and eyes wrinkled at the corners. he wore an engineer's garb of khaki and stiff-brimmed white hat.
-the three boys took off their hats and gave a cheer as they saw him standing there smiling.
-"how are you, uncle dick?" they all cried; and so eager were they that they could scarcely wait for the gang-plank to be run out.
-their uncle, mr. richard wilcox, at that time employed in the engineering department of one of the dominion railways, laughed rather happily as he bunched them in his arms when they came ashore. there was little chance for him to say anything for some time, so eager were the boys in their greeting of him.
-"well, you're all here!" said he at length, breaking away to shake hands with alex and moise, who smiled very happily also, now coming up the bank. "how have they done, alex?"
-"fine!" said the old hunter. "couldn't have been better!"
-"this was good boys, all right," affirmed moise. "we'll save her life plenty tam, but she's good boy!"
-"did you have any trouble getting across, alex?" asked uncle dick.
-"plenty, i should say!" said alex, smiling. "but we came through it. the boys have acted like sportsmen, and i couldn't say more."
-"i suppose perhaps you got some game then, eh?"
-all three now began to speak at once excitedly, and so fast that they could scarcely be understood.
-"did you really get a grizzly?" inquired uncle dick of alex, after a while.
-"yes, sir, and a very good one. and a black bear too, and a moose, and some sheep, and a lot of small stuff like that. they're hunters and travelers. we gave them a 'lob-stick' to mark their journey--far back in the rockies."
-"well, alaska will have to look to its laurels!" said uncle dick, taking a long breath and pretending not to be proud of them. "it seems to me you must have been pretty busy shooting things, from all i can learn, young men."
-"oh, we know the country," interrupted rob, "and we've got a map--we could build a railroad across there if we had to."
-"well, to tell the truth, i'm mighty glad you got through all right," said uncle dick. "i've been thinking that maybe i oughtn't to have let you try that trip, for it's dangerous enough for men. but everything's well that ends well, and here you are, safe and sound. you'll have to be getting out of here before long, though, in order to make valdez in time for your fall school--you'd be running wild if i left you on the trail any longer.
-"the boat will be going back to the landing in a couple of days, i suppose," he added after a time, as he gathered their hands in his and started along the path up the steep bank; "but there are a few things here you ought to see--the post and the farms and grains which they have--wonderful things in their way. and then i'll try to get saunders to fix it so that you can see the vermilion chutes of the peace river."
-"i know right where that is," said rob, feeling in his pocket for his map--"about sixty miles below here. that's the head of navigation on the peace, isn't it?"
-"it is for the present time," said uncle dick. "i've been looking at that cataract of the peace. there ought to be a lock or a channel cut through, so that steamboats could run the whole length from chippewayan to the rockies! as it is, everything has to portage there."
-"we don't know whether to call this country old or young," said rob. "in some ways it doesn't seem to have changed very much, and in other ways it seems just like any other place."
-"one of these days you'll see a railroad down the mackenzie, young man," said uncle dick, "and before long, of course, you'll see one across the rockies from the head of the saskatchewan, above the big bend of the columbia."
-"why couldn't we get in there some time, uncle dick?" asked jesse, who was feeling pretty brave now that they were well out of the rocky mountains and the white water of the rapids.
-"well, i don't know," said uncle dick, suddenly looking around. "it might be a good idea, after all. but i think you'd find pretty bad water in the columbia if you tried to do any navigation there. time enough to talk about that next year. come on now, and i'll introduce you to the factor and the people up here at the post."
-all of these new friends of theirs asked them eagerly about their journey across the rockies, which was a strange region to every one of them, although they had passed their lives in the service of the fur trade in the north. as usual, in short, they made themselves much at home, and asked a thousand questions difficult enough to answer. here, as they had done at peace river landing, they laid in a stock of gaudy moccasins and gloves and rifle covers, all beautifully embroidered by native women in beads or stained porcupine quills, some of which work had come from the half-arctic tribes hundreds of miles north of vermilion. they saw also some of the furs which had been sent down in the season's take, and heard stories in abundance of the ways of that wild country in the winter season. even they undertook to make friends with some of the half-savage sledge-dogs which were kept chained in the yard back of the post. after this they made a journey out to the farm which the dominion government maintains in that far-off region, and there saw, as they had been promised by captain saunders, wheat and rye taller than any one of them as they stood in the grain, and also vegetables of every sort, all growing or in full maturity.
-"well, we'll have stories to tell when we get back," said rob, "and i don't believe they'll believe half of them, either, about the wildness of this country and the tameness of it. anyhow, i'm glad we've come."
-the next day they put in, as uncle dick suggested, in a steamer trip down to the vermilion chutes. they did not get closer than three or four miles, but tied up while the party went down on foot to see the big cataract of the peace--some fifteen feet of sheer, boiling white water, falling from a rim of rock extending almost half a mile straightaway across the river.
-"i expect that's just a little worse than the 'polly' rapids," said john. "i don't think even moise could run that place."
-even as they stood on the high rim of the rock at the edge of the falls they saw coming up from below the figure of a half-breed, who was dragging at the end of a very long line a canoe which was guided by his companion far below on the swift water. had the light line broken it must, as it seemed to these observers, have meant destruction of the man in the canoe. yet the two went on about their work calmly, hauling up close to the foot of the falls, then lifting out their canoe, portaging above, and, with a brief salutation, passing quickly on their way up the stream.
-"that's the way we do it, boys," said uncle dick, "in this part of the world--there goes the fast express. it would trouble the lightest of you to keep up with that boy on the line, too, i'm thinking. some day," added uncle dick, casting a professional eye out over the wide ridge of rock which here blocked the river, "they'll blow a hole through that place so that a boat can get through. who knows but one of you will be the engineer in charge? anyhow, i hope so--if i don't get the job myself."
-"you mustn't forget about that trip over the yellowhead pass, where your new railroad's going now, uncle dick," said jesse, as they turned to walk again up the rough beach toward the mooring-place of the steamer.
-"don't be in too big a hurry, jesse," returned his relative. "you've got a whole year of studying ahead of you, between now and then. we'll take it under advisement."
-"what i believe i like best about this country," said rob, soberly, "is the kindness of the people in it. everywhere we have been they've been as hospitable as they could be. we don't dare admire anything, because they'll give it to us. it seems to me everybody gets along pleasantly with everybody else up here; and i like that, you know."
-"it's a man's country," said uncle dick, "that's true, and i don't know that you'll be the worse for a little trip into it, although you come from a man's country back there in alaska yourselves, for the matter of that. well, this is the northern end of your trail for this year, my sons. here's where we turn back for home."
-they paused at the bend and looked once more back at the long, foaming ridge of white water which extended across from shore to shore of the stream which they had followed so far.
-"all right," said rob, "we've had a good time."
-they turned now, and all tramped steadily back to the boat, which soon resumed her course up-stream.
-regarding their further stay at fort vermilion, or their return journey of several days southward to peace river landing, little need be said, save that, in the belief of all, the young hunters now had killed abundance of game. although they saw more than a dozen bears on their way up the river, they were willing to leave their rifles in their cases, and spend their time studying the country and poring yet more over the maps which they were now preparing to show their friends at home.
-arrived at peace river landing, the young hunters found everything quite as alex said it would be, their belongings perfectly safe and untouched in the tent where they had left them. uncle dick, who now took charge of the party, agreed with them that it was an excellent thing to make alex and moise presents of the canoes, and to give moise the remainder of the supplies which would not be required on their brief trip to little slave lake by wagon.
-at this time the telephone line had been completed from little slave lake to peace river landing, and the factor at the latter post had sent word for two wagons and teams to come up for these passengers, outbound. there was little difficulty in throwing their light equipment, with their many trophies and curiosities, into one of the wagons, and arranging with the other to carry out the jaybird, which, a little bit battered but practically unhurt, now continued the last stage of its somewhat eventful journey over the old mackenzie trail--alex, as may be supposed, watching it with very jealous eye so that it should get no harm in the long traverse.
-alex was thus to accompany the party for a few days, but moise, who lived at the landing, now must say good-by. this he did still smiling, though by no means glad to lose the company of his young friends.
-"you'll come back some more bimeby," said he. "any man he'll drink the water on this river one time, he'll couldn't live no more without once each year he'll come back an' drink some more on that river! i'll see you again, an' bimeby you'll get so you'll could carry seex hondred poun' half a mile an' not set it down. moise, he'll wait for you."
-when they reached the top of the steep hill which rises back of peace river landing, almost a thousand feet above the river which runs below, they all stopped and looked back, waiting for the wagons to toil up the slope, and waiting also to take in once more the beauty of the scene which lay below them. the deep valley, forking here, lay pronounced in the dark outlines of its forest growth. it still was morning, and a light mist lay along the surface of the river. in the distance banks of purple shadows lay, and over all the sun was beginning to cast a softening light. the boys turned away to trudge on along the trail with a feeling almost of sadness at leaving a place so beautiful.
-"it is as moise says, though!" broke out rob, answering what seemed to be the unspoken question in the minds of his fellows--"we'll have to come back again some time. it's a man's country."
-hardened by their long experience in the open, the boys were able to give even uncle dick, seasoned as he was, something of an argument at footwork on the trail, and they used wagons by no means all the time in the hundred miles which lie between peace river landing and little slave lake--a journey which required them to camp out for two nights in the open. by this time the nights were cold, and on the height of land between these two waterways the water froze almost an inch in the water-pails at night, although the sun in the daytime was as warm as ever. to their great comfort, the mosquito nuisance was now quite absent; so, happy and a little hungry, at length they rode into the scattered settlement of grouard, or little slave lake, passing on the way to the lower town one more of the old-time posts of the hudson bay company.
-"you see here," said uncle dick, as they paused at the edge of the water which lay at the end street, "only an arm of the lake proper. the steamer can't get through this little channel, but ties up about eight miles from here. i suppose we ought to go aboard to-night."
-"if you will allow me, sir," said alex, stepping forward at this time, "i might give the boys a little duck-shoot this evening on their way down to the boat."
-"why not?" said uncle dick, enthusiastically. "i don't know but i'd like a mallard or so for myself, although i can't join you to-night, as i'm too busy. can you get guns and ammunition, alex?"
-"oh yes," replied the old hunter, "easily. and i'll show the young gentlemen more ducks to-night than they ever saw in all their lives before. the jaybird will carry all of us, if we're careful, and i'll just paddle them down along the edge of the marsh. after we've made our shoot, we'll come on down to the boat after dark, or thereabout."
-"fine!" said uncle dick. "that'll give me time to get my business completed here, and i'll go down to the boat by wagon along shore."
-this arrangement pleased the boys very much, for they knew in a general way that the lake on whose shores they now were arrived was one of the greatest breeding-places for wild fowl on the continent. besides this, they wished to remain with alex as long as possible, for all of them had become very fond of the quiet and dignified man who had been their guide and companion for so long.
-the four of them had no trouble in finishing the portage of the jaybird and her cargo from the wagon to navigable water, and finally they set off, paddling for the marshes which made off toward the main lake.
-they had traveled perhaps three or four miles when alex concluded to yield to the importunities of the boys to get ashore. they were eager to do this, because continually now they saw great bands and streams of wild fowl coming in from every direction to alight in the marshes--more ducks, as alex had said, than they had thought there were in all the world. most of them were mallards, and from many places in the marsh they could hear the quacking and squawking of yet other ducks hidden in the high grass.
-"we haven't any waders," said alex, "and i think you'll find the water pretty cold, but you'll soon get used it to. come ahead, then."
-they pushed their canoe into the cover of the reeds and grasses, and disembarking, waded on out toward the outer edge of the marsh, where the water was not quite so deep, yet where they could get cover in rushes and clumps of grass. alex posted them in a line across a narrow quarter of the marsh, so that each gun would be perhaps a hundred yards from his neighbor, jesse, the shortest of the party, taking the shallowest water nearest to the road beyond the marsh.
-they had not long to wait, for the air seemed to them quite full of hurrying bands of fowl, so close that they could see their eyes dart glances from side to side, their long necks stretched out, their red feet hugged tight up to their feathers.
-it is not to be supposed that any one of our young hunters was an expert wild-fowl shot, for skill in that art comes only with a considerable experience. moreover, they were not provided with the best of guns and ammunition, but only such as the post was accustomed to sell to the half-breeds of that country. in spite of all handicaps, however, the sport was keen enough to please them, and successful enough as well, for once in a while one of them would succeed in knocking out of a passing flock one or more of the great birds, which splashed famously in the water of the marsh. sometimes they were unable to find their birds after they had fallen, but they learned to hurry at once to a crippled bird and secure it before it could escape and hide in the grasses. presently they had at their feet almost a dozen fine mallards. in that country, where the ducks abound, there had as yet been no shooting done at them, so that they were not really as wild as they are when they reach the southern latitudes. neither were their feathers so thick as they are later in the season, when their flight is stronger. the shooting was not so difficult as not to afford plenty of excitement for our young hunters, who called out in glee from one to the other, commenting on this, the last of their many sporting experiences in the north.
-they found that alex, although he had never boasted of his skill, was a very wonderful shot on wild fowl; in fact, he rarely fired at all unless certain he was going to kill his bird, and when he dropped the bird it nearly always was stone-dead.
-after a time rob, hearing what he supposed to be the quacking of a duck in the grass behind him, started back to find what he fancied was the hidden mallard. he saw alex looking at him curiously, and once more heard the quacking.
-"why, it's you who've been doing that all the time, alex!" exclaimed rob. "i see now why those ducks would come closer to you than to me--you were calling them!"
-alex tried to show rob how to quack like a duck without using any artificial means, but rob did not quite get the knack of it that evening. for a time, however, after the other boys had come over also, they all squatted in the grass near to alex, and found much pleasure in seeing him decoy the ducks, and do good, clean shooting when they were well within reach.
-at last alex said, "i think this will do for the evening, if you don't mind. it's time we were getting on down to the steamer."
-the boys had with them their string of ducks, and alex had piled up nearly two dozen of his own.
-"what are we going to do with all of these?" said rob. "they're heavy, and our boat's pretty full right now."
-"how many shall you want on the boat?" inquired alex.
-"well," said rob, "i don't know, but from the number of ducks we've seen i don't suppose they're much of a rarity there any more than they are with you. why don't you keep these ducks yourself, alex, for your family?"
-"very well," said alex, "suppose you take half dozen or so, and let me get the others when i come back--i'll pile them up on this muskrat house here, and pick them up after i have left you at the steamer. you see," continued he, "my people live about two miles on the other side of the town, closer to the hudson bay post. i must go back and get acquainted with my family."
-"have you any children, alex?" asked rob.
-"five," said alex. "two boys about as big as you, and three little girls. they all go to school."
-"i wish we had known that," said rob, "when we came through town, for we ought to have called on your family. never mind, we'll do that the next time we're up here."
-they paddled on now quietly and steadily along the edge of the marshes, passed continually by stirring bands of wild fowl, now indistinct in the dusk. at last they saw the lights of the steamer which was to carry them to the other extremity of little slave lake.
-and so at last, after they had gone aboard, it became necessary to part with alex in turn. rob called his friends apart for a little whispered conversation. after a time they all went up to alex carrying certain articles in their hands.
-"if you please, alex," said rob, "we want to give your children some little things we don't need any more ourselves. here's our pocket-knives, and some handkerchiefs, and what toffy john has left, and a few little things. please take them to your boys, and to the girls, if they'll have them, and say we want to come and see them some time."
-"that's very nice," said alex. "i thank you very much."
-he shook each of them by the hand quietly, and then, dropping lightly into the jaybird as she lay alongside, paddled off steadily into the darkness, with indian dignity now, saying no further word of farewell.
-leaving the trail
-continually there was something new for the travelers, even after they had finished their steamboat journey across the lake on the second day. now they were passing down through the deep and crooked little river which connects slave lake with the athabasca river. they made what is known as the mirror landing portage in a york boat which happened to be above the rapids of the little slave river, where a wagon portage usually is made of some fifteen or sixteen miles. here on the athabasca they found yet another steamboat lying alongshore, and waiting for the royal mails from peace river landing.
-this steamer, the north star, in common with that plying on little slave lake, they discovered to be owned by a transportation company doing considerable business in carrying settlers and settlers' supplies into that upper country. indeed, they found the owner of the boat, a stalwart and kindly man, himself formerly a trader among the indians, and now a prominent official in the dominion government, ready to accompany them as far as athabasca landing, and eager to talk further with mr. wilcox regarding coming development of the country which moise had called the land of plenty.
-they found that the athabasca river also flows to the northward in its main course, joining the water of the peace river in the great mackenzie, the artery of this region between the rockies and the arctics; but here it makes a great bend far to the south, as though to invite into the far north any one living in the civilized settlements far below. their maps, old and new, became objects of still greater interest to the young travelers, both on board the vessel, where they had talked with every one, as usual, regarding their trip and the country, and after they had left the steamer at the thriving frontier town of athabasca landing.
-here they were almost in touch with the head of the rails, but still clinging to their wish to travel as the natives long had done, they took wagon transportation from athabasca landing to the city of edmonton, something like a hundred miles southward from the terminus of their water journey. at this point, indeed, they felt again that their long trail was ended, for all around them were tall buildings, busy streets, blazing electric lights, and all the tokens of a thriving modern city. here, too, they and their journey became objects of newspaper comment, and for the brief time of their stay the young voyageurs were quite lionized by men who could well understand the feat they had performed.
-mr. wilcox was obliged to remain in the north for some time yet in connection with his engineering duties, which would not close until the approach of winter. he therefore sent the boys off alone for their railway journey, which would take them first to calgary, and then across the rockies and selkirks through banff, and forward to vancouver, victoria, and seattle, from which latter point they were expected to take coast boats up the long alaska coast to valdez--a sea voyage of seven days more from seattle.
-mr. wilcox gave them full instructions regarding the remaining portions of their journey, and at length shook hands with them as he left them on the sleeping-car.
-"tell the folks in valdez that i'll be back home on one of the last boats. so long! take care of yourselves!"
-he turned, left the car, and marched off up the platform without looking around at them even to wave a hand. his kindly look had said good-by. the boys looked after him and made no comment. they saw that they were in a country of men. they were beginning to learn the ways of the breed of men who, in the last century or so, have conquered the american continent for their race--a race much the same, under whatever flag.
-even on the railway train they found plenty of new friends who were curious to learn of their long journey across the rockies. the boys gave a modest account of themselves, and were of the belief that almost any one could have done as much had they had along such good guides as alex and moise.
-the rockies and the selkirks impressed them very much, and they still consulted their maps, especially at the time when they found themselves approaching the banks of the columbia river.
-"this river and the fraser are cousins," said rob, "like the athabasca and the peace. both of these rivers west of the rockies head far to the south, then go far to the north, and swing back--but they run to the pacific instead of to the arctic. now right here"--he put his finger on the place marked as the yellowhead pass--"is the head of the saskatchewan river, and the fur-traders used to cross here from the saskatchewan to the columbia just the way mackenzie and fraser and finlay used to cross to the peace from the fraser. i tell you what i think, fellows. i'd like to come back next year some time, and have a go at this yellowhead pass, the way we did at that on the head of the peace--wouldn't you? we could study up on alexander henry, and thompson, and all those fellows, just as we did on fraser and mackenzie for the northern pass."
-"i feel as though i'd been gone a year," said john.
-"and now it's all over," added rob, "and we're really going back to our own country, i feel as if it would be a year from here to home."
-jesse remained silent for a time. "do you know what i am thinking about now? it's about our 'lob-stick' tree that our men trimmed up for us. we'll put one on every river we ever run. what do you say to that?"
-"no," replied rob, "we can't do that for ourselves--that has to be voted to us by others, and only if we deserve it. i'll tell you what--let's do our best to deserve it first!"
-the others of the young alaskans agreed to this very cheerfully, and thus they turned happily toward home.
-1. minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.
-2. "uncle dick" is variously referred to as both richard hardy and as richard wilcox in this book; in transcribing this book, no effort was made to correct this.
-this text uses utf-8 (unicode) file encoding. if the apostrophes and quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage, make sure your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set to unicode (utf-8). you may also need to change the default font. as a last resort, use the latin-1 version of the file instead.
-the printed text used small capitals for emphasis. these have been replaced with +marks+ where appropriate. missing lines were shown by rows of widely spaced dots (single lines) or asterisks (longer sections). they are shown here in groups of three:
-uniform with this volume
-popular ballads of the olden time
-ballads of romance and chivalry. 1903.
-ballads of mystery and miracle and fyttes of mirth. 1904.
-ballads of scottish tradition and romance. 1906.
-london: sidgwick & jackson, ltd
-popular ballads of the olden time selected and edited by frank sidgwick
-fourth series. ballads of robin hood and other outlaws
-‘come sit we downe under this hawthorne tree, the morrowes light shall lend us daie enough, and tell a tale of gawen or sir guy, of robin hood, or of good clem of the clough.’
-sidgwick & jackson, ltd 3 adam street, adelphi london. mcmxii
---c’est une vieille chanson. --qui l’a faite? --on ne sait pas. --quand? --on ne sait pas. --quand tu étais petit? --avant que je fusse au monde, avant qu’y fût mon père, et le père de mon père, et le père du père de mon père. cela a toujours été.
-this volume concludes the series, begun in 1903, which was intended to comprise all the best traditional ballads of england and scotland. the scheme of classification by subject-matter, arbitrary and haphazard as it may seem to be at one point or another, has, i think, proved more satisfactory than could have been anticipated; and in the end i have omitted no ballad without due justification.
-i cannot take leave of nine years’ intermittent work on this selection without remembering that its ‘only begetter’ was mr. a. h. bullen, with whom i published the first three volumes. while i regret to think how different it is in the result from the edition he then envisaged, i gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to him for the inoculation. the anthologist is strictly a plucker of the flowers of literature; but the ballads are not literature--they are lore, and therefore of warmer human interest.
-introduction to the robin hood ballads
-‘it is our olde manner,’ sayd robyn, ‘to leve but lytell behynde.’
-‘it will scarcely be expected that one should be able to offer an authentic narrative of the life and transactions of this extraordinary personage. the times in which he lived, the mode of life he adopted, and the silence or loss of contemporary writers, are circumstances sufficiently favourable, indeed, to romance, but altogether inimical to historical truth.’ in these words joseph ritson, the first and most painstaking of those well-meaning scholars who have tried to associate the outlaw with ‘historical truth,’ begins his ‘life of robin hood,’ an account which occupies ten pages of his book, and is annotated and illustrated through the following one hundred and five pages. the dictionary of national biography includes robin hood, as it includes king arthur; but it is better to face the truth, and to state boldly that robin hood the yeoman outlaw never existed in the flesh. as the goddess athena sprang from the head of zeus, robin hood sprang from the imagination of the english people.
-that being so, he is a creation of whom the english people, who have kept him so long alive where he was born and bred, should be proud; and after reflecting on his essential characteristics--his love of the poor, his courteous robbery of the higher orders both spiritual and temporal, his loyalty to the king, his freedom with the king’s deer, and his esteem of all women for the sake of the virgin--an englishman should be the first to resent any attempt to identify so truly popular a hero either with one of several historical nonentities, or with a member of the aristocracy, or worst of all, with an aryan sun-myth.
-all these attempts have been made at one time or another, but not until the spirit which begot him had begun to dwindle in the english heart. if king arthur is the ideal knight of celtic chivalry, robin is the ideal champion of the popular cause under feudal conditions: his enemies are bishops, fat monks, and the sheriff who would restrain his liberty. it is natural that an enfranchised yeoman, who took toll of the oppressors, and so effected what we still call a redistribution of wealth, should be the hero of the oppressed and the law-abiding poor; and it is natural that, as social conditions altered (for better or for worse) with the national prosperity under elizabeth, and classes and masses reconsidered their relative positions, robin should fall from the popular pantheon, and should degenerate, as we find him degenerated in the broadsides of the reformation hacks, into a swashbuckler unheroic enough to be defeated in quarter-staff bouts and so undemocratic as to find for himself a noble title and a wife of high degree.
-there are, then, four robin hoods:--
-we will now investigate these in turn, attempting so far as may be possible to keep them distinct.
-i. the ballad hero robin hood
-observing that this first mention of robin is as the subject of ballads, and that he is coupled with another popular hero, one of the twelfth-century earls of chester, we pass to the next reference.
-‘lytill ihon and robyne hude waythmen ware commendyd gude; in yngilwode and barnysdale thai oysyd all this tyme thare trawale.’
-this passage, from wyntoun’s chronicle of scotland (about 1420), is referred to the year 1283, and means that robin and his man little john were known as good hunters (cf. ‘wight yeomen,’ constantly in the ballads), and they carried on their business in inglewood and barnsdale at this time.
-in 1439 a petition was presented to parliament concerning a certain piers venables, of whom it is stated that, having no other livelihood, he ‘gadered and assembled unto him many misdoers’ and ‘wente into the wodes in that contrë, like as it hadde be robyn-hode and his meynë.’
-these five references show that robin hood was popular in ballads for at least a century before the date at which we find those ballads in print; and apart from the fact that printing is usually the last thing that happens to a ballad of the folk, the language in which they are written is unmistakably middle english--that is to say, the gest of robyn hode (at least) may be dated nearer 1400 than 1500. but langland’s evidence is clear; ‘rymes’ of robin hood were widely known by 1377. neither bower nor major know anything of robin except what they learnt from the ballads about him.
-ii. robin hood, earl of huntingdon
-in attempting to provide robin hood with a noble ancestry, ritson quotes, amongst other authorities, a manuscript life of robin, which, as it supplied him with other errors, had best be put out of court at once. this is sloane ms. 780 (ritson calls it 715, which is due to the fact that in his time sloane mss. 715-7, 720-1, and 780-1 were bound up together); it is of the early seventeenth century, which is much too late for any faith to be put in its statements.
-no allusion to the noble descent of robin hood has been found earlier than one in grafton’s chronicle (1569), where the author alleges that he takes this information from ‘an olde and auncient pamphlet.’ as child says, we must ‘invoke the spirit of ritson to pardon the taking of no very serious notice of robin hood’s noble extraction.’
-stukely, an antiquary who published his palæographia britannica in 1746, derived ‘robert fitzooth, commonly called robin hood, pretended earl of huntingdon,’ from a series of anglo-norman lords.
-iii. historical robin hoods
-in 1852 joseph hunter issued, as no. 4 of his ‘critical and historical tracts,’ the great hero of the ancient minstrelsy of england, robin hood. amongst other discoveries, he found, in an exchequer document of expenses in the royal household of edward ii., the name of ‘robyn hode’ occurring several times as a ‘vadlet’ or ‘porteur de la chambre,’ at the salary of threepence per diem, between march and november of 1324.
-various other researchers have succeeded in tracing half a dozen people, all named robin or robert hood, within a period of some forty years of the fourteenth century; but few have pressed identification with robin hood the outlaw so far as hunter, ‘who,’ says professor child, ‘could have identified pigrogromitus and quinapalus, if he had given his mind to it.’ working on the above datum, hunter shows how probable it is that robin hood the outlaw entered the service of edward ii. at nottingham, where the king was from november 9-23 in 1323. but the robin whose fortunes hunter raked up was a very bad servant, and within a year from the alleged date was ignominiously dismissed from the king’s service, with a present of 5s., ‘because he was no longer able to work’! was this the invincible champion of english yeomen? was this the hand that launched a thousand shafts?
-the only point to which attention need be called is the obvious fact that ‘robert hood’ was not an uncommon combination of names, at least in fourteenth-century england.
-to do this, it is necessary to go back some centuries before the time at which we first hear of robin hood the outlaw, and to follow the development of the english folk’s summer festival from song and dance to drama, and from the folk-games--the ‘induction of may,’ the ‘induction of autumn,’ the ‘play of the king and the queen,’ which, separately or together, were performed at least as early as the thirteenth century--to the ‘may-game’ or ‘king’s game’ of the middle of the fifteenth century. going back again to the thirteenth century, and crossing over to france, we find in the fêtes du mai--which were evolved, with the help of the minstrels, from the french folk’s summer festival--the names of robin and marion customarily appropriated to the king and queen of these fêtes.
-these complications of robin hood’s company are further confused by the fact that the morris-dance, which was universally affiliated to the may-game, borrowed therefrom not only maid marian but robin hood, little john and friar tuck; so that amongst the later ballads and broadsides we find robin’s company increased. however, by that time robin himself had degenerated from the fine character exhibited in the earlier ballads given in this volume.
-topography of robin hood’s haunts
-the simplest way to begin is to eliminate from our consideration the numerous robin hood’s hills, wells, stones, oaks, or butts, some of which may be found as far distant as gloucestershire and somerset; for many of these probably bear his name in much the same way as other natural freaks bear the devil’s name. a large number can be found in what may be called robin hood’s home-counties, yorkshire and those which touch yorkshire--lancashire, derby, nottingham and lincoln shires.
-undoubtedly the evidence of the best ballads goes to show that at one time there must have been at least two cycles of robin hood ballads, one placing him in barnsdale, the other allotting him headquarters in sherwood; but it appears that even the ballads of the fifteenth century make little effort to discriminate between the two. robin hood and the monk (ms. of c. 1450) introduces us, in its first five lovely stanzas, to sherwood; in robin hood and the potter (ms. of c. 1500), the scene is nottingham, in the sherwood district. little john refers to wentbridge, which lies in the heart of barnsdale, yet knows every path in merry sherwood.
-in robin hood and guy of gisborne (certainly an early ballad, although the percy folio, which supplies the only text, is c. 1650), the scene is specified as barnsdale; yet at the end the sheriff of nottingham flees to his house as if it were hard by, whereas he had a fifty-mile run before him. the later ballads forget barnsdale altogether.
-the majority of the places mentioned in the northern or barnsdale cycle will be found in the south of the west riding of yorkshire, a district bounded by the east riding and lincolnshire to the east, derby and nottingham shires to the south, and the river calder to the north. to the west, the natural boundary is the high ground of the peak, which divides manchester from sheffield.
-the town of barnsley lies slightly to the east of a line joining leeds and sheffield; barnsdale itself is east and north of barnsley, where the high backbone of the pennines drops towards the flats surrounding the river humber. the great north road (‘watling street,’ gest, 18.2) between doncaster and pontefract, crosses the small slow river went at wentbridge (probably referred to in st. 135 of the gest), which may be taken as the northern boundary of barnsdale. that this part of the north road was considered unsafe for travellers as early as edward i.’s reign is shown by the fact that a party going from scotland to winchester, and for most of the journey guarded by a dozen archers, saw fit to increase their number of guards to twenty between pontefract and tickhill, the latter being on the border of yorkshire and nottingham, south of doncaster.
-the remaining places, except those explained in the footnotes, may be dealt with here.
-‘blyth’ (gest, 27.4, 259.4), twice mentioned as a place at which to dine, is a dozen miles south of doncaster, and in nottingham; it is almost exactly half-way between barnsdale and sherwood.
-‘verysdale’ (gest, 126.4) may be wyersdale, a wild tract of the old forest of lancashire, near lancaster.
-‘holderness’ (gest, 149.1) is the nose of yorkshire; between the south-easterly turn of the humber below hull and the north sea.
-‘kyrkesly’ (gest, 451.3, 454.3), or ‘churchlees’ (robin hood’s death, 1.3). kirklees priory is on the left or north bank of the river calder, a few miles north of huddersfield.
-‘st. mary abbey’ is ‘here besyde’ (gest, 54.4) and in york (84.4).
-the name of sherwood is not mentioned in the gest, though that of nottingham is frequent. the old forest was a district about twenty-five miles square, lying to the north of nottingham, between that town and worksop, including mansfield and, to the north, the district now known as ‘the dukeries,’ i.e. the parks of welbeck, clumber and rufford. there is a village of sherwood, a northern suburb of nottingham, and a sherwood hall near mansfield; between the two may be found friar tuck’s well, robin hood’s well, robin hood’s stable, and a robin hood hill. but, as has been pointed out above, these names have little significance in view of the fact that similarly-named objects can be found in other counties.
-it is more interesting to note that a pasture called ‘robynhode closse’ (i.e. close) is mentioned in the nottingham chamberlain’s accounts as early as 1485, and a ‘robynhode well’ in 1500.
-short bibliography of robin hood
-ritson, joseph. robin hood: a collection of all the ancient poems, songs, and ballads, now extant, relative to that celebrated english outlaw. 2 vols. london, 1795.
-gutch, john matthew. a lytell geste of robin hode, with other ancient and modern ballads and songs relating to this celebrated yeoman. 2 vols. london, 1847.
-fricke, richard. die robin-hood-balladen. in herrig’s archiv, lxix. 241-344. also separately, braunschweig, 1883.
-brandl, alois. englische volkspoesie. in paul’s grundriss der germanischen philologie. strassburg, 1893.
-kiessman, r. untersuchungen über die motivs der robin-hood-balladen. halle, 1895.
-heusler, a. lied und epos. dortmund, 1905.
-hart, w. m. ballad and epic. in harvard studies and notes in philology and literature. vol. xi. boston, 1907.
-clawson, w. h. the gest of robin hood. in university of toronto studies. toronto, 1909.
-the london and westminster review. march 1840. vol. xxxiii.
-the quarterly review. july 1898.
-a gest of robyn hode
-‘rebus huius roberti gestis tota britannia in cantibus utitur.’ --major.
-+the text.+--there are seven texts of the gest, to be distinguished as follows:--
-+the text+ here given is mainly the wynkyn de worde text, except where the earlier edinburgh fragment is available; the stanzas which the latter preserves are here numbered 1.-83.3, 113.4-124.1, 127.4-133.2, 136.4-208.3, and 314.2-349.3, omitting 2.2,3 and 7.1. a few variations are recorded in the footnotes, it being unnecessary in the present edition to do more than refer to child’s laborious collation of all the above texts.
-the spelling of the old texts is retained with very few exceptions. the reason for this is that although the original texts were printed in the sixteenth century, the language is of the fifteenth, and a number of middle english forms remain; these are pointed out by child, iii. 40, and elaborately classified by w. h. clawson, the gest of robin hood, 4-5. a possible alternative was to treat the gest on the plan adopted for fifteenth-century texts by e. k. chambers and the present editor in early english lyrics (1907); but in that book the editors were mostly concerned with texts printed from manuscript, whereas here there is good reason to suspect the existence of a text or texts previous to those now available. for the sounded e (ë) i have mostly followed child.
-the gest is not a single ballad, but a conglomeration of several, forming a short epic. ballads representing its component parts are not now extant; although on the other hand there are later ballads founded on certain episodes in the gest. the compiler availed himself of incidents from other traditional sources, but he produced a singularly original tale.
-the word gest, now almost obsolete, is derived through old french from the latin gesta, ‘deeds’ or ‘exploits.’ but as the word was particularly applied to ‘exploits as narrated or recited,’ there came into use a secondary meaning--that of ‘a story or romantic tale in verse,’ or ‘a metrical chronicle.’ the latter meaning is doubtless intended in the title of the gest of robyn hode. a further corruption may be noticed even in the titles of the later texts as given above; copland adds the word ‘mery,’ which thirty years later causes white to print a ‘merry jest.’
-i have kept the original divisions of the story into eight ‘fyttes,’ but it falls more naturally into three main sections, in each of which a complete story is narrated. these may he distinguished thus:--
-1. +robin hood and the knight.+ (fyttes first, second, and fourth.)
-2. +robin hood, little john, and the sheriff of nottingham.+ (fyttes third, fifth, and sixth.)
-3. +robin hood and king edward.+ (fyttes seventh and eighth.)
-an argument and general notes are prefixed to each fytte.
-the first fytte (1-81)
-+argument.+--robin hood refuses to dine until he finds some guest to provide money for his entertainment. he sends little john and all his men to bring in any earl, baron, abbot, or knight, to dine with him. they find a knight, and feast him beneath the greenwood tree: but when robin demands payment, the knight turns out to be in sorry plight, for he has sold all his goods to save his son. on the security of our lady, robin lends him four hundred pounds, and gives him a livery, a horse, a palfrey, boots, spurs, etc., and little john as squire.
-robin’s unwillingness to dine until he has a guest appears to be a parody of king arthur’s custom of refusing dinner until he has had an adventure. (see child, i. 257, note ‡.) the offer of the virgin as security for a loan is apparently derived from a well-known miracle of mary, in which a christian, wishing to borrow money of a jew, takes him to a church and makes him lay his hand on a statue of the virgin and child, praying that, if he fails to return the money on the day fixed to the lender, but gives it to the statue, christ will return it to the jew. this miracle eventually takes place, but is attributed rather to the virgin than to her son. (see child, iii. 52.)
-the first fytte
-1. lythe and listin, gentilmen, that be of frebore blode; i shall you tel of a gode yeman, his name was robyn hode.
-2. robyn was a prude outlaw, whyles he walked on grounde; so curteyse an outlaw as he was one was never non yfounde.
-3. robyn stode in bernesdale, and lenyd hym to a tre; and bi him stode litell johnn, a gode yeman was he.
-4. and alsoo dyd gode scarlok, and much, the miller’s son; there was none ynch of his bodi but it was worth a grome.
-5. than bespake lytell johnn all untoo robyn hode: ‘maister, and ye wolde dyne betyme it wolde doo you moche gode.’
-6. than bespake hym gode robyn: ‘to dyne have i noo lust, till that i have som bolde baron, or som unkouth gest.
-7. ... ... ... ‘that may pay for the best, or some knyght or som squyer that dwelleth here bi west.’
-8. a gode maner than had robyn: in londe where that he were, every day or he wold dyne thre messis wolde he here.
-9. the one in the worship of the fader, and another of the holy gost, the thirde was of our dere lady that he loved allther moste.
-10. robyn loved oure dere lady; for dout of dydly synne, wolde he never do compani harme that any woman was in.
-11. ‘maistar,’ than sayde lytil johnn, ‘and we our borde shal sprede, tell us wheeler that we shall go and what life that we shall lede.
-12. ‘where we shall take, where we shall leve, where we shall abide behynde; where we shall robbe, where we shall reve, where we shall bete and bynde.’
-13. ‘thereof no force,’ than sayde robyn; ‘we shall do well inowe; but loke ye do no husbonde harme that tilleth with his ploughe.
-14. ‘no more ye shall no gode yeman that walketh by grene-wode shawe; ne no knyght ne no squyer that wol be a gode felawe.
-15. ‘these bisshoppes and these archebishoppes, ye shall them bete and bynde; the hye sherif of notyingham, hym holde ye in your mynde.’
-16. ‘this worde shalbe holde,’ sayde lytell johnn, ‘and this lesson we shall lere; it is fer dayes; god sende us a gest, that we were at our dynere.’
-17. ‘take thy gode bowe in thy honde,’ sayde robyn; ‘late much wende with thee; and so shal willyam scarlok, and no man abyde with me.
-18. ‘and walke up to the saylis and so to watlinge strete, and wayte after some unkuth gest, up chaunce ye may them mete.
-19. ‘be he erle, or ani baron, abbot, or ani knyght, bringhe hym to lodge to me; his dyner shall be dight.’
-20. they wente up to the saylis, these yemen all three; they loked est, they loked weest, they myght no man see.
-21. but as they loked in to bernysdale, bi a dernë strete, than came a knyght ridinghe; full sone they gan hym mete.
-22. all dreri was his semblaunce, and lytell was his pryde; his one fote in the styrop stode, that othere wavyd beside.
-23. his hode hanged in his iyn two; he rode in symple aray; a soriar man than he was one rode never in somer day.
-24. litell johnn was full curteyes, and sette hym on his kne: ‘welcome be ye, gentyll knyght, welcom ar ye to me.
-25. ‘welcom be thou to grenë wode, hendë knyght and fre; my maister hath abiden you fastinge, syr, al these ourës thre.’
-26. ‘who is thy maister?’ sayde the knyght; johnn sayde, ‘robyn hode’; ‘he is a gode yoman,’ sayde the knyght, ‘of hym i have herde moche gode.
-27. ‘i graunte,’ he sayde, ‘with you to wende, my bretherne, all in fere; my purpos was to have dyned to day at blith or dancastere.’
-28. furth than went this gentyl knight, with a carefull chere; the teris oute of his iyen ran, and fell downe by his lere.
-29. they brought him to the lodgë-dore; whan robyn gan hym see, full curtesly dyd of his hode and sette hym on his knee.
-30. ‘welcome, sir knight,’ than sayde robyn, ‘welcome art thou to me; i have abyden you fastinge, sir, all these ouris thre.’
-31. than answered the gentyll knight, with wordës fayre and fre: ‘god thee save, goode robyn, and all thy fayre meynë.’
-32. they wasshed togeder and wyped bothe, and sette to theyr dynere; brede and wyne they had right ynoughe, and noumbles of the dere.
-33. swannes and fessauntes they had full gode, and foules of the ryvere; there fayled none so litell a birde that ever was bred on bryre.
-34. ‘do gladly, sir knight,’ sayde robyn; ‘gramarcy, sir,’ sayde he; ‘suche a dinere had i nat of all these wekys thre.
-35. ‘if i come ageyne, robyn, here by thys contrë, as gode a dyner i shall thee make as thou haest made to me.’
-36. ‘gramarcy, knyght,’ sayde robyn; ‘my dyner whan that i it have, i was never so gredy, by dere worthy god, my dyner for to crave.
-37. ‘but pay or ye wende,’ sayde robyn; ‘me thynketh it is gode ryght; it was never the maner, by dere worthi god, a yoman to pay for a knyght.’
-38. ‘i have nought in my coffers,’ saide the knyght, ‘that i may prefer for shame’: ‘litell john, go loke,’ sayde robyn, ‘ne let not for no blame.
-39. ‘tel me truth,’ than saide robyn, ‘so god have parte of thee’: ‘i have no more but ten shelynges,’ sayde the knyght, ‘so god have parte of me.’
-40. ‘if thou have no more,’ sayde robyn, ‘i woll nat one peny; and yf thou have nede of any more, more shall i lend the.
-41. ‘go nowe furth, littell johnn, the truth tell thou me; if there be no more but ten shelinges, no peny that i se.’
-42. lyttell johnn sprede downe hys mantell full fayre upon the grounde, and there he fonde in the knyghtës cofer but even halfe a pounde.
-43. littell johnn let it lye full styll, and went to hys maysteer full lowe; ‘what tydynges, johnn?’ sayde robyn; ‘sir, the knyght is true inowe.’
-44. ‘fyll of the best wine,’ sayde robyn, ‘the knyght shall begynne; moche wonder thinketh me thy clothynge is so thinne.
-45. ‘tell me one worde,’ sayde robyn, ‘and counsel shal it be; i trowe thou wert made a knyght of force, or ellys of yemanry.
-46. ‘or ellys thou hast been a sori husbande, and lyved in stroke and strife; an okerer, or ellis a lechoure,’ sayde robyn, ‘wyth wronge hast led thy lyfe.’
-47. ‘i am none of those,’ sayde the knyght, ‘by god that madë me; an hundred wynter here before myn auncetres knyghtes have be.
-48. ‘but oft it hath befal, robyn, a man hath be disgrate; but god that sitteth in heven above may amende his state.
-49. ‘withyn this two yere, robyne,’ he sayde, ‘my neghbours well it knowe, foure hundred pounde of gode money ful well than myght i spende.
-50. ‘nowe have i no gode,’ saide the knyght, ‘god hath shapen suche an ende, but my chyldren and my wyfe, tyll god yt may amende.’
-51. ‘in what maner,’ than sayde robyn, ‘hast thou lorne thy rychesse?’ ‘for my greate foly,’ he sayde, ‘and for my kyndënesse.
-52. ‘i hade a sone, forsoth, robyn, that shulde have ben myn ayre, whanne he was twenty wynter olde, in felde wolde just full fayre.
-53. ‘he slewe a knyght of lancashire, and a squyer bolde; for to save him in his ryght my godes beth sette and solde.
-54. ‘my londes beth sette to wedde, robyn, untyll a certayn day, to a ryche abbot here besyde of seynt mari abbey.’
-55. ‘what is the som?’ sayde robyn; ‘trouth than tell thou me.’ ‘sir,’ he sayde, ‘foure hundred pounde; the abbot told it to me.’
-56. ‘nowe and thou lese thy lond,’ sayde robyn, ‘what shall fall of thee?’ ‘hastely i wol me buske,’ sayd the knyght, ‘over the saltë see,
-57. ‘and se where criste was quyke and dede, on the mount of calverë; fare wel, frende, and have gode day; it may no better be.’
-58. teris fell out of hys iyen two; he wolde have gone hys way; ‘farewel, frende, and have gode day, i ne have no more to pay.’
-59. ‘where be thy frendës?’ sayde robyn: ‘syr, never one wol me knowe; while i was rych ynowe at home great boste than wolde they blowe.
-60. ‘and nowe they renne away fro me, as bestis on a rowe; they take no more hede of me thanne they had me never sawe.’
-61. for ruthe thanne wept litell johnn, scarlok and much in fere; ‘fyl of the best wyne,’ sayde robyn, ‘for here is a symple chere.
-62. ‘hast thou any frende,’ sayde robyn, ‘thy borrowe that woldë be?’ ‘i have none,’ than sayde the knyght, ‘but god that dyed on tree.’
-63. ‘do away thy japis,’ than sayde robyn, ‘thereof wol i right none; wenest thou i wolde have god to borowe, peter, poule, or johnn?
-64. ‘nay, by hym that me made, and shope both sonne and mone, fynde me a better borowe,’ sayde robyn, ‘or money getest thou none.’
-65. ‘i have none other,’ sayde the knyght, ‘the sothe for to say, but yf yt be our dere lady; she fayled me never or thys day.’
-66. ‘by dere worthy god,’ sayde robyn, ‘to seche all englonde thorowe, yet fonde i never to my pay a moche better borowe.
-67. ‘come nowe furth, litell johnn, and go to my tresourë, and bringe me foure hundred pound, and loke well tolde it be.’
-68. furth than went litell johnn, and scarlok went before; he tolde oute foure hundred pounde by eight and twenty score.
-69. ‘is thys well tolde?’ sayde lytell much; johnn sayde: ‘what greveth thee? it is almus to helpe a gentyll knyght that is fal in povertë.
-70. ‘master,’ than sayde lityll john, ‘his clothinge is full thynne; ye must gyve the knight a lyveray, to lappe his body therein.
-71. ‘for ye have scarlet and grene, mayster, and many a rich aray; ther is no marchaunt in mery englond so ryche, i dare well say.’
-72. ‘take hym thre yerdes of every colour, and loke well mete that it be.’ lytell johnn toke none other mesure but his bowë-tree.
-73. and at every handfull that he met he lepëd fotës three; ‘what devylles drapar,’ sayd litell much, ‘thynkest thou for to be?’
-74. scarlok stode full stil and loughe, and sayd, ‘by god almyght, johnn may gyve hym gode mesure, for it costeth hym but lyght.’
-75. ‘mayster,’ than said litell johnn to gentill robyn hode, ‘ye must give the knight a hors to lede home al this gode.’
-76. ‘take him a gray coursar,’ sayde robyn, ‘and a saydle newe; he is oure ladye’s messangere; god graunt that he be true.’
-77. ‘and a gode palfray,’ sayde lytell much, ‘to mayntene hym in his right’; ‘and a peyre of botës,’ sayde scarlok, ‘for he is a gentyll knight.’
-78. ‘what shalt thou gyve him, litell john?’ ‘sir, a peyre of gilt sporis clene, to pray for all this company; god bringe hym oute of tene.’
-79. ‘whan shal mi day be,’ said the knight, ‘sir, and your wyll be?’ ‘this day twelve moneth,’ saide robyn, ‘under this grene-wode tre.
-80. ‘it were great shamë,’ said robyn, ‘a knight alone to ryde, withoutë squyre, yoman, or page, to walkë by his syde.
-81. ‘i shal thee lende litell johnn, my man, for he shalbe thy knave; in a yeman’s stede he may thee stande, if thou greate nedë have.’
-the second fytte (82-143)
-the second fytte
-82. now is the knight gone on his way; this game hym thought full gode; whanne he loked on bernësdale he blessyd robyn hode.
-83. and whanne he thought on bernysdale, on scarlok, much and johnn he blyssyd them for the best company that ever he in come.
-84. then spake that gentyll knyght, to lytel johan gan he saye, ‘to-morrowe i must to yorke toune, to saynt mary abbay.
-85. ‘and to the abbot of that place foure hondred pounde i must pay; and but i be there upon this nyght my londe is lost for ay.’
-86. the abbot sayd to his covent, there he stode on grounde, ‘this day twelfe moneth came there a knyght and borowed foure hondred pounde.
-88. ‘it is full erely,’ sayd the pryoure, the day is not yet ferre gone; i had lever to pay an hondred pounde, and lay downe anone.
-89. ‘the knyght is ferre beyonde the see, in englonde is his ryght, and suffreth honger and colde and many a sory nyght.
-90. ‘it were grete pytë,’ said the pryoure, ‘so to have his londe; and ye be so lyght of your consyence, ye do to hym moch wronge.’
-91. ‘thou arte ever in my berde,’ sayd the abbot, ‘by god and saynt rycharde’; with that cam in a fat-heded monke, the heygh selerer.
-92. ‘he is dede or hanged,’ sayd the monke, ‘by god that bought me dere, and we shall have to spende in this place foure hondred pounde by yere.’
-93. the abbot and the hy selerer stertë forthe full bolde, the highe justyce of englonde the abbot there dyde holde.
-94. the hye justyce and many mo had take in to theyr honde holy all the knyghtës det, to put that knyght to wronge.
-95. they demed the knyght wonder sore, the abbot and his meynë: ‘but he come this ylkë day dysheryte shall he be.’
-96. ‘he wyll not come yet,’ sayd the justyce, ‘i dare well undertake’; but in sorowe tymë for them all the knight came to the gate.
-97. than bespake that gentyll knyght untyll his meynë: ‘now put on your symple wedes that ye brought fro the see.’
-99. ‘welcome, syr knyght,’ sayd the porter, ‘my lorde to mete is he, and so is many a gentyll man, for the love of thee.’
-100. the porter swore a full grete othe: ‘by god that madë me, here be the best coresed hors that ever yet sawe i me.
-101. ‘lede them in to the stable,’ he sayd, ‘that eased myght they be’; ‘they shall not come therin,’ sayd the knyght, ‘by god that dyed on a tre.’
-102. lordës were to mete isette in that abbotes hall; the knyght went forth and kneled down, and salved them grete and small.
-103. ‘do gladly, syr abbot,’ sayd the knyght, ‘i am come to holde my day.’ the fyrst word that the abbot spake, ‘hast thou brought my pay?’
-104. ‘not one peny,’ sayd the knyght, ‘by god that makëd me.’ ‘thou art a shrewed dettour,’ sayd the abbot; ‘syr justyce, drynke to me.
-105. ‘what doost thou here,’ sayd the abbot, ‘but thou haddest brought thy pay?’ ‘for god,’ than sayd the knyght, ‘to pray of a lenger daye.’
-106. ‘thy daye is broke,’ sayd the justyce, ‘londë getest thou none.’ ‘now, good syr justyce, be my frende and fende me of my fone!’
-107. ‘i am holde with the abbot,’ sayd the justyce, ‘both with cloth and fee.’ ‘now, good syr sheryf, be my frende!’ ‘nay, for god,’ sayd he.
-108. ‘now, good syr abbot, be my frende, for thy curteysë, and holde my londës in thy honde tyll i have made the gree!
-109. ‘and i wyll be thy true servaunte, and trewely serve the, tyll ye have foure hondred pounde of money good and free.’
-110. the abbot sware a full grete othe, ‘by god that dyed on a tree, get the londë where thou may, for thou getest none of me.’
-111. ‘by dere worthy god,’ then sayd the knyght, ‘that all this worldë wrought, but i have my londe agayne, full dere it shall be bought.
-112. ‘god, that was of a mayden borne, leve us well to spede! for it is good to assay a frende or that a man have nede.’
-113. the abbot lothely on hym gan loke, and vylaynesly hym gan call; ‘out,’ he sayd, ‘thou false knyght, spede thee out of my hall!’
-114. ‘thou lyest,’ then sayd the gentyll knyght, ‘abbot, in thy hal; false knyght was i never, by god that made us all.’
-115. up then stode that gentyll knyght, to the abbot sayd he, ‘to suffre a knyght to knele so longe, thou canst no curteysye.
-116. ‘in joustës and in tournement full ferre than have i be, and put myself as ferre in prees as ony that ever i se.’
-117. ‘what wyll ye gyve more,’ sayd the justyce, ‘and the knyght shall make a releyse? and ellës dare i safly swere ye holde never your londe in pees.’
-118. ‘an hondred pounde,’ sayd the abbot; the justice sayd, ‘gyve hym two’; ‘nay, be god,’ sayd the knyght, ‘yit gete ye it not so.
-119. ‘though ye wolde gyve a thousand more, yet were ye never the nere; shal there never be myn heyre abbot, justice, ne frere.’
-120. he stert hym to a borde anone, tyll a table rounde, and there he shoke oute of a bagge even four hundred pound.
-121. ‘have here thi golde, sir abbot,’ saide the knight, ‘which that thou lentest me; had thou ben curtes at my comynge, rewarded shuldest thou have be.’
-122. the abbot sat styll, and ete no more, for all his ryall fare; he cast his hede on his shulder, and fast began to stare.
-123. ‘take me my golde agayne,’ saide the abbot, ‘sir justice, that i toke thee.’ ‘not a peni,’ said the justice, ‘bi god, that dyed on tree.’
-124. ‘sir abbot, and ye men of lawe, now have i holde my daye: now shall i have my londe agayne, for ought that you can saye.’
-125. the knyght stert out of the dore, awaye was all his care, and on he put his good clothynge, the other he lefte there.
-126. he wente hym forth full mery syngynge, as men have tolde in tale; his lady met hym at the gate, at home in verysdale.
-127. ‘welcome, my lorde,’ sayd his lady; ‘syr, lost is all your good?’ ‘be mery, dame,’ sayd the knyght, ‘and pray for robyn hode,
-128. ‘that ever his soulë be in blysse: he holpe me out of tene; ne had be his kyndënesse, beggers had we bene.
-129. ‘the abbot and i accorded ben, he is served of his pay; the god yoman lent it me as i cam by the way.’
-130. this knight than dwelled fayre at home, the sothë for to saye, tyll he had gete four hundred pound, al redy for to pay.
-131. he purveyed him an hundred bowes, the stryngës well ydyght, an hundred shefe of arowes gode, the hedys burneshed full bryght;
-132. and every arowe an ellë longe, with pecok well idyght, inocked all with whyte silver; it was a semely syght.
-133. he purveyed him an hondreth men, well harnessed in that stede, and hym selfe in that same sete, and clothed in whyte and rede.
-134. he bare a launsgay in his honde, and a man ledde his male, and reden with a lyght songe unto bernysdale.
-135. but as he went at a brydge ther was a wrastelyng, and there taryed was he, and there was all the best yemen of all the west countree.
-136. a full fayre game there was up set, a whyte bulle up i-pyght, a grete courser, with sadle and brydil, with golde burnyssht full bryght.
-137. a payre of gloves, a rede golde rynge, a pype of wyne, in fay; what man that bereth hym best i-wys the pryce shall bere away.
-138. there was a yoman in that place, and best worthy was he, and for he was ferre and frembde bested, slayne he shulde have be.
-139. the knight had ruthe of this yoman, in placë where that he stode; he sayde that yoman shulde have no harme, for love of robyn hode.
-141. they shulderd all and made hym rome, to wete what he wolde say; he took the yeman bi the hande, and gave hym al the play.
-142. he gave hym five marke for his wyne, there it lay on the molde, and bad it shulde be set a broche, drynkë who so wolde.
-143. thus longe taried this gentyll knyght, tyll that play was done; so long abode robyn fastinge thre hourës after the none.
-the third fytte (144-204)
-+argument.+--the narrative of the knight’s loan is for the moment dropped, in order to relate a gest of little john, who is now (81.2) the knight’s ‘knave’ or squire. going forth ‘upon a mery day,’ little john shoots with such skill that he attracts the attention of the sheriff of nottingham (who is here and elsewhere the type of robin hood’s enemies), and enters his service for a year under the name of reynold greenleaf. while the sheriff is hunting, little john fights his servants, robs his treasure-house, and escapes back to robin hood with ‘three hundred pound and more.’ he then bethinks him of a shrewd wile, and inveigles the sheriff to leave his hunting in order to see a right fair hart and seven score of deer, which turn out to be robin and his men. robin hood exacts an oath of the sheriff, equivalent to an armistice; and he returns home, having had his fill of the greenwood.
-the third fytte
-144. lyth and lystyn, gentilmen, all that now be here; of litell johnn, that was the knightës man, goode myrth ye shall here.
-145. it was upon a mery day that yonge men wolde go shete; lytell johnn fet his bowe anone, and sayde he wolde them mete.
-146. thre tymes litell johnn shet aboute, and alwey he slet the wande; the proudë sherif of notingham by the markës can stande.
-147. the sherif swore a full greate othe: ‘by hym that dyede on a tre, this man is the best arschere that ever yet sawe i me.
-148. ‘say me nowe, wight yonge man, what is nowe thy name? in what countrë were thou borne, and where is thy wonynge wane?’
-149. ‘in holdernes, sir, i was borne, i-wys al of my dame; men cal me reynolde grenëlef whan i am at home.’
-150. ‘sey me, reynolde grenëlefe, wolde thou dwell with me? and every yere i woll thee gyve twenty marke to thy fee.’
-151. ‘i have a maister,’ sayde litell johnn, ‘a curteys knight is he; may ye levë gete of hym, the better may it be.’
-152. the sherif gate litell john twelve monethës of the knight; therefore he gave him right anone a gode hors and a wight.
-153. nowe is litell john the sherifes man, god lende us well to spede! but alwey thought lytell john to quyte hym wele his mede.
-154. ‘nowe so god me helpe,’ sayde litell john, ‘and by my true leutye, i shall be the worst servaunt to hym that ever yet had he.’
-155. it fell upon a wednesday the sherif on huntynge was gone, and litel john lay in his bed, and was foriete at home.
-156. therfore he was fastinge til it was past the none; ‘gode sir stuarde, i pray to thee, gyve me my dynere,’ saide litell john.
-157. ‘it is longe for grenëlefe fastinge thus for to be; therfor i pray thee, sir stuarde, mi dyner gif me.’
-158. ‘shalt thou never ete ne drynke’ saide the stuarde, ‘tyll my lorde be come to towne.’ ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ saide litell john, ‘i had lever to crake thy crowne.’
-159. the boteler was full uncurteys, there he stode on flore; he start to the botery and shet fast the dore.
-160. lytell johnn gave the boteler suche a tap his backe went nere in two; though he lived an hundred ier, the wors shuld he go.
-161. he sporned the dore with his fote; it went open wel and fyne; and there he made large lyveray, bothe of ale and of wyne.
-162. ‘sith ye wol nat dyne,’ sayde litell john, ‘i shall gyve you to drinke; and though ye lyve an hundred wynter, on lytel johnn ye shall thinke.’
-163. litell john ete, and litel john drank, the while that he wolde; the sherife had in his kechyn a coke, a stoute man and a bolde.
-164. ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ said the coke, ‘thou arte a shrewde hynde in ani hous for to dwel, for to aske thus to dyne.’
-165. and there he lent litell john godë strokis thre; ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ sayde lytell john, ‘these strokis lyked well me.
-166. ‘thou arte a bolde man and hardy, and so thinketh me; and or i pas fro this place assayed better shalt thou be.’
-167. lytell johnn drew a ful gode sworde, the coke took another in hande; they thought no thynge for to fle, but stifly for to stande.
-168. there they faught sore togedere two mylë way and well more; myght nether other harme done, the mountnaunce of an owre.
-169. ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ sayde litell johnn, ‘and by my true lewtë; thou art one of the best sworde-men that ever yit sawe i me.
-170. ‘cowdest thou shote as well in a bowe, to grene wode thou shuldest with me, and two times in the yere thy clothinge chaunged shuldë be;
-171. ‘and every yere of robyn hode twenty merke to thy fe.’ ‘put up thy swerde,’ saide the coke, ‘and felowes woll we be.’
-172. thanne he fet to lytell johnn the nowmbles of a do, gode brede, and full gode wyne; they ete and drank theretoo.
-173. and when they had dronkyn well, theyre trouthes togeder they plight that they wolde be with robyn that ylkë samë nyght.
-174. they dyd them to the tresoure-hows, as fast as they myght gone; the lokkes, that were of full gode stele, they brake them everichone.
-175. they toke away the silver vessell, and all that thei might get; pecis, masars, ne sponis, wolde thei not forget.
-176. also they toke the godë pens, thre hundred pounde and more, and did them streyte to robyn hode, under the grene wode hore.
-177. ‘god thee save, my dere mayster, and criste thee save and se!’ and thanne sayde robyn to litell johnn, ‘welcome myght thou be.
-178. ‘also be that fayre yeman thou bryngest there with thee; what tydyngës fro notyngham? lytill johnn, tell thou me.’
-179. ‘well thee gretith the proude sheryf, and sendeth thee here by me his coke and his silver vessell, and thre hundred pounde and thre.’
-180. ‘i make myne avowe to god,’ sayde robyn, ‘and to the trenytë, it was never by his gode wyll this gode is come to me.’
-181. lytyll johnn there hym bethought on a shrewde wyle; fyve myle in the forest he ran, hym happëd all his wyll.
-182. than he met the proude sheref, huntynge with houndes and horne; lytell johnn coude of curtesye, and knelyd hym beforne.
-183. ‘god thee save, my dere mayster, ande criste thee save and se!’ ‘reynolde grenelefe,’ sayde the shryef, ‘where hast thou nowe be?’
-184. ‘i have be in this forest; a fayre syght can i se; it was one of the fayrest syghtes that ever yet sawe i me.
-185. ‘yonder i sawe a ryght fayre harte, his coloure is of grene; seven score of dere upon a herde be with hym all bydene.
-186. ‘their tyndes are so sharp, maister, of sexty, and well mo, that i durst not shote for drede, lest they wolde me slo.’
-187. ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ sayde the shyref, ‘that syght wolde i fayne se.’ ‘buske you thyderwarde, my dere mayster, anone, and wende with me.’
-188. the sherif rode, and litell johnn of fote he was full smerte, and whane they came before robyn, ‘lo, sir, here is the mayster-herte.’
-189. still stode the proude sherief, a sory man was he; ‘wo the worthe, raynolde grenelefe, thou hast betrayed nowe me.’
-190. ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ sayde litell johnn, ‘mayster, ye be to blame; i was mysserved of my dynere when i was with you at home.’
-191. sone he was to souper sette, and served well with silver white, and when the sherif sawe his vessell, for sorowe he myght nat ete.
-192. ‘make glad chere,’ sayde robyn hode, ‘sherif, for charitë, and for the love of litill johnn thy lyfe i graunt to thee.’
-193. whan they had soupëd well, the day was al gone; robyn commaunded litell johnn to drawe of his hosen and his shone;
-194. his kirtell, and his cote of pie, that was fured well and fine, and toke hym a grene mantel, to lap his body therein.
-195. robyn commaundyd his wight yonge men, under the grene-wode tree, they shulde lye in that same sute that the sherif myght them see.
-196. all nyght lay the proude sherif in his breche and in his schert; no wonder it was, in grene wode, though his sydës gan to smerte.
-197. ‘make glad chere,’ sayde robyn hode, ‘sheref, for charitë; for this is our ordre i-wys under the grene-wode tree.’
-198. ‘this is harder order,’ sayde the sherief, ‘than any ankir or frere; for all the golde in mery englonde i wolde nat longe dwell her.’
-199. ‘all this twelve monthes,’ sayde robin, ‘thou shalt dwell with me; i shall thee techë, proude sherif, an outlawe for to be.’
-200. ‘or i be here another nyght,’ sayde the sherif, ‘robyn, nowe pray i thee, smyte of min hede rather to-morrowe, and i forgyve it thee.
-201. ‘lat me go,’ than sayde the sherif, ‘for sayntë charitë, and i woll be the bestë frende that ever yet had ye.’
-202. ‘thou shalt swere me an othe,’ sayde robyn, ‘on my bright bronde; shalt thou never awayte me scathe by water ne by lande.
-203. ‘and if thou fynde any of my men, by nyght or by day, upon thyn othë thou shalt swere to helpe them that thou may.’
-204. now hath the sherif sworne his othe, and home he began to gone; he was as full of grenë-wode as ever was hepe of stone.
-the fourth fytte (205-280)
-+argument.+--robin hood will not dine until he has ‘his pay,’ and he therefore sends little john with much and scarlok to wait for an ‘unketh gest.’ they capture a monk of st. mary abbey, and robin hood makes him disgorge eight hundred pounds. the monk, we are told, was on his way to london to take proceedings against the knight.
-in due course the knight, who was left at the end of the second fytte at the wrestling-match, arrives to pay his debt to robin hood; who, however, refuses to receive it, saying that our lady had discharged the loan already.
-the admirable, naïvely-told episode of our lady’s method of repaying money lent on her security, is not without parallels, some of which child points out (iii. 53-4).
-the fourth fytte
-205. the sherif dwelled in notingham; he was fayne he was agone; and robyn and his mery men went to wode anone.
-206. ‘go we to dyner,’ sayde littell johnn; robyn hode sayde, ‘nay; for i drede our lady be wroth with me, for she sent me nat my pay.’
-207. ‘have no doute, maister,’ sayde litell johnn; ‘yet is nat the sonne at rest; for i dare say, and savely swere. the knight is true and truste.’
-208. ‘take thy bowe in thy hande,’ sayde robyn, ‘late much wende with thee, and so shal wyllyam scarlok, and no man abyde with me.
-209. ‘and walke up under the sayles, and to watlynge-strete, and wayte after some unketh gest; up chaunce ye may them mete.
-210. ‘whether he be messengere, or a man that myrthës can, of my good he shall have some, yf he be a porë man.’
-211. forth then stert lytel johan, half in tray and tene, and gyrde hym with a full good swerde, under a mantel of grene.
-212. they went up to the sayles, these yemen all thre; they loked est, they loked west, they myght no man se.
-213. but as they loked in bernysdale, by the hyë waye, than were they ware of two blacke monkes, eche on a good palferay.
-214. then bespake lytell johan, to much he gan say, ‘i dare lay my lyfe to wedde, that these monkes have brought our pay.
-215. ‘make glad chere,’ sayd lytell johan, ‘and frese your bowes of ewe, and loke your hertes be seker and sad, your strynges trusty and trewe.
-216. ‘the monke hath two and fifty men, and seven somers full stronge; there rydeth no bysshop in this londe so ryally, i understond.
-217. ‘brethern,’ sayd lytell johan, ‘here are no more but we thre; but we bryngë them to dyner, our mayster dare we not se.
-218. ‘bende your bowes,’ sayd lytell johan, ‘make all yon prese to stonde; the formost monke, his lyfe and his deth is closëd in my honde.
-219. ‘abyde, chorle monke,’ sayd lytell johan, ‘no ferther that thou gone; yf thou doost, by dere worthy god, thy deth is in my honde.
-220. ‘and evyll thryfte on thy hede,’ sayd lytell johan, ‘ryght under thy hattë’s bonde, for thou hast made our mayster wroth, he is fastynge so longe.’
-221. ‘who is your mayster?’ sayd the monke. lytell johan sayd, ‘robyn hode.’ ‘he is a stronge thefe,’ sayd the monke, ‘of hym herd i never good.’
-222. ‘thou lyest,’ than sayd lytell johan, ‘and that shall rewë thee; he is a yeman of the forest, to dyne he hath bodë thee.’
-223. much was redy with a bolte, redly and anone, he set the monke to-fore the brest, to the grounde that he can gone.
-224. of two and fyfty wyght yonge yemen, there abode not one, saf a lytell page and a grome, to lede the somers with lytel johan.
-225. they brought the monke to the lodgë-dore, whether he were loth or lefe, for to speke with robyn hode, maugre in theyr tethe.
-226. robyn dyde adowne his hode, the monke whan that he se; the monke was not so curteyse, his hode then let he be.
-227. ‘he is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy god,’ than sayd lytell johan. ‘thereof no force,’ sayd robyn, ‘for curteysy can he none.
-228. ‘how many men,’ sayd robyn, ‘had this monke, johan?’ ‘fyfty and two whan that we met, but many of them be gone.’
-229. ‘let blowe a horne,’ sayd robyn, ‘that felaushyp may us knowe.’ seven score of wyght yemen, came pryckynge on a rowe.
-230. and everych of them a good mantell of scarlet and of raye; all they came to good robyn, to wyte what he wolde say.
-231. they made the monke to wasshe and wype, and syt at his denere. robyn hode and lytell johan they served him both in fere.
-232. ‘do gladly, monke,’ sayd robyn. ‘gramercy, syr,’ sayd he. ‘where is your abbay, whan ye are at home, and who is your avowë?’
-233. ‘saynt mary abbay,’ sayd the monke, ‘though i be symple here.’ ‘in what offyce?’ said robyn: ‘syr, the hye selerer.’
-234. ‘ye be the more welcome,’ sayd robyn, ‘so ever mote i the! fyll of the best wyne,’ sayd robyn, ‘this monke shall drynke to me.
-235. ‘but i have grete mervayle,’ sayd robyn, ‘of all this longë day; i drede our lady be wroth with me, she sent me not my pay.’
-236. ‘have no doute, mayster,’ sayd lytell johan, ‘ye have no nede, i saye; this monke hath brought it, i dare well swere, for he is of her abbay.’
-237. ‘and she was a borowe,’ sayd robyn, ‘betwene a knyght and me, of a lytell money that i hym lent, under the grene-wode tree.
-238. ‘and yf thou hast that sylver ibrought, i pray thee let me se; and i shall helpë thee eftsones, yf thou have nede to me.’
-239. the monke swore a full grete othe, with a sory chere, ‘of the borowehode thou spekest to me, herde i never ere.’
-240. ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ sayd robyn, ‘monke, thou art to blame; for god is holde a ryghtwys man, and so is his dame.
-241. ‘thou toldest with thyn ownë tonge, thou may not say nay, how thou arte her servaunt, and servest her every day.
-242. ‘and thou art made her messengere, my money for to pay; therefore i cun the morë thanke thou arte come at thy day.
-243. ‘what is in your cofers?’ sayd robyn, ‘trewe than tell thou me.’ ‘syr,’ he sayd, ‘twenty marke, al so mote i the.’
-244. ‘yf there be no more,’ sayd robyn, ‘i wyll not one peny; yf thou hast myster of ony more, syr, more i shall lende to thee.
-245. ‘and yf i fyndë more,’ sayd robyn, ‘i-wys thou shalte it forgone; for of thy spendynge-sylver, monke, thereof wyll i ryght none.
-246. ‘go nowe forthe, lytell johan, and the trouth tell thou me; if there be no more but twenty marke, no peny that i se.’
-247. lytell johan spred his mantell downe, as he had done before, and he tolde out of the monkës male eyght hondred pounde and more.
-248. lytell johan let it lye full styll, and went to his mayster in hast; ‘syr,’ he sayd, ‘the monke is trewe ynowe, our lady hath doubled your cast.’
-249. ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ sayd robyn-- ‘monke, what tolde i thee?-- our lady is the trewest woman that ever yet founde i me.
-250. ‘by dere worthy god,’ sayd robyn, ‘to seche all englond thorowe, yet founde i never to my pay a moche better borowe.
-251. ‘fyll of the best wyne, and do hym drynke,’ sayd robyn, ‘and grete well thy lady hende, and yf she have nede to robyn hode, a frende she shall hym fynde.
-252. ‘and yf she nedeth ony more sylver, come thou agayne to me, and, by this token she hath me sent, she shall have such thre.’
-253. the monke was goynge to london ward, there to hold grete mote, the knyght that rode so hye on hors, to brynge hym under fote.
-254. ‘whether be ye away?’ sayd robyn. ‘syr, to maners in this londe, to reken with our reves, that have done moch wronge.’
-255. ‘come now forth, lytell johan, and harken to my tale; a better yemen i knowe none, to seke a monkës male.’
-256. ‘how moch is in yonder other corser?’ sayd robyn, ‘the soth must we see.’ ‘by our lady,’ than sayd the monke, ‘that were no curteysye,
-257. ‘to bydde a man to dyner, and syth hym bete and bynde.’ ‘it is our olde maner,’ sayd robyn, ‘to leve but lytell behynde.’
-258. the monke toke the hors with spore, no lenger wolde he abyde: ‘askë to drynke,’ than sayd robyn, ‘or that ye forther ryde.’
-259. ‘nay, for god,’ than sayd the monke, ‘me reweth i cam so nere; for better chepe i myght have dyned in blythe or in dankestere.’
-260. ‘grete well your abbot,’ sayd robyn, ‘and your pryour, i you pray, and byd hym send me such a monke to dyner every day.’
-261. now lete we that monke be styll, and speke we of that knyght: yet he came to holde his day, whyle that it was lyght.
-262. he dyde him streyt to bernysdale, under the grene-wode tre, and he founde there robyn hode, and all his mery meynë.
-263. the knyght lyght doune of his good palfray, robyn whan he gan see; so curteysly he dyde adoune his hode, and set hym on his knee.
-264. ‘god the savë, robyn hode, and all this company!’ ‘welcome be thou, gentyll knyght, and ryght welcome to me.’
-265. than bespake hym robyn hode, to that knyght so fre; ‘what nede dryveth thee to grene-wode? i praye thee, syr knyght, tell me.
-266. ‘and welcome be thou, gentyll knyght, why hast thou be so longe?’ ‘for the abbot and the hye justyce wolde have had my londe.’
-267. ‘hast thou thy londe agayne?’ sayd robyn; ‘treuth than tell thou me.’ ‘ye, for god,’ sayd the knyght, ‘and that thanke i god and thee.
-268. ‘but take no grefe, that i have be so longe; i came by a wrastelynge, and there i holpe a pore yeman, with wronge was put behynde.’
-269. ‘nay, for god,’ sayd robyn, ‘syr knyght, that thanke i thee; what man that helpeth a good yeman, his frende than wyll i be.’
-270. ‘have here foure hondred pounde,’ than sayd the knyght, ‘the whiche ye lent to me; and here is also twenty marke for your curteysy.’
-271. ‘nay, for god,’ than sayd robyn, ‘thou broke it well for ay; for our lady, by her hye selerer, hath sent to me my pay.
-272. ‘and yf i toke it i-twyse, a shame it were to me; but trewely, gentyll knyght, welcome arte thou to me.’
-273. whan robyn had tolde his tale, he leugh and had good chere: ‘by my trouthe,’ then sayd the knyght, ‘your money is redy here.’
-274. ‘broke it well,’ said robyn, ‘thou gentyll knyght so fre; and welcome be thou, gentyll knyght, under my trystell-tre.
-275. ‘but what shall these bowës do?’ sayd robyn, ‘and these arowes ifedred fre?’ ‘by god,’ than sayd the knyght, ‘a pore present to thee.’
-276. ‘come now forth, lytell johan, and go to my treasurë, and brynge me there foure hondred pounde, the monke over-tolde it me.
-277. ‘have here foure hondred pounde, thou gentyll knyght and trewe, and bye hors and havnes good, and gylte thy spores all newe.
-278. ‘and yf thou fayle ony spendynge, com to robyn hode, and by my trouth thou shalt none fayle, the whyles i have any good.
-279. ‘and broke well thy foure hondred pound, whiche i lent to the, and make thy selfe no more so bare, by the counsell of me.’
-280. thus than holpe hym good robyn, the knyght all of his care: god, that syt in heven hye, graunte us well to fare!
-the fifth fytte (281-316)
-+argument.+--the story now returns to the sheriff of nottingham, and relates how he offered a prize for the best archer in the north. robin hood, hearing of this match, determines to go to it, and to test the sheriff’s faith to his oath (see the third fytte, stt. 202-4). robin wins the prize, and is starting home to the greenwood, when the sheriff recognises and attacks him, but is beaten off by a shower of arrows. robin and his men retire, shooting as they go, until they come to a castle. here dwells the knight to whom robin had lent the money--‘sir richard at the lee.’ he takes in robin and his men, and defies the sheriff; robin, he says, shall spend forty days with him.
-this fytte is no doubt based on some single lost ballad of a shooting-match at which robin was victorious, and at which the sheriff of nottingham attempted in vain to arrest him. but the compiler of the gest has carefully linked it to the preceding fyttes by such references as robin’s determination to try the sheriff’s faith (st. 287), which is made clear in stt. 296-8; and the identification of the knight whose castle protects robin and his men with the knight to whom the money had been lent (stt. 310-312).
-the fifth fytte
-281. now hath the knyght his leve i-take, and wente hym on his way; robyn hode and his mery men dwelled styll full many a day.
-282. lyth and listen, gentil men, and herken what i shall say, how the proud sheryfe of notyngham dyde crye a full fayre play;
-283. that all the best archers of the north sholde come upon a day, and he that shoteth allther best the game shall bere away.
-284. he that shoteth allther best, furthest fayre and lowe, at a payre of fynly buttes, under the grene wode shawe,
-285. a ryght good arowe he shall have, the shaft of sylver whyte, the hede and feders of ryche rede golde, in englond is none lyke.
-286. this than herde good robyn under his trystell-tre: ‘make you redy, ye wyght yonge men; that shotynge wyll i se.
-287. ‘buske you, my mery yonge men; ye shall go with me; and i wyll wete the shryvës fayth, trewe and yf he be.’
-288. whan they had theyr bowes i-bent, theyr takles fedred fre, seven score of wyght yonge men stode by robyn���s kne.
-289. whan they cam to notyngham, the buttes were fayre and longe; many was the bolde archere that shoted with bowës stronge.
-290. ‘there shall but syx shote with me; the other shal kepe my hevede, and standë with good bowës bent, that i be not desceyved.’
-291. the fourth outlawe his bowe gan bende, and that was robyn hode, and that behelde the proud sheryfe, all by the but as he stode.
-292. thryës robyn shot about, and alway he slist the wand, and so dyde good gylberte with the whytë hande.
-293. lytell johan and good scatheloke were archers good and fre; lytell much and good reynolde, the worste wolde they not be.
-294. whan they had shot aboute, these archours fayre and good, evermore was the best, for soth, robyn hode.
-295. hym was delyvred the good arowe, for best worthy was he; he toke the yeft so curteysly; to grenë-wode wolde he.
-296. they cryed out on robyn hode, and grete hornës gan they blowe: ‘wo worth the, treason!’ sayd robyn, ‘full evyl thou art to knowe.
-297. ‘and wo be thou, thou proudë sheryf, thus gladdynge thy gest! other wyse thou behotë me in yonder wylde forest.
-298. ‘but had i thee in grenë-wode, under my trystell-tre, thou sholdest leve me a better wedde than thy trewe lewtë.’
-299. full many a bowë there was bent, and arowës let they glyde; many a kyrtell there was rent, and hurt many a syde.
-300. the outlawes shot was so stronge that no man might them dryve, and the proud sheryfës men, they fled away full blyve.
-301. robyn sawe the busshement to-broke, in grene wode he wolde have be; many an arowe there was shot amonge that company.
-302. lytell johan was hurte full sore, with an arowe in his kne, that he myght neyther go nor ryde; it was full grete pytë.
-303. ‘mayster,’ then sayd lytell johan, ‘if ever thou lovedst me, and for that ylkë lordës love that dyed upon a tre,
-304. ‘and for the medes of my servyce, that i have servëd thee, lete never the proudë sheryf alyve now fyndë me.
-305. ‘but take out thy brownë swerde, and smyte all of my hede, and gyve me woundës depe and wyde; no lyfe on me be lefte.’
-306. ‘i wolde not that,’ sayd robyn, ‘johan, that thou were slawe, for all the golde in mery englonde, though it lay now on a rawe.’
-307. ‘god forbede,’ sayd lytell much, ‘that dyed on a tre, that thou sholdest, lytell johan, parte our company.’
-308. up he toke hym on his backe, and bare hym well a myle; many a tyme he layd him downe, and shot another whyle.
-309. then was there a fayre castell, a lytell within the wode; double-dyched it was about, and walled, by the rode.
-310. and there dwelled that gentyll knyght, syr rychard at the lee, that robyn had lent his good, under the grene-wode tree.
-311. in he toke good robyn, and all his company: ‘welcome be thou, robyn hode, welcome arte thou to me;
-312. ‘and moche i thanke thee of thy comfort, and of thy curteysye, and of thy gretë kyndënesse, under the grene-wode tre.
-313. ‘i love no man in all this worlde so much as i do thee; for all the proud sheryf of notyngham, ryght here shalt thou be.
-314. ‘shyt the gates, and drawe the brydge, and let no man come in, and arme you well, and make you redy, and to the walles ye wynne.
-315. ‘for one thynge, robyn, i the behote; i swere by saynt quyntyne, these forty dayes thou wonnest with me, to soupe, ete, and dyne.’
-316. bordes were layde, and clothes were spredde, redely and anone; robyn hode and his mery men to mete can they gone.
-the sixth fytte (317-353)
-+argument.+--the sheriff of nottingham secures the assistance of the high sheriff, and besets the knight’s castle, accusing him of harbouring the king’s enemies. the knight bids him appeal to the king, saying he will ‘avow’ (i.e. make good or justify) all he has done, on the pledge of all his lands. the sheriffs raise the siege and go to london, where the king says he will be at nottingham in two weeks and will capture both the knight and robin hood. the sheriff returns home to get together a band of archers to assist the king; but meanwhile robin has escaped to the greenwood. however, the sheriff lies in wait for the knight, captures him and takes him bound to nottingham. the knight’s lady rides to robin and begs him to save her lord; whereupon robin and his men hasten to nottingham, kill the sheriff, release the knight, and carry him off to the greenwood.
-the latter episode--of robin’s release, at the request of his wife, of a knight taken captive by the sheriff--comes probably from a separate ballad: robin hood rescuing three squires tells a similar story. this the compiler of the gest has apparently woven in with the story of the previous fyttes, though he has not done so very thoroughly (e.g., the inconsistency of robin’s question to the knight’s wife, ‘what man hath your lord i-take?’ with his knowledge of the knight’s defiance of the sheriff). the compiler has also neatly prepared the way for the introduction of the seventh and eighth fyttes by the knight’s appeal to the king; but, having done so, he has apparently forgotten the king’s undertaking to come to nottingham, and has allowed the sheriff to anticipate that plan and capture the knight without assistance.
-the sixth fytte
-317. lythe and lysten, gentylmen, and herkyn to your songe; howe the proudë shyref of notyngham, and men of armys stronge,
-318. full fast cam to the hyë shyref, the contrë up to route, and they besette the knyghtës castell, the wallës all aboute.
-319. the proudë shyref loude gan crye, and sayde, ‘thou traytour knight, thou kepest here the kynges enemys, agaynst the lawe and right.’
-320. ‘syr, i wyll avowe that i have done, the dedys that here be dyght, upon all the landës that i have, as i am a trewë knyght.
-321. ‘wende furth, sirs, on your way, and do no more to me tyll ye wyt oure kyngës wille, what he wyll say to thee.’
-322. the shyref thus had his answere, without any lesynge; forth he yede to london towne, all for to tel our kinge.
-323. ther he telde him of that knight, and eke of robyn hode, and also of the bolde archars, that were soo noble and gode.
-324. ‘he wyll avowe that he hath done, to mayntene the outlawes stronge; he wyll be lorde, and set you at nought, in all the northe londe.’
-325. ‘i wil be at notyngham,’ sayde our kynge, ‘within this fourteennyght, and take i wyll robyn hode and so i wyll that knight.
-326. ‘go nowe home, shyref,’ sayde our kynge, ‘and do as i byd thee; and ordeyn gode archers ynowe, of all the wyde contrë.’
-327. the shyref had his leve i-take, and went hym on his way; and robyn hode to grenë wode, upon a certen day.
-328. and lytel john was hole of the arowe that shot was in his kne, and dyd hym streyght to robyn hode, under the grene wode tree.
-329. robyn hode walked in the forest, under the levys grene; the proud shyref of notyngham thereof he had grete tene.
-330. the shyref there fayled of robyn hode, he myght not have his pray; than he awayted this gentyll knyght, bothe by nyght and day.
-331. ever he wayted the gentyll knyght, syr richarde at the lee, as he went on haukynge by the ryver-syde and lete his haukës flee.
-332. toke he there this gentyll knight, with men of armys stronge, and led hym to notynghamwarde, bounde bothe fote and hande.
-333. the sheref sware a full grete othe, bi him that dyed on rode, he had lever than an hundred pound that he had robyn hode.
-334. this harde the knyghtës wyfe, a fayr lady and a free; she set hir on a gode palfrey, to grene wode anone rode she.
-335. whanne she cam in the forest, under the grene wode tree, fonde she there robyn hode, and all his fayre menë.
-336. ‘god thee savë, gode robyn, and all thy company; for our derë ladyes sake, a bonë graunte thou me.
-337. ‘late never my wedded lorde shamefully slayne be; he is fast bowne to notinghamwarde, for the love of thee.’
-340. up than sterte gode robyn, as man that had ben wode: ‘buske you, my mery men, for hym that dyed on rode.
-341. ‘and he that this sorowe forsaketh, by hym that dyed on tre, shall he never in grenë wode no lenger dwel with me.’
-342. sone there were gode bowës bent, mo than seven score; hedge ne dyche spared they none that was them before.
-343. ‘i make myn avowe to god,’ sayde robyn, ‘the sherif wolde i fayne see; and if i may him take, i-quyt then shall he be.’
-344. and when they came to notingham, they walked in the strete; and with the proudë sherif i-wys sonë can they mete.
-345. ‘abyde, thou proudë sherif,’ he sayde, ‘abyde, and speke with me; of some tidinges of oure kinge i wolde fayne here of thee.
-346. ‘this seven yere, by dere worthy god, ne yede i this fast on fote; i make myn avowe to god, thou proudë sherif, it is not for thy gode.’
-347. robyn bent a full goode bowe, an arrowe he drowe at wyll; he hit so the proudë sherife upon the grounde he lay full still.
-348. and or he myght up aryse, on his fete to stonde, he smote of the sherifs hede with his brightë bronde.
-349. ‘lye thou there, thou proudë sherife; evyll mote thou cheve! there myght no man to thee truste the whyles thou were a lyve.’
-350. his men drewe out theyr bryght swerdes, that were so sharpe and kene, and layde on the sheryves men, and dryved them downe bydene.
-351. robyn stert to that knyght, and cut a two his bonde, and toke hym in his hand a bowe, and bad hym by hym stonde.
-352. ‘leve thy hors thee behynde, and lerne for to renne; thou shalt with me to grenë wode, through myrë, mosse, and fenne.
-353. ‘thou shalt with me to grenë wode, without ony leasynge, tyll that i have gete us grace of edwarde, our comly kynge.’
-the seventh fytte (354-417)
-+argument.+--the king, coming with a great array to nottingham to take robin hood and the knight, and finding nothing but a great scarcity of deer, is wondrous wroth, and promises the knight’s lands to any one who will bring him his head. for half a year the king has no news of robin; at length, at the suggestion of a forester, he disguises himself as an abbot and five of his men as monks, and goes into the greenwood. he is met and stopped by robin hood, gives up forty pounds to him, and alleges he is a messenger from the king. thereupon robin entertains him and his men on the king’s own deer, and the outlaws hold an archery competition, robin smiting those that miss. at his last shot, robin himself misses, and asks the abbot to smite him in his turn. the abbot gives him such a buffet that robin is nearly felled; on looking more closely, he recognises the king, of whom he and his men ask pardon on their knees. the king grants it, on condition that they will enter his service. robin agrees, but reserves the right to return to the greenwood if he mislikes the court.
-this fytte is based on the story, extremely common and essentially popular, especially in england, of a meeting between a king in disguise and one of his subjects. doubtless there was a ballad of robin hood and the king; but the only one we possess, the king’s disguise and friendship with robin hood, is a late and a loose paraphrase of this fytte and the next. the commonest stories and ballads of this type in english are the king and the barker (i.e. tanner), king edward the fourth and the tanner of tamworth, king james and the tinker, and king henry ii. and the miller of mansfield. usually the point of the story is the lack of ceremony displayed by the subject, and the royal good-humour and largesse of the king.
-there is only an arbitrary division between fyttes vii. and viii.; and one or two other points will be discussed in introducing the next and last fytte.
-the seventh fytte
-354. the kynge came to notynghame, with knyghtës in grete araye, for to take that gentyll knyght and robyn hode, and yf he may.
-355. he askëd men of that countrë after robyn hode, and after that gentyll knyght, that was so bolde and stout.
-356. whan they had tolde hym the case our kynge understode ther tale, and seased in his honde the knyghtës londës all.
-357. all the passe of lancasshyre he went both ferre and nere, tyll he came to plomton parke; he faylyd many of his dere.
-358. there our kynge was wont to se herdës many one, he coud unneth fynde one dere, that bare ony good home.
-359. the kynge was wonder wroth withall, and swore by the trynytë, ‘i wolde i had robyn hode, with eyen i myght hym se.
-360. ‘and he that wolde smyte of the knyghtës hede, and brynge it to me, he shall have the knyghtës londes, syr rycharde at the le.
-361. ‘i gyve it hym with my charter, and sele it with my honde, to have and holde for ever more, in all mery englonde.’
-362. than bespake a fayre olde knyght, that was treue in his fay: ‘a, my leegë lorde the kynge, one worde i shall you say.
-363. ‘there is no man in this countrë may have the knyghtës londes, whyle robyn hode may ryde or gone, and bere a bowe in his hondes,
-364. ‘that he ne shall lese his hede, that is the best ball in his hode: give it no man, my lorde the kynge, that ye wyll any good.’
-365. half a yere dwelled our comly kynge in notyngham, and well more; coude he not here of robyn hode, in what countrë that he were.
-366. but alway went good robyn by halke and eke by hyll, and alway slewe the kyngës dere, and welt them at his wyll.
-367. than bespake a proude fostere, that stode by our kyngës kne: ‘yf ye wyll see good robyn, ye must do after me.
-368. ‘take fyve of the best knyghtes that be in your lede, and walke downe by yon abbay, and gete you monkës wede.
-369. ‘and i wyll be your ledes-man, and lede you the way, and or ye come to notyngham, myn hede then dare i lay,
-370. ‘that ye shall mete with good robyn, on lyve yf that he be; or ye come to notyngham, with eyen ye shall hym se.’
-371. full hastely our kynge was dyght, were his knyghtës fyve, everych of them in monkës wede, and hasted them thyder blyve.
-372. our kynge was grete above his cole, a brode hat on his crowne, ryght as he were abbot-lyke, "and rachel," added mother.
-this brought the note of sadness which is inevitable in such a gathering, and the shadow deepened as we gathered about the fire a little later. the dead claimed their places.
-since leaving the valley thirty years before our group had suffered many losses. all my grandparents were gone. my sisters harriet and jessie and my uncle richard had fallen on the march. david and rebecca were stranded in the foot hills of the cascade mountains. rachel, a widow, was in georgia. the pioneers of '48 were old and their bright world a memory.
-my father called on mother for some of the old songs. "you and deb sing nellie wildwood," he urged, and to me it was a call to all the absent ones, an invitation to gather about us in order that the gaps in our hearth-fire's broken circle might be filled.
-sweet and clear though in diminished volume, my mother's voice rose on the tender refrain:
-never more to part, nellie wildwood never more to long for the spring.
-and i thought of hattie and jessie and tried to believe that they too were sharing in the comfort and contentment of our fire.
-george, who resembled his uncle david, and had much of his skill with the fiddle bow, had brought his violin with him, but when father asked frank to play maggie, air ye sleepin', he shook his head, saying, "that's dave's tune," and his loyalty touched us all.
-quick tears sprang to mother's eyes. she knew all too well that never again would she hear her best-beloved brother touch the strings or join his voice to hers.
-it was a moment of sorrow for us all but only for a moment, for deborah struck up one of the lively "darky pieces" which my father loved so well, and with its jubilant patter young and old returned to smiling.
-it must be now in the kingdom a-comin' in the year of jubilo!
-we shouted, and so translated the words of the song into an expression of our own rejoicing present.
-song after song followed, war chants which renewed my father's military youth, ballads which deepened the shadows in my mother's eyes, and then at last, at my request, she sang the rolling stone, and with a smile at father, we all joined the chorus.
-we'll stay on the farm and we'll suffer no loss for the stone that keeps rolling will gather no moss.
-my father was not entirely convinced, but i, surrounded by these farmer folk, hearing from their lips these quaint melodies, responded like some tensely-strung instrument, whose chords are being played upon by searching winds. i acknowledged myself at home and for all time. beneath my feet lay the rugged country rock of my nativity. it pleased me to discover my mental characteristics striking so deep into this typically american soil.
-one by one our guests rose and went away, jocularly saying to my father, "well, dick, you've done the right thing at last. it's a comfort to have you so handy. we'll come to dinner often." to me they said, "we'll expect to see more of you, now that the old folks are here."
-"this is my home," i repeated.
-when we were alone i turned to mother in the spirit of the builder. "give me another year and i'll make this a homestead worth talking about. my head is full of plans for its improvement."
-"it's good enough for me as it is," she protested.
-"no, it isn't," i retorted quickly. "nothing that i can do is good enough for you, but i intend to make you entirely happy if i can."
-here i make an end of this story, here at the close of an epoch of western settlement, here with my father and mother sitting beside me in the light of a tender thanksgiving, in our new old home and facing a peaceful future. i was thirty-three years of age, and in a certain very real sense this plot of ground, this protecting roof may be taken as the symbols of my hard-earned first success as well as the defiant gages of other necessary battles which i must fight and win.
-as i was leaving next day for chicago, i said, "mother, what shall i bring you from the city?"
-with a shy smile she answered, "there is only one thing more you can bring me,--one thing more that i want."
-"what is that?"
-"a daughter. i need a daughter--and some grandchildren."
-oswald bastable and others
-oswald bastable and others
-by e. nesbit
-illustrated by charles e. brock and h. r. millar
-ernest benn limited london
-coward-mccann inc new york
-published by ernest benn limited bouverie house · fleet street · london · ec4 and coward-mccann inc 210 madison avenue · new york 16 · ny
-printed in great britain
-to my dear niece anthonia nesbit
-list of illustrations
-an object of value and virtue
-this happened a very little time after we left our humble home in lewisham, and went to live at the blackheath house of our indian uncle, which was replete with every modern convenience, and had a big garden and a great many greenhouses. we had had a lot of jolly christmas presents, and one of them was dicky's from father, and it was a printing-press. not one of the eighteenpenny kind that never come off, but a real tip-topper, that you could have printed a whole newspaper out of if you could have been clever enough to make up all the stuff there is in newspapers. i don't know how people can do it. it's all about different things, but it is all just the same too. but the author is sorry to find he is not telling things from the beginning, as he has been taught. the printing-press really doesn't come into the story till quite a long way on. so it is no use your wondering what it was that we did print with the printing-press. it was not a newspaper, anyway, and it wasn't my young brother's poetry, though he and the girls did do an awful lot of that. it was something much more far-reaching, as you will see if you wait.
-there wasn't any skating those holidays, because it was what they call nice open weather. that means it was simply muggy, and you could play out of doors without grown-ups fussing about your overcoat, or bringing you to open shame in the streets with knitted comforters, except, of course, the poet noël, who is young, and equal to having bronchitis if he only looks at a pair of wet boots. but the girls were indoors a good deal, trying to make things for a bazaar which the people our housekeeper's elder sister lives with were having in the country for the benefit of a poor iron church that was in difficulties. and noël and h. o. were with them, putting sweets in bags for the bazaar's lucky-tub. so dicky and i were out alone together. but we were not angry with the others for their stuffy way of spending a day. two is not a good number, though, for any game except fives; and the man who ordered the vineries and pineries, and butlers' pantries and things, never had the sense to tell the builders to make a fives court. some people never think of the simplest things. so we had been playing catch with a fives ball. it was dicky's ball, and oswald said:
-'i bet you can't hit it over the house.'
-'what do you bet?' said dicky.
-and oswald replied:
-'anything you like. you couldn't do it, anyhow.'
-'miss blake says betting is wicked; but i don't believe it is, if you don't bet money.'
-oswald reminded him how in 'miss edgeworth' even that wretched little rosamond, who is never allowed to do anything she wants to, even lose her own needles, makes a bet with her brother, and none of the grown-ups turn a hair.
-'but i don't want to bet,' he said. 'i know you can't do it.'
-'i'll bet you my fives ball i do,' dicky rejoindered.
-'done! i'll bet you that threepenny ball of string and the cobbler's wax you were bothering about yesterday.'
-so dicky said 'done!' and then he went and got a tennis racket--when i meant with his hands--and the ball soared up to the top of the house and faded away. but when we went round to look for it we couldn't find it anywhere. so he said it had gone over and he had won. and oswald thought it had not gone over, but stayed on the roof, and he hadn't. and they could not agree about it, though they talked of nothing else till tea time.
-it was a few days after that that the big greenhouse began to leak, and something was said at brekker about had any of us been throwing stones. but it happened that we had not. only after brek oswald said to dicky:
-'what price fives balls for knocking holes in greenhouses?'
-'then you own it went over the house, and i won my bet. hand over!' dicky remarked.
-but oswald did not see this, because it wasn't proved it was the fives ball. it was only his idea.
-then it rained for two or three days, and the greenhouse leaked much more than just a fives ball, and the grown-ups said the man who put it up had scamped the job, and they sent for him to put it right. and when he was ready he came, and men came with ladders and putty and glass, and a thing to cut it with a real diamond in it that he let us have to look at. it was fine that day, and dicky and h. o. and i were out most of the time talking to the men. i think the men who come to do things to houses are so interesting to talk to; they seem to know much more about the things that really matter than gentlemen do. i shall try to be like them when i grow up, and not always talk about politics and the way the army is going to the dogs.
-the men were very jolly, and let us go up the ladder and look at the top of the greenhouse. not h. o., of course, because he is very young indeed, and wears socks. when they had gone to dinner, h. o. went in to see if some pies were done that he had made out of a bit of putty the man gave him. he had put the pies in the oven when the cook wasn't looking. i think something must have been done to him, for he did not return.
-so dicky and i were left. dicky said:
-'if i could get the ladder round to the roof of the stovehouse i believe i should find my fives ball in the gutter. i know it went over the house that day.'
-so oswald, ever ready and obliging, helped his brother to move the ladder round to the tiled roof of the stovehouse, and dicky looked in the gutter. but even he could not pretend the ball was there, because i am certain it never went over at all.
-when he came down, oswald said:
-and dicky said:
-'sold yourself! you jolly well thought it was there, and you'd have to pay for it.'
-this unjustness was oswald's reward for his kind helpingness about moving the ladder. so he turned away, just saying carelessly over his retiring shoulder:
-'i should think you'd have the decency to put the ladder back where you found it.' and he walked off.
-but he has a generous heart--a crossing-sweeper told him so once when he gave him a halfpenny--and when dicky said, 'come on, oswald; don't be a sneak,' he proved that he was not one, and went back and helped with the ladder. but he was a little distant to dicky, till all disagreeableness was suddenly buried in a rat pincher found in the cucumber frame.
-then the washing-hands-and-faces-for-dinner bell rang, and, of course, we should have gone in directly, only just then the workmen came back from their dinner, and we waited, because one of them had promised oswald some hinges for a ferrets' hutch he thought of making, and while he was talking to this man the other one went up the ladder. and then the most exciting and awful thing i ever saw happened, all in a minute, before anyone could have said 'jack robinson,' even if they had thought of him. the bottom part of the ladder slipped out along the smooth tiles by the greenhouse, and there was a long, dream-like, dreadful time, when oswald knew what was going to happen; but it could only have been a second really, because before anyone could do anything the top end of the ladder slid softly, like cutting butter, off the top of the greenhouse, and the man on the ladder fell too. i never saw anything that made me feel so wrong way up in my inside. he lay there all in a heap, without moving, and the men crowded round him. dicky and i could not see properly because of the other men. but the foreman, the one who had given oswald the hinges, said:
-'better get a doctor.'
-it always takes a long time for a workman to understand what you want him to do, and long before these had, oswald had shouted 'i'll go!' and was off like an arrow from a bow, and dicky with him.
-they found the doctor at home, and he came that minute. oswald and dicky were told to go away, but they could not bear to, though they knew their dinner-bell must have been already rung for them many times in vain, and it was now ringing with fury. they just lurked round the corner of the greenhouse till the doctor said it was a broken arm, and nothing else hurt; and when the poor man was sent home in a cab, oswald and dicky got the cabman, who is a friend of theirs, to let them come on the box with him. and thus they saw where the man lived, and saw his poor wife greet the sufferer. she only said:
-but we could see her loving heart was full to overflowing.
-when she had taken him in and shut the door we went away. the wretched sufferer, whose name transpired to be augustus victor plunkett, was lucky enough to live in a mews. noël made a poem about it afterwards:
-'o muse of poetry, do not refuse to tell about a man who loves the mews. it is his humble home so poor, and the cabman who drove him home lives next door but two: and when his arm was broke his loving wife with tears spoke.'
-and so on. it went on for two hundred and twenty-four lines, and he could not print it, because it took far too much type for the printing-press. it was as we went out of the mews that we first saw the goat. i gave him a piece of cocoanut ice, and he liked it awfully. he was tied to a ring in the wall, and he was black and white, with horns and a beard; and when the man he belonged to saw us looking at him, he said we could have that goat a bargain. and when we asked, out of politeness and not because we had any money, except twopence halfpenny of dicky's, how much he wanted for the goat, he said:
-'seven and sixpence is the lowest, so i won't deceive you, young gents. and so help me if he ain't worth thribble the money.'
-oswald did the sum in his head, which told him the goat was worth one pound two shillings and sixpence, and he went away sadly, for he did want that goat.
-we were later for dinner than i ever remember our being, and miss blake had not kept us any pudding; but oswald bore up when he thought of the goat. but dicky seemed to have no beautiful inside thoughts to sustain him, and he was so dull dora said she only hoped he wasn't going to have measles.
-it was when we had gone up to bed that he fiddled about with the studs and old buttons and things in a velvety box he had till oswald was in bed, and then he said:
-'look here, oswald, i feel as if i was a murderer, or next-door to. it was our moving that ladder: i'm certain it was. and now he's laid up, and his wife and children.'
-oswald sat up in bed, and said kindly:
-'we oughtn't to have touched it,' he said. 'or we ought to have told them we had, or something. suppose his arm gets blood-poisoning, or inflammation, or something awful? i couldn't go on living if i was a doer of a deed like that.'
-oswald had never seen dicky so upset. he takes things jolly easy as a rule. oswald said:
-'well, it is no use fuming over it. you'd better get out of your clothes and go to bed. we'll cut down in the morning and leave our cards and kind inquiries.'
-but dicky did not take it at all the way oswald meant. he said:
-'shut up, oswald, you beast!' and lay down on his bed and began to blub.
-oswald said, 'beast yourself!' because it is the proper thing to say; but he was not angry, only sorry that dicky was so duffing as not to see what he meant. and he got out of bed and went softly to the girls' room, which is next ours, and said:
-'i say, come in to our room a sec., will you? dicky is howling fit to bring the house down. i think a council of us elder ones would do him more good than anything.'
-'whatever is up?' dora asked, getting into her dressing-gown.
-'oh, nothing, except that he's a murderer! come on, and don't make a row. mind the mats and our boots by the door.'
-they came in, and oswald said:
-'look here, dicky, old boy, here are the girls, and we're going to have a council about it.'
-they wanted to kiss him, but he wouldn't, and shrugged his shoulders about, and wouldn't speak; but when alice had got hold of his hand he said in a muffled voice:
-'you tell them, oswald.'
-when oswald and dicky were alone, you will have noticed the just elder brother blamed the proper person, which was dicky, because he would go up on the stovehouse roof after his beastly ball, which oswald did not care a rap about. and, besides, he knew it wasn't there. but now that other people were there oswald, of course, said:
-'you see, we moved the men's ladder when they were at their dinner. and you know the man that fell off the ladder, and we went with him in the cab to the place where that goat was? well, dicky has only just thought of it; but, of course, it was really our fault his tumbling, because we couldn't have put the ladder back safely. and dicky thinks if his arm blood-poisoned itself we should be as good as murderers.'
-dicky is perfectly straight; he sat up and sniffed, and blew his nose, and said:
-'it was my idea moving the ladder: oswald only helped.'
-'can't we ask uncle to see that the dear sufferer wants for nothing while he's ill, and all that?' said dora.
-'well,' said oswald, 'we could, of course. but, then, it would all come out. and about the fives ball too. and we can't be at all sure it was the ball made the greenhouse leak, because i know it never went over the house.'
-'yes, it did,' said dicky, giving his nose a last stern blow.
-oswald was generous to a sorrowing foe, and took no notice, only went on:
-'and about the ladder: we can't be quite sure it wouldn't have slipped on those tiles, even if we'd never moved it. but i think dicky would feel jollier if we could do something for the man, and i know it would me.'
-that looks mixed, but oswald was rather agitated himself, and that was what he said.
-'we must think of something to do to get money,' alice said, 'like we used to do when we were treasure-seekers.'
-presently the girls went away, and we heard them jawing in their room. just as oswald was falling asleep the door opened, and a figure in white came in and bent above his almost sleeping form. it said:
-'we've thought of something! we'll have a bazaar, like the people miss blake's elder sister lives with did for the poor iron church.'
-the form glided away. miss blake is our housekeeper. oswald could hear that dicky was already sleeping, so he turned over and went to sleep himself. he dreamed of goats, only they were as big as railway engines, and would keep ringing the church bells, till oswald awoke, and it was the getting-up bell, and not a great goat ringing it, but only sarah as usual.
-the idea of the bazaar seemed to please all of us.
-'we can ask all the people we know to it,' said alice.
-'and wear our best frocks, and sell the things at the stalls,' said dora.
-dicky said we could have it in the big greenhouse now the plants were out of it.
-'i will write a poem for the man, and say it at the bazaar,' noël said. 'i know people say poetry at bazaars. the one aunt carrie took me to a man said a piece about a cowboy.'
-h. o. said there ought to be lots of sweets, and then everyone would buy them.
-oswald said someone would have to ask my father, and he said he would do it if the others liked. he did this because of an inside feeling in his mind that he knew might come on at any moment. so he did. and 'yes' was the answer. and then the uncle gave oswald a whole quid to buy things to sell at the bazaar, and my father gave him ten bob for the same useful and generous purpose, and said he was glad to see we were trying to do good to others.
-when he said that the inside feeling in oswald's mind began that he had felt afraid would, some time, and he told my father about him and dicky moving the ladder, and about the hateful fives ball, and everything. and my father was awfully decent about it, so that oswald was glad he had told.
-the girls wrote the invitations to all our friends that very day. we boys went down to look in the shops and see what we could buy for the bazaar. and we went to ask how mr. augustus victor plunkett's arm was getting on, and to see the goat.
-the others liked the goat almost as much as oswald, and even dicky agreed that it was our clear duty to buy the goat for the sake of poor mr. plunkett.
-because, as oswald said, if it was worth one pound two and six, we could easily sell it again for that, and we should have gained fifteen shillings for the sufferer.
-so we bought the goat, and changed the ten shillings to do it. the man untied the other end of the goat's rope, and oswald took hold of it, and said he hoped we were not robbing the man by taking his goat from him for such a low price. and he said:
-'not at all, young gents. don't you mention it. pleased to oblige a friend any day of the week.'
-so we started to take the goat home. but after about half a street he would not come any more. he stopped still, and a lot of boys and people came round, just as if they had never seen a goat before. we were beginning to feel quite uncomfortable, when oswald remembered the goat liked cocoanut ice, so noël went into a shop and got threepenn'orth, and then the cheap animal consented to follow us home. so did the street boys. the cocoanut ice was more for the money than usual, but not so nice.
-my father was not pleased when he saw the goat. but when alice told him it was for the bazaar, he laughed, and let us keep it in the stableyard.
-it got out early in the morning, and came right into the house, and butted the cook in her own back-kitchen, a thing even oswald himself would have hesitated before doing. so that showed it was a brave goat.
-the groom did not like the goat, because it bit a hole in a sack of corn, and then walked up it like up a mountain, and all the oats ran out and got between the stones of the stableyard, and there was a row. but we explained it was not for long, as the bazaar was in three days. and we hurried to get things ready.
-we were each to have a stall. dora took the refreshment stall. the uncle made miss blake get all that ready.
-alice had a stall for pincushions and brush-and-comb bags, and other useless things that girls make with stuff and ribbons.
-noël had a poetry stall, where you could pay twopence and get a piece of poetry and a sweet wrapped up in it. we chose sugar almonds, because they are not so sticky.
-h. o.'s stall was to be sweets, if he promised on his word of honour as a bastable only to eat one of each kind.
-dicky wished to have a stall for mechanical toys and parts of clocks. he has a great many parts of clocks, but the only mechanical toy was his clockwork engine, that was broken ages ago, so he had to give it up, and he couldn't think of anything else. so he settled to help oswald, and keep an eye on h. o.
-oswald's stall was meant to be a stall for really useful things, but in the end it was just a lumber stall for the things other people did not want. but he did not mind, because the others agreed he should have the entire selling of the goat, and he racked his young brains to think how to sell it in the most interesting and unusual way. and at last he saw how, and he said:
-'he shall be a lottery, and we'll make people take tickets, and then draw a secret number out of a hat, and whoever gets the right number gets the goat. i wish it was me.'
-'we ought to advertise it, though,' dicky said. 'have handbills printed, and send out sandwich-men.'
-oswald inquired at the printers in greenwich, and handbills were an awful price, and sandwich-men a luxury far beyond our means. so he went home sadly; and then alice thought of the printing-press. we got it out, and cleaned it where the ink had been upset into it, and mended the broken parts as well as we could, and got some more printers' ink, and wrote the circular and printed it. it was:
-secret lottery. exceptionable and rare chance. an object of value--
-'the goat's an object, certainly,' alice said, 'and it's valuable. as for virtue, i'm not so sure.'
-but oswald thought the two v's looked well, and being virtuous is different to being valuable; but, all the same, the goat might be both when you got to know him really well. so we put it in.
-secret lottery. exceptionable and rare chance. an object of value and virtue
-will be lotteried for on saturday next, at four o'clock. tickets one or two shillings each, according to how many people want them. the object is not disclosed till after the lottery, but it cost a lot of money, and is honestly worth three times as much. if you win it, it is the same as winning money. apply at morden house, blackheath, at 3 o'clock next saturday. take tickets early to prevent disappointment.
-we printed these, and though they looked a bit rum, we had not time to do them again, so we went out about dusk and dropped them in people's letter-boxes. then next day oswald, who is always very keen on doing the thing well, got two baking-boards out of the kitchen and bored holes in them with an auger i had, and pasted paper on them, and did on them with a paint-brush and ink the following lines:
-object of value and virtue.
-tickets 1/- and 2/-.
-if you win, it will be the same as winning money.
-lottery at morden house, blackheath.
-saturday at 4. come at 3.
-and he slung the boards round his neck, and tied up his mouth in one of those knitted comforters he despises so much at other times, and, pulling a cap of father's over his bold ears, he got dicky to let him out of the side-door. and then the brave boy went right across the heath and three times up and down the village, till those boys that followed him and the goat home went for him near the corner of wemyss road, and he made a fight for it, taking off the boards and using them as shields. but at last, being far outnumbered, which is no disgrace, he had to chuck the boards and run for it.
-saturday was fine. we had hung the greenhouse with evergreens and paper roses that looked almost like real among the green, and miss blake let us have some chinesy-looking curtains to cover over the shelves and staging with. and the gardener let us have a lot of azaleas and things in pots, so that it was all very bowery and flowery.
-alice's stall was the smartest looking, because miss blake had let her have all the ribbons and things that were over from the other bazaar.
-h. o.'s stall was also nice--all on silver tea-trays, so as not to be stickier than needful.
-the poetry stall had more flowers on it than any of the others, to make up for the poetry looking so dull outside. of course, you could not see the sweet inside the packets till you opened them. red azaleas are prettier than poetry, i think. i think the tropic lands in 'westward ho!' had great trees with flowers like that.
-we got the goat into the stovehouse. he was to be kept a secret till the very last. and by half-past two we were all ready, and very clean and dressed. we had all looked out everything we thought anyone could want to buy, and that we could spare, and some things we could not, and most of these were on oswald's table--among others, several boxes of games we had never cared about; some bags of marbles, which nobody plays now; a lot of old books; a pair of braces with wool-work on them, that an aunt once made for oswald, and, of course, he couldn't wear them; some bags of odd buttons for people who like sewing these things on; a lot of foreign stamps, gardening tools, dicky's engine, that won't go, and a stuffed parrot, but he was moth-eaten.
-about three our friends began to come, mrs. leslie, and lord tottenham, and albert's uncle, and a lot of others. it was a very grand party, and they admired the bazaar very much, and all bought things. mrs. leslie bought the engine for ten shillings, though we told her honestly it would never go again, and albert's uncle bought the parrot, and would not tell us what he wanted it for. the money was put on a blue dish, so that everyone could see how it got on, and our hearts were full of joy as we saw how much silver there was among the pennies, and two or three gold pieces too. i know now how the man feels who holds the plate at the door in church.
-noël's poetry stall was much more paying than i thought it would be. i believe nobody really likes poetry, and yet everyone pretends they do, either so as not to hurt noël's feelings, or because they think well-brought-up people ought to like poetry, even noël's. of course, macaulay and kipling are different. i don't mind them so much myself.
-noël wrote a lot of new poetry for the bazaar. it took up all his time, and even then he had not enough new stuff to wrap up all the sugar almonds in. so he made up with old poetry that he'd done before. albert's uncle got one of the new ones, and said it made him a proud man. it was:
-'how noble and good and kind you are to come to victor a. plunkett's bazaar. please buy as much as you can bear, for the sufferer needs all you can possibly spare. i know you are sure to take his part, because you have such a noble heart.'
-mrs. leslie got:
-'the rose is red, the violet's blue, the lily's pale, and so are you. or would be if you had seen him fall off the top of the ladder so tall. do buy as much as you can stand, and lend the poor a helping hand.'
-lord tottenham, though, only got one of the old ones, and it happened to be the 'wreck of the malabar.' he was an admiral once. but he liked it. he is a nice old gentleman, but people do say he is 'excentric.'
-father got a poem that said:
-'please turn your eyes round in their sockets, and put both your hands in your pockets; your eyes will show you things so gay, and i hope you'll find enough in your pockets to pay for the things you buy. good-bye!'
-'oh, beetle, how i weep to see thee lying on thy poor back: it is so very sad to see you were so leggy and black. i wish you were crawling about alive again, but many people think this is nonsense and a shame.'
-noël would recite, no matter what we said, and he stood up on a chair, and everyone, in their blind generousness, paid sixpence to hear him. it was a long poem of his own about the duke of wellington, and it began:
-'hail, faithful leader of the brave band who went to make napoleon understand he couldn't have everything his own way. we taught him this on waterloo day.'
-i heard that much; but then he got so upset and frightened no one could hear anything till the end, when it says:
-'so praise the heroes of waterloo, and let us do our duty like they had to do.'
-everyone clapped very much, but noël was so upset he nearly cried, and mrs. leslie said:
-'noël, i'm feeling as pale as a lily again! take me round the garden to recover myself.'
-she was as red as usual, but it saved noël from making a young ass of himself. and we got seventeen shillings and sixpence by his reciting. so that was all right.
-we might as well not have sent out those circulars, because only the people we had written to ourselves came. of course, i don't count those five street boys, the same oswald had the sandwich-board fight with. they came, and they walked round and looked at the things; but they had no money to spend, it turned out, and only came to be disagreeable and make fun. so albert's uncle asked them if they did not think their families would be lonely without them, and he and i saw them off at the gate. then they stood outside and made rude noises. and another stranger came, and oswald thought perhaps the circular was beginning to bear fruit. but the stranger asked for the master of the house, and he was shown in. oswald was just shaking up the numbers in his hat for the lottery of the goat, and alice and dora were selling the tickets for half a crown each to our visitors, and explaining the dreadful misery of the poor man that all this trouble was being taken for, and we were all enjoying ourselves very much, when sarah came to say master oswald was to go in to master's study at once. so he went, wondering what on earth he could have been up to now. but he could not think of anything in particular. but when his father said, 'oswald, this gentleman is a detective from scotland yard,' he was glad he had told about the fives ball and the ladder, because he knew his father would now stand by him. but he did wonder whether you could be sent to prison for leaving a ladder in a slippery place, and how long they would keep you there for that crime.
-then my father held out one of the fatal circulars, and said:
-'i suppose this is some of your work? mr. biggs here is bound in honour to do his best to find out when people break the laws of the land. now, lotteries are illegal, and can be punished by law.'
-oswald gloomily wondered how much the law could do to you. he said:
-'we didn't know, father.'
-then his father said:
-'the best thing you can do is to tell this gentleman all about it.'
-so oswald said:
-'augustus victor plunkett fell off a ladder and broke his arm, and perhaps it was our fault for meddling with the ladder at all. so we wanted to do something to help him, and father said we might have a bazaar. it is happening now, and we had three pounds two and sevenpence last time i counted the bazaar.'
-'but what about the lottery?' said mr. biggs, who did not look as if he would take oswald to prison just then, as our young hero had feared. in fact, he looked rather jolly. 'is the prize money?'
-'no--oh no; only it's so valuable it's as good as winning money.'
-'then it's only a raffle,' said mr. biggs; 'that's what it is, just a plain raffle. what is the prize?'
-'are we to be allowed to go on with it?' asked the wary oswald.
-'why, yes,' said mr. biggs; 'if it's not money, why not? what is the valuable object?'
-'come, oswald,' said his father, when oswald said nothing, 'what is the object of virtù?'
-'i'd rather not say,' said oswald, feeling very uncomfortable.
-mr. biggs said something about duty being duty, and my father said:
-'come, oswald, don't be a young duffer. i dare say it's nothing to be ashamed of.'
-'i should think not indeed,' said oswald, as his fond thoughts played with that beautiful goat.
-'well, sir'--oswald spoke desperately, for he wondered his father had been so patient so long, and saw that he wasn't going to go on being--'you see, the great thing is, nobody is to know it's a g---- i mean, it's a secret. no one's to know what the prize is. only when you've won it, it will be revealed.'
-'well,' said my father, 'if mr. biggs will take a glass of wine with me, we'll follow you down to the greenhouse, and he can see for himself.'
-mr. biggs said something about thanking father kindly, and about his duty. and presently they came down to the greenhouse. father did not introduce mr. biggs to anyone--i suppose he forgot--but oswald did while father was talking to mrs. leslie. and mr. biggs made himself very agreeable to all the ladies.
-then we had the lottery. everyone had tickets, and alice asked mr. biggs to buy one. she let him have it for a shilling, because it was the last, and we all hoped he would win the goat. he seemed quite sure now that oswald was not kidding, and that the prize was not money. indeed, oswald went so far as to tell him privately that the prize was too big to put in your pocket, and that if it was divided up it would be spoiled, which is true of goats, but not of money.
-everyone was laughing and talking, and wondering anxiously whatever the prize could possibly be. oswald carried round the hat, and everyone drew a number. the winning number was six hundred and sixty-six, and albert's uncle said afterwards it was a curious coincidence. i don't know what it meant, but it made mrs. leslie laugh. when everyone had drawn a number, oswald rang the dinner-bell to command silence, and there was a hush full of anxious expectation. then oswald said:
-'the prize number is six hundred and sixty-six. who has it?'
-and mr. biggs took a step forward and held out his paper.
-'the prize is yours! i congratulate you,' said oswald warmly.
-then he went into the stovehouse, and hastily placing a wreath of paper roses on the goat's head, that alice had got ready for the purpose, he got out the goat by secretly showing it a bit of cocoanut ice, and led it by the same means to the feet of the happy winner.
-'here is your prize,' said oswald, with feelings of generous pride. 'i am very glad you've got him. he'll be a comfort to you, and make up for all the trouble you've had over our lottery--raffle, i mean.'
-and he placed the ungoated end of the rope in the unresisting hand of the fortunate detective.
-neither oswald nor any of the rest of us has ever been able to make out why everyone should have laughed so. but they did. they said the lottery was the success of the afternoon. and the ladies kept on congratulating mr. biggs.
-at last people began to go, and the detective, so unexpectedly made rich beyond his wildest dreams, said he, too, must be going. he had tied the goat to the greenhouse door, and now he moved away. but we all cried out:
-'you've forgotten your goat!'
-'no, i haven't,' he said very earnestly; 'i shall never forget that goat to my dying hour. but i want to call on my aunt just close by, and i couldn't very well take the goat to see her.'
-'i don't see why not,' h. o. said; 'it's a very nice goat.'
-'she's frightened of them,' said he. 'one ran at her when she was a little girl. but if you will allow me, sir'--and he winked at my father, which is not manners--'if you'll allow me, i'll call in for the goat on my way to the station.'
-we got five pounds thirteen and fivepence by the bazaar and the raffle. we should have had another ten shillings from father, but he had to give it to mr. biggs, because we had put him to the trouble of coming all the way from scotland yard, because he thought our circular was from some hardened criminal wishing to cheat his trustful fellow-creatures. we took the money to augustus victor plunkett next morning, and i tell you he was pleased.
-we waited till long after dark for the detective to return for his rich prize. but he never came. i hope he was not set upon and stabbed in some dark alley. if he is alive, and not imprisoned, i can't see why he didn't come back. i often think anxiously of him. because, of course, detectives have many enemies among felons, who think nothing of stabbing people in the back, so that being murdered in a dark alley is a thing all detectives are constantly liable to.
-it was after we had had the measles, that fell and blighting disorder which we got from alice picking up five deeply infected shillings that a bemeasled family had wrapped in a bit of paper to pay the doctor with and then carelessly dropped in the street. alice held the packet hotly in her muff all through a charity concert. hence these tears, as it says in virgil. and if you have ever had measles you will know that this is not what is called figuring speech, because your eyes do run like mad all the time.
-when we were unmeasled again we were sent to stay at lymchurch with a miss sandal, and her motto was plain living and high thinking. she had a brother, and his motto was the same, and it was his charity concert that alice held the fatal shillings in her muff throughout of. later on he was giving tracts to a bricklayer, and fell off a scaffold in his giddy earnestness, and miss sandal had to go and nurse him. so the six of us stayed in the plain living, high thinking house by ourselves, and old mrs. beale from the village came in every day and did the housework. she was of humble birth, but was a true lady in minding her own affairs, which is what a great many ladies do not know how to do at all. we had no lessons to do, and we were thus free to attend to any adventures which came along. adventures are the real business of life. the rest is only in-betweenness--what albert's uncle calls padding. he is an author.
-miss sandal's house was very plain and clean, with lots of white paint, and very difficult to play in. so we were out a good deal. it was seaside, so, of course, there was the beach, and besides that the marsh--big green fields with sheep all about, and wet dykes with sedge growing, and mud, and eels in the mud, and winding white roads that all look the same, and all very interesting, as though they might lead to almost anything that you didn't expect. really, of course, they lead to ashford and romney and ivychurch, and real live places like that. but they don't look it.
-the day when what i am going to tell you about happened, we were all leaning on the stone wall looking at the pigs. the pigman is a great friend of ours--all except h. o., who is my youngest brother. his name is horace octavius, and if you want to know why we called him h. o. you had better read 'the treasure seekers' and find out. he had gone to tea with the schoolmaster's son--a hateful kid.
-'isn't that the boy you're always fighting?' dora asked when h. o. said he was going.
-'yes,' said h. o., 'but, then, he keeps rabbits.'
-so then we understood and let him go.
-well, the rest of us were gazing fondly on the pigs, and two soldiers came by.
-we asked them where they were off to.
-they told us to mind our own business, which is not manners, even if you are a soldier on private affairs.
-'oh, all right,' said oswald, who is the eldest. and he advised the soldiers to keep their hair on. the little they had was cut very short.
-'i expect they're scouts or something,' said dicky; 'it's a field-day, or a sham-fight, or something, as likely as not.'
-'let's go after them and see,' said oswald, ever prompt in his decidings. so we did.
-we ran a bit at first, so as not to let the soldiers have too much of a lead. their red coats made it quite easy to keep them in sight on the winding white marsh road. but we did not catch them up: they seemed to go faster and faster. so we ran a little bit more every now and then, and we went quite a long way after them. but they didn't meet any of their officers or regiments or things, and we began to think that perchance we were engaged in the disheartening chase of the wild goose. this has sometimes occurred.
-there is a ruined church about two miles from lymchurch, and when we got close to that we lost sight of the red coats, so we stopped on the little bridge that is near there to reconnoitre.
-the soldiers had vanished.
-'well, here's a go!' said dicky.
-'it is a wild-goose chase,' said noël. 'i shall make a piece of poetry about it. i shall call the title the "vanishing reds, or, the soldiers that were not when you got there."'
-'you shut up!' said oswald, whose eagle eye had caught a glimpse of scarlet through the arch of the ruin.
-none of the others had seen this. perhaps you will think i do not say enough about oswald's quickness of sight, so i had better tell you that is only because oswald is me, and very modest. at least, he tries to be, because he knows it is what a true gentleman ought to.
-'they're in the ruins,' he went on. 'i expect they're going to have an easy and a pipe--out of the wind.'
-'i think it's very mysterious,' said noël. 'i shouldn't wonder if they're going to dig for buried treasure. let's go and see.'
-'no,' said oswald, who, though modest, is thoughtful. 'if we do they'll stop digging, or whatever they're doing. when they've gone away, we'll go and see if the ground is scratched about.'
-so we delayed where we were, but we saw no more scarlet.
-in a little while a dull-looking man in brown came by on a bicycle. he stopped and got off.
-'seen a couple of tommies about here, my lad?' he said to oswald.
-oswald does not like being called anybody's lad, especially that kind of man's; but he did not want to spoil the review, or field-day, or sham-fight, or whatever it might be, so he said:
-'yes; they're up in the ruins.'
-'you don't say so!' said the man. 'in uniform, i suppose? yes, of course, or you wouldn't have known they were soldiers. silly cuckoos!'
-he wheeled his bicycle up the rough lane that leads to the old ruin.
-'it can't be buried treasure,' said dicky.
-'i don't care if it is,' said oswald. 'we'll see what's happening. i don't mind spoiling his sport. "my ladding" me like that!'
-so we followed the man with the bicycle. it was leaning against the churchyard gate when we got there. the man off it was going up to the ruin, and we went after him.
-he did not call out to the soldiers, and we thought that odd; but it didn't make us think where it might have made us if we had had any sense. he just went creeping about, looking behind walls and inside arches, as though he was playing at hide-and-seek. there is a mound in the middle of the ruin, where stones and things have fallen during dark ages, and the grass has grown all over them. we stood on the mound, and watched the bicycling stranger nosing about like a ferret.
-there is an archway in that ruin, and a flight of steps goes down--only five steps--and then it is all stopped up with fallen stones and earth. the stranger stopped at last at this arch, and stooped forward with his hands on his knees, and looked through the arch and down the steps. then he said suddenly and fiercely:
-'come out of it, will you?'
-'back you go the same way as what you come,' he said.
-and then oswald saw the soldiers' faces, and he will never forget what they looked like.
-he jumped off the mound, and ran to where they were.
-'what have they done?' he asked the handcuffer.
-'deserters,' said the man. 'thanks to you, my lad, i got 'em as easy as kiss your hand.'
-then one of the soldiers looked at oswald. he was not very old--about as big as a fifth-form boy. and oswald answered what the soldier looked at him.
-'i'm not a sneak,' he said. 'i wouldn't have told if i'd known. if you'd told me, instead of saying to mind my own business i'd have helped you.'
-the soldier didn't answer, but the bicycle man did.
-'then you'd 'a helped yourself into the stone jug, my lad,' said he. 'help a dirty deserter? you're young enough to know better. come along, you rubbish!'
-and they went.
-when they were gone dicky said:
-'it's very rum. i hate cowards. and deserters are cowards. i don't see why we feel like this.'
-alice and dora and noël were now discovered to be in tears.
-'of course we did right to tell. only when the soldier looked at me ...' said oswald.
-'yes,' said dicky, 'that's just it.'
-in deepest gloom the party retraced its steps.
-as we went, dora said with sniffs:
-'i suppose it was the bicycle man's duty.'
-'of course,' said oswald, 'but it wasn't our duty. and i jolly well wish we hadn't!'
-'and such a beautiful day, too,' said noël, sniffing in his turn.
-it was beautiful. the afternoon had been dull, but now the sun was shining flat across the marshes, making everything look as if it had been covered all over with the best gold-leaf--marsh and trees, and roofs and stacks, and everything.
-that evening noël wrote a poem about it all. it began:
-'poor soldiers, why did you run away on such a beautiful, beautiful day? if you had run away in the rain, perhaps they would never have found you again, because then oswald would not have been there to show the hunter the way to your lair.'
-oswald would have licked him for that--only noël is not very strong, and there is something about poets, however young, that makes it rather like licking a girl. so oswald did not even say what he thought--noël cries at the least thing. oswald only said, 'let's go down to our pigman.'
-and we all went except noël. he never will go anywhere when in the midst of making poetry. and alice stayed with him, and h. o. was in bed.
-we told the pigman all about the deserters, and about our miserable inside remorsefulness, and he said he knew just how we felt.
-'there's quite enough agin a pore chap that's made a bolt of it without the rest of us a-joinin' in,' he said. 'not as i holds with deserting--mean trick i call it. but all the same, when the odds is that heavy--thousands to one--all the army and the navy and the pleece and parliament and the king agin one pore silly bloke. you wouldn't 'a done it a purpose, i lay.'
-'not much,' said oswald in gloomy dejection. 'have a peppermint? they're extra strong.'
-when the pigman had had one he went on talking.
-'there's a young chap, now,' he said, 'broke out of dover gaol. i 'appen to know what he's in for--nicked a four-pound cake, he did, off of a counter at a pastrycook's--jenner's it was, in the high street--part hunger, part playfulness. but even if i wasn't to know what he was lagged for, do you think i'd put the coppers on to him? not me. give a fellow a chance is what i say. but don't you grizzle about them there tommies. p'raps it'll be the making of 'em in the end. a slack-baked pair as ever wore boots. i seed 'em. only next time just you take and think afore you pipes up--see?'
-we said that we saw, and that next time we would do as he said. and we went home again. as we went dora said:
-'but supposing it was a cruel murderer that had got loose, you ought to tell then.'
-'yes,' said dicky; 'but before you do tell you ought to be jolly sure it is a cruel murderer, and not a chap that's taken a cake because he was hungry. how do you know what you'd do if you were hungry enough?'
-'i shouldn't steal,' said dora.
-'i'm not so sure,' said dicky; and they argued about it all the way home, and before we got in it began to rain in torrents.
-conversations about food always make you feel as though it was a very long time since you had had anything to eat. mrs. beale had gone home, of course, but we went into the larder. it is a generous larder. no lock, only a big wooden latch that pulls up with a string, like in red riding hood. and the floor is clean damp red brick. it makes ginger-nuts soft if you put the bag on this floor. there was half a rhubarb pie, and there were meat turnovers with potato in them. mrs. beale is a thoughtful person, and i know many people much richer that are not nearly so thoughtful.
-we had a comfortable feast at the kitchen table, standing up to eat, like horses.
-then we had to let noël read us his piece of poetry about the soldier; he wouldn't have slept if we hadn't. it was very long, and it began as i have said, and ended up:
-'poor soldiers, learn a lesson from to-day, it is very wrong to run away; it is better to stay and serve your king and country--hurray!'
-noël owned that hooray sounded too cheerful for the end of a poem about soldiers with faces like theirs were.
-'but i didn't mean it about the soldiers. it was about the king and country. half a sec. i'll put that in.' so he wrote:
-'you can't sing hooray,' said dicky. so noël went to bed singing it, which was better than arguing about it, alice said. but it was noisier as well.
-we used to look in the cupboard and under the beds for burglars every night. the girls liked us to, though they wouldn't look themselves, and i don't know that it was much good. if there is a burglar, it's sometimes safer for you not to know it. where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to find a burglar, especially as he would be armed to the teeth as likely as not. however, there is not much worth being a burglar about, in houses where the motto is plain living and high thinking, and there never was anyone in the cupboards or under the beds.
-then we put out all the lights very carefully in case of fire--all except noël's. he does not like the dark. he says there are things in it that go away when you light a candle, and however much you talk reason and science to him, it makes no difference at all.
-little did the unconscious sleepers reck of the strange destiny that was advancing on them by leaps and bounds through the silent watches of the night.
-although we were asleep, the rain went on raining just the same, and the wind blowing across the marsh with the fury of a maniac who has been transformed into a blacksmith's bellows. and through the night, and the wind, and the rain, our dreadful destiny drew nearer and nearer. i wish this to sound as if something was going to happen, and i hope it does. i hope the reader's heart is now standing still with apprehensionness on our account, but i do not want it to stop altogether, so i will tell you that we were not all going to be murdered in our beds, or pass peacefully away in our sleeps with angel-like smiles on our young and beautiful faces. not at all. what really happened was this. some time must have elapsed between our closing our eyes in serene slumber and the following narrative:
-oswald was awakened by dicky thumping him hard in the back, and saying in accents of terror--at least, he says not, but oswald knows what they sounded like:
-oswald reared up on his elbow and listened, but there was nothing to listen to except dicky breathing like a grampus, and the giggle-guggle of the rain-water overflowing from the tub under the window.
-'what's what?' said oswald.
-he did not speak furiously, as many elder brothers would have done when suddenly awakened by thumps.
-'that!' said dicky. 'there it is again!'
-and this time, certainly, there it was, and it sounded like somebody hammering on the front-door with his fists. there is no knocker to the plain-living, high-thinking house.
-oswald controlled his fears, if he had any (i am not going to say whether he had or hadn't), and struck a match. before the candle had had time to settle its flame after the first flare up that doesn't last, the row began again.
-oswald's nerves are of iron, but it would have given anybody a start to see two white figures in the doorway, yet so it was. they proved to be alice and dora in their nighties; but no one could blame anyone for not being sure of this at first.
-'is it burglars?' said dora; and her teeth did chatter, whatever she may say.
-'i think it's mrs. beale,' said alice. 'i expect she's forgotten the key.'
-oswald pulled his watch out from under his pillow.
-'it's half-past one,' he said.
-and then the knocking began again. so the intrepid oswald went to the landing window that is over the front-door. the others went too. and he opened the window in his pyjamas and said, 'who's there?'
-there was the scraping sound of boots on the doorstep, as somebody down there stepped back.
-'is this the way to ashford?' said the voice of a man.
-'ashford's thirteen miles off,' said oswald. 'you get on to the dover road.'
-'i don't want to get on the dover road,' said the voice; 'i've had enough of dover.'
-a thrill ran through every heart. we all told each other so afterwards.
-'well,' said dicky, 'ashford's thirteen miles----'
-'anybody but you in the house?'
-'say we've got men and dogs and guns,' whispered dora.
-'there are six of us,' said oswald, 'all armed to the teeth.'
-the stranger laughed.
-'i'm not a burglar,' he said; 'i've lost my way, that's all. i thought i should have got to ashford before dusk, but i missed the way. i've been wandering all over these marshes ever since, in the rain. i expect they're out after me now, but i'm dead beat. i can't go on. won't you let me in? i can sit by the kitchen fire.'
-oswald drew his head back through the window, and a hasty council took place on the landing.
-'it is,' said alice.
-'you heard what he said about dover, and their being out after him?'
-'i say, you might let a chap in,' said the voice outside. 'i'm perfectly respectable. upon my word i am.'
-'he sounds very tired,' said alice.
-'and wet,' said oswald. 'i heard the water squelching in his boots.'
-'what'll happen if we don't let him in?' said dicky.
-'he'll be caught and taken back, like the soldiers,' said oswald. 'look here, i'm going to chance it. you others can lock yourselves into your rooms if you're frightened.'
-then oswald put his brave young head out of the window, and the rain dripped on to the back of his bold young neck off the roof, like a watering-pot on to a beautiful flower, and he said:
-'there's a porch to the side door. just scoot round there and shelter, and i'll come down in half a sec.'
-a resolve made in early youth never to face midnight encounters without boots was the cause of this delay. oswald and dicky got into their boots and jackets, and told the girls to go back to bed.
-then we went down and opened the front-door. the stranger had heard the bolts go, and he was outside waiting.
-we held the door open politely, and he stepped in and began at once to drip heavily on the doormat.
-we shut the door. he looked wildly round.
-'be calm! you are safe,' said oswald.
-'thanks,' said the stranger; 'i see i am.'
-all our hearts were full of pity for the outcast. he was, indeed, a spectacle to shock the benevolent. even the prison people, oswald thought, or the man he took the cake from, would have felt their fierceness fade if they could have seen him then. he was not in prison dress. oswald would have rather liked to see that, but he remembered that it was safer for the man that he had found means to rid himself of the felon's garb. he wore a gray knickerbocker suit, covered with mud. the lining of his hat must have been blue, and it had run down his face in streaks like the gentleman in mr. kipling's story. he was wetter than i have ever seen anyone out of a bath or the sea.
-'come into the kitchen,' said oswald; 'you can drip there quite comfortably. the floor is brick.'
-he followed us into the kitchen.
-'are you kids alone in the house?' he said.
-'yes,' said oswald.
-'then i suppose it's no good asking if you've got a drop of brandy?'
-'not a bit,' said dicky.
-'whisky would do, or gin--any sort of spirit,' said the smeared stranger hopefully.
-'not a drop,' said oswald; 'at least, i'll look in the medicine cupboard. and, i say, take off your things and put them in the sink. i'll get you some other clothes. there are some of mr. sandal's.'
-the man hesitated.
-'it'll make a better disguise,' said oswald in a low, significant whisper, and turned tactfully away, so as not to make the stranger feel awkward.
-dicky got the clothes, and the stranger changed in the back-kitchen. the only spirit oswald could find was spirits of salts, which the stranger said was poison, and spirits of camphor. oswald gave him some of this on sugar; he knows it is a good thing when you have taken cold. the stranger hated it. he changed in the back-kitchen, and while he was doing it we tried to light the kitchen fire, but it would not; so dicky went up to ask alice for some matches, and finding the girls had not gone to bed as ordered, but contrarily dressed themselves, he let them come down. and then, of course, there was no reason why they should not light the fire. they did.
-when the unfortunate one came out of the back-kitchen he looked quite a decent chap, though still blue in patches from the lining of his hat. dicky whispered to me what a difference clothes made.
-he made a polite though jerky bow to the girls, and dora said:
-'how do you do? i hope you are quite well.'
-'as well as can be expected,' replied the now tidy outcast, 'considering what i've gone through.'
-'tea or cocoa?' said dora. 'and do you like cheese or cold bacon best?'
-'i'll leave it to you entirely,' he answered. and he added, without a pause, 'i'm sure i can trust you.'
-'indeed you can,' said dora earnestly; 'you needn't be a bit afraid. you're perfectly safe with us.'
-he opened his eyes at this.
-'he didn't expect such kindness,' alice whispered. 'poor man! he's quite overcome.'
-we gave him cocoa, and cheese, and bacon, and butter and bread, and he ate a great deal, with his feet in mr. sandal's all-wool boots on the kitchen fender.
-the girls wrung the water out of his clothes, and hung them on the clothes-horse on the other side of the fire.
-'i'm sure i'm very much obliged to you,' he said; 'real charity i call this. i shan't forget it, i assure you. i ought to apologise for knocking you up like this, but i'd been hours tramping through this precious marsh of yours wet to the skin, and not a morsel of food since mid-day. and yours was the first light i'd seen for a couple of hours.'
-'i'm very glad it was us you knocked up,' said alice.
-'so am i,' said he; 'i might have knocked at a great many doors before i got such a welcome. i'm quite aware of that.'
-he spoke all right, not like a labouring man; but it wasn't a gentleman's voice, and he seemed to end his sentences off short at the end, as though he had it on the tip of his tongue to say 'miss' or 'sir.'
-oswald thought how terrible it must be to be out alone in the rain and the dark, with the police after you, and no one to be kind to you if you knocked at their doors.
-'you must have had an awful day,' he said.
-'i believe you,' said the stranger, cutting himself more bacon. 'thank you, miss (he really did say it that time), just half a cup if you don't mind. i believe you! i never want to have such a day again, i can tell you. i took one or two little things in the morning, but i wasn't in the mood or something. you know how it is sometimes.'
-'i can fancy it,' said alice.
-'and then the afternoon clouded over. it cleared up at sunset, you remember, but then it was too late. and then the rain came on. not half! my word! i've been in a ditch. thought my last hour had come, i tell you. only got out by the skin of my teeth. got rid of my whole outfit. there's a nice thing to happen to a young fellow! upon my sam, it's enough to make a chap swear he'll never take another thing as long as he lives.'
-'i hope you never will,' said dora earnestly; 'it doesn't pay, you know.'
-'upon my word, that's nearly true, though i don't know how you know,' said the stranger, beginning on the cheese and pickles.
-'i wish,' dora was beginning, but oswald interrupted. he did not think it was fair to preach at the man.
-'so you lost your outfit in the ditch,' he said; 'and how did you get those clothes?'
-he pointed to the steaming gray suit.
-'oh,' replied the stranger, 'the usual way.'
-oswald was too polite to ask what was the usual way of getting a gray suit to replace a prison outfit. he was afraid the usual way was the way the four-pound cake had been got.
-alice looked at me helplessly. i knew just how she felt.
-harbouring a criminal when people are 'out after him' gives you a very chilly feeling in the waistcoat--or, if in pyjamas, in the part that the plaited cotton cord goes round. by the greatest good luck there were a few of the extra-strong peppermints left. we had two each, and felt better.
-the girls put the sheets off oswald's bed on to the bed miss sandal used to sleep in when not in london nursing the shattered bones of her tract-distributing brother.
-'if you will go to bed now,' oswald said to the stranger, 'we will wake you in good time. and you may sleep as sound as you like. we'll wake you all right.'
-'you might wake me about eight,' he said; 'i ought to be getting on. i'm sure i don't know what to say in return for the very handsome reception you've given me. good-night to you all, i'm sure.'
-'good-night,' said everyone. and dora added, 'don't you bother. while you're asleep we'll think what's best to be done.'
-'don't you bother,' said the stranger, and he absently glanced at his own clothes. 'what's big enough to get out of's big enough to get into.'
-then he took the candle, and dicky showed him to his room.
-'what's big enough to get out of,' repeated alice. 'surely he doesn't mean to creep back into prison, and pretend he was there all the time, only they didn't notice him?'
-'well, what are we to do?' asked dicky, rejoining the rest of us. 'he told me the dark room at dover was a disgrace. poor chap!'
-'we must invent a disguise,' said dora.
-'let's pretend he's our aunt, and dress him up--like in "hard cash,"' said alice.
-it was now three o'clock, but no one was sleepy. no one wanted to go to sleep at all till we had taken our candles up into the attic and rummaged through miss sandal's trunks, and found a complete disguise exactly suited to an aunt. we had everything--dress, cloak, bonnet, veil, gloves, petticoats, and even boots, though we knew all the time, in our hearts, that these were far too small. we put all ready on the parlour sofa, and then at last we began to feel in our eyes and ears and jaws how late it was. so we went back to bed. alice said she knew how to wake exact to the minute, and we had known her do it before, so we trusted her, and agreed that she was to wake us at six.
-but, alas! alice had deemed herself cleverer than she was, by long chalks, and it was not her that woke us.
-we were aroused from deep slumber by the voice of mrs. beale.
-'hi!' it remarked,'wake up, young gentlemen! it's gone the half after nine, and your gentleman friend's up and dressed and a-waiting for his breakfast.'
-'i say, mrs. beale,' cried oswald, who never even in sleep quite loses his presence of mind, 'don't let on to anyone that we've got a visitor.'
-she went away laughing. i suppose she thought it was some silly play-secret. she little knew.
-we found the stranger looking out of the window.
-'i wouldn't do that,' said dora softly; 'it isn't safe. suppose someone saw you?'
-'well,' said he, 'suppose they did?'
-'they might take you, you know,' said dora; 'it's done in a minute. we saw two poor men taken yesterday.'
-her voice trembled at the gloomy recollection.
-'let 'em take me,' said the man who wore the clothes of the plain-living and high-thinking mr. sandal; 'i don't mind so long as my ugly mug don't break the camera!'
-'we want to save you,' dora was beginning; but oswald, far-sighted beyond his years, felt a hot redness spread over his youthful ears and right down his neck. he said:
-'please, what were you doing in dover? and what did you take yesterday?'
-'i was in dover on business,' said the man, 'and what i took was hythe church and burmarsh church, and----'
-'then you didn't steal a cake and get put into dover gaol, and break loose, and----' said dicky, though i kicked him as a sign not to.
-'me?' said our friend. 'not exactly!'
-'then, what are you? if you're not that poor escaped thief, what are you?' asked dora fiercely, before oswald could stop her.
-'i'm a photographer, miss,' said he--'a travelling photographer.'
-then slowly but surely he saw it all, and i thought he would never have done laughing.
-'breakfast is getting cold,' said oswald.
-'so it is,' said our guest. 'lordy, what a go! this'll be something to talk about between friends for many a year.'
-'no,' said alice suddenly; 'we thought you were a runaway thief, and we wanted to help you whatever you were.' she pointed to the sofa, where the whole costume of the untrue aunt was lying in simple completeness. 'and you're in honour bound never to tell a soul. think,' she added in persuading tones--'think of the cold bacon and the cheese, and all those pickles you had, and the fire and the cocoa, and us being up all night, and the dry all-wool boots.'
-'say no more, miss,' said the photographer (for such he indeed was) nobly. 'your will is my law; i won't never breathe a word.'
-and he sat down to the ham and eggs as though it was weeks since he had tasted bacon.
-but we found out afterwards he went straight up to the ship, and told everybody all about it. i wonder whether all photographers are dishonourable and ungrateful. oswald hopes they are not, but he cannot feel at all sure.
-lots of people chaffed us about it afterwards, but the pigman said we were jolly straight young britons, and it is something to be called that by a man you really respect. it doesn't matter so much what the other people say--the people you don't really care about.
-when we told our indian uncle about it he said, 'nonsense! you ought never to try and shield a criminal.' but that was not at all the way we felt about it at the time when the criminal was there (or we thought he was), all wet, and hunted, and miserable, with people 'out after him.' he meant his friends who were expecting him, but we thought he meant police. it is very hard sometimes to know exactly what is right. if what feels right isn't right, how are you to know, i wonder.
-the only comforting thing about it all is that we heard next day that the soldiers had got away from the brown bicycle beast after all. i suppose it came home to them suddenly that they were two to one, and they shoved him into a ditch and got away. they were never caught; i am very glad. and i suppose that's wrong too--so many things are. but i am.
-a tale of crime
-it was mrs. beale who put it into our heads that miss sandal lived plain because she was poor. we knew she thought high, because that is what you jolly well have to do if you are a vegetationist and an all-wooler, and those sort of things.
-and we tried to get money for her, like we had once tried to do for ourselves. and we succeeded by means that have been told alone in another place in getting two golden pounds.
-then, of course, we began to wonder what we had better do with the two pounds now we had got them.
-'put them in the savings-bank,' dora said.
-'why, when we could have them to look at?'
-noël thought we ought to buy her something beautiful to adorn miss sandal's bare dwelling.
-h. o. thought we might spend it on nice tinned and potted things from the stores, to make the plain living and high thinking go down better.
-but oswald knew that, however nice the presents are that other people buy for you, it is really more satisfying to have the chink to spend exactly as you like.
-then dicky said:
-'i don't believe in letting money lie idle. father always says it's bad business.'
-'they give interest at the bank, don't they?' dora said.
-'yes; tuppence a year, or some rot like that! we ought to go into trade with it, and try to make more of it. that's what we ought to do.'
-'if it's miss sandal's money, do you think we ought to do anything with it without asking her?'
-'it isn't hers till she's got it, and it is hers because it's not ours to spend. i think we're--what is it?--in loco parentis to that two quid, because anyone can see poor miss sandal doesn't know how to manage her money. and it will be much better if we give her ten pounds than just two.'
-this is how dicky argued.
-we were sitting on the sands when this council took place, and alice said, 'suppose we bought a shrimping-net, and sold shrimps from our window in red handkerchiefs and white french caps.' but we asked her how she would like going into the sea nearly up to her neck in all weathers, and she had to own she had not thought of that. besides, shrimps are so beastly cheap--more than you can eat for twopence.
-'you take my tip and cut along home. there's something come for you.'
-'perhaps it's heaps of things, like i said, to eat with the plain living,' said h. o.
-and bright visions of hampers full of the most superior tuck winged our young legs as we cut along home.
-it was not, however, a hamper that we found awaiting us. it was a large box. and besides that there were two cases addressed to dicky and me, and through the gaps in the boards we could see twisted straw, and our hearts leapt high in our breasts, because we knew that they were bikes.
-and such, indeed, they proved to be--free-wheels of the most unspotted character, the noble gift of our indian uncle, ever amiable, generous, and esteemed.
-while we were getting the glorious bikes from their prison bars, the others were undoing the box which had their names on it.
-it contained cakes and sweets, a work-basket for dora, lined with red satin, and dressed up with silver thimbles, and all sorts of bodkins and scissors, and knives with silver handles. there was a lovely box of paints for alice.
-noël had a paint-box too, and h. o. had a very good aunt sally. and there were lots of books--not the sawdusty, dry kind that miss sandal had in her house, but jolly good books, the kind you can't put down till you've finished. but just now we hardly looked at them. for who with a spark of manly spirit would think twice about a book with a new free-wheel champing the oil like a charger in a ballad?
-dicky and i had a three-mile spin before dinner, and only fell off five times between us. three spills were dicky's, one was oswald's, and one was when we ran into each other. the bikes were totally uninjured.
-as time ran its appointed course we got a bit used to the bikes, and, finding that you cannot ride all day and all night, we began to look at the books. only one of them comes into this story. it was called 'the youth's manual of scientific and mechanical recreation,' and, of course, we none of us read it till we'd read everything else, and then we found it wasn't half bad. it taught you how to make all sorts of things--galvanic batteries, and kites, and mouse-traps, and how to electroplate things, and how to do wood-carving and leather-work. we tried as many of the things as we had money for, and some of them succeeded. then we made a fire-balloon.
-it took a long time to make, and then it caught fire and blazed away before we could get it launched.
-so we made another, and noël dropped it near the water-butt, where there was a puddle, and, being tissue-paper, it was unable to stand the strain.
-so we made another. but the paste was bad, and it did not stick.
-so we made another.
-then, at last, when all was ready, oswald climbed on to the pigsty at mrs. beales', and held the balloon very steady while dicky lighted the cotton-wool, soaked in spirits of wine, which hangs from the end (where cars are in larger sizes), and causes it to be called a fire-balloon. a taper is burned inside the balloon, and then, according to the book, 'it readily ascends, and is carried away by the wind, sometimes to a considerable distance.'
-well, this time everything happened just as the book said, which is not always the case.
-it was a clear, dark night, bright stars only. and, to our relief and agreeable surprise, our balloon rose up and sailed away, dragging its lighted tail like a home-made comet.
-it sailed away over the marshes, getting smaller and smaller, and at last it was, though lost to sight, to memory dear. some of us thought it wasn't worth doing, but oswald was glad he had persevered. he does hate to be beaten. however, we none of us cared to make another, so we went to bed.
-dicky always goes to sleep directly on these occasions, but oswald, more thoughtful for his years, sometimes reviews the events of the day. he must have been nearly asleep, because he was just reviewing an elephant that flew with a lamp inside, so that it looked like a fire-balloon, when alice suddenly came and woke him up completely.
-'beware!' she said in tones of awe.
-and he said, but not crossly:
-'well, what on earth's up now?'
-'the fire-balloon!' replied alice.
-'what about it?' he rejoined, still calm and kind, though roused from his reviews.
-'why, it came to me all in a minute! oh, oswald--when it comes down--there are lots of farms in the march. suppose it comes down and sets light to something! it's a crime--arsenic or something--and you can be hanged for it!'
-'don't be an idiot!' said oswald kindly. 'the book wouldn't have told youths how to make them if they were crimes. go back to bed, for goodness' sake!'
-'i wish we hadn't--oh, i do!' said alice.
-but she did as she was told. oswald has taught her this.
-next day her fears had stopped, like silent watches in the night, and we began to make a trap for badgers--in case we ever found one.
-but dicky went to the top of the mill with some field-glasses he had borrowed from mr. carrington to look at distant ships with, and he burst into the busy circle of badger-trap makers, and said:
-'i say, come and look! there's a fire in the marsh!'
-'there!' said alice, dropping the wire pliers on her good elder brother's foot. 'what did i tell you?'
-we all tore to the top of the mill, and sure enough, far across the sunny green marshes rose a little cloud of smoke, and blue and yellow flames leaped out every now and then. we all took turns to look through the glasses.
-then oswald said:
-almost instantly we were in the saddle and tearing along the level marsh towards the direction of the fire. at first we got down at every crossroad and used the field-glasses to see which way to go; but as we got nearer, or the fire got bigger, or perhaps both, we could see it quite plainly with the naked eye. it was much further off than we had thought, but we rode on undaunted, regardless of fatigue and of dinner-time, being now long gone by.
-we got to the fire at last. it was at crown ovender farm, and we had to lift the bikes over fences and wheel them over ploughed fields to get there, because we did not know the right way by road.
-crown ovender is a little farmhouse, and a barn opposite, and a great rick-yard, and two of the ricks were alight. they smoked horribly, and the wind blew the hot smoke into your eyes, and every now and then you saw great flames--yards long they seemed--leap out as if they were crying to get to the house.
-we had put our bikes in a ditch a field away, and now we went all round about to ask if we could help; but there wasn't a soul to be seen.
-we did not know what to do. even oswald--always full of resource--almost scratched his head, which seems to help some people to think, though i don't think it ever would me, besides not looking nice.
-'i wish we'd told them in the village,' said dicky.
-we had not done this, and the reason, the author is ashamed to say, was because we wanted to get there before anyone else. this was very selfish, and the author has often regretted it.
-the flames were growing larger and fiercer, and the tar on the side of the barn next the rick-yard was melting and running down like treacle.
-'there's a well!' said dicky suddenly. 'it isn't a deep well, and there are two buckets.'
-oswald understood. he drew up the water, and dicky took the buckets as they came up full and dripping and dashed the water on to the tarry face of the barn. it hissed and steamed. we think it did some good. we took it in turns to turn the well-wheel. it was hard work, and it was frightfully hot. then suddenly we heard a horrid sound, a sort of out-of-breath scream, and there was a woman, very red in the face and perspiring, climbing over the fence.
-'hallo!' said oswald.
-'oh!' the woman said, panting, 'it's not the house, then? thank them as be it's not the house! oh, my heart alive, i thought it was the house!'
-'it isn't the house,' said oswald; 'but it jolly soon will be!'
-'oh, my pore lily!' said the woman. 'with this 'ere wind the house 'll be alight in a minute. and her a-bed in there! where's honeysett?'
-'there's no one here but us. the house is locked up,' we said.
-'yes, i know, 'cause of tramps. honeysett's got the key. i comes in as soon as i've cleared dinner away. she's ill a-bed, sleeping like a lamb, i'll be bound, all unknowing of her burning end.'
-'we must get her out,' said oswald.
-but the woman didn't seem to know what to do. she kept on saying, 'where's honeysett? oh, drat him! where's that honeysett?'
-so then oswald felt it was the time to be a general, like he always meant to if he got the chance. he said, 'come on!' and he took a stone and broke the kitchen window, and put his hand through the jagged hole and unfastened the catch, and climbed in. the back-door was locked and the key gone, but the front-door was only bolted inside. but it stuck very tight, from having been painted and shut before the paint was dry, and never opened again.
-oswald couldn't open it. he ran back to the kitchen window and shouted to the others.
-'go round to the other door and shove for all you're worth!' he cried in the manly tones that all must obey.
-so they went; but dicky told me afterwards that the woman didn't shove for anything like all she was worth. in fact, she wouldn't shove at all, till he had to make a sort of battering-ram of her, and then she seemed to awake from a dream, and they got the door open.
-we followed the woman up the stairs and into a bedroom, and there was another woman sitting up in bed trembling, and her mouth opening and shutting.
-'oh, it's you, eliza,' she said, falling back against the pillows. 'i thought it were tramps.'
-eliza did not break things to the sufferer gently, like we should have done, however hurried.
-'mercy you aren't burnt alive in your bed, lily!' she merely remarked. 'the place is all ablaze!'
-then she rolled her sick sufferer in a blanket and took hold of her shoulders, and told us to take her feet.
-but oswald was too calm to do this suddenly. he said:
-'where are you going to put her?'
-'anywheres!' said eliza wildly--'anywheres is better than this here.'
-'there's plenty of time,' said oswald; and he and dicky rushed into another room, and got a feather-bed and bedclothes, and hunched them down the stairs, and dragged them half a field away, and made a bed in a nice dry ditch. and then we consented to carry the unfortunate bed-woman to it.
-the house was full of smoke by this time, though it hadn't yet caught fire; and i tell you we felt just like heroic firemen as we stumbled down the crookety narrow stairs, back first, bearing the feet of the sick woman. oswald did so wish he had had a fireman's helmet to put on!
-when we got the fading lily to her dry ditch, she clutched oswald's arm and whispered:
-'save the sticks!'
-'what sticks?' asked oswald, who thought it was the ragings of delirium.
-'she means the furniture,' said eliza; 'but i'm afraid its doom is written on high.'
-'rubbish!' said oswald kindly; and we flew back, us boys dragging eliza with us.
-there didn't seem to be much furniture in the house, but when we began to move it, it at once seemed to multiply itself with the rapidity of compound interest. we got all the clothes out first, in drawers and clothes-baskets, and tied up in sheets. eliza wasn't much use. the only thing she could do was to look for a bed-key to unscrew the iron bedsteads; but oswald and dicky toiled on. they carried out chairs and tables and hearthrugs. as oswald was staggering on under a windsor armchair, with a tea-tray and an ironing-board under his arms, he ran into a man.
-'what's up?' said he.
-'fire!' said oswald.
-'i seed that,' said the man.
-oswald shoved the chair and other things on to the man.
-'then lend a hand to get the things away,' he said.
-and more and more people came, and all worked hard; but oswald and dicky did most. eliza never even found that bed-key, because when she saw people beginning to come thicker and thicker across the fields, like ants hurrying home, she went out and told everyone over and over again that honeysett had got the key.
-then a woman came along, and eliza got her into a corner by the stairs and jawed. i heard part of the jaw.
-'then the house would ha' been all empty but for her not being wishful to go along of you?' oswald heard the other say.
-'yes,' said eliza; 'an' so you see----'
-'you keep your mouth shut,' the other woman fiercely said; 'you're lily's sister, but tom, he's my brother. if you don't shut your silly mouth you'll be getting of them into trouble. it's insured, ain't it?'
-'i don't see,' said eliza.
-'you don't never see nothing,' said the other. 'you just don't say a word 'less you're arst, and then only as you come to look after her and found the fire a-raging something crool.'
-the other woman clawed hold of her and dragged her away, whispering secretly.
-all this time the fire was raging, but there were lots of men now to work the well and the buckets, and the house and the barn had not caught.
-when we had got out all the furniture, some of the men set to work on the barn, and, of course, oswald and dicky, though weary, were in this also. they helped to get out all the wool--bundles and bundles and bundles of it; but when it came to sacks of turnip seed and things, they thought they had had enough, and they went to where the things were that had come out of the larder, and they got a jug of milk and some bread and cheese, and took it to the woman who was lying in the dry ditch on the nice bed they had so kindly made for her. she drank some milk, and asked them to have some, and they did, with bread and cheese (dutch), and jolly glad they were of it.
-just as we had finished we heard a shout, and there was the fire-engine coming across the field.
-i do like fire-engines. they are so smart and fierce, and look like dragons ready to fight the devouring element.
-it was no use, however, in spite of the beautiful costumes of the firemen, because there was no water, except in the well, and not much left of that.
-the man named honeysett had ridden off on an old boneshaker of his to fetch the engines. he had left the key in the place where it was always kept, only eliza had not had the sense to look for it. he had left a letter for her, too, written in red pencil on the back of a bill for a mowing-machine. it said: 'rix on fir'; going to git fir'-injins.'
-oswald treasures this letter still as a memento of happier days.
-when honeysett saw the line of men handing up buckets to throw on the tarry wall, he said:
-'that ain't no manner of use. wind's changed a hour agone.'
-and so it had. the flames were now reaching out the other way, and two more ricks were on fire. but the tarry walls were quite cool, and very wet, and the men who were throwing the water were very surprised to find that they were standing in a great puddle.
-and now, when everything in the house and the barn was safe, oswald had time to draw his breath and think, and to remember with despair exactly who it was that had launched a devastating fire-balloon over the peaceful marsh.
-it was getting dusk by this time; but even the splendour of all those burning ricks against the darkening sky was merely wormwood and gall to oswald's upright heart, and he jolly soon saw that it was the same to dicky's.
-'i feel pretty sick,' he said. 'let's go home.'
-'they say the whole eleven ricks are bound to go,' said dicky, 'with the wind the way it is.'
-'we're bound to go,' said oswald.
-'where?' inquired the less thoughtful dicky.
-'to prison,' said his far-seeing brother, turning away and beginning to walk towards the bicycles.
-'we can't be sure it was our balloon,' said dicky, following.
-'pretty average,' said oswald bitterly.
-'but no one would know it was us if we held our tongues.'
-'we can't hold our tongues,' oswald said; 'if we do someone else will be blamed, as sure as fate. you didn't hear what that woman said about insurance money.'
-'we might wait and see if anyone does get into trouble, and then come forward,' said dicky.
-and oswald owned they might do that, but his heart was full of despair and remorse.
-just as they got to their bikes a man met them.
-'all lost, i suppose?' he said, jerking his thumb at the blazing farmyard.
-'not all,' said dicky; 'we saved the furniture and the wool and things----'
-the man looked at us, and said heavily:
-'very kind of you, but it was all insured.'
-'look here,' said oswald earnestly, 'don't you say that to anyone else.'
-'eh?' said the man.
-'if you do, they're safe to think you set fire to it yourself!'
-he stared, then he frowned, then he laughed, and said something about old heads on young shoulders, and went on.
-we went on, too, in interior gloom, that only grew gloomier as we got nearer and nearer home.
-we held a council that night after the little ones had gone to bed. dora and alice seemed to have been crying most of the day. they felt a little better when they heard that no one had been burned to death. alice told me she had been thinking all day of large families burned to little cinders. but about telling of the fire-balloon we could not agree.
-alice and oswald thought we ought. but dicky said 'wait,' and dora said 'write to father about it.'
-'i feel so too,' said oswald; 'but i do wish i knew how long in prison you got for it.'
-we went to bed without deciding anything.
-and very early in the morning oswald woke, and he got up and looked out of the window, and there was a great cloud of smoke still going up from the doomed rickyard. so then he went and woke alice, and said:
-'suppose the police have got that poor farmer locked up in a noisome cell, and all the time it's us.'
-'that's just what i feel,' said alice.
-then oswald said, 'get dressed.'
-and when she had, she came out into the road, where oswald, pale but resolute, was already pacing with firm steps. and he said:
-'look here, let's go and tell. let's say you and i made the balloon. the others can stop out of it if they like.'
-'they won't if it's really prison,' said alice. 'but it would be noble of us to try it on. let's----'
-but we found we didn't know who to tell.
-'it seems so fatal to tell the police,' said alice; 'there's no getting out of it afterwards. besides, he's only jameson, and he's very stupid.'
-the author assures you you do not know what it is like to have a crime like arsenic on your conscience, and to have gone to the trouble and expense of making up your mind to confess it, and then not to know who to.
-we passed a wretched day. and all the time the ricks were blazing. all the people in the village went over with carts and bikes to see the fire--like going to a fair or a show. in other circumstances we should have done the same, but now we had no heart for it.
-in the evening oswald went for a walk by himself, and he found his footsteps turning towards the humble dwelling of the ancient mariner who had helped us in a smuggling adventure once.
-the author wishes to speak the truth, so he owns that perhaps oswald had some idea that the ancient mariner, who knew so much about smugglers and highwaymen, might be able to think of some way for us to save ourselves from prison without getting an innocent person put into it. oswald found the mariner smoking a black pipe by his cottage door. he winked at oswald as usual. then oswald said:
-'i want to ask your advice; but it's a secret. i know you can keep secrets.'
-when the aged one had agreed to this, oswald told him all. it was a great relief.
-the mariner listened with deep attention, and when oswald had quite done, he said:
-'it ain't the stone jug this time mate. that there balloon of yours, i see it go up--fine and purty 'twas, too.'
-'we all saw it go up,' said oswald in despairing accents. 'the question is, where did it come down?'
-'at burmarsh, sonny,' was the unexpected and unspeakably relieving reply. 'my sister's husband's niece--it come down and lodged in their pear-tree--showed it me this morning, with the red ink on it what spelled your names out.'
-oswald, only pausing to wring the hand of his preserver, tore home on the wings of the wind to tell the others.
-i don't think we were ever so glad of anything in our lives. it is a frightfully blighting thing when you believe yourself to be an arsenicator (or whatever it is) of the deepest dye.
-as soon as we could think of anything but our own cleanness from guilt, we began to fear the worst of tom simkins, the farmer at crown ovenden. but he came out of it, like us, without a stain on his fair name, because he and his sister and his man honeysett all swore that he had given a tramp leave to sleep up against the beanstack the night before the fire, and the tramp's pipe and matches were found there. so he got his insurance money; but the tramp escaped.
-but when we told father all about it, he said he wished he had been a director of that fire insurance company.
-we never made another fire-balloon. though it was not us that time, it might have been. and we know now but too well the anxieties of a life of crime.
-the enchanceried house
-a story about the bastables
-the adventure which i am about to relate was a very long time ago, and it was nobody's fault. the part of it that was most like a real crime was caused by h. o. not being at that date old enough to know better--and this was nobody's fault--though we took care that but a brief half-hour elapsed between the discovery of his acts and his being old enough to know better, and knowing it, too (better, i mean), quite thoroughly. we were residing at the residence of an old nurse of father's while dora was engaged in the unagreeable pastime of having something catching at home. if she had been with us most likely none of this would have happened. for she has an almost unerring nose for right and wrong. or perhaps what the author means is that she never does the kind of thing that grown-ups don't like your doing. father's old nurse was very jolly to us, and did not bother too much, except about wet feet and being late for meals, and not airing your shirt before you put it on. but it is part of the nature of the nicest grown-ups to bother about these little things, and we must not be hard on them for it, for no one can help their natures.
-the part where old nurse's house was was where london begins to leave off being london, but before it can make up its mind not to be it. there are fields and bits of lanes and hedges, but the rows of ugly little houses go creeping along like yellow caterpillars, eating up the green fields. there are brickfields here and there, and cabbage fields, and places where rhubarb is grown. and it is much more interesting than real town, because there is more room to do things in, and not so many people to say 'don't!' when you do.
-nurse's house was the kind that is always a house, no matter how much you pretend it is a baron's castle or an enchanted palace. and to play at its being a robber's cave or any part of a pirate ship is simply silly, and no satisfaction to anyone. there were no books except sermons and the wesleyan magazine. and there was a green cut-paper fuzziness on the frame of the looking-glass in the parlour. there was a garden--at least, there was enough ground for one, but nothing grew there except nettles and brick-bats and one elder-tree, and a poor old oak-tree that had seen better days. there was a hole in the fence, very convenient for going through in a hurry.
-one morning there had been what old nurse called a 'set out' because noël was writing some of his world-without-end poetry, and he had got as far as
-'how beautiful the sun and moon and all the stars appear! they really are a long way off, although they look very near.'
-'i do not think that they are worlds, but apples on a tree; the angels pick them whenever they like, but it is not so with me. i wish i was a little angel-child to gather stars for my tea,'
-before dicky found out that he was writing it on the blank leaf at the end of the latin prize dicky got at the preparatory school.
-noël--for mysterious reasons unknown to fame--is alice's favourite brother, and of course she stood up for him, and said he didn't mean it.
-and things were said on both sides, and the rest of us agreed with dicky that noël was old enough to know better. it ended in alice and noël going out for a walk by themselves as soon as noël had had the crying washed off his hands and face.
-the rest of us spent the shining hours in getting a board and nailing it up in the oak-tree for a look-out station, in case of saracens arriving with an army to attack london. the oak is always hard to climb, and this was a peculiarly hard day, because the next-door people had tied a clothes-line to the oak, and hung their wet washing out on the line.
-the sun was setting (in the west as usual) before alice and noël returned. they came across the wide fields from the direction of a pinewood that we had never explored yet, though always meaning to.
-'there!' said dicky, 'they've been and gone to the pinewood all by themselves.'
-but the hatchet dicky was still cherishing in his breast was buried at once under the first words spoken by the returning party of explorers.
-'oh, oswald,' said alice, 'oh, dicky, we've found a treasure!'
-dicky hammered the last nail into the saracen watch-tower.
-'not a real money one?' he said, dropping the hammer--which was a careless thing to do, and the author told him so at the time.
-'no, not a money one, but it's real all the same. let's have a council, and i'll tell you.'
-alice was full of the politest compliments about the architecture of the saracens' watch-tower, and noël said:
-'i say, dicky, i'm awfully sorry about your prize.'
-'it's all right,' said dicky; 'i rubbed it out with bread.'
-noël opened his mouth. he looks like a very young bird when he does this.
-'then my beautiful poem's turned into dirty bread-crumbs,' he said slowly.
-'never mind,' said alice; 'i remember nearly every word of it: we'll write it out again after tea.'
-'i thought you'd be so pleased,' noël went on, 'because it makes a book more valuable to have an author's writing in it. albert's uncle told me so.'
-'but it has to be the same author that wrote the book,' alice explained, 'and it was cæsar wrote that book. and you aren't cæsar yet, you know.'
-'nor don't want to be,' said noël.
-oswald now thought that politeness was satisfied on both sides, so he said:
-'what price treasures?'
-and then alice told. but it had to be in whispers, because the next-door people, who always did things at times when not convenient to us, were now taking in their washing off the line. i heard them remark that it was a 'good drying day.'
-'well,' alice mysteriously observed, 'it was like this. (do you think the saracens' watch-tower is really safe for two? it seems to go down awfully much in the middle.)'
-'sit nearer the ends, then,' said oswald. 'well?'
-'we thought we would go to the pinewoods because of reading in bret harte that the resinous balsam of the pine is healing to the wounded spirit.'
-'i should have thought if anybody's spirit was wounded...' said dicky in tones of heatening indignantness.
-'yes, i know. but you'd got the oak, and i expect oaks are just as good, if not better, especially for english people, because of oakapple day--and----where was i?'
-we told her.
-'so we went, and it is a very nice wood--quite tulgy, you know. we expected to see a bandersnatch every minute, didn't we, noël? it's not very big, though, and on the other side there's an enchanted desert--rather bare, with patches of grass and brambles. and in the very middle of it we found the treasure.'
-'let's have a squint at the treasure,' said dicky. 'did you fetch it along?'
-noël and alice sniggered.
-'not exactly,' said alice; 'the treasure is a house.'
-'it's an enchanted house,' said noël, 'and it's a deserted house, and the garden is like in "the sensitive plant" after the lady has given up attending.'
-'did you go in?' we asked.
-'no,' said alice; 'we came back for you. and we asked an old man, and he did say it was in chancery, so no one can live in it.'
-h. o. asked what was enchancery.
-'i'm certain the old man meant enchanted,' said noël, 'only i expect that's the old-fashioned word for it. enchanceried is a very nice word. and it means it's an enchanted house, just like i said.'
-nurse now came out to remark, 'tea, my dears,' so we left the saracens' tower and went in to that meal.
-noël began to make a poem called 'the enchanceried house,' but we got him to stop till there was more for him to write about. there soon was more, and more than enough, as it turned out.
-the setting sun had set, but it had left a redness in the sky (like one of those distant fires that you go after, and they are always miles from where you are) which shone through the pinetrees. the house looked black and mysterious against the strawberry-ice-coloured horizon.
-the day after we went again, and this time we borrowed the next-door people's clothes-line, and by tying it in loops made a sort of rope-ladder, and then all of us got over. we had a glorious game besieging the pigsty, and all the military orders had to be given in whispers for fear of us being turned out if anyone passed and heard us. we found the pinewood, and the field, and the house had all got boards to say what would be done to trespassers with the utmost rigour of the law. it was such a swat untying the knots in the next-door people's clothes-line, that we only undid one; and then we bought them a new line with our own pocket-money, and kept the rope-ladder in a hidden bed of nettles, always on the spot and ready for us.
-we found a way of going round, and getting to the house through a hole in a hedge and across a lane, so as not to go across the big fields where every human eye could mark our proceedings, and come after us and tell us not to.
-we went there every day. it would have been a terrible thing if an army of bloodthirsty saracens had chosen that way to march on london, for there was hardly ever a look-out in the tower now.
-it was a jolly place to play in, and oswald had found out what 'in chancery' really means, so he had no fear of being turned into a pig-headed lady, or marble from the waist down.
-and after a bit we began to want to get into the house, and we wanted it so much that our hearts got quite cold about the chicken-house and the pigsty, which at first had been a fairy dream of delight.
-but the doors were all locked. we got all the old keys we could, but they were all the keys of desks and workboxes and tea-caddies, and not the right size or shape for doors.
-then one day oswald, with his justly celebrated observingness, noticed that one of the bars was loose in the brickwork of a sort of half-underground window. to pull it out was to the lion-hearted youth but the work of a moment. he got down through the gap thus obtained, and found himself in a place like a very small area, only with no steps, and with bars above him, broken glass and matted rags and straw beneath his enterprising boots, and on one side a small cobwebby window. he got out again and told the others, who were trying to get up the cobblestones by the stable so as to make an underground passage into the stable at the ratty corner of its door.
-they came at once, and, after a brief discussion, it was decided to break the window a little more than it was already, and to try to get in a hand that could unlatch the window. of course, as oswald had found the bar, it was to be his hand.
-the dauntless oswald took off his jacket, and, wrapping it round his fist, shoved at the pane nearest the window fastening. the glass fell inwards with the noise you would expect. in newspapers i suppose they would call it a sickening thud. really it was a sort of hollow tinkling sound. it made even oswald jump, and h. o. said:
-'suppose the window opens straight into a bottomless well!'
-we did not think this likely, but you cannot be too careful when you are exploring.
-oswald got in his hand and undid the window fastening, which was very rusty. the window opened out like a door. there was only just room in the area under the bars for oswald and the opening of the window. he leaned forward and looked in. he was not surprised to find that it was not a well, after all, but a cellar.
-'come on,' he said; 'it's all right.'
-dicky came on so rapidly that his boots grazed the shoulder of the advancing oswald. alice was coming next, but noël begged her to wait.
-'i don't think h. o. ought to go in till we're sure it's safe,' he said; and oswald hopes it was not because noël was in a funk himself, though with a poet you never know.
-the cellar into which oswald now plunged had a damp and mouldering smell, like of mouse-traps, and straw, and beer-barrels. another cellar opened out of it, and in this there was traces of coal having existed in other ages.
-it was bolted top and bottom, and the bolts were sort of cemented into their places with rust. but they were unable to resist our patient and determined onslaught. only when we had undone them the door kept shut, and by stooping down and looking we saw that this was because it was locked.
-dicky at once despaired, and said, 'it's no go.'
-but the researchful oswald looked round, and there was a key on a nail, which shows how wrong it is to despair.
-it was not the right key, proving later to be the key of the chicken-house. so we went into the hall. there was a bunch of keys on a nail on the back of the front-door.
-'there now, you see i was right,' remarked oswald. and he was, as is so often the case. all the keys had labels, and one of these said 'back-kitchen,' so we applied it at once, and the locked door yielded to it.
-'you can bring h. o. in quite safely,' oswald said when the door had creakingly consented to open itself, and to disclose the sunshine, and the paved yard with the paving stones marked out with green grass, and the interested expressions on the faces of alice and the others. 'it's quite safe. it's just a house like anyone else's, only it hasn't got any furniture in it.'
-we went all over the house. there were fourteen rooms altogether, fifteen if you counted the back-kitchen where the plate-warmer was, and the copper, and the sink with the taps, and the brotherly coal-scuttle. the rooms were quite different from the ones in old nurse's house. noël said he thought all the rooms in this house had been the scene of duels or elopements, or concealing rightful heirs. the present author doesn't know about that, but there was a splendid cupboardiness about the place that spoke volumes to a discerning eye. even the window seats, of which there were six, lifted up like the lids of boxes, and you could have hidden a flying cavalier in any of them, if he had been of only medium height and slender build, like heroes with swords so often are.
-then there were three staircases, and these must have been darkly convenient for getting conspirators away when the king's officers were at the door, as so constantly happened in romantic times.
-the whole house was full of ideas for ripping games, and when we came away alice said:
-'we must be really better than we know. we must have done something to deserve a find like this.'
-'don't worry,' said oswald. 'albert's uncle says you always have to pay for everything. we haven't paid for this yet.'
-this reflection, like so many of our young hero's, was correct.
-i have not yet told you about the finest find of all the fine finds we found finally (that looks very odd, and i am not sure if it is allity-what's-its-name, or only carelessness. i wonder whether other authors are ever a prey to these devastating doubts?) this find was on the top floor. it was a room with bars to the windows, and it was a very odd shape. you went along a passage to the door, and then there was the room; but the room went back along the same way as the passage had come, so that when you went round there no one could see you from the door. the door was sort of in the middle of the room; but i see i must draw it for you, or you will never understand.
-the door that is marked 'another door' was full of agitated excitement for us, because it wasn't a door at all--at least, not the kind that you are used to. it was a gate, like you have at the top of nursery stairs in the mansions of the rich and affluent; but instead of being halfway up, it went all the way up, so that you could see into the room through the bars.
-'somebody must have kept tame lunatics here,' said dicky.
-'or bears,' said h. o.
-'or enchanceried princes,' said noël.
-'it seems silly, though,' said alice, 'because the lunatic or the bear or the enchanted prince could always hide round the corner when he heard the keepers coming, if he didn't happen to want to show off just then.'
-this was so, and the deep mystery of the way this room was built was never untwisted.
-'perhaps a russian prisoner was kept there,' said alice, 'and they did not want to look too close for fear he would shoot them with his bomb-gun. poor man! perhaps he caught vodka, or some other of those awful foreign diseases, and died in his hidden confinement.'
-it was a most ripping room for games. the key of it was on the bunch labelled 'mrs. s.'s room.' we often wondered who mrs. s. was.
-'let's have a regular round of gaieties,' said oswald. 'each of us to take it in turns to have the room, and act what they like, and the others look through the bars.'
-so next day we did this.
-oswald, of course, dressed up in bath-towels and a sheet as the ghost of mrs. s., but noël and h. o. screamed, and would not be calm till he tore off the sheet and showed his knickerbockers and braces as a guarantee of good faith. alice put her hair up, and got a skirt, and a large handkerchief to cry in, and was a hapless maiden imprisoned in a tower because she would not marry the wicked baron. oswald instantly took the part of the wicked baron, and dicky was the virtuous lover of low degree, and they had a splendid combat, and dicky carried off the lady. of course, that was the proper end to the story, and oswald had to pretend to be beaten, which was not the case.
-dicky was louis xvi. watch-making while waiting for the guillotine to happen. so we were the guillotine, and he was executed in the paved yard.
-noël was an imprisoned troubadour dressed in bright antimacassars, and he fired off quite a lot of poetry at us before we could get the door open, which was most unfair.
-h. o. was a clown. he had no fancy dress except flour and two turkish towels pinned on to look like trousers, but he put the flour all over himself, and it took the rest of the day to clean him.
-it was when alice was drying the hair-brushes that she had washed after brushing the flour out of noël's hair in the back-garden that oswald said:
-'i know what that room was made for.'
-and everyone said, 'what?' which is not manners, but your brothers and sisters do not mind because it saves time.
-'why, coiners,' said oswald. 'don't you see? they kept a sentinel at the door, that is a door, and if anyone approached he whispered "cave."'
-'but why have iron bars?'
-'in extra safety,' said oswald; 'and if their nefarious fires were not burning he need not say "cave" at all. it's no use saying anything for nothing.'
-it is curious, but the others did not seem to see this clear distinguishedness. all people have not the same fine brains.
-but all the same the idea rankled in their hearts, and one day father came and took dicky up to london about that tooth of his, and when dicky came back he said:
-'look here, talking of coiners, there was a man in st. swithin's lane to-day selling little bottles of yellow stuff, and he rubbed some of it on a penny, and it turned the penny into a half-crown before your eyes--a new half-crown! it was a penny a bottle, so i bought three bottles.'
-'i always thought the plant for coining was very expensive,' said alice.
-'ah! they tell you that to keep you from doing it, because of its being a crime,' said dicky. 'but now i've got this stuff we can begin to be coiners right away. i believe it isn't really a crime unless you try to buy things with the base coin.'
-so that very afternoon, directly after dinner, which had a suet pudding in it that might have weighed down the enterprising spirit of anyone but us, we went over to the enchanceried house.
-we found our good rope ladder among its congealing bed of trusty nettles, and got over into the paved yard, and through the kitchen-door. oswald always carried the key of this hung round his neck by a bootlace, as if it was a talisman, or the hair of his lost love. of course, oswald never had a lost love. he would scorn the action. but some heroes do have. de gustibus something or other, which means, one man's meat is another man's poison.
-when we got up into the room with the iron-grated door, it all seemed very bare. three bottles of yellow stuff and tenpence halfpenny in coppers is not much to start a coining enterprise with.
-'we ought to make it look like coining, anyway,' said oswald.
-'coiners have furnaces,' said dicky.
-alice said: 'wouldn't a spirit-lamp do? old nurse has got an old one on the scullery shelf.'
-we thought it would.
-'we ought to have a bench,' said dicky; 'most trades have that--shoemakers and watchmakers, and tailors and lawyers.'
-this was difficult, but we did it. there were some planks in the cellar, and a tub and a beer-barrel. unluckily, the tub and the beer-barrel were not the same height, but we taught them better by getting old nurse's 'pilgrim's progress' and the wesleyan magazine, to put on top of the tub; and then it was as high as the barrel, and we laid the boards across, and there was a bench as beautiful as you could wish.
-dicky was allowed to put the stuff on the coins, because he had bought the bottles with his own money. but alice held them for him to do, because girls are inferior beings, except when you are ill, and you must be kind to them or you need never hope to be a hero. there are drawbacks to every ambition.
-she let noël hold them part of the time.
-when she was not helping dicky, she tried covering pennies with the silver paper off chocolate, but it was not the kind of success that would take anyone in.
-h. o. and noël took it in turns to be sentinel, but they said it was dull, so oswald took it on. and before he had been there three minutes he cried, 'hist! someone approaches!' and the coining materials were hastily concealed and everyone hid round the corner, like we had agreed we would do if disturbed in our unlawful pursuits.
-of course, there wasn't anyone really. after this the kids wanted to be sentinels again, but oswald would not let them.
-it was a jolly good game. and there was something about that house that made whatever you played in it seem awfully real. when i was mrs. s. i felt quite unhappy, and when dicky was the unfortunate monarch who perished in the french revolution he told me afterwards he didn't half like it when it came to the guillotine, though, of course, he knew the knife was only the little sliding-door of the chicken-house.
-we played coiners for several days, and all learned to give the alarm, but we were beginning to feel it was time for something new. noël was saving the hairs out of his comb, and pulling them out of the horsehair sofa in the parlour, to make a hair shirt to be a hermit in, and oswald had bought a file to get through the bars and be an escaped bastille prisoner, leaving his life-history concealed in the fireplace, when the great event occurred.
-we found the silvered money turned to a dirty black when a few hours had elapsed, and we tried silver paint and gold paint. our pockets were always full of gold and silver money, and we could jingle it and take it out in handfuls and let people see it--not too near.
-then came the great eventful day.
-h. o. had fallen into the water-butt that morning. we dried his holland smock, but it went stiff like paper, so that old nurse noticed it, and thus found out that he was wringing wet underneath. so she put him to bed, for fear of his catching his death of cold, and the inveterate gang of coiners had to go to their fell lair without him. we left all our false money at home, because old nurse had given alice a piece of trimming, for dolls, that was all over little imitation silver coins, called sequences, i believe, to imitate the coinage of turkish regions. we reached our enchanceried house, got in as usual, and started our desperate work of changing silver sequences into gold half-sovereigns, with gold paint.
-noël was very grumpy: he was odd altogether that day. he was trying to write a poem about a bastille prisoner. he asked to be sentry, so that he could think about rhymes.
-we had not coined more than about four half-sovereigns when we heard noël say: 'hist! hide the plant!'
-we didn't take any notice, because we wanted to get enough of them done to play a game of misers, which was alice's idea.
-'hist!' noël said again. and then suddenly he rushed in and said: 'it's a real hist! i tell you there's someone on the stairs.'
-and he shut the wooden-grated door, and oswald, with rare presence of mind, caught up the bunch of keys and locked the wooden-grated door with the key labelled 'mrs. s.'s room.'
-then, breathless and furtive, we all hid in the part of the room near the fireplace, where no one could see us from the door.
-we hardly dared to breathe. alice said afterwards that she could hear oswald's heart beating with terror, but the author is almost sure that it was only his watch ticking. it had begun to go that week, after days of unexplained idleness. if we did have to pay for finding the enchanceried house, this was when we paid.
-there were feet on the stairs. we all heard them. and voices. the author distinctly heard the words 'replete with every modern inconvenience,' and 'pleasantly situate ten minutes from tram and rail.'
-and oswald, at least, understood that, somehow or other, our house had got itself disenchanceried, and that the owner was trying to let it.
-we held our breaths till they were nearly choked out of us.
-the steps came nearer and nearer. they came along the passage, and stopped at the door.
-'this is the nursery,' said a manly voice. 'ah, locked! i quite understood from the agent that the keys were in the hall.'
-of course we had the keys, and this was the moment that noël chose for dropping them. why he was fingering them where they lay on the mantelpiece the author does not know, and never will know. there is something about 'previously demented' in some latin chap--virgil or lucretius--that seems to hit the nail on the head. the keys fell on the cracked hearthstone with a clang that oswald, at any rate, will never forget.
-there was an awful silence--quite a long one.
-then another voice said:
-'there's someone in there.'
-'look at that bench,' said the other man; 'it's coiners' work, that's what it is, but there's nobody there. the keys must have blown down!'
-the two voices talked some time, but we could not hear all their conversation. we were all wondering, as it turned out afterwards, what exactly the utmost rigour of the law was. because, of course, we knew we were trespassers of the very deepest dye, even if we could prove that we were not real coiners.
-'no,' we heard one of them say, 'if we go for the police very likely the gang will return and destroy everything. there's no one here now. let's secure the evidence. we can easily break the door down.'
-it is a sickening feeling when the evidence against you is going to be secured, and you don't know what the punishment for coining is, or whether anyone will believe you if you say you were only playing at it.
-we exchanged pallid glances.
-we could hear the two men shaking the door, and we had no means of knowing just how weak it was, never having seriously tampered with it ourselves.
-it was then that noël suddenly went quite mad. i think it was due to something old nurse had read to us at breakfast that day about a boy of eight who played on the fiddle, and composed pieces of music. affected young ass!
-he darted from us into the middle of the room, where the two intruders could see him, and said:
-'don't break down the door! the villains may return any moment and destroy you. fetch the police!'
-the surprised outsiders could find no word but 'er?'
-'you are surprised to see me here,' said noël, not taking any notice of the furious looks of the rest of us. 'i am an infant prodigy. i play the violin at concerts; i play it beautifully. they take me to london to play in a closed carriage, so that i can't tell anyone my woes on the way.'
-'my poor child!' said one of the outsiders; 'tell us all about it. we must rescue you.'
-'born of poor but honest parents,' said noël--and this was what nurse had read out to us--'my musical talent early manifested itself on a toy violin, the gift of a devoted great-aunt. torn from my home----i say, do fetch the police. if the monsters who live on my violin-playing return and find you here, they will brain you with the tools of their trade, and i shall be lost.'
-'their trade?' said one of them. 'what trade?'
-'they are coiners,' said noël, 'as well as what they do to me to make me play.'
-'but if we leave you?'
-'oh, they won't hurt me,' cried noël, 'because i have to play to-night at exeter hall. fly--fly for the police! they may come up behind you any moment and cleave you to the chine.'
-and they actually flew. the present author would have known instantly that it was rot that about cleaving chines, but the man who wanted to let the disenchanteried house and the man who wanted to have it let to him were of other mettle.
-we had remained perfectly still and silent. of course, if the outsiders had attacked noël, his brothers would have rushed to his rescue.
-as soon as the retreating boots of the outsiders grew fainter on the stairs, noël turned green, and had to be revived by splashings from the brotherly coal-scuttle full of water. he got better directly, and we all scooted home to old nurse's, leaving our coining plant without a pang. all great generals say that a retreat is best conducted without impediments.
-noël was so ill he had to go to bed and stay there. this was as well, because of the neighbourhood being scoured for the ill-used infant prodigy that had been imprisoned in the enchanceried house. he got all right again in time to go home when father came up for us. while he was in bed he wrote a long poem in six different coloured chalks, called 'the enchanceried coiners, or the liar's remorse.' so i know he was sorry for what he had done. he told me he could not think what made him, and of course it was very wrong, but it did save our bacon, and preserve us from the noisome cells and bread and water that i am sure are the real meaning of the 'utmost rigour of the law.'
-really the worst of it all was that while we were trembling in the coiners' den, with the two outside gentlemen snorting and whispering on the other side of the gate-door, h. o. had got up out of his bed at home and answered the door. (old nurse had gone out to get a lettuce and an aerated loaf for tea.) he answered it to a butcher's bill for fifteen and sevenpence that the butcher's little girl had brought, and he paid it with six of the pennies that we had disguised as half-crowns, and told the little girl to call for the sevenpence in the morning. i believe many people have been hanged for less. it was lucky for h. o. that old nurse was a friend of the butcher's, and able to persuade him that it was only a joke. in sterner times, like the french revolution ... but alice does not like to think what would have happened then. as this is the twentieth century, and not the eighteenth, our all going down to the butcher and saying we were sorry made it all right. but suppose it had been in other dates!
-the butcher's wife gave us cake and ginger wine, and was very jolly. she asked us where we had got the false half-crowns. oswald said they had been given us. this was true, but when they were given us they were pennies.
-did oswald tell a lie to the butcher? he has often wondered. he hopes not. it is easy to know whether a thing is a lie or not when nothing depends on it. but when events are happening, and the utmost rigour of the law may be the result of your making a mistake, you have to tell the truth as carefully as you can.
-no english gentleman tells a lie--oswald knows that, of course. but an englishman is not obliged to criminalate himself. the rules of honour and the laws of your country are very puzzling and contradictory.
-but the butcher got paid afterwards in real money--a half-sovereign and two half-crowns, and seven unsilvered pennies. so nobody was injured, and the author thinks that is the great thing after all.
-all the same, if ever he goes to stay with old nurse again, he thinks he will tell the butcher. all in confidence. he does not like to have any doubts about such a serious thing as the honour of a bastable.
-the end of oswald's part of the book.
-molly, the measles, and the missing will
-we all think a great deal too much of ourselves. we all believe--every man, woman, and child of us--in our very insidest inside heart, that no one else in the world is at all like us, and that things happen to us that happen to no one else. now, this is a great mistake, because however different we may be in the colour of our hair and eyes, the inside part, the part that we feel and suffer with, is pretty much alike in all of us. but no one seems to know this except me. that is why people won't tell you the really wonderful things that happen to them: they think you are so different that you could never believe the wonderful things. but of course you are not different really, and you can believe wonderful things as easily as anybody else. for instance, you will be able to believe this story quite easily, for though it didn't happen to you, that was merely an accident. it might have happened, quite easily, to you or any else. as it happened, it happened to maria toodlethwaite carruthers.
-you will already have felt a little sorry for maria, and you will have thought that i might have chosen a prettier name for her. and so i might. but i did not do the choosing. her parents did that. and they called her maria after an aunt who was disagreeable, and would have been more disagreeable than ever if the baby had been called enid or elaine or vivien, or any of the pretty names that will readily occur to you. she was called toodlethwaite after the eminent uncle of that name who had an office in london and an office in liverpool, and was said to be rolling in money.
-'i should like to see uncle toodlethwaite rolling in his money,' said maria, 'but he never does it when i'm about.'
-the third name, carruthers, was maria's father's name, and she often felt thankful that it was no worse. it might so easily have been snooks or prosser.
-of course no one called maria maria except aunt maria herself. her aunt eliza, who was very refined, always wrote in the improving books that she gave maria on her birthday, 'to dearest marie, from her affectionate aunt elise,' and when she spoke to her she called her mawrie. her brothers and sisters, whenever they wanted to be aggravating, called her toodles, but at times of common friendliness they called her molly, and so did most other people, and so shall i, and so may you.
-molly and her brothers and sisters were taken care of by a young woman who was called a nursery-governess. i don't know why, for she did not nurse them, and she certainly did not govern them. in her last situation she had been called a lady-help--i don't know the why of that, either. her name was simpshall, and she was always saying 'don't,' and 'you mustn't do that,' and 'put that down directly,' and 'i shall tell your mamma if you don't leave off.' she never seemed to know what you ought to do, but only what you oughtn't.
-one day the children had a grand battle with all the toy soldiers, and the little brass cannons that shoot peas, and the other kind that shoot pink caps with 'fortes amorces' on the box.
-bertie, who always liked to have everything as real as possible, did not like the soldiers to be standing on the bare polished mahogany of the dining-table.
-'it's not a bit like the field of glory,' he said. and indeed it was not.
-so he borrowed the large kitchen knife-box and went out, and brought it in full of nice real clean mould out of the garden. half a dozen knife-box-fulls were needed to cover the table. then the children made forts and ditches, and brought in sprigs of geranium and calceolaria and box and yew and made trees and ambushes and hedges. it was a lovely battlefield, and would have melted the heart of anyone but a nursery-governess.
-but she just said, 'what a disgusting mess! how naughty you are!' and fetched a brush and swept the field of glory away into the dustpan. there was only just time to save the lives of the soldiers.
-and then cecily put the knife-box back without saying what it had been used for, and the knives were put into it, so that at dinner everything tasted of earth, and the grit got between people's teeth, so that they could not eat their mutton or potatoes or cabbage, or even their gravy.
-this, of course, was entirely miss simpshall's fault. if she had not behaved as she did bertie or eva would have remembered to clean out the knife-box. as it was, the story of the field of glory came out over the gritty mutton and things, and father sent all the battlefield-makers to bed.
-molly was out of this. she was staying with aunt eliza, who was kind, if refined. she was to come back the next day. but as mother was on her way to the station to meet aunt maria for a day's shopping, she met a telegraph boy, who gave her a telegram from aunt eliza saying:
-'am going to palace to-day instead of to-morrow. fetch marie.--elise.'
-so mother fetched her from aunt eliza's flat in kensington and took her shopping with aunt maria. there were hours of shopping in hot, stuffy shops full of tired shop-people and angry ladies, and even the new hat and jacket and the strawberry ice at the pastrycook's in oxford street did not make up to molly for that tiresome day.
-still, she was out of the battlefield row. only as she did not know that it could not comfort her.
-when aunt maria had been put into her train, mother and molly went home. as their cab stopped, miss simpshall rushed out between the two dusty laburnums by the gate.
-'don't come in!' said miss simpshall wildly.
-'my dear miss simpshall----' said mother.
-the hair of the nursery-governess waved wildly in the evening breeze. she shut the ornamental iron gate in mother's face.
-'don't come in!' said miss simpshall again. 'you shan't, you mustn't----'
-'don't talk nonsense,' said mother, looking very white. 'have you gone mad?'
-miss simpshall said she hadn't.
-'but what's the matter?' said mother.
-'measles,' said miss simpshall; 'it's all out on them--thick.'
-'good gracious!' said mother.
-'and i thought you'd perhaps just as soon molly didn't have it, mrs. carruthers. and this is all the thanks i get, being told i'm insane.'
-'i'm sorry,' said mother absently. 'yes, you were quite right. keep the children warm. has the doctor seen them?'
-'not yet; i've only just found it out. oh, it's terrible! their hands and faces are all scarlet with purple spots.'
-'oh dear, oh dear! i hope it's nothing worse than measles! i'll call in and send the doctor,' said mother; 'i shall be home by the last train. it's a blessing molly's clothes are all here in her box.'
-so molly was whisked off in the cab.
-'i must take you back to your aunt's,' said mother.
-'but aunt eliza's gone to stay at the bishop's palace,' said molly.
-'so she has; we must go to your aunt maria's. oh dear!'
-'never mind, mother,' said molly, slipping her hand into mother's; 'perhaps they won't have it very badly. and i'll be very good, and try not to have it at all.'
-this was very brave of molly; she would much rather have had measles than have gone to stay at aunt maria's.
-aunt maria lived in a lovely old house down in kent. it had beautiful furniture and beautiful gardens; in fact, as bertie said, it was a place
-'where every prospect pleases, and only aunt is vile.'
-molly and her mother arrived there just at supper-time. aunt maria was very surprised and displeased. molly went to bed at once, and her supper was brought up on a tray by clements, aunt's own maid. it was cold lamb and mint-sauce, and jelly and custard.
-'your aunt said to bring you biscuits and milk,' said clements, 'but i thought you'd like this better.'
-'you're a darling!' said molly; 'i was so afraid you'd be gone for your holiday. it's not nearly so beastly when you're here.'
-clements was flattered, and returned the compliment.
-one thing molly liked about aunt maria's was that there were no children's bedrooms--no bare rooms with painted furniture and dutch drugget. all the rooms were 'best rooms', with soft carpets and splendid old furniture. the beds were all four-posters with carved pillars and silk damask curtains, and there were sure to be the loveliest things to make believe with in whatever room you happened to be put into. in this room there were cases of stuffed birds, and a stuffed pike that was just like life. there was a wonderful old cabinet, black and red and gold, very mysterious, and oak chests, and two fat white indian idols sitting cross-legged on the mantelpiece. it was very delightful; but molly liked it best in the daytime. and she was glad of the night-light.
-she thought of bertie, and cicely, and eva, and baby, and vincent, and wondered whether measles hurt much.
-next day aunt maria was quite bearable. the worst thing she said was about people coming when they weren't expected, and upsetting everything.
-'i'll try not to upset anything,' said molly, and went out and got the gardener to put up a swing for her.
-then she upset herself out of it, and got a bump on her forehead the size of a hen's egg, and that, as aunt maria very properly said, kept her out of mischief for the rest of the day.
-next morning molly had two letters. the first was from bertie. it said:
-'it is rough lines on you, but we did not mean to keep it up, and it is your fault for coming home the day before you ought to have. we did it to kid old simpshall, because she was so beastly about us making a real battlefield. we only painted all the parts of us that show with vermilion, and put spots--mixed crimson lake and prussian blue--all over, and we pulled down the blinds and said our heads ached, and so they did with crying--i mean the girls cried. she was afraid to come near us; but she was sorry she had been such a beast. and when she had come to the door and said so through the keyhole we owned up, but you had gone by then. it was a rare lark, but we've got three days bedder for it. i shall lower this on the end of a fishingline to the baker's boy, and he will post it. it is like a dungeon. he is going to bring us tarts, like a faithful page.
-'your affectionate bro., 'bertrand de lisle carruthers.'
-the other letter was from mother.
-'my darling molly,
-it was all a naughty hoax, intended to annoy poor miss simpshall. your brothers and sisters had painted their faces red and purple--they had not measles at all. but since you are at aunt maria's i think you may as well stay ...'
-'how awful!' said molly. 'it is too bad!'
-'... stay and make it your annual visit. be a good girl, dear, and do not forget to wear your pinafores in the morning.
-'your loving mother.'
-molly wrote a nice little letter to her mother. to her brother she said:
-i think you are beasts to have let me in for this. you might have thought of me. i shall not forgive you till the sun is just going down, and i would not then, only it is so wrong not to. i wish you had been named maria, and had to stay here instead of me.
-'your broken-hearted sister,
-when molly stayed at the white house she was accustomed to read aloud in the mornings from 'ministering children' or 'little pilgrims,' while aunt maria sewed severely. but that morning aunt maria did not send for her.
-'your aunt's not well,' clements told her; 'she won't be down before lunch. run along, do, miss, and walk in the garden like a young lady.'
-molly chose rather to swagger out into the stableyard like a young gentleman. the groom was saddling the sorrel horse.
-'i've got to take a telegram to the station,' said he.
-'take me,' said molly.
-'likely! and what ud your aunt say?'
-'she won't know,' said molly, 'and if she does i'll say i made you.'
-he laughed, and molly had a splendid ride behind the groom, with her arms so tight round his waistcoat that he could hardly breathe.
-when they got to the station a porter lifted her down, and the groom let her send off the telegram. it was to uncle toodlethwaite, and it said:
-'please come down at once urgent business most important don't fail bring bates.--maria carruthers.'
-so molly knew something very out of the way had happened, and she was glad that her aunt should have something to think of besides her, because the white house would have been a very nice place to stay at if aunt maria had not so often remembered to do her duty by you.
-in the afternoon uncle toodlethwaite came, and he and aunt maria and a person in black with a shining black bag--molly supposed he was mr. bates, who was to be brought by uncle toodlethwaite--sat in the dining-room with the door shut.
-molly went to help the kitchenmaid shell peas, in the little grass courtyard in the middle of the house. they sat on the kitchen steps, and molly could hear the voices of clements and the housekeeper through the open window of the servants' hall. she heard, but she did not think it was eavesdropping, or anything dishonourable, like listening at doors. they were talking quite out loud.
-'and a dreadful blow it will be to us all, if true,' the housekeeper was saying.
-'she thinks it's true,' said clements; 'cried her eyes out, she did, and wired for her brother-in-law once removed.'
-'meaning her brother's brother-in-law--i see. but i don't know as i really understand the ins and outs of it even yet.'
-'well, it's like this,' said clements: 'missis an' her brother they used to live here along of their uncle, and he had a son, a regular bad egg he was, and the old master said he shouldn't ever have a penny of his money. he said he'd leave it to mr. carruthers--that's missis's brother, see?'
-'that means father,' thought molly.
-'and he'd leave missis the house and enough money to keep it up in style. he was a warm man, it seems. well, then the son's drowned at sea--ship went down and all aboard perished. just as well, because when the old man died they couldn't find no will. so it all comes to missis and her brother, there being no other relations near or far, and they divides it the same as the old man had always said he wished. you see what i mean?'
-'near enough,' said the housekeeper; 'and then?'
-'why, then,' said clements, 'comes this letter--this very morning--from a lawyer, to say as this bad egg of a son wasn't drowned at all: he was in foreign parts, and only now heard of his father's decease, and tends without delay to claim the property, which all comes to him, the deceased have died insensate--that means without a will.'
-'i say, clements,' molly sung out, 'you must have read the letter. did aunt show it to you?'
-there was a dead silence; the kitchenmaid giggled. someone whispered inside the room. then the housekeeper's voice called softly, 'come in here a minute, miss,' and the window was sharply shut.
-molly emptied the peascods out of her pinafore and went in.
-directly she was inside the door clements caught her by the arm and shook her.
-'you nasty mean, prying little cat!' she said; 'and me getting you jelly and custard, and i don't know what all.'
-'i'm not,' said molly. 'don't, clements; you hurt.'
-'you deserve me to,' was the reply. 'doesn't she, mrs. williams?'
-'don't you know it's wrong to listen, miss?' asked mrs. williams.
-'i didn't listen,' said molly indignantly. 'you were simply shouting. no one could help hearing. me and jane would have had to put our fingers in our ears not to hear.'
-'i didn't think it of you,' said clements, beginning to sniff.
-'i don't know what you're making all this fuss about,' said molly; 'i'm not a sneak.'
-'have a piece of cake, miss,' said mrs. williams, 'and give me your word it shan't go any further.'
-'i don't want your cake; you'd better give it to clements. it's she that tells things--not me.'
-molly began to cry.
-'there, i declare, miss, i'm sorry i shook you, but i was that put out. there! i ask your pardon; i can't do more. you wouldn't get poor clements into trouble, i'm sure.'
-'of course i wouldn't; you might have known that.'
-well, peace was restored; but molly wouldn't have any cake.
-that evening jane wore a new silver brooch, shaped like a horseshoe, with an arrow through it.
-it was after tea, when uncle toodlethwaite was gone, that molly, creeping quietly out to see the pigs fed, came upon her aunt at the end of the hollyhock walk. her aunt was sitting on the rustic seat that the crimson rambler rose makes an arbour over. her handkerchief was held to her face with both hands, and her thin shoulders were shaking with sobs.
-and at once molly forgot how disagreeable aunt maria had always been, and how she hated her. she ran to her aunt and threw her arms round her neck. aunt maria jumped in her seat, but she let the arms stay where they were, though they made it quite difficult for her to use her handkerchief.
-'don't cry, dear ducky darling aunt maria,' said molly--'oh, don't! what is the matter?'
-'nothing you would understand,' said aunt maria gruffly; 'run away and play, there's a good child.'
-'but i don't want to play while you're crying. i'm sure i could understand, dear little auntie.'
-molly embraced the tall, gaunt figure of the aunt.
-'dear little auntie, tell molly.'
-she used just the tone she was used to use to her baby brother.
-'it's--it's business,' said aunt maria, sniffing.
-'i know business is dreadfully bad--father says so,' said molly. 'don't send me away, auntie; i'll be as quiet as a mouse. i'll just sit and cuddle you till you feel better.'
-she got her arms round the aunt's waist, and snuggled her head against a thin arm. aunt maria had always been one for keeping children in their proper places. yet somehow now molly's proper place seemed to be just where she was--where she had never been before.
-'you're a kind little girl, maria,' she said presently.
-'i wish i could do something,' said molly. 'wouldn't you feel better if you told me? they say it does you good not to grieve in solitary concealment. i'm sure i could understand if you didn't use long words.'
-and, curiously enough, aunt maria did tell her, almost exactly what she had heard from clements.
-'and i know there was a will leaving it all to your father and me,' she said; 'i saw it signed. it was witnessed by the butler we had then--he died the year after--and by mr. sheldon: he died, too, out hunting.'
-her voice softened, and molly snuggled closer and said:
-'poor mr. sheldon!'
-'he and i were to have been married,' said aunt maria suddenly. 'that's his picture in the hall between the carp and your great-uncle carruthers.'
-'poor auntie!' said molly, thinking of the handsome man in scarlet next the stuffed carp--'oh, poor auntie, i do love you so!'
-aunt maria put an arm round her.
-'oh, my dear,' she said, 'you don't understand. all the happy things that ever happened to me happened here, and all the sad things too; if they turn me out i shall die--i know i shall. it's been bad enough,' she went on, more to herself than to molly; 'but there's always been the place just as it was when i was a girl, when he used to come here: so bold and laughing he always was. i can see him here quite plainly; i've only to shut my eyes. but i couldn't see him anywhere else.'
-'don't wills get hidden away sometimes?' molly asked; for she had read stories about such things.
-'we looked everywhere,' said aunt maria--'everywhere. we had detectives from london, because there were things he'd left to other people, and we wanted to carry out his wishes; but we couldn't find it. uncle must have destroyed it, and meant to make another, only he never did--he never did. oh, i hope the dead can't see what we suffer! if my uncle carruthers and dear james could see me turned out of the old place, it would break their hearts even up in heaven.'
-molly was silent. suddenly her aunt seemed to awake from a dream.
-'good gracious, child,' she said, 'what nonsense i've been talking! go away and play, and forget all about it. your own troubles will begin soon enough.'
-'i do love you, auntie,' said molly, and went.
-aunt maria never unbent again as she had done that evening; but molly felt a difference that made all the difference. she was not afraid of her aunt now, and she loved her. besides, things were happening. the white house was now the most interesting place in the world.
-be sure that molly set to work at once to look for the missing will. london detectives were very careless; she was certain they were. she opened drawers and felt in the backs of cupboards; she prodded the padding of chairs, listening for the crackling of paper inside among the stuffing; she tapped the woodwork of the house all over for secret panels; but she did not find the will.
-she could not believe that her great-uncle carruthers would have been so silly as to burn a will that he knew might be wanted at any moment. she used to stand in front of his portrait, and look at it; he did not look at all silly. and she used to look at the portrait of handsome, laughing mr. sheldon, who had been killed out hunting instead of marrying aunt maria, and more than once she said:
-'you might tell me where it is; you look as if you knew.'
-but he never altered his jolly smile.
-molly thought of missing wills from the moment her eyes opened in the morning to the time when they closed at night.
-then came the dreadful day when uncle toodlethwaite and mr. bates came down, and uncle toodlethwaite said:
-'i'm afraid there's no help for it, maria; you can delay the thing a bit, but you'll have to turn out in the end.'
-it was on that night that the wonderful thing happened--the thing that molly has never told to anyone except me, because she thought no one could believe it. she went to bed as usual and to sleep, and she woke suddenly, hearing someone call 'molly, molly!'
-she sat up in bed; the room was full of moonlight. as usual her first waking thought was of the missing will. had it been found? was her aunt calling her to tell the good news? no, the room was quite still. she was alone.
-the moonlight fell full on the old black and red and gold cabinet; that, she had often thought, was just the place where a will would be hidden. it might have a secret drawer, that the london detectives had missed. she had often looked over it carefully, but now she got out of bed and lighted her candle, and went over to the cabinet to have one more look. she opened all the drawers, pressed all the knobs in the carved brasswork. there was a little door in the middle; she knew that the little cupboard behind it was empty. it had red lacquered walls, and the back wall was looking-glass. she opened the little cupboard, held up her candle, and looked in. she expected to see her own face in the glass as usual, but she did not see it; instead there was a black space, the opening to something not quite black. she could see lights--candle-lights--and the space grew bigger, or she grew smaller, she never knew which. and next moment she was walking through the opening.
-'now i am going to see something really worth seeing,' said molly.
-she was not frightened--from first to last she was not at all frightened.
-she walked straight through the back of the cabinet in the best bedroom upstairs into the library on the ground-floor. that sounds like nonsense, but molly declares it was so.
-there were candles on the table and papers, and there were people in the library; they did not see her.
-there was great-uncle carruthers and aunt maria, very pretty, with long curls and a striped gray silk dress, like in the picture in the drawing-room. there was handsome, jolly mr. sheldon in a brown coat. an old servant was just going out of the door.
-'that's settled, then,' said great-uncle carruthers; 'now, my girl, bed.'
-aunt maria--such a young, pretty aunt maria, molly would never have known her but for the portrait--kissed her uncle, and then she took a christmas rose out of her dress and put it in mr. sheldon's buttonhole, and put up her face to him and said, 'good-night, james.' he kissed her; molly heard the loud, jolly sound of the kiss, and aunt maria went away.
-then the old man said: 'you'll leave this at bates' for me, sheldon; you're safer than the post.'
-handsome mr. sheldon said he would. then the lights went out, and molly was in bed again.
-quite suddenly it was daylight. jolly mr. sheldon, in his red coat, was standing by the cabinet. the little cupboard door was open.
-'by george!' he said, 'it's ten days since i promised to take that will up to bates, and i never gave it another thought. all your fault, maria, my dear. you shouldn't take up all my thoughts; 'i'll take it to-morrow.'
-molly heard something click, and he went out of the room whistling.
-molly lay still. she felt there was more to come. and the next thing was that she was looking out of the window, and saw something carried across the lawn on a hurdle with two scarlet coats laid over it, and she knew it was handsome mr. sheldon, and that he would not carry the will to bates to-morrow, or do anything else in this world ever any more.
-when molly woke in the morning she sprang out of bed and ran to the cabinet. there was nothing in the looking-glass cupboard.
-all the same, she ran straight to her aunt's room. it was long before the hour when clements soberly tapped, bringing hot water.
-'wake up, auntie!' she cried.
-and auntie woke up, very cross indeed.
-'look here, auntie,' she said, 'i'm certain there's a secret place in that cabinet in my room, and the will's in it; i know it is.'
-'you've been dreaming,' said aunt maria severely; 'go back to bed. you'll catch your death of cold paddling about barefoot like that.'
-molly had to go, but after breakfast she began again.
-'but why do you think so?' asked aunt maria.
-and molly, who thought she knew that nobody would believe her story, could only say:
-'i don't know, but i am quite sure.'
-'nonsense!' said aunt maria.
-'aunty,' molly said, 'don't you think uncle might have given the will to mr. sheldon to take to mr. bates, and he may have put it in the secret place and forgotten?'
-'what a head the child's got--full of fancies!' said aunt maria.
-'if he slept in that room--did he ever sleep in that room?'
-'always, whenever he stayed here.'
-'was it long after the will-signing that poor mr. sheldon died?'
-'ten days,' said aunt maria shortly; 'run away and play. i've letters to write.'
-but because it seemed good to leave no stone unturned, one of those letters was to a cabinet-maker in rochester, and the groom took it in the dog-cart, and the cabinet-maker came back with him.
-and there was a secret hiding-place behind the looking-glass in the little red lacquered cupboard in the old black and red and gold cabinet, and in that secret hiding-place was the missing will, and on it lay a brown flower that dropped to dust when it was moved.
-'it's a christmas rose,' said molly.
-'so, you see, really it was a very good thing the others pretended to have measles, because if they hadn't i shouldn't have come to you, and if i hadn't come i shouldn't have known there was a will missing, and if i hadn't known that i shouldn't have found it, should i, aunty, should i, uncle?' said molly, wild with delight.
-'no, dear,' said aunt maria, patting her hand.
-'little girls,' said uncle toodlethwaite, 'should be seen and not heard. but i admit that simulated measles may sometimes be a blessing in disguise.'
-all the young carruthers thought so when they got the five pounds that aunt maria sent them. miss simpshall got five pounds too because it was owing to her that molly was taken to the white house that day. molly got a little pearl necklace as well as five pounds.
-'mr. sheldon gave it to me,' said aunt maria. 'i wouldn't give it to anyone but you.'
-molly hugged her in silent rapture.
-that just shows how different our aunt marias would prove to be if they would only let us know them as they really are. it really is not wise to conceal everything from children.
-you see, if aunt maria had not told molly about mr. sheldon, she would never have thought about him enough to see his ghost. now molly is grown up she tells me it was only a dream. but even if it was it is just as wonderful, and served the purpose just as well.
-perhaps you would like to know what aunt maria said when the cabinet-maker opened the secret hiding-place and she saw the paper with the brown christmas rose on it? clements was there, as well as the cabinet-maker and molly. she said right out before them all, 'oh, james, my dear!' and she picked up the flower before she opened the will. and it fell into brown dust in her hand.
-billy and william
-a historical tale for the young
-'have you found your prize essay?' 'no; but i have found the bicycle of the butcher's boy.'
-it is rather trying to have to walk three miles to the station, to say nothing of the three miles back, to meet a cousin you have never seen and never wish to see, especially if you have to leave a kite half made, and there is no proper lock to the shed you are making your kite in.
-the road was flat and dusty, the sun felt much too warm on his back, the hill to the station was long and steep, and the train was nearly an hour late, because it was a train on the south-eastern railway. so william was exceedingly cross, and he would have been crosser still if he could have known that i should ever call him william, for though that happened to be his name, the one he 'answered to' (as the stolen-dog advertisements say) was 'billy.' so perhaps it would be kind of me to speak of him as billy, because it is rather horrid to do things you know people won't like, even if you think they'll never know you've done them.
-well, the train came in, and it was annoying to billy, very, that four or five boys should bundle out of the train, and he should have to go up to them one after the other and say:
-'i say, is your name harold st. leger?'
-he did not particularly like the look of any of the boys, and of course it happened that the very last one he spoke to was harold, and that he was also the one whom billy liked least particularly of the whole lot.
-'oh, you are, are you?' was all he could find to say when harold had blushingly owned to his name. then in manly tones billy gave the order about harold's luggage and the carrier, said 'come along!' and harold came.
-harold was a fattish boy with whitey-brown hair, and he was as soft and white as a silkworm. billy did not admire him. he himself was hard and brown, with thin arms and legs and joints like the lumps of clay on branches that the gardener has grafted. and harold did not admire him.
-there was little conversation on the way home; when you don't want to have a visitor and he doesn't want to be one, talking is not much fun. when they got home there was tea. billy's mother talked politely to harold, but that did not make anyone any happier. then billy took his cousin round and showed him the farm and the stock, and harold was less interested than you would think a boy could be. at last, weary of trying to behave nicely, billy said:
-'i suppose there must be something you like, however much of a muff you are. well, you can jolly well find it out for yourself. i'm going to finish my kite.'
-'oh, i can make kites,' he said; 'i've invented a new kind. i'll help you if you'll let me.'
-harold, eager, quick fingered, skilful, in the shed among the string, and the glue, and the paper, and the bendable, breakable laths, was quite a different person from harold, nervous and dull, among the farmyard beasts. billy allowed him to help with the kite, and he began to respect his cousin a little more.
-'though it's rather like a girl, being so neat with your fingers,' he said disparagingly.
-'i wish i'd got the proper sort of paper,' harold said, 'then i'd make my new patent kite that i've invented; but it's a very extra sort of kind of paper. i got some once at a butter-shop in bermondsey, but that was in a dream.'
-'you must be off your chump,' he said; and he felt more sorry than ever that his jolly country holiday was to be spoiled by a strange cousin, who ought, perhaps, to be in a lunatic asylum rather than at a respectable farm.
-that night billy was awakened from the dreamless sleep which blesses the sort of boy he was to find harold excitedly thumping him on the back with a roll of stiff paper.
-'wake up,' he said--'wake up! i will tell somebody that's awake. i dreamed that a jackdaw came in and flew off with that thin paper thing that was on the chest of drawers with the gilt button at the corner, and then i dreamed i got up and found this roll of paper up the chimney. and when i woke up i found it had and i had, and it's the real right kite-paper for my patent kite--just like i dreamed i bought in the butter-shop in bermondsey. and it's five o'clock by the church clock, and it's quite light. i'm going to get up directly minute and make my patent kite.'
-'patent fiddlestick!' replied billy, sleepy and indignant. 'you get along and leave me be; you've been dreaming, that's all. just like a girl!'
-'yes,' repeated harold gently, 'i have been dreaming; but when i woke up i found it had and i had; and here's the paper, and the flimsy thing with the gold stud's gone. you get up and see----'
-billy did. he got up with a bound, and he saw with an eye. and william turned on harold and shook him till his teeth nearly rattled in his head and his pale eyes nearly dropped out. (i have called him william here because i really think he deserves it. it is a cowardly thing to shake a cousin, even if you do not happen to be pleased with him.)
-'wha--wha--what's the matter?' choked the wretched harold.
-'why, you miserable little idiot, you've not been dreaming at all! you've been lying like a silly log, and letting that beastly bird carry off my prize essay! that's all! and it took me ten days to do, and i had to get almost all of it out of books, and the worse swat i ever did in my life. and now it's all no good. and there aren't any books down here to do it again out of. oh, bother, bother, bother!'
-'i'm very sorry for you,' said harold, 'but i didn't lie like logs--i did dream--and i've got the kite-paper, and i'll help you write the essay again if you like.'
-'i shouldn't be surprised if it was all a make-up,' said william. (i must go on calling him william at present.) 'you've hidden the essay so as to be able to send it in yourself.'
-'oh, how can you?' said harold; and he turned pale just like a girl, and just like a girl he began to cry.
-'now, look here,' the enraged william went on, 'i've got to be civil to you before people; but don't you dare to speak to me when we're alone. you're either a silly idiot or a sneaking hound, and either way i'm not going to have anything to do with you.'
-i don't know how he could have done it, but william kept his word, and for three days he only spoke to harold when other people were about. this was horrible for harold; he had been used to being his father's pride and his mother's joy, and now he was nobody's anything, which is the saddest thing in the world to be. he tried to console himself by making kites all day long, but even kites cannot comfort you when nobody loves you, and when you feel that it really is not your fault at all.
-william went about his own affairs; he was not at all happy. he finished his kite and flew it, and he lost it because the string caught on the church weather-cock, which cut it in two. and he tried to rewrite his prize essay, but he couldn't, because he had taken all the stuffing for it out of books and not out of his head, where it ought to have been.
-harold found some moments of forgetfulness when he was making the patent kite. it was very big, and the roll of paper he had found in his dream in the chimney was exactly the right thing for patent kite-making. but when it was done, what was the good? there was no one to see him fly it. he did fly it, and it was perfect. it was shaped like a bird, and it rose up, and up, and up, and hung poised above the church-tower, light and steady as a hawk poised above its prey. william wouldn't even come out to look at it, though harold begged him to.
-the next morning harold dreamed that he had not been able to bear things any longer, and had run away, and when william woke up harold was gone. then william remembered how harold had offered to help him with his kite, and would have helped him to rewrite the essay, and how through those three cruel days harold had again and again tried to make friends, and how, after all, he was with his own people, and harold was a stranger.
-he said, 'oh, bother, i wish i hadn't!' and he felt that he had been a beast. this is called remorse. then he said, 'i'll find him, and i'll be as decent to him as i can, poor chap! though he is silly.' this is called repentance.
-then he found a letter on harold's bed. it said (and it was blotted with tears, and it had a blob of glue on it):
-'it wasn't my fault about your essay, and i'm sorry, and am going to run away to india to find my people. i shall go disguised as a stowaway.
-'your affectionate cousin,
-'harold egbert darwin st. leger.'
-billy did not have to show this letter to his mother, because she had gone away for the day, so he did not have to explain to her what a beast he had been. if he had had to do this, it would have been part of what is called expiation.
-then he got the farm men to go out in every direction, furnished with a full description of harold's silkworm-like appearance, and billy borrowed a bicycle from a noble-hearted butcher's boy in the village and set out for plymouth, because that seemed the likeliest place to look in for a cousin who was running away disguised as a stowaway. the wind blew straight towards the sea, and it occurred to billy--he deserves to be called billy now, i think--that the great patent kite, which was ten feet high, would drag him along like winking if he could only set it flying, and then tie it to the handle-bar of the bicycle. it was rather a ticklish business to get the kite up, but the butcher's boy helped--he had a noble heart--and at last it was done. billy saw the great bird-kite flying off towards plymouth. he hastily knotted the string to the bicycle handle, held the slack of it in his hand, mounted, started, paid out the slack of the string, and the next moment the string was tight, and the kite was pulling billy and the bicycle along the plymouth road at the rate of goodness-only-knows-how-improbably many miles an hour.
-and the captain of the ship hailed billy through a speaking-trumpet, and said:
-but the captain couldn't hear him. so the captain said something that billy couldn't hear either. but the people who were meant to hear heard, and the great ship stopped, and billy rode close up to it, and they hauled him up by the string of the kite, and they put the bicycle in a safe place, and tied the string to the mast, and then the captain said:
-'i suppose i'm dreaming you, boy, because what you're doing is impossible.'
-'i know it is,' said billy; 'only i'm doing it--at least, i was till you stopped me.'
-they were both wrong, because, of course, if it had been impossible, billy could not have done it; but neither of them had a scientific mind, as you and i have, dear reader.
-so the captain asked billy to dinner, which was very nice, only there was an uncertain feeling about it. and when billy had had dinner, he said to the captain:
-'i must be going.'
-'is there nothing i can do for you?' said the captain.
-'i don't know,' said billy, 'unless you happen to have a boy named harold egbert darwin st. leger on board. he said he was going away in a ship to india, disguised as a stowaway.'
-the captain at once ordered the ship to be searched for a boy of this name in this disguise. the crew looked in the hold, and in the galley, and in the foretop, and on the quarter, and in the gaff, and the jib, and the topsail, and the boom, but they could not find harold. they ransacked the cross-trees, and the engine-room, and the bowsprit; they explored the backstays, the stays, and the waist, but they found no stowaway. they examined truck and block, they hunted through every porthole, they left not an inch of the ribs unexplored; but no harold. he was not in any of the belaying-pins or dead-eyes, nor was he hidden in the capstan or the compass. at last, in despair, the captain thought of looking in the cabins, and in one of them, hidden under the scattered pyjamas and embroidered socks of a major of artillery, they found harold.
-then said billy to harold:
-'this is all very well, but how am i to get you home?'
-'i can ride on the step of the bike,' said harold.
-'but the wind won't take us back,' said billy; 'it's dead against us.'
-'excuse me,' said the captain in a manly manner; 'you know that britannia rules the waves and controls the elements. allow me one moment.'
-he sent for the boatswain and bade him whistle for a wind, expressly stating what kind of wind was needed.
-and everyone saw with delight, but with little surprise, the kite deliberately turn round and retrace its steps towards the cliffs of albion.
-the kite went back even faster than it had come; it pulled the bicycle behind it as easily as a child pulls a cotton-reel along the floor by a bit of thread. so that harold and billy were home by tea-time, and it was the jolliest meal either of them had ever had.
-they had determined to stop the bicycle by cutting the string, and then harold would have lost the patent kite, which would have been a pity. but, most happily, the string of the kite caught in the vane on the top of the church tower, and the bicycle stopped by itself exactly opposite the butcher's boy to whom it belonged. he had a noble heart, and he was very glad to see his bicycle again.
-after tea the boys went up the church tower to get the kite; and i don't suppose you will believe me when i tell you that there, in the niche of a window of the belfry, was a jackdaw's nest, and in it the historical essay which the jackdaw had stolen, as you will have guessed, for the sake of the bright gilt manuscript fastener in the corner.
-and now harold and billy became really chums, in spite of all the qualities which they could not help disliking in each other. each found some things in the other that he didn't dislike so very much, after all.
-when harold grows up he will sell many patent kites, and we shall all be able to ride bicycles on the sea.
-billy sent in his essay, but he did not get the prize; so it wouldn't have mattered if it had never been found, only i am glad it was found.
-i hope you will not think that this is a made-up story. it is very nearly as true as any of the history in billy's essay that didn't get a prize. the only thing i can't quite believe myself is about the roll of the right kind of paper being in the chimney; but harold couldn't think of anything else to dream about, and the most fortunate accidents do happen sometimes even in stories.
-the twopenny spell
-lucy was a very good little girl indeed, and harry was not so bad--for a boy, though the grown-ups called him a limb! they both got on very well at school, and were not wholly unloved at home. perhaps lucy was a bit of a muff, and harry was certainly very rude to call her one, but she need not have replied by calling him a 'beast.' i think she did it partly to show him that she was not quite so much of a muff as he thought, and partly because she was naturally annoyed at being buried up to her waist in the ground among the gooseberry-bushes. she got into the hole harry had dug because he said it might make her grow, and then he suddenly shovelled down a heap of earth and stamped it down so that she could not move. she began to cry, then he said 'muff' and she said 'beast,' and he went away and left her 'planted there,' as the french people say. and she cried more than ever, and tried to dig herself out, and couldn't, and although she was naturally such a gentle child, she would have stamped with rage, only she couldn't get her feet out to do it. then she screamed, and her uncle richard came and dug her out, and said it was a shame, and gave her twopence to spend as she liked. so she got nurse to clean the gooseberry ground off her, and when she was cleaned she went out to spend the twopence. she was allowed to go alone, because the shops were only a little way off on the same side of the road, so there was no danger from crossings.
-'i'll spend every penny of it on myself,' said lucy savagely; 'harry shan't have a bit, unless i could think of something he wouldn't like, and then i'd get it and put it in his bread and milk!' she had never felt quite so spiteful before, but, then, harry had never before been quite so aggravating.
-she walked slowly along by the shops, wishing she could think of something that harry hated; she herself hated worms, but harry didn't mind them. boys are so odd.
-suddenly she saw a shop she had never noticed before. the window was quite full of flowers--roses, lilies, violets, pinks, pansies--everything you can think of, growing in a tangled heap, as you see them in an old garden in july.
-enchantments done while you wait. every description of charm carefully and competently worked. strong spells from fifty guineas to tuppence. we suit all purses. give us a trial. best and cheapest house in the trade. competition defied.
-lucy read this with her thumb in her mouth. it was the tuppence that attracted her; she had never bought a spell, and even a tuppenny one would be something new.
-'it's some sort of conjuring trick, i suppose,' she thought, 'and i'll never let harry see how it's done--never, never, never!'
-she went in. the shop was just as flowery, and bowery, and red-rosy, and white-lilyish inside as out, and the colour and the scent almost took her breath away. a thin, dark, unpleasing gentleman suddenly popped out of a bower of flowering nightshade, and said:
-'and what can we do for you to-day, miss?'
-'i want a spell, if you please,' said lucy; 'the best you can do for tuppence.'
-'is that all you've got?' said he.
-'yes,' said lucy.
-'well, you can't expect much of a spell for that,' said he; 'however, it's better that i should have the tuppence than that you should; you see that, of course. now, what would you like? we can do you a nice little spell at sixpence that'll make it always jam for tea. and i've another article at eighteenpence that'll make the grown-ups always think you're good even if you're not; and at half a crown----'
-'i've only got tuppence.'
-'well,' he said crossly, 'there's only one spell at that price, and that's really a tuppenny-half-penny one; but we'll say tuppence. i can make you like somebody else, and somebody else like you.'
-'thank you,' said lucy; 'i like most people, and everybody likes me.'
-'i don't mean that,' he said. 'isn't there someone you'd like to hurt if you were as strong as they are, and they were as weak as you?'
-'yes,' said lucy in a guilty whisper.
-'then hand over your tuppence,' said the dark gentleman, 'and it's a bargain.'
-he snatched the coppers warm from her hand.
-'now,' he said, 'to-morrow morning you'll be as strong as harry, and he'll be little and weak like you. then you can hurt him as much as you like, and he won't be able to hurt back.'
-'oh!' said lucy; 'but i'm not sure i want----i think i'd like to change the spell, please.'
-'no goods exchanged,' he said crossly; 'you've got what you asked for.'
-'thank you,' said lucy doubtfully, 'but how am i----?'
-'it's entirely self-adjusting,' said nasty mr. doloro. 'no previous experience required.'
-'thank you very much,' said lucy. 'good----'
-she was going to say 'good-morning,' but it turned into 'good gracious,' because she was so very much astonished. for, without a moment's warning, the flower-shop had turned into the sweet-shop that she knew so well, and nasty mr. doloro had turned into the sweet-woman, who was asking what she wanted, to which, of course, as she had spent her twopence, the answer was 'nothing.' she was already sorry that she had spent it, and in such a way, and she was sorrier still when she got home, and harry owned handsomely that he was sorry he had planted her out, but he really hadn't thought she was such a little idiot, and he was sorry--so there! this touched lucy's heart, and she felt more than ever that she had not laid out her tuppence to the best advantage. she tried to warn harry of what was to happen in the morning, but he only said, 'don't yarn; billson minor's coming for cricket. you can field if you like.' lucy didn't like, but it seemed the only thing she could do to show that she accepted in a proper spirit her brother's apology about the planting out. so she fielded gloomily and ineffectively.
-next morning harry got up in good time, folded up his nightshirt, and made his room so tidy that the housemaid nearly had a surprise-fit when she went in. he crept downstairs like a mouse, and learned his lessons before breakfast. lucy, on the other hand, got up so late that it was only by dressing hastily that she had time to prepare a thoroughly good booby-trap before she slid down the banisters just as the breakfast-bell rang. she was first in the room, so she was able to put a little salt in all the tea-cups before anyone else came in. fresh tea was made, and harry was blamed. lucy said, 'i did it,' but no one believed her. they said she was a noble, unselfish sister to try and shield her naughty brother, and harry burst into floods of tears when she kicked him under the table; she hated herself for doing this, but somehow it seemed impossible to do anything else.
-harry cried nearly all the way to school, while lucy insisted on sliding along all the gutters and dragging harry after her. she bought a catapult at the toy-shop and a pennyworth of tintacks at the oil-shop, both on credit, and as lucy had never asked for credit before, she got it.
-at the top of blackheath village they separated--harry went back to his school, which is at the other side of the station, and lucy went on to the high school.
-the blackheath high school has a large and beautiful hall, with a staircase leading down into it like a staircase in a picture, and at the other end of the hall is a big statue of a beautiful lady. the high school mistresses call her venus, but i don't really believe that is her name.
-lucy--good, gentle, little lucy, beloved by her form mistress and respected by all the school--sat on those steps--i don't know why no one caught her--and used her catapult to throw ink pellets (you know what they are, of course) with her catapult at the beautiful white statue-lady, till the venus--if that is her name, which i doubt--was all over black spots, like a dalmation or carriage dog.
-then she went into her class room and arranged tintacks, with the business end up, on all the desks and seats, an act fraught with gloomy returns to blossoma rand and wilhelmina marguerite asterisk. another booby-trap--a dictionary, a pot of water, three pieces of chalk, and a handful of torn paper--was hastily sketched above the door. three other little girls looked on in open-mouthed appreciation. i do not wish to shock you, so i will not tell you about the complete success of the booby-trap, nor of the bloodthirsty fight between lucy and bertha kaurter in a secluded fives-court during rec. dora spielman and gertrude rook were agitated seconds. it was lucy's form mistress, the adored miss harter larke, who interrupted the fight at the fifth round, and led the blood-stained culprits into the hall and up the beautiful picture-like steps to the headmistress's room.
-the head of the blackheath high school has all the subtle generalship of the head in mr. kipling's 'stalky.' she has also a manner which subdues parents and children alike to 'what she works in, like the dyer's hand.' anyone less clever would have expelled the luckless lucy--saddled with her brother's boy-nature--on such evidence as was now brought forward. not so the blackheath head. she reserved judgment, the most terrible of all things for a culprit, by the way, who thought it over for an hour and a half in the mistress's room, and she privately wrote a note to lucy's mother, gently hinting that lucy was not quite herself: might be sickening for something. perhaps she had better be kept at home for a day or two. lucy went home, and on the way upset a bicycle with a little girl on it, and came off best in a heated physical argument with a baker's boy.
-harry, meanwhile, had dried his tears, and gone to school. he knew his lessons, which was a strange and pleasing thing, and roused in his master hopes destined to be firmly and thoroughly crushed in the near future. but when he had emerged triumphantly from morning school he suddenly found his head being punched by simpkins minor, on the ground that he, harry, had been showing off. the punching was scientific and irresistible. harry, indeed, did not try to resist; in floods of tears and with uncontrolled emotion he implored simpkins minor to let him alone, and not be a brute. then simpkins minor kicked him, and several other nice little boy-friends of his joined the glad throng, and it became quite a kicking party. so that when harry and lucy met at the corner of wemyss road his face was almost unrecognisable, while lucy looked as happy as a king, and as proud as a peacock.
-'what's up?' asked lucy briskly.
-'every single boy in the school has kicked me,' said harry in flat accents. 'i wish i was dead.'
-'so do i,' said lucy cheerily; 'i think i'm going to be expelled. i should be quite certain, only my booby-trap came down on bessie jayne's head instead of miss whatshername's, and bessie's no sneak, though she has got a lump like an ostrich's egg on her forehead, and soaked through as well. but i think i'm certain to be expelled.'
-'i wish i was,' said harry, weeping with heartfelt emotion. 'i don't know what's the matter with me; i feel all wrong inside. do you think you can turn into things just by reading them? because i feel as if i was in "sandford and merton," or one of the books the kind clergyman lent us at the seaside.'
-'how awfully beastly!' said lucy. 'now, i feel as if i didn't care tuppence whether i was expelled or not. and, i say, harry, i feel as if i was much stronger than you. i know i could twist your arm round and then hit it like you did me the other day, and you couldn't stop me.'
-'of course i couldn't! i can't stop anybody doing anything they want to do. anybody who likes can hit me, and i can't hit back.'
-he began to cry again. and suddenly lucy was really sorry. she had done this, she had degraded her happy brother to a mere milksop, just because he had happened to plant her out, and leave her planted. remorse suddenly gripped her with tooth and claw.
-'look here,' she said, 'it's all my fault! because you planted me out, and i wanted to hurt you. but now i don't. i can't make you boy-brave again; but i'm sorry, and i'll look after you, harry, old man! perhaps you could disguise yourself in frocks and long hair, and come to the high school. i'd take care nobody bullied you. it isn't nice being bullied, is it?'
-harry flung his arms round her, a thing he would never have done in the public street if he had not been girlish inside at the time.
-'no, it's hateful,' he said. 'lucy, i'm sorry i've been such a pig to you.'
-lucy put her arms round him, and they kissed each other, though it was broad daylight and they were walking down lee park.
-the same moment the enchanter doloro de lara ran into them on the pavement. lucy screamed, and harry hit out as hard as he could.
-'look out,' said he; 'who are you shoving into?'
-'tut-tut,' said the enchanter, putting his hat straight, 'you've bust up your spell, my lucy--child; no spells hold if you go kissing and saying you're sorry. just keep that in mind for the future, will you?'
-he vanished in the white cloud of a passing steam-motor, and harry and lucy were left looking at each other. and harry was harry and lucy was lucy to the very marrow of their little back-bones. they shook hands with earnest feeling.
-next day lucy went to the high school and apologised in dust and ashes.
-'i don't think i was my right self,' she said to the headmistress, who quite agreed with her, 'and i never will again!'
-and she never has. harry, on the other hand, thrashed simpkins minor thoroughly and scientifically on the first opportunity; but he did not thrash him extravagantly: he tempered pluck with mercy.
-for this is the odd thing about the whole story. ever since the day when the tuppenny spell did its work harry has been kinder than before and lucy braver. i can't think why, but so it is. he no longer bullies her, and she is no longer afraid of him, and every time she does something brave for him, or he does something kind for her, they grow more and more alike, so that when they are grown up he may as well be called lucius and she harriett, for all the difference there will be between them.
-and all the grown-ups look on and admire, and think that their incessant jawing has produced this improvement. and no one suspects the truth except the headmistress of the high school, who has gone through the complete course of social magic under a better professor than mr. doloro de lara; that is why she understands everything, and why she did not expel lucy, but only admonished her. harry is cock of his school now, and lucy is in the sixth, and a model girl. i wish all headmistresses learned magic at girton.
-showing off; or, the looking-glass boy
-his parents had thoughtlessly christened him hildebrand, a name which, as you see, is entirely unsuitable for school use. his friends called him brandy, and that was bad enough, though it had a sort of pirate-smuggler sound, too. but the boys who did not like him called him hilda, and this was indeed hard to bear. in vain he told them that his name was james as well. it was not true, and they would not have believed it if it had been.
-he had not many friends, because he was not a very nice boy. he was not very brave, except when he was in a rage, which is a poor sort of courage, anyhow; and when the boys used to call him. 'cowardy custard' and other unpleasing names, he used to try to show off to them, and make them admire him by telling them stories of the wild boars he had killed, and the red indians he had fought, and of how he had been down niagara in an open boat, and been shipwrecked on the high seas. they were not bad stories, and the boys would not have minded listening to them, but hildebrand wanted to have his stories not only listened to, but believed, which is quite another pair of shoes.
-he had one friend who always liked his stories, and believed them almost all. this was his little sister. but he was simply horrid to her. he never would lend her a any of his toys, and he called her 'kiddie,' which she hated, instead of ethel, which happened to be her name.
-all this is rather dull, and exactly like many boys of your acquaintance, no doubt. but what happened to hildebrand does not, fortunately or unfortunately, happen to everybody; i dare say it has never happened to you. it began on the day when hildebrand was making a catapult, and billson minor came up to him in the playground and said:
-'much use it'll be to you when you've made it. you can't hit a haystack a yard off!'
-'can't i?' said hildebrand. 'you just see! i hit a swallow on the wing last summer, and when we had a house in thibet i shot a llama dead with one bullet. he was twenty-five feet long.'
-billson laughed, and asked a boy who was passing if he'd ever been out llama-shooting, and, if so, what his bag was. the other boy said:
-'oh, i see--little hilda gassing again!'
-'gassing! lying i call it!'
-'liar yourself!' said hildebrand, who was now so angry that his fingers trembled too much for him to be able to go on splicing the catapult.
-'oh, run away and play,' said billson wearily. 'go home to nurse, hilda darling, and tell her to put your hair in curl-papers!'
-then hildebrand's rage turned into a sort of courage, and he hit out at billson, who, of course, hit back, and there was a fight. the other boy held their coats and saw fair; and hildebrand was badly beaten, because billson was older and bigger and a better fighter, so he went home, crying with fury and pain. he went up into his own bedroom and bolted the door, and wildly wished that he was a red indian, and that taking scalps was not forbidden in clapham. billson's, he reflected gloomily, would have been a sandy-coloured scalp, and a nice beginning to a scalp-album.
-presently he stopped crying, and let his little sister in. she had been crying, too, outside the door, ever since he came home and pushed past her on the stairs. she pitied his bruised face, and said it was a shame of billson minor to hit a boy littler than he was.
-'i'm not so very little,' said hildebrand; 'and you know how brave i am. why, it was only last week that i was the chief of the mighty tribe of moccasins, who waged war against bill billson, the vulture-faced redskin----'
-he told the story to its gory end, and ethel liked it very much, and hoped it wasn't wrong to make up such things. she couldn't quite believe it all.
-then she went down, and hildebrand had to wash his face for dinner; and when he looked at the boy in the looking-glass and saw the black eye billson minor had given him, and the cut lip from the same giver, he clenched his fist and said:
-'i wish i could make things true by saying them. wouldn't i bung up old billson's peepers, that's all?'
-'well, you can if you like,' said the boy in the glass, whom hildebrand had thought was his own reflection.
-'what?' said he, with his mouth open. he was horribly startled.
-'you can if you like,' said the looking-glass boy again. 'i'll give you your wish. will you have it?'
-'is this a fairy-tale?' asked hildebrand cautiously.
-'yes,' said the boy.
-hildebrand had never expected to be allowed to take part in a fairy-tale, and at first he could hardly believe in such luck.
-'do you mean to say,' he said, 'that if i say i found a pot of gold in the garden yesterday i did find a pot of gold?'
-'no; you'll find it to-morrow. the thing works backwards, you see, like all looking-glass things. you know your "alice," i suppose? there's only one condition: you won't be able to see yourself in the looking-glass any more!'
-'who wants to,' said hildebrand.
-'and things you say to yourself don't count.'
-'there's always ethel,' said ethel's brother.
-'you accept, then?' said the boy in the glass.
-'right' and with that the looking-glass boy vanished, and hildebrand was left staring at the mirror, which now reflected only the wash-hand-stand and the chest of drawers, and part of the picture of lord roberts pinned against the wall. you have no idea how odd and unpleasant it is to look at a glass and see everything reflected as usual, except yourself, though you are right in front of it. hildebrand felt as if he must have vanished as well as the looking-glass boy. but he was reassured when he looked down at his hands. they were still there, and still extremely dirty. the second bell had rung, and he washed them hastily and went down.
-'how untidy your hair is!' said his mother; 'and oh, hildebrand, what a disagreeable expression, dear! and look at your eye! you've been fighting again.'
-'i couldn't help it,' said our hero sulkily; 'he called names. anyway, i gave him an awful licking. he's worse than i am. potatoes, please.'
-next day hildebrand had forgotten the words he had said at dinner. and when billson asked him if one licking was enough, and whether he, billson, was a liar or not, hildebrand said:
-'you can lick me and make me anything you like, but you are, all the same, just as much as me,' and he began to cry.
-and billson called him schoolgirl and slapped his face--because billson knew nothing of the promise of the looking-glass boy, that whatever hildebrand said had happened should happen.
-it was a dreadful fight, and when it was over hildebrand could hardly walk home. he was much more hurt than he had been the day before. but billson minor had to be carried home. only he was all right again next day, and hildebrand wasn't, so he did not get much out of this affair, except glory, and the comfort of knowing that billson and the other boys would now be jolly careful how they called him anything but pilkings, which was his father's and his mother's name, and therefore his as well.
-he had to stay in bed the next day, and his father punished him for fighting, so he consoled himself by telling ethel how he had found a pot of gold in the cellar the day before, after digging in the hard earth for hours, till his hands were all bleeding, and how he had hidden it under his bed.
-'do let me see, hildy dear,' she said, trying hard to believe him.
-but he said, 'no, not till to-morrow.'
-'what's that you got there, master hildy? pickles, i lay my boots,' she said.
-'it's not,' said he.
-'let me look,' said she.
-'let me alone,' said hildebrand.
-'not me,' said the cook.
-she had her hand on the brown paper.
-hildebrand had heard how treasure-trove has to be given up to government, and he did not trust the cook.
-'you'd better not,' he said quickly; 'it's not what you think it is.'
-'what is it, then?'
-'it's--it's snakes!' said hildebrand desperately--'snakes out of the wine-cellar.'
-the cook went into hysterics, and hildebrand was punished twice, once for staying away from school without leave, and once for frightening the servants with silly stories. but in the confusion brought about by the cook's screams he managed to hide the pot of gold in the bottom of the boot cupboard, among the old gaiters and goloshes, and when peace was restored and he was sent to bed in disgrace he took the pot with him. he lay long awake thinking of the model engine he would buy for himself, also of the bay pony, the collections of coins, birds' eggs, and postage-stamps, the fishing-rods, the guns, revolvers, and bows and arrows, the sweets and cakes and nuts, he would get all for himself. he never thought of so much as a pennyworth of toffee for ethel, or a silver thimble for his mother, or a twopenny cigar for mr. pilkings.
-the first thing in the morning he jumped up and felt under the bed for the pot of gold. his hand touched something that was not the pot. he screamed, and drew his hand back as quickly as though he had burned it; but what he had touched was not hot: it was cold, and thin, and alive. it was a snake. and there was another on his bed, and another on the dressing-table, and half a dozen more were gliding about inquisitively on the floor.
-hildebrand gathered his clothes together--a snake tumbled out of his shirt as he lifted it--and made one bound for the door. he dressed on the landing, and went to school without breakfast. i am glad to be able to tell you that he did say to sarah the housemaid:
-'for goodness' sake don't go into my bedroom--it's running alive with snakes!'
-she did not believe him, of course; and, indeed, when she went up the snakes were safe back in the pot. she did not see this, because she was not the kind of girl who sweeps under things every day. that night hildebrand secretly slept in the boxroom, on a pile of newspapers, with a rag-bag and a hearthrug over him.
-next day he said to sarah:
-'did you go into my room yesterday?'
-'of course,' said she.
-'did you take the snakes away?'
-'go along with your snakes!' she said.
-so he understood that she had not seen any, and very cautiously he looked into his room, and finding it snakeless, crept in, hoping that the snakes had changed back into gold. but they had not--snakes and gold and pot had all vanished. then he thought he would be very careful. he said to ethel:
-'i had twenty golden sovereigns in my pocket yesterday.'
-this was saturday. next day was sunday, and all day long he jingled the twenty golden sovereigns he had found that morning in his knickerbocker pocket. but they were not there on monday. and then he saw that though he could make things happen, he could not make them last. so he told ethel he had had seven jam-tarts. he meant to eat them as soon as he got them. but the next day when they came he had a headache and did not want to eat them. he might have given them to ethel, but he didn't, and next day they had disappeared.
-it was very annoying to hildebrand to know that he had this wonderful power, yet he could not get any good out of it. he tried to consult his father about it, but mr. pilkings said he had no time for romances, and he advised hildebrand to learn his lessons and stick to the truth. but this was just what hildebrand could not do, even after the awful occasion when his schoolfellows began to tease him again, and, to command their respect, he related how he had met a bear in the lane by the church and fought it single-handed, and been carried off more dead than alive. next day, of course, he had to fight the bear, which was very brown and clawy and toothy and fierce, and though the more-dead-than-alive feeling had gone by next day, it was not a pleasant experience. but even that was better than the time when they laughed at a very bad construe of his--the form was in cæsar--and he told them how he had once translated the inscription on an egyptian pyramid. he had no peace for weeks after that, because he had forgotten to say how long it took him. every time he was alone he was wafted away to egypt and set down at that pyramid. but he could not find the inscription, and if he had found it he could not have translated it. so, in self-defence, he spent most of his waking-time with ethel. but every night the pyramid had its own way, and it was not till he had cut an inscription himself on the pyramid with the broken blade of his pocket-knife, and translated it into english, that he was allowed any rest at all. the inscription was ich bin eine gans, and you can translate it for yourself.
-but that did him good in one way; it made him fonder of ethel. being so much with her, he began to see what a jolly little girl she really was. when she had measles--hildebrand had had them, or it, last christmas, so he was allowed to see his sister--he was very sorry, and really wished to do something for her. mr. pilkings brought her some hothouse grapes one day, and she liked them so much that they were very soon gone. then hildebrand, who had been very careful since the pyramid occasion to say nothing but the truth, said:
-'ethel, some grapes and pineapples came for you yesterday.'
-ethel knew it wasn't true, but she liked the idea, and said:
-'oh yes!' said her brother--'a wax doll and a china tea-set with pink roses on it, and books and games,' and he went on to name everything he thought she would like.
-now hildebrand began to feel sorry to see how ill and worried his mother looked; she was tired out with nursing ethel, so he said to sarah:
-'mother was quite well yesterday.'
-'much you know about it; your poor ma's wore to a shadow.'
-but next day mother was quite well, and this lasted, too. then he wanted to do something for his father, and as he had heard mr. pilkings complain of his business being very bad, hildebrand said to ethel:
-'father made a most awful lot of money yesterday.'
-and next day mr. pilkings came home and kissed mrs. pilkings in the hall under the very eyes of sarah and the boot-boy, and said:
-'my dear, our fortune's made!'
-the family did not have any nicer things to eat or wear than before, so hildebrand gained nothing by this, unless you count the pleasure he had in seeing his father always jolly and cheerful and his mother well, and not worried any more. hildebrand did count this, and it counted for a good deal.
-but though hildebrand was now a much happier as well as a more agreeable boy, he could not quite help telling a startling story now and then. as, for instance, when he informed the butcher's boy that there was an alligator in the back-garden. the butcher's boy did not go into the garden--indeed, he had no business there, though that would have been no reason if he had wanted to go--but next day, when hildebrand, having forgotten all about the matter, went out in the dusk to look for a fives ball he had lost, the alligator very nearly had him.
-and when he related that adventure of the lost balloon, he had to go through with it next day, and it made him dizzy for months only to think of it.
-but the worst thing of all was when ethel was well, and he was allowed to go back to school. somehow the fellows were much jollier with him than they used to be. even billson minor was quite polite, and asked him how the kid was.
-'she's all right,' said hildebrand.
-'when my kiddie sister had measles,' billson said, 'her eyes got bad afterwards; she could hardly see.'
-'oh,' said hildebrand promptly, 'my sister's been much worse than that; she couldn't see at all.'
-when hildebrand went home next day he found his mother pale and in tears. the doctor had just been to see ethel's eyes--and ethel was blind.
-when he had cried till he could not cry any more he got up, and went to the looking-glass to see if his eyes were red, which is always interesting. he never could remember that he couldn't see himself in the glass now. then suddenly he knew what to do. he ran down into the street, and said to the first person he met:
-'i say, i saw the looking-glass boy yesterday, and he let me off things coming true, and ethel was all right again.'
-it was a policeman, and the constable boxed his ears, and promised to run him in next time he had any of his cheek. but hildebrand went home calmer, and he read 'the jungle book' aloud to ethel all the evening.
-next morning he ran to his looking-glass, and it was strange and wonderful to him to see his own reflection again after all these weeks of a blank mirror, and of parting his hair as well as he could just by feeling. but it wasn't his own reflection, of course: it was the looking-glass boy.
-'i say, you look very different to what you did that day,' said hildebrand slowly.
-'so do you,' said the boy.
-that other day, which was weeks ago, the looking-glass boy had been swollen and scowling and angry, with a black eye and a cut lip, and revengeful looks and spiteful words. now he looked pale and a little thinner, but his eyes were only anxious, and his mouth was kind. it was just the same ugly shape as ever, but it looked different. and hildebrand was as like the boy in the glass as one pin is like another pin.
-'i say,' said hildebrand suddenly and earnestly, 'let me off; i don't want it any more, thank you. and oh, do--do make my sister all right again.'
-'very well,' said the boy in the looking-glass; 'i'll let you off for
-"ay, ay, i thought so," he said, as his eye caught a glimpse of a gold chain against her white neck. gently he lifted it, unclasped it, drew it forth. there was a locket upon it. jewels sparkled upon its surface. she had worn it all these years.
-"o, vanitas vanitatum!" murmured the priest, yet compassionately. "what is it that passes the love of woman?"
-he slipped it quietly within the breast of his habit and then fell prostrate on the sand, faint from pain and loss of blood. long the two figures lay there in the moonlight while the rising tide lipped the shining sands. the cool water at last restored consciousness to one of the still forms, but though they laved the beautiful face of the other with tender caresses they could not call back the troubled life that had passed into peaceful eternity. painfully the old priest raised himself upon his hands and looked about him.
-"o god!" he murmured, "give me strength to live until i can tell the story. sister maria christina--isabella that was--thou were brave and thou wert beautiful; thou hast served our holy church long and well. if i could only lay thee in some consecrated ground--but soul like to thine makes holy e'en the sea which shall bear thee away. shriven thou wert, buried thou shalt be."
-the man struggled to his knees, clasped his hands before him, and began the burial service of his ancient church.
-"we therefore commit her body into the great deep," he said, "looking for the general resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to come----"
-the water was washing around him ere he finished his mournful task, and with one long look of benison and farewell he rose to his feet and staggered along the road down the beach. slowly he went, but presently he reached the turn where began the ascent of the mountain. before he proceeded he halted and looked long toward the flaming, shrieking, ruined town. the flooding tide was in now and the breakers were beating and thundering far across the sands. the body of the abbess was gone.
-the old man drew himself up, lifted his trembling hands and prayed; he prayed again for the soul of the woman; he prayed for the young man, that he might learn the truth; he prayed for the beautiful damsel who loved him; he prayed for the people, the hapless people of the doomed town, the helpless, outraged women, the bereft mothers, the tortured men, the murdered children, and as he prayed he called down the curse of god upon those who had wrought such ruin.
-"slay them, o god! strike and spare not! cut them off root and branch who have despoiled thy people israel. they have taken the sword and may they perish by it as was promised of old!"
-a gray, grim, gaunt figure, bloodstained, pale, he stood there in that ghastly light, invoking the judgment of god upon morgan and his men ere he turned away and was lost in the darkness of the mountain.
-which describes an audience with sir henry morgan and the treachery by which captain alvarado is benefited
-the clock on the wall was striking eleven as hornigold forced his prisoners into the guardroom of the first fort that had been captured, which, as it was the larger of the two, morgan had selected as his head quarters. mercedes' soul had turned to stone at the sights and sounds which met her as she passed through the town where the hellish revelry was now in full blast. the things she witnessed and heard were enough to appall the stoutest heart that ever beat within the rudest breast. she forgot her own danger in her sympathy for the suffering inhabitants of the devoted town. ghastly pale and sick with horror, she tottered and staggered as she entered the room. as for the señora agapida, she had collapsed long since, and for the last one hundred yards of the journey had been dragged helplessly along by two of her captors, who threw her in a senseless heap on the stone flagging of the great vaulted chamber.
-the agony and suffering, the torture and death, the shame and dishonor of his people affected alvarado differently. his soul flamed within his breast with pity for the one, rage for the other. he lusted and thirsted to break away and single-handed rush upon the human wolves and tigers, who were despoiling women, torturing men, murdering children, as if they had been devils. the desire mastered him, and he writhed and struggled in his bonds, but unavailingly.
-it was a haggard, distracted pair, therefore, which was brought before the chief buccaneer. morgan sat at the head of the guardroom, on a platform, a table before him strewn with reckless prodigality with vessels of gold and silver stolen from altar and sideboard indifferently, some piled high with food, others brimming with a variety of liquors, from the rich old wines of xeres to the fiery native rum. on one side of the captain was a woman. pale as a ghost, the young and beautiful widow of a slaughtered officer, in her disordered array she shrank terrified beneath his hand. l'ollonois, teach and de lussan were also in the room. by each one cowered another woman prisoner. teach was roaring out a song, that song of london town, with its rollicking chorus:
-"though life now is pleasant and sweet to the sense, we'll be damnably moldy a hundred years hence."
-the room was full of plunder of one sort and another, and the buccaneers were being served by frightened negro slaves, their footsteps quickened and their obedience enforced by the sight of a dead black in one corner, whom de lussan had knifed a short time since because he had been slow in coming to his call. the smell of spilled liquor, of burnt powder, and of blood, indescribable and sickening, hung in the close, hot air. lamps and candles were flaring and spluttering in the room but the greater illumination came through the open casements from the roaring fires of burning houses outside. the temptation to join in the sack of the town had been too much for hornigold's remaining men, consequently he and those conveying señora agapida alone attended the prisoners. these last, after throwing the duenna recklessly upon the floor, hurried out after the rest, leaving the officers and women alone.
-"silence!" roared morgan, as his eye fell upon the group entering the lower end of the great hall. "pipe down, thou bellowing bull!" he shouted, throwing a silver cup that cellini might have chased, at the head of the half drunken teach. "who's there? scuttle me, 'tis our spitfire and the gallant captain, with that worthy seaman hornigold! advance, friends. thou art welcome to our cheer. drive them forward, hornigold," he cried, as he saw mercedes and alvarado made no attempt to move.
-"advance quickly," whispered hornigold to alvarado; "to cross him now were death."
-seizing them with a great show of force he shoved them down the hall to the foot of the platform, in front of the revellers.
-"i welcome thee to our court, fair lady, and you, brave sir. what say ye, gentles all? rum for the noble captain, here, and wine for the lady," called out morgan, bowing over the table in malicious mockery.
-"i drink with no murderer," said alvarado firmly, thrusting the negro, who proffered him a glass, violently aside with his shoulder, causing him to topple over, drenching himself with the liquor.
-"ha! is it so?" laughed morgan in a terrible manner. "hark'ee, my young cock, thou shalt crave and beg and pray for another drink at my hand presently--and get it not. but there is another cup thou shalt drink, ay, and that to the dregs. back, you! i would speak with the lady. well, donna mercedes," he continued, "art still in that prideful mood?"
-silence. the girl stood erect, disdainfully looking him full in the face.
-"i shall break thee yet, proud wench!" he shouted.
-"perhaps the demoiselle is jealous of thy present companion, sir captain," sneered de lussan smoothly in his courtliest manner.
-"scuttle me! that's well thought on," laughed morgan. "and i'll add fuel to the fire."
-as he spoke he clasped the terrified woman on his right around the waist, and though she struggled and drew away from him in horror and disgust, he kissed her full upon the lips. the woman shuddered loathingly when he released her, put her face down in her hands and sobbed low and bitterly.
-"what sayest thou to that, sweet mercedes?"
-"i say may god have mercy on the soul of yon poor woman," answered mercedes disdainfully.
-"best pray for thine own soul, madam," he roared. "come hither! what, you move not? black dog, black dog, i say!"
-the huge maroon lurched from behind his master's chair, where he had lain half-drunken.
-"fetch me that woman!"
-mercedes was bound and could not at first release her hands, but as the maroon shambled toward her she sprang back struggling.
-"alvarado, alvarado!" she screamed. "help me, save me!"
-like a maddened bull, though his hands were bound also, alvarado threw himself upon the negro. the force with which he struck him hurled him backward and the two fell to the floor, the maroon beneath. his head struck a corner of the step with a force that would have killed a white man. in an instant, however, the unbound negro was on his feet. he whipped out his dagger and would have plunged it into the breast of the prostrate spaniard had not mercedes, lightly bound, for being a woman they thought it not necessary to be unusually severe in her lashings, wrenched free her hands and caught the half-breed's upraised arm.
-"mercy!" she screamed, while struggling to divert the blow, looking toward morgan.
-"hold your hand, black dog," answered that worthy. "leave the man and come hither. this is thy first appeal, lady. you know my power at last, eh? down on your knees and beg for his life!"
-instantly mercedes sank to her knees and stretched out her hands, a piteous, appealing, lovely figure.
-"spare him, spare him!" she cried.
-"what would you do for him?"
-"my life for his," she answered bravely.
-"nay, mercedes," interposed alvarado, "let him work his will on me."
-"there are worse places, thou seest, lady, than by my side," sneered morgan. "by heaven, 'twas a pretty play, was it not, mates? i spare him, but remember, 'tis for you. harry morgan's way. now reward me. hither, i say! go, you woman!" he struck the woman he had kissed a fierce blow with his naked fist--"away from me! your place is needed for your betters. here lady----"
-"captain morgan," cried hornigold, suddenly interrupting him. "i bethink me you should send men to seize the mountain pass that leads to caracas at once, else we may have troops upon us in the morning."
-it was a bold diversion and yet it succeeded. there could be no safe feasting in la guayra with that open road. morgan had overlooked it, but the boatswain's words recalled it to him; for the moment he forgot the prisoners and the women. safety was a paramount consideration.
-"i forgot it," he answered. "curse me, how can i? the villains are too drunk with rum and blood and fury to be despatched."
-"a force must be assembled at once," urged hornigold, insistently, "lest some have escaped who would bring word to the viceroy. he would be upon us in a day with an army too great for resistance. if you intend not to rot here in la guayra, or be caught in a death trap, we must be up to the mountain top beforehand. once they seize the pass, we are helpless."
-"that's well said, hornigold," cried morgan, who was not so drunk that he could not realize the practical value of hornigold's suggestion and the great danger of disregarding his advice. "the pass must be seized at all hazard. with that in our possession we may bide our time. i thought to wait until to-morrow, but you're right. we've feasted and drunk enough for the night. to-morrow donna de lara! guards for the pass now--but how to get them?"
-he rose to his feet as he spoke and came down the hall.
-"teach and l'ollonois, follow me!" he cried. "gather up fifty of the soberest men and lead them up the mountain road till you reach the pass, and then hold it till i come. nay, no hesitation," he roared. "canst not see the necessity? unless we are masters of that pass we are caught like rats in a trap here in la guayra. to-morrow or the next day we shall march up toward caracas. your share of the treasure and your women shall be held safe. you shall have first consideration on the other side of the mountains. nay, i will have it so!" he stamped his foot in furious rage. "we've all had too much drink already," he continued, "now we must make things secure. hornigold, take charge of this fort. i leave the prisoners with you. guard them well. treat the lady well also. do what you like with the other, only keep him alive. one of you send braziliano to me. he shall have the other fort. and you and i, monsieur de lussan, will take account of the men here in the town and bring them into such order as we can."
-although teach and l'ollonois had no mind to leave the pleasures open to them in la guayra, yet they were both men of intelligence and could easily see the absolute necessity for the precaution suggested by hornigold and accepted by their captain. if they held the passage over the mountains, and fifty men could hold it against a thousand, no spaniard could come at them. so the little group, leaving the wretched women, the two prisoners, and hornigold, sallied out into the infernal night. it was a difficult thing for them to find a sufficient number of sober pirates, but by persuading, threatening, and compelling they at last gathered a force of the least drunken knaves, with which they set forth on the road.
-the fires which had been wantonly kindled in different places by the buccaneers were making such headway that morgan instantly saw that especial efforts would be needed to prevent the complete destruction of the town. he wanted la guayra for his base of supplies for the present, and with tremendous energy, seconded by de lussan and some of the soberer men, he routed out the buccaneers and set them to work.
-"you have saved me for the moment," said mercedes, gratefully, turning to hornigold as he led her away from the hall.
-"'twas not for care of you," hissed out the old man, malevolently, "but that i'd fain balk him in every desire he cherishes, even of possessing you."
-"whatever it was, i am thankful, señor. you have my prayers----"
-"prayers," laughed the old sailor, "it hath been sixty years since i heard those canting puritans, my mother and father, pray. i want no prayers. but come, i must put you in ward. there should be strong-rooms in this castle."
-he summoned a slave and found what he wanted. mercedes, and señora agapida, who was fetched by other slaves, were locked in one room, alvarado was thrust into another. as soon as he could do so, after making some provision for the comfort of the woman, hornigold came down to him.
-"señor," he said, "the band is drunk and helpless. one hundred resolute men could master them. morgan means to march to caracas to-morrow. he can not get his men in shape to do so as long as liquor flows in la guayra. if i set you free, what can you do?"
-"there is a way over the mountains," answered alvarado. "a secret way, known only to the indians."
-"know you this path?"
-"it has been pointed out to me."
-"is it a practicable way?"
-"it has been abandoned for fifty years, but i could follow it to caracas."
-"and once there, what then?"
-"there, if the viceroy be not gone, and i do not believe he has yet departed, are one thousand soldiers to re-take the city."
-"and if they be gone?"
-"i'll raise the citizens, the household guards, the savages, and the slaves!"
-"can you do it?"
-"free me and see," answered alvarado, with such resolution that he convinced the sailor. "the men of caracas love the daughter of the viceroy. they are not inexperienced in arms. i will lead them. the advantage of numbers will be with us. if you free me, i take it we will have a friend within the walls. success is certain. we have too much to revenge," he added, his face flushing with rage at the thought of it all.
-"that's well," answered hornigold. "if i free you what reward shall i have?"
-"i will cover you with treasure."
-"and guarantee my life and liberty?"
-"they shall be held inviolate."
-"we captured the porto bello plate ship, and were wrecked two days ago a league or so to the westward----"
-"i saw the ship the day of the storm, but marked it not," interrupted the officer.
-"ay. we buried the treasure. shall i have my share?"
-"all that thou canst take, if the honor of the lady be preserved. i answer for the viceroy."
-"will you swear it?"
-"by your mother's cross?"
-"by my mother's cross, i swear. i will keep my faith with you, so help me god!"
-"i believe in no god, but you do, and that suffices. you shall go," cried the buccaneer, all his objections satisfied. "but as you love the woman, lose no time. i'll be at the west gate under the rocks at ten o'clock to-morrow night. you know it?"
-"yes, go on."
-"i'll open the gate for you and leave the rest to you. you must be there with your force. now, go."
-"i shall be there. but i can not leave without donna mercedes."
-"and you can't go with her. think! could she make her way over the mountains?"
-"no, no, but----"
-"i'll watch over her with my life," urged the one-eyed. "my share of the treasure depends upon her safety, you said."
-"i hate him with a hatred greater than thine."
-"he is thy captain."
-"he betrayed me, and i swore to take such vengeance as was never heard before, to make him suffer such torments by my hand as were never felt outside of hell."
-"you would betray him?"
-"it was for that i came with him! for that i live. he craves and covets the donna mercedes. he shall not have her. trust me to interpose at the last moment."
-"is this true? can i believe you?"
-"else why should i jeopard my life by freeing you? i hate him, i tell you. remember! the west gate! there are not three hundred men here. the best fifty have gone with teach and l'ollonois, the rest are drunken and cowards. here are weapons. wrap yourself in this cloak, and come. say no word to any one on the way. by satan, as you love the wench, lose no time!"
-as he spoke, the old man cut the bonds of alvarado, belted upon him dagger and sword, thrust a charged pistol in his hand, covered his head with a steel cap, and threw a long cloak around him. the two then went forth into the night. avoiding the notice of others, they hastened along the deserted parapet, for there were none to keep watch or guard, until they came to one of the ladders by which the buccaneers had entered the town. down it alvarado, first swearing again on the cross, on his honor, to respect his agreement with hornigold and again receiving the man's assurance, dropped hastily to the ground.
-there was no one to look, and he dashed recklessly across the narrow strip of sand to the shadow of the cliffs, along which he ran until he came opposite the place of his mother's death. the white water was rolling and crashing on the beach, and the body was gone. with a hasty petition for the repose of her soul, he ran on until he reached the turn of the road. there, like the priest, he made another prayer, and it was a prayer not different from that which had been voiced so short a time before.
-but his petitions were soon over. it was a time for work, not prayer. no moment could be lost. he girded up his loins and turned away on the run. unlike the priest, however, he did not pursue the mountain road, but, after going a short distance, he left the way and plunged to the right through the trees directly up the side of the hill.
-his face was cut and slashed by morgan's dagger; his soul had been racked and torn by the scenes he had gone through; the plight of mercedes stirred him to the very depths; his heart yearned over the slaughtered garrison, the ruined town, but with a strength superhuman he plunged at the hill, in spite of the forest, groping about in the darkness with frantic energy until he found the traces of a slender, rocky path which led over the mountains.
-how the spaniards re-took la guayra and how captain alvarado found a name and something dearer still in the city
-discloses the way in which mercedes de lara fought with woman's cunning against captain henry morgan
-the day after the sack of the town had been a busy one for the buccaneers. first of all, morgan had striven, and with some success, to restore some sort of order within the walls. by the aid of his officers and some of the soberest men he had confiscated all of the liquor that he could come at, and had stored it under a strong guard in the west fort, which he selected as his headquarters. the governor's palace on the hill above was a more fitting and luxurious residence and it had been promptly seized, the few defenders having fled, in the morning; but for the present morgan deemed it best to remain in the city and in close touch with his men.
-the spanish soldiery had been cut down to a man the night before, and the majority of the hapless citizens had been killed, wounded or tortured. the unfortunates who were yet alive were driven into the church of san lorenzo, where they were kept without food, water, or attention.
-there were some children, also, who had survived the night, for the buccaneers, frenzied with slaughter and inflamed with rum, had tossed many of them on their sword-points when they came across them in the streets. by morgan's orders the living were collected in the store-house and barracks of the guinea trading company, a corporation which supplied slaves to the south american countries, and which had branches in every city on the caribbean. he did order food and water to be given these helpless unfortunates, so their condition was not quite so deplorable as that of the rest. it was bad enough, however, and the old barracks which had echoed with the sound of many a bitter cry from the forlorn lips of wretched slaves, now resounded with the wailing of these terrified little ones.
-the condition of the women of the city was beyond description. they, too, were herded together in another building, an ancient convent, but were plentifully supplied with every necessary they could ask for. death, in lieu of the fate that had come upon them, would have been welcomed by many a high-born dame and her humbler sister as well, but they were all carefully searched and deprived of everything that might serve as a weapon. they were crowded together indiscriminately, high and low, rich and poor, black or white or red, in all states of disorder and disarray, just as they had been seized the night before, some of them having been dragged from their very beds by the brutal ruffians.
-some of the women, maddened to frenzy by the treatment they had received, screamed and raved; but most of them were filled with still misery, overwhelmed by silent despair--waiting hopelessly for they knew not what bitter, degrading end. one night had changed them from happy wives, honored mothers, light-hearted, innocent girls, to wrecks of womanhood. the light of life was dead in them. they were dumb and unprotesting. the worst had come upon them; there was nothing of sorrow and shame they had not tasted. what mattered anything else? their husbands, fathers, children, lovers had gone. homes were broken up; their property was wasted, and not even honor was left. they prayed to die. it was all that was left to them.
-the gates of the town and forts were closed and some slight attempt was made to institute a patrol of the walls, although the guard that was kept was negligent to the point of contempt. as no enemy was apprehended morgan did not rigorously insist upon strict watch. many of the buccaneers were still sodden with liquor and could be of no service until they were sobered. they were dragged to the barracks, drenched with water, and left to recover as best they could.
-during the day, hornigold, whose wound incapacitated him from active movement, remained in command of the fort with special instructions to look after mercedes. by morgan's orders she and her companion were removed to the best room in the fort and luxuriously provided for. he had not discovered the escape of alvarado, partly because he took no manner of interest in that young man and only kept him alive to influence the girl, and partly because hornigold had assured him that the prisoner was taking his confinement very hardly, that he was mad with anger, in a raging fever of disappointment and anxiety, and was constantly begging to see the captain. the boatswain cunningly suggested that it would be just as well to let alvarado remain in solitude, without food or water until the next day, by which time, the boatswain argued, he would be reduced to a proper condition of humility and servitude. morgan found this advice good. it was quite in consonance with his desires and his practices. he would have killed alvarado out of hand had he not considered him the most favorable card with which to play the game he was waging with mercedes for her consent to marry him.
-so far as he was capable of a genuine affection, he loved the proud spanish maiden. he would fain persuade her willingly to come to his arms rather than enforce her consent or overcome her scruples by brute strength. there would be something of a triumph in winning her, and this vain, bloodstained old brute fancied that he had sufficient attractiveness for the opposite sex to render him invincible if he set about his wooing in the right way. he thought he knew the way, too. at any rate he was disposed to try it. here again hornigold, upon whom in the absence of teach he depended more and more, and in whom he confided as of old, advised him.
-"i know women," said that worthy, and indeed no man had more knowledge of the class which stood for women in his mind than he, "and all you want is to give her time. wait until she knows what's happened to the rest of them, and sees only you have power to protect her, and she will come to heel right enough. besides, you haven't given her half a chance. she's only seen you weapon in hand. she doesn't know what a man you are, captain. sink me, if i'd your looks instead of this old, scarred, one-eyed face, there'd be no man i'd give way to and no woman i'd not win! steer her along gently with an easy helm. don't jam her up into the wind all of a sudden. women have to be coaxed. leave the girl alone a watch. don't go near her; let her think what she pleases. don't let anybody go near her unless it's me, and she won't get anything out of me, you can depend upon that! she'll be so anxious to talk to you in the morning that you can make her do anything. then if you can starve that spanish dog and break his spirit, so that she'll see him crawling at your feet, she'll sicken of him and turn to a man."
-"scuttle me," laughed morgan, "your advice is good! i didn't know you knew so much about the sex."
-"i've mixed up considerable with them in sixty years, captain," leered the old man. "what i don't know about them ain't worth knowing."
-"it seems so. well, i'll stay away from her till the morning. i shall be busy anyway trying to straighten out these drunken sots, and do you put the screws on that captain and leave the lady alone--but see that she lacks nothing."
-"ay, ay, trust me for them both."
-hornigold found means during the day--and it was a matter of no little difficulty to elude the guards he himself had placed there--to inform mercedes of the escape of alvarado, and to advise her that he expected the return of that young man with the troops of the viceroy at ten o'clock that night. he bade her be of good cheer, that he did not think it likely that morgan would think of calling upon her or of sending for her until morning, when it would be too late. he promised that he would watch over her and do what he could to protect her; that he would never leave the fort except for a few moments before ten that night, when he went to admit alvarado. what was better earnest of his purpose was that he furnished her with a keen dagger, small enough to conceal in the bosom of her dress, and advised her if worst came to worst, and there was no other way, to use it. he impressed on her that on no account was she to allow morgan to get the slightest inkling of his communication to her, for if the chief buccaneer found this out hornigold's life would not be worth a moment's thought, and alvarado would be balked in his plans of rescue.
-mercedes most thankfully received the weapon and promised to respect the confidence. she was grateful beyond measure, and he found it necessary harshly to admonish her that he only assisted her because he had promised alvarado that she should receive no harm, and that his own safety depended upon hers. he did not say so, but under other circumstances he would have as ruthlessly appropriated her for himself as morgan intended to do, and without the shadow of a scruple.
-as far as creature comforts were concerned the two women fared well. indeed, they were sumptuously, lavishly, prodigally provided for. señora agapida was still in a state of complete prostration. she lay helpless on a couch in the apartment and ministering to her distracted the poor girl's mind, yet such a day as mercedes de lara passed she prayed she might never again experience. the town was filled with the shouts and cries of the buccaneers wandering to and fro, singing drunken choruses, now and again routing out hidden fugitives from places of fancied security and torturing them with ready ingenuity whenever they were taken. the confusion was increased and the noise diversified by the shrieks and groans of these miserable wretches. sometimes the voices that came through the high windows were those of women, and the sound of their screams made the heart of the brave girl sink like lead in her breast.
-for the rest, she did not understand hornigold's position. she did not know whether to believe him or not, but of one thing was she certain. whereas she had been defenceless now she had a weapon, and she could use it if necessary. with that in hand she was mistress at least of her own fate.
-once more mercedes, therefore, found herself in the guardroom of the fort in the presence of the man she loathed and feared above all others in creation. her situation, however, was vastly different from what it had been. on the first occasion there had appeared no hope. now alvarado was free and she had a weapon. she glanced at the clock, a recent importation from spain hanging upon the wall, as she entered, and saw that it was half-after nine. ten was the hour hornigold had appointed to meet alvarado at the gate. she hoped that he would be early rather than late; and, if she could withstand the buccaneer by persuasion, seeming compliance, or by force, for a short space, all would be well. for she never doubted that her lover would come for her. even if he had to come single-handed and alone to fight for her, she knew he would be there. therefore, with every nerve strained almost to the breaking point to ward off his advances and to delay any action he might contemplate, she faced the buccaneer.
-he was dressed with barbaric magnificence in the riches and plunder he had appropriated, and he had adorned his person with a profusion of silver and gold, and stolen gems. he had been seated at the table while served by the maroon, but, as she entered, with unusual complaisance he arose and bowed to her with something of the grace of a gentleman.
-"madam," he said, endeavoring to make soft and agreeable his harsh voice, "i trust you have been well treated since in my charge."
-he had been drinking heavily she saw, but as he spoke her fair she would answer him accordingly. to treat him well, to temporize, and not to inflame his latent passion by unnecessarily crossing him, would be her best policy, she instantly divined, although she hated and despised him none the less. on his part, he had determined to try the gentler arts of persuasion, and though his face still bore the welts made by her riding whip the night before he strove to forget it and play the gentleman. he had some qualities, as a buccaneer, that might entitle him to a certain respect, but when he essayed the gentleman his performance was so futile that had it not been so terrible it would have been ludicrous. she answered his question calmly without exhibiting resentment or annoyance.
-"we have been comfortably lodged and provided with food and drink in sufficiency, señor."
-"and what more would you have, donna mercedes?"
-"that shall be yours. saving only my will, when you are married to me, you shall be as free as air. a free sailor and his free wife, lady. but will you not sit down?"
-in compliance with his request, she seated herself on a chair which happened to be near where she stood; she noted with relief that the table was between them.
-"nay, not there," said the captain instantly. "here, madam, here, at my side."
-"not yet, señor capitan; it were not fit that a prisoner should occupy so high a seat of honor. wait until----"
-"until what, pray?" he cried, leaning forward.
-"until that--until i--until we----"
-in spite of her efforts she could not force her lips to admit the possibility of the realization of his desire.
-"until you are lady morgan?" he cried, his face flaming.
-she buried her face in her hands at his suggestion, for she feared her horror in the thought would show too plainly there; and then because she dare not lose sight of him, she constrained herself to look at him once more. her cheeks were burning with shame, her eyes flashing with indignation, though she forced her lips into the semblance of a smile.
-"that surprises you, does it?" continued the man with boasting condescension. "you did not think i designed so to honor you after last night, madam? scuttle me, these"--pointing to his face--"are fierce love taps, but i fancy a strong will--when i can break it to mine own," he muttered, "and i have yet to see that in man or woman that could resist mine."
-she noted with painful fascination the powerful movements of his lean fingers as he spoke, for his sinewy right hand, wrinkled and hideous, lay stretched out on the table before him, and he clasped and unclasped it unconsciously as he made his threat.
-"i like you none the less for your spirit, ma'am. 'fore god, it runs with your beauty. you are silent," he continued, staring at her with red-eyed, drunken suspicion. "you do not answer?"
-"my lord," cried mercedes, "i know not what to say."
-"say, 'harry morgan, i love you and i am yours.'"
-"there is another present, señor."
-"where? another? who has dared--" roared the buccaneer glaring about him.
-"thy servant--the negro."
-"oh," he laughed, "he is nothing. black dog, we call him. he is my slave, my shadow, my protection. he is always by."
-an idea had swiftly flashed into the young girl's mind. if she could get rid of the slave she could deal more easily with the master. she was tall, strong, and morgan, it appeared, was not in full possession of his faculties or his strength from the liquor he had imbibed.
-"still," she urged, "i do not like to be wooed in the presence of another, even though he be a slave. 'tis not a spanish maiden's way, sir."
-"your will now, lady," said the buccaneer, with a hideous attempt at gallantry, "is my law. afterwards--'twill be another matter. out, carib, but be within call. now, madam, we are alone. speak you the english tongue?"
-the conversation had been carried on in spanish heretofore.
-"well, i'll teach it you. the lesson may as well begin now. say after me, 'harry'--i permit that though i am a belted knight of england, made so by his merry majesty, king charles, god rest him. drink to the repose of the king!" he cried, shoving a cup across the table toward her.
-resisting a powerful temptation to throw it at him, and divining that the stimulant might be of assistance to her in the trying crisis in which she found herself, the girl lifted the cup to her lips, bowed to him, and swallowed a portion of the contents.
-"give it back to me!" he shouted. "you have tasted it, i drain it. now the lesson. say after me, 'harry morgan'----"
-"harry morgan," gasped the girl.
-"'i love thee.'"
-with a swift inward prayer she uttered the lying words.
-"you have learned well, and art an apt pupil indeed," he cried, leering upon her in approbation and lustful desire--- his very gaze was pollution to her. "d'ye know there are few women who can resist me when i try to be agreeable? harry morgan's way!" he laughed again. "there be some that i have won and many i have forced. none like you. so you love me? scuttle me, i thought so. ben hornigold was right. woo a woman, let her be clipped willingly in arms--yet there's a pleasure in breaking in the jades, after all. still, i'm glad that you are in a better mood and have forgot that cursed spaniard rotting in the dungeons below, in favor of a better man, harry--no, i'll say, sir henry--morgan--on this occasion, at your service," he cried, rising again and bowing to her as before.
-she looked desperately at the clock. the hour was close at hand. so great was the strain under which she was laboring that she felt she could not continue five minutes longer. would alvarado never come? would anybody come? she sat motionless and white as marble, while the chieftain stared at her in the pauses of his monologue.
-"now, madam, since you have spoke the words perhaps you will further wipe out the recollection of this caress--" he pointed to his cheek again. "curse me!" he cried in sudden heat, "you are the only human being that ever struck harry morgan on the face and lived to see the mark. i'd thought to wait until to-morrow and fetch some starveling priest to play his mummery, but why do so? we are alone here--together. there is none to disturb us. black dog watches. you love me, do you not?"
-"i--i--" she gasped out, brokenly praying for strength, and fighting for time.
-"you said it once, that's enough. come, lady, let's have happiness while we may. seal the bargain and kiss away the blows."
-he came around the table and approached her. notwithstanding the quantity of liquor he had taken he was physically master of himself, she noticed with a sinking heart. as he drew near, she sprang to her feet also and backed away from him, throwing out her left hand to ward him off, at the same time thrusting her right hand into her bosom.
-"not now," she cried, finding voice and word in the imminence of the peril. "oh, for god's sake----"
-"tis useless to call on god in harry morgan's presence, mistress, for he is the only god that hears. come and kiss me, thou black beauty--and then--"
-"to-morrow, for christ's sake!" cried the girl. "i am a christian--i must have a priest--not now--to-morrow!"
-she was backed against the wall and could go no further.
-"to-night," chuckled the buccaneer.
-he was right upon her now. she thrust him, unsuspicious and unprepared, violently from her, whipped out the dagger that hornigold had given her, and faced him boldly.
-it was ten o'clock and no one had yet appeared. the struck hour reverberated through the empty room. would alvarado never come? had it not been that she hoped for him she would have driven the tiny weapon into her heart at once, but for his sake she would wait a little longer.
-"nay, come no nearer!" she cried resolutely. "if you do, you will take a dead woman in your arms. back, i say!" menacing herself with the point.
-and the man noted that the hand holding the weapon did not tremble in the least.
-"thinkest thou that i could love such a man as thou?" she retorted, trembling with indignation, all the loathing and contempt she had striven to repress finding vent in her voice. "i'd rather be torn limb from limb than feel even the touch of thy polluting hand!"
-"death and fury!" shouted morgan, struggling between rage and mortification, "thou hast lied to me then?"
-"a thousand times--yes! had i a whip i'd mark you again. come within reach and i will drive the weapon home!"
-she lifted it high in the air and shook it in defiance as she spoke.
-it was a frightful imprudence, for which she paid dearly, however, for the hangings parted and carib, who had heard what had gone on, entered the room--indeed, the voices of the man and woman filled with passion fairly rang through the hall. his quick eye took in the situation at once. he carried at his belt a long, heavy knife. without saying a word, he pulled it out and threw it with a skill born of long practice, which made him a master at the game, fairly at the woman's uplifted hand. before either morgan or mercedes were aware of his presence they heard the whistle of the heavy blade through the air. at the same moment the missile struck the blade of the dagger close to the palm of the woman and dashed it from her hand. both weapons rebounded from the wall from the violence of the blow and fell at morgan's feet.
-mercedes was helpless.
-"well done, carib!" cried morgan exultantly. "never has that old trick of thine served me better. now, you she-devil--i have you in my power. didst prefer death to harry morgan? thou shalt have it, and thy lover, too. i'll tear him limb from limb and in thy presence, too, but not until after----"
-"oh, god! oh, god!" shrieked mercedes, flattening herself against the wall, shrinking from him with wide outstretched arms as he approached her. "mercy!"
-"i know not that word. wouldst cozen me? hast another weapon in thy bodice? i'll look."
-before she could prevent him he seized her dress at the collar with both hands and, in spite of her efforts, by a violent wrench tore it open.
-"no weapon there," he cried. "ha! that brings at last the color to your pale cheek!" he added, as the rich red crimsoned the ivory of her neck and cheek at this outrage.
-"help, help!" she screamed. her voice rang high through the apartment with indignant and terrified appeal.
-"call again," laughed morgan.
-"kill me, kill me!" she begged.
-"nay, you must live to love me! ho! ho!" he answered, taking her in his arms.
-"mercy! help!" she cried in frenzy, all the woman in her in arms against the outrage, though she knew her appeal was vain, when, wonder of wonders----
-"i heard a lady's voice," broke upon her ears from the other end of the room.
-"de lussan!" roared morgan, releasing her and turning toward the intruder. "here's no place for you. how came you here? i'd chosen this room for myself, i wish to be private. out of it, and thank me for your life!"
-"i know not why you should have donna de lara against her will, and when better men are here," answered the frenchman, staring with bold, cruel glances at her, beautiful in her disarray, "and if you keep her you must fight for her. mademoiselle," he continued, baring his sword gracefully and saluting her, "will you have me for your champion?"
-his air was as gallant as if he had been a gentleman and bound in honor to rescue a lady in dire peril of life and honor, instead of another ruffian inflamed by her beauty and desirous to possess her himself.
-"save me! save me," she cried, "from this man!"
-she did not realize the meaning of de lussan's words, she only saw a deliverer for the present. it was ten minutes past the hour now. she welcomed any respite; her lover might come at any moment.
-"i will fight the both of you for her," cried the frenchman; "you, black dog, and you, master morgan. draw, unless you are a coward."
-"i ought to have you hanged, you mutinous hound!" shouted morgan, "and hanged you shall be, but not until i have proved myself your master with the sword, as in all other things. watch the woman, carib, and keep out of this fray. lay hand on her at your peril! remember, she is mine."
-"or it may be mine," answered de lussan, as morgan dashed at him.
-they engaged without hesitation and the room was filled with the sound of ringing, grating steel. first pulling the pins from her glorious hair, mercedes shook it down around her bare shoulders, and then stood, fascinated, watching the fencers. she could make no movement from the wall as the negro stood at her arm. for a space neither of the fighters had any advantage. de lussan's skill was marvelous, but the chief buccaneer was more than his match. presently the strength and capacity of the older and more experienced swordsman began to give him a slight advantage. hard pressed, the frenchman, still keeping an inexorable guard, slowly retreated up the room.
-both men had been so intensely occupied with the fierce play that they had not heard the sound of many feet outside, a sudden tumult in the street. the keen ear of the half-breed, however, detected that something was wrong.
-"master," he cried, "some one comes. i hear shouts in the night air. a shot! shrieks--groans! there! the clash of arms! lower your weapons, sirs!" he cried again, as spanish war cries filled the air. "we are betrayed; the enemy is on us!"
-instantly morgan and de lussan broke away from each other.
-"to-morrow," cried the buccaneer captain.
-"as you will," returned the other.
-but now, mercedes, staking all upon her hope, lifted her voice, and with tremendous power begot by fear and hope sent ringing through the air that name which to her meant salvation--
-how captain alvarado crossed the mountains, found the viceroy, and placed his life in his master's hands
-the highway between la guayra and venezuela was exceedingly rough and difficult, and at best barely practicable for the stoutest wagons. the road wound around the mountains for a distance of perhaps twenty-five miles, although as the crow flies it was not more than five miles between the two cities. between them, however, the tremendous ridge of mountains rose to a height of nearly ten thousand feet. starting from the very level of the sea, the road crossed the divide through a depression at an altitude of about six thousand feet and descended thence some three thousand feet to the valley in which lay caracas.
-this was the road over which alvarado and mercedes had come and on the lower end of which they had been captured. it was now barred for the young soldier by the detachment of buccaneers under young teach and l'ollonois, who were instructed to hold the pass where the road crossed through, or over, the mountains. owing to the configuration of the pass, that fifty could hold it against a thousand. it was not probable that news of the sack of la guayra would reach caracas before morgan descended upon it, but to prevent the possibility, or to check any movement of troops toward the shore, it was necessary to hold that road. the man who held it was in position to protect or strike either city at will. it was, in fact, the key to the position.
-morgan, of course, counted upon surprising the unfortified capital as he had the seaport town. it was the boast of the spaniards that they needed no walls about caracas, since nature had provided them with the mighty rampart of the mountain range, which could not be surmounted save in that one place. with that one place in the buccaneer's possession, caracas could only rely upon the number and valor of her defenders. to morgan's onslaught could only be opposed a rampart of blades and hearts. had there been a state of war in existence it is probable that the viceroy would have fortified and garrisoned the pass, but under present conditions nothing had been done. as soon as a messenger from teach informed morgan that the pass had been occupied and that all seemed quiet in caracas, a fact which had been learned by some bold scouting on the farther side of the mountain, he was perfectly easy as to the work of the morrow. he would fall upon the unwalled town at night and carry everything by a coup de main.
-fortunately for the spaniards in this instance, it happened that there was another way of access to the valley of caracas from la guayra. directly up and over the mountain there ran a narrow and difficult trail, known first to the savages and afterwards to wandering smugglers or masterless outlaws. originally, and until the spaniards made the wagon road, it had been the only way of communication between the two towns. but the path was so difficult and so dangerous that it had long since been abandoned, even by the classes which had first discovered and traveled it. these vagabonds had formerly kept it in such a state of repair that it was fairly passable, but no work had been done on it for nearly one hundred years. indeed, in some places, the way had been designedly obliterated by the spanish government about a century since, after one of the most daring exploits that ever took place in the new world.
-ninety years before this incursion by the buccaneers, a bold english naval officer, sir amyas preston, after seizing la guayra, had captured caracas by means of this path. the spaniards, apprised of his descent upon their coasts, had fortified the mountain pass but had neglected this mountain trail, as a thing impracticable for any force. preston, however, adroitly concealing his movements, had actually forced his men to ascend the trail. the ancient chroniclers tell of the terrific nature of the climb, how the exhausted and frightened english sailors dropped upon the rocks, appalled by their dangers and worn out by their hardships, how preston and his officers forced them up at the point of the sword until finally they gained the crest and descended into the valley. they found the town unprotected, for all its defenders were in the pass, seized it, held it for ransom, then, sallying forth, took the surprised spanish troops in the pass in the rear and swept them away.
-after this exploit some desultory efforts had been made by the spaniards to render the trail still more impracticable with such success as has been stated, and it gradually fell into entire disuse. by nearly all the inhabitants its very existence had been forgotten.
-it was this trail that alvarado determined to ascend. the difficulties in his way, even under the most favorable circumstances, might well have appalled the stoutest-hearted mountaineer. in the darkness they would be increased a thousand-fold. he had not done a great deal of mountain climbing, although every one who lived in venezuela was more or less familiar with the practice; but he was possessed of a cool head, an unshakable nerve, a resolute determination, and unbounded strength, which now stood him in good stead. and he had back of him, to urge him, every incentive in the shape of love and duty that could move humanity to godlike deed.
-along the base of the mountain the trail was not difficult although it was pitch-dark under the trees which, except where the mighty cliffs rose sheer in the air like huge buttresses of the range, covered the mountains for the whole expanse of their great altitude, therefore he made his way upward without trouble or accident at first. the moon's rays could not pierce the density of the tropic foliage, of course, but alvarado was very familiar with this easier portion of the way, for he had often traversed it on hunting expeditions, and he made good progress for several hours in spite of the obscurity.
-it had been long past midnight when he started, and it was not until daybreak that he passed above the familiar and not untrodden way and entered upon the most perilous part of his journey. the gray dawn revealed to him the appalling dangers he must face.
-sometimes clinging with iron grasp to pinnacles of rock, he swung himself along the side of some terrific precipice, where the slightest misstep meant a rush into eternity upon the rocks a thousand feet below. sometimes he had to spring far across great gorges in the mountains that had once been bridged by mighty trunks of trees, long since moldered away. sometimes there was nothing for him to do but to scramble down the steep sides of some dark cañon and force himself through cold torrential mountain streams that almost swept him from his feet. again his path lay over cliffs green with moss and wet with spray, which afforded most precarious support to his grasping hands or slipping feet. sometimes he had to force a way through thick tropic undergrowth that tore his clothing into rags.
-had he undertaken the ascent in a mere spirit of adventure he would have turned back long since from the dangers he met and surmounted with such hardship and difficulty; but he was sustained by the thought of the dreadful peril of the woman he loved, the remembrance of the sufferings of the hapless townspeople, and a consuming desire for revenge upon the man who had wrought this ruin on the shore. with the pale, beautiful face of mercedes to lead him, and by contrast the hateful, cruel countenance of morgan to force him, ever before his vision, the man plunged upward with unnatural strength, braving dangers, taking chances, doing the impossible--and providence watched over him.
-it was perhaps nine o'clock in the morning when he reached the summit--breathless, exhausted, unhelmed, weaponless, coatless, in rags; torn, bruised, bleeding, but unharmed--and looked down on the white city of caracas set in its verdant environment like a handful of pearls in a goblet of emerald. he had wondered if he would be in time to intercept the viceroy, and his strained heart leaped in his tired breast when he saw, a few miles beyond the town on the road winding toward the orinoco country, a body of men. the sunlight blazing from polished helms or pointed lance tips proclaimed that they were soldiers. he would be in time, thank god!
-with renewed vigor, he scrambled down the side of the mountain--and this descent fortunately happened to be gentle and easy--and running with headlong speed, he soon drew near the gate of the palace. he dashed into it with reckless haste, indifferent to the protests of the guard, who did not at first recognize in the tattered, bloody, wounded, soiled specimen of humanity his gay and gallant commander. he made himself known at once, and was confirmed in his surmise that the viceroy had set forth with his troops early in the morning and was still in reaching distance on the road.
-directing the best horse in the stables to be brought to him, after snatching a hasty meal while it was being saddled, and not even taking time to re-clothe himself, he mounted and galloped after. an hour later he burst through the ranks of the little army and reined in his horse before the astonished viceroy, who did not recognize in this sorry cavalier his favorite officer, and stern words of reproof for the unceremonious interruption of the horseman broke from his lips until they were checked by the first word from the young captain.
-"the buccaneers have taken la guayra and sacked it!" gasped alvarado hoarsely.
-"alvarado!" cried the viceroy, recognizing him as he spoke. "are you mad?"
-"would god i were, my lord."
-"morgan--all spain hates him with reason--led them!"
-"morgan! that accursed scourge again in arms? impossible! i don't understand!"
-"the very same! 'tis true! 'tis true! oh, your excellency----"
-"and my daughter----"
-"a prisoner! for god's love turn back the men!"
-"instantly!" cried the viceroy.
-he was burning with anxiety to hear more, but he was too good a soldier to hesitate as to the first thing to be done. raising himself in his stirrups he gave a few sharp commands and the little army, which had halted when he had, faced about and began the return march to caracas at full speed. as soon as their manoeuvres had been completed and they moved off, the viceroy, who rode at the head with alvarado and the gentlemen of his suite, broke into anxious questioning.
-"now, captain, but that thou art a skilled soldier i could not believe thy tale."
-"my lord, i swear it is true!"
-"and you left donna mercedes a prisoner?" interrupted de tobar, who had been consumed with anxiety even greater than that of the viceroy.
-"alas, 'tis so."
-"how can that be when you are free, señor?"
-"let me question my own officer, de tobar," resumed the viceroy peremptorily, "and silence, all, else we learn nothing. now, alvarado. what is this strange tale of thine?"
-"and mercedes?" again interrupted the impetuous and impassioned de tobar.
-"let him tell his tale!" commanded the viceroy, sternly. "it behooves us, gentlemen, to think first of the cities of our king."
-"they had captured a band of holy nuns and priests. these were forced, especially the women, by threats you can imagine, to plant scaling ladders against the walls, and, although the troops made a brave defense, the buccaneers mastered them. they carried the place by storm and sacked it. when i left it was burning in several places and turned into a hell."
-"my god!" ejaculated the old man, amid the cries and oaths of his fierce, infuriated men. "and now tell me about mercedes."
-"morgan--who met her, you remember, when we stopped at jamaica on our return from madrid?"
-"he is in love with her. he wanted to make her his wife. therefore he kept her from the soldiery."
-in his eagerness the viceroy reined in his horse, and the officers and men, even the soldiers, stopped also and crowded around the narrator.
-"did he--did he--o holy mother have pity upon me!" groaned the viceroy.
-"he did her no violence save to kiss her, while i was by."
-"and you suffered it!" shouted de tobar, beside himself with rage.
-"what did she then?" asked the old man, waving his hand for silence.
-"death," cried de lara, "would have been perhaps a fitting end for her. what more?"
-"we were conveyed into the city after the sack. he insulted her again with his compliments and propositions. he sent a slave to fetch her, but, bound as i was, i sprang upon him and beat him down."
-"then one of his men, an ancient, one-eyed sailor, interfered and bade him look to the town, else it would be burned over his head, and urged him to secure the pass. in this exigency the pirate desisted from his plan against the lady. he sent donna mercedes to a dungeon, me to another."
-"how came you here, sir, and alone?" asked de tobar, again interrupting, and this time the viceroy, pitying the agony of the lover, permitted the question. "did you, a spanish officer, leave the lady defenseless amid those human tigers?"
-"there was nothing else to do, don felipe. the sailor who interfered, he set me free. i did refuse to leave without the señorita. he told me i must go without her or not at all. he promised to protect her honor or to kill her--at least to furnish her with a weapon. to go, to reach you, your excellency, was the only chance for her. going, i might save her; staying, i could only die."
-"you did rightly. i commend you," answered the veteran. "go on."
-"my lord, i thank you. the way over the road was barred by the party that had seized the pass."
-"and how came you?"
-"straight over the mountain, sir."
-"what! the indian trail? the english way?"
-"at ten to-night, the sailor who released me will open the city gate, the west gate, beneath the shadow of the cliffs--we must be there!"
-"but how? can we take the pass? it is strongly held, you say."
-"my lord, give me fifty brave men who will volunteer to follow me. i will lead them back over the trail and we will get to the rear of the men holding the pass. do you make a feint at engaging them in force in front and when their attention is distracted elsewhere we will fall on and drive them into your arms. by this means we open the way. then we will post down the mountains with speed and may arrive in time. nay, we must arrive in time! hornigold, the sailor, would guarantee nothing beyond to-night. the buccaneers are drunk with liquor; tired out with slaughter. they will suspect nothing. we can master the whole three hundred and fifty of them with five score men."
-"alvarado," cried the viceroy, "thou hast done well. i thank thee. let us but rescue my daughter and defeat these buccaneers and thou mayest ask anything at my hands--saving one thing. gentlemen and soldiers, you have heard the plan of the young captain. who will volunteer to go over the mountains with him?"
-brandishing their swords and shouting with loud acclaim the great body of troopers pressed forward to the service. alvarado, who knew them all, rapidly selected the requisite number, and they fell in advance of the others. over them the young captain placed his friend de tobar as his second in command.
-"'tis bravely done!" cried the viceroy. "now prick forward to the city, all. we'll refresh ourselves in view of the arduous work before us and then make our further dispositions."
-the streets of caracas were soon full of armed men preparing for their venture. as soon as the plight of la guayra and the viceroy's daughter became known there was scarcely a civilian, even, who did not offer himself for the rescue. the viceroy, however, would take only mounted men, and of these only tried soldiers. alvarado, whom excitement and emotion kept from realizing his fatigue, was provided with fresh apparel, after which he requested a private audience for a moment or two with the viceroy, and together they repaired to the little cabinet which had been the scene of the happenings the night before.
-"your excellency," began the young man, slowly, painfully, "i could not wait even the hoped-for happy issue of our plans to place my sword and my life in your hands."
-"what have you done?" asked the old man, instantly perceiving the seriousness of the situation from the anguish in his officer's look and voice.
-"i have broken my word--forfeited my life."
-"i love the donna mercedes----"
-"you promised to say nothing--to do nothing."
-"there is nothing to explain. i was weak--it was beyond my strength. i offer no excuse."
-"you urge nothing in extenuation?"
-"'twas deliberately done?"
-"nay, not that; but i----"
-"s'death! what did you?"
-"i told her that i loved her, again----"
-"i took her into my arms once more----"
-"thou double traitor! and she----"
-"my lord, condemn her not. she is young--a woman."
-"i do not consider captain alvarado, a dishonored soldier, my proper mentor. i shall know how to treat my daughter. what more?"
-"nothing more. we abandoned ourselves to our dream, and at the first possible moment i am come to tell you all--to submit----"
-"hast no plea to urge?" persisted the old man.
-"but your reason? by god's death, why do you tell me these things? if thou art base enough to fall, why not base enough to conceal?"
-"i could not do so, your excellency. i am not master of myself when she is by--'tis only when away from her i see things in their proper light. she blinds me. no, sir," cried the unhappy alvarado, seeing a look of contempt on the grim face of the old general, "i do not urge this in defense, but you wanted explanation."
-"nothing can explain the falsehood of a gentleman, the betrayal of a friend, the treachery of a soldier."
-"nothing--hence i am here."
-"perhaps i have estimated you too highly," went on the old man musingly. "i had hoped you were gentle--but base blood must run in your veins."
-"it may be," answered the young man brokenly, and then he added, as one detail not yet told, "i have found my mother, sir."
-"thy mother? what is her condition?" cried the viceroy, in curious and interested surprise that made him forget his wrath and contempt for the moment.
-"she was an abbess of our holy church. she died upon the sands of la guayra by her own hand rather than surrender her honor or lend aid to the sack of the town."
-"that was noble," interrupted the old de lara. "i may be mistaken after all. yet 'twere well she died, for she will not see----"
-he paused significantly.
-"my shame?" asked alvarado.
-"thy death, señor, for what you have done. no other punishment is meet. did donna mercedes send any message to me?"
-alvarado could not trust himself to speak. he bowed deeply.
-"what was it?"
-the young man stood silent before him.
-"well, i will learn from her own lips if she be alive when we come to the city. i doubt not it will excuse thee."
-"i seek not to shelter myself behind a woman."
-"that's well," said the old man. "but now, what is to be done with thee?"
-"my lord, give me a chance, not to live, but to die honestly. let me play my part this day as becomes a man, and when donna mercedes is restored to your arms----"
-"thou wilt plead for life?"
-"nay, as god hears me, i will not live dishonored. life is naught to me without the lady. i swear to thee----"
-"you have given me your word before, sir," said the old man sternly.
-"thou didst betray me once."
-"but not this time. before god--by christ, his mother, by my own mother, dead upon the sands, by all that i have hoped for, by my salvation, i swear if i survive the day i will go gladly to my death at your command!"
-"i will trust you once more, thus far. say naught of this to any one. leave me!"
-"your excellency," cried the young man, kneeling before him, "may god reward you!"
-he strove to take the hand of the old man, but the latter drew it away.
-"even the touch of forsworn lips is degradation. you have your orders. go!"
-alvarado buried his face in his hands, groaned bitterly, and turned away without another word.
-wherein master teach, the pirate, dies better than he lived
-it was nearing eleven o'clock in the morning when, after a hurried conference in the patio with the viceroy and the others, alvarado and de tobar marched out with their fifty men. they had discarded all superfluous clothing; they were unarmored and carried no weapons but swords and pistols. in view of the hard climb before them and the haste that was required, they wished to be burdened as lightly as possible. their horses were brought along in the train of the viceroy's party which moved out upon the open road to the pass at the same time. these last went forward with great ostentation, the forlorn hope secretly, lest some from the buccaneers might be watching.
-the fifty volunteers were to ascend the mountain with all speed, make their way along the crest as best they could, until they came within striking distance of the camp of the pirates. then they were to conceal themselves in the woods there and when the viceroy made a feigned attack with the main body of his troops from the other side of the mountain, they were to leave their hiding-place and fall furiously upon the rear of the party. fortunately, they were not required to ascend such a path as that alvarado had traversed on the other side, for there were not fifty men in all venezuela who could have performed that tremendous feat of mountaineering. the way to the summit of the range and thence to the pass was difficult, but not impossible, and they succeeded after an hour or two of hard climbing in reaching their appointed station, where they concealed themselves in the woods, unobserved by teach's men.
-the viceroy carried out his part of the programme with the promptness of a soldier. alvarado's men had scarcely settled themselves in the thick undergrowth beneath the trees whence they could overlook the buccaneers in camp on the road below them, before a shot from the pirate sentry who had been posted toward caracas called the fierce marauders to arms. they ran to the rude barricade they had erected covering the pass and made preparation for battle. soon the wood was ringing with shouts and cries and the sound of musketry.
-although teach was a natural soldier and l'ollonois an experienced and prudent commander, they took no precaution whatever to cover their rear, for such a thing as an assault from that direction was not even dreamed of.
-alvarado and de tobar, therefore, led their men forward without the slightest opposition. even the noise they made crashing through the undergrowth was lost in the sound of the battle, and attracted no attention from the enemy. it was not until they burst out into the open road and charged forward, cheering madly, that the buccaneers realized their danger. some of them faced about, only to be met by a murderous discharge from the pistols of the forlorn hope, and the next moment the spaniards were upon them. the party holding the pass were the picked men, veterans, among the marauders. they met the onset with tremendous courage and crossed blades in the smoke like men, but at the same instant the advance guard of the main army sprang at the barricade and assaulted them vigorously from the other side. the odds were too much for the buccaneers, and after a wild mêlée in which they lost heavily, the survivors gave ground.
-the road immediately below the pass opened on a little plateau, back of which rose a precipitous wall of rock. thither such of the buccaneers as were left alive hastily retreated. there were perhaps a dozen men able to use their weapons; among them teach was the only officer. l'ollonois had been cut down by de tobar in the first charge. the spaniards burst through the pass and surrounded the buccaneers. the firearms on both sides had all been discharged, and in the excitement no one thought of reloading; indeed, with the cumbersome and complicated weapons then in vogue there was no time, and the spaniards, who had paid dearly for their victory, so desperate had been the defence of the pirates, were fain to finish this detachment in short order.
-"yield!" cried alvarado, as usual in the front ranks of his own men. "you are hopelessly overmatched," pointing with dripping blade to his own and the viceroy's soldiers as he spoke.
-"shall we get good quarter?" called out teach.
-a splendid specimen he looked of an englishman at bay, in spite of his wicked calling, standing with his back against the towering rock, his bare and bloody sword extended menacingly before him, the bright sunlight blazing upon his sunny hair, his blue eyes sparkling with battle-lust and determined courage. quite the best of the pirates, he!
-"you shall be hung like the dogs you are," answered alvarado sternly.
-"we'd rather die sword in hand, eh, lads?"
-"come on, then, señors," laughed the englishman gallantly, saluting with his sword, "and see how bravely we english can die when the game is played and we have lost."
-though his cause was bad and his life also, his courage was magnificent. under other circumstances it would have evoked the appreciation of alvarado and some consideration at his hands. possibly he might even have granted life to the man, but memory of the sights of the night before in that devastated town six thousand feet below their feet, and the deadly peril of his sweetheart banished pity from his soul. this man had been the right hand of morgan; he was, after the captain, the ablest man among the buccaneers. he must die, and it would be a mercy to kill him out of hand, anyway.
-"forward, gentlemen!" he cried, and instantly the whole mass closed in on the pirates. such a fight as teach and his men made was marvellous. for each life the spaniards took the pirates exacted a high price, but the odds were too great for any human valor, however splendid, to withstand, and in a brief space the last of the buccaneers lay dying on the hill.
-teach was game to the last. pierced with a dozen wounds, his sword broken to pieces, he lifted himself on his elbow, and with a smile of defiance gasped out the brave chorus of the song of the poet of london town:
-"though life now is pleasant and sweet to the sense, we'll be damnably mouldy a hundred years hence."
-"tell morgan," he faltered, "we did not betray--faithful to the end----"
-and so he died as he had lived.
-"a brave man!" exclaimed de tobar with some feeling in his voice.
-"but a black-hearted scoundrel, nevertheless," answered alvarado sternly. "had you seen him last night----"
-"ye have been successful, i see, gentlemen," cried the viceroy, riding up with the main body. "where is alvarado?"
-"i am here, your excellency."
-"you are yet alive, señor?"
-"my work is not yet complete," answered the soldier, "and i can not die until--i--donna mer--"
-"bring up the led horses," interrupted the viceroy curtly. "mount these gentlemen. let the chirurgeons look to the spanish wounded."
-"and if there be any buccaneers yet alive?" asked one of the officers.
-"toss them over the cliff," answered the viceroy; "throw the bodies of all the carrion over, living or dead. they pollute the air. form up, gentlemen! we have fully twenty-five miles between us and the town which we must reach at ten of the clock. 'twill be hard riding. alvarado, assemble your men and you and de tobar lead the way, i will stay farther back and keep the main body from scattering. we have struck a brave blow first, and may god and st. jago defend us further. forward!"
-the recital of how captain alvarado and don felipe de tobar came to the rescue in the nick of time
-old hornigold had kept his promise, and alvarado had kept his as well. it was a few minutes before ten when the first spanish horsemen sprang from their jaded steeds at the end of the road. in that wild race down the mountains, alvarado had ridden first with de tobar ever by his side. none had been able to pass these two. the viceroy had fallen some distance behind. for one reason, he was an old man, and the pace set by the lovers was killing. for another and a better, as he had said, he thought it desirable to stay somewhat in the rear to keep the men closed up; but the pace even of the last and slowest had been a tremendous one. sparing neither themselves nor their horses, they had raced down the perilous way. some of them had gone over the cliffs to instant destruction; others had been heavily thrown by the stumbling horses. some of the horses had given out under the awful gallop and had fallen exhausted, but when the riders were unhurt they had joined the foot soldiers marching after the troopers as fast they could.
-alvarado's soldierly instincts had caused him to halt where the road opened upon the sand, for he and de tobar and the two or three who kept near them could do nothing alone. they were forced to wait until a sufficient force had assembled to begin the attack. he would have been there before the appointed time had it not been for this imperative delay, which demonstrated his capacity more than almost anything else could have done, for he was burning to rush to the rescue of mercedes.
-indeed, he had been compelled to restrain by force the impetuous and undisciplined de tobar, who thought of nothing but the peril of the woman he adored. there had been a fierce altercation between the two young men before the latter could be persuaded that alvarado was right. each moment, however, added to the number of the party. there was no great distance between the first and last, and after a wait of perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, some one hundred and fifty horsemen were assembled. the viceroy had not come up with the rest, but they were sure he would be along presently, and alvarado would wait no longer.
-bidding the men dismount lest they should be observed on horseback, and stationing one to acquaint the viceroy with his plans, he divided his troop into three companies, he and de tobar taking command of one and choosing the nearest fort as their objective point. captain agramonte, a veteran soldier, was directed to scour the town, and lieutenant nuñez, another trusted officer, was ordered to master the eastern fort on the other side. they were directed to kill every man whom they saw at large in the city, shooting or cutting down every man abroad without hesitation, for alvarado rightly divined that all the inhabitants would be penned up in some prison or other and that none would be on the streets except the buccaneers. there were still enough pirates in the city greatly to outnumber his force, but many of them were drunk and all of them, the spaniard counted, would be unprepared. the advantage of the surprise would be with his own men. if he could hold them in play for twenty minutes the viceroy with another detachment would arrive, and thereafter the end would be certain. they could take prisoners then and reserve them for torture and death--some meet punishment for their crimes.
-those necessary preparations were made with the greatest speed, the men were told off in their respective companies, and then, keeping close under the shadow of the cliff for fear of a possible watcher, they started forward.
-since ten old ben hornigold had been hidden in an arched recess of the gateway waiting their arrival. he had thought, as the slow minutes dragged by, that alvarado had failed, and he began to contrive some way by which he could account for his escape to morgan in the morning, when the captain would ask to have him produced, but the arrival of the spaniards relieved his growing anxiety.
-"donna mercedes?" asked alvarado of the old boatswain, as he entered the gate.
-"safe when i left her in the guardroom with morgan--and armed. if you would see her alive----"
-"this way----" cried alvarado, dashing madly along the street toward the fort.
-every man had his weapons in hand, and the little party had scarcely gone ten steps before they met a buccaneer. he had been asleep when he should have watched, and had just been awakened by the sound of their approach. he opened his mouth to cry out, but alvarado thrust his sword through him before he could utter a sound. the moonlight made the street as light as day, and before they had gone twenty steps farther, turning the corner, they came upon a little party of the pirates. an immediate alarm was given by them. the spaniards brushed them aside by the impetuosity of their onset, but on this occasion pistols were brought in play. screams and cries followed the shots, and calls to arms rang through the town.
-but by this time the other companies were in the city, and they were making terrible havoc as they ran to their appointed stations. the buccaneers came pouring from the houses, most of them arms in hand. it could not be denied that they were ready men. but the three attacks simultaneously delivered bewildered them. the streets in all directions seemed full of foes. the advantage of the surprise was with the spanish. the pirates were without leadership for the moment and ran aimlessly to and fro, not knowing where to rally; yet little bands did gather together instinctively, and these began to make some headway against the spanish soldiery. even the cowards fought desperately, for around every neck was already the feel of a halter.
-alvarado and de tobar soon found themselves detached from their company. indeed, as the time progressed and the buccaneers began to perceive the situation they put up a more and more stubborn and successful opposition. they rallied in larger parties and offered a stout resistance to the spanish charges. disregarding their isolation, the two young officers ran to the fort. fortunately the way in that direction was not barred. the solitary sentry at the gateway attempted to check them, but they cut him down in an instant. as they mounted the stair they heard, above the shrieks and cries and shots of the tumult that came blowing in the casement with the night wind, the sound of a woman's screams.
-"mercedes!" cried de tobar. "it is she!"
-they bounded up the stairs, overthrowing one or two startled men who would have intercepted them, and darted to the guardroom. they tore the heavy hangings aside and found themselves in a blaze of light in the long apartment. two men confronted them. back of the two, against the wall, in a piteous state of disorder and terror, stood the woman they both loved. in front of her, knife in hand, towered the half-breed.
-"treason, treason!" shouted morgan furiously. "we are betrayed! at them, de lussan!"
-as he spoke the four men crossed swords. de tobar was not the master of the weapon that the others were. after a few rapid parries and lunges the frenchman had the measure of his brave young opponent. then, with a laugh of evil intent, by a clever play he beat down the spaniard's guard, shattering his weapon, and with a thrust as powerful as it was skilful, he drove the blade up to the hilt in poor de tobar's bosom. the gallant but unfortunate gentleman dropped his own sword as he fell, and clasped his hands by a convulsive effort around the blade of de lussan. such was the violence of his grasp that he fairly hugged the sword to his breast, and when he fell backward upon the point the blade snapped. he was done for.
-morgan and alvarado, on the other hand, were more equally matched. neither had gained an advantage, although both fought with energy and fury. alvarado was silent, but morgan made the air ring with shouts and cries for his men. as the swords clashed, carib raised his hand to fling his knife at alvarado, but, just as the weapon left his fingers, mercedes threw herself upon him. the whizzing blade went wild. with a savage oath he seized a pistol and ran toward the spaniard, who was at last getting the better of the captain. a cry from mercedes warned alvarado of this new danger. disengaging suddenly, he found himself at sword's point with de lussan, who had withdrawn his broken weapon from de tobar's body and was menacing him with it. with three opponents before him he backed up against the wall and at last gave tongue.
-"to me!" he cried loudly, hoping some of his men were within call. "alvarado!"
-as he spoke morgan closed with him once more, shouting:
-"on him, de lussan! let him have it, black dog! we've disposed of one!"
-as the blades crossed again, the desperate spaniard, who was a swordsman of swordsmen, put forth all his power. there was a quick interchange of thrust and parry, and the weapon went whirling from the hand of the chief buccaneer. quick as thought alvarado shortened his arm and drove home the stroke. morgan's life trembled in the balance. the maroon, however, who had been seeking a chance to fire, threw himself between the two men and received the force of the thrust full in the heart. his pistol was discharged harmlessly. he fell dead at his master's feet without even a groan. no more would black dog watch behind the old man's chair. he had been faithful to his hideous leader and his hideous creed. before alvarado could recover his guard, de lussan struck him with his broken sword. the blow was parried by arm and dagger, but the force of it sent the spaniard reeling against the wall. at the same instant morgan seized a pistol and snapped it full in his face. the weapon missed fire, but the buccaneer, clutching the barrel, beat him down with a fierce blow.
-"so much for these two," he roared. "let's to the street."
-de lussan seized alvarado's sword, throwing away his own. morgan picked up his own blade again, and the two ran from the room.
-a stern fight was being waged in the square, whither all the combatants had congregated, the buccaneers driven there, the spaniards following. the disciplined valor and determination of the spanish, however, were slowly causing the buccaneers to give ground. no spanish soldiers that ever lived could have defeated the old-time buccaneers, but these were different, and their best men had been killed with teach and l'ollonois. the opportune arrival of morgan and de lussan, however, put heart in their men. under the direction of these two redoubtable champions they began to make stouter resistance.
-indeed, after the capture of morgan the remaining buccaneers threw down their arms and begged for mercy. they might as well have appealed to a stone wall for that as to their spanish captors. a short shrift and a heavy punishment were promised them in the morning. meanwhile, after a brief struggle, the east fort was taken by assault, and braziliano was wounded and captured with most of his men. the town was in the possession of the spanish at last. it was all over in a quarter of an hour.
-instantly the streets were filled with a mob of men, women, and children, whose lives had been spared, bewildered by the sudden release from their imminent peril and giving praise to god and the viceroy and his men. as soon as he could make himself heard in the confusion de lara inquired for alvarado.
-"where is he?" he cried. "and de tobar?"
-"my lord," answered one of the party, "we were directed to take the west fort and those two cavaliers were in the lead, but the pressure of the pirates was so great that we were stopped and have not seen them since. they were ahead of us."
-"de cordova," cried the old man to one of his colonels, "take charge of the town. keep the women and children and inhabitants together where they are for the present. let your soldiery patrol the streets and search every house from top to bottom. let no one of these ruffianly scoundrels escape. take them alive. we'll deal with them in the morning. fetch morgan to the west fort after us. come, gentlemen, we shall find our comrades there, and pray god the ladies have not yet--are still unharmed!"
-a noble old soldier was de lara. he had not sought his daughter until he had performed his full duty in taking the town.
-the anteroom of the fort they found in a state of wild confusion. the dead bodies of the sentry and the others the two cavaliers had cut down on the stairs were ruthlessly thrust aside, and the party of gentlemen with the viceroy in the lead poured into the guardroom. there, on his back, was stretched the hideous body of the half-breed where he had fallen. there, farther away, the unfortunate de tobar lay, gasping for breath yet making no outcry. he was leaning on his arm and staring across the room, with anguish in his face not due to the wound he had received but to a sight which broke his heart.
-"alas, de tobar!" cried the viceroy. "where is mercedes?"
-he followed the glance of the dying man. there at the other side of the room lay a prostrate body, and over it bent a moaning, sobbing figure. it was mercedes.
-"mercedes!" cried the viceroy running toward her. "alvarado!"
-"tell me," he asked in a heartbreaking voice. "art thou----"
-"safe yet and--well," answered the girl; "they came in the very nick of time. oh, alvarado, alvarado!" she moaned.
-"señorita," cried one of the officers, "don felipe here is dying. he would speak with you."
-mercedes suffered herself to be led to where de tobar lay upon the floor. one of his comrades had taken his head on his knee. the very seconds of his life were numbered. lovely in her grief mercedes knelt at his side, a great pity in her heart. the viceroy stepped close to him.
-"i thank you, too," she said. "poor don felipe, he and you saved me, but at the expense of your lives. would god you could have been spared!"
-"nay," gasped the dying man, "thou lovest him. i--watched thee. i heard thee call upon his name. thou wert not for me, and so i die willingly. he is a noble gentleman. would he might have won thee!"
-the man trembled with the violent effort it cost him to speak. he gasped faintly and strove to smile. by an impulse for which she was ever after grateful, she bent her head, slipped her arm around his neck, lifted him up, and kissed him. in spite of his death agony, at that caress he smiled up at her.
-"now," he murmured, "i die happy--content--you kissed--me--jesu--mercedes----"
-it was the end of as brave a lover, as true a cavalier as ever drew sword or pledged hand in a woman's cause.
-"he is dead," said the officer.
-"god rest his soul, a gallant gentleman," said the viceroy, taking off his hat, and his example was followed by every one in the room.
-"and captain alvarado?" said mercedes, rising to her feet and turning to the other figure.
-"señorita," answered another of the officers, "he lives."
-"oh, god, i thank thee!"
-a little shudder crept through the figure of the prostrate captain, who had only been knocked senseless by the fierce blow and was otherwise unhurt.
-"his eyes are open! water, quick!"
-with skilled fingers begot by long practice the cavalier cut the lacings of alvarado's doublet and gave him water, then a little wine. as the young captain returned to consciousness, once more the officers crowded around him, the viceroy in the centre, mercedes on her knees again.
-"mercedes," whispered the young captain. "alive--unharmed?"
-"yes," answered mercedes brokenly, "thanks to god and thee."
-"and de tobar," generously asserted alvarado. "where is he?"
-"oh, brave de tobar! and the city----"
-"here in my hands," said the viceroy sternly.
-"thank god, thank god! and now, your excellency, my promise. i thought as i was stricken down there would be no need for you to----"
-"thou hast earned life, alvarado, not death, and thou shalt have it."
-"señors," said alvarado, whose faintness was passing from him, "i broke my plighted word to the viceroy and don felipe de tobar. i love this lady and was false to my charge. don alvaro promised me death for punishment, and i crave it. i care not for life without----"
-"and did he tell thee why he broke his word?" asked mercedes, taking his hands in her own and looking up at her father. "it was my fault. i made him. in despair i strove to throw myself over the cliff on yonder mountain and he caught me in his arms. with me in his arms--which of you, my lords," she said, throwing back her head with superb pride, "would not have done the same? don felipe de tobar is dead. he was a gallant gentleman, but i loved him not. my father, you will not part us now?"
-"no," said the old man, "i will not try. i care not now what his birth or lineage, he hath shown himself a man of noblest soul. you heard the wish of de tobar. it shall be so. this is the betrothal of my daughter, gentlemen. art satisfied, captain? she is noble enough, she hath lineage and race enough for both of you. my interest with our royal master will secure you that patent of nobility you will adorn, for bravely have you won it."
-in which sir henry morgan sees a cross, cherishes a hope, and makes a claim
-these noble and generous words of the viceroy put such heart into the young spanish soldier that, forgetting his wounds and his weakness, he rose to his feet. indeed, the blow that struck him down had stunned him rather than anything else, and he would not have been put out of the combat so easily had it not been that he was exhausted by the hardships of those two terrible days through which he had just passed. the terrific mountain climb, the wild ride, the fierce battle, his consuming anxiety for the woman he loved--these things had so wearied him that he had been unequal to the struggle. the stimulants which had been administered to him by his loving friends had been of great service also in reviving his strength, and he faced the viceroy, his hand in that of mercedes, with a flush of pleasure and pride upon his face.
-yet, after all, it was the consciousness of having won permission to marry the woman whom he adored and who loved him with a passion that would fain overmatch his own, were that possible, that so quickly restored him to strength. with the realization of what he had gained there came to him such an access of vigor as amazed those who a few moments before had thought him dead or dying.
-"but for these poor people who have so suffered, this, my lord," he exclaimed with eager gratitude and happiness, "hath been a happy day for me. last night, sir, on the beach yonder, i found a mother. a good sister, she, of holy church, who, rather than carry the ladders which gave access to the town, with the fearful alternative of dishonor as a penalty for refusal, killed herself with her own hand. she died not, praise god, before she had received absolution from a brave priest, although the holy father paid for his office with his life, for morgan killed him. to-night i find, by the blessing of god, the favor of your excellency and the kindness of the lady's heart--a wife."
-he dropped upon his knees as he spoke and pressed a long, passionate kiss upon the happy mercedes' extended hand.
-"lady," he said, looking up at her, his soul in his eyes, his heart in his voice, "i shall strive to make myself noble for thee, and all that i am, and shall be, shall be laid at thy feet."
-"i want not more than thyself, señor alvarado," answered the girl bravely before them all, her own cheeks aglow with happy color. "you have enough honor already. you satisfy me."
-"long life to donna de lara and captain alvarado!" cried old agramonte, lifting up his hand. "the handsomest, the noblest, the bravest pair in new spain! may they be the happiest! give me leave, sir," added the veteran captain turning to the viceroy. "you have done well. say i not true, gentlemen? and as for the young captain, as he is fit to stand with the best, it is meet that he should win the heart of the loveliest. his mother he has found. none may know his father----"
-"let me be heard," growled a deep voice in broken spanish, as the one-eyed old sailor thrust himself through the crowd.
-"hornigold, by hell!" screamed the bound buccaneer captain, who had been a silent spectator of events from the background. "i missed you. have you----"
-the boatswain, mindful of his safety, for in the hurry and confusion of the attack any spaniard would have cut him down before he could explain, had followed hard upon the heels of alvarado and de tobar when they entered the fort and had concealed himself in one of the inner rooms until he saw a convenient opportunity for disclosing himself. he had been a witness to all that had happened in the hall, and he realized that the time had now come to strike the first of the blows he had prepared against his old captain. that in the striking, he wrecked the life and happiness of those he had assisted for his own selfish purpose mattered little to him. he had so long brooded and thought upon one idea, so planned and schemed to bring about one thing, that a desire for revenge fairly obsessed him.
-as soon as he appeared from behind the hangings where he had remained in hiding, it was evident to every one that he was a buccaneer. swords were out in an instant.
-"what's this?" cried the viceroy in great surprise. "another pirate free and unbound? seize him!"
-three or four of the men made a rush toward the old buccaneer, but with wonderful agility he avoided them and sprang to the side of alvarado.
-"back, señors!" he cried coolly and composedly, facing their uplifted points.
-"my lord," said alvarado, "bid these gentlemen withdraw their weapons. this man is under my protection."
-"who is he?"
-"he i told you of, sir, who set me free, provided donna mercedes with a weapon, opened the gate for us. one benjamin hornigold."
-"thou damned traitor!" yelled that fierce, high voice on the outskirts of the crowd.
-there was a sudden commotion. a bound man burst through the surprised cavaliers and threw himself, all fettered though he was, upon the sailor. he was without weapon or use of hand, yet he bit him savagely on the cheek.
-"hell!" he cried, as they pulled him away and dragged him to his feet, "had i a free hand for a second you'd pay! as it is, i've marked you, and you'll carry the traitor's brand until you die! curse you, whatever doom comes to me, may worse come to you!"
-the old buccaneer was an awful figure, as he poured out a horrible torrent of curses and imprecations upon the traitor, grinding his teeth beneath his foam-flecked lips, and even the iron-hearted sailor, striving to staunch the blood, involuntarily shrank back appalled before him.
-"señor," he cried, appealing to alvarado, "i was to have protection!"
-"you shall have it," answered the young soldier, himself shrinking away from the traitor, although by his treason he had so greatly benefited. "my lord, had it not been for this man, i'd still be a prisoner, the lady mercedes like those wretched women weeping in the streets. i promised him, in your name, protection, immunity from punishment, and liberty to depart with as much of the treasure of the porto bello plate galleon, which was wrecked on the sands a few days ago, of which i told you, as he could carry."
-"and you did not exceed your authority, captain alvarado. we contemn treason in whatsoever guise it doth appear, and we hate and loathe a traitor, but thy word is passed. it will be held inviolate as our own. you are free, knave. i will appoint soldiers to guard you, for should my men see you, not knowing this, they would cut you down; and when occasion serves you may take passage in the first ship that touches here and go where you will. nay, we will be generous, although we like you not. we are much indebted to you. we have profited by what we do despise. we would reward you. ask of me something that i may measure my obligation for a daughter's honor saved, if you can realize or feel what that may be."
-"my lord, hear me," said the boatswain quickly. "there be reasons and reasons for betrayals, and i have one. this man was my captain. i perilled my life a dozen times to save his; i followed him blindly upon a hundred terrible ventures; i lived but for his service. my soul--when i had a soul--was at his command; i loved him. ay, gentlemen, rough, uncouth, old though i am, i loved this man. he could ask of me anything that i could have given him and he would not have been refused.
-"sirs, there came to me a young brother of mine, not such as i, a rude, unlettered sailor, but a gentleman--and college bred. there are quarterings on my family scutcheon, sirs, back in merry england, had i the wit or care to trace it. he was a reckless youth, chafing under the restraints of that hard religion to which we had been born. the free life of a brother-of-the-coast attracted him. he became like me, a buccaneer. i strove to dissuade him, but without avail. he was the bravest, the handsomest, the most gallant of us all. he came into my old heart like a son. we are not all brute, gentlemen. i have waded in blood and plunder like the rest, but in every heart there is some spot that beats for things better. i divided my love between him and my captain. this man"--he pointed to his old master with his blunted finger, drawing himself up until he looked taller than he was, his one eye flashing with anger and hatred, as with a stern, rude eloquence he recited his wrongs, the grim indictment of a false friend--"this man betrayed us at panama. with what he had robbed his comrades of he bought immunity, even knighthood, from the king of england. he was made vice-governor of jamaica and his hand fell heavily upon those who had blindly followed him in the old days, men who had served him and trusted him, as i--men whose valor and courage had made him what he was.
-"he took the lad i loved, and because his proud spirit would not break to his heavy hand and he answered him like the bold, free sailor he was, he hanged him like a dog, sirs! i--i--stooped for his life. i, who cared not for myself, offered to stand in his place upon the gallows platform, though i have no more taste for the rope than any of you, if only he might go free. he laughed at me! he mocked me! i urged my ancient service--he drove me from him with curses and threats like a whipped dog. i could have struck him down then, but that i wanted to save him for a revenge that might measure my hate, slow and long and terrible. not mere sudden death, that would not suffice. something more.
-he was a hideous figure of old hate and rancor, of unslaked passion, of monstrous possibilities of cruel torture. hardened as they were by the customs of their age to hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, the listeners turned cold at such an exhibition of malefic passion, of consuming hatred. even morgan himself, intrepid as he was, shrank from the awful menace of the mordant words.
-"my lord!" shouted the unfortunate captain, "give him no heed. he lies in his throat; he lies a thousand times. 'twas a mutinous dog, that brother of his, that i hanged. i am your prisoner. you are a soldier. i look for speedy punishment, certain death it may be, but let it not be from his hand."
-"think, señors," urged the boatswain; "you would hang him perhaps. it is the worst that you could do. is that punishment meet for him? he has despoiled women, bereft children, tortured men, in the streets of la guayra. a more fitting punishment should await him. think of panama, of maracaibo, of porto bello! recall what he did there. is hanging enough? give him to me. let me have my way. you have your daughter, safe, unharmed, within the shelter of her lover's arms. the town is yours. you have won the fight. 'twas i that did it. without me your wives, your children, your subjects, would have been slaughtered in caracas and this dog would have been free to go further afield for prey. he coveted your daughter--would fain make her his slave in some desert island. give him to me!"
-"old man," said the viceroy, "i take back my words. you have excuse for your betrayal, but your request i can not grant. i have promised him to alvarado. nay, urge me no further. my word is passed."
-"thank you, thank you!" cried morgan, breathing again.
-"silence, you dog!" said the viceroy, with a look of contempt on his face. "but take heart, man," he added, as he saw the look of rage and disappointment sweep over the face of the old sailor, "he will not escape lightly. would god he had blood enough in his body to pay drop by drop for all he hath shed. his death shall be slow, lingering, terrible. you have said it, and you shall see it, too, and you will. he shall have time to repent and to think upon the past. you may glut yourself with his suffering and feed fat your revenge. 'twill be a meet, a fitting punishment so far as our poor minds can compass. we have already planned it."
-"you spanish hounds!" roared morgan stoutly, "i am a subject of england. i demand to be sent there for trial."
-"you are an outlaw, sir, a man of no country, a foe to common humanity, and taken in your crimes. silence, i say!" again cried the old man. "you pollute the air with your speech. take him away and hold him safe. to-morrow he shall be punished."
-"without a trial?" screamed the old buccaneer, struggling forward.
-"thou art tried already. thou hast been weighed in the balances and found wanting. alvarado, art ready for duty?"
-"ready, your excellency," answered the young man, "and for this duty."
-"take him then, i give him into your hands. you know what is to be done; see you do it well."
-"ay, my lord. into the strong-room with him, men!" ordered the young spaniard, stepping unsteadily forward.
-as he did so the crucifix he wore, which the disorder in his dress exposed to view, flashed into the light once more. morgan's eyes fastened upon it for the first time.
-"by heaven, sir!" he shouted. "where got ye that cross?"
-"from his mother, noble captain," interrupted hornigold, coming closer.
-he had another card to play. he had waited for this moment, and he threw back his head with a long, bitter laugh. there was such sinister, such vicious mockery and meaning in his voice, with not the faintest note of merriment to relieve it, that his listeners looked aghast upon him.
-"his mother?" cried morgan. "then this is----"
-he paused. the assembled cavaliers, mercedes, and alvarado stood with bated breath waiting for the terrible boatswain's answer.
-"the boy i took into cuchillo when we were at panama," said hornigold in triumph.
-"and my son!" cried the old buccaneer with malignant joy.
-a great cry of repudiation and horror burst from the lips of alvarado. the others stared with astonishment and incredulity written on their faces. mercedes moved closer to her lover and strove to take his hand.
-"my lords and gentlemen, hear me," continued the buccaneer, the words rushing from his lips in his excitement, for in the new relationship he so promptly and boldly affirmed, he thought he saw a way of escape from his imminent peril. "there lived in maracaibo a spanish woman, maria zerega, who loved me. by her there was a child--mine--a boy. i took them with me to panama. the pestilence raged there after the sack. she fell ill, and as she lay dying besought me to save the boy. i sent hornigold to her with instructions to do her will, and he carried the baby to the village of cuchillo with that cross upon his breast and left him. we lost sight of him. there, the next day, you found him. he has english blood in his veins. he is my son, sirs, a noble youth," sneered the old man. "now you have given me to him. 'tis not meet that the father should suffer at the hands of the son. you shall set me free," added the man, turning to alvarado.
-"rather than that--" cried hornigold, viciously springing forward knife in hand.
-he was greatly surprised at the bold yet cunning appeal of his former captain.
-"back, man!" interposed the viceroy. "and were you a thousand times his father, were you my brother, my own father, you should, nevertheless, die, as it hath been appointed."
-"can this be true?" groaned alvarado, turning savagely to hornigold.
-"i believe it to be."
-"why not kill me last night then?"
-"i wanted you for this minute. 'tis a small part of my revenge. to see him die and by his son's hand--a worthy father, noble son----"
-"silence!" shouted de lara. "art thou without bowels of compassion, man! alvarado, i pity thee, but this makes the promise of the hour void. nay, my daughter"--as mercedes came forward to entreat him--"i'd rather slay thee with my own hand than wed thee to the son of such as yon!"
-"my lord, 'tis just," answered alvarado. his anguish was pitiful to behold. "i am as innocent of my parentage as any child, yet the suffering must be mine. the sins of the fathers are visited on the children. i did deem it yesterday a coward's act to cut the thread of my life but now--i cannot survive--i cannot live--and know that in my veins--runs the blood of such a monster. my lord, you have been good to me. gentlemen, you have honored me. mercedes, you have loved me--o god! you, infamous man, you have fathered me. may the curse of god, that god whom you mock, rest upon you! my mother loved this man once, it seems. well, nobly did she expiate. i go to join her. pray for me. stay not my hand. farewell!"
-he raised his poniard.
-"let no one stop him," cried the old viceroy as alvarado darted the weapon straight at his own heart. "this were the best end."
-mercedes had stood dazed during this conversation, but with a shriek of horror, as she saw the flash of the blade, she threw herself upon her lover, and strove to wrench the dagger from him.
-"alvarado!" she cried, "whatever thou art, thou hast my heart! nay, slay me first, if thou wilt."
-how the good priest fra antonio de las casas told the truth, to the great relief of captain alvarado and donna mercedes, and the discomfiture of master benjamin hornigold and sir henry morgan
-"ay, strike, alvarado," cried the viceroy, filled with shame and surprise at the sight of his daughter's extraordinary boldness, "for though i love her, i'd rather see her dead than married to the son of such as he. drive home your weapon!" he cried in bitter scorn. "why stay your hand? only blood can wash out the shame she hath put upon me before you all this day. thou hast a dagger. use it, i say!"
-"do you hear my father's words, alvarado?" cried mercedes sinking on her knees and stretching up her hands to him. "'tis a sharp weapon. one touch will end it all, and you can follow."
-"god help me!" cried the unhappy young captain, throwing aside the poniard and clasping his hands to his eyes. "i cannot! hath no one here a point for me? if i have deserved well of you or the state, sir, bid them strike home."
-"live, young sir," interrupted morgan, "there are other women in the world. come with me and----"
-"if you are my father, you have but little time in this world," interrupted the spaniard, turning to morgan and gnashing his teeth at him. "i doubt not but you were cruel to my mother. i hate you! i loathe you! i despise you for all your crimes! and most of all for bringing me into the world. i swear to you, had i the power, i'd not add another moment to your life. the world were better rid of you."
-"you have been well trained by your spanish nurses," cried morgan resolutely, although with sneering mockery and hate in his voice, "and well you seem to know the duty owed by son to sire."
-"you have done nothing for me," returned the young soldier, "you abandoned me. such as you are you were my father. you cast me away to shift for myself. had it not been for these friends here----"
-"nay," said morgan, "i thought you dead. that cursed one-eyed traitor there told me so, else i'd sought you out."
-"glad am i that you did not, for i have passed my life where no child of yours could hope to be--among honorable men, winning their respect, which i now forfeit because of thee."
-"alvarado," said the viceroy, "this much will i do for thee. he shall be shot like a soldier instead of undergoing the punishment we had designed for him. this much for his fatherhood."
-"my lord, i ask it not," answered the young man.
-"sir," exclaimed morgan, a gleam of relief passing across his features, for he knew, of course, that death was his only expectation, and he had greatly feared that his taking off would be accompanied by the most horrible tortures that could be devised by people who were not the least expert in the practice of the unmentionable cruelties of the age, "you, at least, are a father, and i thank you."
-"yes, i am a father and a most unhappy one," groaned de lara, turning toward alvarado. "perhaps it is well you did not accomplish your purpose of self-destruction after all, my poor friend. as i said before, spain hath need of you. you may go back to the old country beyond the great sea. all here will keep your secret; my favor will be of service to you even there. you can make a new career with a new name."
-"and mercedes?" asked alvarado.
-"you have no longer any right to question. ah, well, it is just that you should hear. the girl goes to a convent; the only cloak for her is in our holy religion--and so ends the great race of de laras!"
-"no, no," pleaded mercedes, "send me not there! let me go with him!" she stepped nearer to him, beautiful and beseeching. "my father," she urged, "you love me." she threw her arms around his neck and laid her head upon his breast. upon it her father tenderly pressed his hand. "you loved my mother, did you not?" she continued. "think of her. condemn me not to the living death of a convent--away from him. if that man be his father--and i can not believe it, there is some mistake, 'tis impossible that anything so foul should bring into the world a man so noble--yet i love him! you know him. you have tried him a thousand times. he has no qualities of his base ancestry. his mother at least died like a spanish gentlewoman. my lords, gentlemen, some of you have known me from my childhood. you have lived in our house and have followed the fortunes of my father--you have grown gray in our service. intercede for me!"
-"your excellency," said old don cæsar de agramonte, a man, who, as mercedes had said, had literally grown gray in the service of the viceroy, and who was man of birth scarcely inferior to his own, "the words of the lady mercedes move me profoundly. by your grace's leave, i venture to say that she hath spoken well and nobly, and that the young alvarado, whom we have seen in places that try men's souls to the extreme, hath always comported himself as a spanish gentleman should. this may be a lie. but if it is true, his old association with you and yours, and some humor of courage and fidelity and gentleness that i doubt not his mother gave him, have washed out the taint. will you not reconsider your words? give the maiden to the man. i am an old soldier, sir, and have done you some service. i would cheerfully stake my life to maintain his honor and his gentleness at the sword's point."
-"he speaks well, don alvaro," cried captain gayoso, another veteran soldier. "i join my plea to that of my comrade, don cæsar."
-"and i add my word, sir."
-"and i, mine."
-"and i, too," came from the other men of the suite.
-"gentlemen, i thank you," said alvarado, gratefully looking at the little group; "this is one sweet use of my adversity. i knew not i was so befriended----"
-"you hear, you hear, my father, what these noble gentlemen say?" interrupted mercedes.
-"but," continued alvarado sadly, "it is not meet that the blood of the princely de laras should be mingled with mine. rather the ancient house should fall with all its honors upon it than be kept alive by degradation. i thank you, but it can not be."
-"your excellency, we humbly press you for an answer," persisted agramonte.
-"gentlemen--and you have indeed proven yourselves generous and gentle soldiers--i appreciate what you say. your words touch me profoundly. i know how you feel, but alvarado is right. i swear to you that i would rather let my line perish than keep it in existence by such means. rather anything than that my daughter should marry--forgive me, lad--the bastard son of a pirate and buccaneer, a wicked monster, like that man!"
-"sir," exclaimed a thin, faint old voice from the outskirts of the room, "no base blood runs in the veins of that young man. you are all mistaken."
-"death and fury!" shouted morgan, who was nearer to him, "it is the priest! art alive? scuttle me, i struck you down--i do not usually need to give a second blow."
-"who is this?" asked de lara. "back, gentlemen, and give him access to our person."
-the excited men made way for a tall, pale, gaunt figure of a man clad in the habit of a dominican. as he crossed his thin hands on his breast and bowed low before the viceroy, the men marked a deeply scarred wound upon his shaven crown, a wound recently made, for it was still raw and open. the man tottered as he stood there.
-"'tis the priest!" exclaimed hornigold, who had been a silent and disappointed spectator of the scene at last. "he lives then?"
-"the good father!" said mercedes, stepping from her father's side and scanning the man eagerly. "he faints! a chair for him, gentlemen, and wine!"
-"now, sir," said the viceroy as the priest seated himself on a stool which willing hands had placed for him, after he had partaken of a generous draught of wine, which greatly refreshed him, "your name?"
-"fra antonio de las casas, your excellency, a dominican, from peru, bound for spain on the plate galleon, the almirante recalde, captured by that man. i was stricken down by his blow as i administered absolution to the mother of the young captain. i recovered and crawled into the woods for concealment, and when i saw your soldiers, your excellency, i followed, but slowly, for i am an old man and sore wounded."
-"would that my blow had bit deeper, thou false priest!" roared morgan in furious rage.
-"be still!" commanded the old viceroy sternly. "speak but another word until i give you leave and i'll have you gagged! you said strange words, holy father, when you came into the hall."
-"i did, my lord."
-"some of the conversation, sir, from which i gathered that this unfortunate man"--pointing to morgan, who as one of the chief actors in the transaction had been placed in the front rank of the circle, although tightly bound and guarded by the grim soldiers--"claimed to be the father of the brave young soldier."
-"ay, and he hath established the claim," answered de lara.
-"nay, my lord, that can not be."
-"why not, sir," interrupted alvarado, stepping forward.
-"because it is not true."
-"thank god, thank god!" cried alvarado. indeed, he almost shouted in his relief.
-"how know you this?" asked mercedes.
-"my lady, gentles all, i have proof irrefutable. he is not the child of that wicked man. his father is----"
-"i care not who," cried alvarado, having passed from death unto life in the tremendous moments, "even though he were the meanest and poorest peasant, so he were an honest man."
-"my lord," said the priest, "he was a noble gentleman."
-"i knew it, i knew it!" cried mercedes. "i said it must be so."
-"ay, a gentleman, a gentleman!" burst from the officers in the room.
-"your excellency," continued the old man, turning to the viceroy. "his blood is as noble as your own."
-"his name?" said the old man, who had stood unmoved in the midst of the tumult.
-"captain alvarado that was," cried the dominican, with an inborn love of the dramatic in his tones, "stand forth. my lord and lady, and gentles all, i present to you don francisco de guzman, the son of his excellency, the former governor of panama and of his wife, isabella zerega, a noble and virtuous lady, though of humbler walk of life and circumstance than her husband."
-"de guzman! de guzman!" burst forth from the soldiers.
-"it is a lie!" shouted hornigold. "he is morgan's son. he was given to me as such. i left him at cuchillo. you found him, sir----"
-he appealed to the viceroy.
-"my venerable father, with due respect to you, sir, we require something more than your unsupported statement to establish so great a fact," said the viceroy deliberately, although the sparkle in his eyes belied his calm.
-"your grace speaks well," said morgan, clutching at his hope still.
-"i require nothing more. i see and believe," interrupted mercedes.
-"but i want proof," sternly said her father.
-"and you shall have it," answered the priest. "that cross he wears----"
-"as i am about to die!" exclaimed morgan, "i saw his mother wear it many a time, and she put it upon his breast."
-"not this one, sir," said fra antonio, "but its fellow. there were two sisters in the family of zerega. there were two crosses made, one for each. in an evil hour the elder sister married you----"
-"we did, indeed, go through some mockery of a ceremony," muttered morgan.
-"you did, sir, and 'twas a legal one, for when you won her--by what means i know not, in maracaibo--you married her. you were forced to do so before you received her consent. one of my brethren who performed the service told me the tale. after you took her away from maracaibo her old father, broken hearted at her defection, sought asylum in panama with the remaining daughter, and there she met the governor, don francisco de guzman. he loved her, he wooed and won her, and at last he married her, but secretly. she was poor and humble by comparison with him; she had only her beauty and her virtue for her dower, and there were reasons why it were better the marriage should be concealed for a while.
-"a child was born. you were that child, sir. thither came this man with his bloody marauders. in his train was his wretched wife and her own boy, an infant, born but a short time before that of the governor. de guzman sallied out to meet them and was killed at the head of his troops. they burned panama and turned that beautiful city into a hell like unto la guayra. i found means to secrete isabella de guzman and her child. the plague raged in the town. this man's wife died. he gave command to hornigold to take the child away. he consulted me, as a priest whose life he had spared, as to what were best to do with him, and i advised cuchillo, but his child died with its mother before it could be taken away.
-"isabella de guzman was ill. i deemed it wise to send her infant away. i urged her to substitute her child for the dead body of the other, intending to provide for its reception at cuchillo, and she gave her child to the sailor. in the confusion and terror it must have been abandoned by the woman to whom it was delivered; she, it was supposed, perished when the buccaneers destroyed the place out of sheer wantonness when they left panama. i fell sick of the fever shortly after and knew not what happened. the poor mother was too seriously ill to do anything. it was months ere we recovered and could make inquiries for the child, and then it had disappeared and we found no trace of it. you, sir," pointing to hornigold, "had gone away with the rest. there was none to tell us anything. we never heard of it again and supposed it dead."
-"and my child, sir priest?" cried morgan. "what became of it?"
-"i buried it in the same grave with its poor mother with the cross on its breast. may god have mercy on their souls!"
-"a pretty tale, indeed," sneered the buccaneer.
-"it accounts in some measure for the situation," said the viceroy, "but i must have further proof."
-"patience, noble sir, and you shall have it. these crosses were of cunning construction. they open to those who know the secret. there is room in each for a small writing. each maiden, so they told me, put within her own cross her marriage lines. if this cross hath not been tampered with it should bear within its recess the attestation of the wedding of francisco de guzman and isabella zerega."
-"the cross hath never left my person," said alvarado, "since i can remember."
-"and i can bear testimony," said the viceroy, "that he hath worn it constantly since a child. though it was large and heavy i had a superstition that it should never leave his person. know you the secret of the cross?"
-"i do, for it was shown me by the woman herself."
-"step nearer, alvarado," said de lara.
-"nay, sir," said the aged priest, as alvarado came nearer him and made to take the cross from his breast, "thou hast worn it ever there. wear it to the end. i can open it as thou standest."
-he reached up to the carven cross depending from the breast of the young man bending over him.
-"a pretty story," sneered morgan again, "but had i aught to wager, i'd offer it with heavy odds that that cross holds the marriage lines of my wife."
-"thou wouldst lose, sir, for see, gentlemen," cried the priest, manipulating the crucifix with his long, slender fingers and finally opening it, "the opening! and here is a bit of parchment! read it, sir."
-he handed it to the viceroy. the old noble, lifting it to the light, scanned the closely-written, faded lines on the tiny scrap of delicate parchment.
-"'tis a certificate of marriage of----" he paused.
-"maria zerega," said morgan, triumphantly.
-"nay," answered the old man, and his triumph rung in his voice, "of isabella zerega and francisco de guzman."
-"hell and fury!" shouted the buccaneer, "'tis a trick!"
-"and signed by----"
-he stopped again, peering at the faded, almost illegible signature.
-"by whom, your excellency?" interrupted the priest smiling.
-"'tis a bit faded," said the old man, holding it nearer. "fra--an--tonio! was it thou?"
-"even so, sir. i married the mother, as i buried her yester eve upon the sand."
-"'tis a fact established," said the viceroy, satisfied at last. "don francisco de guzman, alvarado that was, thy birth and legitimacy are clear and undoubted. there by your side stands the woman you have loved. if you wish her now i shall be honored to call you my son."
-"my lord," answered alvarado, "that i am the son of an honorable gentleman were joy enough, but when thou givest me donna mercedes----"
-he turned, and with a low cry the girl fled to his arms. he drew her close to him and laid his hand upon her head, and then he kissed her before the assembled cavaliers, who broke into enthusiastic shouts and cries of happy approbation.
-"there's more evidence yet," cried the priest, thrusting his hand into the bosom of his habit and drawing forth a glittering object. "sir, i took this from the body of sister maria christina, for upon my advice she entered upon the service of the holy church after her bereavement, keeping her secret, for there was naught to be gained by its publication. that church she served long and well. many sufferers there be to whom she ministered who will rise up and call her blessed. she killed herself upon the sands rather than give aid and comfort to this man and his men, or submit herself to the evil desires of his band. sirs, i have lived long and suffered much, and done some little service for christ, his church, and his children, but i take more comfort from the absolution that i gave her when she cried for mercy against the sin of self-slaughter than for any other act in my career. here, young sir," said the priest, opening the locket, "are the pictures of your father and mother. see, cavaliers, some of you knew don francisco de guzman and can recognize him. that is his wife. she was young and had golden hair like thine, my son, in those days. you are the express image of her person as i recall it."
-"my father! my mother!" cried alvarado. "look, mercedes, look your excellency, and gentlemen, all! but her body, worthy father?"
-"even as her soul hath gone out into the new life beyond, her body was drawn out into the great deep at the call of god--but not unblessed, señors, even as she went not unshriven, for i knelt alone by her side, unable by my wounds and weakness to do more service, and said the office of our holy church."
-"may god bless thee, as i bless thee!" answered alvarado, to give him the familiar name.
-as he spoke he sank on his knees and pressed a long and fervent kiss upon the worn and withered hand of the aged man.
-"it is not meet," said the priest, withdrawing his hand and laying it in blessing upon the bowed fair head. "that which was lost is found again. let us rejoice and praise god for his mercy. donna mercedes, gentlemen, my blessing on señor de guzman and upon ye all. benedicite!" he said, making the sign of the cross.
-in which sir henry morgan appeals unavailingly alike to the pity of woman, the forgiveness of priest, the friendship of comrade, and the hatred of men
-"and bless me also, my father," cried mercedes, kneeling by alvarado's side.
-"most willingly, my fair daughter," answered the old man. "a fit helpmate indeed thou hast shown thyself for so brave a soldier. by your leave, your excellency. you will indulge an old man's desire to bless the marriage of the son as he did that of the mother? no obstacle, i take it, now exists to prevent this most happy union."
-"none," answered the viceroy, as the young people rose and stood before him, "and glad i am that this happy solution of our difficulties has come to pass."
-"and when, sir," questioned the priest further, "may i ask that you design----"
-"the sooner the better," said the viceroy smiling grimly. "by the mass, reverend father, i'll feel easier when he hath her in his charge!"
-"i shall prove as obedient to thee as wife, don francisco----" said mercedes with great spirit, turning to him.
-"nay, call me alvarado, sweet lady," interrupted her lover.
-"alvarado then, if you wish--for it was under that name that i first loved thee--i shall prove as obedient a wife to thee as i was a dutiful daughter to thee, my father."
-"'tis not saying o'er much," commented the viceroy, but smiling more kindly as he said the words. "nay, i'll take that back, mercedes, or modify it. thou hast, indeed, been to me all that a father could ask, until----"
-"'twas my fault, your excellency. on me be the punishment," interrupted the lover.
-"thou shalt have it with mercedes," answered the viceroy, laughing broadly now. "what say ye, gentlemen?"
-"my lord," said agramonte, from his age and rank assuming to speak for the rest, "there is not one of us who would not give all he possessed to stand in the young lord de guzman's place."
-"well, well," continued the old man, "when we have restored order in the town we shall have a wedding ceremony--say to-morrow."
-"ay, ay, to-morrow, to-morrow!" cried the cavaliers.
-"your excellency, there is one more thing yet to be done," said alvarado as soon as he could be heard.
-"art ever making objections, captain alvarado--don francisco, that is. we might think you had reluctance to the bridal," exclaimed the viceroy in some little surprise. "what is it now?"
-"the punishment of this man."
-"i gave him into your hands."
-"by god!" shouted old hornigold, "i wondered if in all this fathering and mothering and sweethearting and giving in marriage he had forgot----"
-"not so. the postponement but makes it deeper," answered alvarado gravely. "rest satisfied."
-"and i shall have my revenge in full measure?"
-"in full, in overflowing measure, señor."
-"do you propose to shoot me?" asked the buccaneer chieftain coolly. "or behead me?"
-"that were a death for an honorable soldier taken in arms and forced to bide the consequences of his defeat. it is not meet for you," answered alvarado.
-"what then? you'll not hang me? me! a knight of england! sometime governor of jamaica!"
-"these titles are nothing to me. and hanging is the death we visit upon the common criminal, a man who murders or steals, or blasphemes. your following may expect that. for you there is----"
-"you don't mean to burn me alive, do you?"
-"were you simply a heretic that might be meet, but you are worse----"
-"what do you mean?" cried the buccaneer, carried away by the cold-blooded menace in alvarado's words. "neither lead, nor steel, nor rope, nor fire!"
-"neither one nor the other, sir."
-"is it the wheel? the rack? the thumbscrew? sink me, ye shall see how an englishman can die! even from these i flinch not."
-"nor need you, from these, for none of them shall be used," continued the young soldier, with such calculating ferocity in his voice that in spite of his dauntless courage and intrepidity the blood of morgan froze within his veins.
-"death and destruction!" he shouted. "what is there left?"
-"you shall die, señor, not so much by the hand of man as by the act of god."
-"god! i believe in none. there is no god!"
-"that you shall see."
-"your excellency, my lords! i appeal to you to save me from this man, not my son but my nephew----"
-"s'death, sirrah!" shouted the viceroy, enraged beyond measure by the allusion to any relationship, "not a drop of your base blood pollutes his veins. i have given you over to him. he will attend to you."
-"what means he to do then?"
-"you shall see."
-the sombre, sinister, although unknown purpose of the spaniards had new terrors lent to it by the utter inability of the buccaneer to foresee what was to be his punishment. he was a man of the highest courage, the stoutest heart, yet in that hour he was astonied. his knees smote together; he clenched his teeth in a vain effort to prevent their chattering. all his devilry, his assurance, his fortitude, his strength, seemed to leave him. he stood before them suddenly an old, a broken man, facing a doom portentous and terrible, without a spark of strength or resolution left to meet it, whatever it might be. and for the first time in his life he played the craven, the coward. he moistened his dry lips and looked eagerly from one face to another in the dark and gloomy ring that encircled him.
-"lady," he said at last, turning to mercedes as the most likely of his enemies to befriend him, "you are a woman. you should be tender hearted. you don't want to see an old man, old enough to be your father, suffer some unknown, awful torture? plead for me! ask your lover. he will refuse you nothing now."
-there was a dead silence in the room. mercedes stared at the miserable wretch making his despairing appeal as if she were fascinated.
-"answer him," said her stern old father, "as a spanish gentlewoman should."
-it was a grim and terrible age. the gospel under which all lived in those days was not that of the present. it was a gospel writ in blood, and fire, and steel.
-"an eye for an eye," said the girl slowly, "a tooth for a tooth, life for life, shame for shame," her voice rising until it rang through the room. "in the name of my ruined sisters, whose wails come to us this instant from without, borne hither on the night wind, i refuse to intercede for you, monster. for myself, the insults you have put upon me, i might forgive, but not the rest. the taking of one life like yours can not repay."
-"you hear?" cried alvarado. "take him away."
-"one moment," cried morgan. "holy father--your religion--it teaches to forgive they say. intercede for me!"
-his eyes turned with faint hope toward the aged priest.
-"not for such as thou," answered the old man looking from him. "i could forgive this," he touched his battered tonsure, "and all thou hast done against me and mine. that is not little, for when i was a lad, a youth, before i took the priestly yoke upon me, i loved maria zerega--but that is nothing. what suffering comes upon me i can bear, but thou hast filled the cup of iniquity and must drain it to the dregs. hark ye--the weeping of the desolated town! i can not interfere! they that take the sword shall perish by it. it is so decreed. you believe not in god----"
-"i will! i do!" cried the buccaneer, clutching at the hope.
-"i shall pray for thee, that is all."
-"hornigold," cried the now almost frenzied man, his voice hoarse with terror and weakness, "they owe much to you. without you they had not been here. i have wronged you grievously--terribly--but i atone by this. beg them, not to let me go but only to kill me where i stand! they will not refuse you. had it not been for you this man would not have known his father. he could not have won this woman. you have power. you'll not desert an old comrade in his extremity? think, we have stood together sword in hand and fought our way through all obstacles in many a desperate strait. thou and i, old shipmate. by the memory of that old association, by the love you once bore me, and by that i gave to you, ask them for my death, here--now--at once!"
-"you ask for grace from me!" snarled hornigold savagely, yet triumphant. "you--you hanged my brother----"
-"i know, i know! 'twas a grievous error. i shall be punished for all--ask them to shoot me--hang me----"
-he slipped to his knees, threw himself upon the floor, and lay grovelling at hornigold's feet.
-"don't let them torture me, man! my god, what is it they intend to do to me?"
-"beg, you hound!" cried the boatswain, spurning him with his foot. "i have you where i swore i'd bring you. and, remember, 'tis i that laid you low--i--i--" he shrieked like a maniac. "when you suffer in that living death for which they design you, remember with every lingering breath of anguish that it was i who brought you there! you trifled with me--mocked me--betrayed me. you denied my request. i grovelled at your feet and begged you--you spurned me as i do you now. curse you! i'll ask no mercy for you!"
-"my lord," gasped out morgan, turning to the viceroy in one final appeal, as two of the men dragged him to his feet again, "i have treasure. the galleon we captured--it is buried--i can lead you there."
-"there is not a man of your following," said the viceroy, "who would not gladly purchase life by the same means."
-"and 'tis not needed," said the boatswain, "for i have told them where it lies."
-"if teach were here," said morgan, "he would stand by me."
-a man forced his way into the circle carrying a sack in his hand. drawing the strings he threw the contents at the feet of the buccaneer, and there rolled before him the severed head of the only man save black dog upon whom he could have depended, his solitary friend.
-morgan staggered back in horror from the ghastly object, staring at it as if fascinated.
-"ha, ha! ho, ho!" laughed the old boatswain. "what was it that he sang? 'we'll be damnably mouldy'--ay, even you and i captain--'an hundred years hence.' but should you live so long, you'll not forget 'twas i."
-"you didn't betray me then, my young comrade," whispered morgan, looking down at the severed head. "you fought until you were killed. would that my head might lie by your side."
-he had been grovelling, pleading, weeping, beseeching, but the utter uselessness of it at last came upon him and some of his courage returned. he faced them once more with head uplifted.
-"at your will, i'm ready," he cried. "i defy you! you shall see how harry morgan can die. scuttle me, i'll not give way again!"
-"take him away," said alvarado; "we'll attend to him in the morning."
-"wait! give me leave, since i am now tried and condemned, to say a word."
-a cunning plan had flashed into the mind of morgan, and he resolved to put it in execution.
-"it has been a long life, mine, and a merry one. there's more blood upon my hands--spanish blood, gentlemen--than upon those of any other human being. there was puerto principe. were any of you there? the men ran like dogs before me there and left the women and children. i wiped my feet upon your accursed spanish flag. i washed the blood from my hands with hair torn from the heads of your wives, your sweethearts, and you had not courage to defend them!"
-a low murmur of rage swept through the room.
-"but that's not all. some of you perhaps were at porto bello. i drove the women of the convents to the attack, as in this city yesterday. when i finished i burned the town--it made a hot fire. i did it--i--who stand here! i and that cursed one-eyed traitor hornigold, there!"
-the room was in a tumult now. shouts, and curses, and imprecations broke forth. weapons were bared, raised, and shaken at him. the buccaneer laughed and sneered, ineffable contempt pictured on his face.
-"and some of you were at santa clara, at chagres, and here in venezuela at maracaibo, where we sunk the ships and burned your men up like rats. then, there was panama. we left the men to starve and die. your mother, señor agramonte--what became of her? your sister, there! your wife, here! the sister of your mother, you young dog--what became of them all? hell was let loose in this town yesterday. panama was worse than la guayra. i did it--i--harry morgan's way!"
-he thrust himself into the very faces of the men, and with cries of rage they rushed upon him. they brushed aside the old viceroy, drowning his commands with their shouts. had it not been for the interference of hornigold and alvarado they would have cut morgan to pieces where he stood. and this had been his aim--to provoke them beyond measure by a recital of some of his crimes so that he would be killed in their fury. but the old boatswain with superhuman strength seized the bound captain and forced him into a corner behind a table, while alvarado with lightning resolution beat down the menacing sword points.
-"back!" he cried. "do you not see he wished to provoke this to escape just punishment? i would have silenced him instantly but i thought ye could control yourselves. i let him rave on that he might be condemned out of his own mouth, that none could have doubt that he merits death at our hands to-morrow. sheath your weapons instantly, gentlemen!" he cried.
-"ay," said the viceroy, stepping into the crowd and endeavoring to make himself heard, "under pain of my displeasure. what, soldiers, nobles, do ye turn executioners in this way?"
-"the women and children----"
-"the insult to the flag----"
-"the disgrace to the spanish name!"
-"that he should say these things and live!"
-"i am ready now!" cried morgan recklessly, furious because he had been balked in his attempt. "do with me as you will! i have had my day, and it has been a long and merry one."
-"and i mine, to-night. it has been short, but enough," laughed hornigold, his voice ringing like a maniac's in the hall. "for i have had my revenge!"
-"we shall take care of that in the morning," said alvarado, turning away to follow the viceroy and mercedes.
-in which the career of sir henry morgan is ended on isla de la tortuga, to the great delectation of master benjamin hornigold, his sometime friend
-and last. wherein is seen how the judgment of god came upon the buccaneers in the end
-before it was submerged by the great earthquake which so tremendously overwhelmed the shores of south america with appalling disaster nearly a century and a half later, a great arid rock on an encircling stretch of sandy beach--resultant of untold centuries of struggle between stone and sea--thrust itself above the waters a few miles northward of the coast of venezuela. the cay was barren and devoid of any sort of life except for a single clump of bushes that had sprung up a short distance from the huge rock upon a little plateau sufficiently elevated to resist the attacks of the sea, which at high tide completely overflowed the islet except at that one spot.
-four heavy iron staples had been driven with great difficulty into holes drilled in the face of the volcanic rock. to these four large chains had been made fast. the four chains ended in four fetters and the four fetters enclosed the ankles and wrists of a man. the length of the four chains had been so cunningly calculated that the arms and legs of the man were drawn far apart, so that he resembled a gigantic white cross against the dark surface of the stone. a sailor would have described his position by saying that he had been "spread-eagled" by those who had fastened him there. yet the chains were not too short to allow a little freedom of motion. he could incline to one side or to the other, lift himself up or down a little, or even thrust himself slightly away from the face of the rock.
-the man was in tatters, for his clothing had been rent and torn by the violent struggles he had made before he had been securely fastened in his chains. he was an old man, and his long gray hair fell on either side of his lean, fierce face in tangled masses. a strange terror of death--the certain fate that menaced him, was upon his countenance. he had borne himself bravely enough except for a few craven moments, while in the presence of his captors and judges, chief among whom had been the young spanish soldier and the one-eyed sailor whom he had known for so many years. with the bravado of despair he had looked with seeming indifference on the sufferings of his own men that same morning. after being submitted to the tortures of the rack, the boot, the thumbscrew, or the wheel, in accordance with the fancy of their relentless captors, they had been hanged to the outer walls and he had been forced to pass by them on his way to this hellish spot. but the real courage of the man was gone now. his simulation had not even been good enough to deceive his enemies, and now even that had left him.
-he was alone, so he believed, upon the island, and all of the mortal fear slowly creeping upon him already appeared in his awful face, clearly exhibited by the light of the setting sun streaming upon his left hand for he was chained facing northward, that is, seaward. as he fancied himself the only living thing upon that island he took little care to conceal his emotions--indeed, it was impossible for him any longer to keep up the pretence of indifference. his nerves were shattered, his spirit broken. retribution was dogging him hard. vengeance was close at hand at last. besides, what mattered it? he thought himself alone, absolutely alone. but in that fancy he was wrong, for in the solitary little copse of bushes of which mention has been made there lay hidden a man--an ancient sailor. his single eye gleamed as fiercely upon the bound, shackled prisoner as did the setting sun itself.
-old benjamin hornigold, who had schemed and planned for his revenge, had insisted upon being put ashore on the other side of the island after the boats had rowed out of sight of the captive, that he might steal back and, himself unseen, watch the torture of the man who had betrayed him and wronged him so deeply that in his diseased mind no expiation could be too awful for the crime; that he might glut his fierce old soul with the sight for which it had longed since the day harry morgan, beholden to him as he was for his very life and fortune, for a thousand brave and faithful, if nefarious, services, had driven him like a dog from his presence. alvarado--who, being a spaniard, could sympathize and understand the old sailor's lust for revenge--had readily complied with his request, and had further promised to return for the boatswain in two days. they calculated nicely that the already exhausted prisoner would scarcely survive that long, and provisions and water ample for that period had been left for the sustenance of hornigold--alone.
-morgan, however, did not know this. he believed his only companions to be the body of the half-breed who had died for him as he had lived for him, and the severed head of a newer comrade who had not betrayed him. the body lay almost at his feet; the head had been wedged in the sand so that its sightless face was turned toward him in the dreadful, lidless staring gaze of sudden death. and those two were companions with whom he could better have dispensed, even in his solitude.
-they had said to the buccaneer, as they fastened him to the rocks, that they would not take his life, but that he would be left to the judgment of god. what would that be? he thought he knew.
-he had lived long enough on the caribbean to know the habits of that beautiful and cruel sea. there was a little stretch of sand at his feet and then the water began. he estimated that the tide had been ebbing for an hour or so when he was fastened up and abandoned. the rock to which he had been chained was still wet, and he noticed that the dampness existed far above his head. the water would recede--and recede--and recede--until perhaps some three hundred feet of bare sand would stretch before him, and then it would turn and come back, back, back. where would it stop? how high would it rise? would it flood in in peaceful calm as it was then drawing away? would it come crashing in heavy assault upon the sands as it generally did, beating out his life against the rock? he could not tell. he gazed at it intently so long as there was light, endeavoring to decide the momentous question. to watch it was something to do. it gave him mental occupation, and so he stared and stared at the slowly withdrawing water-line.
-of the two he thought he should prefer a storm. he would be beaten to pieces, the life battered out of him horribly in that event; but that would be a battle, a struggle,--action. he could fight, if he could not wait and endure. it would be a terrible death, but it would be soon over and, therefore, he preferred it to the slow horror of watching the approach of the waters creeping in and up to drown him. the chief agony of his position, however, the most terrifying feature in this dreadful situation to which his years of crime had at last brought him, was that he was allowed no choice. he had always been a man of swift, prompt, bold action; self-reliant, fearless, resolute, a master not a server; accustomed to determine events in accordance with his own imperious will, and wont to bring them about as he planned. to be chained there, impotent, helpless, waiting, indeed, the judgment of god, was a thing which it seemed impossible for him to bear. the indecision of it, the uncertainty of it, added to his helplessness and made it the more appalling to him.
-the judgment of god! he had never believed in a god since his boyhood days, and he strove to continue in his faithlessness now. he had been a brave man, dauntless and intrepid, but cold, paralyzing fear now gripped him by the heart. a few lingering sparks of the manhood and courage of the past that not even his crimes had deprived him of still remained in his being, however, and he strove as best he might to control the beating of his heart, to still the trembling of his arms and legs which shook the chains against the stone face of the rock making them ring out in a faint metallic clinking, which was the sweetest music that had ever pierced the eager hollow of the ear of the silent listener and watcher concealed in the thicket.
-so long as it was light morgan intently watched the sea. there was a sense of companionship in it which helped to alleviate his unutterable loneliness. and he was a man to whom loneliness in itself was a punishment. there were too many things in the past that had a habit of making their presence felt when he was alone, for him ever to desire to be solitary. presently the sun disappeared with the startling suddenness of tropic latitudes, and without twilight darkness fell over the sea and over his haggard face like a veil. the moon had not yet risen and he could see nothing. there were a few faint clouds on the horizon, he had noticed, which might presage a storm. it was very dark and very still, as calm and peaceful a tropic night as ever shrouded the caribbean. farther and farther away from him he could hear the rustle of the receding waves as the tide went down. over his head twinkled the stars out of the deep darkness.
-in that vast silence he seemed to hear a voice, still and small, talking to him in a faint whisper that yet pierced the very centre of his being. all that it said was one word repeated over and over again, "god--god--god!" the low whisper beat into his brain and began to grow there, rising louder and louder in its iteration until the whole vaulted heaven throbbed with the ringing sound of it. he listened--listened--it seemed for hours--until his heart burst within him. at last he screamed and screamed, again and again, "yes--yes! now i know--i know!" and still the sound beat on.
-he saw strange shapes in the darkness. one that rose and rose, and grew and grew, embracing all the others until its head seemed to touch the stars, and ever it spoke that single word "god--god--god!" he could not close his eyes, but if he had been able to raise his hand he would have hid his face. the wind blew softly, it was warm and tender, yet the man shivered with cold, the sweat beaded his brow.
-then the moon sprang up as suddenly as the sun had fallen. her silver radiance flooded the firmament. light, heavenly light once more! he was alone. the voice was still; the shadow left him. far away from him the white line of the water was breaking on the silver sand. his own cry came back to him and frightened him in the dead silence.
-now the tide turned and came creeping in. it had gone out slowly; it had lingered as if reluctant to leave him; but to his distraught vision it returned with the swiftness of a thousand white horses tossing their wind-blown manes. the wind died down; the clouds were dissipated. the night was so very calm, it mocked the storm raging in his soul. and still the silvered water came flooding in; gently--tenderly--caressingly--the little waves lapped the sands. at last they lifted the ghastly head of young teach--he'd be damnably mouldy a hundred years hence!--and laid it at his feet.
-he cursed the rising water, and bade it stay--and heedlessly it came on. it was a tropic sea and the waters were as warm as those of any sun-kissed ocean, but they broke upon his knees with the coldness of eternal ice. they rolled the heavier body of his faithful slave against him--he strove to drive it away with his foot as he had striven to thrust aside the ghastly head, and without avail. the two friends receded as the waves rolled back but they came on again, and again, and again. they had been faithful to him in life, they remained with him in death.
-now the water broke about his waist; now it rose to his breast. he was exhausted; worn out. he hung silent, staring. his mind was busy; his thought went back to that rugged welsh land where he had been born. he saw himself a little boy playing in the fields that surrounded the farmhouse of his father and mother.
-he took again that long trip across the ocean. he lived again in the hot hell of the caribbean. old forms of forgotten buccaneers clustered about him. mansfelt, under whom he had first become prominent himself. there on the horizon rose the walls of a sleeping town. with his companions he slowly crept forward through the underbrush, slinking along like a tiger about to spring upon its prey. the doomed town flamed before his eyes. the shrieks of men, the prayers of women, the piteous cries of little children came into his ears across forty years.
-the water was higher now; it was at his neck. there were porto bello, puerto principe, and maracaibo, and chagres and panama--ah, panama! all the fiends of hell had been there, and he had been their chief! they came back now to mock him. they pointed at him, gibbered upon him, threatened him, and laughed--great god, how they laughed!
-there was pale-faced, tender-eyed maria zerega who had died of the plague, and the baby, the boy. jamaica, too, swept into his vision. there was his wife shrinking away from him in the very articles of death. there was young ebenezer hornigold, dancing right merrily upon the gallows together with others of the buccaneers he had hanged.
-the grim figure of the one-eyed boatswain rose before him and leered upon him and swept the other apparitions away. this was la guayra--yesterday. he had been betrayed. whose men were those? the men hanging on the walls? and hornigold had done it--old ben hornigold--that he thought so faithful.
-he screamed aloud again with hate, he called down curses upon the head of the growing one-eyed apparition. and the water broke into his mouth and stopped him. it called him to his senses for a moment. his present peril overcame the hideous recollection of the past. that water was rising still. great god! at last he prayed. lips that had only cursed shaped themselves into futile petitions. there was a god, after all.
-the end was upon him, yet with the old instinct of life he lifted himself upon his toes. he raised his arms as far as the chains gave him play and caught the chains themselves and strove to pull, to lift, at last only to hold himself up, a rigid, awful figure. he gained an inch or two, but his fetters held him down. as the water supported him he found little difficulty in maintaining the position for a space. but he could go no higher--if the water rose an inch more that would be the end. he could breathe only between the breaking waves now.
-the body of the black was swung against him again and again; the head of young teach kissed him upon the cheek; and still the water seemed to rise, and rise, and rise. he was a dead man like the other two, indeed he prayed to die, and yet in fear he clung to the chains and held on. each moment he fancied would be his last. but he could not let go. oh, god! how he prayed for a storm; that one fierce wave might batter him to pieces; but the waters were never more calm than on that long, still night, the sea never more peaceful than in those awful hours.
-by and by the waters fell. he could not believe it at first. he still hung suspended and waited with bated breath. was he deceived? no, the waters were surely falling. the seconds seemed minutes to him, the minutes, hours. at last he gained assurance. there was no doubt but that the tide was going down. the waves had risen far, but he had been lifted above them; now they were falling, falling! yes, and they were bearing away that accursed body and that ghastly head. he was alive still, saved for the time being. the highest waves only touched his breast now. lower--lower--they moved away. reluctantly they lingered; but they fell, they fell.
-to drown? that was not the judgment of god for him then. what would it be? his head fell forward on his breast--he had fainted in the sudden relief of his undesired salvation.
-long time he hung there and still the tide ebbed away, carrying with it all that was left of the only two who had loved him. he was alone now, surely, save for that watcher in the bushes. after a while consciousness returned to him again, and after the first swift sense of relief there came to him a deeper terror, for he had gone through the horror and anguish of death and had not died. he was alive still, but as helpless as before.
-what had the power he had mocked designed for his end? was he to watch that ghastly tide come in again and rise, and rise, and rise until it caught him by the throat and threatened to choke him, only to release him as before? was he to go through that daily torture until he starved or died of thirst? he had not had a bite to eat, a drop to drink, since the day before.
-it was morning now. on his right hand the sun sprang from the ocean bed with the same swiftness with which it had departed the night before. like the tide, it, too, rose, and rose. there was not a cloud to temper the fierceness with which it beat upon his head, not a breath of air to blow across his fevered brow. the blinding rays struck him like hammers of molten iron. he stared at it out of his frenzied, blood-shot eyes and writhed beneath its blazing heat. before him the white sand burned like smelted silver, beyond him the tremulous ocean seemed to seethe and bubble under the furious fire of the glowing heaven above his head--a vault of flaming topaz over a sapphire sea.
-he closed his eyes, but could not shut out the sight--and then the dreams of night came on him again. his terrors were more real, more apparent, more appalling, because he saw his dreaded visions in the full light of day. by and by these faded as the others had done. all his faculties were merged into one consuming desire for water--water. the thirst was intolerable. unless he could get some his brain would give way. he was dying, dying, dying! oh, god, he could not die, he was not ready to die! oh, for one moment of time, for one drop of water--god--god--god!
-suddenly before his eyes there arose a figure. at first he fancied it was another of the apparitions which had companied with him during the awful night and morning; but this was a human figure, an old man, bent, haggard like himself with watching, but with a fierce mad joy in his face. where had he come from? who was he? what did he want? the figure glared upon the unhappy man with one fiery eye, and then he lifted before the captive's distorted vision something--what was it--a cup of water? water--god in heaven--water brimming over the cup! it was just out of reach of his lips--so cool, so sweet, so inviting! he strained at his chains, bent his head, thrust his lips out. he could almost touch it--not quite! he struggled and struggled and strove to break his fetters, but without avail. those fetters could not be broken by the hand of man. he could not drink--ah, god!--then he lifted his blinded eyes and searched the face of the other.
-"hornigold!" he whispered hoarsely with his parched and stiffened lips. "is it thou?"
-a deep voice beat into his consciousness.
-"ay. i wanted to let you know there was water here. you must be thirsty. you'd like a drink? so would i. there is not enough for both of us. who will get it? i. look!"
-"not one drop," answered hornigold, "not one drop! if you were in hell and i held a river in my hand, you would not get a drop! it's gone."
-he threw the cup from him.
-"i brought you to this--i! do you recall it? you owe this to me. you had your revenge--this is mine. but it's not over yet. i'm watching you. i shall not come out here again, but i'm watching you, remember that! i can see you!"
-"hornigold, for god's sake, have pity!"
-"you know no god; you have often boasted of it--neither do i. and you never knew pity--neither do i!"
-"take that knife you bear--kill me!"
-"i don't want you to die--not yet. i want you to live--live--a long time, and remember!"
-"hornigold, i'll make amends! i'll be your slave!"
-"ay, crawl and cringe now, you dog! i swore that you should do it! it's useless to beg me for mercy. i know not that word--neither did you. there is nothing left in me but hate--hate for you. i want to see you suffer----"
-"the tide! it's coming back. i can't endure this heat and thirst! it won't drown me----"
-"live, then," said the boatswain. "remember, i watch!"
-he threw his glance upward, stopped suddenly, a fierce light in that old eye of his.
-"look up," he cried, "and you will see! take heart, man. i guess you won't have to wait for the tide, and the sun won't bother you long. remember, i am watching you!"
-he turned and walked away, concealing himself in the copse once more where he could see and not be seen. the realization that he was watched by one whom he could not see, one who gloated over his miseries and sufferings and agonies, added the last touch to the torture of the buccaneer. he had no longer strength nor manhood, he no longer cried out after that one last appeal to the merciless sailor. he did not even look up in obedience to the old man's injunction. what was there above him, beneath him, around him, that could add to his fear? he prayed for death. they were the first and last prayers that had fallen from his lips for fifty years, those that day. yet when death did come at last he shrank from it with an increasing terror and horror that made all that he had passed through seem like a trifle.
-when old hornigold had looked up he had seen a speck in the vaulted heaven. it was slowly soaring around and around in vast circles, and with each circle coming nearer and nearer to the ground. a pair of keen and powerful eyes were aloft there piercing the distance, looking, searching, in every direction, until at last their glance fell upon the figure upon the rock. the circling stopped. there was a swift rush through the air. a black feathered body passed between the buccaneer and the sun, and a mighty vulture, hideous bird of the tropics, alighted on the sands near by him.
-so this was the judgment of god upon this man! for a second his tortured heart stopped its beating. he stared at the unclean thing, and then he shrank back against the rock and screamed with frantic terror. the bird moved heavily back a little distance and stopped, peering at him. he could see it by turning his head. he could drive it no farther. in another moment there was another rush through the air, another, another! he screamed again. still they came, until it seemed as if the earth and the heavens were black with the horrible birds. high in the air they had seen the first one swooping to the earth, and with unerring instinct, as was their habit, had turned and made for the point from which the first had dropped downward to the shore.
-they circled themselves about him. they sat upon the rock above him. they stared at him with their lustful, carrion, jeweled eyes out of their loathsome, featherless, naked heads, drawing nearer--nearer--nearer. he could do no more. his voice was gone. his strength was gone. he closed his eyes, but the sight was still before him. his bleeding, foamy lips mumbled one unavailing word:
-from the copse there came no sound, no answer. he sank forward in his chains, his head upon his breast, convulsive shudders alone proclaiming faltering life. hell had no terror like to this which he, living, suffered.
-there was a weight upon his shoulder now fierce talons sank deep into his quivering flesh. in front of his face, before a pair of lidless eyes that glowed like fire, a hellish, cruel beak struck at him. a faint, low, ghastly cry trembled through the still air.
-the waters dashed, about his feet and seemed to awaken some new idea in his disordered brain.
-"what!" he cried, "the tide is in. up anchor, lads! we must beat out to sea. captain, i'll follow you. harry morgan's way to lead--old ben hornigold's to follow--ha, ha! ho, ho!"
-he waded out into the water, slowly going deeper and deeper. a wave swept him off his feet. a hideous laugh came floating back over the sea, and then he struck out, and out, and out----
-and so the judgment of god was visited upon sir henry morgan and his men at last, and as it was writ of old:
-with what measure they had meted out, it had been measured back to them again!
-the trimming of goosie
-by james hopper author of "caybigan," "9009," etc.
-copyright, 1909, by curtis publishing company
-copyright, 1909, by moffat, yard and company
-the quinn & boden co. press rahway, n.j.
-the trimming of goosie
-"why, goosie, what are you doing?"
-goosie, otherwise mr. charles-norton sims, dropped his arms hastily down his sides and stood very still, caged in the narrow space between porcelain tub and gleaming towel-rack. the mirror before which he had been performing his morning calisthenics faced him uncompromisingly; it showed him that he was blushing. the sight increased his embarrassment. for a moment panic went bounding and rebounding swiftly in painted contagion from goosie to the mirror, from the mirror to goosie; the blush, at first faint on charles-norton's brow, flamed, spread over his face, down his neck, fell in cascade along his broad shoulders, and then rippled down his satiny skin clear to the barrier of the swimming trunks tight about his waist. it was some time before he mustered the courage to turn his foolish face toward the door through which had sounded the cooing cry of his little wife.
-the door was but a few inches a-jar; it let pass only the round little nose of the round little wife, between two wide-open blue-flowers of eyes. "what are you doing, goosie?" she repeated in a tone slightly amused but rich with a large tolerance; "what are you doing, goosie, eh?"
-"nothing, dolly," he answered, his straight, athletic body a bit gawky with embarrassment; "nothing."
-then, as she peered, still doubtful, through the crack: "it's a new exercise i have--a dandy. see?"
-and lamely he placed both his hands beneath his armpits and waved his elbows up and down three times.
-"oh," she said, as if satisfied.
-but, as a matter of fact, this was not the accurate repetition of what she had seen. he had been standing before the mirror very straight, then, a-tip-toe, his chest bulging; his arms, bent with hands beneath the shoulders, had been beating up and down with a rapidity that made of them a mere white vibration, their tattoo upon his ribs like the beating of a drum; and suddenly, as if to some singular ecstasy, his head had gone back and out of his rounded mouth there had clarioned a clear cock-a-doo-del-doo-oo, much like that of chanticleer heralding the sun.
-"it's fine--it's fine for the pectoral muscles," he went on, more firmly.
-"well," she said charitably, "jump into your bath, quick, dear. breakfast is ready, and you'll be late at the office again if you don't hurry." she closed the door softly upon him.
-it was seldom that she intruded thus upon the mystery of his morning hygienics. it was with a clothed charles-norton that she had first fallen in love; and like most women (who, being practical, realize that, since it is dressed, after all, that men go through the world, it is dressed that they must be judged) dolly appreciated her handsome young husband best in his broad-shouldered sack-coat and well-creased trousers.
-charles-norton, still rather abashed, dropped into the cold green tub, splashed, rubbed down, dressed, and sat down to breakfast. as he ate his waffles, though, out of the blue breakfast set which dolly's charming, puzzle-browed economy had managed to extort from the recalcitrant family budget, his usual glowing loquacity of after-the-bath was lacking. his eyes wandered furtively about the little encumbered room; thoughts, visibly, rolled within his head which did not find his lips. and when he bade dolly good-by, on the fifth-story landing, she missed in his kiss the usual warm linger.
-when charles-norton reached the street, a narrow side-street in which like a glacier the ice of the whole winter was still heaped, a whiff of soft air, perfumed with a suspicion of spring, struck him gently in the face. he drew it in deep within his lungs, and exhaled it in a long sigh. and then he stopped abruptly, and was standing very still, listening; listening to this sigh, to the echo of it still within his consciousness, as if testing it. he shook his head disapprovingly. "gee," he said; "hope i'm not getting discontented again!"
-as if in response, another gentle gust came down the street; he caught it as it came and drew it deep within him. his chest swelled, his eyes brightened. and then suddenly he tensed; he rose a-tip-toe, heels close together, his head went back; his hands stole to his armpits, and his elbows began to wave up and down.
-"good lord!" he ejaculated, catching himself up sharply; "here goes that darned flapping again!"
-he looked up and down the street, assuming a negligent attitude. his forehead was red. "nope," he said. no one had seen him. "she saw me this morning," he thought, and the red of his forehead came down to his cheeks. "it's getting worse; a regular habit. let me see--two, three; it began three weeks ago----"
-he shook his head perplexedly and resumed his way toward the elevated station.
-"it may have been all right when i was a boy," he said to himself as he swung along. "but now!
-"let me see. i was fourteen, the first time."
-a picture rose before his eyes. it had happened in a far western land--a land that now remained in his memory as a pool of gold beneath a turquoise sky. he was lying there in the wild oats, upon his back, and above him in the sky a hawk circled free. he watched it long thus, relaxed in a sort of droning somnolence; then suddenly, to a particularly fine spiral of the bird in the air, something like a convulsion had shot through his body, and he had found himself erect, head back and chest forward, his arms flapping----
-"'twas the day before i ran away with the circus," he soliloquized in the midst of the throng milling up the elevated station stairs. "and later, when i had come back from the circus, i took that long bum on brake-beams. and when i had come back from that, a little later i went off in the forecastle of the 'tropic bird' to tahiti. and each time that flapping business came first. every time i've done something wild and foolish, i've flapped first like this. first i'd flap, then i'd feel like doing something, i wouldn't know what, then i'd do it--and it would be something foolish----"
-the train slid up to the platform; he boarded it and by some miracle found on the bench behind the door of the last car a narrow space in which he squeezed himself.
-"i'll have to stop it," he said decisively.
-he drew from his breast pocket a note-book and a pencil. opening the book out across his knees, he bent over it and began to draw. he worked with concentration, but seemingly with little result, for he drew only detached lines. there were spirals, circles, ovals, parabolas; lines that curved upward, broke, and curved again downward, like gothic arches; lines that curved in gentle languor; lines that breathed like the undulations of a peaceful sea; and then just zipping, swift, straight lines that shot up to the upper end of the paper and seemed to continue invisibly toward an altitudinous nowhere. this is all he drew, and yet as he worked there was in his face the set of stubborn purpose, and in his eyes the glow of aspiration. he tried to make each line beautiful and firm and swift and pure. when he succeeded, he felt within him the bubbling of a sweet contentment. this would be followed by dissatisfaction, renewed yearning--and he would begin again.
-"by jove!" he muttered in sudden consternation, straightening away from the book.
-and then, "they began at the same time."
-and a moment later, "and they are the same."
-it had struck him abruptly that the strange urge which made him draw lines was like that which at times convulsed his body into that mysterious manifestation which, for the want of a better word, he called his "flapping." the two things had begun together, and they were of the same essence. the impulse which possessed him as he tried for beauty with paper and pencil was the same which swelled his lungs and his heart, which made him rise a-tip-toe and wave his arms. it came from a feeling of subtle and inexplicable dissatisfaction; it was made of a vague and vast longing. it was the same which, when a boy, had sent him to the brake-beam, the circus, and the sea; it was to be distrusted.
-he slammed the book shut and put it in his pocket. "no more of this," he said.
-a certain confidence, though, came gradually into his eyes. "after all, these things do not mean much now," he thought. "i was a boy, then, and unhappy. i am a man, now, and happy."
-his mind idled back over the two years since his marriage, over the warm coziness of the last two years. what a wife, this little dolly! what a little swaddler! she wrapped up everything as in cotton--all the asperities of life, and the asperities of charles-norton himself also. gone for the two years had been the old uncertainties, the vague tumults, the blind surges. yes, he was happy.
-this word happy, for the second time on his tongue, set him a-dreaming. a picture came floating before his eyes. and curiously enough, it was not of dolly, nor of the padded little flat----
-it was of a boy, a boy in blue overalls and cotton shirt, lying on his back amid the wild oats of a golden land, his eyes to the sky, watching up there the free wide circle of a hawk----
-"soy, mister, wot the deuce do you think you're doing?" shouted a husky and protesting voice in his ear.
-and charles-norton came back precipitously to the present. by his side a pale youth was squirming indignantly. charles-norton's elbow was in the youth's ribs, and his elbow was still stirring with the last oscillation of the movement that had agitated it. "soy," cried the youth in disgust; "d'yous think you's a chicken?"
-"i beg your pardon," said charles-norton, in an agony of humility; "i beg your pardon."
-but the youth refused to be mollified. though he said nothing more, he kept upon charles-norton the snarl of his pale face and at regular intervals rubbed his ribs as though they pained him exceedingly. charles-norton was glad to reach his station.
-that morning, in his glass cage, he muddled his columns several times. he was far from an admirable accountant at his best; but this day he was what he termed "the limit." totals fled him like birds, with a whir of wings. a sun-gleam hypnotized him once, for he did not know how long; and his nose, a little later, followed for several gymnastic minutes the flutter of a white moth.
-at lunch, in konrad's bakery, he found himself seated, by a singular chance, next to the very same youth whose ribs he had crushed on the elevated a few hours before. the young man was in more amiable mood. he grinned. "don't you flap again and spill me coffee, mr. chicken," he said, with delicate persiflage.
-"i won't," said charles-norton. "i'll buy you another cup if i do."
-"got a dollar?" asked the youth, irrelevantly. his thin, pale nose quivered a bit.
-"i don't know," said charles-norton, hesitatingly. dollars were big in his budget. "why?"
-the youth drew from a pocket a yellow cardboard. "got a lottery ticket i want to sell," he said easily. "little texas. hundred thousand first prize and lots of other prizes. got to sell it to pay me lunch. played the ponies yesterday."
-charles-norton eyed the ticket doubtfully. usually, he would not have considered the matter a moment. but somehow the incident of the morning had placed him at a disadvantage toward the pale youth. vaguely he was moved by a wish to regain by some act the respect of this exacting person. he bought the ticket.
-"maybe this was the foolish act that all this flapping announced," he said to himself, once outside, in answer to a not uncertain prick of his marital conscience. "buying this ticket is like buying a lightning-rod; it may draw off the lightning!"
-but his singular malady, during the afternoon, did not disappear. it waxed, in fact; it passed the borders of the spiritual and assumed physical symptoms. "dolly," he said, when he was again within the warmth of the little flat in the evening; "dolly, would you mind looking at my shoulders after a while?"
-"why, of course, i'll look at them, goosie," answered dolly, immediately alert at the possibility of doing something for the big man; "what is the matter with your shoulders, goosie?"
-"i don't know," he said, sinking a bit wearily into the morris chair. "they pain; just like rheumatism or growing pain. and they tickle too, dolly; they tickle all the time." he crossed his arms, raising a hand to each shoulder, and rubbed them with a shiver of delight. "it's a nuisance," he said.
-"well, we'll see about it right away," said dolly. "right after supper." her eyes grew big with concern. "you may have caught cold. come on, dear," she said, brightening; "i've the dandiest, deliciousest soup, right out of the ladies' home journal, for you!"
-"why, goosie; i tell you the lumps are growing. they're great big now, goosie. oh, why don't you let me take you to the doctor! i know something is the matter!"
-dolly had tears in her eyes almost, and her voice was very dolorous. for the fourteenth time in two weeks, she was treating the singular shoulders of charles-norton. he was sitting beneath the glow of the evening lamp, his coat off, his shirt pulled down to his elbows; and she, standing behind the chair, was leaning solicitously over him. a wisp of her hair caressed his right ear, but somehow did not relax his temper. "well, let them alone, dolly," he growled; "let them alone. good lord, let them alone!"
-for two weeks he had been getting more and more peevish. to be sure, for two weeks, daily, his shoulders had been washed and rubbed and massaged and lotioned and parboiled and anointed and fomented and capsicon-plastered, till his very soul was sensitive and a suspicion was agrowl within him--a bad, mean feeling that dolly was finding a bit, just a bit, of something akin to pleasure in the ardor of her ministrations. besides, he was fighting a moral fight of his own. great bursts of dissatisfaction swept through him every day now; and it was only by a constant vigilance that he kept his vagrant elbows close to his ribs.
-"let them be for a while, dolly," he repeated in gentler tone. "besides--besides----"
-but he left unsaid the thought following the "besides." "now, dear," said dolly, kindly, but with a certain firmness; "you've simply got to let me see what i can do. why, goosie, you can't go on in this way! you'd be getting humps on your back! no--no; we'll try a nice little ice-pack to-night."
-"i don't want any ice-packs!" yelped charles-norton (what a bad-mannered young man he had become!); "i'm tired of fomentations and things! besides"--and this time the besides did not pause, but burst out of him like a stream from a high-pressure hydrant--"besides, it isn't what i want----" and to an irresistible impulse his right hand reached out for a brush and, crossing over to his left shoulder, began rubbing it vigorously.
-"goosie, goosie, my clothes-brush, my best clothes-brush!"
-but the lament in dolly's voice had little effect upon charles-norton. he was brushing himself with grave concentration. "get the flesh-brush," he mumbled between set teeth, rubbing the while; "gee, this feels good. get the pack to-night."
-dolly ran into the bath-room and returned with the flesh-brush; charles-norton made an exchange without losing a stroke. "that's something like it," he murmured.
-"but, goosie," began dolly. her voice was low now; she stood withdrawn from him as if a bit afraid; her hands were clasped and her lips trembled. "goosie, dear; don't do that. oh, don't; you'll hurt yourself. it's getting all red, goosie. you're rubbing the skin off, i tell you. why, it's almost bleeding--goosie, goosie, stop it, stop it!"
-"feels lots better," he said unfeelingly. "look at it." and transferring the brush to his left hand, he began to rub the right shoulder, raising his left for dolly's inspection.
-she approached timidly. "you've rubbed all the poor skin off," she announced. "it's bleeding." he felt the light touch of her fingers. "why, goosie--there's something--something. why, goosie!"
-the last was almost a cry, and the silence that followed had an awe-stricken pulse. "what is it?" he asked, still busily brushing.
-"why, there's something"--again he felt the tender touch of her fingers--"there're a lot of little things--a lot of little things pricking right through the skin!"
-"let me rub it some more," he said, transferring the brush. "now, look at it," he said, after several more vigorous minutes of his strange treatment.
-this time it was a cry to stab the heart. he dropped the brush and looked up at her. she was pale, and her eyes were very big. "well, what is the matter now," he asked impatiently.
-she came near again, still pale, but with lips tight. "a-ouch!" he yelped.
-for with a sudden sharp movement, she had plucked something out of his shoulder. a smart came into his eyes; it was as if a lock of hair had been pulled out by the roots. "look at this, goosie," she said with forced calmness, and placed something in his hand.
-it was very small and very soft. he dropped his eyes upon it as it lay lightly in his palm. "good lord!" he ejaculated, his bad humor gone suddenly into a genuine concern; "good lord!" he said, rising to his feet in consternation; "it's a; it's a----"
-"it's a feather," said dolly, with sepulchral finality; "it's a feather."
-"isn't it pretty, dolly?" he said. "isn't it pretty? just look at it. so white, and fresh, and new, and glistening. and see the curve, the slender curve of it--oh, dolly, isn't it pretty and fine?"
-but dolly, collapsed in a chair, broke out a-crying. "oh, goosie, goosie, what are we going to do now?" she wailed; "what are we to do? o--o----"
-"well," said charles-norton, the spirit of contradiction which for several days had been within him rising to his lips; "well, i don't see what there is to make so much fuss about. a few feathers are not going to hurt a man, are they? 'tisn't as if i were insane, or had hydrophobia!"
-"but, goosie, goosie, no one has feathers on his shoulders! no one ever had feathers on his shoulders! no other man in the world ever did that; none in the world ever had feathers on his shoulders that way! oh, goosie, goosie, what shall we do!!!"
-"let them alone," said charles-norton, now quite vexed. "they're mine; they don't hurt you, do they? let 'em alone!" he raised his arms and began to slip his shirt up again.
-the tears ceased to drip from dolly's eyes. "you can't do that," she said, a maternal firmness coming into her voice. "why, goosie, what would they think of you down at the office?"
-"at the office? why, they won't know it!"
-"but you'll know it, goosie. all the time, you'll know it. goosie, you don't want to be different, do you? you want to be like other men, don't you? you don't want to be different?"
-this argument had some effect on charles-norton. he stood very still, scratching his head pensively. "well," he said finally, "maybe you're right. maybe we had better keep them cut short."
-"oh, goosie!" cried dolly, joyously, and bounded from the room. she came running back with the scissors. "come, quick!" she panted. "i'll cut them, short. 'twon't be much trouble after all, will it? i'll cut them every day. it will be just like shaving--no more trouble than that!"
-following this little disturbance the sims couple, lowering their heads, side by side, resolutely regained the smooth rut of their placid existence. everything in this world is easier than is imagined. much easier. in the case of the sims' household, it was just a matter of adding each morning, to the daily shave of charles-norton, another operation quite as facile.
-"dolly," he would call, as soon as his hot towel had removed from his ruddy cheeks the last bubbles of lather.
-and dolly, her hungry little scissors agleam in her hand, trotted in alacriously. she sat charles-norton on the edge of the tub and bent over him her happy, humming head. zip-zip-zip, went the scissors, zip-zip--and a soft white fluff that looked like the stuffing of a pillow (an a-one pillow; not the kind upon which charles-norton and dolly laid their modest heads) eddied slowly to charles-norton's feet while he shivered slightly to the coldness of the steel. (dolly cut very close.)
-then, "all right; all done," she sang, dropping the scissors into the round pocket of her crackling apron; "now to breakfast, quick! and here's a kiss for the good boy."
-placing her red lips upon his, she whisked off to the kitchenette; and charles-norton, emerging all dressed a little later, found the cheerful blue ware on the table, and his waffles upon his plate, hot beneath his napkin. after which, stuffing the morning paper into his pocket, he departed with another kiss on the landing, and strode forth for the l. life was just as before.
-and yet, not quite. because, to tell the truth, charles-norton was not absolutely happy.
-he could not have told what was the matter. mostly, it was an emptiness. an emptiness is hard to analyze. he knew that there was much of which he should be content. with the careful repression of the vagaries of his shoulders, there had come to him a new attentiveness at his work. his nose, now, never wandered after passing butterflies, and his salary had been raised to twenty-two dollars a week. also, the ridiculous flapping had gone, and the impulse to draw fool lines upon a card.
-but with these--and that was the trouble--other things had vanished. that deep filling of his lungs with spring, for instance. and the longing that went with it. that was it--the longing. he longed for the longing--if that is comprehensible. he longed vaguely for a longing that had been his, and which was gone. he never saw, now, a land that was as a golden pool beneath a turquoise dome; nor a boy in the wild oats watching a circling hawk.
-and there was something else, something more definite. he felt that dolly--yes, dolly took too much pleasure, altogether too much pleasure in that clipping business. of course, the clipping had to be. he knew that. a respectable man can't have feathers on his shoulders. it was necessary. but somehow he would have felt that necessity more, if dolly had felt it--less. he would have liked a chance to voice it himself. if dolly, now, only would, some fine morning, say, "oh, goosie, let them be to-day; they are so pretty," then he could have answered, very firmly, "no, clip away!" but she never gave him that chance. she was always so radiantly ready! as he watched her head in the mirror, bent upon the busy scissors with an expression of tight determination, a distinct irritation seized him sometimes.
-charles-norton, in short, was accumulating, drop by drop, a masculine grouch. a grouch deeper than he realized, till that morning.
-that morning dolly, in the midst of the daily operation, paused with scissors in air, a sudden inspiration upon her brow.
-"oh, goosie," she exclaimed; "how would it be to cauterize them?"
-"why, the little feathers. supposing we burned the place, you know, with nitrate of silver, or something like that. they do it to people who have moles--or when they have been bitten by a mad dog. maybe--maybe it would stop it--altogether."
-charles-norton looked up at her. her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were bright; she was excited and pleased with her ingenious idea. a cold wave rose about charles-norton and closed over his head. "say,'" he bawled ungraciously; "what do you take me for! think i'm made of asbestos?"
-discreet dolly immediately dropped the subject; though somehow charles-norton had the distinct impression that it was only discreetly that she did so, that, in fact, she was not dropping the idea, but merely tucking it away somewhere within the secret hiding-places of her being, for further use. he could still see it, in fact, graven there upon the whiteness of her voluntary little forehead.
-he brooded black over it all day. he brooded on other things, too--insignificant things that had happened in the past, that had not mattered one whit then, but which now, beneath his fostering care, began to grow into big, flapping boog-a-boos. and when he returned that night, he was a very mean charles-norton. he spoke hardly a word at dinner, pretended he did not like the vanilla custard over which dolly had toiled all day, her soul aglow with creative delight, sipped but half of his demi-tasse (as though the coffee were bitter, which it wasn't), and went off to bed early with a good-night so frigid that dolly's little nose tingled for several minutes afterward.
-and the next morning, when dolly, astonished at the delay, finally peeped into the bath-room, scissors in hand, she found charles-norton fully dressed, his coat on.
-"why, goosie," she said in surprise; "i haven't clipped you yet!"
-"no?" he growled enigmatically.
-"take off your coat, dearie," she went on.
-"and you're not going to," said charles-norton, finishing his statement with complete disregard of hers.
-dolly stood there a moment, looking at him with head slightly cocked to one side. "all right, goosie," she said cheerily. "only, don't get mad at poor little me. come on to breakfast, you big, shaggy bear, you!"
-"i don't want any breakfast," growled charles-norton between closed teeth (as a matter of fact, he did, and a fragrance of waffles from the kitchen was at the moment profoundly agitating the pit of his being). "i don't want any breakfast--where's my hat--quick, i'm in a hurry--good-by."
-and tossing the hat bellicosely upon his head, he pulled to himself the hall door, swaggered through, and let it slam back on his departing heels, right before the astonished nose of his little wife.
-she remained there before this rude door, examining its blank surface with a sort of objective curiosity. at the same time she was listening to the sound of steps gradually diminishing down the five flights. she shook her head; "the bad, bad boy!" she said.
-she pivoted with a shrug of the shoulders and went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table, all set for breakfast. she took up her fork and cut off a bit of waffle. she placed it in her mouth. her eyes went off far away.
-it took it a long time, this little piece of waffle, to go down. lordie, what a tough, resilient, flannelly, bit of waffle this was! suddenly her head went forward. it lit upon the table, in her hands. a cup of the precious blue ware, dislodged, balanced itself a moment on the edge of the table, then, as if giving up hope, let go and crashed to the floor at her feet in many pieces. she gave it no heed. her head was in her hands, her hands were on the table, her hair lay like a golden delta among plates and saucers; and the table trembled.
-meanwhile charles-norton was not having such a good time either. starting off swaggeringly, he had halted three times on his way to the station, and three times had taken at least two steps back toward the flat which he felt desolate behind him. and now in his glass cage, a weight was at his stomach, a constant weight like an indigestible plum-pudding. at regular intervals, as he bent over his books, he felt his heart descend swiftly to the soles of his feet; he paled at the sight of a telegraph messenger, at the sound of the telephone bell. he had visions of hospitals--of a white cot to which he was brought, a white cot about which grave men stood hopelessly, and on the pillow of which spread a cascade of golden hair. too imaginative, this charles-norton, too imaginative altogether!
-he did not know that after a while dolly had risen, and a bit wearily, with heavy sighs, had washed the dishes; that after this she had put the little flat in order; that during this operation, in spite of her best efforts, she had felt her woe slowly oozing from her; that the provisioning tour in the street and stores gay with gossipy, bargaining young matrons, had almost completed this process; and that a providential peep in a milliner's window, which had suddenly solved for her the harassing problem of the spring hat (she had seen one she liked and with a flash of inspiration had seen how she could make one just like it out of her old straw and some feathers long at the bottom of her trunk) had sent her bounding back up her five flights of stairs with a song purring in her heart.
-so that when, returning in the evening, charles-norton opened the door with bated breath, to find dolly humming happily in the kitchen, he was struck by something like disappointment. "she's shallow," he thought; "doesn't feel." he did not mean by this, of course, that he wished she had in despair done something catastrophic. he meant merely--well, he did not know what he meant. he was disillusioned, that was all. this was but a prosy world after all. few heroics here!
-and immediately a warning knocked at his consciousness. he must be careful if he were to hold what advantage he had gained in the day. he turned from the kitchen threshold and silently slunk back into the room which was both dining and sitting-room, and isolated himself behind the spread pages of the evening paper. he was curt and cold the entire evening. and in the morning he again left with calculated violence--breakfastless and unsheared.
-it took just ten days to happen--ten days which were rather disagreeable, of course, but which dolly, sure of the trumps in her little hands, bore with jolly fortitude. all that time, charles-norton glowered constantly. he was monosyllabic and ostentatiously unhappy. this more than was necessary, and very deliberate. it had to be deliberate; for, as a matter of fact, on the outside charles was not having at all a bad time.
-the exaltation of the ante-clipping days had returned--returned heightened, and was still growing day by day. a constant joyous babbling, as of some inexhaustible spring, lay at the bottom of his soul. his senses were singularly acute. he thrilled to a leaf, to a bud, to a patch of blue sky; and the thrill remained long, a profound satisfaction within him, after the stimulant had gone. with the resolution of a roué plunging back into his vice after an enforced vacation, he had brought a large sketch book; and he passed much time drawing lines into it--rapid beauty streaks that gave him a sensation of birds. he saw often, now, a land which was as a pool of gold beneath a turquoise sky; and a boy in the wild oats watching a circling hawk. at such times his lungs filled deep with the spring, and his arms were apt to beat at his sides in rapid tattoo. this, in fact made up solely his morning exercises now. standing with legs close together, a-tip-toe, head back and chest forward, placing his hands beneath his shoulders he waved his arms up and down in a beat that rose in fervid crescendo, till his eyes closed and there went through him a soaring ecstasy that threatened at times to lift him from the floor.
-all this, of course, was not without its disadvantage. vaguely he felt that in some subtle way he was gaining the disapproval of his fellows. men were apt to look at him askance, half doubtful, half-indignant. they tread on his toes in the elevated. his work, too, was going to pot; he could not stick to his figures. his chief, an old fragile-necked book-keeper, had spoken to him once.
-"mr. sims," he had said, after a preliminary little cough; "mr. sims, you ought to take care of your health. you are not well."
-"oh, yes i am," answered charles-norton, absent-mindedly. his eyes were on the ceiling, where a fly was buzzing. "i'm all right!"
-"you should--er--you should consult--a specialist, mr. sims. don't you know--your shoulders, your back--you should consult a spine-specialist, mr. sims."
-"oh, that's all right," said charles-norton, easily. "don't worry." and thus he had sent back the old gentleman baffled to his high stool.
-and then came dolly's day.
-"dolly! dolly! dolly!"
-it was morning, before breakfast. charles-norton was in the bedroom; dolly was setting the table in the living-room. she paused, and stood very still, while a little knowing smile parted her lips.
-"dolly! dolly! dolly!" again came the call, unmistakable, music to dolly's ear. she tip-toed to the door. from within sounded a threshing noise, as of a whale caught in shallows. "yes. what is it?" she called back melodiously, mastering her desire to rush in.
-"come here, dolly," said the male voice. "come here."
-"i'm coming," said dolly, and went in with a slightly bored expression.
-"help me, dolly," said the perspiring and be-ruffled gentleman within. "i can't--can't--get my coat on."
-"why, goosie; of course i'll help you."
-he stood there puffing, his hair mussed up, his eyes wrathful. "well," he growled at length; "why don't you go get your scissors."
-"shall i?" she said doubtfully--and at the same time bounced out like a little rabbit. "take off your shirt, goosie," she said, returning with the gleaming instruments, now symbolical of her superior common-sense.
-she aided him. she took off his collar and tie, unfastened the buttons, and then she was tugging at the shirt. it slid down, uncovering the shoulders. there was a dry, crackling sound, as of a fan stretched open--and dolly sat down on the floor. "oh-oh-oh," she cried, "go-oo-oo-ssie-ie!"
-he stood there, looking out of the corner of his eye at his reflection in the mirror, red-faced and very much abashed. for with the slipping of the shirt, on his shoulders there had sprung, with the movement of a released jack-in-the-box, two vibrant white things.
-two gleaming, lustrous, white things that were----
-"they're wings," said dolly, still on the floor. "they are wings," she repeated, in the tone of one saying, he is dead. "now, goosie, you have done it!"
-but a change had come in charles-norton. the blush had left his brow, the foolish expression his face; he was pivoting before the mirror like a woman with a new bonnet.
-"i like them," he said.
-and then, "just look at them, dolly. just look at the curve of them. isn't it a beautiful curve! and the whiteness of them, dolly--like a baby's soul. and how downy--soft like you, dolly. look at them gleam. and they move, dolly, they move! dolly, oh, look!"
-the wings were gently breathing; their slender tips struck his waist at each oscillation. the movement quickened, became a beat, a rapid palpitation. a soft whirring sound filled the room; the newspaper on the bed, dislodged, eddied to the floor; the wings were a mere white blur. suddenly charles-norton's feet left the floor, and he rose slowly into the air. "look, look, dolly," he cried, as he went up, hovering above her up-tilted nose and her wide eyes, as she sat there, paralyzed, upon the ground; "dolly, look!"
-the humming sound took a higher note; a picture crashed down; the room was a small cyclone. "dolly, watch me; look!"
-and with a sudden leap, charles-norton slanted up toward the ceiling and lit, seated, on the edge of the shelf that went along the four walls. "look," he said with triumph, balancing smilingly on his perch.
-but immediately his expression changed to one of concern, and he sprang down quickly and quietly. dolly was now stretched full-length along the carpet; her face was in her arms. he turned it to the light. her eyes were closed.
-dolly had fainted.
-a husband who has a wife that faints is in the grasp of the great it.
-full of fear, pity, remorse, and self-hatred, charles-norton danced about helplessly for several minutes, sprinkling water upon dolly's brow (much of it went down her neck); trying to pour bad whiskey between her pearly teeth; calling himself names; chafing her hands, promising to be good, to do always what she wanted; loosening her garments; proclaiming the fact that he was a brute, she an angel--while the wings, loose down his back, flapped after him in long, mournful gestures. and when finally, from the couch upon which he had drawn her, dolly opened upon him her blue eyes, humid as twin stars at dawn, he placed her little scissors in her hand, and with head bowed low, in an ecstatic agony of self-renunciation bade her do her duty. the little scissors could not do it this time, though. it took the shears.
-after which there were a mingling of tears, murmurings, embraces, and dolly said that the bad, bad times were all over now, and he agreed that they could never come again; and she said they would be happy ever afterward, and he agreed they should be happy always. then dolly, still a bit languid, in a voice still a bit doleful, drove him off to the office.
-where he arrived very late, and had to pass the gauntlet of his chiefs frigid ignoring of the dereliction.
-when charles-norton had gone, dolly suddenly sat up with a click of small heels upon the floor. she remained thus some time, a frown between her eyes. she was not triumphant, she was worried. she seemed to recognize danger; her transparent nostrils dilated to the smell of powder; and plainly, you could see her steel her being. after a while she nodded to herself, curtly and very decidedly, and went on about her work.
-she met charles-norton at the door when he returned in the evening. he was somewhat limp after a day of mea culpas! and she, a quarter of an hour before the time for his reappearance, had powdered her nose--which, she knew, gave her an expression half amusing, half piteous, just like that of the clown who is playing his tricks at the circus while his little daughter is dying at home. "hello, goosie," she said breathlessly (also she had rubbed a trace of rouge under her eyes); "hello, just in time for dinner! made a fine chocolate cake. poor dear, you look so tired!"
-"say, dolly," he remonstrated mildly; "couldn't you wait till morning?"
-"there," she said; "it's almost all done. just a wee bit more here. there! now here is a kiss! it didn't hurt, goosie, did it?"
-and charles-norton had to concede that it did not hurt. how could he have explained the subtle feeling within him, that sort of swooping descent of his inwards that came with, and the dullness of all things which followed always his shearings?
-"no, it didn't hurt," he repeated. but a vague dissatisfaction like a yeast stirred within him, and a flicker,--beaten down immediately, it is true, trampled, smothered,--of revolt.
-calmly, coolly, efficiently, though, dolly had taken the upper hand. the next morning she sent him sheared to the office; she sent him sheared the same night to bed.
-and thus day after day for many days. every morning charles-norton went out to his work full of emptiness (if that phrase is permissible), empty of heart, empty of mind, without a desire, without an anger. the warm june days had come; he had changed his underwear. he felt the season only as a discomfort. the emerald explosions visible at the end of each street as the l train passed along central park did not stir him; the tepid airs drifting lazily from the sea, the fragrant whiffs from the depths of the germinating land, passed over him as though he were made of asbestos. an insulation was about him, removing him from all things that thrill, all things that distend; there was no color, no vibration in the world; iridescences had ceased; the chamber of his soul had been painted a dull drab.
-he had regained, though, the esteem of his fellows. the subtle and unerring instinct which had made them suspicious in the days of his--misfortune, now in the same inexplicable way told them that he was normal again. they looked at him no longer askance. in fact, they did not look at him at all. they accepted him without question in crush of street and l; gave him his rightful space (nine and a half inches in diameter); trod on his feet only when forced to (by the impulse to obtain a more comfortable position); poked their elbows into his stomach only when necessary (that is, when they had to get out or in ahead of him); and on the whole surrounded him with that indifference which at the bottom is a sort of regard, which means that one conforms, that one's derby, sack-suits, socks and shoes, habits, ideas, morals and religion are just exactly like the derbies, sack-suits, socks and shoes, habits, ideas, morals and religion of everyone else, and hence right. at the office he had regained the appreciation of his chiefs; his salary had been raised to twenty-two dollars and a half a week and his working hours from eight to nine hours. his home life was the standard ideal one. that is, he got up at the same time every morning, left punctually at the same hour, took the l, arrived at the office on the minute, worked with his nose close to the ruled pages, steadily, without a distraction, till 12.30, had his macaroon tart and cup of coffee at konrad's bakery, smoked his five-cent cigar in the nearby square till 1.30, worked again till 5.30, returned home on the l, pressed tight like a lamb on the way to the packing-house, had a cozy little dinner upon which dolly had spent all her ingenuity, smoked his pipe in the morris chair, and then read the paper till the sudden contact of his chin with his chest and dolly's amused warning sent him off to bed. a very moral, regular, exemplary existence. dolly was very happy.
-and then, just as this couple could see the track clear ahead, stretching smooth and nickel-plated to infinity, an ugly complication began to worm itself into the serenity of their lives.
-this complication arose from the fact that the suppressed wings of charles-norton began to grow faster. each day, now, charles-norton, returning home, brought with him to dolly a task more serious and considerable. she had long ago discarded the little scissors and used special shears made to cut heavy cardboard; and she finished off with a safety razor.
-the result of this increase in the rate of winged growth was that, whereas charles-norton every morning left home placid and docile, his character gradually changed during the day. starting at his work in the spirit of a blind horse at the mill, by ten o'clock he was apt to find himself, pen-holder in mouth, nose up in the air, following the evolutions of a buzzing flylet. by eleven o'clock, the cage had become very stuffy; spasmodic intakes swelled his chest, ghost longings stirred within him. when he got out at 12.30 the sun seemed to pour right through his skin, into the drab chamber of his soul, gilding it. he hurried over his macaroon tart and cup of coffee, and then had three-quarters of an hour left to idle in the square.
-he prepared for this gravely, as for a ceremony; first by buying a pippin. a slender, light-brown pippin, scientifically sprinkled with golden freckles, for five cents. (a daily pippin was a recognized item of the family budget; at one time charles norton had carried his pipe with him, but dolly, noticing the doubtful fragrance given by said pipe to the clothes of charles-norton, had insisted upon the extravagance of the daily pippin). having bought the pippin, charles-norton did not light it right away. oh, no. he ambled first to the square. he selected his bench carefully--one upon which the sun shone, but shone with a light filtered by the leaves of a low-branching elm. he sat down; he stretched his legs straight before him. then slowly, with deliberation of movement, he scratched a match. he brought the spluttering end near his nose. the pippin began to send forth effluvia, an exquisite vapor, faintly-blue. charles-norton half closed his eyes; his soul began to purr.
-before him a fountain plashed; about the fountain were red blossoms; the elms rustled gently against the blue sky; through the delicate lace of their leaves the sun eddied down like a very light pollen; and all this, through the pippin's exquisite atmosphere, was enveloped and smoothed and glazed into a picture--a slightly hazy dream-picture. charles-norton stretched his legs still more; his shoulders rose along the sides of his head. he was as at the bottom of the sea--a warm and quiet summer sea. down through its golden-dusty waters, a streak of sun, polished like a rapier, diagonaled, striking him on the breast; and to its vivifying burn he felt within him his heart expand, as though it would bloom, like the red flowers about the fountain.
-upon the other benches sprawled some of the city's derelicts. the sun was upon them also; they stirred uneasily to its caress, with sighs and groans, their warped bodies, petrified with the winter's long cold, distending slowly in pain. pale children in their buggies slept with mouths open, gasping like little fish; some played upon the asphalt.
-charles-norton, by this time, was apt to be far away; far in another land. he lay upon his back and watched a hawk on high.
-the sparrows usually brought him back. they played about his feet; they chirped, hopped, and tattled; they peered side-ways at him and gave him jerky nods of greeting. at times one of them, to a sudden inspiration, sprang into the air; with a whir he flashed up to the top of a tree. to the movement, something within charles-norton leaped to his throat.
-across the park, gaunt behind the trees, rose the tall steel frame of a new building; and away up at the top of it (which was higher every day) a workingman, on a girder, ate his lunch. charles-norton liked this man; a current of comradeship always ran from him to the little figure silhouetted up against the blue. he should have liked to eat his lunch up there, side by side with this man, his legs swinging next to his, with the void beneath. and then, he thought, after lunching, he would like to stand erect, away up there, at the tip edge of one of the projecting beams; to stand there a bit, and then spring off; spring off lightly, and whiz down; down, down, down with outspread arms.
-which was a very foolish thought for a man that worked in a cage to dream. very foolish, even if the cage were of glass. just about that time the pippin went out in a black smolder, and from a nearby church, hidden between great sky-scrapers, a big ding-dong bell said resonantly that it was half-past one.
-he returned to the office. every afternoon, now, was a tingling trial. he worked with head down, sweating with repression. an obsession tormented him. he wanted to walk out of his glass cage. out, not through the door, but through the glass. not gently, like alice going into wonderland, but with ostentation and violence, with a heralding crash of shattered panes, scandalously. out of his cage, into the next; out of that, into the next; from one end of the big room, in fact, to the other, crashingly, through cage after cage--and then out upon the street through the plate front. half-past five finally freed him; and taking his place in a packed herring-box on wheels, he was rolled back to dolly--and the shearing.
-"we work all night to-night, mr. sims." it is always with just such a sentence, quiet, drab, and seemingly insignificant, that mr. catastrophe introduces himself.
-"yes?" said charles-norton, adjusting his neck-tie and looking at the calendar.
-he was not surprised, for this happened twice a year. twice a year, on a day in december and a day in june, a part of the force worked all night to prepare a statistical table for the benefit of the stockholders.
-he telephoned to dolly. her voice came to him over the wire in a scared little squeak. "oh, goosie," she pleaded; "come up before starting in again. i'll let you go off right away. but please come up, please do!"
-"can't," shouted charles-norton. "we're allowed only an hour for dinner, and it would take more than that just to go up and back."
-"they won't care if you are a little late," suggested dolly.
-"no, can't come up," said charles-norton, astonished at his own firmness (it is much easier to be firm over a telephone, anyway). "there's too much to do. i'll be up in the morning, maybe."
-"no, not a raise, not a raise," hummed charles-norton; "skip now; i'm hungry."
-the night was a long and toilsome one, but an inexhaustible bubble was at the pit of charles-norton's being; gradually through the night he felt, beneath his coat, his shoulders deliciously swelling. and when in the morning he stepped out upon the sidewalk, a cry left his lips.
-it had showered during the night, and to the rising sun the whole city was glowing as with a golden dew. the air was fresh; charles-norton gulped it down. he felt as though a broad river were streaming through him--a clear, cool river. suddenly, his heels snapped together, his head went back; his hands rose to his armpits and his arms began to vibrate up and down. a policeman came running across the street. "say, wot de 'ell are you doing?" he bellowed, red-faced and outraged.
-"i'm going to breakfast," answered charles-norton, cockily.
-he went into the bakery, his hat a-tilt, with the air of a conqueror. for he had decided not to go up to the flat, but to breakfast right here and to spend an hour in the square before going back to the glass cage at nine. his chest pouted; his eyes glistened; wine ran in his veins. he ordered ham-and-eggs and hot-cakes. an orgy!
-he was eating fast, in a hurry for the pippin and the loll on the bench, when he felt someone sit down by him. there was a pause; then, "hello, chicken!" piped a thin voice in his ear.
-"hello, pinny," answered charles-norton, even before looking. he had recognized the voice of the pale youth whom he had elbowed on the l a few weeks before, and whom later he had placated here in the bakery.
-"s'pose you're a millionaire by this time, chicken," said the youth, jocularly.
-"sure, pinny," answered charles-norton.
-"but really, honest, did yuh win anything?" went on pinny, more seriously.
-"win?" suddenly charles-norton remembered the lottery ticket that he had bought. he had forgotten it completely. "the drawings was three days ago," pinny was saying; "got 'em here," and out of his pocket he drew a soiled newspaper clipping.
-charles-norton also was searching his pockets with much contortion; and it was some time before his hand flashed out triumphantly with a piece of dog-eared, yellow cardboard. "wot's your number?" asked pinny.
-"nineteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven," charles-norton read.
-pinny was perusing the clipping in his hand. "wot did you say," he piped suddenly; "wot's the number?"
-"nineteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven," repeated charles-norton.
-the pale youth seemed to collapse. his chin went forward on his green tie, his back slid down the back of his chair, his hands dropped limp upon the table. "well, i'll be eternally dod-gum-good-blasted," he said weakly.
-"you've done it," he continued, solemnly; "you've gone and done it." he looked at his clipping again. "lemme see your ticket," he said. he placed the ticket and the clipping side by side; his stubby, black-fringed finger slid from one to the other.
-"you've done it, partner," he repeated, with the same funereal intoning. "nineteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven! and i've held that ticket in my hands, right in these hands! eight hundred dollars.--nineteen thousand, eight hundred and ninety-seven wins eight hundred dollars"--his tongue lingered, as if it tasted it, upon each opulent number--"eight hundred dollars; that's what you win. and all owing to me, too."
-charles-norton had forgotten his ham-and-eggs. he took the ticket and the clipping from pinny's nerveless fingers and compared them. 19897! that was right. he had won eight hundred dollars. "where do you cash in?" he exclaimed with a sudden ferocity.
-"i'll take you to it," murmured pinny, still in a daze. "gee--and i had that ticket in this here pair of hands. i'll take yuh to it. it's down town. no trouble getting the money. you'll treat on it, eh? you'll treat, won't yuh?"
-his sharp face was almost beneath charles-norton's chin; his pale eyes rolled upward wistfully. a sudden gust of pity went through charles-norton. "surely," he said. "better than that; we'll share." he paused, coughed. a wave of prudence was modifying his impulse--the prudence that inevitably comes with wealth. "i'll give you--i'll give you twenty-five dollars!" he announced.
-"come on!" said pinny; "come on--we're losing time, eating in this joint. say, you'll have all you want to eat now, won't yuh--oysters and wine and grape-fruit and everything. and girls, eh? autos and wine and girls--gee!" and his eyes remained fixed on the vision of splendor, of the splendor of charles-norton, missed so narrowly by himself.
-together they went down to the offices of the little texas, where after having been warmly congratulated by an oily man with a diamond stud, and after signing seven feet of documents and testimonials, charles-norton was given a long yellow check, which was forthwith photographed, as was also charles-norton. then the fat, oily man, the clerk who had prepared the documents, pinny, and charles-norton went downstairs and, standing up against a polished walnut counter, drank to the long life of the little texas and to the success of charles-norton. after which the courteous oily man introduced charles-norton to the cashier of a bank, where charles-norton deposited his check, receiving in return a little yellow deposit-book, and a long green check-book.
-with pinny, charles-norton rode back toward the office. they stopped at the square, and stood a while watching the fountain, each a bit uncertain. finally pinny put out his hand. "well, so long, old man," he said; "so long."
-"so long," said charles-norton, indecisively.
-but pinny still stood there, abashed and uncertain. "you was going to--but you've changed yer mind, i suppose; i suppose you've changed yer mind--you was going to----" his eyes were on the ground; he shuffled one foot gently. "you was going to----"
-"oh, of course!" cried charles-norton. "i was going to give you a share of the swag--of course, of course, of course!"
-they sat on a bench. charles-norton took out of his pocket the long check-book and opened it out, with a little crackling sound, on its first clean page. he took out his fountain pen. "no. 1," he wrote down with great decision. he paused, looking about him for a moment, in enjoyment of this new occupation. "june 19," he wrote on, slowly, languorously. "pay to the order of," the page said next. "of frank theodore pinny," wrote charles-norton. "dollars," the check said next, at the end of a blank line. charles-norton paused, pen poised above paper.
-"twenty-five," he thought. that is what he had promised. "t-w-e-n-t-y," he wrote. the pen stopped again, hovering hesitatingly above the paper. "twenty-five is a whole lot," he thought. "just for selling a ticket. just for selling a piece of cardboard!" and eight hundred dollars was not so much, either. an hour before, eight hundred dollars had seemed an immense sum. now it seemed a modest amount, a very modest amount. and twenty-five, twenty-five to give away--that seemed quite big. "pay to the order of frank theodore pinny," he re-read, "twenty----"
-the pen made a sudden descent. "and no-hundredths," it wrote swiftly.
-charles-norton signed the check, tore it from the book, folded it, and presented it to pinny, a bit patronizingly. pinny stuck it into a side pocket without looking at it. he was standing on one leg and seemed in a hurry to get away. charles-norton, suddenly, had the same feeling. the sense of comradeship which had been with them for the last hour had abruptly flown with this passing of money. each man was embarrassed, as before a stranger. "so long," said pinny; "so long," said charles-norton. pinny, with averted head, turned and walked away.
-charles-norton pivoted on his heel, and started for the office, worried suddenly by the thought that he was late. he took three long steps, collided with a sodden old gentleman who was just arising from a bench--and then was standing very still, looking about him as in a daze, unconscious of the mutter of apology which, together with an odor of stale beer, was fermenting beneath his nose. the old gentleman, pursuing a ray of sun, slipped on to a farther bench. but charles-norton still stood there, gazing about him in a sort of mild astonishment, as if, while he was not looking, the scene about him had been transformed like so much cardboard scenery.
-to the shock of the collision, as to the stroke of a finger upon a chemical beaker the reluctant crystallization abruptly takes place, there had come to charles-norton the realization that he did not have to go to the office.
-he did not have to go to the office! here, against his heart, represented by three black figures within a little yellow book, was eight hundred dollars, practically eight months' salary, the assurance of eight months almost of independence, of freedom!
-you will think, perhaps, that charles-norton was seized by an ardent desire immediately to run to dolly, spring up the five flights of stairs, push open the door, catch her by the waist and, seating her on his knees, to pantingly tell her of the wondrous news? you are mistaken.
-for with the vision of dolly, the thought that irresistibly came to charles-norton was----
-that he didn't have to go to dolly.
-he didn't have to go to dolly and be clipped. he didn't have to go to the glass cage, and he didn't have to go to dolly. the scissors of dolly.
-charles-norton, very pale, his long, strong legs trembling beneath him, sank upon the nearest bench, and tried to catch hold of the world again, of the reality of the world. his hands, unconsciously expressing his mental attitude, held the bench's rim tight with white knuckles.
-eight hundred dollars was not so much. besides, it was only seven hundred and eighty now. and dolly was a good little wife. a good, faithful, loving little wife. in a few months the money would all be gone if he stopped working. if he went back to the office and worked, the eight hundred (minus twenty) could be kept in the savings bank as a precious resource against ill-luck. and some of it could be used to buy things--furs for dolly, for instance, brave little dolly. her household allowance could be increased a bit--brave, cheerful, careful, economical, busy, loving little dolly!
-in the silence of his cogitation, charles-norton suddenly heard with great distinctness a furtive creaking within the shoulders of his coat.
-"dear little dolly!" he exclaimed ostentatiously, making a brave effort to keep his eyes upon his beacon.
-but right from between his feet a sparrow, like a firecracker exploding, sprang and went whirring up in the sky. charles-norton followed it with his eyes as it went winging, winging up in a series of lines, each of which ended in a droop, toward the high sky-scraper. and when his eyes reached, with the bird, the top of the building, they lit upon a cloud, a great white galleon of a cloud which, with all sails set, flanks opulently agleam with the swell of impalpable freights, went sliding by with streaming pennons, toward the west.
-and charles-norton felt as though he were going to die. a great, sad yearning seemed to split his breast. he rose to his feet, his eyes upon the cloud. a turbulence now churned within him; his shoulders palpitated within their cloth prison (you see, they had not been sheared for a full twenty-four hours); a wave of madness, of daring, of revolt, rose into the head of charles-norton. "no, no, no," he growled. "no more, no more, i can't, i can't, no more, no, no!"
-and when he rose for the last time from the bench, these were fixed. his appearance was one of great calmness tense above a suppressed ebullition. before him his programme stretched like a broad, clear road. he followed it.
-firstly he went to the bank and drew out three hundred dollars in cash.
-with the roll in his breast-pocket, he walked up broadway till he came to a cook's tourist agency; entering, after a short discussion aided by the perusal of a map, he exchanged part of his roll for a long, green, accordeon-pleated ticket.
-then he went out and bought himself a tawny, creaky suit-case, and then, successively, going from store to store:
-a safety razor.
-a little can of tooth-powder.
-a pair of much abbreviated swimming trunks.
-all of which he placed in his new suit-case.
-then after a moment of frowning consideration, he purchased two thick woolen double-blankets which he rolled up and strapped.
-after which he boldly strode into the waldorf-astoria.
-such affluence, by this time, did his person emanate that four brass-buttoned boys simultaneously sprang to their feet and came running up to him. he waved them aside with a commanding gesture and went into the writing-room.
-he opened his check-book. "3," he wrote firmly in the right hand corner. "pay to the order of," he read; "dolly margaret sims," he wrote, "four hundred and eighty and no-hundredths dollars."
-he signed the check, tore it off, and let the now looted check-book drop negligently to the floor. he placed the folded check in an envelope, wrote a little letter and placed it by the check, sealed the envelope, and wrote upon it,
-mrs. charles norton sims 267 west 129th st. new york
-and rang for a messenger boy, to whom he gave the letter.
-then calling for a taxi-cab, he whizzed away to the grand central station.
-ten minutes later, amid a ding-donging of bells and a roaring of steam, a big, luxurious train began to strain at its couplings on its way overland. as it slid slowly out beneath the resonant cupola, charles-norton emerged from the rear door and stepped out upon the observation platform.
-and there, upon this wide, large platform, which was much like a miniature stage, charles-norton appeared for a moment in undignified pantomime. leaning over the shining rail, chin thrust out, he shook both fists at the receding city, and spit into its face.
-charles-norton's letter came to dolly in the evening, after a day full of worry. it read:
-"dear dolly:--enclosed is $480. it's for you. i'm going away. i simply can't stand it, that's all. i think i still love you, dolly, but i can't stand the life. i can't, that's all. i must have, i must have--well, i can't stand that clipping business any longer.
-"please don't grieve. some day you'll meet a man who is real fond of you and who will make you happy--one that hasn't any wings. there are lots of them.
-purifying yourself from the lust of life, you will come unto that lake where all desire shall be washed away.
-'sooner shall the cleft rock reunite so as to make a whole, than may he who kills any living being be admitted into our society.'--acceptance into the monkhood.
-it is very noticeable throughout the bazaars of burma that all the beef butchers are natives of india. no burman will kill a cow or a bullock, and no burman will sell its meat. it is otherwise with pork and fowls. burmans may sometimes be found selling these; and fish are almost invariably sold by the wives of the fishermen. during the king's time, any man who was even found in possession of beef was liable to very severe punishment. the only exception, as i have explained elsewhere, was in the case of the queen when expecting an addition to her family, and it was necessary that she should be strengthened in all ways. none, not even foreigners, were allowed to kill beef, and this law was very stringently observed. other flesh and fish might, as far as the law of the country went, be sold with impunity. you could not be fined for killing and eating goats, or fowls, or pigs, and these were sold occasionally. it is now ten years since king thibaw was overthrown, and there is now no law against the sale of beef. and yet, as i have said, no respectable burman will even now kill or sell beef. the law was founded on the beliefs of the people, and though the law is dead, the beliefs remain.
-it is true that the taking of life is against buddhist commands. no life at all may be taken by him who adheres to buddhistic teaching. neither for sport, nor for revenge, nor for food, may any animal be deprived of the breath that is in it. and this is a command wonderfully well kept. there are a few exceptions, but they are known and accepted as breaches of the law, for the law itself knows no exceptions. fish, as i have said, can be obtained almost everywhere. they are caught in great quantities in the river, and are sold in most bazaars, either fresh or salted. it is one of the staple foods of the burmese. but although they will eat fish, they despise the fisherman. not so much, perhaps, as if he killed other living things, but still, the fisherman is an outcast from decent society. he will have to suffer great and terrible punishment before he can be cleansed from the sins that he daily commits. notwithstanding this, there are many fishermen in burma.
-a fish is a very cold-blooded beast. one must be very hard up for something to love to have any affection to spare upon fishes. they cannot be, or at all events they never are, domesticated, and most of them are not beautiful. i am not aware that they have ever been known to display any attachment to anyone, which accounts, perhaps, for the comparatively lenient eye with which their destruction is contemplated.
-for with warm-blooded animals it is very different. cattle, as i have said, can never be killed nor their meat sold by a burman, and with other animals the difficulty is not much less.
-i was in upper burma for some months before the war, and many a time i could get no meat at all. living in a large town among prosperous people, i could get no flesh at all, only fish and rice and vegetables. when, after much trouble, my indian cook would get me a few fowls, he would often be waylaid and forced to release them. an old woman, say, anxious to do some deed of merit, would come to him as he returned triumphantly home with his fowls and tender him money, and beg him to release the fowls. she would give the full price or double the price of the fowls; she had no desire to gain merit at another person's expense, and the unwilling cook would be obliged to give up the fowls. public opinion was so strong he dare not refuse. the money was paid, the fowls set free, and i dined on tinned beef.
-and yet the villages are full of fowls. why they are kept i do not know. certainly not for food. i do not mean to say that an accidental meeting between a rock and a fowl may not occasionally furnish forth a dinner, but this is not the object with which they are kept--of this i am sure.
-you would not suppose that fowls were capable of exciting much affection, yet i suppose they are. certainly in one case ducks were. there is a burman lady i know who is married to an englishman. he kept ducks. he bought a number of ducklings, and had them fed up so that they might be fat and succulent when the time came for them to be served at table. they became very fine ducks, and my friend had promised me one. i took an interest in them, and always noticed their increasing fatness when i rode that way. imagine, then, my disappointment when one day i saw that all the ducks had disappeared.
-i stopped to inquire. yes, truly they were all gone, my friend told me. in his absence his wife had gone up the river to visit some friends, and had taken the ducks with her. she could not bear, she said, that they should be killed, so she took them away and distributed them among her friends, one here and one there, where she was sure they would be well treated and not killed. when she returned she was quite pleased at her success, and laughed at her husband and me.
-this same lady was always terribly distressed when she had to order a fowl to be killed for her husband's breakfast, even if she had never seen it before. i have seen her, after telling the cook to kill a fowl for breakfast, run away and sit down in the veranda with her hands over her ears, and her face the very picture of misery, fearing lest she should hear its shrieks. i think that this was the one great trouble to her in her marriage, that her husband would insist on eating fowls and ducks, and that she had to order them to be killed.
-as she is, so are most burmans. if there is all this trouble about fowls, it can be imagined how the trouble increases when it comes to goats or any larger beasts. in the jungle villages meat of any kind at all is never seen: no animals of any kind are allowed to be killed. an officer travelling in the district would be reduced to what he could carry with him, if it were not for an act of government obliging villages to furnish--on payment, of course--supplies for officers and troops passing through. the mere fact of such a law being necessary is sufficient proof of the strength of the feeling against taking life.
-of course, all shooting, either for sport or for food, is looked upon as disgraceful. in many jungle villages where deer abound there are one or two hunters who make a living by hunting. but they are disgraced men. they are worse than fishermen, and they will have a terrible penalty to pay for it all. it will take much suffering to wash from their souls the cruelty, the blood-thirstiness, the carelessness to suffering, the absence of compassion, that hunting must produce. 'is there no food in the bazaar, that you must go and take the lives of animals?' has been said to me many a time. and when my house-roof was infested by sparrows, who dropped grass and eggs all over my rooms, so that i was obliged to shoot them with a little rifle, this was no excuse. 'you should have built a sparrow-cote,' they told me. 'if you had built a sparrow-cote, they would have gone away and left you in peace. they only wanted to make nests and lay eggs and have little ones, and you went and shot them.' there are many sparrow-cotes to be seen in the villages.
-i might give example after example of this sort, for they happen every day. we who are meat-eaters, who delight in shooting, who have a horror of insects and reptiles, are continually coming into collision with the principles of our neighbours; for even harmful reptiles they do not care to kill. truly i believe it is a myth, the story of the burmese mother courteously escorting out of the house the scorpion which had just bitten her baby. a burmese mother worships her baby as much as the woman of any other nation does, and i believe there is no crime she would not commit in its behalf. but if she saw a scorpion walking about in the fields, she would not kill it as we should. she would step aside and pass on. 'poor beast!' she would say, 'why should i hurt it? it never hurt me.'
-the burman never kills insects out of sheer brutality. if a beetle drone annoyingly, he will catch it in a handkerchief and put it outside, and so with a bee. it is a great trouble often to get your burmese servants to keep your house free of ants and other annoying creatures. if you tell them to kill the insects they will, for in that case the sin falls on you. without special orders they would rather leave the ants alone.
-in this district no burman hesitates a moment in killing a viper when he has the chance. usually he has to do it in self-defence. this viper is terribly feared, as over a hundred persons a year die here by his bite. he is so hated and feared that he has become an outcast from the law that protects all life.
-but with other snakes it is not so. there is the hamadryad, for instance. he is a great snake about ten to fourteen feet long, and he is the only snake that will attack you first. he is said always to do so, certainly he often does. one attacked me once when out quail-shooting. he put up his great neck and head suddenly at a distance of only five or six feet, and was just preparing to strike, when i literally blew his head off with two charges of shot.
-you would suppose he was vicious enough to be included with the russell's viper in the category of the exceptions, but no. perhaps he is too rare to excite such fierce and deadly hate as makes the burman forget his law and kill the viper. however it may be, the burman is not ready to kill the hamadryad. a few weeks ago a friend of mine and myself came across two little burman boys carrying a jar with a piece of broken tile over it. the lads kept lifting up the tile and peeping in, and then putting the tile on again in a great hurry, and their actions excited our curiosity. so we called them to come to us, and we looked into the jar. it was full of baby hamadryads. the lads had found a nest of them in the absence of the mother, who would have killed them if she had been there, and had secured all the little snakes. there were seven of them.
-we asked the boys what they intended to do with the snakes, and they answered that they would show them to their friends in the village. 'and then?' we asked. and then they would let them go in the water. my friend killed all the hamadryads on the spot, and gave the boys some coppers, and we went on. can you imagine this happening anywhere else? can you think of any other schoolboys sparing any animal they caught, much less poisonous snakes? the extraordinary hold that this tenet of their religion has upon the burmese must be seen to be understood. what i write will sound like some fairy story, i fear, to my people at home. it is far beneath the truth. the belief that it is wrong to take life is a belief with them as strong as any belief could be. i do not know anywhere any command, earthly or heavenly, that is acted up to with such earnestness as this command is amongst the burmese. it is an abiding principle of their daily life.
-where the command came from i do not know. i cannot find any allusion to it in the life of the great teacher. we know that he ate meat. it seems to me that it is older even than he. it has been derived both by the burmese buddhists and the hindus from a faith whose origin is hidden in the mists of long ago. it is part of that far older faith on which buddhism was built, as was christianity on judaism.
-but if not part of his teaching--and though it is included in the sacred books, we do not know how much of them are derived from the buddha himself--it is in strict accordance with all his teaching. that is one of the most wonderful points of buddhism, it is all in accordance; there are no exceptions.
-i have heard amongst europeans a very curious explanation of this refusal of buddhists to take life. 'buddhists,' they say, 'believe in the transmigration of souls. they believe that when a man dies his soul may go into a beast. you could not expect him to kill a bull, when perchance his grandfather's soul might inhabit there.' this is their explanation, this is the way they put two and two together to make five. they know that buddhists believe in transmigration, they know that buddhists do not like to take life, and therefore one is the cause of the other.
-i have mentioned this explanation to burmans while talking of the subject, and they have always laughed at it. they had never heard of it before. it is true that it is part of their great theory of life that the souls of men have risen from being souls of beasts, and that we may so relapse if we are not careful. many stories are told of cases that have occurred where a man has been reincarnated as an animal, and where what is now the soul of a man used to live in a beast. but that makes no difference. whatever a man may have been, or may be, he is a man now; whatever a beast may have been, he is a beast now. never suppose that a burman has any other idea than this. to him men are men, and animals are animals, and men are far the higher. but he does not deduce from this that man's superiority gives him permission to illtreat or to kill animals. it is just the reverse. it is because man is so much higher than the animal that he can and must observe towards animals the very greatest care, feel for them the very greatest compassion, be good to them in every way he can. the burman's motto should be noblesse oblige; he knows the meaning, if he knows not the words.
-for the burman's compassion towards animals goes very much farther than a mere reluctance to kill them. although he has no command on the subject, it seems to him quite as important to treat animals well during their lives as to refrain from taking those lives. his refusal to take life he shares with the hindu; his perpetual care and tenderness to all living creatures is all his own. and here i may mention a very curious contrast, that whereas in india the hindu will not take life and the mussulman will, yet the mussulman is by reputation far kinder to his beasts than the hindu. here the burman combines both qualities. he has all the kindness to animals that the mahommedan has, and more, and he has the same horror of taking life that the hindu has.
-the burman is full of the greatest sympathy towards animals of all kinds, of the greatest understanding of their ways, of the most humorously good-natured attitude towards them. looking at them from his manhood, he has no contempt for them; but the gentle toleration of a father to very little children who are stupid and troublesome often, but are very lovable. he feels himself so far above them that he can condescend towards them, and forbear with them.
-so all the drivers of gharries, as we call them, are natives of india or half-breeds, and it is amongst them that the work of the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals principally lies. while i was in rangoon i tried a number of cases of over-driving, of using ponies with sore withers and the like. i never tried a burman. even in rangoon, which has become almost indianized, his natural humanity never left the burman. as far as burmans are concerned, the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals need not exist. they are kinder to their animals than even the members of the society could be. instances occur every day; here is one of the most striking that i remember.
-there is a town in burma where there are some troops stationed, and which is the headquarters of the civil administration of the district. it is, or was then, some distance from a railway-station, and it was necessary to make some arrangement for the carriage of the mails to and from the town and station. the post-office called for tenders, and at length it was arranged through the civil authorities that a coach should run once a day each way to carry the mails and passengers. a native of india agreed to take the contract--for burmans seldom or never care to take them--and he was to comply with certain conditions and receive a certain subsidy.
-so an inquiry was made, and the burmese were asked why they did not ride on the coach. were the fares too high?--was it uncomfortable? but no, it was for neither of these reasons that they left the coach to the soldiers and natives of india. it was because of the ponies. no burman would care to ride behind ponies who were treated as these ponies were--half fed, overdriven, whipped. it was a misery to see them; it was twice a misery to drive behind them. 'poor beasts!' they said; 'you can see their ribs, and when they come to the end of a stage they are fit to fall down and die. they should be turned out to graze.'
-the opinion was universal. the burmans preferred to spend twice or thrice the money and hire a bullock-cart and go slowly, while the coach flashed past them in a whirl of dust, or they preferred to walk. many and many times have i seen the roadside rest-houses full of travellers halting for a few minutes' rest. they walked while the coach came by empty; and nearly all of them could have afforded the fare. it was a very striking instance of what pure kind-heartedness will do, for there would have been no religious command broken by going in the coach. it was the pure influence of compassion towards the beasts and refusal to be a party to such hard-heartedness. and yet, as i have said, i do not think the law could have interfered with success. surely a people who could act like this have the very soul of religion in their hearts, although the act was not done in the name of religion.
-all the animals--the cattle, the ponies, and the buffaloes--are so tame that it is almost an unknown thing for anyone to get hurt.
-the cattle are sometimes afraid of the white face and strange attire of a european, but you can walk through the herds as they come home in the evening with perfect confidence that they will not hurt you. even a cow with a young calf will only eye you suspiciously; and with the burmans even the huge water buffaloes are absolutely tame. you can see a herd of these great beasts, with horns six feet across, come along under the command of a very small boy or girl perched on one of their broad backs. he flourishes a little stick, and issues his commands like a general. it is one of the quaintest imaginable sights to see this little fellow get off his steed, run after a straggler, and beat him with his stick. the buffalo eyes his master, whom he could abolish with one shake of his head, submissively, and takes the beating, which he probably feels about as much as if a straw fell on him, good-humouredly. the children never seem to come to grief. buffaloes occasionally charge europeans, but the only place where i have known of burmans being killed by buffaloes is in the kalè valley. there the buffaloes are turned out into the jungle for eight months in the year, and are only caught for ploughing and carting. naturally they are quite wild; in fact, many of them are the offspring of wild bulls.
-the burmans, too, are very fond of dogs. their villages are full of dogs; but, as far as i know, they never use them for anything, and they are never trained to do anything. they are supposed to be useful as watch-dogs, but i do not think they are very good even at that. i have surrounded a village before dawn, and never a dog barked, and i have heard them bark all night at nothing.
-but when a burman sees a fox-terrier or any english dog his delight is unfeigned. when we first took upper burma, and such sights were rare, half a village would turn out to see the little 'tail-less' dog trotting along after its master. and if the terrier would 'beg,' then he would win all hearts. i am not only referring to children, but to grown men and women; and then there is always something peculiarly childlike and frank in these children of the great river.
-only to-day, as i was walking up the bank of the river in the early dawn, i heard some burman boatmen discussing my fox-terrier. they were about fifteen yards from the shore, poling their boat up against the current, which is arduous work; and as i passed them my little dog ran down the bank and looked at them across the water, and they saw her.
-'see now,' said one man to another, pausing for a moment with his pole in his hand--'see the little white dog with the brown face, how wise she looks!'
-'and how pretty!' said a man steering in the stern. 'come!' he cried, holding out his hand to it.
-but the dog only made a splash in the water with her paws, and then turned and ran after me. the boatmen laughed and resumed their poling, and i passed on. in the still morning across the still water i could hear every word, but i hardly took any note; i have heard it so often. only now when i come to write on this subject do i remember.
-it has been inculcated in us from childhood that it is a manly thing to be indifferent to pain--not to our own pain only, but to that of all others. to be sorry for a hunted hare, to compassionate the wounded deer, to shrink from torturing the brute creation, has been accounted by us as namby-pamby sentimentalism, not fit for man, fit only for a squeamish woman. to the burman it is one of the highest of all virtues. he believes that all that is beautiful in life is founded on compassion and kindness and sympathy--that nothing of great value can exist without them. do you think that a burmese boy would be allowed to birds'-nest, or worry rats with a terrier, or go ferreting? not so. these would be crimes.
-that this kindness and compassion for animals has very far-reaching results no one can doubt. if you are kind to animals, you will be kind, too, to your fellow-man. it is really the same thing, the same feeling in both cases. if to be superior in position to an animal justifies you in torturing it, so it would do with men. if you are in a better position than another man, richer, stronger, higher in rank, that would--that does often in our minds--justify ill-treatment and contempt. our innate feeling towards all that we consider inferior to ourselves is scorn; the burman's is compassion. you can see this spirit coming out in every action of their daily life, in their dealings with each other, in their thoughts, in their speech. 'you are so strong, have you no compassion for him who is weak, who is tempted, who has fallen?' how often have i heard this from a burman's lips! how often have i seen him act up to it! it seems to them the necessary corollary of strength that the strong man should be sympathetic and kind. it seems to them an unconscious confession of weakness to be scornful, revengeful, inconsiderate. courtesy, they say, is the mark of a great man, discourtesy of a little one. no one who feels his position secure will lose his temper, will persecute, will be disdainful. their word for a fool and for a hasty-tempered man is the same. to them it is the same thing, one infers the other. and so their attitude towards animals is but an example of their attitude to each other. that an animal or a man should be lower and weaker than you is the strongest claim he can have on your humanity, and your courtesy and consideration for him is the clearest proof of your own superiority. and so in his dealings with animals the buddhist considers himself, consults his own dignity, his own strength, and is kind and compassionate to them out of the greatness of his own heart. nothing is more beautiful than the burman in his ways with his children, and his beasts, with all who are lesser than himself.
-even to us, who think so very differently from him on many points, there is a great and abiding charm in all this, to which we can find only one exception; for to our ideas there is one exception, and it is this: no burman will take any life if he can help it, and therefore, if any animal injure itself, he will not kill it--not even to put it out of its pain, as we say. i have seen bullocks split on slippery roads, i have seen ponies with broken legs, i have seen goats with terrible wounds caused by accidental falls, and no one would kill them. if, when you are out shooting, your beaters pick up a wounded hare or partridge, do not suppose that they wring its neck; you must yourself do that, or it will linger on till you get home. under no circumstances will they take the life even of a wounded beast. and if you ask them, they will say: 'if a man be sick, do you shoot him? if he injure his spine so that he will be a cripple for life, do you put him out of his pain?'
-if you reply that men and beasts are different, they will answer that in this point they do not recognise the difference. 'poor beast! let him live out his little life.' and they will give him grass and water till he dies.
-this is the exception that i meant, but now, after i have written it, i am not so sure. is it an exception?
-all life is one
-'i heard a voice that cried, "balder the beautiful is dead, is dead," and through the misty air passed like the mournful cry of sunward-sailing cranes.' tegner's drapa.
-all romance has died out of our woods and hills in england, all our fairies are dead long ago. knowledge so far has brought us only death. later on it will bring us a new life. it is even now showing us how this may be, and is bringing us face to face again with nature, and teaching us to know and understand the life that there is about us. science is telling us again what we knew long ago and forgot, that our life is not apart from the life about us, but of it. everything is akin to us, and when we are more accustomed to this knowledge, when we have ceased to regard it as a new, strange teaching, and know that we are but seeing again with clearer eyes what a half-knowledge blinded us to, then the world will be bright and beautiful to us as it was long ago.
-but now all is dark. there are no dryads in our trees, nor nymphs among the reeds that fringe the river; even our peaks hold for us no guardian spirit, that may take the reckless trespasser and bind him in a rock for ever. and because we have lost our belief in fairies, because we do not now think that there are goblins in our caves, because there is no spirit in the winds nor voice in the thunder, we have come to think that the trees and the rocks, the flowers and the storm, are all dead things. they are made up, we say, of materials that we know, they are governed by laws that we have discovered, and there is no life anywhere in nature.
-and yet this cannot be true. far truer is it to believe in fairies and in spirits than in nothing at all; for surely there is life all about us. who that has lived out alone in the forest, that has lain upon the hillside and seen the mountains clothe themselves in lustrous shadows shot with crimson when the day dies, who that has heard the sigh come up out of the ravines where the little breezes move, that has watched the trees sway their leaves to and fro, beckoning to each other with wayward amorous gestures, but has known that these are not dead things?
-watch the stream coming down the hill with a flash and a laugh in the sunlight, look into the dark brown pools in the deep shadows beneath the rocks, or voyage a whole night upon the breast of the great river, drifting past ghostly monasteries and silent villages, and then say if there be no life in the waters, if they, too, are dead things. there is no consolation like the consolation of nature, no sympathy like the sympathy of the hills and streams; and sympathy comes from life. there is no sympathy with the dead.
-when you are alone in the forest all this life will come and talk to you, if you are quiet and understand. there is love deep down in the passionate heart of the flower, as there is in the little quivering honeysucker flitting after his mate, as there was in romeo long ago. there is majesty in the huge brown precipice greater than ever looked from the face of a king. all life is one. the soul that moves within you when you hear the deer call to each other far above in the misty meadows of the night is the same soul that moves in everything about you. no people who have lived much with nature have failed to descry this. they have recognised the life, they have felt the sympathy of the world about them, and to this life they have given names and forms as they would to friends whom they loved. fairies and goblins, fauns and spirits, these are but names and personifications of a real life. but to him who has never felt this life, who has never been wooed by the trees and hills, these things are but foolishness, of course.
-to the burman, not less than to the greek of long ago, all nature is alive. the forest and the river and the mountains are full of spirits, whom the burmans call nats. there are all kinds of nats, good and bad, great and little, male and female, now living round about us. some of them live in the trees, especially in the huge fir-tree that shades half an acre without the village; or among the fernlike fronds of the tamarind; and you will often see beneath such a tree, raised upon poles or nestled in the branches, a little house built of bamboo and thatch, perhaps two feet square. you will be told when you ask that this is the house of the tree-nat. flowers will be offered sometimes, and a little water or rice maybe, to the nat, never supposing that he is in need of such things, but as a courteous and graceful thing to do; for it is not safe to offend these nats, and many of them are very powerful. there is a nat of whom i know, whose home is in a great tree at the crossing of two roads, and he has a house there built for him, and he is much feared. he is such a great nat that it is necessary when you pass his house to dismount from your pony and walk to a respectful distance. if you haughtily ride past, trouble will befall you. a friend of mine riding there one day rejected all the advice of his burmese companions and did not dismount, and a few days later he was taken deadly sick of fever. he very nearly died, and had to go away to the straits for a sea-trip to take the fever out of his veins. it was a very near thing for him. that was in the burmese times, of course. after that he always dismounted. but all nats are not so proud nor so much to be feared as this one, and it is usually safe to ride past.
-even as i write i am under the shadow of a tree where a nat used to live, and the headman of the village has been telling me all about it. this is a government rest-house on a main road between two stations, and is built for government officials travelling on duty about their districts. to the west of it is a grand fig-tree of the kind called nyaungbin by the burmese. it is a very beautiful tree, though now a little bare, for it is just before the rains; but it is a great tree even now, and two months hence it will be glorious. it was never planted, the headman tells me, but came up of itself very many years ago, and when it was grown to full size a nat came to live in it. the nat lived in the tree for many years, and took great care of it. no one might injure it or any living creature near it, so jealous was the nat of his abode. and the villagers built a little nat-house, such as i have described, under the branches, and offered flowers and water, and all things went well with those who did well. but if anyone did ill the nat punished him. if he cut the roots of the tree, the nat hurt his feet; and if he injured the branches, the nat injured his arms; and if he cut the trunk, the nat came down out of the tree, and killed the sacrilegious man right off. there was no running away, because, as you know, the headman said, nats can go a great deal faster than any man. many men, careless strangers, who camped under the tree and then abused the hospitality of the nat by hunting near his home, came to severe grief.
-but the nat has gone now, alas! the tree is still there, but the nat has fled away these many years.
-'i suppose he didn't care to stay,' said the headman. 'you see that the english government officials came and camped here, and didn't fear the nats. they had fowls killed here for their dinner, and they sang and shouted; and they shot the green pigeons who ate his figs, and the little doves that nested in his branches.'
-all these things were an abomination to the nat, who hated loud, rough talk and abuse, and to whom all life was sacred.
-so the nat went away. the headman did not know where he was gone, but there are plenty of trees.
-'he has gone somewhere to get peace,' the headman said. 'somewhere in the jungle, where no one ever comes save the herd-boy and the deer, he will be living in a tree, though i do not think he will easily find a tree so beautiful as this.'
-the headman seemed very sorry about it, and so did several villagers who were with him; and i suggested that if the nat-houses were rebuilt, and flowers and water offered, the nat might know and return. i even offered to contribute myself, that it might be taken as an amende honorable on behalf of the english government. but they did not think this would be any use. no nat would come where there was so much going and coming, so little care for life, such a disregard for pity and for peace. if we were to take away our rest-house, well then, perhaps, after a time, something could be done, but not under present circumstances.
-and so, besides dethroning the burmese king, and occupying his golden palace, we are ousting from their pleasant homes the guardian spirits of the trees. they flee before the cold materialism of our belief, before the brutality of our manners. the headman did not say this; he did not mean to say this, for he is a very courteous man and a great friend of all of us; but that is what it came to, i think.
-the trunk of this tree is more than ten feet through--not a round bole, but like the pillar in a gothic cathedral, as of many smaller boles growing together; and the roots spread out into a pedestal before entering the ground. the trunk does not go up very far. at perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground it divides into a myriad of smaller trunks, not branches, till it looks more like a forest than a single tree; it is full of life still. though the pigeons and the doves come here no longer, there are a thousand other birds flitting to and fro in their aerial city and chirping to each other. two tiny squirrels have just run along a branch nearly over my head, in a desperate hurry apparently, their tails cocked over their backs, and a sky blue chameleon is standing on the trunk near where it parts. there is always a breeze in this great tree; the leaves are always moving, and there is a continuous rustle and murmur up there. a mango-tree and tamarind near by are quite still. not a breath shakes their leaves; they are as still as stone, but the shadow of the fig-tree is chequered with ever-changing lights. is the nat really gone? perhaps not; perhaps he is still there, still caring for his tree, only shy now and distrustful, and therefore no more seen.
-whole woods are enchanted sometimes, and no one dare enter them. such a wood i know, far away north, near the hills, which is full of nats. there was a great deal of game in it, for animals sought shelter there, and no one dared to disturb them; not the villagers to cut firewood, nor the girls seeking orchids, nor the hunter after his prey, dared to trespass upon that enchanted ground.
-'what would happen,' i asked once, 'if anyone went into that wood? would he be killed, or what?'
-and i was told that no one could tell what would happen, only that he would never be seen again alive. 'the nats would confiscate him,' they said, 'for intruding on their privacy.' but what they would do to him after the confiscation no one seemed to be quite sure. i asked the official who was with me, a fine handsome burman who had been with us in many fights, whether he would go into the wood with me, but he declined at once. enemies are one thing, nats are quite another, and a very much more dreadful thing. you can escape from enemies, as witness my companion, who had been shot at times without number and had only once been hit, in the leg, but you cannot escape nats. once, he told me, there were two very sacrilegious men, hunters by profession, only more abandoned than even the majority of hunters, and they went into this wood to hunt 'they didn't care for nats,' they said. they didn't care for anything at all apparently. 'they were absolutely without reverence, worse than any beast,' said my companion.
-so they went into the wood to shoot, and they never came out again. a few days later their bare bones were found, flung out upon the road near the enchanted wood. the nats did not care to have even the bones of such scoundrels in their wood, and so thrust them out. that was what happened to them, and that was what might happen to us if we went in there. we did not go.
-though the nats of the forest will not allow even one of their beasts to be slain, the nats of the rivers are not so exclusive. i do not think fish are ever regarded in quite the same light as animals. it is true that a fervent buddhist will not kill even a fish, but a fisherman is not quite such a reprobate as a hunter in popular estimation. and the nats think so too, for the nat of a pool will not forbid all fishing. you must give him his share; you must be respectful to him, and not offend him; and then he will fill your nets with gleaming fish, and all will go well with you. if not, of course, you will come to grief; your nets will be torn, and your boat upset; and finally, if obstinate, you will be drowned. a great arm will seize you, and you will be pulled under and disappear for ever.
-a nat is much like a human being; if you treat him well he will treat you well, and conversely. courtesy is never wasted on men or nats, at least, so a burman tells me.
-the highest nats live in the mountains. the higher the nat the higher the mountain; and when you get to a very high peak indeed, like mainthong peak in wuntho, you encounter very powerful nats.
-they tell a story of mainthong peak and the nats there, how all of a sudden, one day in 1885, strange noises came from the hill. high up on his mighty side was heard the sound of great guns firing slowly and continuously; there was the thunder of falling rocks, cries as of someone bewailing a terrible calamity, and voices calling from the precipices. the people living in their little hamlets about his feet were terrified. something they knew had happened of most dire import to them, some catastrophe which they were powerless to prevent, which they could not even guess. but when a few weeks later there came even into those remote villages the news of the fall of mandalay, of the surrender of the king, of the 'great treachery,' they knew that this was what the nats had been sorrowing over. all the nats everywhere seem to have been distressed at our arrival, to hate our presence, and to earnestly desire our absence. they are the spirits of the country and of the people, and they cannot abide a foreign domination.
-but the greatest place for nats is the popa mountain, which is an extinct volcano standing all alone about midway between the river and the shan mountains. it is thus very conspicuous, having no hills near it to share its majesty; and being in sight from many of the old capitals, it is very well known in history and legend. it is covered with dense forest, and the villages close about are few. at the top there is a crater with a broken side, and a stream comes flowing out of this break down the mountain. probably it was the denseness of its forests, the abundance of water, and its central position, more than its guardian nats, that made it for so many years the last retreating-place of the half-robber, half-patriot bands that made life so uneasy for us. but the nats of popa mountains are very famous.
-when any foreigner was taken into the service of the king of burma he had to swear an oath of fidelity. he swore upon many things, and among them were included 'all the nats in popa.' no burman would have dared to break an oath sworn in such a serious way as this, and they did not imagine that anyone else would. it was and is a very dangerous thing to offend the popa nats; for they are still there in the mountain, and everyone who goes there must do them reverence.
-a friend of mine, a police officer, who was engaged in trying to catch the last of the robber chiefs who hid near popa, told me that when he went up the mountain shooting he, too, had to make offerings. some way up there is a little valley dark with overhanging trees, and a stream flows slowly along it. it is an enchanted valley, and if you look closely you will see that the stream is not as other streams, for it flows uphill. it comes rushing into the valley with a great display of foam and froth, and it leaves in a similar way, tearing down the rocks, and behaving like any other boisterous hill rivulet; but in the valley itself it lies under a spell. it is slow and dark, and has a surface like a mirror, and it flows uphill. there is no doubt about it; anyone can see it. when they came here, my friend tells me, they made a halt, and the burmese hunters with him unpacked his breakfast. he did not want to eat then, he said, but they explained that it was not for him, but for the nats. all his food was unpacked, cold chicken and tinned meats, and jam and eggs and bread, and it was spread neatly on a cloth under a tree. then the hunters called upon the nats to come and take anything they desired, while my friend wondered what he should do if the nats took all his food and left him with nothing. but no nats came, although the burmans called again and again. so they packed up the food, saying that now the nats would be pleased at the courtesy shown to them, and that my friend would have good sport. presently they went on, leaving, however, an egg or two and a little salt, in case the nats might be hungry later, and true enough it was that they did have good luck. at other times, my friend says, when he did not observe this ceremony, he saw nothing to shoot at all, but on this day he did well.
-the former history of all nats is not known. whether they have had a previous existence in another form, and if so, what, is a secret that they usually keep carefully to themselves, but the history of the popa nats is well known. everyone who lives near the great hill can tell you that, for it all happened not so long ago. how long exactly no one can say, but not so long that the details of the story have become at all clouded by the mists of time.
-they were brother and sister, these popa nats, and they had lived away up north. the brother was a blacksmith, and he was a very strong man. he was the strongest man in all the country; the blow of his hammer on the anvil made the earth tremble, and his forge was as the mouth of hell. no one was so much feared and so much sought after as he. and as he was strong, so his sister was beautiful beyond all the maidens of the time. their father and mother were dead, and there was no one but those two, the brother and sister, so they loved each other dearly, and thought of no one else. the brother brought home no wife to his house by the forge. he wanted no one while he had his sister there, and when lovers came wooing to her, singing amorous songs in the amber dusk, she would have nothing to do with them. so they lived there together, he growing stronger and she more beautiful every day, till at last a change came.
-the old king died, and a new king came to the throne, and orders were sent about to all the governors of provinces and other officials that the most beautiful maidens were to be sent down to the golden city to be wives to the great king. so the governor of that country sent for the blacksmith and his sister to his palace, and told them there what orders he had received, and asked the blacksmith to give his sister that she might be sent as queen to the king. we are not told what arguments the governor used to gain his point, but only this, that when he failed, he sent the girl in unto his wife, and there she was persuaded to go. there must have been something very tempting, to one who was but a village girl, in the prospect of being even one of the lesser queens, of living in the palace, the centre of the world. so she consented at last, and her brother consented, and the girl was sent down under fitting escort to find favour in the eyes of her king. but the blacksmith refused to go. it was no good the governor saying such a great man as he must come to high honour in the golden city, it was useless for the girl to beg and pray him to come with her--he always refused. so she sailed away down the great river, and the blacksmith returned to his forge.
-as the governor had said, the girl was acceptable in the king's sight, and she was made at last one of the principal queens, and of all she had most power over the king. they say she was most beautiful, that her presence was as soothing as shade after heat, that her form was as graceful as a young tree, and the palms of her hands were like lotus blossoms. she had enemies, of course. most of the other queens were her enemies, and tried to do her harm. but it was useless telling tales of her to the king, for the king never believed; and she walked so wisely and so well, that she never fell into any snare. but still the plots never ceased.
-there was one day when she was sitting alone in the garden pavilion, with the trees making moving shadows all about her, that the king came to her. they talked for a time, and the king began to speak to her of her life before she came to the palace, a thing he had never done before. but he seemed to know all about it, nevertheless, and he spoke to her of her brother, and said that he, the king, had heard how no man was so strong as this blacksmith, the brother of the queen. the queen said it was true, and she talked on and on and praised her brother, and babbled of the days of her childhood, when he carried her on his great shoulder, and threw her into the air, catching her again. she was delighted to talk of all these things, and in her pleasure she forgot her discretion, and said that her brother was wise as well as strong, and that all the people loved him. never was there such a man as he. the king did not seem very pleased with it all, but he said only that the blacksmith was a great man, and that the queen must write to him to come down to the city, that the king might see him of whom there was such great report.
-then the king got up and went away, and the queen began to doubt; and the more she thought the more she feared she had not been acting wisely in talking as she did, for it is not wise to praise anyone to a king. she went away to her own room to consider, and to try if she could hear of any reason why the king should act as he had done, and desire her brother to come to him to the city; and she found out that it was all a plot of her enemies. herself they had failed to injure, so they were now plotting against her through her brother. they had gone to the king, and filled his ear with slanderous reports. they had said that the queen's brother was the strongest man in all the kingdom. 'he was cunning, too,' they said, 'and very popular among all the people; and he was so puffed up with pride, now that his sister was a queen, that there was nothing he did not think he could do.' they represented to the king how dangerous such a man was in a kingdom, that it would be quite easy for him to raise such rebellion as the king could hardly put down, and that he was just the man to do such a thing. nay, it was indeed proved that he must be disloyally plotting something, or he would have come down with his sister to the city when she came. but now many months had passed, and he never came. clearly he was not to be trusted. any other man whose sister was a queen would have come and lived in the palace, and served the king and become a minister, instead of staying up there and pretending to be a blacksmith.
-the king's mind had been much disturbed by this, for it seemed to him that it must be in part true; and he went to the queen, as i have said, and his suspicions had not been lulled by what she told him, so he had ordered her to write to her brother to come down to the palace.
-the queen was terrified when she saw what a mistake she had made, and how she had fallen into the trap of her enemies; but she hoped that the king would forget, and she determined that she would send no order to her brother to come. but the next day the king came back to the subject, and asked her if she had yet sent the letter, and she said 'no!' the king was very angry at this disobedience to his orders, and he asked her how it came that she had not done as he had commanded, and sent a letter to her brother to call him to the palace.
-then the queen fell at the king's feet and told him all her fears that her brother was sent for only to be imprisoned or executed, and she begged and prayed the king to leave him in peace up there in his village. she assured the king that he was loyal and good, and would do no evil.
-the king was rather abashed that his design had been discovered, but he was firm in his purpose. he assured the queen that the blacksmith should come to no harm, but rather good; and he ordered the queen to obey him, threatening her that if she refused he would be sure that she was disloyal also, and there would be no alternative but to send and arrest the blacksmith by force, and punish her, the queen, too. then the queen said that if the king swore to her that her brother should come to no harm, she would write as ordered. and the king swore.
-so the queen wrote to her brother, and adjured him by his love to her to come down to the golden city. she said she had dire need of him, and she told him that the king had sworn that no harm should come to him.
-the letter was sent off by a king's messenger. in due time the blacksmith arrived, and he was immediately seized and thrown into prison to await his trial.
-when the queen saw that she had been deceived, she was in despair. she tried by every way, by tears and entreaties and caresses, to move the king, but all without avail. then she tried by plotting and bribery to gain her brother's release, but it was all in vain. the day for trial came quickly, and the blacksmith was tried, and he was condemned and sentenced to be burnt alive by the river on the following day.
-on the evening of the day of trial the queen sent a message to the king to come to her; and when the king came reluctantly, fearing a renewal of entreaties, expecting a woman made of tears and sobs, full of grief, he found instead that the queen had dried her eyes and dressed herself still more beautifully than ever, till she seemed to the king the very pearl among women. and she told the king that he was right, and she was wrong. she said, putting her arms about him and caressing him, that she had discovered that it was true that her brother had been plotting against the king, and therefore his death was necessary. it was terrible, she said, to find that her brother, whom she had always held as a pattern, was no better than a traitor; but it was even so, and her king was the wisest of all kings to find it out.
-the king was delighted to find his queen in this mood, and he soothed her and talked to her kindly and sweetly, for he really loved her, though he had given in to bad advice about the brother. and when the king's suspicions were lulled, the queen said to him that she had now but one request to make, and that was that she might have permission to go down with her maids to the river-shore in the early morning, and see herself the execution of her traitor brother. the king, who would now have granted her anything--anything she asked, except just that one thing, the life of her brother--gave permission; and then the queen said that she was tired and wished to rest after all the trouble of the last few days, and would the king leave her. so the king left her to herself, and went away to his own chambers.
-very early in the morning, ere the crimson flush upon the mountains had faded in the light of day, a vast crowd was gathered below the city, by the shore of the great river. very many thousands were there, of many countries and peoples, crowding down to see a man die, to see a traitor burnt to death for his sins, for there is nothing men like so much as to see another man die.
-upon a little headland jutting out into the river the pyre was raised, with brushwood and straw, to burn quickly, and an iron post in the middle to which the man was to be chained. at one side was a place reserved, and presently down from the palace in a long procession came the queen and her train of ladies to the place kept for her. guards were put all about to prevent the people crowding; and then came the soldiers, and in the midst of them the blacksmith; and amid many cries of 'traitor, traitor!' and shouts of derision, he was bound to the iron post within the wood and the straw, and the guards fell back.
-the queen sat and watched it all, and said never a word. fire was put to the pyre, and it crept rapidly up in long red tongues with coils of black smoke. it went very quickly, for the wood was very dry, and a light breeze came laughing up the river and helped it. the flames played about the man chained there in the midst, and he made never a sign; only he looked steadily across at the purple mountain where his home lay, and it was clear that in a few more moments he would be dead. there was a deep silence everywhere.
-then of a sudden, before anyone knew, before a hand could be held out to hinder her, the queen rose from her seat and ran to the pyre. in a moment she was there and had thrown herself into the flames, and with her arms about her brother's neck she turned and faced the myriad eyes that glared upon them--the queen, in all the glory of her beauty, glittering with gems, and the man with great shackled bare limbs, dressed in a few rags, his muscles already twisted with the agony of the fire. a great cry of horror came from the people, and there was the movement of guards and officers rushing to stop the fire; but it was all of no use. a flash of red flames came out of the logs, folding these twain like an imperial cloak, a whirl of sparks towered into the air, and when one could see again the woman and her brother were no longer there. they were dead and burnt, and the bodies mingled with the ashes of the fire. she had cost her brother his life, and she went with him into death.
-some days after this a strange report was brought to the palace. by the landing-place near the spot where the fire had been was a great fig-tree. it was so near to the landing-place, and was such a magnificent tree, that travellers coming from the boats, or waiting for a boat to arrive, would rest in numbers under its shade. but the report said that something had happened there. to travellers sleeping beneath the tree at night it was stated that two nats had appeared, very large and very beautiful, a man nat and a woman nat, and had frightened them very much indeed. noises were heard in the tree, voices and cries, and a strange terror came upon those who approached it. nay, it was even said that men had been struck by unseen hands and severely hurt, and others, it was said, had disappeared. children who went to play under the tree were never seen again: the nats took them, and their parents sought for them in vain. so the landing-place was deserted, and a petition was brought to the king, and the king gave orders that the tree should be hewn down. so the tree was cut down, and its trunk was thrown into the river; it floated away out of sight, and nothing happened to the men who cut the tree, though they were deadly afraid.
-the tree floated down for days, until at last it stranded near a landing-place that led to a large town, where the governor of these parts lived; and at this landing-place the portents that had frightened the people at the great city reappeared and terrified the travellers here too, and they petitioned the governor.
-the governor sought out a great monk, a very holy man learned in these matters, and sent him to inquire, and the monk came down to the tree and spoke. he said that if any nats lived in the tree, they should speak to him and tell him what they wanted. 'it is not fit,' he said, 'for great nats to terrify the poor villagers at the landing-place. let the nats speak and say what they require. all that they want shall be given.' and the nats spake and said that they wanted a place to live in where they could be at peace, and the monk answered for the governor that all his land was at their disposal. 'let the nats choose,' he said; 'all the country is before them.' so the nats chose, and said that they would have popa mountain, and the monk agreed.
-the nats then left the tree and went away, far away inland, to the great popa mountain, and took up their abode there, and all the people there feared and reverenced them, and even made to their honour two statues with golden heads and set them up on the mountain.
-this is the story of the popa nats, the greatest nats of all the country of burma, the guardian spirits of the mysterious mountain. the golden heads of the statues are now in one of our treasuries, put there for safe custody during the troubles, though it is doubtful if even then anyone would have dared to steal them, so greatly are the nats feared. and the hunters and the travellers there must offer to the nats little offerings, if they would be safe in these forests, and even the young man must obtain permission from the nats before he marry.
-i think these stories that i have told, stories selected from very many that i have heard, will show what sort of spirits these are that the burmese have peopled their trees and rivers with; will show what sort of religion it is that underlies, without influencing, the creed of the buddha that they follow. it is of the very poetry of superstition, free from brutality, from baseness, from anything repulsive, springing, as i have said, from their innate sympathy with nature and recognition of the life that works in all things. it always seems to me that beliefs such as these are a great key to the nature of a people, are, apart from all interest in their beauty, and in their akinness to other beliefs, of great value in trying to understand the character of a nation.
-for to beings such as nats and fairies the people who believe in them will attribute such qualities as are predominant in themselves, as they consider admirable; and, indeed, all supernatural beings are but the magnified shadows of man cast by the light of his imagination upon the mists of his ignorance.
-therefore, when you find that a people make their spirits beautiful and fair, calm and even tempered, loving peace and the beauty of the trees and rivers, shrinkingly averse from loud words, from noises, and from the taking of life, it is because the people themselves think that these are great qualities. if no stress be laid upon their courage, their activity, their performance of great deeds, it is because the people who imagine them care not for such things. there is no truer guide, i am sure, to the heart of a young people than their superstitions; these they make entirely for themselves, apart from their religion, which is, to a certain extent, made for them. that is why i have written this chapter on nats: not because i think it affects buddhism very much one way or another, but because it seems to me to reveal the people themselves, because it helps us to understand them better, to see more with their eyes, to be in unison with their ideas--because it is a great key to the soul of the people.
-death, the deliverer
-'the end of my life is near at hand; seven days hence, like a man who rids himself of a heavy load, i shall be free from the burden of my body.'--death of the buddha.
-there is a song well known to all the burmese, the words of which are taken from the sacred writings. it is called the story of ma pa da, and it was first told to me by a burmese monk, long ago, when i was away on the frontier.
-it runs like this:
-in the time of the buddha, in the city of thawatti, there was a certain rich man, a merchant, who had many slaves. slaves in those days, and, indeed, generally throughout the east, were held very differently to slaves in europe. they were part of the family, and were not saleable without good reason, and there was a law applicable to them. they were not hors de la loi, like the slaves of which we have conception. there are many cases quoted of sisters being slaves to sisters, and of brothers to brothers, quoted not for the purpose of saying that this was an uncommon occurrence, but merely of showing points of law in such cases.
-one day in the market the merchant bought another slave, a young man, handsome and well mannered, and took him to his house, and kept him there with his family and the other slaves. the young man was earnest and careful in his work, and the merchant approved of him, and his fellow-slaves liked him. but ma pa da, the merchant's daughter, fell in love with him. the slave was much troubled at this, and he did his best to avoid her; but he was a slave and under orders, and what could he do? when she would come to him secretly and make love to him, and say, 'let us flee together, for we love each other,' he would refuse, saying that he was a slave, and the merchant would be very angry. he said he could not do such a thing. and yet when the girl said, 'let us flee, for we love each other,' he knew that it was true, and that he loved her as she loved him; and it was only his honour to his master that held him from doing as she asked.
-but because his heart was not of iron, and there are few men that can resist when a woman comes and woos them, he at last gave way; and they fled away one night, the girl and the slave, taking with them her jewels and some money. they travelled rapidly and in great fear, and did not rest till they came to a city far away where the merchant would never, they thought, think of searching for them.
-here, in this city where no one knew of their history, they lived in great happiness, husband and wife, trading with the money they had with them.
-and in time a little child was born to them.
-about two or three years after this it became necessary for the husband to take a journey, and he started forth with his wife and child. the journey was a very long one, and they were unduly delayed; and so it happened that while still in the forest the wife fell ill, and could not go on any further. so the husband built a hut of branches and leaves, and there, in the solitude of the forest, was born to them another little son.
-ma pa da waited and waited for him, but he never came back.
-the sun set and the dark rose out of the ground, and the forest became full of whispers, but he never came. all night she watched and waited, caring for her little ones, fearful to leave them alone, till at last the gray light came down, down from the sky to the branches, and from the branches to the ground, and she could see her way. then, with her new-born babe in her arms and the elder little fellow trotting by her side, she went out to search for her husband. soon enough she found him, not far off, stiff and cold beside his half-cut bundle of firewood. a snake had bitten him on the ankle, and he was dead.
-so ma pa da was alone in the great forest, but a girl still, with two little children to care for.
-but she was brave, despite her trouble, and she determined to go on and gain some village. she took her baby in her arms and the little one by the hand, and started on her journey.
-and for a time all went well, till at last she came to a stream. it was not very deep, but it was too deep for the little boy to wade, for it came up to his neck, and his mother was not strong enough to carry both at once. so, after considering for a time, she told the elder boy to wait. she would cross and put the baby on the far side, and return for him.
-'be good,' she said; 'be good, and stay here quietly till i come back;' and the boy promised.
-the stream was deeper and swifter than she thought; but she went with great care and gained the far side, and put the baby under a tree a little distance from the bank, to lie there while she went for the other boy. then, after a few minutes' rest, she went back.
-she had got to the centre of the stream, and her little boy had come down to the margin to be ready for her, when she heard a rush and a cry from the side she had just left; and, looking round, she saw with terror a great eagle sweep down upon the baby, and carry it off in its claws. she turned round and waved her arms and cried out to the eagle, 'he! he!' hoping it would be frightened and drop the baby. but it cared nothing for her cries or threats, and swept on with long curves over the forest trees, away out of sight.
-then the mother turned to gain the bank once more, and suddenly she missed her son who had been waiting for her. he had seen his mother wave her arms; he had heard her shout, and he thought she was calling him to come to her. so the brave little man walked down into the water, and the black current carried him off his feet at once. he was gone, drowned in the deep water below the ford, tossing on the waves towards the sea.
-no one can write of the despair of the girl when she threw herself under a tree in the forest. the song says it was very terrible.
-at last she said to herself, 'i will get up now and return to my father in thawatti; he is all i have left. though i have forsaken him all these years, yet now that my husband and his children are dead, my father will take me back again. surely he will have pity on me, for i am much to be pitied.'
-so she went on, and at length, after many days, she came to the gates of the great city where her father lived.
-at the entering of the gates she met a large company of people, mourners, returning from a funeral, and she spoke to them and asked them:
-'who is it that you have been burying to-day so grandly with so many mourners?'
-and the people answered her, and told her who it was. and when she heard, she fell down upon the road as one dead: for it was her father and mother who had died yesterday, and it was their funeral train that she saw. they were all dead now, husband and sons and father and mother; in all the world she was quite alone.
-so she went mad, for her trouble was more than she could bear. she threw off all her clothes, and let down her long hair and wrapped it about her naked body, and walked about raving.
-at last she came to where the buddha was teaching, seated under a fig-tree. she came up to the buddha, and told him of her losses, and how she had no one left; and she demanded of the buddha that he should restore to her those that she had lost. and the buddha had great compassion upon her, and tried to console her.
-'all die,' he said; 'it comes to everyone, king and peasant, animal and man. only through many deaths can we obtain the great peace. all this sorrow,' he said, 'is of the earth. all this is passion which we must get rid of, and forget before we reach heaven. be comforted, my daughter, and turn to the holy life. all suffer as you do. it is part of our very existence here, sorrow and trouble without any end.'
-but she would not be comforted, but demanded her dead of the buddha. then, because he saw it was no use talking to her, that her ears were deaf with grief, and her eyes blinded with tears, he said to her that he would restore to her those who were dead.
-'you must go,' he said, 'my daughter, and get some mustard-seed, a pinch of mustard-seed, and i can bring back their lives. only you must get this seed from the garden of him near whom death has never come. get this, and all will be well.'
-so the woman went forth with a light heart. it was so simple, only a pinch of mustard-seed, and mustard grew in every garden. she would get the seed and be back very quickly, and then the lord buddha would give her back those she loved who had died. she clothed herself again and tied up her hair, and went cheerfully and asked at the first house, 'give me a pinch of mustard-seed,' and it was given readily. so with her treasure in her hand she was going forth back to the buddha full of delight, when she remembered.
-'has ever anyone died in your household?' she asked, looking round wistfully.
-the man answered 'yes,' that death had been with them but recently. who could this woman be, he thought, to ask such a question? and the woman went forth, the seed dropping from her careless fingers, for it was of no value. so she would try again and again, but it was always the same. death had taken his tribute from all. father or mother, son or brother, daughter or wife, there was always a gap somewhere, a vacant place beside the meal. from house to house throughout the city she went, till at last the new hope faded away, and she learned from the world, what she had not believed from the buddha, that death and life are one.
-this is the teaching of the buddha, that death is inevitable; this is the consolation he offers, that all men must know death; no one can escape death; no one can escape the sorrow of the death of those whom he loves. death, he says, and life are one; not antagonistic, but the same; and the only way to escape from one is to escape from the other too. only in the great peace, when we have found refuge from the passion and tumult of life, shall we find the place where death cannot come. life and death are one.
-this is the teaching of the buddha, repeated over and over again to his disciples when they sorrowed for the death of thariputra, when they were in despair at the swift-approaching end of the great teacher himself. hear what he says to ananda, the beloved disciple, who is mourning over thariputra.
-'ananda,' he said, 'often and often have i sought to bring shelter to your soul from the misery caused by such grief as this. there are two things alone that can separate us from father and mother, from brother and sister, from all those who are most cherished by us, and those two things are distance and death. think not that i, though the buddha, have not felt all this even as any other of you; was i not alone when i was seeking for wisdom in the wilderness?
-'and yet what would i have gained by wailing and lamenting either for myself or for others? would it have brought to me any solace from my loneliness? would it have been any help to those whom i had left? there is nothing that can happen to us, however terrible, however miserable, that can justify tears and lamentations and make them aught but a weakness.'
-and so, we are told, in this way the buddha soothed the affliction of ananda, and filled his soul with consolation--the consolation of resignation.
-for there is no other consolation possible but this, resignation to the inevitable, the conviction of the uselessness of sorrow, the vanity and selfishness of grief.
-there is no meeting again with the dead. nowhere in the recurring centuries shall we meet again those whom we have loved, whom we love, who seem to us to be parts of our very soul. that which survives of us, the part which is incarnated again and again, until it be fit for heaven, has nothing to do with love and hate.
-even if in the whirlpool of life our paths should cross again the paths of those whom we have loved, we are never told that we shall know them again and love them.
-a friend of mine has just lost his mother, and he is very much distressed. he must have been very fond of her, for although he has a wife and children, and is happy in his family, he is in great sorrow. he proposes even to build a pagoda over her remains, a testimony of respect which in strict buddhism is reserved to saints. he has been telling me about this, and how he is trying to get a sacred relic to put in the pagoda, and i asked him if he never hoped again to meet the soul of his mother on earth or in heaven, and he answered:
-'no. it is very hard, but so are many things, and they have to be borne. far better it is to face the truth than to escape by a pleasant falsehood. there is a burmese proverb that tells us that all the world is one vast burial-ground; there are dead men everywhere.'
-'one of our great men has said the same,' i answered.
-he was not surprised.
-'as it is true,' he said, 'i suppose all great men would see it.'
-thus there is no escape, no loophole for a delusive hope, only the cultivation of the courage of sorrow.
-there are never any exceptions to the laws of the buddha. if a law is a law, that is the end of it. just as we know of no exceptions to the law of gravitation, so there are no exceptions to the law of death.
-but although this may seem to be a religion of despair, it is not really so. this sorrow to which there is no relief is the selfishness of sorrow, the grief for our own loneliness; for of sorrow, of fear, of pity for the dead, there is no need. we know that in time all will be well with them. we know that, though there may be before them vast periods of suffering, yet that they will all at last be in nebhan with us. and if we shall not know them there, still we shall know that they are there, all of them--not one will be wanting. purified from the lust of life, white souls steeped in the great peace, all living things will attain rest at last.
-there is this remarkable fact in buddhism, that nowhere is any fear expressed of death itself, nowhere any apprehension of what may happen to the dead. it is the sorrow of separation, the terror of death to the survivors, that is always dwelt upon with compassion, and the agony of which it is sought to soothe.
-that the dying man himself should require strengthening to face the king of terrors is hardly ever mentioned. it seems to be taken for granted that men should have courage in themselves to take leave of life becomingly, without undue fears. buddhism is the way to show us the escape from the miseries of life, not to give us hope in the hour of death.
-it is true that to all orientals death is a less fearful thing than it is to us. i do not know what may be the cause of this, courage certainly has little to do with it; but it is certain that the purely physical fear of death, that horror and utter revulsion that seizes the majority of us at the idea of death, is absent from most orientals. and yet this cannot explain it all. for fear of death, though less, is still there, is still a strong influence upon their lives, and it would seem that no religion which ignored this great fact could become a great living religion.
-religion is made for man, to fit his necessities, not man for religion, and yet the faith of buddhism is not concerned with death.
-consider our faith, how much of its teaching consists of how to avoid the fear of death, how much of its consolation is for the death-bed. how we are taught all our lives that we should live so as not to fear death; how we have priests and sacraments to soothe the dying man, and give him hope and courage, and how the crown and summit of our creed is that we should die easily. and consider that in buddhism all this is absolutely wanting. buddhism is a creed of life, of conduct; death is the end of that life, that is all.
-we have all seen death. we have all of us watched those who, near and dear to us, go away out of our ken. there is no need for me to recall the last hours of those of our faith, to bring up again the fading eye and waning breath, the messages of hope we search for in our scriptures to give hope to him who is going, the assurances of religion, the cross held before the dying eyes.
-many men, we are told, turn to religion at the last after a life of wickedness, and a man may do so even at the eleventh hour and be saved.
-that is part of our belief; that is the strongest part of our belief; and that is the hope that all fervent christians have, that those they love may be saved even at the end.
-i think it may truly be said that our western creeds are all directed at the hour of death, as the great and final test of that creed.
-and now think of buddhism; it is a creed of life. in life you must win your way to salvation by urgent effort, by suffering, by endurance. on your death-bed you can do nothing. if you have done well, then it is well; if ill, then you must in future life try again and again till you succeed. a life is not washed, a soul is not made fit for the dwelling of eternity, in a moment.
-repentance to a buddhist is but the opening of the eyes to see the path to righteousness; it has no virtue in itself. to have seen that we are sinners is but the first step to cleansing our sin; in itself it cannot purify.
-as well ask a robber of the poor to repent, and suppose thereby that those who have suffered from his guilt are compensated for the evil done to them by his repentance, as to ask a buddhist to believe that a sinner can at the last moment make good to his own soul all the injuries caused to that soul by the wickedness of his life.
-or suppose a man who has destroyed his constitution by excess to be by the very fact of acknowledging that excess restored to health.
-the buddhist will not have that at all. a man is what he makes himself; and that making is a matter of terrible effort, of unceasing endeavour towards the right, of constant suppression of sin, till sin be at last dead within him. if a man has lived a wicked life, he dies a wicked man, and no wicked man can obtain the perfect rest of the sinless dead. heaven is shut to him. but if heaven is shut it is not shut for ever; if hell may perhaps open to him it is only for a time, only till he is purified and washed from the stain of his sins; and then he can begin again, and have another chance to win heaven. if there is no immediate heaven there is no eternal hell, and in due time all will reach heaven; all will have learnt, through suffering, the wisdom the buddha has shown to us, that only by a just life can men reach the great peace even as he did.
-so that if buddhism has none of the consolation for the dying man that christianity holds out, in the hope of heaven, so it has none of the threats and terrors of our faith. there is no fear of an angry judge--of a judge who is angry.
-and yet when i came to think over the matter, it seemed to me that surely there must be something to calm him in the face of death. if buddhism does not furnish this consolation, he must go elsewhere for it. and i was not satisfied, because i could find nothing in the sacred books about a man's death, that therefore the creed of the people had ignored it. a living creed must, i was sure, provide for this somehow.
-so i went to a friend of mine, a burman magistrate, and i asked him:
-'when a man is dying, what does he try to think of? what do you say to comfort him that his last moments may be peace? the monks do not come, i know.'
-'the monks!' he said, shaking his head; 'what could they do?'
-i did not know.
-'can you do anything,' i asked, 'to cheer him? do you speak to him of what may happen after death, of hopes of another life?'
-'no one can tell,' said my friend, 'what will happen after death. it depends on a man's life, if he has done good or evil, what his next existence will be, whether he will go a step nearer to the peace. when the man is dying no monks will come, truly; but an old man, an old friend, father, perhaps, or an elder of the village, and he will talk to the dying man. he will say, "think of your good deeds; think of all that you have done well in this life. think of your good deeds."'
-'what is the use of that?' i asked. 'suppose you think of your good deeds, what then? will that bring peace?'
-the burman seemed to think that it would.
-'nothing,' he said, 'was so calming to a man's soul as to think of even one deed he had done well in his life.'
-think of the man dying. the little house built of bamboo and thatch, with an outer veranda, where the friends are sitting, and the inner room, behind a wall of bamboo matting, where the man is lying. a pot of flowers is standing on a shelf on one side, and a few cloths are hung here and there beneath the brown rafters. the sun comes in through little chinks in roof and wall, making curious lights in the semi-darkness of the room, and it is very hot.
-from outside come the noises of the village, cries of children playing, grunts of cattle, voices of men and women clearly heard through the still clear air of the afternoon. there is a woman pounding rice near by with a steady thud, thud of the lever, and there is a clink of a loom where a girl is weaving ceaselessly. all these sounds come into the house as if there were no walls at all, but they are unheeded from long custom.
-the man lies on a low bed with a fine mat spread under him for bedding. his wife, his grown-up children, his sister, his brother are about him, for the time is short, and death comes very quickly in the east. they talk to him kindly and lovingly, but they read to him no sacred books; they give him no messages from the world to which he is bound; they whisper to him no hopes of heaven. he is tortured with no fears of everlasting hell. yet life is sweet and death is bitter, and it is hard to go; and as he tosses to and fro in his fever there comes in to him an old friend, the headman of the village perhaps, with a white muslin fillet bound about his kind old head, and he sits beside the dying man and speaks to him.
-'remember,' he says slowly and clearly, 'all those things that you have done well. think of your good deeds.'
-and as the sick man turns wearily, trying to move his thoughts as he is bidden, trying to direct the wheels of memory, the old man helps him to remember.
-'think,' he says, 'of your good deeds, of how you have given charity to the monks, of how you have fed the poor. remember how you worked and saved to build the little rest-house in the forest where the traveller stays and finds water for his thirst. all these are pleasant things, and men will always be grateful to you. remember your brother, how you helped him in his need, how you fed him and went security for him till he was able again to secure his own living. you did well to him, surely that is a pleasant thing.'
-i do not think it difficult to see how the sick man's face will lighten, how his eyes will brighten at the thoughts that come to him at the old man's words. and he goes on:
-'remember when the squall came up the river and the boat upset when you were crossing here; how it seemed as if no man could live alone in such waves, and yet how you clung to and saved the boy who was with you, swimming through the water that splashed over your head and very nearly drowned you. the boy's father and mother have never forgotten that, and they are even now mourning without in the veranda. it is all due to you that their lives have not been full of misery and despair. remember their faces when you brought their little son to them saved from death in the great river. surely that is a pleasant thing. remember your wife who is now with you; how you have loved her and cherished her, and kept faithful to her before all the world. you have been a good husband to her, and you have honoured her. she loves you, and you have loved her all your long life together. surely that is a pleasant thing.'
-yes, surely these are pleasant things to have with one at the last. surely a man will die easier with such memories as these before his eyes, with love in those about him, and the calm of good deeds in his dying heart. if it be a different way of soothing a man's end from those which other nations use, is it the worse for that?
-think of your good deeds. it seems a new idea to me that in doing well in our life we are making for ourselves a pleasant death, because of the memory of those things. and if we have none? or if evil so outnumbered the good deeds as to hide and overwhelm them, what then? a man's death will be terrible indeed if he cannot in all his days remember one good deed that he has done.
-'all a man's life comes before him at the hour of death,' said my informant; 'all, from the earliest memory to the latest breath. like a whole landscape called by a flash of lightning out of the dark night. it is all there, every bit of it, good and evil, pleasure and pain, sin and righteousness.'
-a man cannot escape from his life even in death. in our acts of to-day we are determining what our death will be; if we have lived well, we shall die well; and if not, then not. as a man lives so shall he die, is the teaching of buddhism as of other creeds.
-so what buddhism has to offer to the dying believer is this, that if he live according to its tenets he will die happily, and that in the life that he will next enter upon he will be less and less troubled by sin, less and less wedded to the lust of life, until sometime, far away, he shall gain the great deliverance. he shall have perfect peace, perfect rest, perfect happiness, he and his, in that heaven where his teacher went before him long ago.
-and if we should say that this deliverance from life, this great peace, is death, what matter, if it be indeed peace?
-1. not to take life. 2. to be honest. 3. to tell the truth. 4. to abstain from intoxicants. 5. chastity.
-the potter's wheel
-'life is like a great whirlpool wherein we are dashed to and fro by our passions.'--saying of the buddha.
-it is a hard teaching, this of the buddha about death. it is a teaching that may appeal to the reason, but not to the soul, that when life goes out, this thing which we call 'i' goes out with it, and that love and remembrance are dead for ever.
-it is so hard a teaching that in its purity the people cannot believe it. they accept it, but they have added on to it a belief which changes the whole form of it, a belief that is the outcome of that weakness of humanity which insists that death is not and cannot be all.
-though to the strict buddhist death is the end of all worldly passion, to the burmese villager that is not so. he cannot grasp, he cannot endure that it should be so, and he has made for himself out of buddhism a belief that is opposed to all buddhism in this matter.
-he believes in the transmigration of souls, in the survival of the 'i.' the teaching that what survives is not the 'i,' but only the result of its action, is too deep for him to hold. true, if a flame dies the effects that it has caused remain, and the flame is dead for ever. a new flame is a new flame. but the 'i' of man cannot die, he thinks; it lives and loves for all time.
-he has made out of the teaching a new teaching that is very far from that of the buddha, and the teaching is this: when a man dies his soul remains, his 'i' has only changed its habitation. still it lives and breathes on earth, not the effect, but the soul itself. it is reborn among us, and it may even be recognised very often in its new abode.
-and that we should never forget this, that we should never doubt that this is true, it has been so ordered that many can remember something of these former lives of theirs. this belief is not to a burman a mere theory, but is as true as anything he can see. for does he not daily see people who know of their former lives? nay, does he not himself, often vaguely, have glimpses of that former life of his? no man seems to be quite without it, but of course it is clearer to some than others. just as we tell stories in the dusk of ghosts and second sight, so do they, when the day's work is over, gossip of stories of second birth; only that they believe in them far more than we do in ghosts.
-a friend of mine put up for the night once at a monastery far away in the forest near a small village. he was travelling with an escort of mounted police, and there was no place else to sleep but in the monastery. the monk was, as usual, hospitable, and put what he had, bare house-room, at the officer's disposal, and he and his men settled down for the night.
-after dinner a fire was built on the ground, and the officer went and sat by it and talked to the headman of the village and the monk. first they talked of the dacoits and of crops, unfailing subjects of interest, and gradually they drifted from one subject to another till the englishman remarked about the monastery, that it was a very large and fine one for such a small secluded village to have built. the monastery was of the best and straightest teak, and must, he thought, have taken a very long time and a great deal of labour to build, for the teak must have been brought from very far away; and in explanation he was told a curious story.
-it appeared that in the old days there used to be only a bamboo and grass monastery there, such a monastery as most jungle villages have; and the then monk was distressed at the smallness of his abode and the little accommodation there was for his school--a monastery is always a school. so one rainy season he planted with great care a number of teak seedlings round about, and he watered them and cared for them. 'when they are grown up,' he would say, 'these teak-trees shall provide timber for a new and proper building; and i will myself return in another life, and with those trees will i build a monastery more worthy than this.' teak-trees take a hundred years to reach a mature size, and while the trees were still but saplings the monk died, and another monk taught in his stead. and so it went on, and the years went by, and from time to time new monasteries of bamboo were built and rebuilt, and the teak-trees grew bigger and bigger. but the village grew smaller, for the times were troubled, and the village was far away in the forest. so it happened that at last the village found itself without a monk at all: the last monk was dead, and no one came to take his place.
-it is a serious thing for a village to have no monk. to begin with, there is no one to teach the lads to read and write and do arithmetic; and there is no one to whom you can give offerings and thereby get merit, and there is no one to preach to you and tell you of the sacred teaching. so the village was in a bad way.
-then at last one evening, when the girls were all out at the well drawing water, they were surprised by the arrival of a monk walking in from the forest, weary with a long journey, footsore and hungry. the villagers received him with enthusiasm, fearing, however, that he was but passing through, and they furbished up the old monastery in a hurry for him to sleep in. but the curious thing was that the monk seemed to know it all. he knew the monastery and the path to it, and the ways about the village, and the names of the hills and the streams. it seemed, indeed, as if he must once have lived there in the village, and yet no one knew him or recognised his face, though he was but a young man still, and there were villagers who had lived there for seventy years. next morning, instead of going on his way, the monk came into the village with his begging-bowl, as monks do, and went round and collected his food for the day; and in the evening, when the villagers went to see him at the monastery, he told them he was going to stay. he recalled to them the monk who had planted the teak-trees, and how he had said that when the trees were grown he would return. 'i,' said the young monk, 'am he that planted these trees. lo, they are grown up, and i am returned, and now we will build a monastery as i said.'
-when the villagers, doubting, questioned him, and old men came and talked to him of traditions of long-past days, he answered as one who knew all. he told them he had been born and educated far away in the south, and had grown up not knowing who he had been; and that he had entered a monastery, and in time became a pongyi. the remembrance came to him, he went on, in a dream of how he had planted the trees and had promised to return to that village far away in the forest.
-the very next day he had started, and travelled day after day and week upon week, till at length he had arrived, as they saw. so the villagers were convinced, and they set to work and cut down the great boles, and built the monastery such as my friend saw. and the monk lived there all his life, and taught the children, and preached the marvellous teaching of the great buddha, till at length his time came again and he returned; for of monks it is not said that they die, but that they return.
-this is the common belief of the people. into this has the mystery of dharma turned, in the thoughts of the burmese buddhists, for no one can believe the incomprehensible. a man has a soul, and it passes from life to life, as a traveller from inn to inn, till at length it is ended in heaven. but not till he has attained heaven in his heart will he attain heaven in reality.
-many children, the burmese will tell you, remember their former lives. as they grow older the memories die away and they forget, but to the young children they are very clear. i have seen many such.
-about fifty years ago in a village named okshitgon were born two children, a boy and a girl. they were born on the same day in neighbouring houses, and they grew up together, and played together, and loved each other. and in due course they married and started a family, and maintained themselves by cultivating their dry, barren fields about the village. they were always known as devoted to each other, and they died as they had lived--together. the same death took them on the same day; so they were buried without the village and were forgotten; for the times were serious.
-it was the year after the english army had taken mandalay, and all burma was in a fury of insurrection. the country was full of armed men, the roads were unsafe, and the nights were lighted with the flames of burning villages. it was a bad time for peace-loving men, and many such, fleeing from their villages, took refuge in larger places nearer the centres of administration.
-okshitgon was in the midst of one of the worst of all the distressed districts, and many of its people fled, and one of them, a man named maung kan, with his young wife went to the village of kabyu and lived there.
-now, maung kan's wife had born to him twin sons. they were born at okshitgon shortly before their parents had to run away, and they were named, the eldest maung gyi, which is brother big-fellow, and the younger maung ngè, which means brother little-fellow. these lads grew up at kabyu, and soon learned to talk; and as they grew up their parents were surprised to hear them calling to each other at play, and calling each other, not maung gyi and maung ngè, but maung san nyein and ma gywin. the latter is a woman's name, and the parents remembered that these were the names of the man and wife who had died in okshitgon about the time the children were born.
-so the parents thought that the souls of the man and wife had entered into the children, and they took them to okshitgon to try them. the children knew everything in okshitgon; they knew the roads and the houses and the people, and they recognised the clothes they used to wear in a former life; there was no doubt about it. one of them, the younger, remembered, too, how she had borrowed two rupees once of a woman, ma thet, unknown to her husband, and left the debt unpaid. ma thet was still living, and so they asked her, and she recollected that it was true she had lent the money long ago.
-shortly afterwards i saw these two children. they are now just over six years old. the elder, into whom the soul of the man entered, is a fat, chubby little fellow, but the younger twin is smaller, and has a curious dreamy look in his face, more like a girl than a boy. they told me much about their former lives. after they died they said they lived for some time without a body at all, wandering in the air and hiding in the trees. this was for their sins. then, after some months, they were born again as twin boys. 'it used,' said the elder boy, 'to be so clear, i could remember everything; but it is getting duller and duller, and i cannot now remember as i used to do.'
-of children such as this you may find any number. only you have to look for them, as they are not brought forward spontaneously. the burmese, like other people, hate to have their beliefs and ideas ridiculed, and from experience they have learned that the object of a foreigner in inquiring into their ways is usually to be able to show by his contempt how very much cleverer a man he is than they are. therefore they are very shy. but once they understand that you only desire to learn and to see, and that you will always treat them with courtesy and consideration, they will tell you all that they think.
-a fellow officer of mine has a burmese police orderly, a young man about twenty, who has been with him since he came to the district two years ago. yet my friend only discovered accidentally the other day that his orderly remembers his former life. he is very unwilling to talk about it. he was a woman apparently in that former life, and lived about twenty miles away. he must have lived a good life, for it is a step of promotion to be a man in this life; but he will not talk of it. he forgets most of it, he says, though he remembered it when he was a child.
-sometimes this belief leads to lawsuits of a peculiarly difficult nature. in 1883, two years before the annexation of upper burma, there was a case that came into the local court of the oil district, which depended upon this theory of transmigration.
-opposite yenangyaung there are many large islands in the river. these islands during the low water months are joined to the mainland, and are covered with a dense high grass in which many deer live.
-when the river rises, it rises rapidly, communication with the mainland is cut off, and the islands are for a time, in the higher rises, entirely submerged. during the progress of the first rise some hunters went to one of these islands where many deer were to be found and set fire to the grass to drive them out of cover, shooting them as they came out. some deer, fleeing before the fire, swam across and escaped, others fell victims, but one fawn, barely half grown, ran right down the island, and in its blind terror it leaped into a boat at anchor there. this boat was that of a fisherman who was plying his trade at some distance, and the only occupant of the boat was his wife. now this woman had a year or so before lost her son, very much loved by her, but who was not quite of the best character, and when she saw the deer leaping into the boat, she at once fancied that she saw the soul of her erring son looking at her out of its great terrified eyes. so she got up and took the poor panting beast in her arms and soothed it, and when the hunters came running to her to claim it she refused. 'he is my son,' she said, 'he is mine. shall i give him up to death?' the hunters clamoured and threatened to take the deer by force, but the woman was quite firm. she would never give him up except with her life. 'you can see,' she said, 'that it is true that he is my son. he came running straight to me, as he always did in his trouble when he was a boy, and he is now quite quiet and contented, instead of being afraid of me as an ordinary deer would be.' and it was quite true that the deer took to her at once, and remained with her willingly. so the hunters went off to the court of the governor and filed a suit for the deer.
-the case was tried in open court, and the deer was produced with a ribbon round its neck. evidence there was naturally but little. the hunters claimed the deer because they had driven it out of the island by their fire. the woman resisted the claim on the ground that it was her son.
-the decision of the court was this:
-'the hunters are not entitled to the deer because they cannot prove that the woman's son's soul is not in the animal. the woman is not entitled to the deer because she cannot prove that it is. the deer will therefore remain with the court until some properly authenticated claim is put in.'
-so the two parties were turned out, the woman in bitter tears, and the hunters angry and vexed, and the deer remained the property of the judge.
-but this decision was against all burmese ideas of justice. he should have given the deer to the woman. 'he wanted it for himself,' said a burman, speaking to me of the affair. 'he probably killed it and ate it. surely it is true that officials are of all the five evils the greatest.' then my friend remembered that i was myself an official, and he looked foolish, and began to make complimentary remarks about english officials, that they would never give such an iniquitous decision. i turned it off by saying that no doubt the judge was now suffering in some other life for the evil wrought in the last, and the burman said that probably he was now inhabiting a tiger.
-it is very easy to laugh at such beliefs; nothing is, indeed, easier than to be witty at the expense of any belief. it is also very easy to say that it is all self-deception, that the children merely imagine that they remember their former lives, or are citing conversation of their elders.
-how this may be i do not know. what is the explanation of this, perhaps the only belief of which we have any knowledge which is at once a living belief to-day and was so as far back as we can get, i do not pretend to say. for transmigration is no theory of buddhism at all, but was a leading tenet in the far older faith of brahmanism, of which buddhism was but an offshoot, as was christianity of judaism.
-i have not, indeed, always attempted to reach the explanation of things i have seen. when i have satisfied myself that a belief is really held by the people, that i am not the subject of conscious deception, either by myself or others, i have conceived that my work was ended.
-there are those who, in investigating any foreign customs and strange beliefs, can put their finger here and say, 'this is where they are right'; and there and say, 'this belief is foolishly wrong and idiotic.' i am not, unfortunately, one of these writers. i have no such confident belief in my own infallibility of judgment as to be able to sit on high and say, 'here is truth, and here is error.'
-i will leave my readers to make their own judgment, if they desire to do so; only asking them (as they would not like their own beliefs to be scoffed and sneered at) that they will treat with respect the sincere beliefs of others, even if they cannot accept them. it is only in this way that we can come to understand a people and to sympathize with them.
-it is hardly necessary to emphasize the enormous effect that a belief in transmigration such as this has upon the life and intercourse of the people. of their kindness to animals i have spoken elsewhere, and it is possible this belief in transmigration has something to do with it, but not, i think, much. for if you wished to illtreat an animal, it would be quite easy, even more easy, to suppose that an enemy or a murderer inhabited the body of the animal, and that you were but carrying out the decrees of fate by ill-using it. but when you love an animal, it may increase that love and make it reasonable, and not a thing to be ashamed of; and it brings the animal world nearer to you in general, it bridges over the enormous void between man and beast that other religions have made. nothing humanizes a man more than love of animals.
-i do not know if this be a paradox, i know that it is a truth.
-there was one point that puzzled me for a time in some of these stories of transmigration, such as the one i told about the man and wife being reborn twins. it was this: a man dies and leaves behind children, let us say, to whom he is devoutly attached. he is reborn in another family in the same village, maybe. it would be natural to suppose that he would love his former family as much as, or even more than, his new one. complications might arise in this way which it is easy to conceive would cause great and frequent difficulties.
-i explained this to a burman one day, and asked him what happened, and this is what he said: 'the affection of mother to son, of husband to wife, of brother to sister, belongs entirely to the body in which you may happen to be living. when it dies, so do these affections. new affections arise from the new body. the flesh of the son, being of one with his father, of course loves him; but as his present flesh has no sort of connection with his former one, he does not love those to whom he was related in his other lives. these affections are as much a part of the body as the hand or the eyesight; with one you put off the other.'
-when we have put off all bodies, when we have attained nirvana, love and hate, desire and repulsion, will have fallen from us for ever.
-meanwhile, in each life, we are obliged to endure the affections of the body into which we may be born. it is the first duty of a monk, of him who is trying to lead the purer life, to kill all these affections, or rather to blend them into one great compassion to all the world alike. 'gayüna,' compassion, that is the only passion that will be left to us. so say the learned.
-i met a little girl not long ago, a wee little maiden about seven years old, and she told me all about her former life when she was a man. her name was maung mon, she said, and she used to work the dolls in a travelling marionette show. it was through her knowledge and partiality for marionettes that it was first suspected, her parents told me, whom she had been in her former life. she could even as a sucking-child manipulate the strings of a marionette-doll. but the actual discovery came when she was about four years old, and she recognised a certain marionette booth and dolls as her own. she knew all about them, knew the name of each doll, and even some of the words they used to say in the plays. 'i was married four times,' she told me. 'two wives died, one i divorced; one was living when i died, and is living still. i loved her very much indeed. the one i divorced was a dreadful woman. see,' pointing to a scar on her shoulder, 'this was given me once in a quarrel. she took up a chopper and cut me like this. then i divorced her. she had a dreadful temper.'
-it was immensely quaint to hear this little thing discoursing like this. the mark was a birth-mark, and i was assured that it corresponded exactly with one that had been given to the man by his wife in just such a quarrel as the one the little girl described.
-the divorced wife and the much-loved wife are still alive and not yet old. the last wife wanted the little girl to go and live with her. i asked her why she did not go.
-'you loved her so much,' i said. 'she was such a good wife to you. surely you would like to live with her again.'
-'but all that,' she replied, 'was in a former life.'
-now she loved only her present father and mother. the last life was like a dream. broken memories of it still remained, but the loves and hates, the passions and impulses, were all dead.
-another little boy told me once that the way remembrance came to him was by seeing the silk he used to wear made into curtains, which are given to the monks and used as partitions in their monasteries, and as walls to temporary erections made at festival times. he was taken when some three years old to a feast at the making of a lad, the son of a wealthy merchant, into a monk. there he recognised in the curtain walling in part of the bamboo building his old dress. he pointed it out at once.
-this same little fellow told me that he passed three months between his death and his next incarnation without a body. this was because he had once accidentally killed a fowl. had he killed it on purpose, he would have been punished very much more severely. most of this three months he spent dwelling in the hollow shell of a palm-fruit. the nuisance was, he explained, that this shell was close to the cattle-path, and that the lads as they drove the cattle afield in the early morning would bang with a stick against the shell. this made things very uncomfortable for him inside.
-it is not an uncommon thing for a woman when about to be delivered of a baby to have a dream, and to see in that dream the spirit of someone asking for permission to enter the unborn child; for, to a certain extent, it lies within a woman's power to say who is to be the life of her child.
-there was a woman once who loved a young man, not of her village, very dearly. and he loved her, too, as dearly as she loved him, and he demanded her in marriage from her parents; but they refused. why they refused i do not know, but probably because they did not consider the young man a proper person for their daughter to marry. then he tried to run away with her, and nearly succeeded, but they were caught before they got clear of the village.
-the young man had to leave the neighbourhood. the attempted abduction of a girl is an offence severely punishable by law, so he fled; and in time, under pressure from her people, the girl married another man; but she never forgot. she lived with her husband quite happily; he was good to her, as most burmese husbands are, and they got along well enough together. but there were no children.
-after some years, four or five, i believe, the former lover returned to his village. he thought that after this lapse of time he would be safe from prosecution, and he was, moreover, very ill.
-he was so ill that very soon he died, without ever seeing again the girl he was so fond of; and when she heard of his death she was greatly distressed, so that the desire of life passed away from her. it so happened that at this very time she found herself enceinte with her first child, and not long before the due time came for the child to be born she had a dream.
-she dreamt that her soul left her body, and went out into space and met there the soul of her lover who had died. she was rejoiced to meet him again, full of delight, so that the return of her soul to her body, her awakening to a world in which he was not, filled her with despair. so she prayed her lover, if it was now time for him again to be incarnated, that he would come to her--that his soul would enter the body of the little baby soon about to be born, so that they two might be together in life once more.
-and in the dream the lover consented. he would come, he said, into the child of the woman he loved.
-when the woman awoke she remembered it all, and the desire of life returned to her again, and all the world was changed because of the new life she felt within her. but she told no one then of the dream or of what was to happen.
-only she took the greatest care of herself; she ate well, and went frequently to the pagoda with flowers, praying that the body in which her lover was about to dwell might be fair and strong, worthy of him who took it, worthy of her who gave it.
-in due time the baby was born. but alas and alas for all her hopes! the baby came but for a moment, to breathe a few short breaths, to cry, and to die; and a few hours later the woman died also. but before she went she told someone all about it, all about the dream and the baby, and that she was glad to go and follow her lover. she said that her baby's soul was her lover's soul, and that as he could not stay, neither would she; and with these words on her lips she followed him out into the void.
-the story was kept a secret until the husband died, not long afterwards; but when i came to the village all the people knew it.
-i must confess that this story is to me full of the deepest reality, full of pathos. it seems to me to be the unconscious protestation of humanity against the dogmas of religion and of the learned. however it may be stated that love is but one of the bodily passions that dies with it; however, even in some of the stories themselves, this explanation is used to clear certain difficulties; however opposed eternal love may be to one of the central doctrines of buddhism, it seems to me that the very essence of this story is the belief that love does not die with the body, that it lives for ever and ever, through incarnation after incarnation. such a story is the very cry of the agony of humanity.
-'love is strong as death; many waters cannot quench love;' ay, and love is stronger than death. not any dogmas of any religion, not any philosophy, nothing in this world, nothing in the next, shall prevent him who loves from the certainty of rejoining some time the soul he loves.
-the forest of time
-'the gate of that forest was death.'
-there was a great forest. it was full of giant trees that grew so high and were so thick overhead that the sunshine could not get down below. and there were huge creepers that ran from tree to tree climbing there, and throwing down great loops of rope. under the trees, growing along the ground, were smaller creepers full of thorns, that tore the wayfarer and barred his progress. the forest, too, was full of snakes that crept along the ground, so like in their gray and yellow skins to the earth they travelled on that the traveller trod upon them unawares and was bitten; and some so beautiful with coral red and golden bars that men would pick them up as some dainty jewel till the snake turned upon them.
-here and there in this forest were little glades wherein there were flowers. beautiful flowers they were, with deep white cups and broad glossy leaves hiding the purple fruit; and some had scarlet blossoms that nodded to and fro like drowsy men, and there were long festoons of white stars. the air there was heavy with their scent. but they were all full of thorns, only you could not see the thorns till after you had plucked the blossom.
-this wood was pierced by roads. many were very broad, leading through the forest in divers ways, some of them stopping now and then in the glades, others avoiding them more or less, but none of them were straight. always, if you followed them, they bent and bent until after much travelling you were where you began; and the broader the road, the softer the turf beneath it; the sweeter the glades that lined it, the quicker did it turn.
-one road there was that went straight, but it was far from the others. it led among the rocks and cliffs that bounded one side of the valley. it was very rough, very far from all the glades in the lowlands. no flowers grew beside it, there was no moss or grass upon it, only hard sharp rocks. it was very narrow, bordered with precipices.
-there were many lights in this wood, lights that flamed out like sunsets and died, lights that came like lightning in the night and were gone. this wood was never quite dark, it was so full of these lights that flickered aimlessly.
-there were men in this wood who wandered to and fro. the wood was full of them.
-they did not know whither they went; they did not know whither they wished to go. only this they knew, that they could never keep still; for the keeper of this wood was time. he was armed with a keen whip, and kept driving them on and on; there was no rest.
-many of these when they first came loved the wood. the glades, they said, were very beautiful, the flowers very sweet. they wandered down the broad roads into the glades, and tried to lie upon the moss and love the flowers; but time would not let them. just for a few moments they could have peace, and then they must on and on. but they did not care. 'the forest is full of glades,' they said; 'if we cannot live in one, we can find another.' and so they went on finding others and others, and each one pleased them less.
-some few there were who did not go to the glades at all. 'they are very beautiful,' they said, 'but these roads that pass through them, whither do they lead? round and round and round again. there is no peace there. time rules in those glades, time with his whip and goad, and there is no peace. what we want is rest. and those lights,' they said, 'they are wandering lights, like the summer lightning far down in the south, moving hither and thither. we care not for such lights. our light is firm and clear. what we desire is peace; we do not care to wander for ever round this forest, to see for ever those shifting lights.'
-and so they would not go down the winding roads, but essayed the path upon the cliffs. 'it is narrow,' they said, 'it has no flowers, it is full of rocks, but it is straight. it will lead us somewhere, not round and round and round again--it will take us somewhere. and there is a light,' they said, 'before us, the light of a star. it is very small now, but it is always steady; it never flickers or wanes. it is the star of truth. under that star we shall find that which we seek.'
-and so they went upon their road, toiling upon the rocks, falling now and then, bleeding with wounds from the sharp points, sore-footed, but strong-hearted. and ever as they went they were farther and farther from the forest, farther and farther from the glades and the flowers with deadly scents; they heard less and less the crack of the whip of time falling upon the wanderers' shoulders.
-the star grew nearer and nearer, the light grew greater and greater, the false lights died behind them, until at last they came out of the forest, and there they found the lake that washes away all desire under the sun of truth.
-they had won their way. time and life and fight and struggle were behind them, could not follow them, as they came, weary and footsore, into the great peace.
-and of those who were left behind, of those who stayed in the glades to gather the deadly flowers, to be driven ever forward by the whip of time--what of them? surely they will learn. the kindly whip of time is behind: he will never let them rest in such a deadly forest; they must go ever forward; and as they go they grow more and more weary, the glades are more and more distasteful, the heavy-scented blossoms more and more repulsive. they will find out the thorns too. at first they forgot the thorns in the flowers. 'the blossoms are beautiful,' they said; 'what care we for the thorns? nay, the thorns are good. it is a pleasure to fight with them. what would the forest be without its thorns? if we could gather the flowers and find no thorns, we should not care for them. the more the thorns, the more valuable the blossoms.'
-so they said, and they gathered the blossoms, and they faded. but the thorns did not fade; they were ever there. the more blossoms a man had gathered, the more thorns he had to wear, and time was ever behind him. they wanted to rest in the glades, but time willed that ever they must go forward; no going back, no rest, ever and ever on. so they grew very weary.
-'these flowers,' they said at last, 'are always the same. we are tired of them; their smell is heavy; they are dead. this forest is full of thorns only. how shall we escape from it? ever as we go round and round we hate the flowers more, we feel the thorns more acutely. we must escape! we are sick of time and his whip, our feet are very, very weary, our eyes are dazzled and dim. we, too, would seek the peace. we laughed at those before who went along the rocky path; we did not want peace; but now it seems to us the most beautiful thing in the world. will time never cease to drive us on and on? will these lights never cease to flash to and fro?'
-each man at last will turn to the straight road. he will find out. every man will find out at last that the forest is hateful, that the flowers are deadly, that the thorns are terrible; every man will learn to fear time.
-then, when the longing for peace has come, he will go to the straight way and find it; no man will remain in the forest for ever. he will learn. when he is very, very weary, when his feet are full of thorns, and his back scarred with the lashes of time--great, kindly time, the schoolmaster of the world--he will learn.
-not till he has learnt will he desire to enter into the straight road.
-but in the end all men will come. we at the last shall all meet together where time and life shall be no more.
-this is a burman allegory of buddhism. it was told me long ago. i trust i have not spoilt it in the retelling.
-this is the end of my book. i have tried always as i wrote to remember the principles that i laid down for myself in the first chapter. whether i have always done so i cannot say. it is so difficult, so very difficult, to understand a people--any people--to separate their beliefs from their assents, to discover the motives of their deeds, that i fear i must often have failed.
-my book is short. it would have been easy to make a book out of each chapter, to write volumes on each great subject that i have touched on; but i have not done so--i have always been as brief as i could.
-i have tried always to illustrate only the central thought, and not the innumerable divergencies, because only so can a great or strange thought be made clear. later, when the thought is known, then it is easy to stray into the byways of thought, always remembering that they are byways, wandering from a great centre.
-for the burman's life and belief is one great whole.
-i thought before i began to write, and i have become more and more certain of it as i have taken up subject after subject, that to all the great differences of thought between them and us there is one key. and this key is that they believe the world is governed by eternal laws, that have never changed, that will never change, that are founded on absolute righteousness; while we believe in a personal god, altering laws, and changing moralities according to his will.
-if i were to rewrite this book, i should do so from this standpoint of eternal laws, making the book an illustration of the proposition.
-perhaps it is better as it is, in that i have discovered the key at the end of my work instead of at the beginning. i did not write the book to prove the proposition, but in writing the book this truth has become apparent to me.
-the more i have written, the clearer has this teaching become to me, until now i wonder that i did not understand long ago--nay, that it has not always been apparent to all men.
-surely it is the beginning of all wisdom.
-not until we had discarded atlas and substituted gravity, until we had forgotten enceladus and learned the laws of heat, until we had rejected thor and his hammer and searched after the laws of electricity, could science make any strides onward.
-an irresponsible spirit playing with the world as his toy killed all science.
-but now science has learned a new wisdom, to look only at what it can see, to leave vain imaginings to children and idealists, certain always that the truth is inconceivably more beautiful than any dream.
-science with us has gained her freedom, but the soul is still in bonds.
-only in buddhism has this soul-freedom been partly gained. how beautiful this is, how full of great thoughts, how very different to the barren materialism it has often been said to be, i have tried to show.
-i believe myself that in this teaching of the laws of righteousness we have the grandest conception, the greatest wisdom, the world has known.
-i believe that in accepting this conception we are opening to ourselves a new world of unimaginable progress, in justice, in charity, in sympathy, and in love.
-i believe that as our minds, when freed from their bonds, have grown more and more rapidly to heights of thought before undreamed of, to truths eternal, to beauty inexpressible, so shall our souls, when freed, as our minds now are, rise to sublimities of which now we have no conception.
-let each man but open his eyes and see, and his own soul shall teach him marvellous things.
-billing and sons, printers, guildford.
-by arthur symons
-second edition revised and enlarged
-london: leonard smithers effingham house: arundel street strand: mdcccxcvi
-to katherine willard, now katherine baldwin.
-paris: may, 1892. london: february, 1896.
-being a word on behalf of patchouli.
-an ingenuous reviewer once described some verses of mine as “unwholesome,” because, he said, they had “a faint smell of patchouli about them.” i am a little sorry he chose patchouli, for that is not a particularly favourite scent with me. if he had only chosen peau d’espagne, which has a subtle meaning, or lily of the valley, with which i have associations! but patchouli will serve. let me ask, then, in republishing, with additions, a collection of little pieces, many of which have been objected to, at one time or another, as being somewhat deliberately frivolous, why art should not, if it please, concern itself with the artificially charming, which, i suppose, is what my critic means by patchouli? all art, surely, is a form of artifice, and thus, to the truly devout mind, condemned already, if not as actively noxious, at all events as needless. that is a point of view which i quite understand, and its conclusion i hold to be absolutely logical. i have the utmost respect for the people who refuse to read a novel, to go to the theatre, or to learn dancing. that is to have convictions and to live up to them. i understand also the point of view from which a work of art is tolerated in so far as it is actually militant on behalf of a religious or a moral idea. but what i fail to understand are those delicate, invisible degrees by which a distinction is drawn between this form of art and that; the hesitations, and compromises, and timorous advances, and shocked retreats, of the puritan conscience once emancipated, and yet afraid of liberty. however you may try to convince yourself to the contrary, a work of art can be judged only from two standpoints: the standpoint from which its art is measured entirely by its morality, and the standpoint from which its morality is measured entirely by its art.
-here, for once, in connection with these “silhouettes,” i have not, if my recollection serves me, been accused of actual immorality. i am but a fair way along the “primrose path,” not yet within singeing distance of the “everlasting bonfire.” in other words, i have not yet written “london nights,” which, it appears (i can scarcely realize it, in my innocent abstraction in aesthetical matters), has no very salutary reputation among the blameless moralists of the press. i need not, therefore, on this occasion, concern myself with more than the curious fallacy by which there is supposed to be something inherently wrong in artistic work which deals frankly and lightly with the very real charm of the lighter emotions and the more fleeting sensations.
-i do not wish to assert that the kind of verse which happened to reflect certain moods of mine at a certain period of my life, is the best kind of verse in itself, or is likely to seem to me, in other years, when other moods may have made me their own, the best kind of verse for my own expression of myself. nor do i affect to doubt that the creation of the supreme emotion is a higher form of art than the reflection of the most exquisite sensation, the evocation of the most magical impression. i claim only an equal liberty for the rendering of every mood of that variable and inexplicable and contradictory creature which we call ourselves, of every aspect under which we are gifted or condemned to apprehend the beauty and strangeness and curiosity of the visible world.
-patchouli! well, why not patchouli? is there any “reason in nature” why we should write exclusively about the natural blush, if the delicately acquired blush of rouge has any attraction for us? both exist; both, i think, are charming in their way; and the latter, as a subject, has, at all events, more novelty. if you prefer your “new-mown hay” in the hayfield, and i, it may be, in a scent-bottle, why may not my individual caprice be allowed to find expression as well as yours? probably i enjoy the hayfield as much as you do; but i enjoy quite other scents and sensations as well, and i take the former for granted, and write my poem, for a change, about the latter. there is no necessary difference in artistic value between a good poem about a flower in the hedge and a good poem about the scent in a sachet. i am always charmed to read beautiful poems about nature in the country. only, personally, i prefer town to country; and in the town we have to find for ourselves, as best we may, the décor which is the town equivalent of the great natural décor of fields and hills. here it is that artificiality comes in; and if any one sees no beauty in the effects of artificial light, in all the variable, most human, and yet most factitious town landscape, i can only pity him, and go on my own way.
-that is, if he will let me. but he tells me that one thing is right and the other is wrong; that one is good art and the other is bad; and i listen in amazement, sometimes not without impatience, wondering why an estimable personal prejudice should be thus exalted into a dogma, and uttered in the name of art. for in art there can be no prejudices, only results. if we arc to save people’s souls by the writing of verses, well and good. but if not, there is no choice but to admit an absolute freedom of choice. and if patchouli pleases one, why not patchouli?
-the sea lies quieted beneath the after-sunset flush that leaves upon the heaped grey clouds the grape’s faint purple blush.
-pale, from a little space in heaven of delicate ivory, the sickle-moon and one gold star look down upon the sea.
-on the beach.
-night, a grey sky, a ghostly sea, the soft beginning of the rain: black on the horizon, sails that wane into the distance mistily.
-the tide is rising, i can hear the soft roar broadening far along; it cries and murmurs in my car a sleepy old forgotten song.
-softly the stealthy night descends, the black sails fade into the sky: is this not, where the sea-line ends, the shore-line of infinity?
-i cannot think or dream: the grey unending waste of sea and night, dull, impotently infinite, blots out the very hope of day.
-rain on the down.
-night, and the down by the sea, and the veil of rain on the down; and she came through the mist and the rain to me from the safe warm lights of the town.
-the rain shone in her hair, and her face gleamed in the rain; and only the night and the rain were there as she came to me out of the rain.
-before the squall.
-ridge after rocky ridge upheaves a toppling crest that falls in spray where the tormented beach receives the buffets of the sea’s wild play.
-on the horizon’s nearing line, where the sky rests, a visible wall. grey in the offing, i divine the sails that fly before the squall.
-under the cliffs.
-bright light to windward on the horizon’s verge; to leeward, stormy shadows, violet-black, and the wide sea between a vast unfurrowed field of windless green; the stormy shadows flicker on the track of phantom sails that vanish and emerge.
-i gaze across the sea, remembering her. i watch the white sun walk across the sea, this pallid afternoon, with feet that tread as whitely as the moon, and in his fleet and shining feet i see the footsteps of another voyager.
-o is it death or life that sounds like something strangely known in this subsiding out of strife, this slow sea-monotone?
-a sound, scarce heard through sleep, murmurous as the august bees that fill the forest hollows deep about the roots of trees.
-o is it life or death, o is it hope or memory, that quiets all things with this breath of the eternal sea?
-masks and faces.
-the light of our cigarettes went and came in the gloom: it was dark in the little room.
-dark, and then, in the dark, sudden, a flash, a glow, and a hand and a ring i know.
-and then, through the dark, a flush ruddy and vague, the grace— a rose—of her lyric face.
-beneath the heaven of her brows’ unclouded noon of peace, there lies a leafy heaven of hazel boughs in the seclusion of her eyes;
-her troubling eyes that cannot rest; and there’s a little flame that dances (a firefly in a grassy nest) in the green circle of her glances;
-a frolic faun that must be hid, shyly, in some fantastic shade, where pity droops a tender lid on laughter of itself afraid.
-white girl, your flesh is lilies grown ’neath a frozen moon, so still is the rapture of your swoon of whiteness, snow or lilies.
-the virginal revealment, your bosom’s wavering slope, concealment, ’neath fainting heliotrope, of whitest white’s revealment,
-is like a bed of lilies, a jealous-guarded row, whose will is simply chaste dreams:—but oh, the alluring scent of lilies!
-the charm of rouge on fragile cheeks, pearl-powder, and, about the eyes, the dark and lustrous eastern dyes; the floating odour that bespeaks a scented boudoir and the doubtful night of alcoves curtained close against the light
-gracile and creamy white and rose, complexioned like the flower of dawn, her fleeting colours are as those that, from an april sky withdrawn, fade in a fragrant mist of tears away when weeping noon leads on the altered day.
-to m. c.
-the pink and black of silk and lace, flushed in the rosy-golden glow of lamplight on her lifted face; powder and wig, and pink and lace,
-and those pathetic eyes of hers; but all the london footlights know the little plaintive smile that stirs the shadow in those eyes of hers.
-outside, the dreary church-bell tolled, the london sunday faded slow; ah, what is this? what wings unfold in this miraculous rose of gold?
-an angel of perugino.
-have i not seen your face before where perugino’s angels stand in those calm circles, and adore with singing throat and lifted hand?
-so the pale hair lay crescent-wise, about the placid forehead curled, and the pale piety of eyes was as god’s peace upon the world.
-and you, a simple child serene, wander upon your quiet way, nor know that any eyes have seen the umbrian halo crown the day.
-it was a day of sun and rain, uncertain as a child’s quick moods; and i shall never pass again so blithe a day among the woods.
-the forest knew you and was glad, and laughed for very joy to know her child was with her; then, grown sad, she wept, because her child must go.
-and you would spy and you would capture the shyest flower that lit the grass: the joy i had to watch your rapture was keen as even your rapture was.
-the forest knew you and was glad, and laughed and wept for joy and woe. this was the welcome that you had among the woods of fontainebleau.
-on the heath.
-her face’s wilful flash and glow turned all its light upon my face one bright delirious moment’s space, and then she passed: i followed slow
-across the heath, and up and round, and watched the splendid death of day upon the summits far away, and in her fateful beauty found
-the fierce wild beauty of the light that startles twilight on the hills, and lightens all the mountain rills, and flames before the feet of night.
-in the oratory.
-the incense mounted like a cloud, a golden cloud of languid scent; robed priests before the altar bowed, expecting the divine event.
-then silence, like a prisoner bound, rose, by a mighty hand set free, and dazzlingly, in shafts of sound, thundered beethoven’s mass in c.
-she knelt in prayer; large lids serene lay heavy on the sombre eyes, as though to veil some vision seen upon the mounts of paradise.
-her dark face, calm as carven stone. the face that twilight shows the day, brooded, mysteriously alone, and infinitely far away.
-inexplicable eyes that drew mine eyes adoring, why from me demand, new sphinx, the fatal clue that seals my doom or conquers thee?
-cool comely country pattie, grown a daisy where the daisies grow, no wind of heaven has ever blown across a field-flower’s daintier snow.
-gold-white among the meadow-grass the humble little daisies thrive; i cannot see them as i pass, but i am glad to be alive.
-and so i turn where pattie stands, a flower among the flowers at play; i’ll lay my heart into her hands, and she will smile the clouds away.
-in an omnibus.
-your smile is like a treachery, a treachery adorable; so smiles the siren where the sea sings to the unforgetting shell.
-your fleeting leonardo face, parisian monna lisa, dreams elusively, but not of streams born in a shadow-haunted place.
-of paris, paris, is your thought, of paris robes, and when to wear the latest bonnet you have bought to match the marvel of your hair.
-yet that fine malice of your smile, that faint and fluctuating glint between your eyelids, does it hint alone of matters mercantile?
-close lips that keep the secret in, half spoken by the stealthy eyes, is there indeed no word to win, no secret, from the vague replies
-of lips and lids that feign to hide that which they feign to render up? is there, in tantalus’ dim cup, the shadow of water, nought beside?
-on meeting after.
-her eyes are haunted, eyes that were scarce sad when last we met. what thing is this has come to her that she may not forget?
-they loved, they married: it is well! but ah, what memories are these whereof her eyes half tell, her haunted eyes?
-drawn blinds and flaring gas within, and wine, and women, and cigars; without, the city’s heedless din; above, the white unheeding stars.
-and we, alike from each remote, the world that works, the heaven that waits, con our brief pleasures o’er by rote, the favourite pastime of the fates.
-we smoke, to fancy that we dream, and drink, a moment’s joy to prove, and fain would love, and only seem to love because we cannot love.
-draw back the blinds, put out the light: ’tis morning, let the daylight come. god! how the women’s cheeks are white, and how the sunlight strikes us dumb!
-emmy’s exquisite youth and her virginal air, eyes and teeth in the flash of a musical smile, come to me out of the past, and i see her there as i saw her once for a while.
-emmy’s laughter rings in my ears, as bright, fresh and sweet as the voice of a mountain brook, and still i hear her telling us tales that night, out of boccaccio’s book.
-there, in the midst of the villainous dancing-hall, leaning across the table, over the beer, while the music maddened the whirling skirts of the ball, as the midnight hour drew near,
-there with the women, haggard, painted and old, one fresh bud in a garland withered and stale, she, with her innocent voice and her clear eyes, told tale after shameless tale.
-and ever the witching smile, to her face beguiled, paused and broadened, and broke in a ripple of fun, and the soul of a child looked out of the eyes of a child, or ever the tale was done.
-o my child, who wronged you first, and began first the dance of death that you dance so well? soul for soul: and i think the soul of a man shall answer for yours in hell.
-emmy at the eldorado.
-to meet, of all unlikely things, here, after all one’s wanderings! but, emmy, though we meet, what of this lover at your feet?
-for, is this emmy that i see? a fragile domesticity i seem to half surprise in the evasions of those eyes.
-once a child’s cloudless eyes, they seem lost in the blue depths of a dream, as though, for innocent hours, to stray with love among the flowers.
-without regret, without desire, in those old days of love on hire, child, child, what will you do, emmy, now love is come to you?
-already, in so brief a while, the gleam has faded from your smile; this grave and tender air leaves you, for all but one, less fair.
-then, you were heedless, happy, gay, immortally a child; to-day a woman, at the years’ control: undine has found a soul.
-at the cavour.
-wine, the red coals, the flaring gas, bring out a brighter tone in cheeks that learn at home before the glass the flush that eloquently speaks.
-the blue-grey smoke of cigarettes curls from the lessening ends that glow; the men are thinking of the bets, the women of the debts, they owe.
-then their eyes meet, and in their eyes the accustomed smile comes up to call, a look half miserably wise. half heedlessly ironical.
-in the haymarket.
-i danced at your ball a year ago, to-night i pay for your bread and cheese, “and a glass of bitters, if you please, for you drank my best champagne, you know!”
-madcap ever, you laugh the while, as you drink your bitters and munch your bread; the face is the same, and the same old smile came up at a word i said.
-a year ago i danced at your ball, i sit by your side in the bar to-night; and the luck has changed, you say: that’s all! and the luck will change, you say: all right!
-for the men go by, and the rent’s to pay, and you haven’t a friend in the world to-day; and the money comes and the money goes: and to-night, who cares? and to-morrow, who knows?
-at the lyceum.
-her eyes are brands that keep the angry heat of fire that crawls and leaves an ashen path. the dust of this devouring flame she hath upon her cheeks and eyelids. fresh and sweet in days that were, her sultry beauty now is pain transfigured, love’s impenitence, the memory of a maiden innocence, as a crown set upon a weary brow.
-she sits, and fain would listen, fain forget; she smiles, but with those tragic, waiting eyes, those proud and piteous lips that hunger yet for love’s fulfilment. ah, when landry cries “my heart is dead!” with what a wild regret her own heart feels the throb that never dies!
-the blind beggar.
-he stands, a patient figure, where the crowd heaves to and fro beside him. in his ears all day the fair goes thundering, and he hears in darkness, as a dead man in his shroud. patient he stands, with age and sorrow bowed, and holds a piteous hat of ancient yean; and in his face and gesture there appears the desperate humbleness of poor men proud.
-what thoughts are his, as, with the inward sight, he sees those mirthful faces pass him by? is the long darkness darker for that light. the misery deeper when that joy is nigh? patient, alone, he stands from morn to night, pleading in his reproachful misery.
-the old labourer.
-his fourscore years have bent a back of oak, his earth-brown cheeks are full of hollow pits; his gnarled hands wander idly as he sits bending above the hearthstone’s feeble smoke. threescore and ten slow years he tilled the land; he wrung his bread from out the stubborn soil; he saw his masters flourish through his toil; he held their substance in his horny hand.
-now he is old: he asks for daily bread: he who has sowed the bread he may not taste begs for the crumbs: he would do no man wrong. the parish guardians, when his case is read, will grant him (yet with no unseemly haste) just seventeen pence to starve on, seven days long.
-the absinthe drinker.
-gently i wave the visible world away. far off, i hear a roar, afar yet near, far off and strange, a voice is in my ear, and is the voice my own? the words i say fall strangely, like a dream, across the day; and the dim sunshine is a dream. how clear, new as the world to lovers’ eyes, appear the men and women passing on their way!
-the world is very fair. the hours are all linked in a dance of mere forgetfulness. i am at peace with god and man. o glide, sands of the hour-glass that i count not, fall serenely: scarce i feel your soft caress. rocked on this dreamy and indifferent tide.
-twitched strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums. dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting; and now the stealthy dancer comes undulantly with cat-like steps that cling;
-smiling between her painted lids a smile, motionless, unintelligible, she twines her fingers into mazy lines, twining her scarves across them all the while.
-one, two, three, four step forth, and, to and fro, delicately and imperceptibly, now swaying gently in a row, now interthreading slow and rhythmically,
-still with fixed eyes, monotonously still, mysteriously, with smiles inanimate, with lingering feet that undulate, with sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill,
-the little amber-coloured dancers move, like little painted figures on a screen, or phantom-dancers haply seen among the shadows of a magic grove.
-love in spring.
-good to be loved and to love for a little, and then well to forget, be forgotten, ere loving grow life! dear, you have loved me, but was i the man among men? sweet, i have loved you, but scarcely as mistress or wife.
-message of spring in the hearts of a man and a maid, hearts on a holiday: ho! let us love: it is spring. joy in the birds of the air, in the buds of the glade, joy in our hearts in the joy of the hours on the wing.
-well, but to-morrow? to-morrow, good-bye: it is over. scarcely with tears shall we part, with a smile who had met. tears? what is this? but i thought we were playing at lover. play-time is past. i am going. and you love me yet!
-the gipsy tents are on the down, the gipsy girls are here; and it’s o to be off and away from the town with a gipsy for my dear!
-we’d make our bed in the bracken with the lark for a chambermaid; the lark would sing us awake in the mornings singing above our head.
-we’d drink the sunlight all day long with never a house to bind us; and we’d only flout in a merry song the world we left behind us.
-we would be free as birds are free the livelong day, the livelong day; and we would lie in the sunny bracken with none to say us nay.
-the gipsy tents are on the down, the gipsy girls are here; and it’s o to be off and away from the town with a gipsy for my dear!
-in kensington gardens.
-under the almond tree, room for my love and me! over our heads the april blossom; april-hearted are we.
-under the pink and white, love in her eyes alight; love and the spring and kensington gardens: hey for the heart’s delight!
-because you cried, i kissed you, and, ah me! how should i understand that piteous little you were fain to cry and to be kissed again?
-because you smiled at last, i thought that i had found what i had sought. but soon i found, without a doubt, no man can find a woman out.
-i kissed your tears, and did not stay till i had kissed them all away. ah, hapless me! ah, heartless child! she would not kiss me when she smiled.
-shake out your hair about me, so, that i may feel the stir and scent of those vague odours come and go the way our kisses went.
-night gave this priceless hour of love, but now the dawn steals in apace, and amorously bends above the wonder of your face.
-“farewell” between our kisses creeps, you fade, a ghost, upon the air; yet, ah! the vacant place still keeps the odour of your hair.
-how you haunt me with your eyes! still that questioning persistence, sad and sweet, across the distance of the days of love and laughter, those old days of love and lies.
-not reproaching, not reproving, only, always, questioning, those divinest eyes can bring memories of certain summers, nights of dreaming, days of loving,
-when i loved you, when your kiss, shyer than a bird to capture, lit a sudden heaven of rapture; when we neither dreamt that either could grow old in heart like this.
-do you still, in love’s december, still remember, still regret that sweet unavailing debt? ah, you haunt me, to remind me you remember, i forget!
-if, mary, that imperious face, and not in dreams alone, come to this shadow-haunted place and claim dominion;
-if, for your sake, i do unqueen some well-remembered ghost, forgetting much of what hath been best loved, remembered most;
-it is your witchery, not my will, your beauty, not my choice: my shadows knew me faithful, till they heard your living voice.
-to a great actress.
-she has taken my heart, though she knows not, would care not. it thrills at her voice like a reed in the wind; i would taste all her agonies, have her to spare not, sin deep as she sinned,
-to be tossed by the storm of her love, as the ocean rocks vessels to wreck; to be hers, though the cost were the loss of all else: for that moment’s emotion content to be lost!
-to be, for a moment, the man of all men to her, all the world, for one measureless moment complete; to possess, be possessed! to be mockery then to her, then to die at her feet!
-love in dreams.
-i lie on my pallet bed, and i hear the drip of the rain; the rain on my garret roof is falling, and i am cold and in pain.
-i lie on my pallet bed, and my heart is wild with delight; i hear her voice through the midnight calling, as i lie awake in the night.
-i lie on my pallet bed, and i see her bright eyes gleam; she smiles, she speaks, and the world is ended, and made again in a dream.
-music and memory.
-across the tides of music, in the night, her magical face, a light upon it as the happy light of dreams in some delicious place under the moonlight in the night.
-music, soft throbbing music in the night, her memory swims into the brain, a carol of delight; the cup of music overbrims with wine of memory, in the night.
-her face across the music, in the night, her face a refrain, a light that sings along the waves of light, a memory that returns again, music in music, in the night.
-to k. w.
-the twilight droops across the day, i watch her portrait on the wall palely recede into the grey that palely comes and covers all.
-the sad spring twilight, dull, forlorn, the menace of the dreary night: but in her face, more fair than morn, a sweet suspension of delight.
-pale from the watery west, with the pallor of winter a-cold, rays of the afternoon sun in a glimmer across the trees; glittering moist underfoot, the long alley. the firs, one by one, catch and conceal, as i saunter, and flash in a dazzle of gold lower and lower the vanishing disc: and the sun alone sees at i wait for my love in the fir-tree alley alone with the sun.
-i chase a shadow through the night, a shadow unavailing; out of the dark, into the light, i follow, follow: is it she?
-against the wall of sea outlined, outlined against the windows lit, the shadow flickers, and behind i follow, follow after it.
-the shadow leads me through the night to the grey margin of the sea; out of the dark, into the light, i follow unavailingly.
-to a portrait.
-a pensive photograph watches me from the shelf: ghost of old love, and half ghost of myself!
-how the dear waiting eyes watch me and love me yet: sad home of memories, her waiting eyes!
-ghost of old love, wronged ghost, return, though all the pain of all once loved, long lost, come back again.
-forget not, but forgive! alas, too late i cry. we are two ghosts that had their chance to live, and lost it, she and i.
-when you were here, ah foolish then! i scarcely knew i loved you, dear. i know it now, i know it when you are no longer here.
-when you were here, i sometimes tired, ah me! that you so loved me, dear. now, in these weary days desired, you are no longer here.
-when you were here, did either know that each so loved the other, dear? but that was long and long ago: you are no longer here.
-side by side through the streets at midnight, roaming together, through the tumultuous night of london, in the miraculous april weather.
-roaming together under the gaslight, day’s work over, how the spring calls to us, here in the city, calls to the heart from the heart of a lover!
-cool the wind blows, fresh in our faces, cleansing, entrancing, after the heat and the fumes and the footlights, where you dance and i watch your dancing.
-good it is to be here together, good to be roaming; even in london, even at midnight, lover-like in a lover’s gloaming.
-you the dancer and i the dreamer, children together, wandering lost in the night of london, in the miraculous april weather.
-the music had the heat of blood, a passion that no words can reach; we sat together, and understood our own heart’s speech.
-we had no need of word or sign, the music spoke for us, and said all that her eyes could read in mine or mine in hers had read.
-on the bridge.
-midnight falls across hollow gulfs of night as a stone that falls in a sounding well; under us the seine flows through dark and light, while the beat of time—hark!—is audible.
-lights on bank and bridge glitter gold and red, lights upon the stream glitter red and white; under us the night, and the night overhead. we together, we alone together in the night.
-“i dream of her.”
-i dream of her the whole night long, the pillows with my tears are wet. i wake, i seek amid the throng the courage to forget.
-yet still, as night comes round, i dread, with unavailing fears, the dawn that finds, beneath my head, the pillows wet with tears.
-o hands that i have held in mine, that knew my kisses and my tears, hands that in other years have poured my balm, have poured my wine;
-women, once loved, and always mine, i call to you across the years, i bring a gift of tears, i bring my tears to you as wine.
-the last exit.
-our love was all arrayed in pleasantness, a tender little love that sighed and smiled at little happy nothings, like a child, a dainty little love in fancy dress.
-but now the love that once was half in play has come to be this grave and piteous thing. why did you leave me all this suffering for all your memory when you went away?
-you might have played the play out, o my friend, closing upon a kiss our comedy. or is it, then, a fault of taste in me, who like no tragic exit at the end?
-o to part now, and, parting now, never to meet again; to have done for ever, i and thou, with joy, and so with pain.
-it is too hard, too hard to meet as friends, and love no more; those other meetings were too sweet that went before.
-and i would have, now love is over, an end to all, an end: i cannot, having been your lover, stoop to become your friend!
-alla passeretta bruna.
-if i bid you, you will come, if i bid you, you will go, you are mine, and so i take you to my heart, your home; well, ah, well i know i shall not forsake you.
-i shall always hold you fast, i shall never set you free, you are mine, and i possess you long as life shall last; you will comfort me, i shall bless you.
-i shall keep you as we keep flowers for memory, hid away, under many a newer token buried deep, roses of a gaudier day, rings and trinkets, bright and broken.
-other women i shall love, fame and fortune i may win, but when fame and love forsake me and the light is night above, you will let me in, you will take me.
-one little cab to hold us two, night, an invisible dome of cloud, the rattling wheels that made our whispers loud, as heart-beats into whispers grew; and, long, the embankment with its lights, the pavement glittering with fallen rain, the magic and the mystery that are night’s, and human love without the pain.
-the river shook with wavering gleams, deep buried as the glooms that lay impenetrable as the grave of day, near and as distant as our dreams. a bright train flashed with all its squares of warm light where the bridge lay mistily. the night was all about us: we were free, free of the day and all its cares!
-that was an hour of bliss too long, too long to last where joy is brief. yet one escape of souls may yield relief to many weary seasons’ wrong. “o last for ever!” my heart cried; it ended: heaven was done. i had been dreaming by her side that heaven was but begun.
-i passed your street of many memories. a sunset, sombre pink, the flush of inner rose-leaves idle fingers crush, died softly, as the rose that dies. all the high heaven behind the roof lay thus, tenderly dying, touched with pain a little; standing there i saw again the sunsets that were dear to us.
-i knew not if ’twere bitter or more sweet to stand and watch the roofs, the sky. o bitter to be there and you not nigh, yet this had been that blessed street. how the name thrilled me, there upon the wall! there was the house, the windows there against the rosy twilight high and bare, the pavement-stones: i knew them all!
-days that have been, days that have fallen cold! i stood and gazed, and thought of you, until remembrance sweet and mournful drew tears to eyes smiling as of old. so, sad and glad, your memory visibly alive within my eyes, i turned; and, through a window, met two eyes that burned, tenderly questioning, on me.
-on judges’ walk.
-that night on judges’ walk the wind was as the voice of doom; the heath, a lake of darkness, lay as silent as the tomb.
-the vast night brooded, white with stars, above the world’s unrest; the awfulness of silence ached like a strong heart repressed.
-that night we walked beneath the trees, alone, beneath the trees; there was some word we could not say half uttered in the breeze.
-that night on judges’ walk we said no word of all we had to say; but now there shall be no word said before the judge’s day.
-in the night.
-the moonlight had tangled the trees under our feet as we walked in the night, and the shadows beneath us were stirred by the breeze in the magical light; and the moon was a silver fire, and the stars were flickers of flame, golden and violet and red; and the night-wind sighed my desire, and the wind in the tree-tops whispered and said in her ear her adorable name.
-but her heart would not hear what i heard, the pulse of the night as it beat, love, love, love, the unspeakable word, in its murmurous repeat; she heard not the night-wind’s sigh, nor her own name breathed in her ear, nor the cry of my heart to her heart, a speechless, a clamorous cry: “love! love! will she hear? will she hear?” o heart, she will hear, by and by, when we part, when for ever we part.
-after paul verlaine.
-the singers of serenades whisper their faded vows unto fair listening maids under the singing boughs.
-tircis, aminte, are there, clitandre is over-long, and damis for many a fair tyrant makes many a song.
-their short vests, silken and bright, their long pale silken trains, their elegance of delight, twine soft blue silken chains.
-and the mandolines and they, faintlier breathing, swoon into the rose and grey ecstasy of the moon.
-as in the age of shepherd king and queen, painted and frail amid her nodding bows, under the sombre branches, and between the green and mossy garden-ways she goes, with little mincing airs one keeps to pet a darling and provoking perroquet. her long-trained robe is blue, the fan she holds with fluent fingers girt with heavy rings, so vaguely hints of vague erotic things that her eye smiles, musing among its folds. —blonde too, a tiny nose, a rosy mouth, artful as that sly patch that makes more sly, in her divine unconscious pride of youth, the slightly simpering sparkle of the eye.
-by favourable breezes fanned, a trellised arbour is at hand to shield us from the summer airs;
-the scent of roses, fainting sweet, afloat upon the summer heat, blends with the perfume that she wears.
-true to the promise her eyes gave, she ventures all, and her mouth rains a dainty fever through my veins;
-and love, fulfilling all things, save hunger, we ’scape, with sweets and ices, the folly of love’s sacrifices.
-bah! spite of fate, that says us nay, suppose we die together, eh? —a rare conclusion you discover!
-—what’s rare is good. let us die so, like lovers in boccaccio. —hi! hi! hi! you fantastic lover!
-—nay, not fantastic. if you will, fond, surely irreproachable. suppose, then, that we die together?
-—good sir, your jests are fitlier told than when you speak of love or gold. why speak at all, in this glad weather?
-whereat, behold them once again, tircis beside his dorimène, not far from two blithe rustic rovers,
-for some caprice of idle breath deferring a delicious death. hi! hi! hi! what fantastic lovers!
-scaramouche waves a threatening hand to pulcinella, and they stand, two shadows, black against the moon.
-the old doctor of bologna pries for simples with impassive eyes, and mutters o’er a magic rune.
-the while his daughter, scarce half-dressed, glides slyly ’neath the trees, in quest of her bold pirate lover’s sail;
-her pirate from the spanish main, whose passion thrills her in the pain of the loud languorous nightingale.
-pierrot, no sentimental swain, washes a pâté down again with furtive flagons, white and red.
-cassandre, to chasten his content, greets with a tear of sentiment his nephew disinherited.
-that blackguard of a harlequin pirouettes, and plots to win his colombine that flits and flies.
-colombine dreams, and starts to find a sad heart sighing in the wind, and in her heart a voice that sighs.
-l’amour par terre.
-the wind the other evening overthrew the little love who smiled so mockingly down that mysterious alley, so that we, remembering, mused thereon a whole day through.
-the wind has overthrown him! the poor stone lies scattered to the breezes. it is sad to see the lonely pedestal, that had the artist’s name, scarce visible, alone,
-oh! it is sad to see the pedestal left lonely! and in dream i seem to hear prophetic voices whisper in my ear the lonely and despairing end of all.
-oh! it is sad! and thou, hast thou not found one heart-throb for the pity, though thine eye lights at the gold and purple butterfly brightening the littered leaves upon the ground.
-mystical strains unheard, a song without a word, dearest, because thine eyes. pale as the skies,
-because thy voice, remote as the far clouds that float veiling for me the whole heaven of the soul,
-because the stately scent of thy swan’s whiteness, blent with the white lily’s bloom of thy perfume,
-ah! because thy dear love, the music breathed above by angels halo-crowned, odour and sound,
-hath, in my subtle heart, with some mysterious art transposed thy harmony, so let it be!
-from romances sans paroles.
-tears in my heart that weeps, like the rain upon the town, what drowsy languor steeps in tears my heart that weeps?
-o sweet sound of the rain on earth and on the roofs! for a heart’s weary pain o the song of the rain!
-vain tears, vain tears, my heart! what, none hath done thee wrong? tears without reason start, from my disheartened heart.
-this is the weariest woe, o heart, of love and hate too weary, not to know why thou hast all this woe.
-moods and memories.
-i. in the train.
-the train through the night of the town, through a blackness broken in twain by the sudden finger of streets; lights, red, yellow, and brown, from curtain and window-pane, the flashing eyes of the streets.
-night, and the rush of the train, a cloud of smoke through the town, scaring the life of the streets; and the leap of the heart again, out into the night, and down the dazzling vista of streets!
-ii. in the temple.
-the grey and misty night, slim trees that hold the night among their branches, and, along the vague embankment, light on light.
-the sudden, racing lights! i can just hear, distinct, aloof, the gaily clattering hoof beating the rhythm of festive nights.
-the gardens to the weeping moon sigh back the breath of tears. o the refrain of years on years ’neath the weeping moon!
-a white night.
-the yellow moon across the clouds that shiver in the sky; white, hurrying travellers, the clouds, and, white and aching cold on high, stars in the sky.
-whiter, along the frozen earth, the miracle of snow; close covered as for sleep, the earth lies, mutely slumbering below its shroud of snow.
-sleepless i wander in the night, and, wandering, watch for day; earth sleeps, yet, high in heaven, the night awakens, faint and far away, a phantom day.
-in the valley.
-down the valley will i wander, singing songs forlorn, waiting for the maiden coming up between the corn.
-down below i hear the river babbling to the breeze, and i see the sunlight kiss the tresses of the trees.
-all the corn is shining with the tears of early rain: come, thou sunlight of mine eyes, and bring the dawn again!
-down the valley will i wander, singing songs forlorn, till i meet the maiden coming up between the corn.
-peace at noon.
-here there is peace, cool peace, upon these heights, beneath these trees; almost the peace of sleep or death, to wearying brain, to labouring breath.
-here there is rest at last, a sweet forgetting of the past; there is no future here, nor aught save this soft healing pause of thought.
-in fountain court.
-the fountain murmuring of sleep, a drowsy tune; the flickering green of leaves that keep the light of june; peace, through a slumbering afternoon, the peace of june.
-a waiting ghost, in the blue sky, the white curved moon; june, hushed and breathless, waits, and i wait too, with june; come, through the lingering afternoon, soon, love, come soon.
-miraculous silver-work in stone against the blue miraculous skies, the belfry towers and turrets rise out of the arches that enthrone that airy wonder of the skies.
-softly against the burning sun the great cathedral spreads its wings; high up, the lyric belfry sings. behold ascension day begun under the shadow of those wings!
-she only knew the birth and death of days, when each that died was still at morn a hope, at night a hope unsatisfied.
-the dark trees shivered to behold another day begin; she, being hopeless, did not weep as the grey dawn came in.
-frail autumn lights upon the leaves beacon the ending of the year. the windy rains are here, wet nights and blowing winds about the eaves.
-here in the valley, mists begin to breathe about the river side the breath of autumn-tide. the dark fields wait to take the harvest in.
-and you, and you are far away. ah, this it is, and not the rain now loud against the pane, that takes the light and colour from the day!
-on the roads.
-the road winds onward long and white, it curves in mazy coils, and crooks a beckoning finger down the height; it calls me with the voice of brooks to thirsty travellers in the night.
-i leave the lonely city street, the awful silence of the crowd; the rhythm of the roads i beat, my blood leaps up, i shout aloud, my heart keeps measure with my feet.
-nought know, nought care i whither i wend: ’tis on, on, on, or here or there. what profiteth it an aim or end? i walk, and the road leads anywhere. then forward, with the fates to friend!
-’tis on and on! who knows but thus kind chance shall bring us luck at last? adventures to the adventurous! hope flies before, and the hours slip past: o what have the hours in store for us?
-a bird sings something in my ear, the wind sings in my blood a song tis good at times for a man to hear; the road winds onward white and long, and the best of earth is here!
-pierrot in half-mourning.
-i that am pierrot, pray you pity me! to be so young, so old in misery: see me, and how the winter of my grief wastes me, and how i whiten like a leaf, and how, like a lost child, lost and afraid, i seek the shadow, i that am a shade, i that have loved a moonbeam, nor have won any diana to endymion. pity me, for i have but loved too well the hope of the too fair impossible. ah, it is she, she, columbine: again i see her, and i woo her, and in vain. she lures me with her beckoning finger-tip; how her eyes shine for me, and how her lips bloom for me, roses, roses, red and rich! she waves to me the white arms of a witch over the world: i follow, i forget all, but she’ll love me yet, she’ll love me yet!
-for a picture of watteau.
-here the vague winds have rest; the forest breathes in sleep, lifting a quiet breast; it is the hour of rest.
-how summer glides away! an autumn pallor blooms upon the check of day. come, lovers, come away!
-but here, where dead leaves fall upon the grass, what strains, languidly musical, mournfully rise and fall?
-light loves that woke with spring this autumn afternoon beholds meandering, still, to the strains of spring.
-your dancing feet are faint, lovers: the air recedes into a sighing plaint, faint, as your loves are faint.
-it is the end, the end, the dance of love’s decease. feign no more now, fair friend! it is the end, the end.
-six centuries of painting
-st anthony and st george
-six centuries of
-london: t. c. & e. c. jack
-67 long acre, w.c., and edinburgh
-the english school--
-the nineteenth century--
-list of illustrations
-national gallery, london
-so far as it concerns pictures painted upon panel or canvas in tempera or oils, the history of painting begins with cimabue, who worked in florence during the latter half of the thirteenth century. that the art was practised in much earlier times may readily be admitted, and the life-like portraits in the vestibule at the national gallery taken from greek tombs of the second or third century are sufficient proofs of it; but for the origin of painting as we are now generally accustomed to understand the term we need go no further back than to cimabue and his contemporaries, from whose time the art has uninterruptedly developed throughout europe until the present day.
-oddly enough it is to the christian church, whose early fathers put their heaviest ban upon all forms of art, that this development is almost wholly due. the reaction against paganism began to die out when the christian religion was more firmly established, and representations of christ and the saints executed in mosaic became more and more to be regarded as a necessary, or at any rate a regular embellishment of the numerous churches which were built. for these mosaics panel paintings began in time to be substituted; but it was long before any of the human feeling of art was to be found in them. the influence of s. francis of assisi was needed to prepare the way, and it was only towards the close of the thirteenth century that the breath of life began to be infused into these conventional representations, and painting became a living art.
-as it had begun in italy, under the auspices of the church, so it chiefly developed in that country; at first in florence and siena, later in rome, whither its greatest masters were summoned by the pope, and in venice, where, farther from the ecclesiastical influence, it flourished more exuberantly, and so became more capable of being transplanted to other countries. in germany, however, and the low countries it had appeared early enough to be considered almost as an independent growth, though not till considerably later were the northern schools capable of sustaining the reputation given them by the van eycks and roger van der weyden.
-but for the effects of the renaissance in italy in the fifteenth century it is questionable whether painting would ever have spread as it did in the sixteenth and seventeenth to spain and france. but by the close of the fifteenth century such enormous progress had been made by the italian painters towards the realisation of human action and emotion in pictures, that from being merely an accessory of religious establishments, painting had become as much a part of the recognised means of intellectual enjoyment of everyday life as music, sculpture, or even the refinements of food and clothing.
-portraiture, in particular, had gradually advanced to a foremost place in painting. originally it was used exclusively for memorials of the dead--as we have seen in the case of the paintings from the greek tombs--and on coins and medals. but gradually the practice arose, as painters became more skilful in representing the appearance of the model, of introducing the features and figures of actual personages into religious pictures, in the character of "donors," and as these increased in importance, the sacred personages were gradually relegated to the background, and ultimately dispensed with altogether. at the beginning of the sixteenth century we find hans holbein (as an example) recommended by erasmus to sir thomas more as a portrait painter who wished to try his fortunes in england; and during the rest of his life painting practically nothing but portraits.
-by the end of the sixteenth century, if not earlier, painting had become almost as much a business as an art, not only in italy but in most other countries in europe, and was established in each country more or less independently. so that making every allowance for the various foreign influences that affected each different country, it is convenient to trace the development of painting in each country separately, and we arrange our chapters accordingly under the titles of tuscan and venetian (the two main divisions of italian painting), spanish, flemish, dutch, german, french, and british schools. in each country, as might be expected--and especially in italy--there are subdivisions; but, broadly speaking, the lover of pictures will be quite well enough equipped for the enjoyment of them if he is able to recognise their country, and roughly their period, without troubling about the particular district or personal influence of their origin.
-for while it is undoubtedly true that the more one knows about the history of painting in general the greater will be the appreciation of the various excellences which tend to perfection, it is absolutely ridiculous to suppose that only the learned in such matters are capable of deriving enjoyment from a beautiful picture, or of expressing an opinion upon it. in the first place, the picture is intended for the public, and the public have therefore the best right to say whether it pleases them or not--and why. and it may be noted as a positive fact that whenever the public, in any country, have a free choice in matters of art, that choice generally turns out to be right, and is ultimately endorsed by the best critics. most of the vulgar art to be found in advertisements and the illustrated papers is put there by ignorant and vulgar providers, who imagine that the whole public are as ignorant and vulgar as themselves; whereas whenever a better standard of taste is given an opportunity, it never fails to find a welcome. until sir henry wood inaugurated the present régime, the promenade concerts at covent garden were popularly supposed to represent the national taste in music. until the temple classics and every man's library were published it was commonly supposed that the people at large cared for nothing but bow bells, the penny novelette, or such unclassical if alluring provender. in the domain of painting, the royal academy has such a firm and ancient hold on the popular imagination of the english that its influence is difficult to dispel; but there are many signs that its baneful ascendency is at length on the decline; and it is well known that the national gallery is attracting more and more visitors and burlington house less and less as the years go on.
-in the following attempt at a general survey of the history of painting--imperfect or ill-proportioned as it may appear to this or that specialist or lover of any particular school--i have thought it best to assume a fair amount of ignorance of the subject on the part of the reader, though without, i hope, taking any advantage of it, even if it exists; and i have therefore drawn freely upon several old histories and handbooks for both facts and opinions concerning the old masters and their works. in some cases, i think, a dead lion is decidedly better than a live dog.
-by the will of god, in the year 1240, we are told by vasari, giovanni cimabue, of the noble family of that name, was born in the city of florence, to give the first light to the art of painting. vasari's "lives of the painters" was first published in florence in 1550, and with all its defects and all its inaccuracies, which have afforded so much food for contention among modern critics, it is still the principal source of our knowledge of the earlier history of painting as it was revived in italy in the thirteenth century.
-making proper allowance for vasari's desire to glorify his own city, and to make a dignified commencement to his work by attributing to cimabue more than was possibly his due, we need not be deterred by the very latest dicta of the learned from accepting the outlines of his life of cimabue as an embodiment of the tradition of the time in which he lived--two centuries and a quarter after cimabue--and, until contradicted by positive evidence, as worthy of general credence. in the popular mind cimabue still remains "the father of modern painting," and though his renown may have attracted more pictures and more legends to his name than properly belong to him, it is certain that dante, his contemporary, wrote of him thus:--
-credette cimabue nella pintura tener lo campo, ed ora ha giotto il grido si che la fama di colui s'oscura.
-this is at least as important as anything written by a contemporary of william shakespeare; and even if we are required to believe that some of his most important works are by another hand, his influence on the history of art is beyond question. let us then follow vasari a little further, and we shall find, at any rate, what is typical of the development of genius.
-"this youth," vasari continues, "being considered by his father and others to give proof of an acute judgment and a clear understanding, was sent to santa maria novella to study letters under a relation who was then master in grammar to the novices of that convent. but cimabue, instead of devoting himself to letters, consumed the whole day in drawing men, horses, houses, and other various fancies on his books and different papers--an occupation to which he felt himself impelled by nature."
-this is exactly what is recorded of reynolds, it may be noted, and very much the same as in the case of gainsborough, benjamin west--and many a modern painter.
-"this natural inclination was favoured by fortune, for the governors of the city had invited certain greek (probably byzantine) painters to florence, for the purpose of restoring the art of painting, which had not merely degenerated but was altogether lost. these artists, among other works, began to paint the chapel of the gondi in santa maria novella, and cimabue, often escaping from the school, and having already made a commencement of the art he was so fond of, would stand watching these masters at their work. his father, and the artists themselves, therefore concluded that he must be well endowed for painting, and thought that much might be expected from him if he devoted himself to it. giovanni was accordingly, much to his delight, placed with these masters, whom he soon greatly surpassed both in design and colouring. for they, caring little for the progress of art, executed their works not in the excellent manner of the ancient greeks, but in the rude modern style of their own day. wherefore, though cimabue imitated them, he very much improved the art, relieving it greatly from their uncouth manner and doing honour to his country by the name that he acquired and by the works which he performed. of this we have evidence in florence from the pictures which he painted there--as for example the front of the altar of saint cecilia and a picture of the virgin, in santa croce, which was and still is (i.e. in 1550) attached to one of the pilasters on the right of the choir."
-unfortunately the very first example cited pulls us up short alongside the official catalogue of the uffizi gallery (where the picture was placed in 1841), in which it is catalogued (no. 20) as "unknown ... vasari erroneously attributes it to cimabue."
-tiresome as it may seem to be thus distracted, at the very outset, by the question of authenticity, it is nevertheless desirable to start with a clear understanding that in surveying in a general way the history and development of painting, it will be quite hopeless to wait for the final word on the supposed authorship of every picture mentioned. in this instance, as it happens, there is no reason to question the modern catalogue, though that is by no means the same thing as denying that cimabue painted the picture which existed in the church of s. cecilia in vasari's time. is it more likely, it may be asked, that vasari, who is accused of unduly glorifying cimabue, would attribute to him a work not worthy of his fame, or that during the three centuries since vasari wrote a substitution was effected? the other picture, the madonna and child enthroned, which found its way into our national gallery in 1857, is still officially catalogued as the work of cimabue, and it is to be hoped that this precious relic, together with the madonnas in the louvre, the florence academy, and in the lower church at assisi, may be long spared to us by the authority of the critics as "genuine productions" of the beloved master.
-on the general question, however, let me reassure the reader by stating that so far as possible i have avoided the mention of any pictures, in the following pages, about which there is any grave doubt, save in a few cases where tradition is so firmly established that it seems heartless to disturb it until final judgment is entered--of which the following examples of cimabue's reputed work may be taken as types. the latest criticism seeks to deprive him of every single existing picture he is believed to have painted; those mentioned by vasari which have perished may be considered equally unauthentic, but, as before mentioned, his account of them gives us as well as anything else the story of the beginnings of the art.
-having afterwards undertaken, vasari continues, to paint a large picture in the abbey of the santa trinità in florence for the monks of vallombrosa, he made great efforts to justify the high opinion already formed of him and showed greater powers of invention, especially in the attitude of the virgin, whom he depicted with the child in her arms and numerous angels around her, on a gold ground. this is the picture now in the accademia in florence. the frescoes next described are no longer in existence:--
-"cimabue next painted in fresco at the hospital of the porcellana at the corner of the via nuova which leads into the borgo ogni santi. on the front of this building, which has the principal door in the centre, he painted the virgin receiving the annunciation from the angel, on one side, and christ with cleophas and luke on the other, all the figures the size of life. in this work he departed more decidedly from the dry and formal manner of his instructors, giving more life and movement to the draperies, vestments and other accessories, and rendering all more flexible and natural than was common to the manner of those greeks whose work were full of hard lines and sharp angles as well in mosaic as in painting. and this rude unskilful manner the greeks had acquired not so much from study or settled purpose as from having servilely followed certain fixed rules and habits transmitted through a long series of years by one painter to another, while none ever thought of the amelioration of his design, the embellishment of his colouring, or the improvement of his invention."
-after describing cimabue's activities at pisa and assisi with equal circumstance, vasari passes to the famous rucellai madonna, now supposed to be by the hand of duccio of siena. however doubtful the story may appear in the light of modern criticism, historical or artistic, it certainly forms part of the history of painting--for its spirit if not for its accuracy--and as such it can never be too often quoted:--
-"he afterwards painted the picture of the virgin for the church of santa maria novella, where it is suspended on high between the chapel of the rucellai family and that of the bardi. this picture is of larger size than any figure that had been painted down to those times, and the angels surrounding it make it evident that although cimabue still retained the greek manner, he was nevertheless gradually approaching the mode of outline and general method of modern times. thus it happened that this work was an object of so much admiration to the people of that day--they having never seen anything better--that it was carried in solemn procession, with the sound of trumpets and other festal demonstration, from the house of cimabue to the church, he himself being highly rewarded and honoured for it. it is further reported, and may be read in certain records of old painters, that while cimabue was painting this picture in a garden near the gate of s. pietro, king charles the elder of anjou passed through florence, and the authorities of the city, among other marks of respect, conducted him to see the picture of cimabue. when this work was thus shown to the king, it had not before been seen by anyone; wherefore all the men and women of florence hastened in great crowds to admire it, making all possible demonstration of delight."
-now whether or not vasari was right in crediting cimabue with these honours in florence instead of duccio in siena, makes little difference in the story of the origin and early development of the art of painting. one may doubt the accuracy of the mosaic account of the creation, the authorship of the fourth gospel or the shakespearean poems, or the list of names of the normans who are recorded to have fought with william the conqueror. but what if one may? the creation, the poems and plays of shakespeare and the battle of hastings are all of them historic facts, and neither science, nor literature, nor history is a penny the worse for the loose though perfectly understandable conditions under which these facts have been handed down to us. when we come down to times nearer to our own the accuracy of data is more easily ascertainable, though the confusion arising out of them often obscures their real significance; but in looking for origins we are content to ignore the details, provided we can find enough general information on which to form an idea of them. to these first chapters of vasari, then, we need not hesitate to resort for the main sources of the earlier history of painting. even so far as we have gone we have learnt several important facts as to the nature of the foundations on which the glorious structure was to be raised.
-first of all, it is apparent that the practice of painting, though strictly forbidden by the earliest fathers of the church, was used by the faithful in the eastern churches for purposes of decoration, and was introduced into italy--we may safely say tuscany--for the same purpose.
-second, that being transplanted into this new soil, it put forth such wonderful blossoms that it came to be cultivated with much more regard; and from being merely a necessary or conventional ornament of certain portions of the church, was soon accounted its greatest glory.
-third, that it was accorded popular acclamation.
-fourth, that its most attractive feature in the eyes of beholders was its life-like representation of the human form and other natural objects.
-prosaic as these considerations may appear, they are nevertheless the fundamental principles that underlie the whole of the subsequent development of painting; and unless every picture in the world were destroyed, and the art of painting wholly lost for at least a thousand years, there could not be another picture produced which would not refer back through continuous tradition to one or every one of them. first, the basis of religion. second, the development peculiar to the soil. some thirty.... when any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and understandeth it not, then cometh the evil one, and snatcheth away that which hath been sown in his heart. this is he that was sown by the way side. and he that was sown upon the rocky places, this is he that heareth the word, and straight-way with joy receiveth it; yet hath he not root in himself, but endureth for a while; and when tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word, straightway he stumbleth. and he that was sown among the thorns, this is he that heareth the word; and the care of the world, and the deceitfulness of riches, choke the word, and he becometh unfruitful. and he that was sown upon the good ground, this is he that heareth the word, and understandeth it; who verily beareth fruit, and bringeth forth, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.—matt. 13:3-8; 19-23.
-this parable was intended to explain to the disciples why the kingdom was not coming with a rush, as they expected. the story embodies the practical experiences of jesus in his propaganda. he saw his work as a duplication of the sower’s work on a higher level. the success of both depends on the receptiveness of the soil. the sower encounters hard trodden ground, rocky patches, and spots where hardy thorns or thistles drain the soil and where his work produces only empty ears and futile beginnings. so jesus met the stolid conservative and also the emotional type. but the climax of his difficulties was a mind preoccupied by property worries, or lured by the illusions of wealth. he early found, then, that devotion to property is likely to be a rival to the higher interests and the common good.
-how do modern social groups line up when measured by spiritual receptiveness?
-second day: the accumulator
-and one out of the multitude said unto him, teacher, bid my brother divide the inheritance with me. but he said unto him, man, who made me a judge or a divider over you? and he said unto them, take heed, and keep yourselves from all covetousness: for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth. and he spoke a parable unto them, saying, the ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully; and he reasoned within himself, saying, what shall i do, because i have not where to bestow my fruits? and he said, this will i do: i will pull down my barns, and build greater; and there will i bestow all my grain and my goods. and i will say to my soul, soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, be merry. but god said unto him, thou foolish one, this night is thy soul required of thee; and the things which thou hast prepared, whose shall they be? so is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward god.—luke 12:13-21.
-most men today would have no fault to find with this man. he was only doing what the modern world is unanimously trying to do. having made a pile, he proposed to make a bigger pile. meanwhile he slapped his soul on the back and smacked his lips in anticipation. to jesus the fat farmer was a tragic comedy. in the first place, an unseen hand was waiting to snuff out his candle. to plan life as if it consisted in an abundance of material wealth is something of a miscalculation in a world where death is part of the scheme of things. in the second place, jesus saw no higher purpose in the man’s aim and outlook to redeem his acquisitiveness. the man was a sublimated chipmunk, gloating over bushels of pignuts. if wealth is saved to raise and educate children, or achieve some social good, it deserves moral respect or admiration. but if the acquisitive instinct is without social feeling or vision, and centered on self, it gets no respect, at least from jesus.
-unlimited acquisition used to be considered immoral and dishonorable. how and when did public opinion change on this?
-third day: quit grafting
-and the multitudes asked him, saying, what then must we do? and he answered and said unto them, he that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath food, let him do likewise. and there came also publicans to be baptized, and they said unto him, teacher, what must we do? and he said unto them, extort no more than that which is appointed you. and soldiers also asked him, saying, and we, what must we do? and he said unto them, extort from no man by violence, neither accuse any one wrongfully; and be content with your wages.—luke 3:10-14.
-the social teachings of john the baptist were so close to those of jesus that we can safely draw on them in this passage.
-have we ever been a victim of extortion? how did it feel? did it sour the milk of human kindness in us?
-fourth day: god versus mammon
-lay not up for yourselves treasures upon the earth, where moth and rust consume, and where thieves break through and steal: but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth consume, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: for where thy treasure is there will thy heart be also. the lamp of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. but if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. if therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is the darkness! no man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to one, and despise the other. ye cannot serve god and mammon.—matt. 6:19-24.
-acquisition may operate on different planes. a man may accumulate material stuff, or he may acquire spiritual faculties, memories, and relations. in a balanced life the two work side by side in peace, and each may aid the other. but the experience of all spiritual teachers shows that practically the acquisition of property often becomes a passion which absorbs the man and leaves little energy for the higher pursuits. most men who have used up their life to acquire wealth look back with homesickness to some idealistic aspiration of their youth as to a lost edenland. jesus felt the antagonism of private wealth and the kingdom of god so keenly that he set god and mammon over against each other, and warned us that we must choose between them. placed in this connection, the saying about the darkening of the inner light seems to refer to the influence of money-getting on the higher vision of the soul. this entire passage is fundamental and will explain other sayings which follow.
-do god and money come into flat collision in college life?
-fifth day: the divisive influence of riches
-now there was a certain rich man, and he was clothed in purple and fine linen, faring sumptuously every day: and a certain beggar named lazarus was laid at his gate, full of sores, and desiring to be fed with the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table; yea, even the dogs came and licked his sores. and it came to pass, that the beggar died, and that he was carried away by the angels into abraham’s bosom: and the rich man also died, and was buried. and in hades he lifted up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth abraham afar off, and lazarus in his bosom. and he cried and said, father abraham, have mercy on me, and send lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for i am in anguish in this flame. but abraham said, son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and lazarus in like manner evil things: but now here he is comforted, and thou art in anguish. and besides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed, that they that would pass from hence to you may not be able, and that none may cross over from thence to us. and he said, i pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father’s house; for i have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment. but abraham saith, they have moses and the prophets; let them hear them. and he said, nay, father abraham: but if one go to them from the dead, they will repent. and he said unto him, if they hear not moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, if one rise from the dead.—luke 16:19-31.
-why does jesus send the rich man to hell as if it were a matter of course? no crimes or vices are alleged. it must be that a life given over to sumptuous living and indifferent to the want and misery of a fellow-man at the doorstep seemed to jesus a deeply immoral and sinful life. jesus exerted all his energies to bring men close together in love. but wealth divides. it creates semi-human relations between social classes, so that a small dole seems to be a full discharge of obligations toward the poor, and manly independence and virtue may be resented as offensive. the sting of this parable is in the reference to the five brothers who were still living as dives had lived, and whom he was vainly trying to reach by wireless. see verse 14 in explanation.
-is it fair to call the relations between the selfish rich and the dependent poor “semi-human relations”?
-sixth day: get a plank for the deluge
-and he said also unto the disciples, there was a certain rich man, who had a steward; and the same was accused unto him that he was wasting his goods. and he called him, and said unto him, what is this that i hear of thee? render the account of thy stewardship; for thou canst be no longer steward. and the steward said within himself, what shall i do, seeing that my lord taketh away the stewardship from me? i have not strength to dig; to beg i am ashamed. i am resolved what to do, that, when i am put out of the stewardship, they may receive me into their houses. and calling to him each one of his lord’s debtors, he said to the first, how much owest thou unto my lord? and he said, a hundred measures of oil. and he said unto him, take thy bond, and sit down quickly and write fifty. then said he to another, and how much owest thou? and he said, a hundred measures of wheat. he saith unto him, take thy bond, and write fourscore. and his lord commended the unrighteous steward because he had done wisely: for the sons of this world are for their own generation wiser than the sons of the light. and i say unto you, make to yourselves friends by means of the mammon of unrighteousness; that, when it shall fail, they may receive you into the eternal tabernacles.—luke 16:1-9.
-this is one of the wittiest stories in the bible and must be read with some sense of humor. the tenant farmers of a great estate paid their rent in shares of the produce. this elastic system offered the steward a chance to make something on the side. he was found out and discharged, but while he was closing up his accounts he still had a short spell of authority. things looked dark. he did not care to blister his white hands with a hoe-handle, nor his social pride by begging. so he grafted one last graft, but on so large a scale that the tenants would be under lasting obligations to him. the scamp was a crook, but at least he was long-headed. jesus wished the children of light were as clever in taking a long look ahead as the children of this world. in that case men would get ready for the new age, in which mammon loses its buying power, by making friends with it now, and their friends would take them in as guests after the great reversal.
-how do you like the humorous independence of jesus?
-seventh day: stranded on his wealth
-a fine young man, of clean and conscientious life, but with unsatisfied aspirations in his soul. jesus invites him to a more heroic type of excellence, cutting loose from his wealth and devoting himself to the apostolate of the kingdom of god. it was a great chance for a great life. he might have stood for god before kings and mobs, and ranked with peter, john, and paul as a household name. he did not rise to his chance. what held him? jesus felt it was his wealth. a poor man would have had less to leave, and might have left it cheerfully. so jesus sums up the psychological situation in the saddened exclamation that it is exceedingly hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom where men live in justice, fraternity, and idealism.
-have you noticed that in recent years an increasing number of this man’s grandsons are trying to cut loose and find the real life, eternal life? can you name any?
-study for the week
-evidently the dangers connected with property were much in the mind of jesus. he seems to have emphasized them more fully and frequently than the evils of licentiousness or drunkenness. the modern church has reversed the relative emphasis. why?
-of course we must not look for the methods or viewpoints of political economy in his teachings. his concern was for the spiritual vitality and soundness of the individual, and for the human relations existing among men. he was interested in property only in so far as it corrupted the higher nature or made fraternity difficult. but let no one underestimate the importance of these considerations. these things are the real end of life. all the rest is scaffolding. we should be farther along if the economic and social sciences had kept these fundamental questions more sternly in sight.
-plainly jesus felt that the acquisitive instinct, like the sex instinct, easily breaks bounds and becomes ravenous; there is even less natural limit to it. it absorbs the energies of intellect and will. as with the rich fool, the horizon of life is filled with chances to make the pile grow bigger. life seems to consist of money, and the problems of money.
-people are valued according to that standard. marriages are arranged for it. politics is run for it. wars are begun for it. creative artistic and intellectual impulses are shouldered aside, fall asleep, or die of inanition. property is intended to secure freedom of action and self-development; in fact, it often chains men and clips their wings. this is what jesus calls “the deceitfulness of riches” and “the darkening of the inner eye.”(2)
-in addition to the blight of character, wealth exerts a desocializing and divisive influence. it wedges apart groups that belong together. dives and lazarus may live in the front and rear of the same block, but with no sense of solidarity. dives would have been deeply moved, perhaps, if one of his own class had punctured a tire in the philistian desert and gone for two days without any food except crumbs. the separation of humanity into classes on the lines of wealth is so universal and so orthodox that few of us ever realize that it flouts all the principles of christianity and humanity.
-in the case of the young ruler jesus encountered the fact that wealth bars men out of the world of their ideals. the question was not whether the young man could get to heaven, but whether he could have a share in the real life, in the kingdom of right relations. it is hard to acquire great wealth without doing injustice to others; it is hard to possess it and yet deal with others on the basis of equal humanity; it is hard to give it away even without doing mischief.
-we have seen that jesus believed profoundly in the value and dignity of human life; that he sought to create solidarity; that he was chiefly concerned for the saving of the lowly; and that he demanded an heroic life in the service of the kingdom of god. but wealth, as he saw it, flouted the value of life, dissolved the spiritual solidarity of whole classes, and kept the lowly low; the wealthy had lost the capacity for an heroic life.
-this is radical teaching. what shall we say to it? jesus is backed by the old testament prophets and the most spiritual teaching of the hebrew people, which condemned injustice and extortionate money-making even more energetically than did jesus. medieval christianity sincerely assented to the principle that private property is a danger to the soul and a neutralizer of love. every monastic community tried to cut under sex dangers by celibacy, and property dangers by communism. this was an enormous misinterpretation of christianity, but it shows that men took the teachings on the dangers of private property seriously. the modern christian world does not. it has quietly set aside the ideas of jesus on this subject, lives its life without much influence from them, and contents itself with emphasizing other aspects.
-we need a christian ethics of property, more perhaps than anything else. the wrongs connected with wealth are the most vulnerable point of our civilization. unless we can make that crooked place straight, all our charities and religion are involved in hypocrisy.
-we have to harmonize the two facts, that wealth is good and necessary, and that wealth is a danger to its possessor and to society. on the one hand property is indispensable to personal freedom, to all higher individuality, and to self-realization; the right to property is a corollary of the right to life; without property men are at the mercy of nature and in bondage to those who have property. on the other hand property is used as a means of collecting tribute and private taxes, as a club with which to extort unearned gain from laborers and consumers, and as the fundamental tool of oppression.
-where do we draw the line? is it true that property created by productive labor is a great moralizer, and that property acquired without productive labor is the great demoralizer? is it correct that property for use is on the whole good, and property for power is a menace?
-what is the relation between property and self-development? at what point does property become excessive? at what point does food become excessive and poisonous? at what point does fertilizer begin to kill a plant? would any real social values be lost if incomes averaged $2,000 and none exceeded $10,000?
-to what extent does a moral purpose take the dangers out of acquisition?
-is any life moral in which the natural capacities are not sincerely taxed to do productive work? if a man’s wealth is destined to cut his descendants off from productive labor, is it a blessing? what is the moral difference between strenuous occupation and labor? how large a proportion of our time and energy can be devoted to play and leisure without softening our moral fiber?
-at what points does private property come to be anti-social? if we could eliminate the monopoly elements and the capacity to levy tribute, would there be much danger in the remainder?
-does private property, in the enormous aggregations of today and in control of the essential outfit of society, still correspond to the essential theoretical conception of private property, or have public properties and public functions fallen under private control? “much that we are accustomed to hear called legitimate insistence upon the rights of property, the old testament would seem to call the robbery of god, and grinding the faces of the poor” (the bishop of oxford).
-the religious spirit will always have to call the individual farther than the law can compel him to go. after all unjust and tainted portions have been eliminated from our property, religion lays its hands on the rest and says, “you are only a steward over this.” in the parables of the talents, the pounds, and the unjust steward, jesus argues on the assumption that our resources are a trust, and not absolute property. we manage and control them, but always under responsibility. we hold them from god, and his will has eminent domain. but the will of god is identical with the good of mankind. when we hold property in trust for god, we hold it for humanity, of which we are part. we misuse the trust if by it we deprive others of health, freedom, joy, hope, or efficiency, for instance, by overworking others and underworking our own children.
-suggestions for thought and discussion
-i. the love of money
-1. define graft. what is wrong in it? where do we see it? where are we myopic about it?
-2. why did jesus have so much to say about money and so little about drink? why does paul call the love of money “the root of all evil”?
-ii. jesus’ fear of riches
-1. on what ground does jesus fear the influence of riches and of their accumulation?
-2. summarize jesus’ teachings regarding wealth.
-3. in what respects is his attitude different from the ordinary viewpoint of the modern world?
-4. was jesus opposed to the owning of farming tools or fishing smacks? where would he draw the line between honest earnings and dangerous wealth?
-5. was his teaching on wealth ascetic? was it socialistic?
-6. to what extent should we recognize his insight on this question as authority for us?
-iii. the problem of wealth in the modern world
-i. are the "master iniquities" of our age located in sex life, politics, or business?
-2. distinguish between “property for use” and “property for power.”
-3. what are the moral evils created by mass poverty? by aggregations of wealthy families?
-4. why has the modern world set aside jesus’ teachings about wealth? to what extent have we substituted a better understanding of the social value of property? how far should we be satisfied with our present adjustment of the property question?
-5. what methods of money making are condemned by the common sentiment of the church? is there anything which ought to be included in this condemnation? if so, what?
-1. at what point does the amassing of private property become contrary to the principles of jesus?
-2. what legalized property rights are antagonistic to jesus’ principles?
-3. how can society accumulate wealth without the injustice and social divisions which now accompany the amassing of private fortunes?
-4. if a man has an invested income, has he the right to live a life of leisure? when is it right to be a non-producer?
-5. how rich has a christian a right to be? in a christian society what is the minimum limit of income?
-6. would economic democracy eliminate or enforce the doctrine of stewardship?
-7. how can we pluck the sting of sin out of private property?
-1. are millionaires a symptom of social disease or a triumph of civilization?
-2. should social science reckon with the influence of wealth on personal character?
-3. what moral conviction is expressed in the condemnation of usurious interest and of rack-rent? should excessive profit be included?
-4. how could industry be financed if there were no wealthy investors with accumulations?
-5. when is a college student a parasite?
-6. if college communities had less money would they breed better men and women?
-7. how have the successes of predatory finance affected the outlook and morality of college students?
-chapter ix. the social test of religion
-religion must be socially efficient
-the teaching of jesus dealt with three recalcitrant forces, which easily escape from the control of social duty and become a clog to spiritual progress: ambition for power and leadership, and the love of property, have been considered. how about religion? is it a help or a hindrance in the progress of humanity? opinions are very much divided today. no student of society can neglect religion as a social force. what did jesus think of it?
-first day: worship is not enough
-what unto me is the multitude of your sacrifices? saith jehovah: i have had enough of the burnt-offerings of rams, and the fat of fed beasts; and i delight not in the blood of bullocks, or of lambs, or of he-goats. when ye come to appear before me, who hath required this at your hand, to trample my courts? bring no more vain oblations; incense is an abomination unto me; new moon and sabbath, the calling of assemblies,—i cannot away with iniquity and the solemn meeting. your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hateth; they are a trouble unto me; i am weary of bearing them. and when ye spread forth your hands, i will hide mine eyes from you; yea, when ye make many prayers, i will not hear: your hands are full of blood. wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes; cease to do evil; learn to do well; seek justice, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.—isa. 1:11-17.
-wherewith shall i come before jehovah, and bow myself before the high god? shall i come before him with burnt-offerings, with calves a year old? will jehovah be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil? shall i give my first-born for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? he hath showed thee, o man, what is good; and what doth jehovah require of thee, but to do justly, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with thy god?—micah 6:6-8.
-these two passages are classical expressions of a note which runs through all the prophetic teaching of the old testament. there was a fundamental antagonism between those who saw the service of god in the inherited ritual and sacrificial action, and those who felt that the essential service of god is righteousness of life. the prophets wanted a religion that would change social conduct, and repudiated religious doings that had no ethical value. they held that worship alone is not enough. god wants life and conduct.
-suggest parallels from the history of the christian or the non-christian religions.
-second day: the test of social value
-and it came to pass, that he was going on the sabbath day through the grainfields; and his disciples began, as they went, to pluck the ears. and the pharisees said unto him, behold, why do they on the sabbath day that which is not lawful? and he said unto them, did ye never read what david did, when he had need, and was hungry, he, and they that were with him? how he entered into the house of god when abiathar was high priest, and ate the showbread, which it is not lawful to eat save for the priests, and gave also to them that were with him? and he said unto them, the sabbath was made for man; and not man for the sabbath: so that the son of man is lord even of the sabbath.
-and he entered again into the synagogue; and there was a man there who had his hand withered. and they watched him, whether he would heal him on the sabbath day; that they might accuse him. and he saith unto the man that had his hand withered, stand forth. and he saith unto them, is it lawful on the sabbath day to do good, or to do harm? to save a life, or to kill? but they held their peace. and when he had looked round about on them with anger, being grieved at the hardening of their heart, he saith unto the man, stretch forth thy hand. and he stretched it forth; and his hand was restored.—mark 2:23-3:5.
-the mosaic law intended the sabbath to be a haven of rest for all who were driven, the slave, the immigrant, even the cattle. it was a precious institution of social protection. but the strict religionists of jesus’ time had made a yoke of tyranny of it, so that hungry men could not rub the kernels from ears of grain without being charged with threshing, and jesus could not heal a poor paralytic without getting black looks. a fine institution of social welfare and relief had been turned into an anti-social regulation. jesus fell back on the fundamental maxim of the prophets, “i desire kindness and not sacrifice,” and laid down the principle that “the sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath.” the religious institution of the sabbath must have social value; this is the essential test even in religion.
-is the sabbath more useful to society now than in puritan times?
-from which do we suffer more today, from excessive strictness or excessive looseness in sabbath observance?
-how is the social value of the rest-day frustrated for the working class?
-third day: natural duty above artificial
-and the pharisees and the scribes ask him, why walk not thy disciples according to the tradition of the elders, but eat their bread with defiled hands? and he said unto them, well did isaiah prophesy of you hypocrites, as it is written,
-this people honoreth me with their lips, but their heart is far from me. but in vain do they worship me, teaching as their doctrines the precepts of men.
-ye leave the commandment of god, and hold fast the tradition of men. and he said unto them, full well do ye reject the commandment of god, that ye may keep your tradition. for moses said, honor thy father and thy mother; and, he that speaketh evil of father or mother, let him die the death: but ye say, if a man shall say to his father or his mother, that wherewith thou mightest have been profited by me is corban, that is to say, given to god; ye no longer suffer him to do aught for his father or his mother; making void the word of god by your tradition, which ye have delivered: and many such like things ye do.—mark 7:5-13.
-contemporary jewish religion was full of taboos, defilements, and purifications. read mark 7:1-23. jesus was so indifferent about the religious ablutions that he was brought to book for it by the pious. he replied that these regulations were not part of the divine law, but later accretions the product of theological casuistry, and that they tended to obscure the real divine duties. he cited a flagrant case. by eternal and divine law a man owes love and support to his parents. but the scribes held that if a man vowed to give money to the temple, this obligation, being toward god, superseded the obligation to his parents, which was merely human. to jesus this seemed a perversion of religion. ecclesiastical claims were made to stifle fundamental social duty. to jesus the latter had incomparably higher value. religion had become a social danger through such teaching.
-give proof from modern history that religious institutions may become injurious to social morality and welfare.
-fourth day: religion which obscured duty
-woe unto you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites! for ye tithe mint and anise and cummin, and have left undone the weightier matters of the law, justice, and mercy, and faith: but these ye ought to have done, and not to have left the other undone. ye blind guides, that strain out the gnat, and swallow the camel!
-woe unto you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites! for ye cleanse the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full from extortion and excess. thou blind pharisee, cleanse first the inside of the cup and of the platter, that the outside thereof may become clean also.—matt. 23:23-26.
-woe unto you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites! for ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte; and when he is become so, ye make him twofold more a son of hell than yourselves.—matt. 23:15.
-the great invective of jesus against the scribes and pharisees (matthew 23) deals wholly with the perversions of religion. in these verses he emphasizes the fact that the solemn importance attached to external minutiæ turned the attention of men from the really fundamental spiritual duties, such as justice, mercy, and good faith. as the blood was supposed to be the sacred element of life, it had to be drained off in butchering, and a drowned animal could not be eaten. jesus wittily describes the pharisee filtering out drowned gnats from the drinking water, but bolting some camel of a sin without blinking. the outside of the cup was kept scrupulously scoured, but the inside was filled with the products of rapacity and the material for luxurious excess. when religion had become of such a sort, even missionary activity became an actual damage, for the converts were turned into fanatical sticklers on trifles. in all this we can see him striking out for a kind of religion that would result in righteous conduct and have social value.
-have we had any experience of religion which obscured duty to us? have we had any experience of religion which revealed duty to us?
-fifth day: religious wonders and social realities
-and the pharisees and sadducees came, and trying him asked him to show them a sign from heaven. but he answered and said unto them, when it is evening, ye say, it will be fair weather: for the heaven is red. and in the morning, it will be foul weather to-day: for the heaven is red and lowering. ye know how to discern the face of the heaven; but ye cannot discern the signs of the times. an evil and adulterous generation seeketh after a sign; and there shall no sign be given unto it, but the sign of jonah. and he left them, and departed.—matt. 16:1-4.
-this demand for a miracle pursued jesus all through his teaching activity. he settled with it on principle in his desert temptation; he would not leap from the pinnacles of the temple, or do anything to turn his work into a holy circus. but the demand followed him to his death: “if thou art the son of god, come down from the cross.” a good, stunning miracle seemed a short cut to faith, the most convincing way of furnishing proof of his divine mission. also, it would be mighty interesting. but he never catered to the demand. his power was only for the relief of suffering. he tried to keep his acts of healing private. in this passage he advised his opponents to use their intellect in more useful directions than stargazing for signs from heaven. they were weather-wise. let them read the signs of the times. storms were brewing on the horizon. forty years later titus destroyed jerusalem and broke the back of the jewish nation. the prophetic mind of jesus saw it coming (luke 19:41-44).
-if they had accepted his teaching of peace instead of getting intoxicated by the visions of revolutionary apocalypticism, the doom might have been averted. he was trying to bring their feet to the ground, turn their mind to realities, and make their religion socially efficient.
-would the sight of a miracle have effected a moral change in a pharisee?
-how would religion be affected, if miraculous demonstrations could be furnished at will?
-sixth day: when religion separates men
-and as jesus passed by from thence, he saw a man, called matthew, sitting at the place of toll: and he saith unto him, follow me. and he arose, and followed him.
-and it came to pass, as he sat at meat in the house, behold, many publicans and sinners came and sat down with jesus and his disciples. and when the pharisees saw it, they said unto his disciples, why eateth your teacher with the publicans and sinners? but when he heard it, he said, they that are whole have no need of a physician, but they that are sick. but go ye and learn what this meaneth, i desire mercy, and not sacrifice: for i came not to call the righteous, but sinners.—matt. 9:9-13.
-the jewish community, religious at the core, had a fringe of people who had failed to live up to the requirements of the law. they came under the condemnation of the respectable people and of their own conscience, and drifted into the despised and vicious occupations. these were the “publicans and sinners,” the “publicans and harlots,” to whom the gospels refer. a socially efficient religion would have prompted the good people to establish loving and saving contact with these people. actually religion so accentuated the social divergence that the pharisees were shocked when jesus mingled in a friendly way with this class and even added one of them to his traveling companions. the parables of the lost coin, lost sheep, and prodigal son were spoken in reply to the slur, “this man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them” (luke 15). the elder brother of the prodigal pictures this loveless and censorious religion.
-jesus crossed the line of demarcation and established social contact and friendliness, through which salvation could come to these religious derelicts. he quoted again the old saying of the prophets, “i desire mercy, and not sacrifice.” god was not as much concerned about correct religious performances as the pharisees thought, and a great deal more concerned about mercy for the fallen, and the simple human qualities which bring the strong and the weak together.
-what experiences have we had of refusal to associate? was the cleavage along lines of race, wealth, education, morals, or religion?
-has religion with us been an impulse toward men, or away from men?
-seventh day: be useful or die
-and he spake this parable; a certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came seeking fruit thereon, and found none. and he said unto the vinedresser, behold, these three years i come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none: cut it down; why doth it also cumber the ground? and he answering saith unto him, lord, let it alone this year also, till i shall dig about it, and dung it: and if it bear fruit thenceforth, well; but if not, thou shalt cut it down.—luke 13:6-9.
-jesus evidently had some interest in scientific agriculture. both the owner and the vine-dresser in this parable were out for agricultural efficiency. the owner hated to see soil and space wasted; the vine-dresser was reluctant to sacrifice a tree, and proposed better tillage and more fertilizer. taking this parable in connection with what precedes, we see that jesus was concerned about the future of his nation and its religion. both would have to validate their right to exist; god could not have them cumber the ground. they must make good. this is the stern urge of the god whom we know in history and evolution, with the voice of christ pleading for patience. but it is agreed between them that ultimately the law of fitness must rule. religion can not bank on claims of antiquity alone. every generation must find it newly efficient to create the social virtues then needed. remember that this was spoken by a jewish patriot and the supreme exponent of the hebrew religion.
-give historical instances of the permanent downfall or decline of nations. trace the connection between their fate and their religion.
-study for the week
-jesus christ was the founder of the highest religion; he was himself the purest religious spirit known to us. why, then, was he in opposition to religion? the clash between him and the representatives of organized religion was not occasional or superficial. it ran through his whole activity, was one of the dominant notes in his teaching, culminated in the great spiritual duel between him and the jewish hierarchy in the last days at jerusalem, and led directly to his crucifixion.
-the opposition of jesus was not, of course, against religion itself, but against religion as he found it. it was not directed against any departure from the legitimate order of the priesthood; nor against an improper ritual or wrong doctrine of sacrifices. in fact, it did not turn on any of the issues which were of such importance to the church in later times. he criticized the most earnest religious men of his day because their religion harmed men instead of helping them. it was unsocial, or anti-social.
-the old testament prophets also were in opposition to the priestly system of their time because it used up the religious interest of the people in ceremonial performances without ethical outcome. it diverted spiritual energy, by substituting lower religious requirements for the one fundamental thing which god required—righteousness in social and political life. they insisted over and over that jehovah wants righteousness and wants nothing else. their aim was to make religion and ethics one and inseparable. they struck for the social efficiency of religion.
-at the time of jesus the jewish sacrifices had lost much of their religious importance. during the exile they had lapsed. they were professional performances of one class. the numerous jews scattered in other countries perhaps saw the temple once in a lifetime. modern feeling in the first century was against bloody sacrifices. the recorded sayings of jesus hardly mention them. on the other hand the daily life of the people was pervaded by little prescribed religious actions. the sabbath with its ritual was punctiliously observed.(3) there were frequent days of fasting, religious ablutions and baths, long prayers to be recited several times daily, with prayer straps around the arm and forehead, and a tasseled cloth over the head. the exact performance of these things seemed an essential part of religion to the most earnest men.
-we have seen how jesus collided with these religious requirements and on what grounds. if men were deeply concerned about the taboo food that went into their bodies, they would not be concerned about the evil thoughts that arose in their souls. if they were taught to focus on petty duties, such as tithing, the great ethical principles and obligations moved to the outer field of vision and became blurred. the sabbath, which had originated in merciful purpose toward the poor, had been turned into another burden. religion, which ought to bring good men into saving contact with the wayward by love, actually resulted in separating the two by a chasm of religious pride and censoriousness. a man-made and artificial religious performance, such as giving toward the support of the temple, crowded aside fundamental obligations written deep in the constitution of human society, such as filial reverence and family solidarity.
-other reformers have condemned religious practices because they were departures from the holy book or from primitive custom. jesus, too, pointed out that some of these regulations were recent innovations. but the real standard by which he judged current religious questions was not ancient authority but the present good of men. the spiritual center on which he took his stand and from which he judged all things, was the kingdom of god, the perfect social order. even the ordinances of religion must justify themselves by making an effective contribution to the kingdom of god. the sabbath was made for man, and its observance must meet the test of service to man’s welfare. it must function wholesomely. the candle must give light, or what is the use of it? the salt must be salty and preserve from decay, or it will be thrown out and trodden under foot. if the fig-tree bears no fruit, why is it allowed to use up space and crowd better plants off the soil? this, then, is christ’s test in matters of institutional religion. the church and all its doings must serve the kingdom of god.
-the social efficiency of religion is a permanent social problem. what is the annual expense of maintaining the churches in the united states? how much capital is invested in the church buildings? (see u. s. census bulletin no. 103, of 1906.) how much care and interest and loving free-will labor does an average village community bestow on religion as compared with other objects? all men feel instinctively that religion exerts a profound and subtle influence on the springs of conduct. even those who denounce it, acknowledge at least its power for harm. most of us know it as a power for good. but all history shows that this great spiritual force easily deteriorates. corruptio optimi pessima.
-religion may develop an elaborate social apparatus of its own, wheels within wheels, and instead of being a dynamic of righteousness in the natural social relations of men, its energies may be consumed in driving its own machinery. instead of being the power-house supplying the kingdom of god among men with power and light, the church may exist for its own sake. it then may become an expensive consumer of social wealth, a conservative clog, and a real hindrance of social progress.
-live religion gives proof of its value by the sense of freedom, peace, and elation which it creates. we feel we are right with the holy power which is behind, and beneath, and above all things. it gives a satisfying interpretation of life and of our own place in it. it moves our aims higher up, draws our fellow-men closer, and invigorates our will.
-but our growth sets a problem for our religion. the religion of childhood will not satisfy adolescent youth, and the religion of youth ought not to satisfy a mature man or woman. our soul must build statelier mansions for itself. religion must continue to answer all our present needs and inspire all our present functions. a person who has failed to adjust his religion to his growing powers and his intellectual horizon, has failed in one of the most important functions of growth, just as if his cranium failed to expand and to give room to his brain. being microcephalous is a misfortune, and nothing to boast of.
-precisely the same problem arises when society passes through eras of growth. religion must keep pace. the church must pass the burning torch of religious experience from age to age, transmitting the faith of the fathers to the children, and not allowing any spiritual values to perish. but it must allow and aid religion to adjust itself. its inspiring teaching must meet the new social problems so effectively that no evil can last long or grow beyond remedy. in every new age religion must stand the test of social efficiency. is it passing that test in western civilization?
-religion is a bond of social coherence. it creates loyalty. but it may teach loyalty to antiquated observances or a dwarfed system of truth. have you ever seen believers rallying around a lost cause in religion? yet these relics were once a live issue, and full of thrilling religious vitality.
-society changes. will religion change with it? if society passes from agriculture and rural settlements to industry and urban conditions, can the customary practices of religion remain unchanged? give some instances where prescientific conceptions of the universe, embodied in religion, have blocked the spread of scientific knowledge among the people. the caste distinctions of hinduism were the product of a combination between religion and the social organization of the people; can they last when industrialism and democracy are pervading india? the clerical attitude of authority was natural when the catholic clergy were the only educated class in the community; is it justified today? protestantism won the allegiance of industrial communities when the young business class was struggling to emancipate itself from the feudal system. it developed an individualistic philosophy of ethics. today society tends toward solidaristic organization. how will that affect religion and its scheme of duty? thus religion, by its very virtues of loyalty and reverence, may fall behind and lose its full social efficiency. it must be geared to the big live issues of today if it is to manifest its full saving energies.
-how does this problem of the efficiency of religion bear on the foreign missionary movement? how will backward or stationary civilizations be affected by the introduction of a modern and enthusiastic religion?
-we may feel the defects of our church life at home, but there is no doubt that the young men and women who go out from our colleges under religious impulses, are felt as a virile and modernizing force when they settle to their work in turkey or persia. christian educational institutions and medical missions have raised the intellectual and humane standards of young china. buddhism in japan has felt the challenge of competition and is readjusting its ethics and philosophy to connect with modern social ideals. the historical effects of our religious colonization will not mature for several generations, but they are bound to be very great. the nations and races are drawing together. they need a monotheistic religion as a spiritual basis for their sense of human unity. this is a big, modern, social task. it makes its claim on men and women who have youth, education, and spiritual power. is the religious life of our colleges and universities efficient enough to meet the need?
-here are the enormous tasks of international relations, which the great war has forced us to realize—the prevention of armed conflicts, the elimination of the irritant causes of war, the protection of the small nations which possess what the big nations covet, the freedom of the seas as the common highway of god, fair and free interchange in commerce without any effort to set up monopoly rights and the privilege of extortionate gain, the creation of an institutional basis for a great family of nations in days to come. these are some of the tasks which the men and women who are now young must take on their mind and conscience for life, and leave to their children to finish. what contributions, in your opinion, could the spirit of the christian religion make to such a program, if it were realized intelligently and pressed home through the agencies of the christian church? in what ways has american religion shown its efficiency since the war broke out?
-christianity has been a great power in our country to cleanse and fraternalize the social life of simple communities. can it meet the complex needs of modern industrialism in the same way? it can not truthfully be claimed that it has done so in any industrial country. its immense spiritual forces might be the decisive element, but they have been effectively organized against a few only of the great modern evils. on the fundamental ethical questions of capitalism the church has not yet made up its own mind—not to speak of enforcing the mind of christ. nor have the specialists in the universities and colleges supplied the leaders of the church with clear information and guidance on these questions. we can not make much permanent progress toward a just social order as long as the masses of the working people in the industrial nations continue in economic poverty and political helplessness, and as long as a minority controls the land, the tools, and the political power. we shall linger on the borders of the inferno until a new accession of moral insight and spiritual power comes to the nations. how will it come?
-what could the churches in an average village community accomplish if they intelligently directed the power of religion to foster the sense of fraternal unity and to promote the institutions which make for unity? how could they draw the new, the strange, and the irregular families into the circle of neighborly feeling? in what way could they help to assimilate immigrants and to prevent the formation of several communities in the same section, overlapping, alien, and perhaps hostile? how would it affect the recreational situation if the churches took a constructive rather than a prohibitive attitude toward amusements, and if they promoted the sociability of the community rather than that of church groups?
-with the rise of land prices and the control of transportation and markets, the rural population is moving toward a social crisis like that which transformed the urban population in the industrial revolution. agriculture will become capitalistic, and the weaker families will drop to the position of tenants and agricultural laborers. cooperation is their way of salvation. its effectiveness has been amply demonstrated in older countries. it requires a strong sense of solidarity, loyalty, and good faith to succeed. it has made so little headway in america because our national character has not been developed in these directions. what could the churches do to save the weaker families from social submergence by backing cooperation and developing the moral qualities needed for it?
-the strong religious life of our people might be more effective if the churches were less divided. their economic and human resources are partly wasted by useless competition. our denominational divisions are nearly all an historical heritage, imported from europe, and coming down from a controversial age. their issues all meant something vital and socially important in the midst of the social order of that day; but in many cases the real significance has quietly crumbled away, and they are not really the same issues that deeply engaged our forefathers. we are all “tithing mint, anise, and cummin,” and forgetting the weighty matters, such as social justice and christian fraternity. everybody is ready to acknowledge this about every denomination except his own. we need a revaluation of our religious issues from the point of view of the kingdom of god. that would bring us into harmony with the judgment of jesus. nothing else will.
-the social efficiency of religion—what call is there in that to the college men and women of this generation? shall they cease to worship and pray, seek the salvation of society in ethics and sociology, and abandon religion to stagnation? or shall they seek a new experience of religion in full sight of the modern world, and work by faith toward that reign of god in which his will shall be done?
-suggestions for thought and discussion
-i. when the salt loses its savor
-1. what is the individual to do when religion becomes a hindrance to religion?
-2. what types of revolt against inherited religion have you met in college?
-ii. prophetic religion against traditional religion
-1. what did the prophets criticize in the religion of their day?
-2. what was jesus’ test of religion?
-3. give instances in which he found religion to be a hindrance to the highest welfare. how did religion obscure duty?
-4. what was the essential cause of the clash between jesus and the religious leaders of his day?
-iii. the historic reformation of religion
-1. in studying history, what sins or failures of the church have impressed you most?
-2. what did the protestant reformation contribute to make religion efficient?
-3. has the church been a rival or a feeder of the kingdom of god?
-4. give historical examples of the failure of religion to meet the changed requirements of a new epoch.
-5. what contributions has the church made to social progress?
-1. what have christian missions done to change the social conditions in non-christian countries?
-2. how do you rate the social service value of a first-class minister in a community? on what does his value depend?
-3. of what social value to a community is a costly and beautiful church building?
-4. what investment in capital and annual expenditure does the maintenance of the churches in your community entail? does the social return to the community justify the investment?
-5. are the issues which divided the protestant denominations in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries still vital enough to justify the continuance of the divisions? summarize the evils of the divisions and their counter-balancing good.
-6. is the ordinary criticism of the churches fair? are ministers overpaid or underpaid? do the churches graft? how do the churches compare in social efficiency with other similar social institutions?
-1. why did the reformation of the church historically precede the reform of politics and industry?
-2. do the unsolved social problems of christian nations prove the social inefficiency of religion? could religion alone change the maladjustment of society?
-3. why has religion been more effective in the field of private life than of public life?
-4. if you had full control of the churches in a given country or village community, on what aims would you concentrate their forces?
-chapter x. the conflict with evil
-the kingdom of god will have to fight for its advance
-the great objective is the kingdom of god. in realizing the reign of god on earth three recalcitrant forces have to be brought into obedience to god’s law: the desire for power, the love of property, and unsocial religion. we have studied christ’s thought concerning these in the foregoing chapters. the advance of the kingdom of god is not simply a process of social education, but a conflict with hostile forces which resist, neutralize, and defy whatever works toward the true social order. the strategy of the kingdom of god, therefore, involves a study of the social problem of evil.
-first day: the consciousness of sin in the lord’s prayer
-and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. and bring us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.—matt. 6:12, 13.
-the lord’s prayer expresses the very mind and spirit of the master. it begins with the kingdom of god; it ends with the problem of sin. as we stand before god, we realize that we have loaded up our life with debts we can never pay. we have wasted our time, and the powers of body and soul. we have left black marks of contagion on some whose path we have crossed. we have hurt even those who loved us by our ill-temper, thoughtlessness, and selfishness.
-we can only ask god to forgive and give us another chance: “forgive us our debts.” looking forward we see the possibility of fatal temptations. we know how fragile our power of resistance is. “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” thus the consciousness of sin is written across this greatest of all prayers.
-is a sense of unworthiness an indication of moral strength or of weakness?
-where do we draw the line between a normal and abnormal sense of sin?
-second day: evil embodied in character
-either make the tree good, and its fruit good; or make the tree corrupt, and its fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by its fruit. ye offspring of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things? for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. the good man out of his good treasure bringeth forth good things: and the evil man out of his evil treasure bringeth forth evil things. and i say unto you, that every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. for by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.—matt. 12:33-37.
-character is formed by action, but after it is formed, it determines action. what a man says and does, he becomes; and what he has become, he says and does. an honest and clean-minded man instinctively does what is kind and honorable. but when a man for years has gone for profit and selfish power, you can trust him as a general thing to do what is underhanded and mean. since selfish ability elbows its way to controlling positions in business, politics, and society, the character reactions of such men are a force with which the kingdom of god must reckon. they are the personal equipment of the kingdom of evil, and the more respectable, well-dressed, and clever they are, the worse it is.
-what man or woman of our acquaintance would we single out as the clearest case of an evil character?
-why do we so judge him?
-third day: the social pressure of evil
-and he said unto his disciples, it is impossible but that occasions of stumbling should come; but woe unto him, through whom they come! it were well for him if a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were thrown into the sea, rather than that he should cause one of these little ones to stumble.—luke 17:1, 2.
-“three men went out one summer night, no care they had or aim, and dined and drank. “ere we go home we’ll have,” they said, “a game.”
-three girls began that summer night a life of endless shame, and went through drink, disease, and death, as swift as racing flame. lawless and homeless, foul they died; rich, loved, and praised the men; but when they all shall meet with god, and justice speaks—what then?”
-let us enumerate to our own minds cases where others drew us into wrong, and cases where we were a cause of evil for others. about which do we feel sorest now? why?
-fourth day: moral laziness
-no man having drunk old wine desireth new; for he saith, the old is good.—luke 5:39.
-this is a chance remark, but a keen observation. in wine-raising countries an expert tongue and nice discrimination between the fifty-seven varieties is one of the most coveted talents. a man who would prefer some recent stuff to the celebrated vintage of 18—, would commit intellectual hari-kari. it is said that in some of the celebrated vaults of france they breed spiders to cover the bottles with webs and dust to convey the delicious suggestion of antiquity. jesus uses the preference for old vintage to characterize the conservative instinct in human nature. this is one of the stickiest impediments to progress, one of the most respectable forms of evil-mindedness. “the hereditary tiger is in us all, also the hereditary oyster and clam. indifference is the largest factor, though not the ugliest form, in the production of evil” (president hyde). men are morally lazy; they have to be pushed into what is good for them, and the “pushee” is almost sure to resent the pushing. the idea that men ardently desire what is rational and noble is pernicious fiction. they want to be let alone. this is part of original sin.
-was the above written in haste, or will it stand?
-fifth day: satanic frustration of good
-another parable set he before them, saying, the kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man that sowed good seed in his field: but while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares also among the wheat, and went away. but when the blade sprang up and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. and the servants of the householder came and said unto him, sir, didst thou not sow good seed in thy field? whence then hath it tares? and he said unto them, an enemy hath done this. and the servants say unto him, wilt thou then that we go and gather them up? but he saith, nay; lest haply while ye gather up the tares, ye root up the wheat with them. let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of the harvest i will say to the reapers, gather up first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them; but gather the wheat into my barn.—matt. 13:24-30.
-here we encounter the devil. there is more in sin than our own frailty and stupidity, and the bad influence of other individuals. there is a permanent force of organized evil which vitiates every higher movement and sows tares among the grain over night. you work hard on some law to reform the ballot or the primary in order to protect the freedom and rights of the people, and after three years your device has become a favorite tool of the interests. you found a benevolent institution, and after you are dead it becomes a nest of graft. even the church of jesus was for centuries so corrupt that all good men felt its reform in head and members to be the greatest desideratum in christendom. evil is more durable and versatile than youth and optimism imagine. the belief in a satanic power of evil expresses the conviction of the permanent power of evil. in early christianity the belief in the devil was closely connected with the christian opposition to the idolatrous and wicked social order of heathenism. in the apocalypse the dragon who stands for satan, and the beasts who stand for the despotic roman empire, are in close alliance.
-what are the satanic social forces today?
-the parable of the tares grew out of a personal experience. has our observation ever furnished anything similar?
-sixth day: the irrepressible conflict
-think not that i came to send peace on the earth: i came not to send peace, but a sword. for i came to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law: and a man’s foes shall be they of his own household. he that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. and he that doth not take his cross and follow after me, is not worthy of me. he that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.—matt. 10:34-39.
-which involves more conflict, a life set on the kingdom of god on earth, or a faith set on the life to come?
-does the idea of a fighting faith attract us?
-would this serve as a “substitute for war”?
-seventh day: militant gentleness
-but i say unto you, love your enemies, and pray for them that persecute you; that ye may be sons of your father who is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.—matt. 5:44, 45.
-render to no man evil for evil. take thought for things honorable in the sight of all men. but if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him to drink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head. be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.—rom. 12:17, 20, 21.
-jesus answered, my kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that i should not be delivered to the jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence. pilate therefore said unto him, art thou a king then? jesus answered, thou sayest that i am a king. to this end have i been born, and to this end am i come into the world, that i should bear witness unto the truth. every one that is of the truth heareth my voice.—john 18:36, 37.
-when we call out the militant spirit in religion, we summon a dangerous power. it has bred grimness and cruelty. crusaders and inquisitors did their work in the name of jesus, but not in his spirit. we must saturate ourselves with the spirit of our master if our fighting is to further his kingdom. hate breeds hate; force challenges force. only love disarms; only forgiveness kills an enemy and leaves a friend. jesus blended gentleness and virility, forgiving love and uncompromising boldness. he offered it as a mark of his kingdom that his followers used no force to defend him. wherever they have done so, the kingdom of heaven has dropped to the level of the brutal empires. his attack is by the truth; whoever is won by that, is conquered for good. force merely changes the form of evil. when we “overcome evil with good,” we eliminate it.
-what did paul mean by saying that acts of kindness to an enemy heap coals of fire on his head?
-how about moral crusades that aim to put joint-keepers and pimps in prison?
-study for the week
-all great religious teachers have had a deep sense of the power of evil in human life. jesus apparently was not interested in the philosophical question of the origin of evil, but accepted the fact of evil in a pragmatic way, and saw his own life as a conflict with sin and wrong.
-some facts, as we have seen, were clearly written in his consciousness: the frailty of our will; the consolidation of evil in men of bad character and the automatic output of lies and distortions coming from such; the power of social pressure by which the weak are made to trip and fall; and the pervasive satanic power of evil which purposely neutralizes the efforts leading toward the reign of god.
-the fact that jesus realized evil in individuals and society, that he reckoned with it practically, and that he set himself against it with singleness of purpose, constitutes another of his social principles. any view of life which blurs the fact of evil would have seemed to him an illusion. he would have foretold failure for any policy based on it. his great social problem was redemption from evil. every step of approach toward the kingdom of god must be won by conflict.
-modern science explains evil along totally different lines, but as to the main facts it agrees with the spiritual insight of jesus. psychology recognizes that the higher desires are usually sluggish and faint, while the animal appetites are strong and clamorous. our will tires easily and readily yields to social pressure. in many individuals the raw material of character is terribly flawed by inheritance. so the young, with a maximum of desire and a minimum of self-restraint, slip into folly, and the aging backslide into shame. human nature needs a strong reenforcement to rouse it from its inherited lethargy and put it on the toilsome upward track. it needs redemption, emancipation from slavery, a breaking of bonds.
-evangelism is the attack of redemptive energy in the sphere of personal life. it comes to a man shamed by the sense of guilt and baffled by moral failure, and rouses him to a consciousness of his high worth and eternal destiny. it transmits the faith of the christian church in a loving and gracious god who is willing to forgive and powerful to save. it teaches a man to pray, curing his soul by affirming over and over a triumphant faith, and throwing it open to mysterious spiritual powers which bring joy, peace, and strength beyond himself. it sets before him a code of moral duty to quicken and guide his conscience. it puts him inside of a group of like-minded people who exercise social restraint and urge him on.
-when all this is wisely combined, it constitutes a spiritual reenforcement of incomparable energy. it acts like an emancipation. it gives a sense of freedom and newness. the untrained observer sees it mainly in those cases where the turn has come in some dramatic form and where the contrast between the old and new life is most demonstrable. but the saving force is at work even when it seeps in through home influences so quietly that the beneficiary of it does not realize what a great thing has been done for him.
-the saving force has to attack the powers in possession. only those who have helped in wresting men free from sin can tell what a stiff fight it often is. here is an intellectual professional man who goes off for a secret spree about once in sixty days; a respectable woman who has come under the opium habit; a boy who is both a cigarette fiend and sexually weak; a man who domineers and cows his wife and family; a woman who has reduced her husband to slavery to supply her expensive tastes; a girl who shirks all work and throws the burden of her selfish life on a hard-worked mother; a college man whose parents are straining all their resources and using up their security for old age to keep him at college, and who gambles—complete the catalogue for yourself. to make these individuals over into true citizens of the kingdom of god and loyal fellow-workers of their fellow-men means constructive conflict of a high order. it has been done.(4)
-the problem of evil becomes far more complicated when evil is socialized. the simplest and most familiar form of that is the boys’ gang. here is a group of young humans who get their fun and adventure by pulling the whiskers of the law. they idealize vice and crime. leadership in their group is won by proficiency in profanity, gambling, obscenity, and slugging. the gang assimilates its members; there is regimentation of evil. it acts as a channel of tradition; the boy of fifteen teaches the boy of twelve what he has learned from the boy of eighteen.
-how is the problem of evil affected when the powers of human society, which usually restrain the individual from vice and rebellion, are used to urge him into it? should the strategy of the kingdom of god be adjusted to that situation? it is not enough to win individuals away from the gangs. can the gang spirit itself be christianized and used to restrain and stimulate the young for good? has this been done, and where, and how? is christian institutional work sufficient to cope with the problem? what readjustments in the recreational and educational outfit of our american communities are needed to give a wholesome outlet to the spirit of play and adventure, and to train the young for their life work? would such an outfit do the work without personal leadership inspired by religion?
-the bad gangs of the young are usually held together by a misdirected love of play and adventure. the dangerous combinations of adults are consolidated by “the cohesive power of plunder.” that makes them a far more difficult proposition.
-any local attack on saloons and vice resorts furnishes a laboratory demonstration of socialized evil. the object of both kinds of institutions is to make big profit by catering to desires which induce men to spend freely. music and sociability are used as a bait. the people who profit by this trade are held together by the fear of a common danger. since the community uses political means of curbing or suppressing the vice business, the vice group goes into politics to prevent it. it seeks to control the police, the courts, the political machines by sharing part of its profits. lawyers, officials, newspaper proprietors, and real estate men are linked up and summoned like a feudal levy in case of danger. drugstores, doctors, chauffeurs, messenger boys, and all kinds of people are used to bring in trade and make it secure. the exploded fictions of alcoholism are kept circulating. like a tape-worm in the intestines, these articulated and many-jointed parasitic organizations of vice make our communities sick, dirty, and decadent.
-we have learned to read the sordid trail of the drink and vice traffic in american communities. there is another kind of organized evil, even more ancient, pervasive, and deadly, which few understand, though it has left a trail sufficiently terrible.
-wherever we look in the history of the older nations, we see an alignment of two fundamental classes. the one is born to toil, stunted by toil, and gets its class characteristics by toil. the other is characterized by the pleasures and arts of leisure, is physically and mentally developed by leisure, and proud and jealous of its leisure. this class is always class-conscious; its groups, however antagonistic, always stand together against the class of toil. its combination of leisure and wealth is conditioned on the power of taking tribute from the labor of many. in order to do this with safety, it must control political power, the military outfit, the power of making, interpreting and executing the laws, and the forces forming public opinion.
-before the advent of industrialism and political democracy, it secured its income by controlling the land and the government of nations; and the effects of its control can be read in the condition of the rural population of russia, austria, eastern germany, italy, france before the revolution, england, and especially ireland. the development of industry has changed the problem of economic and political control; but the essentials remain, as we can see in the condition of industrial communities and the history of labor legislation.
-the fundamental sin of all dominant classes has been the taking of unearned incomes. political oppression has always been a corollary of economic parasitism, a means to an end. the combination of the two constitutes the largest and most continuous form of organized evil in human history.
-jesus used the illustration of pegs maliciously driven into the path to make men stumble and fall. it would require some illustration drawn from modern machinery to express the wholesale prostration of bodies and souls where covetousness has secured continuous power and has been able to get in its full work. anyone who has ever looked with human understanding at the undersized and stupid peasants of countries ruled by their landlord class, or at the sordid homes and pleasures of miners or industrial workers where some corporation feared neither god nor the law, ought to get a comprehension of the power of evil that has rested like an iron yoke on humanity.
-we think most readily of the children of the poor as a product of exploitation; underfed and overstimulated, cut off from the clean pleasures of nature, often tainted with vice before knowledge has come, and urged along by the appetites and cruel selfishness of older persons, they are a standing accusation against society itself.(5) jesus would have felt that the children of the rich are an even worse product of exploitation than the poor. when “society” plays, it burns up the labor of thousands like fireworks. the only possible justification for the aggregations of wealth is that the rich are to act as the trustees and directors of the wealth of society; but their children—except in conspicuous and fine exceptions—are put out of contact with the people whom they must know if they are to serve them, so that it takes heroic effort on the part of noble exceptions to get in contact with the people once more, and to discover how they live. in all nations the atmosphere of the aristocratic groups drugs the sense of obligation, and possesses the mind with the notion that the life and labor of men are made to play tennis with. the existence of great permanent groups, feeding but not producing, dominating and directing the life of whole nations according to their own needs, may well seem a supreme proof of the power of evil in humanity.
-if evil is socialized, salvation must be socialized. the organization of the christian church is a recognition of the social factor in salvation. it is not enough to have god, and christ, and the bible. a group is needed, organized on christian principles, and expressing the christian spirit, which will assimilate the individual and gradually make him over into a citizen of the kingdom of god. salvation will rarely come to anyone without the mediation of some individual or group which already has salvation. it may be very small and simple. “where two or three are gathered in my name, there am i in the midst of them.” that saying recognizes that an additional force is given to religion by its embodiment in a group of believers. professor royce has recently reasserted in modern terms the old doctrine that “there is no salvation outside of the church,” calling the church “the beloved community.” of course the question is how intensively christian the church can make its members. that will depend on the question how christian the church itself is, and there’s the rub.
-the church is the permanent social factor in salvation. but it has cause to realize that many social forces outside its immediate organization must be used, if the entire community is to be christianized.
-in the earliest centuries christianity was practically limited to the life within the church. being surrounded by a hostile social order, and compelled to fence off its members, it created a little duplicate social order within the churches where it sought to realize the distinctively christian social life. its influence there was necessarily restricted mainly to individual morality, family life, and neighborly intercourse, and here it did fundamental work in raising the moral standards. on the other hand, it failed to reorganize industry, property, and the state. even if christians had had an intelligent social and political outlook, any interference with the roman empire by the low-class adherents of a forbidden religion was out of the question. when the church was recognized and favored under constantine and his successors, it had lost its democratic composition and spirit, and the persons who controlled it were the same sort of men who controlled the state.
-the early age of the church has had a profound influence in fixing the ideals and aims of later times. the compulsory seclusion and confinement of the age of persecution are supposed to mark the mission of the church. as long as the social life in our country was simple and rural, the churches, when well led, were able to control the moral life of entire communities. but as social organization became complex and the solidarity of neighborhood life was left behind, the situation got beyond the institutional influence of the churches. evidently the fighting energies of christianity will have to make their attack on broader lines, and utilize the scientific knowledge of society, which is now for the first time at the command of religion, and the forces set free by political and social democracy. we can not restrict the modern conflict with evil to the defensive tactics of a wholly different age. wherever organized evil opposes the advance of the kingdom of god, there is the battle-front. wherever there is any saving to be done, christianity ought to be in it. the intensive economic and sociological studies of the present generation of college students are a preparation for this larger warfare with evil. these studies will receive their moral dignity and religious consecration when they are put at the service of jesus christ and the kingdom of god.
-suggestions for thought and discussion
-i. the natural drift
-1. if left alone, which way do we tend? does a normal and sound individual need spiritual reinforcement to live a good life?
-2. how do you account for the fact that the noblest movements are so easily debased?
-ii. jesus and human sin
-1. did jesus take a friendly or a gloomy view of human nature? how did the fact of sin in humanity impress him?
-2. why did he condemn so sternly those who caused the weak to stumble? estimate the relative force of the natural weakness of human nature, and of the pressure of socialized evil, when individuals go wrong.
-3. do you agree with the exposition in the daily reading for the fourth day? do men want to be let alone? is this an evidence of sinful tendency?
-4. what personal experiences of jesus prompted the parable of the tares? was the conception of satan in jewish religion of individual or social origin? when did it have political significance?
-iii. the irrepressible conflict
-1. why did jesus foresee an inevitable conflict if the kingdom of god was to come? has history borne him out?
-2. does mystical religion involve a man in conflict? does ascetic religion? which books him for more conflict with social evil—a life set on the kingdom of god on earth, or a faith set on the life to come?
-3. what form does the conflict with evil take in our personal life? what reinforcement does the christian religion as a spiritual faith offer us? what personal experience have we of its failure or its effectiveness?
-4. what is meant by evil being socialized? in what ways does this increase the ability of evil to defend and propagate itself?
-5. what are the most dangerous forms of organized evil today? how do they work?
-6. what are the most disastrous “stumbling blocks” today for working people? for business men? for students?
-7. the church sings many militant hymns. is the church as a whole a fighting force today?
-1. how should an individual go about it to fight concrete and socialized evils in a community?
-2. how can a church get into the fight? should the church go into politics? why, or why not?
-3. would christianity be just as influential as a social power of salvation if the christian church did not exist?
-4. will the fight against evil ever be won? if not, is it worth fighting?
-chapter xi. the cross as a social principle
-social redemption is wrought by vicarious suffering
-first day: the prophetic succession
-and he began to speak unto them in parables. a man planted a vineyard, and set a hedge about it, and digged a pit for the winepress, and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into another country. and at the season he sent to the husbandmen a servant, that he might receive from the husbandmen of the fruits of the vineyard. and they took him, and beat him, and sent him away empty. and again he sent unto them another servant; and him they wounded in the head, and handled shamefully. and he sent another; and him they killed: and many others; beating some, and killing some. he had yet one, a beloved son: he sent him last unto them, saying, they will reverence my son. but those husbandmen said among themselves, this is the heir; come, let us kill him, and the inheritance shall be ours. and they took him, and killed him, and cast him forth out of the vineyard. what therefore will the lord of the vineyard do? he will come and destroy the husbandmen, and will give the vineyard unto others.—mark 12:1-9.
-the vineyard parable was meant as an epitome of jewish history. by the servants who came to summon the nation to obedience, jesus meant the prophets. the history of the hebrew people was marked by a unique succession of men who had experienced god, who lived in the consciousness of the eternal, who judged the national life by the standard of divine righteousness, and who spoke to their generation as representatives of god.(6) the spirit of these men and the indirect permanent influence they gained in their nation give the old testament its incomparable power to impel and inspire us. they were the moving force in the spiritual progress of their nation. yet jesus here sketches their fate as one of suffering and rejection.
-have other nations had a succession of men corresponding to the hebrew prophets?
-are there any in our own national history?
-second day: the suffering servant of jehovah
-surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of god, and afflicted. but he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. all we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and jehovah hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.
-he was oppressed, yet when he was afflicted he opened not his mouth; as a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and as a sheep that before its shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth. by oppression and judgment he was taken away; and as for his generation, who among them considered that he was cut off out of the land of the living for the transgression of my people to whom the stroke was due?—isaiah 53:4-8.
-in the latter part of isaiah are a number of sections describing the character and mission of “the servant of jehovah.” whom did the writer mean? a single great personality? the suffering and exiled hebrew nation? a godly and inspired group of prophets within the nation? the christian church has always seen in this servant of jehovah a striking prophecy of christ. the fact that the interpretation has long been in question indicates that the characteristics of the servant of jehovah can be traced in varying degrees in the nation, in the prophetic order, in single prophets, and preeminently in the great culminating figure of all prophethood. isaiah 53 describes the servant of jehovah as rejected and despised, misunderstood, bearing the transgressions and chastisement of all. it is the first great formulation of the fact of vicarious suffering in humanity.
-why and how can the sins of a group fall on one?
-third day: a contemporary prophet
-and as these went their way, jesus began to say unto the multitudes concerning john, what went ye out into the wilderness to behold? a reed shaken with the wind? but what went ye out to see? a man clothed in soft raiment? behold, they that wear soft raiment are in kings’ houses. but wherefore went ye out? to see a prophet? yea, i say unto you, and much more than a prophet. this is he, of whom it is written,
-behold, i send my messenger before thy face, who shall prepare thy way before thee....
-but whereunto shall i liken this generation? it is like unto children sitting in the marketplaces, who call unto their fellows and say, we piped unto you, and ye did not dance; we wailed, and ye did not mourn.
-for john came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, he hath a demon. the son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, behold a gluttonous man and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners! and wisdom is justified by her works.—matt. 11:7-10; 16-19.
-to jesus prophetism was not merely an historic fact, but a living reality. he believed in present-day inspiration. he and his contemporaries had seen one great prophet, fearless, heroic, with all the marks of the type, a messenger of god inaugurating a new era of spiritual ferment (vs. 12, 13). but john had to bear the prophet’s lot. he was then in prison for the crime of telling a king the truth, and was soon to die to please a vindictive woman. the people, too, had wagged their heads over him. like pouting children on the public square, who “won’t play,” whether the game proposed is a wedding or a funeral, the people had criticized john for being a gloomy ascetic, and found fault with jesus for his shocking cheerfulness. there was no way of suiting them, and no way of making them take the call of god to heart. long before electricity was invented, human nature knew all about interposing nonconductors between itself and the truth.
-have we ever noticed students interposing a general criticism between themselves and a particular obligation?
-can it be that one of the uses of a higher education is to furnish greater facility in fuddling inconvenient truth?
-fourth day: looking forward to the cross
-and it came to pass, when the days were well-nigh come that he should be received up, he stedfastly set his face to go to jerusalem.—luke 9:51.
-in that very hour there came certain pharisees, saying to him, get thee out, and go hence: for herod would fain kill thee. and he said unto them, go and say to that fox, behold, i cast out demons and perform cures to-day and to-morrow, and the third day i am perfected. nevertheless i must go on my way to-day and to-morrow and the day following; for it cannot be that a prophet perish out of jerusalem. o jerusalem, jerusalem, that killeth the prophets, and stoneth them that are sent unto her! how often would i have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her own brood under her wings, and ye would not!—luke 13:31-34.
-jesus early knew that the decision was going against him. he saw the cross on the horizon of his life long before others saw it. painters have pictured him in his father’s carpenter shop, with tools on his shoulder, gazing down at his shadow shaped like a cross. he accepted death consciously and “stedfastly set his face to go up to jerusalem,” though he knew what was awaiting him. jerusalem had acquired a sad preeminence as the place where the struggles between the prophets and the heads of the nation were settled. he saw his own death as part of the prophetic succession. he went to it, not as a driven slave, but as a free spirit. that jackal of a king, herod, could not scare him out of galilee. his time was in his father’s hand. today, tomorrow, and the day following, he would work, and then he would be perfected.
-fifth day: new prophets to follow
-woe unto you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites! for ye build the sepulchres of the prophets, and garnish the tombs of the righteous, and say, if we had been in the days of our fathers, we should not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets. wherefore ye witness to yourselves, that ye are sons of them that slew the prophets. fill ye up then the measure of your fathers. ye serpents, ye offspring of vipers, how shall ye escape the judgment of hell? therefore, behold, i send unto you prophets, and wise men, and scribes: some of them shall ye kill and crucify; and some of them shall ye scourge in your synagogues, and persecute from city to city: that upon you may come all the righteous blood shed on the earth, from the blood of abel the righteous unto the blood of zachariah son of barachiah, whom ye slew between the sanctuary and the altar. verily i say unto you, all these things shall come upon this generation.—matt. 23:29-36.
-this is the climax of the great invective against the religious leaders of the nation. the last count in the indictment is that they were about to complete the record of their fathers by rejecting and persecuting the prophets of their generation. the fact had sunk into the public mind that former generations had been guilty of this. “if we had been in the days of our fathers, we should not have been partakers with them in the blood of the prophets.” jesus promises to make a test of this and foretells that they will go the old way and so declare their spiritual solidarity with the sins of the past. we see here that he thought of his disciples as moving in the prophetic succession.
-“hast thou chosen, o my people, on whose party thou shalt stand, ere the doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against the land?”
-“never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.”
-sixth day: the cross for all
-when the tide was turning against jesus, he tested the attitude of the inner circles of his disciples, and drew from peter on behalf of all a ringing declaration of faith and loyalty (vs. 13-16). “from that time” jesus began to share with them his outlook toward death. peter expressed the shock which all felt and protested against the possibility. the vehemence with which jesus repelled peter’s suggestion gives us a glimpse of the inner struggles in his mind, of which we get a fuller revelation in his prayer in gethsemane. but instead of receding from his prediction of the cross, he expanded it by laying the obligation of prophetic suffering on all his disciples. their adjustment toward that destiny would at the same time be the settlement of their own salvation. when the kingdom of god is at stake, a man saves his life by losing it and loses his life by saving it, and the loss of his higher self can not be offset by any amount of external gain.
-looking ahead to the profession which we expect to enter, where do we foresee the possibility of losing our lives by trying to save them, or of saving our lives by apparently losing them?
-seventh day: the consolations of the prophet
-behold, i send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves. but beware of men: for they will deliver you up to councils, and in their synagogues they will scourge you; yea and before governors and kings shall ye be brought for my sake, for a testimony to them and to the gentiles. but when they deliver you up be not anxious how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that hour what ye shall speak. for it is not ye that speak, but the spirit of your father that speaketh in you.—matt. 10:16-20.
-jesus saith unto them, did ye never read the scriptures,
-the stone which the builders rejected, the same was made the head of the corner; this was from the lord, and it is marvellous in our eyes?—matt. 21:42.
-blessed are they that have been persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. blessed are ye when men shall reproach you, and persecute you, and say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets that were before you.—matt. 5:10-12.
-these three passages express three great consolations for those who share prophetic opposition with christ. they will have to face great odds; numbers and weight will be against them. but there will be a quiet voice within to prompt them and sustain them: “it is not ye that speak, but the spirit of your father that speaketh in you.”
-the second consolation is that the higher court will reverse the verdict of the lower. the stonemasons may look a stone over and conclude that it will not fit into the building; but the architect may have reserved that stone for the head of the corner. the prophet rarely lives to see his own historical vindication, but faith knows it is inevitable.
-the third consolation is contained in the last of the beatitudes. those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake may well rejoice for the company they are in, for the leader whose name they bear, and for the kingdom of god which is now and ever shall be their heritage.
-imagine two classmates in the same profession, reaching the end of their career. the one has attained success, wealth, eminence, together with a reputation of never having done a courageous and self-sacrificing action, and with the consciousness that his soul has grown small as he has grown old. the other has been a fighter for the right, a conspicuous man, but has kept out of office, tasting poverty and opposition with his family, yet with the consciousness that he has had the salt of the earth for his friends and that he has put in some mighty good licks for righteousness. which would we rather be?
-study for the week
-christian men have differed widely in interpreting the significance of christ’s suffering and death, but all have agreed that the cross was the effective culmination of his work and the key which unlocks the meaning of his whole life. the church has always felt that the death of christ was an event of eternal importance for the salvation of mankind, unique and without a parallel. it has an almost inexhaustible many-sidedness. we are examining here but one aspect. we have seen in the passages studied this week that jesus himself linked his own suffering and rejection with the fate of the prophets who were before him and with the fate of his disciples who would come after him. he saw a red line running through history, and his own life and death were part of it. he himself generalized the social value of his peculiar experience, and taught us to see the cross as a great social principle of the kingdom of god. he saw his death as the highest demonstration of a permanent law of human life.
-evil is socialized, institutionalized, and militant. the kingdom of god and its higher laws can displace it only by conflict. “truth forever on the scaffold, wrong forever on the throne.” this clash involves suffering. this suffering will fall most heavily on those who most completely embody the spirit and ideas of the kingdom, and who have the necessary boldness to make the fight.
-in most men the eternal moral conflict gets only confused understanding. sometimes they are aroused by sentimental pity or indignation, but soon tire again. if their own interests are affected they fight well. but there are men and women whose minds have been made so sensitive by personal experiences or so cleansed by right education and by the spirit of god that they take hold of the moral issues with a really adequate understanding. living somehow on the outskirts of the kingdom of heaven, they have learned to think and feel according to its higher ways, and when they turn toward things as they now are, of course there is a collision; not this time a collision of interests, but a clash of principles, of justice with wrong, of truth with crafty subterfuges, or of solidarity with predatory selfishness.
-the life and fate of these individuals anticipates the issues of history. this is the prophetic quality of their lives. working out the moral and intellectual problems in their minds before the masses have realized them, they become the natural leaders in the fight, clarify the minds of others, and thus become, not only forerunners, but invaluable personal factors in the moral progress of the race. “the single living spirits are the effective units in shaping history; all common tendencies working toward realization must first be condensed as personal forces in such minds, and then by interaction between them work their way to general recognition” (lotze). lowell’s “present crisis” is perhaps the most powerful poetical expression of the prophetic function in history.
-“count me o’er earth’s chosen heroes—they were souls that stood alone, while the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone, stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline to the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, by one man’s plain truth to manhood and to god’s supreme design.
-"by the light of burning heretics christ’s bleeding feet i track, toiling up new calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back, and these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned one new word of that grand credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned since the first man stood god-conquered with his face to heaven upturned.”
-during the centuries when the church was herself in need of redemption and her purification was resisted by the dominant ecclesiastical interests, such prophetic spirits as arnold of brescia, wycliffe, huss, and savonarola were most frequently found battling for the freedom of the church from the despotic grafters inside and outside of the hierarchy, and for the purity of the gospel. the church was a chief part of the social order, and the reform of the church was the preeminent social problem. today the church is on the whole free from graft, and as openminded as the state of public intelligence permits it to be. therefore the prophet minds are now set free to fight for the freedom of the people in political government and for the substitution of cooperation for predatory methods in industry, and the clash is most felt on that field.
-the law of prophetic suffering holds true as much as ever. probably no group of men have ever undertaken to cleanse a city of profit-making vice without being made to suffer for it. in the last thirty years this country has watched eminent men in public life in various great cities making a sincere drive to break the grip of a grafting police machine, or of a political clique, or of public service corporations. for a while such a man has public sentiment with him, for all communities have a desire to be moral. but when it becomes clear that he really means what he says, and that important incomes will be hurt, powerful forces set on him with abuse and ridicule, try to wreck his business or health, and sidetrack his political ambitions. an eminent editor in the middle west, speaking before the press association of his state several years ago, said: “there is not a man in the united states today who has tried honestly to do anything to change the fundamental conditions that make for poverty, disease, vice, and crime in our great cities, in our courts and in our legislatures, who, at the very time at which his efforts seemed most likely to succeed, has not been suddenly turned upon and rent by the great newspaper publications.” a volume of truthful biographical sketches of such leaders would give us a history of the cross in politics, and would tell us more about christianity as an effective force in our country than some church statistics.
-jesus took the sin of throttling the prophets very seriously. it is sin on a higher level than the side-stepping of frail human nature, or the wrongs done in private grievances. since the kingdom of god is the highest thing there is, an attempt to block it or ruin it is the worst sin. our hope for the advance of the race and its escape from its permanent evils is conditioned on keeping our moral perceptions clear and strong. suffocating the best specimens of moral intelligence and intimidating the rest by their fate quenches the guiding light of mankind. is anything worse?
-jesus held that the rejection of the prophets might involve the whole nation in guilt and doom. how does the action of caiaphas and a handful of other men involve all the rest? by virtue of human solidarity. one sins and all suffer, because all are bound together. a dominant group acts for all, and drags all into disaster. this points to the moral importance of good government. if exploiters and oppressors are in control of society, its collective actions will be guided and determined by the very men who have most to fear from the kingdom of god and most inclination to stifle the prophetic voices.
-but the same solidarity which acts as a conductor of sin will also serve as a basis to make the attack of the righteous few effective for all. if the suffering of good men puts a just issue where all can see and understand, it intensifies and consolidates the right feeling of the community. the suffering of a leader calls out passionate sympathy and loyalty, sometimes in a dangerous degree. in the labor movement almost any fault is forgiven to a man who has been in prison for the cause of labor, and death for a popular cause will idealize the memory of very ordinary or questionable characters. but if the character of a leader is pure, suffering accredits him and gives him power. the cross had an incomparable value in putting the cause of christianity before the world. it placed jesus where mankind could never forget him, and it lit up the whole problem of sin and redemption with the fire of the greatest of all tragedies.
-“the cross, bold type of shame to homage turned, of an unfinished life that sways the world.”
-but not all righteous suffering is socially effective. a good man may be suppressed before he has won a following, or even before he has wrought out his message in his own mind, and his suppression leaves only a few bubbles on the waters of oblivion. in that case his life has failed to discharge the redemptive force contained in it. it only adds a little more to the horror and tragedy of a sinful, deaf, and blood-stained world. many of the men whose lives ebbed away behind the cruel silence of the walls of the spanish inquisition, were such men as spain needed most. what saving effect did their death exercise? the uncounted patriots whose chains have clanked on the march to siberian exile, have not yet freed russia from its blind oligarchy. our faith is that their lives were dear to god, and that their sorrows and the bitter tears of those who loved them are somehow part of an accumulating force which will one day save russia. but this is religious faith, “a conviction of things not seen.” we can not prove it. we can only trust.
-meanwhile it is our business to see that no innocent blood is wasted. pain is a merciful and redemptive institution of nature when pain acts as an alarm-bell to direct intelligent attention to the cause of the pain. if pain does not force the elimination of its own cause, it is an added evil. the death of the innocent, through oppression, child labor, dirt diseases, or airless tenements, ought to arrest the attention of the community and put the social cause of their death in the limelight. in that case they have died a vicarious death which helps to redeem the rest from a social evil, and anyone who utilizes their suffering for that end, shows his reverence for their death. we owe that duty in even higher measure to the prophets, who are not passive and unconscious victims, but who set themselves intelligently in opposition to evil. the moral soundness of a nation can be measured by the swiftness and accuracy with which it understands its prophetic voices, or personalities, or events. the next best thing to being a prophet is to interpret a prophet. this is one of the proper functions of trained and idealistic minds, such as college men and women should possess. the more the kingdom of god is present, the less will prophets be allowed to suffer. when it is fully come, the cross will disappear.
-what has the principle of the cross to say to college men and women? if they have an exceptional outfit, let them do exceptional work. a knight in armor was expected to charge where others could not venture. a college education entitles a christian man to some hard knocks. it seems contemptible for us to walk off with the pleasures and powers of intellectual training, and to leave the work of protecting children and working girls against exploitation to men and women without education, without leisure, and without social standing, who will have to pay double the tale of effort for every bit of success they win. in some european countries foreign mission service has been left mainly to men and women of the artisan class. in our country college men and women have volunteered for it. that is as it ought to be. on the other hand, in the struggle for political liberty the european universities have taken a braver and more sacrificial part than has ever fallen to our lot.
-those who are conscious of a prophetic mission have a redoubled motive for a clean, sober, and sincere life. especially in its initial stages an ethical movement is identified with its leaders and tested by their character. a good man can get a hearing for an unpopular cause by the trust he inspires. his cause banks on his credit. the flawed private character or dubious history of a leader is a drag. it is worse yet if a man whose name has long been a guarantee for his message, backslides and brings doubt upon all his previous professions. cases could be mentioned where noble movements were wrecked for years because a leader forfeited his honor. constant fighting against evil involves subtle temptations. to stand alone, to set your own conviction against the majority, to challenge what is supposed to be final, to disregard the conventional standards—this may lead to dangerous habits of mind. if we propose to spread a lot of canvas in a high wind, we need the more ballast in the hold. through the thin partitions of a summer hotel, a man heard moody praying god to save him from moody. imagine what it must be to lose standing and honor among your fellow men by secret weakness. imagine also the poignant pain if your disgrace pulls down a cause which you have loved for years and which in purer days you vowed to follow to its coronation.
-suggestions for thought and discussion
-i. vicarious suffering and social progress
-1. does suffering benefit humanity? titus crucified thousands of jews during the destruction of jerusalem. did their death have any saving effect?
-2. what is the connection between vicarious suffering and social salvation?
-ii. prophetic suffering
-1. what was the fate of the old testament prophets? what was their influence in the life of israel? to what extent is mark 12:1-9 a fair epitome of the treatment of the prophets by the hebrew nation?
-2. what is the significance of isa. 53:4-8? why and how can the sins of a group fall on another?
-3. where did jesus see the continuity of prophetic suffering in his own times?
-4. what place did he give to vicarious suffering in the life of his followers and in the conquest of the kingdom? how does the law of the cross connect with the fact of solidarity?
-5. in what respects was christ’s cross unique? in what respects does it express a general spiritual law?
-iii. vicarious suffering today
-1. give instances of persons in public life today whose careers were wrecked because they assailed socialized evil or graft. how does this differ from the fate of the prophets?
-2. are the sacrifices of prophetic leaders ever useless and actually ineffective? do you feel an inward protest against that? on what ground?
-3. to what extent is the call to be a christian a challenge to vicarious suffering? what social significance, then, would christian baptism have?
-4. is there anything wrong with a christian life which does not incur suffering?
-5. would suffering be normal in the religious life of the young?
-6. why does this social principle apply especially to college men and women?
-1. what qualities constitute a man a prophet?
-2. are there embryonic prophets? or spent prophets? is a prophet necessarily a saint?
-3. do prophets arise where religion deals with private life only? what is the social value of prophetic personalities?
-4. name men in secular history and literature who have the marks of the prophet. any in recent times?
-5. does learning create prophetic vision or blur it?
-6. does the ordinary religion today put a man in line for the cross or for a job as a bank director?
-7. can you think of anything that would bring the cross back into the life of the churches today?
-8. would vicarious suffering diminish if society became christianized?
-chapter xii. a review and a challenge
-the social principles of jesus demand personal allegiance and social action
-first day: the social mission of christians
-ye are the salt of the earth.... ye are the light of the world.—matt. 5:13, 14.
-“jesus speaks here with the consciousness of an historic mission to the whole of humanity. yet it was a nazarene carpenter speaking to a group of galilean peasants and fishermen. under the circumstances, and at the time, it was an utterance of the most daring faith—faith in himself, faith in them, faith in what he was putting into them, faith in faith. jesus failed and was crucified, first his body by his enemies, and then his spirit by the men who bore his name. but that failure was so amazing a success that today it takes an effort on our part to realize that it required any faith on his part to inaugurate the kingdom of god and to send out his apostolate.”(7)
-if the antiseptic and enlightening influence of the sincere followers of jesus were eliminated from our american communities, what would be the presumable social effects?
-second day: the great initiator of the kingdom of god
-at that season jesus answered and said, i thank thee, o father, lord of heaven and earth, that thou didst hide these things from the wise and understanding, and didst reveal them unto babes: yea, father, for so it was well-pleasing in thy sight. all things have been delivered unto me of my father: and no one knoweth the son, save the father; neither doth any know the father, save the son, and he to whomsoever the son willeth to reveal him. come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest. take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for i am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.—matt. 11:25-30.
-this is one of the most thrilling passages in the bible. it has always been understood as a call to intimate religion, as the appeal of a personal saviour to those who are loaded with sin and weary of worldliness. but in fact it expresses the sense of a revolutionary mission to society.
-then jesus turns to the toiling and heavy laden people about him with the offer of a new kind of leadership—none of the brutal self-assertion of the cæsars and of all conquerors here, but a gentle and humble spirit, and an obedience which was pleasure and brought release to the soul.
-these words express his consciousness of being different, and of bearing within him the beginnings of a new spiritual constitution of humanity.
-when individuals have really come under the new law of christ, does jesus make good?
-would he also make good if humanity based its collective life on the social principles which we have studied?
-if the choice is between cæsar and christ, which shall it be?
-third day: the kingdom of truth
-pilate therefore entered again into the prætorium, and called jesus, and said unto him, art thou the king of the jews? jesus answered, sayest thou this of thyself, or did others tell it thee concerning me? pilate answered, am i a jew? thine own nation and the chief priests, delivered thee unto me: what hast thou done? jesus answered, my kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that i should not be delivered to the jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence. pilate therefore said unto him, art thou a king then? jesus answered, thou sayest that i am a king. to this end have i been born, and to this end am i come into the world, that i should bear witness unto the truth. every one that is of the truth heareth my voice. pilate saith unto him, what is truth?
-and when he had said this, he went out again unto the jews, and saith unto them, i find no crime in him.—john 18:33-38.
-all kingdoms rest on force; formerly on swords and bayonets, now on big guns. to overthrow them you must prepare more force, bigger guns. jesus was accused before pilate of being leader of a force revolution aiming to make him king. he claimed the kingship, but repudiated the force. to his mind the absence of force resistance was characteristic of his whole undertaking. instead, his power was based on the appeal and attractiveness of truth. when pilate heard about “truth” he thought he had a sophist before him, one more builder of metaphysical systems, and expressed the skepticism of the man on the street: “what is truth?” but jesus was not a teacher of abstract doctrine, whatever his expounders have made of him. his mind was bent on realities. if we substitute “reality” for “truth” in his saying here, we shall get near his thought.
-which is more durable, power based on force, or power based on spiritual coherence?
-fourth day: a mental transformation
-i beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of god, to present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to god, which is your spiritual service. and be not fashioned according to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of god.—rom. 12:1, 2.
-if a student should dedicate himself to the creation of a christian social order today, would it still require an intellectual renewing?
-would it cramp him or enlarge him?
-fifth day: the distinctive contribution of christ
-there was the true light, even the light which lighteth every man, coming into the world. he was in the world, and the world was made through him, and the world knew him not. he came unto his own, and they that were his own received him not. but as many as received him, to them gave he the right to become children of god, even to them that believe on his name: who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of god. and the word became flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only begotten from the father), full of grace and truth. for the law was given through moses; grace and truth came through jesus christ.—john 1:9-14, 17.
-here is the tragedy of the gospel story, seen from a long perspective and stated in terms of greek philosophy. the light which lighteth every man, the logos through whom god had created the kosmos, had come to this world in human form, and been rejected. but some had received him, and these had received a new life through him, which made them children of god. they had discovered in him a new kind of spiritual splendor, characterized by “grace and truth.” even moses had contributed only law to humanity; christ was identified with grace and truth.
-how would you paraphrase the statements of john to express the attitude of nineteen centuries to christ?
-what has he in fact done for those who have received him?
-what would be the modern equivalent of “grace and truth” to express the distinctive contribution of christ to human history?
-sixth day: the master of the greatest game
-therefore let us also, seeing we are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto jesus the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising shame, and hath sat down at the right hand of the throne of god. for consider him that hath endured such gainsaying of sinners against himself, that ye wax not weary, fainting in your souls.—heb. 12:1-3.
-the man who wrote the little treatise from which this is quoted saw the history of humanity summed up in the live spirits who had the power of projection into the future. faith is the quality of mind which sees things before they are visible, which acts on ideals before they are realities, and which feels the distant city of god to be more dear, substantial, and attractive than the edible and profitable present. read hebrews 11. so he calls on christians to take up the same manner of life, and compares them with men running a race in an amphitheatre packed with all the generations of the past who are watching them make their record. but he bids them keep their eye on jesus who starts them at the line and will meet them at the goal, and who has set the pace for good and fleet men for all time.
-what is the social and evolutionary value of the men of “faith” in the sense of hebrews 11?
-have we left jesus behind us by this time?
-seventh day: the beginning of the greatest movement in history
-now after john was delivered up, jesus came into galilee, preaching the gospel of god, and saying, the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of god is at hand: repent ye, and believe in the gospel.
-and passing along by the sea of galilee, he saw simon and andrew the brother of simon casting a net in the sea; for they were fishers. and jesus said unto them, come ye after me, and i will make you to become fishers of men. and straightway they left the nets, and followed him. and going on a little further, he saw james the son of zebedee, and john his brother, who also were in the boat mending the nets. and straightway he called them: and they left their father zebedee in the boat with the hired servants, and went after him.—mark 1:14-20.
-here we have the beginning of organized christianity. this is the germinal cell of that vast social movement of which foreign missions, the establishment of the american republic, and the modern labor movement are products. it began with repentance, faith, and self-sacrificing action, and it will always have to advance by the same means. to those four men jesus was an incarnate challenge. he dared them to come, and promised to put their lives on a higher level. he stands over against us with the same challenge. he points to the blackened fields of battle, to the economic injustice and exploitation of industry, to the paganism and sexualism of our life. is this old order of things to go on forever? will our children, and their children, still be ground through the hopper? or have we faith to adventure our life in a new order, the kingdom of god?
-study for the week
-has our study of the “social principles of jesus” revealed a clear and consistent scheme of life, worthy of our respect?
-we have seen that three convictions were axiomatic within jesus, so that all his reasoning and his moral imperatives were based on them, just as all thought and work in physics is based on gravitation. these convictions were the sacredness of life and personality, the solidarity of the human family, and the obligation of the strong to stand up for all whose life is impaired or whose place within humanity is denied.
-it can not be questioned that these convictions were a tremendous and spontaneous force in the spirit of jesus. that alone suffices to align him with all idealistic minds, to whom man is more than matter, more than labor force, a mysterious participant of the spiritual powers of the universe. it aligns him with all men of solidaristic conviction, who are working for genuine community life in village and city, for a nation with fraternal institutions and fraternal national consciousness, and for a coming family of nations and races. it aligns him with all exponents of the democratic social spirit of our day, who feel the wrongs of the common people and are trying to make the world juster and more fraternal.
-the best forces of modern life are converging along these lines. there is no contradiction between them and the spirit of jesus. on the contrary, they are largely the product of his spirit, diffused and organized in the western world. he was the initiator; we are the interpreters and agents. nor has he been outstripped like an early inventor and discoverer whose crude work is honored only because others were able to improve on it. quite the contrary; the more vividly these spiritual convictions glow in the heart of any man, the more will he feel that jesus is still ahead, still the inspiring force. as soon as we get beyond theory to life and action, we know that we are dependent for the spiritual powers in modern life on the continued influence of jesus christ over the lives of others.
-we saw in the second place that jesus had a social ideal, the reign of god on earth, in which god’s will would be done. this ideal with him was not a utopian and academic fancy, but the great prize and task of life toward which he launched all his energies. he called men to turn away from the evil ways of the old order, and to get a mind fit for the new. he set the able individuals to work, and put the spirit of intense labor and devotion into them. he proposed to effect the transition from the old order to the new by expanding the area of moral obligation and raising the standards of moral relationships.
-by having such a social ideal at all, he draws away from all who are stationary and anchored in the world as it is; from all who locate the possibility of growth and progress in the individual only; and from all whose desire for perfection runs away from this world to a world beyond the grave.
-by moving toward the new social order of the kingdom of god with such wholeness of determination, he is the constant rebuke for all of us who are trying to live with a “divided allegiance,” straddling between the iniquities of force, profit, and inhumanity, and the fraternal righteousness of the gospel we profess to believe. jesus at least was no time-server, no mr. facing-both-ways, no hypocrite; and whenever we touch his elbow by inadvertence, a shiver of reality and self-contempt runs through us.
-we saw in the third place that jesus dealt with serious intelligence with the great human instincts that go wrong.
-the capacity for leadership and the desire for it have fastened the damning institutions of tyranny and oppression on humanity and tied us up so completely that the rare historical chances of freedom and progress have been like a tumultuous and brief escape. yet jesus saw that ambition was not to be suppressed, but to be yoked to the service of society. in the past, society was allowed to advance and prosper only if this advanced the prosperity and security of its ruling classes. jesus proposed that this be reversed, so that the leaders would have to earn power and honor by advancing the welfare of society by distinguished service at cost to themselves.
-the desire for private property has been the chief outlet for selfish impulses antagonistic to public welfare. to gain private wealth men have slaughtered the forests, contaminated the rivers, drained the fertility of the soil, monopolized the mineral wealth of the country, enslaved childhood, double-yoked motherhood, exhausted manhood, hog-tied community undertakings, and generally acted as the dog in the manger toward humanity. jesus opposed accumulation without moral purpose, the inhumanity of property differences, and the fatal absorption of money-making. yet he was not ascetic. it is probably safe to say that he would not be against private property in so far as it serves the common good, and not against public property at all.
-like ambition and the property instinct, the religious impulse may go wrong, and subject society to its distortions or tyranny. jesus always stood for an ethical and social outcome of religion. he sought to harness the great power of religion to righteousness and love. with a mind so purely religious we might expect that he would make all earthly and social interests subservient to personal religion. the fact that he reversed it, seems clear proof that he was socially minded and that the kingdom of god as a right social organism was the really vital thing to him.
-we have seen, finally, that jesus had a deep sense of the sin and evil in the world. human nature is frail; men of evil will are powerful; organized evil is in practical control. consequently social regeneration involves not only growth but conflict. the way to the kingdom of god always has been and always will be a via dolorosa. the cross is not accidental, but is a law of social progress.
-these conceptions together seem to shape up into a consistent conception of social life. it is not the modern scientific scheme, but a religious view of life. but it blends incomparably better with modern science than the scholastic philosophy or theology of an age far nearer to us than jesus. it is strange how little modern knowledge has to discount in the teachings of jesus. as romanes once pointed out,(8) plato followed socrates and lived amidst a blaze of genius never since equalled; he is the greatest representative of human reason in the direction of spirituality unaided by revelation; “but the errors in the dialogues reach to absurdity in reason and to sayings shocking to the moral sense.”
-the writer of this little book has come back to an intensive study of jesus at intervals of years, and every time it was like a fresh revelation, leaving a sense of mental exhilaration and a new sense of joy in truth. never was there a feeling that jesus was exhausted and had nothing more to say.
-for a true valuation of his intellectual contribution to mankind we must remember that we have not a page of his own writing. we are dependent on the verbal memory of his disciples; so far as we know, nothing was written down for years. the fragments which survived probably had to stand the ordeal of translation from the aramaic to the greek. simply from the point of view of literature, it is an amazing thing that anything characteristic in jesus survived at all. but it did. his sayings have the sparkle of genius and personality; the illustrations and epigrams which he threw off in fertile profusion are still clinchers; even his humor plays around them. critics undertake to fix on the genuine sayings by internal evidence. only a mind of transcendent originality could win its way to posterity through such obstructions.
-but we ought not to forget the brevity of our material when we try to build up a coherent conception of his outlook on society. there is little use in stickling on details. the main thing is the personality of jesus, his religious and ethical insight into the nature and needs of the social life of mankind, the vital power of religious conviction which he was able to put behind righteousness, and the historical force which he set going through history.
-from the indirect influences which jesus christ set in motion, no man or woman or child in america can escape. we live on him. even those who attack the christian church, or who repudiate what they suppose christ to stand for, do so with spiritual weapons which they have borrowed from him. but it does make a great difference whether the young men and women of our day give their conscious and intelligent allegiance to christianity or hold aloof in misunderstanding. without them the christian movement will mark time on old issues. with them it will dig new irrigation channels and string the wires for new power transmission.
-in return, christianity can do more for students than they themselves are likely to realize in youth. men grow tired. their moral enthusiasm flags. scientific sociology may remain academic, cold, and ineffective. we need inspiration, impulse, will power, and nothing can furnish such steady accessions of moral energy as living religion. science and the christian faith combined are strong. those who succeed in effecting a combination of these two without insincerity or cowardice are the coming leaders.
-“if jesus christ is a man, and only a man, i say that of all mankind i cleave to him, and to him i cleave alway.
-“if jesus christ is a god, and the only god, i swear i will follow him through heaven and hell, the earth, the sea, and the air.”
-—richard watson gilder.
-if christianity henceforth is to discharge its full energy in the regeneration of social life, it especially needs the allegiance of college men and women who have learned to understand to some degree the facts and laws of human society. the development of what is called “social christianity” or “the social gospel,” is a fusion between the new understanding created by the social sciences, and the teachings and moral ideals of christianity. this combination was inevitable; it has already registered social effects of the highest importance; if it can win the active minds of the present generation of college students, it will swing a part of the enormous organized forces of the christian church to bear on the social tasks of our american communities, and that will help to create the nobler america which we see by faith.
-christians have never fully understood christianity. a purer comprehension of its tremendous contents is always necessary. think what it would signify to a local community if all sincere christian people in it should interpret their obligation in the social terms which we have been using; if they should seek not only their own salvation, but the reign of god in their own town; if they should cultivate the habit of seeing a divine sacredness in every personality, should assist in creating the economic foundations for fraternal solidarity, and if, as christians, they should champion the weak in their own community. we need a power of renewal in our american communities that will carry us across the coming social transition, and social christianity can supply it by directing the plastic force of the old faith of our fathers to the new social tasks.
-jesus was the initiator of the kingdom of god. it is a real thing, now in operation. it is within us, and among us, gaining ground in our intellectual life and in our social institutions. it overlaps and interpenetrates all existing organizations, raising them to a higher level when they are good, resisting them when they are evil, quietly revolutionizing the old social order and changing it into the new. it suffers terrible reverses; we are in the midst of one now; but after a time it may become apparent that a master hand has turned the situation and laid the basis of victory on the wrecks of defeat. the kingdom of god is always coming; you can never lay your hand on it and say, “it is here.” but such fragmentary realizations of it as we have, alone make life worth living. the memories which are still sweet and dear when the fire begins to die in the ashes, are the memories of days when we lived fully in the kingdom of heaven, toiling for it, suffering for it, and feeling the stirring of the godlike and eternal life within us. the most humiliating and crushing realization is that we have betrayed our heavenly fatherland and sold out for thirty pieces of silver. we often mistake it. we think we see its banner in the distance, when it is only the bloody flag of the old order. but a man learns. he comes to know whether he is in god’s country, especially if he sees the great leader near him.
-suggestions for thought and discussion
-i. the social principles of jesus
-1. sum up the social principles of jesus which we have worked out in this course.
-2. do they seem incisive? would they demand far-reaching social changes? what changes?
-3. what conceptions acquired in philosophical and social science studies connect fruitfully with the principles of jesus? do any scientific conceptions conflict with the essential ideas of jesus?
-ii. social salvation
-1. what is your frank estimate of the value of the social principles of jesus as a religious and ethical basis for the regeneration of society?
-2. does the spiritual development of modern life tend toward the position of jesus or away from it?
-3. what opportunities and methods does modern life offer for carrying out these principles in our social order?
-4. if society cannot be saved under the spiritual leadership of jesus, how can it be saved?
-iii. the leader
-1. as this course proceeded, has our respect or reverence for jesus christ increased or diminished? in what ways?
-2. would it be possible to join the forward christian forces in working for the kingdom of god even if the theological questions are still unsolved in our minds?
-3. what seem now the best methods of carrying out these principles in our own community and in the world?
-1. does the salvation of society seem to make the salvation of the individual unnecessary or trivial? have you lost interest in it?
-2. how should social and personal salvation connect?
-3. what would a loyal religious dedication to christ and christianity mean to our scientific social intelligence?
-4. what would it mean to the course of our life?
-3 edersheim, “life and times of jesus, the messiah,” appendix xvii, give a detailed account of sabbath regulations.
-4 see, for instance, begbie, “twice born men.”
-5 see jane addams, “a new conscience and an ancient evil.”
-6 why not give a fresh reading to the hebrew prophets? read them as if they had just been dug up in the east. read them with the insight into social life developed by economic and sociological work in college. read them with the critical social and political situations in mind. read entire books at a sitting to absorb the spiritual valor of the prophets and their sense of god and of righteousness. george adam smith’s “the book of the twelve prophets” has fine social understanding, and gives the necessary historical background.
-about sugar buying for jobbers
-how you can lessen business risks by trading in refined sugar futures
-b. w. dyer
-a booklet for jobbers who sell sugar
-lamborn & company sugar headquarters 132 front street · new york
-copyright, 1921 lamborn & company
-about sugar buying
-jobbers who have had considerable experience in exchange operations will find in this booklet a simplified and non-technical description of activities with which they may be in general familiar.
-we believe, however, that the inauguration of trading in refined sugar futures on the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc., throws open a new realm of opportunity.
-we have attempted to outline briefly the chief advantages to be gained by a jobber's use of this new market, assuming that those who have in the past dealt in raw sugar as a protection for their refined sugar needs will welcome suggestions as to the benefits to be derived from trading directly in refined sugar.
-time, the croupier of business
-like a croupier at a vast roulette table, time presides over the realm of business.
-time is the tap-root of most business uncertainties.
-no one can tell what will happen a year, a month, a day, a minute from now--the future may bring floods and wars, pestilence and drouth; or it may bring great crops and fair weather, happiness and prosperity.
-as business has become more and more complicated, the time element has become larger and larger. the time element as we know it does not exist in simple barter--a man weaves a piece of cloth and exchanges it for a bushel of corn: time is of no account in the transaction. a small jobber located in the same territory as refiners buys a small amount of sugar today and distributes it to his trade the next--time is negligible. a large jobber, buying perhaps for several branch houses, or located at points which necessitate a delay of two or three weeks in transit, may find it necessary even on a declining market to purchase a considerable amount of sugar, and, as a result, weeks may go by before his sugar arrives and is sold--time is vitally important.
-time is an element in costs and prices, because over any extended period of time many things may happen to influence costs and prices.
-all business planning must deal with time.
-to the unenlightened business man, time is a bugaboo--a gambler whose cards are stacked and against whom there is no defense. such a man conducts his business from hand to mouth, in constant fear. he is a fatalist, taking his profits and losses as if they were gifts or blows of fortune.
-the enlightened man works with time as an impartial, exacting, inevitable power for his own good or ill. he shapes his actions and enlists the services of time to prevent catastrophe on the one hand, and to enforce prosperity and happiness on the other. storms may come, but so far as his mind may control it, he is "the master of his fate."
-cost and selling prices
-that the element of time is important in the jobber's business no one will deny. he does not base his selling price on cost, but rather on the market price. regardless of his cost, he must sell to meet competition. it is equally obvious that the larger his business, or the greater his distance from the source of supplies, the more important part time plays in both his cost and selling prices.
-all jobbers, large or small, are obliged to assume greater risks (even proportionately) and exercise greater care, than, for instance, retailers buying in small quantities. a jobber's business may enlarge by a perfectly natural process of expansion, but his purchasing risks increase in greater ratio than his business expands.
-similarly, under abnormal conditions, jobbers located at points requiring several weeks in transit prior to delivery, must assume greater risks than those located at the source of supply. in the event of serious delays in deliveries or in shipments, even buyers located at shipping points are confronted with this problem, and the difficulties of those located at a distance are increased immeasurably.
-these difficulties tend to accentuate the importance of time in modern business. as business grows, instead of decreasing--risks increase. any machinery which might operate to eliminate or reduce this uncertainty or speculative element in a jobber's business, would, we believe, be welcomed. exchanges provide just such machinery.
-other commodities, such as raw sugar, wheat, cotton, pork and coffee have had this machinery for years and it was provided for refined sugar on may 2, 1921, when trading in refined sugar futures was inaugurated on the floor of the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc.
-where buyers and sellers of sugar meet
-the sugar exchange is a market place, where buyers and sellers of sugar or their representatives meet to trade.
-the exchange provides a concentration point, where, under any market conditions, sugar may be bought or sold at a price.
-what that price is, is determined by how much sugar is for sale and how many people want it. if the supply is large and buyers are few, the price will be low. if sugar is scarce and buyers are numerous, the price will be high. or, to put it in another way, when there are more sellers than buyers, the market declines; when more buyers than sellers, it advances. if the supply and the number of buyers are normally well balanced, the price will be determined largely by the cost of production and transportation. if events or circumstances operate to increase or curtail either the sugar supply or the number of buyers, and such events or circumstances follow one after the other alternately, the price will fluctuate.
-these are the results of the operation of well-known economic laws.
-in the case of all commodities which cannot be bought or sold at a common market place (or exchange), price fluctuations are usually wide and frequent, because no large group ever has common knowledge of supply, demand and other factors that govern prices--purchases and sales are made direct between individuals, and knowledge of the amount asked or paid is restricted to a limited few.
-through the common market place provided by an exchange, on the other hand, market conditions and prices become common knowledge almost instantly over the entire country. this tends toward stabilization--a fact which, alone, helps to eliminate risks, and enables merchants to buy at lower prices than if forced to deal direct with one another. sellers do not have to take such long chances and can thus afford to sell on a smaller margin of profit. competition is stimulated and freed from many of its complications and uncertainties to the advantage of the seller, the buyer and the public.
-it is now admitted that, had exchange trading in refined sugar existed in 1920, a general use of the exchange by all branches of the trade might have prevented, to a considerable extent, the abnormal advance in sugar prices of that period, with the hardship and misfortune that attended.
-the fact that an exchange always provides a buyer and a seller, at a price, tends toward keeping business fluid. jobbers are able to protect their future requirements. producers are sure of a market for their crops. crop financing is made easier because bankers are more willing to loan on crops sold in advance--an operation made possible by an exchange.
-exchanges operate to take the gamble out of business. they help to put and maintain business on a sound basis. that some people who have no real interest in the commodity use the exchange speculatively does not alter this fact.
-in providing machinery by which speculative risks incident to a jobber's business may be shifted from the jobber to those who make a business of assuming such risks, exchanges help to stabilize his business and to remove a large part of the destructive uncertainty with which he would otherwise have to contend.
-exchanges are the creations of modern economic development, designed and operated for the benefit of the commerce, industry and people of the civilized world.
-therefore we welcome trading in refined sugar futures and the opportunity to offer you the advantages that may be derived from a conservative, intelligent use of its services.
-the exchange provides certain quality standards and other regulations to safeguard your interests. but your real assurance of protection lies in the character and reliability of your broker. if your broker is not strong financially you do not have back of your contract the responsibility that you might otherwise have.
-if you had a favorable contract with a broker who became insolvent, you would have no means of forcing the fulfillment of the contract, and no way of securing the profit which was due you. the thing to do, of course, is to choose a broker who is so strong financially that you incur no danger in this respect whatsoever.
-use the exchange when the market is favorably out of line
-in considering the illustrative examples in this booklet, it should be borne in mind that the measure of protection afforded is relative and not absolute. the theory of exchange operations is that the exchange market will move relatively the same as the market for the actual commodity.
-this cannot be strictly true, although the exchange market must of necessity follow very closely the actual market, because all the sugar must, in the final analysis, come from the actual market. if thrown out of parity with the actual market, the exchange market is bound to come back eventually.
-in the exchange market anyone can buy and anyone can sell. the market is subject to many outside influences, and the fluctuations reflect and accentuate the varying shades of market opinions of many individuals. but in the market for the actual commodity, the quotations are made by comparatively few men, which means that there will be less fluctuation.
-therefore, it is obvious that although the exchange market should be on a parity with the actual market, the unequal fluctuations of the two markets will be constantly throwing them out of parity or "out of line."
-there are times when the market will be so out of line that the buying of futures should result profitably. at other times, with conditions reversed, selling of futures seems obviously advisable. we do not claim that jobbers can protect sugar purchases with absolute and exact precision. on the basis of long exchange experience, we do believe, however, that by a discreet use of the exchange, and by using the market when quotations are favorably out of line, jobbers can do so to their decided advantage.
-selling of futures--hedging
-as the word itself indicates, a "hedge" on the exchange is a protection.
-you hedge by buying or owning actual sugar, and "selling short" in the same amount. you sell sugar futures although you do not own any. you actually contract to deliver an amount of sugar during a specified future month at a specified price.
-eventually, you must either buy and deliver actual sugar to carry out this contract, or you must buy another contract for futures to cancel your short sale. this is known as a "covering" operation, and the cancelling of one by the other takes place automatically through the channels of the exchange.
-from the jobber's point of view, the operation of hedging has three outstanding purposes. he may hedge:
-1. to eliminate the probability of speculative profit or loss, due to market fluctuations.
-2. to protect a profit on a favorable purchase of actual sugar.
-3. to establish and limit a loss on an unfavorable purchase of actual sugar.
-hedging to protect a normal jobbing profit by eliminating the probability of a speculative loss or gain.
-this operation is particularly useful to jobbers with whom conditions are such that they desire to be assured that their cost will be at about the market price at the time they dispose of their sugar, regardless of whether the market be higher or lower.
-although there are times when any jobber, no matter where located, will find this a useful transaction, it is obvious that many buyers will not wish to use the market in this way unless they feel it will decline. but it is particularly of advantage to a jobber located in markets necessitating a delay of from one day to several weeks in transit.
-for instance, on a certain day in april, two jobbers bought their usual quantity of sugar. one was located in syracuse, the other in new york. two days following the purchase, the market broke half a cent per pound. in view of the fact that his sugars were still in transit when the market declined, the syracuse buyer was obliged to sustain this entire loss, in order to meet competition. on the other hand, because he received and distributed the sugar before the market broke, the new york jobber was able not only to avoid a loss, but make his regular profit.
-naturally the greater the amount of sugar any one concern may have in transit the greater the need for protection. we call this kind of transaction particularly to the attention of buyers having branch houses who find themselves obliged to make relatively large purchases to supply their trade in the face of a market in which they have no confidence.
-these disadvantages at which out-of-town buyers are sometimes placed might be overcome by using the exchange. on the other hand, when refiners are badly behind on deliveries, even buyers located at the source of supply will find themselves facing a similar problem the solution of which may be found in a use of the exchange.
-it is therefore evident that the selling of futures may be a transaction the sole purpose of which is to eliminate speculation from a jobber's business.
-regardless of how careful a buyer may be, there is an element of speculation in each purchase of actual sugar.
-if the price goes up, there is a speculative gain--the sugar is worth more. but if the price goes down, the buyer sustains a speculative loss.
-the measure of protection afforded by the exchange will appeal to those jobbers who wish to reduce the speculative element in their business.
-in the example immediately following, as in all others, we have not taken into consideration the difference between the exchange quotations and the seaboard refiners' quotations, which is explained on page 38. this would simply inject an unnecessary complication, and would be of no particular advantage for purposes of illustration.
-suppose you should buy through your broker from a refiner, for prompt shipment, an amount of actual sugar at 6.00, which you plan to sell within a short time after its receipt. instead of worrying about subsequent sugar price fluctuations, you simultaneously hedge this purchase by selling futures in the same amount on the exchange. the price at which you buy actual sugar and the price at which you sell futures should be relatively the same, since exchange prices generally reflect refiners' prices.
-you should be able to figure the cost of your sugar at about the market price at the time it is received or sold. (see chart 1.)
-if the price of sugar should go down to 4.00 at about the time when you sell it, your actual sugar, for which you contracted to pay 6.00, would be worth only 4.00; but you would then buy to cover your futures sale, making 2.00 on this transaction, which, subtracted from the price you paid (6.00), brings the cost down to the market price of 4.00. in other words, you have accomplished your purpose of being able to figure your sugar cost at the market price at the time when you received it (or at the time you sell it). that is, although every pound of actual sugar was sold at a loss, this loss was balanced by the profit from your hedge.
-if, on the other hand, the market should advance to 8.00 after your original purchase and hedge at 6.00, the value of your actual sugar would be increased by 2.00. you would then buy futures at 8.00 to cover your short sale at 6.00, netting a loss thereby of 2.00. this loss would be added to your original cost of 6.00, making your actual sugar cost 8.00, which is the market price at the time. had you omitted the hedge, your sugar would have cost you only 6.00, but, in this example we are assuming that you would sell only when you were willing to figure your sugar cost at the market price. this you have accomplished by foregoing the speculative profit you might have made in favor of your normal jobbing profit.
-if the market should remain relatively stable you would buy to cover your hedge at approximately the same price as you sold for, your gain or loss being practically nothing. in other words, you would obtain sugar at the market price, which is the purpose in this kind of a hedge.
-hedging to protect a gain on a favorable purchase of actual sugar.
-all sugar buyers have had the experience of buying actual sugar, only to see it advance or decline before they have disposed of it. how to protect the gain, or minimize the loss, is described in the two hedging positions which we now discuss.
-suppose you have bought sugar, have not hedged against it, and have seen it advance. finally you have said, "i think sugar is about as high as it is going. i am going to sell against that to protect that profit."
-on the other hand, the reverse might be the case. you might find the market going down, and say, "the market is going lower. i want to hedge against that, and limit my loss to a definite amount."
-in both of these cases, the operation is relative. if a man has a profit, let us say 2¢ a pound, and he hedges, he maintains his profit of 2¢ a pound as compared with the market at the time of delivery, or at the time when he expects to sell this sugar, regardless of whether the market is higher or lower.
-in the same way, conversely, if he has a loss on his sugar of 2¢ a pound, by hedging he can limit that loss to 2¢ a pound, even though the market goes still lower. in other words, his sugar cost at the time of delivery, or at the time when he expects to sell the sugar, will be about 2¢ above the market price, whether the market is higher or lower.
-we shall assume that you have bought from a refiner through your broker a supply of actual sugar at 6.00. while your sugar is in transit or before it has been shipped by refiners, the market advances to 8.00, at which point it apparently is steady. you now have a theoretical gain of 2.00--that is, if you were to sell your sugar at once, you would have an actual profit of 2.00; but you do not sell because your sugar is in transit or you need it for your trade. however, you do want to preserve and protect this favorable position of having your sugar 2.00 below the market at the time you want to sell it. so you sell the same quantity of futures on the exchange at 8.00.
-three things may occur--the market may decline, or it may continue to advance, or it may remain steady. you have accomplished your purpose in any case (see chart 2).
-by the time you sell your sugar (or at the time of its delivery) it becomes necessary for you to cover your hedge and if the market has declined from 8.00 (at which point you hedged) and stands at 6.00 again, your hedging operations considered alone would net you an actual profit of 2.00. your original sugar cost was 6.00. your profit on your hedge was 2.00, so that you would figure your actual sugar cost at 4.00. you would have accomplished your purpose of getting your sugar 2.00 under the market at the time of selling it (or at the time of its delivery). that is, your delay in selling your sugar has cost you practically nothing, even though the market has declined.
-if the market has advanced to 10.00, when it becomes necessary for you to cover your hedge (at the time of selling your sugar or when it is delivered) your hedging operations considered alone would net you a loss of 2.00. you would buy in futures at 10.00, which you sold at 8.00. your original sugar cost was 6.00, your loss on your hedge was 2.00, so that you would figure your actual sugar cost at 8.00. but the market at that time was 10.00, so that you have accomplished your purpose of getting your sugar 2.00 under the market at the time of selling it (or at the time of delivery). in other words, you would make the same profit as though you had re-sold your sugar to second-hands originally, instead of hedging, but had you followed this course, you might not have had sugar in stock for your regular trade.
-on the other hand, when it becomes necessary for you to cover your hedge, if the market has remained steady and is again at 8.00, the two futures transactions cancel themselves without profit or loss. your original cost of 6.00, therefore, stands as your actual sugar cost at the time of selling (or at the time of delivery). this is 2.00 under the market and you have accomplished your purpose.
-hedging to establish and limit a loss on an unfavorable purchase.
-this operation is identical in its working with the previous example, except that you have a different end in view.
-let us say that you purchase actual sugar at 6.00. if the market declines to 5.00 after your original purchase at 6.00, you have a loss of 1.00, in the value of your sugar. facing the possibility of a further decline and desiring to limit this loss to 1.00, you hedge by selling futures. in this case you should limit your loss to 1.00 just as effectively as in the previous example you preserved your gain of 2.00, and by the same course of procedure. (see chart 3.)
-by the time it is necessary for you to cover your hedge by buying an equivalent amount of futures, the market may have declined still further, say to 4.00. you sold at 5.00, you bought at 4.00, profit on that operation, 1.00. subtract this profit from your original cost (6.00) and figure your sugar cost at 5.00. in other words, although the market went still lower, you succeeded in limiting your loss to 1.00, as compared with the market price at the time of the delivery of your sugar (or at the time you sell it). had you omitted the hedge, your actual sugar cost would have been 6.00, which was 2.00 above the market.
-after your original purchase at 6.00, and market decline to 5.00 (at which point you hedged), the market might advance again to 6.00, or remain steady at 5.00, but the operation is no different from that previously described, and you in each case attain the same result.
-buying of sugar futures
-refiners do not make a practice of taking orders more than thirty days in advance of actual delivery--but there are obviously times when it is advisable to cover one's requirements for a longer period. a jobber may do this on the exchange where he will always find a seller at some price for the quantity he desires.
-this privilege is particularly valuable to:
-1. jobbers who believe that the market price of sugar is going higher and who desire to cover their future requirements beyond the delay period which refiners will extend.
-2. jobbers, who desire to sell to manufacturing customers for future delivery at a fixed price so that these manufacturing customers may determine their selling price, may do so by the use of the exchange.
-1. buying of sugar futures--based upon the expectation of higher prices
-no doubt many jobbers will recall occasions when anticipating their requirements seemed obviously advisable, perhaps almost imperative. such a jobber would be one who believed in the market. his action would be based on his opinion of the market. he might note in january, let us say, that the price of may or july futures is favorable. he would like to get his may or july sugar at about that figure. you yourself probably can recollect many times in the past, when the general market was in such a strong position fundamentally that anticipating your requirements seemed advisable. you decided to buy a considerable quantity only to find that refiners would not sell you to the extent that you wished to purchase. when covering your future requirements on the exchange, you can buy any quantity desired.
-consider also on how many occasions when you wanted and needed a definite future month of shipment, you have been told that "as soon as possible" was the only acceptable basis.
-or have you had the experience of placing an order and waiting twenty-four or thirty-six hours without knowing if the refiner would accept your order? meanwhile the market might have advanced, and, if your order had been declined, you would have had to pay an even higher price for your sugar. the facilities of the exchange offer opportunities for protecting requirements quickly and without the uncertainty and delay sometimes encountered from refiners.
-a jobber must anticipate the market in order to take full advantage of it, and in this connection it should be borne in mind that the sugar exchange, as in the case of practically all exchanges, usually anticipates either favorable or unfavorable developments in the market for the actual commodity. consequently, prompt action is necessary when either a higher or lower market is expected, as the exchange market will usually be the first to reflect changing conditions.
-suppose you feel that the price of sugar is low and probably going higher. you try to anticipate your requirements for some time to come, but find that refiners will not sell for more than thirty days.
-you can go on the exchange and buy futures in the quantity and month desired. assume then, that you pay 6.00 for your futures. now, whatever happens in the sugar market, you know you can get the quantity of sugar desired at about 6.00 (see chart 4).
-the market will advance, decline or hold steady.
-say the market advances. when it seems advisable to close out your exchange contract and buy actual sugar, the price may have gone up to 8.00. you will then sell your futures at about 8.00, go into the market and buy actual sugar at the same price, assuming, of course, that the actual market has advanced in relative proportion--which is likely. although actual sugar has cost you 2.00 more than you had figured, you have made 2.00 on your futures. profit and loss cancel each other. your sugar cost is 6.00.
-on the other hand, suppose the market declines after you have bought futures at 6.00, and goes down to 4.00, when it seems advisable to close out your exchange contract. you sell your futures at 4.00, a loss of 2.00. but you will also buy your actual sugar at 4.00, which is 2.00 lower than you had planned. your actual sugar cost was therefore 6.00, which is the price you had figured was favorable.
-if the price still is at 6.00 when you desire to liquidate, you would sell your futures and buy your actual sugar at about the same price. thus you have neither gained nor lost, but you have been sure of getting sugar at 6.00, which is the price you felt was low.
-the time to buy actual sugar is generally when the market becomes strong and an advance in the price of the actual commodity seems imminent; but the time to buy sugar futures is before the strength develops. the future market invariably discounts declines and anticipates advances.
-2. buying of sugar futures to protect profits on advance sales to customers
-while it may not be an established custom, we know numerous instances where jobbers have sold sugars in small quantities for future delivery. the examples to which we refer are small manufacturers buying sugar locally, who, when the market appears in a strong condition desire to be assured of their regular supply of sugar at a specified price. under such conditions we have known jobbers to sell them sugar for delivery over several months. if at any time you are placed in a similar position, and desire to take care of your customers in this manner, without incurring too great a risk, the exchange offers exceptional opportunities for protection, as, of course, you would be able to buy sugar for delivery in any month you desire, even as far in advance as one year.
-it is clear that if you sell at a specified price for delivery at a certain time, your only protection is your belief that you'll be able to buy sugar cheaply enough to make a profit.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- buying sugar futures
-it is equally clear that if a manufacturer names a price and takes advance orders without pre-determining his sugar cost, his profit is a matter of guesswork. he is not going to know the cost of his manufactured product until he buys his sugar.
-assume that you have contracted to deliver sugar to a manufacturer or to any customer at a definite date and a specified price, without buying sugar to cover your requirements. if the price of sugar is favorable when you deliver it, you are fortunate and net a profit. but sugar may have advanced to a point where you are forced to pay such a price that your profit is lower than it should be. in fact there may not be any profit at all.
-by conservative, wise use of the sugar exchange, most of this risk and uncertainty can be eliminated and both you and your customer can go ahead with your plans with your prices determined through a known sugar cost.
-suppose that in march or april, for example, the market appears strong and you find that some of your manufacturing customers are anxious to be assured of an adequate supply of sugar at a definite price. in such a case, if these advance orders called for a sufficient volume, and provided exchange prices were favorable, you could take care of your trade's future requirements at a fixed price, without yourself taking a speculative position. we also believe that buyers making these arrangements with any of their trade would be justified in requesting the same proportionate marginal protection which it is necessary for jobbers themselves to give the seller on the exchange. there will no doubt be many occasions when it would be worth while to solicit orders on this basis.
-with your own sugar cost fixed by the use of the exchange, you could take proper care of these buyers without worrying about subsequent fluctuations of the market, as you would know that your sugar cost would be about the price paid for your futures which, let us say, is 6.00. (see chart 4.)
-the market may advance so that by september, sugar is selling at 8.00. (you are now making deliveries to your trade as contracted). so you sell your futures at 8.00, go into the market and buy actual sugar for about the same figure, assuming, of course, that actual sugar has also advanced in relative proportion, which is likely. you pay 2.00 more for your actual sugar than you had figured but you have profited to the extent of 2.00 on the sale of futures. profit and loss cancel each other and you have your sugar at 6.00. in other words, although the market is now 8.00 you are delivering 6.00 sugar to your customers, with a profit to yourself.
-if the market declines after your original purchase at 6.00 so that in september sugar is selling at 4.00, you will sell your futures at 4.00, taking a loss of 2.00. but you will buy your actual sugar at about 4.00, also, which is 2.00 lower than you planned for. this gain of 2.00, while not to be termed an actual profit, may certainly be considered as canceling the loss on the sale of your futures, so that the cost of your sugar is really 6.00, your original price.
-another way of looking at this is to add the loss of 2.00 on the sale of your futures to 4.00, the cost of your actual sugar, making 6.00, the price upon which you had based your plans. if you had waited, you would have been able to get your sugar for 4.00, but by buying it ahead you have had the benefits of protection and the elimination of speculation and risk.
-if the market remains steady after your june purchase, or after various fluctuations, returns to 6.00 by september, you sell your futures at 6.00 and buy spot sugar for about the same amount. thus you have neither gained nor lost, but you have been protected in your sugar cost.
-this is essentially a "playing-safe" operation. it results in profit insurance for the jobber who is willing to sacrifice the possibility of a speculative gain on advance sales to customers. it is thoroughly sound business policy and is neither expensive nor difficult to carry out.
-point of delivery
-although chicago is the delivery point in all exchange contracts for refined sugar, it should be plainly understood that the exchange is for anyone, anywhere. whether located in chicago, or in rochester, baltimore, new york or even san francisco, a jobber can advantageously use the exchange.
-deliveries of refined sugar futures will be made only from the exchange-licensed warehouses in chicago. but, regardless of the prospective buyer's location, the delivery point is not of any material importance as it is an established fact that in operations on all exchanges the percentage of actual deliveries taken is exceptionally small. in fact, the examples used in this booklet are all based on the supposition that the buyer may find it more convenient not to take delivery.
-the usual procedure followed in sugar exchange operations is for the buyer to close out his exchange transaction prior to the period calling for delivery and purchasing actual sugar from the refiners, executing both transactions practically simultaneously.
-possibly the most important problem in connection with the organization of any commodity exchange is to reduce the possibility of corners, however remote, to the smallest possible degree.
-in the case under discussion, the chicago delivery point, by virtue of its accessibility for producers and consumers from all parts of the country, operates to that end.
-practically every refiner of cane sugars in the east and west, as well as the southern refiners, carries large stocks in chicago, and its favorable location in connection with the beet sugar industry also makes it highly desirable. its situation in regard to the offerings of the louisiana producers is also an additional protection and advantage of considerable importance.
-the exchange-licensed warehouses in chicago are under the direct and constant supervision of exchange representatives. facilities are provided for testing and grading sugar so as to maintain exchange quality standards.
-when are refiners' prices and exchange quotations in line?
-since exchange quotations for refined sugar futures are net cash ex-exchange-licensed warehouse, chicago, while refiners' quotations are f.o.b. refinery, less 2% for cash, it is obvious that there must be a difference between refiners' prices and exchange quotations.
-it is equally obvious that the differential should approximate the freight rate between chicago and the seaboard, where the refiners are located, with allowance also for the cash discount. when the markets are in line such is the case. conversely, when the differential is higher or lower, the markets are out of line.
-therefore, in order to tell whether the markets are out of line, or to what extent, it is necessary to determine on a differential to represent the normal difference between the two markets. there is no one figure, however, that will satisfy all conditions at all times, for the reason that there are various freight rates between the seaboard and chicago. it is inaccurate, for instance, to use 63¢ as the basis for the normal differential. the 63¢ rate is one rate--the all-rail freight rate from new york to chicago.
-other important routes and rates are as follows:
-after a study of the amounts of sugar shipped over these various routes we have arrived at an arbitrary figure to represent the normal differential between refiners' prices and exchange quotations. we believe that 57¢ will serve as a safe basis for calculation, but 58¢ or 59¢ might be equally--or more--accurate. in fact, anyone is entitled to an opinion. 57¢ is our opinion. it is not an average of freight rates, but is an arbitrary figure.
-when the markets are in line, using 57¢ as a basis for calculation, 2% should be deducted from refiners' prices, and 57¢ added to determine what exchange quotation should be. conversely, 57¢ should be deducted from exchange quotations and 2% added to determine what refiners' prices should be.
-if you are willing to accept 57¢ as a safe figure, you may find the following chart useful in determining the condition of the market:
-are refiners' prices and exchange quotations in line?
-based on a 57¢ differential and 2% cash discount
-it should be borne in mind that the above calculations are based upon a normal difference in price of 20¢ per hundred pounds between beet and cane sugars, which is the ruling difference as quoted in the exchange contract. should beet refiners elect to sell at greater discounts than 20 points under cane refiners' seaboard prices, the amount in excess of 20 points would have to be subtracted from our arbitrary figure of 57¢.
-the function of the sugar broker
-if you should organize your company so that it could attend to all the details of sugar buying economically, you would probably still profit from the assistance of a sugar broker whose specialty is sugar buying, whose horizon is a sugar horizon, whose thoughts are sugar thoughts and who must necessarily know more about sugar than the average buyer would ever consider it desirable to know.
-the sugar broker's service to you is unaffected by prices--his prices and all other brokers' prices are the exchange prices; his commissions are based on the same percentages as all other brokers' commissions. his only distinction can come from the actual service he can render.
-this service may be good or poor, depending upon whether his experience, his organization, his information and his judgment are good or poor. if, added to his knowledge of sugar, he also possesses a broad knowledge of economic fundamentals and a perspective upon and contact with world activities as they affect all phases of the business of sugar, his service will be many times more valuable than if he were limited by a small organization, by a definite locality or by experience in only a few phases of this business.
-a sugar broker who merely accepts and transacts orders is giving no service worth the name. to give service in accordance with the highest modern standards, he must stand as an adviser, as a constant seeker after opportunities which will benefit his clients, as a partner whose interest in his clients' profits and progress equals his interest in his own.
-our experience has convinced us that the client secures the greatest amount of protection in filling his sugar needs when one broker handles all sugar transactions.
-these exchange operations should be carried out when the market is out of line in your favor. you need the best kind of advice, based on an intimate knowledge of your business.
-a single brokerage house becomes thoroughly acquainted with the client's business and personnel, with the result that the two organizations work in harmony virtually as partners, confusion and misunderstandings are avoided, quicker and more advantageous transactions are made possible.
-the choice of that broker should be a matter of great care, for in addition to the willingness to serve, he must have the facilities and the financial stability. for, bear in mind that the broker with whom you deal is the responsible party for the fulfillment of the contract. your contract is as good only as the reliability of your broker.
-lamborn & company has become known throughout this country and abroad as an institution for the service of all those who have a business interest in sugar.
-lamborn sugar service is rendered through our head office at 132 front street, new york, and through branch offices in philadelphia, chicago, savannah, new orleans, kansas city, mo. and san francisco.
-lamborn service in all its phases is available to you as a jobber.
-we shall be very glad to explain either in person or by letter what a brokerage relationship with us involves, how it may be accomplished and how transactions may be carried out.
-lamborn & company
-132 front street: new york
-7 wall street: new york (securities)
-branches in the united states
-new york coffee & sugar exchange, inc. new york stock exchange new york cotton exchange new york produce exchange chicago board of trade london produce clearing house, ltd. cable address: lamborn
-contract between members of the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc.
-the standard fine granulated sugar contract is as follows:
-sold for ... to ... 800 bags (of 100 lbs. net each) of standard fine granulated sugar at ... cents per pound, manufactured in the united states or insular possessions, packed in cotton-lined burlap bags, deliverable from licensed warehouse in chicago between the first and last days of ... inclusive. delivery within such time to be at seller's option, upon seven, eight or nine days' notice to the buyer. if domestic beet standard fine granulated sugar be delivered in fulfillment of this contract, seller to make an allowance of 20¢ per 100 lbs.
-the seller shall have the right to deliver foreign cane standard fine granulated sugar in fulfillment of this contract by making an allowance to the buyer of 25¢ per 100 lbs., and foreign beet standard fine granulated sugar by making an allowance of 45¢ per 100 lbs., provided such sugars comply with the types adopted as standard by the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc., and all duties have been paid thereon.
-this contract is subject to an adjustment for duty, as provided in the sugar trade rules.
-either party to have the right to call for margins as the variations of the market for like deliveries may warrant, which margins shall be kept good. this contract is made in view of and in full accordance with the by-laws, rules and conditions established by the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc.
-for and in consideration of one dollar to ... in hand paid, receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged ... accept this contract with all its stipulations and conditions.
-the broker's commission for either buying or selling each contract of 800 bags of sugar depends upon the price at which the transaction is executed. the following table gives a range of prices and the corresponding commissions:
-for the sale or purchase of each lot of 800 bags:
-minimum trading basis
-a "lot" of refined sugar consists of 800 bags of 100 lbs. each, or 80,000 lbs. this is the minimum amount which can be sold on the exchange.
-the date upon which sugar shall be delivered on an exchange contract is at the option of the seller, provided that date come within the month named in the contract. notice of the date of delivery must be given to the buyer seven, eight or nine days preceding the day on which delivery will be made.
-if you are not going to fill your actual sugar needs by accepting delivery from the exchange warehouses, you should close out your contracts within two weeks, or, at the latest, ten days of the first of the month in which delivery is specified, as after notification of delivery has been given, there is usually not sufficient time to make other plans.
-except in nearby localities, orders should be sent by wire, addressed to: sugar futures department, 132 front street, new york, n.y. inquiries or orders will be given prompt attention at any of our offices, but time will be saved and execution facilitated if they are sent direct to new york. unless otherwise specified, orders are good only for the day on which they are received. if they cannot be executed at the price named before the closing of the exchange on that day, or if they should arrive after the exchange closes, it will be understood that they are automatically cancelled unless specific instructions are given for the execution the following day or unless formally renewed by wire. if you desire to place an order, good until countermanded, you can do so. the general term applied to such orders is "order good till cancelled." the general abbreviation in the trade is g.t.c.
-exchange trading hours
-saturday hours are from 10:30 a.m. to 11:50 a.m.
-delivery and warehousing charges
-if you make delivery on the exchange, the following are your charges:
-if you accept delivery on the exchange, your charges are:
-acceptance of your order
-the form of our acceptance of your order reads as follows:
-in accordance with your instructions we have this day made the following transactions in standard fine granulated sugar for your account and risk, subject in all respects, and in accordance with, the rules, by-laws, regulations and customs of the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc., and the rules, regulations and requirements of its board of directors, and all amendments that may be made thereto.
-all transactions made by us for your account contemplate the actual receipt and delivery of the sugar and payment therefor.
-the right is reserved to close transactions when margins are exhausted or nearly so, without notice.
-raw sugar futures
-prior to the inauguration of trading in refined futures, raw sugar futures were used by many jobbers for hedging and protecting their refined requirements.
-the theory of operation is that the raw price will be about equivalent to the refined price after duty and the charge for refining are added. while the raw sugar market will at times get out of line with refined, both favorably and unfavorably, this cannot continue for any long period.
-when the raw futures market is favorably out of line, it may be more to your advantage to use this market, rather than the refined futures market. at the present time there is the added advantage that the volume of trading is greater in raw than in refined.
-when buying or selling raw sugar futures, you may figure that the variation on a minimum lot of 50 tons would be equivalent to the same variation of 1120 bags or 320 barrels.
-we give you below herewith details of contract and trading conditions:
-all contracts for future delivery shall be for 50 tons of 2,240 pounds each and multiples thereof.
-contracts: sold for ... to ..., 50 tons of 2,240 pounds each of sugar in bags, deliverable from licensed warehouse in the port of new york, between the first and last days of ... inclusive. the delivery within such time to be at seller's option, upon 7, 8 or 9 days' notice to the buyer. the sugar to be of any grade or grades of raw sugars based on cuban centrifugal of 96 degrees average polarization outturn at the price of ... cents per pound in bond, net cash with additions or deductions for other grades according to the rates of the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc., existing upon the afternoon of the day previous to the date of notice of delivery, and shall embrace all centrifugals first running. the foreign sugars deliverable other than cuban centrifugals, are: centrifugals from british west indies, demerara, surinam, san domingo, brazil, peru, java, mauritius, venezuela and haiti, all basis of 96 degrees average polarization outturn at .2512 cents per pound (difference in duty) less; but no lot of 50 tons is to consist of sugar from more than one country of origin.
-allowances on centrifugal sugars to be .03125 cents per pound per degree above 96 degrees, up to 98 degrees and .0625 cents per pound per degree below 96 degrees, down to 94 degrees and .09375 cents per pound per degree below 94 degrees, down to 92 degrees, with fractional degrees pro rata.
-exchange trading hours
-a fluctuation of 1¢ per 100 pounds is equivalent to $11.20 per lot of 50 tons.
-an original margin in new york funds must accompany all orders, we reserving the right to call for variation margins when contract shows depreciation. we also reserve the right to close transactions when margins are exhausted or nearly so without further notice. the amount of this original margin will of necessity fluctuate with conditions existing at the time orders are placed. at the present time in localities that are in position to make prompt remittance for any variation margins required, the margin is $400.
-for either buying or selling each contract of 50 tons
-based upon a price
-note: all orders for raw sugar futures shall be in accordance with the by-laws and rules of the new york coffee and sugar exchange, inc. and the new york coffee and sugar clearing association, inc.
-with manchesters in
-published by the university of manchester at the university press (h.m. mckechnie, secretary) 12 lime grove, oxford road, manchester
-longmans, green & co. london: 39 paternoster row new york: 443-449 fourth avenue and thirtieth street chicago: prairie avenue and twenty-fifth street bombay: 8 hornby road calcutta: 6 old court house street madras: 167 mount road
-photo: warwick brookes
-middle row, left to right-- ----; lieut. f. hayes; capt. j.f. farrow (r.a.m.c.); lieut. g. chadwick; lieut. w.g. freemantle; lieut. c.h. williamson; capt. a.t. ward jones; lieut. w.f. creery; capt. c.e. higham.
-back row, left to right--capt. t.w. savatard; lieut. b. norbury; capt. d. nelson; lieut. d. norbury; lieut. e. townson; lieut. g.s. lockwood; lieut. j.h. thorpe; lieut. g.c. hans hamilton; lieut. h.d. thewlis; lieut. a.h. tinker.
-with manchesters in the east
-gerald b. hurst
-the riverside press limited, edinburgh
-during the passage of this book through the press, the author has been engaged overseas on active service, and has been unable to devote the necessary attention to the correction of the proofs, etc. due allowance must therefore be made for such errors as have crept into the pages.
-the publishers have felt obliged to delete the numbers of the territorial battalions mentioned in the book, a fact which accounts for occasional vagueness in terminology.
-list of illustrations
-with manchesters in the east
-our battalion of the manchesters was typical of the old territorial force, whose memory has already faded in the glory of the greater army created during the war, but whose services in the period between the retreat from mons and the coming into action of "kitchener's men" claim national gratitude.
-volunteering served many purposes in england. it kept alive in luxurious times a sense of discipline and a cultivation of endurance. its comradeship brought classes together so closely that the easy relationship between officers and men in the 1st line territorial unit of 1914-1915 was the despair of the more crusted regular martinet. its joyous amateurism freed it from every trace of the mental servitude which is the curse of militarism, and stimulated initiative and individuality. long before the war, most territorials believed in universal training, not so much on account of the german peril, which to too many englishmen seemed a mere delusion, as on account of its social value. it is pleasant to remember how solidly lord roberts received local territorial support when he made the most prophetic of all his speeches in the free trade hall, manchester, on the 22nd october 1912.
-lord haldane's conversion of the volunteers into the territorial force of 1907 meant little change in the internal economy or in the personnel of this battalion. its mounted infantry company, 140 strong, and its cyclists were lost in the interest of uniformity. nevertheless, the change made us better fitted for war by incorporating us in the larger divisional organisation essential in european war. volunteer units supplied select companies for south africa in 1899 and 1900. the east lancashire territorial division was ready to take the field en bloc against the germans in 1914.
-the story to be told in these pages is so largely that of one battalion that a word can be said of its leaders in august, 1914, without making any claim to special pre-eminence, for our old and honourable rivalries with other local battalions faded long ago in mutual confidence.
-the manchester territorial infantry brigade was embodied on the 4th august 1914, and on the 20th marched out through rochdale to a camp on the littleborough moors near hollingworth lake, where they were asked to offer themselves for service abroad. twenty-six officers and 808 men of our battalion (roughly, 90 per cent. of our strength) volunteered. a wise pledge, afterwards unavoidably broken, was given by the authorities that no man should be transferred from his own unit against his will.
-we dropped down the channel on the evening of the 10th september 1914 in a convoy of fourteen transports and one ammunition ship, with h.m.s. minerva as escort--the first territorial division that ever left england on active service. we sailed in a ship with a few east lancashire details and the headquarters staff of the brigade. general noel lee, the brigadier, was an old manchester territorial officer, who understood the territorial spirit to a nicety, and his death from wounds received in the battle of the 4th june 1915 was our irreparable loss. the brigade major was a tower of strength when on gallipoli.
-of our battalion, who enjoyed during those shining autumn days their first vision of gibraltar "grand and grey," with its covey of german prizes in harbour, and of the mediterranean, then free of the submarine, and who half feared that the war would be over while they were still buried in the african desert, only a small number survive unscathed. many sleep amid the cliffs and nullahs of gallipoli.
-the virtues and capacities of these my comrades will always haunt my imagination. their psychology was extraordinarily interesting. they were unlike the regulars, who preceded them in the field, and to some extent unlike the new army, which gathered in their wake.
-they had very little of the professional soldier. only 45 among them had ever served in the regular army. their homes and callings and the light amusements of a great city filled their minds in the same way as the regimental tradition and routine filled those of the old british regular army. with a few exceptions, the feeling of duty was a far stronger motive to their soldiering than any love of adventure. these manchester men had little of the crusader or elizabethan but his valour. they were, in fact, almost arrogantly civilian, coming from a country which had dared ineptly to look down on its defenders. the northerner is not an enthusiast by nature. his politics are usually limited to concrete questions of work and wages, prices and tariffs, and he knows no history. the germans in august, 1914, were still "lancashire's best customers"--not a warlike race bent on winning world-empire by blood and iron. the social traditions of the middle-class urban population, from which the territorials were drawn, had never fostered the military spirit, nor the power to recognise and understand that spirit in others. in such circumstances the sober zeal with which middle-aged sergeants forsook their families and businesses at the very outset of the war, without a moment's hesitation, is a signal proof of their character. no men were ever greater lovers of peace. some philosophers have seen or tried to see in the war a judgment on the luxury and frivolity of pre-war england, on her neglect of defence, and her absorption in opulence. were this the case, it would be ironical to reflect how the north country homes, first and most cruelly scourged by the war, were homes to which the so-called "sins of society" were least known and most repugnant, and where military training had been long pursued in the teeth of public ridicule and at the sacrifice of leisure. long afterwards the father of a very talented private (arthur powell), who was killed in turkey, wrote of his son: "we never intended him for the rude alarums of war, but his sense of duty and the horrors of belgium fired his imagination, so that with hundreds of thousands of high-spirited young englishmen, he placed himself in his country's service." this cast of thought is uncommon in the ranks of a regular army.
-with the new army, that was destined to do so much to save the cause of civilisation, our men had more in common than with the regulars. in 1914, however, we had inevitably a less thorough training in technique than that which fell to their lot in the ensuing years. only a few of our officers had gone the round of "schools of instruction" and "courses." we had fewer specialists, and our equipment was probably inferior. during all our eastern experiences we used the long rifle only. it was, however, a real advantage to have had nearly sixty years' record as a volunteer unit behind us, with all sorts of regimental traditions, which lie at the roots of comradeship and ensure happy relations between officers and men. another distinctive virtue of the territorial system about manchester was that all ranks, from brigadier-general to private, came from one neighbourhood, and viewed life from much the same angle. they ran to type, and their interest in soldiering, obviously spontaneous in the first instance, had been fostered by common experiences in time of peace.
-we eventually arrived at alexandria on the 25th september 1914. b company, under captain (afterwards lieutenant-colonel) j.n. brown, was dropped here, half of it under captain e. townson going on to cyprus, which they garrisoned until the eve of its annexation. eventually the whole company, then under captain (afterwards major) d. nelson, was reunited to the rest of the battalion when it left for the dardanelles. the remaining part of the division also disembarked at alexandria, in order to relieve the regular garrisons of alexandria and cairo. the battalion passed on to port said. as we neared the harbour, our men hailed watchers on the quay for the latest news. antwerp was then at its last gasp, and the aboukir, hague and cressy had been torpedoed in the north sea. the first cry from the ship was "how is city getting on?" league football was still the first interest of young england in the second month of the great war.
-we sailed down the canal on a scorching sunday morning to suez and the red sea. a few indians guarded its banks. onward through the misty heat, under escort of a destroyer, with a wind blowing hot from arabia, to port sudan, where we put in at 11 a.m. on the 30th september. the temperature was 105° f. in the shade. here half of c company, under captain t.w. savatard (afterwards killed on gallipoli) were left to garrison and construct defences for the place. once a desolate coral reef, it is now a great harbour with the promise of a greater future. this first night of africa we rowed happily across its starlit lagoon in the full glamour of the east to enjoy british hospitality.
-next morning we started, with major boyle of the egyptian army staff as a "cicerone," on the long railway track from the sea to atbara and khartum, past scattered villages peopled by staring fuzzy wuzzies with erect and luxuriant black hair, and across hot stretches of desert and rock. at a quarter past eleven on the morning of the 2nd october 1914 we arrived at khartum north, where we detrained and were met by the sirdar, general sir reginald wingate, then governor-general of the sudan, and his staff. we marched over the blue nile bridge to the spacious british barracks, the only spot in the sudan where the union jack flies unaccompanied by the flag of egypt, and relieved the suffolk regiment. in the afternoon our band played them out of the cantonment, and we cheered them on the first stage of their long journey to the blood-stained battle-fields of flanders.
-for some little time after our coming the normal social and sporting life of the small british colony at khartum was hardly ruffled by the storm raging in europe, and we gratefully enjoyed its warm-hearted hospitality. at the beginning of november war broke out between great britain and turkey, and the loyalty of the sudanese was put to the test. the germans built upon the probability of a jihad or holy war, and never dreamed that the handful of young englishmen who administered the country under the sirdar's guidance could have won its loyalty against all comers. when the sirdar announced in english and arabic the news of the porte's entry into the war one shining sunday morning in early november, to a large gathering of egyptian and sudanese officers and dignitaries at the palace, their zealous unanimity was impressive. hundreds of native notables contributed generously to british red cross funds. sheikhs of the red sea province, who had once been dervish partisans, showed me with glowing pride when at port sudan silver medallions with king george's likeness, given by him to them on his visit to sinkat.
-few pages of history are more wonderful than that which records the conversion of the chaotic and down-trodden sudan of 1898 into the peaceful and prosperous sudan of to-day. scepticism as to the uses of empire, which too often beset the manchester man at home before the war, was dissipated by seeing what anglo-egyptian sovereignty and british character and industry have achieved in a land so long tormented by slave-traders and despots. the happy black boys of gordon college go to school with books under their arms, and play football, coached by old blues and cheered by enthusiastic comrades. on the 30th october (kurban bairam day) the manchesters saw the sirdar bestow gaily coloured robes of honour on deserving chiefs. everywhere were signs of economic progress. the cotton-growing plantations on the gezira plain, the ginning factory at wad medani, the numerous irrigation and public health works, the research laboratories of gordon college, the industries of khartum north and of atbara, all bore the distinctive hall-mark of british imperialism.
-the magic of the british name in the sudan seemed to us to rest not only on the art of government but on the great memories of gordon and kitchener and the abiding influence of general wingate's personality. the gordon statue at khartum is almost a shrine. the sudan itself is lord kitchener's monument. during our life there we were daily witnesses of general wingate's tact, power and example. in all mohammedan areas of the sudan, great britain is wisely defender of the faith, and islam is wisely with britain. on the 19th november we were entertained at the egyptian army officers' club on the occasion of the mohammedan new year. on the 27th january 1915 the prophet's birthday was celebrated with rapturous pageantry, and the sirdar and lady wingate paid most impressive visits to the pavilions set up by the principal sheikhs and notables in front of the mosques at khartum and omdurman, while huge crowds of religious enthusiasts beat tom-toms and sang outside. we saw the sirdar reviewing his egyptian and sudanese troops at khartum, formally inspecting the schools, hospitals, barracks and prisons around port sudan, decorating veterans with medals, and addressing in every native dialect the political and religious leaders of the people. we found that no men appreciated the care and skill of the red sea province hospital more warmly than arabs from the then turkish territory of jiddah.
-the whole history of the evolution of the sudan is epitomised in the bare, sun-scorched christian graveyard of wadi halfa. the sandy, high-walled enclosure is the common resting-place of four successive generations of british empire builders: first, of soldiers who fell in the gordon relief expedition; secondly, of men who died while building the railway which proved the key to lord kitchener's success; thirdly, of soldiers who perished in the war of 1898; lastly, of civil servants who have died while administering the country since its reconquest.
-staveacre and i touched a much earlier phase of history when we discovered and bought derelict french helmets and cuirasses of 1798 that must once have been the booty of some mameluke. who would wish for more romantic trophies?
-the turkish war added gravity to the battalion's responsibilities in the sudan. the idea at the time was to treat it passively, so long as the turks did not molest british moslems on pilgrimage to mecca. the arabs were known to have little sympathy with the ottoman turk and his pretensions to religious authority; so jiddah was not to be starved by non-intercourse. the turks themselves made such a policy impossible by their raid against the suez canal in february, 1915, and the inception of the dardanelles expedition marked the final victory of the school of thought which put its faith in an eastern offensive. some sort of offensive, whether against gallipoli or alexandretta or haifa, had become perhaps a moral necessity.
-we learnt in the sudan how turco-german machinations were necessitating a more active policy towards the porte. i acted as prosecutor at the public trial of a sudanese by general court martial in the court-house of port sudan in the second week of december, 1914. he had risen from sergeant's rank in a sudanese regiment to be captain of the egyptian coastguard in 1907. cashiered in 1912, he served enver pasha in tripoli, became an officer of abdul hamid's bodyguard, and afterwards a major of the baghdad gendarmerie. long before november, 1914, he had busily plotted for a rising in egypt and the diffusion of german propaganda all conception of science. this classification is as follows:
-descartes, following bacon, had much to do with the establishment of method, although he laid more stress upon deduction than upon induction. with bacon he believed that there was need of a better method of finding out the truth than that of logic. he was strong in his refusal to recognize anything as true that he did not understand, and had no faith in the mere assumption of truth, insisting upon absolute proof derived through an intelligent order. perhaps, too, his idea was to establish universal mathematics, for he recognized measurements and lines everywhere in the universe, and recognized the universality of all natural phenomena, laying great stress on the solution of problems by measurement. he was a fore runner of newton and many other scientists, and as such represents an epoch-making period in scientific development.
-the trend of thought by a few leaders having been directed to the observation of nature and the experimentation with natural phenomena, the way was open for the shifting of the centre of thought of the entire world. it only remained now for each scientist to work out in his own way his own experiments. the differentiation of knowledge brought about many phases of thought and built up separate divisions of science. while each one has had an evolution of its own, all together they have worked out a larger progress of the whole. thus gilbert (1540-1603) carried on practical experiments and observations with the lodestone, or magnet, and thus made a faint beginning of the study of electrical phenomena which in recent years has played such an important part in the progress of the world. harvey (1578-1657) by his careful study of the blood determined its circulation through the heart by means of the arterial and venous systems. this was an important step in leading to anatomical studies and set the world far ahead of the medical studies of the arabians.
-galileo (1564-1642), in his study of the heavenly bodies and the universe, carried out the suggestion of copernicus a century before of the revolution of the earth on its axis, to {462} take the place of the old theory that the sun revolved around the earth. indeed, this was such a disturbing factor among churchmen, theologians, and pseudo-philosophers that galileo was forced to recant his statements. in 1632 he published at florence his dialogue on the ptolemaic and copernican systems of the world. for this he was cited to rome, his book ordered to be burned, and he was sentenced to be imprisoned, to make a recantation of his errors, and by way of penance to recite the seven penitential psalms once a week.
-it seems very strange that a man who could make a telescope to study the heavenly bodies and carry on experiments with such skill that he has been called the founder of experimental science could be forced to recant the things which he was convinced by experiment and observation to be true. however, it must be remembered that the mediaeval doctrine of authority had taken possession of the minds of the world of thinkers to such an extent that to oppose it openly seemed not only sacrilege but the tearing down of the walls of faith and destroying the permanent structure of society. moreover, the minds of all thinkers were trying to hold on to the old while they developed the new, and not one could think of destroying the faith of the church. but the church did not so view this, and took every opportunity to suppress everything new as being destructive of the church.
-isaac newton, by connecting up a single phenomenon of a body falling a distance of a few feet on the earth with all similar phenomena, through the law of gravitation discovered the unity of the universe. though newton carried on important investigations in astronomy, studied the refraction of light through optic glasses, was president of the royal society, his chief contribution to the sciences was the tying together of the sun, the planets, and the moons of the solar system by the attraction of gravitation. newton was able to carry along with his scientific investigations a profound reverence for christianity. that he was not attacked shows that there had {464} been considerable progress made in toleration of new ideas. with all of his greatness of vision, he had the humbleness of a true scientist. a short time before his death he said: "i know not what i may appear to the world; but to myself i seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble, or a prettier shell, than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me."
-science develops from centres.--bodies of truth in the world are all related one to another. hence, when a scientist investigates and experiments along a particular line, he must come in contact more or less with other lines. and while there is a great differentiation in the discovery of knowledge by investigation, no single truth can ever be established without more or less relation to all other truths. likewise, scientists, although working from different centres, are each contributing in his own way to the establishment of universal truth. even in the sixteenth century scientists began to co-operate and interchange views, and as soon as their works were published, each fed upon the others as he needed in advancing his own particular branch of knowledge.
-it is said that bacon in his new atlantis gave such a magnificent dream of an opportunity for the development of science and learning that it was the means of forming the royal society in england. that association was the means of disseminating scientific truth and encouraging investigation and publication of results. it was a tremendous advancement of the cause of science, and has been a type for the formation of hundreds of other organizations for the promotion of scientific truth.
-science also is a great leveller because all scientists are bowing down to the same truth discovered by experimentation or observation, and, moreover, scientists are at work in the laboratories and cannot be dogmatic for any length of time. but scientists arise from all classes of people, so far as religious or political belief is concerned. many of the foremost scientists have been distributed among the roman catholics, anglicans, calvinists, quakers, unitarians, and agnostics. the only test act that science knows is that of the recognition of truth.
-benjamin franklin was a printer whose scientific investigations were closely intermingled with the problems of human rights. his experiments in science were subordinate to the experiments of human society. his great contribution to science was the identification of lightning and the spark from a leyden jar. for the identification and control of lightning he received a medal from the royal society. the discussion of liberty and the part he took in the independence of the colonies of america represent his greatest contribution to the world. to us he is important, for he embodied in one mind the expression of scientific and political truth, showing that science makes for democracy and democracy for science. in each case it is the choice of the liberalized mind.
-the study of the biological and physical sciences.--the last century is marked by scientific development along several {466} rather distinct lines as follows: the study of the earth, or geology; animal and vegetable life, or biology; atomic analysis, or chemistry; biochemistry; physics, especially that part relating to electricity and radioactivity; and more recently it might be stated that investigations are carried on in psychology and sociology, while mathematics and astronomy have made progress.
-the main generalized point of research, if it could be so stated, is the discovery of law and order. this has been demonstrated in the development of chemistry under the atomic theory; physics in the molecular theory; the law of electrons in electricity, and the evolutionary theory in the study of biology. great advance has been made in the medical sciences, including the knowledge of the nature and prevention of disease. though a great many new discoveries and, out of new discoveries, new inventions have appeared along specific lines and various sciences have advanced with accuracy and precision, perhaps the evolutionary theory has changed the thought of the world more than any other. it has connected man with the rest of the universe and made him a definite part of it.
-the evolutionary theory.--the geography of the earth as presented by lyell, the theory of population of malthus, and the origin of the species and the descent of man by darwin changed the preconceived notions of the creation of man. slowly and without ostentation science everywhere had been forcing all nature into unity controlled by universal laws. traditional belief was not prepared for the bold statement of darwin that man was part of the slow development of animal life through the ages.
-for 2,000 years or more the philosophic world had been wedded to the idea of a special creation of man entirely independent of the creation of the rest of the universe. all conceptions of god, man, and his destiny rested upon the recognition of a separate creation. to deny this meant a reconstruction of much of the religious philosophy of the world. persons {467} were needlessly alarmed and began to attack the doctrine on the assumption that anything interfering with the long-recognized interpretation of the relation of man to creation was wrong and was instituted for the purpose of tearing down the ancient landmarks.
-darwin accepted in general the lamarckian doctrine that each succeeding generation would have new characters added to it by the modification of environmental factors and by the use and disuse of organs and functions. thus gradually under such selection the species would be improved. but darwin emphasized selection through hereditary traits.
-subsequently, weismann and others reinterpreted darwin's theory and strengthened its main propositions, abandoning the lamarckian theory of use and disuse. mendel, de vries, and other biologists have added to the darwinian theory by careful investigations into the heredity of plants and animals, but because darwin was the first to give clear expression to the theory of evolution, "darwinism" is used to express the general theory.
-cosmic evolution, or the development of the universe, has been generally acknowledged by the acceptance of the results of the studies of geology, astronomy, and physics. history of plant and animal life is permanently written in the rocks, and their evolutionary process so completely demonstrated in the laboratory that few dare to question it.
-modern controversy hinges upon the assumption that man as an animal is not subjected to the natural laws of other animals and of plants, but that he had a special creation. the maintenance of this belief has led to many crude and unscientific notions of the origin of man and the meaning of evolution.
-evolution is very simple in its general traits, but very complex in its details. it is a theory of process and not a theory of creation. it is continuous, progressive change, brought about by natural forces and in accordance with natural laws. the evolutionist studies these changes and records the results obtained thereby. the scientist thus discovers new truths, {468} establishes the relation of one truth to another, enlarges the boundary of knowledge, extends the horizon of the unknown, and leaves the mystery of the beginning of life unsolved. his laboratory is always open to retest and clarify his work and to add new knowledge as fast as it is acquired.
-evolution as a working theory for science has correlated truths, unified methods, and furnished a key to modern thought. as a co-operative science it has had a stimulating influence on all lines of research, not only in scientific study of physical nature, but also in the study of man, for there are natural laws as well as man-made laws to be observed in the development of human society.
-some evolutionary scientists will be dogmatic at times, but they return to their laboratories and proceed to reinterpret what they have assumed, so that their dogmatism is of short duration. theological dogmatists are not so fortunate, because of persistence of religious tradition which has not yet been put fully to the laboratory test. some of them are continuously and hopelessly dogmatic. they still adhere to belief founded on the emotions which they refuse to put to scientific test. science makes no attempt to undermine religion, but is unconsciously laying a broader foundation on which religion may stand. theologians who are beginning to realize this are forced to re-examine the bible and reinterpret it according to the knowledge and enlightenment of the time. thus science becomes a force to advance christianity, not to destroy it.
-galton followed along in the study of the development of race and culture, and brought in a new study of human life. pasteur and lister worked out their great factors of preventive medicine and health. madame curie developed the radioactivity as a great contribution to the evolution of science. all of this represents the slow evolution of science, each new discovery quickening the thought of the age in which it occurred, changing the attitude of the mind toward nature and life, and contributing to human comfort and human welfare. but the greatest accomplishment always in the development of science is its effect on the mental processes of humanity, stimulating thought and changing the attitude of mind toward life.
-science and war.--it is a travesty on human progress, a social paradox, that war and science go hand in hand. on one side are all of the machines of destruction, the battleships, bombing-planes, huge guns, high explosives, and poisonous gases, products of scientific experiment and inventive genius, and on the other ambulances, hospitals, medical and surgical care, with the uses of all medical discoveries. the one seeks destruction, the other seeks to allay suffering; one force destroys life, the other saves it. and yet they march forth under the same flag to conquer the enemy. it is like the conquest of the american indians by the spaniards, in which the warrior bore in one hand a banner of the cross of christ and in the other the drawn sword.
-war has achieved much in forcing people into national unity, in giving freedom to the oppressed and protecting otherwise helpless people, but in the light of our ideals of peace it has never been more than a cruel necessity, and, more frequently, a grim, horrible monster. chemistry and physics and their discoveries underlying the vast material prosperity of moderns have contributed much to the mechanical and {470} industrial arts and increased the welfare and happiness of mankind. but when war is let loose, these same beneficent sciences are worked day and night for the rapid destruction of man. all the wealth built up in the passing years is destroyed along with the lives of millions of people.
-out of the gloom of the picture proceeds one ray of beneficent light, that of the service rendered by the discoveries of medical science and surgical art. the discoveries arising from the study of anatomy, physiology, bacteriology, and neurology, with the use of anaesthetics and antiseptics in connection with surgery, have made war less horrible and suffering more endurable. scientists like pasteur, lister, koch, morton, and many others brought forth from their laboratories the results of their study for the alleviation of suffering.
-yet it seems almost incredible that with all of the horrid experiences of war, an enterprise that no one desires, and which the great majority of the world deplore, should so long continue. nothing but the discovery and rise of a serum that will destroy the germs of national selfishness and avarice will prevent war. possibly it stimulates activity in invention, discovery, trade and commerce, but of what avail is it if the cycle returns again from peace to war and these products of increased activity are turned to the destruction of civilization? does not the world need a baptism of common sense? some gain is being made in the changing attitude of mind toward the warrior in favor of the great scientists of the world. but nothing will be assured until the hero-worship of the soldier gives way to the respect for the scholar, and ideals of truth and right become mightier than the sword.
-scientific progress is cumulative.--one discovery leads to another, one invention to others. it is a law of science. science benefits the common man more than does politics or religion. it is through science that he has means of use and enjoyment of nature's progress. it is true this is on the side of materialistic culture, and it does not provide all that is needed for the completed life. even though the scientific {471} experiments and discoveries are fundamentally more essential, the common man cannot get along without social order, politics, or religion.
-it is interesting to note what may have taken place also in the last generation. a man who was born in the middle of the last century might reflect on a good many things that have taken place. scientifically he has lived to see the development of electricity from a mere academic pursuit to a tremendous force of civilization. chemistry, although supposed to have been a completed science, was scarcely begun. herbert spencer's synthetic philosophy and darwin's origin of the species had not yet been published. huxley and tyndall, the great experimental scientists, had not published their great works. transportation with a few slow steam-propelled vessels crossing the ocean preceded the era of the great floating palaces. the era of railroad-building had only just started in america. horseless carriages propelled by gas or electricity were in a state of conjecture. politically in america the civil war had not been fought or the constitution really completed.
-the great wealth and stupendous business organization of {472} to-day were unknown in 1850. in europe there was no german empire, only a german federation. the hapsburgs were still holding forth in austria and the hohenzollerns in prussia and the romanoffs in russia. the monarchial power of the old régime was the rule of the day. these are institutions of the past. civilization in america, although it had invaded the mississippi valley, had not spread over the great western plains nor to the pacific coast. tremendous changes in art and industries, in inventions and discoveries have been going on in this generation. the flying-machine, the radio, the automobile, the dirigible balloon, and, more than all, the tremendous business organization of the factories and industries of the age have given us altogether a complete revolution.
-research foundations.--all modern universities carry on through instructors and advanced students many departments of scientific research. the lines of research extend through a wide range of subjects--chemistry, biology, physics, anatomy, physiology, medicine, geology, agriculture, history, sociology, and other departments of learning. these investigations have led to the discovery of new knowledge and the extension of learning to mankind. outside of colleges and universities there have been established many foundations of research and many industrial laboratories.
-the trend of scientific investigations.--while research is carried on in many lines, with many different objectives, it may be stated that intense study is devoted to the nature of matter and the direct connection of it with elemental forces. the theories of the molecule and the atom are still working hypotheses, but the investigator has gone further and disintegrated the atom, showing it to be a complex of corpuscles or particles. scientists talk of electrons and protons as the two elemental forces and of the mechanics of the atom. in chemistry, investigation follows the problems of applied chemistry, while organic chemistry or biochemistry opens continually new fields of research. it appears that biology and chemistry are becoming more closely allied as researches continue and likewise physics and chemistry. in the field of surgery the x-ray is in daily use, and radium and radioactivity may yet be great aids to medicine. in medical investigation much is dependent upon the discoveries in neurology. this also will throw light upon the studies in psychology, for the relation of nerve functions to mind functions may be more clearly defined.
-explorations of the earth and of the heavens continually add new knowledge of the extent and creation of the universe. the study of anthropology and archaeology throw new light upon the origin and early history of man. experimental study of animals, food, soils, and crops adds increased means of sustenance for the race. recent investigations of scientific education, along with psychology, are throwing much light on mental conditions and progress. and more recently serious inquiry into social life through the study of the social sciences is revealing the great problems of life. all of knowledge, all of science, and all of human invention which add to material {474} comforts will be of no avail unless men can learn to live together harmoniously and justly. but the truths discovered in each department of investigation are all closely related. truly there is but one science with many divisions, one universe with many parts, and though man is a small particle of the great cosmos, it is his life and welfare that are at the centres of all achievements.
-subjects for further study
-1. in what ways has science contributed to the growth of democracy?
-2. how has the study of science changed the attitude of the mind toward life?
-3. how is every-day life of the ordinary man affected by science?
-4. is science antagonistic to true christianity?
-5. what is the good influence of science on religious belief and practice?
-6. what are the great discoveries of the last twenty-five years in astronomy? chemistry? physics? biology? medicine? electricity?
-7. what recent inventions are dependent upon science?
-8. relation between investigation in the laboratory and the modern automobile.
-9. how does scientific knowledge tend to banish fear?
-10. give a brief history of the development of the automobile. the flying-machine.
-11. would a law forbidding the teaching of science in schools advance the cause of christianity?
-universal education and democracy
-universal public education is a modern institution.--the greeks valued education and encouraged it, but only those could avail themselves of its privileges who were able to pay for it. the training by the mother in the home was followed by a private tutor. this system conformed to the idea of leadership and was valuable in the establishment of an educated class. however, at the festivals and the theatres there were opportunities for the masses to learn much of oratory, music, and civic virtues. the education of athens conformed to the class basis of society. sparta as an exception trained all citizens for the service of state, making them subordinate to its welfare. the state took charge of children at the age of seven, put them in barracks, and subjected them to the most severe discipline. but there was no free education, no free development of the ordinary mind. it was in the nature of civic slavery for the preservation of the state in conflict with other states.
-during the middle ages charlemagne established the only public schools for civic training, the first being established at paris, although he planned to extend them throughout the empire. the collapse of his great empire made the schools merely a tradition. but they were a faint sign of the needs of a strong empire and an enlightened community. the educational institutions of the middle ages were monasteries, and cathedral schools for the purpose of training men for the service of the church and for the propagating of religious doctrine. they were all institutional in nature and far from the idea of public instruction for the enlightenment of the people.
-the mediaeval university permitted some freedom of choice.--there was exhibited in some of them especially a desire to discover the truth through traditional knowledge. they were {476} composed of groups of students and masters who met for free discussion, which led to the verification of established traditions. but this was a step forward, and scholars arose who departed from dogma into new fields of learning. while the universities of the middle ages were a step in advance, full freedom of the mind had not yet manifested itself, nor had the idea of universal education appeared. opportunity came to a comparatively small number; moreover, nearly all scientific and educational improvement came from impulses outside of the centres of tradition.
-the english and german universities.--the english universities, particularly oxford and cambridge, gave a broader culture in mathematics, philosophy, and literature, which was conducive to liberality in thought, but even they represented the education of a selected class. the german universities, especially in the nineteenth century, emphasized the practical or applied side of education. by establishing laboratories, they were prepared to apply all truths discovered, and by experimentation carry forward learning, especially in the chemical and other physical sciences. the spirit of research was strongly invoked for new scientific discoveries. while england was developing a few noted secondary schools, like harrow and eton, germany was providing universal real schule, and gymnasia, as preparatory for university study and for the general education of the masses. as a final outcome the prussian system was developed, which had great influence on education in the united states in the latter part of the nineteenth century.
-early education in the united states.--the first colleges and universities in the united states were patterned after the english universities and the academies and high schools of england. these schools were of a selected class to prepare for the ministry, law, statesmanship, and letters. the growth of the american university was rapid, because it continually broadened its curriculum. from the study of philosophy, classical languages, mathematics, literature, it successively {477} embraced modern languages, physical sciences, natural science, history, and economics, psychology, law, medicine, engineering, and commerce.
-in the present-day universities there is a wide differentiation of subjects. the subjects have been multiplied to meet the demand of scientific development and also to fit students for the ever-increasing number of occupations which the modern complex society demands. the result of all this expansion is democratic. the college class is no longer an exclusive selection. the plane of educational selection continually lowers until the college draws its students from all classes and prepares them for all occupations. in the traditional college certain classes were selected to prepare for positions of learning. there was developed a small educated class. in the modern way there is no distinctive educated class. university education has become democratic.
-the common, or public, schools.--in the colonial and early national period of the united states, education was given by a method of tutors, or by a select pay school taught by a regularly employed teacher under private contract. finally the sympathy for those who were not able to pay caused the establishing of "common schools." this was the real beginning of universal education, for the practice expanded and the idea finally prevailed of providing schools by taxation "common" to all, and free to all who wish to attend. later, for civic purposes, primary education has become compulsory in most states. following the development of the primary grades, a complete system of secondary schools has been provided. beyond these are the state schools of higher education, universities, agricultural and mechanical schools, normal schools and industrial schools, so that a highway of learning is provided for the child, leading from the kindergarten through successive stages to the university.
-and right well have the people responded to these sentiments. they have poured out their hard-earned money in taxation to provide adequate education for the youth of the land. james bryce, after studying in detail american institutions, declared that "the chief business of america is education." this observation was made nearly forty years ago. if it was true then, how much more evident is it now with wonderful advance of higher education in colleges and universities, and in the magnificent system of secondary education that has been built up in the interval. the swarming of students in high school and college is evidence that they appreciate the opportunities furnished by the millions of wealth, largely in the form of taxes, given for the support of schools.
-education has been universalized.--having made education universal, educators are devoting their energies to fit the education to the needs of the student and to assist the student in choosing the course of instruction which will best fit him for his chosen life-work. the victory has been won to give every boy and girl an educational chance. to give him what he actually needs and see that he uses it for a definite purpose is the present problem of the educator. this means a careful inquiry into mental capacity and mental traits, into temperament, taste, ambition, and choice of vocation. it means further provision of the special education that will best prepare him for his chosen work, and, indeed, it means sympathetic co-operation of the teacher and student in determining the course to be pursued.
-research an educational process.--increased knowledge comes from observation or systematic investigation in the laboratory. every child has by nature the primary element of research, a curiosity to know things. too often this is suppressed by conventional education instead of continued into systematic investigation. one of the great defects of the public school is the failure to keep alive, on the part of the student, the desire to know things. undue emphasis on instruction, a mere imparting of knowledge, causes the student to shift the responsibility of his education upon the teacher, who, after all, can do no more than help the student to select the line of study, and direct him in methods of acquiring. together teacher and student can select the trail, and the teacher, because he has been over it, can direct the student over its rough ways, saving him time and energy.
-perhaps the greatest weakness in popular government to-day is indifference of citizens to civic affairs. this leads to a shifting of responsibility of public affairs frequently to those least competent to conduct them. perhaps a training in individual responsibility in the schools and more vital instruction in citizenship would prepare the coming generation to make democracy efficient and safe to the world. the results of research are of great practical benefit to the so-called common man in the ordinary pursuits of life. the scientist in the laboratory, spending days and nights in research, finally discovers a new process which becomes a life-saver or a time-saver to general mankind. yet the people usually accept this as a matter of fact as something that just happened. they forget the man in the laboratory and exploit the results of his labor for their own personal gain.
-how often the human mind is in error, and unobserving, not to see that the discovery of truth and its adaptation to ordinary life is one of the fundamental causes of the progress of the race. man has advanced in proportion as he has become possessed of the secrets of nature and has adapted them to his service. the number of ways he touches nature and forces {480} her to yield her treasures, adapting them to his use, determines the possibility of progress.
-the so-called "common man," the universal type of our democracy, is worthy of our admiration. he has his life of toil and his round of duties alternating with pleasure, bearing the burdens of life cheerfully, with human touch with his fellows; amid sorrow and joy, duty and pleasure, storm and sunshine, he lives a normal existence and passes on the torch of life to others. but the man who shuts himself in his laboratory, lives like a monk, losing for a time the human touch, spends long days of toil and "nights devoid of ease" until he discovers a truth or makes an invention that makes millions glad, is entitled to our highest reverence. the ordinary man and the investigator are complementary factors of progress and both essential to democracy.
-the diffusion of knowledge necessary to democracy.--always in progress is a deflecting tendency, separating the educated class from the uneducated. this is not on account of the aristocracy of learning, but because of group activity, the educated man following a pursuit different from the man of practical affairs. hence the effort to broadcast knowledge through lectures, university extension, and the radio is essential to the progress of the whole community. one phase of enlightenment is much neglected, that of making clear that the object of the scholar and the object of the man of practical affairs should be the same--that of establishing higher ideals of life and providing means for approximating these ideals. it frequently occurs that the individual who has centred his life on the accumulation of wealth ignores the educator and has a contempt for the impractical scholar, as he terms him. not infrequently state legislatures, when considering appropriations for education, have shown more interest in hogs and cattle than in the welfare of children.
-it would be well if the psychology of the common mind would change so as to grasp the importance of education and scientific investigation to every-day life. does it occur to the {481} man who seats himself in his car to whisk away across the country in the pursuit of ordinary business, to pause to inquire who discovered gasoline or who invented the gasoline-engine? does he realize that some patient investigator in the laboratory has made it possible for even a child to thus utilize the forces of nature and thus shorten time and ignore space? whence comes the improvement of live-stock in this country? compare the cattle of early new england with those on modern farms. was the little scrubby stock of our forefathers replaced by large, sleek, well-bred cattle through accident? no, it was by the discovery of investigators and its practical adaptation by breeders. compare the vineyards and the orchards of the early history of the nation, the grains and the grasses, or the fruits and the flowers with those of present cultivation. what else but investigation, discovery, and adaptation wrought the change?
-my common neighbor, when your child's poor body is racked with pain and likely to die, and the skilled surgeon places the child on the operating-table, administers the anaesthetic to make him insensible to pain, and with knowledge gained by investigation operates with such skill as to save the child's life and restore him to health, are you not ready to say that scientific investigation is a blessing to all mankind? whence comes this power to restore health? is it a dispensation from heaven? yes, a dispensation brought about through the patient toil and sacrifice of those zealous for the discovery of truth. what of the knowledge that leads to the mastery of the yellow-fever bacillus, of the typhoid germ, to the fight against tuberculosis and other enemies of mankind? again, it is the man in the laboratory who is the first great cause that makes it possible for humanity to protect itself from disease.
-could our methods of transportation by steamship, railroad, or air, our great manufacturing processes, our vast machinery, or our scientific agriculture exist without scientific research? nothing touches ordinary life with such potent force as the results of the investigation in the laboratory. clearly it is {482} understood by the thoughtful that education in all of its phases is a democratic process, and a democratic need, for its results are for everybody. knowledge is thus humanized, and the educated and the non-educated must co-operate to keep the human touch.
-educational progress.--one of the landmarks of the present century of progress will be the perfecting of educational systems. education is no longer for the exclusive few, developing an aristocracy of learning for the elevation of a single class; it has become universal. the large number of universities throughout the world, well endowed and well equipped, the multitudes of secondary schools, and the universality of the primary schools, now render it possible for every individual to become intelligent and enlightened.
-but these conditions are comparatively recent, so that millions of individuals to-day, even in the midst of great educational systems, remain entirely unlettered. nevertheless, the persistent effort on the part of people everywhere to have good schools, with the best methods of instruction, certainly must have its effect in bringing the masses of unlearned into the realm of letters. the practical tendency of modern education, by which discipline and culture may be given while at the same time preparing the student for the active duties of life, makes education more necessary for all persons and classes. the great changes that have taken place in methods of instruction and in the materials of scientific investigation, and the tendency to develop the man as well as to furnish him with information, evince the masterly progress of educational systems, and demonstrate their great worth.
-the grant by the united states government at the time of the formation of the ohio territory of lands for the support of universities led to the provision in the act of formation of each state and territory in the union for the establishment of a university. each state, since the admission of ohio, has provided for a state university, and the act of 1862, which granted lands to each state in the union for the establishment of agricultural and mechanical colleges, has also given a great impulse to state education. in the organizing acts of some of the newer states these two grants have been joined in one for the upbuilding of a university combining the ideas of the two kinds of schools. the support insured to these state institutions promises their perpetuity. the amount of work which they have done for the education of the masses in higher learning has been prodigious, and they stand to-day as the greatest and most perfect monument of the culture and learning of the western states.
-the tremendous growth of state education has increased the burden of taxation to the extent that the question has arisen as to whether there is not a limit to the amount people are willing to pay for public education. if it can be shown that they receive a direct benefit in the education of their children there {484} will be no limit within their means to the support of both secondary schools and universities. but there must be evidence that the expenditure is economically and wisely administered.
-the princely endowments of magnificent universities like the leland stanford junior university, the university of chicago, johns hopkins university, harvard, yale, and others, have not interfered with the growth and development of state education, for it rests upon the permanent foundation of a popular demand for institutions supported by the contributions of the whole people for the benefit of the state at large. state institutions based upon permanent foundations have been zealous in obtaining the best quality of instruction, and the result is that a youth in the rural districts may receive as good undergraduate instruction as he can obtain in one of the older and more wealthy private institutions, and at very little expense.
-the printing-press and its products.--perhaps of all of the inventions that occurred prior to the eighteenth century, printing has the most power in modern civilization. no other one has so continued to expand its achievements. becoming a necessary adjunct of modern education, it continually extends its influence in the direct aid of every other art, industry, or other form of human achievement. the dissemination of knowledge through books, periodicals, and the newspaper press has made it possible to keep alive the spirit of learning among the people and to assure that degree of intelligence necessary for a self-governed people.
-the freedom of the press is one of the cardinal principles of progress, for it brings into fulness the fundamental fact of freedom of discussion advocated by the early greeks, which was the line of demarcation between despotism and dogmatism and the freedom of the mind and will. in common with all human institutions, its power has sometimes been abused. but its defect cannot be remedied by repression or by force, but by the elevation of the thought, judgment, intelligence, and good-will of a people by an education which causes them to {485} demand better things. the press in recent years has been too susceptible to commercial dominance--a power, by the way, which has seriously affected all of our institutions. here, as in all other phases of progress, wealth should be a means rather than an end of civilization.
-public opinion.--universal education in school and out, freedom of discussion, freedom of thought and will to do are necessary to social progress. public opinion is an expression of the combined judgments of many minds working in conscious or unconscious co-operation. laws, government, standards of right action, and the type of social order are dependent upon it. the attempt to form a league of nations or a court of international justice depends upon the support of an intelligent public opinion. war cannot be ended by force of arms, for that makes more war, but by the force of mutually acquired opinion of all nations based on good-will. every year in the united states there are examples of the failure of the attempt to enforce laws which are not well supported by public opinion. such laws are made effective by a gradual education of those for whom they are made to the standard expressed in the laws, or they become obsolete.
-subjects for further study
-1. show from observations in your own neighborhood the influence of education on social progress.
-2. imperfections of public schools and the difficulties confronting educators.
-3. should all children in the united states be compelled to attend the public schools?
-4. what part do newspapers and periodicals play in education?
-5. relation of education to public opinion.
-6. should people who cannot read and write be permitted to vote?
-7. study athletics in your school and town to determine their educational value.
-8. show by investigation the educational value of motion-pictures and their misuse.
-9. in what ways may social inequality be diminished?
-10. would a law compelling the reading of the bible in public schools make people more religious?
-world economics and politics
-commerce and communication.--the nations of the world have been drawn together in thought and involuntary co-operation by the stimulating power of trade. the exchange of goods always leads to the exchange of ideas. by commerce each nation may profit by the products of all others, and thus all may enjoy the material comforts of the world. at times some countries are deficient in the food-supply, but there has been in recent years a sufficient world supply for all, when properly distributed through commerce. some countries produce goods that cannot be produced by others, but by exchange all may receive the benefits of everything discovered, produced, or manufactured.
-rapid and complete transportation facilities are necessary to accomplish this. both trade and transportation are dependent upon rapid communication, hence the telegraph, the cable, and the wireless have become prime necessities. the more voluminous reports of trade relations found in printed documents, papers, and books, though they represent a slower method of communication, are essential to world trade, but the results of trade are found in the unity of thought, the development of a world mind, and growing similarity of customs, habits, usages, and ideals. slowly there is developing a world attitude toward life.
-exchange of ideas modifies political organization.--the desire for liberty of action is universal among all people who have been assembled in mass under co-operation. the arbitrary control by the self-constituted authority of kings and governments without the consent of the governed is opposed by all human associations, whether tribal, territorial, or national. since the world settled down to the idea of monarchy as a necessary form of government, men have been trying to {487} substitute other forms of government. the spread of democratic ideas has been slowly winning the world to new methods of government. the american revolution was the most epoch-making event of modern times. while the french revolution was about to burst forth, the example of the american colonies was fuel to the flames.
-in turn, after the united states had won their freedom and were well on their way in developing a republican government, the influence of the radical democracy was seen in the laws and constitutions of the states, particularly in the first half of the nineteenth century. the spanish-american war led to the development of democracy, not only in cuba and porto rico but in the philippine islands. but the planting of democracy in the philippines had a world influence, manifested especially in southeastern asia, china, japan, and india.
-spread of political ideas.--the socialism of karl marx has been one of the most universal and powerful appeals to humanity for industrial freedom. his economic system is characterized by the enormous emphasis placed upon labor as a factor in production. starting from the hypothesis that all wealth is created by labor, and limiting all labor to the wage-earner, there is no other conclusion, if the premise be admitted, than that the product of industry belongs to labor exclusively. his theories gained more or less credence in germany and to a less extent in other countries, but they were never fully tested until the russian revolution in connection with the great war. after the downfall of czarism, leaders of the revolution attacked and overthrew capitalism, and instituted the soviet government. the proletariat came to the top, while the capitalists, nobility, and middle classes went to the bottom. this was brought about by sudden revolution through rapid and wild propaganda.
-strenuous efforts to propagate the soviet doctrine and the war against capitalism in other countries have taken place, without working a revolution similar to that in russia. but the international is slowly developing a world idea among {488} laborers, with the ultimate end of destroying the capitalistic system and making it possible for organized wage-earners to rule the world. it is not possible here to discuss the marxian doctrine of socialism nor to recount what its practical application did to russia. suffice it to say that the doctrine has a fatal fallacy in supposing that wage-earners are the only class of laborers necessary to rational economic production.
-the world war breaks down the barriers of thought.--the great war brought to light many things that had been at least partially hidden to ordinary thinking people. it revealed the national selfishness which was manifested in the struggle for the control of trade, the extension of territory, and the possession of the natural resources of the world. this selfishness was even more clearly revealed when, in the treaty of versailles and the formation of the league of nations, each nation was unwilling to make necessary sacrifice for the purpose of establishing universal peace. they all appeared to feel the need of some international agreement which should be permanent and each favored it, could it first get what it wanted. such was the power of tradition regarding the sanctity of national life and the sacredness of national territory and, moreover, of national prerogatives!
-nevertheless, the interchange of ideas connecting with the gruelling of war caused change of ideas about government and developed, if not an international mind, new modes of national thinking. the war brought new visions of peace, and developed to a certain extent a recognition of the rights of nations and an interest in one another's welfare. there was an advance in the theory at least of international justice. also the world was shocked with the terror of war as well as its futility and terrible waste. while national selfishness was not eradicated, it was in a measure subdued, and a feeling of co-operation started which eventually will result in unity of feeling, thought, and action. the war brought into being a sentiment among the national peoples that they will not in the future be forced into war without their consent.
-attempt to form a league for permanent peace.--led by the united states, a league of nations was proposed which should settle all disputes arising between nations without going to war. the united states having suggested the plan and having helped to form the league, finally refused to become a party to it, owing in part to the tradition of exclusiveness from european politics--a tradition that has existed since the foundation of the nation. yet the united states was suggesting a plan that it had long believed in, and a policy which it had exercised for a hundred years with most nations. it took a prominent part in the first peace conference called by the czar of russia in 1899. the attempt to establish a permanent international tribunal ended in forming a permanent court of arbitration, which was nothing more than an intelligence office with a body of arbitrators composed of not more than four men from each nation, from whom nations that had chosen to arbitrate a dispute might choose arbitrators. the conference adjourned with the understanding that another would be called within a few years.
-the boxer trouble in china and the war between japan and russia delayed the meeting. through the initiation of theodore roosevelt, of the united states, a second hague conference met in 1907. largely through the influence of elihu root a permanent court was established, with the exception that a plan for electing delegates could not be agreed upon. it was agreed to hold another conference in 1915 to finish the work. thus it is seen that the league of nations advocated by president wilson was born of ideas already fructifying on american soil. mckinley, roosevelt, john hay, elihu root, joseph h. choate, james brown scott, and other statesmen had favored an international tribunal.
-the league of nations provided in its constitution among other things for a world court of nations. in the first draft of the constitution of the league no mention was made of a world court. but through a cablegram of elihu root to colonel e. m. house, the latter was able to place articles 13 {490} and 14, which provided that the league should take measures for forming a court of international justice. subsequently the court was formed by the league, but national selfishness came to the front and crippled the court. article 34 originally read: "between states which are members of the league of nations, the court shall have jurisdiction, and this without any convention giving it jurisdiction to hear and determine cases of legal nature." it was changed to read; "the jurisdiction of the court comprises all cases which the parties refer to it and all matters specially provided for in treaties and conventions in force."
-it is to be observed that in the original statement, either party to a dispute could bring a case into court without the consent of the other, thus making it a real court of justice, and in the modified law both parties must agree to bring the case in court, thus making it a mere tribunal of arbitration. the great powers--england, france, italy, and japan--were opposed to the original draft, evidently being unwilling to trust their disputes to a court, while the smaller nations favored the court as provided in the original resolution. however, it was provided that such nations who desired could sign an agreement to submit all cases of dispute to the court with all others who similarly signed. nearly all of the smaller nations have so signed, and president harding urged the united states, though not a member of the league, to sign.
-the judges of the court, eleven in all, are nominated by the old arbitration court of the hague tribunal, and elected by the league of nations, the council and assembly voting separately. only one judge may be chosen from a nation, and of course every nation may not have a judge. in cases where a dispute involves a nation which has no member in the court, an extra judge may be appointed. the first court was chosen from the following nations: great britain, france, italy, united states, cuba, switzerland, netherlands, denmark, japan, and brazil. so the court of international justice is functioning in an incomplete way, born of the spirit of {491} america, and the united states, though not a member of the league of nations, has a member in the court sitting in judgment on the disputes of the nations of the world. so likewise the league of nations, which the united states would not join, is functioning in an incomplete way.
-international agreement and progress.--but who shall say that the spirit of international justice has not grown more rapidly than appears from the workings of the machinery that carries it out? beneath the selfish interests of nations is the international consciousness that some way must be devised and held to for the settlement of disputes without war; that justice between nations may be established similar to that practised within the boundaries of a single nation.
-no progress comes out of war itself, though it may force other lines of conduct. progress comes from other sources than war. besides, it brings its burdens of crime, cripples, and paupers, and its discontent and distrust. it may hasten production and stimulate invention of destruction, but it is not constructive and always it develops an army of plunderers who prey upon the suffering and toil of others. these home pirates are more destructive of civilization than poison gases or high explosives.
-reorganization of international law.--the public opinion of the nations of the world is the only durable support of international law. the law represents a body of principles, usages, and rules of action regarding the rights of nations in peace and in war. as a rule nations have a wholesome respect for international law, because they do not wish to incur the unfriendliness and possible hatred of their fellow nations nor the contempt and criticism of the world. this fear of open censure has in a measure led to the baneful secret treaties, such an important factor in european diplomacy, whose results have been suspicion, distrust, and war. germany is the only modern nation that felt strong enough to defy world opinion, the laws of nations, and to assume an entirely independent attitude. but not for long. this attitude ended in a disastrous war, in which she lost the friendship and respect of the world--lost treasure and trade, lives and property.
-it is unfortunate that modern international law is built upon the basis of war rather than upon the basis of peace. in this respect there has not been much advance since the time of grotius, the father of modern international law. however, there has been a remarkable advance among most nations in settling their difficulties by arbitration. this has been accompanied by a strong desire to avoid war when possible, and a longing for its entire abandonment. slowly but surely public opinion realizes not only the desire but the necessity of abandoning great armaments and preparation for war.
-but the nations cannot go to a peace basis without concerted action. this will be brought about by growth in national righteousness and a modification of crude patriotism and national selfishness. it is now time to codify and revise international law on a peace basis, and new measures adopted in accordance to the progress nations have made in recent {493} years toward permanent peace. such a move would lead to a better understanding and furnish a ready guide to the court of international justice and all other means whereby nations seek to establish justice among themselves.
-the outlook for a world state.--if it be understood that a world state means the abandonment of all national governments and their absorption in a world government, then it may be asserted truly that such is an impossibility within the range of the vision of man. nor would it be desirable. if by world state is meant a political league which unites all in a co-operative group for fair dealing in regard to trade, commerce, territory, and the command of national resources, and in addition a world court to decide disputes between nations, such a state is possible and desirable.
-great society is a community of groups, each with its own life to live, its own independence to maintain, and its own service to perform. to absorb these groups would be to disorganize society and leave the individual helpless before the mass. for it is only within group activity that the individual can function. so with nations, whose life and organization must be maintained or the individual would be left helpless before the world. but nations need each other and should co-operate for mutual advantage. they are drawn closer each year in finance, in trade and commerce, in principles of government and in life. a serious injury to one is an injury to all. the future progress of the world will not be assured until they cease their squabbles over territory, trade, and the natural resources of the world--not until they abandon corroding selfishness, jealousy, and suspicion, and covenant with each other openly to keep the peace.
-to accomplish this, as mr. walter hines page said: "was there ever a greater need than there is now for first-class minds unselfishly working on world problems? the ablest ruling minds are engaged on domestic tasks. there is no world-girdling intelligence at work on government. the present order must change. it holds the old world still. it keeps all {494} parts of the world apart, in spite of the friendly cohesive forces of trade and travel. it keeps back self-government of men." these evils cannot be overcome by law, by formula, by resolution or rule of thumb, but rather by long, patient study, research, and work of many master-minds in co-operative leadership, who will create a sound international public opinion. the international mind needs entire regeneration, not dominance of the powers.
-the recent war was but a stupendous breaking with the past. it furnished opportunity for human society to move forward in a new adjustment on a larger and broader plan of life. whether it will or not depends upon the use made of the opportunity. the smashing process was stupendous, horrible in its moment. whether society will adapt itself to the new conditions remains to be seen. peace, a highly desirable objective, is not the only consideration. there are even more important phases of human adjustment.
-subjects for further study
-1. what were the results of the first (1899) and the second (1907) hague conference?
-2. what is meant by "freedom of the seas"?
-3. should a commission of nations attempt to equalize the ownership and distribution of the natural products and raw materials, such as oil, coal, copper, etc.?
-4. how did the world war make opportunity for democracy?
-5. believing that war should be abolished, how may it be done?
-6. what are the dangers of extreme radicalism regarding government and social order?
-7. the status of the league of nations and the court of international justice.
-8. national selfishness and the league of nations.
-9. the consolidation or co-operation of churches in your town.
-10. the union of social agencies to improve social welfare.
-11. freedom of the press; freedom of speech.
-12. public opinion.
-the trend of civilization in the united states
-the economic outlook.--the natural resources of forest, mines, and agriculture are gradually being depleted. the rapidity of movement in the economic world, the creation of wealth by vast machinery, and the organization of labor and industry are drawing more and more from the wealth stored by nature in her treasure-houses. there is a strong agitation for the conservation of these resources, but little has been accomplished. the great business organizations are exploiting the resources, for the making of the finished products, not with the prime motive of adding to the material comforts and welfare of mankind, but to make colossal fortunes under private control. while the progress of man is marked by mastery of nature, it should also be marked by co-operation with nature on a continued utility basis. exploitation of natural resources leads to conspicuous waste which may lead to want and future deterioration.
-the development of scientific agriculture largely through the influence of the agricultural department at washington and the numerous agricultural colleges and experiment stations has done something to preserve and increase the productivity of the soil. scientific study and practical experiment have given improved quality of seed, a better grade of stock, and better quality of fruits and vegetables. they have also given improved methods of cultivation and adaptability of crops to the land, and thus have increased the yield per acre. the increased use of selected fertilizers has worked to the same end. the use of a large variety of labor-saving machines has conduced to increase the amount of the product. but all of this improvement is small, considering the amount that needs to be done. the population is increasing rapidly from {496} the native stock and by immigration. there is need for wise conservation in the use of land to prevent economic waste and to provide for future generations. the greedy consumers, with increasing desire for more and better things, urge, indirectly to be sure, for larger production and greater variety of finished products.
-the economics of labor.--in complex society there are many divisions or groups of laborers--laborers of body and laborers of mind. every one who is performing a legitimate service, which is sought for and remunerative to the laborer and serviceable to the public, is a laborer. at the base of all industry and social activity are the industrial wage-earners, who by their toil work the mines, the factories, the great steel and iron industries, the railroads, the electric-power plants and other industries. since the beginning of the industrial revolution in the latter part of the eighteenth century, labor has been working its way out of slavery into freedom.
-as a result laborers have better wages, better conditions of life, more of material comforts, and a higher degree of intelligence than ever before. yet there is much improvement needed. while the hours of labor have been reduced in general to eight per day, the irregularity of employment leads to unrest and frequently to great distress. there is a growing tendency to make laborers partners in the process of production. this does not mean that they shall take over the direction of industry, but co-operate with the managers regarding output, quality of goods, income, and wages, so as to give a solidarity to productive processes and eliminate waste of time, material, and loss by strikes.
-the domestic peace in industry is as important as the world peace of nations in the economy of the world's progress. a direct interest of the wage-earner in the management of production and in the general income would have a tendency to equalize incomes and prevent laborers from believing that the product of industry as well as its management should be under their direct control. public opinion usually favors the {497} laborer and, while it advocates the freedom and dignity of labor, does not favor the right of labor to exploit industry nor concede the right to destroy. but it believes that labor organizations should be put on the same basis as productive corporations, with equal degree of rights, privileges, duties, and responsibilities.
-public and corporate industries.--the independent system of organized industry so long dominant in america, known by the socialists as capitalistic production, has become so thoroughly established that there is no great tendency to communistic production and distribution. there is, however, a strong tendency to limit the power of exploitation and to control larger industries in the interest of the public. especially is this true in regard to what are known as public utilities, such as transportation, lighting, telephone, and telegraph companies, and, in fact, all companies that provide necessaries common to the public, that must be carried on as monopolies. public opinion demands that such corporations, conducting their operations as special privileges granted by the people, shall be amenable to the public so far as conduct and income are concerned. they must be public service companies and not public exploitation companies.
-the great productive industries are supposed to conduct their business on a competitive basis, which will determine price and income. as a matter of fact, this is done only in a general way, and the incomes are frequently out of proportion to the power of the consuming public to purchase. great industries have the power to determine the income which they think they ought to have, and, not receiving it, may cease to carry on their industry and may invest their capital in non-taxable securities. while under our present system there is no way of preventing this, it would be a great boon to the public, and a new factor in progress, if they were willing to be content with a smaller margin of profit and a slower accumulation of wealth. at least some change must take place or the people of small incomes will be obliged to give up many {498} of the comforts of life of which our boasted civilization is proud, and gradually be reduced to the most sparing economy, if not to poverty. the same principle might be applied to the great institutions of trade.
-the political outlook.--in our earlier history the struggle for liberty of action was the vital phase of our democracy. to-day the struggle is to make our ideal democracy practical. in theory ours is a self-governed people; in practice this is not wholly true. we have the power and the opportunity for self-government, but we are not practising it as we might. there is a real danger that the people will fail to assume the responsibility of self-government, until the affairs of government are handed over to an official class of exploiters.
-for instance, the free ballot is the vital factor in our government, but there are many evidences that it is not fully exercised for the political welfare of the country. it frequently occurs that men are sent to congress on a small percentage of voters. other elective offices meet the same fate. certainly, more interest must be taken in selecting the right kind of men to rule over them or the people will barter away their liberties by indifference. officials should be brought to realize that they are to serve the public and it is largely a missionary job they are seeking rather than an opportunity to exploit the office for personal gain.
-the expansive process of political society makes a larger number of officers necessary. the people are demanding the right to do more things by themselves, which leads to increased expenses in the cost of administration, great bonded indebtedness, and higher taxation. it will be necessary to curb expansion and reduce overhead charges upon the government. this may call for the reorganization of the machinery of government on the basis of efficiency. at least it must be shown to the people that they have a full return for the money paid by taxation. it is possible only by study, care, civic responsibility, and interest in government affairs, as well as by increased intelligence, that our democratic idealism may be put {499} into practice. laboratory methods in self-government are a prime necessity.
-the equalization of opportunity.--popular education is the greatest democratic factor in existence. it is the one great institution which recognizes that equal opportunities should be granted to everybody. yet it has its limits in establishing equal opportunities in the accepted meaning of the term. there is a false idea of equality which asserts that one man is as good as another before he has proved himself to be so. true equality means justice to all. it does not guarantee that equality of power, of intellect, of wealth, and social standing shall obtain. it seeks to harmonize individual development with social development, and to insure the individual the right to achieve according to his capacity and industry. "the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" is a household word, but the right to pursue does not insure success.
-the excessive altruism of the times has led to the protecting care of all classes. in its extreme processes it has made the weak more helpless. what is needed is the cultivation of individual responsibility. society is so great, so well organized, and does so much that there is a tendency of the individual to shift his responsibility to it. society is composed of individuals, and its quality will be determined by the character and quality of the individual working especially for himself and generally for the good of all. a little more of the law of the survival of the fittest would temper our altruism to more effective service. the world is full of voluntary altruistic and social betterment societies, making drives for funds. they should re-examine their motives and processes and carefully estimate what they are really accomplishing. is the institution they are supporting merely serving itself, or has it a working power and a margin of profit in actual service?
-the influence of scientific thought on progress.--the effect of scientific discovery on material welfare has been referred to elsewhere. it remains to determine how scientific thought changes the attitude of the mind toward life. the laboratory {500} method continually tests everything, and what he finds to be true the scientist believes. he gradually ignores tradition and adheres to those things that are shown to be true by experimentation or recorded observation. it is true that he uses hypotheses and works the imagination. but his whole tendency is to depart from the realm of instinct and emotions and lay a foundation for reflective thinking. the scientific attitude of mind influences all philosophy and all religion. "let us examine the facts in the case" is the attitude of scientific thought.
-the study of anthropology and sociology has, on the one hand, discovered the natural history of man and, on the other, shown his normal social relations. both of these studies have co-operated with biology to show that man has come out of the past through a process of evolution; that all that he is individually and socially has been attained through long ages of development. even science, philosophy, and religion, as well as all forms of society, have had a slow, painful evolution. this fact causes people to re-examine their traditional belief to see how far it corresponds to new knowledge. it has helped men to realize on their philosophy of life and to test it out in the light of new truth and experience. this has led the church to a broader conception of the truth and to a more direct devotion to service. it is becoming an agency for visualizing truth rather than an institution of dogmatic belief. the religious traditionalists yield slowly to the new religious liberalism. but the influence of scientific thought has caused the church to realize on the investment which it has been preaching these many centuries.
-the relation of material comfort to spiritual progress.--the material comforts which have been multiplying in recent centuries do not insure the highest spiritual activity. the nations that have achieved have been forced into activity by distressing conditions. in following the history of any nation along any line of achievement, it will be noticed that in its darkest, most uncomfortable days, when progress seemed least {501} in evidence, forces were in action which prepared for great advancement. it has been so in literature, in science, in liberty, in social order; it is so in the sum-total of the world's achievements.
-granting that the increase of material comforts, in fact, of wealth, is a great achievement of the age, the whole story is not told until the use of the wealth is determined. if it leads to luxurious living, immorality, injustice, and loss of sense of duty, as in some of the ancient nations, it will prove the downfall of western civilization. if the leisure and strength it offers are utilized in raising the standard of living, of establishing higher ideals, and creating a will to approximate them, then they will prove a blessing and an impulse to progress. likewise, the freedom of the mind and freedom in governmental action furnish great opportunities for progress, but the final result will be determined by use of such opportunities in the creation of a higher type of mind characterized by a well-balanced social attitude.
-in recent years the people have been doing more and more for themselves through group action. the result has been a multiplication of laws, many of them useless; the creation of a vast administrative force increasing overhead charges, community control or operation of industries, and the vast amount of public, especially municipal, improvements. all of these have been of advantage to the people in common, but have {502} greatly increased taxation until it is felt to be a burden. were it not for the great war debts that hang heavily on the world, probably the increased taxation for legitimate expenses would not have been seriously felt. but it seems certain that a halt in excessive public expenditures will be called until a social stock-taking ensues. at any rate, people will demand that useless expenditures shall cease and that an ample return for the increased taxation shall be shown in a margin of profit for social betterment. a balance between social enterprise and individual effort must be secured.
-restlessness versus happiness.--happiness is an active principle arising from the satisfaction of individual desires. it does not consist in the possession of an abundance of material things. it may consist in the harmony of desires with the means of satisfying them. perhaps the "right to achieve" and the successful process of achievement are the essential factors in true happiness. realizing how wealth will furnish opportunities for achievement, and how it will furnish the luxuries of life as well as furnish an outlet for restless activity, great energy is spent in acquiring it. indeed, the attitude of mind has been centred so strongly on the possession of the dollar that this seems to be the end of pursuit rather than a means to higher states of life. it is this wrong attitude of life that brings about so much restlessness and so little real happiness. only the utilization of material wealth to develop a higher spiritual life of man and society will insure continuous progress.
-the vast accumulations of material wealth in the united states and the wonderful provisions for material comfort are apt to obscure the vision of real progress. great as are the possible blessings of material progress, it is possible that eventually they may prove a menace. other great civilizations have fallen because they stressed the importance of the material life and lost sight of the great adventure of the spirit. will the spiritual wealth rise superior, strong, and dominant to overcome the downward drag of material prosperity and {503} thus be able to support the burdens of material civilization that must be borne?
-summary of progress.--if one were to review the previous pages from the beginnings of human society to the present time, he would observe that mind is the ruling force of all human endeavor. its freedom of action, its inventive power, and its will to achieve underlie every material and social product of civilization. its evolution through action and reaction, from primitive instincts and emotions to the dominance of rational planning and reflective thinking, marks the trail of man's ascendancy over nature and the establishing of ideals of social order. has man individual traits, physical and mental, sufficiently strong to stand the strain of a highly complex social order? it will depend upon the strength of his moral character, mental traits, and physical resistance, and whether justice among men shall prevail, manifested in humane and sound social action. future progress will depend upon a clearness of vision, a unity of thought, the standardization of the objectives of social achievement, and, moreover, an elevation of human conduct. truly, "without vision the people perish."
-subjects for further study
-1. what measures are being taken to conserve the natural resources?
-2. what plan would you suggest for settling the labor problem so as to avoid strikes?
-3. how shall we determine what people shall do in group activity and what shall be left to private initiative?
-4. how may our ideals of democracy be put to effective practice?
-5. to what extent does future progress of the race depend upon science?
-6. is there any limit to the amount of money that may be wisely expended for education?
-7. public measures for the promotion of health.
-8. what is meant by the statement that "without vision the people perish"?
-9. equalization of opportunity.
-abbott, frank frost: history and description of roman political institutions.
-adams, george burton: civilization during the middle ages.
-amicis, edmondo de: spain and the spaniards.
-aristotle's politics: translation by welldon.
-arnold, matthew: civilization in the united states.
-bakewell, chas. m.: source book of ancient philosophy.
-blackmar, f. w., and gillin, j. l.: outlines of sociology.
-blummer, hugo: home life of the ancient greeks.
-boak, a. e. r.: roman history.
-boas, franz: the mind of primitive man.
-botsford, george willis: ancient history for beginners. hellenic history. the story of rome.
-bowman, isaiah: the new world.
-breasted, j. h.: ancient times: a history of the early world.
-brinton, daniel g.: the american races.
-bryce, james: the american commonwealth. the holy roman empire. the relations of the advanced and the backward nations of the world. modern democracies.
-buckle, henry thomas: history of civilization in england.
-burckhart, jacob: civilization of the renaissance in italy.
-burt, b. c.: a brief history of greek philosophy.
-bury, j. b.: the idea of progress.
-carlyle, thomas: history of the french revolution.
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-carver, thos. n.: sociology and social progress.
-chapin, f. stuart: introduction to social evolution.
-church, r. w.: the beginnings of the middle ages.
-commons, john r.: industrial democracy. trade unionism and labor problems.
-conklin, grant: the direction of human evolution.
-cooley, charles h.: social organization.
-coppee, henry: history of the conquest of spain by the arabs.
-cox, g. w.: the crusades.
-croiset, maurice: hellenic civilization. (translated by paul b. thomas.)
-deniker, j.: the races of men.
-dewey, john: human nature and conduct.
-draper, john w.: history of the intellectual development of europe.
-duncan, robert k.: the chemistry of commerce. the new knowledge.
-duruy, victor: history of france. history of the middle ages. history of rome.
-edman, erwin: human traits.
-elliot, g. f. scott: prehistoric man and his story.
-ely, richard t.: evolution of industrial society.
-emerton, ephraim: introduction to the middle ages. mediaeval europe.
-fowler, ward: the city state of the greeks and romans.
-gardiner, samuel r.: the puritan revolution.
-gibbon, edward: decline and fall of the roman empire.
-goldenweiser, alexander a.: early civilization.
-gordon, childe: the dawn of european civilization.
-green, john richard: a short history of the english people.
-green, william chase: the achievement of greece.
-guizot, f.: history of civilization.
-hadley, james: introduction to roman law.
-hayes, carlton j. h.: a brief history of the great war. a political and social history of modern europe.
-henderson, ernest f.: history of germany in the middle ages.
-hobson, j. a.: the problems of the new world.
-hodgkin, thomas: italy and her invaders.
-holm, adolph: history of greece.
-hudson, j. w.: the college and new america.
-ihne, w. h.: early rome.
-inge, w. r.: the idea of progress.
-irving, washington: the conquest of granada.
-james, e. o.: an introduction to anthropology.
-kelsey, carl: the physical basis of society.
-keynes, j. m.: the economic consequences of the peace.
-king, l. w.: a history of babylon. a history of sumer and akkad.
-kirkup, thomas: the history of socialism.
-kitchen, g. w.: history of france.
-kroeber, a. l.: anthropology.
-lawrence, i. j.: the society of nations.
-libby, walter: an introduction to the history of science.
-lipton, walter: drift and mastery. liberty and the news.
-lowell, a. lawrence: public opinion and popular government.
-lowie, robert h.: culture and ethnology. primitive society.
-mason, otis tufton: the origins of inventions.
-mason, wm. a.: the history of the art of writing.
-may, thos. e.: democracy in europe.
-mccarthy, justin: the epoch of reform.
-mcgiffert, arthur c.: the rise of modern religious ideas.
-meyers, j. l.: the dawn of history.
-mills, john: within the atom.
-monroe, dana carlton: the middle ages.
-monroe, paul: history of education.
-morris, charles: civilization: an historical review of its elements.
-morris, william o'connor: the french revolution and the first empire.
-murray, gilbert: ancient greece.
-o'leary, de lacy: arabic thought and its place in history.
-osborn, henry fairfield: men of the old stone age.
-peet, stephen: the cliff dwellers.
-plato's republic: translation by jowett.
-powell, i. w.: the pueblo indians.
-preston and dodge: the private life of the romans.
-ragozin, z. a.: the story of chaldea.
-rawlinson, george: ancient monarchies. the story of egypt.
-robinson, james harvey: the mind in the making.
-sayre, francis b.: experiments in international administration.
-scott, j. b. (editor): president wilson's foreign policy: messages, addresses, and papers.
-sedgwick, w. j., and tyler, h. w.: a short history of science.
-seebohm, frederick: the era of the protestant revolt.
-semple, ellen c.: influences of geographic environment.
-sloane, w. m.: the powers and aims of western democracy.
-slosson, edwin e.: creative chemistry.
-smith, j. russell: the world and its food resources.
-smith, walter r.: educational sociology.
-spinden, h. j.: ancient civilization of mexico.
-stubbs, william: the early plantagenets.
-symonds, john addington: the renaissance in italy.
-taylor, edward b.: researches into the early history of mankind. the development of civilization.
-thwing, charles f. and carrie f.: the family.
-todd, arthur james: theories of social progress.
-turner, f. j.: the rise of the new west.
-tyler, john m.: the new stone age of northern europe.
-van hook, la rue: greek life and thought.
-walker, francis a.: the making of a nation.
-wallas, graham: great society. principles of western civilization.
-weber, alfred, and r. b. perry: history of philosophy.
-weigall, arthur: the story of the pharaohs.
-white, andrew d.: the french revolution and the first empire.
-whitney, wm. dwight: the life and growth of language.
-wilder, h. h.: man's prehistoric past.
-wissler, clark: the american indian. man and culture.
-aegean culture, 207.
-ages of culture, stone, bronze, 36.
-agriculture, beginning of, 93; modern, 440.
-akkadians, religion of, 155, 156.
-alexander, conquests of, 246.
-allia, battle of the, 387.
-altruism and democracy, 449-462.
-america, peopling of, 185.
-american indians, culture of, 200; contributions to civilization, 201.
-ancient society, morgan, 4, 49,
-animals, domestication of, 92.
-antiquity of man shown by race development, 69.
-arabian empire, 305; science and art, 307.
-arab-moors in spain, 305; cultures, 308-315; science and art, 307-310; discoveries, 312; language and literature, 313; architecture, 315; achievement, 316; decline, 317.
-arab-moors, religious zeal of, 308.
-arkwright, richard, spinning by rollers, 436.
-art, development of, 37; as a language of aesthetic ideas, 130; representative, 131; and architecture, 368.
-aryans, coming of the, 167.
-athens, government of, 233; character of democracy, 240; decline of, 241.
-aztecs, culture of, 190.
-bacon, francis, 355, 460.
-bacon, roger, 459.
-beautiful, the love of, develops slowly, 135-136; a permanent social force, 137.
-bill of rights, 397, 413.
-bow and arrow, 87.
-brahe, ticho, 463.
-bryce, james, 380.
-bunyan, john, 398.
-burial mounds, 76.
-calvin, john, and the genevan system, 386.
-cassius, spurius, agrarian laws, 254.
-catholic church, the, 384.
-catlin, north american indians, 134.
-chaldea, early civilization of, 153-156.
-christian influence on roman legislation, 273.
-christian religion, social contacts of, 268.
-christianity and the social life, 271; service of, 279; opposes pagan literature, 357; competition with graeco-roman schools, 357.
-christians come into conflict with civil authority, 273.
-church, the wealth of, 275; development of hierarchy, 270; control of temporal power, 277; service of, 278; retrogressive attitude, 350; in france, 402; widening influences of, 446; organizing centre, 453.
-cities, rise of free, 330-332; modern, 440.
-civilization, material evidences of, 4; fundamentals of, 10-14; possibilities of, 15; can be estimated, 16; modern, 456.
-cleisthenes, reforms of, 237.
-cliff dwellers, 194.
-clothing, manufacture of, 97.
-colonization, greek, 246; phoenician, 161.
-commerce and communication, 486.
-commerce, hastens progress, 362.
-common schools, 477.
-constitutional liberty in england, 393.
-crete, island of, 207.
-crô-magnon, earliest ancestral type, 28; cultures of, 72.
-crompton, samuel, spinning "mule," 436.
-crusades, causes of, 319, 320, 321; results of, 322-323; effect on monarchy, 324; intellectual development, 325; impulse to commerce, 326; social effect, 327.
-cultures, evidence of primitive, 28; mental development and, 32; early european, 32.
-curie, madame, 469.
-custom, 112, 288, 295.
-dance, the, as dramatic expression, 133; economic, religious, and social functions of, 134.
-darius i, founded persian empire, 168.
-darwin, charles, 467.
-democracy, 342, 392, 449.
-democracy in america, 418; characteristics of, 419-421; modern political reforms of, 421-425.
-descartes, rené, 461.
-discovery and invention, 362.
-duruy, victor, 363.
-economic life, 170-180, 290, 429.
-economic outlook, 495.
-education and democracy, 477-482.
-education, universal, 475, 478; in the united states, 476.
-educational progress, 482.
-egypt, 145, 146; centre of civilization, 157-160; compared with babylon, 162; pyramids, 160; religion, 172; economic life, 178; science, 182.
-england, beginnings of constitutional liberty in, 345.
-environment, physical, determines the character of civilization, 141; quality of soil, 144; climate and progress, 146; social order, 149.
-equalization of opportunities, 499.
-euphrates valley, seat of early civilization, 152.
-evidences of man's antiquity, 69; localities of, 71-78; knowledge of, develops reflective thinking, 77.
-family, the early, 109-112; greek and roman, 212-213; german, 286.
-feudalism, nature of, 294-299; sources of, 294, based on land tenure, 296; social classification under, 298; conditions of society under, 300; individual development under, 302; influence on world progress, 303.
-fire and its economy, 88.
-food supply, determines progress, 83-85; increased by discovery and invention, 86.
-france, free cities of, 330; rise of popular assemblies, 338; rural communes, 338; place in modern civilization, 399; philosophers of, 403; return to monarchy, 417; character of constitutional monarchy, 418.
-france, in modern civilization, 399; philosophers of, 403.
-franklin, benjamin, 465.
-freedom of the press, 484.
-freeman, e. a., 233.
-french republic, triumph of, 417.
-french revolution, 405-407; results of, 407.
-gabon, francis, 469.
-germans, social life of, 283; classes of society, 285; home life, 286; political organization, 287; social customs, 288; contribution to law, 291; judicial system, 292.
-gilbert, william, 461.
-glacial epoch, 62.
-greece, 148, 205, 210.
-greece and rome compared, 250.
-greek equality and liberty, 229.
-greek federation, 245.
-greek government, an expanded family, 229; diversity of, 231; admits free discussion, 231; local self-government, 232; independent community life, 231; group selfishness, 232; city state, 239.
-greek influence on rome, 261.
-greek life, early, 205; influence of, 213.
-greek philosophy, observation and inquiry, 215; ionian philosophy, 216; weakness of, 219; eleatic philosophy, 220; sophists, 221; epicureans, 224; influence of, 225.
-greek social life, 241, 243.
-greeks, origin of, 209; early social life of, 208; character of primitive, 209; family life of, 212; religion of, 212.
-hargreaves, james, invents the spinning jenny, 436.
-harvey, william, 461.
-hebrew influence, 164.
-henry viii and the papacy, 387; defender of the faith, 396.
-hierarchy, development of, 276.
-holy roman empire, 414.
-human chronology, 59.
-humanism, 349, 364, 366; relation of language and literature to, 367; effect on social manners, 371; relation to science and philosophy, 372; advances the study of the classics, 373; general influence on life, 373.
-huss, john, 378, 379.
-huxley, thomas h., 471.
-ice ages, the, 62, 64.
-incas, culture of, 187.
-india, 148, 166.
-individual culture and social order, 150.
-industrial development, 429-433, 439; revolution, 437.
-industries, radiate from land as a centre, 429; early mediaeval, 430; public, 497; corporate, 497.
-industry and civilization, 441.
-international law, reorganization of, 492.
-invention, 86, 362, 436.
-iroquois, social organization of, 198.
-italian art and architecture, 368.
-italian cities, 332; popular government of, 333.
-jesuits, the, 385.
-justinian code, 260.
-knowledge, diffusion of, 480.
-koran, the, 304, 310.
-labor, social economics of, 496.
-lake dwellings, 78.
-land, use of, determines social life, 145.
-language, origin of, 121; a social function, 123; development of, 126-129; an instrument of culture, 129.
-latin language and literature, 261.
-licinian laws, 256.
-lister, 469, 470.
-locke, john, 398.
-lombard league, 337.
-louis xiv, the divine right of kings, 400.
-luther, martin, and the german reformation, 382-385.
-lycurgus, reforms of, 244.
-magdalenian cultures, 72.
-man, origin of, 57; primitive home of, 66, antiquity of, 73-70; and nature, 141; not a slave to environment, 149.
-manorial system, 430.
-manuscripts, discovery of, 364.
-marxian socialism in russia, 427.
-maya race, 192.
-men of genius, 33.
-metals, discovery and use of, 100.
-michael angelo, 370.
-milton, john, 398.
-minoan civilization, 207.
-monarchy, a stage of progress in europe, 344.
-monarchy versus democracy, 392.
-mongolian race, 167.
-morgan, lewis h., beginning of civilization, 4; classification of social development, 49.
-morton, william, t. g., 470.
-mound builders, 197.
-music, as language, 131; as a socializing factor, 133, 137.
-mutual aid, 120; of nations, 491.
-napier, john, 463.
-napoleon bonaparte, 417.
-nationality and race, 444.
-nature, aspects of, determine types of social life, 147.
-neanderthal man, 29, 65.
-newton, sir isaac, 463.
-nile, valley, seat of early civilization, 152.
-nobility, the french, 400.
-occam, william of, 379.
-oriental civilization, character of, 170; war for conquest and plunder, 171; religious belief, 171-174; social condition, 175; social organization, 176-178; economic life, 178-180; writing, 181; science, 182; contribution to world progress, 184.
-parliament, rebukes king james i, 396; declaration of, 397.
-pasteur, louis, 469, 470.
-peloponnesian war, 241.
-people, the condition of, in france, 401.
-pericles, age of, 247.
-petrarch, 365, 366.
-philosophy, ionian, 216; eleatic, 220; sophist, 221; stoic, 225; sceptic, 225; influence of greek on civilization, 226, 228.
-phoenicians, the, become great navigators, 161; colonization by, 161.
-physical needs, efforts to satisfy, 82-85.
-picture writing, 126.
-pithecanthropus erectus, 29.
-political ideas, spread of, 486-488.
-polygenesis, monogenesis, 66.
-popular government, expense of, 328, 414.
-power manufacture, 437.
-pre-historic human types, 63, 65, 66.
-pre-historic man, types of, 28,
-pre-historic time, 60-61.
-primitive man, social life of, 31, 32; brain capacity of, 29.
-progress and individual development, 23; and race development, 22; influence of heredity on, 24; influence of environment on, 25; race interactions and, 26; early cultural evidence of, 32; mutations in, 33; data of, 34; increased by the implements used, 35; revival of, throughout europe, 348; and revival of learning, 372-373.
-progress, evidence of, 456.
-public opinion, 485.
-pueblo indians, culture of, 194; social life, 195; secret societies, 196.
-race and language, 124.
-races, cause of decline, 201, 202.
-racial characters, 70.
-recounting human progress, methods of 37-52; economic development, 39-40.
-reform measures in england, 415.
-reformation, the, character of, 375; events leading to, 376-380; causes of, 380-382; far-reaching results of, 388-391.
-religion and social order, 113-116.
-religious toleration, growth of, 447.
-renaissance, the, 349, 370.
-republicanism, spread of, 425.
-research, foundations of, 472; educational process of, 479.
-revival of learning, 364.
-river and glacial drift, 74.
-roebuck, john, the blast furnace, 436.
-roman civil organization, 258.
-roman empire, and its decline, 264.
-roman government, 258; law, 259; imperialism, 267.
-roman social life, 264.
-rome a dominant city, 257; development of government, 258.
-rome, political organization, 252; struggle for liberty, 243; social conditions, 255; invasion of the gauls, 255; agrarian laws, 254, 256; plebeians and patricians, 256; optimates, 256; influence on world civilization, 266.
-scholastic philosophy, 353.
-schools, cathedral and monastic, 356; graeco-roman, 357.
-science, in egypt, 182; in spain, 306; nature of, 307, 458; and democracy, 464, 465.
-scientific classification, 460; men, 465; progress, 470; investigation, trend of, 473.
-scientific methods, 459.
-scientific research, 463.
-shell mounds, 73.
-shelters, primitive, 99.
-social conditions at the beginning of the christian era, 269.
-social contacts of the christian religion, 268.
-social development, 13, 23, 49, 104, 114, 347, 443.
-social evolution, depends on variation, 347; character of, 443.
-social forces, balance of, 501.
-social groups, interrelation of, 454.
-social life, 31, 133, 145, 147, 171, 178-180, 208, 241, 243, 247, 255, 258, 283, 285, 289, 298, 300, 327, 371.
-social life of primitive man, 31, 32; development of social order, 41-45; intellectual character of, 47; religious and moral condition of, 46, 47; character of, 108; moral status of, 117.
-social opportunities, 455.
-social order, 8, 41, 122, 149, 150, 176-178, 193, 196, 444, 445.
-social organization, 145, 176-178, 210, 250-252, 432, 433, 444.
-social unrest, 502.
-society, 5, 175, 205, 255, 256, 268-273, 285, 301, 316, 443, 445, 446, 450, 451, 452.
-society, complexity of modern, 452.
-solon, constitution of, 235.
-spain, attempts at popular government in, 341.
-sparta, domination of, 241; character of spartan state, 242.
-spencer, herbert, 471.
-spiritual progress and material comfort, 500.
-state education, 482.
-struggle for existence develops the individual and the race, 106.
-summary of progress, 503.
-switzerland, democracy in cantons, 342.
-symonds, j. a., 366.
-teutonic liberty, 281; influence of, 282, 291, 292; laws, 291.
-theodosian code, 260.
-towns, in the middle ages, 329.
-trade and its social influence, 104.
-tylor, e. b., primitive culture, 114.
-tyndall, john, 471.
-unity of the human race, 66.
-universities, mediaeval, 475; english, 476; german, 476; american, 476; endowed, 484.
-universities, rise of, 360; nature of, 361; failure in scientific methods, 361.
-village community, 44.
-village sites, 77.
-warfare and social progress, 119.
-watt, james, power manufacture, 436.
-weissman, a., 467.
-western civilisation, important factors in its foundation, 268.
-whitney, ely, the cotton gin, 436.
-wissler, clark, culture areas, 26; trade, 104.
-world state, 493.
-world war, breaks the barriers of thought, 488.
-world war, iconoclastic effects of, 427.
-wyclif, john, and the english reformation, 378, 386.
-zwingli and the reformation in switzerland, 385.
-in the table of contents, the "part iii" division precedes chapter vii, but in the body of the book it precedes chapter viii.
-page numbers in this book are enclosed in curly braces. for its index, a page number has been placed only at the start of that section. in the html version of this book, page numbers are placed in the left margin.
-footnote numbers are enclosed in square brackets. each chapter's footnotes have been renumbered sequentially and moved to the end of that chapter.
-inconsistencies in the hyphenation and variations in spelling have been retained as in the original.
-wings of the wind
-author of "toby," "sunlight patch," "where the souls of men are calling," etc.
-boston small, maynard & company publishers
-copyright, 1920 by small, maynard & company (incorporated)
-to s. thruston ballard with whom the author has shared many a pleasant camp-fire this book is affectionately dedicated
-wings of the wind
-"to adventure and romance!"
-at last out of khaki, and dressed in conventional evening clothes, i felt as if i were indeed writing the first words of another story on the unmarred page of the incoming year. as i entered the library my mother, forgetting that it was i who owed her deference, came forward with outstretched arms and a sound in her voice like that of doves at nesting time. dad's welcome was heartier, even though his eyes were dimmed with happy tears. and old bilkins, our solemn, irreproachable butler, grinned benignly as he stood waiting to announce dinner. what a wealth of affection i had to be grateful for!
-i did not lack gratitude, but with the old year touching the heels of the new, and time commanding me to get in step, my return to civil life held few inducements. instead of a superabundance of cheer, i had brought from france jumpy nerves and a body lean with over training--natural results of physical exhaustion coupled with the mental reaction that must inevitably follow a year and a half of highly imaginative living.
-but there was another aspect less tangible, perhaps more permanent--and all members of combat divisions will understand exactly what i mean. when america picked up the gauntlet, an active conscience jerked me from a tuneful life and drove me out to war--for whether men are driven by conscience, or a government draft board, makes no difference in the effect upon those who come through. time after time, for eighteen months, i made my regular trips into hell--into a hell more revolting than mid-victorian evangelists ever pictured to spellbound, quaking sinners. never in this world had there been a parallel to the naked dangers and nauseous discomforts of that western front; never so prolonged an agony of head-splitting noises, lacerations of human flesh, smells that turned the body sick, blasphemies that made the soul grow hard, frenzied efforts to kill, and above all a spirit, fanatical, that urged each man to bear more, kill more, because he was a crusader for the right.
-into this red crucible i had plunged, and now emerged--remolded. in one brief year and a half i had lived my life, dreamed the undreamable, accomplished the unaccomplishable. much had gone from me, yet much had come--and it was this which had come that distorted my vision of future days; making them drab, making my fellows who had not taken the plunge seem purposeless and immature. either they were out of tune, or i was--and i thought, of course, that they were. what freshness could i bring to an existence of peace when my gears would not mesh with its humdrum machinery!
-my mother, ever quick to detect the workings of my mind as well as the variations of my body, had noticed these changes when i disembarked the previous week, and had become obsessed with the idea that i stood tottering on the brink of abysmal wretchedness. so, while i was marking time the few days at camp until the hour of demobilization, she summoned into hasty conference my father, our family doctor, and the select near relatives whose advice was a matter of habit rather than value, to devise means of leading me out of myself.
-this, i afterward learned, had been a weighty conference, resulting in the conclusion that i must have complete rest and diversion. but as my more recent letters home had expressed a determination to rush headlong into business--as a sort of fatuous panacea for jumpy nerves, no doubt--and since the conferees possessed an intimate knowledge of the mulish streak that coursed through my blood, their plans were laid behind my back with the greatest secrecy. therefore, when entering the library this last night in december and hurrying to my mother's arms, i had no suspicion that i was being drawn into a very agreeable trap, gilded by my father's abundant generosity.
-we sat late after dinner. somewhere in the hall bilkins hovered with glasses and tray to be on hand when the whistles began their screaming. in twenty years he had not omitted this new year's eve ceremony.
-"your wound never troubles you?" my mother asked, her solicitation over a scratch i had received ten months before not disguising a light of pride that charmed me.
-"i've forgotten it, mater. never amounted to anything."
-"still, you did leave some blood on french soil," dad spoke up, for this conceit appealed to him.
-"enough to grow an ugly rose, perhaps," i admitted.
-"i'll bet you grew pretty ones on the cheeks of those french girls," he chuckled.
-"pretty ones don't grow any more, on cheeks or anywhere else," i doggedly replied. "materialism's the keynote now--that's why i'm going back to work, at once."
-"oh," the mater laughed, "don't think of your father's stupid office, yet!"
-"there's nothing left to think of," i grumbled.
-"isn't there?" he exclaimed. "what'd you say if gates has the yacht in commission, and you take a run down to miami----"
-"or open the cottage, if you'd rather," she excitedly interrupted him. "i hadn't intended leaving new york this winter, but will chaperon a house party if you like!"
-"fiddlesticks! cruise, by all means," he spoke with good-natured emphasis. "get another fellow, and go after adventures and romances and that kind of thing! go after 'em hammer and tongs! by george, that's what i'd do if i were a boy, and had the chance!"
-they waited, rather expectantly.
-"cruising's all right," i said, without enthusiasm. "but it's a waste of time to go after romance and adventure. they died with the war."
-"ho!--they did, did they?" he laughed in mock derision. "what's become of your imagination--your vaporings? you used to be full of it!" and the mater supported him by exclaiming:
-"why, jack bronx! and i used to call you my pantheist! don't tell me your second sight for discovering the beautiful in things has failed you!"
-"it got put out by mustard gas, maybe," i murmured, remembering with bitterness some of the fellows who had been with me.
-what was romance here to the colorful, high-tensioned thing i had seen in devastated areas where loves of all gradations were torn and scattered and trampled into the earth like chaff! fretfully i told them this.
-they exchanged glances, yet she continued in coaxing vein:
-"you're such a big baby to've been such a big soldier! don't you know that romance is always just over the hill, hand in hand with adventure--both lonely for someone to play with? wars can't kill them! it's after wars, when a nation is wounded, that they become priceless!"
-"by george, that's right," dad cried. "come to think of it, that's exactly right! and gates has the same crew of six--men you've always known! even that rascal, pete, cooks better 'n ever! the whim, you can't deny, is the smartest ninety-six foot schooner yacht that sails! i say again that if i had the chance i'd turn her free on whatever magic course the wings of the wind would take her! that i would--by george!"
-and there was a note of deep appeal in the mater's voice as she asked:
-"why not get that boy you wrote so much about--tommy what's-his-name, the southerner? i like him!"
-this plan, which i now saw had been so carefully prepared--fruit of the secret conference--was but one in the million or so of others throughout america nurtured and matured by the brave army of fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, who stayed at home and gave their all, waiting with alternate hopes and fears, looking with prayerful eyes to the day that would bring a certain one back into their arms. what difference if some plans were elaborate and some as modest as a flower? who would dare distinguish between the cruise on a private yacht and the cake endearingly made in a hot little kitchen for the husky lad just returned from overseas? each was its own best expression of pride and love. each said in its tenderest way: "well done, my own!"
-a lump came into my throat.
-"it's rather decent of a fellow to have two such corking forbears," i murmured.
-the mater turned her gentle eyes to the fire, and dad, clearing his throat in a blustering way--though he was not at all a blustering man--replied:
-"perhaps it's rather decent of us to have a son who--er, i mean, who--well, er----"
-"why didn't you bring him home with you?"
-"same reason he couldn't take me home with him. there were people waiting, and turkey, and--but he won't want to go," i added. "he's crazy about a girl down there!"
-"fiddlesticks," my father chuckled. "any normal fellow'll want to cruise! i'll wire him myself--this very night!"
-bilkins entered with the tray, wishing us a happy new year. outside the whistles were beginning to blow. after we had pledged each other, and drunk to 1919, the mater, a light of challenge in her eyes, looked at me and gave another toast:
-"to a cruise and an adventure, jack!"
-"to romance," dad cried, gallantly raising her fingers to his lips.
-there was no use being a wet blanket, so with a laugh i said:
-"to adventure and romance!--mater, if they're still on earth i'll bring them home to you!"
-i knew it was a very silly toast, but let it go to please them--for why disillusion those who believe in the actuality of nonexistence?
-the mysterious monsieur
-ten days later tommy and i--and bilkins, whom i had begged of my father at the eleventh hour--stepped off the train at miami, stretched our arms and breathed deep breaths of balmy air. gates, his ruddy face an augury of good cheer, was there to meet us, and as he started off well laden with a portion of our bags, tommy whispered:
-"reminds me of the old chap in that picture 'the fisherman's daughter'!"
-the description did fit gates like an old glove, yet his most dominant characteristic was an unfailing loyalty to our family and an honest bluntness, both of which had become as generally recognized as his skill in handling the whim--"the smartest schooner yacht," he would have told you on a two-minute acquaintanceship, "that ever tasted salt."
-"we might open the cottage for a few days, gates," i said, as we were getting into the motor.
-"bless you, sir," he replied, caressing a weather-beaten chin with thumb and finger, "the whim's been tugging at her cable mighty fretful this parst fortnight! the crew hoped you'd be coming aboard at once, sir. fact is, we're wanting to be told how you and mr. thomas, here, licked those germans."
-"angels of the marne protect me," tommy groaned. "gates, i wouldn't resurrect those scraps for the kaiser's scalp!"
-"yes, he will," i promised, smiling at the old fellow's look of disappointment. "he'll probably talk you to death, though; that's the only trouble."
-"i'll tell you what," tommy said, "we'll chuck the cottage idea and go aboard; then tonight, gates, you pipe the crew--if that's the nautical term--whereupon i'll hold a two-hour inquest over our deceased war, on condition that we bury the subject forever more. we came down here to lose the last eighteen months of our lives, gates, not keep 'em green. maybe you don't know it, but we're after the big adventure!"
-"i carn't see how you help talking of it, sir--all that gas, and liquid fire, and bursting shells," gates stared at him in perplexity.
-"it's an effort, but i refuse to turn phonograph like some of the old timers--not that i love 'em any less for it, lord knows!" then he began to laugh, and turned to me, adding: "one of the first things i did after getting home was to drop in on a very dear gentleman who's been a friend of our family since the ark. he came at me with open arms, crying: 'well, thomas, sit right down and tell me about your experiences!' i side-tracked that--for i hate the word. we didn't go over for experiences! but he wouldn't be denied. 'try to think,' he commanded. 'why, thomas, old as i am, i remember when stonewall jackson struck that brilliant blow----' and you can shoot me for a spy, jack, if he didn't keep me there five hours while he fought the entire civil war! no sir-ee! after tonight, never again!"
-but tommy's talk, to which the crew listened in rapt attention, consumed nearer six than two, or even five hours. these men were hungry for authentic first-hand information--being too old to have sought it for themselves.
-it must not be inferred that the whim's crew consisted of the ancient and decrepit. more than once my father had said that if ever he should get in a tight place there was no band of six he would rather have at his back than this one headed by gates; nor did he except pete, the prince of cooks. yet who, by the wildest stretch of fancy, could have contemplated tight places or dangers as the trim yacht rode peacefully at anchor an eighth of a mile off our dock at smiling miami? to every man aboard such things as death and the shedding of blood had ceased with the armistice, and gates would have taken his oath, were it asked of him, that our course pointed only toward laughing waters, blue skies, and emerald shore-lines.
-early next morning we were under way when tommy pounded on my stateroom door, challenging me to a dip overboard. there was a glorious joy in his voice, as far reaching as reveille, that found response in the cockles of my heart. gates, never happier than when standing beneath stretched canvas, hove-to as he saw us dash stark naked up the companionway stairs and clear the rail head-first, but he laid by only while we had our splash and continued the course southward the moment our hands grasped the gangway.
-"we're cruising, not swimming," he said bluntly, as we reached the deck. "but i'll say this," he called after us, "you're both in about as fine condition as men get to be. i'll give that to the army!" which was true, except for the fact that i might have been pronounced overtrained. tommy and i were as hard as nails, our skin glowed like satin--but, better than this, his spirit was quick with the love of living, charged with a contagion that had already begun to touch my own.
-half an hour later he mumbled through a crumbling biscuit:
-"if pete ever cooked better grub than this it was in a previous incarnation!"
-"man achieves his greatest triumph but once in life," i admitted. "it's self-evident."
-one loses track of time while sailing in south florida waters. there is a lassitude that laughs at clocks; the lotus floats over the waves even as over the land, and a poetic languor steals into the soul breeding an indifference to hours and days--wretched things, at best, that were only meant for slaves! neither of us realized our passing into barnes sound, and saw only that the whim, sails gracefully drawing, cut the water as cleanly as a knife.
-another day passed during which we shot at sharks, or trawled, or lay on deck smoking and occasionally gazing over the side at displays of fish and flora twenty feet beneath us. but upon the third morning i asked:
-"where are we bound, gates?"
-"mr. thomas says key west, sir, and then havana."
-"mr. thomas, indeed," i laughed, for it was exactly like tommy to take over the command of a ship, or anything else that struck his fancy.
-before leaving miami he had received a twenty page letter from the bluegrass region of kentucky which threw him into a state of such volatile ineptitude that i was well satisfied to let him give what orders he would, sending us to the world's end for all i cared. in a very large measure tommy's happiness was my own, as i knew that mine would always be dear to him.
-during our most trying hours in france, thoughts of this wonderful girl, whose name was nell, unfailingly kept his spirits high. in moments of confidence that come to pals on the eve of battle i saw that some day they might be eternal "buddies"--certainly if he had his way; and toward this achievement he had been, since graduating from the university of virginia, directing every effort to build up a stock farm which his family had more or less indifferently carried for generations. next to winning nell, his greatest ambition was to raise a derby winner--according to him a more notable feat than being president.
-the sixth of april, 1917, had caught him with a promising string of yearlings, each an aristocrat in the equine world of blue-bloods, each a hope for that most classic of american races. but he had thrown these upon the hands of a trainer and submerged his personal interests six hours after congress declared war. at the same moment, indeed, all of kentucky was turning to a greater tradition than that of "horses and whiskey"; and, by the time the draft became operative, the board of one county searched it from end to end without finding a man to register--because those in the fighting age, married or single, with dependents or otherwise, had previously rushed to the colors. this, and the fact that his state, with three others, headed the nation with the highest percentage in physical examinations, added luster to the shield of his old commonwealth--though he roundly insisted that 'twas not kentucky's manhood, but her womanhood, who deserved the credit. after our cruise he was going back to the thoroughbreds, now within a few months of the required derby age; and of course i had promised to be on hand at churchill downs when his colors flashed past the grandstand.
-late in the afternoon the whim docked at key west and, while gates was ashore arranging for our clearance, tommy and i ambled up town in search of daily papers. we were seated in the office of a rather seedy hotel when its proprietor approached, saying:
-"'scuse me, gents,--are you from that boat down there?"
-i answered in the affirmative.
-"going to havana?"
-this, too, i admitted.
-"well, there's a feller by the desk who missed the steamer, and he hoped--er----"
-"we'd take him over," tommy supplied the halting words. "where is he?"
-turning, we easily distinguished the man by his timid glances in our direction.
-"whiz-bang," tommy whispered. "what the deuce would you call it, jack?"
-except for his age, that might have been sixty, he was most comical to look upon--in stature short and round, suggesting kinship with a gnome. his head seemed too large for the body, yet this might have been because it carried a plenteous shock of straw-colored hair, with mustache and beard to match. he was attired in "knickers" and pleated jacket, that looked as if he'd slept in them, and his fat legs were knock-kneed. on the floor about his feet lay almost every conceivable type and age of traveling bag, with the inevitable camera.
-"what's his name?" tommy asked, not that that would have made any difference if his passport were in order.
-"registered as 'monsieur dragot, of roumania,'" the proprietor answered.
-"roumania!" tommy looked at me. "let's go meet him, jack."
-monsieur dragot turned out to be the original singed cat, for assuredly he possessed more attractive qualities inside than were exteriorly visible, and from a first shyness that did not lack charm he expanded briskly. after visiting a "dry" café, to seal this fortunate acquaintanceship--as he insisted upon calling it--he warmed up to us and we to him, with the result that his bags were soon carried down and stowed in our spare stateroom. leaving him there, we went on deck.
-"dragot," tommy mused. "speaks with a slight accent, but i can't make out what!"
-"roumanian, possibly," i suggested, "as he comes from there."
-"you rather excel yourself," he smiled. "registering from roumania, however, isn't prima facie evidence that he's a roumanian."
-"he's a clever little talker, all the same."
-"right o! too clever. i'm wondering if we aren't a pair of chumps to take him."
-"he may be a crook, for all we know. did you notice what he said about holding a commission from azuria, and then hurrying to explain that azuria isn't on the ordinary maps--just a wee bit of a kingdom up in the carpathians, yet in the confines of roumania? i call that fishy!"
-"not entirely so, tommy. when you said it might now be turning into a republic, did you notice how proudly he declared that the descendants of basil the wolf couldn't be humbled?--that, situated in moldavia, and escaping the ravages of the bulgarian army, they were stronger today than ever?"
-"sounds like raving, sonny. who the dickens is basil the wolf? no, jack, that doesn't tell us anything."
-"it tells us he couldn't have been inspired like that unless the place and people were real to him!"
-"well, pirate or priest," tommy laughed, "he'll do if he waltzes us up to the big adventure. you're about fit enough to tackle one now!" during the past forty-eight hours he had openly rejoiced with gates at my improvement and tried, with the indifferent success of an unbeliever, to play up at top speed that silly idea of an approaching adventure.
-we had strolled aft, and now stopped to watch a tall jamaica negro--or so we thought him to be--asking gates for a place in the crew. his clothing was too scant to hide the great muscles beneath, and tommy touched my arm, saying:
-"there's a specimen for you!"
-had he been cast in bronze a critic might have said that the sculptor, by over-idealizing masculine perfection, had made the waist too small, the hips too slender, for the powerful chest and shoulders; the wrists and ankles might have been thought too delicate as terminals for the massive sinews leading into them. he smiled continually, and spoke in a soft, almost timid voice.
-"i like that big fellow," i said. perhaps i had been well called a pantheist, having always extravagantly admired the perfect in form or face or the wide outdoors.
-feeling my interests he turned from gates, looking at me with dog-like pathetic trustfulness. among the things he told us briefly--for the crew stood ready to cast off--was that he once followed the sea, but in more recent years lived by fishing up sponges and at times supplying shark meat to the poorer quarter of key west. the carcass of a water fowl tied to his boat, while he occupied himself with sponges, would sometimes attract a shark; then he would strip, take a knife in his teeth, and dive.
-i glanced at gates, but saw no incredulity in his face.
-in another hour, at nearly dusk, key west had grown small and finally sank below the horizon, leaving only its three skeleton-like towers standing against the sky--standing erect with all nerves strained, watch-dogs of the darkening sea; ears cocked, to catch a distressed cry from some waif out in the mysterious night.
-looking back along our wake i imagined the big black man standing as we had left him on the dock, gazing after us with patient regret; and i was glad to have given him the handful of coins at parting, little dreaming how many times that loaf upon the water would come floating in to me.
-monsieur dragot revealed himself more and more to our astonished eyes as we sat that night on deck. he had been a professor in the university of bucharest, and hinted at an intimate entente with the reigning house of azuria. besides being versed in many sciences, including medicine, he spoke seven languages and read several others. but these things were drawn from him by tommy's artful questions, rather than being said in boastfulness. indeed, monsieur was charmingly, almost touchily, modest. of his business in havana he gave no hint, yet this happened to be the one piece of information that tommy seemed most possessed to find out.
-"you'll be in cuba long, monsieur?" he asked.
-"no one can say. a day, a week, a month, a year--it is an elusive search i follow, my young friends. may i call you that?"
-we bowed, and i deferentially suggested:
-"if we can help you in any way?----"
-"it is the beautiful spirit of america," he sighed, "to help those in distress, yet there is nothing to do but watch--watch. for you have not yet been here long enough to see a child in these waters--no?"
-tommy, perhaps because he came from the south and was on more or less friendly terms with superstitions, glanced over the rail as if an infant might be floating around almost anywhere. our strange guest's mysterious hints were, indeed, rather conducive to creeps.
-then, without further comment, he arose, tossed his cigar overboard, ran his fingers through his mass of hair, and went below.
-"what d'you suppose he meant?" i asked, in a guarded voice.
-"simple enough," tommy whispered. "he's got apartments to let upstairs."
-"get out, man," i laughed. "that chap has more sense than either of us!"
-"then he'd better come across with some of it. you remember the freckled lad at soissons who got fuzzy-headed from too much concussion? well, he saw children around everywhere, too! it's a sure sign, jack!" but now he laughed, adding: "oh, i suppose our little roumanian's all right, only----"
-he was interrupted by monsieur, himself, who emerged from the companionway door.
-"i come again," he smiled apologetically, "because tomorrow our journeys part, and i have shown scant consideration for your kindness."
-"it's we who feel the obligation," tommy murmured. "now, if we could only help you find the child--supposing, of course, that's what you're watching for!"
-monsieur gave a deep sigh, appearing to be quite overcome by a secret grief; but after a moment he looked at us, asking ingenuously:
-"you think my behavior unusual?"
-"well, since you make a point of it," i laughed, and hesitated.
-"i see, i see! but, my young friends, you must take my word that i cannot tell you much." he drew us nearer. "this i may say: that, after roumania dropped out of the war, the new chancellor of azuria wired imploringly for me to leave my classes at the university and come to him--because for years i have advised with azurian statesmen, frequently going on special missions. by the recent death of the old chancellor a certain paper came to light. this was a secret agent's report sent from havana in 1914----i may not divulge its contents. but for the war it would have been followed up at once. whether the same hopes exist now--well, i am here to discover. ah, my young friends," his voice trembled, "much depends upon this! i must--i must find the child if it lives!"
-tommy's eyes grew round.
-"i can say no more," monsieur added. "accept my thanks and gratitude for the help you have given me. and now--bon soir."
-he bowed, backing himself toward the stairs as though leaving a royal presence, doing it so easily, so naturally, that we did not even smile. when he had quite disappeared we turned and faced each other.
-"what do you think now?" i asked.
-"i think he's a treasure," tommy cried. his face had lighted with a new excitement. "if we want any fun on this trip, don't let him get out of our sight! stick to him! i won't deny he has a screw loose, but----"
-"that makes it all the better," i laughed, adding: "looks like the mater's toast might come true, after all, doesn't it!"--for i had described our new year's eve to tommy.
-"sonny, i've a hunch we won't even have to tiptoe over the hill to find adventures with him around! he's their regular hanging-out place!"
-gates came up, and seemed vastly amused when we told him of our hopes.
-"he doesn't look like much of an adventurer, sir, but he's certainly a change from the great run of people i've met. still, i carn't see how we're going to keep him against his will!"
-"neither can i, tommy."
-"use a little persuasion."
-"but suppose he won't persuade?"
-"what's the use of crossing bridges," tommy grinned. "if he won't persuade, then sit on his head--anything, i don't care! the main thing is--keep him!"
-the girl in the café
-next morning began the conversion, or rather the persuasion, of monsieur dragot to remain a while longer with the whim. pete started off with another triumphant breakfast and before our guest had gone far with it his face was agleam with pleasure. tommy and i put ourselves out to be agreeable, telling him jokes that sometimes registered but frequently did not. yet we were on most affable terms when, stuffed to repletion, we leaned back and lighted cigarettes.
-"professor," tommy suggested, "i think if you stay with us you'll have a better chance to find that child!"
-our guest beamed agreeably at the appelative, then looked toward me.
-"i'm sure of it," i said. "we've nowhere to go but anywhere, and that ought to fall in with your plans."
-"pardieu, you overwhelm me! you mean i may sail about with you, searching?"
-"nothing simpler," i assured him. "we've rather taken a fancy to you, haven't we, tommy?"
-"double it," tommy laughed. "we agreed last night that you looked like a million-dollar bill to us!"
-"oh, my boys," monsieur sputtered with embarrassment and pleasure, "you disarm my power to thank you--see, i blush!"
-"damned if he isn't," tommy grinned at me. "what d'you know about this little gezabo, anyhow!"
-monsieur's face grew more composed as he showed his interest in a new word.
-"you say--gazebo?" he asked, blandly. "is that not a belvedere?"
-"gazebo is, yes; but i said gezabo--that's you!"
-"your american indian language?"
-"sure thing. pure talk. if you're interested in indians, stick around. why not get the havana police to help us hunt the kiddie?"--i had known that before long tommy would be using a first personal pronoun.
-"bah! they are of no value! but even i have small hope of finding her. the report was written nearly six years ago, and she has been gone upwards of twenty years."
-"so it's a she," tommy looked over at me and nodded. "well, nearly six years, and upwards of twenty, plus what she was when she left home, leads me to believe the lady's almost old enough to take care of herself!"
-monsieur considered this a great joke, exclaiming:
-"it is not so much as that! she is but three--to me, always three! yet, as you say, i might better find her with you than anywhere! a despairing search, my boys!"
-tommy's eyes were twinkling as he murmured sympathetically:
-"if it's a three-year-old you want, there's a place in havana called 'casa de beneficencia maternidad,' where furtive-eyed damsels leave kiddies at twilight, ring the doorbell, and beat it. you might pick up one there, as a last resort."
-"but--but," monsieur began to sputter, when i threw an orange at tommy, explaining to our agitated guest that he was a cut-up devoid of ideas, really an intellectual outcast.
-"well," he cried, seeming to exude pleasure, "i will stay with you a while, eh? maybe we can teach him something--this cut-upping tommy of yours!"
-he had fallen in with our scheme most agreeably, and later tommy confided to me that he was glad we wouldn't have to sit on the old fellow's head.
-passing that afternoon beneath morro castle, the whim tacked prettily through the entrance of havana harbor and in another scant two miles dropped anchor.
-havana bay is a dancing sheet of water, as bright as the skies and hardly less contagious than the city's laughter. but when one drops anchor and then hoists it up, one recoils from the black and slimy mud those blue waves hide; and this circumstance, slight as it may seem, held a potent influence on our future.
-riding nearby was another yacht, in size and design very much like the whim, except that her rigging had an old-fashioned cut. her masts were checked with age and, where our craft showed polished brass, she long ago had resorted to white paint. at the same time, she gave the impression of aristocracy--broken-down aristocracy, if you choose. no bunting fluttered at her masthead, no country's emblem waved over her taffrail, and the only hint of nationality or ownership was a rather badly painted word orchid on her name plate. taken altogether, she was rather difficult to place.
-"let the professor try in spanish," tommy said.
-monsieur took the megaphone and did so, but with no better success. then to our profound admiration he called in half a dozen languages; finally growling: "lascars, likely!"--and proceeded to hail in something he afterwards explained was lascar gibberish. all of which failed to attract the surly pair who played at cards.
-"now you might try airedale and pekinese," tommy suggested, but this was lost on the serious little man. yet he did call in another strangely sounding tongue, then with a sigh laid the megaphone down, saying:
-"they must be stuffies!"
-"dummies, sir, dummies," tommy corrected. "nice people don't say stuffies, ever!"
-"your tommy does so much cut-upping, eh!" he smiled at me. i had noticed that when preoccupied or excited the idioms of his various languages got tumbled into a rather hopeless potpourri.
-quarantine and customs were passed in the leisurely fashion of cuban officials, and monsieur asked to be sent immediately ashore, promising to return at sundown. there was a man, the secret agent, he explained, who held important information.
-"i'll have the launch for you at machina wharf, sir," gates told him, but he refused to consider this, declaring that he could hire any of the boatmen thereabout to bring him out.
-"he's that considerate, sir," gates later confided to me. "but i carn't make head nor tail of him. bilkins says he went in to lay out his clothes, and the things he's got stuck in those bags would astonish you!"
-nearing six o'clock a skiff drew alongside, being propelled by one oar--a method much in vogue with havana harbormen--and when monsieur came aboard we saw at once evidences of disappointment. his arms hung listlessly, and his large head drooped forward as if at last its weight had proven too great for the squat body.
-"what's wrong?" i asked.
-"how do you know there is anything wrong, my boy jack?"
-"you look so killingly happy," tommy said, joining us.
-monsieur's pale eyes stared for a moment, then blinked several times before he murmured:
-"the man i went to see is dead--murdered, just after he mailed that report. so i have no information. these police called it suicide because a knife lay in his hand. bah! i could place a knife in the hand of any man i kill!"
-"was he a friend of yours?"
-"no. i have never seen him. but he knew something!"
-"he evidently knew too much," tommy suggested.
-"you speak true, my boy. it seems to be a dangerous thing here to know too much of certain matters!"
-"well," i laughed, trying to put a heartiness in my voice and drive away his depression, "let's go ashore for dinner! then the opera--and afterwards another bite where the high life eats? what-say, professor?"
-as it turned out, however, neither the dinner, nor all of tommy's banter, nor madame butterfly sung in spanish (as if it could!) succeeded in restoring monsieur to a normal temper.
-"we've simply got to make him laugh," i whispered to tommy. "it's a matter of principle now!"
-"then wait till we have supper, and get him soused," my confederate cautiously replied. "that'll do it. but you'd better not drink much," he added. "how are the nerves this evening?"
-"i've almost forgotten them," i answered.
-but tommy was persistent at times. unknown to me he was now preparing a report to wire the mater.
-"sleeping better?" he asked.
-"lying to me?"
-"a little," i laughed outright. "but honestly i'm in heaps better shape!"
-"oh, i've seen you improving from day to day, but we want to put it over right. so don't hit the asphalt too hard tonight."
-and in all justice to myself and my friendship to tommy i really did not intend to. what place was it that some one said is paved with good intentions?
-leaving the opera house we mixed with the laughing tide that flowed along the prado, and by the merest chance--destinies of nations, much less our own, sometimes rest upon a merest chance--dropped in for supper at a fashionable place patronized by those who wish to see the brightest of havana life. there were other places, of course, that might have offered quite as much, but this one happened to be on the route we had taken.
-midnight passed, but still we lingered, seated on the latticed balcony that encircles an inner court where cabaret features are held--suggestive of a bull ring. one rather piquant spanish girl, playing her accompaniment on a guitar, gazed softly up at tommy while singing about some wonderful nirvana, an enchanted island that floated in a sea of love. it was a pretty song, even if more intense than temperate, and pleased with it he tossed her a coin; whereupon she tilted her chin and raised a shoulder, asking in the universal language of cabarets if she should not come up and drink a health with the imperioso señor. but he, whose heart was beating against a twenty-page letter from a nymph in the bluegrass region of kentucky, laughed a negative, this time throwing her a flower that she kissed lightly and put in her hair.
-we had supped well, the mandolins were now tinkling, incessantly, and this, mingled with the silvery tones of glasses touched in eager pledges, created an ensemble of sounds dear to the heart of every true bohemian. effects were good here. the ceilings and walls of our balcony were lighted by vari-colored electric bulbs artfully placed amidst growing vines that drooped in festoons above the tables, producing a fairy-like enchantment. and, indeed, the café proved to be a mart not only of enchantments but entertainments, including a popular gambling salon.
-at last, in desperation seeing that monsieur refused to be cheered, tommy sprang up, saying:
-"come, gezabo, let's court dame roulette! join us, jack?"
-this i declined, and watched them move off arm in arm. but a strange thing arrested my attention for, as they preceded down the corridor, i saw a man in yachting clothes--the uniform of a captain--draw quickly back into an alcove as if wanting to escape discovery. when they had passed he looked out, more fearfully than curiously, and after a moment of indecision slowly followed them. urged by a suspicion that this was in some way associated with the professor, i arose and also followed. yet upon reaching the salon the stranger was nowhere to be seen. tommy and monsieur were each buying a stack of chips, the place seemed quiet and orderly, so without being observed i returned to my table.
-now left alone i leaned back, idly twisting the stem of my glass, looking over the sea of merry people who made a picture that quickened interest. for i am particularly fond of sitting apart and watching an assemblage of handsomely groomed men and women laughing, talking and making love. i like to guess whether fears or tears or desperate courage hide behind their gayety; whether the rapidly wagging tongues are uttering inanities or planning naughty things; whether the love-making will stop with coffee and liqueur, or, lighted by them, burn into eternity.
-all phases of human banality and human enigma seemed to be represented. there were languid beauties of the latin type whose drooping eyes might have expressed ennui, passion, pride--anything, in fact, that one's humor chose to fancy; the blonde by adoption was there, with heavy ear-rings of jet, whose habit was that of looking slant-wise through her cigarette smoke and raising one black, though carefully plucked, eyebrow; also there were a few american women, by far the most smartly dressed. great was the throb of life in this discreet and fashionable café. i felt its tremendous emphasis, and was content.
-then, quite without warning, i caught my breath as my glance fell upon a girl dining with an old chap but three tables away. among the habitués of the ritzes of two continents there could not have been found another like her, for never had i beheld a face as exquisite--and i've seen many. it possessed a beauty that left me helpless--yet there was an indefinable sadness in it that might have suggested a haunting fear.
-one of the lights among the vines hung close to her, and i could see these things. even could i see the color of her eyes, deep purple eyes--the tone the wild iris takes at twilight. when she leaned one way i might have thought the rich abundance of her hair contained spun copper or deep red gold, and again i would have sworn it matched the mellow brown of chestnuts; in all forming an arrangement of waves, each refusing to stay in place yet never really getting out of order, each coquetting with a subtle mischief that found an echo in her lips. her neck and shoulders were of that perfection that men realize but can not analyze; and her mouth, laughing or in repose, was maddening.
-and there was an added charm quite apart from hair and eyes and lips. this i had never before seen in any face. animation? yes, and more. interest in the life about her? assuredly, to a very marked degree. wildness? that was it!--a wildness, subtly blended with refinement, that found expression in every quick look; as if someone had put a fawn there from the forest and it was trying, half humorously, half confidently, to keep itself from running away in fright. it was this glory of wildness that she typified which made my cheeks grow hot with watching.
-but who has ever made a picture worthy of his dreams! how, then, can i describe this girl, when painter, sculptor, writer--all--would miserably fail at attempting to portray a beauty whereon imagination might gaze in frank amazement and admit itself surpassed! here, indeed, was all the vital, colorful magnetism of a type that men are quick to die for!
-her gown--yet how can man describe a woman's gown? it was a very rich affair and added to the picture. but this i did observe distinctly, that in revealing her arms and shoulders there was no slightest hint of that abandonment of décolleté which denotes the approach of feminine despair, nor was the color in her cheeks a result of anything less pure than the kiss of air and sunshine.
-her vis-à-vis, almost too old to have been her father, was one of those whose nationality is difficult to place. his hair, mustache and vandyke beard were gray; he was tall, thin, and perhaps seventy-five years old. his complexion impressed one most unpleasantly because of its sallow, almost yellow, hue; and although i had not yet had a full-face view of him i intuitively knew that his teeth were long and thin and yellow. a slight palsy never let his head be still, as if some persistent agent were making him deny, eternally deny, an inarticulate accusation--as accusations of the conscience perforce must be.
-despite his grumpy silence he showed an air of repressed excitement, sending frequent, shifty glances over the room; and that he possessed the temper of a fiend i did not doubt after seeing him turn upon the waiter for some trifling omission and reduce that usually placid individual to a state of amazed incapacity. then a quick, really a pitiful, look of terror came into the girl's eyes as she shrank back in her chair. it lasted but a second before she was again making herself agreeable--acting, of course--and i wanted to cross to him and demand: "why is this lady afraid?"
-i hated the man; at first sight i loathed him. it was one of those antipathies sometimes observed in dogs that see each other from a distance--hair up and teeth bared. the feeling is spontaneous, unpredictable, and the usual result is fight.
-up to this time she had not seen me, or even known of my insignificant existence; but suddenly, as though it were a sally of banter whose blade he parried in the nick of time, her laughter-bathed eyes darted past him and squarely met my own; her lips sobered into a half parted expression of interest and, some strange thought--perhaps unbidden--coming into her mind, sent the blood surging to her cheeks. as quickly as this happened it had gone, and again she seemed to be absorbing the attention of her vis-à-vis.
-once, years ago in the dolomites, i thoughtlessly struck my staff upon a piece of rock when, lo, a wonderful tone arose therefrom. and the memory of that rich, unbidden sound was re-awakened now as the contact of our glances stirred something which thrilled me with a maddening sense of harmony. as an e string vibrates when another e is struck somewhere near to it, so my being vibrated with each tilt of her head, each movement of her lips. yet however much i conjured the magnet of my will to make her look again, she successfully, if coquettishly, resisted.
-the spanish waiter came up softly to refill my glass; an attention i permitted, murmuring happily:
-"right, kiddo! stay me with flagons, comfort me with champagne, for my heart is faint with love!"--only solomon didn't sing it quite like that, the fickle old dog, nor did my waiter understand me, which was just as well.
-engrossed with watching her i saw a new look come into her face as she quickly whispered something across the table. her vis-à-vis turned impatiently as a man approached them, who to my surprise was the yacht captain--the fellow who had apparently followed tommy and monsieur. he was a well-built blond, with a bullet-shaped head, high cheek bones and deep set eyes--pig eyes. his right cheek bore several scars which, considering his type, strongly suggested a german of university dueling experiences. so i looked on him with a livelier suspicion, even as she seemed to be doing.
-in an undertone he now said something that brought the old man to his feet. with fear written on their faces they talked for several minutes, during which the blond jerked his head once or twice toward the gambling rooms. the girl had leaned forward watching them intently. then with a peremptory order the old one sent him away and sank back into his chair; but a moment later, clutching the tablecloth, he spoke a few words that made her recoil in evident horror.
-together they started toward the exit, but having taken a few steps she left him with a brief word and returned, presumably for her glove. partially free from his eternal vigilance, she raised her eyes without dissimulation and looked quickly, appealingly into mine; then down at her hand, on which she leaned, whose fingers were unfolding from a little ball of paper. again into my eyes she looked--a look of infinite appeal.
-across the void from her world to my own she was signaling--trying to tell me what?--and frantically my fancy sprang to translate the message. but as the man, with growing agitation, had been watching narrowly throughout this--a condition of which i felt sure she must be acutely aware--i dared not make the slightest sign. yet she seemed to understand and, joining him, they passed out.
-i pounced upon that crumpled ball of paper and was back in my chair unfolding it with nervous fingers. feverishly pressing out the creases i saw that it was, indeed, a corner torn from the winecard, and written upon it--nothing. absolutely nothing!
-perhaps i should have laughed, but as a matter of fact i cursed. deep in my soul i cursed. her little joke, her pretty bit of acting, had left a stinging sense of loss. as suddenly as this ruthless comet swept into my orbit it had swung out and on; for one delicious moment we had touched across the infinite, but now my harmony was shattered, the strings of my harp were snapped, curled up, and could not be made to play again.
-but the spanish girl was playing her guitar, once more singing her impassioned song of the enchanted island in its sea of love, which made me pity myself so much that i permitted the waiter again to fill my glass. what a wondrous adventure this night might have brought!
-such thoughts wore not to be profaned by the companionship of tommy and monsieur, so i slipped away, hailed a cab and alighted at the machina wharf. the boatman there, whom i aroused to take me out, was one of the most stupid fellows i've ever encountered. at any rate, someone was stupid.
-going aboard the yacht i stood for a moment listening to the lonely sweep of his oar sculling shoreward through the murky night. over the castellated walls of la cabaña raced low, angry clouds. was it a storm brewing, or had some supernal madness touched the night?
-a pleasant sense of motion came over me that suggested cradling waves, and i was sleepily wondering why we had gone out on a day that portended storms, when a tapping at my stateroom door was followed by someone whispering:
-"aren't you ever going to get up, you lazy old dear?"
-it was a girl's voice.
-gradually and cautiously i drew the sheet about my chin, feeling no little confused to have a girl five feet away whispering pet names at me through a thin partition.
-"aren't you?" she repeated, more sweetly imperious.
-"you bet," i stammered.
-"then do hurry! it's almost ten, and i've been waiting such a long time!"
-whereupon i heard her moving off, pressing her hands against the panels for steadiness, and there struck me as having been an endearing pathos in the way she said: "such a long time!"
-this was, no doubt, some of tommy's doing. he had invited friends aboard for luncheon, and was now daring one of them to play this joke. but my glance turned to the room, to its equipment and toilette articles which were large and curiously shaped, and the numbing truth crept into my brain that the stupid boatman had put me on the wrong yacht.
-i had known some tight places in france, but this one simply squeezed me all over. there was nothing for it, of course, but go out and explain--yet how could a chap appear at noon draped in a sheet! the situation confused me, but i decided to search the wardrobe, of my unknown host, to borrow his razor, appropriate a new toothbrush that should be found in a box somewhere, and select flannels and linens in keeping with the hour. still balanced between confusion and panic i must have done these things because, fittingly attired though with no very good fit, i opened my door, stepped softly along the passageway, and entered the cabin.
-on a wide couch built in at one side a girl lay reading. her head was toward me, but as i advanced she arose with a low cry of gladness, saying:
-"so you're here at last----!" then with a little gasp drew back, facing me in the most entrancing attitude of bewilderment.
-it was the girl who had left that ball of paper!
-the sea, always my friend, at this moment did a rather decent thing; it gave the yacht a firm but gentle lurch and sent us into each other's arms. perhaps nothing else in all the world of chances could so effectively have broken the ice between us, for we were laughing as i helped her back to the couch; and, as our eyes met, again we laughed.
-"i didn't know," she said, "that father brought a guest aboard last night!"
-"awkward of him, wasn't it?" i stammered, sparring for time.
-"one is apt to be awkward in weather like this," she graciously admitted.
-"you don't know how profoundly aware i am of--of how terribly true that is," i stumbled along. "is he on deck?" for, oh, if i could only get to see him five minutes alone!
-"no, he's unusually lazy this morning; but i've called, him, the old dear!"
-a chill crept up my spine--crept up, crept down, and then criss-crossed. but she must know of her mistake before we had gone so far that putting me ashore would be a serious inconvenience--for i knew he would put me ashore at the nearest point, if not, indeed, set me adrift in an open boat. therefore i suggested:
-"wouldn't it be a good idea to call him again? it's rather important!"
-"oh, you think we shouldn't have gone out in a storm like this? i've been dreadfully uneasy!"
-"no danger at all," i declared, with affected indifference, adding: "the weather isn't half as rough as 'the old dear' will be, take my word for it!"
-a shadow of mystification passed over her wonderful face, yet she smiled with well-bred tolerance, saying:
-"you are quite droll."
-"drollery is the brother of good fellowship," i replied, helping her across the reeling cabin. as i had feared, she went directly to my room where the door had swung back showing an empty bunk.
-"why, he's up, after all," she glanced over her shoulder at me.
-"i believe he is," i idiotically affirmed.
-"but where?"--this more to herself.
-"hiding, maybe," i ventured, taking a facetious squint about.
-"hiding?" she asked, in mild surprise.
-"er--playing a trick on us! he's a funny old dog at tricks!"
-"funny old dog?" she drew slightly away from me. "do you mean my father, mr.--er?"
-"jack," i prompted, more than ever embarrassed and wishing the ocean would come up and swallow me; for i realized, alas, that my gods, by whom i was reasonably well remembered in so far as concerned physique, had been shamelessly remiss in their bestowal of brains.
-"jack?" she slowly repeated. "what an odd name!"
-this made me feel queer.
-"where do you live," i asked, "that you think it's an odd name? the states are crawling with jacks! it's even the democratic emblem!"
-her perplexity was fast approaching alarm when we heard a muffled report above, followed by a trembling of the yacht. someone called an order that sounded far away in the wind.
-"hold tight," i said, "while i see if anything's wrong!"
-but i did not leave her side, knowing exactly what had happened. we had snapped our mainsheet, that was all; letting the boom swing out and putting us in the trough of the waves where we might expect a few wobbly minutes until the sailors could work in a new line. there was no danger and i reassured her at once, but she merely asked:
-"was my father on deck?"
-"i didn't look," i answered, wondering why she thought i knew.
-"won't you see?" her patience was becoming exhausted.
-"i'm crazy to. but first let me help you back--you can't make it alone!"
-"oh, yes, i can," she murmured. "i always make things alone!"
-i tried to fathom the meaning of this, but gave it up and started to go on deck. if i could take her father off to one side and explain, well and good. he would perhaps sympathize with my mistake when he understood that it was partially the result of a desire to fill monsieur with spirits. considering this, i spoiled everything by asking:
-"what does he look like?"
-"my father?" she gasped, in a wondering way.
-"no--yes--certainly not! i mean--oh, this is intolerable! i don't know your father, never saw him in my life--unless he was the one with you last night when you drove me frantic with that ball of paper trick! but what you did has nothing to do with my being here. i've not wilfully followed. a stupid boatman mistook your yacht for my own when i was--i mean to say, when i was too engrossed with the memory of you to notice his mistake."
-from alarm her look gave way to wonderment, then almost to mirth. it was a hard place for a girl to be in, and i expected her to leave me now, find the old chap and promptly have me hanged to a yard-arm. the fact that there are no yard-arms on schooner yachts made no difference. and i do believe she was considering that when a sailor passed us, looking enough like tommy to have been his twin brother.
-"jack," she said to him, "tell mr. graham to come below!"
-the fellow saluted and left, and i stared at her in surprise, saying:
-"then my name can't seem very odd to you, miss graham!"
-she was regarding me as though trying to discover what kind of a species i was that had got on her father's yacht, when the sailor came back followed by a husky brute in uniform. intuitively i stiffened to meet the crisis, but even at this eleventh hour a respite came.
-"he ain't aboard," the other jack whispered, and the captain--for the burly one was only the captain, after all--saluted, saying:
-"i've just now found out, ma'am, he ain't aboard!"
-"not aboard? what do you mean?"
-"after bringing you on last night he went ashore again to get a little ball of paper, but told me to sail the minute he returned. i don't understand it, ma'am, for later the watch woke me to say mr. graham had come."
-"good lord," i groaned. "it was i, and not your father, who answered the watch."
-for several minutes we stared blankly into each other's faces, but it was she who broke the deadly silence.
-"we must hurry back," she calmly told him, adding with a nervous catch in her breath: "what a joke on daddy!"
-"a scream of a joke," i muttered, "----one he'll roar over till god-knows-when!"
-"we can't go back, miss sylvia," the captain now said. "when our mainsheet parted the boom gybed so hard that it opened a seam. it may hold on this tack, and it may not, but we'd sink if the weather hit us on the other side. so i'm making for key west."
-a suspicious quiver played over her lips as the big fellow turned and went upstairs, and i began to hate myself rather cordially.
-"do you happen to have that--that ball of paper?" she asked, when the threatened storm of tears had been controlled.
-"no, i threw it down."
-a look of terror came into her eyes as she gasped:
-"then he'll find it!"
-"it won't matter if he does! you hadn't written anything on it!"
-"did you look on both sides of it?"
-"i--i think so; of course, i must have. did you write on the other side?"
-"i don't know which the other side is that you refer to," she answered with some show of anger. "there were two sides, you know. still, it can't much matter now whether it had any sides or not."
-this was very perplexing, the words no more so than the way she looked at me while pronouncing them. yet i hardly thought it should give her as much concern as our leaky boat. the storm had grown worse, and more than once she glanced anxiously at the portholes whose glass, over half the time, were submerged by swirls of greenish water.
-"it'll turn out all right," i said, gently. "and you mustn't be afraid of this storm."
-"i'm not afraid!"
-"yes, you are," i tenderly persisted, "but your skipper looks like a man who'll bring us through."
-"your concern is most flattering," she frigidly replied. "but fear of storms, and distress over the unhappiness one may be causing others, are quite different phases of emotion."
-"i stand corrected and rebuked," i humbly acknowledged. "yet i want you to know that my concern springs from a deeper source than flattery. i want honestly to assure you----"
-"of course, there's less danger here than in port," she continued in the same icy tone, utterly ignoring me, "for here, at least, we can't be boarded at night by irresponsible people."
-"by people who drink," she added.
-"that isn't fair, miss graham! circumstances are against me, but you might suspend judgment till you know me better!"
-"the circumstances require no further evidence," she said, with supreme indifference.
-"but circumstantial evidence," i felt pleased at turning her phrase, "often wears the cap and bells, instead of the wig and gown!"
-"i'm discovering that," she murmured, and added with a touch of sarcasm: "the knack of making a catch phrase is often very agreeable, but presupposes no presence of an idea."
-now i thought this most unkind of her, because i had been quite set up by my retort; so, arising with as much dignity as the waves would permit, i buttoned my coat, remarking:
-"then i'll go on deck, and leave you."
-the coat was tight and, while fastening it, i felt something in an inner pocket press against my side. there are few impulses more natural than to investigate anything that has a curious feel in one's pocket, so thrusting in my hand i brought forth a small round frame of brass, made in the imitation of a porthole, encircling her photograph. this would not have happened had i remembered being in her father's clothes, but it was done, and i stood looking first at the picture and then at her.
-"give it to me," she cried.
-"i don't see why," i temporized, not at all loath at having this chance for revenge.
-"it's mine," she imperiously announced.
-"it may be a picture of you, but, as you perceive, not at this moment your picture," and my eyes lowered again and lingered on it, for it was indeed a wonderful likeness, moving me strangely by its amazing beauty. the frame, too, gave it added charm, as she seemed really to be looking out of a porthole.
-"give that to me this instant," she said, with such a show of passion that i passively surrendered it, and started to walk away. yet some cruel power held my feet. i tried again to move, but could not.
-overhead the men were working desperately at the pumps to keep us afloat. one of them left his place and passed us, whispering:
-"it's no use--we're gone!"
-the cabin was in twilight as i again turned to her. she had crawled to the far corner of the couch, and lay staring at the ceiling--waiting. here in this dismal room, alone and facing death with a courage amazing to behold, she made a picture which so stirred me that despite earlier wounded feelings i went to her side. the little hands were cold and inert when i took them, but her fingers tightened ever so gently.
-"did he say we're going down?" she quietly asked, without turning her head.
-"yes," i answered--though both of us spoke in whispers.
-"i'm sorry to have been unkind," she said, withdrawing one of her hands and laying it on the back of my own--for death is a great leveler of conventions.
-the pathetic resignation in her voice brought hot tears to my eyes and, raising her fingers to my lips, i murmured:
-"you're the sweetest angel i ever knew!"
-for a long time we sat in the gathering darkness, holding to each other as two little children lost in the night. finally i heard her whisper:
-"why am i not afraid--now?"
-i turned and looked down at her; down into those eyes gazing back at me through a magnetizing moisture that drew my face nearer, nearer.
-"because," i said, "we've found something which outlives death!"
-"yes," she whispered, as her arms moved sweetly up around my neck--but the next instant they held me off, as she gasped: "look! look! the end is here!"
-quite a foot of water was swashing back and forth over the cabin floor, while a steady stream poured down the companionway stairs. yes, the end was here!
-"take this," she hurriedly pressed into my hand the round brass frame that held her picture--the frame fashioned after a porthole. "keep it--then come to me! swear!"
-"i swear," i gasped. "but where shall i find you? in what strange land will you be?"
-her eyes were wide with a frightened look that even in our extremity gave the lie to fear. through parted, expectant lips a trembling sigh of inexpressible sweetness seemed to carry her answer; it was brought by the mystery of her look, by the clasp of our senses--for i know she did not speak a word:
-"i'll wait beneath the palms on one of many, many islands, set as emerald jewels in an ever-changing sea; my hammock swings beside a pool of purling, crystal water whisp'ring to the shadows of a lonely arcady; the spanish moss hangs solemn in long streamers from the cypress, the paths are soft and noiseless with dead needles of the pine, the nights are still and fragrant, and i'll wait----
-ah!" she broke the measure with a despairing cry and struggled to get from my arms, as another voice, far away but familiar, began to call my name. then slowly my eyes opened and beheld bilkins looking down at me, in my own stateroom, where my clothes were lying as i had thrown them off the night before.
-"i've called you twice, sir," he was saying. "it's almost ten o'clock, and i'm afraid your bath is cold."
-"i want it cold," i murmured, staring up at him. "god, bilkins, i've had a most extraordinary dream!"
-"if it's bad don't tell it before breakfast, sir, whatever you do! just hold on a minute, and i'll bring your tray right in!"
-"to the very end!"
-i dressed hurriedly, wanting to be on deck and get a more searching view of the yacht near which we had anchored. stepping out into the cockpit, therefore, i looked hungrily toward her mooring place, but it was vacant.
-"where has she gone?" i asked tommy, who was the only one about.
-"the etiquette of this yacht requires its owner first to say 'good morning' when he comes up at break of day," he grinned at me accusingly. "the little professor won eight hundred dollars from the proud castilian last night--i hope dame fortune was as kind to you!"
-"she was diverting," i admitted. "where's monsieur now?"
-"but, tommy, where's the yacht that was over there yesterday?"
-"her? oh, she cleared this morning--and listen to me, boy, if you want to see a dream just cast your eye on that last film of monsieur's!"
-see a dream! great heavens, if i wanted to see a dream!
-he led the way aft to a ribbon of freshly developed film hanging from the boom to dry and, as i gingerly raised it to the light, he went on to explain:
-"it was boorish of him, but i'm to blame. we were standing forward after breakfast snapping the harbor when that yacht weighed anchor and swung across our bow less than thirty feet off; and, jack, with the prettiest girl i ever saw--barring nell--looking out at us through a porthole. 'shoot her,' i whispered. so he swung his camera and shot, and she gave a darling little gasp and ducked."
-i had come to the last negative and there, with the porthole in exact imitation of the round brass frame, was the same beautiful face of the same beautiful girl i'd left in that wondrous dream!
-"sylvia graham," i cried.
-my eyes were glued to the negative.
-"they cleared for key west, tommy?"
-"so gates said. has he told you?"
-"i haven't seen him since yesterday," i murmured, still unable to look away from that strip of gelatine which held the image of my world.
-"he didn't know anything about it yesterday, either," tommy announced, and i felt him regarding me in some slight amusement, as though he thought i had a secret up my sleeve that i was trying to keep from him. "what's the cute little idea, son? i've told you where she cleared for, now clear me up!"
-"tommy," i let the film swing back and caught him by the shoulders, "miss graham's father carries a photograph like that in the inside pocket of a white flannel coat which hangs behind his stateroom door!"
-he looked me up and down, this time more seriously, and murmured:
-"whiz-bang!--but you must have been heroically decorated last night! still, i can't see that it hurt you much, for you look about twice as fit as when we left miami."
-"i'll bet i didn't drink an ounce more than you, or monsieur," i declared. "the facts of the matter are, tommy, that there's a lot mighty curious about this picture!"
-"really?" he grinned. "you go below and take something with a dash of bitters in it."
-"dry up," i snapped. "i tell you i'm going to catch up with that yacht if we have to follow her around the world!"
-he gave a low whistle, saying with good-natured tolerance:
-"looks like the big adventure's on the wing, doesn't it! well, i don't mind chasing the old tub, or doing any other damphule thing in reason, but what's the game? put me next! when was this earthquake that loosened all your little rivets? speak up, son--i'm your padre!"
-"it's hard to explain," i turned again to the negative, feeling too serious for his asinine humor. "but i'll honestly try to before night. this girl needs me. i don't know why or how, but she does. what's more, i'm going to find her. it's the most unheard-of situation, old man."
-"i'd be ashamed to belittle a situation like this by the mere term 'unheard-of,'" he now laughed outright. "anyhow, she doesn't need you at present quite as much as you need scientific attention--and i hear the professor moving around!"
-stepping to the companionway door he bawled some nonsense to our guest about bringing up his medicine chest and a rope, then turned back to me.
-"you see, jack, i consider this to be serious. as long as i've known you that lady in the porthole is the first female you've ever thought of with any sign of, what i might call, ardeur. where you met her is your business, but how you're going to get her must naturally concern us all. hence monsieur to consult with!"
-we could hear monsieur's grunts and wheezes before he appeared, and on catching sight of me he actually skipped to us. it was a grotesque exhibition that made me burst out laughing. his hair was tousled, his eyes were half closed, and he looked about as much like a scrambled egg as anything i could think of.
-"we lost you last night," he cried. "you ran away from us?"
-"he was poisoned," tommy blandly answered, "and now his heart's kind of upside-down and twisty."
-"upside-down and twisty?" he gasped.
-"tommy doesn't mean it's anything dangerous, just an affection; a kind of--a kind of----"
-"a kind of affectionate affection," tommy put in. "you see, he was stung there, and it itches, and he can't scratch it."
-"stung on the heart? sacré nomme!" the old fellow clasped his head in both hands and stared at us.
-"you fascinating little ass," tommy murmured, "did you ever hear of love?"
-"love?" the professor's face beamed into twice its usual breadth. "you, my boy jack? is she a spanish mademoiselle?"
-"good lord, whoever heard of a spanish mademoiselle! no, jack says that she's a lady in need, who lives in the pocket of her father's white serge coat that hangs behind his stateroom door; and she's in a helluva lot of trouble, but jack doesn't know where else she is, so we're going to comb out the universe and find her! get the idea?"
-"i will drink some coffee," he stammered, and disappeared.
-tommy and i decided that we must be after the orchid without losing a minute, as there was still a chance of drawing in sight of her before she could leave key west. yet i first had a mission to fulfill at the café, nor did i confide this at once to him lest he brand me a total wreck. i knew that he was delighted at the prospect of this bizarre chase, however chimeric it might seem to him, for he possessed the faculty of "playing-true" even in the veriest of fairy-tales. so for the moment i let the other matter rest, not realizing at the time that he had read more of it in my face than i meant to show.
-gates, also, had caught the excitement and was waiting with the launch to push off; and thus, while he concluded official duties at the port, i entered the café--in the present unfriendly light a changed place from the night before. as luck would have it, my own waiter was the first man i saw.
-"do you remember finding a small piece of crumpled paper on my table last night?" i asked.
-"si, señor; the mad caballero came for it."
-"did he get it?"
-"but, no, señor," the waiter lowered his voice. "yet he came near to, being much angry, and calling you--pardon me!"
-"well, what? what, man?"
-he still hesitated, so i carelessly took out my wallet. it's amazing, the power of a wallet!
-"he demanded the paper of our maître d'hôtel, saying you, señor, were a pig of a detective--and as we admire the detective not at all, everyone searched for it. but i had seen other things, señor," he smiled knowingly.
-"you have it?"
-"si, si,--but not so loud! could i give it to the old one? even a poor waiter may sometimes observe! mas vale saber que haber, señor," he shrugged and smiled as the ancient proverb slipped from his tongue.
-"you've a mighty level head on you, kid," i agreed; a metaphor he may or may not have understood. there was no doubt in my mind that his words, "wisdom is better than wealth," were never more aptly spoken.
-"i saw it after you left, señor, and put it away--so! the mad caballero soon came--he was not happy. we searched the floor, and all the time he was shaking his head and mumbling that mademoiselle had confessed to writing it--and to a detective! he was quite crazy. ah, with what care and sympathy did i help him, señor, and how generously did he reward my careful search!"
-he shrugged and smiled, then drew the paper from his pocket, and i slipped it into mine--passing him back another kind of paper that he slipped into his with a grateful bow.
-"do you know who the man is, or if that was his daughter?"
-"no, señor. i have seen them, but can not remember where. carlos served their table--but carlos is stupid," he shrugged compassionately.
-the moment my cab turned the first corner i feverishly took out that precious paper. sure enough, on one side were marks i had not seen, but the pencilling was very faint--having had the soft tablecloth for a desk, perhaps--and showed only a meandering line, curving in and out through a group of dots. from every angle i studied it, coming to two conclusions: first, that it could mean nothing; and second, that i must have imbibed more freely than i thought to have overlooked this.
-but now i saw, fainter than the dots, something that resembled written words. they were so obscure, indeed, that although the light was excellent my jostling cab made it impossible for me to decipher them. telling the driver to stop, i bent over again, and laboriously read:
-"i am on mr. graham's yacht in great da----"
-at this place, as i looked back upon last night, the old chap had indicated his wish to leave, and she, tearing off a corner, had let the wine card slip to the floor. it explained the broken word, the sudden interruption; and this much was not a dream, neither was the disturbing message in my hands--for what else but "danger" could the "da" mean?
-all was ready to weigh anchor when i stepped aboard, and when we were outside the harbor, drawing nicely toward the north, tommy came up grumbling.
-"this mystery's getting heavy," he said. "put us wise!"
-so i pushed him into a chair, and called the professor and gates; then when the four of us were comfortably settled, the cushions fitting our shoulders, our pipes alight, our spirits glowing with that exhilaration which a yacht can bring as she lays over and cuts the waves, i told the story from beginning to end--sparing sylvia where i should.
-for some minutes they smoked with their eyes downcast. then monsieur looked up in his mild way, asking:
-"may i see the paper?"
-i passed it to him and we drew together, studying it.
-"this is the most singular part of the affair," he said, leaning back, "because it first came to you in fact, although the man's returning for it was told in the dream--and later verified. the dots and line mean nothing, perhaps, but that interrupted message!--ah, truly it spells danger! what danger? she spoke of no danger in the dream?"
-now, it may seem strange or not, but i had begun to lose track of the places where the dream came in and where they left off. the actual was so woven with the unreal that i had to stop and consider this question. the paper episode, the vividness with which sylvia had appeared to me, the brass frame made in the imitation of a porthole, and the camera's film, all contributed to a confusion not unshared by my three friends.
-"it's a darned funny coincidence," said tommy, in an awed voice. "but, jack, you don't think more seriously of it, do you?"
-"would we be chasing these people if i didn't?" i temporized with another question.
-he seemed to be troubled, glancing toward the thoughtful professor as if expecting him to speak, and when this was not forthcoming he asked again:
-"well, friend gezabo, what do you think?"
-the little scientist lowered his pipe, sighed and impressively answered:
-"it is not given to all men to see this invisible agency at work."
-the profoundly solemn way he said this made tommy's eyes grow round. ghost and mystery tales imparted during his childhood by black mammies and other negro servants had endowed him with a considerable amount of superstition that not infrequently prevailed against his better judgment. so now, when the erudite monsieur treated my experience with reverence, even introducing an element of mysticism, tommy wavered.
-"whiz-bang! you don't really believe that spooky stuff, do you?"
-"to my knowledge," monsieur answered, "i have seen one case. you have heard me speak of azuria. well, many years ago a friend of mine, daughter of our king christopher, fell to worrying about her cousin, a profligate who divided his time between the palace and paris. as a punishment for various escapades the king had curtailed his allowance to a mere pittance, yet he seemed in spite of this to have as much money as before. it was this fact that worried my friend--the fear of a scandal.
-"one night she dreamed that her child, a girl of nearly three, was being kidnaped. she arose in her sleep to follow, walking the length of the palace, and awoke to find herself in the cousin's room--standing, indeed, behind his chair as he bent beneath a shaded lamp earnestly working on a plate for spurious money. instantly she threatened to expose him to the king.
-"where did they find the little princess?" tommy asked, after a pause.
-"she was never found," he answered softly. "word once came that she had died; again that she lived--but this i begin to doubt. so her mother reigns as regent, and in sorrow. old christopher had two daughters, the younger of whom----" but he stopped in confusion, his face turning very red. later i remembered this.
-we fell into a silence, a mutual sympathy for the bereaved lady who had been so wronged. at last tommy asked:
-"do you cross your heart that jack's dream was anything like the one she had?"
-"dream?" monsieur ran his fingers through his shock of hair. "who can say? was she dreaming, or did she see a vision? if a vision, why did it mislead by urging her into the very step that brought disaster? that scoundrel might never have considered kidnaping the child had the mother remained unsuspicious of his occupation! yet visions are sent to warn against, not to court dangers. again, some hold that he happened to be contemplating this step as a means of escape should discovery come, and so it was his thought transmitted to her."
-"for goodness sake talk sense," i cried. "what difference does it make whether they were dreams or nightmares, or how much the cousin was thinking! what we want to know is where does my dream come in!"
-he looked so hurt that i apologized by saying his fairy talk had sent me off my head. small wonder, for when our guest attempted to explain a theory he proceeded on the assumption that we were as well versed in it as himself. anyway, we smoothed him down and now, looking at us solemnly, he said:
-"latter-day english-speaking psychologists to the contrary notwithstanding, we know in the east that souls do travel abroad; that they will speak, one to another, while our bodies sleep--while we are steeped in that mysterious period of mimic death which leads us so uncannily near their twilight zone! some men hold that our dreams are vagaries, as a puff of air or a passing breeze; others that they are unfulfilled desires; still others that they are the impress made by another soul upon the subliminal part of us, that leaves to our active senses but imperfectly translatable hieroglyphics. does that show you nothing?"
-"well," i temporized, "i can't say it shows me much. how about you, tommy?"
-"smell a little smoke, but don't see any bright light yet. elucidate, professor!"
-he sighed, giving us a look of pity, i thought.
-"if i call to a man, and the space is great, my voice may fail before reaching him. yet if it hangs its vibrations on a puff of air, a passing breeze that blows in his direction, he hears me! so does the soul employ the passing breeze--by which i mean the capricious thing called dreaming--to enter our consciousness that might not otherwise be reached. the impossibility is to say which is which--that is, which is the unfulfilled desire, which is but the capricious passing breeze, and which is the message from another! if in the dark an uneducated fellow sits at a piano he might play several lovely chords, yet while they sounded well there would be no intelligence behind them. such is the chance dream! but a master-player could produce a rhapsody, expressing to one who listened hope, love, desire, warning--everything. such is the harmonious blending of soul and soul in sleep! and how can we tell which is which?"
-he paused and gazed out at the water, and i saw in his face the peculiarly wistful expression that so often accompanies thoughts which are both elusive and far away. the index finger of his right hand was slightly raised, indicating a subconscious impulse to point upward. slowly turning back to us, he said in a tone of solemnity that lingers with me even now, a year later, as i write of it:
-"then you mean," tommy asked, "that every dream is intended to express something?"
-"i will not go quite that far, although there are men highly practiced in the science of psycho-analytical research who stoutly affirm it. ah, the great difficulty is in drawing the line--in determining which dreams are but passing breezes and which are sent to us upon the wings of angels!"
-"you've studied those things," i ventured. "which was mine?"
-"study!" he cried, with a fine degree of scorn. "yes, we study! we gather around the brink of a black well and steep ourselves in thought; we wrinkle our brows and tear our beards. cries one: 'i know what is down there!' another turns to him: 'you lie!' a third challenges: 'prove yourselves!' and thus do professors, students, psychologists, churchmen, laymen, infidels, and fools, gather about the pit! this much for study," he snapped his finger. "unless a man have faith, he is in darkness to the end of his days!"
-"all the same, i believe someone tried to warn the princess," tommy insisted. "and it couldn't have been anything less than a master-player that got off that rhapsody to jack last night!" there was a note of teasing in this that the others did not detect.
-"well, mr. thomas, you're wrong, sir." gates, who had been listening attentively, now uncrossed his legs and spoke. "there isn't a single curious thing in mr. jack's dream. anyone can see how it came about--with my apologies to you, sir," he bowed to monsieur.
-we laughed, because gates had not impressed us as being much of a psychologist, and tommy said:
-"if you explain how he knew what graham's name was, i'll listen."
-"why, sir, he saw it on the paper the night before--for it was there, as sure as you live, and he says he looked at the paper. the only thing is, he didn't know he saw it--being a little gone in his cups, as you might say. but he did see it, and it soaked into his head, waiting till arfter he got to sleep before stirring around."
-"that's my first clear idea," tommy's face brightened; and gates, thus encouraged, added:
-"the reason he dreamed the old man went ashore for the paper was because he saw the lady being watched when she came back to her table--and i'll venture he thought right then that the old one was about to come back, too, and see what she was doing. didn't you, sir?"
-"i believe i did," i murmured.
-"so that stuck in his mind and came out the wrong way, just like dreams sometimes will. as for the photograph and brass frame--why, mr. thomas, you and the professor took on so about that picture when he'd developed it that mr. jack could have heard you in his sleep, and got that part of his dream from what you said!"
-"it does fit, doesn't it," tommy cried. "and, jack, the poetry sylvia breathed at you--wasn't it about the same thing our little spanish girl sang?"
-"it had the same general idea," i admitted.
-"there you are, sir," gates announced, with a satisfied air. "so there isn't a thing unusual about your dream, arfter all. it's as reasonable as the general run."
-monsieur did not relish having his big occult smoke blown away in this fashion; he looked at us with rather a sickish expression, as a boy might have if someone stuck a pin in his toy balloon. but it was such a relief to get back to practicalities that we let him sulk.
-"jack," tommy asked, "do you think her real name is sylvia?"
-"yes; i'm sure of that, anyhow!"
-"how're you sure of it?"
-"it fits her so absolutely," i answered with decision.
-"but revenge would fit her, too, wouldn't it? that's sweet," he grinned.
-"or constancy," the professor smiled, for once becoming inspired as he threw off his grouch.
-"try ignorance!" this again from tommy, who made an attempt to look blissful and only succeeded in making himself ridiculous, i thought.
-old gates now stretched, cocked an eye up at the weather and, in a drawl, asked:
-"would it be supposing a great deal, sir, to suggest that the lady might be named much-learning?"
-whereupon we laughed uproariously, and tommy slapped him on the knee, exclaiming:
-"papa gates, you've hit it! truly, she hath made us mad!"
-"all the same," i cried, arising and laughing down at them, "there's one thing you can't explain away! the big adventure's come at last!--the wildest chase----"
-"love chase," tommy interposed.
-"chase," i repeated, "that man ever started! are you fellows game enough to see it through--to the very end?"
-"are we?" tommy yelled, springing to his feet. "to the very end! what say, gates?--professor?"
-"to the very end, sir," the old skipper's face beamed happily.
-"why, yes, my boys," monsieur declared. "to the very end,--certainement!"
-and gates must have confided this to the crew, for later, as i passed the mate, that worthy gave his forelock a pull and whispered:
-"to the very end, sir!"
-it pleased me immensely.
-a voice from the water
-a perfect tropical night crept down on us, with the sky a deep and velvety blue, and the stars low enough to touch. brilliant phosphorescence dashed from our bow and a silvery streak trailed in our wake emphasizing the enchantment as the whim rose, leaned, and dipped over the bosom of the breathing gulf. so, also, were my hopes; now up, now down, on the breast of another fickle monster. love and the sea! have they not always been counterparts? do they not span the known and unknown in each man's world, carrying some in safety--others destroying?
-it must have been nine o'clock when the forward watch called and, springing to the rail, peering through the darkness, we saw down upon the horizon the fixed white eye and three red sectors of the key west light.
-"a good run, gates."
-"nothing of our size can beat it, sir."
-"you think the orchid will be in harbor?"
-"i carn't say, sir. she had six hours' start of us, and could have left."
-"that depends. if the mysterious yacht's here we'll stay till something happens."
-"and if she isn't," he nudged the professor, "we'll comb out the universe. you get that, don't you? a nice fat job, i'll say it is! how'll we know which way to start? gates, couldn't you get a peep at her papers in the port?" but the skipper solemnly shook his head, saying:
-"it carn't be done, sir."
-"well, jack, when customs are finished we'll take the launch and comb out the harbor, anyhow! she'll be anchored nearby, like as not."
-not caring to tie up at the dock we chose a berth far enough out to escape the electric glare ashore, and had hardly swung-to when gates was off in his gig to clear our papers. the port officials were astir and accommodatingly looked us over without loss of time, for the skipper had mentioned our wish to leave whenever the spirit moved us. those, indeed, had been his identical words, and i wondered if they were prophetic--whenever the spirit moved us!
-they were a nice pair of fellows, those american officers, and before going into business--a mere formality in our case--we gathered in the cockpit for a long straw and a bowl of ice. the occasion was more agreeable for possessing that sense of aloofness one feels at being on the edge, yet safely beyond the reach, of a little city's night diversions and excitements.
-"i suppose you've nothing dutiable," one said, knowing we had left havana unexpectedly soon.
-"nothing," tommy volunteered.
-"but, yes," monsieur exclaimed. "i shall declare!"
-"about the only thing he brought away was a wad of money from a roulette game," i laughed.
-"ah, i surprise you," he cried, in high good humor, ducking below; and was soon heard struggling up the stairs, crying: "give me help!"
-"oh, là là," tommy's jaw dropped. "where did you tie up with this stuff? we've been together all the time!"
-"not all the time," the professor chuckled. "before you were awake this morning i was in town for camera supplies, and brought back, also, much of that most genial and ameliorating of influences exerted upon us in life--cigars! how much do i pay?"
-"how many have you?"
-"ten thousand cigars!" we stared at him.
-"that's a lot of ameliorating influence," one of the officers laughed. "but, in spite of it, i'll have to charge you on nine thousand, nine hundred--unless a hundred belong to each of your friends. everyone's entitled to bring in a hundred free."
-"a hundred are mine," tommy spoke up at once. "i haven't won cigars so fast, ever! jack, you for a hundred. gates, you, too. colonel," he turned to the officer--out of the army he scattered the titles of colonel, judge, governor and parson with a free hand--"suppose you all take a hundred each. it'll be a whole lot cheaper for sir walter, here!"
-the professor was giggling.
-"they have cost me nothing," he cried, "for last night i have won almost a thousand dollars at that wretched place--see, here is plenty with which to pay!"
-and a fortunate thing it was that he had, being called on for something in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars.
-the officer--hardwick, by name--and his associate were good fellows, as i have said. they had greeted us as congenial spirits and, probably on this account, i noticed some embarrassment on his part when he leaned into the light and slowly looked over the money monsieur had given him. the rest of us were conversing in a more or less distrait fashion till this unpleasant duty should be finished, when he took an electric torch from his pocket and flashed it on one of the bills; then on another, and so through the lot. hesitatingly he touched monsieur's arm, asking:
-"is this the money you won last night?"
-"that? it is just as they paid me."
-a moment of silence, then:
-"i'm sorry to tell you, but these two fifty-dollar bills are counterfeits."
-there ensued an absolute hush, and before my eyes arose the vision of sylvia's father paying his supper check with a crisp fifty.
-"counterfeit," the professor mused, putting out a hand for them and moving nearer the light. "strange! just today i was speaking of a counterfeiter!" and tommy, in an awed voice, asked:
-"you don't think it's more dreams?"
-the officials, i rather suspected, were beginning to look at us askance. our various attitudes at this discovery were scarcely in accordance with the usually accepted actions of innocent people; on the contrary, with but a grain of imagination, we might be branded as a trio of rascals trying to stall out of a tight place. my apprehension was more confirmed when hardwick, a shade less cordial, said:
-"as a united states official, i should like to hear your views about these."
-now tommy looked across at me and i saw that he was awake. monsieur, on the other hand, remained blissfully indifferent that anything might be out of the ordinary--except, of course, being loaded with a hundred dollars of bad money, which does not happen every day.
-"my counterfeiter?" he smiled innocently. "yes, he could have done these. his plates are all but perfect. and these bills--you will admit they almost fooled you!" whereupon he laughed.
-tommy fidgeted, saying:
-"have a care, gezabo, or you'll be sending us to the rock pile!"
-"my friend is cut-upping," monsieur beamed on the official, but met with no more hearty response than the dry acquiescence:
-"i've no doubt of it. but suppose you tell me more of your other friend--the counterfeiter!"
-"friend? my friend?" monsieur's face now became the picture of horror. "i was telling these boys of one who disappeared years ago, and afterwards the police showed me some plates found in his rooms! my friend!"
-hardwick began to laugh.
-"please accept my apologies, but, really, for the moment----"
-"don't mention it," tommy interrupted him, handing across a newly opened box of cigars. "i understand you--the professor couldn't!"
-returning to the important subject, hardwick said:
-"whoever put these out is probably in cuba. you got them at the café----?"
-"quite so," monsieur exclaimed, warming up with the notion of doing detective work. "i was playing roulette--but, pardon me, you have heard."
-"do you remember any one around the table who showed new-looking bills?"
-"no. we were the only ones playing, and but a few were looking on."
-"the restaurant was crowded," tommy said, "and connects with the gambling rooms. mightn't they send money back and forth if needed?"
-"mr. hardwick, last night in that restaurant i saw a man----" but this time something stopped my words. it was a voice, a girl's voice, beautiful with an impassioned ring of protest, that cried from some place near us on the water:
-"it isn't fair!"
-it isn't fair! oh, the just and pleading accusation of that cry! i sprang up, loudly calling her name:
-there was not a breath of sound. those with whom i had been conversing were as mute as graven images, but in the black pall just beyond our taffrail drifted the magnetic presence toward which every nerve and fiber of my body pointed;--pointed, aye, tugged and wrestled with my poor flesh to be free! yet, silence; all silence. no sound, no vision, no anything to guide me, other than my flashing brain and thumping heart which spoke of her.
-i saw one of our sailors staring at the water with strange owlish eyes, and yelled at him:
-"into the gig, man!"
-but this was frustrated before he moved, for some black shadow, showing vaguely, glided out from beneath our rail and disappeared. i could not be sure that i saw it, but the sailor did because he crossed himself.
-"it ain't no use--now, sir," he managed to say.
-my own eyes were trying to follow the eerie, silent thing which had passed so spookily into the night, leaving the merest suggestion of phosphorescence after it. then an arm slipped affectionately about my shoulders, and i felt that tommy was also standing by, looking along the trail of deadened sound. his face showed excitement, but he whispered steadily enough:
-"come and sit down."
-indeed, now that the thing had disappeared, i felt like an ass; and, resuming my seat, attempted to make the best of it.
-"really," i laughed, "you fellows mustn't judge a man too critically. there was something in the voice of that young lady which took me off my guard, and recalled--well, it recalled what you've all probably had recalled by one means or another, at some time or other, during your--er--lives." and i gave a weakish smile, waving my hand toward any old thing in sight by way of saying: "you know, old chaps, how just that one girl plays the devil with a fellow, sometimes!"
-but the government officials received this in a different spirit than that which i had hoped to arouse. they looked at me with a gravity most disquieting, and hardwick, suspicion written in every line of his face, asked:
-"is the young lady a member of your party?"
-"heavens, no," i answered quickly. "oh, no," i vigorously repeated. "we don't know her, at all--none of us!"
-an ominous silence followed this emphatic denial, and i could actually feel him making up his mind about us. it was an awful moment. at last tommy flecked the ash from his cigar and, with great deliberation, asked:
-"colonel, do you believe in ghosts?"
-"no, they all attend a day school except the baby, who is too young for lessons. i shall have plenty to do in looking after them and the house. i hope you will be happy, sylvia, in your new life. i have tried to ground you thoroughly, and any future teachers ought to find you fairly well-informed upon most subjects."
-there was very little time left even for the final instructions which miss holt considered necessary; the days seemed literally to fly, and the last one came only too soon for all concerned. effie and may called to say good-bye, much distressed at parting with their playfellow, and immensely impressed by the preparations, which sylvia was secretly extremely proud of being able to show to them.
-"you'll be too big to play with us when you come back," said effie wistfully.
-"no, i shan't," replied sylvia, kissing them in a rather superior and patronizing manner. "i shall like to have you just as much at my christmas party; but perhaps i shan't care to romp about quite in the same way, because, you see, when i come back i shall be eleven years old, and one of miss kaye's girls at heathercliffe house."
-the third class
-heathercliffe house was a large modern building which stood in its own grounds about a mile from the sea, and an equal distance from the railway station at aberglyn. it looked bright and cheerful on the october afternoon when a cab containing mrs. lindsay and sylvia turned in at the gate and drove slowly up the drive to the front door. sylvia, gazing with eager eyes from the window, noticed the trim garden, the shrubbery of laurels and rhododendrons, the beds still gay with geraniums, and the smooth lawns where in the distance she could just catch a glimpse of girls playing tennis. as the cab passed under a big chestnut tree she saw a little girl of about her own age run rapidly to the top of a bank, and, hiding behind a broom bush, peep down with evident curiosity at the newcomers below. she was a bonny child with a creamy complexion, blue eyes, and thick, straight, brown hair, tied with a ribbon that at present hung over her left ear; she stared hard at sylvia as the latter leaned out of the window, then, seeing mrs. lindsay in the background, she took fright and dashed away among the shrubs even more quickly than she had come.
-"i wonder what her name is, and if i shall like her!" thought sylvia. "she looks nice. oh! there are some more of them!" as about half a dozen older girls paused in a game of croquet to glance at the cab, and several little ones, playing under a tree, pointed eagerly, for which they were evidently reproved by a teacher who was with them. there was no time, however, to see further; the cab had drawn up at the front steps, the cabman was ringing the bell, and mrs. lindsay was collecting small parcels and telling sylvia to jump out first.
-sylvia felt very serious indeed when they were ushered into the drawing-room, and miss kaye came forward to meet them. she was a tall, pleasant-looking lady, still fairly young, with a fresh colour, brown eyes, and thick coils of smooth auburn hair. she had a brisk, cheerful manner, and was not in the least like the old-fashioned severe sort of mistress about whom sylvia had read in what katy did at school and sara crewe, and whom she had been expecting to see. she welcomed her new pupil kindly, and ordered tea to be brought in at once.
-"our usual schoolroom tea is at five o'clock," she said, "but to-day you shall have yours here, as i know you will wish to be with your mother as long as possible. then, when you have seen your bedroom, and taken off your things, you will be ready to make friends with some of your companions."
-sylvia sat very solemnly during tea, listening to the talk between miss kaye and her mother, and though the mistress sometimes addressed a question to her she was much too shy to answer anything except "yes" or "no". she was glad when the ordeal was over and miss kaye suggested that, as mrs. lindsay had only a short time left before she must return to the station, they would like to look through the school, and see both classrooms and dormitories.
-when she tried afterwards to recall her first impressions of heathercliffe house she had only a confused remembrance of clinging very tightly, almost desperately, to her mother's hand, as they were shown the neat bedrooms, the large empty playroom, the schoolrooms with their desks and blackboards, and took a peep into the dining-room where rows of girls of all ages were sitting round two long tables having tea. then came the moment which she had been dreading from the beginning, that hurried last goodbye, that final hug as mrs. lindsay kissed her again and again and hastened down the steps into the cab, the rumble of the departing wheels, and the sudden sense that she was left alone in a school of more than thirty girls, and that she did not yet know one of them even by name. an overwhelming rush of homesickness swept over her, so bitter in its force that she almost cried out with the intensity of the pain; she stood still in the hall with the dazed expression of one newly awakened from a dream, turning a deaf ear to miss kaye's well-meant efforts at consolation, and longing only for some safe retreat where she might escape to have a little private weep, out of reach of watching eyes. seeing the mistress pause to speak to a teacher who came at that instant from the dining-room, she seized the opportunity, and dived into the drawing-room, where she ran to the window to catch the last glimpse of the coachman's hat as he drove through the gate, and disappeared behind the trees and bushes which bordered the road. miss kaye did not follow her; perhaps long experience had taught her that it was sometimes best to leave new girls judiciously alone, and for a few minutes she stood playing absently with the tassel of the blind, and struggling hard to keep back her rising tears. why had she been brought to school? why had she not begged her mother to take her home with her? it was cruel to send her away. it was all aunt louisa's doing, she was sure. she could never make herself happy, and she should write to-night to her father and tell him so. perhaps he might relent and come to fetch her.
-"i shall be the most miserable girl in the school," she said to herself. "far worse than florence in the new pupil; she only 'shed a few tears', and i'm going to cry quarts, i know i am."
-she took out her handkerchief ready for the expected deluge, but life is often very different from what we propose, and before she had time to do more than wipe away the first scalding drop she was startled by a voice at her elbow. turning round hastily she found herself face to face with the little girl who had run to the top of the bank to peep at her as she came up the drive, and who now stood smiling in a particularly friendly fashion.
-"miss kaye has sent me to take you to the playroom," she said. "we've just finished tea. you've had yours, haven't you? so come along."
-"what's your name?" asked sylvia, stuffing her handkerchief back into her pocket in a hurry, and blinking the remains of a drop off her eyelashes. she was too proud to care to be caught crying like a baby, and hoped her companion had not noticed.
-"linda marshall. i know yours. miss kaye told us this morning. you're going to be in our class, and you're to sleep in my bedroom, because i'm the only one who hasn't got a room mate. do come! miss kaye'll be cross if we're not quick. we're not allowed in the drawing-room at all, only she sent me in to fetch you."
-"do you like being here?" asked sylvia, following her new friend with some deliberation.
-"sh! we mayn't speak in the hall! there, i can talk to you now we're down the passage. yes, of course, i like it. everyone does; we have such jolly times. now come here," pausing with her hand on the door handle, "i want to go in quite suddenly and surprise them."
-she flung the door open, and, with a giggle, announced "miss sylvia lindsay", giving our heroine such a vigorous push forward that she nearly fell into the midst of a group of girls who were standing close by. there were six of them, and they had evidently been waiting to see the new arrival, though they pretended they were only finding some books and putting away their paintboxes. they looked steadily at sylvia, but no one volunteered a remark, and the silence would have grown oppressive had not linda come to the rescue. "now then," she cried, "have you all gone dumb? sylvia, this is our class. i'll tell you their names. connie camden, hazel prestbury, marian and gwennie woodhouse, nina forster, and jessie ellis. there were only seven of us before, and you'll make eight. it's a much nicer number, because we can just get up a set of lancers by ourselves now, without one of the second class joining. i hope you know the lancers?"
-"a little," said sylvia, who felt rather overwhelmed by the six pairs of eyes fixed upon her.
-"we'll soon teach you if you don't. the dancing lessons begin next week, and they are such fun. miss delaney is a perfect dear. we all adore her. i'm sure you'll think she's sweet; won't she, girls?"
-"of course she will," said marian woodhouse. "i ought to know, because i learnt from miss delaney before i came here. we're to have the tarantella this term."
-"and a skirt dance," added hazel prestbury. "have you brought an accordion-pleated dress with you for dancing?"
-"i don't think so," replied sylvia. "but mother was going to send some of my clothes afterwards. i came away in rather a hurry."
-"you're late though," said connie camden. "it's nearly three weeks since we started the term. we came back on the 14th of september."
-"why didn't you come then?" asked nina forster.
-"i don't know. father only decided to send me a week ago."
-"well, you can try to catch us up, but we've done twenty pages of the new history," said marian woodhouse, "and read the first canto of marmion. we shall have to tell you the story."
-"i know it, thank you," replied sylvia. "i had it with my governess at home."
-"oh!" said marian, looking rather disgusted. "but i don't suppose you took any of the notes, and miss arkwright explains it quite differently from anyone else. what sums are you at?"
-"weights and measures," said sylvia.
-"why, we did those in the baby class! we're doing fractions now."
-"we've only just begun them," said linda. "don't bother about lessons, marian. we've barely ten minutes before prep, and i want to show sylvia her locker."
-sylvia was excused from preparation on this first evening, and was taken instead by miss coleman to unpack her box and arrange her drawers.
-heathercliffe house had been specially built for a school, and was so designed that, instead of long dormitories or curtained cubicles, there were rows of small bedrooms, each intended to accommodate two girls. the one which sylvia was to share with linda marshall stood at the end of the upper corridor. it was a pretty little room with a pink paper, and a white-enamelled mantelpiece. the furniture was also in white enamel, and consisted of a washstand, two chests of drawers, and a large wardrobe fixed into the wall, containing two separate compartments with a drawer for best hats at the bottom of each. the beds had pink quilts to match the paper, the jugs and basins were white with pink rims, while even the mats on the dressing table were made of white muslin over pink calico.
-sylvia looked round with approval. she had expected school to be a bare, cheerless place, but this was as dainty as her own room at home. the walls were hung with pictures in oak frames, there was a small bookshelf beside each bed where bibles and favourite volumes could be kept, and the mantelpiece was covered with tiny china cats, dogs, and other animals, which miss coleman said belonged to linda.
-it took some time to arrange sylvia's possessions, for the mistress was very particular as to where they were put, and informed sylvia that she would be expected to keep them exactly in that order, and her drawers would be examined once a week.
-"your dressing gown is to hang behind the door; there is a hook here for your bath towel, which, by the by, you are never to leave in the bathroom; your sponge must go in the lefthand sponge basket, and your bedroom slippers under this chair. your coats must, of course, always be kept in the wardrobe, but your boots are to go downstairs. you may lay your writing case and paintbox on the chest of drawers, or keep them in your locker in the playroom."
-"i'm glad i brought a white nightdress case," thought sylvia; "it looks much nicer on the pink bed than the blue one mother nearly packed instead. when i've put out my photos it will feel more homey. i'll write to mother to-morrow and tell her all about it."
-when at last everything had been tidily set in its right place, and a servant had carried the empty box to the boxroom, miss coleman took sylvia to the playroom, and, giving her a book, told her she might read until her companions came to join her. the girls of the third class did preparation and practising until seven, after which they were allowed half an hour's recreation until supper. they had the playroom to themselves, as the little ones had gone to bed by that time, and the elder girls had a separate sitting-room of their own. precisely as the clock struck seven linda marshall, hazel prestbury, connie camden, and nina forster came tearing in.
-"not a morsel. miss arkwright will scold to-morrow. it's dreadfully hard, though; i don't suppose anybody will know it properly."
-"except marian," said nina.
-"she's so conceited about it," said connie camden.
-"she thinks no one else can do anything but herself," said nina forster.
-"yes, do try, sylvia," said linda; "it would be lovely if you got above her. it would do her ever so much good."
-"oh, do!" pleaded the others.
-"why don't you try yourselves?" asked sylvia.
-"oh, we can't; it's no use!" said connie; "but you look clever, and i'm sure you'll be able to learn things. she needn't think she's going to have it all her own way this term, because----"
-"hush, she's here!" said hazel quickly, as the door opened, and marian came in, carrying her music case, followed shortly afterwards by gwennie and jessie ellis.
-"what shall we play to-night?" asked connie, who had gone rather red. "i don't think she heard," she whispered to hazel.
-"word-making," said marian decisively. "here's the box."
-"oh no!" exclaimed nina and hazel, "that's a stupid game. we don't like it at all."
-"yes, you do. don't be silly. come along."
-"i vote for telegrams," suggested linda.
-"no!" cried marian.
-"yes!" cried the others in such overwhelming majority that marian had to give way, though she looked anything but pleased.
-pencils and pieces of paper were collected, the eight girls seated themselves round the table, and each set to work to concoct a telegram the words of which must commence with twelve letters read out at random, in the order in which they were given. the letters were: t, c, m, i, c, d, c, i, w, e, a, b. they proved a little puzzling to fit together, but after much nibbling of pencils, and knitting of brows, everybody managed to get something written, and marian volunteered to read them out.
-the first happened to be sylvia's. she had put: "tell charley mother ill. cook dead. come immediately. will explain all. bertha."
-"it's not bad," said marian condescendingly, "but you don't know how to spell. you've written c-h-a-r-l-e-y."
-"well, and that's the right way too!" said sylvia.
-"indeed it's not, it's c-h-a-r-l-i-e. why, even jessie ellis knows that."
-"i've seen it c-h-a-r-l-e-y in a book," objected sylvia, who meant to fight her own battles.
-"then it must have been a misprint."
-"i believe you can spell it both ways," said hazel, "just like lily or lillie."
-"then it's old-fashioned, and my way's the best," declared marian, who loved to argue.
-"oh, get on and never mind!" cried linda. "we want to hear the other telegrams. what does it matter how we spell them?"
-a first day at school
-there were thirty-three girls at heathercliffe house, and they were divided into four forms. miss kaye herself taught the first class, miss barrett the second, miss arkwright the third, and miss coleman the kindergarten, while mademoiselle took french and needlework, and miss denby the music, a few elder girls, however, learning from a master, who came twice a week to give lessons.
-sylvia found that she very soon settled down into the ordinary routine of her new life. miss kaye was kind, and tried to make school seem as much like home as possible. there were a certain number of clearly defined rules, but on the whole the pupils were allowed a good deal of liberty, which she trusted to their sense of honour not to abuse. four of the eldest girls were monitresses, responsible for the behaviour of the third and fourth forms, and the younger ones were encouraged to come to them with their troubles or difficulties.
-"you see, telling a monitress isn't like telling a teacher," said linda, "and mercy ingledew's so nice she never makes mischief. i'm glad she's on our landing instead of kathleen gilchrist."
-to linda sylvia had been attracted at once, and when she found that her room-mate liked the same occupations and the same books as herself, had read eight cousins and the little duke and was just beginning ivanhoe, she felt the friendship was sealed. linda was certainly a very different companion from effie and may or any of the other children whom sylvia had known at home. she seemed so much older and more sensible, and was interested in many things which she was only too pleased to explain to her new friend.
-"you must come and see our gardens," she said on the first morning, when lessons were over and the girls were amusing themselves in the grounds. "they're over here at the other side of the lawn. we may each have a small one of our own or share a double one. they don't look very nice now, because of course we couldn't take care of them in the holidays and the weeds grew so dreadfully, but it's getting time to dig them up and plant bulbs. this is mine. there isn't much in it now the annuals are over. if you like i'll give it up and join at a larger one with you."
-"that would be jolly," said sylvia, "if there's one to spare."
-"oh yes! nobody has that big double one by the cucumber frame. shall we begin now to weed, and on saturday we can move out any plants we want and decide what we'll put in it. come along for the gardening tools. i shall have to lend you mine."
-the tools were kept in a shed at the back of the house. linda had a dear little set of spade, rake, hoe, trowel, and basket, so the pair set to work at once upon the new patch of ground.
-"please dig carefully," said linda, "in case we come across any treasures. this piece belonged to ellie turner and sophy hardman, and they may have left something in it. yes, i believe that's a clump of daffodils. i remember they had some, and there was a root of forget-me-not in the corner if no one else has taken it away."
-"couldn't we do anything special with our garden?" asked sylvia.
-"what do you mean by special?" said linda.
-"something that would be different from anybody else's. couldn't we put our names in flowers?"
-"we might sow them in mustard and cress in the spring."
-"yes, but now. suppose we put linda at one end and sylvia at the other in white stones."
-"oh, that would be lovely! what a glorious idea! we'll borrow sadie thompson's wheelbarrow and do it at once. how did you think of such a jolly thing? i wonder where sadie is. we'll go and look for her."
-"what a nuisance!" she cried. "i shall take it out without asking her; we really can't wait. i don't suppose she'll mind. we shan't do it any harm." and she trundled the little barrow out of the shed and wheeled it to the farther end of the back carriage drive, where she thought they might find some stones.
-heathercliffe house had the most delightful garden. in front were two large lawns, an upper one used for croquet and a lower one for tennis. between the two was a rosery where a great many beautiful roses were still blooming, although it was now october.
-"on miss kaye's birthday," said linda, "we always make her a garland and put it on her head. she laughs, but she wears it for a little while and it looks so nice."
-the front carriage drive was well rolled and kept very neatly, but the back one was just like a country lane; there were thick trees on each side with grass and wild flowers growing between, and in a corner near the gate was a small disused quarry, with high, rocky sides covered with gorse bushes and long brambles. linda could not have chosen a better place to find stones; there were any number lying about, and though they were not white ones, they were a very light grey colour. there were a few blackberries still remaining on the brambles, but the ripest hung far out of reach and were quite impossible to pick, though sylvia scratched herself in a vain attempt.
-"it's no use. i'd best give them up and stick to the stones," she said. "if we ever go down to the beach we might bring back some shells too. do you find any here?"
-"yes, lots, at one particular place, pink and white and yellow ones. they'd look pretty as an edging, but it would take a fearful long time to fetch enough to go far. i expect we shall need a great many barrows of stones before we can make both our names. i wouldn't pick up too small ones if i were you. there, i can't possibly wheel any more, so we'd better start."
-"there can't be very much time before dinner," said linda, "though i haven't heard the first bell yet. we must get on as quickly as we can, because i don't know what i should do if there wasn't time to put sadie's barrow away. we have to run in the very second we hear the bell, and wash our hands."
-"it's full enough now," said sylvia. "i'll start with it first. don't jog me or i shall upset it."
-"i think we might make a short cut," suggested linda. "instead of walking all round the drive and the avenue we'll go straight through the shrubbery, it will take off an enormous corner and save us the hill by the rosery. we're not supposed to go there, but no one will notice."
-they plunged therefore under the trees, wheeling the little barrow with some difficulty over the grass and among the rhododendrons, and were just getting in sight of the lawn when linda suddenly stopped and clutched sylvia by the arm.
-"look!" she cried. "there's sadie thompson coming with gertie warburton. what will she say when she finds we've taken french leave with her barrow? she'll be ever so cross. give it me quick and we'll rush over here amongst the bushes. perhaps they won't see us."
-she seized the handles from sylvia's grasp and they scuttled as fast as they could under the over-hanging boughs of a particularly big rhododendron, which appeared to offer a safe retreat.
-"quick, quick, they're looking!" cried linda, bending low to avoid the branches and scrambling farther under the bush. "hullo! why! oh! i say! what's happened?" she might well exclaim, for to her extreme astonishment the wheelbarrow suddenly seemed to plunge into the ground, and she saw before her nothing but the tips of the handles standing out from among a quantity of dead and withered leaves.
-"how very peculiar!" she said. "there must be a hole here. why, it's a sort of pool, i believe. look, it's all horrid black mud and water under the dead leaves. what a disgusting mess the barrow is in! how are we to get it out?"
-"we've lost all our stones," said sylvia, kneeling at the edge and breaking off a stick to poke into the muddy depths below. "what a queer place it is!"
-"i don't mind the stones, because we can find some more, but i do mind the barrow. even if we fish it out, how are we ever to wash it? sadie will be most dreadfully angry, and we shall get into such a scrape. we aren't really allowed to borrow each other's things without asking, and if sadie turns nasty, and tells, and miss kaye hears about it, i don't know what may happen."
-"can't we pull it out and take it to the back drive again, and bring a watering can to wash it with?" said sylvia.
-"we might, but it's so hard to get it. when i tug it only seems to flop in deeper."
-"let me try."
-"you can if you like, but i think the stones are weighing it down."
-"you go a little farther on then, and let me come to where you are, so that i can reach properly."
-linda crawled cautiously along, feeling her way as she went.
-"it seems to be a kind of sunk tub," she said. "look, the edges are made of wood, and it's filled up with water. oh, do be careful, sylvia!" she exclaimed as the latter leaned over to grasp the handles.
-"i'm all right. i've got them quite firmly. now i'm going to give one good tug and a shake to get rid of the stones and then i expect it will come."
-"shall i hold your dress?" asked linda, looking on with a shiver of apprehension.
-"no, don't touch me! there, i can feel the stones go. it's coming! it's coming!"
-and so it was, but far more suddenly than sylvia had calculated; the unexpected jerk completely overbalanced her, and before she had time even to clutch at one of the rhododendron boughs she had fallen together with the barrow into the pool. luckily it was not deep, and she was in no danger of drowning, but the mud was thick and black at the bottom, and as she scrambled hastily out she looked as if she had been dipped into an inkpot.
-"oh! sylvia!" cried linda, "what are we to do? we can't possibly help everyone finding out now. what a frightful mess you're in!"
-"so i am," said sylvia, looking ruefully at her spoilt clothes, and trying to wipe off some of the mud with her hands. "i didn't get the barrow up either."
-"oh, never mind the barrow; we can't stop for it now! there's the dressing bell. we shall have to go and tell somebody. you're simply streaming with mud, and we shall both be late for dinner."
-feeling very guilty, the pair crept out from under the bush and tried to dash across towards the side door, on the chance that sylvia might be able to reach the bathroom and remove at least some of the traces of her dipping before anyone caught her. it was a vain hope, for in turning the corner they ran almost into the arms of miss coleman, who had come out to look for a missing member of her small flock.
-"sylvia lindsay," she cried in horror, "you naughty child! where have you been? and what have you done to yourself?"
-"i don't know," replied sylvia, dissolving into tears, which made white trickles down her dirty cheeks like little rivers on a map; "i fell in somewhere, and it was all mud, and it's cold, and please may i go in and change my things?"
-"come with me to the bathroom this minute," said miss coleman, abandoning her search for dolly camden, and hustling sylvia before her with much indignation. "linda, go and tidy yourself! miss kaye will have to hear of this. it is a very bad beginning, sylvia, for your first day."
-sylvia was soaked to the skin, and was obliged to take a hot bath and put on a whole fresh set of clothes, while miss coleman stood grimly by and asked questions till she had drawn all the facts of the story. they were so late for dinner that they only arrived in the dining-room at the pudding course, and miss coleman, after a few quiet words of explanation to miss kaye, made sylvia sit with her at a small side table instead of going to their proper places. miss kaye glanced at sylvia but made no remark, and one of the servants brought their plates of meat and vegetables. they were half-cold, and sylvia could not enjoy anything when she thought of the scolding that was to follow. she caught linda's eye from the other side of the room, but did not dare to turn again in that direction, because miss coleman was looking at her. she knew so little of school life that she had no idea what punishment would be inflicted for such crimes as borrowing a barrow without leave and tumbling into a tub full of muddy water. in none of the books she had read did the girls do any such things.
-"they generally cheat at lessons, or read the examination questions beforehand, or copy each other's essays," thought sylvia. "and this is quite different. even sara crewe never fell into a tub, nor any of the girls in gertrude's schooldays. i wonder what miss kaye will say!"
-miss kaye lingered over pudding, evidently with the intention of allowing the latecomers a few extra minutes, then, rising and saying grace, she announced:
-"linda marshall and sylvia lindsay will come to my study at a quarter to two," and left the room.
-"we're in for it now," said linda, clasping sylvia by the hand as they met in the passage. "oh, why did we ever get those wretched stones? and we've left the barrow at the bottom of the pool! we shall have to tell about that. was miss coleman very cross?"
-"she was rather. she kept hurrying me on, and saying 'be quick!' all the time. you can't think how terribly the mud stuck. i had even to wash part of my hair. it's not dry yet."
-"let us go into the classroom. i don't want to meet sadie; i'm afraid she'll ask about it. it's nearly a quarter to two now. i'm beginning to shake in my shoes."
-it took a good deal of screwing up of courage before the two culprits ventured to give a faltering tap at the door of the study.
-"come in!" said miss kaye's brisk voice.
-the children looked at each other and entered with much the same feeling as they would have experienced at a visit to the dentist's. miss kaye was seated at her desk, which was covered with papers, and merely glancing up for an instant said: "i am busy, so sit down till i have leisure to attend to you," and, taking no further notice of them, went on with her writing. linda stole quietly to the sofa, and sylvia sank on to the nearest chair, where she sat very still, looking with eager eyes round the prettily furnished room. she had a warm appreciation for artistic things and she gazed with delight at the beautiful burne jones engravings, the old oak cupboard with its blue china, the silver bowl of roses on the side table, and the bookcase full of richly bound volumes. miss kaye herself, she thought, made part of the picture. she liked her brown eyes, her clear, fresh complexion, and her abundant auburn hair.
-"she's good-looking," reflected sylvia. "not at all horrid and old and sour. i dare say she could be rather stern, yet she looks as if she could laugh too. i like her eyes, they are so dark and quick and shining. they seem to take one all in at once. i wonder if she's going to be very angry."
-miss kaye looked up just at that moment and met sylvia's gaze with an expression which seemed to say: "well, what do you think of me?" but, seeing the child flush scarlet, she folded her letter, placed it in the envelope, and stamped it; then, ringing the bell, handed it to a servant and told her to take it at once to the pillar box in time for the afternoon post.
-"now i am ready," she said, turning at last to her little pupils. "linda and sylvia, you have been in trouble, and i wish you to tell me yourselves what has occurred."
-it was hard to begin, since everyone had a natural awe of the headmistress; but once the plunge was made they found themselves relating their tale fairly connectedly, with the help of a few questions. miss kaye listened gravely.
-"this is what comes of borrowing without leave and going where you are forbidden," she said. "the tub is used by the gardener for storing water, and no doubt with the rainy days we had in september it has accumulated a good deal of mud as well. i will take care that the wheelbarrow is recovered and washed, and i shall expect you both to apologize to sadie. it is one of the rules of the school that the girls should respect each other's property. you may go now, but do not let this happen again."
-rejoiced to escape so easily, the children fled, eager to describe their adventure to the rest of the class, who were brimming over with curiosity after the hurried account which had been whispered by linda at dinner and passed on by the next girl with so many variations that the general version was that sylvia had taken a ride in the gardener's barrow and fallen down a well. there was scarcely any time before afternoon school, but they managed to give a proper explanation and thoroughly enjoyed the telling and the effect it produced. marian woodhouse might turn up her nose and call them babies, but she listened all the same, and, sylvia could not help thinking, was just a little jealous to find them the centre of so much interest.
-sylvia wrote her first letter home that evening after tea, and found she had such an amount to put in it she hardly knew how to begin. it ran thus:
-"heathercliffe house, "october 5th.
-"my darling mother and father,
-"i am much happier than i expected. this morning i fell into a tub full of mud and spoilt all my clothes. miss coleman is going to have my new dress washed, but she does not think it will ever look nice again. i am wearing my green merino. i like linda immensely. she has read the sequel to eight cousins although it is a love story and she is only eleven. i wish i might. we are going to have a garden together. will you please send me some bulbs to plant in it. marian woodhouse said i did not know how to spell last night, but i only had three mistakes in dictation this morning and she had four. miss arkwright says my writing is bad. she has given me a new copybook. miss coleman took my box of toffee away and locked it up in a cupboard. she says i may have some on saturday. i hope dicky is well. please do not forget to give him his groundsel. there is a black kitten here with white paws and a white tip to its tail. i send kisses to everybody.
-"your loving daughter, "sylvia."
-sylvia quickly discovered that life at school was a totally different affair from what it had been at home. she had now very little opportunity of ever being alone. the solitary readings and pretendings with which she had been wont to amuse herself were impossible, for every hour of the day seemed so well filled with work, walks, and games, and even in recreation time the other girls constantly claimed her attention. by the end of a week she had already learnt several very necessary facts; that orders had to be promptly obeyed without either dawdling or arguing, that strict punctuality was the rule, and it was a terrible thing to be even a minute late for classes or meals; that she was by no means the only important person in the school, because everybody else thought herself of quite as much consequence, and some rather more so; that schoolgirls had scant sympathy for bumps, bruises, tears, headaches, or any other minor woes, and only said "you baby!" if she complained; and lastly, that, though it seemed most peculiar to have no one to make a special fuss over her, on the whole there was so much fun going on that it was a great deal more interesting than doing lessons by herself with miss holt.
-the girls of the third class, all of whom could write their ages with two figures, felt themselves very superior and grown-up in comparison with the little ones in the kindergarten. there were seven of these children, whose ages ranged from six to nine, and as they shared the playroom with the third form it was the fashion to pet them and take notice of them. dolly camden, connie's younger sister, was a merry little soul with the family failing for continually getting into mischief, and was the chief anxiety of miss coleman's life, having a capacity for spilling water, inking her fingers, tearing her clothes, and losing her books unequalled by anyone else in her division.
-the camdens were all handfuls, even rosie, who was sixteen, and might have been chosen a monitress if she had been more sedate, and thirteen-year-old stella, who enlivened the second class with practical jokes. there was a story in the school that miss kaye had once written to mrs. camden to say that rosie was unmanageable, and that mrs. camden had written back to say that she was very sorry, but she had never been able to manage any of her daughters herself and would miss kaye please try again. whether this were true or false, miss kaye proved capable of keeping the unruly four in order, and was about the only person, except their father, of whom they really stood in awe.
-sadie and elsie thompson were two puny, motherless little girls of nine and six. they had been brought up by an aunt who was not at all kind to them, and they found heathercliffe house such a happy exchange that they almost dreaded the holidays, when they must go back to the home that was so unhomelike. their father was a sea-captain, who came to visit them about twice a year, when he returned from his voyages, and brought them presents from foreign places. he did not forget them either when he was away, and often sent them postcards of strange countries, which had to travel many thousand miles before they reached england. margie wilson was a fat sturdy child with an original mind and a stubborn temper. she had a habit of speaking her thoughts which was apt to be rather disconcerting.
-edna lowe was a rather silly little thing, who had been much spoilt at home, and was still surreptitiously petted by her sister lily in the second class, who occasionally had a battle on her behalf with miss coleman, who saw no reason why edna should be treated differently from the others, and rewarded good behaviour or inflicted punishments with an impartial hand. nessie hirst, a nervous child, who had been sent to aberglyn for the benefit of the sea air, was a favourite with the third class, her pathetic, wistful, grey eyes, long rich-brown hair, and the beautiful and elaborately embroidered frocks which her mother worked for her, gave her a somewhat distinguished appearance, and among the girls she often went by the nickname of "little vere de vere". the prettiest of all, however, was greta collins, a small, golden-haired, blue-eyed rascal, who attached herself promptly to sylvia like a limpet, sitting on her knee, clinging round her neck with kittenish fondness, and making herself very charming with her coaxing manner.
-"it's only because you're somebody fresh," said marian woodhouse. "she does this to every new girl. you should have seen the fuss she made of me when first i came. she'll have quite got over it in a fortnight, and will hardly look at you."
-"you won't; will you, darling?" said sylvia indignantly, hugging the child closer, for she was much flattered at being the object of so much adoration.
-"no, i'll love you always. better than any of these horrid girls. tell them to go away! i don't want anybody but you." and she clasped her arms round sylvia's neck, and kissed her again and again.
-"i know you will," declared sylvia. "so we'll just take no notice of them. you're my special baby, and i mean to keep you."
-"all right, you'll soon find out, and then don't say i didn't warn you!" returned marian, laughing.
-in spite of both sylvia's and greta's protestations to the contrary, marian's words proved to be exactly true. for almost a week the little girl's affection kept at red heat; on the seventh day it began to show signs of flagging. it was in vain that sylvia tempted her with stories, cajoled her with sweets, or even presented her with one of her lovely new paintbrushes; greta was tired of her fancy, and though she accepted anything that was offered her, she only gave a half-hearted peck of a kiss in return, and ran back promptly to play with nessie hirst. poor sylvia was terribly distressed. she had been fascinated with greta's pretty pink-and-white face, and big blue eyes; she liked to curl the long, golden ringlets round her fingers, to fasten the clean pinafores, or do any other small services for her, and especially to feel that the child clung to her in preference to anybody else. to be thus suddenly deserted was a blow, and it was particularly galling to have marian woodhouse say "i told you so." all her efforts at winning back her fickle admirer were absolutely useless. greta refused to be coaxed, and at the end of a fortnight fulfilled marian's prophecy by pushing away her former friend and even smacking her, which brought matters to such a crisis that sylvia, after a storm of tears in private, gave up the attempt and resigned herself to the inevitable.
-luckily there were plenty of fresh interests to help to put greta out of her thoughts. though she had studied fairly hard with her governess at home she had never before entered into competition with other girls, and it was a new experience to work in class. as miss holt had expected, she was forward in some subjects and backward in others; but she was gifted with an excellent memory and found she could learn with little trouble what many of the others found impossible tasks. except for french with mademoiselle and nature study with miss kaye, all the lessons were taken by miss arkwright. sylvia could never quite make up her mind whether she liked her or not. she was tall and slim, with large teeth, and a nose that moved about like a rabbit's when she spoke, and she wore her hair brushed very plainly back from her high forehead. she was a conscientious teacher but not a very interesting one, and she somehow lacked the charm which attracted the girls so much to their headmistress.
-"miss kaye seems to like to know each one of us separately, and all about our friends and our homes," said marian one day, "and i don't believe miss arkwright cares in the least about us out of school, so long as we know our lessons in class."
-children are very quick to feel sympathy, and, though miss arkwright did her duty thoroughly, most of her pupils respected her more than they loved her, and while she was not disliked she was never popular.
-it was a revelation to sylvia, who in her work with miss holt had never troubled whether she did exceedingly or only moderately well, to find that at heathercliffe house a little extra effort made all the difference. at the end of every week the marks of each girl were balanced up, and on monday morning at nine o'clock miss kaye would march into the classroom to read out the list and add a few comments of praise or blame. the girls sat in school for the week according to the order in which their names occurred on the balancing list, and it had been a point of great pride with marian woodhouse to come out top, a position which hitherto no one had troubled to dispute with her.
-sylvia had arrived on a wednesday, so that the first week she was only able to obtain part marks, though in two days she had gained enough to place her half-way up the class, above gwennie woodhouse and jessie ellis and even nina forster. the second week was a duel between herself and marian. both worked hard and steadily and seemed fairly equal, for what sylvia lost by her bad writing she gained through her more accurate memory, and some of marian's most venturesome guesses happened to turn out wrong, though she could beat sylvia at arithmetic. the books in which they wrote their exercises were always looked over on saturday by miss kaye, who marked them both for matter, style, writing, and general neatness; so the girls could not tell until these were returned what was their total for the week. it was very exciting on sylvia's second monday morning when miss kaye entered bearing the pile of exercises and prepared to read out the list of marks. it was her custom always to begin with the bottom girl, and to-day she proceeded as usual.
-"jessie ellis. 29. your history is especially weak, and i noticed there were sixteen mistakes in your dictation. if you cannot keep up with the class i shall be obliged to send you down again.
-gwennie woodhouse. 34. i believe you have tried, gwennie, as it is more than last week, but there is still much room for improvement.
-connie camden. 38. i expect better things from you, connie. you can learn quite well when you apply yourself properly, and i consider it a disgrace that you should have a bad mark for arithmetic. if i find it again you will have to stay in on saturday afternoon and learn your tables.
-nina forster. 39. you have had a bad cold, so i will excuse you this week. your writing is beautifully neat, though i should like to see higher marks.
-linda marshall. 45. you have done well in grammar, but failed utterly in geography. your map is very inaccurate.
-hazel prestbury. 50. excellent in spelling and composition, but rather weak in arithmetic.
-marian woodhouse. 60. very good and conscientious work. your exercises show great care and neatness.
-sylvia lindsay. 63. i am pleased, sylvia, to find you have done so well, and hope you will continue with such a good record. i should like to see improvement in your writing, and you must make that your chief care. in every other respect your work is highly satisfactory. girls, take your places!"
-it was a proud moment for sylvia when she stepped above marian woodhouse to claim her seat at the top of the class. marian held her head down and looked as black as thunder; linda could scarcely conceal her delight; connie camden was nudging nina forster; and gwennie's eyes filled with tears at the sight of her sister's humiliation. she had no ambition for herself, but she had always gloried in marian's success.
-miss arkwright looked as surprised as anybody, but her conscience was clear of all favouritism, she was strictly impartial, and miss kaye herself had marked the exercises. she made no comment, however, and lessons began as usual.
-the eight girls were seated in a row on a form opposite their teacher's desk, and were expected to sit with shoulders erect, hands folded, and feet neatly placed together. sylvia, who had rather fidgety ways, and was apt to wriggle when answering a question, found it hard to keep this prim position, and, in the agony of recalling the principal tributaries of the yorkshire ouse, she almost unconsciously seized a handful of pens from the box which lay on a chair by her side and began to finger them nervously.
-"the swale, the yore, the nidd, the wharfe, the aire," she said, counting each with a pen.
-marian put out her hand and drew the pens firmly away.
-"two more," suggested miss arkwright.
-"the swale, the yore, the nidd, the wharfe, the aire----" repeated sylvia desperately, missing the pens and feeling as if she could not go on without them.
-"next!" said miss arkwright, who never waited long for anybody.
-"calder and don," finished marian promptly, replacing the pens in the box, which she popped on to the desk behind, whispering to sylvia as she did so: "you're not fit to be top!"
-"marian woodhouse and sylvia lindsay each lose an order mark," said miss arkwright, at which they both looked sober, though neither minded very much since the other had the same.
-"you needn't have pulled the pens from me just when i was answering," said sylvia to marian afterwards. "you put everything straight out of my head."
-"if you can't answer without something to play with," retorted marian, "you'd better go to the baby class and learn kindergarten drawing on a slate. no one would think you were nearly eleven."
-it was certainly trying for poor marian to find a younger girl occupying the position which she had come to regard as her own special property, and she could not yield with a good grace. fate seemed determined to call her failure into notice. in the afternoon, when singing was over, miss denby turned to dismiss the various forms back to their schoolrooms.
-"class three will go out first," she said. "balancing order. now girls be quick! come, marian, where are you?" for marian, with a very red face, had not stepped forward as usual to take her place at the head of the line.
-"i'm top!" said sylvia, who found it impossible to conceal her triumph, and she led the way with the feeling of a rival claimant who has suddenly and unexpectedly been raised to the throne, enjoying miss denby's astonishment as much as marian's confusion.
-after that it was a continual struggle between the two children for the coveted seat. sometimes one gained it and sometimes the other, and one week they were exactly equal, a difficulty which miss kaye solved by deciding that marian was to be head in the mornings and sylvia in the afternoons. no one else in the class seemed able to dispute it with them, though hazel prestbury occasionally won high marks. linda, a bright enough child to talk to, and fond of reading, had not a very good memory, connie camden was incorrigibly lazy, nina only worked by fits and starts, and both gwennie woodhouse and jessie ellis were of course out of the question.
-sylvia certainly did not find school life all plain sailing. among other things miss arkwright was a totally different person from her former governess. miss holt, anxious to develop her pupil's powers of general intelligence, had allowed her to ask continual questions, and would even argue a point with her in order to encourage her to think clearly upon a subject. miss arkwright, on the contrary, did not allow any girl to have opinions in opposition to her own, and sylvia got into sad trouble if she ventured on original ideas. once in the geography class she was asked to give the capital of tuscany.
-"firenze," she replied promptly.
-"next," said miss arkwright.
-"florence," answered marian with a toss of her head.
-"firenze is the proper italian name for florence," corrected sylvia. "father and mother were staying there last easter, and they said everybody called it that, and didn't understand what you meant if you said florence."
-"we are having our geography lesson in english, not italian, so we will call the places by the english names which are given in the book," said miss arkwright, glaring at her; and sylvia lost a mark, much to her indignation.
-another time the class was reading marmion, and repeating the notes which were given at the end of the cantos. now sylvia had revelled in so many historical stories that she understood thoroughly all about a portcullis and a drawbridge and a donjon keep, and instead of simply saying the note she volunteered an explanation of her own. it was what miss holt would have encouraged, but miss arkwright kept strictly to the lesson.
-"i did not ask for your opinion, sylvia," she said. "the notes given in the book are quite sufficient, and you may confine yourself to them."
-"i don't believe one of them knew it," she said to herself, "and if the question had gone on they would all have missed too."
-"oh, miss arkwright, it's not fair!" she added aloud, getting up with flaming cheeks at the sting of the thought that half a minute had saved marian's mark and lost her own. "i oughtn't to count that last miss."
-"sylvia, if you speak to me like that again i shall order you to leave the room," said the mistress, who prided herself on her good discipline. "i think you must have forgotten yourself."
-"it was mean of her," said linda, trying to console her friend afterwards. "when we were in miss coleman's form, and the bell rang when a question was only halfway down the class, she always said: "don't count the last turn," because it wasn't fair unless we all had the same chance of missing. but you did say it in such a cheeky way, i think that was why she was so angry. it's no use trying to get her to take it off now; when she's once said a thing she sticks to it and nobody but miss kaye could make her alter it; and we shouldn't dare to ask her; and if we did it wouldn't be worth it, because miss arkwright would be twice as cross afterwards. you'll just have to grin and bear it."
-by the time sylvia was thoroughly settled in the third class another trouble began to distress her. she had formed a great affection for linda marshall, and as the two shared a bedroom it seemed only natural that they should be bosom friends. linda was very willing to consider sylvia as her special comrade; they were almost the same age, and had so many likes and dislikes in common that there was not the least occasion to quarrel over anything, and they were never so happy as when they were alone together. that, however, hazel prestbury was by no means ready to allow. although she slept with connie camden she had hitherto considered linda her friend, and was very indignant that sylvia should have stepped between them.
-hazel was a girl about whom miss kaye often felt some uneasiness. the eldest in her class, she was also old for her age, and she had brought a good many notions to school with her that were not at all in accordance with the simple ideas which were encouraged at heathercliffe house. she thought far more of dress and position than she had any business to do, criticized the other girls' clothing, compared the value of her birthday presents with those of her schoolmates, and was apt to boast of her abundant pocket money. she was also not always as open and truthful as might have been wished, and though it could never be exactly defined, she somehow kept up a slight spirit of hostility against the mistresses, and would never respond heartily to any kindness from headquarters. miss kaye thought she was not altogether a wise friend for linda, who, being a whole year younger, was likely to be easily influenced, and it was on this account that she had not allowed the two to share a bedroom.
-sylvia would watch with jealous eyes as the pair walked arm in arm down the avenue or played draughts together in the recreation hour. she tried to console herself with reading, but somehow the books did not seem nearly so absorbing as they had done at home, and she sat with one ear open to hear what linda was saying. she did not care to make friends with any of the other girls, though nina forster proffered a few advances, and connie camden was always "hail fellow well met" with everybody.
-one wet afternoon the third class and some of the members of the fourth were sitting round the playroom fire indulging in oranges, which miss kaye had given as a special treat.
-"i like to suck mine with a lump of sugar," said gwennie. "if you do it carefully you can get every scrap of orange out without breaking the peel."
-"i can't eat orangeth," sighed sadie thompson pensively. "they alwayth make me thick."
-"make you thin, i should think," laughed marian. "you're the skinniest little creature i ever saw."
-"i don't mean fat, i mean thick--ill."
-"oh, sick! then why don't you say so?"
-"becauthe i can't help lithping," replied sadie, who was rather proud of her accomplishment, and did not make any great effort to overcome it.
-"i wish i lisped," said connie camden enviously. "i'd have such fun with miss arkwright in the reading lesson. she'd stop for five minutes worrying over one word. don't you remember when i pretended i couldn't say 'meritorious'? i'm going to cut my orange in half if anybody will lend me a penknife."
-"where's your own?"
-"lost it long ago. i never can keep them. i got one in my christmas stocking and another on my birthday, and i had a new one at the beginning of this term, but they're all gone. my pencil wore down to such a perfect stump yesterday i couldn't finish my sums, and i daren't borrow, because miss arkwright said she'd give a bad-conduct mark to the first girl who spoke one word. i tried to signal to nina, but she wouldn't look. hazel, lend me yours!"
-"no thanks!" replied hazel. "not to cut oranges. it's a new one and you'd spoil it."
-"oh, you mean thing! who'll be generous?"
-"you may have this if you like," said sylvia. "i don't much mind if you keep it; it's only an old one, and i have another in my pencil box."
-"you dear, i'd love it! i shall have to give you something in exchange, though, or else it will be unlucky. what will you have?" and connie turned out the very miscellaneous contents of her pockets, displaying various stumps of lead pencil, a much worn indiarubber, a buttonhook, two or three dominoes, a walnut shell, some acorn cups, a stone with a hole in it, a whistle, a sticky piece of toffee, and a calendar.
-"i don't want any of them," said sylvia, shaking her head.
-"but you must. knives cut love, and we shall quarrel if you don't. the calendar's not much good; it's last year's, and i only kept it for the picture of the dog on the back. but have this," pressing one of the pencils into her hand. "it's the longest piece i have, and rather a nice soft one."
-"let us try putting our pips in the fire," said nina. "you name one after yourself, and another after someone you like, and then say:
-'if you hate me, pop and fly; if you love me, burn and die,'
-and see whether you and the person you have chosen will stick to each other or not. i'm going to try evelyn hastings."
-"is she your latest?" enquired marian.
-"i think she's perfectly beautiful. she let me carry her umbrella for her this morning, and said i might do it to-morrow if i wanted. may spencer never speaks to me now."
-"i should think she's tired of you. you must have been such a nuisance always clinging on to her arm. why can't you let the first class alone? they don't want us."
-"they mayn't want you, but they want me," said nina, whose adoration of the big girls was a perpetual joke in her class. "i held evelyn's wool yesterday, and pulled off her goloshes, and she never even asked you."
-"i shouldn't have done it if she had," declared marian. "i'd let her wait on herself. i think you're the silliest girl i know. put your wretched pips in the fire if you're going to."
-the result was unfortunate. the one christened 'nina' popped away promptly, much to its owner's indignation.
-"you won't stick to her, you see," laughed marian, "you'll get tired of her, and throw her over, as you do everybody else."
-the amusement proved popular, and all the girls insisted upon trying the fortunes of themselves and their friends.
-connie camden was faithless to everybody; jessie ellis had a solitary failure, but would not divulge the name she had chosen or make another attempt; and gwennie, to her great disgust, turned traitor to her beloved marian.
-"we must go in together of course," said hazel, throwing two pips, for herself and linda, into the flames. they were fat, juicy ones, and it was a little while before they caught fire. pop, pop, they both went, each shooting to different sides of the grate with such violence that they fell out into the fender.
-"no! no!" exclaimed the others. "they've flown as hard as any could fly. you've both done with each other entirely. now someone else. linda, see if you have better luck with sylvia!"
-"they're burning," said nina. "one's just going to pop! no, it isn't. it's changed its mind. they've both rolled down into that hot piece. there they go! they're burnt as black as cinders. you two are friends. you're the only ones who have kept together of all we've tried."
-sylvia squeezed linda's hand hard with pleasure. to be her friend and stick to her through thick and thin was the height of her ambition, and she was glad that their trial had proved so favourable.
-"it's a silly game and doesn't mean anything at all," said hazel, flushing angrily. "i wonder you're such babies as to believe in it. you'll be counting your fortunes by the holes in your biscuits next. nina, you were a goose to begin it."
-"well, really! you were ready enough to try," said nina. "you've no need to be such a crab-stick that i can see."
-"you've about as much sense as a sparrow," declared hazel, "and you'll never have any more if you live to be a hundred. i shan't trouble to play your rubbishy games again!" and she turned away to get out her writing case, and begin a home letter, with such a cross expression on her countenance that the others wisely left her alone.
-it was only a few days after this that an incident occurred which unfortunately caused the first shadow of a quarrel between sylvia and her friend. the dancing classes had commenced and were held weekly in the large schoolroom at half-past two o'clock. everyone was expected to appear in a light frock and thin shoes, so the afternoon seemed almost more like a party than a lesson. miss delaney, the teacher, was immensely popular with the girls, and they looked forward to friday throughout the whole week.
-linda, who was particularly graceful and light of foot, was considered one of the best dancers in the school, and always included in a tarantella or gavotte, or any figure which required a little more skill than was possessed by most of the beginners. linda's music lesson happened to be on friday afternoon at two o'clock and she went straight from miss denby and the piano to the dancing class. now on this particular day she had put on her white dress as usual, but just as she was opening the door of the practising-room she suddenly noticed that she had completely forgotten to change her shoes. what was she to do? there was not time to run back for them now, as miss denby had caught sight of her and she dare not beat a retreat; neither could she go after her lesson, because the girls were strictly forbidden upstairs when once the school bell had rung. hazel, however, happened to be passing down the corridor exactly at that moment, and linda managed to find time to gasp out: "ask sylvia to bring my dancing shoes to the dressing-room," before miss denby said: "come along, linda! what are you waiting for?" and she was obliged to enter and shut the door.
-hazel was in no hurry to deliver her message. she waited until about twenty-five minutes past two, then, going into the playroom, where most of the others were collected, she strolled leisurely across to sylvia.
-"here, you," she said insolently, "you've got to go and fetch linda's dancing shoes. she's forgotten them."
-"who says i've got to go?" asked sylvia angrily, for hazel's tone had roused all her worst feelings.
-"i do for one!"
-"then i just shan't."
-"all right! shall i tell linda you said you wouldn't?"
-"you can if you like. i'm sure i don't care. i haven't time to race about the school finding other people's things. it's almost half-past now." and sylvia marched away to the dancing class with her nose in the air, as much out of temper as she had ever felt in her life.
-it was not possible for hazel or anyone else to fetch the shoes, as the rules of the school inflicted dire penalties on any girl who entered another's bedroom; so when linda hurried into the dressing-room a few minutes afterwards, expecting to be able to put them on, she was much disappointed not to find them there. she hunted about, but they were nowhere to be seen, and, afraid of being late she was forced to go to the lesson in her ordinary, common ankle-band slippers. she was furious, since the whole point of the tarantella lay in the elegant way in which she must point her toes and turn a graceful pirouette, and how was she to do so in these thick, awkward shoes that were only meant for the hard wear and tear of everyday use! linda was rather proud of her dancing, and it was very annoying to have her best steps spoilt for lack of proper slippers. she could not venture to ask to be allowed to go and change them, because miss kaye was sitting in the room, and would be sure to give her a severe scolding for her carelessness; so she would be obliged to manage as best she could and hope that no one in authority would notice her feet.
-"didn't you give sylvia my message?" she said to hazel at the first opportunity, when the three girls were able to speak together during a rest.
-"of course i did, but she just flatly said she wouldn't go," replied hazel, delighted to have this opportunity of making mischief between the friends.
-"did you really, sylvia?" asked linda, her eyes full of reproachful enquiry, and leaning upon hazel's arm.
-now sylvia was still not at all in an amiable frame of mind, and the sight of linda's head pressed against hazel's shoulder heaped coals on to her wrath.
-"i hadn't time," she snapped, and, turning away, began to talk to nina forster.
-at this point the mistress called for the tarantella, and linda stood up with several elder girls, holding her tambourine and long ribbons gracefully above her head. how she longed for the dainty bronze shoes that were left in the bedroom upstairs! her steps felt so awkward that she could neither glide nor spring properly, and she was not surprised when at the end of the dance miss delaney said: "hardly so good as usual, my dear." linda considered she had very good cause to feel offended with sylvia, and she would not look at her for the rest of the afternoon. she scarcely touched the tips of her fingers when they met in the "grand chain", and kept as far away from her as she possibly could, choosing hazel for her partner in the waltz and connie camden in the highland schottische.
-sylvia tried to show by her manner that she did not care, but in reality she felt on the verge of tears. she danced with little sadie thompson, casting a wistful look every now and then at linda's back, though she took no notice if they happened to meet face to face. she managed to change places at tea and sit between gwennie woodhouse and jessie ellis, and at evening recreation she retired to a corner of the playroom with a book.
-the great ordeal was when the two children found themselves alone in their bedroom at night. each considered the other so entirely in the wrong that neither would give way, and they both undressed in stony silence, very different indeed from the confidences which they were accustomed to exchange.
-sylvia peeped at linda's bed in the morning, wondering whether she would show any signs of relenting. but no, linda got up without noticing her in the least, and the breach seemed as wide as ever.
-it was saturday, and except for mending and stocking darning the girls might amuse themselves as they wished. the two friends had planned to finish their garden and to plant the delightful collection of snowdrops, crocuses, and tulips which mrs. lindsay had sent them. sylvia carried the box down, and a trowel, and set to work in a half-hearted manner, putting in little groups and rows, though she certainly was not enjoying herself. linda, who was equally unhappy, waited ten minutes, then, arriving with her spade, began solemnly to dig up her root of hepatica and her clump of primroses.
-"do you want to put them here?" enquired sylvia anxiously, moving some of her bulbs out of the way.
-"no, thank you," replied linda with cold politeness. "i'm going back to my old garden." and, carrying her treasures in her arms, she stalked away.
-poor sylvia felt this was the last straw. to be thus deserted was a cruel blow; she would never enjoy her flowers alone, however lovely they might prove. she had written for the bulbs chiefly on linda's account, and if they were not to share them she did not care to plant them at all. she flung down her trowel, and, walking away to a retired part of the grounds, sat down on a seat under a hawthorn tree and began to cry as if her heart would break.
-she had not been there very long before chance, or something better than chance, brought mercy ingledew to the same spot with her latin grammar. as monitress of the upper landing she had the whole of the third class under her care, and, seeing one of her charges in such distress, she came at once to enquire the cause.
-"you needn't be at all afraid to tell me, dear," she said. "if you've got yourself into a scrape it's my business to help you. just tell me everything as you would to your elder sister."
-"i haven't got any sister," sobbed sylvia.
-"no more have i, i only wish i had, so i'm going to pretend now that you're mine. what's the trouble? i don't like to see my third class girls crying."
-sylvia never forgot how kind mercy was. she listened patiently to the whole matter, and then sat thinking for a while, and stroking sylvia's fluffy hair.
-"there seem to have been faults on both sides," she said at last. "doesn't it strike you, dear, that it's just a little selfish of you to want to keep linda entirely to yourself?"
-"but she's my friend!" said sylvia in astonishment.
-"she was hazel's first. why can't you all be jolly together without this continual jealousy? you'd be a great deal happier."
-"ye-es," said sylvia doubtfully. "what i feel, though, is that i mind so dreadfully, and i'm sure linda doesn't care half as much, because she has hazel."
-"perhaps she cares more than you think. if i were you i should go and tell her exactly what happened about the shoes, and say you're sorry. you'll have done your part at any rate, and if she likes to make it up she can."
-sylvia took mercy's advice, and, finding linda mooning aimlessly up and down the avenue, she went straight to the point without any further delay, and explained the whole affair.
-"i'm afraid it was i who was cross," said linda. "i've been feeling perfectly horrid all the morning. i hate being out of friends with anyone, and especially with you. i wish my wretched dancing shoes had been at the bottom of the sea. have you planted all the bulbs yet? we meant to put the snowdrops in the middle, you know. i don't like my old garden at all. it's no fun doing it alone. shall i bring back the primroses and the hepatica?"
-the story of mercy ingledew
-one result of the coolness and subsequent reconciliation between linda and sylvia was the establishment of a firm friendship between the latter and mercy ingledew. sylvia, who had been more accustomed at home to grown-up people than children, was attracted to mercy at once, and the elder girl saw so much that was unusual and lovable in the younger one's character that she took a strong interest in getting to know her better. mercy was a tall, fair girl of sixteen, with a sweet, thoughtful face, and a particularly pleasant open expression. she was a great favourite, both with teachers and pupils, a plodding, conscientious worker, and always ready to give help or sympathy to anyone who stood in need of either. miss kaye had made a wise choice in appointing her monitress of the upper landing, as no one could have more fully appreciated the responsibilities of the post. she tried as much as lay in her power to 'mother' all the eight little girls of the third class, looking after them in their bedrooms, reviewing their clothing, helping to brush their hair, settling their disputes, advising them in any question of right and wrong, and keeping them up to the mark in matters of school discipline, and she managed to do it in such a jolly, hearty, affectionate, tactful manner that not one of them resented her interference. mercy had very soon discovered that sylvia had far more in her than most girls of her age, the expressive hazel-grey eyes, lost sometimes in a brown study, or shining with excitement over some new pleasure, told a tale of the eager mind behind them; and the child's many quaint remarks, decided opinions, the flashes of humour or flights of fancy in which she occasionally indulged, singled her out as possessing powers far beyond the average.
-"she has just twice the brains of connie camden or nina forster," said mercy to a fellow monitress; "i shouldn't be at all surprised if she were to be a great credit to the school some day. you should hear the clever games she invents for the babies, and the marvellous stories she makes up for them. she really has a wonderful imagination. she has got through nearly half the waverley novels already, and i found her reading tennyson one day. she's rather too fond of airing her ideas, and is a little conceited, but hazel and marian sit upon her so hard that she'll soon get over it. she's a most affectionate child, far more so than any of the others. she's the only one who ever seems really grateful for what one does for them. i think she's a dear little thing, and i'm glad she has come here."
-if mercy were disposed to make much of sylvia, the latter was only too ready to return her kindness with that devotion which a younger girl often feels for one considerably older than herself. with sylvia it was not a shifting fancy, such as nina forster formed nearly every week, and changed as rapidly, but a genuine love, founded on a firm basis of all-round admiration. she thought mercy the prettiest, cleverest, and best girl she had ever known in her life, and when she discovered her to be the heroine of a most romantic history, her interest in her was increased a thousandfold. she had heard once or twice that mercy was an orphan, and had no home of her own to go to during the holidays, but it was only by degrees she gathered the various facts of the case, though when they were fitted together they formed a narrative as thrilling as any to be found in the gaily bound volumes over which it had been her delight to pore. as sylvia got the account mostly in disjointed scraps, first from one girl and then from another, and was obliged to connect them for herself, it will be as well to tell mercy's story here as she learnt it more fully afterwards, since it had some bearing and influence on various incidents which happened later and led in the end to unforeseen events.
-fifteen years ago there was great uneasiness among the white residents of the city of tsien-lou, in a certain inland province of china. there had been rumours of serious riots and outrages against foreigners farther up the country; terrible tales were whispered of houses burnt and families murdered, and both the british consul and the commissioner of trade had warned the little colony of europeans to keep strictly within its own quarter, and not to trust to any fair promises made by their yellow-skinned, almond-eyed neighbours, who resented their presence in the land with such fierce intolerance. business for a while was suspended; it was not considered safe for a white face to be seen in the streets, and even the chinese servants who did their daily duties in the houses were regarded with suspicion. only the ingledew medical missionary station, at the outskirts of the town near the old kia-yu gate, went on with its work as usual, nursing the sick in the hospital, attending to the numerous outpatients who came every day for medicine and treatment, teaching the children in the school, and holding the daily bible readings which all were still invited to attend. it was an anxious time for both doctors and nurses; they knew that they carried their lives in their hands, and that at some given signal the flame of fanaticism might burst out, and hordes of shrieking, murderous, pigtailed natives might sweep over the mission, leaving nothing but smoking ruins and desolation behind them.
-it was with a troubled mind, therefore, that sister grace, the head of the nursing staff, went out one evening into the patch of enclosed garden which surrounded the hospital buildings, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked far along the road that led to the hill country. there was a fierce, fiery sunset; it seemed as if the very sky were stained with blood, and the cross on the top of the little chapel stood out dark and startling against the lurid background. she passed slowly down the walk to shut the great gate, which, though open by day to every comer, was always safely barred at night, and she was in the act of sliding the bolt and securing the chain, when she paused suddenly and listened. she had heard a moan outside, a distinct, long-drawn, suffering sigh, that quivered a moment and then died away into silence. someone on the other side of the gate was in distress or pain, and it was clearly her duty to enquire into the cause. with a beating heart she undid the fastening and peeped out. crouched down on the step, as if she could drag herself no farther, was a chinese woman bearing a baby fastened on to her back. she was desperately wounded, the blood still flowed from a gash on her head, and stains on the roadside marked the track along which she must have crawled in her agony to reach the friendly shelter of the wooden archway. life was almost spent, but with an effort of desperation she managed to raise herself into a kneeling posture, and, clasping her hands together, cried out in chinese: "mercy! mercy! the child!" and, with a last glance of supplicating appeal, fell across the threshold at the feet of the trembling nurse. help was summoned at once, and she was carried into the hospital; but she was already past all human aid. she had accomplished her errand with the last spark of her dying strength, and had gone out into the light beyond the sunset.
-sister grace took the baby from her and laid the little creature gently on the bed, unfolding some of the curious chinese clothing in which it was closely wrapped. she had unloosed the wadded coat, and now pulled off the queer double-peaked crimson cap, disclosing as she did so, not the expected shaved head, with its fringe of coarse black hair, but a crop of short, tight, flaxen curls, like rings of floss silk, falling round a pair of flushed cheeks as pink as appleblossom.
-she uttered a cry that drew both doctor and nurses to her side. "look! look!" she exclaimed, "the child is white!"
-where the poor baby had come from or to whom it belonged no one knew. it was warm and unhurt, though in such a deep sleep that it had evidently been drugged to prevent it from crying. beyond a small woollen vest it was dressed in chinese clothes, no doubt with the intention of passing it off as a native, and it wore a carved chinese charm tied round its neck. it was a little girl of apparently about a year old, so round and pretty and dimpled that, when at last, after many hours, she opened her big blue eyes, she won all hearts in the hospital at once.
-it was impossible to institute any enquiries regarding her during the troublous time which followed. the mission, indeed, escaped attack, but it was many months before communication with the outside world was safely established, and by then every clue seemed to have been lost. the consul did his best, and made the case widely known among the european residents in china, but many families had perished in the uprising, and no one could tell by which of them the child might have been claimed.
-the little waif stayed on therefore at the ingledew hospital, where she grew apace, and was soon the pet and darling of everybody who knew her. it was decided to call her "mercy", in memory of the last words of the woman who had saved her life, and "ingledew" was added as a surname for lack of any other.
-it was when she was about seven years old that the doctor and his wife, who were returning to england for a year's leave, determined to take her with them and to try to make some arrangements for her education. a philanthropic lady, who happened to join the ship at ceylon, heard the strange story, and, taking a fancy to the child, offered to send her to school; so it was in this way that mercy had come to miss kaye's, where she had remained ever since.
-last year, however, a great misfortune had occurred. her kind guardian, who had always taken the warmest interest in her welfare, had died suddenly without making a will; her heirs did not feel themselves bound to continue mercy's school fees; and again she was left utterly unprovided for. here miss kaye had come to the rescue, and had promised to keep her at heathercliffe house until she should be old enough to earn her own living as a teacher, and mercy repaid the kindness bestowed upon her by working her very best and trying to fit herself for the career which she was to follow by and by. nine years at aberglyn had blurred her memories of her early life in china, but she still wrote to her friends at the mission, and said she never forgot that one spot, though other scenes might have faded from her remembrance.
-though sylvia only heard this account of mercy's childhood at secondhand, told mostly in whispers by linda when they were in bed, it appealed immensely to the poetical side of her nature, and invested her schoolfellow with a halo of romance that added greatly to her other charms.
-"suppose she really has a father or a mother," said sylvia, who loved to let her imagination run riot; "or if they are both dead, perhaps a grandfather, or a grandmother, or an uncle who is searching for her everywhere. she might be the heiress to a big property, and own castles and halls and all kinds of things. hasn't anybody tried to find out?"
-"oh yes, lots of people!" replied linda. "but it's no use. there isn't anything to trace her by. mercy can't bear to hear it spoken of unless she mentions it first, and she scarcely ever does. miss kaye said it was much wiser for her not to think about it, because it was such a forlorn hope, and it was better to be content with the friends she has and make the most of them. i think she feels it though, sometimes, when we're all going back for the holidays and talking about our homes."
-"i'm sure she must. oh, linda, wouldn't it be lovely if we could find out her relations? do let us set to work at once."
-"how can we?" said linda, who had a practical mind.
-"i don't know quite how at first, but i have a kind of feeling it may be done if we only try. i'm going to leave no stone unturned. it's as interesting as hetty gray, or marjorie's quest. just think that almost every lady whom mercy meets may be her mother!"
-"they couldn't all be," objected linda.
-"of course not, but she might be talking to some of her own relations, and never know it!"
-"i don't see how we can help that. people aren't labelled in families like pots of different kinds of jam, so how could we find out?"
-"oh, don't be stupid! i only mean that we must keep our eyes and our ears open and listen for every opportunity. i'm going to begin to-morrow, and if you like to help you can, and if you don't you needn't."
-greatly fired by her resolution, sylvia was anxious to solve the secret of her friend's parentage without further delay. unfortunately she did not know exactly how to start. it was impossible to question mercy herself, and none of the other girls knew more than linda had told her. she decided, therefore, that the only chance was to notice if anyone looked as if they were seeking somebody, when perhaps she might be the happy means of bringing about the fortunate meeting, and have the proud satisfaction of saying: "here is your long-lost daughter!"
-"it would be the happiest moment of my life," thought sylvia, "nicer even than writing a book, though i mean to do that some day. indeed i think, when it's all turned out properly, i might make it into a story, if mercy wouldn't mind. i could call it a waif from china, or perhaps the little foundling, only she's quite big now. nobody's darling, would sound beautiful, but she's everybody's darling, so that wouldn't do. i believe the flower of heathercliffe house, would be best, and at any rate i could put 'a true tale' after it. i'd have it bound in red or green, with gilt edges, and a picture of mercy on the back."
-the first step to such a flight of literary ambition was evidently to discover the missing friends; until that was settled the whole point of the volume would be lacking and it was useless to attempt even a beginning. she came home one day after the usual morning walk in a state of great excitement, overflowing with news to tell linda, who, having a bad cold, had been obliged to stay in the house.
-"what do you think?" she cried, as they stood washing their hands together in the bathroom, "i really believe i have found a clue at last!"
-"a clue to what?" asked linda, who had forgotten all about the matter by that time.
-"why, to mercy ingledew! miss coleman took us to aberglyn this morning and along the promenade, and we sat down for a rest on one of the benches. connie camden and i were quite at the end, next to two ladies, and i could hear everything they were talking about. one of them, the tall, fair one, was most dreadfully sad, and said it had left a blank, and the other, the short, fat one, seemed so sorry for her and was trying to comfort her. 'when did you lose her?' she asked. i couldn't hear the answer, because connie was whispering to me, but the short lady said: 'dear me! as long ago as that? i am afraid you can have very little hope of ever finding her now.' then connie interrupted again, but i caught something about curly hair and such winning ways. 'you believe she has been traced to this neighbourhood?' the fat lady said; 'you are quite sure you would be able to know her from any other?' 'i couldn't mistake,' the tall lady said; 'her eyes alone would tell me even if she had utterly forgotten me!' it was just growing most interesting when miss coleman got up and we had to go, but i'm certain we're on the right track and it's mercy they're looking for. don't you think it must be?"
-"i don't know," said linda doubtfully; "it might be somebody else."
-"oh! how could it be? it all exactly fits in with mercy's story, and the tall, fair lady was in deep mourning too."
-"she wouldn't still be in mourning," said linda; "it's fifteen years since mercy was lost."
-"she might be; perhaps she made up her mind never to wear anything else until she found her. shall i tell mercy?"
-"no, i'm sure you had better not. miss kaye said we were none of us ever to mention it to her."
-"then i must find out a little more, and it will come as a surprise to her in the end. don't breathe a word to any of the other girls; i want it to be a dead secret. nobody knows a hint about it except you and me."
-sylvia felt almost bursting with the importance of her quest; her great anxiety now was to meet the lady again and make a few further discoveries. she wished she knew her name, or where she lived, and much regretted that she had not taken the opportunity of saying something about mercy at the time.
-"it would be so dreadful if i didn't get a chance to see her any more," she thought. "perhaps she's only a visitor at aberglyn, and she may go home without anything happening after all."
-every day, when they went for their walk, she looked out both for the tall, fair lady and the short, fat one, but she never saw either, though she managed to persuade miss coleman to take them twice again to the promenade, an unheard-of indulgence in one week.
-"i don't know what we're to do!" she lamented to linda. "i must see her somehow. i feel as if mercy's future depends upon it. she looks nice too. i wonder how mercy will like her for a mother. just think of having to get to know your own mother when you're sixteen! wouldn't it seem queer? perhaps she may be in church on sunday."
-"i don't see how you could speak to her even if she were," said linda. "we go out by the side door, and you wouldn't be likely to meet her in the churchyard."
-"i wish miss kaye would take me shopping on saturday," said sylvia. "it's sadie thompson's turn. i wonder if i could coax her to change with me."
-it was miss kaye's custom to allow four of the girls to go with her each saturday morning to aberglyn and assist with her marketing. they were trusted to make some of the purchases, to teach them the value of money, and were expected to put down a neat account afterwards of what they had spent. it was a privilege to which they greatly looked forward, and it had not yet fallen to sylvia's share. by dint, however, of a good deal of persuasion, added to the gift of her cedarwood pencil box, she induced sadie thompson to let her have the next turn; and, as miss kaye made no objection to the exchange, she found herself included among the favoured few.
-nothing could have been more fortunate. the party consisted of mercy ingledew, trissie knowles, from the second class, herself, and nessie hirst, and they started off in brisk spirits.
-in every shop and street sylvia's eyes were busy seeking for the two ladies; but though in the distance she thought she caught a glimpse of the short one, she found out on a nearer view that she was mistaken. they went at last into the markethall, where miss kaye was soon busy at a glass and china stall, replenishing some of the school crockery which had been broken.
-"you little ones," she said, "may go and buy me a pennyworth of parsley and three lemons. be sure you choose lemons with nice smooth rinds, and bring back the right change for a shilling."
-sylvia and nessie ran off together to the fruiterer's, proud of their errand, and were just engaged in calculating the cost of three lemons at three-halfpence each, when sylvia gave a gasp of astonishment and delight. round the corner, and actually coming to their stall, appeared the tall, fair lady and the short, fat one. they stopped to enquire the price of pears, and stood so near that the long crêpe mantle of the former was actually brushing against sylvia's hat. she trembled all over with excitement. dare she do it? could she really pluck up her courage and speak to this unknown stranger? she tried half a dozen times, but the words stuck in her throat. yet she felt she must make the effort, for perhaps mercy's happiness might hang upon this one solitary chance.
-"if you please," she began in a very small trembling voice, and touching the lady's sleeve with her hand. but the lady was too busy buying pears to notice, and only fumbled in her pocket for her purse.
-"if you please," tried sylvia again, speaking rather louder this time.
-"i think this little girl wishes to ask you something," said the short, fat lady, addressing her friend.
-the tall, fair one turned suddenly round towards sylvia.
-"what is it, my dear?" she said, somewhat stiffly; "can i tell you anything?"
-sylvia flushed scarlet. the critical moment had arrived.
-"oh, please," she said, "i thought you hadn't found her yet, and i believe i know where she is!"
-"not my tottie?" exclaimed the lady.
-"i don't know her real name, but we call her mercy," said sylvia. "i heard you say on the promenade that you'd lost her."
-"so i have. i have done everything in my power to recover her. i even put it into the hands of the police. where did you find her?"
-"she's been at school for ever so long," said sylvia, "at heathercliffe house," she added, in explanation.
-"i never dreamt of asking there," said the lady. "i should have thought miss kaye wouldn't have kept her. but no doubt she has been a great favourite amongst the girls."
-"she is. we all love her," declared sylvia, delighted with the success of her boldness.
-"but where is she? have you got her safe at heathercliffe house?" enquired the lady.
-"she's here now in the market," replied sylvia triumphantly.
-"where? oh, where?"
-"just in the next row at the pot stall."
-"let us go at once," said the tall lady, hastily paying for her fruit, and hurrying away in as much agitation as sylvia herself.
-"i don't see her!" she continued in a disappointed tone, when they had turned the corner, looking anxiously among the crockery laid on the ground, and even peeping under the stall.
-"she's there with miss kaye," said sylvia.
-"where, my dear?"
-"of course you won't recognize her, because she's grown so, but she's that tall, fair girl with the long, light hair. oh! may i tell her, or would you rather tell her yourself?"
-the lady looked first at sylvia and then at her short friend with a most puzzled expression.
-"what is the child talking about?" she asked; "i don't understand."
-"you said you'd lost her," faltered sylvia.
-"so i did."
-"and there she is--your own daughter!"
-"daughter!" cried the lady, almost dropping her parcel in her surprise. "it was my dear little dog i was speaking of. i thought you said you had found her."
-"what is the matter?" said miss kaye, coming up at this moment; "i believe i am addressing mrs. rushworth? can i be of any assistance? oh, no, we have found no dog! if we had i should have sent it at once to the police station. i am sorry there should have been a mistake. come, sylvia."
-the disappointment was so horrible and tragic, and so different from anything she had expected, that sylvia burst into a flood of tears. was this the end of all her plans? instead of accomplishing anything useful she had only made herself look extremely silly, and she wondered what miss kaye would have to say about it. at first the headmistress took no notice; she quietly finished her purchases, then, bidding nessie hirst go on with trissie and mercy, she gave sylvia a parcel to carry and told her to walk by her side. she made no remark while they were still in the town, but once they were out on the country road she began to ask questions, and drew a full explanation from her sobbing pupil.
-"don't cry, my dear," she said kindly; "you have done your best. you are not the only one who has tried to find poor mercy's relations, but the issue is in higher hands than ours. do not speak to her of what has happened this morning; it is a subject which has caused her such great grief that i always shrink from allowing it to be mentioned. the truest way to prove your friendship is to help her to forget that she is alone in the world. though we cannot supply the place of her own parents, we can at least show her how much we love her, and make her feel that she has many friends to compensate her for the loss of father and mother."
-all-hallows eve and guy fawkes
-october had passed so swiftly that sylvia could hardly realize that she had now been almost a month at school. in some respects the time appeared short, yet in others it seemed as if she had been settled there for years, and she no longer felt herself to be a new girl. the days, which had been bright and summerlike when first she arrived, were now rapidly closing in; there was no recreation in the garden after four o'clock, as miss kaye considered it too damp and cold for them to be out, and they were obliged to amuse themselves in the playroom instead.
-the great excitement at present was the near approach of all-hallows eve, when it was the custom for the whole school to meet and spend the evening in 'apple bobbing' and other amusements.
-"miss kaye gets a whole cask," said linda, "those lovely big american ones, and we have such fun! we all sit up till half-past eight, even the babies, and nobody minds how much noise we make. i don't know which is nicest, hallowe'en or guy fawkes day."
-"oh, i like the fifth of november!" said nina forster. "we don't do hallowe'en properly here. 'apple bobbing' is nothing."
-"what do you do at home then?" asked sylvia.
-"we have a large party, and put bowls of water in front of the fire, and touch them blindfolded, to see who'll be married first. my big sister once combed her hair before the looking glass at midnight to see if the shadow of her future husband would appear peeping over her shoulder, and my brother alec crept in and got behind her, and pulled a horrible face, and she shrieked and shrieked. sometimes, too, we go into the garden, and drag up cabbage stalks, to try our luck."
-"miss kaye won't let us do any of those things," said linda; "she says it's silly superstition. she was dreadfully cross one evening with trissie knowles and marjorie ward because she caught them both curtsying to the new moon. but she lets us have fun with the apples, and that's all i care about."
-at seven o'clock, therefore, on october 31st, when evening preparation was finished, the four classes collected for the promised entertainment. sylvia, whose home life had been a very quiet one, had never been present on such an occasion, and she anticipated it with much delight. as linda had said, miss kaye had been liberal enough to provide a whole barrel of apples, which stood on two chairs placed together near her desk, the ripest, roundest, rosiest ones which could possibly be. several long strings had been fastened to a beam which ran across the roof, and to the end of each of these an apple was fastened. the girls in turn had their hands tied behind their backs, and had to try to take a bite from an apple as it swung to and fro at the end of its string--a very difficult performance, since it generally bobbed, and wriggled, and slid away just at the critical moment when they were about to put their teeth into it, causing a great deal of mirth and merriment, and much triumph to the lucky one who managed at last to take a successful mouthful, and so secure the coveted treasure.
-three large footbaths had also been brought into the schoolroom, and put on forms, where they were filled with water, and apples. then the girls were allowed to gather round, and, holding forks in their mouths, to drop them into the water in the hope of spearing an apple; not nearly such an easy feat as it looked, and one which seemed to depend mostly on good fortune. of course it was great fun, especially when miss kaye tried it herself, and her fork just stuck in the largest and juiciest, and then rolled out again, or when connie camden, in despair of having any success, dipped her whole head and shoulders into the bath, getting so dreadfully drenched in the process that she was promptly sent upstairs to bed, a sadder and wiser girl; for miss kaye had strictly forbidden any wetting of hair under penalty of instant expulsion from the room, and she invariably kept to her word. sylvia won two apples, both with a fork; she did not prove clever at catching them with her teeth, though linda carried away four, and marian woodhouse six altogether, which, however, she shared with gwennie, who had had bad luck and gained nothing.
-the evening ended with some rousing games of hunt the slipper, dumb crambo, and drop the handkerchief. even miss arkwright ran about and played, and was so pleasant and jolly that sylvia hardly knew her; and miss kaye was the life and soul of it all, managing to include everybody, to see that the little ones got a fair chance, that nobody cheated or took an undue advantage, suppressing quarrels, arranging turns, and directing her flock like the wise shepherd that she always proved herself to be.
-it was a quarter to nine before the girls, hot and flushed, and with most untidy hair, said goodnight, and filed upstairs to their rooms, where they were obliged to sober down when the monitresses went their rounds, and go to bed with a due regard for order and decorum, rules and regulations being strictly enforced even on hallowe'en.
-"i'm dreadfully sorry for connie," said linda, as she brushed her hair; "i can't think what made her dip her head right in like that. she's always doing silly things. when we went to llandudno last summer she sat down in the sea when we were wading, and she tumbled off her donkey and scraped the skin from her nose. and only this term, when they were coming to school, rosie gave her their tickets to hold, and she dropped them on to the line underneath the train. the guard was so angry, he threatened to make them pay their fares, because no one could get the tickets until the train had gone out of the station, and both they and the guard were going in it; but dolly cried, so he said he wouldn't this once, only they must be more careful another time. just think of connie having to stay in bed and hear the noise we were making downstairs! i should have felt pretty cross if it had happened to me. i've sent her one of my apples, and hazel said she'd give her one of hers; still, it's hard luck all the same."
-it was but a few days now to the fifth of november. the school, having spent its excitement over 'apple-bobbing', began to work it up again harder than ever to celebrate the anniversary of guy fawkes. the little ones went about singing:
-"please to remember the fifth of november, with gunpowder treason and plot; for i see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot",
-till everybody grew completely tired of the tune and squashed them. miss arkwright improved the opportunity by making the third class read up the subject in their history book, and write a special essay upon it, with the date and principal persons concerned. the girls had been allowed to contribute from their pocket money to buy fireworks and materials for a bonfire.
-"miss kaye gets old worn-out hampers and barrels from the greengrocer," said linda. "some paraffin is poured over them and they make the most glorious blaze, and then when the fire has burnt down a little we roast potatoes in the red-hot ashes, and they taste most delicious. mr. cameron always comes to let off the fireworks. he's miss kaye's cousin, and he's so jolly. he keeps making jokes the whole time, though he won't let any of us stand very near for fear of sparks catching our dresses. then we have heaps and heaps of toffee; it's put on great plates and handed round, and there are big slices of parkin too."
-"i heard emmie hall say she believed there was going to be a guy fawkes this year," said sylvia.
-"no! is there? oh, that would be fun! how did she get to know?"
-"edna lowe had to go to miss kaye's room to take a dose of gregory's powder, and she saw a big mask on the table, and an old jacket hanging over a chair. miss kaye whisked them away in a moment, but she had quite time to notice what they were, and, of course, she told lily afterwards, and lily told emmie."
-"we haven't had a guy since i was here," said linda; "and we've never had one at home either. oh, i do want to see it so much! i hope miss kaye's really going to make one. it will be the most delicious, glorious fun that ever was! i wish wednesday would hurry up and come."
-the girls had raised a general subscription to provide the fireworks, which were ordered to be sent from a large shop in the town, but no one was allowed to buy anything privately, miss kaye naturally thinking that squibs and crackers were dangerous in young and unpractised hands, and that it was better not to run the risk of accidents.
-"we mayn't even get a box of coloured matches," grumbled a few of the third class, as they gathered in the playroom on monday at half-past four, "and i'm sure there could be no harm in that, for you've only to strike them and hold them in your fingers."
-"miss kaye makes as much children of us as if we were all in the kindergarten," declared hazel crossly. "i wish we had some chestnuts at any rate; it would be so jolly to roast them on the bars."
-"you'll have some on wednesday to roast in the bonfire."
-"yes, but i'd rather have them now. there'll be plenty of things on wednesday, and it's so slow to-day, there's nothing to do but hang about till teatime. i say, i have an idea!" and she stooped down and whispered something in linda's ear.
-"oh no, hazel, we daren't!" cried linda, her eyes wide with delighted horror; "you don't really mean it?"
-"of course i do."
-"mean what?" asked nina, full of curiosity.
-"i don't think i'll let you know. it's a secret."
-"yes, do. i'll never tell. truly and honestly i won't."
-"well, why shouldn't we slip out of the side door, and run down the road to that little shop at the corner of valley lane; we could buy some chestnuts there, and perhaps some fireworks as well. i have sixpence here in my pocket."
-"oh, we should be caught!"
-"no, we shouldn't. if we manage well, nobody will see us, and it won't take ten minutes. there's plenty of time before tea. who'll come?"
-no one spoke. the adventure was so serious that each girl felt rather doubtful about undertaking it, and shook her head.
-"well, you are a set of cowards," said hazel. "i wish connie camden wasn't having her music lesson; she'd go in a second. linda, you might."
-"don't, linda," pleaded sylvia. "it really isn't worth it. i shan't."
-"linda isn't bound to ask your leave," said hazel sharply. "she can do as she likes, i suppose. come, linda. it would be such a joke!"
-"i'm sure marian wouldn't let me go," said gwennie, "or go herself either. she's at her practising now."
-"all right! i don't want either of you, nor jessie ellis. but, nina, you like a little fun, i know. come with linda and me."
-"i didn't say i would," faltered linda.
-"yes, you will, and nina too. we three are the only ones in the class with an ounce of courage."
-nina hesitated a moment and was lost. she was very easily led, and it flattered her so much to have hazel prestbury actually begging for her company that she had not the strength of character to refuse. linda looked first at one of her friends and then at the other; they were almost equally balanced in her affections, but on this occasion hazel, the elder, the more important, and the more persuasive, slightly turned the scale.
-"i don't know whether i'll really go," she said; "but i'll come as far as the gate, and watch you start. there can't be much harm in that."
-"miss coleman said we mustn't go into the garden to-day. it's raining," volunteered gwennie.
-"oh, bother! we don't mind the rain. by the way, you girls must all promise faithfully you won't be so mean as to tell," said hazel.
-"you needn't be in the least afraid," replied sylvia, rising, and going over to the bookcase; "we're none of us telltales, at any rate, whatever other names you may call us."
-the naughty trio crept quietly from the playroom into the dressing-room, where their garden hats and jackets were kept; then, quite forgetting either to change their shoes or put on goloshes, they ran into the drizzling rain, and, keeping well behind the bushes, soon reached the front gate and peeped cautiously out. nobody was in sight, the road looked perfectly clear, and it would hardly take five minutes to gain the small shop in valley lane and buy what they wanted.
-"come along!" said hazel, holding out her hand to linda.
-but linda stopped. the remembrance of a look she had seen in sylvia's eyes rose up before her, again her friends seemed to be pulling in two different ways, and her own better judgment told her which was the right one.
-"i think i won't," she said. "i only came to see you off, you know. i'm going back to play draughts with sylvia."
-"very well," replied hazel, much offended. "nina and i will go by ourselves. don't expect any of the chestnuts or fireworks, for you shan't have them."
-linda managed to return through the garden unobserved, and finding sylvia in the classroom, the two sat chatting quietly until the teabell rang. nina and hazel came in to tea rather out of breath, and with very red cheeks.
-"we've got them," they whispered. "a whole bag of lovely chestnuts, and two boxes of coloured matches, and a magic snake's egg. we ran all the way back, and didn't see anybody but a policeman."
-"we're going to have such a jubilee to-night! nina's coming into our bedroom to let off the snake with connie and me," said hazel.
-"it's no fun with only jessie ellis," said nina.
-when tea was over, and the girls were just leaving the room, miss kaye called to hazel, nina, and linda, saying she wished to speak to them for a moment. she held elsie thompson by the hand, and motioned the children into her study.
-"now, girls," she said gravely, "i wish to ask you something. elsie tells me that she was looking out of the top landing window before tea, and she saw you all three go through the garden to the gate, and run down the road towards aberglyn. is this true?"
-"no, miss kaye," replied hazel promptly. "we didn't go out anywhere; did we, nina?"
-"no," said nina, though with less assurance.
-it was a bold step of hazel's to deny what they had done, but elsie thompson's habit of making up stories was well known, and on this account she hoped they might escape. linda gave no reply. she was in a terrible difficulty. to tell the truth would of course implicate the other two; yet she was not prepared with such a deliberate falsehood.
-"did you go down the aberglyn road, linda?" asked the headmistress.
-"no, miss kaye," said linda, feeling that her truth was only half a truth after all, and more ashamed of herself than she liked to think.
-"i am very glad to hear it," said miss kaye, looking relieved. "elsie is such a little girl that i believe she hardly knows yet how naughty it is to tell such wrong tales. i shall have to be very cross with you, elsie, if you do so again." and, shaking her head at the small six-year-old, she dismissed the four.
-hazel waited till they were safely down the passage, then, seizing elsie by the arm, she gave her a hard smack.
-"you nasty little thing!" she cried; "what do you mean by telling tales about us to miss kaye?"
-"but i really saw you," wailed elsie.
-"i never thought elsie would see us," said hazel. "it was most unfortunate. we got out of it better than i expected, though. we shall have to hide away those chestnuts; it won't be safe to roast them, or to let off the snake either."
-"oh, hazel, i wish you hadn't done it!" said linda. "we've told the most dreadful stories."
-"well, you haven't, at any rate. miss kaye asked if you had been down the aberglyn road, and you didn't go, so you only said what was quite true."
-linda went into preparation with a very uneasy mind. she was a truthful child, and could not bear to be mixed up with any deceit; but on the other hand she did not like to get her classmates into trouble. she was astonished that hazel should behave so; it spoilt her faith in her friend, and recalled to her memory several other incidents which she had not noticed much at the time, but were nevertheless occasions on which hazel had not acted in a strictly honourable manner.
-"there was the punch and judy on the beach," thought linda, "when she asked the man to begin, and promised we would give him some pennies, and then said she hadn't any money with her. and once she found winnie ingham's penknife, and kept it in her pocket for a week without telling her. and it was she who told greta collins to call 'stingy' after nellie parker, because she only put down threepence for the fireworks; and it was too bad, for nellie hardly has any pocket money, and she had given all she had. oh, dear! i wish hazel wouldn't do such things. she's so nice in every other way. i like her immensely. but what i think is horrid she only laughs at and calls fun. sylvia never does." and with that last comparison between her two friends, linda put her elbows on her desk, and her fingers in her ears, and tried to settle herself to the stern task of learning the subjunctive mood of the verb rendre, having a lively horror of mademoiselle's wrath on the morrow if she went to the french class with an ill-prepared lesson.
-what miss kaye thought of it
-tuesday passed just as usual, and no casual observer would have noticed that anything was amiss with the members of the third class. elsie thompson had evidently been frightened into silence by hazel's threat, no one else mentioned the subject, and beyond the fact that nina looked pale, and linda rather distressed, the matter seemed likely to sink into oblivion. at about a quarter to four, however, when miss arkwright was in the very middle of explaining the difference between a nominative of address and a nominative in apposition, the door opened suddenly, and miss kaye made her appearance. she so seldom came into a class during the afternoon that the hearts of three of her pupils began to thump, their guilty consciences telling them beforehand that her errand must surely concern them and no others. nor were they mistaken. after apologizing to miss arkwright for interrupting the lesson, miss kaye turned towards the girls with that stern look in her eyes which they knew and dreaded to meet.
-"hazel prestbury, linda marshall, and nina forster," she said in a voice that though quiet was full of emotion, "i am deeply grieved to find that you have been deceiving me. elsie thompson told me yesterday that she had seen you run through the gate and down the road towards aberglyn. i asked you if this were so, and you all three denied it. knowing that elsie is not always very truthful i believed your word in preference to hers. this afternoon i happened to meet miss newman, a lady who lives near valley lane, and she told me that she noticed some of my girls coming out of mrs. price's shop yesterday at about ten minutes to five, and hurrying back towards heathercliffe. i am more pained than i can tell you, not only to think that you should have broken the rules, but that you should have stooped to utter such deliberate falsehoods. you allowed me to accuse elsie of the very fault you were committing yourselves, and meanly left her to bear the blame. i am thoroughly ashamed of you, and hope you are equally ashamed of yourselves. go at once to your bedrooms. your tea will be sent to you later. i feel that, until you have fully realized what you have done, you are not fit to mingle with the rest of the class. you will, of course, take no part in our fifth-of-november party to-morrow."
-poor linda! she left the room feeling as if her trouble were almost greater than she could bear. it was impossible now to explain that she had only gone as far as the gate. miss kaye would probably not believe her, and in any case would think that she was trying to shirk her part of the blame, and cast it on hazel and nina. she was beginning to experience the truth of the old proverb that you cannot touch pitch and keep your hands clean; she had never intended to do anything in the least dishonourable, but having taken a first step it had been very difficult to act in such a sudden emergency. friendship had seemed to demand that she should not betray her companions, though their conduct certainly did not justify any great consideration on their behalf.
-"if i'd only never left the house," she thought, "or if i had told miss kaye i had gone into the garden! but then she would have known the others must have been there too. oh, it's all a horrid puzzle, and i'm simply miserable! i shan't see guy fawkes to-morrow, and i hate everybody and everything, and i wish i were at home."
-she went to bed in tears, which increased when miss coleman brought her her tea, and, after collecting sylvia's nightclothes, informed her that her roommate, together with connie camden and jessie ellis, were to sleep in a large bedroom generally called "the hospital", and no one would be allowed even to come in and speak to her. the prospect of sleeping alone without sylvia made her feel wretched, and it was not till then that she began to realize how much her friend was to her, and what a terrible loss it would be if they were separated.
-"perhaps miss kaye won't let us have a bedroom together again," she said to herself. "i wonder whom she'll put me with! suppose she sent one of the big girls to sleep here, bessie cunningham, or marjorie moreton. how hateful it would be! there'd never be any fun or talks in bed in the mornings. or perhaps i shall be just alone, as i was before sylvia came. i didn't care then, but i mind it dreadfully now i'm so accustomed to her."
-in the meantime sylvia was feeling as dejected as linda at the course which events had taken. she knew her friend was not so much to blame as the others, and it was terrible to find her mixed up in such an unpleasant business.
-"hazel often tells stories," she reflected, "and i never thought much of nina. but i'm sure linda wouldn't do such a thing. there must be some mistake. if i could only see her, and get her to explain it all."
-that, however, was impossible. she was strictly forbidden to go into her bedroom, and neither miss coleman nor miss arkwright would give any news of the three banished offenders.
-it was a very dismal evening in the playroom for the remaining members of the third class. it cast quite a gloom over their spirits. connie camden did not tease and play tricks as usual, and jessie ellis had to retire to a corner occasionally and wipe her eyes.
-"you shouldn't have let them go," said marian to sylvia. "you were there and heard their plans."
-"how could i stop them?" cried sylvia indignantly. "i said i wouldn't go myself. hazel is more than a year older than i am, and she never listens to anything i say. she was as rude as she could be, and persuaded the others to go with her. did you want me to go telling tales to miss arkwright?"
-"no, but you might have said more. i don't believe they would have gone if i had been there. i should have thought of so many reasons to stop them. it was a great pity i was at my practising," said marian, who was always wise after an event.
-"well, why didn't gwennie say it all?" demanded sylvia. "she was there."
-"gwennie is much younger, and isn't expected to tell people what they ought to do. it's quite enough for her to do as she's told herself."
-"i'm only four months older than gwennie, so i don't see why you should throw the blame on me as if it were my fault that they went," said sylvia. "you'll be scolding jessie next."
-"no, i shan't. she's so stupid no one takes any notice of her. you're different and ought to make people care," said marian, getting her book and beginning to read, while sylvia, doubtful whether the last remark was intended for a compliment or a reproof, took out her writing case and consoled herself by beginning a long letter home.
-it seemed very peculiar and gloomy not to be allowed to go to bed in her own room; she and connie and jessie undressed with many grumbles in the hospital, and hoped they would not be compelled to stay there for the rest of the term.
-"they ought to have sent the others here instead of us," said connie. "we're being punished for something we haven't done."
-"yes, but the others would have been together, and that's what miss kaye doesn't want," replied sylvia. "they're each of them quite alone, and i'm sure they must be having a wretched time. i wonder if they will be in school to-morrow!"
-evidently miss kaye did not consider them yet fit to take their places among the others, for they did not appear at breakfast, nor afterwards in the classroom. the headmistress had been greatly distressed by the whole affair, which showed such a sad lack of the moral courage and high standard she had tried to impress upon all her girls that she could not but feel a sense of failure. she decided that it was better to leave them for some little time to themselves, that they might have leisure to consider what they had done, and she did not mean to let them return to their places until after the fireworks were over, knowing that to prevent them from seeing the bonfire was the greatest punishment she could inflict.
-nina forster in any case would not have been able to be present. the run down the wet garden and road in her house shoes, which she had not afterwards changed, had brought on a feverish cold and sore throat, and she was tossing about in bed with a splitting head, too poorly to think of anything but her aches and pains.
-the day dragged slowly along. lessons seemed very strange in a class of only five, and even marian missed the others. the girls went out into the courtyard at four o'clock to look at the great bonfire which the gardener had been busy piling up, inspected the tub of newly washed potatoes which the cook had placed outside the back-kitchen door, and tried to cajole some pieces of toffee from cook.
-"i gave it all to miss kaye," she assured them, "and it's locked up in the dining-room cupboard. it's not a single piece you'll get till to-night, so don't come bothering me. parkin, did you say? it's safe in the storeroom, and it will stay there till seven o'clock."
-in spite of a slight mist it promised to be a fine evening, and the children looked anxiously up at the sky, hoping it would be clear enough to show off the rockets to advantage. the fireworks were to begin after six o'clock, at which hour mr. cameron was expected to arrive, and with the gardener's aid to set a light to the bonfire.
-"it's no fun in the least without linda," thought sylvia, wandering round to the front of the house to see if she could catch a glimpse of her friend at the window. "she'll be so unhappy all alone! i wonder if----." and she ran back to the side door as quickly as she could, for a new idea had suddenly struck her.
-"mercy," she cried, meeting the monitress in the passage, "there's something i want to do if i dare. do you think miss kaye would be very angry with me?"
-"i can't tell you till i know what it is," said mercy, smiling. "what do you wish to ask her?"
-"linda will be so miserable by herself this evening. do you think miss kaye would let me stay with her? you see, it wasn't her fault half as much as the others', because she didn't really go with them."
-"how do you know she didn't?" asked mercy.
-"because she came back at once and said she had only been to the gate. she and i sat in the classroom talking till teatime."
-"my dear child, if you knew this you ought to have told miss kaye about it before!"
-"ought i? i didn't dare. she looked so angry. i thought perhaps linda had told her."
-"i don't believe she did. at any rate i think we ought to make sure. if you like i'll go with you to miss kaye now; she's in her study."
-"oh, if you only would!" cried sylvia, clasping mercy in one of her affectionate hugs; "i shouldn't mind a scrap if you were there, but i'm frightened out of my wits to go alone."
-sylvia clutched mercy's arm very tightly as they tapped at the door of the study, and entered in response to miss kaye's 'come in!' she was thankful the elder girl was there to explain her errand, as she felt so shy herself, she was sure she would not have known how to begin.
-"you are quite certain, sylvia, that linda did not accompany the others to mrs. price's shop?" asked miss kaye, when mercy had finished her account.
-"quite, miss kaye," replied sylvia. "she never said she would. hazel tried very hard to persuade her, and she promised to go with them just as far as the gate. she couldn't have gone farther, because she was back in a few minutes. i know she came in the moment marian woodhouse stopped practising, and marian always has the piano till exactly a quarter to five. then she was with me all the rest of the time until tea."
-"miss newman certainly said she saw two girls, both with light hair," said miss kaye; "i supposed the third must have escaped her notice. i am glad to find linda is not quite so naughty as i thought. i will go to her at once and see if she is able to explain what happened afterwards."
-"and please, miss kaye----" said sylvia eagerly, as the mistress rose.
-"well, my dear?"
-"would you let me stay with her to-night instead of going to the bonfire?"
-"we'll see," replied miss kaye; and without committing herself any further she went upstairs.
-sylvia looked at miss kaye many times during tea, trying to read the answer in her face, but the latter did not glance in her direction, and seemed fully occupied in a conversation with mademoiselle. when the meal was over, however, she called to her to remain after the other girls had left the room.
-"i have seen linda," she said, "and find her thoroughly sorry for any part she has played which has not been perfectly honourable and straighforward. i am sure she will be more careful in future to avoid even the shadow of an untruth. as i think she was trying to shield nina and hazel i have decided not to punish her any more, and she is once again free. did you say that you would be willing to give up your share of the fun outside and spend the evening with her?"
-"yes, oh yes!" exclaimed sylvia.
-"and miss the fireworks?"
-"i don't mind."
-"you are a good little friend, but it is not necessary. linda may come to the bonfire, and you shall have the pleasure of running upstairs at once and telling her so yourself."
-you may be sure that sylvia flew like an arrow to her bedroom to announce the delightful news, and that it did not take linda long to put on her outdoor clothes and join the crowd which was already assembling in the courtyard.
-mr. cameron had just arrived. he was a tall, jolly, rather elderly gentleman, with a grey moustache and an endless stock of jokes, which he fired off like crackers among the girls. they all knew him well, as he often came to heathercliffe house. his daughter doris had been educated there, and though she was now nineteen, she was fond of her old school, and had accompanied her father this evening to watch the fireworks.
-"out of my way!" shouted mr. cameron; "make room for the principal figure, the leading actor on the stage, we may call him, and if you don't admire him, it's your own bad taste!"
-he was staggering from the house as he spoke, carrying in his arms a huge guy, stuffed with straw, whose comical red face, dangling arms, and helpless legs roused shouts of laughter all round.
-"there," said mr. cameron, seating him on a convenient barrel in the midst of the bonfire, "anyone can change places with him who likes; he mayn't look clever, but at any rate i can guarantee he'll get a warm reception before he even takes the trouble to open his mouth. now then, stand back, children; we're going to begin."
-the gardener had brought out a large torch, which he applied to some loose shavings, and in a few minutes a grand blaze was flaring up, catching the boxes, hampers, and brushwood of which the pile was composed. mr. cameron fastened a match to the end of a pole, and, lighting it, approached within a few feet of the guy.
-"now look," he said; "watch very carefully, and you'll see him roll his eyes."
-he applied the match to the mask where two small pin-wheels had been fitted in front of the empty sockets. they went off immediately, and gave exactly the appearance of two horrible, flaming eyes whirling round and round in the big head. the younger children screamed and clung delightedly to the elder ones, and even miss kaye was quite startled at the effect.
-"now he's going to talk," declared mr. cameron; "he's like the girl in the fairy tale who dropped diamonds and pearls whenever she opened her lips."
-he held his lighted pole to the guy's mouth, where a roman candle was hidden inside, and out came balls of red and blue and green, shooting into the air one after another with great brilliance. by this time the flames had reached his arms and legs, which, being stuffed with squibs and crackers, exploded with much noise, and the luckless conspirator disappeared with a crash into the midst of the burning barrels, to the accompaniment of a storm of clapping and a lusty cheer. when the blaze had somewhat subsided, the tub of potatoes was carried out, and each girl was allowed to place one in the hot ashes, together with several chestnuts, which could be roasting while they ate the toffee and parkin.
-"you wouldn't think of eating sweet things just before you had potatoes at any other time," said linda, "but everything tastes so delicious when it's from the bonfire."
-mr. cameron was getting ready to let off the more important fireworks, which had been kept till the end, and the girls arranged themselves in a half-circle to look at the golden rain, the catherine wheels, and the rockets which were to finish the festivities. he had prepared a surprise for them by writing "heathercliffe house" in gunpowder on the ground, which, when it was set alight, stood out in letters of flame, and had a fine effect. "i always said heathercliffe house ought to set the world on fire," he laughed, "and we've done it to-night."
-as linda stood watching the last rocket tearing across the sky, she put her arm round sylvia's shoulder. "i shouldn't have been here at all this evening except for you," she whispered. "it was lovely of you to go to miss kaye. she was so nice about it when i said i was sorry. i don't think i shall ever be frightened of her again."
-"three cheers for miss kaye!" called mr. cameron. "those who feel they have had a jolly time may join me, and those who don't had better go to bed. hip! hip! hooray!"
-and among all the laughing, clapping girls there were none who responded more heartily than linda and sylvia.
-nina forster was obliged to remain in bed for several days, but hazel prestbury came into school on the following morning, rather red about the eyes, and a little sulky. she was sorry, not so much for her fault, as for being found out, and she blamed herself for her own stupidity.
-"i might have known some tiresome person would see us out of a window," she thought. "miss kaye always manages to get to hear everything."
-she felt that the other girls disapproved of her. marian spoke her mind freely on the subject, and even gentle gwennie did not appear too anxious to sit next to her. linda avoided her as much as possible, keeping strictly to sylvia's company, and, though connie camden, who never thought about anything, was as friendly as ever, it did not quite make up for the general coldness of the rest. the girls were too kind to send her to coventry, but hazel felt she had lost her former position in the class. it was a severe wound to her pride, for she had liked to be considered a leader, and had always been pleased to see how easily the others had accepted her opinions and suggestions; as the eldest she had possessed a good deal of influence, and her greatest punishment was to find it gone.
-november crept on fast, and the days seemed to grow rapidly shorter and shorter. it was chilly now in the mornings, and those whose hard fate it was to be obliged to practise before breakfast grumbled at stiff fingers and cold toes.
-"i never know whether i like it or not," said sylvia. "i hate it when i'm in bed, and feel i'd give all the world not to have to get up so early; but when it's done it's so nice to think you won't have to do it at four o'clock. i wish one could learn music without practising."
-"and french without verbs," groaned linda, looking at her exercise, nearly every line of which showed red-ink corrections in mademoiselle's neat foreign handwriting. "i think some people are born bad at languages, and i'm one of them. i never can understand properly what mademoiselle is saying, and then she gets cross and says i don't attend."
-french was a serious trouble to sylvia also. she had learnt very little with her governess at home, and found it most difficult to keep up with marian, who had rather a pretty accent, and was good at translation. to encourage her pupils, mademoiselle had offered a prize to whichever could write the best letter home in the french language. each was to be the unaided work of the competitor, though grammars and dictionaries might be freely consulted. it was a difficult task to all the girls, and to some an almost impossible one, but mademoiselle insisted upon everybody at least making an attempt, and laughed in private over the funny efforts which followed.
-if the prize had been given for the queerest instead of the best letter connie camden would have gained it. she grew so tired of looking up words that she wrote anything she thought sounded like french, and the result would have puzzled a native to decipher. it ran thus:--
-"heathercliffe maison. "novembre la onzième.
-"mon cher mère
-"mamzelle a toldé moi que je mustai writer une lettre en français. je le findai très difficile et je ne likai pas du tout. mamzelle a offré une prize mais je suis sûre que je ne shallai pas le getter. je begge que vous excusez moi parce que je ne canne pas thinker de rien encore à sayer.
-"votre aimant fille, "connie."
-this, however, was the worst of the set, some of the others having managed to express themselves quite nicely. rather to everybody's astonishment hazel prestbury won the prize. she was not industrious enough to gain the highest marks in class, but on this occasion she had set her best energies to work, and her letter, both as regards composition and grammar, was far in advance of all competitors. she felt a thrill of triumph as mademoiselle presented her with a charming parisian basket full of choice chocolates, accompanied by a speech in french, which nobody understood in the least. she handed it round amongst the girls with a sense that she had at last somewhat regained her lost standing, and when the basket was empty had the satisfaction of overhearing marian remark that she was generous with her sweets, and gwennie wish that she knew french only half as well.
-nina forster returned to class after a week's absence, looking pale and thin, and with a white knitted shawl wrapped ostentatiously round her shoulders. she was a girl who thoroughly enjoyed being delicate, and liked the importance of having a fuss made over her. there was always a large bottle of tonic on the sideboard, which nina gloried in being obliged to swallow, and she was rather pleased than otherwise if miss kaye decided that it was too damp a day for her to venture out.
-"i can't stand much, you know," she would explain complacently to the others in languid tones. "every winter i have been laid up, with the doctor listening at my bronchial tube and taking my temperature night and morning. it makes mother most unhappy, and i'm sure miss kaye's quite worried about me too."
-as most of the girls did not know the exact meaning of either a bronchial tube or a temperature, they were a good deal impressed, and allowed nina to take the warmest seat and the biggest piece of toffee "for the sake of her throat", a state of affairs which was just what she wanted, and of which she did not fail to take advantage to the uttermost.
-with the colder weather eider-down quilts had made their appearance in the bedrooms, and now supplied the places of the pretty pink coverlets which were only used in summer. it felt very warm and comfortable to snuggle down under them at night, when the wind was howling outside and the rain beating fast against the windows, and very hard to throw them back and get up in the dark, chilly mornings, when the dressing bell was ringing in the passage outside.
-sylvia's eider-down quilt once caused her an experience which gave her a greater fright than she had ever had in her life before. she had been to sleep for what seemed to her several hours, and woke suddenly with a curious sense that someone besides herself and linda was in the room. it seemed to her as if her quilt were being very gently but surely pulled from her bed. wideawake in an instant, she pulled it back and lay listening with strained ears. there was nothing to be heard but linda's placid breathing and the drip of the rain from the spout outside the window. again the quilt slowly began to move, and this time she was certain she caught a slight sound. could it be possible that a burglar was concealed under her bed? the idea was too dreadful, and a cold shiver ran through her. what was she to do? she did not dare to call to linda; she felt as if her tongue would refuse to utter a cry, and perhaps if she did the man would at once crawl out. the room was not quite dark, as a fitful moon shone in through the blind between the storm clouds, and to poor sylvia it made the horror almost worse to know that she would be able to see somebody rise up suddenly by her bedside.
-"i'd give him anything and everything he wants to steal," she thought, "if only he wouldn't frighten me so. oh, i wonder whether he's really there or not!"
-she held the edge of the quilt in her hand. was it slipping once more? yes, it was most undoubtedly being pulled from her grasp, and, as her hair nearly stood on end with fear, she heard an unmistakable sneeze from somewhere just underneath her bed. she gave a little agonized gasp of terror, and at the same moment something sprang up and plumped on to her chest. nearly dead with fright, she yet managed to look, and to her astonishment beheld only the waving tail and round green eyes of toby, the school cat, which, settling himself comfortably, began to claw the quilt with his paws, purring his loudest the while as if quite proud and pleased with himself. sylvia sat up in bed and laughed heartily at her burglar.
-"toby, you wretch," she cried, stroking his soft fur, "how did you manage to get in here? i suppose it was you that was trying to tug my quilt from me. no doubt you wanted to make yourself a nice bed on the floor. and then you sneezed! what shall i do with you? i can't take you to the kitchen in the middle of the night. you'll have to cuddle down with me; you're beautifully warm at any rate. here, come inside, you'll be as good as a hot bottle." and, clasping the purring cat close in her arms, she was soon back in the land of dreams.
-it was quite a little adventure to relate to linda next morning, and the latter wondered how she had been able to sleep so stolidly through it.
-sylvia's birthday was on the nineteenth of november, and to her great delight it happened this year on a saturday. miss kaye, who tried to make school seem as much like home as possible, was indulgent regarding such anniversaries, and permitted many small privileges to the fortunate owner of a birthday. sylvia was allowed to choose the dinner, an important decision, over which she lingered so long that the mistress nearly lost patience.
-"of course you must not order turkey and ice cream," said miss kaye; "it must be two of our ordinary dishes, only you may have which you like. be quick, for cook is waiting to know."
-after some hesitation sylvia decided on hotpot and fig pudding.
-"i like the potatoes on the top of the hotpot," she explained to linda, "especially when they're crisp and brown, and the fig pudding always has delicious sweet sauce, and miss kaye lets one take plenty of sugar with it. jessie ellis chose boiled mutton and corn-flour blancmange with jam on her birthday. i don't think that was nice at all."
-the girls in her class subscribed, and gave sylvia a birthday book as their joint present, containing poetical quotations from shakespeare for each day, and one or two pretty illustrations of perdita, portia, and other heroines. she was charmed with such a remembrance and asked them all to write their names in it.
-"on a friday," said sylvia; "but why do you want to know?"
-"then you're loving and giving."
-"what do you mean?"
-"oh, don't you know the old rhyme?
-'monday's child is fair of face, tuesday's child is full of grace, wednesday's child is a child of woe, thursday's child has far to go, friday's child is loving and giving, saturday's child must work for its living, but the child that is born on the sabbath day is good and truthful and happy and gay.'"
-"where do you learn all these things?" asked sylvia.
-"from our old cook. she's a daleswoman, and she can tell what it means when the candle gutters or the clock stops, or a swarm of bees comes, or you see magpies, or your ear burns, or you sneeze, and what's lucky to do and what's unlucky."
-"you are the greatest goose!" said marian scornfully. "you don't mean to say you believe that silly rubbish? we shouldn't be allowed to talk to our cook at home if she told us such nonsense. you'd better not let miss kaye see you throwing salt over your shoulder, or crossing the water when you wash with anybody."
-"you always make fun of everything i do," exclaimed nina plaintively.
-"then you should have more sense," snapped marian, who prided herself upon being strong-minded.
-"sylvia has a pretty name at any rate," continued nina, "and so have i. i shouldn't like to be called marian; it's just like mary ann."
-but as marian wisely took no notice, and walked away, the shot fell rather flat.
-the parcel post came in at half-past ten, and brought several bulky-looking packages addressed to "miss s. lindsay". sylvia bore them off to the playroom and untied the strings before an audience of sympathetic girls, each of whom was almost as interested as if the birthday had been her own.
-"which shall i open first?" she said. "this one feels nice, and it's in mother's writing, too. lend me your scissors, marian, that's a dear. i can't unfasten this knot. oh, look! exactly what i wanted."
-and she drew from a cardboard box a charming little brownie camera with several rolls of films quite ready to use.
-"how delightful!" she cried. "now i can take snapshots of you all, and the house, and miss kaye, and everything. i'll send them home to father to develop; he's very clever at photos."
-"you won't be able to take snaps in this dark weather," said hazel. "i don't expect you can do much with it until spring. i took some last autumn, and they were so faint you couldn't tell what they were meant for."
-"well, she can try, at any rate," said linda. "perhaps she can manage a time exposure if she puts the camera on something steady, and get a group of the whole class in the garden. what's in the next parcel?"
-it proved to be a copy of the talisman, with "sylvia lindsay, from her loving father", written inside--a welcome present, as sylvia was collecting scott, and was glad to have an addition to her number of volumes.
-"this is a child's writing," said marian, taking up a small packet, addressed in a round, rather shaky-looking hand. "shall i cut the string for you?"
-"really, marian! let her open her own parcels. they're her presents," said linda.
-"and my scissors," returned marian. "i only wanted to help her. oh! that's pretty!" she exclaimed as sylvia unwrapped a purse made of mother-of-pearl with a gilt clasp and lined with crimson silk. on a half-sheet of notepaper was written: "with best wishes for your birthday from effie and may".
-"how kind of them to send me anything!" said sylvia. "they never have done before. i suppose it's because i'm at school. i really am in luck this time."
-the next parcel was from aunt louisa and cousin cuthbert. it was an upright wooden box, containing a set of table croquet, eight little mallets and balls, with hoops and sticks, arranged on a polished wood stand, and sandbags to place round the table to prevent the balls from rolling off on to the floor.
-"i think this is the nicest of all," cried linda. "there are just eight mallets, so that the whole class can play, and it will be such fun on wet days when we can't go out."
-"i never expected another present from aunt louisa," said sylvia. "she gave me that writing case when i came, and cuthbert the pencil box, the one i gave to sadie thompson, you know."
-"i wish she were my aunt," said marian; "i should think she's nice."
-"she is generally, but it was she who made father and mother send me here, and i didn't want to come in the least."
-"why, but you're glad now, aren't you? everybody likes being at miss kaye's."
-"yes, i'm very glad, though i'm looking forward immensely to christmas and going home. i wonder what's inside this smallest parcel. oh, a brooch from aunt mabel and uncle herbert! such a pretty one, like little silver daisies. it will go beautifully with my best dress."
-miss holt had sent a writing album, granny a bottle of scent, and uncle wallace a box of chocolates, so there was quite a show of gifts arranged upon the table.
-"you haven't opened this one yet," said linda, pointing to the largest parcel, which had been left till the last.
-"no, because i knew what it was," said sylvia. "it's my birthday cake, and mother said it was to be a present for the whole school."
-it was so carefully packed in a wooden box that the children were not able to open it themselves, and were obliged to fetch miss coleman, who prised up the lid with a screwdriver and lifted out such a wonderful cake that, as she laid it on a plate, everybody gave a gasping "oh!" of admiration. it was beautifully iced, with ornaments of pink and white sugar, and sylvia's name in sugary letters on the top, and it was of such a large and substantial size that it looked as if even thirty-four girls would be able to cut and come again.
-"mother says there's a sixpence inside," said sylvia, "so it will be very exciting to see who gets it at tea. i hope it will be right in the middle of a slice, and not tumble out just when it's being cut."
-"you're a very fortunate girl," said miss coleman. "you'll have to be quite busy the rest of the day writing letters to thank all these kind friends. i'm going to take the cake to the storeroom, but you may keep the box of chocolates."
-tea was a festive meal. the cake looked most imposing, placed on one of miss kaye's largest dessert dishes in the centre of the table. sylvia was allowed to cut it herself, and handed generous slices round to everybody, and she was particularly glad when little elsie thompson got the coveted sixpence.
-"they never have a cake of their own," whispered linda; "their aunt doesn't think of making one for them, and their father is too far away. sadie had only one present on her birthday besides what we gave her."
-before bedtime came, sylvia took her handsome bottle of scent, and, wrapping it in a parcel, wrote on a piece of paper: "will you please accept this from me. i shall feel very hurt if you don't". then in defiance of rules she ran into mercy's room, and laid it on her pillow, where she would find it when she went to bed.
-"i'm sure granny wouldn't mind," she said to herself. "no one knows exactly which day is mercy's birthday, and, though they keep it on the one when she was found, it might perhaps be to-day, and i couldn't bear to think that i've had all these lovely presents and she should have got nothing at all."
-the christmas holidays
-"stir-up sunday" seemed to come almost directly after sylvia's birthday, and the girls began to count the weeks eagerly until the holidays. there were many ingenious devices for marking the passage of time. hazel prestbury cut notches on her ruler, connie camden put twenty-two stones on her mantelpiece and threw one out of the window every morning, and nina forster scored the calendar hanging in her bedroom each evening with a very black lead pencil.
-"i live only ten miles away," said linda, "so i haven't a long journey, have i? the first term i used to go home for weekends, but miss kaye said it unsettled me, and she asked mother to let me stay at school like the other girls. i don't mind it now; it's rather nice here on saturdays and sundays."
-there still seemed a good deal to be done before the end of the term arrived. all the girls had been working in the evenings at dressing dolls and making other presents for a christmas tree that was to be given to the poor children attending a ragged school at aberglyn. they liked the employment, especially as miss kaye would come sometimes and read aloud to them while they sewed.
-"and there isn't anybody in the world who can read so beautifully as miss kaye," said linda.
-"when i was at mrs. harper's school," said hazel, "we were helped to make christmas presents to take home, instead of doing things for ragged schools. i worked a most lovely afternoon-tea cloth; mother's quite proud of it still. i wish we did that here."
-"i don't," said marian. "i suppose you only like doing things for yourself."
-"it wasn't for myself. it was for my mother. how nasty you always are, marian!"
-"it was for home, at any rate," retorted marian. "miss kaye says we can be quite as selfish for our families as for ourselves, and we ought to remember outside people at christmas, who don't get any presents, and who won't give us nice things back."
-"well, really!" said hazel; "do you mean to tell me i'm not to make presents for my mother and my aunts?"
-"i didn't say anything of the sort. you can give those too, but miss kaye said they oughtn't to be the only ones. even heathens are fond of their own families, and it's not particularly generous just for all to give things round in a circle."
-"well, we've done plenty for the ragged schools this year," said nina, reviewing the row of dolls in their pretty bright frocks, the wool balls, the knitted reins, and the scrapbooks which formed the contribution of the class. "they'll look splendid hanging on the tree."
-"i wish we could go and see the treat," said sylvia.
-"miss kaye won't let us do that," replied linda. "she's afraid we might catch measles or chicken-pox."
-"i always go to our treats at home," said jessie ellis.
-"your father's a clergyman, so you're sure to," said marian. "we do sometimes, to the scholars' tea or the congregational teaparty. gwennie and i help to pass cups and hand the cake, while mother pours out."
-"let us tell what we're each going to do in the holidays," said hazel. "you go on, marian, as you've begun. don't you have anything but school treats?"
-"of course we do," answered marian. "we go on new year's eve to our grandfather's, and have a big family party with all our cousins. everybody has to play a piece, or recite poetry, or do something, and it's ever so jolly. we sit up till midnight, and bring in the new year. and we go skating with our brothers, and slide on the pond, and if there's any snow we toboggan down the hill on teatrays and have snowball fights with some boys who live near. it's great fun."
-"yes, lovely fun!" echoed gwennie.
-"i go to so many parties!" said hazel. "i always have three or four a week, and we give a dance ourselves too. last year i went to the mayor's children's fancy ball. i was dressed as a dresden china shepherdess, with a flowered skirt and a laced bodice and paniers, and a big hat, and a crook in my hand. it's only to be a plain ball this christmas. then there are the pantomimes; we generally go to two and sometimes to the circus as well, and any concerts or entertainments that may happen to be on. now, connie, it's your turn to say."
-"there are so many of us," began connie, "mother says it's like a party to see us all sitting round the table. we play games amongst ourselves, and get up acts and charades. we have a huge room at the top of the house, where we may make as much noise and mess as we like. sometimes the boys give a magic-lantern show up there, or make shadow pictures. and bertie has a lathe, and turns all kinds of jolly things in it out of pieces of wood; and he helps us to build boats; and we sail them across the reservoir; and we go long walks on the moors; and we've a little hut at the end of the garden, with a stove in it where we cook things. we make the most glorious toffee! i wouldn't change my holidays for anybody else's!"
-"they do sound nice," said nina. "i go about with my sisters. they're quite grown up, and they take me to pay calls. then my brother's at home as well, and he and i have fun together. i'm asked to plenty of parties, but mother is so terribly afraid of my catching cold that i miss quite half of them. i don't always go to the pantomime, because of draughts. i like the summer holidays best, when we stay at the seaside. jessie, you haven't said yet."
-"i don't know what to tell," said jessie, who was not gifted with great powers of description.
-"oh, but you must say something! i don't suppose you spend the holidays in bed."
-"well, no!" said jessie, laughing. "though i did once, when i had scarlet fever. i go walks with my brother, and we help to decorate the church, and people ask us to tea. i think that's all."
-"i still think mine are the nicest," said hazel. "linda, we want yours."
-"we live quite in the country," said linda. "the carol singers come on christmas eve, and we ask them in and give them hot coffee. there's a big pond, where we skate if it freezes hard enough, and once, when there was very deep snow, we had out our sledge. sometimes we stay with granny in london, and then we go to the pantomime and the circus, and have a lovely time. we've got a new puppy, and i want to teach him some tricks these holidays. now, sylvia, you're the last."
-"i've nobody to do anything with," said sylvia rather wistfully, almost forgetting, in listening to the glowing accounts of the others, how she had once said she did not wish for young companions. "not at home at any rate; but of course there are parties, and we have people to tea. i just read and paint, and do things by myself."
-the girls appeared to consider this must be very slow, and pitied sylvia to such an extent that she was quite surprised.
-"i'm perfectly happy," she remonstrated.
-"but it can't be so nice as having brothers and sisters," said marian in her decisive manner. "i should miss our little ones most dreadfully, and fred and larry too. holidays wouldn't be holidays without seeing them. i think it must be wretched to be an only child."
-talking of the holidays did not make them come any the faster, and there was plenty of hard work to be gone through before the end of the term arrived. for the first time in her life sylvia had real examinations. she rather enjoyed the solemnity of the occasion, the typed questions, the large sheets of lined paper with margins ruled in red ink, the clean blotting paper, the new pens, and even the awesome silence of the room, with miss arkwright sitting at her desk reading instead of teaching as usual. she came out top in history, grammar, and geography, but marian beat her easily in french, writing, and arithmetic, and in the end their marks were so exactly even that they were bracketed together.
-then there was an agitating afternoon when everybody had to recite poetry to miss kaye, each being expected to choose a different piece. sylvia selected "john gilpin", which she had learnt with miss holt, but unfortunately grew nervous and got so mixed that she was obliged to sit down in confusion, and hear marian sail glibly through "the little quaker maiden", a poem which she rendered with great effect. connie camden and jessie ellis had a furious quarrel as to which should say "hohenlinden", that being the shortest on the list of both; but in the end jessie gave way and took "the may queen" instead.
-miss denby did not allow the music to be neglected, and made each pupil learn a grand christmas piece which seemed to need much more practising than any other, and had the added ordeal that it must be played on the last day before an audience of the whole school.
-the party which was always held on the saturday before breaking-up was also a new experience to sylvia. the first class acted a short french play, under the excited direction of mademoiselle, who had spent much time in coaching them for their parts. the second class took a scene from the midsummer-night's dream. trissie knowles made a pretty titania, and stella camden such a mischievous puck that everybody clapped heartily, though miss barrett said she was only acting her natural character, and of course it came easily to her. connie camden climbed up and sat on the window sill in order to see better, and fell down with a terrible crash, grazing her knee on a form and making a big bump on her forehead, and dolly managed to upset a bottle of ink which miss coleman thought she had put most securely away.
-when the plays were over, the girls had dancing and games in the large classroom, and finished with a dainty supper of fruit, cake, and jellies, which fully justified linda's remark that "heathercliffe house seemed almost as much parties as school".
-then came the exciting afternoon when the boxes were carried down from the boxroom and everybody set to work to pack, with the help of the monitresses and miss coleman. it was a most delightful, noisy, blissful time, when there were no forfeits if one ran into anybody else's room, or even jumped on the bed, when nobody had to practise or learn lessons, and one could shout and sing in the schoolroom. connie camden flung her history up to the ceiling, and did not mind in the least when it lost its back in its descent.
-"miss arkwright will be dreadfully cross about it when we begin history again," said marian.
-"i don't care! that's a whole month off, and we've all the holidays first. no school for four weeks, and going home to-morrow! hooray!" shouted connie at the pitch of her lungs, waltzing among the desks with such vigour that she knocked over the blackboard, and got a scolding after all from miss arkwright, who happened at that moment to enter the room.
-"you must control yourself, connie. i can't have such wild behaviour even if it is the last day," she said firmly.
-"oh, miss arkwright," cried connie, "you can't want to go home half as badly as i do!"
-"indeed i do," said the mistress. "i shall enjoy my holidays quite as much as anybody, though i have learnt not to dance round the desks to show my pleasure."
-the girls laughed. the idea of miss arkwright executing a highland fling or a jig between the forms tickled their fancy.
-"i could imagine miss kaye doing it easier than miss arkwright," whispered linda. "she did dance a reel, you know, at the party."
-everybody got into bed that night with the happy feeling that boxes were packed and ready, and that to-morrow morning, when the last necessaries were popped in, they would only need to be strapped and labelled, and then the joyful opening would be at home. most of the girls were too excited to eat much breakfast, but miss kaye, knowing a reaction would probably take place in the train, had provided packets of sandwiches and biscuits, and did not scold for once at the half-finished plates of porridge.
-at ten o'clock cabs began to drive up to the door, and parties of chattering, laughing girls departed to the railway station under the care of miss barrett.
-sylvia had enquired anxiously some time ago if mercy were to stay at school, having a secret hope that she might persuade her mother to ask her friend home with her, but may spencer had already given an invitation which miss kaye had allowed mercy to accept.
-linda's parents drove over to fetch her, so sylvia had the pleasure of making their acquaintance. there was not time to do much more than shake hands, still it was nice to see the father and mother of whom linda had spoken so often, and hear them express a wish that she should some day pay a visit to craigwen.
-sylvia was to travel with miss coleman, who would pass through crewe, where mrs. lindsay had arranged to meet her, and she had the four camdens and sadie and elsie thompson as companions for part of the way. the camdens were welcomed at a wayside station by a jolly crew of brothers, who appeared to have reached home first, and the thompsons were handed over at chester to a gloomy-faced aunt, who did not look particularly pleased to receive them, and remarked at once how fast they had worn out their clothes.
-"i wish i could have taken them home with me, poor little dears," said miss coleman afterwards in the train, "but my sister is ill, and could not do with any noise. perhaps their aunt may brighten up more at christmas, and remember that she too was once a child, and then we must see what can be managed for them at easter."
-at last came the longed-for arrival at crewe, the anxious search among the crowd in the station, and the joyful sight of not only sylvia's mother but her father also, hurrying along the platform. she hugged them both as if she had not seen them for years instead of eleven weeks.
-"my precious child," exclaimed mrs. lindsay, "i declare you have grown, and are ever so much fatter, and you've quite a colour too!"
-"school evidently agrees with you, sylvia," said her father. "it's a good thing you went, isn't it?"
-"it was quite different from what i thought it would be," sylvia confided to her mother when they sat in the drawing-room together for a long talk after tea. "miss kaye isn't cross, she's lovely and kind; and even miss arkwright isn't bad, and i like marian better than i did, and i just love linda and mercy. i tried to explain about mercy in my letters, but i'm afraid you didn't exactly understand, so i'll have to tell it you over again. and marian and i were both bracketed together top, and miss arkwright said we must be friends and not rivals, and i quite forgot the middle of "john gilpin", and made a horrible mistake in my christmas piece; but miss kaye said i might tell you that she thought i had done very well, but my report will come in a day or two, so then you can see everything for yourself."
-sylvia had a particularly happy holiday, and thought she enjoyed home twice as much with having been away from it for a whole term. her father found time to label the specimens in her museum, and to show her how to develop her photographs and print them afterwards, and her mother gave up the afternoons specially to be with her. all her friends came to her new year's party, and to her astonishment she found she got on perfectly well with the once-detested fergusson boys, who now seemed hardly more lively than connie or stella camden, and who did not tease her, since, as they described it, "she had left off putting on airs". her experiences with the little ones at school made her quite motherly with bab and daisy carson, and she enjoyed the games with effie and may as much as they did.
-"you said you wouldn't care to run about when you came back," they reminded her, "but you play more with us now than you did before."
-"i believe sylvia has learnt it as part of her lessons," said aunt louisa, who looked on with much approval, adding quietly to mrs. lindsay: "the child is immensely improved. she is brighter and stronger and better in every way. i was sure miss kaye would soon work a change, and i think we may feel that so far our experiment has been a complete success."
-the secret society
-school re-opened on january 18, and sylvia found herself driving up to the well-known door with very different feelings from those she had experienced on her first arrival there. on the whole she was quite pleased to be back again, to meet all her friends, and compare notes about the holidays. there was one change in the third class which, however it might affect others, seemed to sylvia a decided improvement. hazel prestbury had left. an aunt residing in paris had offered to take her for a time to give her the opportunity of special study in french and music, and her parents had arranged for her to go at once, sending brenda, a younger sister, to heathercliffe house in her place. brenda was a very different child from hazel, and had soon sworn eternal friendship with connie camden, so that at last sylvia felt she had her dear linda absolutely and entirely to herself.
-"i don't know how it is," said nina one chilly february evening when the members of the third class were gathered round the high fireguard in the playroom, "there never seems half so much fun going on in the spring term. in the autumn we have hallowe'en and the fifth of november and the christmas party, and in the summer there are picnics and the shore, and the sports, and the prize-giving; but unless miss kaye takes us a long walk there isn't anything to look forward to now until easter."
-"and that's eleven whole weeks off," groaned connie. "i wish it had come early this year."
-"it wouldn't make any difference if it did," said marian; "miss kaye keeps to the term. we should only have to spend easter at school, and go home as usual in the middle of april."
-"that would be horrid. why should she?"
-"because it would make too long a summer term, and because she likes our holidays to be the same as those of the boys' schools."
-"i hadn't thought of that. of course it would be no fun to go home if percy and frank and bertie and godfrey weren't there. still, i wish terms were a little shorter, or that something nice would happen." and connie ruffled up her hair with both hands as an expression of her discontent.
-"couldn't we do something just amongst ourselves?" said sylvia. "not the whole school, but our class."
-"there isn't anything new," said brenda, "unless someone can invent a fresh game. we're getting tired of table croquet."
-"i don't mean exactly a game. suppose we were each to write a story, and then have a meeting to read them all out."
-"start a kind of magazine?" said marian. "that's a good idea. we could put our tales together into an old exercise book, and perhaps paste pictures in for illustrations, and make up puzzles and competitions for the end."
-"oh yes, that would be lovely!" cried the others. "like little folks or the girl's realm."
-"but look here," said linda. "the second class mustn't hear a word about it. they'd only make dreadful fun of us, and it will be ever so much nicer if we keep it a secret."
-"let us form a secret society, then," suggested sylvia. "we'll pinch each others' little fingers, and vow we won't tell a soul in the school."
-"how horridly inquisitive they'll be!" said nina.
-"all the more fun. we'll let them know that we're doing something, enough to make them wildly curious, but they shan't have a hint of what it is, and they'll imagine the most ridiculous things, and then we can just laugh at them and say they're quite wrong."
-the girls agreed cordially with sylvia's scheme, and the society was formed on the spot. there was a good deal of discussion as to a suitable name. linda thought of "the heathercliffe magaziners", but nina said that was tame, and that, moreover, "magaziners" was not to be found in the dictionary of the english language. connie considered "the 'wouldn't you like to know?' club" might be appropriate, but nobody approved of her title. at last marian, who was fond of long, grand-sounding names, suggested "the secret society of literary undertakings", which was carried unanimously by the others. marian was elected president and sylvia secretary, and the latter at once devoted a new notebook to writing the names of the members and the rules of the association.
-"we must have rules," said marian, "even if we don't always quite keep them. you'll have to hide the book away most carefully, sylvia, for fear any of the second class get hold of it."
-it took a long time to think of sufficiently strict and binding regulations, but at length they decided upon the following:--
-1. this society is to be called "the secret society of literary undertakings", and it can be known for short as the s.s.l.u.
-2. each member pledges herself that she will never tell a word of what goes on in it.
-3. any member who tells anything will never be spoken to again by the rest of the class.
-4. there is to be a weekly magazine.
-5. every member must write something for it.
-6. even if a member says she cannot write anything, she will have to try.
-7. if she does not try, she will be expelled from the society.
-8. the meetings are to be held in the playroom after the fourth class has gone to bed.
-9. any member who is expelled will have to stay outside in the passage during the meetings.
-10. all members are requested to write as clearly as they can.
-11. the secretary is to arrange the magazine.
-12. the president is to read it out at the weekly meeting.
-as nina had prophesied, the s.s.l.u. aroused a good deal of curiosity among the second class, which, while it affected to look down upon the third, was nevertheless rather interested in what was going on there. being permitted to know the initials, though not the full name, the elder girls promptly added a g, and christened the members "the slugs", a title which stuck to them long after the society was abandoned. it was most difficult to preserve the secret from the little ones, who shared the playroom, but by instituting a series of private signs and signals they managed to keep up the mystery and obtain a great amount of enjoyment out of the matter. brenda prestbury covered herself with glory by recalling the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, the various letters of which she had learnt at home, and now taught to the others, who were soon able to talk on their fingers, a rather slow method of conversation, but delightful when they felt that nobody but a member could understand. unfortunately they carried their accomplishment somewhat too far one day. connie, seated at her drawing board in the studio, began signalling an interesting remark to linda, who was at the opposite side of the table, and linda was in the middle of her reply when mr. dawson, the visiting master, suddenly cleared his throat.
-"i think i ought to tell you, young ladies," he said nervously, "that i am very well acquainted with the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, having taught the subject for several years at an institution for deaf-mutes."
-connie went extremely red, as well she might, for she had asked linda where mr. dawson got the flower in his buttonhole, and if miss coleman had given it to him? the girls never ventured after that to try talking in the drawing class, though they did a little surreptitiously during dancing.
-the first grand meeting of the society was felt to be an occasion of great importance. the playroom door was carefully shut, after ascertaining that no one was in the passage, and brenda even peeped under the table and behind the window curtains to make quite sure that none of the second class were concealed there. at last, considering themselves secure, the magazine was produced by the secretary, and handed to the president, who, according to the rules, was to read it aloud from beginning to end. it was written on sheets of paper torn from exercise books, stitched together inside an old arithmetic cover, the back of which had been adorned with scraps and transfers and s.s.l.u. printed on a school label and gummed in the middle. the idea of illustrations had to be abandoned, because nobody had any magazines which they would spare to be cut up, neither did anybody's talent rise to the pitch of original drawings; but on the whole that did not much matter.
-"it's stories we want, not pictures," said marian, settling herself on the seat of honour with a piece of toffee handy, in case her throat grew troublesome through her arduous duties.
-"the first on the list," she began, "is--
-the knight's vengeance a story in two parts
-by nina millicent forster author of 'the baron's secret'; 'the mystery of the castle'; &c. &c.
-the forest was dark and gloomy as sir brian de fotheringay rode along on his superb white charger, carrying his shield in one hand and his sword in the other."
-"how did he manage to hold the reins?" enquired connie camden.
-"you musn't interrupt," said marian. "perhaps he held them bunched up with the sword. no, that would be the wrong hand, wouldn't it?"
-"the horse knew its own way," explained nina. "but if connie's going to find fault with everything one puts----"
-"she shan't!" said marian hastily. "nobody's to make any remarks till the end of the story. now i'm going on.
-his undaunted spirit heeded little the perils of his path, and as the moonlight flashed on his steel helmet he bade defiance to all his foes. in front of him stood the castle, its tall towers strongly guarded by a force of armed men. the drawbridge was up, and the portcullis was down. but dangers were welcome to sir brian de fotheringay, for they did but prove how much he could accomplish for the sake of his lady love. she stood at the turret window, the beautiful lady guinevere de montmorency, the greatest heiress in the land. leaving his charger on the bank, he swam the moat, and, flinging a rope ladder up to her window, he begged her to fly with him.
-'knight, for thee would i dare all!' she replied, but before she could say more, a stern figure in armour appeared in the turret behind her and seized her by her flowing golden locks. it was her angry father.
-'hence!' he cried. 'hence, sir brian, ere i kill thee. you, lady, will be immured in the dungeon until you have promised to wed lord vivian de fitz bracy, the suitor of my choice.'
-with a shriek she disappeared from the view of her despairing knight.
-determined to save his lady love from so terrible a fate, sir brian de fotheringay collected all his retainers, together with a band of outlaws to whom he had rendered some services, and who had promised to assist him in time of need. uttering his warcry, they rushed at the castle, the portcullis gave way before their furious attack, and the archers were slain at their posts.
-'yield thee, sir guy de montmorency!' cried sir brian, waving his invincible sword.
-'never!' shouted the baron, but it was his last word, for sir brian stabbed him to the heart.
-he had soon forced open the dungeon and released the beautiful lady guinevere. the castle was now hers, so they were married without delay, and the king and queen themselves came to the wedding."
-"it's perfectly splendid!" cried the girls, when marian had finished reading. "nina, how did you manage to think of it?"
-"oh, i don't know; it just came!" said nina, modestly. "i'm rather fond of making up tales."
-"there's only one thing," said connie. "wasn't the lady rather sorry when her father was stabbed to the heart, even if he had shut her up in a dungeon? i should be."
-"i don't think people minded in the middle ages," said nina. "you see, somebody had to get killed, and she liked the knight best."
-"but her own father!" objected connie.
-"i'm going to read the next one now," said marian, who, as president, felt bound to keep the peace. "i think nina's story's very good, and makes a capital beginning. this one seems much shorter. it's called:
-most haste, least speed
-by gwendolen woodhouse
-matilda jane was a girl who was always in a hurry. one day her grandmother told her to take the bucket and fetch some water from the well, but to be sure to tie her boot lace first. now matilda jane wanted to be very quick, so that she might go and play, and she did not stop to tie her boot lace. as she ran out of the door, she tripped over it and fell. the bucket rolled from her hand and hit the dog; the dog howled and made the geese cackle; the geese cackling made the pigs grunt; the pigs grunting frightened the hens into the field; the hens frightened the cow, which began to run; when the horse saw the cow running, it ran too, and they both jumped over the hedge into the road; then the hens flew after the horse and the cow, and the pigs went after the hens, and the geese followed the pigs, and the dog chased the geese, and it took matilda jane and her grandmother the whole afternoon to drive them back, and all because she had been in too great a hurry to tie her boot lace. the moral of this tale is 'most haste, least speed!'"
-the girls laughed.
-"i don't generally like stories with a moral," said brenda, "but i don't mind this one at any rate. go on, marian!"
-"the next is a piece of poetry," said marian.
-the kittens' chorus
-by sylvia lindsay
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to catch mice, we do, we do! but our mother, the old white cat, says we are rather too young for that.
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to catch flies, we do, we do! but our mother says that if we do it we'll grow so thin that we soon shall rue it!
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to catch mother's tail we do! but she says she is not such a common cat as to let her kits be so pert as that.
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to be good, we do, we do! but that's much harder to do than to say, so we'll think about that another day.
-the poem proved so popular that marian had to read it over again. it was the first time that the class had heard any of sylvia's effusions, and they were quite impressed.
-"i'm afraid mine will seem very stupid after it," said brenda. "i couldn't think of anything to write, but i was obliged to put something."
-"the title sounds interesting," said marian.
-my visit to france
-by brenda g. prestbury
-last summer mother took hazel and me with her to france, to visit aunt cecily, who was staying near rouen. the first thing we saw was a funny old woman in a big white cap, like a large poke bonnet, and wooden shoes on her feet. the porters all wore baggy blue blouses something like pinafores. we were obliged to go through the customs. a man in a uniform was looking to see if anybody had brought any tea. he took a little girl's doll away from her, and felt it to see if it had any tea inside it; then he took a lady's cushion, and because she got angry, he stuck his sword through it, and all the feathers came out over his grand coat. we were so glad! there were no carpets in the house where aunt cecily was living; the floors were of polished wood, and so slippery. jean, the servant, used to rub them with beeswax every morning, but he was very cross in french when hazel and i made slides on them. we used to have coffee and lovely little rolls at seven in the morning, and then proper breakfast at eleven, and we had quite different things to eat from what you get in england. one day hazel and i went such a long walk that we got lost, and we couldn't remember enough french to ask our way home. a woman came along with a donkey and two big baskets on it, and when she saw us crying she gave us each an apple, and took us to the curé of the village, who could speak english. he was very kind; he showed us round his garden, and then he borrowed a cart from the farmer, and drove us home to aunt cecily's. this is all i can tell you about my visit to france.
-"i know it's horrid!" said brenda. "but i really can't write well, and make up tales like nina. i don't know how she does it!"
-"it's jolly!" said marian. "we've none of us been to france, so we like to hear about it. i wish you had written more. the next one's very short indeed.
-the lady and the snake
-by jessie ellis
-"it's quite true," said jessie. "the lady was my aunt. she told us about it in a letter."
-"what a horrid thing to happen!" cried the girls.
-"a nice tale, but too short," commented the president. "i'm afraid linda hasn't written a long one either.
-the story of a dog
-by linda acton marshall
-i have a little dog called scamp, that follows me wherever i go. he can sit up and beg, and catch biscuits on his nose, and do all kinds of tricks. one day i was in bed with a bad cold, and scamp came upstairs to my room. i told him i was ill, and he gave a sharp bark, and ran out. i could hear him trot up to the attic, and soon he returned with a biscuit in his mouth, and laid it on my pillow, wagging his tail, and looking very sorry for me, and very pleased at himself. he must have kept a store of biscuits in the attic. i think he is just the cleverest little dog in the world."
-"my tale's true, too," said linda. "no, i didn't make it up, nina; he really did. there are only two stories left now, connie's and marian's. i wonder which comes next."
-"connie's," said marian. "and it's in poetry, too. it's called:
-by constance mary camden
-said the girls of the third class 'all we a secret society will be. though the second may hover our words to discover, it's nothing they'll hear or they'll see.
-they may listen at doors in the hall, or round by the keyhole may crawl, they may search through the schools, but they won't find our rules, and they'll never know nothing at all'."
-the girls clapped, both at the sentiments expressed, and at the poetical setting.
-"i know they'd listen if they could," said connie. "they're mean enough for anything. what's that noise?"
-"i thought i heard a kind of snorting."
-"i expect it was only my cold," said nina. "do go on, marian; we want your story."
-"but i did hear something," persisted connie. "i believe it was outside the door, too, and i'm going to look."
-she rose hastily, and, creeping softly to the door, opened it suddenly, disclosing the laughing faces of half a dozen of the second class, who had been taking it in turns to listen at the keyhole, and who jumped up in a hurry and fled from the outburst of wrath which greeted them.
-"oh! oh!" shouted sybil lake. "won't they hear or see anything? don't make too sure!"
-"i have a little dog that swallows me wherever i go!" called eileen butler. "i think he's just the cleverest little dog in the world!"
-"the slugs are crawling fast!" cried lucy martin. the injured third had risen in a body and pursued the intruders along the passage even to the door of their own sitting-room; but, seeing miss barrett coming downstairs, they did not dare to carry the fight into the enemy's camp, and were obliged to return to the playroom, and hold an indignation meeting over the glasses of milk and biscuits which arrived at that moment for supper.
-"we must read marian's story to-morrow," said sylvia. "wasn't it horrid of them? i wonder how much they really heard? next time we shall have to stuff up the keyhole, and keep opening the door every few minutes to see that the coast is clear. there's one good thing: they didn't discover our signs, or the password, and they'll have hard work to find the rules, because the book's hidden under the oilcloth in the corner by the piano; only be sure and don't let the little ones know, because i don't believe there's one of them that can keep a secret!"
-a spring picnic
-the beginning of march brought such delightful, mild, balmy weather that winter seemed to have gathered her chilly garments together and said good-bye. the month came in like a lamb, and, though it would probably justify the old proverb by going out like a lion, in the meantime the sunshine was pleasant, and everyone enjoyed the foretaste of spring. miss kaye, never slow to take advantage of the bright days, announced one saturday at breakfast-time that the girls might put on their thickest boots, and prepare for a ramble up the hills.
-"we will start at once," she said, "to get the best of the morning, and carry sandwiches in our pockets. then we can return here for tea at four o'clock."
-the expedition was considered too far for the little ones, but the third class was of course included, and all its eight members set off in wild spirits. though sylvia was in her second term at heathercliffe house, she had not seen much of the beautiful country in the neighbourhood; the weather in the autumn had been too damp for picnics, and they had only gone walks on the outskirts of the town, or occasionally on to the beach or along the promenade.
-miss kaye had made a wise choice when she decided to establish her school at aberglyn. it had the advantage of both mountain and sea air, and was within easy reach of a number of interesting places. the goal of to-day's walk was a druids' circle which lay high up on a steep mountainside overlooking the sea, and to reach it would require a climb of several hours. their way, after leading at first along a suburban road, lined with pretty houses and gardens, began to grow more countrified, and at last they climbed over a stile into a romantic-looking wood. it was the foot of a gorge through which flowed a splendid torrent, dashing its way over great boulders, and the glen was so sheltered that ferns were growing even on the trunks and branches of the trees, and the moss was like a green carpet under foot.
-the girls of course rushed down to the edge of the stream, scrambling over the rocks, flinging stones into the water, and trying to make pebbles skim on the smooth pools. luckily nobody fell in, though both connie and brenda had such a narrow escape that miss kaye called her flock to order, and bade them march on once more up the proper path.
-the trees gradually began to give way to grassy banks which were already spangled with celandine, coltsfoot, and actually a few early primroses; the hazel bushes were covered with catkins that sent showers of golden pollen over the children when they gathered them, and in a cosy sheltered spot in the hedge they found a thrush's nest with three blue eggs in it.
-"how sweet of her to build just here!" said sylvia, looking with deep interest at the clay-lined structure so cunningly hidden behind a long spray of ivy, "i can't think how she did it all with her beak. isn't she clever? oh, connie, please don't lift out the eggs! i'm sure you'll break them. she won't come back while we're here, so let us go away, or else they'll get quite cold, and won't hatch out."
-"look what i've found!" cried marian, climbing up the bank with a small white starlike flower in her hand. "isn't it early? it's a piece of saxifrage."
-"no, that's stitchwort," said sylvia, who had learnt a little botany at home, and liked to air her knowledge.
-"it's saxifrage," said marian decidedly. "my mother told me so once herself."
-"and my mother told me it was stitchwort."
-"my mother's always right. she knows everything!"
-"and so does mine! she couldn't make a mistake!"
-"you'd better ask miss kaye," laughed linda, "and then she can decide between you. i've heard it called star of bethlehem, so that makes a third name."
-miss kaye agreed at once with sylvia, much to marian's chagrin; she did not like to be put in the wrong, and indeed kept obstinately to her own opinion, and still insisted upon calling the flower saxifrage, though miss kaye told her she would show her a picture of it with the name underneath in her botany book when they returned.
-"you must notice all the things you see or find to-day," said miss kaye. "i shall expect everybody to write a composition next week on the excursion."
-there were certainly plenty of items for the girls to put down on their lists. a squirrel with a splendid bushy tail ran across the path, and scrambled hastily up a fir tree, peeping at them from the safety of the top branches before he made a mighty spring into an adjoining ash. a heron sailed majestically overhead, its long legs hanging like those of a stork, and its grey plumage dark against the sky. a whole flight of lapwings rose, screaming "peewit", from a field where they were feeding in company with a flock of seagulls, following the plough that a labourer was driving through the rich red earth. on a sheltered wall a lizard lay basking in the sunshine; and linda very nearly caught him, but he whisked away in a moment, and was gone down a hole among the stones before half the class had seen him. there were lambs frisking about in the meadows, and as the girls passed through a farmyard they found a woman sitting on a doorstep feeding one from a bottle, like a baby. it had lost its mother, so she told them, and had readily accepted her as its nurse, becoming so tame that it followed her everywhere about the house, and slept in a corner of the kitchen.
-"we had to feed one of our puppies at home like that," said linda. "we used a tiny doll's bottle, and it was such fun to mix the milk and warm water, and taste it first to see if it was sweet enough. i always loved jill much the best, but we couldn't rear her. oswald was silly enough to give her a bath when she was too young; i don't think he dried her properly, and she took cold and died. that's generally the way with one's pets," she added with a sigh.
-"so it is," said marian. "a most dreadful thing happened to gwennie and me. we had a lovely black rabbit, and mother said we had better not keep it when we went to school, because the little ones couldn't look after it properly, and she wouldn't have time herself. a man in the village asked if he might buy it from us, and we thought he wanted it as a pet for his children, so we sold it to him. then one day i met him on the road, and he said: 'oh, missie, that rabbit of yours was a good one! it made us two whole dinners, and a basin of broth as well.' we had never dreamt he meant to kill it, and we were so horribly sorry."
-"canaries are the worst," said connie. "i've had three. i hung the first outside the nursery window, and the nail gave way, and the poor little fellow tumbled right to the ground and was killed. he was such a good singer, too. the cat got the second. then i had a third, called 'tweetie'. i let him out of his cage one day when bertie was filing the keel of his boat, and we suppose he must have picked up some of the bits of lead, because he grew quite ill and died. i buried him under the rosebush in my garden, and granny offered a prize to whoever could write the best piece of poetry about him, an epitaph, she called it."
-"who won the prize?"
-"bertie himself. i can't quite remember it, but it began:
-'under this rose tree's fragrant shade our little favourite is laid'.
-it was quite the best of all. frank was very indignant because he didn't win, but we none of us liked his poetry. he'd put:
-'poor tweetie is dead. he ate up some lead which was lying about on the floor: it stuck in his gizzard, and as i'm no wizard, he'll never eat lead any more'.
-he said it was true, at any rate, but granny decided that gizzard wasn't as romantic as a rose tree, even if it did rhyme with wizard."
-"we have a cat that stole a kitten," said jessie ellis. "she had two kittens of her own, and our cook drowned them both. poor puss was so miserable; she went about all day looking for them, mewing and wailing till we felt quite wretched to hear her. then she disappeared for nearly a week, and came back one afternoon carrying a tiny kitten in her mouth. she was so pleased with it, and kept licking it, and purring all the time. mother said she must have adopted it, and she would let her keep it, and it's grown such a beautiful cat, a real persian with a ruff and a bushy tail. we often wonder where she took it from."
-while the children were talking they had been climbing steadily uphill, and now left the glen by a path which led them directly on to the open moor. it was glorious up there. in one direction rose the mountains, peak beyond peak, till in the distance they could just catch a glimpse of the rugged outline of snowdon, half-hidden by a wreath of cloud. below them lay a vast expanse of sea, with anglesey stretched out like a map, and little puffin island close by.
-"we ought almost to see ireland to-day," said mercy, straining her eyes to discover whether any faint speck of blue outline were visible on the distant horizon. "people say they've seen the isle of man, too, but it has never been clear enough when i've been up here. look at the steamers out on the water; i wonder if one of them's going to china. i can just remember coming home in a big vessel, and passing the stack lighthouse at holyhead, and then landing at liverpool."
-"it's splendid to be able to look miles whichever way you turn," said sylvia.
-she liked the solitude of the moors, which were covered only with short grass and low whinberry bushes; there was no sound except the occasional bleat of a sheep or the cry of a curlew, and no human being in sight but themselves, though one or two small whitewashed farms, at long distances apart, gave evidence of life by their smoking chimneys. not very far away they came upon the druids' circle, a ring of tall upright stones, so ancient that all tradition of them had long been lost, though miss kaye explained to the girls that they had probably been used as a kind of temple for sun worship by the early tribes who lived there, long before the romans discovered britain.
-"i wish they could speak and tell us their story," she said. "they would have strange tales about the rough skinclad men who reared them, and the priests who stood watching amongst them for the first glimpse of the sun on midsummer morning. who knows but that they may have witnessed human sacrifices, and at any rate there must have been wolves, and cave bears, and hyenas, and many wild animals prowling about which are extinct in wales now. we can tell that, because the bones and teeth of these creatures have been found in a cave at llandudno. some day i may perhaps take you to see it. the skeletons of a man and a woman were found there embedded in the rock, and round their throats were necklaces made of bears' teeth. we can hardly imagine what life was like in those early times."
-the girls always found miss kaye's talks interesting, but the healthy mountain air had so sharpened their appetites that they turned readily from ancient stones to modern lunch, and, sitting down inside the famous circle, drew out the packets of sandwiches and oranges which they had brought with them. everything seemed to taste particularly good, and everybody could have eaten a little more, but the very last crumb of biscuit had been consumed, and they were obliged to remain content until teatime. miss kaye made the girls gather up their pieces of orange peel, wrap them in their sandwich papers, and poke them away under a boulder.
-"nothing is so horrible," she declared, "as to leave traces of one's picnic about to spoil the place for the next people who come. if everyone would do the same, there would be few complaints that tourists ruin the scenery."
-after lunch the girls were allowed to ramble on the moors as they liked, with an injunction not to go too far, and to return to the druids' circle when miss kaye blew a whistle. it was hardly possible to get lost, because, as linda said, they could see all round for miles, and unless you hid yourself under a bush, someone would be sure to find you. the members of the third class went off together, racing over the springy grass with as much agility as the small welsh sheep that seemed capable of climbing the stones like goats, to judge by the achievement of an old ewe, which ran up a loose-built wall as easily as a kitten, and led its lamb after it.
-in a hollow at the farther side of the circle the children found a sheet of shallow water evidently formed by the february rains and melting snow. at one end was a rough raft and a long pole, with which some boy had no doubt been amusing himself. the temptation was too great to be resisted. in three seconds connie, brenda, and sylvia were making a trial trip, the last two squatting close together in the middle to balance the raft, while connie pushed off with the pole, and punted them out into the middle of the pond. it was a most delightful sensation. the water was clear, and they could see down several feet where there were green weeds growing at the bottom, and great floating masses of some jellylike substance, that connie declared was frog spawn.
-"i'm going to get a lump of it," she cried, "and take it back to school and put it in a basin; then we can watch the tadpoles hatch out and grow into little frogs. i'll run the raft against this island. there seems to be a heap of it here."
-though the trio nearly upset their craft in their efforts, they found it very difficult to get hold of any of the spawn; it was as transparent and slimy as the white of an egg, and kept slipping through their fingers as fast as they touched it. connie managed at last to secure a small piece by holding her handkerchief under it in the water; then she tied the four corners tightly together, and put the wet messy bundle into her pocket.
-"ugh! how can you!" exclaimed sylvia. "suppose they hatch on the way?"
-"that's not very likely," replied connie; "but i don't mind if they do. i'm fond of tadpoles."
-the other girls, who had been clamouring for some time from the bank, demanding a turn at the raft, now grew so indignant at the delay that connie punted back and tried to pacify their wrath.
-"it's not fair to keep it all the time!" said marian. "some of us want to try it just as much as you. and you don't know how to work that pole properly. if you give it to me i'll soon show you!"
-"all right, miss clever!" said brenda. "you always do things better than everybody else, don't you? go on!"
-marian jumped on to the raft, and seized the pole with an exceedingly high and mighty air; she gave a push off as an example of the graceful manner in which it ought to be done, but alas! she had not taken into account the fact that the raft was not balanced with the weight of the other children, and, stepping too much to one side, she found it suddenly tilted over, and deposited her in the pond. the water was only a foot deep so close to the edge, but by the time she had scrambled out her boots and stockings were wet through, and covered with mud. the rest of the girls subsided on to the bank in peals of laughter.
-"if that's your way, i'd rather not try it, thank you!" said nina.
-"and you've broken the pole, too!" said connie.
-"oh, catch the raft, somebody!" exclaimed linda. "look! it's drifting right away, and we shan't be able to go on it."
-unluckily the raft was by this time well out of reach, and nobody was able to fetch it back, much to the disappointment of those who had not yet had a chance to try it. marian was very offended at what she considered the ill-timed mirth of her companions.
-"you're most unkind!" she said angrily, walking away by herself and trying to wipe her boots clean on the grass.
-"i'll tell you what," said linda; "i found a box of wax matches in the road on the way up, and put them in my pocket. suppose we set a light to this little gorse bush; it's all withered, and will make quite a bonfire. then marian can dry her boots."
-the bush caught fire with the greatest ease, and blazed away at once. marian pulled off her boots and stockings, and, standing barefoot on the grass, held them up to the flame, while the others collected round, wishing they had some chestnuts or potatoes with them, or a kettle which could be boiled for tea.
-"i believe the grass is beginning to burn too!" said nina. "stand back, connie! why, it's caught the next bush as well!"
-the children looked at each other with horrified faces. the fire was spreading rapidly along the ground, and two large bushes were soon in a blaze. their modest beginning was evidently leading to more than they had ever imagined. fortunately the white column of smoke suddenly rising up through the clear air attracted miss kaye's attention, and brought her hurrying over the crest of the hill to discover the cause. she was much surprised to find the members of the third class, one of them with bare feet, apparently dancing like wild indians round a fire, and lost no time in running to the spot.
-"you naughty girls!" she exclaimed. "what have you been doing? marian, where are your boots? i am astonished at you! who lighted this fire?"
-"we're trying to stamp it out," said brenda. "it was catching all the grass."
-"but who lighted it?"
-"we did, miss kaye," replied linda, rather shamefacedly, "to dry marian's boots."
-"people often set fire to the moors," added connie. "i've seen whole hillsides burning sometimes, so i don't suppose it matters. we're helping the farmer."
-"the farmer may like to set his own furze alight, but he wouldn't thank any chance strangers for doing so for him. if we don't mind he'll be claiming damages from us," said miss kaye. "we must not leave here until these bushes have burnt themselves safely out, and we must stamp on any sparks which fall from them on to the grass. this is the way that a great prairie fire is often started in america; the flames will grow in strength, and sweep over miles of country, destroying farms and villages, and carrying desolation and destruction before them. i didn't think you would have been in such mischief directly my back was turned."
-miss kaye looked so grave and annoyed that the girls felt their grand idea had fallen rather flat; and the moment the fire was out she told marian to put on her stockings and boots at once, and gave the signal to return home. it was a very unpleasant walk to marian, as her boots had dried stiff, and felt much too tight for her, while the stockings were still rather moist and muddy. everyone was tired, and the second class made teasing remarks about the slugs being fond of slimy ponds, and announced that they were looking forward to hearing a sentimental account of the adventure through the keyhole on the occasion of the next meeting of the s.s.l.u.
-"you won't do anything of the sort. you know nothing, really, about the society, and it's horribly mean to listen. you may be in the upper school, but i can't say much for your manners. i'm glad i'm not in the second class!" retorted marian, adding privately to gwennie, however: "i'm afraid they do know a good deal; and it's just spoilt the s.s.l.u. i don't think i shall trouble to write for it again. doesn't it seem twice as far coming back as going, although it's all downhill? and oh! aren't you dreadfully, cruelly, desperately hungry, and absolutely starving for your tea?"
-whitweek with linda
-the easter holidays were short and sweet. the brief fortnight seemed to be over almost before sylvia had realized she was at home, and both she and her mother found it harder than ever to part when the last day arrived. there was one compensation, however, which consoled sylvia for saying goodbye. mercy ingledew had spent the vacation with miss coleman, and on her way back to aberglyn was allowed to accept mrs. lindsay's invitation to stay a couple of days with sylvia and travel with her to school, while miss coleman went to see a relation at llangollen. the visit was a great success. mr. and mrs. lindsay were delighted with mercy and glad that their little daughter should have made so charming a friend among the elder girls, while sylvia thoroughly enjoyed both acting hostess and the return journey together to heathercliffe house.
-it was now the summer term, which most of the girls considered the pleasantest time of the year. every available moment was spent out-of-doors. tennis and croquet were in full swing, and the younger ones amused themselves with rounders and hide-and-seek. sylvia, who a year ago had affected to dislike running about, might now be seen racing round the garden as enthusiastically as anybody at a game of "follow my leader" or "i spy", and she would have been utterly astonished if anyone had reminded her of her former tastes.
-the school was granted a brief holiday at whitsuntide, and as it seemed hardly worth while to make the long journey home for so short a period, sylvia was very delighted when she was allowed to accept mrs. marshall's invitation to return with linda and spend the few days at garth avon. both little girls looked forward to the event with keen pleasure. it was the first time that sylvia had ever paid a visit by herself, and she felt quite grown-up when she thought about it.
-they were to go by train as far as conway, where mr. marshall was to meet them and drive them home in the dogcart to craigwen, the place where his house was situated. miss coleman saw them off at aberglyn, giving many last injunctions not to lean against the carriage door, or hang out of the window, or otherwise misbehave themselves, and to be sure not to get out at a wrong station, which did not seem a very probable mistake, as linda knew the line so well. she added a word to the guard which caused him to come and peep at them with a smiling face, and assure them that he would see them safely to conway, and they need not be in the least afraid. linda and sylvia were rather insulted.
-"he needn't treat us like babies!" said linda. "i've come alone more than once. it's all miss coleman's fussiness. we might be going to london, instead of only to conway. there, we're off at last!"
-the guard had put the children in a first-class compartment and locked the door, so that they had it all to themselves. they leaned back luxuriously, each in a corner, admiring the photographs which adorned the partitions or the view of the sea from the windows. they were in the highest spirits, and to travel thus seemed a very good beginning to a journey which was all too short. they were quite loath to get out when the train reached conway, but the stop was of the briefest, and the friendly guard whisked both them and their bags from the carriage in a hurry, and, blowing his whistle, jumped into his van as it passed him.
-"there's daddy!" cried linda, running to meet her father, who was waiting for them on the platform, and seizing his hand. "oh, daddy dear, did you let scamp come with you? and have you brought bess or beauty in the trap?"
-"bess," said mr. marshall, when he had welcomed sylvia. "and scamp is tied up outside. i didn't dare to let him into the station. are these two bags all you've brought with you? give them both to me."
-"he ran the whole way here," he said, "so i think it would be too far for him to trot home as well, though he never appears to be the least tired."
-there was just room on the front seat for linda and sylvia side by side, sylvia in the middle, and linda at the end, because she was less likely to fall out. mr. marshall touched bess with his whip, and they started off through the old streets, past the castle, under the arched gateway, and away towards the mountains that rose up before them in the distance. it was all new country to sylvia, who much admired the view when they had climbed the great hill out of the town, and could see the beautiful expanse of the vale of conway stretched below them, with the silvery river winding through its midst. she thoroughly enjoyed the drive. bess, the brown cob, went along at a good fast pace, and so soon covered the ground that by four o'clock they had passed under the tall avenue of beeches that shaded the road, and drawn up at the hospitable doorway of garth avon. it was a pretty, oldfashioned house, overgrown with creepers, and at present the walls were a mass of beautiful pink and white roses, which scented the air with their fragrance. in front was a lawn, where garden seats, basket chairs, and a table spread with a white cloth and cups and saucers had a very inviting appearance.
-"i knew you would like to have tea out-of-doors," said mrs. marshall, kissing both the children. "ellen has made an iced spongecake on purpose, and baked some scones, and when mrs. m'allister heard you were coming home, she sent over a box of real scotch shortbread. linda, take sylvia upstairs, and then you can bring her into the garden again when you have washed your hands. lizzie has carried up your bags."
-sylvia was to sleep with linda in the spare bedroom, a pleasant room with an oriel window, and a large bed hung with blue curtains, that looked big enough to hold four little girls instead of two.
-"my own room is over the porch," said linda, "but it only has one very small bed in it, and mother thought you'd feel lonely if you slept here quite by yourself. it's much nicer to be together as we are at school, isn't it?" to this sylvia cordially agreed.
-it was very pleasant sitting at tea in the dear old garden. the beds were a blaze of flowers, and so were the tall vases which ornamented the flight of steps leading down to the tennis lawn. scamp joined the party, and also a large white persian cat, which astonished sylvia by sitting up and begging as cleverly as her canine companion, with whom she seemed on excellent terms.
-"scamp is very fond of snowball," said linda, "but he hates all other cats, and he'd kill them if he could catch them. one day, in conway, he saw a white puss rather like ours, and it was so funny to watch him, because he couldn't make up his mind whether he ought to lick it or chase it."
-"how beautifully clean she is!" said sylvia, taking the pretty soft creature on her lap, and stroking the long, silky fur. "do you wash her?"
-"we do sometimes," replied linda. "but she doesn't like it at all, poor dear. it takes three of us to manage it, two to hold her, and the other to soap and rinse her. i never try it without the boys. once i thought i had such a splendid idea. i was going to try dry cleaning. i rubbed her fur thoroughly well with flour, and i was just brushing it out again when she screwed herself from my arms and jumped through the open window. it was pouring with rain, and when she came back she was simply a pudding. i didn't know what to do, and the boys were away; so i let out the parrot, and put her inside the cage, and then watered her with the watering can till i got the paste off her."
-"poor pussie, what a shame!" said sylvia.
-"so it was, but i really couldn't help it that time. she should keep herself clean, and then she wouldn't need to go through such troubles. would you like to come and see the hens and my bantams?"
-there was a stableyard at the back of the house which led into a field where the fowls were kept. they were a pet hobby with mrs. marshall, who spent many hours among her poultry, and had a particularly good strain of white leghorns which she greatly valued. there were a number of neat wire runs, each with its small wooden henhouse, and in several of these were interesting families of chickens, varying in size from sweet fluffy atoms, as yellow as canaries, to long-legged creatures which sylvia thought were not pretty at all.
-"they haven't grown their full feathers yet," said linda. "they're ugly ducklings still, but they'll be very handsome by and by. look at this fussy old hen. i set her myself during the easter holidays. she was so broody that she actually insisted on sitting on a liebig pot. i suppose she took it for an egg. she'd have wondered why it didn't hatch, i expect, if i hadn't given her some real eggs instead."
-"you seem to know all about keeping hens," said sylvia.
-"i know a little more now, but i made a most dreadful mistake once. mother told me to go to the henhouse, and see if there were any eggs to send to aunt edith. i knew that sometimes the hens laid in the barn, so i thought i would go there instead. i hunted about and found a nest with ten lovely brown eggs in it. they were quite warm, so i was sure they must be perfectly fresh, and i put them in my basket and carried them to the house. mother was in a hurry for the post; she didn't ask where i had got them, but only said i had been quick, and packed them up in a box at once. next morning she went to the barn to feed a broody hen that was sitting there on some very particular eggs that she had bought specially, and to her horror she found them all gone! they would have hatched in a few days, so you can imagine how angry she felt, and what a scolding she gave me for not going to the henhouse as i was told. i think it was even worse, though, for aunt edith. she had meant to make a simnel cake with the eggs mother sent her, and she broke one after another, and each had a little chicken inside it!"
-"how dreadful!" laughed sylvia; "i should think she didn't made her cake."
-"not with our eggs at any rate, and she's always teased me dreadfully about it since. now i want to show you the bantams. i like them best, because they're my own."
-the bantams had a special wired run to themselves. they were extremely neat little birds, with prettily marked plumage, so tame that they flew readily on to their mistress's outstretched arm to eat the bread she had brought for them. linda showed sylvia their small house with much pride, and was particularly pleased to find two tiny eggs in the nesting box.
-"we can each have one for breakfast to-morrow morning," she declared; "they must have laid them on purpose for us. i only got my bantams at easter, and these are their first eggs. i'm hoping so much that one of the little hens will sit. wouldn't it be lovely to have some wee chicks about as big as tomtits?"
-sylvia had not much experience with pets, but she was deeply interested in linda's possessions: the starling that lived in a cage in the kitchen, and had learnt to say: "come kiss me!" and "who's at the door?"; the dormouse that was kept in a cosy box lined with hay, and would scamper round the table in the evenings and eat the nuts which were given him like a miniature squirrel; and bute, the rough, bouncing yard dog, that slept in the big kennel, and was not allowed to come into the house at all.
-"there's something else i'd like you to see," said linda, taking sylvia's arm, and leading her on to the lawn again, then through a small door into the kitchen garden, a delightful walled enclosure, full of currant and gooseberry bushes, young apple trees, early vegetables, and pot herbs, with patches of pinks, pansies, and forget-me-nots growing in between, and great fragrant bushes of rosemary, lavender, and southernwood, which smelled most delicious when the children rubbed them between their hands. in a corner under a blossoming syringa was a little grave, with a small tombstone at its head, on which was roughly carved the following inscription:
-in loving memory of jock the best and most faithful dog that ever lived died february 27, 1907 aged 8 years.
-"it needs cleaning up and weeding," said linda. "we always keep it very tidy when we're at home, but of course, when the boys are away too, there's nobody to look after it. it's rather nicely done, isn't it?"
-"very," said sylvia. "who did it?"
-"oswald. he's clever with his hands, and he chipped it out with a chisel. it took him a frightfully long time, but he said jock deserved it. we couldn't let him be forgotten."
-"what kind of a dog was he?"
-"i'm afraid he was only a mongrel; he was big, and grey, and shaggy, but we thought him lovely. there never was another so nice."
-"not even scamp?"
-"no, not quite. jock was such a friend, and so obedient and gentle. we got him from a farm when he was a tiny puppy; the farmer was just going to drown him, but oswald begged so hard to be allowed to keep him instead, that mother said he might. our nurse was quite angry at first; she said he'd be as much trouble as another child to look after, but he was so good, she soon grew fond of him, and he used to live in the nursery. artie was a baby then, and jock would keep guard over his cradle, or watch him when he was put to roll on a rug in the garden, and no matter how much artie pulled his hair, he never dreamt of biting. he used to sleep on the mat at the door of our bedroom, and the first thing in the morning he'd come running in, wagging his tail.
-"one summer we went to stay at llandudno, and mother said we musn't take jock with us, because the people at the lodgings wouldn't care to have him. we were dreadfully sorry to leave him behind, and i'm sure he knew we were going without him, for he cried so. father said he must be tied up in the stable to prevent him from following the trap, and we all went to say goodbye to him; even nellie, our nurse, kissed him on the nose. we missed him so much that evening when we got to llandudno, but next morning, when we were sitting at breakfast, we heard a whining and scratching at the door, and in rushed jock, with about half a yard of rope dangling at his neck. he must have gnawed it through, and set off after us. but wasn't it clever of him to know where we'd gone, and to find out the very house where we were staying? father said he must have heard us talking about llandudno, and have asked all the other dogs he met on the road which was the right way! mother was afraid we should have to send him home again, but when the landlady heard what he'd done, she allowed him to stay, and he went everywhere with us, and was no trouble to anybody.
-"one day nellie took us a long walk on the great orme's head. we had baskets with us, and we wandered about picking blackberries the whole afternoon. artie was quite a little fellow then, not more than three years old; he hadn't even been put into knickerbockers. i suppose we were so busy filling our baskets that nobody noticed him; at any rate he managed to run away from nellie, and go close to the edge of the cliff where there were some blackberries growing. we think he must have been trying to lean down to gather them, and have overbalanced himself, because we suddenly heard him shrieking at the pitch of his voice, and when we rushed to see what was the matter, there was our baby hanging over the cliffside, just caught by the brambles, and jock holding on to his kilt like grim death. artie was howling, and jock was making the queerest noise; he couldn't bark properly, because he daren't open his mouth for fear of letting go artie's clothes. nellie pulled them both back together, and sat down on the grass and cried, and we all hugged jock and kissed him. mother said afterwards she thought he must have been allowed to find his way to llandudno on purpose to save artie's life.
-"after that, of course, he was a greater pet even than he'd been before, and we never went away from home without taking him. granny used to put in a special invitation to jock when she asked us, and she made him a little cake once on his birthday, and sent it to him by post. he ate it in three gulps.
-"we were so dreadfully sorry when he died. hilda said she'd like to go into mourning, and artie and i inked black edges to some sheets of tiny notepaper, and wrote on them to tell granny and aunt edith. we had a beautiful funeral for him, and made wreaths to lay on his grave, and planted the prettiest flowers we could dig up out of our gardens on it. it was oswald who thought of the stone during the easter holidays. it wasn't finished until hilda had gone back to london, so she hasn't seen it yet. i'm sure she'll like it."
-there seemed so many interesting things to see and hear at garth avon that the two girls amused themselves out-of-doors until after seven o'clock, when they heard a brisk ringing of bells, and, running to the gate, were just in time to open it for linda's brothers, who came riding up on their bicycles. oswald was a few years older than linda, and artie a little younger; both were nice hearty boys, who seemed ready to make friends at once with their sister's visitor.
-"we've heard such a jolly lot about you, you know," said oswald, shaking hands. "lin can talk of nobody else. we always say the school must be made up of sylvia and miss kaye."
-"you're late, aren't you?" asked linda. "we thought you'd have been here an hour ago."
-"we may well be late. artie's tyre punctured on the road between abergele and llandulas, and we had to walk our machines to colwyn bay before we could get anyone to mend it. we tried to patch it up ourselves, but i hadn't a big enough piece of rubber to cover it. then the fellow at the bicycle shop was such a slow chap, i thought he was going to be all night fiddling over it, and we didn't dare to pump it till it had dried a little. luckily we got some tea before we left school, but we're hungry enough now. isn't supper ready?"
-"ready and spoiling," said linda. "it's sausages, and i could smell them cooking through the kitchen window half an hour ago. sylvia and i have been watching in the garden for you ever so long. be quick and come down; i want to tell you about a most delightful plan i've thought of for to-morrow."
-an excursion with a donkey
-linda's plan proved such a promising one that both the boys and sylvia fell in readily with her ideas. she suggested that they should all four make an excursion to the top of pen y gaer, a mountain in the neighbourhood, where were the remains of a very fine british camp, and from which they could obtain an excellent view over the whole of the conway valley. as it was rather a long walk from craigwen, she thought they might borrow a donkey and take it in turns to ride, and also carry their lunch on its back. they could no doubt buy milk, and get hot water at a farm, so that they would be able to make tea before they returned, and thus enjoy a whole day on the moors. mrs. marshall willingly gave her consent. her children were fond of picnics, and steady enough to look after themselves without any grown-up person being with them; she had always encouraged the boys at any rate to be self-reliant, and though artie was apt to fall occasionally into mischief, she knew oswald would take care of the little girls and bring them home safely in the evening.
-sylvia looked forward so much to the expedition that she could scarcely sleep for excitement when she got into the large spare bed with linda and the candle was blown out. she lay awake for quite a long time, listening to an owl hooting in the trees, and the soft rippling sound of a stream which flowed at the bottom of the garden; then at last they both merged into a confused dream, and she remembered nothing more till she woke with the sun pouring in through the window, and linda's voice proclaiming that it was a particularly fine, warm morning, and the very day in all the year which she would have chosen to scale the heights of pen y gaer.
-directly breakfast was over, the children started off first to a neighbouring farm to borrow the donkey, a shaggy little creature called teddie, which was chiefly used by his owner to fetch sacks of flour from the mill. he was not accustomed to either saddle or bridle, but the boys led him home by a halter, and tied a cushion on to his back with a piece of rope. they slung their lunch baskets and two enamelled tin mugs on either side, like saddle-bags, then, giving sylvia the first ride, they helped her to mount, and set off towards the mountains with scamp and bute racing in wild excitement around them.
-it was a very hot day, so it was pleasant to think that they would soon be out of the close woods, and away on the breezy moors. the country was at its best; the fields were blue with wild hyacinths, and the hedgerows yellow with gorse and broom, while everywhere the tender shoots of the young bracken were unfolding, and showing delicate golden-green fronds. it was a little late for birds'-nesting, yet oswald and artie, boylike, could not resist hunting in each likely-looking spot, though a blackbird's second brood, a deserted linnet's nest, and a last year's yellow-hammer's were the sole result of their search.
-"i wish we could make the donkey trot!" said sylvia, who had dismounted to spare poor teddie's legs for the hardest part of the hill, but had taken her seat again on reaching a level piece of road.
-"we'll try what we can do," said artie, producing his penknife and cutting a stick carefully from a hazel tree. "i'll give him a switch, but i advise you to hold on tight, in case he kicks."
-it was not a very hard blow, but teddie seemed to resent it extremely. he was a donkey with a character, and instead of galloping on, as sylvia had hoped, he ran straight into the hedge, where he entangled both her hat and hair so successfully in a wild-rose bush, that she had to scream to be released.
-"perhaps you hit him on the wrong side," she suggested, when the donkey's nose had been pulled out into the lane again.
-"then we'll try the other," said artie, who, having dropped his stick, administered a sounding smack on the thick, shaggy coat.
-teddie, however, evidently did not intend to be coerced; he made at once for the opposite hedge, and sylvia found herself in equal difficulties with a long spray of bramble.
-"he's the most obstinate little beast i've ever known," said linda. "we'll try him just once more. oswald, you hold his head exactly in the middle of the road, then artie and i'll each give him a thump at the same second, one on each side. are you ready, artie! one, two, three, off!"
-this time it was really off and away. the donkey took to his heels, and cantered along the road in fine style, with the boys and linda racing after him, encouraging sylvia, who was laughing and trying to hold on her hat and to keep the lunch from falling, while scamp and bute barked themselves hoarse. the enamelled mugs bumped against poor teddie's sides, and alarmed him so much that perhaps he thought somebody was switching him in front, and intended him to run backwards, for he stopped quite suddenly, and lowered his head, with the result that sylvia shot over his neck, and found herself sitting in the dusty road.
-"it serves me right!" she laughed. "no, i'm not hurt in the least. it's too bad to make him trot when he's carrying both me and the lunch. i'll walk now, and give him a rest, and then it will be linda's turn to ride him."
-the road, after winding uphill for several miles between woods and high banks, led at last on to the moors, where there was a kind of tableland flanked on two sides by chains of mountains.
-"we're not such a very long way from the druids' circle," said linda. "it's only over that peak, i believe."
-"it's farther than you'd imagine," said oswald. "hilda and i went to it once, and we thought we should never get there. it's a much easier way from aberglyn. things look so very plain in this clear air that you often think you're quite close when really you're several miles off, and you walk and walk, and never seem to get any nearer."
-"i hope that won't happen with pen y gaer; we can see it so well now," said linda, gazing at the round green top that did not show its full height from the plateau, though it looked imposing enough from the valley below.
-"it's quite far enough to make me want lunch before i go any farther," said oswald. "there's a stream down here where we can get some water to drink. suppose we fasten teddie to the gate, and camp out on the stones."
-the others agreed. the donkey had already satisfied its thirst at a brooklet that crossed the road, so they tied it to the rail of the gate with a piece of rope long enough to allow it to crop the grass at the edge of the path, and, descending themselves to the bed of the river, spread out their lunch on a large flat boulder. mrs. marshall had experience in the matter of picnics. first there were ham sandwiches, sufficiently thick to take the keen edge off their appetites, but not enough to spoil the hard-boiled eggs and bread and butter which followed; then came marmalade sandwiches and seed cake; and last of all some delicious little turnovers, made with tops like mince pies, and with strawberry jam inside. everybody was hungry, and everybody did such ample justice to the good fare that there was nothing but a solitary turnover left, which they decided to divide between the dogs, which had already had their share of the meal.
-"it's not enough to keep for tea," said oswald. "i expect we can get some bread and butter at the farm, as well as the milk and hot water. look! there are trout in this stream. i saw a big fellow just then swimming across the pool."
-"so did i," said artie. "he went under that rock. i'm going to wade and see if i can get him out."
-both boys pulled off their shoes and stockings, and, plunging into the river, began to engage in the very unsportsmanlike pastime of tickling trout. they paddled cautiously upstream, putting their hands under every likely stone till they felt a fish, then, very gently moving their fingers along until they had him by the gills, would manage with a quick jerk to toss him out of the water on to the bank. linda and sylvia followed along the side, much excited at this new form of fishing, and gathering up the trout placed them in one of the lunch baskets. the boys had succeeded in catching five or six, which lay shining and silvery, gasping their last, and they were both trying for a particularly big one which they could see lying in the cranny of a rock.
-"he'll be a tough subject," said oswald. "i'll do my best, but you be ready to make a grab if i miss him!"
-oswald stealthily put forward his hand, but the trout was on the alert, and long before he could reach its gills it had darted into the pool, escaping artie also, who nearly fell into the water in his efforts to secure it.
-"missed him! what a shame! and he was such a beauty!" cried the disconsolate boys.
-"now then, what are you doing there, you young poachers?" shouted a voice from the opposite bank, and, looking up, the children saw a tall man, in a corduroy velveteen suit and a soft round hat, frowning at them with a most unamiable expression of countenance.
-they were so astonished that none of them knew what to say.
-"come out of that stream this minute!" he commanded the boys, who obeyed, but naturally on the side where linda and sylvia were standing looking rather frightened at such an unexpected and angry visitor. the man, who had the appearance of a gamekeeper, crossed the river easily by jumping from stone to stone, and striding up to the little girls, peeped inside their basket.
-"as i thought!" he remarked. "now, you young rascals, do you know that i can take you all up and send you to prison for poaching?"
-"why," gasped oswald, "we were only catching some trout!"
-"only catching some trout! he says he was only catching some trout!" echoed the man, as if he were appealing to an imaginary companion. "i suppose he wouldn't call that poaching? oh, no!"
-"we get them like this in our own stream at home," said artie.
-"that's quite a different matter. because you get bread and butter at home's no reason why you should walk into my house and take mine, is it? this fishing happens to be preserved, and i've got the care of it. it's a very serious offence is poaching. i've caught you red-handed. there's the trout in that basket to prove my words."
-the boys looked at each other in much consternation.
-"we didn't know we were doing any harm," said oswald at last.
-"that's just what folks always tell me in a little affair of this kind," said the man, producing a pencil and a notebook. "i'm getting rather tired of the story. i'll trouble you for your names and addresses, if you please."
-"why do you want them?" asked artie cautiously.
-"you'll know why when you find yourselves charged at the llanrwst county court," replied the man with a grin, "or your father will, to the tune of five pounds and costs, i reckon, or pretty near. it'll take all your pocket money or more."
-"i'll go to prison first," said oswald stoutly.
-"and so will i," declared artie.
-"oh, no, no!" cried linda, thoroughly frightened, and dissolving into tears. "please don't send them to prison! look, i'll put the fish back into the water. we didn't know it was wrong to take them; we didn't indeed!"
-the man coughed softly behind his hand.
-"i wouldn't like to disoblige the young lady," he said; "but it's no use putting dead fish back into the stream. there," as linda's tears flowed faster, "i won't be too hard on you this time. give me the trout, and we'll say no more about it. but don't let me catch any of you poaching here again, or i can't let you go so easy. i've my orders from headquarters. now be off with you all!"
-much relieved that the boys should escape fine or imprisonment, linda emptied the fish from the basket on to the grass, and, seizing sylvia's hand, ran as fast as she could up the bank to where they had left the donkey tied to the gate, followed by oswald and artie, who only stopped to pick up their shoes and stockings by the way. they were glad to place the stone wall between themselves and the angry gamekeeper, and as soon as the boys had put on their footgear, they loosed teddie, and started off once more on the road towards pen y gaer.
-"what a horrid cross man!" said sylvia. "i peeped over the wall just now, and he was still standing there, and shook his fist at me."
-"i didn't know any of the water was preserved," said oswald, who felt sore at the remembrance. "well, he needn't think we want to go there again after his old fish; they aren't such treasures as he supposes."
-"sour grapes!" laughed artie.
-"oh, shut up! it was you who suggested tickling them first!" said oswald, who was thoroughly out of temper, and ready to quarrel with anybody.
-artie, however, was a good-natured little fellow, and had the tact simply to whistle, and leave his brother to get over his ill humour. as nobody was riding the donkey, he mounted it himself, and, persuading linda and sylvia to try what he called "the double-smack method", indulged in a splendid gallop, which did not meet with so disastrous a termination as the last one.
-they had almost reached the goal of their walk, and, taking teddie to a farm which stood near, they asked the woman to allow them to leave him there while they scaled the summit of pen y gaer, and to have her kettle boiling by the time they came back. their path now led away from the road, and over a stile on to the heather. it was a stiff climb, and made more difficult by the thick gorse through which they were obliged to push their way, but the view from the top was sufficient compensation for any trouble they had in arriving there. on one hand they could see the whole extent of the valley from bettws y coed to conway, and even the houses on the promenade at llandudno fully ten miles away; while on the other stretched the beautiful moors leading to the gloomy hollow of lake dulyn, behind which the mountain ridges showed purple and jagged against the sky. all around they could trace the ruins of the old british fort, great piles of stones that must have been rolled there with incredible labour, perhaps by the very tribe which had reared the druids' circle on the slope of tal y fan.
-"some of the welsh people say a giant put them here," said oswald, who had recovered his spirits; "or i'm not sure if it wasn't king arthur himself. at any rate he took a tremendous jump down the hillside, and left his footprint on a rock in the stream below there. he must have worn a no. 15 shoe, to judge by the size."
-"uncle frank made up a ridiculous story once," said linda. "it was all about the black bull of llyn dulyn, and how it came one night to garth avon, and tapped at mother's window with its horns, and said that one of the little bulls had met with an accident to its eye, and he'd heard that she had a whole bottle of bulls'-eyes, so would she please bring some, and come at once with him and cure it. the village people are always fetching mother like that to see their children, and she's simply terrified of bulls, so he told it just on purpose to tease her."
-"talking of bulls'-eyes makes me think of tea," said artie. "i'm sure that old woman's kettle must be boiling now. i vote we go down and see. let us try this other part of the hill; it'll be far quicker than scrambling through the gorse again."
-one side of the summit was almost as steep as the roof of a house, and covered with very short, fine grass, at present so dry and slippery that the children sat down and slid almost as if it were winter, and they were tobogganing on the snow. it was great fun, especially when artie caught against a stone, and rolled over and over like a ball, till a convenient gorse bush made a prickly impediment in his career, and linda left both hat and hair ribbon behind, and was obliged to scramble up the slope again to fetch them. it was certainly a much faster way back to the little whitewashed cottage.
-the farmer's wife could not speak much english, but she said a great deal in welsh which they took to be an invitation to come inside, where they found she had set a round table by the fire, nicely spread with cups and saucers and a clean cloth. the chimney was so big and wide that as they sat on the old-fashioned settle they could look below was the bed-chamber of as many more.
-cast back upon his own thoughts, rollo reviewed many things--his short life, the reckless ups-and-downs in which he had spent it--but all without remorse or regret.
-"i might have been a lawyer, and lived to a hundred!" he said to himself. "it is better as it is. if i have done little good, perhaps i have not had time to do a great deal of harm."
-then very contentedly he curled himself up to sleep as best he might, only dreamily wondering if little concha would be sorry when she heard.
-ramon garcia sat with his eyes fixed on the sentry who had ceased his to-and-fro tramp up the centre, and now leaned gloomily against the wall, his hands crossed about the cross-bar of his sword-bayonet.
-across the granary john mortimer reclined with his head in his hands, making vows never to enter spain or trust himself under the leadership of a mad scot, if this once he should get clear off.
-"it isn't the being shot," he moaned; "it's not being able to tell them that i'm not a fool, but a respectable merchant able to pay my way and with a balance at william deacon's bank. but it serves me right!" then a little inconsequently he added, "by gum, if i get out of this i'll have a spanish clerk in the works and learn the language!"
-which was john mortimer's way of making a vow to the gods.
-etienne, having his hands comparatively free, and finding himself sleepless, looked enviously at rollo's untroubled repose, and began to twist cigarettes for himself and the sentry who guarded his side of the granary.
-without, the owls circled and cried. a dog barked in the village above, provoking a far-reaching chorus of his kind. then blows fell, and he fled yelping out of earshot.
-at last, turning his head a little to one side, he heard distinctly the low murmur of voices.
-"do you remember pancorbo?" said ramon garcia.
-rollo could not hear the answer, but he caught the outlaw's next question.
-"and have you forgotten el sarria, who, having a certain miguelete under the point of his knife, let him go for his sweetheart's sake, because she was waiting for him down in the valley?"
-the sentry's reply was again inaudible, but rollo was fully awake now. ramon garcia had not abandoned hope, and why should he? when there was anything to be done, none could be so alert as rollo blair.
-"i am el sarria the outlaw," ramon went on, "and these are my companions. we are no traitors, but good carlists to a man. our papers are----"
-here the words were spoken so low that rollo could not hear more, but the next moment he was nudged by ramon on the leg.
-"write a note to concha cabezos, telling her to bring the papers here at once if she would save our lives. you are sure she is faithful?"
-"i am sure!" said rollo, who really had no reason for his confidence except the expression in her eyes.
-he had no paper, but catching the sentry's eye, he nodded across to where etienne was still diligently rolling cigarettes.
-"alcoy?" he whispered.
-he held out his hand to etienne, who readily gave him the last he had rolled. the sentry thanked him with a quick martial salute, and after a turn or two more, deftly dropped the crumbled tobacco upon the floor and let the leaf drop on rollo's knees with a stump of pencil rolled up in it.
-then the young man, turning his back upon the dozing guard in the stone window-sill, wrote with some difficulty the following note, lying on his breast and using the uneven floor of the granary for a desk.
-"little concha" (it ran), "we are general cabrera's prisoners. bring the papers as soon as you receive this. otherwise we are to be shot at day-break.--rollo blair."
-there was still a little space left upon the leaf of alcoy paper, and with a half shamefaced glance at el sarria, he added, "and in any case do not wholly forget r. b."
-he passed the note to the outlaw, who folded it to the size of a postage stamp and apparently gave directions where and to whom it was to be delivered.
-there was nothing more to be done till day-break. they had played their last card, and now they must wait to see what cards were out against them, and who should win the final trick at the hour of sunrise.
-all about the granary the carlists were stamping feet, pulling on boots, and flapping arms.
-"it's a cold morning to be shot in," said the man, with rough kindliness; "but i will get you some hot chocolate in a moment. that will warm your blood for you, and in any case you will have a quick passage. i will pick you a firing party of the best shots in the three provinces. the general will be here in a quarter of an hour, and the sun will rise in another quarter. one is just as punctual as the other. a cigarette?--thank you. well, you are a cool hand! i'm off to see about the chocolate!"
-and rollo blair, with a slight singing in his ears, and a chill emptiness about the pit of his stomach, stood on his feet critically rolling a cigarette in a leaf of etienne's alcoy paper.
-john mortimer said nothing, but looked after the man who had gone for the chocolate.
-"i wish it had been coffee," he said; "chocolate is always bad for my digestion!"
-then he smiled a little grimly. his sufferings from indigestion produced by indulgence in this particular chocolate would in all probability not be prolonged, seeing that the glow of the sun-rising was already reddening the sky to the east.
-etienne was secretly fingering his beads. and el sarria thought with satisfaction of the safety of dolóres; he had given up hope of concha a full hour ago. the ex-miguelete had doubtless again played the traitor. he took a cigarette from rollo without speaking and followed him across the uneven floor between the heaps of trodden grain.
-they were led down the stairway one by one, and as they passed through the ground floor, with its thick woolly coating of grey flour dust, a trumpet blew without, and they heard the trampling of horses in the courtyard.
-"quick!" said a voice at rollo's elbow, "here is your chocolate. nothing like it for strengthening the knee-joints at a time like this. i've seen men die on wine and on rum and on brandy; but for me, give me a cup of chocolate as good as that, when my time comes!"
-rollo drank the thick sweet strength-giving stuff to the accompaniment of clattering hoofs and jingling accoutrements.
-the young man stepped out of the mill-door into the crisp chill of the dawn. all the east was a glory of blood-red cloud, and for the second time rollo and his companions stood face to face with general cabrera.
-it was within a quarter of an hour of the sun-rising.
-his mother's rosary
-it was, as the soldier had said most truly, a cold morning to be shot in. but the carlists, accustomed to cabrera's summary methods, appeared to think but little of the matter, and jested as the firing parties were selected and drawn out. ragged and desolate they looked as they stood on a slight slope between the foreigners and the red dawn, biting their cartridges and fingering the pulls of their rifles with hands numbed with cold. at elbow and knee their rags of uniforms flapped like bunches of ribbons at a fair.
-"in the garden!" whispered luis fernandez to cabrera.
-"to the garden!" commanded the general, lighting a new cigarette and puffing vigorously, "and at this point i may as well bid you good-bye. i wish our acquaintance had been pleasanter. but the fortune of war, gentlemen! my mother had not so long time to say her prayers at the hands of your friend nogueras--and she was a woman and old, gentlemen. i doubt not you know as well how to die as she?"
-and they did. not one of them uttered a word. john mortimer, seeing there was now no chance of making his thousand pounds, set an example of unbending dignity. he comported himself, indeed, exactly as he would have done on his marriage day. that is, he knew that the eyes of many were upon him, and he resolved not to shame the performance. so he went through his part with the exact english mixture of awkward shyness and sulky self-respect which would have carried him creditably to the altar in any english church.
-etienne faced his death like the son of an ancient race, and a good catholic. he could not have a confessor, but he said his prayers, committed his soul to god and the virgin, and faced the black muzzles not greatly abashed.
-as for el sarria, death was his métier, his familiar friend. he had lived with him for years, as a man with a wife, rising up and lying down, eating and breathing in his company. "the fortune of war," as cabrera said. el sarria was ready. dolóres and her babe were safe. he asked no more.
-and not less readily fell into line rollo blair. a little apart he stood as they made ready to march out of the presence of the carlist general. john mortimer was already on his way, carefully and conscientiously ordering his going, that he might not in these last things disgrace his nation and his upbringing. etienne and ramon were following him. still the young scot lingered. cabrera, nervously fingering his accoutrement and signing papers at a folding table, found time to eye him with curiosity.
-"did he mean to make a last plea for mercy?" he thought.
-cabrera smiled contemptuously. a friend of nogueras might know ramon cabrera of tortosa better. but rollo had no such thought. he had in his fingers etienne's last slip of alcoy paper, in which the cigarette of spain, unfailing comforter, is wrapped. to fill it he had crumbled his last leaf of tobacco. now it was rolled accurately and with lingering particularity, because it was to be the last. it lay in his palm featly made, a cigarette worthy to be smoked by don carlos himself.
-almost unconsciously rollo put it to his lips. it was a cold morning, and it is small wonder that his hand shook a little. he was just twenty-three, and his main regret was that he had not kissed little concha cabezos--with her will, or against it--all would have been one now. meantime he looked about him for a light. the general noticed his hesitation, rose from the table, and with a low bow offered his own, as one gentleman to another. rollo thanked him. the two men approached as if to embrace. each drew a puff of his cigarette, till the points glowed red. rollo, retreating a little, swept a proud acknowledgment of thanks with his sombrero. cabrera bowed with his hand on his heart. the young scot clicked his heels together as if on parade, and strode out with head erect and squared shoulders in the rear of his companions.
-"by god's bread, a man!" said cabrera, as he resumed his writing, "'tis a thousand pities i must shoot him!"
-they stood all four of them in the garden of the mill-house, underneath the fig trees in whose shade el sarria had once hidden himself to watch the midnight operations of don tomas.
-the sun was just rising. his beams red, low, and level shot across the mill-wheel, turning the water of the unused overshot into a myriad pearls and diamonds as it splashed through a side culvert into the gorge beneath, in which the gloom of night lingered.
-the four men still stood in order. mortimer and etienne in the middle, with slim rollo and the giant ramon towering on either flank.
-"load with ball--at six paces--make ready!"
-the officer's commands rang out with a certain haste, for he could already hear the clattering of the horses of the general's cavalcade, and he knew that if upon his arrival he had not carried out his orders, he might expect a severe reprimand.
-but it was not the general's suite that rode so furiously. the sound came from a contrary direction. two horses were being ridden at speed, and at sight of the four men set in order against the wall the foremost rider sank both spurs into her white mare and dashed forward with a wild cry.
-the officer already had his sword raised in the air, the falling of which was to be the signal for the volley of death. but it did not fall. something in the aspect of the girl-rider as she swept up parallel with the low garden wall, her hair floating disordered about her shoulders--her eyes black and shining like stars--the sheaf of papers she waved in her hand, all compelled the carlist to suspend that last irrevocable order.
-it was concha cabezos who arrived when the eleventh hour was long past, and leaped from her reeking horse opposite the place of execution. with her, wild-haired as a mænad, rode la giralda, cross-saddled like a man.
-"general cabrera! where is general cabrera?" cried concha. "i must see him instantly. these are no traitors. they are true men, and in the service of don carlos. here are their papers!"
-"where is ramon cabrera? tell me quickly!" cried la giralda. "i have news for him. i was with his mother when she died. they whipped me at the cross of tortosa to tell what i knew--stripping me to the waist they whipped me, being old and the mother of many. cabrera will avenge me. let me but see ramon cabrera whom of old i suckled at my breasts!"
-the officer hesitated. in such circumstances one might easily do wrong. he might shoot these men, and after all find that they were innocent. he preferred to wait. the living are more easily deprived of life than the dead restored to it. such was his thought.
-in any case he had not long to wait.
-round the angle of the mill-house swept the general and his staff, brilliant in scarlet and white, heightened by the glitter of abundant gold-lace. for the ex-butcher of tortosa was a kind of military dandy, and loved to surround himself with the foppery of the matador and the brigand. at heart, indeed, he was still the guerrillero of morella, riding home through the streets of that little rebel city after a successful foray.
-as his eyes fell on the row of men dark against the dusty adobe of the garden wall, and on the two pale women, a dark frown overspread his face.
-"what is the meaning of this?" he cried. "why have you not obeyed your instructions? why are these men not yet dead?"
-"little ramon, ramon cabrera," she cried, "have you forgotten your old nurse, la giralda of sevilla, your mother's gossip, your own playmate?"
-the general turned full upon her, with the quick indignant threat of one who considers himself duped, in his countenance. it had gone ill with la giralda if she had not been able to prove her case. but she held something in her hand, the sight of which brought the butcher of tortosa down from his saddle as quickly as if a cristino bullet had pierced him to the heart.
-la giralda was holding out to him an old string of beads, simply carved out of some brown oriental nut, but so worn away by use that the stringing had almost cut through the hard and polished shell.
-"my mother's rosary!" he cried, and sinking on his knees, he devoutly received and kissed it. he abode thus a moment looking up to the sky--he, the man who had waded in blood during six years of bitter warfare. he kissed the worn beads one by one and wept. they were his mother's way to heaven. and he did not know a better. in which perchance he was right.
-"whence gat you this?" cried cabrera, rising sharply as a thought struck him; "my mother never would have parted with these in her life--you plundered it from her body after her death! quick, out with your story, or you die!"
-"nay, little foster-son," said la giralda, "i was indeed with your mother at the last--when she was shot by nogueras, and five minutes before she died she gave her rosary into my hands to convey to you. 'take this to my son,' she said, 'and bid him never forget his mother, nor to say his prayers night and morn. bid him swear it on these sacred beads!' so i have brought them to you. she kissed them before she died. at the risk of my life have i brought it."
-"and these," said cabrera--"do you know these dogs, la giralda?"
-he pointed to the four men who still stood by the wall, the firing party at attention before them, and the eyes of all on the next wave of the general's hand which would mean life or death.
-la giralda drew a quick breath. would the hold she had over him be sufficient for what she was about to ask? he was a fierce man and a cruel, this ramon cabrera, who loved naught in the world except his mother, and had gained his present ascendency in the councils of don carlos by the unbending and consistent ferocity of his conduct.
-"these are no traitors, general," she said; "they are true men, and deep in the councils of the cause."
-she bent and whispered in his ear words which others could not hear. the face of the carlist general darkened from a dull pink to purple, and then his colour ebbed away to a ghastly ashen white as he listened.
-twice he sprang up from the stone bench where he had seated himself, ground his heel into the gravel brought from the river-bed beneath, and muttered a characteristic imprecation, "ten for one of their women i have slain already--by san vicente after this it shall be a hundred!"
-for la giralda was telling him the tale of his mother's shooting by nogueras.
-then all suddenly he reseated himself, and beckoned to concha.
-"come hither," he said; "let me see these fellows' papers, and tell me how they came into your hands!"
-concha was ready.
-"the señor, the tall stranger, had a mission to the lady superior of the convent," she began. "from don baltasar varela it was, prior of the great carlist monastery of montblanch. he trusted his papers into her hands as a guarantee of his loyalty and good faith, and here they are!"
-concha flashed them from her bosom and laid them in the general's hands. usually cabrera was blind to female charms, but upon this occasion his eye rested with pleasure on the quick and subtle grace of the andaluse.
-"then you are a nun?" he queried, looking sharply at her figure and dress.
-"ah, no," replied concha, thinking with some hopefulness that she was to have at least a hearing, "i am not even a lay sister. the good lady superior had need of a housekeeper--one who should be free of the convent and yet able to transact business without the walls. it is a serious thing (as your honour knows) to provision even a hundred men who can live rough and eat sparely--how much harder to please a convent-school filled from end to end with the best blood in spain! and good blood needs good feeding----"
-"as i well knew when i was a butcher in tortosa!" quoth cabrera, smiling. "there were a couple of ducal families within the range of my custom, and they consumed more beef and mutton than a whole barrio of poor pottage-eaters!"
-to make cabrera smile was more than half the battle.
-"you are sure they had nothing to do with the slayers of my mother?" he was fierce again in a moment, and pulled the left flange of his moustache into his mouth with a quick nervous movement of the fingers.
-"i will undertake that no one of them hath ever been further south than this village of sarria," said concha, somewhat hastily, and without sufficient authority.
-cabrera looked at the papers. there was a carlist commission in the name of don rollo blair duly made out, a letter from general elio, chief of the staff, commending all the four by name and description to all good servants of don carlos, as trustworthy persons engaged on a dangerous and secret mission. most of all, however, he seemed to be impressed with the ring belonging to etienne, with its revolving gem and concealed portrait of carlos the fifth.
-he placed it on his finger and gazing intently, asked to whom it belonged. as soon as he understood, he summoned the little frenchman to his presence. etienne came at the word, calm as usual, and twirling his moustache in the manner of rollo.
-"this is your ring?" he demanded of the prisoner. concha tried to catch etienne's eye to signal to him that he must give cabrera that upon which his fancy had lighted. but her former lover stubbornly avoided her eye.
-"that is my ring," he answered dryly, after a cursory inspection of the article in question as it lay in the palm of the guerillero's hand.
-"it is very precious to you?" asked the butcher of tortosa, suggestively.
-"it was given to me by my cousin, the king," answered etienne, briefly.
-"then i presume you do not care to part with it?" said cabrera, turning it about on his finger, and holding it this way and that to the light.
-"no," said etienne, coolly. "you see, my cousin might not give me another!"
-but the butcher of tortosa could be as simple and direct in his methods as even rollo himself.
-"will you give it to me?" he said, still admiring it as it flashed upon his finger.
-etienne looked at the general calmly from head to foot, concha all the time frowning upon him to warn him of his danger. but the young man was preening himself like a little bantam-cock of vanity, glad to be reckless under the fire of such eyes. he would not have missed the chance for worlds, so he replied serenely, "do you still intend to shoot us?"
-"what has that to do with the matter?" growled cabrera, who was losing his temper.
-"because if you do," said etienne, who had been waiting his opportunity, "you are welcome to the jewel--after i am dead. but if i am to live, i shall require it for myself!"
-the burning of the mill-house
-cabrera bit his lip for a moment, frowned still more darkly, and then burst into a roar of laughter. for the moment the gamin in him was uppermost--the same curly-pated rascal who had climbed walls and stolen apples from the market-women's stalls of tortosa thirty years ago.
-"you are a brave fellow," cried the general, "and i would to heaven that your royal cousin had more of your spirit. are all of your company of the same warlike kidney?"
-"i trust i am afraid of no man on the field of honour," answered the loyal little frenchman, throwing out his chest. "yet i speak but the truth when i aver that there is not one of my companions who could not say grace and eat me up afterwards!"
-among the letters which had formed part of rollo's credentials there was one superscribed "to be opened in the camp of general cabrera."
-cabrera now dismissed the firing party with a wave of his hand, the officer in command exchanging an encouraging nod with rollo. then he summoned that young man to approach. rollo threw away the last inch of his cigarette, and going up easily, saluted the general with his usual self-possession.
-"well, colonel," said the latter, "i little thought to exchange civilities with you again; but for that you have to thank this young lady. the fortune of war once more! but if young men will entrust precious papers to pretty girls, they must have a fund of gratitude upon which to draw--that is, when the ladies arrive in time. on this occasion it was most exactly done. yet you must have lived through some very crowded moments while you faced the muzzles of yonder rifles!"
-and he pointed to the lane down which the firing party was defiling.
-rollo bowed, but did not reply, awaiting the general's pleasure. presently cabrera, recollecting the sealed letter in his hand, gave it unopened to the youth.
-"i will, general," said the young scot, "in so far, that is, as it concerns your excellency."
-the carlist general sat watching rollo keenly as he broke the seal and discovered a couple of enclosures. one was sealed and the other open. the first he presented to cabrera, who, observing the handwriting of the superscription, changed colour. meanwhile, without paying any attention to him, rollo read his own communication from beginning to end. it had evidently been passed on to him from a higher authority than the abbot, for only the address was in the handwriting of that learned ecclesiast.
-it ran as follows:
-"to the man who shall be chosen by our trusted councillor for the mission extraordinary in the service of carlos quinto--these:
-"you will receive from general cabrera such succour and assistance as may seem to you needful in pursuance of the project you have in hand, namely the capturing of the young princess isabel together with her mother, the so-called regent cristina. thereafter you will bring them with diligence within our lines, observing all the respect and courtesy due to their exalted rank and to the sex to which they belong.
-"at the same time you are held indemnified for all killings of such persons as may stand in your way in the execution of the duty laid upon you, and by order of the king himself you hereby take rank as a full colonel in his service."
-meanwhile cabrera had been bending his brows over the note which had been directed to him personally. he rose and paced the length of the garden-wall with the letter in his hand, while rollo stood his ground with an unmoved countenance. presently he stopped opposite the young man and stood regarding him intently.
-"i am, i understand, to furnish you with men for this venture," he said; "good--but i am at liberty to prove you first. that you are cool and brave i know. we must find out whether you are loyal as well."
-"i am as loyal as any spaniard who ever drew breath," retorted rollo, hotly, "and in this matter i will answer for my companions as well."
-"and pray in what way, sir spitfire?" said cabrera, smiling.
-"why, as a man should," said rollo, "with his sword or his pistol, or--as is our island custom--with his fists--it is all the same to me; yes, even with your abominable spanish knife, which is no true gentleman's weapon!"
-"i am no unfriend to plainness, sir, either in speech or action," said cabrera; "i see you are indeed a brave fellow, and will not lessen the king's chances of coming to his own by letting you loose on the men under my command. still for one day you will not object to ride with us!"
-rollo coloured high.
-"general," he said, "i will not conceal it from you that i have wasted too much time already; but if you wish for our assistance in your designs for twenty-four hours, i am not the man to deny you."
-"i thought not," cried cabrera, much pleased. "and now have you any business to despatch before we leave this place? if so, let it be seen to at once!"
-"none, excellency," said rollo, "save that if you are satisfied of our good faith i should like to see luis fernandez the miller dealt with according to his deserts!"
-"i will have him shot instantly," cried cabrera; "he hath given false tidings to his majesty's generals. he hath belied his honest servants. guard, bring luis fernandez hither!"
-this was rather more than rollo had bargained for. he was not yet accustomed to the summary methods of cabrera, even though the butcher's hand had hardly yet unclosed from himself. he was already meditating an appeal in favour of milder measures, when the guard returned with the news that luis fernandez was nowhere to be found. dwelling-house, strong-room, mill, garden, and gorge beneath--all had been searched. in vain--they were empty and void. the tumbled beds where the general and his staff had slept, the granary with its trampled heaps of corn ready for grinding, the mill-wheel with the pool beneath where the lights and shadows played at bo-peep, where the trout lurked and the water-boxes seemed to descend into an infinity of blackness--all were deserted and lonesome as if no man had been near them for a hundred years.
-"the rascal has escaped!" cried cabrera, full of rage; "have i not told you a thousand times you keep no watch? i have a great mind to stand half a dozen of you up against that wall. escaped with my entire command about the rogue's home-nest! well, set a torch to it and see if he is lurking anywhere about the crevices like a centipede in a crack!"
-cabrera felt that he had wasted a great deal of time on a fine morning without shooting somebody, and it would certainly have gone ill with don luis or his brother if either of them had been compelled by the flames to issue forth from the burning mill-house of sarria.
-but they were not there. the cur dogs of the village and a few half-starved mongrels that followed the troops had great sport worrying the rats which darted continually from the burning granaries. but of the more important human rats, no sign.
-all the inhabitants of the village were there likewise, held back from plundering by the bayonets of the carlist troops. they stood recounting to each other, wistfully, the stores of clothes, the silk curtains, the uncut pieces of broadcloth, the household linen, the great eight-day clocks in their gilt ormolu cases. every woman had something to add to the catalogue. every householder felt keenly the injustice of permitting so much wealth to be given to the crackling flames.
-"yes, it was very well," they said; "doubtless the fernandez family were vermin to be burned up--smoked out. but they possessed much good gear, the gathering of many years. these things have committed no treason against either don carlos or the regent cristina. why then are we not permitted to enter and remove the valuables? it is monstrous. we will represent the matter to general cabrera--to don carlos himself!"
-but one glance at the former, as he sat his horse, nervously twisting the reins and watching the destruction from under his black brows, made their hearts as water within them. their pet valiant, old gaspar perico, too, had judiciously hidden himself. esteban the supple had accompanied him, and the venta of sarria was in the hands of the silent, swift-footed, but exceedingly capable maid-servant who had played the trick upon etienne.
-the sarrians therefore watched the mill-house blaze up, and thanked god that it stood some way from the other dwellings of the place.
-suddenly cabrera turned upon them.
-"hearken ye, villagers of sarria," he cried, "i have burned the home of a traitor. if i hear of any shelter being granted to luis fernandez or his brother within your bounds, i swear by the martyred honour of my mother that on my return i will burn every house within your walls and shoot every man of you capable of bearing arms. you have heard of ramon cabrera. let that be enough."
-the villagers got apprehensively behind each other, and none answered, each waiting for the other, till with mighty bass thunder the voice rang out again:
-"have you no answer?" he cried, "no promise? must i set a dozen of you with your backs against the wall, as i did at espluga in francoli, to stimulate those dull country wits of yours?"
-then a young man gaily dressed was thrust to the front. very unwilling he was to show himself, and at his appearance, with his knees knocking together, a merry laugh rang out from behind cabrera.
-that chieftain turned quickly with wrath in his eye. for it was a sound of a woman's mirth that was heard, and all such were strictly forbidden within his lines.
-but at the sight of little concha, her dark eyes full of light, her hands clapping together in innocent delight, her white teeth disclosed in gay and dainty laughter, a certain maja note of daring unconvention in her costume, she was so exactly all that would have sent him into raptures twenty years before when he was an apprentice in tortosa, that the grim man only smiled and turned again to the unwilling spokesman of the municipality of sarria.
-a voice from the press before the burning house announced the delegate's quality.
-"don raphael de flores, son of our alcalde."
-"speak on, don raphael," cried cabrera; "i will not shoot you unless it should be necessary."
-thus encouraged the trembling youth began.
-"your excellency," he quavered, "we of sarria have nothing to do with the family of fernandez. we would not give any one of them a handful of maize or a plate of lentil broth if he were starving. we are loyal men and women--well-wishers to the cause of the only true and absolute king carlos quinto."
-"i am credibly informed that it is otherwise," said cabrera, "and that you are a den of red-hot nationals. i therefore impose a fine of two thousand duros on the municipality, and as you are the alcalde's son, we will keep you in durance till they be paid."
-don raphael fell on his knees. his pale face was reddened by the flames from the mill-house, the fate of which must have afforded a striking object-lesson to a costive magistracy in trouble about a forced loan.
-"we are undone," he cried; "i am a married man, your excellency, and have not a maravedi to call my own. you had better shoot me out of hand, and be done with it. indeed, we cannot possibly pay."
-"go and find your father," cried cabrera; "he pocketed half of the price of don ramon garcia's house. i cannot see my namesake suffer. tell him that two thousand duros is the price up till noon. after that it will have risen to four thousand, and by three of the afternoon, if the money be not paid into the treasury of the only absolute and catholic sovereign (in the present instance my breeches pocket), i shall be reluctantly compelled to shoot one dozen of the leading citizens of the township of sarria. let a strong guard accompany this young man till he returns from carrying his message."
-in this way did cabrera replenish the treasury of his master don carlos, and with such pleasant argument did he induce reluctant alcaldes to discover the whereabouts of their strong boxes.
-for a remarkably shrewd man was general ramon cabrera, the butcher of tortosa.
-how to become a soldier
-the change in the aspect of affairs would have made a greater difference to most companies of adventurers than it did to that of which master rollo blair of blair castle in the shire of fife was the leader. in the morning they had all risen with the expectation of being shot with the sun-rising. at ten of the clock they were speeding southward on good horses, holding acknowledged rank and position in the army of the only catholic and religious sovereign.
-but they were a philosophic quartette. rollo drew in the morning air and blew it back again through his nostrils without thinking much of how nearly he had come to kissing the brown earth of luis fernandez's garden with a dozen bullets through his heart. mortimer meditated somewhat sulkily upon his lost onions, rustling pleasantly back there in the cool patio of the nunnery. etienne sorrowed for his latest love idyll ruthlessly cut short, and as to el sarria, he thought of nothing save that dolóres had come back to him and that he had yet to reckon with the fernandez family. the next time he would attend to the whole matter himself, and there would be no mistakes.
-it was not without sadness that rollo looked his last on the white walls of the convent of the holy innocents. he was glad indeed to have placed dolóres in safety--glad that she and her child were together, and that the good sisters were responsible for them. between them the four had made up a purse to be sent by concha to the mother superior, to be applied for the behoof of her guests till the better days should come, and ramon garcia be able to claim his wife and first-born son.
-but concha had refused point-blank.
-and with that she blew them each a dainty kiss, distinguishing no one above the other, dropped a curtsey to the general, whose eyes followed her with more than usual interest, leaped on her white mare and rode off, attended by la giralda riding astride like a man, in the same fashion in which she had arrived.
-so little concha was gone from his sight, and duty loomed up suddenly gaunt and void of interest before rollo. to risk his life was nothing. when he got nearer to the goal, his blood would rise, that he knew. to capture a queen and a regent at one coup, to upset a government, to bring a desolating war to an end--these were all in the day's work. but why, in the name of all that was sanest and most practical, did his heart feel like lead within him and his new dignity turn to dead sea ashes in his mouth?
-it was not long before cabrera dropped back, that he might talk over ways and means with the young colonel. it was clear that the guerrilla chieftain did not believe greatly in the project.
-"i do not understand all this," he said; "it is not my way. what have we to do with taking women and children prisoners? let us have no truck, barter, or exchange with the government at madrid except at the point of the bayonet. that is my way of it, and if my advice had been taken before, my master would at this moment have been in the royal palace of his ancestors. but these secret embassies in the hands of foreigners--what good can come of them?"
-rollo explained such things as the abbot of montblanch had made clear to him--namely, that the regent and her daughter were by no means averse to holy church, nor yet eager to keep the true king out of his own. but, they were in the power of unscrupulous men--mendizábal, linares, and others, who for their own ends published edicts and compelled the ladies to sign them. if they were captured and sequestered for their own good, the ministry would break down and don carlos would reign undisturbed.
-rollo thought the exposition a marvel of clearness and point. it was somewhat disappointing, therefore, when he had finished to hear from cabrera the unmoved declaration: "a cristino is a cristino whether in the palace of madrid or on the mountains of morella. and the quickest way is the best way with such an one, wherever met with!"
-"but you do not mean to say that you would shoot the girl-queen or the mother-regent if they fell into your hands?" cried rollo, aghast at the horror.
-the deep underlying anger leaped up fiery red into the eyes of the guerrilla chief.
-"aye, that would i," he cried, "as quickly as they slew my own old mother in the barrack yard of tortosa!"
-and thinking of that tragedy and the guilt of nogueras, rollo felt there was something to be said for the indomitable, implacable little butcher-general of don carlos.
-cabrera was silent for a while after making this speech, and then abruptly demanded of rollo how many men he would require for his undertaking.
-"i am bidden to place my entire command at your service," he said with obvious reluctance, glancing out of his little oblique eyes at the young colonel.
-rollo considered a while before answering.
-"it is my opinion that the fewer men concerned in such a venture the greater the chances of success," he said at last; "furnish me with one petty officer intimately acquainted with the country between zaragoza and san ildefonso, and i will ask no more."
-cabrera drew a long breath and looked at the young man with infinitely more approval than he had before manifested.
-"you are right," he said, "three times right! if you fail, there are fewer to go to the gallows. in prison fewer ill-sewn wine-skins to leak information. if you succeed, there are also fewer to divide the credit and the reward. for my own part, i do not think you will succeed, but i will provide you with the best man in my command for your purpose and in addition heartily wish you well out of your adventure!"
-cabrera was indeed immensely relieved to find the desires of our hero so moderate. he had been directed to supply him with whatever force he required, and he expected to be deprived of a regiment at least, at a most critical time in the affairs of the absolute king.
-"young man," he said, "you will certainly be shot or hanged before you are a month older. nevertheless in the mean time i would desire to have the honour of shaking you by the hand. if you were not to die so soon, undoubtedly you would go far! it is a pity. and the cristinos are bad shots. they will not do the job half as creditably as my fellows would have done it for you this morning!"
-the man who was chosen by cabrera to accompany them on their mission was of a most remarkable appearance. tall, almost as tall as el sarria, he was yet distinguished from his fellows by a notable gauntness and angularity of figure.
-"a step-ladder with the bottom bars missing!" was rollo's mental description of him, as he stood before them in a uniform jacket much too tight for him, through which his ribs showed not unlike the spars of a ladder.
-but in other respects sergeant cardono was a remarkable man. the iron gravity of his countenance, seamed on the right-hand side by a deep scar, took no new expression when he found himself detailed by his general for this new and dangerous mission.
-with a single salute he fell out and instantly attached himself to rollo, whom he relieved of his knapsack and waterbottle on the spot. sergeant cardono paid no attention whatever to the other three, whom he evidently regarded as very subordinate members of the expedition.
-as soon as they arrived at the village where they were to part from the command of cabrera, sergeant cardono promptly disappeared. he was not seen for several hours, during which rollo and el sarria wandered here and there endeavouring in that poor place to pick up some sustenance which would serve them in lieu of a dinner. they had but poor success. a round of black bread, a fowl of amazing age, vitality, and muscular development, with a few snails, were all that they could obtain by their best persuasions, aided by the money with which rollo was plentifully supplied. john mortimer looked disconsolately on. he had added a little ham on his own account, which last he had brought in his saddle-bags from the venta of sarria. but everything pointed to a sparse meal, and even the philosophic etienne shrugged his shoulders and departed to prospect at a certain house half a mile up the road where, as they had ridden rapidly by, a couple of pretty girls had looked out curiously at the tossing carlist boinas.
-rollo and el sarria were carrying their scanty provend to a house where a decent-looking woman had agreed to cook it for them, when their gloomy reveries were interrupted by a sudden apparition which burst upon them as they stood on the crest of a deep hollow.
-the limestone hills had been rent asunder at the place, and from the bare faces of the rocks the neighbouring farmers and villagers had quarried and carried away such of the overhanging blocks as could easily be trimmed to suit their purposes.
-part of what remained had been shaped into a hornito, or stone oven, under which a fire had been kindled, and a strange figure moved about, stirring the glowing charcoal with a long bar of iron. on a smaller hearth nearer at hand a second fire blazed, and the smell of fragrant cookery rose to the expectant and envious nostrils of the four.
-it was sergeant cardono, who moved about whistling softly, now attending to the steaming olla, now watching the rising bread in the hornito.
-perceiving rollo, he saluted gravely and remarked, "dinner will be served in half an hour." the others, as before, he simply ignored. but in deference to his new commander he stopped whistling and moved about with his lean shoulders squared as if on parade.
-when the bread and the skinny chicken were placed in his hands, he glanced at them with somewhat of superciliousness.
-"the bread will serve for crumbs," he said, and immediately began to grate the baton-like loaf with a farrier's hoof-rasp which he used in his culinary operations. "but this," he added, as he turned over the bird, "is well stricken in years, and had better be given to the recruits. they have young teeth and have had practice upon dead artillery mules!"
-so saying, he went casually to the edge of the little quarry, whistled a peculiar note and tossed the bird downward to some person unseen, who appeared from nowhere in particular for the purpose of receiving it.
-when the dinner was ready sergeant cardono announced it to rollo as if he had been serving a prince. and what was the young man's astonishment to find a table, covered with a decent white cloth, under the shelter of a limestone rock, spread for three, and complete even to table napkins, which the sergeant had tied into various curious shapes.
-as they filed down the slope the sergeant stood at attention, but when el sarria passed he quickly beckoned him aside with a private gesture.
-"you and i will eat after the foreigners," he explained.
-el sarria drew himself up somewhat proudly, but sergeant cardono whispered in his ear two or three words which appeared to astonish him so much that he did as he was bid, and stood aside while john mortimer and etienne de saint pierre seated themselves.
-but rollo, who had no great love for eating, and considered one man just as much entitled to respect as another, would not sit down till el sarria was accommodated also.
-"may it please your excellency, don ramon and i have much to say to each other," quoth the sergeant, with great respect, "besides your honour is aware--the garlic--the onions--we of this country love them?"
-"but so do i," cried rollo, "and i will not have distinctions made on this expedition. we are all to risk our lives equally and we shall all fare equally, and if we are caught our dose of lead or halter-hemp will be just the same."
-here el sarria interrupted.
-"with respect," he said, "it is true that this gentleman hath some private matters to communicate to me which have nothing to do with the object of our mission. i crave your permission that for to-day i may dine apart with him!"
-after this there was no more to be said. el sarria helped the sergeant to serve the meal, which was at once the proof of his foraging ability and his consummate genius as a cook. for though the day was friday, the soup was very far from maigre. the stew contained both lamb and fresh pork cut into generous cubes with a sufficiency of savoury fat included. a sausage had been sliced small for seasoning and the whole had been so smothered in garbanzos, haricot beans, rice, mixed with strips of toothsome salt fish, that john mortimer bent and said a well-deserved blessing over the viands.
-"i don't usually in this country," he explained, "but really this is what my good old father would call a manifest providence. that fellow of ours will prove a treasure."
-"it seems so," said rollo, a little grimly, "that is, if he can scout and fight as well as he can cater and cook."
-for himself the young scot cared little what he ate, and would have dined quite cheerfully on dry bread and water, if any one would have listened to his stories of the wonders of his past life or the yet more wonderful achievements of his future. he would have sat and spun yarns concerning the notches on killiecrankie at a dyke-back, though he had not tasted food for twenty-four hours, with the utmost composure and relish. but his companions were of another kidney, being all valiant trencher-men--john mortimer desiring chiefly quantity in his eating, while etienne, no mean cook himself, desiderated rather variety and delicacy in the dishes which were set before him.
-at all events the dinner was a great success, though the sergeant, who evinced the greatest partiality for rollo, often reproached him with eating little, or inquired anxiously if the sauce of a certain dish were not to his taste. rollo, in the height of his argument, would hastily affirm that it was delicious, and be off again in chase of some deed of arms or daring, leaving the sergeant's chef-d'oeuvre untasted on his plate.
-at this the sergeant shook his head in private to el sarria.
-"it will stand in his way, i fear me," he said sententiously; "was there ever a notable general yet who had not a fine belly to wag before him upon horseback? 'tis as necessary as the cock's feathers in his hat. now there is your cut-and-thrust officer who is good for nothing but to be first in charges and to lead forlorn hopes--this colonel of yours is just the figure for him. i have seen many a dozen of them get the lead between their ribs and never regretted it before. but it is a devil's pity that this young cockerel is not fonder of his dinner. how regardeth he the women?"
-this last question was asked anxiously, yet with some hope. but this also el sarria promptly scattered to the winds.
-"i do not think that he regards them at all! he has scarcely looked at one of them ever since i first knew him."
-sergeant cardono groaned, seemingly greatly perturbed in spirit.
-"i feared as much," he said, shaking his head; "he hath not the right wandering eye. now, that young frenchman is a devil untamed! and the englishman--well, though he is deeper, he also hath it in him. but the colonel is all for fighting and his duty. it is easy to see that he will rise but little higher. when was there ever a great soldier without a weakness for a pretty woman and a good dinner? why, the thing is against nature. now, my father fought in the war of the independence, and the tales that he told of el gran' lor'--he was a soldier if you like, worthy of the white plumes! a cook all to himself closer at his elbow than an aide-de-camp--and as to the women--ah----!"
-sergeant cardono nodded as one who could tell tales and he would. yet the sergeant cardono found some reason to change his mind as to rollo's qualifications for field-officership before the end of their first day apart from cabrera.
-it was indeed with a feeling of intense relief that the little company of five men separated from the white and red boinas of the butcher-general's cavalcade. well-affected to them as cabrera might be for the time being, his favour was so brief and uncertain, his affection so tiger-like, that even sergeant cardono sighed a sigh of satisfaction when they turned their horses' heads towards the far-away guadarrama beyond which lay the goal of their adventuring.
-presently the tongues of the little cavalcade were unloosed. el sarria and sergeant cardono having found subjects of common interest, communed together apart like old friends. john mortimer and etienne, who generally had little to say to each other, conversed freely upon wine-growing and the possibility of introducing cotton-spinning into the south of france. for etienne was not destitute of a certain gascon eye to the main chance.
-rollo alone rode gloomily apart. he was turning over the terms of his commission in his mind, and the more he thought, the less was he satisfied. it was not alone the desperateness of the venture that daunted rollo, but the difficulty of providing for the queen-regent and little princess when captured. there were a couple of hundred miles to ride back to those northern fastnesses where they would be safe; for the most part without cover and through country swarming with nationals and cristino partisans.
-riding thus in deep meditation, rollo, whose gaze was usually so alert, did not observe away to the right a couple of horses ridden at speed and rapidly overtaking their more tired beasts.
-el sarria, however, did not fail to note them, but, fearing a belated message of recall from general cabrera, he did not communicate his discovery to his companions, contenting himself with keeping his eye upon the approaching riders.
-rollo was therefore still advancing, his reins flung loosely upon his beast's neck and his whole attitude betokening a melancholy resignation, a couple of lengths before his companions, when a sudden clattering of hoofs startled him. he looked up, and there, on her white mare, well-lathered at girth and bridle, was little concha cabezos, sitting her panting beast with the grace of the true andaluse.
-her hair was a little ruffled by the wind. her cheeks and lips were adorably red. there was a new and brilliant light in her eye; and after one curiously comprehensive glance at the company, she turned about to look for her companion, la giralda, who presently cantered up on a lumbering estramenian gelding. la giralda sat astride as before, her lower limbs, so far as these were apparent, being closely clad in leather, a loose skirt over them preserving in part the appearance of sex.
-rollo was dumb with sheer astonishment. he could only gaze at the flushed cheek, the tingling electric glances, the air completely unconscious and innocent of the girl before him.
-"concha!" he cried aloud. "concha--what do you here? i thought--i imagined you were safe at the convent of the holy innocents!"
-and from behind sergeant cardono marked his cheek, alternately paling and reddening, his stammering tongue and altered demeanour, with the utmost satisfaction.
-"good--good," he muttered under his breath to el sarria; "he will make a true general yet. the saints be praised for this weakness! if only he were fonder of his dinner all might yet be well!"
-the mission of the señorita concha
-"i too have a mission, i would have you know," said concha, a dangerous coquetry showing through her grave demeanour, "a secret mission from the mother superior of the convent of the holy innocents. do not attempt to penetrate the secret. i assure you it will be quite useless. and pray do not suppose that only you can adventure forth on perilous quests!"
-"i assure you," began rollo, eagerly, "that i suppose no such thing. at the moment when you came up i was wishing with all my heart that the responsibility of the present undertaking had been laid on any other shoulders than mine!"
-yet in spite of his modesty, certain it is that from that moment rollo rode no longer with his head hanging down like a willow blown by the wind. the reins lay no more lax and abandoned on his horse's neck. on the contrary, he sat erect and looked abroad with the air of a commander, and his hand rested oftener on the hilt of killiecrankie, with the air of pride which concha privately thought most becoming.
-"and in what case left you my wife and babe?" suddenly demanded el sarria, riding up, and inquiring somewhat imperiously of the new recruit concerning the matter which touched him most nearly.
-"the señora dolóres is safe with the good sisters, and as in former times i was known to have been her companion, it was judged safest that i should not longer be seen in the neighbourhood. likewise i was charged with the tidings that luis fernandez with a company of cristino migueletes has been seen riding southward to cut you off from madrid, whither it is supposed you are bound!"
-rollo turned quickly upon her with some anger in his eye.
-"why did you not tell me that at first?" he said.
-concha smiled a subtle smile and turned her eyes upon the ground.
-"if you will remember, i had other matters to communicate to your excellency," she said meekly--almost too meekly, rollo thought. "this matter of luis fernandez slipped my memory, till it was my good fortune to be reminded of it by don ramon!"
-and all the while the long lean sergeant cardono, his elbows glued to his sides, sat his horse as if spiked to the saddle, and chuckled with quiet glee at the scene.
-"he will do yet," he muttered; "'twas ever thus that my father told me of the gran' lor' before salamanca. be he as stiff as a ramrod and as frigid as his own north pole, the little one will thaw him--bend him--make a fool of him for his soul's good. she is not an andaluse of the gipsy blood for nothing! he will make him a soldier yet, this young man, by the especial grace of san vicente de paul, only i do not think that either of them will deserve readmission to the convent of the holy innocents!"
-more than once rollo endeavoured to extract from concha to what place her self-assumed mission was taking her, and at what point she would leave them. it was in vain. the lady baffled all his endeavours with the most consummate ease.
-"you have not communicated to me," she said, "the purport of your own adventures. how then can i tell at what place our ways divide?"
-"i am forbidden to reveal to any save general cabrera alone my secret instructions!" said rollo, with such dignity as he could muster at short notice.
-"and i," retorted concha, "am as strictly forbidden to reveal mine to general cabrera or even to that notable young officer, colonel don rollo of the surname which resembles so much a borrico's serenade!"
-that speech would have been undoubtedly rude save for the glance which accompanied it, given softly yet daringly from beneath a jetty fringe of eyelash.
-nevertheless all rollo blair's pride of ancestry rose insurgent within him. who was this andalucian waiting-maid that she should speak lightly of the descendant of that blair of blair castle who had stood for bruce and freedom on the field of bannockburn? it was unbearable--and yet, well, there was something uncommon about this girl. and after all, was it not the mark of a gentleman to pay no heed to the babbling of women's tongues? if they did not say one thing, they would another. besides, he cared nothing what this girl might say. a parrot prattling in a cage would affect him as much.
-so they rode on together over the great tawny brick-dusty wastes of old castile, silent mostly, but the silence occasionally broken by speech, friendly enough on either side. behind them pounded la giralda, gaunt as the sergeant himself, leather-legginged, booted and spurred, watching them keenly out of her ancient, unfathomable gipsy eyes.
-and ever as they rode the guadarrama mountains rose higher and whiter out of the vast and hideous plain, the only interruption to the circling horizon of brown and parched corn lands. but at this season scrub-oak and juniper were the only shrubs to be seen, and had there been a cristino outpost anywhere within miles, the party must have been discerned riding steadily towards the northern slopes of the mountains. but neither man nor beast took notice of them, and a certain large uncanny silence brooded over the plain.
-at one point, indeed, they passed near enough to distinguish in the far north the snow-flecked buttresses of the sierra de moncayo. but these, they knew, were the haunts of their carlist allies. the towns and villages of the plain, however, were invariably held by nationals, and it had often gone hard with them, had not sergeant cardono detached himself from the cavalcade, and, venturing alone into the midst of the enemy, by methods of his own produced the materials for many an excellent meal. at last, one day the sergeant came back to the party with an added gloom on his long, lean, leathern-textured face. he had brought with him an estramaduran ham, a loaf of wheaten bread, and a double string of sausages. but upon his descending into the temporary camp which sheltered the party in the bottom of a barranco, or deep crack in the parched plateau overgrown with scented thyme and dwarf oak, it became obvious that he had news of the most serious import to communicate.
-he called rollo aside, and told him how he had made his way into a village, as was his custom, and found all quiet--the shops open, but none to attend to them, the customs superintendent in his den by the gate, seated on his easy chair, but dead--the presbytery empty of the priest, the river bank dotted with its array of worn scrubbing boards, but not a washerwoman to be seen. only a lame lad, furtively plundering, had leaped backward upon his crutch with a swift drawing of his knife and a wolfish gleam of teeth. he had first of all warned the sergeant to keep off at his peril, but had afterwards changed his tone and confessed to him that the plague was abroad in the valley of the duero, and that he was the only being left alive in the village save the vulture and the prowling dog.
-"the plague!" sergeant cardono had gasped, like every spaniard stricken sick at the very sound of the word.
-the sergeant found it even as the cripple had said. there was not a single living inhabitant in the village. here and there a shut door and a sickening smell betrayed the fact that some unfortunates had been left to die untended. etienne and john mortimer were for different reasons unwilling to taste of the ham and bread he had brought back, thinking that these might convey the contagion, but la giralda and the sergeant laughed their fears to scorn, and together retired to prepare the evening meal.
-as the others made their preparations for the night, watering their beasts and grooming them with the utmost care, the little crook-backed imp from the village appeared on the brink of the barranco, his sallow, weazened face peeping suspiciously out of the underbrush, and his crutch performing the most curious evolutions in the air.
-there was something unspeakably eerie in the aspect of the solitary survivor of so many living people, left behind to prey like a ghoul on the abandoned possessions of the fear-stricken living and the untestamented property of the dead.
-concha shrank instinctively from his approach, and the boy, perceiving his power over her, came scuttling like a weasel through the brushwood, till little more than a couple of paces interposed between him and the girl. frozen stiff with loathing and terror, it was not for some time that concha could cry out and look round hastily for rollo, who (doubtless in his capacity of leader of the expedition) was not slow in hastening to her assistance.
-"that boy--there!" she gasped, "he frightens me--oh hateful! make him go away!" and she clutched the young man's arm with such a quick nervous grasp, that a crimson flush rose quickly to rollo's cheek.
-"no," muttered etienne to himself as he watched the performance critically, "she was never in love with you, sir! she never did as much for you as that. but on the whole, with a temper like mistress concha's, i think you are well out of it, monsieur etienne!" which wise dictum might or might not be based on the fox's opinion as to sour grapes.
-all unconsciously rollo reached a protecting hand across to the little white fingers which gripped his arm so tightly.
-"go away, boy," he commanded; "do you not see that you terrify the señorita?"
-"i see--that is why i stay!" cried the amiable youth gleefully, flourishing his crutch about his head as if on the point of launching it at the party.
-rollo laid his hand on the hilt of killiecrankie with a threatening gesture.
-"if you come an inch nearer, i will give you plague!" cried the boy, showing his teeth wickedly, "and your wench also. you will grow black--yes, and swell! then you will die, both of you. and there will be no one to bury you, like those in the houses back there. then all you possess shall be mine, ha, ha!"
-"now listen," he said, "you are old enough to know the meaning of words; i give you one minute to betake yourself to your own place and leave us alone! there is no contagion in a pistol bullet, my fine lad, but it is quite as deadly as any plague. so be off before a charge of powder catches you up!"
-the sound of the angry voices had attracted la giralda, who, looking up hastily from her task of building the fire beneath the gipsy tripod at which she and the sergeant were cooking, advanced hastily with a long wand in her hand.
-the imp wheeled about as on a pivot, and positively appeared to shrink into his clothing at the sight of her. he stood motionless, however, while la giralda advanced threateningly towards him with the wand in her hand as if for the purpose of castigation. as she approached he emitted a cry of purely animal terror, and hastily whipping his crutch under his arm, betook himself, in a series of long hops, to a spot twenty yards higher up the bank. but la giralda stopped him by a word or two spoken in an unknown tongue, harsh-sounding as catalan, but curt and brief as a military order.
-the boy stood still and answered in the same speech, at first gruffly and unwillingly, with downcast looks and his bare great toe scrabbling in the dust of the hillside.
-the dialogue lasted for some time, till at last with a scornful gesture la giralda released him, pointing to the upper edge of the barranco as the place by which he was to disappear: the which he was now as eager to do, as he had formerly been insolently determined to remain.
-during this interview rollo had stood absent-mindedly with his hand pressed on concha's, as he listened to the strange speech of la giralda. even his acquaintance with the language of the gipsies of granada had only enabled him to understand a word here and there. the girl's colour slowly returned, but the fear of the plague still ran like ice in her veins. she who feared nothing else on earth, was shaken as with a palsy by the terror of the black death, so paralysing was the fear that the very name of cholera laid upon insanitary spain.
-"well?" said rollo, turning to la giralda, who stood considering with her eyes upon the ground, after her interview with the crook-backed dwarf.
-"you must give me time to think," she said; "this boy is one of our people--a gitano of baza. he is not of this place, and he tells me strange things. he swears that the queen and the court are plague-stayed at la granja by fear of the cholera. they dare not return to madrid. they cannot supply themselves with victuals where they are. the very guards forsake them. and the gitanos of the hills--but i have no right to tell that to the foreigner--the gorgio. for am not i also a gitana?"
-the village where rollo's command first stumbled upon this dreadful fact was called frias, in the district of la perla, and lies upon the eastern spurs of the guadarrama. it was, therefore, likely enough then that the boy spoke truth, and that within a few miles of them the court of spain was enduring privations in its aerial palace of la granja.
-but even when interrogated by el sarria the old woman remained obstinately silent as to the news concerning her kinsfolk which she had heard from the crippled dwarf.
-"it has nothing to do with you," she repeated; "it is a matter of the gitanos!"
-but there came up from the bottom of the ravine, the lantern-jawed sergeant, long, silent, lean, parched as a manchegan cow whose pasture has been burnt up by a summer sun. with one beckoning finger he summoned la giralda apart, and she obeyed him as readily as the boy had obeyed her. they communed a long time together, the old gipsy speaking, the coffee-coloured sergeant listening with his head a little to the side.
-at the end of the colloquy sergeant cardono went directly up to rollo and saluted.
-"is it permitted for me to speak a word to your excellency concerning the objects of the expedition?" he said, with his usual deference.
-"certainly!" answered rollo; "for me, my mission is a secret one, but i have no instructions against listening."
-the sergeant bowed his head.
-"whatever be our mission you will find me do my duty," he said; "and since this cursed plague may interfere with all your plans, it is well that you should know what has befallen and what is designed. you will pardon me for saying that it takes no great prophet to discover that our purposes have to do with the movements of the court."
-rollo glanced at him keenly.
-"did general cabrera reveal anything to you before your departure?" he asked.
-"nay," said sergeant cardono; "but when i am required to guide a party secretly to san ildefonso, where the court of the queen-regent is sojourning, it does not require great penetration to see the general nature of the service upon which i am engaged!"
-rollo recovered himself.
-"you have not yet told me what you have discovered," he said, expectantly.
-"no," replied the sergeant with great composure--"that can wait."
-for little concha was approaching; and though he had limitless expectations of the good influence of that young lady upon the military career of his officer, he did not judge it prudent to communicate intelligence of moment in her presence. wherein for once he was wrong, since that pretty head of the andalucian beauty, for all its clustering curls, was full of the wisest and most far-seeing counsel--indeed, more to be trusted in a pinch than the juntas of half-a-dozen provinces.
-but the sergeant considered that when a girl was pretty and aware of it, she had fulfilled her destiny--save as it might be in the making of military geniuses. therefore he remained silent as the grave so long as concha stayed. observing this, the girl asked a simple question and then moved off a little scornfully, only remarking to herself: "as if i could not make him tell me whenever i get him by himself!"
-she referred (it is needless to state) not to sergeant cardono, but to his commanding officer, señor don rollo blair of blair castle in the self-sufficient shire of fife.
-the news which sergeant cardono had to communicate was indeed fitted to shake the strongest nerves. if true, it took away from rollo at once all hope of the success of his mission. he saw himself returning disgraced and impotent to the camp of cabrera, either to be shot out of hand, or worse still, to be sent over the frontier as something too useless and feeble to be further employed.
-briefly, the boy's news as repeated by la giralda to the sergeant, informed rollo that though the court was presently at la granja and many courtiers in the village of san ildefonso, the royal guards through fear and hunger had mutinied and marched back to madrid, and that the gipsies were gathering among the mountains in order to make a night attack upon the stranded and forsaken court of spain.
-in the sergeant's opinion not a moment was to be lost. the object of the hill gitanos was pure plunder, but they would think nothing of bloodshed, and would doubtless give the whole palace and town over to rapine and pillage. themselves desperate with hunger and isolation, they had resolved to strike a blow which would ring from one end of spain to the other.
-it was their intention (so the imp said) to kill the queen-regent and her daughter, to slaughter the ministers and courtiers in attendance, to plunder the palace from top to bottom and to give all within the neighbouring town of san ildefonso to the sword.
-the programme, as thus baldly announced, was indeed one to strike all men with horror, even those who had been hardened by years of fratricidal warfare in which quarter was neither given nor expected.
-besides the plunder of the palace and its occupants, the leaders of the gipsies expected that they would obtain great rewards from don carlos for thus removing the only obstacles to his undisputed possession of the throne of spain.
-the heart of rollo beat violently. his scottish birth and training gave him a natural reverence for the sanctity of sickness and death, and the idea of these men plotting ghoulishly to utilise "the onlaying of the hand of providence" (as his father would have phrased it) for the purposes of plunder and rapine, unspeakably revolted him.
-immediately he called a council of war, at which, in spite of the frowns of sergeant cardono, little concha cabezos had her place.
-la giralda was summoned also, but excused herself saying, "it is better that i should not know what you intend to do. i am, after all, a black-blooded gitana, and might be tempted to reveal your secrets if i knew them. it is better therefore that i should not. let me keep my own place as a servitor in your company, to cut the brushwood for your fire and to bring the water from the spring. in those things you will find me faithful. trust the gipsy no further!"
-rollo, remembering her loyalty in the matter of dolóres at the village of el sarria, was about to make an objection, but a significant gesture from the sergeant restrained him in time.
-whereupon rollo addressed himself to the others, setting clearly before them the gravity of the situation.
-john mortimer shook his head gravely. he could not approve.
-"how often has my father told me that the first loss is the least! this all comes of trying to make up my disappointment about the abbot's priorato!"
-etienne shrugged his shoulders and philosophically quoted a gascon proverb to the effect that who buys the flock must take the black sheep also.
-el sarria simply recollected that his gun and pistols were in good order, and waited for orders.
-the conference therefore resolved itself into a trio of consultants--rollo because he was the leader, sergeant cardono because he knew the country, and concha--because she was concha!
-they were within an hour or two's rapid march of la granja over a pass in the guadarrama. the sergeant volunteered to lead them down into the gardens in that time. he knew a path often travelled by smugglers on their way to segovia.
-"it is clear that if we are to carry away the queen-regent and her daughter, we must forestall the gipsies," said rollo.
-concha clasped her hands pitifully.
-"ah, the poor young queen!" she cried. "praise to the saints that i was not born a princess! it goes to my heart to make her a prisoner!"
-the sergeant uttered a guttural grunt which intimated that in his opinion the influence of the petticoat on the career of a soldier might be over-done. otherwise he maintained his gravity, speaking only when he was directly appealed to and giving his judgment with due submission to his superiors.
-finally it was judged that they should make a night march over the mountains, find some suitable place to lie up in during the day, and in the morning send in la giralda and the sergeant to san ildefonso in the guise of fagot sellers to find out if the gipsy boy of baza had spoken the truth.
-san ildefonso and la granja are two of the most strangely situated places in spain. a high and generally snow-clad sierra divides them from madrid and the south. the palace is one of the most high-lying upon earth, having originally been one of the mountain granges of the monks of segovia to which a king of spain took a fancy, and, what is more remarkable, for which he was willing to pay good money.
-upon the site a palace has been erected, a miniature versailles, infinitely more charming than the original, with walks, fountains, waterfalls all fed by the cold snow water of the guadarrama, and fanned by the pure airs of the mountains. this grange has been for centuries a favourite resort of the court of spain, and specially during these last years of the regent cristina, who, when tired with the precision and etiquette of the court of madrid, retired hither that she might do as she pleased for at least two or three months of the year.
-generally the great park-gates stood hospitably open, and the little town of san ildefonso, with its lodgings and hostels, was at this season crowded with courtiers and hangers-on of the court. guards circulated here and there, or clattered after the queen-regent as she drove out on the magnificent king's highway which stretched upwards over the guadarrama towards madrid, or whirled down towards segovia and the plains of old castile. bugles were never long silent in plaza or barrack yard. drums beat, fifes shrilled, and there was a continuous trampling of horses as this ambassador or that was escorted to the presence of queen cristina, widow of fernando vii., mother of isabel the second, and regent of spain.
-a word of historical introduction is here necessary, and it shall be but a word. for nearly a quarter of a century fernando, since he had been restored to a forfeited throne by british bayonets, had acted on the ancient bourbon principle of learning nothing and forgetting nothing. his tyrannies became ever more tyrannical, his exactions more shameless, his indolent arrogance more oppressive. twice he had to invoke the aid of foreign troops, and once indeed a french army marched from one end of spain to the other.
-but with the coming of his third wife, young maria cristina of naples, all this was changed. under her influence fernando promptly became meek and uxorious. then he revoked the ordinance of a former king which ordained that no woman should reign in spain. he recalled his revocation, and again promulgated it according as his hope of offspring waxed or waned.
-finally a daughter was born to the ill-mated pair, and don carlos, the king's brother and former heir-apparent, left the country. immediately upon the king's death civil war divided the state. the stricter legitimists who stood for don carlos included the church generally and the religious orders. to these were joined the northern parts of navarra and the basque countries whose privileges had been threatened, together with large districts of the ever-turbulent provinces of aragon and catalunia.
-round the queen-regent and her little daughter collected all the liberal opinion of the peninsula, most of the foreign sympathy, the influence of the great towns and sea-ports, of the capital and the government officials, the regular army and police with their officers--indeed all the organised and stated machinery of government.
-but up to the time of our history these advantages had been to some extent neutralised by the ill-success of the governmental generalship and by the brilliant successes of two great carlist leaders--tomas zumalacarregui and ramon cabrera.
-these men perfectly understood the conditions of warfare among their native mountains, and had inflicted defeat upon defeat on every cristino general sent against them.
-but a cloud had of late overspread the fair prospects of the party. their great general, tomas zumalacarregui, had been killed by a cannon ball at the siege of bilbao, and cabrera, though unsurpassed as a guerrilla leader, had not the swift napoleonic judgment and breadth of view of his predecessor. add to this that a new premier, mendizábal, and a new general, espartero, were directing operations from madrid. the former, already half english, had begun to carry out his great scheme of filling the pockets of the civil and military authorities by conveying to the government all the property belonging to the religious orders throughout spain, who, like our friend the abbot of montblanch, had resolutely and universally espoused the cause of don carlos.
-it was an early rumour of this intention which had so stirred the resentment of don baltasar varela, and caused him to look about for some instrument of vengeance to prevent the accomplishment of the designs of "that burro of the english stock exchange," as his enemies freely named mendizábal.
-but cristina of naples was a typical woman of the latin races, and, however strongly she might be determined to establish her daughter on the throne of spain, she was also a good catholic, and any oppression of holy church was abhorrent to her nature.
-upon this probability, which amounted to certainty in his mind, the abbot of montblanch resolved to proceed.
-moreover, it was an open secret that a few months after the death of her husband fernando, cristina had married muñoz, one of the handsomest officers of her bodyguard. for this and other bourbon delinquencies, conceived in the good old neapolitan manner, the spaniards generally had the greatest respect--not even being scandalized when the queen created her new partner duke of rianzares, or when, in her rôle of honorary colonel of dragoons, she appeared in a uniform of blue and white, because these were the colours of the "immaculate conception."
-but enough has been said to indicate the nature of the adventure which our hero had before him, when after a toilsome march the party halted in the grey of the dawn in a tiny dell among the wild mountains of guadarrama.
-the air was still bleak and cold, though luckily there was no wind. concha, the child of the south, shivered a little as rollo aided her to dismount, and this must be the young man's excuse for taking his blue military cloak from its coil across his saddle-bow, and wrapping it carefully and tenderly about her.
-concha raised her eyes once to his as he fastened its chain-catch beneath her chin, and rollo, though the starlight dimmed the brilliance of the glance, felt more than repaid. in the background etienne smiled bitterly. the damsel of the green lattice being now left far behind at sarria, he would have had no scruples about returning to his allegiance to concha. but the chill indifference with which his advances were received, joined to something softer and more appealing in her eyes when she looked at rollo, warned the much-experienced youth that he had better for the future confine his gallantries to the most common and ordinary offices of courtesy.
-yet it was certainly a restraint upon the young frenchman, who, almost from the day he had been rid of his jesuit tutor, had made it a maxim to make love to the prettiest girl of any company in which he happened to find himself.
-when, therefore, he found himself reduced to a choice between an inaccessible concha and la giralda, riding astride in her leathern leg-gear and sack-like smock, the youth bethought himself of his religious duties which he had latterly somewhat neglected; and, being debarred from earthly love by concha's insensibility and la giralda's ineligibility, it did not cost him a great effort to become for the nonce the same brother hilario who had left the monastery of montblanch.
-so, much to the astonishment of john mortimer, who moved a little farther from him, as being a kind of second cousin of the scarlet woman of the seven hills, etienne pulled out his rosary and, falling on his knees, betook him to his prayers with vigour and a single mind.
-sergeant cardono had long ago abandoned all distinctive marks of his carlist partisanship and military rank. moreover, he had acquired, in some unexplained way, a leathern montera cap, a short many-buttoned jacket, a flapped waistcoat of red plush, and leathern small-clothes of the same sort as those worn by la giralda. yet withal there remained something very remarkable about him. his great height, his angular build, the grim humour of his mouth, the beady blackness of eyes which twinkled with a fleck of fire in each, as a star might be reflected in a deep well on a moonless night--these all gave him a certain distinction in a country of brick-dusty men of solemn exterior and rare speech.
-also there was something indescribably daring about the man, his air and carriage. there was the swagger as of a famous matador about the way he carried himself. he gave a cock to his plain countryman's cap which betokened one of a race at once quicker and more gay--more passionate and more dangerous than the grave and dignified inhabitants of old castile through whose country they were presently journeying.
-as cardono and la giralda departed out of the camp, the sergeant driving before him a donkey which he had picked up the night before wandering by the wayside, el sarria looked after them with a sardonic smile which slowly melted from his face, leaving only the giant's usual placid good nature apparent on the surface. the mere knowledge that dolóres was alive and true to him seemed to have changed the hunted and desperate outlaw almost beyond recognition.
-"why do you smile, el sarria?" said concha, who stood near by, as the outlaw slowly rolled and lighted a cigarrillo. "you do not love this sergeant. you do not think he is a man to be trusted?"
-el sarria shrugged his shoulders, and slowly exhaled the first long breathing of smoke through his nostrils.
-"nay," he said deliberately, "i have been both judged and misjudged myself, and it would ill become me in like manner to judge others. but if that man is not of your country and my trade, ramon garcia has lived in vain. that is all."
-concha nodded a little uncertainly.
-"yes," she said slowly, "yes--of my country. i believe you. he has the andalucian manner of wearing his clothes. if he were a girl he would know how to tie a ribbon irregularly and how to place a bow-knot a little to the side in the right place--things which only andalucians know. but what in the world do you mean by 'of your profession'?"
-el sarria smoked a while in silence, inhaling the blue cigarette smoke luxuriously, and causing it to issue from his nostrils white and moisture-laden with his breath. then he spoke.
-"i mean of my late profession," he explained, smiling on concha; "it will not do for a man on the high-road to a commission to commit himself to the statement that he has practised as a bandit, or stopped a coach on the highway in the name of king carlos quinto that he might examine more at his ease the governmental mail bags. but our sergeant--well, i am man-sworn and without honour if he hath not many a time taken blackmail without any such excuse!"
-concha seemed to be considering deeply. her pretty mouth was pursed up like a ripe strawberry, and her brows were knitted so fiercely that a deep line divided the delicately arched eyebrows.
-"and to this i can add somewhat," she began presently; "they say (i know not with what truth) that i have some left-handed gipsy blood in me--and if that man be not a gitano--why, then i have never seen one. besides, he speaks with la giralda in a tongue which neither i nor don rollo understand."
-"but i thought," said el sarria, astonished for the first time, "that both you and don rollo understood the crabbed gipsy tongue! have i not heard you speak it together?"
-"as it is commonly spoken--yes," she replied, "we have talked many a time for sport. but this which is spoken by the sergeant and la giralda is deep romany, the like of which not half a dozen in spain understand. it is the old-world speech of the rom, before it became contaminated by the jargon of fairs and the slang of the travelling horse-clipper."
-"then," said el sarria, slowly, "it comes to this--'tis you and not i who mistrust these two?"
-"no, that i do not," cried concha, emphatically; "i have tried la giralda for many years and at all times found her faithful, so that her bread be well buttered and a draught of good wine placed alongside it. but the sergeant is a strong man and a secret man----"
-"well worth the watching, then?" said el sarria, looking her full in the face.
-"carlist or no, he works for his own hand," she said simply.
-"shall ye mention the matter to don rollo?" asked el sarria.
-"nay--what good?" said concha, quickly; "don rollo is brave as a bull of jaen, but as rash. you and i will keep our eyes open and say nothing. perhaps--perhaps we may have doubted the man somewhat over-hastily. but as for me, i will answer for la giralda."
-"for me," said el sarria, sententiously, "i will answer for no woman--save only dolóres garcia!"
-concha looked up quickly.
-"i also am a woman," she said, smiling.
-"and quite well able to answer for yourself, señorita!" returned el sarria, grimly.
-for the answers of ramon garcia were not at all after the pattern set by rollo the scot.
-the sergeant and la giralda
-the dust-heat of the desolate plains of old castile was red on the horizon when the sergeant and his companion started together on their strange and perilous mission. would they ever return, and when? what might they not find? a court deserted and forlorn, courtiers fleeing, or eager to flee if only they knew whither, from the dread and terrible plague? a queen and a princess without guards, a palace open to the plunder of any chance band of robbers? for something like this the imp of the deserted village had prepared them.
-at all events, the sergeant and la giralda went off calmly enough in the direction of the town of san ildefonso, driving their donkey before them. for a minute, as they gained the crest, their figures stood out black and clear against the coppery sunrise. the next they had disappeared down the slope, the flapping peak of cardono's montera cap being the last thing to be lost sight of.
-the long, dragging, idle day was before the party in the dry ravine.
-etienne went to his saddle-bags, and drawing his breviary from the leathern flap, began to peruse the lessons for the day with an attentive piety which was not lessened by the fact that he had forgotten most of the latin he had learned at school. john mortimer, on the other hand, took out his pocket-book, and was soon absorbed by calculations in which wine and onions shared the page with schemes for importing into spain manchester goods woven and dyed to suit the taste of the country housewives.
-el sarria sat down with a long sigh to his never-failing resort of cleaning and ordering his rifle and pistols. he had a phial of oil, a feather, and a fine linen rag which he carried about with him for the purpose. afterwards he undertook the same office for the weapons of rollo. those of the other members of the expedition might take care of themselves. ramon garcia had small belief in their ability to make much use of them, at any rate--the sergeant being alone excepted.
-these three being accounted for, there remained only rollo and concha. now there was a double shelf a little way from the horses, from which the chief of the expedition could keep an eye on the whole encampment. the pair slowly and, as it were, unconsciously gravitated thither, and in a moment rollo found himself telling "the story of his life" to a sympathetic listener, whose bright eyes stimulated all his capacities as narrator, and whose bright smile welcomed every hairbreadth escape with a joy which rollo could not but feel must somehow be heartfelt and personal. besides, adventures sound so well when told in spanish and to a spanish girl.
-yet, strange as it may seem, the young man missed several opportunities of arousing the compassion of his companion.
-he said not a word about peggy ramsay, nor did he mention the broken heart which he had come so far afield to curé. and as for concha, nothing could have been more nunlike and conventual than the expression with which she listened. it was as if one of the lady superior's "holiest innocents" had flown over the nunnery wall and settled down to listen to rollo's tale in that wild gorge among the mountains of guadarrama.
-meantime the sergeant and his gipsy companion pursued their way with little regard to the occupations or sentiments of those they had left behind them. cardono's keen black eyes, twinkling hither and thither, a myriad crows' feet reticulating out from their corners like spiders' webs, took in the landscape, and every object in it.
-the morning was well advanced when, right across their path, a well-to-do farmhouse lay before them, white on the hillside, its walls long-drawn like fortifications, and the small slit-like windows counterfeiting loopholes for musketry. but instead of the hum of work and friendly gossip, the crying of ox-drivers yoking their teams, or adjusting the long blue wool over the patient eyes of their beasts, there reigned about the place, both dwelling and office-houses, a complete and solemn silence. only in front of the door several she-goats, with bunching, over-full udders, waited to be milked with plaintive whimperings and tokens of unrest.
-la giralda looked at her companion. the sergeant looked at la giralda. the same thought was in the heart of each.
-la giralda went up quickly to the door, and knocked loudly. at farmhouses in old castile it is necessary to knock loudly, for the family lives on the second floor, while the first is given up to bundles of fuel, trusses of hay, household provender of the more indestructible sort, and one large dog which invariably answers the door first and expresses in an unmistakable manner his intention of making his breakfast off the stranger's calves.
-but not even the dog responded to the clang of la giralda's oaken cudgel on the stout door panels. accordingly she stepped within, and without ceremony ascended the stairs. in the house-place, extended on a bed, lay a woman of her own age, dead, her face wearing an expression of the utmost agony.
-in a low trundle-bed by the side of the other was a little girl of four. her hands clasped a doll of wood tightly to her bosom. but her eyes, though open, were sightless. she also was dead.
-la giralda turned and came down the stairs, shaking her head mournfully.
-"these at least are ours," she said, when she came out into the hot summer air, pointing to the little flock of goats. "there is none to hinder us."
-"have the owners fled?" asked the sergeant, quickly.
-"there are some of them upstairs now," she replied, "but, alas, none who will ever reclaim them from us! the excuse is the best that can be devised to introduce us into san ildefonso, and, perhaps, if we have luck, inside the palisades of la granja also."
-so without further parley the sergeant proceeded, in the most matter-of-fact way possible, to load the ass with huge fagots of kindling wood till the animal showed only four feet paddling along under its burden, and a pair of patient orbs, black and beady like those of the sergeant himself, peering out of a hay-coloured matting of hair.
-this done, the sergeant turned his sharp eyes every way about the dim smoky horizon. he could note, as easily as on a map, the precise notch in the many purple-tinted gorges where they had left their party. it was exactly like all the others which slit and dimple the slopes of the guadarrama, but in this matter it was as impossible for the sergeant to make a mistake as for a town-dweller to err as to the street in which he has lived for years.
-but no one was watching them. no clump of juniper held a spy, and the sergeant was at liberty to develop his plans. he turned quickly upon the old gipsy woman.
-"la giralda," he said, "there is small use in discovering the disposition of the courtiers in san ildefonso--ay, or even the defences of the palace, if we know nothing of the romany who are to march to-night upon the place."
-la giralda, who had been drawing a little milk from the udders of each she-goat, to ease them for their travel, suddenly sprang erect.
-"i do not interfere in the councils of the gitano," she cried; "i am old, but not old enough to desire death!"
-but more grim and lack-lustre than ever, the face of sergeant cardono was turned upon her, and more starrily twinkled the sloe-like eyes (diamonds set in cordovan leather) as he replied:--"the councils of the rom are as an open book to me. if they are life, they are life because i will it; if death, then i will the death!"
-the old gipsy stared incredulously.
-"long have i lived," she said, staring hard at the sergeant, "much have i seen, both of gipsy and gorgio; but never have i seen or heard of the man who could both make that boast, and make it good!"
-she appeared to consider a moment.
-"save one," she added, "and he is dead!"
-"how did he die?" said the sergeant, his tanned visage like a mask, but never removing his eyes from her face.
-"by the garrote" she answered, in a hushed whisper. "i saw him die."
-"in the great plaza of salamanca," she said, her eyes fixed in a stare of regretful remembrance. "it was filled from side to side, and the balconies were peopled as for a bull-fight. ah, he was a man!"
-"josé maria, the gitano, the prince of brigands!" murmured la giralda.
-"ah," said the sergeant, coolly, "i have heard of him."
-the dead and the living
-not a word more was uttered between the two. la giralda, for no reason that she would acknowledge even to herself, had conceived an infinite respect for sergeant cardono, and was ready to obey him implicitly--a fact which shows that our sweet concha was over-hasty in supposing that one woman in any circumstances can ever answer for another when there is a man in the case.
-but on this occasion la giralda's submission was productive of no more than a command to go down into the town of san ildefonso, the white houses of which could clearly be seen a mile or two below, while the sergeant betook himself to certain haunts of the gipsy and the brigand known to him in the fastnesses of the guadarrama.
-like a dog la giralda complied. she sharpened a stick with a knife which she took from a little concealed sheath in her leathern leggings, and with it she proceeded to quicken the donkey's extremely deliberate pace.
-then with the characteristic cry of the goatherd, she gathered her flock together and drove them before her down the deeply-rutted road which led from the farmhouse. she had not proceeded far, however, when she suddenly turned back, with a quick warning cry to her cavalcade. the donkey instantly stood still, patient amid its fagots as an image in a church. the goats scattered like water poured on flat ground, and began to crop stray blades of grass, invisible to any eyes but their own, amid wastes of cracked earth and deserts of grey water-worn pebbles.
-as she looked back, sergeant cardono was disappearing up among the tumbled foot-hills and dry beds of winter torrents, which render the lower spurs of the guadarrama such a puzzle to the stranger, and such a paradise for the smuggler and guerrillero. in another moment he had disappeared. with a long quiet sigh la giralda stole back to the farmhouse. in spite of her race, and heathenish lack of creed, the spark of humanity was far from dead in her bosom. the thought of the open eyes of the little girl, which gazed even in death with fixed rapture upon her wooden treasure, remained with her.
-"the woman is as old as i--she can bide her time!" she muttered to herself. "but the child--these arms are not yet so shrunken that they cannot dig up a little earth to lay the babe thereunder."
-and at the chamber door la giralda paused. like her people, she was neither a good nor yet a bad catholic. consciously or unconsciously she held a more ancient faith, though she worshipped at no shrine, told no beads, and uttered no prayers.
-"they have not been long dead," she said to herself, as she entered; "the window is open and the air is sweet. yet the plague, which snatches away the young and strong, may look askance at old giralda's hold on life, which at the best is no stronger than the strength of a basting-thread!"
-having said these words she advanced to the low trundle-bed, and, softly crooning in an unknown tongue over the poor dead babe, she lovingly closed its eyes, and taking a sheet from a wall-press that stood partially open, she began to enwrap the little girl in its crisp white folds. the spaniards are like the scottish folk in this, that they have universally stores of the best and finest linen.
-la giralda was about to lay the wooden puppet aside as a thing of little worth, but something in the clutch of the small dead hands touched and troubled her. she altered her intention.
-"no, you shall not be parted!" she said, "and if there be a resurrection as the priests prate of--why, you shall e'en wake with the doll in your arms!"
-so the pair, in death not divided, were wrapt up together, and the gipsy woman prepared to carry her light burden afield. but before doing so she went to the bed. it was an ancient woman who lay thereon, clutching the bed-clothes, and drawn together with the last agony. la giralda gazed at her a moment.
-"you i cannot carry--it is impossible," she muttered; "you must take your chance--even as i, if so be that the plague comes to me from this innocent!"
-nevertheless, she cast another coverlet over the dead woman's face, and went down the broad stairs of red brick, carrying her burden like a precious thing. la giralda might be no good catholic, no fervent protestant, but i doubt not the first martyr of the faith, the preacher of the mount, would have admitted her to be a very fair christian. on the whole i cannot think her chances in the life to come inferior to those of the astute don baltasar varela, prior of the abbey of montblanch, or those of many a shining light of orthodoxy in a world given to wickedness.
-down in the shady angle of the little orchard the old gipsy found a little garden of flowers, geranium and white jasmine, perhaps planted to cast into the rude coffin of a neighbour, yerba luisa, or lemon verbena for the decoctions of a simple pharmacopoeia, on the outskirts of these a yet smaller plot had been set aside. it was edged with white stones from the hillside, and many coloured bits of broken crockery decorated it. a rose-bush in the midst had been broken down by some hasty human foot, or perhaps by a bullock or other large trespassing animal. there were nigh a score of rose-buds upon it--all now parched and dead, and the whole had taken on the colour of the soil.
-la giralda stood a moment before laying her burden down. she had the strong heart of her ancient people. the weakness of tears had not visited her eyes for years--indeed, not since she was a girl, and had cried at parting from her first sweetheart, whom she never saw again. so she looked apparently unmoved at the pitiful little square of cracked earth, edged with its fragments of brown and blue pottery, and at the broken rose-bush lying as if also plague-stricken across it, dusty, desolate, and utterly forlorn. yet, as we have said, was her heart by no means impervious to feeling. she had wonderful impulses, this parched mahogany-visaged giralda.
-"it is the little one's own garden--i will lay her here!" she said to herself.
-so without another word she departed in search of mattock and spade. she found them easily and shortly, for the hireling servants of the house had fled in haste, taking nothing with them. in a quarter of an hour the hole was dug. the rose-tree, being in the way, was dragged out and thrown to one side. la giralda, who began to think of her donkey and goats, hastily deposited the babe within, and upon the white linen the red earth fell first like thin rain, and afterwards, when the sheet was covered, in lumps and mattock-clods. for la giralda desired to be gone, suddenly becoming mindful of the precepts of the sergeant.
-"no priest has blessed the grave," she said; "i can say no prayers over her! who is la giralda that she should mutter the simplest prayer? but when the master of life awakes the little one, and when he sees the look she will cast on her poor puppet of wood, he will take her to his bosom even as la giralda, the mother of many, would have taken her! god, the good one, cannot be more cruel than a woman of the heathen!"
-and so with the broken pottery for a monument, and the clasp of infant hands about the wooden doll for a prayer to god, the dead babe was left alone, unblessed and unconfessed--but safe.
-meanwhile we must go over the hill with sergeant cardono. whatever his thoughts may have been as he trudged up the barren glens, seamed and torn with the winter rains, no sign of them appeared upon his sunburnt weather-beaten face. steadily and swiftly, yet without haste, he held his way, his eyes fixed on the ground, as though perfectly sure of his road, like a man on a well-beaten track which he has trod a thousand times.
-for more than an hour he went on, up and ever up, till his feet crisped upon the first snows of peñalara, and the hill ramparts closed in. but when he had reached the narrows of a certain gorge, he looked keenly to either side, marking the entrance. a pile of stones roughly heaped one upon the other fixed his attention. he went up to them and attentively perused their structure and arrangement, though they appeared to have been thrown together at random. then he nodded sagely twice and passed on his way.
-the glen continued to narrow overhead. the sunshine was entirely shut out. the jaws of the precipice closed in upon the wayfarer as if to crush him, but sergeant cardono advanced with the steady stride of a mountaineer, and the aplomb of one who is entirely sure of his reception.
-the mountain silence grew stiller all about. none had passed that way (so it seemed) since the beginning of time. none would repass till time should be no more.
-suddenly through the utter quiet there rang out, repeated and reduplicated, the loud report of a rifle. the hills gave back the challenge. a moment before the dingy bedrabbled snow at cardono's feet had been puffed upwards in a white jet, yet he neither stopped for this nor took the least notice. loyal or disloyal, true or false, he was a brave man this sergeant cardono. i dare say that any one close to him might have discerned his beady eyes glitter and glance quickly from side to side, but his countenance was turned steadfastly as ever upon the snow at his feet.
-again came the same startling challenge out of the vague emptiness of space, the bullet apparently bursting like a bomb among the snow. and again cardono took as much notice as if some half-dozen of village loungers had been playing ball among the trees.
-only when a third time the whisk of the bullet in the snow a yard or two to the right preceded the sound of the shot, cardono shook his head and muttered, "too long range! the fools ought to be better taught than that!" then he continued his tramp steadily, neither looking to the right nor to the left. the constancy of his demeanour had its effect upon the unseen enemy. the sergeant was not further molested; and though it was obvious that he advanced each step in about as great danger of death as a man who is marched manacled to the garrote, he might simply have been going to his evening billet in some quiet castilian village, for all the difference it made in his appearance.
-up to this point cardono had walked directly up the torrent bed, the rounded and water-worn stones rattling and slipping under his iron-shod half-boots, but at a certain point where was another rough cairn of stones, he suddenly diverged to the right, and mounted straight up the fell over the scented thyme and dwarf juniper of the mountain slopes.
-whatever of uncertainty as to his fate the sergeant felt was rigidly concealed, and even when a dozen men dropped suddenly upon him from various rocky hiding-places, he only shook them off with a quick gesture of contempt, and said something in a loud voice which brought them all to a halt as if turned to stone by an enchanter's spell.
-the men paused and looked at each other. they were all well armed, and every man had an open knife in his hand. they had been momentarily checked by the words of the sergeant, but now they came on again as threateningly as before. their dark long hair was encircled by red handkerchiefs knotted about their brows, and in general they possessed teeth extraordinarily white gleaming from the duskiest of skins. the beady sloe-black eyes of the sergeant were repeated in almost every face, as well as that indefinable something which in all lands marks the gipsy race.
-the sergeant spoke again in a language apparently more intelligible than the deep romany password with which he had first checked their deadly intentions.
-"you have need of better marksmen," he said; "even the migueletes could not do worse than that!"
-"who are you?" demanded a tall grey-headed gipsy, who like the sergeant had remained apparently unarmed; "what is your right to be here?"
-the sergeant had by this time seated himself on a detached boulder and was rolling a cigarette. he did not trouble to look up as he answered carelessly, "to the gitano my name is josé maria of ronda!"
-the effect of his words was instantaneous. the men who had been ready to kill him a moment before almost fell at his feet, though here and there some remained apparently unconvinced.
-prominent among these was the elderly man who had put the question to the sergeant. without taking his eyes from those of the carlist soldier he exclaimed, "our great josé maria you cannot be. for with these eyes i saw him garrotted in the plaza mayor of salamanca!"
-the sergeant undid his stock and pointed to a blood-red band about his neck, indented deeply into the skin, and more apparent at the back and sides than in front.
-"garrotted in good faith i was in the plaza of salamanca, as this gentleman says," he remarked with great coolness. "but not to death. the executioner was as good a gitano as myself, and removed the spike which strikes inward from the back. so you see i am still josé maria of ronda in the flesh, and able to strike a blow for myself!"
-the gipsies set up a wild yell. the name of the most celebrated and most lawless of their race stirred them to their souls.
-"come with us," they cried; "we are here for the greatest plunder ever taken or dreamed of among the romany----"
-"hush, i command you," cried the elder man. "josé maria of ronda this man may be, but we are gitanos of the north, and need not a man from andalucia to lead us, even if he carry a scarlet cravat about his neck for a credential!"
-the sergeant nodded approval of this sentiment and addressed the old gipsy in deep romany, to which he listened with respect, and answered in a milder tone, shaking his head meanwhile.
-"i have indeed heard such sayings from my mother," he said, "and i gather your meaning; but we gitanos of the north have mingled too much with the outlander and the foreigner to have preserved the ancient purity of speech. but in craft and deed i wot well we are to the full as good roms as ever."
-by this time it was clear to the sergeant that the old man was jealous of his leadership; and as he himself was by no means desirous of taking part in a midnight raid against a plague-stricken town, he proceeded to make it clear that, being on his way to his own country of andalucia and had been led aside by the gipsy cryptograms he had observed by the wayside and the casual greeting of the crook-backed imp of the village.
-upon this the old man sat down beside sergeant cardono, or, as his new friends knew him to be, josé maria the brigand. he did not talk about the intended attack as the sergeant hoped he would. being impressed by the greatness of his guest, he entered into a minute catalogue of the captures he had made, the men he had slain as recorded on the butt of his gun or the haft of his knife, and the cargoes he had successfully "run" across the mountains or beached on the desolate sands of catalunia.
-"i am no inlander," he said, "i am of the sea-coast of tarragona. i have never been south of tortosa in my life; but there does not live a man who has conducted more good cigars and brandy to their destination than old pépe of the eleven wounds!"
-the sergeant with grave courtesy reached him a well-rolled cigarette.
-"i have heard of your fame, brother," he said; "even at ronda and on the madrid-seville road your deeds are not unknown. but what of this venture to-night? have you enough men, think you, to overpower the town watchmen and the palace-guards?"
-the old gipsy tossed his bony hands into the air with a gesture of incomparable contempt.
-"the palace guards are fled back to madrid," he cried, "and as to the town watch they are either drunk or in their dotage!"
-meantime the main body of the gipsies waited patiently in the background, and every few minutes their numbers were augmented by the arrival of others over the various passes of the mountains. these took their places without salutation, like men expected, and fell promptly to listening to the conversation of the two great men, who sat smoking their cigarettes each on his own stone in the wide wild corrie among the rocks of the guadarrama which had been chosen as an appropriate rendezvous.
-singularly enough, after the sergeant had shown the scarlet mark of the strangling ring about his neck, no one of all that company doubted for a moment that he was indeed the thrice-famous josé maria of ronda. none asked a question as to his whence or whither. he was josé maria, and therefore entitled not only to be taken at once into the secrets of egypt, but also, and it pleased him, to keep his own.
-and very desperate and bloody some of 'his own' were. in the present instance, plunder and bloodshed were to proceed hand in hand. no quarter was to be given to old or young. the plague-stricken sick man and the watcher by the bed, the woman feeding her fire of sticks under her puchero, the child asleep on its pillow, the queen in the palace, the princess in her nursery--all were to die, quickly and suddenly. these men had sworn it. the dead were no tale-tellers. that was the way of egypt--the ancient way of safety. were they not few and feeble in the midst of innumerable hordes of the busne? had they not been driven like cattle, abused like dogs, sent guiltless to the scaffold, shot in batches by both warring parties? now in this one place at least, they would do a deed of vengeance at which the ears of the world would tingle.
-the sergeant sat and smoked and listened. he was no stranger to such talk. it was the way of his double profession of andalucian bandit and carlist guerrilero, to devise and execute deeds of terror and death. but nothing so cold-blooded as this had josé maria ever imagined. he had indeed appropriated the governmental mails till the post-bags almost seemed his own property, and the guards handed them down without question as to a recognised official. he had, in his great days, captured towns and held them for either party according to the good the matter was likely to do himself. but there was something revolting in this whole business which puzzled him.
-"whose idea was all this?" he asked at last. "i would give much to see the gitano who could devise such a stroke."
-the grim smile on the countenance of old pépe of the eleven wounds grew yet more grim.
-"no gipsy planned it and no man!" he said sententiously. "come hither, chica!"
-and out from among the listening throng came a girl of thirteen or fourteen, dressed neatly and simply in a grey linen blouse belted at the waist with a leather belt. a gay plaid, striped of orange and crimson, hung neatly folded over her shoulder, and she rested her small sunburnt hand on the silver hilt of a pistol. black elf-locks escaped from beneath a red silk kerchief knotted saucily after the fashion of her companions. but her eyes, instead of being beady and black with that far-away contemplative look which characterises the children of egypt, were bright and sunny and blue as the mediterranean itself in the front of spring.
-"come hither, chica--be not afraid," repeated old pépe of the eleven wounds, "this is a great man--the greatest of all our race. you have heard of him--as who, indeed, has not!"
-chica nodded with a quick elfish grin of intense pleasure and appreciation. "i was listening," she said, "i heard all. and i saw--would that i could see it again. oh, if only the like would happen to me!"
-"tell the noble don josé who you are, my pretty chica," said pépe, soothingly.
-but the child stamped her sandalled foot. it was still white at the instep, and the sergeant could see by the blue veins that she had not gone long barefoot. the marks of a child either stolen for ransom or run away from home owing to some wild strain in the blood were too obvious to be mistaken. her liberty of movement among the gipsies made the latter supposition the more probable.
-"i am not pretty chica, and i am not little," she cried angrily. "i would have you remember, pépe, that i made this plan, which the folk of egypt are to execute to-night. but since this is the great brigand don josé of ronda, who was executed at salamanca, i will tell him all about it."
-she looked round at the dark faces with which they were surrounded.
-"there are new folk among these," she said, "men i do not know. bid them go away. else i will not speak of myself, and i have much to say to don josé!"
-pépe of the eleven wounds looked about him, and shook his head. gipsydom is a commonwealth when it comes to a venture like this, and save in the presence of some undoubted leader, all egypt has an equal right to hear and to speak. pépe's authority was not sufficient for this thing. but that of the sergeant was.
-he lifted his montera cap and said, "i would converse a while with this maid on the affairs of egypt. 'tis doubtless no more than you know already, and then, having heard her story my advice is at your service. but she will not speak with so many ears about. it is a woman's whim, and such the wisest of us must sometimes humour."
-the gipsies smiled at the gay wave of his hand with which cardono uttered this truism and quickly betook themselves out of earshot in groups of ten and a dozen. cards were produced, and in a few minutes half a score of games were in progress at different points of the quarry-like cauldron which formed the outlaws' rendezvous.
-at once the humour of the child changed.
-the elf tapped her forehead immediately underneath the red sash which was tied about it. the sergeant, though eager to hear her story and marvelling at such sentiments from the lips of a child, successfully concealed his curiosity, and said gently, "tell me how you came to think of to-night----"
-"of what to-night?" asked the girl quickly and suspiciously.
-"the deed which is to be done to-night," replied the sergeant simply, as though he were acquainted with the whole.
-she leaped forward and caught him by the arm.
-"you will stay and go with us? you will lead us?" she hissed, her blue eyes aflame and with trembling accents, "then indeed will i be sure of my revenge. then the italian woman and her devil's brat shall not escape. then i shall be sure--sure!"
-she repeated the last words with concentrated fury, apparently impossible to one of her age. the sergeant smoked quietly and observed her. she seemed absolutely transfigured.
-"tell me that you will," she cried, low and fierce, so that her voice should not reach the men around; "these, when they get there, will think of nothing but plunder. as if rags and diamonds and gold were worth venturing one's life for. but i desire death--death--death, do you hear? to see the italian woman and her paramour pleading for their lives, one wailing over against the other, on their knees. oh, i know them and the brat they call the little queen! to-night they shall lie dead under my hands--with this--with this!"
-and the girl flashed a razor-keen blade out of her red waistband. she thrust the hilt forward into the sergeant's hands as if in token of fealty.
-"see," she said, touching the edge lovingly, "is it not sharp? will it not kill surely and swiftly? for months i have sharpened it--ah, and to-night it will give me my desire!"
-it was the sergeant's belief that the girl was mad, nevertheless he watched her with his usual quiet scrutiny, the power of which she evidently felt. for she avoided his eyes and hastened on with her story before he had time to cross-question her.
-"why do i hate them? i see the question on your lips. because the italian woman hath taken away my father and slain my mother--slain her as truly and with far sharper agony than she herself shall know when i set this knife to her throat. i am the daughter of muñoz, and i swore revenge on the man and on the woman both when i closed my mother's eyes. my mother's heart was broken. ah, you see, she was weak--not like me! it would take a hundred like the neapolitan to break my heart; and as for the man, though he were thrice my father, he should beg his life in vain."
-she snatched her knife jealously out of his hand, tried its edge on the back of her hand with a most unchildlike gesture, and forthwith concealed it in her silken faja. then she laid her hand once more on the sergeant's arm.
-"you will lead us, will you not, josé maria?" she said pleadingly. "i can trust you. you have done many great deeds. my nurse was a woman of ronda and told me of your exploits on the road from madrid to sevilla. you will lead us to-night. only you must leave these three in the palace to me. if you will, you shall have also my share of the plunder. but what do i say, i know you are too noble to think only of that--as these wolves do!"
-she cast a haughty glance around upon the gipsies at their card-play.
-"i, that am of old castile and noble by four descents, have demeaned myself to mix with gitanos," she said, "but it has only been that i might work out my revenge. i told pépe there of my plan. i showed him the way. he was afraid. he told ten men, and they were afraid. fifty, and they were afraid. now there are a hundred and more, and were it not that they know that all lies open and unguarded, even i could not lead them thither. but they will follow you, because you are josé maria of ronda." the sergeant took the girl's hand in his. she was shaking as with an ague fit, but her eyes, blue and mild as a summer sky, had that within them which was deadlier than the tricksome slippery demon that lurks in all black orbs, whether masculine or feminine.
-"chica," he said, "your wrongs are indeed bitter. i would give much to help you to set the balance right. perhaps i may do so yet. but i cannot be the commander of these men. they are not of my folk or country. they have not even asked me to lead them. they are jealous of me! you see it as well as i!"
-"ah!" cried the girl, laying her hand again on his cuff, "that is because they do not wish you to share their plunder. but tell them that you care nothing for that and they will welcome you readily enough. the place is plague-stricken, i tell you. the palace lies open. little crook-backed chepe brought me word. he says he adores me. he is of the village of frias, back there behind the hills. i do not love him, even though he has a bitter heart and can hate well. therefore i suffer him."
-the sergeant rose to his feet and looked compassionately down at the vivid little figure before him. the hair, dense and black, the blue eyes, the red-knotted handkerchief, the white teeth that showed between the parted lips clean and sharp as those of a wild animal. cardono had seen many things on his travels, but never anything like this. his soul was moved within him. in the deeps of his heart, the heart of a spanish gipsy, there was an infinite sympathy for any one who takes up the blood feud, who, in the face of all difficulties, swears the vendetta. but the slim arms, the spare willowy body, the little white sandalled feet of the little girl--these overcame him with a pitifully amused sense of the disproportion of means to end.
-"have you no brother, señorita?" he said, using by instinct the title of respect which the little girl loved the most. she saw his point in a moment.
-"a brother--yes, don josé! but my brother is a cur, a dog that eats offal. pah! i spit upon him. he hath taken favours from the woman. he hath handled her money. he would clean the shoes they twain leave at their chamber door. a brother--yes; the back of my hand to such brothers! but after to-night he shall have no offal to eat--no bones thrown under the table to pick. for in one slaying i will kill the italian woman cristina, the man muñoz who broke my mother's heart, and the foisted changeling brat whom they miscall the daughter of fernando and the little queen of spain!"
-she subsided on a stone, dropped her head into her hands, and took no further notice of the sergeant, who stood awhile with his hand resting on her shoulder in deep meditation. there was, he thought, no more to be said or done. he knew all there was to know. the men had not asked him to join them, so he would venture no further questions as to the time and the manner of attack. they were still jealous of him with that easily aroused jealousy of south and north which in spain divides even the clannish gipsy.
-nevertheless he went the round of the men. they were mostly busy with their games, and some of them even snatched the stakes in to them, lest he should demand a percentage of the winnings after the manner of sevilla. the sergeant smiled at the reputation which distance and many tongues had given him. then, with a few words of good fellowship and the expression of a wish for success and abundant plunder, he bade them farewell. it was a great deed which they designed and one worthy of his best days. he was now old, he said, and must needs choose easier courses. he did not desire twice to feel the grip of the collar of iron. but young blood--oh, it would have its way and run its risks!
-but chica, seated on her stone, with her scarlet-bound head on her hand, neither looked up nor gave him any greeting as his feet went slowly down the rocky glen and crunched over the begrimed patches of last year's snow, now wide-pored and heavy with the heat of noonday.
-a little queen at home
-meanwhile, leaving the grave in the shaded corner of the farm garden, la giralda went out with many strange things moving in her heart. more than once she had seen her own children laid in the dust, with far less of emotion than this nameless little girl clutching her wooden puppet and smiling, well-pleased, in the face of the last terror.
-she found the donkey standing still and patient between his fagot bundles. the she-goats, on the other hand, had scattered a little this way or that as this blade of grass or that spray of encina had allured them. but a sharp cry or two called them together. for it was many hours since any of them had been milked, and the full teats standing out every way ached for the pressing fingers.
-the sergeant had, of course, long since completely disappeared up the hillside, so la giralda, with one comprehensive look back at the desolate farmhouse, drove her little flock before her towards the town gates of san ildefonso. like a picture, the dustily red roofs lay beneath in the sunshine, spire and roof-garden, pigeon-house and terrace walk. parts of the white palace of la granja also were to be seen, but indistinctly, since it lay amid a pleasant distraction of greenery, and the woods waved and the falling waters glimmered about it like the landscape of a dream.
-from the colegiata came the tolling of a bell, slow and irregular. all else was silent. presently, with her little flock before her, la giralda found herself skirting the high-paled ironwork which confines the palace. she pursued her way towards the town, taking care, however, to look sharply about her so that she might miss nothing.
-the palace grounds seemed utterly deserted. the fountains slept; "fame" drove no longer her waters fifty yards into the air; the frogs rested from their ungrateful labours open-mouthed and gasping for breath. not even a gardener was to be seen scratching weeds on a path, or in the dimmest distance passing at random across one of the deep-shaded avenues. an unholy quiet seemed to have settled upon the place, the marvel of castile, the most elevated of earthly palaces, broken only by the sombre tolling of the chapel bell, which would cease for five minutes without apparent reason, and then, equally without cause, begin all over again its lugubrious chime.
-down the zigzags towards the town went la giralda, the goats taking advantage of the wider paths to stray further afield, and needing more frequently the touch of the wand, which the old woman had taken from the donkey's load in order to induce them to proceed.
-as the gipsy passed along, a small shrill voice called upon her to stop, and from a side walk, concealed by roses and oleander bushes, late flowering because of the great elevation, a richly-dressed little girl came running. she ran at the top of her speed towards the gilt railings which towered high above her head. her age appeared to be about that of the little girl whom la giralda had buried among the pottery shards in that other meaner garden up on the mountain side.
-"stop," she cried imperiously, "i bid you stop! i am the queen, and you must obey me. i have not seen any one for five days except stupid old susana, who will be after me in a moment. stop, i tell you! i want to see your goats milked. i love milk, and they will not give me enough, pretending that there is none within the palace. as if a queen of spain could not have all the milk she wanted! ridiculous!"
-by this time the little girl had mounted the parapet and was clinging with all her might to the iron railings, while a fat motherly person had waddled out of the underbrush in search of her, and with many exclamations of pretended anger and indignation was endeavouring to entice her away.
-but the more the nurse scolded and pulled, the more firmly did the little maid cling to the golden bars. at last the elderly woman, quite out of breath, sat down on the stone ledge and addressed to her charge the argument which in such cases betokens unconditional surrender.
-"my lady isabel, what would your noble and royal mother say," she gasped, "thus to forget all the counsels and commands of those put in authority over you and run to the railings to chatter with a gipsy wife? go away, goatherdess, or i will call the attendants and have you put in prison!"
-la giralda had stopped her flock, obedient to the wishes of the little maid, but now, with a low curtsey to both, she gathered them together with her peculiar whistling cry, and prepared to continue her way down into the village.
-but this the little girl would in nowise permit. she let go the iron rail, and with both hands clenched fell upon her attendant with concentrated fury.
-"bad, wicked susana," she cried, "i will have you whipped and sent about your business. nay, i myself will beat you. i will kill you, do you hear? i have had nothing to eat and no one to play with for a week--not a gardener, not a dog, not even a soldier on guard to salute me or let me examine his sword-bayonet. and now when this dear, this sweet old señora comes by with her lovely, lovely goats, you must perforce try to pull me off as if i were a village child that had played truant from the monks' school and must be birched for its fault!"
-all the while she was speaking, the young princess directed a shower of harmless blows at the skirts of her attendant, which doña susana laughingly warded off, begging all the while for pity, and instancing the direct commands of the little girl's mother, apparently a very exalted personage indeed, as a reason for her interference.
-but isabel of spain was not to be appeased, and presently she had recourse to tears in the midst of her fury.
-"you hate me--i know you do--that is what it means," she cried, "you would not have me happy even for a moment. but one day i shall be queen, and do as i like! yes, and drink as much warm goat's milk as i want, in spite of all the stupid, wicked, cruel susanas in the world. and i shall throw you into a dungeon with nothing but mice and rats and serpents and centipedes--yes, and snails that leave a white slimy trail over you when they crawl! ugh! and i will have your hands tied, so that you shall not be able to brush them off when they tickle your neck. yes, i will, susana! i swear it, and i am growing big--so big! and soon i shall be old enough to have you put in prison with the mice and snails, bad susana! oh, wicked susana!"
-now, whether these childish threats actually had some effect, or whether the old lady was so soft-hearted as her comfortable appearance denoted, certain it is that she took a key from her pocket and passed it through the tall gilt railings to la giralda.
-"go down a hundred yards or so," she said, "and there you will find a gate. open it with that key and bring over your animals to the little pavilion among the trees by the fountain."
-upon hearing this the princess instantly changed her tune. she had got her own way, and now it was "beautiful doña susana! precious and loveliest companion, when i am queen you shall have the greatest and handsomest grandee in the kingdom to be your husband, and walk in diamonds and rubies at our court balls! yes, you shall. i promise it by my royal oath. and now i will run to the house kitchen for basins to catch the goats' milk in, and my little churn to churn the butter in--and--and----"
-but before she had catalogued half the things that she meant to find and bring she departed at the top of her speed, making the air ring with her shouts of delight.
-slowly, and with the meekest dignity, la giralda did as she was bidden. she found the little gate, which, indeed, proved so narrow that she could not get her donkey to pass through with his great side-burdens of fagots. but as these were not at all heavy, la giralda herself detached them, and, laying them carefully within the railings, she unhaltered the patient beast and, tying him only with a cord about his neck, left him a generous freedom of browsing upon the royal grass-plots and undergrowth.
-the goats, however, perhaps alarmed by the trim daintiness of the place and the unwonted spectacle of unlimited leaves and forage, kept close together. one or two of them, indeed, smelt doubtfully at luxuriant tufts, but as they had only previously seen grass in single blades, and amid saharas of gravel and sand, the experiment of eating an entire mouthful at a time appeared too hazardous and desperate. they were of a cautious turn of mind, in addition to which their udders had become so distended that little white beads were forcing themselves from the teats, and they expressed their desire for relief by plaintive whimperings and by laying their rough heads caressingly against la giralda's short and primitive skirt and leather-cased legs.
-in a few moments after they had reached the pavilion the princess came shouting back. she was certainly a most jovial little person, spanish at all points, with great dark eyes and cheeks apple-red with good health and the sharp airs of the guadarrama. doña susana had walked a little in front of la giralda and her flock, to show the superiority of her position, and also, it may be, to display the amplitude of her several chins, by holding them in the air in a manner as becoming as it was dignified.
-"milk them! milk them quickly! let me see!" the princess shouted, clanging the pails joyously together. the walls of the pavilion in which la giralda found herself were decorated with every kind of household utensil, but not such as had ever been used practically. everything was of silver or silver-gilt. there was indeed a complete batterie de cuisine--saucepans, patty-pans, graters, a mincing machine with the proper screws and handles, shining rows of lids, and a complete graduated series of cooking spoons stuck in a bandolier. salad dishes of sparkling crystal bound with silver ornamented the sideboard, while various earthen pots and pans of humbler make stood on a curiously designed stove under whose polished top no fire had ever burned. at least so it appeared to la giralda, who, much impressed by the magnificence of the installation, would promptly have driven her goats out again.
-but this the little isabel would by no means permit.
-"here--here!" she commanded, "this is mine--my very own. my mother has a dairy--i have a kitchen. milk the goats here, i command you, nowhere but here!"
-and thrusting the bucket into the old woman's hand, she watched carefully and eagerly as la giralda pressed the milk downwards in hissing streams. the she-goat operated upon expressed her gratitude by turning to lick the hand which relieved her.
-at this the little girl danced with delight.
-"it looks so easy--i could do it myself! i am sure of it. i tell you, susana, i will do it. stand still, cabra! do you not know that i am isabel the second, queen of all the spains!"
-but the she-goat, having no very strong monarchial sentiments, or perhaps being inclined to carlist opinions, as soon as she felt the grip of unaccustomed fingers promptly kicked over in the dust the queen of all the spains.
-the little girl had not time to gather herself up or even to emit the howl of disappointment and anger which hovered upon her lips, before her attendant rushed at her with pitiful cries:
-"oh, the wicked goat! the devil-possessed emblem of satan! let it be slain! did not your poor susana warn you to have nothing to do with such evil things--thus to overturn in the dust the best, the sweetest, the noblest of princesses!"
-but the best and sweetest of princesses, having violent objections to being gathered up into the capacious embrace of her nurse, especially before company, vigorously objected in much the same manner as the goat had done, and at last compelled doña susana to deposit her once more on the paved floor of the miniature kitchen. having arrived in which place, her anger completely vanished, for a tankardful of rich warm goat's milk was handed to her by la giralda, and in this flowing bowl she soon forgot her woes.
-"you must come down to the palace and be paid," said the little girl; "we are most of us very hungry there, and those who are not hungry are thirsty. the waggons from madrid have been stopped on the way, and all the guards have gone to bring them back!"
-at this doña susana looked quickly across to the old goatherdess and signalled that the little princess was not to be informed of anything she might happen to know.
-"you have not been in the town, i trust!" said doña susana.
-now la giralda could conscientiously have declared that she had never been within the gates of san ildefonso in her life, but thinking that in the circumstances the statement might appear a suspicious one, she modified it to a solemn declaration that she had come directly down from her farm on the mountain-side, as, indeed, they themselves had seen.
-satisfied of her veracity, doña susana took her very independent and difficult charge by the hand and led the way towards the palace of la granja, glimpses of which could be obtained through the foliage which was still everywhere verdant and abundant with the first freshness of spring--so high did the castle lie on the hill-slopes, and so enlivening were the waste waters downthrown from the rocky crests of peñalara, whose snows glimmered through the trees, as it seemed, but a bowshot above their heads.
-the goats, each expecting their turn of milking, followed at her heels as obediently as well-trained dogs. most of them were of the usual dark-red colour, a trifle soiled with the grey dust on which they had been lying. a few were white, and these were the favourites of the little queen, who, though compelled to go on ahead, looked constantly back over her shoulder and endeavoured to imitate the shrill whistling call by which la giralda kept her flock in place.
-when they arrived at the palace front the doors stood wide open. at doña susana's call an ancient major-domo appeared, his well-developed waistcoat mating ill with the pair of shrunk and spindle shanks which appeared beneath. the sentry boxes, striped red and gold with the colours of spain, were empty. at the guard-houses there were no lounging sergeants or smart privates eager to rise and salute as the little queen passed by.
-there was already indeed about the palace an air of desolation. the great gates in front towards the town had been closed, as if to shut off infection, and the court itself, dwindled to a few faithful old retainers of fernando vii., surrounded his widow and her new husband with a devotion which was yet far more than their due.
-it was not long before la giralda had milked the remainder of the flock and sent the creaming white pitchers into the palace. little isabel danced with delight as one she-goat after another escaped with infinite tail-waggling and bleatings of pleasure. and in the dearth of other amusement she desired and even commanded the old woman to remain and pasture her herd within the precincts of the palace. but la giralda had much yet to do. she must find out the state and dispositions of the town of san ildefonso, and then rejoin her companions in the little corrie or cauldron-like cirque in which she and the sergeant had left rollo and the other members of the expedition.
-so after the small and imperious royal maid had been carried screaming and battling upstairs by doña susana and the globular major-domo, la giralda, richly rewarded in golden coin of the realm, and with all the requisite information as to the palace, betook herself back to the gate by which she had left the ass. this she loaded again, and driving it before her she retraced her steps past the corner of the palace, and so to the porter's lodge by the great gate.
-here she was presently ushered out by a mumbling old woman who informed her that her husband and son had both gone to madrid with the troops, but would undoubtedly return in an hour or two, a statement which with her superior information the old gipsy took leave to doubt.
-the town of san ildefonso lay beneath the chateâu, and to her right as la giralda issued from the gates. the houses were of an aspect at once grave and cheerful. they had been built mostly, not for permanent residence, but in order to accommodate the hordes of courtiers and their suites who, in the summer months, followed the royal personages over the mountains from madrid.
-as most of these had fled at the first invasion of the cholera, the windows, at this period of the year generally bright with flowers and shaded with emerald barred jalousies, were closely shut up, and upon several of the closed doors appeared the fatal black and white notices of the municipality, which indicated that there either was or had been a case of the plague within the infected walls.
-la giralda went down the streets uttering the long wailing cry which indicated that she had firewood to sell. but though she could have disposed of the milk from the goats over and over again, there appeared but little demand for her other commodity, even though she called, "leña-a-a-a! ah, leña-a-a-a!" from one end of san ildefonso to the other.
-a city watchman, with a pipe in his mouth, looked drowsily and frowsily out of the town-hall or ayuntamiento. he was retreating again to his settle when it suddenly struck him that this intruder had paid no duty upon her milk and firewood. true, he was not the functionary appointed by law to receive the tax; but since he was on the spot, and for lack of other constituted the representative of civic state, he felt he must undertake the duty.
-so, laying aside his pipe and seizing his halberd and cocked hat, he sallied grumblingly forth to intercept the bold contravener of municipal laws. but the active limbs of the old gipsy, the lightened udders of the she-goats, and the ass with his meek nose pointed homeward, took the party out of the village gate before the man in authority could over-take la giralda.
-soon, therefore, the roofs of san ildefonso and the white palace again lay beneath her as the gipsy reascended by her track of the morning. so long had she occupied in her various adventures that the evening shadows were already lengthening when she returned to the corrie where the party had spent in restful indolence the burden and heat of the day. the sergeant had not yet arrived, and la giralda delayed her story till he should give her leave to speak. for not even to the gipsies of the guadarrama was josé maria a greater personage than sergeant cardono to la giralda of sevilla.
-in the mean time she busied herself, with concha's help, in preparing the evening meal, as quick upon her legs as if she had done nothing but lounge in the shade all day. it was almost sundown when the sergeant came in, dropping unannounced over the precipice as if from the clouds.
-"we must be in la granja in two hours if we are to save a soul within its walls," he said, "but--we have an hour for dinner first! therefore let us dine. god knows when we shall taste food again!"
-and with this dictum john mortimer heartily agreed.
-the startling announcement of the sergeant at once set the whole party in motion. their suspicions of the morning were cast to the winds, as the sergeant and la giralda in turn related their adventures. concha, having formerly vouched so strongly for the old gipsy woman, now nodded triumphantly across to rollo, who on his part listened intently. as sergeant cardono proceeded the young man leaned further and further forward, breathing deeply and regularly. the expression on his face was that of fierce and keen resolution.
-the sergeant told all the tale as it had happened, reserving only the identification of himself with the famous josé maria of ronda, which the gipsies had made on the strength of the red mark about his neck, now once more concealed under his military stock. cardono, however, made no secret that he was of the blood of egypt, and set down to this fact all that he had been able to accomplish. in swift well-chosen words he told of the fierce little girl with the dark hair and blue eyes, who declared herself to be the daughter of muñoz, sometime paramour and now reputed husband of the queen-regent--making it clear that she had indeed planned the wholesale slaughter, not only of those in the palace, but also of the inhabitants of the town of san ildefonso.
-then in her turn la giralda told of her visit to the pavilion, of the little queen, passionate, joyous, kindly natured, absolutely spanish, till the hearts of her hearers melted to the tale.
-"our orders are to capture her and her mother the regent," said rollo, thoughtfully. "it would therefore serve our purpose but ill if we permitted these two to be sacrificed to the bloodthirsty fury of a mob of plunderers!"
-"then the sooner we find ourselves within the gates, the more chance we shall have of saving them both!" said the sergeant. "serve out the puchero, la giralda!"
-concha had taken no part in the discussion. but she had listened with all her ears, and now in the pause that followed she declared her unalterable intention of making one of the party.
-"i also am of andalucia," she said with calm determination, "there are two others of my country here who will answer for me. you cannot leave me alone, and la giralda will be needed as guide when once you reach the palace precincts. i shall not be in the way, i promise you, and if it comes to gun and pistol, there i think you will not find me wanting!"
-in his heart and though he made several objections, rollo was glad enough to give way. for with all the unknown dangers of the night before them, and the certainty of bloodshed when the gipsies should attack, he relished still less the thought of leaving concha alone in that pit on the chill side of guadarrama.
-"i promise you, colonel, the maid will be worth her billet," said the sergeant, "or else she is no true andaluse. to such an one in old days i have often trusted----"
-thus far cardono had proceeded when suddenly he broke off his reminiscence, and with a paternal gesture patted concha's arm as she was bending over to transfer a second helping of the puchero to his dish.
-the party was now in excellent marching order, well-provisioned, well-fed, rested, and provided with the best and most recent information. even john mortimer's slow english blood developed some latent puritanic fire, and he said, "hang me if i do not fight for the little girl who was willing to pay for the whole of the goat-milk!"
-to fight for a queen, who at the early age of five was prepared to give a wholesale order like that, appeared to john mortimer a worthy and laudable deed of arms. he was free indeed to assist in taking her captive, if by so doing he could further the shipping of the priorato he himself had paid for. but to make over to a set of thieves and murderers a girl who had about her the makings of a good customer and a woman of business habits, stirred every chivalric feeling within him.
-the night was so dark that it was resolved that the party should leave their horses behind them in the stables of the deserted farm. they could then proceed on foot more softly and with more safety to themselves. to this la giralda, knowing that they must return that way, readily assented. for the thought of the dead woman she had left in the first-floor room haunted her, and even in the darkness of the night she could see the stark outlines of the sheet she had spread over the body.
-so it came to pass that once more horseshoe iron clattered, and there was a flashing of lights and a noise of voices about the lonely and stricken farmhouse. but only la giralda gave a thought to the little grave in the shady corner of the garden, and only she promised herself to revisit it when the stern work of the night should be over and the dawn of a calmer morning should have arisen.
-now, as soon as sergeant cardono returned, he placed himself as completely as formerly under the orders of rollo. he was no more josé maria the famous gipsy, but sergeant cardono of the army of h.m. carlos quinto, and señor rollo was his colonel. like a good scout he was ready to advise, but to the full as ready to hold his tongue and obey.
-and rollo, though new to his position, was not above benefiting continually by his wisdom, and as a matter of fact it was the sergeant who, in conjunction with la giralda, led the little expedition down the perilous goat-track by which the old gipsy had followed her flock in the morning. as usual concha kept her place beside rollo, with mortimer and etienne a little behind, while el sarria, taciturn but alert as usual, brought up the rear.
-it can hardly be said that they carried with them any extraordinary elements of success. indeed, in one respect they were at a manifest disadvantage. for in an expedition of this kind there ought to be one leader of dignity, character, and military genius far beyond the others. but among this little band which stole so quietly along the mountain-paths of the guadarrama, beneath the frowning snow-clad brow of peñalara, there was not one who upon occasion could not have led a similar forlorn hope. each member of the party possessed a character definite and easily to be distinguished from all the others. it was an army of officers without any privates.
-still, since our firebrand, rollo the scot, held the nominal leadership, and his quick imperious character made that chieftainship a reality, there was at least a chance that they might bring to a successful conclusion the complex and difficult task which was before them.
-they now drew near to the palace, which, as one descends the mountains, is approached first. the town of san ildefonso lay further to the right, an indistinguishable mass of heaped roofs and turrets without a light or the vestige of a street apparent in the gloom. it seemed to rollo a strange thing to think of this stricken town lying there with its dead and dying, its empty tawdry lodgings from which the rich and gay of the court had fled so hastily, leaving all save their most precious belongings behind, the municipal notices on the door, white crosses chalked on a black ground, while nearer and always nearer approached the fell gipsy rabble intent on plunder and rapine.
-even more strange, however, seemed the case of the royal palace of la granja. erected at infinite cost after the pattern of versailles and marly, the smallness of its scale and the magnificence of its natural surroundings caused it infinitely to surpass either of its models in general effect. it had, however, never been intended for defence, nor had the least preparation been made in case of attack. it was doubtless presumed that whenever the court sojourned there, the royal personages would arrive with such a guard and retinue as, in that lonely place, would make danger a thing to be laughed at.
-but no such series of circumstances as this had ever been thought of; the plague which had fallen so heavily and as it seemed mysteriously and instantaneously upon the town; the precincts of the palace about to be invaded by a foe more fell than frank or moor; the guards disappeared like snow in the sun, and the only protection of the lives of the queen-regent and her daughter, a band of carlists sent to capture their persons at all hazards.
-verily the whole situation was remarkably complex.
-the briefest look around convinced rollo that it would be impossible for so small a party to hold the long range of iron palisades which surrounded the palace. these were complete, indeed, but their extent was far too great to afford any hope of keeping out the gipsies without finding themselves taken in the rear. they must hold la granja itself, that was clear. there remained, therefore, only the problem of finding entrance.
-between the porter's lodge and the great gates near the colegiata they discovered a ladder left somewhat carelessly against a wall where whitewashing had been going on during the day, some ardent royal tradesman having ventured back, preferring the chance of the plague to the abandonment of his contract.
-this they at once appropriated, and rollo and the sergeant, being the two most agile of the company, prepared to mount.
-if the time had been less critical, and a disinterested observer had been available, it would at this moment have been interesting to observe the demeanour of concha. feeling that in a manner she was present on sufferance, she could not of course make any objection to the plan of escalade, nor could she offer to accompany rollo and the sergeant, but with clasped hands and tightly compressed lips she stood beneath, repeating under her breath quick-succeeding prayers for the safety of one (or both) of the adventurers.
-so patent and eager was her anxiety even in the gloom of the night that la giralda, to whom her agitation was manifest, laid her hand on the girl's arm and whispered in her ear that she must be brave, a true andaluse, and not compromise the expedition by any spoken word.
-concha turned indignantly upon her, shaking off her restraining hand as she did so.
-"do you think i am a fool?" she whispered. "i will do nothing to spoil their chances. but oh, giralda, at any moment he might be shot!"
-"trust josé maria. he hath taken risks far greater than this," said la giralda in a low voice, wilfully mistaking her meaning. but concha, quite unconsoled, did nothing but clasp her hands and quicken her supplications to the virgin.
-the ladder was reared against the gilded iron railing and rollo mounted, immediately dropping lightly down on the further side. the sergeant followed, and presently both were on the ground. at a word from rollo, el sarria pushed the ladder over and the two received it and laid it along the parapet in a place where it would remain completely hidden till wanted.
-the two moved off together in the direction of the porter's lodge, at the door of which the sergeant knocked lightly, and then, obtaining no answer, with more vehemence. a window was lifted and a frightened voice asked who came there at that time of night.
-the sergeant answered with some sharpness that they wished for the key of the great gate.
-upon this the same old woman who had ushered out la giralda appeared trembling at the lattice, and was but little relieved when the sergeant, putting on his most serious air, informed her that her life was in the utmost danger, and that she must instantly come downstairs, open the gate, and accompany them to the palace.
-"i knew it," quavered the old woman, "i knew it since ever my husband went away with the soldiers and left me here alone. i shall be murdered among you, but my blood will be on his hands. indeed, sirs, he hath never treated me well, but spent his wages at the wine tavern, giving me but a beggarly pittance. nay, how do i know but he had an intent in thus deserting me? he hath, and i can prove it, cast eyes of desire on maria of the pork-shop, only because she is younger and more comely than i, who had grown old and wrinkled bearing him children and cooking him ollas! aye, and small thanks have i got for either. as indeed i have told him hundreds of times. such a man! a pretty fellow to be head porter at a queen's gate! i declare i will inform her royal majesty this very night, if i am to go to the palace, that will i!"
-"come down immediately and let us in, my good woman," said the sergeant, soothingly. for it appeared as if this torrent of accusation against the absent might continue to flow for an indefinite period.
-"but how am i to know that you are not the very rogues and thieves of whom you tell?" persisted the old lady with some show of reason.
-"well," said the sergeant forbearingly, "as to that you must trust us, mother. it is the best you can do. but fear nothing, we will treat you gently as a cat her kitten, and you will come up to the palace with us to show us in what part of it dwell the queen and her daughter."
-"nay, not if it be to do harm to my lady and the sweet little maid who this very day brought a pail of milk to poor old rebeca the portress, whose husband hath forsaken her for a pork-shop trull. i would rather die!"
-rollo was about to speak, but the sergeant whispered that the old lady was now in such good case to admit them, that she might be frighted by his foreign accent.
-in a few moments the woman could be heard stiffly and grumblingly descending the stairs, the door was opened, and rebeca appeared with the key in her hand.
-"how many are there of your party?" she asked, her poor hand shaking so that she could scarcely fit the key in the lock, and her voice sunk to a quavering whisper.
-"there are five men of us and two women," said the sergeant, quickly. "now we are all within, pray give me the key and show us the road to the queen's apartments."
-the party now advanced towards the palace, which in the gloom of a starless night was still entirely hidden from their sight, save as a darker mass set square against the black vault of heaven.
-by this time concha and la giralda had taken the trembling portress by the arms, and were bringing her along in the van, whispering comfort in her ears all the way. the sergeant and rollo came next, with mortimer and etienne behind, a naked blade in the hand of each, for rollo had whispered the word to draw swords. this, however, el sarria interpreted to mean his faithful manchegan knife, to which he trusted more than to any sword of toledo that ever was forged.
-at any other time they could not have advanced a score of yards without being brought to a stand-still by the challenge of a sentry, the whistle of a rifle bullet, or the simultaneous turning out of the guard. but now no such danger was to be apprehended. all was still as a graveyard before cock-crow.
-it is hard, in better and wiser days, when things are beginning to be traced to their causes, to give any idea of the effect of the first appearance of black cholera among a population at once so simple and so superstitious as that of rural spain. the inhabitants of the great towns, the cristino armies in the field, the country-folk of all opinions were universally persuaded that the dread disease was caused by the monks in revenge for the despites offered to them; especially by the hated jesuits, who were supposed to have thrown black cats alive into rivers and wells in order to produce disease by means of witchcraft and diabolical agency.
-so universal was this belief that so soon as the plague broke out in any city or town the neighbouring monasteries were immediately plundered, and the priors and brethren either put to death or compelled to flee for their lives.
-some such panic as this had stampeded the troops stationed in and about the little town of san ildefonso, when the first cases of cholera proved fatal little more than a week before. a part of these had rushed away to plunder the rich monastery of el parral a few miles off, lying in the hollow beneath segovia. others, breaking up into parties of from a dozen to a hundred, had betaken themselves over the mountains in the direction of madrid.
-so the queen-regent and the handsome señor muñoz remained perforce at la granja, for the two-fold reason that the palace of madrid was reported to be in the hands of a rebellious mob, and that the disbanding troops had removed with them every sort and kind of conveyance, robbed the stables of the horses, and plundered the military armoury of every useful weapon.
-they had not, however, meddled with the treasures of the palace, nor offered any indignity to the queen-regent, or to any of the inmates of la granja. but as the sergeant well knew, not thus would these be treated by the roving bands of gipsies, who in a few hours would be storming about the defenceless walls. no resource of oriental torture, no refinement of barbarity would be omitted to compel the queen and her consort to give up the treasures without which it was well known that they never travelled. obviously, therefore, there was no time to be lost.
-they went swiftly round the angle of the palace, their feet making no sound on the clean delicious sward of those lawns which make the place such a marvel in the midst of tawny, dusty, burnt-up spain. in a brief space the party arrived unnoted and unchecked under the wall of the northern part.
-lights still burnt in two or three windows on the second floor, though all was dark on the face which the palace turned towards the south and the town of san ildefonso.
-"these are the windows of the rooms occupied by my lady the queen-regent," whispered the portress, rebeca, pointing upwards; "but promise me to commit no murder or do any hurt to the little maid."
-"be quiet, woman," muttered rollo, more roughly than was his wont; "we are come to save both of them from worse than death. sergeant cardono, bring the ladder!"
-the sergeant disappeared, and it was not many seconds before he was back again adjusting its hooks to the side of an iron balcony in front of one of the lighted rooms. almost before he had finished rollo would have mounted, impetuously as was his custom, but the sergeant held him back by the arm.
-"i crave your forgiveness," he whispered, "but if you will pardon me saying so, i have much more experience in such matters than you. permit me in this single case to precede you! we know not what or whom we may meet with above!"
-nevertheless, though the sergeant mounted first, rollo followed so closely that his hands upon the rounds of the ladder were more than once in danger of being trodden upon by the sergeant's half-boots.
-presently they stood together on the iron balcony and peered within. a tall dark man leaned against an elaborately carved mantelpiece indolently stroking his glossy black whiskers. a lady arrayed in a dressing-gown of pink silk reaching to her feet was seated on a chair, and submitting restlessly enough to the hands of her maid, who was arranging her hair for the night, in the intervals of a violent but somewhat one-sided quarrel which was proceeding between the pair.
-every few moments the lady would start from her seat and with her eyes flashing fire she would advance towards the indolent dandy by the mantelpiece as if with purpose of personal assault. at such seasons the stout old abigail instantly remitted her attentions and stood perfectly well trained and motionless, with the brush and comb in her hand, till it pleased her lady to sit down again.
-all the while the gentleman said no word, but watched the development of the scene with the utmost composure, passing his beautiful white fingers through his whiskers and moustache after the fashion of a comb. the lady's anger waxed higher and higher, and with it her voice also rose in an equal ratio. what the end would have been it is difficult to prophesy, for the sergeant, realising that time was passing quickly, produced an instrument with a broad flat blade bent at an acute angle to the handle, and inserting it sharply into the crack of the french window, opened it with a click which must have been distinctly audible within, even in the height of the lady's argument.
-the queen's ante-chamber
-out of the darkness rollo and the sergeant stepped quickly into the room. whereupon, small wonder that the lady should scream and fall back into her chair, the waiting-maid drop upon the floor as if she had been struck by a carlist bullet, or the gentleman with the long and glossy whiskers suspend his caresses and gaze upon the pair with dropped jaw and open mouth!
-at his entrance rollo had taken off his hat with a low bow. the sergeant saluted and stood at attention. there was a moment's silence in the room, but before rollo had time to speak the queen-regent recovered her self-possession. the daughter of the bourbons stood erect. her long hair streamed in dark glossy waves over her shoulders. her bosom heaved visibly under the thin pink wrapper. anger struggled with fear in her eyes. verily maria cristina of naples had plenty of courage.
-"who are you," she cried, "that dare thus to break in upon the privacy of the regent queen of spain? duke, call the guard!"
-but her husband only shrugged his shoulders and continued to gaze upon the pair of intruders with a calm exterior.
-"your majesty," said rollo, courteously, naturally resuming the leadership when anything requiring contact with gentlefolk came in the way, "i am here to inform you that you are in great danger--greater than i can for the moment make clear to you. the palace is, as i understand, absolutely without defence--the town is in the same position. it is within our knowledge that a band of two hundred gipsies are on the march to attack you this night in order to plunder the château, and put to death every soul within its walls. we have come, therefore, together with our companions outside, to offer our best services in your majesty's defence!"
-"but," cried the queen-regent, "all this may very well be, but you have not yet told me who you are and what you are doing here!"
-"for myself," answered rollo, "i am a scottish gentleman, trained from my youth to the profession of arms. those who wait without are for the present comrades and companions, whom, with your majesty's permission, i shall bid to enter. for to be plain, every moment is of the utmost importance, that we may lose no time in putting the château into such a state of defence as is possible, since the attack of the gipsies may be expected at any moment!"
-rollo stepped to the window to summon his company, but found them already assembled on the balcony. it was no time for formal introductions, yet, as each entered, rollo, like a true herald, delivered himself of a brief statement of the position of the individual in the company. but when la giralda entered, the stout waiting-maid rose with a shriek from the floor where she had been sitting.
-"oh, my lady," she cried, "do not trust these wicked people. they have come to murder us all. that woman is the very old goatherdess with whom the princess isabel was so bewitched this morning! i knew some evil would come of such ongoings!"
-"hush, susana," said her mistress with severity; "when you are asked for any information, be ready to give it. till then hold your peace."
-which having said she turned haughtily back again to the strangers, without vouchsafing a glance at her husband or the trembling handmaiden.
-"i can well believe," she said, "that you have come here to do us a service in our present temporary difficulty, and for that, if i find you of approved fidelity, you shall not fail to be rewarded. meantime, i accept your service, and i place you and the whole of your men under the immediate command of his excellency the duke of rianzares!"
-she turned to the tall exquisite who still continued to comb his whiskers by the chimney-piece. up till now he had not spoken a word.
-rollo scarcely knew what to reply to this, and as for the sergeant, he had the hardest work to keep from bursting into a loud laugh.
-but they were presently delivered from their difficulty by the newly nominated commander-in-chief himself.
-"this scene is painful to me," said señor muñoz, placidly, "it irritates my nerves. i have a headache. i think i shall retire and leave these gentlemen to make such arrangements as may be necessary till the return of our guards, which will doubtless take place within an hour or so. if you need me you can call for me!"
-having made this general declaration he turned to rollo and addressed himself particularly to him.
-"my rooms, i would have you know, are in the north wing," he continued; "i beg that there shall be no firing or other brutal noise on that side. anything of the kind would be most annoying. so pray see to it."
-then he advanced to where his wife stood, her eyes full of anger at this desertion.
-"my angel," he said, calmly, "i advise you sincerely to do the same. retire to your chamber. take a little tisane for the cooling of the blood, and leave all other matters to these new friends of ours. i am sure they appear very honest gentlemen. but as you have many little valuables lying about, do not forget to lock your door, as i shall mine. adieu, my angel!"
-and so from an inconceivable height of dandyism his excellency the duke of rianzares would have stooped to bestow a good night salutation on his wife's cheek, had not that lady, swiftly recovering from her stupor, suddenly awarded him a resounding box on the ear, which so far discomposed the calm of his demeanour that he took from his pocket a handkerchief edged with lace, unfolded it, and with the most ineffable gesture in the world wiped the place the lady's hand had touched. then, with the same abiding calm, he restored the cambric to his pocket, bowed low to the queen, and lounged majestically towards the door.
-maria cristina watched him at first with a haughty and unmoved countenance. her hands clenched themselves close to her side, as if she wished the blow had been bestowed with the shut rather than with the open digits.
-but as her husband (for so he really was, though the relationship was not acknowledged till many years after, and at the feet of the holy father himself in the vatican) approached the door, opened it, and was on the point of departing without once turning round, cristina suddenly broke into a half hysterical cry, ran after him, threw her arms tenderly about his neck, and burst out weeping on his broad bosom.
-the gentleman, without betraying the least emotion, patted her tolerantly on the shoulder, and murmured some words in her ear, at the same time looking over her head at the men of the company with a sort of half-comic apology.
-"oh! fernando, forgive me," she cried, "life of my life--the devil must have possessed me! i will cut off the wicked hand that did the deed. give me a knife, good people--to strike the best and handsomest--oh, it was wicked--cruel, diabolical!"
-whatever may have been the moral qualities of the royal blow, rollo felt that in their present circumstances time enough had been given to its consideration, so he interposed.
-"your majesty, the gipsies may be upon us at any moment. it would be as well if you would summon all the servants of the palace together and arm them with such weapons as may be available!"
-maria cristina lifted her head from the shoulder of her ferdinand, as if she did not at first comprehend rollo's speech, and was resolved to resent an intrusion at such a moment. whereupon the scot repeated his words to such good purpose that the queen-regent threw up her hands and cried, "alas! this happens most unfortunately. we have only old eugenio and a couple of lads in the whole palace since the departure of the guards!"
-"never mind," said rollo; "let us make the best of the matter. we will muster them; perhaps they will be able to load and fire a musket apiece! if i mistake not, the fighting will be at very short range!"
-it was upon this occasion that señor fernando muñoz showed his first spark of interest.
-but on this occasion his fond wife would not permit him to stir.
-"the wicked murderers may have already penetrated to that part of the castle," she palpitated, her arms still about his neck, "and you must not risk your precious life. let susana go and fetch them. she is old, and has doubtless made her peace with religion."
-"nay, it is not fitting," objected susana with spirit. "i am a woman, and not so old as my lady says. i cannot go gadding about into the chambers of all and sundry. besides, there has been purpose of marriage openly declared between me and the señor eugenio for upwards of thirty years. what then would be said if i----"
-"nay, then," cried maria cristina, "stay where you are, susana. for me, i am none so nice. i will go myself. do not follow me, fernando!" and with that she ran to the door, and her feet were heard flitting up the stairway which led to the servants' wing of the palace. muñoz made as if to accompany her, but remembering his wife's prohibition, he did not proceed farther than the door, where, with a curious smile upon his face, he stood listening to the voice of the queen-regent upraised in alternate appeal and rebuke.
-during the interval, while the sergeant and el sarria were looking to their stores and munitions, rollo approached the waiting-maid, susana, and inquired of her the way to the armoury, where he expected to find store of arms and powder.
-"if this young maid will go also, i will conduct you thither, young man!" said susana, primly.
-and holding concha firmly by the hand, she took up a candle and led the way.
-but to rollo's surprise they found the armoury wholly sacked. all the valuable guns had been removed by the deserting guards. the gun racks were torn down. the floor of beaten earth was strewed with flints of ancient pieces of last century's manufacture. the barrels of bell-mouthed blunderbusses leaned against the wall, the stocks, knocked off in mere wantonness, were piled in corners; and in all the chests and wall-presses there was not an ounce of powder to be found.
-while rollo was searching, señor muñoz appeared at the door, languid and careless as ever. he watched the young scot opening chests and rummaging in lockers for a while without speaking. then he spoke slowly and deliberately.
-"it strikes me that when i was an officer of the bodyguard, in the service of the late fernando the seventh, my right royal namesake (and in some sort predecessor), there was another room used for the private stores and pieces of the officers. if i mistake not it was entered by that door to the right, but the key appears to be wanting!"
-he added the last clause, as he watched the frantic efforts of rollo, who had immediately thrown himself upon the panels, while the señor was in the act of rolling out his long-drawn castilian elegances of utterance.
-"hither, cardono," cried rollo, "open me this door! quick, sergeant!"
-"have a care," said the duke; "there is powder inside!"
-but rollo, now keen on the scent of weapons of defence, would not admit a moment's delay, and the sergeant, inserting his curiously crooked blade, opened that door as easily as he had done the french window.
-muñoz stepped forward with some small show of eagerness and glanced within.
-"yes," he said, "the officers' arms are there, and a liberal allowance of powder."
-"they are mostly sporting rifles," said rollo, looking them over, "but there is certainly plenty of powder and ball."
-"and what kills ibex and bouquetin on the sierras," drawled muñoz, "will surely do as much for a mountain gipsy if, as you said just now, the range is likely to be a short one!"
-rollo began somewhat to change his opinion about the husband of the queen. at first he had seemed both dandy and coward, a combination which rollo held in the utmost contempt. but when rollo had once seen him handle a gun, he began to have more respect for his recent excellency the duke of rianzares.
-"can you tell us, from your military experience," rollo asked, "which is the most easily vulnerable part of this palace."
-"it is easily vulnerable in every part," answered muñoz, carelessly snapping the lock of a rifle again and again.
-"nay, but be good enough to listen, sir," cried rollo, with some heat. "there are women and children here. you do not know the gipsies. you do not know by whom they are led. you do not know the oaths of death and torture they have sworn----"
-"perhaps--at any rate they are led by your own daughter!" said rollo, briefly, growing nettled at the parvenu grandee's seeming indifference.
-"my daughter!" cried muñoz, losing in a moment his bright complexion, and becoming of a slaty pallor, "my daughter, that mad imp of hell--who thrice has tried to assassinate me!"
-and as he spoke, he let the gun fall upon the floor at his feet. then he rallied a little.
-"who has told you this lie?" he exclaimed, with a kind of indignation.
-"a man who does not make mistakes--or tell lies--sergeant cardono!" said rollo. "he has both seen and spoken to her! she has sworn to attack the palace to-night."
-"then i am as good as dead already. i must go directly to my wife!" answered muñoz.
-but rollo stepped before him.
-"not without carrying an armful of these to where they will be of use," he said, pointing to the guns. and the duke of rianzares, without any further demur, did his will. rollo in turn took as many as he could carry, and the sergeant brought up the rear carrying a wooden box of cartridges, which had evidently been packed ready for transportation.
-they returned to the large lighted room, where mortimer, etienne, and el sarria had been left on guard. concha and the waiting-maid seconded their efforts by bringing store of pistols and ammunition.
-on their way they passed through a hall, which by day seemed to be lighted only from the roof. rollo bade them deposit the arms there, and bring the other candles and lamps to that place.
-"every moment that a light is to be seen at an outside window adds to our danger," he said, and concha ran at his bidding.
-before she had time to return, however, the queen-regent came in with her usual dignity, the three serving-men following her. rollo saw at once that nothing was to be expected of eugenio, whose ancient and tottering limbs could hardly support the weight of his body. but there was more hope of the two others. they proved to be stout young fellows from the neighbourhood, and professed the utmost eagerness for a bout with the gipsies. from their youth they had been accustomed to the use of firearms--it is to be feared without due licence--in the royal hunting preserves of peñalara and the guadarrama.
-but this made no difference to rollo, who instantly set about equipping them with the necessary arms, and inquiring minutely about the fastenings of the lower doors and windows. these it appeared were strong. the doors themselves were covered without with sheet-iron, while all the windows were protected not only by shutters but by solid stanchions of iron sunk in the wall.
-on the whole rollo was satisfied, and next questioned the servants concerning the state of the town and whether any assistance was to be hoped for from that quarter. in this, however, he was disappointed. it appeared that the whole municipality of san ildefonso was so utterly plague-stricken that scarce an able-bodied man remained, or so much as a halfling boy capable of shouldering a musket. only the women stood still in the breach, true nursing mothers, not like her of ramah, refusing to be comforted, but continuing rather to tend the sick and dying till they themselves also died--aye, even shrouding the dead and laying out the corpses. a faithful brother or two of the hermitage abode to carry the last sacraments of the church through the deserted and grass-grown streets, though there were few or none now to fall on their knees at the passage of su majestad, or to uncover the head at the melancholy tolling of the funeral bell.
-with characteristic swiftness of decision rollo made up his mind that the best plan for the defence of the palace would be to place his scanty forces along the various jutting balconies of the second floor, carefully darkening all the rooms in their rear, so that, till the moment of the attack itself, the assailants would have no idea that they were expected. it was his idea that the small doors on the garden side of the house, which led right and left to the servants' quarters, would be attacked first. he was the more assured of this because the sergeant had recognised, in the bivouac of the gipsies, a man who had formerly been one of the royal grooms both at la granja and at aranjuez. he would be sure to be familiar, therefore, with that part of the interior of the palace. besides, being situated upon the side most completely removed from the town, the assailants would have the less fear of interruption.
-while rollo was thus cogitating, concha came softly to his side, appearing out of the gloom with a suddenness that startled the young man.
-"i have pulled up the ladder by which we ascended and laid it across the balcony," she said. "was that right?"
-"you--alone?" cried rollo in astonishment.
-she nodded brightly.
-"certainly," she answered; "women are not all so great weaklings as you think them--nor yet such fools!"
-"indeed, you have more sense than i," rollo responded, gloomily; "i ought to have remembered that before. but, as you know, i have had many things to think of."
-"i am glad," she said, more quietly and submissively than ever in her life, "that even in so small a matter i am permitted to think a little for you!"
-whereupon, though the connection of idea is not obvious, rollo remembered the moment when he had faced the black muzzles of cabrera's muskets in the chill of the morning, and the bitter regret which had then arisen to his mind. out there in the dark of the palace-garden, death fronted him as really though not perhaps so immediately. he resolved quickly that he should not have the same regret again, if the worst came to the worst. there was no one in the alcove where concha had found him. the queen-regent had disappeared to her suite of rooms, and thither after a time señor muñoz had followed her. the rest were at that moment being placed in their various posts by the sergeant according to rollo's directions.
-so he stooped quickly and kissed concha upon the mouth.
-it was strange. the girl's inevitable instinct on such matters seemed to have deserted her. in a somewhat wide experience concha could always tell to a second when an attempt of this kind was due. most women can, and if they are kissed it is because they want to be. (in which, sayeth the wise man, is great wisdom!) a fire-alarm rings in their brain with absolute certainty, giving them time to evite the conflagration by a healthy douche of cold water. but rollo the firebrand again proved himself the masterly incalculable. or else--but who could suspect concha?
-it is, again sayeth the wise man, the same with kicking a dog. the brute sees the kick coming before a muscle is in motion. he watches the eye of his opponent and is forearmed. he vanisheth into space. but when rollo interviewed an animal in this fashion, he kicked first and thought afterwards. hence no sign of his intention appeared in his eye, and the dog's yelp arrived almost as a surprise to himself.
-so, with greatly altered circumstance, was it in the present instance. rollo kissed first and made up his mind to it some time after. consequently concha was taken absolutely by surprise. she uttered a little cry and stepped back indignantly into the lighted room where the spare muskets were piled.
-but again rollo was before her. if he had attempted to make love, she would have scathed him with the soundest indignation, based on considerations of time, place, and personality.
-but the young scot gave her no opportunity. in a moment he had again become her superior officer.
-"take your piece," he said, with an air of assured command, "together with sufficient ammunition, and post yourself at the little staircase window over the great door looking towards the town. if you see any one approaching, do not hesitate to fire. good-bye. god bless you! i will see you again on my rounds!"
-and rollo passed on his way.
-then with a curious constraint upon her tongue, and on her spirit a new and delightful feeling that she could do no other than as she was bidden, concha found herself, with loaded musket and pistol, obediently taking her place in the general defence of the palace.
-like a falling star
-rollo judged aright. it was indeed no time for love-making, and, to do the young man justice, he did not connect any idea so concrete with the impulsive kiss he had given to concha.
-she it was who had saved his life at sarria. she was perilling her own in order to accompany and assist his expedition. she had drawn up the ladder he had foolishly forgotten. yet, in spite of the fact that he was a young man and by no means averse from love, rollo was so clean-minded and so little given to think himself desirable in the eyes of women, that it never struck him that the presence of la giralda and concha might be interpreted upon other and more personal principles than he had modestly represented to himself.
-true, rollo was vain as a peacock--but not of his love-conquests. punctilious as any spaniard upon the smallest point of honour, in a quarrel he was as ready as a parisian maître d'armes to pull out sword or pistol. nevertheless when a man boasted in his presence of the favours of a woman, he thought him a fool and a braggart--and was in general nowise backward in telling him so.
-thus it happened that, though concha had received no honester or better intentioned kiss in her life, the giver of it went about his military duties with a sense of having said his prayers, or generally, having performed some action raising himself in his own estimation.
-"god bless her," he said to himself, "i will be a better man for her sweet sake. and, by heavens, if i had had such a sister, i might have been a better fellow long ere this! god bless her, i say!"
-but what wonder is it that little concha, in her passionate spanish fashion understanding but one way of love, and being little interested in brothers, felt the tears come to her eyes as rollo's step waxed fainter in the distance, and said over and over to herself with smiling pleasure, "he loves me--he loves me! oh, if only my mother had lived, i might have been worthier of him. then i would not have played with men's hearts for amusement to myself, as alas, i have too often done. god forgive me, there was no harm, indeed. but--but--i am not worthy of him--i know i am not!"
-so rollo's hasty kiss on the dark balcony was provocative of a healthy self-reproach on both sides--which at least was so much to the good.
-concha peered out into the darkness towards the south where a few stars were blinking sleepily through the ground-mist. she could dimly discern the outline of the town lying piled beneath her, without a light, without a sound, without a sign of life. from beyond the hills came a weird booming as of a distant cannonade. but concha, the careless maiden who had grown into a woman in an hour, did not think of these things. for to the spanish girl, whose heart is touched to the core, there is but one subject worthy of thought. wars, battles, sieges, the distresses of queens, the danger of royal princesses--all are as nothing, because her lips have been kissed.
-"all the same," she muttered to herself, "he ought not have done it--and when i have a little recovered i will tell him so!"
-but at that moment, poised upon the topmost spike of the great gate in front of her, she saw the silhouette of a man. he was climbing upwards, with his hand on the cross-bar of the railing, and cautiously insinuating a leg over the barrier, feeling meanwhile gingerly for a foothold on the palace side.
-"he is come to do evil to--to rollo!" she said to herself, with a slight hesitation even in thought when she came for the first time upon the christian name.
-but there was no hesitation in the swift assurance with which she set the rifle-stock to her shoulder, and no mistake as the keen and practised eye glanced along the barrel.
-she fired, and with a groan of pain the man fell back outside the enclosure.
-the sound of concha's shot was the first tidings to the besieged that the gipsies had really arrived. rollo, stealing lightfoot from post to post, pistol in hand, the sergeant erect behind the vine-trellis on the balcony between the rearward doors, etienne and john mortimer a little farther along on the same side of the château, all redoubled their vigilance at the sound. but for the space of an hour or more nothing farther was seen or heard north, south, east, or west of the beleaguered palace of la granja.
-the gipsies had not had the least idea that their intention was known. they expected no obstacles till the discharge of concha's piece put them on their guard, and set them to concerting other and more subtle modes of attack. it was too dark for those in the château to see whether the wounded man lay where he had fallen or whether he had been removed by his comrades.
-rollo hastened back to concha and inquired in a low voice what it was she had fired at. whereupon she told him the story of the man climbing the railings and how she had stayed his course so suddenly. rollo made no remark, save that she had done entirely right. then he inquired if she had recharged her piece, and hearing that she wanted nothing and was ready for all emergencies, he departed upon his rounds without the least leave-taking or approach to love-making. in her heart concha respected him for this, but at the same time she could not help feeling that a spaniard would have been somewhat warmer in his acknowledgments. nevertheless she comforted herself with the thought that he had trusted her with one of the most important posts in the whole defence, and she prayed fervently to the virgin that she might be able to do her duty there.
-she thought also that, when the morning came, perhaps he would have more time. for her, she could wait--here she smiled a little. yes, she acknowledged it. she who had caught so many, was now taken in her own net. she would go to the world's end for this young scot. nor in her heart of hearts was she ashamed of it. above and beyond all courtesies and sugared phrases she loved his free-handed, careless, curt-spoken, hectoring way. after his one kiss, he had treated her exactly like any other of his company. he did not make love well, but--she liked him none the worse for that. in such matters (sayeth the wise man) excellence is apt to come with experience.
-and he would learn. yes, decidedly he might yet do credit to his teacher. to-morrow morning would arrive, and for the present, well--she would keep her finger upon the trigger and a pair of remarkably clear-sighted eyes upon the grey space of greensward crossed by black trellises of railing immediately before her. that in the mean time was her duty to her love and (she acknowledged it), her master.
-apart from these details of his feeling for concha, however (which gave him little concern), rollo was far from satisfied with the condition of affairs. he would rather (so he confided to the sergeant) have defended a sheepfold or a simple cottage than this many-chambered, many-passaged, mongrel château. his force was scattered out of sight, though for the most part not out of hearing of each other. it was indeed true that, owing to his excellent dispositions, and the fortunate situation of the balconies, he was able to command every part of the castle enclosure, and especially the doors by which it was most likely that the chief attempt would be made.
-so occupied had rollo been with his affairs, both private and of a military character, that he had actually wholly forgotten the presence of the queen-regent, her daughter and husband, within the palace of la granja. and this though he had come all that way across two of the wildest provinces of spain for the sole purpose of securing their persons and transporting mother and daughter to the camp of don carlos. nevertheless so instant was the danger which now overhung every one, that their intended captor had ceased to think of anything but how to preserve these royal lives and to keep them from the hands of the ruthless gipsies of the hills.
-but circumstances quickly recalled the young man to his primary purpose, and taught him that he must not trust too much to those whose interests were opposed to his own.
-rollo, as we have said, had reserved no station for himself, but constantly circulated round all the posts of his little army, ready at any time to add himself to the effective forces of the garrison at any threatened point. it was while he was thus passing from balcony to balcony on the second or defending storey that his quick ear caught the sound of a door opening and shutting on the floor beneath.
-"ah," thought rollo to himself, suspiciously, "the queen and her people are safe in their chambers on this floor. no person connected with the defence ought to be down there. this is either treachery or the enemy have gained admission by some secret passage!"
-with rollo blair to think was to act. so in another moment he had slipped off his shoes, and treading noiselessly on his stocking soles and with a naked sword in his hand he made his way swiftly and carefully down towards the place whence he had heard the noise.
-descending by the grand escalier he found himself in one of the narrow corridors which communicated by private staircases with the left wing of the palace. rollo stood still in the deepest shadow. he was sure that he could hear persons moving near him, and once he thought that he could distinguish the sound of a muttered word.
-the egyptian darkness about him grew more and more instinct with noises. there was a scuffling rustle, as of birds in a chimney, all over the basement of the house. a door creaked as if a slight wind had blown it. then a latch clicked, and the wind, unaided, does not click latches. rollo withdrew himself deeper into a niche at the foot of the narrow winding-stair which girdled a tower in the thickness of the wall.
-the young man had almost resolved to summon his whole force from above, so convinced was he that the enemy had gained a footing within the tower and were creeping up to take them in the rear, when a sound altered his intention. there is nothing more unmistakable to the ear than the rebellious whimper of an angry child compelled to do something against its will.
-rollo instantly comprehended the whole chain of circumstances. the treachery touched him more nearly than he had imagined possible. those for whom he and his party were imperilling their lives were in fact to leave them to perish as best they might in the empty shell of the palace. the royal birds were on the point of flying.
-a door opened, and through it (though dimly) rollo could see the great waterfall glimmering and above the stars, chill over the snowy shoulder of peñalara. he could not make out who had opened the door, but there was enough light to discern that a lady wrapped in a mantilla went out first. then followed another, stouter and of shorter stature, apparently carrying a burden. then the whole doorway was obscured by the tall figure of a man.
-"muñoz himself, by heaven!" thought rollo.
-and with a leap he was after him, in his headlong course dashing to the ground some other unseen person who confronted him in the hall.
-in a moment more he had caught the tall man by the collar and swung him impetuously round back within the doorway.
-"move one sole inch and your blood be on your own head!" he muttered. and the captive feeling rollo's steel cold at his throat, remained prudently silent. not so the lady without. she uttered a cry which rang about the silent château.
-"muñoz! my husband! fernando, where art thou? oh, they have slain him, and i only am to blame!"
-she turned about and rushed back to the door, which she was about to enter, when a cry far more sudden and terrible rang out behind her.
-"they have killed the princess! some one hath slain my darling!"
-at the word rollo abandoned the man whom he was holding down, and with shouts of "cardono!" "el sarria!" "to me! they are upon us!" he flung himself outside.
-there was little to be discerned clearly when he emerged into the cool damp darkness, only a dim heap of writhing bodies as in some combat of hounds or of the denizens of the midnight forest. but rollo once and again saw a flash of steel and a hand uplifted to strike. without waiting to think he gripped that which was topmost and therefore nearest to him, and finding it unexpectedly light, he swung the thing clear by the garment he had clutched. as he did so he felt a pain in his right shoulder, which at the time appeared no more than the bite of a squirrel or the sting of a bee. with one heave he threw the object, human or not he could not for the moment determine, behind him into the blackness of the hall.
-"take hold there, somebody!" he cried, for by this time he could hear the clattering of the feet of his followers on the stairs and flagged passages.
-outside under the stars something or some one larger and heavier lay on the ground and moaned. as rollo bent over it there came a rush of men from all sides, and the young man had scarcely time to straighten himself up and draw his pistol before he found himself attacked by half a dozen men.
-his pistol cracked and an assailant tumbled on his face, while the flash in the pan revealed that he had already an ally. the sergeant was beside him, by what means did not then appear. for he had certainly not come through the door, and at this rollo drew a long breath and applied himself to his sword-play with renewed vigour. the assailants, he soon found, were mostly armed with long knives, which, however, had little chance against the long and expert blades of the sergeant and rollo.
-after proving on several occasions the deadly quality of these last, they broke and ran this way and that, while from the windows above (where the two royal servants were posted, with la giralda on guard between them), a scattering fire broke out, which tumbled more than one of the fugitives upon the grass.
-with great and grave tenderness rollo and the sergeant carried that which lay on the grass within. in a moment more they had the door shut and bolted, when from the rear of the hall came the voice of el sarria.
-"for god's sake," he cried, "bring a light! for i have that here which is in human form, yet bites and scratches and howls like a wild beast! i cannot hold it long. it is nothing less than a devil incarnate!"
-most strange and incomprehensible of all that the light revealed, was the appearance of the giant el sarria, who, his hands and face bleeding with scratches, and seated on the final steps of the cork-screw staircase, held in his arms clear of the ground the bent and contorted form of a young girl. so desperate were her struggles that it was all he could do to confine her feet by passing them under his arm, while with one great palm he grasped two flat and meagre wrists in a grip of steel. yet in spite of his best efforts the wild thing still struggled, and indeed more than once came within a hair's-breadth of fastening her teeth in his cheek.
-as he had said, there was more of the wild beast of the woods taken in a trap than of human creature in these frantic struggles and inarticulate cries. the girl foamed at the mouth. she threw herself backward into the shape of a bow till her head almost touched her feet, and again momentarily twisting herself like an eel half out of el sarria's grasp, she endeavoured, with a force that seemed impossible to so frail a body, to reach the group by the door, where muñoz was still supporting the queen maria cristina.
-presently cardono desisted from his examination of the body of the waiting-woman. he shook his head murmuring--"dead! dead! of a certainty stone-dead!"
-and the sergeant was a good judge of life and death. he had seen much of both.
-for that which he now saw, distorted with the impotence of passion and madness, was no other than the little girl whom he had met in the camp of the gipsies on the side of guadarrama--the daughter of muñoz, the plan-maker and head-centre of the whole attack.
-the sergeant stood a moment or two fingering his chin, as a man does who considers with himself whether it is worth while shaving. then with his usual deliberation he undid a leathern strap from his waist and with great consideration but equal effectiveness he buckled the girl's hands firmly behind her back. then with a sash of silk he proceeded to do the like office with her feet.
-just as he was tying the final knots, the girl made one supreme effort. she actually succeeded in twisting her body out of the arms of el sarria, and flung herself headlong in the direction of muñoz and the queen, spitting like a cat. but the sergeant's extemporised shackles did their work, and the poor tortured creature would have fallen on her face upon the cold flags of the stone floor but that el sarria caught her in his arms, and lifting her gently up, proceeded to convey her to another apartment where she might more safely be taken care of.
-in order to do this, however, he had to pass close by the queen-regent and her consort. it happened that the latter, who till that moment had been wholly occupied by his cares for the recovery of his mistress, had scarcely glanced either at the motionless heap staining the floor with blood or at the wild thing scrambling and biting savagely in the arms of el sarria.
-but the girl's struggles were now over for that time. her fit of demoniacal fury had apparently completely exhausted her. her head lay back pale and white, the livid lips drawn so as to show the teeth in a ghastly smile, and her whole body drooped, relaxed and flaccid, over her captor's arm.
-the queen-regent was just able once more to stand upon her feet when el sarria passed with his burden. the eyes of muñoz fell upon the girl's pale distorted features. he started back and almost dropped the queen in his horror.
-"whence came this she-devil?" he cried, "what is she doing here? let her be locked in a dungeon. eugene will show you where. she will cut all our throats else!"
-"has this child not the honour to be daughter to his excellency the duke of rianzares?" inquired the sergeant, grimly.
-"and what is this that she hath done?" he cried, holding up his hands as his eyes fell on the body of the nurse susana. in another moment, however, he had partially recovered himself.
-"my beloved lady," he said, turning to his wife, "this is certainly no place for you. let me conduct you to your own chamber!"
-"not without the added presence of one of my people, sir," said rollo, sternly; "this had not happened but for your intention of secretly deserting us, and leaving us to hold the castle alone against the cruel enemy of whose approach we risked our lives to warn you!"
-meanwhile the queen-regent had been casting her eyes wildly and uncomprehendingly around. now she looked at the motionless form of the girl in the arms of el sarria, now at the dead woman upon the floor, but all without the least token that she understood how the tragedy had come to pass.
-but suddenly she threw her arms into the air and uttered a wild scream.
-"where is my isabel--where is my daughter? she was in the arms of the nurse susana who lies there before us. they have killed her also. this devil-born has killed her! where shall i find her?--my darling--the protected of the virgin, the future queen of all the spains?"
-but it was a question no one could answer. none had seen the little isabel, since the moment when she had passed forth through the portal of the palace into the night, clasped in the faithful arms of her nurse.
-she had not cried. she had not returned. apparently not a soul had thought of her, save only the woman whose life had been laid down for her sake, as a little common thing is set on a shelf and forgotten.
-so, for this reason, the question of maria cristina remained unanswered. for, even as a star shoots athwart the midnight sky of winter, so the little queen of spain had passed and been lost in the darkness and terror without the beleaguered castle of la granja.
-concha waits for the morning
-the dead woman was carried into the mortuary attached to the smaller chapel of the colegiata, and placed in one of the rude coffins which had been deposited there in readiness upon the first news of the plague. this being done, the mind of rollo turned resolutely to the problem before him.
-every hour the situation seemed to grow more difficult. as far as rollo was concerned, he owned himself frankly a mercenary, fighting in a cause for which he, as a free-born scot, could have no great sympathy. but mercenary as he was, in his reckless, gallant, devil-take-the-hindmost philosophy of life there lurked at least no trace of treachery, nor any back-going from a pledged and plighted word. he had undertaken to capture the young queen and her mother and to bring them within the lines of don carlos, and till utterly baffled by death or misadventure, this was what he was going to continue to attempt.
-if therefore the little princess were not in the castle, she must immediately be sought for outside it. the palace of la granja was, as he well knew, surrounded by eager and bloody-minded foes, bent on the destruction of all within its walls. it was conceivable that isabel might already be slain, though in the absence of the daughter of muñoz, he doubted whether the gipsies would go such lengths. to be held to ransom was a much more probable fate. at any rate it was clearly the duty of some one of the party to make an attempt for her recovery.
-at the first blush sergeant cardono appeared to be the person designated by experience and qualifications for the task. but, on the other hand, how could rollo entrust to the most famous of ex-brigands, a gipsy of the gipsies, of the blackest blood of egypt, the search for so great a prize as the little queen of spain? the difficult virtue of self-denial in such a case could hardly be expected from a man like josé maria of ronda. consider--a ransom, a queen put up to auction! for both sides, nationals and carlists alike, would certainly be eager to treat for her possession. in short, rollo concluded that he had no right to put such a temptation in the way of a man with the record of sergeant cardono.
-his thoughts turned next to el sarria. concerning ramon garcia's loyalty there was no question--still less as to his courage. but--he was hardly the man to despatch alone on a mission which involved so many delicate issues. once outside the palace there would in all probability be no chance of return, and rollo was persuaded that the best chance of recovering the child lay in discovering her in some of the hiding-places which would doubtless be familiar to her about the grounds. to find the little maid, to induce her to trust herself completely to a stranger, and to guide her to a place of safety, these would be tasks difficult enough for any combination of scout and diplomat. now el sarria, upon meeting with opposition, was accustomed to storm through it with the rush of a tiger's charge. no, in spite of his assured fidelity and courage, it would be impossible to send el sarria.
-the others--well, they were good fellows, both of them, john mortimer and etienne. but it was obvious to his mind that the quest was not for them.
-rollo must go himself. that was all there was for it. after which remained the question as to who should command in the palace during his absence. here the sergeant was obviously the man, both from his natural talents for leadership, as well as from the confidence placed in him by general cabrera. no such temptation would be presented to him within the walls as might confront him outside, in a position of authority among his blood-kin, and with a queen of spain in his power.
-whilst he was settling these questions in his mind, rollo had been standing at one of the windows, where the two royal servants, young men of castile, had been set to watch, with la giralda between to perform the same office upon them. to these he did not think it necessary to say more than that they were to receive and obey the orders of sergeant cardono as his own. the old gipsy would of a certainty do so in any case.
-then the young man passed on to the balconies occupied severally by etienne and mortimer. these two volunteers he took occasion to commend for their constancy in holding fast their positions during the attack on the other side of the house. he also briefly communicated to them all that had taken place there, the attempt of the royal family to slip off in the darkness, the death of the old nurse, the capture of the daughter of muñoz, and the fatal loss of the young queen.
-he further told them that he considered it his duty to venture out to seek for the missing girl. it came within the terms of his commission, he said, that he should leave no stone unturned to recover the princess. neither etienne nor mortimer offered any objection.
-"the saints and the holy virgin bring you safely back," said etienne, who was still in his pious mood; "i will not cease to pray for you."
-"good-bye, and good-luck, old fellow!" quoth john mortimer. "but i say, if i should want more ammunition, where am i to get it?"
-such were the characteristic farewells of rollo's two comrades in arms.
-equally simple was it to satisfy el sarria, from whom our firebrand parted on the great southward balcony which the outlaw guarded alone.
-"be of an easy mind. i will be responsible for all i can see from this balcony!" said the giant, calmly, "may your adventure be prosperous! i would i could both remain here and come with you!"
-all that rollo had now to do was to inform the sergeant of his plans and to say good-bye to concha. these tasks, however, promised something more of difficulty.
-the sergeant was immovable at his post behind the thick twisted vine-stems of the little balcony, over the twin doors, by one of which the royal party had attempted to escape into the garden. while rollo was explaining his intentions, cardono bit his lip and remained silent.
-"do you then not approve?" asked rollo, gravely, when he had finished.
-"who is to command here in your absence?" answered the sergeant in the young scot's own national manner.
-"the command will naturally devolve on yourself," said rollo, promptly; "you will have the entire responsibility within the palace!"
-"which includes complete discretion, of course?"
-"certainly!" answered rollo.
-"then," said the sergeant, firmly, "my first act will be to lay señor don fernando muñoz by the heels!"
-"as to that, you can do as you like," said rollo, "but remember that you may find yourself with another mad woman on your hands in the person of the queen-regent!"
-"i know how to deal with her!" replied the sergeant; "go your way, colonel--depend upon it, the palace will be defended and justice done!"
-rollo nodded, and was turning on his heel without speaking, for the thought of his interview with concha was beginning to lie heavy on his mind, when a whisper from the sergeant called him back.
-"when you are ready to go, return hither," he said; "i have the safest way out of the palace to show you without so much as the opening of a door or the unbarring of a window."
-the darkness was of the sort which might have been felt as rollo stumbled along the passages to the opposite side of the palace where concha, a loaded musket leaning against the wall on either side, was watching keenly the square of grey grass and green trees in front of her. dark as the night was without, the girl had drawn the curtains behind her, so that she was entirely isolated upon the balcony on which she kneeled. in this, as usual, she had obeyed rollo's commands to the letter, and made sure that no faintest gleam of light should escape by the window at which she kept her watch.
-but spite of the intervening room and the thick curtains the girl had heard his footsteps, light and quick, heard them across the entire breadth of the palace, from the moment when he had quitted sergeant cardono, to that when, drawing aside the hangings with his hand, he stood behind her.
-nevertheless, concha did not move immediately, and rollo, standing thus close to her, was, for the first time in his life, conscious of the atmosphere, delicate yet vivid, of youth, beauty, and charm, with which a loving and gracious woman surrounds herself as with a garment.
-but these were stern times. he had come to her balcony for a purpose and--there was no time to be lost.
-"concha," he began without ceremony--for after the kiss, regulated and conscientious as it had been and clearly justifiable to his sense of honour and duty, somehow the prefacing "señorita" had come to be omitted between them. "concha, the little queen is lost! she may be wandering out there to meet her death among brigands and murderers! it is my duty to go and seek her. listen!"
-and then when at last she turned from the window and slowly faced him, rollo told her all that had taken place below.
-"i knew you were in danger when the shots went off," she said; "yet since you had not called for me, nor given me leave to quit my post----"
-she did not finish her sentence. it was a kind of reproach that he had called for the sergeant and not for her in his hour of need. she knew on whom she would have called.
-"you did well--better than well--to stand by your post," said rollo; "but now i must make over my authority to another. the sergeant is to command here in my absence."
-"do you then make my allegiance over to the sergeant?" asked concha, in a quiet tone.
-"god forbid!" cried rollo, impetuously.
-and little concha, looking abroad over the darkling hills, thought within her heart that her morning was surely coming. it might be some time on the way, but all the same it was coming.
-but yet when he told her of the desperate quest on which he was bound, that which had been glad became filled with foreboding, and the false dawn died out again utterly. the hills were both distant and dark.
-but as rollo continued to speak bravely, confidently, and took her hand to ask her bid him god-speed, concha smiled once more to herself in the darkness. and so, at the last, it came about that she even held up her lips to be kissed. for now (so strangely natural grows this quaint custom after one or two experiments) it seemed as if no other method of saying good-bye were possible between them. and to rollo the necessity appeared even stronger.
-but was this the reason of concha's smile in the darkness? or was it because she thought?--"he is indeed the prince of youths, and can lay his orders on whom he will, binding and loosing like peter with the keys. but there is that in the heart of a woman which even he cannot bind, for all his good opinion of himself!"
-yet stranger than all, she thought none the worse of master rollo for his confidence and heady self-conceit. and what is more, she let him go from her without a murmur, though she knew that her heart of hearts was his. and that above all carrying off of queens and honours military, more than many towns captured and battles won, she wished to hear from rollo blair's lips that his heart also was her own--her very own. many men had told her that same thing in these very words, and she had only laughed back at them with a flash of brilliant teeth, a pair of the blackest andalusian eyes shining meantime with contemptuous mirth.
-but now, it seemed that if she did not hear rollo say this thing, she would die--which shows the difference there may be between words which we desire to hear spoken and those that others wish to speak to us.
-yet in spite of all, or because of it, she let him go without a word or a murmur, because of the hope of morning that was in her heart.
-our rollo to the rescue
-and this was the manner of his going. he sought the sergeant upon his balcony, outside which climbed and writhed a great old vine-stem as thick as a man's leg. he was for taking killiecrankie by his side, against the sergeant's advice.
-"killiecrankie and i," he urged, with the buckle in his hand, "have been in many frays together, and i have never known him fail me yet."
-"a sword like a weaver's beam is monstrously unhandy dangling between the legs!" replied the sergeant, "and that you will find before you are at the foot of yonder vine-stock. take a pair of pistols and a good albacete leech. that is my advice. i think i heard el sarria say that you had some skill of knife-play in the andalusian manner."
-"so, so," returned rollo, modestly. "i should not like to face you--your left hand to my right. but with most other men i might make bold to hold my own."
-"good!" said the sergeant; "now listen. let yourself down, hand-grip by hand-grip, clipping the vine-stem as best you may with your knees to make the less noise. you will be wholly hidden by the outer leaves. move slowly, and remember i am here to keep watch and ward. then stand a while in the shadow to recover your breath, and when you hear me whistle thrice like a swallow's twitter underneath the eaves, duck down as low as you can and make straight for the thickest of the underbrush over there. i have watched it for an hour and have seen nothing move. yet that signifies less than nothing. there may be a score, aye, or a hundred gipsies underneath the branches, and the frogs croaking undisturbed upon the twigs above all the while. yet it is your only chance. if you find anything there in shape of man, strike and cry aloud, both with all your might, and in a moment i will be with you, even as i was before."
-rollo grasped the sergeant's hand and thanked him silently as brave men thank one another at such times.
-"nay," said the sergeant, "let us wait till we return for that. it is touch and go at the best. but i will stay here till you are safely among the bushes. and then--i shall have some certain words to speak to señor don fernando muñoz, duke of rianzares and grandee of spain, consort in ordinary to her majesty the queen-regent!"
-even as he spoke, rollo, whose ears were acute, turned quickly and dashed into the ante-chamber. he thought he had heard a footstep behind them as they talked. and at the name of muñoz a suspicion crossed him that some further treachery was meditated. but the little upper hall was vague and empty, the scanty furniture scarce sufficient to stumble against. if any one had been there, he had melted like a ghost, for neither rollo's swift decision nor the sergeant's omniscient cunning could discover any trace of an intruder.
-rollo attempted no disguise upon his adventure. he wore the same travel-stained suit, made to fit his slender figure by one of the most honest tailors in madrid, in which he first appeared in this history. so with no more extent of preparation for his adventure than settling his sombrero a little more firmly upon his head and hitching his waist-belt a hole or two tighter, rollo slipped over the edge of the iron balcony and began to descend by the great twisted vine-stem.
-he did not find the task a difficult one. for he was light and agile, firmed by continuous exercise, and an adept at the climbing art. as he had been, indeed, ever since, on the east-windy braes of fife, where swarming rookeries crown the great hog-back ridges, he had risen painfully through the clamour of anxious parents to possess himself of a hatful of speckled bluish-green eggs for the collection wherewith he was to win the tricksome and skittish heart of mistress peggy ramsay, who (tell it not in the ducal house which her charms now adorn!) was herself no inexpert tree-climber in the days when rollo blair temporarily broke his boyish heart for her sake.
-so in brief (and without a thought of peggy) rollo found himself upon the ground, his dress a little disordered and his hands somewhat scratched, but safe behind his screen of leaves. remembering the advice of the sergeant, rollo waited for the appointed signal to fall upon his ear from above. he could see nothing indeed across the lawn but the branches of the pine trees waving low, and beneath them feathery syringa bushes, upland fern, and evergreens with leathery leaves.
-what might be hidden there? in another moment he might rush upon the points of a hundred knives. another minute, and, like the good messire françois, curé of meudon, it might be his to set forth in quest of the great perhaps.
-at the thought he shrugged his shoulders and repeated to himself those other last words of the same learned doctor of montpellier, "ring down the curtain--the farce is over!"
-but at that same moment he thought of little concha up aloft and the bitterness died out of his heart as quickly as it had come.
-no, the play was not yet played out, and it had been no farce. there was yet other work for him--perhaps another life better than this cut-and-thrust existence, ever at the mercy of bullet and sword's point. he stood up straight and listened, hearing for the first five minutes nothing but the soft wind of the night among the leaves, and from the town the barking of the errant and homeless curs which, in the streets and gutters, yelped, scrambled, and tore at each other for scraps of offal and thrice-gnawed bone.
-from above came the contented twitter of a swallow nestling under the leaves, yet with a curious carrying quality in it too, at once low and far-reaching. it was the sergeant's signal for his attempt.
-rollo set his teeth hard, thought of concha, bent his head low, and, like a swift-drifting shadow, sped silently across the smooth upland turf. the thick leaves of the laurel parted before him, the sword-flower of spain pricked him with its pointed leaves, and then closed like a spiked barrier behind him. a blackbird fled noisily to quieter haunts. the frogs ceased their croaking. panting, rollo lay still under the branches, crushing out the perfume of the scrubby, scented geranium, which in the watered wildernesses of la granja takes root everywhere.
-but among the leaves nothing moved hand or foot against him. nor gipsy nor mountaineer stirred in the thicket. so that when rollo, after resting a little, explored quietly and patiently the little plantation, going upon all fours, not a twig of pine crackling under his palms, no hostile knife sheathed itself between his ribs.
-for, as was now clear, the gipsies had not concealed themselves among the bushes. they had all night before them in which to carry out their projects. doubtless (thought the young man) they had gone to possess themselves of the town. after that the palace would lie at their mercy, a nut to be cracked at their will.
-from the first rollo was resolved to find the little pavilion of which la giralda had spoken. it was in his mind that the girl might, if free and unharmed, as he hoped, make her way thither. he had indeed only the most vague and general idea of its locality. the old gipsy had told him that it was near to the northern margin of the gardens, and that by following the mountain stream which supplied the great waterfall he could not fail to come upon it.
-but ere he had ventured forth from his hiding-place, he heard again the swallow's twitter, louder than before, and evidently meant for his ear. could it be a natural echo or his own disordered fancy which caused a whistle exactly similar to reach him from the exact locality he meant to search?
-rollo moved to that extremity of the thicket from whence the more regular gardens were visible. he concealed himself behind a pomegranate tree, and, while he stood and listened, mellow and clear the call came again from the vicinity of the waterfall.
-but rollo was not of those who turn back. good-byes are difficult things to say twice within the same half-hour. no, he had burnt his boats and would rather go forward into the camp of a thousand gipsies than climb up the vine-stem and face the sergeant and concha with his task undone. shame of this kind has often more to do with acts of desperate courage than certain other qualities more besung by poets.
-it was obvious, therefore, that the gipsies were still within the enclosure of the palace, so rollo gave up the idea of keeping straight up the little artificial rivulet, whose falls gleamed wanly before him, each square and symmetrical as a flag hung out of the window on a still day.
-to the left, however, there were thickets of red geranium, the prince's flower of old castilian lore, five or six feet high. among these rollo lost himself, passing through them like a shadow, his head drooped a little, and his knife ready to his hand.
-when he was halfway along the edge of the royal demesne he saw across the open glade a strange sight, yet one not unwelcome to him.
-the palace storehouses had been broken into. lights moved to and fro from door to door, and above from window to window. a train of mules and donkeys stood waiting to be loaded. thieves' mules they were, without a single bell or bit jingling anywhere about their accoutrements.
-then rollo understood in a moment why no further attack had been made upon the palace. to the ordinary gipsy of the roads and hills--half smuggler, half brigand, the stores of estramenian hams, the granaries full of fine wheat of the castiles, of maize and rice ready to be loaded upon their beasts, were more than all possible revenges upon queens and grandees of spain.
-in losing the daughter of muñoz they had lost both inspiration and cohesion, and now the natural man craved only booty, and that as plentifully and as safely as possible. so there in the night torches were lighted, and barn and byre, storehouse and cellar were ransacked for those things which are most precious to men gaunt and lantern-jawed with the hunger of a plague-stricken land.
-after this discovery the young scot moved much more freely and fearlessly. for it explained what had been puzzling him, how it came about that so far no sustained or concerted attack had been made upon the palace.
-and this same careless confidence of his, for a reason which will presently appear, had well-nigh wrecked his plans. all suddenly rollo came upon the open door of a little low building, erected something after the model of a greek temple. it was undoubtedly the pavilion which had been mentioned by la giralda as the place where the goats had been milked.
-of this rollo was further assured by the collection of shining silver utensils which were piled for removal before the door. a light burned dimly within. it was a dark lantern set on a shelf, among broken platters and useless crockery. the door was open and its light fell on half a dozen dusky figures gathered in a knot about some central object which the young man was not able to see.
-rollo recoiled into the reeds as if a serpent had bitten him. then parting the tall tasselled canes carefully, he gazed out upon the curious scene. a window stood open in the rear of the building, and the draught blew the flame of the open lantern about, threatening every moment to extinguish it.
-one of the gipsies, observing this, moved to the bracket-shelf to close the glass bull's-eye of the lantern.
-a couple of others looked after him to see what he was about, and through the gap thus made rollo saw, with only a shawl thrown over her white night-gear, the little queen herself, held fast in a gipsy's bare and swarthy arms.
-"i have told you before," he heard her say in her clear childish treble, "i know nothing--i will tell nothing. i have nothing to give you, and if i had a whole world i would not give a maravedi's worth to you. you are bad men, and i hate you!"
-rollo could not hear what the men said in reply, but presently as one dusky ruffian bent over the girl, a thin cord in his hand, high and bitter rose a child's cry of pain.
-it went straight to rollo's heart. he had heard nothing like it since peggy ramsay got a thorn in her foot the day he had wickedly persuaded her to strip and run barefoot over the meadows of castle blair. he compressed his lips, and moved his knife to see that the haft came rightly to his hand. then as calmly as if practising at a mark he examined his pistols and with the utmost deliberation drew a bead upon the burly ruffian with the cord. the first pistol cracked, and the man dropped silently. instantly there ensued a great commotion within. the most part of the gipsies rushed to the door, standing for a moment clear against the lighted interior.
-rollo, all on fire with the idea that the villains had been torturing a child, fired his second pistol into the thick of them, upon which arose a sudden sharp shriek and a furious rushing this way and that. the lamp was blown out or knocked over in the darkness, and rollo, hesitating not a moment, snapped back the great albacetan blade into its catch and rushed like a charging tiger at the door. twice on his way was he run against and almost overturned by fugitives from the pavilion. on each occasion his opponents' fear of the mysterious fusillade, aided by a sharp application of the point of the albacete, cleared rollo's front. he stumbled over a body prone on the ground, caught his hand on the cold stone lintel, and in a moment was within.
-he said aloud, "princess isabel, i am your friend! trust me! i have come to deliver you from these wicked people!"
-but there was no answer, nor did he discover the little queen's hiding-place till an uncontrollable sobbing guided him to the spot.
-the child was crouching underneath the polished stove with which in happier days she had so often played. rollo took the little maid in his arms.
-"do not be afraid," he whispered, "i, rollo blair, am your friend; i will either take you to your friends or lay down my life for you. trust me!--do what i tell you and all will be well!"
-"your voice sounds kind, though i cannot see your face," she whispered; "yes, i will go with you!"
-he lifted her up on his left arm, while in his right hand he held the knife ready to be plunged to the hilt into any breast that withstood him.
-one swift rush and they were without among the reeds.
-"i will take you to your mother--i promise it," he said, "but first you must come through the town with me to the hermitage of the good friars. the palace is surrounded with wicked men to-night. we cannot go back there, but to-morrow i will surely take you to your mother!"
-"i do not want to go to my mother," whispered the little queen, "only take me to my dear, dearest doña susana!"
-and then it was that rollo first realised that he had undertaken something beyond his power.
-the executioner of salamanca
-but, indeed, the problem before rollo was one difficult enough to cause him to postpone indefinitely all less immediate and pressing evils. as they lay hid among the reeds, and while rollo endeavoured more completely to gain the good-will of the little queen, they heard the bell of the hermitage of san ildefonso strike the hour sonorously.
-rollo could hardly believe his ears as the number lengthened itself out till he had counted twelve. he had supposed that it must be three or four in the morning at the least. but the night had worn slowly. many things which take long to tell had happened in brief space, and, what to rollo appeared worst of all, it would be yet some five hours till daylight.
-more than one rambling party of gipsies passed their hiding-place. but these for the most part searched in a perfunctory manner, their heads over their shoulders to listen to the progress of their comrades who were attacking the palace, and perhaps also no little afraid lest death should again leap out upon them from the darkness of the cane-brake. rollo, immediately upon his return to the thicket, had recovered and recharged his pistols by touch, and presently, having made all ready, he caught up the little girl in his arms, urging her to be silent whatever happened, and to trust everything to him.
-isabel, who was of an affectionate and easy disposition, though ever quick to anger, put her arm readily about the young man's neck. he had a winsome and gracious manner with all children, which perhaps was the same quality that won him his way with women.
-rollo had an idea which had come to him with the chime of the hermitage bell as it tolled the hour of midnight. there, if anywhere, he would find good men, interested in the welfare of the princess, and with hearts large enough to remain calmly at the post of duty even in a deserted and plague-ruined town. for one of the chief glories of the roman church is this, that her clergy do not desert their people in the hour of any danger, however terrible. nothing else, indeed, is thought of. as a military man would say, "it is the tradition of the service!"
-now if rollo had been in his own scottish land during the visitation of this first cholera, he would have had good grounds for hoping that he would find the ministers of his faith in the thick of the fight with death, undismayed, never weary. there were many, very many such--many, but very far from all. the difference was that here in ignorant spain rollo knew without deduction that of a certainty the monks and parish priests of the ancient creed would be faithful.
-it might indeed in some cases be otherwise with some selfish and pampered jesuits or the benefice-seeking rabble of clerics who hang about the purlieus of a court. a father-confessor or two might flee over-seas, an abbot go on timely pilgrimage to rome, but here in san ildefonso, rollo knew that he would either find the priests and holy brothers of the church manfully doing their noble work, or dead and in their sainted graves--in any case, again in military phrase, "all present or all accounted for!"
-to the hermitage of san ildefonso, therefore, recently enlarged and erected into a monastery, rollo directed his steps. it was no easy task at such a time. there was the great railing to negotiate, and a passage to force through a town by this time alive with enemies. in spite of the darkness the gipsies at any point might stop his way, and he was burdened with a child whom he must protect at all hazards.
-but this young man loved to be driven into a corner. danger excited him, as drinking might another man. indeed, so quick were his parts, so ready his invention, that before he had left the reed-bed he had turned over and rejected half a dozen plans of escape. yet another suggested itself, to which for the moment he could see no objection.
-he spoke to the little isabel, who now nestled closely and confidently to him.
-"did they not tell me," he said, "that there was somewhere about the palace a dairy of cows?"
-"yes--it is true," answered the little queen; "at least, there is a place where they are brought in to be milked. it belongs to my mother. she loves them all, and often used to take me there to enjoy the sight and to drink the milk warm with the froth upon it because it is good for the breathing!"
-"can you show me the way, little princess isabel?" said rollo.
-"yes, that can i, indeed," she made answer; "but you must not take away my mother's milk-pails, nor let the wicked gipsies know of them. old piebald pedro drives the cows in and out every day, riding upon his donkey. they live at my mother's farm in the valley that is called in french 'sans souci!' is it not a pretty name?"
-"his donkey?" said rollo, quickly, catching at the idea; "where does he keep it?"
-"in a little shed not far from the dairy," she answered, "the stable is covered all over with yellow canes, and it stands near a pool where the green frogs croak!"
-it had been rollo's intention to drive some of the royal cows out before him as a booty, passing himself off as one of the gipsy gang. but upon this information he decided that pedro the cowherd's ass would suit his purpose much better, if he should be fortunate enough to find it. he was sure that among so many gipsies and ill-conditioned folk who had joined the tribes of egypt for the sake of adventure and booty, there must be many who were personally unknown to each other. and though he could not speak deep romany like la giralda and the sergeant, rollo was yet more expert at the "crabbed gitano" than nine out of ten of the northern gipsies, who, indeed, for the most part use a mere thieves' slang, or as it is called, tramper's dutch.
-the little girl directed him as well as she could, nevertheless it was some time before he could find the place he was in quest of. for isabel had never been out at night before, and naturally the forms of all things appeared strangely altered to an imaginative child. indeed, it may be admitted that rollo stumbled upon the place more by good luck than because he was guided thither by the advice of isabel. for the utmost the child could tell him was only that piebald pedro's hut was near the dairy, and that the dairy was near pedro's hut.
-the donkey itself, however, perhaps excited by the proximity of so many of its kind (though no one of the thieves' beasts had made the least actual noise), presently gave vent to a series of brays which guided them easily to the spot.
-rollo set the princess on the ground, bidding her watch by the door and tell him if any one came in sight. but the little girl, not yet recovered from her fright, clung to his coat and pled so piteously to be allowed to stay with him, that he could not insist. first of all he groped all around the light cane-wattled walls of pedro's hut for any garment which might serve to disguise him. for though rollo's garments were by no means gay, they were at least of somewhat more fashionable cut than was usual among the gipsies and their congeners.
-after a little rollo found the old cowherd's milking-blouse stuffed in an empty corn-chest among scraps of harness, bits of rope, nails, broken gardening-tools, and other collections made by the piebald one in the honest exercise of his vocation. he pulled the crumpled old garment out and donned it without scruple. his own sombrero, much the worse for wear and weather, served well enough, with the brim turned down, to give the young man the appearance of a peasant turned brigand for the nonce.
-his next business was to conceal the little girl in order that they might have a chance of passing the gipsy picket at the gates, and of escaping chance questionings by the way.
-rollo therefore continued to search in the darkness till he had collected two large bundles, one of chopped straw, and the other of hay, which he stuffed into the panniers, in the larger of which he meant to find room also for the princess. once settled, a sheet was thrown over her shoulders, and the hay lightly scattered over all. then she was ordered to lie down and to keep especially still if she should hear any one speak to her companion. and so naturally did the little girl take to secrecy and adventure that after having assured herself of rollo's kindness, not a murmur passed her lips.
-on the contrary, she promised all careful obedience, and it was no great while before they set out, making so bold as to pass once more by her own private kitchen. for rollo had resolved to take possession of some of the silver utensils, that he might have somewhat wherewith to satisfy plunderers if they should chance to be stopped, and the ass's burdens in danger of being too closely examined.
-they found the silver vessels and pans lying where they had been piled outside the door. apparently no one had been near them. one of the gipsies, however, who had been wounded, still lay groaning without, cursing the cravens who had left him and fled at a couple of pistol shots. but the other, he who had first been dealt with by rollo's bullet out of the cane-brake, gave no sign. he lay still, shot through the heart, the torture-cord still in his hand.
-without taking the least notice of the wounded man, rollo coolly loaded the silver dishes upon his own shoulders, placing one or two of the largest copper pans upon the donkey in such a manner as to shelter the princess from observation should any one turn a lantern upon them on their way to the hermitage of san ildefonso.
-they kept wide of the palace itself, however, for though the fire had slackened, and the besieged only replied when one of their assailants incautiously showed himself, yet the place was evidently still completely beset, and the loaded trains of mules and donkeys departing from the storehouses had released many of the younger and more adventurous gipsies, who had brought no beast with them on which to carry off their plunder.
-at about the same time, a red glow began to wax and wane uncertainly above the granaries most distant from rollo and his charge. a ruddy volume of smoke slowly disengaged itself from the roofs. windows winked red, glowed, and then spouted flame. it was evident that the gipsies had fired the plundered storehouses.
-in their own interests the act was one of the worst policy. for their movements, which had hitherto been masked in darkness, now became clear as day, while the advantages of the besieged within the palace were greatly increased.
-but (what principally concerns us) the matter happened ill enough for rollo and the little queen. they had to pass under the full glare of the fire, through groups of gipsies assembled about the great gate, chaffering and disputing. but there appeared to rollo at least a chance of getting past unobserved, for all seemed to be thoroughly occupied with their own business. rollo accordingly settled the little queen deeper in the great pannier, and readjusted the hay over her. he then hung an additional pair of copper vessels across the crupper, chirruped to the beast, and went forward to face his fate with as good a heart as might be within his breast.
-"whither goest thou, brother?" cried a voice from behind him, just when rollo was full between the portals of the great gate.
-"brother, i go into the town to complete my plunder," answered rollo in romany, "and to help my kinsfolk of the gitano!"
-"strangely enough thou speakest, brother," was the reply; "thy tongue is not such as we wanderers of the castiles speak one to the other!"
-rollo laughed heartily at this, his hand all the while gripping the pistol on his thigh.
-"indeed," said he, "it were great marvel an it were. for i am of lorca, which is near to granada; and what is more, i am known there as a very pretty fellow with my hands!"
-"i doubt it not," said the castilian gipsy, turning away; "and not to speak of the pistol, that is a pretty enough plaything of a tooth-pick which hangs at thy girdle, brother!"
-as he turned carelessly away he pointed to the long knife the sergeant had given rollo, and which, owing to some mysterious marks upon its handle, proved on more than one occasion of service to him.
-presently, as he was urging his donkey to the left out of the silent town, he came upon a knot of gipsies who stood with heads all bent together as if in consultation. they were deep within the shadow of an archway a little raised above the level of the street, and rollo could not see them before he was, as it were, under their noses. one of them, a great brawny hulk of a man, sun-blackened to the hue of an arab of the rif, struck his knuckles with a clang on the brazen vessel which sheltered the little queen.
-rollo caught his breath, for it seemed certain that the child must cry out with fear.
-but the little maid abode silent, her spanish heart taking naturally to concealments and subterfuges--then, as in after years.
-"ha, brother," said this great hulk in deep tones, and in better romany than the former had used, "thou art strangely modest in thy plundering. hay and straw, brass kettles and tin skillets, my friend, are like that neatherd's cloak of thine, they cover a multitude of things better worth having. what hast thou there under thy pots and pans?"
-the young man's often tried fate stood again on tiptoe. he knew well that he was within a pin-prick of getting his throat cut from ear to ear. but nevertheless the cool head and fiery heart which were the birthright of rollo blair once more brought him through. he instantly laid his hand upon his knife-handle and half drew it from its leathern sheath.
-"i would have you know, sir," he cried in an incensed tone, "that i am ruiz elicroca of lorca, own sister's son to josé maria of ronda, who gave me this knife, as you may see by the handle. i am not to be imposed upon by cut-purses and bullies--no, not though they were as big as a church, and as black-angry as the devil on a saint's day!"
-the huge fellow fell back a step, with a sort of mockery of alarm, before rollo's vehemence. for he had advanced into the middle of the highway, so as to bar the path by the mere bulk of his body. he appeared better satisfied, however, though by no means intimidated.
-"well," he growled, "you are a cockerel off a good dung-hill, if things be as you say. at all events you crow not unhandsomely. but whither go you in that direction? you are well laden as to your shoulders, my young friend. that plate looks as if it might be silver. i warrant it would melt down into a hundred good duros with the double pillar upon each of them. you need not want for more. but turn and go another way. the hermitage is yet to be tapped, and i warrant that monk's roost hath good store of such-like--gold and silver both. that we claim as ours, remember!"
-"and, sir, what do you expect one man to do?" cried rollo. "can i take and rob the armed and defended retreat of the friars? i warrant they have either buried their plate in a safe place or have kept a sufficient guard there to protect it--even as they have up yonder. hark to them!"
-the sound of a brisk interchange of shots came to their ears from the direction of the palace.
-"these be young fools who run their heads against stone walls," said the huge gipsy; "we are wiser men. they seek gold, and are in danger of getting lead. like you, we will be content with silver. altar furniture is by no means to be despised. it fits the melting-pot as egg-meat fits egg-shell! but whither do you fare?"
-"i am passing in this direction solely that i may reach a place known to my uncle and myself, where the pair of us have a rendezvous," answered rollo; "mine uncle don josé hath no wish to meddle in other men's matters, as indeed he told some of you yesterday morning. but as for me, seeing that i was young of my years and desired to make my mark, he permitted me to come. but i would rather give up all my booty, though honestly taken with the strong hand, than keep josé maria waiting!"
-the moorish gipsy now laughed in his turn.
-"nay, that i doubt not," he said, "but here we are all good fellows, right roms, true to each other, and would rob no honest comrade of that for which he hath risked his life. pass on, brother, and give to josé maria of ronda the respects of ezquerra, the executioner, who on the "all the way full," walt said. "i want a map of the city when you finish."
-julia had left the city. walt was not going to be fooled this time. but he wanted to memorize the city just in case she did double back.
-"is there ... a larger map? of this whole area?"
-"pay up, now," the attendant said. "i gotta car waitin'. it's five sixty-seven altogether."
-by the time he sighted her car ahead of him on the highway, in the mist and fog of dawn, nearly eleven hours had elapsed since he had begun the pursuit. it had been only a half an hour before that he had located the governor and teleported it out of the engine.
-julia saw the bright lights behind her. they blinded her in the rear-view mirror until she knocked the mirror out of focus. she glanced at the speedometer. she was going as fast as the engine would permit.
-she was weary from the beat of the motor and the ache of steady driving. her body was drained of energy. the "wide-awakes" seemed to be losing their effect. in spite of herself, she nodded. too tired to think of anything else, she was thinking--almost dreaming, almost in half-slumber--of a steamy bath; of perfumed heat caressing her body; of soft, restful water lapping at her thighs.
-even the prospect of invasion had receded into some dim, dumb corner of her mind; it no longer concerned her. the demands of personal survival had pushed it aside; personal survival and the knowledge of her own incapacity to prevent, forestall, or counter it. and at last exhaustion had overcome even the demands of survival.
-the brilliant lights behind began to pain upon her fatigue-soaked eyeballs. they shimmered in the windshield; they--
-she realized they were gaining on her.
-a car without a governor.
-a crazy, reckless driver.
-suddenly the fatigue vanished. fear alerted her. she stiffened. her heart pounded. she glanced behind her, squinting.
-there was a sickening wrench at her body; she felt herself twisting, being sucked out of space.
-she grabbed the wheel. she was almost too weak to resist. she fought off the terrible, insistent fingers, she shrank away from them; she moaned.
-walt ceased the effort.
-she concentrated on being where she was, in the car, on the highway. she felt a futile but exhilarating surge of victory.
-her hand trembled when she switched off the automatic-drive. the wheel under her hands began to vibrate. the car was sensitive to her control. it was alive and deadly and hurtling like a rocket.
-i can't outrun him now! she thought. he has too much speed!
-... i've got to get off the highway. i've got to take a side road toward the mountain. there'll be curves and twists and turns. they will cut his speed down. maybe i can out drive him.
-side roads slipped by to her right and left.
-she prepared to brake the car for the next cut-off slot.
-it appeared far ahead; a dark slit on the left outlined by her rushing headlights.
-she depressed the brake; the tires screamed.
-the car skittered and fishtailed. she clung desperately to the wheel, battling the great chunk of metal with every ounce of her tiny body.
-and somehow the car hurtled through the slot, across the other half of the highway, onto the hard topped, farm-to-market road that climbed toward the distant crest.
-walt's car, braking shrilly, hurtled past her and was lost in the night.
-julia stamped the accelerator viciously. her car plunged forward.
-lonely trees and brush stood like decaying phantoms in the splatter of her headlights. far ahead, winking down the mountain, she saw the headlights of another car--crawling toward her slowly, like twin fire flies, indolent after a night of pleasure. the road was pitted, and the car beneath her jolted.
-it was then in the loneliness of the seldom traveled farm road that she noticed the gasoline gauge.
-the gas remaining in the tank could not be sufficient to take her another ten miles. the peg rested solidly on the empty mark to the left.
-she began to cry.
-the tears almost blinded her; she jerked the car back, just in time, from a ditch. she held it toward the fearful darkness ahead. dawn that purpled the east seemed lost forever from this road and this life.
-the road climbed slowly; then steeply.
-behind her now the bright lights like great flames crept closer, burning everything. the lights had pursued her for only half an hour; it seemed an eternity. the road began a great bend around the first sharp thrust of mountain. she slowed.
-the headlights were gaining.
-the motor coughed.
-walt was almost upon her; elation throbbed in his being. he had been driving on manual; he dared not risk automatic-drive, not since his wreck. he was not quite as alert as he might have been. the strain was beginning to slow his reactions.
-the curve was sharper; ahead, a hair-pin turn. walt swung out to pass her and force her to stop or plunge over the side into the deepening valley. it was the maneuver he had seen the policemen perform.
-the headlights of the early farmer with a heavy load of milk suddenly exploded at the curve.
-julia gasped and slammed on her brakes.
-walt jerked his eyes from julia's car an instant before the crash.
-"crazy god damned fool," the farmer said as he crawled painfully from the wreckage of his pick-up truck. "crazy god damned fool!" he clutched at his arm; it was broken and bleeding. "passing on a curve! god damned fool, passing on a curve!"
-julia had stopped her car. she ran toward the two wrecks.
-"any kid knows better, any two year old kid," the farmer said; he stared, unbelieving, at his arm. he sat down and was sick.
-it was growing lighter. mist lay over the valley. the air was damp with fading night.
-julia's feet made harsh clicks on the road.
-at walt's car she stopped. the farmer watched her with mute pain behind his eyes.
-reaction set in. she thought she was going to be sick, herself. she leaned against the wrecked car.
-"we better get him out," the farmer said dully.
-between the two of them, they forced the door open and lifted walt out to the pavement.
-"easy," the farmer said.
-julia stood over walt's limp body. his jaw was broken and twisted to one side. his chest was bloody; blood trickled from his nose; his hair was matted with blood.
-"he's still breathing," the farmer said hoarsely.
-he looks so boyish, she thought. i can't believe ... he doesn't seem a killer. i hate whoever made a killer out of him.
-walt's chest rose and fell; his breath entered his body in tremulous gasps.
-she turned away.
-in the tool compartment of the wreck she located a tire iron. she brought it back.
-her hand was slippery around the icy metal.
-he's dying anyway, she thought. it doesn't have to be my hand that kills him. tears formed in her eyes.
-julia's hand tightened on the tire iron.
-but the risk ... she thought: if he should wake up and heal himself ... he'll kill me. the world will never be warned of the invasion, then. it's his life against the world; his life against a billion lives.
-she lifted the tire iron. she averted her eyes as she got ready to swing it savagely at his unprotected skull.
-cursing, the farmer reached out with his good hand and grabbed her upraised wrist. "my god, what are you trying to do?"
-"i've ... i've got to kill him."
-the farmer stepped between her and walt.
-"i've got to."
-"not while i'm here, miss, you don't."
-"listen--!" she began. then hopelessly, she let the arm holding the tire iron fall limply to her side. he wouldn't believe me if i told him, she thought.
-nobody will believe me; not a person on the planet. it's too fantastic: an invasion of earth. i've got to have some sort of proof to make them believe me.
-i can't let walt die! she thought. he's the only proof i have. he's the only one who can convince anyone of the invasion.
-he's got to live! she thought. i've got to get him to a hospital.
-walt's face was bloodless.
-"... he's dying," the farmer said.
-"but he can't die!" julia cried desperately. "he can't die!"
-"you're crazy," the farmer said evenly. "first you get ready to brain him with a tire iron and then you say he's got to live. lady, if i hadn't stopped you when i did, he'd be dead as hell right now."
-"i wasn't thinking; i didn't realize...."
-breath rattled in walt's throat.
-"gas ... i'm out of gas," julia said.
-she ran to the wrecked truck. she jerked a milk can upright. she unscrewed the cap and emptied milk on the pavement.
-with the tire iron she split the gas tank and caught as much of the sharp-smelling fluid as she could in the emptied can.
-it sloshed loudly as she raced to her car with it. she fumbled the gas tank cap off. she was trembling so badly that she spilled almost as much as she poured into the opening. when the gas was all gone, she threw the milk can from her.
-"i'll back up!" she cried to the farmer. "you'll have to help me get him into the back seat."
-he's got to live, julia thought. if the doctors can just bring him to consciousness, he can heal himself. when he realizes i've saved his life, maybe he'll listen to me. he's got to listen. i'll convince him, i'll reason with him. he'll be able to prove to everybody that there will be an invasion. when they see all the things he can do, they'll have to believe him....
-they put walt in the car. they handled him as gently as they could.
-"he's almost gone," the farmer said.
-"get in front with me. you need a hospital, too."
-the farmer slipped in beside her.
-julia spun the car around and plunged down the road toward the super-highway.
-"where's the nearest doctor?"
-"town eight miles down the road," the farmer said. he grimaced in pain. he coughed, and blood flecked his lips. he wiped off the blood and stared at it drying across the back of his hand. "i ... think i'm hurt inside." there was barely controlled hysteria in his voice. he coughed again and shuddered. "my wife, she wanted me ... to stay home this morning...." he shut his eyes tightly. "i've got to patch the roof." he opened his eyes and looked pleadingly at julia. "i've got to patch the roof, don't you understand!"
-"i'm driving as fast as i can. which way do i turn down there?"
-"... turn right."
-"we'll be to a doctor just as soon as i can get there."
-she slowed down and turned onto the concrete slab of the super-highway.
-then she slammed the car to a full stop; she backed up out of the line of traffic, back onto the cross road. she cut the motor.
-julia had felt the bridge in her mind snap shut. instantly even the most obscure brain compartment was open to her. fatigue vanished. she was alert; she was able to think with great clarity.
-the lightning recovery of herself forced a series of ever widening implications to her attention; in a blinding flash of insight she was (perhaps actually for the first time) aware of the degree to which she could transform society.
-given time, she--she alone--like the magician prospero in the tempest could create some paradise of cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces and solemn temples and winding brooks and crisp channels and green lands that need never (the calibans being transmuted by power beyond the lust for power) dissolve into air, thin air, leaving not a cloud behind.
-if all the people were as she, the great globe of the world could become an enchanted island: with wars and bloodshed and prejudice and inhumanity forgotten.
-some such was her thought. it washed over her, the vision, and vanished in the acute reality of the moment. such a dream was athwart the invasion plan of the aliens.
-she was out of the car. she was opening the rear door. she stood at walt's head. he'll have to help me, she thought, he has information i want.
-she felt for the pattern of his body. she experienced it. concentrating with the full force of the human brain, she began to mend the breaks and ruptures and wounds.
-it took time.
-don't reheal his mutant bridge, she thought. leave him defanged.
-his jaw returned to its socket. the dried blood on his skin no longer led from vicious gashes: they had closed and were knitting.
-she was finished. he was still unconscious.
-even as she turned to heal the farmer, a section of her brain drew conclusions from the fact she could be relieved of her powers. some outside force was responsible for holding the bridge closed in her mind. it could be turned on and off.
-but why, when the force controlling her bridge had vanished, had walt's bridge remained intact? she reviewed all the information she had.
-then each compartment must have its own ... frequency. the aliens selected walt, she thought, to kill me because his bridge operated on a different frequency than mine.
-speechless the farmer had watched her heal walt; now he relaxed under the soothing fingers of her thought. he felt the bone in his arm being made whole again.
-he no longer needed to cough.
-she tried to create a bridge in his brain; but she could not; it was outside the pattern. if she were to give him one, it would require surgery.
-she was once again in the seat beside him.
-"you're a, you're an angel," he said. awe made his voice hollow. "i'll be god damned if you're not an honest to jesus, real live angel."
-"... you couldn't be."
-"well, i am."
-he frowned, "... lady, after what i just seen you do, i'll believe it if you say so. you just tell me, i'll believe it."
-"i've got to get into san francisco. i'll have to leave you. you can catch a ride or something."
-he scrambled out of the car.
-impulsively julia reached in her handbag for a bill. she found one. "here," she said, thrusting it on him, "this is for your milk."
-the farmer took it automatically. he put it in his wallet and put the wallet back in his overalls without bothering to watch what he was doing. he was watching her.
-if they're all as easy to convert as he is ... she thought.
-"can i ask you a question?"
-"what?" she said.
-"if you're human, what am i?"
-"we're not quite the same," julia said. "maybe some day we will be...."
-she wheeled onto the super-highway and headed toward san francisco.
-she switched on the automatic-drive and turned her attention to walt.
-she was unable to awaken him. after such a severe shock as he had experienced, his nervous system demanded rest; he no longer had the recuperative powers of a mutant.
-i need walt. what kind of weapons will we be up against? where will the invasion strike first? when? he'll have scraps of information that i can put together to tell me more than he thinks he knows.
-how can i convince him to help me?
-... if i've figured it out right, there's got to be records somewhere. birth certificates, things like that. if i'm right about babies being missing the year of the last big saucer scare, there's got to be birth certificates. i'll check newspaper files in san francisco.
-if i can just find walt's birth certificate! that will convince him!
-she thought about the space station floating somewhere in the sky; she tried to picture the aliens who manned it.
-god knows how, she thought, but we'll fight!
-in the space station, the aliens were in conference.
-jubilation flowed back and forth. the other aliens congratulated forential.
-in san francisco julia drew up in front of an unpretentious hotel on polk street. walt, was still unconscious in the back seat.
-after she arranged for a room, she returned to the car. she seized walt at his arm pits and hauled him to the sidewalk. she held a tight distortion field around his body. he was dead weight against her. she draped one of his arms about her neck. when she began to walk, his feet shuffled awkwardly.
-she felt as conspicuous as if she were smoking a pipe.
-she wedged her body against the door of the hotel and dragged walt inside. although he was invisible, the effect of his body pulling down on hers was readily apparent. she half stumbled toward the elevator.
-the clerk, a counterpart of the one she had had in hollywood looked up in annoyance. he snorted through his nose. he eyed her narrowly. he seemed about to leave his position behind the desk.
-julia propped walt against the wall and rang for the elevator. she smiled wanly in the direction of the clerk. shaking his head and grunting his disapproval, he settled back in his chair.
-walt's heavy breathing was thunderous in her ear. she braced him with her hip when he started to slip to the floor.
-the elevator came.
-"step up, please."
-straining against his weight, she hauled walt's feet up over the edge of the cage. the feet scraped loudly on the floor.
-the elevator operator raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. he cocked his head to one side. "something wrong?"
-"oh, no," julia said brightly. "everything's fine."
-the operator started the car. "a young lady ought to be careful in this town," he said. "a young lady oughtn't to drink so much." he shook his head sadly. "there's a case of rape in the papers nearly every day."
-"... i'll be careful."
-"they pick up young ladies in bars all the time. you never can tell about the men you're liable to meet, if you go in bars. you have to watch yourself in this town."
-the elevator stopped. julia dragged walt out.
-"you mind what i say!" the operator called after her. "you be careful, now, and stay out of bars. you never can tell...."
-once she got walt inside her room, she breathed a sigh of relief. she released the distortion field. he was visible again.
-she removed the top sheet from the bed. she wrestled his body onto the bed.
-with the strips of sheet, she tied walt securely. she used a knot that would require cutting to be undone. she pulled the strips tight. they did not interfere with free circulation, but there was no possibility of them being slipped. she had no intention of not finding walt there when she came back.
-she surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction.
-whistling softly she left the room and walked down the corridor. she stopped whistling abruptly and glanced around in embarrassment. she had remembered the old adage: 'a whistling girl and a crowing hen are sure to come to some bad end'.
-there seemed to be something indecent about whistling in public.
-the fact that she had, colored her emotions with uneasiness.
-she realized that there might be a million such superstitions--many of them not recognized as superstitions at all--buried in her personality. her brain might be highly efficient, but was it efficient enough to overcome all the emotional biases implanted by twenty-four years of environment? was even her knowledge of the real nature of the world--was mankind's--sufficient to overcome such biases?
-perhaps, she thought, i'm not as smart as i thought i was. there may be deep and illogical currents in me. perhaps i'm not, not mature enough for such power as i've been given.
-annoyed, she took out a cigarette, and in defiance of cultural tradition, lit it there in the corridor while she waited for the elevator.
-the operator did not approve of women smoking in public. he said so.
-after the meal, she took a cab to the offices of the morning paper.
-in the entranceway to the building, sure that no one was watching, she became invisible.
-half an hour later, possessed of the information she had come after (harvested from the back files of the paper) she was once again in the street.
-in her room, she went to the telephone. she placed a long distance call to a boston hospital.
-the news had not been widely reported. she found most of the names in brief paragraphs stating that mr. and mrs. such and such had settled their suit against the so and so hospital out of court. in the three cases where the confinements had been in private homes, there had been kidnapping stories in the paper. in one of the cases, a man had later been convicted and executed--although the body of the child had never been recovered from the pond into which the prosecution contended it had been thrown.
-she talked to the switch board operator at the boston hospital. she was given the superintendent. he--impressed by the fact that she was calling from the pacific coast--sent his secretary to rummage the files for the hospital's copy of the birth certificate.
-"yes, i have it."
-"it's on the child of mr. and mrs. george temple?"
-julia concentrated as hard as she could.
-"you have it in your hand?"
-"would you look at it closely?"
-"look at it closely, please."
-"all right. i am. now what information did you want? it reads--what the hell! where did that go? say, how did you--"
-she put it on the dresser and returned to the phone.
-by the time tuesday was well into the afternoon, when the cool rays of the winter sun lay slanting upon the murmuring crest outside, she had nine birth certificates on the dresser. nine times the bell boy had come to her room to collect for the telephone charges. the last time, she forgot to make walt invisible. the bell boy said nothing.
-julia was annoyed by her carelessness. the bell boy's foot-falls died in the carpet of the corridor. she went to the door and looked out. he was gone.
-she closed the door and crossed to the bed. she had exhausted her list of names. she set about rousing walt.
-he's handsome, she thought.
-his eyelids flickered.
-he opened his eyes. memory slowly darkened his irises. he glared up at her.
-he surged at his bonds, striving to rip free and throw himself upon her. he tugged at his right hand. his fingers writhed. a frown passed over his face. he jerked his right hand savagely.
-"you have been deprived of your power," julia said.
-stunned, he lay back. "i, i don't understand."
-"you thought you were a lyrian," julia said. "you were wrong. you're an earthman. i am an earthwoman."
-"that's a lie! i'm not an earthman!"
-"you are now. how are you different?"
-"that's a lie. i'm, i'm...." he fought against the tentacle-like strips of sheet.
-"is it a lie, walt?"
-he continued to struggle.
-smiling, she taunted him: "when i was a little girl, i used to get mad and throw rocks.... it never did any good. lie still."
-i shouldn't tease him, she thought contritely.
-she felt very sorry for him. how frustrated he must feel! how hurt and puzzled and helpless and betrayed!
-he's like samson shorn.
-glaring hotly, he relaxed.
-"i saved your life," julia said. "don't forget that. you could thank me."
-"you had a reason then. you're a traitor. you had your reasons to."
-she slipped to the end of the bed. gently she unlaced his shoes and slipped them off.
-his face purpled with impotent anger.
-she peeled off his socks.
-then, one by one, julia compared the footprints on the birth certificates with walt's feet.
-hot tears of defeat brimmed up within walt; indignant rage filled his eyes.
-julia turned to put the birth certificates back on the dresser.
-none of them corresponded to his prints.
-walt wanted to bite down on something. he gritted his teeth. then, as julia was turning away from him, he felt once again the weird blending of his mind with calvin's. he realized that it was some exclusive power given to calvin that caused the blending: he was not even any longer a, a lyrian!
-joy vibrated in his body. drawing on the new power in his mind, he hurled a picture from the wall at the back of julia's unprotected head.
-she half turned. the heavy wooden frame hit her in the temple. with a little despairing sigh of surprise she sank to the carpet.
-i'll kill her this time, walt thought. he displaced the binding from his right hand.
-and calvin's mind withdrew.
-walt tried desperately to tear loose his other hand; the knot would not yield. he tried to reach julia. he tried to reach something to throw at julia. he could not. he let out a roar of baffled rage.
-julia was struggling to her feet.
-standing uncertainly, she shook her head. her eyes cleared. she let out her breath. the recuperative powers of a mutant were in action. "that was an awful wallop," she said calmly. "how did you manage it?"
-walt said nothing.
-julia wrinkled her forehead. her mind was steady and alert. "i felt another mind just before i turned. someone called calvin, wasn't it?"
-walt was sweating. how smart is she? can she guess everything?
-walt licked his lips.
-"he must be abnormal. a normal mutant couldn't do that. i'll have to find some way to seal his mind off from yours, i guess. i'll have to interfere with that sort of thing. in the meantime, i'll have to keep a sharp eye on you."
-walt glared at her. "damn you," he said.
-"why don't the aliens do the fighting for themselves?"
-the question was unexpected. "you got it wrong," he said automatically. "they are helping lyrians out of the goodness of their hearts." it was as if he were speaking to calvin; it made him feel, momentarily, superior to her. he grasped the opportunity with pathetic gratefulness. "they're afraid!" he cried triumphantly. "we're not that far advanced yet!"
-julia paused to consider this. "yes, that figures," she said. "but suppose for a minute that you're not a lyrian. suppose they're using you to fight for them."
-"no," walt said.
-"but why not?"
-"no," he repeated. he tried to keep doubt out of his voice. his anger was gone. he felt uncertain and confused. he could not think clearly.
-"you're a mutant," julia said. "like i am. our parents were earthlings. the aliens are using mutants. the aliens changed our parents' genes--"
-"i don't understand that word."
-julia smiled twistedly. "think how ignorant they kept you, walt. isn't that proof enough for you?"
-walt said nothing.
-"... genes are the substances which transmit characteristics from generation to generation. if you wish to change hereditary characteristics, you must change the genes. the aliens changed our genes so we would be able to use all of our brains. the normal earthling is just like you are right now: unable to use more than one sixth of his brain. the aliens collected all the mutants; all of them but me. they overlooked me."
-walt twisted uncomfortably.
-"but they still control us," julia said. "there is a bridge that is held closed by a special frequency. that's why we've just recently been able to use our full powers. they just recently turned the frequency on."
-walt's mouth was dry. stop! he wanted to cry to her. please, stop!
-"... keep birth records," julia continued. walt had missed some of it. "no two sets of prints can be identical. a group of babies vanished during the last big flying saucer scare. you were one of them. i was trying to find your birth certificate. if i could find it...."
-julia talked on. her voice was sincere and intense and compelling. as he listened, walt felt the case against the aliens grow stronger.
-can't think clearly, he told himself. trust forential.
-he did lie about the war.
-forential lied about that.
-he'd lie about ... about other things?
-they kept me in ignorance, he thought. perhaps they really were afraid i'd discover my real nature.
-i don't know; i can't think; i can't think!
-as he watched julia, the female who had (the truth of this slowly dawned on him) actually saved his life, he felt the first stirrings of an emotion he was not prepared to cope with. how pretty she looked, standing before him, her eyes serious and her face intent. he wanted to nestle her.
-the footprints, he thought. she couldn't find mine among the birth certificates she had. she could have faked a set if she'd wanted to. does the fact she didn't mean she's not lying?
-i think i'm sorry i threw the picture at her.
-"if you could have heard mrs. savage on the phone," julia said, "you'd understand better. she lost her son--had him stolen--and she was still saving the birth certificate, after this long. she told me she knew she'd find him some day."
-mrs. savage sounds just like forential, walt thought.
-"she's been waiting all these years," julia said. "she's never given up hope."
-still waiting for her ... son, walt thought. still waiting, still needing her son.
-walt had never thought much of his parents until now. they were obscured by forential; they existed somewhere on lyria. but suppose julia were telling the truth? would they have been more fond of him than forential? could they have been?
-there were so many things he did not understand. he must ask forential about the process by which babies are created; what was the connection between parent and child? it was all so puzzling.
-... why not ask julia?
-"wait a minute," walt interrupted. "i understand so very little. how are babies made?"
-and there was a harsh, peremptory knock on the door. the manager's angry voice came booming through the paneling:
-"the bell boy tells me you've got a man tied to the bed in there! we can't have that sort of thing in this hotel! open the door, you hear me? open the door!"
-"oh, oh," julia whispered. "you keep your mouth shut, walt."
-she projected a distortion field around him.
-the bed now appeared untenanted.
-walt was silent.
-julia opened the door. the manager stormed in.
-"you, you creature!" he cried. "tying a defenseless man on the bed for god knows what evil pur--oh. hummm," he stared at the bed.
-"oh," he said.
-"there's no one here but me."
-"the bell boy--"
-the manager searched the room. he looked in the closet. he looked in the shower. his face slowly began to take on color.
-foolishly he got down on his knees and peered under the bed.
-"well," he said, dusting off his trousers as he stood up, "well ... oh.... is the service all right, miss? do you have any complaints? plenty of towels? soap? did the bell boy raise the window--yes, i see he did. there's enough heat? i, i seemed to have--i was on the wrong floor entirely. you see--"
-his face grew even more puzzled. "there's a woman on the, on the ninth floor i guess it is--how could i ever have made such a mistake? this is the seventh floor, isn't it?--has a man in her bed." his face got redder. he waved his hands. "tied to the bed."
-"oh, my," julia said.
-"yes, isn't it. now, if you want anything, don't hesitate to ring. i'm sorry about this mistake. silly of me. this is the seventh floor ... isn't it?"
-"yes, this is the seventh floor."
-the manager left.
-julia locked the door behind him.
-she dissolved the distortion field.
-"whew!" she said. "he was mad, wasn't he?"
-"no--wait. i think i'll take a chance. i'm going to leave you alone to think over what i've said. then i'm going to come back and untie you. you're going to help me, walt."
-"i, i don't know what to think."
-"here's one thing i want you to remember when you're thinking everything out. people can be convinced of anything as long as they have no way of checking beliefs against facts. remember that. forential had complete control over you. you believed what he told you to. now you've had a chance to see for yourself. you're just like an earthling. there is no war. things like that. think for yourself, walt."
-"how long will you be gone?"
-julia gathered up her handbag. she folded the birth certificates and stored them in it. "i don't know. i've got to convince someone of some facts that are going to be very hard to believe." she paused at the door. "i won't forget you, walt. i'll be back soon." she smiled almost shyly. "if calvin contacts you again, don't go away. i'll just have to hunt you down."
-after she had gone, walt relaxed. his body was still weak. he lay staring at the ceiling. outside, the sun's rays slanted even more. a breeze, chill with approaching night, rustled the curtain.
-there were shadows along the far wall.
-i've been an instrument, walt thought, a piece of metal, to be used as forential saw fit: if she were not lying. my parents are somewhere down here on this planet, the third from the sun. they are not on lyria. i might have killed them during the invasion. that would be worse than killing forential, even. if julia weren't lying to me. forential has been raising me to fight my own people!
-forential. saucer eyed. tentacled. moist and slippery. breathing in labored gasps under high gravity. air bubbling in his throat. tentacles caressing, fondling--not with affection (if julia is right) but with calculating design: to fashion my personality to his purpose....
-walt closed his eyes.
-forential, he thought.
-forential was far away in space; every second he was growing farther away in time. i've lost him, walt thought. so much has happened, so much, so fast, since last i saw him, that i'm changing away from him every minute.
-earthlings aren't so bad. they're--they're not too much different from lyrians, from ... mutants.
-i'm a mutant?
-i'm not a lyrian?
-but forential could not hear him.
-i'll have to think for myself, walt decided. julia said i couldn't be fooled if i just looked at the facts.
-earthlings aren't like forential always told us they were. they're pleasant enough. in their way. i don't see how they can menace lyria (if there is such a place). i don't think they've even got space travel!
-he tossed restlessly on the bed.
-and julia, he thought. well, she's nice. she's all right.
-again the new emotion troubled him. he missed her. he wished she would hurry back.
-... and why did she lose her powers if she's a lyrian? why did i? lyrians shouldn't lose their powers.
-what about the machines on the ship?
-can there really be another compartment of--mutants?
-is that why the walls of the ship were impenetrable?
-is that why we were never permitted in more than a fraction of the overall space of the ship?
-i don't think, i don't think i like forential any more.
-julia consulted a phone directory for the address of the local f. b. i. office.
-it was four thirty when she arrived, and only one man was still in the office. he had his feet propped up on the desk; he was smoking a pipe and reading a law book.
-"yes?" he said, standing up as julia came forward.
-"you better sit back down," she said.
-"well, now.... and who are you?" he said it not unkindly.
-julia gave her name. gravely he shook hands with her.
-"sit over there, julia," he said.
-when she was seated, he sat down. he bent forward and cleared his throat.
-oh, dear, how can i start? she thought. how can i ever start? "what, what was the page you were reading in your book?"
-"i suppose you want to report on the family next door?" he said.
-"well, as a matter of fact, no," julia said. "i wanted--" and again her resolve faltered.
-"yes?" the f.b.i. man asked.
-his law book floated from the table behind him and drifted over his shoulder. it opened itself before his face. the pages riffled.
-"what page?" julia asked intently.
-the f.b.i. man took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at it. "page one hundred and fifteen," he said.
-the book fell open to that page.
-"i think i underestimated you," he said. "i believe i'm going to sit right here and take down every word you say." he gestured with his pipe. "start talking."
-julia spoke slowly. she gave the f.b.i. man all the information she had. his pen skimmed rapidly, making short hand squiggles over the white pages of his notebook.
-"julia," the man said, "put yourself in my position. what would you do if someone came to you with a story like this?"
-"i'd send that person to washington, where she could talk to somebody."
-"i'd like a little more proof."
-julia passed her hand through the back of the chair. "i should certainly be investigated: just on the basis of being able to do that, shouldn't i?"
-the f.b.i. man nodded. "do that again."
-he turned back to julia.
-"now, about this space station. how is it we haven't seen it?"
-"i assume it has a distortion field around it. it's invisible."
-"hummmm." he entered that in his notebook. "is there any way we could detect it?"
-"i.... if i were able to talk to a physicist, he might be able to build detection equipment. it would take time."
-"i see. now, about this walt. how dangerous would you say he is?"
-"i disconnected the bridge in his mind."
-"i call it that. it's what makes us different. it could be built into a normal human being, i think."
-"you mean," he said, "i could be fixed up to do the things you can do? teleportation? telepathy?"
-"if i were a surgeon, i think i could change your brain to our pattern. i can see how it should be done. but i'd have to train to be able to. surgery is a skill; it takes practice to master it."
-"i don't know."
-"how long until the invasion?"
-"i don't know that either. i don't know whether or not i can find out from walt. i doubt if he has enough information to tell me. very soon now. less than a month. maybe even tomorrow."
-"we haven't much time. remember that."
-the f.b.i. man looked at his watch. "there's a plane to washington in three hours. i'll get you reservations on it. i'll phone the head office there. there'll be somebody from the air force to meet you."
-"i'll leave at eight, is that right?"
-"from the city airport. just a minute. i'm going to assign a man to you. i don't want anything happening between now and then."
-"i can look out for myself," julia said. "i'll pick up my ticket and walt's at the reservation booth. 'bye."
-the f.b.i. man blinked his eyes. she had vanished. he got up and searched the office carefully. the door had not opened.
-but she was gone.
-sweating, he went to the phone.
-in less than two minutes, he was talking to washington. when he recradled the phone, he was shaking. he took out his pipe, filled it, lit it, walked to the window.
-he looked out at the twilight city. a lone star sparkled in the sky. he stared upwards.
-"my god," he said softly to himself.
-he crossed to the teletype, switched the current on. he began typing his notes on it for the benefit of washington.
-back in the hotel room, julia released walt. free, he stood up uncertainly.
-"i think you'll help me," she said levelly. "i disconnected the bridge in your mind; i'm going to leave it that way. i can't afford not to. but am i right, walt?"
-"i'm not sure. i, i'll have to see."
-"we're going to fly to washington tonight."
-"the seat of the government. you clean up in the bathroom, now. but hurry. we'll have to catch a plane out of here at eight o'clock. it's after six."
-when walt came back, she took his arm possessively.
-"i'm hungry," he said.
-"oh?" julia said. "we'll have time to eat, i guess. i wish we didn't have to eat hotel food, though. i'm a good cook." she led walt to the door. "you'll see what i mean, if we can get this invasion stopped. i'm going to make you invisible, now."
-after they ate, julia drove her car to the airport. the reservations were waiting. so was the f.b.i. man.
-"i teletyped my report to them. they wanted me to accompany you."
-he introduced himself to walt.
-walt shook his hand. walt no longer recoiled from the touch of an earthling.
-in the plane, the f.b.i. man ordered cocktails. walt had never tasted alcohol before. it was an unpleasant taste. but once it was down, it was not objectionable.
-he forced himself to drain the glass. he felt himself relaxing.
-"ugh," he said.
-the f.b.i. man ordered another round. julia declined. walt accepted.
-walt said, "i feel warm."
-the f.b.i. man kept glancing out the window of the plane, up at the stars. clouds hung below; moonlight played over them.
-walt found that he was very ... fond ... of julia. if only, he thought, she weren't so damned superior!
-the alcohol filtered through his body. the compartment of the airplane danced not unpleasantly. he longed to feel julia very close to him. he wanted to reach out and touch her uncovered skin.
-faintly, far off, barely heard was the sound of the others talking.
-he grew heavy and sleepy. he closed his eyes.
-he awakened once, and julia was not beside him. he moved his tongue. it felt fuzzy and thick.
-he wanted julia.
-"julia!" he cried.
-"i'm just up here," she called softly.
-disturbed passengers muttered their annoyance.
-the stewardess came to walt's seat.
-"i don't want you!" walt said. "julia!" he shouted.
-julia came back to him.
-it was after three o'clock wednesday morning when their plane set down wheels on the washington airport runway.
-a sleepy-eyed air force colonel was waiting at the gate. the f.b.i. man approached him. "here they are."
-the colonel crossed to them. "you're to come along with me."
-walt shook his head to clear the sleep from his eyes.
-they followed the colonel to the waiting, olive drab passenger car. the f.b.i. man had departed.
-the colonel helped julia in.
-"we've got rooms for you downtown."
-"whatever you've decided," julia said.
-the colonel gave his driver the address.
-half an hour later, julia and walt and the colonel reached their destination.
-"i must be a mess," julia apologized. "i haven't had time to change clothes or anything."
-"i'll order you some," the colonel said.
-they went immediately to the third floor.
-"this is your room," the colonel told walt, opening the door.
-"i want to stay with julia," walt said.
-"this is your room," the colonel said stiffly. he signaled the guard lounging at the end of the corridor. the guard came.
-"this is your man," the colonel told the guard.
-the guard nodded.
-"he's not to leave."
-walt planted his feet. "i'm not--"
-"go on in, walt," julia said.
-reluctantly, walt entered the room. the guard pulled the door closed.
-"you're to come here," the colonel said. he led the way.
-once in her room, he said, "i know you're tired...."
-julia realized that she was tired. even her mutant powers could not keep fatigue out of her body forever. her muscles ached. the strain and excitement had sapped her energy to a greater extent than she had realized.
-"i am, a little. a few hours rest--"
-"would you sign this first?" the colonel asked. "it's a transcript of your conversation with the f.b.i. man. to make it official. it's all we need for the moment."
-julia flipped through it. it was very accurate.
-the colonel produced a pen.
-"now, one last thing. what sort of clothing did you want? i'll have my secretary buy the things in the morning."
-using hotel stationery, julia made a list.
-the colonel took it. "we'll call you in sometime tomorrow morning to get your testimony."
-"i better give you some money for the list."
-the colonel smiled. "you're a guest of the air force. we'll take care of it." at the door he said, "oh, by the way, don't try to leave this room."
-he closed the door softly behind him.
-julia undressed quickly.
-she fell into bed.
-six hours later, at ten o'clock in the morning, she awoke with a start. someone was knocking.
-"a package for you."
-she drew the bed clothes around her. "just set it inside the door."
-the sentry complied.
-opening the package, she was delighted with the clothing the colonel's secretary had selected.
-she dressed and combed her hair.
-when she tried to leave the hotel room, the sentry barred her way.
-"what about breakfast?"
-"order whatever you want from room service," the man told her.
-julia closed the door. i should show him--! she thought.
-but then: where could i go if i did go out? suppose they come for me and i'm gone?
-she phoned for breakfast.
-the guard stood by while it was brought in. to keep me, she thought, from talking to the waiter.
-by noon she still had received no word from the government.
-she was growing annoyed.
-it was after two o'clock when the colonel--the same one who had met them at the airport last night--came for her. "sorry to keep you so long," he said. "they're ready to see you now."
-"we're going over to the pentagon."
-they stopped to pick up walt.
-he had gotten a razor from somewhere; the stubble on his face was gone. his skin was smooth and boyish. he was dressed in a single breasted, brown suit. his white shirt was open at the neck.
-julia's heart caught in her throat with pride when she saw him. she blushed.
-"he's been pacing the floor for the last hour," the guard said.
-"we're going to talk to some government official," julia said. she smiled up at him. "how do you feel, walt?"
-"i'm fine. fine. nervous. but i feel fine."
-"they're waiting," the colonel said. "we better hurry."
-julia took walt's hand. "it's all right. you don't need to be afraid."
-"i'm not afraid," he said.
-the same olive drab car was waiting for them outside the hotel. they got in--the colonel in front with the driver, walt and julia in back.
-the car moved into washington traffic.
-bleak, harsh winter lay over the town; the very air seemed weary and exhausted. julia stared out the window at the passing buildings.
-suppose the government won't believe our story after all! she thought.
-"you're going to help us all you can, aren't you, walt?" she whispered. her fingers plucked nervously at her dress.
-"this morning, i had a long talk with the man at my door. i'll help you all i can. he'd never even heard of lyria; he--"
-the colonel swiveled his head. "we consulted with the president this morning."
-julia felt herself grow tense. "yes?"
-"he instructed us to have the two of you interviewed by some of the best authorities we could round up on such short notice. you will be required to demonstrate this ability you seem to have to teleport objects."
-"i'll do everything i can."
-the colonel grunted and turned back to watching the road.
-the tidal basin lay to one side of the car; the washington channel to the other. off the highway, the rotunda dome of the white marble jefferson memorial glistened in the weak sunlight; the cherry trees around it were naked with winter.
-julia listened to her own breathing; she forced herself to relax. i've got to convince them, she thought.
-in spite of her superiority, she felt like a little girl venturing into a big, unfamiliar world.
-shortly, the car drew up at the huge pentagon building.
-inside it, army men--officers and enlisted men--were scurrying about, up and down ramps, in and out of the endless maze of corridors. there was a brisk hum of voices; it was like a giant bee hive. the high heeled shoes of female personnel chattered efficiently from room to room.
-"stay close," the colonel said. "it's easy to get lost."
-"they're waiting, colonel robertson. go right in."
-"right through here," the colonel said.
-walt and julia followed.
-he opened the door, and they issued into the conference room. talking broke off; faces swung to confront them.
-"gentlemen," the colonel said, "this is the girl, and this--this is the man from the space station."
-the audience around the table rustled.
-"you'll sit right here," the colonel told them. he helped julia to her chair. when they were both seated, the colonel withdrew.
-chairs scraped and squeaked.
-one of the men across from julia cleared his throat. he was in civilian clothes. he was slightly stooped and partly bald. he wiped his glasses nervously. "we would like a demonstration of your--your, um, um unusual propensities." he adjusted his glasses.
-the glasses disengaged themselves from his ears and floated toward julia. julia stood up and walked through the table toward them.
-she reached out. both she and the glasses vanished.
-one of the general officers made a check mark on his note book. "i'd say our report is substantially correct."
-the other civilian in the room, a youngish blonde woman, lit another cigarette. the ash tray before her was overflowing. her fingers were nicotine stained. "very extraordinary."
-julia materialized back in her chair. she replaced the glasses.
-the conferees began to whisper softly.
-the blonde nodded her head. she turned to julia. "about this space station--"
-"this is doctor helen norvel," one of the general officers told julia.
-dr. norvel ignored him. "is there some way we could detect it?"
-"i'd like to try to explain the nature of the distortion field surrounding it to a physicist."
-"dr. norvel," someone said, "is one of our better experimental physicists."
-"gentlemen," dr. norvel said, "let me talk to her in the next room while you question this man."
-the bald civilian said, "go right ahead, doctor."
-julia got to her feet.
-when they had gone, a lieutenant sitting beside the civilian looked up from a sheaf of papers in front of him. "walt johnson, isn't it?"
-walt gulped. he felt clammy and frightened.
-"i'm supposed to interrogate you--ask you some questions."
-"all, all right," walt said nervously.
-"now, mr. johnson, if you'll just tell us--take it slowly; take your time--about life on this space station. any details you can remember will prove helpful. describe your quarters, the nature of the aliens--anything at all."
-walt twisted in the seat. he looked around at the waiting faces. a general lit a cigarette. the heating system hummed softly.
-walt began to talk.
-from time to time, someone interrupted him with a question.
-it seemed to go on forever.
-"about this focus rod?"
-"it sends out a, a radiation. something. i don't understand too well. it's lethal."
-"what is the radius of destruction?"
-"i don't know; i don't remember."
-"please continue," the lieutenant said.
-walt's throat grew dry as he talked. someone got him a drink of water.
-"could you estimate the number of mutants in this other compartment?"
-"i couldn't say. i couldn't swear that there is another compartment."
-"a hundred? five hundred?"
-"i couldn't say."
-"about," a general asked, "how much of the total area of the ship would you say your compartment occupied?"
-on and on.
-"let's go over the description of that machine again. did you ever see this fierut disassemble any part of it?"
-walt was limp and exhausted. his mind was dulled by the effort of concentrating continuously. "yes." "no." "to understand that...." "i don't know." "no, no more than that.... please. i'm getting confused."
-"you've been very helpful, mr. johnson," the lieutenant said. "gentlemen, i'm afraid he's getting a little tired. shall we postpone further questioning?"
-"i believe we better. would you call in dr. norvel, please."
-walt slumped down in his seat.
-the conferees whispered among themselves and compared notes.
-julia and the doctor came back.
-"it took longer than i thought," dr. norvel said. "i had to teach her quite a bit of math."
-"what's your opinion?" the bald civilian asked.
-"i believe her, gentlemen. she has just shown me how to build some electronic equipment. i'll have a picture of that space station for you within two weeks."
-"that will be all, then, for right now," the civilian said. he nodded at walt and julia. "the colonel is waiting to take you back to your hotel."
-"you're not to talk to anyone about this," one of the generals said.
-thursday. they came for walt and julia at nine o'clock. the hotel was aswarm with the military.
-"security measures," the colonel explained as they waited for the elevator. "if any information about this leaks out, the whole country will be thrown into a panic."
-"we've evacuated the civilians to another hotel," the colonel said.
-two guards with rifles stood at the street doorway.
-"it's going to be a hard day for you both," the colonel said once they were in the car. "you're scheduled to meet representatives of some foreign countries at ten o'clock. and after that, we'll spend the rest of the day picking both your brains as clean as we know how."
-"that's the way it's got to be," julia said. "i understand."
-it was after midnight when she returned to her hotel. surprisingly, she was able to sleep until dawn. she arose and showered in the first sunlight and dressed and ordered breakfast. the sergeant on duty at the desk downstairs went out himself to get it for her.
-at nine (this was friday morning) she and walt were back in the pentagon. walt's face was puffy, his eyes were red. "i'm tired," he murmured as an officer hurried him toward a meeting with the ordnance section. for a moment julia considered restoring his mutant bridge. but she was not completely certain that she could trust him; even the tiniest doubt was an excuse not to--since there was no overwhelming advantage to be gained from having two mutants instead of one in the pentagon.
-a few minutes later, julia was ushered into the office of one of the very high ranking general officers. he rose to greet her, and then returned to his desk. julia sat down across from him and he pushed stacks of reports to one side until he located his cigarette box.
-julia took a cigarette.
-"julia? i may call you that?"
-he bent across the desk to light her cigarette. he pushed an ash tray toward her.
-"i expect you'd like to know what we've done so far?"
-"i'm preparing a report for the president. i hope to have it for him by noon." he glanced at his watch. "i want to verify with you everything that goes into it."
-the smoke made julia dizzy. she cleared her brain. it was a relief to hear someone else talking for a change.
-"... we're preparing an atomic rocket to intercept their space station," he said. "i understand from this report that your mutant powers aren't infinite. it says in here somewhere that it would be impossible to stop by, by teleportation you call it, don't you? an object as large as a rocket?"
-"it's mostly a question of inertia. there's a mass-speed-time ratio involved. the greater the first two, the more time required to divert the missile from its path. the mass-speed must be sufficient to create a greater diversion period than exists between the time of detection and the time of impact."
-"you would say that the rocket could get through?"
-"if the same rule holds for the aliens as for us, i don't think they would have time to teleport it away."
-"that's what i wanted."
-"just a minute, though. how long will it take you to complete it?"
-"give us another week," the general said. "that's one of the things i wanted to see you about. it will take doctor norvel longer than that to plot the orbit of the station. i want you to plot that orbit for us--"
-"i'm sorry, general. this is in your reports somewhere, too. i can't. not until doctor norvel can locate it. it's too far out for me to locate. i'd have to have an, an anchor on that end--something i could contact--before i could center on it. and i don't have. i can't even feel it, if you see what i mean. there's, nothing to get ahold of. if i could ... i could just teleport an atom bomb there, and we wouldn't need to worry with the rocket at all." she snubbed out her cigarette.
-"couldn't you get a fix on this frequency that controls your mutant powers and locate the space station that way?"
-"neither dr. norvel nor i could detect it with the available equipment: we tried. there's no way of knowing what equipment's required. it's probable the frequency is displaced from normal space; if it is, we can't even tell the increment of displacement. it's just a hopeless task."
-"well, it will take us two weeks or more, then...." he crossed out something on the paper before him.
-"suppose they attack before that?"
-"i'm coming to that possibility.... i see you say here that mutants can be destroyed by bomb concussions because they can't displace sufficiently far without teleporting. what do you mean there?"
-"it's complicated. if the bomb has too much inertia to be teleported off target, they have to remove themselves from the blast area. and they can't remove themselves far enough--not in space, but in relation to space; so they'd have to teleport, and that would be fatal."
-"they could displace themselves far enough to avoid a bullet."
-the general wrote something down. "how large an explosion would suffice?"
-"i believe dr. norvel has those figures. i didn't stay long enough to see the results of her computations. she figured it out. they rushed me off somewhere else."
-"i'll have to ask her.... now. i'm counting on there being five hundred saucer ships in the first wave. with luck, our air force will get a few of them. you say--ah, yes, right here: 'if hit in the air, the pilots cannot displace out of the ship because they would be killed by the fall to earth.' that's correct, isn't it?"
-julia nodded. "yes."
-"but i expect we'll have to destroy the majority of them after they land; luck only goes so far."
-"if they scatter all over the planet?" julia asked.
-"we have bombers alerted."
-"suppose they land in a city? you'd have to bomb immediately. you'd have to destroy the whole area before they could escape. you wouldn't have any time to evacuate the population. but even so, they could destroy the bomber crews with their focus rods before the planes were over the target--"
-"automatic bombers," the general said. "i hope we've got enough of them. as for the populations, i hope they don't land in our cities." he puckered his lips. "i've alerted all our ground forces. we'll have our whole supply of atomic artillery available. whenever we discover a focus rod in operation, we intend to hit the center of the area of destruction with everything we've got."
-"what do you honestly think?" julia asked.
-he shuffled papers, thinking. he looked up from the report. "... it will take us over a week to get even partially ready. if they strike before that, we'll be able to kill some of them. if they give us a week, we might even hope to kill half of them--half of the first wave--before we're destroyed.... i was hoping you might offer us an alternative, or a supplement; or something."
-julia took another cigarette. she fumbled in her handbag for a match. she lit the cigarette. "no," she said.
-"i rather thought not," he said. "i expected you'd have already told us."
-"i've thought about it every way i know how.... i thought about displacing all of them when they land; keeping them displaced, where they couldn't reach us.... but there'll be too many of them. i might be able to hold one mutant in displacement, even if he resisted me. i know more than he does. but five hundred?" she shook her head.
-"could we build a machine to do that job?"
-"you'd have the rocket done much sooner."
-"... i expect that's right. i hope they just give us time."
-"if i think of anything else--"
-"oh, i wanted to mention that," the general said. "i want to give you a phone number. you can reach me any time, day or night, through it." he wrote it on a piece of paper.
-julia memorized it at a glance.
-the general made a few more notes. he glanced at his watch again. "i guess that's the size of it, julia."
-in the space station, the aliens were readying for the invasion.
-lycan had just finished issuing clothing to the mutants in the larger compartment. once dressed, they were indistinguishable from earthlings. and more important, when the larger transmitter was eventually cut off, forential's mutants would easily mistake them for earthlings.
-forential had finished assigning sectors of earth to his own charges. each was to cover a given area. they were told that the war on the planet was nearing its conclusion; destruction was everywhere. there would be no opposition to bother them. (in reality, lycan's mutants, the first wave, having taken care of that.) they could clean up their assigned sectors slowly, thoroughly, methodically. forential instructed them in all the details of detecting and tracking down earthlings. a month after their arrival, they would be, forential said, the only survivors.
-julia awakened with a start very early saturday morning. it was not yet three o'clock. washington lay silent beyond her window. the dark, chill air of the room was motionless.
-i forgot to seal walt's mind off from calvin's! she thought in blind terror.
-she fumbled her bed clothes off and swung her feet to the carpet.
-but once she was standing, the effects of the nightmare began to dissipate. she was surprised to find herself trembling. she laughed nervously. she had dreamed that walt was crossing the carpet toward her bed, walking in silent invisibility. he had raised a knife to plunge it into her heart--had raised a great rock to smash her skull--had aimed a pistol at her brain--while she lay in chill terror, waiting, helpless.
-the cold made goose pimples on her naked skin. but her own laugh reassured her.
-a second of concentration and blood flowed skin-ward, warming her.
-she found the light switch.
-when the light came on, she heard the guard outside the door shuffle restlessly.
-now why, she thought, would it suddenly seem so important that i should seal off walt's mind? yesterday, when he was so tired, i almost gave him back his mutant powers. i do trust him, don't i? of course. after all the help he's given us, i know--there's not the tiniest doubt, really--that he's completely on our side.
-seal ... off ... mind....
-she tried to ignore the thought. it isn't that important, she argued with herself.
-seal ... off ... mind....
-whoa! she thought.
-seal off minds!
-harmonics ... powerful signal ... transmit ... blanket....
-pulling her blouse hastily over her head, she realized that it might be remotely possible!
-as she reached for the phone, she tried to see the mathematics involved. i'll have to consult dr. norvel, she thought.
-she dialed. her hand began to tremble with eagerness.
-the phone rang in her ear. once. twice. three times.
-"hello, this is julia. let me speak to the general. hurry!"
-whoever was on the other end of the line moved quickly. julia could hear a phone ringing in the receiver.
-"yes?" the general said, sleepy-voiced.
-"i think i've got something for you."
-"if we can transmit a powerful enough signal, we might be able to create harmonics that would interfere throughout the possible displacement area. interfere with the frequency that closes our bridges, i mean. it's the same principle as concussion affecting the displacement area."
-"wait a minute. okay, go on. i'm recording this, now."
-"if our television and radio transmitters will handle the signal, we can blanket the whole planet with interference. any mutant that hits it will automatically be deprived of his mutant powers."
-"look. we can make the whole first wave human normals. the army can round them up and keep them unconscious while we adjust our interference to meet the second wave."
-"i see, vaguely. what do you need?"
-"i'll phone her."
-"a laboratory. an electronics laboratory."
-"i'll get it."
-"all i can do on that score is hurry as fast as i can. as soon as i get your laboratory, i'll send a car around for you."
-"i've got calls to make, then. you give me the details later."
-she felt elation. she went to the window and breathed deeply. the air was exciting.
-two hours later, she was in a staff car speeding toward an experimental laboratory on the outskirts of town.
-she was hustled inside the building by a sergeant and a colonel; gray, cloudy dawn hovered in the east.
-dr. norvel was already waiting.
-"let's go to work," the doctor said.
-"what do you propose? the general said something about interfering with the frequency controlling your mind. how? we can't even detect it."
-"we don't need to. we generate a signal, vary the frequency until i lose my mutant powers--and that's it! we generate as strong a signal as we can. then we have every transmitter in the country put on a direct line to us. when the radar spots the first saucer, we let go with every kilowatt of power we've got."
-"good, good, good," dr. norvel said excitedly. "see if you can find some good coffee, you there, with the bird on your shoulder."
-the colonel said, "yes, ma'm."
-"is there a technical library around?" julia asked. "i better read up on electronics."
-"there's one in there," the puzzled night watchman said.
-"i want you to get me somebody from the army that can get me equipment, and fast," dr. norvel told the sergeant. he was standing helplessly by the door.
-"hurry up, damn it!"
-the sergeant shrugged in resignation. "all right, but they won't like it. i'm the one you should have sent for the coffee."
-after, the sergeant was gone, the colonel came back.
-by noon, the laboratory was alive with activity.
-by six o'clock, the signal generator was beginning to grow.
-julia supervised the crew laying cable. the cable would be connected to the nearest radio transmitter.
-"your transmitter will handle our signal?" julia asked.
-"you give it to us, and we'll tell you."
-a general interrupted julia. "i'm from general tibbets. how's it going?"
-"we're trying to scatter paratroops--detachments of them. all over. how long do we have?"
-"it's up to them," julia said. "i don't know when we'll be finished here."
-"our men should be stationed by morning."
-"i hope we're through that early."
-"you disarm these damned mutants, and we'll capture them."
-in the yard, a crew was unloading a new power supply.
-"knock a hole in the east wall and take it inside!" a harried officer bawled hoarsely.
-"some ass of a newspaper man did a report on unusual activity in the pentagon and around washington," dr. norvel said. "he hinted it had something to do with the flying saucer reports of twenty some years ago."
-"how in hell did it leak?"
-"... the pentagon's issuing a denial."
-by midnight, julia was superintending the construction of a second signal generator. work on the first one was temporarily stalled; the technicians were waiting for a special transformer.
-dr. norvel was waving an inked-in schematic diagram before the face of a gray haired man in an apron. "no, no, no," she said. "it's got to be this way to set up the right harmonics."
-a major came up and tugged apologetically at julia's arm. "are you in charge here?"
-"i'm sure i don't know."
-"well, if you are--please, miss, my men have to rest. can i let them go now?"
-"we're not quitting 'til we finish--i'm sure of that."
-the major went away, looking for someone else in authority.
-walt, his mutant bridge restored, was inspecting the second signal generator with interest. with it, the technicians would determine the signal that interfered with his frequency. they would set it to throb out that signal.
-one section of the transmitter cable ran to each signal generator. a sergeant had just finished installing a switch that would control the signal being fed into the output line. after the first mutant wave had been captured, the switch would be thrown to the left. the signal covering walt's powers would then be transmitted to the same network of radio and television stations that had carried the one covering julia's; and the second wave would be reduced to earth normal.
-it was dawn before the first signal generator began operation. it was sunday.
-smoking cigarette after cigarette, dr. norvel watched. after nearly fifteen minutes, she pleaded, "drop, damn you, drop!"
-work on the second generator continued. it was at least half a day away from completion. there was a continual mutter of conversation about it in the background.
-an hour later, sweat covered julia's face. the book was still suspended.
-"put in the next frequency range unit," dr. norvel said wearily.
-a general bustled in. "general tibbets wants to know how we're doing here."
-silence greeted him.
-"the paratroopers are ready," the general said defensively.
-lycan bustled about, making last minute preparations in the larger compartment. his faceted eyes gleamed with excitement. now and then he spoke to a mutant.
-"you ready, fred?"
-"yes, lycan. i'm nervous, but i'm ready."
-"it's natural," lycan reassured.
-the mutants shuffled their feet and cleared their throats and wiped their palms. they smiled uneasily.
-"form a line!" the elder called. "we're ready to load you."
-the mutants complied. they spoke in hushed undertones. their focus rods, like tall staffs, bristled unevenly above their heads.
-lycan led them up the ladder to the second level. led them down the long corridor. led them past gleaming, whirring machinery.
-in the huge, open launching area, the other aliens made last minute adjustments on the saucer ships.
-the elder sent the first group forward. they boarded their ships. the aliens withdrew.
-a section of the wall unfolded. air hissed away, expelling the saucer ships out into space. the mutants worked their simple controls. the saucer ships floated together as if for protection. on signal, they plunged earthward.
-the section of the wall folded back. air entered. the aliens rushed out and unloaded more saucer ships from the storage compartments.
-mutants entered and boarded. the aliens withdrew. the wall unfolded. a second group of saucer ships plunged earthward. the wall folded back. it was as if the space station had opened its mouth; as if the mouth had breathed flying saucers.
-down they came.
-early sunday sunlight burst across the eastern part of the north american continent.
-nearly a thousand saucers, in five compact groups, one group for each continent, slipped one after another into the atmosphere.
-there was no opposition. no planes rose to challenge them. they braked and flattened and skimmed toward their assigned landing sites.
-and they touched down: in the hearts of industrial cities; in farm communities; at military installations. they streaked up from the horizon; they hovered; they settled gently to earth.
-a few surprised early risers saw them flashing across the sky; saw them land; saw the mutants, armed with focus rods, step out and adjust themselves to the openness all around them. hate was stamped plainly on the mutants' faces. they took their time, adjusting their focus rods for death and destruction. the few earthlings who saw them waited or fled or advanced with curiosity.
-at the infantry school at ft. benning, georgia, a saucer landed in the third cortile. the three jump towers to the left were like bony fingers pointing accusingly at the sky.
-the troops, alerted, uncertain as to what they were waiting for, were lounging in the barracks. their orders had been changed several times in the last few days. an orderly coming from "c" company rec hall saw the saucer first. he watched the female mutant get out, look around, shudder and shrink upon herself beneath the horrible, distant sky.
-he went to report it to the o.d.
-the female began to adjust her focus rod.
-at the airport across the chattahoochee river in alabama, five battalions of paratroops were waiting assignment. they had been briefed on their jobs less than twelve hours ago. cargo planes warmed up off the runways, poised for service.
-the hastily organized message center was the focus of frantic activity. a teletype chattered. telephones from radar stations rang and were answered. a harried clerk slipped a scribbled slip to a major waiting beside the desk. he read it, whistled, and trotted toward the main body of troops.
-"there's one over in the third cortile."
-a nervous captain stood up and field-stripped his cigarette. "want me to jump--or take a truck?"
-"jump," the major said. "there's planes."
-"load the third platoon," the captain called.
-a transport, under instruction from a colonel, wheeled onto the runway.
-"there's one in the third cortile on the main post," the major said.
-"get it with the next plane," the colonel said.
-the major trotted off to get a plane.
-the captain told a lieutenant: "take the fourth platoon, hawkins."
-the lieutenant saluted self-consciously. he crossed to his assignment and began to check his men's equipment. the men pulled nervously at their parachute harnesses and puffed at their cigarettes. "don't forget to hook up in the plane."
-several men were waving out the next transport. it lumbered forward as the other one cleared the field and circled west toward birmingham.
-"i'd feel better with a rifle," one of the troops told the lieutenant.
-"what the hell," one of the other men said, "you'd have to clean it when you got back!"
-"let's go!" the lieutenant said.
-the platoon moved into the waiting transport.
-a medical aide trailed up at the rear, carrying his hypodermic kit. once the platoon overcame the mutant, he would inject enough morphine to knock the mutant out for at least twenty-four hours.
-the female in the third cortile saw the lumbering transport, saw the silken blossoms swaying down from it. it amused her to wait. she was in no hurry. she was going to take it slowly at first: savoring the first few: before killing became a mere impersonal, mechanical operation.
-the soldiers were unarmed. they landed, divested themselves of their chutes, trotted toward an assembly area designated by the lieutenant. when they were grouped, they started to close in on her--advancing nervously.
-she lifted the focus rod. so this was the best they could send against her! she concentrated. she would turn them into flaming torches. then she would demolish all the buildings within range. but first the screaming human torches....
-nothing happened. the focus rod was as useless as wood.
-her mind was cramped. it was no longer as alert as it had been in the space station. she was now adjusted to the openness around her. she realized something was badly wrong.
-the soldiers, smiling now, were almost upon her.
-she dropped the focus rod and started to run.
-in washington, walt and julia waited by the signal generator that was in operation, broadcasting its interference across the whole planet. julia, bereft of her mutant powers, sat limply in a folding chair; her body was a stupor of exhaustion; she watched the activity around her with listless, heavy-lidded eyes.
-general tibbets paced nervously before the second generator.
-dr. norvel hovered at the control panel.
-"it's finished," a technician said, straightening stiffly from the electrical wiring at the rear of the panel.
-the general stopped pacing. "walt! are you ready?"
-"okay," dr. norvel said. "turn it on."
-"i'm ready," walt said.
-a power supply moaned.
-"here we go, walt."
-a technician ran a hand through his hair. "keep your fingers crossed."
-walt, seated beside julia, concentrated on the book. it floated above the desk.
-dr. norvel moved the dial. her face was pale and drawn.
-the general coughed nervously.
-the control light of the generator winked out.
-everyone held his breath.
-the air was filled with the sharp, acrid odor of burning wiring.
-"unplug it!" dr. norvel cried.
-a technician cut off the power.
-"oh, damn, damn, damn," dr. norvel said tonelessly.
-the generator still smoked. a technician was trying to see into the wiring behind the panel. "something shorted," he said unnecessarily, "it's a mess."
-"we've got to get it fixed," julia said dully.
-dr. norvel collapsed, crying quietly. "it's too late; it's too late; it's too late."
-"we worked too fast--"
-"not until we get all the first wave of mutants under control," julia said. "we can't shut off their interference before."
-"suppose it takes as long on your frequency as it did on julia's?" dr. norvel said. "... i don't think we've got that kind of time. as soon as they realize something's wrong...."
-"what else can we do?" walt asked.
-dr. norvel rummaged nervously through her smock. "anybody got a cigarette?"
-the general fumbled in his uniform. "... i'm out ... colonel?"
-"i'll send out for some, sir."
-"try in my handbag," julia said. "i think there's some there."
-the general went to the handbag. he opened it. he removed the birth certificates and found the cigarettes.
-dr. norvel took one from him and lit it. "thanks."
-"what's these?" the general asked.
-"birth certificates," julia said.
-"of some of the mutants," julia said. "i kept them, kept them to establish paternity. when they were all captured."
-the general tossed them on the table. "it doesn't look like we'll need them.... well, let's get that second machine going."
-technicians were already stripping out burned wiring. one of them was scribbling a list of replacement parts on a loose sheet of paper.
-"i better see how many we've captured, so far," the general said. "how long it will take to get them all."
-the colonel stood respectfully aside, and the general walked heavily to the office.
-the laboratory was silent. after they heard him speak into the telephone, the technicians resumed conversation, hushed and hopeful, and nervous.
-the general listened to the staff report from the pentagon.
-the overall situation was confused. the army had no idea of how many mutants were still at large. some had gone into hiding, and dressed as earthlings, they were impossible to identify by appearance.
-a group of civilians had reported one mutant in custody. they had been told to knock him unconscious and keep him unconscious until further word.
-since all radio and television transmitters were in use, it was impossible to solicit aid from the great body of civilians--most of whom, indeed, knew nothing as yet of the invasion; most of whom were jamming switchboards with angry calls aimed at determining why their television sets weren't working. the official explanation, issued by the stations themselves, was sunspots.
-the general listened quietly.
-"break it to the press," he said at last. "ask that all civilians cooperate."
-the pentagon resumed the report.
-it was estimated that more than eight hundred saucers had already landed across the planet. there was only a little information so far from foreign countries, all of whom had been alerted. russia had reported nineteen mutants captured. england reported two. france--
-"thanks," the general said.
-the elder detected the interference when a control needle on the frequency transmitter began to jump erratically. instantly he checked the displacement coupling. there was nothing wrong with it. the frequency was being properly transmitted.
-then, leadenly, he moved one tentacle.
-circuits opened up; the elder gave them his knowledge.
-they had no difficulty in deducing the general picture of what was happening on earth.
-there was a hysterical babble of thought throughout the space station.
-forential raced down the ladder like a tumbling spider. he threw himself along the second level corridor. he stopped, gasping, before the frequency transmitter governing his charges.
-it still functioned perfectly.
-the other aliens fled aimlessly through corridors, huddled in dark corners; they whimpered and moaned and waved their tentacles in terror.
-lycan embraced the elder for protection. trembling, he looked up into the elder's contorted face. they both sobbed dryly.
-forential could not think. he was paralyzed.
-it was almost half an hour before they quieted.
-great hopeless whimpers echoed in their minds.
-there was a rising babble of protest.
-forential dropped down the ladder to the rim level. he was chattering in nervous excitement.
-gasping painfully he selected five of his best mutants.
-"come!" he cried. "i will explain as we go. traitors on earth.... walt is a traitor.... hurry!"
-"i'll come too," calvin cried eagerly. "i'll come too!"
-"you stay here!" forential ordered.
-shortly five new saucer ships left the space station.
-the five saucers, in v-formation, careened into the atmosphere. they circled the planet, slowing. the leader peered at a floating needle in a spherical container of liquid. the needle vibrated in answer to the beam of interference it was attuned to. the silver tip wobbled back and forth across the target.
-the ships leveled out over the rocky mountains. losing altitude, they hurtled on a sloping trajectory toward washington.
-across the great plains. across the turgid, swollen mississippi river. across the appalachians, worn and old.
-they slowed. the controls became more sluggish.
-they hovered over washington. the needle dipped.
-below, white and massive with afternoon sunlight, the washington monument, the tallest piece of masonry on the planet, loomed up between the ellipse and the tidal basin, towering 555 feet into the air: standing rooted and solid and defiant.
-walt felt them.
-"mutants from my compartment!" he cried.
-instantly all activity in the laboratory ceased. it resumed almost immediately, pointless and frantic, now.
-"they've been sent to destroy our signal generator," dr. norvel said matter of factly.
-technicians glanced anxiously at the suddenly unsubstantial walls. there was no protection. they were exposed as completely as if they were alone on a flat, barren tennis court of infinite dimensions.
-"cut off the transmitter!" the general ordered. "find walt's interference frequency!"
-"... too late," julia said. "we haven't time."
-"we could be lucky!" the general insisted. "pick a frequency range. maybe we can hit the right one. hurry up, for christ's sake; you, there--!"
-"but we can't cut the transmitter off," dr. norvel pleaded. "it would release the other mutants. give them even five minutes...."
-"i can hold them off for awhile," walt said. "i can shield myself from the radiations of the focus rod. all the mutants have to be able to. i think i can shield the building against them; i think i have the advantage of knowing more than they do. i don't know how long i can hold such an extended shield--until they come in after me, i guess."
-"we'll stop them," the general said. "we'll stop them at the door."
-"you can't," julia said. she was slowly rousing from her stupor. "they can displace."
-"i can't hold off five of them long," walt said. "not and hold the shield."
-"it would be a greater risk, cutting off julia's frequency, searching for walt's."
-"but julia could help him then!" the general said.
-"no, because then those on her frequency would come after us. there's more of them." dr. norvel pressed her forehead wearily.
-"we've got to do something."
-walt's voice cut through the confused babble. "i'm trying to reason with them."
-"... he hears their thoughts," julia whispered.
-activity ceased. breathing seemed to cease.
-walt stood erect, motionless, grim. his body was taut. his eyes were bright with tension.
-your focus rods can't penetrate! he called to them.
-he braced the shielding against another assault. it came and passed. i can hold the shielding as long as you can!
-we'll come in and kill you. there's five of us.
-friends, it's me. walt.
-no! no, i'm not!
-let me--listen! forential lied! i, i can prove it! ... how?
-hell with him!
-no, wait! one of the five insisted sharply. walt didn't catch who.
-he could hear them in conference.
-then one blocked out the whole conversation and held it blocked out. a moment later, the block faltered and faded. walt felt uneasy. what had they said? some trick?
-we do know walt, after all. we may as well listen.
-he's a traitor.
-wait. if he has proof--!
-he couldn't have: it's lyrian lies!
-give me a chance! walt pleaded. i know you all. give me a chance. what can you lose?
-give me a chance!
-let's hear him.
-we owe him that.
-walt was sweating now. his hands were clenched into fists. he was almost certain that the argument was for his benefit: to make their seeming acquiescence less suspicious.
-i'm coming out. one of you come to me.
-walt let out his breath. "there's a chance--" he went to the table and scooped up the birth certificates. "i hope one of these fits."
-"walt!" julia cried. "if it doesn't!"
-"... they were my friends," he said. "i was raised with them. maybe they'll believe me anyway. bob and jim and dave and reg and willy...." walt shrugged.
-he crossed to the doorway. he left the laboratory.
-just outside he waited. one of the five saucer ships approached. he could see julia's face at the window. it was drawn and pathetic. he wanted to go back and comfort her and tell her everything was going to be all right.
-how sweet she was! now that she was no longer infinitely wise and superior, now that she was dependent and helpless: how sweet she was!
-he wanted to protect her. his heart swelled with sadness and with joy.
-the saucer ship hovered. he motioned it closer. it drew in toward him like a nervous colt.
-he motioned it closer.
-at last, just in front of him, it jolted down.
-willy got out.
-walt watched as the horror of openness flickered across his face.
-you'll get used to it, walt thought. you'll like it, when you get used to it.
-caution counseled refusal. but walt approached the entrance. his increased knowledge made him confident. he had learned much--just in the last day. he was more than a match for a single mutant from the space station. if he had known as much last monday as he knew now, julia would never have escaped. he entered.
-willy pulled the door closed. he was breathing heavily.
-take off your shoes! walt commanded. walt knew willy was going to try to start the ship, try to move it away so that walt's shield would no longer cover the laboratory. once that happened, the mutants on the outside could blast the laboratory in a second.
-slowly, willy was moving the starting lever by teleportation. walt located the focus rod.
-take your shoes off!
-suspiciously willy glanced back mentally at the other saucer ships a short distance behind. willy hesitated. then he sat down and removed his shoes. he watched walt closely. the starting lever continued to inch into position.
-walt knew willy wouldn't risk a sudden motion.
-but walt was wrong. as he bent down, the lever snapped in place. the saucer shuddered.
-and walt, using the focus rod for power, fuzed the control panel in an instant beyond all use. before the other mutants could strike, his extended shielding was back around himself and the laboratory.
-you're going to listen, walt told him calmly. all of you. you're an earthling. every one of you. you were born here of earth parents.
-it's true. you shut up!
-willy waited, uncertain. the others were equally uncertain. they had not been prepared for a failure in their initial plan.
-i have proof. right here. walt thought all the details to the mutants as rapidly and as sincerely as he could. his face was bloodless. his hand was shaking. the strain of holding the shielding was beginning to tell on him.
-only two birth certificates were left. i've got to make them see that forential had lied to them! he thought.
-the mutants were thinking the situation over in privacy, agreeing on a new course of action.
-and there it was!
-wonder of wonders, the last birth certificate was willy's!
-see! see! walt thought excitedly. this proves what i was telling you! look! all of you! they're the same!
-it proves nothing, bob thought....
-is that the best you have to offer? one of them sneered.
-let's kill him! get it over with!
-how could i fake it? walt demanded. he realized now what a pathetic hope it had been. he needed time; given that, the birth certificates would be very helpful in convincing them. but without time, he couldn't give them all the background they needed. and they weren't going to give him time.
-you can't hold us all off, walt. we're going to kill you.
-walt saw them--saw them mentally--landing their four ships. in a few minutes they would be upon him.
-he began to tremble in impotent rage. he backed toward the door to escape from the confining walls. he tried to make his shielding even stronger against their focus rods.
-julia, waiting in the laboratory, heard her heart beating loudly and rapidly. the one saucer had landed. walt had boarded it. the four were drifting, waiting. there was a hum from the signal generator behind her. let him be all right, let him beat them off! she prayed.
-what's happening? how can i help?
-... perhaps because her mind was so fatigued that it was almost functioning on the automatic level of sleep, she realized at last why the two compartments in the space station had been kept separate. after the second wave of mutants destroyed the first--under the impression they were the earth survivors of a war--the aliens would silence the second frequency transmitter. earth would be populated by less than thirty male mutants. the race of man would not breed back. in a few years, the planet would be ready for its conquerors.
-i wish i could tell walt that, she thought. maybe it would be of some help to him.
-the four saucers landed.
-she bent forward tensely.
-has he convinced them? are they coming out to surrender?
-walt's anger rose to an even greater fury. he knew how julia had felt as a child: the hot, impotent flare of rage; the senseless desire to throw something; to smash and destroy something; to disprove helplessness by some savage action.
-the mutants were closer; terror was dying out of their eyes. their lips were relaxing. their bodies were loosening to their wills.
-we're going to kill you, walt: with our hands.
-walt was breathing in shallow gasps. they would rush him in a minute. willy, out of the saucer ship now, crouched only yards away, ready to spring. he feinted, and walt flinched instinctively.
-you can't displace from five of us!
-not and hold the shielding, traitor!
-general tibbets, in the doorway behind walt, began firing at the mutants with a pistol.
-bob clutched at his chest and staggered. in an instant, the others were displaced and invulnerable.
-reg went to his wounded companion, held him in displacement, healed him rapidly.
-bob coughed and shook his head and scrambled to his feet. he screamed his hate at the general.
-the pistol clicked on an empty chamber.
-walt retreated several steps.
-... green wartle rivers of lyria; birdsong, there, in a skybranch, partly pretty orange and soft like fur pictures....
-he was in calvin's mind!
-calvin was sitting in the games space, on the floor, rolling the metal practice ball back and forth before him between his hairy hands. forential was speaking. the confining walls of the space station were so comfortingly solid....
-and walt had a fix on it! knew its position, its direction, its speed! he had an anchor!
-where is something? he thought wildly. quick! a rock! throw a rock! something big: to throw: quick! huge, heavy--
-forgotten, the advancing mutants. with every unit and sub unit and compartment and section of his mind, pouring out every available degree of telepathic power, dropping the shielding, concentrating above everything else, he seized the washington monument. it shook; it wobbled unsteadily; it wrenched free.
-calvin, delighted, was helping him.
-walt! he cried. we'll play games! we'll throw it!
-it was off the ground. it poised uncertainly. it moved upward. slowly at first, like a rocket: faster and faster, dwindling from earth, becoming a vanishing pinpoint like a black, daylight star.
-calvin pulled it in with childish joy. it's big! he cried proudly.
-it was aimed on target.
-calvin was no longer in walt's mind.
-with a last, exhausting burst of thought, he increased its already terrific speed. the laboratory still stood. the mutants had not realized his shielding was down. he restored it, weakened and quivering.
-and they were upon him. he fought them off with his fists and elbows. he dared not displace, lest the shielding should crumble entirely. a few minutes more; if i can just gain a few minutes more, he thought.
-he was down. he jerked his head out of the way of a foot. he caught a leg and twisted.
-fingers tore at his throat. he caught someone with a savage and satisfying kick.
-out in space, beyond the orbit of the moon, fierut detected the washington monument on his warning device. it was coming too fast to deflect. he tried.
-a heartbeat later, it ripped into the steel of the space station. it crumbled and shattered and sprayed marble, and huge fragments erupted from the opposite side. the space station became visible. there was a great, ragged, tunneling hole from rim to rim. escaping air spewed wreckage into space. parts of demolished machinery whirled away. in a yet-sealed compartment, a power system exploded with a great, blinding, soundless flash. chunks of steel debris, vast shrapnel, blossomed in all directions.
-the space station, its orbit altered, twisted away, a gutted, lifeless derelict.
-he saw general tibbets slam a pistol butt against willy's suddenly unprotected skull.
-throughout the room there were shouts and laughter and cries of victory. one of the technicians--one who had worked hardest over it--was joyfully smashing the second signal generator.
-weary and proud, julia straightened up from walt.
-"i've--we've both--got to get some rest," she said. "there'll be the press, the tv, the radio.... i can't face them. i'm too tired.... i must look like something the cat dragged in...."
-walt, heavy lidded and exhausted, looked up at her. he smiled leadenly. "look fine, julia." his voice was thick and indistinct because of the swelling of his tongue.
-she sure ran me around, he thought. but she can't now. she's not superior to me any more. i'll be able to hold my own. she's, she's so helpless, so pliant. that's the way i like her. poor tired girl!
-we'll travel, he thought. i want to see all of the planet. all the sights, all the cities. i want to live in the bustle of its life, in the hurry of its crowds. i want to travel and learn all the different smells and experience all the different places, and i want to celebrate its richness and its newness; i want to devour it; i want to--
-she'll be there; i want to feel her by my side: sweet julia, so compliant, waiting my decisions and anticipating my wishes. i want to see her laugh. and i want ... i want....
-i'll have to ask her about things like that.
-... i'm no longer so innocent, but i'm not yet so wise. i have grown and matured marvelously, and i will further: i know what i want. and she'll be there to, to help me see and do and....
-he felt a great warm glow of bursting and bubbling emotions.
-"i'm going to sleep twenty-four hours," julia said. "just as soon as i can get in bed."
-"better leave before the fourth estate gets here," the general said. "i'll have the staff car drive you back to the hotel."
-"don't tell anybody we're there."
-the general nodded. he took julia's arm. "i'll walk you outside." he sent an orderly for the car.
-"when you're rested--" he let walt and julia go through the door in front of him--"when you're rested, we'll want to see both of you again. you said something, julia, about making us all like you were: with all those unusual abilities?"
-"later. please, later. i'm just too tired to think." she held onto walt's arm possessively.
-but do, she wondered, do i remember enough details to enable a surgeon to install a bridge?
-a welter of other thoughts and impressions seethed to the surface of her leaden brain: the international situation ... if nothing changes ... for the last few years, there is an equilibrium ... working for genuine peace.... war is farther off every year.... but to interfere? when people can still be convinced of so many, so many falsehoods? patterns of hatred (like of superstition), are they (aren't they: who can say? would the bridge not join but divide, upset the equilibrium?) are the patterns of hatred too deep, and too dangerous, and too entrenched in our generation?
-she was tired; but out of the exhaustion, the weariness, the fatigue, she suddenly realized with startling clarity, like the chime of a great, flawless bell, ringing hope and promise: that it will come; the next development of man will come, lies waiting in the future (near or far) to be born, to be born: will come. when mankind is ready, it will come: will come.
-a wave of exultation filled her. oh, be ready soon! she cried. be ready soon!
-"i, i don't think i can, can be of any help on that, general," she said.
-"after you get some rest--"
-"no," she said. did she remember enough to guide a surgeon? "no, i'm afraid i've forgotten too thoroughly."
-the general helped them into the car.
-she snuggled over against walt. she didn't want to think at all. she dreaded the next few days. she wished they were over.
-she pulled walt's head down and kissed his swollen lips. he tried to draw back in surprise. she held on. the car began to move. he resisted and then relaxed and then cooperated. she was deliriously in love with him.
-drifting to sleep she thought: after next week, we'll be able to get away and go home. we'll settle down right away. we'll buy the castle place; he can fix it up and work around the yard in the evenings, and i'll put pink and white curtains in the kitchen. and there's beck's hardware store. i'll have to see about making the down payment on it the first day we get back.
-there will be saturday teas. walt will look stunningly handsome in a double breasted suit in church on sunday....
-... movies twice a week ... dancing once a month.... i'll let him go moose hunting in canada every single year if he wants to.
-she snuggled closer.
-he's so innocent, she thought. he'll have to be educated (not so much as the other mutants, because he's already learned a little): but not more than it is good a husband should be.
-my, she thought, feeling his arms around her. my, he has strong muscles.
-but he won't be any trouble. he'll handle like a lamb. i can manage him.
-the secret of the ninth planet
-a science fiction novel
-by donald a. wollheim
-jacket design by james heugh
-cecile matschat, editor carl carmer, consulting editor
-the john c. winston company philadelphia toronto
-copyright, 1959 by donald a. wollheim
-manufactured in the united states of america
-for-- three denizens of this minor planet: eleanor, bill, and of course janet.
-the mysterious ninth world
-1. special delivery--by guided missile
-2. the valley of stolen sunlight
-4. the hidden skyport
-5. up the rope of space
-6. sunward ho!
-7. hot spot on mercury
-8. the veil of venus
-9. the ocean primeval
-10. the dying planet
-11. martians don't care
-12. at rope's end
-13. the pole of callisto
-14. rockets away!
-15. ice cold on oberon
-16. in orbit around pluto
-17. stronghold of the lost planet
-18. sacrifice on the sacred moon
-19. the museum of galactic life
-about the author
-the mysterious ninth world
-while the circumnavigation of the solar system seems farfetched, it may not be once the problem of effective anti-gravitational control is solved. in this book i have assumed that the many researchers now actually at work on this problem will achieve such a result in the next decade. it is not at all impossible that they may--for we all know that the more minds that work at a problem, the sooner it will be solved. the discovery of a means of negating, reversing or otherwise utilizing the immense force of gravitation for space flight purposes is now thought to be within the bounds of probability. it should occur some time within the next hundred years, possibly in even the short period i assume here.
-once solved, the severe handicaps imposed on space exploration by the weight and chemical limitations of rockets would no longer apply. the whole timetable of our conquest of the planets in our solar system would be tremendously speeded up, from hot mercury all the way out to frigid pluto.
-in describing the visits of the spaceship magellan to the planets, i have endeavored to adhere to known facts and the more reasonable assumptions about each of these worlds. the planet pluto, however, deserves further comment, occupying as it does both an important role in this adventure and a unique one in actual astronomical lore.
-back at the dawn of this century, many astronomers, and notably dr. percival lowell, studied certain irregularities in the orbit and motion of neptune, at that time believed to be the outermost planet. they decided that these eccentricities (or perturbations, as they are called) could only be caused by the presence of another, yet undiscovered planet beyond neptune.
-following this line of research, a young astronomer, dr. clyde tombaugh, working at lowell's own observatory, was able to announce on march 13, 1930, that he had finally found this ninth world, which he named pluto.
-in the years that have followed, pluto has proven to be a truly puzzling planet. unlike its neighbors from jupiter outward, it is not a giant world, light and gaseous in nature. instead, it belongs physically to the small, dense inner planets of which earth is one.
-the latest viewpoint on this planet, whose size and weight seem quite like those of earth, is that it may not be a true child of the sun, but an outsider captured as it roamed the trackless realms of galactic space. its orbit is highly eccentric and rather lopsided, taking it as far away from the sun as four and a half billion miles and as close to the sun as two and three-quarter billion miles, thereby cutting inside the orbit of neptune itself. in fact, during the period from 1969 to 2009 (covering most of the lifetimes of the younger readers of this book) pluto will not be the ninth planet, but the eighth, for it will be at its closest in those years. huge neptune will thus regain temporarily the title of being the sun's farthest outpost!
-this orbital eccentricity has lead some astronomers to speculate on the possibility that pluto may once have been briefly held as a satellite of neptune. and following that line of thought, the possibility also has been suggested that neptune's larger moon, triton, may once have been a companion of pluto which failed to break away from neptune's grip!
-i think that the first men to land on pluto are going to make some very astonishing discoveries. but i am also sure that they will never go there in rockets. they will have to make the immense trip by some more powerful means--like the anti-gravitational drive.
-the secret of the ninth planet
-chapter 1. special delivery--by guided missile
-on the morning that the theft of the solar system's sunlight began, burl denning woke up in his sleeping bag in the andes, feeling again the exhilaration of the keen, rarefied, mountain air. he glanced at the still sleeping forms of his father and the other members of the denning expedition, and sat up, enjoying the first rays of the early morning.
-the llamas were already awake, moving restlessly back and forth on their padded feet, waiting for their tender to arise and unleash them. the mules were standing patiently as ever, staring quietly into the distant misty panorama of the mountains.
-it was, thought burl, a dim day, but this he supposed was due to the earliness of the morning. as the sun rose, it would rapidly bring the temperatures up, and its unshielded rays would force them to cover up as they climbed along the high mountain passes.
-the sky was cloudless as usual. burl assumed that the dimness was due to volcanic dust, or some unseen high cloud far away. and, indeed, as the expedition came to life, and the day began in earnest, nobody paid any attention to the fact that the sun was not quite so warm as it should have been.
-the denning expedition, questing among the untracked and forgotten byways of the lost inca ruins in the vast, jagged mountains of inland peru, was not alone in failing to notice the subtle channeling away of the sun's warmth and brilliance. they were, in this respect, one with virtually the entire population of earth.
-in new york, in san francisco, in philadelphia and kansas city, people going about their day's chores simply assumed that there must be clouds somewhere--the temperature only slightly less than normal for a july day. a few men shaded their eyes and looked about, noticing that the heat was not so intense--and thought it a blessing.
-in some places in europe, there were clouds and a little rain, and the dimness was ascribed to this. it was raining in much of asia, and there were scattered afternoon showers throughout latin america, which were standard for the season. there was a flurry of snow in melbourne and a cold blow in santiago de chile.
-the men in the weather bureaus noted on their day's charts that temperatures were a few degrees lower than had been predicted, but that was nothing unusual. weather was still not entirely predictable, even with the advances of meteorology that were to be expected of the latter years of the twentieth century.
-the world was reading about other things than the vagaries of the weather. in the united states, baseball occupied the headlines, and the nonathletic-minded could find some speculative interest in the completion of another manned space platform racing along in its eternal orbit twelve thousand miles away from earth's surface. the u.s. moon base in the center of the crater ptolemaeus had described the appearance of this platform in an interesting radio dispatch which appeared on the first pages of most newspapers. the third prober rocket sent to venus had been unreported for the tenth day after penetrating the clouds that hid that planet's surface from human eyes. it was, like its two predecessors, a minimum-sized, unmanned instrument device designed to penetrate the clouds and radio back data on the nature of the venusian atmosphere and the surface. but after its first report, nothing more had been heard.
-some discussion was going on in science circles about what had happened. speculation centered on the possible success of other types of prober rockets, but it was universally agreed that the time had not come when a manned rocket could safely undertake the difficult trip to venus and return.
-the years of space flight since the orbiting of sputnik i back in 1957 had produced many fascinating results, but they had also brought a realization of the many problems that surrounded the use of rockets for space flight. it was generally believed that no one should risk a manned flight until absolutely everything possible that could be learned by robot and radio-controlled missiles had been learned. it now looked as if venus and mars trips were still a dozen years away.
-burl denning was keenly interested in all of this. as a senior in high school, the newly expanding frontiers of the universe represented something special to his generation. it would be men of his own age who would eventually man those first full-scale expeditions to neighbor worlds. by the time he was out of college, with an engineering degree, he might himself hope to be among those adventurers of space.
-burl was torn between two interests. archaeology was both a profession and a hobby in the denning family. his grandfather had been among the first to explore the jungle ruins of indochina. his father, although a businessman and industrial engineer, made annual vacation pilgrimages to the ruins of the old indian civilizations of the americas. burl had been with him once before, when they had trekked through the chicle forests of guatemala in search of a lost mayan city. and now they were again on a quest, this time for the long-forgotten treasure of the incas.
-burl was thoroughly familiar with the techniques of tracking down the ancient records of mankind. he got along well with natives and primitive people; he knew the arts of wilderness survival; he knew the delicate techniques of sifting sand and dirt to turn up those priceless bits of pottery and chipped stone that could supply pages of the forgotten epics of human history.
-however, later in the day it seemed as if their particular camp had petered out. there were ruins there--a broken-down wall, a dry well and a bit of eroded bas-relief lying on its side. burl's father looked at him thoughtfully. the tall, sandy-haired youth was sitting astraddle a pile of dust, methodically sifting it through a wide-mesh strainer. a large pile of sifted sand gave evidence of the length of his efforts, and one broken bit of clay was the only result he had obtained.
-two of the indian guides sat patiently in the shade, watching them. one was digging slowly, turning up more dirt to be sifted.
-"i think we've had enough here," said the elder denning. "burl, you can knock off. tomorrow we'll pull up stakes and see what is in the next valley. we'll try to follow that old inca road over the mountains. i don't believe anyone has ever penetrated there--and the airplane surveys indicated some evidence of human dwellings."
-burl nodded, and set the sifter down. he'd learned to curb his natural energies for the exacting tasks required of serious scientific research. "okay," he said, "i was hoping you'd move on soon, dad. this looked like a washout from the first. i'd say this place was sacked and ruined even before the incas fell."
-the older man nodded. "i suppose so. well, let's wash up and see what's for supper."
-they went down to the icy mountain stream to wash the dirt from their hands. "it's been a nice day," burl commented. "in spite of the sun being out steadily, it wasn't hot at all. cooler than yesterday."
-mark denning looked up at the sky and the sun lowering toward the horizon. "there must have been some volcanic dust in the heavens," he said. "the sun's been a bit dimmed, have you noticed?"
-burl squinted his eyes against the glare. "wasn't any eruption around here. maybe in ecuador?"
-his father shrugged. "could have been thousands of miles away," was his slow reply. "volcanic dust travels around the world, just as radioactive dust permeated the atmosphere from atomic testings. they say that the dust from the great krakatoa explosion remained in the atmosphere for three years before the last of it settled."
-when they had finished supper and the sun was casting its last red rays over the rapidly purpling landscape, burl got out the expedition radio, set up its antenna, plugged in its compact atomic battery, and tried to get the news from lima. all he got was static.
-he fiddled with the dials for a long time, twisting the antenna, ranging the wavelengths, but there was static everywhere. "strange," he said to his father, "something's disturbed reception completely."
-pedro gonzales, their official peruvian guide, leaned over. "could be the battery she is broken, eh?"
-burl shook his head. "not this battery," he said. "it's a brand-new one, a real keen development. and i already checked the wiring. it's some sort of disturbance that's blocking reception. maybe we're in a dead zone or something."
-"wasn't dead yesterday," said his father. "maybe that eruption was radioactive."
-burl looked up sharply. "i'll check the geiger counters, dad. something's blocking reception, something strong and powerful to interfere with this set." but when he returned, he had to admit he had found nothing.
-when the sun went down, they retired, for the temperature drops swiftly in the high, thin air of the andes.
-in the rest of the world people watched their color-vision shows without interruption. reception was good with the moon base, the space platforms had no difficulty making reports, and the radio news beamed out as usual. in lima, there was a little static, and direct transmission with brazil seemed partially disrupted, but that was all.
-in the following five days, the denning expedition had managed the difficult climb over the next range of mountains and had come down in the high plateau valley between. in this same period, the world began to realize that the dimness of the sky was not a temporary phenomenon.
-weather stations noted that the past few days had all been several degrees under the average. reports had come in that farmers were querying the unusual drop in the temperatures at night. and astronomers, measuring the surface heat of the sun, came up with strange discrepancies from previous data.
-one astronomer communicated with another, and a general exchange of advice began. in a short while, a communication was laid on the desk of the president of the united states, who scanned it and had it immediately transmitted to the secretary general of the united nations. the secretary general circulated the report among the scientific bureaus of all member nations, and this led in turn to a meeting of the security council. this meeting was held in quiet, without benefit of newspaper reporters or audience.
-there was no longer any doubt. the radiation of the sun reaching the face of the earth had decreased. the facts were indisputable. where a day should have registered, in some places, at least 90° in the sun, a reading of only 84° was noted. measurements definitely showed that the face of the sun visible to man on earth had dimmed by just that margin.
-this might not prove serious at first, but as the scientists called in by the security council pointed out, it promised terrible things as the year went on. a difference of five or ten degrees all over the earth could mean the ruin of certain crops, it could mean an increase in snowfall and frost that could very rapidly destroy the economies and habitability of many places on the earth's teeming surface.
-"but what," asked the chairman of the council, "is causing this decrease in solar energy?"
-this the astronomers could not answer. but they pointed to one factor. the reports from the u.s. moon base did not agree with the observations from earth. moon instruments claimed no decrease whatsoever in the amount of sunlight reaching the arid, airless surface of the earth's only satellite.
-the cause was somewhere on earth. and the security council requested the careful scanning of the earth from space platforms and the moon to determine the center of the trouble.
-burl denning had not found the next valley of much interest, either. evidence of an inca road over the mountain had petered out. there were signs there had been human dwellings, but they were not inca--just reminders of the onetime passage of an unknown band of primitives who had grazed their sheep, built temporary tents, and pulled up stakes perhaps a hundred years before.
-so again at night, burl, his father, and gonzales took counsel. they were debating which way to proceed next; mark denning reasoning that they should go further inland, following tales natives had told; gonzales urging that they retrack their path and proceed northward toward the regions where inca ruins abounded.
-for the past week burl had not been able to get radio reception. the static had increased as they had gone eastward over the mountain, but not a word of news or any human voice came through. the moon was rising on the horizon as burl sat playing with the antenna. finally he gave up and switched it off.
-the discussion had died away and the three men were quiet. the indian guides had retired to their own campfire, and one of them had taken out his pipes and was blowing a soft, plaintive tune.
-burl stared at the full moon in silence, wondering if he would ever have a chance to walk its surface, or if his own future was to lie in probing mankind's past rather than surveying the grounds of his future. as he watched, he thought he saw a faint light among the brightening stars where none had been before.
-he squinted, and, sure enough, he saw that one tiny white light was swinging more and more toward the center of the sky. he pointed it out to his father and gonzales. "too fast to be a celestial object," he said. "is it one of the space platforms or a sputnik?"
-the two men gazed at it in curiosity. suddenly it seemed to grow brighter and sharper and to twist toward them in its path.
-"look!" gasped burl, but the others were already on their feet.
-the light plunged down. there was a sudden outburst of yellow flame that caused the three to duck instinctively, and brought the indians to their feet with yells. the glare brightened until they could see that something was just above them. the fire vanished as swiftly as it came, but a white spot of light remained.
-"it's a parachute!" burl shouted. "it's a rocket or something, braking to a stop above us, and coming down by parachute!"
-in the pale light of the full moon they saw that something metallic and glistening hung from the white mushroom of a parachute. there was a clanging sound as it hit the rocky earth with a soft, sighing whoosh. the cloth of the parachute settled.
-they ran across the dry stone of the valley floor, but burl's long, athletic legs outdistanced the others. he reached it first.
-it was a cylinder of metal, about three feet long and a foot in diameter.
-"it's the nose of a message missile--dropped from a guided missile," burl announced. "and--look!" he dramatically pointed the beam of his flashlight upon its side.
-there, written in black, heat-resistant paint, were the words: to the denning andes expedition, from u.s. air force base, california region. by guided missile post by moon base control, ptolomaeus crater. official. open without delay.
-chapter 2. the valley of stolen sunlight
-for a moment all three were silent with amazement. "from california--and moon base--for us?" gasped burl, finally. "but why? what can they want of us?"
-his father frowned. "only way to find out is to open it and see." he squatted down to study the cylinder closer. burl pointed a finger at the nose.
-"looks like a crack there. maybe it unscrews. let's lift it."
-burl took it out, and unfolded it with unsteady hands. his father read over his shoulder.
-gonzales poked at the empty cylinder, impatiently. finally, he burst out, "what does it say? what do they want?"
-burl turned to him. "it's unbelievable! it's--it's just so darned surprising! the dimness of the days, the drop in temperature--it wasn't just around here! it was all over the world!"
-quickly, he went on to tell the peruvian what they had just learned. the communication was from the u.s. space commission and it had been directed on its flight from california by the moon base, because only from the satellite could the exact location of the dennings be spotted. it seemed that the dennings were the only scientifically trained personnel close to the point on earth where the disturbance originated. this also accounted for the blanketing of radio waves in their vicinity. several airplanes had tried to locate them, but strange disturbances in the ether and atmosphere had made it impossible to establish contact. also, the back reaches of the andes were poorly mapped and treacherous in air currents, even in normal times.
-"during the last week, a certain fraction of the sun's light and energy reaching the earth has been diverted. it has been bent or focused in much the same way that a lens bends light rays--and the point to which it has been directed is a spot only seven miles from here! over that last mountain range," said burl, pointing.
-gonzales followed his finger. "just over the mountains lies the source of the trouble," said burl excitedly. "and we're the nearest to it. they want us to go over there, see what it is, stop it, or report back. it took the telescopes in moon base to locate us and to track the center of the trouble!"
-mark denning pursed his lips. "we'll have to start tomorrow, and we'll have to go fast. a loss of light and heat, however slight, could have very serious effects on life if continued too long. we can make it by tomorrow night, if we start early and leave the indians and pack animals behind."
-the other two nodded. mark looked at them in the half-light of the moon. "you'll have to stay with the equipment, pedro, otherwise the indians might abandon it. burl and i will start out at dawn."
-the trek over the mountains was a hard one, the path narrow, steep, sometimes nonexistent. there were few signs of indians or animals, and it was plain that few ever traveled over this range. the air was cold and thin, vegetation sparse and hardy. all around them was the cold blue of the sky--a shade darker than usual--and the gaunt peaks of ancient mountains. the inca kings may have claimed the land here, but even their hardy legions had never conquered these lonely and hostile sky domains.
-as they looked down, the air seemed to shimmer and vibrate. burl rubbed his eyes. "it hurts," he said.
-his father squinted. "there's a powerful vibrational effect. it may be a very dangerous concentration of the invisible rays of the sun as well as of light."
-once burl had gotten used to the odd visual effect, which was like gazing into the twisting heat rays rising from an overheated oven, he saw that there was a small flat region between the mountains. and in the center of this valley was a large black structure of some sort. the twisting effect of the light around it made it impossible to tell more.
-"that's it," said burl. his father nodded, shifted the pack to ease his shoulders, unstrapped the hunting rifle slung over his back, and carefully checked its loads.
-burl saw what his father was doing and suddenly understood the danger. what could be doing a thing like this? what but something not of this earth? something of distant space, of a science beyond that of man--and unfriendly besides. now, for the first time, burl realized what he had not had time to before--this was an enemy he and his father were facing--an enemy of all mankind--and utterly unknown.
-he gulped, gripped his rifle, and followed his father down the sliding rocky trail.
-as they drew nearer the base of the mountain, the effects of the strange vibrations grew more pronounced. burl avoided looking directly ahead, keeping his eyes on the ground before his feet, yet even so, he could not help noticing how the stones around them seemed to shimmer in the invisible waves. from the base of the valley the sky now seemed streaked with black and gray rings, as if they were reaching the center of some atmospheric whirlpool. out of the mountains, after hours of arduous scrambling, they started across the barren rocky plain.
-before them rose a vast circular structure several stories high, ominously black and without any sign of windows or doors. above the building protruded two great projections ending in huge, shining discs. one of the monstrous cuplike discs was facing the sun, the other pointed in the opposite direction.
-as the two men came nearer and nearer, the strangeness in the air increased. they felt they were being penetrated through and through with invisible lances, with tiny prickles of heat. "radiation?" queried burl softly, afraid of the answer. his father trudged grimly on for a moment, and then put down his pack. he took out a geiger counter and activated it.
-he shook his head. "no radioactivity," he said. "whatever this is, it isn't that."
-they reached the wall of the building. oddly, here they seemed sheltered from the unusual vibrations. burl realized that the source was above them, probably the two mighty discs raised high in the sky.
-the dennings surveyed the building, but found no entrance. it must have been a quarter of a mile around its walls, but there was no sign of a door or entry. the wall was of a rocklike substance, but it was not like any rock or plastic burl had ever seen.
-"we've got to get in," said burl as they returned to the starting point, "but how?"
-his father smiled. "this way." he opened his pack and took two cans of blasting powder from it. "i thought these would come in handy. lucky we had some left over from the blasting we did last week."
-he set both cans at the base of the high wall, wired them together, and ran the wire as far as it reached. when the two men were a safe distance away, mark sparked off the explosive.
-there was a thunderous roar: rocks and dirt showered around them, and bits of black powdery stuff. when the smoke cleared, burl and his father leaped to their feet, rifles in hand.
-there was a crack in the side of the wall where the explosive had gone off. and the rip was large enough to get through!
-without a word, they charged across the ground, still smoking from the concussion, and squeezed through the mysterious walls of the enigmatic building.
-the walls were thin, thin but hard, as befit masters of atomic engineering. inside, they found a roomless building--one single chamber within the frame of the outer walls.
-a dim, bluish light emanated from the curving ceiling. on the uncleared rocky ground which was the floor of the building were a number of huge machines.
-they were spherical glassy inventions, many times the height of a man, connected by strings of thick metal bars and rows of smaller globes, none of which was familiar. there was a steady humming noise, and above, the two giant, metal masts penetrating the ceiling rotated slowly. doubtless, the great sun-trapping discs were affixed to the top of these masts.
-there was no living thing in sight.
-burl and his father stood silently, half crouched, with rifles at the ready, but nothing moved to challenge them. there was only the humming of the sun transmitters.
-it gradually became evident that mark was right. everything was automatic. whoever had built this structure to divert the rays of the sun had simply set it down, put it in motion, and left. there was no evidence of any provisions for a garrison or a director.
-they studied the machines but could make nothing of them. they found what looked like controls, but although they pushed and pulled the levers and knobs, the humming did not cease. it seemed as if the controls were either dummies or had to be specially motivated.
-"what do we do now?" asked burl, after they had tried pulling all the levers on one particular switchboard without any results. "do you have enough powder left to blow up the machinery?"
-his father shook his head. "i had only those two cans with me. we could try shooting into the machinery." leveling his rifle, he fired at a glassy globe perched upon the central sphere. the bullet pinged off it, and they saw that it had failed even to dent the glistening surface.
-"it won't work," said the elder denning, after several more shots had produced the same result and the concussion reverberating from the enclosed walls had nearly deafened them.
-they continued to hunt for a clue, but found none. dejected, burl kicked a loose pebble and watched it rattle against a column near the main control board. a small metallic ball rested on top of the column, apparently unattached. a replacement part, he thought to himself, wandering over to it. it was about the level of his head.
-as his hands touched the metallic ball, there was a sudden terrible flash of power. he felt himself grasped by forces beyond his control, paralyzed momentarily like one who has laid hold of an electrically charged wire. he opened his mouth to scream in agony, but he could say nothing. a great force surged through his body, radiating, charging every cell and atom of his being. he felt as if he were being lifted from the floor. then the globe seemed to dissolve in his hands. it became a glare of light, grew misty, and then vanished.
-for a moment he stood there on tiptoe, arced with the potent violence of the force, glowing from within with energies, and then he felt as if the supercharge were dissolving itself, slipping into him, sliding into the ground, then disappearing.
-he stood before the column, swaying, but still conscious and alive. his hands were still raised, but there was no ball between them, neither of metal nor of power.
-and he was. he could see no sign of damage. "i must have absorbed an awful lot of that energy--or whatever it was," he said.
-after resting a moment, he decided to try the useless controls again. going over to one small board, he idly shoved a lever. this time he felt resistance. the lever was activated. there was a slight change in the radiance of one globe.
-"dad!" burl shouted. "it works! it works for me now!"
-mark denning watched as burl turned dials and levers and got responses. "you must have been charged in a special way," he said excitedly. "that's how they lock their devices. they will only respond to a person carrying that special energy charge, whatever it was. come on, let's get to the main control, before the effect goes away--if it does."
-the two dashed to the panel which, they guessed, activated the main sun transmitter. burl grabbed the instruments and threw them back to what seemed to be the zero positions.
-the humming rose in intensity, then quieted down and finally stopped. there was a series of clicks, and one by one, the various globes, condensers and glowing machines died out. above them came a whirring noise, and burl looked up to see the masts withdrawing into the building, their discs presumably left flat and directionless.
-it felt different. suddenly they knew that the vibrations which had been so heavy in the air about them were gone. there was silence everywhere, the natural silence of an empty, lifeless building in an uninhabited valley.
-burl and his father made their way to the break in the wall and climbed through it.
-outside, the sun shone down brighter than it had before. the sky was the calm serene blue of a cloudless day. burl knew that at that same moment, all over the world, the sky was clearer and the sun warmer.
-but for how long? behind them the building still stood--and its inventors were still to be found.
-the dennings did not have much time to speculate on the mystery of the sun-stealers. for just as they were discussing what should be their next course of action, the problem was solved for them. there was a roaring in the air, then a humming, and in a matter of a few more seconds, six rocket helicopters popped into sight, hovered over the valley on streaming jets, and settled down.
-"they're u.s. planes!" gasped burl, jumping to his feet and going to meet them. "it must mean that they know we stopped the machines."
-"obviously," said his father, striding with him to greet the helmeted man who was now stepping out of the lead machine. by this time the last of the squad had landed, and the khaki-clad soldiers in them were already disembarking. "i imagine that all over the world the sky turned a little brighter. it must have been apparent at once."
-the leader of the 'copter men reached them. he was a tall, bronzed man, wearing the service coveralls and markings of a captain of the air force. he stretched out his hand. "you must be the dennings. i'm captain saunders. i've been asked to bring you back with me right away so that we can get a complete report on this affair. how fast can you get ready?"
-"why," said burl, "we're ready right now. as soon as we can dump our packs aboard. but, gee, you mean go back--where?"
-saunders smiled grimly. "to california. we just left there. i have been given urgent orders to waste no time. so will you oblige?"
-the two dennings looked at each other. this was important, all right. they realized that these planes had flown on fast rockets the instant the sky had cleared. possibly there was still a crisis--one they had not heard of.
-they did not pause to ask further questions. mark denning asked the captain to dispatch one of his 'copters to the camp beyond the mountains to tell gonzales to load up and start back for lima. this order given, the two dennings climbed into the rocket 'copter, and saunders took the controls.
-with a whoosh, the squat craft lifted on its rockets, its jet-driven fan carried it up, folded, and the rocket engine took over. on upward into the stratosphere they hurtled, across the western hemisphere, across the face of jungle and isthmus, across the barren mountains of mexico, and in a matter of less than half an hour, settled down in the wide green field of a u.s. air force base in southern california. it was all so swift, so sudden, that to burl it seemed like a dream. there had been so many days in the field, in the peace and quiet of the high mountains of the andes. there had been the slow hunting around age-worn ruins; the careful, deliberate sifting of tons of soil and sand for tiny shards; then this: the urgent message, the trek, the weird building, the strange, body-filling shock, and the control over the sun-theft globes, followed by the swift transition over thousands of miles.
-here he was in his home country--weeks sooner than he had expected--but not to return to his home and school. no, for he felt that somehow an adventure was beginning that could lead anywhere. perhaps his adventure had actually ended, but he saw now that he would be questioned, probed, and asked to recount his story over and over.
-burl and his father were met at the port by a group of officers and escorted rapidly to a room in a large building. here there were half a dozen men in civilian clothes. one by one, these men were introduced, and as each one was named, burl wondered more about what was to come.
-there was a general from army intelligence. there was a high member of the state department. there were three noted astronomers--among them the surprisingly young russell clyde and the elderly and famous dr. merckmann. there was an aircraft manufacturer whose name graced a thousand planes, and an engineer who had contributed to the conquest of the moon.
-"would you mind," the general asked burl, "if we subject you to a series of medical and electronic tests to determine whether this charge is still with you?"
-burl shook his head. "i'll go along with anything you say."
-"very well," the general smiled. "we'll make our purposes clear to you afterward. but we want to get this over as soon as we can."
-burl left the room in company with three technicians who had come in. they took him to the medical office at the base and there he was given a complete check. at the electronics lab, electrodes were attached to him and careful readings were made of the natural electrical resistance of his body, and of his apparent physical charge. after an hour of tests, burl was brought back to the main council room.
-as he entered, he sensed he had interrupted something important. his father looked at him, and burl detected in his face a certain curious mingling of pride and parental concern. what, the young man wondered, were they all up to?
-when he was seated, the company grew silent. the general pursed his lips, looked directly at burl, and said, "i think the time has come to acquaint you with the problem our world is facing. we may ask you to make a very personal decision, and we think you ought to know what may hang on it."
-he stopped. every face at the table was grim. mark denning, too, was sober, though burl detected that he also did not quite know what was to come.
-"it is apparent that some race of beings, some species from outer space, unknown to us, has begun a process of tapping the power and light of the sun for transmission elsewhere. the station on earth, which you shut down, was an important one. but ... it was not the only one. there are others, operating in this solar system." he nodded to merckmann.
-the old astronomer took the cue. "the observatories of the earth, aided by the lunar observers, have definitely determined that there is still a certain amount of light being shifted from the faces of other planets and diverted. we have detected by telescopic and telethermic measurements that there are areas of sun-disturbances on the surfaces of the planets mercury and mars. we suspect the existence of one on venus. we believe that this may prove to be true on other planets as well, but we have no doubt of the first two.
-"measurements of the amount of sun power being piped away, and of the effect of the magnetic disturbances used to create and maintain these stations, have shown that they will have a definite effect on the structure of the sun itself. we have not yet completed all our calculations, but preliminary studies indicate that if this type of solar interference is not stopped, it may cause our sun to nova in somewhere between two and three years time."
-he stopped, but the thirty-year-old prodigy, russell clyde, took up the story. "by nova, we mean that the sun will literally explode. it will flame up, burst to many times its present size. such an explosion will burn earth to cinders, render all the planets inside the orbit of jupiter uninhabitable, scorch their atmospheres, dissolve their waters into steam, and make them lifeless flaming deserts. we have seen other stars turn nova. we have measured their explosions. we know just about what age and stability inside a sun is necessary to cause this. and we fear that the danger of our own sun doing so is great--if the sun-tapping is not stopped."
-everyone at the table was silent. burl was stunned. finally he caught his breath. "but how can we stop it? we can't get to all the planets in time. our rockets are not ready--and rocketships would be too slow. why it would take two years for rocketships to reach mars, if the expedition were ready now ... and i understand that it will be another ten years before operation mars is even attempted."
-general shrove nodded. "that is correct. our rocket engineering is not yet advanced enough to allow us to take such emergency action. we are still only just over the doorstep of interplanetary flight--and our enemies, whoever they may be, are obviously far advanced. but, as you will see, we are not entirely without hope. colonel lockhart, will you tell them about project a-g?"
-all eyes turned to lockhart, who was a short, stocky man in civilian clothes. burl realized that this man had been a colonel at one time, but remembered now that he had taken a post with one of the largest aviation companies after leaving the service. lockhart turned cold gray eyes directly to burl.
-"we have in my company's experimental grounds one virtually untested vessel which may be able to make a flight to mars, or any other planet, in the time allowed. this is the craft we refer to as a-g 17, the seventeenth such experiment, and the first to succeed. it is powered by an entirely new method of flight, the force of anti-gravity."
-he glanced at general shrove, who returned the glance unsmilingly. "after the successful testing of several models, a full-sized craft has been built which utilizes the new method of space drive. one such craft has been built, and only one. this ship, if it works, is at this time the only means by which humanity can hope to make the trips to the other places in the solar system from which the sun-stealers are working. it is with this one vessel only that we can put their sun-tap stations out of commission.
-general shrove spoke then. "it is already arranged that this a-g 17 spaceship is going to go. a volunteer crew has been selected; several of them are in this room." he nodded briefly to clyde and to lockhart. "but although these volunteers are among the best men in their fields, there isn't one of them who couldn't be replaced by someone equally skilled in the same field. but there is one person on earth right now who may just possibly be unique. this person may hold, by virtue of an experience not shared by any other human being, a special key that will render easier the task that this spaceship must fulfill."
-burl felt dizzy, his heart thumping painfully within his chest. he took a deep breath, and then carefully, trying to keep his voice from quivering, he said, "yes, i'll go."
-chapter 4. the hidden skyport
-around the table there was a concerted sigh. burl, his ears still throbbing from his sudden excitement, realized each of them had been holding his breath. general shrove smiled and glanced at the elder denning, who sat expressionless. it is not an easy thing for him, burl thought.
-at that moment, burl knew that he had come of age. this moment of decision, coming truly and literally like a bolt out of the blue, had thrust him into man's estate before his time. he would show that he was able to carry this burden.
-shrove now spoke to lockhart. "colonel, we are holding you to your schedule. according to it, you can take off in five more days. will you need any more time because of this addition to your crew?"
-the stocky air veteran shook his head. "not at all. we'll be loaded and ready on the hour i set. i'll take denning in hand and brief him on what he may need to know. actually, we may even be able to get him a home-leave. after all, his duties won't begin until actual planetfalls are made."
-they rose from their seats. burl stood up, uncertain as to procedure, but lockhart came over to him and took his arm. "burl, we're going to have to give you a rundown on the ship and the plans. we've no time to waste if you want to get a chance to say good-by to your folks later on."
-"i understand," said burl. he turned and waved to his father, who was in conversation with the general. "i'll see you at home in a few days, dad," he called, then followed lockhart out.
-outside the building they were joined by several other members of the conference and immediately ringed about by a squad of air force men wearing sidearms. burl realized that they were to be thus guarded everywhere they went. obviously, the possibility that the builders of the sun-traps might have agents operating on earth had occurred to the officers.
-clyde was about burl's size. he had an engagingly boyish air about him, and burl took a liking to him. burl had heard of him before. for the young man, while still a college student, had formulated a remarkable new theory of the composition of galactic formations which had instantly focused the attention of the scientific world upon him. this theory had been taken up by the gray-beards of the scientific world and had survived the test of their debates. now associated with the great mount palomar observatory, russell clyde had continued to build a reputation in astronomical circles.
-"you're one of the expedition, then?" asked burl, shaking his hand.
-burl chuckled. "ah, you're kidding, dr. clyde. you've probably been in on this from the beginning."
-the other shook his head vigorously. "nope. it was going to be merckmann's baby, but when they realize they have a fight on their hands, they always look for young blood. and, say, cut out this 'doctor' stuff. call me russ. we're going to share quarters, you know."
-"how do you know that?" asked a tall, rather sharp-featured man who had overheard them. "the colonel will assign quarters."
-"i say he will ... and you can bet on that," snapped russell clyde. he waved a hand in introduction. "this is harvey caton, one of our electronics wizards."
-caton nodded, but before he could continue the discussion, lockhart rounded them all up, packed them into a couple of station wagons, guards and all, and they were off.
-the next days were hectic ones. by car and plane the group was transferred to the large, closely guarded base in wyoming where the secret anti-gravity ship was waiting. burl did not see this ship right away. first, he was introduced to all the other members of the crew, and given a mass of papers to study which outlined the basic means of the new space drive, and which detailed the opinions and suggestions of various experts as to methods of procedure and courses of action. he was subjected to various space medical tests to determine his reactions under differing pressures and gravities. although it proved a strenuous and exhausting routine, he emerged from the tests with flying colors.
-the expedition was commanded, as he had known, by colonel lockhart who would also act as chief pilot. the famous military flier proved to be a forceful personality with a great skill at handling people. he knew how to get the most out of each man.
-russell clyde was the chief astrogator and astronomical expert. assisting him was the rather pedantic and sober samuel oberfield, a mathematical wizard and astrophysicist, on leave from an assistant professorship at one of the great universities. clyde and oberfield would also act as copilots relieving lockhart.
-harvey caton, blond jurgen detmar, and the jovial frank shea were the three-man engineering crew. completing the members of the expedition was another trio chosen to act as general crew, medical and commissary men while in flight, and as a trained explorer-fighter unit while on planetside. roy haines, of whose exploits in africa and the jungles of south america burl denning had heard, was the first of these, a rugged, weather-beaten, but astonishingly alert explorer. captain edgar boulton, on leave from the united states marines, was the second--a man who had made an impressive record in various combat actions in his country's service. the antarctic explorer, leon ferrati, completed the listing. ferrati was an expert on getting along in conditions of extreme frigidity and hostile climates. of these men, only lockhart, clyde, detmar and ferrati had had space experience in the platforms and in moon-rocketry.
-it was not until the morning of the second day that burl's chance came. he had fallen asleep on the stiff army cot in the hastily improvised base on the wyoming prairie where the final work was being done. the day had been a confused jumble of impressions, with little time to catch his breath. now he had slept the sleep of exhaustion, only to be awakened at dawn by lockhart.
-"up and dress," the colonel greeted him. "we're taking you out to look the ship over. detmar will come along and explain the drive."
-burl threw his clothes on, gulped down breakfast in the company of the others at the messhall, and soon was speeding along a wide, new road that ran up to the mountains edging the wide western plain. as they neared the mountains, he saw a high wooden wall blocking the road and view; this was the barrier that concealed the ship nestled in the valley beyond.
-they passed the guards' scrutiny and emerged into the valley. the a-g 17 loomed suddenly above them, and burl's first impression was of a glistening metal fountain roaring up from the ground, gathering itself high in the sky, as if to plunge down again in a rain of shining steel.
-as the three men drew near the tail, the great bulk loomed overhead, and burl felt as if its weight were bearing down on him as they walked beneath.
-two men were suspended from the scaffolding above. burl twisted his neck and saw that the designation a-g 17 and the white-star insignia of the united states had been lettered along the sides. but what was it the men were painting now?
-"it will read magellan," said lockhart, following burl's eyes. "we decided that that would be the appropriate name for it. for what we are going to have to do with it is not just to make a simple trip to explore another planet, but to circumnavigate the entire solar system."
-burl found his eyes dazzled by the vessel, hanging like a giant bulbous mushroom over them. around him, he began to realize that a number of other activities were going on. there were spidery scaffolds leading up to open ports in the metallic sides. workmen were raising loads of material into these ports, and for an instant burl caught sight of haines, in rough work clothes, shouting orders from one of the openings as to exactly where to stow something.
-at last he took his eyes away from the startling sight. the little valley around him had a number of low storage shacks. a road led in from another pass through the mountains. two loaded trucks came down this pass now in low gear. lockhart, watching, remarked, "we are having our equipment and supplies flown up to a town twenty miles away and then trucked in."
-"why didn't you leave this ship where it was built--in your plant in indiana--and load it from there?" burl asked.
-"it would have been easier," said the colonel, "but security thought it better to transfer the craft to its launching sight up here in these deserted hills. we are going to make our take-off from here because we are still too experimental to know what might happen if something kicked up or if the engines failed. we'd hate to splatter all over a highly populated industrial area. besides, you must know, if you looked over those papers yesterday, that there's a lot of radioactive stuff here."
-burl nodded. detmar cut in. "why don't we get aboard and show him over the ship? it will be easier to make it clear that way."
-the magellan was an entirely revolutionary design as far as space vehicles were concerned. its odd shape was no mere whimsy, but a practical model. if a better design were to be invented, it would only come out of the practical experiences of this first great flight.
-it had long been known, ever since einstein's early equations, that there was a kinship between electricity, magnetism, and gravitation. in electricity and magnetism there were both negative and positive fields manifesting themselves in the form of attraction and repulsion. these opposing characteristics were the basis for man's mastery of electrical machinery.
-but for gravitation, there had seemed at first no means of manipulating it. as it was to develop, this was due to two factors. first, the earth itself possessed a gravitational phenomenon in this force outside of that intense, all-pervading field. second, to overcome this primal force required the application of energy on such scales as could not be found outside of the mastery of nuclear energy.
-there was a simple parallel, burl had been told the day before by sam oberfield, in the history of aviation. a practical, propeller-driven flying machine could not be constructed until a motor had been invented that was compact, light and powerful enough to operate it. so all efforts to make such machines prior to the development of the internal combustion engine in the first days of the twentieth century were doomed to failure. likewise, in this new instance, a machine to utilize gravitation could not be built until a source of power was developed having the capacity to run it. such power was found only in the successful harnessing of the hydrogen disintegration explosion--the h-bomb force. the first success at channeling this nuclear power in a nonbomb device had been accomplished in england in 1958. the zeta-ring generator had been perfected in the next decade.
-the nose of the magellan housed an h-power stellar generator. within the bulk of the top third of the ship was this massive power source, its atomic components, its uranium-hydrogen fuel, and the beam that channeled the gravitational drive.
-he went on to explain that what then happened was that the vessel, exerting a tremendous counter-gravitational force, literally pushed itself up against earth's drive. at the same time, this force could be used to intensify the gravitational pull of some other celestial body. the vessel would begin to fall toward that other body, and be repelled from the first body--earth in this case.
-as every star, planet, and satellite in the universe was exerting a pull on every other one, the anti-gravity spaceship literally reached out, grasped hold of the desired gravitational "rope" hanging down from the sky, and pulled itself up it. it would seem to fall upward into the sky. it could increase or decrease the effect of its fall. it could fall free toward some other world, or it could force an acceleration in its fall by adding repulsion from the world it was leaving.
-in flight, therefore, the wide nose was the front. it would fall through space, pulled by the power beam generated from this front. the rear of the spaceship was the tapering, small end.
-as burl was shown over the living quarters it became plain to him that the actual living spaces in the magellan were inside a metal sphere hanging on gymbals below the equatorial bulge that housed the power drive. the bulk of this sphere was always well within the outer walls of the teardrop, and thus protected from radiation. being suspended on gymbals, the sphere would rotate so that the floor of the living quarters was always downward to wherever the greatest pull of gravity might happen to be.
-burl and the others explored the three floors that divided the inner sphere, all oriented toward earth. the central floor, housing the sleeping quarters and living quarters, was compact but roomier than might have been expected. there were five bunkrooms, each shared by two men. there was a main living and dining room. on the lowermost floor was the cookroom, a small dispensary, and immediate supplies. on the upper floor was the control room, with its charts and television viewplates which allowed vision in all directions from sending plates fixed on the surface in various areas.
-in the spaces between the inner sphere and the outer shell were the basic storage areas. here supplies and equipment were being stocked against all possible emergencies. in the tapering space of the tail below the sphere was a rocket-launching tube. stored in the outer shells were various vehicles for planetary exploration.
-haines came into the control room where the three were standing. he was wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, and looked tired. "finally got the special, sealed-engine jeep stowed away," he said. "i was afraid we weren't going to get it in time. the moon-base people had ordered it, and they're going to holler bloody murder when they find out we appropriated it."
-lockhart shrugged. "let 'em yell. it'll be too late when they find out. how much longer will we need before you finish the loading?"
-haines drew a chair up to the chart table and sat down. "i expect to get some more stuff tomorrow, and then the two-man rocket plane the next day. we already have the four-man rocket aboard. that'll do it. the rest of your men ready?"
-lockhart nodded. "we're just about set. denning here can take a quick trip home tomorrow, and we'll be ready the day after."
-burl looked about him quickly. one day, two days, maybe a third--and then, the plunge into the unknown. detmar reached upward and drew down a metal ladder hanging in the curved ceiling of the chamber. "i'm going to take a look in the engine room," he said. "want to come along?" he asked burl.
-before the young man could say yes, lockhart shook his head. "no, i don't want him to. i don't want anyone going up there who doesn't have to. that stuff is shielded, but you can never be sure."
-burl was disappointed, for he had wanted to see the nuclear generators. but detmar shook his head, smiled, and pushed aside a round trap door in the ceiling. burl could see that it connected with a similar door a foot higher. detmar pushed it open and ascended into the forbidden sphere of the zeta-rings. burl got a glimpse of subdued, bluish light, and then the trap door shut after the engineer.
-later as they drove out through the valley, burl looked back at the huge ship, and now, instead of appearing like an overhanging metal waterfall, he saw it as a wide-nosed bullet, aiming at the sky, surging against its bonds--a bullet for humanity's sake.
-chapter 5. up the rope of space
-burl's visit home was a curious interlude. actually, he had been away only a few weeks, since the summer vacation had begun, yet this single day had an air about it different from that of any other homecoming. he found himself continually looking at things in a more inquisitive, more thoughtful manner.
-that which had been commonplace was suddenly something valuable, a sight to be treasured. for he had realized, as he sat in the fast plane transporting him home, that the earth was itself a planet among planets, and that this might possibly prove to be his last visit to the town where he had been born. he had pondered, as he had gazed out of the ship's windows, just what it could mean to depart from this world and travel among the uncharted reaches of empty and hostile space ... to set foot upon planets where no human foot had ever touched and to meet unguessable perils.
-so his home, his mother, his friends, the street on which he lived, took on a novel air. he studied them while enjoying a quiet day at home. he watched the cars in the street, so amusingly compact and small, each designed in the fleeting style of the year. the cars of a dozen years ago had been designed for length and size, but the trend had been the opposite for a decade now. the cars grew smaller and their lines weirder as the manufacturers strove to compete.
-what other planet could boast of such simultaneously astonishing ingenuity and wondrous tomfoolery?
-he looked at the people going about their business, the other boys of his age intent on their summer jobs and summer fun, and wondered if he would ever be able to join them again without the cares of a world on his shoulders?
-people were unaware of the crisis that hung over the solar system. there had been news of the dimming of the sun, but the meaning behind it had been carefully screened, and the expedition was a top secret. it availed the world nothing to panic about this matter. now the odd weather quirks had been forgotten, and the main subjects on people's tongues were the baseball scores and the latest telemovies.
-when burl kissed his mother and father good-by, it was with a sense that he was also kissing good-by to his youth, and entering upon a new period of the most desperate responsibility.
-there was a hustle and bustle in the valley. the supplies seemed unending, and burl wondered why the variety. "for once, we've got lifting power to spare," was russ's comment. "nobody knows what we're going to need on the various planets, so lockhart is simply piling aboard everything he can think of. you'd be amazed at the space we have for storage. and caton says that the more we stick in there, the better the shielding is against the radiation belt surrounding earth--and probably the other planets as well."
-"i thought we were already well protected," said burl. "with the atomic generators, we had to be shielded anyway. haven't we lead lining all around our inner sphere quarters?"
-russell clyde nodded. "oh, sure, but the more the merrier."
-he and burl were already in their quarters, stowing their clothes. "we leave in an hour," said burl. "are we going to the launching base at boothia, where the manned rockets go up?"
-clyde shook his head. "lockhart talked it over with us yesterday, and we decided to take off from right here." by "us," burl knew the operational group was meant, which consisted of the colonel, the two astronomers, caton as head of the engineering section, and haines, "to tell the truth, nobody knows how easily this ship will handle. we're shielded well enough so that a short passage through the radiation belt three hundred miles up and for the next fifteen hundred miles shouldn't have any effect on us at all. the rockets, which can't be shielded because of the weight limitations, have to go up at boothia because there, at the north magnetic pole, there's a hole in the radiation."
-boothia peninsula was a barren spot far up in the arctic zone on canada's frozen eastern coast. on it was constructed the world's major space port--a lonely outpost from which rockets departed for the equally lonely moon bases. burl had read about it and had looked forward to seeing it, but realized that the flight of the magellan marked still another change in the fast-altering history of the conquest of space.
-the hour passed quickly. the little valley was cleared of visitors. the crew was called to take-off posts--lockhart at the controls, clyde and oberfield at the charts, detmar watching the energy output. the rest of the crew had been strapped into their bunks. by special request, burl was observing in the control room, seated in a half-reclining position like the others, in a well-padded chair, strapped tight.
-haines had remarked as he had supervised the strapping-in, "nobody knows whether this is going to be necessary. but we're taking no chances." he'd gone to his quarters and done the same thing.
-"time," called out the colonel, pressing a button. a gong rang throughout the quarters. he moved a lever slowly.
-burl waited for the surge of pressure he had read always occurred at take-off. but there was no such pressure. he lay back in his seat, gripping the arms. gradually he became aware of a curious sensation. he seemed to be getting lightheaded, and to tingle with unexpected energy. he felt an impulse to giggle, and he kicked up his foot to find it surprisingly agile. about him the others were stirring in their seats as if caught by the same impulses.
-now he felt loose against his bonds and he became a little dizzy. there was a pounding in his head as blood surged within him. his heart began to beat heavily.
-"we're losing weight," muttered clyde from his chair, and burl knew the ship was tensing to take off.
-the great generators were beginning to push against earth's gravity and, as their force moved upward to match earth's, the weight of everything in their sway decreased accordingly. lockhart's first move was simply that--to reduce the pull of earth to zero.
-in a few moments that point was accomplished. a state of weightlessness was obtained within the magellan. those watching outside from bunkers in the surrounding mountains saw the huge teardrop shiver and begin to rise slowly above its cradle of girders. it floated gently upward, moving slowly off as the force of earth's centrifugal drive began to manifest itself against the metal bubble's great mass.
-everyone on the crew had experienced zero gravity, either in the same tests burl had undergone or on actual satellite flights, and thus far, no one was too uncomfortable. the entire structure of the ship quivered, and burl realized that the inner sphere which housed their air space was hanging free on its gymbals.
-lockhart rang a second gong, then turned a new control. the pitch of the generators, faintly audible to them, changed, took on a new keening. the ship seemed suddenly to jump as if something had grasped it. the feeling of weightlessness vanished momentarily, then there was a moment of dizziness and a sudden sensation of being upside down.
-for a shocking instant, burl felt himself hanging head downward from a floor which had surprisingly turned into a ceiling. he opened his mouth to shout, for he thought he was about to plunge onto the hard metal of the ceiling which now hung below him so precipitously.
-then there was a whirling sensation, a sideways twisting that swung him about against the straps. as it came, the room seemed to shift. the curved base of the control room, which had been so suddenly a floor, became in a moment a wall, lopsided and eerie. then it shifted again, and, startlingly, burl sagged back into his cushioned seat as the hemispherical room again resumed its normal aspect.
-lockhart bent over the controls, cautiously moving a lever bit by bit. clyde was bent over his viewer, calling out slight corrections.
-now, at last, burl felt the pressure he had expected. his weight grew steadily greater, back to normal, then increased. he found himself concentrating on his breathing, forcing his lungs up against the increasing weight of his ribs.
-"hold up," his buzzing eardrums heard someone say--possibly oberfield. "we don't need to accelerate more than one g. take it easy."
-the weight lessened instantly. then the pressure was off. everything seemed normal. lockhart sat back and began to unloosen his straps. the others followed suit.
-in one viewer, burl glimpsed the black of outer space, and in another, the wide grayish-green bowl of the earth spreading out below. in a third he saw the blazing disc of the sun.
-"did everything go all right?" he asked quietly of clyde.
-the redhead looked up at him and smiled. "better than we might have expected for a first flight," he said.
-"we're latching on to the sun's grip now. we're falling toward the sun; not just falling, but pulling ourselves faster toward it, so that we can keep up a normal gravity pressure. we're soon going to be going faster than any rocket has ever gone. the living-space sphere rotated itself as soon as we started that. that's what made everything seem upside down that time and why everything has come back to normal."
-burl nodded. "but that means that in relation to earth we are ourselves upside down right now!"
-"of course," said clyde. "but in space, everything is strictly relative. we are no longer on earth. we are a separate body in space, falling through space toward the sun."
-"why the sun?" asked burl. "i thought our first objective was to be the planet venus?"
-"it was too hard to get a fix on venus from so near the earth. instead, we latched on to the sun to pull us inward. when we are near to venus' orbit, we'll reverse and pull in on venus," was the astronomer's answer.
-"isn't that rather risky?" asked burl, remembering some of the quick briefings he had been given. "that's a departure from your plans."
-lockhart looked up quickly. "yes, you're right," he admitted. "but on a trip like this we've got to learn to improvise and do it fast. we made that decision at take-off."
-for an instant burl felt a chill. he realized then what all the other men on the ship had known all along--that in this flight they were all amateurs, that everything they did was to be improvisation in one way or another, that they must always run the risk of a terrible mistake.
-had latching on to the sun been the first such error?
-chapter 6. sunward ho!
-gradually the ship settled down to routine. there was, as burl discovered, nothing very much to do for most of the crew on such a space flight. the course was charted in advance, a pattern laid out that would carry the ship falling toward its objective--falling in a narrow curving orbit. a certain amount of time would pass during which the ship would traverse a specific section of this plotted route at a certain rate of speed or acceleration.
-then, at a specified moment, the speed would be checked, the attraction of the sun reversed, and the ship would attempt to brake itself and to halt its fall toward the great sun. at such a time as its fall came to a stop, it should, if the calculations had been correct, be crossing the orbit of the planet venus in the same place and at about the same moment that venus itself would be. in that way, the ship would arrive at the planet.
-burl did not find time weighing on his hands. despite the limited space available to the ten men, there was always something to learn, and something to think about.
-when russell clyde was off duty, he spent much time with burl at the wide-screen viewers that showed the black depths of interplanetary space surrounding them. the earth dwindled to a brilliant green disc, while ahead of them the narrow crescent of approaching venus could be seen growing gradually. ruddy mars was sharp but tiny, a point of russet beyond the green of earth. and the stars--never had burl seen so many stars--a firmament ablaze with brilliant little points of light--the millions of suns of the galaxy and the galaxies beyond ours.
-on the other side, the side toward which they fell, the sun was a blinding sphere of white light, its huge coronal flames wavering fearfully around its orb.
-seen to one side, surprisingly close to the sun, was a tiny half-moon. "that's mercury," said russ, pointing it out. "the smallest planet and the closest to the sun. after we leave venus, we'll have to visit it. we know there's a sun-tap station there--and because it's so close to the sun--its orbit ranges between twenty-eight million miles and under forty-four million miles--the station must be a most important and large one."
-burl gazed at the point of light that was the innermost planet. "those sun-tap stations ... the more i think about it, the more i wonder what we're up against. it seems to me that it ought to be easy for the kind of people who can build such things to catch us and stop us. in fact, i wonder why they haven't already gone after us for stopping the one on earth?"
-russ whistled softly between his teeth. "we've some ideas about that. the military boys worked on it. you know you can figure out a lot of things from just a few bits of evidence. we have such evidence from what happened to you on earth. you ought to speak to haines about it."
-burl turned away from the viewer. "let's find him now. i don't think he's very busy. he said something about catching up on his reading this period."
-russ nodded, and the two of them got up from their seat. with a wave to oberfield and caton on duty at the controls, the two climbed down the ladder that led into the middle part of the living space. they looked into haines's quarters but he wasn't there. so they went down the next hatchway into the lower section.
-haines and ferrati were sitting at a table in the cooking quarters, drinking coffee. the two men, both heavy and muscular, used to the open spaces and the feel of the winds, were taking the enforced confinement in the cramped and artificially oxygenated space of the ship with ill ease. for them, it was like a stretch in jail.
-they greeted the two younger men jovially and invited them to a seat. while russ poured a cup of coffee for himself, burl opened the subject of how much the expedition had worked out about the enemy.
-haines's pale blue eyes gleamed. "you can know an awful lot about an enemy if you know what he didn't do as well as what he did do. if you figure out what you yourself should have done under the same circumstances, and know he didn't do, why, that gives you some valuable hints as to his deficiencies. as we see it, we've got a fighting chance of spoiling his game. certainly of spoiling it long enough to allow earth several more years to get a fleet of ships like this into operation and give him plenty of trouble."
-suddenly burl felt more cheerful. at the back of his mind there had been a carefully concealed point of cold terror--he remembered the clean efficiency of the sun-tap station, the evidence of a science far beyond that of earth. he pressed the point. "just what do we really know?"
-haines leaned back and rubbed his hands together. "there were several things that gave their weaknesses away. when we put it all together, we decided that the enemy represents some sort of limited advanced force or scouting group of a civilization still too far away to count in the immediate future. we decided that the enemy isn't too aware of our present abilities--that his intelligence service is poor as far as modern earth is concerned. we figure he won't be able to act with any speed to repair the damages we make."
-"tell them how we worked that out," said ferrati, who had begun to grow again the short black beard that burl remembered he had worn on his famous expeditions.
-"well," said haines, drawing the word out to build up suspense, "did you know that the station in the andes, the one you cracked open, was built at least thirty years ago? and never put into operation in all that time?"
-burl was surprised. "why ... i hadn't thought of it--but it could have been. that valley was so isolated and deserted, probably nobody would ever have spotted it.
-"right," haines added, "and our investigation team studied the remains, the foundations, the layout, and we're sure it's been there at least three decades. that's one clue.
-"now why was that? and the third clue, why didn't they have a repair system available, or at least some sort of automatic antiaircraft defense?"
-burl looked at ferrati. the latter was watching him shrewdly to see if he could figure it out.
-"the builders didn't expect an air attack," said burl slowly, "because of the air disturbances. they did not know we would have a moon base that could spot their location. hence they figured that our civilization would remain as it was thirty years ago. we wouldn't have been able to spot the location at that time, because it required outer-space observation. it might have taken us several years of tramping around to locate it."
-"and the lack of a strong permanent construction? after all, a concrete and steel-enforced embankment, which any military force on earth could have put there, would have balked your dynamite attack," probed haines.
-"that means they didn't have the time or the means to make such a construction. they must have had a single ship with the kind of equipment that could lay out a quick base in the shortest time!" said burl.
-"another indication of that is the thirty-year delay," added ferrati. "obviously, they arrived in this solar system from somewhere outside it. we figure that way because otherwise they would have been prepared to do the job on all the planets in the same trip and start operations at once. they must have made some observations of this solar system from a point in space at least as far away as another star. that means not less than four and a half light-years away--proxima centauri being the nearest star after our sun, and four and a half light-years from us. their observations were imperfect. they found more planets and problems than they had supposed. so they had to make a second trip to get enough supplies to finish their sun-tap base constructions. it took them thirty years between the first stations and the ones that completed the job.
-"and that, too, suggests that only one ship was originally involved here. of course, maybe they came back with more the second time, but it still looks as if the main force hasn't arrived. and won't, until after the sun novas."
-"then that means," said burl quickly, "that we are still dealing with just a small and isolated group?"
-"maybe," said haines. "just what constitutes a small group may be hard to say. i rather think they'd have brought the engineers and at least an advance working party of settlers with them the second trip in. but they are still short of available ships--they're still not aware of what we may be going to do."
-"why is that?" asked burl.
-haines looked thoughtful. "this is conjecture. but if they planted any spies among our earth people, there's been no contact, because otherwise they'd have known we could track and crack their base as soon as it started. this means that they still haven't had scouting ships to spare for checking up on what they did the first time. no checkup means no spare personnel to do the checking. they just assumed that we hadn't caught on, and started operations by remote control as they had originally planned."
-"and that also may mean that these people are hard up," said ferrati. "wherever they came from, their civilization has been great, but it's gone to seed. they plan to seize another solar system, start over again, and they haven't the manpower to do an adequate job--and they haven't the abundance of material needed to set up simple check and guard stations, such as any major earth nation would have the sense to do."
-"why, that means we've got a fighting chance to lick 'em," said burl joyfully. "i kept thinking we'd run into more than we could cope with."
-"we've got a fighting chance, all right," said haines. "we may be able to rip up their sun-tap layouts, but what if we meet the main explorer ship itself? anybody who can cross interstellar space and warp the power of the sun, can probably outshoot, outrun, and outfight us. let's hope we don't meet them until we've done our work."
-on this note the little discussion broke up as the gong rang for the next watch.
-it made sense to burl. if the magellan could just operate fast enough, keep on the jump, they'd save the day. but--and he realized that nobody had mentioned it aloud--it also followed that the enemy--however small its group--was still in the solar system somewhere and would certainly be starting to take action very soon now.
-the time came when the ship was to start slowing, to prepare itself for the meeting with venus. burl saw the hour and minute approach and watched lockhart take the controls and set the new readings. the steady hum of the generators--a vibration that had become a constant feature of the ship--altered, and for everyone it was a relief. their minds had become attuned to the steady pitch. one didn't realize how annoying a nuisance it was until it stopped. as the stellar generators let down on the drag on the sun, the gravity within the ship lessened. in a few moments there was a condition of zero, and those who had forgotten to strap themselves down found that they were floating about in the air, most of them giddy.
-there was a shift in the pitch, and the generators applied repulsion against the pull of the sun. those floating in the air crashed suddenly against the ceiling, then slid violently down the walls onto the floor as the inner sphere rotated on its gymbals to meet the new center of gravitational pull--this time away from the sun.
-the viewers flickered off and then on again as their connecting surfaces inside and outside the sphere's double layer of walls slid apart and matched up again. for an instant, as he saw the viewers blank out, burl thought of what might happen if the sphere didn't rotate all the way. they would find themselves blind.
-now the ship proceeded on its charted orbit, slowing to meet venus. several hours went by, one meal, and burl had returned to his bunk, his rest period having arrived. russ remained at the controls on duty, checking astronomically the new speed and deceleration.
-burl tossed restlessly, the light out in the little cabin. something was where to find vance and the woman. now."
-"were they responsible?"
-"with deepest apologies, that need not trouble you." he stood ramrod straight.
-"with deepest apologies, sato-sama, it troubles me very much." nogami examined his cigar. "this entire affair is very troublesome. in times past i remember a certain prejudice in favor of civility on the part of tokyo. have things really changed that much?"
-"the moment for soft words is past. tonight ended that."
-nogami drew on his cigar. "assuming you locate vance, what action do you propose taking?"
-"we have one last chance here to deal with this problem. tomorrow the oyabun's people arrive, and then they will be in control. the decisions will no longer be ours. tonight i attempted to salvage the situation and failed. surely you know what that means, for us both. but if you will give me vance, perhaps we can both still be saved. if you refuse to cooperate, the oyabun will destroy you as well as vance. we both know that. i am offering you a way out."
-"with deepest gratitude, i must tell you it is too late, sato-sama, which i am sure you realize," nogami said, drawing on his cigar and taking care not to disturb the ash. "so with due respect i must inquire concerning the purpose of this meeting."
-"i need to locate this man vance. before the kobun from tokyo arrive. if you care about his well-being, then you should remember that his treatment at my hands will be more understanding than--"
-"when do they arrive?"
-"as i said, we received word that they will be here tomorrow, nogami- san. with respect, you have befriended a man who is attempting to blackmail the tokyo oyabun. that is a career decision which, i assure you, is most unwise."
-"it is made. and i am aware of the consequences. so it would appear we both know all there is to know about the future."
-"perhaps not entirely. someone has attempted to make us think vance and the woman were kidnapped, that they are being held somewhere beyond our reach. perhaps it is true, perhaps it is not. but if the transaction for the hundred million is to take place tomorrow, then he must appear here. the oyabun's people may be here by then. if they are not, we will be."
-"but if he has been kidnapped," nogami's brow furrowed as he studied his cigar, its ash still growing, "then there could be a problem with the transaction. who do you suppose would want him, besides the tokyo oyabun?"
-"that i could not speculate upon. the kgb seems to have a great interest in his activities. perhaps they are guarding him in some more secure place. or perhaps something else has happened." he bowed. "again you must forgive me for this rude intrusion. it is important for you to be aware that the situation is not resolved. that you still have a chance to save yourself."
-"the ceo will receive his hundred million, if there is no interference. that much i have already arranged for. when that is completed, i will consider my responsibilities discharged."
-"your responsibilities will never be discharged, nogami-san. giri lasts forever." his voice was cutting. "the sooner you realize that, the better."
-"after tomorrow, it will be over, sato-sama." he stretched out his arm and tapped the inch-long ash into a trash basket beside the desk.
-"tomorrow," jiro sato bowed, "it only begins."
-wednesday 2:25 a.m.
-yuri andreevich androv stood facing the bulkhead that sealed the forward avionics bays, feeling almost as though he were looking at a bank vault. as in all high-security facilities, the access doors were controlled electronically.
-he'd gone on to explain that although static testing had shown they would achieve operating pressure in twenty milliseconds if they were fully primed in advance, that was static testing, not flight testing, and he'd been unable to sleep wondering about the adhesive around the seals.
-it was just technical mumbo-jumbo, although maybe he should be checking them, he thought grimly. but he trusted the engineering team. he had to. besides, the pumps had been developed specially for the massive energia booster, and they'd functioned flawlessly in routine launchings of those vehicles at the baikonur cosmodrome.
-of course, at baikonur they always were initiated while the energia was on the launch pad, at full atmospheric pressure. on the daedalus they'd have to be powered in during flight, at sixty thousand feet and 2,700 miles per hour. but still . . .
-the late-night security team had listened sympathetically. they had no objection if androv wanted to roll a stair-truck under the fuselage of daedalus /, then climb into the underbay and inspect turbo pumps in the dead of night. everybody knew he was eccentric. no, make that insane. you'd have to be to want to ride a rocket. they'd just waved him in. after all, the classified avionics in the forward bays were secured.
-he smiled grimly to think that he'd been absolutely right. hangar control was getting lax about security in these waning days before the big test. it always happened after a few months of mechanics trooping in and out.
-that also explained why he now had a full set of magnetic access cards for all the sealed forward bays. just as he'd figured, the mechanics were now leaving them stuffed in the pockets of the coveralls they kept in their lockers in the changing room.
-time to get started.
-there was, naturally, double security, with a massive airlock port opening onto a pressure bay, where three more secure ports sealed the avionics bays themselves. the airlock port was like an airplane door, double reinforced to withstand the near vacuum of space, and in the center was a green metallic slot for a magnetic card.
-he began trying cards, slipping them into the slot. the first, the second, the third, the fourth, and then, payoff. the three green diodes above the lock handle flashed.
-he quickly shoved down the grip and pushed. the door eased inward, then rotated to the side, opening onto the pressure bay.
-the temperature inside was a constant 5 degrees celsius, kept just above freezing to extend the life of the sensitive electronic gear in the next three bays. the high-voltage sodium lamps along the sides of the fuselage now switched on automatically as the door swung inward. he fleetingly thought about turning them off, then realized they weren't manually operated.
-through the clouds of his condensing breath he could see that the interior of the entry bay was a pale, military green. the color definitely seemed appropriate, given what he now knew about this vehicle.
-he quickly turned and, after making sure the outer door could be reopened from the inside, closed it behind him. when it clicked secure, the sodium lights automatically shut off with a faint hum.
-just like a damned refrigerator, he thought.
-but the dark was what he wanted. he withdrew a small penlight from his pocket and scanned the three bulkhead hatches leading to the forward bays. the portside bay, on the left, contained electronics for the multimode phased array radar scanner in the nose, radar processors, radar power supply, radar transmitters and receivers, doppler processor, shrouded scanner tracking mechanism, and an rf oscillator. he knew; he'd checked the engineering diagrams.
-he also knew the starboard equipment bay, the one on the right, contained signal processors for the inertial navigation system (ins), the instrument landing system (ils), the foreplane hydraulic actuator, the structural mode control system (smcs), station controller, and the pilot's liquid-oxygen tanks and evaporator.
-he suddenly found himself thinking a strange thought. since no air- breathing vehicle had ever flown hypersonic, every component in this plane was, in a sense, untested. to his mind, though, that was merely one more argument for shutting down the damned ai system's override functions before he went hypersonic. if something did go wrong, he wanted this baby on manual. he only needed the computer to alert him to potential problems. the solutions he'd have to work out with his own brain. and balls. after all, that's why he was there.
-as he walked down the steel steps, he thumbed through the magnetic cards, praying he had the one needed to open the lower bay and access the computers. then he began inserting them one by one into the green metallic slot, trying to keep his hand steady in the freezing cold.
-finally one worked. the three encoded diodes blinked, and a hydraulic arm automatically slid the port open. next the interior lights came on, an orange high-voltage sodium glow illuminating the gray walls.
-this third bay, like the two above it, was big enough to stand in. as he stepped in, he glanced back up the stairs, then quickly resealed the door. off went the lights again, so he withdrew his penlight and turned to start searching for what he wanted.
-directly in front of him was a steel monolith with banks of toggle switches: electrical power controls, communications controls, propulsion system controls, reaction-control systems. okay, that's the command console, which was preset for each flight and then monitored from the cockpit.
-now where's the damned on-board ai module?
-he scanned the bay. the ai system was the key to his plan. he had to make certain the computer's artificial intelligence functions could be completely shut down, disengaged, when the crucial moment came. he couldn't afford for the on-board system-override to abort his planned revision in the hypersonic flight plan. his job tonight was to make sure all the surprises were his, not somebody else's. there wouldn't be any margin for screw-ups. everything had to go like clockwork.
-he edged his way on through the freezing bay, searching the banks of equipment for a clue, and then he saw what he was looking for. there, along the portside bulkhead. it was a white, rectangular console, and everything about it told him immediately it was what he wanted.
-he studied it a second, trying to decide where to begin.
-at that moment he also caught himself wondering fleetingly how he'd ever gotten into this crazy situation. maybe he should have quit the air force years ago and gone to engineering school like his father had wanted. right now, he had to admit, a little electrical engineering would definitely come in handy.
-he took out a pocket screwdriver and began carefully removing the ai console's faceplate, a bronzed rectangle. eight screws later, he lifted it off and settled it on the floor.
-the penlight revealed a line of chips connected by neat sections of plastic-coated wires. somewhere in this electronic ganglia there had to be a crucial node where he could attach the device he'd brought.
-it had taken some doing, but he'd managed to assemble an item that should take care of his problem beautifully when the moment came. it was a radio-controlled, electrically operated blade that, when clamped onto a strand of wires, could sever them in an instant. the radio range was fifty meters, which would be adequate; the transmitter, no larger than a small tape recorder, was going to be with him in his flight suit. the instant he switched the turboramjets over to the scramjet mode, he was going to activate it and blow their fucking ai module out of the system. permanently.
-he figured he had ten minutes before one of the security team came looking to see what he was doing; he'd timed this moment to coincide with their regular tea break. even the japanese didn't work around the clock.
-now, holding the penlight and shivering from the cold, he began carefully checking the wires. carefully, so very carefully. he didn't have a diagram of their computer linkages, and he had to make sure he didn't accidentally interrupt the main power source, since the one thing he didn't want to do was disconnect any of the other flight control systems. he wanted to cut in somewhere between the ai module's power supply and its central processor. the power source led in here . . . and then up the side over to there, a high-voltage transformer . . . and then out from . . .
-there. just after the step-up transformer and before the motherboard with the dedicated cpu and i/o. that should avoid any shorting in the main power system and keep the interruption nice and localized.
-the line was almost half an inch thick, double-stranded, copper grounded with a coaxial sheath. but there was a clear section that led directly down to the cpu. that's where he'd place the blade, and hope it'd at least short- circuit the power feed even if it didn't sever the wires completely.
-he tested the radio transmitter one last time, making sure it would activate the blade, then reached down and clamped the mechanism onto the wire, tightening it with thumb screws. when it was as secure as he could make it, he stood back and examined his handiwork. if somebody decided to remove the faceplate, they'd spot it in a second, but otherwise . . .
-quickly, hands trembling from the cold, he fitted the cover back on the module and began replacing the screws with the tiny screwdriver. it wasn't magnetized, a deliberate choice, so the small screws kept slipping between his bulky fingers, a problem made more acute by the numbing cold.
-three screws to go . . . then he heard the noise. footsteps on the aluminum catwalk in the pressure bay above. . . . shit.
-he kept working as fast as he could, grimly holding the screws secure and fighting back the numbness and pain in his freezing fingers.
-only one more. above, he could hear the sounds of someone checking each of the equipment bays, methodically opening and then resecuring them. first the starboard side bay was opened and closed, then the portside bay. now he heard footsteps advancing down the metal stairs leading to the computer bay. they were five seconds away from discovering him.
-the last screw was in.
-he tried to stand, and realized his knees were numb. he staggered backward, grabbing for something to steady himself . . . and the light came on.
-"yuri andreevich, so this is where you are. what are you doing here?"
-it was the gravel voice of his father. he felt like a child again, caught with his hand in his pants. what should he do? tell the truth?
-"don't lie to me." andrei androv's ancient eyebrows gathered into the skeptical furrow yuri knew so well. "you're up to something, another of your tricks."
-yuri stared at him a moment. how had he known? a sixth sense?
-"i'm an old man. an old man worries. i had a feeling you might be in here tonight, tinkering with the vehicle. you told me you were planning something. i think the time has come to tell me what it is."
-yuri took a deep breath and looked him over.
-no, it was too risky. for them both. his secret had to be ironclad.
-"it's better if you don't know."
-"as you wish," the old man sighed. "but if you do something foolish . . ."
-"i damned sure intend to try." he met his father's steely gaze.
-"so did you do it?" andrei androv examined him, his ancient face ashen beneath his mane of white hair. "did you manage to sabotage the ai module?"
-he caught himself laughing out loud. whatever else, his father was no fool. he'd been a russian too long to believe anything he heard or half of what he saw. intrigue was a way of life for him.
-"let's go. they'll come looking for us soon. this is the wrong place to be found."
-"go back to the west quadrant. listen to a string quartet." he opened the port and waited for his father to step out. then he followed, closing it behind them. "there's no reason for you to be involved. heads are going to roll, but why should yours be one of them?"
-andrei petrovich androv moved lightly up the metal stair, the spring in his step belying his age. at the top he paused and turned back.
-"you're acting out of principle, aren't you, yuri? for once in your life."
-"i guess you could say that." he smiled, then moved on up the steps.
-"someday, the russian people will thank you."
-"someday. though i may not live to see it."
-andrei androv stopped, his ancient eyes tearing as his voice dropped to a whisper. "of all the things you've ever done, my son, nothing could make me more proud of you than what you just said. i've thought it over, about the military uses for this vehicle, and i think the future of the world is about to be rewritten here. you must stop them. you're the only chance we have left."
-wednesday 10:05 a.m.
-the limousine had already left the savoy and was headed down the strand when alex novosty broke the silence. he leaned forward, pushed the button on the two-way microphone linking the passenger compartment to the driver, and spoke in russian.
-"igor borisovich, there's been an alteration in our plans. we will not be going to westminster union. take us to moscow narodny bank. the trading branch on saint swithins lane."
-"shto ve skazale?" igor, still nursing his head from the kidnapping, glanced into his rearview mirror. "the bank's main office is on king william street. we always--"
-"just do as you're told." novosty cut him off, then killed the mike.
-vera karanova stared at him, her dark eyes flooding with concern. "but you said the transaction was scheduled for westminster union bank, this morning at ten-thirty."
-"that was merely a diversion." novosty leaned back. "the actual arrangement is turned around. for security reasons."
-"i don't like this." her displeasure was obvious, and mounting. "there is no reason--"
-"it's better, i assure you." he withdrew a white tin of balkan sobranie cigarettes from his coat, snapped it open, and withdrew one. made of fine turkish yenidje tobacco, they were what he always smoked on important days. this was an important day.
-as he flicked his lighter and drew in the first lungful of rich smoke, he thought about how much he hated the dark-haired woman seated beside him, dressed in a gray armani business suit, sable coat, cartier jewelry. the bad blood between them traced back over five years, begin- ning with a t-directorate reshuffle in which she'd moved up to the number three slot, cutting him out of a well-deserved promotion. the rumor going around dzerzhinsky square was that she'd done it by making the right connections, so to speak. it was the kind of in-house screw- job alex novosty didn't soon forget, of forgive.
-their black limo was now passing the royal courts of justice, on the left, headed onto fleet street. ahead was cannon street, which intersected the end of saint swithins lane. just a few blocks more. after today, he fully intended never to see her again.
-"we've arranged for the transaction to take place through mnb's bond trading desk," novosty continued, almost as though to nobody in particular. "michael and i have taken care of everything."
-"who approved this change?" she angrily gripped the handrest.
-"i did," novosty replied sharply. "we're in charge." he masked a smile, pleased to see her upset. the morning traffic was now almost at a standstill, but they would be on time. "after all, he still has the money."
-"and for all you know he may be in brazil by now. perhaps that's the reason he and the woman disappeared last night, with the help of an accomplice who assaulted igor borisovich."
-"michael will be there," novosty said. "have no fear. he's not going anywhere till this is finished."
-"after this is completed," she said matter-of-factly, "he will be finished. i hope you have planned for that."
-novosty glanced over, wondering what she meant. had all the surprises been covered? he hoped so, because this deal was his gateway to freedom. the two million commission would mean a new beginning for him.
-wednesday 10:18 a.m.
-kenji nogami sat upright at his wide oak desk, waiting for the phone to ring. how would michael play it? admittedly it was smart to keep everything close to the chest, but still. he would have felt better if michael vance, jr., had favored him with a little more trust.
-yes, it was definitely best. because he was staring across his desk at four of tanzan mino's tokyo kobun, all dressed in shiny black leather jackets. they'd arrived at the docklands office just after dawn, announcing they were there to hand-deliver the money to tokyo. jiro sato had directed them to westminster union.
-the four all carried black briefcases, which did not contain business papers. they intended to accomplish their mission by whatever means necessary. jiro sato, the london oyabun, had not been invited to send his people along with them this morning. he was now humiliated and dis- graced, officially removed from the operation, on tokyo's orders. the regional office had failed, so tokyo had sent in a mino-gumi version of the delta force. they clearly had orders concerning what to do with michael vance.
-he didn't like this new twist. for everything to go according to plan, violence had to be kept out of it. there was no way he and michael could go head to head with street enforcers. if michael was thinking of doing that, the man was crazy.
-he glanced at his gold omega, noting that it read ten- nineteen. in eleven more minutes he'd know how michael intended to run the scenario.
-but whatever happened, he wasn't going to be intimidated by these kobun hoods, dark sunglasses and automatics notwithstanding. those days were over. michael had given him a perfect opportunity to start building a new life. he didn't care if all hell was about to break loose.
-wednesday 10:23 a.m.
-"polovena decyat?" she examined him with her dark eyes.
-"da." novosty nodded. "they will be here at ten-thirty. that is the schedule."
-he was feeling nervous, which was unusual and he didn't like it. whenever he got that way, things always started going off the track.
-one thing you had to say for michael: he'd arranged the deal with great finesse. he didn't trust anybody. until he notified victoria courier this morning, nobody knew where the money would be taken, not even the japanese banker nogami. still, the instruments were negotiable, leaving the possibility of trouble if the timing went sour.
-he intended to make sure it didn't. the planning had been split-second up until now; this was no moment to relax his guard.
-yes, it was good he was here. as he studied comrade karanova, he realized that something about her was still making him uneasy. so far it was merely a hunch, but his hunches had been right more often than he liked to think.
-he tried to push the feeling aside. probably just paranoia. she obviously was here today for the same reason he was, to make sure the soviet money was returned safely. she probably was also still worried about the protocol, but that problem was hers, not his. from today on, the kgb would have to work out their in-fighting back home the best way they could. the ground rules were changing fast in moscow.
-besides, dzerzhinsky square was about to become part of a previous life for him. if he could just clear this up, get his commission, he'd be set. forever. enough was enough. maybe he'd end up in the caribbean like michael, drinking margaritas and counting string bikinis.
-the elevator door opened. facing them were michael vance and eva borodin.
-"glad you could make it." vance glanced coldly at vera. "right on time. the money arrives in exactly seven minutes."
-she nodded a silent greeting, pulling her sable coat tighter as she strode past. the bank officials lined up along the corridor watched her with nervous awe. even in london, t-directorate brass had clout.
-they moved as a group down the long carpeted hallway leading to the counting room. on this floor everything was high-security, with uniformed guards at all the doorways. negotiable instruments weren't handled casually.
-wednesday 10:30 a.m.
-"they're here." eva was watching from the narrow window. saint swithins lane down below, virtually an alley, was so narrow it could accommodate only one vehicle at a time. across was banque worms, its unicorn insignia staring out, its lobby chandeliers glowing. nobody there even bothered to notice. just another armored truck interrupting the view.
-then three blue-uniformed guards emerged from the cab and approached the rear doors from both sides, .38's in unsnapped holsters.
-"mr. vance, they had better have the money, all of it." vera stepped over to the window and followed eva's gaze down.
-"it'll be there."
-"for your sake i hope so," she replied as she turned back.
-"just hang around and watch," vance said.
-just one more day, he told himself. one more lousy day. we'll have enough of the protocol translated by tomorrow, the press package ready. then we drop it on the papers and blow town.
-from the hallway outside a bell chimed faintly as the elevator opened, a private lift that came directly up from the lobby. when he heard the heavy footsteps of the couriers, accompanied by mnb guards, he stepped over and quickly glanced out. the two blue-suits were each carrying a large satchel handcuffed to the left wrist. obviously the third had stayed downstairs, guarding the van.
-"this way." the heavy-jowled director of the mnb bond trading desk stepped out and motioned them in. the play was on.
-kenji nogami's issue of mino industries debentures had been registered with the issuing house association the previous day. this morning they would be acquired by vance, using a wire transfer between the moscow narodny bank on saint swithins lane and westminster union bank's bond desk. after that there would be a second transaction, whereby sumitomo bank, limited would accept the debentures as security for a loan of one hundred million dollars, to be wire-transferred back to westminster union and from there to moscow narodny bank. everything had been prearranged. the whole transaction would require only minutes.
-unless there was a glitch.
-vance had fully expected that tanzan mino would send a welcoming committee to nogami's premises, which was why he'd arranged for the money to be delivered here at moscow narodny's side-street branch. he figured the soviets, at least, would play it straight. kgb wanted its file closed.
-then too, eva still had the protocol. their back-up insurance policy.
-"mr. vance." vera karanova watched as the two security men unlatched their satchels and began withdrawing the bundles of open cashiers checks and bearer bonds. "i want to recount these securities, now."
-"there're double-counted tallys already prepared"--he pointed toward the bundles--"yesterday by the main branch of moscow narodny. the printouts are attached."
-"that was their count," she replied. "i intend to make my own, before we go any further."
-which means time lost, he thought. doesn't she realize we've got to get this cash recycled, those bonds purchased and in place, before tanzan mino's kobun have a chance to move on us? if the deal to acquire ken's new mino industries debentures doesn't go through, giving us something to hold over the godfather's head . . .
-she's literally playing into his hands.
-"the instruments are all here, all negotiable, and all ready to go," he said, stealing a quick glance toward eva. one look at her eyes told him she also sensed trouble brewing. "now, we're damn well going to move and move fast. we credit the funds here, then wire them to westminster union. and by god we do it immediately."
-"mr. vance, you are no longer giving the orders," she replied sharply. "i'm in charge here now. as a matter of fact, i have no intention of wiring the money anywhere. there will be no purchase of debentures. as far as i'm concerned, it has now been returned." she paused for emphasis. "but first we will count it."
-"vera, my love," eva said, cutting her off, "if you try and double- cross us, you're making a very big mistake. you seem to forget we've got that protocol. what we didn't get around to telling you is that we've deciphered it."
-"that's right. as it happens, i don't think you're going to like what it's got to say, but you might at least want to know the story before you read about it in the times day after tomorrow."
-alex novosty's face had turned ashen. "michael, tanzan mino's people are probably headed here by now. unless they go to the main office on king william street first." he was nervously glancing out the window. "we're running out of time."
-the game's about to get rough, vance thought. better take charge.
-but before he could move, novosty was gripping a ruger p-85, a lightweight 9mm automatic, pulled from a holster under the back of his jacket. he'd worn it where the mnb guards would miss it.
-the two victoria couriers were caught flat-footed. bankers weren't supposed to start drawing weapons. they stared in astonishment as he gestured for them to turn and face the wall.
-"michael," he said as he glanced over, "would you kindly give me a hand and take those two .38's? we really must get this party moving."
-vera karanova was smiling a thin smile. "i don't know how far you think you will get with this."
-"we seem to be working toward different objectives," novosty answered. "michael has a solution to everybody's problem. i regret very much you've chosen not to help facilitate it."
-"the only problem he solved was yours," she shot back. "mr. vance devised what amounts to an enormous check kiting scheme. you two planned to perpetrate fraud. you're nothing better than criminals, both of you, and i intend to make sure you haven't also given us a short count."
-"comrade, fraud is a harsh word," vance interjected.
-"you are not as amusing as you think," she replied.
-"humor makes the world go round."
-'this is not a joke. the negotiable instruments in this room are soviet funds. i intend to make sure those funds are intact. there will be a full and complete count. now."
-the two couriers were now spread against the brown textured fabric of the wall, legs apart. he walked over and reached into the leather holsters at their hips, drawing out their revolvers. they were snub- nosed smith & wesson bodyguards, .38 caliber. he looked them over, cocked them, and handed one to eva.
-"how about covering the door? i think it's time we got down to business and traded some bonds."
-"with pleasure." she stepped over and glanced out. it was clear.
-"what do you think, alex?" vance turned back. "word's going around there's a hot new issue of mino industries zero-coupons coming out today. what do you say we go long? in for a hundred. just take the lot."
-"i heard the same rumor, this very morning," he smiled. "you're right. my instincts say it's a definite buy."
-"fine." vance turned to mnb's jowled branch chief. "we'd like to do a little trading here this morning. mind getting the bond desk at westminster union on the line? tell nogami we're good for a hundred in mino industries debentures, the new issue. at par."
-"michael." it was eva's voice, suddenly alarmed.
-"we've got company. they look like field reps."
-"good god." novosty strode to the door and looked out. a group of four leather-jacketed japanese were headed down the hallway, two disarmed mnb guards in front. also with them was kenji nogami.
-turning back, he looked imploringly at vance. "what do we do?"
-"figure they came prepared." he waved toward eva. "better lose that .38. put it on the table for now. maybe we can still talk this thing through."
-she nodded, then stepped over and laid her weapon beside the bundles of securities. vance took one last look at the smith & wesson in his own hand and did the same. even ex-archaeologists could do arithmetic.
-all this time vera karanova had said nothing. she merely stood watching the proceedings with a detached smile. finally she spoke. "now we can proceed with the counting," she said calmly.
-"maybe you don't fully grasp the situation here, comrade." vance stared at her. "those gorillas aren't dropping in for tea. we've got to stand together."
-she burst out laughing. "mr. vance, you are truly naive. no, you're worse. you actually thought you could sabotage the most powerful new global alliance of the twentieth century." her dark eyes were gradually turning glacial. "it will not be allowed to happen, believe me."
-my god, he realized, that's why she wanted to get her hands on the protocol. to deep-six it. she's been biding her time, stringing us along. and today she managed to stall us long enough for mino's boys to figure out the switch. she's no longer working for t-directorate; she's part of tanzan mino's operation. all this time she's been working with them.
-"the negotiable certificates in this room will be delivered to their rightful recipient by his personal jet," she continued. "today."
-"over my dead body." he found himself thinking it might well be true.
-"no, mr. vance, not exactly. your contribution will be more substantial than that."
-he was speechless, for the first time.
-the russian bankers in the room were taken totally by surprise. double- dealing kgb games had always been part of the landscape, but this was confusing in the extreme. whose money was it anyway?
-"michael." novosty's voice was trembling. "this cannot be allowed to happen."
-"i agree. we've definitely got a situation here."
-he glanced around to see the four mino-gumi kobun poised in the doorway, all with h&k automatics now out of their briefcases. kenji nogami was standing behind them, his eyes defeated.
-novosty still looked stunned. the range of options was rapidly narrowing to none.
-vera indicated his ruger. "you would be wise to put that away. now."
-"if they take these securities, my life's not worth a kopeck." novosty seemed to be thinking out loud. "what does it matter."
-it wasn't a question. it was a statement.
-remembering it all later, vance could barely recall the precise sequence of events. he did remember shoving eva back against the wall as the fireworks began.
-novosty's first round caught the lead mino-gumi kobun squarely between the eyes. as he pitched backward, arms flailing, he tumbled against the others, giving novosty time to fire again. with deadly accuracy he caught another in the chest.
-kenji nogami had already thrown himself on the thick hallway carpet, safely avoiding the fusillade. the russian bankers, too, had all hit the floor, along with the mnb guards and the two couriers.
-then came a shot with a different sound--the dull thunk of a silencer. novosty jerked in surprise, pain spreading through his eyes. the silencer thunked again, and again.
-it was vera karanova. she was holding a small .22 caliber walther pp, with a specially equipped silencer. and her aim was flawless. novosty had three slugs arranged neatly down the side of his head before he even realized what was happening. he collapsed forward, never knowing whose hand had been on the gun.
-she's probably wanted to get rid of him for years, vance thought fleetingly. she finally got her golden opportunity, the double-crossing bitch.
-he briefly considered grabbing back one of the .38's and avenging alex then and there, but he knew it would be suicidal.
-"alex, no!" eva's voice sobbed.
-"both of you, hands on the wall." comrade karanova was definitely in charge.
-"michael," eva said, turning to comply, "what happened to our well-laid plans?"
-"looks like too little, too late." he stretched beside her.
-"what did she mean just now? about our 'contribution'?"
-"probably the protocol. my guess is she wants to see it destroyed. let's hope that'll be the end of it. the godfather's got his money. and alex's problem is solved permanently."
-now kenji nogami was entering the room, an island of zen-like calm amidst all the bedlam.
-"michael, i'm so sorry." he stepped over. "when the money didn't show up as scheduled, they called jiro sato and he suggested they try here. there was nothing i could do."
-vance nodded. "that's how i figured it'd be played. we didn't move fast enough on this end. it was my fault."
-"too bad. we came close." he sighed. "but i'm not going to underwrite the rest of those bogus debentures. he'll have to kill me."
-"and he'll probably do just that. the hell with it. you tried, we all tried. now it looks like tanzan mino's scam is going to go through whether we play or not. you might as well save your own skin. with any luck, we can still sort out our end, but you--you're going to have to be dealing with that bastard for years to come. think about it."
-"i'm still deciding," he said finally. "let's wait and see how things go."
-"alex opted for suicide. you shouldn't follow his lead."
-"i'm not suicidal." he stepped back as vera proceeded to pat them down. "i think very carefully about my options."
-"get the money." she was directing the two remaining mino-gumi kobun toward the table.
-"gonna just rob the bank now, comrade?" vance turned and looked at her, then at the three bodies strewn on the floor. the kobun seemed to consider their late colleagues merely casualties of war. the dead men received almost no notice. "pretty costly little enterprise, wouldn't you say. not a very propitious start for your new era of world serenity."
-"you would be advised to shut up," she responded sharply.
-"i feel personally violated by all this." nogami had turned to her and his voice was like steel. "as of this moment, you can put out of your mind any illusion i might cooperate further. this outrage is beyond acceptability."
-"we did what had to be done," vera said. "we still expect your cooperation and i do not think we will be disappointed."
-"then your expectation is sadly misplaced," he replied icily. his eyes signified he meant every word.
-"we will see." she dismissed him as she turned her attention to the money. the two kobun had carefully removed their shiny black leather jackets now and laid them on the table. underneath they wore tightly tailored white shirts, complete with underarm holsters containing 9mm llamas. the automatics were back in their briefcases, positioned by the door. stripped down for action, they were quickly and professionally tallying the certificates, one handling the open cashiers checks and the other the bearer bonds.
-guess they intend to keep a close eye on the details, vance thought.
-well, screw them. we've still got the protocol. we've got some leverage left.
-but he was having trouble focusing on the future. he was still in shock from the sight of novosty being gunned down in cold blood. alex's abrupt death was a tragic end to an exceptional, if sometimes dubious, career. he'd really wanted novosty to make this one last score. the man deserved it. he was an operator who lived at the edge, and vance had always admired players who put everything on the table, no matter which side.
-well, he told himself, the scenario had come close, damned close. but maybe it was doomed from the start. you only get so many chances to tempt the fates. today everybody's number came up, alex's for the last time.
-rest in peace, aleksei ilyich.
-then vera turned back to them. "now, i want the computer. we know it was moved to the house in kensington, but our search this morning did not locate it."
-so they were on to us from the start, vance realized.
-"looks like you've got a problem." he strolled over and plopped down in one of the straight-backed chairs along the opposite wall. "too bad."
-"no, you have a problem." she examined him confidently. "because if those materials are not returned to us, we will be forced to take actions you may find harsh."
-"give it your best shot," he went on, glancing at eva and hoping they could keep up the bravado, "because we've got a few cards in our hand too. forget the money--that's history now--but we could still be in a position to blow your whole project sky high."
-"you two are the only ones outside our organization who know about the protocol. that knowledge will not be allowed to go any farther."
-"don't be so sure. for all you know, we've already stashed a copy somewhere. left word that if anything happens to either one of us, the package gets sent to the papers. made public. think what some premature headlines would do for your little project."
-"we have thought about it, mr. vance. that contingency has been covered."
-"well, if i don't know what the other player's got, i tend to trust my own cards."
-but why play at all? he suddenly found himself musing. fold this hand and go for the next move.
-before leaving crete he'd transmitted a copy of the protocol, still in its encrypted form, to his office computer in nassau. at the time it'd merely seemed like prudence; now it might turn out to be a lifeline. one phone call and it could be transmitted back here this very afternoon. the magic of satellites in space. knock out another quick translation and they'd only have lost one day. what the hell. use that as a fallback position. time, that's all it would take, just a little more time.
-"but what does it matter? the game's up anyway." he nodded toward vera, then turned to eva, sending her a pointed signal.
-"what was it shakespeare said about discretion and valor," she concurred, understanding exactly what he was thinking.
-"the man knew when to fish and when to cut bait."
-"true enough. shall you tell them or shall i?"
-"you can do the honors."
-she walked over and picked up her briefcase. "you didn't really think we'd leave it, did you, comrade? so just take it and good riddance. a little gift from the nsa. who says america's getting stingy with its foreign aid?"
-comrade karanova motioned for the two kobun to take the case. "see if it's there."
-as they moved to comply, vance found himself wondering if this really was going to turn off the heat. somehow it no longer seemed adequate.
-"hai so," he grunted through his teeth as he lifted it, "something is here." vance noticed that two digits of the little finger on his left hand were missing, along with another digit on his ring finger. good thing ken was never a street man, he thought fleetingly. guess bankers get to pay for their mistakes with something besides sections of fin- ger.
-"then take it out," vera commanded. "we are running out of time."
-you've got that right, lady, vance thought. three men were just killed. that personal boeing of tanzan mino's better be warming up its pratt & whitney's right now. london's about to get too hot for you.
-one of the kobun withdrew the zenith. he placed it on the mahogany table, then unlatched the top and lifted it up, only to stare at the blank gray screen, unsure what he was supposed to do next.
-vera knew. she reached for the switch on the side and clicked it on, then stood back and turned to eva.
-"call up the file. i want to see if you have really broken the encryption, the way you said."
-"truth time," she laughed, then punched up the translation.
-and there it was.
-comrade karanova studied it a moment, as though not quite believing her eyes. but she plainly had seen it before. "congratulations. we were sure no one would be able to break the encryption, not even you." she glanced around. "you are very clever."
-"okay," vance interjected, "i'm sure we all have better things to do this morning. so why don't you take the damned thing and get out of here. it's what you wanted. just go and we'll all try and forget any of this ever happened."
-she flipped down the computer's screen, then turned back. "unfortunately nothing is ever that simple. i'm sorry to have to tell you two that we haven't seen the last of each other." she paused, then continued. "in fact, we are about to become much better acquainted."
-"what do you mean?"
-"you once told me, back when we met on the plane from athens, you would welcome that. you should be happy that your wish is now about to be granted. you both are going to be our guests."
-"that's kind of you." he stared at her, startled. "but we can probably bear up to the separation."
-"no, i must insist. you were right about the difficulties. your death now would be awkward, for a number of reasons. alex will be trouble enough to explain, but that is purely an internal soviet matter. moscow narodny can cover it. however, eliminating you two would raise awkward inquiries. on the other hand, you represent a security risk to the project. consequently we have no option. surely you understand."
-he understood all too well. this was the one turn he hadn't figured on.
-almost eight years. it had been that long ago. but what had ken said? the tokyo oyabun never forgot. what this really meant was that tanzan mino wanted to settle the score first hand. what did he have planned?
-vance had a sudden feeling he didn't want to know. it was going to be a zero-sum game. everything on the table and winner take all.
-the uzi. the goddam uzi. why hadn't they brought it?
-it was still back in kensington, where they'd stashed it in the false bottom of a new suitcase. but if the mino-gumi had been searching only for a computer, maybe they'd missed it. so tanzan mino's hoods could still be in for a surprise. just make an excuse to go back.
-vera was aware an uzi had been part of their deal for the limo, but maybe that fact had momentarily slipped her mind, what with all the important things she had to think about. or maybe she'd assumed alex had kept it, or maybe she thought it was still in the car. whatever she thought, things were moving too fast now.
-"i get the picture," he said, rising from his chair. with a
-carefully feigned nonchalance, he strolled over to the table. "guess it's time we got our toothbrushes."
-"you won't have to bother, mr. vance," vera continued. "your suitcases were sent to the plane an hour ago. we found them conveniently packed. don't worry. everything has already been taken care of."
-okay, scratch the uzi. looks like it's now or never. settle it here.
-he shot a glance at eva, then at ken, trying to signal them. they caught it, and they knew. she began strolling in the direction of vera, who was now standing in the doorway, as though readying to depart.
-"we appreciate the snappy service," vance said. he looked down at the computer, then bent over. when he came up, it was in his right hand, sailing in an arc. he brought it around with all his might, aimed for the nearest japanese kobun. he was on target, catching the man squarely in the stomach.
-with a startled, disbelieving look the japanese stumbled backward, crashing over a large chair positioned next to the table. the other kobun instantly reached for his holstered llama, but by then kenji nogami had moved, seizing him and momentarily pinning his arms with a powerful embrace.
-for her own part, eva had lunged for vera and her purse, to neutralize the walther she carried. comrade karanova, however, had already anticipated everything. she whisked back the purse, then plunged her hand in. what she withdrew, though, was not a pistol but a shiny cylindrical object made of glass.
-it was three against three, a snapshot of desperation.
-we've got a chance, vance thought. keep him down. and get the llama.
-as the kobun tried to rise, gasping, vance threw himself over the upturned chair, reaching to pin the man's arms. with a bear-like embrace he had him, the body small and muscular in his arms. out of the corner of his eye he saw kenji nogami still grappling with the other kobun. the computer now lay on the floor, open and askew.
-where's eva? he tried to turn and look for her, but there was no sound to guide him. then the kobun wrenched free one arm and brought a fist against the side of his face, diverting him back to matters at hand.
-hold him down. just get the gun.
-he tried to crush his larger frame against the other's slim body, forcing the air out of him. focus.
-but the wiry man was stronger than he looked. with a twist he rolled over and pinned vance's shoulders against the carpet. vance felt the shag, soft against his skin, and couldn't believe how chilly it felt. but now he had his hand on the kobun's throat, holding him in a powerful grip while jamming a free elbow against the holster.
-cut off his oxygen. don't let him breathe.
-the old moves were coming back, the shortcuts that would bring a more powerful opponent to submission. he pressed a thumb against the man's windpipe, shutting off his air. a look of surprise went through the kobun's eyes as he choked, letting his hold on vance's shoulders slacken.
-he shoved the man's arm aside and reached for the holster. then his hand closed around the hard grip of the llama. the japanese was weaker now, but still forcing his arm away from the gun, preventing him from getting the grip he needed.
-he rammed an elbow against the man's chin, then tightened his finger on the grip of the llama. he almost had it.
-with his other hand he shoved the kobun's face away, clawing at his eyes, and again they rolled over, with the japanese once more against the carpet. but now he had the gun and he was turning.
-he felt a sharp jab in his back, a flash of pain that seemed to come from nowhere. it was both intense and numbing, as though his spine had been caught in a vise. then he felt his heart constrict, his orientation spin. he rolled to the side, flailing an arm to try and recover his balance, but the room was in rotation, his vision playing tricks.
-the one thing he did see was vera karanova standing over him, a blurred image his mind tried vainly to correct. her face was faltering, the indistinct outlines of a desert mirage. was she real or was he merely dreaming?
-"the hypersonic test flight must proceed as scheduled," tanzan mino said quietly. "now that all the financial arrangements have been completed, the coordinating committee of the ldp has agreed to bring the treaty before the diet next week. a delay is unthinkable."
-"the problem is not technical, mino-sama," taro ikeda, the project director, continued, his tone ripe with deference. "it is the soviet pilot. perhaps he should be replaced." he looked down, searching for the right words. "i'm concerned. i think he has discovered the stealth capabilities of the vehicle. probably accidentally, but all the same, i'm convinced he is now aware of them. two nights ago he engaged in certain unauthorized maneuvers i believe were intended to verify those capabilities."
-"so deshoo." tanzan mino's eyes narrowed. "but he has said nothing?"
-"no. not a word. at least to me."
-"then perhaps he was merely behaving erratically. it would not be the first time."
-"the maneuvers. they were too explicit," ikeda continued. "as i said, two nights ago, on the last test fight, he switched off the transponder, then performed a snap roll and took the vehicle into a power dive, all the way to the deck. it was intended to be a radar- evasive action." the project director allowed himself a faint, ironic smile. "at least we now know that the technology works. the vehicle's radar signature immediately disappeared off the tracking monitors at katsura."
-"it met the specifications?"
-ikeda nodded. "yesterday i ordered a computer analysis of the data tapes. the preliminary report suggests it may even have exceeded them."
-tanzan mino listened in silence. he was sitting at his desk in the command sector wing of the north quadrant at the hokkaido facility. although the sector was underground, like the rest of the facility, behind his desk was a twenty-foot-long "window" with periscope double mirrors that showed the churning breakers of la perouse strait.
-his jet had touched down on the facility's runway at 6:48 a.m. and been promptly towed into the hangar. tanzan mino intended to be in personal command when daedalus i went hypersonic, in just nineteen hours. the video monitors in his office were hard-wired directly to the main console in flight control, replicating its data displays, and all decisions passed across his desk.
-"leave the pilot to me," he said without emotion, revolving to gaze out the wide window, which displayed the mid-afternoon sun catching the crests of whitecaps far at sea. "what he knows or doesn't know will not disrupt the schedule."
-once again, he thought, i've got to handle a problem personally. why? because nobody else here has the determination to make the scenario succeed. first the protocol, and then the money. i had to intervene to resolve both.
-but, he reflected with a smile, it turned out that handling those difficulties personally had produced an unexpected dividend.
-"as you say, mino-sama," ikeda bowed. "i merely wanted to make you aware of my concern about the pilot. he should be monitored more closely from now on."
-"which is precisely what i intend to do." tanzan mino's silver hair seemed to blend with the sea beyond. "there is an obvious solution. when he takes the vehicle hypersonic, he will not be alone."
-"what are you suggesting? no one else--"
-"merely a simple security precaution. if he is not reliable, then steps must be taken. two of our people will be in the cockpit with him."
-"you mean the scientists from tsukuba? the cockpit was designed to accommodate a three-man crew, but miti hasn't yet designated the two researchers."
-"no. i mean my personal pilot and copilot. from the boeing. then if androv deviates from the prescribed test program in any way, they will be there, ready to take immediate action. the problem is solved." he revolved back from the window. "that will be all."
-ikeda bowed, then turned and hurriedly made his way toward the door. he didn't like last-minute improvisations, but the ceo was now fully in command. preparations for two additional life-support systems would have to be started immediately.
-after tanzan mino watched him depart, he reached down and activated a line of personal video monitors beside his desk.
-vance recognized the sound immediately. it was the harp-like plucking of a japanese koto, punctuated by the tinkling of a wind chime. without opening his eyes, he reached out and touched a hard, textured surface. it was, he realized, a straw mat, and from the firmness of the weave he knew it was tatami. then he felt the soft cotton of the padded mat beneath him and guessed he was lying on a futon. the air in the room was faintly spiced with mahayana buddhist temple incense.
-i'm in japan, he told himself. or somebody wants me to think i am.
-he opened his eyes and found himself looking at a rice-paper lamp on the floor next to his futon. directly behind it, on the left, was a tokonoma art alcove, built next to a set of sliding doors. a small, round shoji window in the tokonoma shed a mysterious glow on its hanging scroll, the painting an ink sketch of a zen monk fording a shallow stream.
-then he noticed an insignia that had been painted on the sliding doors with a giant brush. he struggled to focus, and finally grasped that it was the minoan double ax, logo of the daedalus corporation.
-he lay a minute, nursing the ache in his head and trying to remember what had happened. all he could recall was london, money, eva . . .
-eva. where was she?
-he popped erect and surveyed the room. it was traditional jap anese, the standard four-and-a-half tatami in size, bare and spartan. a classic.
-but the music. it seemed to be coming through the walls.
-the walls. they all looked to be rice paper. he clambered up and headed for the fusuma with the double-ax logo. he tested it and realized that the paper was actually painted steel. and it was locked. the room was secure as a vault.
-but across, opposite the tokonoma, was another set of sliding doors. as he turned to walk over, he noticed he was wearing tabi, light cotton stockings split at the toe, and he was clad in a blue-patterned yukata robe, cinched at the waist. he'd been stripped and re- dressed.
-this door was real, and he shoved it open. a suite of rooms lay beyond, and there on a second futon, still in a drugged sleep, lay eva. he moved across, bent down, and shook her. she jerked away, her dreaming disrupted, and turned over, but she didn't come out of it.
-"what . . ." she rolled back and cracked open her bloodshot eyes. then she rose on one elbow and gazed around the room. it was appointed identically to his, with only the hanging scroll in the tokonoma different, hers being an angular, three-level landscape. "my god."
-"welcome to the wonderful world of tanzan mino. i don't know where the hell we are, but it's definitely not kansas, or london."
-"my head feels like i was at ground zero when the bomb hit. my whole body aches." she groaned and plopped back down on the futon. "what time do you think it is?"
-"haven't a clue. how about starting with what day?" he felt for his watch and realized it was gone. "what does it matter anyway? nobody has clocks in never-never land."
-satisfied she was okay, he stood up and surveyed the room. then he saw what he'd expected. there in the center of the ceiling, integrated into the pattern of light-colored woods, was the glass eye of a video camera.
-and the music. still the faint music.
-he walked on down to the far end of her room and shoved aside another set of sliding doors, also painted with the double-ax insignia. he found himself looking at a third large space, this one paneled in raw cypress. it was vast, and in the center was a cedar hot tub, sunk into the floor. the water was fresh and steaming, and two tiny stools and rinsing pails were located conveniently nearby on the redwood decking. it was a traditional o-furo, one of the finest he'd ever seen.
-"you're not going to believe this." he turned back and waved her forward. in the soft rice-paper glow of the lamp she looked rakishly disheveled. japanese architecture always made him think of lovemaking. "our host probably figured we'd want to freshen up for the festivities. check it out."
-"what?" she was shakily rising, pulling her yukata around her.
-"all the comforts of home. too bad they forgot the geisha."
-she came over and stood beside him. "i don't believe this."
-"want to see if it's real, or just a mirage?"
-she hesitantly stepped onto the decking, then walked out and bent down to test the water. "feels wet." she glanced back. "so what the heck. i could use it."
-"i'm ready." he kicked off his tabi and walked on out.
-"they know how to live. here, let me." he picked up a second sponge and began scrubbing her back in turn. "how does it feel?"
-"maybe this is heaven."
-"hope we didn't have to die to get here. but hang on. i've got a feeling the fun is just beginning."
-he splashed her off with one of the pails, then watched as she gingerly climbed down into the wooden tub.
-"michael, where do you think we are?" she sighed as the steam enveloped her. "this has got to be japan, but where?"
-"got a funny feeling i know." he was settling into the water beside her. "but if i told you, you'd probably think i'm hallucinating." above the tub, he suddenly noticed yet another video camera.
-as they lay soaking, the koto music around them abruptly stopped, its poignant twangs disappearing with an electronic click.
-"are you finding the accommodations adequate?"
-the voice was coming from a speaker carefully integrated into the raw cypress ceiling.
-"i'm sorry to hear that," the voice continued. "no expense has been spared. my own personal quarters have been placed at your disposal."
-"mind telling me who's watching me bathe?" eva splashed a handful of water at the lens.
-"you have no secrets from me, dr. borodin. however, in the interest of propriety i have switched off the monitor for the bath. i'm afraid my people were somewhat overly zealous, installing one there in the first place." the voice chuckled. "but i should think you'd know. i am ceo of the daedalus corporation, an organization not unfamiliar to you."
-"all right," she said, "so where are we?"
-"why, you are in the corporation's hokkaido facility. as my guests. since you two have taken such an interest in this project, i thought it only fitting you should have an opportunity to see it first hand."
-"mind giving us a preview of the upcoming agenda?" vance leaned back. "we need to plan our day."
-"quite simply, i thought it was time you and i got reacquainted, dr. vance. it's been a long time."
-"yes. eight years . . ." there was a pause. "if you would excuse me a moment, i must take a call."
-the speaker clicked off.
-"michael, i've got a very bad feeling about all this." she was rising from the bath, her back to the camera. "what do you think he's going to do?"
-he's going to kill us, vance realized. after he's played with us a while. it's really quite simple.
-"i don't know," he lied.
-then the speaker clicked on again. "please forgive me. there are so many demands on my time. however, i was hoping you, dr. vance, would consent to join me this afternoon for tea. we have some urgent matters to discuss."
-"i'll see if i can work it into my schedule."
-"given the hectic goings-on here at the moment, perhaps a quiet moment would be useful for us both." he paused again, speaking to someone else, then his voice came back. "shall we say four o'clock."
-"what time is it now?"
-"please forgive me. i forgot. your world is not regimented by time, whereas mine regrettably is measured down to seconds. it is now almost three in the afternoon. i shall expect you in one hour. your clothes are in the closet in your room. now, if you will allow me. affairs . . ."
-and the voice was gone.
-"michael, are you really going to talk with that criminal?"
-"wouldn't miss it for the world. there's a game going on here, and we have to stay in. everybody's got a score to settle. we're about to see who settles up first."
-"zero minus eighteen hours." yuri andreevich androv stared at the green screen, its numbers scrolling the computerized countdown. "eighteen fucking hours."
-as he wheeled around, gazing over the beehive of activity in flight control, he could already feel the adrenaline beginning to build. everything depended on him now. the vehicle was as ready as it was going to be: all the wind tunnel tests, all the computer simulations, even the supersonic test flights--everything said go. daedalus i was going to make history tomorrow morning.
-except, he told himself, it's going to be a very different history from the one everybody expects.
-"major yuri andreevich androv, please report to hangar quadrant immediately."
-the stridency of the facility's paging system always annoyed him. he glanced at the long line of computer screens one last time, then shrugged and checked his watch. who wanted him?
-well, a new planeload of soviet vips reportedly had flown in yesterday, though he hadn't seen any of them yet. he figured now that everything looked ready, the nomenklatura were flooding in to bask in triumph. maybe after a day of vodka drinking and back slapping with the officials in project management, they'd sobered up and realized they were expected to file reports. so they were finally getting around to talking to the people who were doing the actual work. they'd summon in a few staffers who had hands-on knowledge of the project and commission a draft report, which they'd then file, unread, under their own names. typical.
-he reached for his leather flight jacket, deciding on a brisk walk to work off the tension. the long corridor leading from the east quadrant to the hangar quadrant took him directly past checkpoint central and the entry to west quadrant, the soviet sector, which also contained the flight simulator and the main wind tunnel, or number one, both now quiet.
-as he walked, he thought again about the new rumor he'd heard in the commissary at lunch. gossip kept the soviet staff going--an instinct from the old days--but this one just might be true. some lower-level staffers even claimed they'd seen him. the chief.
-word was tanzan mino himself--none other than the ceo of the daedalus corporation--had flown in this morning, together with his personal bodyguards and aides. the story was he wanted hands-on control of the first hypersonic test flight, wanted to be calling the shots in flight control when daedalus i made history.
-finally. the big man has decided to show his face.
-"yuri andreevich, just a minute. slow down."
-he recognized the voice immediately and glanced around to see nikolai vasilevich grishkov, the portly soviet chief mechanic, just emerging from the west quadrant. his bushy eyebrows hung like a pair of siberian musk-ox horns above his gleaming dark eyes.
-"have you seen her?" grishkov was shuffling toward him.
-"seen who?" he examined the mechanic's spotless white coveralls. jesus! even the support crews on this project were all sanitized, high-tech.
-"the new woman. kracevia, moi droog. ochen kracevia. beautiful beyond words. and she is important. you can tell just by looking."
-"yuri andreevich, she's here and she's soviet." the chief mechanic followed him. "some believe she arrived this morning with the ceo, but nobody knows who she is. one rumor is she's vera karanova."
-"who?" the name was vaguely familiar.
-"t-directorate. like i said, no one knows for sure, but that's what we've heard."
-"impossible." he halted and turned back, frowning.
-"that's just it, yuri andreevich," he sighed. "those kgb bastards are not supposed to even know about this project.
-that was everybody's strict understanding. we were to be free of them here. but now . . ." he caught the sleeve of androv's flight jacket and pulled him aside, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic in the hallway. "my men were wondering. maybe you could find a way to check her out? you have better access. everybody wants to know what's going on."
-"kgb? it doesn't make any sense."
-"if she's really . . . i just talked to the project kurirovat, ivan semenovich, and he told me karanova's now number three in t- directorate."
-"well, there's nothing we can do now, so the hell with her." he waved his hand and tried to move on. "we've both got better things to worry about."
-"just keep your antenna tuned, my friend, that's all. let me know if you can find out anything. is she really karanova? because if she is, we damned well need to know the inside story."
-"nikolai, if i see her, i'll be sure and ask." he winked. "and if she's the hot number you say, maybe i'll find time to warm her up a little. get her to drop her . . . guard."
-"if you succeed in that, moi droog," he said as his heavy eyebrows lifted with a sly grin, "you'll be the envy of the facility. you've got to see her."
-"i can't wait." he shrugged and moved on toward the hangar security station, at the end of the long corridor. when he flashed his a-level priority id for the two japanese guards, he noticed they nervously made a show of scrutinizing it, even though they both knew him perfectly well, before saluting and authorizing entry.
-great. let all those assholes on the soviet staff see the expression on his face when the truth comes out. that's the real history we're about to make here.
-as he walked into the glare of neon, the cavernous space had never seemed more vast, more imposing. he'd seen a lot of hangars, flown a lot of experimental planes over the years, but nothing to match this. still, he always reminded himself, daedalus was only hardware, just more fancy iron. what really counted was the balls of the pilot holding the flight stick.
-what are those air force neanderthals doing here? they're all notorious hardliners, the "bomb first, ask questions later" boys. and daedalus is supposed to be for space research, right? guess the bullshit is about to be over. we're finally getting down to the real scenario.
-well, yuri andreevich thought, for the time being he does own them. they're bought and paid for, just like us.
-"tovarisch, major androv, kak pazhavatye," came a voice behind him. he turned and realized it belonged to general valentin sokolov, commander of the mig 31 wing at the dolinsk air base on sakhalin. sokolov was three star, top man in all the soviet far east. flanking him were half a dozen colonels and lieutenant colonels.
-now the project director, taro ikeda, had broken away from the soviet group and was approaching. "yuri andreevich, thank you for coming." he bowed deferentially. "you are about to receive a great honor. the ceo has asked for a private conference with you."
-yuri stared over ikeda's shoulder at the man-in-charge. all this right- wing brass standing around kissing his ass counted for nothing. he was the one calling the shots. who was everybody kidding?
-now the ceo looked his way, sizing him up with a quick glance. yuri androv assessed him in turn. it was one look, but they both knew there was trouble ahead.
-then tanzan mino patted a colonel-general on the shoulder and headed over. "yuri andreevich androv, i presume," he said in flawless russian, bowing lightly. "a genuine pleasure to meet you at last. there's a most urgent matter we have to discuss."
-at the precise hour, the tokonoma alcove off vance's bedroom rotated ninety degrees, as though moved by an unseen hand, and what awaited beyond was a traditional japanese sand-and-stone garden. it was, of course, lit artificially, but the clusters of green shrubs seemed to be thriving on the fluorescents. through the garden's grassy center was a curving pathway of flat stepping stones placed artfully in irregular curves, and situated on either side of the walkway were towering rocks nestled in glistening sand that had been raked to represent ocean waves. the rocks were reminiscent of the soaring mountains in chinese sung landscape paintings.
-vance's attention, however, was riveted on what awaited at the end of the stony walkway. it was a traditional teahouse, set in a grove of flowering azaleas. and standing in the doorway was a silver-haired figure dressed in a formal black kimono. he was beckoning.
-"did i neglect to tell you i prefer japanese cha-no-yu to the usual british afternoon tea?" tanzan mino announced. "it is a ritual designed to renew the spirit, to cleanse the mind. it goes back hundreds of years. i always enjoy it in the afternoon, and i find it has marvelously restorative powers. this seemed the ideal occasion for us to meet and chat."
-"don't want to slight tradition." vance slipped on the pair of wooden clogs that awaited at the bottom of the path.
-"my feelings entirely," the ceo continued, smiling as he watched him approach. "you understand the japanese way, dr. vance, which is one reason we have so much to discuss."
-he bowed a greeting as vance deposited his clogs on the stepping stone by the teahouse door. together they stooped to enter.
-a light murmur of boiling water came from a brazier set into the tatami-matted floor, but otherwise the room was caught in an ethereal silence. the decor was more modern than most teahouses, with fresh cedar and pine for the ceiling and walls rather than the customary reed, bark, and bamboo.
-tanzan mino gestured for him to sit opposite as he immediately began the formalities of ritually cleaning the bamboo scoop, then elevating the rugged white tea bowl like an ancient chalance and ceremonially wiping it. all the while his eyes were emotionless, betraying no hint of what was in his mind.
-after the utensils were ceremonially cleansed, he wordlessly scooped a portion of pale-green powdered tea into the bowl, then lifted a dipperful of boiling water from the kettle and poured it in. finally he picked up a bamboo whisk and began to whip the mixture, continuing until it had acquired the consistency of green foam.
-authority, control, and--above all--discipline. those things, vance knew, were what this was really about. as was traditional and proper, not a word was spoken. this was the zen equivalent of high mass, and tanzan mino was silently letting him know he was a true master--of himself, of his world.
-then the oyabun reached over and formally presented the bowl, placing it on the tatami in front of his guest.
-he sipped one more time, then wiped the rim, formally repositioned the bowl on the tatami, and leaned back.
-"perfectly done," tanzan mino smiled as he broke the silence. "i'm impressed." he nodded toward the white bowl. "incidentally, you were just handling one of the finest pieces in all japan."
-"shino ware. mino region, late sixteenth century. remarkably fine glaze, considering those kilns had just started firing chawan."
-"you have a learned eye, dr. vance." he smiled again, glancing down to admire the rough, cracked surface of the rim. "the experts disagree on the age, some saying very early seventeenth century, but i think your assessment is correct. in any case, just handling it always soothes my spirit. the discipline of the samurai is in a chawan like this. and in the cha-no-yu ceremony itself. it's a test i frequently give my western friends. to see if they can grasp its spirituality. i'm pleased to say that you handled the bowl exactly as you should have. you understand that japanese culture is about shaping the randomness of human actions to a refined perfection. that's what we really should be discussing here this afternoon, not the world of affairs, but i'm afraid time is short. i often think of life in terms of a famous haiku by the poet shiki:
-kaze ni nigarete
-"sounds more like your new airplane," vance observed, then translated:
-a mortal butterfly
-fluttering and drifting
-in the wind.
-"a passable enough rendering, if i may say, though i don't necessarily accept your analogy." he reached down and lifted a bottle of warmed sake from beside the brazier. "by the way, i know you prefer tequila, one of your odd quirks, but there was no time to acquire any. perhaps this will suffice."
-he set down two black raku saucers and began to pour. "now, alas, we must proceed."
-post time, vance thought.
-"dr. michael vance." he lifted his saucer in a toast. "a scholar of the lost aegean civilizations, a former operative of the central intelligence agency, and finally a private consultant affiliated with a group of mercenaries. i had your file updated when i first heard you were involved. i see you have not been entirely idle since our last encounter."
-"you haven't done too bad yourself." vance toasted him back. "this new project is a big step up from the old days. has a lot of style."
-"it does indeed," he nodded. "i'm quite proud of our achievement here."
-"you always thought big." vance sipped again at his sake, warm and soothing.
-"okay, how's this. what do you expect to get out of me?"
-he laughed. "why nothing at all. our reunion here is merely intended to serve as a tutorial. to remind you and others how upsetting i find intrusions into my affairs."
-"then how about starting off this 'tutorial' with a look at your new plane?" vance glanced around. "guess i should call it daedalus."
-"daedalus i and ii. there actually are two prototypes, although only one is currently certified to operate in the hypersonic regime. yes, i expected the daedalus would intrigue you. you are a man of insatiable intellectual appetite."
-"i'm not sure that's necessarily a compliment."
-the old boy's finally gone off the deep end, vance told himself. megalomania. "incidentally, by 'strategic coup' i suppose you're referring to the fact you've got them exactly where you want them. the soviets."
-"what do you mean?" his eyes hardened slightly.
-"you know what i mean. they probably don't realize it yet, but you're going to end up with the soviet far east in your wallet. for the price of a hot airplane, you get to plunder the region. they're even going to be thanking you while you reclaim sakhalin for japan. this daedalus spaceship is going to cost them the ranch. have to admit it's brilliant. along with financing the whole scheme by swindling benelux tax dodgers."
-"you are too imaginative for your own good, dr. vance," he said, a thin smile returning. "nobody is going to believe your interpretation of the protocol."
-"you've got a point. nobody appreciates the true brilliance of a criminal mind. or maybe they just haven't known you as long as i have."
-"really, i'd hoped we would not descend to trading insults." he reached to refill vance's sake saucer. "it's demeaning. instead i'd hoped we could proceed constructively."
-"well then, perhaps you'll forgive me if i'm somewhat blunt. i'm afraid my time is going to be limited over the next few hours. i may as well tell you now that we are about to have the first hypersonic test of the daedalus. tomorrow morning we will take her to mach 25. seventeen thousand miles per hour. a speed almost ten times greater than any air- breathing vehicle has ever before achieved."
-"the sky's the limit," he whistled quietly. alex hadn't known the half of it. this was the ultimate plane.
-"impressive, i think you'll agree." mino smiled and poured more sake for himself.
-"that ought to grease the way in the diet for your deal. and the protocol's financial grab ought to sail through the supreme soviet. you prove this marvel can work and the rest is merely laundering your profits."
-"so i would like to think," he nodded. "of course, one never knows how these things will eventually turn out."
-"so when do i get a look at it?"
-"why, that all depends on certain agreements we need to make."
-"then i guess it's time i heard the bottom line."
-"i don't work for the mob, if that's what you're hoping."
-"don't be foolhardy. those days are well behind me," he went on calmly, despite the flicker of anger in his eyes. "the completion of this project will require financial and strategic skills well beyond those possessed by the people who have worked for me in the past."
-"all those petty criminals and hoods, you mean."
-"i will choose to ignore that," he continued. "whatever you may wish to call them, they are not proving entirely adequate to the task at hand. you bested my european people repeatedly and brought me a decided humiliation."
-speaking of which, vance found himself suddenly wondering, a thought out of the blue, what's happened to vera? she's been european point woman for this whole scam. where's she now?
-mino continued. "therefore i must now either take you into my organization or . . ." he paused. "it's that simple. which, i wonder, will it be?"
-vance studied him. "a lot depends on what happens to eva."
-"the fate of dr. borodin depends largely on your decision. so perhaps i should give you some time to think it over." he leaned back. "or perhaps some inducement."
-vance didn't know what he meant. at first. then he turned and looked behind him. there waiting on the stony walkway of the garden were three of tanzan mino's personal kobun, two of whom he recognized from london. the ceo's instructions to them were in rapid-fire japanese, but he needed no translation as they moved forward.
-yuri andreevich was mad as hell. after his one-on-one with tanzan mino, he knew he'd been screwed. sticking a couple of "pilots" from mino industries in the cockpit. it was just the old gru trick, surveillance under the specious guise of "support." he'd seen it all before.
-but he'd had an idea. a flash. what about the woman nikolai had seen? the one he said was t-directorate?
-a knockout. that's what nikolai had claimed, so she shouldn't be hard to track down. he'd been methodically working the crowded corridors of the north quadrant, checking every open doorway. although the facility was huge and sprawling, he figured she'd probably be somewhere here close to command sector.
-where the hell could she be?
-one thing was sure: tanzan mino was as sharp as all the rumors said. the bastard had been on-site for less than a day and already he'd suspected that something was brewing. so he'd made his own preemptive strike.
-the problem now was, how to outsmart him.
-this t-directorate operative had to be the way. after he got her into a receptive mood, he'd lay out his case. point out he had enough to worry about in the cockpit without playing flight instructor to a couple of mino industries greenhorns. he'd never flown an experimental plane with civilian copilots and he damned sure wasn't going to start now. especially now.
-govno! where the hell was she?
-he continued methodically checking the north quadrant offices just down from the command sector, hoping somebody there had seen her. the whole place was getting hectic now: last-minute briefings right and left. whenever he'd spot a friendly russian face, he'd collar its owner to inquire about her. fortunately he had an a-level pass, so all he had to do was flash it to the security stiffs at each sector checkpoint and they'd wave him past. he'd just talked to a couple of flight engineers coming out of a briefing room who claimed they'd spotted her in the hallway no more than half an hour ago.
-but why was she here at all? it made no sense. unless she'd defected, gone to work for mino industries. which was exactly the kind of thing you'd expect from one of those opportunistic kgb bastards.
-konyechnaya! there she was, shapely ass and all, just in front of him, headed for sector control and flanked by two japanese security types. they were striding close by, probably showing her around. maybe she was worried about safety here with all these sex-starved engineers.
-odd, but her walk wasn't exactly what he'd expected. seemed a little too knowing. guess that's what happens when you spend too much time in the decadent capitalist west.
-he decided to just make his move right there in the hall. truthfully she did look like a hot number. nikolai wasn't kidding. this was going to be more interesting than he'd figured.
-zadroka! a piece!
-"strasvetye," came a voice behind eva. "kak pazhavatye."
-she whirled around. moving in fast was a tall and--admit it--not bad- looking soviet major.
-"ya yuri andreevich androv," he declared with a light, debonair bow. his russian was cultivated, moscow. "they tell me you just got here. thought we should meet. you've probably heard of me."
-"i have no idea who you are," she heard herself saying.
-where the hell did they take michael? she was wondering. right after he met with tanzan mino, he'd disappeared. and now she was being moved. she didn't know where, but she did know one thing: all the phony politeness was over. things had gotten very rough, very fast. she was being relocated to a secure location in the soviet section, or so she suspected, but she figured project management mainly just wanted to keep her out of the way.
-right now, though, she had an agenda of her own.
-"i'm a servant of the people." the major who called himself yuri androv winked. "like you. i'm frequently asked to try and kill myself in their behalf."
-"i don't know--" she tried to answer, but the japanese guards were roughly pulling her on.
-"i'm the test pilot for the vehicle," he finally announced.
-"how lovely." she glared at him. "i hope it's going to be a smashing success."
-"i'm about to find out. tomorrow morning. right now all i want to do is try and get back in one piece. which is why i need to talk to you." he caught her arm, temporarily blocking the two uniformed mino industries guards. then he continued on in russian. "i've got a problem. we've got a problem. i was hoping you could help me out."
-when the two security men tried to urge her on, he flashed his a-level at them and told them to lay the fuck off, in explicit russian. startled, they froze.
-that's when it finally dawned on her. this idiot must think i'm vera.
-now he was withdrawing a white packet of english cigarettes and offering her one. instinctively, she reached out.
-"so how can i help you, major androv?" eva flashed him a smile as he lit her english oval with a match.
-"it's the test flight tomorrow. nobody should be near that cockpit who hasn't been certified to at least ten g's in the simulator. i tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen."
-"ten g's?" she was trying to keep him talking. "that's--"
-"damned dangerous. but we need it to bring the scramjets up to rated thrust, at least the first time. they've never been tested in flight. we just don't know."
-"and nobody else here has been certified?" she wasn't even sure exactly what "certified" meant, but she tried to look concerned.
-"exactly. now all of a sudden he wants to stick a couple of his nips in the cockpit there with me, probably crop-duster screw-ups from mino industries." he finally lit his own cigarette, with a suggestive flourish. christ, she thought, why do all soviet pilots think they're god's gift to women. "i tell you it's idiotic." he exhaled through his nose. "you've got to help me make him see that, before it's too late."
-she glanced sideways at the two impatient japanese. from their blank faces she realized they hadn't understood a word.
-well, she thought, right now i've got nothing to lose.
-"what you're saying, major, is very disturbing. perhaps we should have a word with the ceo right away. we both know time's getting short." she glanced down the hall toward the wide doors at the end: command sector. "why don't we just go in together and see him?" she'd noticed the major's a-level, which seemed to carry clout. "maybe you can deal with these flunkies." she indicated the mino-gumi kobun posing as her guards. "since i neglected to bring my pass, they have no idea who i really am."
-he laughed. "guess a few assholes around here are in for a surprise."
-no kidding, she thought. mainly you, flyboy.
-god, nobody can strut like a soviet air force pilot. hard currency stores, scotch from scotland, american cigarettes, french porno videos. they think they own the world. bad luck, romeo. you're about to have tanzan mino all over your case. maybe you'll end up so rattled tomorrow you'll crash and burn.
-he turned and waved his pass at the two guards. "mino-san wa. important business desu."
-then he seized her arm and pushed the guards aside. "come on. maybe you can get these fuck-ups fired after we're through."
-"i'll see what i can do." she smiled again. "by the way, you're confirming that the big test flight is still on? in the morning?" she paused, still not sure exactly what the test was all about.
-"oh-nine-thirty hours. all the way." he was leading the way briskly down the crowded corridor.
-"and you're going to . . . "
-"take her hypersonic. mach 25. straight to the edge. brush the stars. and believe me, i've got to be alone. i can't be running a flight school." he was striding ahead of her now, talking over his shoulder. "which is why you've got to help me talk some sense into that old fucker. excuse me," he said, grinning in mock apology, "the ceo."
-the guards at the wide double doors leading into tanzan mino's suite just gaped as yuri andreevich androv flourished his a-level at them and then shoved his way past, oblivious to the clamor of japanese shouts now trailing in his wake.
-"mino-san, pazhalsta," he said to the figure standing in the anteroom, scarcely noticing it was a woman, and too expensively dressed for a receptionist. eva watched vera karanova lunge for a button on the desk as he pushed open the teakwood door leading into tanzan mino's inner office.
-the first thing she noticed was the wide window behind the desk opening on a stunning view of the straits, the setting sun glancing off the tips of the whitecaps. seated behind the desk, monitoring a line of computer screens, was a silver-haired executive.
-so that's what he looks like, she thought. perfect. central casting couldn't have done better.
-"yuri andreevich, what . . . ?" he glanced up, glaring at eva. "i see you've met one of our american guests."
-"american?" androv stopped, then looked at her, puzzled.
-better make this fast, she told herself. in about five seconds comrade karanova's going to take this soviet hero's head off.
-"listen, you bastard." she was storming the desk. "if you so much as lay a finger on michael or me, either one of us, the national security agency is going to close you down so fast you'll think an h-bomb hit this fucking place. i want to see the american ambassador, and i want my belongings returned."
-"everything is being taken care of, dr. borodin." vera karanova answered from the doorway. eva glanced back and saw a platoon of eight mino-guchi kobun, mino's personal bodyguards, all with automatics. "you will come with us."
-androv was staring blankly at her now, his swagger melting like springtime georgian snow. "you're american? national security?"
-"they kidnapped us. in london. they're going to screw you, everybody. we found out--"
-"my name is eva borodin. i'm director of soviet sigint for the national security agency in washington. and mike vance, cia, is here too. god knows what these criminals are doing to him right now. but they're about to take you apart too, hotshot. so have a nice day. and while you're at it--"
-"tovarisch androv, you have just done a very foolish thing." vera's voice was frigid. "i don't think you realize how foolish."
-"dr. borodin," mino finally spoke, "you are even more resourceful than i'd expected. resourcefulness, however, is not prudence. dr. vance is currently . . . reviewing a proposal i made him. you should be hoping he will accept. as for the national security agency, they believe you are still on holiday. after tomorrow, it will not matter. nothing you can do will interfere with our schedule."
-"we'll see about that."
-"trust me," he smiled. then his look turned grave and shifted. "major androv, you will kindly remain after they have taken her away."
-friday 1:17 a.m.
-the room was cold. just cold. that was the first thing he'd noticed when they shoved him in. it still was. for nine hours he'd been sitting on a hard, canvas-covered soviet cot, shivering.
-the place was no larger than a small cell, with a tile floor, ice gray concrete walls, and two bare fluorescent bulbs for lighting. no heat. there was a slight vibration--it seemed to be part of the room itself-- emanating from the walls and floor. he'd tracked it to a large wall duct.
-ventilation system could use adjusting, he'd thought, fan housing's loose somewhere. they also could turn up the damned heat.
-he was wearing only what he'd had on in london, and this definitely was not london. hokkaido was a much colder part of the planet.
-the room had the feeling of a quick, slapped-together job. but it also looked like it could withstand a medium-sized nuclear detonation. one thing was sure, though: it wasn't built with comfort in mind. the door was steel, the same dull hue as the rest. it was bolted from the outside, naturally.
-but if isolation and cold were tanzan mino's idea of how to break his spirit, to see how tough he was, the man was in for some disappointment.
-what the mino industries ceo had unwittingly accomplished by moving him here, however, was to enlighten him about the layout of the place. as he was being escorted down the crowded facility corridors by the three leather-jacketed kobun, he'd passed a projection video screen suspended over the center of a main intersection. the location seemed to be some sort of central checkpoint, and the screen displayed a schematic of the whole facility.
-he'd faked a stumble and used the recovery time to quickly scan its essential features.
-he leaned back on the cot and ran through one more time what he'd seen on the screen, trying to imprint it in his memory.
-insight number one: the facility was organized into four main quadrants, with a layout like a large x. some of the writing was japanese, but mostly it was russian cyrillic characters. he massaged his temples and visualized it again.
-the first thing he'd focused on was something called the north quadrant, whose russian designation was komendant. it looked to be the command center, with a red-colored area labeled in both japanese and russian. next to that were a lot of little rooms, probably living quarters or barracks. kanji ideograms identified those, so that section was probably where the japanese staffers bivouacked.
-that command section, he'd realized, was where he and eva had been. they'd been quartered in a part of tanzan mino's private suites, the belly of the beast.
-the west quadrant appeared to house test facilities; the one label he could read was laboratoraya. probably materials labs, next to a configuration that could have been a large wind tunnel. made sense. that quadrant also had more small rooms with russian labels. he'd studied the screen a second longer and . . .
-bingo. he'd realized he was being moved into the soviet sector, probably the barracks and laboratory area.
-this had to be the least used location in the facility now, he told himself. all the wind tunnel testing of sections and the materials research was probably wrapped up, meaning this area was history. yesterday's news. so the ceo had shunted him to this obscure lock-up in the west quadrant, the soviet section. what better spot to discreetly dispose of somebody for a while?
-time to brush up your russian.
-problem was--he grimaced at the realization--there wasn't a heck of a lot left to brush. he'd had a year at yale, just enough to let him struggle along with a dictionary and squeak around some standard language requirement. that was it. he'd never given it a second thought afterward. instead he'd gone on to his real love--ancient greek. then later, in cia days, the action had been asia. at one time he'd ended up doing some consulting for langley's far eastern intel desk, helping coordinate american and japanese fieldwork.
-he could swing the japanese, but the russian . . .
-tanzan mino probably knew that, yet another reason why he'd decided on this transfer. there'd be fewer people here to communicate with. smart.
-the labyrinth of king minos, brainchild of daedalus, that's what he felt trapped in. but theseus, the greek prince who killed the monster, got some help from minos's daughter, ariadne. a ball of string to help him find his way out of the maze. this time around, though, where was help going to come from? maybe the first job here was to kill the monster, then worry about what came next.
-partly to generate a little body heat, he turned and braced himself at an angle against the door, starting some half push-ups. with his hands on the door, he also could sense some of the activity in the hallway outside. he figured it had to be after midnight by now, but there were still random comings and goings. activity, but nothing . . .
-he felt a tremor, then heard a loud scraping and the sound of a bolt being slid aside.
-he quickly wheeled and flattened himself against the wall, looking futilely for something to use as a weapon. aside from the cot, though, there was nothing.
-okay, this would be hand to hand. he could use the exercise. besides, he was mad enough.
-the gray steel door slowly began to swing inward; then a mane of white hair tentatively appeared, followed by a rugged ancient face as the visitor turned to stare at him through heavy glasses.
-friday 1:20 a.m.
-would the idea work? yuri still didn't know. as he walked between the vehicles, the hangar's wide banks of fluorescents glaring down on the final preflight preps for daedalus i, he was sure of only one thing: at this point, the revised plan was the only option left. would the american help?
-the woman, the bitch, was no fool: an insight he'd come by the hard way. but maybe the cia guy--what had she said his name was?--vance?
-how the hell did he get here? however it had happened, he was being kept in the west quadrant. it had been no trick to find him.
-he was a godsend; his help would make the scenario possible. now it merely required split-second timing.
-he glanced up at the big liquid crystal display screen on the far wall, noting it read zero minus eight hours ten minutes. he should be back in the west quadrant now, catching some sleep--if taro ikeda knew he was here in the hangar, there'd be hell to pay--but time was running out.
-tanzan mino had listened icily to his renewed arguments against additional personnel in the cockpit, then declared that the viability of the program depended on having backups. merely an essential precaution. end of discussion.
-bullshit. as soon as the political games were played out, the ceo was planning to get rid of him, probably by some "accident."
-well, screw him. and that's where the american came in. the thing to do was just appear to be proceeding with the countdown normally, keep everything innocent. then, at the last minute . . .
-he stared up at daedalus i one last time, watching as the maintenance crews finished the last of the preflight scramjet preps. and he shook his head in amazement that andrei androv and all his damned propulsion engineers could create a genuine technological miracle and still be total bumblers when it came to what in hell was really happening.
-these technical types thought they were so brilliant! but if it had taken them all this time to realize they'd been fucked by mino industries, then how smart could they really be? made him wonder how the baikonur cosmodrome ever managed to get so much as a turnip into orbit.
-now these same geniuses had to get daedalus ii flight- ready in just a few hours, and had to do it without anyone suspecting what they were doing. finally, they had to be ready to roll into action the instant the "accident" happened. no trial runs.
-he checked his watch and realized his father's propulsion team was already gathering at number one, the final meeting. the question now was, could they really deliver? the american was the key.
-friday 1:21 a.m.
-"your name vance?" the russian voice, with its uncertain english, was the last thing he'd expected.
-"who are you?"
-"for this vehicle, i am director propulsion system," he replied formally, and with pride, pulling at his white lab coat. "i must talk you. please."
-vance stepped away from the wall and looked the old man over more closely. then it clicked. andrei petrovich androv was a living legend. ten years ago the cia already had a tech file on him that filled three of those old-time reels of half-inch tape. these days, god knows what they had. he'd been the ussr's great space pioneer, a hero who'd gone virtually unrecognized by his own country. no order of lenin. nothing. nada. but maybe he'd preferred it that way, liked being a recluse. nobody, least of all the cia's soviet specialists, could figure him.
-and now he was here in the wilds of northern hokkaido, building a spaceplane. they'd sent over no less than the grand old man to handle the propulsion. this project was top priority.
-a s it deserved to be. but the immediate question was, what was the dean of soviet rocket research doing here visiting him?
-"sorry i can't offer you a cup of tea. no samovar." he looked out the open door one last time. several soviet staffers were glancing in as they walked by, obviously puzzled why the famous doktor androv himself had come around to talk with some unknown civilian.
-"shto? ya ne ponemayu. . . . i not understand."
-"tea. chai." he shrugged. "just a bad joke." he reached over and shoved the door closed, then gestured toward the cot. "in the wrong language. please. sit."
-"thank you." the old man settled himself. "i did not come for chai." his hands were trembling. "i want--" abruptly he hesitated, as though searching for words, and then his mind appeared to wander. "your name is vance?"
-"and you are with american cia?"
-what's going on, he wondered? how did these soviets find out?
-"uh, right." he glanced away. "that's correct."
-"mr. vance, my son is test pilot for the daedalus." he continued, running his gnarled hands nervously through his long white hair. "his name is yuri andreevich."
-"pozdravleneye." vance nodded. "congratulations. yuri andreevich is about to make the cover of newsweek. you should be proud."
-"we have serious problem, mr. vance." he seemed not to hear. "that is why i am come. i am very worried for my son."
-vance looked him over more closely. yes, he did appear worried. his severe, penetrating eyes were filled with anguish.
-"got a problem with the ceo? guess the godfather can be a hard man to warm up to, even for his new allies."
-"mr. vance, i do not know you, but there is very small time." he continued with a shrug, not understanding. "so please, i will tell you many things in very few minutes."
-vance continued to study him. "go ahead."
-"you may not realize, but this project is to be giant leap for our space program. many of our best engineers are here. this vehicle, a reusable near-earth space platform, would save billions of rubles over many years. it is air-breathing vehicle that would lift research payloads directly into space. but my son never believe that its real purpose. perhaps i was idealist, because i believe. i always think he was wrong. but more and more of things i have learned about its electronics--things we had nothing to do with--make me now believe he is right. and yesterday, when certain . . . chelovek of the soviet air force come, the worst . . ." he paused, his voice beginning to betray barely concealed rage. "i have work all my life for peaceful exploring of space. and now i have been betrayed. the engineers i bring with me here have been betrayed. i also believe, mr. vance, that the soviet people have been betrayed. and along with them, mikhail sergeevich himself. this is part of a plot to . . . i don't know what secretly is plan, but i am now convinced this plane must be destroyed, before it is too late. and the world must be warned. that is why--"
-"then why don't you warn somebody?" vance interrupted him. "matter of fact, there's a lot more to this setup than an airplane."
-"but why do you think i am here, talking to you? the facility now is completely sealed. i would warn mikhail sergeevich what is happening, but no communication is possible." he hesitated again, painfully. "they want to put my son in the airplane tomorrow with guards. he has been made prisoner, like you. he does not want to fly the vehicle for tomorrow's test, but the ceo is forcing him to do it." he looked up, his eyes bleary and bloodshot. "mr. vance, i think he will be killed as soon as this plane is certified hypersonic. they no longer trust him."
-"what about you? they probably won't think you're very trustworthy either if they find out you came to see me."
-"that is correct. but the time has come for risks."
-"so what do you want from me?" he stood back and looked the white- haired old man over one last time. was he telling the truth? were the soviet engineers actually planning a mutiny?
-"we are going to stop it. tomorrow morning, just before the test flight. it must be done."
-"mr. vance, you are with american intelligence. we are only engineers. we know nothing about the kind of things necessary to--"
-"do you have any weapons?"
-"nothing. the guards here are all from the corporation." he lowered his voice. "frankly, most of them look like criminals."
-"they are." vance laughed in spite of himself.
-"i don't understand."
-"i know you don't understand. if you did . . . but that's beside the point."
-"then will you help us?" his wrinkled face was fixed in determination. "do you know anything about explosives?"
-"enough. but are you really sure that's the way you want to go?" he paused. "there's a lot that can go wrong in a big facility like this without anybody knowing what caused it."
-"all the sensitive areas are under heavy security now. they are impossible to penetrate."
-terrific, vance thought. "by the way, how does your son, the test pilot, figure into all this?"
-"all along he was planning to . . . i don't know. he refused to tell me. but it doesn't matter. now that two mino industries guards are being put in the cockpit with him, whatever he was planning is impossible. so we have to do something here, on the ground."
-"well, where is he?"
-"he is in the hangar now."
-"i'll need to see him."
-for one thing, vance thought, he probably knows how to use a gun. all soviet pilots carry an automatic and two seven-round clips for protection in case they have to ditch in the wilderness somewhere. our first order of business is to jump some of these mino-gumi goons who're posing as security men and get their weapons.
-"by the way, do you know where they're keeping the american woman who was brought here with me?"
-the old man's eyes grew vague. "i believe she's somewhere here in the west quadrant. i think she was transferred here around eighteen hundred hours, and then a little later her suitcase arrive from hangar."
-"her bag?" his pulse quickened.
-"delivered by the facility's robot carts. the plane that brought you was being made ready for the ceo's trip back to tokyo."
-"where was it left?"
-"i don't know. i only--"
-"okay, later. right now maybe you'd better start by getting me out of here."
-"that is why i brought this." he indicated the brown paper package he was carrying. it was the first time vance had noticed it. "i have in here an air force uniform. it belongs to my son."
-the parcel was carefully secured with white string--a methodical precision that came from years of engineering.
-"you will pose as one of us," the old man continued. "you do not speak russian?"
-"maybe enough to fool the mino-gumi, but nobody else." he was watching as androv began unwrapping the package.
-"then just let me do all talk," he shrugged. "if anybody wonders who you are, i will be giving you tour of the west quadrant. you should pretend to be drunk; it would surprise no one. you will frown a lot and mumble incoherent questions to me. we will go directly to my office, where i will tell you our plan."
-now andrei androv was unfolding a new, form-fitting uniform intended for yuri andreevich. the shoulder boards had one wide gold chevron and two small rectangles, signifying the rank of major in the soviet air force. also included was a tall lamb's-wool cap, the kind officers wore. vance took the hat and turned it in his hand. he'd never actually held one before. nice.
-seems i just got made air force major, and i've never flown anything bigger than a lear jet.
-he slipped off the shirt he'd been wearing in london, happy to be rid of it, and put on the first half of the uniform. not a bad fit. the trousers also seemed tailor-made. then he slipped on the wool topper, completing the ensemble.
-"you would make a good officer, i think." andrei androv stood back and looked him over with a smile. "but you have to act like one too. remember to be insulting."
-after the hours in solitary, freezing confinement, he wasn't sure he looked like anything except a bum. but he'd have no difficulty leading doktor andrei androv along in the middle of the night and bombarding him with a steady stream of slurred russian: shto eto? ve chom sostoet vasha rabota?
-how did the soviets find out he was here? he wondered. must have been eva. she'd got through to them somehow. which meant she probably was still all right. that, at least, was a relief.
-after andrei androv clanged the steel door closed and bolted it, they headed together toward the old man's personal office, where he had smuggled drawings of the vehicle's cockpit. the hallways were lit with glaring fluorescents, bustling with technicians, and full of soviets in uniform. vance returned a few of the crisp salutes and strutted drunkenly along ahead.
-they wanted him to help blow up the plane! he was a little rusty with good old c-4, but he'd be happy to brush up fast. after that, it'd be a whole new ballgame.
-friday 1:47 a.m.
-"will he help?" yuri androv surveyed the eleven men in the darkened control room. the wall along the left side consisted entirely of heavy plate glass looking out on number one. that wind tunnel, the video screens, the instrument panels, everything was dormant now. aside from a few panel lights, the space was illuminated only by the massive eight-foot-by-twenty-foot liquid crystal screen at the far end now scrolling the launch countdown, green numbers blinking off the seconds. except for nikolai vasilevich grishkov, the soviet chief mechanic, all those gathered were young engineers from andrei androv's propulsion design team. grishkov, however, because of his familiarity with the layout of the hangar, was the man in charge.
-"i just spoke with doktor androv, and he believes the american will cooperate," grishkov nodded. "he will bring him here as soon as he has been briefed."
-"i still wonder if i shouldn't just handle it myself."
-he laughed. "steal it, you mean."
-"yuri andreevich, we have made sure it's fueled and we will get you into the cockpit. after that, we will know nothing about--"
-"one other thing," he interjected, "i want it fueled with liquid hydrogen."
-"impossible." grishkov's expression darkened, his bushy eyebrows lifting. "i categorically refuse."
-"i don't care. i want it."
-"absolutely out of the question. the engines on daedalus ii haven't been certified in the scramjet mode. you can't attempt to take it hypersonic. it would be too risky." he stopped, then smiled. "don't worry. you can still outrun any chase plane on earth with those twelve engines in ramjet mode."
-"i tell you i want to go to scramjet geometry," yuri andreevich insisted, his eyes determined.
-if i can't do what i planned, he told himself, nobody's going to believe me. i've got to take one of those vehicles hypersonic tomorrow morning, ready or not.
-"impossible. there's no way we can fuel daedalus ii with liquid hydrogen. the mino industries ground crews would suspect something immediately. it's out of the question. i forged some orders and had it fueled with jp-7 late last night, at 2300 hours. that's the best i can do."
-chort, yuri thought. well, maybe i can fake it. push it out to mach 5 with jp-7 and still . . .
-"and the two 'pilots' from mino industries," he turned back, "what about them?"
-"if the american plays his part, they will never suspect." grishkov flashed a grin.
-"unless somebody here screws up," he said, gazing around the room again, studying the white technician's uniforms, the innocent faces.
-"there'll be a lot of confusion. when we start pumping liquid hydrogen into daedalus /, the site will be pandemonium," grishkov continued. "all you have to do is get into the cockpit of the other plane."
-it would be a horrible accident, but accidents happened. they'd all heard whispered stories about the tragedy at baikonur in october 1960, when almost a hundred men were killed because nikita khrushchev wanted a spectacular space shot while he was visiting the united nations. when a giant rocket, a mars probe, failed to achieve ignition, instead of taking the delay required to remove the fuel before checking the malfunction, the technicians were ordered to troubleshoot it immediately. tech crews were swarming over it when it detonated.
-"then i guess we're ready." yuri andreevich sighed.
-"we are." grishkov nodded and reached for the phone beside the main console, quickly punching in four numbers. he spoke quietly for a few moments, then replaced the receiver.
-"they'll be here in five minutes. doktor androv has just completed his briefing on the cockpit configuration."
-"all right. i'm going now. just get the hangar doors open, the runway cleared, and the truck-mounted starters ready. this is going to be tricky, so make sure everybody thinks we're merely taking daedalus ii onto the runway as a safety precaution after the explosion." yuri gazed over the group of engineers one last time. would they do it? whatever happened, he had to get out of there and start checking the cockpit of daedalus ii before the morning's preflight crews arrived. "good luck. by 0900 hours i want everything set."
-he gave the room a final salute, out of habit, and headed for the security doors. in moments he'd disappeared into the corridor and was gone.
-"let me do the talking," grishkov said, turning back to the others. "and let doktor androv translate. also remember, he has no idea yuri andreevich is going to steal the other plane."
-the men stirred, and nodded their assent. from here on, they all were thinking, the less they had to do with this plot the better.
-then the door opened. standing next to dr. andrei petrovich androv was a tall man dressed as a soviet air force major. as grishkov looked him over, he had the fleeting impression that yuri andreevich had unexpectedly returned, so similar was the american poseur to andrei androv's own son. in height and build, the resemblance was nothing short of miraculous. this was going to be easier than he'd dared to hope. put the american in a pressure suit, complete with flight helmet, and he could easily pass.
-friday 7:58 a.m.
-the room appeared to be the quarters of a high-ranking member of the soviet staff, now returned to the ussr. it was comfortably if sparely appointed and even had a computer terminal, a small nec. she'd switched it on, tried to call up some files, but everything required a password. she could use it, however, as a clock. as she watched the time flashing on the corner of the screen, she tried to remember what the soviet major had said about the schedule . . . the first hypersonic test of the daedalus was scheduled for 0930. that was only an hour and a half away.
-she was wearing her london clothes again, but where the hell was her bag? she walked over and sat down on the side of the single bed, thinking. if she could get her hands on the suitcase, the uzi might still be there.
-that's when she heard the sound of muted but crisp japanese outside--the changing of the guard. the mino-gumi kobun were keeping a strict schedule, a precision that seemed perfectly in keeping with everything else about the facility. life here was measured out not in coffee spoons but in scrolling numbers on computers.
-the door opened and one of the new kobun showed his head. at first she thought it was merely a bed check, but he stared at her mutely for a moment, then beckoned. she rose and walked over. this new goon, black suit and all, was armed with a 9mm walther p88 automatic in a shoulder holster. outside, the other mino-gumi motioned for her to come with them.
-that's when she noticed her bag, sitting just outside the door.
-there goes my chance, she sighed. they want to keep me moving, make sure i'm not in one place long enough for anybody to get suspicious. this way i'll seem to be just another guest.
-without a word they were directing her along the hallway toward checkpoint central. all tanzan mino's kobun seemed to have free run of the facility, because the uniformed security staff didn't even bother to ask for a pass. they may have been new and alien visitors from outside this closed world, but they represented the ceo. carte blanche.
-she looked up ahead and realized they were headed toward two massive, heavily guarded doors. what could this sector be? once again the japanese security guards merely bowed low and waved her mino-gumi escorts past.
-the wide doors opened onto yet another hallway, and she was overwhelmed by a blast of sound. motors were blaring, voices were shouting, escaping gasses were hissing. the din, the racket, engulfed her. and then she realized the reason: there was no ceiling! even the "offices" along the side were merely high-walled cubicles that had been dropped here in the entryway of some vast space.
-it was the hangar.
-the actual entry at the end was sealed and guarded, but instead of passing through, they stopped at the last door on the right.
-whoever had summoned her, it wasn't tanzan mino. his array of personal kobun weren't lined up outside. in fact, there were no guards at all.
-the leather-jacketed escorts pulled open the door, and one entered ahead of her, one behind. inside was a large metal desk, equipped with banks of phones and rows of buttons.
-sitting behind the desk was vera karanova.
-"did you sleep well?" she glanced up, then immediately signaled for the kobun to absent themselves.
-"did you?" eva looked her over--the severe designer suit, black, topped off with a string of gray mikimoto pearls. it was a striking contrast to the short-haired engineers bustling outside.
-what riveted her attention, however, was resting on the desk next to the banks of phones and switches. a zenith.
-"we have some time this morning." vera ignored the
-response as she brushed at her carefully groomed dark hair. "i thought we should use it productively."
-"lots of luck, comrade."
-"it is not in either of our interests to be at cross purposes," she continued, still speaking in russian. it was a startling change in tone from the evening before. "you and i have much in common. we both have worked at high levels in the security apparatus of our respective countries. consequently we both understand the importance of strategic thinking. that sets us apart." she reached out and touched the laptop computer. "now, to begin, i would very much like for you to show me how you managed to break the encryption for the protocol. the ceo was most impressed."
-"if he wants to know, he can ask me himself." she helped herself to a metal chair.
-"he is very busy at the moment," vera continued, "occupied elsewhere."
-this is a setup, eva was thinking. she wanted to get me down here for some other reason.
-but it was hard to concentrate, given the din of activity filtering in from the open ceiling. above them banks of floodlights were creating heavy shadows around the office, and out there somewhere, she realized, was the prototype.
-"why don't you tell me what's really on your mind, comrade? or better yet, why you decided to throw in your lot with all these yakuza criminals."
-vera karanova laughed. "you are a director with the national security agency. you obviously are very competent. and yet you and the rest of american intelligence seem completely blind. oblivious to the significance of what is happening around you. in case you hadn't noticed, the soviet military is being stripped, practically dismantled in the interest of economic restructuring."
-"high time, if you ask me."
-right, eva thought. but you left out one other interesting fact: japan got rich while the superpowers were out there "stabilizing" everybody, squandering resources on matching sets of military toys instead of investing in their own infrastructure. they'd love to keep it going.
-"this plane," vera went on, "can be used to serve the ultimate cause of restoring world order." she paused, then continued. "but only if it is in the hands of our air force, from today forward."
-"purge the new thinking?"
-"the soviet union is on the verge of economic disaster. perestroika has plunged our country into chaos. the time has come to admit revisionism has failed."
-"where's good old uncle joe when you need him?" she smiled. "stalin made the gulag trains run on time."
-"our restructuring has gone too far," vera continued. "there are limits beyond which a society can no longer endure change."
-eva stared at her. "i take it kgb and your military right- wingers are planning to try and stage a coup?"
-"there still are responsible people in the soviet union, dr. borodin, who believe our country is worth saving."
-my god, eva thought, their hard-liners are planning to take control of this plane and use it to re-enflame the cold war? just like the race for the h-bomb, it'll rejuvenate the soviet military.
-"this is our last chance," vera continued as she reached down and flicked on the computer. "however, if we are to succeed, the terms of the protocol will require certain revisions."
-"do you really think you can get away with this?"
-"that's where you come in," vera went on. "but first perhaps i should show you something."
-she reached down and pushed a button on the desk, causing the set of blinds along the side of the office facing the hangar to slowly rise. "i'd like you to see the daedalus." she pointed out the window. "perhaps then you will better appreciate its significance."
-through the glass was a massive hangar engulfed in white vapor, as cryogenic liquid hydrogen created clouds of artificial condensate, cold steam, that poured over the army of milling technicians. above the haze, however, she could just make out two giant aircraft. their wings started almost at the cockpit, then widened outward to the plane's full length, terminating abruptly just before the high tail assembly. positioned side by side, they looked like huge gliders, except that beneath the wings were clusters of massive engines larger than any she'd ever seen before.
-"so that's the prototype, the vehicle specified in the protocol."
-they were stunningly beautiful. maybe all high-performance aircraft looked sexy, but these possessed a unique elegance. the child's vision of the paper airplane reincarnated as the most powerful machine man had ever created.
-"i thought you would like to witness the final preparations for our first hypersonic flight," vera proceeded. "thus far one of the planes, that one there on the left"-- she pointed--"has been flown to mach 4.5. today's test will take it to the hypersonic regime, over fifteen thousand miles per hour."
-they've leapfrogged the west, eva was suddenly realizing. it's the x-30 spaceplane america dreams of building in the next century, except it's here now.
-"from the looks of things, i'd say you're on schedule."
-vera clicked something on the desk and a blinking number appeared at the top of a video screen. it was the countdown. liftoff was less than an hour away.
-"yes, so far there has been no hold. even though today is overcast, with a low ceiling, we don't experience weather delays like the american space shuttle. in fact, this plane is virtually weather-proof, since it leaves from a runway just like a normal passenger jet."
-no wonder the test pilot androv was swaggering, eva thought. this must be a flyboy's wet dream.
-"one more question. why are you showing me all this?"
-"i told you, there's something i need." she paused, and in the silence eva listened to the increasing clamor of preparations in the hangar outside. "after the test flight this morning, the prototype is scheduled to be transferred to the supreme soviet. however, that cannot be allowed to happen. consequently, there will need to be alterations in the protocol." she clicked on the laptop computer. it hummed lightly as the hard disk engaged, and then the screen began to glow. "those revisions need to be kept out of the system computers here at the facility for now, so your copy of the text would be an ideal place to prepare a first draft."
-"you're going to pull a fast one." eva stared at her. "you're going to tinker with the terms of the deal and turn this plane over to your air force. very inventive."
-"that is correct. and you are going to help me, dr. borodin. you are going to call up your text and print a copy for me."
-sweetie, you are a piece of work.
-"why bother printing it again? sorry to tell you, but i've already run off a copy. it's in my suitcase."
-"we searched your bag. there's nothing there."
-"you didn't look hard enough." maybe this was her chance. "send some of your thugs to fetch it."
-"very well." she reached for a button on the desk.
-eva turned to look out again through the white mist. something was going on now. a motorized cart was pulling up and two men in pressure suits were getting off. must be the pilots.
-then the second pressure-suited figure stepped down. that one, she assumed, must be one of the mino industries recruits androv had been complaining about. guess he didn't get very far with his demand to be in the cockpit alone.
-memories of a long-ago skin-diving trip to cozumel flooded back. they were off the northern reefs, wearing oxygen tanks, admiring the multicolored banks of coral. then later, as they staggered up the beach, she'd laughed at his frog-footed waddle.
-friday 8:37 a.m.
-as vance stepped off the motorized cart, the hangar around him was shrouded in white vapor. the swirling cloud on the ground, the eerie chiaroscuro of the lights, the amplified voice that ticked off the countdown--all added to the other-worldliness of the scene. and above the turmoil two giant spaceplanes loomed, silver monoliths that seemed to hover atop the pale mist.
-the russian technicians had carefully suited him exactly as yuri androv, right down to his boots. next to his skin was the dark-blue flight suit and cotton-lined leather cap issued to all soviet pilots, and over these came a pressurized g-suit fabricated from a heavy synthetic material; it felt like a mixture of nylon and teflon. this was topped off with the flight helmet, complete with a removable reflecting visor, which conveniently prevented anyone from seeing his face.
-although the helmet restricted his peripheral vision, he still could hear clearly through headphones miked on the outside, although they did make the din of the hangar sound tinny and artificial. a velcro-backed insignia of the minoan double ax adhered to his chest; he was posing as a mino industries pilot.
-for all its unfamiliarity, however, his gear felt very much like the rubber wet-suit he donned for scuba diving at depths. the two hoses fastened to his abdomen could have been connectors for compressed air tanks and his helmet the oxygen mask. he felt equally uncomfortable. only the damned flippers were missing.
-since his rx-10 g-suit was designed for high-altitude flight, intended to do double-duty as an emergency backup in case of cockpit decompression, he had to carry along his own personal environmental- control unit, a white, battery-powered air conditioner the size of a large briefcase. it hummed lightly as it cooled and dehumidified the interior of his suit, keeping his faceplate moisture-free. the recycled air he was breathing smelled stale and vaguely synthetic.
-the most uncomfortable part of all, however, not to mention the most nerve-racking, had to be the six sticks of c-4 plastic explosive and their radio-controlled detonators now secured against his chest.
-since the soviet engineers had suited him up in a separate room, avoiding any contact with the mino industries doctors who'd been giving androv his preflight physical, he'd yet to see yuri andreevich androv clearly. he had a partner and he hadn't even had a good look at him yet.
-"the other m-i pilot will be arriving in a few minutes," androv was announcing to the white-jacketed japanese technicians standing by the personnel module. "he was delayed in the briefing." for their benefit he was speaking english, which, to vance's surprise and relief, was almost perfect. they nodded as he continued. "we'll just go on up in the module. i want to check over the cockpit one last time, make sure there're no last-minute glitches."
-the personnel module resembled a small mobile home, except its pneumatic lift could elevate it sixty feet straight into the air, permitting direct access to the cockpit's side hatch. it was worlds away from the fourteen-foot metal ladder used to access a mig cockpit.
-"hai." vance nodded gravely, japanese style. "wakarimasu."
-let's hope the haze keeps down visibility, he was thinking. this place is sure to have video monitors everywhere. and this fancy elevator is probably bugged too.
-intelligence from command central was that tanzan mino's two yakuza "pilots" were receiving a last-minute briefing from the ceo himself. still, they were certain to show up soon. this was no time to dawdle.
-maybe, he told himself, this test pilot game is easier than it looks. but only so long as you never actually have to leave terra firma. then it's probably more excitement than the average person needs.
-the upward motion halted with a lurch and the module door automatically slid open. at first glance the open cockpit of the ussr's latest plane made him think of the inside of a giant computer. nothing like the eye- soothing green of a mig interior, it was a dull off-white in color and cylindrical, about ten feet in diameter and sixteen feet long. three futuristic g-seats equally spaced down the center faced a bank of liquid crystal video screens along one wall, and lighting was provided by pale orange sodium vapor lamps integrated into the ceiling.
-the real action was clearly the middle g-seat, which was surrounded by instrument consoles and situated beneath a huge suspended helmet, white enamel and shaped like a bloated moth. everything about the controls bespoke advanced design philosophy: instead of the usual flight stick placed between the pilot's knees, it had a multiple-control sidestick, covered with switches and buttons, situated on the pilot's right, something only recently introduced in the ultramodern american f-16 falcon.
-although the throttle quadrant was still located on the left-hand console, in standard fashion, it, too, had a grip skillfully designed to incorporate crucial avionics: the multiple radars, identification- friend-or-foe (iff) instrumentation, instrument landing system (ils), and tactical air navigation (tacan).
-he realized they'd utilized the new hotas concept--hands on throttle and stick--that located all the important controls directly on the throttle and flight stick, enabling the pilot to command the instruments and flight systems purely by feel, like a virtuoso typist. even the thin rudder pedals looked futuristic. the whole layout, in severe blacks and grays, was sleek as an arrow.
-in the end, however, maybe it was all redundant. according to andrei androv this vehicle incorporated an advanced control system called equipment vocal pour aeronef; it could be flown entirely by voice interface with an artificial intelligence computer. all flight and avionics interrogations, commands, and readouts could be handled verbally. you just talked to the damn thing and it talked back. the twenty-first century had arrived.
-the other two g-seats in the cockpit, intended for research scientists, were positioned on either side of the pilot, about four feet away, with no controls whatsoever. all this baby needed was androv and his computer.
-there was more. the space was cylindrical, which could only mean one thing: it was designed to be rotated, again probably by the computer, adjusting the attitude or inclination of the pilot continuously to make sure the g-forces of acceleration and deceleration would always be acting down on him, like gravity, securing him into that special g- seat. and why not? since there was no windscreen, the direction the pilot faced was irrelevant--up, down, or even backward; who cared?
-and the helmet, that massive space-moth intended to be lowered over the pilot's head. from the briefing, he knew that the screens inside were how the pilot "saw." through voice command to the central computer he could summon any of the three dozen video terminals along the walls and project them on the liquid crystal displays before his eyes.
-"so far, so good," androv said, stepping in and down. vance followed, then reached back to secure the hatch. it closed with a tight, reassuring thunk. the silent blinking of computer screens engulfed them.
-"by the way, it's up there," vance said quietly, shifting his head toward the newly installed video camera positioned just above the entry hatch. androv glanced up, nodded, and together they turned away from it. then without further conversation they each ripped off their velcro-secured insignias--androv's, the soviet air force red star bordered in white; vance's, the double ax--and exchanged them.
-"how much time?" androv whispered.
-"just give me ten minutes." he held up his heavy wrist-watch. together they checked and synchronized.
-"good luck." androv nodded and gave another thumbs- up sign, then clasped him in an awkward russian hug. vance braced himself for the traditional male kiss, but thankfully it didn't come. "do svidania, moi droog," he said finally, standing back and saluting. then he grinned and continued in accented english, "everything will be a-okay."
-without another word he swung open the hatch, passed through, and stepped into the personnel module.
-vance watched him depart, then turned back to examine the daedalus cockpit more closely. it was a bona fide marvel.
-screens, banks of screens, all along the wall--almost like a tv station's control room. everything was there. looking across, left to right, he saw that the engine readouts were placed on top: white bars showing power level, fan rpm, engine temperatures, core rpm, oil pressure, hydraulics, complete power-plant status. the next row started on the navigation and avionics: the radar altimeter, the airspeed indicator, the attitude-director indicator (aid) for real-time readings of bank and dive angle, the horizontal situation indicator (hsd) for actual heading and actual track, and on and on. all the electronics modules were already operating in standby mode--the slit-scan radar, the scanners, the high-resolution doppler. other screens showed the view of the hangar as seen by the video cameras on the landing gear, now switched over from their infrared mode to visible light.
-the avionics, all digital, were obviously keyed to the
-buttons and switches on the sidestick, the throttles, and the two consoles. those controls, he realized upon closer inspection, could alter their function depending on which display was being addressed, thereby reducing the clutter of separate buttons and toggle switches on the handgrips.
-the cockpit was not over-designed the way so many modern ones tended to be: instead it had been entirely rethought. there were probably two hundred separate system readouts and controls, but the pilot's interface was simple and totally integrated. it was beautiful, a work of pure artistry.
-which made him sad. he'd always been an aviation buff, and the thought of obliterating a creation this spectacular provoked a sigh.
-on the other hand, h-bombs were probably beautiful too. this was another vengeful shiva, destroyer of worlds. ridding the planet of its first hypersonic weapons delivery system would be a public service to all humankind.
-strolling back toward the entry hatch, he quickly detached the reflecting outer visor that was designed to drop down over the front of his flight helmet. then he reached up and wedged the silvered portion against the lens. the camera would continue to operate, relaying back no malfunction signals, but it would be sending a picture of the ceiling. next he unzipped his flight suit and carefully unstrapped the package riding against his chest. inside were the six taffy-colored bars of c-4 plastic explosive, each an inch square and six inches long, all wrapped in clear cellophane. they almost looked like candy, but they could blow this entire plane through the hangar's roof.
-the charge had to be set before the two mino-gumi pilots were delivered by the personnel module. when they arrived, he'd simply pretend to be yuri androv and say they all had to go back down for a final check of their pressure-suit environmental systems. the moment they were clear, he'd activate the radio and detonate. then the fun would begin.
-there. the two consoles on either side of the central g-seat, that's where he'd wedge the charges. it was the perfect place, the central nervous system. after one last, wistful look at the banks of video displays along the wall, he set to work.
-friday 8:43 a.m.
-"do you understand?" tanzan mino asked. it sounded more like a command. they were in the mino industries prep section, a preflight briefing room that led directly into the hangar. the faceplates of the two pilots' flight helmets were raised, allowing him to see their eyes. "any deviation from the prescribed maneuver blocks will signal a problem."
-"hai, mino-sama," both men nodded grimly. they had come here in the cockpit of his personal boeing, and they were not happy with their new assignment. neither had the slightest desire to risk his life in the service of the oyabun s megalomania. the command to serve as last- minute "co-pilots" in the daedalus, however, was an offer they could not refuse.
-"should anything happen, you will radio flight control immediately, and we will use the plane's artificial intelligence system, the ai module, to bring it back and land it."
-"hai." they nodded again.
-"you will not be expected to take the controls," he went on. "the computer can override all commands from the cockpit. you will merely ensure the prescribed flight sequence is adhered to."
-he paused, intending to collect his thoughts, but an oddity on the newly installed cockpit monitor caught his notice. he cursed himself for not having kept an eye on it. he'd been too busy briefing the pilots and now . . .
-something about the picture was strange. the perspective had changed. he reached over and, with the push of a button, transferred the image to the large liquid crystal screen on the side wall. yes, it was definitely wrong. he couldn't quite tell . . . had someone jostled the camera? there was still a full half hour before . . .
-something had happened in the cockpit.
-the prep crews were scheduled to be finished by now--he glanced at a screen and confirmed that the checklists had already been punched--so no one had permission to be inside the plane. from this point on, only the pilots were authorized to be there.
-"let me see." he moved immediately to comply. after he tapped a keyboard, a number matrix appeared on his computer screen, showing the status of all the preflight sequences. quickly he called up the pilot sequence.
-"his physical has been completed, mino-sama. everything is checked off. he logged out fifteen minutes ago."
-"then where is he?"
-"i'll try and find out."
-he reached for a phone and punched in the main number for the flight prep sector. the conversation that followed was quick and, as it continued, caused a look of puzzlement to spread over his already- worried face.
-"all right then, where has he gone?"
-"sector security says he left with one of your pilots, mino-sama, headed for the hangar."
-the room grew ominously silent. they were both now staring at the two mino industries pilots, standing directly in front of them.
-"there must be some mistake." tanzan mino inhaled lightly. "are you sure you understood correctly?"
-"it's obviously impossible. i agree."
-"then what's going on? whatever it is, i think we'd better find out. immediately." he motioned for the two pilots to accompany him as he rose and headed for the door. "stay close by. we're going to the hangar."
-taro ikeda briskly followed after them into the corridor. if anything went wrong now, he would be the one held responsible. some vandal tampering in the cockpit was the last thing he needed. everything had gone smoothly with the countdown so far this morning; he shuddered at the prospect of a last-minute hold.
-ahead of him, tanzan mino was striding down the hallway, kobun bodyguards in tow, headed directly for the wide hangar doors.
-friday 8:49 a.m.
-she was still having trouble thinking clearly. michael was in the hangar, was actually in one of the planes. what was he doing here?
-she barely noticed when a kobun walked in and settled her suitcase on the metal desk. he glanced at it, said something in japanese, and disappeared out the door.
-the case was heavy leather, acquired from a little side-street shop by victoria station. it looked just as it had when she and michael stashed the uzi back in london. they'd deliberately bought a case heavy enough to conceal a weapon inside. had mino's people gone through it? discov- ered the automatic?
-"is this it?" vera was asking.
-"that's the one." she reached down.
-this isn't how it's supposed to happen, she was thinking. the automatic's down in the bottom, in a separate section, but if vera probes a little she'll find it. i've got to make her--
-"there's no printout here." comrade karanova finished
-she pulled open the top drawer of the metal desk and lifted out a shiny black automatic. it was an uzi.
-"you didn't really think you could do something as amateurish as smuggle a weapon into this facility." she shoved it back into the drawer.
-"congratulations. you've done your homework." so much for surprising vera karanova. apparently that wasn't something easily managed.
-"now we will print a new copy of the protocol," she said, shoving the suitcase over to one corner of her desk. "i don't want to waste any more time."
-"right. time is money."
-so now it was up to michael. maybe if she could stall vera long enough, whatever he was involved in would start to happen.
-glancing out again at the vapor-shrouded floor of the hangar, she fleetingly wondered if maybe she'd been seeing things. no, she was certain. that walk, that funny walk he always had when he didn't feel in control. she knew it all too well; she knew him all too well. he'd arrived on the hangar floor riding on that little motorized cart, together with the soviet pilot, and they'd both entered the hydraulic personnel carrier and been raised up to the cockpit. then the carrier had come back down and disgorged the soviet pilot, who'd immediately disappeared into the haze. which meant michael still had to be up there.
-what was he doing? had he somehow thrown in his lot with the soviets? he certainly wouldn't work for tanzan mino, so that meant there had to be a revolt brewing. the thing now was to link up, join forces. it was hard to figure.
-whatever michael was doing, mino-san wasn't going to be pleased. the whole scene was about to get crazy. did mike have a weapon? even if he did, he wouldn't stand a chance.
-friday 8:52 a.m.
-tanzan mino was marching up the steps of the personnel module, accompanied by six kobun in black leather jackets and the m-i pilots.
-the operators glanced at each other, then moved to comply. one japanese pilot had just come down and disappeared into the haze. now two more had arrived, along with the ceo. were there three japanese pilots? things were starting to get peculiar. but then this was no ordinary flight; it was the big one.
-the module glided to a halt and its door opened.
-he'd been right. the cockpit hatch was sealed, which meant somebody was inside. the soviet pilot must be up to something. but what?
-then, unbidden, the pressure hatch started opening, slowly swinging back and around, and standing there, just inside, was a man in a pressure suit. there was no reflecting visor on his helmet now to hide his face.
-friday 8:53 a.m.
-vance stared at the small army facing him, including tanzan mino and his two pilots. this definitely was not the drill. something had gone very, very wrong. had some of the soviet ground crews lost their nerve and talked? whatever had happened, things were headed off the track.
-the c-4 explosive was set. but this was hardly the moment to activate the detonators and blow the place.
-"how did you get here?" the ceo's eyes narrowed to slits.
-"i decided to take you up on that tour."
-"what do you think you're doing?"
-"planning a vacation. checking out the transportation."
-"very amusing, dr. vance," he said, staring at a length of c-4, a glass and metal detonator shoved into its side, wedged next to the sidestick. "but who else is part of your scheme? you didn't arrange this unassisted."
-"why would anybody else be involved? i just thought it'd be fun to kick off today's celebration with a bang."
-"i'm afraid you will have to be disappointed." he turned to the kobun. "clear the cockpit. sweep it. and then," he glanced up, "after dr. vance replaces the visor on his flight helmet, we will escort him to my office for a very brief and undoubtedly very illuminating interview."
-friday 9:03 a.m.
-"what's happening?" vera had turned to watch through the white haze as the last kobun dismounted from the personnel module, following tanzan mino and the three pilots.
-"maybe there's been a glitch in the countdown after all." eva was trying to sound casual. vera couldn't know the tall pilot in the middle, the one being helped along by tanzan mino's musclemen, was michael. "looks like major androv has got himself into some trouble."
-she could tell vance was mad as hell. they'd probably roughed him up a little there in the cockpit, just to get started, and now they were intending to really go to work on him. but he must be part of a group, so where was everybody else?
-"androv has to fly the plane today. we have everything scheduled. why are they taking him away?" vera turned and stalked for the door. "this cannot be permitted. whatever the problem is, it has to be solved right here. now. the flight must go forward. too much is riding on it."
-eva watched her stride out into the white haze of the hangar. she wanted to follow, but then she thought of something better.
-friday 9:05 a.m.
-he was wondering when to try and make a break. but how far could he get, encumbered with the pressure suit?
-where's the backup? are they going to let me just twist in the wind?
-the original scenario had fallen apart, but that didn't mean the game was over. the soviet engineers he'd seen clearly wouldn't be any help in a crisis, but the test pilot androv was another story. he'd surely try to pull something back together. where was he? probably still up in the other cockpit, getting daedalus ii ready. so now . . .
-that's when he saw her, coming out of an office whose doorway was only half visible through the clouds of mist. it looked like . . . vera karanova. she was striding directly toward them, intercepting tanzan mino's small procession.
-"where are you taking him?" she pointed toward vance, glancing at his red star insignia, as she addressed the godfather in english.
-"are you attempting to interfere in my affairs now, too?" tanzan mino demanded as he paused to stare.
-"i just want to know what it is you're doing," she replied.
-"i am handling a problem," he said coldly as he examined her. "there is a traitor, or traitors, among the soviets. i intend to find out who's involved."
-"what do you mean?" an edge of nervousness entered her voice.
-"you're not--" she stared as he lifted the visor of his flight helmet.
-"but what the hell," he went on. "we gave it a shot. nothing ventured, nothing--"
-"we?" she examined him, puzzled.
-"i suspected all along you could not be trusted." tanzan mino's calm facade seemed to crack as his face flushed with anger. "but i had no idea you would actually betray the entire project. sabotage the vehicle."
-"i don't know anything about sabotage." she clearly was startled, attempting to maintain calm in her voice. "if vance has--"
-"it appears i'm surrounded by treachery and traitors." his voice quavered as he stepped over to one of the kobun, then reached in and withdrew the 9mm walther automatic from the man's shoulder holster. when he turned back, his eyes were opaque with anger and paranoia. he'd clearly snapped, lost it. "mr. vance, i want to know the names of everyone who was involved in this plot. everyone. if i am satisfied you are telling the truth, then perhaps i will consider sparing your miserable life. otherwise . . ."
-he turned back to vera. she was staring at the gun, her face ashen, not letting herself believe what her eyes were telling her. the white mists of the hangar swirled around them, creating ghostly shadows across the expressionless faces of the kobun.
-"you made a very grave error in judgment," he was saying to her. "i don't yet know precisely what you were expecting to accomplish, but whatever it was, i can assure you i am not a man who tolerates disloyalty."
-his expression was strangely distant as he raised the pistol and fired, one precise round, a dull thunk barely audible above the din of the hangar.
-vance watched in dismay as vera karanova stumbled
-backward, her dark eyes uncomprehending. it was a gangland-style execution, quick and preemptory, the time-honored way. no appeals or due process.
-he'd been hoping merely to gain some time for androv, not cause her to be murdered on the spot. now tanzan mino turned to him, still gripping the pistol. his face was distorted in irrational fury. "perhaps i made a mistake just now, dr. vance. what do you think?"
-"probably a pretty serious one."
-"yes, now that i reflect on it, i'm inclined to agree. the culprit we seized red-handed was you. you are the one i should be making an example of." he was raising the walther again.
-it began so quickly he almost didn't realize it was happening. from out of the swirl of mist that engulfed daedalus /'s landing gear a white- haired old man appeared, grasping a pistol. tanzan mino turned to stare, just in time to hear him yelling--in russian.
-"release him. release my son. i order you." he was closing on the group, about twenty feet in front of them, brandishing the weapon uncertainly. vance couldn't make out what caliber it was, but he doubted it mattered. andrei androv clearly had no idea how to use it. his was an act of desperation.
-then another realization clicked.
-he said "my son." he thinks i'm yuri.
-before anybody could move, a white pressure suit materialized out of the distant haze around daedalus ii. it was yuri androv, running toward his father, shouting. "nyet! don't--"
-"release him, i tell you." andrei androv didn't hear him as he continued to move menacingly on tanzan mino. the outcome was inevitable.
-vance ducked and rolled for the personnel module just as the kobun's line of h&k automatics flared.
-andrei androv lurched, gray hair flying, and managed to get off two rounds. but instead of hitting a kobun, he caught one of the mino industries pilots, visor up, directly in the face.
-comrade doktor andrei petrovich androv, dean of soviet propulsion technology, chief designer of the daedalus, died instantly, his eyes still fixed in determination. however, tanzan mino's kobun weren't tidy. one of them squeezed off a couple more rounds just as yuri androv ran up and leaned over his father's crumpled body. with a groan, he spun around and staggered against the huge 22-ply tires of daedalus /'s starboard landing gear.
-it still wasn't over. as vance scrambled against the personnel module, he caught a glimpse of something that, faintly visible through the clouds of cryogenic fog, apparently was escaping everybody else. another woman was standing in the door of the office where vera karanova had been. holding an uzi.
-how had she managed to get her hands on that?
-not a second too soon. she can sweep the floor. just get out of the way and give her an opening. maybe there's still time.
-he began scrambling for the base of the personnel module. now the white mist was obscuring everything, and tanzan mino seemed to have enveloped himself in it. he was nowhere to be seen. however, his presence was not missed by his kobun, who were still taking care of business.
-the next agenda item, vance realized, was himself. as he tried to roll under the module, one was turning, raising his automatic . . .
-now eva was yelling, "michael, stay down."
-the kobun all whirled back, but she was ready. stock extended, full auto.
-jesus, he thought, that hood in the back is holding enough c-4 to clear a small arena. if she hits one of the detonators . . .
-it was either a lucky or an unlucky shot. after eight rounds, less than a second's worth, a blinding ball of fire erupted where the kobun had been, sending a shock wave rolling through the open space of the hangar, knocking over technicians almost a hundred feet away. as vance was slammed under the personnel module, out of the corner of his eye he saw eva being thrown against the doorframe of the office. the air blossomed with the smell of deadly c-4, like acrid sterno. not for nothing did the u.s. military swear by it.
-now yuri androv was peeling himself off daedalus ii's landing gear, his flight suit blackened and smudged. blood from a bullet wound was running down the right sleeve.
-they'll be coming for us all, vance thought. tanzan mino's probably somewhere radioing for more guards right now.
-eva was stalking through the smoke, still grasping the uzi.
-"michael, are you all right?"
-"hell of a morning." he was pulling himself out from under the personnel module, awkwardly trying to straighten his flight helmet. "you took out the palace guard, everybody but mr. big. congratulations. and i thought cia had a patent on that kind of operation."
-already emergency alarms had begun a high-pitched whine, blaring through the cavernous hangar. everything around them was chaos.
-"you know," she yelled above the noise, "he's going to kill us immediately. there's no way he's going to--"
-"i know. i met him last night." she turned and stared. "we had a small misunderstanding."
-"well, let's see if he's still in any condition to fly."
-"how else? you got any better ideas, i'd like to hear them."
-yuri androv had worked his way through the carnage of the explosion, the scattered remains of tanzan mino's phalanx of kobun, to again bend over the form of his father. once more the cloud of obscuring mist was flowing over the scene, blanking it.
-at that moment, however, a pale glow laid itself around them, the murky light of overcast dawn. vance realized the soviet technicians had thrown open the hangar doors and were scrambling out onto the tarmac.
-good, let them. we might just follow suit.
-now yuri andreevich androv was approaching, clasping his right arm.
-"we've got to get him fixed," vance said briskly, looking him over, "put on a tourniquet."
-"think he can still fly?"
-"i say we make him fly."
-with his left hand androv peeled back his helmet visor and kissed eva. "spacebo," he said in russian, "you did what i would have done if i'd had a weapon. but now i don't know what--"
-"how's your arm?" vance cut in. "we've got to make a decision right now. when the reinforcements arrive, it's game over. one little uzi won't handle their firepower."
-androv frowned. "can you fly?"
-"never handled anything bigger than a lear," vance replied. "and then only as copilot."
-it didn't seem to matter. androv glanced at the open door of the personnel module and motioned to them.
-"then come on. let's hurry." now he was searching the hangar. finally he spotted the man he wanted.
-"pavel," he yelled in russian, "have the starter trolleys been engaged yet?"
-"da," came the reply.
-"then prepare daedalus i for power-up and get the hell out. we're go for rpm."
-"what do you mean? the tow trucks haven't even been--"
-"forget the tow trucks. it's going to be afterburners, right here. get the rest of your people in the clear."
-afterburners were rings of nozzles that sprayed fuel into the superheated exhaust gases of a jet engine, creating a burst of power. in military aircraft they were used to produce surges in thrust during takeoff and dogfights.
-"afterburners! in the hangar. yuri, all the hydrogen storage tanks could blow. you'd destroy daedalus ii. just incinerate it."
-"that's the idea." he was already mounting the steps of the personnel module, not looking back. "there's only going to be one plane left. the one i take."
-"the computer." eva had started up the steps, but then she froze and turned back, handing vance the uzi. "i have to get it."
-"there's no time." he reached for the weapon, its muzzle still hot. "we've got--"
-"michael, i didn't come this far just to let the protocol slip through our fingers." she was running past him now, back down. "only take a second."
-he knew it was pointless to argue. and besides, maybe she was right. who knew where they'd end up?
-now androv had faltered and was leaning shakily against the open doorway of the module, the right sleeve of his pressure suit covered in blood. vance took advantage of the ticking moments to step up and examine it.
-"you need a bandage." he started tearing away the synthetic cloth. "or better yet, a tourniquet."
-"no." androv glanced at his arm and grimaced. "there's not--"
-"i don't want you to pass out." he tore a section of the sleeve into a strip and then, struggling with his heavy gloves, began binding it above the wound. the hangar was still bedlam, people running and yelling on every side, alarms sounding. as he was finishing the tourniquet, eva came bounding up the metal steps carrying her zenith. they were ready.
-androv quickly secured the door and activated the controls. through a smoke-smeared window they watched the bloody hangar floor disappear into the haze. the world suddenly turned dreamlike, an unreality highlighted by the soft whoosh of the pneumatic lift beneath them. then the module lurched to a halt.
-vance led the way through the open hatch. "looks like somebody forgot and left the lights on."
-"petra?" vance turned back. "you mean the--"
-"our copilot." he pointed toward a large liquid crystal screen at the far end of the cabin, now blank. "i want to try and use her to override flight control for the rest of the sequence."
-"short circuit the countdown?"
-"i've never done it, but . . ." he walked over and reached down to flip a square blue switch on the right-hand console. "let's see if she's awake this morning."
-he glanced up as the screen blinked on and a large black-and-white double-ax logo materialized, set against the red and white of a japanese flag. next he pushed a button on the sidestick and spoke.
-"petra, report countdown status."
-"all preflight sequences nominal." the eerie, mechanical sound of a woman's voice, speaking russian, filled the space. "do you acknowledge?"
-"affirmative," he answered back. "you will now initiate ignition sequence. bypass remaining countdown procedure."
-"that is an override command. please give authorization code."
-"code p-18. systems emergency."
-"the countdown is now t minus nineteen minutes twenty-eight seconds. all systems are nominal. therefore code p-18 is not a valid command."
-"shit," he whispered under his breath. "petra, verify p-18 with flight control." he paused for a split second, then pushed a button on the console and commanded, "abort instruction." another pause, then, "repeat verify abort command for n equals one over zero."
-"what was that?" eva was wedging her laptop under the left-hand g-seat.
-"you're going to confuse her head? good luck."
-he settled himself in the central seat, then reached up and began unlatching the huge flight helmet. as he did, his eyes were suddenly flooded with grief.
-"they killed him." he paused for a moment and just stared. vance thought he'd finally become befuddled from the shock. but then he choked back his emotion and continued. "we're going on the deck. under their goddam radar."
-"what did you say?" vance strained to catch his words. the english was slurred.
-he seemed to grow faint, his consciousness wane, but he finally revived as he finished yanking the giant helmet down over his head.
-vance's headphones came alive as he heard the russian. "daedalus i to control. do you read? i am now bringing up core rpm for starboard cluster, outboard trident." a second later, he continued, "we have s-o ignition."
-"yuri," came a startled radio voice, "what in hell is going on! you can't--"
-"portside cluster, outboard. rpm up," he continued in russian, his voice halting. "we have p-o ignition."
-"yuri, you can't--?"
-"androv, for godsake, have you gone mad?"
-"sergei, i told them to clear the hangar. i'm taking her to full power."
-"the liquid hydrogen tanks are in there. you could blow the whole hangar to hell if you use afterburners. you must be crazy!"
-"the bastards gunned him down, sergei." he caught a sob. "it was my fault. i should have warned--"
-"what are you talking about? gunned who down?"
-but yuri androv's mind was already elsewhere, drifting into a grief- obsessed dream state.
-"engine start complete," he continued. "beginning pre-takeoff sequence."
-will he be able to get this thing off the ground? vance was wondering. he's shot up and now he's falling apart.
-guess we're about to find out. the fuselage cameras are showing an empty hangar. everybody's run for cover.
-"eva, want to take that seat? i'll take this one. no free drinks in this forward cabin section." he was speaking through his upraised helmet visor as he eased himself into the right-hand g-seat.
-"and buckle up for safety." she settled herself in the left. "let's just hope he can still manage this monster. it's a saturn v with wings."
-"he's got his talking computer, if she'll still cooperate. do me a favor and translate now and then."
-"i believe it."
-as he pulled down the overhead seat straps, he found himself wondering what daedalus would feel like in full afterburner mode. those turboramjets made a boeing 747's massive jt-9ds look like prime movers for a medium-sized lawnmower.
-"power to military thrust." androv was easing forward the twin throttles, spooling them up past three-quarters power. daedalus had begun to quiver, shaking like a mighty mountain in tectonic upheaval.
-"prepare for brake release."
-the screens on the wall above reported fuel consumption edging toward three hundred pounds of jp-7 a second.
-"yuri," the radio crackled, "don't--"
-"pavel's got his men out of the hangar, sergei. i can see on my screen. i'm going cold mike now. no distractions. just wish me luck."
-there was a click as he switched off the communications in his helmet. he missed a new radio voice by only a second. it was speaking in english.
-"dr. vance, what is going on? he's just cut his radio link with flight control. he's deranged. i order you to halt the flight sequence. he could destroy both planes by going to afterburners in the hangar. i demand this be stopped."
-vance glanced up at the tv monitors. an auxiliary screen showed tanzan mino standing at the main flight control console, surrounded by more kobun, who had muscled aside the russian technicians. he also noticed that a lot of soviet brass were there too.
-"looks like you've got a problem."
-"i'm warning you i will shut you down. i can activate the automatic ai override three minutes after takeoff. the plane will return and land automatically."
-"three minutes is a long time." vance wondered if it was true, or a bluff. "we'll take our chances."
-"you'd leave me no choice."
-"may the best man win."
-"petra, brake release." yuri androv's voice sounded from beneath his helmet.
-vance looked across to see his left hand signal a thumbs-up sign, then reach down for the throttle quadrant. the vehicle was already rolling through the wide doors of the hangar, so if there were an explosion now, at least they'd be in the clear.
-androv paused a second, mumbled something in russian, then shoved the heavy handles forward to lock, commanding all twelve engines to max afterburner. the jp-7 fuel reading whirled from a feed of three hundred pounds a second to twenty-one hundred, and an instant thereafter the cockpit was slammed by the hammer of god as the monitor image of the hangar dissolved in orange.
-friday 9:31 a.m.
-"one small step for man."
-vance felt his lungs curve around his backbone, his face melt into his skull. he didn't know how many g's of acceleration they were experiencing, but it felt like a shuttle launch. he gripped the straps of the g-seat and watched the video feed from the landing-gear cameras, which showed the tarmac flashing by in a stream of gray. the screen above him had clicked up to 200 knots, and in what seemed only a second the daedalus was a full kilometer down the runway. then the monitors confirmed they were rotating to takeoff attitude, seven degrees.
-they were airborne.
-next the screens reported a hard right-hand bank, five g's. the altimeter had become a whirling blur as attitude increased to twenty degrees, held just below stall-out by petra's augmented control system.
-when the airspeed captured 400 knots, the landing gear cameras showed the wheels begin to fold forward, then rotate to lie flat in the fuselage. next the doors snapped closed behind them, swallowing them in the underbelly and leaving the nose cameras as their only visual link to the outside. the screens displayed nothing but gray storm clouds.
-landing gear up and locked, came petra's disembodied voice.
-"acknowledge gear secure," androv said, quieting a flashing message on one of the screens.
-no abort so far, vance thought. maybe we're about to get away with this.
-the airspeed had already passed 600 knots, accelerating a tenth of a mach number, about 60 knots, every five seconds.
-for now though the bigger question was, what do we do?
-androv was still busy talking to petra, issuing commands. vance realized they were assuming a vector north by northeast, out over the ocean. they also were probably going to stay on the deck to avoid radar tracking, with only passive systems so that no em emissions would betray their heading.
-he glanced up at the screens and realized he was half right. they were over the ocean now, at a breathtaking altitude of only five hundred meters, but androv had just switched the phased-array radar altimeter over to start hopping frequencies, using "squirt" emissions. pure stealth technology. no conventional radar lock could track it.
-"why don't you take that up with the pilot?" vance answered into his helmet mike.
-"his receiver has been turned off. it's impossible to communicate with him. he's clearly gone mad. i will give you another sixty seconds before i order the on-board guidance computer switched over to the ai mode. flight control here will override the on-board systems and just bring the vehicle back and land it."
-again vance wondered if he really could.
-then a screen flashed, an emergency strobe, and petra was speaking. the russian was simple enough he could decipher it.
-androv tapped the sidestick lightly and boosted their altitude a hundred meters.
-"michael," the voice was eva's coming through his headphones. "she--it-- whoever, said--"
-"i figured it out. but did you hear the other news? mino-san just advised he's going to override petra. we're about to find out who's really flying this baby."
-"no." androv was raising his flight helmet and gesturing, his wounded arm urging at something in his right pocket. "please take. do it quickly. and then . . ."
-vance unstrapped his g-seat harness, rose, and moved over to the central console. androv had raised his hydraulic helmet all the way up now and was trying to unzip the right side of his flight suit. vance reached down and helped him, not sure exactly what he needed.
-"there." yuri was trying to point. "the radio. please, you must . . ." the english began to fail him again.
-"what's this?" vance took out the transmitter, the size and shape of a small calculator.
-the answer was in russian, complex and garbled. something about computer.
-vance glanced up at the line of video screens. daedalus was now skimming rapidly over the straits, banking in the direction of the archipelago known as the kurile islands, and the image of tanzan mino was breaking up, almost gone. had he heard? maybe it didn't matter. the allotted sixty seconds was ticking away and he could just make out the image of tanzan mino, holding a microphone, preparing to give orders.
-by the clock on the screens he saw that forty-one seconds had already passed.
-"dr. vance, we are preparing to initiate total systems override." the ceo's voice sounded through his headphones. "you have fifteen seconds remaining to acknowledge."
-"the code," androv was saying. "it is one-nine-nine-nine."
-vance stared at the small device in his flight glove. it had a number keypad and a liquid crystal display.
-"you have ten seconds," tanzan mino said. the image was ghostly, but the voice still rang loud and clear.
-he began fumbling with the device, but the numbers kept eluding him, slipping around the thick fingers of his gloves. finally he caught the 1. above him the screens were still scrolling. eight seconds.
-suddenly the cockpit seemed to sway, an air pocket that
-even the daedalus' advanced structural mode control system couldn't damp out entirely. now androv was talking to petra, going for a sliver more altitude. seven seconds.
-"michael." eva was watching, her face still drawn from the acceleration. "is it--?"
-"it's the gloves. the damned gloves. i'm . . ." then he punched in the first 9.
-in the back of his mind he noted that the cockpit was adjusting as daedalus rotated, increasing attitude . . .
-he got another 9. but his grip on the "calculator" was slipping, pressing toward the floor as the g-forces of acceleration weighed against him. he checked the screens again and saw that three seconds remained.
-now androv was grappling to keep control of the throttle, while issuing instructions to petra.
-am i about to disable her? he wondered. if i do, can he manage this nightmare manually? what if mino was only bluffing?
-a final, bright green 9 appeared on the liquid crystal readout.
-"alert. ai system malfunction." it was the toneless voice of petra. she sounded vaguely annoyed.
-something had happened. two of the screens on the wall above had just gone blank, but daedalus continued to climb.
-"dr. vance, we are now going to recall the plane. we have ordered a wing of fighter-interceptors scrambled from the dolinsk airbase on sakhalin. they will escort you back."
-whoops. so that was what he was telling the soviet brass to do. get up some hardware fast. this could well be the shortest flight since the wright brothers'.
-then he heard androv's helmet mike click on.
-"this is daedalus i. do you copy me?"
-"major, you--" mino began.
-"copy this, you bastard. fuck you. repeat. fuck you. i've disabled your fucking ai module."
-"you disabled it?"
-"that's a roger. do you read me, you murdering son-of-a-bitch? fuck you!" he clicked off his mike
-vance was moving slowly across the cockpit, headed back to his own g- seat. as he settled himself and reached for the straps, he glanced up at the screens to check their flight data--altitude, speed, vector, g- force, fuel consumption. they were still on the deck, with an airspeed just under a thousand knots, about eleven hundred miles per hour. not quite mach 2, but already it was risky. and their vector was 085, with coordinates of 46 degrees latitude, 143 degrees longitude.
-what now? daedalus had all the active radar systems known to modern avionics. looking at the screens he saw forward-looking radar, sideways-looking radar, a four-beam multimode pulse-doppler look-down radar, terrain-following radar, radar altimeter, mapping and navigational radar, and a host of high-powered ecm jammers. the problem was, they all emitted em, electromagnetic radiation. switch on any of those and they'd become a flying radio beacon, broadcasting their position.
-the next row of screens, however, provided readouts of their passive, non-emitting receivers and analyzers. that clearly was what they would have to use to monitor the threat from sakhalin, scooping up any em for lightning-fast computer processing. surely petra could spit out a fingerprint of everything in the skies. to begin with, there were the basic radar warning receivers (rwrs) located aft, on the tailplanes, as well as infrared warning receivers (irwrs) positioned high on the outboard stabilizers. the screens showed she could analyze basic frequency, operating mode, pulse repetition frequency, amplitude of pulse, time of arrival, direction of arrival--the full menu.
-"if it's true they've scrambled the base at dolinsk, it probably means the new mig 31s." androv was now busy switching on all the passive systems, just the way vance figured he would. "we have to decide what to do. but first i want to take her up and do a quick recon. buckle in."
-"the latest foxhound has a multimode pulse-doppler look-down, shoot- down capability that's as good as any in the world," vance heard himself saying. "we're the biggest target in the skies, and we're unarmed. we'd be a sitting duck for one of their aa-9 active homing missiles. they're launch-and-leave."
-"let's check it out before we get too worried," androv replied. "but this has to be fast. you're about to see a mach 3 immelmann. don't try this in a 747." he laughed, then began lowering his high-tech helmet. "i hope i can still manage it."
-at the last moment he performed an aileron half-roll and righted them. the immelmann had, in effect, taken them straight up and headed their powerful forward-looking ir detectors and radar in the direction of sakhalin. vance glanced at the screens and realized they'd climbed thirty thousand feet in twenty-seven seconds. they'd just waxed the standing forty-eight-second time-to-climb record of the usaf f-15 eagle, and daedalus wasn't even breathing hard. even though androv had now chopped the power, they still were cruising at mach 2. effortlessly.
-no wonder he loves this bird.
-the only downside was, the fuel reading showed they'd burned twenty- three thousand pounds of jp-7 during the climb out.
-"petra," androv said into his helmet mike, "take vsd to standby and give me infrared laser."
-petra's interrogation revealed a wing of eight mig 31 interceptors, flying in formation at twenty-five thousand feet and closing. at mach 2.4.
-friday 9:43 a.m.
-"ya ponemaiyu," colonel-general gregori edmundovich mochanov said into the secure phone, the pride of dolinsk's command central. "i ordered a wing of the fifteenth squadron scrambled at 0938 hours. fortunately we were planning an exercise this morning."
-he paused for the party at the other end, general valentin sokolov on a microwave link from the hokkaido facility.
-"da, if androv maintains his altitude below six hundred meters, then he will probably have to keep her near mach 2. the vehicle, as i understand it, is not designed for that operating regime. so with the mig 31s on full afterburner, we can make up the distance. but we need his vector."
-he paused and listened. "yes, they are fully armed. aa-9s. a kill perimeter of--" he listened again. "of course, active homing radar and infrared, on the underfuselage--" he was impatiently gripping the receiver. "da, but i can't work miracles. i must have a vector." he paused again. "da, but i don't want to accidentally shoot down another kal 747. i must have a confirmed target. i'm not going to order them to fire without it."
-he listened a second longer, then said, "good," and slammed down the phone.
-friday 9:44 a.m.
-guess we'd better start playing hide-and-seek in earnest," vance observed.
-"stealth, my american friend," androv replied. "the hostile radar signature of this fuselage is almost nothing. and we can defeat their infrared by taking her back on the deck, so the engines are masked from their look-down ir. back we go. we'll pull out at five hundred meters, but it'll mean about three negative g's--blood to the brain, a redout. very dangerous. be ready."
-then he shoved the sidestick forward and daedalus plunged into a mach 3 power dive. the infrared cameras showed the sea plunging toward them. the dive took even less time than the climb, with the altimeter scrolling. suddenly the voice of petra sounded.
-a ton of empty space slammed into them as petra automatically righted the vehicle, pulling out of the dive at an altitude of four hundred meters.
-vance looked over and saw yuri andreevich androv's bandaged arm lying limp on the sidestick, lightly hemorrhaging. he'd passed out from the upward rush of blood.
-friday 9:58 a.m.
-"he has disappeared from the katsura radar again, mino-sama. i think he has taken the vehicle back on the deck." ikeda's face was ashen as he typed in the computer ai override command one last time, still hoping. the flight control operations screen above him was reading "system malfunction," while the engineers standing behind were exchanging worried glances. who was going to be held responsible? the master screen above, the one with the katsura radar, no longer showed the daedalus. androv had taken it to thirty thousand feet, then down again. he was playing games.
-tanzan mino was not wasting time marveling at the plane's performance specs. he turned and nodded to general sokolov, who was holding a red phone in his hand. the mig 31 wing wasn't flying military power; it was full afterburners, which was pushing them to mach 2.4. if daedalus stayed on the deck, they might still intercept.
-"we have no choice," he said in russian. "order them to give him a chance to turn back, and tell him if he refuses, they will shoot him down. maybe the threat will be enough."
-sokolov nodded gravely. but what if androv was as insane as every indication suggested he was? what if he disobeyed the commands from the sakhalin interceptors? what then? who was going to give the command that unleashed aams to bring down the most magnificient airplane--make that spacecraft--the world had ever seen. the mig 31, with its long- range acrid aa-9 missiles, had a stand-off kill capability that matched the american f-14 tomcat and its deadly aim-54 phoenix. since the aa-9 had its own guidance system, the pilot need not even see his target. one of those could easily bring down an unarmed behemoth like the daedalus as long as it was still in the supersonic mode, which it would have to be at that low altitude.
-a pall of sadness entered his voice as he issued the command. androv, of all people, knew the look-down shoot-down capabilities of the mig 31. maybe there was still a chance to reason with him. the daedalus had no pilot-ejection capability. his choice was to obey or die.
-reports from the hangar said he'd taken some automatic-weapons fire from the ceo's bodyguards. how badly wounded was he?
-sokolov glanced at the screen in front of him. the computer was extrapolating, telling him that a due-east heading by daedalus would soon take her over international waters. if androv kept that vector, at least there'd be no messy questions about violating foreign airspace.
-"how long before they can intercept?" tanzan mino asked, not taking his eyes from the screens. now the soviet interceptors were on the katsura radar, speeding toward daedalus' last known vector coordinates. it should only be a matter of time.
-"in five minutes they will be within air-to-air range," sokolov replied. he paused, then asked the question weighing on his mind. "if he refuses to turn back, do you really want that vehicle blown from the skies?"
-now tanzan mino was thinking about the stealth capabilities of the daedalus. was the design good enough to defeat the mig-31s' pulse- doppler radar? he suddenly found himself wishing the plane hadn't been so well designed. the stupid soviets, of course, had no idea--yet-- that it could just disappear.
-"he could be headed for alaskan air space. that's what the computer is projecting. you understand the ramifications if this vehicle falls into the hands of the americans."
-the soviet nodded gravely. that was, of course, unthinkable. there would be no going home again.
-friday 9:57 a.m.
-"yuri!" eva was up like a shot. "lean back. breathe." she was pushing the button that raised the huge flight helmet. as she watched, his open eyes gradually resumed their focus. then he snapped his head and looked around.
-"shto . . . what happened?"
-"i don't think you can handle heavy g-loads. you're weak from the wound, the tourniquet."
-he straightened up, then glanced again at the altimeter. they were cruising at three hundred meters, smooth as silk. and they were burning six hundred pounds of jp-7 a second.
-"nothing has gone the way i planned." he rubbed at his temples, trying to clear the blood from his brain. "we're just buying a little breathing space now by staying down here. i think the radar noise of the choppy sea, together with all our stealth capability, will keep us safe. but at this low altitude we're using fuel almost as though we were dumping it. if we continue to hold on the deck, we've got maybe half an hour's flying time left."
-"if we gained altitude," vance wondered, "could we stretch it enough to make alaska?"
-"probably," androv replied. "if we took her above fifty thousand feet, we might have a chance."
-"then we've got no choice. the only solid ground between here and the u.s. is the kurile islands, and they're soviet territory."
-"but if we did reach u.s. airspace, then what?" eva asked. "we'd have to identify ourselves. who's going to believe our story? nobody even knows this monster exists."
-"right," he laughed. "a top-secret soviet hypersonic bomber comes cruising across the bering strait at sixty thousand feet and into the usaf's airspace. one hint of this thing and they'd roll out the sams."
-"maybe we couid talk our way down."
-"there's no other choice."
-"you are getting ahead of things, both of you," androv interrupted, staring at the screens on the wall. "we still have to handle the interceptors from dolinsk. if we went for altitude, we'd show enough infrared signature to make us an easy target during ascent. before we even reached two thousand meters, they'd have a lock on us."
-vance glanced at the irwr. daedalus's infrared laser scanners were still tracking the wing of mig interceptors, now at twenty-two thousand feet and closing.
-"it doesn't matter," he said. "we've got to get off the deck soon, while we still have fuel. either that or we'll have to ditch at sea."
-"comrade vance, the daedalus is a marvelous platform, but when we go for altitude, we're going to be vulnerable. there's no getting around it. this vehicle was intended to perform best at the edge of space, not down here."
-"all right," he said slowly. "then why not take her there? use the scramjets. we may be running out of jp-7, but we have a load of liquid hydrogen. maybe this is the moment to finally find out if this thing can burn it."
-"i'm--i'm afraid. after what happened when we pulled out of the power dive, i'm not sure i could handle the g-load necessary to power in the scramjets." yuri paused. "the tourniquet has almost paralyzed my arm. i don't have the kind of control and timing we'd need. if i thought i could--but no. i hate to say it, even think it, but maybe we have no choice but to give up and turn back."
-"not yet," vance said. "maybe there's one other possibility."
-friday 10:01 a.m.
-this was the moment valentin sokolov had been dreading. the aa-9 missile, which was carried on the mig 31's recessed underfuselage stations, came in two versions: the active radar homing model and the heat-seeking infrared design. he suspected that daedalus had enough stealth and ecm capabilities to partially defeat radar, but stealth couldn't mask ir.
-sooner or later, androv would have to make his move, come off the deck. and when he did, the migs would pick him up and it would be over.
-but that was still preferable to letting daedalus fall into the hands of the americans. so if androv refused to answer his radio and comply with the call-back, there'd be no choice.
-friday 10:02 a.m.
-"what do you mean?" androv asked, wiping at his brow.
-vance took a deep breath. "we've got no choice. you know what i'm thinking."
-"we'll need ten g's of acceleration to power in the scramjets, my friend." he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. his face was now drawn with pain, but the bleeding had stopped. above them, petra silently flew the plane and flashed messages on the screens. "i've trained for years," he continued finally. "even with your inflatable g- suit, you couldn't possibly take the g-loads and stay conscious."
-"what other choice is there? either i try, or we ditch down there in the sea of okhotsk. personally, i'd rather go out like a shooting star, taking our chances."
-"it's not that simple. the scramjets are designed to be powered in at mach 4.8. we dare not risk that below at least forty thousand feet. there are aerodynamic reasons. in fact, they're not really intended to be used below sixty thousand."
-"well," vance said, "if we started our ascent at max throttle, what kind of airspeed could we capture by forty thousand? could we achieve mach 4.8?"
-"only if we used afterburners. which means we'd probably have only about ten minutes of jp-7 left for landing later." he laughed sadly. "assuming there's anywhere we could land."
-"how about heathrow? i know a japanese banker who'd probably love to have this vehicle as collateral for a few billion in eurodollar debentures he's being forced to underwrite. he's a friend of mine and i owe him a favor."
-"you want to turn this plane over to some banker?" he was visibly startled. "we can't ignore the fact that it still belongs, technically, to mino industries."
-"my friend's a big boy. he'll work it out, yakuza-style. don't worry." he glanced up at the fuel gauges. they now had twenty minutes left. just enough to get back to the facility and give up? or go all the way.
-"eva, what do you say. want to give it a shot?"
-"i'm game. one thing's for sure; i have no intention of going back to get ourselves murdered by tanzan mino. if we can make it to the other side of the world by burning hydrogen, then . . ."
-"maybe, just maybe petra could help enough for you to manage it." androv paused to collect his strength. "i don't know if you can stay conscious through the ten g's of acceleration needed to initiate the scramjets. but i know for sure i can't, not in my current state. you might as well give it a try." he turned to eva and continued in russian. "there's an emergency back-up pressure suit in that locker beneath petra's main screen. see if you can put it on. you'll still probably pass out, but don't worry, the 'event' is only temporary. after we go through the hypersonic barrier, acceleration will subside. down to three, maybe four g's."
-"i'll get the suit," she said, starting to unbuckle her straps.
-"okay, we'd better get started." vance was crossing the cabin. the nose cameras were showing the spray of white- caps directly below them. if they'd passed any fishing vessels, he mused, there were probably stories of flying saucers already going around. the passive irwr scanner was still tracking the wing of mig 31s, now at a hundred and thirty kilometers, approximately eighty miles, and closing. daedalus was almost within the kill perimeter of the mig 31s and their aa-9 missiles.
-the radio crackled, something in russian. yuri androv stared at the flight helmet, then looked down at the console and flipped a switch.
-"i copy you, firefight one," he replied in russian. "over."
-"androv, you idiot. what in hell are you doing? defecting to the capitalists?" the voice laughed. "we don't know what the devil you're flying, but when you pulled that immelmann, my ir thought you were an an-124 condor transport turned into a high-performance foxbat. one in- credible son-of-a-bitch."
-"it's a spaceship, arkadi. excuse me, colonel arkadi. congratulations on the promotion."
-"spacebo," he said, laughing again. then he sobered. "yuri, i don't know what this is all about, but i'm instructed by general sokolov to escort you and that thing you're flying back to hokkaido. if you're stupid enough to refuse, then i have orders to shoot you down."
-"is that any way to treat an old friend?"
-"yuri andreevich, we go back a long way. to the ramenskoye flight test center. you were the best we ever had. don't make me do this."
-"i'm thinking i may spare you the trouble."
-"give me five minutes. if i don't turn back by then, give it your best."
-"i'll take her to three thousand meters. you'll have a lock on me. but i still want five minutes."
-"that's all i can give you, yuri. after that . . ." his voice trailed off.
-"i'm going off this frequency. talk to you in five."
-"five minutes. starting now."
-androv pushed a switch on the console, then said, "petra, stabilize at three thousand."
-"three thousand," she repeated. "confirmed."
-he rose from the pilot's seat, motioning for vance. there was a surge of acceleration as the vehicle changed pitch, the cockpit rotating to adjust for the g-forces. the weight of two and a half g's weighed against them as the altimeter screen started scrolling upward.
-vance walked across to the central seat, studying the console. the throttle quadrant and sidestick he understood, but most of the other controls were new to him. maybe it didn't matter.
-"does petra understand english?"
-"of course," androv nodded. "russian, japanese, and english. interchangeable. she's programmed such that if you command her in russian, she replies in russian. if you use english, that's what you get back."
-"so far, so good." he looked at the large screen at the end of cabin, the one that displayed petra's mindstate. she was dutifully announcing that she'd just taken the vehicle to three thousand meters. she also was reporting the ir interrogation of a wing of mig 31s flying at twenty thousand feet, with a closure rate of three hundred knots. when daedalus made her move, would she be able to outdistance their air-to- air missiles?
-we're about to find out, he thought, in--he glanced at the screens--three and a half minutes. eva was zipping up her pressure suit now, readying to strap herself back into her seat. the helmet made her look like an ungainly astronaut.
-"like i said, the scramjets become operable at mach 4.8," androv went on. "at forty thousand feet, that's about three thousand miles per hour. i've never taken her past mach 4.5." he was grasping the side of the console to brace himself. "you probably know that scramjets require a modification in engine geometry. in the turboramjet mode, these engines have a fan that acts as a compressor, just like a conventional jet. however, when we switch them over to scramjet geometry, the turbines are shut down and their blades set to a neutral pitch. next the aft section of each engine is constricted to form a combustion chamber--the shock wave inside becomes the 'compressor.' " he paused. "the unknown part comes when the fans are cut out and the engine geometry is modified. i've unstarted the fans and reconfigured, but i've never fed in the hydrogen. we simply don't know what will happen. those damned turbines could just explode."
-"so we take the risk."
-"there's more," he continued. "the frictional heat at hypersonic speeds. our liquid hydrogen is supposed to act as a heat sink, to dissipate thermal buildup on the leading edges, but who the hell knows if it'll work. we're now flying at about fifteen hundred miles per hour. when you give petra the go-ahead, we could accelerate to ten, even fifteen thousand miles per hour. god help us, we may just melt."
-"if you were willing to give it a shot, then i am." vance looked up at the screens. "we're now at ten thousand feet. i kick over to scramjets at forty thousand?"
-"the computer simulations all said that if we go hypersonic below sixty thousand feet, we could seriously overheat. but maybe if we climb out fast enough . . ."
-"we'll have to take our chances. we need to minimize that window of aam vulnerability."
-"i agree." androv gestured for him to sit, then glanced up at the screens. "we have two and a half minutes. i've set petra for full auto. all you have to do is just talk her through the key intervals of the sequence."
-vance settled in and examined the huge flight helmet looming above him, making him look like an alien insect from science fiction. now the cabin had taken on an eerie quiet, with nothing but silent screens flashing data. he'd never talked to an airplane before, and the thought gave him some disquiet.
-"what do i do first?"
-"you probably should start by attaching that nozzle there on the legs of your g-suit to the pressure hose on the console. when the g-forces go above eight, tubules in the legs automatically inflate using bleed air from the engines. it's going to squeeze hell out of your lower extremities. if you begin to gray-out, try to grunt as hard as you can. the m-l maneuver, i think you americans call it. if your vision begins to go entirely, just try and talk petra through."
-"once you start pushing through the hypersonic barrier, keep an eye on "yes."
-"and didn't he, moreover, catch you in the act of proposing to miss fitzgerald?"
-"and haven't you asked the marchioness for lady isabelle's hand?"
-"and in the face of all this--you attempt to deny----"
-"in the face of all this--circumstantial evidence--i'm quite prepared to deny everything. would you like to hear the facts of the case?"
-as will have been inferred, the two men had the smoking-room entirely to themselves, and the best part of an hour passed before the secretary had finished his account of events with which the reader is familiar.
-kent-lauriston heard him out with great interest, and after drawing a long breath, at the close of his recital, remarked:--
-"i think i shall be fully repaid for any inconvenience to which i've put myself on your account. this whole affair is most interesting, and, believe me, there's more in it than appears on the surface."
-"i feel the same way myself," replied the secretary; "but let us hear your views on the subject."
-"first," replied his friend, "you must assure me of how you yourself stand. are you still in your unregenerate state, or have you yet begun to see the fruits of your folly?"
-the young diplomat was silent for a long time, but finally he said, looking up into kent-lauriston's face with an almost appealing glance:
-"i'm afraid you would think me awfully caddish if i told you the truth about it."
-"about the state of your affections for miss fitzgerald, you mean?"
-"of course, i shouldn't think you justified in making a public declaration of a change of sentiment, because it might seem to reflect on the lady, but in my case it's very different. having spoken so frankly and freely on the subject already, i might almost say that you owe it to me to continue to do so. certainly i've given you no cause for reticence by anything i've done, and, as certainly, you must confide fully in me if you wish my help in the future."
-"well, then, the truth is," he blurted out, "that you were right and i was wrong, and i've found it out too late."
-"i thought as much."
-"but i'm not going back on my word. if i've made a mistake, i must suffer for it; and if miss fitzgerald accepts my proposal, which she now has under consideration, i shall live up to my part of the agreement; and if i can prevent it, she shall never suspect that i would have matters otherwise. if she should refuse me, however----"
-"you'd make a fool of yourself just the same," continued kent-lauriston, "by jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire, and marrying madame darcy the instant she obtained her divorce."
-"kent-lauriston," stanley exclaimed, "you know a d----d sight too much!"
-the englishman laughed softly, and then resumed the thread of his discourse.
-"now that i understand your position----" he began.
-"do you understand it?"
-"better than you do yourself, i fancy; let me see if i can state it. you've proposed to miss fitzgerald, and she has taken the question of marrying you into consideration; since which time you have come to the conclusion, for reasons which we will not specify out of consideration for your feelings, that, if she refuses, or could be induced to refuse you, you'd accept the decision without an appeal. am i correct?"
-the secretary nodded gloomily.
-"under the circumstances, do you give me permission to do what i can to effect your release?"
-"do what you please."
-"i'll do my best. now what induced you to propose to her against your better judgment? did she lead you on?"
-"no, certainly not--if you suppose----!"
-"charges were made against her. i thought it my duty to tell her what had been said----"
-"how did she receive it?"
-"she accused me of being a false friend, of not having defended her."
-"and you proposed--when--that day?"
-"no, the next night."
-"i see, the next night; because you thought it your duty to protect her."
-"confound you. you read me like a book."
-"an open page is easy reading. now who made the charges?"
-"i thought so. whom did they concern?"
-"exactly. and at the very moment that you were asking her to give you the right to protect her from men of darcy's stamp--he turns up and proves you the worst of the lot."
-"and she-- i wonder she didn't refuse me out of hand."
-"i wonder she didn't accept you--but let that pass. all i wish to point out to you is this:--kingsland drove you by the charges he made against darcy to propose to miss fitzgerald. what was his motive for doing so?"
-"friendship for miss fitzgerald."
-"would that be likely to induce him to make serious charges against her?"
-"friendship for me."
-"nonsense! i know the man. he did it because it paid him to do it."
-"how was that possible?"
-"i can suggest one motive. the removal of the obstacles preventing lady isabelle's secret marriage. now who could have effected this? not lady isabelle, she never had the audacity to carry out such a scheme; not kingsland, he hasn't brains enough; our hostess is above suspicion; in fact there's only one person who could have conceived and carried out the plan to its successful conclusion--namely, miss fitzgerald."
-"what grounds have you for proving it?"
-"was she with the parson at all, before the ceremony?"
-"i knew you'd ask that question!"
-"then she was."
-"twice, on the days just preceding--to my knowledge."
-"not for me."
-"then i'll tell you where we can find the missing link of evidence."
-"in the marriage register of the church. find the names of the witnesses, and you'll find the people who have carried it through. if you'll kindly leave it in my hands, i'll verify my statements to-morrow morning. i'd prefer that you did not do it yourself."
-"as you please. but even admitting you're right, it doesn't give the cause for the motive."
-"oh, yes, it does--miss fitzgerald's intervention in this matter was the price of kingsland's egging you on to propose."
-"i'll lay you a thousand to one on it."
-stanley shrugged his shoulders, saying:--
-"but your own arguments defeat you, my dear fellow. if miss fitzgerald was such a calculating person, why should she put herself out, and run the risk of compromising herself, merely to induce the lieutenant to play upon my jealousy, when, as you've already shown, and i've admitted, i was so weak as to make such strategy unnecessary."
-"perhaps that was not the only favour miss fitzgerald looked for, and the lieutenant's hands----"
-"what do you mean?"
-"well, taking five chests for her to london."
-"oh," said the secretary, much relieved, "i know all about that. i quite assure you it has nothing to do with miss fitzgerald."
-"but i heard her asking kingsland to take them up for her this afternoon, and to put them in his bank."
-"look here, kent-lauriston, your dislike for poor belle must have got the better of your common sense. you certainly misinterpreted what she said. those chests belong to mr. riddle."
-kent-lauriston changed the subject.
-"what is colonel darcy here for?"
-"he says, to watch his wife."
-"what is she here for?"
-"she says she has letters written to her husband by some member of this household, which have aroused her suspicions."
-"that sounds more promising. who is this person?"
-"a woman of course--but she only knows her christian name."
-"and that is?"
-"she will not tell me."
-"ah!" said kent-lauriston drily.
-"i've sources of information about darcy, which i'm not at liberty to give you," resumed stanley, "but you're not on the right track, believe me."
-"time will prove the correctness of some of my theories, at least," replied his mentor, "and i shall be better able to talk when i've seen the marriage register. now let's have something to drink, and go to bed;" and he pressed the bell.
-an interval having elapsed without an answer, he rang again, but no servant appeared.
-"it must be later than i thought. we'll have to shift for ourselves. there'll be something going in the billiard-room."
-"hark!" said stanley. "there's somebody in the hall; it's probably the butler shutting up for the night."
-they both listened, and a peculiar, shuffling, scraping sound became audible.
-"that's a curious noise," said the secretary. "let's see what it means," and, suiting the action to the word, he threw open the smoking-room door.
-the light in the hall was turned out, and the sombre black oak panelling made the great apartment seem darker than it really was. absolute stillness reigned. it was, to all appearance, empty.
-"must have been rats," said the secretary. "everyone seems to have retired."
-"have they?" said kent-lauriston.
-and both could have sworn that they heard, far up the hall, the dying rustle of a skirt. but there were some things that stanley had no wish to know, and he set his face and his steps towards the stairs, continuing:--
-"then we'd better go to bed."
-"by all means."
-"shall i turn out the electric lights in the smoking-room?"
-"yes, we're evidently the last."
-a moment later they stood on the upper landing about to separate for the night.
-"the woman was behind that screen at the foot of the stairs," said kent-lauriston.
-"yes, i know," replied the secretary.
-"good-night, my dear stanley."
-"good-night, old man. you possess a rare talent."
-"you know when not to ask questions."
-face to face
-when kent-lauriston had disappeared in his bedroom, and closed the door, the secretary, extinguishing his own candle, turned on his heel, and walked slowly back to the head of the stairs. it was easy to preserve an unruffled demeanour before his friend, but he was far from being as calm as he appeared.
-all was not right in the house, he knew. some mischief was afoot, and he meant to find out what it was, even though he dared not admit to himself some of the possibilities which it suggested.
-he softly descended the stairs. everything was silent. he moved the screen; the space behind it was vacant. suddenly, his eye fell upon the smoking-room door, and he drew in his breath softly. there was a line of light showing under the crack. yet he could have sworn that kent-lauriston had turned off the switch, and while he stood hesitating as to what it was best to do, a soft breath of wind upon his cheek caused him to make another discovery. the great front door was open. he stepped softly down the hall, and going out under the porte-cochère, cast his eyes over the driveway. no one was in sight. he was about to return to the house when he heard light steps coming down the hall. drawing back into the shadow to escape observation, he waited. someone was evidently leaving the house. a moment later, a hand was lightly laid upon the door, and it was closed behind him, before he could realise what was happening. he was shut out into the night.
-his first impulse was to ring sharply for assistance. second thoughts showed him the foolishness of such an attempt. it would be merely apprising the intruders of his presence, and long before a servant could be aroused and the bell could be answered, they would have made their escape.
-the secretary judged that shutting him out was unintentional. the persons, whoever they were, had hidden somewhere, till he had gone upstairs, had then slipped into the smoking-room, probably to arrange their plans, and coming out while he was on the lawn, and seeing the door ajar, had closed it, quite unconscious that by so doing they were putting their pursuer in a very awkward predicament.
-however, the secretary told himself that there was nothing to prevent him from seeing what was going on in the hall, and he hastened to make his way round to the side of the house where there were several large windows opening into that apartment. he had picked his way across several flower-beds, and was just turning the corner to approach the house when he was startled by seeing a dark figure loom up beside him, and feeling a hand lightly laid on his shoulder, and a whispered word of caution to be silent. almost involuntarily, however, he exclaimed:--
-"inez! you here, and at this hour."
-"sh!" she said, "there are listeners. i, like you, am watching."
-"who are you watching?" he asked, softly.
-"yes," she replied. "why has he entered this house secretly every night since he has been here?"
-"you amaze me," said the secretary. "how has it been possible for him to get in?"
-"he has been aided by someone who opens the door for him."
-"no, a woman."
-the secretary whistled softly.
-"well," he said, "we'll probe this mystery to the bottom. i, too, have heard suspicious noises in the passages to-night, and, coming down, after i had retired, to find out what they were, i was shut out from within, though i don't think they were aware of my presence. we must go round on the outside and see what we can through the windows."
-"you can't," she said. "the approaches are protected by an iron fence with spikes."
-"but surely there's a gate?"
-"yes, but it's always padlocked."
-"we'll have a look at it, any way," he replied; and they approached and examined it closely.
-the secretary rattled the lock cautiously and found it old and shaky.
-"i think i could smash this with a couple of bits of flint," he said, "and if i have a new lock put on at my own expense, my hostess will, under the circumstances, probably forgive me." and suiting the action to the word, he managed, by a few judicious blows, with two bits of stone, picked up from the driveway, to bend the hasp of the lock sufficiently to release it.
-there being no further impediment to their progress they hastened through the gardens, and a moment later were standing outside one of the great hall windows whose lower panes were on a level with their faces. they could distinctly see three people, but their glances were riveted on a circle of light farther up the hall, a circle that shifted and danced over the surface of the secret door, flashing on the heads of the silver nails; a circle that was made by the lens of a small bull's-eye lantern, held in the grasp of a crouching figure whose back was turned towards them. by his side were two others, apparently a man and a woman, who seemed to be directing him at his work. for several minutes the little group presented their backs to the spectators, but at an incautious step of the secretary's, which caused a dry twig to crackle, they all turned sharply round, the owner of the lantern throwing its rays full on the window outside which they were standing. the watchers drew back, in time evidently to escape detection, for the absence of footsteps and the recurrence, after a moment, of the curious sounds which stanley had noticed from the smoking-room, assured him that they had once more returned to their work. the lantern, however, though it had failed to discover them, had, for a brief second, illumined the faces of the intruders, and both the secretary and madame darcy recognised the trio. the man at work on the door was the colonel; his assistants were mr. riddle and miss fitzgerald. the secretary's worst suspicions were confirmed, and a smothered sob at his side told him that the discovery had inflicted no less keen a pang on his companion. she slipped down in a little heap on the ground, and he dropped on his knees beside her, whispering such consolation as he could without running the risk of being overheard.
-"i knew it must be so," she said, "and yet i hoped against hope that he was not guilty of this last infamy."
-suddenly another thought seemed to have occurred to her.
-"you knew," she said. "you must have known, and yet you did not tell me."
-"my dear inez," he said. "how could i, when my suspicions were directed against your own husband?"
-"but why do i think of myself?" she said. "i am nothing. but it is you--you, that my heart bleeds for. i, too, concealed my suspicions for your sake."
-"and you can think of me," he said, "at a time like this?"
-"of course," she replied. "yours is the greater sorrow. i knew that my husband was bad--worthless--capable of anything. my eyes are only proving what my reason told me must be so. but with you, it is so much harder. this is the woman you loved, and, whom loving, you must have made your ideal. and now to find that she is--this." and she pressed his hand silently.
-"don't talk about it," said the secretary.
-"you don't quite understand."
-"but what is to be done?" she said.
-"nothing, unless they show signs of success, and that i do not think likely. if the secret of the door has withstood the ingenuity of generations in the past, it is likely to do so in the future, unless they tried to force it, and that i think they'd hardly dare to do."
-"listen," she said. and the secretary heard a noise of creaking, straining wood.
-"they are trying to force it!" he cried, springing up and looking through the window. and she, following his lead, saw that darcy was working with might and main with some burglar's tool after the nature of a lever. but though the old oaken door groaned in protest at such treatment, it never gave an inch, and the colonel, removing his instrument, made a gesture of despair, and stood wiping the sweat from his brow.
-"what does this all mean?" said madame darcy, as they slipped down again into their place of concealment.
-"it means," said the secretary shortly, "that your husband's secret instructions are behind that door, and from his eagerness to get them i should say that they contain a cipher of something that cannot be duplicated in the time at his command."
-"i do not understand," she said.
-"well, if you must know the truth," he replied, "he's to take over the specie needed to defeat the treaty, and to get there in time he must sail from england in a few days."
-she nodded mournfully.
-"i supposed it was something like that," she said. "i knew mr. riddle had brought the gold. it is here."
-"no," he said, "it's in the victoria street branch of the bank of england, in london."
-"how was it sent up?"
-"lieutenant kingsland took it."
-"is he a member of the conspiracy?"
-"it appears so--but i am not certain. he may be an innocent dupe," replied the secretary.
-"and you let the specie go?" she asked.
-"yes," he said. "when i discovered where they were sending the chests i helped them. it's safer in the bank than knocking round here, and i can prevent its being drawn out any time i wish."
-"by the arrest of the conspirators?" she said.
-"i hope that it won't be necessary to arrest anybody," he replied.
-"then you have some plan?"
-"yes. but i'm afraid you mustn't ask me what that is. nor must you write a word of all this to your father. but i promise you that if it's possible i'll save your husband from open disgrace, and i think it will be."
-"thank you, thank you," she murmured. "you are indeed my friend," and her hand again sought his, and he quivered under her touch.
-"listen!" she said. "they're moving."
-his attacks on the door had, however, evidently marred the wood, and he produced from his receptacle a bottle of varnish and a brush, with which he proceeded to repair the traces of the damage. the secretary's eyes, wandering from the colonel, suddenly lighted on the figure of his friend, kent-lauriston, who had evidently been awakened by the returning footsteps of darcy's companions as they sought their bedrooms, and who was now stealing downstairs to intercept the intruder.
-before stanley could restrain his friend, kent-lauriston had softly approached the recumbent figure, so softly, indeed, that the colonel, who was intent on trying to repair the door, did not hear him, and was aware of his presence only when a stout arm encircled his neck, throwing him backwards on the floor, where he lay, with his captor's knee upon his chest.
-stanley felt the need of being present also, and exerting his strength on the sash, found, to his great satisfaction, that the butler had neglected to bolt the window. with a quiet good-night to madame darcy, who slipped away in the darkness, he swung himself over the sill, and landing on his feet in the hall, joined the group, nodding to his friend as he did so.
-"ah, my fine fellow. burgling, were you?" said kent-lauriston to his captive.
-"i beg your pardon," returned kent-lauriston, releasing his prostrate foe; and turning to stanley, he continued: "lacking the fineness of perception bred of diplomatic training, i must confess i didn't see the subtle distinction."
-darcy rose deliberately, growling a surly something, which might have been equally well an apology or an oath, and snapped to the shutter of his dark lantern.
-"well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the colonel, gruffly.
-the diplomat was on his best behaviour.
-"i'm so sorry," he said. "of course, we did not know you were a caller. the ladies have retired, and i'm sure you don't want to see us; we won't detain you."
-"i----" began darcy, clenching his fist.
-"oh, i'll make your excuses to mrs. roberts," pursued the secretary. "don't trouble about that."
-"i'll be damned if i'll tolerate this interference," burst out the colonel.
-"i'm sure you'll be the first, and will also endure the second, my dear sir," continued stanley in his most suave tones. "so we'll say no more about it. the front door is easy to open, colonel darcy, as of course you know. good-night."
-the marriage register
-on the morning which succeeded stanley's midnight vigil, the reverend reginald lambert was early at the little chapel, which was his great pride in life. the good old gentleman was never so happy as when he could induce any of the visitors at the hall to give him an hour of their time to listen to his dissertations on the ecclesiastical history of the building; to examine its fragments of "dog-tooth," and discuss the meaning of that one "foliated capital," in a structure otherwise severely saxon. he was even writing a little book on all these things; a volume which he fondly hoped might some day be given to the world. this morning, however, he must have been engaged on some work of special interest, in which he was so absorbed that time flew by unnoticed till his task was finished. he was just preparing to return to his rectory, when he received an unexpected visit from a lady, who requested permission to examine the marriage register.
-the lady was a stranger to him, and was evidently of foreign extraction. she asked to see an old volume of the records, and took the occasion, when his back was turned, to hastily glance at the last matrimonial entry, for the marriage register lay open on the table, comparing the same with a line of handwriting which she had with her, and evincing surprise as well as satisfaction at the knowledge she derived therefrom.
-a moment later, when the old man returned, she was, to all appearances, absorbed in the contemplation of an extremely repellent gargoyle.
-the entry she desired was not to be found, was probably in some neighbouring parish, she suggested--a fact which the narrator thinks unlikely. she nevertheless passed a profitable hour, allowing the good parson to show her every nook and corner of his precious possession, and displaying an intelligent interest, which was as rare as it was gratifying.
-but the morning had not yet revealed all its treasures to mr. lambert. scarcely had the strange lady's footsteps died away, when another visitor, a new arrival at the hall, put in an appearance; and avowed himself such an ardent enthusiast in all matters ancient and ecclesiastical, and, moreover, substantiated his pretensions to such a degree, that the old parson declared afterwards he had never had such a morning of perfect enjoyment in his life. kent-lauriston, for it was none other, exerted himself to interest his cicerone, and succeeded admirably. he possessed that rare gift of developing any topic that might be suggested by the person to whom he was talking, of making it his own, and at the same time causing his companion to believe that he was contributing, in no small part, to the brilliancy of the conversation. so, more than an hour slipped by, and kent-lauriston found ample opportunity to consult the marriage register unobserved, and to be much surprised at what he saw there--moreover he learned many things besides the subject of norman decoration and saxon construction--among the more important of which was the visit of the foreign lady, who wanted to look up old volumes of the records.
-"i have the honour to be invited to dine at the hall this evening," said mr. lambert, in parting with kent-lauriston. "i shall look forward to the pleasure of continuing our conversation."
-his visitor bowed, and left him.
-it cannot be said of most of the members of the house party that they passed the morning as usefully or happily as kent-lauriston. in the secretary's mind the problem was uppermost, of how to be alone from breakfast to lunch. he was aided in the accomplishment of his intent by the connivance of the three ladies whom he was most anxious to avoid. the dowager sent him a little note saying that she always spent the morning in her room, and that her dear isabelle would be quite free in consequence. the "dear isabelle" informed stanley publicly, that she should spend the morning in the library, and intimated privately, that it would be well if he was supposedly with her, and in reality any where else; while miss fitzgerald remarked, that she intended spending the morning in the park, as she wished to be alone. as a result of these obvious suggestions, the secretary followed lady isabella into the library, in full sight of the party at large, and crossing the room, stepped out of one of the long, low windows on to the lawn, and by means of a side staircase quietly gained his own apartment, where he spent the morning in reading and meditation. his reading was confined to a comprehensive volume on "locks, ancient and modern," by price, received that morning from john. his meditations, on the other hand, were on an entirely different subject.
-the events of the night before, aided by kent-lauriston's suggestive comments, had brought him face to face with a question to which he had hitherto avoided giving an answer. was miss fitzgerald a party to the conspiracy to defeat the treaty? he put it to himself in so many words.
-repugnant as was the task, the secretary felt that he must, in the interests of his country, put sentiment aside and face the facts.
-it was not to be supposed because he had made the mistake of taking pity for love, in the case of the lady, that he was any the less indifferent to her fate. he still considered himself bound to her, should she ask the redemption of his promise; he had championed her purity and innocence in the face of all opposition; and it was inexpressibly shocking to him to find himself forced to consider even the possibility of her being connected with such a nefarious transaction.
-yet he felt it only just to face the evidence against her, and seek to the best of his ability to rebut it.
-what reasons were there for supposing her to be connected with the plot to defeat the treaty? he placed them in order of their occurrence.
-1. he had seen her driving with mr. riddle on the day after his dinner.
-2. she had denied her acquaintance with darcy, in his presence, to that gentleman's wife, though she had since been proven to be very intimate with him.
-3. she had proposed a game of cards, and suggested stanley's using an old letter to score on, which proposal and suggestion had led to the restoration of the secret instructions to mr. riddle.
-4. kent-lauriston said she had asked kingsland to take the chests containing the money to london.
-5. she had been in the hall late the night before, assisting darcy to break open the door.
-this was all the evidence against her. did it prove that she was a partner to the plot?
-no, he told himself. it did not.
-did it prove that she was a dupe of these men? an innocent instrument in the furtherance of their vile conspiracy?
-he was forced to admit the possibility of this, though he told himself he knew her too well to believe for an instant that she had any knowledge of the plot itself, or the desperate game her friends were playing. it now became his duty to save the irish girl from the consequences of her own folly; to open her eyes to the true character of her friends. he could only do this by proving their complicity. the destruction of the plot, and her salvation alike, hung on the recovery of that lost letter, for in the light of the events of the past night, it seemed fair to assume that this paper had an important bearing on the conspiracy, and was necessary to its success.
-the money had been sent, the time was short, but darcy still remained. why did he do so, unless it was to attempt a recovery of the document? it must, then, be of vital importance.
-having arrived at these conclusions, stanley found himself committed to one of two courses of action: either to play the spy on the movements of his friends, or to effect the opening of the door with the silver nails. the first was repugnant to his spirit as a gentleman, and he instantly chose the second, believing that within the portal lay the only real clue he had so far obtained. this plan also had the added recommendation of placing in his hand evidence which would not involve the introduction of miss fitzgerald's name in the matter.
-having thus mapped out his course of action, and finding there was still an hour before lunch, he descended to the lawn, and made a preliminary inspection of the exterior walls of the old manor house. it might be possible to enter in some other way than by the oaken door which remained so obstinately closed. the building was of stone, and two stories in height, though most irregular in form, having been added to and altered during succeeding generations, as suited the taste of the owner of the period. the north-east end, however, instead of having a corner, was slightly rounded, and above the level of the roof assumed the shape of a circular tower, rising some forty feet higher than the rest of the structure, and surmounted by crumbling battlements. even an inexperienced eye might detect that the door with the silver nails gave entrance to this tower, which stanley was sure did not assume, in the lower storey at least, a space commensurate with its diameter above. probably the door communicated with a narrow winding stair for the first, and perhaps the second, floors, the real space of the structure being contained in the portion which arose detached. this conjecture could easily be verified by measuring. at the first convenient opportunity he determined to make these preliminary investigations. it was said that the tower possessed no windows, and certainly this was the case, unless they gave on the leads; for, from the ground, it presented everywhere a blank wall of solid masonry, to which here and there strands of ivy clung.
-"but they must have got their light from somewhere," he said to himself. "perhaps from the roof, in which case there is probably some antique form of scuttle by which entrance could be had. if one could only get up there to see--but it's not a likely place for climbing. there should be the remains of an old flag-staff or cresset, or something of that nature----" and he walked slowly backwards across the lawn, hoping to reduce the visual angle sufficiently to see any slight projection above the battlements, but in vain; and he was about to abandon his backward course and return to the house, when a soft voice murmured at his elbow:--
-"star-gazing by daylight?" and he turned, to find himself close beside madame darcy.
-"oh, good-morning," he said, lifting his hat. "i beg your pardon, but i was trying to discover the remains of some superstructure on those battlements."
-"why not go up and see?"
-"that is what many people have wished to do for the last two hundred years, but the only door of entrance is shut, and no man knows the secret of the lock."
-"and do you mean to discover it?"
-"i'm afraid it would only be a waste of time, for probably the whole thing is so disgustingly simple that everyone has overlooked it. however, the present, as represented by you, is infinitely more interesting; let the old tower guard the secret it has kept so long; who wants to know it?"
-"my husband!" she replied.
-"quite so," said the secretary. "and that reminds me, i hope you reached home quite safely last night, and have felt no ill effects from it."
-"none in body," she returned sadly, "but, of course, what i saw could not but add to my distress of mind. tell me what happened after i left."
-"nothing particular," said stanley. "we all kept our tempers and were very polite."
-"then there was no disturbance?"
-"none whatever; the colonel was quite amenable to reason and went away quietly."
-"but mr. kent-lauriston?"
-"oh, he's too much a man of the world not to know when to hold his tongue."
-"you will not tell your hostess? promise me that. badly as he has treated me, i am still his wife, and his honour is yet mine."
-"i will keep your secret. if he is discovered in the house, someone else must do it."
-"oh, you're indeed my friend!" she cried impulsively. "i can never forget your goodness to me. there are, i'm sure, few men like you in the world."
-the secretary flushed under her praise, and disclaiming any inherent superiority to the other members of his race, hastened to change the subject by saying:--
-"tell me, are you succeeding any better with your proofs against your husband on another charge?"
-"i've made a discovery this morning which has greatly disturbed me. i do not know how to act."
-"what have you found?"
-"i've compared the handwriting of the letters i hold, with the handwriting of the most recent entry in the marriage register of this church."
-"good heavens! it surely can't tally----!"
-"it does, and with the name of the bride."
-the secretary was simply staggered,--lady isabelle--it was impossible on the face of it.
-"you're mistaken," he said coldly. "such charges against the lady to whom you refer are impossible."
-"you know of this marriage then?"
-"yes--i'm even popularly supposed to be engaged to the bride!"
-"but you are not--tell me you are not."
-"of course i'm not--i've never had the slightest interest in her, except as a friend."
-"you relieve me immensely. to lay such charges at the door of one you loved--to break your heart-- i could not have done it."
-"you could not do it in any event--to a woman of her nature such things would be impossible. i assure you, it is some grievous mistake."
-she shook her head.
-"why should my husband be a witness to this secret marriage?"
-"sh!" she said, "he is coming," and disappeared so silently into the bushes that she seemed to fade away from his sight. a moment later, the dry leaves crackled under a man's foot, and colonel darcy stood before him.
-"we have not had our little meeting yet, mr. stanley," he said abruptly.
-"when do you leave this vicinity, colonel darcy?" asked the secretary, ignoring the other's remark.
-"when you do. till then i remain here to guard my honour."
-"you surely are not trying to live up to that absurd fable!"
-"why not, when my wife has this moment left you?"
-"you have sharp eyes, colonel," replied the secretary, turning on his heel, and walking towards the house.
-"i need to have, mr. stanley," remarked the other, as he watched him go.
-"kent-lauriston," said the secretary, when they were alone after lunch, "affairs have taken a startling turn since i last saw you."
-"i think so myself."
-"have you been making discoveries?"
-"i don't know that they can be dignified by that name; but tell me of yours."
-"madame darcy assures me that the letters which she holds, and on which she bases her case against her husband, are in the same handwriting as the name of lady isabelle, in the parish register."
-"yes. it's absurd, isn't it?"
-"perfectly so--you may take my word for it. but do you assure me that she said 'lady isabelle'?"
-"we mentioned no names, of course. she said that the bride's signature corresponded--it's the same thing."
-"ah, i see. i think you've made a little mistake about this affair, my boy. i've seen the register myself."
-"good heavens! you don't mean--you can't----!" exclaimed stanley, a sickening suspicion dominating his mind.
-"i mean," replied kent-lauriston, "that the maiden name of the bride, as written there, is not isabelle mclane, but isabelle fitzgerald."
-kent-lauriston fully realised that the strong hold which he possessed over the secretary rested, more than anything else, on the fact that his opinions were entirely reliable; and it was most important that stanley's confidence in his friend's dicta should remain unimpaired, if that friend hoped to be able to guide him. therefore, much as the englishman would have liked to voice his suspicions for the secretary's benefit, he determined to keep silence till he had full verification of his conjectures, and for this purpose he sought out madame darcy.
-he found her at home, and she welcomed him courteously.
-"will you think me very presuming," he said, "to have called on you in the interests of a mutual friend of ours, mr. stanley?"
-"any friend of mr. stanley's can claim and receive friendship of me," she replied, a beautiful light coming over her expressive face, "for he has done me kindnesses that i can never forget or repay."
-"it is in virtue of that, that i've ventured to intrude myself upon you this afternoon. you have, like myself, a great interest in his welfare, i'm sure, and i am come to make common cause with you for his good."
-"you could have come to no one more willing--but will you do me the honour to accept a seat in the garden, where we can chat more at leisure."
-"i shall be charmed," he said, and she led the way to a rustic bench, under the spreading branches of a gnarled, old apple-tree.
-"our friend makes no secrets of his own affairs from me, you must understand," kent-lauriston began, after assuring himself that they were alone, "and i imagine, from what he's said, that he's given you some inkling of his heart troubles."
-"yes," she said, "he hinted to me in london that he had some affair under consideration; but i do not think he felt deeply--as he should have felt. i trust it's not turned out seriously."
-"not as yet, i'm glad to say--but he's in some danger; and, believe me, you could not be doing him a greater service, than in helping to ward off this peril, which would be the ruin of his life."
-"indeed, yes,--but what means have i?"
-"i believe you have it in your power to prove that the woman who has bewitched him, is unworthy of his love. let him realise this and he is saved."
-"but, surely, you're not alluding to the lady who formed our topic of conversation this morning?"
-"i fear i am."
-"but mr. stanley assured me that she was nothing to him."
-"you were talking at cross purposes, and unintentionally deceiving each other."
-"why, there are two versions of the story of that marriage. the version mr. stanley had been told runs to this effect:--that lieutenant kingsland married lady isabelle mclane."
-"but the register----"
-"says she didn't. i know, i've seen it; but our young friend has not, or had not when he last saw you."
-"then he thought i was referring to lady isabelle?"
-"exactly. no names were mentioned, he told me."
-"true--but this is most unfortunate! do you see my position?"
-"believe me, i'm fully informed on the matter, so that i'll not put you to the pain of relating it."
-she bowed her silent thanks, and then continued:--
-"the fact of this lady's marriage ties my hands. deeply as she has wronged me, have i any right to ruin her husband's life by her exposure? if she has reformed----"
-"my dear madame darcy, pray disabuse your mind of two misconceptions: the lady in question, miss fitzgerald, has not reformed, and i doubt if the marriage is legal. there's some trick about it."
-"what you've told me leaves me free to act where my own honour is concerned; but i naturally feel a delicacy about interfering in mr. stanley's private affairs."
-"believe me, i fully appreciate your hesitation; but that there may be no misunderstanding between us regarding this important matter, let me tell you something of my friend's present position. i ask you to accept my word for it, that he's not as yet bound himself to miss fitzgerald; but his high sense of honour may lead him to do so, if he knows nothing definite against her."
-"i see, and you want me to show him these letters?" and she took a little packet from her bosom.
-"no, i wouldn't subject you to such a trying ordeal. i ask you to let me show the letters to him. remember that you've told him that you have them."
-"yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "i think you're right. you assure me that he does not love her, and that there's positive danger that he may marry her from a sense of duty."
-"i assure you that such is the case."
-"then take them," she said, giving him the letters; "but promise me that no one besides yourselves shall see them, and that they shall be safely returned to me by to-morrow."
-"i promise," he replied, "and take my assurance that in doing this you've more than repaid him for any services he may have done you."
-"you cannot persuade me to believe that; but i'm thankful to help where i'm able, though it be only a little, and i am even more thankful that he has such a strong champion in you."
-kent-lauriston took her extended hand.
-"thank you," he said heartily. "stanley's a good fellow; too good and too unsophisticated for the people he's thrown with, and i'm going to save him from himself if i can, both now and in the future."
-she looked up at him with a wistful light in her eyes, saying:
-"perhaps you'll be wishing to save him from me--who've already one husband too many."
-"i don't know," replied kent-lauriston, with an english bluntness, of which he was not often culpable.
-she laughed merrily, answering:
-"i hope you'll do so, if ever i give you cause."
-"madame," he returned, "what can i do? you've disarmed me, even before the first skirmish."
-the feelings of stanley on looking at the marriage register were difficult to describe. in the first shock of the discovery his brain whirled. the mystery had become a maze, and he felt the imperative need of a solution of the subject to steady his mind. accordingly, he had that evening a fixed purpose in view, which dominated all matters of the moment; and though at dinner he talked about something, he knew not what, during the greater part of the meal his eyes and thoughts were almost continually on the amiable blundering, little old pastor, whom he had marked out as his prey. when the ladies left the table, and the men adjourned to the smoking-room, he never lost sight of him; but the dominie, as if warned by some instinct, contrived to slip out of the secretary's grasp, to elude him in corners, and, smiling, vanquish him in every attempt at an interview. at last, however, the opportunity came--a move was made to the drawing-room. in a fatal moment, the parson lingered for one last whiff of his half-smoked and regretfully relinquished cigar, and the secretary saw, with a sigh of relief, the last coat-tail vanish through the door, which he softly closed.
-the click of the latch brought the reverend reginald back to the present with an uncomfortable start.
-"oh," he cried, tumbling out of his chair, "i didn't see the others had got away so quickly. very kind of you to wait for me, i'm sure--very--we must lose no time in joining the ladies, must we, eh?"
-"only a little, a very little time, mr. lambert," replied the secretary, leaning squarely against the closed door, which formed the sole exit from the room. "just long enough to ask you one question."
-"really, i'm sure," said the little man, becoming flustered. "another time perhaps-- i should have the greatest pleasure----"
-"you have, i know, performed the marriage ceremony in the last few days," began stanley calmly.
-"to be sure--yes, certainly--but this--permit me to suggest, is hardly the place to discuss my parochial duties."
-"of course anyone married from this house would have to be married by you."
-"i'm in charge of this living, mr. stanley, there is no one else."
-"i know that, and also that your nearest colleague--excuse me if i use a professional term--is some distance off."
-"fifteen miles. and now that i've answered all of your questions, let us waste no more time before joining the ladies."
-"excuse me, mr. lambert, but i've not as yet asked you a question. i've made a number of statements, and you've furnished me with a good deal of gratuitous information, for which i'm deeply obliged. we now come to the pith of the whole matter, which is simply this. did you, or did you not, marry lady isabelle mclane to lieutenant kingsland?"
-"what! the lady to whom you're engaged?"
-"could i be engaged to a married woman, mr. lambert?"
-"my dear sir, you may take my word for it, i did not. i shouldn't think of such a thing. let me assure you on the honour of my sacred office, that lady isabelle is not, and cannot be married to lieutenant kingsland."
-"ah, then kingsland is married."
-the parson caught his breath in his relief at the escape from the dreaded question, which he had supposed was inevitable. he had been too confidential.
-"i did not say so, sir," he replied with dignity.
-"quite true, mr. lambert, you did not say so," persisted his tormentor, opening the door, "and so i suppose you'd prefer not to have me ask if you married miss fitzgerald to lieutenant kingsland?"
-"i would certainly prefer not to answer that question, and now i must really go upstairs;" and without waiting for further parley, the little man scuttled out of the room.
-stanley was preparing to follow him at his leisure, when the door opened, and kent-lauriston entered.
-"kent-lauriston!" he exclaimed. "you're the very man i want! i must speak with you!"
-"i know it," replied his friend, "but not before i've had my smoke."
-"but this matter admits of no delay."
-"oh yes, it does. that's one of the fallacies of modern civilisation. every important question admits of delay, and most matters are all the better for it."
-"but i've seen the register!"
-"of course you have, but you haven't seen a deduction that is as plain as the nose on your face, or you wouldn't now be trying to ruin my digestion. i'll meet you here at ten o'clock this evening and then, and not an instant sooner, will i discuss your private affairs."
-"you english are so irritatingly slow!"
-"my dear fellow, we've made our history--you're making yours. you can't afford to miss a few days; we can easily spare a few centuries. now be a good boy, and leave me to peace and tobacco. join the ladies, and pay a little attention to one of your fiancées."
-so it was that stanley found himself relegated to the drawing-room, and feeling decidedly upset, he good-naturedly determined to see what he could do towards upsetting the equanimity of the rest of the party. in this, however, he was partially forestalled by the good parson, who had not been wasting the few minutes of grace, which the secretary's conversation with kent-lauriston had allotted to him.
-no sooner had mr. lambert entered the drawing-room, than he sought out miss fitzgerald, and confided to her an astonishing discovery he had made in the church register.
-"most careless of me, i assure you," he apologised. "i should have noticed of course--people often make nervous mistakes at times like those; but it was not till this morning that i discovered that lady isabelle had written her name in the space reserved for the bride, and you in the space reserved for the witness."
-"well?" asked miss fitzgerald, her voice ringing hard and cold as steel.
-"oh, it's all right, my dear," the old man quavered on. "quite all right, i corrected it myself. i can do a neat bit of work still, even if my hands do tremble a little. i cut out the names, reversed them, and put them back in their proper places, and i'd defy any but an expert to see that they'd been tampered with. i'm sure that none of the people who've seen the book since suspected the change."
-"who has seen the book?" she asked, frozen with horror.
-"after i corrected the register?"
-"yes! yes! who?"
-"dear me--let me see! that was this morning. now who was there? ah!--i remember. a strange lady in black, very beautiful, and mr. kent-lauriston."
-miss fitzgerald shuddered.
-"no, no, i'm quite warm, thank you. you're sure that no one else saw the register?"
-"no one--except mr. stanley."
-"you must excuse me, mr. lambert," she said. "i'm not feeling very well."
-"you are faint? is there nothing i can do for you?"
-"nothing more, thank you," and she swept past him across the room, to where lady isabelle was seated on a sofa.
-"nothing more," murmured the little man, after she had left him; "but i hadn't begun to do anything; and she seemed quite faint. dear, dear, she looks strong, but to be so easily upset, i fear something must be wrong--my daughter was never like that," and, shaking his head, he went to join the dowager, who had a penchant for the clergy.
-"you've heard nothing from your husband?" asked miss fitzgerald of lady isabelle, as she seated herself beside her.
-"nothing beyond a telegram telling me of his safe arrival in london."
-"but surely his uncle was in extremis. he cannot live long."
-"i do not know," she replied, "but it's very awkward. oh, why won't you let me tell mr. stanley the truth?"
-"sh! he's coming," murmured miss fitzgerald, and, indeed, the secretary was advancing deliberately towards them; a thing suggestive in itself, considering how he had striven to avoid them all day long.
-"miss fitzgerald," he said very quietly, as he stood before them, "will you permit me to ask you a question?"
-"if it's a proper question to ask, mr. stanley."
-"it is eminently proper and fitting," he replied, coldly.
-"would you rather that i went?" suggested lady isabelle, half rising.
-"i would rather you stayed."
-"don't be so dreadfully mysterious, jimsy!" cried miss fitzgerald, with a forced laugh that grated on the ears of both her hearers. "out with your dreadful question. what is it?"
-"it is this," he replied. "are you jack kingsland's wife?"
-for a moment there was absolute silence. the secretary stood looking straight in the face of the irish girl, without moving a muscle. lady isabelle gave a smothered exclamation, and gripped her companion's wrist with all her force, flushing red as she did so. miss fitzgerald bit her lip, and stared hard at stanley for the fraction of a minute; then, breaking into her hard metallic laugh, she cried:
-"why, you foolish boy! what can you be thinking of?"
-"you've not answered my question," he replied.
-"why, what is there to answer?"
-"i ask you-- are you lieutenant kingsland's wife?" he repeated harshly--betraying the first sign of temper he had so far evinced, which miss fitzgerald saw and was quick to profit by. whatever was coming--there was, in lady isabelle's presence, but one course open to her--she looked her accuser boldly in the face and said:
-"no, i'm not lieutenant kingsland's wife."
-"you are quite sure of what you are saying?"
-"i repeat, i am not his wife. i have not married him, put it how you please. do you doubt my word? if you're so anxious to know whom lieutenant kingsland married, ask your fiancée, lady isabelle; perhaps she can tell you."
-"it's not necessary to ask lady isabelle if she is lieutenant kingsland's wife--because----"
-"because she has already told you so," broke in miss fitzgerald.
-"because," continued stanley, in the same colourless, dogged tone, "because mr. lambert, the one person who could have made kingsland and lady isabelle man and wife, has solemnly assured me that he did not perform the marriage ceremony between them----" and he turned on his heel and left the room.
-in which death is a relief
-after stanley had left them, isabelle kingsland and isabelle fitzgerald sat silent for a while, looking into each other's faces, the brain of each throbbing with a tumult of agitating thoughts. the englishwoman voicing to herself a subtle suggestion of coming evil, which had been omnipresent since her marriage day, an instinctive presentiment that all was not well: the irish girl feeling strongly irritated at this last of the many annoying contretemps of the week; and smarting under a sense of injustice that, when she had merely practised a little harmless deception for a friend's sake, that friend should leave the field and the eminently disagreeable explanations to her.
-she vented her feelings by a shrug of the shoulders, which broke the tension of the silence.
-"tell me--on your honour, tell me," cried lady isabelle, "that he did not speak the truth; that i am married to lieutenant kingsland!"
-"of course you're married to lieutenant kingsland," replied miss fitzgerald, with a little sigh of resignation. "you read your licence, didn't you?"
-"but that's quite sufficient--and there's no occasion for a scene."
-"it's not sufficient, not nearly sufficient--there's something that's being kept back from me, and i want to know the truth!" and lady isabelle rose, becoming quite queenly in her indignant agitation.
-"i've been uneasy from the first about my marriage," she continued, "because it was not open as i should have wished. i knew there was some mystery about it. my husband admitted as much to me from the first, and he did not need to tell me that you were the prime mover in the affair. it is my right to know the truth."
-"the assertion of people's rights is responsible for most of the wrong done in the world. did your husband counsel you to insult his best friend?"
-"he didn't wish me to speak to you on the subject, but i've determined to take matters into my own hands. in the face of mr. stanley's charges, i must know the truth."
-"you had better obey your husband."
-"i'm responsible to him for that matter, not to you, miss fitzgerald. now tell me, what did mr. stanley mean?"
-"he meant what he said."
-"but how could mr. lambert have told him an untruth?"
-"mr. lambert told him what he believed to be the truth; and that was, that he had not married you and jack--lieutenant kingsland, i mean."
-"was that all he told him?"
-"i should think it highly probable that he added that he had married your husband to me."
-"my husband to you!"
-"i told you we'd better let this matter alone."
-in a second lady isabelle's hands were on miss fitzgerald's shoulders, and her eyes blazed into the eyes of the irish girl.
-"the truth, woman, the truth! is he my husband?"
-"then why does mr. lambert----?"
-"because he believes that i was the bride."
-"did you tell him so?"
-"no, but when i went to make the arrangements he blundered into the mistake--and--well, i didn't take the trouble to correct him."
-"yes," she replied. "i'd do a good deal for jack--we used to care for each other once."
-her ladyship's eyes flashed dangerously, and miss fitzgerald hastened to add:
-"of course that was all over long ago--i know jack too well."
-"how dared you do it?" asked her accuser again.
-"it was risky, but our names were the same, and he's half blind and somewhat deaf, and in his dotage. the chances of escaping detection were good, as the event has proved."
-"how dared you do it?"
-"of course it wasn't my affair whether jack told you or not. it was legal and that's the main thing."
-"how dared you do it?"
-"you needn't be so nasty about it; it was merely to be obliging. if you think it amusing to be a dummy bride----"
-the two women stood facing each other, breathing hard, as though resting from physical combat; the face of one expressing infinite contempt, of the other infinite anger. at this juncture a servant brought a telegram to lady isabelle.
-thankful for the relief from an awkward pause, she tore it open, and her face lit up as she read its message.
-"still in london. uncle died this morning, leaving me his heir. as preliminaries take some time to arrange, am returning to you to-morrow.
-"there!" she said, showing it to her antagonist. "i suppose it's wicked to rejoice in any one's death; but it's a great relief, for it gives me back my husband--and he shall defend me from you!"
-"i don't think your husband will be down on me."
-"he'll proclaim the truth about our marriage. it should never have been concealed, least of all by dishonourable means."
-"you forget yourself, lady isabelle."
-"i remember what is due my position, and so will mr. lambert, when he hears how grossly you've deceived him."
-"you mustn't tell him."
-"it will not be necessary. i've only to ask him to look at the marriage register. that will bear witness to the truth, i know; for i signed in the proper place for the bride."
-miss fitzgerald drew a quick, sharp breath. she had trusted to be spared this last confession.
-"the register has been changed," she said.
-"who has done this?"
-"mr. lambert, supposing there had been a mistake."
-"then mr. lambert will change it back again, to-morrow morning!"
-"you mustn't speak to him of this."
-"i'll speak to him to-night."
-"you've no right to interfere. you've no right to do anything, but apologise to me for the great wrong you've done me!"
-"i forbid you to apprise mr. lambert of the true state of affairs till your husband returns to-morrow!"
-"i've told you i shall see him to-night."
-"i forbid you, in your husband's interests."
-"you are insolent."
-"i'm in a position to be anything i choose."
-"because i have your husband in my power."
-"i do not believe it!"
-"if i choose to make public," she said, laughing insolently, "the manner in which your husband is spending his time in london, i could have him cashiered from the navy."
-lady isabelle drew herself up, and gave her adversary a look of unutterable scorn and contempt, saying:--
-"you will probably circulate any falsehood about my husband that you please; it will simply prove to others, as it proves to me, that you still do love him, and that when he knew your true character he left you," and turning from her astonished and indignant rival, she quietly crossed the length of the drawing-room, to where the dowager and the parson were seated.
-"mother," she said, "would you think me very rude if i asked for mr. lambert's company for a few moments? i want to have a serious talk with him."
-"not at all, my dear. just take my place. i promised to show mrs. roberts a new embroidery stitch," replied the dowager, acquiescing joyfully in the proposal.
-satisfactory on the whole as her child's training had been, on the point of her religious convictions, the marchioness had occasionally felt some disturbing suspicions. i do not mean that lady isabelle was not firmly grounded in her belief of the thirty-nine articles; indeed, she was, if anything, a trifle too orthodox for her day and generation; but the dowager knew to her cost that missions were a tabooed subject. her daughter had even refused to slum with the viscountess thistledown, and worse than all, charity bazaars, though patronised by royalty, were her pet aversions. to the marchioness, who no longer "sold well," and whose ambition was to see lady isabelle tethered in the next stall to a princess, such heresies were naturally repugnant. mr. lambert was very strong on all these points, and had just been suggesting to her a scheme of his own, to raise money for a worthy object, conceived on principles that would have put the authorities of monte carlo to the blush. so she patted her daughter's hand, established her in her own place, and murmuring that she was glad isabelle felt the need of advice, and that she might safely rely on "dear mr. lambert's wisdom and--er--commonsense," betook herself to kensington stitch and a remote corner.
-but her daughter's confidences admitted of no publicity.
-"suppose we go to the conservatory, mr. lambert," she suggested, "we're quite sure of finding it unoccupied at this hour, and i've a confession to make."
-"certainly, my dear, certainly," he replied, following her in the direction she suggested. "though i'm sure," he added, "that lady isabelle would have done nothing which she would not be willing that anybody should know, if need were."
-"i hope not," she answered, and a moment later they were alone.
-"come now," he said, "what is this terrible confession; not so great a sin, i'm sure, that we cannot easily find a way for pardon or reformation."
-"there's no sin to discuss," she replied, "at least, none that i've committed, unless unconscious participation is a crime. i want to speak to you about my marriage."
-"ah, yes; with mr. stanley--a most desirable arrangement, i've been given to understand."
-"no--not with mr. stanley--i'm speaking of my marriage with lieutenant kingsland."
-"but, my dear young lady, that's impossible. lieutenant kingsland is already married."
-"yes, he's married to me."
-"to you? what? how can he be?"
-"because you married him to me two days ago.
-"nothing of the sort," cried the old man in irritated bewilderment. "i married him to miss fitzgerald."
-"you married him to me, mr. lambert."
-"but i ought to know best whom i married, and to whom, lady isabelle."
-"you ought certainly; but, in this case, it seems you do not."
-"but miss fitzgerald said----"
-"ah, that's just the point. what did miss fitzgerald say?"
-"really, i can't remember the conversation, word for word; she came to make the arrangements, and i inferred----"
-"did she say that she was going to marry lieutenant kingsland?"
-"she certainly gave me the impression that such was the case."
-"but did she actually say so?"
-the old man was lost in thought for a moment, striving to recall some direct admission, but at length shook his head sadly, saying:--
-"no. i can't remember that she did, in so many words; but she led me to suppose----"
-"you've inferred; you've been given the impression; you've been led to suppose, mr. lambert, what did not exist. i have, however, held in my hand and carefully examined the special licence under which you performed the ceremony, and which was drawn for a marriage between lieutenant kingsland and myself. i was the bride whom you married; it was i who repeated the vows which you gave me; my name is isabelle, also, remember, and it was i who signed that name as 'bride' in your register, where it should be now, if you had not changed it."
-"bless my soul! this is most bewildering! you say i married you to lieutenant kingsland?"
-"yes, mr. lambert, you did, and miss fitzgerald and colonel darcy were the witnesses."
-"but this is a serious matter, a very serious matter, lady isabelle. this wedding seems to have been performed under false pretences."
-"i imagine you would not find it difficult to prove that, mr. lambert; but before we discuss the matter farther, i want first to right myself in your eyes, to assure you earnestly and honestly that i was no party to this deception, that i did not know till this evening, till just now indeed, that you were not perfectly cognisant of all the facts. i was informed at the time that all arrangements had been made with you, and i believed of course that you knew everything. i was also told that i must be heavily veiled as, owing to the proximity of the early service, i might otherwise be seen; the signing in the vestry was hurried over as you know, and it was only when, in response to a statement of mr. stanley's, i made inquiries, that i discovered the truth. you believe me, do you not, mr. lambert?"
-"of course, my dear. i must believe you since you give me your word for it."
-"then set my mind at rest. tell me this marriage was not illegal."
-"i think you may be easy on that score. the licence and the signatures were regular; all the requirements were complied with; and the principals, or you at least, acted in good faith; but the affair is most unfortunate."
-"you will be glad to learn that any objection which my mother might have had to my husband has now been removed."
-"i do not know what lady port arthur will think of my part in this deplorable matter, certainly very little consideration or courtesy has been shown me," said the poor old man, to whom the dowager's wrath was a very terrible thing.
-"have no apprehensions, mr. lambert, my mother shall know the truth of this matter, and where the blame rests."
-"then you really think that miss fitzgerald----?"
-"i'm sure of it, mr. lambert. she has confessed to me, that if she did not actually say to you that she was going to marry lieutenant kingsland, she purposely allowed you to believe the same; and then assured my husband, whom i believe to be as innocent in the matter as i am, that your consent had been gained, and all arrangements made."
-the old parson sat down on a rustic seat beside an elaborately natural, sheet-iron water-fall, seemingly quite crushed by the blow. but the spirit of the church militant was strong within him, and he was filled with righteous anger at his unmerited treatment; so taking his companion's hand, he rose presently, saying:--
-"come. let us go to your mother and tell her the truth; we owe it to her and to ourselves."
-"to-morrow, mr. lambert--pray wait till to-morrow."
-the preacher's face hardened; he was in no mood for leniency.
-"we have delayed too long already," he said, and took a step forward.
-"believe me," she replied, laying her hand on his arm, "i do not ask it from weakness, but my husband returns to-morrow, and thanks to an inheritance from an uncle who died to-day, comes back a rich man, able to support a wife. when my mother knows this, she will receive our news very differently. see," and she handed him the telegram.
-"i will wait till your husband returns to speak to your mother," he replied, "but as for that unhappy girl--if it is not too late to turn her steps to the right path--i will spare no pains to bring her to a realisation of what she has done. for this, no time is like the present--no time too soon."
-"i hope you may succeed," said lady isabelle, "but i fear you'll find her much worse than you imagine. however, i do not wish to discourage you."
-"i'm not easy to discourage in any good work, i trust, lady isabelle kingsland."
-she started, as her new name was pronounced, and laying a detaining hand upon him, as he would have left her, said, her voice breaking:--
-"forgive me, mr. lambert. say you forgive me."
-"my poor child," he said sadly, placing one hand on her bowed head. "my poor child, you are too much in need of forgiveness from others for me to withhold mine. it is yours freely; but promise me that you'll show your appreciation of it by coming to me in all your troubles."
-she seized his other hand in both of hers, and kissing it, burst into tears.
-"and now," he said sternly, "i will seek out that miserable girl."
-but miss fitzgerald, dreading the tempest, had sought the haven of her own room.
-she was not a picture of contrite repentance as she stood by the open window, looking out into the night.
-"fools all!" she mused. "so i am to blame--it is all my fault!"
-an amused sneer played about her lips.
-"ah me! after all it is our faults that make life interesting to us--or us interesting to others," and she tossed away her half-smoked cigarette with a shrug.
-precisely as the clock struck ten, kent-lauriston entered the smoking-room to find it in sole possession of stanley, who stood leaning against the mantelpiece, lost in thought--a cigar, long ago gone out, hanging listlessly between his fingers.
-"i'm afraid i'm late," said his genial adviser, glancing at the clock, "but i was just finishing a game of cribbage with mr. riddle."
-"i don't envy you his society," growled the secretary, whose temper was not improved by recent experiences.
-"you misjudge him," replied kent-lauriston. "he's a very good fellow, in more senses of the word than one--he's just given mr. lambert a thumping big cheque, for the restoration of his little church."
-"and made you the recipient of the fact of his generosity?"
-"far from it; our gossiping little parson did that, in direct violation of a pledge of secrecy; for riddle never wishes his good works to be known--he's not that kind."
-"i consider him a hypocrite," replied stanley shortly.
-"then you do him a great injustice, my dear boy; and allow me to say, you'll never make a good diplomat till you've arrived at a better knowledge of human nature; it's the keystone of the profession. but, to change the subject, how have you been spending the evening?"
-"oh, making a fool of myself, as usual."
-"so i suppose. what particular method did you adopt this time?"
-"first, i chivied our amiable parson from pillar to post, in this very room, till i'd forced the admission of an important fact from him, and the practical admission of another."
-"and then," continued kent-lauriston, "you went and tried the effect of your statements on the young ladies."
-"i believe you're equipped with x-rays instead of eyes, kent-lauriston, for you were smoking down here and couldn't have seen me!"
-"no, but i saw the ladies--afterwards."
-"to speak to?"
-"oh, no. one of them at least has a rooted aversion to me. i know too much."
-"what were they doing?"
-"pulling each other's hair out, i should judge, or its equivalent in polite society. what did you learn from the parson?"
-"that he had not married kingsland to lady isabelle; that kingsland had been married to somebody; and a refusal to say that that somebody was miss fitzgerald, which was tantamount to an admission of the fact."
-"exactly, and what did you say to the young ladies?"
-"i asked miss fitzgerald if she was lieutenant kingsland's wife?"
-"and she denied it?"
-"i charged lady isabelle with not having married kingsland."
-"and what was her answer?"
-"i didn't wait to receive it."
-"had you done so, she would have denied it likewise."
-"you think so?"
-"i am certain of it, and, if it's any satisfaction to you, i can tell you that by your action you ensured miss fitzgerald one of the worst quarters of an hour at her ladyship's hands that she is likely to experience for a very long time."
-"but mr. lambert assured me solemnly, that he did not perform the ceremony between lady isabelle and the lieutenant."
-"he was quite right in doing so."
-"but they can't all be right!"
-"my dear fellow," said kent-lauriston, "it is very seldom, in this complex age, that anyone is wholly right or wholly wrong. all these people, except miss fitzgerald, know a part of the truth, and have spoken honestly according to their lights. she alone knows it all, and, believe me, she is much too clever to tell a lie on so important a point. if she told you she was not married to lieutenant kingsland, you may implicitly believe her."
-"do you know that it is the truth?"
-"yes, because i telegraphed to the man who has charge of the issue of special licences, and have received a line from him, to the effect that one has been issued in the last few days, for lieutenant kingsland and lady isabelle mclane."
-"then you convict mr. lambert of deception?"
-"not at all. if he told you he had not married lady isabelle to the lieutenant, he told you what he believed to be the truth."
-"but is it possible that he could have married them without knowing it?"
-"it seems that it was possible."
-"how could he make such a mistake?"
-"a man who never makes a mistake makes little or nothing in this world."
-"and miss fitzgerald signed in the place of the bride, to divert suspicion?"
-"it seems impossible to suppose that she would commit herself in that way," said kent-lauriston.
-"but the register proves that she did," reported stanley.
-"ye-es. it rather savours of the paradox. perhaps we'd better content ourselves with the facts that lady isabelle did marry kingsland, and miss fitzgerald did not. how it was accomplished does not immediately concern us, and, as i fear no very creditable means were used, we'd better not try to find out what they were, especially as we've more serious matters to consider."
-"i mean the charge unconsciously made by madame darcy."
-"i feared you were going to speak of that."
-"true, it is an unpleasant business; but you must remember that you owe it to miss fitzgerald to ask her for a definite answer, or to give her some explanation for declining to do so."
-"you think there's no escape from it?"
-"none that a gentleman can take."
-"what do you advise me to do?"
-"find out where you stand in the first place."
-"how i stand?"
-"yes. at least one serious charge has been made against the woman whom you propose to make your wife. if true--for your own sake, for your father's sake, you must surrender her. if false, you are equally bound, by honour and chivalry, to disprove it."
-"how can i do this?"
-"the charge to which i refer is based on the direct evidence of certain letters. see them, and judge for yourself."
-"that is easier said than done."
-"here they are," replied kent-lauriston, handing him a little packet.
-"you have seen madame darcy?"
-"and she has given you these letters, knowing they would be shown to me?"
-"yes, on my representation, that if they substantiated her charges, she would be doing you the greatest kindness in her power."
-stanley bowed, and opened the little packet. for a few moments there was silence in the room, broken only by the occasional crackle of paper, as he turned a page. most of the dozen or so documents he read through quickly, and laid upon the table at his side. a couple he re-read several times. finally he looked up, saying simply:--
-"you've read these letters?"
-"yes. i was given permission to do so."
-"what do you think of them?"
-"two of them are suggestive."
-"the two most recent?"
-"yes, they bear dates, you will observe, within the last three days."
-"and the others----?"
-"all this proves nothing."
-"perhaps not--but the extracts are significant. now take the two most recent."
-"they were written from here. how were they obtained?"
-"that doesn't concern us if they are genuine."
-"one is certainly in miss fitzgerald's hand."
-"the other was evidently torn from darcy's letter-book. read it."
-stanley did so, with evident effort.
-"i did not know, till after i had seen you the other night----"
-"the night you proposed," interjected kent-lauriston.
-the secretary nodded, and resumed his reading.
-"--the other night, how cleverly you got my letter out of the secretary's clutches. it quite retrieves your losing it at the hyde park club, and now i have lost it under the secret door in the hall, as you will probably have heard. if a. r. cannot get a duplicate, which is doubtful, the door must be opened.
-"i have entrusted you with all i hold most dear. you know what that is. if my plans go well, it will mean a happy future for us both.
-"your affectionate old "bob."
-"now read the other," commanded kent-lauriston; and, sick at heart, the secretary complied:
-"you old stupid:
-"is the report really true that you have lost that letter under the secret door? there is no time to duplicate it, so it must be recovered. why didn't you write and tell me you had lost it?----"
-"but he did," commented the reader.
-"both letters were intercepted before delivery, i imagine," said kent-lauriston, "but finish the note."
-"--do not try to see me again," read stanley; "it might arouse suspicion, and you know how necessary it is for me to play the rôle of the innocent. i am more afraid of inez than anyone else. i am sure she suspects there is something between us. there is no danger in little diplomacy; he is young enough to believe he knows everything, and that is a great safeguard. i have found a trusty messenger for our affairs in jack kingsland.
-"as ever, "belle."
-the secretary stopped reading; his throat was very dry. he took a glass of apollinaris, and then said:--
-"these letters are not incriminating--in the way you mean."
-"no, perhaps not in so many words; but you must ask yourself two questions concerning them. are they letters that an honourable or refined woman would write to or receive from a married man, at any time, and particularly when she herself was practically engaged?"
-"may i ask to what you imagine darcy's expression, 'all i hold most dear,' refers?"
-"oh, his heart, or his love, or some such sentimental rubbish."
-"so i supposed; it hasn't occurred to you to take it in a more literal sense?"
-"what do you mean?"
-"well, say that all he holds most dear refers to the five chests of sovereigns."
-"you believe this?"
-"i know it to be so--and have known it all along--the fact that i tell you confidentially, that i'm acting under secret instructions in this matter, will, i'm sure, suffice not only to seal your lips, but to make you understand that, for the present, you must be contented not to know more."
-"you'll see, then," continued the secretary, "that what you supposed was an intrigue turns out to be--shall we say--a commercial transaction."
-kent-lauriston shrugged his shoulders, remarking:--
-"i'd better return the letters to madame darcy at once then?"
-"no, leave that to me, i shall ask her to let me keep them, if she will; they may be useful--as evidence."
-"but, surely, any woman who could connect herself with so dishonourable an affair, as i imagine this to be, is no fit wife for you. give me your word you'll break with her once and for all."
-"i've sources of information about darcy which, as i have said before, i'm not at liberty to reveal, but forty-eight hours may loose my tongue. if i could tell miss fitzgerald what i know, she might throw him over even now, for i still hope she's only his dupe. give me two days to prove her innocent; if i fail--i'll do what you please."
-kent-lauriston reluctantly acquiesced, and stanley, putting the incriminating letters carefully in an inside pocket, bade him good-night, and left the smoking-room. in the hall he met lady isabelle.
-"i don't know what you'll think of me for coming to you, mr. stanley," she said, "after what has passed this evening."
-"i think myself an infernal ass, for i've found out the truth of the matter since i left you, and i think you're very good to overlook it, and very condescending to speak to me at all."
-"do not let us talk of that," she said.
-"agreed," he replied. "only permit me to say, i'd the parson's solemn assurance that he'd not married you, and, however unadvisedly i may have spoken, i spoke in good faith."
-"i quite understand," she returned. "but now you know the truth."
-"i do, and i'm very much ashamed of myself."
-she smiled, a trifle sadly, and changed the subject abruptly, saying:--
-"i've come to ask you a great favour. in the face of the past i almost hesitate to do so, but there's no one else to whom i can turn--and so----"
-"anything i can do----" he began.
-"i only want to ask you a question."
-"only a question!"
-"yet, i hesitate to ask even that--because it concerns a lady in whom you're interested."
-"you need have no hesitation," he said coldly.
-"i'm sure you will not misunderstand me," she continued.
-he bowed silently.
-"after you left us, i questioned miss fitzgerald about the part she'd played in my marriage."
-"you can understand that i was very angry. whose feelings would not have been outraged at discovering that they'd been so played upon? i'm sure that my husband was as innocent of the deception as i."
-she paused a second, but the secretary did not speak, and she continued, afraid, perhaps, that he might say something to overthrow her theory.
-"i dare say i forgot myself--in fact i'm sure i did--and said things that i now regret; but in the heat of the argument she taunted me with the fact that she had it in her power to have my husband cashiered from the navy, if she chose to tell what she knew. is this true?"
-"did she specify what he'd done?" asked stanley, the horrid suspicion that belle was not innocent once more reasserting itself with increased force.
-"no, but she said it was something he'd done in london, during his present absence."
-"my god!" murmured the secretary, as the full force and meaning of this avowal became apparent to him, and he saw that belle must be fully cognisant of the plot.
-"don't tell me it's true!" cried lady isabelle.
-"i'm afraid it is," he replied.
-"but that my husband could be guilty of----"
-"i didn't say that," he interjected. "he may be merely an innocent instrument; but he might have difficulty in proving it, if the charges were made."
-"but what are the charges?"
-"ah! that you must not ask me."
-"perhaps, but you must be content to be sure that, had i the right to tell you, i would do so."
-"but what is to be done?"
-"nothing. the threat is an empty one. miss fitzgerald will make no charges against your husband; i will guarantee that, and it may transpire that the lieutenant has done nothing worse than deliver some cases, of the contents of which he was ignorant, to oblige a friend."
-"but if she could prove that he did deliver them, he might be charged with complicity?"
-"can i not warn him?"
-"no, lady isabelle, you owe it to me to keep silence, at least for the next few days. in telling you this, to relieve your anxiety, i have exceeded my instructions, and placed my honour in your hands."
-"it shall be held sacred; but who is to warn my husband?"
-"i'll do so, if you wish."
-"i can never be sufficiently grateful, if you will."
-"then we'll consider that settled," he said.
-"you've been a true friend to me," she replied, taking his hand, "and i've ill repaid you for your kindness."
-"don't think of that," he said, and turned away, heavy-hearted; for now he fancied he knew the worst.
-miss fitzgerald burns her boats
-"my dear," said the secretary, as he shook hands with madame darcy over the little wicket gate entwined with roses, which gave admittance to her rustic abode, "i want to thank you for those letters."
-"to thank me?"
-"yes. why not?"
-"why not? why, i was almost ashamed to meet you face to face."
-"but why should you be?"
-"that i should have spoken of them at all, and to you."
-"but surely you cannot blame yourself for that. you thought they related to quite a different person."
-"now who would have supposed a man would have given me credit. but why do i stand talking at the gate--come in, you've not perhaps had your breakfast yet this morning?"
-"yes, thanks, and a hearty one. do you think i come to eat you out of house and home?"
-"i think you come only to the gate."
-"unfortunately, beggars must not be choosers--and i've just time for a word. it's my busy day, as they say in the city."
-she was piqued, and showed it.
-"do you not think i would willingly spend all day with you, if----"
-"i think," she replied, "that you're engaged to a certain young lady--and you've told me that you're busy."
-"it's about her i wished to speak," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "these letters have misled you."
-"i mean that they refer to the plot in which your husband and this young lady are engaged."
-she looked at him searchingly.
-"you are speaking the truth to me. you know this to be so?"
-"on my honour. i am not trying to deceive you. i only ask you to believe that your original suspicions were incorrect."
-"but you substitute something quite as bad."
-"well, no--hardly that. in fact it may benefit you greatly."
-"that i'm not at liberty to tell you just now; i hope i can in a day or two. meantime, may i ask you to keep silence about what i've said, and trust your affairs to me--they shall not suffer in my hands."
-"have i not trusted you, my friend?"
-"you have indeed, and i've appreciated it; but that you'll understand better a little later--when i've been able to help you more."
-"you have done all for me; you have saved me, and i can never forget it."
-"nonsense, i've done nothing as yet."
-"you have given me your sympathy. is not that something? you have been a true friend to me."
-"for old friendship's sake--could i do less?"
-she flushed and said hurriedly.
-"my father will know how to thank you properly. when i see him----" and she unburdened her heart to the secretary, who gave her a willing ear. together they discussed her plans for the future, her return home, her welcome; in short, a thousand and one pleasant anticipations, till stanley declared, regretfully, that he must go.
-"but you have stood already an hour," she murmured, "surely you will come in and rest."
-"an hour!" he exclaimed, looking at his watch. "impossible!"
-"no," she said. "not impossible, i also have stood."
-he was overcome at his thoughtlessness, but she silenced his excuses by throwing open the gate and saying:
-"come." and he entered.
-her first had been with her aunt, mrs. roberts, who, quite justly, ascribed the occurrences which had interrupted the harmony of her house-party to the machinations of her niece.
-it is hard enough to endure the faulty criticism of an elderly and misguided person, when one is in the right; but when one is in the wrong, and has hanging over one the probability, if not the certainty, of coming disclosures, which will force threats to become realities, such a state of things is unbearable, and miss fitzgerald partook of her morning meal feeling that fate had been more than unkind.
-immediately after breakfast she had been treated to an interview with the outraged mr. lambert, of which a detailed account is unnecessary, but which resulted in the unpalatable presentation of those obnoxious criticisms known as "home truths."
-with all her faults, miss fitzgerald, like the parson, came of fighting stock, and, game to the last, she began the dangerous experiment of burning her boats behind her, by informing her hostess that she should leave to-morrow afternoon in any event, as it was not her wish to stay where she was unwelcome. then, possessed by the spirit that has always prompted heroic deeds, the determination to do or die, she sought and found an interview with mr. stanley. she boldly opened the attack, by calling that young gentleman to account for his neglect of the last twenty-four hours.
-"i've hardly seen so much as your shadow, jimsy, and i've been nearly bored to death in consequence. what have you been doing with yourself?"
-"trying to find out to whom you were married."
-"ah! have you succeeded?"
-"yes, the parson has confirmed your assertions this morning."
-"did you need his confirmation of my word?"
-stanley said nothing, and his companion, considering the silence dangerous, hastened to break it.
-"if i really were to marry you," she asked, "would you desert me as you did yesterday?"
-"if you treated me as you've treated me these last few days, i should probably desert you altogether."
-the situation was going from bad to worse, and something must be effected or the cause was lost.
-"what have i done, jim?" she asked piteously, taking the bull by the horns, and allowing her eyes to fill with tears.
-"what have you done?" he said nonchalantly, with a flippancy which, in the case of women, constituted his most dangerous weapon. "what have you done? oh, nothing out of the common, i suppose, only, you see, unfortunately, we men are cursed with a certain, though defective, standard of morals; and the amount of--well, prevarication you've practised over this affair has shattered a number of cherished illusions."
-"i wish you wouldn't wax so disgustingly moral, jimsy. it's so easy to be moral--and it bores me. of course, i don't like saying what's not so, any more than you do, but one must be consistent. i promised kingsland i'd arrange the match for him, and when that old fool of a parson put obstacles in the way, and then assumed i was the bride,--i'll give you my word i never told him so--why, it offered an easy solution of the difficulty. there was nothing illegal about the marriage. i'm sure i'm not responsible for every man who makes a fool of himself, and since i'd undertaken the affair, i was bound, in common decency, to see it through."
-"do you consider 'common decency' just the word to apply to the transaction?"
-"don't pick up details and phrases in that way, jimsy. they're unimportant--but very irritating."
-"do you think so? details and phrases go far to make up the sum of life. why does colonel darcy still remain here?"
-"why do you still persist in harping upon my friend's name?"
-"because i loathe him, belle. if you knew his true character, you'd cut him the next time you met."
-"ignorance is the only thing that makes life tolerable."
-"jim, answer me this question. if i were your wife, would you permit me to keep up my intimacy with colonel darcy?"
-"then i must choose between you two?"
-"do you love me so little that there can be a question of choice?"
-"you don't understand. it's easy for you to say, 'throw him over'; the reality is a very different matter. he's my oldest friend."
-"and i'm the man who has asked you to share his name and his honour. if i could prove to you that darcy was unworthy--would you give him up, for my sake?"
-"can you prove this?"
-"i'm not at liberty to say."
-she smiled faintly, and thought hard. she had learned in that last speech what she most wanted to know--the measure of the secretary's knowledge.
-"well?" he said, interrogatively.
-"i don't know how to answer," she replied. "my intuition says no; my heart says--yes."
-the secretary turned cold, as a new phase of the situation presented itself to his view.
-"do you love this man?" he asked.
-"love darcy--love him!" she cried. "i hate him more than any man in the world, and yet----"
-"you're in his power?"
-"then accept me."
-"jim," she said earnestly, "you're asking me to decide my whole life. give me twenty-four hours to think it over."
-"haven't you had sufficient time?"
-"to-morrow you shall have your answer."
-"much may happen before to-morrow."
-"but you'll grant me this respite. i promise that to-morrow i'll say--yes or no."
-"to-morrow i too may be able to speak more clearly; till then, promise me you'll not see this man."
-"can't you trust me, jim? i trust you, and how little a woman can know of a man's life."
-"i don't know," he said, and left her discomfited--praying to heaven that some power might intervene to reconcile her heart and conscience; for this wild, wayward and desperate woman had a conscience, and so far it had withheld her from committing an unpardonable sin.
-after lunch, as fate willed it, the irish girl and the dowager were left a moment alone together. being both inflammable substances, sparks flew, and a conflagration ensued.
-the credit of starting the combustion must be accorded to the marchioness. she had observed the young lady's earnest conversation with stanley on the lawn in the morning, and coupling this with the undemonstrative behaviour of that gentleman towards her daughter, had jumped to the conclusion that miss fitzgerald was trying to rob her of her rightful prize. being possessed of this belief, and the circumstances being exaggerated from much thinking, her wrath found expression in the offender's presence, and she gratuitously insulted the irish girl; a dangerous thing to do, as she presently discovered.
-"how are you to-day?" asked the dowager with irritating condescension.
-"excessively trivial, thank you. an english sunday is so serious, one has to be trivial in self-defence."
-"it is different in your country, then?"
-"you seemed nervous and absorbed, at lunch."
-"no. simply absorbed with my luncheon. i find that eating is really important in england. it takes one's mind off the climate."
-"i'm leaving to-morrow," continued miss fitzgerald, for the purpose of breaking an awkward silence, which had already lasted several minutes.
-"i think it's the wisest thing you can do," replied the dowager.
-such provocation could not pass unnoticed.
-"why?" queried her companion, outwardly calm, but with a dangerous gleam in her eye.
-"because if you were not leaving the house at once, i should feel it my duty to take lady isabelle away--with young girls one must be careful."
-"explain yourself, lady port arthur."
-"i do not think it necessary, really; do you? of course i can quite understand that it's most advisable, perhaps necessary, for you to marry; but common decency would prevent you from thrusting your attentions on a man who----"
-"if you're alluding to mr. stanley, your ladyship, i don't mind telling you, if it'll make you feel easier, that i've about decided to refuse him."
-"he proposed to me some days ago, but, as you say, one has to be careful."
-"as for marrying," continued her adversary, relentlessly, determined, since lady isabelle's marriage must be known, to have the satisfaction of imparting the news herself--"as for marrying--you're hardly qualified to speak on that subject, if you will pardon my saying so, as you don't even know the name of your daughter's husband."
-the dowager gasped. she had no words to express her feelings.
-"you needn't get so agitated, for i shall probably leave you mr. stanley to fall back upon, if this present marriage proves illegal. lady isabelle would be provided with some husband in any case."
-the dowager gripped the handle of her sunshade until it seemed as if it must snap, and turned purple in the face.
-"don't tell me i lie," pursued her tormentor, "it's not good form, and besides, if you want confirmation, look in mr. lambert's register at the chapel next door, where your daughter was married two days ago."
-"insolence!!!" gasped the dowager.
-"i ought to know," continued miss fitzgerald, calmly, "as i was one of the witnesses--you----" but she never finished her sentence, for the dowager had hoisted her sunshade and got under way for the church door.
-the top of the tower
-after his disquieting interview with miss fitzgerald, stanley felt the imperative need of an entire change of subject to steady his mind. this want, the secret of the old tower supplied.
-no time could have been better suited for his investigations. lunch was well over, the members of the house party were in their various rooms for an hour at least.
-a few moments spent in measuring on the first floor in the great hall, and the library, which ran parallel to it, proved the correctness of his theory, that the space enclosed was smaller at the bottom than at the top, as only six feet was unaccounted for. evidently on this floor the tower contained merely a staircase.
-he now carried his investigations to the second storey. the room over the library had been assigned to kent-lauriston, and as the secretary's knock elicited no answer, he took the liberty of entering, finding, as he supposed, that his friend had gone out. the inside measurements of this room gave only ten feet, where they should have given twenty-five, and brought up at a large fireplace, which had no existence in the apartment below, and which was apparently much deeper than was really the case. around and behind this there was a secret chamber of considerable dimensions, but half an hour's experiments brought the secretary no nearer effecting an entrance. the old blue glazed tiles of the fireplace, and the bricks which composed its floor, were alike immovable. there was only the roof left; if he failed there, he must resign himself to the inevitable, and bend all his energies on trying to open the secret door.
-at the risk of being thought prying and meddlesome, stanley now proceeded to search for some mode of ascent to the leads, and after many mistakes and much wandering, he discovered at last a worm-eaten ladder. this he climbed, at great bodily risk, and forcing a rusty scuttle, emerged at last, safe and unperceived, on top of the house, amidst a wilderness of peaks and undulations, which attested more to the ingenuity of mediæval builders, than gave promise of comfort to him who attempted to traverse it. at last, however, by dint of much scrambling, and several hair-breadth escapes from an undignified descent to the lawn, he reached the point at which the tower sprang from the roof. it rose sheer above him for almost forty feet, unbroken by any window or excrescence, and thinly covered by ivy which, while it was too scattered to conceal any outlet, at the same time afforded no foothold for ascent.
-it was dreadfully tantalising. once on those crumbling battlements, he persuaded himself he should have no trouble in entering through the roof. the missing letter was then within reach, and the young man saw the road to rapid promotion stretch glitteringly before him; saw that darcy would be in his power, with all that it implied; but saw that forty feet of frowning masonry, which separated him from his hopes, and cursed his luck.
-a ladder would solve the problem--but for numerous reasons it was a solution not to be thought of. above all things, he wished his investigations to be absolutely unsuspected. if darcy for an instant imagined that the truth was known, he would be off like a flash. if the secretary was to conquer the secret of the tower, he must do it unaided, and he was about to turn back and descend, baffled by the hopelessly smooth surface of the structure, when his eye caught sight of a small iron ring in the side of the tower, about two feet above the roof of the house. examining closely, he saw a second ring two feet above the first, and others at like distances up, presumably to the top, though the ivy had in some cases concealed them. his first conjecture was that at some time there might have been a rope ladder arranged; but that would have called for pairs of rings at the same level, and the closest scrutiny failed to reveal more than one.
-fortunately stanley's caution had not entirely deserted him, and he had the good sense to reach up and test one of the stanchions before trusting himself to it. it was well that he did so, for its fastenings proved to be rotten with age, and the bolt giving way, it tore out in his grasp, and flying from his hand fell with a loud clank on the roof, forty feet below. the secretary swayed out from the tower with the force of the shock, and had not the topmost iron, to which he clung, held firm, this narrative would have come to a sudden and a tragic ending.
-therefore, after reaching up and testing the masonry, as thoroughly as he was able, he flung caution to the winds, a full assemblage of which were whistling around him, and, making a desperate effort, clutched the stones above him, and swung his body up and one leg over the battlements.
-he was secure after all. then, looking within, he received one of the worst shocks which the events of his life had ever afforded him. there was no roof in existence; at least, none where he had expected to find it. he discovered that he was seated astride the rim of a circular well, forty feet deep, whose bottom was the roof of the house. in other words, the whole tower above the second story was a shell--a sham. a few moments' observation was sufficient to assure him that there never had been a roof at a higher level. an iron bar corroded with rust, round which was wound a chain, stretched across the diameter of the well, and had evidently furnished at one time support for a flag-staff, to further keep up to the outside world the deception of a roof; but otherwise the inside was perfectly smooth, even the holes where the steps were pulled out not showing, which bore evidence to the fact that they worked in the thickness of the wall.
-down at the level of the roof two or three little beams of light marked the location of certain gargoyles or antique water-spouts, which stanley had noticed on the outside, and marvelled that they should have been placed in the middle instead of the top of the tower. these explained the absence of water in the well.
-touching the plate once more he pushed it back to its original position, and found that it remained stationary. as long as he kept on the outward side he was safe, and if the secretary observed this rule he could easily avail himself of the plate to descend by, for the perpetrators of the villainous arrangement had evidently not thought it necessary to make it entirely revolve, as one who had once gone up the tower was never expected to come down the outside again. and now, with great caution, he wormed his way to the treacherous step, and with still greater care placed his foot on its outer edge; it held firm, and he ventured to plant both his feet upon it. but, alas! he has forgotten how slippery a flag of slate, polished by two hundred years' exposure to the elements, may become. his feet slipped from under him, and in striving to save himself he overbalanced the stone. instantly it revolved, and a second later he found himself suspended over the well, with only the strength of a despairing grasp on the edges of the slate between him and eternity.
-the secret of the door
-miss fitzgerald's disclosures to the marchioness, as it turned out, rather helped than hindered those principally concerned, for mr. lambert met her ladyship at the church, and his explanations took the keen edge off the wrath which she vented on her daughter a little later, and in the midst of which lieutenant kingsland arrived, with ample assurances of worldly prosperity, which overcame her strongest objections, and went far to reconcile her to the inevitable. her disappointment, however, was keen, and her temper suffered in consequence, so that dinner, at which the secretary's unaccountable absence formed the chief topic of conversation, was distinctly not a success, and the ladies retired early, leaving the gentlemen to their own devices.
-miss fitzgerald claimed to join in the general hegira, but her actions belied her words, for shortly after she was supposed to have gone to her room, her figure, its white dinner dress concealed by a long grey cloak, might have been seen gliding across the lawn in the direction of the inn.
-the night was pregnant with great events, though outwardly calm and beautiful, and the great hall in which mr. riddle, kent-lauriston, and the lieutenant stood smoking, after having been dismissed from the drawing-room, was flooded with moonlight.
-"i say," remarked kingsland irrelevantly, after a long interval broken only by the conscientious puffing of cigarettes, "how that mediæval prize puzzle shows up in the moonlight."
-"the secret door?" asked kent-lauriston. "yes, it does. i heard the butler making his plaint about it yesterday. it appears it's no joke to keep those nails polished."
-"i shouldn't think it would be, and i dare say the bulk of the servants wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. i wonder what's behind it, anyway."
-nobody said anything.
-"i wonder if darcy'll ever get his letter?" asked kent-lauriston, glancing at mr. riddle. "anyway, it's as safe behind that portal as if it was in the bank of england. safer, in fact, for he can't get it out if he wants to."
-"i don't think there's much chance of anyone's opening it," said mr. riddle. "cleverer men than colonel darcy have tried to solve that problem in the last two centuries, and failed. i imagine, however, if it ever does come to be opened, that a certain theory will be proved correct."
-"what is it?" asked kingsland.
-"that the prophecy tells only half the story. to press the nails they must be flexible, but they're firm and immovable."
-"well, it's evident that there is some catch or spring to be worked first."
-"how do you make that out?"
-"these five nails we hear so much about are really the key to the lock, but until the movable impediments--or, to give them their technical name, the 'tumblers'--are so arranged as to release the key, the lock cannot be opened."
-"it's a rum sort of key, with no keyhole," said kingsland.
-"the key to open this lock is a mental one, rather than one of steel and iron. in other words, a puzzle lock like this always has certain movable parts, the movement of which constitutes the enigma."
-"ever heard of any locks like this one?"
-"not exactly, but the russians, hindoos and the chinese have their puzzle locks in the shape of birds or animals, and they're locked or unlocked by pressing certain parts of their bodies. you can depend on it, some spring must be worked first, which relieves the nails from their tension and permits one to work the combination."
-"but no such catch or spring is visible."
-"of course not. it would be the most carefully concealed of all the mechanism; but some lucky fellow will stumble on it eventually, and if he has presence of mind enough to press the nails also-- presto! your door will fly open."
-"and what will he find?" asked kent-lauriston.
-"from present appearances," replied mr. riddle, "a little pile of dust, which some centuries before was a letter----"
-"i shouldn't be satisfied with anything less than a mouldering skeleton in chains," said kingsland.
-"or a complicated astrological machine, such as one hears about in bulwer's grewsome ghost story," added kent-lauriston.
-"the inhabitants of this house are too unfeignedly easy-going and comfortable to admit of such a supposition," replied kingsland, and turning to kent-lauriston, added: "what do you think is inside the tower?"
-"i don't know, and if i did, i shouldn't tell anyone."
-"because if its contents are so unpleasant, that they had to shut it up for ever, it certainly wouldn't prove a fit subject for conversation."
-"well, anyhow," said the lieutenant, "i trust the discoverer will be a short man, or he'll hit his head a nasty crack, when he tries to go in."
-"wrong again," said mr. riddle. "i think you'll admit that i'm medium height for a man; but if i stood with my back to the door, my head wouldn't hit the top of the arch."
-"nonsense. let's see."
-riddle took up the position indicated, facing them.
-"you're right!" ejaculated the young officer.
-"i'm amazed! i supposed it was much lower. what do you measure?"
-"five feet eight inches. but it is the extreme width of the portal which makes it deceptive; it lowers it. i think, if i stretched out my arms, straight from the shoulder, i should no more than touch the side--see----" and he made a great cross of himself, against the black oak.
-"what are you fumbling at?" asked kingsland sharply.
-"my fingers hardly touch--it's a stretch. ah! now they do."
-"you look ghastly in the moonlight; put your arms down and come away."
-"i'm very comfortable here, barring my back; those silver nails are rather sharp," and he put his hands behind him.
-"come away," said kingsland, nervously, seeing something in his face he did not like. "you look as if you'd been walled up a few months ago, by some inquisition, and we'd just unearthed you in your niche."
-"by heavens! some of these nails are loose!" cried riddle.
-"nonsense!" retorted kingsland. "you've thought so much about it, you'd imagine anything. they're as firm as--well, nails. i tried them myself. that door won't be opened in our lifetime, unless----" but the lieutenant never finished his sentence, for he had paused suddenly, in open-mouthed astonishment. without warning, and without a sound, the portal, closed for centuries, swung slowly inward, carrying riddle with it; who, catching in vain at the sides of the door in an attempt to save himself, fell heavily backwards down three steps into the secret chamber.
-seeing that he did not immediately rise, but turned over partially on his side, kingsland recollecting himself, sprang forward to his aid, crying:
-"have you hurt yourself?"
-"no, no," he replied, waving him off, and slowly rising from the floor, covered with dust.
-"by jove!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "how did you ever do it?"
-"don't know, i'm sure," replied riddle, emerging from the portal, and vigorously brushing himself. "as i told you, the nails, or some of them, felt loose--i pushed them, and the next thing i knew the door revolved and i was on the floor."
-"you're a genius!" exclaimed kingsland. "but," peering down into the darkness of the tower, "where's darcy's letter?"
-"we need a little light on the subject," said mr. riddle. stepping to the fireplace, he lighted an old wrought-iron sconce, full of candles, which stood on the broad mantelshelf, and approached the secret door.
-in the light of the candles, all could see that, except for the little space into which he had fallen, the whole interior of the tower was filled by a narrow stone staircase, which, in its ascent, half turned upon itself. of the missing document, however, there was not a trace. the stillness in the great hall was oppressive. even their own footsteps on the stones seemed, to the hearers, preternaturally loud.
-mr. riddle raised the sconce above his head, and there burst on a sudden a shimmering flash of a thousand prismatic colours from the head of the staircase. he fell back a step, as did the others, and kingsland murmured in awe-struck tones:--
-riddle again raised the sconce, and again the burst of light from the head of the stairs overwhelmed him, but this time he stood his ground.
-"what is it?" asked kent-lauriston.
-"i don't know."
-"let us examine."
-"as far as i can make out, it's a flexible curtain of chain mail--hung across the staircase."
-"i swear it moved," said the lieutenant.
-"no, it was the light which moved," replied the discoverer. "you see," and he swayed the sconce from side to side, making the curtain appear to be moving silently.
-"if i take the light away," he continued, "there's nothing to be seen;" and he removed the sconce, leaving only the black mass of the steel curtain visible.
-"nothing to be seen--isn't there? look there!" whispered kingsland, and, following the direction of his eyes, the others saw a broad band of blood-red light steal out of the blackness, across the steps at the head of the staircase.
-"that room has been closed for centuries, and yet there is a light burning," he continued hoarsely. "shut the door, my dear fellow, and let's get away."
-"it merely confirms another theory of mine," said riddle, "which is, that, as there are no windows on the outside of the tower, they must have got their light and ventilation from the roof. i think it's fair to suppose that they used red glass, and that the full moon is shining through it."
-"then you can go and prove it if you like, but if you take my advice, you'd better leave it alone."
-"i don't like, my dear kingsland, though i'm going, just the same. i daresay i shall find something very nasty at the head of the stairs, but it won't be supernatural. if i want you, i'll call you. if not, wait till i come back." putting down the sconce, he slipped off his dress coat, and crossing the hall, picked up a stout hunting crop, the property of the lieutenant, while his two companions stood staring at the blood-red band of light which lay across the steps, and which seemed to their excited imagination to grow broader and deeper.
-"what do you think he'll find up there?" asked kingsland.
-kent-lauriston shrugged his shoulders.
-"i don't wish to think," he replied. "but i'm certain that, to this very day, there lie hidden away in some of our old country houses the ghastliest secrets of mediæval times, the fruit of crimes and passions, of which, happily, even the names have perished."
-"what's that?" said the young officer, laying his hand on his companion's arm, and in the silence both distinctly heard the click of a latch, and facing round at the same moment, confronted the white face of colonel darcy, framed in the hall door.
-in an instant he was at their side, drawing a quick hissing breath and exclaiming:--
-"it's open. where's my letter?"
-"there is no letter," said kingsland gruffly. "but you gave us a jolly good start, creeping in. this ghost business sets one's nerves all on edge."
-"who opened the door?"
-"i did," said mr. riddle, coming up just at that moment.
-"ah! then you have my letter."
-"no, i haven't seen a trace of it. it may be up aloft."
-"i believe there's some living object up aloft," said kingsland. "if you take my advice, you'll shut the door, and leave it and the letter in perpetual seclusion."
-"hold on!" cried kent-lauriston. "there's something up there, and, what's more, it's coming down." and as he spoke, a sound was heard in the long closed chamber, and as the listeners held their breath, something slowly approached the steel curtain, which swung out noiselessly as if waving in a ghostly wind.
-within the tower
-stanley's first thought as he hung suspended over the gulf, when the plate had so treacherously revolved, was of self-preservation. and, indeed, he had need to think, for it seemed highly probable that within the next few minutes he might be dashed to pieces on the floor of the secret chamber, forty feet below. to pull himself up over that slippery stone was, he found, a sheer impossibility. to let go of his precarious hold and drop to the bottom of the well was certain death. yet the sharp edges of the plate were already cutting into his hands, and it could only be a matter of a few moments when his arms would refuse to support any longer the weight of his body. evidently he must find some means of escape from these two alternatives, and that right speedily, or for him the end of all things would be at hand. below him the wall stretched smooth as glass. no vine grew upon it to which he might cling, no crevice in which he might put his foot. he cast his eye round in a wild search for some possible means of salvation, and, as he did so, he saw one infinitesimal chance of escape. so slight was it, that no one, in less desperate straits, would have dared to take the risk, but he had no choice.
-the blow which he received rendered him instantly unconscious, and it was hours later before he came to himself. his first knowledge of the world and things in general was a realisation that in some mysterious way the entire firmament was divided in half by a black band, and it was only as his brain became a little clearer that he realised that he was lying on his back looking up at the rim of the well. he sat up, and examined himself critically. he had evidently cut his head slightly, for it was still bleeding. moreover, he was black and blue from head to foot, but he was rejoiced to find, after a careful examination, that no bones were broken, nor had he even suffered a sprain, and in a few moments he was able to stand upright.
-his position, however, was none the less precarious. the breaking of the chain had ended for ever any chance of his ascending the tower, and he must either effect an entrance through the roof or depend on the very uncertain chance of attracting notice from without, to escape starvation.
-lying face down on the floor of the roof, he tried to look out of the little holes in the mouths of the gargoyles, but could see nothing, and from the appearance of the sky over his head, he judged that it must be growing dark. this reminded him of his bicycle lamp, which a hasty examination proved to be intact, and feeling that he would at least have light for his investigations, was a great source of comfort to him.
-his next procedure was to examine the roof. here, fate once more befriended him, for he very quickly found a trap-door and, moreover, was able to lift it. looking down he could see nothing but utter darkness. however, this did not deter him, and he hastily made his arrangements for further investigation, first taking the precaution to light a match and drop it into the opening. it fell, about ten or twelve feet, evidently striking the floor and burning there a minute or two before it went out. it revealed nothing but surrounding darkness, but it apprised him of the fact he was most desirous to know, that the atmosphere was not mephitical. he determined, nevertheless, to take his time about descending, and left the trap-door wide open, so that as much fresh air might get in as possible.
-in the interval he amused himself by taking off one of his socks and unravelling it as best he could. weaving a cord with the thread thus obtained, he lowered his bicycle lantern, which he had lighted, into the room below, swinging it gently back and forwards. its glancing rays told him that the apartment was entirely bare and deserted, and showed him also a narrow wooden ladder, black with age, leading up to the trap-door above which he stood. drawing up the light, he took it in his hand, and being cautious after his recent experience, reached down and tested each round of the ladder most carefully. to his surprise it held his weight, and a moment later he was on the floor of the secret chamber.
-the apartment had no secrets to reveal. it was absolutely bare, and empty of anything except a broken old sconce lying in a corner. the whole room, however, was indescribably dusty and musty, and he was very thankful to push aside a curtain of chain mail and descend the staircase.
-at its foot he saw lying the coveted papers. forgetful of everything else, he sat down upon the lowest step, and by the light of his lantern proceeded to examine them. they more than fulfilled his utmost expectations. there was a complete cipher and its key, a full list of the members of the cabinet who were to pass upon the treaty, with comments on each, and a memorandum of the amounts to be given to certain of them, coupled with suggestions as to the attitude which darcy should take towards others, together with precise instructions as to the carrying out of the plot; the whole signed by riddle in the interests of the firm. the evidence was complete, and stanley gasped as he realised the advantage of this tremendous stroke of luck. one fact which his perusal had elicited caused him to draw a long sigh of relief. miss fitzgerald's name was not mentioned in the incriminating document, and so much did he wish to believe her innocent, that in spite of all accumulated evidence, he felt a sense of exultation that he could still, if worst came to worst, shield her from the effects of her own folly. he told himself that he might, after all, prove to the satisfaction of his own conscience that she was innocent of criminal intent. darcy he would have no mercy for. he must be punished for his crime, and the fact of his being the criminal would give inez her freedom, and then---- ah! but if belle fitzgerald was innocent--was he not in honour bound to her? and at that moment he realised that he had mistaken pity for love, that darcy possessed the woman in the world most worth having, and that he was unworthy of her.
-his meditations were interrupted by the sound of voices near him. somebody laid a hand on the other side of the door. they were tampering with it again, and, for more reasons than one, he wanted the fact of his having gained entrance to the tower to remain a secret. putting the letter in his inside pocket, he softly retraced his steps to the upper chamber.
-to his consternation, he had scarcely reached there when the door below was opened. how this had been effected, he did not know. he had been so interested in the documents, that he had had no time to examine the mechanism of the portal. at first he heard only the voices of riddle and kingsland. fearing that the conspirators only were present, and that, being three to one, he might be overpowered, and his precious evidence wrested from him, he endeavoured, by the agitation of the steel curtain and the red light of his lamp, to contrive such ghostly illusions, as should serve to deter them from investigating the upper portions of the tower. it can be imagined therefore what a welcome relief kent-lauriston's tones were to him, and the instant he knew that his friend was below, he felt perfectly safe from an attack by force. he therefore lost no time in descending, his footsteps producing, as we have seen, a most startling effect on those below.
-kent-lauriston was the first to recognise him, and seeing at a glance that his clothes were torn and spotted with blood, he sprang forward to assist his friend and helped him into the hall.
-"where's my letter, you thief?" cried darcy.
-"you've come too late," replied the secretary, recovering himself. "you've come too late. the treaty will go through."
-darcy growled an oath as the measure of the secretary's knowledge became known to him.
-"i know who's put you on to it," he cried. "it's that cursed irish----!"
-"go!" cried stanley, in a burst of wrath at this insult to a woman. "go, before i knock you down, and as you value your safety, meet me here at eleven to-morrow morning. you've held the whip hand long enough. it's my turn now."
-the short way out
-"i suppose it's hardly necessary to ask if you found darcy's letter?" said kent-lauriston to the secretary, as they were returning to the house about an hour later from a trip to the telegraph office, whither stanley had gone to send a long message in cipher to his chief.
-"oh, yes," he said. "i have it in my possession."
-"does it give you all the information you required?"
-"as a bit of evidence it's overwhelmingly complete--but it gives me some additional information which is not so pleasant," replied the secretary, who had needed no second glance at the document to assure himself that it was mr. riddle's letter and had been once before in his possession.
-"i've no desire to pry into your affairs, either private or diplomatic, my dear fellow; but of course i'm able to infer a good deal, and if you felt inclined to assure me, that this made you master of the situation, and placed darcy completely in your power, it would make me feel very much easier."
-"then you may be quite easy," returned the secretary. "i hold all the trumps. i could have the colonel arrested to-night, if i chose, and my evidence is of such a nature that it will practically banish him from his country and from mine."
-"that's very satisfactory, but let me caution you to go slow. darcy is a man of many expedients. i should keep something in reserve, if i were able."
-"my instructions insist on practically that course of action."
-"i'm very glad to hear it--as you grow older, you'll discover that the shrewdest policy in the game of life, as in the game of whist, is always to keep in hand a card of re-entry. and you may take my word for it, that darcy is the pivot on which all these little conspiracies revolve. hold him, and you can dictate terms to both kingsland and miss fitzgerald. by the way, have you succeeded in receiving your congé yet?"
-"i haven't yet received a definite answer."
-"answer!--haven't you made it clear to her what that answer is to be?"
-"i hope so. in fact, i'm sure she must understand."
-"then if she doesn't refuse you, you'll be quite justified in refusing her."
-"i can't be too hard on a woman, kent-lauriston."
-"but you cannot marry her."
-"not if my suspicions are true, and that my conference with the colonel to-morrow will prove. now, don't say any more about it, for i want to go to bed, and try not to think."
-stanley slept little that night, and the arrival of an early telegram from his minister was a welcome relief. it contained only a brief word of praise, and the information that john, the messenger, would arrive by the ten o'clock train with a letter of instructions, pending the receipt of which he was to take no action. this necessitated an early breakfast, as the station was some distance away. before leaving, however, he sealed up the precious document he had found in the secret chamber, and entrusted it to his friend's care; begging him, should he not return, through any foul play of the colonel's, to see it safely delivered to his chief in london.
-as he drove to the train he had plenty to occupy his thoughts. the letter had been more damaging to the cause of the plotters than he could have hoped. there was sufficient evidence to make out a complete case, and only the intended forbearance of the government could shield the colonel from well-merited disgrace and condign punishment. in this forbearance stanley saw, so to speak, his card of re-entry: but he did not see that fate was going to force him to play it in the first round of the game. it was true he was here to bring darcy to justice for crimes committed against the state, but he must not be judged too harshly for desiring to take advantage of his position to force the colonel to do justice in quarters not political. he had had great provocation, and the man could be relied on to keep his word only when the penalty for breaking it was actual rather than moral.
-filled with these thoughts and impulses, he drew up for a moment on his way to the station at madame darcy's cottage, but before he could get down from the high dog-cart she came running out to meet him.
-"you have good news," she cried, "i can see it in your face."
-"yes," he said. "i got down, or rather fell down, inside the old tower last night, and i have the precious packet in my possession."
-"ah," she said. "i do not know whether i should be glad or sorry. if it contains what i suspect, it must mean so much to me in many ways."
-"it is just for that reason that i stopped to see you," he replied. "i wanted to set your mind at rest."
-"then it does not contain incriminating evidence?" she asked.
-"on the contrary, it puts everyone connected with the plot completely in my power."
-"but then----" she began.
-"but then," he continued, taking up her words, "i hope to be able to save your husband from the fruits of his folly."
-"but is that possible?"
-"i hope so. i shall tell better after i have seen him. we are to have an interview this morning, and all i can say now is, that you must trust implicitly in me and believe that everything will come out all right in the end."
-"i am so selfish that your words make me very happy," said madame darcy, "when my heart should be filled with sorrow at the troubles of my friend. this discovery must be a sad blow to you."
-"how do you mean?" he said.
-"why, in regard to miss fitzgerald."
-"it seems impossible," he said tersely, "for us to have a conversation without introducing her name. surely by this time you must know----"
-"i only know what you have told me," she replied.
-the secretary started to say something and then thought better of it, and contented himself by remarking:--
-"my eyes have been opened a good deal in the last few days, inez."
-she reached up and took his hand in hers.
-"my friend," she said, "i understand."
-for a moment there was silence between them, and then pulling himself together, he explained that he was on his way to an appointment. so he left her, smiling at him through her tears, for in these few moments inez de costa had found great sorrow and great joy.
-the station, a small rustic affair, at which few trains stopped, seemed at first glance to be bare of passengers, and on accosting a porter, the secretary was informed that he had yet nearly fifteen minutes to wait.
-"she's in a siding in the next station now, sir, waiting for the london express to pass; it goes through here in about five minutes, and as soon as the line's clear she'll be along."
-stanley thanked him for his information, and, after spending a minute or two with the station-master, negotiating for a match, he lighted a cigarette and emerged on the little platform. to his surprise he found it tenanted by a solitary figure, and that none other than mr. arthur riddle. if he had any luggage it must have been in the luggage-room, for he was without sign of impedimenta, excepting a stout stick. he wore a long, black travelling cloak, and his white, drawn face and the dark circles under his eyes gave evidence of either a sleepless night or great mental anxiety, perhaps of both. he held in his mouth an unlighted cigar, which he was nervously chewing to pieces. both men became aware of each other's presence at the same instant; both unconsciously hesitated to advance, and then both came forward. stanley was the first to speak.
-"i wasn't aware that you were leaving, mr. riddle."
-the man looked at him, with the expression of a hunted animal driven to bay; a fear of something worse than death in his eyes.
-"how could you think i should do otherwise, after your discoveries of last night?"
-"i think you're making a mistake. but i shan't try to prevent you. i've no fear of losing you even in london. i could lay hands on you where i wished."
-"my journey is much farther afield than london."
-"there are extradition laws."
-"not where i'm going," he said.
-a shrill whistle smote the air, and the porter came hurrying out on the platform, crying:--
-"the express, gentlemen, the express! stand back, please!"
-stanley noticed that unconsciously they had drawn rather near the edge.
-"look out!" he said to mr. riddle. "the express is coming!"
-"in a moment," replied that gentleman. "i've just dropped my cigar," and indeed it was lying at his feet.
-"hurry up, then, the train is on us! you've no time to lose!"
-"i've time enough," he replied, bending deliberately forward.
-some grim note in his voice awoke the secretary to his true intentions. there was only a second's leeway, the iron monster was even then bursting out of the railway arch at the further end of the platform, with the roar and rush of tremendous speed. mr. riddle was bending far forward, overreaching his cigar, making no attempt to get it--was----
-stanley flung his arms about his adversary's waist, and made a superhuman effort to drag him back.
-"you meddling fool, let me alone!" shouted the other.
-"no!" panted the secretary.
-"then come too!" he cried, and rising up, he threw his arms about him, and gathered himself to spring on to the rails in front of the train. all seemed over, the cry of the porter rang in stanley's ears, the rattle of the train deafened him, the hot breath of the engine seemed blowing in his face. then somehow his foot caught his opponent's, and the next instant they were falling--to death or life--he could not tell.
-a second later they lay prone on the platform. the express had passed them, and vanished in a cloud of dust.
-in a moment the porter was assisting them to arise.
-"a narrow escape for mr. riddle," said the secretary to the porter, as he picked himself up and recovered his hat, which had rolled to one side. "a very narrow escape from what might have been a nasty accident."
-"accident!" exclaimed the porter, with a sarcasm which spoke louder than words.
-"i said accident," replied stanley, slipping a sovereign into the man's hand, and looking him straight in the eyes.
-"oh, quite right, sir. accident it was. thank ye, sir," and the porter shuffled off, leaving them alone.
-"i suppose you think you've been very clever," said mr. riddle, when they were by themselves, "but i'll cheat you yet, never fear," and his hand unconsciously sought a hidden pocket.
-"you need be under no apprehensions," the secretary replied calmly. "i shan't interfere to save your life again, or to prevent you from taking it. i was moved to act as i did solely for the reason that i couldn't bear to see any man throw away so priceless a possession, owing to a misapprehension."
-"a misapprehension!" he said, startled.
-"yes. you were desperate enough to contemplate committing suicide, because you supposed you would inevitably be disgraced and punished."
-"well, supposing that this were not the case?"
-"what do you mean?" he cried, his face lighting up with the return of hope.
-"i mean that it's in my power to let you go free."
-the man's face fell.
-"but there are conditions," he said.
-"there are no conditions."
-"how about the company?"
-"it will not be proceeded against, out of a desire to avoid publicity. both governments will be informed confidentially of the true state of affairs, and it will be carefully watched in the future. if the company is circumspect, it will be safe. we merely wish to ensure the passage of the treaty. that is done already. of course, considering the hands to which you have confided it, you will probably lose your £40,000."
-"i should refuse to receive it under the circumstances."
-"so i supposed. i'm expecting a messenger with important instructions from london, so must await the arrival of the down train. if you'll take a seat in the dog-cart, i'll join you presently."
-mr. riddle bowed, took a few steps in the direction desired, and then pausing, swung round and faced the secretary, saying:--
-"what return can i make you for saving my life?"
-"i've only followed my instructions," he replied. "you owe me nothing. i admit, though, that my impulse to save you arose strongly from the fact that i believed you were fitted for better things."
-"i am, mr. stanley, i am. believe me, with this exception, i've lived a clean life. i was swept into this thing by the force of circumstances, and in the hope of saving a rotten concern, whose downfall might have ruined hundreds of innocent persons."
-"i believe you," said the secretary. "here comes the train. i shall expect to find you in the dog-cart."
-the day of reckoning
-stanley sat in his room. before him lay an open letter; below in the hall, john and the colonel sat waiting his call. the faithful legation messenger being well informed that once darcy was closeted with his master, he was to receive the precious letter of evidence from kent-lauriston, and return with all speed to london.
-but first the secretary wished to read and re-read his chief's instructions. it was a clear, concise document, occupying only two sheets of note-paper. not a word wasted, yet all necessary information given, it ran as follows:--
-"your satisfactory message received and telegraphed to the executive in cipher, without delay. i may inform you that it is not the intention of the government to prosecute, if the case presented is sufficiently strong to warrant submission from the recalcitrant members of the cabinet. i leave it to your discretion to arrest darcy. do not do so if you can obtain his confession without it. we do not wish to proceed against the agents, but against the principals. we will do so, however, if you advise. the points we must prove are as follows:--
-"1st. evidence of the names of members of the cabinet who are to receive bribes.
-"2d. evidence of the amounts to be received.
-"3d. evidence relating to the company offering the bribes.
-"send proofs by john, at once, and report to me as soon as possible.
-"as ever, "x----"
-on a separate sheet of paper was the following:--
-"private and confidential.
-"i have, in the foregoing, written you a letter which you might show, if necessary, to any of the principals in this affair, should such a course seem advisable. if you obtain possession of the money, in round numbers, £40,000, use it as your discretion suggests. we do not care to handle it officially. you may find it useful in obtaining evidence.
-"i have also to inform you that your most satisfactory conduct in this affair will certainly gain you immediate promotion, though it seems desirable that you should return home first, and almost at once, in the capacity of witness, if you are needed.
-"entre nous, i have received a cable from señor de costa, requesting me to send his daughter, madame darcy, home, as soon as suitable escort can be provided. i have replied, nominating you for the post, an office which, i imagine, you will not find irksome. make this known to madame darcy, if she is still in sussex, and use your discretion in this matter as in all other things. do not act hastily in anything. you have a great responsibility for one so young, but i am confident you will discharge it to my satisfaction.
-stanley sat idly for a few minutes, fingering the papers before him. he might seem to be wasting valuable time; as a matter of fact he was very hard at work.
-finally he arose, and, with an air of quick decision, as of one who had made up his mind, he stepped to the opposite wall, and touched the bell. a moment later there came a heavy step on the stairs, a knock, and without waiting for an answer, colonel darcy entered the room, threw himself into the most comfortable chair, and scrutinised keenly the little bundle of papers, which the secretary was in the act of putting into an inside pocket.
-stanley noticed the glance, and replied to the unspoken question, by saying abruptly:--
-"it may facilitate matters between us, if i tell you that the evidence is no longer in my possession. it has been sent to the legation."
-the colonel nodded.
-"i should prefer this to be a purely business interview," continued the young diplomat, "and to that end i will state my case and my conditions, after which you can make any answers or comments you think best."
-another nod from his companion was the only answer he received, so he accordingly proceeded.
-"the executive of my government received, some time ago, information of a plot to defeat a treaty, now pending with great britain. the subject of this treaty was an island and sand-bar, lying at the mouth of the ---- river, on which the ---- company have erected large mills for the manufacture of a staple product of my country. as long as we held the island, they secured by government contracts a practical monopoly of the article in question; by the cession of it to great britain their business would be much impaired. do i state the case clearly?"
-"i've never heard it put better," replied the colonel, with a calmness that was admirable.
-"very well--we'll now proceed to the next point. the firm considered that my government's grants were worth to them, the round sum of two hundred thousand dollars, or forty thousand pounds."
-"in gold, sovereigns," acquiesced darcy.
-"yes, i've one of them in my possession."
-the colonel nodded as usual. he evidently felt it idle to waste words in the face of such incontrovertible evidence.
-"this amount was to be divided among a majority of the committee, who would pass on the treaty, thus insuring its defeat. the names of the members who would receive bribes, and the amount to be given to each, being arranged beforehand--by you."
-darcy's face was immovable.
-"i said by you."
-"i heard you."
-"you've nothing to say?"
-"the accused," said the colonel, "is never required to convict himself."
-"you're quite within your rights; we'll let it pass. i make the statement; you neither affirm or deny it."
-"go on," said darcy.
-"you then come to sussex to receive the funds from mr. riddle, the most important shareholder."
-"you're mistaken. miss fitzgerald received the money from mr. riddle," remarked the colonel.
-"you say nothing of your part in the transaction," commented the secretary, sternly.
-"i thought you wanted the truth of the matter."
-"i do--go on."
-"when the company found, thanks to your conversation with, and infatuation for, miss fitzgerald, that you had in all probability been set to spy upon us, it was deemed better that i should play a subordinate part," continued darcy. "accordingly she was selected to do all the dirty work in this country--collect the money and forward it to london."
-"what part did kingsland play?"
-"none whatever, except that of carrier. i sounded him some weeks ago, and found him too loose-tongued for our purposes. it was belle's scheme to let him take the treasure to town, and he actually believed the cock-and-bull story she told him about the stereopticon slides."
-"as soon as you recovered your lost letter of instructions, you intended to go to london, draw out the forty thousand pounds, embark for my country, and distribute the bribes," resumed stanley, "but, unfortunately for you, your plans are upset entirely. i have in my possession not only your letter of instructions, but also the name of the bank in which the money now lies, and where it can be detained at my orders."
-at this point the colonel's reserve entirely broke down.
-"you hold all the trumps, damn you!" he cried. "give me your terms and conditions."
-"it's not the intention of my government to prosecute the corrupt members of the cabinet for a variety of reasons, which, even with your views on the subject of honour, you'll undoubtedly approve."
-darcy flushed, but said nothing.
-"in the first place," continued the secretary, "the executive has no desire to wash the government's dirty linen in public, and the story is not so creditable that it should be spread abroad. all that is needed is to insure the passage of the treaty; and it is thought, and thought rightly, that a warning to the opposition, if the true facts are known, and can be proved if necessary, would be quite sufficient to remove their obstruction. of course, the more overwhelming the proof, the more potent the warning; and, while it's not necessary, understand that, i should prefer your signed confession to round out my case."
-"what do you offer in return?"
-"immunity from prosecution."
-"is that all?"
-"all! colonel darcy, i'd have you to know that it's left entirely to my discretion how to proceed against you. i have it in my power to order your arrest, with a certain term of imprisonment at hard labour."
-"would my evidence be used publicly?"
-"i think i can assure against that in any case."
-"what assurance have i that your government will play me fair if i turn state's evidence?"
-stanley thought a moment, and then handed him the minister's open letter.
-the colonel perused it, nodded quietly, and said:--
-"it will do. i accept the terms. damn it, i can't do otherwise! give me pen, ink, and paper. what do you want me to write?"
-"in substance what i've said to you."
-"kindly leave out all reference, by name, to lieutenant kingsland and miss fitzgerald."
-"ha! i suppose you still think she's an angel."
-"i know she is a woman, colonel darcy."
-for some time there was no sound in the room but the scratching of pen to paper. at length, however, the colonel raised his head from his work, and, pushing it towards the secretary, said laconically:--
-"will it do?"
-"quite," replied stanley, after perusing it. "will you sign it, please? thanks, i'll witness."
-"there," said the colonel, rising. "that closes our interview."
-"not quite yet, colonel. i've still an advantageous offer to make to you, in reward for some further concessions of a different character. the case for the government is closed. our private affairs yet remain to be settled."
-"by gad! you're right there! they do!"
-"there is that little trifle of the forty thousand pounds. suppose i was to give you that amount."
-"what!!!" exclaimed his hearer, petrified with astonishment. "you mean to say that you will give it to me?"
-"never, colonel, never! i shall go to the victoria street branch of the bank of england in london, say the day after to-morrow, to warn them about the money. if you draw it out before that time, why, it's my misfortune. i'll be perfectly frank with you, colonel darcy. my government doesn't want the handling of this coin, its disposal is left to me. you see it's for everybody's interest to lose this large sum. when the cabinet knows that the truth has been discovered--they know it now, by the way--it was cabled in cipher--there's not one of them who would touch a penny of it. the company can't receive it without giving a receipt, which might prove damaging evidence; while neither government can take it without becoming a party to the transaction. i'm willing to give it to you, if you'll do two things in return. two disagreeable things, i admit, to a conscientious man; but they're each worth twenty thousand pounds."
-"i'd sell my soul for that!" said he with a laugh.
-"my dear colonel, are you sure you have it to sell?"
-"what are the conditions?"
-"first, that you consent to a divorce from madame darcy."
-"humph! that's a nice thing to ask a man. moreover, it's not worth anything. in fact it's a clear loss. my wife's property, of which i have the use, is worth far more than that."
-"but you don't have the use of it, colonel."
-"well, i should have to pay alimony--then."
-"i'll guarantee you against that. moreover, she'd get her divorce in any event, and then you'd have nothing."
-"you're quite right. a pretty woman, who knows how to have hysterics, can get anything in a court of law. my wife's an expert in the latter accomplishment, and she's good-looking enough to corrupt any jury that was ever empanelled. i give in, it's no use playing a losing game. now for the second."
-"the second is purely confidential."
-"i'd like to know exactly what you and miss fitzgerald expected to receive for this transaction, and whether these letters," producing the ones madame darcy had given him, "do not relate solely to it?"
-"you're paying rather a high price for that young lady's character," he said.
-"a woman's character should be above any price, colonel darcy. we seem to have differing standards of value, which does not, however, alter the main question of whether you will accede to my conditions."
-"certainly i will, and permit me to tell you that you're paying more than either of them is worth."
-"that is for me to decide."
-"quite so. now how do you wish me to aid in my wife's divorce?"
-"a statement signed by you, to the effect that you would not contest a suit for divorce--say on the grounds of incompatibility of temper, coupled by your promise of non-interference, would be sufficient. as madame darcy is not a catholic, and her father is a power in his own country, she would have no trouble, legal or religious, in using such evidence."
-"oh, is that all?" said the colonel, manifestly relieved. "i supposed you wanted statutory grounds."
-"i wish to save your wife as much pain and annoyance as possible, and it would be well if you felt the same."
-"oh!" exclaimed darcy. "so that's the way the land lies, is it? a very interesting way for a young man who is in love with one of the women, and engaged to the other."
-"you'll please attend to business, and not discuss my affairs," broke in the secretary, sharply.
-"quite right, quite right; pardon me--there, it's only a few lines, but i think it will give my wife her freedom when she requires it," and he handed him a paper, adding:--"now let me go."
-"two things you've forgotten," said stanley. "your promise not to appear against your wife in her suit for divorce----"
-"do you give it?"
-"yes. i promise not to appear against my wife in her suit for divorce, or in any way to impede its progress. does that satisfy you? you'll find i'm a man of my word, mr. stanley, when i'm as well paid for it, as in the present case."
-"now what did you expect to receive from this transaction?"
-"ten per cent. on the amount distributed--say four thousand pounds."
-"i see. and what did you propose to give to miss fitzgerald?"
-"i said i'd share it with her."
-"that is, you'd each have two thousand pounds."
-"exactly--but she's such a mercenary, avaricious little baggage, she struck for more; said she had the most dangerous part to perform, and by gad! they allotted her three-fourths."
-"three thousand pounds. quite a neat little sum."
-"rather! i was only to receive one thousand pounds."
-"now about those letters?"
-darcy looked them over hurriedly, and remarked:--
-"so i supposed. but how do you explain that sentence in your letter, in which you refer to there being a happy future for both of you?"
-the colonel thrust his hands in his pockets, and looked the secretary squarely in the face.
-"see here, stanley," he said. "i'm not altogether a cad, and i'll be damned if i explain any more."
-the secretary flushed, and there was an awkward silence, which he broke by speaking nervously.
-"that's all, i think," he continued, "except--i suppose you'll have no trouble in getting the money?"
-"give me twenty-four hours," he said.
-the secretary nodded.
-"well, i must be going," remarked the colonel regretfully, as if he was just bringing to a close a protracted, but delightful, interview. "you've paid a high price for rather indifferent goods, young man, and to show you that i'm dealing fair, i'll throw in a bit of advice. drop our irish friend as soon as you know how. take my word for it, she's a thoroughly bad lot. i don't care what you're worth, she'd run through it in five years, and then----"
-"don't say it!" commanded the secretary.
-"as you like, it's the truth. the money will be in the victoria street branch of the bank of england till day after to-morrow? yes. thank you, mr. stanley. trust you're satisfied. i am. good day."
-the door closed. he was gone.
-the price of knowledge
-"i can never thank you sufficiently for all you've done, old man," said stanley to kent-lauriston, as the latter stood beside him, a few moments later.
-"which means," said his friend, "that you are going to ask me to do you another favour."
-"how well you understand human nature," replied the secretary, smiling sadly. "yes, it's quite true; i want you to go to--her--you understand, for me. i meant to go myself, but after what darcy has told me, it's impossible."
-"it's infinitely better to leave the affair in my hands. it will be easier for both of you."
-"i'm sure of it. you once said to me, you may remember, that it required more skill to break than to make an engagement, and i'm certain that you'd do this with great tact, and that i should blunder. you'll make it as easy for her as you can, i know--perhaps she'll save you any awkwardness by breaking it off herself. from what she said yesterday, i should think it possible."
-"i trust so."
-"here are her letters to me--you'll take them back."
-"i will. do you feel sure of yourself?"
-"you need have no fears on that account. i think madame darcy was right when she told me once that she was certain that i'd never loved."
-"what reason did she give for that statement?"
-"reason--that's just it, she said i'd reasoned about my love, therefore it couldn't be real."
-"madame darcy is a very clever woman."
-"and a very charming one."
-"i fully agree with you, but of course she has her drawbacks."
-"you think so?"
-"her present position is, to say the least, equivocal; and as a divorcée----"
-"oh, come, kent-lauriston, can't you let anyone alone? i never think of those things in connection with her. she's just madame darcy--that's all. she forms her own environment; one is so completely dominated by her presence, that other circumstances connected with her don't occur to one."
-"in other words, you do not reason."
-"there, i won't say it--only you admit that so far i've known you better than you've known yourself.-- yes?-- well, do not forget what i once told you before. you can never love a woman whom you cannot respect, and no woman who respects herself would permit even a hint of a man's affections until she was free to receive them. any such premature attempt would be fatal to his suit."
-"thank you," said stanley, "i won't forget;" and then, with a touch of his old humour, which the responsibilities of the last few days had nearly crushed out, he added: "you're not going to try to save me again?"
-"no, thank you, one experience of that sort has been quite enough," replied kent-lauriston, laughing.
-"now about this present matter," continued the secretary. "i don't want you to think me callous or shallow, because i don't appear all broken up; it has hit me very hard. i admit i was a fool, that i took for real passion a sort of sentimentalism born of pity; but, nevertheless, i was honest in my self-deception, and i assure you, even though you may laugh at me, that could i restore her to the innocent girl i believed her to be a few days ago; could i even be assured that she'd join this conspiracy to help a friend, and not as a cold-blooded speculation; i'd gladly marry her with all her faults, and give up my life to leading her into better paths."
-"i do not laugh at you, my boy," said kent-lauriston. "i respect you for it, i believe you, too; but, as i said in our first interview on this subject, you're too good for her; and she has underrated what she is not fitted to understand."
-"there, go now," said the secretary. "if i talk of this any more, i shall be unnerved, and i've need of all my self-control to-day. go and do the best you can. be gentle and tender for my sake. i suppose i ought to face the matter myself, but i can't bear to. i simply can't look her in the face--now i know----" and he bent his head, choking back a sob.
-his friend pressed his hand silently, and left the room.
-"just one moment, if you please, colonel darcy," kent-lauriston had said, overtaking that officer as he was crossing the park, about an hour after his interview with stanley.
-"i can't stop just now, i'm in a hurry."
-"oh, yes, you can--you can spare me a minute--a minute for an old acquaintance, who knew you when you were only a lieutenant, like our friend kingsland; a lieutenant in derbyshire, who had aspirations for the hand of lord ----'s daughter."
-"which you frustrated, damn you! i haven't forgotten."
-"or the evidence which led to such an unfortunate result? affairs of that sort are not outlawed by the lapse of years; you understand?"
-"what do you want of me? speak! my time is of value."
-"yes, i know--about forty thousand pounds."
-"humph! go on, will you. i'll tell you what you want, only be quick about it."
-"i merely want to know the exact and real truth of miss fitzgerald's connection with this bribery and corruption business."
-"i told your friend, the secretary."
-"i know what you told him, he's just retailed it to me; but you will pardon me, if i state that, as an observer, of human nature, i don't believe it."
-"i've said what i've said," replied the colonel, surlily.
-"let us see if we can't arrive at a mutual understanding," continued kent-lauriston, suavely. "you wish to injure the girl and make her marriage with my friend impossible, because you think she's betrayed you. i wish to render the marriage impossible, because i don't care to see this young man make a fool of himself by marrying a girl who's after his money, and who has nothing to offer in return. our ends are identical, our motives only are different. do you follow me?"
-the colonel nodded.
-"now," resumed kent-lauriston, "you've told a very clever circumstantial story, which has ruined her in stanley's eyes, and has stopped the match, as we both wished. its only flaw lies in the fact that it is not true. if he finds this out, he'll marry her in spite of us; but he is much less likely to find it out if i know the real state of the case, and, as a corollary, the weak points of your narrative, and so am able to prevent the discovery. do you believe me?"
-"i never knew you to tell a lie--it's not in your line."
-"quite so. therefore, will you tell me the truth?"
-"kingsland knew nothing about it?"
-"nothing at all. he thought the chests contained stereopticon slides."
-"that's the real truth then?"
-"yes, but if you blow it to stanley, i'll tell him your share in this little arrangement."
-kent-lauriston looked at him, coldly. "you said you were in a hurry, colonel darcy," he remarked. "don't let me detain you."
-"i consider it providential," said the marchioness.
-mrs. roberts said nothing. it was this trait that rendered her so admirable as a hostess and a friend.
-"of course," continued her ladyship, "i had long known that there was some sentiment between my dear isabelle and lieutenant kingsland, and if i had supposed there was anything serious, they would at once have had my blessing, and--er--a wedding in st. george's, and--everything that religion requires. their secret marriage was childish and ridiculous--because it was not opposed."
-mrs. roberts still held her peace.
-"i say," continued the dowager, "that it was not opposed; of course mr. stanley----"
-"ah," said her hostess, seeing that she was expected to intervene: "mr. stanley--what of him?"
-"well, you see, my dear mrs. roberts, he's a most excellent young man; but he comes from a catholic country--and--er--the influence is so insidious, that, on consideration, i didn't really feel--that my duty as a mother would permit me to countenance the match further."
-mrs. roberts said nothing, she had been ill-used in this particular, she felt, and withheld her sympathy accordingly.
-the dowager appreciated the position, and acted promptly.
-"your dear niece, miss fitzgerald, such a charming girl," she continued, "doubtless feels as i do. her throwing stanley over unreservedly was most commendable, and reflected much credit on your influence, dear mrs. roberts."
-her hostess was mollified, and showed it. the dowager's position promised to turn defeat into triumph.
-"you're most kind, i'm sure," she murmured. "belle was naturally guided by me," and then changing a dangerous subject, she continued, "it is so sad that lieutenant kingsland's honeymoon should be darkened by his uncle's death."
-her ladyship dried an imaginary tear, and added:--
-"if one believes in providence, one must of course believe that these things are for the best."
-"here comes the secretary," said mrs. roberts. "does he know?"
-"i must tell him," replied the dowager. "it's my painful duty."
-mrs. roberts precipitately left the room.
-"dear mr. stanley," murmured the dowager, "i was just on the point of sending for you; you've come most opportunely. i feel i must speak to you about my dear daughter. she is a sadly wilful girl, and i fear----"
-"dear mr. stanley," said the dowager, infinitely relieved, "you are so tactful, so generous----"
-"i hope she'll be happy."
-"oh yes--yes--we must hope so." and her ladyship sighed deeply. "you, of course, know what i wished from my heart."
-"i'm going away," he said abruptly, "this afternoon in fact. i'm assigned on a diplomatic service, which, for the present, may take me out of england, so you'll make my adieux to lady isabelle, will you not?"
-"i--er--trust you do not contemplate doing anything--foolish?"
-"you may set your mind at rest on that score."
-"you relieve me immensely--you'll excuse me if i'm too frank. i've come so near being a--er--mother to you, i feel a peculiar interest in your welfare. may i venture to express the hope, that you'll not commit yourself with that young irish person?"
-"your ladyship may feel quite easy-- miss fitzgerald and i have never been more than friends, and in the future----"
-"of course one must be kind; but a young man cannot be too careful. i assure you in regard to the young woman in question, that i was told in strict confidence--the most shocking----"
-"pardon me," he interrupted, "but i couldn't think of violating your strict confidence," and he passed by her out of the room.
-"that young man," said the dowager, in summing him up to a friend, "has tact, but lacks reserve."
-the price of love
-"have you come to insult me, mr. kent-lauriston?"
-isabelle fitzgerald stood in a wooded recess of the park, beside a young sapling; the one no more fair and tall and glorious with the joy of living than the other. kent-lauriston was beside her, hat in hand, with just the trace of a cynical smile about his parted lips; but serious enough with it all, well realising the gravity of the task he had undertaken, and pitying from his heart the fair girl who stood white and scornful before him, her garden hat hanging from its ribbon, unconsciously held in her hand.
-"have you come to insult me, mr. kent-lauriston?" she said it defiantly, as if it were a gage of battle.
-"i have come to apologise to you," he replied quietly.
-"you tell me that he has sent you to me. well, i know what that means. i knew why you came to the hall, i would have stopped you if i could. you were my enemy, i felt it the moment i saw you. i knew you would have your way then. what chance had an unfortunate girl, whose only hope rested in the love of the man she loved, as against one who has made hundreds of matches, and broken hundreds of hearts? you owe me an apology you think--it is very good of you, i appreciate it deeply," and she made him an obeisance.
-"i've not come to apologise to you for any point that i've gained, but for the means i must employ to gain it."
-"really," she said, her eyes blazing. "this is a condescension. are not any means good enough to cope with an adventuress like myself--a young woman who is deterred by no conventions, and no maidenly reserve; whose every art and wile is strained to lure on to their fate weak and unsuspecting young men. is it possible that such a person has any rights that need be respected?"
-"really, miss fitzgerald," said kent-lauriston, placidly, "you surprise me. in addition to the numerous virtues, which i'm confident you possess, i'd added in my own mind that paramount one, of cool clear-headedness. this lady, i had told myself, is at all events perfectly free from hysteria or nervous affections; she can discuss an unpleasant subject, if necessary, in its practical bearings, without flying into a fit of rage, and wandering hopelessly from the point. it appears that i was mistaken."
-"no," she replied brusquely, "you are not; you've summed up my character very well, but you must remember that you've nothing to gain or lose in this matter. you're merely playing the game--directing the moves of the pawns. the problem is interesting, amusing, if you like, but whether you win or lose, you've nothing wagered on the result. but the pawn! its very existence is at stake--a false move is made, and it disappears from the board."
-"quite true! but the pawn has a better chance of life, if the moves are considered calmly, than if played at random; it is then inevitably lost."
-"you're right," she said, seating herself on a grassy bank near by: "perfectly right. let us talk this matter over calmly. i shan't forget myself again."
-he seated himself beside her.
-"now frankly," she continued, "before you saw me, or spoke to me, you'd made up your mind to save your friend from my clutches, had you not? i beg your pardon--doubtless, you'd disapprove of such an expression--we'll say, you had determined to prevent him from marrying me."
-"frankly speaking, yes, i had."
-"but you knew nothing about me; you could know nothing about me, except on hearsay."
-"pardon me--i knew your late father, and i was at colonel belleston's, when you ran off with his heir-apparent, and were not found till half the country-side had been searched, and the dinner quite spoiled."
-"but georgie belleston was only eight, and i scarcely twelve. we had determined, i remember, to join a circus--no, he wanted to fight indians; but it was childish nonsense."
-"the spirit was there, nevertheless. but in the present case i was considering mr. stanley, i must confess, rather than yourself. the world, my dear young lady, is an open market, a prosaic, mercantile world."
-"don't you suppose i know that?"
-"i'm willing to believe it if you wish me to do so. it will help us to understand the commonsense proposition that marriageable young men, like cabbages, have a market value, and that a young man like our friend, who has a great deal to offer, should--shall i be perfectly plain, and say--should expect a pretty handsome return for himself."
-kent-lauriston said nothing, but she saw the impression she had produced, and bit her lips in mortified rage. she wished at least to win this man's respect, and she was showing herself to him in her very worst light.
-"i had, as you say," she continued, "nothing to offer mr. stanley but my love; but i dare say you don't believe in love, mr. kent-lauriston."
-"not believe in love? my dear young lady, it forms the basis of every possible marriage."
-"does it never form the whole of such a union?"
-"only too often, but these are the impossible marriages, and ninety-nine per cent. of them prove failures, or worse."
-"i can't believe you--if one loves, nothing else counts."
-"quite true for the time being, but god help the man or woman who mistakes the passion aroused by a pretty face or form for the real lasting article, and wagers his life on it."
-"you've never married; you can, therefore, talk as you please."
-"my dear miss fitzgerald, if i'd ever married, i should probably not talk at all."
-"you don't regard our affair as serious?"
-"not on mr. stanley's side?"
-"and on mine?"
-"that we shall see later on; but my young friend is in his salad days, and he's not responsible, but he is almost too honest."
-"i suppose you'll say i tempted him."
-"n-o--but you let him fall."
-"however, you were at hand to rescue him. i wonder you should have wasted your valuable time in going through the formality of consulting me over so trivial an affair."
-"but it's not trivial. i thought it was till this morning, now i've changed my mind. it's very serious. i've a right to save my friend from making a fool of himself, when he only is the real sufferer; but it's a very different question when the rights of another person are involved, especially when that person is a woman."
-"so you've come to me?"
-"to persuade you, if possible, to relinquish those rights."
-"for his sake?"
-"no, for your own."
-"really--that's a novel point of view to take of the matter."
-"you think so. i only want you to see the affair in its true light, to realise that the game isn't worth the candle."
-"i think you'll find it difficult to prove that."
-"we shall see. suppose i state the case. here are you, a charming young lady of good family, but no means, thrown on your own resources; in a word, with the opportunity of marrying a--shall we say, pliable--young man, of good official standing, and an undoubtedly large income and principal; who is infatuated--thinks he's fallen in love with you, and whom you really love. there, have i stated the case fairly?"
-"so fairly, that you'll find it difficult to prove your point."
-"let me continue. suppose you're married; grand ceremonial, great éclat, delighted friends and relatives, handsome presents, diamonds and all--he'd do the thing well--honeymoon, say, the riviera--limit, three months--what next? where are you going to live? london? it won't do. property--that property you're so interested in--can't take care of itself; the young heir of those broad plantations must go home and learn the business. your practical mind shows you the necessity of that. do you know the life of his native country? no? your nearest neighbours thirty miles away, and deadly dull at that; your climate a damp, sultry fog; your amusements, sleeping in a hammock two-thirds of the day, when the mosquitoes will let you, and your husband's society, as sole company, the rest of the time. after two or three years, or perhaps four or five--long enough to ruin your matchless complexion, and cause you both to be forgotten by all your friends, except those who can't afford to do so--you come back to london for a nice long visit--say three months. how you will enjoy it! let me see, what do you most like? horses, riding, hunting? ever heard the secretary's ideas on hunting?"
-she laughed nervously, and kent-lauriston pursued his subject.
-"then he's so indefatigable at balls and parties; i've known him to stay half an hour, when he's been feeling fit! his friends, too, such dear old fogies, like your esteemed aunt, not like your friends--you know how fond he is of them. the kingslands and darcys of your acquaintance would simply revel in the house of a man who never plays cards for money, and can't tell an eighty from a ninety-eight champagne--and he'd be master in his own house, too--you received an ultimatum yesterday. a man who will do that to a woman to whom he isn't even quite engaged will command his wife and see that she obeys him. you would have before you the choice of living in an atmosphere and associating with people entirely uncongenial to you, or living wholly apart from your husband; either would be intolerable. have i proved my point?"
-"you've forgotten to include in your charming sketch that i should still have the comforts of life, and, what is more important, a house to cover me, enough to eat and drink, and clothes to wear--things which i have sometimes in the past found it pretty difficult to obtain."
-"true, but you'd be paying too high a price for them, much too high. take my word for it, again and again you'd long to be back in your present state; yes, and in harder straits than you are now."
-"what you say to me could be equally well applied to mr. stanley, in reverse."
-"quite so; it sums up in the mere fact, that you two have nothing in common except passion and sentimentality, very frail corner stones on which to build a life's happiness. you're not even companionable. what are you going to talk about for the rest of your lives? it's an appalling prospect. i want to save you both from making a very bad bargain."
-"i don't agree with you," she cried vehemently, springing to her feet, "not at all; but what difference does it make? i know well enough i'm not really to be consulted as to the issue; you'd never have had the effrontery to speak to me as you have done, if you were not already sure of the game. to use a commercial phrase, you've cornered the market, and can make what terms you please. i must accede to them."
-"you entirely mistake the situation, miss fitzgerald," he said, calmly rising, and facing her. "it is you who have cornered the market, and it is i who must buy at your price."
-"explain yourself! what do you mean?" she cried, a gleam of hope, almost of triumph, lighting up her face.
-kent-lauriston was now playing a bold game.
-"i mean," he replied, "that circumstances have rendered me powerless to prevent mr. stanley's marrying you, if you allow him to do so."
-"tell me!----" she exclaimed abruptly.
-"it's for that purpose that i've sought you out."
-she nodded. she was watching him guardedly.
-"i've admitted that our young friend was in love with you. i don't say you encouraged him, but you certainly excited his pity, a very dangerous proceeding with a person of his nature."
-"what's all this to do with my position?"
-"a great deal," resumed kent-lauriston. "you see, i want you to understand your hold over mr. stanley--it's really because he pities you." the girl flushed painfully. "excuse me if i speak things which are unpleasant, but you most understand your weakness, and your strength. you've nearly ruined yourself by being too clever, and now, by the wildest stroke of luck, you're in a very strong position."
-"would you mind speaking plainly?"
-"certainly. in a word, the situation is just this. within the last few days, mr. stanley has made three discoveries about you, which have gone far to destroy his sympathy for you, and make him believe that his pity or his love, as he chooses to call it, has been misplaced. two of these discoveries i believe to be true; one--the worst--i know to be false. if he discovers how shockingly you've been maligned, he'll probably forget the past, and, in a burst of contrition at having so misjudged you, will do what his common sense forbids--i mean, marry you."
-"you're really becoming interesting. i had underrated your abilities. pray be more explicit," she said, quite at her ease at these reassuring words, and putting kent-lauriston down, mentally, as a fool for giving the game away, when he need only have kept silent to have had it all in his own hands.
-he read her thoughts and smiled quietly, for, by her expression, he could gauge the depth of her subtlety. she was no match for him, if she were innocent enough to believe him capable of such folly.
-"you compliment me," he returned, "but to go on--in the first place, he learned of your connection with lady isabelle's marriage. it opened his eyes somewhat."
-"she told him?"
-"she did. you forced her to do so, by your threat against her husband."
-miss fitzgerald bit her lip, and said nothing.
-"lady isabelle," continued kent-lauriston, "in appealing to the secretary to save her husband, gave him the clue he was searching for; which resulted in his discovery of the friendly turn you had done the lieutenant, in making him unconsciously, shall we say, particeps criminis?"
-"have you seen colonel darcy to-day?"
-she paused for a moment, considering, and then decided it was better to be straightforward, and replied:
-"not since yesterday morning. i went to see him last evening, but found him out."
-"i know you did."
-miss fitzgerald breathed a sigh of relief. it was well she had decided not to lie to this man.
-"you're probably not aware, then," continued kent-lauriston, "that stanley succeeded in opening the secret door last night, and obtained possession of darcy's letter of instructions."
-the irish girl turned very white, looking as if she were going to faint.
-"then he knows everything," she whispered.
-"everything," replied her tormentor. "the details of the plot he has known for some time, being stationed here by the legation to watch the colonel--but it was not till darcy was brought to book this morning, and in order to save himself, signed a written confession, that he really knew the extent to which you were incriminated."
-she burst into tears. kent-lauriston proceeded unconcernedly with his story.
-"the colonel's chivalry is not of such a nature as would cause him to hesitate in shifting all the responsibility he could, on the shoulders of a woman."
-she dried her tears at that, and her eyes fairly snapped.
-"the fact," resumed kent-lauriston, "that stanley had on several occasions tried to help you to clear yourself, and the fact that you'd persistently--well--not done so--made matters all the worse. in short, on these two counts alone, you had given evidence of an amount of deceit and cold-blooded calculation that completely upset even such an optimist as he. still, i think he would have overlooked it, if properly managed--if that had been the worst."
-"can anything be worse?"
-"yes, for this last charge against you is not true."
-"you placed yourself in darcy's power. a clever woman, a really clever woman, my dear miss fitzgerald, would not have done that. it would be easy for him to manufacture circumstantial evidence, to back any lie he might choose to exploit, to your discredit. say, for instance, that you were the prime mover in this plot, and that you went into it for a financial consideration, for three thousand pounds."
-"but bob never would----"
-"wouldn't he, when he was thirsting for revenge, believing that your careless threat against lieutenant kingsland had ruined his hopes."
-"did he do this?"
-"he did, and that is why i'm here this morning in mr. stanley's place--commissioned to return to you your letters," and he handed her the packet.
-"it's not true!" she cried. "before heaven, mr. kent-lauriston, it is not true!"
-"i know it's not true, for darcy's confessed to me."
-"but mr. stanley does not know."
-"then he must be told."
-"if you tell him he'll fling prudence to the winds in an agony of remorse, and you'll have won the game."
-"you mean he'll keep to his engagement?"
-"i mean he'll marry you."
-"and you dare to ask any woman to allow such a slander to live when she can deny it?"
-"i ask you, for your own sake, for the reasons i've stated, for your future happiness, and as an escape from certain misery--to let him go."
-"i tell you i love him."
-"then i ask you for his sake. a brilliant diplomatic career is just opening before him, as the result of the discovery of this plot. is his government likely to repose confidence in him in the future, with you as his wife--a woman who has practised treason? his father would never receive you, and might disinherit him. do you love this man so little that you wish to ruin him?"
-"i tell you i love him--you do not understand."
-"but if i do, i do it at a fearful price. it means social ostracism."
-"not at all. who will know of this charge against you? four people at the most, and not one of them will ever speak of it. darcy, who originated the lie, will, for obvious reasons, keep silent. stanley's the soul of honour; he'd rather tear his tongue out than speak a word of it. i've proved my discretion through several generations, and kingsland must be held in check by you."
-"why do you include lieutenant kingsland?"
-"because, i believe, he holds the only piece of evidence which could appear to substantiate darcy's trumped-up lie."
-"and that is?"
-"the receipt for the forty thousand pounds in your name."
-"and you wish me to ask kingsland to proclaim my own shame!"
-"i wish you to ask him to give that receipt to the secretary."
-"now i see why you come to me, why you did not ruthlessly throw me over; your little plot had a weak point, and you needed my co-operation to complete my own degradation!"
-"miss fitzgerald is fast becoming a diplomatist!"
-"i'm a fool!"
-"pardon me, you are nearer wisdom than you've ever been in your life."
-"if--i--do--this," she said very slowly, "you must help me to reinstate myself in the eyes of the world."
-"i've told you it'll not be necessary."
-"bah! i know the world better than you do, with all your cleverness. mine is a practical, not a theoretical, knowledge."
-"they'll talk, no matter if it be truth or not. it will be believed. i must have a few questions answered in any event."
-"who is mr. stanley to marry?"
-"her husband has consented to the divorce."
-"on what grounds?"
-"incompatibility of temper, i believe."
-"so you think the secretary will marry her?"
-"i'll take charge of that matter."
-"i know they love each other!" she exclaimed, passionately. "it was love at first sight. then there was a misunderstanding. now, one more question. this sum of forty thousand pounds?"
-"yes, what of it?"
-"who's to have it?"
-"the secretary told him he might draw it from the bank to-morrow, as, well--as compensation for turning state's evidence."
-she laughed a harsh, unmusical laugh.
-"you've won," she said. "i will do what you wish--for his sake."
-"i believed that you would," he replied gravely, but one eyelid raised just a trifle. she saw it, and turned on him like a flash.
-"no!" she cried, "it isn't for that reason! i've some good in me yet, some pride! i tell you, it's not your cleverness that has done this! i wouldn't surrender my good name for the sake of any man in the world! i wouldn't allow the breath of suspicion to linger in the minds of my friends, for the love of your friend, or any other weak fool, whom i can turn round my fingers! no! the reason i surrender is because your last words have told me how i can right myself before all the world, save one man; and i'll consent to sacrifice my reputation in his eyes, because i love him. but for all that, robert darcy cannot divorce the woman who bears his name."
-"because she's not his wife."
-"not his wife! who is his wife, then?"
-the price of silence
-"you are robert darcy's wife," he said slowly, trying to adjust his ideas to this altered state of affairs. then, as some comprehension of the results which would follow this declaration dawned upon him, he continued:--
-"why have you told me this?"
-"because i need your co-operation, and you're the only man i know whom i can trust to keep the secret."
-"i've given you no pledge to do so."
-"quite true, and i've asked for none; but i've misread you sadly, if you can't keep a still tongue in your head, when the advantage to all concerned by so doing can be made clear to you."
-"can you prove your point?"
-"yes, even to your satisfaction."
-"i'm all attention," he said.
-"in the first place," she began, "you must understand that colonel darcy and i were secretly married four years ago, in ireland. i'll show you my marriage certificate, to prove my words, when we return to the house. i always carry it with me in case of an emergency."
-kent-lauriston nodded, and she continued:--
-"the colonel married me under the impression that i was an heiress. i married him because i thought i loved him. we both discovered our mistakes within the first few days. no one knew of the step we had taken, so we agreed to separate. this is a practical age. as miss fitzgerald i'd hosts of friends; as mrs. darcy, a girl who had made a worse than foolish marriage, i should have had none. the colonel had expected his wife to support him; he was in no condition to support her. his regiment was ordered to india; if he resigned, his income was gone. we decided to keep our secret. i remained miss fitzgerald. he went to india. three years later he was invalided home. travelling for his health, he returned by way of south america. there he met inez de costa, and won her love. she combined the two things he most craved, position and wealth. he had heard nothing from me for many months. he allowed his inclinations to guide his reason, and, trusting that i was dead, or had done something foolish, he married her and returned to england. we met. my natural impulse was to denounce him, but sober second thought showed the futility of such a course. i'd nothing to gain; everything to lose. he sent me money. i returned it. do you believe that?"
-"i believe you implicitly," replied kent-lauriston.
-"then he came to see me; for i think he still loved me. he came, i say, fearfully at first, lest i should betray him. then growing bolder, he threw off all reserve. believing, fool that he was, because i didn't denounce him, that i could ever forget or forgive the wrong he'd done me. he mistook compliance for forgetfulness, even had the audacity to suggest that i, too, should marry.
-"then this scheme for defeating the treaty was proposed to him. he was willing enough to undertake it, for his second matrimonial venture had been a pecuniary failure, thanks to the wisdom of señor de costa in tying up his daughter's property; but he lacked the brains to carry it out, and, like the fool that he is, came to me for assistance. i had lulled his suspicions, and he needed a confederate. he even held out vague promises of a future for us both, as if i'd believe his attested oath, after what had passed! i consented to help him, and would have brought the matter to a successful issue, if it hadn't been for his stupidity. what did i care about the success or failure of his plot? it had put the man in my power, put him where i wanted to have him. at any time within the last six weeks i could have forced him to publicly recognise me, if need were."
-"what prevented you from doing this?"
-"i'd fallen in love with your friend. yes, i admit it. it was weak, pitiably weak. at first i played with him, then too late i understood my own feelings."
-"but it could have come to nothing."
-"can you suppose i didn't realise that keenly? yet i hoped against hope that darcy would die; that he'd be apprehended and imprisoned, and perish of the rigours of hard labour; anything that would set me free. then i saw that stanley loved inez de costa. it was an added pang, but it caused me to hesitate; because in taking my revenge, i should wreck both their lives."
-"but you? had you pity for inez de costa?"
-"yes, incomprehensible as it may seem to you; for i'd learned to loathe darcy before he had committed bigamy. i never met her till that night at the hyde park club, and she asked me if i knew her husband. her husband! i pitied her from that moment. she'd done me no wrong. why should i wreck her life, if it could be avoided?"
-"now you've solved the problem. darcy won't dare to contest the suit for divorce. he'll be glad to get rid of her, because he can't control her money. having the purse-strings, i can force him to recognise me as his wife, after the divorce has been granted. i shall have an assured position, and i can begin to pay back some of my debts," and her eyes flashed.
-"and in all this, what is there to compel me to keep your secret?"
-"because the marriage between inez de costa and mr. stanley might never take place if they knew the truth. i'll keep the secret if you will. she's in no way to blame. at first i hated her; now that i've known her, my hate is turned to pity."
-"you're right," said kent-lauriston. "i'll keep your secret inviolate."
-"now about the receipt for the forty thousand pounds."
-"i think mr. stanley had better see it, it'll save further awkwardness, but i must have it back. it's my one hold over darcy, my one chance of righting myself."
-"there's a receipt for the amount," said kent-lauriston, tearing out a leaf from his note-book, on which he wrote a few lines. "i'll be responsible for its return to you. i can't do less."
-"here comes lieutenant kingsland now," she said. "don't say anything. i'll manage this affair."
-"jack!" she called, "come here a moment."
-the young officer approached.
-"yes?" he said interrogatively.
-"you needn't hesitate to speak before mr. kent-lauriston," she assured him. "he's one of my best friends. you've not forgotten the promise which you made me, when i helped you about arranging your wedding, to do anything i might request?"
-"no, and i'd do it if the occasion required," he replied heartily.
-"good," she said, "the occasion is here."
-"what must i do?"
-"you hold in your possession a receipt from the victoria street branch of the bank of england for the deposit in my name of five chests belonging to mr. riddle."
-"yes, i've been meaning to give it to you."
-"i wish you to give it to mr. stanley."
-"to mr. stanley?"
-"is that all?"
-"all, except that i charge you, on your honour, never to let him know i asked you to do this. tell him only that i gave you the chests, and how you disposed of them, and place the receipt in his hands, as coming from yourself. not a syllable about me, mind!"
-"i'll follow your instructions literally; but how am i to have the opportunity of doing this?"
-"mr. stanley will give you the opportunity, perhaps to-day. then see birds and mice are much more to its liking. cats that are fearless of rats, however, and have learned to hunt and destroy them are often very useful about stables and warehouses. they should be lightly fed, chiefly on milk. a little sulphur in the milk at intervals is a corrective against the bad effects of a constant rat or mouse diet. cats often die from eating these rodents.
-chlorin, carbon monoxid, sulphur dioxid, and hydrocyanic acid are the gases most used for destroying rats and mice in sheds, warehouses, and stores. each is effective if the gas can be confined and made to reach the retreats of the animals. owing to the great danger from fire incident to burning charcoal or sulphur in open pans, a special furnace provided with means for forcing the gas into the compartments of vessels or buildings is generally employed.
-carbon monoxid is rather dangerous, as its presence in the hold of a vessel or other compartment is not manifest to the senses, and fatal accidents have occurred during its employment to fumigate vessels.
-chlorin gas has a strong bleaching action upon textile fabrics, and for this reason can not be used in many situations.
-sulphur dioxid also has a bleaching effect upon textiles, but less marked than that of chlorin, and ordinarily it is not noticeable with the small percentage of the gas it is necessary to use. on the whole, this gas has many advantages as a fumigator and disinfectant. it is used also as a fire extinguisher on board vessels. special furnaces for generating the gas and forcing it into the compartments of ships and buildings are on the market, and many steamships and docks are now fitted with the necessary apparatus.
-several microorganisms, or bacteria, found originally in diseased rats or mice, have been exploited for destroying rats. a number of these so-called rat viruses are on the american market. the biological survey, the bureau of animal industry, and the united states public health service have made careful investigations and practical tests of these viruses, mostly with negative results. the cultures tested by the biological survey have not proved satisfactory.
-the chief defects to be overcome before the cultures can be recommended for general use are:
-1. the virulence is not great enough to kill a sufficiently high percentage of rats that eat food containing the microorganisms.
-2. the virulence decreases with the age of the cultures. they deteriorate in warm weather and in bright sunlight.
-3. the diseases resulting from the microorganisms are not contagious and do not spread by contact of diseased with healthy animals.
-4. the comparative cost of the cultures is too great for general use. since they have no advantages over the common poisons, except that they are usually harmless to man and other animals, they should be equally cheap; but their actual cost is much greater. moreover, considering the skill and care necessary in their preparation, it is doubtful if the cost can be greatly reduced.
-the department of agriculture, therefore, does not prepare, use, or recommend the use of rat viruses.
-natural enemies of rats and mice.
-among the natural enemies of rats and mice are the larger hawks and owls, skunks, foxes, coyotes, weasels, minks, dogs, cats, and ferrets.
-probably the greatest factor in the increase of rats, mice, and other destructive rodents in the united states has been the persistent killing off of the birds and mammals that prey upon them. animals that on the whole are decidedly beneficial, since they subsist upon harmful insects and rodents, are habitually destroyed by some farmers and sportsmen because they occasionally kill a chicken or a game bird.
-the value of carnivorous mammals and the larger birds of prey in destroying rats and mice should be more fully recognized, especially by the farmer and the game preserver. rats actually destroy more poultry and game, both eggs and young chicks, than all the birds and wild mammals combined; yet some of their enemies among our most useful birds of prey and carnivorous mammals are persecuted almost to the point of extinction. an enlightened public sentiment should cause the repeal of all bounties on these animals and afford protection to the majority of them.
-organized efforts to destroy rats.
-the necessity of cooperation and organization in the work of rat destruction is of the utmost importance. to destroy all the animals on the premises of a single farmer in a community has little permanent value, since they are soon replaced from near-by farms. if, however, the farmers of an entire township or county unite in efforts to get rid of rats, much more lasting results may be attained. if continued from year to year, such organized efforts are very effective.
-cooperative efforts to destroy rats have taken various forms in different localities. in cities, municipal employees have occasionally been set at work hunting rats from their retreats, with at least temporary benefit to the community. thus, in 1904, at folkestone, england, a town of about 25,000 inhabitants, the corporation employees, helped by dogs, in three days killed 1,645 rats.
-side hunts in which rats are the only animals that count in the contest have sometimes been organized and successfully carried out. at new burlington, ohio, a rat hunt took place some years ago in which each of the two sides killed over 8,000 rats, the beaten party serving a banquet to the winners.
-there is danger that organized rat hunts will be followed by long intervals of indifference and inaction. this may be prevented by offering prizes covering a definite period of effort. such prizes accomplish more than municipal bounties, because they secure a friendly rivalry which stimulates the contestants to do their utmost to win.
-in england and some of its colonies contests for prizes have been organized to promote the destruction of the english, or house, sparrow, but many of the so-called sparrow clubs are really sparrow and rat clubs, for the destruction of both pests is the avowed object of the organizations. a sparrow club in kent, england, accomplished the destruction of 28,000 sparrows and 16,000 rats in three seasons by the annual expenditure of but £6 ($29.20) in prize money. had ordinary bounties been paid for this destruction, the tax on the community would have been about £250 (over $1,200).
-many organizations already formed should be interested in destroying rats. boards of trade, civic societies, and citizens' associations in towns and farmers' and women's clubs in rural communities will find the subject of great importance. women's municipal leagues in several large cities already have taken up the matter. the league in baltimore recently secured appropriations of funds for expenditure in fighting mosquitoes, flies, and rats. the league in boston during the past year, supported by voluntary contributions for the purpose, made a highly creditable educational campaign against rats. boys' corn clubs, the troops of boy scouts, and similar organizations could do excellent work in rat campaigns.
-state and national aid.
-to secure permanent results any general campaign for the elimination of rats must aim at building the animals out of shelter and food. building reforms depend on municipal ordinances and legislative enactments. the recent plague eradication work of the united states public health service in san francisco, seattle, new orleans, and at various places in hawaii and porto rico required such ordinances and laws as well as financial aid in prosecuting the work. the campaign of danish and swedish organizations for the destruction of rats had the help of governmental appropriations. the legislatures of california, texas, indiana, and hawaii have in recent years passed laws or made appropriations to aid in rat riddance. it is probable that well-organized efforts of communities would soon win legislative support everywhere. communities should not postpone efforts, however, while waiting for legislative cooperation, but should at once organize and begin repressive operations. wherever health is threatened the public health service of the united states can cooperate, and where crops and other products are endangered the bureau of biological survey of the department of agriculture is ready to assist by advice and in demonstration of methods.
-important repressive measures.
-the measures needed for repressing and eliminating rats and mice include the following:
-1. the requirement that all new buildings erected shall be made rat-proof under competent inspection.
-2. that all existing rat-proof buildings shall be closed against rats and mice by having all openings accessible to the animals, from foundation to roof, closed or screened by door, window, grating, or meshed wire netting.
-3. that all buildings not of rat-proof construction shall be made so by remodeling, by the use of materials that may not be pierced by rats, or by elevation.
-4. the protection of our native hawks, owls, and smaller predatory mammals--the natural enemies of rats.
-5. greater cleanliness about markets, grocery stores, warehouses, courts, alleys, stables, and vacant lots in cities and villages, and like care on farms and suburban premises. this includes the storage of waste and garbage in tightly covered vessels and the prompt disposal of it each day.
-6. care in the construction of drains and sewers, so as not to provide entrance and retreat for rats. old brick sewers in cities should be replaced by concrete or tile.
-7. the early threshing and marketing of grains on farms, so that stacks and mows shall not furnish harborage and food for rats.
-8. removal of outlying straw stacks and piles of trash or lumber that harbor rats in fields and vacant lots.
-9. the keeping of provisions, seed grain, and foodstuffs in rat-proof containers.
-10. keeping effective rat dogs, especially on farms and in city warehouses.
-11. the systematic destruction of rats, whenever and wherever possible, by (a) trapping, (b) poisoning, and (c) organized hunts.
-12. the organization of clubs and other societies for systematic warfare against rats.
-publications of the united states department of agriculture relating to noxious mammals.
-available for free distribution.
-how to destroy rats. (farmers' bulletin 369.)
-the common mole of eastern united states. (farmers' bulletin 583.)
-field mice as farm and orchard pests. (farmers' bulletin 670.)
-cottontail rabbits in relation to trees and farm crops. (farmers' bulletin 702.)
-trapping moles and utilizing their skins. (farmers' bulletin 832.)
-destroying rodent pests on the farm. (separate 708, yearbook for 1916.)
-for sale by the superintendent of documents, government printing office, washington, d. c.
-harmful and beneficial mammals of the arid interior, with special reference to the carson and humboldt valleys, nevada. (farmers' bulletin 335.) price 5 cents.
-the nevada mouse plague of 1907-8. (farmers' bulletin 352.) price 5 cents.
-some common mammals of western montana in relation to agriculture and spotted fever. (farmers' bulletin 484.) price 5 cents.
-danger of introducing noxious animals and birds. (separate 132, yearbook 1898.) price 5 cents.
-meadow mice in relation to agriculture and horticulture. (separate 388, yearbook 1905.) price 5 cents.
-mouse plagues, their control and prevention. (separate 482, yearbook 1908.) price--cents.
-use of poisons for destroying noxious mammals. (separate 491, yearbook 1908.) price 5 cents.
-pocket gophers as enemies of trees. (separate 506, yearbook 1909.) price 5 cents.
-the jack rabbits of the united states. (biological survey bulletin 8.) price 10 cents.
-economic study of field mice, genus microtus. (biological survey bulletin 31.) price 15 cents.
-the brown rat in the united states. (biological survey bulletin 33.) price 15 cents.
-directions for the destruction of wolves and coyotes. (biological survey circular 55.) price 5 cents.
-the california ground squirrel. (biological survey circular 76.) price 5 cents.
-seed-eating mammals in relation to reforestation. (biological survey circular 78.) price 5 cents.
-mammals of bitterroot valley, montana, in their relation to spotted fever. (biological survey circular 82.) price 5 cents.
-distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
-my little boy
-by carl ewald
-translated from the danish by alexander teixeira de mattos
-my little boy copyright 1906 by charles scribner's sons sole authorized translation
-reprinted by arrangement with the publishers. no part of this work may be reproduced in any form without the permission of charles scribner's sons
-my little boy
-my little boy is beginning to live.
-carefully, stumbling now and then on his little knock-kneed legs, he makes his way over the paving-stones, looks at everything that there is to look at and bites at every apple, both those which are his due and those which are forbidden him.
-he is not a pretty child and is the more likely to grow into a fine lad. but he is charming.
-his face can light up suddenly and become radiant; he can look at you with quite cold eyes. he has a strong intuition and he is incorruptible. he has never yet bartered a kiss for barley-sugar. there are people whom he likes and people whom he dislikes. there is one who has long courted his favour indefatigably and in vain; and, the other day, he formed a close friendship with another who had not so much as said "good day" to him before he had crept into her lap and nestled there with glowing resolution.
-he has a habit which i love.
-when we are walking together and there is anything that impresses him, he lets go my hand for a moment. then, when he has investigated the phenomenon and arrived at a result, i feel his little fist in mine again.
-he has bad habits too.
-he is apt, for instance, suddenly and without the slightest reason, to go up to people whom he meets in the street and hit them with his little stick. what is in his mind, when he does so, i do not know; and, so long as he does not hit me, it remains a matter between himself and the people concerned.
-he has an odd trick of seizing big words in a grown-up conversation, storing them up for a while and then asking me for an explanation:
-"father," he says, "what is life?"
-"life is delightful, my little boy. don't you be afraid of it!"
-today my little boy gave me my first lesson.
-it was in the garden.
-of course, he does not know how to read, but he lets you read to him, likes to hear the same tales over and over again. the better he knows them, the better he is pleased. he follows the story page by page, knows exactly where everything comes and catches you up immediately should you skip a line.
-there are two tales which he loves more than anything in the world.
-these are grimm's faithful john and andersen's the little mermaid. when anyone comes whom he likes, he fetches the big grimm, with those heaps of pictures, and asks for faithful john. then, if the reader stops, because it is so terribly sad, with all those little dead children, a bright smile lights up his small, long face and he says, reassuringly and pleased at "knowing better":
-"yes, but they come to life again."
-today, however, it is the little mermaid.
-"is that the sort of stories you write?" he asks.
-"yes," i say, "but i am afraid mine will not be so pretty."
-"you must take pains," he says.
-and i promise.
-for a time he makes no sound. i go on writing and forget about him.
-"is there a little mermaid down there, in the water?" he asks.
-"yes, she swims up to the top in the summer."
-he nods and looks out across the brook, which ripples so softly and smoothly that one can hardly see the water flow. on the opposite side, the rushes grow green and thick and there is also a bird, hidden in the rushes, which sings. the dragon-flies are whirling and humming. i am sitting with my head in my hand, absorbed in my work.
-suddenly, i hear a splash.
-i jump from my chair, upset the table, dart forward and see that my little boy is gone. the brook is billowing and foaming; there are wide circles on the surface.
-in a moment, i am in the water and find him and catch hold of him.
-he stands on the grass, dripping with wet, spluttering and coughing. his thin clothes are clinging to his thin body, his face is black with mud. but out of the mud gleams a pair of angry eyes:
-"there was no mermaid," he says.
-i do not at once know what to reply and i have no time to think.
-"do you write that sort of stories?" he asks.
-"yes," i say, shamefaced.
-"i don't like any of you," he says. "you make fun of a little boy."
-he turns his back on me and, proud and wet, goes indoors without once looking round.
-this evening, grimm and hans christian andersen disappear in a mysterious manner, which is never explained. he will miss them greatly, at first; but he will never be fooled again, not if i were to give him the sun and moon in his hand.
-my little boy and i have had an exceedingly interesting walk in the frederiksberg park.
-there was a mouse, which was irresistible. there were two chaffinches, husband and wife, which built their nest right before our eyes, and a snail, which had no secrets for us. and there were flowers, yellow and white, and there were green leaves, which told us the oddest adventures: in fact, as much as we can find room for in our little head.
-now we are sitting on a bench and digesting our impressions.
-suddenly the air is shaken by a tremendous roar:
-"what was that?" asks my little boy.
-"that was the lion in the zoological gardens," i reply.
-no sooner have i said this than i curse my own stupidity.
-i might have said that it was a gunshot announcing the birth of a prince; or an earthquake; or a china dish falling from the sky and breaking into pieces: anything whatever, rather than the truth.
-for now my little boy wants to know what sort of thing the zoological gardens is.
-i tell him.
-the zoological gardens is a horrid place, where they lock up wild beasts who have done no wrong and who are accustomed to walk about freely in the distant foreign countries where they come from. the lion is there, whom we have just heard roaring. he is so strong that he can kill a policeman with one blow of his paw; he has great, haughty eyes and awfully sharp teeth. he lives in africa and, at night, when he roars, all the other beasts tremble in their holes for fear. he is called the king of beasts. they caught him one day in a cunning trap and bound him and dragged him here and locked him up in a cage with iron bars to it. the cage is no more than half as big as petrine's room. and there the king walks up and down, up and down, and gnashes his teeth with sorrow and rage and roars so that you can hear him ever so far away. outside his cage stand cowardly people and laugh at him, because he can't get out and eat them up, and poke their sticks through the rails and tease him.
-my little boy stands in front of me and looks at me with wide-open eyes:
-"would he eat them up, if he got out?" he asks.
-"in a moment."
-"but he can't get out, can he?"
-"no. that's awfully sad. he can't get out."
-"father, let us go and look at the lion."
-i pretend not to hear and go on to tell him of the strange birds there: great eagles, which used to fly over every church-steeple and over the highest trees and mountains and swoop down upon lambs and hares and carry them up to their young in the nest. now they are sitting in cages, on a perch, like canaries, with clipped wings and blind eyes. i tell him of gulls, which used to fly all day long over the stormy sea: now they splash about in a puddle of water, screaming pitifully. i tell him of wonderful blue and red birds, which, in their youth, used to live among wonderful blue and red flowers, in balmy forests a thousand times bigger than the frederiksberg park, where it was as dark as night under the trees with the brightest sun shining down upon the tree-tops: now they sit there in very small cages and hang their beaks while they stare at tiresome boys in dark-blue suits and black stockings and waterproof boots and sailor-hats.
-"are those birds really blue?" asks my little boy.
-"sky-blue," i answer. "and utterly broken-hearted."
-"father, can't we go and look at the birds?"
-i take my little boy's hands in mine:
-"i don't think we will," i say. "why should still more silly boys do so? you can't imagine how it goes to one's heart to look at those poor captive beasts."
-"father, i should so much like to go."
-"take my advice and don't. the animals there are not the real animals, you see. they are ill and ugly and angry because of their captivity and their longing and their pain."
-"i should so much like to see them."
-"now let me tell you something. to go to the zoological gardens costs five cents for you and ten cents for me. that makes fifteen cents altogether, which is an awful lot of money. we won't go there now, but we'll buy the biggest money-box we can find: one of those money-boxes shaped like a pig. then we'll put fifteen cents in it. and every thursday we'll put fifteen cents in the pig. by-and-by, that will grow into quite a fortune: it will make such a lot of money that, when you are grown up, you can take a trip to africa and go to the desert and hear the wild, the real lion roaring and tremble just like the people tremble down there. and you can go to the great, dark forests and see the real blue birds flying proud and free among the flowers. you can't think how glad you will be, how beautiful they will look and how they will sing to you. . . ."
-"father, i would rather go to the zoological gardens now."
-my little boy does not understand a word of what i say. and i am at my wits' end.
-"shall we go and have some cakes at josty's?" i ask.
-"i would rather go to the zoological gardens."
-i can read in his eyes that he is thinking of the captive lion. ugly human instincts are waking up in his soul. the mouse is forgotten and the snail; and the chaffinches have built their nest to no purpose.
-at last i get up and say, bluntly, without any further explanation:
-"you are not going to the zoological gardens. now we'll go home."
-and home we go. but we are not in a good temper.
-of course, i get over it and i buy an enormous money-box pig. also we put the money into it and he thinks that most interesting.
-but, later in the afternoon, i find him in the bed-room engaged in a piteous game.
-he has built a cage, in which he has imprisoned the pig. he is teasing it and hitting it with his whip, while he keeps shouting to it:
-"you can't get out and bite me, you stupid pig! you can't get out!"
-we have beer-soup and aunt anna to dinner. now beer-soup is a nasty dish and aunt anna is not very nice either.
-she has yellow teeth and a little hump and very severe eyes, which are not even both equally severe. she is nearly always scolding us and, when she sees a chance, she pinches us.
-the worst of all, however, is that she is constantly setting us a good example, which can easily end by gradually and inevitably driving us to embrace wickedness.
-aunt anna does not like beer-soup any more than we do. but of course she eats it with a voluptuous expression on her face and looks angrily at my little boy, who does not even make an attempt to behave nicely:
-"why doesn't the little boy eat his delicious beer-soup?" she asks.
-a scornful silence.
-my little boy looks with great interest at auntie, who is swallowing her soup with eyes full of ecstatic bliss:
-"where is he?" he asks.
-aunt anna pretends not to hear.
-"where is the poor boy?" he asks again.
-"yes, where is he?" i ask. "what's his name?"
-aunt anna gives me a furious glance.
-"what's his name, aunt anna?" asks my little boy. "where does he live? he can have my beer-soup with pleasure."
-"mine too," i say, resolutely, and i push my plate from me.
-my little boy never takes his great eyes off aunt anna's face. meanwhile, she has recovered herself:
-"there are many poor boys who would thank god if they could get such delicious beer-soup," she says. "very many. everywhere."
-"yes, but tell us of one, auntie," i say.
-my little boy has slipped down from his chair. he stands with his chin just above the table and both his hands round his plate, ready to march off with the beer-soup to the poor boy, if only he can get his address.
-but aunt anna does not allow herself to be played with:
-my little boy stares at aunt anna like the bird fascinated by the snake.
-"such delicious beer-soup!" she says. "i must really ask for another little helping."
-aunt anna revels in her martyrdom. my little boy stands speechless, with open mouth and round eyes.
-i push my chair back and say, with genuine exasperation:
-"why, what do you mean?"
-"and you yourself sit quite calmly eating two whole helpings, though you know quite well that you're going to have an omelette to follow. that's really very naughty of you, aunt anna."
-aunt anna chokes with annoyance. my little boy locks his teeth with a snap and looks with every mark of disgust at that wicked old woman.
-and i turn with calm earnestness to his mother and say:
-"after this, it would be most improper for us ever to have beer-soup here again. we don't care for it and there are hundreds of little boys who love it. if it must be made, then aunt anna must come every saturday and fetch it. she knows where the boys live."
-the omelette is eaten in silence, after which aunt anna shakes the dust from her shoes. she won't have any coffee today.
-while she is standing in the hall and putting on her endless wraps, a last doubt arises in my little boy's soul. he opens his green eyes wide before her face and whispers:
-"aunt anna, where do the boys live?"
-aunt anna pinches him and is shocked and goes off, having suffered a greater defeat than she can ever repair.
-my little boy comes into my room and tells me, with a very long face, that jean is dead. and we put all nonsense on one side and hurry away to the klampenborg train, to go where jean is.
-for jean is the biggest dog that has lived for some time.
-he once bit a boy so hard that the boy still walks lame. he once bit his own master. he could give such a look out of his eyes and open such a mouth that there was no more horrible sight in the world. and then he would be the mildest of the mild: my little boy could put his hand in his mouth and ride on his back and pull his tail.
-when we get there, we hear that jean is already buried.
-we look at each other in dismay, to think how quickly that happens! and we go to the grave, which is in the grounds of the factory, where the tall chimneys stand.
-we sit down and can't understand it.
-we tell each other all the stories that we know of jean's wonderful size and strength. the one remembers this, the other that. and, as each story is told, the whole thing becomes only more awful and obscure.
-at last we go home by train.
-besides ourselves, there is a kind old gentleman in the compartment, who would like to make friends with my little boy. but the boy has nothing to talk about to the kind old gentleman. he stands at the window, which comes just under his chin, and stares out.
-his eyes light upon some tall chimneys:
-"that's where jean is buried," he says.
-the landscape flies past. he can think only of that and see only that and, when some more chimneys appear, he says again:
-"that's where jean is buried."
-"no, my little friend," says the kind old gentleman. "that was over there."
-the boy looks at him with surprise. i hasten to reassure him:
-"those are jean's chimneys," i say.
-and, while he is looking out again, i take the old gentleman to the further corner of the compartment and tell him the state of the case.
-i tell him that, if i live, i hope, in years to come, to explain to the boy the difference between petersen's and hansen's factories and, should i die, i will confidently leave that part of his education to others. yes, even if he should never learn this difference, i would still be resigned. today it is a question of other and more important matters. the strongest, the most living thing he knew is dead. . . .
-"really?" says the old gentleman, sympathetically. "a relation, perhaps?"
-"yes," i say. "jean is dead, a dog. . . ."
-"it is not because of the dog--don't you understand?--but of death, which he sees for the first time: death, with all its might, its mystery. . . ."
-"father," says my little boy and turns his head towards us. "when do we die?"
-"when we grow old," says the kind old gentleman.
-"no," says the boy. "einar has a brother, at home, in the courtyard, and he is dead. and he was only a little boy."
-"then einar's brother was so good and learnt such a lot that he was already fit to go to heaven," says the old gentleman.
-"mind you don't become too good," i say and laugh and tap my little boy in the stomach.
-and my little boy laughs too and goes back to his window, where new chimneys rise over jean's grave.
-but i take the old gentleman by the shoulders and forbid him most strictly to talk to my little boy again. i give up trying to make him understand me. i just shake him. he eyes the communication-cord and, when we reach the station, hurries away.
-i go with my little boy, holding his hand, through the streets full of live people. in the evening, i sit on the edge of his bed and talk with him about that incomprehensible thing: jean, who is dead; jean, who was so much alive, so strong, so big. . . .
-our courtyard is full of children and my little boy has picked a bosom-friend out of the band: his name is einar and he can be as good as another.
-my little boy admires him and einar allows himself to be admired, so that the friendship is established on the only proper basis.
-"einar says . . . einar thinks . . . einar does," is the daily refrain; and we arrange our little life accordingly.
-"i can't see anything out of the way in einar," says the mother of my little boy.
-"nor can i," say i. "but our little boy can and that is enough. i once had a friend who could see nothing at all charming in you. and you yourself, if i remember right, had three friends who thought your taste inexcusable. luckily for our little boy. . . ."
-"it is the feeling that counts," i go on lecturing, "and not the object."
-"thanks!" she says.
-now something big and unusual takes place in our courtyard and makes an extraordinary impression on the children and gives their small brains heaps to struggle with for many a long day.
-the scarlatina comes.
-and scarlatina is not like a pain in your stomach, when you have eaten too many pears, or like a cold, when you have forgotten to put on your jacket. scarlatina is something quite different, something powerful and terrible. it comes at night and takes a little boy who was playing quite happily that same evening. and then the little boy is gone.
-perhaps a funny carriage comes driving in through the gate, with two horses and a coachman and two men with bright brass buttons on their coats. the two men take out of the carriage a basket, with a red blanket and white sheets, and carry it up to where the boy lives. presently, they carry the basket down again and then the boy is inside. but nobody can see him, because the sheet is over his face. the basket is shoved into the carriage, which is shut with a bang, and away goes the carriage with the boy, while his mother dries her eyes and goes up to the others.
-perhaps no carriage comes. but then the sick boy is shut up in his room and no one may go to him for a long time, because he is infectious. and anyone can understand that this must be terribly sad.
-the children in the courtyard talk of nothing else.
-they talk with soft voices and faces full of mystery, because they know nothing for certain. they hear that one of them, who rode away in the carriage, is dead; but that makes no more impression on them than when one of them falls ill and disappears.
-day by day, the little band is being thinned out and not one of them has yet come back.
-i stand at my open window and look at my little boy, who is sitting on the steps below with his friend. they have their arms around each other's necks and see no one except each other; that is to say, einar sees himself and my little boy sees einar.
-"if you fall ill, i will come and see you," says my little boy.
-"no, you won't!"
-"i will come and see you."
-his eyes beam at this important promise. einar cries as though he were already ill.
-and the next day he is ill.
-he lies in a little room all by himself. no one is allowed to go to him. a red curtain hangs before the window.
-my little boy sits alone on the steps outside and stares up at the curtain. his hands are thrust deep into his pockets. he does not care to play and he speaks to nobody.
-and i walk up and down the room, uneasy as to what will come next.
-"you are anxious about our little boy," says his mother. "and it will be a miracle if he escapes."
-"it's not that. we've all had a touch of scarlatina."
-but just as i want to talk to her about it, i hear a fumbling with the door-handle which there is no mistaking and then he stands before us in the room.
-i know you so well, my little boy, when you come in sideways like that, with a long face, and go and sit in a corner and look at the two people who owe so much happiness to you--look from one to the other. your eyes are greener than usual. you can't find your words and you sit huddled up and you are ever so good.
-"mother, is einar ill?"
-"yes. but he will soon be better again. the doctor says that he is not so bad."
-"is he infectious, mother?"
-"yes, he is. his little sister has been sent to the country, so that she may not fall ill too. no one is allowed to go to him except his mother, who gives him his milk and his medicine and makes his bed."
-the mother of my little boy looks down at her book and suspects nothing. the father of my little boy looks in great suspense from the window.
-"mother, i want to go to einar."
-"you can't go there, my little man. you hear, he's infectious. just think, if you should fall ill yourself! einar isn't bothering at all about chatting with you. he sleeps the whole day long."
-"but when he wakes, mother?"
-"you can't go up there."
-this tells upon him and he is nearly crying. i see that the time has come for me to come to his rescue:
-"have you promised einar to go and see him?" i ask.
-"yes, father. . . ."
-he is over his trouble. his eyes beam. he stands erect and glad beside me and puts his little hand in mine.
-"then of course you must do so," i say, calmly. "so soon as he wakes."
-our mother closes her book with a bang:
-"go down to the courtyard and play, while father and i have a talk."
-the boy runs away.
-and she comes up to me and lays her hand on my shoulder and says, earnestly:
-"i daren't do that, do you hear?"
-and i take her hand and kiss it and say, quite as earnestly:
-"and i daren't refuse!"
-we look at each other, we two, who share the empire, the power and the glory.
-"i heard our little boy make his promise," i say, "i saw him. sir galahad himself was not more in earnest when swearing his knightly oath. you see, we have no choice here. he can catch the scarlatina in any case and it is not even certain that he will catch it. . . ."
-"if it was diphtheria, you wouldn't talk like that!"
-"you may be right. but am i to become a thief for the sake of a nickel, because i am not sure that i could resist the temptation to steal a kingdom?"
-"you would not find a living being to agree with you."
-"except yourself. and that is all i want. the infection is really only a side matter. it can come this way or that way. we can't safeguard him, come what may. . . ."
-"but are we to send him straight to where it is?"
-"we're not doing that; it's not we who are doing that."
-she is very much excited. i put my arm round her waist and we walk up and down the room together:
-"darling, today our little boy may meet with a great misfortune. he may receive a shock from which he will never recover. . . ."
-"that is true," she says.
-"if he doesn't keep his promise, the misfortune has occurred. it would already be a misfortune if he could ever think that it was possible for him to break it, if it appeared to him that there was anything great or remarkable about keeping it."
-"yes, but . . ."
-"darling, the world is full of careful persons. one step more and they become mere paltry people. shall we turn that into a likely thing, into a virtue, for our little boy? his promise was stupid: let that pass. . . ."
-"he is so little."
-"yes, that he is; and god be praised for it! think what good luck it is that he did not know the danger, when he made his promise, that he does not understand it now, when he is keeping it. what a lucky beggar! he is learning to keep his word, just as he has learnt to be clean. by the time that he is big enough to know his danger, it will be an indispensable habit with him. and he gains all that at the risk of a little scarlatina."
-she lays her head on my shoulder and says nothing more.
-that afternoon, she takes our little boy by the hand and goes up with him to einar. they stand on the threshold of his room, bid him good-day and ask him how he is.
-einar is not at all well and does not look up and does not answer.
-but that does not matter in the least.
-my little boy is given a cent by petrine with instructions to go to the baker's and buy some biscuits.
-by that which fools call an accident, but which is really a divine miracle, if miracles there be, i overhear this instruction. then i stand at my window and see him cross the street in his slow way and with bent head; only, he goes slower than usual and with his head bent more deeply between his small shoulders.
-he stands long outside the baker's window, where there is a confused heap of lollipops and chocolates and sugar-sticks and other things created for a small boy's delight. then he lifts his young hand, opens the door, disappears and presently returns with a great paper bag, eating with all his might.
-and i, who, heaven be praised, have myself been a thief in my time, run all over the house and give my orders.
-my little boy enters the kitchen.
-"put the biscuits on the table," says petrine.
-he stands still for a moment and looks at her and at the table and at the floor. then he goes silently to his mother.
-"you're quite a big boy now, that you can buy biscuits for petrine," says she, without looking up from her work.
-his face is very long, but he says nothing. he comes quietly in to me and sits down on the edge of a chair.
-"you have been over the way, at the baker's."
-he comes up to me, where i am sitting and reading, and presses himself against me. i do not look at him, but i can perceive what is going on inside him.
-"what did you buy at the baker's?"
-"well, i never! what fun! why, you had some lollipops this morning. who gave you the money this time?"
-"really! well, petrine is certainly very fond of you. do you remember the lovely ball she gave you on your birthday?"
-"father, petrine told me to buy a cent's worth of biscuits."
-it is very quiet in the room. my little boy cries bitterly and i look anxiously before me, stroking his hair the while.
-"now you have fooled petrine badly. she wants those biscuits, of course, for her cooking. she thinks they're on the kitchen-table and, when she goes to look, she won't find any. mother gave her a cent for biscuits. petrine gave you a cent for biscuits and you go and spend it on lollipops. what are we to do?"
-he looks at me in despair, holds me tight, says a thousand things without speaking a word.
-"if only we had a cent," i say. "then you could rush over the way and fetch the biscuits."
-"father. . . ." his eyes open very wide and he speaks so softly that i can hardly hear him. "there is a cent on mother's writing-table."
-"is there?" i cry with delight. but, at the same moment, i shake my head and my face is overcast again. "that is no use to us, my little boy. that cent belongs to mother. the other was petrine's. people are so terribly fond of their money and get so angry when you take it from them. i can understand that, for you can buy such an awful lot of things with money. you can get biscuits and lollipops and clothes and toys and half the things in the world. and it is not so easy either to make money. most people have to drudge all day long to earn as much as they want. so it is no wonder that they get angry when you take it. especially when it is only for lollipops. now petrine . . . she has to spend the whole day cleaning rooms and cooking dinner and washing up before she gets her wages. and out of that she has to buy clothes and shoes . . . and you know that she has a little girl whom she has to pay for at madam olsen's. she must certainly have saved very cleverly before she managed to buy you that ball."
-we walk up and down the room, hand in hand. he keeps on falling over his legs, for he can't take his eyes from my face.
-"father . . . haven't you got a cent?"
-i shake my head and give him my purse:
-"look for yourself," i say. "there's not a cent in it. i spent the last this morning."
-we walk up and down. we sit down and get up and walk about again. we are very gloomy. we are bowed down with sorrow and look at each other in great perplexity.
-"there might be one hidden away in a drawer somewhere," i say.
-we fly to the drawers.
-we pull out thirty drawers and rummage through them. we fling papers in disorder, higgledy-piggledy, on the floor: what do we care? if only, if only we find a cent. . . .
-we both, at last, grasp at a cent, as though we would fight for it . . . we have found a beautiful, large cent. our eyes gleam and we laugh through our tears.
-"hurry now," i whisper. "you can go this way . . . through my door. then run back quickly up the kitchen stairs, with the biscuits, and put them on the table. i shall call petrine, so that she doesn't see. and we won't tell anybody."
-he is down the stairs before i have done speaking. i run after him and call to him:
-"wasn't it a splendid thing that we found that cent?" i say.
-"yes," he answers, earnestly.
-and he laughs for happiness and i laugh too and his legs go like drumsticks across to the baker's.
-the mother of my little boy and i sit until late at night talking about money, which seems to us the most difficult matter of all.
-for our little boy must learn to know the power of money and the glamour of money and the joy of money. he must earn much money and spend much money. . . .
-yet there were two people, yesterday, who killed a man to rob him of four dollars and thirty-seven cents. . . .
-it has been decreed in the privy council that my little boy shall have a weekly income of one cent. every sunday morning, that sum shall be paid to him, free of income-tax, out of the treasury and he has leave to dispose of it entirely at his own pleasure.
-he receives this announcement with composure and sits apart for a while and ponders on it.
-"every sunday?" he asks.
-"all the time till the summer holidays?"
-"all the time till the summer holidays."
-in the summer holidays, he is to go to the country, to stay with his godmother, in whose house he was pleased to allow himself to be born. the summer holidays are, consequently, the limits of his calculation of time: beyond them lies, for the moment, his nirvana.
-and we employ this restricted horizon of ours to further our true happiness.
-that is to say, we calculate, with the aid of the almanac, that, if everything goes as heretofore, there will be fifteen sundays before the summer holidays. we arrange a drawer with fifteen compartments and in each compartment we put one cent. thus we know exactly what we have and are able at any time to survey our financial status.
-and, when he sees that great lot of cents lying there, my little boy's breast is filled with mad delight. he feels endlessly rich, safe for a long time. the courtyard rings with his bragging, with all that he is going to do with his money. his special favourites are invited to come up and view his treasure.
-the first sunday passes in a normal fashion, as was to be expected.
-he takes his cent and turns it straightway into a stick of chocolate of the best sort, with almonds on it and sugar, in short, an ideal stick in every way. the whole performance is over in five minutes: by that time, the stick of chocolate is gone, with the sole exception of a remnant in the corners of our mouth, which our ruthless mother wipes away, and a stain on our collar, which annoys us.
-he sits by me, with a vacant little face, and swings his legs. i open the drawer and look at the empty space and at the fourteen others:
-"so that's gone," i say.
-my accent betrays a certain melancholy, which finds an echo in his breast. but he does not deliver himself of it at once.
-"father . . . is it long till next sunday?"
-"very long, my boy; ever so many days."
-we sit a little, steeped in our own thoughts. then i say, pensively:
-"the shop's shut," says my little boy, despondently.
-i look at him with surprise:
-"yes, but what does that matter to us? anyway, we can't buy the top before next sunday. you see, you've spent your cent on chocolate. give me your handkerchief: there's still a bit on your cheek."
-during the course of the week, we look at the top daily, for it does not do to let one's love grow cold. one might so easily forget it. and the top shines always more seductively. we go in and make sure that the price is really in keeping with our means. we make the shop-keeper take a solemn oath to keep the top for us till sunday morning, even if boys should come and bid him much higher sums for it.
-on sunday morning, we are on the spot before nine o'clock and acquire our treasure with trembling hands. and we play with it all day and sleep with it at night, until, on wednesday morning, it disappears without a trace, after the nasty manner which tops have.
-when the turn comes of the next cent, something remarkable happens.
-there is a boy in the courtyard who has a skipping-rope and my little boy, therefore, wants to have a skipping-rope too. but this is a difficult matter. careful enquiries establish the fact that a skipping-rope of the sort used by the upper classes is nowhere to be obtained for less than five cents.
-the business is discussed as early as saturday:
-"it's the simplest thing in the world," i say. "you must not spend your cent tomorrow. next sunday you must do the same and the next and the next. on the sunday after that, you will have saved your five cents and can buy your skipping-rope at once."
-"when shall i get my skipping-rope then?"
-"in five sundays from now."
-he says nothing, but i can see that he does not think my idea very brilliant. in the course of the day, he derives, from sources unknown to me, an acquaintance with financial circumstances which he serves up to me on sunday morning in the following words:
-"father, you must lend me five cents for the skipping-rope. if you will lend me five cents for the skipping-rope, i'll give you forty cents back. . . ."
-he stands close to me, very red in the face and quite confused. i perceive that he is ripe for falling into the claws of the usurers:
-"i don't do that sort of business, my boy," i say. "it wouldn't do you any good either. and you're not even in a position to do it, for you have only thirteen cents, as you know."
-he collapses like one whose last hope is gone.
-"let us just see," i say.
-and we go to our drawer and stare at it long and deeply.
-"we might perhaps manage it this way, that i give you five cents now. and then i should have your cent and the next four cents. . . ."
-he interrupts me with a loud shout. i take out my purse, give him five cents and take one cent out of the drawer:
-"that won't be pleasant next sunday," i say, "and the next and the next and the next. . . ."
-but the thoughtless youth is gone.
-of course, the instalments of his debt are paid off with great ceremony. he is always on the spot himself when the drawer is opened and sees how the requisite cent is removed and finds its way into my pocket instead of his.
-the first time, all goes well. it is simply an amusing thing that i should have the cent; and the skipping-rope is still fresh in his memory, because of the pangs which he underwent before its purchase. next sunday, already the thing is not quite so pleasant and, when the fourth instalment falls due, my little boy's face looks very gloomy:
-"is anything the matter?" i ask.
-"i should so much like a stick of chocolate," he says, without looking at me.
-"is that all? you can get one in a fortnight. by that time, you will have paid for the skipping-rope and the cent will be your own again."
-"i should so much like to have the stick of chocolate now."
-of course, i am full of the sincerest compassion, but i can't help it. what's gone is gone. we saw it with our own eyes and we know exactly where it has gone to. and, that sunday morning, we part in a dejected mood.
-later in the day, however, i find him standing over the drawer with raised eyebrows and a pursed-up mouth. i sit down quietly and wait. and i do not have to wait long before i learn that his development as an economist is taking quite its normal course.
-"father, suppose we moved the cent now from here into this sunday's place and i took it and bought the chocolate-stick. . . ."
-"why, then you won't have your cent for the other sunday."
-"i don't mind that, father. . . ."
-we talk about it, and then we do it. and, with that, as a matter of course, we enter upon the most reckless peculations.
-the very next sunday, he is clever enough to take the furthest cent, which lies just before the summer holidays. he pursues the path of vice without a scruple, until, at last, the blow falls and five long sundays come in a row without the least chance of a cent.
-where should they come from? they were there. we know that. they are gone. we have spent them ourselves.
-but, during those drab days of poverty, we sit every morning over the empty drawer and talk long and profoundly about that painful phenomenon, which is so simple and so easy to understand and which one must needs make the best of.
-and we hope and trust that our experience will do us good, when, after our trip, we start a new set of cents.
-my little boy is engaged to be married.
-she is a big, large-limbed young woman, three years his senior, and no doubt belongs to the minor aristocracy. her name is gertie. by a misunderstanding, however, which is pardonable at his age and moreover quite explained by gertie's appearance, he calls her dirty--little dirty--and by this name she will be handed down to history.
-he met her on the boulevard, where he was playing, in the fine spring weather, with other children. his reason for the engagement is good enough:
-"i wanted a girl for myself," he says.
-either i know very little of mankind or he has made a fortunate choice. no one is likely to take dirty from him.
-like the gentleman that he is, he at once brings the girl home to us and introduces her. in consequence of the formality of the occasion, he does not go in by the kitchen way, as usual, but rings the front-door bell. i open the door myself. there he stands on the mat, hand in hand with dirty, his bride, and, with radiant eyes:
-"father," he says, "this is little dirty. she is my sweetheart. we are going to be married."
-"that is what people usually do with their sweethearts," i answer, philosophically. "pray, dirty, come in and be welcomed by the family."
-"wipe your feet, dirty," says my little boy.
-the mother of my little boy does not think much of the match. she has even spoken of forbidding dirty the house.
-"we can't do that," i say. "i am not in ecstasies over it either, but it is not at all certain that it will last."
-"yes, but . . ."
-"do you remember what little use it was when your mother forbade me the house? we used to meet in the most incredible places and kiss each other terribly. i can quite understand that you have forgotten, but you ought to bear it in mind now that your son's beginning. and you ought to value the loyalty of his behaviour towards his aged parents."
-"my dear! . . ."
-"and then i must remind you that it is spring. the trees are budding. you can't see it, perhaps, from the kitchen-window or from your work-table, but i, who go about all day, have noticed it. you know what byron says:
-march has its hares, and may must have its heroine."
-and so dirty is accepted.
-but, when she calls, she has first to undergo a short quarantine, while the mother of my little boy washes her and combs her hair thoroughly.
-dirty does not like this, but the boy does. he looks on with extraordinary interest and at once complains if there is a place that has escaped the sponge. i can't make out what goes on within him on these occasions. there is a good deal of cruelty in love; and he himself hates to be washed. perhaps he is rapt in fancies and wants to see his sweetheart rise daily from the waves, like venus anadyomene. perhaps it is merely his sense of duty: last friday, in cold blood, he allowed dirty to wait outside, on the step, for half an hour, until his mother came home.
-another of his joys is to see dirty eat.
-i can quite understand that. here, as at her toilet, there is something worth looking at. the mother of my little boy and i would be glad too to watch her, if there were any chance of giving dirty her fill. but there is none. at least, not with my income.
-when i see all that food disappear, without as much as a shade of satisfaction coming into her eyes, i tremble for the young couple's future. but he is cheerful and unconcerned.
-of course, there are also clouds in their sky.
-a few days ago, they were sitting quietly together in the dining-room and talking of their wedding. my little boy described what the house would be like and the garden and the horses. dirty made no remarks and she had no grounds for doing so, for everything was particularly nice. but, after that, things went wrong:
-"we shall have fourteen children," said the boy.
-"no," said dirty. "we shall only have two: a boy and a girl."
-"i want to have fourteen."
-"i won't have more than two."
-there was no coming to an agreement. my little boy was speechless at dirty's meanness. and dirty pinched her lips together and nodded her head defiantly. then he burst into tears.
-i could have explained to him that dirty, who sits down every day as the seventh at the children's table at home, cannot look upon children with his eyes, as things forming an essential part of every well-regulated family, but must regard them rather as bandits who eat up other people's food. but i did not feel entitled to discuss the young lady's domestic circumstances unasked.
-one good thing about dirty is that she is not dependent upon her family nor they upon her. it has not yet happened that any inquiries have been made after her, however long she remained with us. we know just where she lives and what her father's name is. nothing more.
-however, we notice in another way that our daughter-in-law is not without relations.
-whenever, for instance, we give her a pair of stockings or some other article of clothing, it is always gone the next day; and so on until all the six brothers and sisters have been supplied. not till then do we have the pleasure of seeing dirty look neat. she has been so long accustomed to going shares that she does so in every conceivable circumstance.
-and i console the mother of my little boy by saying that, should he fall out with dirty, he can take one of the sisters and that, in this way, nothing would be lost.
-my little boy confides to me that he would like a pear.
-now pears fall within his mother's province and i am sure that he has had as many as he is entitled to. and so we are at once agreed that what he wants is a wholly irrelevant, uncalled-for, delightful extra pear.
-unfortunately, it also appears that the request has already been laid before mamma and met with a positive refusal.
-the situation is serious, but not hopeless. for i am a man who knows how mean is the supply of pears to us poor wretched children of men and how wonderful an extra pear tastes.
-and i am glad that my little boy did not give up all hope of the pear at the first obstacle. i can see by the longing in his green eyes how big the pear is and i reflect with lawful paternal pride that he will win his girl and his position in life when their time comes.
-we now discuss the matter carefully.
-first comes the prospect of stomach-ache:
-"never mind about that," says he.
-i quite agree with his view.
-then perhaps mother will be angry.
-no, mother is never angry. she is sorry; and that is not nice. but then we must see and make it up to her in another way.
-so we slink in and steal the pear.
-i put it to him whether, perhaps--when we have eaten the pear--we ought to tell mother. but that does not appeal to him:
-"then i shan't get one this evening," he says.
-and when i suggest that, possibly, mother might be impressed with such audacious candour, he shakes his head decisively:
-"you don't know mother," he says.
-so i, of course, have nothing to say.
-shortly after this, the mother of my little boy and i are standing at the window laughing at the story.
-we catch sight of him below, in the courtyard.
-he is sitting on the steps with his arm round little dirty's neck. they have shared the pear. now they are both singing, marvellously out of tune and with a disgustingly sentimental expression on their faces, a song which dirty knows:
-for riches are only a lo-oan from heaven and poverty is a reward.
-and we are overcome with a great sense of desolation.
-we want to make life green and pleasant for our little boy, to make his eyes open wide to see it, his hands strong to grasp it. but we feel powerless in the face of all the contentment and patience and resignation that are preached from cellar to garret, in church and in school: all those second-rate virtues, which may lighten an old man's last few steps as he stumbles on towards the grave, but which are only so many shabby lies for the young.
-dirty is paying us a visit and my little boy is sitting at her feet.
-she has buried her fingers in her hair and is reading, reading reading. . . .
-she is learning the ten commandments by heart. she stammers and repeats herself, with eyes fixed in her head and a despairing mouth:
-"thou shalt . . . thou shalt not . . . thou shalt . . ."
-the boy watches her with tender compassion.
-he has already learnt a couple of the commandments by listening to her and helps her, now and then, with a word. then he comes to me and asks, anxiously:
-"father, must dirty do all that the ten commandments say?"
-he sits down by her again. his heart is overflowing with pity, his eyes are moist. she does not look at him, but plods on bravely:
-"thou shalt . . . thou shalt not . . ."
-"father, when i grow big, must i also do all that the ten commandments say?"
-he looks at me in utter despair. then he goes back to dirty and listens, but now he keeps his thoughts to himself.
-suddenly, something seems to flash across his mind.
-he comes to me again, puts his arms on my knee and looks with his green eyes firmly into mine:
-"father, do you do all that the ten commandments say?"
-he looks like a person whose last hope has escaped him. i would so much like to help him; but what, in heaven's name, can i do?
-then he collects himself, shakes his head a little and says, with great tears in his eyes:
-"father, i don't believe that i can do all those things that the ten commandments say."
-and i draw him to me and we cry together because life is so difficult, while dirty plods away like a good girl.
-this we all know, that sin came into the world by the law.
-dirty's ten commandments have brought it to us.
-her copies of these two classics were not published yesterday. they are probably heirlooms in dirty's family. they are covered in thick brown paper, which again is protected by a heavy layer of dirt against any touch of clean fingers. they can be smelt at a distance.
-but my little boy is no snob.
-when dirty has finished her studies--she always reads out aloud--he asks her permission to turn over the pages of the works in which she finds those strange words. he stares respectfully at the letters which he cannot read. and then he asks questions.
-he asks dirty, he asks the servant, he asks us. before anyone suspects it, he is at home in the whole field of theology.
-he knows that god is in heaven, where all good people go to him, while the wicked are put down below in hell. that god created the world in six days and said that we must not do anything on sundays. that god can do everything and knows everything and sees everything.
-he often prays, creeps upstairs as high as he can go, so as to be nearer heaven, and shouts as loud as he can. the other day i found him at the top of the folding-steps:
-"dear god! you must please give us fine weather tomorrow, for we are going to the wood."
-he says du to everybody except god and the grocer.
-he never compromises.
-the servant is laying the table; we have guests coming and we call her attention to a little hole in the cloth:
-"i must lay it so that no one can see it," she says.
-"god will see it."
-"he is not coming this evening," says the blasphemous hussy.
-"yes, he is everywhere," answers my little boy, severely.
-he looks after me in particular:
-"you mustn't say 'gad,' father. dirty's teacher says that people who say 'gad' go to hell."
-"i shan't say it again," i reply, humbly.
-one sunday morning, he finds me writing and upbraids me seriously.
-"my little boy," i say, distressfully, "i must work every day. if i do nothing on sunday, i do nothing on monday either. if i do nothing on monday, i am idle on tuesday too. and so on."
-he ponders; and i continue, with the courage of despair:
-"you must have noticed that dirty wants a new catechism? the one she has is dirty and old."
-he agrees to this.
-"she will never have one, you see," i say, emphatically. "her father rests so tremendously on sunday that he is hardly able to do anything on the other days. he never earns enough to buy a new catechism."
-i have won--this engagement. but the war is continued without cessation of hostilities.
-the mother of my little boy and i are sitting in the twilight by his bedside and softly talking about this.
-"what are we to do?" she asks.
-"we can do nothing?" i reply. "dirty is right: god is everywhere. we can't keep him out. and if we could, for a time: what then? a day would come perhaps when our little boy was ill or sad and the priests would come to him with their god as a new and untried miraculous remedy and bewilder his mind and his senses. our little boy too will have to go through luther and balslev and assens and confirmation and all the rest of it. then this will become a commonplace to him; and one day he will form his own views, as we have done."
-but, when he comes and asks how big god is, whether he is bigger than the round tower, how far it is to heaven, why the weather was not fine on the day when he prayed so hard for it: then we fly from the face of the lord and hide like adam and eve in the garden of eden.
-and we leave dirty to explain.
-my little boy has got a rival, whose name is henrik, a popinjay who not only is six years old, but has an unlimited supply of liquorice at his disposal. and, to fill the measure of my little boy's bitterness, henrik is to go to the dancing-school; and i am, therefore, not surprised when my little boy asks to be taught to dance, so that he may not be left quite behind in the contest.
-"i don't advise you to do that," i say. "the dancing which you learn at school is not pretty and does not play so great a part in love as you imagine. i don't know how to dance; and many charming ladies used to prefer me to the most accomplished ornaments of the ball-room. besides, you know, you are knock-kneed."
-and, to cheer him up, i sing a little song which we composed when we were small and had a dog and did not think about women:
-see, my son, that little basset, running with his knock-kneed legs! his own puppy, he can't catch it: he'll fall down as sure as eggs! knock-kneed billy! isn't he silly? silly billy!
-but poetry fails to comfort him. dark is his face and desperate his glance. and, when i see that the case is serious, i resolve to resort to serious measures.
-i take him with me to a ball, a real ball, where people who have learnt to dance go to enjoy themselves. it is difficult to keep him in a more or less waking condition, but i succeed.
-we sit quietly in a corner and watch the merry throng. i say not a word, but look at his wide-open eyes.
-"father, why does that man jump like that, when he is so awfully hot?"
-"yes; can you understand it?"
-"why does that lady with her head on one side look so tired? . . . why does that fat woman hop about so funnily, father? . . . father, what queer legs that man there has!"
-it rains questions and observations. we make jokes and laugh till the tears come to our eyes. we whisper naughty things to each other and go into a side-room and mimic a pair of crooked legs till we can't hold ourselves for laughter. we sit and wait till a steam thrashing-machine on its round comes past us; and we are fit to die when we hear it puff and blow.
-we enjoy ourselves beyond measure.
-and we make a hit.
-the steam thrashing-machine and the crooked legs and the fat woman and the hot gentleman and others crowd round us and admire the dear little boy. we accept their praises, for we have agreed not to say what we think to anybody, except to mother, when we come home, and then, of course, to dirty.
-and we wink our eyes and enjoy our delightful fun until we fall asleep and are driven home and put to bed.
-and then we have done with the dancing-school.
-my little boy paints in strong colours, for his dirty's benefit, what henrik will look like when he dances. it is no use for that young man to deny all that my little boy says and to execute different elegant steps. i was prepared for this; and my little boy tells exultantly that this is only something with which they lure stupid people at the start and that it will certainly end with henrik's getting very hot and hopping round on crooked legs with a fat woman and a face of despair.
-in the meantime, of course, i do not forget that, if we pull down without building up we shall end by landing ourselves in an unwholesome scepticism.
-we therefore invent various dances, which my little boy executes in the courtyard to dirty's joy and to henrik's most jealous envy. we point emphatically to the fact that the dances are our own, that they are composed only for the woman we love and performed only for her.
-there is, for instance, a dance with a stick, which my little boy wields, while henrik draws back. another with a pair of new mittens for dirty. and, lastly, the liquorice dance, which expresses an extraordinary contempt for that foodstuff.
-that dirty should suck a stick of liquorice, which she has received from henrik, while enjoying her other admirer's satire, naturally staggers my little boy. but i explain to him that that is because she is a woman and that that is a thing which can't be helped.
-but i don't believe that he can.
-if he, up there, could see how people dance down here, he really would not stay there.
-there is a battle royal and a great hullabaloo among the children in the courtyard.
-i sit down quietly to my work again, certain that he will appear before long and ease his heart.
-and he comes directly after.
-he stands still, as is his way, by my side and says nothing. i steal a glance at him: he is greatly excited and proud and glad, like one who has fearlessly done his duty.
-"what fun you've been having down there!"
-"oh," he says, modestly, "it was only a jew boy whom we were licking."
-i jump up so quickly that i upset my chair:
-"a jew boy? were you licking him? what had he done?"
-"nothing. . . ."
-his voice is not very certain, for i look so queer.
-and that is only the beginning. for now i snatch my hat and run out of the door as fast as i can and shout:
-"come . . . come . . . we must find him and beg his pardon!"
-my little boy hurries after me. he does not understand a word of it, but he is terribly in earnest. we look in the courtyard, we shout and call. we rush into the street and round the corner, so eager are we to come up with him. breathlessly, we ask three passers-by if they have not seen a poor, ill-used jew boy.
-all in vain: the jew boy and all his persecutors are blown away into space.
-so we go and sit up in my room again, the laboratory where our soul is crystallized out of the big events of our little life. my forehead is wrinkled and i drum disconsolately with my fingers on the table. the boy has both his hands in his pockets and does not take his eyes from my face.
-"well," i say, decidedly, "there is nothing more to be done. i hope you will meet that jew boy one day, so that you can give him your hand and ask him to forgive you. you must tell him that you did that only because you were stupid. but if, another time, anyone does him any harm, i hope you will help him and lick the other one as long as you can stir a limb."
-i can see by my little boy's face that he is ready to do what i wish. for he is still a mercenary, who does not ask under which flag, so long as there is a battle and booty to follow. it is my duty to train him to be a brave recruit, who will defend his fair mother-land, and so i continue:
-"let me tell you, the jews are by way of being quite wonderful people. you remember david, about whom dirty reads at school: he was a jew boy. and the child jesus, whom everybody worships and loves, although he died two thousand years ago: he was a little jew also."
-my little boy stands with his arms on my knee and i go on with my story.
-"and what next?" says my little boy, using the expression which he employed when he was much smaller and which still comes to his lips whenever he is carried away.
-we hear of the destruction of jerusalem and how the jews took their little boys by the hand and wandered from place to place, scoffed at, despised and ill-treated. how they were allowed to own neither house nor land, but could only be merchants, and how the christian robbers took all the money which they had got together. how, nevertheless, they remained true to their god and kept up their old sacred customs in the midst of the strangers who hated and persecuted them.
-the whole day is devoted to the jews.
-we look at old books on the shelves which i love best to read and which are written by a jew with a wonderful name, which a little boy can't remember at all. we learn that the most famous man now living in denmark is a jew.
-and, when evening comes and mother sits down at the piano and sings the song which father loves above all other songs, it appears that the words were written by one jew and the melody composed by another.
-"he is a little feverish," says his mother.
-and i bend down and kiss his forehead and answer, calmly:
-"that is not surprising. today i have vaccinated him against the meanest of all mean and vulgar diseases."
-we are staying in the country, a long way out, where the real country is.
-cows and horses, pigs and sheep, a beautiful dog and hens and ducks form our circle of acquaintances. in addition to these, there are of course the two-legged beings who own and look after the four-legged ones and who, in my little boy's eyes, belong to quite the same kind.
-the great sea lies at the foot of the slope. ships float in the distance and have nothing to say to us. the sun burns us and bronzes us. we eat like thrashers, sleep like guinea-pigs and wake like larks. the only real sorrow that we have suffered is that we were not allowed to have our breeches made with a flap at the side, like the old wood-cutter's.
-presently, it happens that, for better or worse, we get neighbours.
-they are regular copenhageners. they were prepared not to find electric light in the farm-house; but, if they had known that there was no water in the kitchen, god knows they would not have come. they trudge through the clover as though it were mire and are sorry to find so few cornflowers in the rye. a cow going loose along the roads fills them with a terror which might easily have satisfied a royal tiger.
-the pearl of the family is erna.
-erna is five years old; her very small face is pale green, with watery blue eyes and yellow curls. she is richly and gaily dressed in a broad and slovenly sash, daintily-embroidered pantalets, short open-work socks and patent-leather shoes. she falls if she but moves a foot, for she is used only to gliding over polished floors or asphalt.
-i at once perceive that my little boy's eyes have seen a woman.
-he has seen the woman that comes to us all at one time or another and turns our heads with her rustling silks and her glossy hair and wears her soul in her skirts and our poor hearts under her heel.
-"now comes the perilous moment for dirty," i say to the mother of my little boy.
-this time it is my little boy's turn to be superior.
-he knows the business thoroughly and explains it all to erna. when he worries the horse, she trembles, impressed with his courage and manliness. when she has a fit of terror at the sight of a hen, he is charmed with her delicacy. he knows the way to the smith's, he dares to roll down the high slope, he chivalrously carries her ridiculous little cape.
-altogether, there is no doubt as to the condition of his heart. and, while erna's family apparently favour the position--for which may the devil take them!--i must needs wait with resignation like one who knows that love is every man's master.
-one morning he proposes.
-"you shall be my sweetheart," says my little boy.
-"yes," says erna.
-"i have a sweetheart already in copenhagen," he says, proudly.
-this communication naturally by no means lowers erna's suitor in her eyes. but it immediately arouses all auntie's moral instincts:
-"if you have a sweetheart, you must be true to her."
-"erna shall be my sweetheart."
-auntie turns her eyes up to heaven:
-"listen, child," she says. "you're a very naughty boy. if you have given dir--dir----"
-"dirty," says the boy.
-"well, that's an extraordinary name! but, if you have given her your word, you must keep it till you die. else you'll never, never be happy."
-my little boy understands not a word and answers not a word. erna begins to cry at the prospect that this good match may not come off. but i bend down over the baluster and raise my hat:
-"i beg your pardon, fröken. was it not you who jilted hr. petersen? . . ."
-"good heavens! . . ."
-she packs up her chlorosis and disappears with erna, mumbling something about like father, like son, and goodness knows what.
-presently, my little boy comes up to me and stands and hangs about.
-"where has erna gone to?" i ask my little boy.
-"she mustn't go out," he says, dejectedly.
-he puts his hands in his pockets and looks straight before him.
-"father," he says, "can't you have two sweethearts?"
-the question comes quite unexpectedly and, at the moment, i don't know what to answer.
-"well?" says the mother of my little boy, amiably, and looks up from her newspaper.
-and i pull my waistcoat down and my collar up:
-"yes," i say, firmly. "you can. but it is wrong. it leads to more fuss and unpleasantness than you can possibly conceive."
-"are you so fond of erna?" asks our mother.
-"do you want to marry her?"
-i get up and rub my hands:
-"then the thing is settled," i say. "we'll write to dirty and give her notice. there's nothing else to be done. i will write now and you can give the letter yourself to the postman, when he comes this afternoon. if you take my advice, you will make her a present of your ball. then she will not be so much upset."
-"she can have my gold-fish too, if she likes," says the boy.
-"excellent, excellent. we will give her the gold-fish. then she will really have nothing in the world to complain of."
-my little boy goes away. but, presently, he returns:
-"father, have you written the letter to dirty?"
-"not yet, my boy. there is time enough. i sha'n't forget it."
-"father, i am so fond of dirty."
-"she was certainly a dear little girl."
-"father, i am also so fond of erna."
-we look at each other. this is no joke:
-"perhaps we had better wait with the letter till tomorrow," i say. "or perhaps it would be best if we talked to dirty ourselves, when we get back to town."
-we both ponder over the matter and really don't know what to do.
-then my eyes surprise an indescribable smile on our mother's face. all a woman's incapacity to understand man's honesty is contained within that smile and i resent it greatly:
-"come," i say and give my hand to my little boy. "let us go."
-and we go to a place we know of, far away behind the hedge, where we lie on our backs and look up at the blue sky and talk together sensibly, as two gentlemen should.
-my little boy is to go to school.
-we can't keep him at home any longer, says his mother. he himself is glad to go, of course, because he does not know what school is.
-i know what it is and i know also that there is no escape for him, that he must go. but i am sick at heart. all that is good within me revolts against the inevitable.
-so we go for our last morning walk, along the road where something wonderful has always happened to us. it looks to me as if the trees have crape wound round their tops and the birds sing in a minor key and the people stare at me with earnest and sympathetic eyes.
-but my little boy sees nothing. he is only excited at the prospect. he talks and asks questions without stopping.
-we sit down by the edge of our usual ditch--alas, that ditch!
-and suddenly my heart triumphs over my understanding. the voice of my clear conscience penetrates through the whole well-trained and harmonious choir which is to give the concert; and it sings its solo in the ears of my little boy:
-"i just want to tell you that school is a horrid place," i say. "you can have no conception of what you will have to put up with there. they will tell you that two and two are four. . . ."
-"mother has taught me that already," says he, blithely.
-"yes, but that is wrong, you poor wretch!" i cry. "two and two are never four, or only very seldom. and that's not all. they will try to make you believe that teheran is the capital of persia and that mont blanc is 15,781 feet high and you will take them at their word. but i tell you that both teheran and persia are nothing at all, an empty sound, a stupid joke. and mont blanc is not half as big as the mound in the tallow-chandler's back-garden. and listen: you will never have any more time to play in the courtyard with einar. when he shouts to you to come out, you'll have to sit and read about a lot of horrible old kings who have been dead for hundreds and hundreds of years, if they ever existed at all, which i, for my part, simply don't believe."
-my little boy does not understand me. but he sees that i am sad and puts his hand in mine:
-"mother says that you must go to school to become a clever boy," he says. "mother says that einar is ever so much too small and stupid to go to school."
-i bow my head and nod and say nothing.
-that is past.
-and i take him to school and see how he storms up the steps without so much as turning his head to look back at me.
-here ends this book about my little boy.
-what more can there be to tell?
-he is no longer mine. i have handed him over to society. hr. petersen, candidate in letters, hr. nielsen, student of theology, and fröken hansen, certificated teacher, will now set their distinguished example before him for five hours daily. he will form himself in their likeness. their spirit hovers over him at school: he brings it home with him, it overshadows him when he is learning the lessons which they zealously mete out to him.
-i don't know these people. but i pay them.
-i, who have had a hard fight to keep my thoughts free and my limbs unrestrained and who have not retired from the fight without deep wounds of which i am reminded when the weather changes, i have, of my own free will, brought him to the institution for maiming human beings. i, who at times have soared to peaks that were my own, because the other birds dared not follow me, have myself brought him to the place where wings are clipped for flying respectably, with the flock.
-"there was nothing else to be done," says the mother of my little boy.
-"really?" i reply, bitterly. "was there nothing else to be done? but suppose that i had put by some money, so that i could have saved messrs. petersen and nielsen and fröken hansen their trouble and employed my day in myself opening out lands for that little traveller whom i myself have brought into the land? suppose that i had looked round the world for people with small boys who think as i do and that we had taken upon us to bring up these young animals so that they kept sight of horns and tails and fairy-tales?"
-"yes," she says.
-"small boys have a bad time of it, you know."
-"they had a worse time of it in the old days."
-"that is a poor comfort. and it can become worse again. the world is full of parents and teachers who shake their foolish heads and turn up their old eyes and cross their flat chests with horror at the depravity of youth: children are so disobedient, so naughty, so self-willed and talk so disrespectfully to their elders! . . . and what do we do, we who know better?"
-"we do what we can."
-but i walk about the room, more and more indignant and ashamed of the pitiful part which i am playing:
-"do you remember, a little while ago, he came to me and said that he longed so for the country and asked if we couldn't go there for a little? there were horses and cows and green fields to be read in his eyes. well, i couldn't leave my work. and i couldn't afford it. so i treated him to a shabby and high-class sermon about the tailor to whom i owed money. don't you understand that i let my little boy do my work, that i let him pay my debt? . . ." i bend down over her and say earnestly, "you must know; do please tell me--god help me, i do not know--if i ought not rather to have paid my debt to the boy and cheated the other?"
-"you know quite well," she says.
-she says it in such a way and looks at me with two such sensible eyes and is so strong and so true that i suddenly think things look quite well for our little boy; and i become restful and cheerful like herself:
-"let petersen and nielsen and hansen look out!" i say. "my little boy, for what i care, may take from them all the english and geography and history that he can. but they shall throw no dust in his eyes. i shall keep him awake and we shall have great fun and find them out."
-"and i shall help him with his english and geography and history," says she.
-minor variations in spelling and punctuation have been preserved.
-the online distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
-sanders of the river
-author of "four just men," "the council of justice," "the duke in the suburbs," etc.
-ward, lock & co., limited london and melbourne
-popular novels by edgar wallace
-published by ward, lock & co., limited.
-in various editions.
-sanders of the river bones bosambo of the river bones in london the keepers of the king's peace the council of justice the duke in the suburbs the people of the river down under donovan private selby the admirable carfew the man who bought london the just men of cordova the secret house kate, plus ten lieutenant bones the adventures of heine jack o' judgment the daffodil mystery the nine bears the book of all power mr. justice maxell the books of bart the dark eyes of london chick sandi, the king-maker the three oak mystery the fellowship of the frog blue hand grey timothy a debt discharged those folk of bulboro the man who was nobody the green rust
-made and printed in great britain by ward, lock & co., limited, london.
-sanders of the river.
-the education of the king.
-mr. commissioner sanders had graduated to west central africa by such easy stages that he did not realise when his acquaintance with the back lands began. long before he was called upon by the british government to keep a watchful eye upon some quarter of a million cannibal folk, who ten years before had regarded white men as we regard the unicorn; he had met the basuto, the zulu, the fingo, the pondo, matabele, mashona, barotse, hottentot, and bechuana. then curiosity and interest took him westward and northward, and he met the angola folk, then northward to the congo, westward to the masai, and finally, by way of the pigmy people, he came to his own land.
-now, there is a subtle difference between all these races, a difference that only such men as sanders know.
-it is not necessarily a variety of colour, though some are brown and some yellow, and some--a very few--jet black. the difference is in character. by sanders' code you trusted all natives up to the same point, as you trust children, with a few notable exceptions. the zulu were men, the basuto were men, yet childlike in their grave faith. the black men who wore the fez were subtle, but trustworthy; but the browny men of the gold coast, who talked english, wore european clothing, and called one another "mr.," were sanders' pet abomination.
-living so long with children of a larger growth, it follows that he absorbed many of their childlike qualities. once, on furlough in london, a confidence trick was played on him, and only his natural honesty pulled him out of a ridiculous scrape. for, when the gold-brick man produced his dull metal ingot, all sanders' moral nerves stood endways, and he ran the confiding "bunco steerer" to the nearest station, charging him, to the astonishment of a sorely-puzzled policeman, with "i.g.b.," which means illicit gold buying. sanders did not doubt that the ingot was gold, but he was equally certain that the gold was not honestly come by. his surprise when he found that the "gold" was gold-leaf imposed upon the lead of commerce was pathetic.
-you may say of sanders that he was a statesman, which means that he had no exaggerated opinion of the value of individual human life. when he saw a dead leaf on the plant of civilisation, he plucked it off, or a weed growing with his "flowers" he pulled it up, not stopping to consider the weed's equal right to life. when a man, whether he was capita or slave, by his bad example endangered the peace of his country, sanders fell upon him. in their unregenerate days, the isisi called him "ogani isisi," which means "the little butcher bird," and certainly in that time sanders was prompt to hang. he governed a people three hundred miles beyond the fringe of civilisation. hesitation to act, delay in awarding punishment, either of these two things would have been mistaken for weakness amongst a people who had neither power to reason, nor will to excuse, nor any large charity.
-in the land which curves along the borders of togo the people understand punishment to mean pain and death, and nothing else counts. there was a foolish commissioner who was a great humanitarian, and he went up to akasava--which is the name of this land--and tried moral suasion.
-it was a raiding palaver. some of the people of akasava had crossed the river to ochori and stolen women and goats, and i believe there was a man or two killed, but that is unimportant. the goats and the women were alive, and cried aloud for vengeance. they cried so loud that down at headquarters they were heard and mr. commissioner niceman--that was not his name, but it will serve--went up to see what all the noise was about. he found the ochori people very angry, but more frightened.
-"if," said their spokesman, "they will return our goats, they may keep the women, because the goats are very valuable."
-so mr. commissioner niceman had a long, long palaver that lasted days and days, with the chief of the akasava people and his councillors, and in the end moral suasion triumphed, and the people promised on a certain day, at a certain hour, when the moon was in such a quarter and the tide at such a height, the women should be returned and the goats also.
-so mr. niceman returned to headquarters, swelling with admiration for himself and wrote a long report about his genius and his administrative abilities, and his knowledge of the native, which was afterwards published in blue book (africa) 7943-96.
-it so happened that mr. niceman immediately afterwards went home to england on furlough, so that he did not hear the laments and woeful wailings of the ochori folk when they did not get their women or their goats.
-sanders, working round the isisi river, with ten houssas and an attack of malaria, got a helio message:
-"go akasava and settle that infernal woman palaver.--administration."
-so sanders girded up his loins, took 25 grains of quinine, and leaving his good work--he was searching for m'beli, the witch-doctor, who had poisoned a friend--trekked across country for the akasava.
-in the course of time he came to the city and was met by the chief.
-"what about these women?" he asked.
-"we will have a palaver," said the chief. "i will summon my headmen and my councillors."
-"summon nothing," said sanders shortly. "send back the women and the goats you stole from the ochori."
-"master," said the chief, "at full moon, which is our custom, when the tide is so, and all signs of gods and devils are propitious, i will do as you bid."
-"chief," said sanders, tapping the ebony chest of the other with the thin end of his walking-stick, "moon and river, gods or devils, those women and the goats go back to the ochori folk by sunset, or i tie you to a tree and flog you till you bleed."
-"master," said the chief, "the women shall be returned."
-"and the goats," said sanders.
-"as to the goats," said the chief airily, "they are dead, having been killed for a feast."
-"you will bring them back to life," said sanders.
-"master, do you think i am a magician?" asked the chief of the akasava.
-"i think you are a liar," said sanders impartially, and there the palaver finished.
-that night goats and women returned to the ochori, and sanders prepared to depart.
-he took aside the chief, not desiring to put shame upon him or to weaken his authority.
-"chief," he said, "it is a long journey to akasava, and i am a man fulfilling many tasks. i desire that you do not cause me any further journey to this territory."
-"master," said the chief truthfully, "i never wish to see you again."
-sanders smiled aside, collected his ten houssas, and went back to the isisi river to continue his search for m'beli.
-it was not a nice search for many causes, and there was every reason to believe, too, that the king of isisi himself was the murderer's protector. confirmation of this view came one morning when sanders, encamped by the big river, was taking a breakfast of tinned milk and toast. there arrived hurriedly sato-koto, the brother of the king, in great distress of mind, for he was a fugitive from the king's wrath. he babbled forth all manner of news, in much of which sanders took no interest whatever. but what he said of the witch-doctor who lived in the king's shadow was very interesting indeed, and sanders sent a messenger to headquarters, and, as it transpired, headquarters despatched in the course of time mr. niceman--who by this time had returned from furlough--to morally "suade" the king of the isisi.
-from such evidence as we have been able to collect it is evident that the king was not in a melting mood. it is an indisputable fact that poor niceman's head, stuck on a pole before the king's hut, proclaimed the king's high spirits.
-h.m.s. st. george, h.m.s. thrush, h.m.s. philomel, h.m.s. phoebe sailed from simonstown, and h.m.s. dwarf came down from sierra leone hec dum, and in less than a month after the king killed his guest he wished he hadn't.
-headquarters sent sanders to clear up the political side of the mess.
-he was shown round what was left of the king's city by the flag-lieutenant of the st. george.
-"i am afraid," said that gentleman, apologetically, "i am afraid that you will have to dig out a new king; we've rather killed the old one."
-"i shall not go into mourning," he said.
-there was no difficulty in finding candidates for the vacant post. sato-koto, the dead king's brother, expressed his willingness to assume the cares of office with commendable promptitude.
-"what do you say?" asked the admiral, commanding the expedition.
-"i say no, sir," said sanders, without hesitation. "the king has a son, a boy of nine; the kingship must be his. as for sato-koto, he shall be regent at pleasure."
-and so it was arranged, sato-koto sulkily assenting.
-they found the new king hidden in the woods with the women folk, and he tried to bolt, but sanders caught him and led him back to the city by the ear.
-"my boy," he said kindly, "how do people call you?"
-"peter, master," whimpered the wriggling lad; "in the fashion of the white people."
-"very well," said sanders, "you shall be king peter, and rule this country wisely and justly according to custom and the law. and you shall do hurt to none, and put shame on none nor shall you kill or raid or do any of the things that make life worth living, and if you break loose, may the lord help you!"
-thus was king peter appointed monarch of the isisi people, and sanders went back to head-quarters with the little army of bluejackets and houssas, for m'beli, the witch-doctor, had been slain at the taking of the city, and sanders' work was finished.
-the story of the taking of isisi village, and the crowning of the young king, was told in the london newspapers, and lost nothing in the telling. it was so described by the special correspondents, who accompanied the expedition, that many dear old ladies of bayswater wept, and many dear young ladies of mayfair said: "how sweet!" and the outcome of the many emotions which the description evoked was the sending out from england of miss clinton calbraith, who was an m.a., and unaccountably pretty.
-she came out to "mother" the orphan king, to be a mentor and a friend. she paid her own passage, but the books which she brought and the school paraphernalia that filled two large packing cases were subscribed for by the tender readers of tiny toddlers, a magazine for infants. sanders met her on the landing-stage, being curious to see what a white woman looked like.
-he put a hut at her disposal and sent the wife of his coast clerk to look after her.
-"and now, miss calbraith," he said, at dinner that night, "what do you expect to do with peter?"
-she tilted her pretty chin in the air reflectively.
-"no, i wasn't," he hastened to assure her; "i always make a face like that--er--in the evening. but tell me this--do you speak the language--swaheli, bomongo, fingi?"
-"that will be a difficulty," she said thoughtfully.
-"will you take my advice?" he asked.
-"well, learn the language." she nodded. "go home and learn it." she frowned. "it will take you about twenty-five years."
-"mr. sanders," she said, not without dignity, "you are pulling--you are making fun of me."
-"heaven forbid!" said sanders piously, "that i should do anything so wicked."
-the end of the story, so far as miss clinton calbraith was concerned, was that she went to isisi, stayed three days, and came back incoherent.
-"he is not a child!" she said wildly; "he is--a--a little devil!"
-"so i should say," said sanders philosophically.
-"a king? it is disgraceful! he lives in a mud hut and wears no clothes. if i'd known!"
-"a child of nature," said sanders blandly. "you didn't expect a sort of louis quinze, did you?"
-"i don't know what i expected," she said desperately; "but it was impossible to stay--quite impossible."
-"obviously," murmured sanders.
-"of course, i knew he would be black," she went on; "and i knew that--oh, it was too horrid!"
-"the fact of it is, my dear young lady," said sanders, "peter wasn't as picturesque as you imagined him; he wasn't the gentle child with pleading eyes; and he lives messy--is that it?"
-this was not the only attempt ever made to educate peter. months afterwards, when miss calbraith had gone home and was busily writing her famous book, "alone in africa: by an english gentlewoman," sanders heard of another educative raid. two members of an ethiopian mission came into isisi by the back way. the ethiopian mission is made up of christian black men, who, very properly, basing their creed upon holy writ, preach the gospel of equality. a black man is as good as a white man any day of the week, and infinitely better on sundays if he happens to be a member of the reformed ethiopian church.
-they came to isisi and achieved instant popularity, for the kind of talk they provided was very much to the liking of sato-koto and the king's councillors.
-sanders sent for the missioners. the first summons they refused to obey, but they came on the second occasion, because the message sanders sent was at once peremptory and ominous.
-they came to headquarters, two cultured american negroes of good address and refined conversation. they spoke english faultlessly, and were in every sense perfect gentlemen.
-"we cannot understand the character of your command," said one, "which savours somewhat of interference with the liberty of the subject."
-"you'll understand me better," said sanders, who knew his men, "when i tell you that i cannot allow you to preach sedition to my people."
-"sedition, mr. sanders!" said the negro in shocked tones. "that is a grave charge."
-sanders took a paper from a pigeon-hole in his desk; the interview took place in his office.
-"on such a date," he said, "you said this, and this, and that."
-in other words he accused them of overstepping the creed of equality and encroaching upon the borderland of political agitation.
-"lies!" said the elder of the two, without hesitation.
-"truth or lies," he said, "you go no more to isisi."
-"would you have the heathen remain in darkness?" asked the man, in reproach. "is the light we kindle too bright, master?"
-"no," said sanders, "but a bit too warm."
-so he committed the outrage of removing the ethiopians from the scene of their earnest labours, in consequence of which questions were asked in parliament.
-then the chief of the akasava people--an old friend--took a hand in the education of king peter. akasava adjoins that king's territory, and the chief came to give hints in military affairs.
-he came with drums a-beating, with presents of fish and bananas and salt.
-"you are a great king!" he said to the sleepy-eyed boy who sat on a stool of state, regarding him with open-mouthed interest. "when you walk the world shakes at your tread; the mighty river that goes flowing down to the big water parts asunder at your word, the trees of the forest shiver, and the beasts go slinking to cover when your mightiness goes abroad."
-"oh, ko, ko!" giggled the king, pleasantly tickled.
-"the white men fear you," continued the chief of the akasava; "they tremble and hide at your roar."
-sato-koto, standing at the king's elbow, was a practical man.
-"what seek ye, chief?" he asked, cutting short the compliments.
-so the chief told him of a land peopled by cowards, rich with the treasures of the earth, goats, and women.
-"why do you not take them yourself?" demanded the regent.
-"because i am a slave," said the chief; "the slave of sandi, who would beat me. but you, lord, are of the great; being king's headman, sandi would not beat you because of your greatness."
-there followed a palaver, which lasted two days.
-"i shall have to do something with peter," wrote sanders despairingly to the administrator; "the little beggar has gone on the war-path against those unfortunate ochori. i should be glad if you would send me a hundred men, a maxim, and a bundle of rattan canes; i'm afraid i must attend to peter's education myself."
-"lord, did i not speak the truth?" said the akasava chief in triumph. "sandi has done nothing! behold, we have wasted the city of the ochori, and taken their treasure, and the white man is dumb because of your greatness! let us wait till the moon comes again, and i will show you another city."
-"you are a great man," bleated the king, "and some day you shall build your hut in the shadow of my palace."
-"on that day," said the chief, with splendid resignation, "i shall die of joy."
-when the moon had waxed and waned and come again, a pencilled silver hoop of light in the eastern sky, the isisi warriors gathered with spear and broad-bladed sword, with ingola on their bodies, and clay in their hair.
-they danced a great dance by the light of a huge fire, and all the women stood round, clapping their hands rhythmically.
-in the midst of this there arrived a messenger in a canoe, who prostrated himself before the king, saying:
-"master, one day's march from here is sandi; he has with him five score of soldiers and the brass gun which says: 'ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!'"
-a silence reigned in court circles, which was broken by the voice of the akasava chief.
-"i think i will go home," he said. "i have a feeling of sickness; also, it is the season when my goats have their young."
-"do not be afraid," said sato-koto brutally. "the king's shadow is over you, and he is so mighty that the earth shakes at his tread, and the waters of the big river part at his footfall; also, the white men fear him."
-"nevertheless," said the chief, with some agitation, "i must go, for my youngest son is sickening with fever, and calls all the time for me."
-"stay!" said the regent, and there was no mistaking his tone.
-the women were crushing corn, the men smoking, the little children playing and sprawling about the streets.
-he halted at the outskirts of the city, on a hillock that commanded the main street, and sent for the regent.
-"why must i send for you?" he asked. "why does the king remain in his city when i come? this is shame."
-"master," said sato-koto, "it is not fitting that a great king should so humble himself."
-sanders was neither amused nor angry. he was dealing with a rebellious people, and his own fine feelings were as nothing to the peace of the land.
-"it would seem that the king has had bad advisers," he reflected aloud, and sato-koto shuffled uneasily.
-"go, now, and tell the king to come--for i am his friend."
-the regent departed, but returned again alone.
-"lord, he will not come," he said sullenly.
-"then i will go to him," said sanders.
-king peter, sitting before his hut, greeted mr. commissioner with downcast eyes.
-sanders' soldiers, spread in a semi-circle before the hut, kept the rabble at bay.
-"king," said sanders--he carried in his hand a rattan cane of familiar shape, and as he spoke he whiffled it in the air, making a little humming noise--"stand up!"
-"wherefore?" said sato-koto.
-"that you shall see," said sanders.
-the king rose reluctantly, and sanders grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
-the cane caught him most undesirably, and he sprang into the air with a yell.
-swish, swish, swish!
-yelling and dancing, throwing out wild hands to ward off the punishment, king peter blubbered for mercy.
-"master!" sato-koto, his face distorted with rage, reached for his spear.
-"shoot that man if he interferes," said sanders, without releasing the king.
-the regent saw the levelled rifles and stepped back hastily.
-"now," said sanders, throwing down the cane, "now we will play a little game."
-"wow-wow--oh, ko!" sobbed his majesty.
-"i go back to the forest," said sanders. "by and by a messenger shall come to you, saying that the commissioner is on his way. do you understand?"
-"yi-hi!" sobbed the king.
-"then will you go out with your councillors and your old men and await my coming according to custom. is that clear?"
-"ye-es, master," whimpered the boy.
-"very good," said sanders, and withdrew his troops.
-in half an hour came a grave messenger to the king, and the court went out to the little hill to welcome the white man.
-this was the beginning of king peter's education, for thus was he taught obedience.
-sanders went into residence in the town of isisi, and held court.
-"sato-koto," he said on the second day, "do you know the village of ikan?"
-"yes, master; it is two days' journey into the bush."
-"you will take your wives, your children, your servants, and your possessions to the village of ikan, there to stay until i give you leave to return. the palaver is finished."
-next came the chief of the akasava, very ill at ease.
-"lord, if any man says i did you wrong, he lies," said the chief.
-"then i am a liar!" said sanders. "for i say that you are an evil man, full of cunning."
-"if it should be," said the chief, "that you order me to go to my village as you have ordered sato-koto, i will go, since he who is my father is not pleased with me."
-"that i order," said sanders; "also, twenty strokes with a stick, for the good of your soul. furthermore, i would have you remember that down by tembeli on the great river there is a village where men labour in chains because they have been unfaithful to the government and have practised abominations."
-so the chief of the akasava people went out to punishment.
-there were other matters requiring adjustment, but they were of a minor character, and when these were all settled to the satisfaction of sanders, but by no means to the satisfaction of the subjects, the commissioner turned his attention to the further education of the king.
-"peter," he said, "to-morrow when the sun comes up i go back to my own village, leaving you without councillors."
-"master, how may i do without councillors, since i am a young boy?" asked the king, crestfallen and chastened.
-"by saying to yourself when a man calls for justice: 'if i were this man how should i desire the king's justice?'"
-the boy looked unhappy.
-"i am very young," he repeated; "and to-day there come many from outlying villages seeking redress against their enemies."
-"very good," said sanders. "to-day i will sit at the king's right hand and learn of his wisdom."
-the boy stood on one leg in his embarrassment, and eyed sanders askance.
-there is a hillock behind the town. a worn path leads up to it, and a-top is a thatched hut without sides. from this hillock you see the broad river with its sandy shoals, where the crocodiles sleep with open mouth; you see the rising ground toward akasava, hills that rise one on top of the other, covered with a tangle of vivid green. in this house sits the king in judgment, beckoning the litigants forward. sato-koto was wont to stand by the king, bartering justice.
-to-day sato-koto was preparing to depart and sanders sat by the king's side.
-there were indeed many litigants.
-there was a man who had bought a wife, giving no less than a thousand rods and two bags of salt for her. he had lived for three months with her, when she departed from his house.
-"because," said the man philosophically, "she had a lover. therefore, mighty sun of wisdom, i desire the return of my rods and my salt."
-"what say you?" said sanders.
-the king wriggled uncomfortably.
-"what says the father?" he said hesitatingly, and sanders nodded.
-"that is a wise question," he approved, and called the father, a voluble and an eager old man.
-"now, king," he said hurriedly, "i sold this woman, my daughter; how might i know her mind? surely i fulfil my contract when the woman goes to the man. how shall a father control when a husband fails?"
-sanders looked at the king again, and the boy drew a long breath.
-"it would seem, m'bleni, that the woman, your daughter, lived many years in your hut, and if you do not know her mind you are either a great fool or she is a cunning one. therefore, i judge that you sold this woman knowing her faults. yet the husband might accept some risk also. you shall take back your daughter and return 500 rods and a bag of salt, and if it should be that your daughter marries again, you shall pay one-half of her dowry to this man."
-very, very slowly he gave judgment, hesitatingly, anxiously, glancing now and again to the white man for his approval.
-"that was good," said sanders, and called forward another pleader.
-"lord king," said the new plaintiff, "a man has put an evil curse on me and my family, so that they sicken."
-"how does he curse you?" at last asked the king.
-"with the curse of death," said the complainant in a hushed voice.
-"then you shall curse him also," said the king, "and it shall be a question of whose curse is the stronger."
-sanders grinned behind his hand, and the king, seeing the smile, smiled also.
-from here onward peter's progress was a rapid one, and there came to headquarters from time to time stories of a young king who was a solomon in judgment.
-so wise he was (who knew of the formula he applied to each case?), so beneficent, so peaceable, that the chief of the akasava, from whom was periodically due, took advantage of the gentle administration, and sent neither corn nor fish nor grain. he did this after a journey to far-away ikan, where he met the king's uncle, sato-koto, and agreed upon common action. since the crops were good, the king passed the first fault, but the second tribute became due, and neither akasava nor ikan sent, and the people of isisi, angry at the insolence, murmured, and the king sat down in the loneliness of his hut to think upon a course which was just and effective.
-"i really am sorry to bother you," wrote sanders to the administrator again, "but i shall have to borrow your houssas for the isisi country. there has been a tribute palaver, and peter went down to ikan and wiped up his uncle; he filled in his spare time by giving the akasava the worst licking they have ever had. i thoroughly approve of all that peter has done, because i feel that he is actuated only by the keenest sense of justice and a desire to do the right thing at the right time--and it was time sato-koto was killed--though i shall have to reprimand peter for the sake of appearances. the akasava chief is in the bush, hiding."
-peter came back to his capital after his brief but strenuous campaign, leaving behind him two territories that were all the better for his visit, though somewhat sore.
-the young king brought together his old men, his witch-doctors, and other notabilities.
-"by all the laws of white men," he said, "i have done wrong to sandi, because he has told me i must not fight, and, behold, i have destroyed my uncle, who was a dog, and i have driven the chief of the akasava into the forest. but sandi told me also that i must do what was just, and that i have done according to my lights, for i have destroyed a man who put my people to shame. now, it seems to me that there is only one thing to do, and that is to go to sandi, telling the truth and asking him to judge."
-"lord king," said the oldest of his councillors, "what if sandi puts you to the chain-gang?"
-"that is with to-morrow," quoth the king, and gave orders for preparations to be made for departure.
-no word was spoken of peter's fault before sunset; but when blue smoke arose from the fires of houssa and warrior, and the little camp in the forest clearing was all a-chatter, sanders took the king's arm and led him along the forest path.
-peter told his tale and sanders listened.
-"and what of the chief of the akasava?" he asked.
-"master," said the king, "he fled to the forest cursing me, and with him went many bad men."
-sanders nodded again gravely.
-they talked of many things till the sun threw long shadows, and then they turned to retrace their footsteps. they were within half a mile of the camp and the faint noise of men laughing, and the faint scent of fires burning came to them, when the chief of the akasava stepped out from behind a tree and stood directly in their path. with him were some eight fighting men fully armed.
-"lord king," said the chief of the akasava, "i have been waiting for you."
-the king made neither movement nor reply, but sanders reached for his revolver.
-his hand closed on the butt, when something struck him and he went down like a log.
-"now we will kill the king of the isisi, and the white man also." the voice was the chief's, but sanders was not taking any particular interest in the conversation, because there was a hive of wild bees buzzing in his head, and a maze of pain; he felt sick.
-"if you kill me it is little matter," said the king's voice, "because there are many men who can take my place; but if you slay sandi, you slay the father of the people, and none can replace him."
-"he whipped you, little king," said the chief of the akasava mockingly.
-"i would throw him into the river," said a strange voice after a long interval; "thus shall no trace be found of him, and no man will lay his death to our door."
-"what of the king?" said another. then came a crackling of twigs and the voices of men.
-"they are searching," whispered a voice. "king, if you speak i will kill you now."
-"kill!" said the young king's even voice, and shouted, "oh, m'sabo! beteli! sandi is here!"
-that was all sandi heard.
-two days later he sat up in bed and demanded information. there was a young doctor with him when he woke, who had providentially arrived from headquarters.
-"the king?" he hesitated. "well, they finished the king, but he saved your life. i suppose you know that?"
-sanders said "yes" without emotion.
-"a plucky little beggar," suggested the doctor.
-"very," said sanders. then: "did they catch the chief of the akasava?"
-"yes; he was so keen on finishing you that he delayed his bolting. the king threw himself on you and covered your body."
-"that will do."
-sanders' voice was harsh and his manner brusque at the best of times, but now his rudeness was brutal.
-he heard the doctor move, heard the rattle of the "chick" at the hut door, then he turned his face to the wall and wept.
-keepers of the stone.
-there is a people who live at ochori in the big african forest on the ikeli river, who are called in the native tongue "the keepers of the stone."
-there is a legend that years and years ago, cala-cala, there was a strange, flat stone, "inscribed with the marks of the devils" (so the grave native story-teller puts it), which was greatly worshipped and prized, partly for its magic powers, and partly because of the two ghosts who guarded it.
-it was a fetish of peculiar value to the mild people who lived in the big forest, but the akasava, who are neither mild nor reverential, and being, moreover, in need of gods, swooped down upon the ochori one red morning and came away with this wonderful stone and other movables. presumably, the "ghosts of brass" went also. it was a great business, securing the stone, for it was set in a grey slab in the solid rock, and many spear-heads were broken before it could be wrenched from its place. but in the end it was taken away, and for several years it was the boast of the akasava that they derived much benefit from this sacred possession. then of a sudden the stone disappeared, and with it all the good fortune of its owners. for the vanishing of the stone coincided with the arrival of british rule, and it was a bad thing for the akasava.
-there came in these far-off days ('95?) a ridiculous person in white with an escort of six soldiers. he brought a message of peace and good fellowship, and talked of a new king and a new law. the akasava listened in dazed wonderment, but when they recovered they cut off his head, also the heads of the escort. it seemed to be the only thing to do under the circumstances.
-then one morning the akasava people woke to find the city full of strange white folk, who had come swiftly up the river in steamboats. there were too many to quarrel with, so the people sat quiet, a little frightened and very curious, whilst two black soldiers strapped the hands and feet of the akasava chief prior to hanging him by the neck till he was dead.
-"it appears," said the new chief--who was afterwards hanged for the killing of the king of the isisi--"that the white man's law is made to allow weak men to triumph at the expense of the strong. this seems foolish, but it will be well to humour them."
-his first act was to cut down the hanging-tree--it was too conspicuous and too significant. then he set himself to discover the cause of all the trouble which had come upon the akasava. the cause required little appreciation. the great stone had been stolen, as he well knew, and the remedy resolved itself into a question of discovering the thief. the wretched ochori were suspect.
-"if we go to them," said the chief of the akasava thoughtfully, "killing them very little, but rather burning them, so that they told where this godstone was hidden, perhaps the great ones would forgive us."
-"in my young days," said an aged councillor, "when evil men would not tell where stolen things were buried, we put hot embers in their hands and bound them tightly."
-"that is a good way," approved another old man, wagging his head applaudingly; "also to tie men in the path of the soldier-ants has been known to make them talkative."
-"yet we may not go up against the ochori for many reasons," said the chief; "the principal of which is that if the stone be with them we shall not overcome them owing to the two ghosts--though i do not remember that the ghosts were very potent in the days when the stone was with us," he added, not without hope.
-the little raid which followed and the search for the stone are told briefly in official records. the search was fruitless, and the akasava folk must needs content themselves with such picking as came to hand.
-of how mr. niceman, the deputy commissioner, and then sanders himself, came up, i have already told. that was long ago, as the natives say, cala-cala, and many things happened subsequently that put from the minds of the people all thought of the stone.
-in course of time the chief of the akasava died the death for various misdoings, and peace came to the land that fringes togo.
-sanders has been surprised twice in his life. once was at ikeli, which in the native tongue means "little river." it is not a little river at all, but, on the contrary, a broad, strong, sullen stream that swirls and eddies and foams as it swings the corner of its tortuous course seaward. sanders sat on a deck-chair placed under the awning of his tiny steamer, and watched the river go rushing past. he was a contented man, for the land was quiet and the crops were good. nor was there any crime.
-there was sleeping sickness at bofabi, and beri-beri at akasava, and in the isisi country somebody had discovered a new god, and, by all accounts that came down river, they worshipped him night and day.
-he was not bothering about new gods, because gods of any kind were a beneficent asset. milini, the new king of the isisi, had sent him word:
-"master," said his mouthpiece, the messenger, "this new god lives in a box which is borne upon the shoulders of priests. it is so long and so wide, and there are four sockets in which the poles fit, and the god inside is a very strong one, and full of pride."
-sanders, with his feet stretched out on the rail of the boat, thought of the new god idly. when was it that the last had come? there was one in the n'gombi country years ago, a sad god who lived in a hut which no man dare approach; there was another god who came with thunder demanding sacrifice--human sacrifice. this was an exceptionally bad god, and had cost the british government six hundred thousand pounds, because there was fighting in the bush and a country unsettled. but, in the main, the gods were good, doing harm to none, for it is customary for new gods to make their appearance after the crops are gathered, and before the rainy season sets in.
-so sanders thought, sitting in the shade of a striped awning on the foredeck of the little zaire.
-the next day, before the sun came up, he turned the nose of the steamer up-stream, being curious as to the welfare of the shy ochori folk, who lived too near the akasava for comfort, and, moreover, needed nursing. very slow was the tiny steamer's progress, for the current was strong against her. after two days' travel sanders got into lukati, where young carter had a station.
-the deputy commissioner came down to the beach in his pyjamas, with a big pith helmet on the back of his head, and greeted his chief boisterously.
-"well?" said sanders; and carter told him all the news. there was a land palaver at ebibi; otabo, of bofabi, had died of the sickness; there were two leopards worrying the outlying villages, and----
-"heard about the isisi god?" he asked suddenly; and sanders said that he had.
-"it's an old friend of yours," said carter. "my people tell me that this old god-box contains the stone of the ochori."
-"oh!" said sanders, with sudden interest.
-he breakfasted with his subordinate, inspected his little garrison of thirty, visited his farm, admired his sweet potatoes, and patronised his tomatoes.
-then he went back to the boat and wrote a short dispatch in the tiniest of handwriting on the flimsiest of paper slips. "in case!" said sanders.
-"bring me 14," he said to his servant, and abiboo came back to him soon with a pigeon in his hand.
-"now, little bird," said sanders, carefully rolling his letter round the red leg of the tiny courier and fastening it with a rubber band, "you've got two hundred miles to fly before sunrise to-morrow--and 'ware hawks!"
-then he gathered the pigeon in his hand, walked with it to the stern of the boat, and threw it into the air.
-his crew of twelve men were sitting about their cooking-pot--that pot which everlastingly boils.
-"yoka!" he called, and his half-naked engineer came bounding down the slope.
-"steam," said sanders; "get your wood aboard; i am for isisi."
-there was no doubt at all that this new god was an extremely powerful one. three hours from the city the zaire came up to a long canoe with four men standing at their paddles singing dolefully. sanders remembered that he had passed a village where women, their bodies decked with green leaves, wailed by the river's edge.
-he slowed down till he came abreast of the canoe, and saw a dead man lying stark in the bottom.
-"where go you with this body?" he asked.
-"to isisi, lord," was the answer.
-"the middle river and the little islands are places for the dead," said sanders brusquely. "it is folly to take the dead to the living."
-"lord," said the man who spoke, "at isisi lives a god who breathes life; this man"--he pointed downwards--"is my brother, and he died very suddenly because of a leopard. so quickly he died that he could not tell us where he had hidden his rods and his salt. therefore we take him to isisi, that the new god may give him just enough life to make his relations comfortable."
-"the middle river," said sanders quietly, and pointed to such a lone island, all green with tangled vegetation, as might make a burying ground. "what is your name?"
-"master, my name is n'kema," said the man sullenly.
-"go, then, n'kema," he said, and kept the steamer slow ahead whilst he watched the canoe turn its blunt nose to the island and disembark its cargo.
-then he rang the engines full ahead, steered clear of a sandbank, and regained the fairway.
-he was genuinely concerned.
-the stone was something exceptional in fetishes, needing delicate handling. that the stone existed, he knew. there were legends innumerable about it; and an explorer had, in the early days, seen it through his glasses. also the "ghosts clad in brass" he had heard about--these fantastic and warlike shades who made peaceable men go out to battle--all except the ochori, who were never warlike, and whom no number of ghosts could incite to deeds of violence.
-you will have remarked that sanders took native people seriously, and that, i remark in passing, is the secret of good government. to him, ghosts were factors, and fetishes potent possibilities. a man who knew less would have been amused, but sanders was not amused, because he had a great responsibility. he arrived at the city of isisi in the afternoon, and observed, even at a distance, that something unusual was occurring. the crowd of women and children that the arrival of the commissioner usually attracted did not gather as he swung in from mid-stream and followed the water-path that leads to shoal.
-only the king and a handful of old men awaited him, and the king was nervous and in trouble.
-"lord," he blurted, "i am no king in this city because of the new god; the people are assembled on the far side of the hill, and there they sit night and day watching the god in the box."
-sanders bit his lip thoughtfully, and said nothing.
-"last night," said the king, "'the keepers of the stone' appeared walking through the village."
-he shivered, and the sweat stood in big beads on his forehead, for a ghost is a terrible thing.
-"all this talk of keepers of stones is folly," said sanders calmly; "they have been seen by your women and your unblooded boys."
-"lord, i saw them myself," said the king simply; and sanders was staggered, for the king was a sane man.
-"the devil you have!" said sanders in english; then, "what manner of ghost were these?"
-"lord," said the king, "they were white of face, like your greatness. they wore brass upon their heads and brass upon their breasts. their legs were bare, but upon the lower legs was brass again."
-"any kind of ghost is hard enough to believe," said sanders irritably, "but a brass ghost i will not have at any price." he spoke english again, as was his practice when he talked to himself, and the king stood silent, not understanding him.
-"what else?" said sanders.
-"they had swords," continued the chief, "such as the elephant-hunters of the n'gombi people carry. broad and short, and on their arms were shields."
-sanders was nonplussed.
-"and they cry 'war,'" said the chief. "this is the greatest shame of all, for my young men dance the death dance and streak their bodies with paint and talk boastfully."
-"go to your hut," said sanders; "presently i will come and join you."
-he thought and thought, smoking one black cigar after another, then he sent for abiboo, his servant.
-"abiboo," he said, "by my way of thinking, i have been a good master to you."
-"that is so, lord," said abiboo.
-"now i will trust you to go amongst my crew discovering their gods. if i ask them myself, they will lie to me out of politeness, inventing this god and that, thinking they please me."
-abiboo chose the meal hour, when the sun had gone out and the world was grey and the trees motionless. he came back with the information as sanders was drinking his second cup of coffee in the loneliness of the tiny deck-house.
-"master," he reported, "three men worship no god whatever, three more have especial family fetishes, and two are christians more or less, and the four houssas are with me in faith."
-abiboo, the kano boy, smiled at sanders' assumption of innocence.
-"lord," he said, "i follow the prophet, believing only in the one god, beneficent and merciful."
-"that is good," said sanders. "now let the men load wood, and yoka shall have steam against moonrise, and all shall be ready for slipping."
-at ten o'clock by his watch he fell-in his four houssas, serving out to each a short carbine and a bandoleer. then the party went ashore.
-the king in his patience sat in his hut, and sanders found him.
-"you will stay here, milini," he commanded, "and no blame shall come to you for anything that may happen this night."
-"what will happen, master?"
-"who knows!" said sanders, philosophically.
-the streets were in pitch darkness, but abiboo, carrying a lantern, led the way. only occasionally did the party pass a tenanted hut. generally they saw by the dull glow of the log that smouldered in every habitation that it was empty. once a sick woman called to them in passing. it was near her time, she said, and there was none to help her in the supreme moment of her agony.
-"god help you, sister!" said sanders, ever in awe of the mysteries of birth. "i will send women to you. what is your name?"
-"they will not come," said the plaintive voice. "to-night the men go out to war, and the women wait for the great dance."
-"to-night, master--so the ghosts of brass decree."
-sanders made a clicking noise with his mouth.
-"that we shall see," he said, and went on.
-the party reached the outskirts of the city. before them, outlined against a bronze sky, was the dark bulk of a little hill, and this they skirted.
-the bronze became red, and rose, and dull bronze again, as the fires that gave it colour leapt or fell. turning the shoulder of the hill, sanders had a full view of the scene.
-between the edge of the forest and slope of the hill was a broad strip of level land. on the left was the river, on the right was swamp and forest again.
-in the very centre of the plain a huge fire burnt. before it, supported by its poles, on two high trestles, a square box.
-but the people!
-a huge circle, squatting on its haunches, motionless, silent; men, women, children, tiny babies, at their mothers' hips they stretched; a solid wheel of humanity, with the box and the fire as a hub.
-there was a lane through which a man might reach the box--a lane along which passed a procession of naked men, going and returning. these were they who replenished the fire, and sanders saw them dragging fuel for that purpose. keeping to the edge of the crowd, he worked his way to the opening. then he looked round at his men.
-"it is written," he said, in the curious arabic of the kano people, "that we shall carry away this false god. as to which of us shall live or die through this adventure, that is with allah, who knows all things."
-then he stepped boldly along the lane. he had changed his white ducks for a dark blue uniform suit, and he was not observed by the majority until he came with his houssas to the box. the heat from the fire was terrific, overpowering. close at hand he saw that the fierceness of the blaze had warped the rough-hewn boards of the box, and through the opening he saw in the light a slab of stone.
-"take up the box quickly," he commanded, and the houssas lifted the poles to their shoulders. until then the great assembly had sat in silent wonder, but as the soldiers lifted their burden, a yell of rage burst from five thousand throats, and men leapt to their feet.
-sanders stood before the fire, one hand raised, and silence fell, curiosity dominating resentment.
-"people of the isisi," said sanders, "let no man move until the god-stone has passed, for death comes quickly to those who cross the path of gods."
-he had an automatic pistol in each hand, and the particular deity he was thinking of at the moment was not the one in the box.
-the people hesitated, surging and swaying, as a mob will sway in its uncertainty.
-with quick steps the bearers carried their burden through the lane; they had almost passed unmolested when an old woman shuffled forward and clutched at sanders' arm.
-"lord, lord!" she quavered, "what will you do with our god?"
-"take him to the proper place," said sanders, "being by government appointed his keeper."
-"give me a sign," she croaked, and the people in her vicinity repeated, "a sign, master!"
-"this is a sign," said sanders, remembering the woman in labour. "by the god's favour there shall be born to ifabi, wife of adako, a male child."
-he heard the babble of talk; he heard his message repeated over the heads of the crowd; he saw a party of women go scurrying back to the village; then he gave the order to march. there were murmurings, and once he heard a deep-voiced man begin the war-chant, but nobody joined him. somebody--probably the same man--clashed his spear against his wicker shield, but his warlike example was not followed. sanders gained the village street. around him was such a press of people that he followed the swaying box with difficulty. the river was in sight; the moon, rising a dull, golden ball over the trees, laced the water with silver, and then there came a scream of rage.
-"he lies! he lies! ifabi, the wife of adako, has a female child."
-sanders turned swiftly like a dog at bay; his lips upcurled in a snarl, his white, regular teeth showing.
-"now," said sanders, speaking very quickly, "let any man raise his spear, and he dies."
-again they stood irresolute, and sanders, over his shoulder, gave an order.
-for a moment only the people hesitated; then, as the soldiers gripped the poles of the god-box, with one fierce yell they sprang forward.
-a voice screamed something; and, as if by magic, the tumult ceased, and the crowd darted backward and outward, falling over one another in their frantic desire to escape.
-sanders, his pistol still loaded, stood in open-mouthed astonishment at the stampede.
-save for his men he was alone; and then he saw.
-along the centre of the street two men were walking. they were clad alike in short crimson kilts that left their knees bare; great brass helmets topped their heads, and brass cuirasses covered their breasts.
-sanders watched them as they came nearer, then: "if this is not fever, it is madness," he muttered, for what he saw were two roman centurions, their heavy swords girt about their waists.
-he stood still, and they passed him, so close that he saw on the boss of one shield the rough-moulded letters:--
-when the steamer reached lukati, sanders was still in a condition of doubt, for his temperature was normal, and neither fever nor sun could be held accountable for the vision. added to which, his men had seen the same thing.
-he found the reinforcements his pigeon had brought, but they were unnecessary now.
-"it beats me," he confessed to carter, telling the story; "but we'll get out the stone; it might furnish an explanation. centurions--bah!"
-the stone, exposed in the light of day, was of greyish granite, such as sanders did not remember having seen before.
-"here are the 'devil marks,'" he said, as he turned it over. "possibly--whew!"
-no wonder he whistled, for closely set were a number of printed characters; and carter, blowing the dust, saw--
-"marius et augustus cent . . . . . . . . . nero imperat . . . . . in deus . . . . . dulce."
-that night, with great labour, sanders, furbishing his rusty latin, and filling in gaps, made a translation:
-"marius and augustus, centurions of nero, csar and emperor, sleep sweetly with the gods."
-"we are they who came beyond the wild lands which hanno, the carthaginian, found . . .
-"marcus septimus went up into egypt, and with him decimus superbus, but by the will of csar, and the favour of the gods, we sailed to the black seas beyond. . . . . here we lived, our ships suffering wreck, being worshipped by the barbarians, teaching them warlike practices.
-. . . "you who come after . . . bear greetings to rome to cato hippocritus, who dwells by the gate . . ."
-sanders shook his head when he had finished reading, and said it was "rum."
-bosambo of monrovia.
-for many years have the ochori people formed a sort of grim comic relief to the tragedy of african colonisation. now it may well be that we shall laugh at the ochori no more. nor, in the small hours of the night, when conversation flags in the little circle about the fires in fishing camps, shall the sleepy-eyed be roused to merriment by stories of ochori meekness. all this has come about by favour of the liberian government, though at present the liberian government is not aware of the fact.
-with all due respect to the republic of liberia, i say that the monrovians are naturally liars and thieves.
-once upon a time, that dignity might be added to the state, a warship was acquired--if i remember aright it was presented by a disinterested shipowner. the government appointed three admirals, fourteen captains, and as many officers as the ship would hold, and they all wore gorgeous but ill-fitting uniforms. the government would have appointed a crew also, but for the fact that the ship was not big enough to hold any larger number of people than its officers totalled.
-this tiny man-of-war of the black republic went to sea once, the admirals and captains taking it in turn to stoke and steer--a very pleasing and novel sensation, this latter.
-coming back into the harbour, one of the admirals said--
-"it is my turn to steer now," and took the wheel.
-the ship struck a rock at the entrance of the harbour and went down. the officers escaped easily enough, for your monrovian swims like a fish, but their uniforms were spoilt by the sea water. to the suggestion that salvage operations should be attempted to refloat the warship, the government very wisely said no, they thought not.
-"we know where she is," said the president--he was sitting on the edge of his desk at government house, eating sardines with his fingers--"and if we ever want her, it will be comforting to know she is so close to us."
-nothing more would have been done in the matter but for the fact that the british admiralty decided that the wreck was a danger to shipping, and issued orders forthwith for the place where it lay to be buoyed.
-the liberian government demurred on account of expense, but on pressure being applied (i suspect the captain of h.m.s. dwarf, who was a man with a bitter tongue) they agreed, and the bell-buoy was anchored to the submerged steamer.
-it made a nice rowdy, clanging noise, did that bell, and the people of monrovia felt they were getting their money's worth.
-but all monrovia is not made up of the freed american slaves who were settled there in 1821. there are people who are described in a lordly fashion by the true monrovians as "indigenous natives," and the chief of these are the kroomen, who pay no taxes, defy the government, and at intervals tweak the official nose of the republic.
-the second day after the bell was in place, monrovia awoke to find a complete silence reigning in the bay, and that in spite of a heavy swell. the bell was still, and two ex-admirals, who were selling fish on the foreshore, borrowed a boat and rowed out to investigate. the explanation was simple--the bell had been stolen.
-"now!" said the president of the liberian republic in despair, "may beelzebub, who is the father and author of all sin, descend upon these thieving kroomen!"
-another bell was attached. the same night it was stolen. yet another bell was put to the buoy, and a boat-load of admirals kept watch. throughout the night they sat, rising and falling with the swell, and the monotonous "clang-jangle-clong" was music in their ears. all night it sounded, but in the early morning, at the dark hour before the sun comes up, it seemed that the bell, still tolling, grew fainter and fainter.
-"brothers," said an admiral, "we are drifting away from the bell."
-but the explanation was that the bell had drifted away from them, for, tired of half measures, the kroomen had come and taken the buoy, bell and all, and to this day there is no mark to show where a sometime man-of-war rots in the harbour of monrovia.
-the ingenious soul who planned and carried out this theft was one bosambo, who had three wives, one of whom, being by birth congolaise, and untrustworthy, informed the police, and with some ceremony bosambo was arrested and tried at the supreme court, where he was found guilty of "theft and high treason" and sentenced to ten years' penal servitude.
-they took bosambo back to prison, and bosambo interviewed the black gaoler.
-"my friend," he said, "i have a big ju-ju in the forest, and if you do not release me at once you and your wife shall die in great torment."
-"of your ju-ju i know nothing," said the gaoler philosophically, "but i receive two dollars a week for guarding prisoners, and if i let you escape i shall lose my job."
-"i know a place where there is much silver hidden," said bosambo with promptitude. "you and i will go to this place, and we shall be rich."
-"if you knew where there was silver, why did you steal bells, which are of brass and of no particular value?" asked his unimaginative guard.
-"i see that you have a heart of stone," said bosambo, and went away to the forest settlement to chop down trees for the good of the state.
-four months after this, sanders, chief commissioner for the isisi, ikeli, and akasava countries, received, inter alia, a communication of a stereotyped description--
-to whom it may concern.
-wanted,--on a warrant issued by h.e. the president of liberia, bosambo krooboy, who escaped from the penal settlement near monrovia, after killing a guard. he is believed to be making for your country.
-a description followed.
-sanders put the document away with other such notices--they were not infrequent in their occurrence--and gave his mind to the eternal problem of the ochori.
-now, as ever, the ochori people were in sad trouble. there is no other tribe in the whole of africa that is as defenceless as the poor ochori. the fingoes, slaves as they are by name and tradition, were ferocious as the masai, compared with the ochori.
-sanders was a little impatient, and a deputation of three, who had journeyed down to headquarters to lay the grievances of the people before him, found him unsympathetic.
-he interviewed them on his verandah.
-"master, no man leaves us in peace," said one. "isisi folk, n'gombi people from far-away countries, they come to us demanding this and that, and we give, being afraid."
-"afraid of what?" asked sanders wearily.
-"we fear death and pain, also burning and the taking of our women," said the other.
-"who is chief of you?" asked sanders, wilfully ignorant.
-"i am chief lord," said an elderly man, clad in a leopard skin.
-"go back to your people, chief, if indeed chief you are, and not some old woman without shame; go back and bear with you a fetish--a most powerful fetish--which shall be, as me, watching your interest and protecting you. this fetish you shall plant on the edge of your village that faces the sun at noon. you shall mark the place where it shall be planted, and at midnight, with proper ceremony, and the sacrifice of a young goat, you shall set my fetish in its place. and after that whosoever ill-treats you or robs you shall do so at some risk."
-sanders said this very solemnly, and the men of the deputation were duly impressed. more impressed were they when, before starting on their homeward journey, sanders placed in their hands a stout pole, to the end of which was attached a flat board inscribed with certain marks.
-they carried their trophy six days' journey through the forest, then four days' journey by canoe along the little river, until they came to ochori. there, by the light of the moon, with the sacrifice of two goats (to make sure), the pole was planted so that the board inscribed with mystic characters would face the sun at noon.
-news travels fast in the back lands, and it came to the villages throughout the isisi and the akasava country that the ochori were particularly protected by white magic. protected they had always been, and many men had died at the white man's hand because the temptation to kill the ochori folk had proved irresistible.
-"i do not believe that sandi has done this thing," said the chief of the akasava. "let us go across the river and see with our own eyes, and if they have lied we shall beat them with sticks, though let no man kill, because of sandi and his cruelty."
-so across the water they went, and marched until they came within sight of the ochori city, and the ochori people, hearing that the akasava people were coming, ran away into the woods and hid, in accordance with their custom.
-the akasava advanced until they came to the pole stuck in the ground and the board with the devil marks.
-before this they stood in silence and in awe, and having made obeisance to it and sacrificed a chicken (which was the lawful property of the ochori) they turned back.
-after this came a party from isisi, and they must needs come through the akasava country.
-they brought presents with them and lodged with the akasava for one night.
-"what story is this of the ochori?" asked the isisi chief in command; so the chief of the akasava told him.
-"you may save yourself the journey, for we have seen it."
-"that," said the isisi chief, "i will believe when i have seen."
-"that is bad talk," said the akasava people, who were gathered at the palaver; "these dogs of isisi call us liars."
-nevertheless there was no bloodshed, and in the morning the isisi went on their way.
-the ochori saw them coming, and hid in the woods, but the precaution was unnecessary, for the isisi departed as they came.
-other folk made a pilgrimage to the ochori, n'gombi, bokeli, and the little people of the forest, who were so shy that they came by night, and the ochori people began to realise a sense of their importance.
-then bosambo, a krooman and an adventurer at large, appeared on the scene, having crossed eight hundred miles of wild land in the earnest hope that time would dull the memory of the liberian government and incidentally bring him to a land of milk and honey.
-now bosambo had in his life been many things. he had been steward on an elder dempster boat, he had been scholar at a mission school--he was the proud possessor of a bound copy of the lives of the saints, a reward of industry--and among his accomplishments was a knowledge of english.
-the hospitable ochori received him kindly, fed him with sweet manioc and sugar-cane, and told him about sandi's magic. after he had eaten, bosambo walked down to the post and read the inscription--
-he was not impressed, and strolled back again thinking deeply.
-"this magic," he said to the chief, "is good magic. i know, because i have white man's blood in my veins."
-in support of this statement he proceeded to libel a perfectly innocent british official at sierra leone.
-the ochori were profoundly moved. they poured forth the story of their persecutions, a story which began in remote ages, when tiganobeni, the great king, came down from the north and wasted the country as far south as the isisi.
-bosambo listened--it took two nights and the greater part of a day to tell the story, because the official story-teller of the ochori had only one method of telling--and when it was finished bosambo said to himself--
-"this is the people i have long sought. i will stay here."
-aloud he asked:
-"how often does sandi come to you?"
-"once every year, master," said the chief, "on the twelfth moon, and a little after."
-"when came he last?"
-"when this present moon is at full, three moons since; he comes after the big rains."
-"then," said bosambo, again to himself, "for nine months i am safe."
-they built him a hut and planted for him a banana grove and gave him seed. then he demanded for wife the daughter of the chief, and although he offered nothing in payment the girl came to him. that a stranger lived in the chief village of the ochori was remarked by the other tribes, for news of this kind spreads, but since he was married, and into the chief's family at that, it was accepted that the man must be of the ochori folk, and such was the story that came to headquarters. then the chief of the ochori died. he died suddenly in some pain; but such deaths are common, and his son ruled in his place. then the son died after the briefest reign, and bosambo called the people together, the elders, the wise men, and the headmen of the country.
-"it appears," he said, "that the many gods of the ochori are displeased with you, and it has been revealed to me in a dream that i shall be chief of the ochori. therefore, o chiefs and wise men and headmen, bow before me, as is the custom, and i will make you a great people."
-sanders heard of the new chief and was puzzled.
-"etabo?" he repeated--this was how bosambo called himself--"i do not remember the man--yet if he can put backbone into the people i do not care who he is."
-backbone or cunning, or both, bosambo was certainly installed.
-"he has many strange practices," reported a native agent to sanders. "every day he assembles the men of the village and causes them to walk past a pelebi (table) on which are many eggs. and it is his command that each man as he passes shall take an egg so swiftly that no eye may see him take it. and if the man bungle or break the egg, or be slow, this new chief puts shame upon him, whipping him."
-"it is a game," said sanders; but for the life of him he could not see what game it was. report after report reached him of the new chief's madness. sometimes he would take the unfortunate ochori out by night, teaching them such things as they had never known before. thus he instructed them in what manner they might seize upon a goat so that the goat could not cry. also how to crawl on their bellies inch by inch so that they made no sound or sign. all these things the ochori did, groaning aloud at the injustice and the labour of it.
-"i'm dashed if i can understand it!" said sanders, knitting his brows, when the last report came in. "with anybody but the ochori this would mean war. but the ochori!"
-notwithstanding his contempt for their fighting qualities, he kept his police houssas ready.
-but there was no war. instead, there came complaint from the akasava that "many leopards were in the woods."
-leopards eat goats; there might conceivably be fastidious leopards that cannot eat goats without salt; but a leopard does not take ivory tusks even to pick his teeth with. so sanders made haste to journey up the river, because little things were considerable in a country where people strain at gnats and swallow whole caravans.
-"lord, it is true," said the chief of the akasava, with some emotion, "these goats disappear night by night, though we watch them; also the salt and ivory, because that we did not watch."
-"but no leopard could take these things," said sanders irritably. "these are thieves."
-the chief's gesture was comprehensive.
-"who could thieve?" he said. "the n'gombi people live very far away; also the isisi. the ochori are fools, and, moreover, afraid."
-then sanders remembered the egg games, and the midnight manoeuvres of the ochori.
-"i will call on this new chief," he said; and crossed the river that day.
-sending a messenger to herald his coming, he waited two miles out of the city, and the councillors and wise men came out to him with offerings of fish and fruit.
-"where is your chief?" he asked.
-"lord, he is ill," they said gravely. "this day there came to him a feeling of sickness, and he fell down moaning. we have carried him to his hut."
-"i will see him," he said grimly.
-they led him to the door of the chief's hut, and sanders went in. it was very dark, and in the darkest corner lay a prostrate man. sanders bent over him, touched his pulse lightly, felt gingerly for the swelling on the neck behind the ears for a sign of sleeping sickness. no symptom could he find; but on the bare shoulder, as his fingers passed over the man's flesh, he felt a scar of singular regularity; then he found another, and traced their direction. the convict brand of the monrovian government was familiar to him.
-"i thought so," said sanders, and gave the moaning man a vigorous kick.
-"come out into the light, bosambo of monrovia," he said; and bosambo rose obediently and followed the commissioner into the light.
-they stood looking at one another for several minutes; then sanders, speaking in the dialect of the pepper coast, said--
-"i have a mind to hang you, bosambo."
-"that is as your excellency wishes," said bosambo.
-sanders said nothing, tapping his boot with his walking-stick and gazing thoughtfully downward.
-"having made thieves, could you make men of these people?" he said, after a while.
-"i think they could fight now, for they are puffed with pride because they have robbed the akasava," said bosambo.
-sanders bit the end of his stick like a man in doubt.
-"there shall be neither theft nor murder," he said. "no more chiefs or chiefs' sons shall die suddenly," he added significantly.
-"master, it shall be as you desire."
-"as for the goats you have stolen, them you may keep, and the teeth (ivory) and the salt also. for if you hand them back to akasava you will fill their stomachs with rage, and that would mean war."
-bosambo nodded slowly.
-"then you shall remain, for i see you are a clever man, and the ochori need such as you. but if----"
-"master, by the fat of my heart i will do as you wish," said bosambo; "for i have always desired to be a chief under the british."
-sanders was half-way back to headquarters before he missed his field-glasses, and wondered where he could have dropped them. at that identical moment bosambo was exhibiting the binoculars to his admiring people.
-"from this day forth," said bosambo, "there shall be no lifting of goats nor stealing of any kind. this much i told the great sandi, and as a sign of his love, behold, he gave me these things of magic that eat up space."
-"lord," said a councillor in awe, "did you know the great one?"
-"i have cause to know him," said bosambo modestly, "for i am his son."
-fortunately sanders knew nothing of this interesting disclosure.
-the drowsy one.
-there were occasions when sanders came up against the outer world, when he learnt, with something like bewilderment, that beyond the farthermost forests, beyond the lazy, swelling, blue sea, there were men and women who lived in houses and carefully tabooed such subjects as violent death and such horrid happenings as were daily features of his life.
-he had to treat with folk who, in the main, were illogical and who believed in spirits. when you deal in the abstract with government of races so influenced, a knowledge of constitutional law and economics is fairly valueless.
-there is one type of man that can rule native provinces wisely, and that type is best represented by sanders.
-there are other types, as, for instance:
-sanders said nothing beyond using the conventional expressions of polite interest, and despatched the young man and his tremendous baggage to an up-country station, with his official blessing.
-torrington--this was the grave young man's name--established himself at entoli, and started forth to instil into the heathen mind the elementary principles of applied mechanics. in other words he taught them, through the medium of swaheli--which they imperfectly understood--and a tin kettle, the lesson of steam. they understood the kettle part, but could not quite comprehend what meat he was cooking, and when he explained for the fortieth time that he was only cooking water, they glanced significantly one at the other and agreed that he was not quite right in his head.
-they did not tell him this much to his face, for cannibals have very good manners--though their table code leaves much to be desired.
-mr. torrington tried them with chemical experiments, showing them how sulphuric acid applied to sugar produced su^{2}, su^{4}, or words to that effect. he gained a reputation as a magician as a result, and in more huts than one he was regarded and worshipped as a great and clever devil--which in a sense he was. but the first time he came up against the spirit of the people, his science, his law, and his cut-and-dried theories went phutt! and that is where sanders came in--sanders who had forgotten all the chemistry he ever knew, and who, as a student of constitutional law, was the rankest of failures.
-it came about in this way.
-there was a young man in isisi who prophesied that on such a day, at such an hour, the river would rise and drown the people. when mr. torrington heard of this prophecy he was amused, and at first took no notice of it. but it occurred to him that here might be a splendid opportunity for revealing to the barbarian a little of that science with which he was so plentifully endowed.
-so he drew a large sectional plan, showing--
-yet the people were unconvinced, and were preparing to abandon the village when sanders arrived on the scene. he sent for the prophet, who was a young man of neurotic tendencies, and had a wooden prison cage built on the bank of the river, into which the youth was introduced.
-"you will stay here," said sanders, "and when the river rises you must prophesy that it will fall again, else assuredly you will be drowned."
-whereupon the people settled down again in their homes and waited for the river to drown the prophet and prove his words. but the river at this season of the year was steadily falling, and the prophet, like many another, was without honour in his own country.
-sanders went away; and, although somewhat discouraged, mr. torrington resumed his experiments. first of all, he took up sleeping sickness, and put in three months' futile work, impressing nobody save a gentleman of whom more must be written in a further chapter. then he dropped that study suddenly and went to another.
-he had ideas concerning vaccination, but the first baby he vaccinated died of croup, and torrington came flying down the river telling sanders a rambling story of a populace infuriated and demanding his blood. then torrington went home.
-"the country is now quiet," wrote sanders to the administrator, with sardonic humour. "there are numerous palavers pending, but none of any particular moment. the isisi people are unusually quiet, and bosambo, the monrovian, of whom i have written your excellency, makes a model chief for the ochori. no thefts have been traced to him for three months. i should be grateful if full information could be supplied to me concerning an expedition which at the moment is traversing this country under the style of the isisi exploitation syndicate."
-curiously enough, torrington had forgotten the fact that a member of this expedition had been one of the most interested students of his sleeping sickness clinics.
-the isisi exploitation syndicate, limited, was born between the entre and the sweet at the house of a gentleman whose christian name was isidore, and who lived in maida vale. at dinner one night with a dear friend--who called himself mcpherson every day of the year except on yum kippur, when he frankly admitted that he had been born isaacs--the question of good company titles came up, and mr. mcpherson said he had had the "isisi exploitation" in his mind for many years. with the aid of an atlas the isisi country was discovered. it was one of those atlases on which are inscribed the staple products of the lands, and across the isisi was writ fair "rubber," "kola-nut," "mahogany," and "tobacco."
-i would ask the reader to particularly remember "tobacco."
-"there's a chief i've had some correspondence with," said mr. mcpherson, chewing his cigar meditatively; "we could get a sort of concession from him. it would have to be done on the quiet, because the country is a british protectorate. now, if we could get a man who'd put up the stuff, and send him out to fix the concession, we'd have a company floated before you could say knife."
-judicious inquiry discovered the man in claude hyall cuthbert, a plutocratic young gentleman, who, on the strength of once having nearly shot a lion in uganda, was accepted by a large circle of acquaintances as an authority on africa.
-cuthbert, who dabbled in stocks and shares, was an acquisition to any syndicate, and on the understanding that part of his duty would be the obtaining of the concession, he gladly financed the syndicate to the extent of seven thousand pounds, four thousand of which messrs. isidore and mcpherson very kindly returned to him to cover the cost of his expedition.
-the other three thousand were earmarked for office expenses.
-as mr. mcpherson truly said:
-"whatever happens, we're on velvet, my boy," which was perfectly true.
-before cuthbert sailed, mcpherson offered him a little advice.
-"whatever you do," he said, "steer clear of that dam' commissioner sanders. he's one of those pryin', interferin'----"
-"i know the breed," said cuthbert wisely. "this is not my first visit to africa. did i ever tell you about the lion i shot in uganda?"
-a week later he sailed.
-in course of time came a strange white man through sanders' domain. this white man, who was cuthbert, was following the green path to death--but this he did not know. he threw his face to the forest, as the natives say, and laughed, and the people of the village of o'tembi, standing before their wattle huts, watched him in silent wonder.
-it was a wide path between huge trees, and the green of the undergrowth was flecked with sunlight, and, indeed, the green path was beautiful to the eye, being not unlike a parkland avenue.
-n'beki, chief of this village of the o'tembi, a very good old man, went out to the path when the white man began his journey.
-"white man," he said solemnly, "this is the road to hell, where all manner of devils live. night brings remorse, and dawn brings self-hatred, which is worse than death."
-cuthbert, whose swaheli was faulty, and whose bomongo talk was nil, grinned impatiently as his coastboy translated unpicturesquely.
-"dam nigger done say, this be bad place, no good; he say bimeby you libe for die."
-"tell him to go to blazes!" said cuthbert noisily; "and, look here, flagstaff, ask him where the rubber is, see? tell him we know all about the forest, and ask him about the elephants, where their playground is?"
-cuthbert was broad-shouldered and heavily built, and under his broad sun-helmet his face was very hot and moist.
-"tell the white man," said the chief quietly, "there is no rubber within seven days' journey, and that we do not know ivory; elephants there were cala cala--but not now."
-"he's a liar!" was cuthbert's only comment. "get these beggars moving, flagstaff. hi, alapa', avanti, trek!"
-"these beggars," a straggling line of them, resumed their loads uncomplainingly. they were good carriers, as carriers go, and only two had died since the march began.
-cuthbert stood and watched them pass, using his stick dispassionately upon the laggards. then he turned to go.
-"ask him," he said finally, "why he calls this the road to what-d'ye-call-it?"
-the old man shook his head.
-"because of the devils," he said simply.
-"tell him he's a silly ass!" bellowed cuthbert and followed his carriers.
-this natural path the caravan took extended in almost a straight line through the forest. it was a strange path because of its very smoothness, and the only drawback lay in the fact that it seemed to be the breeding-place of flies--little black flies, as big as the house-fly of familiar shape, if anything a little bigger.
-they terrified the natives for many reasons, but principally because they stung. they did not terrify cuthbert, because he was dressed in tapai cloth; none the less, there were times when these black flies found joints in his armour and roused him to anger. this path extended ten miles and made pleasant travelling. then the explorer struck off into the forest, following another path, well beaten, but more difficult.
-by devious routes mr. cuthbert came into the heart of sanders' territories, and he was successful in this, that he avoided sanders. he had with him a caravan of sixty men and an interpreter, and in due course he reached his objective, which was the village of a great chief ruling a remarkable province--bosambo, of the ochori, no less; sometime krooman, steward of the elder dempster line, chief on sufferance, but none the less an interesting person. bosambo, you may be sure, came out to greet his visitor.
-"say to him," said cuthbert to his interpreter, "that i am proud to meet the great chief."
-"lord chief," said the interpreter in the vernacular, "this white man is a fool, and has much money."
-"so i see," said bosambo.
-"tell him," said cuthbert, with all the dignity of an ambassador, "that i have come to bring him wonderful presents."
-"the white man says," said the interpreter, "that if he is sure you are a good man he will give you presents. now," said the interpreter carefully, "as i am the only man who can speak for you, let us make arrangements. you shall give me one-third of all he offers. then will i persuade him to continue giving, since he is the father of mad people."
-"and you," said bosambo briefly, "are the father of liars."
-he made a sign to his guard, and they seized upon the unfortunate interpreter and led him forth. cuthbert, in a sweat of fear, pulled a revolver.
-"master," said bosambo loftily, "you no make um fuss. dis dam' nigger, he no good; he make you speak bad t'ings. i speak um english proper. you sit down, we talk um."
-so cuthbert sat down in the village of ochori, and for three days there was a great giving of presents, and signing of concessions. bosambo conceded the ochori country--that was a small thing. he granted forest rights of the isisi, he sold the akasava, he bartered away the lulungo territories and the "native products thereof"--i quote from the written document now preserved at the colonial office and bearing the scrawled signature of bosambo--and he added, as a lordly afterthought, the ikeli district.
-"what about river rights?" asked the delighted cuthbert.
-"what will you give um?" demanded bosambo cautiously.
-"forty english pounds?" suggested cuthbert.
-"i take um," said bosambo.
-it was a remarkably simple business; a more knowledgeable man than cuthbert would have been scared by the easiness of his success, but cuthbert was too satisfied with himself to be scared at anything.
-it is said that his leave-taking with bosambo was of an affecting character, that bosambo wept and embraced his benefactor's feet.
-be that as it may, his "concessions" in his pocket, cuthbert began his coastward journey, still avoiding sanders.
-he came to etebi and found a deputy-commissioner, who received him with open arms. here cuthbert stayed a week.
-mr. torrington at the time was tremendously busy with a scheme for stamping out sleeping sickness. until then, cuthbert was under the impression that it was a pleasant disease, the principal symptom of which was a painless coma. fascinated, he extended his stay to a fortnight, seeing many dreadful sights, for torrington had established a sort of amateur clinic, and a hundred cases a day came to him for treatment.
-"and it comes from the bite of a tsetse fly?" said cuthbert. "show me a tsetse."
-torrington obliged him, and when the other saw the little black insect he went white to the lips.
-"my god!" he whispered, "i've been bitten by that!"
-"get your loads!" he yelled. "out of this cursed country we get as quick as we can!"
-torrington, with philosophical calm, endeavoured to reassure him, but he was not to be appeased.
-he left etebi that night and camped in the forest. three days later he reached a mission station, where he complained of headaches and pains in the neck (he had not attended torrington's clinics in vain). the missionary, judging from the man's haggard appearance and general incoherence that he had an attack of malaria, advised him to rest for a few days; but cuthbert was all a-fret to reach the coast. twenty miles from the mission, cuthbert sent his carriers back, and said he would cover the last hundred miles of the journey alone.
-to this extraordinary proposition the natives agree--from that day cuthbert disappeared from the sight of man.
-sanders was taking a short cut through the forest to avoid the interminable twists and bends of the river, when he came suddenly upon a village of death--four sad little huts, built hastily amidst a tangle of underwood. he called, but nobody answered him. he was too wary to enter any of the crazy habitations.
-he knew these little villages in the forest. it was the native custom to take the aged and the dying--especially those who died sleepily--to far-away places, beyond the reach of man, and leave them there with a week's food and a fire, to die in decent solitude.
-he called again, but only the forest answered him. the chattering, noisy forest, all a-crackle with the movements of hidden things. yet there was a fire burning which told of life.
-sanders resumed his journey, first causing a quantity of food to be laid in a conspicuous place for the man who made the fire.
-he was on his way to take evidence concerning the disappearance of cuthbert. it was the fourth journey of its kind he had attempted. there had been palavers innumerable.
-bosambo, chief of the ochori, had sorrowfully disgorged the presents he had received, and admitted his fault.
-"lord!" he confessed, "when i was with the white man on the coast i learnt the trick of writing--it is a cursed gift--else all this trouble would not have come about. for, desiring to show my people how great a man i was, i wrote a letter in the english fashion, and sent it by messenger to the coast and thence to friends in sierra leone, telling them of my fortune. thus the people in london came to know of the treasure of this land."
-sanders, in a few illuminative sentences, conveyed his impression of bosambo's genius.
-"you slave and son of a slave," he said, "whom i took from a prison to rule the ochori, why did you deceive this white man, selling him lands that were not yours?"
-"lord!" said bosambo simply, "there was nothing else i could sell."
-but there was no clue here as to cuthbert's whereabouts, nor at the mission station, nor amongst the carriers detained on suspicion. one man might have thrown light upon the situation, but torrington was at home fulfilling the post of assistant examiner in mechanics at south kensington (more in his element there) and filling in his spare time with lecturing on "the migration of the bantu races."
-so that the end of sanders' fourth quest was no more successful than the third, or the second, or the first, and he retraced his steps to headquarters, feeling somewhat depressed.
-he took the path he had previously traversed, and came upon the death camp late in the afternoon. the fire still burnt, but the food he had placed had disappeared. he hailed the hut in the native tongue, but no one answered him. he waited for a little while, and then gave orders for more food to be placed on the ground.
-he was still standing with the little brass cylinders in his hand, when abiboo came to him.
-"master," said the houssa, "who ties monkeys to trees with ropes?"
-"is that a riddle?" asked sanders testily, for his mind was busy on this matter of cartridges.
-abiboo for answer beckoned him.
-fifty yards from the hut was a tree, at the foot of which, whimpering and chattering and in a condition of abject terror, were two small black monkeys tethered by ropes.
-they spat and grinned ferociously as sanders approached them. he looked from the cartridges to the monkeys and back to the cartridges again, then he began searching the grass. he found two more empty shells and a rusting lancet, such as may be found in the pocket-case of any explorer.
-then he walked back to the hut before which the fire burnt, and called softly--
-there was no answer, and sanders called again--
-from the interior of the hut came a groan.
-"leave me alone. i have come here to die!" said a muffled voice.
-"come out and be civil," said sanders coolly; "you can die afterwards."
-after a few moments' delay there issued from the door of the hut the wreck of a man, with long hair and a month-old beard, who stood sulkily before the commissioner.
-"might i ask," said sanders, "what your little game is?"
-the other shook his head wearily. he was a pitiable sight. his clothes were in tatters; he was unwashed and grimy.
-"sleeping sickness," he said wearily. "felt it coming on--seen what horrible thing it was--didn't want to be a burden. oh, my god! what a fool i've been to come to this filthy country!"
-"that's very likely," said sanders. "but who told you that you had sleeping sickness?"
-"know it--know it," said the listless man.
-"sit down," said sanders. the other obeyed, and sanders applied the superficial tests.
-"if you've got sleeping sickness," said sanders, after the examination, "i'm suffering from religious mania--man, you're crazy!"
-yet there was something in cuthbert's expression that was puzzling. he was dull, heavy, and stupid. his movements were slow and lethargic.
-sanders watched him as he pulled a black wooden pipe from his ragged pocket, and with painful slowness charged it from a skin pouch.
-"it's got me, i tell you," muttered cuthbert, and lit the pipe with a blazing twig from the fire. "i knew it (puff) as soon as that fellow torrington (puff) described the symptoms (puff);--felt dull and sleepy--got a couple of monkeys and injected my blood (puff)--they went drowsy, too--sure sign----"
-"where did you get that tobacco from?" demanded sanders quickly.
-cuthbert took time to consider his answer.
-"fellow gave it me--chief fellow, bosambo. native tobacco, but not bad--he gave me a devil of a lot."
-"so i should say," said sanders, and reaching over took the pouch and put it in his pocket.
-when sanders had seen mr. cuthbert safe on board a homeward-bound steamer, he took his twenty houssas to the ochori country to arrest bosambo, and expected bosambo would fly; but the imperturbable chief awaited his coming, and offered him the customary honours.
-"i admit i gave the white man the hemp," he said. "i myself smoke it, suffering no ill. how was i to know that it would make him sleep?"
-"why did you give it to him?" demanded sanders.
-bosambo looked the commissioner full in the face.
-"last moon you came, lord, asking why i gave him the isisi country and the rights of the little river, because these were not mine to give. now you come to me saying why did i give the white man native tobacco--lord, that was the only thing i gave him that was mine."
-the special commissioner.
-the hon. george tackle had the good fortune to be the son of his father; otherwise i am free to confess he had no claim to distinction. but his father, being the proprietor of the courier and echo (with which are incorporated i don't know how many dead and gone stars of the fleet street firmament), george had a "pull" which no amount of competitive merit could hope to contend with, and when the stories of atrocities in the district of lukati began to leak out and questions were asked in parliament, george opened his expensively-bound gazetteer, discovered that the district of lukati was in british territory, and instantly demanded that he should be sent out to investigate these crimes, which were a blot upon our boasted civilisation.
-his father agreed, having altogether a false appreciation of his son's genius, and suggested that george should go to the office and "get all the facts" regarding the atrocities. george, with a good-natured smile of amusement at the bare thought of anybody instructing him in a subject on which he was so thoroughly conversant, promised; but the courier and echo office did not see him, and the librarian of the newspaper, who had prepared a really valuable dossier of newspaper cuttings, pamphlets, maps, and health hints for the young man's guidance, was dismayed to learn that the confident youth had sailed without any further instruction in the question than a man might secure from the hurried perusal of the scraps which from day to day appeared in the morning press.
-as a special correspondent, i adduce, with ill-suppressed triumph, the case of the hon. george tackle as an awful warning to all newspaper proprietors who allow their parental affections to overcome their good judgment.
-all that the hon. george knew was that at lukati there had been four well-authenticated cases of barbarous acts of cruelty against natives, and that the commissioner of the district was responsible for the whippings and the torture. he thought, did the hon. george, that this was all that it was necessary to know. but this is where he made his big mistake.
-up at lukati all sorts of things happened, as commissioner sanders knows, to his cost. once he visited the district and left it tranquil, and for carter, his deputy, whom he left behind, the natives built a most beautiful hut, planting gardens about, all off their own bat.
-one day, when carter had just finished writing an enthusiastic report on the industry of his people, and the whole-hearted way they were taking up and supporting the new rgime, the chief of the village, whom carter had facetiously named o'leary (his born name was indeed olari), came to him.
-carter at the moment was walking through the well-swept street of the village with his hands in his coat pockets and his big white helmet tipped on the back of his head because the sun was setting at his back.
-"father," said the chief olari, "i have brought these people to see you."
-he indicated with a wave of his hand six strange warriors carrying their shields and spears, who looked at him dispassionately.
-"they desire," said olari, "to see the wonderful little black fetish that my father carries in his pocket that they may tell their people of its powers."
-"tell your people," said carter good-humouredly, "that i have not got the fetish with me--if they will come to my hut i will show them its wonders."
-whereupon olari lifted his spear and struck at carter, and the six warriors sprang forward together. carter fought gamely, but he was unarmed.
-when sanders heard the news of his subordinate's death he did not faint or fall into a fit of insane cursing. he was sitting on his broad verandah at headquarters when the dusty messenger came. he rose with pursed lips and frowning eyes, fingering the letter--this came from tollemache, inspector of police at bokari--and paced the verandah.
-"poor chap, poor chap!" was all that he said.
-he sent no message to olari; he made no preparations for a punitive raid; he went on signing documents, inspecting houssas, attending dinner parties, as though carter had never lived or died. all these things the spies of olari reported, and the chief was thankful.
-lukati being two hundred miles from headquarters, through a savage and mountainous country, an expedition was no light undertaking, and the british government, rich as it is, cannot afford to spend a hundred thousand pounds to avenge the death of a subordinate official. of this fact sanders was well aware, so he employed his time in collecting and authenticating the names of carter's assassins. when he had completed them he went a journey seventy miles into the bush to the great witch-doctor kelebi, whose name was known throughout the coast country from dakka to the eastern borders of togoland.
-"here are the names of men who have put shame upon me," he said; "but principally olari, chief of the lukati people."
-"i will put a spell upon olari," said the witch-doctor; "a very bad spell, and upon these men. the charge will be six english pounds."
-sanders paid the money, and "dashed" two bottles of square-face and a piece of proper cloth. then he went back to headquarters.
-one night through the village of lukati ran a whisper, and the men muttered the news with fearful shivers and backward glances.
-"olari, the chief, is cursed!"
-olari heard the tidings from his women, and came out of his hut into the moonlight, raving horribly.
-the next day he sickened, and on the fifth day he was near to dead and suffering terrible pains, as also were six men who helped in the slaying of carter. that they did not die was no fault of the witch-doctor, who excused his failure on account of the great distance between himself and his subjects.
-as for sanders, he was satisfied, saying that even the pains were cheap at the price, and that it would give him great satisfaction to write "finis" to olari with his own hand.
-a week after this, abiboo, sanders' favourite servant, was taken ill. there was no evidence of fever or disease, only the man began to fade as it were.
-making inquiries, sanders discovered that abiboo had offended the witch-doctor kelebi, and that the doctor had sent him the death message.
-sanders took fifty houssas into the bush and interviewed the witch-doctor.
-"i have reason," he said, "for believing you to be a failure as a slayer of men."
-"master," said kelebi in extenuation, "my magic cannot cross mountains, otherwise olari and his friends would have died."
-"that is as it may be," said sanders. "i am now concerned with magic nearer at hand, and i must tell you that the day after abiboo dies i will hang you."
-"father," said kelebi emphatically, "under those circumstances abiboo shall live."
-sanders gave him a sovereign, and rode back to headquarters, to find his servant on the high road to recovery.
-i give you this fragment of sanders' history, because it will enable you to grasp the peculiar environment in which sanders spent the greater part of his life, and because you will appreciate all the better the irony of the situation created by the coming of the hon. george tackle.
-sanders was taking breakfast on the verandah of his house. from where he sat he commanded across the flaming beauties of his garden a view of a broad, rolling, oily sea, a golden blaze of light under the hot sun. there was a steamer lying three miles out (only in five fathoms of water at that), and sanders, through his glasses, recognised her as the elder dempster boat that brought the monthly mail. since there were no letters on his table, and the boat had been "in" for two hours, he gathered that there was no mail for him, and was thankful, for he had outlived the sentimental period of life when letters were pleasant possibilities.
-having no letters, he expected no callers, and the spectacle of the hon. george being carried in a hammock into his garden was astonishing.
-"how do?" said the visitor. "my name is tackle--george tackle." he smiled, as though to say more was an insult to his hearer's intelligence.
-sanders bowed, a little ceremoniously for him. he felt that his visitor expected this.
-"i'm out on a commission," the hon. george went on. "as you've doubtless heard, my governor is the proprietor of the courier and echo, and so he thought i'd better go out and see the thing for myself. i've no doubt the whole thing is exaggerated----"
-"hold hard," said sanders, a light dawning on him. "i gather that you are a sort of correspondent of a newspaper?"
-"that you have come to inquire into----"
-"treatment of natives, and all that," said the hon. george easily.
-"and what is wrong with the treatment of the native?" asked sanders sweetly.
-the hon. gentleman made an indefinite gesture.
-"you know--things in newspapers--missionaries," he said rapidly, being somewhat embarrassed by the realisation that the man, if any, responsible for the outrages was standing before him.
-"i never read the newspapers," said sanders, "and----"
-"of course," interrupted the hon. george eagerly, "we can make it all right as far as you are concerned."
-"oh, thank you!" sanders' gratitude was a little overdone, but he held out his hand. "well, i wish you luck--let me know how you get on."
-the hon. george tackle was frankly nonplussed.
-"but excuse me," he said, "where--how----hang it all, where am i to put up?"
-"yes -- dash it, my kit is on shore! i thought----"
-"you thought i'd put you up?"
-"well, i did think----"
-"that i'd fall on your neck and welcome you?"
-"not exactly, but----"
-"well," said sanders, carefully folding his napkin, "i'm not so glad to see you as all that."
-"i suppose not," said the hon. george, bridling.
-"because you're a responsibility--i hate extra responsibility. you can pitch your tent just wherever you like--but i cannot offer you the hospitality you desire."
-"i shall report this matter to the administrator," said the hon. george ominously.
-"you may report it to my grandmother's maiden aunt," said sanders politely.
-half an hour later he saw the hon. george rejoin the ship that brought him to isisi bassam, and chuckled. george would go straight to the were the same. against violence they taught resignation, against the search for glory they taught renunciation; they opposed pride with meekness, struggle with calm, success in this world by happiness in the next. they came to redress the balance of the world; they came to make men hope. and therefore it is impossible to take their codes by themselves and consider them, to reject them because they do not express the exact truth. what is to be considered is not that code alone, but the purpose it came to fulfil. the codes of buddha and of christ are exaggerations, that is true; they cannot be lived up to in their entirety, that is also true. taken alone they are impossible; that is true. are they then untrue, useless, valueless guides to conduct?
-not quite so. for man is so built that he requires an exaggeration. if you would persuade him to go with you a mile you must urge him to come two; if you would have him acquire a reasonable freedom you must create in him an enthusiasm for unreasonable freedom; if you would have him moderate his passions he must be adjured to wholly suppress them.
-and therefore, it may be, do these codes of buddha and christ live. not because they are absolutely true, not because they furnish an ideal mode of life, not in order to be fully accepted, but because they are exaggerations that balance exaggerations; and out of the mean has come what is worth having; because they have an effect which the exact truth would not have in the masses of men.
-they have been truth, because their results were true.
-but the world is growing older, it is learning many things. never again can we hear that cry of liberté, egalité, fraternité, the enthusiasms of a nation for its ideals. these ideals were true then, they were true because their work was true. but their work is done; men's eyes are open now, we do not require such exaggerations to move us to our work. they were in themselves but half truths. it required the violent assertions of inequality, of slavery, to make up a whole truth. with one has died the necessity for the other.
-and so it may be with the codes of buddhism and christianity. they were true in their day, because they had their work to do. to have any effect at all they had to be enormous exaggerations; to earn any respect or attention they had to be proclaimed as perfect, as divine. but now, with the dying of the old brutalities, with the growth of civilisation, of humanity, and culture, the old savage exaggerations are dying out. the world is more refined, more effeminate, more clear-sighted. it says to itself, "these codes, if divine and perfect, must be capable of being implicitly obeyed; but they cannot be obeyed, and therefore they are not divine."
-and in the increased civilisation we feel less the need of a teaching of gentleness; our nature is no longer too coarse; it may be it is going the other way, that the softening process is going too far, and that our need is a new savagery. and above all we hate exaggeration. to minds capable of thought, of reason, and of culture, exaggeration on one side is no excuse for exaggeration on the other. we are changing from the older men who required enthusiasms to drive them and violent exaggerations to cause them to move. we like exactitude.
-these codes were made for rougher days than ours. they were true then. they are not true now--not true, at least, to the more thoughtful. but that they were true once, that the world owes to them its rescue from the exaggeration of the passions, we must never forget. they were truths while opposed. when opposed no longer they become false and fall. an exaggeration can only be useful as long as it is not perceived to be so. set up two beams against each other, they are savagery and the purist codes. while one stands so does the other, and they make an equilibrium. but take away one and straightway the other must fall too. one cannot stand alone.
-mind and body.
-"i have been lent your book 'the soul of a people,'" said a lady to me, "but i have only had time so far to read the dedication. do you know what i exclaimed?"
-"i cannot even guess," i replied.
-"i said, 'how very scientific.' do you know what i meant?"
-as my dedication is to the burmese people, and only says i have tried always to see their virtues and forget their faults, as a friend should, i was quite unable to see where the science came in, and i said so.
-"it is christian science," she told me.
-then she proceeded to tell me much about this christian science, that it was the science of looking at the best side of things, that it cured the body by mind, despair by hope, darkness by light, solitude by a sense of the companionship of god (good). she had proof in her own family of what a change it can bring to the unhappy. it was, she said, all new, and discovered by mrs. eddy.
-this was not, of course, the first i had heard of this strange cult. it has been in the air for some time past. mostly it has been jeered at as an absurdity by those who have looked only at the extraordinary claims it makes, at the intellectual fog it offers as thought, at the childishness and inconsequence of whatever conceptions could be picked out of the maze of words; and up till then it had seemed to me but another of those misty foolishnesses that amuse people who have nothing else to do.
-but when a case of real benefit, of benefit i could see and understand, was offered me in proof of its value, it seemed to me worth while to consider what there was in this teaching, to see what sense lay in this apparent senselessness, and to what want this new science appealed.
-i have mentioned elsewhere in this book--it is a fact that comes to one who has been in the east many years very strongly--the aimless pessimism that is so prevalent in england and europe. i am not here concerned with its cause. mainly, perhaps, it is due to the rise of a great class of middle and upper-middle people who have no object in life. they have by inheritance or acquirement enough money to live upon, and the struggle for life passes them by. they have no necessity to work, and they are not endowed with the brain or energy necessary to take to themselves some object or pursuit. their minds and sympathies have never been trained by necessity. they have fallen out of the great world of life and passion into eddies and backwaters. they have become flabby, both bodily, mentally, and emotionally, and, conscious of their own uselessness, they have fallen into the saddest pessimism. they are not blasé, because they have never tasted the realities of life; they have few friends, because they have no common interest to bind them to others. their lives are monotonies, and their thoughts and speech are a prolonged whine. they are perpetually searching and never finding, because they know not what they seek. most of them are women, but there are men also. i do not mean that all christian scientists are from the ranks of the unemployed. it is recruited also from those who with larger needs for emotion find the circumstances of ordinary life too narrow for them, from the over nervous and weak of all classes. but the majority are, i think, of those who do nothing.
-they turn to the established religions, vaguely hoping for the emotional stimulus they need, but they fail to find it.
-i am not quite sure why. one christian scientist assured me that mrs. eddy had discovered, all out of her own mind, that god was love, and that was why christian science was so successful. this was a lady who had gone to church regularly all her life. yet she supposed this a new discovery! a strange but not at all solitary instance of what i have so often found, that the immense majority who call themselves christians have never tried to realize what their religion is. many others have told me that they are "christian scientists" for other allied reasons. but no doubt the great attraction of christian science is in its doctrine, that bodily ills can be cured by mental effort, the assertion that evil exists only in the mind. this is, of course, nothing new. faith healing has been common in all stages of the world, has allied itself to all religions. there is the standing example of lourdes to-day, there was the relic worship of the middle ages, the pilgrimages and washings in sacred pools. it is common all over the world. the good effects attributed, and often truly, to charms and magic are but another instance of it. a great deal of the sickness and unhappiness of the world has always been purely the result of a diseased thought acting upon the body. the great antidote the world has always offered to this evil has been work. in daily work, in the necessity for daily effort, in the forced detachment of mind it brings on, in the interest that a worker is obliged to take in his work lest he fail, or even starve, lies the great tonic. and to this has been always added the belief in some religious rite, or in charms.
-and if the love be a disappointment, a tragedy, then what help is there anywhere? "let me die," she cries, "and be done with it. life is not worth living." the world is horrible, because they see the world through glasses dimmed with their own misery.
-to them comes mrs. eddy and says, "all the evil you feel, the mental sickness, the bodily sickness, is imaginary. face your evils in the certainty that they are but bogies and they will flee before you. you shall again become well and strong, and life shall be worth living."
-it is, of course, a wild exaggeration. pain and sickness are real things, and the empire of the mind over the body is very limited. still, there is an empire and it must never be forgotten. the healthy-minded--those who work, who live their lives, who love and hate, and fight, and win and lose, to whom the world is a great arena--will laugh at mrs. eddy. they need not this teaching which is half a truth and half a lie. they see the false half only because they need not the true half. and the others, the mental invalids, they see the true half and not the false. it is all true to them, and it must be all true to be of use, for power lies in the exaggeration, never in the mean. this is the secret of "christian science." we have in our midst a terrible disease, growing daily worse, the disease of inutility, which breeds pessimism, and mrs. eddy's doctrine of the imaginary nature of evil is good for this pessimism. the sick seize it with avidity because they find it helps their symptoms, and in the relief it affords to their unhappiness they are willing to swallow all the rest of the formless mist that is offered to them as part of their religion.
-i do not know that "christian scientists" differ greatly from believers in other religions in this point. it is an excellent instance of how one useful tenet will cause the acceptance of a whole mass of absurdities and even make them seem real and true. christian science has come as the quack medicine to cure a disease that is a terrible reality, and it is of use because it contains in all its mélange one ingredient, morphia, that dulls the pain. but the cure of this disease lies elsewhere than in christian science, than, indeed, in any religion.
-i have given a chapter to this "science," not because it appears to me that it is ever likely to become a real force or of real importance, but because it illustrates, i think, the reason of the success or otherwise of all religions. it exhibits in exaggerated form what is the nature of all religions.
-they come to fulfil an emotional want, or wants that are imperative and that call for relief. and they succeed and persist exactly as they minister to these emotional wants. the emotion that requires religion is always a pessimism of some form or other, a weariness, a hopelessness. and the religion is accepted because it combats that helplessness and gives a hope. all religions are optimisms to their believers.
-a great deal of foolishness may be included in a faith without injury to its success. doctrine, theory, scientific theology, may be as empty and meaningless as it is in christian science, and still the faith will live. and the central idea must be exaggerated. it must be so exaggerated that to outsiders it appears only an immense falsehood. it is so in all the religions. truth lies in the mean, power in the extreme. they are opposed as are freewill and destination, as are god and law.
-there is one complaint that all europeans make of the burmese. it matters not what the european's duties may be, what his profession, or his trade, or his calling--it is always the same, "the burmans will not stand discipline." it is, says the european, fatal to him in almost all walks of life. for instance, the british government tried at one time in burma to raise burmese regiments officered by europeans, after the pattern of the indian troops. there seemed at first no reason why it should not succeed. the burmans are not cowards. although not endowed with the fury of the pathan or the bloodthirsty valour of the ghurka, the burman is brave. he will do many things none but brave men can do; kill panthers with sharpened sticks, for instance, and navigate the irrawaddy in flood in canoes, with barely two inches free board. he is, in his natural state in the villages, unaccustomed to any strict discipline. but then, so are most people; and if the levies of the burmese kings were but a mob, why, so are most native levies. there seemed a priori no reason why burmese troops should not be fairly useful. and the attempt was made. it failed.
-and so, to a greater or less extent, all attempts to discipline the burmans in any walk of life have always failed. amongst the police--which must, of course, be composed of natives of the country--discipline, even the light discipline sought to be enforced, is always wanting. and good men will not join the force, mostly because they dislike to be ruled. in the mills in rangoon labour has been imported from india. not that the burman is not a good workman--he is physically and mentally miles above the imported telugu--but he will not stand discipline. it is the same on the railways and on the roads, and the private servants of almost all europeans are indian. the burman will not stand control, daily control, daily order, the feeling of subjection and the infliction of punishment. especially the infliction of punishment. he resents it, even when he knows and admits he deserves it.
-is, then, the burman impatient of suffering? he is the most patient, the most cheerful of mortals. i who have seen districts ruined by famine, families broken up and dissolved, farms abandoned, cattle dying by the thousand, i know this. and in the famine camps, where tens of thousands lived and worked hard for a bare subsistence, was there any inability to bear up, any despondency, any despair? there was never any. such an example of cheerfulness, of courage under great suffering, could not be surpassed. yet if you fine your servant a few annas out of his good pay for a fault he will admit he made, he will bitterly resent it and probably leave you. it is authority, personality, that the burmans object to. and the whole social life of the people, the whole of their religion, shows how deeply this distaste to personal authority enters into their lives.
-there is no aristocracy in burma. there has never been so. there has, it is true, always been a king--that was a necessity; and his authority, nominally absolute, was in fact very limited. but beside him there was no one. there were no lords of manors, no feudalism, no serfage of any kind. there was a kind of slavery, the idea of which probably came into burma with the code of manu, as a redemption of debt. at our conquest of upper burma it disappeared without a sign, but it was the lightest of its kind. the slave was a domestic servant at most, more usually a member of the family; the authority exercised over him or her was of the gentlest, for with the dislike to submit to personal authority there was an equally great dislike to exercising it. the intense desire for power and authority over others which is so distinguishing a mark of western people does not obtain among the burmese. it is one of our difficulties to make our subordinate burmese magistrates and officers exercise sufficient authority in their charges. this dislike, both to exercising and submitting to authority, is instinctive and very strong.
-it would, however, be quite outside the point of this chapter to discuss all the results of these differences and their effect for good and bad. to the european the burman, with his distaste for authority, appears to be unfitted for the greater successes of life. to the burman the european's desire for authority appears to result in the slavery of the many to the few, in the loss of individual liberty and the contraction of happiness. either or both, or neither, may be true. it is here immaterial, for all i wish to point out and to emphasise is that whereas the burman, who is a buddhist, dislikes all personal authority instinctively, the western christians, more especially the latin peoples, on the contrary crave after it. the burman's ideal is to be independent of everyone, even if poor, to have no one over him and no one under him, to live among his equals. but in western countries the tendency is all to divide the world into two classes, master and man, to organise--which means, of course, authority and submission--and to make obedience one of the greatest of virtues.
-now consider their faiths. the christian has a personal god. he owes to that god unquestioning obedience and submission. man may praise god and thank him, but not do the reverse. man owes to god reverence, one of the greatest of the virtues. and the churches are all organised in the same way. the authority of god becomes the authority of the pope, the tsar, the bishops, the priests. the amount of submission and reverence due to the priests of christianity may vary in different countries, but it is always there, and the reverence due to god never alters.
-do you think such a system of religion would be bearable to a burman? to him neither reverence nor submission to personality, whether god or priest or master, is an instinctive beauty. he acknowledges neither god nor priest, and he avoids masters as much as possible. his nature does not lead him to it. he revolts against personality. courage under the inevitable he has to the greatest extent. if he suffer as the result of a law he has nothing but cheerful acceptance, even if he do not understand it. if he can see his suffering to be the result of his own mistakes he will bear it with resignation, and note that in future he should be more careful. but that he should be punished, that rouses in him resentment, revolt. he would cry to god, why do you hurt me? you need not if you do not like; you are all-powerful. cannot you manage otherwise than by causing so much pain to me and all the world? there are other feelings caused by a personality, many other feelings than that of submission. there is defiance, bitterness. did not ajax defy the lightning? if a man or a boy looking at the world discovers in it more misery than happiness, more injustice than justice, of what sort will be his feelings to the author of it all?
-i fear that if the burman accepted a personal all-powerful god and then looked at the state of the world, his attitude towards that personality would not be all admiration and reverence. indeed, they have often told me so.
-but before law, before necessity. you cannot revolt against the inevitable. passion is useless. the suffering which would be resented from a personality is borne with courage as an inevitable result. you may be of good courage and say, "it is my fault, my ignorance; i will learn not to put my hands in the fire and so not be burnt." but if you suppose a god burnt you without telling you why, without giving you a chance, what then? is this hard to understand? i do not know, but to me it is not so. for i can remember a boy, who was much as these burmans are, who found authority hard to bear, punishment very difficult to accept; who remembered always that the punishment might have been omitted, who thought it was often mistaken and vindictive. for if you are almost always ill, and find for days and weeks and months that very little mental exertion is as much as you are capable of, how much do you accept the justice of being called "idle," "lazy," "indolent," and being kept in to waste what little mental strength you have left in writing meaningless impositions? there is more. it is a christian teaching, a lesson that is frequently enforced in children, that all their acts are watched by god. "he sees me now." "god is watching me." how often are not these written in large words on nursery walls? and do you think that there are not some natures who revolt from this? to be watched--always watched. cannot you imagine the intense oppression, the irritation and revulsion, such a doctrine may occasion? "cannot i be left alone?" and when he learns that there is another belief--that he is not being watched, that he is not a child in a nursery, but a man acting under laws he can learn--cannot you imagine the endless relief, the joy as of emancipation from a prison? that it is so to many people i know, the feeling that law means freedom, but i also know that to others it is not. "law, this rigid law," said the french missionary priest with a sigh when we were discussing the matter, "it makes me shudder. it seems to me like an iron chain, like a terrible destiny binding us in. ah, i never could believe that. but a god who watches over us, who protects us, who is our father, that is to me true and beautiful. who will help you if not god? under law you must face the world alone. no!" and he shuddered, "let us not think of it. i cannot abide the idea." and how many are like him?
-do you think that such feelings can be changed? do you think that he who thinks law to be freedom will ever be argued or converted into theism? it can never be. such beliefs are innate, they are instincts far beyond reason or discussion, to be understood only by those who have felt them.
-there is the instinct for god which rules almost all the west and india. there is the instinct against god and for law which rules the far east. you cannot get away from either, you cannot prove either or disprove it. they are instincts, and they influence not only the religious beliefs but the whole lives of the peoples.
-it is easy to see how in europe the instinct for personality has influenced all history. in moderation its effects have been all for good; it binds people into nations, it enables the weaker and more ignorant to accept willingly the leadership of the better. it has manifested itself with us even to-day in the respect and reverence and affection we have all felt for our queen, who has so lately left us. and in its excess it has been wholly evil. it has led us to irresponsible monarchs, to the terrible tyranny of the french aristocracy, that required the whirlwind of a revolution to efface. in the blind worship for napoleon in his later days it drove the nation to terrible suffering. this desire for personality has writ its effects large upon the history of the west, more especially in latin nations.
-and in burma the want of this instinct is also written deeply in the history. there has been with them no enthusiasm for persons, no idealisation of individuals. there is no inborn desire for rulers and masters, for obedience and submission.
-the effect of the instinct is writ largely in their history. they have no aristocracy, they have no feudality, there are neither masters nor men. they cannot organise or combine. the central government was incredibly weak. there is nothing that strikes the burman with such surprise as the unvaried obedience of all officials to a faraway government. but i am now concerned with effects, only causes. i have wished to show why a burman believes in law and not in god, that it arises from an instinct against overpowering personality, an innate dislike to the idea. it is never to him truth. it makes him unhappy even to hear of it. he could never accept it as a truth, for truth is that which is in accord with our hearts.
-yet the burman whose ideal is law is not quite without the instinct of personality. he also prays sometimes, and you cannot pray to nothing. far down in his heart there is also the same instinct that rules the west, but it is weak. it finds its vent now and then despite his faith. and in the west the idea of law is rising. it is new, but not less true for that. it rises steadily hand in hand with science, and it, too, will find its vent despite the faith.
-when the scientific theologian declares that god is not variable, that he has no passions, no anger, no vengeance, that he is bound by immovable righteousness and is not affected by prayer, cannot you see the idea of law? no one would have said this a hundred years ago. it is growing in him; it is there, even if he do not recognise it as such, and sore havoc it makes with the old theologies.
-the instinct of generalisation made many gods into one god; the instinct of atonement obliged the sub-division of god; to be explained only by an incomprehensible formula. and now there is arising a third instinct--that of law. it is weak yet, but it is there. when it becomes stronger either personality must disappear or else a still more incomprehensible creed must be formulated to reconcile the three ideas. but what is truth? are they all true?
-god the sacrifice.
-but indeed catholic countries are full of such crucifixes. they are upon the hills, they are beside the roadsides, they are in all the churches, they are in every catholic household, there is very often one worn upon the person.
-throughout italy, throughout all catholic countries, there are only two representations of christ--as a babe with the virgin mary and crucified upon the cross. it was in italy that western christianity arose and grew, it was in italy that it became a living power, it was in italy that it acquired consistency, that it was bound together by dogmas and crystallised in creeds. and still, after nineteen hundred years, it is italy that remains the centre of the christian world. there is no christian church so great, so venerable, so imposing as the church of rome. it lasts unchanged amid the cataclasms of worlds. and this people whose genius made christianity, whose genius still rules the greater part of it, what are their conceptions of christ? what part of his life is it that has caught their reverence and adoration, what side is it of his character that appeals to them, what is the emotion that the name of christ awakens in these believers?
-of the virgin mary and the infant christ i have written in another chapter. it is of the crucifix i wish to write here. why is it that of the life of christ this end of his is considered the most worthy to be in continual remembrance?
-i confess that when i climb the hill and see the dead christs upon their crosses shining white against the olive gardens, when i see his agony depicted in the churches, when i see the people gaze upon him sacrificed, my memory is taken back to other scenes.
-there is a scene that i can remember in a village far away against the frontier in our farthest east. it was a little village that was once a city, but decayed; it was walled with huge walls of brick, but they are fallen into mounds; it had gateways, but they are now but gaps; and a few huts are huddled in a corner where once a palace stood.
-it is the custom in this village that every year at a certain season white cocks are to be sacrificed at the gates. there is as may be some legend to explain the custom, but it is forgotten. and yet are the cocks sacrificed each year.
-there is the memory, too, of the goat i saw killed in india years ago as i have described. and there are other memories--memories of what i have seen, of what i have read. for this ceremony of sacrifice is the very oldest of all the beginnings of religion. it is akin to prayer, it is at the root of all faiths; we can go no further back than sacrifice. where it began religion had commenced. far older than any creed, arising from the dumb instincts of human kind, it is one of the roots of faiths.
-therefore, when i see this image of god, the son sacrificed to god the father, i seem to behold the highest development of this long story. sacrifice, it has always been sacrifice. it has been small animals--goats and fowls and pigeons; it has been greater and more valuable beasts--cattle and horses. it has been man. how often indeed has it been man: abraham leading isaac to the sacrifice, the aztecs sacrificing in mexico, the druids in britain, the followers of odin, the greeks, the egyptians, the early hindus, can you find a faith that has not sacrificed? sometimes it has been single victims, sometimes hecatombs of slaughtered slaves. it has been sacrifice by priests, it has been self-sacrifice, as curtius or as those who threw themselves before the car of juggernauth. everywhere there has been sacrifice; it is one of the roots of faiths, it arouses the emotion that has helped to make all religions. and in christianity it has reached its zenith, for it is no longer an animal, no longer even a man--it is a god, the son of god who is self-sacrificed to god. in what manner this awakens the emotions of man the following extract will show. it is from "the gospel of the atonement," by the venerable j. wilson.
-the scientific theologians tell me when i ask that this parade of the sacrifice of christ is to recall to men how much they should love christ. that he so loved them that he gave himself a victim for their salvation. the crucifix, the incessant preaching of the death of christ, the sacrament of the communion, is to cause us to love him as to do what he taught us. that it does have some such effect no one can doubt--on latin people. but on others?
-to some it seems that if you try to reason at all about it, the emotion awakened might be, nay should be, otherwise. in those not instinct with one emotion the first impression awakened is disgust at the parade of death and blood; the second, horror at the god who could demand such a sacrifice, who could not be pacified but by the execution in circumstances of shame of his own son. they shrink from it. it is no matter of reason. do you think one who felt so could be argued out of his horror or a christian out of his devotion? they are instinctive feelings which nothing will change. and yet in a very small way even the buddhist has the instinct of sacrifice. for i remember that when the fowls were killed inside the city gate and their blood ran upon the ground the people looked just as these italian people looked. the emotion was the same in kind, and it was not either love for the fowls or wonder at the demand of the spirits that moved them. and so when the slaves were sacrificed beneath the oaks, was it gratitude to the slaves that was evoked? and in the self-sacrifice at the car of juggernauth? it may be sometimes that gratitude may be added, but this is not the root emotion. the instinct of sacrifice has its roots much deeper than this, quite apart from this; and, with perhaps only one exception--buddhism--all religions have practised it. christianity performs no more sacrifices now, but all its churches, in all their varieties weekly at the great sacrament of the communion, commemorate--nay, it is claimed in a measure recreate--this sacrifice of the son to the father. sacrifice is of the very root of this religion. it is far older than any creed. the jews knew of sacrifice two thousand years before the day of christ, the celts sacrificed slaves ages before that.
-but it may be said these crosses, these crucifixes, are peculiar to catholic countries. you do not see them in north germany, in england, in america. teutonic nations do not parade this sacrifice. no, they do not, for it does not appeal to them so much as to the nations of southern europe. sacrifice was not unknown to the teutons and the northern people, but it never reached the height it did further south. it has been the latin peoples who in this as in other matters went to extremes. it was the greeks who sacrificed iphigenia, who had the festival of the thargalia; it was rome which produced curtius and others who sacrificed themselves. it was the romans who sacrificed thousands in the coliseum. it is in the tumuli of celtic peoples where we find the cloven skulls of slaves.
-sacrifice has appealed always more to the latin then and now; and therefore you see the crucifix in latin countries, but not with us. still, we are not free from the emotion. we have the sacrament of communion; the atonement appeals to us also. the passions that are strong in the latin peoples are weak with us, yet they exist. the instincts are the same. when executions were public our people thronged to see them. death has always a peculiar attraction, quite apart from any idea connected with it. it is such a wonderful thing the taking of life, so awe-inspiring, that it has appealed always to men; especially in the west.
-in the east that has accepted buddhism, especially in burma, it is much less so. they have, it is true, the usual pleasure and curiosity in seeing blood and death. and occasionally you come across some petty sacrifice like that of the fowls mentioned above; but the instinct is comparatively weak. it has never, even before they were buddhists, been general, and never extended even to cattle. the sacrifice of a man (remember, i say sacrifice, not execution), would be absolutely abhorrent to them, how much more so that of a god? they have not the instinctive recognition of any beauty in it. therefore, for this amongst other reasons, the burmese reject christianity.
-but to the western instinct this sacrifice and this atonement is wonderful and beautiful. it appeals to us. the old instinct is satisfied.
-therefore, amongst other reasons, christians cling to the atonement, and to make that sacrifice the greatest possible it must be the sacrifice of god, and as god can only be sacrificed to god the christian god must be a multiple one. to postulate as the mahommedan does, god is god, would destroy the depth of the atonement. hence arises the creed, the attempt to reconcile two opposed instincts. there is one god--that is an instinct, arising from our generalising power; there must be at least two gods to explain the atonement, and so we have the father and the son.
-for of the three godheads only these two are real to most people. there is god the ruler, the maker of the world, and there is christ. these are both very real to all christians. they are prayed to individually, they are worshipped separately, they are clear conceptions. but is there any clear conception of the holy ghost as a distinct personality? is he ever cited separately from the others? has he any special characteristics? there are, for instance, many pictures of god, and many more of christ--are there any of the holy ghost? this third person of the trinity appeals to no instinct, and is only an abstraction in popular thought. when the creed was framed it was necessary to include the holy ghost because he is mentioned in the new testament. he has remained an abstraction only. but the other two godheads are realities, because they appeal to feelings that are innate. they are the explanation of these feelings.
-thus do creeds arise out of instincts. it is never the reverse. postulate god the father as all-powerful, all-merciful, and see if by any possibility you can work out the atonement or see any beauty in it. can anyone see aught but horror in this almighty demanding the sacrifice of his son? you cannot. but granted that atonement and sacrifice have to you an innate beauty of their own, and the dogma of a multiple godhead easily follows. there are creeds built on ceremonies, and ceremonies upon instincts: ceremonies are never deduced from creeds.
-god the mother.
-the only other form in which the christ is presented to popular adoration is as a baby in the madonna's arms. out of all the life of christ, all the varied events of that career which has left such a great mark upon the western world, only the beginning and the end are pictured. christ the teacher, christ the preacher, the restorer of the dead to life, the feeder of the hungry, the newly arisen from the grave, where is he? the great masters have painted him, but popular thought remembers nothing of all that. there is christ the sacrificed and christ the infant with his mother. to the latin people these two phases represent all that is worth daily remembrance. there are crucifixes and madonnas in every hill side, by every road, at the street corners, in every house, and of the rest of the story not a sign.
-what is the emotion to which the madonna appeals? why do she and her child thus live in latin thought?
-there are historians who tell us that the worship of the madonna was introduced from egypt. she is astarte, queen of heaven, the phoenician goddess of married love or maternity, she is the egyptian isis with her son horus. it is a cult that was introduced through spain, and took root among the latin people and grew. there is no question here of christ, they say; it is the goddess and her son.
-it has also absorbed the worship of venus and aphrodite. venus was the tutelary goddess of rome, she was the goddess of maternity, of production. it was not till the greek idea of beauty in aphrodite came to rome and became confounded with the goddess venus that her status changed. she was the goddess of married love, she became later the emblem of lust. but it was she who purified marriage to the old roman faith; she was the purifier, the justifier, the goddess of motherhood, which is the sanction of love and marriage.
-it may be that all this is true. it may be possible to trace the worship back through the various changes to astarte, ashtoreth, to isis, to older gods, maybe, than these. all this may be true, and yet be no explanation. the old gods are dead. why does she alone survive? what is the instinct that requires her, that pictures her on the street corners, that makes her worship a living worship to-day?
-and why is it that she appeals not at all to the teutonic people? where are her pictures in protestant germany, in england, in scotland, in america? do you ever hear of her there? do the preachers tell of her, the picture makers paint her, the people pray to her? such a worship is impossible. and why? what is the answer that to-day gives to that question? is the answer difficult? i think not, for it is written in the hearts of the people, it is written in the laws they have made, in the customs they adhere to, in the oaths they take, in their daily lives.
-consider the roman laws of two thousand and more years ago, the french laws of to-day. what is there most striking to us when we study them? it is, i think, the cult of the family.
-the roman son was his father's slave. he could not own property apart from the father, he could not marry without leave, his father could execute him without any trial. family life lay outside the law; not senate, nor consul nor emperor could interfere there. the unit in rome was not the man, but the family.
-as it was so it is. the laws are less stringent, but the idea remains. a man belongs not to himself but to his people, to his father and to his mother. in france even now he has to ask their leave to marry. the property is often family property, and his family may restrain a man from wasting it.
-there is no bond anywhere stronger than the family bond of the latin peoples. in mediæval rome, even often in rome of to-day, all the sons live with their father and mother even if married. it is the custom, and, like all customs that live, it lives because it is in accord with the feelings of those who obey it.
-a man belongs to his family, he clings to it; he is not an individual, but part of an organism.
-and although in law it is the father who is the head, it is the father who is the lawgiver, the ruler, is it really he who is that centre, that lode-star, that holds the family together? i think it is not so. it is the mother who is the centre of that affection which is stronger than gravity. we laugh when a frenchman swears by his mother. but he is swearing by all that he holds most sacred. no latin would laugh at such a matter. because he could understand, and we do not. to everyone of latin race there comes next to god his mother, next to christ the madonna, who is the emblem of motherhood.
-the latins do not emigrate. they hate to leave their country. and if they do, if necessity drive them forth, are they ever happy, ever at rest till they can see their way to return? the americans tell us that italians are the worst immigrants because they will not settle; because they send their pay to their parents in the old country, and are never happy till they themselves can return. we call it nostalgia, we say it is a longing for their country. it is that and more. it is a longing for their family, their blood. they cling together in a way we have no idea of.
-does an englishman ever swear by his mother, does he yearn after her as the latins do from a far country? does the fear of separation keep our young men at home? it is always the reverse. they want to get away. the home nest tires them, and they would go; and once gone they care not to return, they can be happy far away. the ties of relationship are light and are easily shaken off, they are quickly forgotten.
-italian labourers and servants give some of their pay always as a matter of course to their parents. it is a natural duty. and in latin countries there are no poorhouses. they could not abide such a theory any more than could the indians. it would seem to a latin an impossibility that any child would leave his parents in a workhouse. poor as they might be they would keep together. the great bond that holds a family together is the mother, always the mother. we can see this in england too, even with our weaker instinct. the mother makes the home and not the father.
-and now are we not finding that sanction we were searching for? if the madonna, the type of motherhood, appeals to all the people, men and women, is there not a reason? it is an instinct. these images and pictures of the madonna sound on their heart-strings a chord that is perhaps the loudest and sweetest; if second to any, second only to that of god. god as father, god as mother, god as son and sacrifice, here is the threefold real godhead of the latins.
-but with us the family tie is slight, the mother worship is faint. our teutonic trinity is god the father, god the son, and now later god the law. these are the realities.
-for with us conduct is more and emotion is less than with the peoples of the south.
-of all aspects of religion none is so difficult to understand as the relation of religion and conduct. it is ever varying. there seems to be nothing fixed about it. what does conduct arise from? it takes its origin in an instinct, and this instinct is so strong, so imperious, so almost personal, that of all the instincts it alone has a name. it is conscience.
-by conscience our acts are directed.
-there are scientific men who tell us that our consciences are the result of experience, partly our own, but principally inherited. that if conscience warns us against any course of action it is because that has been experienced to result in misfortune. it is an unconscious memory of past experiences. conscience is instinctive, and not affected by teaching to any great extent; and that conscience is the main guide of life no one will deny.
-but do the voices of conscience and of god, as stated in the sacred books, agree?
-when the savage sees a god in the precipice and is afraid of him, there is no question of right or wrong. not that the savage has no code of morals. he has a very elaborate one. but it is usually distinct from his religion. what virtue did odin teach? none but courage in war. yet the northmen had codes of conduct fitted to their stage of civilisation. the greeks had many gods. they had also codes of morals and an extensive philosophy, but practically there was no connection. in fact, the gods were examples not of morality but of immorality. it was the same with the latins and with all the celts. their religions were emotional religions, their codes of conduct were apart, although even here you see now and then an attempt to connect them. and when the latin people took christianity and formed it, they put into their creeds no question of conduct. you believed, and therefore you were a christian. the results of bad conduct would be annulled by confession, and the sinner would receive absolution. to a latin christian a righteous unbeliever who had never done anything but good would in the end be damned, whereas the murderer who repented at the last would be saved. "there is more joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons that need no repentance."
-is the inference that the latin peoples were wickeder than others? i doubt it. they initiated all european civilisation, and trade and commerce, and law and justice. probably the highest examples of conduct the world has known have been latins. they had and have the instinct of conduct, they had and have consciences as good as other people, but only they do not so much connect conduct and religion. you can be saved without conduct.
-the jews, on the contrary, had no instinct of conduct apart from religion. in the ten commandments conduct, if it have the second place, has yet the larger share. righteousness was the keynote of their belief, and if the only righteousness they knew was little better than a noble savagery, it was the best they could do. they included every form of conduct in their religion--sanitary matters, caste observances, and business rules. the hindu goes even further in the same line. everything in life is included in his religion.
-when in the reformation the teutonic people threw off the yoke of rome, a yoke which was not only religious but political and social, one of their principal arguments against roman catholicism was the abominations that had crept in. i think it would be difficult to assert that the people who revolted were in morals generally any better than those they seceded from. good men in the latin church saw equally the necessity for reformation. but bad morals did not seem to them so destructive to faith as it did to the teutons. there was this difference, that whereas the latin could and did conceive of religion apart from conduct, the teuton, like the jew, could not do so. with the latin they were distinct emotions, with the teuton they were connected. one of the principal aspects of the reformation is the restoration of morality to religion, the abolition of indulgences, of confession and absolution, the insistence on conduct in religious teachers.
-the morality of christ?
-the remarkable fact is that it was not the morality of christ at all. the reformation was never in any way a revival of the code of the sermon on the mount or the imitation of christ. to a certain extent it went further away from christ than the latins. for instance, the latin priests imitate christ in being unmarried, the protestant pastors married. when calvin burnt servetus he was not returning to the tenets of the new testament, and what thought had the puritans or the french huguenots, the most masterful of men, of turning the other cheek?
-protestantism was a return of conduct to religion, but it was not christ's conduct. it was rather the old testament code softened by civilised influence that was revived. it was a revolt against excessive emotionalism, and was, in fact, a combination of two creeds tempered as to conduct by the conduct of the day.
-so it continues to-day. the latin's idea of religious conduct is the imitation of christ, and when a latin cultivates religious conduct that is what he does. he becomes a priest or monk, poor, celibate, self-denying and unworldly. but conduct to him is not the great part of religion that it is to a teuton. with us conduct is the greatest part; the mystical and ceremonious part has decreased, in certain sects almost disappeared. confession disappeared, and with it absolution from priests. conduct is part of religion, and the code of conduct to be followed is that which conscience bids, and the code of conscience is, scientific men tell us, the result of experience, personal and inherited. practically, what conscience tells us to do is what suits the circumstances of the day.
-therefore we may say that the religion of the latins is mainly emotional, that of the teutons half emotional and half conduct; and then we come to the buddhist, which is nearly all conduct.
-the latin would say of an unbeliever, "he cannot be saved; faith is the absolute necessity, and faith even at the last moment by itself is sufficient." the teuton would say, "i do not know. to be a good man, even if an unbeliever, is very much; it may be that god will accept him."
-and the buddhist? he has no doubt at all. conduct is everything. believe what you like as long as you act well. to be a buddhist is best because there you have the way of life set clearly before you, and it is easy for you to follow. but any man can be saved if he act aright. conduct is everything. in fact, buddhism in its inception was in one aspect a revolt against excessive emotionalism, that of the ascetics, and it maintains that attitude to-day.
-or, to put it another way: roman catholicism is all emotion, protestantism is half emotion, buddhism is the suppression of emotion. these are the theories. and the facts? what effect does this difference make on the lives of the peoples?
-it may have some effect. there is sometimes action and reaction. these different views of the relation of religion and conduct come from the instincts of the people, and being held and taught they in turn affect the people. but how much? personally, i believe very little.
-a man's daily conduct is regulated by quite other factors. if the effect was great we should find buddhists the least criminal of peoples, the teutons a medium, and the latins without any idea of conduct at all. but this is certainly not true. the burman is greatly given to certain crimes, the outcome of his stage of civilisation.
-and i have great doubts whether the protestants generally can show any superiority over the latins when the circumstances are considered. are the english roman catholics less honest than protestants in the same class? are sceptics more criminal than religious people? the inclusion of conduct in religion is astonishingly varied. some peoples cannot be born or come to maturity, or marry, or die without religion; others do not allow religion to have any part in these matters. but the fact remains that, though conduct may be included more or less in every religion, no religion has a code of conduct for daily life. priests and monks apart, the codes of conduct are not taken from religion.
-but it must not be forgotten that neither christianity nor buddhism professes to provide a code of conduct for this life. judaism knew no future life, and its aim was therefore to ensure success in this. that is the reward offered to the righteous--success for them and their children. there is no hint that this life is not good and worth living, that love and wealth are not good things. on the contrary, they are held out as the reward of the godly. the judaic code was a good and workable one for its age. but christianity and buddhism declare that this life is not good; that it is, in fact, absolutely wicked and unhappy, and that therefore all worldly pleasures and successes are to be eschewed as snares. the codes given are ways to reach heaven, they are by no means codes for ordinary life. followed to their meaning, every christian ought to be a monk or nun and every buddhist the same.
-conduct is an instinct. it evolves according to the civilisation and idiosyncrasy of the people. it is influenced by many causes. people, for instance, who are not pleased by acting call theatres wrong, and so on. experience is also a factor. and the connection of conduct with religion varies. some people make it a great part of their religion just as sanitary and social measures are included, other peoples make it less prominent. but conduct does not proceed from religious creeds any more than prayer or confession does. it may be slowly influenced by religious teaching, but it has its own existence, and religious teaching is only one of many influences.
-men's faith and women's faith.
-there is a faith--judaism--which originated so far back that we have only a legendary account of it. it was the cult of a warrior nation whose ideal was bravery and whose glory was war, who considered the rest of the world as philistines and treated them ruthlessly, who kept themselves as a nation apart.
-nineteen hundred years ago there arose among them a prophet, said to be of the ancient kingly house. he preached a doctrine which prescribed as the rule of life mildness and self-denial, renunciation of this world; who denounced war and conquest, and held out as a goal for attainment heaven, which is the peace of god.
-this prophet, the christ, was executed, but he left behind him disciples who spread his religion widely. amongst his own people it never attained great strength, and in time it died away and disappeared. there are no christians among the jews. all semitic nations have rejected this faith. but it spread far to the west, and is now in one form or another the accepted faith of the half world to the west of palestine. it never spread east.
-there is a faith--brahminism--which originated so far back that we have but legendary accounts of it. it was the cult of a warrior nation whose ideal was courage and whose glory was war, who considered the rest of the world as outcasts and treated them ruthlessly, who kept themselves as a nation apart.
-two thousand five hundred years ago there arose among them a prophet, the son of the royal house. he preached a doctrine which prescribed as a rule of life meekness and self-denial, renunciation of the world. he denounced war and conquest, and held out as a goal for attainment the great peace.
-this prophet, the buddha, was rejected by all the higher castes and he died, having made but little way. but his disciples spread his religion widely. amongst his own people it never attained great strength, and in time it died away and disappeared. there are no buddhists in oude, and, with perhaps a slight exception, there are no buddhists at all in india. but it has spread far to the east, and is now in one form or another the accepted faith of nearly all people east of the bay of bengal, and also of ceylon. it never spread west.
-i do not say that christianity and buddhism are the same, for although in some ways, especially in conduct, their teaching is almost identical, and in others--such as heaven and nirvana--though differently expressed, the idea is almost the same, yet in certain theories they differ very greatly. yet, however they may differ, the above parallel cannot but strike one as extraordinary. indeed, the parallel might have been very largely augmented, but it suffices for the purpose of this chapter; and that is to enquire why each teacher's doctrine was rejected by his own people and accepted by others.
-it is no answer to say that no one is a prophet in his own country. all the jewish prophets, from moses to isaiah, were prophets in their own country. christ alone was not. mahommed was a prophet to the arabs, zoroaster to the persians, confucius and laotze to the chinese. all teachers of hinduism have been native born hindus. in buddhist countries it is the same. luther was a prophet to the germans, loyola to the spaniards. the rule is otherwise. a prophet is never a prophet to any but his own people, except the two greatest prophets in the world, christ and buddha. they alone were rejected by their own and accepted elsewhere. they almost divide the world between them. hinduism, from which buddhism arose, still exists untouched by either; judaism, from which christianity arose, and its near kin mahommedanism, exist untouched by either; but most of the rest of the world is either christian or buddhist. these are very astonishing facts, and must have some very strong reasons to cause them. the question is, what are the reasons, and are they the same in each case? was it a similar cause that occasioned such similar effects? what quality was it in the jews and hindus that led them to reject their prophets, and what are the qualities in the converted nations that led them to accept these prophets?
-it might seem at first as if the clue was contained in the first sentence of each paragraph, that the reason was because both jews and hindus, especially the higher caste hindus, were warrior nations. the rule of life preached by each teacher was absolutely against all that they had revered so far, hence that each rejected it. the fact, of course, is true. each nation had up to the coming of the teacher learned a rule of life hopelessly in contrast to the new teaching. the ideals of christ and buddha were absolutely opposed to those a fierce, warlike, exclusive people could maintain. they could not accept them without throwing to the winds all their past. this is true, but is it an explanation? it is certainly not a full one. the jews were warriors, bitter, terrible, ruthless fighters, and they rejected christ. but they are no longer a nation of warriors, and they still reject him.
-the world has never seen keener soldiers than those of western europe, but these nations accept him.
-the hindu warrior caste are warriors to the bitter end. they rejected buddha, but so did many peoples of india; the bengalees, for instance, who are not fighters.
-where can you find stronger warrior spirit than has always existed in japan? yet buddhism is the prevailing religion there. it is evident, i think, that this explanation will not suffice. it may in addition be asserted that the men of latin nations are usually frankly atheistic, and the teutonic nations, though theoretically christian, yet practically when they want to fight they forget christ and fall back to the jehovah of the jews. the puritans and the boers are cases in point. they get their fighting faith out of the old testament, not the new. but still they accept christ, and though they may find it impossible, like all nations, to follow his teaching, they do not reject it, or deny it. with buddhism in the further east the parallel does not last, because buddhism in ethical teaching stands alone. the buddhist who wants to fight cannot fall back on the original faith. he has simply to go without a faith at all. he has not the advantage of a double set of conduct, one of which can always be trusted to fit anything he wants to do he has to go without a faith when he fights. still he does so.
-i confess that for a long time i seemed to find no answer, and at length it came not through studying out this question, but in observing other phenomena of religion altogether.
-to one coming to europe after years in the east and visiting the churches nothing is more striking than the enormous preponderance of women there. it is immaterial whether the church be in england or in france, whether it be anglican or roman catholic or dissenter. the result is always the same. women outnumber the men as two to one, as three to one, sometimes as ten to one. even of the men that are there, how many go there from other motives than personal desire to hear the service? men go because their wives take them, boys go with their mothers or sisters, old men with their daughters. professional men are there because it would injure them among their women clients to be absent. women go because they desire to do so; nine out of ten even of these few men who do go are taken by their women folk. they admit it readily. and more, when they are away from these women they do not enter the churches. it is borne in upon an observer, especially an observer who has been long enough away from europe to become depolarised, to what an enormous extent the observance of religious duty in europe among christian nations is due to women. it is they only who care for, who are in full sympathy with the teaching of christ; for men when they are religious, and in certain cases they are so, take their religion of conduct much more from the old testament than the new.
-in burma it is not otherwise. the deeper the tenets of buddhism are observed, the more the women are concerned in it. who lights the candles at the pagoda, who contribute the daily food to the monks, who attend the sunday meetings in the rest houses? nearly all of them are women. even in burma, where the devotional instinct is so strong and so deeply held, the immense influence of women is manifest. in christian and buddhist countries the women are free to attend the services; they are free, to a greater or lesser extent, in all matters, and in religion they are conspicuous--they rule it, they form it to suit themselves.
-but in the races that rejected christianity, that rejected buddhism, it is otherwise. the hindu women keep themselves in zenanas. they are not allowed in the temples, or only in special parts. they can take no part in the public services. they cannot combine to influence religious matters. at the time the buddha lived women were very much freer than they are now, and this accounts for its initial partial success at home. but as waves of conquest, the incessant rigorous struggle for existence deepened and circumstances contracted that liberty, so as it contracted did buddhism die. till at length the women remained immured, and buddhism fled to countries where women had still some freedom.
-it is the same with christianity. the jewish women, if not quite so secluded as hindu women, were yet never openly allowed to join in the synagogues. they, too, as the mahommedan even, had their "grille" apart. the jewish men and the mahommedan men kept their religion for themselves, a virile religion, where women had little place. it may be the fact--i think in another chapter i have shewn that it is a fact--that women seek after religion far more than men but they must have a religion to suit them. the tenets of christ and of buddha do appeal to them, do come nearer to them than they do to the generality of men. and so where women have been free to make their influence felt, to impress their views upon the faith of a country, the mild beliefs of non-resistance, of peace, of meekness and submission have obtained. whereas in the countries and nations where for one cause or another women are not free to make their combined influence felt, where they remain under the greater dominance of man in all matters, the faiths that retain the stronger and more virile codes of conduct have remained.
-i am not sure that there have not been other influences also at work. i can, i think, see another strong influence that has worked to the same end. there may be many reasons. but that would not alter the fact that the influence of women has been a main force, that they have greatly been concerned in the change of faith.
-prayer and confession.
-what is the most general, the most conspicuous form in which religion expresses itself? is it not in prayer? where is the religion that is without prayer? there is none. and perhaps, too, it is the very first expression of religion, that when the savage fell and prayed the lightning to spare him, he was inaugurating the greatest religious form the world has known.
-what a wonderful thing it is, wonderful in every form, beautiful wherever you see it--from the glorious masses sung in the cathedrals to the mussulman spreading his mat upon the sand and bowing towards mecca. there is nothing so beautiful, nothing that so touches the heart of man as prayer.
-i have said that it is common to all religions, and so it is. religions live not in creeds, but in the believers. pure buddhism knows not prayer, but does not the buddhist know it? go to any pagoda and see the women there praying to someone--someone, they know not whom--and ask if buddhists know not prayer? i have written so fully of it in my other book that i will not repeat it here.
-prayer is common to all believers; it is the greatest, as perhaps it is the only expression common to all religions. and whence comes this custom of prayer? the jew and the mussulman and the christian will answer and say, "it comes from our belief in god, it is an outcome of that belief. our god has bade us pray to him."
-and the hindu, how will he answer? he will say, "our gods have power over us, they deal with us as they will. they listen to us if we pray. and therefore it is right for us to beseech them in our trouble. it comes from our belief in our gods." and the savage will answer, "i fear the devil, so i pray to him." but what will the buddhist answer?
-for buddhism knows no god. the world is ruled by law, unchangeable, everlasting law. no one can change that law. if you suffer it is the meet and proper consequence of your sins. the suffering is purifying you and teaching you how to live. it would not be well for you to be relieved of it now if you could be. therefore suffer and be silent.
-a very beautiful belief. and yet the people pray. why? when a buddhist prays it is not in consequence of his belief, but in spite of it. it cannot be traced as the result of any theory of causation.
-therefore one doubts the theist's explanation and one reflects. was, indeed, prayer born of their beliefs? and then the doubt increases. are these creeds older than prayer, or maybe is it not that prayer is older than the creeds? did these creeds exist in men's minds first or did the necessity for prayer exist first? which is nearer to man?
-let us consider what prayer is. it consists of three things mainly. petition to be saved, to be helped from imminent danger; praise at being so saved; and last, probably last, but surely greatest of all, confession.
-when troubles fall upon the man, what is his first impulse? to tell someone. if the confidant can help, so much the better; but if not, still to tell. to ease the pent up heart by telling, that is what is wanted. and with joy, too. have you not seen how, when good news comes to a man, he loves to rush forth and tell it? to whom? it does not matter. tell it, tell it. cry it aloud, if but the trees and rocks can hear. to keep secret a great thing is very hard. remember the courtier who discovered that king midas had asses' ears. he could not keep the terrible deadly truth to himself. he dared not tell it to man. and so, going softly to the river, he confessed the dreadful knowledge to the reeds: "midas hath asses' ears." can you trace here any cause and effect? and there is confession, to tell someone of our sins, to confess. is that dependent upon any religious theory? much has been written about confession, this necessity of the laden spirit, but never has anything been written like that study by dostoieffsky called "crime and punishment." the "crime" was murder, not an ordinary murder committed by a ruffian in passion or from sordid motives, but a murder by a student intended to result in good. the murderer is suspected--nay, is known by a police officer--and the motive of the first half of the story is not to gain evidence, not to unravel the story, but it lies in the efforts of the detective to induce raskolnikoff to make a voluntary confession. and why? there was evidence enough, the offender could have been arrested and convicted at any time. but that would not do. punishment alone will not always, will indeed but seldom, benefit the criminal. punishment is for the protection of society. it is for the future, not the past. for the criminal to redeem himself he must confess. in that lies the only medicine for a diseased soul. it is a marvellous story, and it holds the truth of truths. confess. there is no emotion of the human heart so strong as this, the eminent necessity to tell someone. no one who has had much to do with crime will doubt this. there is in all natural men a burning desire, an absolute necessity, to tell of what has been done. it comes out sometimes in confessions to the police or to the magistrate. all criminal annals are full of such stories. a crime is committed and there is no clue, till the man confesses. i have myself seen a great deal of this. i have received many confessions. but you will object that was amongst burmese; and i reply, wherein is there any difference? criminals of all countries frequently confess. but as civilisation progresses the confession is not often to a magistrate. the fear, the terrible fear of punishment outweighs the natural impulse. but still the confession is made. if you read the cases in the papers you will see how often it is made. to a wife, to a companion, sometimes to a complete stranger. the men who can hold their tongues, who can stifle nature, are very few. with all but hardened criminals the tendency is always to confession, and those whose work has laid among them know that the denial, the defence, except with hardened criminals, is seldom theirs. if there were no relations to urge them, no lawyers to assist them, five out of six first offenders would confess openly.
-is it otherwise with our children? what is it we teach them above all else? never to do wrong? no! for we know that is impossible. children, like men, will err. but, "when you have done wrong confess, for only so can you lift the weight from your heart." confess, confess. everywhere it is the same. if you have done wrong, only by confession can you remove the stain. but it must be voluntary. it must not be forced. such a confession is of no value. even our courts reject it.
-it is an instinct of the heart that comes who can tell whence, that means who can tell what? and from this have grown many things. it has become part of all the greater religions, and the forms it has taken are significant not so much of the faiths, but of the people.
-among the jews and the mahommedans we hear little of it. they were a hard people when their faiths were formed, a strong people, and little advanced in the gentler feelings. they were warriors who lived greatly by the sword, and it was necessary for them to stifle all that might weaken or even polish them. for one man to humble himself to another is very hard, for a proud man to confess to another is almost impossible. and so into these theistic faiths the confession was to god. if a man sinned it was to god alone he could confess. but with christianity it has been different. there is in christianity what exists in no other faith in the same way, an intermediary between god and man.
-there are the priests.
-this desire of the soul for confession, the absolute necessity with strong emotional people to tell someone their sins and their truths, has been one of the greatest cults of the church of rome. man must confess, let him confess to the priests. their tongues are tied, they will never reveal what they are told; they are the ministers of god. therefore let the innate desire for confession be directed towards the priests. it is universal in catholic countries. whatever may be its abuses it is the great safety valve, the great help of the people, that as they must confess they should have someone to confess to.
-with the northern teutonic nations it has been different. they got their christianity from rome, a christianity that was built on the needs of impulsive celtic natures. it suited not with the harder natures of the north. they could not confess to men, it galled them to be told to confess. their natures were different. had they no need of confession? yes, but they were as the jews and mahommedans. they would not humble themselves to men. and so, for this and other similar reasons, they revolted from rome and made their own church, where confession is only to god. but the necessity of confession still remains; our services are full of it. it is strange how very often we find the christianity of teutonic people nearer in observed facts to the faiths of semitic peoples than to the christianity of the celts. all these peoples, all these churches, recognise the need of confession. but, it may be said, all this is a difference of very slight detail. all confession is to god. the roman priests are only representatives of god. if you believe in god you must believe in confession, because god has always directed it. confession is in all the churches because god ordered it. the need comes from god, who gives absolution.
-then how about the buddhists? they have no god, but yet they confess. the buddha himself many times pointed out how needful confession was, and how healing to the heart. there is no god to confess to, there is no representative of god. but there is the head of the monastery. let the younger monk who sins confess his sins to his superior. there is no absolution. man works out his future himself, always by himself. there is no absolution, no help to be gained by confession. but the buddha knew the hearts of man. he knew that confession was good for the soul. he knew that it needed no absolution from any priest to help the confesser, no belief in any god to pardon because of the confession. confession, if it be made honestly and truly, brings with it always its own reward. it may be objected, that this is not general, but only applies to those trying to live the holy life. the buddha taught that all men should do so. he meant it to be general. it is true that it is not, it cannot be general, or the world would cease. only a few are monks. is, then, the help of confession denied to the multitude? perhaps by the stringent buddhist faith it may not be urgently inculcated, and men and women in outside life cannot confess to monks. do they then go without? not so. go to any pagoda at any time and you will see there kneeling many people, some men, but mostly women. they are there confessing, audibly sometimes, their troubles, their sins, their joys also. to whom? ah! then i cannot tell you. "someone will hear," they say, "someone will hear." religions are for the necessity of man, and if the narrow creed will not suffice it must be enlarged.
-it is a strange subject this of confession, and its ally, prayer. it is strange to follow it to its roots in the human heart, and to see that it is stronger, is older, is more persistent than creeds. creeds come and go, they change, and man changes with them; he may have any religion or have none, but it makes no difference to this. hindu and christian, mahommedan and buddhist, atheist and jew, the heart of man is ever the same. read that wonderful story of balzac's, "la messe d'athèe," and you will see.
-if you postulate god or gods, and try from that to deduce prayer and confession, you find yourself very soon as the boy found himself long ago. you are at an impasse. if god be indeed as stated, then can prayer and confession never be necessary. you cannot get round it, you can only hide yourself in mists of words like the scientific theologian. if god be as postulated, then can prayer and confession not be necessary, or even beautiful.
-but you can see from daily life that they are so. who can doubt it? there is in life nothing so beautiful, nothing so true, nothing that acts as balm to the heart like prayer and confession, and they exist naturally. they are there from the beginning; they need no religious theory to bring them into life. what, then, is the inference? not perhaps exactly what it at first sight would seem to be, that god does not exist or has those qualities of prejudice, of favour, of partiality which religious books and religious people give to him. it is, i think, this: that the truth, the original truth, is the necessity of confession and prayer, and that to explain this the theory of the nature of god or gods have arisen. prayer did not proceed from god, but god from prayer--i.e., the theories of god.
-no strongly religious man can reason about his own faith. christians will say that the idea of the true god is inherent in man also, that if not earlier than prayer, it is co-existent. so be it. but how about false gods--the savage praying to a mountain, the hindu to an image or a stone, representing who knows what? the buddhist woman praying by the pagoda? their prayer is beautiful. it is as beautiful as yours. never doubt it. go and see them pray. you will learn that prayer is beautiful, is true in itself. and can such a thing proceed from a false theology? see men pray and hear them confess and you will be sure of this, that prayer and confession, no matter by whom, no matter to whom, are always true, have always their effect upon the heart. whatever is false, they are not. it is one absolute truth that all men will admit.
-sunday and sabbath.
-i am not sure that in such an enquiry as this history is of much avail. i do not find that those who search into the past to write the history of it ever discover much that is of use to-day. it seems to me that in tracing an idea, or a law, or a custom, historians are satisfied with giving an account of its growth or decay as if it were the life of a tree. they do not enquire into the why of things. they will tell you that an idea came, say, from the east and was accepted generally. they do not say why it was accepted. and to have traced a modern belief back into the far past is to them sufficient reason for its presence, forgetful that whatever persists, whether a law or an idea or a belief, does so because it is of use. living things require a sanction as well as a history, and therein lies their interest. and what i am writing now is of the sanctions of religions.
-still, there is sometimes an interest, if but a negative one, in the history of an observance or belief. it is useful sometimes to trace an observance back, if only to show that the reason generally given for its retention is not and cannot be the real one. of such is the history of the observance of sunday, or the sabbath, in england and scotland.
-we have discovered from the inscriptions at accad, upon the euphrates, that in the time of sargon, 3,800 years b.c., the days were divided into weeks of seven days, named after the sun and moon and the five planets, as they are now in places. and there were, moreover, "sabbaths" set apart as days of "rest for the soul," "the completion of work." there were five of these sabbaths in chaldea every lunar month, occurring on the 7th, the 14th, the 19th, the 21st, and 28th of the month. that is to say, the new moon, the full moon, and the days half way between were sabbaths, with the addition of a fifth sabbath on the 19th day. on these days it was not lawful to cook food, to change one's dress, to offer a sacrifice; the king may not speak in public or ride in a chariot, or perform any kind of military or civil duty; even to take medicine was forbidden. it was a day of rest. and this was 3,800 b.c., nearly 2,000 years before abraham lived, 2,300 years before moses and the ten commandments, almost contemporary, according to the bible records, with cain and abel. the day was already called the sabbath. it had existed already for no one knows how long, probably thousands of years; it was a day of rest, and it was observed much as was subsequently the jewish sabbath. without doubt the jews only adopted a custom known to more civilised nations ages before, and they gave to it the sanction of their religion, as they and many other people have done to many matters. there is everywhere a strong tendency, if possible, to give religious sanction to every observance. the stronger emotions attract to themselves the lesser. so have the jews and mahommedans adopted sanitary precautions, the hindus sanitary and marriage laws, and christianity marriage laws also in their faiths. so did my friend mentioned in the preface include all civilisation in his religion.
-the observance of the sabbath arose not from a religious command transmitted by moses, but as the result of observation and custom thousands of years before, that a day of rest was needed for man.
-when they reached a certain standard of civilisation all peoples seem to have had such a day set apart. it was a want that arose out of the keener struggle for existence, a mutual truce to the war of competition. but the day itself varied. the greeks divided their lunar month into decades, having thus three festival days in a month. the romans, we are told, divided it into periods of eight days, though i do not know how they managed their arithmetic or got eight into twenty-nine without some awkward remainder. and in the farther east it was usual to celebrate the full moon and the new moon and the days half way between as days of rest. a lunar month consisting of sometimes twenty-nine and sometimes thirty days, the period between rest days was sometimes six days as in a week, and sometimes seven days. thus among the burmese, although there are, as usual, seven days named after the sun, moon, and planets, the rest day goes by the day of the month, not by that of the week, just as it did with the accadians. for in the east a month remains a month; it is the life of a moon. it begins with the new moon and ends with the fourth quarter, and is easily reckoned by any villager. with us in the north the age of the moon has ceased to be of any importance. our life after dark is indoors, where we have lights and the moon is of no use to us. our houses are lit artificially, and very few europeans could tell at a moment's notice how old the moon is.
-therefore in colder climates the month by the moon was abandoned, and reckoning the year by the sun took its place. and as civilisation progressed it was inconvenient to be uncertain about which was the day of rest, so it became the custom to make it every seventh day, regardless of the moon. this seems to have obtained first in egypt and to have spread over the civilised world, the seventh day being the sabbath. but it still remained a day of rest, unassociated, except by the jews, with religion.
-the early christians kept no sabbath. they kept the first day of the week as a day of rejoicing, to celebrate the rising of christ. indeed, the jewish sabbath was considered as abrogated, and the first day of the week was kept, much as it is now kept on the continent, as a day of rest, of rejoicing, of relaxation after work.
-so it was observed till the reformation.
-the reformers, whatever they altered, did not alter this. they gave no command to return from christian observance of the day to jewish observance, and all over the continent, among those of reformed churches as among those of the catholic church, sunday is the day of rest, of worship, and of relaxation.
-it was so, too, in england and scotland.
-the change back to the jewish sabbath seems to have come with the puritans and to have been introduced by them to scotland. and this is but one example of how puritanism was practically a rejection of christianity and a return to the codes of judaism, which suited those iron warriors much better than christian ethics.
-in england the feeling has been tempered, but among the scotch, who are in so many ways like the old jews, it took root, it flourished, and it is the jewish sabbath both in name and observance that we see now there.
-why was there this reversion? for what reason has the jewish sabbath appealed more nearly to the scotch than the christian sunday? what feelings were those that caused this?
-if you turn to the people who have done this and look into their characters you will note one strong and marked instinct. it is the dislike to art of all kinds, to painting and music, to dancing and acting, their strong distrust of beauty and gaiety. they are a sober people, hard and stubborn and dour, to whom art and amusement appeal, as a rule, not at all; and when they do appeal it is too strongly. they would not have organs in their churches and cards were to them the devil's picture books. they had in them then, they have now, no single fibre that responds to the lighter and brighter things of this world. their very humour is grim. have they, then, no idea of pleasure? do they never enjoy themselves? it would be a mistake of the greatest to suppose that. they, too, as all other men, have their times for relaxation, for enjoyment, for mental rest and refreshment. only that what gives pleasure to them is different from what gives pleasure to other people. they take their pleasures sadly; the chords of their hearts are tuned to other keys than that of gaiety and art. these latter they cannot understand, they awaken either no echo or far too strong an echo; and, like all men when they cannot understand a thing, they hate it. there is no medium in these matters that appeal to the emotions. you must either like or hate. you may see this always. either you enjoy wagner's music or you abominate it, either you appreciate old masters or they are to you daubs, either you are in tune to laughter or it seems to you the veriest folly.
-the scotch take their amusement and their relaxation on the sabbath as other people do on the sunday. they rest from work, they attend divine service, and for relaxation they awaken those gloomy and fanatical thoughts which give them pleasure. for these are to them pleasure, just as much as gaiety is to other people.
-do not doubt that it is real pleasure to them. men's hearts are tuned to many keys, and there is a minor as well as a major. it is true that it is difficult for those who rejoice in light and sunshine, in gaiety and humour, who revolt from grey skies and shaded days, from gloomy thoughts and dreams of hell, to realise that there are men to whom these are in harmony.
-most of us would forget hell if we could, would banish the thought if it arose, but some love to dwell upon it, to repeat it, to preach of it. the idea thrills them as blood and massacre do others. some men would go miles to avoid seeing an execution, others would go as many miles to see it. emotions are of all sorts, and what to some is horrible is to others attractive.
-"will the doctrine of eternal punishment be preached there?" asked the owner of a large room suitable for meetings to one who would have hired it to preach there. and when the answer was that the subject would not be touched on the room was refused. "ay, but i hold to that doctrine," he repeated to every objection.
-widely, therefore, as the continental sunday and the scotch sabbath differ in appearance, they arise from the same causes, they result in the same effects.
-they are caused by the desire for bodily rest, for soul nourishment, for mental relaxation, necessities of mankind, and each people so frames its conception of the proper way to keep the day as to attain those ends. for "the sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath," and men adapt their religious teaching to suit their necessities.
-it is some years ago now--about twenty, i think--that we first heard of the beginning of a new religion, the arrival of a new prophetess who was to unfold to us the mystery of the world and teach us the truths of life. and this religion began as other religions have been said to begin, this prophetess claimed belief as other teachers are said to have done, by her miraculous powers. she could do things that no one else could do: she could divide a cigarette paper in halves, and waft half through the air to great distances; she could piece together broken teacups in an extraordinary way. and because she could perform these feats she claimed for herself an authority in speaking of the hearts of men and of the before and after death, an authority which was accorded to her by many.
-i have expressly refrained from suggesting either the truth or the falsehood of these miracles. i am aware that the whole process is said to have been fully exposed. the question is immaterial, for they were, true or false, believed by many, and it is this question of belief in miracle which i wish to discuss, not the possibility of miracle or the reverse.
-there is another point i wish to make clear. i have said that other religions are said to have started in the same way, other teachers to have claimed authority on the same ground. this may or may not be true. the theory of buddhism is so essentially anti-miraculous that the miracles attributed to the buddha seem almost certainly outside additions, as they are in direct variance with his known acts and beliefs. and the words and acts of christ in his life seem all so at variance with the miracles attributed to him that they, too, may be later additions or contemporary exaggerations. this has already been obvious to some, and had not the absolute inspiration of the sacred books been insisted on, thus stifling criticism, it would have been obvious to more. all this is immaterial. true or false, all religions have an embroidery, more or less deep, of miracle, and on these miracles their claim to truth was in the early days more or less pressed. if madame blavatsky performed miracles with teacups it was because she saw that there was an attraction to many people in miracle that nothing else could supply. miracle to many is the proof of truth. had madame blavatsky performed no miracles, had there been no teacups, were there now no mahatmas, who would have stopped to listen to her compote of brahmanism, buddhism, and truly western mysticism which she called theosophy?
-how can miracle be the proof of supernatural knowledge?
-suppose there arose to-morrow in england a man who could make one loaf into five, what should those of us who are without the instinct for miracle say? merely that he knew some way of increasing bread which we did not know. the inference would end there. we should not suppose that he therefore knew anything more about the next world than we do. where is the connection, we would ask? the telephone or the röntgen rays would have been a miracle a hundred years ago. two thousand years ago a phonograph would have been supposed to hold a devil, and the proprietor would have been a prophet, no doubt. but we do not now go to edison or maxim for our religions. still, madame blavatsky started with miracles, and was wise in her generation. still, all religions retain more or less of the miraculous, because there are many to whom this appeals before everything, because they are sure that miracle is the proof of truth. again, theosophy claims to be esoteric buddhism. the country par excellence of practical buddhism is burma. yet the burmans generally laugh at theosophy. how is this? the answer lies, i think, like the answer to all these questions of religion, in the varying instincts of the people. it is an idea with us in the west that the east is the land of enchantment, of mystery, of the unknown, of miracle and all that is akin to it. we are never tired of talking of the mysterious east; it seems to us one vast wonderland full of things we cannot understand, full of marvels of the unknowable, the very home of superstition; while the west is matter of fact, material and reasonable, and easily understood. and yet i think the very first thing a man learns when he goes to the people of the east, certainly to the burmese people, and tries to see with their eyes and understand with their hearts, that all this is the very reverse of the facts. will anyone who wishes to see how very far they are from the cult of the mysterious, of dreams, of miracles, of visions, how very little such things appeal to them, turn to my chapters on the buddhist monkhood in "the soul of a people," and read them? i do not wish to repeat what i said there, only that a monk who saw visions or performed miracles would be ejected from his monastery as unworthy of his faith.
-i do not say that there are no superstitions among the people. their stage of civilisation is as yet low, as low perhaps as ours five hundred years ago. they have their strange fancies here and there; i have heard many of them. they are amusing sometimes and curious. i very much doubt, however, if the burman of to-day is as superstitious as an ordinary countryman in england. i have heard english soldiers tell tales of old women changing into hares, that they themselves had seen, quite as seriously as any burman could. and if you compare the burman of to-day with the european peasant of even two hundred years ago, there is no comparison at all. the west simply reeks with superstition and all that is allied to it compared to the east. (i exclude the belief in ghosts, which is, i think, a separate matter.)
-the delusion has, i think, arisen in many ways. to begin with, we are always looking out in the east for the mysterious. it is the east, and therefore mysterious. we very seldom try to understand the people, to see them from their standpoint. we prefer generally to assume that they have no standpoint and to talk of the incomprehensible oriental mind, because it is easier to do so and it sounds superior. and again, we are apt to make absurd comparisons and reason without remembrance. an english officer will come across a burman from the back country of the hills who has a charm against bullet wounds, and he will sit down and indite a letter to the paper on the "incredibly foolish superstition of these people," oblivious of the fact that he will find even now amongst his own countrymen quite as many people who believe in charms as among the burmese, that dr. johnson touched various articles as charms, and that he himself throws salt over his shoulder. yet he is of the better class of a people five hundred years older in civilisation than the burman.
-i confess that, personally, i have found even to-day infinitely more superstition and leaning to the miraculous among my own people than among burmans. there are classes of english people who are almost free from it, there are other englishmen, and especially englishwomen, who are steeped in it to a degree that would astound any oriental. and what was it a few hundred years ago? have there ever been witch trials in the east, have there ever been ordeals, or casting lots "for god to decide"? magicians have come to us from the east, truly; they were made for export, the use for them at home being limited. theosophy was started in the east, truly, but not by orientals. madame blavatsky is believed to have been a russian; her supporters were english and american. palmistry and fortune-telling appeal as serious matters to many people in england and europe generally. to the burman they are matters of amusement. do you think "christian science" would gain any foothold in the east? or spiritualism or a hundred forms of superstition that cling to the civilised people of the west?
-the east is the home of religion, of emotion, of asceticism, of the victory of the mind over the body. the west is the home of superstition, of second sight, of miracle, of conjuring tricks of all kinds exalted into the supernatural. you may search all the records of the east and find no superstition--like touching for the king's evil, for instance. can anyone imagine joanna southcote in india or in the further east? i have tried not to hear, i could never repeat, what the east says of the miraculous in christianity. superstition there is, of course, legend and miracle; they are the outcomes always of a certain stage of pre-civilisation. but even in india how scarce and faint they are compared to the west. for one thing must be carefully remembered. ignorance of the power of natural causes must not be put down to attribution of miraculous causes. the peasant in the east will often attribute a property to a herb, a mineral, a ceremony that it has not got. that is their ignorance of natural law, never their attribution of unnatural power. if a burman peasant sometimes thinks a certain medicine can render his body lighter than water, it is simply that he is unaware of the limited power of drugs, not that he supposes there is anything miraculous in it. the power of phenacetin on a feverish patient seems to him far more astonishing. indeed, from miracle as miracle he shrinks. to miracle as miracle the average european is greatly attracted. to the one it spells always charlatanism, to the latter supernatural power.
-and therefore, even in the religions of hindustan--hinduism in its myriad forms, mahommedanism, sihkism, jainism, and parseeism--miracle plays a very minor part. i think there is no doubt that this repugnance to miracle is one reason why the semites eventually rejected christianity. how very few and unaffecting the essence are the miracles in mahommedanism. but in christianity it plays the major part. christ was born and lived and died and rose again in miracle. in latin countries miracles are of daily occurrence--as at lourdes, for instance.
-and though in teutonic christianity it is less than in latin countries, it plays a great part also. the miracles of christ's life are retained. truly they say that now the age of miracle is past. the church believes no more in prophecy, in miraculous cures, in risings from the dead. the bulk of the people reject miracle. but what a large minority is still left who absolutely crave for it, let the records of theosophy and many another miraculous religion show. miracle satisfies a craving, an instinct, that nothing else will meet. it is curious to note how the inclusion of miracle in religion varies inversely with the inclusion of conduct. with the latins miracle is most, the latin christianity is the most miraculous of all religions, and therein conduct is least. with the teutons miracle and conduct are both accepted, the former authoritatively of the past, privately also of the present. with the burmans miracle and the supernatural are rejected absolutely as part of the religion of to-day, and conduct is all in all. thus again do the instincts of the people find expression in their religion.
-as to the growth of the instinct it is more difficult to reply. instincts are very hard to account for. indeed, in their origin all are quite beyond the scope of inquiry at all. we can only see that they exist. but with this instinct for miracle there is one cause that no doubt contributes to its increase or decrease. it does not explain the instinct, but it does show why in some cases it is greater than in others.
-it is greater in the west than in the east because many people in the west, with greater emotional power, from better food and little work, live narrower lives than any in the east. it is astonishing to see the difference. in the east every peasant lives surrounded by his relatives, very many of them; he is friends with all his village, he has always his work, his interests in life. he is hardly ever alone among strangers, with no work to occupy him. but in the west, how many there are who live alone, their relations elsewhere, with few friends, with no necessity for work, with no interests in life? it is terrible to see how many there are living lives empty of all emotion. these are they who seek the miraculous as a relief from their daily monotony of stupidity. these are they who run after new things. it is
-"the desire of the moth for the star, of the day for the morrow, the longing for something afar from the scene of our sorrow."
-it is the result of high emotional power with no food to feed on. there are other factors, for instance--that people who live in mountains are more superstitious than people of plains, due again to narrower, more isolated lives, i think; and as a rule country people are more superstitious than town people, due to the same reason. nothing exists without its use, and this is some of the use of the miraculous instinct in man. it has played its part in the world, a great part no doubt. where it exists still it does so because it fills a necessity. never doubt it. those who live full lives find it so easy to laugh at this craving for the supernatural. would you do away with it? make, then, their lives such that they do not need it. give to them the knowledge, the sympathy, the love, the wider life that makes it unnecessary.
-nurtured in narrowness on the ground that should grow other instincts, it disappears in the sunshine of happiness, when the heart is furrowed and tilled by the experiences of life and planted with the fruit of happiness.
-if we cannot do that, at least we can recognise that it, as all instincts, has its uses, and exists in and because of that use, never because of any abuse.
-and where the instinct exists it is attracted as are nearly all the instincts into that great bundle of emotions called religion.
-but if those who support christian missions wonder why they are not more successful, here is another reason. what satisfies your instinct revolts theirs. they do not require it. orientals, even peasants, live such wide lives compared with many in the west, that they need not the stimulus, and their hard lives lessen the emotional powers. and if christians are often unable to understand the charm of buddhism to its believers, it is because western people seek and require the stimulus of miracle which is here wanting. it is as if you offered them water while they cared only for wine. but easterns care not for your strong emotions. they are simpler and more easily pleased.
-religion and art.
-"this is not the place, nor have i space left here, to explain all i mean when i say that art is a mode of religion, and can flourish only under the inspiration of living and practical religion."--frederic harrison.
-"no one indeed can successfully uphold the idea that the high development of art in any shape is of necessity coincident with a strong growth of religious or moral sentiment. perugino made no secret of being an atheist; leonardo da vinci was a scientific sceptic; raphael was an amiable rake, no better and no worse than the majority of those gifted pupils to whom he was at once a model of perfection and an example of free living; and those who maintain that art is always the expression of a people's religion have but an imperfect acquaintance with the age of praxiteles, apelles, and zeuxis. yet the idea itself has a foundation, lying in something which is as hard to define as it is impossible to ignore; for if art be not a growth out of faith, it is always the result of a faith that has been."--marion crawford.
-quotation on both sides could be multiplied without end, but there seems no reason to do so. the question is the relation of religion to art, and it has but the two sides. indeed, the subject seems difficult, for there is so much to be said on both sides.
-on one side it may be said:--art is the result of and the outcome of religion. look at the greatest works of art the world has to show. are they not all religious? there are the parthenon, the temples of karnac, the cathedral at milan, st. peter's at rome, and others too numerous to mention; the mosque of st. sophia and the kutub minar, the temples of humpi, the shwe dagon pagoda, the temples of china and japan. what has secular art to show to compare with these? are not the venus de milo, the statue of athena, and all the famous greek sculptures those of gods? what is the most famous painting in the world? it is the sistine madonna of raphael. even in literature, is there anything secular to compare with the sacred books of the world? the oratorios and masses are the finest music. what can be more certain than that only religion gives the necessary stimulus to art and furnishes the most inspiring subjects? great art is born of great faiths, great faiths produce great art.
-to which there is the reply:--many of the greatest greek statues were of gods truly, but was it a religious age that produced them? were phidias and zeuxis religious or moral men?
-was the thirteenth century which saw the building of most of the best cathedrals, a religious age? is it not the fact that for many cathedrals the capital was borrowed from the jews, enemies of christ, and the interest paid by the sweat of slaves; and when the interest was too heavy, religious bigotry was resorted to and the jews persecuted, killed, and banished. it is probable that of all ages the thirteenth century was the worst. were the painters of great pictures religious or moral? raphael painted the most wonderful religious paintings the world has seen--how much religion had raphael? leonardo da vinci painted "the last supper"; he was a sceptic. are not artistic people notoriously irreligious? the pyramids of egypt and the taj at agra are not religious buildings; they are tombs. the sentiment that raised them was the emotion of death. in music and literature secular art rivals religion. and even if great art be allied to religion, deep religious feeling does not necessarily produce art. indeed, it is the reverse. the most serious forms of belief have not done so. where is the art of the reformation? protestants will be slow to admit that there was no deep religious feeling there. yet their great cathedrals were all built by roman catholics. were not the puritans religious? they hated all art. is there no religious feeling in the north of america? where is its religious art? in europe there is no religious art out of catholicism. in that alone has it succeeded. and again, although some religious art is great, such is the exception. the bulk of religious art all over the world is bad--very bad--the worst. what art is there in the crucifixes of the catholic world, in the sacred pictures in their chapels, in the eikons of russia, in the gods of the hindus, in the buddhas of buddhism, and the popular religious pictures of england? they are one and all as art simply deplorable. there is grand religious literature, but what of the bulk of it? most of the hymns, the sermons, the tracts, the religious literature of england and other countries cannot be matched for badness in any secular work. it is the same everywhere. the salvation army had to borrow secular music to make its hymns attractive. striking an average, which is best--secular or religious literature, art, music, and architecture? without a doubt secular art is the best all round.
-art may often be the representative of religion, it is never the outcome of religious people or a religious age. the very contrary is the fact.
-these are strong arguments, and there are more. but these will suffice.
-what is the truth? what connection has art with religion?
-i do not think the answer is difficult. the connection depends upon what you define religion and art respectively to be. with the old definitions no answer is forthcoming. but when you see religion as it really is, when you understand its genesis and its growth, the answer is clear.
-religion, as i have tried to show, arises from instincts. the instincts of the savage are few, the emotions he is capable of feeling are limited. as his civilisation progresses his instinctive desires increase, his emotions are more numerous. and as the greater attracts the less, the older and more established attract the newer, so religion attracts to itself and incorporates all it can. religions have varied in this matter; but of all, catholicism has been the most wide-armed, it has always justified its name. where a new emotion arose and became strong the roman church always if possible attracted it into the fold. i have already shown how this was done. there is hardly an emotion of the human heart that roman catholicism has not made its own.
-now what is art?
-art, as tolstoi explains, is also an expression of the emotions, and therefore the difference between religion and art lies in the emotions expressed and the method of expression.
-different peoples express in their religions different emotions. what some of these emotions are i explain in chapter xxx. different people are also more or less susceptible to art, and express in their art different emotions. where a great religion has absorbed certain emotions, and a great art subsequently arises and wishes to express in art some of the same emotions, then the art becomes religious art. the two domains have overlapped. but there is no distinction between secular and religious art. nor is there any necessary connection between art and religion. neither is dependent on the other. they are quite distinct domains, each existing to fulfil the necessities and desires of man.
-how they came frequently to overlap is easily enough seen.
-consider the religion of rome. it came, as i have said, out of the necessity for expressing and cultivating certain emotions. it is a very catholic religion, the product of a highly emotional people who had many and strong feelings. as much as possible these were accepted into the religion.
-therefore, when there came the great outbreak of art in the fourteenth century, when there were great painters and sculptors desiring to paint pictures that appealed to the heart, all the ground was occupied.
-did they want to depict feminine beauty, there was the madonna accepted as the ideal. did they want to awaken the emotion of maternity, there was the madonna again; of pity, there were the martyrs; of sacrifice, there was the christ. long before these emotions had been crystallised by the church round religious ideals, and a change would not be understood.
-and with the architects. there is but one emotion common to a whole people--catholic, so to speak--namely, religion. a town hall, a palace, a secular building would be provincial; a church only is catholic. in palaces only princes live, in municipal buildings only officials, in markets only the people, but in churches all are gathered together, and not only occasionally but frequently. therefore, given a great architect, what could he design that would give him scope, and freedom, and fame like a cathedral? his feelings were immaterial, it was a professional necessity that drove artists then to religious matters. what was raphael, the free-liver, thinking of when he drew his madonnas? was it the jewess of galilee over a thousand years before or the ripe warm beauty of the florentine girls he knew?
-the roman catholic church desired to attract to itself all that appealed to the emotions, and included art of all kinds in its scope. and all artists, painters, architects, even writers, found in the church their greatest opportunities and greatest fame. deep and real feelings in art of all kinds sought the companionship of the other great feelings that are in religion. shallower art often shrinks from being put beside the greater emotions, and so some of the shams of the renaissance.
-but the deepest religious feeling is always averse to art. no age full of great religious emotion has produced any art at all in any people. the early christians, the monks of the thebaid, hated art, as did the puritans. they felt, i think, a competition. when an emotion is raised to such a height as theirs was, none other can live beside it. such emotion becomes a flame that burns up all round. it cannot bear any rivalry. it puts aside not only art but love, reverence, fear, every other emotion. religion is before everything, religion is everything. there are christ's words refusing to recognise his mother and brethren. it has been common to all forms of exalted religious fervour. no emotion can live with it. only when it has somewhat died away does art get a chance. then only if an artistic wave arises can it be allied with religion. but deep religious feeling is not always followed by an artistic wave. there has been no such sequence in most countries. this sequence in italy was an exception. it was perchance. there has never been an art wave connected with protestantism, and only very slightly with buddhism. i have shown in "the soul of a people," that art in burma is only connected professionally with buddhism. that is to say that wood-carving, one of burma's two arts, is not religious in sentiment, and is applied to monasteries because they are the only large buildings needed. there is no other demand. to depict the buddha in any artistic way except that handed down by tradition would be considered profane. would not the early christians have considered raphael's madonna profane, considering who he was, and what probably his models were? i think so. i doubt if the deepest religious emotions would tolerate a crucifix or any picture of christ at all. certainly not of the almighty. the heat of belief must have cooled down a great deal before such things became possible. so, in fact, it is as history tells us. religion is a cult of the emotions. art, as tolstoi shows, is also a cult of the emotions. very deep religious feeling leaves no room for any other emotion, it brooks no rival in the hearts of men. a deeply religious age has no art; its religion kills art. what were the feelings of the early christians towards greek art? they were those of abhorrence. what those of the puritans towards any art? they were the same.
-but when religious emotions have cooled, and room is left for other feelings, then art may arise. and if it does so, and is a great art, it allies itself with religion, if the religion permits of it. some forms of faith would never permit it. which of the emotions of which puritanism is composed could be expressed in art? art is almost always the cult of emotions that are beautiful, are happy, are joyous. puritanism knew nothing of all these. grand, stern, rigid, black, never graceful or beautiful. any art that followed puritanism could but be grotesque and terrible. there would be no madonnas, but there might be avenging angels; there would be no heaven, but certainly a hell. indeed, in the literature of the religion we see that this is so.
-religion and art are both cults of the emotions. they may be rivals, they may be allies, in the way that art may depict religious subjects. but great art, like great faith, brooks no rival. and therefore great artists are not necessarily religious. they may have scant emotion to spare outside their art.
-this, i think, is the key to the relation between religion and art. it is impossible to treat such a great subject adequately in a chapter. most of my chapters should, indeed, have been volumes. but the key once provided the rest follows.
-what is evidence?
-if you go to any believer in any religion--in any of the greater religions, i mean--and ask him why he believes in his religion, he has always one answer: "because it is true." and if you continue and say to him, "how do you know it is true?" he will reply, "because there is full evidence to prove it." he imagines that he is guided by his reason, that it is his logical faculty that is satisfied, and his religion can be proved irrefragably. and yet it is strange that if any religion is based on ascertained fact, if any religion is demonstrably true, no one can be brought to see this truth, to accept this proof, except believers who do not require it. the jew cannot be brought to admit the truth of christianity, let the christian argue ever so wisely; nor will the christian accept mahommedanism or buddhism as containing any truth at all, no matter how the adherents of these faiths may argue.
-it is not so with most other matters. if a problem in chemistry or physics be true at all it is altogether true for every one. nationality makes no difference to your acknowledging the law of gravity, the science of the stars, the dynamics of steam, or the secrets of metallurgy. if an englishman makes a discovery a frenchman is able to follow the argument. the japanese are not christians, but that does not in any way prevent them assimilating modern knowledge. twice two are four all over the world, except in matters of religion.
-this is a somewhat remarkable phenomenon. what is the reason of it?
-i can remember not very long ago walking in a garden with a man and talking intermittently on religious topics. he was a man of great education, of wide knowledge of the world, a man of no narrow sympathies or thoughts. and as we went we came to a bed of roses in full bloom; there were red and white and deep yellow roses in clusters of great beauty, filling the air with their perfume. "to see a sight like that," he said, "proves to me that there is a god."
-proves! there was the proof.
-i did not ask him how such roses would be proof of a god. i did not say that if beauty was proof of a god, ugliness would be proof of a devil, for i know there is no reasoning in matters like that. the sight and scent awoke in his heart that echo that is called god. not only god, nor was it any god, nor any gods that the echo answered to. it was his god, it was the god of abraham, isaac and jacob, that came to him. he saw the roses, and their beauty brought to his mind the idea of god. that was enough for him. he had, as so many have, an absolute instinctive understanding of god, as clear to him as if he saw him at midday--unreasoning because known.
-"and for others," he said, "is there not ample evidence? how do you account for the world unless god made it? have we not in the scripture a full account of how it was made out of chaos? and has not he manifested himself in his prophets? the truth is proved over and over again, by the prophecies and fulfilment, by the birth and death of christ, by the miracles of christ, by endless matters. it is so clear." and so it is to him and those like him who have in themselves the idea of god. they know. it seems humorous to remember that scientific men have thought they traced this to a savage's speculations on dreams. the speculation of a savage, forsooth, and this certainty of feeling. the theist says: "how can you answer the questions of who made the world other than by god?" it is a question that rises spontaneously. do you remember napoleon the great and the idealogues on the voyage to egypt? they were ridiculing the idea of a creator. and to them the emperor, pointing to the stars above him, replied, "it is all very well, gentlemen, but who made all those?" but the non-theist replies that it would never occur to him to put such a question. to ask "who made the world?" is to beg the whole question. that question which is always rising in your mind never does in ours. we would ask how and from what has the world evolved, and under what cause? "your evidence is good only to you." the hindu has perhaps the keenest mind in religious matters the world knows; does he accept it? do the buddhists accept it? do keen thinkers in europe accept any of this evidence? it is not so. if you have the instinct of god, then is evidence unnecessary; and if you have not, of what use is the evidence brought forward? was anyone ever converted by reasoning? i am sure no one ever was. religions are not proved, they are not matters of logic; they are either above logic or beneath it. to a man who believes, anything is proof. he will reason about religion in a way he would never do about other matters. he will offer as evidence, as absolute proof, what he who does not believe cannot accept as evidence at all. the religions are always the same. the believers know them to be true, and they cannot understand why others also do not know it. their truths seem to them absolutely clear, capable of the clearest proof. and as to this evidence, this proof, there is always plenty of it. any faith can if pushed bring evidence on some points that not even unbelievers can disprove, that is clearly not intentionally false, that if the matter were a mundane concern would probably be accepted. it is so, i think, in all religions, but here is a case from buddhism.
-in my book upon the religion of the burmese i have given a chapter to the belief of the people in reincarnation, a belief that is to them not a belief but a knowledge. and i have given there a few of these strange stories of remembrance of previous lives so common among them. for almost all children will tell you that they can remember their former lives.
-there is a story there of a child who remembered nothing until one day he saw used as a curtain a man's loin-cloth, that of a man who had died and whose clothes had, as is the custom, been made into screens. and the sight of that pattern awoke in him suddenly the knowledge that he had lived before, and that in that former life he had worn that very cloth. his former life was "proved" to him, and in consequence the fact that all men had former lives. there was proof.
-when i was writing "the soul of a people" i went a great deal into this subject of the former life, and i collected a great deal of evidence about it. i not only saw a number of people who said they could recollect these lives, but i came across a quantity of facts difficult of explanation on any other hypothesis. the evidence was honestly given, i know. but did i believe this former life, or has any european ever been convinced by that evidence? i never heard of one. why? because we have not the instinct. the burman has.
-they have the idea as an instinct, just as my friend held the idea of god as an instinct, and there were certain matters that awakened these instincts. they needed no more; the facts were proved to them and to those of like thought to them. but proof. what is proof? proof, they will tell you, is a matter of evidence, it is a matter of cold logic, it arises from facts.
-if that is so, why does not everyone believe in ghosts? was there ever a subject on which there was more evidence than in the existence of ghosts? we find the belief as far back as we can go--the witch of endor, for instance. we find the belief to-day. not a year passes but numerous people assert that they have seen ghosts. their evidence is honestly given; no one doubts that. the mass of evidence is overwhelming. the fact that certain people do not see them in no way invalidates the direct evidence. yet the belief in ghosts is a joke, and a mark, we say, of feeble-minded folk.
-i have myself lived in the midst of ghosts. one of my houses in burma was full of them. every burman who came in saw them. not even my servants dared go upstairs after dark without me. my servants are honest, truth-telling boys, and i would believe them in a matter of theft or murder without hesitation. i would certainly hang a man if the evidence of his being a murderer was as clear as the evidence that my bedroom contained a ghost. no absolutely impartial lawyer, judging the evidence of former life and of the existence of ghosts as a pure matter of law, but would admit that they were conclusively proved. the burmans firmly believe both, considering them not only proved but beyond proof. no european believes in the former life, and with regard to ghosts the belief is relegated to those whom we stigmatise as the weak-minded and imaginative.
-is the explanation difficult? it does not seem to me so. for it is simply this. to believe and accept any matter it is not sufficient that there be enough evidence, the subject itself must appeal to you, must ring true, must be good to be believed. but with ghosts to most of us it is the reverse. that our friends and those we love should after death behave as ghosts behave, should be silly, unreasonable, drivelling in their ways, imbecile in their performances, should in fact act as if the next world was a ghostly lunatic asylum, is not attractive but the reverse. for a murdered man's spirit to go fooling about scaring innocent people into fits, and unable to say right out that he wants his body buried, strikes the ordinary man as sheer idiocy. and therefore men laugh and jeer. people who see ghosts may believe them; no one else will do so. because they are not worthy of belief. if these be indeed ghosts, and they act as ghost-seers say, it is a deplorable, a most deplorable thing. and if it is a choice of imbecilities, we would prefer to believe in the lunacy of ghost-seers rather than in that of the dead, our dead.
-but it is not only in matters relating to religion as the idea of god, or to the supernatural as in ghosts, that we reject evidence. we can do so also in matters that have no connection with each. for why do we refuse to accept the sea serpent? numbers of absolutely reliable men declare they have seen it. and yet we laugh, or at best we say, "they were mistaken, it was a trail of seaweed."
-all men who have lived to a certain age have learnt that there are certain facts, certain experiences not at all connected with the supernatural, which they dare not tell of for fear of being put down as inventors. they are curious coincidences, narrow escapes, shooting adventures, and so on. they have happened to us all. who has not heard the tale of the general at a dinner party who related some such incident that had occurred to himself, and was surprised to see amusement and disbelief depicted on the faces of all around him. "you do not believe me," he said stiffly, "but my friend opposite was with me at the time and saw it too." but the friend refused with a laugh to bear witness, and the conversation changed. "general," explained the friend subsequently to his irate companion, "i know, of course, all you said was true. but what would you have? if fifty men swore to it no one would believe them. they would only have put me down as a liar too."
-just as the old woman was ready to accept her travelled son's yarns of rivers of milk and islands of cheese; but when he deviated into the truth she stopped. "na, na!" she said, "that the anchor fetched up one of pharaoh's chariot wheels out of the red sea, i can believe; but that fish fly! na, na! dinna come any o' your lies over yer mither."
-they are old stories, but they illustrate my point. on some matters we are ready to believe at once, on others no amount of evidence will change our opinions.
-indeed, we are too apt to assume that reason is our great guide in life. to think before you act may be wise--sometimes. but if in matters of emergency you had to stop and think first, you would not succeed very well. the great men of action are those who act first and think afterwards, and sometimes they even do the latter badly. there is the story of a man who was going abroad to be a chief justice, and who was addressed by the lord chancellor in this way: "my friend, be careful where you are going. your judgments will be nearly always right, but beware of giving your reasons, for they will almost invariably be wrong." there are many such men.
-what, then, is religious proof? if it is not founded on evidence that all can accept, on what is it founded? why do men believe their own religion and accept the evidence of it as irrefragable, while scornfully rejecting that in favour of other religions?
-the answer, i think, is this.
-if you will take two violins and will tune them together, and if while someone plays ever so lightly on one you will bend your ear to the other, you will hear faintly but clearly repeated from its strings the melody of the first. for they are in harmony. but if they are not, then there will be no echo, play you never so loudly.
-and so it is in matters of religion. if you are in harmony with any thought there will come the echo in your heart's strings, and you will know that it is true. but if you are not in harmony, then no matter how loudly the evidence be sounded there will be no echo there. all these ideas on which religions are built are instincts. they are of the heart, never of the head. reason affects them not at all. these instincts are not the same with all. they vary, and so the religions that are based on them vary. they have nothing to do with reason, and therefore those of one religion cannot understand another. and they are not fixed; for the belief in the unity of god only evolved, after many thousands of years, quite recently, and the belief in ghosts, universal among earlier people and now among the half-civilized, lingers with us only as a subject for amusement. there is no "evidence" in religion; you either believe or you don't.
-the after death.
-it is two years and a half ago now that i passed through westminster hall, one of a great multitude. they went in double file, thickly packed between barriers of rails on either side the hall, and between where everyone looked there lay--what? a plain oak coffin on a table.
-within this coffin there lay the body of mr. gladstone, he who in his day had filled the public eye in england more than any other man. his body lay there in state, and the people came to see.
-emerging into the street beyond and seeing the ceaseless stream of people that flowed past, i wondered to myself. these people are christians. if you ask them where mr. gladstone is now, they will, if they reply hurriedly, answer, "he is dead and in there"; but if they pause to reflect they will say, "he is in heaven. his soul is with god."
-if, then, his soul, if he be with god, what are you come to see? shortly there will be a funeral, and what will it be called? the funeral of mr. gladstone. but mr. gladstone is in heaven, not here. surely this is strange.
-"if there is anything i can do for you be sure you tell me, for your husband was my great friend." so wrote the man. and to him came her reply: "sometimes when you are near go and see his grave where he sleeps in that far land, and put a flower upon it for your remembrance and for mine."
-but if he, too, be in heaven and not there at all? if it be, as the burmans say, but the empty shell that lies there? why should we visit graves if the soul be indeed separate from the body? if he be far away in happiness, why go to his grave? to remember but the corruption that lies beneath?
-men use words and phrases remembering what they ought to believe. for very few are sincere and know what really they do believe. you cannot tell from their professions, only from their unconscious words and their acts.
-what do these unconscious words, these acts, tell us of the belief about the soul and body? that they are separable and separate? no, but that they are inseparable. no one in the west, i am sure--no one anywhere, i think--has ever been able to conceive of the soul as apart from the body. we cannot do so. try, try honestly, and remember your dead friends. what is it you recall and long for and miss so bitterly? it was his voice that awoke echoes in you, it was the clasp of his hand in yours, it was his eyes looking back to you the love you felt for him. it was his footfall on the stair, his laugh, the knowledge of his presence. and are not these all of the body?
-men talk glibly of the soul as apart from the body. what do they mean? nothing but words, for the soul without a body is an incomprehensible thing, certainly to us.
-and it is always the same body, not another. it is the old hand, the face, that we want. not the soul, if it could be possible, looking at us out of other eyes. no; we want him we lost, and not another. it is the cry of our hearts.
-and therefore, "i believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting." have you wondered how that came into the creed? it came into religion as came all that we believe in, never out of theory but out of instinct.
-what is your feeling towards the dead? is it envy that they have reached everlasting happiness? is it gladness to reflect that they are no longer with us? do we think of them as superior to us? alas, no. the great and overpowering sentiment we have for them is pity. the tears come to our eyes for them, because they are dead. they have left behind them light and life and gone into the everlasting forgetfulness. "the night hath come when no man can work." that is our real instinct towards the dead. "poor fellow." and you will hear people say, with tardy remembrance of their creeds, "but for his sake we ought to rejoice, because he is at peace."
-we ought? but do we? surely we never do. we are sorry for the dead. all the compassion that is in us goes out to them, because they are dead.
-the catholic church has prayers for the dead. there was never a church yet that knew the hearts of men as that church of rome. prayers for the dead. masses for the dead.
-our protestant theories forbid such. but tell me, is there a woman who has lost those she loves to whom such prayers would not come home? how narrow sometimes are the reformed creeds in their refusal to help the sorrow of their people.
-"in the sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection." what is to arise? the disembodied soul? but you say it is already with god. what is to arise? it is the body. it is more. it is he who is dead--who sleeps; he whom we have buried there. whatever our creeds may say, we do not, we cannot ever understand the soul without the body. not a body, but the body. we believe not in the life of a soul previous to the body. they are born together, and they die together. if they live hereafter it must be together. for they are one.
-never be deceived by theories or professions. no one in the west has ever understood the soul without the body, no one can do so. the conception is wanting. we play with the theory in words as we do with the fourth dimension. but who ever realised either?
-but with the oriental it is different. he believes in the migration of souls. they pass from body to body. he can realise this--somehow, i know not--but he can. those who have read my "soul of a people" will remember that they not only believe it but know it. they are sure of it because it has happened to each one, and he can remember his former lives. this comes not from buddhism, because buddhist theory denies the existence of soul at all, nor from brahminism. it is the oriental's instinct. he does not, i think, ever realise a soul apart from any body, but he can and does realise a soul exhibited first in one body then in another, as a lamp shining through different globes.
-therefore, when a christian tells him of the resurrection of the body he cannot understand. "which body," he asks, "for i have had so many?" neither can he understand a christian heaven of bodies risen from the earth. his heaven is immaterial. it is the great peace, where life has passed away. that he can understand. for neither can he conceive a life of the soul without some body. when perfection is reached and the last weary body done with, then life, too, is gone--life and all passion, all love, all happiness, all fear, all the emotions that are life. they are gone, and there is left only the great peace.
-our heaven grows out of our instincts as his does out of his instincts. our dead without their bodies would not be those we love, and hence our heaven, where we shall recognise each other and love them as we did. i did not understand heaven when i read books, but out of men have i learned what i wished to know. reason alone can tell you nothing, but sympathy will tell you all things.
-it would be interesting, it is very interesting, to look back into our past histories and see these instincts grow and wane, to mark how they have influenced not only our religious theories, but our lives; to trace in other people like or opposed instincts. the mahommedans refuse amputation because they will not appear maimed in the next world. for they, too, cannot distinguish soul from one body. the jews had no idea of soul at all as existing after death, whether with or without a body. "as a man dies so will he be, all through the ages of eternity." they learned the idea of immortality from egypt, but it never took root because they had no instinctive feeling of soul. their witches were foreigners. "you shall not suffer a witch to live." the incantation of ghosts was utterly forbidden by them as a foreign wickedness. it has so been forbidden by all religions. yet there are people who think religions arise from ideas of ghosts.
-the african negroes have no idea of life after death, as witness the story of dr. livingstone and the negro king about the seed. it is a very curious history this of the longing for immortality, the belief in a life beyond the grave.
-but i am not now concerned with the past only with the present. the history of instincts is never the explanation of them. if we could unravel clearly all the history of the instincts of all peoples as regards the after death, we should be no nearer an explanation of why the instinct exists at all, why it grows or decays, why it takes one form or another. but we might, as so many do, blind ourselves to the fact that instincts exist now quite apart from reason, either now or previously. no reasoning can explain the absolute clinging of the european peoples to the resurrection of the body. no reasoning can possibly explain the burman's remembrance of previous lives. reasoning would deny both. observation and sympathy know that both exist.
-and which is true? no one can tell.
-"not one returns to tell us of the road which to discover we must travel too."
-for some years now there has been a movement in england to introduce cremation as a method of disposing of the dead. there can be no doubt of its sanitary superiority to burial; there can be no doubt that, as far as reason and argument go, cremation should be preferred to the grave. there seems to be absolutely no good reason to bring forward in favour of the latter. and yet cremation makes no way. men die and they are buried, and if over their tombs we do not now write "hic jacet," but "in memory of," our ideas have suffered no change.
-we cannot bear to burn the bodies of the dead because we cannot disassociate the body from the soul. the body is to rise, and if we burn it, what then? what will there be to rise? man has but one body and one soul dwelling therein, and if you destroy the body the soul is dead too.
-only people who believe in the transmigration of souls burn their dead--the hindus and, in burma, the monks of buddha. they see no objection to the destruction of the body because the soul is migratory, and has passed into another. what is left after death is but the "empty shell."
-therefore do hindus and buddhists cremate, whereas christians and mahommedans bury. nor does rejection of creed alter this instinct. intellectual france boasts of its freedom from religion. but is it free? has it outgrown the instincts that are the root of religion? one certainly it has not yet done, for secularists are buried just as believers are, usually with the same rites. and even if the funeral be secular, the body is buried, not burnt. why do they shrink from cremation if reason is to be the only guide? the creed is outworn but the roots of faith are never dead.
-optimism and pessimism.
-thus are the heavens of all religions explanations to materialise, as it were, the vague instincts of men's hearts. the mahommedan's absolutely material garden of the houris, the christian semi-material heaven, the buddhist absolutely immaterial nirvana, are all outcomes of the people's capability of separating soul from body. these heavens are just as the dogmas of godhead, or law, or atonement, but the theory to explain the fact, which is in this case the desire for immortality. and in exactly the same way as the theories of other matters are unsatisfying, so are these theories of heaven. the desire for immortality is there, one of the strongest of all the emotions; but the ideal which the theologian offers to the believer to fulfil his desire has no attraction. the more it is defined the less anyone wants it. heaven we would all go to, but not that heaven. the instinct is true, but the theory which would materialise the aim of that desire is false. no heaven that has been pictured to any believer is desirable.
-it is strange to see in this but another instance of the invincible pessimism of the human reason. no matter to what it turns itself it is always the same.
-i have read all the utopias, from plato's new republic to bellamy's, from the anarchist's paradise to that of the socialists, and i confess that i have always risen from them with one strong emotion. and that was, the relief and delight that never in my time--never, i am sure, in any time--can any one of them be realised. this world as it exists, as it has existed, may have its drawbacks. there is crime, and misfortune, and unhappiness, more than need be. there are tears far more than enough. but there is sunshine too; and if there be hate there is love, if there is sorrow there is joy. here there is life. but in these drab utopias of the reason, what is there? that which is the worst of all to bear--monotony tending towards death.
-no one, i think, can study philosophy, that grey web of the reason, without being oppressed by its utter pessimism. no matter what the philosophy be, whether it be professedly a pessimism as schopenhauer's or not, there is no difference. it is all dull, weary barrenness, with none of the light of hope there. hope and beauty and happiness are strangers to that twilight country. they could not live there. like all that is beautiful and worth having, they require light and shadow, sunshine and the dark.
-and the lives of philosophers, what do they gain from the reason alone? is there anyone who, after reading the life of any philosopher, would not say, "god help me from such." what did his unaided reason give him? pessimism, and pessimism, and again pessimism. no matter who your philosopher is--horace or omar khayyam, or carlyle or nietsche:--where is the difference? see how huxley even could not stifle his desire for immortality that no reason could justify. what has reason to offer me? only this, resignation to the worst in the world, and of it knows nothing.
-to which it would be replied:
-and religion, what has that to offer either here or in the next world? for in this world they declare--at least christianity and buddhism both declare--that nothing is worth having. it is all vanity and vexation, fraud and error and wickedness, to be quickly done with. the philosopher has utopias of sorts here, but these two religions have no utopia, no happiness at all here to offer. all this life is denounced as a continued misery.
-and you say that neither heaven nor nirvana appeal to men, that men shrink from them. if philosophy be pessimism, what then is religion? do you consider the christian theory of the fall of man, the sacrifice of god to god, the declaration that the vast majority of men are doomed to everlasting fire, a cheerful theory?
-do you consider the buddhist theory that life is itself an evil to be done with, that no consciousness survives death, but only the effects of a man's actions, an optimism?
-philosophies may not be very cheerful, but what are religions? whatever charge you may bring against philosophy, it can be ten times repeated of any religion. compared with any religious theory, even schopenhauer's philosophy is a glaring optimism.
-to which i would answer, no!
-i do not agree, because what you call religion i call only a reasoning about religion. the dogmas and creeds are not religion. they are summaries of the reasons that men give to explain those facts of life which are religion, just as philosophies are summaries of the theories men make to explain other facts of life. both creeds and philosophies come from the reason. they are speculations, not facts. they are pessimistic twins of the brain. religion is a different matter. it is a series of facts. what facts these are i have tried to shew chapter by chapter, and they are summarised in chapter xxx., at the end. i will not anticipate it. what i am concerned with is whether religion is pessimistic or not. never mind the dogmas and creeds; come to facts. when you read books written by men who are really religious, what is their tone? you may never agree with what is urged in them, but can you assert that they are pessimistic? it seems to me, on the contrary, that they are the reverse.
-and when you know people who are religious--not fanatics, but those men and women of sober minds who take their faith honestly and sincerely as a part of life, but not the whole--are they pessimistic? i am not speaking of any religion in particular, but of all religions. can you see religious people, and live with them and hear them talk, and watch their lives, and not recognise that religion is to them a strength, a comfort, and resource against the evils of life? never mind what the creeds say; watch what the believers do. is life to them a sorry march to be made with downcast eyes of thought, to be trod with weary steps, to be regarded with contempt? the men who act thus are philosophers, not religious people.
-to those who are really religious, life is beautiful. it is a triumphal march made to music that fills their ears, that brightens their eyes, that lightens their steps, now quicker, now slower, now sad, now joyous, always beautiful. who are the happy men and women in this world? let no one ever doubt--no one who has observed the world will ever doubt; they are the people who have religion. no matter what the religion is, no matter what the theory or dogma or creed, no matter the colour or climate, there is no difference. if you doubt, go and see. never sit in your closet and study creeds and declare "no man can be happy who believes such," but go and see whether they are happy. go to all the peoples of the world, and having put aside your prejudices, having tuned your heart-strings to theirs, listen and you will know. watch and you will see. what is the keynote of the life of him who truly believes? is it disgust, weariness, pessimism? is it not courage and a strange triumph that marks his way in life? and who are those who go through life sadly, who find it terrible in its monotony, who have lost all savour for beauty, whom the sunlight cannot gladden, who neither love nor hate, neither fear nor rejoice, neither laugh nor cry? i will tell you who they are. there are two kinds, who think they are different, but are the same.
-and there are those who mistake what religion is. they think it consists of creeds. they do not know it consists of emotions. and so they take their creeds to their hearts, and see what they make of them! or they, abandoning their creeds, search all through the world to find new creeds. they speculate on nirvana, on brahm, on the doctrine of averroes. they are for ever digging out some abstruse problem from the sacred books of the world to make themselves miserable over.
-they, too, are the victims of a barren reason.
-but religion is not reason; it is fact. it is beyond and before all reason. religion is not what you say, but what you feel; not what you think, but what you know. religions are the great optimisms. each is to its believers "the light of the world."
-i cannot think how this has not been evident long ago to everyone. have men no eyes, no ears, no understanding? yes, perhaps they have all these things. but what they have not got is sympathy, and without this of what use are the rest? for what men see and hear in any matter are the things they are in sympathy with. if your heart is out of tune, there is never any echo of the melody that is about you.
-the roman empire fell because there were no more romans left. they had died out and left no children to succeed them. where is the highest birth rate to-day in europe? it is in "priest-ridden" russia, where the people are without doubt more deeply imbued with their faith than any other people of the west now. in burma, where religion has such a hold on the people as the world has never known, the birth rate is very high indeed. the turks in the heyday of their religious enthusiasm increased very rapidly, but now and for long they seem to be stationary, and in the boers we see again a high birth rate and very strong religious convictions. our birth rate, on the contrary, is falling with the growing irreligion in certain classes. not that i wish for a moment to infer that religious feeling causes more children to be born. i have no belief whatever in the usual theories that the fall in birth rates is due to preventive measures, which religion disallows, or to debauchery, which religion controls. the supporters of such a theory admit that they cannot prove it. and there is very much against such an idea. when religion in the early ages of christianity discouraged marriage and did all in its power to encourage celibacy, it never succeeded in the end. men and women might go into convents for certain reasons--not, i think, mainly religious--the birth of children from those outside did not alter. and during the priestly rule in paraguay population disappeared so rapidly the monks were alarmed, and took stringent and strange methods to stop the decay, but in vain--the people had lost heart.
-but still they go together, and the answer seems to be here: a nation that is virile, that is full of vitality, finds an outlet for that vitality in children, an expression of it in religion. a virile people is optimistic always. pessimism, whether in nations or individuals, comes from a deficiency of nerve strength. but why peoples lose their vitality no one yet knows. there is a tribe on the shan frontier of burma that twenty years ago was a people of active hunters, always gun or bow in hand, scouring the forests for game, fearing nothing. and now they have lost their energy. their nerve is gone. they are listless and depressed. for a gun they substitute a hoe and do a little feeble gardening. their children are few, and shortly the tribe will be dead.
-no one knows why.
-religion, deep and true, and strong faith is possible only to strong natures; it is the outcome of strong feeling. it is a companion always to that virility that is optimism, that does not fear the future; it knows not what may come, but faces the future with confidence. it takes each day as it comes. such are the nations that replenish the earth. the world is the heritage of the godly. the old testament is full of that truth, and it is no less true now than then. but one does not proceed from the other. they both come from that fount whence springs the life of the world.
-was it reason?
-reason and religion have but little in common. they come from different sources, they pursue different ways. they are never related in this order as cause and effect. no one was ever reasoned into a religion, no one was ever reasoned out of his religion. faith exists or does not exist in man without any reference to his reason. reason may follow faith, does follow faith; never does faith follow reason.
-is it indeed always so? then how about the boy told of in the earlier chapters? he was born into a religion, he was educated in it, and he rejected it. why? he himself tells why he did so, because his reason drove him away from it. his reason, looking at the world as he found it, could not accept the way of life inculcated by his faith. he found it impossible, unworkable, and therefore not beautiful. his reason told him it was impracticable, not in accordance with facts, and therefore he would have none of it.
-his reason, too, following darwin, told him that the earlier part of the old testament could not be correct. man has risen, not fallen; he had his origin not six thousand years ago, but perhaps sixty thousand, perhaps much more. in many ways his reason fought with his religion, and it prevailed. was no one ever reasoned out of a faith? surely this boy was, surely many boys and men equally with him have so been deprived by reason of their faiths. reason is the enemy of faith. is not this so?
-when that boy was fighting his battle long ago i am sure he thought so. certainly he said so to himself. was he insincere or mistaken? surely he should know best of what was going on in his mind. he tells how reason drove him from his faith. was he not right?
-i think that he had not then learned to look at the roots of things. if there is one truth which grows upon us in life as we go on, as we watch men and what they say and do, as we watch ourselves and what we say or do, it is this, that men do not do things nor feel things because they think them, but the reverse. men think things because they want to do them; their reason follows their instincts. no man seeks to disprove what he likes and feels to be good, no man seeks to prove what he instinctively dislikes and rejects. you cannot argue yourself into a liking or a distaste. if, then, you find a man seeking reasons to disprove his faith, it is because his faith irks him, because he would fain shake it off and be done with it. if he were happy in it and it suited him, reasons disproving any part of it would pass by him harmlessly. you cannot shake a man's conviction of what he feels to be useful and beautiful.
-to the man, therefore, looking back it seems that all the boy's thoughts, his arguments, his reasoning, arise from this, that his religion did not suit. it galled him somewhere, perhaps in many places; it was a burden, and instead of being beautiful it was the reverse. so to rid himself of what he could not abide he sought refuge in his reason. and his reason going, as reason has always done, to the theories of faith instead of to the facts, he found that the creeds and beliefs had no foundation in fact, were but formulæ thrown upon an ignorant world, and should be rejected. so he left them. but it was never his reason that made him do so; reason came in but as the judge, openly justifying what had happened silently and unnoticed in his heart.
-what was it, then, that drove the boy from his faith? what were his instincts that remained unfulfilled, roused against his religion till they drove him to find reasons for leaving it? what was it that galled him till he revolted? there were, i think, mainly two things--the rise of an intense revolt to the continual exercise of authority, and the greater effect of the code of christ upon him.
-when a boy is frequently ill, when his constitution is delicate and easily upset, it is necessary that he should be very careful what he does, how he exposes himself to damp or cold, how he over-exerts himself at work or play. but for a boy to exercise this care is very difficult. he feels fairly well, and the other boys are going skating or boating, why should he not do so? the day is not very cold, and the other boys do not wear comforters; they laugh at him if he does so. he will not admit that he cannot do what other boys can do. so he has to be looked after and guarded, and cared for and watched, and made to do things he dislikes. if, too, the supervision becomes unnecessarily close, if there is a tendency to interfere not only where he is wrong and wants correction, but in many details where it is not required, is it not natural? if in time it so comes, or the boy thinks it so comes, that he cannot move hand or foot, cannot go in or out, cannot think or read, or even rest, without perpetual correction, is it so very unnatural? mistake? who shall say where the mistake lay? who shall say if there was any mistake at all, unless great affection be a mistake? maybe it was the inevitable result of circumstances. but still there it was. and though a small boy may accept such rule without question, yet as he grows up it irks him more and more, until at last it may become a daily and hourly irritation growing steadily more unbearable, more exasperating, month by month.
-there is, too, in many people--women, i think, mostly, and with women chiefly in reverse proportion to their knowledge--a tendency to give advice. few are without the desire, maybe a kindly desire in its inception, to advise others. the world at large does not take to it kindly, so the advice has to be bottled up, to be expended in its fulness where it can. this boy got it all. he received advice from innumerable people, enough to have furnished a universe. most of it he felt to be worthless, almost all of it he was sure was impertinence. yet he could not resent it, because he was under authority.
-and now perhaps you may see how there grew up slowly in him an utter loathing of authority, a hatred to being checked and supervised, and advised and lectured for ever. sometimes he would revolt and say, "can't you leave me alone?" and this was insubordination. he would have given all he could, everything, for liberty. "i would sooner," he said to himself, "catch cold and die than be worried daily not to forget my comforter. i would sooner grow up a fool and earn my living by breaking stones in the road than be supervised into my lessons like this, that i may be learned. but when i am grown up it must cease. it shall cease. then i shall be free to go my own way, and do wrong and suffer for it."
-and now imagine a boy in a state of mind like this told that he would never be free. a boy's authorities might pass, school and home might be left behind, but god would remain. masters can be avoided and deceived, god cannot be deceived. his eye is always on you. he sees everything you do. his hand is always guiding and directing and checking you. it seems to him that the exasperation was never to end, was to last even into the next life, if this be true. then you may understand how his instincts drove his reason to find good and sufficient cause for rejecting this god and for seeking freedom. "give me freedom," he cried, "freedom even to do wrong and suffer for it. i will not complain. only let me alone. do not interfere. i will not have a god who interferes." his reason helped him and showed him the emptiness of the creeds, and he went on his way without.
-then there was the sermon on the mount. to most boys this does not appeal at all. they hear it read. it is to them part of "religion"--that is, for consumption on sunday. it is not of any consequence, only words. they do not think twice of it. but with this boy it was different. the sermon on the mount did appeal to him. he thought it very beautiful as a little boy. it seemed worth remembering. he did remember it. it seemed worth acting up to as much as possible.
-but as he grew older and learned life as it is, he became able to see that it was not applicable at all to life, that life was much rougher and harder than he supposed, and required very different rules. he slowly grew disillusioned. and with the disillusion came bitterness. if you have never believed in any certain thing, never taken it to yourself, you can go on theoretically admiring it, and, if that becomes impossible, you can eventually let it go without trouble. but if you have believed, if you have strongly believed and desired to accept, when you find that your belief and acceptance have been misplaced, there comes a revulsion. if it cannot be all, it must be none. love turns to hate, never to indifference. belief changes to absolute rejection, never to toleration.
-this code of christ could not be absolutely followed in daily life, therefore it was absolutely untrue. and being untrue he could not bear to hear it preached every sunday as a teaching from on high. he shrank from it unconsciously as from a theory he had loved and which had deceived him: the love remained, the confidence was gone. he was betrayed. but he never reasoned about it till he had rejected it. then he sought to justify by reason what he had already accomplished in fact.
-so do men think things, because they have done or wish to do them; never the reverse.
-it seems trivial after the above to recall a minor point wherein instinct has had much to say.
-i can remember as a boy how i disliked to hear the church bells ringing for service. i hated them. they made me shudder. and i used to think to myself that i must be naturally wicked and irreligious to be so affected. "they ring for god's service and you shudder. you must be indeed the wicked boy they say." so i thought many a time.
-and now i know that i disliked the bells then, as i dislike them now, because of all sounds that of bells is to me the harshest and noisiest. i dislike not only church bells, but all bells. i have no prejudice against dinner, yet i would willingly wait in some houses half an hour, or even have it half-cold if it could be announced without a bell. and church bells! very few are in tune, none are sweet toned, all are rung far louder and faster than they should be, so that their notes, which might be bearable, become a wrangling abomination.
-but i love the monastery gongs in burma because they are delicately tuned, and they are rung softly and with such proper intervals between each note that there is no jar, none of that hideous conflict of the dying vibrations with the new note that is maddening to the brain.
-it is trivial, maybe, but it is real. and out of such trivialities is life made. out of such are our recollections built. i shall never remember the call to christian prayer without a shudder of dislike, a putting of my fingers in my ears. i shall never recall the buddhist gongs ringing down the evening air across the misty river without there rising within me some of that beauty, that gentleness and harmony, to which they seem such a perfect echo.
-what religion is.
-what, then, is religion? do any of the definitions given at the beginning explain what it really is? is it a theory of the universe, is it morality, is it future rewards and punishments? it may be all or none of these things. is it creeds, dogmas, speculations, or theories of any kind? it is none of these things.
-religion is the recognition and cultivation of our highest emotions, of our more beautiful instincts, of all that we know is best in us.
-what these emotions may be varies in each people according to their natures, their circumstances, their stage of civilisation. in the latins some emotions predominate, in the teutons others, in the hindus yet others. each race of men has its own garden wherein grow flowers that are not found elsewhere, and of these they make their faiths.
-some of these emotions i have tried to show in this book. for the latins they are the emotions of fatherhood, of prayer, and confession, of sacrifice and atonement, of motherhood, of art and beauty, of obedience, of rule, of mercy, of forgiveness, of the resurrection of the body, of prayer for the dead, of strong self-denial and asceticism, of many others; but those, i think, are the chief.
-for the protestant, the more rigid protestant, it is the cultivation of the emotions of force, grandeur, prayer, justice, conduct, punishment of evil, austerity, and also many others.
-with the burman buddhist it is the recognition and cultivation of the beauties of freedom, peace, calm, rigid self-denial, charity in thought and deed to all the world, pity to animals, the existence of the soul before and after death, with no reference to any particular body. the mahommedan has for one of his principal emotions courage in battle, and the hindu cleanliness of body and purity of race.
-these things are religions. out of his strongest feelings has man built up his faiths.
-and the creeds are but the theories of the keener intellects of the race to explain, and codify, and organise the cultivation of these feelings.
-creeds are not religions, nor are religions proved by miracle or by prophecy, by evidence, or any reasoning of any kind. the instincts are innate or do not exist at all. like all emotions and feelings, they cannot be created or destroyed by reason.
-why does a man fall in love? no one knows. and if he fall in love, can you cure him of it by argument? would it be any use to say to him? "the girl you love is not beautiful, is not clever; she would be of no use to you, she does not return your love at all. you cannot really love her." he would only laugh and say, "all that may be true, and yet the fact remains unaltered. she is the woman i love. my reason may prevent my marrying her, it cannot prevent my love. and you may be right that this other woman has all the virtues, but i have no love for her." so it is with all the emotions. you either have them or have not. you do not reason about them. reason is of things we doubt, not of things we know. therefore are the beliefs of one religion incomprehensible to the believers in another. nothing is so difficult to understand as an emotion you have not felt. what is perfect beauty to one man is stark ugliness to another. so it is with religion. to understand well the faith you must have in you all the chords that these faiths draw music from, and how many have that?
-religion is of the heart, not of the reason. theologians of all creeds warn the believer against reason as a snare of the devil. a freethinker must be an atheist. history is one long conflict between religion and science. but why is this, if they have no concern one with another? why fight, why not exist together?
-because all men, freethinkers as well as theologians, have failed to see what religion really consists in. they think it is in the theories of creation, of god, of salvation, of heaven and hell. they look one and all to the creeds and dogmas as religion.
-and none of these creeds and dogmas will, as a whole, stand criticism. they fall before the thinker into irretrievable ruin, and therefore the freethinker imagines he has destroyed religion. but religion lives on, and he wonders why. he puts it down to the blindness of men. the theologian rejoices because the continued life of religion seems to him the vindication of the creeds. yet are they both wrong. men are not fools, nor does religion live by the truth of its creeds. the whole initial idea has been mistaken. the creeds are but theories to explain religion. scientific men have invented the ether and theories connected with it to explain heat and light and electricity. these theories are good now, and are universally accepted, but they are not proved. supposing a hundred years hence wider perception and new facts should throw great doubts on whether ether exists at all as supposed, or on the present theories of heat and electricity? suppose, too, that the old school scientists are stubborn and refuse to meet these new thoughts? what will the sensible man do? will he say, "this theory of ether waves is untenable, exploded, foolish, and therefore i will believe it no longer; and as the theory is wrong, so too the phenomena of the theory are all imaginations. there are no such things as heat and light, and i will not warm myself in the sun." would that be sense? i think reason would reply, "i am sorry the old theories are gone. they were true while they lasted. but now they are dead, and we have not found new ones. yet if the theory be dead, the facts are still there. the sun still shines, and we have heat and light. these things are true. no man shall frighten me and say, 'if you will not believe our science you shall not warm yourself at our sun. you shall not light your fire or your lamp unless you admit ether waves.' perhaps a new theory may arise. but anyhow i have the sun yet, and my lamp is not broken. they are facts still."
-that is exactly the present position as regards many faiths. the creeds are theories to explain facts. the theories are very old and we have grown out of them. the theologians will not surrender them, clinging to them in the imagination that they really are religion, and that without them religion will fall, conjuring with words to try and support them.
-what should reason say in the face of this? "i do not believe in your theories of god and the future state, and the resurrection of the body, and so on, and therefore i won't have anything to do with any religion." would that be reason? yes, if you believe the creeds are religion; no, if you believe that religion lies far deeper than creeds. or to use another simile: the creeds are the grammar of religion, they are to religion what grammar is to speech. words are the expression of our wants; grammar is the theory formed afterwards. speech never proceeded from grammar, but the reverse. as speech progresses and changes from unknown causes, grammar must follow. but if not? if grammarians are hide-bound, are we to refuse to talk? in this latter case, if the reason were mine, i think reason would say, "bother these theologians, their dogmas and creeds, their theories and grammars, what do they matter? the instinct of prayer remains, of confession, of sacrifice. they appeal to me still. they fill my heart with beauty. shall i refuse to accept the glories of life, shall i refuse to cultivate my soul because some people who claim authority have theories about these things with which i don't agree? not all the creeds nor theologians in the world shall prevent my making the best of myself. the garden of the soul is no close preserve of theirs.
-"religion is the satisfaction of some of the wants of the souls of men. it is a cult of some of the emotions, never of all. for the emotions are so varied, so contradictory, that all cannot live together. i do not quite know why one people includes one emotion in religion and another rejects it out of religion, while still maintaining its beauty and truth. but no religion includes more than one side of life. there are others. i, too, will cultivate these emotions which i need. but this i will not forget, that life has many sides. life has many emotions, and all are good, though all may not come into religion. there is ambition, there is love of gaiety, of humour, of laughter, there is courage and pride, the glory of success. to live life whole none must be neglected. they are planted in our hearts for some good purpose. i will not weed them out. my garden shall grow all the flowers it can, and reason shall be the gardener to see that none grow rank and choke the others.
-"whatever things are beautiful, that make the heart to beat and the eye grow dim, whatever i know to be good, that shall i have. 'for that which toucheth the heart is beautiful to the eye.'"
-the use of religion.
-but granted, people may say, that religion is what you say, a cult of the emotions, of what use is it? why should these emotions be cultivated at all? you say that they are beautiful because they are true, and that they are true because they are of use. of what use are they? some can be explained perhaps, but not most--not the instinct of god, for instance, nor of law, nor the instinct of prayer. it seems to me that unless you can prove that they are true, essentially true conceptions, they cannot be beautiful. and this you say you cannot prove. "no one can prove god," you say, and prayer, surely that is against reason, and demonstrably a weakness. certainly not a good emotion to cultivate. "you say it is beautiful. how can you prove that?"
-travelling on the continent among those places where there are little colonies of english people who for one reason or another have left their own country, there crops up occasionally a man of peculiar kind, hardly ever to be met elsewhere. he is a man who has left england, we will suppose, for economy's sake, who has settled abroad, perhaps in one place, perhaps roaming from place to place, who has no work, no interest in life. he has drifted away from the current of our national life, he has entered no other, but he exists, he would say, as a student of man and a philosopher on motives.
-one such, meeting me one day, turned his conversation upon wars and upon patriotism. the former horrified him, the latter revolted him. "patriotism," he said, "can you defend such a feeling? have you any reasoning to support it? patriotism is a narrowness, a blindness. it is little better than a baseness founded on ignorance. how can it be defended? you say it is beautiful. prove to me that it is so. i deny it."
-to whom, and to men like this, it seems that there is only one answer to be made.
-"my friend, the love of your own people and your own country, if it ever existed within you, is long dead or you would never ask such a question. i cannot reason with you on the subject, because it would be like reasoning with a blind man on the beauty of being able to see. he who sees knows; but if a man be blind, how can it be explained to him? neither i nor my fellows can talk to you about patriotism, because it is a feeling we have, but of which you are ignorant. it is not a question of reason. but if you would know whether patriotism be beautiful or the ignorant foolishness you suppose, i can show you the road to learn.
-"go back to that england you have forgotten, and in your forgetfulness begun to despise. go back there on the eve of a great victory, or a great deliverance, such a day as that on which ladysmith was relieved. and go not into the streets if the loud rejoicings hurt your philosophic ear, but go into the homes of the people. go to the rich, to the middle class, to the artisan, to the labourer, and mark their glowing faces, their glad eyes, the look of glory, of thanksgiving that our people have been rescued, that our flag has escaped a disaster. look at the faces of these men and women and children, whose hearts are full at the news. and then ask them, 'is patriotism a mean and debasing passion?' they know. or do better even than this, go yourself to africa, to india, to the thousand league frontiers where men die daily for their flag, for their own honour, and that of their country. take rifle yourself and beat back those who would destroy our peace, take up your pen and give some of your life to the people whom we rule. you will find it a better life, perhaps, than at a foreign spa. give yourself freely for your country and those your country gives in charge to you. i think you will learn, maybe, what patriotism means. but argument, reason? i think you exaggerate the power of reason. it can argue only from facts. it is necessary to know the facts first. and you are ignorant of your facts, because you have never felt them. only those who feel them know. go and give your life, and before it be gone you will have learnt what neither i nor any man who ever lived can tell you. you will have learnt the realities of life.
-"for you and those like you mistake the power of reason, you have forgotten its limitations. reason is but the power of arranging facts, it cannot provide them. your eyes will give you the facts they can see, your ears what they can hear, your sympathies will give you the realities of men's lives. if you have no emotions, no sympathies, how can you get on? you are like mariners afloat upon the sea vainly waggling your rudders and boasting that you are at the mercy of no erratic winds, while the ships pass you under full sail. where will reason alone take you? it cannot take you anywhere. a rudder is only useful to a ship that has motive power. what motive power have you? so you float and work your rudders and turn round and round, and are very bitter. why are all philosophers so bitter, so hard to bear with, so useless? because you are conscious unconsciously of your futility, that the world passes you by and laughs.
-"the functions of reason are very narrow. you forget them. you exalt reason into the whole of life, committing the mistake for which you rail on others. unbridled emotion is, as you say, terrible. so is unbridled reason. where has reason alone ever led anyone save into the dreariest, driest pessimism? was a philosopher ever a happy man? even your utopias, from plato's to bellamy's, who would desire them? hell would be a pleasant relaxation after any of them. the functions of the senses, of which sympathy is the greatest, are to give you facts, the function of reason is to arrange them. the emotions drive man forward, reason directs and controls them. that is all.
-"you say religions are founded on errors, on what are your reasonings founded? they are founded on nothings."
-of what use is patriotism? is it beautiful or no? of what use is religion? is it beautiful or no? prove to me that it is necessary or beautiful. show me why it should be so.
-is it not the same answer in each case? it is so easy to point out the evils of exaggeration in each. anyone can do it. but the mean. prove to me the use and beauty of the mean.
-the answer is always the same. if you have religion in you, such a question would never occur to you, for you would feel its use, you would know its beauty. and if you have not, who shall prove it to you? who shall provide you with the facts on which to reason, who shall open your eyes? but if anyone doubts that religion is useful and is beautiful to its believers, go and watch them.
-it matters not where you go, east or west, it is always the same. in england, or france, or russia, among the hindus, the chinese, the japanese, the parsees. it makes no matter if you will but look aright. for you must know how to look and where. you must learn what to read. it is never books i would ask you to read, never creeds, never theologies, never reasons, nor arguments. you will not find what you search in libraries nor yet in places of worship, in ceremonies, in temples, great and beautiful as they may be. not in even their inmost recesses is the secret hid, the secret of all religions. i would have you listen to no preachers, to no theologians. they are the last to know. but i would have you go to the temple of the heart of man and read what is written there, written not in words, but in the inarticulate emotions of the heart. i would have you go and kneel beside the mahommedan as he prays at the sunset hour, and put your heart to his and wait for the echo that will surely come. yes, surely, if you be as a man who would learn, who can learn. i would have you go to the hillman smearing the stone with butter that his god may be pleased, to the woman crying to the forest god for her sick child, to the boy before his monks learning to be good. no matter where you go, no matter what the faith is called, if you have the hearing ear, if your heart is in unison with the heart of the world, you will hear always the same song. far down below the noises of the warring creeds, the clash of words and forms, the differences of peoples, of climes, of civilisations, of ideals, far down below all this lies that which you would hear. i know not what you would call it. maybe it is the voice of god telling us for ever the secret of the world, but in unknown tongue. for me it is like the unceasing surge of a shoreless sea answering to the night, a melody beyond words.
-the creeds and faiths are the words that men have set to that melody; they are the interpretations of that wordless song. each is true to him whom it suits. every nation has translated it into his own tongue. but never forget that those are only your own interpretations. whatever your faith may be, you have no monopoly of religion. i confess that to me there is nothing so repellent as the hate of faith for faith. to hear their professors malign and abuse each other, as if each had the monopoly of truth, is terrible. it is as a strife in families where brother is killing brother, and the younger trying to disinherit the elder. i doubt if in all this warfare they can listen for the voice that is for ever telling the secret of the world. whence came all the faiths but from that inexplicable feeling of the heart, that surge and swell arising we know not whence? if you would malign another's faith remember your own. if you cannot understand his belief stop and consider. can you understand your own? do you know whence came these emotions that have risen and made your faith?
-the faiths are all brothers, all born of the same mystery. there are older and younger, stronger and weaker, some babble in strange tongues maybe, different from your finer speech. but what of that? are they the less children of the great father for that? surely if there be the unforgivable offence, the sin against the holy ghost, it is this, to deny the truth that lies in all the faiths.
-religion is the music of the infinite echoed from the hearts of men.
-by a. c. bradley, ll.d., litt.d.
-lectures on hamlet, othello, king lear, macbeth
-macmillan & co ltd.
-oxford lectures on poetry
-a. c. bradley ll.d., litt.d.
-formerly professor of poetry in the university of oxford and fellow of balliol college
-london · melbourne · toronto
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-'they have seemed to be together, though absent, shook hands, as over a vast; and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds.'
-this volume consists of lectures delivered during my tenure of the chair of poetry at oxford and not included in shakespearean tragedy. most of them have been enlarged, and all have been revised. as they were given at intervals, and the majority before the publication of that book, they contained repetitions which i have not found it possible wholly to remove. readers of a lecture published by the university of manchester on english poetry and german philosophy in the age of wordsworth will pardon also the restatement of some ideas expressed in it.
-the several lectures are dated, as i have been unable to take account of most of the literature on their subjects published since they were delivered.
-they are arranged in the order that seems best to me, but it is of importance only in the case of the four which deal with the poets of wordsworth's time.
-i am indebted to the delegates of the university press, and to the proprietors and editors of the hibbert journal and the albany, fortnightly, and quarterly reviews, respectively, for permission to republish the first, third, fifth, eighth, and ninth lectures. a like acknowledgment is due for leave to use some sentences of an article on keats contributed to chambers's cyclopaedia of english literature (1903).
-in the revision of the proof-sheets i owed much help to a sister who has shared many of my oxford friendships.
-note to the second edition
-this edition is substantially identical with the first; but it and its later impressions contain a few improvements in points of detail, and, thanks to criticisms by my brother, f. h. bradley, i hope to have made my meaning clearer in some pages of the second lecture.
-poetry for poetry's sake
-one who, after twenty years, is restored to the university where he was taught and first tried to teach, and who has received at the hands of his alma mater an honour of which he never dreamed, is tempted to speak both of himself and of her. but i remember that you have come to listen to my thoughts about a great subject, and not to my feelings about myself; and of oxford who that holds this professorship could dare to speak, when he recalls the exquisite verse in which one of his predecessors described her beauty, and the prose in which he gently touched on her illusions and protested that they were as nothing when set against her age-long warfare with the philistine? how, again, remembering him and others, should i venture to praise my predecessors? it would be pleasant to do so, and even pleasanter to me and you if, instead of lecturing, i quoted to you some of their best passages. but i could not do this for five years. sooner or later, my own words would have to come, and the inevitable contrast. not to sharpen it now, i will be silent concerning them also; and will only assure you that i do not forget them, or the greatness of the honour of succeeding them, or the responsibility which it entails.
-what then does the formula 'poetry for poetry's sake' tell us about this experience? it says, as i understand it, these things. first, this experience is an end in itself, is worth having on its own account, has an intrinsic value. next, its poetic value is this intrinsic worth alone. poetry may have also an ulterior value as a means to culture or religion; because it conveys instruction, or softens the passions, or furthers a good cause; because it brings the poet fame or money or a quiet conscience. so much the better: let it be valued for these reasons too. but its ulterior worth neither is nor can directly determine its poetic worth as a satisfying imaginative experience; and this is to be judged entirely from within. and to these two positions the formula would add, though not of necessity, a third. the consideration of ulterior ends, whether by the poet in the act of composing or by the reader in the act of experiencing, tends to lower poetic value. it does so because it tends to change the nature of poetry by taking it out of its own atmosphere. for its nature is to be not a part, nor yet a copy, of the real world (as we commonly understand that phrase), but to be a world by itself, independent, complete, autonomous; and to possess it fully you must enter that world, conform to its laws, and ignore for the time the beliefs, aims, and particular conditions which belong to you in the other world of reality.
-of the more serious misapprehensions to which these statements may give rise i will glance only at one or two. the offensive consequences often drawn from the formula 'art for art' will be found to attach not to the doctrine that art is an end in itself, but to the doctrine that art is the whole or supreme end of human life. and as this latter doctrine, which seems to me absurd, is in any case quite different from the former, its consequences fall outside my subject. the formula 'poetry is an end in itself' has nothing to say on the various questions of moral judgment which arise from the fact that poetry has its place in a many-sided life. for anything it says, the intrinsic value of poetry might be so small, and its ulterior effects so mischievous, that it had better not exist. the formula only tells us that we must not place in antithesis poetry and human good, for poetry is one kind of human good; and that we must not determine the intrinsic value of this kind of good by direct reference to another. if we do, we shall find ourselves maintaining what we did not expect. if poetic value lies in the stimulation of religious feelings, lead, kindly light is no better a poem than many a tasteless version of a psalm: if in the excitement of patriotism, why is scots, wha hae superior to we don't want to fight? if in the mitigation of the passions, the odes of sappho will win but little praise: if in instruction, armstrong's art of preserving health should win much.
-i come to a third misapprehension, and so to my main subject. this formula, it is said, empties poetry of its meaning: it is really a doctrine of form for form's sake. 'it is of no consequence what a poet says, so long as he says the thing well. the what is poetically indifferent: it is the how that counts. matter, subject, content, substance, determines nothing; there is no subject with which poetry may not deal: the form, the treatment, is everything. nay, more: not only is the matter indifferent, but it is the secret of art to "eradicate the matter by means of the form,"'--phrases and statements like these meet us everywhere in current criticism of literature and the other arts. they are the stock-in-trade of writers who understand of them little more than the fact that somehow or other they are not 'bourgeois.' but we find them also seriously used by writers whom we must respect, whether they are anonymous or not; something like one or another of them might be quoted, for example, from professor saintsbury, the late r. a. m. stevenson, schiller, goethe himself; and they are the watchwords of a school in the one country where aesthetics has flourished. they come, as a rule, from men who either practise one of the arts, or, from study of it, are interested in its methods. the general reader--a being so general that i may say what i will of him--is outraged by them. he feels that he is being robbed of almost all that he cares for in a work of art. 'you are asking me,' he says, 'to look at the dresden madonna as if it were a persian rug. you are telling me that the poetic value of hamlet lies solely in its style and versification, and that my interest in the man and his fate is only an intellectual or moral interest. you allege that, if i want to enjoy the poetry of crossing the bar, i must not mind what tennyson says there, but must consider solely his way of saying it. but in that case i can care no more for a poem than i do for a set of nonsense verses; and i do not believe that the authors of hamlet and crossing the bar regarded their poems thus.'
-these antitheses of subject, matter, substance on the one side, form, treatment, handling on the other, are the field through which i especially want, in this lecture, to indicate a way. it is a field of battle; and the battle is waged for no trivial cause; but the cries of the combatants are terribly ambiguous. those phrases of the so-called formalist may each mean five or six different things. taken in one sense they seem to me chiefly true; taken as the general reader not unnaturally takes them, they seem to me false and mischievous. it would be absurd to pretend that i can end in a few minutes a controversy which concerns the ultimate nature of art, and leads perhaps to problems not yet soluble; but we can at least draw some plain distinctions which, in this controversy, are too often confused.
-in the first place, then, let us take 'subject' in one particular sense; let us understand by it that which we have in view when, looking at the title of an un-read poem, we say that the poet has chosen this or that for his subject. the subject, in this sense, so far as i can discover, is generally something, real or imaginary, as it exists in the minds of fairly cultivated people. the subject of paradise lost would be the story of the fall as that story exists in the general imagination of a bible-reading people. the subject of shelley's stanzas to a skylark would be the ideas which arise in the mind of an educated person when, without knowing the poem, he hears the word 'skylark'. if the title of a poem conveys little or nothing to us, the 'subject' appears to be either what we should gather by investigating the title in a dictionary or other book of the kind, or else such a brief suggestion as might be offered by a person who had read the poem, and who said, for example, that the subject of the ancient mariner was a sailor who killed an albatross and suffered for his deed.
-now the subject, in this sense (and i intend to use the word in no other), is not, as such, inside the poem, but outside it. the contents of the stanzas to a skylark are not the ideas suggested by the work 'skylark' to the average man; they belong to shelley just as much as the language does. the subject, therefore, is not the matter of the poem at all; and its opposite is not the form of the poem, but the whole poem. the subject is one thing; the poem, matter and form alike, another thing. this being so, it is surely obvious that the poetic value cannot lie in the subject, but lies entirely in its opposite, the poem. how can the subject determine the value when on one and the same subject poems may be written of all degrees of merit and demerit; or when a perfect poem may be composed on a subject so slight as a pet sparrow, and, if macaulay may be trusted, a nearly worthless poem on a subject so stupendous as the omnipresence of the deity? the 'formalist' is here perfectly right. nor is he insisting on something unimportant. he is fighting against our tendency to take the work of art as a mere copy or reminder of something already in our heads, or at the best as a suggestion of some idea as little removed as possible from the familiar. the sightseer who promenades a picture-gallery, remarking that this portrait is so like his cousin, or that landscape the very image of his birthplace, or who, after satisfying himself that one picture is about elijah, passes on rejoicing to discover the subject, and nothing but the subject, of the next--what is he but an extreme example of this tendency? well, but the very same tendency vitiates much of our criticism, much criticism of shakespeare, for example, which, with all its cleverness and partial truth, still shows that the critic never passed from his own mind into shakespeare's; and it may be traced even in so fine a critic as coleridge, as when he dwarfs the sublime struggle of hamlet into the image of his own unhappy weakness. hazlitt by no means escaped its influence. only the third of that great trio, lamb, appears almost always to have rendered the conception of the composer.
-again, it is surely true that we cannot determine beforehand what subjects are fit for art, or name any subject on which a good poem might not possibly be written. to divide subjects into two groups, the beautiful or elevating, and the ugly or vicious, and to judge poems according as their subjects belong to one of these groups or the other, is to fall into the same pit, to confuse with our pre-conceptions the meaning of the poet. what the thing is in the poem he is to be judged by, not by the thing as it was before he touched it; and how can we venture to say beforehand that he cannot make a true poem out of something which to us was merely alluring or dull or revolting? the question whether, having done so, he ought to publish his poem; whether the thing in the poet's work will not be still confused by the incompetent puritan or the incompetent sensualist with the thing in his mind, does not touch this point: it is a further question, one of ethics, not of art. no doubt the upholders of 'art for art's sake' will generally be in favour of the courageous course, of refusing to sacrifice the better or stronger part of the public to the weaker or worse; but their maxim in no way binds them to this view. rossetti suppressed one of the best of his sonnets, a sonnet chosen for admiration by tennyson, himself extremely sensitive about the moral effect of poetry; suppressed it, i believe, because it was called fleshly. one may regret rossetti's judgment and at the same time respect his scrupulousness; but in any case he judged in his capacity of citizen, not in his capacity of artist.
-so far then the 'formalist' appears to be right. but he goes too far, i think, if he maintains that the subject is indifferent and that all subjects are the same to poetry. and he does not prove his point by observing that a good poem might be written on a pin's head, and a bad one on the fall of man. that truth shows that the subject settles nothing, but not that it counts for nothing. the fall of man is really a more favourable subject than a pin's head. the fall of man, that is to say, offers opportunities of poetic effects wider in range and more penetrating in appeal. and the fact is that such a subject, as it exists in the general imagination, has some aesthetic value before the poet touches it. it is, as you may choose to call it, an inchoate poem or the débris of a poem. it is not an abstract idea or a bare isolated fact, but an assemblage of figures, scenes, actions, and events, which already appeal to emotional imagination; and it is already in some degree organized and formed. in spite of this a bad poet would make a bad poem on it; but then we should say he was unworthy of the subject. and we should not say this if he wrote a bad poem on a pin's head. conversely, a good poem on a pin's head would almost certainly transform its subject far more than a good poem on the fall of man. it might revolutionize its subject so completely that we should say, 'the subject may be a pin's head, but the substance of the poem has very little to do with it.'
-this brings us to another and a different antithesis. those figures, scenes, events, that form part of the subject called the fall of man, are not the substance of paradise lost; but in paradise lost there are figures, scenes, and events resembling them in some degree. these, with much more of the same kind, may be described as its substance, and may then be contrasted with the measured language of the poem, which will be called its form. subject is the opposite not of form but of the whole poem. substance is within the poem, and its opposite, form, is also within the poem. i am not criticizing this antithesis at present, but evidently it is quite different from the other. it is practically the distinction used in the old-fashioned criticism of epic and drama, and it flows down, not unsullied, from aristotle. addison, for example, in examining paradise lost considers in order the fable, the characters, and the sentiments; these will be the substance: then he considers the language, that is, the style and numbers; this will be the form. in like manner, the substance or meaning of a lyric may be distinguished from the form.
-so far we have assumed that this antithesis of substance and form is valid, and that it always has one meaning. in reality it has several, but we will leave it in its present shape, and pass to the question of its validity. and this question we are compelled to raise, because we have to deal with the two contentions that the poetic value lies wholly or mainly in the substance, and that it lies wholly or mainly in the form. now these contentions, whether false or true, may seem at least to be clear; but we shall find, i think, that they are both of them false, or both of them nonsense: false if they concern anything outside the poem, nonsense if they apply to something in it. for what do they evidently imply? they imply that there are in a poem two parts, factors, or components, a substance and a form; and that you can conceive them distinctly and separately, so that when you are speaking of the one you are not speaking of the other. otherwise how can you ask the question, in which of them does the value lie? but really in a poem, apart from defects, there are no such factors or components; and therefore it is strictly nonsense to ask in which of them the value lies. and on the other hand, if the substance and the form referred to are not in the poem, then both the contentions are false, for its poetic value lies in itself.
-what i mean is neither new nor mysterious; and it will be clear, i believe, to any one who reads poetry poetically and who closely examines his experience. when you are reading a poem, i would ask--not analysing it, and much less criticizing it, but allowing it, as it proceeds, to make its full impression on you through the exertion of your recreating imagination--do you then apprehend and enjoy as one thing a certain meaning or substance, and as another thing certain articulate sounds, and do you somehow compound these two? surely you do not, any more than you apprehend apart, when you see some one smile, those lines in the face which express a feeling, and the feeling that the lines express. just as there the lines and their meaning are to you one thing, not two, so in poetry the meaning and the sounds are one: there is, if i may put it so, a resonant meaning, or a meaning resonance. if you read the line, 'the sun is warm, the sky is clear,' you do not experience separately the image of a warm sun and clear sky, on the one side, and certain unintelligible rhythmical sounds on the other; nor yet do you experience them together, side by side; but you experience the one in the other. and in like manner, when you are really reading hamlet, the action and the characters are not something which you conceive apart from the words; you apprehend them from point to point in the words, and the words as expressions of them. afterwards, no doubt, when you are out of the poetic experience but remember it, you may by analysis decompose this unity, and attend to a substance more or less isolated, and a form more or less isolated. but these are things in your analytic head, not in the poem, which is poetic experience. and if you want to have the poem again, you cannot find it by adding together these two products of decomposition; you can only find it by passing back into poetic experience. and then what you recover is no aggregate of factors, it is a unity in which you can no more separate a substance and a form than you can separate living blood and the life in the blood. this unity has, if you like, various 'aspects' or 'sides,' but they are not factors or parts; if you try to examine one, you find it is also the other. call them substance and form if you please, but these are not the reciprocally exclusive substance and form to which the two contentions must refer. they do not 'agree,' for they are not apart: they are one thing from different points of view, and in that sense identical. and this identity of content and form, you will say, is no accident; it is of the essence of poetry in so far as it is poetry, and of all art in so far as it is art. just as there is in music not sound on one side and a meaning on the other, but expressive sound, and if you ask what is the meaning you can only answer by pointing to the sounds; just as in painting there is not a meaning plus paint, but a meaning in paint, or significant paint, and no man can really express the meaning in any other way than in paint and in this paint; so in a poem the true content and the true form neither exist nor can be imagined apart. when then you are asked whether the value of a poem lies in a substance got by decomposing the poem, and present, as such, only in reflective analysis, or whether the value lies in a form arrived at and existing in the same way, you will answer, 'it lies neither in one, nor in the other, nor in any addition of them, but in the poem, where they are not.'
-we have then, first, an antithesis of subject and poem. this is clear and valid; and the question in which of them does the value lie is intelligible; and its answer is, in the poem. we have next a distinction of substance and form. if the substance means ideas, images, and the like taken alone, and the form means the measured language taken by itself, this is a possible distinction, but it is a distinction of things not in the poem, and the value lies in neither of them. if substance and form mean anything in the poem, then each is involved in the other, and the question in which of them the value lies has no sense. no doubt you may say, speaking loosely, that in this poet or poem the aspect of substance is the more noticeable, and in that the aspect of form; and you may pursue interesting discussions on this basis, though no principle or ultimate question of value is touched by them. and apart from that question, of course, i am not denying the usefulness and necessity of the distinction. we cannot dispense with it. to consider separately the action or the characters of a play, and separately its style or versification, is both legitimate and valuable, so long as we remember what we are doing. but the true critic in speaking of these apart does not really think of them apart; the whole, the poetic experience, of which they are but aspects, is always in his mind; and he is always aiming at a richer, truer, more intense repetition of that experience. on the other hand, when the question of principle, of poetic value, is raised, these aspects must fall apart into components, separately conceivable; and then there arise two heresies, equally false, that the value lies in one of two things, both of which are outside the poem, and therefore where its value cannot lie.
-no one who understands poetry, it seems to me, would dispute this, were it not that, falling away from his experience, or misled by theory, he takes the word 'meaning' in a sense almost ludicrously inapplicable to poetry. people say, for instance, 'steed' and 'horse' have the same meaning; and in bad poetry they have, but not in poetry that is poetry.
-'bring forth the horse!' the horse was brought: in truth he was a noble steed!
-says byron in mazeppa. if the two words mean the same here, transpose them:
-'bring forth the steed!' the steed was brought: in truth he was a noble horse!
-and ask again if they mean the same. or let me take a line certainly very free from 'poetic diction':
-to be or not to be, that is the question.
-you may say that this means the same as 'what is just now occupying my attention is the comparative disadvantages of continuing to live or putting an end to myself.' and for practical purposes--the purpose, for example, of a coroner--it does. but as the second version altogether misrepresents the speaker at that moment of his existence, while the first does represent him, how can they for any but a practical or logical purpose be said to have the same sense? hamlet was well able to 'unpack his heart with words,' but he will not unpack it with our paraphrases.
-these considerations apply equally to versification. if i take the famous line which describes how the souls of the dead stood waiting by the river, imploring a passage from charon:
-tendebantque manus ripae ulterioris amore;
-and if i translate it, 'and were stretching forth their hands in longing for the further bank,' the charm of the original has fled. why has it fled? partly (but we have dealt with that) because i have substituted for five words, and those the words of virgil, twelve words, and those my own. in some measure because i have turned into rhythmless prose a line of verse which, as mere sound, has unusual beauty. but much more because in doing so i have also changed the meaning of virgil's line. what that meaning is i cannot say: virgil has said it. but i can see this much, that the translation conveys a far less vivid picture of the outstretched hands and of their remaining outstretched, and a far less poignant sense of the distance of the shore and the longing of the souls. and it does so partly because this picture and this sense are conveyed not only by the obvious meaning of the words, but through the long-drawn sound of 'tendebantque,' through the time occupied by the five syllables and therefore by the idea of 'ulterioris,' and through the identity of the long sound 'or' in the penultimate syllables of 'ulterioris amore'--all this, and much more, apprehended not in this analytical fashion, nor as added to the beauty of mere sound and to the obvious meaning, but in unity with them and so as expressive of the poetic meaning of the whole.
-it gives a very echo to the seat where love is throned;
-or 'carries far into your heart,' almost like music itself, the sound
-of old, unhappy, far-off things and battles long ago.
-what then is to be said of the following sentence of the critic quoted before: 'but when any one who knows what poetry is reads--
-our noisy years seem moments in the being of the eternal silence,
-he sees that, quite independently of the meaning, ... there is one note added to the articulate music of the world--a note that never will leave off resounding till the eternal silence itself gulfs it' must think that the writer is deceiving himself. for i could quite understand his enthusiasm, if it were an enthusiasm for the music of the meaning; but as for the music, 'quite independently of the meaning,' so far as i can hear it thus (and i doubt if any one who knows english can quite do so), i find it gives some pleasure, but only a trifling pleasure. and indeed i venture to doubt whether, considered as mere sound, the words are at all exceptionally beautiful, as virgil's line certainly is.
-makes us seem to patch up fragments of a dream, part of which comes true, and part beats and trembles in the heart.
-those who are susceptible to this effect of poetry find it not only, perhaps not most, in the ideals which she has sometimes described, but in a child's song by christina rossetti about a mere crown of wind-flowers, and in tragedies like lear, where the sun seems to have set for ever. they hear this spirit murmuring its undertone through the aeneid, and catch its voice in the song of keats's nightingale, and its light upon the figures on the urn, and it pierces them no less in shelley's hopeless lament, o world, o life, o time, than in the rapturous ecstasy of his life of life. this all-embracing perfection cannot be expressed in poetic words or words of any kind, nor yet in music or in colour, but the suggestion of it is in much poetry, if not all, and poetry has in this suggestion, this 'meaning,' a great part of its value. we do it wrong, and we defeat our own purposes, when we try to bend it to them:
-we do it wrong, being so majestical, to offer it the show of violence; for it is as the air invulnerable, and our vain blows malicious mockery.
-it is a spirit. it comes we know not whence. it will not speak at our bidding, nor answer in our language. it is not our servant; it is our master.
-the purpose of this sentence was not, as has been supposed, to give a definition of poetry. to define poetry as something that goes on in us when we read poetically would be absurd indeed. my object was to suggest to my hearers in passing that it is futile to ask questions about the end, or substance, or form of poetry, if we forget that a poem is neither a mere number of black marks on a white page, nor such experience as is evoked in us when we read these marks as we read, let us say, a newspaper article; and i suppose my hearers to know, sufficiently for the purpose of the lecture, how that sort of reading differs from poetical reading.
-the truths thus suggested are so obvious, when stated, that i thought a bare reminder of them would be enough. but in fact the mistakes we make about 'subject,' 'substance,' 'form,' and the like, are due not solely to misapprehension of our poetic experience, but to our examining what is not this experience. the whole lecture may be called an expansion of this statement.
-the passage to which the present note refers raises difficult questions which any attempt at a 'poetics' ought to discuss. i will mention three. (1) if the experience called a poem varies 'with every reader and every time of reading' and 'exists in innumerable degrees,' what is the poem itself, if there is such a thing? (2) how does a series of successive experiences form one poem? (3) if the object in the case of poetry and music ('arts of hearing') is a succession somehow and to some extent unified, how does it differ in this respect from the object in 'arts of sight'--a building, a statue, a picture?
-a lyric, for example, may arise from 'real' emotions due to transitory conditions peculiar to the poet. but these emotions and conditions, however interesting biographically, are poetically irrelevant. the poem, what the poet says, is universal, and is appropriated by people who live centuries after him and perhaps know nothing of him and his life; and if it arose from mere imagination it is none the worse (or the better) for that. so far as it cannot be appropriated without a knowledge of the circumstances in which it arose, it is probably, so far, faulty (probably, because the difficulty may come from our distance from the whole mental world of the poet's time and country).
-what is said in the text applies equally to all the arts. it applies also to such aesthetic apprehension as does not issue in a work of art. and it applies to this apprehension whether the object belongs to 'nature' or to 'man.' a beautiful landscape is not a 'real' landscape. much that belongs to the 'real' landscape is ignored when it is apprehended aesthetically; and the painter only carries this unconscious idealisation further when he deliberately alters the 'real' landscape in further ways.
-all this does not in the least imply that the 'real' thing, where there is one (personal emotion, landscape, historical event, etc.), is of small importance to the aesthetic apprehension or the work of art. but it is relevant only as it appears in that apprehension or work.
-if an artist alters a reality (e.g. a well-known scene or historical character) so much that his product clashes violently with our familiar ideas, he may be making a mistake: not because his product is untrue to the reality (this by itself is perfectly irrelevant), but because the 'untruth' may make it difficult or impossible for others to appropriate his product, or because this product may be aesthetically inferior to the reality even as it exists in the general imagination.
-for the purpose of the experiment you must, of course, know the sounds denoted by the letters, and you must be able to make out the rhythmical scheme. but the experiment will be vitiated if you get some one who understands the language to read or recite to you poems written in it, for he will certainly so read or recite as to convey to you something of the meaning through the sound (i do not refer of course to the logical meaning).
-hence it is clear that, if by 'versification taken by itself' one means the versification of a poem, it is impossible under the requisite conditions to get at this versification by itself. the versification of a poem is always, to speak loosely, influenced by the sense. the bare metrical scheme, to go no further, is practically never followed by the poet. suppose yourself to know no english, and to perceive merely that in its general scheme
-it gives a very echo to the seat
-is an iambic line of five feet; and then read the line as you would have to read it; and then ask if that noise is the sound of the line in the poem.
-in the text, therefore, more is admitted than in strictness should be admitted. for i have assumed for the moment that you can hear the sound of poetry if you read poetry which you do not in the least understand, whereas in fact that sound cannot be produced at all except by a person who knows something of the meaning.
-this paragraph has not, to my knowledge, been adversely criticised, but it now appears to me seriously misleading. it refers to certain kinds of poetry, and again to certain passages in poems, which we feel to be less poetical than some other kinds or passages. but this difference of degree in poeticalness (if i may use the word) is put as a difference between 'mixed' and 'pure' poetry; and that distinction is, i think, unreal and mischievous. further, it is implied that in less poetical poetry there necessarily is only a partial unity of content and form. this (unless i am now mistaken) is a mistake, and a mistake due to failure to hold fast the main idea of the lecture. naturally it would be most agreeable to me to re-write the paragraph, but if i reprint it and expose my errors the reader will perhaps be helped to a firmer grasp of that idea.
-it is true that where poetry is most poetic we feel most decidedly how impossible it is to separate content and form. but where poetry is less poetic and does not make us feel this unity so decidedly, it does not follow that the unity is imperfect. failure or partial failure in this unity is always (as in the case of shakespeare referred to) a failure on the part of the poet (though it is not always due to the same causes). it does not lie of necessity in the nature of a particular kind of poetry (e.g. satire) or in the nature of a particular passage. all poetry cannot be equally poetic, but all poetry ought to maintain the unity of content and form, and, in that sense, to be 'pure.' only in certain kinds, and in certain passages, it is more difficult for the poet to maintain it than in others.
-in the same way, satire is not in its nature a highly poetic kind of poetry, but it ought, in its own kind, to be poetry throughout, and therefore ought not to show a merely partial unity of content and form. if the satirist makes us exclaim 'this is sheer prose wonderfully well disguised,' that is a fault, and his fault (unless it happens to be ours). the idea that a tragedy or lyric could really be reproduced in a form not its own strikes us as ridiculous; the idea that a satire could so be reproduced seems much less ridiculous; but if it were true the satire would not be poetry at all.
-the reader will now see where, in my judgment, the paragraph is wrong. elsewhere it is, i think, right, though it deals with a subject far too large for a paragraph. this is also true of the next paragraph, which uses the false distinction of 'pure' and 'mixed,' and which will hold in various degrees of poetry in various degrees poetical.
-it is of course possible to use a distinction of 'pure' and 'mixed' in another sense. poetry, whatever its kind, would be pure as far as it preserved the unity of content and form; mixed, so far as it failed to do so--in other words, failed to be poetry and was partly prosaic.
-it is possible therefore that the poem, as it existed at certain stages in its growth, may correspond roughly with the poem as it exists in the memories of various readers. a reader who is fond of the poem and often thinks of it, but remembers only half the words and perhaps fills up the gaps with his own words, may possess something like the poem as it was when half-made. there are readers again who retain only what they would call the 'idea' of the poem; and the poem may have begun from such an idea. others will forget all the words, and will not profess to remember even the 'meaning,' but believe that they possess the 'spirit' of the poem. and what they possess may have, i think, an immense value. the poem, of course, it is not; but it may answer to the state of imaginative feeling or emotional imagination which was the germ of the poem. this is, in one sense, quite definite: it would not be the germ of a decidedly different poem: but in another sense it is indefinite, comparatively structureless, more a 'stimmung' than an idea.
-such correspondences, naturally, must be very rough, if only because the readers have been at one time in contact with the fully grown poem.
-i should be sorry if what is said here and elsewhere were taken to imply depreciation of all attempts at the interpretation of works of art. as regards poetry, such attempts, though they cannot possibly express the whole meaning of a poem, may do much to facilitate the poetic apprehension of that meaning. and, although the attempt is still more hazardous in the case of music and painting, i believe it may have a similar value. that its results may be absurd or disgusting goes without saying, and whether they are ever of use to musicians or the musically educated i do not know. but i see no reason why an exceedingly competent person should not try to indicate the emotional tone of a composition, movement, or passage, or the changes of feeling within it, or even, very roughly, the 'idea' he may suppose it to embody (though he need not imply that the composer had any of this before his mind). and i believe that such indications, however inadequate they must be, may greatly help the uneducated lover of music to hear more truly the music itself.
-this new question has 'quite another sense' than that of the question, what is the meaning or content expressed by the form of a poem? the new question asks, what is it that the poem, the unity of this content and form, is trying to express? this 'beyond' is beyond the content as well as the form.
-of course, i should add, it is not merely beyond them or outside of them. if it were, they (the poem) could not 'suggest' it. they are a partial manifestation of it, and point beyond themselves to it, both because they are a manifestation and because this is partial.
-coleridge used to tell a story about his visit to the falls of clyde; but he told it with such variations that the details are uncertain, and without regard to truth i shall change it to the shape that suits my purpose best. after gazing at the falls for some time, he began to consider what adjective would answer most precisely to the impression he had received; and he came to the conclusion that the proper word was 'sublime.' two other tourists arrived, and, standing by him, looked in silence at the spectacle. then, to coleridge's high satisfaction, the gentleman exclaimed, 'it is sublime.' to which the lady responded, 'yes, it is the prettiest thing i ever saw.'
-this poor lady's incapacity (for i assume that coleridge and her husband were in the right) is ludicrous, but it is also a little painful. sublimity and prettiness are qualities separated by so great a distance that our sudden attempt to unite them has a comically incongruous effect. at the same time the first of these qualities is so exalted that the exhibition of entire inability to perceive it is distressing. astonishment, rapture, awe, even self-abasement, are among the emotions evoked by sublimity. many would be inclined to pronounce it the very highest of all the forms assumed by beauty, whether in nature or in works of imagination.
-i propose to make some remarks on this quality, and even to attempt some sort of answer to the question what sublimity is. i say 'some sort of answer,' because the question is large and difficult, and i can deal with it only in outline and by drawing artificial limits round it and refusing to discuss certain presuppositions on which the answer rests. what i mean by these last words will be evident if i begin by referring to a term which will often recur in this lecture--the term 'beauty.'
-now, obviously, all the particular kinds or modes of beauty must have, up to a certain point, the same nature. they must all possess that character in virtue of which they are called beautiful rather than good or true. and so a philosopher, investigating one of these kinds, would first have to determine this common nature or character; and then he would go on to ascertain what it is that distinguishes the particular kind from its companions. but here we cannot follow such a method. the nature of beauty in general is so much disputed and so variously defined that to discuss it here by way of preface would be absurd; and on the other hand it would be both presumptuous and useless to assume the truth of any one account of it. our only plan, therefore, must be to leave it entirely alone, and to consider merely the distinctive character of sublimity. let beauty in general be what it may, what is it that marks off this kind of beauty from others, and what is there peculiar in our state of mind when we are moved to apply to anything the specific epithet 'sublime'?--such is our question. and this plan is not merely the only possible one, but it is, i believe, quite justifiable, since, so far as i can see, the answer to our particular question, unless it is pushed further than i propose to go, is unaffected by the differences among theories of repute concerning beauty in general. at the same time, it is essential to realise and always to bear in mind one consequence of this plan; which is that our account of what is peculiar to sublimity will not be an account of sublimity in its full nature. for sublimity is not those peculiar characteristics alone, it is that beauty which is distinguished by them, and a large part of its effect is due to that general nature of beauty which it shares with other kinds, and which we leave unexamined.
-in considering the question thus defined i propose to start from our common aesthetic experience and to attempt to arrive at an answer by degrees. it will be understood, therefore, that our first results may have to be modified as we proceed. and i will venture to ask my hearers, further, to ignore for the time any doubts they may feel whether i am right in saying, by way of illustration, that this or that thing is sublime. such differences of opinion scarcely affect our question, which is not whether in a given case the epithet is rightly applied, but what the epithet signifies. and it has to be borne in mind that, while no two kinds of beauty can be quite the same, a thing may very well possess beauty of two different kinds.
-let us begin by placing side by side five terms which represent five of the many modes of beauty--sublime, grand, 'beautiful,' graceful, pretty. 'beautiful' is here placed in the middle. before it come two terms, sublime and grand; and beyond it lie two others, graceful and pretty. now is it not the case that the first two, though not identical, still seem to be allied in some respect; that the last two also seem to be allied in some respect; that in this respect, whatever it may be, these two pairs seem to stand apart from one another, and even to stand in contrast; that 'beauty,' in this respect, seems to hold a neutral position, though perhaps inclining rather to grace than to grandeur; and that the extreme terms, sublime and pretty, seem in this respect to be the most widely removed; so that this series of five constitutes, in a sense, a descending series,--descending not necessarily in value, but in some particular respect not yet assigned? if, for example, in the lady's answer, 'yes, it is the prettiest thing i ever saw,' you substitute for 'prettiest' first 'most graceful,' and then 'most beautiful,' and then 'grandest,' you will find that your astonishment at her diminishes at each step, and that at the last, when she identifies sublimity and grandeur, she is guilty no longer of an absurdity, but only of a slight anti-climax. if, i may add, she had said 'majestic,' the anti-climax would have been slighter still, and, in fact, in one version of the story coleridge says that 'majestic' was the word he himself chose.
-what then is the 'respect' in question here,--the something or other in regard to which sublimity and grandeur seemed to be allied with one another, and to differ decidedly from grace and prettiness? it appears to be greatness. thousands of things are 'beautiful,' graceful, or pretty, and yet make no impression of greatness, nay, this impression in many cases appears to collide with, and even to destroy, that of grace or prettiness, so that if a pretty thing produced it you would cease to call it pretty. but whatever strikes us as sublime produces an impression of greatness, and more--of exceeding or even overwhelming greatness. and this greatness, further, is apparently no mere accompaniment of sublimity, but essential to it: remove the greatness in imagination, and the sublimity vanishes. grandeur, too, seems always to possess greatness, though not in this superlative degree; while 'beauty' neither invariably possesses it nor tends, like prettiness and grace, to exclude it. i will try, not to defend these statements by argument, but to develop their meaning by help of illustrations, dismissing from view the minor differences between these modes of beauty, and, for the most part, leaving grandeur out of account.
-thou whose exterior semblance doth belie thy soul's immensity.... mighty prophet! seer blest! on whom those truths do rest which we are toiling all our lives to find.
-a baby is still smaller, but a baby too may be sublime. the starry sky is not more sublime than the babe on the arm of the madonna di san sisto. a sparrow is more diminutive still; but that it is possible for a sparrow to be sublime is not difficult to show. this is a translation of a prose poem by tourgénieff:
-i was on my way home from hunting, and was walking up the garden avenue. my dog was running on in front of me.
-suddenly he slackened his pace, and began to steal forward as though he scented game ahead.
-i looked along the avenue; and i saw on the ground a young sparrow, its beak edged with yellow, and its head covered with soft down. it had fallen from the nest (a strong wind was blowing, and shaking the birches of the avenue); and there it sat and never stirred, except to stretch out its little half-grown wings in a helpless flutter.
-my dog was slowly approaching it, when suddenly, darting from the tree overhead, an old black-throated sparrow dropt like a stone right before his nose, and, all rumpled and flustered, with a plaintive desperate cry flung itself, once, twice, at his open jaws with their great teeth.
-it would save its young one; it screened it with its own body; the tiny frame quivered with terror; the little cries grew wild and hoarse; it sank and died. it had sacrificed itself.
-what a huge monster the dog must have seemed to it! and yet it could not stay up there on its safe bough. a power stronger than its own will tore it away.
-my dog stood still, and then slunk back disconcerted. plainly he too had to recognise that power. i called him to me; and a feeling of reverence came over me as i passed on.
-yes, do not laugh. it was really reverence i felt before that little heroic bird and the passionate outburst of its love.
-love, i thought, is verily stronger than death and the terror of death. by love, only by love, is life sustained and moved.
-the sublimity of the sparrow, then, no less than that of the sky or sea, depends on exceeding or overwhelming greatness--a greatness, however, not of extension but rather of strength or power, and in this case of spiritual power. 'love is stronger than death,' quotes the poet; 'a power stronger than its own tore it away.' so it is with the dog of whom scott and wordsworth sang, whose master had perished among the crags of helvellyn, and who was found three months after by his master's body,
-and if we look further we shall find that these cases of sublimity are, in this respect, far from being exceptions: 'thy soul's immensity,' says wordsworth to the child; 'mighty prophet' he calls it. we shall find, in fact, that in the sublime, when there is not greatness of extent, there is another greatness, which (without saying that the phrase is invariably the most appropriate) we may call greatness of power and which in these cases is essential.
-it seems clear, then, that sublimity very often arises from an overwhelming greatness of power. so abundant, indeed, are the instances that one begins to wonder whether it ever arises from any other kind of greatness, and whether we were right in supposing that mere magnitude of extension can produce it. would such magnitude, however prodigious, seem to us sublime unless we insensibly construed it as the sign of power? in the case of living things, at any rate, this doubt seems to be well founded. a tree is sublime not because it occupies a large extent of empty space or time, but from the power in it which raises aloft and spreads abroad a thousand branches and a million leaves, or which has battled for centuries with buffeting storms and has seen summers and winters arise and pass like the hours of our day. it is not the mere bulk of the lion or the eagle that wins them their title as king of beasts or of birds, but the power exhibited in the gigantic head and arm or the stretch of wing and the piercing eye. and even when we pass from the realm of life our doubt remains. would a mountain, a river, or a building be sublime to us if we did not read their masses and lines as symbols of force? would even the illimitable extent of sea or sky, the endlessness of time, or the countlessness of stars or sands or waves, bring us anything but fatigue or depression if we did not apprehend them, in some way and however vaguely, as expressions of immeasurable power--power that created them, or lives in them, or can count them; so that what impresses us is not the mere absence of limits, but the presence of something that overpowers any imaginable limit? if these doubts are justified (as in my opinion they are), the conclusion will follow that the exceeding greatness required for sublimity is always greatness of some kind of power, though in one class of cases the impression of this greatness can only be conveyed through immensity of extent.
-so far, on the whole, we have been regarding the sublime object as if its sublimity were independent of our state of mind in feeling and apprehending it. yet the adjective in the phrase 'overwhelming greatness' should at once suggest the truth that this state of mind is essential to sublimity. let us now therefore look inward, and ask how this state differs from our state in perceiving or imagining what is graceful or 'beautiful.' since kant dealt with the subject, most writers who have thought about it have agreed that there is a decided difference, which i will try to describe broadly, and without pledging myself to the entire accuracy of the description.
-when, on seeing or hearing something, we exclaim, how graceful! or how lovely! or how 'beautiful'! there is in us an immediate outflow of pleasure, an unchecked expansion, a delightful sense of harmony between the thing and ourselves.
-the air nimbly and sweetly recommends itself unto our gentle senses.... the heaven's breath smells wooingly here.
-but this first stage or aspect clearly does not by itself suffice for sublimity. to it there succeeds, it may be instantaneously or more gradually, another: a powerful reaction, a rush of self-expansion, or an uplifting, or a sense of being borne out of the self that was checked, or even of being carried away beyond all checks and limits. these feelings, even when the sublime thing might be called forbidding, menacing, or terrible, are always positive,--feelings of union with it; and, when its nature permits of this, they may amount to rapture or adoration. but the mark of the negation from which they have issued, the 'smell of the fire,' usually remains on them. the union, we may say perhaps, has required a self-surrender, and the rapture or adoration is often strongly tinged with awe.
-in writing thus i was endeavouring simply and without any arrière pensée to describe a mode of aesthetic experience. but it must have occurred to some of my hearers that the description recalls other kinds of experience. and if they find it accurate in the main, they will appreciate, even if they do not accept, the exalted claim which philosophers, in various forms, have made for the sublime. it awakes in us, they say, through the check or shock which it gives to our finitude, the consciousness of an infinite or absolute; and this is the reason of the kinship we feel between this particular mode of aesthetic experience on the one side, and, on the other, morality or religion. for there, by the denial of our merely finite or individual selves, we rise into union emphatically directed that monkey flesh would be worse to me than hunger.
-“there are plenty of tigers about here,” called one of our hosts to me; “i’ll fix you with a gun to-morrow, and we’ll have some fun.” but thank you, no. i did not carry arms throughout my journey. the jaguars did me no hurt when i went exploring o’ mornings; and as for me, i was not looking for trouble. quite politely the jaguars retired while i wandered about alone; though i should have been delighted to have sighted one. the whiffs of feral odour i got, especially in the neighbourhood of the mules, about which the jaguars prowled at night, were my only big game trophies. sometimes an indistinguishable object would step across ahead of me, or stir in a bush close by, drawing ear and eye at once in a place where trees and leaves were always as fixtures, like the air. i never met one of the larger natives of the place. i knew the parrots by their voices. i heard and smelt the cats. the monkeys called from a great distance; or a body would slip round a tree so like a shadow moving that when i examined the place, and saw nothing, it was easy to believe the eye was only suspicious.
-the men began to talk of the indians. they said we were in the land of the caripunas. “you won’t see them,” said hill. “i expect they are watching us now though,” he added, after a pause. i glanced up with some interest at the spectral foliage, where right before me the pale moonfire on leaves and trunks framed portals in the night. i could see nothing.
-“it’s odds that some of them have been following us all day,” continued hill. “they watch us. they can’t make us out. the rubber men told us the caripunas would kill and eat us. they kill the rubber men all right, and a good job too. but they only slip through the forest watching us. i saw some once. on the jaci. i jollied them into putting their canoe ashore. it was only a bark contraption, the roughest thing of its kind i’ve seen, sharpened fore and aft by lacing the ends together with sinews. they were fine light brown fellows, well made, and stark naked. the black hair of some of them was frizzy. curious, isn’t it? but i’ve heard that in the slave days runaway niggers got down here, and the forest indians collared them to improve their own miserable stock. the brazilians have always had a tradition of a frizzy-haired race on the madeira; and here they are. they had bows and arrows, those chaps, made entirely of cane and wood. the arrows were tipped with macaw feathers, and were over six feet long. i couldn’t bend the bloomin’ bow. these fellows keep to the side rivers, and their villages are always hidden in the woods. it’s a funny thing, but whenever the surveyors come on a village they find it has been vacated about a week.”
-we were silent for a time, and then a half-breed crept up to a hammock and spoke in spanish to the doctor. the doctor laughed, and the fellow went away. “he’s asking for a piece of that onca to eat. he says it will make him strong.” they began to talk of that, and the talk went on to what the indians say of the mai d’aqua, the mother of the waters, who frequents islands in the rivers and is the ruin of young men, and of such dreads as the jurupari, and the curupira, and the maty tapéré.
-they admitted it was easy to imagine such things into the forest. it wasn’t what was seen there. only the trees and the shadows were seen. but sometimes there were sounds. one of us, when alone making a traverse in the forest, had heard a scream, as if a woman had been frightened, and then there was no more sound. the camp doctor began to talk. he was an englishman. he sat upright in the middle of his hammock, swinging it with one foot. “there was a curious yarn i heard about a tiger in hampshire. ah! hampshire! i had a practice there once, you know. it made me so busy and popular that at last i began to wonder whether i wasn’t altogether too successful. it was the practice or me. as i wanted to live on and do some useful work i slew the practice. i’ve got one or two ideas about that beri-beri you chaps die of here. a doctor cannot serve god and a lot of old women with colds.... oh yes, about that tiger. well, one of those travelling shows came to our village. i could see the steam of its roundabout engines from my surgery windows, and i told the farmer who rented the field to the showmen that if he let a mechanical organ come anywhere near my place again he could take his gallstone somewhere else in future.
-“late one night i got an urgent message to go over to the show. there had been an accident. i was taken into a caravan. there was a fat woman dressed as a pink fairy kneeling over a man stretched on a bunk, shaking him, and crying. the man was dead all right. but i couldn’t find a mark on him. diseased heart, i supposed, but he looked a good ’un. some of the well-made, powerful chaps have most unreliable hearts. the woman kept crying out something about ‘that beast of a tiger.’ curious sort of remark, and i asked the boss afterwards what she meant. he shuffled about a bit, pretending that she was talking silly. ‘nothing to do with the tigress,’ he said, ‘although the man was found unconscious in her cage.’ ‘it’s such a tame thing,’ said the showman. ‘anybody could handle it. never shows vice. old jackson’—that was the dead chap—‘he’d been inside tinkering with a partition. when we found him she was lying in a corner as if asleep, and only sat up and yawned when we got him out of her cage. come and see for yourself.’
-“i went. there was nothing to see, except a slit-eyed tigress sitting up in a corner of her cage, blinking at the lantern, and looking rather spooky. a rather small creature, and prettily marked—one of the melantic variety.
-“well, the chap was buried after an inquest, and that inquest made me ask a lot of questions afterwards. it was a simple affair, the inquest. death from natural causes. but there was something behind the evidence of the man’s wife, and i wanted to find out about that.
-“she told me she had a little girl, who got one night into the tent where the big cats were kept. nobody was there at the time. next morning she said to her mother, ‘mummie, who was the funny lady in lucy’s cage?’
-“lucy was the name of the tigress. the child said that there was only the lady in the cage, and the lady watched her. and that was all they could get out of the kiddie. the funny thing about it is that once before the child had come back with a yarn like that, after straying into the menagerie tent late at night. the wife’s idea was her husband had died of fright.
-“don’t ask me what i want to make out, boys. i’m only just telling you the yarn. there you are.
-“well, before the show left our village, i heard they’d got a nigger to look after the big cats. he was with the show two days. on the third day he was missing. he went without drawing his money, and he had left open the door of lucy’s cage. she hadn’t attempted to get out. the nigger was found some days after, wandering about the country, and a little cracked, by all accounts. and that’s all.” the doctor struck a match, and then hoisted his legs into the hammock. somewhere far in the forest the monkeys were howling.
-“that doctor is a good body mender,” said hill to me. “he is the most entertaining liar on this job.”
-when in the neighbourhood of the girau falls we returned to a camp known as 22, which was merely a couple of huts, the station of two english surveyors, who had with them a small party of bolivians. the bolivian frontier was then but a little distance to the south-west. we rested for a day there, and planned to make a journey of ten miles across country, to the falls of the caldeirao do inferno. by doing so we should save the wearying return ride along the track to the rio jaci-parana, for at the caldeirao a launch was kept, and in that we could shoot the rapids and reach the camp on the jaci two days earlier. some haste was necessary now, for my steamer must be nearing her sailing time. and again, i agreed the more readily to the plan of making a traverse of the forest because it would give me the opportunity of seeing the interior of the virgin jungle away from any track. though i had been so long in a land which all was forest i had not been within the universal growth except for little journeys on used trails. a journey across country in the amazon country is never made by the brazilians. the only roads are the rivers. it is a rare traveller who goes through those forests, guided only, by a compass and his lore of the wilderness. that for months i had never been out of sight of the jungle, and yet had rarely ventured to turn aside from a path for more than a few paces, is some indication of its character. at the camp where we were staying i was told that once a man had gone merely within the screen of leaves, and then no doubt had lost, for a few moments, his sense of direction of the camp, for he was never seen again.
-one morning, wondering greatly what we should see in the place where we should be the first men to go, hill and i left camp 22 and returned a little along the track. it was a hot still morning. a vanilla vine was in fragrant flower somewhere, unseen, but unescapable. my little unknown friend in the woods, who calls me at odd times—but i think chiefly when i am near a stream—by whistling thrice, let me know he was about. hill said he thinks he has seen him, and that my little friend looks like a blackbird. on the track in many places were objects which appeared to be long cups inverted, of unglazed ware. picking up one i found it was the cap to a mine of ants, the inside of the clay cup being hollowed in a perfect circle, and remarkably smooth. a paca dived into the scrub near us. it was early morning, scented with vanilla, and the intricacy of leaves was radiant. nowhere in the screen could i see a place through which it was possible to crawl to whatever was behind it. the front of leaves was unbroken. hill presently bent double and disappeared, and i followed in the break he made. so we went for about ten minutes, my leader cutting obstructions with his machete, and mostly we had to go almost on hands and knees. the undergrowth was green, but in the etiolated way of plants which have little light, though that may have been my fancy. one plant was very common, making light-green feathery barriers. i think it was a climbing bamboo. its stem was vapid and of no diameter, and its grasslike leaves grew in whorls at the joints. it extended to incredible distances. we got out of that margin of undergrowth, which springs up quickly when light is let into the woods, as it was there through the cutting of the track, and found ourselves on a bare floor where the trunks of arborescent laurels grew so thickly together that our view ahead was restricted to a few yards. we were in the forest. there was a pale tinge of day, but its origin was uncertain, for overhead no foliage could be seen, but only deep shadows from which long ropes were hanging without life. in that obscurity were points of light, as if a high roof had lost some tiles. hill set a course almost due south, and we went on, presently descending to a deep clear stream over which a tree had fallen. shafts of daylight came down to us there, making the sandy bottom of the stream luminous, as by a lantern, and betraying crowds of small fishes. as we climbed the tree, to cross upon it, we disturbed several morphos. we had difficulties beyond in a hollow, where the bottom of the forest was lumbered with fallen trees, dry rubbish, and thorns, and once, stepping on what looked timber solid enough, its treacherous shell collapsed, and i went down into a cloud of dust and ants. in clearing this wreckage, which was usually as high as our faces, and doubly confused by the darkness, the involutions of dead thorny creepers, and clouds of dried foliage, hills got at fault with our direction, but reassured himself, though i don’t know how—but i think with the certain knowledge that if we went south long enough we should strike the madeira somewhere—and on we went. for hours we continued among the trees, seldom knowing what was ahead of us for any distance, surviving points of noise intruding again after long in the dusk of limbo. so still and nocturnal was the forest that it was real only when its forms were close. all else was phantom and of the shades. there was not a green sign of life, and not a sound. resting once under a tree i began to think there was a conspiracy implied in that murk and awful stillness, and that we should never come out again into the day and see a living earth. hills sat looking out, and said, as if in answer to an unspoken thought of mine which had been heard because there was less than no sound there, that men who were lost in those woods soon went mad.
-then he led on again. this forest was nothing like the paradise a tropical wild is supposed to be. it was as uniformly dingy as the old stones of a london street on a november evening. we did not see a movement, except when the morphos started from the uprooted tree. once i heard the whistle call us from the depths of the forest, urgent and startling; and now when in a london by-way i hear a boy call his mate in a shrill whistle, it puts about me again the spectral aisles, and that unexpectant quiet of the sepulchre which is more than mere absence of sound, for the dead who should have no voice. this central forest was really the vault of the long-forgotten, dank, mouldering, dark, abandoned to the accumulations of eld and decay. the tall pillars rose, upholding night, and they might have been bastions of weathered limestone and basalt, for they were as grim as ancient and ruinous masonry. there was no undergrowth. the ground was hidden in a ruin of perished stuff, uprooted trees, parchments of leaves, broken boughs, and mummied husks, the iron globes of nuts, and pods. there was no day, but some breaks in the roof were points of remote starlight. the crowded columns mounted straight and far, almost branchless, fading into indistinction. out of that overhead obscurity hung a wreckage of distorted cables, binding the trees, and often reaching the ground. the trees were seldom of great girth, though occasionally there was a dominant basaltic pillar, its roots meandering over the floor like streams of old lava. the smooth ridges of such a fantastic complexity of roots were sometimes breast high. the walls ran up the trunk, projecting from it as flat buttresses, for great heights. we would crawl round such an occupying structure, diminished groundlings, as one would move about the base of a foreboding, plutonic building whose limits and meaning were ominous and baffling. there were other great trees with compound boles, built literally of bundles of round stems, intricate gothic pillars, some of the props having fused in places. every tree was the support of a parasitic community, lianas swathing it and binding it. one vine moulded itself to its host, a flat and wide compress, as though it were plastic. we might have been witnessing what had been a riot of manifold and insurgent life. it had been turned to stone when in the extreme pose of striving violence. it was all dead now.
-but what if these combatants had only paused as we appeared? it was a thought which came to me. the pause might be but an appearance for our deception. indeed, they were all fighting as we passed through, those still and fantastic shapes, a war ruthless but slow, in which the battle day was ages long. they seemed but still. we were deceived. if time had been accelerated, if the movements in that war of phantoms had been speeded, we should have seen what really was there, the greater trees running upwards to starve the weak of light and food, and heard the continuous collapse of the failures, and have seen the lianas writhing and constricting, manifestly like serpents, throttling and eating their hosts. we did see the dead everywhere, shells with the worms at them. yet it was not easy to be sure that we saw anything at all, for these were not trees, but shapes in a region below the day, a world sunk abysmally from the land of living things, to which light but thinly percolated down to two travellers moving over its floor, trying to get out to their own place.
-late in the afternoon we were surprised by a steep hill in our way, where the forest was more open. palms became conspicuous on the slopes, and the interior of the sombre woods was lighted with bright and graceful foliage. the wild banana was frequent, its long rippling pennants showing everywhere. the hill rose sharply, perhaps for six hundred feet, and over its surface were scattered large stones, and stones are rare indeed in this land of vegetable humus. they were often six inches in diameter, and i should have said they were waterworn but that i had seen them in situ at one camp, where they occurred but little below the surface in a friable sandstone, the largest of them easily broken in the hand, for they were but ferrous concretions of quartz grains. after exposure to the air they so hardened that they could be fractured only with difficulty. we kept along the ridge of the hill, finding breaks in the forest through which, as through unexpected windows, we could see, for a wonder, over the roof of the forest, looking out of our prison to a wide world where the sun was declining. in the south-west we caught the gleam of the madeira, and beyond it saw a continuation of the range of hills on which we stood.
-in the low ground between the hill range and the river the forest was lower, and was so tangled a mass that i doubted whether we could make a way through it. we happened upon a deserted caripuna village, three large sheds, without sides, each but a ragged thatch propped on four legs. the clearing was just large enough to hold them. i could find no relics of the forest folk about. damp leaves were thick on the floor of each shelter. but it was lucky we found the huts, for thence a trail led us to the river. we emerged suddenly from the forest, just as one goes through a little door into the open street. we were on the bank of the madeira by the upper falls of the caldeirao. it was still a great river, with the wall of the forest opposite, just above which the sunset was flaming, so far away that its tree trunks were but vertical lines of silver in dark cliffs. a track used by the bolivian rubber boatmen led us down stream to the camp by the lower falls.
-it was night when we got to the three huts of the camp, and the river could not be seen, but it was heard, a continuous low thundering. sometimes a greater shock of deep waters falling, an orgasm of the flood pouring unseen, more violent than the rest, made the earth tremulous. men held up lanterns to our faces, and led us to a hut. it was but the usual roof of leaves. we rested in hammocks slung between the posts, and i ached in every limb. but here we were at last; and there is no more luxurious bed than a hammock, yielding and resilient, as though you were cradled on air; and there is no pipe like that smoked in a hammock at night in the tropics after a day of toil and anxiety in a dissolving heat, for the heat makes a pipe bitter and impossible; but if a tropic night is cool and cloudless it comes like a benediction, and the silence is a peace that is below you and around, and as high as the stars towards which your face is turned. the ropes of the hammock creaked. sometimes a man spoke quietly, as though he were at a great distance. the sound of the water receded, was heard only as in a sleep, and it might have been the loud murmur of the spinning globe, heard because we had left this world and had leisure for trifles in a securer world apart.
-in the morning, while they prepared the little steam launch for its journey down the rapids, i had time to climb about the smooth granite boulders of the foreshore below the hut. a rock is so unusual in this country that it is a luxury when found. the granite was bare, but in its crevices grew cacti and other plants with fleshy leaves and swollen stems. shadowing the hut was a tree bearing trumpet-shaped flowers, and before the blossoms humming birds were hovering, glowing and evanescent morsels, remaining miraculously suspended when inserting their long bills into the flowers, their little wings beating so rapidly that the air seemed visible and radiant about them. another tree here interested me, for it was bates assacu, the only one i saw. it was a large tree, with palmate leaves having seven fingers. ugly spines studded even its brown trunk.
-i looked out on the river dubiously. a rocky island was just off shore, crowned with trees. between us and the island, and beyond, the waters heaved and circled, evidently of great depth, and fearfully disturbed and swift. it looked all its name, the caldeirao do inferno—hell’s cauldron. there was not much white and broken water. but its surface was always changing, whirlpools forming and revolving, then disappearing in long wrenched strands of water. sometimes a big tree would leap out of the water, as though it had travelled upwards from the bottom, and then would vanish again.
-we set out upon it, with an engineman and two half-breeds, and went off obliquely for mid-stream. the engineman and navigator was a fair-haired german. if the river had been sane and usual i should have had my eyes on the forest which stood along each shore, for few white men had ever looked upon it. but the river took our minds, and never in bad weather in the western ocean have i seen water so full of menace. yet below the falls it was silent and unbroken. it was its smooth swiftness, its strange checks and mysterious and deep convulsions, as though the river bed itself was insecure, the startling whirlpools which appeared without warning, circling depressions on the surface in which our launch would have been but a straw, which shocked the mind. it was stealthy and noiseless. the water was but an inch or two below our gunwale. we saw trees afloat, greater and heavier than our midget of a craft, shooting down the gently inclined shining expanse just as we were, and express; and then, as if an awful hand had grasped them from below, they were pulled under, and we saw them no more; or, again, and near to us and ahead, a tree bole would shoot from below like an arrow, though no tree had been drifting there. the shores were far away.
-the water ahead grew worse. the german crouched by his little throbbing engine, looking anxiously—i could see his fixed stare—over the bows. we were travelling indeed now. the boat, in a rapid tremor, and oscillating violently, was clutched at the keel by something which coiled strongly about us, gripped us, and held us; and the boat, mad and terrified, in an effort to escape, made a circuit, the water lipping at her gunwale and coming over the bows. the river seemed poised a foot above the bows, ready to pour in and swamp us. the german tried to get her head down stream. hills began tearing at his ammunition belt, and i stooped and tugged at my boot laces....
-the boat jumped, as if released. the german turned round on us grinning. “it ees all right,” he said. he began to roll a cigarette nervously. “we pull it off all right,” said the german, wetting his cigarette paper. the boat was free, dancing lightly along. the little engine was singing quickly and freely.
-the madeira here was as wide as in its lower reaches, with many islands. there were hosts of waterfowl. we landed once at a rubber hunter’s sitio on the right bank. its owner, a bolivian, and his pretty indian wife, who had tattoo marks on her forehead, made much of us, and gave us coffee. they had an orchard of guavas, and there, for it was long since i had tasted fruit, i was an immoderate thief, in spite of a pet curassow which followed me through the garden with distracting pecks. the rio jaci-parana, a blackwater stream, opened up soon after we left the sitio. the boundary between the clay-coloured flood of the madeira and the dark water of the tributary was straight and distinct. from a distance the black water seemed like ink, but we found it quite clear and bright. the jaci is not an important branch river, but it was, at this period of the rains, wider than the thames at richmond, and without doubt very much deeper. the appearance of the forest on the jaci was quite different from the palisades of the parent stream. on the madeira there is commonly a narrow shelf of bank, above which the jungle rises as would a sheer cliff. the jaci had no banks. the forest was deeply submerged on either side, and whenever an opening showed in the woods we could see the waters within, but could not see their extent because of the interior gloom. the outer foliage was awash, and mounted, not straight, but in rounded clouds. for the first time i saw many vines and trees in flower, presumably because we were nearer the roof of the woods. one tree was loaded with the pendent pear-shaped nests of those birds called “hang nests,” and scores of the beauties in their black and gold plumage were busy about their homes, which resembled monstrous fruits. another tree was weighted with large racemes of orange-coloured blossoms, but as the launch passed close to it we discovered the blooms were really bundles of caterpillars. the jaci appeared to be a haunt of the alligators, but all we saw of them was their snouts, which moved over the surface of the water out of our way like rubber balls afloat and mysteriously propelled. i had a sight, too, of that most regal of the eagles, the harpy, for one, well within view, lifted from a tree ahead, and sailed finely over the river and away.
-that night i slept again in my old hut at the jaci camp, and with hill and another official set off early next morning for the construction camp on rio caracoles, which we hoped to reach before the commissary train left for porto velho. at porto velho the “capella” was, and i wished, perhaps as much as i have ever wished for anything, that i should not be left behind when she departed. i knew she must be on the point of sailing.
-my two companions had reasons of their own for thinking the catching of that train was urgently necessary. in our minds we were already settled and safe in a waggon, comfortable among the empty boxes, going back to the place where the crowd was. but still we had some way to ride; and, i must tell you, i was now possessed of all i desired of the tropical forest, and had but one fixed idea in my dark mind, but one bright star shining there; i had turned about, and was going home, and now must follow hard and unswervingly that star in the east of my mind. the rhythmic movements of the mule under me—only my legs knew he was there—formed in my darkened mind a refrain: get out of it, get out of it.
-and at last there were the huts and tents of the caracoles, still and quiet under the vertical sun. no train was there, nor did it look a place for trains. my steamer was sixty miles away, beyond a track along which further riding was impossible, and where walking, for more than two miles, could not be even considered. the train, the boys told us blithely, went back half an hour before. the audience of trees regarded my consternation with the indifference which i had begun to hate with some passion. the boys naturally expected that we should take it in the right way for hot climates, without fuss, and that now they had some new gossip for the night. but they should have understood hill better. my tall gaunt leader waved them aside, for he was a man who could do things, when there seemed nothing that one could do. “the terminus or bust!” he cried. “where’s the boss?” he demanded a handcart and a crew. i thought he spoke in jest. a handcart is a contrivance propelled along railway metals by pumping at a handle. the handle connects with the wheels by a crank and cogs through a slot in the centre of the platform, and you get five miles an hour out of it, while the crew continues. for sixty miles, in that heat, it was impossible. yet hill persisted; the cart was put on the metals, five half-breeds manned the pump handle, three facing the track ahead, two with their backs to it. we three passengers sat on the sides and front of the trolley. away we went.
-the boys cheered and laughed, calling out to us the probabilities of our journey. we trundled round a corner, and already i had to change my cramped position; fifty-eight miles to go. we sat with our legs held up out of the way of the vines and rocks by the track, and careful to remember that our craniums must be kept clear of the pump handle. the crew went up and down, with fixed looks. the sun was the eye of the last judgment, and my lips were cracked. the trees made no sign. the natives went up and down; and the forest went by, tree by tree.
-my tired and thoughtless legs dropped, and a thorn fastened its teeth instantly in my boots, and nearly had me down. the trees went by, one by one. there was a large black and yellow butterfly on a stone near us. i was surprised when no sound came as it made a grand movement upwards. then, in the heart of nowhere, the trolley slackened, and came to a stand. we had lost a pin. half a mile back we could hardly credit we really had found that pin, but there it was; and the men began to go up and down again. hill got a touch of fever, and the natives had changed to the colour of impure tallow, and flung their perspiration on my face and hands as they swung mechanically. the poor wretches! we were done. the sun weighed untold tons.
-but the sun declined, some monkeys began to howl, and the sunset tempest sprang down on us its assault, shaking the high screens on either hand, and the rain beat with the roll of kettle-drums. then we got on an up grade, and two of the spent natives collapsed, their chests heaving. so i and the other chap stood up in the night, looked to the stars, from which no help could be got, took hold of the pump handle like gallant gentlemen, and tried to forget there were twenty miles to go. away we went, jog, jog, uphill. i thought that gradient would not end till my heart and head had burst; but it did, just in time.
-... i became only a piece of machinery, and pumped, and pumped, with no more feeling than a bolster. shadows undulated by us everlastingly. i think my tongue was hanging out....
-lights were really seen at last. kind hands lifted us from the engine of torture; and i heard the remembered voice of the skipper, “is he there? i thought it was a case.”
-that night of my return a full moon and a placid river showed me the “capella” doubled, as in a mirror, and admiring the steamer’s deep inverted shape i saw a heartening portent—i saw steam escaping from the funnel which was upside down. a great joy filled me at that, and i turned to the skipper, as we strode over the ties of the jetty. “yes. we go home to-morrow,” he said. the bunk was super-heated again by the engine room, but knowing the glad reason, i endured it with pleasure. to-morrow we turned about.
-when mack first boarded the ship, a group of us, gloved, smothered him with a heavy blanket and fastened a chain to his leg. he knew he was overpowered, and did not struggle, but inside the blanket we heard some horrible chuckles. we took off the blanket and stood back expectantly from that dishevelled and puzzling giant of a parrot. he shook his feathers flat again, quite self-contained, looked at us sardonically and murmured “gur-r-r” very distinctly; then glanced at his foot. there was a little surprise in his eye when he saw the chain there. he lifted up the chain to examine it, tried it, and then quietly and easily bit it through. “gur-r-r!” he said again, straightening his vest, still regarding us solemnly. then he moved off to a davit, and climbed the mizzen shrouds to the top-mast.
-when he saw us at food he came down with nonchalance, and overlooked our table from the cross beam of an awning. apparently satisfied, he came directly to the mess table, sitting beside me, and took his share with all the assurance of a member, allowing me to idle with his beautiful wings and his tail. he was a beauty. he took my finger in his awful bill and rolled it round like a cigarette. i wondered what he would do to it before he let it go; but he merely let it go. he was a great character, magnanimously minded. i never knew a tamer creature than mack. that evening he rejoined a flock of his wild brothers in the distant tree-tops. but he was back next morning, and put everlasting fear into the terrier, who was at breakfast, by suddenly appearing before him with wings outspread on the deck, looking like a disrupted and angry rainbow, and making raucous threats. the dog gave one yell and fell over backwards.
-we had added a bull-frog to our pets, and he must have weighed at least three pounds. he had neither vice nor virtue, but was merely a squab in a shady corner. whenever the dog approached him he would rise on his legs, however, and inflate himself till he was globular. this was incomprehensible to tinker, who was contemptuous, but being a little uncertain, would make a circuit of the frog. sitting one day in the shadow of the box which enclosed the rudder chain was the frog, and we were near, and up came tinker a-trot all unthinking, his nose to the deck. the frog hurriedly furnished his pneumatic act when tinker, who did not know froggie was there, was close beside him, and tinker snapped sideways in a panic. poor punctured froggie dwindled instantly, and died.
-i could add to the list of our creatures the anaconda which was found coming aboard by the gangway but that a stoker saw him first, became hysterical, and slew the reptile with a shovel; there were the coral snakes which came inboard over the cables and through the hawse pipes, and the vampire bats which frequented the forecastle. but they are insignificant beside our peccary. i forgot to tell you the skipper never made a tame creature of her. she refused us. we brought her up from the bunkers where first she was placed, because the stokers flatly refused her society in the dark. she was brought up on deck in bonds, snapping her tushes in a direful way, and when released did most indomitably charge all our ship’s company, bristles up, and her automatic teeth louder and more rapid than ever. how we fled! when i turned on my vantage, the manner of my getting there all unknown, to see who was my neighbour, it was my abashed and elderly captain, who can look upon sea weather at its worst with an easy eye, but who then was striving desperately to get his legs (which were in pyjamas) ten feet above the deck, in case the very wild pig below had wings.
-after the peccary was released we could not call the ship ours. we crept about as thieves. it was fortunate that she always gave warning of her proximity by making the noise of castanets with her tusks, so that we had time to get elevated before she arrived. but i never really knew how fast she could move till i saw her chase the dog, whom she despised and ignored. one morning his valiant barking at her, from a distance he judged to be adequate, annoyed her, and she shot at him like a projectile. her slender limbs and diminutive hooves were those of a deer, and they became merely a haze beneath her body, which was a flying passion. the terrified dog had no chance, but just as she closed with him her feet slipped, and so tinker’s life was saved.
-her end was pitiful. one day she got into the saloon. the doctor and i were there, and saw her trot in at one door, and we trotted out at another door. now, the saloon was the pride of the skipper; and when the old man tried to bribe her out of it—he talked to her from the open skylight above—and she insulted him with her mouth, he sent for his men. from behind a shut door of the saloon alley way we heard a fusilade of tusks in the saloon, shrieks from the maddened dog, uproar from the parrots, and the hoarse shouts of the crew. the pig was charging ten ways at once. stealing a look from the cabin we saw the boatswain appear with a bunch of cotton waste, soaked in kerosene, blazing at the end of a bamboo, and the mate with a knife lashed to another pole. the peccary charged the lot. there broke out the cries of tophet, and through chaos champed insistently the high note of the tusks. she was noosed and caged; but nothing could be done with the little fury, and when i peeped in at her a few days later she was full length, and dying. she opened one glazing eye at me, and snapped her teeth slowly, game to the end.
-march 6.—it was reported at breakfast that we sail to-morrow. the bread was sour, the butter was oil, the sugar was black with flies, the sausages were tinned and very white and dead, and the bacon was all fat. and even the awning could not keep the sun away.
-march 7.—we got the hatches on number four hold. it is reported we sail to-morrow.
-march 8.—the ship was crowded this night with the boys, for a last jollification. we fired rockets, and swore enduring friendships with anybody, and many sang different songs together. it is reported that we sail to-morrow.
-march 9.—it is reported that we sail to-morrow.
-march 10.—the “capella” has come to life. the master is on the bridge, the first mate is on the forecastle head, the second mate is on the poop, and the engineers are below. there are stern and minatory cries, and men who run. at the first slow clanking of the cable we raised wild cheers. the ship’s body began to tremble, and there was thunder under her counter. we actually came away from the jetty, where long we had seemed a fixture. we got into mid-stream—stopped; slowly turned tail on porto velho. there was old man jim, diminished on the distant jetty, waving his hat. porto velho looked strange again. away we went. we reached the bend of the river, and turned the corner. there was the last we shall ever see of porto velho. gone!
-the forest unfolding in reverse order seemed brighter, and all would have been quite well, but the fourth engineer came up from his duty, and fell insensible. he was very yellow, and the doctor had work to do. here was the first of our company to succumb to the country.
-there were but six more days of forest; for the old “capella,” empty and light as a balloon, the collisions with the floating timber causing muffled thunder in her hollow body, came down the swift floods of the madeira and the amazon rivers “like a cunarder, at sixteen knots,” as the skipper said. and there on the sixth day was para again, and the sea near. our spirits mounted, released from the dead weight of heat and silence. but i was to lose the doctor at para, for he was then to return to porto velho, having discharged his duty to the “capella’s” company. the skipper took his wallet, and we went ashore with him, he to his day-long task of clearing his vessel, and we for a final sad excursion. much later in the day, suspecting an unnameable evil was gathering to my undoing, i called at the agent’s office, and found the skipper had returned to the ship, that she was sailing that night, and, the regulations of para being what they were, it being after six in the evening i could not leave the city till next morning. my haggard and dismayed array of thoughts broke in confusion and left me gibbering, with not one idea for use. without saying even good-bye to my old comrade i took to my heels, and left him; and that was the last i saw of the doctor. (aha! my staunch support in the long, hot and empty time at the back of things, where were but trees, bad food, and a jest to brace our souls, if ever you should see this—how!—and know, dear lad, i carried the damnable regulations and a whole row of officials, the union jack at the main, firing every gun as i bore down on them. i broke through. only death could have barred me from my ship and the way home.)
-next morning we were at sea. we dropped the pilot early and changed our course to the north, bound for barbados. though on the line, the difference in the air at sea, after our long enclosure in the rivers of the forest, was keenly felt. and the ship too had been so level and quiet; but here she was lively again, full of movements and noises. the bows were at their old difference with the skyline, and the steady wind of the outer was driving over us. before noon, when i went in to the chief, my crony was flat and moribund with a temperature at 105°, and he had no interest in this life whatever. i had added the apothecary’s duties to those of the purser, and here found my first job. (doctor, i gave him lots of grains of quinine, and lots more afterwards; and plenty of calomel when he was at 98 again. was that all right?)
-the sight of the big and hearty chief, when he was about once more, yellow, insecure, and somewhat shrunken, made us dubious. yet now were we rolling home. she was breasting down into a creaming smother, the seas were blue, and the world was fresh and wide all the way back. there was one fine night, as we were climbing slowly up the slope of the globe, when we lifted the whole constellation of the great bear, the last star of the tail just dipping below the seas, straight over the “capella’s” bows, as she pitched. then were we assured affairs were rightly ordered, and slept well and contented.
-we were coming to the things we knew and understood. in the island near us were men, quays, and shops. this evening had a familiar and friendly look. barbados at last! there would be something to eat, too, and we kept talking of that. do you know what good bread and butter tastes like? or mealy baked potatoes? or fruit from which the juice runs when you bite? or crisp salads? not you; not if you haven’t lived for long on tinned stuffs, bread which smelt like vinegar, and butter to which a spoon had to be used.
-to the door of the saloon alley way we saw the steward come, and begin to swing his bell. “tea ho!” said the mate. “keep it,” said the chief. “i know it. sardines and hash. not for me. we shall get some grub in the morning. oranges and bananas, boys. i’m tired of oil. my belt is in by three holes.”
-when the sun once touched the sea it sank visibly, like a weight. night came at once. we passed a winking light, and soon ahead of us in the dark was grouped a multitude of lower stars. that was bridgetown. those stars opened and spread round us, showing nothing of the wall of night in which they were fixed. well, there it was. we could smell the good land. we should see it in the morning. we had really got there.
-the engines stopped. there was a shout from the steamer’s bridge and a thunderous rumbling as the cable ran out, and then a remarkable quiet. the old man came sideways down the bridge ladder with a hurricane lamp, and stood with us, striking a light for his cigar. “here we are, chief,” he said. “what about coals in the morning?” the night was hot, there was no wind, and as we sat yarning on the bunker hatch another cluster of stars moved in swiftly together, came to a stand near us, and a peremptory gun was fired. that was the british mail steamer.
-we looked at her with awe. we could see the toffs in evening dress idling in the glow of her electric lights. what a feed they had just finished! but the greatest wonder of her deck was the women in white gowns. we could hear the strange laughter of the women, and listened for it. that was music worth listening to. our little mob of toughs in turns used the night glasses on those women, and in a dead silence. there were some kiddies, too.
-“if you ask me, some of the islands in these seas are very funny. there’s something wrong about a few of them. they’re not down in the chart, so i’ve heard. one day you lift one, and you never knew it was there. ‘what’s that?’ says the old man. ‘can’t make that place out.’ then he reckons he’s found new land, and takes his position. he calls it after his wife, and cables home what he’s done. the next thing is a gunboat goes there and beats about and lays over the spot, but she doesn’t find no island. the gunboat cables home that the merchant chap was drunk or something, and that he steamed over the spot and got hundreds of fathoms. they’re always so clever, in the navy. but i’ve heard some of these islands are not right. you see one once, and nobody ever sees it again.
-“i knew a man, and he was marooned on one of those islands. he sailed with me afterwards on one of the blue anchor steamers to sydney. one time he was on a craft out of martinique for cuba. she was a schooner of the islands, and fine vessels they are. you’ll see a lot about us in the morning. this man’s name was moffat—bill moffat. his schooner had a mulatto for a master, and that nigger was a fool and very superstitious, by all accounts. they ran short of water, and it’s pretty bad if you fall short of water in these seas. off the regular routes there’s nothing. you might drift for weeks, and see nothing, off the track.
-“then they sighted an island. the mulatto chap pretended he knew all about that island. he said he had been there before. but he was a liar. it was only a little island, like some trees afloat. they came down on it, and anchored in ten fathoms and waited for daylight.
-“moffat yelled, and ran down to the surf, but the nigger kept right on. there was moffat up to his knees in the water, and in a fine state. the boat reached the schooner—and now, thinks moffat, there’ll be trouble. do you know what happened though? for a little while nothing happened. then they began to haul in her cable. she upanchored and stood out. that’s a fact. bill told me he felt pretty sick when he saw it. he didn’t like the look of it. he watched the schooner turn tail, and soon she found more wind and got out of sight past the island, close-hauled. he watched her dance past one of the piles of rocks till there was nothing but empty sea behind the rock. then his eye caught something moving on the rock. something moved round it out of his sight. he never saw what it was. he wished he had.
-“well, he had a pretty bad time. he couldn’t find anyone on the island, in a manner of speaking. but somebody was always going round a corner, or behind a tree. he caught them out of the tail of his eye. he said it was enough to get on a man’s nerves the way that thing always just wasn’t there, whatever it was. ‘curse the goats,’ bill used to say to himself.
-“one day bill was strolling round figuring out what he could do to that mulatto when he met him again, and then he found a sea cave. he went in. it was a silly thing to do, because the way in was so low that he had to crawl. but the cave was big enough inside for a music-hall. the walls ran up into a vault, and the water came up to the bottom of the walls nearly all round. the water was like a green light. a bright light came up through the water, and the reflections were wriggling all over the rocks, making them seem to shake. the water was like thick glass full of light. he could see a long way down, but not to the bottom. while he was looking at it the water heaved up quietly full three feet, and the reflections on the walls faded. then he saw the hole through which he had crawled was gone. ‘now, bill moffat, you’re in a regular mess,’ he says to himself.
-“he dived for the hole. but he never found that way out, and the funny thing was he couldn’t come to the top again. bill saw it was a proper case that time, and no more sundays in poplar. he was surprised to find that the deeper he went the thinner the water was. it was thin and clear, like electric light. he could see miles there, and down he kept falling till he hit the bottom with a bang. it scared a lot of fishes, and they flew up like birds. he looked up to see them go, and there was the sun overhead, only it was like a bright round of green jelly, all shaking. bill found it was dead easy to breathe in water that was no thicker than air, so he got up, brushed the sand off, and looked round. a flock of fishes flew about him quite friendly, and as beautiful as amazon parrots. a big crab walked ahead, and bill thought he had better follow the crab.
-“he came to a path which was marked with shells, and at the end of the path he saw the fore half of a ship up-ended. while he was looking at it, somebody pushed the curtains from the hatchway, and came out, and looked at him. ‘good lord, it’s davy jones,’ said bill to himself.
-“‘hullo, bill,’ said davy. ‘come in. glad to see you, bill. what a time you’ve been.’
-“moffat said that davy wasn’t a decent sight, having barnacles all over his face. but he shook hands. ‘you’re hand is quite cold, bill,’ said davy. ‘did you lose your soul coming along? you nearly did that before, bill moffat. you nearly did it that christmas night off ushant. i thought you were coming then. but not you. but here you are at last all right. come in! come in!’
-“bill went inside with davy. there was sea junk all over the place. ‘i find these things very handy, old chap,’ said davy to bill, seeing he was looking at them. ‘it’s good of you to send them down, though i don’t like the iron, for it won’t stand the climate. see that old hat? it’s a spanish admiral’s. i clap it on, backwards, whenever i want to go ashore.’
-“so they sat down, and yarned about old times, though bill told me that davy seemed to remember people after everybody else had forgotten them, which was confusing. ‘oh, yes,’ davy would say, ‘old johnson. yes. he used to talk of me in a rare way. he was a dog, was johnson. i’ve heard him, many a time. but he’s changed since his ship came downstairs. he’s a better man. he’s not so funny as he was.’
-“then they had a pipe, and after a bit things began to drag. ‘come into the garden, bill,’ said davy. ‘come and have a look round.’
-“then they came to a door. ‘come in,’ said davy. ‘this is my locker. ever heard of my locker?’
-“bill said it was pretty dark inside. just light enough to see. but there was only miles and miles of crab-pots, all set out in rows, with a label on each. ‘what do you think of that lot, bill?’ asked davy. ‘i shall have to get larger premises soon.’ bill choked a bit, for the place smelt stale and seaweedy. ‘what’s in the crab-pots, davy?’ said bill.
-“‘souls!’ said davy. ‘but there’s a lot of trash, though now and then i get a good one. here, now. see this? this is a fine one, though i mustn’t tell you where i got it. and people said he hadn’t got one. but i knew better, and there it is.’
-“but bill couldn’t see anything in the pots. he could only hear a rustling, as if something was rubbing on the wicker, or a twittering. at last davy came to a new pot. ‘do you know who’s in this one, bill,’ he said. but bill couldn’t guess. ‘well, bill, it’s your soul, and a poorer one i never see. it was hardly worth setting the pot for a soul like that.’ then davy began to shake the pot, and soon got wild. ‘here, where the deuce has that soul gone,’ he said, and put his ear to the bars. then he put the pot down and made a rush at bill, to get it back; but bill jumped backwards, got through the door, ran through the house, grabbed the admiral’s cocked hat, and clapped it on backwards. then he shot out of the water at once, and found himself on the rocks outside the cave, with the cocked hat still on his head. he’s kept that hat ever since, and money wouldn’t buy it.”
-when i woke next morning it was like waking to a great occasion. the tropic sun was blazing outside. the day seemed of a superior quality. an old negress shuffled by my cabin door, through which was a peep of the town across the harbour, and she had some necklaces of shells strung on one skinny black arm and carried a basket of oranges on the other. i jumped up, and bought all the oranges. a boat came to our gangway and some of us went ashore. i don’t know what a man feels like who is released one fine day from imprisonment into the stream of his fellows, but i should think he is first a little stunned, and afterwards becomes like a child’s balloon in a breeze. the people we had met in the brazils never laughed; and i myself had always felt that there we had been watched and followed unseen, that something was there, watching us, waiting its time, knowing well it could get us before we escaped.
-we were at last outside it and free. the anchorage of bridgetown seemed anarchic, after our level sombre experience, for the sea was a green light, flashing and volatile, with white schooners driving upon it, negroes shouting and laughing over the bulwarks, or frantically hauling on the sheets. the rushing water was crowded with leaping boats, all gaudily painted; and even the sunshine, moving rapidly on quivering white sails and the white hulls buoyantly swinging, was a kind of shaking laughter. our negro boatmen sang as they rowed, when they were not swearing at other boatmen. the world had got wine in its head.
-we went to the ice house, and bought english beer. (oh, the taste of beer!) in the brisk and sunny streets there were english women, cool, dainty, a little haughty, their dresses smelling of new linen, and they were looking in at shop windows. we had got our feet down on home pavements, and the streets had the newness and sparkle of holiday. “hi, cabby!”
-he drove us along coral roads, under cocoanut palms, and there were golden hills (hills once more!) one way, and on the other hand was a beach glowing like white fire, with a sea beyond of a blue that was ultimate, profound, and as tense and as still as rapture. we came to a hotel where there was stiff napery, with creases in it, on a breakfast table. there was a silver coffee-pot. there was sweet-smelling and crusty bread, butter in ice, and new milk. there was a heaped plate of fruit. there was a crystal jug filled with cold water and sunshine, and it threw a wavering light on the damask.
-we had some of everything. we ate for more than an hour, steadily. a man could not have done it alone, and without shame. there was one superior lady tourist, with grey curls on her cheeks and a face like doom, and she sent for the manager, and asked if we were to breakfast there again. she wanted to know. the chief begged me, as the youngest of the party, to go over and kiss her. but i pointed out that, seeing where we had come from, and what we had suffered, it was the plain duty of any really dear old soul to come over and kiss us on a morning like that.
-in the afternoon we were aboard again, waiting for the skipper to return with the new orders. to what part of the world would the power in leadenhall street now consign us? sandy thought new orleans; but we could rule that out, for there was no cotton just then. pensacola was more likely, the chief said, with a deck cargo of lumber for hamburg. that guess made the crowd glum. winter in the atlantic, she rolling her heart out, and the timber that was level with the engine-room casing groaning and straining at every roll—to dwell on that prospect was to feel a cold draught out of the valley of shadows.
-two nigger boys were overside, diving for coins. you threw a coin—brazil’s nickel muck, a handful worth nothing—and it went below oscillating, as though sentiently dodging the contorted and convulsive figure of the boy diving after it. the transparency of the fathoms was that of a denser air. when the sea was still, at the slack of the tides, this tropic anchorage was not like water. you did not look upon it, but into it, being hardly aware of its surface. it was surprising to see our massive iron plates stand upright in it. we were still an ugly black bulk, as we were on the ditch water of swansea, but our sea wagon had lost its look of squat heaviness. even our iron ship was transmuted, such was the lift and radiance of barbados and its sea, into the buoyancy of the unsubstantial stuff of that scene about us, the low hills of greenish gold so delicate under the sky of malachite blue that you doubted whether mortals could walk there. bridgetown was between those hills and the sea, a cluster of white cubes, with inconsequential touches of scarlet, orange, and emerald. beneath our keel was a boy who might have been flying there.
-on one side of the town was a belt of coral beach. it was a-fire, and the palms above the beach, with their secretive villas, and the green-gold hills beyond, floated on that white glow. the sea below the beach was an incandescent green; it might have been burning through contact with the island. then the sea spread down to us in areas of opaque violet and blue, till in the neighbourhood of the ship it became transparent and was but a denser atmosphere. you, in the hard and bitter north, on the exposed summit of the world where polaris glitters in the forehead of a frozen god, hardly know what young and luscious stuff this earth is, where the constant sun and tepid rains and salt air have preserved its bloom and flush of abounding life.
-there came the skipper’s boat, he in his shore-going white ducks and panama hat in the stern sheets, his wallet in his hand. he knew that we all looked at him with assumed indifference, when he stepped among us on deck. that was his time to show he was the ship’s master. he feigned that we were not there. he turned to the chief mate: “all ready, mr. brown?” “all ready, sir.” then the master walked slowly, knowing our eyes were on his back, to his place aft, first going in to speak to the chief. the chief came out some minutes after. “tampa, boys,” said he. “florida for phosphate, then home.”
-that evening we were on our way, and turned inwards through the line of the caribbees, passing between the islands of st. lucia and st. vincent, high purple masses of rock, st. lucia’s mass ascending into cones. the skipper had been to most of the west indian islands, and remembered them, while i listened. we stood at the chart-room door, watching the islands across the evening seas. the sun, just above the sharply dark rim of ocean, touched the sea, and sank. a thin paring of silver moon had the sky to itself. i went into the chart-room; and the old man who, grim and sour as you might think him, mellows into confidential friendliness when he has you to himself, spread his charts of the spanish main under the yellow lamp, which was a slow pendulum as she rolled, and he put his spectacles on his lean brown face, talked of unfrequented cays, and of the negro islands, and debated which route we should take.
-the fourth morning at breakfast-time, was a burning day, with a sky almost cloudless, and a slow sea which had the surface of its rich blue deeps shot with turquoise lights, while fields of saffron gulfweed stained it; and we had, close over our port bow, the most beautiful island in the world. it is useless to deny it, and to declare you know a better island. can’t i see jamaica now? i see it most plain. it descends abruptly from the meridian, pinnacles and escarpments trembling in the upper air with distance and delicate poise, and comes down in rolling forests and steep verdant slopes, where facets of bare rock glitter, to more leisurely open glades and knolls; and then, being not far from the sea, drops in sheer cliffs to where the white combers pulse. it is a jewel which smells like a flower. the “capella” went close in till port antonio under the blue mountains was plain, and though i could see the few scattered houses, i could not see the narrow ledges where men could stand in such a steep land. we crawled over the blue floor in which that sea mountain is set, and cruised along, feeling very small, under the various and towering shape. for long i watched it, declaring continually that some day i must return. (and that is the greatest compliment a traveller on his way home can pay to any spot on earth.)
-it faded as we drew northwards. over seas to the north was a long low stratum of permanent cloud, and beneath it was the faint presentiment of cuba. still we were in the spell of the very halcyon weather of old tales, with the world our own, though once this day there was a great rain burst, and the “capella” was lost in falling water, her syren blaring. we neared the cuban coast by the isle of pines, a pallid desert shore, apparently treeless and parched. the next morning we came to the western cape of the island, rounding it in company with a white island schooner, its crew of toughs watching us from her shadeless deck; and changed our course almost due north.
-now we were in the gulf of mexico, and soon upset its notoriously uncertain temper, for a “norther” met us and piped till it was a full gale, end-on, and it kicked up a nasty sea which flung about the empty “capella” like a band-box. there was a night of it. towards morning it eased up, and i woke to a serene sunrise, and found we were in the pale green water of coral soundings, with the floridan pilot even then standing in to us, his tug bearing centrally on its bridge a gilded eagle with rampant wings. in a little while we were fast to the quarantine quay at mullet island, detained as a yellow fever suspect. the medical officers boarded us, ranged amidships the “capella’s” crowd from the master down, and put in the mouth of each of us a thermometer; and so for a time we stood ridiculously smoking glass cigarettes. one stoker was put aside, for he had a temperature. then into the cabins, and the saloon, the forecastle, and into the holds, were put gallipots of burning sulphur, and the doors were closed. we became a great and dreadful stench; and i went ashore.
-there was a deserted beach of comminuted shells, its glare as bright as snow in sunshine. it was littered with the relics of old wrecks, with sea rubbish, and the carapaces of crabs. beyond the beach was a calcareous desert, with a scrub of palmetto and evergreen, and patches of flowering coreopsis and blue squills. hidden by the scrub were shallow lagoons. it is hard to tell the sea from the land in warm and aqueous florida, for sea and land so invade each other’s dominions. water and land were asleep in the sun. i was alone in the island, and sat in a decaying boat by the shore of a lagoon where nothing moved but the little crabs playing hide and seek in the moist crevices of the boat, and the pelicans which sat round the interminable flat shores. sometimes the pelicans woke, and yawned, and fanned the heat with great slow wings.
-in the early afternoon we were allowed to proceed to tampa, which we reached in three hours; and there we came once more to the press of the busy and indifferent world. the muddle of roofs and steeples of a great city were about us, and men met us and talked to us, but they had no leisure for interest in the wonders of the strange land from which we had come, and would not have cared if afterwards we were going to gehenna. we made fast under a new structure of timber and iron which was something between a flour mill and the tower of babel, for it was wan and powdered, and full of strange noises; and it had a habit of eating, in a mechanical way, an interminable length of railway trucks, wagon after wagon, one every minute. a great weariness and yearning filled me that night. the strangulating fumes of the sulphur clung to all the cabin, and puffed in clouds from the pillow when i changed sides; for the wagons clanked and banged till daylight. i sat up and beat my breast, and swore i would leave her and go home. the next morning that inexplicable structure beside us began from many mouths to vomit floods of powdered phosphate into us, and the “capella,” in and out, turned pale through an almost impalpable dust. everybody took bronchitis and cursed tampa and its phosphate.
-i spoke to the skipper and the chief about it, and they agreed that nobody would stop with her now, who could leave her; but that yet was i no pal to desert them. what about them? they had yet to see her safe across the most ruthless of seas at a time when its temper would be at its worst; and what about them? though they admitted that, were they in my case, they would certainly take the train to new york, and catch there the fastest steamer for england. then come with me to the british consul like an honest man, said i to the captain, and get me off your articles.
-the three of us left her, i for the last time. i turned upon the “capella,” and the boys stood leaning on her taffrail watching me; and i am not going to put down here what i felt, nor what the lads cried to me, nor what i said when i stood beneath her counter, and called up to them. we came to a corner by a warehouse, and i turned to look upon the “capella” for the last time.
-there were some more days and nights, and all the passengers of the earlier stages of the journey had passed away. then the train slowed through imperceptible gradations, and stopped. i thought a cow was on the line. but the negro attendant came to me and told me to get out. this was new york. outside there was a street in the rain, the stones were deep with yellow reflections, and some cabmen stood about in shiny capes. no majestic figure of liberty met me. a cab met me, on a rainy night.
-it was on one of those huge liners, and the steward told him they would reach plymouth in the morning. he was packing up his things in his cabin. england to-morrow! the things went into his trunks in the lump, with a compressing foot after each. it did not matter. all the clothes were in ruins. the only care he took was with the toucans brilliant skins, the bundle of arrows, the biscuit tins full of butterflies—they would excite the boy—and the barbaric indian ornaments for miss muffet and the curly nob; how their eyes would shine. his telegram from plymouth would surprise them. they did not know where he was.
-but he knew, when they did not, that there was but one more day to tick off the calendar to complete the exile. he had turned back that day to the earlier pages of the diary and found some illuminating entries; “gone,” or “that’s another,” were written across some spaces which otherwise were blank. it was curious that those cryptic entries recalled the hours they stood for more vividly to his mind than those which had happenings minutely recorded. he threw the diary into a trunk; the long job was finished.
-the sunshine all that day was different from the well remembered burning weight of the tropics. it was a frail and grateful spring warmth, and the incidence of its rays was happy and illuminating, as though the light had only just reached the world, and so things looked just discovered and interesting. a faint silver haze hung upon a pallid sea, and the slow smooth mounds of water were full of fugitive glints and flashes. you hardly knew the sea was there. the mist was the luminous nimbus of a new world, a world not yet fully formed, for it had no visible bounds. night came, and a nearly full moon, and the only reality was the stupendous bulk of the liner. she might have been in the clouds, herself a dark cloud near the moon, with but rumours of light in the aerial deeps beneath. it seemed another of the dreams. would he wake up presently to the reality of the forest, with the sun blazing on the enamel of its hard foliage?
-he wanted some assurance of time and space. he would stay on deck till the first sign came of england. so he leaned motionless for hours on the rail of the boat-deck, gazing ahead, where the outlook remained as unshapen as it had since he left home. far on the port bow appeared the headlight of a steamer.
-he watched that light. this, then, was no dream sea. others were there. but was it a headlight? ... no!
-the bishop’s! england now!
-the steward came again, peeping through his curtain, and said, “plymouth, sir!” and turned on the glow lamp, for it was not yet dawn. there was an early breakfast laid in the saloon; but he went on deck. the liner had hardly way on her; the water was but uncoiling noiselessly alongside. there were shapes of hills near, with villas painted on them, but so bluish and immaterial was all that it might have rippled like the flat water, being but a flimsy background which could be easily shaken. the hills drew nearer imperceptibly, grew higher. a touch of real day gave a hill-top body; and there was a confident shout from somebody unseen in plain english. the vision grounded and got substance. not only home, but spring in devon.
-from the train window the countryside in the tones and flush of the renascence absorbed him. he went from side to side of the carriage. what was most extraordinary was the sparsity and lowness of the trees and bushes, the fineness of the growth. the outlines of the trees could be seen, and they crouched so near to the ground and were so very meagre. the colours were faint enough to be but tinted mists. the biggest of the trees were manageable, looked like toys. the orderly hedges, the clean roads, the geometrical patterns of the fields, gave him assurance once more of order and security. here was law again, and the permanence of affairs long decided upon. he closed his eyes, sinking into the cushions of the carriage as though the arms under him were proved friendly and could be trusted....
-sea and sardinia
-by d. h. lawrence
-with eight pictures in color by jan juta
-copyright, 1921, by thomas seltzer, inc.
-all rights reserved
-printed in the united states of america
-list of illustrations
-sea and sardinia
-as far as palermo.
-comes over one an absolute necessity to move. and what is more, to move in some particular direction. a double necessity then: to get on the move, and to know whither.
-why can't one sit still? here in sicily it is so pleasant: the sunny ionian sea, the changing jewel of calabria, like a fire-opal moved in the light; italy and the panorama of christmas clouds, night with the dog-star laying a long, luminous gleam across the sea, as if baying at us, orion marching above; how the dog-star sirius looks at one, looks at one! he is the hound of heaven, green, glamorous and fierce!--and then oh regal evening star, hung westward flaring over the jagged dark precipices of tall sicily: then etna, that wicked witch, resting her thick white snow under heaven, and slowly, slowly rolling her orange-coloured smoke. they called her the pillar of heaven, the greeks. it seems wrong at first, for she trails up in a long, magical, flexible line from the sea's edge to her blunt cone, and does not seem tall. she seems rather low, under heaven. but as one knows her better, oh awe and wizardy! remote under heaven, aloof, so near, yet never with us. the painters try to paint her, and the photographers to photograph her, in vain. because why? because the near ridges, with their olives and white houses, these are with us. because the river-bed, and naxos under the lemon groves, greek naxos deep under dark-leaved, many-fruited lemon groves, etna's skirts and skirt-bottoms, these still are our world, our own world. even the high villages among the oaks, on etna. but etna herself, etna of the snow and secret changing winds, she is beyond a crystal wall. when i look at her, low, white, witch-like under heaven, slowly rolling her orange smoke and giving sometimes a breath of rose-red flame, then i must look away from earth, into the ether, into the low empyrean. and there, in that remote region, etna is alone. if you would see her, you must slowly take off your eyes from the world and go a naked seer to the strange chamber of the empyrean. pedestal of heaven! the greeks had a sense of the magic truth of things. thank goodness one still knows enough about them to find one's kinship at last. there are so many photographs, there are so infinitely many water-colour drawings and oil paintings which purport to render etna. but pedestal of heaven! you must cross the invisible border. between the foreground, which is our own, and etna, pivot of winds in lower heaven, there is a dividing line. you must change your state of mind. a metempsychosis. it is no use thinking you can see and behold etna and the foreground both at once. never. one or the other. foreground and a transcribed etna. or etna, pedestal of heaven.
-why, then, must one go? why not stay? ah, what a mistress, this etna! with her strange winds prowling round her like circe's panthers, some black, some white. with her strange, remote communications and her terrible dynamic exhalations. she makes men mad. such terrible vibrations of wicked and beautiful electricity she throws about her, like a deadly net! nay, sometimes, verily, one can feel a new current of her demon magnetism seize one's living tissue and change the peaceful life of one's active cells. she makes a storm in the living plasm and a new adjustment. and sometimes it is like a madness.
-this timeless grecian etna, in her lower-heaven loveliness, so lovely, so lovely, what a torturer! not many men can really stand her, without losing their souls. she is like circe. unless a man is very strong, she takes his soul away from him and leaves him not a beast, but an elemental creature, intelligent and soulless. intelligent, almost inspired, and soulless, like the etna sicilians. intelligent daimons, and humanly, according to us, the most stupid people on earth. ach, horror! how many men, how many races, has etna put to flight? it was she who broke the quick of the greek soul. and after the greeks, she gave the romans, the normans, the arabs, the spaniards, the french, the italians, even the english, she gave them all their inspired hour and broke their souls.
-perhaps it is she one must flee from. at any rate, one must go: and at once. after having come back only at the end of october, already one must dash away. and it is only the third of january. and one cannot afford to move. yet there you are: at the etna bidding one goes.
-where does one go? there is girgenti by the south. there is tunis at hand. girgenti, and the sulphur spirit and the greek guarding temples, to make one madder? never. neither syracuse and the madness of its great quarries. tunis? africa? not yet, not yet. not the arabs, not yet. naples, rome, florence? no good at all. where then?
-where then? spain or sardinia. spain or sardinia. sardinia, which is like nowhere. sardinia, which has no history, no date, no race, no offering. let it be sardinia. they say neither romans nor phoenicians, greeks nor arabs ever subdued sardinia. it lies outside; outside the circuit of civilisation. like the basque lands. sure enough, it is italian now, with its railways and its motor-omnibuses. but there is an uncaptured sardinia still. it lies within the net of this european civilisation, but it isn't landed yet. and the net is getting old and tattered. a good many fish are slipping through the net of the old european civilisation. like that great whale of russia. and probably even sardinia. sardinia then. let it be sardinia.
-there is a fortnightly boat sailing from palermo--next wednesday, three days ahead. let us go, then. away from abhorred etna, and the ionian sea, and these great stars in the water, and the almond trees in bud, and the orange trees heavy with red fruit, and these maddening, exasperating, impossible sicilians, who never knew what truth was and have long lost all notion of what a human being is. a sort of sulphureous demons. andiamo!
-but let me confess, in parenthesis, that i am not at all sure whether i don't really prefer these demons to our sanctified humanity.
-the dreary black morning, the candle-light, the house looking night-dismal. ah, well, one does all these things for one's pleasure. so light the charcoal fire and put the kettle on. the queen bee shivering round half dressed, fluttering her unhappy candle.
-"it's fun," she says, shuddering.
-"great," say i, grim as death.
-first fill the thermos with hot tea. then fry bacon--good english bacon from malta, a god-send, indeed--and make bacon sandwiches. make also sandwiches of scrambled eggs. make also bread and butter. also a little toast for breakfast--and more tea. but ugh, who wants to eat at this unearthly hour, especially when one is escaping from bewitched sicily.
-fill the little bag we call the kitchenino. methylated spirit, a small aluminium saucepan, a spirit-lamp, two spoons, two forks, a knife, two aluminium plates, salt, sugar, tea--what else? the thermos flask, the various sandwiches, four apples, and a little tin of butter. so much for the kitchenino, for myself and the queen bee. then my knapsack and the q-b's handbag.
-under the lid of the half-cloudy night sky, far away at the rim of the ionian sea, the first light, like metal fusing. so swallow the cup of tea and the bit of toast. hastily wash up, so that we can find the house decent when we come back. shut the door-windows of the upper terrace and go down. lock the door: the upper half of the house made fast.
-the sky and sea are parting like an oyster shell, with a low red gape. looking across from the veranda at it, one shivers. not that it is cold. the morning is not at all cold. but the ominousness of it: that long red slit between a dark sky and a dark ionian sea, terrible old bivalve which has held life between its lips so long. and here, at this house, we are ledged so awfully above the dawn, naked to it.
-fasten the door-windows of the lower veranda. one won't fasten at all. the summer heat warped it one way, the masses of autumn rain warped it another. put a chair against it. lock the last door and hide the key. sling the knapsack on one's back, take the kitchenino in one's hand and look round. the dawn-red widening, between the purpling sea and the troubled sky. a light in the capucin convent across there. cocks crowing and the long, howling, hiccuping, melancholy bray of an ass. "all females are dead, all females--och! och! och!--hoooo! ahaa!--there's one left." so he ends on a moaning grunt of consolation. this is what the arabs tell us an ass is howling when he brays.
-very dark under the great carob tree as we go down the steps. dark still the garden. scent of mimosa, and then of jasmine. the lovely mimosa tree invisible. dark the stony path. the goat whinnies out of her shed. the broken roman tomb which lolls right over the garden track does not fall on me as i slip under its massive tilt. ah, dark garden, dark garden, with your olives and your wine, your medlars and mulberries and many almond trees, your steep terraces ledged high up above the sea, i am leaving you, slinking out. out between the rosemary hedges, out of the tall gate, on to the cruel steep stony road. so under the dark, big eucalyptus trees, over the stream, and up towards the village. there, i have got so far.
-it is full dawn--dawn, not morning, the sun will not have risen. the village is nearly all dark in the red light, and asleep still. no one at the fountain by the capucin gate: too dark still. one man leading a horse round the corner of the palazzo corvaia. one or two dark men along the corso. and so over the brow, down the steep cobble-stone street between the houses, and out to the naked hill front. this is the dawn-coast of sicily. nay, the dawn-coast of europe. steep, like a vast cliff, dawn-forward. a red dawn, with mingled curdling dark clouds, and some gold. it must be seven o'clock. the station down below, by the sea. and noise of a train. yes, a train. and we still high on the steep track, winding downwards. but it is the train from messina to catania, half an hour before ours, which is from catania to messina.
-so jolt, and drop, and jolt down the old road that winds on the cliff face. etna across there is smothered quite low, quite low in a dense puther of ink-black clouds. playing some devilry in private, no doubt. the dawn is angry red, and yellow above, the sea takes strange colors. i hate the station, pigmy, drawn out there beside the sea. on this steep face, especially in the windless nooks, the almond blossom is already out. in little puffs and specks and stars, it looks very like bits of snow scattered by winter. bits of snow, bits of blossom, fourth day of the year 1921. only blossom. and etna indescribably cloaked and secretive in her dense black clouds. she has wrapped them quite round her, quite low round her skirts.
-at last we are down. we pass the pits where men are burning lime--red-hot, round pits--and are out on the high-way. nothing can be more depressing than an italian high-road. from syracuse to airolo it is the same: horrible, dreary, slummy high-roads the moment you approach a village or any human habitation. here there is an acrid smell of lemon juice. there is a factory for making citrate. the houses flush on the road, under the great lime-stone face of the hill, open their slummy doors, and throw out dirty water and coffee dregs. we walk over the dirty water and coffee dregs. mules rattle past with carts. other people are going to the station. we pass the dazio and are there.
-humanity is, externally, too much alike. internally there are insuperable differences. so one sits and thinks, watching the people on the station: like a line of caricatures between oneself and the naked sea and the uneasy, clouding dawn.
-you would look in vain this morning for the swarthy feline southerner of romance. it might, as far as features are concerned, be an early morning crowd waiting for the train on a north london suburb station. as far as features go. for some are fair and some colorless and none racially typical. the only one that is absolutely like a race caricature is a tall stout elderly fellow with spectacles and a short nose and a bristling moustache, and he is the german of the comic papers of twenty years ago. but he is pure sicilian.
-they are mostly young fellows going up the line to messina to their job: not artizans, lower middle class. and externally, so like any other clerks and shop-men, only rather more shabby, much less socially self-conscious. they are lively, they throw their arms round one another's necks, they all but kiss. one poor chap has had earache, so a black kerchief is tied round his face, and his black hat is perched above, and a comic sight he looks. no one seems to think so, however. yet they view my arrival with a knapsack on my back with cold disapprobation, as unseemly as if i had arrived riding on a pig. i ought to be in a carriage, and the knapsack ought to be a new suit-case. i know it, but am inflexible.
-that is how they are. each one thinks he is as handsome as adonis, and as "fetching" as don juan. extraordinary! at the same time, all flesh is grass, and if a few trouser-buttons are missing or if a black hat perches above a thick black face-muffle and a long excruciated face, it is all in the course of nature. they seize the black-edged one by the arm, and in profound commiseration: "do you suffer? are you suffering?" they ask.
-and that also is how they are. so terribly physically all over one another. they pour themselves one over the other like so much melted butter over parsnips. they catch each other under the chin, with a tender caress of the hand, and they smile with sunny melting tenderness into each other's face. never in the world have i seen such melting gay tenderness as between casual sicilians on railway platforms, whether they be young lean-cheeked sicilians or huge stout sicilians.
-there must be something curious about the proximity of a volcano. naples and catania alike, the men are hugely fat, with great macaroni paunches, they are expansive and in a perfect drip of casual affection and love. but the sicilians are even more wildly exuberant and fat and all over one another than the neapolitans. they never leave off being amorously friendly with almost everybody, emitting a relentless physical familiarity that is quite bewildering to one not brought up near a volcano.
-this is more true of the middle classes than of the lower. the working men are perforce thinner and less exuberant. but they hang together in clusters, and can never be physically near enough.
-it is only thirty miles to messina, but the train takes two hours. it winds and hurries and stops beside the lavender grey morning sea. a flock of goats trail over the beach near the lapping wave's edge, dismally. great wide deserts of stony river-beds run down to the sea, and men on asses are picking their way across, and women are kneeling by the small stream-channel washing clothes. the lemons hang pale and innumerable in the thick lemon groves. lemon trees, like italians, seem to be happiest when they are touching one another all round. solid forests of not very tall lemon trees lie between the steep mountains and the sea, on the strip of plain. women, vague in the orchard under-shadow, are picking the lemons, lurking as if in the undersea. there are heaps of pale yellow lemons under the trees. they look like pale, primrose-smouldering fires. curious how like fires the heaps of lemons look, under the shadow of foliage, seeming to give off a pallid burning amid the suave, naked, greenish trunks. when there comes a cluster of orange trees, the oranges are red like coals among the darker leaves. but lemons, lemons, innumerable, speckled like innumerable tiny stars in the green firmament of leaves. so many lemons! think of all the lemonade crystals they will be reduced to! think of america drinking them up next summer.
-i always wonder why such vast wide river-beds of pale boulders come out of the heart of the high-rearing, dramatic stone mountains, a few miles to the sea. a few miles only: and never more than a few threading water-trickles in river-beds wide enough for the rhine. but that is how it is. the landscape is ancient, and classic--romantic, as if it had known far-off days and fiercer rivers and more verdure. steep, craggy, wild, the land goes up to its points and precipices, a tangle of heights. but all jammed on top of one another. and in old landscapes, as in old people, the flesh wears away, and the bones become prominent. rock sticks up fantastically. the jungle of peaks in this old sicily.
-the sky is all grey. the straits are grey. reggio, just across the water, is white looking, under the great dark toe of calabria, the toe of italy. on aspromonte there is grey cloud. it is going to rain. after such marvelous ringing blue days, it is going to rain. what luck!
-aspromonte! garibaldi! i could always cover my face when i see it, aspromonte. i wish garibaldi had been prouder. why did he go off so humbly, with his bag of seed-corn and a flea in his ear, when his majesty king victor emmanuel arrived with his little short legs on the scene. poor garibaldi! he wanted to be a hero and a dictator of free sicily. well, one can't be a dictator and humble at the same time. one must be a hero, which he was, and proud, which he wasn't. besides people don't nowadays choose proud heroes for governors. anything but. they prefer constitutional monarchs, who are paid servants and who know it. that is democracy. democracy admires its own servants and nothing else. and you couldn't make a real servant even of garibaldi. only of his majesty king victor emmanuel. so italy chose victor emmanuel, and garibaldi went off with a corn bag and a whack on the behind like a humble ass.
-it is raining--dismally, dismally raining. and this is messina coming. oh horrible messina, earthquake-shattered and renewing your youth like a vast mining settlement, with rows and streets and miles of concrete shanties, squalor and a big street with shops and gaps and broken houses still, just back of the tram-lines, and a dreary squalid earthquake-hopeless port in a lovely harbor. people don't forget and don't recover. the people of messina seem to be today what they were nearly twenty years ago, after the earthquake: people who have had a terrible shock, and for whom all life's institutions are really nothing, neither civilization nor purpose. the meaning of everything all came down with a smash in that shuddering earthquake, and nothing remains but money and the throes of some sort of sensation. messina between the volcanoes, etna and stromboli, having known the death-agony's terror. i always dread coming near the awful place, yet i have found the people kind, almost feverishly so, as if they knew the awful need for kindness.
-raining, raining hard. clambering down on to the wet platform and walking across the wet lines to the cover. many human beings scurrying across the wet lines, among the wet trains, to get out into the ghastly town beyond. thank heaven one need not go out into the town. two convicts chained together among the crowd--and two soldiers. the prisoners wear fawny homespun clothes, of cloth such as the peasants weave, with irregularly occurring brown stripes. rather nice handmade rough stuff. but linked together, dear god! and those horrid caps on their hairless foreheads. no hair. probably they are going to a convict station on the lipari islands. the people take no notice.
-no, but convicts are horrible creatures: at least, the old one is, with his long, nasty face: his long, clean-shaven, horrible face, without emotions, or with emotions one cannot follow. something cold, sightless. a sightless, ugly look. i should loathe to have to touch him. of the other i am not so sure. he is younger, and with dark eyebrows. but a roundish, softish face, with a sort of leer. no, evil is horrible. i used to think there was no absolute evil. now i know there is a great deal. so much that it threatens life altogether. that ghastly abstractness of criminals. they don't know any more what other people feel. yet some horrible force drives them.
-it is a great mistake to abolish the death penalty. if i were dictator, i should order the old one to be hung at once. i should have judges with sensitive, living hearts: not abstract intellects. and because the instinctive heart recognised a man as evil, i would have that man destroyed. quickly. because good warm life is now in danger.
-standing on messina station--dreary, dreary hole--and watching the winter rain and seeing the pair of convicts, i must remember again oscar wilde on reading platform, a convict. what a terrible mistake, to let oneself be martyred by a lot of canaille. a man must say his say. but noli me tangere.
-what a lot of officials! you know them by their caps. elegant tubby little officials in kid-and-patent boots and gold-laced caps, tall long-nosed ones in more gold-laced caps, like angels in and out of the gates of heaven they thread in and out of the various doors. as far as i can see, there are three scarlet station-masters, five black-and-gold substation-masters, and a countless number of principalities and powers in more or less broken boots and official caps. they are like bees round a hive, humming in an important conversazione, and occasionally looking at some paper or other, and extracting a little official honey. but the conversazione is the affair of affairs. to an italian official, life seems to be one long and animated conversation--the italian word is better--interrupted by casual trains and telephones. and besides the angels of heaven's gates, there are the mere ministers, porters, lamp-cleaners, etc. these stand in groups and talk socialism. a lamp-man slashes along, swinging a couple of lamps. bashes one against a barrow. smash goes the glass. looks down as if to say, what do you mean by it? glances over his shoulder to see if any member of the higher hierarchies is looking. seven members of higher hierarchies are assiduously not looking. on goes the minister with the lamp, blithely. another pane or two gone. vogue la galère.
-passengers have gathered again, some in hoods, some in nothing. youths in thin, paltry clothes stand out in the pouring rain as if they did not know it was raining. one sees their coat-shoulders soaked. and yet they do not trouble to keep under shelter. two large station dogs run about and trot through the standing trains, just like officials. they climb up the footboard, hop into a train and hop out casually when they feel like it. two or three port-porters, in canvas hats as big as umbrellas, literally, spreading like huge fins over their shoulders, are looking into more empty trains. more and more people appear. more and more official caps stand about. it rains and rains. the train for palermo and the train for syracuse are both an hour late already, coming from the port. flea-bite. though these are the great connections from rome.
-loose locomotives trundle back and forth, vaguely, like black dogs running and turning back. the port is only four minutes' walk. if it were not raining so hard, we would go down, walk along the lines and get into the waiting train down there. anybody may please himself. there is the funnel of the great unwieldy ferry-object--she is just edging in. that means the connection from the mainland at last. but it is cold, standing here. we eat a bit of bread and butter from the kitchenino in resignation. after all, what is an hour and a half? it might just as easily be five hours, as it was the last time we came down from rome. and the wagon-lit, booked to syracuse, calmly left stranded in the station of messina, to go no further. all get out and find yourselves rooms for the night in vile messina. syracuse or no syracuse, malta boat or no malta boat. we are the ferrovia dello stato.
-but there, why grumble. noi italiani siamo così buoni. take it from their own mouth.
-slowly, with two engines, we grunt and chuff and twist to get over the break-neck heights that shut messina in from the north coast. the windows are opaque with steam and drops of rain. no matter--tea from the thermos flask, to the great interest of the other two passengers who had nervously contemplated the unknown object.
-"ha!" says he with joy, seeing the hot tea come out. "it has the appearance of a bomb."
-"beautiful hot!" says she, with real admiration. all apprehension at once dissipated, peace reigns in the wet, mist-hidden compartment. we run through miles and miles of tunnel. the italians have made wonderful roads and railways.
-if one rubs the window and looks out, lemon groves with many wet-white lemons, earthquake-broken houses, new shanties, a grey weary sea on the right hand, and on the left the dim, grey complication of steep heights from which issue stone river-beds of inordinate width, and sometimes a road, a man on a mule. sometimes near at hand, long-haired, melancholy goats leaning sideways like tilted ships under the eaves of some scabby house. they call the house-eaves the dogs' umbrellas. in town you see the dogs trotting close under the wall out of the wet. here the goats lean like rock, listing inwards to the plaster wall. why look out?
-rain, continual rain, a level grey wet sky, a level grey wet sea, a wet and misty train winding round and round the little bays, diving through tunnels. ghosts of the unpleasant-looking lipari islands standing a little way out to sea, heaps of shadow deposited like rubbish heaps in the universal greyness.
-enter more passengers. an enormously large woman with an extraordinarily handsome face: an extraordinarily large man, quite young: and a diminutive servant, a little girl-child of about thirteen, with a beautiful face.--but the juno--it is she who takes my breath away. she is quite young, in her thirties still. she has that queenly stupid beauty of a classic hera: a pure brow with level dark brows, large, dark, bridling eyes, a straight nose, a chiselled mouth, an air of remote self-consciousness. she sends one's heart straight back to pagan days. and--and--she is simply enormous, like a house. she wears a black toque with sticking-up wings, and a black rabbit fur spread on her shoulders. she edges her way in carefully: and once seated, is terrified to rise to her feet. she sits with that motionlessness of her type, closed lips, face muted and expressionless. and she expects me to admire her: i can see that. she expects me to pay homage to her beauty: just to that: not homage to herself, but to her as a bel pezzo. she casts little aloof glances at me under her eyelids.
-it is evident she is a country beauty become a bourgeoise. she speaks unwillingly to the other squint-eyed passenger, a young woman who also wears a black-rabbit fur, but without pretensions.
-the husband of juno is a fresh-faced bourgeois young fellow, and he also is simply huge. his waistcoat would almost make the overcoat of the fourth passenger, the unshaven companion of the squinting young woman. the young jupiter wears kid gloves: a significant fact here. he, too, has pretensions. but he is quite affable with the unshaven one, and speaks italian unaffectedly. whereas juno speaks the dialect with affectation.
-no one takes any notice of the little maid. she has a gentle, virgin moon-face, and those lovely grey sicilian eyes that are translucent, and into which the light sinks and becomes black sometimes, sometimes dark blue. she carries the bag and the extra coat of the huge juno, and sits on the edge of the seat between me and the unshaven, juno having motioned her there with a regal inclination of the head.
-the little maid is rather frightened. perhaps she is an orphan child--probably. her nut-brown hair is smoothly parted and done in two pigtails. she wears no hat, as is proper for her class. on her shoulders one of those little knitted grey shoulder-capes that one associates with orphanages. her stuff dress is dark grey, her boots are strong.
-the smooth, moon-like, expressionless virgin face, rather pale and touching, rather frightened, of the girl-child. a perfect face from a mediaeval picture. it moves one strangely. why? it is so unconscious, as we are conscious. like a little muted animal it sits there, in distress. she is going to be sick. she goes into the corridor and is sick--very sick, leaning her head like a sick dog on the window-ledge. jupiter towers above her--not unkind, and apparently feeling no repugnance. the physical convulsion of the girl does not affect him as it affects us. he looks on unmoved, merely venturing to remark that she had eaten too much before coming on to the train. an obviously true remark. after which he comes and talks a few common-places to me. by and by the girl-child creeps in again and sits on the edge of the seat facing juno. but no, says juno, if she is sick she will be sick over me. so jupiter accommodatingly changes places with the girl-child, who is thus next to me. she sits on the edge of the seat with folded little red hands, her face pale and expressionless. beautiful the thin line of her nut-brown eyebrows, the dark lashes of the silent, pellucid dark eyes. silent, motionless, like a sick animal.
-but juno tells her to wipe her splashed boots. the child gropes for a piece of paper. juno tells her to take her pocket handkerchief. feebly the sick girl-child wipes her boots, then leans back. but no good. she has to go in the corridor and be sick again.
-after a while they all get out. queer to see people so natural. neither juno nor jupiter is in the least unkind. he even seems kind. but they are just not upset. not half as upset as we are--the q-b wanting to administer tea, and so on. we should have to hold the child's head. they just quite naturally leave it alone to its convulsions, and are neither distressed nor repelled. it just is so.
-their naturalness seems unnatural to us. yet i am sure it is best. sympathy would only complicate matters, and spoil that strange, remote virginal quality. the q-b says it is largely stupidity.
-nobody washes out the corner of the corridor, though we stop at stations long enough, and there are two more hours journey. train officials go by and stare, passengers step over and stare, new-comers stare and step over. somebody asks who? nobody thinks of just throwing a pail of water. why should they? it is all in the course of nature.--one begins to be a bit chary of this same "nature", in the south.
-enter two fresh passengers: a black-eyed, round-faced, bright-sharp man in corduroys and with a gun, and a long-faced, fresh-colored man with thick snowy hair, and a new hat and a long black overcoat of smooth black cloth, lined with rather ancient, once expensive fur. he is extremely proud of this long black coat and ancient fur lining. childishly proud he wraps it again over his knee, and gloats. the beady black-eyes of the hunter look round with pleased alertness. he sits facing the one in the overcoat, who looks like the last sprout of some norman blood. the hunter in corduroys beams abroad, with beady black eyes in a round red face, curious. and the other tucks his fur-lined long coat between his legs and gloats to himself: all to himself gloating, and looking as if he were deaf. but no, he's not. he wears muddy high-low boots.
-at termini it is already lamp-light. business men crowd in. we get five business men: all stout, respected palermitans. the one opposite me has whiskers, and a many-colored, patched traveling rug over his fat knees. queer how they bring that feeling of physical intimacy with them. you are never surprised if they begin to take off their boots, or their collar-and-tie. the whole world is a sort of bedroom to them. one shrinks, but in vain.
-there is some conversation between the black-eyed, beady hunter and the business men. also the young white-haired one, the aristocrat, tries to stammer out, at great length, a few words. as far as i can gather the young one is mad--or deranged--and the other, the hunter, is his keeper. they are traveling over europe together. there is some talk of "the count". and the hunter says the unfortunate "has had an accident." but that is a southern gentleness presumably, a form of speech. anyhow it is queer: and the hunter in his corduroys, with his round, ruddy face and strange black-bright eyes and thin black hair is a puzzle to me, even more than the albino, long-coated, long-faced, fresh-complexioned, queer last remnant of a baron as he is. they are both muddy from the land, and pleased in a little mad way of their own.
-but it is half-past six. we are at palermo, capital of sicily. the hunter slings his gun over his shoulder, i my knapsack, and in the throng we all disappear, into the via maqueda.
-palermo has two great streets, the via maqueda, and the corso, which cross each other at right-angles. the via maqueda is narrow, with narrow little pavements, and is always choked with carriages and foot-passengers.
-it had ceased raining. but the narrow road was paved with large, convex slabs of hard stone, inexpressibly greasy. to cross the via maqueda therefore was a feat. however, once accomplished, it was done. the near end of the street was rather dark, and had mostly vegetable shops. abundance of vegetables--piles of white-and-green fennel, like celery, and great sheaves of young, purplish, sea-dust-colored artichokes, nodding their buds, piles of big radishes, scarlet and bluey purple, carrots, long strings of dried figs, mountains of big oranges, scarlet large peppers, a last slice of pumpkin, a great mass of colors and vegetable freshnesses. a mountain of black-purple cauliflowers, like niggers' heads, and a mountain of snow-white ones next to them. how the dark, greasy, night-stricken street seems to beam with these vegetables, all this fresh delicate flesh of luminous vegetables piled there in the air, and in the recesses of the windowless little caverns of the shops, and gleaming forth on the dark air, under the lamps. the q-b at once wants to buy vegetables. "look! look at the snow-white broccoli. look at the huge finocchi. why don't we get them? i must have some. look at those great clusters of dates--ten francs a kilo, and we pay sixteen. it's monstrous. our place is simply monstrous."
-for all that, one doesn't buy vegetables to take to sardinia.
-cross the corso at that decorated maelstrom and death-trap of the quattro canti. i, of course, am nearly knocked down and killed. somebody is nearly knocked down and killed every two minutes. but there--the carriages are light, and the horses curiously aware creatures. they would never tread on one.
-the second part of the via maqueda is the swell part: silks and plumes, and an infinite number of shirts and ties and cuff-links and mufflers and men's fancies. one realises here that man-drapery and man-underwear is quite as important as woman's, if not more.
-i, of course, in a rage. the q-b stares at every rag and stitch, and crosses and re-crosses this infernal dark stream of a via maqueda, which, as i have said, is choked solid with strollers and carriages. be it remembered that i have on my back the brown knapsack, and the q-b carries the kitchenino. this is enough to make a travelling menagerie of us. if i had my shirt sticking out behind, and if the q-b had happened merely to catch up the table-cloth and wrap it round her as she came out, all well and good. but a big brown knapsack! and a basket with thermos flask, etc! no, one could not expect such things to pass in a southern capital.
-but i am case-hardened. and i am sick of shops. true, we have not been in a town for three months. but can i care for the innumerable fantasias in the drapery line? every wretched bit of would-be-extra chic is called a fantasia. the word goes lugubriously to my bowels.
-suddenly i am aware of the q-b darting past me like a storm. suddenly i see her pouncing on three giggling young hussies just in front--the inevitable black velveteen tam, the inevitable white curly muffler, the inevitable lower-class flappers. "did you want something? have you something to say? is there something that amuses you? oh-h! you must laugh, must you? oh--laugh! oh-h! why? why? you ask why? haven't i heard you! oh--you spik ingleesh! you spik ingleesh! yes--why! that's why! yes, that's why."
-the three giggling young hussies shrink together as if they would all hide behind one another, after a vain uprearing and a demand why? madam tells them why. so they uncomfortably squeeze together under the unexpected strokes of the q-b's sledge-hammer italian and more than sledge-hammer retaliation, there full in the via maqueda. they edge round one another, each attempting to get back of the other, away from the looming q-b. i perceive that this rotary motion is equivalent to a standstill, so feel called upon to say something in the manly line.
-"beastly palermo bad-manners," i say, and throw a nonchalant "ignoranti" at the end, in a tone of dismissal.
-which does it. off they go down-stream, still huddling and shrinking like boats that are taking sails in, and peeping to see if we are coming. yes, my dears, we are coming.
-"why do you bother?" say i to the q-b, who is towering with rage.
-"they've followed us the whole length of the street--with their sacco militario and their parlano inglese and their you spik ingleesh, and their jeering insolence. but the english are fools. they always put up with this italian impudence."
-which is perhaps true.--but this knapsack! it might be full of bronze-roaring geese, it would not attract more attention!
-however, and however, it is seven o'clock, and the shops are beginning to shut. no more shop-gazing. only one lovely place: raw ham, boiled ham, chickens in aspic, chicken vol-au-vents, sweet curds, curd-cheese, rustic cheese-cake, smoked sausages, beautiful fresh mortadella, huge mediterranean red lobsters, and those lobsters without claws. "so good! so good!" we stand and cry it aloud.
-but this shop too is shutting. i ask a man for the hotel pantechnico. and treating me in that gentle, strangely tender southern manner, he takes me and shows me. he makes me feel such a poor, frail, helpless leaf. a foreigner, you know. a bit of an imbecile, poor dear. hold his hand and show him the way.
-to sit in the room of this young american woman, with its blue hangings, and talk and drink tea till midnght! ah these naïve americans--they are a good deal older and shrewder than we, once it nears the point. and they all seem to feel as if the world were coming to an end. and they are so truly generous of their hospitality, in this cold world.
-the fat old porter knocks. ah me, once more it is dark. get up again before dawn. a dark sky outside, cloudy. the thrilling tinkle of innumerable goat-bells as the first flock enters the city, such a rippling sound. well, it must be morning, even if one shivers at it. and at least it does not rain.
-that pale, bluish, theatrical light outside, of the first dawn. and a cold wind. we come on to the wide, desolate quay, the curve of the harbour panormus. that horrible dawn-pallor of a cold sea out there. and here, port mud, greasy: and fish: and refuse. the american girl is with us, wrapped in her sweater. a coarse, cold, black-slimy world, she seems as if she would melt away before it. but these frail creatures, what a lot they can go through!
-across the great, wide, badly paved, mud-greasy, despairing road of the quay side, and to the sea. there lies our steamer, over there in the dawn-dusk of the basin, half visible. "that one who is smoking her cigarette," says the porter. she looks little, beside the huge city of trieste who is lying up next her.
-our row-boat is hemmed in by many empty boats, huddled to the side of the quay. she works her way out like a sheepdog working his way out of a flock of sheep, or like a boat through pack-ice. we are on the open basin. the rower stands up and pushes the oars from him. he gives a long, melancholy cry to someone on the quay. the water goes chock-chock against the urging bows. the wind is chill. the fantastic peaks behind palermo show half-ghostly in a half-dark sky. the dawn seems reluctant to come. our steamer still smokes her cigarette--meaning the funnel-smoke--across there. so, one sits still, and crosses the level space of half-dark water. masts of sailing-ships, and spars, cluster on the left, on the undarkening sky.
-"who is going?"
-"we two--the signorina is not going."
-these are casual proletarian manners.
-we are taken into the one long room with a long table and many maple-golden doors, alternate panels having a wedge-wood blue-and-white picture inserted--a would-be goddess of white marble on a blue ground, like a health-salts hygeia advertisement. one of the plain panels opens--our cabin.
-"oh dear! why it isn't as big as a china-closet. however will you get in!" cries the american girl.
-"one at a time," say i.
-"but it's the tiniest place i ever saw."
-it really was tiny. one had to get into a bunk to shut the door. that did not matter to me, i am no titanic american. i pitched the knapsack on one bunk, the kitchenino on the other, and we shut the door. the cabin disappeared into a maple-wood panel of the long, subterranean state-room.
-"why, is this the only place you've got to sit in?" cried the american girl. "but how perfectly awful! no air, and so dark, and smelly. why i never saw such a boat! will you really go? will you really!"
-the state-room was truly rather subterranean and stuffy, with nothing but a long table and an uncanny company of screw-pin chairs seated thereat, and no outlet to the air at all, but it was not so bad otherwise, to me who have never been out of europe. those maple-wood panels and ebony curves--and those hygeias! they went all round, even round the curve at the dim, distant end, and back up the near side. yet how beautiful old, gold-coloured maple-wood is! how very lovely, with the ebony curves of the door arch! there was a wonderful old-fashioned, victorian glow in it, and a certain splendour. even one could bear the hygeias let in under glass--the colour was right, that wedge-wood and white, in such lovely gold lustre. there was a certain homely grandeur still in the days when this ship was built: a richness of choice material. and health-salts hygeias, wedge-wood greek goddesses on advertisement placards! yet they weren't advertisements. that was what really worried me. they never had been. perhaps weego's health salts stole her later.
-she is a long, slender, old steamer with one little funnel. and she seems so deserted, now that one can't see the street-corner gang of the casual crew. they are just below. our ship is deserted.
-the dawn is wanly blueing. the sky is a curdle of cloud, there is a bit of pale gold eastwards, beyond monte pellegrino. the wind blows across the harbour. the hills behind palermo prick up their ears on the sky-line. the city lies unseen, near us and level. there--a big ship is coming in: the naples boat.
-and the little boats keep putting off from the near quay, and coming to us. we watch. a stout officer, cavalry, in grayey-green, with a big dark-blue cloak lined with scarlet. the scarlet lining keeps flashing. he has a little beard, and his uniform is not quite clean. he has big wooden chests, tied with rope, for luggage. poor and of no class. yet that scarlet, splendid lining, and the spurs. it seems a pity they must go second-class. yet so it is, he goes forward when the dock porter has hoisted those wooden boxes. no fellow-passenger yet.
-it must be getting near time to go. two more passengers--young thick men in black broad-cloth standing up in the stern of a little boat, their hands in their pockets, looking a little cold about the chin. not quite italian, too sturdy and manly. sardinians from cagliari, as a matter of fact.
-we go down from the chill upper-deck. it is growing full day. bits of pale gold are flying among delicate but cold flakes of cloud from the east, over monte pellegrino, bits of very new turquoise sky come out. palermo on the left crouches upon her all-harbour--a little desolate, disorderly, end-of-the-world, end-of-the-sea, along her quay front. even from here we can see the yellow carts rattling slowly, the mules nodding their high weird plumes of scarlet along the broad weary harbour-side. oh painted carts of sicily, with all history on your panels!
-arrives an individual at our side. "the captain fears it will not be possible to start. there is much wind outside. much wind!"
-how they love to come up with alarming, disquieting, or annoying news! the joy it gives them. what satisfaction on all the faces: of course all the other loafers are watching us, the street-corner loungers of this deck. but we have been many times bitten.
-"ah ma!" say i, looking at the sky, "not so much wind as all that."
-an air of quiet, shrugging indifference is most effectual: as if you knew all about it, a good deal more than they knew.
-"ah si! molto vento! molto vento! outside! outside!"
-with a long face and a dramatic gesture he points out of the harbour, to the grey sea. i too look out of the harbour at the pale line of sea beyond the mole. but i do not trouble to answer, and my eye is calm. so he goes away, only half triumphant.
-"things seem to get worse and worse!" cries the american friend. "what will you do on such a boat if you have an awful time out in the mediterranean here? oh no--will you risk it, really? won't you go from cività vecchia?"
-"how awful it will be!" cries the q-b, looking round the grey harbour, the many masts clustering in the grey sky on the right: the big naples boat turning her posterior to the quay-side a little way off, and cautiously budging backwards: the almost entirely shut-in harbour: the bits of blue and flying white cloud overhead: the little boats like beetles scuttling hither and thither across the basin: the thick crowd on the quay come to meet the naples boat.
-time! time! the american friend must go. she bids us goodbye, more than sympathetically.
-"i shall be awfully interested to hear how you get on."
-so down the side she goes. the boatman wants twenty francs--wants more--but doesn't get it. he gets ten, which is five too much. and so, sitting rather small and pinched and cold-looking, huddled in her sweater, she bibbles over the ripply water to the distant stone steps. we wave farewell. but other traffic comes between us. and the q-b, feeling nervous, is rather cross because the american friend's ideas of luxury have put us in such a poor light. we feel like the poorest of poor sea-faring relations.
-slowly, slowly we turn round: and as the ship turns, our hearts turn. palermo fades from our consciousness: the naples boat, the disembarking crowds, the rattling carriages to the land--the great city of trieste--all fades from our heart. we see only the open gap of the harbour entrance, and the level, pale-grey void of the sea beyond. there are wisps of gleamy light--out there.
-and out there our heart watches--though palermo is near us, just behind. we look round, and see it all behind us--but already it is gone, gone from our heart. the fresh wind, the gleamy wisps of light, the running, open sea beyond the harbour bars.
-and so we steam out. and almost at once the ship begins to take a long, slow, dizzy dip, and a fainting swoon upwards, and a long, slow, dizzy dip, slipping away from beneath one. the q-b turns pale. up comes the deck in that fainting swoon backwards--then down it fades in that indescribable slither forwards. it is all quite gentle--quite, quite gentle. but oh, so long, and so slow, and so dizzy.
-"rather pleasant!" say i to the q-b.
-"yes. rather lovely really," she answers wistfully. to tell the truth there is something in the long, slow lift of the ship, and her long, slow slide forwards which makes my heart beat with joy. it is the motion of freedom. to feel her come up--then slide slowly forward, with a sound of the smashing of waters, is like the magic gallop of the sky, the magic gallop of elemental space. that long, slow, waveringly rhythmic rise and fall of the ship, with waters snorting as it were from her nostrils, oh god what a joy it is to the wild innermost soul. one is free at last--and lilting in a slow flight of the elements, winging outwards. oh god, to be free of all the hemmed-in life--the horror of human tension, the absolute insanity of machine persistence. the agony which a train is to me, really. and the long-drawn-out agony of a life among tense, resistant people on land. and then to feel the long, slow lift and drop of this almost empty ship, as she took the waters. ah god, liberty, liberty, elemental liberty. i wished in my soul the voyage might last forever, that the sea had no end, that one might float in this wavering, tremulous, yet long and surging pulsation while ever time lasted: space never exhausted, and no turning back, no looking back, even.
-the ship was almost empty--save of course for the street-corner louts who hung about just below, on the deck itself. we stood alone on the weather-faded little promenade deck, which has old oak seats with old, carved little lions at the ends, for arm-rests--and a little cabin mysteriously shut, which much peeping determined as the wireless office and the operator's little curtained bed-niche.
-cold, fresh wind, a black-blue, translucent, rolling sea on which the wake rose in snapping foam, and sicily on the left: monte pellegrino, a huge, inordinate mass of pinkish rock, hardly crisped with the faintest vegetation, looming up to heaven from the sea. strangely large in mass and bulk monte pellegrino looks: and bare, like a sahara in heaven: and old-looking. these coasts of sicily are very imposing, terrific, fortifying the interior. and again one gets the feeling that age has worn them bare: as if old, old civilisations had worn away and exhausted the soil, leaving a terrifying blankness of rock, as at syracuse in plateaus, and here in a great mass.
-there seems hardly any one on board but ourselves: we alone on the little promenade deck. strangely lonely, floating on a bare old ship past the great bare shores, on a rolling sea, stooping and rising in the wind. the wood of the fittings is all bare and weather-silvered, the cabin, the seats, even the little lions of the seats. the paint wore away long ago: and this timber will never see paint any more. strange to put one's hand on the old oaken wood, so sea-fibred. good old delicate-threaded oak: i swear it grew in england. and everything so carefully done, so solidly and everlastingly. i look at the lions, with the perfect-fitting oaken pins through their paws clinching them down, and their little mouths open. they are as solid as they were in victorian days, as immovable. they will never wear away. what a joy in the careful, thorough, manly, everlasting work put into a ship: at least into this sixty-year-old vessel. every bit of this old oak wood so sound, so beautiful: and the whole welded together with joints and wooden pins far more beautifully and livingly than iron welds. rustless, life-born, living-tissued old wood: rustless as flesh is rustless, and happy-seeming as iron never can be. she rides so well, she takes the sea so beautifully, as a matter of course.
-various members of the crew wander past to look at us. this little promenade deck is over the first-class quarters, full in the stern. so we see first one head then another come up the ladder--mostly bare heads: and one figure after another slouches past, smoking a cigarette. all crew. at last the q-b stops one of them--it is what they are all waiting for, an opportunity to talk--and asks if the weird object on the top of pellegrino is a ruin. could there be a more touristy question! no, it is the semaphore station. slap in the eye for the q-b! she doesn't mind, however, and the member of the crew proceeds to converse. he is a weedy, hollow-cheeked town-product: a palermitan. he wears faded blue over-alls and informs us he is the ship's carpenter: happily unemployed for the rest of his life, apparently, and taking it as rather less than his dues. the ship once did the naples-palermo course--a very important course--in the old days of the general navigation company. the general navigation company sold her for eighty thousand liras years ago, and now she was worth two million. we pretend to believe: but i make a poor show. i am thoroughly sick to death of the sound of liras. no man can overhear ten words of italian today without two thousand or two million or ten or twenty or two liras flying like venomous mosquitoes round his ears. liras--liras--liras--nothing else. romantic, poetic, cypress-and-orange-tree italy is gone. remains an italy smothered in the filthy smother of innumerable lira notes: ragged, unsavoury paper money so thick upon the air that one breathes it like some greasy fog. behind this greasy fog some people may still see the italian sun. i find it hard work. through this murk of liras you peer at michael angelo and at botticelli and the rest, and see them all as through a glass, darkly. for heavy around you is italy's after-the-war atmosphere, darkly pressing you, squeezing you, milling you into dirty paper notes. king harry was lucky that they only wanted to coin him into gold. italy wants to mill you into filthy paper liras.
-another head--and a black alpaca jacket and a serviette this time--to tell us coffee is ready. not before it is time, too. we go down into the subterranean state-room and sit on the screw-pin chairs, while the ship does the slide-and-slope trot under us, and we drink a couple of cups of coffee-and-milk, and eat a piece of bread and butter. at least one of the innumerable members of the crew gives me one cup, then casts me off. it is most obviously his intention that i shall get no more: because of course the innumerable members of the crew could all just do with another coffee and milk. however, though the ship heaves and the alpaca coats cluster menacingly in the doorway, i balance my way to the tin buffet and seize the coffee pot and the milk pot, and am quite successful in administering to the q-b and myself. having restored the said vessels to their tin altar, i resume my spin chair at the long and desert board. the q-b and i are alone--save that in the distance a very fat back with gold-braid collar sits sideways and a fat hand disposes of various papers--he is part of the one-and-only table, of course. the tall lean alpaca jacket, with a face of yellow stone and a big black moustache moves from the outer doorway, glowers at our filled cups, and goes to the tin altar and touches the handles of the two vessels: just touches them to an arrangement: as one who should say: these are mine. what dirty foreigner dares help himself!
-as quickly as possible we stagger up from the long dungeon where the alpaca jackets are swooping like blue-bottles upon the coffee pots, into the air. there the carpenter is waiting for us, like a spider.
-"isn't the sea a little quieter?" says the q-b wistfully. she is growing paler.
-"no, signora--how should it be?" says the gaunt-faced carpenter. "the wind is waiting for us behind cape gallo. you see that cape?" he points to a tall black cliff-front in the sea ahead. "when we get to that cape we get the wind and the sea. here--" he makes a gesture--"it is moderate."
-"ugh!" says the q-b, turning paler. "i'm going to lie down."
-she disappears. the carpenter, finding me stony ground, goes forward, and i see him melting into the crowd of the innumerable crew, that hovers on the lower-deck passage by the kitchen and the engines.
-the clouds are flying fast overhead: and sharp and isolated come drops of rain, so that one thinks it must be spray. but no, it is a handful of rain. the ship swishes and sinks forward, gives a hollow thudding and rears slowly backward, along this pinkish lofty coast of sicily that is just retreating into a bay. from the open sea comes the rain, come the long waves.
-no shelter. one must go down. the q-b lies quietly in her bunk. the state-room is stale like a passage on the underground railway. no shelter, save near the kitchen and the engines, where there is a bit of warmth. the cook is busy cleaning fish, making the whiting bite their tails venomously at a little board just outside his kitchen-hole. a slow stream of kitchen-filth swilkers back and forth along the ship's side. a gang of the crew leans near me--a larger gang further down. heaven knows what they can all be--but they never do anything but stand in gangs and talk and eat and smoke cigarettes. they are mostly young--mostly palermitan--with a couple of unmistakable neapolitans, having the peculiar neapolitan hang-dog good looks, the chiselled cheek, the little black moustache, the large eyes. but they chew with their cheeks bulged out, and laugh with their fine, semi-sarcastic noses. the whole gang looks continually sideways. nobody ever commands them--there seems to be absolutely no control. only the fat engineer in grey linen looks as clean and as competent as his own machinery. queer how machine-control puts the pride and self-respect into a man.
-a great loud bell: midday and the crew going to eat, rushing to eat. after some time we are summoned. "the signora isn't eating?" asks the waiter eagerly: hoping she is not. "yes, she is eating," say i. i fetch the q-b from her berth. rather wanly she comes and gets into her spin chair. bash comes a huge plate of thick, oily cabbage soup, very full, swilkering over the sides. we do what we can with it. so does the third passenger: a young woman who never wears a hat, thereby admitting herself simply as one of "the people," but who has an expensive complicated dress, nigger-coloured thin silk stockings, and suede high-heeled shoes. she is handsome, sturdy, with large dark eyes and a robust, frank manner: far too robustly downright for italy. she is from cagliari--and can't do much with the cabbage soup: and tells the waiter so, in her deep, hail-fellow-well-met voice. in the doorway hovers a little cloud of alpaca jackets grinning faintly with malignant anticipation of food, hoping, like blow-flies, we shall be too ill to eat. away goes the soup and appears a massive yellow omelette, like some log of bilious wood. it is hard, and heavy, and cooked in the usual rank-tasting olive oil. the young woman doesn't have much truck with it: neither do we. to the triumph of the blow-flies, who see the yellow monster borne to their altar. after which a long long slab of the inevitable meat cut into innumerable slices, tasting of dead nothingness and having a thick sauce of brown neutrality: sufficient for twelve people at least. this, with masses of strong-tasting greenish cauliflower liberally weighted with oil, on a ship that was already heaving its heart out, made up the dinner. accumulating malevolent triumph among the blow-flies in the passage. so on to a dessert of oranges, pears with wooden hearts and thick yellowish wash-leather flesh, and apples. then coffee.
-and we had sat through it, which is something. the alpaca blue-bottles buzzed over the masses of food that went back on the dishes to the tin altar. surely it had been made deliberately so that we should not eat it! the cagliarese young woman talked to us. yes, she broke into that awful language which the italians--the quite ordinary ones--call french, and which they insist on speaking for their own glorification: yea, when they get to heaven's gate they will ask st. peter for:
-"oon bigliay pour ung--trozzième classe."
-fortunately or unfortunately her inquisitiveness got the better of her, and she fell into her native italian. what were we, where did we come from, where were we going, why were we going, had we any children, did we want any, etc. after every answer she nodded her head and said ahu! and watched us with energetic dark eyes. then she ruminated over our nationalities and said, to the unseeing witnesses: una bella coppia, a fine couple. as at the moment we felt neither beautiful nor coupled, we only looked greener. the grim man-at-arms coming up to ask us again if we weren't going to have a little wine, she lapsed into her ten-pounder french, which was most difficult to follow. and she said that on a sea-voyage one must eat, one must eat, if only a little. but--and she lapsed into italian--one must by no means drink wine--no--no! one didn't want to, said i sadly. whereupon the grim man-at-arms, whom, of course, we had cheated out of the bottle we refused to have opened for us, said with a lost sarcasm that wine made a man of a man, etc., etc. i was too weary of that underground, however. all i knew was that he wanted wine, wine, wine, and we hadn't ordered any. he didn't care for food.
-the cagliarese told us she came now from naples, and her husband was following in a few days. he was doing business in naples. i nearly asked if he was a little dog-fish--this being the italian for profiteer, but refrained in time. so the two ladies retired to lie down, i went and sat under my tarpaulin.
-i felt very dim, and only a bit of myself. and i dozed blankly. the afternoon grew more sunny. the ship turned southwards, and with the wind and waves behind, it became much warmer, much smoother. the sun had the lovely strong winey warmth, golden over the dark-blue sea. the old oak-wood looked almost white, the afternoon was sweet upon the sea. and in the sunshine and the swishing of the sea, the speedier running of the empty ship, i slept a warm, sweet hour away, and awoke new. to see ahead pale, uplooming islands upon the right: the windy egades: and on the right a mountain or high conical hill, with buildings on the summit: and in front against the sea, still rather far away, buildings rising upon a quay, within a harbor: and a mole, and a castle forward to sea, all small and far away, like a view. the buildings were square and fine. there was something impressive--magical under the far sunshine and the keen wind, the square and well-proportioned buildings waiting far off, waiting like a lost city in a story, a rip van winkle city. i knew it was trapani, the western port of sicily, under the western sun.
-and the hill near us was mount eryx. i had never seen it before. so i had imagined a mountain in the sky. but it was only a hill, with undistinguishable cluster of a village on the summit, where even now cold wisps of vapour caught. they say it is 2,500 feet high. still it looks only a hill.
-but why in the name of heaven should my heart stand still as i watch that hill which rises above the sea? it is the etna of the west: but only a town-crowned hill. to men it must have had a magic almost greater than etna's. watching africa! africa, showing her coast on clear days. africa the dreaded. and the great watch-temple of the summit, world-sacred, world-mystic in the world that was. venus of the aborigines, older than greek aphrodite. venus of the aborigines, from her watch-temple looking at africa, beyond the egatian isles. the world-mystery, the smiling astarte. this, one of the world centres, older than old! and the woman-goddess watching africa! erycina ridens. laughing, the woman-goddess, at this centre of an ancient, quite-lost world.
-i confess my heart stood still. but is mere historical fact so strong, that what one learns in bits from books can move one so? or does the very word call an echo out of the dark blood? it seems so to me. it seems to me from the darkest recesses of my blood comes a terrible echo at the name of mount eryx: something quite unaccountable. the name of athens hardly moves me. at eryx--my darkness quivers. eryx, looking west into africa's sunset. erycina ridens.
-there is a tick-tocking in the little cabin against which i lean. the wireless operator is busy communicating with trapani, no doubt. he is a fat young man with fairish curly hair and an important bearing. give a man control of some machine, and at once his air of importance and more-than-human dignity develops. one of the unaccountable members of the crew lounges in the little doorway, like a chicken on one foot, having nothing to do. the girl from cagliari comes up with two young men--also sardinians by their thick-set, independent look, and the touch of pride in their dark eyes. she has no wraps at all: just her elegant fine-cloth dress, her bare head from which the wisps of hair blow across her brow, and the transparent "nigger" silk stockings. yet she does not seem cold. she talks with great animation, sitting between the two young men. and she holds the hand of the one in the overcoat affectionately. she is always holding the hand of one or other of the two young men: and wiping wisps of wind-blown hair from her brow: and talking in her strong, nonchalant voice, rapidly, ceaselessly, with massive energy. heaven knows if the two young men--they are third-class passengers--were previous acquaintances. but they hold her hand like brothers--quite simply and nicely, not at all sticky and libidinous. it all has an air of "why not?"
-she shouts at me as i pass, in her powerful, extraordinary french:
-"madame votre femme, elle est au lit?"
-i say she is lying down.
-"ah!" she nods. "elle a le mal de mer?"
-no, she is not sea-sick, just lying down.
-the two young men, between whom she is sitting as between two pillows, watch with the curious sardinian dark eyes that seem alert and show the white all round. they are pleasant--a bit like seals. and they have a numb look for the moment, impressed by this strange language. she proceeds energetically to translate into sardinian, as i pass on.
-we do not seem to be going to trapani. there lies the town on the left, under the hill, the square buildings that suggest to me the factories of the east india company shining in the sun along the curious, closed-in harbour, beyond the running, dark blue sea. we seem to be making for the island bulk of levanzo. perhaps we shall steer away to sardinia without putting in to trapani.
-on and on we run--and always as if we were going to steer between the pale blue, heaped-up islands, leaving trapani behind us on our left. the town has been in sight for an hour or more: and still we run out to sea towards levanzo. and the wireless-operator busily tick-tocks and throbs in his little cabin on this upper deck. peeping in, one sees his bed and chair behind a curtain, screened off from his little office. and all so tidy and pleased-looking.
-from the islands one of the mediterranean sailing ships is beating her way, across our track, to trapani. i don't know the name of ships but the carpenter says she is a schooner: he says it with that italian misgiving which doesn't really know but which can't bear not to know. anyhow on she comes, with her tall ladder of square sails white in the afternoon light, and her lovely prow, curved in with a perfect hollow, running like a wild animal on a scent across the waters. there--the scent leads her north again. she changes her tack from the harbour mouth, and goes coursing away, passing behind us. lovely she is, nimble and quick and palpitating, with all her sails white and bright and eager.
-we are changing our course. we have all the time been heading for the south of levanzo. now i see the island slowly edging back, as if clearing out of the way for us, like a man in the street. the island edges and turns aside: and walks away. and clearly we are making for the harbour mouth. we have all this time been running, out at sea, round the back of the harbour. now i see the fortress-castle, an old thing, out forward to sea: and a little lighthouse and the way in. and beyond, the town-front with great palm trees and other curious dark trees, and behind these the large square buildings of the south rising imposingly, as if severe, big palaces upon the promenade. it all has a stately, southern, imposing appearance, withal remote from our modern centuries: standing back from the tides of our industrial life.
-i remember the crusaders, how they called here so often on their way to the east. and trapani seems waiting for them still, with its palm trees and its silence, full in the afternoon sun. it has not much to do but wait, apparently.
-the q-b emerges into the sun, crying out how lovely! and the sea is quieter: we are already in the lea of the harbour-curve. from the north the many-sailed ship from the islands is running down towards us, with the wind. and away on the south, on the sea-level, numerous short windmills are turning their sails briskly, windmill after windmill, rather stumpy, spinning gaily in the blue, silent afternoon, among the salt-lagoons stretching away towards marsala. but there is a whole legion of windmills, and don quixote would have gone off his head. there they spin, hither and thither, upon the pale-blue sea-levels. and perhaps one catches a glitter of white salt-heaps. for these are the great salt-lagoons which make trapani rich.
-in the midst of this tranquillity we slowly turn round upon the shining water, and in a few moments are moored. there are other ships moored away to the right: all asleep, apparently, in the flooding of the afternoon sun. beyond the harbour entrance runs the great sea and the wind. here all is still and hot and forgotten.
-"vous descendez en terre?" shouts the young woman, in her energetic french--she leaves off holding the young men's hands for the moment. we are not quite sure: and we don't want her to come with us, anyhow, for her french is not our french.
-the land sleeps on: nobody takes any notice of us: but just one boat paddles out the dozen yards to our side. we decide to set foot on shore.
-one should not, and we knew it. one should never enter into these southern towns that look so nice, so lovely, from the outside. however, we thought we would buy some cakes. so we crossed the avenue which looks so beautiful from the sea, and which, when you get into it, is a cross between an outside place where you throw rubbish and a humpy unmade road in a raw suburb, with a few iron seats, and litter of old straw and rag. indescribably dreary in itself: yet with noble trees, and lovely sunshine, and the sea and the islands gleaming magic beyond the harbour mouth, and the sun, the eternal sun full focussed. a few mangy, nothing-to-do people stand disconsolately about, in southern fashion, as if they had been left there, water-logged, by the last flood, and were waiting for the next flood to wash them further. round the corner along the quay a norwegian steamer dreams that she is being loaded, in the muddle of the small port.
-we looked at the cakes--heavy and wan they appeared to our sea-rolled stomachs. so we strolled into a main street, dark and dank like a sewer. a tram bumped to a standstill, as if now at last was the end of the world. children coming from school ecstatically ran at our heels, with bated breath, to hear the vocal horrors of our foreign speech. we turned down a dark side alley, about forty paces deep: and were on the northern bay, and on a black stench that seemed like the perpetual sewer, a bank of mud.
-so we got to the end of the black main street, and turned in haste to the sun. ah--in a moment we were in it. there rose the palms, there lay our ship in the shining, curving basin--and there focussed the sun, so that in a moment we were drunk or dazed by it. dazed. we sat on an iron seat in the rubbish-desolate, sun-stricken avenue.
-a ragged and dirty girl was nursing a fat and moist and immovable baby and tending to a grimy fat infant boy. she stood a yard away and gazed at us as one would gaze at a pig one was going to buy. she came nearer, and examined the q-b. i had my big hat down over my eyes. but no, she had taken her seat at my side, and poked her face right under my hat brim, so that her towzled hair touched me, and i thought she would kiss me. but again no. with her breath on my cheek she only gazed on my face as if it were a wax mystery. i got up hastily.
-"too much for me," said i to the q-b.
-she laughed, and asked what the baby was called. the baby was called beppina, as most babies are.
-driven forth, we wandered down the desolate avenue of shade and sun towards the ship, and turned once more into the town. we had not been on shore more than ten minutes. this time we went to the right, and found more shops. the streets were dark and sunless and cold. and trapani seemed to me to sell only two commodities: cured rabbit skins and cat-skins, and great, hideous, modern bed-spread arrangements of heavy flowered silk and fabulous price. they seem to think nothing of thousands of liras, in trapani.
-but most remarkable was bunny and pussy. bunny and pussy, flattened out like pressed leaves, dangling in clusters everywhere. furs! white bunny, black bunny in great abundance, piebald bunny, grey bunny:--then pussy, tabby pussy, and tortoiseshell pussy, but mostly black pussy, in a ghastly semblance of life, all flat, of course. just single furs. clusters, bunches, heaps, and dangling arrays of plain-superficies puss and bun-bun! puss and bun by the dozen and the twenty, like dried leaves, for your choice. if a cat from a ship should chance to find itself in trapani streets, it would give a mortal yell, and go mad, i am sure.
-but, once more in parenthesis, let me remind myself that it is our own english fault. we have slobbered about the nobility of toil, till at last the nobles naturally insist on eating the cake. and more than that, we have set forth, politically, on such a high and galahad quest of holy liberty, and been caught so shamelessly filling our pockets, that no wonder the naïve and idealistic south turns us down with a bang.
-the tickets from palermo to cagliari cost, together, 583 liras. of this, 250 liras was for the ticket, and 40 liras each for the food. this, for two tickets, would make 580 liras. the odd three for usual stamps. the voyage was supposed to last about thirty or thirty-two hours: from eight of the morning of departure to two or four of the following afternoon. surely we pay for our tea.
-the other passengers have emerged: a large, pale, fat, "handsome" palermitan who is going to be professor at cagliari: his large, fat, but high-coloured wife: and three children, a boy of fourteen like a thin, frail, fatherly girl, a little boy in a rabbit-skin overcoat, coming rather unfluffed, and a girl-child on the mother's knee. the one-year-old girl-child being, of course, the only man in the party.
-they have all been sick all day, and look washed out. we sympathise. they lament the cruelties of the journey--and senza servizio! senza servizio! without any maid servant. the mother asks for coffee, and a cup of milk for the children: then, seeing our tea with lemon, and knowing it by repute, she will have tea. but the rabbit-boy will have coffee--coffee and milk--and nothing else. and an orange. and the baby will have lemon, pieces of lemon. and the fatherly young "miss" of an adolescent brother laughs indulgently at all the whims of these two young ones: the father laughs and thinks it all adorable and expects us to adore. he is almost too washed-out to attend properly, to give the full body of his attention.
-so the mother gets her cup of tea--and puts a piece of lemon in--and then milk on top of that. the rabbit boy sucks an orange, slobbers in the tea, insists on coffee and milk, tries a piece of lemon, and gets a biscuit. the baby, with weird faces, chews pieces of lemon: and drops them in the family cup: and fishes them out with a little sugar, and dribbles them across the table to her mouth, throws them away and reaches for a new sour piece. they all think it humorous and adorable. arrives the milk, to be treated as another loving cup, mingled with orange, lemon, sugar, tea, biscuit, chocolate, and cake. father, mother, and elder brother partake of nothing, they haven't the stomach. but they are charmed, of course, by the pretty pranks and messes of the infants. they have extraordinary amiable patience, and find the young ones a perpetual source of charming amusement. they look at one another, the elder ones, and laugh and comment, while the two young ones mix themselves and the table into a lemon-milk-orange-tea-sugar-biscuit-cake-chocolate mess. this inordinate italian amiable patience with their young monkeys is astonishing. it makes the monkeys more monkey-like, and self-conscious incredibly, so that a baby has all the tricks of a babylonian harlot, making eyes and trying new pranks. till at last one sees the southern holy family as an unholy triad of imbecility.
-going on deck as soon as possible, we watched the loading of barrels of wine into the hold--a mild and happy-go-lucky process. the ship seemed to be almost as empty of cargo as of passengers. of the latter, we were apparently twelve adults, all told, and the three children. and as for cargo, there were the wooden chests of the officer, and these fourteen barrels of wine from trapani. the last were at length settled more or less firm, the owner, or the responsible landsman seeing to it. no one on the ship seemed to be responsible for anything. and four of the innumerable crew were replacing the big planks over the hold. it was curious how forlorn the ship seemed to feel, now she was ready for sea again. her innumerable crew did not succeed in making her alive. she ran her course like a lost soul across the mid-mediterranean.
-a different goddess the eryx astarte, the woman ashtaroth, erycina ridens must have been, in her prehstoric dark smiling, watching the fearful sunsets beyond the egades, from our gold-lighted apollo of the ionian east. she is a strange goddess to me, this erycina venus, and the west is strange and unfamiliar and a little fearful, be it africa or be it america.
-slowly at sunset we moved out of the harbour. and almost as we passed the bar, away in front we saw, among the islands, the pricking of a quick pointed light. looking back, we saw the light at the harbour entrance twitching: and the remote, lost town beginning to glimmer. and night was settling down upon the sea, through the crimsoned purple of the last afterglow.
-the islands loomed big as we drew nearer, dark in the thickening darkness. overhead a magnificent evening-star blazed above the open sea, giving me a pang at the heart, for i was so used to see her hang just above the spikes of the mountains, that i felt she might fall, having the space beneath.
-levanzo and the other large island were quite dark: absolutely dark, save for one beam of a lighthouse low down in the distance. the wind was again strong and cold: the ship had commenced her old slither and heave, slither and heave, which mercifully we had forgotten. overhead were innumerable great stars active as if they were alive in the sky. i saw orion high behind us, and the dog-star glaring. and swish! went the sea as we took the waves, then after a long trough, swish! this curious rhythmic swishing and hollow drumming of a steamer at sea has a narcotic, almost maddening effect on the spirit, a long, hissing burst of waters, then the hollow roll, and again the upheaval to a sudden hiss-ss-ss!
-a bell had clanged and we knew the crew were once more feeding. at every moment of the day and presumably of the night, feeding was going on--or coffee-drinking.
-we were summoned to dinner. our young woman was already seated: and a fat uniformed mate or purser or official of some sort was finishing off in the distance. the pale professor also appeared: and at a certain distance down the table sat a little hard-headed grey man in a long grey alpaca travelling coat. appeared the beloved macaroni with tomato sauce: no food for the sea. i put my hopes on the fish. had i not seen the cook making whiting bite their own tails viciously?--the fish appeared. and what was it? fried ink-pots. a calamaio is an ink-pot: also it is a polyp, a little octopus which, alas, frequents the mediterranean and squirts ink if offended. this polyp with its tentacles is cut up and fried, and reduced to the consistency of boiled celluloid. it is esteemed a delicacy: but is tougher than indiarubber, gristly through and through.
-i have a peculiar aversion to these ink-pots. once in liguria we had a boat of our own and paddled with the peasant paddlers. alessandro caught ink-pots: and like this. he tied up a female by a string in a cave--the string going through a convenient hole in her end. there she lived, like an amphitrite's wire-haired terrier tied up, till alessandro went a-fishing. then he towed her, like a poodle behind. and thus, like a poodly-bitch, she attracted hangers-on in the briny seas. and these poor polyp inamorati were the victims. they were lifted as prey on board, where i looked with horror on their grey, translucent tentacles and large, cold, stony eyes. the she-polyp was towed behind again. but after a few days she died.
-and i think, even for creatures so awful-looking, this method is indescribably base, and shows how much lower than an octopus even, is lordly man.
-arrived the inevitable meat--this long piece of completely tasteless undercut in innumerable grey-brown slices. oh, italy! the professor fled.
-arrived the wash-leather pears, the apples, the oranges--we saved an apple for a happier hour.
-arrived coffee, and, as a magnificent treat, a few well-known pastries. they all taste wearily alike. the young woman shakes her head. i shake mine, but the q-b, like a child, is pleased. most pleased of all, however, are the blue-bottles, who dart in a black-alpaca bunch to the tin altar, and there loudly buzz, wildly, above the sallow cakes.
-the citron-cheeked, dry one, however, cares darkly nothing for cakes. he comes once more to twit us about wine. so much so that the cagliari girl orders a glass of marsala: and i must second her. so there we are, three little glasses of brown liquid. the cagliari girl sips hers and suddenly flees. the q-b sips hers with infinite caution, and quietly retires. i finish the q-b's little glass, and my own, and the voracious blow-flies buzz derisively and excited. the yellow-cheeked one has disappeared with the bottle.
-from the professorial cabin faint wails, sometimes almost fierce, as one or another is going to be ill. only a thin door is between this state-room and them. the most down-trodden frayed ancient rag of a man goes discreetly with basins, trying not to let out glimpses of the awful within. i climb up to look at the vivid, drenching stars, to breathe the cold wind, to see the dark sea sliding. then i too go to the cabin, and watch the sea run past the porthole for a minute, and insert myself like the meat in a sandwich into the tight lower bunk. oh, infinitesimal cabin, where we sway like two matches in a match box! oh strange, but even yet excellent gallop of a ship at sea.
-i slept not so badly through the stifled, rolling night--in fact later on slept soundly. and the day was growing bright when i peered through the porthle, the sea was much smoother. it was a brilliant clear morning. i made haste and washed myself cursorily in the saucer that dribbled into a pail in a corner: there was not space even for one chair, this saucer was by my bunk-head. and i went on deck.
-ah the lovely morning! away behind us the sun was just coming above the sea's horizon, and the sky all golden, all a joyous, fire-heated gold, and the sea was glassy bright, the wind gone still, the waves sunk into long, low undulations, the foam of the wake was pale ice-blue in the yellow air. sweet, sweet wide morning on the sea, with the sun coming, swimming up, and a tall sailing bark, with her flat fore-ladder of sails delicately across the light, and a far-far steamer on the electric vivid morning horizon.
-the lovely dawn: the lovely pure, wide morning in the mid-sea, so golden-aired and delighted, with the sea like sequins shaking, and the sky far, far, far above, unfathomably clear. how glad to be on a ship! what a golden hour for the heart of man! ah if one could sail for ever, on a small quiet, lonely ship, from land to land and isle to isle, and saunter through the spaces of this lovely world, always through the spaces of this lovely world. sweet it would be sometimes to come to the opaque earth, to block oneself against the stiff land, to annul the vibration of one's flight against the inertia of our terra firma! but life itself would be in the flight, the tremble of space. ah the trembling of never-ended space, as one moves in flight! space, and the frail vibration of space, the glad lonely wringing of the heart. not to be clogged to the land any more. not to be any more like a donkey with a log on its leg, fastened to weary earth that has no answer now. but to be off.
-to find three masculine, world-lost souls, and world-lost saunter, and saunter on along with them, across the dithering space, as long as life lasts! why come to anchor? there is nothing to anchor for. land has no answer to the soul any more. it has gone inert. give me a little ship, kind gods, and three world-lost comrades. hear me! and let me wander aimless across this vivid outer world, the world empty of man, where space flies happily.
-the lovely, celandine-yellow morning of the open sea, paling towards a rare, sweet blue! the sun stood above the horizon, like the great burning stigma of the sacred flower of day. mediterranean sailing-ships, so mediaeval, hovered on the faint morning wind, as if uncertain which way to go, curious, odd-winged insects of the flower. the steamer, hull-down, was sinking towards spain. space rang clear about us: the level sea!
-appeared the cagliari young woman and her two friends. she was looking handsome and restored now the sea was easy. her two male friends stood touching her, one at either shoulder.
-"bonjour, monsieur!" she barked across at me. "vous avez pris le café?"
-"pas encore. et vous?"
-"non! madame votre femme...."
-she roared like a mastiff dog: and then translated with unction to her two uninitiated friends. how it was they did not understand her french i do not know, it was so like travestied italian.
-i went below to find the q-b.
-when we came up, the faint shape of land appeared ahead, more transparent than thin pearl. already sardinia. magic are high lands seen from the sea, when they are far, far off, and ghostly translucent like ice-bergs. this was sardinia, looming like fascinating shadows in mid-sea. and the sailing ships, as if cut out of frailest pearl translucency, were wafting away towards naples. i wanted to count their sails--five square ones which i call the ladder, one above the other--but how many wing-blades? that remained yet to be seen.
-our friend the carpenter spied us out: at least, he was not my friend. he didn't find me simpatico, i am sure. but up he came, and proceeded to entertain us with weary banality. again the young woman called, had we had coffee? we said we were just going down. and then she said that whatever we had today we had to pay for: our food ended with the one day. at which the q-b was angry, feeling swindled. but i had known before.
-we went down and had our coffee notwithstanding. the young woman came down, and made eyes at one of the alpaca blue-bottles. after which we saw a cup of coffee and milk and two biscuits being taken to her into her cabin, discreetly. when italians are being discreet and on the sly, the very air about them becomes tell-tale, and seems to shout with a thousand tongues. so with a thousand invisible tongues clamouring the fact, the young woman had her coffee secretly and gratis, in her cabin.
-but the morning was lovely. the q-b and i crept round the bench at the very stern of the ship and sat out of the wind and out of sight, just above the foaming of the wake. before us was the open morning--and the glisten of our ship's track, like a snail's path, trailing across the sea: straight for a little while, then giving a bend to the left, always a bend towards the left: and coming at us from the pure horizon, like a bright snail-path. happy it was to sit there in the stillness, with nothing but the humanless sea to shine about us.
-but no, we were found out. arrived the carpenter.
-"ah, you have found a fine place--!"
-"molto bello!" this from the q-b. i could not bear the irruption.
-he proceeded to talk--and as is inevitable, the war. ah, the war--it was a terrible thing. he had become ill--very ill. because, you see, not only do you go without proper food, without proper rest and warmth, but, you see, you are in an agony of fear for your life all the time. an agony of fear for your life. and that's what does it. six months in hospital--! the q-b, of course, was sympathetic.
-the sicilians are quite simple about it. they just tell you they were frightened to death, and it made them ill. the q-b, woman-like, loves them for being so simple about it. i feel angry somewhere. for they expect a full-blown sympathy. and however the great god mars may have shrunk and gone wizened in the world, it still annoys me to hear him so blasphemed.
-near us the automatic log was spinning, the thin rope trailing behind us in the sea. erratically it jerked and spun, with spasmodic torsion. he explained that the little screw at the end of the line spun to the speed of travelling. we were going from ten to twelve italian miles to the hour. ah, yes, we could go twenty. but we went no faster than ten or twelve, to save the coal.
-the coal--il carbone! i knew we were in for it. england--l'inghilterra she has the coal. and what does she do? she sells it very dear. particularly to italy. italy won the war and now can't even have coal. because why! the price. the exchange! il cambio. now i am doubly in for it. two countries had been able to keep their money high--england and america. the english sovereign--la sterlina--and the american dollar--sa, these were money. the english and the americans flocked to italy, with their sterline and their dollari, and they bought what they wanted for nothing, for nothing. ecco! whereas we poor italians--we are in a state of ruination--proper ruination. the allies, etc., etc.
-i am so used to it--i am so wearily used to it. i can't walk a stride without having this wretched cambio, the exchange, thrown at my head. and this with an injured petulant spitefulness which turns my blood. for i assure them, whatever i have in italy i pay for: and i am not england. i am not the british isles on two legs.
-germany--la germania--she did wrong to make the war. but--there you are, that was war. italy and germany--l'italia e la germania--they had always been friends. in palermo....
-my god, i felt i could not stand it another second. to sit above the foam and have this miserable creature stuffing wads of chewed newspaper into my ear--no, i could not bear it. in italy, there is no escape. say two words, and the individual starts chewing old newspaper and stuffing it into you. no escape. you become--if you are english--l'inghilterra, il carbone, and il cambio; and as england, coal and exchange you are treated. it is more than useless to try to be human about it. you are a state usury system, a coal fiend and an exchange thief. every englishman has disappeared into this triple abstraction, in the eyes of the italian, of the proletariat particularly. try and get them to be human, try and get them to see that you are simply an individual, if you can. after all, i am no more than a single human man wandering my lonely way across these years. but no--to an italian i am a perfected abstraction, england--coal--exchange. the germans were once devils for inhuman theoretic abstracting of living beings. but now the italians beat them. i am a walking column of statistics, which adds up badly for italy. only this and nothing more. which being so, i shut my mouth and walk away.
-for the moment the carpenter is shaken off. but i am in a rage, fool that i am. it is like being pestered by their mosquitoes. the sailing ships are near--and i count fifteen sails. beautiful they look! yet if i were on board somebody would be chewing newspaper at me, and addressing me as england--coal--exchange.
-the mosquito hovers--and hovers. but the stony blank of the side of my cheek keeps him away. yet he hovers. and the q-b feels sympathetic towards him: quite sympathetic. because of course he treats her--a bel pezzo--as if he would lick her boots, or anything else that she would let him lick.
-meanwhile we eat the apples from yesterday's dessert, and the remains of the q-b's infant-jesus-and-dove cake. the land is drawing nearer--we can see the shape of the end promontory and peninsula--and a white speck like a church. the bulk of the land is forlorn and rather shapeless, coming towards us: but attractive.
-looking ahead towards the land gives us away. the mosquito swoops on us. yes--he is not sure--he thinks the white speck is a church--or a lighthouse. when you pass the cape on the right, and enter the wide bay between cape spartivento and cape carbonara, then you have two hours sail to cagliari. we shall arrive between two and three o'clock. it is now eleven.
-yes, the sailing ships are probably going to naples. there is not much wind for them now. when there is wind they go fast, faster than our steamer. ah naples--bella, bella, eh? a little dirty, say i. but what do you want? says he. a great city! palermo of course is better.
-ah--the neapolitan women--he says, à propos or not. they do their hair so fine, so neat and beautiful--but underneath--sotto--sotto--they are dirty. this being received in cold silence, he continues: noi giriamo il mondo! noi, chi giriamo, conosciamo il mondo. we travel about, and we know the world. who we are, i do not know: his highness the palermitan carpenter lout, no doubt. but we, who travel, know the world. he is preparing his shot. the neapolitan women, and the english women, in this are equal: that they are dirty underneath. underneath, they are dirty. the women of london--
-but it is getting too much for me.
-"you who look for dirty women," say i, "find dirty women everywhere."
-he stops short and watches me.
-"no! no! you have not understood me. no! i don't mean that. i mean that the neapolitan women and the english women have dirty underclothing--"
-to which he gets no answer but a cold look and a cold cheek. whereupon he turns to the q-b, and proceeds to be simpatica. and after a few moments he turns again to me:
-"il signore is offended! he is offended with me."
-but i turn the other way. and at last he clears out: in triumph, i must admit: like a mosquito that has bitten one in the neck. as a matter of fact one should never let these fellows get into conversation nowadays. they are no longer human beings. they hate one's englishness, and leave out the individual.
-we walk forward, towards the fore-deck, where the captain's lookout cabin is. the captain is an elderly man, silent and crushed: with the look of a gentleman. but he looks beaten down. another, still another member of the tray-carrying department is just creeping up his ladder with a cup of black coffee. returning, we peep down the sky-light into the kitchen. and there we see roast chicken and sausages--roast chicken and sausages! ah, this is where the sides of kid and the chickens and the good things go: all down the throats of the crew. there is no more food for us, until we land.
-we have passed the cape--and the white thing is a lighthouse. and the fattish, handsome professor has come up carrying the little girl-child, while the femalish elder brother leads the rabbit-fluffy small boy by the hand. so en famille: so terribly en famille. they deposit themselves near us, and it threatens another conversation. but not for anything, my dears!
-the sailors--not sailors, some of the street-corner loafers, are hoisting the flag, the red-white-and-green italian tricolor. it floats at the mast-head, and the femalish brother, in a fine burst of feeling, takes off his funny hat with a flourish and cries:
-"ecco la bandiera italiana!"
-ach, the hateful sentimentalism of these days.
-the land passes slowly, very slowly. it is hilly, but barren looking, with few trees. and it is not spikey and rather splendid, like sicily. sicily has style. we keep along the east side of the bay--away in the west is cape spartivento. and still no sight of cagliari.
-"two hours yet!" cries the cagliari girl. "two hours before we eat. ah, when i get on land, what a good meal i shall eat."
-the men haul in the automatic log. the sky is clouding over with that icy curd which comes after midday when the bitter north wind is blowing. it is no longer warm.
-slowly, slowly we creep along the formless shore. an hour passes. we see a little fort ahead, done in enormous black-and-white checks, like a fragment of gigantic chess-board. it stands at the end of a long spit of land--a long, barish peninsula that has no houses and looks as if it might be golf-links. but it is not golf-links.
-and suddenly there is cagliari: a naked town rising steep, steep, golden-looking, piled naked to the sky from the plain at the head of the formless hollow bay. it is strange and rather wonderful, not a bit like italy. the city piles up lofty and almost miniature, and makes me think of jerusalem: without trees, without cover, rising rather bare and proud, remote as if back in history, like a town in a monkish, illuminated missal. one wonders how it ever got there. and it seems like spain--or malta: not italy. it is a steep and lonely city, treeless, as in some old illumination. yet withal rather jewel-like: like a sudden rose-cut amber jewel naked at the depth of the vast indenture. the air is cold, blowing bleak and bitter, the sky is all curd. and that is cagliari. it has that curious look, as if it could be seen, but not entered. it is like some vision, some memory, something that has passed away. impossible that one can actually walk in that city: set foot there and eat and laugh there. ah, no! yet the ship drifts nearer, nearer, and we are looking for the actual harbour.
-the usual sea-front with dark trees for a promenade and palatial buildings behind, but here not so pink and gay, more reticent, more sombre of yellow stone. the harbour itself a little basin of water, into which we are slipping carefully, while three salt-barges laden with salt as white as snow creep round from the left, drawn by an infinitesimal tug. there are only two other forlorn ships in the basin. it is cold on deck. the ship turns slowly round, and is being hauled to the quay side. i go down for the knapsack, and a fat blue-bottle pounces at me.
-"you pay nine francs fifty."
-there is a very little crowd waiting on the quay: mostly men with their hands in their pockets. but, thank heaven, they have a certain aloofness and reserve. they are not like the tourist-parasites of these post-war days, who move to the attack with a terrifying cold vindictiveness the moment one emerges from any vehicle. and some of these men look really poor. there are no poor italians any more: at least, loafers.
-strange the feeling round the harbour: as if everybody had gone away. yet there are people about. it is "festa" however, epiphany. but it is so different from sicily: none of the suave greek-italian charms, none of the airs and graces, none of the glamour. rather bare, rather stark, rather cold and yellow--somehow like malta, without malta's foreign liveliness. thank goodness no one wants to carry my knapsack. thank goodness no one has a fit at the sight of it. thank heaven no one takes any notice. they stand cold and aloof, and don't move.
-we make our way through the customs: then through the dazio, the city customs-house. then we are free. we set off up a steep, new, broad road, with little trees on either side. but stone, arid, new, wide stone, yellowish under the cold sky--and abandoned-seeming. though, of course, there are people about. the north wind blows bitingly.
-we climb a broad flight of steps, always upwards, up the wide, precipitous, dreary boulevard with sprouts of trees. looking for the hotel, and dying with hunger.
-at last we find it, the scala di ferro: through a courtyard with green plants. and at last a little man with lank, black hair, like an esquimo, comes smiling. he is one brand of sardinian--esquimo looking. there is no room with two beds: only single rooms. and thus we are led off, if you please, to the "bagnio": the bathing-establishment wing, on the dank ground floor. cubicles on either side a stone passage, and in every cubicle a dark stone bath, and a little bed. we can have each a little bath cubicle. if there's nothing else for it, there isn't: but it seems dank and cold and horrid, underground. and one thinks of all the unsavory "assignations" at these old bagnio places. true, at the end of the passage are seated two carabinieri. but whether to ensure respectibility or not, heaven knows. we are in the baths, that's all.
-the esquimo returns after five minutes, however. there is a bedroom in the house. he is pleased, because he didn't like putting us into the bagnio. where he found the bedroom i don't know. but there it was, large, sombre, cold, and over the kitchen fumes of a small inner court like a well. but perfectly clean and all right. and the people seemed warm and good-natured, like human beings. one has got so used to the non-human ancient-souled sicilians, who are suave and so completely callous.
-after a really good meal we went out to see the town. it was after three o'clock and everywhere was shut up like an english sunday. cold, stony cagliari: in summer you must be sizzling hot, cagliari, like a kiln. the men stood about in groups, but without the intimate italian watchfulness that never leaves a passer-by alone.
-but it still reminds me of malta: lost between europe and africa and belonging to nowhere. belonging to nowhere, never having belonged to anywhere. to spain and the arabs and the phoenicians most. but as if it had never really had a fate. no fate. left outside of time and history.
-the spirit of the place is a strange thing. our mechanical age tries to override it. but it does not succeed. in the end the strange, sinister spirit of the place, so diverse and adverse in differing places, will smash our mechanical oneness into smithereens, and all that we think the real thing will go off with a pop, and we shall be left staring.
-on the great parapet above the municipal hall and above the corkscrew high-street a thick fringe of people is hanging, looking down. we go to look too: and behold, below there is the entrance to the ball. yes, there is a china shepherdess in pale blue and powdered hair, crook, ribbons, marie antoinette satin daintiness and all, slowly and haughtily walking up the road, and gazing superbly round. she is not more than twelve years old, moreover. two servants accompany her. she gazes supremely from right to left as she goes, mincingly, and i would give her the prize for haughtiness. she is perfect--a little too haughty for watteau, but "marquise" to a t. the people watch in silence. there is no yelling and screaming and running. they watch in a suitable silence.
-comes a carriage with two fat bay horses slithering, almost swimming up the corkscrew high-street. that in itself is a "tour-de-force": for cagliari doesn't have carriages. imagine a street like a corkscrew stair, paved with slippery stone. and imagine two bay horses rowing their way up it: they did not walk a single stride. but they arrived. and there fluttered out three strangely exquisite children, two frail, white satin pierrots and a white satin pierrette. they were like fragile winter butterflies with black spots. they had a curious, indefinable remote elegance, something conventional and "fin-de-siècle". but not our century. the wonderful artificial delicacy of the eighteenth. the boys had big, perfect ruffs round their necks: and behind were slung old, cream-colored spanish shawls, for warmth. they were frail as tobacco flowers, and with remote, cold elegance they fluttered by the carriage, from which emerged a large black-satin mama. fluttering their queer little butterfly feet on the pavement, hovering round the large mama like three frail-tissued ghosts, they found their way past the solid, seated carabinieri into the hall.
-arrived a primrose-brocade beau, with ruffles, and his hat under his arm: about twelve years old. walking statelily, without a qualm up the steep twist of the street. or perhaps so perfect in his self-consciousness that it became an elegant "aplomb" in him. he was a genuine eighteenth-century exquisite, rather stiffer than the french, maybe, but completely in the spirit. curious, curious children! they had a certain stand-offish superbness, and not a single trace of misgiving. for them, their "noblesse" was indisputable. for the first time in my life i recognized the true cold superbness of the old "noblesse". they had not a single qualm about their own perfect representing of the higher order of being.
-followed another white satin "marquise", with a maid-servant. they are strong on the eighteenth century in cagliari. perhaps it is the last bright reality to them. the nineteenth hardly counts.
-oh narrow, dark, and humid streets going up to the cathedral, like crevices. i narrowly miss a huge pail of slop-water which comes crashing down from heaven. a small boy who was playing in the street, and whose miss is not quite a clean miss, looks up with that naïve, impersonal wonder with which children stare at a star or a lamp-lighter.
-the cathedral must have been a fine old pagan stone fortress once. now it has come, as it were, through the mincing machine of the ages, and oozed out baroque and sausagey, a bit like the horrible baldachins in st. peter's at rome. none the less it is homely and hole-and-cornery, with a rather ragged high mass trailing across the pavement towards the high altar, since it is almost sunset, and epiphany. it feels as if one might squat in a corner and play marbles and eat bread and cheese and be at home: a comfortable old-time churchey feel.
-there is some striking filet lace on the various altar-cloths. and st. joseph must be a prime saint. he has an altar and a verse of invocation praying for the dying.
-"oh, st. joseph, true potential father of our lord." what can it profit a man, i wonder, to be the potential father of anybody! for the rest i am not baedeker.
-the top of cagliari is the fortress: the old gate, the old ramparts, of honey-combed, fine yellowish sandstone. up in a great sweep goes the rampart wall, spanish and splendid, dizzy. and the road creeping down again at the foot, down the back of the hill. there lies the country: that dead plain with its bunch of palms and a fainting sea, and inland again, hills. cagliari must be on a single, loose, lost bluff of rock.
-from the terrace just below the fortress, above the town, not behind it, we stand and look at the sunset. it is all terrible, taking place beyond the knotted, serpent-crested hills that lie, bluey and velvety, beyond the waste lagoons. dark, sultry, heavy crimson the west is, hanging sinisterly, with those gloomy blue cloud-bars and cloud-banks drawn across. all behind the blue-gloomy peaks stretches the curtain of sinister, smouldering red, and away to the sea. deep below lie the sea-meres. they seem miles and miles, and utterly waste. but the sand-bar crosses like a bridge, and has a road. all the air is dark, a sombre bluish tone. the great west burns inwardly, sullenly, and gives no glow, yet a deep red. it is cold.
-we go down the steep streets, smelly, dark, dank, and very cold. no wheeled vehicle can scramble up them, presumably. people live in one room. men are combing their hair or fastening their collars in the doorways. evening is here, and it is a feast day.
-at the bottom of the street we come to a little bunch of masked youths, one in a long yellow frock and a frilled bonnet, another like an old woman, another in red twill. they are arm in arm and are accosting the passers-by. the q-b gives a cry, and looks for escape. she has a terror of maskers, a terror that comes from childhood. to say the truth, so have i. we hasten invisibly down the far side of the street, and come out under the bastions. then we go down our own familiar wide, short, cold boulevard to the sea.
-at the bottom, again, is a carriage with more maskers. carnival is beginning. a man dressed as a peasant woman in native costume is clambering with his great wide skirts and wide strides on to the box, and, flourishing his ribboned whip, is addressing a little crowd of listeners. he opens his mouth wide and goes on with a long yelling harangue of taking a drive with his mother--another man in old-woman's gaudy finery and wig who sits already bobbing on the box. the would-be daughter flourishes, yells, and prances up there on the box of the carriage. the crowd listens attentively and mildly smiles. it all seems real to them. the q-b hovers in the distance, half-fascinated, and watches. with a great flourish of whip and legs--showing his frilled drawers--the masker pulls round to drive along the boulevard by the sea--the only place where one can drive.
-the big street by the sea is the via roma. it has the cafés on one side and across the road the thick tufts of trees intervening between the sea and us. among these thick tufts of sea-front trees the little steam tram, like a little train, bumps to rest, after having wound round the back of the town.
-the via roma is all social cagliari. including the cafés with their outdoor tables on the one side of the road, and the avenue strand on the other, it is very wide, and at evening it contains the whole town. here, and here alone carriages can spank along, very slowly, officers can ride, and the people can promenade "en masse."
-we were amazed at the sudden crowd we found ourselves amongst--like a short, dense river of people streaming slowly in a mass. there is practically no vehicular traffic--only the steady dense streams of human beings of all sorts, all on a human footing. it must have been something like this in the streets of imperial rome, where no chariots might drive and humanity was all on foot.
-it had become quite dark, the lamps were lighted. we crossed the road to the café roma, and found a table on the pavement among the crowd. in a moment we had our tea. the evening was cold, with ice in the wind. but the crowd surged on, back and forth, back and forth, slowly. at the tables were seated mostly men, taking coffee or vermouth or aqua vitae, all familiar and easy, without the modern self-consciousness. there was a certain pleasant, natural robustness of spirit, and something of a feudal free-and-easiness. then arrived a family, with children, and nurse in her native costume. they all sat at table together, perfectly easy with one another, though the marvellous nurse seemed to be seated below the salt. she was bright as a poppy, in a rose-scarlet dress of fine cloth, with a curious little waistcoat of emerald green and purple, and a bodice of soft, homespun linen with great full sleeves. on her head she had a rose-scarlet and white head-dress, and she wore great studs of gold filigree, and similar ear-rings. the feudal-bourgeois family drank its syrup-drinks and watched the crowd. most remarkable is the complete absence of self-consciousness. they all have a perfect natural "sang-froid," the nurse in her marvellous native costume is as thoroughly at her ease as if she were in her own village street. she moves and speaks and calls to a passer-by without the slightest constraint, and much more, without the slightest presumption. she is below the invisible salt, the invisible but insuperable salt. and it strikes me the salt-barrier is a fine thing for both parties: they both remain natural and human on either side of it, instead of becoming devilish, scrambling and pushing at the barricade.
-the crowd is across the road, under the trees near the sea. on this side stroll occasional pedestrians. and i see my first peasant in costume. he is an elderly, upright, handsome man, beautiful in the black-and-white costume. he wears the full-sleeved white shirt and the close black bodice of thick, native frieze, cut low. from this sticks out a short kilt or frill, of the same black frieze, a band of which goes between the legs, between the full loose drawers of coarse linen. the drawers are banded below the knee into tight black frieze gaiters. on his head he has the long black stocking cap, hanging down behind. how handsome he is, and so beautifully male! he walks with his hands loose behind his back, slowly, upright, and aloof. the lovely unapproachableness, indomitable. and the flash of the black and white, the slow stride of the full white drawers, the black gaiters and black cuirass with the bolero, then the great white sleeves and white breast again, and once more the black cap--what marvellous massing of the contrast, marvellous, and superb, as on a magpie.--how beautiful maleness is, if it finds its right expression.--and how perfectly ridiculous it is made in modern clothes.
-but that curious, flashing, black-and-white costume! i seem to have known it before: to have worn it even: to have dreamed it. to have dreamed it: to have had actual contact with it. it belongs in some way to something in me--to my past, perhaps. i don't know. but the uneasy sense of blood-familiarity haunts me. i know i have known it before. it is something of the same uneasiness i feel before mount eryx: but without the awe this time.
-in the morning the sun was shining from a blue, blue sky, but the shadows were deadly cold, and the wind like a flat blade of ice. we went out running to the sun. the hotel could not give us coffee and milk: only a little black coffee. so we descended to the sea-front again, to the via roma, and to our café. it was friday: people seemed to be bustling in from the country with huge baskets.
-the café roma had coffee and milk, but no butter. we sat and watched the movement outside. tiny sardinian donkeys, the tiniest things ever seen, trotted their infinitesimal little paws along the road, drawing little wagons like handcarts. their proportion is so small, that they make a boy walking at their side look like a tall man, while a natural man looks like a cyclops stalking hugely and cruelly. it is ridiculous for a grown man to have one of these little creatures, hardly bigger than a fly, hauling his load for him. one is pulling a chest of drawers on a cart, and it seems to have a whole house behind it. nevertheless it plods bravely, away beneath the load, a wee thing.
-they tell me there used to be flocks of these donkeys, feeding half wild on the wild, moor-like hills of sardinia. but the war--and also the imbecile wantonness of the war-masters--consumed these flocks too, so that few are left. the same with the cattle. sardinia, home of cattle, hilly little argentine of the mediterranean, is now almost deserted. it is war, say the italiana.--and also the wanton, imbecile, foul lavishness of the war-masters. it was not alone the war which exhausted the world. it was the deliberate evil wastefulness of the war-makers in their own countries. italy ruined italy.
-two peasants in black-and-white are strolling in the sun, flashing. and my dream of last evening was not a dream. and my nostalgia for something i know not what was not an illusion. i feel it again, at once, at the sight of the men in frieze and linen, a heart yearning for something i have known, and which i want back again.
-it is market day. we turn up the largo carlo-felice, the second wide gap of a street, a vast but very short boulevard, like the end of something. cagliari is like that: all bits and bobs. and by the side of the pavement are many stalls, stalls selling combs and collar-studs, cheap mirrors, handkerchiefs, shoddy manchester goods, bed-ticking, boot-paste, poor crockery, and so on. but we see also madame of cagliari going marketing, with a servant accompanying her, carrying a huge grass-woven basket: or returning from marketing, followed by a small boy supporting one of these huge grass-woven baskets--like huge dishes--on his head, piled with bread, eggs, vegetables, a chicken, and so forth. therefore we follow madame going marketing, and find ourselves in the vast market house, and it fairly glows with eggs: eggs in these great round dish-baskets of golden grass: but eggs in piles, in mounds, in heaps, a sierra nevada of eggs, glowing warm white. how they glow! i have never noticed it before. but they give off a warm, pearly effulgence into the air, almost a warmth. a pearly-gold heat seems to come out of them. myriads of eggs, glowing avenues of eggs.
-and they are marked--60 centimes, 65 centimes. ah, cries the q-b, i must live in cagliari--for in sicily the eggs cost 1.50 each.
-this is the meat and poultry and bread market. there are stalls of new, various-shaped bread, brown and bright: there are tiny stalls of marvellous native cakes, which i want to taste, there is a great deal of meat and kid: and there are stalls of cheese, all cheeses, all shapes, all whitenesses, all the cream-colours, on into daffodil yellow. goat cheese, sheeps cheese, swiss cheese, parmegiano, stracchino, caciocavallo, torolone, how many cheeses i don't know the names of! but they cost about the same as in sicily, eighteen francs, twenty francs, twenty-five francs the kilo. and there is lovely ham--thirty and thirty-five francs the kilo. there is a little fresh butter too--thirty or thirty-two francs the kilo. most of the butter, however, is tinned in milan. it costs the same as the fresh. there are splendid piles of salted black olives, and huge bowls of green salted olives. there are chickens and ducks and wild-fowl: at eleven and twelve and fourteen francs a kilo. there is mortadella, the enormous bologna sausage, thick as a church pillar: 16 francs: and there are various sorts of smaller sausage, salami, to be eaten in slices. a wonderful abundance of food, glowing and shining. we are rather late for fish, especially on friday. but a barefooted man offers us two weird objects from the mediterranean, which teems with marine monsters.
-the peasant women sit behind their wares, their home-woven linen skirts, hugely full, and of various colours, ballooning round them. the yellow baskets give off a glow of light. there is a sense of profusion once more. but alas no sense of cheapness: save the eggs. every month, up goes the price of everything.
-"i must come and live in cagliari, to do my shopping here," says the q-b. "i must have one of those big grass baskets."
-we went down to the little street--but saw more baskets emerging from a broad flight of stone stairs, enclosed. so up we went-and found ourselves in the vegetable market. here the q-b was happier still. peasant women, sometimes barefoot, sat in their tight little bodices and voluminous, coloured skirts behind the piles of vegetables, and never have i seen a lovelier show. the intense deep green of spinach seemed to predominate, and out of that came the monuments of curd-white and black-purple cauliflowers: but marvellous cauliflowers, like a flower-show, the purple ones intense as great bunches of violets. from this green, white, and purple massing struck out the vivid rose-scarlet and blue crimson of radishes, large radishes like little turnips, in piles. then the long, slim, grey-purple buds of artichokes, and dangling clusters of dates, and piles of sugar-dusty white figs and sombre-looking black figs, and bright burnt figs: basketfuls and basketfuls of figs. a few baskets of almonds, and many huge walnuts. basket-pans of native raisins. scarlet peppers like trumpets: magnificent fennels, so white and big and succulent: baskets of new potatoes: scaly kohlrabi: wild asparagus in bunches, yellow-budding sparacelli: big, clean-fleshed carrots: feathery salads with white hearts: long, brown-purple onions and then, of course pyramids of big oranges, pyramids of pale apples, and baskets of brilliant shiny mandarini, the little tangerine orange with their green-black leaves. the green and vivid-coloured world of fruit-gleams i have never seen in such splendour as under the market roof at cagliari: so raw and gorgeous. and all quite cheap, the one remaining cheapness, except potatoes. potatoes of any sort are 1.40 or 1.50 the kilo.
-"oh!" cried the q-b, "if i don't live at cagliari and come and do my shopping here, i shall die with one of my wishes unfulfilled."
-but out of the sun it was cold, nevertheless. we went into the streets to try and get warm. the sun was powerful. but alas, as in southern towns generally, the streets are sunless as wells.
-so the q-b and i creep slowly along the sunny bits, and then perforce are swallowed by shadow. we look at the shops. but there is not much to see. little, frowsy provincial shops, on the whole.
-but a fair number of peasants in the streets, and peasant women in rather ordinary costume: tight-bodiced, volume-skirted dresses of hand-woven linen or thickish cotton. the prettiest is of dark-blue-and-red, stripes-and-lines, intermingled, so made that the dark-blue gathers round the waist into one colour, the myriad pleats hiding all the rosy red. but when she walks, the full-petticoated peasant woman, then the red goes flash-flash-flash, like a bird showing its colours. pretty that looks in the sombre street. she has a plain, light bodice with a peak: sometimes a little vest, and great full white sleeves, and usually a handkerchief or shawl loose knotted. it is charming the way they walk, with quick, short steps. when all is said and done, the most attractive costume for women in my eye, is the tight little bodice and the many-pleated skirt, full and vibrating with movement. it has a charm which modern elegance lacks completely--a bird-like play in movement.
-give me the old, salty way of love. how i am nauseated with sentiment and nobility, the macaroni slithery-slobbery mess of modern adorations.
-one sees a few fascinating faces in cagliari: those great dark unlighted eyes. there are fascinating dark eyes in sicily, bright, big, with an impudent point of light, and a curious roll, and long lashes: the eyes of old greece, surely. but here one sees eyes of soft, blank darkness, all velvet, with no imp looking out of them. and they strike a stranger, older note: before the soul became self-conscious: before the mentality of greece appeared in the world. remote, always remote, as if the intelligence lay deep within the cave, and never came forward. one searches into the gloom for one second, while the glance lasts. but without being able to penetrate to the reality. it recedes, like some unknown creature deeper into its lair. there is a creature, dark and potent. but what?
-sometimes velasquez, and sometimes goya gives us a suggestion of these large, dark, unlighted eyes. and they go with fine, fleecy black hair--almost as fine as fur. i have not seen them north of cagliari.
-the man--he is the esquimo type, simple, frank and aimiable--says the stuff is made in france, and this the first roll since the war. it is the old, old pattern, quite correct--but the material not quite so good. the q-b takes enough for a dress.
-he shows us also cashmeres, orange, scarlet, sky-blue, royal blue: good, pure-wool cashmeres that were being sent to india, and were captured from a german mercantile sub-marine. so he says. fifty francs a metre--very, very wide. but they are too much trouble to carry in a knapsack, though their brilliance fascinates.
-there are two ways of leaving cagliari for the north: the state railway that runs up the west side of the island, and the narrow-gauge secondary railway that pierces the centre. but we are too late for the big trains. so we will go by the secondary railway, wherever it goes.
-there is a train at 2.30, and we can get as far as mandas, some fifty miles in the interior. when we tell the queer little waiter at the hotel, he says he comes from mandas, and there are two inns. so after lunch--a strictly fish menu--we pay our bill. it comes to sixty odd francs--for three good meals each, with wine, and the night's lodging, this is cheap, as prices now are in italy.
-pleased with the simple and friendly scala di ferre, i shoulder my sack and we walk off to the second station. the sun is shining hot this afternoon--burning hot, by the sea. the road and the buildings look dry and desiccated, the harbour rather weary and end of the world.
-there is a great crowd of peasants at the little station. and almost every man has a pair of woven saddle-bags--a great flat strip of coarse-woven wool, with flat pockets at either end, stuffed with purchases. these are almost the only carrying bags. the men sling them over their shoulder, so that one great pocket hangs in front, one behind.
-these saddle bags are most fascinating. they are coarsely woven in bands of raw black-rusty wool, with varying bands of raw white wool or hemp or cotton--the bands and stripes of varying widths going cross-wise. and on the pale bands are woven sometimes flowers in most lovely colours, rose-red and blue and green, peasant patterns--and sometimes fantastic animals, beasts, in dark wool again. so that these striped zebra bags, some wonderful gay with flowery colours on their stripes, some weird with fantastic, griffin-like animals, are a whole landscape in themselves.
-the train has only first and third class. it costs about thirty francs for the two of us, third class to mandas, which is some sixty miles. in we crowd with the joyful saddle-bags, into the wooden carriage with its many seats.
-and, wonder of wonders, punctually to the second, off we go, out of cagliari. en route again.
-the coach was fairly full of people, returning from market. on these railways the third class coaches are not divided into compartments. they are left open, so that one sees everybody, as down a room. the attractive saddle-bags, bercole, were disposed anywhere, and the bulk of the people settled down to a lively conversazione. it is much nicest, on the whole, to travel third class on the railway. there is space, there is air, and it is like being in a lively inn, everybody in good spirits.
-at our end was plenty of room. just across the gangway was an elderly couple, like two children, coming home very happily. he was fat, fat all over, with a white moustache and a little not-unamiable frown. she was a tall lean, brown woman, in a brown full-skirted dress and black apron, with huge pocket. she wore no head covering, and her iron grey hair was parted smoothly. they were rather pleased and excited being in the train. she took all her money out of her big pocket, and counted it and gave it to him: all the ten lira notes, and the five lira and the two and the one, peering at the dirty scraps of pink-backed one-lira notes to see if they were good. then she gave him her half-pennies. and he stowed them away in the trouser pocket, standing up to push them down his fat leg. and then one saw, to one's amazement, that the whole of his shirt-tail was left out behind, like a sort of apron worn backwards. why--a mystery. he was one of those fat, good-natured, unheeding men with a little masterful frown, such as usually have tall, lean, hard-faced, obedient wives.
-they were very happy. with amazement he watched us taking hot tea from the thermos flask. i think he too had suspected it might be a bomb. he had blue eyes and standing-up white eyebrows.
-"beautiful hot--!" he said, seeing the tea steam. it is the inevitable exclamation. "does it do you good?"
-"yes," said the q-b. "much good." and they both nodded complacently. they were going home.
-the train was running over the malarial-looking sea-plain--past the down-at-heel palm trees, past the mosque-looking buildings. at a level crossing the woman crossing-keeper darted out vigorously with her red flag. and we rambled into the first village. it was built of sun-dried brick-adobe houses, thick adobe garden-walls, with tile ridges to keep off the rain. in the enclosures were dark orange trees. but the clay-coloured villages, clay-dry, looked foreign: the next thing to mere earth they seem, like fox-holes or coyote colonies.
-looking back, one sees cagliari bluff on her rock, rather fine, with the thin edge of the sea's blade curving round. it is rather hard to believe in the real sea, on this sort of clay-pale plain.
-but soon we begin to climb to the hills. and soon the cultivation begins to be intermittent. extraordinary how the heathy, moor-like hills come near the sea: extraordinary how scrubby and uninhabited the great spaces of sardinia are. it is wild, with heath and arbutus scrub and a sort of myrtle, breast-high. sometimes one sees a few head of cattle. and then again come the greyish arable-patches, where the corn is grown. it is like cornwall, like the land's end region. here and there, in the distance, are peasants working on the lonely landscape. sometimes it is one man alone in the distance, showing so vividly in his black-and-white costume, small and far-off like a solitary magpie, and curiously distinct. all the strange magic of sardinia is in this sight. among the low, moor-like hills, away in a hollow of the wide landscape one solitary figure, small but vivid black-and-white, working alone, as if eternally. there are patches and hollows of grey arable land, good for corn. sardinia was once a great granary.
-usually, however, the peasants of the south have left off the costume. usually it is the invisible soldiers' grey-green cloth, the italian khaki. wherever you go, wherever you be, you see this khaki, this grey-green war-clothing. how many millions of yards of the thick, excellent, but hateful material the italian government must have provided i don't know: but enough to cover italy with a felt carpet, i should think. it is everywhere. it cases the tiny children in stiff and neutral frocks and coats, it covers their extinguished fathers, and sometimes it even encloses the women in its warmth. it is symbolic of the universal grey mist that has come over men, the extinguishing of all bright individuality, the blotting out of all wild singleness. oh democracy! oh khaki democracy!
-this is very different from italian landscape. italy is almost always dramatic, and perhaps invariably romantic. there is drama in the plains of lombardy, and romance in the venetian lagoons, and sheer scenic excitement in nearly all the hilly parts of the peninsula. perhaps it is the natural floridity of lime-stone formations. but italian landscape is really eighteenth-century landscape, to be represented in that romantic-classic manner which makes everything rather marvelous and very topical: aqueducts, and ruins upon sugar-loaf mountains, and craggy ravines and wilhelm meister water-falls: all up and down.
-sardinia is another thing. much wider, much more ordinary, not up-and-down at all, but running away into the distance. unremarkable ridges of moor-like hills running away, perhaps to a bunch of dramatic peaks on the southwest. this gives a sense of space, which is so lacking in italy. lovely space about one, and traveling distances--nothing finished, nothing final. it is like liberty itself, after the peaky confinement of sicily. room--give me room--give me room for my spirit: and you can have all the toppling crags of romance.
-so we ran on through the gold of the afternoon, across a wide, almost celtic landscape of hills, our little train winding and puffing away very nimbly. only the heath and scrub, breast-high, man-high, is too big and brigand-like for a celtic land. the horns of black, wild-looking cattle show sometimes.
-after a long pull, we come to a station after a stretch of loneliness. each time, it looks as if there were nothing beyond--no more habitations. and each time we come to a station.
-most of the people have left the train. and as with men driving in a gig, who get down at every public-house, so the passengers usually alight for an airing at each station. our old fat friend stands up and tucks his shirt-tail comfortably in his trousers, which trousers all the time make one hold one's breath, for they seem at each very moment to be just dropping right down: and he clambers out, followed by the long, brown stalk of a wife.
-now behold her with her hands thrown to heaven, and hear the wild shriek "madonna!" through all the hubbub. but she picks up her two skirt-knees, and with her thin legs in grey stockings starts with a mad rush after the train. in vain. the train inexorably pursues its course. prancing, she reaches one end of the platform as we leave the other end. then she realizes it is not going to stop for her. and then, oh horror, her long arms thrown out in wild supplication after the retreating train: then flung aloft to god: then brought down in absolute despair on her head. and this is the last sight we have of her, clutching her poor head in agony and doubling forward. she is left--she is abandoned.
-so, his face all bright, his eyes round and bright as two stars, absolutely transfigured by dismay, chagrin, anger and distress, he comes and sits in his seat, ablaze, stiff, speechless. his face is almost beautiful in its blaze of conflicting emotions. for some time he is as if unconscious in the midst of his feelings. then anger and resentment crop out of his consternation. he turns with a flash to the long-nosed, insidious, phoenician-looking guard. why couldn't they stop the train for her! and immediately, as if someone had set fire to him, off flares the guard. heh!--the train can't stop for every person's convenience! the train is a train--the time-table is a time-table. what did the old woman want to take her trips down the line for? heh! she pays the penalty for her own inconsiderateness. had she paid for the train--heh? and the fat man all the time firing off his unheeding and unheeded answers. one minute--only one minute--if he, the conductor had told the driver! if he, the conductor, had shouted! a poor woman! not another train! what was she going to do! her ticket? and no money. a poor woman--
-there was a train back to cagliari that night, said the conductor, at which the fat man nearly burst out of his clothing like a bursting seed-pod. he bounced on his seat. what good was that? what good was a train back to cagliari, when their home was in snelli! making matters worse--
-so they bounced and jerked and argued at one another, to their hearts' content. then the conductor retired, smiling subtly, in a way they have. our fat friend looked at us with hot, angry, ashamed, grieved eyes and said it was a shame. yes, we chimed, it was a shame. whereupon a self-important miss who said she came from some collegio at cagliari advanced and asked a number of impertinent questions in a tone of pert sympathy. after which our fat friend, left alone, covered his clouded face with his hand, turned his back on the world, and gloomed.
-it had all been so dramatic that in spite of ourselves we laughed, even while the q-b shed a few tears.
-well, the journey lasted hours. we came to a station, and the conductor said we must get out: these coaches went no further. only two coaches would proceed to mandas. so we climbed out with our traps, and our fat friend with his saddle-bag, the picture of misery.
-the one coach into which we clambered was rather crowded. the only other coach was most of it first-class. and the rest of the train was freight. we were two insignificant passenger wagons at the end of a long string of freight-vans and trucks.
-there was an empty seat, so we sat on it: only to realize after about five minutes, that a thin old woman with two children--her grandchildren--was chuntering her head off because it was her seat--why she had left it she didn't say. and under my legs was her bundle of bread. she nearly went off her head. and over my head, on the little rack, was her bercola, her saddle-bag. fat soldiers laughed at her good-naturedly, but she fluttered and flipped like a tart, featherless old hen. since she had another seat and was quite comfortable, we smiled and let her chunter. so she clawed her bread bundle from under my legs, and, clutching it and a fat child, sat tense.
-it was getting quite dark. the conductor came and said that there was no more paraffin. if what there was in the lamps gave out, we should have to sit in the dark. there was no more paraffin all along the line.--so he climbed on the seats, and after a long struggle, with various boys striking matches for him, he managed to obtain a light as big as a pea. we sat in this clair-obscur, and looked at the sombre-shadowed faces round us: the fat soldier with a gun, the handsome soldier with huge saddle-bags, the weird, dark little man who kept exchanging a baby with a solid woman who had a white cloth tied round her head, a tall peasant-woman in costume, who darted out at a dark station and returned triumphant with a piece of chocolate: a young and interested young man, who told us every station. and the man who spat: there is always one.
-it was not much after seven when we came to mandas. mandas is a junction where these little trains sit and have a long happy chat after their arduous scramble over the downs. it had taken us somewhere about five hours to do our fifty miles. no wonder then that when the junction at last heaves in sight everybody bursts out of the train like seeds from an exploding pod, and rushes somewhere for something. to the station restaurant, of course. hence there is a little station restaurant that does a brisk trade, and where one can have a bed.
-a quite pleasant woman behind the little bar: a brown woman with brown parted hair and brownish eyes and brownish, tanned complexion and tight brown velveteen bodice. she led us up a narrow winding stone stair, as up a fortress, leading on with her candle, and ushered us into the bedroom. it smelled horrid and sourish, as shutup bedrooms do. we threw open the window. there were big frosty stars snapping ferociously in heaven.
-the room contained a huge bed, big enough for eight people, and quite clean. and the table on which stood the candle actually had a cloth. but imagine that cloth! i think it had been originally white: now, however, it was such a web of time-eaten holes and mournful black inkstains and poor dead wine stains that it was like some 2000 b.c. mummy-cloth. i wonder if it could have been lifted from that table: or if it was mummified on to it! i for one made no attempt to try. but that table-cover impressed me, as showing degrees i had not imagined.--a table-cloth.
-we went down the fortress-stair to the eating-room. here was a long table with soup-plates upside down and a lamp burning an uncanny naked acetylene flame. we sat at the cold table, and the lamp immediately began to wane. the room--in fact the whole of sardinia--was stone cold, stone, stone cold. outside the earth was freezing. inside there was no thought of any sort of warmth: dungeon stone floors, dungeon stone walls and a dead, corpse-like atmosphere, too heavy and icy to move.
-the lamp went quite out, and the q-b gave a cry. the brown woman poked her head through a hole in the wall. beyond her we saw the flames of the cooking, and two devil-figures stirring the pots. the brown woman came and shook the lamp--it was like a stodgy porcelain mantelpiece vase--shook it well and stirred up its innards, and started it going once more. then she appeared with a bowl of smoking cabbage soup, in which were bits of macaroni: and would we have wine? i shuddered at the thought of death-cold red wine of the country, so asked what else there was. there was malvagia--malvoisie, the same old malmsey that did for the duke of clarence. so we had a pint of malvagia, and were comforted. at least we were being so, when the lamp went out again. the brown woman came and shook and smacked it, and started it off again. but as if to say "shan't for you", it whipped out again.
-then came the host with a candle and a pin, a large, genial sicilian with pendulous mustaches. and he thoroughly pricked the wretch with the pin, shook it, and turned little screws. so up flared the flame. we were a little nervous. he asked us where we came from, etc. and suddenly he asked us, with an excited gleam, were we socialists. aha, he was going to hail us as citizens and comrades. he thought we were a pair of bolshevist agents: i could see it. and as such he was prepared to embrace us. but no, the q-b disclaimed the honor. i merely smiled and shook my head. it is a pity to rob people of their exciting illusions.
-"ah, there is too much socialism everywhere!" cried the q-b.
-"ma--perhaps, perhaps--" said the discreet sicilian. she saw which way the land lay, and added:
-"si vuole un pocchetino di socialismo: one wants a tiny bit of socialism in the world, a tiny bit. but not much. not much. at present there is too much."
-our host, twinkling at this speech which treated of the sacred creed as if it were a pinch of salt in the broth, believing the q-b was throwing dust in his eyes, and thoroughly intrigued by us as a pair of deep ones, retired. no sooner had he gone than the lamp-flame stood up at its full length, and started to whistle. the q-b drew back. not satisfied by this, another flame suddenly began to whip round the bottom of the burner, like a lion lashing its tail. unnerved, we made room: the q-b cried again: in came the host with a subtle smile and a pin and an air of benevolence, and tamed the brute.
-determined however, to remove this invisible screen, i said good-evening, and it was very cold. they muttered good-evening, and yes, it was fresh. an italian never says it is cold: it is never more than fresco. but this hint that it was cold they took as a hint at their caps, and they became very silent, till the woman came in with the soup-bowl. then they clamoured at her, particularly the maialino, what was there to eat. she told them--beef-steaks of pork. whereat they pulled faces. or bits of boiled pork. they sighed, looked gloomy, cheered up, and said beef-steaks, then.
-"mother, she's clapping!" i would yell with anger, against my sister. the german word is schmatzen.
-so the maialino clapped like a pair of cymbals, while baritone and bass rolled on. then in chimed the swift bright treble.
-at this rate however, the soup did not last long. arrived the beef-steaks of pork. and now the trio was a trio of castanet smacks and cymbal claps. triumphantly the maialino looked around. he out-smacked all.
-the bread of the country is rather coarse and brown, with a hard, hard crust. a large rock of this is perched on every damp serviette. the maialino tore his rock asunder, and grumbled at the black-cap, who had got a weird sort of three-cornered loaf-roll of pure white bread--starch white. he was a swell with this white bread.
-suddenly black-cap turned to me. where had we come from, where were we going, what for? but in laconic, sardonic tone.
-"i like sardinia," cried the q-b.
-"why?" he asked sarcastically. and she tried to find out.
-"yes, the sardinians please me more than the sicilians," said i.
-"why?" he asked sarcastically.
-"they are more open--more honest." he seemed to turn his nose down.
-"the padrone is a sicilian," said the maialino, stuffing a huge block of bread into his mouth, and rolling his insouciant eyes of a gay, well-fed little black pig towards the background. we weren't making much headway.
-"you've seen cagliari?" the black-cap said to me, like a threat.
-"yes! oh cagliari pleases me--cagliari is beautiful!" cried the q-b, who travels with a vial of melted butter ready for her parsnips.
-"and is mandas nice?" asked the q-b.
-"in what way nice?" they asked, with immense sarcasm.
-"is there anything to see?"
-"hens," said the maialino briefly. they all bristled when one asked if mandas was nice.
-"what does one do here?" asked the q-b.
-"niente! at mandas one does nothing. at mandas one goes to bed when it's dark, like a chicken. at mandas one walks down the road like a pig that is going nowhere. at mandas a goat understands more than the inhabitants understand. at mandas one needs socialism...."
-they all cried out at once. evidently mandas was more than flesh and blood could bear for another minute to these three conspirators.
-"then you are very bored here?" say i.
-and the quiet intensity of that naked yes spoke more than volumes.
-"you would like to be in cagliari?"
-silence, intense, sardonic silence had intervened. the three looked at one another and made a sour joke about mandas. then the black-cap turned to me.
-"can you understand sardinian?" he said.
-"somewhat. more than sicilian, anyhow."
-"but sardinian is more difficult than sicilian. it is full of words utterly unknown to italian--"
-"yes, but," say i, "it is spoken openly, in plain words, and sicilian is spoken all stuck together, none of the words there at all."
-he looks at me as if i were an imposter. yet it is true. i find it quite easy to understand sardinian. as a matter of fact, it is more a question of human approach than of sound. sardinian seems open and manly and downright. sicilian is gluey and evasive, as if the sicilian didn't want to speak straight to you. as a matter of fact, he doesn't. he is an over-cultured, sensitive, ancient soul, and he has so many sides to his mind that he hasn't got any definite one mind at all. he's got a dozen minds, and uneasily he's aware of it, and to commit himself to anyone of them is merely playing a trick on himself and his interlocutor. the sardinian, on the other hand, still seems to have one downright mind. i bump up against a downright, smack-out belief in socialism, for example. the sicilian is much too old in our culture to swallow socialism whole: much too ancient and rusé not to be sophisticated about any and every belief. he'll go off like a squib: and then he'll smoulder acridly and sceptically even against his own fire. one sympathizes with him in retrospect. but in daily life it is unbearable.
-"where do you find such white bread?" say i to the black cap, because he is proud of it.
-"it comes from my home." and then he asks about the bread of sicily. is it any whiter than this--the mandas rock. yes, it is a little whiter. at which they gloom again. for it is a very sore point, this bread. bread means a great deal to an italian: it is verily his staff of life. he practically lives on bread. and instead of going by taste, he now, like all the world, goes by eye. he has got it into his head that bread should be white, so that every time he fancies a darker shade in the loaf a shadow falls on his soul. nor is he altogether wrong. for although, personally, i don't like white bread any more, yet i do like my brown bread to be made of pure, unmixed flour. the peasants in sicily, who have kept their own wheat and make their own natural brown bread, ah, it is amazing how fresh and sweet and clean their loaf seems, so perfumed as home-bread used all to be before the war. whereas the bread of the commune, the regulation supply, is hard, and rather coarse and rough, so rough and harsh on the palate. one gets tired to death of it. i suspect myself the maize meal mixed in. but i don't know. and finally the bread varies immensely from town to town, from commune to commune. the so-called just and equal distribution is all my-eye. one place has abundance of good sweet bread, another scrapes along, always stinted, on an allowance of harsh coarse stuff. and the poor suffer bitterly, really, from the bread-stinting, because they depend so on this one food. they say the inequality and the injustice of distribution comes from the camorra--la grande camorra--which is no more nowadays than a profiteering combine, which the poor hate. but for myself, i don't know. i only know that one town--venice, for example--seems to have an endless supply of pure bread, of sugar, of tobacco, of salt--while florence is in one continual ferment of irritation over the stinting of these supplies--which are all government monopoly, doled out accordingly.
-we said good-night to our three railway friends, and went up to bed. we had only been in the room a minute or two, when the brown woman tapped: and if you please, the black-cap had sent us one of his little white loaves. we were really touched. such delicate little generosities have almost disappeared from the world.
-it was a queer little bread--three-cornered, and almost as hard as ships biscuit, made of starch flour. not strictly bread at all.
-wonderful to go out on a frozen road, to see the grass in shadow bluish with hoar-frost, to see the grass in the yellow winter-sunrise beams melting and going cold-twinkly. wonderful the bluish, cold air, and things standing up in cold distance. after two southern winters, with roses blooming all the time, this bleakness and this touch of frost in the ringing morning goes to my soul like an intoxication. i am so glad, on this lonely naked road, i don't know what to do with myself. i walk down in the shallow grassy ditches under the loose stone walls, i walk on the little ridge of grass, the little bank on which the wall is built, i cross the road across the frozen cow-droppings: and it is all so familiar to my feet, my very feet in contact, that i am wild as if i had made a discovery. and i realize that i hate lime-stone, to live on lime-stone or marble or any of those limey rocks. i hate them. they are dead rocks, they have no life--thrills for the feet. even sandstone is much better. but granite! granite is my favorite. it is so live under the feet, it has a deep sparkle of its own. i like its roundnesses--and i hate the jaggy dryness of lime-stone, that burns in the sun, and withers.
-after coming to a deep well in a grassy plot in a wide space of the road, i go back, across the sunny naked upland country, towards the pink station and its out-buildings. an engine is steaming its white clouds in the new light. away to the left there is even a row of small houses, like a row of railway-mens' dwellings. strange and familiar sight. and the station precincts are disorderly and rather dilapidated. i think of our sicilian host.
-the village itself is just a long, winding, darkish street, in shadow, of houses and shops and a smithy. it might almost be cornwall: not quite. something, i don't know what, suggests the stark burning glare of summer. and then, of course, there is none of the cosiness which climbing roses and lilac trees and cottage shops and haystacks would give to an english scene. this is harder, barer, starker, more dreary. an ancient man in the black-and-white costume comes out of a hovel of a cottage. the butcher carries a huge side of meat. the women peer at us--but more furtive and reticent than the howling stares of italy.
-so we go on, down the rough-cobbled street through the whole length of the village. and emerging on the other side, past the last cottage, we find ourselves again facing the open country, on the gentle down-slope of the rolling hill. the landscape continues the same: low, rolling upland hills, dim under the yellow sun of the january morning: stone fences, fields, grey-arable land: a man slowly, slowly ploughing with a pony and a dark-red cow: the road trailing empty across the distance: and then, the one violently unfamiliar note, the enclosed cemetery lying outside on the gentle hill-side, closed in all round, very compact, with high walls: and on the inside face of the enclosure wall the marble slabs, like shut drawers of the sepulchres, shining white, the wall being like a chest of drawers, or pigeon holes to hold the dead. tufts of dark and plumy cypresses rise among the flat graves of the enclosure. in the south, cemeteries are walled off and isolated very tight. the dead, as it were, are kept fast in pound. there is no spreading of graves over the face of the country. they are penned in a tight fold, with cypresses to fatten on the bones. this is the one thoroughly strange note in the landscape. but all-pervading there is a strangeness, that strange feeling as if the depths were barren, which comes in the south and the east, sun-stricken. sun-stricken, and the heart eaten out by the dryness.
-"i like it! i like it!" cries the q-b.
-"but could you live here?" she would like to say yes, but daren't.
-we stray back. the q-b wants to buy one of those saddle-bag arrangements. i say what for? she says to keep things in. ach! but peeping in the shops, we see one and go in and examine it. it is quite a sound one, properly made: but plain, quite plain. on the white cross-stripes there are no lovely colored flowers of rose and green and magenta: the three favorite sardinian colors: nor are there any of the fantastic and griffin-like beasts. so it won't do. how much does it cost? forty-five francs.
-there is nothing to do in mandas. so we will take the morning train and go to the terminus, to sorgono. thus, we shall cross the lower slopes of the great central knot of sardinia, the mountain knot called gennargentu. and sorgono we feel will be lovely.
-back at the station we make tea on the spirit lamp, fill the thermos, pack the knapsack and the kitchenino, and come out into the sun of the platform. the q-b goes to thank the black-cap for the white bread, whilst i settle the bill and ask for food for the journey. the brown woman fishes out from a huge black pot in the background sundry hunks of coarse boiled pork, and gives me two of these, hot, with bread and salt. this is the luncheon. i pay the bill: which amounts to twenty-four francs, for everything. (one says francs or liras, irrespective, in italy.) at that moment arrives the train from cagliari, and men rush in, roaring for the soup--or rather, for the broth. "ready, ready!" she cries, going to the black pot.
-the various trains in the junction squatted side by side and had long, long talks before at last we were off. it was wonderful to be running in the bright morning towards the heart of sardinia, in the little train that seemed so familiar. we were still going third class, rather to the disgust of the railway officials at mandas.
-at first the country was rather open: always the long spurs of hills, steep-sided, but not high. and from our little train we looked across the country, across hill and dale. in the distance was a little town, on a low slope. but for its compact, fortified look it might have been a town on the english downs. a man in the carriage leaned out of the window holding out a white cloth, as a signal to someone in the far off town that he was coming. the wind blew the white cloth, the town in the distance glimmered small and alone in its hollow. and the little train pelted along.
-it was rather comical to see it. we were always climbing. and the line curved in great loops. so that as one looked out of the window, time and again one started, seeing a little train running in front of us, in a diverging direction, making big puffs of steam. but lo, it was our own little engine pelting off around a loop away ahead. we were quite a long train, but all trucks in front, only our two passenger coaches hitched on behind. and for this reason our own engine was always running fussily into sight, like some dog scampering in front and swerving about us, while we followed at the tail end of the thin string of trucks.
-i was surprised how well the small engine took the continuous steep slopes, how bravely it emerged on the sky-line. it is a queer railway. i would like to know who made it. it pelts up hill and down dale and round sudden bends in the most unconcerned fashion, not as proper big railways do, grunting inside deep cuttings and stinking their way through tunnels, but running up the hill like a panting, small dog, and having a look round, and starting off in another direction, whisking us behind unconcernedly. this is much more fun than the tunnel-and-cutting system.
-they told me that sardinia mines her own coal: and quite enough for her own needs: but very soft, not fit for steam-purposes. i saw heaps of it: small, dull, dirty-looking stuff. truck-loads of it too. and truck-loads of grain.
-at every station we were left ignominiously planted, while the little engines--they had gay gold names on their black little bodies--strolled about along the side-lines, and snuffed at the various trucks. there we sat, at every station, while some truck was discarded and some other sorted out like a branded sheep, from the sidings and hitched on to us. it took a long time, this did.
-all the stations so far had had wire netting over the windows. this means malaria-mosquitoes. the malaria climbs very high in sardinia. the shallow upland valleys, moorland with their intense summer sun and the riverless, boggy behaviour of the water breed the pest inevitably. but not very terribly, as far as one can make out: august and september being the danger months. the natives don't like to admit there is any malaria: a tiny bit, they say, a tiny bit. as soon as you come to the trees there is no more. so they say. for many miles the landscape is moorland and down-like, with no trees. but wait for the trees. ah, the woods and forests of gennargentu: the woods and forests higher up: no malaria there!
-the little engine whisks up and up, around its loopy curves as if it were going to bite its own tail: we being the tail: then suddenly dives over the sky-line out of sight. and the landscape changes. the famous woods begin to appear. at first it is only hazel-thickets, miles of hazel-thickets, all wild, with a few black cattle trying to peep at us out of the green myrtle and arbutus scrub which forms the undergrowth; and a couple of rare, wild peasants peering at the train. they wear the black sheepskin tunic, with the wool outside, and the long stocking caps. like cattle they too peer out from between deep bushes. the myrtle scrub here rises man-high, and cattle and men are smothered in it. the big hazels rise bare above. it must be difficult getting about in these parts.
-sometimes, in the distance one sees a black-and-white peasant riding lonely across a more open place, a tiny vivid figure. i like so much the proud instinct which makes a living creature distinguish itself from its background. i hate the rabbity khaki protection-colouration. a black-and-white peasant on his pony, only a dot in the distance beyond the foliage, still flashes and dominates the landscape. ha-ha! proud mankind! there you ride! but alas, most of the men are still khaki-muffled, rabbit-indistinguishable, ignominious. the italians look curiously rabbity in the grey-green uniform: just as our sand-colored khaki men look doggy. they seem to scuffle rather abased, ignominious on the earth. give us back the scarlet and gold, and devil take the hindmost.
-the landscape really begins to change. the hillsides tilt sharper and sharper. a man is ploughing with two small red cattle on a craggy, tree-hanging slope as sharp as a roof-side. he stoops at the small wooden plough, and jerks the ploughlines. the oxen lift their noses to heaven, with a strange and beseeching snake-like movement, and taking tiny little steps with their frail feet, move slantingly across the slope-face, between rocks and tree-roots. little, frail, jerky steps the bullocks take, and again they put their horns back and lift their muzzles snakily to heaven, as the man pulls the line. and he skids his wooden plough round another scoop of earth. it is marvellous how they hang upon that steep, craggy slope. an english labourer's eyes would bolt out of his head at the sight.
-there is a stream: actually a long tress of a water-fall pouring into a little gorge, and a stream-bed that opens a little, and shows a marvellous cluster of naked poplars away below. they are like ghosts. they have a ghostly, almost phosphorescent luminousness in the shadow of the valley, by the stream of water. if not phosphorescent, then incandescent: a grey, goldish-pale incandescence of naked limbs and myriad cold-glowing twigs, gleaming strangely. if i were a painter i would paint them: for they seem to have living, sentient flesh. and the shadow envelopes them.
-another naked tree i would paint is the gleaming mauve-silver fig, which burns its cold incandescence, tangled, like some sensitive creature emerged from the rock. a fig tree come forth in its nudity gleaming over the dark winter-earth is a sight to behold. like some white, tangled sea anemone. ah, if it could but answer! or if we had tree-speech!
-they talk and are very lively. and they have mediaeval faces, rusé, never really abandoning their defences for a moment, as a badger or a pole-cat never abandons its defences. there is none of the brotherliness and civilised simplicity. each man knows he must guard himself and his own: each man knows the devil is behind the next bush. they have never known the post-renaissance jesus. which is rather an eye-opener.
-not that they are suspicious or uneasy. on the contrary, noisy, assertive, vigorous presences. but with none of that implicit belief that everybody will be and ought to be good to them, which is the mark of our era. they don't expect people to be good to them: they don't want it. they remind me of half-wild dogs that will love and obey, but which won't be handled. they won't have their heads touched. and they won't be fondled. one can almost hear the half-savage growl.
-the long stocking caps they wear as a sort of crest, as a lizard wears his crest at mating time. they are always moving them, settling them on their heads. one fat fellow, young, with sly brown eyes and a young beard round his face folds his stocking-foot in three, so that it rises over his brow martial and handsome. the old boy brings his stocking-foot over the left ear. a handsome fellow with a jaw of massive teeth pushes his cap back and lets it hang a long way down his back. then he shifts it forward over his nose, and makes it have two sticking-out points, like fox-ears, above his temples. it is marvellous how much expression these caps can take on. they say that only those born to them can wear them. they seem to be just long bags, nearly a yard long, of black stockinette stuff.
-the conductor comes to issue them their tickets. and they all take out rolls of paper money. even a little mothy rat of a man who sits opposite me has quite a pad of ten-franc notes. nobody seems short of a hundred francs nowadays: nobody.
-they shout and expostulate with the conductor. full of coarse life they are: but so coarse! the handsome fellow has his sleeved waistcoat open, and his shirt-breast has come unbuttoned. not looking, it seems as if he wears a black undervest. then suddenly, one sees it is his own hair. he is quite black inside his shirt, like a black goat.
-but there is a gulf between oneself and them. they have no inkling of our crucifixion, our universal consciousness. each of them is pivoted and limited to himself, as the wild animals are. they look out, and they see other objects, objects to ridicule or mistrust or to sniff curiously at. but "thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself" has never entered their souls at all, not even the thin end of it. they might love their neighbour, with a hot, dark, unquestioning love. but the love would probably leave off abruptly. the fascination of what is beyond them has not seized on them. their neighbour is a mere external. their life is centripetal, pivoted inside itself, and does not run out towards others and mankind. one feels for the first time the real old mediaeval life, which is enclosed in itself and has no interest in the world outside.
-and so they lie about on the seats, play a game, shout, and sleep, and settle their long stocking-caps: and spit. it is wonderful in them that at this time of day they still wear the long stocking-caps as part of their inevitable selves. it is a sign of obstinate and powerful tenacity. they are not going to be broken in upon by world-consciousness. they are not going into the world's common clothes. coarse, vigorous, determined, they will stick to their own coarse dark stupidity and let the big world find its own way to its own enlightened hell. their hell is their own hell, they prefer it unenlightened.
-and one cannot help wondering whether sardinia will resist right through. will the last waves of enlightenment and world-unity break over them and wash away the stocking-caps? or is the tide of enlightenment and world-unity already receding fast enough?
-certainly a reaction is setting in, away from the old universality, back, away from cosmopolitanism and internationalism. russia, with her third international, is at the same time reacting most violently away from all other contact, back, recoiling on herself, into a fierce, unapproachable russianism. which motion will conquer? the workman's international, or the centripetal movement into national isolation? are we going to merge into one grey proletarian homogeneity?--or are we going to swing back into more-or-less isolated, separate, defiant communities?
-probably both. the workman's international movement will finally break the flow towards cosmopolitanism and world-assimilation, and suddenly in a crash the world will fly back into intense separations. the moment has come when america, that extremist in world-assimilation and world-oneness, is reacting into violent egocentricity, a truly amerindian egocentricity. as sure as fate we are on the brink of american empire.
-for myself, i am glad. i am glad that the era of love and oneness is over: hateful homogeneous world-oneness. i am glad that russia flies back into savage russianism, scythism, savagely self-pivoting. i am glad that america is doing the same. i shall be glad when men hate their common, world-alike clothes, when they tear them up and clothe themselves fiercely for distinction, savage distinction, savage distinction against the rest of the creeping world: when america kicks the billy-cock and the collar-and-tie into limbo, and takes to her own national costume: when men fiercely react against looking all alike and being all alike, and betake themselves into vivid clan or nation-distinctions.
-the era of love and oneness is over. the era of world-alike should be at an end. the other tide has set in. men will set their bonnets at one another now, and fight themselves into separation and sharp distinction. the day of peace and oneness is over, the day of the great fight into multifariousness is at hand. hasten the day, and save us from proletarian homogeneity and khaki all-alikeness.
-i love my indomitable coarse men from mountain sardinia, for their stocking-caps and their splendid, animal-bright stupidity. if only the last wave of all-alikeness won't wash those superb crests, those caps, away.
-and it seemed to her as though she knew all the people who were there; they were the women of the village, and the girls of her own age. but the dog was well aware that there was something uncanny about it all. he made his way down to melbustad in flying leaps, and howled and barked in the most lamentable manner, and gave the people no rest until they followed him. the young fellow who was to marry the girl took his gun, and climbed the hills; and when he drew near, there stood a number of horses around the hut, saddled and bridled. he crept up to the hut, looked through a loop-hole in the wall, and saw a whole company sitting together inside. it was quite evident that they were trolls, the people from underground, and therefore he discharged his gun over the roof. at that moment the doors flew open, and a number of balls of gray yarn, one larger than the other, came shooting out about his legs. when he went in, there sat the maiden in her bridal finery, and nothing was missing but the ring on her little finger, then all would have been complete.
-"in heaven's name, what has happened here?" he asked, as he looked around. all the silverware was still on the table, but all the tasty dishes had turned to moss and toadstools, and frogs and toads and the like.
-"what does it all mean?" said he. "you are sitting here in all your glory, just like a bride?"
-"how can you ask me?" answered the maiden. "you have been sitting here yourself, and talking about our wedding the whole afternoon!"
-"no, i have just come," said he. "it must have been some one else who had taken my shape!"
-then she gradually came to her senses; but not until long afterward was she altogether herself, and she told how she had firmly believed that her sweetheart himself, and all their friends and relatives had been there. he took her straight back to the village with him, and so that they need fear no such deviltry in the future, they celebrated their wedding while she was still clad in the bridal outfit of the underground folk. the crown and all the ornaments were hung up in melbustad and it is said that they hang there to this very day.
-the hat of the huldres
-once upon a time there was a big wedding at a certain farmstead, and a certain cottager was on his way to the wedding-feast. as he chanced to cross a field, he found a milk-strainer, such as are usually made of cows' tails, and looking just like an old brown rag. he picked it up, for he thought it could be washed, and then he would give it to his wife for a dish-rag. but when he came to the house where they were celebrating the wedding, it seemed as though no one saw him. the bride and groom nodded to the rest of the guests, they spoke to them and poured for them; but he got neither greeting nor drink. then the chief cook came and asked the other folk to sit down to the table; but he was not asked, nor did he get anything to eat. for he did not care to sit down of his own accord when no one had asked him. at last he grew angry and thought: "i might as well go home, for not a soul pays a bit of attention to me here." when he reached home, he said: "good evening, here i am back again."
-"for heaven's sake, are you back again?" asked his wife.
-"yes, there was no one there who paid any attention to me, or even so much as looked at me," said the man, "and when people show me so little consideration, it seems as though i have nothing to look for there."
-"but where are you? i can hear you, but i cannot see you!" cried his wife.
-the man was invisible, for what he had found was a huldre hat.
-"what are you talking about? can't you see me? have you lost your wits?" asked the man. "there is an old hair strainer for you. i found it outside on the ground," said he, and he threw it on the bench. and then his wife saw him; but at the same moment the hat of the huldres disappeared, for he should only have loaned it, not given it away. now the man saw how everything had come about, and went back to the wedding-feast. and this time he was received in right friendly fashion, and was asked to drink, and to seat himself at the table.
-the child of mary
-far, far from here, in a great forest, there once lived a poor couple. heaven blessed them with a charming little daughter; but they were so poor they did not know how they were going to get her christened. so her father had to go forth to see whether he could not find a god-father to pay for the child's christening. all day long he went from one to another; but no one wanted to be the god-father. toward evening, as he was going home, he met a very lovely lady, who wore the most splendid clothes, and seemed most kind and friendly, and she offered to see that the child was christened, if she might be allowed to keep it afterward. the man replied that first he must ask his wife. but when he reached home and asked her she gave him a flat "no." the following day the man set out again; but no one wanted to be the god-father if he had to pay for the christening himself, and no matter how hard the man begged, it was all of no avail. when he went home that evening, he again met the lovely lady, who looked so gentle, and she made him the same offer as before. the man again told his wife what had happened to him, and added that if he could not find a god-father for his child the following day, they would probably have to let the lady take her, since she seemed to be so kind and friendly. the man then went out for the third time, and found no god-father that day. and so, when he once more met the friendly lady in the evening, he promised to let her have the child, if she would see that it was baptized. the following morning the lady came to the man's hut, and with her two other men. she then took the child and went to church with it, and it was baptized. then she took it with her, and the little girl remained with her for several years, and her foster-mother was always good and kind to her.
-now when the girl had grown old enough to make distinctions, and had acquired some sense, it chanced that her foster-mother once wished to take a journey. "you may go into any room you wish," she said to the girl, "only you are not to go into these three rooms," and then she set out on her journey. but the girl could not resist opening the door to the one room a little way--and swish! out flew a star. when her foster-mother came home, she was much grieved to find that the star had flown out, and was so annoyed with her foster-child that she threatened to send her away. but the girl pleaded and cried, until at last she was allowed to remain.
-after a time the foster-mother wanted to take another journey, and she forbade the girl, above all, to go into the two rooms which, as yet, she had not entered. and the girl promised her that this time she would obey her. but when she had been alone for some time, and had had all sorts of thoughts as to what there might be in the second room, she could no longer resist opening the second door a little way--and swish! out flew the moon. when the foster-mother returned, and saw the moon had slipped out, she again grieved greatly, and told the girl she could keep her no longer, and that now she must go. but when the girl again began to cry bitterly, and pleaded with such grace that it was impossible to deny her, she was once more allowed to remain.
-when heaven gave her a second child, a guard of twice as many men as had first stood watch was again set about her; yet everything happened as before, only that this time the foster-mother said to her: "now you shall grieve as i did when you let the moon slip out!" the queen wept and pleaded--for when the foster-mother was there she could speak--but without avail. now the old queen insisted that she be burned. but the prince once more succeeded in begging her free. when heaven gave her a third child, a three-fold guard was set about her. the foster-mother came while the guard slept, took the child, cut its little finger, and rubbed some of the blood on the queen's mouth. "now," said she, "you shall grieve just as i did when you let the sun slip out!" and now the prince could in no way save her, she was to be and should be burned. but at the very moment when they were leading her to the stake, the foster-mother appeared with all three children; the two older ones she led by the hand, the youngest she carried on her arm. she stepped up to the young queen and said: "here are your children, for now i give them back to you. i am the virgin mary, and the grief that you have felt is the same grief that i felt aforetimes, when you had let the star, the moon and the sun slip out. now you have been punished for that which you did, and from now on the power of speech is restored to you!"
-the happiness which then filled the prince and princess may be imagined, but cannot be described. they lived happily together ever after, and from that time forward even the prince's mother was very fond of the young queen.
-"but is it certain that there is no one here who can overhear us?" said one of the crows. and by the way she spoke the cabin-boy knew her for the captain's wife.
-"no, you can see there's not," said the others, the wives of the first and second quartermasters. "there is not a soul aboard."
-"well, then i do not mind saying that i know of a good way to get rid of them," said the captain's wife once more, and hopped closer to the two others. "we will turn ourselves into breakers, wash them into the sea, and sink the ship with every man on board."
-that pleased the others, and they sat there a long time discussing the day and the fairway. "but is it certain that no one can overhear us?" once more asked the captain's wife.
-"you know that such is the case," said the two others.
-"well, there is a counter-spell for what we wish to do, and if it is used, it will go hard with us, for it will cost us nothing less than our lives!"
-"what is the counter-spell, sister," asked the wife of the one quartermaster.
-"is it certain that no one is listening to us? it seemed to me as though some one were smoking in the forward cabin."
-"but you know we looked in every corner. they just forgot to let the fire go out in the caboose, and that is why there's smoke," said the quartermaster's wife, "so tell away."
-"if they buy three cords of birch-wood," said the witch,--"but it must be full measure, and they must not bargain for it--and throw the first cord into the water, billet by billet, when the first breaker strikes, and the second cord, billet by billet, when the second breaker strikes, and the third cord, billet by billet, when the third breaker strikes, then it is all up with us!"
-"yes, that's true, sister, then it is all up with us! then it is all up with us!" said the wives of the quartermasters; "but there is no one who knows it," they cried, and laughed loudly, and with that they flew out of the hatchway, screaming and croaking like ravens.
-when the day came on which the cabin-boy was to take command, the weather was fair and quiet; but he drummed up the whole ship's crew, and with the exception of a tiny bit of canvas, had all sails reefed. the captain and crew laughed at him, and said: "that shows the sort of a captain we have now. don't you want us to reef that last bit of sail this very minute?" "not yet," answered the cabin-boy, "but before long."
-the boy ordered them to throw the first cord of birch-wood overboard, billet by billet, one at a time and never two, and he did not let them touch the other two cords. now they obeyed him to the letter, and did not laugh; but cast out the birch-wood billet by billet. when the last billet fell they heard a groaning, as though some one were wrestling with death, and then the squall had passed.
-"heaven be praised!" said the crew--and the captain added: "i am going to let the company know that you saved ship and cargo."
-the last squall hit them with far more force than either of the preceding ones, the ship laid over on her side so that they thought she would not right herself again, and the breaker swept over the deck.
-but the boy told them to throw the last cord of wood overboard, billet by billet, and no two billets at once. and when the last billet of wood fell, they heard a deep groaning, as though some one were dying hard, and when all was quiet once more, the whole sea was the color of blood, as far as eye could reach.
-when they reached land, the captain and the quartermasters spoke of writing to their wives. "that is something you might just as well let be," said the cabin-boy, "seeing that you no longer have any wives."
-"what silly talk is this, young know-it-all! we have no wives?" said the captain. "or do you happen to have done away with them?" asked the quartermasters.
-"no, all of us together did away with them," answered the boy, and told them what he had heard and seen that sunday afternoon when he was on watch on the ship; while the crew was ashore, and the captain was buying his deckload of wood.
-and when they sailed home they learned that their wives had disappeared the day of the storm, and that since that time no one had seen or heard anything more of them.
-the four-shilling piece
-once upon a time there was a poor woman, who lived in a wretched hut far away from the village. she had but little to bite and less to burn, so she sent her little boy to the forest to gather wood. he skipped and leaped, and leaped and skipped, in order to keep warm, for it was a cold, gray autumn day, and whenever he had gathered a root or a branch to add to his bundle, he had to slap his arms against his shoulders, for the cold made his hands as red as the whortleberry bushes over which he walked. when he had filled his barrow, and was wandering homeward, he crossed a field of stubble. there he saw lying a jagged white stone. "o, you poor old stone, how white and pale you are! you must be freezing terribly!" said the boy; took off his jacket, and laid it over the stone. and when he came back home with his wood, his mother asked him how it was that he was going around in the autumn cold in his shirt-sleeves. he told her that he had seen a jagged old stone, quite white and pale with the frost, and that he had given it his jacket. "you fool," said the woman, "do you think a stone can freeze? and even if it had chattered with frost, still, charity begins at home. your clothes cost enough as it is, even when you don't hang them on the stones out in the field!"--and with that she drove the boy out again to fetch his jacket. when he came to the stone, the stone had turned around, and had raised itself from the ground on one side. "yes, and i'm sure it is because you have the jacket, poor fellow!" said the boy. but when he looked more closely, there was a chest full of bright silver coins under the stone. "that must be stolen money," thought the boy, "for no one lays money honestly earned under stones in the wood." and he took the chest, and carried it down to the pond nearby, and threw in the whole pile of money. but a four-shilling piece was left swimming on the top of the water. "well, this one is honest, for whatever is honest will float," said the boy. and he took the four-shilling piece and the jacket home with him. he told his mother what had happened to him, that the stone had turned around, and that he had found a chest full of silver coins, and had thrown it into the pond because it was stolen money. "but a four-shilling piece floated, and that i took along, because it was honest," said the boy. "you are a fool," said the woman--for she was as angry as could be--"if nothing were honest save what floats on the water, there would be but little honesty left in the world. and if the money had been stolen ten times over, still you had found it, and charity begins at home. if you had kept the money, we might have passed the rest of our lives in peace and comfort. but you are a dunderhead and will stay a dunderhead, and i won't be tormented and burdened with you any longer. now you must get out and earn your own living."
-so the boy had to go out into the wide world, and wandered about far and near looking for service. but wherever he went people found him too small or too weak, and said that they could make no use of him. at last he came to a merchant. there they kept him to work in the kitchen, and he had to fetch wood and water for the cook. when he had been there for some time, the merchant decided to journey to far countries, and asked all his servants what he should buy and bring back home for them. after all had told him what they wanted, came the turn of the little fellow who carried wood and water for the kitchen. he handed him his four-shilling piece. "well, and what am i to buy for it?" asked the merchant. "it will not be a large purchase." "buy whatever it will bring, it is honest money, that i know," said the boy. his master promised to do so, and sailed away.
-now when the merchant had discharged his cargo in foreign parts and had reloaded, and had bought what his servants had desired, he went back to his ship, and was about to shove off. not until then did he remember that the scullion had given him a four-shilling piece, with which to buy him something. "must i go up to the city again because of this four-shilling piece? one only has one's troubles when one bothers with such truck," thought the merchant. then along came a woman with a bag on her back. "what have you in your bag, granny?" asked the merchant. "o, it is only a cat! i can feed her no longer, and so i want to throw her into the sea in order to get rid of her," said the old woman. "the boy told me to buy whatever i could get for the four-shilling piece," said the merchant to himself, and asked the woman whether he could have her cat for four shillings. the woman agreed without delay, and the bargain was closed.
-now when the merchant had sailed on for a while, a terrible storm broke loose, a thunderstorm without an equal, and he drifted and drifted, and did not know where or whither. at last he came to a land where he had never yet been, and went up into the city.
-in the tavern which he entered the table was set, and at every place lay a switch, one for each guest. this seemed strange to the merchant, for he could not understand what was to be done with all the switches. yet he sat down and thought: "i will watch carefully, and see just what the rest do with them, and then i can imitate them." yes, and when the food came on the table, then he knew why the switches were there: the place was alive with thousands of mice, and all who were sitting at the table had to work and fight and beat about them with their switches, and nothing could be heard but the slapping of the switches, one worse than the other. sometimes people hit each other in the face, and then they had to take time to say, "excuse me!"
-"eating is hard work in this country," said the merchant. "how is it the folk here have no cats?" "cats?" said the people: they did not know what they were. then the merchant had the cat that he had bought for the scullion brought, and when the cat went over the table, the mice had to hurry into their holes, and not in the memory of man had the people been able to eat in such comfort. then they begged and implored the merchant to sell them his cat. at last he said he would let them have her; but he wanted a hundred dollars for her, and this they paid, and thanked him kindly into the bargain.
-then the merchant sailed on, but no sooner had he reached the high seas than he saw the cat sitting at the top of the main-mast. and immediately after another storm and tempest arose, far worse than the first one, and he drifted and drifted, till he came to a land where he had never yet been. again the merchant went to a tavern, and here, too, the table was covered with switches; but they were much larger and longer than at the place where he had first been. and they were much needed; for there were a good many more mice, and they were twice the size of those he had first seen.
-here he again sold his cat, and this time he received two hundred dollars for her, and that without any haggling. but when he had sailed off and was out at sea a way, there sat the cat up in the mast. and the storm at once began again, and finally he was again driven to a land in which he had never been. again he turned in at a tavern, and there the table was also covered with switches; but every switch was a yard and a half long, and as thick as a small broom, and the people told him that they knew of nothing more disagreeable than to sit down to eat, for there were great, ugly rats by the thousand. only with toil and trouble could one manage to shove a bite of something into one's mouth once in a while, so hard was it to defend oneself against the rats. then the cat was again brought from the ship, and now the people could eat in peace. they begged and pleaded that the merchant sell them his cat; and for a long time he refused; but at last he promised that they should have her for three hundred dollars. and they paid him, and thanked him, and blessed him into the bargain.
-now when the merchant was out at sea again, he considered how much the boy had gained with the four-shilling piece he had given him. "well, he shall have some of the money," said the merchant to himself, "but not all of it. for he has to thank me for the cat, which i bought for him, and charity begins at home."
-but while the merchant was thinking these thoughts, such a storm and tempest arose that all thought the ship would sink. then the merchant realized that there was nothing left for him to do but to promise that the boy should have all the money. no sooner had he made his vow, than the weather turned fair, and he had a favoring wind for his journey home. and when he landed, he gave the youth the six hundred dollars and his daughter to boot. for now the scullion was as rich as the merchant himself and richer, and thereafter he lived in splendor and happiness. and he took in his mother and treated her kindly. "for i do not believe that charity begins at home," said the youth.
-the magic apples
-there was only one thing that he lacked: he had no wife, and he was gradually coming into the years when it would be necessary for him to make haste.
-as he was walking sadly along one fine day, it occurred to him to wish himself where he would find the most beautiful princess in the world. no sooner had he thought of it than he was there. and it was a land which he had never yet seen, and a city in which he had never yet been. and the king had a daughter, so handsome that he had never yet beheld her like, and he wanted to have her on the spot. but she would have nothing to do with him, and was very haughty.
-finally he despaired altogether, and was so beside himself that he could no longer be where she was not. so he took his magic cap and wished himself into the castle. he wanted to say good-by, so he said. and she laid her hand in his. "i wish we were far beyond the end of the world!" said the youth, and there they were. but the king's daughter wept, and begged to be allowed to go home again. he could have all the gold and silver in the castle in return. "i have money enough for myself," said the youth, and he shook his purse so that money just rolled about. he could sit down at the royal table and eat the finest food, and drink the finest wines, said she. "i have enough to eat and drink myself," said the youth. "see, you can sit down at the table," said he, and at once he spread his table-cloth. and there stood a table covered with the best one might wish; and the king himself ate no better.
-"you might have known it," said the youth to himself, and hurried down the tree. he began to cry and did not know what to do. and as he was sitting there, he sampled the apples which he had thrown down. no sooner had he tried one than he had a strange feeling in his head, and when he looked more closely, he had a pair of horns. "well, now it can do me no more harm," said he, and calmly went on eating the apples. but suddenly the horns had disappeared, and he was as before. "good enough!" said the youth. and with that he put the apples in his pocket, and set out to search for the king's daughter.
-he went from city to city, and sailed from country to country; but it was a long journey, and lasted a year and a day, and even longer.
-but one day he got there after all. it was a sunday, and he found out that the king's daughter was at church. then he sat himself down with his apples before the church door, and pretended to be a peddler. "apples of damascus! apples of damascus!" he cried. and sure enough, the king's daughter came, and told her maidens to go and see what desirable things the peddler from abroad might have to offer. yes, he had apples of damascus. "what do the apples give one?" asked the maiden. "wisdom and beauty!" said the peddler, and the maiden bought.
-when the king's daughter had eaten of the apples, she had a pair of horns. and then there was such a wailing in the castle that it was pitiful to hear. and the castle was hung with black, and in the whole kingdom proclamation was made from all pulpits that whoever could help the king's daughter should get her, and half the kingdom besides. then tom, dick and harry, and the best physicians in the country came along. but none of them could help the princess.
-but one day a foreign doctor from afar came to court. he was not from their country, he said, and had made the journey purposely just to try his luck here. but he must see the king's daughter alone, said he, and permission was granted him.
-the king's daughter recognized him, and grew red and pale in turn. "if i help you now, will you marry me?" asked the youth. yes, indeed she would. then he gave her one of the magic apples, and her horns were only half as large as before. "but i cannot do more until i have my cap, and my table-cloth, and my purse back again," said he. so she went and brought him the things. then he gave her still another magic apple, and now the horns were no more than tiny hornlets. "but now i cannot go on until you have sworn that you will be true to me," said he. and she swore that she would. and after she had eaten the third apple, her forehead was quite smooth again, and she was even more beautiful than in days gone by.
-then there was great joy in the castle. they prepared for the wedding with baking and brewing, and invited people from east and west to come to it. and they ate and drank, and were merry and of good cheer, and if they have not stopped, they are merry and of good cheer to this very day!
-self did it
-once upon a time there was a mill, in which it was impossible to grind flour, because such strange things kept happening there. but there was a poor woman who was in urgent need of a little meal one evening, and she asked whether they would not allow her to grind a little flour during the night. "for heaven's sake," said the mill-owner, "that is quite impossible! there are ghosts enough in the mill as it is." but the woman said that she must grind a little; for she did not have a pinch of flour in the house with which to make mush, and there was nothing for her children to eat. so at last he allowed her to go to the mill at night and grind some flour. when she came, she lit a fire under a big tar-barrel that was standing there; got the mill going, sat down by the fire, and began to knit. after a time a girl came in and nodded to her. "good evening!" said she to the woman. "good evening!" said the woman; kept her seat, and went on knitting. but then the girl who had come in began to pull apart the fire on the hearth. the woman built it up again.
-"what is your name?" asked the girl from underground.
-"self is my name," said the woman.
-that seemed a curious name to the girl, and she once more began to pull the fire apart. then the woman grew angry and began to scold, and built it all up again. thus they went on for a good while; but at last, while they were in the midst of their pulling apart and building up of the fire, the woman upset the tar-barrel on the girl from underground. then the latter screamed and ran away, crying:
-"father, father! self burned me!"
-"nonsense, if self did it, then self must suffer for it!" came the answer from below the hill.
-the master girl
-once upon a time there was a king who had several sons; i do not just know how many there were, but the youngest was not content at home, and insisted on going out into the world to seek his fortune. and in the end the king had to give him permission to do so. after he had wandered for a few days, he came to a giant's castle, and took service with the giant. in the morning the giant wanted to go off to herd his goats, and when he started he told the king's son he was to clean the stable in the meantime. "and when you are through with that, you need do nothing more for to-day, for you might as well know that you have come to a kind master," said he. "but you must do what you are told to do conscientiously and, besides, you must not go into any of the rooms that lie behind the one in which you slept last night, else your life will pay the forfeit."
-"he surely is a kind master," said the king's son to himself, walked up and down the room, and whistled and sang; for, thought he, there would be plenty of time to clean the stable. "but it would be nice to take a look at the other room, there surely must be something in it that he is alarmed about, since i am not so much as to take a look," thought he, and went into the first room. there hung a kettle, and it was boiling, but the king's son could find no fire beneath it. "what can there be in it?" thought he, and dipped in a lock of his hair, and at once the hair grew just like copper. "that's a fine soup, and whoever tastes it will burn his mouth," said the youth, and went into the next room. there hung another kettle that bubbled and boiled; but there was no fire beneath it, either. "i must try this one, too," said the king's son, and again he dipped in a lock of his hair and it grew just like silver. "we have no such expensive soup at home," said the king's son, "but the main thing is, how does it taste?" and with that he went into the third room. and there hung still another kettle, a-boiling just like those in the two other rooms, and the king's son wanted to try this one, too. he dipped in a lock of his hair, and it came out like pure gold, and fairly shimmered.
-then the king's son said: "better and better! but if he cooks gold here, i wonder what he cooks inside, there?" and he wanted to see, so he went into the fourth room. here there was no kettle to be seen; but a maiden sat on a bench who must have been a king's daughter; yet whatever she might be, the king's son had never seen any one so beautiful in all his days. "now in heaven's name, what are you doing here?" asked the maiden. "i hired myself out here yesterday," said the king's son. "may god be your aid, for it is a fine service you have chosen!" said she. "o, the master is very friendly," said the king's son. "he has given me no hard work to do to-day. when i have cleaned out the stable, i need do nothing more." "yes, but how are you going to manage it?" she went on. "if you do as the others have done, then for every shovelful you pitch out, ten fresh shovelfuls will fly in. but i'll tell you how to go about it. you must turn around the shovel, and work with the handle, then everything will fly out by itself."
-this he would do, said the king's son; and he sat there with her all day long, for they had soon agreed that they would marry, he and the king's daughter, and in this way his first day in the giant's service did not weary him at all. when evening came on, she told him that now he must clean out the stable before the giant came, and when he got there he thought he would try out her advice, and began to use the shovel as he had seen his father's grooms use it. and sure enough, he had to stop quickly, for after he had worked a little while, he hardly had room in which to stand. then he did as the king's daughter had told him, turned the shovel around and used the handle. and in a wink the stable was as clean as though it had been scrubbed. when he had finished he went to the room that the giant had assigned him, and walked up and down, whistling and singing. then the giant came home with his goats. "have you cleaned out the stable?" he asked. "yes, indeed, master, it is spick and span," said the king's son. "i'll have to see that," said the giant, and went into the stable; but it was just as the king's son had said. "you surely have been talking to the master girl, for you could not have done that alone," said the giant. "master girl? what is a master girl?" said the king's son, and pretended to be very stupid. "i'd like to see her, too." "you will see her in plenty of time," said the giant.
-the next morning the giant went off again with his goats. and he told the king's son he was to fetch his horse from the pasture, and when he had done this, he might rest: "for you have come to a kind master," said he. "but if you enter one of the rooms which i forbade you entering yesterday, i will tear off your head," he said, and went away with his herd. "indeed, you are a kind master," said the king's son, "but in spite of it i'd like to have another little talk with the master girl, for she is just as much mine as yours," and with that he went in to her. she asked him what work he had to do that day. "o, it is not so bad to-day," said the king's son. "i am only to fetch his horse from the pasture." "and how are you going to manage that?" asked the master girl. "surely it is no great feat to fetch a horse from pasture," said the king's son, "and i have ridden swift horses before." "yet it is not an easy matter to ride this horse home," said the master girl, "but i will tell you how to set about it: when you see the horse, he will come running up, breathing fire and flame, just as though he were a burning pine-torch. then you must take the bit that is hanging here on the door, and throw it into his mouth, for then he will grow so tame that you can do what you will with him." he would take good note of it, said the king's son, and he sat there with the master girl the whole day long, and they chatted and talked about this and that, but mainly about how delightful it would be, and what a pleasant time they could have, if they could only marry and get away from the giant. and the king's son would have forgotten the pasture and the horse altogether, had not the master girl reminded him of them toward evening. he took the bit that hung in the corner, hurried out to the pasture, and the horse at once ran up, breathing fire and flame; but he seized the moment when he came running up to him with his jaws wide open, and threw the bit into his mouth. then he stood still, as gentle as a young lamb, and he had no trouble bringing him to the stable. then he went to his room again, and began to whistle and sing. in the evening the giant came home with his goats. "did you fetch the horse?" he asked. "yes, master," said the king's son. "it would make a fine saddle-horse, but i just took it straight to the stable." "i'll have to see that," said the giant, and went into the stable. but there stood the horse, just as the king's son had said. "you surely must have spoken to my master girl, for you could not have done that alone," said the giant. "yesterday the master chattered about the master girl, and to-day he is talking about her again. i wish master would show me the creature, for i surely would like to see her," said the king's son, and pretended to be very simple and stupid. "you will get to see her in plenty of time," said the giant.
-on the third morning the giant went off again with his goats. "to-day you must go to the devil, and fetch me his tribute," said he to the king's son. "when you have done that, you may rest for the remainder of the time, for you have come to a kind master, and you might as well know it," and with that he went off. "you may be a kind master," said the king's son; "yet you hand over some pretty mean jobs to me in spite of it, but i think i'll look after your master girl a bit. you claim that she belongs to you, but perhaps, in spite of it, she may tell me what to do," and with that he went in to her. and when the master girl asked him what the giant had given him to do that day, he told her he must go to the devil and fetch a tribute. "but how will you go about it?" asked the master girl. "you will have to tell me that," said the king's son, "for i have never been to the devil's place, and even though i knew the way there, i still would not know how much to ask for." "i will tell you what you must do," said the master girl. "you must go to the rock behind the pasture, and take the club that is lying there, and strike the rock with it. then one will come out whose eyes flash fire, and you must tell him your business. and if he asks how much you want, you must tell him as much as you can carry." he would take good note of it, said the king's son, and he sat there with the master girl all day long until evening, and he might be sitting there yet, if the master girl had not reminded him that he must still go to the devil about the tribute before the giant came home. so he set out, and did exactly as the master girl had told him: he went to the rock, took the club and beat against it. then one came out from whose eyes and nose the sparks flew. "what do you want?" he asked. "the giant has sent me to fetch his tribute," said the king's son. "how much do you want?" the other again inquired. "i never ask for more than i can carry," was the reply of the king's son. "it is lucky for you that you did not ask for a whole ton at once," said the one on the hill. "but come in with me, and wait a while." this the king's son did, and saw a great deal of gold and silver lying in the hill like dead rock in an ore-pile. then as much as he could carry was packed up, and with it he went his way. when the giant came home in the evening with his goats, the king's son was running about the room, whistling and singing as on the two preceding evenings. "did you go to the devil for the tribute?" asked the giant. "yes, indeed, master," said the king's son. "where did you put it?" asked the giant again. "i stood the sack of gold outside on the bench," was the reply. "i must see that at once," said the giant, and went over to the bench. but the sack was really standing there, and it was so full that the gold and silver rolled right out when the giant loosened the string. "you surely must have spoken to my master girl," said the giant. "if that is the case i will tear your head off." "with your master girl?" said the king's son. "yesterday master talked about that master girl, and to-day he is talking about her again, and the day before yesterday he talked about her, too! i only wish that i might get the chance to see her sometime!" said he. "well, just wait until to-morrow," said the giant, "and then i will lead you to her myself," he said. "a thousand thanks, master," said the king's son, "but i think you are only joking!" the following day the giant took him to the master girl.
-"now you must slaughter him, and cook him in the big kettle, you know which one i mean. and when the soup is ready, you can call me," said the giant, and he lay down on the bench to sleep, and at once began to snore so that the hills shook. then the master girl took a knife, and cut the youth's little finger, and let three drops of blood fall on the bench. then she took all the old rags, and old shoes and other rubbish she could find, and threw them all into the kettle. and then she took a chest of gold-dust, and a lick-stone, and a bottle of water that hung over the door, and a golden apple, and two golden hens, and left the giant's castle together with the king's son as quickly as possible. after a time they came to the sea, and they sailed across; though where they got the ship i do not exactly know.
-now they wanted to go home to the father of the king's son; but he would not hear of the master girl's going afoot, since he did not think this fitting for either of them. "wait here a little while, until i fetch the seven horses that stand in my father's stable," said the king's son. "it is not far, and i will soon be back; for i will not have my bride come marching home afoot." "no, do not do so, for when you get home to the castle you will forget me, i know that positively," said the master girl. "how could i forget you?" said the king's son. "we have passed through so many hardships together, and we love each other so dearly," said he. he wanted to fetch the coach and seven horses at all costs, and she was to wait by the seashore. so at last the master girl had to give in.
-"but when you get there, you must not take time to greet a single person. you must at once go to the stable, harness the horses, and drive back as swiftly as you can. they will all come to meet you, but you must act as though you did not see them, and must not take a single bite to eat. if you do not do that, you will make both of us unhappy," said she. and he promised to do as she had said.
-but when he got home to the castle, one of his brothers was just getting married, and the bride and all the guests were already there. they all crowded around him and asked him this, and asked him that, and wanted to lead him in. but he acted as though he saw none of them, led out the horses, and began to put them to the coach. and since they could by no manner of means induce him to come into the castle, they came out with food and drink, and offered him the best of all that had been prepared for the wedding feast.
-but the king's son would taste nothing, and only made haste in order to get away. yet, finally, the bride's sister rolled an apple over to him across the court-yard: "and if you will touch nothing else, then at least you might take a bite of the apple, for you must be hungry and thirsty after your long journey," said she, and he took the apple and bit into it. but no sooner did he have the bit of apple in his mouth than he had forgotten the master girl, and that he was to fetch her. "i think i must be going mad! what am i doing with the horses and the coach?" he said, and he led back the horses into the stable, and went back to the castle, and wanted to marry the bride's sister, the one who had thrown him the apple.
-in the meantime the master girl sat by the seashore, and waited and waited; but no king's son came. then she went on, and after she had gone a while, she came to a little hut that lay all by itself in the forest, near the king's castle. she went in and asked whether she might not stay there. now the little hut belonged to an old woman, and she was an arrant and evil witch; at first she did not want to take in the master girl at all; but at last she agreed to do so for love of money. but the whole hut was as dark and dirty as a pig-sty; therefore the master girl said she would clean up a bit, so that things would look as they did in other, decent people's houses. the old woman would have none of it, and was very disagreeable and angry; but the master girl paid no attention to her. she took the chest of gold dust, and threw a handful into the fire, so that a ray of gold shone over the whole hut, and it was gilded outside and in. but when the gold flamed up, the old woman was so terribly frightened that she ran out as though the evil one were after her, and from pure rage she forgot to duck at the threshold, and ran her head against the door-post. and that was the end of her.
-the following morning the bailiff came by. he was much surprised to see the little golden hut, glittering and sparkling there in the forest, and was still more surprised at the girl within the hut. he fell in love with her at once, and asked her whether she would not become the bailiff's lady. "yes, but have you plenty of money?" said the master girl. yes, he had quite a little, said the bailiff. then he went home to fetch his money, and came back again at evening dragging along an enormous sack of it, which he stood on a bench before the door. the master girl said that, seeing he had so much money, she would accept him. and then she asked him to rake the fire, which she said she had forgotten to do. but as soon as he had the poker in his hand, the master girl cried: "may god grant that you hold the poker, and the poker hold you, and that sparks and ashes fly around you until morning!" and there the bailiff stood the whole night through, and sparks and ashes flew about him, nor were the sparks the less hot for all his complaining and begging. and when morning came, and he could let go the poker, he did not stay long; but ran off as though the evil one were at his heels. and those who saw him stared and laughed, for he ran like a madman, and looked as though he had been thrashed and tanned. and all would have liked to have known where he had come from, but he said not a word, for he was ashamed.
-on the following day the clerk passed by the master girl's little house. he saw it glistening and shining in the woods, and went in to find out who lived there. when he saw the beautiful girl he fell even more deeply in love with her than the bailiff had, and lost no time in suing for her hand. the master girl asked him, as she had asked the bailiff, whether he had plenty of money. money he had to spare, answered the clerk, and ran right home to fetch it. by evening he was back again with a great sack--it must have been as much again as the bailiff had brought--and stood it on the bench. and so she promised to take him. then she asked him to shut the house-door, which she said she had forgotten to do. but when he had the door-knob in his hand, she cried: "may god grant that you hold the door-knob and that the door-knob hold you, and that you move back and forth with it all night long until morning!" and the clerk had to dance the whole night through, such a waltz as he had never tripped before, and he had no wish to repeat the experience. sometimes he was ahead, and sometimes the door was, and so they went back and forth all night, from wall to post and post to wall, and he was nearly bruised to death. first he cursed, then he wailed and pleaded; but the door paid no attention to him, and flung open and shut until it dawned. when it at last released him, he hurried away as quickly as though he had stolen something, forgot his sackful of money, and his wish to marry, and was glad that the door did not come threshing along after him. all grinned and stared at the clerk, for he ran like a madman, and looked worse than if a ram had been butting him all night long.
-on the third day the magistrate came by, and also saw the little golden house in the forest. and he, too, went in to see who lived in it. and when he saw the master girl, he fell so deeply in love with her that he sued for her hand as soon as he bade her good-day. but she told him just what she had told the others, that if he had plenty of money she would take him. he had money enough, said the magistrate, and he went straight home to fetch it. when he came back in the evening, he had a much bigger sack of money with him than the clerk had had, and he stood it on the bench. then the master girl said she would take him. but first she asked him to go fetch the calf, which she had forgotten to bring to the stable. and when he had the calf by the tail she cried: "may god grant that you hold the calf's tail, and the calf's tail hold you, and that you fly about the world together until morning!" and with that the race began, over stick and stone, over hill and dale, and the more the magistrate cursed and yelled, the more madly the calf ran away. when it dawned there was hardly a whole bone in the magistrate's body, and he was so happy to be able to let go the calf's tail that he forgot his bag of money, and the whole occurrence. it is true that he went home more slowly than the bailiff and the clerk; but the slower he went the more time the people had to stare and grin at him, so ragged and badly beaten did he appear after his dance with the calf.
-on the following day there was to be a wedding at the castle, and not only was the older prince to marry, but the one who had stayed with the giant as well, and he was to get the other bride's sister.
-but when they entered the coach and were about to drive to church, one of the axles broke. they took another, and then a third, but all of them broke, no matter what kind of wood they used. it took a great deal of time, and they did not move from the spot, and got all out of sorts. then the bailiff said, for he had also been invited to the wedding at the castle, that a maiden lived out in the forest, and "if they could only get the loan of her poker, it would be sure to hold." so they sent to the little house in the forest, and asked most politely whether the maiden would not loan them the poker of which the bailiff had spoken. and they got it, too, and then they had an axle that would not break.
-but when they wanted to drive on, the bottom of the coach broke. they made a new bottom as well as they were able, but no matter how they put it together, nor what kind of wood they used, it kept on breaking again as soon as they had left the court-yard. and they were worse off than they had been with the axle. then the clerk said--for if the bailiff was one of the company, you may be sure they had not forgotten to invite the clerk--"out in the forest lives a maiden, and if you will get the loan of her house-door, i am sure it would not break." so they sent to the little house in the forest, and asked most politely whether the maiden would not loan them the golden house-door, of which the clerk had told them. and they got it, too, and were about to drive on, when suddenly the horses could not draw the coach. there were six, so they put to eight, and then ten and twelve, but though they put as many as they liked to the coach and helped along with the whip, still the coach would not budge. the day was already far advanced, and they simply had to get to church, and actually began to despair. but then the magistrate said that out in the golden house in the forest lived a maiden, "and if one could only get the loan of her calf, it would be sure to pull the coach, and though it were as heavy as a bowlder." they did not think it quite the thing to drive to church with a calf; but still there was nothing to do but to send to the maiden, and to ask her most politely, with a kind greeting from the king, if she would loan them the calf of which the magistrate had spoken. nor did the master girl refuse them this time. and then, when they had put the calf to the coach, it moved from the spot quickly enough. it flew over stick and stone, hill and dale, so that the people inside could hardly catch their breath. first it was on the ground, and next it was in the air, and when they reached the church, it spun around it like a top, and they had the greatest difficulty in getting out and into the church. and going home they went still faster, and were nearly out of their wits by the time they reached the castle.
-when they sat down to the table the king's son--the same who had been at the giant's--said it would be no more than right to invite the maiden, too, who had lent them the poker, and the door and the calf: "for if we had not had these things, we should not have moved from the spot." this seemed right to the king, so he sent five of his most distinguished courtiers to the little golden house. they were to carry the king's kindest greetings, and ask that the maiden come up to the castle and take dinner with them. "a kind greeting to the king, and if he is too good to come to me, then i am too good to go to him," said the master girl. so the king had to go to her himself, and then she went along with him at once, and the king saw very well that she was more than she appeared to be, and gave her a place at the head of the table, next to the young bridegroom. after they had been at dinner for a while, the master girl produced the rooster and the hen and the golden apple--they were the three things she had taken along from the giant's castle--and placed them on the table before her. at once the rooster and the hen began to fight for the golden apple. "why, just see how the two fight for the golden apple!" said the king's son. "yes, that is how we had to fight the time we wanted to get out of the rock!" said the master girl. and then the king's son recognized her, and was very happy. the witch who had rolled the apple over to him was duly punished, and then the wedding really began, and the bailiff, and the clerk and the magistrate held out to the very end, for all that their wings had been so thoroughly singed.
-anent the giant who did not have his heart about him
-once upon a time there was a king who had seven sons, and he was so fond of them that he never could bear to have them all away from him at once, and one of them always had to stay with him. when they had grown up, six of them were to go forth and look for wives; but the youngest the king wanted to keep at home, and the others were to bring along a bride for him. the king gave the six the handsomest clothes that had ever been seen, clothes that glittered from afar, and each received a horse that had cost many hundred dollars, and so they set forth. and after they had been at the courts of many kings, and had seen many princesses, they at last came to a king who had six daughters. such beautiful princesses they had not as yet met with, and so each of them paid court to one of them, and when each had won his sweetheart, they rode back home again. but they were so deeply in love with their brides that they altogether forgot they were also to bring back a princess for their young brother who had stayed at home.
-now when they had already covered a good bit of the homeward road, they passed close to a steep cliff-side where the giants dwelt. and a giant came out, looked at them, and turned them all to stone, princes and princesses. the king waited and waited for his six sons; but though he waited and yearned, they did not come. then he grew very sad, and said that he would never really be happy again. "if i did not have you," he told his youngest, "i would not keep on living, so sad am i at having lost your brothers." "but i had already been thinking of asking your permission to set out and find my brothers again," said the youngest. "no, that i will not allow under any circumstances," answered the father, "otherwise you will be lost to me into the bargain." but the youth's mind was set on going, and he pleaded so long that finally the king had to let him have his way. now the king had only a wretched old nag for him, since the six other princes and their suite had been given all the good horses; but that did not worry the youngest. he mounted the shabby old nag, and "farewell, father!" he said to the king. "i will surely return, and perhaps i will bring my six brothers back with me." and with that he rode off.
-now when he had ridden a while he met a raven, who was lying in the road beating his wings, and unable to move from the spot because he was so starved. "o, dear friend, if you will give me a bite to eat, then i'll help you in your hour of direst need!" cried the raven. "i have not much food, nor are you likely to be able to help me much," said the king's son, "but still i can give you a little, for it is easy to see you need it." and with that he gave the raven some of the provisions he had with him. and when he had ridden a while longer, he came to a brook, and there lay a great salmon who had gotten on dry land, and was threshing about, and could not get back into the water. "o, dear friend, help me back into the water," said the salmon to the king's son, "and i will help you, too, in your hour of greatest need!" "the help you will be able to give me will probably not amount to much," said the prince, "but it would be a pity if you had to lie there and pine away." and with that he pushed the fish back into the water. then he rode on a long, long way, and met a wolf; and the wolf was so starved that he lay in the middle of the road, and writhed with hunger. "dear friend, let me eat your horse," said the wolf. "my hunger is so great that my very inwards rattle, because i have had nothing to eat for the past two years!" "no," said the prince, "i cannot do that: first i met a raven, and had to give him my provisions; then i met a salmon and had to help him back into the water; and now you want my horse. that will not do, for what shall i ride on then?" "well, my dear friend, you must help me," was the wolf's reply. "you can ride on me. i will help you in turn in your hour of greatest need." "the help you might give me would probably not amount to much; but i will let you eat the horse, since you are in such sorry case," returned the prince. and when the wolf had eaten the horse, the prince took the bit and put it in the wolf's mouth, and fastened the saddle on his back, and his meal had made the wolf so strong that he trotted off with the king's son as fast as he could. he had never ridden so swiftly before. "when we have gone a little further i will show you the place where the giants live," said the wolf; and in a short time they were there. "well, this is where the giants live," said the wolf. "there you see your six brothers, whom the giant turned into stone, and yonder are their six brides; and up there is the door through which you must pass." "no, i would not dare do that," said the king's son. "he would murder me." "o no," was the wolf's reply, "when you go in you will find a princess, and she will tell you how to set about getting rid of the giant. you need only do as she says." and the prince went in, though he was afraid. when he entered the house the giant was not there; but in one of the rooms sat a princess, just as the wolf had said, and such a beautiful maiden the youth had never seen. "now may god help you, how did you get in here?" cried the princess, when she saw him. "it is certain death for you. no one can kill the giant who lives here, for he hasn't his heart about him."
-"well, since i do happen to be here, i will at least make the attempt," said the prince. "and i want to try to deliver my brothers, who stand outside, turned to stone, and i would like to save you as well." "well, if you insist upon it, we must see what we can do," replied the princess. "now you must crawl under the bed here, and must listen carefully when i talk to the giant. but you must not make a sound." the prince slipped under the bed, and no sooner was he there than the giant came home. "hu, it smells like the flesh of a christian here!" he cried. "yes," said the princess, "a jackdaw flew by with a human bone, and let it fall down the chimney. i threw it out again at once, but the odor does not disappear so quickly." then the giant said no more about it. toward evening he went to bed, but after he had lain there a while, the princess, who sat looking out of the window, said: "there is something i would have asked you about long ago, if only i had dared." "and what may that be?" inquired the giant. "i would like to know where you keep your heart, since you do not have it about you?" said the princess. "o, that is something you need not ask about; at any rate, it lies under the threshold of the door," was the giant's reply. "aha," thought the prince under the bed, "that is where we will find it!"
-the next morning the giant got up very early, and went into the forest, and no sooner had he gone than the prince and the king's daughter set about looking for the heart under the threshold of the door. yet no matter how much they dug and searched--they found nothing. "this time he has fooled us," said the princess. "we'll have to try again." and she picked the loveliest flowers she could find and strewed them over the threshold--which they had put to rights again--and when the time drew near for the giant's return, the king's son crept under the bed once more. when he was beneath it, the giant came. "hu hu, i smell human flesh!" he cried. "yes," said the princess. "a jackdaw flew by with a human bone in her beak, and she let it fall down the chimney. i threw it out at once, but i suppose one can still smell it." then the giant held his tongue, and said no more about it. after a time he asked who had strewn the flowers over the threshold. "o, i did that," said the princess. "what does it mean?" the giant then asked. "o, i am so fond of you that i had to do it, because i know that is where your heart lies." "yes, of course," said the giant, "but it does not happen to lie there at all."
-when he had gone to bed, the princess sat looking out of the window, and again asked the giant where he kept his heart, for she was so fond of him, said she, that she wanted to know above all things. "o, it is in the wardrobe there by the wall," said the giant. "aha," thought the king's son under the bed, "that is where we will find it!"
-the next morning the giant got up early, and went into the forest, and no sooner had he gone than the prince and the king's daughter set about looking for his heart in the wardrobe. yet no matter how much they looked, they did not find it. "well, well," said the princess, "we will have to try once more." then she adorned the wardrobe with flowers and wreaths, and toward evening the king's youngest son again crawled under the bed. then the giant came: "hu hu, it smells of human flesh here!" he cried. "yes," said the princess. "a jackdaw just this moment flew by with a human bone in her beak, and she let it fall down the chimney. i threw it out again at once, but it may be that you can still smell it." when the giant heard this, he had nothing further to say about it. but not long afterward he noticed that the wardrobe was adorned with flowers and wreaths, and asked who had done it. "i," said the princess. "what do you mean by such tomfoolery?" asked the giant. "o, i am so fond of you that i had to do it, since i know that is where your heart lies," was the reply of the princess. "are you really so stupid as to believe that?" cried the giant. "yes, surely, i must believe it," said the princess, "when you tell me so." "how silly you are," said the giant, "you could never reach the place where i keep my heart." "but still i would like to know where it is," answered the princess. then the giant could no longer resist, and at last had to tell her the truth. "far, far away, in a lake there lies an island," said he, "and on the island stands a church, and in the church there is a well, and in the well floats a duck, and in the duck there is an egg, and in the egg--is my heart!"
-the next morning, before dawn, the giant went to the forest again. "well, now i must get under way," said the prince, "and it is a way i wish i could find." so he said farewell to the princess for the time being, and when he stepped out of the door, the wolf was standing there waiting for him. he told him what had happened at the giant's, and said that now he would go to the well in the church, if only he knew the way. the wolf told him to climb on his back. he would manage to find the way, said he. and then they were off as though they had wings, over rock and wood, over hill and dale. after they had been underway for many, many days, they at last reached the lake. then the king's son did not know how they were to get across. but the wolf told him not to worry, and swam across with the prince to the island. then they came to the church. but the church-key hung high up in the tower, and at first the king's son did not at all know how they were to get it down. "you must call the raven," said the wolf, and that is what the king's son did. and the raven came at once, and flew right down with the key, and now the prince could enter the church. then, when he came to the well, there was the duck, sure enough, swimming about as the giant had said. he stood by the well and called the duck, and at last he lured her near him, and seized her. but at the moment he grasped her and lifted her out of the water, she let the egg fall into the well, and now the prince again did not know how he was to get hold of it. "well, you must call the salmon," said the wolf. that is what the king's son did, and the salmon came at once, and brought up the egg from the bottom of the well. then the wolf told him to squeeze the egg a little. and when the prince squeezed, the giant cried out. "squeeze it again!" said the wolf, and when the prince did so, the giant cried out far more dolefully, and fearfully and tearfully begged for his life. he would do all the king's son asked him to, said he, if only he would not squeeze his heart in two. "tell him to give back their original form to your six brothers, whom he turned to stone, and to their brides, as well; and that then you will spare his life," said the wolf, and the prince did so. the troll at once agreed, and changed the six brothers into princes, and their brides into kings' daughters. "now squash the egg!" cried the wolf. then the prince squeezed the egg in two, and the giant burst into pieces.
-when the king's youngest son had put an end to the giant in this way, he rode back on his wolf to the giant's home; and there stood his six brothers as much alive as ever they had been, together with, their brides. then the prince went into the hill to get his own bride, and they all rode home together. and great was the joy of the old king when his seven sons all returned, each with his bride. "but the bride of my youngest is the most beautiful, after all, and he shall sit with her at the head of the table!" said the king. and then they had a feast that lasted for weeks, and if they have not stopped, they are feasting to this very day.
-the three princesses in whiteland
-once upon a time there was a fisherman, who lived near the king's castle, and caught fish for the king's table. one day when he had gone fishing, he could not catch a thing. try as he might, no matter how he baited or flung, not the tiniest fish would bite; but when this had gone on for a while, a head rose from the water and said: "if you will give me the first new thing that has come into your house, you shall catch fish a-plenty!" then the man agreed quickly, for he could think of no new thing that might have come into the house. so he caught fish all day long, and as many as he could wish for, as may well be imagined. but when he got home, he found that heaven had sent him a little son, the first new thing to come into the house since he had made his promise. and when he told his wife about it, she began to weep and wail, and pray to god because of the vow her husband had made. and the woman's grief was reported at the castle, and when it came to the king's ears, and he learned the reason, he promised to take the boy and see if he could not save him. and so the king took him and brought him up as though he were his own son, until he was grown. then one day the boy asked whether he might not go out fishing with his father, he wanted to so very much, said he. the king would not hear of it; but at last he was given permission, so he went to his father, and everything went well all day long, until they came home in the evening. then the son found he had forgotten his handkerchief, and went down to the boat to get it. but no sooner was he in the boat than it moved off with a rush, and no matter how hard the youth worked against it with the oars, it was all in vain. the boat drove on and on, all night long, and at last he came to a white strand, far, far away. he stepped ashore, and after he had gone a while he met an old man with a great, white beard. "what is this country called?" asked the youth. "whiteland," was the man's answer, and he asked the youth where he came from, and what he wanted, and the latter told him. "if you keep right on along the shore," said the man, "you will come to three princesses, buried in the earth so that only their heads show. then the first will call you--and she is the oldest--and beg you very hard to come to her and help her; and the next will do the same; but you must go to neither of them; walk quickly past them, and act as though you neither saw nor heard them. but go up to the third, and do what she asks of you, for then you will make your fortune."
-when the youth came to the first princess, she called out to him, and begged him most earnestly to come to her; but he went on as though he had not seen her. and he passed the next one in the same manner; but went over to the third. "if you will do what i tell you to, you shall have whichever one of us you want," said she. yes, he would do what she wanted. so she told him that three trolls had wished them into the earth where they were; but that formerly they had dwelt in the castle he saw on the edge of the forest.
-"now you must go to the castle, and let the trolls whip you one night through for each one of us," said she, "and if you can hold out, you will have delivered us." "yes," said the youth, he could manage that. "when you go in," added the princess, "you will find two lions standing by the door; but if you pass directly between them, they will do you no harm. go on into a dark little room and lie down, and then the troll will come and beat you; but after that you must take the bottle that hangs on the wall, and anoint yourself where he has beaten you, and you will be whole again. and take the sword that hangs beside the bottle, and kill the troll with it." he did as the princess had told him, passed between the lions as though he did not see them, and right into the little room, where he lay down. the first night a troll with three heads and three whips came, and beat the youth badly; but he held out, and when the troll had finished, he took the bottle and anointed himself, grasped the sword and killed the troll. when he came out in the morning the princesses were out of the ground up to their waists. the next night it was the same; but the troll who came this time had six heads and six whips, and beat him worse than the first one. but when he came out in the morning, the princesses were out of the ground up to their ankles. the third night came a troll who had nine heads and nine whips, and he beat and whipped the youth so severely that at last he fainted. then the troll took him and flung him against the wall, and as he did so the bottle fell down, and its whole contents poured over the youth, and he was at once sound and whole again. then he did not delay, but grasped the sword, killed the troll, and when he came out in the morning, the princesses were entirely out of the ground. so he chose the youngest of them to be his queen, and lived long with her in peace and happiness.
-but at last he was minded to travel home, and see how his parents fared. this did not suit his queen; but since he wanted to go so badly, and finally was on the point of departure, she said to him: "one thing you must promise me, that you will only do what your father tells you to do, but not what your mother tells you to do." and this he promised. then she gave him a ring which had the power of granting two wishes to the one who wore it. so he wished himself home, and his parents could not get over their surprise at seeing how fine and handsome he had become.
-when he had been home a few days, his mother wanted him to go up to the castle and show the king what a man he had grown to be. his father said: "no, he had better not do that, for we will have to do without him in the meantime." but there was no help for it, the mother begged and pleaded until he went. when he got there he was more splendidly dressed and fitted out than the other king. this did not suit the latter, and he said: "you can see what my queen looks like, but i cannot see yours; and i do not believe yours is as beautiful as mine." "god grant she were standing here, then you would see soon enough!" said the young king, and there she stood that very minute. but she was very sad, and said to him: "why did you not follow my advice and listen to your father? now i must go straight home, and you have used up both of your wishes." with that she bound a ring with her name on it in his hair, and wished herself home.
-then the young king grew very sad, and went about day in, day out, with no other thought than getting back to his queen. "i must try and see whether i cannot find out where whiteland is," thought he, and wandered forth into the wide world. after he had gone a while he came to a hill; and there he met one who was the lord of all the beasts of the forest--for they came when he blew his horn--and him the king asked where whiteland was. "that i do not know," said he, "but i will ask my beasts." then he called them up with his horn, and asked whether any of them knew where whiteland might be; but none of them knew anything about it.
-then the man gave him a pair of snowshoes. "if you stand in them," said he, "you will come to my brother, who lives a hundred miles further on. he is the lord of the birds of the air. ask him. when you have found him, turn the snowshoes around so that they point this way, and they will come back home of their own accord." when the king got there, he turned the snowshoes around, as the lord of the beasts had told him, and they ran home again. he asked about whiteland, and the man called up all the birds with his horn, and asked whether any of them knew where whiteland might be. but none of them knew. long after the rest an old eagle came along; and he had been out for some ten years, but did not know either.
-"well," said the man, "i will lend you a pair of snowshoes. when you stand in them you will come to my brother, who lives a hundred miles further on. he is the lord of all the fishes in the sea. ask him. but do not forget to turn the snowshoes around again." the king thanked him, stepped into the snowshoes, and when he came to the one who was lord of all the fishes in the sea, he turned them around, and they ran back like the others. there he once more asked about whiteland.
-the man called up his fishes with his horn, but none of them knew anything about it. at last there came an old, old carp, whom he had called with his horn only at the cost of much trouble. when he asked him, he said: "yes, i know it well, for i was cook there for fully ten years. to-morrow i have to go back again, because our queen, whose king has not come home again, is going to marry some one else." "if such be the case," said the man, "i'll give you a bit of advice. out there by the wall three brothers have been standing for the last hundred years, fighting with each other about a hat, a cloak and a pair of boots. any one who has these three things can make himself invisible, and wish himself away as far as ever he will. you might say that you would test their possessions, and then decide their quarrel for them." then the king thanked him, and did as he said. "why do you stand there fighting till the end of time?" said he to the brothers. "let me test your possessions if i am to decide your quarrel." that suited them; but when he had hat, cloak and boots, he told them: "i will give you my decision the next time we meet!" and with that he wished himself far away. while he was flying through the air he happened to meet the north wind. "and where are you going?" asked the north wind. "to whiteland," said the king, and then he told him what had happened to him. "well," said the north wind, "you are traveling a little quicker than i am; for i must sweep and blow out every corner. but when you come to your journey's end, stand on the steps beside the door, and then i'll come roaring up as though i were going to tear down the whole castle. and when the prince who is to have the queen comes and looks out to see what it all means, i'll just take him along with me."
-the king did as the north wind told him. he stationed himself on the steps; and when the north wind came roaring and rushing up, and laid hold of the castle walls till they fairly shook, the prince came out to see what it was all about. but that very moment the king seized him by the collar, and threw him out, and the north wind took him and carried him off. when he had borne him away, the king went into the castle. at first the queen did not recognize him, for he had grown thin and pale because he had wandered so long in his great distress; but when he showed her the ring, she grew glad at heart, and then they had a wedding which was such a wedding that the news of it spread far and wide.
-trouble and care
-far, far from here there once lived a king, who had three beautiful daughters. but he had no sons, and therefore he grew so fond of the three princesses that he granted their every wish. but in time the enemy invaded the country, and the king had to go to war. when he set out, the oldest princess begged him to buy her a ring that would prevent her dying as long as she wore it. the second princess asked him for a wreath that would make her happy whenever she looked at it, no matter how sad and troubled her heart might be. "buy me trouble and care!" said the youngest. and the king promised everything.
-when he had driven the enemy out of his own land, and out of the neighboring land as well, and was about to set out for home, he remembered what he had promised the three princesses. the ring and the wreath were easy enough to obtain; but trouble and care were to be had neither in one place nor in another, for all the people were so happy that the enemy had been driven out, that there was no sorrow nor care to be found in the entire kingdom. and since he could not buy it, it was not to be had at all, and he had to travel home without it, loathe as he was to do so.
-when he was not far from the castle, his way took him through a thick forest. and there sat a squirrel in a tree by the road. "buy me! buy me! my name is trouble and care!" it said. thought the king to himself, it is better to have a squirrel than two empty hands, so he brought it along for his youngest daughter. and she was quite as well pleased with her present as her two sisters were with the ring and the wreath. the squirrel played about in her room, sometimes it balanced itself on the bed-posts, at others it would sit on the top of the wardrobe, and it always had a great deal to chatter about.
-but as soon as it grew dark, it turned into a man. and he told her how an evil and malicious giantess dwelt in the golden forest, who had turned him into a squirrel because he would not marry her. during the night she had no power over him; but every morning at daybreak he had to slip back into his squirrel form.
-and in the course of time the princess actually wanted to marry trouble and care; but when they were betrothed, he begged her earnestly, and as best he knew how, never to light a light at night, and try to look at him, "for then both of us would be unhappy," said he. no, said she, she would be quite sure not to do so.
-and every evening, when the princess had lain down and blown out the light, she would hear a man go into trouble and care's room; but when morning dawned, the squirrel sat on her bed-post and greeted her, and chattered and babbled about all sorts of things.
-once, when she thought trouble and care had gone to sleep, she could not help herself; but stood up quietly, lit a light and crept softly into his room and to his bed, and when the ray of light fell on him, she saw that he was far, far handsomer than the most handsome prince. he was so surpassingly handsome that she bent over him in order to see more clearly, and finally she could not help herself, but had to kiss him. and then, three drops of wax from the candle fell on his chest, and he awoke.
-"but how could you have done this!" he cried, and was quite unhappy. "had you only waited three days longer, i should have been free!" said he. "but now i must return to the evil giantess and marry her, and all is over between us." "can i not follow you there?" asked the princess. "no, that is something you could not do in all your days, for if you rest or even so much as bend your knees to sit down, you will go back during the night as far as you came forward during the day," said he; leaped to the door, and disappeared.
-then the princess wept and wailed, and waited for him to return; but she heard and saw nothing more of him. after a few days she grew so restless and wretched that she could no longer remain at home, and implored her maid to go along with her to search for the golden forest. the girl finally allowed herself to be moved; but she would not agree to set out until she had gotten together a yard of drilling, a yard of ticking, and a yard of fine linen; and she got them at once, as you may imagine, for there was no shortage of such things in the castle.
-so they set out and wandered far, and ever farther, until their feet ached, and their spirits fell. toward evening they came into the middle of a thick, dark forest; and climbed up into a high tree. the princess was so tired that the maid had to hold her in her arms while she slept a little. but during the night the ground about the tree grew alive with wolves, in the most sinister fashion, and they howled and cried, so that the princess did not venture to close her eyes another moment. but when daylight appeared in the skies, it seemed as though the wolves had suddenly all been blown away.
-the following day they wandered far and ever farther, until their feet ached more, and their spirits sank lower. toward evening they again came to the middle of a thick, dark forest. and they once more climbed into a high, high tree; but the princess was so tired that the maid had to hold her in her arms while she slept a little. when it grew darker, a most alarming number of bears flocked together under the tree, and began to dance and turn in a circle, with alarming speed, and all at once they tried to climb the tree. so the princess and her maid had to stand up in the tree-top the whole night through, and could not close an eye; but when day came, it seemed as though the bears sank into the earth in a single moment.
-the third day they wandered far and ever farther, and then a bit more. toward evening they again came to a thick, dark forest. there they again climbed into a high, high tree; but no sooner were they up in the tree than the ground beneath the tree and the whole forest were alive with lions, and they all roared and howled together in such a gruesome way that the echoes came back from rock and woodland. suddenly they began to dance and whirl around in such a terrible fashion that the earth trembled, and in between they would clutch the tree again, and try to shake and loosen it, as though they would pull it out root and branch. the princess and her maid had to stand up in the very tree-top, and though they were so tired they could have fallen down from time to time, neither of them dared think of sleeping. but the moment day dawned, the lions all suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth, where they were, walking and standing.
-then they stumbled along, this way and that, the whole day long, until their feet ached harder than hard, and their spirits sank lower than low. they lost path and direction, and though they hunted north and south and east and west, they could not find the way out of the great, dark forest.
-at last the princess grew tired and sad beyond all measure, and wanted to sit down every moment, in order to rest a little; but the maid held her and dragged her forward, and never let her bend her knees for a moment to sit down, because then they would have gone back just as far as they had come that day; for you must know that the giantess in the golden forest had so arranged matters.
-in the evening they came to an enormous, horrible rock. "i will knock here," said the maid, and tapped and knocked. "o no," said the princess, "please don't knock here, you can see how ugly everything is here!" "who is knocking there at my door?" cried the giantess in the rock, in a loud, harsh manner, opened the door, and stuck her nose--it was all of a yard long--out through the crack.
-"the youngest princess and her maid, they want to get to a prince in the golden forest, whose name is trouble and care," was the maid's reply.
-"o, faugh!" cried the giantess, "that is so far to the north that one can neither sail nor row there. but what do you want of trouble and care? is this, perhaps, the princess who wanted to marry him?" asked the giantess. yes, this was the princess. "well, she will never get him as long as she lives," said the giantess, "for now he must marry the great giantess in the golden forest. you might just as well go back home now as later," said she. no, they would not turn back for anything, and the maid asked whether it would not be possible for her to take them in for the darkest part of the night. "i can take you in easily enough," said the giantess, "but when my husband comes home he will tear off your heads, and eat you up!" but there was no help for it, they could not go on in the middle of the night. then the maid pulled out the yard of ticking, and gave it to the giantess for linen. "it can't be true! it can't be true!" cried she. "here i have been married all of a hundred years, and have never yet had any ticking!" and she was so pleased that she invited the wanderers in, received them kindly, and took the best care of them. after a while, when they had strengthened themselves with food and drink, the giantess said to them: "yes, he is a ferocious fellow, is my husband, and i will have to hide you in the anteroom. perhaps he will not find you then." and she prepared a bed for them, as soft and comfortable as a bed can be; but they did not care to lie down in it, nor sit in it; no, they could not even close their eyes, for they had to watch to see that their knees did not bend. so they stood the whole night through, and took turns holding each other up, for by now the maid was so weary and wretched that she was ready to give in.
-toward midnight it began to thunder and rumble in a terrible manner. this was the troll coming home; and no sooner had he thrust his first head in at the door than he cried out loudly and harshly: "faugh! faugh! i smell christian bodies!" and he rushed about in so wild and furious a manner that the sparks flew. "yes," said the giantess, "a bird flew past with a bone from a christian, and he let it drop down the chimney. i threw it out again as quickly as i could, but perhaps one can smell it still," said the giantess, and soothed him again. and he was satisfied with her explanation. but the next morning the giantess told him that the youngest princess and her maid had come in search of a prince named trouble and care, in the golden forest. "o faugh! that is so far to the north that one can neither sail nor row there!" the troll at once cried. "it is the princess who wanted to marry him, i know, but she will never get him as long as she lives, for he has to marry the great giantess in three days' time. but the maidens shall not get away from me! where are they, where are they?" he cried, and sniffed and snuffed about in every corner. "o no, you must not touch them," said the giantess. "they have given me a yard of ticking, and here i have been married now for more than a hundred years, and have never owned any ticking. therefore you must lend them your seven-mile waistcoat to the nearest neighbor," said the giantess, and pleaded for the girls. and the troll was willing when he heard how kind they had been to his wife.
-when they had eaten and were ready to travel, he put his seven-mile waistcoat on them: "and now you must repeat: 'forward over willow bush and pine-tree, over hill and dale, to the nearest neighbor,'" said he. "and when you get there you must say: 'you are to be hung up this evening where you were put on this morning!'" the maidens did as he said, and were carried for miles, over hill and dale. in the evening, at dusk, they again came to a great, ugly rock. there they pulled off the seven-mile waistcoat and said: "you are to be hung up this evening where you were put on this morning," and then the waistcoat ran home by itself.
-toward midnight it began to rumble and thunder in such a terrible manner that they could feel the earth tremble beneath them. then the troll came rushing in. "faugh! faugh! i smell christian bodies!" he cried out loudly and harshly, and thrashed about in such a furious way that the sparks flew from him as from a fire. "yes," said the giantess, "a bird flew by, and let a bone from a christian fall through the chimney. i threw it out again as quickly as i could, but it may well be the case that the smell still lingers," said she, and quieted her husband. and he was satisfied with her explanation. but when he got up in the morning, she told him that the youngest princess and her maid had come in search of a prince named trouble and care, in the golden forest. when the troll heard that, he also said that it was so far north that one could neither sail nor row there. "that is the princess who wanted to marry him. yes, i know; but she will never get him as long as she lives, for he must marry the great giantess herself in two days' time," said the troll. "and where are they, these maidens? they shall not escape from me with their lives!" he shouted, and sniffed and snuffed about everywhere. "o no, you must not harm them!" said the giantess, and told him that they had given her a yard of drilling for linen. "therefore you must lend them your seven-mile waistcoat to the nearest neighbor," said she. and he was willing at once, when he heard how kind they had been to his giantess. when they had eaten in the morning, he put his seven-mile waistcoat on them. "when you reach your goal, you need only say: 'where you were put on this morning, there you are to hang again to-night!' and then the seven-mile waistcoat will travel home by itself," said the troll. then they were carried for miles, over hill and dale, on and on. in the evening, at dusk, they again came to a great, ugly rock.
-"i will knock here!" said the maid, and knocked and thumped on the rock. "o no," said the princess, "please do not knock here, you can see how sinister everything looks here!" "who is thumping at my door?" the giantess cried inside the rock, in a ruder and harsher manner than the other two giantesses, and she opened the door just far enough so that she could thrust her nose, which was all of three yards long, through the crack. "here stand the youngest princess and her maid, in search of a prince named trouble and care, who lives in the golden forest," was the maid's reply. "o faugh!" cried the giantess, "that is so far to the north that one can neither sail nor row there. but what do you want of trouble and care? is this, perhaps, the princess who wanted to marry him?" asked the giantess. yes, this was the princess, was the maid's reply. then this giantess said in turn: "he must marry the great giantess in the golden forest, so you might just as well turn back home now as later!" but this the maidens did not want to do at all, and the maid asked whether, perhaps, she would not take them in for the night, and if it were only for the very darkest part of the night.
-"yes, i can take you in easily enough," said the giantess, "but when my husband comes home to-night he will tear off your heads and eat you up!" but there was nothing else to do; they could not travel on through the wood and wilderness, in the very darkest part of the night. then the maid pulled out the yard of linen and made the giantess a present of it. "it can't be true! it can't be true!" cried she. "here i have been married now for more than three hundred years, and have never yet had a bit of linen!" and she was so pleased that she invited the maidens in, and received them kindly, and let them want for nothing. "he is a ferocious fellow, is my husband, and he does away with every christian soul that strays here," she said, when her guests had eaten. "but i will hide you in the anteroom. perhaps he will not find you there." then she carefully made up a soft bed for them, as fine as the finest in the world. but now the princess was weary and wretched and sleepy beyond all measure. she could no longer stand up at all, and finally had to lie down and sleep a little, and even though it were but a tiny little while. the maid was also so weary and wretched that she fell asleep standing, and fell over from time to time. yet she still managed to keep her wits about her to the extent of seizing the princess, and holding her up, so that she did not bend her knees. toward midnight it began to rumble and thunder so that the whole house shook, and it seemed as though the roof and walls would fall in. this was the great troll, who was coming home. when he thrust his first nose in at the door, he at once cried out in a manner so wild and harsh that the like had never been heard before: "faugh! faugh! i smell christian bodies!" and he fell into a white rage, so that sparks and flame flew from him. "yes, a bird flew by, and let a bone from a christian fall through the chimney. i threw it out as quickly as ever i could; but it may be that the smell still persists!" said the giantess, and tried to pacify her troll. and he was satisfied with her explanation. but when he awoke in the morning, she told him that the youngest princess and her maid had come in search of a prince named trouble and care, who lived in the golden forest. "o faugh! that is so far north that one can neither sail nor row there!" cried the great troll, just as the smaller trolls had. "but she will never get him as long as she lives, for to-morrow he must marry the great giantess. where are they, these maidens? hm, hm, hm, they will make tasty eating!" he cried, and danced around everywhere, and sniffed and snuffed with all his nine noses at once. "o no, you must not harm them!" cried the giantess. "they have given me a yard of linen, and here i have been married for more than three hundred years, and have never had a bit of linen yet. therefore you must lend them your seven-mile waistcoat to the nearest neighbor." and when the super-troll heard that the maidens had been so kind, he was agreeable.
-when they had strengthened themselves in the morning, he put his seven-mile waistcoat on them. "and now you must repeat: 'on, on! over willow brush and pine tree, over hill and dale, to the nearest neighbor.' and when you reach your goal, you need only say: 'you must hang again to-night on the nail from which you were taken down this morning!'" said the great troll. they did as he had told them, and were carried farther and farther along, over hills and deep valleys.
-"i will knock here!" said the maid. "o no, o no," wailed the princess, "please do not knock here, you can see how ugly everything is!" "if you do not do as i do, then it will be the worse for both of us!" said the maid; trampled through the rubbish-pile and knocked. an old, old troll-woman with a nose all of three yards long, looked out through the crack in the door. "if you girls want to come in, then come in, and if you do not want to, you can stay out!" said she, and made as though to close the door in their faces. "yes, indeed, we want to come in," replied the maid, and drew the princess in with her. "if you girls want to come through the door, then come through, but if you do not want to, you can stay out," the woman said once more. "yes, thanks, we want to come in," said the maid, and tramped over the threshold through the dirt and rags. "alas, alas!" wailed the princess, and tramped after her. all was black and ugly inside, and as grimy and dirty as a corn-loft. after a while the giantess went out, and fetched them some milk to drink. "if you girls want to drink, why, drink, and if you do not, why, do without!" said she, and was about to carry it out again. "yes, thanks, we want to drink," said the maid, and drank. "alas, alas!" wailed the princess, when it came her turn, for the milk was in a pig-trough, and dirt and clots of hair were swimming in it. then the giantess gave them something to eat. "if you girls want to eat, why, eat, and if you do not, why, do without," said the giantess. "yes, indeed, we will be glad to," said the maid, before the ugly nosey could take the food away again. the bread was moldly, mice had been nibbling at the cheese, the meat was so old that one could smell it at a distance, and two dirty calves' tails were draped about the butter. "alas, alas!" wailed the princess, and was ready to cry; but she had to do what her maid did, and taste the horrible dishes. then they had to say they were much obliged. an old man, whom thus far they had not seen, lay on a bed covered with a few old odds and ends of fur and other rags. when they went up to him to thank him, he stood up, and when the princess gave him her hand he kissed it; and at that very moment he turned into a prince handsome beyond all measure, and the princess saw that he was trouble and care, for whom she had so greatly longed. "now you have delivered me!" he said. "woe to whoever has delivered you!" cried the giantess, and rushed out of the door; but on the door-step she stood like a stone, for the forest was no longer black, and all the trees looked as though they had been gilded from root to crest, and glittered and sparkled more brightly than the sun at noon-day. the wretched, dirty hut had changed into a royal castle, immensely large and handsome. one might have thought that the roof and walls were made of the purest gold and silver, and so they were. "now you may bend your knee again," said the prince, "and if you have hitherto known nothing but sorrow and care, you shall henceforth know all the more happiness."
-the old giantess had brewed and baked, and prepared the whole wedding dinner. and when the next day dawned, the prince and the princess, and all the people in the castle, and in the whole country over which he was king, celebrated the wedding. and it lasted for four times fourteen days, so that the news spread through seven kingdoms, and reached the bride's father and her two sisters. and they would have celebrated it with them, had they not been so far away. i was invited to the feast myself, and the bridegroom made me chief cook, and i had to speak the toast for the bride and groom. but on the last day of the feast, i had to draw mead from a large, large cask that lay at the farthest end of the cellar. before i sent off the filled jug, i took a taste myself, and the mead was so strong that it suddenly went to my head, and i flew through the air like a bird, and there i was, floating between heaven and earth for full nine years, and then i fell down here in the village, in front of the house up there on the hill. and out came bertha friendly, with a letter for me from the prince, who had become king in the meantime, and the letter said that he and the young queen were doing well, and that they sent me their greetings, and that i was to greet you for them, and that you and your sisters were invited to the castle sunday after michaelmas, and then you should see a pair of dear little princes, the golden forest, and the old stone giantess, who stands before the door with her nose three yards long.
-once upon a time there was a king whose wife had died, but he had a daughter who was so good and so beautiful that no one could have been kinder or lovelier than she. the king mourned a long time for the queen, because he had loved her greatly; but in the course of time he grew weary of his lonely life, and married again with the widow of another king, who also had a daughter; but one who was just as ugly and evil as the other was handsome and kind. the step-mother and daughter were jealous of the king's daughter, because she was so handsome; yet so long as the king was at home, they did not dare harm her, for he was very fond of her. but after a time, the king began to war against another king, and went out to battle. then the queen thought she now could do as she wished, and she let the king's daughter starve, and beat and pushed her about everywhere. at last everything else was too good for her, and she had to herd the cows. so she went out with the cows, and pastured them in the forest or on the hill. food she had little or none, and she grew pale and thin, and was sad most of the time, and wept. in the herd there was also a great blue bull, who always kept himself neat and clean, and often came to the queen's daughter and let her scratch him. once, as she sat there and cried and was sad, he came to her again, and asked why she was so unhappy. she did not answer him but kept on weeping. "well, i know what your trouble is," said the bull, "even though you will not tell me. you are weeping because the queen is so unkind to you, and would gladly starve you to death. but you need not worry about food, for in my left ear is a cloth and, if you will take it out and spread it, you can have as much as you want to eat." she did so, took out the cloth, laid it on the grass, and it was at once covered with the finest dishes one might desire: bread and mead and honey-cake. then she soon regained her strength, and grew so plump, and so rose and white complexioned that the queen and her daughter, who was as thin as a rail, turned green and yellow with envy. the queen could not understand how it was that her step-daughter came to look so well in spite of such poor fare. so she told a maid to follow her to the forest, and watch and see how it came about; for she thought some of the servants secretly gave her food. the maid followed her into the forest, and watched carefully, and saw how the step-daughter drew the cloth out of the blue bull's left ear, and spread it out, and how it covered itself with the finest dishes, and also how the king's daughter ate heartily. and the maid told the queen at home about it.
-now the king came home, and he had defeated the other king, against whom he had warred; and the whole castle was overjoyed, and none was more joyful than the king's daughter. but the queen pretended to be ill, and gave the physician a great deal of money so that he should say that she could not recover unless she had some of the blue bull's flesh to eat. the king's daughter and others as well asked the physician whether nothing else would do, and pleaded for the bull; for all liked him, and said that there was not such another in the whole kingdom. but no, he must be slaughtered, and he should be slaughtered, and there was no help for it. when the king's daughter heard this, she felt sad, and went into the stable to the bull. he stood and hung his head, and looked so mournful that she could not keep from weeping. "why do you weep?" asked the bull. then she told him that the king had come home, and that the queen had pretended to be ill, and had forced the physician to say that she could not recover unless she had some of the blue bull's flesh to eat, and that now he was to be slaughtered. "once she has done away with me, it will not be long before she does away with you," said the bull. "but if it suits you, we will run away from here to-night." the king's daughter did say that it would be bad enough to leave her father, but that at the same time it would be worse to remain under the same roof with the queen, and so she promised the bull to go with him.
-in the evening, while the rest were asleep, the king's daughter crept down to the bull in the stable. he took her on his back, and ran off as quickly as ever he could. and when the people rose the following morning, and wanted to slaughter the bull, he was gone; and when the king rose and asked for his daughter, she was gone as well. the king sent out messengers on all sides, and had the church-bells rung for her, but no one had seen anything of her.
-in the meantime the bull trotted through many lands with the king's daughter, and they came to a great copper forest, whose trees, leaves and flowers were all of copper. but before they entered it, the bull said to the king's daughter: "now when we get into the forest you must be very careful not to touch so much as a single leaf, or else it is all up with you and with me; for a troll with three heads lives here, and the forest belongs to him." yes, indeed, she would be careful, and not touch anything. and she was very careful, and leaned to one side, and thrust aside the branches; but the forest was so thick that it was almost impossible to win through, and for all that she was so careful, she did tear off a leaf, and it remained in her hand.
-before the bull entered the forest he said to the king's daughter: "now when we get into this forest, in heaven's name be careful! you must touch nothing, and not even tear off so much as a single leaf, or else it is all up with you and me. a troll with six heads lives here, and the forest belongs to him, and i will hardly be able to hold my own against him!"
-"yes," said the king's daughter, "indeed i will be careful, and not touch the least thing, just as you have told me." but when they entered the forest, it was so thick that it was almost impossible to win through. she was as careful as she could be, and avoided the branches, and thrust them aside with her hands; but the branches struck her in the face each moment, and in spite of all her care a leaf did remain in her hand.
-"alas, alas!" cried the bull. "what have you done! now i must fight for my very life, for the troll with six heads is twice as strong as the first one; but see that you take care of the leaf and keep it carefully!"
-at last they set out again; but the bull was still weak, and at first they went slowly. the king's daughter wanted to spare him, and said she was young and quick on her feet, and could walk very well; but this he would not allow, and she had to sit on his back. thus they wandered for a long time, and through many lands, and the king's daughter had no idea where they might be going; but at length they came to a golden forest. it was very beautiful, and the gold dripped down from it, for the trees, and branches and leaves and buds were all of purest gold. and here all went as it had in the copper and silver forests. the bull told the king's daughter that in no case was she to touch anything, since a troll with nine heads lived here, to whom the forest belonged. and he was much larger and stronger than the two others together, and he did not believe he could hold his own against him. yes, said she, she would be sure to pay attention and positively would not touch a thing. but when they entered the forest, it was even thicker than the silver forest, and the further they went the worse it became. the forest grew thicker and denser, and at last it seemed as though it would be impossible to push on at all. she was much afraid of tearing off anything, and wound and twisted and bent herself in every direction, in order to avoid the branches, and thrust them aside with her hands. but each moment they struck her in the face, so that she could not see where she was reaching, and before she had a chance to think, she held a golden apple in her hand. then she was terribly frightened, and began to cry, and wanted to throw it away. but the bull told her to keep it, and hide it carefully, and consoled her as best he could. yet he thought that the battle would be a hard one, and was in doubt as to whether it would end well.
-but now the troll with the nine heads came rushing up, and he was so frightful that the king's daughter could scarcely bear to look at him. "who has touched my forest?" he shouted. "the forest is as much mine as yours!" cried the bull. "we'll see if it is!" cried the troll. "that suits me!" said the bull, and with this they rushed on each other, so that it was a fearsome sight, and the king's daughter nearly fainted. the bull gored the troll through and through with his horns; but the troll was as strong as he, and as soon as the bull killed one of his heads, the others breathed fresh life into it, and it took a full week before the bull got the better of him. but then he was so wretched and so weak that he could not move a bit. his whole body was covered with wounds; and he could not even tell the king's daughter to take the horn of ointment from the troll's girdle and anoint him with the salve. but she did so of her own accord, and then he recovered again. yet they had to stay where they were for three whole weeks, until he was able to go on again.
-at last they once more went slowly on their way; for the bull said they still had a little further to go, and they went over many great hills and through thick forests. after a time they came to a rock. "do you see anything?" asked the bull. "no, i see only the sky and the rock," said the king's daughter. but when they went on up the hills were more level, so that they had a broader outlook. "do you see something now?" asked the bull. "yes, i see a small castle, far, far in the distance," said the princess. "and yet it is not so small," said the bull. at length they came to a great mountain with a steep, rocky face. "do you see something now?" asked the bull. "yes, now i see the castle close by, and it is much, much larger," said the king's daughter. "that is where you must go!" said the bull. "just below the castle is a pig-sty, and if you go into it you will find a wooden coat. you must put it on, and go with it into the castle, and say your name is kari woodencoat, and ask for a place. but now take your little knife and cut off my head; then draw off my skin, roll it up and lay it at the foot of the rock. but in it you must place the copper leaf, and the silver leaf, and the golden apple. outside, against the hill, is a stick, and if you want anything of me, all you need do is to knock at the mountain-side." at first the princess could not at all make up her mind to do this; but when the bull told her that this was the only reward he wanted for all the good he had done her, she could not refuse. it made her heart ache, yet in spite of it, she took her knife and cut until she had cut off the head of the great beast, and had drawn off his skin, and then she laid the latter at the foot of the rock, and in it she placed the copper leaf, and the silver leaf, and the golden apple.
-when she had done this she went to the pig-sty, but she wept a great deal and felt sad. then she put on the wooden coat, and went to the king's castle in it. she asked for a place in the kitchen, and said her name was kari woodencoat. yes, said the cook, she might have a place if she cared to wash up, for the girl who had formerly attended to it had run away. "and after you have been here a while, no doubt you will have enough of it, and run away from us, too," said he. no, indeed, she would not do so.
-and then, as she ran up the stairs, her wooden coat clattered so loudly that the prince came out and asked: "and who are you?" "i came to bring you water to wash in," said kari. "do you think i want the water you are bringing me?" cried the prince, and poured the water out over her head. so she had to go off; but she asked permission to go to church. and she received permission, for the church was close by. but first she went to the rock and knocked at it with a stick, as the bull had told her. and a man came out at once and asked what she wanted. the king's daughter said that she had permission to go to church and hear the sermon, but that she had no dress to wear. then the man gave her a dress that shone like the copper forest, and a horse and a saddle as well. when she came to church she looked so beautiful that all the people wondered who she might be, and none of them listened to the sermon, because they were all looking at her. she even pleased the prince so much that he could not keep from looking at her.
-when she left the church, the prince came after her, and closed the church door behind her, and kept one of the gloves she wore in his hand. and then when she wanted to mount her horse, the prince came again, and asked her where she came from. "from washwaterland!" said kari, and while the prince pulled out the glove and wanted to give it to her, she said:
-"be there light before me, and darkness behind, that the place i ride to the prince may not find!"
-the prince had never yet seen such a handsome glove, and he traveled far, looking for the native land of the noble lady who had abandoned her glove, but no one could tell him where it might be.
-the following sunday some one had to go up to the prince, and bring him a towel. "cannot i go up?" begged kari. "is that all you want?" said the rest in the kitchen. "you saw yourself what happened to you the last time!" but kari kept on asking, and finally she received permission, after all, and ran up the stairs so that her wooden coat fairly clattered. the prince at once thrust his head out of the door, and when he saw that it was kari, he tore the towel out of her hand and flung it at her head. "off with you, you horrid creature!" cried he. "do you think i want a towel that you have touched with your dirty fingers?"
-"be there light before me, and darkness behind, that the place i ride to the prince may not find!"
-off she was, and the prince did not know what had become of her. he wandered about in the world, far and wide, looking for her native land. but no one could tell him where it might be, and with that the prince finally had to content himself.
-the following sunday some one was to go up to the prince, and bring him a comb. kari begged that they would let her go, but the others reminded her of what had happened the last time, and scolded her for showing herself to the prince, ugly and black as she was, and in her wooden coat. but she kept on asking, and finally they let her go with the comb. when she once more came clattering up the stairs, the prince thrust his head out of the door, tore the comb from her hand, and shouted at her to be off. then the prince went to church, and kari wanted to go as well. the rest again asked her why she wanted to go to church, black and ugly as she was, since she did not even have clothes fit to appear in before other people. the prince, or some one else might happen to see her, and that would mean unhappiness for herself and others. but kari said that the people would have other things to look at besides herself, and finally they let her go.
-then everything happened exactly as on the other two occasions. she went to the wall of rock, and knocked with the stick, and then the man came out, and gave her a dress that was far more beautiful than both of the others. it was all pure gold and diamonds, and she also received a beautiful horse, with housings embroidered with gold, and a golden bridle.
-when the king's daughter came to the church, the pastor and all the congregation were still standing before the church door, waiting for her. the prince came running up at once, and wanted to hold her horse, but she jumped down and said: "no, thanks, it is not necessary, for my horse is so tame that he will remain standing when i tell him to do so." so they all went into the church, and the pastor mounted the pulpit. but not a soul listened to the sermon, because all the people were looking at the princess, and wondering where she came from, and the prince fell still more deeply in love than he had on the two other occasions. he paid no attention to anything, and looked only at her.
-when the sermon was over, and the king's daughter left the church, the prince had poured tar on the floor of the vestibule, so that he might have a chance to help the king's daughter across. but she paid no attention to it, stepped right into the middle of the tar, and leaped over. but one of her golden shoes stuck fast, and when she had mounted her horse, the prince came running out of the church and asked her whence she came. "from combland!" she answered. but when the prince wanted to hand her the golden shoe, she said:
-"be there light before me, and darkness behind, that the place i ride to the prince may not find!"
-and again the prince did not know where she had gone, and he wandered about the world a long time, looking for combland; but since no one could tell him where it might be, he let it be known that he would marry the girl whose foot the golden shoe fitted. then the handsome and the homely came scurrying up from the ends of the earth; but none of them had a foot so small that they could put on the golden shoe. at last kari's evil stepmother and her daughter also came, and the shoe fitted the latter. but she was very homely, and looked so unsatisfactory that the prince kept his promise most unwillingly. notwithstanding, preparations were made for the wedding, and she was adorned with her bridal finery, but when they rode to church, a little bird sat in a tree and sang:
-"a bit of the heel, and a bit of the toe, kari woodencoat's shoe is filled with blood, i know!"
-and when they looked, the bird had told the truth, for blood was dripping from the shoe. then all the maids and all the women who were at the castle had to try on the shoe, but it would fit none of them. "but where is kari woodencoat?" asked the prince, for he had understood the song of the bird, and remembered it well. "o she!" said the others. "it is not worth while having her come, for she has feet like a horse." "be that as it may," said the prince. "but all the rest have tried it on, so she shall try it on as well. kari!" he called out through the door, and kari came clattering up the stairs so that everything shook, just as though a whole regiment of dragoons had arrived. "now you shall try on the golden shoe, and be a princess!" said the others, and made fun of her. but kari took the shoe, put her foot into it without a bit of trouble, cast off her wooden coat, and stood there in her golden dress, so that she was all a-sparkle, and on her other foot she had the golden shoe's mate. the prince recognized her at once, put his arm around her, and kissed her. and she told him that she was a king's daughter, which made him still more happy, and then they celebrated their wedding.
-"spin, span, spun, now our tale is done!"
-once upon a time there lived a man in the forest of dovre whose name was ola storbaekkjen. he was of giant build, powerful and fearless. during the winter he did not work, but traveled from one fair to another, hunting up quarrels and brawls. from christiansmarkt he went to branaes and konigsberg, and thence to grundsaet, and wherever he came squabbles and brawls broke out, and in every brawl he was the victor. in the summer he dealt in cattle at valders and the fjords, and fought with the fjord-folk and the hill people of halling and valders, and always had the best of it. but sometimes they scratched him a bit with the knife, did those folk.
-now once, at the time of the hay harvest, he was home at baekkjen, and had lain down to take a little after-dinner nap under the penthouse. and he was taken into the hill, which happened in the following way: a man with a pair of gilded goat's horns came along and butted ola, but ola fell upon him so that the man had to duck back, again and again. but the stranger stood up once more, and began to butt again, and finally he took ola under his arm like a glove, and then both of them flew straight off into the hill.
-in the place to which they came all was adorned with silver plates and dishes, and with ornaments of silver, and ola thought that the king himself had nothing finer. they offered him mead, which he drank; but eat he would not, for the food did not seem to him to be appetizing. suddenly the man with the gilded goat's horns came in, and gave ola a shove before he knew it; but ola came back at him as before, and so they beat and pulled each other through all the rooms, and along all the walls. ola was of the opinion that they had been at it all night long; but by that time the scuffle had lasted over fourteen days, and they had already tolled the church bells for him on three successive thursday evenings. on the third thursday evening he was in ill ease, for the people in the hill had in mind to thrust him forth. when the bells stopped ringing, he sat at a crack in the hill, with his head looking out. had not a man come by and happened to spy him, and told the people to keep on ringing the church-bells, the hill would have closed over him again, and he would probably still be inside. but when he came out he had been so badly beaten, and was so miserable, that it passed all measure. the lumps on his head were each bigger than the other, his whole body was black and blue, and he was quite out of his mind. and from time to time he would leap up, run off and try to get back into the hill to take up his quarrel again, and fight for the gilded goat's horns. for those he wanted to break from the giant's forehead.
-the cat who could eat so much
-once upon a time there was a man who had a cat, and she ate so very much that he did not want to keep her any longer. so he decided to tie a stone around her neck, and throw her into the river; but before he did so she was to have something to eat just once more. the woman offered her a dish of mush and a little potful of fat. these she swallowed, and then jumped out of the window. there stood the man on the threshing-floor.
-"good-day, man in the house," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat," said the man. "have you had anything to eat yet to-day?"
-"good-day, woman in the stable," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat, is that you?" said the woman. "have you eaten your food?" she asked.
-"good-day, cow at the manger," said the cat to the bell-cow.
-"good-day, leaf-sweeper in the orchard," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat," said the man. "have you had anything to eat yet to-day?"
-then she came to a stone-pile. there stood the weasel, looking about him.
-"good-day, weasel on the stone-pile," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat," said the weasel. "have you had anything to eat yet to-day?"
-after she had gone a while, she came to a hazel-bush. there sat the squirrel, gathering nuts.
-"good-day, squirrel in the bush," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you already had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the squirrel.
-after she had gone a little while longer, she met reynard the fox, who was peeping out of the edge of the forest.
-"good-day, fox, you sly-boots," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the fox.
-"o, only a little. my fast has hardly been broken," said the cat. "i have had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush, and i'm thinking over whether i ought not to eat you as well," said she, and seized the fox and ate him up too.
-when she had gone a little further, she met a hare.
-"good-day, you hopping hare," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the hare.
-when she had gone a little further, she met a wolf.
-"good-day, you wild wolf," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the wolf.
-"o, only a little. my fast has hardly been broken," said the cat. "i have had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the hopping hare, and i'm thinking over whether i ought not to eat you up as well," said she, and seized the wolf and ate him up, too.
-then she went into the wood, and when she had gone far and farther than far, over hill and dale, she met a young bear.
-"good-day, little bear brown-coat," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the bear.
-when the cat had gone a bit further, she met the mother bear, who was clawing at the tree-stems so that the bark flew, so angry was she to have lost her little one.
-"good-day, you biting mother bear," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the mother bear.
-"o, only a little. my fast has hardly been broken," said the cat. "i have had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the hopping hare and the wild wolf and the little bear brown-coat, and i'm thinking over whether i ought not to eat you as well," said she, and seized the mother bear and ate her, too.
-when the cat had gone on a little further, she met the bear himself.
-"good-day, bruin good-fellow," said she.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" asked the bear.
-"o, only a little. my fast has hardly been broken," said the cat. "i have had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel in the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the hopping hare and the wild wolf and the little bear brown-coat and the biting mother bear, and now i'm thinking over whether i ought not to eat you as well," said she, and she seized the bear and ate him up, too.
-then the cat went far and farther than far, until she came into the parish. and there she met a bridal party on the road.
-"good-day, bridal party on the road," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?"
-"o, only a little. my fast is hardly broken," said the cat. "i have had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the hopping hare and the wild wolf and the little bear brown-coat and the biting mother bear and bruin good-fellow and now i'm thinking whether i ought not to eat you up as well," said she, and she pounced on the whole bridal party, and ate it up, with the cook, the musicians, the horses and all.
-when she had gone a bit farther, she came to the church. and there she met a funeral procession.
-"good-day, funeral procession at the church," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the funeral procession.
-"o, only a little. my fast has hardly been broken," said the cat. "i have had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the hopping hare and the wild wolf and little bear brown-coat and the biting mother bear and bruin good-fellow and the bridal party on the road, and now i'm thinking over whether i ought not to eat you up as well," said she, and pounced on the funeral procession, and ate up corpse and procession.
-when the cat had swallowed it all, she went straight on up to the sky, and when she had gone far and farther than far, she met the moon in a cloud.
-"good-day, moon in a cloud," said the cat.
-"good-day, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the moon.
-"o, only a little. my fast has hardly been broken," said the cat. "i have had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the wild wolf and little bear brown-coat and the biting mother bear and bruin good-fellow and the bridal party on the road and the funeral procession at the church, and now i'm thinking over whether i ought not to eat you up as well," said she, and pounced on the moon and ate him up, half and full.
-then the cat went far and farther than far, and met the sun.
-"good morning, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the sun.
-then the cat went far and farther than far, until she came to a bridge, and there she met a large billy-goat.
-"good morning, billy-goat on the broad bridge," said the cat.
-"good morning, cat! have you had anything to eat yet to-day?" said the goat.
-"o, only a little. my fast has hardly been broken," said the cat. "i had no more than a dish of mush and a little potful of fat and the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the hopping hare and the wild wolf and little bear brown-coat and the biting mother bear and bruin good-fellow and the bridal party on the road and the funeral procession at the church and the moon in a cloud and the sun in the sky, and now i'm thinking over whether i ought not to eat you up as well," said she.
-"we'll fight about that first of all," said the goat, and butted the cat with his horns so that she rolled off the bridge, and fell into the water, and there she burst.
-then they all crawled out, and each went to his own place, all whom the cat had eaten up, and were every one of them as lively as before, the man in the house and the woman in the stable and the bell-cow at the manger and the leaf-sweeper in the orchard and the weasel on the stone-pile and the squirrel in the hazel-bush and the fox, the sly-boots, and the hopping hare and the wild wolf and little bear brown-coat and the biting mother bear and bruin good-fellow and the bridal party on the road and the funeral procession at the church and the moon in a cloud and the sun in the sky.
-east of the sun and west of the moon
-once upon a time there was a poor tenant farmer who had a number of children whom he could feed but poorly, and had to clothe in the scantiest way. they were all handsome; but the most beautiful, after all, was the youngest daughter, for she was beautiful beyond all telling.
-now it happened that one thursday evening late in the fall there was a terrible storm raging outside. it was pitch dark, and it rained and stormed so that the house shook in every joint. the whole family sat around the hearth, and each was busy with some work or other. suddenly there were three loud knocks on the window-pane. the man went out to see who was there, and when he stepped outside, there stood a great white bear.
-"good evening," said the white bear.
-"good evening," returned the man.
-"if you'll give me your youngest daughter, i will make you just as rich as now you are poor," said the bear.
-the man was not ill-pleased that he was to become so rich; yet he did think that first he ought to speak to his daughter about it. so he went in again, and said that there was a white bear outside, who had promised to make him just as rich as he was poor now, if he could only have the youngest daughter for his bride. but the girl said no, and would not hear of it. then the man went back to the bear again, and they both agreed that the white bear should return again the following thursday and get his answer. in the meantime, however, the parents worked upon their daughter, and talked at length about all the riches they would gain, and how well she herself would fare. so at last she agreed, washed and mended the few poor clothes she had, adorned herself as well as she could, and made ready to travel. and what she was given to take along with her is not worth mentioning, either.
-the following thursday the white bear came to fetch his bride. the girl seated herself on his back with her bundle, and then he trotted off. after they had gone a good way, the white bear asked: "are you afraid?"
-"no, not at all," she answered.
-for a time all went well; but gradually the maiden grew sad and silent; for she had not a soul to keep her company the live-long day, and she felt very homesick for her parents and sisters. when the white bear asked her what troubled her, she told him she was always alone, and that she wanted so very much to see her parents and sisters again, and felt very sad because she could not do so. "o that can be managed," said the white bear. "but first you must promise me that you will never speak to your mother alone; but only when others are present. very likely she will take you by the hand, and want to lead you into her room, so that she can speak to you alone. but this you must not allow, otherwise you will make us both unhappy."
-and then, one sunday, the white bear actually came and told her that now she might make the trip to her parents. so she seated herself on the bear's back, and the bear set out. after they had gone a very long distance, they at length came to a fine, large, white house, before which her brothers and sisters were running about and playing, and all was so rich and splendid that it was a real pleasure merely to look at it.
-"this is where your parents live," said the white bear. "only do not forget what i told you, or you will make us both unhappy." heaven forbid that she should forget it, said the maiden; and when she had come to the house, she got down, and the bear turned back.
-when the daughter entered her parents' home, they were more than happy; they told her that they could not thank her enough for what she had done, and that now all of them were doing splendidly. then they asked her how she herself fared. the maiden answered that all was well with her, also, and that she had all that heart could desire. i do not know exactly all the other things she told them; but i do not believe she told them every last thing there was to tell. so in the afternoon, when the family had eaten dinner, it happened as the white bear had foretold; the mother wanted to talk to her daughter alone, in her room; but she thought of what the white bear had told her, and did not want to go with her mother, but said:
-"all we have to say to each other can just as well be said here." yet--she herself did not know exactly how it happened--her mother finally did persuade her, and then she had to tell just how things were. so she informed her that as soon as she put out the light at night, a man came and cast himself down in the corner of the room. she had never yet seen him, for he always went away before the dawn brightened. and this grieved her, for she did want to see him so very much, and she was alone through the day, and it was very dreary and lonely.
-"alas, perhaps he is a troll, after all," said the mother. "but i can give you some good advice as to how you can see him. here is a candle-end, which you must hide under your wimple. when the troll is sleeping, light the light and look at him. but be careful not to let a drop of tallow fall on him."
-the daughter took the candle-end and hid it in her wimple, and in the evening the white bear came to fetch her.
-after they had gone a way the white bear asked whether everything had not happened just as he had said. yes, such had been the case, and the maiden could not deny it.
-"if you have listened to your mother's advice, then you will make us both unhappy, and all will be over between us," said the bear. "o, no, she had not done so," replied the maiden, indeed she had not.
-when they reached home, and the maiden had gone to bed, all went as usual: a man came in and cast himself down in a corner of the room. but in the night, when she heard him sleeping soundly, she stood up and lighted the candle. she threw the light on him, and saw the handsomest prince one might wish to see. and she liked him so exceedingly well that she thought she would be unable to keep on living if she could not kiss him that very minute. she did so, but by mistake she let three hot drops of tallow fall on him, and he awoke.
-"alas, what have you done!" cried he. "now you have made both of us unhappy. if you had only held out until the end of the year, i would have been delivered. i have a step-mother who has cast a spell on me, so that by day i am a bear, and at night a human being. but now all is over between us, and i must return to my step-mother. she lives in a castle that is east of the sun and west of the moon, where there is a princess with a nose three yards long, whom i must now marry."
-the maiden wept and wailed; but to no avail, for the prince said he must journey away. then she asked him whether she might not go with him. no, said he, that could not be.
-"but can you not at least tell me the road, so that i can search for you. for surely that will be permitted me?"
-"yes, that you may do," said he. "but there is no road that leads there. the castle lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and neither now nor at any other time will you find the road to it!"
-when the maiden awoke the next morning, the prince as well as the castle had disappeared. she lay in a green opening in the midst of a thick, dark wood, and beside her lay the bundle of poor belongings she had brought from home. and when she had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and had cried her fill, she set out and wandered many, many days, until at last she came to a great hill. and before the hill sat an old woman who was playing with a golden apple. the maiden asked the woman whether she did not know which road led to the prince who lived in the castle that was east of the sun and west of the moon, and who was to marry a princess with a nose three yards long.
-"how do you come to know him?" asked the woman. "are you, perhaps, the maiden he wanted to marry?"
-"yes, i am that maiden," she replied.
-"so you are that girl," said the woman. "well, my child, i am sorry to say that all i know of him is that he lives in the castle that is east of the sun and west of the moon, and that you will probably never get there. but i will loan you my horse, on which you may ride to my neighbor, and perhaps she can tell you. and when you get there just give the horse a blow back of his left ear, and order him to go home. and here, take this golden apple along!"
-the maiden mounted the horse, and rode a long, long time. at length she again came to a hill, before which sat an old woman with a golden reel. the maiden asked whether she could not tell her the road which led to the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. this woman said just what the other had, no, she knew no more of the castle than that it lay east of the sun and west of the moon. "and," said she, "you will probably never get there. but i will loan you my horse to ride to the nearest neighbor; perhaps she can tell you. and when you have reached her just give the horse a blow back of his left ear, and order him to go home again." and finally she gave the maiden the golden reel, for, said the old woman, it might be useful to her.
-the maiden then mounted the horse, and again rode a long, long time. at length she once more came to a great hill, before which sat an old woman spinning at a golden spindle. then the maiden once more asked after the prince, and the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. and everything happened exactly as on the two previous occasions.
-"do you happen to be the maiden the prince wanted to marry?" asked the old woman.
-"yes, i am that maiden," answered the maiden.
-but this old woman knew no more about the road than the two others. "yes, the castle lies east of the sun and west of the moon, that i know," said she. "and you will probably never get there. but i will loan you my horse, and you may ride on it to the east wind and ask him. perhaps he is acquainted there, and can blow you thither. and when you reach him, just give my horse a blow back of the left ear, and then he will return here of his own accord." finally the old woman gave her her golden spindle. "perhaps it may be useful to you," said she.
-the maiden now rode for many days and weeks, and it took a long, long time before she came to the east wind. but at last she did find him, and then she asked the east wind whether he could show her the road that led to the prince who lived in the castle that was east of the sun and west of the moon.
-o, yes, he had heard tell of the prince, and of the castle as well, said the east wind, but he did not know the road that led to it, for he had never blown so far. "but if you wish, i will take you to my brother, the west wind, and perhaps he can tell you, for he is much stronger than i am. just sit down on my back, and i will carry you to him."
-the maiden did as he told her, and then they moved swiftly away. when they came to the west wind, the east wind said that here he was bringing the maiden whom the prince who lived in the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon had wanted to marry, that she was journeying on her way to him, and looking for him everywhere, and that he had accompanied her in order to find out whether the west wind knew where this castle might be.
-"no," said the west wind to the maiden, "i have never blown so far, but if you wish i will take you to the south wind, who is much stronger than both of us, and has traveled far and wide, and perhaps he can tell you. seat yourself on my back, and i will carry you to him."
-the maiden did so, and then they flew quickly off to the south wind. when they found him, the west wind asked whether the south wind could show them the road that led to the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon; and that this was the maiden who was to have the prince.
-"well, well, so this is the girl?" cried the south wind. "yes, it is true that i have gone about a good deal during my life," said he, "yet i have never blown so far. but if you wish, i will take you to my brother, the north wind. he is the oldest and strongest of us all. if he does not know where the castle lies, then no one in the whole world can tell you. seat yourself on my back, and i will carry you to him."
-the maiden seated herself on the back of the south wind, and he flew away with a roar and a rush. the journey did not take long.
-when they had reached the dwelling of the north wind, the latter was so wild and unmannerly that he blew a cold blast at them while they were still a good way off. "what do you want?" cried he, as soon as he caught sight of them, so that a cold shiver ran down their backs.
-"you should not greet us so rudely," said the south wind. "it is i, the south wind. and this is the maiden who wanted to marry the prince who lives in the castle that lies east of the sun and west of the moon. she wishes to ask you whether you have ever been there, and if you can show her the road that leads to it; for she would like to find the prince again."
-"o, yes, i know very well where the castle lies," said the north wind. "i blew an aspen leaf there just once, and then i was so weary that i could not blow at all for many a long day. but if you want to get there above all things, and are not afraid of me, i will take you on my back, and see whether i can blow you there."
-the maiden said that she must and would get to the castle, if it were by any means possible, and that she was not afraid, no matter how hard the journey might be. "very well, then you must stay here over night," said the north wind. "for if we are to get there to-morrow, we must have the whole day before us."
-early the next morning the north wind awakened the maiden. then he blew himself up, and made himself so large and thick that he was quite horrible to look at, and thereupon they rushed along through the air as though they meant to reach the end of the world at once. and everywhere beneath them raged such a storm that forests were pulled out by the roots, and houses torn down, and as they rushed across the sea, ships foundered by the hundreds. further and further they went, so far that no one could even imagine it, and still they were flying across the sea; but gradually the north wind grew weary, and became weaker and weaker. finally he could hardly keep going, and sank lower and lower, and at last he flew so low that the waves washed his ankles.
-"are you afraid?" asked the north wind.
-"no, not at all," answered the maiden. by now they were not far distant from the land, and the north wind had just enough strength left to be able to set down the maiden on the strand, beneath the windows of the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. and then he was so wearied and wretched that he had to rest many a long day before he could set out for home again.
-the next morning the maiden seated herself beneath the windows of the castle and played with the golden apple, and the first person who showed herself was the monster with the nose, whom the prince was to marry.
-"what do you want for your golden apple?" asked the princess with the nose, as she opened the window.
-"i will not sell it at all, either for gold or for money," answered the maiden.
-"well, what do you want for it, if you will not sell it either for gold or for money?" asked the princess. "ask what you will!"
-"i only want to speak to-night to the prince who lives here, then i will give you the apple," said the maiden who had come with the north wind.
-the princess replied that this could be arranged, and then she received the golden apple. but when the maiden came into the prince's room in the evening, he was sleeping soundly. she called and shook him, wept and wailed; but she could not wake him, and in the morning, as soon as it dawned, the princess with the long nose came and drove her out.
-"you have come just in the nick of time," said he, "for to-morrow i am to marry the princess; but i do not want the monster with the nose at all, and you are the only person who can save me. i will say that first i wish to see whether my bride is a capable housewife, and demand that she wash the three drops of tallow from my shirt. she will naturally agree to this, for she does not know that you made the spots, for only christian hands can wash them out again, but not the hands of this pack of trolls. then i will say i will marry none other than the maiden who can wash out the spots, and ask you to do so," said the prince. and then both rejoiced and were happy beyond measure.
-but on the following day, when the wedding was to take place, the prince said: "first i would like to see what my bride can do!" yes, that was no more than right, said his mother-in-law. "i have a very handsome shirt," continued the prince, "which i would like to wear at the wedding. but there are three tallow-spots on it, and they must first be washed out. and i have made a vow to marry none other than the woman who can do this. so if my bride cannot manage to do it, then she is worthless."
-well, that would not be much of a task, said the women, and agreed to the proposal. and the princess with the long nose at once began to wash. she washed with all her might and main, and took the greatest pains, but the longer she washed and rubbed, the larger grew the spots.
-"o, you don't know how to wash!" said her mother, the old troll-wife. "just give it to me!" but no sooner had she taken the shirt in her hand, than it began to look worse, and the more she washed and rubbed, the larger and blacker grew the spots. then the other troll-women had to come and wash; but the longer they washed the shirt the uglier it grew, and finally it looked as though it had been hanging in the smokestack.
-"why, all of you are worthless!" said the prince. "outside the window sits a beggar-girl. i'm sure she is a better washer-woman than all of you put together. you, girl, come in here!" he cried out of the window; and when the maiden came in he said: "do you think you can wash this shirt clean for me?"
-"i do not know," answered the maiden, "but i will try." and no more had she dipped the shirt in the water than it turned as white as newly fallen snow, yes, even whiter.
-"indeed, and you are the one i want!" said the prince.
-then the old troll-woman grew so angry that she burst in two, and the princess with the long nose and the rest of the troll-pack probably burst in two as well, for i never heard anything more of them. the prince and his bride then freed all the christians who had been kept captive in the castle, and packed up as much gold and silver as they could possibly take with them, and went far away from the castle that lies east of the sun and west of the moon.
-once upon a time there were five women who were standing in a field, mowing. heaven had not given a single one of them a child, and each of them wanted to have one. and suddenly they saw a goose-egg of quite unheard-of size, well-nigh as large as a man's head. "i saw it first," said the one. "i saw it at the same time that you did," insisted another. "but i want it, for i saw it first of all," maintained a third. and thus they went on, and fought so about the egg that they nearly came to blows. finally they agreed that it should belong to all five of them, and that all of them should sit on it, as a goose would do, and hatch out the little gosling. the first remained sitting on the egg for eight days, and hatched, and did not move or do a thing; and during this time the rest had to feed her and themselves as well. one of them grew angry because of this and scolded.
-"you did not crawl out of the egg either before you could cry peep!" said the one who was sitting on the egg and hatching. "yet i almost believe that a human child is going to slip out of the egg, for something is murmuring inside it without ever stopping: 'herring and mush, porridge and milk,'" said she. "and now you can sit on it for eight days, while we bring you food."
-when the fifth day of the eight had passed, it was plain to her that there was a child in the egg, which kept on calling: "herring and mush, porridge and milk," and so she punched a hole in the egg, and instead of a gosling out came a child, and it was quite disgustingly homely, with a big head and a small body, and no sooner had it crawled out than it began to cry: "herring and mush, porridge and milk!" so they named the child murmur goose-egg.
-in spite of the child's homeliness, the women at first took a great deal of pleasure in him; but before long he grew so greedy that he devoured everything they had. when they cooked a dish of mush or a potful of porridge that was to do for all six of them, the child swallowed it all by himself. so they did not want to keep him any longer. "i have not had a single full meal since the changling crawled out," said one of them; and when murmur goose-egg heard that, and the rest agreed, he said that he would gladly go his own gait, for "if they had no need of him, then he had no need of them," and with that he went off. finally he came to a farmstead that lay in a rocky section, and asked for work. yes, they needed a workman, and the master told him to gather up the stones in the field. then murmur goose-egg gathered up the stones in the field; he picked up some that were so large that a number of horses could not have dragged them, and large and small, one and all, he put them in his pocket. before long he had finished his work, and wanted to know what he was to do next.
-"you have picked up the stones in the field?" said his master. "you cannot possibly have finished before you have really begun!"
-but murmur goose-egg emptied his pockets, and threw the stones on a pile. then his master saw that he had finished his work, and that one would have to handle such a strong fellow with kid gloves. so he told him to come in and eat. that suited murmur goose-egg, and he ate up everything that was to have supplied the master and his family, and the help, and then he was only half satisfied.
-he was really a splendid worker; but a dangerous eater, like a bottomless cask, said the peasant. "such a serving-man could eat up a poor peasant, house and ground, before he noticed it," said he. he had no more work for him, and the best thing to do would be to go to the king's castle.
-so murmur goose-egg went to the king, and was at once given a place, and there was enough to eat and drink in the castle. he was to be the errand-boy, and help the maids fetch wood and water, and do other odd jobs. so he asked what he was to do first.
-for the time being he could chop fire-wood, said they. so murmur goose-egg began to chop fire-wood, and hewed to the line in such fashion that the chips fairly flew. before long he had chopped up all that there was, kindling wood and building wood, beams and boards, and when he was through with it, he came and asked what he was to do now.
-"you can finish chopping the fire-wood," said they.
-"there is none left," said murmur goose-egg.
-that could not be possible, said the superintendent, and looked into the wood-bin. yes, indeed, murmur goose-egg had chopped up everything, large and small, beams and boards. that was very bad, and therefore the superintendent said that murmur goose-egg should have nothing to eat until he had chopped down just as much wood in the forest as he had just chopped up for fire-wood.
-"why, you are a splendid workman," said the king, "but tell me, how much do you really eat at once," he continued, "for i am sure you are hungry?"
-if he were to have enough porridge, they would have to take twelve tons of meal to make it; but after he had eaten that, then he could wait a while, said murmur goose-egg.
-"you kill twelve of my people, and you eat for twelve times twelve of them, but how many men's work can you do?" asked the king.
-"i do the work of twelve times twelve, too," said murmur. when he had eaten, he was to go to the barn and thresh. so he pulled the beam out of the roof-tree, and made a flail out of it, and when the roof threatened to fall in, he took a pine-tree with all its boughs and branches, and set it up in place of the roof-beam. then he threshed corn and hay and straw, all together, and it seemed as though a cloud hung over the royal castle.
-when murmur goose-egg had nearly finished threshing, the enemy broke into the land, and war began. then the king told him to gather people about him, and go to meet the foe, and do battle with him, for he thought the enemy would probably kill him.
-no, said murmur goose-egg, he did not want to have the king's people killed, he would see that he dealt with the enemy himself.
-all the better, thought the king, then i am sure to get rid of him. but he would need a proper club, said murmur.
-so they sent to the smith, and he forged a club of two hundred-weights. that would only do for a nut-cracker, said murmur goose-egg. so he forged another that weighed six hundred-weights, and that would do to hammer shoes with, said murmur goose-egg. but the smith told him that he and all his workmen together could not forge a larger one.
-then murmur goose-egg went into the smithy himself, and forged himself a club of thirty hundred-weights, and it would have taken a hundred men just to turn it around on the anvil. this might do at a pinch, said murmur. then he wanted a knapsack with provisions. it was sewn together out of fifteen ox-skins, and stuffed full of provisions, and then murmur wandered down the hill with the knapsack on his back, and the club over his shoulder.
-when he came near enough for the soldiers to see him, they sent to ask whether he had a mind to attack them.
-"just wait until i have eaten," said murmur, and sat him down behind his knapsack to eat. but the enemy would not wait, and began to fire at him. and it fairly rained and hailed musket-balls all around murmur.
-"i don't care a fig for these blueberries," said murmur goose-egg, and feasted on quite at ease. neither lead nor iron could wound him, and his knapsack stood before him, and caught the bullets like a wall.
-then the enemy began to throw bombs at him, and shoot at him with cannon. he hardly moved when he was struck. "o, that's of no account!" said he.
-but then a bomb flew into his wind-pipe. "faugh!" said he, and spat it out again, and then came a chain-bullet and fell into his butter-plate, and another tore away the bit of bread from between his fingers.
-then he grew angry, stood up, took his club, pounded the ground with it, and asked whether they wanted to take the food from his mouth with the blueberries they were blowing out at him from their clumsy blow-pipes. then he struck a few more blows, so that the hills and valleys round about trembled, and all the enemy flew up into the air like chaff, and that was the end of the war.
-when murmur came back and asked for more work, the king was at a loss, for he had felt sure that now he was rid of him. so he knew of nothing better to do than to send him to the devil's place.
-"now you can go to the devil, and fetch the tribute from him," said the king. murmur goose-egg went off with his knapsack on his back, and his club over his shoulder. he had soon reached the right spot; but when he got there the devil was away at a trial. there was no one home but his grandmother, and she said she had never yet heard anything about a tribute, and that he was to come back some other time.
-"yes, indeed, come again to-morrow," said he. "i know that old excuse!" but since he was there, he would stay there, for he had to take home the tribute, and he had plenty of time to wait. but when he had eaten all his provisions, he grew weary, and again demanded the tribute from the grandmother.
-"you will get nothing from me, and that's as flat as the old fir-tree outside is fast," said the devil's grandmother. the fir-tree stood in front of the gate to the devil's place, and was so large that fifteen men could hardly girdle it with their arms. but murmur climbed up into its top and bent and shook it to and fro as though it were a willow wand, and then asked the devil's grandmother once more whether she would now pay him the tribute.
-so she did not dare to refuse any longer, and brought out as much money as he could possibly carry in his knapsack. then he set out for home with the tribute, and now no sooner had he gone than the devil came home, and when he learned that murmur had taken along a big bag of money, he first beat his grandmother, and then hurried after murmur. and he soon caught up to him, for he ran over sticks and stones, and sometimes flew in between; while murmur had to stick to the highway with his heavy knapsack. but with the devil at his heels, he began to run as fast as he could, and stretched out the club behind him, to keep the devil from coming to close quarters. and thus they ran along, one behind the other; while murmur held the shaft and the devil the end of the club, until they reached a deep valley. there murmur jumped from one mountain-top to another, and the devil followed him so hotly that he ran into the club, fell down into the valley and broke his foot--and there he lay.
-"there's your tribute!" said murmur goose-egg, when he had reached the royal castle, and he flung down the knapsack full of money before the king, so that the whole castle tottered. the king thanked him kindly, and promised him a good reward, and a good character, if he wanted it; but murmur only wanted more work to do.
-"what shall i do now?" he asked. the king reflected for a while, and then he said murmur should travel to the hill-troll, who had robbed him of the sword of his ancestors. he lived in a castle by the sea, where no one ventured to go.
-murmur was given a few cart-loads of provisions in his big knapsack, and once more set out. long he wandered, though, over field and wood, over hills and deep valleys, till he came to a great mountain where the troll lived who had robbed the king of the sword.
-thus it went the first day, and the second was no better. on the third day he went to work again, and took along the third cart-load, lay down behind it, and pretended to be sleeping.
-then a troll with seven heads came out of the hill, began to smack his lips, and eat of his provisions.
-"now the table is set, so now i am going to eat," said he.
-"first we'll see about that," said murmur, and hewed away at the troll so that the heads flew from his body.
-then he went into the hill out of which the troll had come, and inside stood a horse eating out of a barrel of glowing ashes, while behind him stood a barrel filled with oats.
-"why don't you eat out of the barrel of oats?" asked murmur goose-egg.
-"because i cannot turn around," said the horse.
-"i will turn you around," said murmur goose-egg.
-"tear my head off instead," pleaded the horse.
-murmur did so, and then the horse turned into a fine-looking man. he said that he had been enchanted, and turned into a horse by the troll. then he helped murmur look for the sword, which the troll had hidden under the bed. but in the bed lay the troll's grandmother, and she was snoring.
-they went home by water, and just as they sailed off the old troll grandmother came after them; but she could not get at them, hence she commenced to drink, so that the water went down and grew lower. but at last she could not drink up the whole sea, and so she burst.
-when they came ashore, murmur sent to the king, and had him told to have the sword fetched; but though the king sent four horses, they could not move it from the spot. he sent eight, he sent twelve, but the sword remained where it was, and could not be moved from the spot by any means. then murmur goose-egg took it up, and carried it alone.
-the king could not believe his eyes when he saw murmur once more; but he was very friendly and promised him gold and green forests. but when murmur asked for more work, he told him to travel to his troll's castle, where no one dared go, and to remain there until he had built a bridge across the sound, so that people could cross. if he could do that, he would reward him well, yes, he would even give him his daughter, said the king. he would attend to it, said murmur.
-yet no human being had ever returned thence alive; all who had gotten so far, lay on the ground dead, and crushed to a jelly, and the king thought, when sending him there, that he would never see him again.
-but murmur set out. he took with him his knapsack full of provisions, and a properly turned and twisted block of pine-wood, as well as an ax, a wedge and some wooden chips.
-when he reached the sound, the river was full of drifting ice, and it roared like a waterfall. but he planted his legs firmly on the ground, and waded along until he got across. when he had warmed himself and satisfied his hunger, he wanted to sleep; but a tumult and rumbling started, as though the whole castle were to be turned upside down. the gate flew wide open, and murmur saw nothing but a pair of yawning jaws that reached from the threshold to the top of the door.
-"let's see who you may be? perhaps you are an old friend of mine," said murmur. and sure enough, it was master devil. then they played cards together. the devil would gladly have won back some of the tribute murmur had forced from his grandmother for the king. yet, no matter how he played, murmur always won; for he made a cross on the cards. and after he had won all the devil had with him, the latter had to give him some of the gold and silver that was in the castle.
-in the midst of their game the fire went out, so that they could no longer tell the cards apart.
-"now we must split wood," said murmur. he hewed into the block of pine-wood with his ax, and drove in the wedge, but the tree-stump was tough, and would not split at once, though murmur gave himself all manner of pains.
-"you are supposed to be strong," he said to the devil. "spit on your hands, slap in your claws here, and pull the block apart, so that i can see what you can do!"
-the devil obediently thrust both hands into the split, and tore and clawed with all his might; but suddenly murmur goose-egg knocked out the wedge, and there the devil was caught in a vice, while murmur belabored his back with the ax. the devil wailed, and begged murmur to let him go; but murmur would hear nothing of it until he had promised never to come back and make a nuisance of himself again. besides that, he had to promise to build a bridge over the sound, on which one could go back and forth at all seasons of the year. and the bridge was to be completed immediately after the breaking up of the ice-drift.
-"alas!" said the devil, but there was nothing for it but to promise if he wished to go free. yet he made one condition, that he was to have the first soul that crossed the bridge as sound-toll.
-he could have it, said murmur. then he let the devil out, and he ran straight home. but murmur lay down and slept until far into the following day.
-then the king came to see whether murmur goose-egg were lying crushed on the ground, or had merely been badly beaten. he had to wade through piles of money before he could reach the bed. the money was stacked up high along the walls in heaps and in bags, and murmur lay in the bed and snored.
-"may heaven help me and my daughter!" cried the king, when he saw that murmur goose-egg was in the best of health. yes, and no one could deny that everything had been well and thoroughly done, said the king; but there could be no talk of marriage as long as the bridge had not been built.
-then one day the bridge was finished; and on it stood the devil, ready to collect the toll promised him.
-murmur goose-egg wanted the king to be the first to try the bridge with him; but the king had no mind to do so, therefore murmur himself mounted a horse, and swung up the fat dairy-maid from the castle before him on the saddle-bow--she looked almost like a gigantic block of wood--and dashed across the bridge with her so that the planks fairly thundered.
-"where is my sound-toll? where is the soul?" cried the devil. "sitting in this block of wood! if you want her, you must spit on your hands and catch hold of her," said murmur goose-egg. "no, thank you! if she does not catch hold of me, then i'll certainly not catch hold of her," said the devil. "you caught me in a vice once, but you can't fool me a second time," said he, and flew straight home to his grandmother, and since then nothing more has been heard or seen of him.
-but murmur goose-egg hurried back to the castle and asked for the reward the king had promised him. and when the king hesitated and began to make all sorts of excuses, in order not to have to keep his promise, murmur said it would be best to have a substantial knapsackful of provisions made ready, since now he, murmur, was going to take his reward himself. this the king did, and when the knapsack was ready, murmur took the king along with him in front of the castle, and gave him a proper shove, so that he flew high up into the air. and he threw the knapsack up after him, so that he would not be left altogether without provisions; and if he has not come down yet, then he, together with the knapsack, is floating between heaven and earth to this very day.
-once upon a time, long, long years ago, there lived a well-to-do old couple on a homestead up in hadeland. they had a son, who was a dragoon, a big, handsome fellow. they had a pasture in the hills, and the hut was not like most of the herdsmen's huts; but was well and solidly built, and even had a chimney, a roof and a window. and there they spent the summer; but when they came back home in the fall, the wood-cutters and huntsmen and fishermen, and whoever else had business in the woods at that time, noticed that the mountain folk had carried on its tricks with their herd. and among the mountain folk was a maiden who was so beautiful that her like had never been seen.
-the son had often heard tell of her, and one fall, when his parents had already come home from the mountain pasture, he put on his full uniform, saddled his service horse, thrust his pistols in the holsters, and thus rode up into the hills. when he rode toward the pasture, such a fire burned in the herdsman's hut that it lit up every road, and then he knew that the mountain folk were inside. so he tied his horse to a pine-tree, took a pistol from its holster, crept up to the hut, and peeped through the window. and there sat an old man and a woman who were quite crooked and shriveled up with age, and so unspeakably ugly that he had never seen anything like it in his life; but with them was a maiden, and she was so surpassingly beautiful that he fell in love with her at once, and felt that he could not live without her. all had cow's tails, and the lovely maiden, too. and he could see that they had only just arrived, for everything was in disorder. the maiden was busy washing the ugly old man, and the woman was building a fire under the great cheese-kettle on the hearth.
-at that moment the dragoon flung open the door, and shot off his pistol right above the maiden's head, so that she tottered and fell to the ground. and then she grew every bit as ugly as she had been beautiful before, and she had a nose as long as a pistol-case.
-"now you may take her, for now she belongs to you!" said the old man. but the dragoon stood as though rooted to the spot; stood where he stood, and could not take a single step, either forward or backward. then the old man began to wash the girl; and she looked a little better; her nose was only half its original size, and her ugly cow's tail was tied back; but she was not as handsome, and any one who said so would not have been telling the truth.
-"now she is yours, my proud dragoon! take her up before you on your horse, and ride into town and marry her. and you need only set the table for us in the little room in the bake-house; for we do not want to be with the other wedding-guests," said the old monster, her father, "but when the dishes make the round, you can stop in where we are."
-he did not dare do anything else, and took her up before him on his horse, and made ready to marry her. but before she went to church, the bride begged one of the bridesmaids to stand close behind her, so that no one could see her tail fall off when the priest joined their hands.
-so the wedding was celebrated, and when the dishes made the round, the bridegroom went out into the room where the table had been set for the old folk from the mountain. and at that time there was nothing to be seen there; but after the wedding-guests had gone, there was so much gold and silver, and such a pile of money lying there, as he had never seen together before.
-for a long time all went well. whenever guests came, his wife laid the table for the old folk in the bake-house, and on each occasion so much money was left lying there, that before long they did not know what to do with it all. but ugly she was, and ugly she remained, and he was heartily weary of her. so it was bound to happen that he sometimes flew into a rage, and threatened her with cuffs and blows. once he wanted to go to town, and since it was fall, and the ground already frozen, the horse had first to be shod. so he went into the smithy--for he himself was a notable farrier--but, no matter what lie did, the horse-shoe was either too large or too small, and would not fit at all. he had no other horse at home, and he toiled away until noon and on into the afternoon. "will you never make an end of your shoeing?" asked his wife. "you are not a very good husband; but you are a far worse farrier. i see there is nothing left for me but to go into the smithy myself and shoe the horse. this shoe is too large, you should have made it smaller, and that one is too small, you should have made it larger."
-she went into the smithy, and the first thing she did was to take the horse-shoe in both hands and bend it straight.
-"there, look at it," said she, "that is how you must do it." and with that she bent it together again as though it were made of lead. "now hold up the horse's leg," said she, and the horse-shoe fitted to a hair, so that the best farrier could not have bettered it.
-"you have a great deal of strength in your fingers," said her husband, and he looked at her.
-"do you think so?" was her reply. "what would have happened to me had you been as strong? but i love you far too dearly ever to use my strength against you," said she.
-and from that day on he was the best of husbands.
-the king's hares
-once upon a time there was a man who lived in the little back room. he had given up his estate to the heir; but in addition he had three sons, who were named peter, paul and esben, who was the youngest. all three hung around at home and would not work, for they had it too easy, and they thought themselves too good for anything like work, and nothing was good enough for them. finally peter once heard that the king wanted a shepherd for his hares, and he told his father he would apply for the position, as it would just suit him, seeing that he wished to serve no one lower in rank than the king. his father, it is true, was of the opinion that there might be other work that would suit him better, for whoever was to herd hares would have to be quick and spry, and not a sleepy-head, and when the hares took to their heels in all directions, it was a dance of another kind than when one skipped about a room. but it was of no use. peter insisted, and would have his own way, took his knapsack, and shambled down hill. after he had gone a while, he saw an old woman who had got her nose wedged in a tree-stump while chopping wood, and when peter saw her jerking and pulling away, trying to get out, he burst into loud laughter.
-"don't stand there and laugh in such a stupid way," said the woman, "but come and help a poor, feeble old woman. i wanted to split up some fire-wood, and caught my nose here, and here i have been standing for more than a hundred years, pulling and jerking, without a bit of bread to chew in all that time," said she.
-then peter had to laugh all the harder. he found it all very amusing, and said that if she had already been standing there a hundred years, then she could probably hold out for another hundred years or more.
-when he came to court they at once took him on as a herdsman. the place was not bad, there was good food, and good wages, and the chance of winning the princess besides; yet if no more than a single one of the king's hares were to be lost, they would cut three red strips from his back, and throw him into the snake-pit.
-as long as peter was on the common or in the enclosure, he kept his hares together nicely, but later, when they reached the forest, they ran away from him across the hills. peter ran after them with tremendous leaps, as long as he thought he could catch even a single hare, but when the very last one had vanished, his breath was gone, and he saw no more of them. toward noon he went home, taking his time about it, and when he reached the enclosure, he looked around for them on all sides, but no hares came. and then, when he came to the castle, there stood the king with the knife in his hand. he cut three red strips from his back, and cast him into the snake-pit.
-after a while paul decided to go to the castle and herd the king's hares. his father told him what he had told peter, and more besides; but he insisted on going, and would not listen, and he fared neither better nor worse than peter had. the old woman stood and pulled and jerked at her nose in the tree-trunk, and he laughed, found it very amusing, and let her stand there and torment herself. he was at once taken into service, but the hares all ran away across the hills, though he pursued them, and worked away like a shepherd dog in the sun, and when he came back to the castle in the evening minus his hares, there stood the king with the knife in his hand, cut three broad strips from his back, rubbed in pepper and salt, and flung him into the snake-pit.
-then, after some time had passed, the youngest decided to set out to herd the king's hares, and told his father of his intention. he thought that would be just the work for him, to loaf about in forest and field, look for strawberry patches, herd a flock of hares, and lie down and sleep in the sun between times. his father thought that there was other work that would suit him better, and that even if he fared no worse than his brothers, it was quite certain that he would fare no better. whoever herded the king's hares must not drag along as though he had lead in his soles, or like a fly on a limerod; and that when the hares took to their heels, it was a horse of another color from catching flees with gloved hands; whoever wanted to escape with a whole back, would have to be more than quick and nimble, and swifter than a bird. but there was nothing he could do. esben merely kept on saying that he wanted to go to court and serve the king, for he would not take service with any lesser master, said he; and he would see to the hares, they could not be much worse than a herd of goats or of calves. and with that he took his knapsack and strolled comfortably down the hill.
-after he had wandered a while, and began to feel a proper hunger, he came to the old woman who was wedged by the nose in the tree-trunk and who was pulling and jerking away, in order to get loose.
-"good day, mother," said esben, "and why are you worrying yourself so with your nose, you poor thing?" "no one has called me mother for the last hundred years," said the old woman, "but come and help me out, and give me a bite to eat; for i have not had a bit to eat in all that time. and i will do something for your sake as well," said she.
-yes, no doubt she would need something to eat and drink badly, said esben.
-then he hewed the tree-trunk apart, so that she got her nose out of the cleft, sat down to eat, and shared with her. the old woman had a good appetite, and she received a good half of his provisions.
-when they were through she gave esben a whistle which had the power that if he blew into one end, whatever he wished scattered was scattered to all the winds, and when he blew into the other, all came together again. and if the whistle passed from his possession, it would return as soon as he wished it back.
-"that is a wonderful whistle!" thought esben.
-when he came to the castle, they at once took him on as a shepherd; the place was not bad, he was to have food and wages, and should he manage to herd the king's hares without losing one of them, he might possibly win the princess; but if he lost so much as a single hare, and no matter how small it might be, then they would cut three red strips from his back, and the king was so sure of his case that he went right off to whet his knife. it would be a simple matter to herd the hares, thought esben; for when they went off they were as obedient as a herd of sheep, and so long as they were on the common, and in the enclosure, they even marched in rank and file. but when they reached the forest, and noon-time came, and the sun burned down on hill and dale, they all took to their heels and ran away across the hills.
-"hallo, there! so you want to run away!" called esben, and blew into one end of his whistle, and then they scattered the more quickly to all the ends of the earth. but when he had reached an old charcoal-pit, he blew into the other end of his whistle, and before he knew it the hares were back again, and standing in rank and file so he could review them, just like a regiment of soldiers on the drill-ground.
-the king and queen and the princess, too, stood in the hall-way, and wondered what sort of a fellow this was, who could herd hares without losing a single one. the king reckoned and added them up, and counted with his fingers, and then added them up again; but not even the teeny-weeniest hare was missing. "he is quite a chap, he is," said the princess.
-the following day he again went to the forest, and herded his hares; but while he lay in all comfort beside a strawberry patch, they sent out the chamber-maid from the castle to him, and she was to find out how he managed to herd the king's hares.
-he showed her his whistle, and blew into one end, and all the hares darted away across the hills in all directions, and then he blew into the other, and they came trotting up from all sides, and once more stood in rank and file. "that is a wonderful whistle," said the chamber-maid. she would gladly give him a hundred dollars, if he cared to sell it.
-"yes, it is a splendid whistle," said esben, "and i will not sell it for money. but if you give me a hundred dollars, and a kiss with every dollar to boot, then i might let you have it."
-yes, indeed, that would suit her right down to the ground; she would gladly give him two kisses with every dollar, and feel grateful, besides.
-when esben was herding his hares the third day, they sent the princess to him to get away his pipe from him. she was tickled to death, and finally offered him two hundred dollars if he would let her have the whistle, and would also tell her what she had to do in order to fetch it safely home with her.
-"yes, it is a very valuable whistle," said esben, "and i will not sell it," but at last, as a favor to her, he said he would let her have it if she gave him two hundred dollars, and a kiss for every dollar to boot. but if she wanted to keep it, why, she must take good care of it, for that was her affair.
-"that is a very high price for a hare-whistle," said the princess, and she really shrank from kissing him, "but since we are here in the middle of the forest, where no one can see or hear us, i'll let it pass, for i positively must have the whistle," said she. and when esben had pocketed the price agreed upon, she received the whistle, and held it tightly clutched in her hand all the way home; yet when she reached the castle, and wanted to show it, it disappeared out of her hands. on the following day the queen herself set out, and she felt quite sure that she would succeed in coaxing the whistle away from him.
-she was stingier, and only offered fifty dollars; but she had to raise her bid until she reached three hundred. esben said it was a magnificent whistle, and that the price was a beggarly one; but seeing that she was the queen, he would let it pass. she was to pay him three hundred dollars, and for every dollar she was to give him a buss to boot, then she should have the whistle. and he was paid in full as agreed, since as regards the busses the queen was not so stingy.
-"you are stupid women!" said the king. "i suppose i will have to go to him myself if we really are to obtain this trumpery whistle. there seems to be nothing else left to do!" and the following day, when esben was once more herding his hares, the king followed him, and found him at the same place where the women had bargained with him.
-they soon became good friends, and esben showed him the whistle, and blew into one end and the other, and the king thought the whistle very pretty, and finally insisted on buying it, even though it cost him a thousand dollars.
-"yes, it is a magnificent whistle," said esben, "and i would not sell it for money. but do you see that white mare over yonder?" said he, and pointed into the forest.
-"yes, she belongs to me, that is my snow witch!" cried the king, for he knew her very well.
-"well, if you will give me a thousand dollars, and kiss the white mare that is grazing on the moor by the big pine, to boot, then you can have my whistle!" said esben.
-"is that the only price at which you will sell?" asked the king.
-"yes," said esben.
-"but at least may i not put a silken handkerchief between?" asked the king.
-this was conceded him, and thus he obtained the whistle. he put it in the purse in his pocket, and carefully buttoned up the pocket. yet when he reached the castle, and wanted to take it out, he was in the same case as the women, for he no longer had the whistle. and in the evening esben came home with his herd of hares, and not the least little hare was missing.
-the king was angry, and furious because he had made a fool of them all, and had swindled the king's self out of the whistle into the bargain, and now he wanted to do away with esben. the queen was of the same opinion, and said it was best to behead such a knave when he was caught in the act.
-esben thought this neither fair nor just; for he had only done what he had been asked to do, and had defended himself as best he knew how.
-but the king said that this made no difference to him; yet if esben could manage to fill the big brewing-cauldron till it ran over, he would spare his life.
-the job would be neither long nor hard, said esben, he thought he could warrant that, and he began to tell about the old woman with her nose in the tree-trunk, and in between he said, "i must make up plenty of stories, to fill the cauldron,"--and then he told of the whistle, and the chamber-maid who came to him and wanted to buy the whistle for a hundred dollars, and about all the kisses that she had had to give him to boot, up on the hillock by the forest; and then he told about the princess, how she had come and kissed him so sweetly for the whistle's sake, because no one could see or hear it in the forest--"i must make up plenty of stories, in order to fill the cauldron," said esben. then he told of the queen, and of how stingy she had been with her money, and how liberal with her busses--"for i must make up plenty of stories in order to fill the cauldron," said esben.
-"but i think it must be full now!" said the queen.
-"o, not a sign of it!" said the king.
-then esben began to tell how the king had come to him, and about the white mare who was grazing on the moor, "and since he insisted on having the whistle he had to--he had to--well, with all due respect, i have to make up plenty of stories in order to fill the cauldron," said esben.
-"stop, stop! it is full, fellow!" cried the king. "can't you see that it is running over?"
-the king and the queen were of the opinion that it would be best for esben to receive the princess and half the kingdom; there did not seem anything else to do.
-"yes, it was a magnificent whistle!" said esben.
-helge-hal in the blue hill
-once upon a time there was a sinister old couple, who lived out under the open sky. all that they had were three sons, an old cook-pot, an old frying-pan, and an old cat. then the man died, and after a time his wife died, too. now their estate was to be divided. so the oldest took the old cook-pot, and the second took the old frying-pan, and ebe ashpeter had no choice. he had to take the old cat, and they did not ask him whether he wanted to or not.
-"brother peter can scrape out the cook-pot after he has loaned it out," said ebe. "brother paul gets a crust of bread when he lends out his frying-pan; but what am i to do with this wretched cat?" and he was angry and envious. yet he scratched the cat and stroked it, and this pleased the cat so that she began to purr, and raised her tail in the air.
-"wait, wait, i'll help you yet," said the cat, "wait, wait, i'll help you yet!"
-there was nothing to bite or break in the hut. brother peter and brother paul had each of them gone off in a different direction. so ebe set out, too, with the cat in the lead, himself following; but after a time he turned and went home again, to see whether the floor had been swept, and the cat tripped on alone. after she had gone her way, tipp, tapp, tipp, tapp, for a while, she came to a great rock, and there she met an enormous herd of reindeer. the cat crept softly around the herd, and then with one leap sprang between the horns of the finest buck.
-"if you do not go where i want you to, i'll scratch out your eyes, and drive you over rock and precipice!" said she. so the buck did not dare do anything save what the cat wished, and off they went over stick and stone, from cliff to cliff, close by ebe, who was just polishing the door-sill of his house, and with one bound right into the castle.
-"i am to deliver a kind greeting from ebe, and ask whether my lord king might care to have this buck reindeer to drive," said the cat. yes, he could make good use of such a young, handsome animal, some time, when he had occasion to drive out to visit a neighboring king.
-"this ebe must be a proud and powerful lord," said the king, "if he can make me such presents."
-"yes, he is the greatest lord in all your land and kingdom," said the cat, but no matter how many questions the king asked, he learned nothing more.
-"tell him that i am much obliged," said the king, and he sent him a whole cart-load of handsome presents. but ebe looked past them and paid no attention to them.
-"brother peter can scrape out his cook-pot when he has loaned it out, and brother paul gets a crust of bread when he lends out his frying-pan; but what am i to do with this wretched cat!" said he, and felt angry and envious; but still he scratched the cat, and stroked her, and this pleased her so much that she began to purr, and raised her tail in the air.
-"wait, wait, i will help you yet," said the cat, "wait, wait, i will help you yet!"
-the next day they both set out again, the cat in the lead, and ebe following. after a while he turned back to see whether the folding-table at home had been scoured. and the cat tripped on alone. after she had gone her way, tipp, tapp, tipp, tapp, for a while, she came to a dense forest slope. there she found an enormous herd of elk. the cat crept softly up, and suddenly there she sat between the horns of one of the stateliest of the bull elks.
-"if you do not go where i want you to, i will scratch out your eyes, and drive you over rock and precipice!" said the cat. the elk did not dare do anything save what the cat wished, and so off they went, like lightning, over stick and stone, from cliff to cliff, right past ebe, who stood before the house scouring the shutters, and with one bound into the king's castle.
-"i am to deliver a kind greeting from ebe, and ask whether my lord king might not care to have this bull elk for courier service." it was quite clear that should the king want a swift messenger, some time, he could not find a swifter in all his kingdom.
-"this ebe must be a most distinguished lord, since he finds such presents for me," said the king.
-"yes, indeed, one might call him a distinguished lord," said the cat, "his wealth is without end or limit." but no matter how many other questions the king asked, he received no more explicit information.
-"tell him that i am much obliged, and to do me the honor to call when he is passing here some time," said the king, and sent him a robe as handsome as the one he himself was wearing, and three cartloads of handsome presents. but ebe did not even want to put on the royal robe, and hardly looked at the other presents.
-"brother peter can scrape out his cook-pot when he has loaned it out, brother paul gets a crust of bread when he lends out his frying-pan; but of what use is this wretched cat to me!" he said, in spite of all. yet he stroked the cat, and pressed her to his cheek, and scratched her, and this pleased the cat so very much that she purred more than on the other occasions, and stuck her tail up into the air as straight as a rod.
-"wait, wait, i will help you yet," said the cat, "wait, wait, i will help you yet!"
-on the third day they set out again, the cat in the lead, and ebe following. after a time it occurred to him to go back and let the mice out of the house, so that they would not be altogether starved in the old hut; and the cat tripped on alone. after she had gone her way, tipp, tapp, tipp, tapp, for a while, she came to a dense pine forest, and there she met a father bear, a mother bear and a baby bear. the cat crept softly up to them, and all at once she was hanging by her claws to the father bear's head.
-"if you do not go where i want you to, i will scratch out your eyes, and drive you over rock and precipice!" said the cat, and spit and arched her back. then the father bear did not dare do anything save what the cat wished, and now they dashed past ebe, who had just carried all the young mice over the threshold, like a storm, over stick and stone, from cliff to cliff, so that the earth trembled and shook. the king was just standing in the hallway, and was not a little surprised to see such guests arriving.
-"i am to deliver a kind greeting from ebe, and ask whether my lord king might not care to have this bear for a general or royal counselor," said the cat. the king was more than pleased to secure such a creature for his nearest adviser, who could doubt it.
-"tell him that i am much obliged, but that i do not at all know how to show my appreciation," said the king.
-"well, he would like to marry your youngest daughter!" said the cat.
-"yes, but that is asking a good deal," said the king. "he really ought to pay me a visit."
-"ebe does not enter such plain houses," said the cat.
-"has he a handsomer castle than this?" asked the king.
-"handsomer? why, your castle seems like the shabbiest hut in comparison with his!" was the cat's reply.
-"you dare come into my presence, and tell me that there is some one living in my kingdom who is more handsomely housed than i, the king!" shouted the king, beside himself with rage. he came near wringing the cat's neck.
-"you might wait until you see it," said the cat. and the king said yes, he would wait. "but if you have told me a falsehood, you shall die, and though you had seven lives," said he.
-in the morning the king and the whole court set out to travel to ebe ashpeter's castle. the cat was in the little hut, and called for ebe, thinking it would be best if both of them got underway an hour earlier. after they had gone a while, they met some folk who were herding sheep; and the sheep were bleating and grazing over the whole plain. they were as large as full-grown calves, and their wool was so long that it dragged along the ground after them. "to whom do the sheep belong?" asked the cat. "to helge-hal in the blue hill," said the shepherds.
-"the court is coming past in a moment," said the cat, "and if then you do not at once say that they belong to ebe, i will scratch out your eyes, and drive you over rock and precipice!" said the cat, and spat and arched her back, and showed her teeth. then the shepherds were so frightened that they at once promised to do as the cat had ordered.
-"but to whom do all these sheep belong?" asked the king, when he came by with the court somewhat later. "they are every bit as handsome as my own!"
-"they belong to ebe," said the shepherds.
-then the cat and ebe wandered on for a while, and came to a dense forest slope. there they met folk who were tending goats. the goats skipped and leaped about everywhere, and gave such fine milk that better could no where be found.
-"to whom do the goats belong?" asked the cat.
-"to helge-hal in the blue hill," said the herdsmen. then the cat again went through her ferocious preparations, and the herdsmen were so frightened that they did not dare oppose her wishes.
-"now who in the world can be the owner of so many goats?" asked the king. "i myself have none finer!"
-"they belong to ebe," said the herdsmen.
-then they wandered on for a while, and met folk who were tending cows: wherever one looked the cows lowed and glistened, and each yielded milk enough for three. when the cat heard that these herdsmen were also in the service of helge-hal of the blue hill, she spat once more, and arched her back, and then all the herdsmen were ready that moment to say what she wished.
-"but in heaven's name, to whom do all these beautiful cattle belong?" asked the king. "there are no such cattle in my whole kingdom!"
-"they belong to lord ebe," said the herdsmen.
-then they wandered on for a long, long time. at last they came to a great plain, and there they met horse-herders; and horses whinnied and disported themselves over the whole plain, and their coats were so fine that they glistened as though gilded, and each horse was worth a whole castle.
-"for whom do you herd these horses?" asked the cat.
-"for helge-hal in the blue hill," the herders replied.
-"well, the court will come by here in a little while," said the cat, "and if you do not say you are herding them for ebe, i will scratch out your eyes, and drive you over rock and precipice!" said the cat, and she spat, and showed her teeth and claws, and grew so angry her hair stood up all along her back. then the herders were terribly frightened, and did not dare do anything but what the cat wished.
-"but in the name of heaven, to whom do all these horses belong?" asked the king, when he came by with his court.
-"they belong to ebe," said the herders.
-"i never have seen or heard anything like it in all my life!" cried the king. "this ebe is such a distinguished lord that it is past my understanding!"
-the cat and ebe had long since gone on their way, and had wandered far and ever farther over hill and rock. in the evening, at dusk, they came to a royal castle that glittered and shimmered as though it were of the purest silver and gold--which it was. yet it was gloomy and depressing, and lonely and barren there, and nowhere was there a sign of life.
-here they went in, and the cat stood with a cake of rye meal just below the door. suddenly there came a thundering and a thumping so that the earth trembled, and the whole castle shook, and that was the troll who was coming home. and suddenly all was quiet again, and before they knew it, helge-hal in the blue hill had thrust his three great horrible heads in at the door.
-"let me in! let me in!" he cried, so that every one shivered. "wait, wait a bit while i tell you what the rye had to go through before he was made into this cake," said the cat, and spoke to him in the sweetest way. "first he was threshed, and then he was beaten, and then he was pounded, and then he was thumped, and then he was thrown from one wall to another, and then he was sifted through a sieve...."
-"let me in! let me in, you chatterbox!" cried the troll, and he was so furious that the sparks flew from him.
-"wait a bit, wait a bit. i will tell you what the rye had to go through before he was made into this cake!" said the cat, and he spoke to him still more sweetly.
-"first he was threshed, and then he was beaten, and then he was pounded, and then he was thumped, and then he was thrown from one wall to another, and then he was sifted through a sieve, and shaken here and there, and then he was put on the drying-board, and then in the stove, until it grew so hot that he puffed up more and more, and wanted to get out, but could not," said the cat, and took her time.
-"get out of the way and let me in!" cried the troll once more, and nearly burst with rage; but the cat acted as though she did not hear him, and talked down the blue from the sky, and went up and down the while, and whenever the troll tried to come in, she met him beneath the door with the cake.
-"o, but do take a look at the shining maiden coming up there behind the mountain!" said the cat, after she had talked at length about the sufferings of the rye. and helge-hal in the blue hill turned his three heads around in order to see the beautiful maiden, too. then the sun rose, and the troll stiffened into stone. now ebe obtained all the riches that the troll had possessed, the sheep and goats, the cows and all the spirited horses, and the handsome golden castle, and some big bags of money besides.
-"here come the king and all his court," said the cat. "just go out before the door and receive them!" so ebe got up and went to meet them.
-"you are indeed a very distinguished lord!" said the king to him. "so far as i am concerned you may have the youngest princess!"
-then they started brewing and baking on a large scale in the greatest haste, and everything was made ready for the wedding. on the first day of the feast the cat came and begged the bridegroom to cut off her head. this he did not at all want to do; but the cat spat and showed her teeth, and then ebe did not dare disobey her. but when the head fell to the ground, the cat turned into a most handsome prince. he married the second princess, and as the wedding procession was on its way to church, they met a third prince who was looking for a wife, and he took the oldest princess. then they all three celebrated their weddings so that the story went the rounds in twelve kingdoms.
-"spin, span, spun, now our tale is done!"
-the lord of the hill and john blessom
-john blessom once upon a time had gone down to copenhagen to carry on a suit at law, for in those days one could not get justice in the land of norroway; and if a man wanted his rights, there was nothing left for him to do but to travel to copenhagen. this is what blessom had done, and what his son did after him, for he, too, carried on a law-suit. now it chanced that on christmas eve john had had speech with the gentleman in authority, and had attended to his business, and was going along the street in a low-spirited manner, for he was homesick. and as he went along, a man from vaage, in a white blouse, with a knapsack, and buttons as big as silver dollars, passed him. he was a large, heavily-built man. it seemed to blessom that he must know him; but he was walking very fast.
-"you are walking very fast," said john.
-"yes, but then i'm in a hurry," answered the man. "i have to get back to vaage this very evening."
-"i only wish that i could get there!" sighed john.
-"you can stand on the runner of my sledge," said the man, "for i have a horse that covers a mile in twelve steps."
-so they set out, and blessom had all that he could do to hold fast to the runner of the sledge; for they went through weather and wind, and he could see neither heaven nor earth.
-once they stopped and rested. he could not tell exactly where it was, but when they began to hurry on again, he thought that he spied a skull on a pole. after they had gone on a while, john blessom began to freeze.
-"alas, i forgot one of my gloves where we stopped, and now my hand is freezing!" said he.
-"well, blessom, you'll have to make the best of it," said the man. "we are not far from vaage now. when we stopped to rest we had covered half the way."
-when they crossed the finnebridge, the man stopped and set john down.
-"now you are not far from home," said he, "but you must promise me that you will not look around, when you hear a roaring and notice a flare of light."
-john promised, and thanked him for the quick journey. the man drove off on his way, and john crossed the hill to his home. as he went he heard a roaring in the jutulsberg, and the path before him suddenly grew so bright that one could have picked a needle from the ground. and he forgot what he had promised, and turned his head to see what was happening. there stood the giant gate of the jutulsberg wide open, and out of it streamed a light and radiance as of thousands of candles. in the midst of it all stood the giant, and he was the man with whom he had driven. but from that time forward john's head was twisted, and so it remained as long as he lived.
-the young fellow and the devil
-once upon a time there was a young fellow, who was going along cracking nuts. he found a wormy one, and at the selfsame moment he met the devil. "is it true," said the young fellow, "that the devil can make himself as small as he likes, and can slip through the eye of a needle, as the people say?" "yes," answered the devil. "well, i should certainly like to see you crawl into that nut!" said the young fellow. the devil did so. but when he had crawled through the hole, the young fellow stopped it up with a bit of wood. "now i've got you!" said he, and put the nut in his pocket. after he had gone a while, he came to a smithy, and went in and asked the smith to break the nut for him. "why, that is a mere trifle!" said the smith, took his smallest hammer, laid the nut on the anvil, and struck it; but the nut would not break. then he took a somewhat larger hammer; but that was not heavy enough either. then he took a still larger one, but could do nothing with it at all, and thereupon he grew angry, and took his heaviest hammer. "i'll break you yet!" said he, and struck it with all his might. and then the nut cracked, so that half the smithy roof was carried away, and there was a crash as though the whole hut were falling in. "i believe the devil was in that nut!" said the smith. "and so he was!" answered the young fellow.
-farther south than south, and farther north than north, and in the great hill of gold
-now the second son was to make the attempt; but he had the same experience. after he had lain a while he fell asleep, and in the morning he was unable to tell how the field had come to be trampled down.
-now it was the turn of john by the ashes. he did not lie down by the upper ridge of the field; but lower down, and stayed awake. after he had lain there a while, three doves came flying along. they settled in the field, and that very moment shook off all their feathers, and turned into the most beautiful maidens one might wish to see. they danced with each other over the whole field; and while they did so, the young fellow gathered up all their feathers. toward morning they wanted to put on their feathers again, but could not find them anywhere. then they were frightened, and wept and searched and searched and wept. finally, they discovered the young fellow, and begged him to give them back their feathers. "but why do you dance in our wheat-field?" said the young fellow. "alas, it is not our fault," said the maidens. "the troll who has enchanted us sends us here every saturday night to trample the field. but now give us our feathers, for morning is near." and they begged for them in the sweetest way. "i do not know about that," said the young fellow, "you have trampled down the field so very badly; perhaps--if i might choose and have one of you?" "that would please us," returned the maidens, "but it would not be possible; for three trolls guard us, one with three, one with six and one with nine heads, and they kill all who come to the mountain." but the young fellow said that one of them pleased him so very much that he would make the attempt, in spite of what they had told him. so he chose the middle one, for she seemed the most beautiful to him, and she gave him a ring and put it on his finger. and then the maidens at once put on their garments of dove feathers, and flew back across forest and hill.
-when the young fellow returned home, he told what he had seen. "and now i must set out and try my luck," said he. "i do not know whether i will return, but i must make the venture." "o john, john by the ashes!" said his brothers, and laughed at him. "well, it makes no difference, even though i am worthless," said john by the ashes. "i must try my luck." so the young fellow set out to wander to the place where the maidens lived. they had told him it was farther south than south, and farther north than north, in the great hill of gold. after he had gone a while, he met two poor lads who were quarreling with each other about a pair of old shoes and a bamboo cane, which their mother had left them. the young fellow said it was not worth quarreling about such things, and that he had better shoes and better canes at home. "you cannot say that," returned the brothers, "for whoever has these shoes on can cover a thousand miles in a single step, and whatever is touched with this cane must die at once." the young fellow went on to ask whether they would sell the things. they said that they ought to get a great deal for them. "but what you say of them is not true at all," the young fellow replied. "yes, indeed, it is absolutely true," they answered. "just let me see whether the boots will fit me," said the young fellow. so they let him try them on. but no sooner did the young fellow have the boots on his feet, and the cane in his hand, than he took a step and off he was, a thousand miles away.
-a little later he met two young fellows who were quarreling over an old fiddle, which had been left them. "now is that worth while doing?" said the young fellow. "i have a brand-new fiddle at home." "but i doubt if it has such a tone as ours," said one of the youths, "for if some one is dead, and you play this fiddle, he will come to life again." "that really is a good deal," said the young fellow. "may i draw the bow across the strings?" they told him he might, but no sooner did he have the fiddle in his hand than he took a step, and suddenly he was a thousand miles away.
-a little later he met an old man, and him he asked whether he knew where the place might be that was "farther south than south, and farther north than north, and in the great hill of gold." the man said yes, he knew well enough, but it would not do the young fellow much good to get there, for the troll who lived there killed every one. "o, i have to make the attempt, whether it lead to life or death," said the young fellow, for he was fonder than fond of the middle one of the three maidens. so he learned the way from the old man, and finally reached the hill. there he had to pass through three rooms, before he came into the hall to the maidens. and there were locks on every door, and at each stood a watchman. "where do you want to go?" asked the first watchman. "in to the maidens," said the young fellow. "in you may go, but you'll not get out again," said the watchman, "for now the troll will be along before long." but the young fellow said that, at any rate, he would make the attempt, and went on. so he came to the second watchman. "where do you want to go?" asked the latter. "in to the maidens," said the young fellow. "in you may go, but you'll not get out again," said the watchman, "for the troll will be here any minute." "and yet i will make the attempt," said the young fellow, and the watchman let him pass. so he came to the third watchman. "where do you want to go?" the latter asked him. "in to the maidens," said the young fellow. "in you may go, but you'll never get out again, for the troll will be here in three shakes of a lamb's tail," said the watchman. "and yet i will make the attempt," said the young fellow, and this watchman also let him pass. then he reached the inner chamber where the maidens sat. they were so beautiful and distinguished, and the room was so full of gold and silver, that the young fellow never could have imagined anything like it. then he showed the ring, and asked whether the maidens recognized it. indeed they did recognize him and the ring. "but you poor unfortunate, this is the end of us and of you!" said they. "the troll with three heads will be along before long, and you had better hide behind the door!" "o, i'm so frightened, i'm so frightened!" wailed the maiden whom the young fellow had chosen. "just you stop crying," said the young fellow. "i think fortune will favor us!"
-the troll came that very moment and thrust his three heads into the door. "uff, it smells like christian blood here!" said he. the young fellow struck at the heads with his bamboo cane, and the troll was dead in a minute. so they carried out the body and hid it. a little later the troll with six heads came home. "uff, it smells like christian blood here!" said he. "some one must have crept into the place! but what has become of the other troll?" said he, when he did not see the troll with three heads. "he has not yet come home," said the maidens. "he must have come home," said the troll. "perhaps he has gone to look for the fellow who crept in here." at that moment the young fellow struck all six of his heads with his bamboo cane, and the troll at once fell dead to the ground. then they dragged out the corpse.
-a while later came the troll with nine heads. "uff, it smells like christian blood here!" said he, and grew very angry. "but where are the two others?" said he. "they have not yet come home," said the maidens. "indeed they have come," said the troll, "but they are probably looking for the christian who has crept in here!" at that moment, the young fellow sprang from behind the door, and struck one head after another with his bamboo cane. but he had no more than reached the eighth than it seemed to him that the troll was getting the upper hand, and he ran out of the door. the troll was so furious that he came near bursting. he seized all the maidens and killed them, and then out he flew after the young fellow. the latter had hidden behind a big rock, and when the troll came darting up, showering sparks in his rage, he struck at his ninth head, too, and the troll fell on his back, dead. then the young fellow ran in again, took his fiddle and played, and all the maidens came back to life. now they wanted to go home; but did not know how to find the long road back. "i know what we must do," said the young fellow, "i will take you on my back, one by one, and then the journey will not be long for us." and this he did. he carried home all the gold and silver he found in the hill, and then celebrated his wedding with the middle one of the maidens, and if they have not died, they are living this very day.
-there was once a rich peasant who had two sons, named john nicholas and lucky andrew. the oldest was one of those fellows of whom one never can quite make head or tail. he was a most unpleasant customer to deal with, and he was more grasping and greedy than the folk of the northland are, as a rule, though it is only too rare to find them unblessed with these attractive qualities. the other, lucky andrew, was wild and high spirited, but always good natured, and no matter how badly off he might be, he would always insist that he had been born under a lucky star. when the eagle, in order to defend his nest, belabored his head and face till the blood ran, he would still maintain that he was born under a lucky star, if only he managed to bring home a single eaglet. did his boat capsize, which occasionally happened, and did they discover him hanging to it, quite overcome with the water, cold and exertion, and asked him how he felt, he would reply: "o, quite well. i have been saved. i surely am in luck!"
-when their father died, both of them were of age, and not long after they both had to go out to the sand-banks to fetch some fishing-nets, which had been left there since the summer fishing. it was late in the fall, after the time when most fishermen are busy with the summer fishing. andrew had his gun along, which he carried with him wherever he went. john nicholas did not say much while they were underway; but he thought all the harder. they were not ready to set out for home again until near evening.
-"hark, lucky andrew, do you know there will be a storm to-night?" said john nicholas, and looked out across the sea. "i think it would be best if we stayed here until morning!"
-"there'll be no storm," said andrew. "the seven sisters have not put on their fog-caps, so you may be quite at rest."
-but his brother complained of being weary, and at length they decided to remain there for the night. when andrew awoke he found himself alone; and he saw neither brother nor boat, until he came to the highest point of the island. then he discovered him far out, darting for land like a sea-gull. andrew did not understand the whole affair. there were still provisions there, as well as a dish of curd, his gun and various other things. so andrew wasted but little time in thought. "he will come back this evening," said he. "only a fool loses heart so long as he can eat." but in the evening there was no brother to be seen, and andrew waited day by day, and week by week; until at last, he realized that his brother had marooned him on this barren island in order to be able to keep their inheritance for himself, and not have to divide it. and such was the case, for when john nicholas came in sight of land on his homeward trip, he had capsized the boat, and declared that lucky andrew had been drowned.
-but the latter did not lose heart. he gathered drift-wood along the strand, shot sea-birds, and looked for mussels and roots. he built himself a raft of drift-timber, and fished with a pole that had also been left behind. one day, while he was at work, he happened to notice a depression or hollow in the sand, as though made by the keel of a large northland schooner, and he could plainly trace the braidings of the hawsers from the strand up to the top of the island. then he thought to himself that he was in no danger, for he saw there was truth in the report he had often heard, that the meer-folk made the island their abode, and did much business with their ships.
-"god be praised for good company! that was just what i needed. yes, it is true, as i have always said, that i was born under a lucky star," thought andrew to himself; perhaps he said so too, for occasionally he really had to talk a little. so he lived through the fall. once he saw a boat, and hung a rag on a pole and waved with it; but that very moment the sail dropped, and the crew took to the oars and rowed away at top speed, for they thought the meer-trolls were making signs and waving.
-on christmas eve andrew heard fiddles and music far out at sea; and when he came out, he saw a glow of light that came from a great northland schooner, which was gliding toward the land--yet such a ship he had never yet seen. it has a main-sail of uncommon size, which looked to him to be of silk, and the most delicate tackling, as thin as though woven of steel wire, and everything else was in proportion, as fine and handsome as any northlander might wish to have. the whole schooner was filled with little people dressed in blue, but the girl who stood at the helm was adorned like a bride, and looked as splendid as a queen, for she wore a crown and costly garments. yet any one could see that she was a human being, for she was tall, and handsomer than the meer-folk. in fact, lucky andrew thought that she was handsomer than any girl he ever had seen. the schooner headed for the land where andrew stood; but with his usual presence of mind, he hurried to the fisherman's hut, pulled down his gun from the wall, and crept up into the large loft and hid himself, so that he could see all that passed in the hut. he soon noticed that the whole room was alive with people. they filled it completely and more, and still more of them came in. then the walls began to crack, and the little hut spread out at all corners, and grew so splendid and magnificent that the wealthiest merchant could not have had its equal; it was almost like being in a royal castle. tables were covered with the most exquisite silver and gold. when they had eaten they began to dance. under cover of the noise, andrew crept to the look-out at the side of the roof, and climbed down. then he ran to the schooner, threw his flint-stone over it, and in order to make certain, cut a cross into it with his sharp-cutting knife. when he came back again, the dance was in full swing. the tables were dancing and the benches and chairs--everything else in the room was dancing, too. the only one who did not dance was the bride; she only sat there and looked on, and when the bridegroom came to fetch her, she sent him away. for the moment there was no thought of stopping. the fiddler knew neither rest nor repose, and did not pass his cap, but played merrily on with his left hand, and beat time with his foot, until he was dripping with sweat, and the fiddle was hidden by the dust and smoke. when andrew noticed that his own feet began to twitch where he was standing, he thought to himself: "now i had better shoot away, or else he will play me right off the ground!" so he turned his gun, thrust it through the window, and shot it off over the bride's head; but upside down, otherwise the bullet would have hit him. the moment the shot crashed, all the troll-folk tumbled out of the door together; but when they saw that the schooner was banned on the shore, they wailed and crept into a hole in the hill. but all the gold and silver dishes were left behind, and the bride, too, was still sitting there. she told lucky andrew that she had been carried into the hill when she was only a small child. once, when her mother had gone to the pen to attend to the milking, she had taken her along; but when she had to go home for a moment, she left the child sitting under a juniper-bush, and told her that she might eat the berries if she only repeated three times:
-"i eat juniper-berries blue, wherein jesu's cross i view. i eat whortle-berries red, since 'twas for my sake he bled!"
-but after her mother had gone, she found so many berries that she forgot to say her verse, and so she was enchanted and taken into the hill. and there no harm had been done her, save that she had lost the top joint of the little finger of her left hand, and the goblins had been kind to her; yet it had always seemed to her as though something were not as it should be, she felt as though something weighed upon her, and she had suffered greatly from the advances of the dwarf who had been chosen for her husband. when andrew learned who her mother and her people were, he saw that they were related to him, and they became very good friends. so andrew could truly say he had been born under a lucky star. then they sailed home, and took along the schooner, and all the gold and silver, and all the treasure which had been left in the hut, and then andrew was far wealthier than his brother.
-but the latter, who suspected where all this wealth had come from, did not wish to be any poorer than andrew. he knew that trolls and goblins walk mainly on christmas eve, and for that reason he sailed out to the sand banks at that time. and on christmas eve he did see a light or fire, but it seemed to be like will-o'-the-wisps fluttering about. when he came nearer he heard splashes, horrible howls, and cold, piercing cries, and there was a smell of slime and sea-weed, as at ebb-tide. terrified, he ran up into the hut, from whence he could see the trolls on the shore. they were short and thick like hay-ricks, completely covered with fur, with kirtles of skins, fishing boots, and enormous fist-gloves. in place of head and hair they had bundles of sea-weed. when they crawled up from the strand there was a gleam behind them like that of rotting wood, and when they shook themselves they showered sparks about them. when they drew nearer, john nicholas crawled up into the loft as his brother had done. the goblins dragged a great stone into the hut, and began to beat their gloves dry against it, and meanwhile they screamed so that john nicholas's blood turned to ice in his hiding-place. then one of them sneezed into the ashes on the hearth in order to make the fire burn again; while the others carried in heather-grass and drift-wood, as coarse and heavy as lead. the smoke and the heat nearly killed the eavesdropper in the loft, and in order to catch his breath and get some fresh air, he tried to crawl out of the look-out in the roof; yet he was of much heavier build than his brother, stuck fast and could move neither in nor out. then he grew frightened and began to scream; but the goblins screamed much louder, and roared and howled, and thumped and clamored inside and outside the hut. but when the cock crowed they disappeared, and john nicholas freed himself, too. yet when he returned home from his trip, he had lost his reason, and after that the same cold, sinister screams which are the mark of the troll in the northland, might often be heard sounding from store-rooms and lofts where he happened to be. before his death, however, his reason returned, and he was buried in consecrated ground, as they say. but after that time no human foot ever trod the sand-banks again. they sank, and the meer-folk, it is believed, went to the lekang islands. andrew's luck held good; no ship made more successful trips than his own; but whenever he came to the lekang islands he lay becalmed--the goblins went aboard or ashore with their goods--but after a time he had fair winds, whether he happened to want to go to bergen, or sail home. he had many children, and all of them were bright and vigorous, yet every one of them lacked the upper joint of the little finger of his left hand.
-the pastor and the sexton
-once upon a time there was a pastor who was such a boor that when any one was driving toward him along the highway, he would shout to them, while still some distance off: "get out of the way! get out of the pastor's way!" one day, while he was doing this, along came the king. "get out of the way! get out of the way!" shouted the pastor. but the king drove as he had a mind to, and he drove so fast that this time it was the pastor who had to get out of the way, and when the king passed him, he called out: "see that you come to me at the castle to-morrow, and if you cannot answer three questions i put to you, then you will have to take off your pastor's gown as a punishment for your arrogance!"
-this sounded different from what the pastor was used to hearing. shout and bluster, and completely forget himself in his arrogance, that he knew how to do; but returning a plain answer to a plain question was not his strong point. so he went to the sexton, who was supposed to have more in his upper story than the pastor. he told him he did not venture to go to the castle, because "a fool can ask more than ten wise men can answer," said he, and he induced the sexton to go in his stead.
-the sexton set forth, and came to the castle dressed in the pastor's gown and ruff. the king received him out in the entrance with crown and scepter, and was so splendidly dressed that he fairly gleamed and shone.
-"well, are you here?" yes, indeed, there he was. "first tell me," said the king, "the distance from east to west." "it is one day's journey," said the sexton.
-"and how is that?" asked the king. "well, the sun rises in the east and goes down in the west, and manages to do so nicely in the course of a single day," said the sexton.
-"good," said the king, "but now tell me how much i am worth, just as i stand."
-"well, if our lord christ himself was valued at thirty pieces of silver, then i can hardly value you at more than twenty-nine," said the sexton.
-"well and good," said the king, "but since you are so wondrous wise, tell me what i am thinking now."
-"ah, my lord king, you are probably thinking that this is the pastor who is standing before you, but there you are greatly mistaken, for i am the sexton."
-"then drive straight home, and be the pastor, and the pastor shall be the sexton," said the king, and that is what happened, too.
-the skipper and sir urian
-once upon a time there was a master mariner who had the most unheard of good fortune in all that he undertook; none had such splendid cargoes, and none earned so much money as he did, for everything seemed to come to him. and it is quite certain that there were none who could risk taking the trips he did, for wherever he sailed he had fair winds, yes, it was even said that when he turned around his cap, the wind turned with it, to suit his wish.
-thus he sailed for many years with cargoes of lumber, and even went as far as china, and earned money like hay. but once he sailed the north sea with all sails set, as though he had stolen ship and cargo. but the one who was after him sailed even more swiftly. and that was sir urian, the devil! with him the master mariner, as you may imagine, had made a bargain, and that very day and hour the contract expired, and the mariner had to be prepared, from moment to moment, to see him arrive to fetch him.
-so he came up on deck, out of the cabin, and took a look at the weather. then he called the ship's carpenter and several others, and told them to go down at once into the ship's hold, and bore two holes in the ship's bottom. then they were to take the pumps from out their frames, and set them closely over the holes, so that the water would rise quite high in the pipes.
-the men were surprised, and thought his orders passing strange, yet they did as he told them. they bored the holes, and set up the pumps closely over them, so that not even a drop of water could get at the cargo; yet the north sea stood seven feet high in the pumps.
-no more had they cast overboard their chips and litter than sir urian came along in a squall, and grabbed the master mariner by the collar. "wait, old boy, the matter is not so terribly urgent!" said he, and began to defend himself, and pry loose the claws that held him with an awl. "did you not bind yourself in your contract always to keep my ship tight and dry?" said the master mariner. "you are a nice article! just take a look at the pumps! the water stands seven feet high in the pipes! pump, devil, pump my ship dry, then you may take me to have and to hold as long as ever you wish!"
-the youth who was to serve three years without pay
-once upon a time there was a poor man, who had only one son; but one who was so lazy and clumsy that he did not want to do a stroke of work. "if i am not to feed this bean-pole for the rest of my life, i'll have to send him far away, where not a soul knows him," thought the father. "once he is knocking about in the world, he will not be so likely to come home again." so he took his son and led him about in the world, far and wide, and tried to get him taken on as a serving man; but no one would have him. finally, after wandering a long time, they came to a rich man, of whom it was said that he turned every shilling around seven times before he could make up his mind to part with it. he was willing to take the youth for a servant, and he was to work three years without pay. but at the end of the three years, his master was to go into town, two days in succession, and buy the first thing he saw, and on the third morning the youth himself was to go to town and also buy the first thing he met. and all this he was to receive in lieu of his wage.
-so the youth served out his three years, and did better than they had expected him to do. he was by no means a model serving-man; but then his master was none of the best, either, for he let him go all that time in the same clothes he had worn when he entered his service, until, finally, one patch elbowed the other.
-now when his master was to go to do his buying, he set out as early as possible in the morning. "costly wares are only to be seen by day," said he, "they are not drifting about the street so early. it will probably cost me enough as it is, for what i find is a matter of purest chance." the first thing he saw on the street was an old woman, who was carrying a covered basket. "good-day, granny," said the man. "and good-day to you, daddy," said the old woman.
-"what have you in your basket?" asked the man. "would you like to know?" said the woman. "yes," said the man, "for i have to buy the first thing that comes my way." "well, if you want to know, buy it!" said the old woman. "what does it cost?" asked the man. she must have four shillings for it, declared the woman. this did not seem such a tremendous price to him, he would let it go at that, said he, and raised the cover. and there lay a pup in the basket. when the man got home from his journey to town, there stood the youth full of impatience and curiosity, wondering what his wage for the first year might be. "are you back already, master?" asked the youth. "yes, indeed," said his master. "and what have you bought?" asked the youth. "what i have bought is nothing so very rare," said the man. "i don't even know whether i ought to show it to you; but i bought the first thing to be had, and that was a pup," said he. "and i thank you most kindly for it," said the youth. "i have always been fond of dogs."
-the following morning it was no better. the man set out as early as possible, and had not as yet reached town before he met the old woman with the basket. "good-day, granny," said the man. "and good-day to you, daddy," said the old woman. "what have you in your basket to-day?" asked the man. "if you want to know, then buy it!" was again the answer. "what does it cost?" asked the man. she wanted four shillings for it, she had only the one price. the man said he would buy it, for he thought that this time he would make a better purchase. he raised the cover, and this time a kitten lay in the basket. when he reached home, there stood the youth, waiting to see what he was to get in lieu of his second year's wages. "are you back again, master!" said he. "yes, indeed," said the master. "what did you buy to-day?" asked the youth. "alas, nothing better than i did yesterday," said the man, "but i did as we agreed, and bought the first thing i came across, and that was this kitten." "you could not have hit on anything better," said the youth, "for all my life long i have been fond of cats as well as of dogs." "i do not fare so badly this way," thought the man, "but when he sets out for himself, then the matter will probably turn out differently."
-"you have good reason," said the professor, smiling back at her kindly. "it is certainly a beautiful old homestead. yes, i have no objection to ida's going with you."
-"oh, thank you!" cried lloyd. she hurried up the stairs to ida's room, calling excitedly as she reached the door, "yes, he says you may go. hurry and put on your things so that we can have as long time as possible up there."
-betty had gone into the matron's room in her absence. it took lloyd only a moment to slip into her hat and coat. then catching up her muff and thrusting it under her arm, she started back to ida's room, buttoning her gloves as she went. ida had taken down her hair and was deliberately rearranging it before the mirror.
-"oh, what did you do that for?" cried lloyd, half-impatiently. "it looked all right as it was. we're not going to see any one but the servants. there's no use wearing your best hat." she glanced at the mass of velvet and plumes lying on the bed. "just pin your hair up any fashion and stick on your mortar-board. that'll do."
-"shut the door, please," said ida, in a low tone. "i have something to tell you." she bent nearer the mirror, drawing the comb through the fluffy pompadour. "we are going to see some one this afternoon. edwardo is in the valley."
-lloyd dropped her muff at this surprising announcement, but ida went on, calmly. "i've been expecting him for several days. he comes to lloydsboro sometimes to visit his cousin. i've lain awake nights trying to arrange some way to see him. this is a thousand times better than any way i could think of. i'm the luckiest girl that ever lived to have such a friend as you to plan for me, princess."
-"i don't know what you mean," exclaimed lloyd. "i haven't planned anything."
-"no, not intentionally, but look how easy you have made it for me to have an interview. he'll be on the watch for the seminary girls to pass by the store, for i was to manage to leave a note there for him, telling him where i can see him. all i have to do now is to signal him to follow, and we can have a good long talk at locust while you are giving the servants their orders. you don't mind, do you?" she asked, as lloyd continued to stare at her without saying anything.
-"no. oh, no! of co'se not," answered lloyd, with a confused laugh. "only it makes me feel so que'ah to think that i'm really going to see him. it's just as if lord rokeby or the squire's son had stepped out of the book. i feel as if i were in a book myself since you told me that. this is the way it would be on the page, if we could stand off and read about ourselves: 'and violet's little friend led the way down the long avenue, and there on the threshold of her home, after months of cruel separation, the reunited lovers kept their tryst.'"
-ida laughed happily. "you'll have a book written before betty is half-started if you go on at that rate. now tell me. do i look all right?"
-she was settling the big picture-hat in place over her soft hair as she anxiously asked the question. lloyd regarded her critically, tipping her head a trifle to one side as she looked.
-"put your hat a hairbreadth farther over your face," she exclaimed. "there! that's lovely. oh, violet, that shade of velvet is so becoming to you. it's just the colah of yoah eyes. i nevah saw you look so beautiful."
-a becoming pink flushed ida's cheeks. she bent her head over the bunch of violets pinned on the lapel of her coat. "it's dear of you to think so," she said, "and it's dear of you to send me these violets every week. these are unusually sweet. i'm so glad i have a fresh bunch for to-day--this happy day."
-lloyd took the keenest delight in watching the graceful girl sweep down the hall ahead of her. from the plumes of the picture-hat to the hem of her stylish gown she thoroughly satisfied lloyd's artistic instinct for the beautiful. she gave her arm an adoring little squeeze as they passed down the stairs together.
-out on the road she glanced up at ida again. happiness had not made her radiant, as it did daisy dale, but there was a soft light in the violet eyes which made lloyd think of a picture she had seen of a vestal maiden on her way to guard the holy altar fires.
-lloyd's heart began to beat faster as she realized that every step was taking them nearer to edwardo. she pictured him again in her imagination, as she had done so many times before. she would know that pale, serious face with its flashing eyes anywhere she might meet him, she was sure.
-neither of them spoke as they hurried along the path through the lower part of clovercroft and pushed open the woodland gate. but as they stepped up on the platform in front of the depot, lloyd said, "let's cross the track heah, and go up on the othah side of the road. then we'll not have to pass the waiting-rooms. there's always so many people loafing around the window of the telegraph-office."
-instinctively she felt that while a little girl like herself would attract no attention, ida in her long sweeping dress that she held up so gracefully, and the big hat drooping over her pretty face, and the stylish fur collar, and the violets on her coat, made a picture that any one would turn to look at twice. she could not bear to think of the bold glances that might be cast after her by the loafers around the depot. it seemed to her little short of sacrilege, although she could not have put the feeling into words, for any eyes but edwardo's to rest upon her as she went on her way to this meeting with that vestal-maiden look upon her face.
-"very well," assented ida. "you know we want to stop at the store. i want to get some chocolate creams if they have any fresh ones."
-"be with you in a moment, please," called the first clerk as the girls entered. lloyd stopped in front of the show-case near the door, and began idly examining the various styles of jewelry and letter-paper displayed within. she had almost decided to invest in a certain little enamelled pin which she knew would delight mom beck, and take it up to her as a surprise, when barbry stepped beside her with a polite greeting and an inquiry about her grandfather's health.
-while she was still talking with barbry, ida came up flushed and excited. she thrust her bag of chocolates into her muff, and, catching up her skirts, said, hurriedly, "come on, i'm ready."
-lloyd started at once to follow her to the door, but looked back to nod assent to barbry's last remark, and in turning again almost ran into the young fellow who had been reading at the bookkeeper's desk. he was hurrying after ida to open the door for her. he held it aside for them both to pass through, and a flush of displeasure dyed lloyd's face as she saw the admiring glance he cast boldly at ida.
-"he needn't have gone so far out of his way to have done that," exclaimed lloyd, as they started up the road toward locust. "it was the clerk's place to open the doah, and he nearly knocked him down, trying to get there first."
-"who?" inquired ida, innocently. she was several steps in advance, and could not see lloyd's face.
-"that horrid mistah ned bannon. i can't bea'h him. papa jack told mothah she must nevah invite him to the house, undah any circumstances, because he wasn't fit for betty and me to know, and--"
-she stopped abruptly, for ida turned with a white, pained face.
-"oh, lloyd!" she cried. "how can you hurt me so? don't believe any of those dreadful things you hear about him!" then, seeing from lloyd's amazed expression that she failed to understand the situation, she added, in a distressed tone, "he is edwardo."
-if ida had struck her on the face she could not have been more amazed. she stood staring at her helplessly, unable to say a word.
-"i must be dreaming all this," she thought. "after awhile i'll surely wake up and find i've had a horrible nightmare."
-but the distress in ida's voice was too real to be a dream. she was biting her lips to keep back the tears. after one look into lloyd's dismayed face she turned away and began moving slowly on toward locust. lloyd walked beside her, mechanically. she could not shake off the feeling that she must be in a dream. from time to time she cast a half-frightened glance toward ida. she felt that she had wounded her so deeply that nothing she might say could ever make amends. when she saw a tear course slowly down her cheek and splash down on the bunch of flowers on her coat, she clasped her arm impulsively, saying, "oh, violet, deah, don't cry! i wouldn't have hurt you for worlds. i didn't have the faintest idea that he was the one."
-"it isn't so much what you said," answered ida, controlling her voice with an effort, "but i'd counted so much on your friendship for him. and now to know that people have prejudiced you against him before you've had a chance to meet him and find out for yourself that they're mistaken--" she stopped with a sob. "under all his wild ways he's good and noble and true at heart, and it isn't fair for everybody to condemn him for what he has done, and stand in his way when he's trying so hard to do better."
-one little hand in the muff was bare, and lloyd saw the gleam of the pearl on it as ida took out her handkerchief and dabbed it hastily across her eyes. it brought back all that scene in the moonlighted orchard, and ida's blushing confession: "he says that is what my life means to him--a pearl. that if it wasn't for my love and prayers he wouldn't care what became of him or what he did. do you blame me for disregarding aunt's wishes?" and again as on that night the little colonel's heart swelled with an indignant "no!" again she arrayed herself beside her friend, ready to do battle for her against the whole world if necessary.
-wonderfully comforted by lloyd's protests of sympathy and understanding, ida dried her eyes and looked back over her shoulder, saying, "he's not in sight yet. i told him not to start for fifteen minutes, and then to come the long way, around through tanglewood, so nobody could think he was following us. that will give you time to show me over the house."
-as lloyd swung open the entrance gate and started down the long avenue, a queer feeling crept over her that she could not have expressed had she tried. it seemed to her that the old trees were almost human, and stretched out their bare branches toward her with an offering of protection and welcome that was like the greeting of old friends. yet at the same time she felt the silent challenge of these old family sentinels, and involuntarily answered it by a slight lifting of the head and a trifle more erectness of carriage as she passed. they seemed to expect it of her, that she should walk past them, as all the lloyds had walked, with the proud consciousness that none could gainsay their countersign of gentle birth and breeding which spoke even in their tread.
-it was the first time she had been back to locust since the beginning of school, and ida felt some subtle change in her as soon as they passed inside the great gate. the little colonel's personality asserted itself as it had not at the seminary. there she was ida's adoring little shadow, completely under the spell of her influence. here, swayed by the stronger influence of old associations, she was herself again; the same well-poised, imperious little creature that she was when she first coolly "bearded the lion in his den, the douglas in his hall," and brought the old colonel to unconditional surrender.
-mom beck came up from the servants' cottage and unlocked the house for them, and after reading her the list of articles to be packed, lloyd left her in the linen-room and began a tour of the house. in the pleasure of acting as hostess and showing ida the attractions of locust, she would have forgotten that an unwelcome guest was on his way, had not ida's restless glances from every front window they passed, reminded her.
-"it belonged to my grandmothah amanthis, and i am proudah of it than anything i own. that's her portrait ovah the mantel. isn't she beautiful? somehow i nevah can call her just grandmothah, as if she were an old lady. she nevah lived to be one, you know. i always have to add her name, amanthis, and i think of her as she looks there in the pictuah, the young girl she was when grandfathah first saw her, a june rose in her hair and anothah at her throat. 'the fairest flowah in all kentucky,' he told me once. that's always seemed such a sweet romance to me. she wasn't much oldah than you when he brought her here a bride. he always talks about her when the locusts bloom, for they were in blossom then, and the avenue was white with them."
-lloyd had expected more outspoken admiration from ida when she showed her the portrait, and was disappointed to have her barely glance up at it, murmuring, "yes, she is lovely," in an absent-minded way, and then hurry to the window, exclaiming, "oh, there he is. i can see him just coming in at the gate."
-"oh, don't put it on yet," said ida. "i want to show it to him." lloyd hesitated an instant, then stammered confusedly, "but--but--oh, ida, i'm so sorry, but don't you see, i can't ask him into the house."
-"why not?" cried ida. "you promised on the way up here you'd do anything you could for me."
-tears of distress gathered in the little colonel's eyes. it was impossible to answer ida's question without wounding her deeply, for it was in this very room she had heard her grandfather say: "it's a pity cy bannon's youngest boy is such a profligate. why, sir, he isn't worth the powder and shot that would put an end to his worthless existence. i wouldn't let him darken my doors, sir!" and it was in this room also that she had heard her father say: "no, elizabeth, for the judge's sake i'd like to show ned some attention, and some families do receive him. but his unprincipled conduct bars him out here. he's a fellow whom i never could permit lloyd to know."
-ida repeated her question. "oh, violet," cried lloyd, "it's just breaking my heart to refuse you, but i can't let him come in. it isn't my house, and i've no right to when grandfathah and papa jack have both forbidden it. but it's warmah on the poa'ch than it is in the house with no fiah, and i'll put some chairs out for you, and wait for you in heah."
-"won't you even come out and be introduced?"
-"oh, violet, don't ask me!" begged the little colonel. "i'd like to for your sake, but i can't. i simply can't!"
-"why not? are you going to let your father's prejudices stand in the way? he doesn't know him as i do. he's just taken a dislike to him as aunt has done on account of things he's heard. it's unfair! it's unjust to condemn him on account of other people's mistaken opinions and prejudices."
-the little colonel wavered. ida's absolute trust made it seem possible that she might be right and everybody else mistaken. she peered out of the window again. he was half-way up the avenue now, sauntering along at a leisurely gait with a cigarette in his mouth.
-"besides," continued ida, "nobody need ever know you have met him. it's easy enough to keep it secret, so what's the difference--"
-she stopped in the middle of her sentence, surprised by the change in the little colonel's manner. she had drawn herself up haughtily, and in her fearless scorn bore a strong resemblance to the portrait of the soldier-boy in gray in the frame above her.
-"i hope," she said, slowly, "that i have too much respect for the family honah to do such an undahhanded thing as that. do you think that i'd be willing to be the only one of all the lloyds who couldn't be trusted?"
-"why, princess, i don't see what's changed you so suddenly," said ida. "i haven't asked you to do anything more than you've been doing all along, by letting me use your post-office box."
-"but i nevah would have done that" cried lloyd, "if i'd have known who yoah edwardo was, and now i've found out that it is some one that papa jack disapproves of, of co'se i can't carry yoah lettahs any moah."
-"oh, princess, i thought you'd stand by me against the whole world!" sobbed ida. "i had counted so much--just these few days he'll be here in the valley--on seeing him up here. i didn't think you'd be unreasonable and unjust. it seems as if it would break my heart to have my only friend fail me now."
-the tears were streaming down lloyd's face, too, but she clenched her hands and shook her head stubbornly. "no, tell him he can't come heah again, and that he mustn't send any moah lettahs to my address."
-without another word ida turned and walked out to the porch, where she stood waiting behind the bare vines that twined the pillars for edwardo to come to her. all the pretty colour had died out of her face, and lloyd felt in a sudden spasm of remorse that she was responsible for the tears in the beautiful eyes and the look of trouble on the face that only a little while before had been aglow with happiness. the odour of a cigarette floated in through the hall. then ida closed the door, and the two sat down on the step outside.
-lloyd paced up and down the long room with her hands behind her back. there was an ache in her throat. she was so miserably disappointed in edwardo, so miserably sorry for ida. more than all, she was miserably sorry for herself; for the friendship which she had counted one of the most beautiful things of her life lay in ruins. for a moment she doubted if she had done right to shirk the obligations it had laid upon her, and wondered if it were not a greater sacrifice than her father ought to expect her to make for him. the temptation pressed sorely upon her to go to ida and tell her she would stand by her as she had promised, and for a few days longer, at least, be the bearer of their letters. she even started toward the door; but half-way across the room some compelling force drew her eyes toward the portrait of amanthis, and she stood still, looking into the depths of the clear, true eyes which had given counsel to more than one troubled heart.
-years before, the old colonel, standing with his head bowed on the mantel, had murmured, brokenly, "oh, amanthis, tell me what to do!" and, obedient to the silent message of that straightforward gaze, had started off through the falling snow to be reconciled to his only daughter. and now lloyd, looking up in the same way, no longer had any doubts about her duty.
-"it wouldn't be right, would it!" she murmured. "you nevah did anything you had to hide. you wouldn't stoop to anything clandestine." she straightened herself up proudly, and wiped her eyes. "neithah will i, no mattah what it costs me not to!" then she went on, brokenly, as if talking to a living presence: "oh, it's so pitiful for her to be so deceived in him; for of co'se grandfathah and papa jack and her aunt and everybody put togethah couldn't be mistaken. and i love her so much; i wish mothah were here, or papa jack--but i'll promise you, grandmothah amanthis, i'll nevah make you ashamed of me again. i wouldn't have carried the lettahs if i had known, and you can trust me always aftah this, for evah and evah."
-it seemed to lloyd that an approving smile rested on the girlish face, and a red streak of light from the wintry sunset, stealing in through the uncurtained window, shone across the june rose at her throat till it burned for the moment with the live red of a living rose.
-she slipped the cover on the harp again, and taking one more look around the room at every familiar object grown dear from years of happy associations, she closed the door softly and stole up-stairs to rejoin mom beck. she felt as if she had been to a funeral and had suddenly grown very old and worldly wise--years older and wiser than when she started blithely up to locust an hour or two before.
-it was late when she and mom beck came down-stairs again. the sunset glow had almost faded from the sky. they bolted the front door and went out the back, mom beck taking the key again.
-"ida is waiting for me on the front poa'ch," lloyd explained. "good-bye, mom beck. i'm mighty homesick to come back to you all."
-"good-bye, honey," responded the faithful old soul. "i'm going to bring you some prawlines in the mawnin'. ole becky knows what'll cheer up her baby."
-lloyd paused at the corner of the porch. "i think we ought to go now," she called.
-"in a minute," answered ida. "i'll catch up with you."
-lloyd walked on slowly by herself, down the avenue, through the gate, beside the railroad track. she was in sight of the depot before ned bannon struck off across a field and ida joined her. she did not speak as they hurried on toward the seminary, and lloyd felt, with a desolate sinking of the heart, that the old intimacy could never be resumed.
-ghost or girl
-allison, struggling into her jacket as she ran, hurried along the path through clovercroft to overtake kitty and katie on their way home at noon.
-"wait!" she called, waving her gloves frantically to attract their attention as they looked back from the woodland gate.
-"i have some news for you." she was almost breathless when she caught up with them.
-"what do you think of this? ida and lloyd have had a falling out of some kind. neither one will say what it's about, but they don't have anything more to do with each other, and ida has resigned from the shadow club. she told me just now to tell you all that she couldn't come any more, and that we might as well invite somebody else to join in her place. she didn't give any reason for leaving, and you know when she puts on that dignified, grown-up air of hers, one doesn't feel at liberty to ask questions. i told her i was sorry, and started to beg her to change her mind, but she wouldn't listen; just smiled in a mournful sort of way as if she had lost her last friend, and hurried past me.
-"i asked betty if she knew what was the matter, and she said it must be a quarrel of some kind, for lloyd was dreadfully unhappy. after she came back from locust yesterday evening she threw herself across the bed and cried, and cried, and wouldn't tell what for. she wouldn't go down to supper, either, and afterward, when betty fixed her something on the chafing-dish, she barely tasted it."
-"we'll have a gay old club meeting to-morrow," said katie, "with ida gone and lloyd in the dumps and betty unable to come, on account of her cold--"
-"and her head so full of the book she's writing that she can't take any interest in anything else," interrupted kitty. "it's too bad that there's only half a club left. three of us can't get enough things ready to have a fair by easter."
-"that isn't the worst of it," answered katie. "the three of us alone never can get even with mittie dupong and carry out our hoodoo plot to punish her, because we are all outside of the seminary. i'm tired of having the girls laugh whenever they see me eating an apple and make remarks about c. d."
-"and i'm tired of hearing everlastingly about that old valentine!" chimed in kitty. "if the other girls won't help us i think we ought to act on ida's suggestion and take in some new members who would."
-"lucy smith would be glad to join in ida's place," said allison. "she rooms across the hall from mittie, and she'd dare do anything that we would suggest."
-"and retta long's room is just above, and she's a good friend of ours," added kitty. "let's talk it over with betty and lloyd as soon as we get back to the seminary after dinner, and if they're willing we'll swear in the new members at recess."
-"all right," assented katie. "i'll hurry back and meet you here at the depot as soon as i get through dinner. we'll settle this before night."
-but much running back and forth and consulting and discussing was necessary before the new addition to the club was in full working order. lloyd and betty were willing to admit retta and lucy, but retta and lucy were not willing to join unless their roommates were included in the invitation; and their roommates, dora deersly and rose parker, were not willing to spend any time in making fancy articles for the fair. it was too near the holidays, they said. they needed all their spare time for the presents they were trying to finish before christmas.
-"couldn't they be sort of honorary members, and not have to work?" suggested kitty. "they needn't even meet with us on saturdays, if they'll help us play ghost to scare mittie."
-"yes, there are some secret societies, like the masons, that have different orders," allison said. "why couldn't we have, too? we'll be one kind of shadow, the kind that casts the influence, and the other four can be another kind and do the mischief. we can call ourselves the g. g.'s for good ghosts. betty, can't you fix up something for the others?"
-"yes," answered betty, "if you'll give me enough time."
-she turned to the little note-book she always carried, and began looking over a list of words on the last page. the girls often laughed at betty's devotion to the dictionary. frequently they found her poring over its pages, picking out new words that pleased her fancy, as they would pick out the kernels of a nut, and jotting them down for future use.
-there was no regular meeting of the shadow club that saturday. mrs. walton had not been taken into the secret of the wraiths of vengeance, and when it was explained to her that betty had a cold and could not come, and lloyd and ida had had a misunderstanding and were not on good terms, she was quite willing to compensate the girls for their disappointment by inviting lucy smith and retta long to tea.
-some of the neighbours came in to spend the evening, so allison and kitty took their guests up-stairs to make some experiments with a magic lantern which had often afforded them amusement. little elise, who had seen all the pictures many times before, went back to the library, and barbry soon finished her evening duties up-stairs; so no one ever knew just what those experiments were.
-among the slides was a picture of lot's wife; a tall, white figure with a half-lifted veil, turning for a backward look. the lurid flames of burning sodom glowed in the background the first time lucy and retta saw it thrown upon the wall, but the last time it was changed into a ghostly figure that made those wraiths of vengeance dance for joy. allison, with a thick coat of black paint, had carefully covered all the background, blotting out everything in the circle except the figure itself, which stood out with startling distinctness. then from the top of a step-ladder they practised throwing it from the transom of allison's room through the opposite transom of the room across the hall.
-"it will be even easier than this at the seminary," said lucy, "for the hall between mittie's room and mine is narrower, and the transoms are lower. that will throw the figure directly above the foot of mittie's bed. i think it will be all the better that we have to throw it high, for it will give the floating effect the veiled lady is famous for, to have the head so near the ceiling. i'll have to lay in a stock of provisions so that i need not go down to supper monday night. then while everybody is in the dining-room i'll hide the step-ladder under my bed, and experiment with the lantern from my transom to get exactly the right position."
-"what if mittie shouldn't wake up when you flash it in?" suggested allison.
-retta was equal to providing for such an emergency. "i'll set my watch with lucy's," she said, "and at exactly the moment we agree upon, i'll tap on mittie's window just below mine with a bottle let down on a string. i'll give three sepulchral knocks, then wait a minute and give three more. i should think that an empty bottle knocking against the glass would give a hollow sort of sound. that's the window we always keep open at night."
-"when it's time for barbry to take you home," said allison, "we'll go, too, and help carry the lantern. now this is a case of our shadow-selves being where we can not. we can't do the actual scaring, but it's our lantern that's going to cast the shadow that will make mittie dupong afraid to listen again as long as she lives."
-it took considerable self-denial on lucy's part to forego supper when the time came to carry out the plan, but the spirit of mischief was stronger than her appetite. she was rewarded by finding the daintiest of luncheons in the box allison left upon her table, and as she sat down to enjoy it after bringing in the step-ladder from the chambermaid's supply-closet and making her experiments, she thought the order of wraiths was a most excellent thing to which to belong.
-although midnight is the prescribed time for all ghostly visitants, these wraiths had arranged for a much earlier appearing. it would cost too great an effort to keep awake until that witching hour. it was not more than half-past ten, although the seminary had been in darkness and silence for an hour, when retta leaned out of her window, dangling an empty shoe-polish bottle on the end of a long string. it swung against mittie's window just below with three hollow knocks. ten seconds after by lucy's watch the knocking was repeated. she could not hear it from her room, but her faith in retta's punctuality in carrying out her part of the programme made her send a dazzling circle of light from the lantern she was manipulating, to rest on the wall above the foot of mittie's bed.
-mittie sat up in bed, too startled to utter a sound. the light instantly disappeared and a white-veiled figure took its place. to her horror she could distinctly see the dark wall-paper through its ghostly outlines. she buried her face in the bedclothes with a moan of terror.
-"what's the matter, mittie?" asked her roommate, from the opposite bed, who had been aroused by the knocking and the light, but had not opened her eyes until she heard the moan. the sound of a human voice gave mittie courage to look out again. the apparition was gone.
-"oh," she quavered, "i must have been dreaming. i thought there was a knocking at the window, then there was a blinding light, and the next instant the veiled lady seemed to float across the room at the foot of my bed. i never was so frightened in my life. my tongue is stiff yet, and i am all in a shiver. oh, it was awful!"
-"it must have been the potato salad you ate for supper," answered sara, drowsily; but as she spoke the three slow knocks sounded again at the window, and she raised herself on her elbow to listen.
-"oo-oo-oh! there it is again!" wailed mittie, burrowing under the bedclothes again. the hair fairly rose on sara's head as the outlines of a veiled figure appeared above the foot of mittie's bed, floating hesitatingly a little space, and then vanished. in a flash sara had disappeared from view also, and lay almost smothered under the blankets, so rigid with fear that she dared not move a muscle. she held herself motionless until she began to ache. it seemed hours before either one dared look out again, although it was barely five minutes.
-"it was the hoodoo beginning to work," gasped sara, in a hoarse whisper. "oh, if i ever live through this night i tell you i'll get out of this room in the morning, mittie dupong. i'll never spend another night with a girl that's marked for the haunts to follow."
-it was hours before they fell asleep, for they kept opening their eyes to assure themselves that the apparition had not reappeared. even in broad daylight the memory of their fright was not a pleasant thing to think about. it required all the persuasion that mittie could bring to bear, and the gift of a coral fan-chain to prevail upon sara not to go to the teachers with the matter. she finally consented to room with mittie one more night, but announced in case the ghost came back she'd certainly alarm the seminary.
-"but if the teachers found out that i really was marked that way," sobbed mittie, "they'd go to investigating, and find out about my eavesdropping, and they wouldn't let me stay in the school, if the spirits made such a disturbance about it."
-sara promised secrecy, but while no hint of the appearance reached the faculty, every girl in the seminary heard of it before night. nothing was talked of but table-tippings and spirit-rapping and "appearances." no ghostly visitant disturbed mittie's and sara's slumbers the second night. the shadow club, in secret session, decided it would not be safe to venture again so soon. but a spirit of unrest seemed to pervade the whole seminary. mischievous girls knocked on the walls to see their roommates turn pale. cold hands reached suddenly out of dark corners to clutch unwary passers-by, and a panic spread in a single evening among the pupils, more contagious than mumps or measles. every one not infected with the fear seemed infected with a desire to make some one else afraid.
-even gentle little jean wilson, whose deportment was always perfect, and who was too tender-hearted to watch a spider killed, so the girls declared, felt moved to do something. her roommate, ada day, loudly proclaimed that she was not afraid of spooks, and she didn't have any patience with girls who were silly enough to believe such tales. nothing could frighten her!
-while ada was in the bath-room that evening, jean emptied a tin box of talcum powder, slipped a spool of thread inside, and drawing the end of the thread through one of the holes in the perforated lid, hid the box in the springs of ada's bed. the black thread trailing across the carpet to jean's pillow was not visible in the dimly lighted room when ada came back and found jean lying with her eyes closed. she did not turn up the lamp, but began undressing as quietly as possible, and was soon in bed herself. both girls were wakeful that night. both heard the clock strike several times. ada tossed and turned whenever she roused, but jean lay as quiet as possible, breathing regularly, so that ada thought she was asleep and did not venture to speak.
-as the clock in the lower hall stopped striking twelve, jean reached for the thread fastened to her pillow by a pin, and gave it several quick uneven jerks. the spool rattling in the tin box sounded like the mysterious rappings at which ada had turned up her nose. to hear it thus in the dead of night was a different matter to ada.
-"jean!" she called, in a hoarse stage-whisper. "jean! did you hear that? what do you suppose it is?"
-jean gave the thread another tweak, and then answered, in the same loud whisper, "it sounds to me as if something was trying to spell your name by tapping. it comes from under your bed, but then of course you don't believe in such things. it may be a warning."
-"i wish i dared put my foot out of bed," said ada, her teeth chattering. "i'd get up and make a light. you do it, jean. i'd do that much for you if the noise was under your bed."
-"sh!" warned jean. "i believe something is really calling you. it's certainly spelling your name. now count. one knock--that is a. one, two, three, four--d. one again--a. yes, that spelled ada. now it's beginning again. one, two, three, four--d. one--a." the knocks followed in rapid succession until ada, realizing that they were going all the way to y, was almost paralyzed with terror.
-"oh, jean!" she wailed. "stop it! stop it! get up and make a light, or call the matron, or something! i can't stand it a minute longer! i'll be a gibbering idiot if you don't stop that awful knocking!"
-jean still continued to jerk the thread, till she heard ada spring up desperately as if to jump out of bed. then she said, "oh, do be still, ada day. it's nothing but a spool in a tin box. see! i'll strike a match and show you. i was only playing a trick on you because you boasted nothing could frighten you. don't rouse the house, for mercy's sake."
-it took much time and much pleading on jean's part to convince ada that there was really no spirit under her bed, and then it took more time and pleading to appease her anger. the sound of voices and the striking of a match aroused the matron. she lay for a moment, wondering what was the matter; then, thinking that some one might be ill and in need of her services, she got up, slipped on a warm bathrobe and her felt bedroom slippers, and stepped out into the hall to investigate.
-all was quiet, but she had a feeling that some mischief was afloat. an inkling of the disturbing element in the school had reached her early in the day, and although she had said nothing to the teachers, she had made a careful round of inspection just before going to bed. some rumour of the doings of the shadow club which had come to her made her go to the west wing and push aside the portière hanging over the door that led to the outside stairway. the bolt was in place, but it slipped easily in its sheath as if it had lately been oiled. selecting a key on the ring at her belt, she locked the door. "i'll risk a fire for one night," she thought, "but i can't risk some other things."
-although the hall was quiet when she stepped out now in the midnight silence, some feeling that all was not right made her slip on down the front stairs. there was no light, excepting a faint starlight, that served to show where the windows were. as she stood there listening, about to strike a match, something in white brushed down the stairs past her. half in a spirit of mischief, thinking to pay the girl or ghost, whichever it was, back in her own coin, the matron threw her arms around the sheeted figure.
-there was a muffled scream of terror. but, holding her captive fast with one strong hand, the matron struck a match with the other.
-"hush!" she said. "there's no use in disturbing everybody." then as the match flared up she saw that it was no wraith of vengeance she held. the sheet fell to the floor, revealing ida shane, dressed even to hat and furs, and carrying her leather travelling-bag.
-the shadow club in disgrace
-"the president wishes to see the members of the shadow club in his office immediately. they will please pass out before we proceed with the opening exercises."
-that was the announcement professor fowler made in chapel next morning, and a clap of thunder from a clear sky could not have been more unexpected or more startling in its effect. a frightened silence pervaded the room so deep that every girl could hear her heart beat. a message to doctor wells's office at that hour was almost unheard of. he always conducted the chapel exercises himself. it must be a matter of grave importance indeed that would cause his absence now, and the sending of such a message.
-but the instant the door closed upon them and they found themselves alone in the hall outside, they began demanding of each other the reason for the summons.
-"you needn't ask me!" exclaimed lucy. "we didn't do a thing last night on our side of the building. i've no more idea than a chipmunk why we were sent for."
-"nothing happened in our wing," protested betty and lloyd, in the same breath.
-"oh, girls, i'm all in a shake!" exclaimed retta long, almost in tears. "it frightens me nearly to death to think of being called up before the president. such a thing never happened to me before, nor to any of our family."
-"oh, boo!" exclaimed kitty, with a reassuring smile. "we haven't done anything so killing bad that we need care. we've only had a little fun. come on! i'm not afraid of all the king's horses and all the king's men."
-but in spite of her brave words she sat down as shyly as the rest of them when doctor wells, tall and commanding, motioned them to seats in front of his desk. he looked so big and dignified, standing before them erect and silent, while he waited for them to be seated, that her courage failed her. but when he sat down in his armchair and looked gravely from one frightened face to the other, kitty saw a twinkle in the kind eyes behind the spectacles which reassured her.
-"we caught a ghost in the seminary last night, young ladies," he began, abruptly, with a smile twitching an instant at the corners of his mouth. it was only for an instant. his face was unusually grave as he proceeded. "it was just in time to prevent a very serious occurrence which would have been a great calamity to the school. it made a partial confession which implicated some one in your club, and i have sent for you in order that you may clear yourselves at once. most of your mischief has been only innocent amusement, i know, but i must have a complete history of the club, from the beginning six weeks ago, up till twelve o'clock last night."
-at mention of a ghost, they looked at each other with startled faces, wondering how much he already knew. evidently some one outside of the club had been playing their own game, and they wondered who could have made a confession which could truthfully have included them. instinctively they turned to betty to be their spokesman. with her truthful brown eyes looking straight into the doctor's, betty clasped her hands in her lap and gave a simple account of the club.
-she began with the verse miss edith had written in their albums, and the story she had told them of the girls who walked forty miles to the mountain school. she told of the impulse it had awakened in them to do something for the mountain people, and the club that had grown out of that desire.
-"we didn't intend to play any pranks in the beginning," she said; "all we wanted to do was to cast our shadow-selves where we could never be. but just after hallowe'en we met in our room one saturday afternoon, and a girl hid in the closet next to ours and heard all our secrets and went and told them, and we decided to shadow her awhile, to punish her for being so mean. but one-half of the club lived outside the seminary, and ida shane resigned about that time, so we established a new order, and took these four girls in as wraiths of vengeance." she nodded toward the new members.
-a grim smile flitted across the doctor's face as he listened to her explanation of their duties, and heard the use they had made of lot's wife and the magic lantern. but he smoothed his white moustache to cover his amusement, and when she finished he sat in deep thought a moment, his brows drawn closely together.
-"if there was any ghost around last night, we weren't responsible for its doings," she added. "it didn't belong to the club."
-"why did ida shane resign?" he asked, suddenly.
-"i don't know, sir," answered betty. "she wouldn't tell."
-"there must have been a reason," he continued, sternly. "do you know, kitty?"
-"do you, katie?"
-the same question and the same answer passed down the line until it came to lloyd. she blushed a vivid scarlet and hesitated.
-"yes, i know," she exclaimed. "but i am not at liberty to tell."
-the president held out part of a torn envelope, on which was written with many flourishes in a bold, masculine hand, "lloydsboro seminary. kindness of bearer."
-"have any of you seen this handwriting before?" he asked.
-the envelope was passed from hand to hand, each girl shaking her head in denial, until it came to lloyd. with a sick sinking of heart she recognized the familiar penmanship that had been such a bugbear, and which she had hoped never to see again. all the colour faded from her face as she faintly acknowledged that it was familiar.
-"that is all," he said, carelessly tossing the paper back on the desk. "i am glad to find that the club, as a club, is in no way accountable for the affair that i mentioned. i shall have to forbid any more games of ghost, however, and must ask the owners of the magic lantern to take their property home."
-he kept them a moment longer, with a few earnest words which they never could forget, they were so fatherly, so helpful, and inspiring. they went away with a higher value of the motive of their little club and its power to influence others; and an earnest purpose to measure up to the high standard he set for them, made them quiet and thoughtful all that morning.
-"just a moment, please, lloyd," he said, as she was about to pass out with the others. "there's another matter about which i wish to speak to you."
-she dropped into her seat again. when the last girl had passed out, closing the door behind her, he picked up the scrap of envelope again, saying, "i must ask you one more question, lloyd. where have you seen this handwriting before?"
-she looked up at him imploringly. "oh, please, doctah wells," she begged, "don't ask me! i'm not at liberty to tell that, eithah. i promised that i wouldn't, on my honah, you know."
-"but it is imperative that i should know," he answered, sternly. "you are here in my charge, and i have the right to demand an answer."
-"i am in honah bound not to tell," she repeated, a trifle defiantly, although her lips quivered. "it would get some one else into trouble, and i have to refuse, even if you expel me for it."
-the doctor and the old colonel had been friends since their youth, and he recognized the "lloyd stubbornness" now in the firmly set mouth and the poise of the head.
-"my dear child," he said, kindly, seeing a tear begin to steal from under her long lashes. "it is for your own sake, in the absence of your parents, and for the sake of the school's reputation, that i am obliged to make these inquiries. the somebody whom you are trying to shield is already in trouble, and your telling or not telling can make no difference now."
-lloyd looked up in alarm.
-"yes, it was ida shane whom the matron discovered trying to steal out of the seminary last night. ned bannon was waiting outside to take her on the fast express to cincinnati. they were to have been married there this morning at his cousin's had they not been interrupted in their plans."
-lloyd gave a gasp, and the tree outside the window seemed to be going round and round.
-"we have telegraphed for her aunt. she will be here this afternoon to take her home, and the affair will be ended as far as the seminary is concerned. now what i must know, is just what connection have you had with it. ida confessed that a member of the shadow club had helped her carry on a clandestine correspondence for awhile, but for some reason suddenly refused to be the bearer of their letters any longer. it was for that reason, she said, feeling that her only friend had failed her, that she consented to the elopement, which happily has been prevented."
-"oh, doctah wells! do you think i am to blame for it?" cried lloyd, wishing that the ground would open and swallow her if he should say yes.
-"it was so hard to know what to do! it neahly broke my heart to refuse her, but--it was this way."
-with the tears running down her face she poured out the whole story, from the beginning of her devotion to ida, to the day when, under her grandmother's portrait she fought the battle between her love for her friend and loyalty to the family honour.
-"there wasn't anybody to tell me," she sobbed at the last. "and if i was wrong and am to blame for ida's running away, nobody will evah trust me again!"
-a very tender smile flashed across the doctor's stern face and the eyes gleamed through the spectacles with a kinder light than she had ever seen in them, as he leaned forward to say:
-"i have known george lloyd many, many years, my child, and i want to say that he has never had more reason to be proud of anything in his life than that his little granddaughter, under such a test, recognized the right and stood true to the traditions of an old and honourable family when it cost her a friendship that she held very dear. just now ida feels that she has been cruelly used, and that her happiness is wrecked for life; but in time she will see differently. poor mistaken child! i talked with her this morning. ned is only a selfish, overgrown boy, with many bad habits, and like many another of his kind knows that the plea that she is reforming him is the strongest argument he can use in influencing her. he tells her she is doing that, but to my certain knowledge he has not given up a single vice since he has known her. she thinks that it is her duty to cling to him. i admire her devotion in one way, but it makes her blind to every other duty. she is too infatuated to be able to judge between the right and wrong, and at present feels bitter toward the whole world.
-"but by and by, when she grows wiser and learns that the judgment of a sixteen-year-old girl in such matters cannot safely be trusted, she will be glad that you helped bring the affair to a crisis. when she has outgrown her infatuation she will see that you have done her a kindness instead of a wrong, and she will thank you deeply."
-lloyd had not felt so light-hearted for days, as when she left the president's office, both on her own account and ida's. when she went into the class-room it was with such a bright face that every one felt the message to the shadow club must have been some mark of especial honour.
-when doctor wells thought the affair ended as far as the seminary was concerned, he had not taken the newspapers into account.
-no one could guess where they got their information. friday morning a louisville paper came out to the valley with startling headlines: "pretty schoolgirl at lloydsboro valley attempts to elope with son of prominent judge! granddaughter of well-known kentucky colonel plays important part! shadow club in disgrace! ghosts and lovers vs. good behaviour and learning!"
-no names were mentioned, but the badly garbled account made a buzz of wonder and criticism in the valley. doctor wells came into chapel looking worried and haggard. he simply stated the facts of the case and held up the paper with the false account, speaking of the effect such a report would have on the school.
-"it puts us in a bad light," he said. "the public will say we should have been more watchful. this will be copied all over the state before the week is out. one girl has already been ordered home by telegraph on account of it."
-lloyd did not see the paper until noon. she read it hastily, standing in the hall, and then ran up to her room to throw herself across her bed in a violent spell of crying.
-"oh, how could they tell such dreadful stories!" she sobbed to betty. "they might as well have published my name in big red lettahs as to have described locust and grandfathah so plainly that every one will know who is meant. he and mothah will be so mawtified! i nevah want to look anybody in the face again, aftah having such lies copied all ovah the state about me, as doctah wells says they will be. i can't follow them up and prove to everybody that they are not true, and it's such an awful disgrace to be talked about that way in the papahs. if grandfathah or papa jack were home i believe they'd shoot that horrid editah!"
-the matron came in and tried to comfort her, but she would not listen. she was in a nervous state when trifles were magnified into great troubles, and she persisted in thinking that she was too disgraced by the false report to ever appear in public again. betty could not coax her down to dinner, and it was not long before she had cried herself into a throbbing headache.
-toward the middle of the afternoon, exhausted by her crying, she fell into such a sound sleep that she did not hear the girls go tramping out for their daily walk. betty stole in and looked at her and went sorrowfully out again. magnolia budine, passing the door with her carpet-bag on the way to the old carryall waiting at the gate, stopped a moment and listened. it was an exciting tale she was carrying home to roney this friday afternoon. she was glad the sobs had ceased. she had heard them at noon, and had gone around with the cloud of lloyd's trouble resting on her like a heavy burden.
-it was nearly dark when lloyd awoke. some one was tapping at the door. before she could find her voice to say come in, mrs. walton was standing beside her. it was as if a burst of sunshine had suddenly brightened the dull november twilight. lloyd started to scramble up, but mrs. walton insisted on her lying still. sitting down on the side of the bed, she began stroking her hot forehead with soft, motherly touches.
-"i had a conversation with doctor wells over the telephone about that affair in the paper," she began. "he told me what a state you were in about it, so i immediately wrote to your mother a full explanation and sent it off on the two o'clock train, stamped 'special delivery.' she'll get it as soon as the paper, so put your mind at rest on that point. now i've come over to tell you something i found out about you the other day. you don't even know it yourself. you'll be surprised and glad, i'm sure. it's quite a story, so i shall have to begin it like one.
-"one blustery day last week an old farmer stopped at clovercroft and asked to see miss katherine. it proved to be magnolia budine's father. he had been there once before with a crock of apple-butter, which he brought as a sort of thank-offering to katherine because she had made magnolia so happy about the costume and the picture she took of her in it.
-"katherine said he would have made a striking picture himself as he stood there with his slouched hat pulled over his ears, a blue woollen muffler wound around his neck, and an enormous bronze turkey gobbler in his arms. he wouldn't go in at first, but finally stepped inside out of the wind, still holding the turkey in his arms.
-"it seems that there is a man living on his place who used to be an old neighbour of the budines when they lived near loretta. this man has been unable to work for some time, and is occupying the cabin free of rent. he has a daughter about sixteen who is very ill. she is magnolia's best friend, and the child was afraid that roney, as he called her, was going to die. she wanted her picture above all things, and anything that magnolia wants the old fellow evidently makes an effort to get for her. he seems completely wrapped up in her. so there he stood with his best bronze gobbler in his arms and tears in his eyes, wanting to know of katherine if it would be a sufficient inducement for her to drive over with him and take the sick girl's picture.
-"she told him she never took pictures for pay, and said she would be glad to do it for nothing if it were not such a bleak day that she was afraid to ride so far in the cold. he was greatly distressed at his failure to persuade her to go, for he was afraid that roney might die before the weather changed, and then his little girl would be so grieved that she would never get over it. katherine was so touched by the old fellow's disappointment that she relented, and told him she would risk the cold if i would be willing to go with her. they came by for me, and i went.
-"oh, lloyd, i wish you could have seen that poor, bare room where roney was lying. it was clean, but so pitifully bare of all that is bright and comfortable. i looked around and saw not a picture except an unframed chromo tacked over the mantel, till my eyes happened to rest on the old wooden clock. there behind its glass door, swinging back and forth on the pendulum, was your picture; the princess with the dove."
-lloyd raised herself on one elbow. "my pictuah!" she cried, in astonishment. "how did it get there?"
-"that is what i couldn't help asking roney. i wish you could have seen her face light up as she looked at it. 'that's my princess, mrs. walton,' she said. 'magnolia gave it to me. you don't know how she has helped me through the long days and nights. of course i can't see her in the dark, but every time the clock ticks i know she is swinging away there, saying, "for love--will find--a way."'
-"i found that roney's case is one for the king's daughters to take in hand. she has a small annuity left her by her mother's family; that is all her father and she have to live on. that will stop at her death, and it is her one anxiety that in spite of all her pain she may hang on to life in order that her father may be provided for. the king's daughters sent for a specialist to come out and examine her. he says she can be cured, so next week we are to move her into louisville to a hospital for treatment.
-"you never saw such a happy face as hers when we told her. 'oh,' she cried, 'i almost gave up last week. the pain was so terrible. i couldn't have borne it if i hadn't watched the pendulum and, every time it ticked, said, "i'll stand it one more second for daddy's sake, and one more, and one more; i'm spinning the golden thread like the princess, and love will find a way to help me hang on a little longer!"'
-"so you see, dear," said mrs. walton, with a playful pat of the cheek, "your face and betty's song brought hope and strength to a poor suffering little soul of whom you never heard. your shadow-self reached a long, long way when it brought comfort to roney and helped keep her brave. what do you care for this trifle you are crying about? the whole affair will blow over and be forgotten in a short time. get up and go to counting the pendulum with roney, and sing like the real princess you are. 'love will find a way' to make us forget the unpleasant things and remember only the good."
-lloyd sat up and threw both her arms around mrs. walton's neck. "you're the real princess," she said, softly, with a kiss. "for you go about doing good all the time, like a real king's daughtah."
-"now run along, little girl," said mrs. walton, gaily, as lloyd slipped off the bed. "bathe your eyes and pack your satchel. i am going to take you and betty home with me to stay until monday morning."
-the three weavers
-no better cure could have been found for lloyd's dejection than her visit to the beeches. it was impossible for her to brood over her troubles while allison and kitty were continually saying funny things, and rushing her from one interesting game to another. after a good night's sleep the events of the previous day seemed so far away that what she had considered such a disgrace had somehow lost its sting, and she wondered how she could have suffered so keenly over it.
-katie mallard came over soon after breakfast, and they spent nearly the entire day outdoors. the air was frosty and bracing, and when mrs. walton saw them come running into the house just before sundown with bright eyes and red cheeks, she felt well pleased with the success of her plan.
-she was sitting in her room by a front window writing letters when the girls came rushing up the stairs into the adjoining room. kitty carried a basket of apples, and allison some pop-corn and the popper, and presently an appetizing odour began to steal in as the white grains danced over the open fire.
-as the girls hovered hungrily around, waiting for the popping to cease, they began a lively discussion which caught mrs. walton's attention. she paused, pen in hand, at the mention of two names, daisy dale and the heiress of dorn. they were familiar names, for only the day before miss edith had showed her the pile of books found in ida's closet, and she was waiting for a suitable time to speak of them to the girls. as she folded her letter and addressed it, she decided she would call them in a little later, when they were through with their apples and their corn, for a quiet little twilight talk. a golden afterglow gleamed above the western tree-tops, and, leaning back in her rocking-chair, she sat watching it fade out, so absorbed in a story she was thinking to tell them that she ceased to hear the girlish chatter in the next room till lloyd's voice rang out clearly:
-"i've made up my mind. i'm nevah going to get married!"
-"then you'll be an old maid," was kitty's teasing rejoinder, "and people will poke fun at you and your cats and teacups."
-"i'll not have any," was the prompt reply. "i nevah expect to have any moah pets of any kind. whenevah i get to loving anything, something always happens to it. think of all the pets we have had at locust. fritz, and the two bobs, and boots, and the gobblah, and the goat, and the parrot, and deah old hero! something happened to every one of them. the ponies are the only things left, and the only kind of a pet i'd evah have again. if tarbaby should die, i'd buy me a hawse, for i don't expect to be the kind of an old maid that sits in a chimney-cawnah with a tabby and a teapot. i expect to dash around the country' on hawseback and have fun even when i'm old and wrinkled and gray. i'll go to college, of co'se, and i'll have interesting people to visit me, so that i'll keep up my interest in the world and not get cranky."
-"i'll come and live with you," said allison. "i'll have a studio and devote my life to making a great artist of myself. we could buy tanglewood, and make a moat all around the house so that we could pull up the drawbridge when we wanted to be alone or were afraid of burglars."
-"maybe it would be better for me to be an old maid, too," said betty, musingly. "i'd have more time to write books than if i had a husband and a family to look after. and, besides, while i like to read about lovers and such things in stories, it would make me feel dreadfully foolish to have any man fall on his knees to me and say the things that lord rokeby and guy said to daisy dale. i don't even like to write those speeches when i'm in a room by myself. i've tried lots of times, and i've about decided to skip that part in my story. i'll put some stars instead, and begin, 'a year has passed, and gladys and eugene,' etc."
-"i was going to ask mothah how papa jack did it," said lloyd, "but aftah all that's happened, somehow i'd rathah not say anything about such things to oldah people. miss mccannister was so horrified when she found we had talked such 'sentimental foolishness,' as she called it. i'll nevah forget the way she screwed up her lips and said, 'it wasn't considahed propah, when i was a child, for little girls to discuss such subjects.' i felt as if i had been caught doing something wicked. it mawtified me dreadfully, and i made up my mind that i'd nevah get to be fond of anybody the way ida was, for fear i might be mistaken in them as she was."
-"everything seems to be a warning lately," said betty. "even the literature lessons this week. if the lady of shalott hadn't left her weaving to look out of the window when sir lancelot rode by, the curse wouldn't have come upon her."
-"there!" cried allison, scrambling to her feet. "that reminds me that i haven't learned the verses that miss edith asked us to memorize for monday."
-she took a worn copy of tennyson from the table, and began rapidly turning the leaves.
-"i learned the whole thing yesterday," said betty. "i can say every word of part first."
-"it's easy," remarked kitty. "i know part of it, although i'm not in the class. i learned it from hearing allison read it:
-"'four gray walls and four gray towers overlook a space of flowers. and the silent isle embowers the lady of shalott.'
-isn't that right?"
-"yes, but that isn't monday's lesson. it's part second we have to learn."
-"let's all learn it," proposed katie. "it's so pretty and jingles along so easily i'd like to know it, too. you line it out, allison, as frazer does the hymns at the coloured baptizings, and we'll run a race and see who can repeat it first."
-"there she weaves by night and day," read allison, and then the five voices gabbled it all together, "there she weaves by night and day."
-the concert recitation went on for some time, and presently the lines of the familiar old poem began weaving themselves into the story mrs. walton was thinking about. the red gold of the afterglow had not entirely faded from the sky when she left her seat by the window and went into the next room. the five girls on the hearth-rug were still chanting the lesson over and over.
-"come hear us say it, mother," called kitty, drawing up a chair for her. "betty learned it first."
-allison deposited the bowl of pop-corn in her lap and passed her the basket of apples, and then flourished the popper like a drum-major's baton. "now all together!" she cried, and the five voices rang out like one:
-"there she weaves by night and day a magic web with colours gay. she has heard a whisper say a curse is on her if she stay to look down to camelot. she knows not what the curse may be, and so she weaveth steadily, and little other care hath she. the lady of shalott.
-"and moving through a mirror clear that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear. there she sees the highway near, winding down to camelot. there the river eddy whirls, and the surly village churls and the red cloaks of market-girls pass onward from shalott.
-"sometimes a troop of damsels glad, an abbot on an ambling pad, sometimes a curly shepherd lad or long-haired page in crimson clad goes by to camelot. and sometimes through the mirror blue the knights come riding two by two. she hath no loyal knight and true, the lady of shalott."
-"why, she was an old maid! wasn't she!" said katie, so plaintively as they finished that they all laughed.
-"that's what allison and betty and lloyd are going to be, mother," said kitty, teasingly. lloyd, with a very red face, hastened to change the subject. she snuggled up against mrs. walton's knee, saying, as she looked into the glowing fire, "this is the best time of the day, when the wind goes 'whooo' in the chimney, and it's cold and dark outdoahs and cheerful and bright inside. it's just the time for story-telling. don't you know one, mrs. walton?"
-"of course she does," kitty answered for her. "and if you don't know one, you can make one up to order. can't you, mamsie?"
-"your poem suggested a story," answered mrs. walton, and with one hand smoothing lloyd's fair head as it rested against her knee, and the other stroking kitty's dark one in her lap, she began:
-"once upon a time (the same time that the lady of shalott wove her magic web, and near the four gray towers from which she watched the road running down to camelot), there lived three weavers. their houses stood side by side, and such had been their equal fortunes that whatever happened under the roof of one had always happened under the roofs of the others. they wove the same patterns in their looms, and they received the same number of shillings for their webs. they sang the same songs, told the same tales, ate the same kind of broth from the same kind of bowls, and dressed in the same coarse goods of hodden gray.
-"but they were unlike as three weavers could possibly be. the first insisted on weaving all his webs a certain length, regardless of the size of the man who must wear the mantle. (each web was supposed to be just long enough to make one mantle.) the second carelessly wove his any length that happened to be convenient, and stretched or cut it afterward to fit whomsoever would take it. but the third, with great painstaking and care, measured first the man and then the web by the inches and ells of his carefully notched yardstick.
-"now to each weaver was born a daughter, all on the same day, and they named them hertha, huberta, and hildegarde. on the night after the christening, as the three men sat smoking their pipes on the same stoop, the father of hertha said, 'do not think me puffed up with unseemly pride, good neighbours, but wonderful fortune hath befallen me and mine this day. clotho, the good fairy of all the weavers, was present at my hertha's christening, and left beside her cradle a gift: a tiny loom that from beam to shuttle is of purest gold. and she whispered to me in passing, "good fortune, herthold. it is written in the stars that a royal prince shall seek to wed thy child."'
-"but herthold's news caused no astonishment to his neighbours. what had happened under the roof of one had happened under the roofs of all, and the same good fortune was written in the stars for each, and the same gift had been left by each child's cradle. so the three friends rejoiced together, and boasted jestingly among themselves of the three kings' sons who should some day sit down at their tables.
-"at that they looked grave for a moment, for clotho had added in passing, 'one thing is necessary. she must weave upon this loom i leave a royal mantle for the prince's wearing. it must be ample and fair to look upon, rich cloth of gold, of princely size and texture. many will come to claim it, but if it is woven rightly the destined prince alone can wear it, and him it will fit in all faultlessness, as the falcon's feathers fit the falcon. but if it should not be ample and fine, meet for royal wearing, the prince will not deign to don it, and the maiden's heart shall break, as broke the shattered mirror of the lady of shalott.'
-"'oh, well,' said herthold, when the three had smoked in silence a little space. 'i'll guard against that. i shall hide all knowledge of the magic loom from my daughter until she be grown. then, under mine own eye, by mine own measurements that i always use, shall she weave the goodly garment. in the meantime she shall learn all the arts which become a princess to know--broidery and fair needlework, and songs upon a lute. but of the weaving she shall know naught until she be grown. that i am determined upon. 'tis sorry work her childish hands would make of it, if left to throw the shuttle at a maiden's fickle fancy.'
-"but hubert shook his head. 'why stew about a trifle!' he exclaimed. 'forsooth, on such a tiny loom no web of any kind can well be woven. 'tis but a toy that clotho left the child to play with, and she shall weave her dreams and fancies on it at her own sweet will. i shall not interfere. what's written in the stars is written, and naught that i can do will change it. away, friend hildgardmar, with thy forebodings!'
-"hildgardmar said nothing in reply, but he thought much. he followed the example of the others, and early and late might have been heard the pounding of the three looms, for there was need to work harder than ever now, that the little maidens might have teachers for all the arts becoming a princess--broidery and fair needlework and songs upon the lute.
-"while the looms pounded in the dwellings the little maidens grew apace. they played together in the same garden and learned from the same skilled teachers their daily lessons, and in their fondness for each other were as three sisters.
-"one day huberta said to the others, 'come with me and i will show you a beautiful toy that clotho left me at my christening. my father says she gave one to each of us, and that it is written in the stars that we are each to wed a prince if we can weave for him an ample cloak of cloth of gold. already i have begun to weave mine."
-"all silently, for fear of watchful eyes and forbidding voices, they stole into an inner room, and she showed them the loom of gold. but now no longer was it the tiny toy that had been left beside her cradle. it had grown with her growth. for every inch that had been added to her stature an inch had been added to the loom's. the warp was clotho's gift, all thread of gold, and it, too, grew with the maiden's growth; but the thread the shuttle carried was of her own spinning--rainbow hued and rose-coloured, from the airy dream-fleece of her own sweet fancies.
-"'see,' she whispered, 'i have begun the mantle for my prince's wearing.' seizing the shuttle as she had seen her father do so many times, she crossed the golden warp with the woof-thread of a rosy day-dream. hertha and hildegarde looked on in silent envy, not so much for the loom as for the mirror which hung beside it, wherein, as in the lady of shalott's, moved the shadows of the world. the same pictures that flitted across hers, flitted across huberta's.
-"'see!' she cried again, pointing to the mirror, 'that curly shepherd lad! does he not look like a prince as he strides by with his head high, and his blue eyes smiling upon all the world? he carries his crook like a royal sceptre, forsooth. well you may believe i am always at my mirror both at sunrise and sunset to see him pass gaily by.'
-"'yon long-haired page in crimson clad is more to my liking,' said hertha, timidly. 'methinks he has a noble mien, as of one brought up in palaces. i wonder why my father has never said aught to me of clotho's gift. i, too, should be at my weaving, for i am as old as thou, huberta.'
-"'and i also,' added hildegarde.
-"'ask him,' quoth huberta. 'mayhap he hath forgot.'
-"so when hertha reached home, she went to her father herthold, and said, timidly, with downcast eyes and blushes, 'father--where is my loom, like huberta's? i, too, would be weaving as it is written in the stars.'
-"but herthold glowered upon her grimly. 'who told thee of aught that is written in the stars?' he demanded, so sternly that her heart quaked within her. 'hear me! never again must thou listen to such idle tales. when thou art a woman grown, thou mayst come to me, and i may talk to thee then of webs and weaving, but what hast thou to do with such things now? thou! a silly child! bah! i am ashamed that ever a daughter of mine should think such foolishness!'
-"hertha, shamed and abashed, stole away to weep, that she had incurred her father's scorn. but next day, when they played in the garden, huberta said, 'thy father is an old tyrant to forbid thee the use of clotho's gift. he cannot love thee as mine does me, or he would not deny thee such a pleasure. come! i will help thee to find it.'
-"so hand in hand they stole into an inner room by a door that herthold thought securely bolted, and there stood a loom like huberta's, and over it a mirror in which the same shadows of the world were repeated in passing. and as hertha picked up the shuttle to send the thread of a rosy day-dream through the warp of gold, the long-haired page in crimson clad passed down the street outside, and she saw his image in the mirror.
-"'how like a prince he bears himself!' she murmured. 'my father is indeed a tyrant to deny me the pleasure of looking out upon the world and weaving sweet fancies about it. henceforth i shall not obey him, but shall daily steal away in here, to weave in secret what he will not allow me to do openly.'
-"at the same time, hildegarde stood before her father, saying, timidly, 'is it true, my father, what huberta says is written in the stars? to-day when i saw huberta's loom i pushed back the bolt which has always barred the door leading into an inner room from mine, and there i found the loom of gold and a wonderful mirror. i fain would use them as huberta does, but i have come to ask thee first, if all be well.'
-"a very tender smile lighted the face of old hildgardmar. taking the hand of the little hildegarde in his, he led the way into the inner room. 'i have often looked forward to this day, my little one,' he exclaimed, 'although i did not think thou wouldst come quite so soon with thy questions. it is indeed true, what huberta hast told thee is written in the stars. on the right weaving of this web depends the happiness of all thy future, and not only thine but of those who may come after thee.
-"''tis a dangerous gift the good clotho left thee, for looking in that mirror thou wilt be tempted to weave thy web to fit the shifting figures that flit therein. but listen to thy father who hath never yet deceived thee, and who has only thy good at heart. keep always by thy side this sterling yardstick which i give thee, for it marks the inches and the ells to which the stature of a prince must measure. not until the web doth fully equal it can it be safely taken from the loom.
-"'thou art so young, 'tis but a little mantle thou couldst weave this year, at best. fit but to clothe the shoulders of yon curly shepherd lad.' he pointed to the bright reflection passing in the mirror. 'but 'tis a magic loom that lengthens with thy growth, and each year shall the web grow longer, until at last, a woman grown, thou canst hold it up against the yardstick, and find that it doth measure to the last inch and ell the size demanded by a prince's noble stature.
-"'but thou wilt oft be dazzled by the mirror's sights, and youths will come to thee, one by one, each begging, "give me the royal mantle, hildegarde. i am the prince the stars have destined for thee." and with honeyed words he'll show thee how the mantle in the loom is just the length to fit his shoulders. but let him not persuade thee to cut it loose and give it him, as thy young fingers will be fain to do. weave on another year, and yet another, till thou, a woman grown, canst measure out a perfect web, more ample than these stripling youths could carry, but which will fit thy prince in faultlessness, as falcon's feathers fit the falcon.'
-"hildegarde, awed by his solemn words of warning, took the silver yardstick and hung it by the mirror, and standing before old hildgardmar with bowed head, said, 'you may trust me, father; i will not cut the golden warp from out the loom until i, a woman grown, have woven such a web as thou thyself shalt say is worthy of a prince's wearing.'
-"so hildgardmar left her with his blessing, and went back to his work. after that the winter followed the autumn and the summer the spring many times, and the children played in the garden and learned their lessons of broidery and fair needlework and songs upon the lute. and every day each stole away to the inner room, and threw the shuttle in and out among the threads of gold.
-"hertha worked always in secret, peering ever in the mirror, lest perchance the long-haired page in crimson clad should slip by and she not see him. for the sheen of his fair hair dazzled her to all other sights, and his face was all she thought of by day and dreamed of by night, so that she often forgot to ply her needle or finger her lute. he was only a page, but she called him prince in her thoughts until she really believed him one. when she worked at the web she sang to herself, 'it is for him--for him!'
-"huberta laughed openly about her web, and her father often teased her about the one for whom it was intended, saying, when the village lads went by, 'is that thy prince?' or, 'is it for this one thou weavest?' but he never went with her into that inner room, so he never knew whether the weaving was done well or ill. and he never knew that she cut the web of one year's weaving and gave it to the curly shepherd lad. he wore it with jaunty grace at first, and huberta spent long hours at the mirror, watching to see him pass by all wrapped within its folds. but it grew tarnished after awhile from his long tramps over the dirty moors after his flocks, and huberta saw other figures in the mirror which pleased her fancy, and she began another web. and that she gave to a student in cap and gown, and the next to a troubadour strolling past her window, and the next to a knight in armour who rode by one idle summer day.
-"the years went by, she scattering her favours to whomsoever called her sweetheart with vows of devotion, and hertha faithful to the page alone. hildegarde worked on, true to her promise. but there came a time when a face shone across her mirror so noble and fair that she started back in a flutter.
-"'oh, surely 'tis he,' she whispered to her father. 'his eyes are so blue they fill all my dreams.' but old hildgardmar answered her, 'does he measure up to the standard set by the sterling yardstick for a full-grown prince to be?'
-"'no,' she answered, sadly. 'only to the measure of an ordinary man. but see how perfectly the mantle i have woven would fit him!'
-"'nay, weave on, then,' he said, kindly. 'thou hast not yet reached the best thou canst do. this is not the one written for thee in the stars.'
-"a long time after a knight flashed across the mirror blue. a knight like sir lancelot:
-"his broad clear brow in sunlight glowed. on burnished hooves his war-horse trode. from underneath his helmet flowed, his coal-black curls, as on he rode as he rode down to camelot."
-"so noble he was that she felt sure that he was the one destined to wear her mantle, and she went to her father, saying, 'he has asked for the robe, and measured by thy own sterling yardstick, it would fit him in faultlessness, as the falcon's feathers fit the falcon.'
-"hildgardmar laid the yardstick against the web. 'nay,' he said. 'this is only the size of a knight. it lacks a handbreadth yet of the measure of a prince.'
-"hildegarde hesitated, half-pouting, till he said, beseechingly, 'i am an old man, knowing far more of the world and its ways than thou, my daughter. have i ever deceived thee? have i ever had aught but thy good at heart? have patience a little longer. another year and thou wilt be able to fashion a still larger web.'
-"at last it came to pass, as it was written in the stars, a prince came riding by to ask for hertha as his bride. old herthold, taking her by the hand, said, 'now i will lead thee into the inner room and teach thee how to use the fairy's sacred gift. with me for a teacher, thou canst surely make no mistake.'
-"when they came into the inner room there stood only the empty loom from which the golden warp had been clipped.
-"'how now!' he demanded, angrily. hertha, braving his ill-humour, said, defiantly, 'thou art too late. because i feared thy scorn of what thou wast pleased to call my childish foolishness, i wove in secret, and when my prince came by, long ago i gave it him. he stands outside at the casement.'
-"the astonished herthold, turning in a rage, saw the long-haired page clad in the mantle which she had woven in secret. he tore it angrily from the youth, and demanded she should give it to the prince, who waited to claim it, but the prince would have none of it. it was of too small a fashion to fit his royal shoulders, and had been defiled by the wearing of a common page. so with one look of disdain he rode away.
-"stripped of the robe her own fancy had woven around him, the page stood shorn before her. it was as if a veil had been torn from her eyes, and she no longer saw him as her fond dreams had painted him. she saw him in all his unworthiness; and the cloth of gold which was her maiden-love, and the rosy day-dreams she had woven into it to make the mantle of a high ideal, lay in tattered shreds at her feet. when she looked from the one to the other and saw the mistake she had made and the opportunity she had lost, she covered her face with her hands and cried out to herthold, 'it is thy fault. thou shouldst not have laughed my childish questions to scorn, and driven me to weave in ignorance and in secret.' but all her upbraiding was too late. as it was written in the stars, her heart broke, as broke the shattered mirror of the lady of shalott.
-"that same day came a prince to hubert, asking for his daughter. he called her from the garden, saying, gaily, 'bring forth the mantle now, huberta. surely it must be a goodly one after all these years of weaving at thy own sweet will.'
-"she brought it forth, but when he saw it he started back aghast at its pigmy size. when he demanded the reason, she confessed with tears that she had no more of the golden warp that was clotho's sacred gift. she had squandered that maiden-love in the bygone years to make the mantles she had so thoughtlessly bestowed upon the shepherd lad and the troubadour, the student and the knight. this was all she had left to give.
-"'well,' said her father, at length, ''tis only what many another has done in the wanton foolishness of youth. but perchance when the prince sees how fair thou art, and how sweetly thou dost sing to thy lute, he may overlook the paltriness of thy offering. take it to him.'
-"when she had laid it before him, he cast only one glance at it, so small it was, so meagre of gold thread, so unmeet for a true prince's wearing. then he looked sorrowfully into the depths of her beautiful eyes and turned away.
-"the gaze burned into her very soul and revealed to her all that she had lost for evermore. she cried out to her father with pitiful sobs that set his heartstrings in a quiver, 'it is thy fault! why didst thou not warn me what a precious gift was the gold warp clotho gave me! why didst thou say to me, "is this the lad? is that the lad?" till i looked only at the village churls and wove my web to fit their unworthy shoulders, and forgot how high is the stature of a perfect prince!' then, hiding her face, she fled away, and as it was written in the stars, her heart broke, as broke the shattered mirror of the lady of shalott.
-"then came the prince to hildegarde. all blushing and aflutter, she clipped the threads that held the golden web of her maiden-love, through which ran all her happy girlish day-dreams, and let him take it from her. glancing shyly up, she saw that it fitted him in all faultlessness, as the falcon's feathers fit the falcon.
-"then old hildgardmar, stretching out his hands, said, 'because even in childhood days thou ever kept in view the sterling yardstick as i bade thee, because no single strand of all the golden warp that clotho gave thee was squandered on another, because thou waitedst till thy woman's fingers wrought the best that lay within thy woman's heart, all happiness shall now be thine! receive it as thy perfect crown!'
-"so with her father's blessing light upon her, she rode away beside the prince; and ever after, all her life was crowned with happiness as it had been written for her in the stars."
-there was a moment's silence when mrs. walton ceased speaking. the fire had died down until only a fitful glimmer lighted the thoughtful faces of the girls grouped around her on the hearth-rug. then kitty said, impulsively:
-"of course hertha means ida, and you want us all to be hildegardes, but who is huberta?"
-"mittie dupong, of course!" answered allison. "and flynn willis and cad bailey and all that set we were so disgusted with at carter brown's party. didn't you mean them, mother?"
-"yes," said mrs. walton, well pleased that the tale had been interpreted so quickly. "i must confess that i told the story solely for the moral i wanted to tack on to the end of it. you do not know how my heart has ached for ida. poor misguided child! from what i have heard of her aunt i think she must be like hertha's father, and made ida feel that she had no sympathy with her childish love-affairs. then ida made the mistake that hertha did, wove her ideals in secret, and fitted them on the first boy who pleased her fancy. once wrapped in them she was blind to all his faults, and could not judge him as other people did. she made a hero of him. i blame her aunt as much as i do her, because she did not teach her long ago, as hildgardmar did his daughter.
-"little girls begin very early sometimes to dream about that far-away land of romance. the teasing questions older people ask them often set them to thinking seriously of it. they call their little playmates their sweethearts, and imagine the admiration and fondness they have for them is the love that is written in the stars. nobody explains to them that they will outgrow their early ideals as they do their dresses.
-"i can remember how my ideals used to change. when i was a little girl, about as old as elise, i thought that my prince charming would be like the one in the story of the sleeping beauty. i dreamed of sitting all day beside him on a crystal throne, with a crown on my head and a sceptre in my hand. but as i grew older i realized how stupid that would be, and i fashioned him after the figures that flitted across my mirror in the world of books. he was as handsome as a greek god, and the feats he performed could have been possible only in the days of the round table.
-"then i outgrew that ideal. others took its place, but when a woman grown, i held up the one that was the best my woman's heart could fashion, i found that my prince measured just to the stature of an honest man, simple and earnest and true. that was all--no greek god, no dashing knight, but a strong, manly man, whose love was my life's crown of happiness."
-she glanced up at the portrait over the mantel, and there was an impressive pause. lloyd broke the silence presently, speaking very fast in an embarrassed sort of way.
-"but, mrs. walton, don't you think there was some excuse for ida besides her being blinded to mistah bannon's faults? he made her believe she had such a good influence ovah him that she thought it was her duty to disobey her aunt, because it was moah important that he should be reformed than that she should be obeyed in a mattah that seemed unreasonable to ida."
-"yes," was the hesitating answer. "but ida was largely influenced to take that stand by the books she had been reading. that's another matter i want to speak about, since my little girls have confessed to the reading of 'daisy dale' and the 'heiress of dorn.' while there is nothing particularly objectionable in such books in one way, in another their influence is of the very worst. the characters are either unreal or overdrawn, or they are so interestingly coloured that they are like the figures of the shepherd lad and the long-haired page in the mirrors of hertha and huberta. in watching them a girl is apt to weave her web 'to fit their unworthy shoulders, and forget how high is the stature of a perfect prince.' such books are poor yardsticks, and give one false ideas of value and measurement.
-"ned's plea is what nearly every wild young fellow makes, and nine times out of ten it appeals to a girl more than any other argument he could use. 'give me the mantle, hildegarde. it will help me to live right.' so she takes him in hand to reform him. nothing could be purer and higher than the motives which prompt her to sacrifice everything to what she considers her duty. i had a schoolmate once who married a bright young fellow because he came to her with ned's plea. her father said, 'let him reform first. what he will not do for a sweetheart, he will never do for a wife.' but she would not listen, and to-day she is living in abject poverty and cruel unhappiness. he is rarely sober.
-"in olden times a man didn't come whining to a maiden and say, 'i long to be a knight, but i am too weak to do battle unaided. be my ladye fair and help me win my spurs.' no, she would have laughed him to scorn. he won his spurs first, and only after he had proved himself worthy and received his accolade, did she give him her hand.
-"oh, my dear girls, if you would only do as hildegarde did, ask first if all be well before you clip the golden web from the loom and give it to the one who begs for it! he is not the one written for you in the stars--he does not measure to the stature of a true prince if he comes with such a selfish demand as ned did."
-"that is a story i'll nevah forget," said lloyd, soberly. "i think it ought to be printed and put in the seminary library for all the othah girls to read."
-"and some of the fathers and mothers, too," added betty. "ida's aunt ought to have a copy."
-"no, it is too late," remarked katie. "it's a case of what grandpa would call 'locking the stable after the horse is stolen.'"
-there was a knock at the door. "supper is served," announced barbry's voice in the hall.
-one might have thought, watching the pillow-fight which went on that night at bedtime, that the fairy-tale had been told too soon. the five girls, romping and shrieking through halls and bedrooms as the sport went on, fast and furious, seemed too young for its grave lessons. but "the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts," even when its actions are most childish and careless, and the little tale made a deeper impression than the teller of it realized.
-for one thing, betty laid aside the book she was writing, although she had secretly cherished the hope of having the story of gladys and eugene published sometime during the coming year.
-"i might be ashamed of it when i am grown," she explained, quoting old hildgardmar: "''tis but a little mantle thou couldst weave this year, at best, fit but to clothe the shoulders of yon curly shepherd lad.' if i am to outgrow my ideals as i do my dresses, i ought to wait. i want the critics to say of me 'thou waitedst till thy woman's fingers wrought the best that lay within thy woman's heart.' so i'll lay the book aside for a few years, till i've learned more about people. but i'll write it some day."
-it was that same night, while they were getting ready for bed, that the shadow club was disbanded.
-"i nevah want to heah that name again," exclaimed lloyd, shaking out her hair and beginning to brush it. "it was so disgraced by being dragged into the newspapahs with such a lie, that it almost makes me ill whenevah i think of it."
-"oh, you don't want to give up the work for the mountain people, do you?" asked allison, in dismay.
-"no, but i'd like to stop until aftah the holidays. we have so much to do getting ready for christmas. besides, i'd like to be able to tell the girls that there wasn't such a club any moah. the next term we could make a fresh start with a new name, just the five of us."
-"oh, let's call it 'the order of hildegarde!'" cried betty, enthusiastically. "and all the time we are doing 'broidery and fair needlework' to sell for the mountain people, we can be trying to weave our ideals as hildegarde did, so that we may not miss the happiness that is written for us in the stars."
-"i'd like that," exclaimed allison, entering into the new plan eagerly. "we could have club colours this time, gold and rose, the colour of the warp and woof, you know."
-"yes, yes! that's it!" assented kitty, with equal enthusiasm. "streamers of narrow gold and rose ribbon, pinned by a tiny gilt star, to remind us of what is written in the stars. don't you think that would be lovely, katie?"
-"yes," answered katie, "but i think if we want to keep the order a secret we oughtn't to wear such a badge in public. it would be safer to keep them in our 'inner rooms.' but we could use them in all sorts of ways, the ribbons crossed on our pincushions, or streamers of them to tie back our curtains, or broad bands on our work-baskets and embroidery-bags."
-lloyd gave ready assent. "that would suit me, for my room at home is already furnished in rose colah. all i would have to do is to add the gold and the sta'hs."
-"and mine is a white and gold room," said betty. "i'll only have to give it a few touches of rose colour."
-a few more words settled the matter, as the girls hovered around the fire in their night-dresses, and then the establishment of the new order of hildegarde was celebrated by a pillow fight, the like of which for noise and vigour had never before been known at the beeches.
-in the hard work that followed after their return to school, time slipped by so fast that thanksgiving day came surprisingly soon. nearly all the pupils and teachers went home for the short vacation, or visited friends in louisville. even the president and his wife went away. only six girls besides lloyd and betty were left to follow the matron to church on thanksgiving morning.
-it was a lonesome walk. a sabbath-like stillness pervaded the quiet valley, and the ringing of the bell in the ivy-grown belfry of the little stone church, and the closed doors at the post-office, gave the girls the feeling that sunday had somehow come in the middle of the week. as they crossed the road toward the iron gate leading into the churchyard, lloyd looked up past the manse toward the beeches, hoping for a glimpse of the walton girls. then she remembered that allison had told her that they were all going to town to celebrate the day with her aunt elise, and the feeling of being left out of everybody's good times began to weigh heavily upon her.
-no smoke was coming out of any of the chimneys, either at the beeches or edgewood. when she thought of locust, also cold and empty, with no fire on its hospitable hearths, no feast on its ample table, no cheer anywhere within its walls, and her family far away, a wave of homesickness swept over her that brought a mist over her eyes. she could scarcely see as they went up the steps.
-mrs. bond, with her usual dread of being late, had hurried them away from the seminary much too soon. not more than half a dozen carriages had driven into the grove around the little country church when they reached the door, and only a few people were waiting inside. as lloyd sat in the solemn silence that was broken only now and then by a stifled cough or the rustle of a turning leaf, she had hard work to battle back the tears. but with a sudden determination to overcome such a feeling, she sat up very straight in the end of the pew, and pressed her lips together hard.
-"it's almost wicked of me," she thought, "to feel so bad about the one thing i can't have when there are a thousand other things that ought to make me happy. it's only a pah't of my bo'ding-school experiences, and will be ovah in a little while. i don't suppose anybody in church has moah to be thankful for than i have."
-she glanced furtively across the aisle. "i'm thankful that i'm not that old mistah saxon with his wooden leg, or that poah little mrs. crisp in the cawnah, with five children to suppo't, and one of them a baby that has fits."
-her gaze wandered down the opposite aisle. "and i'm suah it's something to be thankful for not to have a nose like libbie simms, or such a fussy old fathah as sue bell wade has to put up with. and i'm glad i haven't such poah taste as to make a rainbow out of myself, wearing so many different colahs at once as miss mcgill does. five different shades of red on the same hat are enough to set one's teeth on edge. i believe i could go on all day, counting the things i'm glad i haven't got; and as for the things i have--" she began checking them off on her finger-tips. there was a handful before she had fairly begun to count; home, family, perfect health, the love of many friends, the opportunities that filled every day to the brim.
-the organist pulled out the stops and began playing an old familiar chant as a voluntary. as the full, sweet chords filled the church lloyd could almost hear the words rising with the music:
-"my cup runneth over. surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life."
-as the music swelled louder, her counting was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of several generations of the moore family, who had come back to oaklea for a thanksgiving reunion. it seemed good to lloyd to see the old judge's white head gleaming like silver in its accustomed pew. his benign face fairly radiated cheerfulness and good-will as he took his place once more among his old neighbours.
-rob walked just behind him, so tall and erect, it seemed to lloyd that he must have grown several inches in the three short months since they had cut the last notches in the measuring-tree. as he turned to throw his overcoat across the back of the seat, his quick glance spied lloyd and betty several pews in the rear, and he flashed them a smile of greeting. at the same time, so quickly and deftly that mrs. bond did not see the motion, he held up a package that he had carried in under his overcoat, and instantly dropped it out of sight again on the seat. then he straightened himself up beside his grandfather, as if he were a model of decorum.
-lloyd and betty exchanged a meaning glance which seemed to say, "that five-pound box of huyler's best he promised us;" and lloyd found herself wondering several times during the long service how he would manage to present it. that problem did not worry rob, however. as the congregation slowly moved down the aisles and out into the vestibule, he elbowed his way to mrs. bond, standing beside her eight charges like a motherly old hen.
-"good morning, mrs. bond," he exclaimed, in his straightforward, boyish way. "you're going to take me under your wing and let me walk to the gate with betty and lloyd, aren't you! i'll be as good as grandfather if you will, and i'll even take him along if it's necessary to have anybody to vouch for me."
-his mischievous smile was so irresistible that she gave him a motherly pat on the shoulder. "run along," she exclaimed, laughingly. "i'll follow presently. there are several people i want to speak to first."
-"oh, rob," exclaimed lloyd, as he started down the avenue beside her and betty. "it's like a bit of home to see you again. talk fast and tell us everything. do you think you'll pass in latin? is it decided whethah you're to go east to school aftah christmas? did you see that awful piece in the papah about our club?"
-she poured out her questions so rapidly that they were half-way to the seminary before he could answer all her catechism, and then he had so many to ask her that she almost forgot to tell him about the box they had received from locust that morning.
-"a suah enough thanksgiving-box!" she exclaimed gleefully. "just as if we'd really been away off from home at school, with all the good things that mom beck could think of or aunt cindy could cook, from a turkey to a monstrous big fruit-cake. mothah planned the surprise before she went away. think of the gay midnight suppahs we could have if we hadn't turned ovah a new leaf and refawmed."
-"so you've reformed!" he repeated. "then boarding-school life can't seem as funny to you as you thought last september it was going to be."
-"yes, it does," protested betty. "i'll be glad when the next four weeks are over so that we can go back to locust, but excepting only two or three things that happened, i've enjoyed every minute that we've been at the seminary. i'll always be glad that we had this experience."
-"and it wasn't at all like you said it would be," added lloyd, laughingly, "'scorched oatmeal and dried apples and old cats watching at every keyhole.' there was some eavesdropping, but it wasn't the teachahs who did it, and we had moah fun getting even with the girl who did than i could tell in a week. i'll tell you about our playing ghost, and all the rest, when you come out christmas."
-"then i'll have to hand over the candy," he said. "you've earned it, if you've stood the strain this long and kept as hale and hearty as you look."
-they had reached the high green picket gate by this time, and, delivering the box to the girls, with a few more words he left them. dinner was to be early at oaklea, he said, as they were all going home on the five o'clock train.
-"oh, it was just like having a piece of home to see him again," exclaimed lloyd, looking after him wistfully as he lifted his cap and walked rapidly away. "i can hardly wait to get back now. wouldn't you like to walk up to locust aftah dinnah, betty?"
-"no, i believe not," was the hesitating reply. "it would make me feel more homesick than if i stayed away altogether. mom beck will be off keeping holiday somewhere, and everything will be shut up and desolate-looking. probably all we'd see would be lad and tarbaby out in the pasture. let's walk over to rollington instead, after dinner, and take a lot of things to that poor little mrs. crisp out of our box from home."
-"how funny for you to think of the same thing that i did this mawning in church!" exclaimed lloyd. "the text made me think of it, and when i looked across at her in that pitiful old wispy crape veil, and thought of the washing she has to do, and the baby with the fits, i was so thankful that i was not in her place that i felt as if i ought to give her every penny i possess."
-it was a very quiet day. a better dinner than usual, and the long walk over to rollington late in the afternoon was all that made it differ from the sundays that they had spent at the seminary. but as the two little good samaritans trudged homeward over the frozen pike, swinging their empty basket between them, lloyd exclaimed, "i've had a good time to-day, aftah all, and i would have been perfectly misah'ble if i'd gone on the way i stah'ted out to do--thinking about the one thing i wanted and couldn't have. i just made myself stop, and go to thinking of the things i did have, and then i forgot to feel homesick. counting yoah blessings and carrying turkey to poah folks doesn't sound like a very exciting way to spend yoah holidays, but it makes you feel mighty good inside, doesn't it! especially when you think how pleased mrs. crisp was."
-"yes," answered betty. "i don't know how to express the way the day has made me feel. not happy, exactly, for when i'm that way i always want to sing." she held her muff against her cold face. "it's more like a big, soft, furry kind of contentment. if i were a cat i'd be purring."
-christmas greens and watch-night embers
-there is a chapter in betty's good times book which tells all about that last day at the seminary, before the christmas vacation; of the hurried packing and leave-taking; of her trip to town with lloyd to meet papa jack and come out home with him on the five o'clock train, laden with christmas packages like all the other suburban passengers; of the carriage waiting for them at the depot, just as if they had been away at some school a long distance from the valley, and then the crowning joy of seeing her godmother on the platform, waving her handkerchief as the train stopped in front of the depot.
-they had not expected her back from hot springs until the next day, and all the way out on the train had been discussing the reception they intended to give her. there had been a twinkle in mr. sherman's eyes as he listened, for he knew of this surprise in store for them, and had had a hand in planning it.
-it is all in betty's good times book, even to the way they rolled down the steps and fell over each other in their haste to reach her, and the welcome that made it seem more than ever as if they were coming home from a long journey to spend their christmas vacation, just as thousands of other schoolgirls were doing all over the country. then the drive homeward in the frosty, starlit dusk to find locust all a-twinkle, a light in every window and a fire on every hearth; the great front door swinging wide on its hospitable hinges to send a stream of light down the avenue to meet them, and the spirit of christmas cheer and expectancy falling warm upon them as they crossed the threshold.
-the memory of it would be something to be glad for always, betty thought, as she danced into the long drawing-room after lloyd, and saw the old colonel start up from his chair before the fire and come forward to meet them, the candle-light falling softly on his silver hair and smiling face.
-there were few pages in this fourth volume more interesting than the ones she found time to write on christmas eve. she had gone with lloyd and allison and kitty that afternoon in search for christmas greens with which to decorate the house.
-malcolm and keith maclntyre, rob moore, and ranald walton had met them in tanglewood, their guns over their shoulders, and had joined them in their quest. the mistletoe they wanted grew too high to be climbed for or to be dislodged by throwing at, but ranald, an expert marksman, volunteered to shoot down all they could carry. he was just home from military school on his vacation, and rob moore had been out for two days hunting with him. malcolm and keith had been at their grandmother's several days, tramping long distances over the frosty fields, and coming in well satisfied each evening with the contents of their game-bags.
-malcolm and rob were to leave for the same college-preparatory school after the holidays, and as they were going back to town on the five o'clock train they had but a short time left to spend in the valley. so the party, after some discussion, divided into three groups, agreeing to meet at the depot.
-ranald strode away across the woods as fast as his long legs would carry him to the trees where the mistletoe hung. kitty and katie kept close in his wake, swinging the baskets between them that he was to fill. keith and betty hurried on to the place where the bittersweet grew thickest, while rob and allison, malcolm and lloyd strolled along, filling their baskets from the occasional trees of hemlock, spruce, and cedar they found on their way among the bare oaks and beeches. now and then they found a pine with the brown cones clinging to the spicy boughs.
-only betty's part of that quest is in the little white record; how they ran along through tanglewood that afternoon, she and keith, in the late december sunshine, breathing in the woodsy odour of the fallen leaves and the crisp frostiness of the air, until the blood tingled in their finger-tips and their cheeks grew red as rosy apples.
-it was a pretty picture she left on the page, of the winter woods, of the old stile leading into the adjoining churchyard, where in almost a thicket of bare dogwood-trees and lilac-bushes stood the little episcopal church, built like the one next the manse, of picturesque gray stone. the walls were aglow with the brilliant red and orange berries of the bittersweet, which hung even from the eaves and cornices, and from every place where the graceful vines could trail and twist and clamber.
-lloyd kept no record of that afternoon, but she never forgot it. she walked along, her eyes shining like stars, her cheeks glowing. her dark blue cap and jacket made her hair seem all the fairer by contrast, and there was a glint of gold in it, wherever the sun touched it through the trees.
-rob and malcolm were full of their plans for the coming term, and talked of little else all the way through the woods, but as they reached the stile, over which keith and betty had passed some time before, rob exclaimed:
-"i forgot to tell you, lloyd! when we were out hunting yesterday we stopped at a cabin ever so far from here, to rest and warm. and what do you suppose we saw on the pendulum of an old clock, swinging away on the mantel as big as life? your picture! the one of the princess, you know, with the dove. i couldn't believe my eyes at first. the old man told us it had been given to his daughter, and when he found out who ranald was he sent a message to mrs. walton about her. she's in a hospital and will soon be well enough to come home. mrs. walton told us all about it last night, how the girl imagined every time the clock ticked that you were saying, 'for love will find the way.' it made quite a pretty story, but you can't imagine how queer it was to stumble across your picture in such an out-of-the-way place, and fixed up in such odd shape, on a pendulum, of all things!"
-"it helped corono ever so much, mother said," remarked allison. "that's one good thing our shadow club led to, if nothing else." she climbed up on the stile and stood looking over, exclaiming at the beauty of the old gray walls, draped in the masses of brilliant bittersweet; then, springing down, ran across the churchyard to join betty and keith on the other side and make her own selection of vines.
-rob leaned his gun against the fence and took out his watch. "only half an hour longer," he announced. then, opening the back of his watch-case, he held it out toward lloyd.
-"do you remember that?" he asked, nodding toward a little four-leaf clover which lay flat and green inside. "your good-luck charm worked wonders, lloyd. it helped me through my latin in such fine shape that i intend to carry it through college with me all the way. it's like the picture on the pendulum, isn't it? only this says, 'for luck will find the way.'"
-as lloyd began some laughing reply about his being superstitious, betty's voice called from the vestry door, "oh, rob! come around here a minute, please! here's the loveliest bunch of berries you ever saw, and it's too high for any one but you to reach!"
-with one leap rob was over the stile hurrying to betty's assistance. lloyd had filled both pockets of her jacket with hickory-nuts on her way through tanglewood, and, seating herself on the top step of the stile, she began cracking them with a round stone which she had picked up near the fence. malcolm, leaning on his gun, stood watching her.
-"you never gave me any four-leaf clover, lloyd," he said, in a low tone, as rob strode away.
-"you nevah happened to be around when i found any," answered lloyd, carelessly. "have a nut instead." she nodded toward the pile on the step beside her.
-malcolm flushed a trifle. he was nearly sixteen, tall and broad-shouldered, but the colour came as easily to his handsome face now as when a little fellow of ten he had begged her to keep his silver arrow "to remember him by."
-"no, thanks," he answered, stiffly. there was a jealous note in his voice as he added, "and you wouldn't let me keep the little heart of gold that night after the play."
-"of co'se not! papa jack gave me that. i think everything of it."
-"you wouldn't even lend it to me," he continued.
-"because we'd come to the end of the play. you were not sir feal any longah, and you didn't have any shield to bind it on, so what good would it have done?"
-"but we haven't come to the end of the play," he insisted. "i've thought of you ever since as my princess winsome, and it has been more than a year since that night. yesterday, when i saw your picture on the pendulum, and heard how it had influenced that girl in the cabin, i wished that i could make you understand how much more your influence means to me; and i made up my mind to ask you for something. will you give it to me, lloyd? it's just the tip of that little curl behind your ear. it shines like gold, and i want to put it in the back of my watch as a talisman, like they used to carry in old times, you know--a token that i am your knight, and that i may do as it says in the song, come back to you 'on some glad morrow.' i want to carry it with me always, as i shall always carry your shadow-self wherever i go."
-lloyd bent her head so far over the nuts as she chose one with great deliberation that her hair fell across the cheek nearest him, and he could not see how red her face grew. how handsome he was, she thought. how deep and clear his eyes looked as they smiled into hers. if she had never known of ida's mistake--if she had never heard the hildegarde story--there might have crept into her girlish fancy, young though she was, the thought that this was the love written for her in the stars. but like a flash came the recollection of old hildgardmar's warning:
-"and many youths will come to thee, each begging, 'give me the royal mantle, hildegarde. i am the prince the stars have destined for thee!'"
-and then his words of blessing:
-"because even in childhood days thou ever kept in view the sterling yardstick as i bade thee, because no single strand of all the golden warp that clotho gave thee was squandered on another, because thou waitedst till thy woman's fingers wrought the best that lay within thy woman's heart, all happiness shall now be thine."
-"please, lloyd," he asked again, in a low, earnest tone.
-"i--i can't, malcolm," she stammered, giving the nut she had chosen a sudden blow that completely smashed it.
-"why not? you gave rob the clover to carry in his watch."
-"that was different. rob doesn't care for the clovah on my account. he carries it for the good luck it brings; not because i gave it to him."
-"but he'll get to caring after awhile," said malcolm, moodily. "he couldn't help it. nobody could who knew you, and i don't want him to." then, after a long pause in which lloyd attended so strictly to her nut-cracking that she did not even glance in his direction, he asked, jealously: "would you give him the curl if he asked for it?"
-something in his tone made lloyd look up with a provoking little smile. "no," she answered, "not even the snippiest little snip of a hair, if he asked for it the way you are doing, and wanted it to mean what you do--that he was my--my chosen knight, you know."
-"is there anybody you would give it to, lloyd?"
-his persistence only made her shake her head the more obstinately. it did not take much teasing to arouse what mom beck called "the lloyd stubbo'ness."
-"no! i tell you! and if you keep on talking that way i'm going home!"
-"why won't you let me talk that way? this is the last time i'll see you until next summer, and i'm dreadfully in earnest, lloyd. you don't know how much it means to me. don't you care for me at all?"
-a dozen things came crowding up to her lips in answer. she wanted to tell him the story of hildegarde's weaving and old hildgardmar's warning. she wanted to say that she could not trifle with the happiness that was written for her in the stars by giving away even a strand of clotho's golden thread before she was old enough to choose wisely the one on whom to bestow such a favour. but she knew that he would not understand these allusions to a story of which he had never heard.
-"i'll be whatever you want me to be, lloyd," he began, but just then the mistletoe gatherers came running down the path toward them, and ranald's whistle brought the others from the churchyard with their bittersweet. lloyd flung away her nut-shells, and standing on the top of the stile brushed her dress with her handkerchief. malcolm, swinging his gun to his shoulder, picked up her basket and walked beside her in conscious silence, as the merry party strolled on toward the depot.
-several times she glanced up shyly at him, saying to herself again that he was certainly one of the nicest boys she knew, the most courteous, the most attractive, with the same beauty of face and polish of manner that had made him such a winning little knight of kentucky. but the little pin he had worn as the badge of that knighthood, that stood for the "wearing the white flower of a blameless life," was no longer on the lapel of his coat. he had laid it aside more than a year ago, saying that he had outgrown that child's play, and that it was impossible for a fellow of his age to live up to it.
-as lloyd noticed its absence she was glad that she had answered him as she did. but almost with the same breath came the recollection that he had said, "i'll be whatever you want me to be, lloyd," and she wondered with a quicker heart-throb if it were really so that she had power to wield such an influence over him, and she wondered also, if she had given him the curl as he asked, and told him that she wanted him to wear the white flower again and live up to its meaning, if he would have done it for her sake.
-keith rushed on ahead to see if the man had brought their suit-cases down to the waiting-room, and the others crossed over to the store for some hot pop-corn. there were several holly wreaths hanging in the window, and although lloyd knew that a number of them had already been sent out to locust from town, she could not resist the temptation of buying the largest one there, it was so unusually bright and full of berries. they had barely reached the waiting-room again when the train came thundering along the track.
-with hasty good-byes the three boys hurried up the steps. keith and rob hung on to the railing on the platform of the rear car, swinging their caps and calling back various messages about christmas and next week and after the holidays, but malcolm, after one long look into the little colonel's eyes, turned and went into the car. he wanted to carry away with him undisturbed the picture she made as she stood there on the platform, waving her handkerchief. she was all in dark blue, her fair hair blowing in the wind, her cheeks a delicate wild rose pink. at her feet was the basket of christmas greens, and on her arm hung the glowing wreath of christmas holly.
-it was the last night of the old year. watch-night, mom beck called it, and as soon as dinner was over she and aunt cindy and alec hurried away to brier creek church, where the coloured people were to hold services till midnight, watching the old year out and the new year in.
-it had been a busy week for lloyd and betty. the happiest of christmas days had been followed by neighbourhood parties, entertainments, and merrymakings of all descriptions. the old southern mansion rang with many gay young voices, and overflowed with life, for there were guests within its hospitable gates from morning until night.
-but now a lull had come in the festivities. the last guest had departed on the evening train, and ten o'clock found the house strangely still. the servants were all out. betty, locked in her room, busy with embroidery silks, was finishing a little new year's gift with which to surprise her godmother on the morrow. mrs. sherman had gone up-stairs to sit with the old colonel awhile. she had not been able to give him much of her time since their return to locust, and to-night, with the waning year, he seemed to want her to himself to talk to him of his "long, long ago," and listen to his tales of old days which grew dearer with each passing holiday season.
-only lloyd and her father were left in the long drawing-room. she had begged to be allowed to keep watch-night with him.
-"it's only two houahs moah, mothah," she said, beseechingly. "i'll sleep late in the mawning to make up for it. i've scarcely seen papa jack since we came home, and he's going away so soon again. besides, i nevah did sit up to watch a new yeah come in."
-so she had her way, and, sitting on a low stool at his feet, with his hand softly stroking her hair, they talked of many things.
-he began in a teasing, playful way, "you haven't told me what you learned at boarding-school, little colonel. you must have absorbed a vast amount of knowledge, when even your nights were passed in such a learned institution."
-the face she turned toward him was a very serious one, for the time had come for confession. yet after all confession did not seem as hard as she had thought it would be. the very touch of his hand on her hair made it easier, it was so kind and sympathetic. she had always gone to him with all her childish troubles as freely as she had to her mother. presently she had poured out the whole story, her part in the clandestine correspondence, edwardo's coming to locust, her struggle in that very room to be loyal to the family honour and her father's trust in her.
-allison's christmas present to her had been an autograph copy of the story of "the three weavers." it was bound in water-colour paper, tied in the rose and gold ribbons of the order, and bore on the cover a design of allison's own painting, a filmy spider-web held by a row of golden stars. lloyd showed it to him as she told of the forming of the order of hildegarde to take the place of the old shadow club, and then, spreading the book open across his knee, read it aloud--the little tale which was destined to play such an important part in her life, and which already had influenced her far more than she was aware.
-when she had finished she sat idly turning the leaves and gazing into the fire. "you see," she said, presently, "this is a story for fathahs and mothahs, too, and--and--i want you to give me my yah'dstick, papa jack."
-as she glanced up at him with a roguish smile dimpling her face, she was astonished to see tears in his eyes. he had been very silent while she read the story.
-"my precious little hildegarde!" he exclaimed, drawing her to his knee and folding his arms around her. she laid her head on his shoulder, and he began: "i don't suppose you can understand how i feel about it, lloyd. it breaks me all up to think that my little colonel is near enough grown to come to me with such a request. if i could have my way i would be selfish enough to want to keep you a little girl always. i hate to think that a time can ever come when any one may ask to take you from me. but, lloyd darling, it takes all the sting out of that thought to know that you are willing to come to me so freely with your questions--to know that there is such perfect confidence between us that you do not feel the embarrassment that most girls feel in talking with their fathers on such a subject. let me think a moment, for i want to answer as wisely as old hildgardmar did, if that be possible."
-it was a long time before he spoke again. then he said, slowly, "there are only three notches on the yardstick which i am going to give you, lloyd. the prince who comes asking for you must have, first, a clean life. there must be no wild oats sowed through its past for my little girl to help reap, for no man ever gathers such a harvest alone. next, he must be honourable in every way which that good old word implies. the man who is that will not ask anything clandestine, nor will he ask to take you from a comfortable home before he is able to provide one for you himself. then, if he would measure up to the third notch, he must be strong. strong in character, in purpose, and endeavour. there are many things that i might ask for my only child, many things that i would gladly choose for her if the choice were left to me: family, position, wealth--but they are nothing when weighed in the balance with the love of an honest man. if his life be clean and honourable and strong, then choose as you will, my blessing shall go with you!"
-instantly there flashed into lloyd's thoughts the recollection of a boyish figure standing beside the old stile, and she wondered how far he would measure up to that standard. clean in life and habit? he had always seemed so, but a little doubt disturbed her as she thought of the white flower he no longer wore, and what he had said about it. strong in purpose and in effort? it was too soon to tell. he was only a boy with all his uncertain future before him, with all the temptations of his college days still unmet and unconquered.
-as she felt her father's protecting arm around her, she nestled closer in that safe, sure shelter, and sat considering what he had said. once she glanced up at the portrait over the mantel, and met the gaze of the beautiful eyes of the young girl beside the harp--amanthis, who had made no mistake in her choosing, whose girlish romance had bloomed as sweetly as the june roses that she wore.
-presently lloyd's arm stole up around her father's neck, and she softly repeated the words of hildegarde's promise:
-"'you may trust me, fathah. i will not cut the golden warp from out the loom until i, a woman grown, have woven such a web as thou thyself shalt say is worthy of a prince's wearing!'"
-"dear child," he answered, huskily, "you have crowned not only this year for me, but all the years, with that promise. god grant that you may find all happiness written for you in his stars!"
-the candles were burning low in their silver sconces now. the fire on the hearth was only a mass of glowing embers, and as the clock ticked on toward midnight, they sat in happy silence, awaiting the dawn of the untried new year.
-books for young people
-the little colonel books
-by annie fellows johnston
-being three "little colonel" stories in the cosy corner series, "the little colonel," "two little knights of kentucky," and "the giant scissors," put into a single volume.
-special holiday editions
-new plates, handsomely illustrated, with eight full-page drawings in color.
-"the books are as satisfactory to the small girls, who find them adorable, as for the mothers and librarians, who delight in their influence."--christian register.
-there has been a constant demand for publication in separate form of these four stories, which were originally included in four of the "little colonel" books.
-a story of the time of christ, which is one of the author's best-known books.
-"'asa holmes; or, at the cross-roads' is the most delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been published in a long while."--boston times.
-here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy reader. it is the story of a party of typical american lads, courageous, alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off the maine coast.
-"the best boys' book since 'tom sawyer.'"--san francisco examiner.
-this book is a continuation of the adventures of "the rival campers" on their prize yacht viking. an accidental collision results in a series of exciting adventures, culminating in a mysterious chase, the loss of their prize yacht, and its recapture by means of their old yacht, surprise.
-"the rival campers ashore" deals with the adventures of the campers and their friends in and around the town of benton. mr. smith introduces a new character,--a girl,--who shows them the way to an old mill, around which the mystery of the story revolves. the girl is an admirable acquisition, proving as daring and resourceful as the campers themselves.
-mr. stevenson's hero is a manly lad of sixteen, who is given a chance as a section-hand on a big western railroad, and whose experiences are as real as they are thrilling.
-the young hero has many chances to prove his manliness and courage in the exciting adventures which befall him in the discharge of his duty.
-jack is a fine example of the all-around american high-school boy. he has the sturdy qualities boys admire, and his fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths.
-all boys and girls who take an interest in school athletics will wish to read of the exploits of the millvale high school students, under the leadership of captain jack lorimer.
-captain jack's champions play quite as good ball as do some of the teams on the large leagues, and they put all opponents to good hard work in other summer sports.
-jack lorimer and his friends stand out as the finest examples of all-round american high school boys and girls.
-"this book revives the spirit of 'beautiful joe' capitally. it is fairly riotous with fun, and as a whole is about as unusual as anything in the animal book line that has seen the light. it is a book for juveniles--old and young."--philadelphia item.
-"it is one of those exquisitely simple and truthful books that win and charm the reader, and i did not put it down until i had finished it--honest! and i am sure that every one, young or old, who reads will be proud and happy to make the acquaintance of the delicious waif.
-"i cannot think of any better book for children than this. i commend it unreservedly."--cyrus townsend brady.
-here we have the haps and mishaps, the trials and triumphs, of a delightful new england family, of whose devotion and sturdiness it will do the reader good to hear.
-the atmosphere of army life on the plains breathes on every page of this delightful tale. the boy is the son of a captain of u. s. cavalry stationed at a frontier post in the days when our regulars earned the gratitude of a nation.
-west point forms the background for the second volume in this series, and gives us the adventures of jack as a cadet. here the training of his childhood days in the frontier army post stands him in good stead; and he quickly becomes the central figure of the west point life.
-"an amusing, original book, written for the benefit of very small children. it should be one of the most popular of the year's books for reading to small children."--buffalo express.
-mr. hopkins's first essay at bedtime stories met with such approval that this second book of "sandman" tales was issued for scores of eager children. life on the farm, and out-of-doors, is portrayed in his inimitable manner.
-"mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who put the little ones to bed, and rack their brains for stories, will find this book a treasure."--cleveland leader.
-"children call for these stories over and over again."--chicago evening post.
-"pussy-cat town" is a most unusual delightful cat story. ban-ban, a pure maltese who belonged to rob, kiku-san, lois's beautiful snow-white pet, and their neighbors bedelia the tortoise-shell, madame laura the widow, wutz butz the warrior, and wise old tommy traddles, were really and truly cats.
-this is a charming little story of a child whose father was caretaker of the great castle of the wartburg, where saint elizabeth once had her home.
-gabriel was a loving, patient, little french lad, who assisted the monks in the long ago days, when all the books were written and illuminated by hand, in the monasteries.
-the enchanted automobile was sent by the fairy godmother of a lazy, discontented little prince and princess to take them to fairyland, where they might visit their story-book favorites.
-"the red feathers" tells of the remarkable adventures of an indian boy who lived in the stone age, many years ago, when the world was young, and when fairies and magicians did wonderful things for their friends and enemies.
-this story takes its readers on a sea voyage around the world; gives them a trip on a treasure ship; an exciting experience in a terrific gale; and finally a shipwreck, with a mutineering crew determined to take the treasure to complicate matters.
-but only the mutineers will come to serious harm, and after the reader has known the thrilling excitement of lack of food and water, of attacks by night and day, and of a hand-to-hand fight, he is rescued and brought safely home again,--to realize that it's only a story, but a stirring and realistic one.
-the "little white indians" were two families of children who "played indian" all one long summer vacation. they built wigwams and made camps; they went hunting and fought fierce battles on the war-trail.
-a bright, interesting story which will appeal strongly to the "make-believe" instinct in children, and will give them a healthy, active interest in "the simple life."
-books for young people
-by lenore e. mulets
-six vols., cloth decorative, illustrated by sophie schneider. sold separately, or as a set.
-by g. waldo browne
-"the woodranger tales," like the "pathfinder tales" of j. fenimore cooper, combine historical information relating to early pioneer days in america with interesting adventures in the backwoods. although the same characters are continued throughout the series, each book is complete in itself, and, while based strictly on historical facts, is an interesting and exciting tale of adventure.
-the little cousin series
-the most delightful and interesting accounts possible of child life in other lands, filled with quaint sayings, doings, and adventures.
-each one vol., 12mo, decorative cover, cloth, with six or more full-page illustrations in color.
-by mary hazelton wade (unless otherwise indicated)
-cosy corner series
-it is the intention of the publishers that this series shall contain only the very highest and purest literature,--stories that shall not only appeal to the children themselves, but be appreciated by all those who feel with them in their joys and sorrows.
-the numerous illustrations in each book are by well-known artists, and each volume has a separate attractive cover design.
-by annie fellows johnston
-the scene of this story is laid in kentucky. its heroine is a small girl, who is known as the little colonel, on account of her fancied resemblance to an old-school southern gentleman, whose fine estate and old family are famous in the region.
-this is the story of joyce and of her adventures in france. joyce is a great friend of the little colonel, and in later volumes shares with her the delightful experiences of the "house party" and the "holidays."
-in this volume the little colonel returns to us like an old friend, but with added grace and charm. she is not, however, the central figure of the story, that place being taken by the "two little knights."
-a delightful little story of a lonely english girl who comes to america and is befriended by a sympathetic american family who are attracted by her beautiful speaking voice. by means of this one gift she is enabled to help a school-girl who has temporarily lost the use of her eyes, and thus finally her life becomes a busy, happy one.
-the readers of mrs. johnston's charming juveniles will be glad to learn of the issue of this volume for young people.
-a collection of six bright little stories, which will appeal to all boys and most girls.
-a story of two boys. the devotion and care of steven, himself a small boy, for his baby brother, is the theme of the simple tale.
-"ole mammy's torment" has been fitly called "a classic of southern life." it relates the haps and mishaps of a small negro lad, and tells how he was led by love and kindness to a knowledge of the right.
-in this story mrs. johnston relates the story of dago, a pet monkey, owned jointly by two brothers. dago tells his own story, and the account of his haps and mishaps is both interesting and amusing.
-a pleasant little story of a boy's labor of love, and how it changed the course of his life many years after it was accomplished.
-a story of a boy's life battle, his early defeat, and his final triumph, well worth the reading.
-by edith robinson
-a story of colonial times in boston, telling how christmas was invented by betty sewall, a typical child of the puritans, aided by her brother sam.
-the author introduces this story as follows:
-"one ride is memorable in the early history of the american revolution, the well-known ride of paul revere. equally deserving of commendation is another ride,--the ride of anthony severn,--which was no less historic in its action or memorable in its consequences."
-a delightful and interesting story of revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, betsey schuyler, renders important services to george washington.
-this is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant sir harry vane was governor of massachusetts.
-the scene of this story is laid in the puritan settlement at charlestown.
-a story of boston in puritan days, which is of great interest to youthful readers.
-the story of a "little puritan cavalier" who tried with all his boyish enthusiasm to emulate the spirit and ideals of the dead crusaders.
-the story tells of a young lad in colonial times who endeavored to carry out the high ideals of the knights of olden days.
-by ouida (louise de la ramée)
-too well and favorably known to require description.
-this beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price.
-by frances margaret fox
-a charming nature story of a "little giant" whose neighbours were the creatures of the field and garden.
-a little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best friends.
-a charming story of child-life, appealing especially to the little readers who like stories of "real people."
-the story of betty's brother, and some further adventures of betty herself.
-curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or "childhood," of the little creatures out-of-doors.
-a bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children, with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. the wonderful never-to-be forgotten christmas that came to them is the climax of a series of exciting incidents.
-obvious punctuation errors repaired.
-page 265, "hie" changed to "his" (his broad clear brow)
-at http://www.freeliterature.org (from images generously made available by the internet archive.)
-canute the great
-and the rise of danish imperialism during the viking age
-laurence marcellus larson, ph.d.
-associate professor of history in the university of illinois
-new york and london
-the knickerbocker press
-heroes of the nations
-dr. w.c. davis
-facta ducis vivent, operosaque gloria rerum-ovid, in liviam, 255. the hero's deeds and hard-won fame shall live
-to my wife
-lillian may larson
-toward the close of the eighth century, there appeared in the waters of western europe the strange dragon fleets of the northmen, the "heathen," or the vikings, as they called themselves, and for more than two hundred years the shores of the west and the southwest lived in constant dread of pillage and piracy. the viking invasions have always been of interest to the student of the middle ages; but only recently have historians begun to fathom the full significance of the movement. the british isles were pre-eminently the field of viking activities. english historians, however, have usually found nothing in the invasions but two successive waves of destruction. as an eminent writer has tersely stated it,--the dane contributed nothing to english civilisation, for he had nothing to contribute.
-on the other hand, scandinavian students, who naturally took great pride in the valorous deeds of their ancestors, once viewed the western lands chiefly as a field that offered unusual opportunities for the development of the dormant energies of the northern race. that christian civilisation could not fail to react on the heathen mind was clearly seen; but this phase of the problem was not emphasised; the importance of western influences was minimised.
-serious study of the viking age in its broader aspects began about fifty years ago with the researches of gudbrand vigfusson, a young icelandic scholar, much of whose work was carried on in england. vigfusson's work was parallelled by the far more thorough researches of the eminent norwegian philologist, sophus bugge. these investigators both came to the same general conclusion: that old norse culture, especially on the literary side, shows permeating traces of celtic and anglo-saxon elements; that the eddic literature was not an entirely native product, but was largely built up in the viking colonies in britain from borrowed materials.
-some years earlier, the danish antiquarian, j.j.a. worsaae, had begun to study the "memorials" of norse and danish occupation in britain, and had found that the islands in places were overlaid with traces of scandinavian conquest in the form of place names. later worsaae's countryman, dr. j.c.h.r. steenstrup, carried the research into the institutional field, and showed in his masterly work, normannerne (1876-1882), that the institutional development among the anglo-saxons in the tenth and eleventh centuries was largely a matter of adapting and assimilating scandinavian elements.
-studies that embodied such differing viewpoints could not fail to call forth much discussion, some of which went to the point of bitterness. recently there has been a reaction from the extreme position assumed by professor bugge and his followers; but quite generally norse scholars are coming to take the position that both sophus bugge and johannes steenstrup have been correct in their main contentions; the most prominent representative of this view is professor alexander bugge. where two vigorous peoples representing differing types or different stages of civilisation come into more than temporary contact, the reciprocal influences will of necessity be continued and profound.
-the viking movement had, therefore, its aspects of growth and development as well as of destruction. the best representative of the age and the movement, when considered from both these viewpoints, is canute the great, king of england, denmark, and norway. canute began as a pirate and developed into a statesman. he was carried to victory by the very forces that had so long subsisted on devastation; when the victory was achieved, they discovered, perhaps to their amazement, that their favourite occupation was gone. canute had inherited the imperialistic ambitions of his dynasty, and piracy and empire are mutually exclusive terms.
-it is scarcely necessary to say anything further in justification of a biographical study of such an eminent leader, one of the few men whom the world has called "the great." but to write a true biography of any great secular character of mediæval times is a difficult, often impossible, task. the great men of modern times have revealed their inner selves in their confidential letters; their kinsmen, friends, and intimate associates have left their appreciations in the form of addresses or memoirs. materials of such a character are not abundant in the mediæval sources. but this fact need not deter us from the attempt. it is at least possible to trace the public career of the subject chosen, to measure his influence on the events of his day, and to determine the importance of his work for future ages. and occasionally the sources may permit a glimpse into the private life of the subject which will help us to understand him as a man.
-the present study has presented many difficulties. canute lived in an age when there was but little writing done in the north, though the granite of the runic monument possesses the virtue of durability. there is an occasional mention of canute in the continental chronicles of the time; but the chief contemporary sources are the anglo-saxon chronicle, the encomium emmæ, and the praise lays of the norse and icelandic scalds. the chronicle was written by a patriotic englishman who naturally regarded the danes with a strong aversion. the encomium, on the other hand, seems to be the product of an alien clerk, whose chief purpose was to glorify his patroness, queen emma, and her family. the lays of the scalds are largely made up of nattering phrases, though among them are woven in allusions to historic facts that are of great value.
-the anglo-norman historians and the later monastic annalists in england have not very much to add to our information about canute; but in their accounts they are likely to go to the other extreme from the chronicle. too often the monkish writers measured excellence by the value of gifts to churches and monasteries, and canute had learned the value of donations properly timed and placed.
-adam of bremen wrote a generation later than canute's day, but, as he got his information from canute's kinsmen at the danish court, his notices of northern affairs are generally reliable. there is no danish history before the close of the twelfth century, when saxo wrote the acts of the danes. it is evident that saxo had access to a mass of sources both written and of the saga type. the world is grateful to the danish clerk for preserving so much of this material; but sound, critical treatment (of which saxo was probably incapable) would have enhanced the value of his work.
-the twelfth century is also the age of the sagas. these are of uneven merit and most of them are of slight value for present purposes. however, the sources on which these are in a measure based, the fragments of contemporary verse that are extant and much that has not survived, have been woven into a history, the equal of which for artistic treatment, critical standards, and true historical spirit will be difficult to find in any other mediæval literature. wherever possible, therefore, reference has been made in this study to snorre's kings' sagas, commonly known as "heimskringla," in preference to other saga sources.
-in the materials afforded by archæology, the northern countries are peculiarly rich, though, for the purposes of this study, these have their only value on the side of culture. an exception must be made of the runic monuments (which need not necessarily be classed with archæological materials), as these often assist in building up the narrative. more important, perhaps, is the fact that these inscriptions frequently help us to settle disputed points and to determine the accuracy of accounts that are not contemporary.
-one of the chief problems has been where to begin the narrative. to begin in the conventional way with childhood, education, and the rest is not practicable when the place and the year of birth are unknown and the forms and influences of early training are matters of inference and conjecture. at the same time it was found impossible to separate the man from his time, from the great activities that were going on in the lands about the north sea, and from the purposes of the dynasty that he belonged to. before it is possible to give an intelligent account of how canute led the viking movement to successful conquest, some account must be given of the movement itself. the first chapter and a part of the second consequently have to deal with matters introductory to and preparatory for canute's personal career, which began in 1012.
-in the writing of proper names the author has planned to use modern forms whenever such exist; he has therefore written canute, though his preference is for the original form cnut. king ethelred's by-name, "redeless," has been translated "ill-counselled," which is slightly nearer the original meaning than "unready"; "uncounselled" would scarcely come nearer, as the original seems rather to imply inability to distinguish good from bad counsel.
-in the preparation of the study assistance has been received from many sources; especially is the author under obligation to the libraries of the universities of illinois, chicago, wisconsin, and iowa, and of harvard university; he is also indebted to his colleagues dean e.b. greene, professor g.s. ford, and professor g.t. flom, of the university of illinois, for assistance in the form of critical reading of the manuscript.
-l.m.l. champaign, ill., 1911.
-chapter i the heritage of canute the great
-chapter viii the twilight of the gods
-chapter xii the empire of the north
-chapter xiii northern culture in the days of canute
-canute and emma frontispiece (the king and queen are presenting a golden cross to winchester abbey, new minster.) from a miniature reproduced in liber vitæ (birch.) the older jelling stone (a) the older jelling stone (b) the larger sonder vissing stone the later jelling stone (a) the later jelling stone (b) the later jelling stone (c) scandinavian settlements, britain and normandy the larger aarhus stone the sjælle stone (runic monument raised to gyrth, earl sigvaldi's brother.) the tulstorp stone (runic monument showing viking ship ornamented with beasts' heads.) the hällestad stone anglo-saxon warriors (harl. ms. 603.) anglo-saxon horsemen (harl. ms. 603.) anglo-saxon warriors (from a manuscript in the british museum, reproduced in norges historie, i., ii.) the raven banner (from the bayeux tapestry.) viking raids in england 980-1016 the south baltic coast in the eleventh century the valleberga stone the stenkyrka stone (monument from the island of gotland showing viking ships.) an english bishop of the eleventh century (from the bayeux tapestry.) poppo's ordeal (altar decoration from about 1100. danish national museum.) hammers of thor (from the closing years of heathendom.) the tjängvide stone (monument from the island of gotland. the stone shows various mythological figures; see below.) the church at urnes (norway) (from about 1100.) runic monument shows hammer of thor the odderness stone ornaments (chiefly buckles) from the viking age ornaments (chiefly buckles) from the viking age lines from the oldest fragment of snorre's history (written about 1260). the fragment tells the story of the battle of holy river and the murder of ulf a longship (model of the gokstad ship on the waves.) scandinavia and the conquest of norway stiklestead (from a photograph.) the hyby stone (monument from the first half of the eleventh century; raised to a christian as appears from the cross.) runic monument from upland, sweden (showing blending of celtic and northern art.) scandinavian (icelandic) hall in the viking age the vik stone (illustrates the transition from heathendom to christianity; shows a mixture of elements, the serpent and the cross.) the ramsund rock (representations of scenes from the sigfried saga.) painted gable from urnes church (norse-irish ornamentation.) carved pillar from urnes church (norse-irish ornamentation.) the hunnestad stone the alstad stone anglo-saxon table scene (from a manuscript in the british museum, reproduced in norges historie, i., ii.) model of the gokstad ship (longitudinal sections.) the lundagård stone (shows types of ornamentation in canute's day.) the jurby cross, isle of man the gosforth cross, cumberland the pall of saint olaf (initial in the flat-isle book.)
-canute the great
-the heritage of canute the great
-among the many gigantic though somewhat shadowy personalities of the viking age, two stand forth with undisputed pre-eminence: rolf the founder of normandy and canute the emperor of the north. both were sea-kings; each represents the culmination and the close of a great migratory movement,--rolf of the earlier viking period, canute of its later and more restricted phase. the early history of each is uncertain and obscure; both come suddenly forth upon the stage of action, eager and trained for conquest. rolf is said to have been the outlawed son of a norse earl; canute was the younger son of a danish king: neither had the promise of sovereignty or of landed inheritance. still, in the end, both became rulers of important states--the pirate became a constructive statesman. the work of rolf as founder of normandy was perhaps the more enduring; but far more brilliant was the career of canute.
-few great conquerors have had a less promising future. in the early years of the eleventh century, he seems to have been serving a military apprenticeship in a viking fraternity on the pomeranian coast, preparatory, no doubt, to the profession of a sea-king, the usual career of northern princes who were not seniors in birth. his only tangible inheritance seems to have been the prestige of royal blood which meant so much when the chief called for recruits.
-in that century denmark was easily the greatest power in the north. from the scanian frontiers to the confines of modern sleswick it extended over "belts" and islands, closing completely the entrance to the baltic. there were danish outposts on the slavic shores of modern prussia; the larger part of norway came for some years to be a vassal state under the great earl, hakon the bad; the wick, which comprised the shores of the great inlet that is now known as the christiania firth, was regarded as a component part of the danish monarchy, though in fact the obedience rendered anywhere in norway was very slight.
-in the legendary age a famous dynasty known as the shieldings appears to have ruled over danes and jutes. the family took its name from a mythical ancestor, king shield, whose coming to the daneland is told in the opening lines of the old english epic beowulf. the shieldings were worthy descendants of their splendid progenitor: they possessed in full measure the royal virtues of valour, courage, and munificent hospitality. how far their exploits are to be regarded as historic is a problem that does not concern us at present; though it seems likely that the danish foreworld is not without its historic realities.
-in the shielding age, the favourite seat of royalty was at lethra (leire) in zealand, at the head of roeskild firth. here, no doubt, was located the famous hall heorot, of which we read in beowulf. there were also king's garths elsewhere; the one at jelling has already been mentioned as the residence of gorm and thyra. after the queen's death her husband raised at jelling, after heathen fashion, a high mound in her honour, on the top of which a rock was placed with a brief runic inscription:
-the runologist ludvig wimmer believes that the inscription on the older jelling stone dates from the period 935-940; a later date is scarcely probable. the queen evidently did not long survive the famous "defence."
-a generation later, perhaps about the year 980, harold bluetooth, gorm's son and successor, raised another mound at jelling, this one, apparently, in honour of his father. the two mounds stand about two hundred feet apart; at present each is about sixty feet high, though the original height must have been considerably greater. midway between them the king placed a large rock as a monument to both his parents, which in addition to its runic dedication bears a peculiar blending of christian symbols and heathen ornamentation. the inscription is also more elaborate than that on the lesser stone:
-the fostering of harold grayfell had important consequences continuing for two generations till the invasion of norway by canute the great. with a force largely recruited in denmark, the sons of eric attacked norway and came upon king hakon on the island of stord where a battle was fought in which the king fell (961). but the men who had slain their royal kinsman found it difficult to secure recognition as kings: the result of the battle was that norway was broken up into a number of petty kingdoms and earldoms, each aiming at practical independence.
-earl hakon's revolt probably dates from 974 or 975; king harold's raid along the norse coasts must have followed within the next few years. the succeeding decade is memorable for two notable expeditions, the one directed against king eric of sweden, the second against hakon of norway. in neither of these ventures was harold directly interested; both were undertaken by the vikings of jom, though probably with the danish king's approval and support. the jomvikings were in the service of denmark and the defeat that they suffered in both instances had important results for future history. the exact dates cannot be determined; but the battles must have been fought during the period 980-986.
-styrbjörn fell in the battle and sigvaldi, the son of a scanian earl, succeeded to the command at jomburg. in some way he was induced to attack the norwegian earl. late in the year the fleet from the oder stole northwards along the norse coast hoping to catch the earl unawares. but hakon's son eric had learned what the vikings were planning and a strong fleet carefully hid in hjörunga bay lay ready to welcome the invader.
-tova might be a danish name, but mistiwi seems clearly slavic. it may be that harold was thrice married; it is also possible that tova in baptism received the name gunhild. gyrith was most likely the wife of his old age. the question is important as it concerns the ancestry of canute the great. if tova was canute's grandmother (as she probably was) three of his grandparents were of slavic blood.
-of harold's children four are known to history. his daughter thyra has already been mentioned as the wife of the ill-fated styrbjörn. another daughter, gunhild, was the wife of an anglo-danish chief, the ealdorman pallig. two sons are also mentioned, sweyn and hakon. of these sweyn, as the successor to the kingship, is the more important.
-it would seem that the time had come to wipe away the stain that had come upon the danish arms at hjörunga bay; but no immediate move was made in that direction. earl hakon was still too strong, and for a decade longer he enjoyed undisputed possession of the norwegian sovereignty. sweyn did not forget the claims of his dynasty, but he bided his time. furthermore, this same decade saw larger plans developing at the danish court. norway was indeed desirable, but as a field of wider activities it gave no great promise. such a field, however, seemed to be in sight: the british isles with their numerous kingdoms, their large scandinavian colonies, and their consequent lack of unifying interests seemed to offer opportunities that the restless dane could not afford to neglect.
-the three scandinavian kingdoms did not comprise the entire north: in many respects, greater scandinavia was fully as important as the home lands. it is not necessary for present purposes to follow the eastward stream of colonisation that transformed the slavic east and laid the foundations of the russian monarchy. the southward movement of the danes into the regions about the mouth of the oder will be discussed more in detail later. the story of sweyn and canute is far more concerned with colonising movements and colonial foundations in the west. without the preparatory work of two centuries, canute's conquest of the anglo-saxon kingdom would have been impossible.
-toward the close of the eighth century the vikings appeared in large numbers on the coasts of northern england. two generations later they had destroyed three of the four english kingdoms and were organising the danelaw on their ruins. still later rolf appeared with his host of northmen in the seine valley and founded the norman duchy.
-danish power in england seems to have centered about the ancient city of york. it would be more nearly correct to speak of northumbria in the ninth and tenth centuries as a norse than as a danish colony; but the angles made no such distinction. the population must also have contained a large english element. a native ecclesiastic who wrote toward the close of the tenth century speaks with enthusiasm of the wealth and grandeur of york.
-in some respects the danelaw is the most important fact in the history of the anglo-saxon monarchy: it was the rock on which old english nationality foundered. by the middle of the tenth century, saxon england was practically confined to the country south of the thames river and the western half of the midlands, a comparatively small area surrounded by scandinavian and celtic settlements. if this fact is fully appreciated, there should be little difficulty in understanding the loss of english national freedom in the days of sweyn and canute. the english kings did, indeed, exercise some sort of suzerain authority over most of the neighbouring colonies, but this authority was probably never so complete as historians would have us believe.
-it is worth noting that the scribe whom we have quoted above speaks of the danes, not as pirates but as merchants. the tenth century was, on the whole, so far as piratical expeditions are concerned, an age of peace in the north. the word viking is old in the mediæval dialects, and scandinavian pirates doubtless visited the shores of christian europe at a very early date. but the great viking age was the ninth century, when the field of piratical operations covered nearly half of europe and extended from iceland to byzantium. the movement culminated in the last quarter of the century and was followed by a constructive period of nearly one hundred years, when society was being reorganised or built anew in the conquered lands. the icelandic republic was taking form. the norman duchy was being organised. the northmen in the danelaw were being forced into political relations with the saxon kings. trade began to follow new routes and find new harbours. the older scandinavian cities acquired an added fame and importance, while new towns were being founded both in the home lands and in the western islands.
-this lull in the activities of the sea-kings gave the western rulers an opportunity to regain much that had been lost. in england the expansion of wessex which had begun in the days of alfred was continued under his successors, until in edgar's day one lord was recognised from the channel to the forth. but with edgar died both majesty and peace. about 980 the viking spirit was reawakened in the north. the raven banner reappeared in the western seas, and soon the annals of the west began to recount their direful tales. among all the chiefs of this new age, one stands forth pre-eminent, sweyn with the forked beard, whose remarkable achievement it was to enlist all this lawless energy for a definite purpose, the conquest of wessex.
-that ethelred proved an incompetent king is beyond dispute. still, it is doubtful whether any ruler with capabilities less than those of an alfred could have saved england in the early years of the eleventh century. for ethelred had succeeded to a perilous inheritance. in the new territorial additions to wessex there were two chief elements, neither of which was distinctly pro-saxon: the dane or the half-danish colonist was naturally hostile to the saxon régime; his anglian neighbour recalled the former independence of his region as mercia, east anglia, or northumbria, and was weak in his loyalty to the southern dynasty. the spirit of particularism asserted itself repeatedly, for it seems unlikely that the many revolts in the tenth century were danish uprisings merely.
-thirty years of power had developed tyrannical passions in the norwegian earl. according to the sagas he was cruel, treacherous, and licentious. every year he became more overbearing and despotic; every year added to the total of discontent. here was sweyn forkbeard's opportunity; but he had other irons in the fire, and the opportunity fell to another. about 995 a pretender to the norse throne arrived from the west,--olaf trygvesson, the great-grandson of harold fairhair.
-after the death of king eric, new interests and new plans began to germinate in the fertile mind of sweyn the viking. late in life the swedish king seems to have married a young swedish woman who is known to history as sigrid the haughty. sigrid belonged to a family of great wealth and prominence; her father tosti was a famous viking who had harvested his treasures on an alien shore. eric had not long been dead before wooers in plenty came to seek the hand of the rich dowager. so importunate did they become that the queen to get rid of them is said to have set fire to the house where two of them slept. olaf trygvesson was acceptable, but he imposed an impossible condition: sigrid must become a christian. when she finally refused to surrender her faith, the king is said to have stricken her in the face with his gauntlet. the proud queen never forgave him.
-when the young prince became king of england thurkil was exalted to a position next to that of the ruler himself. after the old chief's death, canute seems to have heaped high honours on thurkil's son harold in denmark. we cannot be sure, but it seems likely that this favour is to be ascribed, in part, at least, to canute's affection for his foster-father and his foster-brother.
-in those same years another important marriage was formed in sweyn's household: the fugitive eric, the son of earl hakon whose power was now wielded by the viking olaf, had come to denmark, where sweyn forkbeard received him kindly and gave him his daughter gytha in marriage. thus there was formed a hostile alliance against king olaf with its directing centre at the danish court. in addition to his own resources and those of his stepson in sweden, sweyn could now count on the assistance of the dissatisfied elements in norway who looked to eric as their natural leader.
-the battle of swald was of great importance to the policies of the knytlings. the rival norse kingdom was destroyed. once more the danish king had almost complete control of both shores of the waterways leading into the baltic. danish hegemony in the north was a recognised fact. but all of norway was not yet a danish possession--that ambition was not realised before the reign of canute. and england was still unconquered.
-this inscription, which is the earliest document that mentions the new world, was found at hönen in south-eastern norway. the original has been lost, but copies are extant. the translation is from bugge's rendering into modern norse. (norges historie, i., ii., 285.)
-the conquest of england
-during the five years of rivalry between olaf and sweyn (995-1000), england had enjoyed comparative peace. incursions, indeed, began again in 997; but these were clearly of the earlier type, not invasions like the movements led by olaf and sweyn. who the leaders were at this time we do not know; but the northern kings were in those years giving and taking in marriage and busily plotting each other's destruction, so we conclude that the undertakings continued to be of the private sort, led, perhaps, by norse chiefs who had found life in norway uncongenial after king olaf had begun to persecute the heathen worshippers.
-the prospects for continued peace in england were probably better in 1002 than in any other year since the accession of ethelred. but toward the end of the year, all that gold and diplomacy had built up was ruined by a royal order, the stupidity of which was equalled only by its criminality. on saint brice's day (november 13), the english rose, not to battle but to murder. it had been planned on that date to rid the country of all its danish inhabitants. how extensive the territory was that was thus stained with blood, we are not informed; but such an order could not have been carried out in the danelaw. in justification of his act, ethelred pleaded that he had heard of a danish conspiracy, directed not only against his own life, but against the lives of the english nobility as well.
-when the year 1013 opened, there were reasons to hope that the miseries of england were past. for a whole generation the sea-kings had infested the channel and the irish sea, scourging the shores of southern britain almost every year. large sums of money had been paid out in the form of danegeld, 137,000 pounds silver, but to little purpose: the enemy returned each year as voracious as ever. now, however, the pirate had undertaken to defend the land. the presence of danish mercenaries was doubtless an inconvenience, but this would be temporary only. it was to be expected that, as in the days of alfred, the enemy would settle down as an occupant of the soil, and in time become a subject instead of a mercenary soldier.
-the considerations that moved the king to renew the attempts at conquest were no doubt various; but the deciding factor was evidently the defection of thurkil and the jomvikings. an ecclesiastic who later wrote a eulogy on queen emma and her family discusses the situation in this wise:
-so the advice was to seize, the english kingdom as well as the danish deserter. no great difficulty was anticipated, as thurkil's men would probably soon desert to the old standards.
-the customs of the northmen demanded that an undertaking of this order should first be approved by the public assembly, and the encomiast tells us that sweyn at once proceeded to summon the freemen. couriers were sent in every direction, and at the proper time the men appeared, each with his weapons as the law required. when the heralds announced the nature of the proposed undertaking--not a mere raid with plunder in view but the conquest of an important nation--the host gave immediate approval.
-in many respects the time was exceedingly favourable for the contemplated venture. a large part of england was disposed to be friendly; the remainder was weak from continued pillage. denmark was strong and aggressive, eager to follow the leadership of her warlike king. sweyn's older son, harold, had now reached manhood, and could with comparative safety be left in control of the kingdom. denmark's neighbours in the north were friendly: sweyn's vassal and son-in-law controlled the larger part of norway; his stepson, olaf, ruled in sweden. nor was anything to be feared from the old enemies to the south. the restless vikings of jom were in england. the lord of poland was engaged in a life-and-death struggle with the empire. the saxon dynasty, which had naturally had northern interests, no longer dominated germany; a bavarian, henry ii., now sat on the throne of the ottos. in the very year of sweyn's invasion of england, the german king journeyed to italy to settle one of the numberless disputes that the roman see was involved in during the tenth and eleventh centuries. he remained in italy till the next year (1014), when the victorious pope rewarded him with the imperial crown.
-the summer was probably past before sweyn was ready to proceed against ethelred. but finally, some time in september or a little later, having concluded all the necessary preliminaries, he gave the ships and the hostages into the keeping of his son canute, and led his mounted army southward across the midlands with winchester, the residence city of the english kings, as the objective point. so long as he was still within the danelaw, sweyn permitted no pillaging; but "as soon as he had crossed watling street, he worked as great evil as a hostile force was able." the thames was crossed at oxford, which city promptly submitted and gave hostages. winchester, too, seems to have yielded without a struggle. from the capital sweyn proceeded eastward to london, where he met the first effective resistance.
-sweyn soon realised that a continued siege would be useless: the season was advancing; the resistance of the citizens was too stubborn and strong. for the fourth time the heroic men of london had the satisfaction of seeing a danish force break camp and depart with a defeated purpose: the first time in 991; then again in 994 when sweyn and olaf trygvesson laid siege to it; the third time in 1009, when thurkil the tall and olaf the stout were the besiegers; now once more in 1013. the feeling that the city was impregnable was doubtless a factor in the stubborn determination with which the townsmen repelled the repeated attacks of the danish invaders, though at this time the skill and valour of the viking mercenaries were an important part of the resistance.
-sweyn's virtues were of the viking type: he was a lover of action, of conquest, and of the sea. at times he was fierce, cruel, and vindictive; but these passions were tempered by cunning, shrewdness, and a love for diplomatic methods that were not common among the sea-kings. he seems to have formed alliances readily, and appears even to have attracted his opponents. his career, too, was that of a viking. twice he was taken by the jomvikings, but his faithful subjects promptly ransomed him. once the king of sweden, eric the victorious, conquered his kingdom and sent him into temporary exile. twice as a king he led incursions into england in which he gained only the sea-king's reward of plunder and tribute. but in time fortune veered about; his third expedition to britain was all time at his disposal, instead of being, as he was, in a fever of ill-restrained impatience. the salesman figuratively washed his hands of them both; he could already foresee a forced sale at a calamitous sacrifice. and so it fell out.
-slyne, cavalier to the verge of rudeness, finally bought the big scarlet car, which the other almost forced upon him, for about half its market value, and paid for it there and then, in the new french notes which had almost been burning a hole in his pocket since he had left the crédit lyonnais office--so eager was he to be off on his last forlorn hope of winning sallie.
-"if you had allowed me only a few hours longer, i could have got you twice that amount," said the disappointed salesman in a stage aside to the seller as he counted over his own diminished commission. but the fat man merely bestowed on him a look of contemptuous annoyance, and, having signed the receipt slyne required, tucked away in an empty pocket-book the balance of the crisply-rustling bills he had just received.
-even then he did not appear to know what next to do with himself. for, having glanced at his watch, he gave vent to a grunt of disgust, and hung on his heel undecidedly, after making a move to go.
-"it's only about a hundred miles to monaco, isn't it?" slyne asked the salesman; and was answered in the affirmative.
-the fat man gasped and choked for a moment, and then spoke again, with more confidence: a change due, perhaps, to the improvement in his finances.
-"pardon me, sir," said he, "but--if you're going that way, i wonder--it would be a most tremendous favour to me, and i haven't haggled over giving you the best of our bargain. the train's just gone, and--"
-slyne, chin in air, once more looked him over appraisingly, as he stammered and hesitated; and was very much disposed to cut him adrift without more ado. but some indefinable impulse, some feeling that here was a bird of a feather very sadly astray, caused him to alter his mind. "i'll be glad to give you a lift," he said, more graciously, "if you're ready to start now. but i can't wait."
-the fat man's face lighted up again. "my luck's on the mend at last!" he declared. "i'm in as great a hurry as you can be, sir. i'm more than obliged to you for your courtesy. may i offer you my card?"
-slyne glanced at the slip of pasteboard conferred upon him while the car was being shifted out of the showroom into the street, where his elaborate chauffeur was in waiting. and, "jump in, mr. jobling," he requested with unconcealed coldness as he himself took the wheel, relegating the chauffeur to a back seat. it ruffled his self-satisfied mood of the moment more than a little to learn that the fat man in the fur coat was in fact a london solicitor. with the law in any shape or form jasper slyne wanted nothing whatever to do, and especially at such a juncture. he was already repenting his ill-timed politeness.
-however, he could not very well rid himself of his passenger then. all he could do was to dash through the busy streets of genoa in the dusk at a pace calculated to make the hair of any respectable and self-respecting solicitor stand on end. but, out of the corner of one eye, he observed that mr. jobling was wearing a blandly contented smile.
-that gentleman did not seem so well pleased, however, as they turned up-hill into the via roma, and slyne, understanding, relented a little again. "i have some baggage at the isotta," he volunteered, and the cloud at once lifted from mr. jobling's brow.
-several assiduous porters stowed hastily in the tonneau, beside the ornamental chauffeur, the travel-worn trunks and suit-cases which slyne had left there that morning, and stood at the salute till he drove away, when they no doubt returned to their lairs to count the profits of such politeness. he had, as usual, been very lavish with his small change. and his passenger was also impressed by his liberality.
-meanwhile the car was negotiating more carefully the lumpy patchwork with which the old via carlo alberto is paved, and mr. jobling's puffy features spoke his discontent over its slow progress. but, once beyond sampierdarena, clear of close traffic, on the open road to savona, slyne made more speed; and it was self-evident that he knew how to get the most out of his horse-power.
-he looked, indeed,--if looks go for anything nowadays,--quite at home, very much in his element, lying lazily back in the driver's seat of the richly-appointed car which had been his companion's an hour before. it was late on a winter afternoon, and what wind there was had a chill in it, caught, no doubt, in crossing the apennines. but slyne also was wearing a heavy fur coat and had pulled on a pair of gauntlets at the hotel.
-as the car rocked and swayed on its rapid way through the last outskirts of savona, he was humming light-heartedly to himself the antique aria of the man who broke the bank at monte carlo.
-"been gambling a bit?" he presently asked his silent companion. and mr. jobling admitted the soft impeachment.
-"and no luck," slyne inferred amusedly. he could view with an equable eye the misfortunes of others as well as his own; especially since the stout solicitor's losses had brought his own way such a substantial profit as could be readily realised by the re-sale of his car.
-"no luck at all," mr. jobling affirmed explosively, and the troubles fermenting in his mind at length found outlet in speech. "i wouldn't have believed anyone could have been so unlucky!" he declared with great bitterness; "and at such a critical moment. i want so little, too; i've no ambition to break the bank. it wasn't with any such foolish idea that i came to monte carlo. i wouldn't have had this happen for all the bank holds."
-"which isn't a great deal," commented slyne. "i've broken the bank more than once myself, and lost twice as much the next evening."
-"but i can't go on losing at the tables for ever," he exploded again. "my turn must come. i feel in better fettle this evening--as if my luck had changed. it's no doubt since i met you; i must thank you again for this lift. if i'd had to wait in genoa for the slow train, i might have got back too late to take the tide at the flood. i'm a great believer, you know, in striking while the iron's hot."
-"so am i," said slyne dryly, and much amused by his monologue.
-"i'm sure my luck's on the mend," mr. jobling went on, growing still more communicative under encouragement, "and the mere matter of winning a few thousand francs is nothing to what will follow--what must follow. i've made up my mind to win all along the line; and there's a great deal in the theory that, if you apply sufficient will-power to any project, its success is assured. i'm ab-so-lutely determined to win fifty thousand francs to-night, and then ... i fancy it was a mistake to come here at all.... but, of course, a man who never makes a mistake will never make anything.... i'll go straight back to london, and surely, among the five or six million people there....
-"look out! good--god!"
-between his two excited ejaculations slyne had outwitted calamity. taking a rash curve at top speed, he had come to an unexpected rectangle in the roadway running almost parallel there with the shore below, and, rounding that corner safely with a quick wrench of the wheel, had almost crashed into a heavy, high-built ox-wagon which was backing blindly out from some steep, hidden side-lane. the hubs of the car's wheels had all but grazed the parapet of the roadway at mr. jobling's side, and slyne, on the other, had barely escaped being brained by the timbers protruding from the rear of the wagon. the ornamental chauffeur was fast asleep in the tonneau behind.
-mr. jobling lay back and gasped while slyne held on as if nothing had happened, at the same breakneck pace. but neither spoke again for some time.
-through village after village they dashed, always at grave risk and yet without accident. the moon rose just before they reached alassio. slyne even managed to improve the pace a little then, and his passenger made no protest, but sat with eyes downcast, his lips always moving mutely.
-"a slight overdraft on the future--it's no more than that," remarked mr. jobling a little later, as if he had been alone, and slyne looked round at him for an instant, with nostrils curled in a faint, superior smile.
-slyne thought he could guess some part at least of the troubles afflicting his chance acquaintance, and was very little inclined to hear more about them. he was too busy considering his own plan of campaign, the blood in his own veins was running too briskly under the stimulus of that wild flight through the keen night air, to waste any time or thought on another man's worries. but--a fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind. "cheer up!" said he suddenly. "every one overdraws more or less on his luck, at one time or another. if that's all you've done, it's nothing to mope about."
-mr. jobling sat up with a start, and stared at him. "that's all," he asserted, a little too hurried in his assurance. "i give you my word, sir...." and then he recollected himself and laughed uncomfortably, confused.
-"i've been thinking aloud," said he. "but you mustn't take any notice of that. it's a bad habit of mine. and, as you say, we all overdraw on the future, from time to time. as a man of the world, sir, you'll understand what i mean to convey to you. and of course these little overdrafts are always met when they're due.
-"what a fine night this is for a fast spin!"
-"what's the nature of your present overdraft?" slyne inquired perversely, safe in the certainty that the other could not resent that rudeness, and was again amused by mr. jobling's cough of discomfiture.
-but, "purely metaphorical," that gentleman countered cleverly. "we'll soon be in san remo at this rate. i wouldn't wonder if we've established a record. it isn't every day there's such a car in the market."
-"no, it isn't," slyne agreed. "nor a buyer for it." and conversation languished again.
-but slyne's spirits, none the less, were steadily rising as he drew nearer, mile by mile, to the chief temple of that goddess of chance to whom he looked to befriend him now--since it was not on his own behalf alone that he was seeking her shrine, since mischance must entail consequences so dire to sallie as well as to him. the personal risk he was running lent added zest to the piquancy of his most unusual position as a champion of maidenhood in distress. and what sallie's fate would be if his own luck failed him, he could picture in vivid detail from his own experience of a world most men know nothing about.
-within a few days the olive branch, with a supply of cheap coal and some makeshift repairs, would be gone from genoa, leaving behind no trace but such bills as captain dove could escape without paying. she would enter port said and leave suez in some effective disguise and under another assumed name which would last her through the straits of bab-el-mandeb; beyond which she would disappear, perhaps for good, into whatever strange world she might raise over the mysterious sea-rim which lies beyond "the gate of the place of tears."
-captain dove was an old man already. and even he could not for ever go on living such a life as he led. he had spoken of this trip east as his last, and it was his avowed object in it to turn sallie to some account. slyne, who, as you will perhaps suppose, was no squeamish moralist, sickened at thought of what time might still have in store for the girl.
-"just imagine her," said he to himself, "cooped up in some slat-eyed chinaman's filthy yamen till she grows grey, or eating her heart out in some coffee-coloured sultan's clay palace, with nothing to comfort her but a crooked brass crown--and not even that by and by. it's damnable to think--but what's the use of thinking about it! i'm going to save her from all that--in spite of herself." and his selfishly sentimental mood of the moment once more gave place to a philosophic contentment with things as they were, and that in turn to an exhilarating anticipation of pleasures to come.
-the lights of san remo looked very alluring to him, who had for so long spent his nights at sea with no more companionable illuminant than a reeking kerosene lamp or the cold, aloof stars. he became jocular, in a lofty way, with the always impatient jobling, and at the frontier was so patronisingly polite to the officials there that they let him pass almost at once, under the apparent impression that he was some personage of importance--a circumstance which lent him a little additional self-confidence.
-from menton garavan in to monte carlo is only some seven miles. and for that short distance he sat silent, once more mentally reviewing the manifold chances of mischance ahead of him. while mr. jobling, beside him, continued to mumble and mutter at intervals of misfortune--no fault of his own--and fortune, that marvellous fortune which was to be his so soon, since he had made up his mind that it must.
-"i'm absolutely determined," said mr. jobling, unconsciously raising his voice again. "eh? what? oh, yes. i beg your pardon. i have a room at the métropole. where are you going to put up?"
-"i always stay at the paris," slyne lied easily. he had no inclination for any more of his companion's society, especially while he had no idea how he himself might be received at any hotel in the principality.
-"i'll walk on from here, then, if you'll allow me," suggested that gentleman. "and--er--by the way, you won't be mentioning to anyone the circumstances--er--about the car."
-"we'll let it be understood that i bought it in london--last month," said slyne, ready to be obliging since it would be for his own benefit; and, cutting short with a curt "good night" some further profuse expressions of gratitude on the part of his passenger, glad, indeed, to be so well quit of him, drove on in more state, his sleepy chauffeur in the seat vacated by mr. jobling, to make his next move in that desperate game in which he was going to stake life and liberty also on the infinitesimal chance of returning triumphant to genoa to claim sallie from captain dove.
-for, "if they spot me, i'll blow out my brains before they can lay hands on me," said he to himself as he drew up with an imperative honk-honk-honk! before the hôtel de paris.
-the goddess of chance
-if you have ever had to walk unconcernedly into the crowded vestibule of a fashionable hotel, not knowing at what moment you might be identified and arrested as a notorious criminal, you will no doubt understand, and, perhaps, sympathise with slyne's state of mind as he entered the hôtel de paris. if not, you can at least imagine how he felt as he made his way through the throng toward the bureau, grimly conscious of every inquisitive glance.
-there was little enough to shield him from immediate detection, beyond the flight of time and the facts that he had been wearing a beard and living under a french alias--or, as he would have preferred to put it, incognito--when, only a season or two before, he had earned such undesired and undesirable distinction throughout the côte d'azur. and he knew very well what his fate would be if he were recognised.
-he was very devoutly thankful, therefore, when, having safely run the gauntlet of all those argus eyes which had seemed to be searching his by the way, he found himself installed in an ornate apartment vacated only that morning by a grand duke.
-"i can't afford to do things by halves now!" he had reflected, shrugging his shoulders, as he had agreed with the manager, who happened to be on the spot, that the suite in question would probably serve his turn. and even the manager had been impressed by his manner--and his fine car.
-"so far, so good, then," said slyne to himself with a somewhat nervous grimace, as he crossed to the window of his sitting-room and looked out over the moonlit bay, after tossing his keys to a valet with a curt order to lose no time. "and now--i must go on as i've begun. but--i can't help wishing i were well through with it all. i didn't half like the way that clerk watched me with his mouth wide open--and i knew him all right!"
-no one could have appeared more care-free, however, than he when, an hour later, he left his dressing-room, ready to face--and outface--the detective talent he still must meet, and sauntered very much at his leisure, a cigarette between his tight lips, in the direction of the table d'hôte.
-"seems pretty dull here," he commented, after an indifferent inspection of the elaborate company there. "i've a good mind to go on to ciro's--and find out if they have forgotten my face by now too. i won't have any peace of mind till i've been all round the old place." in pursuit of which bold policy he sent a page for his coat and hat, and stood displaying himself to the general public till they arrived.
-he found ciro's well filled, as usual, when he strolled in, taking with perfect outward calm the risk that he might be remembered there. but no hostile glance met his roving eye as he entered the restaurant. he was obsequiously received by an observant head-waiter, and shown to a table which suited his immediate needs to a nicety.
-among the more ebullient gathering in that gay resort he could discover no cause for alarm. and no one took any special notice of him until, among some still later comers, he noticed a haggardly handsome woman, in a gown so scant that she might well have been glad of the great bunch of camellias she wore at her breast, who was pointing him out to one of the two men in her company.
-slyne's heart almost stopped beating at that, and one of his hands involuntarily slipped round to where, in a padded pocket within the arm-hole of his thin evening-coat, he had a little double-barrelled pistol concealed.
-he caught the woman's eye again while she was whispering volubly to the attentive listener at her elbow, a fashionably foolish-looking young man of a stamp whose appearance is sometimes deceitful, and wondered sickly what was coming as that individual, having looked him over quite openly and with the aid of an eye-glass, rose and approached him across the room.
-he glanced up in admirably assumed surprise, however, for all answer to the other's gruffly casual, "good evenin', sir.
-"will you excuse my askin' whether you'd care to sell the car i saw you drivin' past in, an hour ago?" inquired the stranger, quite unabashed. "because--i want it, don't y'know."
-slyne's face remained an immobile mask, although in his heart he was dully conscious of an almost overwhelming sense of relief.
-"it isn't for sale at the moment," he answered, suavely enough, but as if a little offended.
-"but--i want it," reiterated the stranger, who did not seem to lack a sufficient sense of his own importance. "and i'll give you practically your own price for it. it's for a lady, don't y'know--and as a favour to me, eh?"
-"i'd be very glad to oblige you," said slyne, elated beyond expression to find not only that his fears had been groundless, that his visitor was really a fool and not a knave in disguise, but also that, if he played his own cards properly, he might pocket a still fatter profit upon his car than he had anticipated, "but--i can't at the moment. are you going to be here for a few days?"
-"i'm at the cap martin for a week. as soon as you change your mind you can come over an' see me there. ask for lord ingoldsby. good evenin' to you," answered his visitor with all the sulky insolence of a spoiled child; and slouched back to his own table, where, slyne had the satisfaction of seeing, he had to endure a rating from his enchantress for his ill-success on her errand. and slyne almost smiled.
-for he knew the marquis of ingoldsby quite well, by repute at least, as an english pigeon with feathers well worth the plucking, and set the other two down for what they were, a pair of those hawks to be found hovering wherever the simple pigeon would try its wings. he became contemplatively interested in the trio, although he knew the ways of that wicked world far too well to suppose for an instant that he would be allowed to make a quartette of it.
-"but you shall have your car, madame," he soliloquised, "presently, when i'm finished with it. and, in exchange, i'll take--"
-"if only i had sallie here now--" he said to himself with sudden self-pity, and then was seized with a hot contempt for all such as the noble marquis. "but no one under a royalty need hope for an introduction to her then," he finished, and so stifled an inconvenient twinge of conscience.
-"in the meantime it looks to me as if my little overdraft on the future is going to pay me most handsomely," he reflected. and that happy thought added zest to his appetite for the excellent dinner his waiter had ordered for him, the first good dinner to which he had sat down in endless months.
-he had given the man carte blanche in the matter of viands, only reserving the choice of what he should drink. so that when he ordered vichy the waiter was not unduly depressed. slyne also would have preferred to see a silver bucket beside the table, a pursy gold neck protruding from it, but he wanted all his wits about him that evening, while he was once more pitting himself, alone, against all comers in monte carlo--and, incidentally, against the odds in favour of the bank, on which he hoped to draw to the tune of at least a hundred thousand dollars during the next few days. he knew, of expensive experience, that the widow clicquot and her charming companions are safer society after a dangerous campaign is over than just before it begins.
-he would not even venture upon an after-dinner cigar, contenting himself with a cigarette from the plain gold case with a crest on it which he purchased from the chauffeur he had so providentially picked up in genoa that afternoon. but he tipped the waiter with such profusion that the man preceded him to the door bent almost double with gratitude, and even the marquis of ingoldsby was staringly impressed by the magnificence of his exit--as slyne had intended he should be.
-his masterly impersonation of an unostentatious millionaire was not without its effect on the flunkeys of the casino also. these made as much of his entrance as he in his assumed modesty would allow on his way into the salles de jeu, where he attracted not a few appraising, inquisitive glances while he once more dared discovery as he roamed from table to table, gazing about him as though that had really been his first visit there. the world and the half-world alike seemed to be wondering who he might be; a circumstance which, otherwise, would have caused him ecstatic pleasure.
-it has been stated already that he was more than passably good-looking, with regular profile and straight, spare, elegant figure. in evening clothes which fitted him to perfection, neither over-groomed nor untidy in any detail, without a flaw for the most fastidious to pick in either appearance or manner, he seemed to bear some stamp of distinction which might very well have passed current in circles much more exclusive.
-the rooms were well filled, although the really fashionable world had just begun to flock south for the winter. the usual motley went to make up the highly-coloured mosaic of worshippers at the chief shrine of the goddess of chance. it would be a waste of your time and mine, too, to describe again the types to be observed there, and slyne had seen them all very often before. he sauntered about for a little and then slipped quietly into the only seat which had been vacated since he had arrived, much to the annoyance of a short, fat frenchman who seemed disposed to insist on his own prior claim to it, till slyne glanced over one shoulder into his eyes.
-"good luck to you!" cried a jovial voice from the other side of the table as he sat down, and slyne nodded coldly to his companion of the afternoon.
-he did not desire mr. jobling's further acquaintance, and would have ignored his greeting entirely but that he had noticed in front of the stout solicitor quite a noteworthy stack of winnings; and he did not know whether he might not yet have occasion to draw on the other's expressed ambition to repay him a favour done. in any case, he dismissed all such ideas from his mind for the moment, and started to play, very cautiously.
-a cautious player, who can keep his head, need seldom lose a great deal at any game. slyne had drunk nothing stronger than vichy since the night before. he was tensely on the alert. his luck came and went until he had lost a couple of thousand francs, and then he began to win.
-he had been winning, slowly but surely, with only an occasional set-back, for over an hour before he became aware that a growing group of interested onlookers had gathered behind him, and that he had accumulated within the space between his protective elbows a pile of notes and gold which reached to his chin. and, thus convinced that he was in the vein, spurred on by some sudden remembrance of sallie caged in her cabin on the olive branch, an ever-present temptation to play to the gallery, to stake no less than the maximum on every turn of the wheel, had almost vanquished all his discretion when he encountered the quiet glance of a man who was contemplating him from behind the players seated at the other side of the table, a man whom he knew only too well as one of the cleverest of those mouchards whose frequent comings and goings attract so little attention there, and who knew him.
-the brilliant lights about him grew strangely blurred. he felt faint and ill. but, by a desperate effort of will, he managed to maintain an outward composure. he yawned openly, and then let his eyes fall to look at his watch. the detective was carelessly moving round the table in his direction. he shifted his rake to his left hand and, slipping his right across his chest to within the lapel of his evening-coat, laid out some small further stake, entirely at random.
-he lost that, and two or three more, before he yawned again, as if fatigued by such trifling, and pushed a much larger amount into place, as a blind man might, for a final venture. no hand had as yet fallen on his shoulder, but the suspense of not knowing at what moment that would happen was hard to bear. he felt like one in the grip of a hideous nightmare as the croupier presently shovelled over toward him a large and miscellaneous assortment of notes and gold and counters, which, none the less, he collected indifferently and dully conscious of an envious sigh from behind him.
-he hesitated a little before letting go his hold of the pistol about whose butt the fingers of his right hand were still closely clasped, in order to pocket his profits of the evening. he had laid down his rake. it was at once seized by a woman who had been standing close at his shoulder, and, as she pushed eagerly past him into his seat, the bunch of camellias in her corsage brushed his face. it was the woman with whom lord ingoldsby had been dining. slyne noticed her husband among the crowd in the rear as he himself made his way out into the open. he noticed also, approaching him entirely as if by accident, the inconspicuous spy whose appearance there had so alarmed him.
-slyne had not even time to hesitate. without the slightest change of expression he stopped and confronted his enemy, addressing him by name, in the execrable french of the average englishman.
-"bon soir, m. dubois. comment ça va? bien, eh?"
-"monsieur has the advantage of me," the detective returned in effortless english, and over his features flitted the faintest shadow of disappointment.
-"oh, i scarcely supposed you would know me," said slyne with a deprecatory shrug. "this is my first trip so far afield, though i've seen you several times in paris, and we all know you quite well in london, of course."
-the faintest shadow of what might have developed into a smile hovered for an instant about the famous man-hunter's lips and eyes, and slyne made a mental note of the fact that he was not above being flattered.
-"i'm over here after a fat fellow called jobling," continued slyne, ingratiatingly communicative. "i don't suppose you know anything about him?"
-the other sniffed, disdainfully.
-"an embryo embezzler," said he, in a tone of such conscious superiority that slyne would surely have laughed in his face if he himself had felt safe. "give him rope enough and he'll do the rest. don't disclose yourself for a day or two, but watch him carefully.
-"are you working for new scotland yard?"
-slyne had expected some such question, and did not stammer over his answer.
-"i've started a private agency on my own account. this is my first case. a thousand thanks for your hint. if all my official friends were as courteous, life would be much pleasanter for me." he spoke with a most respectful inflection, but always in barbarous anglo-french. "mille remerciements encore, mon confrère. et maintenant--à demain."
-his new acquaintance nodded with most gracious condescension and moved on in the direction of an obese german diplomatist who had just met amid the throng and greeted with over-acted surprise a pretty viennese countess. and slyne did not fail to observe, amid all his own agitation, how promptly the two of them parted again at sight of m. dubois.
-he was conscious that his own nostrils were nervously twitching, and that there were tiny beads of cold perspiration about his forehead.
-"he thought he knew me," said he to himself, very tremulously. "and, though i've put him off the scent to some extent, he'll root about till--" for all his nerve of steel, he shivered and changed countenance.
-"i can't trust myself to play any more to-night--and just when i was getting my hand in! but i suppose i may thank my stars that i'm no worse off since i caught his eye--he'd have been down on me in an instant, if i had so much as blinked. and now i must bluff him out--i'm not going to be scared off.
-"there's this about it, anyhow--if i've really got him hoodwinked, none of the others need worry me!" with which conditional self-encouragement, and having made sure that his enemy was no longer watching him, he turned back on an impulse, to see how mr. jobling was getting on. but mr. jobling had already gone off with his winnings.
-"i wonder if he'd take a hand at écarté now?" thought slyne. "his name came in very useful just now--and i might as well have my own money back out of him while he's got it. he'll probably be fancying himself at the moment, too."
-and with that business-like ambition before him, he roamed the rooms till he could be sure that his proposed victim was nowhere within the casino. among the multitude there he could run across no one else who seemed likely to prove easy prey. so he gave up the quest with a philosophical shrug, got his coat and hat, and sauntered out on to the terrace, a fragrant cigar between his thin lips.
-"and i'll stand myself a bottle of something at supper, to buck me up," he promised himself. "i'll look into ciro's again presently, and get the good of the gold piece i had to waste on that scoundrelly waiter. if i chance across jobling there, i'll get a free meal as well; or, if i should see that ass ingoldsby, i'll tackle him while his precious keepers are out of the way. they're evidently making his feathers fly!"
-the night was still, and even unusually mild for that season of the year. the moon had disappeared. slyne looked down at the sea, all dark and mysterious, with a strong feeling of distaste; he had lately seen more than enough of it to last him a lifetime. he turned his steps toward the deserted gardens, to escape a party of chattering tourists who had trespassed on his privacy.
-he was in no hurry at all for supper, and wanted a few minutes of peace and quietness in which to compose his still troubled mind, and to consider the situation as touching his lordship of ingoldsby--who would undoubtedly prove a far more profitable companion than mr. jobling, even although the latter should have won the fifty thousand francs that had been his ambition.
-"what a fool that fellow is, for a lawyer!" mused slyne, having more or less successfully combated an inclination to let his thoughts stray back to the olive branch--and sallie. and, click! something answered him from behind a bush not very far from the verge of the path he was meditatively pacing.
-he jumped aside at the sound, as any man would who has known what it is to be ambushed, and then, recollecting himself, stood still, with a mirthless, annoyed half-smile. he did not believe that dubois would adopt any such noisy means to get rid of him, but--none the less, he felt impelled to find out who was in hiding behind that bush.
-a fool and his fortune
-slyne skirted a flower-bed cautiously and, approaching the shadowy background by a flank movement, found a stout individual in a voluminous coat kneeling on the grass there, with some white, metallic object in one trembling hand lifted in the direction of his own left eyelid. a second click! startled slyne disproportionately, and he spoke at that, in a very querulous voice. "hey! you fool," he said, "you're wasting your time. wait till i show you how.
-"good lord! is that you, jobling?"
-mr. jobling suddenly cast a revolver from him, with a wailing execration, and, attempting to rise, sank down beside it, blubbering, entirely unstrung after the agonising strain of the past few seconds. slyne, eyeing him with exasperated contempt, picked the weapon up and fingered it for an instant.
-"a damned rotten make!" he commented morosely. "but it'll do the job for you all right now. you can't shoot it off, you know, with the safety catch set."
-the miserable man on the grass held out his hand for it, humbly. but slyne was not at all prepared to take any risks on his account--for suicide and murder are often very difficult to distinguish, in their results--and made up his mind to keep it, in the meantime at any rate.
-"get up," he ordered in his sharpest tone, "and come away out of this. if you could only see yourself, you wouldn't want to sit there and whimper."
-under the spur of that insult mr. jobling seemed to recall some stray shred of his forfeited self-respect. he got on to his knees, with an effort, and thence by degrees to his feet.
-"i think you might show a little more decent feeling," he sobbed brokenly, "when--"
-"and i think you might show a vast deal more sense," snapped slyne. "button up your coat, and come away out of this. you can kill yourself just as easily--a good deal more so, in fact, since i've shown you how--in half an hour, after i'm in a safer position to prove an alibi if any inconvenient questions are asked about it afterwards. come on, now."
-his whilom acquaintance followed him meekly, muttering, to a secluded corner where there was a seat.
-"what's the trouble?" demanded slyne magisterially, sitting down at one end of the bench and motioning him to the other. "but i suppose i need scarcely ask. trust funds mysteriously melted away--the usual childish attempt to recover them by sheer chance, and with all the odds against you!--the dread of exposure and disgrace--which never worry a dead man. you've been a bit of a wolf in sheep's clothing, eh, my respectable friend? and you'd rather die in the dark than face the world in broad daylight without your immaculate fleece."
-mr. jobling groaned.
-his parable amused himself, but his auditor did not seem possessed of a sufficient sense of humour to appreciate its personal application.
-"you're labouring under a misapprehension," said that gentleman, who had meantime regained some grip on himself, in accents anything but properly grateful. "i may, perhaps, have been unfortunate with--er--a few small investments for clients, but your inference that i have--er--er--you're positively insulting, sir!"
-slyne laughed, in better humour. "bah!" said he. "what's the use of bluffing? you weren't going to blow out your brains--if any--because you had been too honest, were you?"
-"i'm a desperate man," declared mr. jobling, thus rudely reminded of the matter in hand. "life isn't worth living, now that i've lost--" he gulped and gasped, once more on the verge of tears, but a furtive glance at slyne's impassive features, dimly visible in the glow of a half-smoked cigar, showed him he need not expect any excess of sympathy from that quarter. it also seemed to suggest to him, in the midst of his anguish of mind, an idea. he looked round at slyne again.
-"you're a man of wealth," he said in a husky voice whose suddenly inspired eagerness he could not conceal, and some spark of hope perhaps sprang up in his fainting heart again since slyne did not deny that erroneous suggestion. slyne was waiting to hear what more he might have to say, though not with any intention of helping him.
-"i wonder--" the stout solicitor muttered. "it might interest you to--two heads are better than one, and--some sort of partnership--"
-"i can only spare you five minutes more," said slyne crisply. "as soon as i've finished my cigar, i'm going across to ciro's for supper. the marquis of ingoldsby is expecting me."
-"do you know his lordship?" breathed mr. jobling, his new-born hope no doubt gaining strength and his respect for his chance companion obviously increased. "then you'll understand me when i tell you that i've ruined myself--ab-so-lutely ruined myself over the jura succession."
-"i haven't the least idea what the devil you're talking about," said slyne.
-mr. jobling groaned again. he was most grievously disappointed.
-"i thought every one had heard of the case," he went on. "a couple of millions in cash--"
-"millions of what?" demanded slyne with a little more lively interest.
-"pounds sterling," the london lawyer explained, rather testily. "a couple of millions in cash and forty or fifty thousand a year going a-begging may not seem a very important matter to a moneyed man like you, but i've thought of nothing else, night and day, for the past five years, and--"
-"i've been all over the world for the past five years," mentioned slyne loftily, but impatient now, "and the latest news of the parish pump has probably failed to reach me. get on with your story, anyhow. if there's anything in it--i don't know but that i may be disposed to lend you a hand--if there's anything in it." and, having lighted a fresh cigar, he composed himself to listen. his time was his own. the chance of catching lord ingoldsby alone at ciro's was too remote to be worth more than the passing thought. a story with so much money in it might prove at least as entertaining as a solitary supper.
-mr. jobling gazed with glistening eyes at his providential acquaintance. "i've told you what there is in it," said he in a tremulous tone. "a couple of millions in cash and forty or fifty thousand a year that will all ultimately fall to the crown--unless i can find that girl, or--"
-"what girl?" slyne demanded irritably.
-"the late earl of jura's daughter. you'll no doubt remember--but if you've been abroad for so long, i'd better repeat--" and, having got over his nervous prolixity, he became much more explicit.
-"the late earl's first wife, as you must recall, sir, was lady eulalie orlebarre. but she did not survive the birth of their only child, a son, in 1876.
-"the earl married again, in '94. his second wife was josceline beljambes, the famous dancer. a daughter was born to them. but they separated, by mutual agreement, only a year or two later, and the countess retained custody of her daughter. the earl was a good deal older than she.
-"she was a very restless, erratic woman, and fond of travel. in '99 she disappeared most mysteriously, somewhere abroad, and has never been heard of since.
-"the following year, lord st. just, the earl's son by his first wife and, of course, his heir, was found dead one day at the foot of the cliffs near loquhariot, the family seat in scotland. he had grown up a very headstrong, troublesome lad, i have heard. there was some suspicion of foul play on the part of one of the gamekeepers on the estate--some scandalous story about a girl in the village--but the coroner's jury returned an open verdict.
-"the earl himself died in 1906, a little more than five years ago. the estates fell into chancery. and ever since i've been trying to trace his second wife--or their child; for, failing an heir-male, the female line of succession maintains in the family.
-"the court of chancery is quite prepared to presume the mother dead, and i have evidence sufficient to prove that assumption a certainty. so that now, you see, if i could only find--"
-he hesitated, to scrutinise his companion's inscrutable face.
-"i was a consummate fool, of course, ever to have come to monte carlo," he went off at a tangent. "though i had a good enough reason for coming," he went on, defending himself to himself. "i didn't dare trust anyone in london. and i--i thought that i might find here--" he balked again.
-"it was merely to pass the time that i first tried my luck at the tables--and look at me now! i haven't even money to pay my hotel bill. for want of a few thousand francs i must lose my chance of the fortune on which i've staked every penny i could scrape together and--and five years of my good time, and--" he started to one side as slyne cut him short.
-"i'm not going to waste five seconds of my good time," said slyne with concentrated bitterness, "in telling you how many different sorts of a damned fool you are." his expensive cigar had gone out, unheeded. but his keen, close-set eyes were aglow. he was finding it extremely difficult to contain himself.
-"are you sure of your facts?" he demanded, in the same acid, embittered voice.
-"from first to last," affirmed mr. jobling, so peevishly that slyne was satisfied. "haven't i told you that i've spent five years of my life and every penny i could--er--every penny i possessed, in sifting them out, and that i'm a chancery practitioner? i have most of the papers with me at the métropole. there's only the one link lacking to complete the long chain i've forged. and--" he lowered his voice to a whisper after looking about him furtively, and, at last, under the decent screen of the darkness, completely demoralised by the events of the day, confided in the heaven-sent stranger beside him his chief ambition in coming to monte carlo. "and even a good enough imitation might serve--"
-"no imitation would stand the strain," slyne interrupted him hoarsely. "and you'll very soon find yourself inside the four walls of a cell, my friend, if you try any forgery of that sort. you can take my word for that, because--i'm the real rivet, and without me all the rest of your precious chain isn't worth a snap of my fingers."
-mr. jobling subsided into a heap, and was staring at him, open-mouthed. but slyne said no more for a moment or two. outwardly quite calm and matter-of-fact, his mind was in a seething turmoil. if all the inept rogue beside him had said were true--he could scarcely restrain an impulse to get to his feet and shout for joy.
-the lawyer seemed to have nothing more to say, either. and slyne, having somewhat recovered command of himself, at length rose, tossing his cold cigar away with an angry oath. "it makes my blood boil," said he, "to think--but for the sheerest accident you'd be a dead man by now--and where would i have been then! you don't deserve such stupendous luck, and, by the lord harry! if i find you playing the fool again--you're going to put yourself into my hands from now on, d'ye hear? and, in the first place, i must see those papers you spoke of; if they're in order, i'll see the thing through. we can't work without each other, unfortunately for me, or--"
-"you're going too fast," intervened mr. jobling, still seated, and with some faint show of spirit. "you're taking too much for granted, sir. i don't even know who you are, and--we must come to terms of some sort before--"
-he shrank aside as slyne stepped forward with twitching fingers and eyes aflame.
-"you'll take whatever terms you get--and be precious thankful," hissed slyne, stooping over him. "you'll do exactly what you're told, no more, and no less. and--you won't forget again, will you, that you've met your master in me?"
-mr. jobling, gazing, aghast, into the muzzle of the cheap revolver which had proved so ineffective in his own hands, at last regained voice enough to subscribe solemnly to these stipulations, and from that moment went uncomfortably, in fear for the life he himself had been trying to take not an hour before. that was probably the first time he had ever been threatened with personal violence, and a life spent chiefly in chancery lane does not always foster an excess of that calculating courage needed to deal with one of slyne's dangerous sort.
-"come on, then," said slyne, and mr. jobling got shakily up from the bench. "you needn't be afraid that i won't deal fair--generously with you, but this is no time to be haggling here. we haven't a moment to spare. i must see those papers at once. step out!"
-the hall-porter at the métropole raised his eyebrows over mr. jobling's somewhat dishevelled appearance, but promptly lowered them again in response to a look from slyne.
-"tell them to send up your bill," said slyne to the lawyer. "if everything's all right, i'll settle it and put you up at the paris."
-and mr. jobling very meekly did as he was bidden. he could not well help himself, just then. but his expression was not at all properly grateful as he ushered slyne into the room he himself had never expected to see again, and there proceeded to display to that masterful adventurer the mass of papers on which their further partnership was to depend.
-slyne picked out the more important of these with an acumen which would have done mr. jobling himself every credit; and for a busy hour they two sat poring over one dog's-eared document after another, slyne's mask of indifference deserting him by degrees as he grasped point after point of the case, till he threw the last down with a smile of triumph, and, rising from the table, paced to and fro for a moment, rubbing his hands in an ecstasy of exultation.
-"everything's all right," he announced confidently. "my--our fortune's as good as made; and i'll tell you what, jobling,--you shall have ten per cent. of the immediate cash for your share. how does that strike you, eh? i don't say that you deserve any such consideration from me, but--i'm ready to let bygones be bygones, and i want you to work for me with a will."
-his self-assurance was contagious. mr. jobling, after the merest moment of hesitation, rose in his turn, holding out a hand, which slyne grasped affectionately. and thus they came to an amicable understanding, without more words.
-"i'll be very thankful to get into my bed," said mr. jobling, already busy among his belongings, and more than a little dazed by the march of events. "i've had a most trying day."
-it did not take long to have his baggage transferred to the other hotel, and there slyne put him under confidential charge of the manager, with very strict orders that he was not, on any pretext whatever, to be allowed to decamp pending slyne's return. whereafter that active man of affairs sent to the garage for his car, with word that his chauffeur need not be disturbed and, having deposited his still uncounted winnings with the cashier, started eastward again in such haste that he would not even wait to change his thin evening clothes.
-slyne was, in fact, fiercely excited. his particular providence seemed to be holding out to him such a chance in life as he could scarcely have conceived himself in his wildest dreams. and he was in such frantic haste to grasp that chance--which involved so much more than the mere money--that he had quite forgotten his recent fear of m. dubois.
-"i think i've got you this time, my girl!" said he to himself gleefully, as he once more slowed down to stop at the italian frontier. and that was the burden of all his thoughts as he raced madly along the corniche road in his high-powered car. in the darkness before the dawn, his eyes intent on the long white ribbon of highway endlessly slipping toward his head-lights, he saw only roseate visions of what the future now held for him. as the sun rose to burnish the bare, brown mountains before him, he nodded happily to himself, and his lips moved again to the glad refrain, "i think i've got you quite safe this time, my girl!"
-the price of freedom
-slyne's nostrils curled as he observed the dirty and dishevelled aspect of the olive branch, lying idle in genoa harbour alongside the coal-chutes where the day's work had not yet begun. he had grown extremely fastidious again within the very short space of time which had passed since he had last seen her.
-there was no one visible about her littered decks except the watchman on duty, whose sole salute to him as he stepped carefully up the insecure gangplank was a sullen scowl.
-but that might have been deemed quite a hearty welcome in contrast with his reception by captain dove.
-captain dove was, in point of fact, furious when he opened his little, red-rimmed eyes and became aware of his former friend's intrusion upon his privacy. sitting up in his frowsy bunk, with the blankets huddled about him, looking ludicrously like an incensed gorilla, he raged and swore at his gratuitous visitor until his voice gave out.
-slyne, forgetful, in his new enthusiasm, of the terms on which they had parted, was at first somewhat taken aback by that outburst; but only at first. and his sanguine anticipations enabled him to endure it unmoved. it also gave him time to collect his ideas. he could see that his errand was not going to prove quite so easy as he had expected, and that he must play his new cards with discrimination. as soon as the evil old man in the bunk had exhausted himself in invective, slyne spoke, smooth and cuttingly.
-"i came back to do you a good turn. but--if that's how you're going to take it, you foul-mouthed old rapparee! i'll save my breath and be off again. what th' deuce d'ye mean by shouting at me as if i were a drunken deck-hand! speak to me above a whisper now--and you'll see what'll happen to you. that's the police-boat pulling past."
-the opportune plash of oars had suggested to him that plausible threat. captain dove, listening intently, crouched back against the bulkhead, his blinking, hot, suspicious eyes on slyne's. the boat passed on. but he had found time to observe that slyne was in evening dress, with an expensive fur coat to keep the cold out. and slyne's cool contempt for his ill-temper would seem to have impressed him no less than slyne's air of solid prosperity.
-"and you've been doing me good turns--by your way of it--for some time past," he continued, in a stifled, vehement whisper lest his voice should still reach the receding boat. "though--" he waved a claw-like hand about him, words again failing him to describe adequately his sufferings in consequence, as who should say, "see the result for yourself."
-slyne sat down on the sofa opposite him, not even condescending to glance, in response to that invitation, round the squalid, poverty-stricken little cabin. "never mind about some time past," he advised, more pacifically. "you'll never get rich quick yesterday. to-day's when i'm going to make my pile. and i meant to let you in--"
-"to another hole," captain dove concluded sceptically. "i only wish you'd show me some sure way out of the one i'm in."
-slyne looked his annoyance at that further interruption, and made as if to rise, but did no more than draw his gold cigarette-case from its pocket. he knew that captain dove was merely trying to aggravate him, and it would not have been politic to stray from the matter in hand. he lighted a cigarette at his leisure and waited for what should come next. he had changed his mind as to taking the old man fully into his confidence. he thought he could see his way to get all he wanted for a very great deal less than that might have cost him.
-"want a drink?" captain dove demanded, no doubt with the idea that a dose of spirit might serve to stir up his visitor's temper, and looked surprised at slyne's curt head-shake, still more surprised over his response.
-"i can't afford to drink at all hours of the day and night now," said slyne austerely. "that sort of thing was all very well at sea, but--the business i have in hand isn't of the sort that can be carried out on raw brandy. and you'll have to taper off too, if you want to come in."
-"strike--me--sky-blue!" exclaimed the old man, and slyne held up a reproving hand.
-"i can do with a good deal less of your bad language into the bargain," he mentioned coldly, "if you don't mind. in short, i want you to understand from the start that you've got to behave as if you were a reasonable human being and not a dangerous lunatic, or--i'll leave you to rot, in the hole you've got yourself into."
-captain dove, scarcely able to credit the evidence of his own ears but, none the less, apparently, thinking hard, darted a very ugly glance at him, and noticed the diamonds in his shirt-front. under the strongest temptation to call in a couple of deck-hands and have him thrown off the ship, captain dove obviously paused to consider whether those could be of any intrinsic value. he was, of course, satisfied that he knew exactly how much--or, rather, how little money slyne had had in his pockets when he went ashore. and, if slyne had already, within four and twenty hours, been able to turn that over at a profit sufficient to provide himself with a fur coat and diamonds, it might perhaps pay captain dove to hear what he had to propose. slyne, reading all the old man's thoughts, could see that he had decided to temporise.
-"but, i can do with a damn sight less of your back-chat!" rumbled captain dove, not to be put down without protest. "if you've come back on board to offer me a founder's share in any new gold-brick factory, fire straight ahead--and be short about it. it'll save time, too, if you'll take it from me again that i'd rather have your room than your company."
-and at that, slyne made his next considered move.
-"all right," he said in a tone of the most utter contempt. "that's enough. i'm off.
-"i came back to do you a good turn--although few men, in my position, would ever have looked near you again," he paused in the doorway to remark acridly. "but i can see now what's the matter with you--and i only wish i had noticed it in time to save myself all it has cost me. it's senile decay you're suffering from. you're far too old to be of any more use--even to yourself. you're in your dotage, and you'll soon be in an asylum--for pauper lunatics!"
-he had evidently lost his own temper at last. and captain dove was visibly pleased with that result of his tactics; as a rule he was better able to cope with slyne on a basis of mutual abuse, heated on both sides; slyne cool and collected had him at a disadvantage.
-"now you're talking!" he retorted approvingly. "say what's in your mind, straightforwardly, and we'll soon come to an understanding. sit down again, you strutting peacock! and tell me what it is you want."
-slyne did not sit down again, however; to do so would scarcely have been dignified. he stayed in the doorway, silent, a thin stream of cigarette-smoke slowly filtering from his nostrils. his cold, calculating eyes were once more on captain dove's. and it was captain dove's would-be mocking glance that at length gave way.
-"you offered to give me sallie, if i paid you a hundred thousand dollars," said slyne, judicially.
-"to see you safely married to her," captain dove corrected him.
-slyne nodded, in grave assent.
-"well, i'm going to hold you to your offer," said he. "the money's ready and waiting for you--just as soon as we can settle a few trifling formalities. i have sallie's promise to marry me--"
-"the devil you have!" said captain dove, not slow to seize opportunity either. "i thought i heard her say--"
-slyne's face darkened again. "and, if you'll come ashore with me now," he went on, controlling his temper, "i'll prove to you that your money is perfectly safe."
-captain dove lay back in his bunk and laughed, most discordantly. he laughed till his red-rimmed eyes were adrip, while slyne sat looking at him. he was still laughing when slyne rose and, flicking the cigarette-end from between two nicotine-stained fingers, began to button his coat. he stopped laughing then, by calculated degrees.
-"sit down--sit down!" said he wheezily. "what's your hurry? you haven't told me yet what those few 'trifling formalities' are. and how am i to know whether--"
-but slyne was already beyond the doorway, fumbling with a last button.
-"if you believe i've come here to talk simply for the sake of talking," said he with sombre magnificence, "i needn't waste any more breath on you. good-bye."
-captain dove jumped out of his bunk. he was clearly impressed, in spite of himself, by the other's indomitable assurance.
-"come back, you fool!" he called angrily. "come back. i want to know--
-"i'll go ashore with you," he shouted, raising his voice, since slyne was already on his way to the gangway. but slyne did not seem to hear.
-"i'll take your offer--for sallie," cried captain dove, in a slightly lower tone.
-slyne hesitated in his stride, stopped, and turned back into the alleyway which led to the saloon.
-"what was that you said?" he demanded of captain dove.
-"come on inside," requested captain dove, more curtly.
-"i don't believe i will," slyne declared, inwardly elated over the winning of that somewhat risky move. "you don't deserve another chance. and, if i do give you another, you needn't suppose--"
-"come on inside," begged captain dove, shivering, in no case to listen to any lecture. "come on, and we'll talk sense. don't waste any more good time."
-slyne followed him in again, congratulating himself on his firmness. he felt that he had gained the whip-hand of the old man, and he meant to keep it. he curtly refused again captain dove's more hospitable offer of some refreshment, and, while his aggrieved host was clumsily getting into some warmer clothing, talked to him from the saloon through the open doorway of his cramped sleeping-quarters. it was easier to arrange matters so than under captain dove's direct observation.
-"you'll pay me cash, of course," captain dove stipulated, as though he had been bargaining about a charter-party.
-"i'll pay you cash," slyne agreed, "the day sallie marries me. and meantime i'll give you my note of hand at thirty days for the money." he listened intently, but captain dove, struggling fretfully with refractory buttons, maintained an ominous silence.
-"i'll have it backed by a london lawyer, to keep you safe," said slyne. "and listen! i'm not asking you to risk anything, or even to take my note at its face value. i want you to come ashore with me and find out for yourself from my lawyer that you can depend on the money. if you don't feel satisfied about that after you've seen him, you needn't go any farther, we'll call the bargain off; you can get back on board your ship at once and no harm done.
-"and, even as regards sallie, i'm going out of my way to keep you right. i'd give a great deal to get married at once, but--i'm willing to wait till the day i can hand you your hundred thousand in cash. everything's fair, square, and above-board now. i'm not asking you to risk anything.
-"and where in the wide world can you expect to do better for yourself!" he argued. "if you go east you'll get no more for the girl--and look at the expense! you'll be sorry all the rest of your life, too, for i know you'd far sooner see her decently settled than sell her to any dog-faced son-of-a-gun of a mandarin!
-"you can say what you like," he concluded, although captain dove had said never a word. "clean money's pleasanter to spend than dirty, any day. if i had been born wealthy, i'd never have needed to touch a marked card. and now's your chance, too, to pull out of a rotten rut that'll sooner or later land you among the chain-gang."
-captain dove came forth from his cabin, indifferently clad, and eyed slyne with a sarcastic interest which somewhat disconcerted that homilist.
-"you don't look just like a band o' hope!" said the old man, "but--"
-slyne rose again, and bit his lip, in simulated impatience. "oh, all right," said he. "if you're not interested--"
-captain dove scowled at him. "i'm interested," he said grudgingly. "i'll see this lawyer-fellow of yours whenever you like to bring him aboard, and--if the money's there, you can count me in."
-"he isn't the sort of lawyer you've been accustomed to, dove," said slyne. "you've got to go to him."
-captain dove did his best to out-stare him, but failed.
-"and what's more," said slyne, playing a trump card with great outward indifference, "you can make him pay you for your time instead of you paying him. i told you i came back here to do you a good turn. there's more than a hundred thousand dollars of easy money for you in this deal--if you go the right way about it.
-"but--don't take my word for anything."
-captain dove had palpable difficulty in suppressing the obvious repartee to that last bit of advice. but cupidity and cunning kept him quiet for a space.
-"all right. i'll go with you," he agreed very gruffly at last. and slyne heaved a silent sigh of relief; he had feared more than once that the contest of wills would after all go against him.
-"you're wise," he commented carelessly. "it will pay you.
-"you'd better see sallie now, don't you think, and tell her--"
-"i'm not going to interfere between you and her--till i get my money from you," declared the old man with a crafty grin. "you must tackle her yourself. she'll be up by now, but breakfast won't be ready for half an hour. if i were you i'd take that coat off and let her have a sight of those diamonds of yours."
-slyne did not wait to hear any more. he was already on his way aft, a somewhat incongruous figure on the decks of the olive branch. when he reached the companion-hatch on the poop he was smiling sardonically.
-"i do believe it was my 'diamonds' that finally fetched that old ruffian," said he to himself. "if they have the same effect on sallie, i won't grudge the few francs i paid for them!"
-he tiptoed down the short stairway, and, having tapped very quietly at the door of the after-saloon, entered without more ado. he judged that he might have difficulty in gaining admission if he delayed to ask leave.
-the saloon was empty. but from an adjoining cabin came the sound of splashing, and from its neighbour the shuffle of heavy feet, a faint suggestion of deft hands busy among crisp muslin and sibilant silk.
-slyne hesitated; he wanted to be very tactful and yet was unwilling to give up the advantage he had thus gained. he closed the door carefully behind him. it creaked a little.
-from the room whence had come the rustle of feminine garments an uncanny-looking figure appeared, and darted an angry, apprehensive glance about the saloon. the sound of splashing had ceased.
-"'morning, ambrizette," said slyne briskly and standing his ground. "is your mistress up yet? tell her i have captain dove's leave to pay her a call."
-the dumb black dwarf's scowl grew darker, but her hand fell away from her breast and she halted as sallie's voice sounded from within.
-"is that you, jasper!" it ejaculated. "what do you want? i thought--"
-"i've come back--with good news for you, sallie--wonderful news!" said slyne. "and i'm in no end of a hurry to be off again. call ambrizette in and get dressed, as quick as you can. captain dove's waiting breakfast for me and i mustn't delay him. how long will you be?"
-"what sort of news is it?" asked sallie, no less dubious than her maid had been; and called her maid in, notwithstanding her well-founded doubts as to the nature of any news he could bring. for slyne had held out to her the same lure that the serpent offered to eve, and her womanly curiosity would not allow her to order him at once from her domain.
-slyne smiled slightly as he sat down in a basket-chair, to look about him while she was still busy within. the little after-saloon which had been her home for so long was finely furnished; more so, perhaps, than was apparent to slyne, whose taste in that respect inclined to the florid. but he could not help noticing how dainty and neat and feminine was its entire effect, with its cushioned cosy corners, snow-white curtains and draperies. its purely fragrant atmosphere stirred even slyne's conscience a little.
-he lay back in his seat, and, gazing about him, recalled to mind all he had been able to learn as to sallie's strange past. it all fitted in so perfectly with the fabric of his wonderful new plans that he could find no possible flaw in them. and when sallie herself at length came out to him from her cabin, he was optimistically disposed to be very generous in his dealings with her.
-fresh from her bath and doubly bewitching in her clinging, intimate draperies, she met slyne's glad, eager glance with grave, doubtful eyes, and ignored entirely the hand he held out to her as he sprang from his chair. but he affected not to notice her attitude of distrust, and, greeting her gaily, saved his face by laying his outstretched hand on another chair, which he set a little nearer his own.
-"won't you sit down?" he suggested with debonair courtesy.
-but she shook her head; she was evidently afraid to receive him on any such friendly footing. she did not even care to ask him what he was doing in evening dress at breakfast-time and on board the olive branch. but in her troubled eyes he could read that unspoken inquiry.
-"i've been travelling all night to get back to you, sallie," he told her, in a low, eager tone, "and i hadn't time to change--i was in such a hurry to tell you the news. i've come to take you away from the olive branch,--and captain dove. i've come to set you free."
-she stared at him as though she had not heard aright, her lips parted, her eyebrows arched, a faint, puzzled, questioning frown on her forehead.
-"i've come to set you free," he said again.
-"at what price?" she asked suddenly, with disconcerting directness, and his would-be straightforward glance wavered.
-"don't put it that way!" he urged. "i ask no more than the fulfilment of the promise you made me. and--listen, sallie. i've found out who you really are and where your home is. i'll take you there if only you--
-"i'm not asking you to marry me right away, either, remember. all you must do in the meantime is to sign without question some papers that will be required. then i'll make everything quite safe for you and take you to your own home."
-the quick doubt in her eyes had given place to an expression of helpless amazement and growing dismay. but he did not wait to hear anything she might have to say.
-"it's like this, you see," he went on hurriedly. "captain dove's absolutely at the end of his wits for money, and now--i can pay him his price for you if you'll keep your promise to me by and by. otherwise i can't; no matter how willing i might be, i can't, i swear to you.
-"he feels, too, that you owe it to him to make up in one way or another for some part at least of what he and i have lost through your--your interfering so much lately in his affairs. and, if you don't back me up now, he'll have to take the olive branch east as best he can. he'll take you too, and--you'll never come back.
-"you don't understand. i'm not really trying to force you to marry me, but to save you from a fate far worse than the worst you could imagine. you don't understand that it's really freedom i'm offering you, and that your only option is slavery.
-"you'd rather have a white man--even me!--for your husband, wouldn't you? than a yellow one--or brown--or maybe black!"
-sallie sat down quickly in a cushioned chair, and lay back, trembling like a captured bird.
-slyne was not beyond feeling somewhat ashamed of himself, but found easy solace in the reflection that all he had said was for her good as well as his own. he could see that his last brutal argument had struck home. for sallie could no longer doubt, now, in the lurid light of her recent experiences, that captain dove looked upon her as a mere chattel, to be turned into cash as soon as occasion should offer.
-in a little she looked up at him again out of pleading, desperate eyes. some most unusual impulse of pity stirred him. she was only a young girl yet, and her helplessness spoke its own appeal, even to him. he made up his mind again, quite apart from any question of policy, to deal with her as generously as might be practicable.
-"will captain dove let me go now if i promise to marry you, jasper?" she asked. and he nodded solemnly.
-"and not unless i do?" she insisted. "you know i didn't--before, although you say i did."
-"i swear to god, sallie," he declared, "that i can't raise the money the old man wants any other way. and--i won't say another word about what's past and done with.
-"if you'll really promise to marry me," he said eagerly, "i'll prove to you that all i have told you is true before you need even leave captain dove; i won't ask you to go a step farther with me until you're perfectly satisfied; i'll take you safely to your own home as soon as you are satisfied that you can trust me. and i won't ask you to keep your promise till--"
-an irrepressible light of longing had leaped up behind the despair in her eyes.
-"you say that all i must do in the meantime is to sign some papers," she interrupted. "you say you won't ask me to marry you right away. will you wait--a year?"
-"a year! i couldn't, sallie!" he cried, and her pale lips drooped piteously again.
-"how long, then?" she asked in a whisper. "six months?"
-he had made up his mind to be generous, and he felt that he had not failed in his intention as he answered, "three months, and not a day longer, sallie."
-she sat still and silent for a while, considering that, and then, "all right, jasper," she agreed. "take me safe home, and i'll marry you three months from the day we get there--if we're both alive when the time comes."
-he turned away from her for a moment. he had won all he wanted in the meantime, and he could scarcely contain himself. when he presently held out a hand to her, she took it, to bind that bargain.
-"and you won't have any cause to regret it, sallie," he assured her, his voice somewhat hoarse in spite of his effort to speak quite naturally.
-"so now, as soon as you're ready, we'll all go ashore together, and--"
-"i'll be ready in twenty minutes," she told him, clasping her hands at her heart, her eyes very eager. "and, jasper--you must let me take ambrizette with me."
-"you're free now to do as you like," he answered, and left her. he felt as if he were treading on air on his way back to the mid-ship saloon.
-captain dove, in the same négligé costume, was busy at breakfast when slyne walked in upon him again, but looked up from his plate for long enough to mumble a malicious question.
-"yes, i've fixed it all up with her," slyne answered with assumed nonchalance. "you can always trust me to know how to handle a woman, dove."
-captain dove shot a derisive glance in his direction. "is she willing to marry you after all, then?" he demanded, feigning a surprise by no means complimentary.
-"not just at once, of course," returned his companion, and left the old man to infer whatever he pleased.
-in response to a shouted order of captain dove's a slatternly cook-steward brought slyne a steaming platter of beans with a bit of bacon-rind on top, and an enamelled mug containing a brew which might, by courtesy, have been called coffee. there was a tray of broken ship's biscuits, a tin containing some peculiarly rank substitute for butter, upon the table, with the other equally uninviting concomitants of a meagre meal.
-"tchk-tchk!" commented slyne, and sat down to satisfy his hunger as best he might; while captain dove, having overheard that criticism, eyed him inimically, and proceeded to puff a peculiarly rank cigar in his face.
-"you might as well be getting dressed now," said slyne indifferently. "by the time i'm through here, sallie will be ready to go ashore."
-captain dove looked very fiercely at him, but without effect.
-"sallie won't stir a step from the ship," the old man affirmed, "till you've handed over the cash."
-slyne looked up, in mild surprise.
-"but, dear me! dove," he remarked, "you don't expect that the london lawyer's going to take my word for a girl he's never even seen? until he's satisfied on that point, he won't endorse my note to you. so we've got to take her along with us. i'm doing my best to give you a square deal; and all i ask in return is a square deal from you."
-"you'd better not try any crooked games with me," growled captain dove, and sat for a time sunk in obviously aggravating reflections.
-"if we get on his soft side," suggested slyne insidiously, "there's no saying how much more we might both make."
-captain dove rose and retired into his sleeping-cabin without further words; while slyne, picking out with a two-pronged fork the cleanest of the beans on his plate, smiled sneeringly to himself.
-"what's the latest long-shore fashion, slyne?" the old man asked after an interval. slyne knew by his tone that he had dismissed dull care from his mind and was prepared to be quarrelsome again.
-"it wouldn't suit a figure like yours," he answered coolly, and was gratified to hear another hoarse growl. for, strange though it may seem, captain dove was not without vanity. "all you really need to worry about is how to keep sober. and i want it to be understood from the start--"
-"not so much of it now!" snarled captain dove from his cabin. "you attend to your own business--and i'll attend to mine. i know how to behave myself--among gentlemen. and, don't you forget, either, that i'm going ashore to play my own hand. i've a card or two up my sleeve, mister slyne, that will maybe euchre your game for you--if you try to bluff too high."
-slyne swore hotly, under his breath. he would have given a great deal to know exactly what the old man meant by that mysterious threat, and only knew that it would be useless to ask him. there was nothing for it but to put up with his capricious humours, as patiently as might be--although slyne shivered in anticipation of the strain that might entail--till he could be dispensed with or got rid of altogether.
-nor, as it presently appeared, were his fears at all ill-founded. for captain dove emerged from his cabin got up for shore-going in a guise at sight of which slyne could by no means suppress an involuntary groan.
-"i'm all ready now," captain dove announced. "will you pay for a cab if i call one?"
-captain dove was very visibly annoyed. he had been at particular pains to array himself properly. "you want to be the only swell in the party, of course!" he grunted. "you're jealous, that's what's the matter with you." and he fell to polishing his furry, old-fashioned top-hat with a tail of the scanty, ill-fitting frock-coat he had donned along with a noisome waistcoat in honour of the occasion.
-slyne shrugged his shoulders, despairingly, and, having made an end of his unappetising meal, prepared for the road. then he lighted a cigar very much at his leisure, while captain dove regarded him grimly, and led the way on deck without further words.
-sallie was ready and waiting at the companion-hatch on the poop, as pretty as a picture in the sables captain dove had given her a year before--after a very lucrative season of poaching on the siberian coast. as soon as she caught sight of them she came forward, followed by ambrizette, whose appearance, in cloak and turban, was even a worse offence to slyne's fastidious taste than captain dove's had been.
-"what a calamitous circus!" he muttered between set teeth. "i must get rid of those two somehow--and soon. but till then--
-"my car's at the back of those coal-wagons there," he told captain dove with great dignity, and captain dove turned to the engine-room hatch.
-"below there!" he called down. "is that mr. brasse? i'm off now, brasse. you'll carry out all my instructions, eh? and--don't quarrel with da costa, d'ye hear?"
-"ay, ay, sir," answered a dreary voice from the depths below, and captain dove faced about again to find sallie, flushed and anxious, waiting with ambrizette at the gangway.
-"come on," he ordered irascibly, and sallie followed him down the plank. ambrizette shuffled fearfully after her, and slyne came last, his chin in the air, triumphant.
-he led the way to his car, and was gratified to observe its salutary effect on captain dove's somewhat contemptuous demeanour. the little policeman in charge of it pending its opulent owner's return, came forward, touching his képi, which further impressed captain dove, uncomfortably. slyne handed sallie into the tonneau, and ambrizette after her, tossed the policeman a further tip which secured his everlasting esteem, took his own seat at the wheel, and was hastily followed by captain dove.
-"where are we bound for?" asked captain dove, holding his top-hat on with both hands, as slyne took the road toward sampierdarena at a round pace.
-"don't talk to the man at the wheel," answered slyne, and laughed. "we've a hundred miles or so ahead of us. better chuck that old tile of yours away and tie a handkerchief round your head; you'll find that less uncomfortable."
-the old man, at a loss for any more effective retort, pulled his antiquated beaver down almost to his ears, folded his long arms across the chest of his flapping frock-coat, and sat silent, scowling at the baggy umbrella between his knees. nor did he open his mouth again during the swift journey.
-but when they at length reached their destination and slyne stopped the car quietly before the imposing pile that forms the hôtel de paris, captain dove's jaw dropped and his mouth opened mechanically.
-a resplendent porter came hurrying forward and bowed most humbly to the magnificent slyne.
-"take this lady and her maid straight up to the suite next mine," ordered slyne as sallie alighted, while captain dove listened, all ears. "and ask mr. jobling to join me in my sitting-room. he's still here, i suppose?"
-he gave vent to a heartfelt sigh of relief as the man, already preceding his charges indoors, paused to answer in the affirmative.
-"i needn't book a room for you," he told captain dove, with calculated indifference. "but sallie must have somewhere to leave ambrizette.
-"hey! you. call my chauffeur to take the car round to the garage."
-captain dove followed him toward the bureau, attracting not a few glances of mingled surprise and amusement from the elaborate idlers in its neighbourhood. slyne was furious.
-"i can't have him tagging about after me in that ghastly get-up!" he told himself on the way to the elevator; and cuffed the elevator-boy's ears at the sound of a mirthful sneeze with which that unfortunate youth had become afflicted. "though how the deuce i'm to help myself i don't know."
-in the corridor at which they got out he caught sight of mr. jobling approaching, and hurried captain dove into the sitting-room of his suite.
-"give me five minutes to change my clothes," he requested of the old man. "and don't get straying about, or you'll lose yourself."
-mr. jobling met him on the threshold as he shut the door. that gentleman had marvellously recovered from his over-night's nervous break-down. a sound sleep, a visit from the barber, a bath and a liberal breakfast had all helped to alter him outwardly and inwardly for the better. he was once more the respectably prosperous, self-confident solicitor.
-"i believe you've been out all night," he observed in a jocular tone of reproof, a waggish forefinger uplifted.
-"i've covered a couple of hundred miles in the car while you've been asleep," answered slyne, turning into his dressing-room. "i've brought the girl back with me--and the old man, her guardian. we're going to have trouble with him unless we're very careful. so listen, and i'll tell you how things stand."
-mr. jobling composed his features into their most professional aspect, but that gave place by degrees to a variety of other expressions, while slyne, busy changing his clothes, related all he himself knew as to sallie's past history.
-"and now the old man thinks he is entitled to put a price on her," slyne concluded. "she's promised to marry me, but he won't let her go till i hand him a hundred thousand dollars."
-mr. jobling lay back limply in his chair. in all his career he had never, he asserted, heard a more scandalous suggestion.
-"never mind about that," slyne cut him short. "the money's no object to me. but you can understand what a difficult fellow he is to deal with. and what i'm going to do, merely as a precaution against his playing us false in the end, is to give him my note of hand for the amount he demands, endorsed by you, and payable the day i marry his adopted daughter."
-mr. jobling sank still lower in his seat.
-"in return for that," slyne went on, "he must sign a clear deliverance from any further claim on any of us, subject, of course, to due payment of the note.
-"then, i want a document drawn up to confirm my engagement to the girl and granting me the fullest possible power of attorney on her behalf both before and after our marriage. she's so simple and inexperienced that i must do everything for her.
-"and, lastly, you'd better make out a brief private agreement between yourself and me--just as a matter of form, you know--to the effect that you are willing to act in my interests throughout, in return for a commission of ten per cent. on the accumulated revenues of the jura estates at the date of my marriage."
-mr. jobling looked at him for a time as a man suddenly bereft of his spine might.
-"there's no time to spare," slyne mentioned. "i want all that sort of thing settled right off the reel--before lunch.
-"if the old man makes any kick about anything, you must back me up in all i say. although if he tries to raise his price by a few thousand dollars, we needn't stick at that. the great thing is to get him to sign the deliverance in return for our note. the girl has already agreed--"
-"and what if i refuse?" croaked his companion with the courage of desperation. it was evident that mr. jobling saw through his daring scheme. "what if i insist on my fair share? what if i--"
-slyne silenced him with a contemptuous gesture.
-"whatever you do will make no difference to anyone in the wide world but yourself," said slyne. "if you do what you're told you'll get a great deal more than you deserve out of it. if you don't--d'ye think i'd have taken you into the team if i didn't know how to drive you!" he asked, his eyes beginning to blaze. "why, my good fellow, if you refuse, if you don't travel up to your collar, if you so much as shy at anything you see or hear--i won't even hurt you; i'll just hand you over to the police.
-"so make up your mind now, quick!"
-"you've nothing against me," quavered the lawyer.
-"no, i've nothing--not very much, at least, yet," slyne agreed, knotting his tie neatly before the glass. "but--that may be because you haven't embezzled any of my money--yet." he had most opportunely recalled what the detective dubois had told him about his new friend.
-mr. jobling's face was almost green. he got up with an evident effort.
-"i was only joking," he declared with a most ghastly grin. "i'll be quite satisfied with ten per cent. of the accumulated income--in fact, we'll call it a couple of hundred thousand pounds, if you like."
-"all right," slyne agreed imperturbably. "make it that amount if you'd rather. how long will it take you to get the papers drawn out? it's nearly one o'clock. and--you won't be safe till they're signed."
-"an hour," said mr. jobling. "i'm a quick writer."
-"all right," slyne repeated. "we'll lunch at two--after they're all signed. so--off you go, and get busy."
-the stout solicitor hurried away, cowed and obedient again, and slyne, very smart in an almost new flannel suit, rejoined captain dove.
-"i'm too fashionable, that's what's the matter with me!" declared captain dove with sudden conviction at sight of him, and gazed very bitterly at his own image in an inconvenient mirror.
-"never mind about that," slyne advised soothingly. "it's not as if you were staying here, you know. you'll be back on board your ship by supper-time. and now, i must tell you how we've got to handle this lawyer-fellow when he fetches in the raft of papers he'll want us all to sign."
-captain dove listened gloomily while he went on to explain, at considerable length, and in his most convincing manner, that they must match their combined wits against the lawyer's for their own profit.
-"it's not that i don't trust him," said slyne, "but--i'll feel more secure after everything's settled in writing and signed. he can't go back on us then."
-"he'd better not!" captain dove commented. "i'll wring his neck for him if he tries--"
-"and, as for sallie," slyne cut him short, "i've made things quite--"
-"sallie will do whatever i tell her," growled captain dove. "and don't you attempt to interfere between me and her--till you've paid me my money, slyne. where is she? fetch her in here."
-slyne had no farther to go to do that than to the next room, where he found sallie at the window, gazing pensively out at the sea. but he delayed there for some time to make it still more clear to her that her only hope of helping herself lay in abetting him blindly.
-when he at length returned to his own sitting-room with her, he found captain dove staring fixedly at another arrival there, an overwhelmingly up-to-date if rather imbecile-looking young man, whose general gorgeousness, combined with a very vacant, fish-like eye much magnified by a monocle, had evidently reduced the would-be fashionable seaman to a stricken silence.
-slyne, who had at first shot a most malevolent glance at the intruder, was stepping forward to greet him just as mr. jobling put in an appearance with a sheaf of papers in one hand.
-"how d'ye do, lord ingoldsby?" said slyne quite suavely to the young man with the eye-glass. he had caught sight of mr. jobling in the doorway, and turned to sallie, his quick mind bent on a masterstroke.
-"may i introduce to you the marquis of ingoldsby," he remarked to her in the monotone of convention; and, as she bowed slightly in response to that very modern young gentleman's ingratiating wriggle and grin, slyne, one eye on captain dove's astonished countenance, completed the formality.
-"this is lady josceline justice," said he to his smirking lordship, and breathed delicately into a somewhat extensive ear the further information, "the late earl of jura's daughter, you know--and my fiancée."
-sallie's first startled impulse was to deny the new identity slyne had so glibly bestowed on her. it seemed too preposterous to be believable; and she was very suspicious of him. a little flushed, more than a little afraid, and yet in some sense convinced in spite of herself by the outward and visible signs about her that all these strange happenings must have at least some foundation of fact, she sought to read the others' thoughts in their faces.
-the marquis of ingoldsby was gaping at her, in open wonder and admiration. slyne's features wore a subdued expression of triumph, and captain dove's a dazed, incredulous frown. mr. jobling was beaming about him, so apparently satisfied with her, so respectably prosperous-looking himself that her doubts as to slyne's good faith began to give way. when the lawyer was in turn presented to her and also addressed her by that new name, she could scarcely disclaim it.
-"you'll stay and have luncheon with us, lord ingoldsby?" slyne remarked, touching the bell; and his lordship left off gaping at sallie to look him over with all the solemn sagacity of a young owl in broad daylight.
-"er--all right," his lordship at length agreed. "don't mind if i do.
-"though i have some--er--friends waitin' for me," he added as an afterthought, "that i promised to take for a run in your car, if--"
-"you'll have time enough after lunch," slyne suggested, and drew the noble marquis toward the window.
-"the marquis of ingoldsby!" muttered captain dove. "a run in slyne's car! and--lady josceline justice!" he dug his knuckles forcibly into his blinking eyes, and, "i seem to be wide enough awake," said he in a stage aside as several waiters arrived on the scene.
-while they were setting the table sallie tried to collect her thoughts. slyne had told her nothing till then, but that he had found out who her folk were. and she had come away from the olive branch blindly, only a little less distrustful of him than of captain dove's cruel intentions toward her if she had remained on board. even now, she scarcely dared to believe--
-in response to a sign from slyne she took her place at the flower-decked table. the marquis of ingoldsby immediately settled himself at her side; he also was obviously a young man who knew what he wanted, and meant to have that at all hazards and, while the others were seating themselves, he ogled her killingly.
-slyne had sat down at her other hand, leaving mr. jobling and captain dove to keep one another company behind the great silver centre-piece which adorned the circular table. the marquis, leaning on one elbow, had turned his back on mr. jobling, and slyne turned his on captain dove.
-"this is a little bit of all right!" his lordship remarked to sallie, with a confidential grin. "only--i wish--how is it that we haven't met before, lady josephine? but never mind that. let's be pals now. shall we, eh?"
-"i don't know," sallie answered at random and since he seemed to expect some reply to that fatuity. she had met a good many men in her time, but never one quite like this lord ingoldsby--who actually seemed anxious to look and act like a cunning fool.
-a waiter intervened between them. but his lordship waved that functionary away.
-"do let's," he implored with child-like insistence. "it would be so deevy to be pals with you. and i'm beastly dull here, all by myself, don't y'know. so--
-"eh?" he glared at slyne, who had bluntly interrupted his tête-à-tête. "no, i don't want any oysters--i told that waiter-chap so. and i don't know any 'lady of the camellias.' i can't imagine what you're talkin' about at all, i'm sure."
-"i saw her again last night, at the casino," said slyne, imperturbably, and went on to entertain sallie with a long if not over-truthful account of his own over-night's doings there. so that, for all his lordship's lack of manners, it was some time before that spoiled youth again succeeded in monopolising her attention. at every turn slyne was ready to balk him, and, but for his native self-conceit coupled with a certain blind obstinacy, he must very soon have understood what was perfectly plain to sallie, that he was there merely on sufferance, to serve some purpose of slyne's.
-"goin' to be here long, lady josephine?" he managed to break in at last. slyne had turned to give a departing waiter some order.
-"i don't know," sallie answered again, since she could say nothing else.
-beyond the blossom-laden épergne, mr. jobling and captain dove, almost cut off from other intercourse by that barrier, were exchanging coldly critical glances. neither seemed to be quite at his ease with the other, and both had, of course, a great many urgent questions to put to slyne as soon as the marquis of ingoldsby should be gone. so that the luncheon-party must have proved a very dull affair to them, and they were no doubt glad when it was over.
-slyne signalled to sallie as soon as coffee was served, and she rose to leave the room. she was quite accustomed to being promptly dispensed with whenever her company might have been inconvenient.
-"oh, i say!" protested lord ingoldsby. "you're not goin' yet, lady j. half a mo'. won't you come for a spin with me now that the car's mine? just say the word and i'll drop my other engagement. and then we could dine at--"
-"lady josceline will be engaged with her lawyer all afternoon," slyne cut him short with the utmost coolness, "and she's leaving monte carlo again to-night."
-the marquis of ingoldsby glowered at him.
-"i'll see you in paris, then, lady j.," he went on, pointedly ignoring slyne, "or in london, at least, later on. well, good-bye--if you must be goin'."
-he bowed her out of the room, and then, snatching up his hat and cane with very visible annoyance, included the others in a curt nod of farewell and made off himself.
-he passed her before she had closed her own door--and would gladly have paused there.
-"you won't forget me, will you?" she heard him ask eagerly from behind her. but she did not delay to answer that question.
-a few minutes later, slyne knocked at her door and entered, followed by the other two men. he had brought with him the papers which mr. jobling had prepared. mr. jobling carried an inkstand, and captain dove a decanter of brandy. slyne seated himself at the table and waved sallie back to her chair by the window.
-"we're going to talk business for a few minutes," he told her, "and then get everything settled in writing--to keep you safe.
-"fire ahead now, dove. you want to know--"
-"is sallie really--"
-"i don't know anyone of that name now. d'you mean lady josceline?"
-captain dove glared at him, and then at the lawyer, and then at sallie herself.
-"is that really who i am now, jasper?" she asked, a most wistful inflection in her low voice.
-"you needn't believe me," he answered her. "ask mr. jobling. he'll tell you."
-mr. jobling coughed importantly. "i'll tell you all i know myself, lady josceline," he promised her, and proceeded to repeat in part what he had told slyne on the terrace the night before concerning the jura family, but without a single word of the fortune awaiting the next of kin. captain dove's face expressed the extreme of astonishment as he too sat listening with the closest attention.
-"that's as far as my present knowledge goes," the lawyer finished blandly. "and now--i understand that captain dove is prepared to supply the proof required in conclusion.
-"how long have you known lady josceline, captain dove?"
-captain dove frowned as if in deep thought, and slyne looked very crossly at him.
-"about three quarters of an hour," the old man answered, and, glancing at slyne, chuckled hoarsely. "she's only been lady josceline for so long."
-mr. jobling nodded understanding and the creases on his fleshy forehead disappeared again.
-"and before that--?" he suggested, politely patient.
-"before that she was--what she still is so far's i'm concerned--saleh harez, my adopted daughter."
-"sallie--harris!" mr. jobling ejaculated. "dear me! did you say sallie--er--harris?"
-"i said saleh harez," affirmed captain dove, and filled the glass at his elbow again. "but all that concerns you, so far's i can see, is that i've known her ever since she was knee-high to me. i've been a father to her all those years, and she's my adopted daughter. so now, you can take it from me, mr. jobling, that i'm the joker, and both bowers too, in this merry little game."
-"which makes it all the more unfortunate for you that you haven't a single penny to stake on your hand," slyne put in, while the lawyer looked somewhat blankly from one to the other of them. "so--don't waste any more time bluffing, but tell jobling how you found sal--lady josceline."
-captain dove darted a very evil look at his friendly adviser. "and what if i refuse?" he asked.
-slyne almost smiled. "why cut off your own nose to spite your face?" he returned. "you won't refuse, because it would cost you a hundred thousand dollars to do so."
-captain dove stroked his chin contemplatively, and his face slowly cleared.
-"a hundred and fifty thousand, you mean," he said in a most malevolent tone.
-slyne got up from the table as if in anger, and for some time the two wrangled over that point, the stout solicitor gazing at them with evident dismay, while sallie awaited the upshot of it all with bated breath. she knew it was over the price to be paid for her that they were disputing, but that knowledge had ceased to be any novelty. the wrathful voices of the two disputants seemed to come from a great distance. she felt as if the whole affair were a dream from which she might at any moment awake on board the olive branch again.
-"there isn't money enough in it to pay you so much for a mere affidavit," she heard slyne say, and mr. jobling, under his glance, confirmed that statement emphatically.
-"a hundred and twenty-one thousand is the last limit--a thousand down, to bind the bargain, and the balance the day of my wedding with sallie," slyne declared. "if that doesn't satisfy you--there's nothing more to be said. and i'll maybe find other means--"
-"show me even the first thousand," requested captain dove, and slyne counted out on to the table, at a safe distance from the old man's twitching fingers, five thousand francs of the amount lord ingoldsby had paid him for his car.
-"all right," said captain dove gruffly, and snatched at the notes. but slyne picked them up again.
-"as soon as you've given jobling your statement," he said, "and signed whatever other documents he may think necessary, i'll hand you these and my note of hand, endorsed by him, for the balance remaining due you."
-mr. jobling picked up a pen and slyne pushed a sheet of foolscap toward him. captain dove, with a grunt of disgust, sat back in his chair and, while the lawyer wrote rapidly, related how he had found sallie.
-when he had finished, mr. jobling read his statement over aloud, and chuckled ecstatically. his own eyes were shining.
-"that settles it, lady josceline," said he triumphantly, turning to sallie. "i'll stake my professional reputation on your identity now. you need have no further doubt--"
-"and just to clinch the matter," growled captain dove, "you'd better add this to your affidavy:--the clothes the kid was wearing when i fetched her off that dhow were all marked with the moniker 'j. j.' and some sort of crest. but--they were all lost when the ship i commanded then was--went down at sea."
-mr. jobling groaned. "how very unfortunate!" he remarked before he resumed his writing. and slyne stared fixedly at the old man until the lawyer had finished.
-"now," said mr. jobling, adjusting his pince-nez and beaming about him again, "we can call in a couple of witnesses and--"
-"we'll witness each other's signatures." slyne disagreed. "better not bring in any outsiders."
-the stout solicitor frowned over that, but finally nodded concurrence. and captain dove took the pen from him, only to hand it to slyne.
-"gimme my thousand dollars and your joint note for the balance first," he requested unamiably.
-slyne signed the new note mr. jobling pushed across the table, and mr. jobling endorsed it. captain dove read it over carefully before he pocketed it, and also counted with great caution the bills slyne tossed to him. then he in his turn signed, without reading it, the statement the lawyer had drawn up from his dictation, and the more lengthy agreement between sallie and jasper slyne.
-slyne and jobling added their names to that, and slyne attached his careful signature to a promise to pay the solicitor the percentage agreed upon. captain dove witnessed it and then called sallie from her seat in the window-alcove, and she came forward with anxious eyes, to fulfil the undertaking she had finally had to give jasper slyne as the price of his help in her most unhappy predicament.
-she did not know--nor did she greatly care then--what was contained in the contract he laid before her without a word. she took from him without demur the pen he held out to her. she had promised to do all he told her and give him whatever he asked--except, for the present, herself.
-"sign 'josceline justice' at the foot of each page," he said gently, and she did so without a word. for she would not for all the world contained have broken any promise she had given. then mr. jobling desired her to witness the two other men's signatures.
-as she handed him back the pen she had a final question to ask him.
-"you said my father and mother are both dead, and my step-brother too. is there no one else--"
-"no one you need worry about in the least," he assured her, misunderstanding. "there was a beggarly american who lodged a claim to the title and--to the title; his name was carthew, i think--yes, justin carthew. but even if i--if he hadn't gone and got lost while looking for you, his claim would be quite ineffectual now. you're your father's daughter, lady josceline. justin carthew was a dozen or more degrees removed from the trunk of your family tree. he had only the faintest tinge of blue blood in his veins. he was an absolute outsider. we'll hear no more about him now."
-"you mean that it's an absolutely sure thing for her," captain dove suggested, and mr. jobling looked pained.
-"i can't afford to risk anything on uncertainties, sir," he answered stiffly. "and i'll stake my professional reputation on--"
-"oh, never mind about all that," slyne broke in, folding his share of the papers together and pocketing them. "the syndicate's safely floated. and now--as to our next move.
-"you'd better get away back to genoa by the five o'clock train, dove. and you must take ambrizette with you; i'll get sal--lady josceline another maid in paris--one who won't attract quite so much attention to us as that damned dwarf would.
-"jobling and i will go on there by the night-mail, on our way to london with--lady josceline. you can take the olive branch round to some safe english port and lay her up there in the meantime. as soon as you land, you can rejoin us--at jobling's address. by that time we'll probably be ready to redeem our note to you."
-"by that time," captain dove returned with concentrated bitterness, "you'll have found some way to give me the slip altogether. d'ye take me for a blind idiot, slyne? d'ye think i'm going to let sallie out of my sight, with you?"
-slyne was visibly disconcerted. "but--aren't you going to take your ship round to england?" he asked, in genuine surprise. "you can't very well leave her lying in genoa!"
-"i've left brasse and da costa in charge, and they'll work her across the bay if i tell them to. i've only to send them a wire. and all you have to do now is to say which way you want to travel--with me; for i'm going to stick to you like a leech till the day you pay me off."
-slyne walked to the window, humming a tune. but it was obviously costing him all of his refreshed fortitude to refrain from expressing his real sentiments toward captain dove. his face, as he stood glaring blindly out at the beautiful scene before him, was like that of a wild beast balked of its fair prey. but from between his bared, set teeth the careless hum came unbroken.
-captain dove's weather-beaten countenance was turning slowly purple. he was striving after speech. slyne, outwardly cool and contemptuous of his visible fury, stood gazing down at him, hands in pockets. mr. jobling was wriggling restlessly in his chair, glancing from one to the other, prepared to flee from the coming storm.
-still without a word, captain dove reached again for the brandy-decanter, directly defying slyne. slyne stepped forward and snatched it out of his hand.
-simultaneously, the old man and mr. jobling sprang from their seats, the former making for slyne and the latter for the door, which opened just as he reached it, so that he all but fell over a boy in buttons who had knocked and entered carrying a telegram on a tray.
-slyne had not moved. captain dove, almost at his throat, spun round on one heel.
-"for me?" mr. jobling exclaimed anxiously as he ripped the envelope open. and a slow pallor overspread his puffy pink features while he was perusing its contents.
-"from mullins, my managing clerk," he mumbled as he passed the message to slyne, who looked it over indifferently, and then re-read it aloud in a low but very ominous voice: "'american claimant landed at genoa yesterday. now on way to london. court granted decree in his favour.' handed in at chancery lane, in london,"--he pulled out his watch--"fifty minutes ago."
-the page-boy had disappeared. slyne pushed suddenly past mr. jobling and set his back against the door. captain dove was approaching the terrified solicitor softly, on tiptoe, his fists clenched, all his tobacco-stained fangs displayed in a grin of fury. one of his long arms shot out just as the door opened behind slyne's back and a voice announced:
-the law--and the profits
-sallie saw how jasper slyne's face blanched at sight of that very untimely intruder, whose keen eyes seemed to take in the situation there at a glance.
-mr. jobling had fallen backward into a convenient armchair and, with both hands clapped to his nose, was moaning most piteously. captain dove was standing over him, with features inflamed, in a very bellicose posture and glaring at the new-comer, toward whom slyne had turned inquiringly.
-"you're--looking for some one, m. dubois?" slyne asked, in a tone of polite surprise, which, sallie knew, was assumed.
-"a thousand pardons," returned that individual. "i am indeed looking for some one--whom i thought to find here. i had no intention, however, of intruding upon a lady--" he bowed profusely to sallie. "it may be," he suggested, "that i have mistaken the number. is not this the suite 161?"
-"one hundred and sixty," slyne told him, and evidently did not think it worth while to add that the next suite was his own.
-"a thousand pardons," repeated m. dubois, very penitently. "i am too stupid! but mademoiselle will perhaps be so gracious as to forgive me this time."
-he bowed to sallie again and to slyne, and disappeared, sharply scanning the latter's face to the last.
-"who's that son of a sea-cook?" snapped captain dove, and mr. jobling looked wanly up out of one eye.
-"a french detective," slyne answered reflectively. but sallie felt sure that he was afraid of m. dubois, and wondered why.
-"well, he has nothing against me that i'm aware of," the old man declared. "and now--what about this wire? does it mean that some other fellow has scooped the pool--and that i've had all my trouble for nothing, eh?" he clenched his fist again and shook it in the lawyer's face.
-"no, no," gasped mr. jobling. "don't be so hasty. it makes no difference at all, now that we have lady josceline with us. i told you that the american, carthew, is of no account against her--and how he has ever cropped up again i can't conceive. in any case--"
-"in any case, you'd better be off to your room and ring for a bit of beefsteak to doctor that eye with," slyne interposed in a tone of intense annoyance.
-"and i wish to goodness, dove!" he added savagely, "that you would behave a little more like a reasonable human being and less--"
-"less of your lip, now!" snarled the old man. "and don't keep on saying that. just take it from me again, both of you, that you'd better not be so slow again in telling me--"
-"you didn't give me time," mr. jobling protested.
-slyne opened the door. "come on," he urged. "you've got to get your kit packed, jobling. we'll be leaving before very long now."
-"have you made up your mind to come with us, dove?"
-captain dove nodded, most emphatically. "i'll send word to brasse and da costa at once," he remarked, "and then i'll be ready to start whenever you are."
-he left the room after mr. jobling, and slyne, in the doorway, looked back at sallie, the reassuring smile on his lips belied by his cold, calculating eyes.
-"and how about you, sallie?" he asked. "have you made up your mind? are you satisfied--so far? or--would you rather go back to the olive branch?
-"if you would--i'll let you off your promise, even now! and don't forget that this will be your last chance to recall it."
-"you know i can't go back to the olive branch, jasper," she answered slowly. "but--"
-he did not give her time to say more. "that's settled for good, then," he asserted. "your promise stands, and i know you'll keep it when the time comes--after i've done my part.
-"i'm only sorry i haven't been able to get rid of captain dove right away, but it won't be long now till--you needn't worry any more about him. i'll see that he behaves better.
-"if there's anything else i can do for your comfort, you must let me know. and now, i'll leave you to your own devices until it's time to start on our travels. better get a rest while you can, eh? we've a very busy week ahead of us."
-she saw that he did not intend to tell her any more in the meantime, and was glad to see him go. then she called ambrizette in for company, and sat down by the window again, to try to sort out for herself the bewildering tangle that life had once more become within a few hours.
-gazing out across the familiar sea with wistful, far-away eyes, she mused for a time over what captain dove had told mr. jobling of her history, and strove to piece together with that all she herself could recall of that dim and always more mysterious past out of which she had come to be captain dove's property, bought and paid for, at a high price, as he had repeated several times.
-her own earliest vague, disconnected, ineffectual memories were all of some dark, savage mountain-country; of endless days of travel; of camp-fires in the cold, and hungry camels squealing for fodder; of the fragrant cinnamon-smell of the steam that came from the cooking-pots.
-before, or, it might have been, after that, she had surely lived on some seashore, in a shimmering white village with narrow, crooked lanes for streets and little flat-roofed houses huddled together among hot sandhills where the suddra grew and lean goats bleated always for their kids.
-then, as if in a very vexing dream, she could almost but never quite see, through the thickening mist of the years, once-familiar faces--white men, with swords, in ragged uniforms, and big brown ones with wicked eyes and long, thin guns, glaring down at her over a high wall, through smoke and fire, and fighting, and the acrid reek of powder....
-and there remembrance grew blank altogether, until it connected with captain dove, on the deck of a slaving-dhow far out of sight of any land. she had been only a little child when he had carried her up the side of his own ship in his arms, while she laughed gleefully in his face and pulled at his shaggy moustache, but she could still remember some of the incidents of that day.
-she had lived on board his successive ships ever since. and ever since, until recently, he had always been very good to her, in his own queer, gruff way. he had always treated her as though she were a child of his own, shielding her, in so far as he could, from even the knowledge of all the evil which he had done up and down the world. she had grown up in the belief that his despotic guardianship was altogether for her good and not to be disputed.
-but now--she was no longer a child. and all her old, unquestioning faith in his inherent good intentions, toward her at least, was finally shattered. she knew now that he really looked upon her as a mere chattel, with a cash value--just as if she had been one of the hapless cargo of human cattle confined in the pestiferous hold of the dhow on whose deck he had found her at play. she knew now that he had bought and paid for them as well as her, and sold them again at a fat profit, far across the seas--all but the dumb, deformed black woman whom he had picked from among them to act as her nurse.
-and if it did not occur to her to question either his power or his perfect right to dispose of her future also as he might see fit, had not all her experience gone to prove that might is right everywhere, that law and justice are merely additional pretexts devised by the strong for oppressing the weak? she had had to choose between remaining on board the olive branch, or paying jasper slyne his price for the chance of escape he had offered her in pursuance of his own aims.
-she disliked and distrusted slyne scarcely less than before. but she did not see how she could have chosen otherwise. and, in any case,--it was too late now to revoke the promise she had made him.
-she was still afraid to place any faith in the promises he had made her. she had no idea how he had come at his alleged discovery of her real identity. but mr. jobling's obvious belief in that recurred to her mind, and she fell to wondering timidly what life would be like as lady josceline justice.
-her impressions on that point were very hazy, however, and she had still to puzzle out the problem added by justin carthew. but she finally gave up the attempt to solve that at the moment, contenting herself with the tremulous hope that she might soon be on her way toward that dear, unknown, dream-home for which her hungry heart had so often ached.
-of the exorbitant price so soon to be paid for the brief glimpse of happiness slyne had agreed to allow her, she took no further thought at all. she had already made up her mind to meet that without complaint.
-an hour or more later, when slyne looked in to tell her that it was time to start, she was still seated at the window, gazing out over the steel-grey sea with wistful, far-away eyes.
-at his instigation she veiled herself very closely. and he had brought with him a hooded cloak for ambrizette. no one took any particular notice of the inconspicuous party which presently left the hôtel de paris in a hired car, as if for an excursion along the coast.
-at a station fifty miles away they left the car and caught the night-mail for paris. slyne's baggage was on board it, in the care of a sullen chauffeur, and there were also berths reserved for them all.
-"did you see any more of dubois?" sallie heard slyne ask the man, who shook his head indifferently in reply.
-the long night-journey passed without other incident than a dispute between captain dove and the sleeping-car attendant, which raged until slyne threatened to have the train stopped at the next station and send for the police. and the sun was shining brightly when they reached paris.
-mr. jobling went straight on to london, but slyne took sallie and captain dove to a quiet but expensive hotel, where they remained for a few days, which passed in a perfect whirl of novelty and excitement for her. and when they in their turn crossed the channel, she had for baggage at least a dozen new trunks containing the choicest spoils of the rue de la paix. slyne had pooh-poohed all her timid protests against his lavish expenditure on her account, and had also provided for captain dove and ambrizette in their degree. he had evidently a fortune at his disposal, and was bent on showing her how generous he could be.
-he was also unostentatiously displaying other good qualities which had all gone to make those days pass very pleasantly for her. she could not fail to appreciate the courtesy and consideration which he consistently showed her now. his patience with captain dove, a trying companion at the best of times and doubly troublesome idle, more than once made her wonder whether he could be the same jasper slyne she had known on the olive branch. prosperity seemed to have improved him almost beyond recognition.
-he had a cabin at her disposal on the calais-dover steamer but she stayed on deck throughout the brief passage, glad to breathe the salt sea-air again, while he entertained her with descriptions of london and she watched the twinkling lights that were guiding her home.
-and then came london itself, at last, somewhat grey, and cold, and disconsolate-looking on a wet winter morning.
-but after breakfast in a cosy suite at the savoy, a blink of sunshine along the embankment helped to better that first hasty impression. and then slyne took captain dove and her in a taxicab along the thronged and bustling strand to mr. jobling's office in chancery lane.
-they got out in front of a dingy building not very far from cursitor street. it was raining again, and sallie, looking up and down the narrow, turbid thoroughfare, felt glad that she did not need to live there.
-indoors, the atmosphere was scarcely less depressing. a dismal passage led toward a dark stairway, up which they had to climb flight after flight to reach at last a dusty, ill-smelling, gas-lighted room, inhabited only by a shabby, shock-headed hobbledehoy of uncertain age and unprepossessing appearance, perched on a preposterously high stool at a still higher desk, behind a cage-like partition.
-"i want to see mr. jobling, at once," slyne announced to him. and mr. jobling's "managing clerk" looked slowly round, with a snake-like and disconcerting effect due to a very long neck and a very low collar.
-"show mr. slyne in immediately, mullins," ordered a pompous voice from within; and mr. jobling himself, a blackcoated, portly, important personage there, came bustling out from his private office to welcome his visitors.
-"how d'ye do, how d'ye do, lady josceline!" he exclaimed, and cocked an arch eyebrow at sallie's most becoming costume; although the effect he intended was somewhat impaired by the fact that he was still suffering from a black eye, painted over in haste--and by an incompetent artist.
-"i can see now what's been keeping you in paris!" he added facetiously, and, having shaken hands with slyne, who seemed to think that superfluous, turned to receive captain dove with the same politeness.
-"phew!" whistled mr. jobling and drew back and stared at the old man. "i'd never have recognised you in that rig-out."
-captain dove pulled off a pair of smoked glasses he had been wearing, the better to look him, with offensive intent, in his injured eye. for captain dove was still enduring much mental as well as physical discomfort in a disguise which he had only been induced to adopt a couple of days before, and after an embittered quarrel with slyne. the stiff white collar round his corded neck was still threatening to choke him and then cut his throat. he had been infinitely more at his ease in his scanty, short-tailed frock-coat and furry top-hat than he was in the somewhat baggy if more becoming black garb he had donned in its place, with a soft wide-awake always flapping about his ears.
-"come inside," mr. jobling begged hurriedly, and, looking round as he followed them into his sanctum, "mullins!" he snapped, "don't stand there staring. get on with your work, at once.
-"you're later than i expected," he remarked to slyne as he closed the door, "but just in time. the court's closed, of course, for the christmas vacation, but i've filed an application for a hearing in chambers, and--"
-he paused as a telephone-bell rang shrilly outside, and a moment later the shock head of his "managing clerk" protruded into the room, almost as if it did not belong to a body at all.
-"mr. spettigrew says that our application in chambers will be heard by mr. justice gaunt, in 57b, at eleven-thirty sharp this forenoon," announced that youth and, with a final wriggle of his long neck, withdrew.
-"devil take him!" exclaimed captain dove, somewhat startled and much incensed. "i wouldn't keep a crested cobra like that about me for--"
-"let's see those accounts of yours, now," said slyne, disregarding that interruption, and mr. jobling, having first looked at his watch, produced from another drawer a great sheaf of papers, all carefully docketed. he slipped off the top one and somewhat reluctantly handed that to his friend.
-slyne took it from him eagerly, and sat for a time gloating over it with eyes which presently began to glow.
-but when captain dove, growing restless, would have glanced over his shoulder to see what was tickling his fancy so, he frowned and folded that document up and returned it to mr. jobling.
-"give it here, now!" growled captain dove, menacing mr. jobling with a clenched fist; and the lawyer, after an appealing, impotent glance at slyne, had no recourse but to comply with that peremptory order.
-"i have inside sources of information as to the revenue of the estates," he replied, "and a note of all the investments. i've allowed a wide margin for all sorts of incidentals. i think you'll find, in fact, that lady josceline's inheritance will amount to even more than i've estimated."
-slyne smiled again, more contentedly. nor was his complaisance overcome even when mr. jobling put to him a half-whispered petition for a further small cash advance to account of expenses.
-"i wasn't even able to pay mullins' wages with what you gave me in paris," said the stout solicitor vexedly. "fees and so on swallowed it all up, and--i'm actually short of cab-fares!"
-"why don't you fire mullins, then?" demanded slyne with a shade of impatience. "i've just got rid of my chauffeur because he was costing me more than he was worth."
-"but i can't afford to get rid of mullins. just at the moment he's very useful to me. it would create a bad impression if i had to run my own errands. and--the fact is, he knows far too much. i'll pay him off and shut his mouth by and by, when i have more time to attend to such matters."
-"how much do you want?" slyne inquired with a frown evidently meant to warn his friend to be modest.
-"can you spare twenty pounds--to go on with?"
-slyne hesitated, but only for a few seconds. then he pulled out a pocket-book and surreptitiously passed that sum to the penniless man of law, who accepted it with no more than a nod of thanks.
-"i'll pay mullins now," he remarked, and immediately hurried out of the room. captain dove was gasping for breath and showed every other symptom of a forthcoming explosion.
-as soon as the door shut behind him, the old man gave open vent to his wrath. and a most furious quarrel followed between slyne and him. sallie, too, learned then, for the first time, of the vast inheritance which would be hers, of slyne's cunning plan to buy captain dove out for a mere pittance, and how he himself expected to profit through marrying her.
-but she was not overwhelmed with surprise by that belated discovery. she had almost anticipated the final disclosure of some such latent motive behind all slyne's professions to her. the only difference it might make would be to captain dove. slyne and he were still snarling at each other when mr. jobling walked jauntily in again. but at sight of him captain dove began to subside.
-"we mustn't be late. mr. spettigrew will be expecting us now. i've sent mullins on ahead with my papers," observed mr. jobling breezily, and went on to explain that mr. justice gaunt, by nature a somewhat cross-grained old limb of the law, had been very ill-pleased over being bothered again, and at a moment when most of his colleagues were enjoying a holiday, about any such apparently endless case as that of the jura succession, which had been cropping up before him, at more or less lengthy intervals, for quite a number of years, and concerning which he had, only a few days before, made an order of court in favour of justin carthew.
-captain dove clapped his soft felt hat on his head with a very devil-may-care expression.
-"come on, then," said he grimly, and mr. jobling was not slow to lead the way. so that they reached mr. justice gaunt's chambers punctually at the hour appointed, and were ushered into his lordship's presence by mr. spettigrew, the learned counsel retained by mr. jobling on sallie's behalf, a long, lifeless-looking gentleman in a wig and gown and spectacles. and his lordship smiled very pleasantly as sallie raised her heavy veil at counsel's crafty request.
-"pray be seated, my dear young lady," his lordship begged with fatherly, old-fashioned kindness, and indicated a chair meant for counsel, much nearer his own than the rest. nor did he often take his eyes from her face throughout the course of a long and convincing dissertation by mr. spettigrew, on her past history, present position in life, and claims on the future, with some reference to the rival claims of mr. justin carthew.
-"and i have full proof to place before you, at once, if you wish it, m'lud," concluded mr. spettigrew in his most professional drone, "in support of the fact that the lady before you is the lawful daughter of the late earl and the countess, his second wife, who died in the desert. mr. justin carthew, on the other hand, is related to the family in a very different and distant degree, and there are, as y'r ludship has been good enough to agree, no other survivors.
-"i beg leave now to request that y'r ludship will rescind the authority granted to mr. justin carthew, and admit my client's petition ad referendum."
-"produce your proofs," ordered his lordship, and mr. spettigrew extracted from a capacious black bag a pile of papers at which mr. justice gaunt looked with no little disgust.
-"what are they, in chief?" asked mr. justice gaunt, turning over page after page of closely written law-script, as gingerly as if he believed that one might perhaps explode and blow him to pieces. and mr. spettigrew launched forth again into a long list of certificates, records, researches, findings, orders of court, sworn statements and affidavits, by captain dove--"then trading in his own ship, m'lud, now retired and devoting his time to mission-work among deep-sea sailors;" by mr. jasper slyne, gentleman; by mr. jobling, whom he did not pause to describe; by a couple of dozen other people, living or dead, at home or abroad; all in due legal form and not to be controverted.
-"i think you'll find them in perfect order, and absolutely conclusive, m'lud," counsel came to a finish triumphantly, and sat down, greatly to the relief of all present.
-"h'm!" said his lordship, still gravely regarding sallie: whose eyes had nothing to conceal from him. "and so this is the long-lost lady josceline!"
-his searching glance travelled slowly to captain dove's face, and then to slyne's; both of whom met it without winking, although captain dove was no doubt glad of the protection of his smoked glasses.
-"i'll have to go through the proofs, of course," said his lordship reflectively and let his gaze rest on sallie again. "but--if everything's as you say, i don't think it will be long before lady josceline finds herself in full enjoyment of all her rights and privileges. if everything's as you say, i'll do whatever lies in my power to expedite matters; i think i can promise you that the case will be called immediately the vacation is over. meanwhile, however, and till i have looked through the proofs, i can make no further order."
-he rose, and they also got up from their chairs as he came round from behind his desk and confronted sallie, a tall, stooping old man with a wrinkled face and tired but kindly eyes.
-she looked up into them frankly, and he laid a hand on her shoulder.
-"yours has been a very sad history so far, my dear young lady," he said, his head on one side, still studying her. "i hope it will be all the brighter henceforth. i knew--the last earl of jura--when we were both young men--before he married. you remind me of him, as he was then, in many respects. good day to you now; my time here is not my own, you know. but some day, perhaps you will allow me to pay my respects to you--at justicehall, since we're to be neighbours; my own home isn't very far from yours."
-outside in the corridor, mr. jobling shook hands rapturously with every one, even with captain dove.
-"we've turned the trick already," he declared. "you heard what his lordship said. with him on our side, the whole thing's as good as settled. all we have to do now is to wait until the courts take up again and confirm--"
-"how long will that be?" slyne inquired. he, too, was smiling ecstatically.
-"not much more than a fortnight," the lawyer informed him. "it will soon pass. we must just be patient."
-"we must keep very quiet, too," said slyne, "unless we want to give the whole show away to the enemy in advance. we must clear off out of london till then. i'll tell you what, jobling! why shouldn't we all go down to scotland to-night?"
-mr. jobling nodded agreement. "an excellent idea," he declared. "there's nothing to keep us here."
-"that's settled, then," slyne asserted. "and we'll all dine together at the savoy before we start. i think we can afford to celebrate the occasion, eh! and i want to show lady josceline a few of her future friends."
-"pleasures and palaces"
-the duchess of dawn was dining a number of notabilities at the savoy, on her way to a command performance at the gaiety; a fact of which the fashionable world was well aware, because the young duchess is a great lady in london as well as elsewhere, and all her doings are chronicled in advance. the fashionable world had promptly decided to dine there too, and telephoned in breathless haste for tables. it filled the restaurant at an unusually early hour, and a disappointed overflow displayed itself in the foyer.
-the duchess of dawn is one of the most beautiful women in england. the eyes of the fashionable world were focussed on her and her guests, among whom were a minor european prince and a famous field-marshal who had not been on show in london for long, until there appeared from the crowded foyer, upon the arm of an old-young man of distinguished appearance and faultless tenue, a tall, slender girl, at whom, as she passed, every one turned to gaze, with undisguised admiration or envy, according to sex and temperament.
-she was gowned to distraction, and by an artist in women's wear. her beautiful bare arms and shoulders and bosom were free of superfluous ornament. her pure, proud, sensitive features were faintly flushed,--as though, if that were conceivable, she was wearing evening dress for the first time, and found it trying,--but her curved crimson lips were slightly parted in a most bewitching smile, and, from under their drooping lashes, her radiant eyes looked a demure, amused, impersonal defiance at the frankly curious faces upturned toward her. the shaded lights made most enchanting lights and shadows among her hair, red-gold and heaped about her head in heavy coils, as she moved modestly through the thronged room toward a corner where, about a beautifully decorated table, four motionless waiters were standing guard over four empty chairs.
-she sat down there, her back to the bulk of the company, and her escort took the seat opposite. a portly, prosperous-looking, elderly man, with something a little suspicious about one of his eyes, and a squat, queerly-shaped old fellow in semi-clerical garb and wearing smoked glasses, completed the party. their waiters began to hover about them, and the fashionable world went on with its dinner.
-"who was that lovely girl?" the duchess of dawn demanded of her vis-à-vis, the veteran soldier, and he, reputed among women to have no heart at all, recalled himself with an evident start from the reverie into which he had fallen. he almost blushed, indeed, under the duchess's blandly discerning smile.
-"i don't know, i'm sure, duchess," he returned, smiling also, in spite of himself, and beckoned to a servant behind him, whom he despatched on some errand.
-"she's registered as miss harris, your lordship," the man announced in an undertone when he returned.
-"miss harris!" echoed the prince, who was also a soldier. he had overheard. and, as he in turn caught the duchess's eyes, he lay back laughing, a little ruefully. but the man opposite him, the master of armies, was not amused.
-"i'd like to know who and what those three fellows with miss harris may be," said he.
-at their table in the corner, they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. the three men were toasting sallie and each other with equal good-will. and even sallie had dismissed from her mind the last of her lingering doubts as to the reality and endurance of her part in that most amazing new life, had put the past with all its horrors resolutely behind her, was too much interested in the entertaining present to trouble about the future at the moment.
-captain dove had seemingly forgotten, for the time being at any rate, his grievance against slyne, and was in his most lamb-like mood. while slyne did not even demur against the quantities of expensive wine the old man consumed during dinner. mr. jobling, too, was displaying symptoms of convivial hilarity when they at length left the restaurant. but most of the other tables were empty by then.
-mr. jobling and captain dove, arm in arm, affectionately maintained each other as far as their sitting-room, while slyne accompanied sallie to her own door. he had been making himself most agreeable to her, and had pointed out a number of the notorieties and one or two of the celebrities present; although it had somewhat startled her to be told that she would very soon be on familiar terms with them all.
-"aren't you glad now that you agreed to the bargain we made on the olive branch--and in monte carlo?" he asked by the way. he was smiling gaily.
-she smiled back at him, and, "i'm not sorry--so far, jasper," she answered, looking deep into his eyes.
-he nodded, as if quite satisfied, and turned away to escape that embarrassing scrutiny.
-"we'll be starting in half an hour or so," he informed her from a safe distance, and, "i'll be all ready," she called cheerfully after him.
-a little before eleven he came in again and they all set out for the station to catch their train.
-it was a cold, clear, frosty night, and the strand was at its busiest as sallie looked out at it from the taxi into which slyne and ambrizette had followed her at the hotel portico. another, containing captain dove and their legal adviser, still on the most amicable terms, although captain dove as a rule could not stand anyone afflicted with hiccough, crawled close behind them through the turmoil until, at the gaiety corner, a policeman delayed it to let the cross-traffic through.
-a crowd had gathered there to gaze at the royalties who would presently be coming out of the theatre. slyne drew sallie back from the open window at sight of two men, one of whom seemed all shirt-front, looking down at the congested street from the empty steps of the principal entrance.
-"that ass ingoldsby!" he explained to sallie, and was evidently a good deal disturbed. "and--dubois, as well," he added. "i thought i had shaken him off in paris. i'm sure he saw me, too."
-a little farther on he stopped the taxi and beckoned to one of those street-arabs who make a living about the kerb.
-"go to the gentleman with the beard, on the steps of the gaiety," he instructed that very alert messenger, "and say to him that a friend wants a word with him here."
-sallie observed the suppressed grimace of surprise on the face of the individual who almost at once arrived in the wake of his ragged mercury: and slyne, having tossed the latter a shilling, held out his hand to m. dubois.
-"charmed to see you in london, mon confrère," said he. "have you yet discovered your man?"
-"i am hard at his heels," the detective answered, his eyes searching slyne's as if, sallie thought, for some sign that that shaft had hit home.
-but slyne's expression was one of ingenuous simplicity. he bowed, as if with deep respect.
-"i caught a glimpse of some one most amazingly like myself, one day on the faubourg st. honoré, as i was passing through paris," he mentioned reflectively.
-"thanks," returned dubois. "it was he, no doubt. and--he's in london now."
-slyne did not wince, even at that.
-"he was dining at the savoy to-night," said dubois indifferently. "how does your own affair progress?"
-"assez bien," slyne answered in an even voice. "i have followed my quarry home and am awaiting developments."
-"you will be in london for a little, then?"
-"for the next week or ten days, i expect," slyne lied with perfect aplomb.
-"we shall meet again, in that case," declared the detective, glancing at sallie; and, "au plaisir de vous revoir, monsieur," slyne returned deferentially.
-"to grosvenor square now--and hurry along," he directed the driver in a voice his enemy could not fail to hear. and the taxicab swung into drury lane, on its way west.
-for a few minutes he sat silent, with bent head, biting at his moustache. then he looked round at sallie.
-"that fellow takes me for another man," he told her querulously. "he's been dogging me ever since he first saw me at monte carlo. you've no idea, sallie, what a dangerous risk i had to run there--for your sake."
-"you haven't told me much about--anything, jasper," she reminded him. and he proceeded to describe in lurid detail the fate which would undoubtedly have befallen him had m. dubois been able then to fasten on him responsibility for the misdeeds of that criminal whom he so unfortunately resembled.
-sallie listened in silence. she had been wondering whether m. dubois could be in any way concerned with her affairs. she gathered that he was interested only in slyne. the latter's story of grave risk run for her sake fell somewhat flat, since it seemed to rest on the mere possibility of his having been mistaken for somebody else. she could scarcely believe that his fear of m. dubois had no other foundation. she even ventured to suggest that he could easily have proved the detective in the wrong.
-"he wouldn't have paid the slightest attention to anything i could say," slyne assured her tartly. "he wouldn't have asked any questions or listened to any statement of mine. you don't know anything about the outrages that are committed every day by fellows like that on men like myself who have no fixed residence, sallie; and no powerful friends to whom to appeal against such infernal injustice. i can't tell you how thankful i'll be, on your account as well as my own, when we're married and safely settled down, with a home of our own to feel safe in!
-"look, there's where we'll live when we're in london."
-sallie looked out. they were whirling past one of the most imposing houses in grosvenor square. "is it an hotel?" she asked, and observed that all but one or two of its topmost windows were dark.
-"it's the earl of jura's town house," said slyne, apparently somewhat piqued by her seeming indifference. "it's yours now--or will be as soon as the chancery court wakes up again."
-sallie glanced back and caught another glimpse of it as the taxicab slowed again to take the corner of the square. slyne had picked up the speaking-tube.
-"get us to the station now, as fast as you can," he told the driver: and then, having glanced at his watch, lighted a cigarette. he seemed to have no more to say at the moment, and sallie was busy with thoughts of her own. she was wondering whether justin carthew could be living in that great house. she could not understand.... but she did not dare to ask jasper slyne for any information, since he had shown her more than once already that he did not intend to tell her any more than he thought fit.
-when they finally reached the station they found mr. jobling awaiting them there and very anxious over their late arrival.
-"we drove round by grosvenor square," slyne told the lawyer nonchalantly. "and--we're in lots of time."
-mr. jobling looked cross. "five minutes more would have lost you the train," he remarked somewhat sourly. "and where would captain dove and i have been then!"
-as it was, however, they found captain dove in his berth, sound asleep, although still fully dressed. and, as slyne ushered sallie into the double compartment reserved for her and ambrizette, "don't go to bed just yet," he begged. "i want to show you something by and by. you'll have lots of time for a long sleep before we arrive."
-"all right, jasper," she agreed. "i'll wait up till you come for me."
-when he at length knocked at her door again, mr. jobling was still with her. she came out between them into the narrow corridor. slyne rubbed clear one steamy window to let her see the wintry landscape through which they were travelling at express speed. and sallie looked out delighted, at the sleeping english countryside as its broad grass-lands and bare brown acres, coverts and coppices, hedgerows and lanes, with here and there a grange or a group of cottages, all still and silent, flashed into sight and so disappeared; until, overlooking them all from a knoll on the near bank of a broad, winding river, there loomed up a most magnificent mansion, embedded, in lordly seclusion, among many gnarled and age-old oaks, with gardens terrace on terrace about it, tall fountains among their empty flower-beds, a moss-grown sun-dial at the edge of a quiet, silver lake.
-the moon was shining full on its innumerable windows, so that it seemed to be lighted up from within, although, in reality, all were shuttered and dark. aloof and very stately it stood on that windless night, an empty palace which came and went in a few moments, wing after wing, with its stabling and courtyards, and still more gardens, all within an endless, ivy-clad encircling wall.
-"what place is that?" asked sallie in an awed tone as soon as the train had rumbled across the bridge.
-"that's justicehall, lady josceline,--your english country seat, and one of the finest properties in the shires," mr. jobling informed her before slyne could speak. "you'll be living there within a few weeks--and forgetting all your old friends!"
-sallie did not sleep much that night. her brain was far too busy. she could scarcely believe that less than a week had elapsed since she had stepped ashore from the olive branch.
-nor could she yet reconcile herself to the fact that her new life must lie amid such scenes as those to which jasper slyne had so far introduced her. she had liked monte carlo, and paris, and london as any girl might. the great house in grosvenor square she had mistaken for an hotel. but the calmly arrogant grandeur of justicehall had merely oppressed her. and the idea that she might have to live there did not please her at all. for how could she, a creature of the free air, of sunshine and wind and sea and the world's waste places, be happy immured within that immense edifice, encircled by servants, hemmed in on every side by unaccustomed conventionalities, all as distasteful as new to her. she made up her mind, there and then, that, if she might have any say on that subject, justicehall should stay empty.
-but--would she have any say on that subject, or any other? she did not know. jasper slyne had so far told her only so much as he thought fit of what was before her. she lay quite still in her narrow berth, gazing out at the window whose blind she had bidden ambrizette loose from the catch, a hundred puzzled, helpless questions thronging through her head, till the moon failed her and all was darkness but for the flashes of red or green or yellow light that swept past as the train sped through some wayside station or sleeping town.
-then she too fell asleep at last, and so forgot her difficulties till she awoke again in a new and most wonderful world; a world of gaunt, grey mountains and wide dark moors, white tumbling torrents on hillsides, in deep ravines, forests of stately fir and pine that looked like the masts of ships; a world, moreover, which seemed in some sense familiar and friendly to her.
-day was breaking and ambrizette was already astir. she had come quietly in and closed the curtains during the night, and was now once more looping them back to let in the first of the sun. sallie lay for a little longer watching the sunrise warm those enchanted solitudes into a golden semblance of fairy-land.
-there was snow on the near mountain-tops that turned from the tint of pigeon-blood rubies to pink, from pink to amber, and so to the purest white. the train was travelling through an extensive plantation of silver birches, amid which a lordly stag, paralysed by its swift approach, stood starkly at bay with a timid hind at its heels. a myriad rabbits were diving madly into the bracken on every side. above in the blue a belated wild-goose was winging its hasty way to some warmer clime; for there was something more than a hint of hard, black frost in the morning air.
-another station swept past, a trim little place with some picturesque cottages perched on the high ground about it. a marvellous vista of water, a long, winding lake in the midst of the mountains, was visible for a few moments, and then ambrizette brought in tea.
-twenty minutes later, sallie was up and dressed for the day, in a short-skirted shooting-suit of harris tweed, heather-proof stockings and smart ankle-boots. when slyne knocked and she went out to speak to him, he stood for a moment gazing at her with unbounded gratification, and then, "gad! sallie," said he, holding out his hand. "you're her ladyship to the life now. you'll certainly look your part at loquhariot."
-she smiled back at him. he was scarcely less trig than herself in his knickerbockers and norfolk jacket.
-"i hope--it isn't a place like justicehall, is it, jasper?" she asked anxiously.
-he raised his eyebrows, and laughed, a little surprised.
-"why, scarcely," said he, "from what jobling tells me. but--didn't you like the look of justicehall? well, i hope you won't actually despise loquhariot, sallie. 'be it never so humble,' you know--"
-the man in possession
-"is that loquhariot!" asked sallie.
-the weatherly little steamer on which she had been travelling along that wonderful coast since leaving the train had just rounded a high, bluff headland and all at once opened out the wide waters of loch jura, mirror-like in the still afternoon among the frowning mountains about them. mr. jobling and slyne were with her on the bridge. captain dove strolled up at that moment, his hands in his pockets, his soft felt hat on the back of his head, a cigar cocked between his teeth at an equally rakish angle. sallie was staring straight ahead, with wide, apprehensive eyes.
-"is that loquhariot!" she asked again, almost in a whisper, as she gazed helplessly at the high battlements of the ancient stronghold which looks from its lofty promontory down the whole length of the loch, unchanged in its seaward face since the date of its building. even captain dove was impressed by the picture it made.
-"that's your castle of loquhariot, lady josceline," mr. jobling at length replied, and went on to tell her its history, learned from the guide-book and locally when he had been there before.
-the castle of loquhariot dates back to the sixteenth century. but for long ere that, a squat, four-square fortalice had occupied its site. legend has it that the grim, grey keep which to-day covers the whole surface of what was then a high rocky island but is now a mere peninsula of the mainland, was first conceived in the mind of the then lord jura, a plain scots baron of piratical tendencies, who had brought back from the spanish main--whither he had sailed in the company of another of the same kidney as himself, one francis drake--a veritable shipload of doubloons and pieces-of-eight; and that its ramparts had first been armed and manned, in haste, when the remains of the great armada came drifting southward from cape wrath on its hapless way home to spain, after that same francis drake had done with it.
-to-day, at any rate, may be seen in more than one of the embrasures on those ramparts, some culverin or falconet salved from the wreck of a great galleon which went to pieces on the small isles, at the mouth of the loch. and in a little graveyard on the smallest of the small isles stands a weather-beaten stone which says that round about it lie buried the bones of a great mort of spaniards there interred by their sworn enemies in august, a. d. 1588.
-it must undoubtedly have cost at least a shipload of doubloons to build the castle. but the then baron did not build it all, for there are towers and wings and bastions added, on the landward side, during the next two centuries; whose cost would seem to show that his piratical lordship did not leave his descendants quite penniless. the circular north keep alone--where the billiard-room is nowadays--must undoubtedly have cost its imaginative progenitor a small fortune.
-the whole edifice, as it now stands, is a monument, apparently imperishable, to the greatness and grandeur, past, present, and to come, of the jura family. and sallie, staring at it with wide, apprehensive eyes, from the bridge of the busy little coaster, listening to mr. jobling's descriptive quotations, with captain dove of the olive branch, and jasper slyne for company, felt infinitely dispirited by the knowledge that she and none other was the present representative of that proud race.
-the steamer drew in toward the anchorage and a ferryboat put off from the shore to meet it. the kilted highlandmen therein looked askance at ambrizette and crossed themselves quite openly as she was handed down into it from the gangway. slyne followed and held out his arms to sallie, but she needed no such assistance. and the men in the boat seemed better content after a glance or two at her as she sat down and slipped a warm arm around ambrizette, who was shivering in the winter afternoon.
-the two remaining travellers jumped in, the baggage was transshipped, and the steamer swung about on her way to the farther north. the captain sounded his steam-whistle and waved his cap in parting salute as the ferry made its slow way ashore to the further accompaniment of a dirge-like chorus from the crew at its heavy sweeps; at which music captain dove snorted his disgust very audibly. he had awoke with a headache and had been in a bad temper all day.
-by the way slyne held a low-toned conversation with mr. jobling. and when the big boat was at length beached beside a rude pier, he paid the ferryman liberally, distributed some small change among the oarsmen, and bade them bring the baggage along to the little inn on the roadside at a short distance.
-"better send ambrizette with me," he said to sallie, and the black dwarf trotted off after him in obedience to a few words from her mistress, while mr. jobling turned the other way, toward the castle.
-"we'll just have time to see over the old place before it's dark, lady josceline," the lawyer explained, and sallie followed him with captain dove.
-slyne rejoined them before they were half-way up the long hill on the road which leads from the shore-level to the plateau. sallie was still staring with troubled eyes at the huge, picturesque, rambling pile which seemed to grow always more immense as they drew nearer to it. it dwarfed into proportions almost infinitesimal the cluster of white cottages nestling cosily at the base of the great rock which formed its foundation. it seemed to dominate the whole visible world, to challenge even the mighty mountains which shut it in with the sea.
-"that's the water-gate," mr. jobling mentioned and pointed out a black, oblong opening in the cliff-face at some height above even high-water mark and protected against possible intrusion by a heavy iron grating whose bars must have been as thick as a grown man's wrist. "i suppose the sea would be right up to its sill when the place was built.
-"there's an underground passage connecting it with the interior of the castle, and they'd no doubt use that a good deal in the old days.
-"and this is the north keep, as it's called; newer, you'll maybe notice, than the west frontage, although it looks just as ancient. we'll soon have the jura house-flag afloat again from the warder's tower, lady josceline, and the beacon-fire alight after dark. it always burns at night, you know, when the head of the family's in residence--a custom dating back to the days when there were no other lights on the coast.
-"you'll see the moat now. long ago it was always full, even at low tide. but now it's as dry as--"
-"as i am!" grumbled captain dove, spitting down into the deep fosse which had formerly cut the castle off from the mainland but is now no more than an empty ravine spanned by an ornate drawbridge of modern date.
-they crossed that, their footsteps producing an eerie clank on the planking, and came to a halt before the main entrance, over whose heavy, iron-studded oak doors still hung, a mute reminder of more stormy times, a massive portcullis armed with chevaux-de-frise of long, pointed spikes.
-slyne rang the electric door-bell.
-it was some time before that summons was answered, but no one of the waiting group seemed to have anything to say to the others during the interval. the mystery of time itself was in the atmosphere. some brooding spirit of the past might have been peering out at them from the watchman's wicket in the bartizan above. they stood still and silent until, at last, the postern in the big double-doorway was unlatched from within and a grey-haired, elderly woman with a hard-featured face, much lined and seamed, in the stiffly rustling garb of a superior servant, appeared in the narrow opening and dropped them an old-fashioned curtsy after a quick, shrewd glance at them.
-the woman was gazing intently at sallie. she started as mr. jobling coughed, with intention, after they had waited a second or two for an answer.
-"you will be very welcome, sirs," she said hastily. "i have authority to admit visitors. will you be pleased to step in."
-she looked long and very closely at sallie again as the girl crossed the threshold; and then at the others in turn as they entered, one at a time, by the narrow postern. she closed it behind them, and led the way through a low, arched passage into a dimly lighted but spacious hall.
-"we've just passed through the walls," mr. jobling informed them patronisingly, of his superior knowledge. "they're twelve feet thick on this front. loquhariot would still be a hard nut to crack, eh?"
-"i'd sooner crack a bottle than a nut," commented captain dove aside to slyne, who frowned reprovingly at him.
-the great hall they entered next could almost have housed a regiment. but it, like the guard-room through which they had come, was peopled only in dusky corners by fearsomely lifelike suits of armour. its empty fireplaces made it seem still more desolate and deserted. war-worn flags hung from the gallery overhead, to which a wide stairway with many shallow steps gave access. dead and gone justices and st. justs and juras looked coldly down, from out of dark, tarnished frames, at the whispering intruders.
-"you're mrs. m'kissock, aren't you?" mr. jobling remarked with affable condescension as they followed that hard-featured personage into a seemingly endless passage lined and hung with heads and horns and other trophies of the chase from all parts of the world.
-she glanced sharply round at him again and bowed in silent assent.
-"i've been here before, you know," he mentioned as she ushered the little party into the first of an extensive suite of rooms at the far end of the corridor they had traversed. sallie could scarcely repress the exclamation of pleasure that rose to her lips; for the rooms, all opening into each other and with the doors wide, stretched across the entire breadth of the building, so that their furthest windows looked straight out to sea. there was nothing between them and the wide atlantic but a cluster of miniature islets, emerald-green, at the distant mouth of the loch.
-"this was her late ladyship's favourite suite," said mrs. m'kissock precisely. "the outermost room was her boudoir once. but his lordship had that altered--afterwards."
-sallie listened like one in a dream. she could scarcely believe that these had once been her own mother's rooms, that this gaunt, austere serving-woman was stating matters of fact in that dry, lifeless voice of hers. she longed to get mrs. m'kissock alone and question her about--everything. but she had been warned by both mr. jobling and jasper slyne that she must contain every symptom of curiosity till they could grant her permission to speak for herself.
-she passed, with a little, impatient sigh, from one range of rooms to another, each with its own tag of story or history duly related by mrs. m'kissock, until they reached the great hall again from a further passage, and very glad of her expert guidance through such a maze.
-from there the housekeeper took them, by way of the central staircase and gallery up a steep corkscrew stair in a turret to the top of what had been the main tower before the north keep had been built, and out on to the battlements, where the spanish guns still stand guard, among a multitude of other obsolete pieces, including a carronade or two from the ancient foundry at falkirk, over the equally futile suits of mail in the halls below.
-"this part of the castle is private, sir," mrs. m'kissock informed mr. jobling, who had already stepped in.
-"i'd like my friends to see the sunset from the warder's tower," he returned, "if you don't mind. we won't disturb anyone on our way upstairs."
-mrs. m'kissock still looked uncertain, but slyne had already followed the lawyer's lead and captain dove was calmly pushing past her. she glanced at sallie again, and then bowed her also in. and they all proceeded quietly up the carpeted winding staircase, past several landings, the doors of which were closed.
-but the door at the turret-top was wide, and mrs. m'kissock was obviously a good deal disturbed in her mind as mr. jobling stepped to one side and politely gave sallie precedence out into the open air.
-sallie smiled careless thanks for the courtesy and was still smiling when she emerged from the low doorway and stopped just beyond its threshold, so that mr. jobling and the others behind her had to wait patiently where they were while she gazed, enraptured and forgetful of all else, at the scene before her.
-the sun was setting, blood-red, over the far sea-rim, and there was no least cloud in the radiant sky. the clear-cut mountains on either hand, the still loch and the broad atlantic beyond it were all aglow with a marvellous, mystic light; the little cottages on the shore, three hundred sheer feet below her, were crimson instead of white; the very smoke which came from their chimneys seemed somehow ethereal and unreal.
-she stood alone for a moment or two in a world transformed, till the quick, keen, exquisite pleasure of it brought a mist to her eyes that blurred it all, and, as she raised a hand to brush that away, she suddenly realized that she was not alone. there was a young man leaning over an embrasure at one corner of the battlements, who had been gazing, like her, at the sunset till she had come forth.
-he was gazing at her now, and with even more admiration, however unconscious, than he had been bestowing on the beauties of nature inanimate; for the waning light had transfigured her sweet, sensitive features also, and into a semblance such as one might imagine an angel would wear.
-her eyes met his, and they two stood regarding each other so for the space of five fateful seconds. she had recognised him at once, but it was apparent that he did not yet know who she was.
-he came forward then, limping a little, and bowed, bareheaded, to her; a sufficiently self-confident youth, straight and limber, good-looking enough, with smiling grey eyes and a mobile mouth, somewhat wistful at that moment in spite of his eyes.
-"i'm sorry if i'm in the way," he said pleasantly. "won't you come out and look round? the view all about is beyond any words of mine--and you're only seeing part of it there."
-he hesitated slightly, regarding her with a very puzzled expression, before plunging further, and then, "i'm justin carthew," he continued, since she made no move at all, "although my lawyers would have me believe that i'm the ninth earl of jura now!" he laughed aloud, as if that idea were amusing. "in any case," he concluded naïvely, "the sunset doesn't belong to me."
-she stepped out into the afterglow, still without a word, her mind full of vague misgivings. and, as mr. jobling followed her from the doorway, with slyne and captain dove at his heels, and mrs. m'kissock, nervously fumbling with her chatelaine, last of all, justin carthew drew back a couple of paces.
-"your lawyers have misinformed you, mr. carthew," said mr. jobling in his most dogmatic manner. "you are no more the ninth earl of jura than i am, because--let me introduce you--more formally!--to lady josceline justice, the late earl's daughter, on whose property you are trespassing here."
-justin carthew was standing as if thunderstruck by these extraordinary statements. his incredulous glance shifted from the stout stranger of the tinted eye and the inimical stare to the others of the little group regarding him, until it met sallie's again, and they two looked blankly into each other's eyes while mr. jobling proceeded to introduce himself as her ladyship's legal adviser, and stated briefly the grounds on which his dogmatic assertion was based.
-to carthew, the lawyer's voice seemed to come from very far away, but none the less intelligibly, as he himself stood gazing at the girl to whom he owed his life, whom he had last seen late at night among the shadows on the deck of the olive branch in genoa harbour. at first sight it had seemed so utterly impossible that it could be she who had stepped out on to the warder's tower of loquhariot that he had supposed the sun in his eyes and a striking resemblance must have combined to delude him.
-but--he knew now that it was really she. and as mr. jobling, concluding his homily, mentioned again who she claimed to be, he was dazedly thankful that he had not at once contradicted her lawyer; as he might have done--since he knew as a matter of fact that the real lady josceline justice was dead.
-mr. jobling had also repeated that mr. carthew was trespassing there. but at that sallie turned on her legal adviser in generous indignation, and he shrank into the background again as she spoke.
-"if this is my property, as you say it is," she flashed, "what right have you to tell any visitor that he is trespassing here! and if mr. carthew has been misinformed--"
-"he isn't a visitor, sallie. he's the man in possession at present," whispered the smartly-dressed young-old man who had been studying carthew with a most supercilious expression, "and you'd better leave mr. jobling to deal with him." he was obviously not at all pleased with her, and his whisper was perfectly audible.
-the girl had stopped to listen to him. "we're evidently the trespassers, then," she finished. "we have no business here at all while he remains in possession."
-the other man of the party, a white-haired old fellow in clerical garb and wearing a pair of smoked glasses, also turned angrily toward her. but at that moment mrs. m'kissock came stumbling forward between them, with a little broken cry, all her habitual self-restraint vanished, her harsh features working, very near tears; and, lifting a hand of the girl's in both of her own to her lips, fondled it foolishly, muttering disconnected phrases.
-"i knew--i knew it from the first," she mumbled, "and yet--i did not dare believe my own eyes. but now--god bless your bonny ladyship! and god be thanked for that you have at last come back to your own! loquhariot has waited very long for this late day, and--
-"say ye now there's a man in possession!" she spoke up, glancing defiance at the individual in the norfolk suit and then, though with less of disfavour, at justin carthew. "say ye so?--and to me, who have kept the keys of the empty castle of loquhariot for her ladyship here, ever since the red earl her father laid that trust on me from his death-bed!
-"you have been ill-informed. there is no man in possession here."
-carthew was staring at her as if he were altogether at his wits' end. he almost doubted the evidence of his own ears. had he not known as a matter of fact that lady josceline justice was dead, old janet m'kissock's spontaneous championship of this pretender would almost have convinced him to the contrary. he could feel sure of only one further fact, which was that sallie herself had been tricked into her impostor's part.
-however, he had no time just then to come to any further conclusion. he had to decide at once what he should do to safeguard her, and did so, recalling only the debt he owed her.
-"there has evidently been some mistake," said he, looking levelly into her troubled eyes. "i hope you won't hold me to blame for that. and, believe me, i'm very glad that you have come to loquhariot."
-he could say no more than that at the moment. he bowed to her, and, turning into the turret doorway, limped off downstairs. he wanted to be alone for a little. he wanted time to think. he felt absolutely stunned.
-mrs. m'kissock, no less perturbed, her cap all awry, followed him down the winding stairway as far as the door of the rooms he had only occupied for a day or two.
-"i'm going to remove to the inn," he said, in answer to her agitated excuses and explanations. "it will be better so in the meantime. will you tell one of the men to take my baggage there for me, please?"
-he did not deem it advisable just then to ask her any question or make any comment at all. and within another minute or two he had passed out of the postern, surrendering the castle of loquhariot, for the time being, to one who had no claim or title to it.
-but, as he stopped beyond the drawbridge to light the pipe he had mechanically pulled out, he pursed up his lips as though to whistle. and, "what proof can i produce!" he exclaimed, moving on again with the cold pipe between his teeth, his head bent, perplexed to the last degree.
-the walk through the darkling woods to the village and the cold, clean air cleared his wits a little. he found ambrizette huddled over the fire in the best room at the jura arms, and, having bespoken supper and a bed for himself, went on along the shore road to think things out, if he could.
-only half an hour before, he had been congratulating himself on the fact that his troubles were nearing an end. and now--
-"it's been nothing but trouble ever since i first saw that damned advertisement," he remarked to himself, recalling step after painful step of the way he had travelled to where he was.
-a few months before he had seen and answered an anxious advertisement in an american paper for any surviving relative, no matter how distant, of the jura family, he had invested all of his scarce capital in a cattle-run in texas which seemed to promise to pay quick profits. and, in spite of all that the english lawyers who had replied to his letter could say to tempt him, he had remained quite firm in his wise resolution to stay there and reap those profits before crossing the atlantic in pursuit of his further fortune; until a smart junior partner of theirs had paid him a flying visit at the ranch, and proved to him how foolishly he was acting against his own interests.
-for it seemed, after due investigation and proof positive of his distant kinship with the family, that there could be only one life between him and the title of earl of jura, with all that pertained thereto--a life which even the very conservative english court of chancery was by then disposed to presume extinct.
-the astute young lawyer had told carthew all the facts which his firm had managed to ferret out concerning the late countess's disappearance and death. it seemed, humanly speaking, impossible that her child could have survived her. justin carthew had thought it all over and an accident had settled the question for him. his pony came down with him one day and he was badly trampled by the steers he had been heading. his doctor sentenced him to six months' rest--out of the saddle. as soon as he was able to move he raised a mortgage on the ranch and made for london. that mortgage was almost due by now, and his expected profit on the run had faded into a stiff loss during his absence.
-messrs. bolder & bolder, the lawyers aforesaid, had made it clear to him from the first that, while they had the utmost faith in the outcome of their exertions on his behalf, they could not see their way to place their services and special knowledge at his disposal except on a spot-cash basis; that, in short, he must provide in advance the money to foot their bill. he had done so, and they, in return, had not failed to implement all their promises. even now he could not feel that they had dealt unfairly by him.
-and the balance of his bank account had been eaten up by his expedition to africa in search of more authentic record of the ex-dancer countess's death and as to the fate of her child. he had taken that somewhat rash step, too, of his own free will and for his own personal satisfaction. he was personally aware now that both the countess and her daughter were dead; but--he could bring forward no proof at all of that fact, and, as bolder & bolder had politely pointed out to him, his personal testimony alone was that of an interested party and worthless to them or anyone else.
-he had suffered sorely, both body and mind, since he and his party had been betrayed into el farish's hands by an arab guide. and now--
-he was a penniless peer of the united kingdom, with every prospect of being unable to maintain those rights which he knew were his, an impecunious citizen of the united states, with a foreclosure threatening him there. the result of all his own efforts so far was failure.
-and yet, he felt that he ought to be thankful that he had come through alive. "a living dog is better than a dead lion," he told himself. "and--i owe that girl my life. but for her, i'd be--" he shrugged his shoulders. it was not pleasant, there in the dark, to recall that hole in the sand on the african coast which he had only escaped by a hairbreadth, thanks to her.
-"i wouldn't be here at all," he reflected. "and that fat lawyer of hers would see her settled into my place without any fuss. he said, in fact, that the chancery court had practically admitted her claim to it already.
-"and now--how am i to get up and swear she's a fraud! how am i to repay all i owe her--by fighting her for another man's leavings!"
-he halted, to fill his pipe, and found it full. he lighted it, and turned back toward the inn. it had just recurred to him that, even if he were disposed to fight her for his inheritance, there were very strong financial reasons as well as merely sentimental ones against that course. he was already in bolder & bolder's debt. he had had to apply to them by wire for his fare to london from genoa. they had further defrayed the court costs of that order of access to the archives of loquhariot which mr. justice gaunt had recently made in his favour, and had furnished him with a few pounds for subsequent expenses.
-but they had taken the opportunity to mention, always politely, that they could go no farther than that beyond the terms of their original bargain: and that the next advance of cash must come from him to them.
-in a word, he could not afford to fight either her or anyone else just then. and he had a very strong impression that the fat lawyer who had interposed between him and the girl would put up a protracted, expensive battle on her behalf.
-"but some day i'll have a couple of rounds with him," carthew promised himself. "just at the moment--my hands are tied. and, what's more, the courts are closed."
-"i can't hurt her, in any case," he declared conclusively to the night. "i'm not much of a judge of girls, but--she's--
-"i must just wait and see," he said to himself. "i'm helpless. and--i'm hers, anyhow, as i told her in genoa. a promise is a promise, no matter what its keeping costs."
-he looked up at the black bulk of the castle in the distance. its numberless narrow windows were all aglow, and in a cresset on one tower a fire was burning brightly.
-"she's taken possession all right," he cogitated. "but probably she doesn't even know that the beacon's been kindled."
-as he limped through the village again, he could not but notice the unusual stir in its long single street. at every cottage door there was a whispering group staring up at the warder's tower. the sound of oars in haste reached his ears from across the loch. and he was aware of many inquisitive glances directed at him as he passed.
-his simple supper was awaiting him in the best room of the little inn. the black dwarf had been sent for from the castle, the outwardly stolid and incurious maid-of-all-work informed him. he sat down by the fire, content for the moment as he recalled the glamour of the afterglow from the west and sallie's grave glance.
-he thought of nothing else throughout his meal, and afterwards, puffing at a cigar in the lamp-lit porch with a plaid about him to keep the cold out, could scarcely bring himself to consider his own precarious situation again. when he at last applied his mind to that he was somewhat dispirited.
-he had only a few shillings left in his purse, and could not afford to stay where he was for more than a day or two. he was a stranger in a strange land, a land in which, as he had learned already, men in their prime had to compete keenly for work which might bring them in no more than four or five dollars a week: a very unpromising land in which to be left with empty pockets.
-"perhaps old herries will give me a week or two's work at something or other about the estate," he communed with himself. "but, then,--that bloated lawyer would probably interfere; and, while i lie low, herries will be under his thumb to a great extent. he's under the weather too, poor old chap!"
-he was still shaking his head disconsolately when his cogitations were cut short by the sound of clattering hoofs and the hurried arrival of one on horseback, who galloped up to the jura arms and slipped like a sack from his saddle, and swayed and staggered while his blown steed looked inquiringly round at him, till justin carthew slipped an arm about him and would have led him indoors.
-"what are you doing here, mr. herries?" carthew demanded, amazed. "you should be at home in bed, and--"
-"the beacon?" gasped the new-comer, a haggard, sick-looking old man with a long white beard, almost spent, but none the less resolute not to enter the inn.
-"it seems that lady josceline justice has just arrived at the castle," carthew informed him concisely, after a moment of hesitation.
-"lady--josceline--justice!" the other repeated dazedly, but with evident disbelief. "did you say--lady josceline justice! you're surely joking, mr. carthew--although it would be no joke for you if her ladyship had come back to life."
-"i'm not joking," carthew assured him.
-"but--how can it be!" the other demanded. "i can't conceive--have you seen her yourself?"
-"yes, i've seen her," declared carthew. he could not have answered otherwise without betraying sallie.
-"but come away in. you must get between the blankets again at once," he insisted firmly. "a five-mile gallop on a night like this is quite enough to finish you. and there will be time enough in the morning--to pay her ladyship a call."
-"i've been factor of loquhariot these five and thirty years--and it would ill become me to be abed at such a moment. i'm going up now," the sick man asserted stubbornly. "i'm responsible for all that goes on here, as you know very well, mr. carthew--and i've had no news at all of this. i can't understand--and yet--it must indeed be her ladyship, as you say, since janet m'kissock--"
-he caught at his horse's bridle again and tried to clamber into the saddle.
-a group of whispering villagers had gathered about the inn door, and they joined carthew in his well-meant remonstrances. but the anxious steward of the estate was not to be gainsaid by anyone.
-"if the lady josceline justice has come back to her own at last," he declared, shivering, "it is my undoubted duty to be on hand. and what matters else? get the pipes out, lads, and gather together. shall it be said of us that her ladyship lacked a true highland welcome home?"
-carthew, seeing him so set in his purpose and not knowing how to prevent him except, perhaps, at sallie's expense, saw nothing for it but to let events shape themselves. he brought the old man a little brandy, which served to steady him somewhat, so that he sat in his saddle none so limp at the head of the muster formed at his bidding. and carthew walked up the hill by his side, partly to help him, and partly in hope of another glimpse of the girl who had surely bewitched himself.
-at his heels tramped three stalwart pipers, and the still, star-lit night rang again to the shrill strains of the march they struck up; while close behind, keeping step to its lilt, came a couple of hundred or so of the villagers and their visitors from mountain and glen and shore. blazing pine-knots served for torches and lighted the way well, until they at length reached the landward front of the castle, where the sick man marshalled them in a wide, crimson half-moon about the drawbridge, while carthew held his horse for him at one side.
-the postern-door opened noiselessly and janet m'kissock looked out from within. herries crossed the drawbridge toward her, and, "eh, janet, woman!" said he, "what's all this i hear so late? they tell me that the lady josceline justice has come to loquhariot, and--"
-"it was because you were so ill that i didn't send word at once, mr. herries," the housekeeper put in defensively as he paused. "the beacon was fired without her ladyship's knowledge by one of her friends. i don't--"
-"it is her ladyship, then?" the factor demanded, searching her face with his keen, anxious, fevered eyes. "whence came she so suddenly, janet?"
-"it is indeed her ladyship," the old woman answered solemnly. "but--more than that i do not know. i have had all to see to since the sun set, and--"
-the other checked her plaint with an uplifted hand.
-"i'll hear about everything else by and by. and meantime--i've brought some of her own folk up to offer her welcome--since it is she," he said, all his doubts evidently dispelled by janet m'kissock's emphatic assurance. "will she come out to us for a few minutes, think ye?"
-"that will she, i'm sure," answered mrs. m'kissock. "her ladyship has a heart of gold, as it were, and a very kindly way with her. i'll send in word that her folk are here--she'll have finished dinner by now."
-she turned and left him, closing the postern behind her so that only the red torch-light illumined the high portcullis and level drawbridge until, presently, the massive main-doors of the castle swung slowly back on their well-oiled hinges and in the heart of the glow from within appeared sallie, with that young-old man whom justin carthew so disliked at her side in very correct evening clothes. but he stayed a little behind as she stepped forward and stopped under the portcullis, the flare of the torches full on her face, a very dazzling vision indeed. for she also was dressed for the evening, and in a creation from paris.
-carthew's heart was thumping as he drew farther aside into the shadows. she had not noticed him in his plaid, holding the old man's horse.
-even during the bewildering whirl of those days which had passed so swiftly since she had escaped from the olive branch, sallie had thought very often of justin carthew and the strange situation in which circumstances had all conspired to place them toward each other.
-since she had found out what her rehabilitation, as lady josceline justice, was going to cost him, she had been very anxious to see him again and make everything clear between him and her. but she could scarcely disclose to the others that she had met him before. neither captain dove nor jasper slyne knew anything about him beyond what they had heard from mr. jobling. and mr. jobling could or would tell her nothing, in reply to a timid question or two she had put to him, beyond the bare fact that she had nothing to fear from the young american's ill-founded claim to her rightful place in the world.
-she had been very anxious to see him again. but it had startled and confused her at first to find him, so evidently at home, on the warder's tower of loquhariot. for she could not then, before the others, say anything at all of what was in her mind; and she was afraid that he might unguardedly, on the spur of the moment, reveal their unavoidable joint secret.
-she could see that he had recognised her at last and that he was no less at a loss than herself. mr. jobling's gratuitous rudeness to him vexed her very much. the old housekeeper's half-hysterical outbreak surprised her beyond expression. and then he was gone, before she could make up her mind that it was her own proper part to have bidden him stay till something could have been settled.
-but when she suggested that to slyne he pooh-poohed the idea as absurd, and told her she ought to be very glad to have got rid of her rival so easily.
-he himself was in high glee over that unexpected outcome of mr. jobling's brusquely peremptory method with the interloper, and captain dove's face wore a triumphant grin. mr. jobling himself seemed inclined to be sulky with her, but the other two only laughed at his petulance.
-"we've got possession!" said slyne exultantly, "and that's nine points of the law, as you ought to know. if she hadn't taken the fellow's part he might have been more inclined to stand his ground. but now--up drawbridge and down portcullis! we'll hold the fort here, till that old chancery court of yours comes away with its final decision."
-captain dove poked the portly lawyer in the short ribs. "buck up, old rarebit!" he begged. "don't look so glum. this is home, sweet home now. come on down below and i'll get you some sort of a bracer from that sour-faced old scotch hag with the keys. my mouth feels just as if it were made of blotting-paper, too."
-"but you must go very slow yet, dove," slyne cautioned the elated seaman as he turned toward the stairway. "don't go too fast. we aren't safely enough settled yet to--"
-captain dove paused to look him between the eyes with a mirthless, meaning laugh.
-"this is my adopted daughter's castle now, mister slyne," said he. "when we want any advice from you about how we're to behave in it--or anything else--we'll let you know. d'ye see?"
-slyne's lips parted and closed again. he had evidently thought better of giving voice to any retort, however effective.
-"after you," he remarked politely, since captain dove still stood blocking the stairway and grinning fixedly back at him. "i must send down to the inn for ambrizette and our baggage at once. it will soon be quite dark."
-sallie followed them slowly, like one in a dream, and mr. jobling came last. as they reached the circular hall below, mrs. m'kissock, still much perturbed, came hurrying in from the corridor.
-"mr. carthew has gone, my lady," she said, dropping sallie another deep curtsey, "and if your ladyship will be pleased to rest here for a little, it will not be long till the west wing is all in order. i have only two maids to help me, with the castle empty so long, but i have sent down to the village for more, and maybe your ladyship will excuse--"
-sallie went up to her and took hold of the two trembling hands clasped tightly together against a jingling silver chatelaine.
-"janet," she said softly, and the agitated old woman looked gratefully up into her grave, wistful eyes, "i think you and i are going to be good friends, janet," she said, "because--we have both been so lonely. and i want you not to worry yourself about anything. there's no hurry, and we'll be quite content here till you have everything arranged as you wish."
-"i thank you kindly, my lady," answered mrs. m'kissock, and curtsied again, and was going off about her business, when slyne signed to her to wait a moment and drew sallie toward the door.
-"i'll have to go into a number of matters with you," said he condescendingly to the old housekeeper. "to save lady josceline trouble, you'll get all your instructions from me."
-mrs. m'kissock looked mutely to her new mistress for refutation or confirmation of his right to claim her services so; and sallie could not but nod as she recalled with a strange, new pang the promise she had made in genoa, and the lengthy document she had signed in the hôtel de paris.
-"this is mr. jasper slyne, janet," said she, "and--"
-"her ladyship's future--" slyne was about to explain the importance of his position there when captain dove interposed.
-"slyne!" he called across the hall. "if there's nothing to drink in the house, whoever goes down to the inn for our baggage had better bring up--"
-but slyne had already got mrs. m'kissock out into the corridor.
-"i'll send something in at once. try to keep him quiet for a little," he said to sallie, and she, having carefully closed the door, went back toward the fireplace to pacify the old man.
-a few minutes later a pink-complexioned, flaxen-haired maid came tripping demurely in, with a great silver salver on which was set such an array of decanters that captain dove at once became most amiable again.
-"and i will bring tea for your ladyship now," said the maid in her quaint highland accent. "it was the other gentleman that told me to bring this first."
-"that was quite right," sallie reassured her, and asked her name.
-"it is mairi, my lady," the girl answered with a shy, gratified smile, and was very soon back with a beautiful service of sèvres and a steaming urn.
-mr. jobling virtuously declined captain dove's cordial invitation to help himself to a decanter, and asked sallie for a cup of weak tea. at which the old man was still cackling discordantly when slyne came in again a few minutes later.
-"that's an obstinate old baggage!" said he, obviously incensed. "you must tell her, sal--lady josceline, that she's to attend to my orders without any more back-talk."
-captain dove turned in his armchair before the fire.
-"that woman's my adopted daughter's housekeeper now, mister slyne," said he, frowning darkly. "and i'll trouble you not to interfere in what's no concern of yours. you're only a visitor here, you know."
-slyne darted a black glance at him, but did not answer him otherwise. "i told her to get your mother's rooms ready for you," he mentioned to sallie. "and ambrizette will be there by the time you'll want her.
-"that fellow carthew has gone off to the inn," he remarked to mr. jobling. "i expect he'll be busy by now wiring bolder & bolder the news."
-"there's no fear of anything getting into the newspapers prematurely, is there?" asked slyne.
-"i told spettigrew to keep everything quiet," the lawyer answered complacently. "and, besides, they're all full to overflowing about the election that's coming on."
-"i wonder if anyone ever wades through all the lurid twaddle they print at such times?" said slyne, apparently pleased. and they two maintained a desultory conversation, to which sallie only listened when it now and then veered back to matters which might affect carthew or herself, until a sonorous gong began to sound in the corridor.
-as its increasing thunder suddenly disturbed the cloistral quiet, captain dove, comfortably settled in his armchair beside the fire with a black clay pipe, started up in alarm and spilled the contents of the glass in his hand.
-"what the devil are they about out there!" he ejaculated irascibly. "i'll blow a hole through that infernal tom-tom if they don't drop it."
-"time to dress for dinner," slyne explained with a tolerant smile, and, rising, rang the bell. "our rooms will be ready by now, i expect. but there's no hurry. all you need to change is your waistcoat."
-"damn nonsense!" snorted captain dove, and reaching for a decanter, was liberally refilling his glass when the girl mairi answered the bell.
-"show her ladyship to her own rooms," slyne directed. and sallie followed the demure, flaxen-haired maid very eagerly.
-on her way to the west wing she could not but notice the change which had come over the place. a pleasant atmosphere of ordered activity seemed to pervade the vast building. there were men as well as women-servants busy everywhere. light and warmth and life had put to flight the darkness and desolation which had come down with the dusk on its emptiness. she gave herself up for the moment to a delicious, childish sensation of snugness and safety there. and when she at length reached the open door of the splendid suite which, mrs. m'kissock had told her, had once been her mother's, she felt that she could not, after all, grudge the price she must pay by and by for her glimpse of home.
-ambrizette, with rolling eyes and open mouth, had everything in readiness for her in her dressing-room, for the hideous dwarf was indeed a very efficient femme de chambre. within half an hour sallie had had her bath and was dressed again, in the same frock that she had worn at the savoy. she patted the dumb black creature on the head before turning away from the glass, and paused on the threshold to glance back into the cosy, fire-lit room with eyes which had grown unaccountably dim.
-she found mairi in the main hall, demurely flirting with one of the footmen whom mrs. m'kissock had conjured up, and mairi showed her into a luxurious drawing-room where slyne was standing, hands in pockets, before a cavernous, marble-faced fireplace in which a veritable bonfire of logs was cheerily crackling.
-his eyes lighted up as she entered. the mirrors about the walls seemed to frame innumerable pictures of her as she crossed the slippery, age-blackened floor toward the big bearskin rug which made an oasis before the fire. he held out his hands to her, dumbly. and just at that moment mr. jobling appeared in the doorway, trumpeting into his handkerchief.
-captain dove arrived shortly after him, under convoy of a scared housemaid who, it seemed, had found him astray in some far corner of the castle and whom he had impressed into his service as guide. the gongs resounded again, just in time to drown his added denunciation of the oak floor, on which he had all but come to grief as soon as he set foot on it. the folding-doors at one end of the long room were pulled apart and a resonant voice announced ceremoniously that dinner was served. slyne offered sallie an arm a second or two in advance of the slower jobling, and, as she laid a light hand on his sleeve, led her into the banquet-hall.
-"i told them we'd dine here to-night, although there are lots of more modern rooms," he mentioned to her, and frowned in helpless annoyance as captain dove, following, gave vent to a very audible whistle.
-a butler and four tall footmen, all in tartan kilts and full-dress doublets, were at their places about a table resplendent with silver displayed with old-fashioned profusion. rare crystal and fine foreign glassware flashed and sparkled under the shaded lights standing on damask like snow, to which hot-house fruit and flowers added an exquisite note of colour. in the dim background, barely visible in the faint firelight, hung faded tapestries with, here and there, some portrait or pair of horns. there seemed to be a small gallery at the farther end of the hall. the unceiled rafters overhead were also almost in darkness.
-sallie, glancing about her with eager, delighted eyes, paused on the way to the table to peer through a pane of plate-glass let into the panelling over one mantel.
-"that's the famous fairy horn, lady josceline," said mr. jobling officiously. "but--you haven't heard the old jura legend yet, i suppose?" he coughed in his most important manner.
-captain dove turned restlessly in the chair on which he had scarcely sat down. sallie knew that he was intensely superstitious, as so many seamen are, and that that shadowed hall would be the last place in which he would be willing to hear ghost-stories.
-"huh!" said he, irritably. "i don't believe a word of it, anyhow. what are we waiting for now? gimme some soup, or something, you!"
-he was still scowling over his shoulder at a surprised servant when, in an instant, there rose from behind the tapestry in a dark corner a low, moaning wail which swelled and sank and swelled again to a bitter, blood-curdling shriek. captain dove's face blanched as he pushed his chair from under him and sprang to his feet, armed with the nearest available weapon, a table-knife. the servant behind him had stepped back, in obvious alarm.
-a man came striding out of the dusk in the distant corner, and, as he marched proudly up the room, the blare of the bagpipes over his shoulder seemed to make the very rafters ring. twice he encircled the table, and then passed out of sight by the farther door.
-captain dove had sat down again, grinding his teeth audibly. to cover his confusion, sallie turned to the butler behind her chair, and, "what tune was that?" she asked, pleasantly.
-her face flushed as the highlandman answered, in careful english, "it will be none other than the welcome to jura that your ladyship's head-piper would play this night."
-she would have been even happier in her wonderful new home if she had not thought of justin carthew again at that moment, and of the difference her coming had made to him. she wished that she had been able to tell him at once, on the warder's tower, what was once more in her mind as she looked lovingly round the banquet-hall of loquhariot--from which she had ousted him. she could not forget how gallantly he had faced fate at every turn, always making little of his own share in the tragic happenings which had involved them both.
-she felt that she could not rest until she had set herself right with him, and made up her mind that as soon as dinner was over, she would ask mairi or mrs. m'kissock to send a message down to the inn for her.
-but dinner, under such conditions, was a long business. and, although both mr. jobling and jasper slyne did their best to make the time pass pleasantly for her, she was very glad when a message the butler brought her gave her an excuse for leaving the table a little before she would otherwise have got away.
-she had hoped to escape alone, but slyne had overheard what the man had said and accompanied her to the hall, where the old housekeeper was awaiting her.
-"what's all this, mrs. m'kissock?" he asked, somewhat sharply. "and--who's mr. herries?"
-"mr. herries is the factor in charge of the estates, sir," she answered, "and some of her ladyship's tenantry have come up from the village with him to offer her welcome. it was not my place to turn them away from the door without word from her ladyship's self."
-"oh, no," said sallie, her eyes aglow and a sudden lump in her throat to think that her own folk were making her welcome. "i must see them, janet. i must thank them--"
-slyne frowned, but made no further demur as mrs. m'kissock gave orders to open the doors.
-the glare of the torches half-blinded sallie as she stepped out; and she halted beneath the portcullis. but she saw an old man alone on the drawbridge and went on alone toward him. he doffed his highland bonnet to her and bowed with old-fashioned deference. then he looked her in the face for a moment or two, very keenly, while she returned his searching glance with happily smiling eyes which had nothing to hide from him. and all the time the pipers in the background were blowing their best.
-he held up a trembling hand to them, and the shrill music ceased. the sputter of the torches was the only sound that broke the stillness until he spoke.
-"lady josceline justice?" he asked, and, as sallie nodded, still smiling, "i am ian herries," he told her, "factor of loquhariot and your ladyship's humble servant. i had no news of your ladyship's coming or i would have been here in time to say welcome home on behalf of your ladyship's tenantry and myself."
-"oh, thank you, mr. herries," said sallie, in a shy and very tremulous voice whose tone changed suddenly to one of urgent alarm. "but--you're ill. you must come in and rest.
-the old man had almost collapsed, but slyne hurried forward in time to save him from falling.
-"i'll see to mr. herries," said he, with a great air of sympathy, and helped the sick man indoors.
-sallie looked a little uncertainly after him, and then faced the flickering torches alone again. the silent scrutiny of all the eyes regarding her was something of an ordeal, but she went bravely on across the drawbridge.
-she did not notice the nip in the air, but some one among the assemblage had wrapped her about in a heavy plaid and drawn back before she could see who it was.
-"your ladyship will find the jura tartan as warm as the welcome we all wish your ladyship," said a stalwart, bearded mountaineer, who had stepped to the front to speak for his fellows; and, as she smiled shy but very contentedly up into his scarlet face, he bent his head above the hand she had held out to him.
-one after another the hill-men and fisherfolk of the village filed past her then, each with some stammered salutation, in difficult english or guttural gaelic. and for each she had a shy, grateful smile and a word of thanks, until at the last came justin carthew and had also stooped and kissed her hand before she could prevent him.
-he would have passed on like the others but that she, blushing hotly, begged him to wait. for janet m'kissock had come to her shoulder to say that at the jura arms in the village would be provided a loving-cup in which all might drink her ladyship's health, as was proper on such an occasion, and had brought out the big, silver-mounted hunting-quaich in which every new earl of jura had pledged his people on his accession.
-the butts of the torches had been flung in a heap on the ground before the girl, and formed a fiery pyramid between her and the waiting throng.
-she lifted up the drinking-horn, her eyes very bright, and cried at the pitch of her clear, sweet voice a single, strangely-sounding word in the gaelic, that janet m'kissock had whispered to her once or twice. and the sudden, thunderous roar of response that rang out in answer, as if from a single throat, awoke wild echoes among the surrounding hills.
-"your ladyship will come inbye now," begged mrs. m'kissock, as the pipes struck up again at the head of the gathering on its way back to the village.
-but, "just in a minute, janet," said sallie, "i'm quite warm. and--you needn't wait."
-the bonfire before her was burning low in spite of the wind which had just begun to blow and promised to freshen. she stayed beside it, watching, until all but carthew were gone. and then she turned to him, the tears very near her eyes and her starved heart almost satisfied.
-"oh, mr. carthew," she said timidly, "i wanted to tell you at once how sorry i am about--everything. i had no idea at all, when you told me on the olive branch--"
-"of course not," said justin carthew concisely.
-"and mr. jobling was so--abrupt; and--i didn't know what to do. won't you please forgive me; i had no idea--"
-"i was pretty much taken aback myself," said justin carthew, and laughed a little, though not very merrily. "but--i'm all right again now. and you mustn't worry about me, please. i'm all right, again, and--"
-"you'll wait for a little?" she interrupted, she was so eager to reassure him. "i can't help being who i am, but--if you will only wait for a little, everything will turn out all right for you, too."
-she could see that he was puzzled.
-"i can't explain," she went on hurriedly, afraid that he would demand explanation. "but i want you to give me a little time, if you will. i want you not to go away. if you will just wait--for only three months--everything will turn out all right for you in the end."
-"but--how--" he was beginning, when she cut him short again.
-"i can't explain," she repeated. "only--you once promised that i might ask you to do anything i wanted. will you not just wait here, and trust me--for only three months? and then you'll understand."
-he looked helplessly about him.
-"i'll wait here--and trust you--all the rest of my life," he said, "if you say so. and then i'll still be in your debt."
-"all i ask is my three months," she told him gravely. "and then--"
-he looked his utter perplexity.
-"you don't mean that you're lady josceline justice only for the time being?" he asked, his forehead wrinkled.
-"oh, no," she answered assuredly. "i'll be lady josceline justice all my life. and--you'll keep your promise?"
-"i'll keep my promise," he affirmed. "i'll wait here and trust you for three months--and for the rest of my life, if you say so."
-she smiled at him, very contentedly. "i'm going to be very happy here now," she said, and looked round. she had heard slyne's voice, calling her. she could see him beyond the drawbridge gazing blindly out into the darkness.
-"good night," she said to carthew. but she did not go in until he had swung himself into the saddle and ridden away, always looking back.
-the wind that rose during the night brought with it a change in the weather. when the day broke and a round red sun rose from among the mountains, it showed the whole world white--the land deep under snow and the sea all foam.
-slyne's first sensation when he woke and saw the storm, from behind the double windows of his comfortable rooms in the warder's tower, was one of relief, since it would surely serve to stave off inconvenient visitors. he had been afraid that the news the beacon had blazoned the night before would travel altogether too fast and too far to suit his plans; it would have been awkward in the extreme to be inundated with curious callers in a position practically carried by assault, only tenable by stealth and while no one in active authority should challenge it.
-the coming of herries, the factor, had opened his eyes to that. for the old fellow, ill as he was, had shown a most annoying inclination to cross-question slyne about various dry legal details; and slyne had only been able to put him off temporarily by promising that her ladyship's own man of law would go into all such matters with him in the morning.
-now, fortunately for slyne and his friends, the factor need not be further considered for some little time to come, if indeed at all. the fever in him had refused to yield to any of mrs. m'kissock's simple medicaments, and he was delirious. he seemed very likely, indeed, to die unless he were very lucky. slyne did not fail to congratulate himself on that score also, as he sat up in bed to reach for a cigarette after his late breakfast and contemplate the cuffs of his expensive pink silk pajamas.
-the rest of the company in the castle he thought he could find means to control, for the present, at any rate, although he did not under-estimate the chances of trouble with his two disaffected associates, who had already displayed such a lamentable tendency toward open mutiny. but, on the whole, he felt satisfied that, if he could only keep matters running smoothly during the days that must still elapse before the court of chancery should resume its usual routine and finally settle the jura succession on sallie, he would by then have managed to make his own footing there absolutely secure.
-he snuggled back between the blankets again, with an inexpressible sensation of comfort, and, watching the blue spirals of smoke curl upwards from under his moustache, forgot all the anxious uncertainties and the ever more painful pinch of the present in contemplative anticipations of that fair future which he had so carefully planned for himself. not even the fact that he had almost exhausted his cash resources could worry him when he thought of the wealth that was to be his as soon as he should be safely married to sallie; and until then he could command unlimited local credit, on her behalf.
-she was lady josceline justice already. she would be countess of jura in her own right as soon as the court of chancery should admit her identity. she would have ten millions of dollars in ready money for him to spend and a quarter of a million for annual income. he had been a poor man all his life, but now--he looked luxuriously out at the snow and the storm.
-"mr. jasper slyne and the countess of jura," he said aloud, and smiled and curled his moustache.
-he rose by and by and betook himself to his dressing-room, whistling a cheery tune. "and although i don't want to rush things," said he to himself as he stepped briskly into his bath, "if either dove or that fat suicide makes any more fuss, i'll have to show 'em my teeth. they must both keep to the bargains we struck. and i think i've made things pretty safe for myself by now."
-when he at length strolled downstairs, infinitely refreshed after his long rest, he found mr. jobling and captain dove in close conclave in the library. and he did not like their looks in the least or their sudden silence at sight of him. he felt certain that they had been conspiring against him, and did not delay in commencing a counter-attack.
-"'morning, dove. 'morning, jobling," said he casually, as he stopped to select a cigar from the box on the table. "change of weather, eh! you'll have a cold journey back to london, jobling."
-mr. jobling looked very coldly across at him. "i do not propose to return to london at present, mr. slyne," he replied. "mr. spettigrew will look after everything there."
-"you're no more use to me here," said slyne bluntly, "and you may be of some service in london."
-"you are no longer a client of mine, mr. slyne," the lawyer retorted, no doubt emboldened by the promise of captain dove's unswerving support. "i can no longer act for you with any feeling of confidence--since i have found out how unfairly you have attempted to treat captain dove."
-slyne understood that open war was declared. "i won't be a client of yours for long, if you're going to be troublesome," he affirmed. "i think you've got a little out of your depth again, my friend. i don't think you'll find it will pay you to take that tone."
-mr. jobling began to splutter, and captain dove evidently felt impelled to come to his aid.
-"you take too much on yourself, slyne," said he, eyeing that gentleman with extreme disfavour. "you seem to think you're the whole show here, though you're nothing but a hanger-on, as i've told you before. let's have a good deal less of it, or--we can get on just as well, or even better--without you, you know."
-slyne turned a contemptuous stare on him. "so that's the idea now, is it!" he remarked, without any sign of heat. "you two think it's a case of dog eat dog now, do you! and--after you've got rid of me, who picked you both up out of the gutter, you'll be at each other's throats. you're a great pair!"
-his nonchalance incensed the old man, as he had intended it should.
-"i want none of your damned lip," declared captain dove, glaring at him, "you precious upstart! you're nothing but a beggar on horseback yourself, for all your grand airs. me and this other gentleman are both sick-tired of them. you're one too many--"
-"i'm one too many for you two, at any rate; and you may both stake your last cent on that," slyne told him with a composure admirable under the circumstances. "you surely don't imagine, do you, that i'm here on any such unsafe footing as you are! i thought you knew me well enough, dove, to be sure that i'd leave you no opportunity to go back on your bargain with me."
-"to hell with you and your bargains!" cried captain dove: and then, restraining his rage, lowered his voice again. "the mistake you've always made with me, slyne, has been to take me for an old fool--as you've very often called me to my face. you think i'm in my dotage. but--i'm not too old to show you a trick or two yet, if you and i come to grips. and, as for being such a fool as you seem to think me--you wait and see! i've a card or two up my sleeve, mr. slyne, that'll maybe euchre your game for you, if you try to bluff too high!"
-slyne sat back and studied the old man's face. captain dove had made that same mysterious threat on board the olive branch in genoa, before they had started out on their present adventure. it had disconcerted slyne then. it disconcerted him still more now.
-"don't you think that you're a little inclined to overrate your importance and--er--capacity, mr. slyne?" put in mr. jobling acidly during the pause, involuntary on slyne's part. "all your ideas are no doubt based on the documents we mutually signed in monte carlo; and you are probably not aware, as i am--now that i have a clearer insight into your motives--that they amount to neither more nor less than a conspiracy to defraud. you would be well advised, believe me, to put them all in the fire."
-slyne turned on him in an instant. "now, see here, my friend! i want you to understand, once and for all, that i've got you safe where i want you, and that, if i hear much more from you, you'll find yourself in a very unpleasant fix. you wouldn't look well at all in a striped suit--or i believe it's the broad-arrow pattern they supply in the prisons here. and that's what you'll come to, believe me, unless you walk the line i've laid down for you. you can't embezzle trust funds, you know, and pay the interest with promises to be met as soon as you lay your hands on some of the plunder here, without running a very dangerous risk indeed. why, even the car you sold me in genoa was another man's property--and i hold your receipt for the price i paid you for it.
-"so shut up," he concluded sharply, and proceeded to deal with captain dove as if the lawyer had not been there.
-mr. jobling's flaccid face had become of the colour of mottled clay. he was respiring stertorously, through his mouth. his eyes had grown blood-shot. his back-bone seemed to have given way. he sat huddled up, silent, staring at slyne with eyes full of impotent fear.
-"you talk to me about bluffing!" slyne was saying to captain dove, who also seemed to have grown suddenly apprehensive of some unforeseen mischance. "you talk to me about bluffing, although i've played a straight game with you from the start and stuck to our bargain even against my own interests. wait a minute. listen to me--and then you can talk till you're tired.
-"do you want to keep your clever new friend there company in his cell? how long do you think you'd be left at liberty if i mentioned to the authorities that you're the same man who--"
-"stop, now, curse you!" roared captain dove and so drowned the disclosures which slyne seemed minded to make. "and don't go too far with me, or--"
-slyne looked without winking into the muzzle of the revolver which the old man had produced in an instant and levelled at him. "you talk to me about bluffing!" he said again, and laughed, without mirth. "you'd be better occupied, dove, in making sure that your own bluff isn't called. you've done your best for a week past to give yourself away to the police, and--if you manage that in the end, you won't have me to blame, remember. i'm not the sort of yellow dog you seem to want to make yourself out."
-he paused, to let that vitriolic criticism sink in, and to consider just how far he might safely go. captain dove had laid his revolver down but kept a hand on its butt. he was watching slyne intently.
-"i wish you could get it into your head," the latter resumed a little more peaceably, "that beggar-my-neighbour isn't the easiest game to play with me. and that i've got brains enough to take care of myself.
-"if you and your cute new friend there were to be put away to-morrow, i'd stay here safe and sound. i've nothing to fear.
-"i've kept my bargain with you both so far, and i'm quite willing to complete it. i'm going to see, at the same time, that you keep yours with me. you'll each get your promised share of the profits here, no more and no less; and then--i'll be done with you. till then--don't go too far with me," he finished warningly.
-"to hear you talk, any one would think you owned loquhariot already!" remarked captain dove. "i'd like to hear what sallie has to say about it all now."
-"i'll get her to tell you at once, if you like," slyne answered evenly and, rising, rang the bell.
-"ask her ladyship to favour us with her company for a few minutes," he instructed the footman who answered that summons, "or if she'd prefer to receive us in her own room." then he lay back in his chair again, his wits busily at work. he could not feel quite sure himself what sallie would have to say about it all now; but--he meant to master her also.
-the servant, however, came back with word that her ladyship had gone out. and at that slyne scowled. it was at a most inopportune moment for him that sallie had taken a liberty of which she would not have dreamed a few days before; and, furthermore, it did not fit in with his plans at all to have her making such use of her new-found freedom; there was no telling whom she might meet--there was that fellow carthew, for instance!
-"which way did her ladyship go, do you know?" he called after the footman, as casually as he could.
-"to the village, i think, sir," the man replied, and he rose, yawning, to look discontentedly out at the wintry landscape. it was very beautiful in the brisk morning sunshine, but also very wet underfoot.
-"i'll stroll down the road after her," he announced, "and fetch her back. you can be packing up in the meantime, jobling. the steamer south sails early in the afternoon."
-he did not hesitate to leave the two conspirators alone together again; he judged that he had succeeded in cowing them both. he even smiled to himself on his way outdoors.
-"i thought i was done for when i met dubois," he reflected, perfectly self-satisfied, "but--i was really in luck. and that was a most opportune chat i had with mullins in london, too. i've got jobling fairly fixed. if i can't manage the old man--i'm a bigger fool than i take myself for. and i've made things all right for myself with sallie, or i'm mistaken."
-he paused in the main hall to look appreciatively about him while a servant was fetching his coat and cap from the cloak-room. the sun was streaming in through the stained glass of a lofty, mullioned window, the heart of each of whose panels showed in vivid scarlet against the light a clenched hand holding a dagger, the jura crest.
-"they won it all that way," said slyne to himself, and drew a deep breath of contentment as he looked round the noble hall again. he felt very proud of the place already, and only wished that some of his former friends could have seen him there.
-outside, beyond the drawbridge, he halted to look admiringly up at the massive, ivy-clad frontage of the main keep, with its crenellated ramparts and narrow fighting-windows and bartizan. then he turned with a high heart toward the road that runs between hazel thickets and clumps of alder or silver birch down the long hill to the village and the seashore. he was humming a contented tune to himself as he tramped through the melting snow.
-he had not far to seek sallie. within the open doorway of the first cottage he came to, he caught sight of her beside the peat-fire with a laughing child on her lap and its proud mother smiling beside her.
-she was only a young girl yet, and he knew that her innate purity of mind had never been sullied nor her sweet, loyal, lovable nature in any way warped amid the strange surroundings and circumstances in which she had lived till then. she was as happy playing with the cottager's child as she would have been in a palace. but--the daughter of torquil fitz-j. justice, earl of jura and baron st. just of justicehall and loquhariot, must not make herself too cheap, thought slyne. and presently he suggested to her that it was time to be going.
-she rose, a little reluctantly, and followed him; while he bowed patronisingly to the fisherman's wife--just as he imagined a grand gentleman would do.
-he did not demur when sallie turned down the village street instead of up-hill again. he was quite pleased to show himself there at her side--and touch his cap condescendingly in response to the salutations of all who passed. he only omitted that very casual courtesy to justin carthew, standing at the door of the inn.
-"i suppose there's no doubt that mr. carthew was wrongly informed by his lawyers, jasper?" sallie asked him a few minutes later.
-"no doubt in the world," slyne answered her. "he's of no account at all now. the best thing he can do now for himself is to clear off back to america, where he belongs.
-"and--there's another thing, my dear. captain dove and that fat ass jobling have got to go too. we'll never have any peace while they're hanging about. but they're both inclined to be troublesome, and i want you to back me up against them.
-"it was captain dove who ordered the beacon to be lighted last night. and--lord only knows how much annoyance that may cause us yet! in fact, they're a pretty difficult pair to handle. so, when we get back to the castle, i want you to tell them that you intend to keep your promise to me; i'll be better able to manage them then, you see.
-"you haven't forgotten just what you promised me, have you?"
-"no, jasper," answered the girl, and gazed across the wind-swept loch with fond, despairing eyes, "i haven't forgotten. and--i'll keep my promise, if--when the time comes."
-the jura succession
-captain dove, sucking at his black cutty-pipe in the library of loquhariot, looked very contemptuously at mr. jobling. it was self-evident that mr. jobling was afraid of slyne and feeling very sorry for himself.
-but captain dove was in no such disconsolate mood. glancing at the despondent lawyer out of his little red-rimmed eyes, he even grinned, still more contemptuously. he was not afraid of slyne, he told himself, and it made no material difference to him that his recent attempt to brow-beat that grasping scoundrel had failed, even with the london lawyer for ally. for captain dove did not intend that either of the other two should eventually get the better of him. he was playing a waiting game, in which he meant to come out winner at any cost.
-so far as captain dove was concerned there were only two persons really concerned in the question of the jura succession. one was sallie, the other himself--her adopted father!
-he looked upon mr. jobling as a mere mechanical instrument, such as could be replaced at a moment's notice if that were needful, now that the legal details of the case had been carried so far toward final success. slyne was absolutely superfluous there and had outlived his usefulness, in so far, at least, as captain dove was concerned. more than that, he was in captain dove's way. so, to some extent, was justin carthew, since it seemed that sallie felt called upon to make a fool of herself for his benefit; but captain dove did not anticipate any great difficulty in dealing with him. and so was herries, the factor, who had so many inconvenient questions to ask--although he need scarcely be taken into account at present while he was abed and likely to be there for some time to come.
-with all of these, in any case, he felt quite capable of coping--except with jasper slyne, who had threatened, a few moments before and in the hearing of an attentive witness ... slyne was undoubtedly dangerous now; and it must be his first care to free himself for all time from the risk of slyne's telling....
-"i have it," said captain dove, his furrowed forehead suddenly cleared and his face contorted into a smile at sight of which mr. jobling was seized with a sickly, sinking sensation. "i have it. we must keep quiet of course, until the olive branch turns up, but she shouldn't be very long now, and then--
-"i'll send for brasse. i warned that fool slyne to play fair with me--but he won't. and so--since it's beggar-my-neighbour we're at, he won't be my neighbour for long."
-mr. jobling rose, coughing irritably. the reek from captain dove's foul pipe was too much for him.
-"i'll go and pack now," he announced. "i'd never have come here at all if i had thought--"
-"you leave things here to me, old cock," captain dove encouraged him. "and go and jag your friend spettigrew along till he gets judgment for us. that's the most important part of the game at present. leave things here to me, and you'll find, when the time comes, that slyne will have to take a back seat."
-but the stout solicitor did not seem grateful at all for that crumb of comfort. he merely looked at captain dove with equal dislike and disbelief as he left the room.
-he left the castle immediately after lunch, to catch the steamer south, a little less depressed, perhaps, after a few further words with captain dove, who thought it only politic to inspirit him in his efforts on sallie's behalf. and he had not been gone very long before captain dove began to miss him--as a boon-companion, a part which slyne refused to play any longer. so that the old man soon began to find the time hang very heavy on his hands, and his grudge against slyne always grew.
-it was all slyne's fault, he assured himself, that he was thus stranded there; that he had not fifty cents left to bless himself with, since one expensive evening in paris; and that, even if he had had such a sum in his pockets, it might have worn a hole in them before he could spend it, in such a forsaken spot!
-of what use to him, he inquired of himself, going off at another tangent, could a huge, ghost-haunted pile like the castle of loquhariot be? or a great empty barrack like justicehall?--which reminded him unpleasantly of the law courts in london. how could he ever hope to spend such an excess of wealth as was soon to be sallie's, and, therefore, at his disposal? a perfect nausea of money possessed captain dove at such moments. he would almost have preferred the prospect of poverty again, if only for the sake of the interest in life the struggle to live might restore to him.
-"enough is as good as a feast!" said he to himself every now and then while he gazed, with gloom in his soul, at the cut-crystal decanters on a salver of solid silver which was never far from his elbow; and, with that wise saw on his lips, he would continue to drown his contradictory sorrows as deeply as possible.
-but there was luckily room and to spare in the castle for all its inmates. slyne and he kept as much as possible out of each other's way, although they had resumed a spasmodic outward semblance of amity, a steadfast inward determination to get the better of one another, whether by fair means or foul. he could scarcely seek sallie's company now that she knew his treacherous intentions toward her. the sick man, herries, was still in bed, in a sufficiently precarious state. so that he lived very much alone with his various grievances, since his walks abroad, as far as the jura arms,--where he soon became almost popular among the occasional profligates of the village,--were not so frequent as they would probably have been in better weather.
-a bitter east wind, bringing always more snow, had blown almost ceaselessly for the best part of a fortnight before any change came in the wildest weather that had befallen loquhariot in long years.
-the mountain roads for miles in all directions were quite impassable. the mail-cart, with its driver and horses, and also the hastily improvised snow-plough which had attempted their rescue, lay buried deep below the ever deepening drift into which it had plunged on its last outward journey. the single telegraph-line that served the locality had broken down at a dozen points which were quite unapproachable. stress of weather had prevented the weekly steamer from making its usual call. loquhariot was absolutely cut off from the outer world.
-and then, with a wet westerly wind which soon grew into a gale, the snow on the mountains began to melt and floods made matters still worse, swelling every unconsidered stream into a destructive torrent, cutting wide chasms across the precipitous main-road over the pass, under-mining its bridges and even washing some of them away bodily. in several of the more outlying districts sheer famine began to grow imminent. the flocks and herds of the countryside were in still worse case than the wild deer which had escaped from their forest sanctuaries before the first of the snow and had been huddling about the village while it endured.
-no word had come through from mr. jobling in all that time. and captain dove was almost beyond the end of his outworn patience before, scowling blackly out of the library window one day when the westerly gale had all but blown itself out, he caught sight of a shabby, sea-going, cargo-tramp, flying the norwegian flag, which seemed to be seeking an anchorage behind the small isles at the mouth of the loch.
-it was the olive branch. he would have known her in the dark, disguise or no disguise.
-"uh-hum!" he exclaimed, in an ecstasy of relief. "now i can make things move a little at last. now we'll soon see who's who here."
-he dashed off a peremptory note to his chief engineer, put that in his pocket, clapped his smoked spectacles on his nose and his soft felt hat on his head, and made for the village, where he hoped to find, in the jura arms, a local poacher who would undertake an errand out to the steamer.
-he found his man at the inn, and his credit there enabled him to drive a speedy bargain. it also helped him to pass the time contentedly enough till the fishing-boat returned from its wet trip with word for the public that the strange steamer had put into the loch on account of an accident in her engine-room which would delay her there for a little, although she would need no help from the village; and with a hasty private note from the chief engineer for captain dove--to the effect that mr. brasse refused to come ashore.
-"curse him!" snarled captain dove as his messenger retired to the bar again. "i suppose he's afraid of the police--though there isn't a policeman within thirty miles, and, even if there were, it wouldn't matter very much." and he sat down to compose another and still more peremptory note, bidding brasse obey his lawful commands or take the consequences of disobedience.
-he would have put off to the steamer himself but for the obvious reasons against that course. and, to induce his messenger to make the trip again after dark, he had to promise the man twice as much as for the first run, still outstanding.
-when he finally emerged from the inn, in no very pleasant temper, he caught sight, first, of the weekly steamer already half way up the loch, inward bound, and then of sallie at a bend of the road in the distance, on her way back to the castle from the village. there was some one with her. it was carthew.
-captain dove became still more incensed, and, his mind a good deal inflamed by his recent potations, set off up the hill in pursuit of them, breathing noisily, not even pausing to scowl at the children who scurried indoors as he passed with the skirts of his long black coat streaming out behind him.
-he had heard from slyne that herries, the factor, had formally appointed the young american his deputy until he should be able to undertake his own duties again. and, in spite of all slyne and he could say to sallie, she had obstinately refused to assist in getting rid of carthew. he had heard from slyne that carthew was making far too many occasions for seeing her, and when he had cautioned sallie on that score she had shown no disposition at all to take his advice.
-"i've warned her often enough," he muttered with steadily rising wrath, "to quit monkeying with that fellow. and she'll get right out of hand now, unless i let her see, once and for all, who's going to be master here. where would i come in if he managed to get married to her! he's got to go. that's all there is to it. i can't afford to have him hanging about here any longer."
-the couple in front seemed to be in no hurry, however. he had almost overtaken them before he paused at a hazel-clump to cut himself a stout cudgel. by the time he had got that trimmed to his taste, they had almost reached the castle.
-"i'll wait till she's gone in," said captain dove to himself. he had noticed that carthew was carrying what looked like a woodman's axe. but that did not daunt him at all in his purpose. he lingered along the edge of an alder-thicket until at length sallie shook hands in very friendly fashion with the young american and went her own way, while carthew took to a trail through the woods and made off at a round pace, notwithstanding his limp, axe on shoulder, whistling blithely.
-the path he was following wound in and out among plantations of pine and great groves of grey, leafless birches, until, at a distance of half a mile, it found the clear edge of the cliffs overlooking the circular inlet which forms the head of the loch, and finally faded away at the marge of a smooth plateau of bare rock enclosed on three sides by a thick tangle of woodland and rank undergrowth.
-captain dove stalked him with all precaution, stepping from stone to stone among the wet snow which was rapidly melting, so that he might leave no traceable footprints on the soft, spongy soil or damp, dead leaves. and once, when carthew halted to light a pipe, the old man, with murder in his mind, dropped into cover behind a moss-grown boulder at one side of the path--because that would have been a most unadvisable spot at which to attack a man armed with an axe. then, as carthew moved on, he once more took up the pursuit, through the clumps of bramble and bracken between the dark trunks of the firs about him.
-carthew stepped unconcernedly out of the dusk of the woods into the open space at the end of the path, and stopped there, axe on shoulder, to look about him. but captain dove did not immediately spring upon him as he had been minded to do, for he had just observed, at a corner of the convenient plateau, a round hut, stone-built and roofed with heather, which might or might not be inhabited. captain dove wormed his way round toward it, within the thicket.
-the windows of the hut were shuttered and its door pad-locked on the outside. captain dove was delighted. he turned to squint across at carthew from behind a bush and judge his distance, but still delayed his attack.
-carthew seemed to have seen something of interest in the dark wood behind captain dove, and captain dove looked round in instant alarm. it would have been most unpleasant to find that he himself was being spied upon. there was some one or some thing, a tall white shadow, very dimly discernible, moving among the gloom.
-a sudden and most unusual sensation of panic seized captain dove. the inexplicable shape was flitting soundlessly toward him. he felt thankful that carthew was there behind him, alive and well, for company. but when he rose upright and glanced swiftly over one shoulder the plateau was empty. carthew had gone.
-the evening was drawing in, and even the pathway by which they had come there was growing dim as the light slowly failed. captain dove made a blind dash for it across the open space, and so fled headlong, in fear.
-he only once looked back, and then he saw the shadow again. it was following him. and he did not stop running till he reached the drawbridge of the castle. but there he halted, panting, to swear at himself for a superstitious old fool, and stare back into the woods with eyes in which terror was mingled with rage.
-"some stray cow--or maybe a stag!" he declared to himself. "if i had had a shot-gun handy--or even my revolver--"
-but, stare as he would, he could see nothing more of the creature. and he went in through the postern, still swearing under his breath.
-he had never felt quite at his ease in the great main hall of the castle, which, with its empty suits of mail in all sorts of unexpected corners, the flags overhead flapping soundlessly in every draught, the pale faces peering down from their dark frames in the gallery, possessed an uncanny atmosphere of its own, especially in the dusk.
-but by the way some obscure movement among the shadows beyond the nearer fire brought his heart to his mouth again in an instant, and a hand slipped mechanically toward the empty hip-pocket beneath the skirt of his coat. he had halted. he moved on, into the dim recess whence some one was watching him, and presently emerged again, dragging after him into the firelight a shock-headed, pasty-faced lad, whose long neck was writhing in anguish as captain dove gave the long ear between his finger and thumb another fierce tweak.
-"what the devil are you doing here!" the old man demanded, peering into the features of mr. jobling's managing clerk.
-"nothing," answered mullins with legal exactitude. but he quickly became more discursive under captain dove's threatening glance. "mr. jobling brought me here with him," he explained. "we arrived by the steamer an hour ago, after a most terrible passage. i never saw such--"
-captain dove silenced him with a scowl. "where's your master?" he demanded.
-"in there," replied mullins promptly, pointing to the door of the gun-room, which opened off the main hall; and captain dove, casting him loose without more words, marched in upon mr. jobling and slyne in excited conference.
-they looked round as the door opened, and the lawyer, seeing who the unceremonious intruder was, waved a fat hand in gleeful welcome. "we're safe now," he vociferated. "the jura succession is settled at last. where's lady josceline? she'll be countess of jura in her own right as soon as--"
-"not so much of your noise," captain dove commanded, and, suddenly, reopening the door, all but overset himself in accomplishing a hasty kick, which elicited a loud yelp from without.
-"was that mullins!" mr. jobling exclaimed. "i don't know what i'm to do with him. he's really becoming a dangerous nuisance. i had to bring him away from london with me to prevent him--"
-"he'll keep clear of keyholes for a while," captain dove put in confidently. "now let's hear your news."
-mr. jobling's clouded face cleared again. "you've heard it already," he said. "i've won our case. the chancery court has admitted my proofs. we are to attend again, all of us, the day after to-morrow if possible, when mr. justice gaunt will give us decree. and lady josceline will be the countess of jura as soon as--"
-"when will she get any money?" asked captain dove bluntly, and mr. jobling looked pained.
-"by friday, i should think," he stated, "i'll have everything in such shape that she can draw a cheque for a mill--"
-"she'll draw no cheques," slyne interrupted decisively. "you know very well that i have her formal authority to attend to all such matters for her. whatever small sums she may require i'll procure for her, and any payments to be made on her behalf i'll make."
-he met with perfect tranquillity the glances of his associates. "i'll go and tell her the news now," he remarked, and left the room.
-as soon as the door had closed behind him, the lawyer turned toward captain dove, and, "well?" he asked eagerly. "was that your ship i saw at the mouth of the loch? how are you going to get rid of that domineering upstart? there isn't much time left to--"
-captain dove held up a protesting hand, but mr. jobling would not be put down in that manner. he was evidently determined now to stand up for himself and those hard-earned rights out of which slyne had undoubtedly jockeyed him in the most bare-faced, contemptuous manner.
-"i really must insist on knowing what you mean to do," he declared irascibly. "i have far too much at stake to leave anything to chance at this late moment. once mr. slyne reaches london, it will be too late to--"
-"hold your row!" ordered captain dove, so fiercely that mr. jobling jumped. "and--don't interfere in what doesn't concern you. all you need to know is that--slyne will never see london again. does that satisfy you?"
-"it would--if i could believe it," observed mr. jobling, valiantly. "but--"
-"and neither will you, if you worry me," added captain dove in a voice which seemed to affect his neighbour's nerve very adversely. "so help yourself to another peg and pass the bottle. i can scarcely hear myself think for your chatter, and i've got a good deal to think about."
-mr. jobling did his very best to meet the old man's irate glance resolutely, but his own irresolute, blinking eyes soon fell before the cold menace in captain dove's. he replenished his glass, and having sulkily shoved the decanter across the table, lay back in his chair.
-"you said that she could draw her money on friday, didn't you?" asked captain dove, and he nodded, with very ill grace.
-"and slyne has her power of attorney to sign any cheques he likes to write," the old man went on musingly. "but--that doesn't matter. brasse will be ashore to-night. and we'll be off to london to-morrow, me an' you, jobling, d'ye hear?"
-mr. jobling could not deny that he heard, and did not seem inclined to ask any more questions. but captain dove had a great many more to ask him, and when slyne looked into the room, some time later, he found the two of them chatting quite amicably. they both fell silent, however, at sight of him.
-"lady josceline is entertaining visitors," he announced: "the duchess of dawn--and that unlicked cub ingoldsby."
-"lord ingoldsby's her grace's nephew, of course," mr. jobling mentioned reverentially. "and one of the wealthiest peers in england--or anywhere else. but--how did they get here? dawn's on the other side of the mountains, and--"
-"they rode across," said slyne, "to find out who was here. if dove hadn't ordered the beacon to be lighted the night we arrived, they'd never have heard--but maybe, after all, it will help--
-he would for a moment have been in danger if he had remained. it is also probable that he entertained hopes of leading a successful counter-revolutionary movement. but his protests were overruled by men in whom he had great confidence. hindenburg and groener, following an unfavorable report from nearly all the army chiefs regarding the feeling in their commands, told the kaiser that they could not guarantee his safety for a single night. they declared even that the picked storm-battalion guarding his headquarters at spa was not to be depended on.
-others added their entreaties, and finally, unwillingly and protestingly, the kaiser consented to go.
-with him went the crown prince. there was no one left in germany to whom adherents of a counter-revolution could rally. scheming politicians for months afterward painted on every wall the spectre of counter-revolution, and it proved a powerful weapon of agitation against the more conservative and democratic men in charge of the country's affairs, but counter-revolution from above--and that was what these leaders falsely or ignorantly pretended to fear--was never possible from the time the armistice was signed until the peace was made at versailles. counter-revolution ever threatened the stability of the government, but it was the gory counter-revolution of bolshevism.
-the kaiser's flight had the double effect of encouraging the socialists and discouraging the conservatives, the right wing of the national liberals and the few prominent men of other bourgeois parties from whom at least a passive resistance might otherwise have been expected. the junkers disappeared from view, and, disappearing, took with them the ablest administrative capacities of germany, men whose ability was unquestioned, but who were now so severely compromised that any participation by them in a democratic government was impossible. "the german people's republic" as it had been termed for a brief two days, became the "german socialistic republic." numerically the strongest party in the land, the socialists of all wings insisted upon putting the red stamp upon the remains of imperial germany.
-in their rejoicing at the revolution and the end of the war, the great mass of the people forgot for the moment that they were living in a conquered land. those that did remember it were lulled into a feeling of over-optimistic security by the recollection of president wilson's repeated declarations that the war was being waged against the german governmental system and not against the german people, and by the declaration in secretary lansing's note of the previous week that the allies had accepted the president's peace points with the exception of the second.
-the soldiers' and workmen's councils held plenary sessions on monday and ratified the proceedings of sunday. the spirit of the proceedings, especially in the soldiers' council, was markedly moderate. ledebour, one of the most radical of the independent socialists, was all but howled down when he tried to address the soldiers' meeting in the reichstag. colin ross, appealing for harmonious action by all factions of social-democracy, was received with applause. the vollzugsrat, which was now in theory the supreme governing body of germany, also took charge of the affairs of prussia and berlin. two majority and two independent socialists were appointed "people's commissioners" in berlin. it is worthy of note that all four of these men were jews. almost exactly one per cent of the total population of germany was made up of jews, but here, as in russia, they played a part out of all proportion to their numbers. in all the revolutionary governmental bodies formed under the german socialistic republic it would be difficult to find a single one in which they did not occupy from a quarter to a half of all the seats, and they preponderated in many places.
-the vollzugsrat made a fairly clean sweep among the prussian ministers, filling the majority of posts with genossen. many of the old ministers, however, were retained in the national government, including dr. solf as foreign minister and general scheuch as minister of war, but each of the bourgeois ministers retained was placed under the supervision of two socialists, one from each party, and he could issue no valid decrees without their counter-signature. the same plan was followed by the revolutionary governments of the various federal states. some of the controllers selected were men of considerable ability, but even these were largely impractical theorists without any experience in administration. for the greater part, however, they were men who had no qualifications for their important posts except membership in one of the socialist parties and a deep distrust of all bourgeois officials. the majority socialist controllers, even when they inclined to agree with their bourgeois department chiefs on matters of policy, rarely dared do so because of the shibboleth of solidarity still uniting to some degree both branches of the party. later, when the responsibilities of power had sobered them and rendered them more conservative, and when they found themselves more bitterly attacked than the bourgeoisie by their former genossen, they shook off in some degree the thralldom of old ideas, but meanwhile great and perhaps irreparable damage had been done.
-the revolutionary government faced at the very outset a more difficult task than had ever confronted a similar government at any time in the world's history. the people, starving, their physical, mental and moral powers of resistance gone, were ready to follow the demagogue who made the most glowing promises. the ablest men of the empire were sulking in their tents, or had been driven into an enforced seclusion, and the men in charge of the government were without any practical experience in governing or any knowledge of constructive statecraft. every one knew that the war was practically ended, but thousands of men were nevertheless being slaughtered daily to no end.
-in all the empire's greater cities the revolutionaries, putting into disastrous effect their muddled theories of the "brotherhood of man," had opened the jails and prisons and flooded the country with criminals. what this meant is dimly indicated by the occurrences in berlin ten days later, when spartacans raided police headquarters and liberated the prisoners confined there. among the forty-nine persons thus set free were twenty-eight thieves and burglars and five blackmailers and deserters; most of the others were old offenders with long criminal records. this was but the grist from one jail in a sporadic raid and the first ten days of november had resulted in wholesale prison-releases of the same kind. the situation thus created would have been threatening enough in any event, but the new masters of the german cities, many of whom had good personal reasons for hating all guardians of law and order, disarmed the police and further crippled their efficiency by placing them under the control of "class-conscious" soldiers who, at a time when every able-bodied fighting man was needed on the west front, filled the streets of the greater cities and especially of berlin.
-the result was what might have been expected. many of the new guardians of law and order were themselves members of the criminal classes, and those who were not had neither any acquaintance with criminals and their ways nor with methods of preventing or detecting crime. the police, deprived of their weapons and--more fatal still--of their authority, were helpless. and this occurred in the face of a steadily increasing epidemic of criminality, and especially juvenile criminality, which had been observed in all belligerent countries as one of the concomitants of war and attained greater proportions in germany than anywhere else.
-nor was this the only encouragement of crime officially offered. in ante-bellum days, when german cities were orderly and efficient police and gendarmerie carefully watched the comings and goings of every inhabitant or visitor in the land, every person coming into germany or changing his residence was compelled to register at the police-station in his district. but now, when the retention and enforcement of this requirement would have been of inestimable value to the government, it was generally abolished. the writer, reaching berlin a week after the revolution, went directly to the nearest police-station to report his arrival.
-"you are no longer required to report to the police," said the beamter in charge.
-and thus the bars were thrown down for criminals and--what was worse--for the propagandists and agents of the russian soviet republic. die neue freiheit (the new freedom) was interpreted in a manner justifying goethe's famous dictum of a hundred years earlier that "equality and freedom can be enjoyed only in the delirium of insanity" (gleichheit und freiheit können nur im taumel des wahnsinns genossen werden).
-the vollzugsrat, from whose composition better things had been expected, immediately laid plans for the formation of a red guard on the russian pattern. on november 13th it called a meeting of representatives of garrisons in greater berlin and of the first corps of königsberg to discuss the functions of the soldiers' council. it laid before the meeting its plan to equip a force of two thousand "socialistically schooled and politically organized workingmen with military training" to guard against the danger of a counterrevolution. it redounds to the credit of the soldiers that they immediately saw the cloven hoof of the proposal. "why do we need two thousand red guards in berlin?" was the cry that arose. opposition to the plan was practically unanimous, and the meeting adopted the following resolution:
-"greater berlin's garrison, represented by its duly elected soldiers' council, will view with distrust the weaponing of workingmen as long as the government which they are intended to protect does not expressly declare itself in favor of summoning a national assembly as the only basis for the adoption of a constitution."
-the meeting took a decided stand against bolshevism and, in general, against sweeping radicalism. all speakers condemned terrorism from whatever side it might be attempted, and declared that plundering and murder should be summarily punished. the destructive plans of the spartacus group found universal condemnation, and nearly all speakers emphasized that the soldiers' council had no political rôle to play. its task was merely to preserve order, protect the people and assist in bringing about an orderly administration of the government's affairs. the council adopted a resolution calling for the speediest possible holding of elections for a constituent assembly.
-on the following day the vollzugsrat announced that, in view of the garrisons' opposition, orders for the formation of the red guard had been rescinded. the soldiers' council deposed captain von beerfelde, one of their fourteen representatives on the executive council, "because he was endeavoring to lead the revolution into the course of the radicals." it was von beerfelde who, supporting the fourteen workmen's representatives on the vollzugsrat, had been largely instrumental in the original decision to place the capital at the mercy of an armed rabble.
-the steadfast attitude of the soldiers was the more astonishing in view of the great number of deserters in greater berlin at this time. their number has been variously estimated, but it is probable that it reached nearly sixty thousand. with an impudent shamelessness impossible to understand, even when one realizes what they had suffered, these self-confessed cowards and betrayers of honest men now had the effrontery to form a "council of deserters, stragglers and furloughed soldiers," and to demand equal representation on all government bodies and in the soviets. liebknecht played the chief rôle in organizing these men, but ledebour, already so radical that he was out of sympathy even with the reddest independent socialists, and certain other independents and spartacans assisted. this was too much for even the revolutionary and class-conscious soldiers under arms, and nearly a month later at least one berlin regiment still retained enough martial pride to fire on a procession of these traitors.
-despite all its initial extravagances, the bona fides of the ebert-haase government at this time cannot fairly be questioned. it honestly desired to restore order in germany and to institute a democratic government. with the exception of barth, the least able and least consequential member of the cabinet, all were agreed that a constituent assembly must be summoned. haase and dittmann, the two other independent socialist members, had not yet begun to coquet with the idea of soviet government, although, in the matter of a constituent assembly, they were already trying to hunt with the hounds and run with the hares by favoring its summoning, but demanding that the elections therefor be postponed until the people could be "enlightened in the social-democratic sense." this meant, of course, "in the independent social-democratic sense," which, as we shall see, eventually degenerated into open advocacy of the domination of the proletariat.
-to this government, facing multifold tasks, inexperienced in ruling, existing only on sufferance and at best a makeshift and compromise, the armistice of november 11th dealt a terrible moral and material blow. a wave of stupefied indignation and resentment followed the publication of its terms, and this feeling was increased by the general realization of germany's helplessness. hard terms had, indeed, been expected, but nothing like these. one of the chief factors that made bloodless revolution possible had been the reliance of the great mass of the german people on the declarations of leaders of enemy powers--particularly of the united states--that the war was being waged against the german governmental system, the hohenzollerns and militarism, and not against the people themselves. there can be no doubt that these promises of fair treatment for a democratic germany did incalculably much to paralyze opposition to the revolution.
-in the conditions of the armistice the whole nation conceived itself to have been betrayed and deceived. whether this feeling was justified is not the part of the historian to decide. it is enough that it existed. it was confirmed and strengthened by the fact that the almost unanimous opinion of neutral lands, including even those that had been the strongest sympathizers of the allied cause, condemned the armistice terms unqualifiedly, both on ethical and material grounds. it is ancient human experience that popular disaffection first finds its scapegoat in the government, and history repeated itself here. the unreflecting masses forgot for the moment the government's powerlessness. it saw only the abandonment of rich german lands to the enemy, the continuance of the "hunger-blockade" and, worst of all, the retention by the enemy of the german prisoners. of all the harsh provisions of the armistice, none other caused so much mental and moral anguish as the realization that, while enemy prisoners were to be sent back to their families, the germans, many of whom had been in captivity since the first days of the war, must still remain in hostile prison-camps. the authority of the government that accepted these terms was thus seriously shaken at the very outset.
-the government was as seriously affected materially as morally by the armistice. during the whole of the last year food and fuel conditions had been gravely affected by limited transportation facilities. now, with an army of several millions to be brought home in a brief space of time, five thousand locomotives and 150,000 freight cars had to be delivered up to the enemy. this was more than a fifth of the entire rolling stock possessed by germany at this time. moreover, nearly half of all available locomotives and cars were badly in need of repairs, and a considerable percentage of these were in such condition that they could not be used at all. nor was this all. although nothing had been stipulated in the armistice conditions regarding the size or character of the engines to be surrendered, only the larger and more powerful ones were accepted. one month later it had been found necessary to transport 810 locomotives to the places agreed upon for their surrender, and of these only 206 had been accepted. of 15,720 cars submitted in the same period, only 9,098 had been accepted. the result was a severe over-burdening of the german railways.
-what this meant for germany's economic life and for the people generally became apparent in many ways during the winter, and in none more striking than in a fuel shortage which brought much suffering to the inhabitants of the larger cities. the coalfields of the ruhr district required twenty-five thousand cars daily to transport even their diminishing production, but the number available dropped below ten thousand. only eight hundred cars were available to care for the production in upper silesia, and a minimum of three thousand was required. the effect on the transportation of foodstuffs to the cities cannot so definitely be estimated, but that it was serious is plain.
-the armistice provided that the blockade should be maintained. in reality it was not only maintained, but extended. some of the most fertile soil in germany lies on the left bank of the rhine, and cities along that river had depended on these districts for much of their food. with enemy occupation, these supplies were cut off. what this meant was terribly apparent in düsseldorf after the occupation had been completed. düsseldorf, with a population of nearly 400,000, had depended on the left bank of the rhine for virtually all its dairy products. these were now cut off, and the city authorities found themselves able to secure a maximum of less than 7,000 quarts of milk daily for the inhabitants.
-a further extension of the blockade came when german fishermen were forbidden to fish even in their territorial waters in the north sea and the baltic. the available supply of fish in germany had already dropped, as has been described, to a point where it was possible to secure a ration only once in every three or four weeks. and now even this trifling supply was no longer available. vast stores of food were abandoned, destroyed or sold to the inhabitants of the occupied districts when the armies began the evacuation of france and belgium, and millions of soldiers, returning to find empty larders at home, further swelled the ranks of the discontented.
-only the old maxim that all is fair in war can explain or justify the great volume of misleading reports that were sent out regarding food conditions in germany in the months following the armistice. men who were able to spend a hundred marks daily for their food, or whose observations were limited to the most fertile agricultural districts of germany, generalized carelessly and reported that there were no evidences of serious shortage anywhere, except perhaps, in one or two of the country's largest cities. men who knew conditions thoroughly hesitated to report them because of the supposed exigencies of war and wartime policies, or, reporting them in despite thereof, saw themselves denounced as pro-german propagandists.
-months later, when perhaps irreparable damage had been done, the truth began to come out. the following associated press dispatch is significant:
-"london, july 1.--germany possessed a sound case in claiming early relief, according to reports of british officers who visited silesia in april to ascertain economic conditions prevailing in germany. a white paper issued tonight gives the text of their reports and the result of their investigations.
-"it is said that there was a genuine shortage of foodstuffs and the health of the population had suffered so seriously that the working classes had reached such a stage of desperation that they could not be trusted to keep the peace."
-"give us this day our daily bread" is the first material petition in the prayer of all the christian peoples of the world, but only those who have hungered can realize its deep significance.
-the fact is not generally known--and will doubtless cause surprise--that a determined effort was made by the american, french and british governments after the armistice to make first-hand independent reporting of events in germany impossible. assistant secretary of state polk followed the example of the other governments named by issuing on november 13th an order, which was cabled to all american embassies and legations abroad, prohibiting any american journalist from entering germany. the state department refused to issue passports to journalists desiring to go to adjoining neutral countries except upon their pledge not to enter germany without permission. requests for permission were either denied, or (in some instances) not even acknowledged.
-there were, however, some american journalists stationed in lands adjoining germany, and a few of these, although warned by members of their diplomatic corps, conceived it to be their duty to their papers and to their people as well, to try to learn the truth about the german situation, instead of depending longer upon hearsay and neutral journalists. some of the most valuable reports reaching washington in these early days came from men who had disobeyed the state department's orders, but this did not save at least two of the disobedient ones from suffering very real punishment at the hands of resentful officials.
-what the purpose of the state department was in thus attempting to prevent any but army officers or government officials from reporting on conditions in germany the writer does not know. it is probable, however, that the initiative did not come from washington.
-"the new freedom."
-the conclusion of the armistice was the signal for a general collapse among germany's armed forces. this did not at first affect the troops in the trenches, and many of them preserved an almost exemplary spirit and discipline until they reached home, but the men of the étappe--the positions back of the front and at the military bases--threw order and discipline to the winds. it was here that revolutionary propaganda and red doctrines had secured the most adherents in the army, and the effect was quickly seen. abandoning provisions, munitions and military stores generally, looting and terrifying the people of their own villages and cities, the troops of the étappe straggled back to the homeland, where they were welcomed by the elements responsible for germany's collapse.
-the government sent a telegram to the supreme army command, pointing out the necessity of an orderly demobilization and emphasizing the chaotic conditions that would result if army units arbitrarily left their posts. commanding officers were directed to promulgate these orders:
-"1. relations between officers and men must rest upon mutual confidence. the soldier's voluntary submission to his officer and comradely treatment of the soldier by his superior are conditions precedent for this.
-"2. officers retain their power of command. unconditional obedience when on duty is of decisive importance if the return march to the german homeland is to be successfully carried out. military discipline and order in the armies must be maintained in all circumstances.
-"3. for the maintenance of confidence between officers and men the soldiers' councils have advisory powers in matters relating to provisioning, furloughs and the infliction of military punishments. it is their highest duty to endeavor to prevent disorder and mutiny.
-"4. officers and men shall have the same rations.
-"5. officers and men shall receive the same extra allowances of pay and perquisites."
-"voluntary submission" by soldiers to officers might be feasible in a victorious and patriotic army, but it is impracticable among troops infected with socialist doctrines and retreating before their conquerors. authority, once destroyed, can never be regained. this was proved not only at the front, but at home as well. die neue freiheit (the new freedom), a phrase glibly mouthed by all supporters of the revolution, assumed the same grotesque forms in germany as in russia. automobiles, commandeered by soldiers from army depots or from the royal garages, flying red flags, darted through the streets at speeds defying all regulations, filled with unwashed and unshaven occupants lolling on the cushioned seats. cabmen drove serenely up the left side of unter den linden, twiddling their fingers at the few personally escorted and disarmed policemen whom they saw. gambling games ran openly at street-corners. soldiers mounted improvised booths in the streets and sold cigarettes and soap looted from army stores.
-earnest revolutionaries traveled through the city looking for signs containing the word kaiserlich (imperial) or königlich (royal), and mutilated or destroyed them. court purveyors took down their signs or draped them. the kaiser keller in friedrichstrasse became simply a keller and the bust of the kaiser over the door was covered with a piece of canvas. the royal opera-house became the "opera-house unter den linden."
-one of the most outstanding characteristics of the german people in peace times had been their love of order. even the superficial observer could not help noticing it, and one of its manifestations earned general commendation. this was that the unsightly billboards and placarded walls that disfigure american cities were never seen in germany. neat and sightly columns were erected in various places for official, theatrical or business announcements, and no posters might be affixed anywhere else. nothing more strikingly illustrates the character of the collapse in germany than the fact that it destroyed even this deeply ingrained love of order. genossen with brushes and paste-pots calmly defaced house-walls and even show windows on main streets with placards whose quality showed that german art, too, had suffered in the general collapse of the empire.
-there was something so essentially childish in the manner in which a great part of the people reacted to die neue freiheit that one is not surprised to hear that it also turned juvenile heads. several hundred schoolboys and schoolgirls, from twelve to seventeen years old, paraded through the main streets of berlin, carrying red flags and placards with incendiary inscriptions. the procession stopped before the prussian diet building, where the workmen's and soldiers' council was in session, and presented a list of demands. these included the vote for all persons eighteen years old or over, the abolition of corporal punishment and participation by the school-children in the administration of the schools. the chairman of the vollzugsrat of the council addressed the juvenile paraders, and declared that he was in complete sympathy with their demands.
-a seventeen-year-old lad replied with a speech in which he warned the council that there would be terrible consequences if the demands were not granted. the procession then went on to the reichstag building, where speeches were made by several juvenile orators, demanding the resignation or removal of ebert and scheidemann and threatening a general juvenile strike if this demand was not accepted immediately.
-enthusiasm was heightened in the first week of the revolutionary government's existence by reports that enemy countries were also in the grip of revolution. tuesday's papers published a report that foch had been murdered, poincaré had fled from paris and the french government had been overthrown. reports came from hamburg and kiel that english sailors had hoisted the red flag and were fraternizing with german ships' crews on the north sea. the soldiers' council at paderborn reported that the red flag had been hoisted in the french trenches from the belgian border to mons, and that french soldiers were fraternizing with the germans. that these reports found considerable credence throws a certain light on the german psychology of these days. the reaction when they were found to be false further increased the former despondency.
-the six-man cabinet decreed on november 15th the dissolution of the prussian diet and the abolishment of the house of lords. replying to a telegram from president fehrenbach of the reichstag, asking whether the government intended to prevent the reichstag from coming together in the following week, the cabinet telegraphed:
-"as a consequence of the political overturn, which has done away with the institution of german kaiserdom as well as with the federal council in its capacity of a lawgiving body, the reichstag which was elected in 1912 can also not reconvene."
-the cabinet--subject to the control theoretically exercisable by the vollzugsrat--was thus untrammeled by other legislative or administrative institutions. but it was, as we have seen, trammeled from without by the disastrous material conditions in germany, by the mental and moral shipwreck of its people, by the peculiar german psychology and by the political immaturity of the whole nation--a political immaturity, moreover, which even certain cabinet members shared. from within the cabinet was also seriously handicapped from the start by its "parity" composition, that is to say, the fact that power was equally divided between majority and independent socialists without a deciding casting vote in case of disagreement along party lines. if the independent socialist cabinet members and the rank and file of their party had comprehended the real character and completeness of the revolution, as it was comprehended by some of the theorists of the party--notably karl kautsky and eduard bernstein--and if they had avoided their disastrous fellowship with joffe and other bolshevik agents, the subsequent course of events would have been different. but they lacked this comprehension and they had been defiled in handling the pitch of bolshevism.
-all the revolutions of the last century and a quarter had been of bourgeois origin. they had, however, been carried into effect with the aid of the proletariat, since the bourgeoisie, being numerically much weaker than the proletariat, does not command the actual brute force to make revolution. at first the bourgeoisie, as planners of the overthrow, took control of the authority of the state and exercised it for their own ends. the proletariat, which had learned its own strength and resources in the revolutionary contests, used its power to compel a further development of the revolution in a more radical direction and eventually compelled the first holders of authority to give way to a government more responsive to the demands of the lower classes. thus the events of 1789 in paris were followed by the victory of the montane party, the events of september 4, 1870, by those of march 18, 1871, and the kerensky revolution in petrograd by the bolshevik revolution of november, 1917.
-the german revolution, however, alone among the great revolutions of the world, was, as has already been pointed out, both in its origins and execution, proletarian and socialistic. the bourgeoisie had no part in it and no participation in the revolutionary government. any attempt to develop the revolution further by overthrowing or opposing the first revolutionary government could therefore serve only factional and not class interests. factional clashes were, of course, inevitable. the members of the paris commune split into four distinct factions, jacobins, blanquists, proudhonists and a small group of marxist internationalists. but these, bitterly as they attacked each other's methods and views, nevertheless presented at all times a united front against the bourgeoisie, whereas the german independent socialists, from whom better things might have been expected, almost from the beginning played into the hands of the spartacans, from whom nothing good could have been expected, and thus seriously weakened the government and eventually made a violent second phase of the revolution unavoidable.
-if it be admitted that socialist government was the proper form of government for germany at this time, it is clear that the independent socialists had a very real mission. this was well expressed in the first month of the revolution in a pamphlet by kautsky, in which he wrote:
-"the extremes (majority socialists and spartacans) can best be described thus: the one side (majority) has not yet completely freed itself from bourgeois habits of thought and still has much confidence in the bourgeois world, whose inner strength it overestimates. the other side (spartacans) totally lacks all comprehension of the bourgeois world and regards it as a collection of scoundrels. it despises the mental and economic accomplishments of the bourgeoisie and believes that the proletarians, without any special knowledge or any kind of training, are able to take over immediately all political and economic functions formerly exercised by the bourgeois authorities.
-"between these two extremes we find those (the independents) who have studied the bourgeois world and comprehend it, who regard it objectively and critically, but who know how properly to value its accomplishments and realize the difficulties of replacing it with a better system. this marxist center must, on the one hand, spur the timorous on and awaken the blindly confiding, and on the other, put a check upon the blind impetuosity of the ignorant and thoughtless. it has the double task of driving and applying the brakes.
-"these are the three tendencies that contend with each other within the ranks of the proletariat."
-indications of the coming split with the cabinet were observable even in the first week of the government's existence. together with its decree dissolving the diet, the cabinet announced that "the national government is engaged in making preparations for the summoning of a constituent assembly at the earliest possible moment." the overwhelming majority of the german people already demanded the convening of such a body. only the spartacans, who had formally effected organization on november 14th, openly opposed it as a party, but there was much anti-assembly sentiment in independent socialist ranks, although the party had as yet taken no stand against it. richard müller, the dangerous independent socialist demagogue at the head of the workmen's section of the vollzugsrat, was one of the most rabid opponents of a national assembly and one of the men responsible for his party's subsequent opposition to it. speaking at a meeting of the vollzugsrat on november 19th he said:
-"there is a cry now for a national assembly. the purpose is plain. the plan is to use this assembly to rob the proletariat of its power and lay it back in the hands of the bourgeoisie. but it will not succeed. we want no democratic republic. we want a social republic."
-haase, speaking for the cabinet, cleverly avoided putting himself on record as to whether or not a national assembly would eventually be called. it could not be called together yet, he said, because preparations must first be made. election lists must be drawn up and the soldiers in the field must have an opportunity to vote. moreover, the soldiers, who had been "mentally befogged" by the pan-german propaganda at the front, must be "enlightened" before they could be permitted to vote. large industries must also be socialized before time could be taken to summon a constituante.
-the majority socialist trio, realizing the impracticability of tearing down old institutions before there was something better to take their place, moved slowly in instituting reforms. this was little to the liking of the radicals within and without the cabinet. haase, politician before all else, and dittmann, class-conscious fanatic, insisted on speedier reforms along orthodox socialist lines, and particularly on a far-reaching socialization of big industries. nearly a year earlier haase, cohn and ledebour, attending the notorious joffe banquet, had approved bolshevik attacks on the majority socialists and excused the slow progress of the revolutionary propaganda by saying that "those--eberts and scheidemanns" could not be brought to see reason. it was hardly to be expected that the independents would be milder now. the work of the cabinet was hampered already, although the independent members kept up a pretense of working with the old party's representatives.
-haase, dittmann and barth were supported by the vollzugsrat. this body, which had started out by ordering the restoration to their owners of the newspapers seized during the revolution, had so far faced about two days later that liebknecht and rosa luxemburg were able to exhibit to the publishers of the lokal-anzeiger an order from the vollzugsrat directing them to place their plant at the disposal of the spartacans for the printing of die rote fahne, whose editor the luxemburg woman was to be. the order did not even hint at any compensation for the publishers. naturally they refused flatly to obey it, and the greater berlin soldiers' council, still dominated by men of the better sort, meeting two days later, indignantly denounced the action of the vollzugsrat and compelled the withdrawal of the order.
-despite the fact that the majority and independent socialists were evenly represented on this council, the latter dominated it. brutus molkenbuhr, the majority socialist co-chairman with richard müller was no match for his fanatic colleague, and most of the other members were nobodies of at most not more than average intelligence. a more poorly equipped body of men never ruled any great state, and whatever of good was accomplished by the cabinet in the first month of its existence was accomplished against the opposition of a majority of these men. müller's radicalism grew daily greater. "the way to a national assembly must lead over my dead body" he declared in a speech filled with braggadocio, and his hearers applauded.
-the independent socialists' ascendancy in the executive body was assured on december 5th, when an election was held to fill two vacancies among the soldier members. two independents were chosen, which gave that party sixteen of the council's twenty-eight members.
-even by this time the shift of sentiment in the ranks of independent socialism had proceeded to a point where this party's continued ascendancy would have been as great a menace to democratic government as would liebknecht's spartacans. adolph hoffmann, the party's prussian minister of cults, openly declared that if an attempt were made to summon the national assembly it must never be permitted to meet, even if it had to be dispersed as the russian bolsheviki dispersed the constituent assembly in petrograd, and his pronouncement was hailed with delight by die freiheit, the party's official organ in berlin, and by independents generally. emil eichhorn, who was once one of the editors of vorwärts but now prominent in the independent socialist party, and who had been appointed police-president of berlin, was on the payroll of rosta, the russian telegraph agency which served as a central for the carrying on of bolshevik propaganda in germany. he did as much as any other man to make the subsequent fighting and bloodshed in berlin possible by handing out arms and ammunition to liebknecht's followers, and by dismissing from the city's republican guard--the soldier-policemen appointed to assist and control the policemen--men loyal to the new government.
-the spartacans were feverishly active. liebknecht and his lieutenants organized and campaigned tirelessly. der rote soldatenbund (the red soldiers' league) was formed from deserters and criminals and armed with weapons furnished by eichhorn from the police depots, stolen from government stores or bought with money furnished by russian agents. the funds received from this source were sufficient also to enable the spartacan leaders to pay their armed supporters twenty marks a day, a sum which proved a great temptation to many of the city's unemployed whose sufferings had overcome their scruples.
-the first demonstration of strength by the spartacans came on november 26th, when they forcibly seized the piechatzek crane works and the imperator motor company, both big berlin plants. spartacan employees assisted liebknecht's red soldiery to throw the management out. the funds and books of both plants were seized, soldiers remained in charge and plans were made to run the plants for the sole benefit of the workers. the cabinet ordered the plants restored to their owners, and the order was obeyed after it became apparent that the vollzugsrat, although in sympathy with the usurpers, did not dare oppose the cabinet on such an issue.
-the openly revolutionary attitude of the liebknecht cohorts and their insolent defiance of the government, resulted in armed guards being stationed in front of all public buildings in berlin. but here was again exhibited that peculiar unpractical kink in the socialist mentality: the guards were directed not to shoot!
-the reason for the existence of this kink will be apparent to one who has read carefully the preceding chapters regarding socialism's origin and the passages therein reporting the attitude of the two wings of the party in the reichstag following admiral von capelle's charges in the autumn of 1917. the first article in the socialist creed is solidarity. "proletarians of all lands: unite!" cried marx and engels in their communist manifesto seven decades ago. the average socialist brings to his party an almost religious faith; for hundreds of thousands socialism is their only religion. all members of the party are their "comrades," the sheep of one fold, and their common enemies are the bourgeois elements of society, the wolves. black sheep there may be in the fold, but they are, after all, sheep, and like must not slaughter like, genossen must not shoot genossen.
-the supporters of the government were to learn later by bitter experience that some sheep are worse than wolves, but they had not yet learned it. spartacans coolly disarmed the four guards placed at the old palace in unter den linden and stole their guns. they disarmed the guards at the chancellor's palace, the seat of the government, picked the pockets and stole the lunch of the man in charge of the machine-gun there, and took the machine-gun away in their automobile. they staged a demonstration against otto wels, a majority socialist who had been appointed city commandant, and had no difficulty in invading his private quarters because the guards posted in front had orders not to shoot and were simply brushed aside. when the demonstration was ended, the spartacans proceeded on their way rejoicing, taking with them the arms of the government soldiers.
-the spartacans were by this time well equipped with rifles, revolvers and ammunition, and had a large number of machine-guns. they secured one auto-truck full of these from the government arsenal at spandau on a forged order. they even had a few light field guns and two or three minethrowers. in the absence of any opposition except the futile denunciations of the bourgeois press and the vorwärts, their numbers were increasing daily and they were rapidly fortifying themselves in various points of vantage. neukölln, one of the cities making up greater berlin, was already completely in their power. the workmen's and soldiers' council of this city consisted of seventy-eight men, all of whom were spartacans. this council forcibly dissolved the old city council, drove the mayor from the city hall and constituted itself the sole legislative and administrative organ in the city. a decree was issued imposing special taxes upon all non-socialist residents, and merchants were despoiled by requisitions enforced by armed hooligans.
-the "council of deserters, stragglers and furloughed soldiers" announced a number of meetings for the afternoon of december 6th to enforce a demand for participation in the government. the largest of these meetings was held in the germania hall in the chausseestrasse, just above invalidenstrasse and near the barracks of the franzer, as the kaiser franz regiment was popularly known. the main speaker was a man introduced as "comrade schultz," but whose hebraic features indicated that this was a revolutionary pseudonym. he had hardly finished outlining the demands of "us deserters" when word came that the vollzugsrat had been arrested. it developed later that some misguided patriots of the old school had actually made an attempt to arrest the members of this council, which had developed into such a hindrance to honest government, but the attempt failed.
-the report, however, threw the meeting into great excitement. a motion to adjourn and march to the chancellor's palace to protest against the supposed arrest was carried and the crowd started marching down chausseestrasse, singing the laborers' marseillaise. at the same time the crowd present at a similar meeting in a hall a few blocks away started marching up chausseestrasse to join the germania hall demonstrants. both processions found their way blocked by a company of franzer, drawn up in front of their barracks, standing at "ready" and with bayonets fixed. the officer in command ordered the paraders to stop:
-"come on!" cried the leaders of the demonstration. "they won't shoot their comrades!"
-but the franzer had not yet been "enlightened." a rattling volley rang out and the deserters, stragglers and furloughed paraders fled. fifteen of them lay dead in the street and one young woman aboard a passing street car was also killed.
-the incident aroused deep indignation not only among the spartacans, but among the independent socialists as well. the bulk of the independents were naturally excited over the killing of "comrades," and the leaders saw in it a welcome opportunity further to shake the authority of the majority socialist members of the government. even the vorwärts, hesitating between love and duty, apologetically demanded an investigation. the government eventually shook off all responsibility and it was placed on the shoulders of an over-zealous officer acting without instructions. this may have been--indeed, probably was--the case. the cabinet's record up to this time makes it highly improbable that any of its members had yet begun to understand that there are limits beyond which no government can with impunity permit its authority to be flouted.
-the day following the shooting saw the first of those demonstrations that later became so common. liebknecht summoned a meeting in the siegesallee in the tiergarten. surrounded by motor-trucks carrying machine-guns manned by surly ruffians, he addressed the assembled thousands, attacking the government, demanding its forcible overthrow and summoning his hearers to organize a red guard.
-it is significant that, although actual adherents of spartacus in berlin could at this time be numbered in thousands, tens of thousands attended the meeting. between the spartacans and thousands of independent socialists of the rank and file there were already only tenuous dividing lines.
-the majority socialists in control.
-the independent socialist trio in the cabinet had been compelled to give up--at least outwardly--their opposition to the summoning of a national assembly. popular sentiment too plainly demanded such a congress to make it possible to resist the demand. also the majority members of the cabinet had been strengthened by two occurrences early in december. joffe, the former russian bolshevik ambassador, had published his charges against haase, barth and cohn, and, although these were merely a confirmation of what was generally suspected or even definitely known by many, they had an ugly look in the black and white of a printed page and found a temporary reaction which visibly shook the authority of these men who had accepted foreign funds to overthrow their government.
-the other factor strengthening the hands of ebert, scheidemann and landsberg was the manner of the return of the german front-soldiers.
-gratifying reports had come of the conduct of these men on their homeward march. where the soldiers of the étappe had thrown discipline and honor to the winds and straggled home, a chaotic collection of looters, the men who, until noon on november 11th, had kept up the unequal struggle against victorious armies, brought back with them some of the spirit that kept them at their hopeless posts. they marched in good order, singing the old songs, and scores of reports came of rough treatment meted out by them to misguided genossen who tried to compel them to substitute the red flag for their national or state flags, or for their regimental banners.
-the first returning soldiers poured through the brandenburger tor on december 10th. a victorious army could not have comported itself differently. the imperial black-white-red, the black-and-white of prussia, the white-and-blue of bavaria and the flags of other states floated from the ranks of the veterans. flowers decked their helmets. flowers and evergreens covered gun-carriages and caissons, flowers peeped from the muzzles of the rifles. women, children and old men trudged alongside, cheering, laughing, weeping. time was for the moment rolled back. it was not december, 1918, but august, 1914.
-the people greeted the troops as if they were a conquering army. they jammed the broad unter den linden; cheering and handclapping were almost continuous. the red flags had disappeared from the buildings along the street and been replaced by the imperial or prussian colors. only the kultusministerium, presided over by adolph hoffmann, illiterate director of schools and atheistic master of churches, stayed red. the flag of revolution floated over it and a huge red carpet hung challengingly from a second-story window.
-it was evident on this first day, as also on the following days, that red doctrines had not yet destroyed discipline and order. the men marched with the cadenced step of veterans, their ranks were correctly aligned, their rifles snapped from hand to shoulder at the command of their officers. the bands blared national songs as the long lines of field-gray troops defiled through the central arch of the great gate, once sacredly reserved for the royal family.
-a hush fell on the waiting crowds. the soldiers' helmets came off. a massed band played softly and a chorus of school-children sang the old german anthem:
-wie sie so sanft ruh'n, alle die seligen, in ihren gräbern.
-ebert delivered the address of welcome, which was followed by three cheers for "the german republic." it was no time for cheers for the "german socialist republic." the soldiers had not yet been "enlightened."
-the scenes of this first day were repeated on each day of the week. the self-respecting, sound attitude of the front-soldiers angered the spartacans and independents, but was hailed with delight by the great majority of the people. the vollzugsrat, resenting the fact that it had not been asked, as the real governing body of germany, to take part officially in welcoming the soldiers, sent one of its members to deliver an address of welcome. he had hardly started when bands began to play, officers shouted out commands, the men's rifles sprang to their shoulders and they marched away, leaving him talking to an empty square.
-the six-man cabinet announced that a national assembly would be convened. the date tentatively fixed for the elections was february 2d, which was a compromise, for the majority socialists wanted an earlier date, while the independent trio desired april. it was announced also that a central congress of all germany's workmen's and soldiers' councils had been summoned to meet in berlin on december 16th. this congress was to have power to fix the date for the national assembly and to make the necessary preparations.
-the following account of the sessions of the central congress is copied from the author's diary of those days. there is nothing to add to or take from the estimates and comments set down at that time.
-"december 16th. the central congress of germany's workmen's and soldiers' councils convened today in the abgeordnetenhaus (prussian diet). there are about four hundred and fifty delegates present, including two women. there is a fair sprinkling of intelligent faces in the crowd, and the average of intelligence and manners is far above that of the berlin soldiers' council. none of the delegates keeps his hat on in the chamber and a few who have started smoking throw their cigars and cigarettes away at the request of the presiding officer, leinert from hanover, who was for some years a member of the prussian diet and is a man of ability and some parliamentary training.
-"after organization, which is effected with a show of parliamentary form, richard müller, chairman of the executive committee of the vollzugsrat, mounts the speaker's tribune to give an extended report of the committee's activities. the report, which turns out to be really a defense of the committee, gets a cool reception. the vollzugsrat has drifted steadily to the left ever since it was appointed, and is strongly independent socialist and spartacan, and it is already evident that the majority socialists have an overwhelming majority in the congress.
-"chairman leinert interrupts müller's speech with an announcement that a genosse has an important communication to make. a man who declares that he speaks 'in the name of at least 250,000 of berlin's proletariat, now assembled before this building,' reads a series of demands. the first, calling for the strengthening of the socialist republic, is greeted with general applause, but then come the familiar spartacan (bolshevik) demands for the disarming of the bourgeoisie, weaponing of 'the revolutionary proletariat,' formation of a red guard (loud cries of 'no!'), and 'all power to remain in the hands of the workmen's and soldiers' councils.' in other words, the russian soviet republic.
-"a half dozen officer-delegates present join in the protests against the demands. loud cries of 'raus die offiziere!' (out with the officers!) come from a little group of spartacans and independent socialists at the right of the room. order is finally restored and müller completes his defense of the vollzugsrat.
-"liebknecht, who has entered the building while this was going on, addresses his followers in the street in front from the ledge of a third-story window. the '250,000 of berlin's proletariat' prove to be about seven thousand, nearly half of them women and girls and a great majority of the rest down-at-the-heels youths. his speech is the usual bolshevik rodomontade. a middle-aged workman who leaves the crowd with me tells me:
-"'two-thirds of the people there are there because they have to come or lose their jobs. one has to eat, you know.'
-"i learned later in the day that many of the paraders had been induced to attend by the representation that it was to be a demonstration in favor of the national assembly. it is also asserted that others were forced by spartacans with drawn revolvers to leave their factories.
-"december 17th. the second day's session of the congress was marked by a virulent attack on ebert by ledebour, between whom and liebknecht there is little difference. the reception of his speech by the delegates again demonstrated that the majority socialists make up nine-tenths of the assembly. barth also took it upon himself to attack ebert and to disclose secrets of the inner workings of the cabinet. ebert answered with an indignant protest against being thus attacked from the rear. barth has the lowest mentality of all the six cabinet members, and i am informed on good authority that he has an unsavory record. his alleged offenses are of a nature regarded by advanced penologists as pathological rather than criminal, but however that may be, he seems hardly fitted for participation in any governing body.
-"liebknecht's followers staged another demonstration like that of yesterday. the congress had decided that no outsiders should be permitted again to interrupt the proceedings, but a delegation of some forty men and women from the schwarzkopff, knorr and other red factories, bearing banners inscribed with bolshevik demands, insisted on entering and nobody dared oppose them. they filed onto the platform and read their stock resolutions, cheered by the little group of their soul-brothers among the deputies and by fanatics in the public galleries. beyond temporarily interrupting the proceedings of the congress they accomplished nothing.
-"the incompetence--to use no stronger word--of the vollzugsrat was again demonstrated today, as well as its careless financial methods.
-"december 19th. the congress tonight changed the date for the national assembly from february 16th to january 19th. hardly forty of the delegates opposed the change. these forty--independents and spartacans--tried vainly to have a resolution passed committing germany to the russian soviet system, but the vast majority would have none of it. haase spoke in favor of the national assembly. if he maintains this course his coöperation with the three majority members of the cabinet will be valuable, but he is a trimmer and undependable.
-"the congress was enabled by a bolt of the independents to accomplish another valuable bit of work, viz., the appointment of a new central vollzugsrat made up entirely of majority socialists. it includes some excellent men, notably cohen of reuss, whose speech in advocacy of the national assembly and of changing its date has been the most logical and irrefutable speech made during the congress, and leinert, first chairman of the congress. with the support of this new executive committee the cabinet will have no excuse if it continues to shilly-shally along and fails to exhibit some backbone.
-"but i am apprehensive. a scraggly-bearded fanatic in one of the public galleries today repeatedly howled insults at majority socialist speakers, and, although repeated remonstrances were made, nobody had enough energy or courage to throw him out. leinert once threatened to clear the galleries if the demonstrations there were repeated. the spectators promptly responded with hoots, hisses and the shaking of fists, but the galleries were not cleared.
-"german government in miniature! the same mentality that places guards before public buildings and orders them not to use their weapons! sancta simplicitas!"
-it will be observed that the foregoing report, comparatively lengthy though it is, fails to record an amount of legislative business commensurate with the length of the session. and yet there is little to add to it, for but two things of importance were done--the alteration of the date for holding the elections for the national assembly and the appointment of the new vollzugsrat. outside this the accomplishments of the congress were mainly along the line of refusing to yield to independent and spartacan pressure designed to anchor the soviet scheme in the government. new light is thrown on the old vollzugsrat by the fact that it had invited the russian government to send delegates to the congress. the cabinet had learned of this in time, and a week before the congress was to assemble it sent a wireless message to petrograd, asking the government to abstain from sending delegates "in view of the present situation in germany." the russians nevertheless tried to come, but were stopped at the frontier.
-the manner in which haase and dittmann had supported their majority socialist colleagues in the cabinet by their speeches during the congress had demonstrated that, while there were differences between the two groups, they were not insurmountable. the events of the week following the congress of soviets, however, altered the situation completely.
-it has been related how, in the days preceding the actual revolution in berlin, the so-called "people's marine division" had been summoned to the capital to protect the government. it was quartered in the royal stables and the royal palace, and was entrusted with the custody of the palace and its treasures.
-it speedily became apparent that a wolf had been placed in charge of the sheepfold. the division, which had originally consisted of slightly more than six hundred men, gradually swelled to more than three thousand, despite the fact that no recruiting for it nor increase in its numbers had been authorized. a great part of the men performed no service whatever, terrorized inoffending people, and, as investigation by the finance ministry disclosed, stole everything movable in the palace.
-the division demanded that it be permitted to increase its numbers to five thousand and that it be made a part of the republican soldier guard in charge of the city's police service. this demand was refused by the city commandant, otto wels, since the ranks of the soldier guard were already full. a compromise was eventually reached by which those of the division who had formerly been employed on police duty and who were fathers of families and residents of berlin, would be added to the police force if the marine division would surrender the keys to the palace which it was looting. the marines agreed to this, but failed to surrender the keys. on december 21st a payment of eighty thousand marks was to be made to them for their supposed services. wels refused to hand over the money until the keys to the palace had been surrendered.
-wels had incurred the deep hatred of the more radical elements of the capital by his sturdy opposition to lawlessness. he was almost the only majority socialist functionary who had displayed unbending energy in his efforts to uphold the authority of the government, and public demonstrations against him had already been held, in which he was classed with ebert and scheidemann as a "bloodhound." the leaders of the marine division decided reluctantly to give up the palace keys, but they would not hand them over to the hated wels. early in the afternoon of december 23d they sought out barth, the member of the cabinet who stood closest to them, and gave the keys to him. barth telephoned to wels that the keys had been surrendered. wels pointed out that ebert was the member of the cabinet in charge of military affairs, and declared that he would pay out the eighty thousand marks only upon receipt of advices that the keys were in ebert's possession.
-the delivery to barth of the keys had been entrusted two marines who constituted the military post at the chancellor's palace. these men, informed of wels's attitude, occupied the telephone central in the palace, and informed ebert and landsberg that dorrenbach, their commander, had ordered that no one be permitted to leave or enter the building. an hour later, at five-thirty o'clock, the marines left the building, but in the evening the whole division appeared before the palace and occupied it.
-government troops, summoned by telephone, also appeared, and an armed clash appeared imminent. ebert, however, finally induced the marines to leave on condition that the government troops also left.
-while this was going on, a detachment of marines had entered wels's office, compelled him at the point of their guns to pay out the eighty thousand marks due them, and had then marched him to the royal stables, where he was locked up in a cellar and threatened with death. ebert, scheidemann and landsberg, without consulting their colleagues, ordered the minister of war to employ all force necessary for the release of wels. at the last moment, however, negotiations were entered into and wels was released shortly after midnight on the marines' terms.
-spartacans and radical independents took the part of the marines. richard müller, ledebour, däumig and other members of the defunct original vollzugsrat were galvanized into new opposition. ledebour's "revolutionary foremen of greater berlin industries" demanded the retirement of the independent socialist members of the cabinet, and the demand was approvingly published by die freiheit, the party's official organ. the head and forefront of the majority cabinet members' offending was their order to the war minister to use force in upholding the government's authority, and radical revolutionists condemn force when it is employed against themselves.
-the position of haase and dittmann as party leaders was seriously shaken. the left wing of their party, led by eichhorn and ledebour, was on the point of disavowing them as leaders and even as members of the party. at the party's caucuses in greater berlin on december 26th, held to nominate candidates for delegates to the coming national assembly, ledebour refused to permit his name to be printed on the same ticket with haase's, and eichhorn secured 326 votes to 271 for the party's head.
-on the evening of the same day the independents in the cabinet submitted eight formulated questions to the vollzugsrat, in which this body was asked to define its attitude as to various matters. the vollzugsrat answered a majority of the questions in a sense favorable to the independents. its answer to one important question, however, gave the independents the pretext for which they were looking. the question ran:
-"does the vollzugsrat approve that the cabinet members ebert, scheidemann and lansberg on the night of december 23d conferred upon the minister of war the authority, in no manner limited, to employ military force against the people's marine division in the palace and stables?"
-the executive council's answer was:
-"the people's commissioners merely gave the order to do what was necessary to liberate comrade wels. nor was this done until after the three commissioners had been advised by telephone by the leader of the people's marine division that he could not longer guarantee the life of comrade wels. the vollzugsrat approves."
-the vollzugsrat itself presented a question. it asked:
-"are the people's commissioners prepared to protect public order and safety, and also and especially private and public property, against forcible attacks? are they also prepared to use the powers at their disposal to prevent themselves and their organs from being interfered with in their conduct of public affairs by acts of violence, irrespective of whence these may come?"
-the independents, for whom dittmann spoke, hereupon declared that they retired from the government. thus they avoided the necessity of answering the vollzugsrat's question. in a subsequent statement published in their press the trio declared that the majority members were encouraging counter-revolution by refusing to check the power of the military. they themselves, they asserted, were a short while earlier in a position to take over the government alone, but they could not do so since their principles did not permit them to work with a majority socialist vollzugsrat. what they meant by saying that they could have assumed complete control of the cabinet was not explained, and it was probably an over-optimistic statement. there is no reason to believe that the independents had up to this time been in a position enabling them to throw the majority socialists out of the cabinet.
-ebert, scheidemann and landsberg, in a manifesto to the people, declared that the independents had, by their resignations, refused to take a stand in favor of assuring the safety of the state. the manifesto said:
-"by rejecting the means of assuring the state's safety, the independents have demonstrated their incapacity to govern. for us the revolution is not a party watchword, but the most valuable possession of the whole wealth-producing folk.
-"we take over their tasks as people's commissioners with the oath: all for the revolution, all through the revolution. but we take them over at the same time with the firm purpose to oppose immovably all who would convert the revolution of the people into terror by a minority."
-the vollzugsrat elected to fill the three vacancies: gustav noske, still governor of kiel: herr wissell, a member of the old reichstag, and herr loebe, editor of the socialist volkswacht of breslau. loebe, however, never assumed office, and the cabinet consisted of five members until it was abolished by act of the national assembly in february.
-the majority socialists staged a big demonstration on sunday, december 29th, in favor of the new government. thousands of the bourgeoisie joined in a great parade, which ended with a tremendous assembly in front of the government offices in the wilhelmstrasse. the size and character of the demonstration showed that the great majority of berlin's law-abiding residents were on the side of ebert and his colleagues.
-the spartacans (on december 30th) had reorganized as the "communist laborers' party of germany--spartacus league." radek-sobelsohn, who had for some weeks been carrying on his bolshevik propaganda from various hiding places, attended the meeting and made a speech in which he declared that the spartacans must not let themselves be frightened by the fear of civil war. rosa luxemburg openly summoned her hearers to battle.
-the authority of the national government was small in any event, and was openly flouted and opposed in some places. sailors and marines had organized the republic of oldenburg-east frisia and elected an unlettered sailor named bernhard kuhnt as president. the president of the republic of brunswick was a bushelman tailor named leo merges, and the minister of education was a woman who had been a charwoman and had been discharged by a woman's club for which she had worked for petty peculations. kurt eisner, minister-president of bavaria, was a dreamy, long-haired communist writer who had earlier had to leave the editorial staff of vorwärts because of an utter lack of practical common-sense. he was a fair poet and an excellent feuilletonist, but quite unfitted to participate in governmental affairs. his opposition to the national government severely handicapped it, and the bavarian state government was at the same time crippled by the natural antagonism of a predominantly catholic people to a jewish president.
-to the south the czechs had occupied bodenbach and tetschen in german bohemia, and were threatening the border. to the east the poles, unwilling to await the awards of the peace conference, had seized the city of posen, were taxing the german residents there for the maintenance of an army to be used against their own government, and had given notice that a war loan was to be issued. paderewski, head of the new polish government, had been permitted to land at danzig on the promise that he would proceed directly to warsaw. instead, he went to posen and made inflammatory speeches against the germans until the english officer accompanying him was directed by the british government to see that the terms of the promise to the german government were obeyed. the german government, endeavoring to assemble and transport sufficient forces to repel polish aggressions against german territory, found opposition among the spartacans and independent socialists at home, and from the bolshevik brunswick authorities, who announced that no government troops would be permitted to pass through the state, or to be recruited there. government troops entering brunswick were disarmed. the state government gave the berlin cabinet notice that decrees of the minister of war had no validity in brunswick. general scheuch, the minister of war, resigned in disgust.
-what later became an epidemic of strikes began. seventy thousand workers were idle in berlin. upper silesia reported serious labor troubles throughout the mining districts, due to russian and german bolshevist agitators and poles.
-a less happy new year for men responsible for the affairs of a great state was doubtless never recorded.
-liebknecht tries to overthrow the government; is arrested and killed.
-in the six weeks that emil eichhorn had been police-president of berlin the situation in his department had become a public scandal. the arming of the criminal and hooligan classes by this guardian of public safety, which had at first been carried on quietly, was now being done openly and shamelessly, and had reached great proportions. liebknecht and ledebour, spartacan and independent, were in constant and close fellowship with him. a considerable part of the republican soldier guard had been turned from allegiance to the government that had appointed them and could be reckoned as adherents of eichhorn. the berlin police department had become an imperium in imperio.
-the vollzugsrat conducted a formal investigation of eichhorn's official acts. the investigation, which was conducted honestly and with dignity, convicted the police-president of gross inefficiency, insubordination, diversion and conversion of public funds, and conduct designed to weaken and eventually overthrow the government. vorwärts was able to disclose the further fact that eichhorn had throughout his term of office been drawing a salary of 1,800 marks monthly from lenine's rosta, the bolshevik propaganda-central for germany. the vollzugsrat removed eichhorn from office.
-eichhorn, relying on the armed forces at his disposal and doubtless equally on the probability that a socialist government would not dare use actual force against genossen, refused to comply with the order for his removal. the more ignorant of his followers--and this embraced a great proportion--saw in the vollzugsrat's action the first move in that counter-revolution whose specter had so artfully been kept before their eyes by their leaders.
-it is a current saying in england that when an englishman has a grievance, he writes to the times about it. when a german has a grievance, he organizes a parade and marches through the city carrying banners and transparencies, and shouting hoch! (hurrah!) for his friends and nieder! (down) with his enemies. on sunday, january 5th, a great demonstration was staged as a protest against eichhorn's removal. it is significant that, although eichhorn was an independent socialist, the moving spirit and chief orator of the day was the spartacan liebknecht. this, too, despite the fact that at the convention where the spartacus league had been reorganized a week earlier, the independents had been roundly denounced as timorous individuals and enemies of simon-pure socialism. similar denunciations of the spartacans had come from the independents. the psychology of it all is puzzling, and the author contents himself with recording the facts without attempting to explain them.
-sunday's parade was of imposing proportions, and it was marked by a grim earnestness that foreboded trouble. the organizers claimed that 150,000 persons were in the line of march. the real number was probably around twenty thousand. transparencies bore defiant inscriptions. "down with ebert and scheidemann, the bloodhounds and grave-diggers of the revolution!" was a favorite device. "down with the bloodhound wels!" was another. cheers for "our police-president" and groans for the cabinet were continuous along the line of march. the great mass of the paraders were ragged, underfed, miserable men and women, mute testimony to the sufferings of the war-years.
-liebknecht addressed the paraders. counter-revolution, he declared, was already showing its head. the ebert-scheidemann government must be overthrown and the real friends of the revolution must not shrink from using violence if violence were necessary. others spoke in a similar vein.
-conditions appeared propitious for the coup that had been preparing for a month. late sunday evening armed spartacans occupied the plants of the vorwärts, tageblatt, the ullstein company (publishers of die morgenpost and berliner zeitung-am-mittag), the lokal-anzeiger and the wolff bureau.
-the spartacans in the vorwärts plant published on monday morning der rote vorwärts (the red vorwärts). it contained a boastful leading article announcing that the paper had been taken over by "real revolutionists," and that "no power on earth shall take it from us." the liebknechtians also seized on monday the büxenstein plant, where the kreuz-zeitung is printed. there was much promiscuous shooting in various parts of the city. spartacans fired on unarmed government supporters in front of the war ministry, killing one man and wounding two. there were also bloody clashes at wilhelm platz, potsdamer platz and in unter den linden.
-the vollzugsrat rose to the occasion like a bourgeois governing body. it conferred extraordinary powers on the cabinet and authorized it to use all force at its disposal to put down the bolshevist uprising. that it was bolshevist was now apparent to everybody. the cabinet, still hesitant about firing on genossen, conferred with the independents haase, dittmann, cohn and dr. rudolf breitscheid, the last named one of the so-called "intellectual leaders" of the independent socialists. these men wanted the government to "compromise." the cabinet declared it could listen to no proposals until the occupied newspaper plants should have been restored to their rightful owners. the delegation withdrew to confer with the spartacan leaders. these refused flatly to surrender their usurped strongholds.
-several lively street battles marked the course of tuesday, january 7th. the spartacans succeeded in driving the government troops from the brandenburger tor, but after a short time were in turn driven out. spartacan and independent socialist parades filled the streets of the old city. the government did nothing to stop these demonstrations. haase and the other members of monday's delegation spent most of the day trying to induce the government to compromise. their ingenious idea of a "compromise" was for the entire cabinet to resign and be replaced by a "parity" government made up of two majority socialists, two independents and two spartacans. this, of course, would have meant in effect a government of four bolsheviki and two majority socialists. despite their traditions of and training in party "solidarity," the cabinet could not help seeing that the "compromise" proposed would mean handing the government over bodily to liebknecht, for haase and dittmann had long lost all power to lead their former followers back into democratic paths. the bulk of the party was already irrevocably committed to practical bolshevism. the scholarly eduard bernstein, who had followed haase and the other seceders from the majority socialists in 1916, had announced his return to the parent party. in a long explanation of the reasons for his course he denounced the independents as lacking any constructive program and with having departed from their real mission. they had become, he declared, a party committed to tearing down existing institutions. other adherents of the party's right wing refused to have anything to do with the new course.
-the night of january 7th was marked by hard fighting. spartacans repeatedly attacked government troops at the anhalt railway station in the k��niggrätzerstrasse, but were repulsed with heavy losses. they also attacked the government troops defending the potsdam railway station, a quarter of a mile north from the anhalt station, but were also repulsed there. government soldiers, however, had considerable losses in an unsuccessful attempt to retake the wolff bureau building at charlottenstrasse and zimmerstrasse. on wednesday, the section of the city around the brandenburger tor was again filled with parading bolsheviki, but the government had plucked up enough courage and decision to decree that no parades should be permitted to enter wilhelmstrasse, where the seat of government is situated. spartacans attempted to invade this street in the afternoon, but scattered when government soldiers fired a few shots, although the soldiers fired into the air. the independent go-betweens again assailed the cabinet in an effort to secure the "compromise" government suggested the day before. the delegation was hampered, however, both by the fact that the cabinet realized what such a compromise would mean and by the fact that the independents could promise nothing. the spartacans stubbornly refused to surrender the captured newspaper plants, and the independents themselves were committed to the retention in office of eichhorn.
-eichhorn, still at his desk in police headquarters, refused even to admit to the building police-president richter of charlottenburg, who had been named as his successor, and he and his aides were still busily arming deluded workingmen and young hooligans of sixteen and seventeen, as well as some women. the people's marine division announced that it sided with the government, but it played little part in its defense.
-the rattle of machine-guns and the crack of rifles kept berliners awake nearly all night. the hardest fighting was at the tageblatt plant, in front of the foreign office and the chancellor's palace, and around the brandenburger tor. thursday morning found the government decided to put an end to the unbearable conditions. it was announced that no parades would be tolerated and that government soldiers had been ordered to shoot to kill if any such aggregations disobeyed orders to disperse. spartacus, realizing that the government meant what it said, called no meetings, and the streets were free of howling demonstrants for the first time since sunday.
-the government further addressed a proclamation to the people, addressing them this time as mitbürger (fellow-citizens), instead of genossen. it announced that negotiations had been broken off with the rebels, and assailed the dishonest and dishonorable tactics of the independent socialists represented by the haase-dittmann delegation. die freiheit and der rote vorwärts assailed the government; still the proclamation had a good effect and decent elements generally rallied to the government's support. the day's fighting was confined to the tageblatt plant, where three hundred bolsheviki were entrenched to defend the liberty of other people's property. the place could have been taken with artillery, but it was desired to spare the building if possible.
-friday passed with only scattered sniping. the spartacans and their independent helpers grew boastful. they had not yet learned to know what manner of man gustav noske, the new cabinet member, was. they made his acquaintance early saturday morning. before the sun had risen government troops had posted themselves with artillery and mine-throwers a few hundred yards from the vorwärts plant. the battle was short and decisive. a single mine swept out of existence the spartacans' barricade in front of the building, and a few more shots made the building ripe for storm. the government troops lost only two or three men, but more than a score of bolsheviki were killed and more than a hundred, including some russians and women, were captured. the vorwärts plant was a new building and much more valuable than some of the other plants occupied by the spartacans, but it was selected for bombardment because the cabinet members wished to show, by sacrificing their own party's property first, that they were not playing favorites.
-the fall of the vorwärts stronghold and the firm stand of the government disheartened the mercenary and criminal recruits of the spartacans. police headquarters, the real center of the revolutionary movement, was taken early sunday morning after a few 10.5-centimeter shells had been fired into it. the official report told of twelve spartacans killed, but their casualties were actually much higher. eichhorn had chosen the better part of valor and disappeared. the bolsheviki occupying the various newspaper plants began deserting en masse over neighboring roofs and the plants were occupied by government troops without a contest. news came that liebknecht's followers had also abandoned the boetzow brewery in the eastern part of the city, one of their main strongholds. late in the afternoon they also fled from the silesian railway station, where they had been storing up stolen provisions, assembling arms and ammunition and preparing to make a last desperate stand.
-the week of terror had practically ended. there was still some sniping from housetops and some looting, but organized resistance had been crushed. liebknecht and rosa luxemburg had gone into hiding. liebknecht's seventeen-year-old son and sister had been arrested. ledebour, more courageous or, perhaps, more confident that a veteran genosse had nothing to fear from a socialist government, remained and was arrested.
-it had been no part of the cabinet's plan or desire to have their veteran colleague of former days arrested. on january 12th the writer, speaking with one of the most prominent majority socialist leaders, said:
-the man addressed shrugged his shoulders reflectively and answered:
-"well, you see, herr kollege, we can't very well do so. ledebour is an old comrade, he was for many years one of the party's secretaries and has done great services for the party."
-"but he has taken part in an armed uprising to overthrow the government and to destroy that same party," persisted the writer. the socialist leader admitted it.
-"but he is acting from ideal motives," he said.
-this refusal to judge opponents by their acts instead of by their motives hampered the government throughout its career. it is less specifically socialistic than german, and is the outgrowth of what is termed rechthaberei in german an untranslatable word exactly illustrated by the colloquy reported above. it is not the least among the mental traits that make it impossible for the average german ever to become what is popularly known as a practical politician; a trait that kept the german people in their condition of political immaturity.
-in ledebour's case, however, the government found itself compelled to act drastically. a proclamation was found which declared the government deposed and taken over temporarily by the three men who signed it. these were liebknecht, ledebour and another independent socialist named scholtze. in the first days of the uprising they had sent a detachment of spartacans to the war ministry to present the proclamation and take charge of that department's affairs, and only the presence of mind and courage of a young officer had prevented the scheme from succeeding. in the face of this, no government that demanded respect for its authority could permit ledebour to remain at liberty. his arrest was nevertheless the signal for some adverse criticism even from majority socialists whose class-conscious solidarity was greater than their intelligence.
-liebknecht was still in hiding, but it was less easy to hide in berlin than it had been a month earlier, for the old criminal police were at work again. the experiment with soldier-policemen had resulted so disastrously that every berliner who had anything to lose welcomed the return of these men who had been so denounced and hated in other days. the search lasted but two days. on january 15th liebknecht's apartment was searched, and great amounts of propagandist pamphlets and correspondence showing him to be in constant touch with the russian soviet government were found. on the evening of the next day policemen and soldiers surrounded the house of a distant relative of liebknecht's wife in the western part of the city and liebknecht was found. he denied his identity at first, but finally admitted that he was the man wanted.
-he was taken to the eden hotel in charlottenburg, which had been occupied in part by the staff of the government troops. rosa luxemburg, found hiding in another house, was brought to the hotel at the same time. after the two had been questioned, preparations were made to take them to the city prison in moabit.
-despite all precautions, news of the arrests had transpired, and the hotel was surrounded by a vast crowd, mainly made up of better class citizens, since the district where the hotel is situated is one of the best residential districts of greater berlin. the feeling of these people against the two persons who were in so great measure responsible for the terrors of the week just past naturally ran high. the appearance of the soldiers guarding the two was the signal for a wild rush. the luxemburg woman was struck repeatedly and liebknecht received a blow on the head which caused a bloody wound.
-neither the man nor woman ever reached prison. soldiers brought to the morgue late that night the body of "an unidentified man," alleged to have been shot while running away from his guards. one bullet had struck him between the shoulders and another in the middle of the back of the neck. the woman disappeared utterly.
-on the following day (january 16th) it became known that both liebknecht and luxemburg had been killed. exactly who fired the fatal shots was never clearly established, but an investigation did establish that the officers in charge of the men guarding the two prisoners were guilty of a negligence which was undoubtedly deliberate, and intended to make the killings possible.
-the impression was profound. the deutsche tageszeitung, while deploring lynch law and summary justice, declared that the deaths of the two agitators must be regarded as "almost a divine judgment." this was the tenor of all bourgeois comment, and even vorwärts admitted that the dead man and woman had fallen as victims of the base passions which they themselves had aroused. they had summoned up spirits which they could not exorcise. there was nevertheless much apprehension regarding the form which the vengeance of the victims' followers might take, but this confined itself in the main to verbal attacks on the bourgeoisie and majority socialists, and denunciation of noske's "white guard," as the loyal soldiers who protected the law-abiding part of the population were termed. disorders were feared on the day of liebknecht's funeral, but none came.
-noske, who had taken over from ebert the administration of military affairs, announced that there would be no further temporizing with persons endeavoring to overthrow the government by force. he issued a decree setting forth the duty of the soldiers to preserve order, protect property and defend themselves in all circumstances.
-the decree said further:
-"no soldier can be excused for failure to perform his duty if he have not, in the cases specified above, made timely and adequate use of his weapons to attain the purpose set forth."
-some six years earlier police-president von jagow had brought a flood of socialist abuse on his head because, in a general order to the police, he referred to the fact that there had been an unusual number of escapes of criminals and attacks on policemen and added: "henceforth i shall punish any policeman who in such case has failed to make timely use of his weapons." and now a socialist issued an order of much the same tenor. the genossen had learned by bitter experience that there is a difference between criticizing and governing, and that moral suasion occasionally fails with the lowest elements of a great city.
-defeated in berlin, the bolsheviki turned their attention to the coast cities. the "republic of cuxhaven" was proclaimed, with a school-teacher as president. it collapsed in five days as a result of the government's decisive action. an attempted coup in bremen also failed, but both these uprisings left the spartacans and independents of these cities in possession of large supplies of arms and ammunition.
-january 18th, the forty-seventh anniversary of the founding of the german empire, brought melancholy reflections for all germans. the bolshevist-hued socialists were impotently raging in defeat; the bourgeoisie lamented past glories; the majority socialists were under a crossfire from both sides. the conservative kreuz-zeitung wrote:
-"january 18th: what feelings are awakened on this day under prevailing conditions! in other times we celebrated today the empire's glory, its resurrection from impotence and dissension to unity and strength. we believed its existence and power assured for centuries. and today? after less than half a century the old misery has come upon us and has cast us down lower than ever. this time, too, germany could be conquered only because it was disunited. in the last analysis it was from the social-democratic poison of internationalism and negation of state that the empire became infected and defenseless. how painfully wrong were those who, in smiling optimism, ever made light of all warnings against the social-democratic danger. it will be our real danger in the future also. if we do not overcome the social-democratic spirit among our people we cannot recover our health."
-the kreuz-zeitung's diagnosis was correct, but it had required a national post-mortem to establish it.
-the national assembly.
-in preparation for the national assembly, the various existing political parties effected generally a sweeping reorganization, which included, for the most part, changes of designations as well. the conservatives and free conservatives coalesced as the german national people's party (deutsch-nationale volkspartei). the right wing of the national-liberals, under the leadership of dr. stresemann, became the german people's party (deutsche volkspartei). the left wing of the old party, under the leadership of baron von richthofen joined with the former progressives (fortschrittliche volkspartei) to form the german democratic party (deutsch-demokratische partei). the clericals retained their party solidarity but christened themselves german christian party (deutsch-christliche partei). the majority and independent socialists retained their old organizations and party designations. the spartacans, as outspoken enemies of any national assembly, could not consistently have anything to do with it and placed no ticket in the field. most of the independent socialists were also opponents of a constituent assembly, but the party organization was still trying to blow both hot and cold and had not yet gone on record officially as favoring a soviet government and the dictatorship of the proletariat.
-of the parties as reorganized, the national people's and the people's parties were monarchic. the christian party (clericals) contained many men who believed a limited monarchy to be the best form of government for germany, but as a whole the party was democratically inclined and out of sympathy with any attempt at that time to restore the monarchy. the two socialist parties were, of course, advocates of a republic and bitter opponents of monarchs and monarchies.
-the democratic party came into existence mainly through the efforts of theodor wolff, the brilliant editor of the berlin tageblatt. no other non-socialist editor realized so early or so completely as wolff whither the policy of the old government was taking germany. he had opposed the submarine warfare, condemned the treaty of brest-litovsk, attacked the methods and influence of the pan-germans and constantly advocated drastic democratic reforms. probably no other bourgeois newspaper had been so often suppressed as the tageblatt, and it shared with socialist organs the distinction of being prohibited in many army units and in some military departments at home. although wolff held no political office, his influence in the progressive party and with the left wing of the national-liberals was great, and even many socialists regularly read his leading articles, which were more often cabled to america than were the editorials of any other german publicist, not excepting even the poseur maximilian harden-witkowski.
-taken as a whole, the party stood far to the left. wolff, at the extreme left of his organization, might be described either as a bourgeois socialist or a socialistic bourgeois politician. the recruits from the former national-liberal party were less radical, but even they subscribed to a platform which called for the nationalization (socialization) of a long list of essential industries, notably mines and water and electrical power, and, in general, for sweeping economic reforms and the most direct participation of the people in the government. the fact that the new party was chiefly financed by big jewish capitalists caused it to be attacked by anti-semites and proletarians alike, but this detracted little from its strength at the polls, since germany's anti-semites were never found in any considerable numbers among the bourgeois parties of the left, and the proletarians were already for the most part adherents of one of the socialist factions.
-the campaign for the elections to the national assembly was conducted with great energy and equally great bitterness by all parties. despite an alleged shortage of paper which had for months made it impossible for the newspapers to print more than a small part of the advertisements submitted to them, tons of paper were used for handbills and placards. the streets, already filthy enough, were strewn ankle-deep in places with appeals for this or that party and vilifications of opponents. aëroplanes dropped thousands of dodgers over the chief cities. new daily papers, most of them unlovely excrescences on the body of the press, made their appearance and secured paper grants for their consumption.
-one feature of the campaign illustrated strikingly what had already been clear to dispassionate observers: germany's new government was unashamedly a party government first and a general government second. majority socialist election posters were placed in public buildings, railway stations, etc., to the exclusion of all other parties. its handbills were distributed by government employees and from government automobiles and aëroplanes. the bourgeois hallesche zeitung's paper supply was cut in half in order that the new socialist volkszeitung might be established, and its protest was dismissed by the soldiers' council with the statement that the volkszeitung was "more important." not even the most reactionary of the old german governments would have dared abuse its power in this manner. it may be doubted whether the revolutionary government was at all conscious of the impropriety of its course, but even if it had been it would have made no difference. one of the great sources of strength of socialism is its conviction that all means are sacred for the furtherance of the class struggle.
-the spartacans had boasted that the elections would not be permitted to be held, but the decided attitude of the government made their boast an empty one. soldiers in steel helmets, their belts filled with hand-grenades and carrying rifles with fixed bayonets, guarded the polling places whereever trouble was expected. in harburg the ballot-boxes were burned, and reports of disorders came from two or three small districts elsewhere, but the election as a whole was quietly and honestly conducted. election day in manhattan has often seen more disorders than were reported from all germany on january 19th.
-the result of the election contained no surprises; it was, in general, practically what had been forecast by the best observers. the majority socialists, who had hoped for an absolute majority but had not expected it, polled about 43 per cent of the total popular vote and secured 163 delegates to the national convention. this was an increase of nearly 8 per cent since the last general election of 1912. the independent socialists demonstrated considerable strength in greater berlin, but only one in every twenty-five of the whole country's voters supported them and only twenty-two of their followers were elected. kurt eisner, minister-president of bavaria, failed of election although his name was on the ticket in more than twenty election districts.
-the total membership of the national convention was to have been 433 delegates, but the french authorities in charge of the troops occupying alsace-lorraine refused to permit elections to be held there, which reduced the assembly's membership to 421. a majority was thus 211, and the two socialist parties, with a combined total of 185, could accomplish nothing without 26 additional votes from some bourgeois party. as it later developed, moreover, the government party could count on the support of the independents only in matters where socialist solidarity was sentimentally involved; on matters affecting economic policies there was much more kinship between the majority socialists and the democrats than between them and the followers of haase.
-the democrats, with 75 delegates, were the second strongest non-socialist party, the former clericals having 88. by virtue of their position midway between right and left they held the real balance of power.
-the national people's party, the former conservatives and free conservatives, made a surprisingly good showing in the elections, securing 42 delegates. this number, however, included the delegates of the middle and the national-liberal parties of bavaria and the citizens' party and peasants' and vineyardists' league of württemberg. the remnant of the old national-liberal party was able to elect only 21 delegates.
-there were, in addition to the parties enumerated, the bavarian peasants' league with 4 delegates, the schleswig-holstein peasants' and farm-laborers' democratic league with 1 delegate, the brunswick state election association with 1 and the german-hanoverian party (guelphs) with 4 delegates. not even the urgent need of uniting dissevered elements so far as possible could conquer the old german tendency to carry metaphysical hairsplitting into politics. the german reichstags regularly had from twelve to sixteen different parties, and even then there were generally two or three delegates who found themselves unable to agree with the tenets of any one of these parties and remained unattached, the "wild delegates" (die wilden), as they were termed. there were ten parties in the national assembly, and one of these, as has been said, was a combination of five parties.
-democracy had an overwhelming majority in the assembly. the majority socialists and democrats together had a clear joint majority of 27 votes, and the clericals' strength included many democratic delegates. no fewer than eight of the party's delegates were secretaries of labor unions. thirty-four women, the greatest number ever chosen to any country's parliament, were elected as delegates. the majority socialists, the original advocates of woman's suffrage in germany, fittingly elected the greatest number of these--15; the clericals were next with 7, the democrats elected 5, the conservatives 4, and the independent socialists 3.
-the government announced that the national assembly would be held in weimar on february 6th. hardly a fortnight had passed since the first "bolshevik week," and the cabinet feared disorders, if nothing worse, if an attempt were made to hold the assembly in berlin. it was also easier to afford adequate protection in a city of thirty-five thousand than in the capital. although it was never declared in so many words, it is probable that a sentimental reason also played a part in the choice. there was no taint of prussianism about weimar. as the "intellectual capital of germany" it has an aura possessed by no other german city. goethe, schiller and herder spent the greater part of their lives in this little thuringian city and are buried there. it has given shelter to many other men whose names are revered by educated people the world over. it is reminiscent of days when militarism and imperialism had not yet corrupted a "people of thinkers and dreamers," of days when culture had not yet given way to kultur, of days before a simple, industrious people had been converted to a belief in their mission to impose the ideals of preussen-deutschland upon the world with "the mailed fist" and "in shining armor." it is characteristic that men in high places believed--and they undoubtedly did believe--that a recollection of these things could in some way redound to the benefit of germany.
-the days between the elections and the convening of the national assembly brought further serious complications in germany's domestic situation. disaffection among the soldiers was increased by an order of colonel reinhardt, the new minister of war, defining the respective powers of officers' and the soldiers' councils. the order declared that the power of command remained with the officers in all matters affecting tactics and strategy. the councils' functions were confined to matters of provisioning and to disciplinary punishments. this order, although in accordance with the original decree of the cabinet regarding the matter, failed to satisfy men who had become contemptuous of all authority except their own.
-the workmen's and soldiers' councils of the whole country were also disquieted by the announcement of the government that, with the convening of the national assembly, all political power would pass to the assembly, and revolutionary government organs everywhere and of all kinds would cease to exist. this was not at all to the taste of most of the members of the soviets, who were affected less by political considerations than by the prospect of losing profitable sinecures and being compelled to earn a living by honest effort. the combined soviets of greater berlin voted, 492 to 362, to demand the retention of the workmen's and soldiers' councils in any future state-form which might be adopted. other soviets followed the example, and there was talk of holding a rival congress in berlin contemporaneously with the sessions of the national assembly in weimar. the spartacans, already beginning to recover from their defeats of a few days earlier, began planning another coup for the first week of february.
-noske's troops were kept constantly in action. the bolsheviki in wilhelmshaven staged an armed uprising, but it was quickly put down. they seized power in bremen, defied the government to cast them out, and several regiments were required to defeat and disarm them. there was rioting in magdeburg, and also in düsseldorf. polish aggressions, particularly between thorn and graudenz, continued. it was difficult to move troops against them because of the opposition of the independents and spartacans, and a great part of the soldiers, arrived at the front, refused to remain and could not be detained, since, under socialist methods, they had the right to quit at any time on giving a week's notice. serious strikes further embarrassed and handicapped the government.
-the determination and energy displayed by the cabinet in these difficult days deserve generous acknowledgment, and especially so in view of the fact that it required a high degree of moral courage for any body of socialist rulers to brave the denunciations of even well meaning genossen by relying on armed force to compel respect for their authority and to carry out the mandate given them now by the great majority of the german people. preparations for the national assembly were well made. no person was permitted even to buy a railway ticket to weimar unless he was in possession of a special pass bearing his photograph, and a detachment of picked troops was sent to the city to protect the assembly against interruption. machine-guns commanded all entrances to the beautiful national theater which had been converted to the purposes of the assembly, and a special detail of experienced berlin policemen and plain-clothes detectives was on hand to assist the soldiers.
-the local garrisons of weimar, eisenach, gotha and other nearby places made a futile attempt to prevent the sending of troops from berlin, but never got farther than the beginning. their attitude was not due to any political considerations, but was dictated by selfishness and wounded pride: they insisted that the sending of outside troops was an insult to them, since they could furnish all the troops necessary to preserve order, and they also felt that they were entitled to the extra pay and rations dealt out to noske's men.
-the national assembly convened on february 6th with nearly a full attendance. it was called to order by ebert, who appealed for unity and attacked the terms of the november armistice and the additional terms imposed at its renewals since. the speech received the approval of all members of the assembly except the independent socialists, who even on this first day, started their tactics of obstruction, abuse of all speakers except their own and rowdyish interruptions of the business of the sessions.
-on february 7th dr. eduard david, a scholarly man who had been for many years one of the majority socialists' leaders, was elected president (speaker) of the national assembly. the other officers chosen came from the christian, democratic and majority socialist parties, the extreme right and extreme left being unrepresented. organization having been effected, a provisional constitution was adopted establishing the assembly as a law-giving body. it provided for the election of a national president, to serve until his successor could be elected at a general election, and for the appointment of a minister-president and various ministers of state. the constitution created a so-called committee of state, to be named by the various state governments and to occupy the position of a second chamber, and empowered the assembly to enact "such national laws as are urgently necessary," particularly revenue and appropriation measures.
-friedrich ebert was elected provisional president of the german republic on february 11th by a vote of 277 out of a total of 379 votes. hardly a decade earlier the german emperor had stigmatized all the members of ebert's party as vaterlandslose gesellen and as "men unworthy to bear the name of german." now, less than three months after that monarch had been overthrown, a socialist was placed at the head of what was left of the german empire. a young and inconsequential prussian lieutenant had six years earlier been refused permission to marry the girl of his choice because her mother sold eggs. the new president of the country had been a saddler. he had once even been the owner of a small inn in hamburg.
-ebert belongs to that class which the french call the petite bourgeoisie, the lower middle class. he possesses all the solid, domestic virtues of this class, and is a living exemplification of old copy-book maxims about honesty as the best policy and faithfulness in little things. without a trace of brilliancy and without any unusual mental qualities, his greatest strength lies in an honesty and dependability which, in the long run, so often outweigh great mental gifts. few political leaders have ever enjoyed the confidence and trust of their followers to a greater degree.
-the ministry chosen was headed by scheidemann as minister-president. other members were: minister of defense (army and navy), noske; interior, hugo preuss; justice, sendsberg; commerce, hermann müller; labor, bauer; foreign affairs, count brockdorff-rantzau; under-secretary for foreign affairs, baron von richthofen; finance, dr. schiffer; posts and telegraphs, geisberg. erzberger, david and wissell were made ministers without portfolio.
-the first sessions of the national assembly made on the whole a good impression. the members were for the most part earnest men and women, fully up to the intellectual average of legislative bodies anywhere; there were comparatively few among them who were compromised by relations with the old government, and these were not in a position to do no harm. the extreme right was openly monarchic, but the members of this group realized fully the hopelessness of any attempt to restore either the hohenzollerns or a monarchic state-form at this time, and manifested their loyalty to the former ruler only by objecting vigorously to social-democratic attacks on the kaiser or to depreciation of the services of the crown in building up the empire. apart from the pathologically hysterical conduct of the independent socialists, and particularly of the three women delegates of that party, the assembly's proceedings were carried on in what was, by european parliamentary standards, a dignified manner.
-from the very beginning, however, the proceedings were sicklied o'er by the pale cast of care. after the sufferings and losses of more than four years of war, the country was now rent by internal dissensions and fratricidal strife. to the costs of war had been added hundreds of millions lost to the state through the extravagance, dishonesty or incompetence of revolutionary officials and particularly soviets. the former net earnings of the state railways of nearly a billion marks had been converted into a deficit of two billions. available sources of revenue had been almost exhausted. the german currency had depreciated more than sixty per cent. industry was everywhere crippled by senseless strikes.
-an insight into germany's financial situation was given by the report of finance minister schiffer, who disclosed that the prodigious sum of nineteen billion marks would be required in the coming year to pay interest charges alone. the war, he declared, had cost germany one hundred and sixty-one billion marks, which exceeded by nearly fourteen billions the credits that had been granted.
-the incubus of the terrible armistice terms rested upon the assembly. enemy newspapers, especially those of paris, were daily publishing estimates of indemnities to be demanded from germany, and the most modest of these far exceeded germany's total wealth of all descriptions. naïve german editors faithfully republished these articles, failing to realize that they were part of the enemy propaganda and designed further to weaken the germans' morale and increase their feeling of helplessness and despondency. not even the fiercest german patriots and loyalists of the old school could entirely shake off the feeling of helplessness that overshadowed and influenced every act of the national assembly.
-the majority socialists had come to realize more fully the difference between theory and practice. the official organ of the german federation of labor had discovered a week earlier that "the socialistic conquests of the revolution can be maintained only if countries competing with german industry adopt similar institutions." there were already concrete proofs available that socialization, even without regard to foreign competition, was not practical under the conditions prevailing in the country. at least two large factory owners in northern germany had handed their plants over to their workmen and asked them to take full charge of manufacture and sale. in both instances the workmen had, after a trial, requested the owners to resume charge of the factories.
-how shall we socialize when there is nothing to socialize? asked thoughtful men. the answer was obvious. gegen den tod ist kein kraut gewachsen (there is no remedy against death) says an old german proverb, and industry was practically dead. the government party now discovered what marx and engels had discovered nearly fifty years before.
-the tardy realization of this fact placed the delegates of the government party in a serious dilemma. sweeping socialization had been promised, and the rank and file of the party expected and demanded it. in these circumstances it was obvious that a failure to carry out what was at the same time a party doctrine and a campaign pledge would have serious consequences, and it must be reckoned to the credit of the leaders of the party that they put the material welfare of the state above party considerations and refused to let themselves be hurried into disastrous experiments along untried lines. their attitude resulted in driving many of the members of the socialist party into the ranks of the independents, but in view of the fact that the government nevertheless remained strong enough to defeat these elements wherever they had recourse to violence, and of the further fact that to accede to the demands of these intransigeants would have given the final blow to what little remained of german industry, the leaders must be said to have acted wisely and patriotically.
-with organization effected, the national assembly settled down to work. but it was work as all similar german organizations in history had always understood it. all the political immaturity, the tendency to philosophical and abstract reasoning, the ineradicable devotion to the merely academic and the disregard of practical questions that are such prominent characteristics of the people were exhibited just as they had been at the congress at frankfort-on-the-main seventy years earlier. it has been written of that congress:
-except that the reactionary forces were too weakly represented at weimar to make them an actual source of danger this characterization of the frankfort congress might have been written about the proceedings of the national assembly of february. it is a significant and illuminating fact that the greatest animation exhibited at any time during the first week of the assembly was aroused by a difference of meaning as to the definition of a word. professor hugo preuss, prussian minister of the interior, to whom had been entrusted the task of drafting a proposed constitution for the new republic, referred in a speech elucidating it, to "an absolute majority."
-"does 'absolute majority' mean a majority of the whole number of delegates?" asked some learned delegate.
-the other delegates were galvanized instantly into the tensest interest. here was a question worth while! what does "absolute majority" mean? an animated debate followed and was listened to with a breathless interest which the most weighty financial or economic questions had never succeeded in evoking.
-and while the national assembly droned thus wearily on, clouds were again gathering over berlin and other cities in the troubled young republic.
-the spartacans rise again.
-article xxvi of the armistice of november 11th declared:
-even by the end of november it had become apparent to all intelligent observers on the ground and to many outside germany that such provisioning was urgently necessary, and that if it did not come at once the result would be a spread of bolshevism which would endanger all europe. allied journalists in germany were almost a unit in recognizing the dangers and demands of the situation, but they were greatly hampered in their efforts to picture the situation truthfully by the sentiments prevailing in their respective countries as a result of the passions engendered by the conflict so lately ended. this was in the highest degree true as to the americans, which was especially regrettable and unfortunate in view of the fact that america was the only power possessing a surplus of immediately available foodstuffs. american correspondents, venturing to report actual conditions in germany, found themselves denounced as "pro-germans" and traitors by the readers of their papers. more than this: they became the objects of unfavorable reports by officers of the american military intelligence, although many of these men themselves were convinced that empty stomachs were breeding bolshevism with every passing day. one correspondent, who had been so bitterly anti-german from the very beginning of the war that he had had to leave germany long before america entered the struggle, was denounced in a report to the military intelligence at washington on march 3d as "having shown pro-german leanings throughout the war." an american correspondent with a long and honorable record, who had taken a prominent part in carrying on american propaganda abroad and upon whose reports high diplomatic officials of three of the allied countries had relied, was astounded to learn that the military intelligence, in a report of january 11, 1919, had denounced him as "having gone to berlin to create sentiment in the united states favorable to furnishing germany food-supply."
-there was less of this sort of thing in england, and many prominent englishmen were early awake to the dangers that lay in starvation. early in january lord henry bentinck, writing to the london daily news, declared there was no sense in maintaining the blockade. it was hindering the development of industry and the employment of the idle in england, and in middle europe it was killing children and keeping millions hungry and unemployed. the blockade, said lord henry, was the bolshevists' best friend and had no purpose except to enable england to cut off her own nose in order to spite germany's face. many other leaders of thought in england took the same stand.
-despite the (at least inferential) promise in the armistice that germany should be revictualled, not a step had been taken toward doing this when, on january 13th, more than two months after the signing of the armistice, president wilson sent a message to administration leaders in congress urging the appropriation of one hundred million dollars for food-relief in europe.
-"food-relief is now the key to the whole european situation and to the solution of peace," said the president. "bolshevism is steadily advancing westward; is poisoning germany. it cannot be stopped by force, but it can be stopped by food, and all the leaders with whom i am in conference agree that concerted action in this matter is of immediate and vital importance."
-so far, so good. this was a step in the right direction. but it had to be qualified. this was done in the next paragraph:
-"the money will not be spent for food for germany itself, because germany can buy its food, but it will be spent for financing the movement of food to our real friends in poland and to the people of the liberated units of the austro-hungarian empire and to our associates in the balkans.
-the house adopted the president's recommendation without question, but the senate insisted on adding a stipulation that no part of the money should be spent for food for germany and no food bought with these funds should be permitted to reach that country.
-just how an ulcer in germany was to be cured by poulticing similar ulcers in other countries is doubtless a statesmen's secret. it is not apparent to non-official minds. germany, despite her poverty and the depreciation of her currency, might have been able to buy food, but she was not permitted to buy any food. at least one of "the liberated units of the austro-hungarian empire" was in equally bad case. count michael karolyi, addressing the people's assembly at budapest, declared that the allies were not carrying out their part of the armistice agreement in the matter of food-supplies for hungary, and that it was impossible to maintain order in such conditions. whether the armistice actually promised to supply food is a matter of interpretation; that no food had been supplied is, however, a matter of history.
-on january 17th a supplementary agreement was entered into between the allies and germany, in which the former undertook to permit the importation of two hundred thousand tons of breadstuffs and seventy thousand tons of pork products to germany "in such manner and from such places as the associated governments may prescribe." this was but a part of the actual requirements of germany for a single month, but if it had been supplied quickly it would have gone far toward simplifying the tremendous problem of maintaining a semblance of order in germany.
-weeks passed, however, and no food came. with the bolshevik conflagration spreading from city to city, long debates were carried on as to what fire department should be summoned and what kind of uniforms the firemen should wear. more districts of east prussia and posen, the chief granaries of northeastern germany and berlin, were lost to germany. there was a serious shortage of coal and gas in the cities.
-strikes became epidemic. work was no longer occasionally interrupted by strikes; strikes were occasionally interrupted by work. berlin's electric power-plant workers threw the city into darkness, and the example was followed in other cities. the proletarians were apparently quite as ready to exploit their brother proletarians as the capitalists were. coal miners either quit work entirely or insisted on a seven-hour day which included an hour and a half spent in coming to and going from work, making the net result a day of five and a half hours. street-car employees struck, and for days the undernourished people of the capital walked miles to work and home again. the shops were closed by strikes, stenographers and typewriters walked out; drivers of garbage wagons, already receiving the pay of cabinet ministers, demanded more pay and got it. from every corner of the country came reports of labor troubles, often accompanied by rioting and sabotage.
-in most of these strikes the hand of spartacus and the independent socialists could be discerned. the working people, hungry and miserable, waiting vainly week after week for the food which they believed had been promised them, were tinder for the bolshevist spark. the government's unwise method of handling the problem of the unemployed further greatly aggravated the situation. the support granted the unemployed often or perhaps generally was greater than their pay in their usual callings. a man with a wife and four children in greater berlin received more than fourteen marks daily. the average wage for unskilled labor was from ten to twelve marks, and the result was that none but the most conscientious endeavored to secure employment, and thousands deliberately left their work and lived on their unemployment-allowances. two hundred thousand residents of greater berlin were receiving daily support from the city by the middle of february, and this proportion was generally maintained throughout the country. this vast army of unemployed further crippled industry, imposed serious financial burdens upon an already bankrupt state, and--inevitable result of idleness--made the task of bolshevist agitators easier.
-the spartacans, who since their defeat in berlin in january had been more carefully watched, began to assemble their forces elsewhere. essen became their chief stronghold, and the whole ruhr district, including düsseldorf, was virtually in their hands. other spartacan centers were leipsic, halle, merseburg, munich, nuremberg, mannheim and augsburg. all this time, however, they were also feverishly active in berlin. a general strike, called by the spartacans and independent socialists for the middle of february, collapsed. a secret sitting of the leaders of the red soldiers' league on february 15th was surprised by the authorities, who arrested all men present and thus nipped in the bud for a time further preparations for a new revolt. the independents made common cause with the spartacans in demanding the liberation of all "political prisoners," chief among whom were ledebour, who helped organize the revolt of january 5th, and radek, "this international criminal," as deputy heinrich heine termed him in a speech before the prussian diet.
-the respite, however, was short. on monday, march 3d, the workmen's council now completely in the hands of the enemies of the government called a general strike. street cars, omnibuses and interurban trains stopped running, all business was suspended and nightfall plunged the city into complete darkness. this was the signal for the first disturbances. there was considerable rioting, with some loss of blood, in the eastern part of the city beyond alexander platz, a section always noted as the home of a large criminal element. spartacans, reinforced by the hooligan and criminal element--or let it rather be said that these consisted and had from the beginning consisted mainly of hooligans and criminals--began a systematic attack on police-stations everywhere. thirty-three stations were occupied by them during the night, the police officials were disarmed and their weapons distributed to the rabble that was constantly swelling the ranks of the rebels.
-the first serious clash of this second bolshevik week came at the police-presidency, which the spartacans, as in january, planned to make their headquarters. this time, however, the building was occupied by loyal government troops, and the incipient attack dissolved before a few volleys. the night was marked by extensive looting. jewelers in the eastern part of the city suffered losses aggregating many million marks.
-the defection, too, came as a surprise and at a most unfortunate time. the marine division, upon which the commanders of the government troops had naïvely depended, had been ordered to clear the alexander platz, a large open place in front of the police-presidency. they began ostensibly to carry out the order, but had hardly reached the place when they declared that they had been fired on by government troops. thereupon they attacked the police-presidency, but were beaten off with some twenty-five killed. they withdrew to the marine house at the jannowitz bridge, which they had been occupying since their expulsion from the royal stables, and set about fortifying it.
-the following day--ash wednesday--was marked by irregular but severe fighting in various parts of the city. the government proclaimed a state of siege. more loyal troops were brought to the city. from captured spartacans it was learned that a massed attack on the police-presidency was to be made at eleven o'clock at night by the people's marine division, the red soldiers' league and civilian spartacans. the assault did not begin until nearly three o'clock thursday morning. despite the government troops' disposition, the spartacans succeeded, after heavy bombardment of the building, in occupying two courts in the southern wing. the battle was carried on throughout the night and until thursday afternoon. few cities have witnessed such civil warfare. every instrument known to military science was used, with the exception of poison-gases. late on thursday afternoon the attackers were dispersed and the spartacans in the police-presidency, about fifty men, were arrested.
-the marine house was also captured on the same afternoon. the defenders hoisted the white flag after a few mines had been thrown into the building, but had disappeared when the government troops occupied it. what their defection to the spartacans had meant was illustrated by the finding in the building of several thousand rifles, more than a hundred machine guns, two armored automobiles and great quantities of ammunition and provisions. the republican soldiers' guard, barricaded in the royal stables, surrendered after a few shells had been fired.
-the fighting so completely took on the aspects of a real war that the wildest atrocity stories began to circulate. they were, like all atrocity stories, greatly exaggerated, but it was established that spartacans had killed unarmed prisoners, including several policemen, had stopped and wrecked ambulances and killed wounded, and had systematically fired on first-aid stations and hospitals. noske rose to the occasion like a mere bourgeois minister. he decreed:
-"all persons found with arms in their hands, resisting government troops, will be summarily executed."
-despite this decree, the spartacans, who had erected street-barricades in that part of berlin eastward and northward from alexander platz, put up a show of resistance for some days. they were, however, seriously shaken by their heavy losses and weakened by the wholesale defections of supporters who had joined them chiefly for the sake of looting and who had a wholesale respect for noske as a man of his word. they had good reason to entertain this respect for the grim man in charge of the government's military measures. the government never made public the number of summary executions under noske's decree, but there is little doubt that these went well above one hundred. a group of members of the mutinous people's marine division had the splendid effrontery to call at the office of the city commandant to demand the pay due them as protectors of the public safety. government troops arrested the callers, a part of whom resisted arrest. twenty-four of these men, found to have weapons in their possession, were summarily executed.
-die freiheit and die republik denounced the members of the government as murderers. the office of the spartacans' die rote fahne had been occupied by government troops on the day of the outbreak of the bolshevik uprising. the bourgeois and majority socialist press supported the government whole-heartedly, and the law-abiding citizens were encouraged by their new rulers' energy and by the loyalty and bravery of the government troops. there was a general recognition of the fact that matters had reached a stage where a minority, in part deluded and in part criminal, could not longer be permitted to terrorize the country.
-the uprising collapsed rapidly after the spartacans had been driven from their main strongholds. they maintained themselves for a few days in lichtenberg, a suburb of berlin, and--as in the january uprisings--sniping from housetops continued for a week. no list of casualties was ever issued, but estimates ran as high as one thousand, of which probably three-quarters were suffered by the spartacans. they were further badly weakened by the loss of a great part of their weapons, both during the fighting and in a general clean-up of the city which was made after the uprising had been definitely put down.
-as we have seen, the efforts of the german bolsheviki, aided by the left wing of the independent socialists, to overthrow the government by force had failed wherever the attempt had been made. not only in berlin, but in a dozen other cities and districts as well, the enemies of democracy had been decisively defeated. in munich and brunswick alone they were still strong and defiant, but they were to be defeated even there later. in these circumstances it might have been expected that they would not again be able to cause serious trouble to the government. but a new aspect was put on circumstances by an occurrence whose inevitability had long been recognized by close observers.
-the independent social-democratic party went over to the spartacans officially, bag and baggage.
-in theory, to be sure, it did nothing of the kind. it maintained its own organization, "rejected planless violence," declared its adherence to "the fundamental portion of the erfurt program," and asserted its readiness to use "all political and economic means" to attain its aims, "including parliaments," which were rejected by the spartacans. apart from this, however, there was little difference in theory and none in practice between the platforms of the two parties, for the independents declared themselves for soviet government and for the dictatorship of the proletariat, and their rejection of violent methods existed only on paper.
-the party congress convened at berlin on march 2d and lasted four days. haase and dittmann, the former cabinet members, were again in control, and it could not be observed in their attitude that there had been a time when they risked a loss of influence in the party by standing too far to the right. the "revolution-program" adopted by the party declared that the revolutionary soldiers and workingmen of germany, who had seized the power of the state in november, "have not fortified their power nor overcome the capitalistic class-domination." it continued:
-"the leaders of the socialists of the right (majority) have renewed their pact with the bourgeois classes and deserted the interests of the proletariat. they are carrying on a befogging policy with the words 'democracy' and 'socialism.'
-"in a capitalistic social order democratic forms are a deceit. so long as economic liberation and independence do not follow upon political liberation there is no true democracy. socialization, as the socialists of the right are carrying it out, is a comedy."
-the program declared a new proletarian battling organization necessary, and continued:
-"the proletarian revolution has created such an organization in the soviet system. this unites for revolutionary activities the laboring masses in the industries. it gives the proletariat the right of self-government in industries, in municipalities and in the state. it carries through the change of the capitalistic economic order to a socialistic order.
-"in all capitalistic lands the soviet system is growing out of the same economic conditions and becoming the bearer of the proletarian world-revolution.
-"it is the historic mission of the independent social-democratic party to become the standard bearer of the class-conscious proletariat in its revolutionary war of emancipation.
-"the independent social-democratic party places itself upon the foundation of the soviet system. it supports the soviets in their struggle for economic and political power.
-"it strives for the dictatorship of the proletariat, the representatives of the great majority of the people, as a necessary condition precedent for the effectuation of socialism.
-"in order to attain this end the party will employ all political and economic means of battle, including parliaments." with this preface, these "immediate demands" of the party were set forth:
-"1. inclusion of the soviet system in the constitution: the soviets to have a deciding voice in municipal, state and industrial legislation.
-"2. complete disbandment of the old army. immediate disbandment of the mercenary army formed from volunteer corps. organization of a national guard from the ranks of the class-conscious proletariat. self-administration of the national guard and election of leaders by the men. abolishment of courts-martial.
-"4. election of officials and judges by the people. immediate constitution of a state court which shall determine the responsibility of those persons guilty of bringing on the war and of hindering the earlier conclusion of peace.
-"5. war profits shall be taxed entirely out of existence. a portion of all large fortunes shall be handed over to the state. public expenditures shall be covered by a graduated tax on incomes, fortunes and inheritances. the war loans shall be annulled, but necessitous individuals, associations serving the common welfare, institutions and municipalities shall be indemnified.
-"6. extension of social legislation. protection and care of mother and child. a care-free existence shall be assured to war widows and orphans and the wounded. superfluous rooms of the possessing class shall be placed at the disposition of the homeless. fundamental reform of public-health systems.
-"7. separation of church from state and of church from school. uniform public schools of secular character, which shall be erected on socialistic-pedagogic principles. every child shall have a right to an education corresponding to his capacities, and to the furnishing of means toward that end.
-"8. a public monopoly of newspaper advertisements shall be created for the benefit of municipalities.
-"9. establishment of friendly relations with all nations. immediate resumption of diplomatic relations with the russian soviet republic and poland. reëstablishment of the workmen's internationale on the basis of revolutionary social policy in the spirit of the international conferences of zimmerwald and kienthal."
-it will be observed that the difference between these demands and those of the bolsheviki (spartacans) is precisely the difference between tweedledum and tweedledee--one of terminology. some even of these principles were materially extended by interpretation three weeks later. on march 24th the independent socialists in the new prussian diet, replying to a query from the majority socialists as to their willingness to participate in the coming prussian constituent assembly, stated conditions which contained the following elaboration of point 3 in the program given above:
-"the most important means of production in agriculture, industry, trade and commerce shall be nationalized immediately; the land and its natural resources shall be declared to be the property of the whole people and shall be placed under the control of society."
-the answer, by the way, was signed by adolph hoffmann, whose acquaintance we have already made, and kurt rosenfeld, the millionaire son-in-law of a wealthy leather dealer.
-the essential kinship of the independents and spartacans will be more clearly apparent from a comparison of the latters' demands, as published on april 14th in die rote fahne, then appearing in leipsic. they follow:
-"ruthless elimination of all majority socialist leaders and of such independents as have betrayed the soviet system and the revolution by their coöperation with majority socialists.
-"immediate introduction of the following measures: (a) liberation of all political prisoners; (b) dissolution of all parliamentary gatherings; (c) dissolution of all counter-revolutionary troop detachments, disarming of the bourgeoisie and the internment of all officers; (d) arming of the proletariat and the immediate organization of revolutionary corps; (e) abolition of all courts and the erection of revolutionary tribunals, together with the trial by these tribunals of all persons involved in bringing on the war, of counter-revolutionaries and traitors; (f) elimination of all state administrative officials and boards (mayors, provincial councillors, etc.), and the substitution of delegates chosen by the people; (g) adoption of a law providing for the taking over by the state without indemnification of all larger undertakings (mines, etc.), together with the larger landed estates, and the immediate taking over of the administration of these estates by workmen's councils; (h) adoption of a law annulling war-loans exceeding twenty thousand marks; (i) suppression of the whole bourgeois press, including particularly the majority socialist press."
-some of the members of the former right wing of the independent socialists left the party and went over to the majority socialists following the party congress of the first week in march. they included the venerable eduard bernstein, who declared that the independents had demonstrated that they "lacked utterly any constructive program." the dictates of party discipline, however, together with the desperation of suffering, were too much for the great mass of those who had at first rejected bolshevist methods, and the german bolsheviki received material reinforcements at a time when they would have been powerless without them.
-the spartacans had lost their armed battle against the government, but they had won a more important bloodless conflict.
-red or white internationalism which?
-all revolutions have their second phase, and this phase ordinarily presents features similar in kind and varying only in degree. after the actual overthrow of the old government a short period of excited optimism gives place to a realization of the fact that the administration of a state is not so simple as it has appeared to the opposition parties, and that the existing order of things--the result of centuries of natural development--cannot be altered over night. under the sobering influence of this realization ultra-radicalism loses ground, the revolutionary government accepts the aid of some of the men who have been connected with the deposed government, and the administration of affairs proceeds along an orderly middle course.
-but other revolutions, as has been stated, have had a different inception, and none have depended for their successful execution and subsequent development on a people so sorely tried, so weakened physically and morally, and--last but not least--so extensively infected with the virus of internationalism. in so far as revolutions were not the work of a group of selfish aspirants for power, they were brought about by patriotic men whose first and last thought was the welfare of their own country, and who concerned themselves not at all about the universal brotherhood of man or the oppressed peoples of other lands or races. the german revolutionists, however, scoffed at patriotism as an outworn dogma. the majority of their adherents came from the poorest and most ignorant stratum of the people, the class most responsive to the agitation of leaders who promised that division of property contemplated by communist socialism.
-the independent socialists had "made the revolution." they claimed the right to determine its development. the bourgeoisie, itself incapable of restoring the old order and, for the most part, not desiring to do so, supported the parent socialist party as the lesser of two evils. the independents found themselves without the power to determine what course "their revolution" should take. all revolutionary history showed that this course would not be that desired by the independent leaders and promised by them to their radical followers. the occurrences of the first month following the revolution again demonstrated what might be called the natural law of revolutionary development. the majority socialists in the government refused to let themselves be hurried into disastrous socializing experiments. they refused to ban intelligence and ability merely because the possessors happened not to be genossen. they even believed (horribile dictu!) that private property-rights should not be abolished out of hand. they were so recreant to the principles of true internationalism that they resented foreign aggressions against germans and german soil, and they actually proposed to resist such aggressions by force.
-with heretics like these there could be no communion. they could not even be permitted to hold communion among themselves if it could be prevented, and the result was, as we have seen, the efforts of the independents and spartacans to wreck the tabernacle.
-to recount the developments of the period from the crushing of the march uprising to the signing of the peace of versailles would be but to repeat, with different settings, the story of the first four months of republican germany. this period, too, was filled with independent socialist and spartacan intrigues and armed opposition to the government, culminating in the brief but bloody reign of the communists in munich in april. strikes continued to paralyze industry. no food supplies of any importance were received. the national assembly at weimar continued to demonstrate the philosophic tendencies, academic learning and political immaturity of the german people. distinct left wings came into being in both the majority socialist and democratic parties. particularism, the historic curse of the country, again raised its head.
-red internationalism in germany received a marked impetus from the events in hungary at the end of march, when count michael karolyi handed the reins of government over to the bolshevist leader bela kun. an effort has been made to represent this as a bit of theatricals staged by karolyi with the support and encouragement of berlin. such an explanation is symptomatic of the blindness of those who will not see the significance of this development. to assert that the german government, itself engaged in a life-and-death struggle with bolshevism at home and threatened with an irruption of the bolshevist forces of russia, would deliberately create a new source of infection in a contiguous land requires either much mental hardihood or a deep ignorance of existing conditions. the author is able to state from first-hand knowledge that the german government was completely surprised by the news from budapest, and that it had no part, direct or indirect, in bringing about karolyi's resignation or the accession to power of the hungarian bolsheviki.
-the developments in hungary were made inevitable by the unwisdom with which this "liberated unit of the austro-hungarian empire" was treated. when the november armistice was concluded, there was a "gentlemen's agreement" or understanding that the demarcation line established by the armistice should be policed by french, english or american troops. it was not observed. jugo-slavs, serbians and roumanians were permitted not only to guard this line, but to advance well beyond it. the enemy occupation of the country extended to nearly all portions of hungary upon which the central part, including budapest, depended for coal, metals, wood, meats and even salt. the czechs took possession of pressburg, rechristened it wilson city, and advanced along the danube to within twenty miles of budapest. distress became acute.
-then, on march 19th, the french colonel vix sent a note to karolyi establishing a new demarcation line far inside the one established in november and at places even inside the lines held by allied troops. karolyi's position was already insecure. he had been welcomed when he assumed office as the restorer of nationalism and peace. the support accorded him had been largely due to his record as an opponent of austria and a friend of the entente. he had been under surveillance almost throughout the war because of his known pro-ally sentiments, and only his prominence saved him from arrest. now, when his supposed influence with the allies was discovered to be non-existent, his only remaining support was shattered and he went. hungary, infected with bolshevism by russian propagandists and returned prisoners of war, went over to the camp of lenine.
-another factor contributed greatly to the growth of the radical independent socialist and bolshevist movement in germany. this was the obvious dilemma of the allies in the case of russia, their undeniable helplessness and lack of counsel in the face of applied bolshevism. thousands of germans came to believe that bolshevism was a haven of refuge. nor was this sentiment by any means confined to the proletariat. a berlin millionaire said to the writer in march:
-"if it comes to a question of choosing between bolshevism and allied slavery, i shall become a bolshevik without hesitation. i would rather see germany in the possession of bolshevist germans than of any bourgeois government wearing chains imposed by our enemies. the allies dare not intervene in russia, and i don't believe they would be any less helpless before a bolshevist germany."
-scores of well-to-do germans expressed themselves in the same strain to the author, and thousands from the lower classes, free from the restraint which the possession of worldly goods imposes, put into execution the threat of their wealthier countrymen.
-with the conclusion of the peace of versailles we leave germany. the second phase of the revolution is not yet ended. bolshevism, crushed in one place, raises its head in another. industry is prostrate. currency is so depreciated that importation is seriously hampered. the event is on the knees of the gods.
-but while the historian can thus arbitrarily dismiss germany and the conditions created by the great war, the world cannot. from a material economic viewpoint alone, the colossal destruction of wealth and means of transportation, and the slaughter of millions of the able-bodied men of all nations involved are factors which will make themselves felt for many years. these obstacles to development and progress will, however, eventually be overcome. they are the least of the problems facing the world today as the result of the war and--this must be said now and it will eventually be realized generally--as a result of the peace of versailles. the men responsible for this peace declare that it is the best that could be made. until the proceedings of the peace conference shall have been made public, together with all material submitted to it, including eventual prewar bargains and treaty commitments, this declaration cannot be controverted. one must assume at least that the makers of the peace believed it to be the best possible.
-the bona fides of the peace delegates, however, while it protects them from adverse criticism, is a personal matter and irrelevant in any consideration of the treaty and its probable results. nor is the question whether any better treaty was possible, of any relevancy. what alone vitally concerns the world is not the sentiments of a few men, but what may be expected from their work. as to this, many thoughtful observers in all countries have already come to realize what will eventually be realized by millions.
-the treaty of versailles has balkanized europe; it has to a large degree reëstablished the multiplicity of territorial sovereignties that handicapped progress and caused continuous strife more than a century ago; it has revived smouldering race-antagonisms which were in a fair way to be extinguished; it has created a dozen new irredentas, new breeding-places of war; it has liberated thousands from foreign domination but placed tens of thousands under the yoke of other foreign domination, and has tried to insure the permanency not only of their subjection, but of that of other subject races which have for centuries been struggling for independence. preaching general disarmament, it has strengthened the armed might of one power by disarming its neighbors, and has given to it the military and political domination of europe. to another power it has given control of the high seas. it has refused to let the laboring masses of the world--the men who fought and suffered--be represented at the conference by delegates of their own choosing.
-such a treaty could not bring real peace to the world even if the conditions were less critical and complex. as they are, it will hasten and aggravate what the world will soon discover to be the most serious, vital and revolutionary consequence of the war. what this will be has already been dimly foreshadowed by the almost unanimous condemnation of the treaty by the socialists of france, italy, england and nearly all neutral countries.
-virtually all americans and even most europeans have little conception of the extent to which the war and its two great revolutions have awakened the class-consciousness of the proletariat of all lands. everywhere the laboring masses have been the chief sufferers. everywhere composing an overwhelming majority of the people, they have nowhere been able to decide their own destinies or have an effective voice in government except through revolution. everywhere they have been the pawns sacrificed on the bloody chessboard of war to protect kings and queens, bishops and castles. they are beginning to ask why this must be and why they were not permitted to have a voice in the conference at versailles, and this question will become an embarrassing one for all who try to find the answer in the textbooks of governments as governments today exist.
-deplore it though one may, internationalism is on the march. nor is it confined even today to people who work with their hands. its advocates are to be found--have been found by hundreds in america itself--in the ranks of the thinkers of every country. the press in america has for months been pointing out the prevalence of internationalist sentiments among school-teachers and university professors, and it has been gravely puzzled by this state of affairs. it considers it a paradox that internationalism exists among presumably well educated persons.
-one might as well call it a paradox for a victim of smallpox to have an eruption. it is no paradox. it is a symptom. and, incorrectly diagnosed and ignorantly treated, it is a dangerous disease.
-the physician diagnoses a disease at the outset, if he can, and aborts it if possible. if it be contagious, he employs precautions against its spread. no part of these precautions consists in ordering other people at the point of a rifle not to catch the disease.
-the greatest task of the governments of the world today is to diagnose correctly and treat intelligently. the proletarians have learned their strength. a new era is dawning.
-that era will be marked by an internationalism whose character and extent will depend upon the wisdom with which the masters of the world administer the affairs of their peoples. and the question which every man should ask himself today is:
-shall this internationalism be red or white?
-the weimar constitution
-the provisional constitution adopted at weimar in february, 1919, was naturally only a makeshift. it contained but ten paragraphs, furnishing the barest outline for the organization of the new state. its basis was a draft of a proposed constitution made by dr. hugo preuss, a leading authority on constitutional law, who had been appointed minister of the interior. this draft was published on january 20th. more than a hundred representatives of the various german states met in the department of the interior at berlin on january 25th to consider it. this conference appointed a commission from its number, which was in session for the next five days in berlin and then adjourned to weimar, where it finished the draft of the provisional constitution.
-even the short period intervening between the first publication of the preuss draft and its submission to the national assembly had sufficed to bring about one important and significant development. preuss himself was an advocate of the so-called einheitsstaat, a single state on the french plan, divided into departments merely for administrative purposes. many of his friends of the german democratic party and all socialists also wanted to do away with the separate states, both for doctrinal and selfish partisan reasons. preuss realized from the beginning the impossibility of attaining his ideal completely, but he endeavored to pave the way by a dismemberment of prussia, the largest and dominant german state, and by doing away completely with several of the smaller states, such as anhalt, oldenburg, etc. his constitutional draft of january proposed the creation of sixteen "territories of the state" (gebiete des reichs): prussia (consisting of east prussia, west prussia, and bromberg), silesia, brandenburg, berlin, lower saxony, the three hansa cities (hamburg, bremen, lübeck), upper saxony, thuringia, westphalia, hesse, the rhineland, bavaria, baden, wurtemberg, german-austria, and vienna.
-it became quickly apparent that preuss and his followers had underestimated the strength of the particularistic, localized patriotism and respect for tradition cherished by a great part of the germans. not only were the south germans aroused to opposition by the implied threat of a possible eventual onslaught on their own state boundaries, but the great majority of the prussians as well protested mightily against the proposed dismemberment of prussia. the unitarians saw themselves compelled to yield even in the temporary constitution by inserting a provision that "the territory of the free states can be altered only with their consent." the plan to reduce the states to mere governmental departments was thus already defeated.
-the national assembly began the second reading of the constitution on july 2d and finished it on july 22d. the third reading began on july 29th. this brought a number of important changes, one of which is of deep significance as indicating the extent to which the members of the national assembly had already succeeded in freeing themselves from the hysterical mode of thinking induced by the immediate revolutionary period. all drafts of the constitution up to that date had provided that no member of a former reigning house in germany should be eligible to the presidency. this provision was stricken out on third reading.
-the constitution was finally adopted on july 31, 1919, by a vote of 262 ayes to 75 nayes. the negative votes were cast by the german national people's party, the german people's party, the bavarian peasants' league, and one member of the bavarian people's party (dr. heim). the constitution was signed by president ebert and the ministry at schwarzburg on august 11th, and went into effect three days later. on this date the imperial constitution of april 16, 1871, several paragraphs of which were still in effect under the provisional constitution of february, 1919, ceased to exist.
-the weimar constitution consists of two "main divisions." the first, dealing with the construction of the state, is divided into seven sections, which are subdivided into 108 articles. the second main division, dealing with "fundamental rights and fundamental duties of the germans," has five sections, with 57 articles.
-a comparison of the preambles of the old and new constitutions indicates the different point of view from which they were approached. the constitution of 1871 began:
-"his majesty the king of prussia, in the name of the north german federation, his majesty the king of bavaria, his majesty the king of wurtemberg, his royal highness the grand duke of baden, and his royal highness the grand duke of hesse and on the rhine, for those parts of the grand duchy of hesse situated south of the main, form an everlasting federation for the protection of the territory of the federation and of the right prevailing within its borders, as well as for the furtherance of the welfare of the german people."
-the new constitution's preamble reads:
-article 1 reads:
-outwardly the most striking and apparent change of structure of the government is, of course, the fact that a president takes the place of the kaiser, and that the various federated states are also required to have a republican form of government, with legislatures chosen by the direct, secret ballot of all male and female germans, after the proportional election system. in fact, however, these are by no means the most important changes. "republic" is, after all, more or less a shibboleth; the actual form and representative character of governments depend less on whether their head is a president or a hereditary monarch than on the extent to which they make it possible for the people themselves to make their will prevail quickly and effectively.
-it reserves to itself further the right to enact uniform civil and criminal codes and procedure, and to legislate regarding the press, associations, the public health, workmen and their protection, expropriation, socialization, trade, commerce, weights and measures, the issue of paper currency, banks and bourses, mining, insurance, shipping, railways, canals and other internal waterways, theaters and cinematographs. "in so far as there is necessity for uniform regulations," the reich may legislate concerning the public welfare and for the protection of the public order and security.
-the reich reserves further the right to establish basic principles of legislation affecting religious associations, schools, manufacture, real estate, burial and cremation. it can also prescribe the limits and nature of the laws of the lands (states) affecting taxation, in so far as this may be necessary to prevent a reduction of the national income or a prejudicing of the reich in its commercial relations, double taxation, the imposition of excessive fees which burden traffic, import taxes against the products of other states when such taxes constitute an unfair discrimination, and export premiums.
-the constitution takes from the states the power to collect customs and excises. the federal government is empowered to exercise a direct control in the various lands over all matters falling under its competence. not only are all the things enumerated above, and many more, reserved to the reich, but there is no provision conferring expressly any powers whatever on the lands. nor is there any provision reserving to the states powers not expressly reserved to the reich or expressly prohibited to the states. article 12, the only provision along this line, states merely that "so long and in so far as the reich makes no use of its law-giving powers, the lands retain the right of legislating. this does not apply to legislation reserved exclusively to the reich."
-article 13 provides that "the law of the reich takes precedence over the law of the lands." in case of a disagreement between state and federal government as to whether a state law is in conflict with a federal law, an issue can be framed and placed before a federal supreme court. preuss and some of his supporters wanted a provision expressly conferring upon the supreme court at leipsic such power to rule on the constitutionality of legislation as has been assumed by the united states supreme court, but their views did not prevail.
-the president of the reich is elected by the direct vote of all germans, male and female, who have attained the age of twenty. the term of office is seven years, and there is no limit to the number of terms for which the same president may be elected. every german who has reached the age of thirty-five is eligible for the presidency. there is no requirement that he be a natural born citizen, nor even as to the length of time that he must have been a citizen. a limitation of eligibility to natural born citizens, as in the united states constitution, was considered, but was rejected, mainly because it was expected at the time the constitution was adopted that austria would become a german land, and such a provision would have barred all living austrians from the presidency. there was also opposition on general principles from the internationalists of the left, the most extreme of whom would as soon see a russian or a frenchman in the president's chair as a german.
-articles 45 and 46, defining the powers of the president, take over almost bodily articles 11 and 18 of the imperial constitution, which defined the powers of the kaiser. like the kaiser, the president "represents the reich internationally"; receives and accredits diplomatic representatives; concludes treaties with foreign powers; appoints civil servants and officers of the army and navy, and is commander-in-chief of the country's military and naval forces. in only one important respect are the president's apparent powers less than the kaiser's were: war can be declared and peace concluded only by act of the reichstag and reichsrat. under the monarchy, a declaration of war required only the assent of the federal council and even this was not required if the country had been actually invaded by an enemy. the president has no power of veto over legislation, but he can order that any law be submitted to the people by referendum before it can go into effect. he can dissolve the reichstag at any time, as could the kaiser, but only once for the same reason--a limitation to which the kaiser was not subject. he has the general power to pardon criminals. he can, if public safety and order be threatened, temporarily suspend most of the provisions of the constitution regarding freedom of speech and of the press, the right of assembly, the secrecy of postal and wire communications, freedom of organization, security against search and seizure in one's own dwelling, etc.
-all these provisions appear to confer very extensive powers upon the president. his appointments of diplomatic representatives do not require the assent of a legislative body. he appoints his own chancellor and, upon the latter's recommendation, the ministers of the various departments, also without requiring the assent of the legislative body. by referring a legislative enactment to a referendum vote he exercises what is in effect a suspensive veto.
-two articles of the constitution, however, render all these powers more or less illusory. article 50 provides:
-"all orders and decrees of the president, including those affecting the country's armed forces, require for their validity to be countersigned by the chancellor or the competent minister. the official who countersigns accepts thereby the responsibility for the order or decree in question."
-a similar provision in the american constitution would be of no importance, for the members of the cabinet are not responsible to either the people or the congress for their acts. once appointed, there is no way of getting rid of them against the will of the president, no matter how inefficient or even harmful they may be to the best interests of the country. the german constitution confers much more effective power upon the people and the people's representatives. its article 54 provides:
-"the chancellor and the ministers of the reich require the confidence of the reichstag for the conduct of their offices. any one of them must resign if the reichstag, by express decision, withdraws its confidence from him."
-it is readily apparent that the president's powers are greatly limited by these two articles. as against a hostile reichstag he is all but powerless. the chancellor or other member of the government required to countersign orders or decrees knows in advance that such countersigning means his own official suicide if the matter be one in which a majority of the reichstag is at odds with the president. it is apparent from a study of the proceedings of the national assembly and its constitutional committee that it was intended to give the president independent powers in respect of two important matters--the dissolution of the reichstag and the suspensive veto by appeal to the people--but article 50 says unqualifiedly that "all" orders and decrees must be countersigned.
-the legislative functions of the reich are vested in the reichstag and the reichsrat, or council of the reich, which succeeds the federal council of the monarchy. the members of the reichstag are elected by direct vote of the people for a term of four years, after the proportional election system. the reichstag must convene for the first time not later than thirty days after the election, which must be held on a sunday or a public holiday, and the election for the succeeding reichstag must be held within sixty days from the date of the expiration or dissolution of the preceding one. it convenes regularly on the first wednesday of every november. the president of the reichstag must call an extraordinary session at the demand of the president of the reich or when a third of the members of the reichstag itself demand it.
-all the constitution's provisions regarding the reichstag indicate the determination of the framers of the instrument to make it a thoroughly representative, independent body of great dignity. the deputies are clothed with more far-reaching immunities than is the case in most countries, and in addition to that there is a specific provision extending to them the right to refuse to reveal, even in court proceedings, any matters communicated to them in their capacity as members of the reichstag.
-there is a provision for a standing committee on foreign affairs, which may hold sessions at any time and holds office after the expiration of the members' terms or after dissolution of the reichstag until the succeeding reichstag convenes. it is expressly provided that the sessions of this committee shall not be public unless two-thirds of the members vote at any particular time to hold a public session. this provision, adopted by a body, the majority of whose members were outspoken opponents of secret diplomacy, is not without interest. it would seem to be a tacit admission that preliminary negotiations between nations cannot always be carried on advantageously in public.
-prussia, 26; bavaria, 10; saxony, 7; wurtemberg, 4; baden, 3; thuringia, 2; hesse, 2; hamburg, 2; mecklenburg-schwerin, 1; oldenburg, 1; brunswick, 1; anhalt, 1; bremen, 1; lippe, 1; lübeck, 1; mecklenburg-strelitz, 1; waldeck, 1; schaumburg-lippe, 1.
-the fifth section of the constitution containing articles 68 to 77 inclusive, is devoted to the legislative functions of the reich. article 68 reads:
-"the laws of the reich are enacted by the reichstag."
-the express approval by the reichsrat of proposed legislation is not required for its enactment. it must express its disapproval within two weeks after an act has been passed finally by the reichstag; if it fail to do so, the act becomes law.
-one is again impressed by the importance assigned to the reichstag, the direct creation of the people. the national government is responsible to it, as is also the president through the provision that all his decrees must be countersigned by a member of the government. a two-thirds majority of the reichstag can overrule the reichsrat, and the same number can impeach the president or any member of the government, or even submit directly to the people the question as to whether the president shall be recalled. its decision to hold such a referendum automatically inhibits the president from exercising any of the functions of his office.
-it is the people themselves, however, to whom the supreme power is given, or, perhaps better expressed, who have reserved the supreme power for themselves by extensive provisions for referendum and initiative. in addition to the provisions for referendum already referred to, the president can decree, within one month after its passage, that any law enacted by the reichstag shall be referred to the people.
-the law-giving powers delegated to the reichstag can also be exercised directly by the people. one-twentieth of the registered voters can require that a referendum be held on any reichstag enactment against whose formal proclamation as law at least one-third of the reichstag members shall have protested. one-tenth of the registered voters can present the draft of a legislative measure and demand that it be referred to a general election. the reichstag can prevent the holding of such a referendum only by adopting the proposed measure unchanged. enactments of the reichstag can be declared invalid by referendum only by the vote of a majority of a majority of all registered voters. only the president can order that a referendum be held on the national budgets, customs and taxation, and salaries of officials and civil servants. no initiative is possible as to these things.
-the people's initiative was one of the various concessions to the socialists of which more will be said later. it was not contemplated by the framers of the original drafts of the constitution and was introduced at a late period in the deliberations.
-seven articles deal with the judicial department of the government. they make no important changes from the old constitution, except that courts-martial are forbidden except in time of war or aboard warships. an attempt by the parties of the left to do away with state courts and place the dispensing of justice solely in the hands of the federal courts failed.
-the second "main division" of the constitution deals with the "fundamental rights and fundamental duties of the germans." excluding fifteen "transitional and concluding decrees," the constitution contains 165 articles. no less than 56 of these, or more than one-third, are devoted to sections bearing the following titles:
-the individual; social life; religion and religious societies; education and school; economic life.
-up to this point the weimar constitution does not present any marked evidence of the circumstances under which it came into being. in comparison with the imperial constitution it may fairly be regarded as revolutionary, but considered by itself it is merely an advancedly democratic instrument with provisions insuring thoroughly parliamentary government in the best sense of the word. it is not until one reaches the articles dealing with social and economic life, the church and the school that the traces of socialist influence become unmistakable. there, however, they are found on every page, beginning with the declaration that "motherhood has a right to the protection and care of the state," followed by an article providing that "illegitimate children are to be granted by legislation the same conditions for their bodily, mental and social development as are granted to legitimate children."
-essentially, of course, neither provision is especially socialistic, but both really represent a compromise with the parties of the left. the majority socialists tried to have an article inserted giving to illegitimate children full rights of inheritance with legitimate children of their father's estate, and the right to bear his name. the motion was defeated, 167 to 129 votes. the independent socialists wanted a provision protecting women civil servants who become mothers of illegitimate children, and granting them the right to be addressed as frau (mrs.) instead of fräulein (miss). this, too, was defeated.
-other articles due to socialist advocacy, some of a principal nature, others merely doctrinaire, are:
-providing that legal rights may not be refused to any association because it has a political, politico-social or religious aim;
-providing that "no person is obliged to state his religious belief";
-disestablishing the state church;
-providing for secular (non-religious) schools, freeing teachers from the duty to give religious instruction, and permitting parents or guardians to free their children from religious instruction;
-"property imposes obligations. its enjoyment shall be at the same time a service for the common weal";
-directing the dissolution of entailed estates;
-declaring that civil servants "are servants of the whole people, not of a party."
-the anti-christian and anti-religious sentiments of the socialists did not find as complete expression in the constitution as those parties had desired. the church is disestablished, but it retains the right to tax its members and have legal process for the collection of the taxes. the property of the church is left untouched. subsidies formerly paid from public funds are discontinued. sunday is protected as "a day of rest and spiritual elevation." religious bodies may hold services in hospitals, prisons, army barracks, etc., "in so far as need for divine services and ministerial offices exists," but no person can be compelled to attend.
-all these provisions are, of course, of comparatively minor importance--except that dissolving the entailed estates--and many are mere doctrinarianism, but the final section of the constitution, dealing with economic affairs, brings principles which, if the combined socialist parties should ever succeed in getting a bare majority of the country's voters under their banner, would make possible far-reaching changes along marxian lines. article 153 reads:
-"property can be expropriated only for the common welfare and by legal methods. expropriation is to be made upon just compensation, so far as a law of the reich does not prescribe otherwise." (italics by the author.)
-article 156 reads:
-"the reich can, by law, without prejudice to the question of compensation, with due employment of the regulations governing expropriations, transfer to the ownership of the people private economic undertakings which are adapted for socialization. it can itself participate, or cause the lands or municipalities to participate, in the administration of economic undertakings and associations, or can in other manner secure to itself a deciding influence therein.
-"the reich can also, in case of urgent necessity and in the interests of the public, consolidate by law economic undertakings and associations on the basis of self-administration, for the purpose of securing the coöperation of all creative factors of the people, employers and employees, in the administration, and of regulating production, manufacture, distribution, utilization and prices, as well as import and export, of the economic properties upon principles serving the interests of the people."
-"labor enjoys the especial protection of the reich." gained by the revolutionary parties in framing the constitution. they not only make sweeping socialization possible, in the event of the socialists coming into power, but also, as the italicized sentence in article 153 indicates, socialization without compensation to the former private owners.
-there are still two socialistic articles to be considered. one, article 157, says:
-"labor enjoys the especial protection of the reich."
-die arbeitskraft, translated above by labor, means the whole body of workmen. the provision is another bit of doctrinarianism without any particular value, but it is nevertheless at variance with the equal-rights-to-all and all-germans-equal-before-the-law spirit that is so carefully emphasized elsewhere in the constitution. the other article calling for particular mention is no. 165, the last article of the constitution proper. this is a direct heritage of november, 1918.
-from the very outset, as has been pointed out repeatedly in this work, the spartacans were determined to impose the soviet form of government upon germany. later on the independent socialists also threw off their parliamentary mask and joined in the demand for the räterepublik on the bolshevist model. there were some leaders of the majority socialist party who were willing to consider a combination of parliamentarism and sovietism, but most of the older leaders, including ebert, had no sympathy with the idea. they were socialists, but also democrats. when it began to become apparent to the advocates of the soviet system that they were in the minority, they raised a demand that the workmen's council should be "anchored" in the constitution. the framers of that document did not take the demand seriously, and the draft prepared for presentation to the national assembly after the adoption of the provisional constitution made no reference to the councils.
-the extremer socialists, however, renewed their original demand, and even the more conservative leaders of the parent party, much against their will, saw themselves compelled for partisan political reasons to support the demand. the result was article 165, inserted in the draft in june.
-this article begins by declaring that workmen and other wage-earners have equal rights with their employers in determining wage and working conditions and in coöperating "in the entire economic development of productive powers." it provides that they shall, for the protection of their social and economic interests, have the right to be represented through workmen's shop councils (betriebsarbeiterräte), as well as in district workmen's councils (bezirksarbeiterräte), and in a national workmen's council (reichsarbeiterrat). the district and national councils combine with the representatives of the employers "and other interested circles of the people" to form district economic councils (bezirkswirtschaftsräte), and a national economic council (reichswirtschaftsrat). "the district economic councils and the national economic council are to be so constituted that all important groups of interests are represented in proportion to their economic and social importance."
-article 165 continues:
-"politico-social and politico-economic bills of fundamental importance shall, before their introduction, be laid by the government of the reich before the national economic council for its consideration and report. the national economic council has the right to propose such bills itself. if the government does not approve of them, it must nevertheless lay them before the reichstag, together with a statement of its attitude. the national economic council is empowered to have the bill advocated before the reichstag by one of its members.
-"powers of control and administration can be conferred upon the workmen's and economic councils over matters lying in their sphere of action."
-thus the "anchor" of the workmen's councils in the german constitution. it is difficult to find in it the importance assigned to it by the socialists. the national council has, in the last analysis, only such power as the reichstag may choose to confer upon it. there was no sharp opposition to the article from the bourgeois parties, doubtless due in large part to the fact that, even long before the revolution, the right of workmen to combine and negotiate as organizations with their employers was recognized by everybody, and that germany, with less than two-thirds of the population of the united states, has roundly three times as many organized workmen. in the circumstance, article 165 did not bring any really revolutionary change.
-the foregoing is a brief outline of the more important features of the constitution of the german republic. considering all the attendant circumstances of its birth--the apathy of the people, the weakness of the government, the disruption of the germans into factions which bitterly hated and opposed each other, the savage conditions of the peace, following the crushing conditions of the armistice, the disappearance from the political field of most of the trained minds of the old empire, the strength of the elements inspired by purely materialistic and egoistic aims or by a naive trust in the internationalists of other lands, the constant pressure from the enemy--the framers and proponents of the constitution accomplished a national deed of dignity and worth. they might easily have done much worse; it is impossible for one who watched the developments of those trying days to assert that they could have done much better.
-through the courtesy of the world peace foundation the yale university press is enabled to reprint "the constitution of the german commonwealth" as it appeared in the league of nations for december, 1919. the following note on "the terminology of the constitution" by the translators, william bennett munro and arthur norman holcombe, appeared in the introduction to the translation:
-a word should be added in explanation of the way in which certain technical terms have been translated.
-it is no longer fitting, for example, to translate reich as empire. yet it is not clear to what extent the old spirit as well as the old forms have changed. certainly the "strange trappings and primitive authority" of the imperial government are gone. how far has the spirit as well as the form of government of, by, and for the people taken its place? it is too soon to say. whatever the event may be, it seems best for americans at this time to substitute for empire the less specialized expression, commonwealth.
-another difficulty arises when reichs- is used as a qualifier. is the reichsrat, for example, a federal council or a national council? this raises a fundamental question concerning the effect of the revolution. is the german commonwealth a unified state or does it remain a confederation? apparently the former federal states have not yet surrendered all their sovereign powers. the residue of sovereignty left to the states, however, is slight and unsubstantial. recently, indeed (december, 1919), the assembly of the principal state, prussia, is reported to have adopted a resolution in favor of further centralization. as the constitution stands, the commonwealth appears to be a federation in which the rights of the states are subordinated to those of the union to a far greater extent than in our own united states. it has seemed proper, therefore, to use the term "national" rather than "federal."
-the term reichsregierung might be translated national government, or administration, or cabinet. we have adopted the term cabinet because of its greater precision. both the other expressions have a more general as well as a specialized meaning and would ordinarily be understood by americans to include the president as well as the chancellor and ministers, who alone are the members of the cabinet in the strict sense of the term. the regierung must be distinguished from the ministerium. the latter term may designate either the whole body of ministers or the department of any one minister. in the text of the german constitution it is used only in the latter sense.
-the translations adopted for the principal political terms of the new constitution are indicated in the glossary. in general the purpose has been to adhere as closely to a literal rendering of the german as was compatible with an intelligible english version. preference has been given throughout the translation to the terminology of republican government as developed in the united states. for a correct understanding of a foreign constitution, no translation can however suffice; the original text with a commentary must be carefully studied by anyone who wishes to obtain a thorough comprehension of such a document.
-the translators are glad to acknowledge their indebtedness to professor john a. walz and dr. f. w. c. lieder of the department of german in harvard university, and to dean roscoe pound of the harvard law school for careful scrutiny of the proofs and many helpful suggestions on difficult passages.
-w. b. m. a. n. h.
-january 5, 1920.
-the constitution of the german commonwealth
-the german people, united in all their branches, and inspired by the determination to renew and strengthen their commonwealth in liberty and justice, to preserve peace both at home and abroad, and to foster social progress, have adopted the following constitution.
-structure and functions of the commonwealth.
-commonwealth and states
-the german commonwealth is a republic.
-political authority is derived from the people.
-the territory of the commonwealth consists of the territories of the german states. other territories may be incorporated into the commonwealth by national law, if their inhabitants, exercising the right of self-determination, so desire.
-the national colors are black, red and gold. the merchant flag is black, white and red, with the national colors in the upper inside corner.
-the generally recognized principles of the law of nations are accepted as an integral part of the law of the german commonwealth.
-political authority is exercised in national affairs by the national government in accordance with the constitution of the commonwealth, and in state affairs by the state governments in accordance with the state constitutions.
-the commonwealth has exclusive jurisdiction over:
-1. foreign relations;
-2. colonial affairs;
-3. citizenship, freedom of travel and residence, immigration and emigration, and extradition;
-4. organization for national defense;
-6. customs, including the consolidation of customs and trade districts and the free interchange of goods;
-7. posts and telegraphs, including telephones.
-the commonwealth has jurisdiction over:
-1. civil law;
-2. criminal law;
-3. judicial procedure, including penal administration, and official cooperation between the administrative authorities;
-4. passports and the supervision of aliens;
-5. poor relief and vagrancy;
-6. the press, associations and public meetings;
-7. problems of population; protection of maternity, infancy, childhood and adolescence;
-8. public health, veterinary practice, protection of plants from disease and pests;
-9. the rights of labor, social insurance, the protection of wage-earners and other employees, and employment bureaus;
-10. the establishment of national organizations for vocational representation;
-11. provision for war-veterans and their surviving dependents;
-12. the law of expropriation;
-13. the socialization of natural resources and business enterprises, as well as the production, fabrication, distribution, and price-fixing of economic goods for the use of the community;
-14. trade, weights and measures, the issue of paper money, banking, and stock and produce exchanges;
-15. commerce in foodstuffs and in other necessaries of daily life, and in luxuries;
-16. industry and mining;
-18. ocean navigation, and deep-sea and coast fisheries;
-19. railroads, internal navigation, communication by power-driven vehicles on land, on sea, and in the air; the construction of highways, in so far as pertains to general intercommunication and the national defense;
-20. theaters and cinematographs.
-the commonwealth also has jurisdiction over taxation and other sources of income, in so far as they may be claimed in whole or in part for its purposes. if the commonwealth claims any source of revenue which formerly belonged to the states, it must have consideration for the financial requirements of the states.
-whenever it is necessary to establish uniform rules, the commonwealth has jurisdiction over:
-1. the promotion of social welfare;
-2. the protection of public order and safety.
-the commonwealth may prescribe by law fundamental principles concerning:
-1. the rights and duties of religious associations;
-2. education, including higher education and libraries for scientific use;
-3. the law of officers of all public bodies;
-4. the land law, the distribution of land, settlements and homesteads, restrictions on landed property, housing, and the distribution of population;
-5. disposal of the dead.
-the commonwealth may prescribe by law fundamental principles concerning the validity and mode of collection of state taxes, in order to prevent:
-1. injury to the revenues or to the trade relations of the commonwealth;
-2. double taxation;
-3. the imposition of excessive burdens, or burdens in restraint of trade on the use of the means and agencies of public communication;
-4. tax discriminations against the products of other states in favor of domestic products in interstate and local commerce; or
-5. export bounties;
-or in order to protect important social interests.
-so long and in so far as the commonwealth does not exercise its jurisdiction, such jurisdiction remains with the states. this does not apply in cases where the commonwealth possesses exclusive jurisdiction.
-the national cabinet may object to state laws relating to the subjects of article 7, number 13, whenever the general welfare of the commonwealth is affected thereby.
-the laws of the commonwealth are supreme over the laws of the states which conflict with them.
-if doubt arises, or difference of opinion, whether state legislation is in harmony with the law of the commonwealth, the proper authorities of the commonwealth or the central authorities of the states, in accordance with more specific provisions of a national law, may have recourse to the decision of a supreme judicial court of the commonwealth.
-the laws of the commonwealth will be executed by the state authorities, unless otherwise provided by national law.
-the national cabinet supervises the conduct of affairs over which the commonwealth has jurisdiction.
-in so far as the laws of the commonwealth are to be carried into effect by the state authorities, the national cabinet may issue general instructions. it has the power to send commissioners to the central authorities of the states, and, with their consent, to the subordinate state authorities, in order to supervise the execution of national laws.
-it is the duty of the state cabinets, at the request of the national cabinet, to correct any defects in the execution of the national laws. in case of dispute, either the national cabinet or that of the state may have recourse to the decision of the supreme judicial court, unless another court is prescribed by national law.
-the officers directly charged with the administration of national affairs in any state shall, as a rule, be citizens of that state. the officers, employees and workmen of the national administration shall, if they so desire, be employed in the districts where they reside as far as is possible and not inconsistent with their training and with the requirements of the service.
-every state must have a republican constitution. the representatives of the people must be elected by the universal, equal, direct and secret suffrage of all german citizens, both men and women, according to the principles of proportional representation. the state cabinet shall require the confidence of the representatives of the people.
-the principles in accordance with which the representatives of the people are chosen apply also to municipal elections; but by state law a residence qualification not exceeding one year of residence in the municipality may be imposed in such elections.
-the division of the commonwealth into states shall serve the highest economic and cultural interests of the people after most thorough consideration of the wishes of the population affected. state boundaries may be altered and new states may be created within the commonwealth by the process of constitutional amendment.
-with the consent of the states directly affected, it requires only an ordinary law of the commonwealth.
-an ordinary law of the commonwealth will also suffice, if one of the states affected does not consent, provided that the change of boundaries or the creation of a new state is desired by the population concerned and is also required by a preponderant national interest.
-the wishes of the population shall be ascertained by a referendum. the national cabinet orders a referendum on demand of one-third of the inhabitants qualified to vote for the national assembly in the territory to be cut off.
-three-fifths of the votes cast, but at least a majority of the qualified voters, are required for the alteration of a boundary or the creation of a new state. even if a separation of only a part of a prussian administrative district, a bavarian circle, or, in other states, a corresponding administrative district, is involved, the wishes of the population of the whole district must be ascertained. if there is no physical contact between the territory to be cut off and the rest of the district, the wishes of the population of the district to be cut off may be pronounced conclusive by a special law of the commonwealth.
-after the consent of the population has been ascertained the national cabinet shall introduce into the national assembly a bill suitable for enactment.
-if any controversy arises over the division of property in connection with such a union or separation, it will be determined upon complaint of either party by the supreme judicial court of the german commonwealth.
-if controversies concerning the constitution arise within a state in which there is no court competent to dispose of them, or if controversies of a public nature arise between different states or between a state and the commonwealth, they will be determined upon complaint of one of the parties by the supreme judicial court of the german commonwealth, unless another judicial court of the commonwealth is competent.
-the president of the commonwealth executes judgments of the supreme judicial court.
-the national assembly
-the national assembly is composed of the delegates of the german people.
-the delegates are representatives of the whole people. they are subject only to their own consciences and are not bound by any instructions.
-the delegates are elected by universal, equal, direct and secret suffrage by all men and women over twenty years of age, in accordance with the principles of proportional representation. the day for elections must be a sunday or a public holiday.
-the details will be regulated by the national election law.
-the national assembly is elected for four years. new elections must take place at the latest on the sixtieth day after its term comes to an end.
-the national assembly convenes at the latest on the thirtieth day after the election.
-the national assembly meets each year on the first wednesday in november at the seat of the national government. the president of the national assembly must call it earlier if the president of the commonwealth, or at least one-third of the members of the national assembly, demand it.
-the national assembly determines the close of its session and the day of reassembling.
-the president of the commonwealth may dissolve the national assembly, but only once for the same cause.
-the new election occurs at the latest on the sixtieth day after such dissolution.
-the national assembly chooses its president, vice-president and its secretaries. it regulates its own procedure.
-during the interval between sessions, or while elections are taking place, the president and vice-president of the preceding session conduct its affairs.
-the president administers the regulations and policing of the national assembly building. the management of the building is subject to his direction; he controls its receipts and expenses in accordance with the provisions of the budget, and represents the commonwealth in all legal affairs and in litigation arising during his administration.
-the proceedings of the national assembly are public. at the request of fifty members the public may be excluded by a two-thirds vote.
-true and accurate reports of the proceedings in public sittings of the national assembly, of a state assembly, or of their committees, are absolutely privileged.
-an electoral commission to decide disputed elections will be organized in connection with the national assembly. it will also decide whether a delegate has forfeited his seat.
-the electoral commission consists of members of the national assembly, chosen by the latter for the life of the assembly, and of members of the national administrative court, to be appointed by the president of the commonwealth on the nomination of the presidency of this court.
-this electoral commission pronounces judgment after public hearings through a quorum of three members of the national assembly and two judicial members.
-proceedings apart from the hearings before the electoral commission will be conducted by a national commissioner appointed by the president of the commonwealth. in other respects the procedure will be regulated by the electoral commission.
-the national assembly acts by majority vote unless otherwise provided in the constitution. for the conduct of elections by the national assembly it may, in its rules of procedure, make exceptions.
-the quorum to do business will be regulated by the rules of procedure.
-the national assembly and its committees may require the presence of the national chancellor and of any national minister.
-the national chancellor, the national ministers, and commissioners designated by them, have the right to be present at the sittings of the national assembly and of its committees. the states are entitled to send their plenipotentiaries to these sittings to submit the views of their cabinets on matters under consideration.
-at their request the representatives of the cabinets shall be heard during the deliberations, and the representatives of the national cabinet shall be heard even outside the regular order of business.
-they are subject to the authority of the presiding officer in matters of order.
-the national assembly has the right, and, on proposal of one-fifth of its members, the duty to appoint committees of investigation. these committees, in public sittings, inquire into the evidence which they, or the proponents, consider necessary. the public may be excluded by a two-thirds vote of the committee of investigation. the rules of procedure regulate the proceedings of the committee and determine the number of its members.
-the judicial and administrative authorities are required to comply with requests by these committees for information, and the record of the authorities shall on request be submitted to them.
-the provisions of the code of criminal procedure apply as far as is suitable to the inquiries of these committees and of the authorities assisting them, but the secrecy of letter and other post, telegraph, and telephone services will remain inviolate.
-the national assembly appoints a standing committee on foreign affairs which may also act outside of the sittings of the national assembly and after its expiration or dissolution until a new national assembly convenes. its sittings are not public, unless the committee by a two-thirds vote otherwise provides.
-the national assembly also appoints a standing committee for the protection of the rights of the representatives of the people against the national cabinet during a recess and after the expiration of the term for which it was elected.
-these committees have the rights of committees of investigation.
-no member of the national assembly or of a state assembly shall at any time whatsoever be subject to any judicial or disciplinary prosecution or be held responsible outside of the house to which he belongs on account of his vote or his opinions uttered in the performance of his duty.
-no member of the national assembly or of a state assembly shall during the session, without the consent of the house to which he belongs, be subject to investigation or arrest on account of any punishable offense, unless he is caught in the act, or apprehended not later than the following day.
-similar consent is required in the case of any other restraint of personal liberty which interferes with the performance by a delegate of his duties.
-any criminal proceeding against a member of the national assembly or of a state assembly, and any arrest or other restraint of his personal liberty shall, at the demand of the house to which he belongs, be suspended for the duration of the session.
-the members of the national assembly and the state assemblies are entitled to refuse to give evidence concerning persons who have given them information in their official capacity, or to whom they have given information in the performance of their official duties, or concerning the information itself. in regard also to the seizure of papers their position is the same as that of persons who have by law the right to refuse to give evidence.
-a search or seizure may be proceeded with in the precincts of the national assembly or of a state assembly only with the consent of its president.
-civil officers and members of the armed forces need no leave to perform their duties as members of the national assembly or of a state assembly.
-if they become candidates for election to these bodies, the necessary leave shall be granted them to prepare for their election.
-the members of the national assembly shall have the right of free transportation over all german railroads, and also compensation as fixed by national law.
-the national president and the national cabinet
-the national president is chosen by the whole german people.
-every german who has completed his thirty-fifth year is eligible for election.
-the details will be regulated by a national law.
-the national president, on assuming his office, takes before the national assembly the following oath:
-i swear to devote all my energy to the welfare of the german people, to increase their prosperity, to protect them from injury, to preserve the constitution and the laws of the commonwealth, to perform my duties conscientiously, and to deal justly with all.
-the addition of a religious affirmation is permitted.
-the term of the national president is seven years. he is eligible for reelection.
-the president may be removed before the end of his term by vote of the people on proposal of the national assembly. the act of the national assembly in such case requires a two-thirds majority vote. upon such action the president is suspended from further exercise of his office. a refusal by the people to remove the president has the effect of a new election and entails the dissolution of the national assembly.
-the national president shall not be subject to criminal prosecution without the consent of the national assembly.
-the national president may not at the same time be a member of the national assembly.
-the national president represents the commonwealth in matters of international law. he concludes in the name of the commonwealth alliances and other treaties with foreign powers. he accredits and receives ambassadors.
-war is declared and peace concluded by national law.
-alliances and treaties with foreign states, relating to subjects within the jurisdiction of the commonwealth, require the consent of the national assembly.
-the president appoints and dismisses the civil and military officers of the commonwealth if not otherwise provided by law. he may delegate this right of appointment or dismissal to other authorities.
-the national president has supreme command over all the armed forces of the commonwealth.
-if any state does not perform the duties imposed upon it by the constitution or by national laws, the national president may hold it to the performance thereof by force of arms.
-if public safety and order in the german commonwealth is materially disturbed or endangered, the national president may take the necessary measures to restore public safety and order, and, if necessary, to intervene by force of arms. to this end he may temporarily suspend, in whole or in part, the fundamental rights established in articles 114, 115, 117, 118, 123, 124 and 153.
-the national president must immediately inform the national assembly of all measures adopted by authority of paragraphs 1 or 2 of this article. these measures shall be revoked at the demand of the national assembly.
-if there is danger from delay, the state cabinet may for its own territory take provisional measures as specified in paragraph 2. these measures shall be revoked at the demand of the national president or of the national assembly.
-the details will be regulated by a national law.
-the national president exercises the right of pardon for the commonwealth. national amnesties require a national law.
-all orders and directions of the national president, including those concerning the armed forces, require for their validity the countersignature of the national chancellor or of the appropriate national minister. by the countersignature responsibility is assumed.
-the national president is represented temporarily in case of disability by the national chancellor. if such disability seems likely to continue for any considerable period, he shall be represented as may be determined by a national law.
-the same procedure shall be followed in case of a premature vacancy of the presidency until the completion of the new election.
-the national cabinet consists of the national chancellor and the national ministers.
-the national chancellor and, on his proposal, the national ministers are appointed and dismissed by the national president.
-the national chancellor and the national ministers require for the administration of their offices the confidence of the national assembly. each of them must resign if the national assembly by formal resolution withdraws its confidence.
-the national chancellor presides over the national cabinet and conducts its affairs in accordance with rules of procedure, which will be framed by the national cabinet and approved by the national president.
-the national chancellor determines the general course of policy and assumes responsibility therefor to the national assembly. in accordance with this general policy each national minister conducts independently the particular affairs intrusted to him and is held individually responsible to the national assembly.
-the national ministers shall submit to the national cabinet for consideration and decision all drafts of bills and other matters for which this procedure is prescribed by the constitution or by law, as well as differences of opinion over questions which concern the departments of several national ministers.
-the national cabinet will make its decisions by majority vote. in case of a tie the vote of the presiding officer will be decisive.
-the national assembly is empowered to impeach the national president, the national chancellor, and the national ministers before the supreme judicial court of the german commonwealth for any wrongful violation of the constitution or laws of the commonwealth. the proposal to bring an impeachment must be signed by at least one hundred members of the national assembly and requires the approval of the majority prescribed for amendments to the constitution. the details will be regulated by the national law relating to the supreme judicial court.
-the national council
-a national council will be organized to represent the german states in national legislation and administration.
-in the national council each state has at least one vote. in the case of the larger states one vote is accorded for every million inhabitants. any excess equal at least to the population of the smallest state is reckoned as equivalent to a full million. no state shall be accredited with more than two-fifths of all votes.
-"the allied and associated powers have examined the german constitution of august 11, 1919. they observe that the provisions of the second paragraph of article 61 constitute a formal violation of article 80 of the treaty of peace signed at versailles on june 28, 1919. this violation is twofold:
-"1. article 61 by stipulating for the admission of austria to the reichsrat assimilates that republic to the german states composing the german empire--an assimilation which is incompatible with respect to the independence of austria.
-"2. by admitting and providing for the participation of austria in the council of the empire article 61 creates a political tie and a common political action between germany and austria in absolute opposition to the independence of the latter.
-"in consequence the allied and associated powers, after reminding the german government that article 178 of the german constitution declares that 'the provisions of the treaty of versailles can not be affected by the constitution,' invite the german government to take the necessary measures to efface without delay this violation by declaring article 61, paragraph 2, to be null and void.
-"without prejudice to subsequent measures in case of refusal, and in virtue of the treaty of peace (and in particular article 29), the allied and associated powers inform the german government that this violation of its engagements on an essential point will compel them, if satisfaction is not given to their just demand within 15 days from the date of the present note, immediately to order the extension of their occupation on the right bank of the rhine."
-article 29 of the treaty of peace refers to map no. 1 which shows the boundaries of germany and provides that the text of articles 27 and 28 will be final as to those boundaries. article 80 reads as follows:--
-"germany acknowledges and will respect strictly the independence of austria, within the frontiers which may be fixed in a treaty between that state and the principal allied and associated powers; she agrees that this independence shall be inalienable, except with the consent of the council of the league of nations."
-a diplomatic act was signed at paris on september 22, 1919, by the representatives of the principal allied and associated powers and germany in the following terms:
-"the undersigned, duly authorized and acting in the name of the german government, recognizes and declares that all the provisions of the german constitution of august 11, 1919, which are in contradiction of the terms of the treaty of peace signed at versailles on june 28, 1919, are null.
-"the german government declares and recognizes that in consequence paragraph 2 of article 61 of the said constitution is null, and that in particular the admission of austrian representatives to the reichstag could only take place in the event of the consent of the council of the league of nations to a corresponding modification of austria's international situation.
-"the present declaration shall be approved by the competent german legislative authority, within the fortnight following the entry into force of the peace treaty.
-"given at versailles, september 22, 1919, in the presence of the undersigned representatives of the principal allied and associated powers."
-the number of votes is determined anew by the national council after every general census.
-in committees formed by the national council from its own members no state will have more than one vote.
-the states will be represented in the national council by members of their cabinets. half of the prussian votes, however, will be at the disposal of the prussian provincial administrations in accordance with a state law.
-the states have the right to send as many representatives to the national council as they have votes.
-the national cabinet must summon the national council on demand by one-third of its members.
-the national cabinet, as well as every member of the national council, is entitled to make proposals in the national council.
-the national council regulates its order of business through rules of procedure.
-the plenary sittings of the national council are public. in accordance with the rules of procedure the public may be excluded during the discussion of particular subjects.
-decisions are taken by a majority of those present.
-the national council shall be kept informed by the national departments of the conduct of national business. at deliberations on important subjects the appropriate committees of the national council shall be summoned by the national departments.
-bills are introduced by the national cabinet or by members of the national assembly.
-national laws are enacted by the national assembly.
-the introduction of bills by the national cabinet requires the concurrence of the national council. if an agreement between the national cabinet and the national council is not reached, the national cabinet may nevertheless introduce the bill, but must state the dissent of the national council.
-if the national council resolves upon a bill to which the national cabinet does not assent, the latter must introduce the bill in the national assembly together with a statement of its attitude.
-the national president shall compile the laws which have been constitutionally enacted and within one month publish them in the national bulletin of laws.
-national laws go into effect, unless otherwise specified, on the fourteenth day following the date of their publication in the national bulletin of laws at the national capital.
-the promulgation of a national law may be deferred for two months, if one-third of the national assembly so demands. laws which the national assembly and the national council declare to be urgent may be promulgated by the national president regardless of this demand.
-a law enacted by the national assembly shall be referred to the people before its promulgation, if the national president so orders within a month.
-a law whose promulgation is deferred at the demand of at least one-third of the national assembly shall be submitted to the people, if one-twentieth of the qualified voters so petition.
-a popular vote shall further be resorted to on a measure initiated by the people if one-tenth of the qualified voters so petition. a fully elaborated bill must accompany such petition. the national cabinet shall lay the bill together with a statement of its attitude before the national assembly. the popular vote does not take place if the desired bill is enacted without amendment by the national assembly.
-a popular vote may be taken on the budget, tax laws, and laws relating to the classification and payment of public officers only by authority of the national president.
-the procedure in connection with the popular referendum and initiative will be regulated by national law.
-the national council has the right to object to laws passed by the national assembly.
-the objection must be filed with the national cabinet within two weeks after the final vote in the national assembly and must be supported by reasons within two more weeks at the latest.
-in case of objection, the law is returned to the national assembly for reconsideration. if an agreement between the national assembly and the national council is not reached, the national president may within three months refer the subject of the dispute to the people. if the president makes no use of this right, the law does not go into effect. if the national assembly disapproves by a two-thirds majority the objection of the national council, the president shall promulgate the law in the form enacted by the national assembly within three months or refer it to the people.
-an act of the national assembly may be annulled by a popular vote, only if a majority of those qualified take part in the vote.
-the constitution may be amended by process of legislation. but acts of the national assembly relating to the amendment of the constitution are effective only if two-thirds of the legal membership are present, and at least two-thirds of those present give their assent. acts of the national council relating to the amendment of the constitution also require a two-thirds majority of all the votes cast. if an amendment to the constitution is to be adopted by the people by popular initiative, the assent of a majority of the qualified voters is required.
-if the national assembly adopts an amendment to the constitution against the objection of the national council, the president may not promulgate this law, if the national council within two weeks demands a popular vote.
-the national cabinet issues the general administrative regulations necessary for the execution of the national laws so far as the laws do not otherwise provide. it must secure the assent of the national council if the execution of the national laws is assigned to the state authorities.
-the national administration
-the conduct of relations with foreign countries is exclusively a function of the commonwealth.
-the states, in matters subject to their jurisdiction, may conclude treaties with foreign countries; such treaties require the assent of the commonwealth.
-agreements with foreign countries regarding changes of national you that such conduct is not the most honorable. but, on the other hand, you must allow that it is the most safe and certainly you are not to learn that, however ignorant of that happy art in your own person, the bulk of us bipeds know well how to balance solid pudding against empty praise. there are other things, my dear sir, beside virtue, which are their own reward."
-washington chose morris as his confidential friend and agent to bring privately before congress a matter in reference to which he did not consider it politic to write publicly. he was at that time annoyed beyond measure by the shoals of foreign officers who were seeking employment in the army, and he wished congress to stop giving them admission to the service. these foreign officers were sometimes honorable men, but more often adventurers; with two or three striking exceptions they failed to do as well as officers of native birth; and, as later in the civil war, so in the revolution, it appeared that americans could be best commanded by americans. washington had the greatest dislike for these adventurers, stigmatizing them as "men who in the first instance tell you that they wish for nothing more than the honor of serving in so glorious a cause as volunteers, the next day solicit rank without pay, the day following want money advanced to them, and in the course of a week want further promotion, and are not satisfied with anything you can do for them." he ended by writing: "i do most devoutly wish that we had not a single foreigner among us, except the marquis de lafayette, who acts upon very different principles from those which govern the rest." to lafayette, indeed, america owes as much as to any of her own children, for his devotion to us was as disinterested and sincere as it was effective; and it is a pleasant thing to remember that we, in our turn, not only repaid him materially, but, what he valued far more, that our whole people yielded him all his life long the most loving homage a man could receive. no man ever kept pleasanter relations with a people he had helped than lafayette did with us.
-morris replied to washington that he would do all in his power to aid him. meanwhile he had also contracted a very warm friendship for greene, then newly appointed quartermaster general of the army, and proved a most useful ally, both in and out of congress, in helping the general to get his department in good running order, and in extricating it from the frightful confusion in which it had previously been plunged.
-he also specially devoted himself at this time to an investigation of the finances, which were in a dreadful condition; and by the ability with which he performed his very varied duties he acquired such prominence that he was given the chairmanship of the most important of all the congressional committees. this was the committee to which was confided the task of conferring with the british commissioners, who had been sent over, in the spring of 1778, to treat with the americans, in accordance with the terms of what were known as lord north's conciliatory bills. these bills were two in number, the first giving up the right of taxation, about which the quarrel had originally arisen, and the second authorizing the commissioners to treat with the revolted colonies on all questions in dispute. they were introduced in parliament on account of the little headway made by the british in subduing their former subjects, and were pressed hastily through because of the fear of an american alliance with france, which was then, indeed, almost concluded.
-three years before, these bills would have achieved their end; but now they came by just that much time too late. the embittered warfare had lasted long enough entirely to destroy the old friendly feelings; and the americans having once tasted the "perilous pleasure" of freedom, having once stretched out their arms and stood before the world's eyes as their own masters, it was certain that they would never forego their liberty, no matter with what danger it was fraught, no matter how light the yoke, or how kindly the bondage, by which it was to be replaced.
-two days after the bills were received, morris drew up and presented his report, which was unanimously adopted by congress. its tenor can be gathered from its summing up, which declared that the indispensable preliminaries to any treaty would have to be the withdrawal of all the british fleets and armies, and the acknowledgment of the independence of the united states; and it closed by calling on the several states to furnish without delay their quotas of troops for the coming campaign.
-this decisive stand was taken when america was still without allies in the contest; but ten days afterwards messengers came to congress, bearing copies of the treaty with france. it was ratified forthwith, and again morris was appointed chairman of a committee, this time to issue an address on the subject to the american people at large. he penned this address himself, explaining fully the character of the crisis, and going briefly over the events that had led to it; and shortly afterwards he drew up, on behalf of congress, a sketch of all the proceedings in reference to the british commissioners, under the title of "observations on the american revolution," giving therein a masterly outline not only of the doings of congress in the particular matter under consideration, but also an account of the causes of the war, of the efforts of the americans to maintain peace, and of the chief events that had taken place, as well as a comparison between the contrasting motives and aims of the contestants.
-morris was one of the committee appointed to receive the french minister, m. gerard. immediately afterwards he was also selected by congress to draft the instructions which were to be sent to franklin, the american minister at the court of versailles. as a token of the closeness of our relations with france, he was requested to show these instructions to m. gerard, which he accordingly did; and some interesting features of the conversation between the two men have been preserved for us in the despatches of gerard to the french court. the americans were always anxious to undertake the conquest of canada, although washington did not believe the scheme feasible; and the french strongly, although secretly, opposed it, as it was their policy from the beginning that canada should remain english. naturally the french did not wish to see america transformed into a conquering power, a menace to themselves and to the spaniards as well as to the english; nor can they be criticised for feeling in this way, or taunted with acting only from motives of self-interest. it is doubtless true that their purposes in going into the war were mixed; they unquestionably wished to benefit themselves, and to hurt their old and successful rival; but it is equally unquestionable that they were also moved by a generous spirit of sympathy and admiration for the struggling colonists. it would, however, have been folly to let this sympathy blind them to the consequences that might ensue to all europeans having possessions in america, if the americans should become not only independent, but also aggressive; and it was too much to expect them to be so far-sighted as to see that, once independent, it was against the very nature of things that the americans should not be aggressive, and impossible that they should be aught but powerful and positive instruments, both in their own persons and by their example, in freeing the whole western continent from european control.
-accordingly m. gerard endeavored, though without success, to prevail on morris not to mention the question of an invasion of canada in the instructions to franklin. he also warned the american of the danger of alarming spain by manifesting a wish to encroach on its territory in the mississippi valley, mentioning and condemning the attitude taken by several members of congress to the effect that the navigation of the mississippi should belong equally to the english and americans.
-morris's reply showed how little even the most intelligent american of that time--especially if he came from the northern or eastern states--could appreciate the destiny of his country. he stated that his colleagues favored restricting the growth of our country to the south and west, and believed that the navigation of the mississippi, from the ohio down, should belong exclusively to the spaniards, as otherwise the western settlements springing up in the valley of the ohio, and on the shores of the great lakes, would not only domineer over spain, but also over the united states, and would certainly render themselves independent in the end. he further said that some at least of those who were anxious to secure the navigation of the mississippi, were so from interested motives, having money ventures in the establishments along the river. however, if he at this time failed fully to grasp his country's future, he was later on one of the first in the northern states to recognize it; and once he did see it he promptly changed, and became the strongest advocate of our territorial expansion.
-accompanying his instructions to franklin, morris sent a pamphlet entitled "observations on the finances of america," to be laid before the french ministry. practically, all that the pamphlet amounted to was a most urgent begging letter, showing that our own people could not, or would not, either pay taxes, or take up a domestic loan, so that we stood in dire need of a subsidy from abroad. the drawing up of such a document could hardly have been satisfactory employment for a high spirited man who wished to be proud of his country.
-all through our negotiations with france and england morris's views coincided with those of washington, hamilton, jay, and the others who afterwards became leaders of the federalist party. their opinions were well expressed by jay in a letter to morris written about this time, which ran: "i view a return to the domination of britain with horror, and would risk all for independence; but that point ceded, ... the destruction of old england would hurt me; i wish it well; it afforded my ancestors an asylum from persecution." the rabid american adherents of france could not understand such sentiments, and the more mean spirited among them always tried to injure morris on account of his loyalist relatives, although so many families were divided in this same way, franklin's only son being himself a prominent tory. so bitter was this feeling that when, later on, morris's mother, who was within the british lines, became very ill, he actually had to give up his intended visit to her, because of the furious clamor that was raised against it. he refers bitterly, in one of his letters to jay, to the "malevolence of individuals," as something he had to expect, but which he announced that he would conquer by so living as to command the respect of those whose respect was worth having.
-when, however, his foes were of sufficient importance to warrant his paying attention to them individually, morris proved abundantly able to take care of himself, and to deal heavier blows than he received. this was shown in the controversy which convulsed congress over the conduct of silas deane, the original american envoy to france. deane did not behave very well, but at first he was certainly much more sinned against than sinning, and morris took up his cause warmly. thomas paine, the famous author of "common sense," who was secretary of the committee of foreign affairs, attacked deane and his defenders, as well as the court of france, with peculiar venom, using as weapons the secrets he became acquainted with through his official position, and which he was in honor bound not to divulge. for this morris had him removed from his secretaryship, and in the debate handled him extremely roughly, characterizing him with contemptuous severity as "a mere adventurer from england ... ignorant even of grammar," and ridiculing his pretensions to importance. paine was an adept in the art of invective; but he came out second best in this encounter, and never forgot or forgave his antagonist.
-as a rule, however, morris was kept too busily at work to spare time for altercations. he was chairman of three important standing committees, those on the commissary, quartermaster's, and medical departments, and did the whole business for each. he also had more than his share of special committee work, besides playing his full part in the debates and consultations of the congress itself. moreover, his salary was so small that he had to eke it out by the occasional practice of his profession. he devoted himself especially to the consideration of our finances and of our foreign relations; and, as he grew constantly to possess more and more weight and influence in congress, he was appointed, early in 1779, as chairman of a very important committee, which was to receive communications from our ministers abroad, as well as from the french envoy. he drew out its report, together with the draft of instructions to our foreign ministers, which it recommended. congress accepted the first, and adopted the last, without change, whereby it became the basis of the treaty by which we finally won peace. in his draft he had been careful not to bind down our representatives on minor points, and to leave them as large liberty of action as was possible; but the main issues, such as the boundaries, the navigation of the mississippi, and the fisheries, were discussed at length and in order.
-at the time this draft of instructions for a treaty was sent out there was much demand among certain members in congress that we should do all in our power to make foreign alliances, and to procure recognitions of our independence in every possible quarter. to this morris was heartily opposed, deeming that this "rage for treaties," as he called it, was not very dignified on our part. he held rightly that our true course was to go our own gait, without seeking outside favor, until we had shown ourselves able to keep our own place among nations, when the recognitions would come without asking. whether european nations recognized us as a free people, or not, was of little moment so long as we ourselves knew that we had become one in law and in fact, through the right of battle and the final arbitrament of the sword.
-besides these questions of national policy, morris also had to deal with an irritating matter affecting mainly new york. this was the dispute of that state with the people of vermont, who wished to form a separate commonwealth of their own, while new york claimed that their lands came within its borders. even the fear of their common foe, the british, against whom they needed to employ their utmost strength, was barely sufficient to prevent the two communities from indulging in a small civil war of their own; and they persisted in pressing their rival claims upon the attention of congress, and clamoring for a decision from that harassed and overburdened body. clinton, who was much more of a politician than a statesman, led the popular party in this foolish business, the majority of the new yorkers being apparently nearly as enthusiastic in asserting their sovereignty over vermont as they were in declaring their independence of britain. morris, however, was very half-hearted in pushing the affair before congress. he doubted if congress had the power, and he knew it lacked the will, to move in the matter at all; and besides he did not sympathize with the position taken by his state. he was wise enough to see that the vermonters had much of the right on their side in addition to the great fact of possession; and that new york would be probably unable to employ force enough to conquer them. clinton was a true type of the separatist or states-rights politician of that day: he cared little how the national weal was affected by the quarrel; and he was far more anxious to bluster than to fight over the matter, to which end he kept besieging the delegates in congress with useless petitions. in a letter to him morris put the case with his usual plainness, telling him that it was perfectly idle to keep worrying congress to take action, for it would certainly not do so, and if it did render a decision, the vermonters would no more respect it than they would the pope's bull. he went on to show his characteristic contempt for half-measures, and capacity for striking straight at the root of things: "either let these people alone, or conquer them. i prefer the latter; but i doubt the means. if we have the means let them be used, and let congress deliberate and decide, or deliberate without deciding,--it is of no consequence. success will sanctify every operation.... if we have not the means of conquering these people we must let them alone. we must continue our impotent threats, or we must make a treaty.... if we continue our threats they will either hate or despise us, and perhaps both.... on the whole, then, my conclusion is here, as on most other human affairs, act decisively, fight or submit--conquer or treat." morris was right; the treaty was finally made, and vermont became an independent state.
-but the small politicians of new york would not forgive him for the wisdom and the broad feeling of nationality he showed on this and so many other questions; and they defeated him when he was a candidate for reëlection to congress at the end of 1779. the charge they urged against him was that he devoted his time wholly to the service of the nation at large, and not to that of new york in particular; his very devotion to the public business, which had kept him from returning to the state, being brought forward to harm him. arguments of this kind are common enough even at the present day, and effective too, among that numerous class of men with narrow minds and selfish hearts. many an able and upright congressman since morris has been sacrificed because his constituents found he was fitted to do the exact work needed; because he showed himself capable of serving the whole nation, and did not devote his time to advancing the interests of only a portion thereof.
-finances: the treaty of peace.
-at the end of 1779 morris was thus retired to private life; and, having by this time made many friends in philadelphia, he took up his abode in that city. his leaving congress was small loss to himself, as that body was rapidly sinking into a condition of windy decrepitude.
-he at once began working at his profession, and also threw himself with eager zest into every attainable form of gayety and amusement, for he was of a most pleasure-loving temperament, very fond of society, and a great favorite in the little american world of wit and fashion. but although in private life, he nevertheless kept his grip on public affairs, and devoted himself to the finances, which were in a most wretched state. he could not keep out of public life; he probably agreed with jay, who, on hearing that he was again a private citizen, wrote him to "remember that achilles made no figure at the spinning-wheel." at any rate, as early as february, 1780, he came to the front once more as the author of a series of essays on the finances. they were published in philadelphia, and attracted the attention of all thinking men by their soundness. in fact it was in our monetary affairs that the key to the situation was to be found; for, had we been willing to pay honestly and promptly the necessary war expenses, we should have ended the struggle in short order. but the niggardliness as well as the real poverty, of the people, the jealousies of the states, kept aflame by the states-rights leaders for their own selfish purposes, and the foolish ideas of most of the congressional delegates on all money matters, combined to keep our treasury in a pitiable condition.
-morris tried to show the people at large the advantage of submitting to reasonable taxation, while at the same time combating some of the theories entertained as well by themselves as by their congressional representatives. he began by discussing with great clearness what money really is, how far coin can be replaced by paper, the interdependence of money and credit, and other elementary points in reference to which most of his fellow-citizens seemed to possess wonderfully mixed ideas. he attacked the efforts of congress to make their currency legal tender; and then showed the utter futility of one of the pet schemes of revolutionary financial wisdom, the regulation of prices by law. hard times, then as now, always produced not only a large debtor class, but also a corresponding number of political demagogues who truckled to it; and both demagogue and debtor, when they clamored for laws which should "relieve" the latter, meant thereby laws which would enable him to swindle his creditor. the people, moreover, liked to lay the blame for their misfortunes neither on fate nor on themselves, but on some unfortunate outsider; and they were especially apt to attack as "monopolists" the men who had purchased necessary supplies in large quantities to profit by their rise in price. accordingly they passed laws against them; and morris showed in his essays the unwisdom of such legislation, while not defending for a moment the men who looked on the misfortunes of their country solely as offering a field for their own harvesting.
-he ended by drawing out an excellent scheme of taxation; but, unfortunately, the people were too short-sighted to submit to any measure of the sort, no matter how wise and necessary. one of the pleas he made for his scheme was, that something of the sort would be absolutely necessary for the preservation of the federal union, "which," he wrote, "in my poor opinion, will greatly depend upon the management of the revenue." he showed with his usual clearness the need of obtaining, for financial as well as for all other reasons, a firmer union, as the existing confederation bade fair to become, as its enemies had prophesied, a rope of sand. he also foretold graphically the misery that would ensue--and that actually did ensue--when the pressure from a foreign foe should cease, and the states should be resolved into a disorderly league of petty, squabbling communities. in ending he remarked bitterly: "the articles of confederation were formed when the attachment to congress was warm and great. the framers of them, therefore, seem to have been only solicitous how to provide against the power of that body, which, by means of their foresight and care, now exists by mere courtesy and sufferance."
-although morris was not able to convert congress to the ways of sound thinking, his ability and clearness impressed themselves on all the best men; notably on robert morris,--who was no relation of his, by the way,--the first in the line of american statesmen who have been great in finance; a man whose services to our treasury stand on a par, if not with those of hamilton, at least with those of gallatin and john sherman. congress had just established four departments, with secretaries at the head of each. the two most important were the departments of foreign affairs and of finance. livingstone was given the former, while robert morris received the latter; and immediately afterwards appointed gouverneur morris as assistant financier, at a salary of eighteen hundred and fifty dollars a year.
-morris accepted this appointment, and remained in office for three years and a half, until the beginning of 1785. he threw himself heart and soul into the work, helping his chief in every way; and in particular giving him invaluable assistance in the establishment of the "bank of north america," which congress was persuaded to incorporate,--an institution which was the first of its kind in the country. it was of wonderful effect in restoring the public credit, and was absolutely invaluable in the financial operations undertaken by the secretary.
-when, early in 1782, the secretary was directed by congress, to present to that body a report on the foreign coins circulating in the country, it was prepared and sent in by gouverneur morris, and he accompanied it with a plan for an american coinage. the postscript was the really important part of the document, and the plan therein set forth was made the basis of our present coinage system, although not until several years later, and then only with important modifications, suggested, for the most part, by jefferson.
-although his plan was modified, it still remains true that gouverneur morris was the founder of our national coinage. he introduced the system of decimal notation, invented the word "cent" to express one of the smaller coins, and nationalized the already familiar word "dollar." his plan, however, was a little too abstruse for the common mind, the unit being made so small that a large sum would have had to be expressed in a very great number of figures, and there being five or six different kinds of new coins, some of them not simple multiples of each other. afterwards he proposed as a modification a system of pounds, or dollars, and doits, the doit answering to our present mill, while providing also an ingenious arrangement by which the money of account was to differ from the money of coinage. jefferson changed the system by grafting on it the dollar as a unit, and simplifying it; and hamilton perfected it further.
-to understand the advantage, as well as the boldness, of morris's scheme, we must keep in mind the horrible condition of our currency at that time. we had no proper coins of our own; nothing but hopelessly depreciated paper bills, a mass of copper, and some clipped and counterfeited gold and silver coin from the mints of england, france, spain, and even germany. dollars, pounds, shillings, doubloons, ducats, moidores, joes, crowns, pistareens, coppers, and sous, circulated indifferently, and with various values in each colony. a dollar was worth six shillings in massachusetts, eight in new york, seven and sixpence in pennsylvania, six again in virginia, eight again in north carolina, thirty-two and a half in south carolina, and five in georgia. the government itself had to resort to clipping in one of its most desperate straits; and at last people would only take payment by weight of gold or silver.
-but he proposed that for convenience other coins should be struck, like the copper five and eight above spoken of, and he afterwards altered his names. he then called the bill of one hundred units a cent, making it consist of twenty-five grains of silver and two of copper, being thus the lowest silver coin. five cents were to make a quint, and ten a mark.
-congress, according to its custom, received the report, applauded it, and did nothing in the matter. shortly afterwards, however, jefferson took it up, when the whole subject was referred to a committee of which he was a member. he highly approved of morris's plan, and took from it the idea of a decimal system, and the use of the words "dollar" and "cent." but he considered morris's unit too small, and preferred to take as his own the spanish dollar, which was already known to all the people, its value being uniform and well understood. then, by keeping strictly to the decimal system, and dividing the dollar into one hundred parts, he got cents for our fractional currency. he thus introduced a simpler system than that of morris, with an existing and well-understood unit, instead of an imaginary one that would have to be, for the first time, brought to the knowledge of the people, and which might be adopted only with reluctance. on the other hand, jefferson's system failed entirely to provide for the extension of the old currencies in the terms of the new without the use of fractions. on this account morris vehemently opposed it, but it was nevertheless adopted. he foretold, what actually came to pass, that the people would be very reluctant to throw away their local moneys in order to take up a general money which bore no special relation to them. for half a century afterwards the people clung to their absurd shillings and sixpences, the government itself, in its post-office transactions, being obliged to recognize the obsolete terms in vogue in certain localities. some curious pieces circulated freely up to the time of the civil war. still, jefferson's plan worked admirably in the end.
-all the time he was working so hard at the finances, morris nevertheless continued to enjoy himself to the full in the society of philadelphia. imperious, light-hearted, good-looking, well-dressed, he ranked as a wit among men, as a beau among women. he was equally sought for dances and dinners. he was a fine scholar and a polished gentleman; a capital story-teller; and had just a touch of erratic levity that served to render him still more charming. occasionally he showed whimsical peculiarities, usually about very small things, that brought him into trouble; and one such freak cost him a serious injury. in his capacity of young man of fashion, he used to drive about town in a phaeton with a pair of small, spirited horses; and because of some whim, he would not allow the groom to stand at their heads. so one day they took fright, ran, threw him out, and broke his leg. the leg had to be amputated, and he was ever afterwards forced to wear a wooden one. however, he took his loss with most philosophic cheerfulness, and even bore with equanimity the condolences of those exasperating individuals, of a species by no means peculiar to revolutionary times, who endeavored to prove to him the manifest falsehood that such an accident was "all for the best." to one of these dreary gentlemen he responded, with disconcerting vivacity, that his visitor had so handsomely argued the advantage of being entirely legless as to make him almost tempted to part with his remaining limb; and to another he announced that at least there was the compensation that he would be a steadier man with one leg than with two. wild accounts of the accident got about, which rather irritated him, and in answer to a letter from jay he wrote: "i suppose it was deane who wrote to you from france about the loss of my leg. his account is facetious. let it pass. the leg is gone, and there is an end of the matter." his being crippled did not prevent him from going about in society very nearly as much as ever; and society in philadelphia was at the moment gayer than in any other american city. indeed jay, a man of puritanic morality, wrote to morris somewhat gloomily to inquire about "the rapid progress of luxury at philadelphia;" to which his younger friend, who highly appreciated the good things of life, replied light-heartedly: "with respect to our taste for luxury, do not grieve about it. luxury is not so bad a thing as it is often supposed to be; and if it were, still we must follow the course of things, and turn to advantage what exists, since we have not the power to annihilate or create. the very definition of 'luxury' is as difficult as the suppression of it." in another letter he remarked that he thought there were quite as many knaves among the men who went on foot as there were among those who drove in carriages.
-jay at this time, having been successively a member of the continental congress, the new york legislature, and the state constitutional convention, having also been the first chief justice of his native state, and then president of the continental congress, had been sent as our minister to spain. morris always kept up an intimate correspondence with him. it is noticeable that the three great revolutionary statesmen from new york, hamilton, jay, and morris, always kept on good terms, and always worked together; while the friendship between two, jay and morris, was very close.
-the two men, in their correspondence, now and then touched on other than state matters. one of jay's letters which deals with the education of his children would be most healthful reading for those americans of the present day who send their children to be brought up abroad in swiss schools, or english and german universities. he writes: "i think the youth of every free, civilized country should be educated in it, and not permitted to travel out of it until age has made them so cool and firm as to retain their national and moral impressions. american youth may possibly form proper and perhaps useful friendships in european seminaries, but i think not so probably as among their fellow-citizens, with whom they are to grow up, whom it will be useful for them to know and be early known to, and with whom they are to be engaged in the business of active life.... i do not hesitate to prefer an american education." the longer jay stayed away, the more devoted he became to america. he had a good, hearty, honest contempt for the miserable "cosmopolitanism" so much affected by the feebler folk of fashion. as he said he "could never become so far a citizen of the world as to view every part of it with equal regard," for "his affections were deep-rooted in america," and he always asserted that he had never seen anything in europe to cause him to abate his prejudices in favor of his own land.
-jay had a very hard time at the spanish court, which, he wrote morris, had "little money, less wisdom, and no credit." spain, although fighting england, was bitterly jealous of the united states, fearing most justly our aggressive spirit, and desiring to keep the lower mississippi valley entirely under its own control. jay, a statesman of intensely national spirit, was determined to push our boundaries as far westward as possible; he insisted on their reaching to the mississippi, and on our having the right to navigate that stream. morris did not agree with him, and on this subject, as has been already said, he for once showed less than his usual power of insight into the future. he wrote jay that it was absurd to quarrel about a country inhabited only by red men, and to claim "a territory we cannot occupy, a navigation we cannot enjoy." he also ventured the curiously false prediction that, if the territory beyond the alleghanies should ever be filled up, it would be by a population drawn from the whole world, not one hundredth part of it american, which would immediately become an independent and rival nation. however, he could not make jay swerve a handsbreadth from his position about our western boundaries; though on every other point the two were in hearty accord.
-in relating and forecasting the military situation, morris was more happy. he was peculiarly interested in greene, and from the outset foretold the final success of his southern campaign. in a letter written march 31, 1781, after the receipt of the news of the battle of guilford court-house, he describes to jay greene's forces and prospects. his troops included, he writes, "from 1,500 to 2,000 continentals, many of them raw, and somewhat more of militia than regular troops,--the whole of these almost in a state of nature, and of whom it ought to be said, as by hamlet to horatio, 'thou hast no other revenue but thy good spirits to feed and clothe thee.'" the militia he styled the "fruges consumere nati of an army." he then showed the necessity of the battle being fought, on account of the fluctuating state of the militia, the incapacity of the state governments to help themselves, the poverty of the country ("so that the very teeth of the enemy defend them, especially in retreat,"), and above all, because a defeat was of little consequence to us, while it would ruin the enemy. he wrote: "there is no loss in fighting away two or three hundred men who would go home if they were not put in the way of being knocked on the head.... these are unfeeling reflections. i would apologize for them to any one who did not know that i have at least enough of sensibility. the gush of sentiment will not alter the nature of things, and the business of the statesman is more to reason than to feel." morris was always confident that we should win in the end, and sometimes thought a little punishment really did our people good. when cornwallis was in virginia he wrote: "the enemy are scourging the virginians, at least those of lower virginia. this is distressing, but will have some good consequences. in the mean time the delegates of virginia make as many lamentations as ever jeremiah did, and to as good purpose perhaps."
-the war was drawing to an end. great britain had begun the struggle with everything--allies, numbers, wealth--in her favor; but now, towards the close, the odds were all the other way. the french were struggling with her on equal terms for the mastery of the seas; the spaniards were helping the french, and were bending every energy to carry through successfully the great siege of gibraltar; the dutch had joined their ancient enemies, and their fleet fought a battle with the english, which, for bloody indecisiveness, rivaled the actions when van tromp and de ruyter held the channel against blake and monk. in india the name of hyder ali had become a very nightmare of horror to the british. in america, the centre of the war, the day had gone conclusively against the island folk. greene had doggedly fought and marched his way through the southern states with his ragged, under-fed, badly armed troops; he had been beaten in three obstinate battles, had each time inflicted a greater relative loss than he received, and, after retiring in good order a short distance, had always ended by pursuing his lately victorious foes; at the close of the campaign he had completely reconquered the southern states by sheer capacity for standing punishment, and had cooped up the remaining british force in charleston. in the northern states the british held newport and new york, but could not penetrate elsewhere; while at yorktown their ablest general was obliged to surrender his whole army to the overwhelming force brought against him by washington's masterly strategy.
-yet england, hemmed in by the ring of her foes, fronted them all with a grand courage. in her veins the berserker blood was up, and she hailed each new enemy with grim delight, exerting to the full her warlike strength. single-handed she kept them all at bay, and repaid with crippling blows the injuries they had done her. in america alone the tide ran too strongly to be turned. but holland was stripped of all her colonies; in the east, sir eyre coote beat down hyder ali, and taught moslem and hindoo alike that they could not shake off the grasp of the iron hands that held india. rodney won back for his country the supremacy of the ocean in that great sea-fight where he shattered the splendid french navy; and the long siege of gibraltar closed with the crushing overthrow of the assailants. so, with bloody honor, england ended the most disastrous war she had ever waged.
-the war had brought forth many hard fighters, but only one great commander,--washington. for the rest, on land, cornwallis, greene, rawdon, and possibly lafayette and rochambeau, might all rank as fairly good generals, probably in the order named, although many excellent critics place greene first. at sea rodney and the bailli de suffren won the honors; the latter stands beside duquesne and tourville in the roll of french admirals; while rodney was a true latter-day buccaneer, as fond of fighting as of plundering, and a first-rate hand at both. neither ranks with such mighty sea-chiefs as nelson, nor yet with blake, farragut, or tegethof.
-all parties were tired of the war; peace was essential to all. but of all, america was most resolute to win what she had fought for; and america had been the most successful so far. english historians--even so generally impartial a writer as mr. lecky--are apt greatly to exaggerate our relative exhaustion, and try to prove it by quoting from the american leaders every statement that shows despondency and suffering. if they applied the same rule to their own side, they would come to the conclusion that the british empire was at that time on the brink of dissolution. of course we had suffered very heavily, and had blundered badly; but in both respects we were better off than our antagonists. mr. lecky is right in bestowing unstinted praise on our diplomatists for the hardihood and success with which they insisted on all our demands being granted; but he is wrong when he says or implies that the military situation did not warrant their attitude. of all the contestants, america was the most willing to continue the fight rather than yield her rights. morris expressed the general feeling when he wrote to jay, on august 6, 1782: "nobody will be thankful for any peace but a very good one. this they should have thought on who made war with the republic. i am among the number who would be extremely ungrateful for the grant of a bad peace. my public and private character will both concert to render the sentiment coming from me unsuspected. judge, then, of others, judge of the many-headed fool who can feel no more than his own sorrowing.... i wish that while the war lasts it may be real war, and that when peace comes it may be real peace." as to our military efficiency, we may take washington's word (in a letter to jay of october 18, 1782): "i am certain it will afford you pleasure to know that our army is better organized, disciplined, and clothed than it has been at any period since the commencement of the war. this you may be assured is the fact."
-another mistake of english historians--again likewise committed by mr. lecky--comes in their laying so much stress on the help rendered to the americans by their allies, while at the same time speaking as if england had none. as a matter of fact, england would have stood no chance at all had the contest been strictly confined to british troops on the one hand, and to the rebellious colonists on the other. there were more german auxiliaries in the british ranks than there were french allies in the american; the loyalists, including the regularly enlisted loyalists as well as the militia who took part in the various tory uprisings, were probably more numerous still. the withdrawal of all hessians, tories, and indians from the british army would have been cheaply purchased by the loss of our own foreign allies.
-the european powers were even a shade more anxious for peace than we were; and to conduct the negotiations for our side, we chose three of our greatest statesmen,--franklin, adams, and jay.
-congress, in appointing our commissioners, had, with little regard for the national dignity, given them instructions which, if obeyed, would have rendered them completely subservient to france; for they were directed to undertake nothing in the negotiations without the knowledge and concurrence of the french cabinet, and in all decisions to be ultimately governed by the advice of that body. morris fiercely resented such servile subservience, and in a letter to jay denounced congress with well-justified warmth, writing: "that the proud should prostitute the very little dignity this poor country is possessed of would be indeed astounding, if we did not know the near alliance between pride and meanness. men who have too little spirit to demand of their constituents that they do their duty, who have sufficient humility to beg a paltry pittance at the hands of any and every sovereign,--such men will always be ready to pay the price which vanity shall demand from the vain." jay promptly persuaded his colleagues to unite with him in disregarding the instructions of congress on this point; had he not done so, the dignity of our government would, as he wrote morris, "have been in the dust." franklin was at first desirous of yielding obedience to the command; but adams immediately joined jay in repudiating it.
-we had waged war against britain, with france and spain as allies; but in making peace we had to strive for our rights against our friends almost as much as against our enemies. there was much generous and disinterested enthusiasm for america among frenchmen individually; but the french government, with which alone we were to deal in making peace, had acted throughout from purely selfish motives, and in reality did not care an atom for american rights. we owed france no more gratitude for taking our part than she owed us for giving her an opportunity of advancing her own interests, and striking a severe blow at an old-time enemy and rival. as for spain, she disliked us quite as much as she did england.
-the peace negotiations brought all this out very clearly. the great french minister vergennes, who dictated the policy of his court all through the contest, cared nothing for the revolutionary colonists themselves; but he was bent upon securing them their independence, so as to weaken england, and he was also bent upon keeping them from gaining too much strength, so that they might always remain dependent allies of france. he wished to establish the "balance of power" system in america. the american commissioners he at first despised for their blunt, truthful straightforwardness, which he, trained in the school of deceit, and a thorough believer in every kind of finesse and double-dealing, mistook for boorishness; later on, he learned to his chagrin that they were able as well as honest, and that their resolution, skill, and far-sightedness made them, where their own deepest interests were concerned, over-matches for the subtle diplomats of europe.
-america, then, was determined to secure not only independence, but also a chance to grow into a great continental nation; she wished her boundaries fixed at the great lakes and the mississippi; she also asked for the free navigation of the latter to the gulf, and for a share in the fisheries. spain did not even wish that we should be made independent; she hoped to be compensated at our expense, for her failure to take gibraltar; and she desired that we should be kept so weak as to hinder us from being aggressive. her fear of us, by the way, was perfectly justifiable, for the greatest part of our present territory lies within what were nominally spanish limits a hundred years ago. france, as the head of a great coalition, wanted to keep on good terms with both her allies; but, as gerard, the french minister at washington, said: if france had to choose between the two, "the decision would not be in favor of the united states." she wished to secure for america independence, but she wished also to keep the new nation so weak that it would "feel the need of sureties, allies, and protectors." france desired to exclude our people from the fisheries, to deprive us of half our territories by making the alleghanies our western boundaries, and to secure to spain the undisputed control of the navigation of the mississippi. it was not to the interest of france and spain that we should be a great and formidable people, and very naturally they would not help us to become one. there is no need of blaming them for their conduct; but it would have been rank folly to have been guided by their wishes. our true policy was admirably summed up by jay in his letters to livingston, where he says: "let us be honest and grateful to france, but let us think for ourselves.... since we have assumed a place in the political firmament, let us move like a primary and not a secondary planet." fortunately, england's own self-interest made her play into our hands; as fox put it, it was necessary for her to "insist in the strongest manner that, if america is independent, she must be so of the whole world. no secret, tacit, or ostensible connection with france."
-our statesmen won; we got all we asked, as much to the astonishment of france as of england; we proved even more successful in diplomacy than in arms. as fox had hoped, we became independent not only of england, but of all the world; we were not entangled as a dependent subordinate in the policy of france, nor did we sacrifice our western boundary to spain. it was a great triumph; greater than any that had been won by our soldiers. franklin had a comparatively small share in gaining it; the glory of carrying through successfully the most important treaty we ever negotiated belongs to jay and adams, and especially to jay.
-the formation of the national constitution.
-before peace was established, morris had been appointed a commissioner to treat for the exchange of prisoners. nothing came of his efforts, however, the british and americans being utterly unable to come to any agreement. both sides had been greatly exasperated,--the british by the americans' breach of faith about burgoyne's troops, and the americans by the inhuman brutality with which their captive countrymen had been treated. an amusing feature of the affair was a conversation between morris and the british general, dalrymple, wherein the former assured the latter rather patronizingly that the british "still remained a great people, a very great people," and that "they would undoubtedly still hold their rank in europe." he would have been surprised, had he known not only that the stubborn island folk were destined soon to hold a higher rank in europe than ever before, but that from their loins other nations, broad as continents, were to spring, so that the south seas should become an english ocean, and that over a fourth of the world's surface there should be spoken the tongue of pitt and washington.
-no sooner was peace declared, and the immediate and pressing danger removed, than the confederation relapsed into a loose knot of communities as quarrelsome as they were contemptible. the states-rights men for the moment had things all their own way, and speedily reduced us to the level afterwards reached by the south-american republics. each commonwealth set up for itself, and tried to oppress its neighbors; not one had a creditable history for the next four years; while the career of rhode island in particular can only be properly described as infamous. we refused to pay our debts, we would not even pay our army; and mob violence flourished rankly. as a natural result the european powers began to take advantage of our weakness and division.
-money troubles grew apace, and produced the usual crop of crude theories and of vicious and dishonest legislation in accordance therewith. lawless outbreaks became common, and in massachusetts culminated in actual rebellion. the mass of the people were rendered hostile to any closer union by their ignorance, their jealousy, and the general particularistic bent of their minds,--this last being merely a vicious graft on, or rather outgrowth of, the love of freedom inborn in the race. their leaders were enthusiasts of pure purpose and unsteady mental vision; they were followed by the mass of designing politicians, who feared that their importance would be lost if their sphere of action should be enlarged. among these leaders the three most important were, in new york george clinton, and in massachusetts and virginia two much greater men--samuel adams and patrick henry. all three had done excellent service at the beginning of the revolutionary troubles. patrick henry lived to redeem himself, almost in his last hour, by the noble stand he took in aid of washington against the democratic nullification agitation of jefferson and madison; but the usefulness of each of the other two was limited to the early portion of his career.
-like every other true patriot and statesman, morris did all in his power to bring into one combination the varied interests favorable to the formation of a government that should be strong and responsible as well as free. the public creditors and the soldiers of the army--whose favorite toasts were: "a hoop to the barrel," and "cement to the union"--were the two classes most sensible of the advantages of such a government; and to each of these morris addressed himself when he proposed to consolidate the public debt, both to private citizens and to the soldiers, and to make it a charge on the united states, and not on the several separate states.
-in consequence of the activity and ability with which he advocated a firmer union, the extreme states-rights men were especially hostile to him; and certain of their number assailed him with bitter malignity, both then and afterwards. one accusation was, that he had improper connections with the public creditors. this was a pure slander, absolutely without foundation, and not supported by even the pretence of proof. another accusation was that he favored the establishment of a monarchy. this was likewise entirely untrue. morris was not a sentimental political theorist; he was an eminently practical--that is, useful--statesman, who saw with unusual clearness that each people must have a government suited to its own individual character, and to the stage of political and social development it had reached. he realized that a nation must be governed according to the actual needs and capacities of its citizens, not according to any abstract theory or set of ideal principles. he would have dismissed with contemptuous laughter the ideas of those americans who at the present day believe that anglo-saxon democracy can be applied successfully to a half-savage negroid people in hayti, or of those englishmen who consider seriously the proposition to renovate turkey by giving her representative institutions and a parliamentary government. he understood and stated that a monarchy "did not consist with the taste and temper of the people" in america, and he believed in establishing a form of government that did. like almost every other statesman of the day, the perverse obstinacy of the extreme particularist section at times made him downhearted, and caused him almost to despair of a good government being established; and like every sensible man he would have preferred almost any strong, orderly government to the futile anarchy towards which the ultra states-rights men or separatists tended. had these last ever finally obtained the upper hand, either in revolutionary or post-revolutionary times, either in 1787 or 1861, the fact would have shown conclusively that americans were unfitted for republicanism and self-government. an orderly monarchy would certainly be preferable to a republic of the epileptic spanish-american type. the extreme doctrinaires, who are fiercest in declaiming in favor of freedom are in reality its worst foes, far more dangerous than any absolute monarchy ever can be. when liberty becomes license, some form of one-man power is not far distant.
-the one great reason for our having succeeded as no other people ever has, is to be found in that common sense which has enabled us to preserve the largest possible individual freedom on the one hand, while showing an equally remarkable capacity for combination on the other. we have committed plenty of faults, but we have seen and remedied them. our very doctrinaires have usually acted much more practically than they have talked. jefferson, when in power, adopted most of the federalist theories, and became markedly hostile to the nullification movements at whose birth he had himself officiated. we have often blundered badly in the beginning, but we have always come out well in the end. the dutch, when they warred for freedom from spanish rule, showed as much short-sighted selfishness and bickering jealousy as even our own revolutionary ancestors, and only a part remained faithful to the end: as a result, but one section won independence, while the netherlands were divided, and never grasped the power that should have been theirs. as for the spanish-americans, they split up hopelessly almost before they were free, and, though they bettered their condition a little, yet lost nine tenths of what they had gained. scotland and ireland, when independent, were nests of savages. all the follies our forefathers committed can be paralleled elsewhere, but their successes are unique.
-so it was in the few years immediately succeeding the peace by which we won our independence. the mass of the people wished for no closer union than was to be found in a lax confederation; but they had the good sense to learn the lesson taught by the weakness and lawlessness they saw around them; they reluctantly made up their minds to the need of a stronger government, and when they had once come to their decision, neither demagogue nor doctrinaire could swerve them from it.
-the national convention to form a constitution met in may, 1787; and rarely in the world's history has there been a deliberative body which contained so many remarkable men, or produced results so lasting and far-reaching. the congress whose members signed the declaration of independence had but cleared the ground on which the framers of the constitution were to build. among the delegates in attendance, easily first stood washington and franklin,--two of that great american trio in which lincoln is the third. next came hamilton from new york, having as colleagues a couple of mere obstructionists sent by the clintonians to handicap him. from pennsylvania came robert morris and gouverneur morris; from virginia, madison; from south carolina, rutledge and the pinckneys; and so on through the other states. some of the most noted statesmen were absent, however. adams and jefferson were abroad. jay was acting as secretary for foreign affairs; in which capacity, by the way, he had shown most unlooked-for weakness in yielding to spanish demands about the mississippi.
-two years after taking part in the proceedings of the american constitutional convention, morris witnessed the opening of the states general of france. he thoroughly appreciated the absolute and curious contrast offered by these two bodies, each so big with fate for all mankind. the men who predominated in and shaped the actions of the first belonged to a type not uncommonly brought forth by a people already accustomed to freedom at a crisis in the struggle to preserve or extend its liberties. during the past few centuries this type had appeared many times among the liberty loving nations who dwelt on the shores of the baltic and the north sea; and our forefathers represented it in its highest and most perfect shapes. it is a type only to be found among men already trained to govern themselves as well as others. the american statesmen were the kinsfolk and fellows of hampden and pym, of william the silent and john of barneveldt. save love of freedom, they had little in common with the closet philosophers, the enthusiastic visionaries, and the selfish demagogues who in france helped pull up the flood-gates of an all-swallowing torrent. they were great men; but it was less the greatness of mere genius than that springing from the union of strong, virile qualities with steadfast devotion to a high ideal. in certain respects they were ahead of all their european compeers; yet they preserved virtues forgotten or sneered at by the contemporaneous generation of trans-atlantic leaders. they wrought for the future as surely as did the french jacobins; but their spirit was the spirit of the long parliament. they were resolute to free themselves from the tyranny of man; but they had not unlearned the reverence felt by their fathers for their fathers' god. they were sincerely religious. the advanced friends of freedom abroad scoffed at religion, and would have laughed outright at a proposition to gain help for their cause by prayer; but to the founders of our constitution, when matters were at a deadlock, and the outcome looked almost hopeless, it seemed a most fit and proper thing that one of the chief of their number should propose to invoke to aid them a wisdom greater than the wisdom of human beings. even those among their descendants who no longer share their trusting faith may yet well do regretful homage to a religious spirit so deep-rooted and so strongly tending to bring out a pure and high morality. the statesmen who met in 1787 were earnestly patriotic. they unselfishly desired the welfare of their countrymen. they were cool, resolute men, of strong convictions, with clear insight into the future. they were thoroughly acquainted with the needs of the community for which they were to act. above all they possessed that inestimable quality, so characteristic of their race, hard-headed common sense. their theory of government was a very high one; but they understood perfectly that it had to be accommodated to the shortcomings of the average citizen. small indeed was their resemblance to the fiery orators and brilliant pamphleteers of the states general. they were emphatically good men; they were no less emphatically practical men. they would have scorned mirabeau as a scoundrel; they would have despised sieyès as a vain and impractical theorist.
-the deliberations of the convention in their result illustrated in a striking manner the truth of the american principle, that--for deliberative, not executive, purposes--the wisdom of many men is worth more than the wisdom of any one man. the constitution that the members assembled in convention finally produced was not only the best possible one for america at that time, but it was also, in spite of its short-comings, and taking into account its fitness for our own people and conditions, as well as its accordance with the principles of abstract right, probably the best that any nation has ever had, while it was beyond question a very much better one than any single member could have prepared. the particularist statesmen would have practically denied us any real union or efficient executive power; while there was hardly a federalist member who would not, in his anxiety to avoid the evils from which we were suffering, have given us a government so centralized and aristocratic that it would have been utterly unsuited to a proud, liberty-loving, and essentially democratic race, and would have infallibly provoked a tremendous reactionary revolt.
-it is impossible to read through the debates of the convention without being struck by the innumerable shortcomings of each individual plan proposed by the several members, as divulged in their speeches, when compared with the plan finally adopted. had the result been in accordance with the views of the strong-government men like hamilton on the one hand, or of the weak-government men like franklin on the other, it would have been equally disastrous for the country. the men who afterwards naturally became the chiefs of the federalist party, and who included in their number the bulk of the great revolutionary leaders, were the ones to whom we mainly owe our present form of government; certainly we owe them more, both on this and on other points, than we do their rivals, the after-time democrats. yet there were some articles of faith in the creed of the latter so essential to our national wellbeing, and yet so counter to the prejudices of the federalists, that it was inevitable they should triumph in the end. jefferson led the democrats to victory only when he had learned to acquiesce thoroughly in some of the fundamental principles of federalism, and the government of himself and his successors was good chiefly in so far as it followed out the theories of the hamiltonians; while hamilton and the federalists fell from power because they could not learn the one great truth taught by jefferson,--that in america a statesman should trust the people, and should endeavor to secure to each man all possible individual liberty, confident that he will use it aright. the old-school jeffersonian theorists believed in "a strong people and a weak government." lincoln was the first who showed how a strong people might have a strong government and yet remain the freest on the earth. he seized--half unwittingly--all that was best and wisest in the traditions of federalism; he was the true successor of the federalist leaders; but he grafted on their system a profound belief that the great heart of the nation beat for truth, honor, and liberty.
-this fact, that in 1787 all the thinkers of the day drew out plans that in some respects went very wide of the mark, must be kept in mind, or else we shall judge each particular thinker with undue harshness when we examine his utterances without comparing them with those of his fellows. but one partial exception can be made. in the constitutional convention madison, a moderate federalist, was the man who, of all who were there, saw things most clearly as they were, and whose theories most closely corresponded with the principles finally adopted; and although even he was at first dissatisfied with the result, and both by word and by action interpreted the constitution in widely different ways at different times, still this was madison's time of glory: he was one of the statesmen who do extremely useful work, but only at some single given crisis. while the constitution was being formed and adopted, he stood in the very front; but in his later career he sunk his own individuality, and became a mere pale shadow of jefferson.
-morris played a very prominent part in the convention. he was a ready speaker, and among all the able men present there was probably no such really brilliant thinker. in the debates he spoke more often than any one else, although madison was not far behind him; and his speeches betrayed, but with marked and exaggerated emphasis, both the virtues and the shortcomings of the federalist school of thought. they show us, too, why he never rose to the first rank of statesmen. his keen, masterful mind, his far-sightedness, and the force and subtlety of his reasoning were all marred by his incurable cynicism and deep-rooted distrust of mankind. he throughout appears as advocatus diaboli; he puts the lowest interpretation upon every act, and frankly avows his disbelief in all generous and unselfish motives. his continual allusions to the overpowering influence of the baser passions, and to their mastery of the human race at all times, drew from madison, although the two men generally acted together, a protest against his "forever inculcating the utter political depravity of men, and the necessity for opposing one vice and interest as the only possible check to another vice and interest."
-morris championed a strong national government, wherein he was right; but he also championed a system of class representation, leaning towards aristocracy, wherein he was wrong. not hamilton himself was a firmer believer in the national idea. his one great object was to secure a powerful and lasting union, instead of a loose federal league. it must be remembered that in the convention the term "federal" was used in exactly the opposite sense to the one in which it was taken afterwards; that is, it was used as the antithesis of "national," not as its synonym. the states-rights men used it to express a system of government such as that of the old federation of the thirteen colonies; while their opponents called themselves nationalists, and only took the title of federalists after the constitution had been formed, and then simply because the name was popular with the masses. they thus appropriated their adversaries' party name, bestowing it on the organization most hostile to their adversaries' party theories. similarly, the term "republican party," which was originally in our history merely another name for the democracy, has in the end been adopted by the chief opponents of the latter.
-the difficulties for the convention to surmount seemed insuperable; on almost every question that came up, there were clashing interests. strong government and weak government, pure democracy or a modified aristocracy, small states and large states, north and south, slavery and freedom, agricultural sections as against commercial sections,--on each of twenty points the delegates split into hostile camps, that could only be reconciled by concessions from both sides. the constitution was not one compromise; it was a bundle of compromises, all needful.
-morris, like every other member of the convention, sometimes took the right and sometimes the wrong side on the successive issues that arose. but on the most important one of all he made no error; and he commands our entire sympathy for his thorough-going nationalism. as was to be expected, he had no regard whatever for states rights. he wished to deny to the small states the equal representation in the senate finally allowed them; and he was undoubtedly right theoretically. no good argument can be adduced in support of the present system on that point. still, it has thus far worked no harm; the reason being that our states have merely artificial boundaries, while those of small population have hitherto been distributed pretty evenly among the different sections, so that they have been split up like the others on every important issue, and thus have never been arrayed against the rest of the country.
-though morris and his side were defeated in their efforts to have the states represented proportionally in the senate, yet they carried their point as to representation in the house. also on the general question of making a national government, as distinguished from a league or federation, the really vital point, their triumph was complete. the constitution they drew up and had adopted no more admitted of legal or peaceable rebellion--whether called secession or nullification--on the part of the state than on the part of a county or an individual.
-morris expressed his own views with his usual clear-cut, terse vigor when he asserted that "state attachments and state importance had been the bane of the country," and that he came, not as a mere delegate from one section, but "as a representative of america,--a representative in some degree of the whole human race, for the whole human race would be affected by the outcome of the convention." and he poured out the flood of his biting scorn on those gentlemen who came there "to truck and bargain for their respective states," asking what man there was who could tell with certainty the state wherein he--and even more wherein his children--would live in the future; and reminding the small states, with cavalier indifference, that, "if they did not like the union, no matter,--they would have to come in, and that was all there was about it; for if persuasion did not unite the country, then the sword would." his correct language and distinct enunciation--to which madison has borne witness--allowed his grim truths to carry their full weight; and he brought them home to his hearers with a rough, almost startling earnestness and directness. many of those present must have winced when he told them that it would matter nothing to america "if all the charters and constitutions of the states were thrown into the fire, and all the demagogues into the ocean," and asserted that "any particular state ought to be injured, for the sake of a majority of the people, in case its conduct showed that it deserved it." he held that we should create a national government, to be the one and only supreme power in the land,--one which, unlike a mere federal league, such as we then lived under, should have complete and compulsive operation; and he instanced the examples as well of greece as of germany and the united netherlands, to prove that local jurisdiction destroyed every tie of nationality.
-it shows the boldness of the experiment in which we were engaged, that we were forced to take all other nations, whether dead or living, as warnings, not examples; whereas, since we succeeded, we have served as a pattern to be copied, either wholly or in part, by every other people that has followed in our steps. before our own experience, each similar attempt, save perhaps on the smallest scale, had been a failure. where so many other nations teach by their mistakes, we are among the few who teach by their successes.
-be it noted also that, the doctrinaires to the contrary notwithstanding, we proved that a strong central government was perfectly compatible with absolute democracy. indeed, the separatist spirit does not lead to true democratic freedom. anarchy is the handmaiden of tyranny. of all the states, south carolina has shown herself (at least throughout the greater part of the present century) to be the most aristocratic, and the most wedded to the separatist spirit. the german masses were never so ground down by oppression as when the little german principalities were most independent of each other and of any central authority.
-morris believed in letting the united states interfere to put down a rebellion in a state, even though the executive of the state himself should be at the head of it; and he was supported in his views by pinckney, the ablest member of the brilliant and useful but unfortunately short-lived school of south carolina federalists. pinckney was a thorough-going nationalist; he wished to go a good deal further than the convention actually went in giving the central government complete control. thus he proposed that congress should have power to negative by a two-thirds vote all state laws inconsistent with the harmony of the union. madison also wished to give congress a veto over state legislation. morris believed that a national law should be allowed to repeal any state law, and that congress should legislate in all cases where the laws of the states conflicted among themselves.
-yet morris, on the very question of nationalism, himself showed the narrowest, blindest, and least excusable sectional jealousy on one point. he felt as an american for all the union, as it then existed; but he feared and dreaded the growth of the union in the west, the very place where it was inevitable, as well as in the highest degree desirable, that the greatest growth should take place. he actually desired the convention to commit the criminal folly of attempting to provide that the west should always be kept subordinate to the east. fortunately he failed; but the mere attempt casts the gravest discredit alike on his far-sightedness and on his reputation as a statesman. it is impossible to understand how one who was usually so cool and clear-headed an observer could have blundered so flagrantly on a point hardly less vital than the establishment of the union itself. indeed, had his views been carried through, they would in the end have nullified all the good bestowed by the union. in speaking against state jealousy, he had shown its foolishness by observing that no man could tell in what state his children would dwell; and the folly of the speaker himself was made quite as clear by his not perceiving that their most likely dwelling-place was in the west. this jealousy of the west was even more discreditable to the northeast than the jealousy of america had been to england; and it continued strong, especially in new england, for very many years. it was a mean and unworthy feeling; and it was greatly to the credit of the southerners that they shared it only to a very small extent. the south in fact originally was in heartiest sympathy with the west; it was not until the middle of the present century that the country beyond the alleghanies became preponderatingly northern in sentiment. in the constitutional convention itself, butler, of south carolina, pointed out "that the people and strength of america were evidently tending westwardly and southwestwardly."
-morris wished to discriminate against the west by securing to the atlantic states the perpetual control of the union. he brought this idea up again and again, insisting that we should reserve to ourselves the right to put conditions on the western states when we should admit them. he dwelt at length on the danger of throwing the preponderance of influence into the western scale; stating his dread of the "back members," who were always the most ignorant, and the opponents of all good measures. he foretold with fear that some day the people of the west would outnumber the people of the east, and he wished to put it in the power of the latter to keep a majority of the votes in their own hands. apparently he did not see that, if the west once became as populous as he predicted, its legislators would forthwith cease to be "back members." the futility of his fears, and still more of his remedies, was so evident that the convention paid very little heed to either.
-on one point, however, his anticipations of harm were reasonable, and indeed afterwards came true in part. he insisted that the west, or interior, would join the south and force us into a war with some european power, wherein the benefits would accrue to them and the harm to the northeast. the attitude of the south and west already clearly foreshadowed a struggle with spain for the mississippi valley; and such a struggle would surely have come, either with the french or spaniards, had we failed to secure the territory in question by peaceful purchase. as it was, the realization of morris's prophecy was only put off for a few years; the south and west brought on the war of 1812, wherein the east was the chief sufferer.
-on the question as to whether the constitution should be made absolutely democratic or not, morris took the conservative side. on the suffrage his views are perfectly defensible: he believed that it should be limited to freeholders. he rightly considered the question as to how widely it should be extended to be one of expediency merely. it is simply idle folly to talk of suffrage as being an "inborn" or "natural" right. there are enormous communities totally unfit for its exercise; while true universal suffrage never has been, and never will be, seriously advocated by any one. there must always be an age limit, and such a limit must necessarily be purely arbitrary. the wildest democrat of revolutionary times did not dream of doing away with the restrictions of race and sex which kept most american citizens from the ballot-box; and there is certainly much less abstract right in a system which limits the suffrage to people of a certain color than there is in one which limits it to people who come up to a given standard of thrift and intelligence. on the other hand, our experience has not proved that men of wealth make any better use of their ballots than do, for instance, mechanics and other handicraftsmen. no plan could be adopted so perfect as to be free from all drawbacks. on the whole, however, and taking our country in its length and breadth, manhood suffrage has worked well, better than would have been the case with any other system; but even here there are certain localities where its results have been evil, and must simply be accepted as the blemishes inevitably attendant upon, and marring, any effort to carry out a scheme that will be widely applicable.
-morris contended that his plan would work no novel or great hardship, as the people in several states were already accustomed to freehold suffrage. he considered the freeholders to be the best guardians of liberty, and maintained that the restriction of the right to them was only creating a necessary safeguard "against the dangerous influence of those people without property or principle, with whom, in the end, our country, like all other countries, was sure to abound." he did not believe that the ignorant and dependent could be trusted to vote. madison supported him heartily, likewise thinking the freeholders the safest guardians of our rights; he indulged in some gloomy (and fortunately hitherto unverified) forebodings as to our future, which sound strangely coming from one who was afterwards an especial pet of the jeffersonian democracy. he said: "in future times a great majority of the people will be without landed or any other property. they will then either combine under the influence of their common situation,--in which case the rights of property and the public liberty will not be safe in their hands,--or, as is more probable, they will become the tools of opulence and ambition."
-morris also enlarged on this last idea. "give the votes to people who have no property, and they will sell them to the rich," said he. when taunted with his aristocratic tendencies, he answered that he had long ceased to be the dupe of words, that the mere sound of the name "aristocracy" had no terrors for him, but that he did fear lest harm should result to the people from the unacknowledged existence of the very thing they feared to mention. as he put it, there never was or would be a civilized society without an aristocracy, and his endeavor was to keep it as much as possible from doing mischief. he thus professed to be opposed to the existence of an aristocracy, but convinced that it would exist anyhow, and that therefore the best thing to be done was to give it a recognized place, while clipping its wings so as to prevent its working harm. in pursuance of this theory, he elaborated a wild plan, the chief feature of which was the provision for an aristocratic senate, and a popular or democratic house, which were to hold each other in check, and thereby prevent either party from doing damage. he believed that the senators should be appointed by the national executive, who should fill up the vacancies that occurred. to make the upper house effective as a checking branch, it should be so constituted to as have a personal interest in checking the other branch; it should be a senate for life, it should be rich, it should be aristocratic. he continued:--it would then do wrong? he believed so; he hoped so. the rich would strive to enslave the rest; they always did. the proper security against them was to form them into a separate interest. the two forces would then control each other. by thus combining and setting apart the aristocratic interest, the popular interest would also be combined against it. there would be mutual check and mutual security. if, on the contrary, the rich and poor were allowed to mingle, then, if the country were commercial, an oligarchy would be established; and if it were not, an unlimited democracy would ensue. it was best to look truth in the face. the loaves and fishes would be needed to bribe demagogues; while as for the people, if left to themselves, they would never act from reason alone. the rich would take advantage of their passions, and the result would be either a violent aristocracy, or a more violent despotism.--the speech containing these extraordinary sentiments, which do no particular credit to either morris's head or heart, is given in substance by madison in the "debates." madison's report is undoubtedly correct, for, after writing it, he showed it to the speaker himself, who made but one or two verbal alterations.
-morris applied an old theory in a new way when he proposed to make "taxation proportional to representation" throughout the union. he considered the preservation of property as being the distinguishing object of civilization, as liberty was sufficiently guaranteed even by savagery; and therefore he held that the representation in the senate should be according to property as well as numbers. but when this proposition was defeated, he declined to support one making property qualifications for congressmen, remarking that such were proper for the electors rather than the elected.
-his views as to the power and functions of the national executive were in the main sound, and he succeeded in having most of them embodied in the constitution. he wished to have the president hold office during good behavior; and, though this was negatived, he succeeded in having him made reëligible to the position. he was instrumental in giving him a qualified veto over legislation, and in providing for his impeachment for misconduct; and also in having him made commander-in-chief of the forces of the republic, and in allowing him the appointment of governmental officers. the especial service he rendered, however, was his successful opposition to the plan whereby the president was to be elected by the legislature. this proposition he combated with all his strength, showing that it would take away greatly from the dignity of the executive, and would render his election a matter of cabal and faction, "like the election of the pope by a conclave of cardinals." he contended that the president should be chosen by the people at large, by the citizens of the united states, acting through electors whom they had picked out. he showed the probability that in such a case the people would unite upon a man of continental reputation, as the influence of designing demagogues and tricksters is generally powerful in proportion as the limits within which they work are narrow; and the importance of the stake would make all men inform themselves thoroughly as to the characters and capacities of those who were contending for it; and he flatly denied the statements, that were made in evident good faith, to the effect that in a general election each state would cast its vote for its own favorite citizen. he inclined to regard the president in the light of a tribune chosen by the people to watch over the legislature; and giving him the appointing power, he believed, would force him to make good use of it, owing to his sense of responsibility to the people at large, who would be directly affected by its exercise, and who could and would hold him accountable for its abuse.
-on the judiciary his views were also sound. he upheld the power of the judges, and maintained that they should have absolute decision as to the constitutionality of any law. by this means he hoped to provide against the encroachments of the popular branch of the government, the one from which danger was to be feared, as "virtuous citizens will often act as legislators in a way of which they would, as private individuals, afterwards be ashamed." he wisely disapproved of low salaries for the judges, showing that the amounts must be fixed from time to time in accordance with the manner and style of living in the country; and that good work on the bench, where it was especially needful, like good work everywhere else, could only be insured by a high rate of recompense. on the other hand, he approved of introducing into the national constitution the foolish new york state inventions of a council of revision and an executive council.
-his ideas of the duties and powers of congress were likewise very proper on the whole. most citizens of the present day will agree with him that "the excess rather than the deficiency of laws is what we have to dread." he opposed the hurtful provision which requires that each congressman should be a resident of his own district, urging that congressmen represented the people at large, as well as their own small localities; and he also objected to making officers of the army and navy ineligible. he laid much stress on the propriety of passing navigation acts to encourage american bottoms and seamen, as a navy was essential to our security, and the shipping business was always one that stood in peculiar need of public patronage. also, like hamilton and most other federalists, he favored a policy of encouraging domestic manufactures. incidentally he approved of congress having the power to lay an embargo, although he has elsewhere recorded his views as to the general futility of such kinds of "commercial warfare." he believed in having a uniform bankruptcy law; approved of abolishing all religious tests as qualifications for office, and was utterly opposed to the "rotation in office" theory.
-one curious incident in the convention was the sudden outcropping, even thus early, of a "native american" movement against all foreigners, which was headed by butler, of south carolina, who himself was of irish parentage. he strenuously insisted that no foreigners whomsoever should be admitted to our councils,--a rather odd proposition, considering that it would have excluded quite a number of the eminent men he was then addressing. pennsylvania in particular--whose array of native talent has always been far from imposing--had a number of foreigners among her delegates, and loudly opposed the proposition, as did new york. these states wished that there should be no discrimination whatever between native and foreign born citizens; but finally a compromise was agreed to, by which the latter were excluded only from the presidency, but were admitted to all other rights after a seven years' residence,--a period that was certainly none too long.
-a much more serious struggle took place over the matter of slavery, quite as important then as ever, for at that time the negroes were a fifth of our population, instead of, as now, an eighth. the question, as it came before the convention, had several sides to it; the especial difficulty arising over the representation of the slave states in congress, and the importation of additional slaves from africa. no one proposed to abolish slavery off-hand; but an influential though small number of delegates, headed by morris, recognized it as a terrible evil, and were very loath either to allow the south additional representation for the slaves, or to permit the foreign trade in them to go on. when the southern members banded together on the issue, and made it evident that it was the one which they regarded as almost the most important of all, morris attacked them in a telling speech, stating with his usual boldness facts that most northerners only dared hint at, and summing up with the remark that, if he was driven to the dilemma of doing injustice to the southern states or to human nature, he would have to do it to the former; certainly he would not encourage the slave trade by allowing representation for negroes. afterwards he characterized the proportional representation of the blacks even more strongly, as being "a bribe for the importation of slaves."
-in advocating the proposal, first made by hamilton, that the representation should in all cases be proportioned to the number of free inhabitants, morris showed the utter lack of logic in the virginian proposition, which was that the slave states should have additional representation to the extent of three fifths of their negroes. if negroes were to be considered as inhabitants, then they ought to be added in their entire number; if they were to be considered as property, then they ought to be counted only if all other wealth was likewise included. the position of the southerners was ridiculous: he tore their arguments to shreds; but he was powerless to alter the fact that they were doggedly determined to carry their point, while most of the northern members cared comparatively little about it.
-in another speech he painted in the blackest colors the unspeakable misery and wrong wrought by slavery, and showed the blight it brought upon the land. "it was the curse of heaven on the states where it prevailed." he contrasted the prosperity and happiness of the northern states with the misery and poverty which overspread the barren wastes of those where slaves were numerous. "every step you take through the great region of slavery presents a desert widening with the increasing number of these wretched beings." he indignantly protested against the northern states being bound to march their militia for the defense of the southern states against the very slaves of whose existence the northern men complained. "he would sooner submit himself to a tax for paying for all the negroes in the united states than saddle posterity with such a constitution."
-some of the high-minded virginian statesmen were quite as vigorous as he was in their denunciation of the system. one of them, george mason, portrayed the effect of slavery upon the people at large with bitter emphasis, and denounced the slave traffic as "infernal," and slavery as a national sin that would be punished by a national calamity,--stating therein the exact and terrible truth. in shameful contrast, many of the northerners championed the institution; in particular, oliver ellsworth, of connecticut, whose name should be branded with infamy because of the words he then uttered. he actually advocated the free importation of negroes into the south atlantic states, because the slaves "died so fast in the sickly rice swamps" that it was necessary ever to bring fresh ones to labor and perish in the places of their predecessors; and, with a brutal cynicism, peculiarly revolting from its mercantile baseness, he brushed aside the question of morality as irrelevant, asking his hearers to pay heed only to the fact that "what enriches the part enriches the whole."
-the virginians were opposed to the slave trade: but south carolina and georgia made it a condition of their coming into the union. it was accordingly agreed that it should be allowed for a limited time,--twelve years; and this was afterwards extended to twenty by a bargain made by maryland and the three south atlantic states with the new england states, the latter getting in return the help of the former to alter certain provisions respecting commerce. one of the main industries of the new england of that day was the manufacture of rum; and its citizens cared more for their distilleries than for all the slaves held in bondage throughout christendom. the rum was made from molasses which they imported from the west indies, and they carried there in return the fish taken by their great fishing fleets; they also carried the slaves into the southern ports. their commerce was what they especially relied on; and to gain support for it they were perfectly willing to make terms with even such a black mammon of unrighteousness as the southern slaveholding system. throughout the contest, morris and a few other stout anti-slavery men are the only ones who appear to advantage; the virginians, who were honorably anxious to minimize the evils of slavery, come next; then the other southerners who allowed pressing self-interest to overcome their scruples; and, last of all, the new englanders whom a comparatively trivial self-interest made the willing allies of the extreme slaveholders. these last were the only northerners who yielded anything to the southern slaveholders that was not absolutely necessary; and yet they were the forefathers of the most determined and effective foes that slavery ever had.
-no man who supported slavery can ever have a clear and flawless title to our regard; and those who opposed it merit, in so far, the highest honor; but the opposition to it sometimes took forms that can be considered only as the vagaries of lunacy. the only hope of abolishing it lay, first in the establishment and then in the preservation of the union; and if we had at the outset dissolved into a knot of struggling anarchies, it would have entailed an amount of evil both on our race and on all north america, compared to which the endurance of slavery for a century or two would have been as nothing. if we had even split up into only two republics, a northern and a southern, the west would probably have gone with the latter, and to this day slavery would have existed throughout the mississippi valley; much of what is now our territory would have been held by european powers, scornfully heedless of our divided might, while in not a few states the form of government would have been a military dictatorship; and indeed our whole history would have been as contemptible as was that of germany for some centuries prior to the rise of the house of hohenzollern.
-the fierceness of the opposition to the adoption of the constitution, and the narrowness of the majority by which virginia and new york decided in its favor, while north carolina and rhode island did not come in at all until absolutely forced, showed that the refusal to compromise on any one of the points at issue would have jeopardized everything. had the slavery interest been in the least dissatisfied, or had the plan of government been a shade less democratic, or had the smaller states not been propitiated, the constitution would have been rejected off-hand; and the country would have had before it decades, perhaps centuries, of misrule, violence, and disorder.
-madison paid a very just compliment to some of morris's best points when he wrote, anent his services in the convention: "to the brilliancy of his genius he added, what is too rare, a candid surrender of his opinions when the light of discussion satisfied him that they had been too hastily formed, and a readiness to aid in making the best of measures in which he had been overruled." although so many of his own theories had been rejected, he was one of the warmest advocates of the constitution; and it was he who finally drew up the document and put the finish to its style and arrangement, so that, as it now stands, it comes from his pen.
-hamilton, who more than any other man bore the brunt of the fight for its adoption, asked morris to help him in writing the "federalist," but the latter was for some reason unable to do so; and hamilton was assisted only by madison, and to a very slight extent by jay. pennsylvania, the state from which morris had been sent as a delegate, early declared in favor of the new experiment; although, as morris wrote washington, there had been cause to "dread the cold and sour temper of the back counties, and still more the wicked industry of those who have long habituated themselves to live on the public, and cannot bear the idea of being removed from the power and profit of state government, which has been and still is the means of supporting themselves, their families, and dependents, and (which perhaps is equally grateful) of depressing and humbling their political adversaries." in his own native state of new york the influences he thus describes were still more powerful, and it needed all hamilton's wonderful genius to force a ratification of the constitution in spite of the stupid selfishness of the clintonian faction; as it was, he was only barely successful, although backed by all the best and ablest leaders in the community,--jay, livingstone, schuyler, stephen van rensselaer, isaac roosevelt, james duane, and a host of others.
-about this time morris came back to new york to live, having purchased the family estate at morrisania from his elder brother, staats long morris, the british general. he had for some time been engaged in various successful commercial ventures with his friend robert morris, including an east india voyage on a large scale, shipments of tobacco to france, and a share in iron works on the delaware river, and had become quite a rich man. as soon as the war was ended, he had done what he could do to have the loyalists pardoned and reinstated in their fortunes; thereby risking his popularity not a little, as the general feeling against the tories was bitter and malevolent in the highest degree, in curious contrast to the good-will that so rapidly sprang up between the unionists and ex-confederates after the civil war.
-he also kept an eye on foreign politics, and one of his letters to jay curiously foreshadows the good-will generally felt by americans of the present day towards russia, running: "if her ladyship (the czarina) would drive the turk out of europe, and demolish the algerines and other piratical gentry, she will have done us much good for her own sake; ... but it is hardly possible the other powers will permit russia to possess so wide a door into the mediterranean. i may be deceived, but i think england herself would oppose it. as an american, it is my hearty wish that she may effect her schemes."
-shortly after this it became necessary for him to sail for europe on business.
-first stay in france.
-after a hard winter passage of forty days' length morris reached france, and arrived in paris on february 3, 1789. he remained there a year on his private business; but his prominence in america, and his intimate friendship with many distinguished frenchmen, at once admitted him to the highest social and political circles, where his brilliant talents secured him immediate importance.
-the next nine years of his life were spent in europe, and it was during this time that he unknowingly rendered his especial and peculiar service to the public. as an american statesman he has many rivals, and not a few superiors; but as a penetrating observer and recorder of contemporary events, he stands alone among the men of his time. he kept a full diary during his stay abroad, and was a most voluminous correspondent; and his capacity for keen, shrewd observation, his truthfulness, his wonderful insight into character, his sense of humor, and his power of graphic description, all combine to make his comments on the chief men and events of the day a unique record of the inside history of western europe during the tremendous convulsions of the french revolution. he is always an entertaining and in all matters of fact a trustworthy writer. his letters and diary together form a real mine of wealth for the student either of the social life of the upper classes in france just before the outbreak, or of the events of the revolution itself.
-in the first place, it must be premised that from the outset morris was hostile to the spirit of the french revolution, and his hostility grew in proportion to its excesses until at last it completely swallowed up his original antipathy to england, and made him regard france as normally our enemy, not our ally. this was perfectly natural, and indeed inevitable: in all really free countries, the best friends of freedom regarded the revolutionists, when they had fairly begun their bloody career, with horror and anger. it was only to oppressed, debased, and priest-ridden peoples that the french revolution could come as the embodiment of liberty. compared to the freedom already enjoyed by americans, it was sheer tyranny of the most dreadful kind.
-morris saw clearly that the popular party in france, composed in part of amiable visionaries, theoretic philanthropists, and closet constitution-mongers, and in part of a brutal, sodden populace, maddened by the grinding wrongs of ages, knew not whither its own steps tended; and he also saw that the then existing generation of frenchmen were not, and never would be, fitted to use liberty aright. it is small matter for wonder that he could not see as clearly the good which lay behind the movement; that he could not as readily foretell the real and great improvement it was finally to bring about, though only after a generation of hideous convulsions. even as it was, he discerned what was happening, and what was about to happen, more distinctly than did any one else. the wild friends of the french revolution, especially in america, supported it blindly, with but a very slight notion of what it really signified. keen though morris's intellectual vision was, it was impossible for him to see what future lay beyond the quarter of a century of impending tumult. it did not lie within his powers to applaud the fiendish atrocities of the red terror for the sake of the problematical good that would come to the next generation. to do so he would have needed the granite heart of a zealot, as well as the prophetic vision of a seer.
-the french revolution was in its essence a struggle for the abolition of privilege, and for equality in civil rights. this morris perceived, almost alone among the statesmen of his day; and he also perceived that most frenchmen were willing to submit to any kind of government that would secure them the things for which they strove. as he wrote to jefferson, when the republic was well under weigh: "the great mass of the french nation is less solicitous to preserve the present order of things than to prevent the return of the ancient oppression, and of course would more readily submit to a pure despotism than to that kind of monarchy whose only limits were found in those noble, legal and clerical corps by which the people were alternately oppressed and insulted." to the down-trodden masses of continental europe the gift of civil rights and the removal of the tyranny of the privileged classes, even though accompanied by the rule of a directory, a consul, or an emperor, represented an immense political advance; but to the free people of england, and to the freer people of america, the change would have been wholly for the worse.
-there was never another great struggle, in the end productive of good to mankind, where the tools and methods by which that end was won were so wholly vile as in the french revolution. alone among movements of the kind, it brought forth no leaders entitled to our respect; none who were both great and good; none even who were very great, save, at its beginning, strange, strong, crooked mirabeau, and at its close the towering world-genius who sprang to power by its means, wielded it for his own selfish purposes, and dazzled all nations over the wide earth by the glory of his strength and splendor.
-we can hardly blame morris for not appreciating a revolution whose immediate outcome was to be napoleon's despotism, even though he failed to see all the good that would remotely spring therefrom. he considered, as he once wrote a friend, that "the true object of a great statesman is to give to any particular nation the kind of laws which is suitable to them, and the best constitution which they are capable of." there can be no sounder rule of statesmanship; and none was more flagrantly broken by the amiable but incompetent political doctrinaires of 1789. thus the american, as a far-sighted statesman, despised the theorists who began the revolution, and, as a humane and honorable man, abhorred the black-hearted wretches who carried it on. his view of the people among whom he found himself, as well as his statement of his own position, he himself has recorded: "to fit people for a republic, as for any other form of government, a previous education is necessary.... in despotic governments the people, habituated to beholding everything bending beneath the weight of power, never possess that power for a moment without abusing it. slaves, driven to despair, take arms, execute vast vengeance, and then sink back to their former condition of slaves. in such societies the patriot, the melancholy patriot, sides with the despot, because anything is better than a wild and bloody confusion."
-so much for an outline of his views. his writings preserve them for us in detail on almost every important question that came up during his stay in europe; couched, moreover, in telling, piquant sentences that leave room for hardly a dull line in either letters or diary.
-no sooner had he arrived in paris than he sought out jefferson, then the american minister, and lafayette. they engaged him to dine on the two following nights. he presented his various letters of introduction, and in a very few weeks, by his wit, tact, and ability, had made himself completely at home in what was by far the most brilliant and attractive--although also the most hopelessly unsound--fashionable society of any european capital. he got on equally well with fine ladies, philosophers, and statesmen; was as much at his ease in the salons of the one as at the dinner-tables of the other; and all the time observed and noted down, with the same humorous zest, the social peculiarities of his new friends as well as the tremendous march of political events. indeed, it is difficult to know whether to set the higher value on his penetrating observations concerning public affairs, or on his witty, light, half-satirical sketches of the men and women of the world with whom he was thrown in contact, told in his usual charming and effective style. no other american of note has left us writings half so humorous and amusing, filled, too, with information of the greatest value.
-although his relations with jefferson were at this time very friendly, yet his ideas on most subjects were completely at variance with those of the latter. he visited him very often; and, after one of these occasions, jots down his opinion of his friend in his usual amusing vein: "call on mr. jefferson, and sit a good while. general conversation on character and politics. i think he does not form very just estimates of character, but rather assigns too many to the humble rank of fools; whereas in life the gradations are infinite, and each individual has his peculiarities of fort and feeble:" not a bad protest against the dangers of sweeping generalization. another time he records his judgment of jefferson's ideas on public matters as follows: "he and i differ in our systems of politics. he, with all the leaders of liberty here, is desirous of annihilating distinctions of order. how far such views may be right respecting mankind in general is, i think, extremely problematical. but with respect to this nation i am sure they are wrong, and cannot eventuate well."
-as soon as he began to go out in parisian society, he was struck by the closet republicanism which it had become the fashion to affect. after his first visit to lafayette, who received him with that warmth and frank, open-handed hospitality which he always extended to americans, morris writes: "lafayette is full of politics; he appears to be too republican for the genius of his country." and again, when lafayette showed him the draft of the celebrated declaration of rights, he notes: "i gave him my opinions, and suggested several amendments tending to soften the high-colored expressions of freedom. it is not by sounding words that revolutions are produced." elsewhere he writes that "the young nobility have brought themselves to an active faith in the natural equality of mankind, and spurn at everything which looks like restraint." some of their number, however, he considered to be actuated by considerations more tangible than mere sentiment. he chronicles a dinner with some members of the national assembly, where "one, a noble representing the tiers, is so vociferous against his own order, that i am convinced he means to rise by his eloquence, and finally will, i expect, vote with the opinion of the court, let that be what it may." the sentimental humanitarians--who always form a most pernicious body, with an influence for bad hardly surpassed by that of the professionally criminal class--of course throve vigorously in an atmosphere where theories of mawkish benevolence went hand in hand with the habitual practice of vices too gross to name. morris, in one of his letters, narrates an instance in point; at the same time showing how this excess of watery philanthropy was, like all the other movements of the french revolution, but a violent and misguided reaction against former abuses of the opposite sort. the incident took place in madame de staël's salon. "the count de clermont tonnerre, one of their best orators, read to us a very pathetic oration; and the object was to show that no penalties are the legal compensations for crimes or injuries: the man who is hanged, having by that event paid his debt to society, ought not to be held in dishonor; and in like manner he who has been condemned for seven years to be flogged in the galleys, should, when he has served out his apprenticeship, be received again into good company, as if nothing had happened. you smile; but observe the extreme to which the matter was carried the other way. dishonoring thousands for the guilt of one has so shocked the public sentiment as to render this extreme fashionable. the oration was very fine, very sentimental, very pathetic, and the style harmonious. shouts of applause and full approbation. when this was pretty well over, i told him that his speech was extremely eloquent, but that his principles were not very solid. universal surprise!"
-at times he became rather weary of the constant discussion of politics, which had become the chief drawing-room topic. among the capacities of his lively and erratic nature was the power of being intensely bored by anything dull or monotonous. he remarked testily that "republicanism was absolutely a moral influenza, from which neither titles, places, nor even the diadem can guard the possessor." in a letter to a friend on a different subject he writes: "apropos,--a term which my lord chesterfield well observes we generally use to bring in what is not at all to the purpose,--apropos, then, i have here the strangest employment imaginable. a republican, and just as it were emerged from that assembly which has formed one of the most republican of all republican constitutions, i preach incessantly respect for the prince, attention to the rights of the nobles, and above all moderation, not only in the object, but also in the pursuit of it. all this you will say is none of my business; but i consider france as the natural ally of my country, and, of course, that we are interested in her prosperity; besides, to say the truth, i love france."
-his hostility to the fashionable cult offended some of his best friends. the lafayettes openly disapproved his sentiments. the marquis told him that he was injuring the cause, because his sentiments were being continually quoted against "the good party." morris answered that he was opposed to democracy from a regard to liberty; that the popular party were going straight to destruction, and he would fain stop them if he could; for their views respecting the nation were totally inconsistent with the materials of which it was composed, and the worst thing that could happen to them would be to have their wishes granted. lafayette half admitted that this was true: "he tells me that he is sensible his party are mad, and tells them so, but is not the less determined to die with them. i tell him that i think it would be quite as well to bring them to their senses and live with them,"--the last sentence showing the impatience with which the shrewd, fearless, practical american at times regarded the dreamy inefficiency of his french associates. madame de lafayette was even more hostile than her husband to morris's ideas. in commenting on her beliefs he says: "she is a very sensible woman, but has formed her ideas of government in a manner not suited, i think, either to the situation, the circumstances, or the disposition of france."
-he was considered too much of an aristocrat in the salon of the comtesse de tessé, the resort of "republicans of the first feather;" and at first was sometimes rather coldly received there. he felt, however, a most sincere friendship and regard for the comtesse, and thoroughly respected the earnestness with which she had for twenty years done what lay in her power to give her country greater liberty. she was a genuine enthusiast, and, when the national assembly met, was filled with exultant hope for the future. the ferocious outbreaks of the mob, and the crazy lust for blood shown by the people at large, startled her out of her faith, and shocked her into the sad belief that her life-long and painful labors had been wasted in the aid of a bad cause. later in the year morris writes: "i find madame de tessé is become a convert to my principles. we have a gay conversation of some minutes on their affairs, in which i mingle sound maxims of government with that piquant légèreté which this nation delights in. she insists that i dine with her at versailles the next time i am there. we are vastly gracious, and all at once, in a serious tone, 'mais attendez, madame, est-ce que je suis trop aristocrat?' to which she answers, with a smile of gentle humility, 'oh, mon dieu, non!'"
-it is curious to notice how rapidly morris's brilliant talents gave him a commanding position, stranger and guest though he was, among the most noted statesmen of france; how often he was consulted, and how widely his opinions were quoted. moreover, his incisive truthfulness makes his writings more valuable to the historian of his time than are those of any of his contemporaries, french, english, or american. taine, in his great work on the revolution, ranks him high among the small number of observers who have recorded clear and sound judgments of those years of confused, formless tumult and horror.
-all his views on french politics are very striking. as soon as he reached paris, he was impressed by the unrest and desire for change prevailing everywhere, and wrote home: "i find on this side of the atlantic a resemblance to what i left on the other,--a nation which exists in hopes, prospects, and expectations; the reverence for ancient establishments gone; existing forms shaken to the very foundation; and a new order of things about to take place, in which, perhaps, even the very names of all former institutions will be disregarded." and again: "this country presents an astonishing spectacle to one who has collected his ideas from books and information half a dozen years old. everything is à l'anglaise, and a desire to imitate the english prevails alike in the cut of a coat and the form of a constitution. like the english, too, all are engaged in parliamenteering; and when we consider how novel this last business must be, i assure you the progress is far from contemptible,"--a reference to lafayette's electioneering trip to auvergne. the rapidity with which, in america, order had come out of chaos, while in france the reverse process had been going on, impressed him deeply; as he says: "if any new lesson were wanting to impress on our hearts a deep sense of the mutability of human affairs, the double contrast between france and america two years ago and at the present would surely furnish it."
-he saw at once that the revolutionists had it in their power to do about as they chose. "if there be any real vigor in the nation the prevailing party in the states-general may, if they please, overturn the monarchy itself, should the king commit his authority to a contest with them. the court is extremely feeble, and the manners are so extremely corrupt that they cannot succeed if there be any consistent opposition, unless the whole nation be equally depraved."
-he did not believe that the people would be able to profit by the revolution, or to use their opportunities aright. for the numerous class of patriots who felt a vague, though fervent, enthusiasm for liberty in the abstract, and who, without the slightest practical knowledge, were yet intent on having all their own pet theories put into practice, he felt profound scorn and contempt; while he distrusted and despised the mass of frenchmen, because of their frivolity and viciousness. he knew well that a pure theorist may often do as much damage to a country as the most corrupt traitor; and very properly considered that in politics the fool is quite as obnoxious as the knave. he also realized that levity and the inability to look life seriously in the face, or to attend to the things worth doing, may render a man just as incompetent to fulfil the duties of citizenship as would actual viciousness.
-to the crazy theories of the constitution-makers and closet-republicans generally, he often alludes in his diary, and in his letters home. in one place he notes: "the literary people here, observing the abuses of the monarchical form, imagine that everything must go the better in proportion as it recedes from the present establishment, and in their closets they make men exactly suited to their systems; but unluckily they are such men as exist nowhere else, and least of all in france." and he writes almost the same thing to washington: "the middle party, who mean well, have unfortunately acquired their ideas of government from books, and are admirable fellows upon paper: but as it happens, somewhat unfortunately, that the men who live in the world are very different from those who dwell in the heads of philosophers, it is not to be wondered at if the systems taken out of books are fit for nothing but to be put back into books again." and once more: "they have all that romantic spirit, and all those romantic ideas of government, which, happily for america, we were cured of before it was too late." he shows how they had never had the chance to gain wisdom through experience. "as they have hitherto felt severely the authority exercised in the name of their princes, every limitation of that power seems to them desirable. never having felt the evils of too weak an executive, the disorders to be apprehended from anarchy make as yet no impression." elsewhere he comments on their folly in trying to apply to their own necessities systems of government suited to totally different conditions; and mentions his own attitude in the matter: "i have steadily combated the violence and excess of those persons who, either inspired with an enthusiastic love of freedom, or prompted by sinister designs, are disposed to drive everything to extremity. our american example has done them good; but, like all novelties, liberty runs away with their discretion, if they have any. they want an american constitution with the exception of a king instead of a president, without reflecting that they have not american citizens to support that constitution.... whoever desires to apply in the practical science of government those rules and forms which prevail and succeed in a foreign country, must fall into the same pedantry with our young scholars, just fresh from the university, who would fain bring everything to the roman standard.... the scientific tailor who should cut after grecian or chinese models would not have many customers, either in london or paris; and those who look to america for their political forms are not unlike the tailors in laputa, who, as gulliver tells us, always take measures with a quadrant."
-he shows again and again his abiding distrust and fear of the french character, as it was at that time, volatile, debauched, ferocious, and incapable of self-restraint. to lafayette he insisted that the "extreme licentiousness" of the people rendered it indispensable that they should be kept under authority; and on another occasion told him "that the nation was used to being governed, and would have to be governed; and that if he expected to lead them by their affections, he would himself be the dupe." in writing to washington he painted the outlook in colors that, though black indeed, were not a shade too dark. "the materials for a revolution in this country are very indifferent. everybody agrees that there is an utter prostration of morals; but this general proposition can never convey to an american mind the degree of depravity. it is not by any figure of rhetoric or force of language that the idea can be communicated. a hundred anecdotes and a hundred thousand examples are required to show the extreme rottenness of every member. there are men and women who are greatly and eminently virtuous. i have the pleasure to number many in my own acquaintance; but they stand forward from a background deeply and darkly shaded. it is however from such crumbling matter that the great edifice of freedom is to be erected here. perhaps like the stratum of rock which is spread under the whole surface of their country, it may harden when exposed to the air; but it seems quite as likely that it will fall and crush the builders. i own to you that i am not without such apprehensions, for there is one fatal principle which pervades all ranks. it is a perfect indifference to the violation of engagements. inconstancy is so mingled in the blood, marrow, and very essence of this people, that when a man of high rank and importance laughs to-day at what he seriously asserted yesterday, it is considered as in the natural order of things. consistency is a phenomenon. judge, then, what would be the value of an association should such a thing be proposed and even adopted. the great mass of the common people have no religion but their priests, no law but their superiors, no morals but their interest. these are the creatures who, led by drunken curates, are now on the high road à la liberté."
-morris and washington wrote very freely to each other. in one of his letters, the latter gave an account of how well affairs were going in america (save in rhode island, the majority of whose people "had long since bid adieu to every principle of honor, common sense, and honesty"), and then went on to discuss things in france. he expressed the opinion that, if the revolution went no further than it had already gone, france would become the most powerful and happy state in europe; but he trembled lest, having triumphed in the first paroxysms, it might succumb to others still more violent that would be sure to follow. he feared equally the "licentiousness of the people" and the folly of the leaders, and doubted if they possessed the requisite temperance, firmness, and foresight; and if they did not, then he believed they would run from one extreme to another, and end with "a higher toned despotism than the one which existed before."
-morris answered him with his usual half-satiric humor: "your sentiments on the revolution here i believe to be perfectly just, because they perfectly accord with my own, and that is, you know, the only standard which heaven has given us by which to judge," and went on to describe how the parties in france stood. "the king is in effect a prisoner in paris and obeys entirely the national assembly. this assembly may be divided into three parts: one, called the aristocrats, consists of the high clergy, the members of the law (note, these are not the lawyers) and such of the nobility as think they ought to form a separate order. another, which has no name, but which consists of all sorts of people, really friends to a good free government. the third is composed of what is here called the enragées, that is, the madmen. these are the most numerous, and are of that class which in america is known by the name of pettifogging lawyers; together with ... those persons who in all revolutions throng to the standard of change because they are not well. this last party is in close alliance with the populace here, and they have already unhinged everything, and, according to custom on such occasions, the torrent rushes on irresistibly until it shall have wasted itself." the literati he pronounced to have no understanding whatever of the matters at issue, and as was natural to a shrewd observer educated in the intensely practical school of american political life, he felt utter contempt for the wordy futility and wild theories of the french legislators. "for the rest, they discuss nothing in their assembly. one large half of the time is spent in hallooing and bawling."
-washington and morris were both so alarmed and indignant at the excesses committed by the revolutionists, and so frankly expressed their feelings, as to create an impression in some quarters that they were hostile to the revolution itself. the exact reverse was originally the case. they sympathized most warmly with the desire for freedom, and with the efforts made to attain it. morris wrote to the president: "we have, i think, every reason to wish that the patriots may be successful. the generous wish that a free people must have to disseminate freedom, the grateful emotion which rejoices in the happiness of a benefactor, the interest we must feel as well in the liberty as in the power of this country, all conspire to make us far from indifferent spectators. i say that we have an interest in the liberty of france. the leaders here are our friends. many of them have imbibed their principles in america, and all have been fired by our example. their opponents are by no means rejoiced at the success of our revolution, and many of them are disposed to form connections of the strictest kind with great britain." both washington and morris would have been delighted to see liberty established in france; but they had no patience with the pursuit of the bloody chimera which the revolutionists dignified with that title. the one hoped for, and the other counseled, moderation among the friends of republican freedom, not because they were opposed to it, but because they saw that it could only be gained and kept by self-restraint. they were, to say the least, perfectly excusable for believing that at that time some form of monarchy, whether under king, dictator, or emperor, was necessary to france. every one agrees that there are certain men wiser than their fellows; the only question is as to how these men can be best chosen out, and to this there can be no absolute answer. no mode will invariably give the best results; and the one that will come nearest to doing so under given conditions will not work at all under others. where the people are enlightened and moral they are themselves the ones to choose their rulers; and such a form of government is unquestionably the highest of any, and the only one that a high-spirited and really free nation will tolerate; but if they are corrupt and degraded, they are unfit for republicanism, and need to be under an entirely different system. the most genuine republican, if he has any common sense, does not believe in a democratic government for every race and in every age.
-in a letter to washington morris made one of his usual happy guesses--if forecasting the future by the aid of marvelous insight into human character can properly be called a guess--as to what would happen to france: "it is very difficult to guess whereabouts the flock will settle when it flies so wild; but as far as it is possible to guess this (late) kingdom will be cast into a congeries of little democracies, laid out, not according to rivers, mountains, etc., but with the square and compass according to latitude and longitude," and adds that he thinks so much fermenting matter will soon give the nation "a kind of political colic."
-he rendered some services to washington that did not come in the line of his public duty. one of these was to get him a watch, washington having written to have one purchased in paris, of gold, "not a small, trifling, nor a finical ornamental one, but a watch well executed in point of workmanship, large and flat, with a plain, handsome key." morris sent it to him by jefferson, "with two copper keys and one golden one, and a box containing a spare spring and glasses." his next service to the great virginian, or rather to his family, was of a different kind, and he records it with a smile at his own expense. "go to m. hudon's; he has been waiting for me a long time. i stand for his statue of general washington, being the humble employment of a manikin. this is literally taking the advice of st. paul, to be all things to all men."
-he corresponded with many men of note; not the least among whom was the daring corsair, paul jones. the latter was very anxious to continue in the service of the people with whom he had cast in his lot, and in command of whose vessels he had reached fame. morris was obliged to tell him that he did not believe an american navy would be created for some years to come, and advised him meanwhile to go into the service of the russians, as he expected there would soon be warm work on the baltic; and even gave him a hint as to what would probably be the best plan of campaign. paul jones wanted to come to paris; but from this morris dissuaded him. "a journey to this city can, i think, produce nothing but the expense attending it; for neither pleasure nor profit can be expected here, by one of your profession in particular; and, except that it is a more dangerous residence than many others, i know of nothing which may serve to you as an inducement."
-life in paris.
-although morris entered into the social life of paris with all the zest natural to his pleasure-loving character, yet he was far too clear-headed to permit it to cast any glamour over him. indeed, it is rather remarkable that a young provincial gentleman, from a raw, new, far-off country, should not have had his head turned by being made somewhat of a lion in what was then the foremost city of the civilized world. instead of this happening, his notes show that he took a perfectly cool view of his new surroundings, and appreciated the over-civilized, aristocratic society, in which he found himself, quite at its true worth. he enjoyed the life of the salon very much, but it did not in the least awe or impress him; and he was of too virile fibre, too essentially a man, to be long contented with it alone. he likewise appreciated the fashionable men, and especially the fashionable women, whom he met there; but his amusing comments on them, as shrewd as they are humorous, prove how little he respected their philosophy, and how completely indifferent he was to their claims to social preëminence.
-much has been written about the pleasure-loving, highly cultured society of eighteenth-century france; but to a man like morris, of real ability and with an element of sturdiness in his make-up, both the culture and knowledge looked a little like veneering; the polish partook of effeminacy; the pleasure so eagerly sought after could be called pleasure only by people of ignoble ambition; and the life that was lived seemed narrow and petty, agreeable enough for a change, but dreary beyond measure if followed too long. the authors, philosophers, and statesmen of the salon were rarely, almost never, men of real greatness; their metal did not ring true; they were shams, and the life of which they were a part was a sham. not only was the existence hollow, unwholesome, effeminate, but also in the end tedious: the silent, decorous dullness of life in the dreariest country town is not more insufferable than, after a time, become the endless chatter, the small witticisms, the mock enthusiasms, and vapid affectations of an aristocratic society as artificial and unsound as that of the parisian drawing-rooms in the last century.
-but all this was delightful for a time, especially to a man who had never seen any city larger than the overgrown villages of new york and philadelphia. morris thus sums up his first impressions in a letter to a friend: "a man in paris lives in a sort of whirlwind, which turns him round so fast that he can see nothing. and as all men and things are in the same vertiginous condition, you can neither fix yourself nor your object for regular examination. hence the people of this metropolis are under the necessity of pronouncing their definitive judgment from the first glance; and being thus habituated to shoot flying, they have what sportsmen call a quick sight. ex pede herculem. they know a wit by his snuff-box, a man of taste by his bow, and a statesman by the cut of his coat. it is true that, like other sportsmen, they sometimes miss; but then, like other sportsmen too, they have a thousand excuses besides the want of skill: the fault, you know, may be in the dog, or the bird, or the powder, or the flint, or even the gun, without mentioning the gunner."
-among the most famous of the salons where he was fairly constant in his attendance was that of madame de staël. there was not a little contempt mixed with his regard for the renowned daughter of necker. she amused him, however, and he thought well of her capacity, though in his diary he says that he never in his life saw "such exuberant vanity" as she displayed about her father, necker,--a very ordinary personage, whom the convulsions of the time had for a moment thrown forward as the most prominent man in france. by way of instance he mentions a couple of her remarks, one to the effect that a speech of talleyrand on the church property was "excellent, admirable, in short that there were two pages in it which were worthy of m. necker;" and another wherein she said that wisdom was a very rare quality, and that she knew of no one who possessed it in a superlative degree except her father.
-the first time he met her was after an exciting discussion in the assembly over the finances, which he describes at some length. necker had introduced an absurd scheme for a loan. mirabeau, who hated necker, saw the futility of his plan, but was also aware that popular opinion was blindly in his favor, and that to oppose him would be ruinous; so in a speech of "fine irony" he advocated passing necker's proposed bill without change or discussion, avowing that his object was to have the responsibility and glory thrown entirely on the proposer of the measure. he thus yielded to the popular view, while at the same time he shouldered on necker all the responsibility for a deed which it was evident would in the end ruin him. it was a not very patriotic move, although a good example of selfish political tactics, and morris sneered bitterly at its adoption by the representatives of a people who prided themselves on being "the modern athenians." to his surprise, however, even madame de staël took mirabeau's action seriously; she went into raptures over the wisdom of the assembly in doing just what necker said, for "the only thing they could do was to comply with her father's wish, and there could be no doubt as to the success of her father's plans! bravo!"
-with morris she soon passed from politics to other subjects. "presented to madame de staël as un homme d'esprit," he writes, "she singles me out and makes a talk; asks if i have not written a book on the american constitution. 'non, madame, j'ai fait mon devoir en assistant à la formation de cette constitution.' 'mais, monsieur, votre conversation doit être très intéressante, car je vous entends cité de toute parti.' 'ah, madame, je ne suis pas digne de cette éloge.' how i lost my leg? it was unfortunately not in the military service of my country. 'monsieur, vous avez l'air très imposant,' and this is accompanied with that look which, without being what sir john falstaff calls the 'leer of invitation,' amounts to the same thing.... this leads us on, but in the midst of the chat arrive letters, one of which is from her lover, narbonne, now with his regiment. it brings her to a little recollection, which a little time will, i think, again banish, and a few interviews would stimulate her to try the experiment of her fascinations even on the native of a new world who has left one of his legs behind him."
-an entry in morris's diary previous to this conversation shows that he had no very high opinion of this same monsieur de narbonne: "he considers a civil war inevitable, and is about to join his regiment, being, as he says, in a conflict between the dictates of his duty and his conscience. i tell him that i know of no duty but that which conscience dictates. i presume that his conscience will dictate to join the strongest side."
-he was an especial habitué of the salon of madame de flahaut, the friend of talleyrand and montesquieu. she was a perfectly characteristic type; a clever, accomplished little woman, fond of writing romances, and a thorough-paced intriguante. she had innumerable enthusiasms, with perhaps a certain amount of sincerity in each, and was a more infatuated political schemer than any of her male friends. she was thoroughly conversant with the politics of both court and assembly; her "precision and justness of thought was very uncommon in either sex," and, as time went on, made her a willing and useful helper in some of morris's plans. withal she was a mercenary, self-seeking little personage, bent on increasing her own fortune by the aid of her political friends. once, when dining with morris and talleyrand, she told them in perfect good faith that, if the latter was made minister, "they must be sure to make a million for her."
-she was much flattered by the deference that morris showed for her judgment, and in return let him into not a few state secrets. she and he together drew up a translation of the outline for a constitution for france, which he had prepared, and through her it was forwarded to the king. together with her two other intimates, talleyrand and montesquieu, they made just a party of four, often dining at her house; and when her husband was sent to spain, the dinners became more numerous than ever, sometimes merely parties carrées, sometimes very large entertainments. morris records that, small or large, they were invariably "excellent dinners, where the conversation was always extremely gay."
-once they planned out a ministry together, and it must be kept in mind that it was quite on the cards that their plan would be adopted. after disposing suitably of all the notabilities, some in stations at home, others in stations abroad, the scheming little lady turned to morris: "'enfin,' she says, 'mon ami, vous et moi nous gouvernerons la france.' it is an odd combination, but the kingdom is actually in much worse hands."
-this conversation occurred one morning when he had called to find madame at her toilet, with her dentist in attendance. it was a coarse age, for all the gilding; and the coarseness was ingrained in the fibre even of the most ultra sentimental. at first morris felt perhaps a little surprised at the easy familiarity with which the various ladies whose friend he was admitted him to the privacy of boudoir and bedroom, and chronicles with some amusement the graceful indifference with which one of them would say to him: "monsieur morris me permettra de faire ma toilette?" but he was far from being a strait-laced man,--in fact, he was altogether too much the reverse,--and he soon grew habituated to these as well as to much worse customs. however, he notes that the different operations of the toilet "were carried on with an entire and astounding regard to modesty."
-madame de flahaut was a very charming member of the class who, neither toiling nor spinning, were supported in luxury by those who did both, and who died from want while so doing. at this very time, while france was rapidly drifting into bankruptcy, the fraudulent pensions given to a horde of courtiers, titled placemen, well-born harlots and their offspring, reached the astounding total of two hundred and seventy odd millions of livres. the assembly passed a decree cutting away these pensions right and left, and thereby worked sad havoc in the gay society that nothing could render serious but immediate and pressing poverty,--not even the loom of the terror ahead, growing darker moment by moment. calling on his fascinating little friend immediately after the decree was published, morris finds her "au désespoir, and she intends to cry very loud, she says.... she has been in tears all day. her pensions from monsieur and the comte d'artois are stopped. on that from the king she receives but three thousand francs,--and must therefore quit paris. i try to console her, but it is impossible. indeed, the stroke is severe; for, with youth, beauty, wit, and every loveliness, she must quit all she loves, and pass her life with what she abhors." in the time of adversity morris stood loyally by the friends who had treated him so kindly when the world was a merry one, and things went well with them. he helped them in every way possible; his time and his purse were always at their service; and he performed the difficult feat of giving pecuniary assistance with a tact and considerate delicacy that prevented the most sensitive from taking offense.
-he early became acquainted with the duchess of orleans, wife of philippe egalité, the vicious voluptuary of liberal leanings and clouded character. he met her at the house of an old friend, madame de chastellux. at first he did not fancy her, and rather held himself aloof, being uncertain "how he would get on with royalty." the duchess, however, was attracted by him, asked after him repeatedly, made their mutual friends throw them together, and finally so managed that he became one of her constant visitors and attendants. this naturally flattered him, and he remained sincerely loyal to her always afterwards. she was particularly anxious that he should be interested in her son, then a boy, afterwards destined to become the citizen king,--not a bad man, but a mean one, and rather an unkingly king even for the nineteenth century, fertile though it has been in ignoble royalty. morris's further dealings with this precious youth will have to be considered hereafter.
-after his first interview he notes that the duchess was "handsome enough to punish the duke for his irregularities." he also mentioned that she still seemed in love with her husband. however, the lady was not averse to seeking a little sentimental consolation from her new friend, to whom she confided, in their after intimacy, that she was weary at heart and not happy, and--a thoroughly french touch--that she had the "besoin d'être aimée." on the day they first met, while he is talking to her, "the widow of the late duke of orleans comes in, and at going away, according to custom, kisses the duchess. i observe that the ladies of paris are very fond of each other; which gives rise to some observations from her royal highness on the person who has just quitted the room, which show that the kiss does not always betoken great affection. in going away she is pleased to say that she is glad to have met me, and i believe her. the reason is that i dropped some expressions and sentiments a little rough, which were agreeable because they contrasted with the palling polish she meets with everywhere. hence i conclude that the less i have the honor of such good company the better; for when the novelty ceases all is over, and i shall probably be worse than insipid."
-nevertheless, the "good company" was determined he should make one of their number. he was not very loath himself, when he found he was in no danger of being patronized,--for anything like patronage was always particularly galling to his pride, which was of the kind that resents a tone of condescension more fiercely than an overt insult,--and he became a fast friend of the house of orleans. the duchess made him her confidant; unfolded to him her woes about the duke; and once, when he was dining with her, complained to him bitterly of the duke's conduct in not paying her allowance regularly. she was in financial straits at the time; for, though she was allowed four hundred and fifty thousand livres a year, yet three hundred and fifty thousand were appropriated for the house-servants, table, etc.,--an item wherein her american friend, albeit not over-frugal, thought a very little economy would result in a great saving.
-his description of one of the days he spent at raincy with the duchess and her friends, gives us not only a glimpse of the life of the great ladies and fine gentlemen of the day, but also a clear insight into the reasons why these same highly polished ladies and gentlemen had utterly lost their hold over the people whose god-given rulers they deemed themselves to be.
-déjeuner à la fourchette was not served till noon,--morris congratulating himself that he had taken a light breakfast earlier. "after breakfast we go to mass in the chapel. in the tribune above we have a bishop, an abbé, the duchess, her maids and some of their friends. madame de chastellux is below on her knees. we are amused above by a number of little tricks played off by monsieur de ségur and monsieur de cabières with a candle, which is put into the pockets of different gentlemen, the bishop among the rest, and lighted, while they are otherwise engaged, (for there is a fire in the tribune,) to the great merriment of the spectators. immoderate laughter is the consequence. the duchess preserves as much gravity as she can. this scene must be very edifying to the domestics who are opposite to us, and the villagers who worship below." the afternoon's amusements were not to his taste. they all walked, which he found very hot; then they got into bateaux, and the gentlemen rowed the ladies, which was still hotter; and then there came more walking, so he was glad to get back to the château. the formal dinner was served after five; the conversation thereat varied between the vicious and the frivolous. there was much bantering, well-bred in manner and excessively under-bred in matter, between the different guests of both sexes, about the dubious episodes in their past careers, and the numerous shady spots in their respective characters. epigrams and "epitaphs" were bandied about freely, some in verse, some not; probably very amusing then, but their lustre sadly tarnished in the eyes of those who read them now. while they were dining, "a number of persons surround the windows, doubtless from a high idea of the company, to whom they are obliged to look up at an awful distance. oh, did they but know how trivial the conversation, how very trivial the characters, their respect would soon be changed to an emotion entirely different!"
-this was but a month before the bastile fell; and yet, on the threshold of their hideous doom, the people who had most at stake were incapable not only of intelligent action to ward off their fate, but even of serious thought as to what their fate would be. the men--the nobles, the clerical dignitaries, and the princes of the blood--chose the church as a place wherein to cut antics that would have better befitted a pack of monkeys; while the women, their wives and mistresses, exchanged with them impure jests at their own expense, relished because of the truth on which they rested. brutes might still have held sway at least for a time; but these were merely vicious triflers. they did not believe in their religion; they did not believe in themselves; they did not believe in anything. they had no earnestness, no seriousness; their sensibilities and enthusiasms were alike affectations. there was still plenty of fire and purpose and furious energy in the hearts of the french people; but these and all the other virile virtues lay not among the noblesse, but among the ranks of the common herd beneath them, down-trodden, bloody in their wayward ferocity, but still capable of fierce, heroic devotion to an ideal in which they believed, and for which they would spill the blood of others, or pour out their own, with the proud waste of utter recklessness.
-many of morris's accounts of the literary life of the salon read as if they were explanatory notes to "les précieuses ridicules." there was a certain pretentiousness about it that made it a bit of a sham at the best; and the feebler variety of salon, built on such a foundation, thus became that most despicable of things, an imitation of a pretense. at one of the dinners which morris describes, the company was of a kind that would have done no discredit to an entertainment of the great social and literary light of eatanswill. "set off in great haste to dine with the comtesse de r., on an invitation of a week's standing. arrive at about a quarter past three, and find in the drawing-room some dirty linen and no fire. while a waiting-woman takes away one, a valet lights up the other. three small sticks in a deep bed of ashes give no great expectation of heat. by the smoke, however, all doubts are removed respecting the existence of fire. to expel the smoke, a window is opened, and, the day being cold, i have the benefit of as fresh air as can reasonably be expected in so large a city.
-"towards four o'clock the guests begin to assemble, and i begin to expect that, as madame is a poetess, i shall have the honor to dine with that exalted part of the species who devote themselves to the muses. in effect, the gentlemen begin to compliment their respective works; and, as regular hours cannot be expected in a house where the mistress is occupied more with the intellectual than the material world, i have a delightful prospect of a continuance of the scene. towards five, madame steps in to announce dinner, and the hungry poets advance to the charge. as they bring good appetites, they have certainly reason to praise the feast. and i console myself with the persuasion that for this day at least i shall escape an indigestion. a very narrow escape, too, for some rancid butter, of which the cook had been liberal, puts me in bodily fear. if the repast is not abundant, we have at least the consolation that there is no lack of conversation. not being perfectly master of the language, most of the jests escaped me. as for the rest of the company, each being employed either in saying a good thing, or else in studying one to say, it is no wonder if he cannot find time to applaud that of his neighbors. they all agree that we live in an age alike deficient in justice and in taste. each finds in the fate of his own works numerous instances to justify this censure. they tell me, to my great surprise, that the public now condemn theatrical compositions before they have heard the first recital. and, to remove my doubts, the comtesse is so kind as to assure me that this rash decision has been made on one of her own pieces. in pitying modern degeneracy, we rise from the table.
-"i take my leave immediately after the coffee, which by no means dishonors the precedent repast; and madame informs me that on tuesdays and thursdays she is always at home, and will always be glad to see me. while i stammer out some return to the compliment, my heart, convinced of my unworthiness to partake of such attic entertainments, makes me promise never again to occupy the place from which perhaps i had excluded a worthier personage."
-among morris's other qualities, he was the first to develop that peculiarly american vein of humor which is especially fond of gravely pretending to believe without reserve some preposterously untrue assertion,--as throughout the above quotation.
-though the society in which he was thrown interested him, he always regarded it with half-sarcastic amusement, and at times it bored him greatly. meditating on the conversation in "this upper region of wits and graces," he concludes that "the sententious style" is the one best fitted for it, and that in it "observations with more of justice than splendor cannot amuse," and sums up by saying that "he could not please, because he was not sufficiently pleased."
-his comments upon the various distinguished men he met are always interesting, on account of the quick, accurate judgment of character which they show. it was this insight into the feelings and ideas alike of the leaders and of their followers which made his political predictions often so accurate. his judgment of many of his contemporaries comes marvelously near the cooler estimate of history.
-he was originally prejudiced in favor of the king, poor louis xvi., and, believing him "to be an honest and good man, he sincerely wished him well," but he very soon began to despise him for his weakness. this quality was the exact one that under existing circumstances was absolutely fatal; and morris mentions it again and again, pronouncing the king "a well-meaning man, but extremely weak, without genius or education to show the way towards that good which he desires," and "a prince so weak that he can influence very little either by his presence or absence." finally, in a letter to washington, he gives a biting sketch of the unfortunate monarch. "if the reigning prince were not the small-beer character that he is, there can be but little doubt that, watching events and making a tolerable use of them, he would regain his authority; but what will you have from a creature who, situated as he is, eats and drinks, sleeps well and laughs, and is as merry a grig as lives? the idea that they will give him some money, which he can economize, and that he will have no trouble in governing, contents him entirely. poor man! he little thinks how unstable is his situation. he is beloved, but it is not with the sort of love which a monarch should inspire. it is that kind of good-natured pity which one feels for a led captive. there is besides no possibility of serving him, for at the slightest show of opposition he gives up everything and every person." morris had too robust a mind to feel the least regard for mere amiability and good intentions when unaccompanied by any of the ruder, manlier virtues.
-the count d'artois had "neither sense to counsel himself, nor to choose counsellors for himself, much less to counsel others." this gentleman, afterwards charles x., stands as perhaps the most shining example of the monumental ineptitude of his royal house. his fellow bourbon, the amiable bomba of naples, is his only equal for dull silliness, crass immorality, and the lack of every manly or kingly virtue. democracy has much to answer for, but after all it would be hard to find, even among the aldermen of new york and chicago, men whose moral and mental shortcomings would put them lower than this royal couple. to our shame be it said, our system of popular government once let our greatest city fall under the control of tweed; but it would be rank injustice to that clever rogue to compare him with the two vicious dullards whom the opposite system permitted to tyrannize at paris and naples. moreover, in the end, we of the democracy not only overthrew the evil-doer who oppressed us, but also put him in prison; and in the long run we have usually meted out the same justice to our lesser criminals. government by manhood suffrage shows at its worst in large cities; and yet even in these experience certainly does not show that a despotism works a whit better, or as well.
-morris described the count de montmorin pithily, saying: "he has more understanding than people in general imagine, and he means well, very well, but he means it feebly."
-a far more famous man, talleyrand, then bishop of autun, he also gauged correctly from the start, writing down that he appeared to be "a sly, cool, cunning, ambitious, and malicious man. i know not why conclusions so disadvantageous to him are formed in my mind, but so it is, and i cannot help it." he was afterwards obliged to work much in common with talleyrand, for both took substantially the same view of public affairs in that crisis, and were working for a common end. speaking of his new ally's plan respecting church property, he says: "he is bigoted to it, and the thing is well enough; but the mode is not so well. he is attached to this as an author, which is not a good sign for a man of business." and again he criticises talleyrand's management of certain schemes for the finances, as showing a willingness "to sacrifice great objects for the sake of small ones ... an inverse ratio of moral proportion."
-morris was fond of lafayette, and appreciated highly his courage and keen sense of honor; but he did not think much of his ability, and became at times very impatient with his vanity and his impractical theories. besides, he deemed him a man who was carried away by the current, and could neither stem nor guide it. "i have known my friend lafayette now for many years, and can estimate at the just value both his words and actions. he means ill to no one, but he is very much below the business he has undertaken; and if the sea runs high, he will be unable to hold the helm." and again, in writing to washington: "unluckily he has given in to measures ... which he does not heartily approve, and he heartily approves many things which experience will demonstrate to be dangerous."
-the misshapen but mighty genius of mirabeau he found more difficulty in estimating; he probably never rated it quite high enough. he naturally scorned a man of such degraded debauchery, who, having been one of the great inciters to revolution, had now become a subsidized ally of the court. he considered him "one of the most unprincipled scoundrels that ever lived," although of "superior talents," and "so profligate that he would disgrace any administration," besides having so little principle as to make it unsafe to trust him. after his death he thus sums him up: "vices both degrading and detestable marked this extraordinary being. completely prostitute, he sacrificed everything to the whim of the moment;--cupidus alieni prodigus sui; venal, shameless; and yet greatly virtuous when pushed by a prevailing impulse, but never truly virtuous, because never under the steady control of reason, nor the firm authority of principle. i have seen this man, in the short space of two years, hissed, honored, hated, mourned. enthusiasm has just now presented him gigantic. time and reflection will sink this stature." even granting this to be wholly true, as it undoubtedly is in the main, it was nevertheless the fact that in mirabeau alone lay the least hope of salvation for the french nation; and morris erred in strenuously opposing lafayette's going into a ministry with him. indeed, he seems in this case to have been blinded by prejudice, and certainly acted very inconsistently; for his advice, and the reasons he gave for it, were completely at variance with the rules he himself laid down to lafayette, with even more cynicism than common sense, when the latter once made some objections to certain proposed coadjutors of his: "i state to him ... that, as to the objections he has made on the score of morals in some, he must consider that men do not go into an administration as the direct road to heaven; that they are prompted by ambition or avarice, and therefore that the only way to secure the most virtuous is by making it their interest to act rightly."
-morris thus despised the king, and distrusted the chief political leaders; and, as he wrote washington, he was soon convinced that there was an immense amount of corruption in the upper circles. the people at large he disliked even more than he did their advisers, and he had good grounds, too, as the following extract from his journal shows: "july 22d. after dinner, walk a little under the arcade of the palais royal, waiting for my carriage. in this period the head and body of m. de toulon are introduced in triumph, the head on a pike, the body dragged naked on the earth. afterwards this horrible exhibition is carried through the different streets. his crime is, to have accepted a place in the ministry. this mutilated form of an old man of seventy-five is shown to his son-in-law, berthier, the intendant of paris; and afterwards he also is put to death and cut to pieces, the populace carrying about the mangled fragments with a savage joy. gracious god, what a people!"
-he describes at length, and most interestingly, the famous opening of the states-general, "the beginning of the revolution." he eyed this body even at the beginning with great distrust; and he never thought that any of the delegates showed especial capacity for grappling with the terrible dangers and difficulties by which they were encompassed. he comments on the extreme enthusiasm with which the king was greeted, and sympathizes strongly with marie antoinette, who was treated with studied and insulting coldness. "she was exceedingly hurt. i cannot help feeling the mortification which the poor queen meets with, for i see only the woman; and it seems unmanly to treat a woman with unkindness.... not one voice is heard to wish her well. i would certainly raise mine if i were a frenchman; but i have no right to express a sentiment, and in vain solicit those who are near me to do it." ... at last "the queen rises, and, to my great satisfaction, she hears, for the first time in several months, the sound of 'vive la reine!' she makes a low courtesy, and this produces a louder acclamation, and that a lower courtesy."
-the sympathy was for the woman, not the queen, the narrow-minded, absolute sovereign, the intriguer against popular government, whose policy was as heavily fraught with bale for the nation as was that of robespierre himself. the king was more than competent to act as his own evil genius; had he not been, marie antoinette would have amply filled the place.
-he characterized the carrying of "that diabolical castle," the bastile, as "among the most extraordinary things i have met with." the day it took place he wrote in his journal, with an irony very modern in its flavor: "yesterday it was the fashion at versailles not to believe that there were any disturbances at paris. i presume that this day's transactions will induce a conviction that all is not perfectly quiet."
-he used the bastile as a text when, shortly afterwards, he read a brief lesson to a certain eminent painter. the latter belonged to that class of artists with pen or pencil (only too plentiful in america at the present day) who always insist on devoting their energies to depicting subjects worn threadbare by thousands of predecessors, instead of working in the new, broad fields, filled with picturesque material, opened to them by their own country and its history. "the painter shows us a piece he is now about for the king, taken from the æneid: venus restraining the arm which is raised in the temple of the vestals to shed the blood of helen. i tell him he had better paint the storm of the bastile."
-mission to england: return to paris.
-in march, 1790, morris went to london, in obedience to a letter received from washington appointing him private agent to the british government, and enclosing him the proper credentials.
-certain of the conditions of the treaty of peace between great britain and the united states, although entered into seven years before, were still unfulfilled. it had been stipulated that the british should give up the fortified frontier posts within our territory, and should pay for the negroes they had taken away from the southern states during the war. they had done neither, and morris was charged to find out what the intentions of the government were in the matter. he was also to find out whether there was a disposition to enter into a commercial treaty with the united states; and finally, he was to sound them as to their sending a minister to america.
-on our part we had also failed to fulfil a portion of our treaty obligations, not having complied with the article which provided for the payment of debts due before the war to british merchants. both sides had been to blame; each, of course, blamed only the other. but now, when we were ready to perform our part, the british refused to perform theirs.
-as a consequence, morris, although he spent most of the year in london, failed to accomplish anything. the feeling in england was hostile to america; to the king, in particular, the very name was hateful. the english were still sore over their defeat, and hated us because we had been victors; and yet they despised us also, for they thought we should be absolutely powerless except when we were acting merely on the defensive. from the days of the revolution till the days of the civil war, the ruling classes of england were bitterly antagonistic to our nation; they always saw with glee any check to our national well-being: they wished us ill, and exulted in our misfortunes, while they sneered at our successes. the results have been lasting, and now work much more to their hurt than to ours. the past conduct of england certainly offers much excuse for, though it cannot in the least justify, the unreasonable and virulent anti-english feeling--that is, the feeling against englishmen politically and nationally, not socially or individually--which is so strong in many parts of our country where the native american blood is purest.
-the english ministry in 1790 probably had the general feeling of the nation behind them in their determination to injure us as much as they could; at any rate, their aim seemed to be, as far as lay in them, to embitter our already existing hostility to their empire. they not only refused to grant us any substantial justice, but they were inclined to inflict on us and on our representatives those petty insults which rankle longer than injuries.
-in acknowledging washington's letter of appointment, morris wrote that he did not expect much difficulty, save from the king himself, who was very obstinate, and bore a personal dislike to his former subjects. but his interviews with the minister of foreign affairs, the duke of leeds, soon undeceived him. the duke met him with all the little tricks of delay, and evasion, known to old-fashioned diplomacy; tricks that are always greatly relished by men of moderate ability, and which are successful enough where the game is not very important, as in the present instance, but are nearly useless when the stakes are high and the adversary determined. the worthy nobleman was profuse in expressions of general good-will, and vague to a degree in his answers to every concrete question; affected to misunderstand what was asked of him, and, when he could not do this "slumbered profoundly" for weeks before making his reply. morris wrote that "his explanatory comments were more unintelligible than his texts," and was delighted when he heard that he might be replaced by lord hawksbury; for the latter, although strongly anti-american, "would at least be an efficient minister," whereas the former was "evidently afraid of committing himself by saying or doing anything positive." he soon concluded that great britain was so uncertain as to how matters were going in europe that she wished to keep us in a similar state of suspense. she had recovered with marvelous rapidity from the effects of the great war; she was felt on all sides to hold a position of commanding power; this she knew well, and so felt like driving a very hard bargain with any nation, especially with a weak one that she hated. it was particularly difficult to form a commercial treaty. there were very many englishmen who agreed with a mr. irwin, "a mighty sour sort of creature," who assured morris that he was utterly opposed to all american trade in grain, and that he wished to oblige the british people, by the force of starvation, to raise enough corn for their own consumption. fox told morris that he and burke were about the only two men left who believed that americans should be allowed to trade in their own bottoms to the british islands; and he also informed him that pitt was not hostile to america, but simply indifferent, being absorbed in european matters, and allowing his colleagues free hands.
-becoming impatient at the long-continued delay, morris finally wrote, very courteously but very firmly, demanding some sort of answer, and this produced a momentary activity, and assurances that he was under a misapprehension as to the delay, etc. the subject of the impressment of american sailors into british men-of-war,--a matter of chronic complaint throughout our first forty years of national life,--now came up; and he remarked to the duke of leeds, with a pithy irony that should have made the saying famous: "i believe, my lord, that this is the only instance in which we are not treated as aliens." he proposed a plan which would have at least partially obviated the difficulties in the way of a settlement of the matter, but the duke would do nothing. neither would he come to any agreement in reference to the exchange of ministers between the two countries.
-accordingly all negotiations were broken off. in america his enemies blamed morris for this failure. they asserted that his haughty manners and proud bearing had made him unpopular with the ministers, and that his consorting with members of the opposition had still further damaged his cause. the last assertion was wholly untrue; for he had barely more than met fox and his associates. but on a third point there was genuine reason for dissatisfaction. morris had confided his purpose to the french minister at london, m. de la luzerne, doing so because he trusted to the latter's honor, and did not wish to seem to take any steps unknown to our ally; and he was in all probability also influenced by his constant association and intimacy with the french leaders. luzerne, however, promptly used the information for his own purposes, letting the english ministers know that he was acquainted with morris's objects, and thus increasing the weight of france by making it appear that america acted only with her consent and advice. the affair curiously illustrates jay's wisdom eight years before, when he insisted on keeping luzerne's superior at that time, vergennes, in the dark as to our course during the peace negotiations. however, it is not at all likely that mr. pitt or the duke of leeds were influenced in their course by anything luzerne said.
-leaving london, morris made a rapid trip through the netherlands and up the rhine. his journals, besides the usual comments on the inns, the bad roads, poor horses, sulky postilions, and the like, are filled with very interesting observations on the character of the country through which he passed, its soil and inhabitants, and the indications they afforded of the national resources. he liked to associate with people of every kind, and he was intensely fond of natural scenery; but, what seems rather surprising in a man of his culture, he apparently cared very little for the great cathedrals, the picture galleries, and the works of art for which the old towns he visited were so famous.
-he reached paris at the end of november, but was almost immediately called to london again, returning in january, 1791, and making three or four similar trips in the course of the year. his own business affairs took up a great deal of his time. he was engaged in very many different operations, out of which he made a great deal of money, being a shrewd business man with a strong dash of the speculator. he had to prosecute a suit against the farmers-general of france for a large quantity of tobacco shipped them by contract; and he gives a very amusing description of the visits he made to the judges before whom the case was to be tried. their occupations were certainly various, being those of a farrier, a goldsmith, a grocer, a currier, a woolen draper, and a bookseller respectively. as a sample of his efforts, take the following: "return home and dine. at five resume my visits to my judges, and first wait upon the honorable m. gillet, the grocer, who is in a little cuddy adjoining his shop, at cards. he assures me that the court are impartial, and alike uninfluenced by farmers, receivers, and grand seigneurs; that they are generally of the same opinion; that he will do everything in his power; and the like. de l'autre côté, perfect confidence in the ability and integrity of the court. wish only to bring the cause to such a point as that i may have the honor to present a memorial. am vastly sorry to have been guilty of an intrusion upon the amusements of his leisure hours. hope he will excuse the solicitude of a stranger, and patronize a claim of such evident justice. the whole goes off very well, though i with difficulty restrain my risible faculties.... a disagreeable scene, the ridicule of which is so strongly painted to my own eyes that i cannot forbear laughing."
-he also contracted to deliver necker twenty thousand barrels of flour for the relief of paris; wherein, by the way, he lost heavily. he took part in sundry shipping operations. perhaps the most lucrative business in which he was engaged was in negotiating the sale of wild lands in america. he even made many efforts to buy the virginian and pennsylvanian domains of the fairfaxes and the penns. on behalf of a syndicate, he endeavored to purchase the american debts to france and spain; these being purely speculative efforts, as it was supposed that the debts could be obtained at quite a low figure, while, under the new constitution, the united states would certainly soon make arrangements for paying them off. these various operations entailed a wonderful amount of downright hard work; yet all the while he remained not only a close observer of french politics, but, to a certain extent, even an actor in them.
-it is impossible to read morris's shrewd comments on the events of the day, and his plans in reference to them, without wondering that france herself should at the crisis have failed to produce any statesmen to be compared with him for force, insight, and readiness to do what was practically best under the circumstances; but her past history for generations had been such as to make it out of the question for her to bring forth such men as the founders of our own government. warriors, lawgivers, and diplomats she had in abundance. statesmen who would be both hard-headed and true-hearted, who would be wise and yet unselfish, who would enact laws for a free people that would make that people freer still, and yet hinder them from doing wrong to their neighbors,--statesmen of this order she neither had nor could have had. indeed, had there been such, it may well be doubted if they could have served france. with a people who made up in fickle ferocity what they lacked in self-restraint, and a king too timid and short-sighted to turn any crisis to advantage, the french statesmen, even had they been as wise as they were foolish, would hardly have been able to arrest or alter the march of events. morris said bitterly that france was the country where everything was talked of, and where hardly anything was understood.
-he told lafayette that he thought the only hope of the kingdom lay in a foreign war; it is possible that the idea may have been suggested to him by lafayette's naive remark that he believed his troops would readily follow him into action, but that they would not mount guard when it rained. morris not only constantly urged the french ministers to make war, but actually drew up a plan of campaign for them. he believed it would turn the popular ardor, now constantly inflamed against the aristocrats, into a new channel, and that "there was no word perhaps in the dictionary which would take the place of aristocrat so readily as anglais." in proof of the wisdom of his propositions he stated, with absolute truthfulness: "if britain had declared war in 1774 against the house of bourbon, the now united states would have bled freely in her cause." he was disgusted with the littleness of the men who, appalled at their own surroundings, and unable to make shift even for the moment, found themselves thrown by chance to the helm, and face to face with the wildest storm that had ever shaken a civilized government. speaking of one of the new ministers, he remarked: "they say he is a good kind of man, which is saying very little;" and again, "you want just now great men, to pursue great measures." another time, in advising a war,--a war of men, not of money,--and speaking of the efforts made by the neighboring powers against the revolutionists in flanders, he told his french friends that they must either suffer for or with their allies; and that the latter was at once the noblest and the safest course.
-in a letter to washington he drew a picture of the chaos as it really was, and at the same time, with wonderful clear-sightedness, showed the great good which the change was eventually to bring to the mass of the people. remembering how bitter morris's feelings were against the revolutionists, it is extraordinary that they did not blind him to the good that would in the long run result from their movement. not another statesman would have been able to set forth so clearly and temperately the benefits that would finally come from the convulsions he saw around him, although he rightly believed that these benefits would be even greater could the hideous excesses of the revolutionists be forthwith stopped and punished.
-his letter runs: "this unhappy country, bewildered in the pursuit of metaphysical whimsies, presents to our moral view a mighty ruin.... the sovereign, humbled to the level of a beggar without pity, without resources, without authority, without a friend. the assembly, at once a master and a slave, new in power, wild in theory, raw in practice. it engrosses all functions, though incapable of exercising any, and has taken from this fierce, ferocious people every restraint of religion and of respect." where this would all end, or what sum of misery would be necessary to change the popular will and awaken the popular heart, he could not say. a glorious opportunity had been lost, and for the time being the revolution had failed. yet, he went on to say, in the consequences flowing from it he was confident he could see the foundation of future prosperity. for among these consequences were,--1. the abolition of the different rights and privileges which had formerly kept the various provinces asunder; 2. the abolition of feudal tyranny, by which the tenure of real property would be simplified, and the rent no longer be dependent upon idle vanity, capricious taste, or sullen pride; 3. the throwing into the circle of industry those vast possessions formerly held by the clergy in mortmain, wealth conferred upon them as wages for their idleness; 4. the destruction of the system of venal jurisprudence which had established the pride and privileges of the few on the misery and degradation of the general mass; 5. above all, the establishment of the principles of true liberty, which would remain as solid facts after the superstructure of metaphysical froth and vapor should have been blown away. finally, "from the chaos of opinion and the conflict of its jarring elements a new order will at length arise, which, though in some degree the child of chance, may not be less productive of human happiness than the forethought provisions of human speculation." not one other contemporary statesman could have begun to give so just an estimate of the good the revolution would accomplish; no other could have seen so deeply into its ultimate results, while also keenly conscious of the dreadful evil through which these results were being worked out.
-the social life of paris still went on, though with ever less of gayety, as the gloom gathered round about. going with madame de chastellux to dine with the duchess of orleans, morris was told by her royal highness that she was "ruined," that is, that her income was reduced from four hundred and fifty thousand to two hundred thousand livres a year, so that she could no longer give him good dinners; but if he would come and fast with her, she would be glad to see him. the poor lady was yet to learn by bitter experience that real ruin was something very different from the loss of half of an enormous income.
-on another occasion he breakfasted with the duchess, and was introduced to her father, with whom he agreed to dine. after breakfast she went out walking with him till nearly dinner-time, and gave him the full history of her breach with her husband, egalité, showing the letters that had passed between them, complaining of his numerous misdeeds, and assuring morris that what the world had attributed to fondness for her worthless spouse was merely discretion; that she had hoped to bring him to a decent and orderly behavior, but had finally made up her mind that he could only be governed by fear.
-now and then he indulges in a quiet laugh at the absurd pretensions and exaggerated estimates of each other still affected by some of the frequenters of the various salons. "dine with madame de staël. the abbé sieyès is here, and descants with much self-sufficiency on government, despising all that has been said or sung on that subject before him; and madame says that his writings and opinions will form in politics a new era, like those of newton in physics."
-after dining with marmontel, he notes in his diary that his host "thinks soundly,"--rare praise for him to bestow on any of the french statesmen of the time. he records a bon mot of talleyrand's. when the assembly had declared war on the emperor conditionally upon the latter's failing to beg pardon before a certain date, the little bishop remarked that "the nation was une parvenue, and of course insolent." at the british ambassador's he met the famous colonel tarleton, who did not know his nationality, and amused him greatly by descanting at length on the american war.
-he was very fond of the theatre, especially of the comédie française, where préville, whom he greatly admired, was acting in molière's "amphitryon." many of the plays, whose plots presented in any way analogies to what was actually happening in the political world, raised great excitement among the spectators. going to see "brutus" acted, he records that the noise and altercations were tremendous, but that finally the democrats in the parterre got the upper hand by sheer lusty roaring, which they kept up for a quarter of an hour at a time, and, at the conclusion of the piece, insisted upon the bust of voltaire being crowned and placed on the stage. soon afterwards a tragedy called "charles neuf," founded on the massacre of st. bartholomew, was put on the stage, to help the assembly in their crusade against the clergy; he deemed it a very extraordinary piece to be represented in a catholic country, and thought that it would give a fatal blow to the catholic religion.
-the priesthood, high and low, he disliked more than any other set of men; all his comments on them show his contempt. the high prelates he especially objected to. the bishop of orleans he considered to be a luxurious old gentleman, "of the kind whose sincerest prayer is for the fruit of good living, one who evidently thought it more important to speak than to speak the truth." the leader of the great church dignitaries, in their fight for their rich benefices, was the abbé maury, who, morris writes, "is a man who looks like a downright ecclesiastical scoundrel." he met him in madame de nadaillac's salon, where were "a party of fierce aristocrats. they have the word 'valet' written on their foreheads in large characters. maury is formed to govern such men, and they are formed to obey him or any one else. but maury seems to have too much vanity for a great man." to tell the bare truth is sometimes to make the most venomous comment possible, and this he evidently felt when he wrote of his meeting with the cardinal de rohan: "we talk among other things about religion, for the cardinal is very devout. he was once the lover of madame de flahaut's sister."
-but as the tremendous changes went on about him, morris had continually less and less time to spend in mere social pleasures; graver and weightier matters called for his attention, and his diary deals with the shifts and stratagems of the french politicians, and pays little heed to the sayings and manners of nobles, bishops, and ladies of rank.
-all through these engrossing affairs, he kept up the liveliest interest in what was going on in his own country, writing home shrewd observations on every step taken. one of his remarks deserves to be kept in mind. in speaking of the desire of european nations to legislate against the introduction of our produce, he says that this effort has after all its bright side; because it will force us "to make great and rapid progress in useful manufactures. this alone is wanting to complete our independence. we shall then be, as it were, a world by ourselves."
-minister to france.
-in the spring of 1792, morris received his credentials as minister to france. there had been determined opposition in the senate to the confirmation of his appointment, which was finally carried only by a vote of sixteen to eleven, mainly through the exertions of rufus king. his opponents urged the failure of the british negotiations, the evidences repeatedly given of his proud, impatient spirit, and above all his hostility to the french revolution, as reasons why he should not be made minister. washington, however, as well as hamilton, king, and the other federalists, shared most of morris's views with regard to the revolution, and insisted upon his appointment.
-morris took his friend's advice in good part, and profited by it as far as lay in his nature. he knew that he had a task of stupendous difficulty before him; as it would be almost impossible for a minister to steer clear of the quarrels springing from the ferocious hatred born to each other by the royalists and the various republican factions. to stand well with all parties he knew was impossible: but he thought it possible, and merely so, to stand well with the best people in each, without greatly offending the others; and in order to do this, he had to make up his mind to mingle with the worst as well as the best, to listen unmoved to falsehoods so foul and calumnies so senseless as to seem the ravings of insanity; and meanwhile to wear a front so firm and yet so courteous as to ward off insult from his country and injury from himself during the days when the whole people went crazy with the blood-lust, when his friends were butchered by scores around him, and when the rulers had fulfiled mirabeau's terrible prophecy, and had "paved the streets with their bodies."
-but when he began his duties, he was already entangled in a most dangerous intrigue, one of whose very existence he should not, as a foreign minister, have known, still less have entered into. he got enmeshed in it while still a private citizen, and could not honorably withdraw, for it dealt with nothing less than the escape of the king and queen from paris. his chivalrous sympathy for the two hemmed-in, hunted creatures, threatened by madmen and counseled by fools, joined with his characteristic impulsiveness and fearlessness, to incline him to make an effort to save them from their impending doom. a number of plans had been made to get the king out of paris; and as the managers of each were of necessity ignorant of all the rest, they clashed with and thwarted one another. morris's scheme was made in concert with a m. de monciel, one of the royal ministers, and some other french gentlemen; and their measures were so well taken that they would doubtless have succeeded had not the king's nerve invariably failed him at the critical moment, and brought delay after delay. the swiss guards, faithful to their salt, were always ready to cover his flight, and lafayette would have helped them.
-louis preferred morris's plan to any of the others offered, and gave a most striking proof of his preference by sending to the latter, towards the end of july, to say how much he regretted that his advice had not been followed, and to ask him if he would not take charge of the royal papers and money. morris was unwilling to take the papers, but finally consented to receive the money, amounting in all to nearly seven hundred and fifty thousand livres, which was to be paid out in hiring and bribing the men who stood in the way of the escape; for most of the revolutionists were as venal as they were bloodthirsty. still the king lingered; then came the 10th of august; the swiss guards were slaughtered, and the whole scheme was at an end. some of the men engaged in the plot were suspected; one, d'angrémont, was seized and condemned, but he went to his death without betraying his fellows. the others, by the liberal use of the money in morris's possession, were saved, the authorities being bribed to wink at their escape or concealment. out of the money that was left advances were made to monciel and others; finally, in 1796, morris gave an accurate account of the expenditures to the dead king's daughter, the duchesse d'angoulême, then at the austrian court, and turned over to her the remainder, consisting of a hundred and forty-seven pounds.
-of course all this was work in which no minister had the least right to share; but the whole crisis was one so completely without precedent that it is impossible to blame morris for what he did. the extraordinary trust reposed in him, and the feeling that his own exertions were all that lay between the two unfortunate sovereigns and their fate, roused his gallantry and blinded him to the risk he himself ran, as well as to the hazard to which he put his country's interests. he was under no illusion as to the character of the people whom he was trying to serve. he utterly disapproved the queen's conduct, and he despised the king, noting the latter's feebleness and embarrassment, even on the occasion of his presentation at court; he saw in them "a lack of mettle which would ever prevent them from being truly royal"; but when in their mortal agony they held out their hands to him for aid, his generous nature forbade him to refuse it, nor could he look on unmoved as they went helplessly down to destruction.
-the rest of his two years' history as minister forms one of the most brilliant chapters in our diplomatic annals. his boldness, and the frankness with which he expressed his opinions, though they at times irritated beyond measure the factions of the revolutionists who successively grasped a brief but tremendous power, yet awed them, in spite of themselves. he soon learned to combine courage and caution, and his readiness, wit, and dash always gave him a certain hold over the fiery nation to which he was accredited. he was firm and dignified in insisting on proper respect being shown our flag, while he did all he could to hasten the payment of our obligations to france. a very large share of his time, also, was taken up with protesting against the french decrees aimed at neutral--which meant american--commerce, and with interfering to save american ship-masters, who had got into trouble by unwittingly violating them. like his successor, mr. washburne, in the time of the commune, morris was the only foreign minister who remained in paris during the terror. he stayed at the risk of his life; and yet, while fully aware of his danger, he carried himself as coolly as if in a time of profound peace, and never flinched for a moment when he was obliged for his country's sake to call to account the rulers of france for the time being--men whose power was as absolute as it was ephemeral and bloody, who had indulged their desire for slaughter with the unchecked ferocity of madmen, and who could by a word have had him slain as thousands had been slain before him. few foreign ministers have faced such difficulties, and not one has ever come near to facing such dangers as morris did during his two years' term of service. his feat stands by itself in diplomatic history; and, as a minor incident, the letters and despatches he sent home give a very striking view of the french revolution.
-as soon as he was appointed he went to see the french minister of foreign affairs; and in answer to an observation of the latter stated with his customary straightforwardness that it was true that, while a mere private individual, sincerely friendly to france, and desirous of helping her, and whose own nation could not be compromised by his acts, he had freely taken part in passing events, had criticised the constitution, and advised the king and his ministers; but he added that, now that he was a public man, he would no longer meddle with their affairs. to this resolution he kept, save that, as already described, sheer humanity induced him to make an effort to save the king's life. he had predicted what would ensue as the result of the exaggerated decentralization into which the opponents of absolutism had rushed; when they had split the state up into more than forty thousand sovereignties, each district the sole executor of the law, and the only judge of its propriety, and therefore obedient to it only so long as it listed, and until rendered hostile by the ignorant whim or ferocious impulse of the moment; and now he was to see his predictions come true. in that brilliant and able state paper, the address he had drawn up for louis to deliver when, in 1791, the latter accepted the constitution, the key-note of the situation was struck in the opening words: "it is no longer a king who addresses you, louis xvi. is a private individual"; and he had then scored off, point by point, the faults in a document that created an unwieldy assembly of men unaccustomed to govern, that destroyed the principle of authority, though no other could appeal to a people helpless in their new-born liberty, and that created out of one whole a jarring multitude of fractional sovereignties. now he was to see one of these same sovereignties rise up in successful rebellion against the government that represented the whole, destroy it and usurp its power, and establish over all france the rule of an anarchic despotism which, by what seems to a free american a gross misnomer, they called a democracy.
-all through june, at the beginning of which month morris had been formally presented at court, the excitement and tumult kept increasing. when, on the 20th, the mob forced the gates of the chateau, and made the king put on the red cap, morris wrote in his diary that the constitution had given its last groan. a few days afterwards he told lafayette that in six weeks everything would be over, and tried to persuade him that his only chance was to make up his mind instantly to fight either for a good constitution or for the wretched piece of paper which bore the name. just six weeks to a day from the date of this prediction came the 10th of august to verify it.
-throughout july the fevered pulses of the people beat with always greater heat. looking at the maddened mob the american minister thanked god from his heart that in his own country there was no such populace, and prayed with unwonted earnestness that our education and morality should forever stave off such an evil. at court even the most purblind dimly saw their doom. calling there one morning he chronicles with a matter of fact brevity, impressive from its very baldness, that nothing of note had occurred except that they had stayed up all night expecting to be murdered. he wrote home that he could not tell "whether the king would live through the storm; for it blew hard."
-his horror of the base mob, composed of people whose kind was absolutely unknown in america, increased continually, as he saw them going on from crimes that were great to crimes that were greater, incited by the demagogues who flattered them and roused their passions and appetites; and blindly raging because they were of necessity disappointed in the golden prospects held out to them. he scorned the folly of the enthusiasts and doctrinaires who had made a constitution all sail and no ballast, that overset at the first gust; who had freed from all restraint a mass of men as savage and licentious as they were wayward; who had put the executive in the power of the legislature, and this latter at the mercy of the leaders who could most strongly influence and inflame the mob. but his contempt for the victims almost exceeded his anger at their assailants. the king, who could suffer with firmness, and who could act either not at all, or else with the worst possible effect, had the head and heart that might have suited the monkish idea of a female saint, but which were hopelessly out of place in any rational being supposed to be fitted for doing good in the world. morris wrote home that he knew his friend hamilton had no particular aversion to kings, and would not believe them to be tigers; but that if hamilton came to europe to see for himself, he would surely believe them to be monkeys; the empress of russia was the only reigning sovereign whose talents were not "considerably below par." at the moment of the final shock the court was involved in a set of paltry intrigues "unworthy of anything above the rank of a footman or a chambermaid. every one had his or her little project, and every little project had some abettors. strong, manly counsels frightened the weak, alarmed the envious, and wounded the enervated minds of the lazy and luxurious." the few such counsels that appeared were always approved, rarely adopted, and never followed out.
-then in the sweltering heat of august, the end came. a raving, furious horde stormed the chateau, and murdered, one by one, the brave mountaineers who gave their lives for a sovereign too weak to be worthy of such gallant bloodshed. king and queen fled to the national assembly, and the monarchy was over. immediately after the awful catastrophe morris wrote to a friend: "the voracity of the court, the haughtiness of the nobles, the sensuality of the church, have met their punishment in the road of their transgressions. the oppressor has been squeezed by the hands of the oppressed; but there remains yet to be acted an awful scene in this great tragedy, played on the theatre of the universe for the instruction of mankind."
-not the less did he dare everything, and jeopardize his own life in trying to save some at least among the innocent who had been overthrown in the crash of the common ruin. when on the 10th of august the whole city lay abject at the mercy of the mob, hunted men and women, bereft of all they had, and fleeing from a terrible death, with no hiding-place, no friend who could shield them, turned in their terror-struck despair to the one man in whose fearlessness and generous gallantry they could trust. the shelter of morris's house and flag was sought from early morning till past midnight by people who had nowhere else to go and who felt that within his walls they were sure of at least a brief safety from the maddened savages in the streets. as far as possible they were sent off to places of greater security; but some had to stay with him till the storm lulled for a moment. an american gentleman who was in paris on that memorable day, after viewing the sack of the tuileries, thought it right to go to the house of the american minister. he found him surrounded by a score of people, of both sexes, among them the old count d'estaing, and other men of note, who had fought side by side with us in our war for independence, and whom now our flag protected in their hour of direst need. silence reigned, only broken occasionally by the weeping of the women and children. as his visitor was leaving, morris took him to one side, and told him that he had no doubt there were persons on the watch who would find fault with his conduct as a minister in receiving and protecting these people; that they had come of their own accord, uninvited. "whether my house will be a protection to them or to me, god only knows; but i will not turn them out of it, let what will happen to me; you see, sir, they are all persons to whom our country is more or less indebted, and had they no such claim upon me, it would be inhuman to force them into the hands of the assassins." no one of morris's countrymen can read his words even now without feeling a throb of pride in the dead statesman, who, a century ago, held up so high the honor of his nation's name in the times when the souls of all but the very bravest were tried and found wanting.
-soon after this he ceased writing in his diary, for fear it might fall into the hands of men who would use it to incriminate his friends; and for the same reason he had also to be rather wary in what he wrote home, as his letters frequently bore marks of being opened, thanks to what he laughingly called "patriotic curiosity." he was, however, perfectly fearless as regards any ill that might befall himself; his circumspection was only exercised on behalf of others, and his own opinions were given as frankly as ever.
-he pictured the french as huddled together, in an unreasoning panic, like cattle before a thunderstorm. their every act increased his distrust of their capacity for self-government. they were for the time agog with their republic, and ready to adopt any form of government with a huzza; but that they would adopt a good form, or, having adopted it, keep it, he did not believe; and he saw that the great mass of the population were already veering round, under the pressure of accumulating horrors, until they would soon be ready to welcome as a blessing even a despotism, if so they could gain security to life and property. they had made the common mistake of believing that to enjoy liberty they had only to abolish authority; and the equally common consequence was, that they were now, through anarchy, on the high road to absolutism. said morris: "since i have been in this country i have seen the worship of many idols, and but little of the true god. i have seen many of these idols broken, and some of them beaten to the dust. i have seen the late constitution in one short year admired as a stupendous monument of human wisdom, and ridiculed as an egregious production of folly and vice. i wish much, very much, the happiness of this inconstant people. i love them, i feel grateful for their efforts in our cause, and i consider the establishment of a good constitution here as the principal means, under divine providence, of extending the blessings of freedom to the many millions of my fellow-men who groan in bondage on the continent of europe. but i do not greatly indulge the flattering illusions of hope, because i do not yet perceive that reformation of morals without which liberty is but an empty sound." these words are such as could only come from a genuine friend of france, and champion of freedom; from a strong, earnest man, saddened by the follies of dreamers, and roused to stern anger by the licentious wickedness of scoundrels who used the name of liberty to cloak the worst abuses of its substance.
-his stay in paris was now melancholy indeed. the city was shrouded in a gloom only relieved by the frenzied tumults that grew steadily more numerous. the ferocious craving once roused could not be sated; the thirst grew ever stronger as the draughts were deeper. the danger to morris's own person merely quickened his pulses, and roused his strong, brave nature; he liked excitement, and the strain that would have been too tense for weaker nerves keyed his own up to a fierce, half-exultant thrilling. but the woes that befell those who had befriended him caused him the keenest grief. it was almost unbearable to be seated quietly at dinner, and hear by accident "that a friend was on his way to the place of execution," and to have to sit still and wonder which of the guests dining with him would be the next to go to the scaffold. the vilest criminals swarmed in the streets, and amused themselves by tearing the earrings from women's ears, and snatching away their watches. when the priests shut up in the carnes, and the prisoners in the abbaie were murdered, the slaughter went on all day, and eight hundred men were engaged in it.
-he wrote home that, to give a true picture of france, he would have to paint it like an indian warrior, black and red. the scenes that passed were literally beyond the imagination of the american mind. the most hideous and nameless atrocities were so common as to be only alluded to incidentally, and to be recited in the most matter-of-fact way in connection with other events. for instance, a man applied to the convention for a recompense for damage done to his quarry, a pit dug deep through the surface of the earth into the stone bed beneath: the damage consisted in such a number of dead bodies having been thrown into the pit as to choke it up so that he could no longer get men to work it. hundreds, who had been the first in the land, were thus destroyed without form or trial, and their bodies thrown like dead dogs into the first hole that offered. two hundred priests were killed for no other crime than having been conscientiously scrupulous about taking the prescribed oath. the guillotine went smartly on, watched with a devilish merriment by the fiends who were themselves to perish by the instrument their own hands had wrought. "heaven only knew who was next to drink of the dreadful cup; as far as man could tell, there was to be no lack of liquor for some time to come."
-among the new men who, one after another, sprang into the light, to maintain their unsteady footing as leaders for but a brief time before toppling into the dark abyss of death or oblivion that waited for each and all, dumouriez was for the moment the most prominent. he stood towards the gironde much as lafayette had stood towards the constitutionalists of 1789: he led the army, as lafayette once had led it; and as the constitutional monarchists had fallen before his fellow-republicans, so both he and they were to go down before the even wilder extremists of the "mountain." for the factions in paris, face to face with the banded might of the european monarchies, and grappling in a grim death-struggle with the counter-revolutionists of the provinces, yet fought one another with the same ferocity they showed towards the common foe. nevertheless, success was theirs; for against opponents only less wicked than themselves they moved with an infinitely superior fire and enthusiasm. reeking with the blood of the guiltless, steeped in it to the lips, branded with fresh memories of crimes and infamies without number, and yet feeling in their very marrow that they were avenging centuries of grinding and intolerable thralldom, and that the cause for which they fought was just and righteous; with shameless cruelty and corruption eating into their hearts' core, yet with their foreheads kindled by the light of a glorious morning,--they moved with a ruthless energy that paralyzed their opponents, the worn-out, tottering, crazy despotisms, rotten with vice, despicable in their ludicrous pride of caste, moribund in their military pedantry, and fore-doomed to perish in the conflict they had courted. the days of danton and robespierre are not days to which a french patriot cares to look back; but at any rate he can regard them without the shame he must feel when he thinks of the times of louis quinze. danton and his like, at least, were men, and stood far, far above the palsied coward--a eunuch in his lack of all virile virtues--who misruled france for half a century; who, with his followers, indulged in every crime and selfish vice known, save only such as needed a particle of strength, or the least courage, in the committing.
-morris first met dumouriez when the latter was minister of foreign affairs, shortly before the poor king was driven from the tuileries. he dined with him, and afterwards noted down that the society was noisy and in bad style; for the grace and charm of french social life were gone, and the raw republicans were ill at ease in the drawing-room. at this time morris commented often on the change in the look of paris: all his gay friends gone; the city sombre and uneasy. when he walked through the streets, in the stifling air of a summer hot beyond precedent, as if the elements sympathized with the passions of men, he met, instead of the brilliant company of former days, only the few peaceable citizens left, hurrying on their ways with frightened watchfulness; or else groups of lolling ruffians, with sinister eyes and brutalized faces; or he saw in the champs de mars squalid ragamuffins signing the petition for the déchéance.
-morris wrote washington that dumouriez was a bold, determined man, bitterly hostile to the jacobins and all the extreme revolutionary clubs, and, once he was in power, willing to risk his own life in the effort to put them down. however, the hour of the jacobins had not yet struck, and the revolution had now been permitted to gather such headway that it could be stopped only by a master genius; and dumouriez was none such.
-still he was an able man, and, as morris wrote home, in his military operations he combined the bravery of a skilled soldier and the arts of an astute politician. to be sure, his victories were not in themselves very noteworthy; the artillery skirmish at valmy was decided by the reluctance of the germans to come on, not by the ability of the french to withstand them; and at jemappes the imperialists were hopelessly outnumbered. still the results were most important, and dumouriez overran flanders in the face of hostile europe. he at once proceeded to revolutionize the government of his conquest in the most approved french fashion, which was that all the neighbors of france should receive liberty whether or no, and should moreover pay the expense of having it thrust upon them: accordingly he issued a proclamation to his new fellow-citizens, "which might be summed up in a few words as being an order to them to be free forthwith, according to his ideas of freedom, on pain of military execution."
-he had things all his own way for the moment, but after a while he was defeated by the germans; then while the gironde tottered to its fall, he fled to the very foes he had been fighting, as the only way of escaping death from the men whose favorite he had been. morris laughed bitterly at the fickle people. one anecdote he gives is worth preserving: "it is a year ago that a person who mixed in tumults to see what was doing, told me of a sans culottes who, bellowing against poor lafayette, when petion appeared, changed at once his note to 'vive petion!' and then, turning round to one of his companions, 'vois tu! c'est notre ami, n'est ce pas? eh bien, il passera comme les autres.' and, lo! the prophecy is fulfilled; and i this instant learn that petion, confined to his room as a traitor or conspirator, has fled, on the 24th of june, 1793, from those whom he sent, on the 20th of june, 1792, to assault the king in the tuileries. in short you will find, in the list of those who were ordered by their brethren to be arrested, the names of those who have proclaimed themselves to be the prime movers of the revolution of the 10th of august, and the fathers of the republic."
-about the time the sans culottes had thus bellowed against lafayette, the latter met morris, for the first time since he was presented at court as minister, and at once spoke to him in his tone of ancient familiarity. the frenchman had been brought at last to realize the truth of his american friend's theories and predictions. it was much too late to save himself, however. after the 10th of august he was proclaimed by the assembly, found his troops falling away from him, and fled over the frontier; only to be thrown into prison by the allied monarchs, who acted with their usual folly and baseness. morris, contemptuously impatient of the part he had played, wrote of him: "thus his circle is completed. he has spent his fortune on a revolution, and is now crushed by the wheel which he put in motion. he lasted longer than i expected." but this momentary indignation soon gave way to a generous sympathy for the man who had served america so well, and who, if without the great abilities necessary to grapple with the tumult of french affairs, had yet always acted with such unselfish purity of motive. lafayette, as soon as he was imprisoned, wrote to the american minister in holland, alleging that he had surrendered his position as a french subject, and was now an american citizen, and requesting the american representatives in europe to procure his release. his claim was of course untenable; and, though the american government did all it could on his behalf through its foreign ministers, and though washington himself wrote a strong letter of appeal to the austrian emperor, he remained in prison until the peace, several years later.
-all lafayette's fortune was gone, and while in prison he was reduced to want. as soon as morris heard this, he had the sum of ten thousand florins forwarded to the prisoner by the united states bankers at amsterdam; pledging his own security for the amount, which was, however, finally allowed by the government under the name of compensation for lafayette's military services in america. morris was even more active in befriending madame de lafayette and her children. to the former he lent from his own private funds a hundred thousand livres, enabling her to pay her debts to the many poor people who had rendered services to her family. to the proud, sensitive lady the relief was great, much though it hurt her to be under any obligation: she wrote to her friend that he had broken the chains that loaded her down, and had done it in a way that made her feel the consolation, rather than the weight, of the obligation. but he was to do still more for her; for, when she was cast into prison by the savage parisian mob, his active influence on her behalf saved her from death. in a letter to him, written some time later, she says, after speaking of the money she had borrowed: "this is a slight obligation, it is true, compared with that of my life, but allow me to remember both while life lasts, with a sentiment of gratitude which it is precious to feel."
-there were others whose fortunes turned with the wheel of fate, for whom morris felt no such sympathy as for the lafayettes. among the number was the duke of orleans, now transformed into citoyen egalité. morris credited this graceless debauchee with criminal ambitions which he probably did not possess, saying that he doubted the public virtue of a profligate, and could not help distrusting such a man's pretensions; nor is it likely that he regretted much the fate of the man who died under the same guillotine which, with his assent, had fallen on the neck of the king, his cousin.
-it needed no small amount of hardihood for a man of morris's prominence and avowed sentiments to stay in paris when death was mowing round him with a swath at once so broad and so irregular. the power was passing rapidly from hand to hand, through a succession of men fairly crazy in their indifference to bloodshed. not a single other minister of a neutral nation dared stay. in fact, the foreign representatives were preparing to go away even before the final stroke was given to the monarchy, and soon after the 10th of august the entire corps diplomatique left paris as rapidly as the various members could get their passports. these the new republican government was at first very reluctant to grant; indeed, when the venetian ambassador started off he was very ignominiously treated and brought back. morris went to the british ambassador's to take leave, having received much kindness from him, and having been very intimate in his house. he found lord gower in a tearing passion because he could not get passports; he had burned his papers, and strongly advised his guest to do likewise. on this advice the latter refused to act, nor would he take the broad hints given him to the effect that honor required him to quit the country. morris could not help showing his amusement at the fear and anger exhibited at the ambassador's, "which exhibition of spirits his lordship could hardly bear." talleyrand, who was getting his own passport, also did all in his power to persuade the american minister to leave, but without avail. morris was not a man to be easily shaken in any determination he had taken after careful thought. he wrote back to jefferson that his opinion was directly opposed to the views of such people as had tried to persuade him that his own honor, and that of america, required him to leave france; and that he was inclined to attribute such counsel mainly to fear. it was true that the position was not without danger; but he presumed that, when the president named him to the embassy, it was not for his own personal pleasure or safety, but for the interests of the country; and these he could certainly serve best by staying.
-he was able to hold his own only by a mixture of tact and firmness. any signs of flinching would have ruined him outright. he would submit to no insolence. the minister of foreign affairs was, with his colleagues, engaged in certain schemes in reference to the american debt, which were designed to further their own private interests; he tried to bully morris into acquiescence, and, on the latter's point-blank refusal, sent him a most insulting letter. morris promptly retorted by demanding his passports. france, however, was very desirous not to break with the united states, the only friend she had left in the world; and the offending minister sent a sullen letter of apology, asking him to reconsider his intention to leave, and offering entire satisfaction for every point of which he complained. accordingly morris stayed.
-he was, however, continually exposed to insults and worries, which were always apologized for by the government for the time being, on the ground, no doubt true, that in such a period of convulsions it was impossible to control their subordinate agents. indeed, the changes from one form of anarchy to another went on so rapidly that the laws of nations had small chance of observance.
-one evening a number of people, headed by a commissary of the section, entered his house, and demanded to search it for arms said to be hidden therein. morris took a high tone, and was very peremptory with them; told them that they should not examine his house, that it held no arms, and moreover that, if he had possessed any, they should not touch one of them; he also demanded the name of "the blockhead or rascal" who had informed against him, announcing his intention to bring him to punishment. finally he got them out of the house, and the next morning the commissary called with many apologies, which were accepted.
-another time he was arrested in the street for not having a carte de citoyen, but he was released as soon as it was found out who he was. again he was arrested while traveling in the country, on the pretence that his passport was out of date; an insult for which the government at once made what amends they could. his house was also visited another time by armed men, whom, as before, he persuaded to go away. once or twice, in the popular tumults, even his life was in danger; on one occasion it is said that it was only saved by the fact of his having a wooden leg, which made him known to the mob as "a cripple of the american war for freedom." rumors even got abroad in england and america that he had been assassinated.
-morris's duties were manifold, and as harassing to himself as they were beneficial to his country. sometimes he would interfere on behalf of america as a whole, and endeavor to get obnoxious decrees of the assembly repealed; and again he would try to save some private citizen of the united states who had got himself into difficulties. reports of the french minister of foreign affairs, as well as reports of the comité de salut public, alike bear testimony to the success of his endeavors, whenever success was possible, and unconsciously show the value of the services he rendered to his country. of course it was often impossible to obtain complete redress, because, as morris wrote home, the government, while all-powerful in certain cases, was in others not merely feeble, but enslaved, and was often obliged to commit acts the consequences of which the nominal leaders both saw and lamented. morris also, while doing all he could for his fellow-citizens, was often obliged to choose between their interests and those of the nation at large; and he of course decided in favor of the latter, though well aware of the clamor that was certain to be raised against him in consequence by those who, as he caustically remarked, found it the easiest thing in the world to get anything they wanted from the french government until they had tried.
-one of his most important transactions was in reference to paying off the debt due by america for amounts loaned her during the war for independence. the interest and a part of the principal had already been paid. at the time when morris was made minister, the united states had a large sum of money, destined for the payment of the public debt, lying idle in the hands of the bankers at amsterdam; and this sum both morris and the american minister to holland, mr. short, thought could be well applied to the payment of part of our remaining obligation to france. the french government was consulted, and agreed to receive the sum; but hardly was the agreement entered into before the monarchy was overturned. the question at once arose as to whether the money could be rightfully paid over to the men who had put themselves at the head of affairs, and who, a month hence, might themselves be ousted by others who would not acknowledge the validity of a payment made to them. short thought the payment should be stopped, and, as it afterwards turned out, the home authorities agreed with him. but morris thought otherwise, and paid over the amount. events fully justified his course, for france never made any difficulty in the matter, and even had she done so, as morris remarked, america had the staff in her own hands, and could walk which way she pleased, for she owed more money, and in the final adjustment could insist on the amount paid being allowed on account of the debt.
-the french executive council owed morris gratitude for his course in this matter; but they became intensely irritated with him shortly afterwards because he refused to fall in with certain proposals they made to him as to the manner of applying part of the debt to the purchase of provisions and munitions for san domingo. morris had good reason to believe that there was a private speculation at the bottom of this proposal, and declined to accede to it. the urgency with which it was made, and the wrath which his course excited, confirmed his suspicions, and he persisted in his refusal although it almost brought about a break with the men then carrying on the government. afterwards, when these men fell with the gironde, he wrote home: "i mentioned to you the plan of a speculation on drafts to have been made on the united states, could my concurrence have been procured. events have shown that this speculation would have been a good one to the parties, who would have gained (and the french nation of course have lost) about fifty thousand pounds sterling in eighty thousand. i was informed at that time that the disappointed parties would attempt to have me recalled, and some more tractable character sent, who would have the good sense to look after his own interest. well, sir, nine months have elapsed, and now, if i were capable of such things, i think it would be no difficult matter to have some of them hanged; indeed it is highly probable that they will experience a fate of that sort."
-much of his time was also taken up in remonstrating against the attacks of french privateers on american shipping. these, however, went steadily on until, half a dozen years afterwards, we took the matter into our own hands, and in the west indies inflicted a smart drubbing, not only on the privateers of france, but on her regular men-of-war as well. he also did what he could for the french officers who had served in america during the war of independence, most of whom were forced to flee from france after the outbreak of the revolution.
-his letters home, even after his regular duties had begun to be engrossing, contained a running commentary on the events that were passing around him. his forecasts of events within france were remarkably shrewd, and he displayed a wonderful insight into the motives and characters of the various leaders; but at first he was all at sea in his estimate of the military situation, being much more at home among statesmen than soldiers. he had expected the allied sovereigns to make short work of the raw republican armies, and was amazed at the success of the latter. but he very soon realized how the situation stood; that whereas the austrian and prussian troops simply came on in well-drilled, reluctant obedience to their commanding officers, the soldiers of france, on the contrary, were actuated by a fiery spirit the like of which had hardly been seen since the crusades. the bitterness of the contest was appalling, and so was the way in which the ranks of the contestants were thinned out. the extreme republicans believed in their creed with a furious faith; and they were joined by their fellow-citizens with an almost equal zeal, when once it had become evident that the invaders were hostile not only to the republic but to france itself, and very possibly meditated its dismemberment.
-when the royal and imperial forces invaded france in 1792, they threatened such ferocious vengeance as to excite the most desperate resistance, and yet they backed up their high sounding words by deeds so faulty, weak, and slow as to make themselves objects of contempt rather than dread. the duke of brunswick in particular, as a prelude to some very harmless military manoeuvres, issued a singularly lurid and foolish manifesto, announcing that he would deliver up paris to utter destruction and would give over all the soldiers he captured to military execution. morris said that his address was in substance, "be all against me, for i am opposed to you all, and make a good resistance, for there is no longer any hope;" and added that it would have been wiser to have begun with some great success and then to have carried the danger near those whom it was desired to intimidate. as it was, the duke's campaign failed ignominiously, and all the invaders were driven back, for france rose as one man, her warriors overflowed on every side, and bore down all her foes by sheer weight of numbers and impetuous enthusiasm. her government was a despotism as well as an anarchy; it was as totally free from the drawbacks as from the advantages of the democratic system that it professed to embody. nothing could exceed the merciless energy of the measures adopted. half-way wickedness might have failed; but a wholesale murder of the disaffected, together with a confiscation of all the goods of the rich, and a vigorous conscription of the poor for soldiers, secured success, at least for the time being. the french made it a war of men; so that the price of labor rose enormously at once, and the condition of the working classes forthwith changed greatly for the better--one good result of the revolution, at any rate.
-morris wrote home very soon after the 10th of august that the then triumphant revolutionists, the girondists or party of brissot, who had supplanted the moderate party of lafayette exactly as the latter had succeeded the aristocracy, would soon in their turn be overthrown by men even more extreme and even more bloodthirsty; and that thus it would go on, wave after wave, until at last the wizard arose who could still them. by the end of the year the storm had brewed long enough to be near the bursting point. one of the promoters of the last outbreak, now himself marked as a victim, told morris that he personally would die hard, but that most of his colleagues, though like him doomed to destruction, and though so fierce in dealing with the moderate men, now showed neither the nerve nor hardihood that alone could stave off the catastrophe.
-meanwhile the king, as morris wrote home, showed in his death a better spirit than his life had promised; for he died in a manner becoming his dignity, with calm courage, praying that his foes might be forgiven and his deluded people be benefited by his death,--his words from the scaffold being drowned by the drums of santerre. as a whole, the gironde had opposed putting the king to death, and thus capping the structure whose foundations they had laid; they held back all too late. the fabric of their system was erected on a quagmire, and it now settled down and crushed the men who had built it. "all people of morality and intelligence had long agreed that as yet republican virtues were not of gallic growth;" and so the power slipped naturally into the grasp of the lowest and most violent, of those who were loudest to claim the possession of republican principles, while in practice showing that they had not even the dimmest idea of what such principles meant.
-the leaders were quite at the mercy of the gusts of fierce passion that swayed the breasts of their brutal followers. morris wrote home that the nominal rulers, or rather the few by whom these rulers were directed, had finally gained very just ideas of the value of popular opinion; but that they were not in a condition to act according to their knowledge; and that if they were able to reach harbor there would be quite as much of good luck as of good management about it, and, at any rate, a part of the crew would have to be thrown overboard.
-then the mountain rose under danton and marat, and the party of the gironde was entirely put down. the leaders were cast into prison, with the certainty before their eyes that the first great misfortune to france would call them from their dungeons to act as expiatory victims. the jacobins ruled supreme, and under them the government became a despotism in principle as well as in practice. part of the convention arrested the rest; and the revolutionary tribunals ruled red-handed, with a whimsical and ferocious tyranny. said morris: "it is an emphatical phrase among the patriots that terror is the order of the day; some years have elapsed since montesquieu wrote that the principle of arbitrary governments is fear." the prisons were choked with suspects, and blood flowed more freely than ever. terror had reached its highest point. danton was soon to fall before robespierre. among a host of other victims the queen died, with a brave dignity that made people half forget her manifold faults; and philippe egalité, the dissolute and unprincipled scoundrel, after a life than which none could be meaner and more unworthy, now at the end went to his death with calm and unflinching courage.
-one man had a very narrow escape. this was thomas paine, the englishman, who had at one period rendered such a striking service to the cause of american independence, while the rest of his life had been as ignoble as it was varied. he had been elected to the convention, and, having sided with the gironde, was thrown into prison by the jacobins. he at once asked morris to demand him as an american citizen; a title to which he of course had no claim. morris refused to interfere too actively, judging rightly that paine would be saved by his own insignificance and would serve his own interests best by keeping still. so the filthy little atheist had to stay in prison, "where he amused himself with publishing a pamphlet against jesus christ." there are infidels and infidels; paine belonged to the variety--whereof america possesses at present one or two shining examples--that apparently esteems a bladder of dirty water as the proper weapon with which to assail christianity. it is not a type that appeals to the sympathy of an onlooker, be said onlooker religious or otherwise.
-morris never paid so much heed to the military events as to the progress of opinion in france, believing "that such a great country must depend more upon interior sentiment than exterior operations." he took a half melancholy, half sardonic interest in the overthrow of the catholic religion by the revolutionists; who had assailed it with the true french weapon, ridicule, but ridicule of a very grim and unpleasant kind. the people who five years before had fallen down in the dirt as the consecrated matter passed by, now danced the carmagnole in holy vestments, and took part in some other mummeries a great deal more blasphemous. at the famous feast of reason, which morris described as a kind of opera performed in notre dame, the president of the convention, and other public characters, adored on bended knees a girl who stood in the place ci-devant most holy to personate reason herself. this girl, saunier by name, followed the trades of an opera dancer and harlot; she was "very beautiful and next door to an idiot as to her intellectual gifts." among her feats was having appeared in a ballet in a dress especially designed, by the painter david, at her bidding, to be more indecent than nakedness. altogether she was admirably fitted, both morally and mentally, to personify the kind of reason shown and admired by the french revolutionists.
-writing to a friend who was especially hostile to romanism, morris once remarked, with the humor that tinged even his most serious thoughts, "every day of my life gives me reason to question my own infallibility; and of course leads me further from confiding in that of the pope. but i have lived to see a new religion arise. it consists in a denial of all religion, and its votaries have the superstition of not being superstitious. they have this with as much zeal as any other sect, and are as ready to lay waste the world in order to make proselytes." another time, speaking of his country place at sainport, to which he had retired from paris, he wrote: "we are so scorched by a long drought that in spite of all philosophic notions we are beginning our procession to obtain the favor of the bon dieu. were it proper for un homme public et protestant to interfere, i should be tempted to tell them that mercy is before sacrifice." those individuals of arrested mental development who now make pilgrimages to our lady of lourdes had plenty of prototypes, even in the atheistical france of the revolution.
-in his letters home morris occasionally made clear-headed comments on american affairs. he considered that "we should be unwise in the extreme to involve ourselves in the contests of european nations, where our weight could be but small, though the loss to ourselves would be certain. we ought to be extremely watchful of foreign affairs, but there is a broad line between vigilance and activity." both france and england had violated their treaties with us; but the latter "had behaved worst, and with deliberate intention." he especially laid stress upon the need of our having a navy; "with twenty ships of the line at sea no nation on earth will dare to insult us;" even aside from individual losses, five years of war would involve more national expense than the support of a navy for twenty years, and until we rendered ourselves respectable, we should continue to be insulted. he never showed greater wisdom than in his views about our navy; and his party, the federalists, started to give us one; but it had hardly been begun before the jeffersonians came into power, and, with singular foolishness, stopped the work.
-washington heartily sympathized with morris's views as to the french revolution; he wrote him that events had more than made good his gloomiest predictions. jefferson, however, was utterly opposed to his theories, and was much annoyed at the forcible way in which he painted things as they were; characteristically enough, he only showed his annoyance by indirect methods,--leaving morris's letters unanswered, keeping him in the dark as to events at home, etc. morris understood all this perfectly, and was extremely relieved when randolph became secretary of state in jefferson's stead. almost immediately afterwards, however, he was himself recalled. the united states, having requested the french government to withdraw genet, a harlequin rather than a diplomat, it was done at once, and in return a request was forwarded that the united states would reciprocate by relieving morris, which of course had to be done also. the revolutionary authorities both feared and disliked morris; he could neither be flattered nor bullied, and he was known to disapprove of their excesses. they also took umbrage at his haughtiness; an unfortunate expression he used in one of his official letters to them, "ma cour," gave great offense, as being unrepublican--precisely as they had previously objected to washington's using the phrase "your people" in writing to the king.
-washington wrote him a letter warmly approving of his past conduct. nevertheless morris was not over-pleased at being recalled. he thought that, as things then were in france, any minister who gave satisfaction to its government would prove forgetful of the interests of america. he was probably right; at any rate, what he feared was just what happened under his successor, monroe--a very amiable gentleman, but distinctly one who comes in the category of those whose greatness is thrust upon them. however, under the circumstances, it was probably impossible for our government to avoid recalling morris.
-he could say truthfully: "i have the consolation to have made no sacrifice either of personal or national dignity, and i believe i should have obtained everything if the american government had refused to recall me." his services had been invaluable to us; he had kept our national reputation at a high point, by the scrupulous heed with which he saw that all our obligations were fulfilled, as well as by the firm courage with which he insisted on our rights being granted us. he believed "that all our treaties, however onerous, must be strictly fulfilled according to their true intent and meaning. the honest nation is that which, like the honest man, 'hath to its plighted faith and vow forever firmly stood, and though it promise to its loss, yet makes that promise good;'" and in return he demanded that others should mete to us the same justice we meted to them. he met each difficulty the instant it arose, ever on the alert to protect his country and his countrymen; and what an ordinary diplomat could barely have done in time of peace, he succeeded in doing amid the wild, shifting tumult of the revolution, when almost every step he made was at his own personal hazard. he took precisely the right stand; had he taken too hostile a position, he would have been driven from the country, whereas had he been a sympathizer, he would have more or less compromised america, as his successor afterwards did. we have never had a foreign minister who deserved more honor than morris.
-one of the noteworthy features in his letters home was the accuracy with which he foretold the course of events in the political world. luzerne once said to him, "vous dites toujours les chôses extraordinaires qui se realisent;" and many other men, after some given event had taken place, were obliged to confess their wonder at the way in which morris's predictions concerning it had been verified. a notable instance was his writing to washington: "whatever may be the lot of france in remote futurity ... it seems evident that she must soon be governed by a single despot. whether she will pass to that point through the medium of a triumvirate or other small body of men, seems as yet undetermined. i think it most probable that she will." this was certainly a remarkably accurate forecast as to the precise stages by which the already existing despotism was to be concentrated in a single individual. he always insisted that, though it was difficult to foretell how a single man would act, yet it was easy with regard to a mass of men, for their peculiarities neutralized each other, and it was necessary only to pay heed to the instincts of the average animal. he also gave wonderfully clear-cut sketches of the more prominent actors in affairs; although one of his maxims was that "in examining historical facts we are too apt to ascribe to individuals the events which are produced by general causes." danton, for instance, he described as always believing, and, what was worse for himself, maintaining, that a popular system of government was absurd in france; that the people were too ignorant, too inconstant, too corrupt, and felt too much the need of a master; in short, that they had reached the point where cato was a madman, and cæsar a necessary evil. he acted on these principles; but he was too voluptuous for his ambition, too indolent to acquire supreme power, and he cared for great wealth rather than great fame; so he "fell at the feet of robespierre." similarly, said morris, there passed away all the men of the 10th of august, all the men of the 2d of september; the same mob that hounded them on with wild applause when they grasped the blood-stained reins of power, a few months later hooted at them with ferocious derision as they went their way to the guillotine. paris ruled france, and the sans culottes ruled paris; factions continually arose, waging inexplicable war, each in turn acquiring a momentary influence which was founded on fear alone, and all alike unable to build up any stable or lasting government.
-each new stroke of the guillotine weakened the force of liberal sentiment, and diminished the chances of a free system. morris wondered only that, in a country ripe for a tyrant's rule, four years of convulsions among twenty-four millions of people had brought forth neither a soldier nor yet a statesman, whose head was fitted to wear the cap that fortune had woven. despising the mob as utterly as did oliver cromwell himself, and realizing the supine indifference with which the french people were willing to accept a master, he yet did full justice to the pride with which they resented outside attack, and the enthusiasm with which they faced their foes. he saw the immense resources possessed by a nation to whom war abroad was a necessity for the preservation of peace at home, and with whom bankruptcy was but a starting-point for fresh efforts. the whole energy and power lay in the hands of the revolutionists; the men of the old regime had fled, leaving only that "waxen substance," the propertied class, "who in foreign wars count so much, and in civil wars so little." he had no patience with those despicable beings, the traders and merchants who have forgotten how to fight, the rich who are too timid to guard their wealth, the men of property, large or small, who need peace, and yet have not the sense and courage to be always prepared to conquer it.
-in his whole attitude towards the revolution, morris represents better than any other man the clear-headed, practical statesman, who is genuinely devoted to the cause of constitutional freedom. he was utterly opposed to the old system of privilege on the one hand, and to the wild excesses of the fanatics on the other. the few liberals of the revolution were the only men in it who deserve our true respect. the republicans who champion the deeds of the jacobins, are traitors to their own principles; for the spirit of jacobinism, instead of being identical with, is diametrically opposed to the spirit of true liberty. jacobinism, socialism, communism, nihilism, and anarchism--these are the real foes of a democratic republic, for each one, if it obtains control, obtains it only as the sure forerunner of a despotic tyranny and of some form of the one-man power.
-morris, an american, took a clearer and truer view of the french revolution than did any of the contemporary european observers. yet while with them it was the all-absorbing event of the age, with him, as is evident by his writings, it was merely an important episode; for to him it was dwarfed by the american revolution of a decade or two back. to the europeans of the present day, as yet hardly awake to the fact that already the change has begun that will make europe but a fragment, instead of the whole, of the civilized world, the french revolution is the great historical event of our times. but in reality it affected only the people of western and central europe; not the russians, not the english-speaking nations, not the spaniards who dwelt across the atlantic. america and australia had their destinies moulded by the crisis of 1776, not by the crisis of 1789. what the french revolution was to the states within europe, that the american revolution was to the continents without.
-stay in europe.
-monroe, as morris's successor, entered upon his new duties with an immense flourish, and rapidly gave a succession of startling proofs that he was a minister altogether too much to the taste of the frenzied jacobinical republicans to whom he was accredited. indeed, his capers were almost as extraordinary as their own, and seem rather like the antics of some of the early french commanders in canada, in their efforts to ingratiate themselves with their indian allies, than like the performance we should expect from a sober virginian gentleman on a mission to a civilized nation. he stayed long enough to get our affairs into a snarl, and was then recalled by washington, receiving from the latter more than one scathing rebuke.
-however, the fault was really less with him than with his party and with those who sent him. monroe was an honorable man with a very un-original mind, and he simply reflected the wild, foolish views held by all his fellows of the jeffersonian democratic-republican school concerning france--for our politics were still french and english, but not yet american. his appointment was an excellent example of the folly of trying to carry on a government on a "non-partisan" basis. washington was only gradually weaned from this theory by bitter experience; both jefferson and monroe helped to teach him the lesson. it goes without saying that in a well-ordered government the great bulk of the employees in the civil service, the men whose functions are merely to execute faithfully routine departmental work, should hold office during good behavior, and should be appointed without reference to their politics; but if the higher public servants, such as the heads of departments and the foreign ministers, are not in complete accord with their chief, the only result can be to introduce halting indecision and vacillation into the counsels of the nation, without gaining a single compensating advantage, and without abating by one iota the virulence of party passion. to appoint monroe, an extreme democrat, to france, while at the same time appointing jay, a strong federalist, to england, was not only an absurdity which did nothing towards reconciling the federalists and democrats, but, bearing in mind how these parties stood respectively towards england and france, it was also an actual wrong, for it made our foreign policy seem double-faced and deceitful. while one minister was formally embracing such of the parisian statesmen as had hitherto escaped the guillotine, and was going through various other theatrical performances that do not appeal to any but a gallic mind, his fellow was engaged in negotiating a treaty in england that was so obnoxious to france as almost to bring us to a rupture with her. the jay treaty was not altogether a good one, and a better might perhaps have been secured; still, it was better than nothing, and washington was right in urging its adoption, even while admitting that it was not entirely satisfactory. but certainly, if we intended to enter into such engagements with great britain, it was rank injustice to both monroe and france to send such a man as the former to such a country as the latter.
-meanwhile morris, instead of returning to america, was forced by his business affairs to prolong his stay abroad for several years. during this time he journeyed at intervals through england, the netherlands, germany, prussia, and austria. his european reputation was well established, and he was everywhere received gladly into the most distinguished society of the time. what made him especially welcome was his having now definitely taken sides with the anti-revolutionists in the great conflict of arms and opinions then raging through europe; and his brilliancy, the boldness with which he had behaved as minister during the terror, and the reputation given him by the french emigrés, all joined to cause him to be hailed with pleasure by the aristocratic party. it is really curious to see the consideration with which he was everywhere treated, although again a mere private individual, and the terms of intimacy on which he was admitted into the most exclusive social and diplomatic circles at the various courts. he thus became an intimate friend of many of the foremost people of the period. his political observation, however, became less trustworthy than heretofore; for he was undoubtedly soured by his removal, and the excesses of the revolutionists had excited such horror in his mind as to make him no longer an impartial judge. his forecasts and judgments on the military situation in particular, although occasionally right, were usually very wild. he fully appreciated napoleon's utter unscrupulousness and marvelous mendacity; but to the end of his life he remained unwilling to do justice to the emperor's still more remarkable warlike genius, going so far, after the final russian campaign, as to speak of old kutusoff as his equal. indeed, in spite of one or two exceptions,--notably his predicting almost the exact date of the retreat from moscow,--his criticisms on napoleon's military operations do not usually stand much above the rather ludicrous level recently reached by count tolstoï.
-morris was relieved by monroe in august, 1794, and left paris for switzerland in october. he stopped at coppet and spent a day with madame de staël, where there was a little french society that lived at her expense and was as gay as circumstances would permit. he had never been particularly impressed with the much vaunted society of the salon, and this small survival thereof certainly had no overpowering attraction for him, if we may judge by the entry in his diary: "the road to her house is up-hill and execrable, and i think i shall not again go thither." mankind was still blind to the grand beauty of the alps,--it must be remembered that the admiration of mountain scenery is, to the shame of our forefathers be it said, almost a growth of the present century,--and morris took more interest in the swiss population than in their surroundings. he wrote that in switzerland the spirit of commerce had brought about a baseness of morals which nothing could cure but the same spirit carried still further:--"it teaches eventually fair dealing as the most profitable dealing. the first lesson of trade is, my son, get money. the second is, my son, get money, honestly if you can, but get money. the third is, my son, get money; but honestly, if you would get much money."
-he went to great britain in the following summer, and spent a year there. at one time he visited the north, staying with the dukes of argyle, atholl and montrose, and was very much pleased with scotland, where everything he saw convinced him that the country was certain of a rapid and vigorous growth. on his return he stopped with the bishop of landaff, at colgate park. the bishop announced that he was a stanch opposition man, and a firm whig; to which statement morris adds in his diary: "let this be as it will, he is certainly a good landlord and a man of genius."
-but morris was now a favored guest in ministerial, even more than in opposition circles; he was considered to belong to what the czar afterwards christened the "parti sain de l'europe." he saw a good deal of both pitt and grenville, and was consulted by them not only about american, but also about european affairs; and a number of favors, which he asked for some of his friends among the emigrés, were granted. all his visits were not on business, however; as, for instance, on july 14th: "dine at mr. pitt's. we sit down at six. lords grenville, chatham, and another come later. the rule is established for six precisely, which is right, i think. the wines are good and the conversation flippant." morris helped grenville in a number of ways, at the prussian court for instance; and was even induced by him to write a letter to washington, attempting to put the english attitude toward us in a good light. washington, however, was no more to be carried off his feet in favor of the english than against them; and the facts he brought out in his reply showed that morris had rather lost his poise, and had been hurried into an action that was ill advised. he was quite often at court; and relates a conversation with the king, wherein that monarch's language seems to have been much such as tradition assigns him--short, abrupt sentences, repetitions, and the frequent use of "what."
-he also saw a good deal of the royalist refugees. some of them he liked and was intimate with; but the majority disgusted him and made him utterly impatient with their rancorous folly. he commented on the strange levity and wild negotiations of the count d'artois, and prophesied that his character was such as to make his projected attempt on la vendée hopeless from the start. another day he was at the marquis de spinola's: "the conversation here, where our company consists of aristocrats of the first feather, turns on french affairs. they, at first, agree that union among the french is necessary. but when they come to particulars, they fly off and are mad. madame spinola would send the duke of orleans to siberia. an abbé, a young man, talks much and loud, to show his esprit; and to hear them one would suppose they were quite at their ease in a petit souper de paris." of that ponderous exile, the chief of the house of bourbon, and afterwards louis xviii, he said that, in his opinion, he had nothing to do but to try to get shot, thereby redeeming by valor the foregone follies of his conduct.
-in june, 1796, morris returned to the continent, and started on another tour, in his own carriage; having spent some time himself in breaking in his young and restive horses to their task. he visited all the different capitals, at one time or another; among them, berlin, where, as usual, he was very well received. for all his horror of jacobinism, morris was a thorough american, perfectly independent, without a particle of the snob in his disposition, and valuing his acquaintances for what they were, not for their titles. in his diary he puts down the queen of england as "a well-bred, sensible woman," and the empress of austria as "a good sort of little woman," and contemptuously dismisses the prussian king with a word, precisely as he does with any one else. one of the entries in his journal, while he was staying in berlin, offers a case in point. "july 23d, i dine, very much against my will, with prince ferdinand. i was engaged to a very agreeable party, but it seems the highnesses must never be denied, unless it be from indisposition. i had, however, written a note declining the intended honor; but the messenger, upon looking at it, for it was a letter patent, like the invitation, said he could not deliver it; that nobody ever refused; all of which i was informed of after he was gone. on consulting i found that i must go or give mortal offense, which last i have no inclination to do; so i write another note, and send out to hunt up the messenger. while i am abroad this untoward incident is arranged, and of course i am at bellevue." while at court on one occasion he met, and took a great fancy to, the daughter of the famous baroness riedesel; having been born in the united states, she had been christened america.
-in one of his conversations with the king, who was timid and hesitating, morris told him that the austrians would be all right if he would only lend them some prussian generals--a remark upon which jena and auerstadt later on offered a curious commentary. he became very impatient with the king's inability to make up his mind; and wrote to the duchess of cumberland that "the guardian angel of the french republic kept him lingering on this side of the grave." he wrote to lord grenville that prussia was "seeking little things by little means," and that the war with poland was popular "because the moral principles of a prussian go to the possession of whatever he can acquire. and so little is he the slave of what he calls vulgar prejudice, that, give him opportunity and means, and he will spare you the trouble of finding a pretext. this liberality of sentiment greatly facilitates negotiation, for it is not necessary to clothe propositions in honest and decent forms." morris was a most startling phenomenon to the diplomatists of the day, trampling with utter disregard on all their hereditary theories of finesse and cautious duplicity. the timid formalists, and more especially those who considered double-dealing as the legitimate, and in fact the only legitimate, weapon of their trade, were displeased with him; but he was very highly thought of by such as could see the strength and originality of the views set forth in his frank, rather over-bold language.
-at dresden he notes that he was late on the day set down for his presentation at court, owing to his valet having translated halb zwölf as half past twelve. the dresden picture galleries were the first that drew from him any very strong expressions of admiration. in the city were numbers of the emigrés, fleeing from their countrymen, and only permitted to stop in saxony for a few days; yet they were serene and gay, and spent their time in busy sightseeing, examining everything curious which they could get at. morris had become pretty well accustomed to the way in which they met fate; but such lively resignation surprised even him, and he remarked that so great a calamity had never lighted on shoulders so well fitted to bear it.
-at vienna he made a long stay, not leaving it until january, 1797. here, as usual, he fraternized at once with the various diplomatists; the english ambassador, sir morton eden, in particular, going out of his way to show him every attention. the austrian prime minister, m. thugut, was also very polite; and so were the foreign ministers of all the powers. he was soon at home in the upper social circles of this german paris; but from the entries in his journal it is evident that he thought very little of viennese society. he liked talking and the company of brilliant conversationalists, and he abominated gambling; but in vienna every one was so devoted to play that there was no conversation at all. he considered a dumb circle round a card-table as the dullest society in the world, and in vienna there was little else. nor was he impressed with the ability of the statesmen he met. he thought the austrian nobles to be on the decline; they stood for the dying feudal system. the great families had been squandering their riches with the most reckless extravagance, and were becoming broken and impoverished; and the imperial government was glad to see the humiliation of the haughty nobles, not perceiving that, if preserved, they would act as a buffer between it and the new power beginning to make itself felt throughout europe, and would save the throne if not from total overthrow, at least from shocks so fierce as greatly to weaken it.
-morris considered prince esterhazy as an archtypical representative of the class. he was captain of the noble hungarian guard, a small body of tall, handsome men on fiery steeds, magnificently caparisoned. the prince, as its commander, wore a hungarian dress, scarlet, with fur cape and cuffs, and yellow morocco boots; everything embroidered with pearls, four hundred and seventy large ones, and many thousand small, but all put on in good taste. he had a collar of large diamonds, a plume of diamonds in his cap; and his sword-hilt, scabbard, and spurs were inlaid with the same precious stones. his horse was equally bejeweled; steed and rider, with their trappings, "were estimated at a value of a quarter of a million dollars." old blücher would surely have considered the pair "very fine plunder."
-the prince was reported to be nominally the richest subject in europe, with a revenue that during the turkish war went up to a million guilders annually; yet he was hopelessly in debt already and getting deeper every year. he lived in great magnificence, but was by no means noted for lavish hospitality; all his extravagance was reserved for himself, especially for purposes of display. his vienna stable contained a hundred and fifty horses; and during a six weeks' residence in frankfort, where he was ambassador at the time of an imperial coronation, he spent eighty thousand pounds. altogether, an outsider may be pardoned for not at first seeing precisely what useful function such a merely gorgeous being performed in the body politic; yet when summoned before the bar of the new world-forces, esterhazy and his kind showed that birds of such fine feathers sometimes had beaks and talons as well, and knew how to use them, the craven flight of the french noblesse to the contrary notwithstanding.
-morris was often at court, where the constant theme of conversation was naturally the struggle with the french armies under moreau and bonaparte. after one of these mornings he mentions: "the levee was oddly arranged, all the males being in one apartment, through which the emperor passes in going to chapel, and returns the same way with the empress and imperial family; after which they go through their own rooms to the ladies assembled on the other side."
-the english members of the corps diplomatique in all the european capitals were especially civil to him; and he liked them more than their continental brethren. but for some of their young tourist countrymen he cared less; and it is curious to see that the ridicule to which americans have rightly exposed themselves by their absurd fondness for uniforms and for assuming military titles to which they have no warrant, was no less deservedly earned by the english at the end of the last century. one of morris's friends, baron groshlaer, being, like the other viennese, curious to know the object of his stay,--they guessed aright that he wished to get lafayette liberated,--at last almost asked him outright about it. "finally i tell him that the only difference between me and the young englishmen, of whom there is a swarm here, is, that i seek instruction with gray hairs and they with brown.... at the archduchess's one of the little princes, brother to the emperor, and who is truly an arch-duke, asks me to explain to him the different uniforms worn by the young english, of whom there are a great number here, all in regimentals. some of these belong to no corps at all, and the others to yeomanry, fencibles and the like, all of which purport to be raised for the defense of their country in case she should be invaded; but now, when the invasion seems most imminent, they are abroad, and cannot be made to feel the ridiculous indecency of appearing in regimentals. sir m. eden and others have given them the broadest hints without the least effect. one of them told me that all the world should not laugh him out of his regimentals. i bowed.... i tell the prince that i really am not able to answer his question, but that, in general, their dresses i believe are worn for convenience in traveling. he smiles at this.... if i were an englishman i should be hurt at these exhibitions, and as it is i am sorry for them.... i find that here they assume it as unquestionable that the young men of england have a right to adjust the ceremonial of vienna. the political relations of the two countries induce the good company here to treat them with politeness; but nothing prevents their being laughed at, as i found the other evening at madame de groshlaer's, where the young women as well as the girls were very merry at the expense of these young men."
-after leaving vienna he again passed through berlin, and in a conversation with the king he foreshadowed curiously the state of politics a century later, and showed that he thoroughly appreciated the cause that would in the end reconcile the traditional enmity of the hohenzollerns and hapsburgs. "after some trifling things i tell him that i have just seen his best friend. he asks who? and, to his great surprise, i reply, the emperor. he speaks of him well personally, and i observe that he is a very honest young man, to which his majesty replies by asking, "mais, que pensez vous de thugut." "quant à cela, c'est une autre affaire, sire." i had stated the interest, which makes him and the emperor good friends, to be their mutual apprehensions from russia. "but suppose we all three unite?" "ce sera un diable de fricassée, sire, si vous vous mettez tous les trois à casser les oeufs.""
-at brunswick he was received with great hospitality, the duke, and particularly the duchess dowager, the king of england's sister, treating him very hospitably. he here saw general riedesel, with whom he was most friendly; the general in the course of conversation inveighed bitterly against burgoyne. he went to munich also, where he was received on a very intimate footing by count rumford, then the great power in bavaria, who was busily engaged in doing all he could to better the condition of his country. morris was much interested in his reforms. they were certainly needed; the count told his friend that on assuming the reins of power, the abuses to be remedied were beyond belief--for instance, there was one regiment of cavalry that had five field officers and only three horses. with some of the friends that morris made--such as the duchess of cumberland, the princess de la tour et taxis and others--he corresponded until the end of his life.
-while at vienna he again did all he could to get lafayette released from prison, where his wife was confined with him; but in vain. madame de lafayette's sister, the marquise de montagu, and madame de staël, both wrote him the most urgent appeals to do what he could for the prisoners; the former writing, "my sister is in danger of losing the life you saved in the prisons of paris ... has not he whom europe numbers among those citizens of whom north america ought to be most proud, has not he the right to make himself heard in favor of a citizen of the united states, and of a wife, whose life belongs to him, since he has preserved it?" madame de staël felt the most genuine grief for lafayette, and very sincere respect for morris; and in her letters to the latter she displayed both sentiments with a lavish exaggeration that hardly seems in good taste. if morris had needed a spur the letters would have supplied it; but the task was an impossible one, and lafayette was not released until the peace in 1797, when he was turned over to the american consul at hamburg, in morris's presence.
-morris was able to render more effectual help to an individual far less worthy of it than lafayette. this was the then duke of orleans, afterwards king louis philippe, who had fled from france with dumouriez. morris's old friend, madame de flahaut, appealed to him almost hysterically on the duke's behalf; and he at once did even more than she requested, giving the duke money wherewith to go to america, and also furnishing him with unlimited credit at his own new york banker's, during his wanderings in the united states. this was done for the sake of the duchess of orleans, to whom morris was devotedly attached, not for the sake of the duke himself. the latter knew this perfectly, writing: "your kindness is a blessing i owe to my mother and to our friend" (madame de flahaut). the bourgeois king admirably represented the meanest, smallest side of the bourgeois character; he was not a bad man, but he was a very petty and contemptible one; had he been born in a different station of life, he would have been just the individual to take a prominent part in local temperance meetings, while he sanded the sugar he sold in his corner grocery. his treatment of morris's loan was characteristic. when he came into his rights again, at the restoration, he at first appeared to forget his debt entirely, and when his memory was jogged, he merely sent morris the original sum, without a word of thanks; whereupon morris, rather nettled, and as prompt to stand up for his rights against a man in prosperity as he had been to help him when in adversity, put the matter in the hands of his lawyer, through whom he notified louis philippe that if the affair was to be treated on a merely business basis, it should then be treated in a strictly business way, and the interest for the twenty years that had gone by should be forwarded also. this was accordingly done, although not until after morris's death, the entire sum refunded being seventy thousand francs.
-morris brought his complicated business affairs in europe to a close in 1798, and sailed from hamburg on october 4th of that year, reaching new york after an exceedingly tedious and disagreeable voyage of eighty days.
-service in the united states senate.
-morris was very warmly greeted on his return; and it was evident that the length of his stay abroad had in nowise made him lose ground with his friends at home. his natural affiliations were all with the federalist party, which he immediately joined.
-during the year 1799 he did not take much part in politics, as he was occupied in getting his business affairs in order and in putting to rights his estates at morrisania. the old manor house had become such a crazy, leaky affair that he tore it down and built a new one; a great, roomy building, not in the least showy, but solid, comfortable, and in perfect taste; having, across the tree-clad hills of westchester, a superb view of the sound, with its jagged coast and capes and islands.
-during the ten years that had gone by since morris sailed for europe, the control of the national government had been in the hands of the federalists; when he returned, party bitterness was at the highest pitch, for the democrats were preparing to make the final push for power which should overthrow and ruin their antagonists. four-fifths of the talent, ability, and good sense of the country were to be found in the federalist ranks; for the federalists had held their own so far, by sheer force of courage and intellectual vigor, over foes in reality more numerous. their great prop had been washington. his colossal influence was to the end decisive in party contests, and he had in fact, although hardly in name, almost entirely abandoned his early attempts at non-partisanship, had grown to distrust madison as he long before had distrusted jefferson, and had come into constantly closer relations with their enemies. his death diminished greatly the chances of federalist success; there were two other causes at work that destroyed them entirely.
-one of these was the very presence in the dominant party of so many men nearly equal in strong will and great intellectual power; their ambitions and theories clashed; even the loftiness of their aims, and their disdain of everything small, made them poor politicians, and with washington out of the way there was no one commander to overawe the rest and to keep down the fierce bickerings constantly arising among them; while in the other party there was a single leader, jefferson, absolutely without a rival, but supported by a host of sharp political workers, most skillful in marshaling that unwieldy and hitherto disunited host of voters who were inferior in intelligence to their fellows.
-the second cause lay deep in the nature of the federalist organization: it was its distrust of the people. this was the fatally weak streak in federalism. in a government such as ours it was a foregone conclusion that a party which did not believe in the people would sooner or later be thrown from power unless there was an armed break-up of the system. the distrust was felt, and of course excited corresponding and intense hostility. had the federalists been united, and had they freely trusted in the people, the latter would have shown that the trust was well founded; but there was no hope for leaders who suspected each other and feared their followers.
-morris landed just as the federalist reaction, brought about by the conduct of france, had spent itself,--thanks partly to some inopportune pieces of insolence from england, in which country, as morris once wrote to a foreign friend, "on a toujours le bon esprit de vouloir prendre les mouches avec du vinaigre." the famous alien and sedition laws were exciting great disgust, and in virginia and kentucky jefferson was using them as handles wherewith to guide seditious agitation--not that he believed in sedition, but because he considered it good party policy, for the moment, to excite it. the parties hated each other with rancorous virulence; the newspapers teemed with the foulest abuse of public men, accusations of financial dishonesty were rife, washington himself not being spared, and the most scurrilous personalities were bandied about between the different editors. the federalists were split into two factions, one following the president, adams, in his efforts to keep peace with france, if it could be done with honor, while the others, under hamilton's lead, wished war at once.
-pennsylvanian politics were already very low. the leaders who had taken control were men of mean capacity and small morality, and the state was not only becoming rapidly democratic but was also drifting along in a disorganized, pseudo-jacobinical, half insurrectionary kind of way that would have boded ill for its future had it not been fettered by the presence of healthier communities round about it. new england was the only part of the community, excepting delaware, where federalism was on a perfectly sound footing; for in that section there was no caste spirit, the leaders and their followers were thoroughly in touch, and all the citizens, shrewd, thrifty, independent, were used to self-government, and fully awake to the fact that honesty and order are the prerequisites of liberty. yet even here democracy had made some inroads.
-south of the potomac the federalists had lost ground rapidly. virginia was still a battlefield; as long as washington lived, his tremendous personal influence acted as a brake on the democratic advance, and the state's greatest orator, patrick henry, had halted beside the grave to denounce the seditious schemes of the disunion agitators with the same burning, thrilling eloquence that, thirty years before, had stirred to their depths the hearts of his hearers when he bade defiance to the tyrannous might of the british king. but when these two men were dead, marshall,--though destined, as chief and controlling influence in the third division of our governmental system, to mould the whole of that system on the lines of federalist thought, and to prove that a sound judiciary could largely affect an unsound executive and legislature,--even marshall could not, single-handed, stem the current that had gradually gathered head. virginia stands easily first among all our commonwealths for the statesmen and warriors she has brought forth; and it is noteworthy that during the long contest between the nationalists and separatists, which forms the central fact in our history for the first three quarters of a century of our national life, she gave leaders to both sides at the two great crises: washington and marshall to the one, and jefferson to the other, when the question was one of opinion as to whether the union should be built up; and when the appeal to arms was made to tear it down, farragut and thomas to the north, lee and jackson to the south.
-there was one eddy in the tide of democratic success that flowed so strongly to the southward. this was in south carolina. the fierce little palmetto state has always been a free lance among her southern sisters; for instance, though usually ultra-democratic, she was hostile to the two great democratic chiefs, jefferson and jackson, though both were from the south. at the time that morris came home, the brilliant little group of federalist leaders within her bounds, headed by men of national renown like pinckney and harper, kept her true to federalism by downright force of intellect and integrity; for they were among the purest as well as the ablest statesmen of the day.
-new york had been going through a series of bitter party contests; any one examining a file of papers of that day will come to the conclusion that party spirit was even more violent and unreasonable then than now. the two great federalist leaders, hamilton and jay, stood head and shoulders above all their democratic competitors, and they were backed by the best men in the state, like rufus king, schuyler and others. but, though as orators and statesmen they had no rivals, they were very deficient in the arts of political management. hamilton's imperious haughtiness had alienated the powerful family of the livingstones, who had thrown in their lot with the clintonians; and a still more valuable ally to the latter had arisen in that consummate master of "machine" politics, aaron burr. in 1792, jay, then chief justice of the united states, had run for governor against clinton, and had received the majority of the votes; but had been counted out by the returning board in spite of the protest of its four federalist members--gansevoort, roosevelt, jones, and sands. the indignation was extreme, and only jay's patriotism and good sense prevented an outbreak. however, the memory of the fraud remained fresh in the minds of the citizens, and at the next election for governor he was chosen by a heavy majority, having then just come back from his mission to england. soon afterwards his treaty was published, and excited a whirlwind of indignation; it was only ratified in the senate through washington's great influence, backed by the magnificent oratory of fisher ames, whose speech on this occasion, when he was almost literally on his death-bed, ranks among the half dozen greatest of our country. the treaty was very objectionable in certain points, but it was most necessary to our well-being, and jay was probably the only american who could have negotiated it. as with the ashburton treaty many years later, extreme sections in england attacked it as fiercely as did the extreme sections here; and lord sheffield voiced their feelings when he hailed the war of 1812 as offering a chance to england to get back the advantages out of which "jay had duped grenville."
-but the clash with france shortly afterwards swept away the recollection of the treaty, and jay was reëlected in 1798. one of the arguments, by the way, which was used against him in the canvass was that he was an abolitionist. but, in spite of his reëlection, the new york democrats were steadily gaining ground.
-such was the situation when morris returned. he at once took high rank among the federalists, and in april, 1800, just before the final wreck of their party, was chosen by them to fill an unexpired term of three years in the united states senate. before this he had made it evident that his sympathies lay with hamilton and those who did not think highly of adams. he did not deem it wise to renominate the latter for the presidency. he had even written to washington, earnestly beseeching him to accept the nomination; but washington died a day or two after the letter was sent. in spite of the jarring between the leaders, the federalists nominated adams and pinckney. in the ensuing presidential election many of the party chiefs, notably marshall of virginia, already a strong adams man, faithfully stood by the ticket in its entirety; but hamilton, morris, and many others at the north probably hoped in their hearts that, by the aid of the curious electoral system which then existed, some chance would put the great carolinian in the first place and make him president. indeed, there is little question that this might have been done, had not pinckney, one of the most high-minded and disinterested statesmen we have ever had, emphatically declined to profit in any way by the hurting of the grim old puritan.
-when the federalists in congress, into which body the choice for president had been thrown, took up burr, as a less objectionable alternative than jefferson, morris, much to his credit, openly and heartily disapproved of the movement, and was sincerely glad that it failed. for he thought burr far the more dangerous man of the two, and, moreover, did not believe that the evident intention of the people should be thwarted. both he and hamilton, on this occasion, acted more wisely and more honestly than did most of their heated fellow-partisans. writing to the latter, the former remarked: "it is dangerous to be impartial in politics; you, who are temperate in drinking, have never perhaps noticed the awkward situation of a man who continues sober after the company are drunk."
-morris joined the senate at philadelphia in may, 1800, but it almost immediately adjourned, to meet at washington in november, when he was again present. washington, as it then was, was a place whose straggling squalor has often been described. morris wrote to the princess de la tour et taxis, that it needed nothing "but houses, cellars, kitchens, well-informed men, amiable women, and other little trifles of the kind to make the city perfect;" that it was "the very best city in the world for a future residence," but that as he was "not one of those good people whom we call posterity," he would meanwhile like to live somewhere else.
-during his three years' term in the senate he was one of the strong pillars of the federalist party; but he was both too independent and too erratic to act always within strict party lines, and while he was an ultra-federalist on some points, he openly abandoned his fellows on others. he despised jefferson as a tricky and incapable theorist, skillful in getting votes, but in nothing else; a man who believed "in the wisdom of mobs, and the moderation of jacobins," and who found himself "in the wretched plight of being forced to turn out good officers to make room for the unworthy."
-after the election that turned them out of power, but just before their opponents took office, the federalists in the senate and house passed the famous judiciary bill, and adams signed it. it provided for a number of new federal judges to act throughout the states, while the supreme court was retained as the ultimate court of decision. it was an excellent measure, inasmuch as it simplified the work of the judiciary, saved the highest branch from useless traveling, prevented the calendars from being choked with work, and supplied an upright federal judiciary to certain districts where the local judges could not be depended upon to act honestly. on the other hand, the federalists employed it as a means to keep themselves partly in power, after the nation had decided that they should be turned out. although the democrats had bitterly opposed it, yet if, as was only right, the offices created by it had been left vacant until jefferson came in, it would probably have been allowed to stand. but adams, most improperly, spent the last hours of his administration in putting in the new judges.
-morris, who heartily championed the measure, wrote his reasons for so doing to livingstone; giving, with his usual frankness, those that were political and improper, as well as those based on some public policy, but apparently not appreciating the gravity of the charges he so lightly admitted. he said: "the new judiciary bill may have, and doubtless has, many little faults, but it answers the double purpose of bringing justice near to men's doors, and of giving additional fibre to the root of government. you must not, my friend, judge of other states by your own. depend on it, that in some parts of this union, justice cannot be readily obtained in the state courts." so far, he was all right, and the truth of his statements, and the soundness of his reasons, could not be challenged as to the propriety of the law itself; but he was much less happy in giving his views of the way in which it would be carried out: "that the leaders of the federal party may use this opportunity to provide for friends and adherents is, i think, probable; and if they were my enemies, i should blame them for it. whether i should do the same thing myself is another question.... they are about to experience a heavy gale of adverse wind; can they be blamed for casting many anchors to hold their ship through the storm?" most certainly they should be blamed for casting this particular kind of anchor; it was a very gross outrage for them to "provide for friends and adherents" in such a manner.
-the folly of their action was seen at once; for they had so maddened the democrats that the latter repealed the act as soon as they came into power. this also was of course all wrong, and was a simple sacrifice of a measure of good government to partisan rage. morris led the fight against it, deeming the repeal not only in the highest degree unwise but also unconstitutional. after the repeal was accomplished, the knowledge that their greed to grasp office under the act was probably the cause of the loss of an excellent law, must have been rather a bitter cud for the federalists to chew. morris always took an exaggerated view of the repeal, regarding it as a death-blow to the constitution. it was certainly a most unfortunate affair throughout; and much of the blame attaches to the federalists, although still more to their antagonists.
-the absolute terror with which even moderate federalists had viewed the victory of the democrats was in a certain sense justifiable; for the leaders who led the democrats to triumph were the very men who had fought tooth and nail against every measure necessary to make us a free, orderly, and powerful nation. but the safety of the nation really lay in the very fact that the policy hitherto advocated by the now victorious party had embodied principles so wholly absurd in practice that it was out of the question to apply them at all to the actual running of the government. jefferson could write or speak--and could feel too--the most and francesco loosened the sword in the scabbard anticipating an ambush, when he pushed it back with a puzzled look. before a wayside shrine, almost entirely concealed by weeds, there knelt a grotesque figure at orisons. he either had not heard the tramp of francesco's steed, or ignored it on purpose, for not until the latter called to him did he turn, and with much relief francesco recognized his former guide from the camp of the duke of spoleto.
-"where is the camp of the duke?" he queried curtly, impatient with the man's exhibition of secular godliness.
-"many miles away," replied he of the goat's-beard, as he arose and kissed a little holly-wood cross that he carried.
-"lead me to it!"
-the godly little man flopped again, scraped some dust together with his two hands, spat upon it, then smeared his forehead with the stuff, uttering the names of sundry saints.
-francesco had come to the end of his patience.
-"get up, my friend," he said, "we have had enough praying for one day!"
-the goatherd offered to anoint him with dust and spittle, pointing a stumpy forefinger, but francesco was filled with disgust. he caught the man by the girdle and lifted him to his feet.
-"enough of this!" he said. "is the devil so much your master?"
-the goatherd blinked red-lidded and pious eyes, while he scanned the horizon. then he pointed with his holly staff to a blue hill that rose against the eastern sky.
-"how far?" queried francesco.
-the goatherd was anointing himself with spittle.
-"each mile in these parts grows more evil," he said, tracing the sign of the cross. "it behooves a christian to be circumspect!"
-francesco prodded him with his scabbard.
-"some ten leagues," replied the gnome. "the day is clear, and the place looks nearer than it is!"
-it occurred to francesco that there must be some human abode close by, as the goatherd, entirely familiar with the region, would not wander too far from habitations of the living. and upon having made known his request, the little man preceded him at a lively pace. at a lodge in the forest deeps they halted, and here francesco and his guide rested during the hot hours of noon, partaking of such food as the liberality of their host, an old anchorite, set before them.
-after men and steed had rested, they set out anew.
-the goatherd's inclination to invoke untold saints, whenever there seemed occasion and whenever there was not, was curbed by a hard line round francesco's lips, and they plunged into the great silence. a sense of green mystery encompassed them, as they traversed the green forest-aisles. the sky seemed to have receded to a greater distance. everywhere the smooth dark trunks converged upon one another, sending up a tangle of boughs that glittered in the soft sheen of the sunlight. withered bracken stood in thin silence, and here and there a dead bough lay like a snake with its head raised to strike.
-the silence was immense, and yet it was a stillness that suggested sounds. it resembled the silence of a huge cavern, out of which came strange whisperings; innumerable crepitations seemed to come from the dead leaves. francesco fancied he could hear the trees breathing, and from afar he caught the wild note of a bird.
-the sun was low when they came at last to the edge of the forest and saw a hill rise steeply against the sky. it was covered with silver birches, whose stems looked like white threads in the level light of the setting sun. and rising against the sky-line from amidst the fretwork of birch-boughs francesco saw the well-remembered outlines of the ruined tower wherein he had spent a memorable night.
-the valley before them was flooded with golden light, and, as they crossed it, francesco felt a curious desire for physical pain, something fierce and tangible to struggle with, to drown the ever-pulsing memory of the woman who had gone from him.
-as the dusk deepened they went scrambling up the hillside amid the birches, whose white stems glimmered upwards into the blue gloom of the twilight. francesco's thoughts climbed ahead of him, hurrying to deal with the unknown dangers that might be awaiting him. he had to dismount, pull his steed after him; but the scramble upwards gave him the sense of effort and struggle that he needed. it was like scaling a wall to come to grips with an enemy, whose wild eyes and sword-points showed between the crenelations.
-at last they had reached the high plateau. a dog barked. the wood suddenly swarmed with bearded and grotesque forms. they did not recognize in francesco the monk who had spent a night in their midst. the goatherd had maliciously disappeared, as if to revenge himself for his interrupted orisons. with glowering faces they thronged around francesco, a babel of voices shouting questions and threatening the intruder.
-he waved them contemptuously aside, and his demeanor seemed to raise him in their regards.
-at his request to be forthwith conducted into the presence of the duke, one pointed to a low building at the edge of the plateau. wisps of smoke curled out of it and vanished into the night.
-"the duke and the abbot are at orisons," the man said with a grimace, the meaning of which was lost upon francesco. "he will not return before midnight."
-"i will await him here," said the newcomer, dismounting and leading his steed to a small plot of pasture, where the grass was tall and untrodden. then, spent as he was, he requested food and drink, and as he joined the band of outlaws, listening to their jokes and banter, he thought he could discern among them many a one whom fate had, like himself, buffeted into a life, not of his forming, not of his choice.
-the abbey of farfa
-the great vaults of the abbey of farfa resounded with glee and merriment.
-before a low, massive stone table, resembling a druidical altar, surrounded by giant casks filled with the choicest wines of italy, greece and spain, there sat the duke of spoleto and the abbot hilarius, discoursing largely upon the vanities of the world, and touching incidentally upon questions pertaining to the welfare of church and state. a single cresset shed an unsteady light over the twain, while a lean, cadaverous friar glided noiselessly in and out the transepts, obsequiously replenishing the beverage as it disappeared with astounding swiftness in the feasters' capacious stomachs. and each time he replenished the vessels, he refilled his own with grim impartiality, watching the abbot and his guest from a low settle in a dark recess.
-the vault was of singular construction and considerable extent. the roof was of solid stone masonry and rose in a wide semicircular arch to the height of about twelve feet, measured from the centre of the ceiling to the ground floor.
-the transepts were divided by obtusely pointed arches, resting on slender granite pillars, and the intervening space was filled up with drinking vessels of every conceivable shape and size.
-the abbot of farfa was a discriminating drinker, boasting of an ancestral thirst of uncommonly high degree, the legacy of a teutonic ancestor who had served the church with much credit in his time.
-they had been carousing since sunset.
-the spectral custodian had refilled the tankards with amber liquid. thereof the abbot sipped understandingly.
-"lacrymae christi," he turned to the duke. "vestrae salubritati bibo!"
-the duke raised his goblet.
-"i would chant twenty psalms for that beverage," he mused after a while.
-the abbot suggested "attendite populi!"--"it is one of the longest," he said, with meaning.
-"don't trifle with a thirsty belly," growled the duke. "in these troublous times it behooves men to be circumspect!"
-"probatum est," said the abbot. "it is a noble vocation! jubilate deo!"
-and he raised his goblet.
-the duke of spoleto laid a heavy hand upon his arm.
-"it is a vigil of the church!"
-the abbot gave himself absolution on account of the great company.
-"there's no fast on the drink!" he said with meaning. "nor is there better wine between here and salamanca!"
-the duke regarded his host out of half-shut watery eyes.
-"my own choice is chianti!"
-"a difference of five years in purgatory!"
-thereupon the duke blew the froth of his wine in the abbot's face.
-"purgatory!--a mere figure of speech!"
-the abbot emptied his tankard.
-"the figures of speech are the pillars of the church!"
-he beckoned to the custodian.
-"poculum alterum imple!"
-the lean friar came and disappeared noiselessly.
-they drank for a time in heavy silence. after a time the abbot sneezed, which caused beelzebub, the abbot's black he-goat, who had been browsing outside, to peer through the crescent-shaped aperture in the casement and regard him quizzically.
-the duke, who chanced to look up at that precise moment, saw the red inflamed eyes of the abbot's tutelar genius, and, mistaking the goat for another presence, turned to his host.
-"do you not fear," he whispered, "lest satan may pay you a visit during some of your uncanonical pastimes?"
-"uncanonical!" roared the abbot. "i scorn the charge! i scorn it with my heels! two masses daily,--morning and evening--primes,--nones,--vespers,--aves,--credos,--paters--"
-"excepting on moonlight nights," the duke blinked.
-"exceptis excipiendis," replied the abbot.
-"sheer heresy!" roared the duke. "the devil is apt to keep an eye on such exceptions. does he not go about like a roaring lion?"
-"let him roar!" shouted the abbot, bringing his fist down upon the table, and looking about in canonical ire, when the door opened noiselessly and in its dark frame stood francesco.
-he had waited at the camp for the return of the duke until his misery and restlessness had mastered every other sensation. sleep, he felt, would not come to his eyes, and he craved for action. he should have liked nothing better than to mount his steed on the spot, ride single-handed into anjou's camp and redeem his honor in the eyes of those who regarded him a bought instrument of the church. the memory of ilaria wailed through the dark chambers of his heart. he felt at this moment, more than ever, what she had been to him, and to himself he appeared as a derelict, tossed on a vast and shoreless sea.
-for a moment he gazed as one spellbound at the drinkers, then he strode up to the duke and shook him soundly.
-"to the rescue, my lord duke!" he shouted, in the excess of his frenzy, till the vaults re-echoed his cry from their farthest recesses. "conradino has been betrayed by the frangipani!"
-at the sound of the name he hated above all on earth, the duke's nebulous haze fell from him like a mantle.
-with a great oath he arose.
-"where is the king?"
-"they have taken him to rome,--or naples,--or to some fortress near the coast," francesco replied.
-"into whose hands was he delivered?"
-"anjou's admiral,--robert of lavenna!"
-the duke paused a moment, as if endeavoring to bring order into the chaos of his thoughts. he scanned francesco from head to toe, as if there was something about the latter's personality which he could not reconcile with his previous acquaintance.
-at last francesco's worldly habit flashed upon him.
-"what of the cross?" he flashed abruptly.
-"there is blood upon it!" retorted francesco.
-"all is blood in these days," the duke said musingly. "are you with us?"--
-"i have broken the rosary!"--
-the duke extended his broad hand, in which francesco's almost disappeared as he closed upon it.
-there was a great wrath in his eyes.
-"we ride at sun-rise!"
-the dawn was streaking the east with faint gold, and transient sunshafts touched the woods, when francesco stood before the doorway of his lodge of pine boughs. the men of the duke of spoleto were gathering in on every side, some girding their swords, others tightening their shield-straps, as they came.
-the duke ordered a single horn to sound the rally.
-the glade was full of stir and action. companies were forming up, shoulder to shoulder; spears danced and swayed; horses steamed in the brisk morning air.
-at last the tents sank down, and, as the sun cleared the trees, the armed array rolled out from the woods into a stretch of open land, that sloped towards the bold curves of a river.
-on that morning francesco felt almost happy, as his fingers gripped his sword and he cantered along by the side of the duke. the great heart of the world seemed to beat with his.
-"the day of reckoning has come at last!" he said to the leader of the free lances.
-the duke's features were hard as steel. yet he read the other's humor and joined him with the zest of the hour.
-"you smile once more!" said the grim lord of the woods, turning to the slender form in the saddle.
-"i shall smile in the hour when the frangipani lies at my feet," francesco replied with heaving chest. "it is good to be strong!"
-the duke's horsemen were scouring ahead, keeping cover, scanning the horizon for the provencals. by noon they had left the open land, plunged up hills covered thick with woods. the duke's squadrons sifted through, and he halted them in the woods under the brow of the hill.
-below lay a broad valley running north and south, chequered with pine-thickets and patches of brushwood. on a hill in the centre stood a ruined tower. towards the south a broad loop of the river closed the valley, while all around on the misty hills shimmered the giants of the forest, mysterious and silent. the duke's outriders had fallen back and taken cover in the thickets. down the valley could be seen a line of spears, glittering snake-like towards the tower on the hill. companies of horse were crossing the river, pushing up the slopes, mass on mass. in the midst of the flickering shields and spears blew a great banner with the fleur-de-lis.
-it was a contingent of charles of anjou, which had been on the march since dawn. they had thrown their advance guard across the river and were straggling up the green slopes, while the main host crossed the ford.
-the sound of a clarion re-echoed from crag to crag: and down towards the river played the whirlwind, with dust and clangor and the shriek of steel. spears went down like trampled corn. the battle streamed down the bloody slope, for nothing could stand that furious charge.
-the river shut in the broken host, for the ford was narrow, not easy of passage. from the north came the thundering ranks of horse, and on the south the waters were calm and clear. the provencals, streaming like smoke blown from a fire by a boisterous wind, were hurled in rout upon the water. they were hurled over the banks, slain in the shallows, drowned in struggling to cross at the ford. some few hundred reached the southern bank, and scattered fast for the sanctuary of the woods.
-in less than half an hour from the first charge the duke's men had won the day. they gave no quarter; slew all who stood.
-the duke rode back up the hill, francesco by his side, amid the cheers of his men.
-southwest they rode towards the sea, their hundred lances aslant under the autumnal sky. they were as men challenging a kingdom with their swords, and they tossed their shields in the face of fate. the audacity of the venture set the hot blood spinning in their hearts. to free conradino from anjou's clutches; to hurl damnation in the mouth of the provencals.
-as for francesco, he was as a hound in leash. his sword thirsted in its scabbard; he had tasted blood, and was hot for the conflict.
-on the fourth day they came upon the ruins of ninfa, a town set upon a hill in a wooded valley. vultures flapped heavenward as they rode into the gate; lean, red-eyed curs snarled and slinked about the streets. francesco smote one brute through with his spear, as it was feeding in the gutter on the carcass of a child. in the market square the provencals had made such another massacre as they had perpetrated in alba. the horrible obscenity of the scene struck the duke's men dumb as the dead. the towns-folk had been stripped, bound face to face, left slain in many a hideous and ribald pose. the vultures' beaks had emulated the sword. the stench from the place was as the breath of a charnel house, and the duke and his men turned back with grim faces from the brutal silence of that ghastly town.
-near one of the gates a wild, tattered figure darted out from a half-wrecked house, stood blinking at them in the sun, then sped away, screaming and whimpering at the sight of the duke, as though possessed with a demon. it was a woman, still retaining the traces of her former great beauty, gone mad, yet the only live thing they found in the town.
-the duke had reined in his steed at the sight, gone white to the roots of his hair. then he covered his face with his hands, and francesco heard him utter a heart-rending moan.
-when his hands fell, after a lapse of time, he seemed to have aged years in this brief space.
-"forward, my men," he shouted with iron mouth. "the frangipani shall not complain of our swords!"
-they passed out of ninfa through the opposite gate. at dark they reached the moors, and soon the entire host swept silently into the ebony gloom of the great forests, which seemed sealed up against the moon and stars.
-beneath the dark cornices of a thicket of wind-stunted pines stood a small company of men, looking out into the hastening night. the half-light of evening lay over the scene, rolling wood and valley into a misty mass, while the horizon stood curbed by a belt of heavy thunder-clouds. in the western vault, a vast rent in the wall of gray shot out a blaze of translucent gold that slanted like a spear shaft to a sullen sea.
-the walls of astura shone white and ghostly athwart the plains. sea-gulls came screaming to the cliffs. presently out of the blue bosom of an unearthly twilight a vague wind arose. gusts came, clamored, and died into nothingness. the world seemed to shudder. a red sword flashed sudden out of the skies and smote the hills. thunder followed, growling over the world. the lurid crater of vesuvius poured gold upon the sea, whose hoarse underchant mingled with the fitful wind.
-a storm came creeping black out of the west. the sea grew dark. the forests began to weave the twilight into their columned halls. a sudden gust came clamoring through the woods. the myriad boughs tossed and jerked against the sky, while a mysterious gloom of trees rolled back against the oncoming night.
-the men upon the hill strained their eyes towards the sea, where the white patch of a sail showed vaguely through the gathering gloom. their black armor stood out ghostly against the ascetic trunks of the trees. grim silence prevailed, and so immobile was their attitude, that they might have been taken for stone images of a dead, gone age.
-the wind cried restlessly amid the trees, gusty at intervals, but tuning its mood to a desolate and constant moan. the woods seemed full of a vague woe and of troubled breathings. the trees seemed to sway to one another, to fling strange words with the tossing of hair and outstretched hands. the furze in the valley, swept and harrowed, undulated like a green lagoon.
-between the hills and the cliff lay the marshes, threaded by a meagre stream that quavered through the green. a poison mist hung over them despite the wind. the mournful clangor of a bell came up from the valley, with a vague sound as of voices chanting.
-after a time the bell ceased pulsing. in its stead sounded a faint eerie whimper, an occasional shrill cry that startled the moorlands, leaped out of silence like a bubble from a pool where death has been.
-the men were shaken from their strained vigilance as by a wind. the utter gray of the hour seemed to stifle them, then a sound stumbled out of the silence and set them listening. it dwindled and grew again, came nearer: it was the smite of hoofs in the wood-ways. the rider dismounted, tethered his foam-flecked steed to a tree and stumbled up to where the duke of spoleto and francesco stood, their gaze riveted upon the ghostly masonry of astura.
-panting and exhausted he faced the twain.
-"they have all died on the scaffold," he said with a hoarse, rasping voice. "the swabian dynasty is no more."
-with a cry and a sob that shook his whole being, francesco covered his face with his hands.
-for a moment the duke stared blankly at the speaker.
-"and the frangipani?" he asked, his features ashen-gray and drawn.
-the messenger pointed to astura.
-"there is feasting and high glee: the pontiff's bribe was large."--
-francesco trembled in every limb.
-"such a day was never seen in naples," the messenger concluded with a shudder. "to a man they died under the axe--the soil was dyed crimson with their blood."
-there was a silence.
-the messenger pointed to the sea, which had melted into the indefinite background of the night.
-dim and distant, like a pearl over the purple deeps, one sail after another struck out of the vague west. they came heading for the land, the black hulls rising and falling against the tumultuous blackness of the clouds.
-a red gleam started suddenly from the waves. a quick flame leaped up like a red finger above the cliff.
-the duke ignited a pine-wood torch. the blue resinous light spluttered in the wind.
-three times he circled it above his head, then he flung it into the sea.
-"bernardo sarriano and the pisan galleys," he turned to francesco. "they are heading for the cape of circé."
-a shout of command rang through the woods.
-as with phantom cohorts the forest-aisles teemed with moving shadows.
-a ride of some five miles lay between them and the cape of circé. much of that region was wild forest land and moor; bleak rocky wastes let into woods and gloom. great oaks, gnarled, vast, terrible, held giant sway amid the huddled masses of the underbrush. here the wild boar lurked and the wolf hunted. but for the most it was dark and calamitous, a ghostly wilderness forsaken by man.
-as they rode along they struck the occasional trail of the crusaders of the church. a burnt hamlet, a smoking farmhouse with a dun mist hanging over it like a shroud, and once they stumbled upon the body of a dead girl. they halted for a brief space to give her burial. the duke's men dug a shallow grave under an oak and they left her there and went on their way with greater caution.
-"there is one man on earth to whom i owe a debt," the duke, leading the van beside francesco, turned to the latter, "a debt that shall be paid this night, principal and interest."
-francesco looked up into the duke's face, and by the glare of the now more frequent lightnings he saw that it was drawn and gray.
-"there lies his lair," the duke pointed to the white masonry of astura, as it loomed out of the night, menacing and spectral, as a thunderbolt hissed into the sea, and again lapsed into gloom. "betrayer of god and man,--his hour is at hand!"--
-the duke's beard fairly bristled as he uttered these words, and he gripped the hilt of his sword as if he anticipated a conflict with some wild beast of the forest, some mythical monster born of night and crime.
-francesco made no reply. he was bowed down beneath the gloom of the hour, oppressed with unutterable forebodings. he too had an account to settle: yet, whichever way the tongue inclined in the scales, life stretched out from him as a sea at night. he dared not think of ilaria, far away in the convent of san nicandro by the sea; yet her memory had haunted him all day, knocked at the gates of his consciousness, dominated the hours. compared with the ever present sense of her loss, all in life seemed utterly trifling, and he longed for annihilation only.
-yet a kindred note which he sounded in the duke's soul found him in a more receptive mood for the latter's confidences; once life had seemed good to him; he had thought men heroes, the world a faerie place. thoughts had changed with time, and that for which he once hungered he now despised. cursed with perversities, baffled and mocked, the eternal trivialities of life made the soul sink within him. not all are mild earth, to be smitten and make no moan. there are sea spirits that lash and foam, fire spirits that leap and burn,--was he to be cursed because he was born with a soul of fire?
-they were now in the midst of the great wilderness. on all sides myriads of trees, interminably pillared; through their tops the wind sighed and pined like the soft breath of a sleeping world. away on every hand stretched oblivious vistas, black under multitudinous green spires.
-the interminable trees seemed to vex the duke's spirit, as their trunks crowded the winding track and seemed to shut in the twain as with a never ending barrier. and behind them, with the muffled tread of a phantom army, came the duke's armed array striding through the night.
-"have you too suffered a wrong at the hands of the frangipani?" francesco at last broke the silence, turning to his companion.
-the latter jerked the bridle of his charger so viciously that the terrified animal reared on its haunches and neighed in protest.
-"man, know you whereof you speak?" the duke snarled, as he came closer to francesco. "he has made the one woman the duke of spoleto ever loved--a wanton!"--
-they pushed uphill through the solemn shadows of the forest. a sound like the raging of a wind through a wood came down to them faintly from afar. it was a sullen sound, deep and mysterious as the hoarse babel of the sea, smitten through with the shrill scream of trumpets, like the cry of gulls above a storm. yet in the aisles of the pine forest it was still as death.
-then, like a spark struck from flint and steel falling upon tinder, a red glare blazed out against the background of the night. a horn blared across the moorlands; the castle bell began to ring, jerkily, wildly, a bell in terror. yellow gleams streaked the fretted waters, and again the trumpet challenged the dark walls, like the cry of a sea-bird driven by the storm.
-the duke and francesco looked meaningly at each other. the sound needed no words to christen it; they knew that the pisans had attacked. they heard the roar and the cries from the rampart, the cataractine thunder of a distant battle.
-pushing on more swiftly as the woods thinned, the din grew more definite, more human, more sinister in detail. it stirred the blood, challenged the courage, racked conjecture with the infinite chaos it portended. victory and despair were trammelled up together in its sullen roar; life and death seemed to swell it with the wind sound of their wings. it was stupendous, chaotic, a tempest cry of steel and passions inflamed.
-the duke's face kindled to the sound as he shouted to his men to gallop on. yet another furlong, and the spectral trunks dwindled, the sombre boughs seemed to mingle with the clouds, while gray, indefinite before them, engulfing the lightnings of heaven, loomed the great swell of the tyrrhene, dark and restless under the thunderclouds, that came nearer and nearer. ghostly the plains of torre del greco stretched towards the promontory of circé, and, solitary and impregnable, the castello of astura rose upon its chalk-cliffs, white in the lightnings which hissed around its summit.
-the duke's men had come up, forming a wide semicircle around the leaders. at their feet opened a deep ravine, leading into the plain; half a furlong beyond, although it seemed less than a lance's throw across, rose the castle of the frangipani, washed by the waves of the tyrrhene. the pisans had attacked the southern acclivity, and the defenders, roused from their feast of blood, had poured all their defences towards the point of attack, leaving the northern slope to look to itself.
-as they rode down the ravine there came from the bottom of the valley the sharp yelp of a dog. it was instantly answered by a similar bark from the very top of the castello.
-"no two dogs ever had the same voice," the duke turned to francesco. "they must be hell-hounds, whom the fiend has trained to one tune. but what is that yonder? a goat picking its way?"
-"a goat walking on its hind legs!"
-"are there horns on its head?"
-"then it is not the evil one! forward, my men!"
-the pause that preceded the breaking of the storm had been unnaturally long. save for the gleam of the lightnings, the waters had grown to an inky blackness. there came one long moment, when the atmosphere sank under the weight of a sudden heat. then the ever increasing thunder rushed upon the silence with a mighty roar and out of the west, driven by the hurricane, came a long line of white waves, that rose as they advanced, till the very tritons beat their heads and the nymphs scurried down to greener depths.
-and now a sudden streak of fire hissed from the clouds, followed by a crash as if all the bolts of heaven had been let off at once. from the ramparts of astura came cries of alarm, the din of battle, the blaring of horns, the shouting of commands.
-the duke and francesco had dismounted and were gazing up towards the storm-swept ramparts. shrieks and curses rolled down upon them like the tumbling of a cascade.
-then they began to scale the ledge, the path dwindling to a goat's highway.
-above them rose a sheer wall on which there appeared not clinging space for a lizard. the abyss below was ready to welcome them to perdition if their feet slipped.
-after a brief respite they continued, the duke's men scrambling up behind them, looking like so many ants on the white chalk-cliffs. the air was hot to suffocation; the storm roared, the thunder bellowed in deafening echoes through the skies, and the heavens seemed one blazing cataract of fire, reflected in the throbbing mirror of the sea.
-"i feared lest they might clean out the nest before our arrival," he said, then, pointing to a distant glare of torches, he gave the word. they caught the unwary defenders in the rear. no quarter was to be given; the robber brood of astura was to be exterminated.
-"conradino!" was the password, and above the taunts and cries of frangipani's hirelings it filled the night with its clamor, rode on the wings of the storm, like the war-cry of a thousand demons.
-notwithstanding the fact that a few of the most daring among the pisan admiral's men had scaled the ramparts and, leaping into the frangipani's stronghold, had tried to pave a way for those lagging behind, their companions-in-arms were in dire straits. for those of astura poured boiling pitch upon the heads of the attacking party, hurled rocks of huge dimensions down upon them which crushed into a mangled mass scores of men, unable to retain the vantage they had gained under the avalanche of arrows, rocks and fire.
-in a moment's time the situation was changed.
-noiselessly as leopards, the duke's men fell upon their rear, raising their war-cry as they leaped from the shadows. those on the ramparts, forced to grapple with the nearer enemy, abandoned their tasks. the pisans, profiting by the lull, swarmed over the walls. taken between two parties, a deadly hand-to-hand conflict ensued. above the din and the roar of the hurricane, of the clashing of arms, above the cries of the wounded, the death-rattle of the dying, sounded the voice of the duke of spoleto.
-"onward, my men! kill and slay!"
-side by side the duke and francesco leaped into the thickest of the fray, both animated by the same desire to come face to face with the lords of astura, spurning a lesser enemy.
-for a time they seemed doomed to disappointment. had the frangipani been slain?
-the zest of the conflict pointed rather to their directing the defence. else their mercenaries would have left astura to its fate.
-suddenly an unearthly voice startled the combatants.
-"guard, devil, guard!"
-there was the upflashing of a sword, and a hoarse challenge frightened the night.
-giovanni frangipani saw a furious face glaring dead white from under the shadow of a shield.
-he stopped in his onward rush, blinked at the duke as one gone mad.
-"damnation, what have we here?"
-"by the love of god, i have you now!"
-"fool, are you mad?"
-the hoarse voice echoed him, the eyes flashed fire.
-"ten thousand devils! who are you?"
-"your obedient servant,--the duke of spoleto!"
-the frangipani growled like a trapped bear.
-he raised his sword, put forward his shield.
-"on with you, dog!" he roared. "join your wanton under the sod!"
-"ha, say you so?" cried the duke, closing in.
-their swords flashed, yelped, twisted in the air. a down cut hewed the dexter cantrel from the frangipani's shield. his face with a gashed cheek glared at the duke from under his upreared arm. so close were they that blood spattered in the duke's face as the frangipani blew the red stream from his mouth and beard.
-the duke broke away, wheeled and came again. he lashed home, split the frangipani's collar-bone even through the rags of his hauberk. the frangipani yelped like a gored hound. rabid, dazed, he began to make blind rushes that boded ill for him. the swords began to leap and to sing, while blinding flashes of lightning followed each other in quick succession and thunder rolled in deafening echoes through the heavens. cut and counter-cut rang through the night, like the cry of axes, whirled by woodmen's hands.
-suddenly the frangipani parried an upper cut and stabbed at the duke. the sword point missed him a hair's breadth. before he could guard the duke was upon him like a leopard. both men smote together, both swords met with a sound that seemed to shake the rocks. the frangipani's blade snapped at the hilt.
-he stood still for a moment as one dazed, then plucked out his poniard and made a spring. a merciless down cut beat him back. his courage, his assurance seemed to ebb from him on a sudden, as though the blow had broken his soul. he fell on his knees and held up his hands, with a thick, choking cry.
-"mercy! god's mercy!"
-"curse you! had you pity on your victims?"
-thunder crashed overhead; the girdles of the sky were loosed. a torrent of rain beat upon the frangipani's streaming face; he tottered on his knees, but still held his hands to the heavens.
-"they lied," he cried. "give me but life."--
-the duke looked at him and heaved up his sword.
-giovanni frangipani saw the white face above him, gave a great cry and cowered behind his hands. it was all ended in a moment. the rain washed his gilded harness as he lay with his blood soaking into the crevices of the rocks.--
-francesco had witnessed neither the fight nor the ending. impelled by an insensate desire to find raniero, to have a final reckoning for all the baseness and insults he had heaped upon him in the past, for his treachery and cruelty to ilaria, he had made his way to the great hall.
-the door was closed and locked from within.
-francesco dealt it a terrific blow. its shattered framework heaved inward and toppled against the wall.
-in the doorway stood raniero and looked out at his opponent. he did not recognize francesco. his face was sullen; the glitter of his little eyes mimicked the ring gleams of his hauberk. he put out the tip of a tongue and moistened his lips.
-francesco's face was as the face of a man who has but one purpose left in life and, that accomplished, cares not what happens. raising his vizor, he said:
-"i wait for you!"
-raniero broke into a boisterous laugh.
-"the bastard! the monk! go home, francesco, and don your lady's attire! what would you with a sword?"
-francesco's mouth was a hard line. he breathed through hungry nostrils, as he went step by step toward raniero.
-then with a swift shifting of his sword from right to left he smote him on each cheek, then, lowering his vizor, he put up his guard.
-with an oath raniero's sword flashed, feinted, turned with a cunning twist, and swept low for francesco's thigh.
-francesco leaped back, but was slashed by the point a hair's breadth above the knee. it was a mere skin wound, but the pain of it seemed to snap something that had been twisted to a breaking point within him. he gave a great cry and charged down raniero's second blow.
-their shields met and clashed, and raniero staggered. francesco rushed him across the hall as a bull drives a rival about a yard. raniero crashed against the wall, and francesco sprang back to use his sword. the blow hewed the top from raniero's shield and smote him slant-wise across the face.
-raniero gathered himself and struck back, but the blow was caught on francesco's shield. francesco thrust at him, before he could recover, and the point slipped under the edge of raniero's gorget. he twisted free and blundered forward into a fierce exchange of half-arm blows. once he struck francesco upon the mouth with the pommel of his sword, and was smitten in turn by the beak of francesco's shield.
-again francesco rushed raniero to the wall, leaped back and got in his blow. raniero's face was a red blur. he dropped his shield, put both his hands to his sword and swung great blows at francesco, with the huge rage of a desperate and tiring man. francesco led him up and down the hall. raniero's breath came in gasps, and his strength began to wane.
-francesco bided his chance and seized it. he ran in, after raniero had missed him with one of his savage sweeping blows, and rushed him against the wall. then he struck and struck again, without uttering a word, playing so fast upon raniero that he had his man smothered, blundering and dazed. the end came with a blow that cut the crown of raniero's helmet. he threw up his hands with a spasmodic gesture, lurched forward, fell, rolled over on his back and lay still.
-for a moment francesco stood over him, the point of his sword on raniero's throat. he seemed to waver; then all the misery the frangipani had inflicted on ilaria rushed over him as in a blinding cloud.
-his sword went home. a strange cry passed through the hall, then all was still. the torch spluttered once more and went out. francesco was in the darkness beside the dead body of raniero.--
-meanwhile the pisans had succeeded in scaling the walls. the clamor of the fight grew less and less, as one by one the defenders of astura were relentlessly struck down and hurled over the ramparts. the storm had increased in violence, the heavens were cataracts of fire.--
-in the blood-drenched court the duke and the pisan admiral shook hands. everything living had been slain. astura was a castle of the dead.
-"god! what work!" exclaimed the pisan. it was the testimony wrung from him by the stress of sheer hard fighting.
-"one of the viper-brood still lives," the duke turned to his companion, kicking with the tip of his steel boot the lifeless form of giovanni frangipani.
-the pisan turned to a man-at-arms.
-"take twenty men! scour the lair from vault to pinnacle! we must have that other,--dead or alive!"
-the rain had ceased for the time. new thunder-clouds came rolling out of the west. flambeaux flared in the court. black shadows danced along the ghostly walls. the wind moaned about the crenelated turrets; sentinels of the pisans stood everywhere, alert for ambush.
-the duke and his companions approached the door leading into the great hall. it lay in splinters. stygian darkness held sway within.
-suddenly the duke paused, as if turned to stone, at the same time plucking his companion back by the sleeve of his surcoat.
-with a choked, inarticulate outcry the duke snatched bow and arrow from the nearest sentry, and ere the pisan could grasp the meaning of what he saw, or prevent, he set and sped the bolt. a moan died on the stillness. a form collapsed, shuddered and lay still.
-the duke dropped bow and arrow, staring like a madman, then rushed towards the prostrate form.
-bending over it, a moan broke from his lips, as he threw his arms about the lifeless clay of her he had loved in the days of yore, ere the honeyed treachery of the frangipani had sundered and broken their lives. the woman of the red tower had expiated her guilt.
-he saw at once that no human agency might here avail. death had been instantaneous. the arrow had pierced the heart.
-the duke knelt long by her side, and the strong man's frame heaved with convulsive sobs, as he closed the eyes and muttered an ave for her untimely departed soul.
-when he arose, he looked into the pale face of francesco, whose blood-stained sword and garments told a tale his lips would not. he understood without a word. silently he extended his hand to the duke, then, taking off his own mantle, he covered therewith the woman's body.
-it was midnight when the pisans and the duke's men groped their way cautiously down the steep winding path to the shore. the pisans made for their ships and spoleto's men for the dusk of their native woods, carrying on a hurriedly constructed bier the body of the woman of the red tower.
-not many minutes had passed after their perilous descent when a sphere of fire shot from the clouds, followed by a crash as if the earth had been rent in twain, and the western tower of astura was seen toppling into the sea.
-bye and bye sea and land reflected a crimson glow, which steadily increased, fanned by the gale, until it shone far out upon the sea.
-astura was in flames, the funeral pyre of the frangipani.
-as the world grew gray with waking light, francesco came from the woods and heard the noise of the sea in the hush that breathed in the dawn. the storm had passed over the sea and a vast calm hung upon the lips of the day. in the east a green streak shone above the hills. the sky was still aglitter with sparse stars. an immensity of gloom brooded over the sea.
-gaunt, wounded, triumphant, francesco rode up beneath the banners of the dawn, eager yet fearful, inspired and strong of purpose. wood and hill slept in a haze of mist. the birds were only beginning in the thickets, like the souls of children yet unborn, calling to eternity. beyond in the cliffs, san nicandro, wrapped round with night, stood silent and sombre athwart the west.
-francesco climbed from the valley as the day came with splendor, a glow of molten gold streaming from the east. wood and hillside glimmered in a smoking mist, dew-bespangled, wonderful. as the sun rose, the sea stretched sudden into the arch of the west, a great expanse of liquid gold. a mysterious lustre hovered over the cliffs, waves of light bent like saffron mist upon san nicandro.
-the dawn-light found an echo in francesco's face. he came that morning the ransomer, the champion, defeated in life and hope and happiness, yet with head erect, as if defying fate. his manhood smote him like the deep-throated cry of a great bell, majestic and solemn. the towers on the cliff were haloed with magic hues. life, glory, joy, lay locked in the gray stone walls. his heart sang in him; his eyes were afire.
-as he walked his horse with a hollow thunder of hoof over the narrow bridge, he took his horn and blew a blast thereon. there was a sense of desolation, a lifelessness about the place that smote his senses with a strange fear. the walls stared void against the sky. there was no stir, no sound within, no watchful faces at portal or wicket. only the gulls circled from the cliffs and the sea made its moan along the strand.
-francesco sat in the saddle and looked from wall to belfry, from tower to gate. there was something tragic about the place, the silence of a sacked town, the ghostliness of a ship sailing the seas with a dead crew upon her decks. francesco's glance rested on the open postern, an empty gash in the great gate. his face darkened and his eyes lost their sanguine glow. there was something betwixt death and worse than death in all this calm.
-he dismounted and left his steed on the bridge. the postern beckoned to him. he went in like a man nerved for peril, with sword drawn and shield in readiness. again he blew his horn. no living being answered, no voice broke the silence.
-the refectory was open, the door standing half ajar. francesco thrust it full open with the point of his sword and looked in. a gray light filtered through the narrow windows. the nuns lay huddled on benches and on the floor. some lay fallen across the settles, others sat with their heads fallen forward upon the table; a few had crawled towards the door and had died in the attempt to escape. the shadow of death was over the whole.
-francesco's face was as gray as the faces of the dead. there was something here, a horror, a mystery, that hurled back the warm courage of the heart.
-with frantic despair he rushed from one body to the other, turning the dead faces to the light, fearing every one must be that of his own ilaria. but ilaria was not among them; the mystery grew deeper, grew more unfathomable. for a moment, francesco stood among the dead nuns as if every nerve in his body had been suddenly paralyzed, when his eyes fell upon a crystal chalice, half overturned on the floor. it contained the remnants of a clear fluid. he picked it up and held it to his nostrils. it fell from his nerveless fingers upon the stone and broke into a thousand fragments, a thin stream creeping over the granite towards the fallen dead. it was a preparation of hemlock and bitter almonds. he stared aghast, afraid to move, afraid to call. the nuns had poisoned themselves.
-like a madman he rushed out into the adjoining corridor, hither and thither, in the frantic endeavor to find a trace of ilaria. yet not a trace of her did he find. but what he did discover solved the mystery of the grewsome feast of death which he had just witnessed. in a corner where he had dropped it, there lay a silken banderol belonging to a man-at-arms of anjou's provencals. they had been here, and the nuns, to escape the violation of their bodies, had died, thus cheating the fiends out of the gratification of their lusts.
-the terrible discovery unnerved francesco so completely that for a time he stood as if turned to stone, looking about him like a traveller who has stumbled blindly into a charnel house. urged by manifold forebodings, he then rushed from room to room, from cell to cell. the same silence met him everywhere. of ilaria he found not a trace. had the fiends of anjou carried her away, or had she, in endeavoring to escape, found her death outside of the walls of san nicandro?
-he dared not think out the thought.
-the shadows of the place, the staring faces, the stiff hands clawing at things inanimate, were like the phantasms of the night. francesco took the sea-air into his nostrils and looked up into the blue radiance of the sky. all about him the garden glistened in the dawn; the cypresses shimmered with dew. the late roses made very death more apparent to his soul.
-as he stood in deep thought, half dreading what he but half knew, a voice called to him, breaking suddenly the ponderous silence of the place. guided by its sound, francesco unlatched the door and found himself face to face with the duke of spoleto.
-for a moment they faced each other in silence.
-then he gave a great cry.
-"ever, ever night!" he said, stretching out his hands despairingly as to an eternal void.
-the duke's eyes seemed to look leagues away over moor and valley and hill, where the blackened ruins of astura rose beneath a dun smoke against the calm of the morning sky.
-a strange tenderness played upon his lips, as if with the extinction of the frangipani brood peace had entered his soul.
-"a man is a mystery to himself," he said.
-"but to god?"
-"i know no god, save the god, my own soul! let me live and die,--nothing more! why curse one's life with a 'to be?'"
-francesco sighed heavily.
-the duke's eyes had caught life on the distant hillside, life surging from the valleys, life and the glory of it. harness, helm and shield shone in the sun. gold, azure, silver, scarlet were creeping from the bronzed green of the wilds. silent and solemn the host rolled slowly into the full splendor of the day.
-the duke's face had kindled.
-"grapple the days to come!" he said. "let scripture and ethics rot! my men are at your command! let them ride by stream and forest, moor and mere! let them ride in quest of your lost one, ride like the wind!"
-francesco looked at the duke through a mist of tears.
-"you know?" he faltered.
-"for this i came!" replied the duke, extending his hand. "you will find her whom your heart seeks. like a golden dawn shall she rise out of the past. blow your horn! let us not tarry!"
-the anchoress of narni
-six days had passed. once more the sun had tossed night from the sky and kindled hope in the hymning east. the bleak wilderness barriered by sea and crag had mellowed into the golden silence of the autumnal woods. the very trees seemed tongued with prophetic flame. the world leaped radiant out of the dawn.
-through the reddened woods rode francesco, the duke of spoleto silent by his side. gloom still reigned on the pale, haggard face and there was no lustre in the eyes that challenged ever the lurking shade of death. six nights and six days had the quest been baffled. near and far armor glimmered in the reddened sanctuaries of the woods. not a trumpet brayed, though a host had scattered in search of a woman's face.
-on the seventh day, the trees drew back before francesco where the shimmering waters of the nera streaked the meads. peace dwelled there and calm eternal, as of the spirit that heals the throes of men. rare and golden lay the dawn-light on the valleys. the songs of the birds came glad and multitudinous as in the burgeoning dawn of a glorious day.
-francesco had halted under a great oak. his head was bare in the sun-steeped shadows, his face was the face of one weary with long watching under the voiceless stars. great dread possessed him. he dared not question his own soul.
-a horn sounded in the woods, wild, clamorous and exultant. it was as the voice of a prophet, clearing the despair of a godless world. even the trees stood listening. far below, in the green shadows of the valley, a horseman spurred his steed.
-francesco's eyes were upon him. yet he dared not hope, gripped by a great fear.
-"i am even as a child," he said.
-the duke's lips quivered.
-"the dawn breaks,--the night is past. tidings come to us. let us ride out!"
-francesco seemed lost in thought. he bowed his head and looked long into the valley.
-"am i he who slew raniero frangipani?"
-"courage!" said the duke.
-"my blood is as water, my heart as wax. death and destiny are over my head!"
-"speak not to me of destiny and look not to the skies! i have closed my account with heaven! in himself is man's power! you have broken the crucifix! now trust your own soul. so long as you did serve a superstition had you lost your true heaven!"
-"you have played the god, and the father in heaven must love you for your strength! god does not love a coward! he will let you rule your destiny--not destiny your soul!"
-"but true! were i god, should i love the monk puling prayers in a den? nay--that man should i choose who dared to follow the dictates of his own soul and strangle fate with the grip of truth. great deeds are better than mumbled prayers!"
-the horseman in the valley had swept at a gallop through a sea of sun-bronzed fern. his eyes were full of a restless glitter, as the eyes of a man, whose heart is troubled. he sprang from the saddle, and, leading his horse by the bridle, bent low before the twain.
-"tidings, my lord!"
-the horseman looked for a moment in francesco's face but, hardened as he was, he dared not abide the trial. there was such a stare of desperate calm in the dark eyes, that his courage failed and quailed from the truth. he hung his head and stood mute.
-"for god's sake, speak out!"
-a great silence fell within the hearts of the three, an ecstasy of silence, such as comes after the wail of a storm. the duke's lips were compressed, as if he feared to give expression to his feelings. francesco's face was as the face of one who thrusts back hope out of his soul. he sat rigid on his horse, a stone image fronting fate, grim-eyed and steadfast. all his life had been one long sacrifice, one long denial,--had it all been in vain?
-there were tears in the eyes of the man-at-arms.
-the horseman leaned against his horse, his arm hooked over its neck.
-he pointed to the valley.
-"yonder lies narni. beyond the campanile of st. juvenal is a sanctuary. you can see it yonder by the ford. two holy women dwell therein. to them, my lord, i commend you!"
-"you know more!"
-the voice that spoke was terrible.
-"spare me, my lord! the words are for women's lips, not for mine!"
-"so be it!"
-the three rode in silence, francesco and the duke together, looking mutely into each other's face. francesco's head was bowed to his breast. the reins lay loose on his horse's neck.
-a gray cell of roughly hewn stone showed amidst the green boughs beyond the water. at its door stood a woman in a black mantle. a cross hung from her neck and a white kerchief bound her hair. she stood motionless, half in the shadow, watching the horsemen as they rode down to the rippling fords.
-autumn had touched the sanctuary garden, and francesco's eyes beheld ruin as he climbed the slope. the woman had come from the cell, and now stood at the wicket-gate with her hands folded as if in prayer.
-the horseman took francesco's bridle. the latter went on foot alone to speak with the anchoress.
-"my lord," she said, kneeling at his feet, "god save and comfort you!"--
-the man's brow was twisted into furrows. his right hand clasped his left wrist. he looked over the woman's head into the woods, and breathed fast through clenched teeth.
-"speak!" he said.
-"my lord, the woman lives!"
-"i can bear the truth!"
-the anchoress made the sign of the cross.
-"she came to us here in the valley, my lord, tall and white as a lily, her hair loose upon her neck. her feet were bare and bleeding, her soles rent with thorns. and as she came, she sang wild snatches of a song, such as tells of love, and of proserpina, goddess of shades. we took her, my lord, gave her meat and drink, bathed her torn feet, and gave her raiment. she abode with us, ever gentle and lovely, yet speaking like one who had suffered, even to the death. and yet,--even as we slept, she stole away from us last night, and now is gone!"--
-the woman had never so much as raised her eyes to the man's face. her hands held her crucifix, and she was ashen pale, even as new-hewn stone.
-"and is this all?"
-the man's voice trembled in his throat. his face was terrible to behold in the sun.
-"not all, my lord!"
-the anchoress had buried her face in her black mantle. her voice was husky with tears.
-"my lord, you seek one bereft of reason!"
-a great cry came from francesco's lips.
-"my god! this, then, is the end!"
-an undefined melancholy overshadowed the world. autumn breathed in the wind. the year, red-bosomed, was rushing to its doom.
-on the summit of a wood-crowned hill, rising like a pyramid above moor and forest, stood two men silent under the shadows of an oak. in the distance glimmered the sea, and by a rock upon the hillside, armed men, a knot of spears, shone like spirit sentinels athwart the west. mists were creeping up the valleys, as the sun went down into the sea. a few sparse stars gleamed out like souls still tortured by the mysteries of life. an inevitable pessimism seemed to challenge the universe, taking for its parable the weird afterglow of the west.
-deep in the woods a voice sang wild and solitary in the gathering gloom. like the cry of a ghost, it seemed to set the silence quivering, the leaves quaking with windless awe. the men who looked towards the sea heard it, a song that echoed in the heart like woe.
-the duke pointed into the darkening wood.
-"trust your own heart: self is the man! through a mistaken sense of duty have you been brought nigh unto death and despair! trust not in sophistry: the laws of men are carven upon stone, the laws of heaven upon the heart! be strong! from henceforth, scorn mere words! trample tradition in the dust! trust yourself, and the god in your heart!"
-the distant voice had sunk into silence. francesco listened for it with hands aloft.
-"i must go," he said.
-"i must be near her through the night!"
-"the moon stands full upon the hills! i will await you here!"
-dim were the woods that autumn evening, dim and deep with an ecstasy of gloom. stars flickered in the heavens; the moon came and enveloped the trees with silver flame. a primeval calm lay heavy upon the bosom of the night. the spectral branches of the trees pointed rigid and motionless towards the sky.
-francesco had left the duke gazing out upon the shimmering sea. the voice called to him from the woods with plaintive peals of song. the man followed it, holding to a grass-grown track that curled at random into the gloom. moonlight and shadow lay alternate upon his armor. hope and despair battled in his face. his soul leaped voiceless and inarticulate into the darkened shrine of prayer.
-the voice came to him clearer in the forest calm. the gulf had narrowed, the words flew as over the waters of death. they were pure, yet meaningless, passionate, yet void; words barbed with an utter pathos, that silenced desire.
-a hollow glade opened suddenly in the woods, a white gulf in a forest gloom. water shone there, a mere rush-ringed and full of mysterious shadows, girded by the bronzed foliage of a thousand oaks. moss grew thick about the roots, dead leaves covered the grass.
-and ever and anon a dead leaf dropped silently to earth, like a hope that has died on the tree of life.
-francesco knelt in a patch of bracken and looked out over the glades. a figure went to and fro by the water's brim, a figure pale in the moonlight, as the form of the restless dead. the man kneeling in the bracken pressed his hands over his breast; his face seemed to start out of the gloom as the face of one who struggles in the sea, submerged, yet desperate.
-francesco saw the woman halt beside the mere. he saw her bend, take water in her palms and dash it in her face. standing in the moonlight, she smoothed her hair between her fingers, her hands shining white as ivory against the dark bosom of her dress. she seemed to murmur to herself the while, words wistful and full of woe. once she thrust her hands to the sky and cried: "francesco! francesco!" the man kneeling in the shadows quivered like a wind-shaken reed.
-the moon climbed higher and the woman by the mere spread her cloak upon a patch of heather and laid herself thereon. not a sound broke the silence; the woods were mute, the air lifeless as the steely water. an hour passed. the figure on the heather lay still as an effigy on a tomb. the man in the bracken cast one look at the stars, then crossed himself and crept out into the moonlight.
-holding the scabbard of his sword, he skirted the mere with shimmering armor, went down upon his knees and crawled slowly over the grass. hours seemed to elapse before the black patch of heather spread crisp and dry beneath his hands. breathing through dilated nostrils, he trembled like one who creeps to stab a sleeping friend. the moonlight seemed to shower sparks upon him, as with supernatural glory. tense anguish seemed to fill the night with sound.
-francesco knelt with upturned face, his eyes shut to the sky. he seemed like one faint with pain; his lips moved as in prayer. a hundred inarticulate pleadings surged heavenward from his heart.
-again he bent over her and watched the pure girlish face as she slept. a strange calm fell for a time upon him; his eyes never wavered from the white arm and the glimmering hair. vast awe held him in thrall. he was as one who broods tearless and amazed over the dead, calm face of one beloved above all on earth.
-hours passed and francesco found no sustenance, save in prayer. the unuttered yearnings of a world seemed molten in his soul. the moon waned. the stars grew dim. strange sounds stirred in the forest-deeps; the mysterious breathing of a thousand trees. life ebbed and flowed with the sigh of a moon-stupored sea. visions blazed in the night-sky and faded away.
-hours passed. neither sleeper nor watcher stirred. the night grew faint. the water flickered in the mere. the very stars seemed to gaze upon the destinies of two wearied souls.
-far and faint came the quaver of a bird's note. gray and mysterious stood the forest spires. light! light at last! spears of amber darting in the east. a shudder seemed to shake the universe. the great vault kindled. the sky grew luminous with gold.
-it was the dawn.
-even as the light increased, francesco knelt and looked down upon her. hope and life, glorious, sudden, seemed to fall out of the east, a radiant faith begotten of spirit-power. banners of gold were streaming in the sky. the gloom fled. a vast expectancy hung solemn, breathless, upon the red lips of the day.
-a sigh, and the long, silken lashes quivered. the lips moved, the eyes opened.
-sudden silence followed, a vast hush as of undreamed hope. the woman's eyes were silently searching the man's face. he bent and cowered over her as one who weeps. his hands touched her body, yet she did not stir.
-it was a hoarse, passionate outcry that broke the golden stupor of the dawn. a sudden light leaped lustrous into the woman's eyes, her face shone radiant in its etherealized beauty.
-"ah! at last!"
-a great shudder passed through her body. her eyes grew big with fear.
-"speak to me!"
-a great silence held for a moment. the woman's head sank upon the man's shoulder. madness had passed. her eyes were fixed upon his with a wonderful earnestness, a splendid calm.
-"is this a dream?"
-"it is the truth!"
-through the forest aisles rode the duke of spoleto.
-he saw and paused.
-"i return beyond the alps to join the forces of rudolf of hapsburg. my men are at your disposal. i shall wait for you on yonder hillock."
-he wheeled about and was gone.
-again silence held for a pace.
-presently ilaria gave a great sigh and looked strangely at the sun.
-"i have dreamed a dream," she crooned, "and all was dark and fearful. death seemed near; lurid phantoms,--things from hell! i knew not what i did, nor where i wandered, nor what strange stupor held my soul. all my being cried out to you--yet all was dark about me, horrible midnight, peopled with foul forms! oh, that night,--that night--"
-shivering, she covered her eyes as if trying to banish the memory.
-"it has passed," she breathed after a pause, during which francesco had taken her in his arms, kissing her eyes, her lips, and the sylph-like, flower-soft face. "i see the dawn!"
-"our dawn!"--francesco replied, pointing to the hillock beyond.
-for a time there was a great silence, as if the fates of two souls were being weighed in the scales of destiny.
-it was francesco who spoke.
-"how you have suffered!"
-she crept very close to him, smiling up at him with the old-time smile through tear-dimmed eyes.
-"it counts for naught now! are not you with me?"
-the sky burned azure above the tree-tops. transient sunshafts quivered through the vaulted dome of breathless leaves, as slowly francesco and ilaria strode towards the camp of the duke of spoleto on the sun-bathed hillock above the nera.
-by eleanor h. porter
-author of "miss billy," "miss billy's decision," etc.
-"enter pollyanna! she is the daintiest, dearest, most irresistible maid you have met in all your journeyings through bookland. and you forget she is a story girl, for pollyanna is so real that after your first introduction you will feel the inner circle of your friends has admitted a new member. a brave, winsome, modern american girl, pollyanna walks into print to take her place in the hearts of all members of the family."
-of "miss billy" the critics have written as follows:
-"to say of any story that it makes the reader's heart feel warm and happy is to pay it praise of sorts, undoubtedly. well, that's the very praise one gives 'miss billy.'"--edwin l. shuman in the chicago record-herald.
-"the story is delightful and as for billy herself--she's all right!"--philadelphia press.
-"there is a fine humor in the book, some good revelation of character and plenty of romance of the most unusual order."--the philadelphia inquirer.
-"there is something altogether fascinating about 'miss billy,' some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page."--boston transcript.
-"the book is a wholesome story, as fresh in tone as it is graceful in expression, and one may predict for it a wide audience."--philadelphia public ledger.
-"miss billy is so carefree, so original and charming, that she lives in the reader's memory long after the book has been laid aside."--boston globe.
-"you cannot help but love dear 'billy;' she is winsome and attractive and you will be only too glad to introduce her to your friends."--brooklyn eagle.
-the career of dr. weaver
-by mrs. henry w. backus
-a big and purposeful story interwoven about the responsibilities and problems in the medical profession of the present day. dr. weaver, a noted specialist, and head of a private hospital, had allowed himself to drift away from the standards of his youth in his desire for wealth and social and scientific prestige. when an exposé of the methods employed by him in furthering his schemes for the glorifying of the name of "weaver" in the medical world is threatened, it is frustrated through the efforts of the famous doctor's younger brother, dr. jim. the story is powerful and compelling, even if it uncovers the problems and temptations of a physician's career. perhaps the most important character, not even excepting dr. weaver and dr. jim, is "the girl," who plays such an important part in the lives of both men.
-"the story becomes one of those absorbing tales of to-day which the reader literally devours in an evening, unwilling to leave the book until the last page is reached, and constantly alert, through the skill of the author, in following the characters through the twisted ways of their career."--boston journal.
-"the story is well-written, unique, quite out of the usual order, and is most captivating."--christian intelligencer.
-the hill of venus
-by nathan gallizier
-author of "castel del monte," "the sorceress of rome," "the court of lucifer," etc.
-this is a vivid and powerful romance of the thirteenth century in the times of the great ghibelline wars, and deals with the fortunes of francesco villani, a monk, who has been coerced by his dying father to bind himself to the church through a mistaken sense of duty, but who loves ilaria, one of the famous beauties of the court at avellino. the excitement, splendor and stir of those days of activity in rome are told with a vividness and daring, which give a singular fascination to the story.
-the press has commented as follows on the author's previous books:
-"the author displays many of the talents that made scott famous."--the index.
-"the book is breathless reading, as much for the adventures, the pageants, the midnight excursions of the minor characters, as for the love story of the prince and donna lucrezia."--boston transcript.
-"mr. gallizier daringly and vividly paints in glowing word and phrases, in sparkling dialogue and colorful narrative, the splendor, glamor and stir in those days of excitement, intrigue, tragedy, suspicion and intellectual activity in rome."--philadelphia press.
-"a splendid bit of old roman mosaic, or a gorgeous piece of tapestry. otto is a striking and pathetic figure. description of the city, the gorgeous ceremonials of the court and the revels are a series of wonderful pictures."--cincinnati enquirer.
-"the martial spirit of these stirring times, weird beliefs in magic and religion are most admirably presented by the author, who knows his subject thoroughly. it belongs to the class of bulwer-lytton's romances; carefully studied, well wrought, and full of exciting incident."--cleveland enquirer.
-"romance at its best."--boston herald.
-the what-shall-i-do girl
-or, the career of joy kent
-by isabel woodman waitt
-when joy kent finds herself alone in the world, thrown on her own resources, after the death of her father, she looks about her, as do so many young girls, fresh from the public schools, wondering how she can support herself and earn a place in the great business world about her. still wondering, she sends a letter to a number of girls she had known in school days, asking that each one tell her just how she had equipped herself for a salary-earning career, and once equipped, how she had found it possible to start on that career. in reply come letters from the milliner, the stenographer, the librarian, the salesgirl, the newspaper woman, the teacher, the nurse, and from girls who had adopted all sorts of vocations as a means of livelihood. real friendly girl letters they are, too, not of the type that preach, but of the kind which give sound and helpful advice in a bright and interesting manner. of course there is a splendid young man who also gives advice. any "what-shall-i-do" young girl can read of the careers suggested for joy kent with profit and pleasure, and, perhaps, with surprise!
-the harbor master
-by theodore goodridge roberts
-author of "comrades of the trails," "rayton: a backwoods mystery," etc.
-the scene of the story is newfoundland. the story deals with the love of black dennis nolan, a young giant and self-appointed skipper of the little fishing hamlet of chance along, for flora lockhart, a beautiful professional singer, who is rescued by dennis from a wreck on the treacherous coast of newfoundland, when on her way from england to the united states. the story is a strong one all through, with a mystery that grips, plenty of excitement and action, and the author presents life in the open in all its strength and vigor. mr. roberts is one of the younger writers whom the critics have been watching with interest. in "the harbor master" he has surely arrived.
-of mr. roberts' previous books the critics have written as follows:
-"the action is always swift and romantic and the love is of the kind that thrills the reader. the characters are admirably drawn and the reader follows with deep interest the adventures of the two young people."--baltimore sun.
-"mr. roberts' pen has lost none of its cunning, while his style is easier and breezier than ever."--buffalo express.
-"it is a romance of clean, warm-hearted devotion to friends and duty. the characters are admirable each in his own or her own way, and the author has made each fit the case in excellent fashion."--salt lake city tribune.
-"in this book mr. roberts has well maintained his reputation for the vivid coloring of his descriptive pictures, which are full of stirring action, and in which love and fighting hold chief place."--boston times.
-"its ease of style, its rapidity, its interest from page to page, are admirable; and it shows that inimitable power--the story-teller's gift of verisimilitude. its sureness and clearness are excellent, and its portraiture clear and pleasing."--the reader.
-at the sign of the town pump
-the further adventures of peggy of spinster farm
-by helen m. winslow
-miss winslow calls us again away from the strenuous and noisy confusion of modern cities to the charm and contentment of life "under the greenwood tree." peggy's adventures had only just begun in the first book. in this new record of life at spinster farm and "elysium," "at the sign of the town pump," there is plenty of romantic adventure of the kind that proves truth to be stranger sometimes than fiction. there is humor, too, in even greater quantities than in the preceding book, sparkling humor that places the author well up in the list of our new england humorists. "at the sign of the town pump" will be welcomed not only by those who enjoyed making the acquaintance of spinster farm, but by thousands of new readers who appreciate a clever story and a fascinating heroine.
-on "peggy at spinster farm" the press opinions are as follows:
-"very alluring are the pictures she draws of the old-fashioned house, the splendid old trees, the pleasant walks, the gorgeous sunsets, and--or it would not be helen winslow--the cats."--the boston transcript.
-"'peggy at spinster farm' is a rewarding volume, original and personal in its point of view, redolent of unfeigned love for the country and the sane, satisfying pleasures of country life."--milwaukee free press.
-"it is an alluring, wholesome tale."--schenectady star.
-"is a story remarkably interesting, and no book will be found more entertaining than this one, especially for those who enjoy light-hearted character sketches, and startling and unexpected happenings."--northampton gazette.
-"an exceptionally well-written book."--milwaukee evening wisconsin.
-"the spinster and peggy have a quiet sense of humor of their own and they convey their experiences with a quaint enjoyment that holds us irresistibly."--the argonaut.
-"this is a thoroughly enjoyable story. mary wilkins at her best was never more interesting, and she has never produced a book more normal and as wholesome as this."--journal of education.
-selections from l. c. page and company's list of fiction
-works of robert neilson stephens
-the flight of georgiana
-a romance of the days of the young pretender. illustrated by h. c. edwards.
-"a love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a remarkably well finished piece of work."--chicago record-herald.
-the bright face of danger
-being an account of some adventures of henri de launay, son of the sieur de la tournoire. illustrated by h. c. edwards.
-"mr. stephens has fairly outdone himself. we thank him heartily. the story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, rational and convincing."--boston transcript.
-the mystery of murray davenport
-"this is easily the best thing that mr. stephens has yet done. those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of this praise, which is generous."--buffalo news.
-or, the maid of cheapside. (52d thousand.) a romance of elizabethan london. illustrations by howard pyle and other artists.
-not since the absorbing adventures of d'artagnan have we had anything so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy.
-the continental dragoon
-a romance of philipse manor house in 1778. (53d thousand.) illustrated by h. c. edwards.
-a stirring romance of the revolution, with its scenes laid on neutral territory.
-an enemy to the king
-the road to paris
-a story of adventure. (35th thousand.) illustrated by h. c. edwards.
-an historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account of the life of an american gentleman adventurer.
-a gentleman player
-his adventures on a secret mission for queen elizabeth. (48th thousand.) illustrated by frank t. merrill.
-the story of a young gentleman who joins shakespeare's company of players, and becomes a protégé of the great poet.
-illustrated by a. everhart.
-the story is laid in the mid-georgian period. it is a dashing, sparkling, vivacious comedy.
-tales from bohemia
-illustrated by wallace goldsmith.
-these bright and clever tales deal with people of the theatre and odd characters in other walks of life which fringe on bohemia.
-a soldier of valley forge
-by robert neilson stephens and theodore goodridge roberts.
-with frontispiece by frank t. merrill.
-"the plot shows invention and is developed with originality, and there is incident in abundance."--brooklyn times.
-the sword of bussy
-by robert neilson stephens and herman nickerson.
-with frontispiece by edmund h. garrett.
-"the plot is lively, dashing and fascinating, the very kind of a story that one does not want to stop reading until it is finished."--boston herald.
-archaic and inconsistent spelling and punctuation retained.
-how to produce amateur plays
-how to produce amateur plays
-a practical manual
-barrett h. clark
-new and revised edition
-copyright, 1917, 1922,
-by little, brown, and company.
-all rights reserved
-printed in the united states of america
-preface to the revised edition
-this book aims to supply the demand for a simple guide to the production of plays by amateurs. during the past decade a number of books dealing with the subject have been published, but these are concerned either with theoretical and educational, or else with limited and, from the practical viewpoint, unessential aspects of the question. in the present manual the author has attempted an altogether practical work, which may be used by those who have little or no knowledge of producing plays.
-the book is not altogether limited in its appeal merely to producers; actors themselves and others having to do with amateur producing will find it helpful. the author has added a number of suggestions on a matter which is rapidly becoming of prime importance: the construction of stages and setting, and the manipulation of lighting.
-it is always well to bear in mind that no art can be taught by means of books. the chief purpose of this volume is to lay down the elements and outline the technique of amateur producing.
-a careful study of it will enable the amateur stage manager to do much for himself which has heretofore been either impossible or attended with dire difficulty.
-the plan of the book is simple: each question and problem is treated in its natural order, from the moment an organization decides to "give a play", until the curtain drops on the last performance of it.
-this new edition of "how to produce amateur plays" has been revised throughout, and the list of plays in chapter x completely re-written and brought up to date.
-the author acknowledges his indebtedness for suggestions and help, as well as for permission to reproduce diagrams, photographs, and passages from plays, to mr. t. r. edwards, mr. hiram kelly moderwell, mr. l. r. lewis, mr. clayton hamilton, miss grace griswold, miss edith wynne matthison, mr. maurice browne, miss ida treat, mr. sam hume, john lane company, samuel french, brentano's, and henry holt and company.
-list of illustrations
-how to produce amateur plays
-choosing the play
-the first important question arising after the decision to give a play, is "what play?" only too often is this question answered in a haphazard way. of recent years a large number of guides to selecting plays have made their appearance, most of which are incomplete and otherwise unsatisfactory. the large lists issued by play publishers are bewildering. toward the end of the present volume is a selective list of plays, all of which are, in one way or another, "worth while"; but as conditions differ so widely, it is practically impossible to do otherwise than merely indicate in a general way what sort of play is suggested.
-each play considered by any organization should be read by the director or even the whole club or cast, after the requisite conditions have been considered. these conditions usually are:
-while it is a splendid thing to believe no play too good for amateurs, some moderation is necessary where a play under consideration is obviously beyond the ability of a cast: "hamlet" ought never to be attempted by amateurs, nor such subtle and otherwise difficult plays as "man and superman." plays of the highest merit can be found which are not so taxing as these. there is no reason why sophocles' "electra", euripides' "alcestis", or the comedies of lope de vega, goldoni, molière, kotzebue, lessing, not to mention the better-known english classics, should not be performed by amateurs.
-it goes without saying that the facile, trashy, "popular" comedies of the past two or three generations are to be avoided by amateurs who take their work seriously. this does not mean that all farces and comedies should be left out of the repertory: "the magistrate" and "the importance of being earnest" are among the finest farces in the language. the point to be impressed is that it is better to attempt a play which may be more difficult to perform than "charley's aunt", than to give a good performance of that oft-acted and decidedly hackneyed piece. it is much more meritorious to produce a good play poorly, if need be, than a poor play well.
-if, after having consulted the list in this volume and similar other lists, the club is still unable to decide on a suitable modern play, the best course is to return to the classics. it is likely that the plays that have pleased audiences for centuries will please us. aristophanes' "the clouds" and "lysistrata", with a few necessary "cuts"; plautus' "the twins" and terence's "phormio"; goldoni's "the fan"; shakespeare's "comedy of errors" and half a dozen other comedies; molière's "merchant gentleman" and "doctor in spite of himself"; sheridan's "the rivals" and goldsmith's "she stoops to conquer"; lessing's "minna von barnhelm"--almost any one of these is "safe." a classic can never be seen too often and, since true amateurs are those who play for the joy of playing, they will receive ample recompense for their efforts in the thought that they have at least added their mite to the sum total of true enjoyment in the theater. another argument in favor of the performance of the classics is that they are rarely produced by professionals. if an amateur club revives a classic, especially one which is not often seen nowadays, it may well be proud of its efforts.
-if, however, the club insists on giving a modern play, it will have little difficulty in finding suitable material. it is well not to challenge comparison with professional productions by choosing plays which have had professional runs of late; try rather to select (1) good modern plays which by reason of their subject matter, form, etc., cannot under present conditions be commercially successful (like granville barker's "the marrying of ann leete"); (2) translations of contemporary foreign plays which are not well known either to american readers or producers; and, finally (3) original plays. here it is difficult to advise. it cannot be hoped that an amateur club will discover many masterpieces among original plays submitted to it, but if any of the works considered has even a touch of originality, some good characterization, any marked technical skill; in a word, if there is something interesting or promising, then it is worth producing. doubtless many beginners are discouraged from writing plays for lack of experience gained by seeing their work staged; for such, the amateur club is the only resource.
-besides these particular considerations, there remain the minor but necessary points relating to rights and royalties. a full statement of the legal aspect of the case is to be found in the first appendix in this book.
-a shallow cyclorama. the simple design forms an effective background for the grouping of the figures.
-a great many more factors go into the making of a successful dramatic production than may at first be apparent. to organize a staff whose duty it is to furnish and equip a theater, hall, or schoolroom; to arrange and efficiently run rehearsals; to supply "props", costumes, and furniture; to manage the stage during the performance--all this is next in importance to the acting itself.
-of late years especially it has been made clear that the art of the theater, although it is a collaboration of the brains and hands of many persons, must be under the supervision of one dominating and far-seeing chief. that is to say, one person and one alone must be responsible for the entire production. except in rare instances this head cannot know of and attend to each detail himself, but it is his business to see that the whole organization is formed and managed according to his wishes. the function of this ideal manager has been compared with that of the orchestral conductor: it is he who leads, and he should be the first to detect the slightest discord. while the foregoing remarks are more strictly applicable to acting and staging, it will readily be seen that if the same leader is not in touch with the more practical side of the production, there is likely to arise that working at cross-purposes which has ruined many an amateur as well as professional production. while a great deal of the actual work must be done by subordinates, it should be clearly understood that the director has the final word of authority.
-much in the matter of organization depends upon the number and ability and experience of those persons who are available, but the suggestions about to be made as to the organization of a staff are based upon the assumption that the director is a capable person, and his assistants at least willing to learn from him. as a rule, he will have plenty of material to work with.
-it is advisable--though not always possible--to delegate the duties of property man, lightman, curtain man, costume man (or wardrobe mistress) to different persons; but even when this is done, it is better for the stage manager to keep a record of all "property plots", "light plots", "furniture plots", etc.
-it is also the stage manager's business to arrange the time and place of rehearsals, and hold each actor responsible for attendance.
-on the occasion of the dress rehearsal and of the actual production, it is the stage manager, and not the director, who supervises everything. his position is that of commander-in-chief. he either holds the book, or is at least close by the person who actually follows the lines; sees that each actor is ready for his entrance; that the curtain rises and falls when it should; that his assistants are each in their respective places; and that the entire performance "goes" as it is intended to go.
-it will be found necessary in some cases to add to the staff one person whose business it is to attend to the matter of furnishings: rugs, hangings, pictures, furniture, and so forth; but in case there is no such person, the property man attends to these details himself.
-it cannot be too strongly urged that from the very first as many "props", as much furniture or as many set pieces as possible (depending on whether the set is an indoor or outdoor one), should be used by the actors. in this way they will be better able to associate their thoughts, words, and gestures with the material objects with which they will be surrounded on the fatal night. if this is impracticable, that is, if most of these objects cannot be secured from the first, then at least suitable substitutes should be used. the presence of such fundamentally important articles as the wall in rostand's "the romancers", and the dentist's chair in shaw's "you never can tell", when used from the first rehearsals, always minimizes the danger of confusion of lines or business at the last moment.
-the property man must keep a list of everything required; this should be a duplicate of that in the possession of the stage manager.
-among the thousand and one minor details of producing, there are some which in large productions might be assigned to specially appointed individuals, but most of the duties to be briefly enumerated below may easily be given over to the stage manager, property man, or costume man, or even to the lightman.
-handling and setting of scenery and furniture. this is usually taken care of by the property man and his assistants, under the direction of the stage manager. as in every other branch of the work, all details must be planned beforehand, and recorded.
-music. the music cues should be marked in the stage manager's prompt-book. incidental music, whether it be on, behind, or off-stage in the orchestra pit, ought to be rehearsed at least two or three times. on the occasion of the performance, the stage manager gives directions from his prompt-book for all music cues.
-among the further details which must be looked after are the duties which are sometimes left to the stage manager: the ringing of bells, calling of actors at the regular performance, etc. a "call boy" may be delegated to do this.
-understudies. trouble is always likely to arise, especially among amateurs, because there is no effective method of holding the actors to strict account. often, one or more of the cast finds, or thinks he finds, good reason for leaving it, and a new actor must sometimes be found and trained to fill the vacancy on perilously short notice. sickness or indisposition invariably give rise to the same problem. if possible, an entire second cast should be trained, so that any member of it could at a moment's notice be called upon to play in the first cast. while this second company should be letter-perfect and know the "business" in every detail, it is not necessary that their acting be so finished and detailed as that of the others. understudy rehearsals are under the direction of the stage manager, although the director should witness at least two or three.
-since the performance depends almost wholly on the knowledge, sympathy, and taste of the director, the greatest care should be taken in choosing him. needless to say, the ideal director does not exist; still, his attributes should be constantly borne in mind. if he lacks the artist's sense of color, rhythm, and proportion, then an art adviser must be called in to suggest color schemes as regards costumes, scenery, furniture, and lighting. nowadays, great attention is being paid to these matters, and the subtle effect of background and detail is much greater than is commonly supposed. the play is of first importance--that must never be forgotten--but these other matters are too often neglected.
-similarly with costumes, music, scenery, it is never amiss to consult authorities. but once more be it repeated, the whole production should bear the imprint of the director's personality, because only in this way can we hope for that essential unity of effect which is a basic principle of all art.
-coöperation with, but, in the last analysis, subserviency to, the director, is the keynote of success.
-choosing the cast
-obviously, the choice of the cast should depend upon the ability of the actors, although in the case of an organization like a school or college dramatic club, this system is not always practicable or even advisable. every member of such a club should be trained to work for a common end, and a system by which amateurs are made to understand the necessity of assuming first small and unimportant rôles and working up gradually to the greater and more important ones, makes for harmony and completeness of effect in performances. it should be one of the chief ends of amateur producing to get away from the curse of the professional stage: the star system. it has been stated here that the greatest emphasis must be laid on the play itself, and no actor, professional or amateur, should ever labor under the delusion that he is of greater or even as great importance as the play in which he strives to act his part. the average actor is inclined to judge a play's merit according to the sort of part it furnishes him; the amateur spirit has done much to do away with this attitude, and it is to be hoped that no coach will ever do otherwise than discourage it.
-competition as a means of selecting a cast is in most cases the best method. the play once selected, the people from among whom the cast is to be formed are assembled. it is a good plan to have every one read the play first, and make a study of at least one scene of it. then, either alone or in company with one, two, or three others, he reads--or recites from memory--the scene in question, either before the entire club or before a committee of judges. each actor is judged on appearance, ease, voice, and insight into the character he is portraying. the judges, seconded possibly by the members of the club (whose votes should, by the way, be of only secondary importance), then select those whom they consider best fitted for the parts. in every case the director should give final sanction to the selection.
-in cases where members must at first assume only minor parts because of club rules, there may arise some difficulty: for example, a beginner may be better fitted to assume an important rôle than older club members. such cases must of course be dealt with individually.
-in organizations which are not run on so democratic a basis, the director selects the cast himself. on the whole, this is much the best system, as the director is left a free field in which to work out his own problems in his own way. if it is at all possible, an amateur club ought to put everything, including the responsibility, into the hands of a competent director. in this respect, the despotism of the professional stage is most beneficial. whether the coach be an outsider hired for the occasion, or a regular member of the club, in nine cases out of ten he will establish and maintain harmony, allow no real talent to languish, and be at least in a position to produce definite artistic results. amateur management has spoiled much good material. a director with full authority can work more easily and efficiently if left to his own devices than if trammeled with rules and regulations.
-the theater, behind the scenes, is a despotic institution; it must be, but the greatest care must be taken in choosing the right despot. should the coach be a professional manager or actor, or should he be an amateur? the question is a difficult one. there are, it goes without saying, many excellent directors who are or have been professionals; on the other hand, it cannot be denied that some of the best amateur work in this country has been done by directors whose experience on the professional stage has, to say the least, been limited. some such training is beneficial, but to put a professional of many years' experience in charge of amateurs is likely to make of the amateurs a company of puppets imitating only some of the externals of professionaldom. the best director, therefore, seems to be a person who has some professional experience, but who has likewise dealt with amateurs; one who enters into the amateur spirit, and understands its difference from the professional world, and does not try to train his company to imitate stock actors or "stars."
-understudies may be chosen in the same manner as the first cast.
-after the choosing of the casts, the next step is rehearsing. to this complicated process the next three chapters are devoted.
-the first rehearsal should be "called" as soon as possible after the cast has been selected and a place chosen in which to work. if the play is to be performed in a regular theater, it is wise to block out the general action and have at least the first two or three rehearsals on the stage. it would be still better if all the rehearsals could be conducted there, but as this is seldom possible, the stage manager should take its dimensions and secure some room as near the size of the stage as he can find. a room too large or too small, or not the requisite shape, is more than likely to confuse the actors. as many of the essential "props" and articles of furniture as possible should be used from the very first, in order to accustom the actors to work under approximately the same conditions as on the occasion of the performance.
-if the play can be secured in printed form, each actor will have his copy, and a general reading to the cast by the director or stage manager be rendered unnecessary. however, a few remarks by him as to the nature and spirit of the play will not be amiss. it is not uncommon to hear of professionals who have never read or seen the entire play even after acting in it for many months. unless each actor knows and feels what the play is about and enters into its spirit, there can be little chance for unity and harmony.
-"cutting", or other alteration, is often necessary. the director should read his alterations and allow each actor to make his text conform with the prompt-copy.
-when the play is not obtainable in book form, each rôle is then copied from the manuscript, together with the "cues" and all the stage business. in this case, a general reading to the cast is imperative.
-the preliminaries disposed of, the play is read, each actor taking his part. this is merely to familiarize the actors with the play and show them briefly their relation to each other and the work as a whole. at this first rehearsal, there should be no attempt at acting; that is reserved for the next meeting.
-scene--morning-room in algernon's flat in half moon street. the room is luxuriously and artistically furnished. the sound of a piano is heard in the adjoining room.
-algernon. did you hear what i was playing, lane?
-lane. i didn't think it polite to listen, sir.
-algernon. i'm sorry for that, for your sake. i don't play accurately--any one can play accurately--but i play with wonderful expression. as far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte. i keep science for life.
-lane. yes, sir.
-algernon. and, speaking of the science of life, have you got the cucumber sandwiches cut for lady bracknell?
-lane. yes, sir, eight bottles and a pint.
-algernon. why is it that at a bachelor's establishment the servants invariably drink the champagne? i ask merely for information.
-lane. i attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. i have often observed that in married households the champagne is rarely of a first-rate brand.
-algernon. good heavens! is marriage so demoralizing as that?
-lane. i believe it is a very pleasant state, sir. i have had very little experience of it myself up to the present. i have only been married once. that was in consequence of a misunderstanding between myself and a young person.
-lane. no, sir; it is not a very interesting subject. i never think of it myself.
-algernon. very natural, i am sure. that will do, lane, thank you.
-algernon. how are you, my dear ernest? what brings you up to town?
-jack. oh, pleasure, pleasure! what else should bring me anywhere? eating as usual, i see, algy?
-algernon. what on earth do you do there?
-algernon. and who are the people you amuse?
-algernon. got nice neighbors in your part of shropshire?
-jack. perfectly horrid! never speak to one of them.
-algernon. how immensely you must amuse them! (goes over and takes sandwich.) by the way, shropshire is your county, is it not?
-jack. eh? shropshire? yes, of course. hallo! why all these cups? why such extravagance in one so young? who is coming to tea?
-the first point to be noticed is that the stage directions are not sufficient. to begin with, the only information we have as to the morning-room is that it is in algernon moncrieff's flat in half moon street, and that it is "luxuriously and artistically furnished." the next directions--"lane is arranging tea on a table"--prove that there is a tea-table with tea things on it. we are therefore dependent on the ensuing dialogue and the implied or briefly described action to furnish clues as to the entrances, furniture, and "props" which will be required in the course of the act. it is, of course, the director's and the stage manager's business to go through the play beforehand, and have all these points well in mind. let us now see how this is done, and proceed to block out the first part of the play.
-before algernon's entrance, lane, the butler, is preparing tea. where is the table? some subsequent business may necessitate its being in a position different from the one first chosen, but let us assume that it is up-stage to the right:
-there it is not likely to be in the way of the actors; furthermore, it is not on the same side of the stage as the sofa--which is the next article of furniture to be placed. if the table and the sofa and the door were all on the same side of the stage, it would be much too crowded, especially as the larger part of the subsequent action revolves about them.
-lane, then, is busied with the tea things for a moment, as and after the curtain rises. then the music of a piano is heard off-stage to the right. it stops, and a moment later algernon enters. as he evidently has nothing in particular to do at that moment, he may stand at the center of the stage, facing lane, who stops his work and respectfully answers his master's questions. when algernon says: "and, speaking of the science of life, have you got the cucumber sandwiches cut for lady bracknell?", what more natural than that he should look in the direction of the table, and perhaps even make a step toward it? lane then goes to the table, takes up the salver with the sandwiches on it, and hands it to algernon. here there are no other directions than "hands them on salver." the other "business" is inferred from the dialogue. algernon then "inspects them, takes two, and sits down on the sofa."
-this is the first reference to the sofa. the original prompt-copy must, of course, have made clear exactly where each article of furniture stood, but, for the reasons above enumerated, let us place the sofa as in the diagram:
-notice now that nothing is said of the salver. but from the direction near the top of page 3--(luce and baker editions) "goes over and takes sandwich"--we may assume that lane takes the salver back to the table. undoubtedly, he does this as algernon sits on the sofa. this stage direction should be indicated in the prompt-copy, as well as in that of the actor playing lane, as follows:
-as soon as lane has done this, or even before, algernon resumes his conversation, while lane turns and listens to him. lane stands somewhere between the table and the sofa, at a respectful distance from algernon. the next "business" occurs when algernon says "that will do, lane, thank you", and lane replies "thank you, sir", and goes out. this brings up another question which is not answered, as yet at least, in the text. does lane go out right? possibly; or is there another entrance left, leading to the butler's room? so far as we are able to determine, there is no good reason why the room to the right, where algernon was playing, should not lead to the butler's room, or to wherever he is supposed to go. and in this case, there is no reason why lane cannot, during algernon's soliloquy, have heard the doorbell ring, answered it, and been ready to reënter, announcing, as he does: "mr. ernest worthing." jack then enters, right. although again there is no stage direction, it is likely that algernon rises to greet his friend and shake hands with him.
-once more, the stage directions, or rather the want of them, are apt to confuse. on the top of page 3, we read that jack pulls "off his gloves." he wears a hat, of course, and probably a coat. he carries his hat in his hand, but presumably still wears his coat, and certainly his gloves. lane, before he leaves, would undoubtedly take jack's hat, help him off with his coat, and take them out with him. then, before the two men shake hands--if they do--jack pulls off his gloves. jack's line, "eating as usual, i see, algy," is sufficient indication to prove that in one hand algernon holds a sandwich. algernon then sits down. the dramatist would surely have mentioned jack's sitting down if that had been his intention; therefore jack may stand. now comes the direction about jack's "pulling off his gloves." what does he do with them? for the present, at least, let us allow him to go to the tea table, and lay them on it. a moment later, algernon "goes over and takes sandwich." he stands by the table, eating, and this attracts jack's attention to the somewhat elaborate preparations for tea. algernon then says: "by the way, shropshire is your county, is it not?" but jack, too engrossed in the preparations, scarcely hears the other, and answers: "eh? shropshire? yes, of course," and so on. then he evidently goes to the tea table.
-this is the general method of attack to be pursued. it may be that later in the same scene it will be necessary to go back and undo some of the "business", because the only available text of this play--and this is almost always true of printed plays--is not in prompt-copy form. the making, therefore, of a prompt-copy is a slow process. first, the director goes through the play and plans in a general way what the action is to be, but only by rehearsing his cast on a particular stage and under specific conditions, is he able to know every detail of the action. by the time the actors are letter-perfect, the prompt-copy ought likewise to be fairly perfect. it is always dangerous to change "business" after the actors have memorized their parts.
-during this preliminary blocking-out process, little or no attention need be paid to details: the mere outlining of the action, together with the reading of the lines by the actors, is sufficient.
-in a dentist's operating room on a fine august morning in 1896. not the usual tiny london den, but the best sitting-room of a furnished lodging in a terrace on the sea front at a fashionable watering place. the operating chair, with a gas pump and cylinder beside it, is half way between the center of the room and one of the corners. if you look into the room through the window which lights it, you will see the fireplace in the middle of the wall opposite you, with the door beside it to your left; an m.r.c.s. diploma in a frame hung on the chimneypiece; an easy chair covered in black leather on the hearth; a neat stool and bench, with vice, tools, and a mortar and pestle in the corner to the right. near this bench stands a slender machine like a whip provided with a stand, a pedal, and an exaggerated winch. recognizing this as a dental drill, you shudder and look away to your left, where you can see another window, underneath which stands a writing table, with a blotter and a diary on it, and a chair. next the writing table, towards the door, is a leather covered sofa. the opposite wall, close on your right, is occupied mostly by a bookcase. the operating chair is under your nose, facing you, with the cabinet of instruments handy to it on your left. you observe that the professional furniture and apparatus are new, and that the wall paper, designed, with the taste of an undertaker, in festoons and urns, the carpet with its symmetrical plans of rich, cabbagy nosegays, the glass gasalier with lustres, the ornamental, gilt-rimmed blue candlesticks on the ends of the mantelshelf, also glass-draped with lustres, and the ormolu clock under a glass cover in the middle between them, its uselessness emphasized by a cheap american clock disrespectfully placed beside it and now indicating 12 o'clock noon, all combine with the black marble which gives the fireplace the air of a miniature family vault, to suggest early victorian commercial respectability, belief in money, bible fetichism, fear of hell always at war with fear of poverty, instinctive horror of the passionate character of art, love and the roman catholic religion, and all the first fruits of plutocracy in the early generations of the industrial revolution.
-there is no shadow of this on the two persons who are occupying the room just now. one of them, a very pretty woman in miniature, her tiny figure dressed with the daintiest gaiety, is of a later generation, being hardly eighteen yet. this darling little creature clearly does not belong to the room, or even to the country; for her complexion, though very delicate, has been burnt biscuit color by some warmer sun than england's; and yet there is, for a very subtle observer, a link between them. for she has a glass of water in her hand, and a rapidly clearing cloud of spartan obstinacy on her tiny firm mouth and quaintly squared eyebrows. if the least line of conscience could be traced between those eyebrows, an evangelical might cherish some faint hope of finding her a sheep in wolf's clothing--for her frock is recklessly pretty--but as the cloud vanishes it leaves her frontal sinus as smoothly free from conviction of sin as a kitten's.
-the dentist, contemplating her with the self-satisfaction of a successful operator, is a young man of thirty or thereabouts. he does not give the impression of being much of a workman: his professional manner evidently strikes him as being a joke; and it is underlain by a thoughtless pleasantry which betrays the young gentleman still unsettled and in search of amusing adventures, behind the newly set-up dentist in search of patients. he is not without gravity of demeanor; but the strained nostrils stamp it as the gravity of the humorist. his eyes are clear, alert, of sceptically moderate size, and yet a little rash; his forehead is an excellent one, with plenty of room behind it; his nose and chin cavalierly handsome. on the whole, an attractive, noticeable beginner, of whose prospects a man of business might form a tolerably favorable estimate.
-the young lady (handing him the glass). thank you. (in spite of the biscuit complexion she has not the slightest foreign accent.)
-the dentist (putting it down on the ledge of his cabinet of instruments). that was my first tooth.
-the young lady (aghast). your first! do you mean to say that you began practising on me?
-the dentist. every dentist has to begin on somebody.
-the young lady. yes: somebody in a hospital, not people who pay.
-the dentist (laughing). oh, the hospital doesn't count. i only meant my first tooth in private practice. why didn't you let me give you gas?
-the young lady. because you said it would be five shillings extra.
-the dentist (shocked). oh, don't say that. it makes me feel as if i had hurt you for the sake of five shillings.
-the dentist. yes.
-the young lady. you don't own the whole house, do you?
-the dentist. no.
-the young lady (taking the chair which stands at the writing table and looking critically at it as she spins it round on one leg). your furniture isn't quite the latest thing, is it?
-the dentist. it's my landlord's.
-the young lady. does he own that nice comfortable bath chair? (pointing to the operating chair).
-the dentist. no: i have that on the hire-purchase system.
-the young lady (disparagingly). i thought so. (looking about her again in search of further conclusion.) i suppose you haven't been here long?
-the dentist. six weeks. is there anything else you would like to know?
-the young lady (the hint quite lost on her). any family?
-shaw's stage directions here are more than sufficient: they are intended not only for the director, stage manager, property man, scene painter, and actor, but for the reader as well. his directions are always stimulating and suggestive, and should be studied by the actors; but, from the point of view of the director and stage manager, they are bewilderingly diffuse and sometimes confusing. the fact, for instance, that the action takes place precisely in 1896, can be of little interest to the manager. nor can a clock indicate twelve o'clock "noon." in such stage directions as these the director will therefore have to separate the purely mechanical elements from the literary and atmospheric. let us now apply ourselves to the rather difficult task of making a diagram of the stage and its settings.
-it is a "fine august morning." the sun is shining out-of-doors and, as the room looks out over the sea, the stage must be lighted through one of the windows. the dramatist goes on to say that the room is "not the usual tiny london den, but the best sitting room of a furnished lodging." by inference, it is a large room. the operating chair is "half way between the center of the room and one of the corners." which corner is not designated. let us try to plot out the stage on the assumption that we are looking at it through a window halfway down-stage on the left (the actor's left, of course). the window which lights the room is placed thus:
-looking through this window, "you will see the fireplace in the middle of the wall opposite you, with the door beside it to your left":
-the next article of furniture mentioned is the easy chair "on the hearth":
-then come "a neat stool and bench" and, near them, a dental drill:
-"near it" is not definite, but for the time being, let us allow it to stand up-stage near the stool and bench, but a little toward center. next, you "look away to your left, where you can see another window." the direction here is not practicable, but the window may well go above the fireplace, instead of below, thus:
-underneath this window stands a writing table and a chair:
-"the opposite wall, close on your right, is occupied mostly by a bookcase. the operating chair is under your nose, facing you, with the cabinet of instruments handy to it on your left."
-it is at once observed how necessary it was to move the drill from the other side of the room to this: over by the table, it would be out of convenient reach of the dentist.
-the difficulty of arranging the stage in this case will at once prove the imperative need of going through the play with the utmost attention to stage directions and lines, in order to make an accurate series of stage diagrams, property, light, and furniture plots.
-notice that in the preliminary stage directions the center entrance is not designated. it soon becomes evident, however, that a center door (or one, at least, at the back of the stage) is taken for granted.
-this elementary diagram will serve as a working basis. a very little rehearsing will soon make it necessary to arrange the furniture, and so on, in a manner more pleasing to the eye and more convenient to the actor.
-there is one more kind of text with which amateurs have to do: it is the reprint of actual prompt-copies, and is usually accurate in material details. the following extract is from the opening pages of the fourth act of henry arthur jones's "the liars" (in the special edition published by samuel french):
-scene: drawing-room in sir christopher's flat in victoria street. l. at back is a large recess, taking up half the stage. the right half is taken up by an inner room furnished as library and smoking-room. curtains dividing library from drawing-room. door up-stage, l. a table down-stage, r. the room is in great confusion, with portmanteau open, clothes, etc., scattered over the floor; articles which an officer going to central africa might want are lying about.
-the diagram, as given in the text, is this:
-this is merely a skeleton, as it were, of a diagram, but first, the preliminary stage directions--quoted above--and the detailed and full marginal and other stage directions in the text, make clear every crossing, entrance, and exit, and designate at least the important articles of furniture and "props." for example, it is learned from the text on the first and second pages of the act, that there is a uniform case "up-center"--up-stage, that is, in the center of it; a folding stool by the table; a trunk to the left of center; and a sofa on the extreme left. unlike the quotations from the wilde and shaw plays, those of jones supply all necessary information to the stage manager and the actors. of course, as always, modifications must be made to meet the exigencies of certain stages and certain actors, but these are minor matters.
-the fundamental principles of this preliminary blocking-out having been laid down, we shall now proceed to a consideration of the infinitely varied problems of grouping and detailed stage business.
-while it is true that the possibilities of variation in the matter of grouping, crossing, and so on, are infinite, still there are some definite principles to be followed.
-suppose that the blocking-out process is over with, and the actors have a fair idea of their entrances, positions, business, and exits. the two following extracts (the first from the third act of jones's "the liars", the second from edouard pailleron's "the art of being bored") serve to illustrate two ways of going about the problem of grouping actors on the stage. the first contains specific directions, the second only the merest suggestions. below is the diagram of the stage in the third act of "the liars":
-up to page 107, which is reproduced on page 50, the characters are grouped as indicated:
-following carefully the stage directions in the text and on the margin, the action is traced as follows:
-mrs. crespin shakes hands with sir christopher. then (marginal note) "sir c. opens door l. for mrs. crespin":
-our fib won't do.
-freddie, you incomparable nincompoop!
-it's lucky in this instance. but if i am to embark any further in these imaginative enterprises, i must ask you, freddie, to keep a silent tongue.
-very likely not. but if this sort of thing is going on in my house, i think i ought to.
-oh, do subside, freddie, do subside!
-yes, george--and perhaps gilbert--will be here directly. oh, will somebody tell me what to do?
-then, "after her exit, closes door. they all turn and look at sir c. he sinks into a chair and shakes his head at them." into which chair does he sink? since in a moment he must put his hat on the bookcase, center, he had better sit on the chair to the right of it:
-this is very simple, but only in the rarest instances are stage directions so carefully worked out and indicated. the director will usually be confronted by long pages where there are few or no definite or dependable directions. the original text of shakespeare affords us only the most elementary explanations of stage "business", so that when shakespeare is produced it is wisest to use one of the many stage editions, in which the traditional directions, or others equally good, are given at some length. usually, however, the director will be aided by directions which are fairly full and fairly accurate, but never quite dependable. the following excerpt--from "the art of being bored"--contains the ordinary sort of directions, the kind that are found in good plays and bad. the set is described in the first act as being:
-"a drawing-room, with a large entrance at the back, opening upon another room. entrances up- and down-stage. to the left, between the two doors, a piano. right, an entrance down-stage; farther up, a large alcove with a glazed door leading into the garden; a table, on either side of which is a chair; to the right, a small table and a sofa; arm-chairs, etc."
-this may be plotted in the following manner:
-there are no specific directions as to the position of the sofa and chairs, but as a large number of characters are on the stage at one time, a great many will be necessary. the exact number of chairs, as well as the positions they will have to occupy, depend largely on the size and shape of the stage. the above diagram will serve at first as a working basis. turning to the opening of the second act, we find the following directions:
-saint-réault. and, make no mistake about it! profound as these legends may appear because of their baffling exoticism, they are merely--my illustrious father wrote in 1834--elemental, primitive imaginings in comparison with the transcendental conceptions of brahmin lore, gathered together in the upanishads, or indeed in the eighteen paranas of vyasa, the compiler of the vedda.
-jeanne (aside to paul). are you asleep?
-paul. no, no--i hear some kind of gibberish.
-saint-réault. such, in simple terminology, is the concretum of the doctrine of buddha.--and at this point i shall close my remarks.
-here two or three--bellac and roger, and one of the ladies, let us say--rise, and chat in undertones in a small group among themselves.
-several voices (weakly). very good! good!
-saint-réault. and now--(he coughs).
-madame de céran (eagerly). you must be tired, saint-réault?
-at this, madame de céran might well rise, as if to put an end to saint-réault's speech. the others are impatient, and perhaps one or two start to rise. the others whisper, or appear to do so. then saint-réault continues:
-saint-réault. not at all, countess!
-madame arriégo. oh, yes, you must be; rest yourself. we can wait.
-it is likely that here madame arriégo would rise and go to saint-réault. two or three others would follow her.
-several voices. you must rest!
-madame de loudan. you can't always remain in the clouds. come down to earth, baron.
-saint-réault. thank you, but--well, you see, i had already finished.
-saint-réault's audience may then form into small groups, somewhat as follows:
-care must be taken not to give the stage a crowded appearance, nor yet an air of too well-ordered symmetry. to continue:
-several voices. so interesting!--a little obscure!--excellent!--too long!
-bellac (to the ladies). too materialistic!
-paul (to jeanne). he's bungled it.
-susanne (calling). monsieur bellac!
-susanne. come here, near me.
-roger (aside to the duchess). aunt!
-the direction "aside to the duchess" shows that (1) roger, after the company rose, either went to the duchess; or that, (2) meantime he goes to her. this may be done either way, so long as the two are within reasonable whispering distance.
-duchess (aside to roger). she's doing it on purpose!
-saint-réault (coming to table). one word more! (general surprise. the audience sit down in silence and consternation).
-bearing in mind the change of position of bellac, roger, and saint-réault, we may reseat the characters as follows:
-while, as has been said, grouping depends to a great extent on the size and shape of the stage, it should always be borne in mind that the stage should in most cases be made to resemble a picture as regards balance and composition. this means that the director must avoid crowding; that the actors must learn to take their places as part of that picture, and not attempt either to usurp the center of the stage or to disappear behind other actors. no grouping should ever be left to chance or the inspiration of the moment; every actor must have marked down in his own script every movement he makes. groups and crowds require a great deal of rehearsing, in order that they may always assume the right position at the right moment.
-when an impression of vast numbers of people is desired--as in "julius cæsar"--large numbers of "supes" are not needed. eight or ten or twelve people, well managed, are sufficient to create an effect of this sort on a small stage, and perhaps twenty on a large. the basic principle of the art of the theater is suggestion, not reproduction.
-in the "forum scene" of shakespeare's "julius cæsar" there are practically no stage directions. the management of the mob, therefore, is left entirely to the director. when the third citizen says: "the noble brutus is ascended. silence!" we are of course given to understand--by the word "silence!"--that there has been some noise and confusion. the text affords the most important indications.
-plot out, for practice, the position of the various members of the mob throughout this scene.
-as a rule, the best impression of a crowd is made by massing and manipulating groups of from three to six individuals. if movement is demanded, it must be precise and measured out carefully during rehearsals. therefore, since it is nearly always impossible to get trained actors to compose mobs, it is well to intersperse two or three "leaders" in any crowd, who will give the cue for concerted action.
-the foregoing discussion, both in the present and preceding chapter, has been made largely from the director's and the stage manager's viewpoint. let us now go back to the actor, and suggest a few methods which will help him.
-an easy and vivid way of remembering "business" at first is to make a very simple diagram, thus:
-supposing a, who stands down-stage before the sofa, crosses up-stage to the small table, as he says: "i'll not stand it any longer!" just after this line, the actor places a mark referring him to the margin of his "script", and makes another diagram:
-this represents a crossing to up-stage, left of the small table. in this way, when the actor is studying his lines, he cannot help studying the "business", and vice versa; and since lines and "business" almost always go hand in hand, he will run no danger of having first learned the one without the other.
-considerable confusion is likely to arise when an overzealous director insists that his actors be "letter perfect" before the "business" is well formulated and worked out and thoroughly learned.
-at the next rehearsal--that is, after the blocking-out of the first act--the second is treated in the same way. and after the last act has been blocked out, the first should be rehearsed with greater care. details of "business", grouping, the delivery of lines--especially the correction of errors in interpretation--must be carefully considered. probably some of the "business" blocked out in the first rehearsal will have to be changed, or at least amplified. entrances and exits must be repeatedly rehearsed until they go smoothly. the crossings and recrossing of one, two, or more characters, can scarcely be rehearsed too often.
-let us take a few examples of this sort of detail work. a man comes home late, tired and hungry. outside the sitting room through an open door, is seen the hatrack. how can this simple incident be made to appear true and interesting? here is at least one manner of accomplishing it: a door is heard closing off-stage; footsteps resound in the hall. a, the man, appears, wearing a hat, overcoat, and gloves, at the center door, looks into the room to see whether any one is present, seems surprised, utters a short exclamation, and then turns to the hatrack. his back to the audience, he takes off his hat, hangs it carelessly on a hook, then slowly draws off his gloves, allows his coat to fall from his shoulders, looks at himself in the glass for an instant, and then, with a sigh, comes into the room again.
-the incident, of course, is capable of a hundred variations, depending upon the character of the man, the circumstances under which he comes home, and so forth.
-or, a little more complicated instance: a, b, and c, three men, are seated, talking after dinner. they are stationed as follows:
-a sits on the arm of the davenport, b on the davenport itself, and c in a chair at the lower right-hand side of the table.
-notice first that the davenport is not placed at right angles to the audience; this is done so that two people, sitting side by side, may be better seen by the "house." notice, too, that a is at the extreme left-hand corner of the davenport. visualize this for an instant: here is proportion, line, and balance, but without the appearance of stiffness or symmetry, which should always be avoided. b rises and stands before the fireplace: again notice the grouping:
-a then rises and goes to the center of the stage, standing near the left of the table:
-this simple moving about the room should never be obtrusive; that is to say, the audience must never be conscious of the director's hand. first, every bit of "business", every move, every gesture, must be justified, otherwise it calls attention to itself. this is a distinct problem with amateurs, who naturally find it difficult not to move about when they have nothing else to do. they feel self-conscious unless they are "acting." the best rule for any amateur--although it is again the director who is responsible and should look after this--is, never to do anything unless he knows precisely why he does it, and unless he feels it.
-one further example: imagine a five-minute conversation, in the text of which there are no stage directions. it is between two women: d and e. they are seated, one in an arm-chair by the fire, the other in an ordinary chair to the right of a library table:
-there are not many plays in which two characters merely converse for so long a period without well-motivated reasons, but it is well to take an extreme example. let us assume that d is telling e the story of her life, and that for two minutes her speech contains little more than straight narrative. suddenly she tells a sad incident, and e, who has a sympathetic nature, wipes her eyes with her handkerchief. d continues, and e, no longer able to restrain her tears but not wishing to show her emotion to d, rises and goes to the left of the stage for a moment or two. the long conversation scene is now broken up by a natural bit of action. while in life such a conversation might consume hours, on the stage it must be made more attractive and emotionally stimulating; in the theater, the appeal is through the eye and ear, to the emotions.
-such a scene as the one just outlined must be repeatedly rehearsed, until every detail of the "business" is worked out perfectly.
-after approximately ten days' work on the first act--during which period each of the other acts should be run through at least three times--the actors should be letter perfect and able to give a fairly smooth performance.
-then the other acts are rehearsed in like manner. each act, after it is finished in this way, must be rehearsed at least every three or four days. when all the acts have been worked out, then each rehearsal is devoted to going through the whole play. minor points in acting, minor "business", rendering of the lines, voice, gesture, etc., must naturally be insisted upon. special cases must be dealt with outside the regular rehearsals, for the play should be interrupted as seldom as possible, because it is wise to let the actors become accustomed to going through the entire piece. it will be found expeditious, too, for small groups of characters who have scenes together to rehearse by themselves. the full rehearsals of the play are valuable both to actors and the director, for the latter is given a general view of his stage pictures which could in no other way be afforded him, and he is in a position to judge of his general and massed effects. at the same time the actors will more readily enter into the spirit of the work if they are permitted to play without interruption. where the actors forget their lines, they should be prompted without other delay, but if they do anything actually wrong, or if the director wishes to make an important change, the performance must, of course, be stopped for a moment.
-the number of rehearsals necessary for the production of a play by amateurs depends largely on the attitude of the amateurs themselves, and the amount of time at their disposal. it is safe to say that ninety-nine out of a hundred such performances suffer noticeably from need of rehearsing. nor is this to be wondered at, for the average professional play usually requires four or five weeks' rehearsing--seven to eight hours daily--for six and sometimes seven days in the week! of course, an amateur is an amateur because he is not a professional, and he cannot afford very much time for work which is after all only a pastime. one other point should be well borne in mind: the average amateur has not the patience of the professional. if he is rehearsed too long or too steadily, he will grow "stale", and lose interest in his work.
-still, no full-length play can safely be produced with less than four weeks' work, on an average of five rehearsals of three hours each, per week. (this does not include special and individual outside rehearsals.) four weeks is the shortest time that can be allowed, while six or seven should be devoted to it. so much time is not necessary in order that the company may attempt to become professionals; that would be impossible and not at all advisable. the amateur, if rightly trained, should be able to impart a certain natural, naïve, unprofessional tone to the part he is impersonating, but this can only be done by constant rehearsing. the director usually finds that the amateur's first instinct is to imitate the tricks of the professional actor, and not allow himself to feel the character of the rôle. the professional quickly assimilates mannerisms which are only too likely to become mechanical, but which the amateur, because he is an amateur, is not likely to learn, if at first he is trained to avoid them.
-there is no particular excuse for presenting plays which can be seen acted anywhere and any time by professionals; amateurs should strive to produce classics, or modern plays which for one reason or another are not often seen, and impart to them that peculiar flavor which charms as well as interests and attracts. nor is there much use in the amateur actor's striving to become professional in manner: he cannot hope, in the short time he can spare for his work, to become a good professional; or, if he gives signs of becoming such, then he no longer belongs in amateur dramatics. allow the amateur plenty of leeway in the matter of interpretation, if he has any original ideas of his own; but of course these must never be at variance with the general idea of the play. let him work out his own salvation: here lies the value of amateur production, both to the actor and to the audience.
-often amateurs are called upon to portray feelings, actions, passions, of which they have no knowledge or experience. love scenes, for instance, are invariably difficult. in this case, the actors must be taught a few conventional gestures, attitudes, and tricks, but they should not be permitted--except in rare cases--to lay much stress on the acting. this also applies to such purely conventional matters as kissing, dying, fighting, etc., for which a set of recognized technical tricks has been evolved. any competent director can train actors to do this.
-one more point before this part of rehearsing is dispensed with: amateur productions suffer largely from a lack of continuous tension and variety. often the action is slow, jerky, and consequently tedious. constant rehearsing, with a view to inspiring greater confidence and sureness in the actors, under a good director, is the best means to overcome these great drawbacks. the last eight or ten rehearsals, after the cast are familiar with their lines and "business", are the most important in the matter of tempo. details of shading, well-developed and modulated action, and a well-defined climax, are what must be worked for. when the actors are no longer thinking of when they must cross or sit down or rise, they are ready to enter whole-heartedly into the spirit of the play as an artistic unit.
-as an example, on a small scale, of how a scene may be modulated and shaded, two pages from meilhac and halévy's "indian summer" (published by samuel french) are here reprinted with marginal notes explaining how these effects are obtained.
-{adr. if you only had some relatives--married {relatives--your nephew, for instance, with his {wife--then i might--
-the dress rehearsal usually takes place on the night before the regular performance.
-every effort must be made on this occasion to have conditions, on the stage and behind it, as nearly as possible like those under which the play is to be given. scenery, lighting, costumes, must all be ready, and the performance carried through with as few interruptions as the director can afford to make. the director should be in the back of the "house", and stop the players only when they do something absolutely wrong. it is very unwise to change lines or "business" at this eleventh hour. the stage manager and his assistants must be in their assigned places, the lights manipulated, actors "called", the curtain rung up and down on schedule. the director watches the general effects, sees that the stage is not crowded, that the lights are in order, and above all, watches the tempo of the performance.
-the actors must be informed that on the occasion of the performance the audience is likely to distract them by applause, laughter, etc., and that they, the actors, must pause for a moment when there is any such interruption. a little advice as to resting, not worrying about lines, etc., will not be out of place.
-besides the acting dress rehearsal, there should be a scene and light rehearsal. this is merely for the assistants behind the stage. the different scenes (if there is more than one) should be set and "struck" (taken down), furniture and "props" stationed, lights worked, exactly as they are to be on the following night. everything should go according to clockwork, the stage manager "holding the book" on all his assistants.
-the performance should begin on time. every one knows the irksome delay usually incident to amateur performances, and it ought to be the object of every director to remedy a defect which is inherent in our usual slipshod method of reproducing plays. promptness is the prime requisite of efficiency, and the production of plays is successful only when the component elements are organized on a sort of military basis. the actors must be in the theater on time, and "made-up" in costume, at least half an hour before the curtain rises. it is well for each actor to see the property man and make sure that all the "props" necessary to his part are in readiness. the property man himself must also check up his list for the last time, in order to avoid confusion during the performance.
-when everything is in order, there is little more to be done. the director might make a few general remarks to the cast, endeavor to inspire them with confidence and impress upon them the necessity of playing together harmoniously, and so on, but if his work has been well done during rehearsals, this will not be necessary.
-the prompter must follow the play line for line and be ready to prompt any actor who forgets his part. it is well for the stage manager to be near the prompter, in order that every cue for lighting, "business" off-stage--like ringing bells, shooting, etc.--may be acted upon as required.
-revolutionary experiments in lighting, as well as in the disposition of stage settings, have, during the past ten or twelve years, opened up fields formerly undreamed of.
-it is not the purpose of this chapter to describe at great length these innovations; the reader is referred to the books of moderwell and cheney mentioned in the footnote above. a few elementary suggestions, however, which may be used by skilled and intelligent amateurs, will prove suggestive to the average director and stage manager.
-it is likely that by far the greater number of amateur plays will be performed on a stage which is already built and equipped. in such cases, all the stage manager can do is to use his own scenery and at least have a voice in the matter of lighting. still, many plays are performed on improvised stages, in private homes, clubs, or schoolrooms, or out-of-doors. this allows the stage manager a little more leeway, and often he may modify the size of the stage to suit himself, and introduce some innovations of his own.
-to those who are in a position either to build or temporarily construct their own stages, this chapter is primarily addressed.
-we shall now proceed to a consideration of a few of the more important innovations on the modern stage. the first of these is undoubtedly:
-the construction of a cyclorama, either of cloth or of plaster, is rather difficult, but there are certain simple substitutes which may be used to secure some of its elementary effects. the following system has been used by some amateurs with signal success.
-first take a wooden rod, or better, iron pipes, curved to the desired shape.
-fasten this framework either to the ceiling of the "loft" or, if that is too high, to the wings. on the rod hang curtains of burlap, or some similar material, or else two or three thicknesses of cheesecloth, so that they fall in simple folds. the color will depend on the sort of play to be produced and the kind of lights used. as a rule, dark tan, green, or dark red are the best colors, and can be used on many occasions and for nearly every sort of play. whether the "cyclorama" thus improvised be permanent or temporary, this is one of the best possible backgrounds. in out-of-door scenes, it gives a suggestion of distance.
-in constance d'arcy mackay's book on "costumes and scenery for amateurs" the author describes how a "desert and oasis" scene can be made from the simplest means:
-"a plain sand-colored floor cloth. a backdrop or cyclorama of sky-blue against which very low sand mounds appearing as if at great distance, with palm trees, also made small by distance. these mounds and palm trees should be painted low on the backdrop, since a vast stretch of level sand is what is to be suggested. it would even be possible to use a plain blue sky drop, and run some sand-colored cambric into mounds across the back of the stage, so as to break the sky line."
-it is not necessary, though, to paint the cyclorama: darker cloth, made to represent mounds, thrown across the lower part of the cyclorama, would be equally effective. further examples of what can be done with the cyclorama will be cited in the chapter on "lighting."
-another of the recent innovations which is of particular value to amateurs is the system by which the proscenium opening can be made large or small, according to the demands of the play. usually the proscenium looks like the following diagram.
-suppose one scene of a play calls for a large courtroom filled with people. obviously, all the stage space is required. but suppose that the next scene is a small antechamber. on the average stage the discrepancy is at once observed, and the effect is more than likely ridiculous. even if the sets used are "box sets" (that is, with three walls and not mere conventional screens or curtains), the effect of great size can easily be obtained in the first scene, and smallness in the second, by means of the device about to be described. this applies, of course, to plays where the same set must be used for both scenes. if, however, a different set is used for the antechamber scene, the new device is imperative.
-first, construct two tall screens (on a wooden framework), made either of painted canvas or draped cloth, of some dark and subdued tone, and place them on each side of the stage, just behind the proscenium arch, as in the diagram:
-these screens can be easily set closer to the center of the stage, thereby diminishing its size on the sides. then the "grand drapery" above, which hangs down from behind the top of the proscenium arch, and which should be of the same color and material as the side screens, is lowered. this process makes, from the inside, a smaller proscenium arch. many of the german and some other stages have added a fourth side to this frame, by "boxing" the footlights:
-this last, besides giving the effect of a detached picture to the set, prevents the direct rays of the footlights, when they are used, from shining up into the gallery.
-to return to the smaller scene made by the inner proscenium arch, it will readily be seen that the cyclorama--if there is one--or back wall of the set, or else the curtain, must usually be brought forward a little. the advantage of the inner proscenium becomes apparent when such a play as "the merchant of venice" is performed, and the absurdity of using a stage of the same size for the portia-nerissa scene in the first act and the casket scene, is forcibly brought to our attention.
-the introduction of simpler scenery and simpler lighting does away with much that was difficult to manage under the old system, and a few well-trained amateurs should be able to set and attend to almost any production without having recourse to the revolving stage and the "wagons."
-as much space as possible should be kept clear behind the curtain; occasions are likely to arise when the entire stage may be used, and manipulation of scenery on a full stage is a difficult task.
-a few suggestions as to lighting and its relation to scenery and color and action will be set forth in the next chapter.
-it has been rightly urged that recent inventions and discoveries in lighting constitute the greatest contribution to the modern art of the theater. this manual is intended primarily to help the producer and the actor, but the present short chapter may assist the former or his associates in their effort to improve the physical conditions of the stage.
-the prevalent system of using footlights and border lights is on the whole bad, because it is false, unnatural, and above all unnecessary. says moderwell (pages 107-108, in "the theatre of to-day"):
-"before we can begin work in artistic lighting we must do some destroying. one element in the old lighting must go, and go completely. we can say this with careless ease now that the fortuny system has given us a better way. but even before this invention was made known, the case against the footlights must have been obvious to any sensitive man of the theatre; that the 'foots' continued as long as they did indicates the stagnation of the old theatre in all but purely literary art.
-"the footlights, with their corresponding border lights from above, give a flat illumination. they make figures visible, but not living; they destroy that most precious quality of the sculptor, relief.... it is the shadows, the nooks and crannies of light and shade, that show a figure to be solid and plastic."
-the fortuny system mentioned is a device by which light is reflected and diffused: "an arc-lamp and several pieces of cloth of various colours--these comprise the fortuny apparatus in its simplest form." while only an expert electrician and, if the effects are to be artistic, an artist, can erect and manipulate a system built on fortuny's principles, still amateur electricians and directors should do their best, by means of experimentation, to use indirect lighting.
-just how this can be done must rest with individuals, but two or three experiments may be briefly described.
-suppose that the cyclorama, or the hangings masking the back of the stage, are made of white or light-colored cloth. in this case, an arc lamp or ordinary calcium light can be placed up in the loft, above the top of the cyclorama, and behind it. a little experimenting will reveal many striking light effects. if one light or lamp is not sufficient, others can be placed in various positions to reënforce it. as conditions vary so greatly, it is impossible to supply more concise directions.
-where box sets are used in which there is at least one window, and provided the scene does not take place at night, it is much better to have all, or at least an appreciable portion of the light come in through one window. in the second act of charles klein's "the music master" played by david warfield and produced by david belasco, the stage was at one time brilliantly lighted, supposedly by sunshine from the outside, from the two opposite sides of the stage! if, however, screens and curtains are used (see chapter on "scenery and costumes"), then it is best to introduce some sort of central reflected light. to station lights on all sides of the stage will first of all make the stage too bright, and furthermore produce unnatural and distorted shadows: there is no chance for effects of relief or any illusion of plasticity. if possible, the footlights should be entirely eliminated; if not, then most sparingly used. our stages are for the most part overlighted.
-the production of lady gregory's "the rising of the moon" by the irish players was one of the simplest and at the same time most effective of stage pictures. the following diagram will show in a rough way the general disposition of the settings:
-the back of the stage (the shaded area) was flooded with white light to suggest moonlight. there were no "foots" or "borders"; anything besides the single light would have ruined the effect of perfect placidity.
-scenery and costumes
-very little need be said regarding the usual conventional sets, whether they represent interiors or exteriors. the purpose of this chapter is (1) to suggest simple but effective means of staging without using the conventional sets, and (2) to lay down a few principles as to costuming.
-by means of the simple devices about to be described, the amateur is enabled to do without "box sets" and all the paraphernalia of the old stage. the tendency nowadays is away from naturalism in setting; the aim is rather to supply simple but beautiful backgrounds with as little obvious effort as possible; to suggest rather than to represent. when the word "conventional" is used it is intended to convey the meaning not of "old" and "hackneyed", but of "simple", "suggestive." beardsley's drawings are conventional because attitudes and lines are conventionalized.
-in the main, there are three sorts of setting which may be used for practically all kinds of plays. they have been successfully tried out on numerous occasions, and few plays have been found which cannot fit at least one of them.
-1. the first and simplest of them all consists of draperies and tall screens. the greek classics and shakespeare are particularly effective with this sort of background. where greek plays are given, a peristyle of wooden pillars up-stage, behind which may be hung white or tinted curtains, is especially desirable. any greek, and most latin plays, can be produced with this setting. often such plays are given in the open. if the performance takes place in the daylight, there is no difficulty as to artificial lighting; but if it is at night, then a flood-light must cover the stage. this is placed toward the back, or else behind the audience.
-shakespeare is seen at his best with the simple background. a sort of cyclorama may be constructed by using curtains hung at the back of the stage, upon which is thrown light from one place: behind the proscenium arch, from above, or from one of the sides. suppose that "the comedy of errors" is the play to be performed. the first scene of the first act is "a hall in the duke's palace." this, of course, should be printed on the program, but on the stage all that is needed is a suggestion or two, like a gilded chair, and a painted white bench or two. these are not needed in the action, but they serve to create an atmosphere. the second scene is "a public place." absolutely no "props" or furniture are needed; indeed, their very absence indicates the "place." the first scene of the second act is the same. the curtains around the stage must be made in sections, in order to allow the actors to enter and exit through them. the lines are always sufficient to indicate where a person is coming from or going to. in the first scene of the third act, dromio of syracuse says:
-dro. s. (within). mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! either get thee from the door, or sit down at the hatch: dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for such store, when one is one too many? go, get thee from the door.
-a house is evidently intended to be represented, but it is not necessary that we see it: dromio of syracuse can speak from behind the curtain. the convention will readily be accepted. nor is it necessary to differentiate the various "public places", except for the sake of variety: perhaps a bench or two now and then will accomplish this purpose. and when, in the first scene of the fifth act, the public place is "before an abbey", still there is no need of any definite set pieces. from time to time, doubtless some special article of furniture or set piece of some kind will be mentioned in the text, not elsewhere, in which case it can easily be supplied.
-this "shakespeare-without-scenery" is not the only method by which shakespeare can be performed, but it is the easiest and, if done with taste, the most effective.
-let us now take rather a more difficult play, "twelfth night." the first scene of the first act is "an apartment in the duke's palace." the duke sits on a sort of throne or sofa. in max reinhardt's production of this play at the deutsches theater in berlin, the set consisted simply of a semicircular lounge extending all the way across the stage. it was covered with dark blue plush; the hangings were of the same color. a warm yellow light directed from above flooded the stage.
-either a throne or sofa for the duke, then, and a few other chairs for the remaining characters, who sit down--the musicians stand--or else, following reinhardt, a semicircular lounge. this is all. the second scene is "the seacoast." the stage is bare here. the third scene is "a room in olivia's house." different chairs or sofas and a throne for olivia. the following scene is the same as scene one. the first scene of the second act is the seacoast once more. the next is "a street." no furniture. the third scene is "a room in olivia's house"; evidently not the same as that in which olivia first appeared. the room is probably in or near the wine cellar. a table, therefore, and three or four chairs, will not be amiss. the next is the same as in act one, scene one. the fifth scene of the second act is "olivia's garden." here the stage business requires a few definitely placed shrubs and a bench or two. the best arrangement of this scene is suggested in the diagram:
-malvolio comes down-stage center, while the others are hiding behind one of the benches, either left or right. these benches, as indicated in the diagram, are partially concealed by shrubs. baytrees, planted in green-painted tubs, make especially good decorations. they can be used on many occasions, as will be shown later. nor, in the case of the scene from "twelfth night", are they so high as to conceal the actors who are supposed to be hidden behind them. the following scene is the same. the second scene of the third act is the cellar room again. following this is "a street"; then "olivia's garden" once more. the next new scene is the first of the fourth act: "a street before olivia's garden." perhaps a little variety can be introduced in the shape of a shrub or two. the remaining scenes are repetitions of those already considered.
-the suggestions above given are extremely summary, but, if acted upon, will be seen to prove sufficient.
-2. out-of-door scenes of a more elaborate character, in plays like rostand's "the romancers", often require more complicated sets; they may still be produced with the most elementary sort of background, however. the stage directions of this play are as follows:
-this is set in the following manner:
-the background hangings may be of tan burlap or else dark green. gaps, covered by the folds, must be made up- and down-stage to allow the actors to enter and leave the stage. the wall must be constructed of solid wood, in order to support the actors, and painted to suggest bricks. there is a rustic bench against each side of the wall. though they are not mentioned in these preliminary directions, there are other rustic benches, down-stage to the extreme right and left. these are used later in the act.
-the third act stage directions are: "the scene is the same except that the wall is being rebuilt. bricks and sacks of plaster lie about." a few bricks may serve to indicate the partly finished wall.
-since the scene of this play is laid at first in parks, there ought to be some suggestion as to this fact. here bay- or box-trees can be used. perhaps three or four should be arranged more or less symmetrically at the back of the stage, and as many to the right and left, down-stage. one or two can be added, close to the wall. this is all that is absolutely necessary.
-the foregoing remarks have been applied largely to romantic plays, but what is to be done in modern realistic pieces? there are two courses open, besides the conventional one (using box sets):
-the first method is to use the regular hangings as before and set a few needful articles of furniture about the stage. this is not realistic, but there are many realistic plays which can be produced without correspondingly realistic settings. of course, where windows are referred to and used, there must be real windows, and where a character is directed to hang a picture on a wall, there must be a wall. however, there are many realistic plays where box sets are not required. hermann sudermann's "the far-away princess" is a case in question. the author has definitely suggested a certain setting for the play, but as his suggestions are not absolutely essential they may be modified. the directions are:
-"the veranda of an inn. the right side of the stage and half of the background represent a framework of glass enclosing the veranda. the left side and the other half of the background represent the stone walls of the house. to the left, in the foreground, a door; another door in the background, at the left. on the left, back, a buffet and serving table. neat little tables and small iron chairs for visitors are placed about the veranda. on the right, in the centre, a large telescope, standing on a tripod, is directed through an open window. rosa, dressed in the costume of the country, is arranging flowers on the small tables. frau lindemann, a handsome, stoutish woman in the thirties, hurries in excitedly from the left."
-if the dramatist's stage directions are implicitly followed, a realistic set will be required. the scene as set according to the diagram, has, however, often been used:
-once more, the little shrubs may be used in order to give an atmosphere of outdoors.
-or, to take an example of a "modern-interior" play in which the same conventionalized scenery may be used to advantage--alfred capus' "brignol and his daughter" (published by french) is set as follows:
-scene: an office, fitted up with various articles of parlor furniture--rather pretentious in appearance. to the right, a table with letter-files, and a safe; beside the safe, a bookshelf. at the back is the main entrance; there are other doors, right and left, one opening upon a bed-room, the other upon the parlor.
-here the setting is so usual, so conventional, that no actual room is required: merely the table, chairs, safe, etc., as called for. of course, it is not imperative that such plays should be set in this manner: the arrangement with screens about to be described is usually the best way. the point here to be impressed is that realistic sets are not always required for realistic plays.
-3. by the introduction of screens--not to be confused with the large screens mentioned by gordon craig, however--practically any realistic play can be produced. the diagram below will afford some idea of the very simple principle:
-three screens, about seven feet high, made in three sections, and covered with burlap or some similar material, are all that will usually be required on a moderately small stage. these can be set in various ways. if an ordinary room is called for, they may be set as in the above diagram.
-"brignol and his daughter" may be staged by using three screens (as in the diagram above): the opening at the back is the center door; the doors on the right and left are the openings left between the lower ends of the side screens and the inside of the proscenium arch. the furniture is set in this scene as it is required in the stage directions. if the proscenium opening is too large, then the grand drapery can be lowered to within two or three feet of the top of the screens, and the side screens, behind the sides of the proscenium arch, brought closer together. behind the screens representing the room, burlap or a suitable substitute may be hung. to take concrete examples once more, the setting of the first act of "a scrap of paper" (the adaptation by j. palgrave simpson) is thus described in the text:
-five screens are here required: one at the back, behind the fireplace; and two on each side of the stage. only two of the three folding sections of each are used.
-the fireplace must be "practical"--that is, it must have a wooden framework. in case a mirror is desired, it can be lower than a mirror usually is, and made of mosquito netting, to avoid reflections. a very few pictures may be hung on the screens. the hangings at the back of the stage--masking the bare walls--are of the same sort as have been described before, but the color of the screens must harmonize with them.
-with such a background, and by means of screens, shrubs, and a few necessary set pieces, like the wall in the rostand play, the author has seen a dozen widely different plays produced by amateurs, in not one of which was the slightest noticeable discrepancy or anything that would shock even the theatergoer who is accustomed to the elaborate and often unnecessary settings of david belasco.
-as may be easily imagined, the possibilities of variation upon these simple settings are infinite. experimentation, as always, will reveal new fields.
-before closing the chapter, a word may be said of the flat background near the curtain line. about four or five feet behind the curtain line--i.e. the place where the curtain falls to the stage--hang a drop, either of burlap, or else a white drop like that used in stereopticon lectures. this, either played upon by lights in "the house", or from behind the stage, forms a striking background for scenes of pantomime, a street--as in "twelfth night"--a wall, a forest, almost anything. such a screen was most effectively used in one scene of reinhardt's production of "sumurûn." a still more striking effect was achieved in a performance of "peer gynt" at the lessing theater in berlin. the scene was the one in which peer gynt is before the pyramid in egypt. about five feet behind the curtain line a white screen was dropped. diagonally across this screen was thrown a dark purple light, while over the remaining space a saffron yellow played. that was all, but the suggestion of the vast shadow of the pyramid and the yellow sunlight and the yellow sands of egypt was far more impressive than any representation of the pyramid and desert could be.
-in case the effect of a distant city is desired, then another (darker and thicker) cloth, cut to represent the outlines of buildings and the like, can be sewed against the drop, thus producing the effect of a silhouette.
-in fine, the whole problem of staging resolves itself into this: achieve your effects in as simple a way as possible; suggest, do not try to represent; scenery, which ought indeed to be a delight to the eye, is after all only background. experiment, but never hesitate to ask the advice of those who know the basic principles of color, line, and form, as well as those who have technical knowledge of every branch of the art and craft of the theater.
-however, historical accuracy, when it can be obtained as easily as not, is never superfluous.
-selective lists of amateur plays
-the following lists, which do not pretend to completeness, will at least be found helpful in assisting amateur organizations to choose "worth-while" plays. the general headings "classic", etc, are clear, but the following explanations must be made regarding the other markings:
-the letter "s" denotes serious or tragic plays, intended in nearly every case for advanced amateurs.
-the letter "r" denotes plays of a romantic and poetic nature.
-the letter "c" denotes comedies, farces, and plays in lighter vein.
-the letter "f" in parenthesis after the title indicates that a fee is charged for production by amateurs. the publisher or agent (see footnotes), must be consulted for particulars.
-the letter "d" denotes modern dialect plays, like those of lady gregory. most of these plays are included under the general heading of "classic" because the costumes and setting, though they may be modern, are not the familiar modern costumes and settings.
-all plays not included in the first division "classics, including modern costume and historical plays" are to be found in the second division: "modern plays."
-it is nearly always unwise for an amateur organization to take a play on faith; it is therefore advisable for it to collect a library of amateur plays, from which successive generations of members can at least form some judgment of the field from which they are to select their plays.
-this list makes no pretence to completeness. it has been the writer's purpose merely to mention a number of classic and standard plays which amateurs can produce without too great difficulty.
-classics, including modern costume and historical plays
-rs euripides, alcestis (samuel french; walter h. baker)
-rc aristophanes, the clouds (macmillan; "the drama", victorian edition)
-c lysistrata (samuel french. another version, by laurence housman, published by the woman's press, london)
-c plautus, the twins (samuel french)
-c terence, phormio (samuel french)
-rc lope de vega, the dog in the manger ("the drama", victorian edition)
-rc calderon, keep your own secret (macmillan)
-rc benavente, the bonds of interest (in "the drama", no. 20)
-rc goldoni, the fan (yale dramatic association)
-c bruëys (adaptor of 15th century anonymous), master patelin, solicitor (samuel french)
-cr de musset, fantasio (dramatic publishing company)
-cr rostand, the romancers (samuel french; walter h. baker; heinemann)
-cr zamacois, the jesters (brentano) (f)
-c holberg, the loquacious barber ("the drama", victorian edition)
-cr hertz, king rené's daughter (samuel french)
-cr lessing, minna von barnhelm (in bohn library, macmillan)
-c the scholar (in bohn library)
-c schiller, nephew or uncle (walter h. baker)
-s anonymous, everyman (everyman's library; dutton)
-r lyly, alexander and campaspe (scribner, and in everyman's library) (requires cutting)
-r greene, friar bacon and friar bungay (dutton) (requires cutting)
-cr beaumont and fletcher, the knight of the burning pestle (scribner; everyman's library; etc.) (requires cutting)
-cr dekker, old fortunatus (scribner) (requires cutting)
-cr the shoemaker's holiday (scribner; dutton) (requires cutting)
-cr heywood the fair maid of the west (scribner) (requires cutting)
-sr jonson, the sad shepherd (dutton) (requires cutting)
-cr the case is altered (in any complete set of ben jonson) (requires cutting)
-shakespeare (no plays need be mentioned. the "ben greet shakespeare for amateurs" contains good directions for staging and acting)
-c udall, ralph roister doister (macmillan; dent) (requires cutting)
-cr goldsmith, the good-natured man (in any edition of goldsmith's plays)
-cr she stoops to conquer (in any edition of goldsmith's plays)
-cr sheridan, the rivals (in any edition of sheridan's plays)
-c the school for scandal (in any edition of sheridan's plays)
-c the critic (in any edition of sheridan's plays)
-cr housman, a chinese lantern (dramatic publishing company) (f)
-cr parker, pomander walk (samuel french) (f)
-cr bennett and knoblauch, milestones (doran) (f)
-cr noyes, sherwood (stokes) (f)
-cr tennyson, the princess (in any complete edition of tennyson)
-cd boyle, the building fund (gill, dublin) (f)
-sr kalidasa, sakountala (walter scott, london; and everyman's library)
-modern plays (nineteenth and twentieth centuries, in which the costumes and settings are modern)
-s giacosa, as the leaves (in "the drama no. 1, and by little, brown)
-c pailleron, the art of being bored (samuel french)
-s france, crainquebille (samuel french)
-s capus, the adventurer ("the drama", november, 1914)
-c brignol and his daughter (samuel french)
-sc freytag, the journalists ("the drama", february, 1913)
-sb lucky pehr (stewart and kidd) (f)
-sc björnson, the newly-married couple (everyman's library; dutton)
-c love and geography (scribner)
-s ibsen, an enemy of the people (scribner)
-c pinero, the schoolmistress (walter h. baker) (f)
-c jones, the manoeuvres of jane (samuel french) (f)
-s barker, the voysey inheritance (little, brown) (f)
-sc bennett, what the public wants (doran) (f)
-style in wearing kilts.
-elsie's hair was done in two braids, which hung down her back. though he resented what she told him, ian thought she was very sweet. for she looked at him in a way that made his resentment soon fade.
-smiling, he said, "thanks, elsie. i'll not march now."
-silently they walked together. ian was very near telling his little friend about his dreams.
-but while he was weighing the probable outcome of such a move, the school bell rang. it was half past nine, the time that school in scotland starts in the springtime. ian and elsie ran.
-at one o'clock, ian went home to his lunch. elsie stayed, for her home was far away. she brought her "piece," which is what the scotch children call their lunch. no doubt the word refers to their piece of bread, which, with an apple, is sometimes all they get.
-at home, ian's mother always had waiting for him a plate of scotch broth, potatoes, and sometimes an apple tart. after school ian was drawn to the bridge.
-"ian, wait," called elsie, and ran after him.
-ian stopped and remembered that he had almost told her. how could a wee lass like that understand? no. he would not speak. what was more, he would not let her come along, for he knew that was what she wanted to do.
-"are you going fishing from the brig?" asked elsie blithely.
-"ay," answered ian sulkily, as he stepped ahead of her.
-"may i go with you, ian?" queried the small girl.
-"no, elsie. you're too wee for fishing, and you scare the fish."
-elsie's lip quivered. ian feared she would cry right out on the road. then what would he do?
-"ach, don't cry, lass. run home to your mother, for 'tis late for you to be out, and she'll be worried."
-it was all said kindly but much too eagerly. elsie, who was keen, did not doubt for a moment that she was not wanted.
-she ran off, while ian, with a sigh--sad to say, of relief--ran to his home. he kissed his mother, took down his fishing rod, and was off for fish and dreams.
-at the bridge, adventure indeed awaited him, had he but known. he settled himself in his favorite place and threw his line down into the river. little did he suspect what was to happen.
-singing to himself, he waited. a tug on his line! so soon? ah, the fish were biting well to-day. mother would be pleased. what a big fish and how it pulled! ian struggled for several minutes, and then up came his prize.
-but what sort of fish was this? it looked like a fuzzy ball of brown fur. as it came up closer, ian saw that it was a bear--a toy bear. it was undoubtedly the property of a certain elsie campbell!
-"out, you wee devil, out!" cried ian, standing up and looking down under the bridge for his tormentor.
-there she was, and her laugh was most annoying to ian. he was scolding, and at the same time trying to undo the hook from the toy bear's fur.
-"come up here, you wee devil!" repeated ian furiously.
-up came the culprit. ian had to join in her laughter, though he shook his finger at her the while. she sat down beside him happily.
-"ian, do you believe in the devil?" she asked.
-"ay, do i," he answered. "'tis yerself."
-"no." elsie shook her head seriously. "do you know, i believe 'tis like santa claus. 'tis your own father!"
-"ach, elsie," laughed ian, at the child's idea. "you know that santa claus brings you dolls and toy bears and--"
-ian did not go on to complete the list, for just then he heard a sound that made his heart beat faster. jumping down from the wall, he looked up the road. coming toward him was sandy!
-how elsie ever disappeared ian never knew. disappear she did quickly. afterwards, when ian thought it over, it seemed that fairies had snatched her away.
-whatever happened, she was not there when sandy and ian greeted each other. it was probably her woman's instinct, which bade her leave these two to their men's affairs!
-how happy was ian as his kind old friend seated himself by ian's side with the same boyish leap!
-"well, ian, lad," said sandy, "the same bonny aberfoyle, the same bonny laddie! and do you have the same bonny dreams?"
-"ach, sandy, more than ever before. and have you traveled far since last i saw you?"
-"ay, that have i, and many's the tale i'll tell you this day. but first i must show you something."
-beckoning ian to his cart, sandy pointed to a bundle wrapped up in his coat.
-tenderly unwrapping it, the old piper pulled out a young lamb, dirty, thin, and bleating.
-"'tis a poor hurt beastie, ian," he said. "i found it on the road. its mother is dead, and it was left to die, too. i picked it up and now cannot care for it, as i'm wandering and have no place to keep it."
-"ach, sandy, couldn't i keep the wee beastie for you?" asked ian eagerly.
-sandy stroked his chin thoughtfully.
-"you could, laddie. but 't would be a while till i return--maybe not till next spring. and a lamb with no mother is a care."
-"ach, sandy," cried the boy, "let me do it for you. i could feed it with my wee sister's nursing bottle."
-"ach, ay, laddie! your mother would like that fine!" laughed sandy. "but," he continued soberly, "if you would keep the wee creature, i could give you something for your trouble."
-"no, sandy. i would keep it for you, and gladly."
-sandy was still dubious. he was worried for fear the boy's father would object to a charge of this kind. the lamb would need tender nursing and careful watching.
-sometimes small boys grow careless, although their intentions are of the best. then the task falls to father or mother.
-as sandy was revolving these thoughts in his mind, he suddenly had a plan.
-"ian," he said, "do you remember the story i told you of the pipers at dunblane?"
-"i've thought of little else, sandy," replied ian, as he stroked the lamb. the little creature was nestling down comfortably in sandy's arms.
-"well, lad, uncover the plaid on my cart and see what i have there."
-ian turned back the bit of plaid covering the cart. sandy used it to protect his personal belongings.
-"two sets o' pipes, sandy!" exclaimed ian.
-"ay! one was given me by a man for a service. it is not so bonny as mine but might do for a laddie learning to play!"
-"sandy, do you mean--?" ian cried.
-"ay, lad. in the spring when i return, if this wee beastie is fine, and you have done your duty like a true shepherd, then you shall have the pipes!"
-"sandy, sandy, is it true? may i be a piper and play the pipes like the laddies in dunblane? ach, sandy!"
-ian was almost mad with joy. for a moment he forgot what service he was to render in return for this great reward. but remembering his charge, he carefully lifted the little lamb out of sandy's arms.
-he held it tenderly in his own, and said, "you'll find the wee beastie well and fat when you return in the spring, sandy."
-through scotland with sandy
-the warm air of spring was pleasant. the craig family's supper was spread out before the door of their cottage. they ate outdoors so that they could enjoy the beauties of the evening.
-it would not be dark here until very late. ian's father could sit before his cottage door, reading his paper by daylight until almost eleven o'clock.
-now it was only seven. mrs. craig was ringing a bell, which echoed through the hills.
-this was the way she called her husband and son to the evening meal.
-toward her came ian, and some one was with him. mrs. craig strained her eyes to see, but she could not make out the stranger's figure.
-as they came closer, ian ran toward his mother, calling, "mother, i've brought sandy to tea!"
-the old piper politely removed his cap and stood before ian's mother.
-"your son has brought home an old traveler, mistress," he said.
-mrs. craig smiled and, shaking sandy's hand, said, "and glad i am, for a friend of ian's is welcome to the house of his mother. sit down, sir."
-ian told his mother the story of the lamb.
-he explained how, if he performed his task, he would by next spring be the owner of bagpipes.
-mrs. craig smiled at sandy and said, "you trust the laddie, sir?"
-sandy macgregor replied, "ay; for will he not be a piper in the band one fine day?"
-alan craig and roy soon returned, and sandy was introduced to them.
-after the little repast, ian beckoned sandy to him. nodding his head toward the hills, he said, "come away and tell now about your travels through scotland, sandy."
-the two sat on the hill and watched the smoke curling up from the cottage chimney. and while sandy smoked his pipe he told ian once more of his wondrous adventures.
-traveling through scotland is like going through many different countries. for scotland's beauties are varied. here in the hollow is a lovely, quaint village. its thatched roofs and white walled cottages make a picture sweet to behold.
-as you go along, soon you pass the peaceful, hilly country and come to rocky, steep, and rugged land. you might be in the mountains, for it is wild and desolate except for the sheep, which are everywhere.
-around a corner, another village looms into space. this one is cold and bleak. you pass through it without sight or sound of human beings. its buildings are tall, stony, and gray. in the center is a pump, where the people come to draw their water, but no one is about.
-with a shiver you pass on. as you gradually leave the village behind, you find yourself again in pastoral land. thatched cottages come into view. bluebells begin to dot the road. how sweet is the smell of hay and cows and clover!
-once more a village, and now you wonder whether this can be the same country. for in the narrow streets are children, dogs, women, peasants, bicyclists, and more children.
-little girls walk along knitting. everyone is walking in the middle of the cobbled street. sandy has difficulty in going through the crowd with his cart.
-this is kurrimuir, better known as thrums. it is the scene of many of j. m. barrie's delightful stories. here on the corner is the dear little cottage made famous by barrie's "a window in thrums."
-passing a field, sandy stops to watch some boys playing cricket. this game is very popular in scotland. all the boys play it, just as american boys play baseball.
-doune castle! sandy climbs over the fence and starts up toward the towering mass of rock. he thinks of the many battles fought around this ancient stronghold. it was here that king robert bruce made some of scotland's history.
-stirling castle! another massive stone memorial of the days of scotland's stormy wars.
-sandy passes on until he comes to the city of perth. here he stops before the old, old house in which lived "the fair maid of perth," made famous by sir walter scott.
-in st. andrews is the oldest golf links in the world. from everywhere people come to play the royal and ancient game. it is said that no course is at all like the old course at st. andrews.
-on went sandy to melrose. he passed the eildon hills where king arthur and his knights are supposed to be buried. this is the spot where, 'tis said, sir walter scott used to stop his horses every day.
-he paused here because he loved to look at the glorious view behind. his horses knew the spot so well that they would stop here of their own accord. on the day of sir walter's funeral, when they were taking his body to the abbey, the horses stopped once more.
-in alloway is the house where the great scotch poet, robert burns, lived. every day it is shown to hundreds of visitors, who pay to go in and look at the curious old place.
-its quaint furniture and interesting manuscripts and pictures are all connected with the beloved poet. in the gardens are statues representing many of the characters in burns' poems. "poosie nancy," "tam o' shanter," and many others are there.
-another town made famous by a scottish character is maxwelltown, or maxwelton, where annie laurie lived.
-passing an ancient graveyard, sandy stops to marvel at some huge slabs of iron. these are still kept to show how, in the seventeenth century, the dead were held down in their graves.
-these heavy slabs were put on top of the dead. this was done to keep them from being dug up by robbers. the thieves would steal and sell them to doctors and medical students.
-the signing of the covenant was to scotland what the signing of the declaration of independence was to america. it was the beginning of freedom!
-james vi of scotland tried to force the people into his own religious beliefs. they refused to be led. on the first day of march, 1768, in the old greyfriars churchyard, the covenant was signed.
-the signing was done on a flat gravestone, which is there to this day. and so, just as america has a liberty bell, scotland has a liberty stone.
-as sandy's old handcart rattles through each little scottish town, he is impressed with the many bookshops he sees in his country. the scotch are enthusiastic readers. their love and desire for education are national traits.
-often sandy passes young boys or young girls sitting by the roadside, absorbed in their books. the colleges and schools of scotland are fine indeed.
-over many stores and buildings sandy reads names which start with "mac," such as macniel and mackenzie. he smiles as he thinks about these names. he knows that these people, like himself, are the descendants of the old clan leaders.
-they gave the name "mac," which means "son of," to their children. so, if a clan leader was named gregor, the children of his clan would be macgregor. in the olden days, the word "clan," which comes from an old gaelic word meaning "children," was like a great family. their chief was like a father, whom they all obeyed.
-to-day, you no doubt know people named macdonald, macrae, etc. these are the descendants of the "clansmen," as they were called.
-each clan has a tartan of its own. a tartan is what you would probably call plaid. it is the heathery mixture of many colors and designs.
-each tartan is different from every other. to-day in scotland you will see the children wearing kilts or ties or tams made of their own family tartan.
-the town of paisley is famous for its paisley shawls. these are very much admired by all the world and worn by ladies of fashion.
-the shetland shawls, also famous, are dear to old ladies, because they are soft and warm. the shetland ponies are dear to children, for they are so little that they are more like large dogs than like horses. both come from the shetland islands, which are north of scotland and are ruggedly wild.
-through all of sandy's travels he never saw the thistle, which is supposed to grow so thickly in scotland. the thistle, as you perhaps know, is used on scottish crests and banners. no doubt it existed, long ago, but to-day it is nowhere to be found.
-here is loch drunkie, a queer name with a queer history. it was on the shores of this lake that men made whisky--which was against the law.
-one day the men saw officers of the law coming toward them. they knew that they would be arrested if they were found out. to avoid arrest, they emptied their whisky into the lake. people say that the waters have remained half whisky from that day to this.
-sandy jogs along toward aberfoyle. it is the day he delivers his injured lamb to the mercies of his young friend. during this time, he passes another "loch," the well known and much beloved "loch lomond."
-sandy stops on the shore. he gazes below on the shining blue waters, upon which ply the tiny white steamers. he shoulders his bagpipes and plays the melody known in every clime, "on the bonny, bonny banks of loch lomond." here the fairies were wont to dwell. a tale is told of fairy dyers, who worked for the clans of loch lomond in the days of yore.
-a joke was once played upon the wee elfin folk by a boy. the lad asked to have the fleece of a black sheep dyed white. angered by this request, the fairies overturned their pots of dye into the lake and never more returned.
-but the color from their dye turned the lake an unearthly shade of blue. this color is different from that of all other lakes, and thus it has remained.
-again sandy pipes:
-"for me and ma true love will never meet again on the bonny, bonny banks of loch lomond."
-for many weeks after sandy's departure from aberfoyle, ian tended the lamb carefully. he fed it from a baby's bottle. the young creature grew strong and fat. it would follow the boy around as though it knew him to be its nurse.
-it did not mingle with the others, for it was an orphan. it knew that it did not belong with the flock. sheep are not like people. human beings, seeing a motherless child, would strive to protect it with their own young ones.
-so the task of protector and nurse fell to ian. he loved to feel the wee one's soft fur against his cheek as it lay on the hill with him. he liked to feed it from its bottle and hear the soft, gurgling noises it made.
-it amused him to see its tail waggled so rapidly after each mouthful of milk. this is the way it showed ian how well it liked its dinner. and as ian felt the lamb, warm and soft in his arms, he seemed to feel there something else--his beloved bagpipes!
-much to the amusement of his parents, ian called the lamb betty, his baby sister's name. he felt that it was as helpless and young as she.
-very often they both sucked from their nursing bottles at the same time. while they were doing this, they looked at each other with big, wondering eyes. ian often sat and admired the pair and laughingly said to his mother, "your baby and my baby, mother."
-so the days flew by, and the summer wore on. soon the school bell began to ring out again. it told the children that another term was beginning.
-ian was loth to leave his happy pastimes in field and on hill. however, he, like all scotch children, was anxious to learn. so one morning, he strapped his book bag on his back and started off to school.
-that was a lonely day for the lamb betty. she was lonely because her young guardian had hardly ever left her side. the lamb was clearly worried and bleated unmercifully until ian returned from school.
-when, the next day, the same thing happened, ian's pet could stand it no longer and started out to find him.
-every child in the world knows the song about "mary's little lamb." that day, as betty marched herself up the steps of ian's schoolhouse, a chorus of childish voices sang out:
-"ian had a wee, wee lamb; it followed him to school!"
-there was much merriment as ian hurriedly packed betty off to her home. like the teacher in the song, this teacher had difficulty in restoring order.
-it was also a flushed and embarrassed ian who returned to his classroom. that evening he lectured betty upon behavior for lambs!
-however, betty was either disobedient or else too young to understand ian's lecture. the next day she tried to repeat her performance. she started off on a gallop to find her young master. i say, "tried," for alas, this time poor betty could not find ian's school!
-for many hours she wandered about. she went farther and farther, not only from school but from home. evening fell, and betty was bleating alone in a dense forest--lost!
-at last ian returned from school. for several moments, he could not understand why betty did not come to meet him. he stood and gazed about. then a terrible thought came to him.
-rushing to his father on the hillside, he asked excitedly for his pet. alan craig shook his head sadly.
-"i've sent roy again, laddie, but he's returned once alone. i fear the beastie is lost."
-lost! ian's world fell about him. the sound of distant bagpipes seemed to resound dully in his ears. the words of sandy came to him through the dim: "in the spring, if this beastie is fine, and you have done your duty--"
-his duty! and poor betty! where could she be? a little lonely creature, more baby than animal, tended so carefully, and unused to the thorns and sharp rocks of the hills--alone and lost!
-"roy, lad, can you not find her?" asked ian.
-ian threw his school books off his back. kneeling, he put his arms around the neck of roy. roy answered in his own way. it was as clear to ian as though the dog had cried out to him, "no, laddie, she's lost, lost!"
-and if a sheep was lost to roy, it was indeed a lost sheep! for the clever dog would smell a sheep for many miles. he would, in fact, encounter any danger to bring a straggler back to the fold.
-still, thought ian, betty was not really one of the fold. it was possible that roy's experience did not fit him to scent out tame pets.
-"i'm going to look, father," shouted the heartbroken boy.
-calling roy, he started off on a run. the father shook his head and felt a great pity for his little son.
-alan craig tells a story
-the word "betty" resounded in the hills many times that evening. the lights in the village were already lighted when a tired, heartsick boy, followed by a sympathetic sheep dog, returned to the craig cottage.
-there they were awaited by alan craig. the lad stumbled blindly into the house.
-he found his father with a candle in his hand, waiting to lead the disappointed boy to his bed.
-ian cried himself to sleep that night. roy, the dog, sat beside him and mourned for the lost member of the little household.
-the next day and the next were spent in searching the hills, the fields, and the forest. fortunately for ian, they were saturday and sunday, and he did not have to go to school.
-he arose before the dawn and did not return until evening. but it was always the same. betty was nowhere to be found. though ian and roy hunted in every conceivable place, the lamb had disappeared.
-on monday, ian was forced to relinquish his hunt and go to school. immediately after school he called to roy and was off again.
-"the lad hardly eats his meals, he's so troubled!" said mrs. craig to her husband, as she shook her head.
-alan bit his pipe in silence, while his heart bled for ian.
-then the dog forgot all of alan's training and ran after them wildly. alan always had to come himself to restore order.
-one day he tramped miles to recover a terrified mother and her baby. after this long walk, alan sat on the hillside.
-meanwhile the new dog looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and dropped his tail because he was ashamed.
-as the shepherd sat smoking, he saw his son coming toward him, followed by roy. ian threw himself down beside his father. letting his head sink upon the shepherd's knee, he gave up the search.
-"'tis weary i am, father," he sighed. "the search is over, and my wee lamb is gone."
-"and your pipes, ian? are they to be lost, too?" queried the shepherd.
-"ay," answered his son, "for sandy said, 'if you tend the wee creature well till spring!' now sandy will return in the spring, and there'll be no creature."
-for a few moments alan craig smoothed ian's curly black hair. the boy tried hard to hold back his sobs, which were nearly choking him.
-then alan craig spoke. "ian, lad, have you not heard the story of bruce and the spider?"
-"ay, father," replied ian. "'tis in my history book."
-"then mind well while i repeat it to you. for king robert bruce was a great man, and he never gave up!"
-ian listened intently while his father recounted the well-known tale. he told how, many, many years ago, king robert bruce had fought with the english and lost numerous battles. one night, he was lying despondent on a rude couch in his tent on the battlefield.
-his heart was heavy with the memory of his lost battles and of the suffering throughout his country. just then his eye fell upon a spider in the corner of the tent. the industrious little creature was trying to fix its web to the top pole of the tent. it had already made six attempts, but each time it had fallen.
-king bruce bethought him of his lost battles. six! he and the spider had failed six times. and now he, king bruce, was about to give up! would the spider also be downed, or would it, perhaps, persevere once more?
-king bruce made a vow to himself. he decided that, should the wee creature try again to fix its web and be successful, then he, robert bruce, would profit by the spider's lesson and fight another battle!
-the spider made another attempt. slowly it raised its shadowy body until, quivering in the air, it balanced itself for the final plunge. the king raised himself on his elbow and watched. a nation awaited that spider's success or failure!
-again it plunged, caught at the pole, and fixed its web! king robert bruce jumped to his feet. he threw his plaid about him and began his preparations for the greatest battle in scottish history, the battle of bannockburn.
-as everyone knows, he routed the english at this famous battle. never afterward would the great king give up!
-"so should we all feel, ian," said alan craig as he finished his tale.
-"from the king to the spider!" though ian had heard the story often before, it now held a new meaning for him. he looked up at his father.
-then he stood erect and called to his dog, "come, roy; we'll try again!"
-he was soon off through the hills once more.
-pipers and troubles
-at the beginning of that same summer, jamie robinson, aberfoyle's piper, became restless. jamie was not a steady man. he had never been a good provider. his poor wife and babies were often hungry and cold in the stormy winter months.
-jamie robinson earned his living by his piping. he marched back and forth through the village street, playing his bagpipes. he hoped that the noisy, celebrating crowds, which arrived from glasgow, would like his music and throw him pennies.
-when the people were generous, his family might have a good dinner. but often jamie robinson did not bring the money home to his family. unfortunately jamie, who was a weak man, was often led by some of the village men into public houses. here men gamble and drink.
-sometimes poor mrs. robinson waited until very late for her husband to come home. when at last he arrived, he came penniless.
-but now jamie was buoyed up by the balmy weather. he felt a longing for the open road.
-"come away, wife," he pleaded. "'tis no living for a man here."
-but mrs. robinson only shook her head and reminded him of their large family and of the hardships of a wandering life. after all, they were comfortable here, when jamie brought home the pennies.
-they had a little corner on a bright meadow beside a brook. besides, the people of aberfoyle were kind. mrs. robinson tried to keep her four wee children clean and happy. but this task was not always easy. what would it be on the open road?
-"no, jamie," she said. "'tis afraid i am to go traveling with the wee bairns." (children are called bairns in scotland.)
-but jamie insisted and promised that she would not regret it. he promised that he would make money and provide for them better than before.
-and so, one day the village of aberfoyle said good-bye to piper robinson. the little caravan then moved on to what they hoped would be a better life.
-they made a queer picture as they trudged along. there was jamie pulling the cart, with mrs. robinson beside him. her entire kitchen was strung upon her back--teakettle, sauce pan, and soup ladle.
-then came the oldest child, followed by the scrawny dog. behind him dragged a freckled boy of five years. in the handcart, on top of the sticks and the tent, sat the two babies. one of them was three and the other barely two years old.
-for some time jamie robinson was happy. in each little village where he played, he made enough to feed his family. he tried to please his wife and brought home all the money that was thrown him.
-but the weeks wore on, and the family moved farther and farther from the big cities. then it seemed that there became less and less money for pipers.
-while sandy macgregor traveled, he usually sang or whistled. sandy was always happy. he was getting old, and his stride was not what it had been. still he gloried in his happy-go-lucky life.
-since leaving aberfoyle, sandy had thought often of the little boy in whose charge he had left the baby lamb. old sandy chuckled to himself when he thought about his return and ian's joy upon receiving the bagpipes.
-"if i could only stay and teach the laddie to play!" mused the old piper.
-sandy was a good piper and had once served in the army. jamie robinson had only picked up a few tunes. ian had recognized sandy's clever playing at once on the day he had first come to aberfoyle.
-now, wet from the showers and hungry, sandy stopped in a town. taking out his pipes, he began to play. it was the same town where jamie robinson had played that night and the night before. the people were poor.
-the rain had been falling in steady showers, so that few persons were about the streets. sandy puffed on his pipes, and the sweet melody echoed through the village and beyond to the hills. but not a soul came to pay the piper.
-"ach, well," sighed sandy. he wiped the dripping water from his brow and put back the pipes. he covered them carefully with his plaid. then pulling his cart, the old man moved on through the wet streets of the village. soon he was on the open road.
-his experienced eyes fell upon a camping spot. he decided to rest the night there. he neared the little clump of trees by the side of the road. then he saw that he was not the only traveler who had chosen this spot. here was the tent of jamie robinson.
-as sandy drew closer, he heard a baby crying. sandy called out, and jamie put his face out of his tent. a sullen, angry face it was.
-"and what is it you want?" he bellowed.
-sandy walked up to the man and smiled.
-"ach, don't be angry," he said. "i'll not be harming you. i'm an old piper and would rest the night here beside you, if you have no objection."
-jamie looked at the cart and again at sandy's happy red face.
-then, softening his tone, he said, "then welcome. and have you piped to yon village?"
-"ay," answered sandy, "but they have not cared for my music!"
-he laughed as he said this, and started to pitch his tent.
-jamie came out and helped him. it was not long before he had told sandy all of his troubles. sandy's brows wrinkled. a sadness came over his face as he listened to jamie's tale of woe.
-the family had been stranded here for three days. the rain had kept them from moving. then the wee baby was ill, and the others were hungry and cold. not a penny had been made in the town. jamie had played several times each day. he had even trudged along to the next town with no better results.
-sandy was shocked. the thought of hungry children tormented him. telling jamie that he wished to try his luck in the town once more, he hastened thither, his pipes under his arm.
-sandy had never been a rich man. he always had enough to buy his meals, and that was all. a piper cannot make a great deal. sandy's music usually brought him ample money for his needs. but he was a generous soul and gave away half of what he earned.
-to-night he had in his pocket just enough to buy his dinner. into the town he went. it was not long before he returned to the suffering family with bread and milk. to mrs. robinson, sandy appeared as a good fairy that night.
-the next day broke fair. early sandy was in the market square of the town. he played the finest tunes he knew, strutting up and down.
-the villagers liked his music, and the children followed him. they would have liked to shower sandy with gold, for the joy that their country's melodies brought them. but their purses were thin. they could only smile sadly and shake their heads at the puffing old man.
-there was nothing for the robinsons to do but to move on. it was a difficult task for mrs. robinson. but with sandy's help, she managed to pilot her little tribe along the muddy road to the next village.
-for many days sandy and the robinsons traveled together. sandy piped and gave them all he made, which was little enough. often he himself would go hungry to bed.
-it grew so bad that poor sandy began to wonder what would happen to them. not for worlds would he have left them. never did such a thought enter his mind.
-he worried more over the sick baby than did jamie robinson. jamie was, in fact, to sandy, another child. sandy felt as though he had to protect the irresponsible piper along with his family.
-these were terrible days for sandy. he sold nearly everything he had to provide for the robinsons and keep them from going hungry.
-one day the baby became desperately ill. it needed a doctor. sandy rushed to the nearest village. the doctor was brought and pronounced the baby in a serious condition. he said it must be given fresh milk and nourishing food. but to provide these things was too difficult for the little family.
-one thought had been at the back of sandy's mind all along. but he had not allowed himself to consider it seriously until now. this crisis, however, forced him to carry out a plan.
-the bagpipes he had promised ian were the only valuable possession in his little cart. they would bring enough money to save the baby's life.
-sandy pulled them out. he polished the silver and rubbed the chanter carefully to remove the dust. meanwhile, his thoughts flew to ian. in his heart he was used to calling ian "the wee scotch piper," for he hoped to see the boy realize his dream some day.
-now the pipes would have to go. he would have to return to the lad empty-handed and with his promise broken. still, it was the only thing he could do. so poor sandy sold the pipes.
-sandy returned from the village, with his pockets bulging. he seemed to see ian in front of him, the wee lamb in his arms. ian seemed to be looking expectantly and questioningly at his old friend.
-and sandy heard himself saying, "no, laddie. sandy has disappointed you and has not brought you the pipes!"
-ian tries again
-ian was once more in search of betty. the story of king bruce echoed in his ears and spurred him on. roy, too, seemed to be inspired with new hope. he sniffed and ran, and ran and sniffed. every once in a while, he would let out short, sharp barks.
-with these words the boy began to whistle. a happiness seemed to come suddenly to him as though he already had betty safe in his arms.
-for many hours the boy and dog climbed and walked. at last they found themselves in a wild, rugged portion of the country, where ian had never before been. rocks were all about him. he descended into giant caverns.
-at dawn, ian was awakened by roy. the dog was barking and making wild dashes in the direction of a large gulch near by.
-he ran madly to the gulch, then dashed back again to ian. his barks came in hysterical gasps.
-at each of roy's barks, the mother sheep gave a little jump, and the ledge of rock quivered. ian thought surely it would break and the sheep would be dashed to pieces on the rocks below.
-"down, down!" commanded ian in the same voice as his father used to the dog.
-roy crouched and whined, but stopped his barking. ian remembered that some of the mother sheep distrusted the dog. so it would be impossible for roy to show himself now. what must be done must be done by ian himself.
-while the boy climbed down the precipitous rocks, the faithful dog, deprived of his rightful work, whined and howled. had he not been trained to obey, he would never have stayed. but to a shepherd dog, a master's word is law. roy watched his young friend as the boy made the perilous descent to rescue the terrified animal on the ledge.
-the sheep was large, and its wool weighed heavily. but ian grasped the creature firmly. with all his might, he pulled until he had it on the rock above. when the baby lamb saw its mother coming, it uttered loud, joyous bleatings.
-ian could only think that the sheep had been led astray by his father's new dog. he was worried for fear that there were others which had strayed beyond. he decided to see, and started off beyond the rock hill.
-but when roy began to drive the mother sheep along, she became very angry. she ran at him with her head lowered. roy could not manage her. she refused to obey him and ian.
-"now, you'll come away," he said to the mother, as he walked on. snorting, the mother sheep was forced to follow.
-on and on walked ian and roy. and now the hunt was not only for betty, but for more of his father's herd. ian thought he would find some that might have been led astray by the new dog.
-at noon he sat down to eat his "piece," which he carried in his sporran. when he had finished, he started for a clear stream near by.
-as he approached, he thought he saw one of the grayish rocks in the stream moving. he rubbed his eyes. could it be a reflection from the water? no. it was moving slowly.
-ian approached faster. what was his amazement at finding the gray rock to be his own betty! it was his betty, thin and ragged, and stumbling along on her front knees, too weak to raise her feet. poor little beast!
-she was nearly dead. as ian raised her up, he realized that he had found her just in time. the creature seemed to know the boy, for she nestled down in his arms as of yore. in spite of her suffering, she seemed perfectly happy, now that her ian was found.
-spring! each day found an eager, watchful boy, a happy, sweet-faced sheep dog, and a large fleecy lamb standing on the rob roy brig. they were awaiting in glad anticipation a visitor, who was expected and whose music would soon reach the happy ears of a future piper.
-ian craig had never allowed his betty to roam after that frightful episode. she had been kept in a little corral, which ian built for her. when he came home from school, he took her with him to the brig. he fastened her to a massive rock, while he awaited the return of sandy.
-day after day, the two waited. meanwhile, roy looked on with kindly eyes, although he did not understand it all. of course, betty was equally ignorant of why she was made to pose with a floppy bow around her neck, tied to an annoying rock. but she was content, for ian stayed beside her.
-sometimes as ian watched and waited, he thought he heard the bagpipes in the distance. and as he heard, his heart beat faster. the moment of bliss when he could claim his reward, seemed to be upon him.
-then he often looked at betty, and a qualm seized him. how could he part with the lamb? he had been through trouble and sorrow for the little animal. he had lived many happy hours by her side. it was as though she had become his own. the thought of parting from her was like a stab. then, too, betty loved him.
-at these times, the poor little boy would knit his brow and ponder upon the strangeness of life.
-then he thought of the pipers and the tale of dunblane, where the stalwart lads marched and played. he thought of the glorious piper bands marching in the big towns. the thought made him brighten and jump from the brig and scan the country for a sign of sandy.
-but the days of budding blossoms and showers in scotland wore on. finally betty's ribbon bow began to fade and ian's patience to wear.
-little elsie campbell used at times to walk with the boy to the brig. often he stopped on the walk and talked to her, as he cocked his head on one side.
-"do you not hear the din of pipes, elsie?" he asked.
-and the wee lassie shook her head and said, "ach, no, lad. 'tis daft you are with your pipes!"
-but it was said kindly, for elsie hoped and prayed that sandy would return. you see, ian had told her the story of betty and how he waited for the promised pipes. it was, in fact, elsie who had first tied the silken tartan ribbon about the lamb's neck.
-it was a gray day which promised rain. ian and betty neared the brig together. ian had just tied the creature to her accustomed rock and was lifting himself to the wall when he heard a sound. pipes! unmistakably pipes!
-still, he had been mistaken so often before that he dared not look. and elsie was not there to-day. she would have told him. for in her ears the sound was not always droning as it had been in ian's for many days.
-he had not told his mother for fear of worrying her. but his head was often heavy, and he could not sleep with the sound of the bagpipes. poor little ian! if only sandy would return!
-on this dull, misty day as he swung his feet from the wall of the brig, ian could not stop the sound. nearer and nearer it came!
-then, "bonny laddie, highland laddie," chanted the pipes. ian looked up and saw standing before him his sandy!
-although he was as red and wrinkled and twinkling as before, there was a change. sandy was very shabby. his coat was stained with the mud and rain of many hard days.
-he stopped his playing and stood before the boy. a sad, longing look came into his eyes.
-"ian, lad," he said slowly, "'tis sandy come back."
-and ian suddenly realized that it was all true and not one of his dreams. he jumped down from the wall and threw his arms about sandy.
-"ach, sandy," he cried. then he stood back and pointed to the lamb. evidently sandy had not noticed it.
-"and do you not see our beastie, sandy? 'tis the same you left with me, and well and fat she is."
-sandy turned and looked at betty. but he did not talk as ian had expected him to, nor did he compliment ian on the lamb's well-being. he only stood fingering his pipes and slowly shaking his head.
-as ian stared in wonderment, the piper lifted his bagpipes from his shoulder and handed them to the boy.
-"your pipes are here, lad, and sandy keeps his promise!" he said.
-without thinking ian put out his arms to receive the instrument. his eyes, however, did not leave his friend's face.
-"but, sandy, these are your own pipes you're giving me!" he said, as if he could hardly believe it, after looking down at what sandy had placed in his arms.
-"ay, lad," answered sandy, "and now you can be a fine piper, and sandy himself will teach you to play."
-then sandy told ian the sad story of jamie robinson. he explained how he had sold nearly all his worldly goods to help the little family and put them on their feet again. he told of how he had left them comfortably settled near a prosperous village. he had made jamie promise to work and save for his little brood.
-sandy also told how he had come all the way to keep his promise to the boy. he said, too, that now, as in aberfoyle there was no piper, he expected to stay here and take jamie robinson's place if ian would lend him his pipes each day for awhile. and in return, he would teach the lad to play!
-"for i'm not so young as i was, laddie, and the wandering life is over for me," he added.
-when ian heard these plans, he was beside himself with joy. he hugged first sandy, then roy, and then betty. at last the piper became his old jolly self once more and laughed.
-"ay, lad, we'll share the pipes together, though they belong to you. but old sandy will have to make a living, and he'll teach you all the tunes he knows!"
-no happier boy than ian craig lived in scotland that night. standing before the door of the cottage, he puffed and blew on his pipes. there issued forth the sound of a thousand sheep all bleating at once but all in pain! sandy listened from his tent on the hill opposite and chuckled to himself.
-roy was also in pain as he listened. his delicate ears were unused to this shrieking and squealing. he joined in the din with loud howls.
-the baby within the house was in sympathy, too, and added her wails.
-so sandy's first evening as a resident in aberfoyle was not a quiet one. he was forced to stop his ears.
-mrs. craig was unable to stand the racket. so she pulled her puffing son into the house and packed him off to bed, to the great relief of all.
-but ian was a quick and hard-working pupil. it was not long before roy quite approved of the sounds his master made on his pipes. he did not then feel it necessary to amend the melody.
-also the baby gurgled with glee. she puffed out her cheeks in imitation of ian and laughed happily. and betty, the lamb, too, seemed to know that all was well. the world was in tune with the wee scotch piper who had, at last, realized his dreams.
-"'tis the close of the day at the foot of the ben, and the sound of his pipes echoes back through the glen."
-the wee scotch piper
-it was a cloudless day in the big scotch city. the people seemed to feel that something unusual was about to happen. everyone wore his best, and the city fairly shone with the reds and blues and greens of tartan kilts and bonnets.
-soldiers paraded the streets. children hurried along by their parents' sides, anxious to arrive at the big grand stand in time. numerous bystanders flanked the wide street.
-all the people were breathless with excitement. even the usual crowding traffic suspended its pushing and shrill tooting. for this was a great day in scotland. many celebrations occur at intervals in this land of excursions and picnics. but to-day was as the children would say, "extra special."
-the huge grand stand was overcrowded with eager scotchmen, with their wives and bairns. they all strained their eyes for a glimpse of the great "kiltie band," which was to march down the street.
-among those who watched, and perhaps the most eager of all, were a family of country folk. in bobbing black bonnet sat a calm-faced old lady. beside her was a rugged old man. both were in their best array. both were longing for the sight they had come miles from their little farm to see.
-the couple were none other than alan craig and his wife. the sight that their old eyes would soon see, as the happy tears dimmed their view, would be their son, their ian. he was now a tall, manly piper in kilted uniform, marching and piping with the flower of scotland's army.
-by their side sat another. his kindly face shone with pride, and in his heart was a singing joy.
-for sandy macgregor had taught this lad to play. it was the same old pipes of sandy macgregor that he still used. he would soon show those pipes to a cheering crowd as his fingers flew over the chanter. while he played, his arm would shelter the tartan bellows once sheltered by sandy's own arm as the old piper had wandered over hill and through dale.
-sandy macgregor had lived many years for this moment. as he craned his neck for a sight of the coming parade, he spoke to the little girl beside him.
-"see, betty, 'tis they coming now."
-betty, ian's baby sister, was now a girl of the age ian had been when first sandy had met him.
-together, betty and sandy had dreamed and planned the day when together they would view their piper laddie on parade.
-for sandy had dwelt in the village of aberfoyle these many years. while he had piped for his living, he had taught another piper, who was now to cover his old teacher with glory.
-in the large audience there was still another, whose blue eyes danced with joy. her hands were clasped together with excitement as she awaited the approach of her boyhood friend. it was little elsie campbell, now grown to womanhood. elsie was among those who thrilled to see the "wee scotch piper," as he marched along that day.
-who knows with what feelings of pride the lad looked up as he passed that grand stand? who knows his feelings of love, on seeing those dear faces smiling and nodding at him?
-and as he marched and played, he seemed to see before him a little schoolboy marching and playing. that boy was himself, trudging the streets of a wee village, followed by a bleating lamb!
-1. text enclosed by underscores is in italics (italics).
-studies in logical theory
-professor of philosophy
-with the co-operation of members and fellows of the department of philosophy
-the decennial publications second series volume xi
-copyright, 1903 by the university of chicago
-this volume presents some results of the work done in the matter of logical theory in the department of philosophy of the university of chicago in the first decade of its existence. the eleven studies are the work of eight different hands, all, with the exception of the editor, having at some period held fellowships in this university, dr. heidel in greek, the others in philosophy. their names and present pursuits are indicated in the table of contents. the editor has occasionally, though rarely, added a footnote or phrase which might serve to connect one study more closely with another. the pages in the discussion of hypothesis, on mill and whewell, are by him. with these exceptions, each writer is individually and completely responsible for his own study.
-the various studies present, the editor believes, about the relative amount of agreement and disagreement that is natural in view of the conditions of their origin. the various writers have been in contact with one another in seminars and lecture courses in pursuit of the same topics, and have had to do with shaping one another's views. there are several others, not represented in this volume, who have also participated in the evolution of the point of view herein set forth, and to whom the writers acknowledge their indebtedness. the disagreements proceed from the diversity of interests with which the different writers approach the logical topic; and from the fact that the point of view in question is still (happily) developing and showing no signs of becoming a closed system.
-if the studies themselves do not give a fair notion of the nature and degree of the harmony in the different writers' methods, a preface is not likely to succeed in so doing. a few words may be in place, however, about a matter repeatedly touched upon, but nowhere consecutively elaborated--the more ultimate philosophical bearing of what is set forth. all agree, the editor takes the liberty of saying, that judgment is the central function of knowing, and hence affords the central problem of logic; that since the act of knowing is intimately and indissolubly connected with the like yet diverse functions of affection, appreciation, and practice, it only distorts results reached to treat knowing as a self-inclosed and self-explanatory whole--hence the intimate connections of logical theory with functional psychology; that since knowledge appears as a function within experience, and yet passes judgment upon both the processes and contents of other functions, its work and aim must be distinctively reconstructive or transformatory; that since reality must be defined in terms of experience, judgment appears accordingly as the medium through which the consciously effected evolution of reality goes on; that there is no reasonable standard of truth (or of success of the knowing function) in general, except upon the postulate that reality is thus dynamic or self-evolving, and, in particular, except through reference to the specific offices which knowing is called upon to perform in readjusting and expanding the means and ends of life. and all agree that this conception gives the only promising basis upon which the working methods of science, and the proper demands of the moral life, may co-operate. all this, doubtless, does not take us very far on the road to detailed conclusions, but it is better, perhaps, to get started in the right direction than to be so definite as to erect a dead-wall in the way of farther movement of thought.
-in general, the obligations in logical matters of the writers are roughly commensurate with the direction of their criticisms. upon the whole, most is due to those whose views are most sharply opposed. to mill, lotze, bosanquet, and bradley the writers then owe special indebtedness. the editor acknowledges personal indebtedness to his present colleagues, particularly to mr. george h. mead, in the faculty of philosophy, and to a former colleague, dr. alfred h. lloyd, of the university of michigan. for both inspiration and the forging of the tools with which the writers have worked there is a pre-eminent obligation on the part of all of us to william james, of harvard university, who, we hope, will accept this acknowledgment and this book as unworthy tokens of a regard and an admiration that are coequal.
-table of contents
-by john dewey
-by john dewey
-by john dewey
-by john dewey
-by helen bradford thompson, ph.d., director of the psychological laboratory of mount holyoke college
-by simon fraser mclennan, ph.d., professor of philosophy in oberlin college
-by myron lucius ashley, ph.d., instructor, american correspondence school
-by willard clark gore, ph.d., assistant professor of psychology in the university of chicago
-by william arthur heidel, ph.d., professor of latin in iowa college
-by henry waldgrave stuart, ph.d., instructor in philosophy in the state university of iowa
-by addison webster moore, ph.d., assistant professor of philosophy in the university of chicago
-thought and its subject-matter: the general problem of logical theory
-no one doubts that thought, at least reflective, as distinct from what is sometimes called constitutive, thought, is derivative and secondary. it comes after something and out of something, and for the sake of something. no one doubts that the thinking of everyday practical life and of science is of this reflective type. we think about; we reflect over. if we ask what it is which is primary and radical to thought; if we ask what is the final objective for the sake of which thought intervenes; if we ask in what sense we are to understand thought as a derived procedure, we are plunging ourselves into the very heart of the logical problem: the relation of thought to its empirical antecedents and to its consequent, truth, and the relation of truth to reality.
-yet from the naïve point of view no difficulty attaches to these questions. the antecedents of thought are our universe of life and love; of appreciation and struggle. we think about anything and everything: snow on the ground; the alternating clanks and thuds that rise from below; the relation of the monroe doctrine to the embroglio in venezuela; the relation of art to industry; the poetic quality of a painting by botticelli; the battle of marathon; the economic interpretation of history; the proper definition of cause; the best method of reducing expenses; whether and how to renew the ties of a broken friendship; the interpretation of an equation in hydrodynamics; etc.
-through the madness of this miscellaneous citation there appears so much of method: anything--event, act, value, ideal, person, or place--may be an object of thought. reflection busies itself alike with physical nature, the record of social achievement, and the endeavors of social aspiration. it is with reference to such affairs that thought is derivative; it is with reference to them that it intervenes or mediates. taking some part of the universe of action, of affection, of social construction, under its special charge, and having busied itself therewith sufficiently to meet the special difficulty presented, thought releases that topic and enters upon further more direct experience.
-sticking for a moment to this naïve standpoint, we recognize a certain rhythm of direct practice and derived theory; of primary construction and of secondary criticism; of living appreciation and of abstract description; of active endeavor and of pale reflection. we find that every more direct primary attitude passes upon occasion into its secondary deliberative and discursive counterpart. we find that when the latter has done its work it passes away and passes on. from the naïve standpoint such rhythm is taken as a matter of course. there is no attempt to state either the nature of the occasion which demands the thinking attitude, nor to formulate a theory of the standard by which is judged its success. no general theory is propounded as to the exact relationship between thinking and what antecedes and succeeds it. much less do we ask how empirical circumstances can generate rationality of thought; nor how it is possible for reflection to lay claim to power of determining truth and thereby of constructing further reality.
-if we were to ask the thinking of naïve life to present, with a minimum of theoretical elaboration, its conception of its own practice, we should get an answer running not unlike this: thinking is a kind of activity which we perform at specific need, just as at other need we engage in other sorts of activity: as converse with a friend; draw a plan for a house; take a walk; eat a dinner; purchase a suit of clothes; etc., etc. in general, its material is anything in the wide universe which seems to be relevant to this need--anything which may serve as a resource in defining the difficulty or in suggesting modes of dealing effectively with it. the measure of its success, the standard of its validity, is precisely the degree in which the thinking actually disposes of the difficulty and allows us to proceed with more direct modes of experiencing, that are forthwith possessed of more assured and deepened value.
-if we inquire why the naïve attitude does not go on to elaborate these implications of its own practice into a systematic theory, the answer, on its own basis, is obvious. thought arises in response to its own occasion. and this occasion is so exacting that there is time, as there is need, only to do the thinking which is needed in that occasion--not to reflect upon the thinking itself. reflection follows so naturally upon its appropriate cue, its issue is so obvious, so practical, the entire relationship is so organic, that once grant the position that thought arises in reaction to specific demand, and there is not the particular type of thinking called logical theory because there is not the practical demand for reflection of that sort. our attention is taken up with particular questions and specific answers. what we have to reckon with is not the problem of, how can i think überhaupt? but, how shall i think right here and now? not what is the test of thought at large, but what validates and confirms this thought?
-in conformity with this view, it follows that a generic account of our thinking behavior, the generic account termed logical theory, arises at historic periods in which the situation has lost the organic character above described. the general theory of reflection, as over against its concrete exercise, appears when occasions for reflection are so overwhelming and so mutually conflicting that specific adequate response in thought is blocked. again, it shows itself when practical affairs are so multifarious, complicated, and remote from control that thinking is held off from successful passage into them.
-anyhow (sticking to the naïve standpoint), it is true that the stimulus to that particular form of reflective thinking termed logical theory is found when circumstances require the act of thinking and nevertheless impede clear and coherent thinking in detail; or when they occasion thought and then prevent the results of thinking from exercising directive influence upon the immediate concerns of life. under these conditions we get such questions as the following: what is the relation of rational thought to crude or unreflective experience? what is the relation of thought to reality? what is the barrier which prevents reason from complete penetration into the world of truth? what is it that makes us live alternately in a concrete world of experience in which thought as such finds not satisfaction, and in a world of ordered thought which is yet only abstract and ideal?
-it is not my intention here to pursue the line of historical inquiry thus suggested. indeed, the point would not be mentioned did it not serve to fix attention upon the nature of the logical problem.
-it is in dealing with this latter type of questions that logical theory has taken a turn which separates it widely from the theoretical implications of practical deliberation and of scientific research. the two latter, however much they differ from each other in detail, agree in a fundamental principle. they both assume that every reflective problem and operation arises with reference to some specific situation, and has to subserve a specific purpose dependent upon its own occasion. they assume and observe distinct limits--limits from which and to which. there is the limit of origin in the needs of the particular situation which evokes reflection. there is the limit of terminus in successful dealing with the particular problem presented--or in retiring, baffled, to take up some other question. the query that at once faces us regarding the nature of logical theory is whether reflection upon reflection shall recognize these limits, endeavoring to formulate them more exactly and to define their relationships to each other more adequately; or shall it abolish limits, do away with the matter of specific conditions and specific aims of thought, and discuss thought and its relation to empirical antecedents and rational consequents (truth) at large?
-at first blush, it might seem as if the very nature of logical theory as generalization of the reflective process must of necessity disregard the matter of particular conditions and particular results as irrelevant. how, the implication runs, could reflection become generalized save by elimination of details as irrelevant? such a conception in fixing the central problem of logic fixes once for all its future career and material. the essential business of logic is henceforth to discuss the relation of thought as such to reality as such. it may, indeed, involve much psychological material, particularly in the discussion of the processes which antecede thinking and which call it out. it may involve much discussion of the concrete methods of investigation and verification employed in the various sciences. it may busily concern itself with the differentiation of various types and forms of thought--different modes of conceiving, various conformations of judgment, various types of inferential reasoning. but it concerns itself with any and all of these three fields, not on their own account or as ultimate, but as subsidiary to the main problem: the relation of thought as such, or at large, to reality as such, or at large. some of the detailed considerations referred to may throw light upon the terms under which thought transacts its business with reality; upon, say, certain peculiar limitations it has to submit to as best it may. other considerations throw light upon the ways in which thought gets at reality. still other considerations throw light upon the forms which thought assumes in attacking and apprehending reality. but in the end all this is incidental. in the end the one problem holds: how do the specifications of thought as such hold good of reality as such? in fine, logic is supposed to grow out of the epistemological inquiry and to lead up to its solution.
-this suggests, by contrast, the opposite mode of stating the problem of logical theory. generalization of the nature of the reflective process certainly involves elimination of much of the specific material and contents of the thought-situations of daily life and of critical science. quite compatible with this, however, is the notion that it seizes upon certain specific conditions and factors, and aims to bring them to clear consciousness--not to abolish them. while eliminating the particular material of particular practical and scientific pursuits, (1) it may strive to hit upon the common denominator in the various situations which are antecedent or primary to thought and which evoke it; (2) it may attempt to show how typical features in the specific antecedents of thought call out to diverse typical modes of thought-reaction; (3) it may attempt to state the nature of the specific consequences in which thought fulfils its career.
-while the epistemological type of logic may, as we have seen, leave (under the name of applied logic), a subsidiary place open for the instrumental type, the type which deals with thinking as a specific procedure relative to a specific antecedent occasion and to a subsequent specific fulfilment, is not able to reciprocate the favor. from its point of view, an attempt to discuss the antecedents, data, forms, and objective of thought, apart from reference to particular position occupied, and particular part played in the growth of experience is to reach results which are not so much either true or false as they are radically meaningless--because they are considered apart from limits. its results are not only abstractions (for all theorizing ends in abstractions), but abstractions without possible reference or bearing. from this point of view, the taking of something, whether that something be thinking activity, its empirical condition, or its objective goal, apart from the limits of a historic or developing situation, is the essence of metaphysical procedure--in the sense of metaphysics which makes a gulf between it and science.
-in all this, there is no difference of kind between the methods of science and those of the plain man. the difference is the greater control in science of the statement of the problem, and of the selection and use of relevant material, both sensible or ideational. the two are related to each other just as the hit-or-miss, trial-and-error inventions of uncivilized man stand to the deliberate and consecutively persistent efforts of a modern inventor to produce a certain complicated device for doing a comprehensive piece of work. neither the plain man nor the scientific inquirer is aware, as he engages in his reflective activity, of any transition from one sphere of existence to another. he knows no two fixed worlds--reality on one side and mere subjective ideas on the other; he is aware of no gulf to cross. he assumes uninterrupted, free, and fluid passage from ordinary experience to abstract thinking, from thought to fact, from things to theories and back again. observation passes into development of hypothesis; deductive methods pass to use in description of the particular; inference passes into action with no sense of difficulty save those found in the particular task in question. the fundamental assumption is continuity in and of experience.
-this does not mean that fact is confused with idea, or observed datum with voluntary hypothesis, theory with doing, any more than a traveler confuses land and water when he journeys from one to the other. it simply means that each is placed and used with reference to service rendered the other, and with reference to future use of the other.
-only the epistemological spectator is aware of the fact that the everyday man and the scientific man in this free and easy intercourse are rashly assuming the right to glide over a cleft in the very structure of reality. this fact raises a query not favorable to the epistemologist. why is it that the scientific man, who is constantly plying his venturous traffic of exchange of facts for ideas, of theories for laws, of real things for hypotheses, should be so wholly unaware of the radical and generic (as distinct from specific) difficulty of the undertakings in which he is engaged? we thus come afresh to our inquiry: does not the epistemological logician unwittingly transfer the specific difficulty which always faces the scientific man--the difficulty in detail of correct and adequate translation back and forth of this set of facts and this group of ideas--into a totally different problem of the wholesale relation of thought at large with reality in general? if such be the case, it is clear that the very way in which the epistemological type of logic states the problem of thinking, in relation both to empirical antecedents and to objective truth, makes that problem insoluble. working terms, terms which as working are flexible and historic, relative, are transformed into absolute, fixed, and predetermined forms of being.
-we come a little closer to the problem when we recognize that every scientific inquiry passes historically through at least four stages. (a) the first of these stages is, if i may be allowed the bull, that in which scientific inquiry does not take place at all, because no problem or difficulty in the quality of the experience has presented itself to provoke reflection. we have only to cast our eye back from the existing status of any science, or back from the status of any particular topic in any science, to discover a time when no reflective or critical thinking busied itself with the matter--when the facts and relations were taken for granted and thus were lost and absorbed in the value which accrued from the experience. (b) after the dawning of the problem, there comes a period of occupation with relatively crude and unorganized facts--the hunting for, locating, and collecting of raw material. this is the empiric stage, which no existing science, however proud in its attained rationality, can disavow as its own progenitor. (c) then there is also a speculative stage: a period of guessing, of making hypotheses, of framing ideas which later on are labeled and condemned as only ideas. there is a period of distinction and classification-making which later on is regarded as only mentally-gymnastic in character. and no science, however proud in its present security of experimental assurance, can disavow a scholastic ancestor. (d) finally, there comes a period of fruitful interaction between the mere ideas and the mere facts: a period when observation is determined by experimental conditions depending upon the use of certain guiding conceptions; when reflection is directed and checked at every point by the use of experimental data, and by the necessity of finding such form for itself as will enable it to serve as premise in a deduction leading to evolution of new meanings, and ultimately to experimental inquiry, which brings to light new facts. in the emerging of a more orderly and significant region of fact, and of a more coherent and self-luminous system of meaning, we have the natural limit of evolution of the logic of a given science.
-but consider what has happened in this historic record. unanalyzed experience has broken up into distinctions of facts and ideas; the factual side has been developed by indefinite and almost miscellaneous descriptions and cumulative listings; the conceptual side has been developed by unchecked and speculative elaboration of definitions, classifications, etc. there has been a relegation of accepted meanings to the limbo of mere ideas; there has been a passage of some of the accepted facts into the region of mere hypothesis and opinion. conversely, there has been a continued issuing of ideas from the region of hypotheses and theories into that of facts, of accepted objective and meaningful contents. out of a world of only seeming facts, and of only doubtful ideas, there emerges a universe continually growing in definiteness, order, and luminosity.
-this progress, verified in every record of science, is an absolute monstrosity from the standpoint of the epistemology which assumes a thought in general, on one side, and a reality in general, on the other. the reason that it does not present itself as such a monster and miracle to those actually concerned with it is because there is a certain homogeneity or continuity of reference and of use which controls all diversities in both the modes of existence specified and the grades of value assigned. the distinction of thought and fact is treated in the growth of a science, or of any particular scientific problem, as an induced and intentional practical division of labor; as relative assignments of position with reference to performance of a task; as deliberate distribution of forces at command for their more economic use. the interaction of bald fact and hypothetical idea into the outcome of a single world of scientific apprehension and comprehension is but the successful achieving of the aim on account of which the distinctions in question were instituted.
-thus we come back to the problem of logical theory. to take the distinctions of thought and fact, etc., as ontological, as inherently fixed in the make-up of the structure of being, is to treat the actual development of scientific inquiry and scientific control as a mere subsidiary topic ultimately of only utilitarian worth. it is also to state the terms upon which thought and being transact business in a way so totally alien to the use made of these distinctions in concrete experience as to create a problem which can be discussed only in terms of itself--not in terms of the conduct of life--metaphysics again in the bad sense of that term. as against this, the problem of a logic which aligns itself with the origin and employ of reflective thought in everyday life and in critical science, is to follow the natural history of thinking as a life-process having its own generating antecedents and stimuli, its own states and career, and its own specific objective or limit.
-still the query haunts us: is this so in truth? or has the logician of a certain type arbitrarily made it thus by taking his terms apart from reference to the specific occasions in which they arise and situations in which they function? if the latter, then the very denial of historic relationship and of the significance of historic method, is indicative only of the unreal character of his own abstraction. it means in effect that the affairs under consideration have been isolated from the conditions in which alone they have determinable meaning and assignable worth. it is astonishing that, in the face of the advance of the evolutionary method in natural science, any logician can persist in the assertion of a rigid difference between the problem of origin and of nature; between genesis and analysis; between history and validity. such assertion simply reiterates as final a distinction which grew up and had meaning in pre-evolutionary science. it asserts against the most marked advance which scientific method has yet made a survival of a crude period of logical scientific procedure. we have no choice save either to conceive of thinking as a response to a specific stimulus, or else to regard it as something "in itself," having just in and of itself certain traits, elements, and laws. if we give up the last view, we must take the former.
-in the course of changing experience we keep our balance as we move from situations of an affectional quality to those which are practical or appreciative or reflective, because we bear constantly in mind the context in which any particular distinction presents itself. as we submit each characteristic function and situation of experience to our gaze, we find it has a dual aspect. wherever there is striving there are obstacles; wherever there is affection there are persons who are attached; wherever there is doing there is accomplishment; wherever there is appreciation there is value; wherever there is thinking there is material-in-question. we keep our footing as we move from one attitude to another, from one characteristic quality to another, because we know the position occupied in the whole growth by the particular function in which we are engaged, and the position within the function of the particular element that engages us.
-the distinction between each attitude and function and its predecessor and successor is serial, dynamic, operative. the distinctions within any given operation or function are structural, contemporaneous, and distributive. thinking follows, we will say, striving, and doing follows thinking. each in the fulfilment of its own function inevitably calls out its successor. but coincident, simultaneous, and correspondent within doing, is the distinction of doer and of deed; within the function of thought, of thinking and material thought upon; within the function of striving, of obstacle of aim, of means and end. we keep our paths straight because we do not confuse the sequential, efficient, and functional relationship of types of experience with the contemporaneous, correlative, and structural distinctions of elements within a given function. in the seeming maze of endless confusion and unlimited shiftings, we find our way by the means of the stimulations and checks occurring within the process we are actually engaged with. we do not contrast or confuse a condition or state which is an element in the formation of one operation with the status or element which is one of the distributive terms of another function. if we do, we have at once an insoluble, because meaningless, problem upon our hands.
-now the epistemological logician deliberately shuts himself off from those cues and checks upon which the plain man instinctively relies, and which the scientific man deliberately searches for and adopts as constituting his technique. consequently he is likely to set the sort of object or material which has place and significance only in one of the serial functional situations of experience, over against the active attitude which describes part of the structural constitution of another situation; or with equal lack of justification to assimilate terms characteristic of different stages to one another. he sets the agent, as he is found in the intimacy of love or appreciation, over against the externality of the fact, as that is defined within the reflective process. he takes the material which thought selects as its own basis for further procedure to be identical with the significant content which it secures for itself in the successful pursuit of its aim; and this in turn he regards as the material which was presented at the outset, and whose peculiarities were the express means of awakening thought. he identifies the final deposit of the thought-function with its own generating antecedent, and then disposes of the resulting surd by reference to some metaphysical consideration, which remains when logical inquiry, when science (as interpreted by him), has done its work. he does this, not because he prefers confusion to order, or error to truth, but simply because, when the chain of historic sequence is cut, the vessel of thought is afloat to veer upon a sea without soundings or moorings. there are but two alternatives: either there is an object "in itself" of thought "in itself," or else there are a series of values which vary with the varying functions to which they belong. if the latter, the only way these values can be defined is by discriminating the functions to which they belong. it is only conditions relative to a specific period or epoch of development in a cycle of experience which-enables one to tell what to do next, or to estimate the value and meaning of what is already done. and the epistemological logician, in choosing to take his question as one of thought which has its own form just as "thought," apart from the limits of the special work it has to do, has deprived himself of these supports and stays.
-the problem of logic has a more general and a more specific phase. in its generic form, it deals with this question: how does one type of functional situation and attitude in experience pass out of and into another; for example, the technological or utilitarian into the æsthetic, the æsthetic into the religious, the religious into the scientific, and this into the socio-ethical and so on? the more specific question is: how does the particular functional situation termed the reflective behave? how shall we describe it? what in detail are its diverse contemporaneous distinctions, or divisions of labor, its correspondent statuses; in what specific ways do these operate with reference to each other so as to effect the specific aim which is proposed by the needs of the affair?
-this chapter may be brought to conclusion by reference to the more alternate value of the logic of experience, of logic taken in its wider sense; that is, as an account of the sequence of the various typical functions or situations of experience in their determining relations to one another. philosophy, defined as such a logic, makes no pretense to be an account of a closed and finished universe. its business is not to secure or guarantee any particular reality or value. per contra, it gets the significance of a method. the right relationship and adjustment of the various typical phases of experience to one another is a problem felt in every department of life. intellectual rectification and control of these adjustments cannot fail to reflect itself in an added clearness and security on the practical side. it may be that general logic can not become an instrument in the immediate direction of the activities of science or art or industry; but it is of value in criticising and in organizing the tools of immediate research in these lines. it also has direct significance in the valuation for social or life-purposes of results achieved in particular branches. much of the immediate business of life is badly done because we do not know in relation to its congeners the organic genesis and outcome of the work that occupies us. the manner and degree of appropriation of the values achieved in various departments of social interest and vocation are partial and faulty because we are not clear as to the due rights and responsibilities of one function of experience in reference to others.
-the value of research for social progress; the bearing of psychology upon educational procedure; the mutual relations of fine and industrial art; the question of the extent and nature of specialization in science in comparison with the claims of applied science; the adjustment of religious aspirations to scientific statements; the justification of a refined culture for a few in face of economic insufficiency for the mass--such are a few of the many social questions whose final answer depends upon the possession and use of a general logic of experience as a method of inquiry and interpretation. i do not say that headway cannot be made in such questions apart from the method indicated: a logic of genetic experience. but unless we have a critical and assured view of the juncture in which and with reference to which a given attitude or interest arises, unless we know the service it is thereby called upon to perform and hence the organs or methods by which it best functions in that service, our progress is impeded and irregular. we take a part for a whole, a means for an end, or attack wholesale some other interest because it interferes with the deified sway of the one we have selected as ultimate. a clear and comprehensive consensus of social conviction, and a consequent concentrated and economical direction of effort, are assured only as there is some way of locating the position and rôle of each typical interest and occupation in experience. the domain of opinion is one of conflict; its rule is arbitrary and costly. only intellectual method affords a substitute for opinion. the general logic of experience can alone do for the region of social values and aims what the natural sciences after centuries of struggle are doing for activity in the physical realm.
-this does not mean that systems of philosophy which have attempted to state the nature either of thought and of reality at large, apart from limits of particular crises in the growth of experience, have been worthless--though it does mean that their industry has been somewhat misapplied. the unfolding of metaphysical theory has made large contributions to positive evaluations of the typical situations and relationships of experience--even when its conscious intention has been quite otherwise. every system of philosophy is itself a mode of reflection; consequently (if our main contention be true), it too has been evoked out of specific social antecedents, and has had its use as a response to them. it has effected something in modifying the situation within which it found its origin. it may not have solved the problem which it consciously put itself; in many cases we may freely admit that the question put has afterward been found to be so wrongly put as to be insoluble. yet exactly the same thing is true, in precisely the same sense, in the history of science. for this reason, if for no other, it is impossible for the scientific man to cast the first stone at the philosopher.
-thought and its subject-matter: the antecedent conditions and cues of the thought-function
-we have discriminated logic in its wider sense, concerned with the sequence of characteristic functions and attitudes in experience, from logic in its stricter meaning, concerned in particular with description and interpretation of the function of reflective thought. we must avoid yielding to the temptation of identifying logic with either of these to the exclusion of the other; or of supposing that it is possible to isolate one finally from the other. the more detailed treatment of the organs and methods of reflection cannot be carried on with security save as we have a correct idea of the historic position of reflection in the evolving of experience. yet it is impossible to determine this larger placing, save as we have a defined and analytic, as distinct from a merely vague and gross, view of what we mean by reflection--what is its actual constitution. it is necessary to work back and forth between the larger and the narrower fields, transforming every increment upon one side into a method of work upon the other, and thereby testing it. the apparent confusion of existing logical theory, its uncertainty as to its own bounds and limits, its tendency to oscillate from larger questions of the inherent worth of judgment and validity of inference over to details of scientific technique, and to translation of distinctions of formal logic into terms of an investigatory or verificatory process, are indications of the need of this double movement.
-in the next three chapters it is proposed to take up some of the considerations that lie on the borderland between the larger and the narrower conceptions of logical theory. i shall discuss the locus of the function of thought, so far as such locus enables us to select and characterize some of the most fundamental distinctions, or divisions of labor, within the reflective process. in taking up the problem of the subject-matter of thought, i shall try to make clear that it assumes three quite distinct forms according to the epochal moment reached in transformation of experience; and that continual confusion and inconsistency are introduced when these respective meanings are not identified and described according to their respective geneses and places. i shall attempt to show that we must consider subject-matter from the standpoint, first, of the antecedents or conditions that evoke thought; second, of the datum or immediate material presented to thought; and, third, of the proper content of thought. of these three distinctions the first, that of antecedent and stimulus, clearly refers to the situation that is immediately prior to the thought-function as such. the second, that of datum or immediately given matter, refers to a distinction which is made within the thought-process as a part of and for the sake of its own modus operandi. it is a status in the scheme of thinking. the third, that of content or object, refers to the progress actually made in any thought-function; the material which is organized into the thought-situation, so far as this has fulfilled its purpose. it goes without saying that these are to be discriminated as stages of a life-process in the natural history of experience, not as ready-made or ontological; it is contended that, save as they are differentiated in connection with well-defined historical stages, they are either lumped off as equivalents, or else treated as absolute divisions--or as each by turns, according to the exigencies of the particular argument. in fact, this chapter will get at the matter of preliminary conditions of thought indirectly rather than directly, by indicating the contradictory positions into which one of the most vigorous and acute of modern logicians, lotze, has been forced through failing to define logical distinctions in terms of the history of readjustment of experience, and therefore endeavoring to interpret certain notions as absolute instead of as periodic and methodological.
-before passing directly to the exposition and criticism of lotze, it will be well, however, to take the matter in a somewhat freer way. we cannot approach logical inquiry in a wholly direct and uncompromised manner. of necessity we bring to it certain distinctions--distinctions partly the outcome of concrete experience; partly due to the logical theory which has got embodied in ordinary language and in current intellectual habits; partly results of deliberate scientific and philosophic inquiry. these more or less ready-made results are resources; they are the only weapons with which we can attack the new problem. yet they are full of unexamined assumptions; they commit us to all sorts of logically predetermined conclusions. in one sense our study of the new subject-matter, let us say logical theory, is in truth only a review, a re-testing and criticising of the intellectual standpoints and methods which we bring with us to the study.
-everyone comes with certain distinctions already made between the subjective and the objective, between the physical and the psychical, between the intellectual and the factual. (1) we have learned to regard the region of emotional disturbance, of uncertainty and aspiration, as belonging somehow peculiarly to ourselves; we have learned to set over against this a world of observation and of valid thought as something unaffected by our moods, hopes, fears, and opinions. (2) we have also come to distinguish between what is immediately present in our experience and the past and the future; we contrast the realms of memory and anticipation of sense-perception; the given with the ideal. (3) we are confirmed in a habit of distinguishing between what we call actual fact and our mental attitude toward that fact--the attitude of surmise or wonder or reflective investigation. while one of the aims of logical theory is precisely to make us critically conscious of the significance and bearing of these various distinctions, to change them from ready-made assumptions into controlled constructs, our mental habits are so set that they tend to have their own way with us; and we read into logical theory conceptions that were formed before we had even dreamed of the logical undertaking which after all has for its business to assign to the terms in question their proper meaning.
-we find in lotze an unusually explicit inventory of these various preliminary distinctions; and an unusually serious effort to deal with the problems which arise from introducing them into the structure of logical theory. (1) he expressly separates the matter of logical worth from that of psychological genesis. he consequently abstracts the subject-matter of logic as such wholly from the question of historic locus and situs. (2) he agrees with common-sense in holding that logical thought is reflective and thus presupposes a given material. he occupies himself with the nature of the antecedent conditions. (3) he wrestles with the problem of how a material formed prior to thought and irrespective of it can yet afford it stuff upon which to exercise itself. (4) he expressly raises the question of how thought working independently and from without upon a foreign material can shape the latter into results which are valid--that is, objective.
-if his discussion is successful; if lotze can provide the intermediaries which span the gulf between an independent thought-material and an independent thought-activity; if he can show that the question of the origin of thought-material and of thought-activity is irrelevant to the question of its worth, we shall have to surrender the position already taken. but if we find that lotze's elaborations only elaborate the same fundamental difficulty, presenting it now in this light and now in that, but never effecting more than presenting the problem as if it were its own solution, we shall be confirmed in our idea of the need of considering logical questions from a different point of view. if we find that, whatever his formal treatment, he always, as matter of fact, falls back upon some organized situation or function as the source of both the specific thought-material and the specific thought-activity in correspondence with each other, we shall have in so far an elucidation and even a corroboration of our theory.
-1. we begin with the question of the material antecedents of thought--antecedents which condition reflection, and which call it out as reaction or response, by giving it its cue. lotze differs from many logicians of the same type in affording us an explicit account of these antecedents. the ultimate material antecedents of thought are found in impressions, which are due to external objects as stimuli. taken in themselves, these impressions are mere psychical states or events. they exist in us side by side, or one after the other, according as the objects which excite them operate simultaneously or successively. the occurrence of these various psychical states is not, however, entirely dependent upon the presence of the exciting thing. after a state has once been excited, it gets the power of reawakening other states which have accompanied it or followed it. the associative mechanism of revival plays a part. if we had a complete knowledge of both the stimulating object and its effects, and of the details of the associative mechanism, we should be able from given data to predict the whole course of any given train or current of ideas (for the impressions as conjoined simultaneously or successively become ideas and a current of ideas).
-2. thus far, as the last quotation clearly indicates, there is no question of reflective thought, and hence no question of logical theory. but further examination reveals a peculiar property of the current of ideas. some ideas are merely coincident, while others may be termed coherent. that is to say, the exciting causes of some of our simultaneous and successive ideas really belong together; while in other cases they simply happen to act at the same time, without there being a real connection between them. by the associative mechanism, however, both the coherent and the merely coincident combinations recur. the first type of recurrence supplies positive material for knowledge; the second gives occasion for error.
-consideration of the peculiar work of thought in going over, sorting out, and determining various ideas according to a standard of value will occupy us in our next chapter. here we are concerned with the material antecedents of thought as they are described by lotze. at first glance, he seems to propound a satisfactory theory. he avoids the extravagancies of transcendental logic, which assumes that all the matter of experience is determined from the very start by rational thought; and he also avoids the pitfall of purely empirical logic, which makes no distinction between the mere occurrence and association of ideas and the real worth and validity of the various conjunctions thus produced. he allows unreflective experience, defined in terms of sensations and their combinations, to provide material conditions for thinking, while he reserves for thought a distinctive work and dignity of its own. sense-experience furnishes the antecedents; thought has to introduce and develop systematic connection--rationality.
-a further analysis of lotze's treatment may, however, lead us to believe that his statement is riddled through and through with inconsistencies and self-contradictions; that, indeed, any one part of it can be maintained only by the denial of some other portion.
-the impressions and ideas play a versatile rôle; they now assume the part of ultimate antecedents and provocative conditions; of crude material; and somehow, when arranged, of content for thought. this very versatility awakens suspicion.
-while the impression is merely subjective and a bare state of our own consciousness, yet it is determined, both as to its existence and as to its relation to other similar existences, by external objects as stimuli, if not as causes. it is also determined by a psychical mechanism so thoroughly objective or regular in its workings as to give the same necessary character to the current of ideas that is possessed by any physical sequence. thus that which is "nothing but a state of our consciousness" turns out straightway to be a specifically determined objective fact in a system of facts.
-that this absolute transformation is a contradiction is no clearer than that just such a contradiction is indispensable to lotze. if the impressions were nothing but states of consciousness, moods of ourselves, bare psychical existences, it is sure enough that we should never even know them to be such, to say nothing of conserving them as adequate conditions and material for thought. it is only by treating them as real facts in a real world, and only by carrying over into them, in some assumed and unexplained way, the capacity of representing the cosmic facts which arouse them, that impressions or ideas come in any sense within the scope of thought. but if the antecedents are really impressions-in-their-objective-setting, then lotze's whole way of distinguishing thought-worth from mere existence or event without objective significance must be radically modified.
-it is only by continual transition from impression and ideas as mental states and events to ideas as cognitive (or logical) objects or contents, that lotze bridges the gulf from bare exciting antecedent to concrete material conditions of thought. this contradiction, again, is necessary to lotze's standpoint. to set out frankly with "meanings" as antecedents would demand reconsideration of the whole view-point, which supposes that the difference between the logical and its antecedent is a matter of the difference between worth and mere existence or occurrence. it would indicate that since meaning or value is already there, the task of thought must be that of the transformation or reconstruction of worth through an intermediary process of valuation. on the other hand, to stick by the standpoint of mere existence is not to get anything which can be called even antecedent of thought.
-2. why is there a task of transformation? consideration of the material in its function of evoking thought, giving it its cue, will serve to complete the picture of the contradiction and of the real facts. it is the conflict between ideas as merely coincident and ideas as coherent that constitutes the need which provokes the response of thought. here lotze vibrates (a) between considering coincidence and coherence as both affairs of existence of psychical events; (b) considering coincidence as purely psychical and coherence as at least quasi-logical, and (c) the inherent logic which makes them both determinations within the sphere of reflective thought. in strict accordance with his own premises, coincidence and coherence both ought to be mere peculiarities of the current of ideas as events within ourselves. but so taken the distinction becomes absolutely meaningless. events do not cohere; at the most certain sets of them happen more or less frequently than other sets; the only intelligible difference is one of repetition of coincidence. and even this attributes to an event the supernatural trait of reappearing after it has disappeared. even coincidence has to be defined in terms of relation of the objects which are supposed to excite the psychical events that happen together.
-as recent psychological discussion has made clear enough, it is the matter, meaning, or content, of ideas that is associated, not the ideas as states or existences. take such an idea as sun-revolving-about-earth. we may say it means the conjunction of various sense-impressions, but it is conjunction, or mutual reference, of attributes that we have in mind in the assertion. it is absolutely certain that our psychical image of the sun is not psychically engaged in revolving about our psychical image of the earth. it would be amusing if such were the case; theaters and all dramatic representations would be at a discount. in truth, sun-revolving-about-earth is a single meaning or idea; it is a unified subject-matter within which certain distinctions of reference appear. it is concerned with what we intend when we think earth and sun, and think them in their relation to each other. it is really a specification or direction of how to think when we have occasion to think a certain subject-matter. to treat the origin of this mutual reference as if it were simply a case of conjunction of ideas produced by conditions of original psycho-physical irritation and association is a profound case of the psychological fallacy. we may, indeed, analyze an experience and find that it had its origin in certain conditions of the sensitive organism, in certain peculiarities of perception and of association, and hence conclude that the belief involved in it was not justified by the facts themselves. but the significance of the belief in sun-revolving-about-earth as an item of the experience of those who meant it, consisted precisely in the fact that it was taken not as a mere association of feelings, but as a definite portion of the whole structure of objective experience, guaranteed by other parts of the fabric, and lending its support and giving its tone to them. it was to them part of the experience-frame of things--of the real universe.
-the point becomes clearer when we contrast coincidence with connection. to consider coincidence as simply psychical, and coherence as at least quasi-logical, is to put the two on such different bases that no question of contrasting them can arise. the coincidence which precedes a valid or grounded coherence (the conjunction which as coexistence of objects and sequence of acts is perfectly adequate) never is, as antecedent, the coincidence which is set over against coherence. the side-by-sideness of books on my bookshelf, the succession of noises that rise through my window, do not as such trouble me logically. they do not appear as errors or even as problems. one coexistence is just as good as any other until some new point of view, or new end, presents itself. if it is a question of the convenience of arrangement of books, then the value of their present collocation becomes a problem. then i may contrast their present bare conjunction with a scheme of possible coherence. if i regard the sequence of noises as a case of articulate speech, their order becomes important--it is a problem to be determined. the inquiry whether a given combination means only apparent or real connection, shows that reflective inquiry is already going on. does this phase of the moon really mean rain, or does it just happen that the rain-storm comes when the moon has reached this phase? to ask such questions shows that a certain portion of the universe of experience is subjected to critical analysis for purposes of definitive restatement. the tendency to regard one combination as bare conjunction or mere coincidence is absolutely a part of the movement of mind in its search for the real connection.
-if coexistence as such is to be set over against coherence as such, as the non-logical against the logical, then, since our whole spatial universe is one of collocation, and since thought in this universe can never get farther than substituting one collocation for another, the whole realm of space-experience is condemned off-hand and in perpetuity to anti-rationality. but, in truth, coincidence as over against coherence, conjunction as over against connection, is just suspected coherence, one which is under the fire of active inquiry. the distinction is one which arises only within the grasp of the logical or reflective function.
-3. this brings us explicitly to the fact that there is no such thing as either coincidence or coherence in terms of the elements or meanings contained in any couple or pair of ideas taken by itself. it is only when they are co-factors in a situation or function which includes more than either the "coincident" or the "coherent" and more than the arithmetical sum of the two, that thought's activity can be evoked. lotze is continually in this dilemma: thought either shapes its own material or else just accepts it. in the first case (since lotze cannot rid himself of the presumption that thought must have a fixed ready-made antecedent) its activity can only alter this stuff and thus lead the mind farther away from reality. but if thought just accepts its material, how can there be any distinctive aim or activity of thought at all? as we have seen, lotze endeavors to escape this dilemma by supposing that, while thought receives its material, it yet checks it up: it eliminates certain portions of it and reinstates others, plus the stamp and seal of its own validity.
-but there is no alternative in this dilemma except to recognize that an entire situation of experience, within which are both that afterward found to be mere coincidence and that found to be real connection, actually provokes thought. it is only as an experience previously accepted comes up in its wholeness against another one equally integral; and only as some larger experience dawns which requires each as a part of itself and yet within which the required factors show themselves mutually incompatible, that thought arises. it is not bare coincidence, or bare connection, or bare addition of one to the other, that excites thought. it is a situation which is organized or constituted as a whole, and which yet is falling to pieces in its parts--a situation which is in conflict within itself--that arouses the search to find what really goes together and a correspondent effort to shut out what only seemingly belongs together. and real coherence means precisely capacity to exist within the comprehending whole. it is a case of the psychologist's fallacy to read back into the preliminary situation those distinctions of mere conjunction of material and of valid relationship which get existence, to say nothing of fixation, only within the thought-process.
-from this point of view, at this period of development, the distinctions of objective and subjective have a characteristic meaning. the antecedent, to repeat, is a situation in which the various factors are actively incompatible with each other, and which yet in and through the striving tend to a re-formation of the whole and to a restatement of the parts. this situation as such is clearly objective. it is there; it is there as a whole; the various parts are there; and their active incompatibility with one another is there. nothing is conveyed at this point by asserting that any particular part of the situation is illusory or subjective, or mere appearance; or that any other is truly real. it is the further work of thought to exclude some of the contending factors from membership in experience, and thus to relegate them to the sphere of the merely subjective. but just at this epoch the experience exists as one of vital and active confusion and conflict. the conflict is not only objective in a de facto sense (that is, really existent), but is objective in a logical sense as well; it is just this conflict which effects the transition into the thought-situation--this, in turn, being only a constant movement toward a defined equilibrium. the conflict has objective logical value because it is the antecedent condition and cue of thought.
-every reflective attitude and function, whether of naïve life, deliberate invention, or controlled scientific research, has risen through the medium of some such total objective situation. the abstract logician may tell us that sensations or impressions, or associated ideas, or bare physical things, or conventional symbols, are antecedent conditions. but such statements cannot be verified by reference to a single instance of thought in connection with actual practice or actual scientific research. of course, by extreme mediation symbols may become conditions of evoking thought. they get to be objects in an active experience. but they are stimuli only in case their manipulation to form a new whole occasions resistance, and thus reciprocal tension. symbols and their definitions develop to a point where dealing with them becomes itself an experience, having its own identity; just as the handling of commercial commodities, or arrangement of parts of an invention, is an individual experience. there is always as antecedent to thought an experience of some subject-matter of the physical or social world, or organized intellectual world, whose parts are actively at war with each other--so much so that they threaten to disrupt the entire experience, which accordingly for its own maintenance requires deliberate re-definition and re-relation of its tensional parts. this is the reconstructive process termed thinking: the reconstructive situation, with its parts in tension and in such movement toward each other as tends to a unified experience, is the thought-situation.
-this at once suggests the subjective phase. the situation, the experience as such, is objective. there is an experience of the confused and conflicting tendencies. but just what in particular is objective, just what form the situation shall take as an organized harmonious whole, is unknown; that is the problem. it is the uncertainty as to the what of the experience together with the certainty that there is such an experience, that evokes the thought-function. viewed from this standpoint of uncertainty, the situation as a whole is subjective. no particular content or reference can be asserted off-hand. definite assertion is expressly reserved--it is to be the outcome of the procedure of reflective inquiry now undertaken. this holding off of contents from definitely asserted position, this viewing them as candidates for reform, is what we mean at this stage of the natural history of thought by the subjective.
-we have followed lotze through his tortuous course of inconsistencies. it is better, perhaps, to run the risk of vain repetition, than that of leaving the impression that these are mere self-contradictions. it is an idle task to expose contradictions save we realize them in relation to the fundamental assumption which breeds them. lotze is bound to differentiate thought from its antecedents. he is intent to do this, however, through a preconception that marks off the thought-situation radically from its predecessor, through a difference that is complete, fixed, and absolute, or at large. it is a total contrast of thought as such to something else as such that he requires, not a contrast within experience of one phase of a process, one period of a rhythm, from others.
-but this stream of existences is no sooner there than its total incapacity to officiate as material condition and cue of thought appears. it is about as relevant as are changes that may be happening on the other side of the moon. so, one by one, the whole series of determinations of value or worth already traced are introduced into the very make-up, the inner structure, of what was to be mere existence: viz., (1) value as determined by things of whose spatial and temporal relations the things are somehow representative; (2) hence, value in the shape of meaning--the idea as significant, possessed of quality, and not a mere event; (3) distinguished values of coincidence and coherence within the stream. all these kinds of value are explicitly asserted, as we have seen; underlying and running through them all is the recognition of the supreme value of a situation which is organized as a whole, yet conflicting in its inner constitution.
-these contradictions all arise in the attempt to put thought's work, as concerned with value or validity over against experience as a mere antecedent happening, or occurrence. since this contrast arises because of the deeper attempt to consider thought as an independent somewhat in general which yet, in our experience, is specifically dependent, the sole radical avoiding of the contradictions can be found in the endeavor to characterize thought as a specific mode of valuation in the evolution of significant experience, having its own specific occasion or demand, and its own specific place.
-i do not mean that this holds in gross of the unreflective world of experience over against the critical thought-situation--such a contrast implies the very wholesale, at large, consideration of thought which i am striving to avoid. doubtless many and many an act of thought has intervened in effecting the organization of our commonest practical-affectional-æsthetic region of values. i only mean to indicate that thought does take place in such a world; not after a world of bare existences lacking value-specifications; and that the more systematic reflection we call organized science, may, in some fair sense, be said to come after, but to come after affectional, artistic, and technological interests which have found realization and expression in building up a world of values.
-to cover all the practical-social-æsthetic values involved, the term "thought" has to be so stretched that the situation might as well be called by any other name that describes a typical value of experience. more specifically, when the difference is minimized between the organized and arranged scheme of values out of which reflective inquiry proceeds, and reflective inquiry itself (and there can be no other reason for insisting that the antecedent of reflective thought is itself somehow thought), exactly the same type of problem recurs that presents itself when the distinction is exaggerated into one between bare unvalued existences and rational coherent meanings.
-for the more one insists that the antecedent situation is constituted by thought, the more one has to wonder why another type of thought is required; what need arouses it, and how it is possible for it to improve upon the work of previous constitutive thought. this difficulty at once forces us from a logic of experience as it is concretely experienced into a metaphysic of a purely hypothetical experience. constitutive thought precedes our conscious thought-operations; hence it must be the working of some absolute universal thought which, unconsciously to our reflection, builds up an organized world. but this recourse only deepens the difficulty. how does it happen that the absolute constitutive and intuitive thought does such a poor and bungling job that it requires a finite discursive activity to patch up its products? here more metaphysic is called for: the absolute reason is now supposed to work under limiting conditions of finitude, of a sensitive and temporal organism. the antecedents of reflective thought are not, therefore, determinations of thought pure and undefiled, but of what thought can do when it stoops to assume the yoke of change and of feeling. i pass by the metaphysical problem left unsolved by this flight into metaphysic: why and how should a perfect, absolute, complete, finished thought find it necessary to submit to alien, disturbing, and corrupting conditions in order, in the end, to recover through reflective thought in a partial, piecemeal, wholly inadequate way what it possessed at the outset in a much more satisfactory way?
-i confine myself to the logical difficulty. how can thought relate itself to the fragmentary sensations, impressions, feelings, which, in their contrast with and disparity from the workings of constitutive thought, mark it off from the latter; and which in their connection with its products give the cue to reflective thinking? here we have again exactly the problem with which lotze has been wrestling: we have the same insoluble question of the reference of thought-activity to a wholly indeterminate unrationalized, independent, prior existence. the absolute rationalist who takes up the problem at this point will find himself forced into the same continuous seesaw, the same scheme of alternate rude robbery and gratuitous gift, that lotze engaged in. the simple fact is that here is just where lotze himself began; he saw that previous transcendental logicians had left untouched the specific question of relation of our supposedly finite, reflective thought to its own antecedents, and he set out to make good the defect. if reflective thought is required because constitutive thought works under externally limiting conditions of sense, then we have some elements which are, after all, mere existences, events, etc. or, if they have organization from some other source, and induce reflective thought not as bare impressions, etc., but through their place in some whole, then we have admitted the possibility of organic unity in experience, apart from reason, and the ground for assuming pure constitutive thought is abandoned.
-this is not meant for a merely controversial criticism. it is meant to point positively toward the fundamental thesis of these chapters: all the distinctions of the thought-function, of conception as over against sense-perception, of judgment in its various modes and forms, of inference in its vast diversity of operation--all these distinctions come within the thought-situation as growing out of a characteristic antecedent typical formation of experience; and have for their purpose the solution of the peculiar problem with respect to which the thought-function is generated or evolved: the restoration of a deliberately integrated experience from the inherent conflict into which it has fallen.
-the failure of transcendental logic has the same origin as the failure of the empiristic (whether taken pure or in the mixed form in which lotze presents it). it makes absolute and fixed certain distinctions of existence and meaning, and of one kind of meaning and another kind, which are wholly historic and relative in their origin and their significance. it views thought as attempting to represent or state reality once for all, instead of trying to determine some phases or contents of it with reference to their more effective and significant reciprocal employ--instead of as reconstructive. the rock against which every such logic splits is that either reality already has the statement which thought is endeavoring to give it, or else it has not. in the former case, thought is futilely reiterative; in the latter, it is falsificatory.
-the significance of lotze for critical purposes is that his peculiar effort to combine a transcendental view of thought (i. e., of thought as active in forms of its own, pure in and of themselves) with certain obvious facts of the dependence of our thought upon specific empirical antecedents, brings to light fundamental defects in both the empiristic and the transcendental logics. we discover a common failure in both: the failure to view logical terms and distinctions with respect to their necessary function in the redintegration of experience.
-thought and its subject-matter: the datum of thinking
-we have now reached a second epochal stage in the evolution of the thought-situation, a crisis which forces upon us the problem of the distinction and mutual reference of the datum or presentation, and the ideas or "thoughts." it will economize and perhaps clarify discussion if we start from the relatively positive and constructive result just reached, and review lotze's treatment from that point of regard.
-only in very extreme cases, however, does the assured, unquestioned element reduce to as low terms as we have here imagined. certain things come to stand forth as facts, no matter what else may be doubted. there are certain apparent diurnal changes of the sun; there is a certain annual course or track. there are certain nocturnal changes in the planets, and certain seasonal rhythmic paths. the significance of these may be doubted: do they mean real change in the sun or in the earth? but change, and change of a certain definite and numerically determinate character is there. it is clear that such out-standing facts (ex-istences) constitute the data, the given or presented, of the thought-function.
-it is obvious that this is only one correspondent, or status, in the total situation. with the consciousness of this as certain, as given to be reckoned with, goes the consciousness of uncertainty as to what it means--of how it is to be understood or interpreted. the facts qua presentation or existences are sure; qua meaning (position and relationship in an experience yet to be secured) they are doubtful. yet doubt does not preclude memory or anticipation. indeed, it is possible only through them. the memory of past experience makes sun-revolving-about-earth an object of attentive regard. the recollection of certain other experiences suggests the idea of earth-rotating-daily-on-axis and revolving-annually-about-sun. these contents are as much present as is the observation of change, but as respects worth, they are only possibilities. accordingly, they are categorized or disposed of as just ideas, meanings, thoughts, ways of conceiving, comprehending, interpreting facts.
-correspondence of reference here is as obvious as correlation of existence. in the logical process, the datum is not just real existence, and the idea mere psychical unreality. both are modes of existence--one of given existence, the other of mental existence. and if the mental existence is in such cases regarded, from the standpoint of the unified experience aimed at, as having only possible value, the datum also is regarded, from the value standpoint, as incomplete and unassured. the very existence of the idea or meaning as separate is the partial, broken up, and hence objectively unreal (from the validity standpoint) character of the datum. or, as we commonly put it, while the ideas are impressions, suggestions, guesses, theories, estimates, etc., the facts are crude, raw, unorganized, brute. they lack relationship, that is, assured place in the universe; they are deficient as to continuity. mere change of apparent position of sun, which is absolutely unquestioned as datum, is a sheer abstraction from the standpoint either of the organized experience left behind, or of the reorganized experience which is the end--the objective. it is impossible as a persistent object in experience or reality. in other words, datum and ideatum are divisions of labor, co-operative instrumentalities, for economical dealing with the problem of the maintenance of the integrity of experience.
-once more, and briefly, both datum and ideatum may (and positively, veritably, do) break up, each for itself, into physical and psychical. in so far as the conviction gains ground that the earth revolves about the sun, the old fact is broken up into a new cosmic existence, and a new psychological condition--the recognition of a mental process in virtue of which movements of smaller bodies in relation to very remote larger bodies are interpreted in a reverse sense. we do not just eliminate as false the source of error in the old content. we reinterpret it as valid in its own place, viz., a case of the psychology of apperception, although invalid as a matter of cosmic structure. in other words, with increasing accuracy of determination of the given, there comes a distinction, for methodological purposes, between the quality or matter of the sense-experience and its form--the sense-perceiving, as itself a psychological fact, having its own place and laws or relations. moreover, the old experience, that of sun-revolving, abides. but it is regarded as belonging to "me"--to this experiencing individual, rather than to the cosmic world. it is psychic.
-here, then, within the growth of the thought-situation and as a part of the process of determining specific truth under specific conditions, we get for the first time the clue to that distinction with which, as ready-made and prior to all thinking, lotze started out, namely, the separation of the matter of impression from impression as psychical event. the separation which, taken at large, engenders an insoluble problem, appears within a particular reflective inquiry, as an inevitable differentiation of a scheme of values.
-all this is given, presented, to our ideational activities. even the universal, the common-color which runs through the various qualities of blue, green, white, etc., is not a product of thought, but something which thought finds already in existence. it conditions comparison and reciprocal distinction. particularly all mathematical determinations, whether of counting (number), degree (more or less), and quantity (greatness and smallness), come back to this peculiarity of the datum of thought. here lotze dwells at considerable length upon the fact that the very possibility, as well as the success, of thought is due to this peculiar universalization or prima facie ordering with which its material is given to it. such pre-established fitness in the meeting of two things that have nothing to do with each other is certainly cause enough for wonder and congratulation.
-it is easy to interpret this miraculous gift of grace in the light of what has been said. the data are in truth precisely that which is selected and set aside as present, as immediate. thus they are given to further thought. but the selection has occurred in view of the need for thought; it is a listing of the capital in the way of the undisturbed, the undiscussed, which thought can count upon in this particular problem. hence it is not strange that it has a peculiar fitness of adaptation for thought's further work. having been selected with precisely that end in view, the wonder would be if it were not so fitted. a man may coin counterfeit money for use upon others, but hardly with the intent of passing it off upon himself.
-in this account by lotze of the operations of the forms of thought, there is clearly put before us the picture of a continuous correlative determination of datum on one side and of idea or meaning on the other, till experience is again integral, data thoroughly defined and corrected, and ideas completely incarnate as the relevant meaning of subject-matter. that we have here in outline a description of what actually occurs there can be no doubt. but there is as little doubt that it is thoroughly inconsistent with lotze's supposition that the material or data of thought is precisely the same as the antecedents of thought; or that ideas, conceptions, are purely mental somewhats brought to bear, as the sole essential characteristics of thought, extraneously upon a material provided ready-made. it means but one thing: the maintenance of unity and wholeness in experience through conflicting contents occurs by means of a strictly correspondent setting apart of fact to be accurately described and properly related, and meaning to be adequately construed and properly referred. the datum is given in the thought-situation, and to further qualification of ideas or meanings. but even in this aspect it presents a problem. to find out what is given is an inquiry which taxes reflection to the uttermost. every important advance in scientific method means better agencies, more skilled technique for simply detaching and describing what is barely there, or given. to be able to find out what can safely be taken as there, as given in any particular inquiry, and hence be taken as material for orderly and verifiable thinking, for fruitful hypothesis-making, for entertaining of explanatory and interpretative ideas, is one phase of the effort of systematic scientific inquiry. it marks its inductive phase. to take what is given in the thought-situation, for the sake of accomplishing the aim of thought (along with a correlative discrimination of ideas or meanings), as if it were given absolutely, or apart from a particular historic situs and context, is the fallacy of empiricism as a logical theory. to regard the thought-forms of conception, judgment, and inference as qualifications of "pure thought, apart from any difference in objects," instead of as successive dispositions in the progressive organization of the material (or objects) is the fallacy of rationalism. lotze attempts to combine the two, thinking thereby to correct each by the other.
-lotze recognizes the futility of thought if the sense-data are final, if they alone are real, the truly existent, self-justificatory and valid. he sees that, if the empiricist were right in his assumption as to the real worth of the given data, thinking would be a ridiculous pretender, either toilfully and poorly doing over again what needs no doing, or making a wilful departure from truth. he realizes that thought really is evoked because it is needed, and that it has a work to do which is not merely formal, but which effects a modification of the subject-matter of experience. consequently he assumes a thought-in-itself, with certain forms and modes of action of its own, a realm of meaning possessed of a directive and normative worth of its own--the root-fallacy of rationalism. his attempted compromise between the two turns out to be based on the assumption of the indefensible ideas of both--the notion of an independent matter of thought, on one side, and of an independent worth or value of thought-forms, on the other.
-as we have seen, the essential nature of conception, judgment, and inference is dependent upon peculiarities of the propounded material, they being forms dependent for their significance upon the stage of organization in which they begin.
-lotze, in truth, represents a halting-stage in the evolution of logical theory. he is too far along to be contented with the reiteration of the purely formal distinctions of a merely formal thought-by-itself. he recognizes that thought as formal is the form of some matter, and has its worth only as organizing that matter to meet the ideal demands of reason; and that "reason" is in truth only an ideal systematization of the matter or content. consequently he has to open the door to admit "psychical processes" which furnish this material. having let in the material, he is bound to shut the door again in the face of the processes from which the material proceeded--to dismiss them as impertinent intruders. if thought gets its data in such a surreptitious manner, there is no occasion for wonder that the legitimacy of its dealings with the material remains an open question. logical theory, like every branch of the philosophic disciplines, waits upon a surrender of the obstinate conviction that, while the work and aim of thought is conditioned by the material supplied to it, yet the worth of its performances is something to be passed upon in complete abstraction from conditions of origin and development.
-thought and its subject-matter: the content and object of thought
-in the foregoing discussion, particularly in the last chapter, we were led repeatedly to recognize that thought has its own content. at times lotze gives way to the tendency to define thought entirely in terms of modes and forms of activity which are exercised by it upon a strictly foreign material. but two motives continually push him in the other direction. (1) thought has a distinctive work to do, one which involves a qualitative transformation of (at least) the relationships of the presented matter; as fast as it accomplishes this work, the subject-matter becomes somehow thought's own. as we have just seen, the data are progressively organized to meet thought's ideal of a complete whole, with its members interconnected according to a determining principle. such progressive organization throws backward doubt upon the assumption of the original total irrelevancy of the data and thought-form to each other. (2) a like motive operates from the side of the subject-matter. as merely foreign and external, it is too heterogeneous to lend itself to thought's exercise and influence. the idea, as we saw in the first chapter, is the convenient medium through which lotze passes from the purely heterogeneous psychical impression or event, which is totally irrelevant to thought's purpose and working, over to a state of affairs which can reward thought. idea as meaning forms the bridge from the brute factuality of the psychical impression over to the coherent value of thought's own content.
-we have, in this chapter, to consider the question of the idea or content of thought from two points of view: first, the possibility of such a content--its consistency with lotze's fundamental premises; secondly, its objective character--its validity and test.
-i. the question of the possibility of a specific content of thought is the question of the nature of the idea as meaning. meaning is the characteristic content of thought as such. we have thus far left unquestioned lotze's continual assumption of meaning as a sort of thought-unit; the building-stone of thought's construction. in his treatment of meaning, lotze's contradictions regarding the antecedents, data, and content of thought reach their full conclusion. he expressly makes meaning to be the product of thought's activity and also the unreflective material out of which thought's operations grow.
-to reach this unification is thought's objective or goal. exactly the same value is idea, as either tool or content, according as it is taken as instrumental or as accomplishment. every successive cross-section of the thought-situation presents what may be taken for granted as the outcome of previous thinking, and consequently as the determinant of further reflective procedure. taken as defining the point reached in the thought-function and serving as constituent unit of further thought, it is content. lotze's instinct is sure in identifying and setting over against each other the material given to thought and the content which is thought's own "building-stone." his contradictions arise simply from the fact that his absolute, non-historic method does not permit him to interpret this joint identity and distinction in a working, and hence relative, sense.
-or again, the given material of experience apart from thought is precisely the relatively chaotic and unorganized; it even reduces itself to a mere sequence of psychical events. what rational meaning is there in directing us to compare the highest results of scientific inquiry with the bare sequence of our own states of feeling; or even with the original data whose fragmentary and uncertain character was the exact motive for entering upon scientific inquiry? how can the former in any sense give a check or test of the value of the latter? this is professedly to test the validity of a system of meanings by comparison with that whose defects and errors call forth the construction of the system of meanings by which to rectify and replace themselves. our subsequent inquiry simply consists in tracing some of the phases of the characteristic seesaw from one to the other of the two horns of the now familiar dilemma: either thought is separate from the matter of experience, and then its validity is wholly its own private business; or else the objective results of thought are already in the antecedent material, and then thought is either unnecessary, or else has no way of checking its own performances.
-so far it seems clear sailing. difficulties, however, show themselves, the moment we inquire what is meant by a self-identical content for all thought. is this to be taken in a static or in a dynamic way? that is to say: does it express the fact that a given content or meaning is de facto presented to the consciousness of all alike? does this coequal presence guarantee an objectivity? or does validity attach to a given meaning or content in so far as it directs and controls the further exercise of thinking, and thus the formation of further new contents of consciousness?
-the former interpretation is alone consistent with lotze's notion that the independent idea as such is invested with a certain validity or objectivity. it alone is consistent with his assertion that concepts precede judgments. it alone, that is to say, is consistent with the notion that reflective thinking has a sphere of ideas or meanings supplied to it at the outset. but it is impossible to entertain this belief. the stimulus which, according to lotze, goads thought on from ideas or concepts to judgments and inferences, is in truth simply the lack of validity, of objectivity in its original independent meanings or contents. a meaning as independent is precisely that which is not invested with validity, but which is a mere idea, a "notion," a fancy, at best a surmise which may turn out to be valid (and of course this indicates possible reference); a standpoint to have its value determined by its further active use. "blue" as a mere detached floating meaning, an idea at large, would not gain in validity simply by being entertained continuously in a given consciousness; or by being made at one and the same time the persistent object of attentive regard by all human consciousnesses. if this were all that were required, the chimera, the centaur, or any other subjective construction, could easily gain validity. "christian science" has made just this notion the basis of its philosophy.
-if we refer again to the fact that the genuine antecedent of thought is a situation which is tensional as regards its existing status, or disorganized in its structural elements, yet organized as emerging out of the unified experience of the past and as striving as a whole, or equally in all its phases, to reinstate an experience harmonized in make-up, we can easily understand how certain contents may be detached and held apart as meanings or references, actual or possible (according as they are viewed with reference to the past or to the future). we can understand how such detached contents may be of use in effecting a review of the entire experience, and as affording standpoints and methods of a reconstruction which will maintain the integrity of experience. we can understand how validity of meaning is measured by reference to something which is not mere meaning; by reference to something which lies beyond the idea as such--viz., the reconstitution of an experience into which thought enters as mediator. that paradox of ordinary experience and of scientific inquiry by which objectivity is given alike to matter of perception and to conceived relations--to facts and to laws--affords no peculiar difficulty, because we see that the test of objectivity is everywhere the same: anything is objective in so far as, through the medium of conflict, it controls the movement of experience in its reconstructive transition from one unified form to another. there is not first an object, whether of sense-perception or of conception, which afterward somehow exercises this controlling influence; but the objective is such in virtue of the exercise of function of control. it may only control the act of inquiry; it may only set on foot doubt, but this is direction of subsequent experience, and, in so far, is a token of objectivity.
-2. lotze has to wrestle with this question of validity in a further aspect: what constitutes the objectivity of thinking as a total attitude, activity, or function? according to his own statement, the meanings or valid ideas are after all only building-stones for logical thought. validity is thus not a question of them in their independent existences, but of their mutual reference to each other. thinking is the process of instituting these mutual references; of building up the various scattered and independent building-stones into the coherent system of thought. what is the validity of the various forms of thinking which find expression in the various types of judgment and in the various forms of inference? categorical, hypothetical, disjunctive judgment; inference by induction, by analogy, by mathematical equation; classification, theory of explanation--all these are processes of reflection by which mutual connection in an individualized whole is given to the fragmentary meanings or ideas with which thought as it sets out is supplied. what shall we say of the validity of such processes?
-here the problem of validity presents itself as the problem of the relation of the act of thinking to its own product. in his solution lotze uses two metaphors: one derived from building operations, the other from traveling. the construction of a building requires of necessity certain tools and extraneous constructions, stagings, scaffoldings, etc., which are necessary to effect the final construction, but yet which do not enter into the building as such. the activity has an instrumental, though not a constitutive, value as regards its product. similarly, in order to get a view from the top of a mountain--this view being the objective--the traveler has to go through preliminary movements along devious courses. these again are antecedent prerequisites, but do not constitute a portion of the attained view.
-the problem of thought as activity, as distinct from thought as content, opens up altogether too large a question to receive complete consideration at this point. fortunately, however, the previous discussion enables us to narrow the point which is in issue just here. it is once more the question whether the activity of thought is to be regarded as an independent function supervening entirely from without upon antecedents, and directed from without upon data; or whether it marks merely a phase of the transformation which the course of experience (whether practical, or artistic, or socially affectional or whatever) undergoes in entering into a tensional status where the maintenance of its harmony of content is problematic and hence an aim. if it be the latter, a thoroughly intelligent sense can be given to the proposition that the activity of thinking is instrumental, and that its worth is found, not in its own successive states as such, but in the result in which it comes to conclusion. but the conception of thinking as an independent activity somehow occurring after an independent antecedent, playing upon an independent subject-matter, and finally effecting an independent result, presents us with just one miracle the more.
-i do not question the strictly instrumental character of thinking. the problem lies not here, but in the interpretation of the nature of the organ and instrument. the difficulty with lotze's position is that it forces us into the assumption of a means and an end which are simply and only external to each other, and yet necessarily dependent upon each other--a position which, whenever found, is so thoroughly self-contradictory as to necessitate critical reconsideration of the premises which lead to it. lotze vibrates between the notion of thought as a tool in the external sense, a mere scaffolding to a finished building in which it has no part nor lot, and the notion of thought as an immanent tool, as a scaffolding which is an integral part of the very operation of building, and set up for the sake of the building-activity which is carried on effectively only with and through a scaffolding. only in the former case can the scaffolding be considered as a mere tool. in the latter case the external scaffolding is not itself the instrumentality; the actual tool is the action of erecting the building, and this action involves the scaffolding as a constituent part of itself. the work of erecting is not set over against the completed building as mere means to an end; it is the end taken in process or historically, longitudinally viewed. the scaffolding, moreover, is not an external means to the process of erecting, but an organic member of it. it is no mere accident of language that "building" has a double sense--meaning at once the process and the finished product. the outcome of thought is the thinking activity carried on to its own completion; the activity, on the other hand, is the outcome taken anywhere short of its own realization, and thereby still going on.
-the only consideration which prevents easy and immediate acceptance of this view is the notion of thinking as something purely formal. it is strange that the empiricist does not see that his insistence upon a matter extraneously given to thought only strengthens the hands of the rationalist with his claim of thinking as an independent activity, separate from the actual make-up of the affairs of experience. thinking as a merely formal activity exercised upon certain sensations or images or objects sets forth an absolutely meaningless proposition. the psychological identification of thinking with the process of association is much nearer the truth. it is, indeed, on the way to the truth. we need only to recognize that association is of contents or matters or meanings, not of ideas as bare existences or events; and that the type of association we call thinking differs from the associations of casual fancy and revery in an element of control by reference to an end which determines the fitness and thus the selection of the associates, to apprehend how completely thinking is a reconstructive movement of actual contents of experience in relation to each other, and for the sake of a redintegration of a conflicting experience.
-there is no miracle in the fact that tool and material are adapted to each other in the process of reaching a valid conclusion. were they external in origin to each other and to the result, the whole affair would, indeed, present an insoluble problem--so insoluble that, if this were the true condition of affairs, we never should even know that there was a problem. but, in truth, both material and tool have been secured and determined with reference to economy and efficiency in effecting the end desired--the maintenance of a harmonious experience. the builder has discovered that his building means building tools, and also building material. each has been slowly evolved with reference to its fit employ in the entire function; and this evolution has been checked at every point by reference to its own correspondent. the carpenter has not thought at large on his building and then constructed tools at large, but has thought of his building in terms of the material which enters into it, and through that medium has come to the consideration of the tools which are helpful. life proposes to maintain at all hazards the unity of its own process. experience insists on being itself, on securing integrity even through and by means of conflict.
-this is not a formal question, but one of the placing and relations of the matters or values actually entering into experience. and this in turn determines the taking up of just those mental attitudes, and the employing of just those intellectual operations, which most effectively handle and organize the material. thinking is adaptation to an end through the adjustment of particular objective contents.
-the thinker, like the carpenter, is at once stimulated and checked in every stage of his procedure by the particular situation which confronts him. a person is at the stage of wanting a new house: well then, his materials are available resources, the price of labor, the cost of building, the state and needs of his family, profession, etc.; his tools are paper and pencil and compass, or possibly the bank as a credit instrumentality, etc. again, the work is beginning. the foundations are laid. this in turn determines its own specific materials and tools. again, the building is almost ready for occupancy. the concrete process is that of taking away the scaffolding, clearing up the grounds, furnishing and decorating rooms, etc. this specific operation again determines its own fit or relevant materials and tools. it defines the time and mode and manner of beginning and ceasing to use them. logical theory will get along as well as does reflective practice, when it sticks close by and observes the directions and checks inherent in each successive phase of the evolution of the cycle of experiencing. the problem in general of validity of the thinking process as distinct from the validity of this or that process arises only when thinking is isolated from its historic position and its material context.
-3. but lotze is not yet done with the problem of validity, even from his own standpoint. the ground shifts again under his feet. it is no longer a question of the validity of the idea or meaning with which thought is supposed to set out; it is no longer a question of the validity of the process of thinking in reference to its own product; it is the question of the validity of the product. supposing, after all, that the final meaning, or logical idea, is thoroughly coherent and organized; supposing it is an object for all consciousness as such. once more arises the question: what is the validity of even the most coherent and complete idea?--a question which rises and will not down. we may reconstruct our notion of the chimera until it ceases to be an independent idea and becomes a part of the system of greek mythology. has it gained in validity in ceasing to be an independent myth, in becoming an element in systematized myth? myth it was and myth it remains. mythology does not get validity by growing bigger. how do we know the same is not the case with the ideas which are the product of our most deliberate and extended scientific inquiry? the reference again to the content as the self-identical object of all consciousness proves nothing; the matter of a hallucination does not gain worth in proportion to its social contagiousness. or the reference proves that we have not as yet reached any conclusion, but are entertaining a hypothesis--since social validity is not a matter of mere common content, but of securing participation in a commonly adjudged social experience through action directed thereto and directed by consensus of judgment.
-bosanquet's theory of the judgment, in common with all such theories of the judgment, necessarily involves the metaphysical problem of the nature of reality and of the relation of thought to reality. that the judgment is the function by which knowledge is attained is a proposition which would meet with universal acceptance. but knowledge is itself a relation of some sort between thought and reality. the view which any logician adopts as to the nature of the knowledge-process is accordingly conditioned by his metaphysical presuppositions as to the nature of reality. it is equally true that the theory of the judgment developed from any metaphysical standpoint serves as a test of the validity of that standpoint. we shall attempt in the present paper to show how bosanquet's theory of the judgment develops from his view of the nature of reality, and to inquire whether the theory succeeds in giving such an account of the knowledge-process as to corroborate the presupposition underlying it.
-the defining of the problem suggests the view of the nature of reality out of which bosanquet's theory of the judgment grows. the real world is to him a world which has its existence quite independently of the process by which it is known. the real world is there to be known, and is in no wise modified by the knowledge which we obtain of it. the work of thought is to build up a world of ideas which shall represent, or correspond to, the world of reality. the more complete and perfect the correspondence, the greater our store of knowledge.
-bosanquet describes it as follows:
-if i say, pointing to a particular house, "that is my home," it is clear that in this act of judgment the reference conveyed by the demonstrative is indispensable. the significant idea "my home" is affirmed, not of any other general significant idea in my mind, but of something which is rendered unique by being present to me in perception. in making the judgment, "that is my home," i extend the present sense-perception of a house in a certain landscape by attaching to it the ideal content or meaning of "home;" and moreover, in doing this, i pronounce the ideal content to be, so to speak, of one and the same tissue with what i have before me in my actual perception. that is to say, i affirm the meaning of the idea, or the idea considered as a meaning, to be a real quality of that which i perceive in my perception.
-again, he says that the general features of the judgment of perception are as follows:
-our point of contact with reality, the place where reality gets into the thought-process, is, according to this view, to be found in the simplest, most indefinite type of judgment of perception. we meet with reality in the mere undefined "this" of primitive experience. but each such elementary judgment about an undefined "this" is an isolated bit of experience. each "this" could give us only a detached bit of reality at best, and the further problem now confronts us of how we ever succeed in piecing our detached bits of reality together to form a real world. bosanquet's explanation is, in his words, this:
-again he says:
-bosanquet sums up the section of the introduction on knowledge and its content, truth, with the following paragraph:
-here the subject of the judgment appears as an element of a reality which the individual has constructed by identifying significant ideas with that world of which he has assurance through his own perceptive experience. but the very point with reference to the subject of the judgment previously emphasized is that it is not and cannot be something which the individual has constructed. the subject of the judgment must be reality, and reality does not consist of ideas, even if it be determined by them. it does not mend matters to explain that the individual has constructed his real world by identifying significant ideas with that world of which he has assurance through his own perceptive experiences, because, as we have seen, "the individual's perceptive experiences" either turn out to be merely similar mental constructions made at a prior time, so that nothing is gained by attaching to them, or else they mean once more the mere shock of contact which is supposed to give assurance that some sort of reality exists, but which gives no assurance of what it is. that and what, this and thisness still remain detached. when he talks of the real world for any individual we are left entirely in the dark as to what the relation between the real world as it is for any individual and the real world as it is for itself may be, or how the individual is to gain any assurance that the real world as it is for him represents the real world as it is for itself.
-another attempt at a reconciliation of these opposing views leaves us no better satisfied. the passage is as follows:
-in this passage by the "given" he evidently means the content of sensory experience, the thisness, the what. it is, as he says, of the same stuff as that by which it is extended. both the given and that by which it is extended are artificial in the sense of not being real according to bosanquet's interpretation of reality; they are ideas. but if all this is admitted, what becomes of the possibility of knowledge? bosanquet undertakes to rescue it by assuring us again that it is the character and quality of being directly in contact with sense-perception, not any fixed datum of content, that forms the center of the individual's real world and gives the stamp of reality to his otherwise ideal extension of this center. here again we find ourselves with no evidence that the content of our knowledge bears any relation to reality. we have merely the feeling of vividness attached to sensory experience which seems to bring us the certainty that there is some sort of a reality behind it, but this is not to give assurance that our ideal content even belongs rightfully to that against which we have bumped, much less of how it belongs--and only this deserves the title "knowledge."
-in the chapter on "quality and comparison," in which he takes up the more detailed treatment of the simplest types of judgment of perception, he comes back to the same contradiction, and again attempts to explain how both horns of his dilemma must be true. the passage is this:
-the conclusion he reaches is a mere restatement of the difficulty. the problem he is trying to solve is how the subject can be both in and out of the judgment, and how the subject without is related to the subject within. the mere assertion that it is so does not help us to understand it. his procedure seems like taking advantage of two meanings of sense-perception, its conscious quality and its brute abrupt immediacy, and then utilizing this ambiguity to solve a problem which grows out of the conception of judgment as a reference of idea to reality.
-turning from his treatment of the world of fact to his discussion of the world of idea, from the subject to the predicate, as it appears in his theory of the judgment we find again a paradox which must be recognized and cannot be obviated. an idea is essentially a meaning. it is not a particular existence whose essence is uniqueness as is the case with the subject of the judgment, but is a meaning whose importance is that it may apply to an indefinite number of unique existences. its characteristic is universality. and yet an idea regarded as a psychical existence, an idea as a content in my mind, is just as particular and unique as any other existence. how, then, does it obtain its characteristic of universality? bosanquet's answer is that it must be universal by means of a reference to something other than itself. its meaning resides, not in its existence as a psychical image, but in its reference to something beyond itself. now, any idea that is affirmed is referred to reality, but do ideas exist which are not being affirmed? if so, their reference cannot be to reality. bosanquet discusses the question in the second section of his introduction as follows:
-it is not easy to deny that there is a world of ideas or of meanings, which simply consists in that identical reference of symbols by which mutual understanding between rational beings is made possible. a mere suggestion, a mere question, a mere negation, seem all of them to imply that we sometimes entertain ideas without affirming them of reality, and therefore without affirming their reference to be a reference to something real or their meaning to be fact. we may be puzzled indeed to say what an idea can mean, or to what it can refer, if it does not mean or refer to something real--to some element in the fabric continuously sustained by the judgment which is our consciousness. on the other hand, it would be shirking a difficulty to neglect the consideration that an idea, while denied of reality, may nevertheless, or even must, possess an identical and so intelligible reference--a symbolic value--for the rational beings who deny it. a reference, it may be argued, must be a reference to something. but it seems as if in this case the something were the fact of reference itself, the rational convention between intelligent beings, or rather the world which has existence, whether for one rational being or for many, merely as contained in and sustained by such intellectual reference.
-in the seventh section of the introduction bosanquet explains his meaning further by what the reader is privileged to regard as a flight of the imagination--a mere simile--which he thinks may, nevertheless, make the matter clearer.
-and by the time all this is performed what sort of a representation of reality is the idea? evidently a very poor and meager and fragmentary one.
-it is so poor and fragmentary, that it cannot itself be that which is affirmed of reality. it must be some other fuller existence to be found in the world of meanings which is affirmed. and yet how the meager content of the idea succeeds in referring to the world of meanings, and acting as the instrument for referring a meaning to reality, is not at all clear. it seems impossible to explain reference intelligibly by the concept of a correspondence of contents.
-if it be true, as it seems to him to be, that we are compelled to adhere to both of these views of reality, then surely there is no other outcome. it means, however, that we finally resign all hope of knowing reality. we may have faith in its existence, but we have no way of deciding what particular judgment has reality in it as it should have it, and what as it should not. all stand (and fall) on the same basis. but does not bosanquet himself point out a pathway which, if followed farther, would reach a more satisfactory view of the realm of knowledge? he has shown us that the only sort of reality we know, or can know, is the reality which appears within our judgment-process--the reality as known to us. would it not be possible to drop the presupposed reality outside of the judgment-process (with which judgment is endeavoring to make connections) and content ourselves with the sort of reality which appears within the judgment-process? in other words, may there not be a satisfactory view of reality which frankly recognizes its organic relation to the knowledge-process, without at the same time destroying its value as reality? is it possible to admit that reality is in a sense constituted in the judgment without making it at the same time the figment of the individual imagination--"a game with ideas"?
-let us assume for the moment that the real difficulty with mr. bosanquet's conception, the error that keeps him traveling in his hopeless circles, is the notion that truth is a matter of reference of ideas as such to reality as such, leading us to oscillate between the alternatives that either all ideas have such reference, and so are true, constitute knowledge; or else none have such reference, and so are false; or else are mere ideas to which neither truth nor falsity can be attributed. let us ask if truth is not rather some specific relation within experience, something which characterizes one idea rather than another, so that our problem is not how an idea can refer to a reality beyond itself, but what are the marks by which we discriminate a true reference from a false one. then let us ask for the criterion used in daily life and in science by which to test reality.
-if we ask the philosophically unsophisticated individual why he believes that his house still exists when he is away from it and has no immediate evidence of the fact, he will tell you it is because he has found that he can go back to it time and again and see it and walk into it. it never fails him when he acts upon the assumption that it is there. he would never tell you that he believed in its existence when he was not experiencing it because his mental picture of his house stood for and represented accurately an object in the real world which was nevertheless of a different order of existence from his mental picture. when you ask the physicist why he believes that the laws of motion are true, he will tell you that it is because he finds that bodies always do behave according to them. he can predict just what a body will do under given circumstances. he is never disappointed however long he takes it for granted that the laws of motion are true and that bodies behave according to them. the only thing that could make him question their truth would be to find some body which did not prove to behave in accordance with them. the criterion is the same in both cases. it is the practical criterion of what as a matter of fact will work. that which can safely be taken for granted as a basis for further action is regarded as real and true. it remains real so long, and only so long, as it continues to fulfil this condition. as soon as it ceases to do so, it ceases to be regarded as real. when a man finds that he can no longer obtain the accustomed experience of seeing and entering his house, he ceases to regard it as real. it has burned down, or been pulled down. when a physicist finds that a body does not, as a matter of fact, behave as a given law leads him to expect it would behave, he ceases to regard the law as true.
-the contrast between the naïve view of the criterion of reality and the one we have just been discussing may be brought out by considering how we should have to interpret from each standpoint the constant succession of facts in the history of science which have ceased to be facts. for illustration take the former fact that the earth is flat. it ceased to be a fact, says the theory we have been reviewing, because further thought-constructions of the real world convinced us that there is no reality which the idea "flat-world" represents. the idea "round-world" alone reproduces reality. it ceased to be a fact, says the naïve view, because it ceased to be a safe guide for action. men found they could sail around the world. correspondence in one case is pictorial, and its existence or non-existence can, as we have seen, never be ascertained. in the other, correspondence is response, adjustment, the co-meeting of specific conditions in further constituting of experience.
-in actual life, therefore, the criterion of reality which we use is a practical one. the test of reality does not consist in ascertaining the relationship between an idea and an x which is not idea, but in ascertaining what experience can be taken for granted as a safe basis for securing other experiences. the evident advantage of the latter view, leaving aside for the moment the question of its adequacy in other respects, is that it avoids the fundamental skepticism at once suggested by the former. how can we ever be sure that the fact which we have discovered will stand the test of further thought-constructions? perhaps it comes no nearer to reality than the discarded one. obviously we never can be sure that any particular content of thought represents reality so accurately and perfectly that it will never be subject to revision. if, however, the test of reality is the adequacy of a given content of consciousness as a stimulus to action, as a mode of control, we have an applicable standard. a given content of consciousness is real--is a fact--so long as the act resulting from it is adequate in adaptation to other contents. it ceases to be real as soon as the act it stimulates proves to be inadequate.
-the view which places the ultimate test of facts, not in any relationship of contents or existences, but in the practical outcome of thought, is the one which seems to follow necessarily from a thoroughgoing conception of the judgment as a function--an act. our fundamental biological conception of the activities of living organisms is that acts exist for the sake of their results. acts are always stimulated by some definite set of conditions, and their value is always tested by the adequacy with which they meet this set of conditions. the judgment is no exception to the rule. it is always an act stimulated by some set of conditions which needs readjusting. its outcome is a readjustment whose value is and can be tested only by its adequacy. it is accordingly entirely in line with our reigning biological conceptions to expect to find the ultimate criterion of truth and reality in the practical outcome of thought, and to seek for an understanding of the nature of the "real" and of the "ideal" within the total activity of judgment.
-one difficulty besets us at the outset of such an investigation--that of being sure that we have a genuine judgment under examination. a large portion of the so-called judgments considered by logicians, even by those who emphasize the truth that a judgment is an act, are really not judgments at all, but contents of thought which are the outcome of judgments--what might be called dead judgments, instead of live judgments. when we analyze a real act of judgment, as it occurs in a living process of thought, we find given elements which are always present. there is always a certain situation which demands a reaction. the situation is always in part determined and taken for granted, and in part questioned. it is determined in so far as it is a definite situation of some sort; it is undetermined in so far as it furnishes an inadequate basis for further action and therefore comes to consciousness as a problem. for example, take one of the judgments bosanquet uses. "this is bread." we have first to inquire when such a judgment actually occurs in the living process of thought. a man does not make such a judgment in the course of his thinking unless there is some instigation to do so. perhaps he is in doubt as to whether the white object he perceives is bread or cake. he wants some bread, but does not want cake. a closer inspection convinces him that it is bread, and the finished judgment is formulated in the proposition: "this is bread." what is the test of the reality of the bread, and the truth of the judgment? evidently the act based on it. he eats the bread. if it tastes like bread and affects him like bread, then the bread was real and the judgment true. if, on the other hand, it does not taste like bread, or if it makes him violently ill, then the "bread" was not real and the judgment was false. in either case, the "this"--the experience to be interpreted--is unquestioned. the man does not question the fact that he has a perception of a white object. so much is taken for granted and is unquestioned within that judgment. but there is another part of the experience which is questioned, and which remains tentative up to the conclusion of the act of judgment; that is the doubt as to whether the perceived white object is bread or something else. every live judgment, every judgment as it normally occurs in the vital process of thought, must have these phases. it is only when a judgment is taken out of its context and reduced to a mere memorandum of past judgments that it fails to reveal such parts. the man may, of course, go farther back. he may wonder whether this is really white or not. but he falls back then on something else which he takes unquestioningly--a "this" experience of some sort or other.
-so far we have considered the practical criterion of reality merely as the one which is actually operative in everyday life, and as the one suggested by our biological theory of the functions of living organisms. it also offers a suggestion for the modified view of the nature of reality for which we are in search. our previous discussion brought out incidentally a contradiction in the traditional theory of the nature of reality which it will be worth while to consider further. in dealing with the subject of the judgment, reality seemed to be made synonymous with fact. in this sense fact, or the real, was set off against the ideal. knowledge was viewed as the correspondence between real and ideal. when we came to deal with the ideal itself--with the predicate of the judgment--there appeared in it an element of fact or reality which proved a serious stumbling-block for the theory. as image in my mind, the idea is just as real as the so-called facts; but this sort of reality according to the theory in question is neither the reality about which we are judging nor a real quality of it. both bradley and bosanquet are forced to admit that the judgment ignores it, and is in so far by nature inadequate to its appointed task of knowing reality.
-the suggestion which the situation offers for a new theory is that the view of reality has been too narrow. reality must evidently be a broad enough term to cover both fact and idea. if so, the reality must be nothing more nor less than the total process of experience with its continual opposition of fact and idea, and their continual resolution through activity. that which previous theory has been calling the real is not the total reality, but merely one aspect of it. the problem of relation of fact and idea is thus the problem of the relation of one form of reality to another, and so a determinate soluble one, not a merely metaphysical or general one. granting this, does it still remain true that reality in the narrower sense, reality as fact, can be regarded as a different order of existence from the ideal, and set over against the thought-process? evidently not. fact and idea become merely two aspects of a total reality. the way in which fact and idea are distinguished has already been suggested by the practical and biological criterion of fact, or reality in the narrower sense. from this point of view, fact is not a different order of existence from idea, but is merely a part of the total process of experience which functions in a given way. it is merely that part of experience which is taken as given, and which serves as a stimulus to action. thus the essential nature of fact, or reality in the popular sense, falls not at all on the side of its content, but on the side of its function. similarly the ideal is merely that part of the total experience which is taken as tentative. there is no problem as to how either of them is related to reality. in this relationship they are reality. that which previous theories had been calling the whole of reality now appears as merely one aspect of it--the fact aspect--artificially isolated from the rest.
-when we translate this view of the nature of reality into terms of a theory of the judgment, we find that we can agree with bosanquet in his definition of a judgment. it is an act, and an act which refers an ideal content to reality. the judgment must be an act, because it is essentially an adaptation--a reaction toward a given situation. the subject of the judgment is that part of the content of experience which represents the situation to be reacted to. it is that which is taken for granted as given in each case. now this is, as we have seen, reality--in the narrower sense of that term. what bosanquet has been calling reality now appears merely as the subject of the judgment taken out of its normal function and considered as an isolated thing. it is an artificial abstraction. it is accordingly true, as bosanquet insists, that the subject of the judgment must always be reality--both in his sense of the term and in ours. this reality is not real, however, by virtue of its independence from the judgment, but by virtue of its function within the judgment. his fundamental problem with reference to the subject of the judgment is disposed of from this point of view. the subject is wholly within the judgment, not in any sense outside of it; but it is at the same time true that the subject of the judgment is reality. the fact that the subjects of all judgments--even those of the most elementary type--bear evident marks of the work done by thought upon them, ceases to be a problem. the subject is essentially a thing constituted by the doubt-inquiry process, and functioning within it. the necessity for an intermediate real world as it is to me between the real world and the knowing process disappears, because the real world as it is to me is the only real world of which the judgment can take account. there is no longer any divorce between the content of the subject and its existence. reality in his sense of the term--reality as fact--does not fall on the side of existence in distinction from content, but on the side of function in distinction from content.
-ideas, as bosanquet represented them, proved to be extremely unsatisfactory tools to use in building up a knowledge of reality. in the first place, their value as instruments of thought depends upon their universality. we have already reviewed bosanquet's difficulties in attempting to explain the universality of ideas. the universality of an idea cannot reside in its mere existence as image. its existence is purely particular. its universality must reside in its reference to something outside of itself. but no explanation of how the particular existence--image--could refer to another and fuller content of a different order of existence could be discovered. the fact of reference remained an ultimate mystery. from the new point of view the image gains its universality through its organizing function. it represents an organized habit which may be brought to bear upon the present situation, and which serves, by directing action, to organize and unify experience as a whole. it is only as function that the concept of reference can be made intelligible.
-of course, considered as content, the idea is just as particular from this point of view as from any other. we still have to discuss the question as to whether or not the particularity of the idea has a logical value. the fact that it had none in bosanquet's theory sets a limit to the validity of thought. but if the real test of the validity of a judgment is the act in which it issues, then the existential aspect of the idea must have logical value. the existential aspect of the idea is the "my" side of it. it is as my personal experience that it exists. but it is only as my idea that it has any impulsive power, or can issue in action. far from being ignored, therefore, the existential aspect is essential to the logical, the determinative, value of an idea.
-ideas, according to the representational theory of knowledge, proved to be a poor medium for knowing reality in still another respect. they are in their very nature contents that have been reduced from the fulness of experience to mere index-signs. even though their reference to a fuller content in the objective world of meanings presented no problem, still this objective world of meanings is far removed from reality. and yet, in order to know, we must be able to affirm ideas of reality. on the functional theory of ideas, their value does not rest at all upon their representational nature. they are not taken either in their existence or in their meaning as representations of any other content. they are taken as contents which mark a given function, and their value is determined entirely by the adequacy of the function of which they are the conscious expression. their content may be as meager as you please. it may have been obtained by a long process of reducing and transforming sensory experience, but if it serve to enable its possessor to meet the situation which called it up with the appropriate act, then it has truth and value in the fullest sense. the reduction of the idea to a mere index-sign presents no problem when we realize that it is the tool of a given function, not the sign for a different and fuller content. the idea thus becomes a commendable economy in the thought-process, rather than a reprehensible departure from reality.
-we have already upon general considerations criticised the point of view which holds that ideality consists in reference to another content. in arguing that this reference cannot be primarily to reality itself, but rather to an intermediate world of meanings, bosanquet cites the question and the negative judgment. in the question ideas are not affirmed of reality, and in negation they are definitely denied of reality, hence their reference cannot be to reality. it must therefore be to an objective world of meanings. it may be worth while to point out in passing that, from the functional point of view, the part played by ideas in the question and in negative judgment is the same that it is in affirmation.
-we have brought out the fact that all judgment arises in a doubt. the earliest stage of judgment is accordingly a question. whether the process stops at that point, or is carried on to an affirmation or negation, depends upon the particular conditions. the ideas which appear in questions present no other problem than those of affirmation. they are ideas, not by virtue of their reference to another content in the world of meanings, but by virtue of their function, i. e., that of constituting that part of the total experience which is taken as doubtful, and hence as in process.
-in order to make this point clear with reference to negative judgments, it will be necessary to consider the relation of negative and positive judgments somewhat more in detail. all judgment is in its earliest stages a question, but a question is never mere question. there are always present some suggestions of an answer, which make the process really a disjunctive judgment. a question might be defined as a disjunctive judgment in which one member of the disjunction is expressed and the others implied. if the process goes on to take the form of affirmation or negation, one of the suggested answers is selected. to follow out the illustration of the bread used above, the judgment arises in a doubt as to the nature of the white object perceived, but the doubt never takes the form of a blank question. it at once suggests certain possible solutions drawn from the mass of organized experience at the command of the person judging. at this stage the judgment is disjunctive. in the illustration it would probably take the form: "this is either bread or cake." the further course of the judgment rejects the cake alternative, and selects the bread, and the final outcome of the judgment is formulated in the proposition: "this is bread." but how did it happen that it did not take the form: "this is not cake"? that proposition is also involved in the outcome, and implied in the judgment made. the answer is that the form taken by the final outcome depends entirely on the direction of interest of the person making the judgment. if his interest happened to lie in obtaining bread, then the outcome would naturally take the form: "this is bread," and his act would consist in eating it. if he happened to want cake, the natural form would be, "this is not cake," and his act would consist in refraining from eating. in other words, the question as to whether a judgment turns out to be negative or positive is a question of whether the stress of interest happens to fall on the selected or on the rejected portions of the original disjunction. every determination of a subject through a predicate includes both. the selection of one or the other according to interest affects the final formulation of the process, but does not change the relations of its various phases. an idea in a negative judgment is just what it is in a positive judgment. in neither case is it constituted an idea by reference to some other content.
-so far we have outlined bosanquet's theory of the judgment; have noted the apparently insoluble problems inherent in his system, and have sketched a radically different theory which offered a possible solution for his difficulties. it now remains to develop the implications of the new theory further by comparing its application to some of the more important problems of logic with that of bosanquet. in closing we shall have to inquire to what extent the new theory of the judgment with its metaphysical implications has proved more satisfactory than that of bosanquet.
-the special problems to be considered are (1) the relation of judgment to inference; (2) the parts of the judgment and their relationship; (3) the time element in the judgment; and (4) the way in which one judgment can be separated from another.
-our reason for not adopting hegel's distinction between a judgment and a proposition would accordingly not be the same as bosanquet's. the question has already been touched upon in the distinction between dead and live judgments. what hegel calls a proposition is really nothing but a dead judgment. his illustration of a temporal affirmation is the sentence: "a carriage is passing the house." that sentence would be a judgment, he says, only in case there were some doubt as to whether or not a carriage was passing. but the question to be answered first is: when would such a "statement" occur in the course of our experience? it is impossible to conceive of any circumstances in which it would naturally occur, unless there were some doubt to be solved either of our own or of another. perhaps one is expecting a friend, and does not know at first whether it is a carriage or a cart which is passing. perhaps some one has been startled, and asks: "what is this noise?" what hegel wishes to call a proposition is, accordingly, nothing but a judgment taken out of its setting.
-2. in dealing with the traditional three parts of the judgment--subject, predicate, and copula--bosanquet disposes of the copula at once, by dividing the judgment into subject and predication. but the two terms "subject" and "predication" are not co-ordinate. subject, as he uses it, is a static term indicating a content. predication is a dynamic term indicating the act of predicating. it implies something which is predicated of something else, i. e., two contents and the act of bringing them into relation. now, if what we understand by the copula is the act of predicating abstracted from the content which is predicated of another content, then it does not dispose of the copula as a separate factor in judgment to include thing predicated and act of predicating under the single term "predication." the term "predication" might just as reasonably be made to absorb the subject as well, and would then appear--as it really is--synonymous with the term "judgment."
-but bosanquet's difficulties with the parts of the judgment are not disposed of even by the reduction to subject and predication. he goes on to say:
-we have already pointed out the difficulties into which bosanquet's presupposition as to the nature of reality plunges him. this is but another technical statement of the same problem. if the subject is really outside of judgment, then the entire content of the judgment must fall on the side of predicate, or idea. in the paragraphs that follow, bosanquet brings out the point that the judgment must nevertheless contain the distinction of subject and predicate, since it is impossible to affirm without introducing a distinction into the content of the affirmation. yet he considers this distinction to be merely a difference within an identity. it serves to mark off the grammatical subject and predicate, but cannot be the essential distinction of subject and predicate. his solution of the puzzle is really the one for which we have been contending, i. e., that "the real world is primarily and emphatically my world," but he still cannot be satisfied with that kind of a real world as ultimate. behind the subject which presents my world he postulates a real world which is not my world, but which my world represents. it is the relation between this real world and the total content of a judgment which he considers the essential relation of judgment. this leaves him--as we have pointed out--as far as ever from a theory of the relation of thought to reality, and, moreover, with no criterion for the distinction of subject and predicate within the judgment. to say that it is a difference within an identity does not explain how, on a mere basis of content, such a difference is distinguished within an identity or how it assumes the importance it actually has. he vibrates between taking the whole intellectual content as predicate, the reality to be represented as subject (in which case the copula would be the "contact of sense-perception") and a distinction appearing without reasonable ground or bearing within the intellectual content. when subject and predicate are regarded as the contents in which phases of a function appear, this difficulty no longer exists.
-but we must beware of excess in the direction of the unalterability of race. the dogma of the non-transmissibility of acquired qualities is by no means established; it seems not improbable that mental acquisitions are so transmitted in some degree, though with only very slight effect in each generation. even now, when the difficulties of the principle of transmission of acquired qualities are generally understood, almost all those who deal with the problem of the genesis of mental and physical peculiarities of races find themselves driven to postulate the principle in order to explain the facts. and this in itself constitutes evidence of a certain value in support of the validity of the principle.
-again, we must beware of assuming that there are no selective processes operating among us. although natural selection may be almost inoperative, there may well be at work other forms of selection, social selections; and these are specially powerful amongst populations of blended stocks.
-summing up on the durability of racial peculiarities, we may say that racial qualities are extremely persistent; but that, nevertheless, they are subject to slow modifications when the conditions of life are greatly changed, as by emigration, or by changes of climate, or by social revolutions, and especially among populations of mixed origin.
-certainly none of the european nations are racially homogeneous. nevertheless, some of them approach homogeneity of innate qualities, or, rather, the degree of heterogeneity is much less in some than in others. consider the case of england. before the anglo-saxon invasion the population consisted in all probability of a mixture of the northern fair race with a darker race, probably that of h. mediterraneus, in some proportion that we cannot determine, with small islands of h. alpinus or of stocks formed by an earlier blending of this with the nordic race. the anglo-saxon invasion brought great numbers of the pure representatives of the northern race of closely allied stocks; and these did not confine themselves to any one region, but, entering at many points of the south and east coasts, diffused themselves throughout almost all england, imposing themselves as masters upon those britons whom they did not drive out. ever since that time a crossing of the stocks has been going on freely, little hindered by differences of area, language, law, or custom. and, with the exception of small numbers of the northern stock, danes and normans, the population has not received any considerable additions since the saxon invasion.
-now it has been shown by a simple calculation that, given three generations to the century, each one of us might claim ten million ancestors in the year 1000 a.d.; while in the fifth century, when this process of intermarriage began, the number would be enormous, some thousands of millions; that is, if consanguine marriages had never taken place. these figures make it clear that, in any mixed population in which intermarriage takes place freely, the two or more stocks must, after a comparatively brief period of time, become thoroughly blended, on one condition—namely, that the cross between the pure stocks is a stable stock, fertile inter se and with both the parent stocks. there seems to be no doubt that this was the case with the british and the anglo-saxon stocks, and that the english form now a stable new subrace, or secondary race, in which the qualities of the northern race predominate. the subrace may be regarded as innately homogeneous in fairly high degree; not so homogeneous as a people of unmixed racial origin, or one formed by a blending of more remote date, but more so than most of the european nations. this is the sense in which we must understand the word race, in discussing the influence of race upon national character.
-in our own nation one racial cleft still remains. the irish have never undergone that intimate mixture and blending with the anglo-saxon stock which has produced the english subrace; and so they remain an element which seriously disturbs the harmony of the national mind. and the same is perhaps true in a less degree of the welsh people. on the other hand, the scottish people, although they enjoyed their independent system of government for much longer periods than the irish and welsh and have a system of laws and customs differing in many respects from the english, and indeed may be said to have achieved a considerable degree of independent nationhood, have nevertheless become thoroughly incorporated in the british nation; for in the main mass of the scotch the same northern race is the greatly predominant element.
-going further afield, contrast india with china, two regions geographically comparable in area and in density of population and in other ways. the population of china is the most racially homogeneous of all large populations in the world. hence an extreme uniformity of culture and social environment, which still further accentuates the uniformity of mental type. hence, in spite of the imperfection of means of communication, we find great political stability and a considerable degree of national feeling, likely to be followed before long by harmonious national thought and action on the part of this vast nation. the one great distracting and disturbing factor in the life of china has been the intrusion of the manchus, a people of somewhat different race and traditions.
-on the other hand, india is peopled by many different stocks, and, although these are geographically much mixed, they are but very little blended, owing to the prevalence from early times of the caste system. the light coloured intellectual brahman lives side by side with small black folk, as different physically and mentally as the englishman and the hottentot; and there are also large numbers of other widely differing racial stocks, including some of yellow race. hence an extreme diversity of social environment, save in the case of the moslem converts, who, however, being scattered among the rest, do but increase the endless variety of custom, creed, and social environment. hence the people of india have never been bound together in the slightest degree, save purely externally by the power of foreign conquerors, the moguls and the british; and hence, even though nations have begun at various times to take form in various areas, as e.g. the sikh nation, they have never achieved any high degree of permanence and stability and are restricted in area and numbers.
-now let us consider for a moment an apparent exception from the conclusion to which the foregoing argument seems to point—namely, that homogeneity of innate qualities is the prime condition of a developed and harmonious national life.
-the most striking exception is afforded by the people of the united states of america, or the american nation. there we see a great area populated by immigrants from every part and race of europe in times so recent that, although they are pretty well mixed, they are but little blended by crossing; a considerable part of the population still consisting of actual immigrants and their children. here, then, there can be no question of any homogeneity as regards innate mental qualities. nevertheless, the people is truly a nation and, perhaps, further advanced in the evolution of national consciousness, thought, and action than many other of the civilised peoples. this we must attribute to homogeneity of mental qualities which is in the main not innate but acquired, a uniformity of acquired qualities, especially of all those that are most important for national life.
-following münsterberg’s recent account of the psychology of the american people we may recognise as individual characteristics, almost universally diffused, a spirit of self-direction and selfconfidence, of independence and initiative of a degree unknown elsewhere, a marvellous optimism or hopefulness both in private and public affairs, a great seriousness tinged with religion, a humourousness, an interest in the welfare of society, a high degree of self-respect, and a pride and confidence in the present and still more in the future of the nation; an intense activity and a great desire for self-improvement; a truly democratic spirit which regards all men (or rather all white men) as essentially or potentially equal, and a complete intolerance of caste.
-such high degree of acquired homogeneity of individual qualities seems to be due in about equal parts to uniformity of social and of physical environment, both of which make strongly in the same direction. the physical environment consists in a great and rich territory, still only partially developed, a fairly uniform climate, and a uniformity of the physical products of human labour resulting from the immense development of the means of communication. the importance of the physical uniformity we may realize on reflecting that the one great divergence of physical conditions, the sub-tropical climate of the southern states, gave rise to the one great and dangerous division of the people which for a time threatened the harmonious development of the national life; that is to say, the civil war was due to the divergence of the social system and economic interests of the southern states resulting from their sub-tropical climate.
-the uniformity of social environment we must ascribe, firstly and chiefly, to the fortunate circumstance that the first immigrants were men of one well marked and highly superior type, men who possessed in the fullest measure the independence of character and the initiative of the fair northern race, and who firmly established the superior social environment of individualistic type that had been gradually evolved in england. secondly, to the fact that the peopling of the whole country has taken place by diffusion from this strongly organised initial society; its institutions and ideas, especially its language, its political freedom, its social seriousness, being carried everywhere. thirdly, to the fact that the country was just such as to give the greatest scope to, and so to develop, these innate tendencies of the earliest settlers and their successors. fourthly, to the fact that the great diffusion of the population of mixed origin has only taken place since the means of communication have become very highly developed. consider, as one example of the effects of the ease of communication between all parts, the influence of the american sunday newspapers. these papers are read on an enormous scale all over the continent; and the bulk of the contents of those published in different places is identical, being prepared and printed in new york, or other great city, and then sent out to be blended with a little local matter in each centre of publication; thus every sunday morning vast numbers are reading the same stuff. lastly, it must be added, it is largely due to the fact that in the main the population has been recruited by those elements of different european peoples who shared in some degree the leading tendencies of the american character, independence, initiative, energy and hopefulness; for it is only such people who will tear themselves from their places in an old civilisation and face the unknown possibilities of a distant continent. in spite of an increasing proportion of emigrants of a rather unlike type from south-eastern europe, there seems good ground for hope that these factors will continue to secure a sufficient uniformity of acquired qualities, until the diverse elements shall have been fused by intermarriage to a new and stable subrace, innately homogeneous.
-the americans are, then, no exception to the rule that the evolution of a national mind presupposes a certain considerable degree of homogeneity of mental qualities among the individuals of which the nation is composed. they merely show that, under peculiarly favourable physical and social conditions, a sufficient degree of such homogeneity may perhaps be secured in spite of considerable racial heterogeneity. but the favourable issue of the vast experiment is not yet completely assured.
-there remains in the american people one great section of the population, namely the negroes and the men of partly negro descent, whose innate qualities, mental and physical, are so different from those of the rest of the population, that it seems to be incapable of absorption into the nation. this section remains within the nation as a foreign body which it can neither absorb nor extrude and which is a perpetual disturber and menace to the national life. the only hope of solving this difficult problem seems to lie in the possibility of territorial segregation of the coloured population in an area in which it might, with assistance from the american people, form an independent nation. at present it illustrates in the most forcible manner the thesis of this chapter.
-the geographical peculiarities of the country inhabited by a nation may greatly favour, or may make against, homogeneity, in so far as this depends on acquired interests and sentiments.
-the division of the territory occupied by a nation by any physical barrier makes against homogeneity and therefore against national unity; whereas absence of internal barriers and the presence of well marked natural boundaries afford conditions the most favourable to homogeneity.
-almost all the great and stable nations have occupied well-defined natural territories. in great britain and japan the national spirit is perhaps more developed than elsewhere. how much does great britain or japan owe this to the insular character of its territory, which from early days has sharply marked off the people from all others, making of them a well-defined and closed group, within which free intermarriage has given homogeneity of innate qualities, and within which a national culture has grown up undisturbed; so that by mental and physical type, and by language, religion, tradition and sentiment, the people are sharply marked off from all others, and assimilated to one another!
-a unitary well-defined territory of well marked and fairly uniform character tends to national unity, not only through making the community a relatively closed one, but also by aiding the imagination to grasp the idea of the nation and offering a common object to the affections and sentiments of the people.
-contrast in this respect the physical characters of england and germany. the boundaries of the latter are almost everywhere artificial and arbitrary and have fluctuated greatly. it would be impossible for a poet to write of germany as shakespeare wrote of england:—
-this fortress built by nature for herself against infection and the hand of war; this happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea,
-the united states of america afford a fine example of the binding influence of a well-defined territory; for here the effect is clearly isolated from racial factors and from slowly accumulated tradition. the monroe doctrine is the outward official expression of this effect. the private individual effect is a sense of part ownership of a splendid territory with a great future before it. and we are told, i believe truly, that this sense is very strong and very generally diffused even among immigrants; that it inspires an unselfish enthusiasm for the work of developing the immense resources of the country; that this is the idealistic motive of much of the intense activity which we are apt to ascribe to the love of the ‘almighty dollar’; and that it is one of the main causes of the rapid assimilation of immigrants to the national type of mind.
-the chinese nation, again, owes its existence and its homogeneity of mental and physical type to geographical unity. roughly, china consists of the basins of two immense rivers, not separated from one another by any great physical barrier, but forming a compact territory well marked off save in the north. it comprises no such partially separate areas as in europe are constituted by spain, or italy, or greece, or scandinavia, or even france; almost all parts are well adapted for agriculture. hence, largely, the national unity and the national sentiment which have long existed, and possibly a latent capacity for national thought and action.
-the other way in which physical environment affects homogeneity is by determining similarity or difference of occupations and, through them, similarities or differences of practical interests and of acquired qualities. so long as such differences are determined in many small areas, the result is merely a greater differentiation of the parts, without danger to the unity of the whole nation. but, when the physical differences divide a whole people into two or more locally separate groups differing in occupation and interests and habits, they endanger the unity of the whole. there are to-day many countries in which the distribution of mineral wealth is exerting an influence of this sort, giving rise to the differentiation of an industrial area from agricultural areas and a consequent divergence of interests and of mental habits; notably south africa, spain, and italy.
-great britain is fortunate in this respect also. its geological formation presents on a small scale all the principal strata from the oldest to the most recent, a fact which secures great diversity within a compact area, an area too compact to allow of divergences of population being produced by differences of geological formation; so that it enjoys the advantages of diversity without its drawbacks. although a certain degree of differentiation between north and south may be noted, it is not sharp or great enough to be dangerous. but let us imagine that coal and iron had been confined to scotland. would there be now the same harmony between the two countries as actually obtains? the united states of america afford a good illustration of this principle, as i have already pointed out; the sub-tropical climate of the southern states gave rise to a differentiation of occupation, and consequently of ideas and interests and sentiments, which was almost fatal to the unity of the nation. a similar differentiation between the agricultural west and the industrial and commercial east seems to be the greatest danger to the future unity of the nation; and the same may be said of the canadian people.
-ireland illustrates well the effects of both kinds of physical influence. the irish channel has perpetuated that difference of race and consequent difference of religion, which, but for it, would probably have been wiped out by free intermarriage; while the lack of coal and iron in the greater part of the country has prevented the spread of industrialism, and has thus accentuated the difference between the irish people and the english. and it is obvious that among the protestants of ulster the accessibility of coal and iron, maintaining a divergence of occupations and of interests which prevents racial and cultural blending, perpetuates the racial and traditional differences between them and the rest of the population.
-freedom of communication as a condition of national life
-let us consider now very briefly in relation to the life of a nation a second essential condition of all collective mental life—namely, that the individuals shall be in free communication with one another. this is obviously necessary to the formation of national mind and character. it is only through an immense development of the means of communication, especially the printing press, the railway and the telegraph, that the modern nation-state has become possible, and has become the dominant type of political organism. so familiar are we with this type, that we are apt to identify the nation and the state and to regard the large nation-state as the normal type of state and of nation, forgetting that its evolution was not possible before the modern period.
-in the ancient world the city-state was the dominant type of political organism; and to plato and aristotle any other type seemed undesirable, if not impossible. for they recognised that collective deliberation and volition are essential to the true state. aristotle, trying to imagine a vast city, remarks—“but a city, having such vast circuit, would contain a nation rather than a state, like babylon.” the translator there uses the word ‘nation,’ not in the modern sense, but rather as we use ‘people’ to denote a population of common stock not organised to form a nation. the limits of the political organism capable of a collective mental life were rightly held to be set by the number of citizens who could live so close together as to meet in one place to discuss all public affairs by word of mouth.
-all through history there has obviously been some correlation between the size of political organisms and the degree of development of means of communication. at the present time those means have become so highly developed that the widest spaces of land and sea no longer present any insuperable limits to the size of nations; and the natural tendency for the growth of the larger states at the expense of the smaller, by the absorption of the latter, seems to be increasingly strong. it seems not unlikely that almost the whole population of the world will shortly be included in five immense states—the russian or slav, the central european, the british, the american, and the yellow or east asiatic state. the freedom of communication between the countries of europe is now certainly sufficient to allow of their forming a single nation, if other conditions, such as diversities of racial type and of historical sentiments, would permit it.
-without this freedom of communication the various parts of the nation cannot become adequately conscious of one another; and the idea of the whole must remain very rudimentary in the minds of individuals; each part of the whole remains ignorant of many other parts, and there can be no vivid consciousness of a common welfare and a common purpose. but, more important still, there can be none of that massive influence of the whole upon each of the units which is of the essence of collective mental life. of these means of reciprocal influence the press is the most important; though, of course, its great influence is only rendered possible by the railway and the telegraph.
-it is interesting to note how the general election of january, 1910 illustrated the importance of improved means of communication. it was found that the number of citizens voting at the polls was a far larger proportion of those on the register than at any previous election; and, in this respect, the election was a more complete expression of the will of the people than any preceding one. this seems to have been due to the use of the motor-car, at that time the latest great addition to our means of communication.
-the modern improvements of means of communication tend strongly to diminish the importance of the geographical factors we considered in the foregoing chapter; for they practically abolish what in earlier ages were physical barriers to intercourse; they render capital and labour more mobile; and they make many forms of industry less dependent upon local physical conditions and, therefore, less strictly confined by geographical factors. as instances of important developments of this order in the recent past or near future, the reader may be reminded of the railway over the andes between chile and argentina, the tunnels through the alps, the channel tunnel, the siberian railway, the suez and panama canals, the cape to cairo railway, and, above all, aerial transport. all these make for free intercourse between peoples.
-easy means of communication promote development in the direction of the organic unity of a nation in another way—namely, they promote specialisation of the functions of different regions; they thus render local groups incapable of living as relatively independent closed communities; for they make each local group more dependent upon others, each upon all and the whole upon each; hence they develop the common interest of each part in the good of the whole.
-the slow rate of progress towards nationhood of such peoples as the russian and the chinese has been largely due to lack of means of free communication between the parts of these countries. on the introduction of improved communications, we may expect to see rapid progress of this kind; for many of the other essential conditions are already present in both countries.
-the fact that in the nation-state the communications between individuals and between the parts of the whole are in the main indirect, mediated by the press, the telegraph, and the printed word in general, rather than by voice and gesture and the other direct bodily expressions of thought and emotion, modifies the primary manifestations of group life in important ways which we must notice in a later chapter.
-the part of leaders in national life
-we turn now to a third very important condition of the growth of the national mind, one which also has its analogue in both the crowd and the army. a crowd always tends to follow some leader in thought, feeling, and action; and its actions are effective in proportion as it does so. to follow and obey a leader is the simplest, most rudimentary fashion in which the crowd’s action may become more effective, consistent, intelligent, controlled. not any one can be such a leader; exceptional qualities are necessary. in every army the importance of leadership is fully recognised. a hierarchy of leaders is the essence of its organisation. in the deliberately organised army, the appointment of leaders is the principal and almost the sole direct means taken by the state to organise the army. everything is done to give to the leaders of each grade the greatest possible prestige, especially by multiplying and accentuating the distinctions between the grades. though much can be accomplished in this way, unless the men chosen as leaders have in some degree the superior qualities required by their position in the hierarchy, the whole organisation will be of little value.
-the same is true in much higher degree of nations. if a people is to become a nation, it must be capable of producing personalities of exceptional powers, who will play the part of leaders; and the special endowments of the national leader require to be more pronounced and exceptional, of a higher order, than those required for the exercise of leadership over a fortuitous crowd.
-this is an extreme instance. but another almost equally striking case is that of the arab nation, which has owed its existence to one man. the arab nation was made by the genius of mahomet, who welded together, by the force of his personality and the originality and intensity of his religious conviction, the warring idolatrous clans of arabia. until his advent these had been a scattered multitude, in spite of racial and geographical uniformity, geographical isolation, and fairly free intercommunication. we have here one of the purest, clearest instances of the effect of great personalities in furthering nationhood; for there seems to be no reason to believe that, if mahomet had not lived, any such development of the arabian people would have taken place.
-these indications are borne out by a review of the history of any nation that has achieved a considerable development. every such people has its national heroes whom it rightly glorifies or worships; for to them it owes in chief part its existence.
-who can estimate the enormous influence of confucius and laotse in moulding and rendering uniform the culture of china? the influence of single individuals has undoubtedly been greater in the early than in the later stages of civilisation; for there was then a more open field, a virgin soil, as it were, for the reception of their influence. in the developed nation the mass of accumulated knowledge and tradition is so much greater, that the modifications and additions made by any one man necessarily are relatively small.
-the leading modern nations owe their position to their having produced great men in considerable numbers; for that reason also no one man stands out so prominently as mahomet or confucius or moses. nevertheless their existence can in many cases be traced to some few great men. would germany now be a nation, but for frederick the great and bismarck? would america, but for washington, hamilton, and lincoln? would italy, but for garibaldi and mazzini and cavour? how greatly is the unity of national spirit and tradition among englishmen due to the great writers who have produced the national literature, and to the great statesmen and soldiers and sailors who have given her a proud position in the world! what would england be now if shakespeare, newton and darwin, cromwell and chatham, marlborough and nelson and wellington had never been born?
-and it is not only the men of great genius who are essential to the modern nation, but also men of more than average powers, though not of the very highest.
-let us try to imagine the fifty leading minds in each great department of activity suddenly removed from among us. that will help us to realise the extent to which the mental life of the nation is dependent on them. clearly, we should be reduced to intellectual, moral, and aesthetic chaos and nullity in a very short time. if a similar state of affairs should continue for some few generations, britain would very soon cease to be of any importance in the world. the force of national traditions might keep up a certain unity; but we should be a people, or a crowd, living in the past, without energy, without pride in the present or hope in the future, having perhaps a little melancholy national sentiment, but incapable of national thought or action.
-the continuance of the power and prosperity and unity of national life, the continued existence of the national mind and character, depends, then, upon the continued production of numbers of such men of more than average capacity. it is these men who keep alive from generation to generation, and spread among the masses and so render effective, the ideas and the moral influence of the men of supremely great powers. these men exert a guidance and a selection over the cultural elements which the mass of men absorb. they praise what they believe to be good, and decry what they believe to be bad; and, in virtue of the prestige which their exceptional powers have brought them, their verdict is accepted and moulds popular opinion and sentiment.
-consider how great in this way has been the influence of men like carlyle, matthew arnold, and ruskin. the tone and standard of taste, thought, and sentiment are set and maintained by such men. it is in their minds chiefly that the system of ideals and sentiments, which are the guiding principles and moving forces of the national mind, is perpetuated. they are truly ‘the salt of the earth’; without them the nation would soon fall into fragments, or become an inert and powerless mass of but low degree of organisation and unity.
-the men of genius of certain peoples, more especially peoples of relative racial purity, have excelled in some one direction. thus the semites have produced great religious teachers and little else, and have given to the world its three great monotheistic religions. the tartar race has produced from time to time great soldiers and little else. it has made immense conquests and established dynasties ruling over other peoples. but, as in the case of the turks, who owe their national existence to a line of great despots of the house of othman, they make little progress in civilisation and they do not unify the peoples they rule; for they produce ability of no other kind.
-we see in most of the leading european nations the predominance of certain forms of genius. modern italy boasts chiefly men great in religion and art, perhaps owing to the predominance of homo mediterraneus; spain in pictorial art and military conquest; england in poetry and administration and science; germany in music and philosophy. nevertheless, each of these peoples has produced men of the greatest power in all or several kinds; and this we may connect with the fact that they are all of very mixed racial composition. and we may add that france, the most composite or mixed racially, has produced the greatest variety of genius.
-the production of the largest numbers of eminent men by peoples of mixed and blended racial elements, not too widely different, is what biological knowledge would lead us to expect. for, if a subrace is produced by crossing of varieties, it will be one of much greater variability than a pure race; as we see in the cases of the domesticated horse and dog and pigeon, of which the modern varieties are only kept pure by continual rejection of the departures from the standards, and of which the great variability renders possible the production, by selection of very marked new features in a brief period of time.
-the many elements which go to form the mental constitution of an individual become, in a mixed race, variously combined. if the crossed races are very widely different, the results seem to be in nearly all cases bad. the character of the cross-bred is made up of divergent inharmonious tendencies, which give rise to internal conflict, just as the physical features appear in bizarre combination; what examples we have—the spanish americans, the eurasians, the mulattoes, the half-breeds of java and canada—seem to show that a people so composed will produce few great men and will not become a great nation.
-but, when the crossed races are less widely divergent, the elements of which the mental constitution is composed (and which direct observation and analogy with physical heredity show to be transmitted more or less independently of one another from parent to offspring) have opportunities to come together in new combinations, which result in mental constitutions unlike those of either parent (that is to say, the cross-breds are variable); and among these new combinations, while some will form minds below the average, others will form minds above the average in various degrees; and these, so long as the constitution is not too much weakened by radical lack of harmony of its elements, will be the effective great men.
-incidentally, these considerations perhaps throw light on a fact much discussed—namely, that exceptional powers, especially when of highly specialised nature, are often exhibited by persons of unstable mental constitution; whence arises the popular belief that genius is allied to, or is a form of, insanity.
-these considerations also raise a presumption that peoples derived by the blending of several stocks may be expected to have progressed further in civilisation and in national growth than those of purer stock; and that, while the racial purity of a people may give stability, such a people will be liable to arrest and crystallisation of civilisation at an early stage, before culture is sufficiently advanced to render possible a highly developed national life. these indications are well borne out by a survey of the peoples of the world. we may see here, in all probability, one of the main causes of the early crystallisation of chinese civilisation. homogeneity and racial purity have produced extreme stability, but at the cost of the variability which produces great and original minds, and, therefore, at the cost of capacity for national progress beyond an early stage.
-other conditions of national life
-in considering a patriot army as exemplifying collective life of a relatively high level, we distinguished five principal conditions that raise it above the level of the mental life of the crowd, in addition to one which is present in some crowds. this last was a common well-defined purpose present to, and dominant in, the minds of all individuals. it is this condition mainly that renders the collective mental life of such an army so simple, so relatively easy to understand, and so extremely effective.
-war for national existence unifies nations. so long as the nation is not utterly shattered and crushed, such war greatly develops the national mind; because it makes one common purpose dominate the minds of all the citizens.
-we are told that it is a practical maxim of cynical rulers to plunge their people into war when they are faced by dangerous internal discontents; and the reason usually given is that war diverts the attention of the people from their domestic grievances. but if it is a national war, a war in which the national existence is at stake, it does far more than merely divert attention; it binds the nation into a harmonious efficient whole by creating a common purpose; whereas, if the war is not of this order and is waged in some distant country and merely for some territorial aggrandisement, it has little or no such effect. thus the recent russo-japanese war did little or nothing at the time to raise the russian people in the scale of nationhood; it was followed by a period of national weakness; the national existence was not endangered, the objects of the war were too remote from the interests of the mass of the people to appeal to them strongly. whereas the same war and the years of preparation for it, following upon the previous chino-japanese war, have made the japanese one of the most efficient and harmonious nations of the world.
-the unity and nationhood of modern germany is largely due to similar causes; and the war of 1871 may fairly be said to have led to a further integration of the national life of the french people, in spite of their defeat. america owes something of the same kind to the spanish war; and the entry of that nation into the great war, long delayed as it was, will probably be found to have had a similar effect. the french and italian nations have undoubtedly been welded more firmly by the great war; while england and her sister and daughter nations (with the one sad exception of the irish) have been united, by their co-operation in the one great purpose, to a degree which no other conceivable event could have achieved and which many generations of peaceful industry and enlightened political efforts might have failed to approach.
-history offers no parallel to these effects of war; and it is difficult or impossible to imagine any other common purpose which could exert this binding influence in a similar degree. but it is worth while to notice that other and minor forms of international rivalry have corresponding effects. the international rivalry in aeronautics affords a contemporary illustration. perhaps every one in this country has felt some degree of interest and satisfaction in the achievements of the adventurous spirits of our nation who have traversed the atlantic by air. and it is probably largely owing to the prevalence of this national pride and purpose that, at a time demanding strict national economy, no voice has been raised against the enormous current expenditure of the government upon aeronautics.
-of the five other conditions of the higher development of a collective mind, let us notice, first and very briefly, continuity of existence, material and formal. of course every nation has this in some degree, but some have it in much higher degree than others. the english nation is fortunate in this respect also. it has preserved both its formal and its material continuity in very high degree throughout many centuries, in fact ever since the norman conquest. no european nation can compare with it in this respect; it is only surpassed by china and perhaps japan. the french nation has preserved its material continuity, its population and territory, in high degree. but the great revolution cut across and destroyed to a great extent its formal continuity, so that, as is sometimes said, the french nation has cut itself off from its past and made a new start; although, in doing so, it did not get rid of its highly centralised system of administration. the modern italian and german nations are quite recent growths, their formal continuity having been subject to many interruptions. spain, with her almost insular position, might have had continuity; but it was greatly disturbed by the imperial ambitions of her rulers in the sixteenth century and by the expulsion of the moors. greece is a striking example of loss of both material and formal continuity. the population of ancient greece, which put her in the van of civilisation, has been largely abolished and supplanted by a different race; and her formal continuity also has suffered a number of complete ruptures.
-now material and formal continuity is, as we said, the essential presupposition of all the other main conditions of development of the collective mind. on it depends the strength of custom and tradition and, to a very great extent, the strength of national sentiment. it is, therefore, a principal condition of national stability; from it arise all the great conservative tendencies of the nation, all the forces that resist change; accordingly, the more complete and long enduring such continuity has been in the past, the greater is the prospect of its prolongation in the future. it is owing to the unbroken continuity of the english nation through so long a period that its organisation is so stable, its unwritten constitution so effective, at once stable and plastic, its national sentiment so strong, its complex uncoded system of judge-made law so nearly in harmony with popular feeling and therefore so respected. national organisation resting upon this basis of custom and traditional sentiment is the only kind that is really stable, that is not liable to be suddenly overthrown by internal upheavals or impacts from without. for it alone is rooted in the minds of all citizens in the forms of habit and sentiment. all other organisation is imposed by authority.
-in this respect modern england and germany offer a striking contrast that forces itself upon the most casual observation. as regards the mass of the people, the position of each individual in the organism of the german nation is officially determined by the written and codified law of the state; all personal status and relations are formally determined by official positions in this recently created system. almost every individual carries about some badge or uniform indicating his position within the system. in england, the status and relations of individuals are determined by factors a thousand times more subtle and complex, involving many vaguely conceived and undefined traditions and sentiments. in germany, it is almost true to say, if a man has no official position he has no position at all. in england, the comparatively few persons who have official positions have also their social positions by which their private relations are determined. they are officials only in their offices; whereas the german official is an official everywhere.
-all this serves to illustrate the dangers of analogy. we need no special cause to account for the fall and the decay of nations, no obscure principle of senility or decadence; the wonderful thing is that they exist at all; and what needs explanation is not so much the decay of some, but rather the long persistence of others.
-let us turn, then, to the analogy between the organisation of the national collective mind and that of the individual mind, which, i say, is so much closer and more illuminating than that between a society and a bodily organisation.
-the actions of the individual organism are the expression of its mental constitution or organisation; in some creatures this organisation is almost wholly innate—the organisation consists of a number of reflex and instinctive dispositions each specialised for bringing about a special kind of behaviour under certain circumstances. such old established racial dispositions with their special tendencies have their place in more complexly developed minds; but in these their operations are complicated and modified by the life of ideas, and by a variety of habits developed under the guidance of ideas and in the light of individual experience.
-the enduring reflex and instinctive dispositions of the individual mind we may liken to the established institutions of a nation, such as the army and navy, the post office, the judicial and the administrative systems of officials. these, like the instincts, are specialised executive organisations working in relative independence of one another, each discharging some specialised function adapted to satisfy some constantly recurring need of the whole organism. in both cases such semi-independent organisations, the instincts or the institutions, are relatively fixed and stable, and they work, if left to themselves, quasi-mechanically along old established lines, without intelligent adaptation to new circumstances; and they are incapable of self-adaptation. in both cases, the mental organisation is in part materialised, the instinct in the form of specialised nervous structure, the institution in the form of the material organisation essential to its efficient action, the buildings, the printed codes, the whole material apparatus of complex national administration. in both cases, the actions in which they play their part are not purely mechanical but to some extent truly psychical—though of a low order.
-if we accept the view, which is held by many, that instincts and reflexes are the semi-mechanised results of successive mental adaptations effected by the mental efforts of successive generations, then the analogy is still closer; for the permanent national institutions are also the accumulated semi-mechanised products of the efforts at adaptation of many generations.
-the organisation of some nations resembles that of the minds of those animals whose behaviour is purely instinctive. such is a nation whose organisation takes the form of a rigid caste system. each caste performs its special functions in the prescribed manner in relative independence of all the others. and, in both cases, the organisation of the mind includes no means of bringing the different fixed tendencies or dispositions into harmonious co-operation in the face of unusual circumstances. the whole system lacks plasticity and adaptability; for it is relatively mechanical and of a low degree of integration. any true adaptation of the whole organism by mental effort is impossible in both cases.
-the higher type of individual mind is characterised by the development of the intellectual organisation by means of which the activities of the various instincts, the executive organisations, may be brought into co-operation with, or duly subordinated to, one another; and the activities of each such individual may be further adapted to meet novel combinations of circumstances not provided for in the innate organisation; hence, the activities of the whole organism, instead of being a succession of quasi-mechanical actions, and of crude conflicts between the impulses or tendencies of the different instincts, reveal a higher degree of harmony of the parts, a greater integration of the whole system, and a much greater adaptability to novel circumstances; while, at the same time, the behaviour of the whole, in face of any one of the situations provided for by innate organisation or instinct, is liable to be less sure and perfect than in the case of the less complex, less highly evolved type of mind.
-exactly the same is true of the more highly evolved type of national mind. like the lower type, it has its executive institutions and hierarchies of officials, organised for the carrying out of specialised tasks subserving the economy of the whole. but, in addition, it has a deliberative organisation which renders possible a play of ideas; and, through this, the operations of the institutions are modified and controlled in detail and are harmonised in a way which constitutes a higher integration of the whole.
-in both cases ideas and judgments reached by the deliberative processes can only become effective in the world of things and conduct by setting to work, or calling into play, one or more of the executive dispositions or institutions.
-in both cases, ideas and the deliberative processes, which to some extent control the operations of the innate or traditional dispositions, produce, in so doing, some permanent modification of them in the direction of adaptation to deal with novel circumstances; so that the dispositions or institutions grow and change under the guidance of the deliberative processes, slowly becoming better adapted for the expression of the ruling ideas; they become better instruments, and more completely at the service of ideas and of the will.
-just as the animal, on the instinctive plane of mental life, displays a very efficient activity in the special situation which brings some one instinct into play, so any one caste of a caste-nation may perform its function under normal circumstances with great efficiency, the priestly caste its priestly function, the warrior caste, or the caste of sweepers, its function; and, in both cases, the development of the deliberative organisation is apt to interfere to some extent with the perfect execution of these specialised functions.
-again, in the individual mind, adaptation of conduct to novel circumstances, or to secure improved action in familiar circumstances, requires the direction of the attention, that is the concentration of the whole energy of the mind, upon the task; whereas, when the new mode of behaviour is often repeated, it becomes more and more automatic; for, owing to the formation of new nervous organisation, the attention is set free for other tasks of adaptation. just in the same way new modes of national behaviour are only effected when the attention of the nation’s mind is turned upon the situation; whereas, with recurrence of the need for any such novel mode of action, there is formed some special executive organisation, say a colonial office, or an unemployed central committee, or an imperial conference, which deals with it in a more or less routine fashion, and which, as it becomes perfected, needs less and less to be controlled and guided by national attention and therefore operates in the margin of the field of consciousness of the national mind, while public attention is set free to turn itself to other tasks of national adaptation.
-we may also regard the customs of a nation as analogous with the habits of the individual, if (for the sake of the analogy) we accept the view that instincts are habits that have become hereditary; for custom is an informal mode in which routine behaviour is determined, and it tends to lead on to, and to become embodied in, formal institutions; it is like habit, a transition stage between new adaptation and perfected organisation. individual adaptation, habit and instinct are parallel to national adaptation, custom and legal institution.
-at the risk of wearying the reader, i will refer to one last point of the analogy. individual minds become more completely integrated in proportion as they achieve a full self-consciousness, in proportion as the idea of the self becomes rich in content and the nucleus of a strong sentiment generating impulses that control and override impulses of all other sources. in a similar way, the national mind becomes more completely integrated in proportion as it achieves full self-consciousness, that is, in proportion as the idea of the nation becomes widely diffused among the individual minds, becomes rich in content and the nucleus of a strong sentiment that supplies motives capable of overriding and controlling all other motives.
-consider now in the light of this analogy the principal types of national organisation. the organisation of some peoples is wholly the product of the conflicts of blind impulses and purely individual volitions working through long ages. this is true of many peoples that have not arrived at a national self-consciousness or, as the french say, a social consciousness, and are not held in servitude by a despotic power. it is a natural stage of evolution which corresponds to the stage of the higher mammals in the scale of evolution of the individual mind. a nation of this sort has no capacity for collective deliberation and volitional action. what collective mental life it has is on the plane of impulse and unregulated desire. such ideas as are widely accepted may determine collective action; but such action is not the result of the weighing of ideas in the light of self-consciousness; hence they are little adapted to promote the welfare of the nation, and, because there is no organisation adapted for their expression, they can be but imperfectly realised.
-in such nations the organisation, which has been in the main created by a small governing class, is adapted only for the execution of its purposes, and not at all for the formation of a national mind and the expression of the collective will. the organisation consists primarily in a system for the collecting of taxes and the compulsory service of a large army. the revenue is raised for two primary purposes—the support of the governing class or caste in luxury and the support of the army; and the end for which the army is maintained is primarily the gathering of the taxes, and the further extension of the tax-collecting system over larger areas and populations—a vicious circle. on the other hand, the conditions which tend to the formation of national mind and character (which would have quite other ends than these) are naturally suppressed as completely as possible by the governing few.
-another type of national organisation results when the natural evolution of the national mind and character has been artificially and unhealthily forced by the pressure of the external environment of a people, when the need of national self-preservation and self-assertion compels the mass of the people to submit to an organisation which is neither the product of a natural evolution through the conflict of individual wills, nor the expression of the general mind and will, nor is altogether imposed upon it for the individual purposes of the few, but is a system planned by the few for the good of the whole, and by them imposed upon the whole. this is the kind of organisation of which a modern army stands as the extreme type and which is best represented among modern nations by germany as she was before the war.
-in such states as that of the foregoing type the one kind of organisation is alone highly developed, namely the executive organisation; while the deliberative organisation is very imperfect and is repressed and discouraged by the governing power. such a state is likely to appear very strong in all its relations with other states, and its material organisation may be developed in an effective and rapid way, as we have seen in pre-war germany. but its actions are not the expression of the national will and are not the outcome of the general mind. they are designed by the minds of the few for the good not of all, but of the whole, the good, that is, not of individuals but of the state.
-organisation of this type is not of high stability, in spite of its appearance of strength and its efficiency for certain limited purposes, such as industrial organisation and the promotion and diffusion of material well-being. in a state so organised there inevitably grows up an antagonism between individual rights and interests and the rights and interests of the state. it is psychologically unsound. this fact was revealed in germany by the tremendous growth of social democracy, which was the protest against the subordination of individual welfare to that of the state. the defect of such organisation was illustrated by the fact that germany, though its well-governed population increased rapidly, for many years continued to lose great numbers of its population to other countries. for the mass of the people felt itself to be not so much of the state as under it. and it is, i think, obvious that the advent of a bad and stupid monarch might easily have brought on a revolution at any time.
-the inherent weakness of the system induced the governing power to all sorts of extreme measures directed to maintain its equilibrium and cohesion. among such state actions the gravest were perhaps the deliberate falsification of history by the servile historians and the suppression and distortion of news by the press at the command and desire of the state. the expropriation of the polish landowners and the treatment of alsace-lorraine were other striking manifestations of the imperfect development of the national mind and of the corresponding practice and philosophy of the state-craft which the world has learnt to describe as prussian.
-the organisation of pre-war germany was, then, very similar to that of an army and was efficient in a similar way, that is to say for the attainment of particular immediate ends. in a wider view, such national organisation is of a lower nature than that of england or france or america; for the ends or purposes of a nation are remote, they transcend the vision of the present and cannot be defined in terms of material prosperity or military power; and only the development of the national mind, as a natural and spontaneous growth, can give a prospect of continued progress towards those indefinable ends. germany was organised from above for the attainment of a particular end, namely material prosperity and power among the peoples of the world; and, as the bulk of her population had been led to accept this narrow national purpose, the organisation of the nation, like that of an army, was extremely effective for the purpose. it gave her a great advantage as against the other nations, among whom the lack of any such clear cut purpose in the minds of all was a principal difficulty in the way of effective national thought and action. for a like reason the existence of a nation organised in this way is a constant threat to the nations of higher type; and, as we have seen, it may compel them at any time to revert to or adopt, temporarily at least and so far as they are able, an organisation of the lower and more immediately effective kind. and this threat was the justification of the nations of the entente, when they demanded a radical change in this political organisation of germany. in a similar way, in the past, the huns, the turks, and the arabs, peoples organised primarily for war and conquest, had to be destroyed as nations if the evolution of nations of higher type was to go forward.
-rousseau, in his famous treatise, le contrat social, wrote “there is often a great difference between the will of all and the general will; the latter looks only to the common interest; the former looks to private interest, and is nothing but a sum of individual wills; but take away from these same wills the plus and minus that cancel one another and there remains, as the sum of the differences, the general will.” “sovereignty is only the exercise of the general will.” that is to say, a certain number of men will the general good, while most men will only their private good; the latter neutralise one another, while the former co-operate to form an effective force.
-bosanquet’s theory amounts to a justification of the old individualist laissez faire doctrine—the doctrine that the good of the whole is best achieved by giving freest possible scope to the play and conflict of individual purposes and strivings—the philosophic radicalism of bentham and mill, which teaches that, if each man honestly and efficiently pursues his private ends, the welfare of the state somehow results. how this systematic whole which is the state arises he does not explain; and it seems to me that bosanquet leaves unsolved that difficulty which, as we saw, led schiller and others to postulate an external power guiding each people—the difficulty, if we assume that individual wills strive only after private egoistic ends, of explaining how the good of the whole is nevertheless achieved.
-in all societies many general changes result, and in some nations no doubt the good of the whole is achieved in a measure by fortunate accident, in the way bosanquet describes—namely, by the interplay of individual wills working for near individual ends. but, i think, it is improper to say that in such a case any general will exists. such a nation, if it displays any collective activity, only does so in an impulsive blind way which is not true volition, but is comparable rather with instinctive action; for, as we have seen, self-consciousness is essential to volition; a truly volitional action is one which issues from the contemplation of some end represented in relation to the idea of the self and found to be desirable. and the changes of a society which result in the way bosanquet claims as the expression of the general will are unforeseen and unwilled; they are no more the expression and effects of a general will than are the movements of a billiard ball struck simultaneously by two or more men each of whom aims at a different position.
-that is an excellent definition of an organism; and we have recognised fully the importance of organisation in national life, consisting in specialisation of the parts such that each part is adapted to perform some one function that subserves the life of the whole, while itself dependent upon the proper functioning of all other parts.
-we may admit too that, in proportion as this specialisation of functions is carried further, organic unity is promoted because the life of the whole becomes more intimately dependent on the life of each part, and each part more intimately and completely dependent on the life of the whole.
-but unity of this sort is characteristic of all animal bodies; and, though the mind has this kind of organic unity, it acquires, in proportion as self-consciousness develops, over and above this kind of unity, a unity of an altogether new and unique kind; a unity which consists in the whole (or the self) being present to consciousness, whether clearly or obscurely, during almost every moment of thought, and pervading and playing some part in the determination of the course of thought and action.
-now, the national mind also has both the lower and the higher kinds of unity. in both cases—that is, in the development both of the individual and of the national mind—a certain degree of organic unity must be achieved, before self-consciousness can develop and begin to play its part; but in both cases, when once it has begun to operate, self-consciousness goes on greatly to increase the organic unity, to increase the specialisation of functions and the systematic interdependence of the parts.
-consider a single illustration of this parallelism of the individual with the national mind. take the aesthetic faculty. in the individual mind there develops a certain capacity for finding pleasure in certain objects and impressions, such as young children and even the animals have; and then, with the growth of self-consciousness, the individual sets himself deliberately to cultivate this faculty, to specialise it along particular lines and to exercise it as something apart from his other mental functions; while, nevertheless, it becomes for him, in proportion as it is developed and specialised, more and more an essential part of his total experience. just so there spontaneously develop in a people some rudimentary aesthetic practices and traditions and some class of persons, say the bards, who are more skilled than other men in ministering to the aesthetic demands of their fellows. then, as national self-consciousness develops, the place and value of these functions in the system of national life becomes explicitly recognised, and they are deliberately fostered by the establishment of national institutions, schools of art, academies of letters and music, the award of public titles and honours and so forth; whereby the specialisation of these national functions is increased, their dependence on the life of the whole rendered more intimate, and, at the same time, the life of the whole rendered more dependent upon the life of these parts, because the richer aesthetic development of the parts reacts upon the whole, diffusing itself through and elevating the life of the whole.
-bosanquet recognises in national life only the lower kind of unity and not the unity of self-consciousness. he seems to reject the notion of national self-consciousness, on the ground that the life of a nation is so complex that it cannot be fully and adequately reflected in the consciousness of any individual; yet in this respect the difference between the national mind and the individual mind is one of degree only and not of kind. in the individual mind also, even the most highly developed and self-conscious, the capacities and dispositions and tendencies that make up the whole mind are never fully and adequately present to consciousness; the individual never knows himself exhaustively, though he may continually progress towards a more nearly complete self-knowledge. just so the national mind may progress towards a more complete self-knowledge, and, though at the present time no nation has attained more than a very imperfect self-knowledge, yet the process is accelerating rapidly among the more advanced nations; and such increasing self-knowledge promises to become the dominating factor in the life of nations, as it is in the lives of all men, save the most primitive.
-suppose that all those conditions making for national unity which we have considered in the foregoing chapters were realised, but that nevertheless all men continued to be moved only by self-regarding motives, or by those which have reference to the welfare of themselves and their family circle or to any ends less comprehensive than the welfare of the whole nation. we could not then properly speak of the tendencies resulting from the interplay and the conflict of all these individual wills as expressions of the general will, as bosanquet and others have done, even though the organic unity of the whole secured a harmonious resultant national activity, if such a thing were possible. but there is no reason to suppose that such a thing is possible.
-i think we may say that it is only in so far as the idea of the people or nation as a whole is present to the consciousness of individuals and determines their actions that a nation in the proper sense of the word can exist or ever has existed. without this factor any population inhabiting a given territory remains either a mere horde or a population of slaves under a despotism. neither can be called a nation; wherever a nation has appeared in the history of the world, the consciousness of itself as a nation has been an essential condition of its existence and still more of its progress.
-we may see this, even more clearly, in the case of the smaller aggregations of men, the smaller social units, the family, the clan, the tribe. the family is a family only so long as it is conscious of itself as a family, and only in virtue of that self-consciousness and of the part which this idea and the sentiments gathered about it play in determining the actions of each member. how carefully such family consciousness is sometimes fostered and how great a part it plays in social life is common knowledge. in the early stages of greek and roman history, the family consciousness was the dominant social force which long succeeded in overriding and preventing the development of any larger social consciousness. just as the gens played this part in early rome, so the clan has played a similar part elsewhere, for example in the highlands of scotland. such peoples form the strongest nations.
-just so with the tribe. it exists as a tribe only because, and in so far as, it is conscious of itself, and in so far as the idea of the tribe and devotion to its service determines the actions of individuals. the mere fact of the possession of a tribal name suffices to prove the existence of this self-consciousness. and, as a matter of fact, tribal self-consciousness is in many cases extremely strongly developed; the idea of the tribe, of its rights and powers, of its past and its future plays a great part among warlike savages; and an injury done to the tribe, or an insult offered to it, will often be kept in mind for many years, even for generations, and will be avenged when an opportunity occurs, even in spite of the certainty of death to many individuals and the risk of extermination of the whole tribe.
-the federation of iroquois tribes to form a rudimentary nation seems to have been due to a self-conscious collective purpose. and, when other tribes become fused to form nations, the same holds true. consider the hebrew nation, one of the earliest historical examples of a number of allied tribes becoming fused to a nation. surely the idea of the nation as the chosen people of jehovah played a vital part in its consolidation, implanted and fostered as it was by a succession of great teachers, the prophets. their work was to implant this idea and this sentiment strongly in the minds of the people, to create and foster this traditional sentiment by the aid of supernatural sanctions. the national self-consciousness thus formed has continued to be not only one factor, but almost the only factor or condition, of the continued existence of the jewish people as a people, or at any rate the one fundamental condition on which all the others are founded—their exclusive religion, their objection to intermarriage with outsiders, their hope of a future restoration of the fortunes of the nation, and so forth.
-and the same is true of every real nation; its existence and its power are grounded in its consciousness of itself, the idea of the nation as a dominant factor in the minds of the individuals. the dominant sentiment which centres about that idea is very different in the various nations. it may be chiefly pride in the nation’s past history, as in spain; or hope for its future, as in japan; or the need of self-assertion in the present, as in pre-war germany.
-the resistance of the japanese to the russians and their victory over them were in the fullest sense the immediate outcome of the idea of the japanese nation in the minds of all its people, leading to a strong collective volition for the greater power, glory, and advancement of the nation. the recent unrest in china is recognised on all hands to be the expression of a dawning national self-consciousness. in europe, poland, finland, hungary, and ireland exemplify its workings very clearly in recent years. the magyars were not oppressed by the austrians. they, economically and individually, had nothing material to gain by a separation from austria; and in separating themselves they would have risked much, their lives, and their material welfare; yet the idea of the magyar nation impelled them to it. the poles of germany were not rebellious because they were ill-treated and their affairs maladministered. if they could and would have cast out from their minds the idea of the polish nation, they might have comfortably shared in the marvellously advancing material prosperity of germany. but they were severely treated by the germans, because they were moved by this idea and this sentiment; and the bad treatment it brought upon them did but render the idea more vividly, more universally, present to the consciousness of all, even of the little children at school, and, by inflaming the passions which have their root in the national sentiment, strengthened that sentiment.
-but for the idea of the boer nation and the dawning national sentiment, the late boer war would never have occurred; and that sentiment was, as in the case of the japanese in their late war, the principal source of the great energy displayed by the boers and of such success as they achieved.
-even in india, the proposal to divide bengal has suddenly discovered among the bengalese, the most submissive part of the population, the part which has seemed most devoid of national spirit, the existence and the importance as a political factor of the idea of the bengalese as a people and of sentiments centred upon that idea.
-the rapid increase of national self-consciousness among the peoples of the world and the increasing part everywhere played by the sentiment for national existence are in short the dominant facts in the present period of world history; their influence overshadows all others.
-since, then, any nation exists only in virtue of the existence of the idea of the nation in the minds of the individuals of whom it is composed, and in virtue of the influence of this idea upon their actions, and since this idea plays so great a part in shaping the history of the world, it is absurd to maintain that the general will is but the blind resultant of the conflict of individual wills striving after private ends and unconscious of the ends or purposes of the nation. in opposition to such a view, we must maintain that a population seeking only individual ends cannot form or continue to be a nation, though all the other conditions we have noticed be present; that a nation is real and vigorous in proportion as its consciousness of its self is full and clear. in fact national progress and power and success depend in chief part upon the fulness and the extension, the depth and width of this self-consciousness—the accuracy and fulness with which each individual mind reflects the whole; and upon the strength of the sentiments which are centred upon it and which lead men to act for the good of the whole, to postpone private to public ends. and the same holds good of all the many forms of corporate life within the nation. each individual’s sense of duty, in so far as it is a true sense of duty, and not a fictitious sense due merely to superstitious fear or to habit formed by suggestion and compulsion, is chiefly founded upon the consciousness of the society of which he forms a part, upon the group spirit that binds him to his fellows and makes him one with them. and the nations in which this national self-consciousness is strongest and most widely diffused will be the successful nations.
-national group self-consciousness plays, then, an all-important part in the life of nations, is in fact the actual, the most essential constitutive factor of every nation; and nationhood or the principal of nationality is the dominant note of world history in the present epoch; that is to say, the desire and aspiration to achieve nationhood, or to strengthen and advance the life of the nation, is the most powerful motive underlying the collective actions of almost all civilised and even of semi-civilised mankind; and the consequent rivalry between nations overshadows every other feature of modern world history, and is convulsing and threatening to destroy the whole of modern civilisation. it is surely well worthy of serious study. yet, owing to the backward and neglected state of psychology, not only is this study neglected, but, as we have seen, some of our leading political philosophers have not yet even realized the essential nature of the problem; and many of the historians, economists and political writers are even further from a grasp of its nature. they have been forced by the prominence and urgency of the facts to recognise what they call the principle of nationality; and even now the majority of them are demanding that, in the european settlement and in the affairs of the world in general, the principle of nationality shall be given the leading place and the decisive voice. but they do not recognise that the understanding of this principle, this all-powerful political factor, is primarily and purely a psychological problem. we find them, in discussing the nature of nations and the conditions of nationality, perhaps mentioning the psychological view of nations as a curious aberration of a few academic cranks, from which they turn to discover the true secret of nationality in such considerations as geographical boundaries, race, language, history, and above all economic factors; they do not see that each and all of these conditions, real and important though they are and have been in shaping the history and determining the existence of nations, only play their parts indirectly by affecting men’s minds, their beliefs, opinions, and sentiments, especially by favouring or repressing the development in each people of the idea of the nation.
-the all-dominant influence of the idea of the nation, i insist, is not a theory or a speculative suggestion, it is a literal and obvious fact. let every other one of the favouring conditions of nationality, the geographical, historical, economic be realised by a population; yet, if that population has no collective self-consciousness, is not strongly actuated to collective volition by the group spirit, it will remain not a nation, but a mere aggregate of individuals, having more or less organic unity due to the differentiation and interdependence of its parts, but lacking that higher bond of unity which alone can ensure its stability and continuity, and which, especially, can alone enable it to withstand and survive the peaceful pressure or the warlike impact of true nations.
-hence national self-consciousness can never develop except in the form of an idea of strong affective tone, that is to say a sentiment. hence, whenever we speak of national self-consciousness or the idea of the nation as a powerful factor in its life, the sentiment is implied, and i have implied it when using these expressions hitherto. this national sentiment, which, if we use the word in its widest sense, may be called patriotism, is, like all the other group sentiments, developed by way of extension of the self-regarding sentiment of the individual to the group, and may be further complicated and strengthened by the inclusion of other tendencies. a point of especial importance is that this great group sentiment can hardly be developed otherwise than by way of extension of sentiments for smaller included groups, the family especially. for the idea of the nation is too difficult for the grasp of the child’s mind, and cannot, therefore, become the object of a sentiment until the intellectual powers are considerably developed. hence the development of a family sentiment, or of one for some other small easily conceived group, is essential for the development in the child of those modes of mental action which are involved in all group feeling and action. for this reason the family is the surest, perhaps essential, foundation of national life; and national self-consciousness is strongest, where family life is strongest.
-the development of the group spirit in general and of national self-consciousness in particular is favoured by, and indeed dependent upon, conditions similar to those which develop the self-consciousness of individuals. here is another striking point of the analogy between the individual and the national mind. passing over other conditions, let us notice one, the most important of all. the individual’s consciousness of self is developed chiefly by intercourse with other individuals—by imitation, by conflict, by compulsion, and by co-operation. without such intercourse it must remain rudimentary. the individual’s conception of himself is perpetually extended by his increasing knowledge of other selves; and his knowledge of those other selves grows in the light of his knowledge of himself. there is perpetual reciprocal action. the same is true of peoples. a population living shut off, isolated from the rest of the world, within which no distinctions of tribe and race existed, would never become conscious of itself as one people and, therefore, would not become a nation. some such conditions obtained for long ages among the pastoral hordes of the central eurasian steppes, which, so long as they remained there, have never formed a nation; and the same was true of the tribes of arabia, until mahomet impelled them by his religion of the sword to hurl themselves upon neighbouring peoples.
-of civilised peoples, china has had least intercourse with the outer world. the chinese knew too little of other races to imitate them; they did not come into conflict or co-operation with others, save in a very partial manner at long intervals of time, or only with their mongol conquerors, whom they despised as inferior to them in everything but warfare, and whom they abhorred. hence, in spite of the homogeneity of the people, of the common culture, and of the vast influence of great teachers, national consciousness and the group spirit in all its forms remained at a low level. hence, a great deficiency in those virtues which have their root in the social consciousness; a low standard of public duty, a lack of the sense of obligation to society. hence, the corruptness and hollowness of all official transactions and political life. want of honesty in public affairs is not the expression of an inherent defect of the chinese character; for in commercial relations with europeans the chinaman has proved himself extremely trustworthy, much superior indeed in this respect to some other peoples. it is probable that, if china, like europe, had long ago been divided into a number of nations, each of them, through action and reaction upon the rest, would have developed a much fuller national consciousness than exists at present and some considerable degree of public spirit and would consequently have advanced very much farther in the scale of social evolution, instead of standing still as the whole people has done for so long.
-everywhere we can see the illustrations of this law. of all forms of intercourse, conflict and competition are the most effective in developing national consciousness and character, because they bring a common purpose to the minds of all individuals; and that is the condition of the highest degree and effectiveness of collective mental action and volition. it is under these conditions that the idea of the nation and the will to protect it and to forward its interests become predominant in the minds of individuals; and the more so the greater the public danger, the greater and the more obvious the need for the postponement of private ends to the general end.
-although war has hitherto been the most important condition of the development of national consciousness, it is not the only one; and it remains to be seen whether industrial or other forms of rivalry can play a similar part. probably, industrial rivalry cannot; the accumulation of wealth is too largely dependent upon the accidents of material conditions to become a legitimate source of national satisfaction; for, unlike the satisfaction arising from successful exertion of military power, it does not imply intrinsic superiorities. if the natural conditions of material prosperity could be equalised for all nations, then the acquisition of superior wealth, implying as it would superior capacities, might become a sufficiently satisfying end of national action; just as the equalisation of conditions among individuals in america has for the present rendered the accumulation of wealth a sufficient end, because such accumulation implies superior powers and is the mark of personal superiority.
-we might place nations in a scale of nationhood. the scale would correspond roughly to one in which they were arranged according to the degree to which the public good is the end, and the desire of it the motive, of men’s actions; this in turn would correspond to a scale in which they were arranged according to the degree of development and diffusion of the national consciousness, of the idea of the nation or society as a whole; and this again to one in which they were arranged according to the degree of intercourse they have had with other nations. at the bottom of the scale would stand the people of thibet, the most isolated people of the world; near them the chinese, who also have until recently been almost entirely excluded from international intercourse. such peoples have a national consciousness and sentiment which is extremely vague and imperfect. they do not realise their weakness, their strength or their potentialities, but have an unenlightened pride without aspiration for a higher form of national life. a little above them would stand russia, which has remained for so long outside the area of european international life. while at the top of the scale would be those nations which have borne their part in all the strain and stress and friction of european rivalry and intercourse.
-these degrees of international intercourse have been very largely determined by geographical conditions; isolation, and consequent backwardness in national evolution, being in nearly every case due to remoteness of position. the most important factor of modern times making for more rapid social evolution is probably the practical destruction or overcoming of the barriers between peoples; for thus all peoples are brought into the international arena, and their national spirit is developed through international intercourse and rivalry.
-it is this increasing contact and intercourse of peoples, brought about by the increased facilities of communication, which has quickened the growth of national self-consciousness throughout all the world and has made the principle of nationality or, more properly, the desire for nationhood and for national existence and development, for self-assertion and for international recognition, the all-important feature of modern times, overshadowing every other phenomenon that historians have to notice, or statesmen to reckon with.
-the american nation is interesting in this connexion. if we ask—why is their public life on a relatively low level, in spite of so many favouring conditions, including a healthy and strong public opinion?—the answer is that they have been until recently too much shut off from collective intercourse with other nations, too far removed from the region of conflict and rivalry. and judicious well-wishers of the american nation rejoice that it has recently entered more fully into the international arena, and has not continued to pursue the policy of isolation, which was long in favour; because, as is already manifest, this fuller intercourse and intenser rivalry with other nations must render fuller and more effective their national spirit, develop the national will and raise the national life to a higher plane, giving to individuals higher ends and motives than the mere accumulation of wealth, and removing that self-complacency as regards their national existence which hitherto has characterised them in common with the peoples of thibet and china.
-ideas in national life
-we have seen that the idea of the nation can and does, in virtue of the formation of the sentiment of devotion to it, lead men to choose and decide and act for the sake of the nation; they desire the welfare and the good of the nation as a whole, they value its material prosperity and its reputation in the eyes of other nations; and, in so far as the decisions and actions of a nation proceed from this motive, co-operating with and controlling other motives in the minds of its members, such decision and action are the expressions of true collective volition.
-it is truly volition because it conforms to the true type of volition. individual volition can only be marked off from every impulsive action and every lower form of effort, by the fact that in true volition, among all the impulses or motives that may impel a man to action or decision, the dominant rôle is played by a motive that springs from his self-regarding sentiment. this motive is a desire to achieve a particular end, which, viewed as the achievement of the self, brings him satisfaction, because the thought of himself achieving this end is in harmony with the ideal of the self which he has gradually built up and has learnt to desire to realize under the influence of his social setting. the same is true of national volition.
-and it is collective volition in so far as the deliberations by which the decision of the nation has been reached have been effected through those formally and informally organised relations and channels of communication and by means of all the various modes of interaction of persons by which public opinion is formed and in which it is guided and controlled by the living traditions of the nation.
-that this is the true nature of national volition may be more clearly realized on considering some instances of national action which could not properly be called the expression of the will of the nation. a tariff might be adopted because a large number of men desired it, each in order that he himself might get rich more quickly; and, even though a large majority, or even all men, desired it, each for his private end, it would not be the expression of the national will, it would not be due to collective volition; it would be the expression of the will of all. nor would it be an expression of the national will, even if each believed that, not only he, but also all his fellows would be enriched, and if he desired it for that reason also; that would be an expression of the will of all for the good of all. only if and in so far as the decision was reached through the influence of those who desired it, because it seemed to them to be for the good of the whole nation, would it be the expression of the will of the nation.
-and the difference would be not merely a difference of motive; the difference might be very important in respect both of the deliberative processes by which the decision was reached and also in respect of its ultimate consequences. for the will of all for the good of all would have reference only to the immediate future; whereas the truly national will would be influenced not only by consideration of the good of all existing citizens, but, in an even greater degree, by the thought of the continued welfare of the whole nation, in the remote future.
-again, suppose that, on the occasion of an insult or injury to the nation (i remind the reader of the incident in the north sea when the russian fleet fired on our fishing boats), a wave of anger against the offending nation sweeps over the whole country and that this outburst of popular fury plunges the nation into war. that would be collective mental process, but not volition; it would be action on the plane of impulse or desire, unregulated by reflection upon the end proposed in relation to the welfare of the nation and by the motives to action that are stirred by such reflection.
-again, suppose a nation of which every member was patriotic, and suppose that some proposed national action were pondered upon by each man apart in his own chamber, without consultation and discussion with his fellows in public and private. then, though the decision would be true volition, in so far as it was determined by each man’s desire for the national welfare, it yet would not be collective or national volition; because not reached by collective deliberation.
-we have seen that the idea of the nation, present to the minds of the mass of its members, is an essential condition of the nation’s existence in any true sense of the word nation; that the idea alone as an intellectual apprehension cannot exert any large influence; that it determines judgment and action only in virtue of the sentiment which grows up about this object—a sentiment which is transmitted and fostered from generation to generation, just because it renders the nation an object of value. the consideration should be obvious enough; but it has commonly been ignored by philosophers of the intellectualist school. they treat the individual mind as a system of ideas; they ignore the fact that it has a conative side which has its own organisation, partially distinct from, though not independent of, the intellectual side; and consequently they ignore equally the fact that the national mind has its conative organisation.
-imagine a people in whom anti-nationalism (in the form of cosmopolitanism, syndicalism or philosophic anarchism) had spread, until this attitude towards the nation-state as such had become adopted by half its members, while the other half remained patriotic. then there would be acute conflict and discussion, and the idea of the nation would be vividly present to all minds; but the nature of the sentiment attached to it would be different and opposite in the two halves; one of attachment and devotion in the one half; of dislike, aversion, or at least indifference (i.e. lack of sentiment) in the other half. and the efforts of the one half to maintain the nation as a unit would be antagonised and perhaps rendered nugatory by the indifference or opposition of the other half, who would always seek to break down national boundaries and would refuse co-operation in any national action, and who would league themselves with bodies of similar interests and anti-national tendencies in other countries. then, even though all might be well-meaning people desiring the good of mankind, the nation would be very greatly weakened and probably would soon cease to exist as such.
-the illustration shews the importance of the distinction which rousseau did not draw in his discussion of the general will—namely, the distinction between the good of all and the good of the whole, i.e. of the nation as such. it might be argued that the distinction is purely verbal; it might be said that, if you secure the good of all, you thereby ipso facto secure the good of the whole, because the whole consists of the sum of existing individuals; and that this is obvious, because, if you take them away, no whole remains. but to argue thus is to ignore the fact on which we have already insisted—namely, that the whole is much more than the sum of the existing units, because it has an indefinitely long future before it and a part to play, through indefinitely long periods of time, as a factor in the general welfare and progress of mankind.
-so much greater is the whole than the sum of its existing parts, that it might well seem right to sacrifice the welfare and happiness of one or two or more generations, and even the lives of the majority of the citizens, if that were necessary to the preservation and future welfare of the whole nation as such. this is no merely theoretical distinction, it is one of the highest practical importance, which we may illustrate in two ways.
-a whole nation may be confronted with the alternative, may be forced to choose between the good of all and the good of the whole. such a choice was, it may be said without exaggeration, suddenly presented to the belgian people, and only less acutely to ourselves and to italy, by the recent european conflagration; and in each case the good of the whole has been preferred. is it not probable and obvious that, if each or all of these peoples had consented to the domination of germany, the material welfare of all their existing citizens might well have been increased, rather than diminished, and that their choice has involved not only the loss of life of large numbers of their citizens and great sufferings for nearly all the others, but also enormous sacrifice of material prosperity, in order that the whole may survive and eventually prosper as a nation working out its national destiny free from external domination? there are, or were, those who say that they would just as soon live under german rule, because they would be governed at least as well and perhaps better than by their own government hitherto; and there is perhaps nothing intrinsically bad or wrong in this attitude; the question of its rightness or wrongness turns wholly on the valuation of nationality. it is easier to appreciate this plea on behalf of another people than our own. one may hear it said even now that, after all, it would have been better for belgium that she should have entered into the group of germanic powers in some sort of federal system or customs union; that, in general, it is ridiculous that the small states should claim sovereign powers and pretend to have their own foreign policy and so forth; that they are struggling against the inevitable, against a universal and necessary tendency for the absorption of the smaller states by the larger.
-we may illustrate the difference between regard for the good of all members of the nation and of the nation itself in another way—namely, by reference to socialism, the principle which would abolish inequalities of wealth and opportunity, as far as possible, by abolishing or greatly restricting the rights of private property and capital, especially the right of inheritance. there can, i think, be little doubt that the adoption of socialism in this sense by almost any modern nation would increase the well being and happiness of its members very decidedly on the whole for the present generation and possibly for some generations to come. it is in respect of the continued welfare of the whole and of its perpetuation as an evolving and progressing organism that the effects seem likely to be decidedly bad. the socialists are in the main those who fix their desire and attention on the good of all; hence they are for the most part inclined to set a low value on nationality, even while they demand a vast extension of the functions of the state, conceived as an organised system of administration. those, on the other hand, who repudiate socialism, not merely because they belong to the class of ��haves,’ must seek their justification in the consideration of the probable effects of such a change on the welfare of the nation conceived as an organism whose value far transcends the lives of the present generation.
-when, then, we attribute to the idea of the nation or to the national consciousness this all-important creative, constitutive, and conservative function, we must be clear that the idea is not an intellectual conception merely, but implies an enduring emotional conative attitude which is the sentiment of devotion to the nation; and, further, we must remember that the nation means not simply all existing individuals, the mere momentary embodiment of the nation, but something that is far greater, because it includes all the potentialities embodied in the existing persons and organisation.
-it is the presence and operation in the national mind of the idea of the nation in the extended sense just indicated that gives to national decisions and actions the character of truly collective volitions; they approach this type more nearly, the more the idea is rich in meaning and adequate or true, and the more widely it is spread, and the more powerful and widely spread is the sentiment which attaches value to the nation and sways men to decision and action for the sake of the whole, determining the issue among all other conflicting motives.
-and it is the working of the national spirit and the acceptance of and devotion to the national organisation which render the submission of the minority to the means chosen by the majority a voluntary submission; for it is of the essence of that organisation that, while all accept and will the same most general end, namely the welfare of the whole, the choice of means must be determined by the judgment of the majority, formed and expressed as a collective judgment and opinion by way of all the many channels of reciprocal influence that the national organisation, both formal and informal, provides. in so far as each man holds this attitude, esteeming the nation and accepting loyally its constitution or organisation, the decision determined by even a bare majority vote of parliament becomes the expression of the national will; and the co-operation in carrying it out of those who did not judge the method to be wise, and who therefore voted against it, yet becomes a truly voluntary co-operation, in so far as they accept the established organisation.
-the point may be illustrated by the instance of a nation going to war. a large minority may be against war, for reasons which to them may seem to be of the highest kind; it may be that they judge the nation to be morally in the wrong in the matter in dispute, or very questionably in the right, as many englishmen did during the boer war; and yet, if, by the accepted organised channels of national deliberation and decision, war has been declared, then, although it was their duty to do what they could to make their opinion prevail before the decision was reached, there is no moral inconsistency in their supporting the war measures with all their strength. it is in fact implied in their loyalty, if they are loyal and patriotic, that they shall yield their individual opinion to the expression of the national will and shall accept the means chosen to the common end. that is the truth implied in the phrase—my country right or wrong. of course, this phrase may be taken in a reprehensible sense, as meaning that any opportunity of forwarding the immediate interests of one’s country must be taken, regardless of the interests of other communities and of the obligations of common honesty and humanity upon which all human welfare depends.
-in the same way, a man might disapprove of a particular tax, say on liquor, or of obligatory military service; and yet he may accept the national will and serve faithfully as a soldier, without inconsistency, and without ceasing to be a free agent truly willing the acts imposed by his position in the whole organisation; just as during the late war many priests served as soldiers in the french army. or, to take an extreme instance, a man who has broken the law and even incurred the death penalty may be truly said to undergo his punishment of imprisonment or death as a morally free agent, if he is loyal to his country and its institutions, accepting the penalty, while yet believing his action to be right. such perfect loyalty to the nation is of course rare; and in all actual nations men have progressed towards it in very different degrees. most existing nations have emerged from preceding despotisms by the repeated widening of the sphere of freedom, as the growth of loyalty in strength and extension rendered such freedom consistent with the survival of the state and its administrative functions.
-thus a people progresses from the status of an organism, in which the parts are subordinated to the whole without choice or free volition on their part, or even against their wills, towards the ideal of a nation-state, an organic whole which is founded wholly upon voluntary contract between each member and the whole, and in which the distinction between the state and the nation becomes gradually overcome and replaced by identity. for, as national self-consciousness develops and each man conceives more fully and clearly the whole nation and his place and function in it, and grows in loyalty to the nation, he ceases to obey the laws merely because he is constrained by the authority and force of the state. an increasing proportion of citizens obey the law and render due services voluntarily, because they perceive that, in so doing, they are contributing towards the good of the whole which they value highly; in so far as they act in this spirit, the actions and restraints prescribed by law become their voluntary actions and restraints.
-thus the theory that society is founded upon a social contract, which, if taken as a description of the historical process of genesis, is false, is true, if accepted as the constitutive principle of the ideal state towards which progressive nations are tending.
-and, as the organisation of a nation becomes less dependent upon outer authority and upon mere custom and the unreasoning acceptance of tradition, and more and more upon free consent and voluntary contract, the nation does not cease to be an organism; it retains that formal and informal organisation which has developed in large part without the deliberate guidance of the collective will and which is essential to its collective life; the national mind, as it grows in force and extension and understanding of its own organisation, accepts those features which it finds good, and gradually modifies those which appear less good in the light of its increasing self knowledge; and so it tends more and more to become a contractual organism, which, as fouillée has insisted, is the highest type of society.
-it should be noticed that this ideal of the contractual organism synthesises the two great doctrines or theories of society which have generally been regarded as irreconcilable alternatives: the doctrine of society as an organism, and that of society as founded upon reason and free will. they have been treated as opposed and irreconcilable doctrines, because those who regarded society as an organism, taking the standpoint of natural science, have laid stress upon its evolution by biological accidents and by the interaction and conflict of many blind impulses and purely individual volitions, in which collective volition, governed by an ideal of the form to be achieved, had no part. while, on the other hand, the idealist philosophers, describing society or the nation as wholly the work of reason and free will, have been guilty of the intellectualist fallacy of regarding man as a purely rational being; they have ignored the fact that all men, even the most intellectual, are largely swayed and moulded by processes of suggestion, imitation, sympathy, and instinctive impulse, in quite non-rational ways; and they have ignored still more completely the fact that the operation of these non-rational processes continues to be not only of immense influence but also inevitable and necessary to the maintenance of that organic unity of society upon which as a basis the contract-unity is superimposed as a bond of a higher, more rational and more spiritual quality.
-the former doctrine logically tends to the paralysis of social effort and to the adoption of extreme individualism, to the doctrine of each man for himself, and of laissez faire, doctrines such as those of herbert spencer. the other, the idealist theory of the state as being founded and formed by reason, tends equally logically towards extreme state socialism; because its overweening belief in reason leads it to ignore the large and necessary basis of subrational organisation and operation.
-only a synthesis of the two in the doctrine of the contractual organism can reconcile them and give us the ideal of a nation in which the maximum and perfection of organisation shall be combined with the maximum of liberty, because in it each individual will be aware of the whole and his place and functions in it, and will voluntarily accept that place and perform those functions.
-the highest, most perfectly organised and effective nation is, then, not that in which the individuals are disposed of, their actions completely controlled, and their wills suppressed by the power of the state. it is, rather, one in which the self-consciousness and initiative and volition of individuals, personality in short, is developed to the highest degree, and in which the minds and wills of the members work harmoniously together under the guidance and pressure of the idea of the nation, rendered in the highest degree explicit and full and accurate.
-the value of nationality
-at the present time, while the mass of men continue to accept the duty of patriotism unquestioningly, and historians for the most part are content to describe with some astonishment the immense development of nationalism in the past century, many voices are loudly raised for and against nationality. the great mass of men no doubt are swept away in the flood of patriotic feeling. but the war has also intensified the antipathy, and given increased force to the arguments, of those who decry nationality and deprecate patriotism—for these are but two different modes of expressing the same attitude.
-there are two principal classes of the anti-nationalists. first, the philosophic anarchists, who would abolish all states and governments, as unnecessary evils, men like kropotkin and tolstoi. secondly, the cosmopolitans, who, while believing in the necessity of government and even demanding more centralised administration, would yet abolish all national boundaries as far as possible, boundaries of geography, of language, race and sentiment, and all national governments, and would aim at the establishment of one great world state.
-though the aims of these two parties are so widely different, they use much the same arguments against nationalism. according to the anti-nationalist view, nationalism and the patriotism in which it is founded are a kind of disease of human nature, which, owing to the unfortunate fact that mankind has retained the gregarious instinct of his animal ancestors, inevitably breaks out as soon as any community begins to come into free contact and rivalry with other communities, and which tends to grow in force in a purely instinctive and irrational manner the more these contacts and rivalries increase.
-the liability to patriotism is thus regarded as closely comparable with mankind’s unfortunate liability to drunkenness, to feel the fascination of strong liquor—as merely a natural and inevitable result or by-product of an unfortunate flaw in human nature—a tendency which will have to be sternly repressed and, if possible, eradicated, before men can hope to live in peace and tolerable security and to develop their higher capacities.
-the fact that patriotism of some degree and form is universally displayed, and that it breaks out everywhere into heat and flame when certain conditions are realized, does not for them in any degree justify it; and it should not, they hold, reconcile us to its continued existence; they draw an indictment not merely against a whole people, but against the whole human race. they attack nationalism, firstly, by describing what in their opinion patriotism is and whence it comes; secondly, by describing what they believe to be the natural consequences and effects of nationalism.
-again, it is said that patriotism is a form of selfishness and therefore bad; that it is a limitation of our sympathies, a principle of injustice; that it stands in the way of the realisation of universal justice, of the universal brotherhood of man, which is the ideal we obviously must accept and aim at. or in other words, and this is the main indictment, it is alleged that patriotism and nationalism inevitably tend to produce war, that they keep the rival nations perpetually arming for possible wars and actually in commercial and economic war, if not at real war. and of course the evils of warfare and of such perpetual preparation for war are great and obvious enough in modern europe. in support of this indictment, they point to the golden age of the roman empire, when the inhabitants of all its parts were content to sink their differences of race and country and were proud to proclaim themselves citizens of the roman empire; and they say that in consequence the civilised world attained then a pitch of prosperity and contentment never known before or since over any large area of the earth.
-the politicians and historians, on the other hand, who are so generally demanding that the european settlement after the war must accept nationality as its fundamental principle, are commonly content to note the strength and the wide distribution of the patriotic sentiment, without enquiring into its origin, nature, or value.
-let us examine the arguments against patriotism and then see what reason can advance in its defence. for, though a rational defence of patriotism will have little direct effect in making patriots, we may be sure that, if such defence cannot be maintained, patriotism will have to fight a losing battle.
-in disparaging patriotism by describing it as the work of an instinct, the gregarious or the pugnacious or other instinct, or of several instincts, its critics are guilty of two psychological errors and a popular fallacy. the last is the fallacy that the worth of any thing is to be judged by the course from which it springs. even if patriotism were nothing more than the direct expression of the gregarious instinct which we possess in common with many of the higher animals, that would not in itself condemn it. but this description of it, as a product of instinct as opposed to the principles we attain by reason, involves that false disjunction and opposition of reason to instinct which is traditional and which the intellectualist philosophers commonly adopt, when they condescend to recognise in any way the presence of instinctive tendencies in human nature.
-the other psychological error is the failure to recognize that patriotism although, like all other great mental forces, it is rooted in instinct, is not itself an instinct or the direct expression of any instinct or group of instincts, but is rather an extremely complicated sentiment, which has a long and complex history in each individual mind in which it manifests itself; that it is, therefore, capable of infinite variety and of an indefinite degree of intellectualisation and refinement; that the cult of patriotism is, therefore, a field for educational effort of the highest order, and that in this field moral and intellectual education may achieve their noblest and most far-reaching effects.
-further, the nation alone, is a self-contained and complete organism; other groups within it do but minister to the life of the whole; their value is relative to that of the whole; the continuance of results achieved on their behalf is dependent upon the continued welfare of the whole (for example, the welfare of any class or profession—a fact too easily overlooked by those in whom class spirit grows strong). hence, the nation, as an object of sentiment, includes all smaller groups within it; and, when the nation is regarded from an enlightened point of view, the sentiment for it naturally comes to include in one great system all minor group sentiments and to be strengthened by their incorporation.
-let us note in passing that neglect of this truth gives rise to two of the extreme forms of political doctrine or ideal, current at the present day; first, the ideal of the brotherhood of man in a nationless world; secondly, the extreme form of democratic individualism which assumes that the good of society is best promoted by the freest possible pursuit by individuals of their private ends, which believes that each man must have an equal voice in the government of his country, because that is the only way in which his interests and those of his class can be protected and forwarded; a doctrine which regards public life as a mere strife of private and class interests. both ideals fly in the face of psychological facts; and, though they are in appearance extreme opposites, they are apt to be found associated in the same minds.
-at the other end of the scale, we have the philosophical conservatism of such a thinker as edmund burke, which is keenly aware of the organic unity of society and looks constantly to the good of the whole, deriving from that consideration its leading motives and principles, and which trusts principally to the growth of the group spirit for the holding of the balance between conflicting interests and for the promotion of the public welfare.
-having seen the importance for national life of the idea of the nation, the diffusion of which through the minds of the people constitutes national self-consciousness, let us glance for a moment at the way other ideas may play leading rôles in national life. such are ideas which became national ideals, that is to say, ideas of some end to be realised by the nation which became widely entertained and the objects of strong sentiments and of collective emotion and desire and which, therefore, determine collective action.
-i shall not attempt to deal separately with various classes of such ideas, or ideals—the political, the religious, the economic; but shall only note the fact that they have played and may yet play great parts in the history of the world.
-men are not swayed exclusively by considerations of material self-interest, as the older school of economists generally assumed; nor even by spiritual self-interest, as too much of the religious teaching of the past has assumed; nor even by consideration of the welfare of the social groups of which they are members. many of the great events of history have been determined by ideas that have had no relation to individual welfare, but have inspired a collective enthusiasm for collective action, for national effort, of a disinterested kind; and the lives of some nations have been dominated by some one or two such ideas. these ideas are first conceived and taught by some great man, or by a few men who have acquired prestige and influence; they then become generally accepted by suggestion and imitation, accepted more or less uncritically and established beyond the reach of argument and reasoning.
-no matter what the character of the idea, its collective acceptance by a people enhances for the time the homogeneity of mind among them, renders the people more intimately a unity, and serves also to mark it off more sharply from other peoples among whom other ideas prevail.
-but, besides thus binding together at any period of its history the people that entertains it the generally accepted idea, if it endures, may produce further effects by becoming incorporated in the national organisation; in so far as it determines the form of activity of the people, it moulds their institutions and customs into harmony with itself, until they become in some measure its embodiment and expression; and in any vigorous nation there are usually one or two dominant ideas at work in this way.
-it is a favourite dogma with some writers (for example m. le bon) that ideas, before they can exert great effects in the life of a nation, must first become unconscious ideas, incorporated as they say in the unconscious soul of a people. this is an obscure confused doctrine, which, if it is meant to be taken literally, we can only reject. if it is to have any real meaning, it must be taken in the sense that the long prevalence of the ideal moulds the institutions and customs and the executive organisation of a people, so that national action towards the ideal end becomes more or less automatic or routine.
-if the ideal so accepted and incorporated in the organised structure of the national mind, is one that makes for strength and at the same time permits of progress, it lives on; in other cases it may destroy the nation, or petrify it, arresting all progress.
-all these are ideas which have proved ineffective to sustain national vigour or to promote social evolution. it would not be strictly true to say that the fall, or the unprogressive condition, of the peoples that have entertained these ideas is the result of those ideas; because the general acceptance of them proves that they were in harmony with the type of mind of the people. yet the formulation of the ideas by the leading minds who impressed them on the peoples must have accentuated those tendencies with which they harmonised; and in each case, if the idea had never been formulated, or if others had been effectively impressed on the mind of the people, the course of its history would have been changed. of ideas less adverse to national life take the idea of ancestor worship, and the idea of personal loyalty to the ruler, ideas which commonly go together and have played an immense part in the life of some peoples, notably in japan; they have served as effective national bonds in periods of transition through which despotically ruled populations have progressed to true nationhood. the idea of the divine right of kings played for a time a similar rôle in europe.
-a good example of the operation of an ideal in a modern nation is that of the ideal of a great colonial empire in the french nation. no doubt, hopes of economic advantages may have played some part in this case; but the growth of the immense oversea empire of modern france, as well as of the great extra-european conquests which france has made in the past but has ceased to control, seems to have been due in the main to the operation of this ideal in the national mind. france has no surplus population, and no frenchman desires to leave his beautiful france; everyone regards himself as cruelly exiled if compelled to live for a time in any of the oversea possessions; and most of these, notably the indo-chinese empire are very expensive, costing the nation far more in administrative expenses than any profits derived from them, and involving constant risks of international complications and war, as in morocco in recent years. nevertheless, the ideal still holds sway and, under its driving power, the oversea territories of france, especially in africa, have grown enormously. and this ideal has inevitably incorporated itself in the organisation of the nation, in a colonial office and a foreign legion, and all the administrative machinery necessarily set up for securing the ends prescribed by the ideal.
-in modern times the most striking illustration of the power of ideas on national life is afforded by the influence of the ideals of liberty and equality. it was the effective teaching of these ideals of liberty and equality, primarily by rousseau, to a people prepared by circumstances to receive them, which produced the french revolution; and all through the nineteenth century they have continued to determine great changes of political and social organisation in many countries of europe and in america.
-in england the idea of liberty has long been current and long ago had become incorporated and expressed in the national organisation; but its application received a vast extension when in 1834 england insisted on the liberation of all british-owned slaves and paid twenty million sterling in compensation. that the idea still lives on among us, with this extended application, seems to have been proved by the results of recent elections which were influenced largely by the force of the no-slavery cry in relation to coloured labour. it is an excellent example of an established collective ideal against which reason is of no avail.
-the ideal of liberty never entered the minds of the most advanced peoples of antiquity; their most enlightened political thinkers could not imagine a state which was not founded upon slavery. yet it has become collectively accepted by all the leading nations, and the ordinary man has so entirely accepted it that he cannot be brought to reason about it. facts and arguments tending to show that the greater part of the population of the world might be happier without liberty and under some form of slavery cannot touch or enter his mind at all.
-the ideal of political equality is of still later growth, and is in a sense derivative from that of liberty; it was in the main accepted as a means to liberty, but has become an end in itself. it is moulding national organisation everywhere; through its influence parliamentary government and universal suffrage are becoming the almost universal rule, and, through leading to their adoption, this ideal is in a fair way to wreck certain of the less firmly organised nations, and possibly our own also.
-but the ideal which, beyond all others, characterises the present age of almost all the nations of the world is the ideal of progress. hardly anyone has any clear notion what he means by progress, or could explicate the idea; but the sentiment is very strong, though the idea is very vague. this idea also was unknown to the leading thinkers of antiquity and is of recent growth; yet it is so almost universally accepted, and it so permeates the mental atmosphere in every direction, that it is hard for us to realise how new a thing in the history of the world is the existence, and still more the effective dominance, of the idea. it is perhaps in america that its rule is most absolute; there the severest condemnation that can be passed by the average man upon any people or institution is to say that it is fifty years behind the time. the popular enthusiasm for flying-machines, which threatens to make life almost unlivable, is one of the striking illustrations of the force of this ideal.
-more recent still, and perhaps equally important, is the idea of the solidarity of the human race and of the responsibility of each nation towards the rest, especially towards the weaker and more backward peoples. we no longer cheerfully and openly exterminate an inferior people; and, when we do so, it is with some expressions of regret and even of indignation.
-but this moral idea is still in process of finding acceptance and illustrates well that process. it has been taught by a few superior minds and none dares openly repudiate it; hence, it gains ground and is now commonly accepted, verbally at least, and is just beginning to affect national action.
-the four ideas, liberty, equality, progress, and human solidarity or universal responsibility, seem to be the leading ideas of the present era, the ideas which, in conjunction with national sentiments, are more than any other, fashioning the future of the world.
-the last two illustrate exceptionally well the capacity of nations to be moved by abstract ideas not directly related to the welfare of the individuals whose actions they determine; they show once more how false is the doctrine that national life is but the conflict of individual wills striving after individual goods. they show that, through his life in and mental interaction with organised society, man is raised morally and intellectually high above the level he could individually achieve.
-nations of the higher type
-let us consider now the type of nation which from our present point of view is the most interesting, the type which approximates most nearly to a solution of the problem of civilisation, to the reconciliation of individuality with collectivity, to the synthesis of individualist and collectivist ideals; that in which the rights and wills of individuals are not forcibly subordinated to those of the state by the power of a governing class, and in which the deliberative side of the national mind is well developed and effective.
-such are in a certain degree the french, but still more the british and the american nations. in the two latter countries the rights of the individual are made supreme over all other considerations, the welfare of the whole is only to be advanced by measures which do not override individual wills and rights; or, at least, the only power which is admitted to have the right in any degree to override individual wills is the will of the majority. in such a nation the greatest efforts are concentrated on the perfection of the deliberative organisation, by means of which the general mind may arrive at collective judgment and choice of means and may express its will. a vast amount of time and energy is devoted to this deliberative work; while the executive organisation, by which its decisions have to be carried into effect, is apt to be comparatively neglected and hence imperfect.
-as was said in a former chapter, such collective deliberation of modern nations is only rendered possible by the great facilities of communication we enjoy; telegraph, post, and railway, and especially the press. the ancients saw truly enough that, with their limited means of communication, the higher form of state-organisation must be restricted to a small population of some thousands only—the city-state.
-it is important to note that not only do modern facilities of communication render possible a truly collective mental life for the large nation-states of the present age; but that these modern conditions actually carry with them certain great advantages, which tend to raise the collective mental life of modern nations to a higher level than was possible for the ancient city-state, even though its members were of high average capacity and many of them of very great mental power, as in athens.
-the assembly of citizens in one place for national deliberation rendered them much more susceptible to those less desirable peculiarities of collective mental life which characterise simple crowds; particularly, the excess of emotional excitement, increased suggestibility, and, hence, the ease with which the whole mass could be swayed unduly by the skilful orator. in the modern nation, on the other hand, the transmission of news by the press secures a certain delay, and a lack of synchronism, in its reception by different groups and individuals; and it secures also a certain delay in the action and reaction of mind on mind, which gives opportunity for individual deliberation. also the sympathetic action of the mass mind on the individual mind is in large part indirect, rather than direct, representative rather than perceptual, and therefore less overwhelming in its effects. these conditions greatly temper the violence of the emotional reactions and permit of a diversity of feeling and opinion; an opposed minority has time to form itself and to express an opinion, and so may temper the hasty and emotional reaction of the majority in a way that is impossible in a general assembly.
-a further advantage of the large size of nations may arise from the fact that actual decision as to choice of means for effecting national action has to be achieved by means of representatives who come together in one place. representative government is not merely an inferior substitute for government by general assembly; it is superior in many respects. if each representative were a mere delegate, an average specimen of the group he represents, chosen by lot and merely charged to express their will, this feature would modify the crude collective mental processes in one important respect only; namely, it would counteract to some extent that weakening of individual responsibility which is characteristic of collective mental action. but, in addition to this, internal organisation, in the form of tradition and custom, comes in to modify very greatly the collective process.
-we see such modifying influence very clearly in the election of the english house of commons and in the methods of its operations. owing partly to a natural tendency, partly to a fortunate tradition, the people do not elect just any one of themselves to serve as a delegate or average sample of the mass; but as a rule they choose, or try to choose, some man who displays special capacity and special qualifications for taking part in the national deliberations. in so far as they are successful in this, their representatives are able men and men to whose minds the social consciousness, the consciousness of the whole people, of its needs and tendencies and aspirations, is more fully and clearly present than to the average mind. they are also in the main men of more than average public spirit. hence it is not unknown that a purely working class constituency, being offered liberal, conservative, and labour candidates, instead of choosing the labour man, one of themselves, gives him only a small fraction of the total votes. then, within the body of representatives, this process, by which greater influence is given to the abler men, to those whose minds reflect most fully the whole people, is carried further still. a small group of these men exerts a predominant influence in all deliberations; and not only are they in the main the best qualified (for they only attain their leading positions by success in an intense and long continued competition) but they are put in a position in which they can hardly fail to feel a great responsibility resting upon them; and in which they feel the full force of political traditions. the deliberative organisation of the american nation illustrates, when compared with our own, the importance of these traditions; for its lesser efficiency is largely due to the absence of such traditions, and to the fact that their system banishes from the house of representatives its natural leaders and those on whom responsibility falls most heavily.
-in these two ways, then;—first, through the culmination of national deliberation among a selected group of representatives, among whom again custom and tradition accord precedence and prestige to the natural leaders, the most able and those in whose consciousness the nation, in the past, present and future is most adequately reflected; secondly, by means of the party system, which ensures vigorous criticism and full discussion of all proposals, under a system of traditional conventions evolved for the regulation of such discussions;—in these two ways the principal vices of collective deliberation are corrected, and the formal deliberations and decisions of the nation are raised to a higher plane than the collective deliberations of any assembly of men lacking such traditional organisation could possibly attain. the part played by unwritten tradition in the working of the british constitution is of course immense, as for example, the existence and enormous prestige of the cabinet, and the tradition that a party coming into power must respect the legislation of the party previously in power. without this last, representative government, or at any rate the party system, would be impossible. the smooth working of the system depends entirely upon the influence of these and similar traditions which exist only in the minds of men. or, take as another example, the tradition of absolute impartiality on the part of the speaker and of loyal acceptance of his rulings by every member of the house; or the tradition which distinguishes sharply between political and private relations, in virtue of which the parties to a most bitter political strife may and very generally do remain in perfectly friendly private relations.
-these and other such traditions, which secure the efficient working of the organisation for national deliberation, all rest in turn upon a traditional and tacit assumption—namely, the assumption that both parties are working for the good of the nation as they conceive and understand it, that both parties have this common end and differ only in their judgment as to the means by which it can best be achieved. they rest also on the traditional and tacit admission that one’s own judgment, and that of one’s party, may be mistaken, and that in the long run the legislation which any party can effect is an expression of the organised national mind and is therefore to be respected. it is this acquiescence in accomplished legislation in virtue of this tacit assumption which gives to the decisions of parliament the status, not merely of the expression of the will of a bare majority, but of the expression of the will of practically the whole nation. underlying the stability of the whole system, again, is the tradition, sedulously fostered and observed by the best and leading minds, that the raison d’être and purpose of the representative parliament is to organise, and to give the most complete possible expression to, the national mind and will; and that no constitutional change or change of procedure is justifiable unless it tends to the more complete realisation of these objects.
-in virtue of these traditions our parliament and press constitute undoubtedly the best means for effecting organisation of the national mind in its deliberative aspect that has yet been evolved; and we should remember this when we feel inclined to gird at the ‘great talking shop,’ at the slowness of its procedure and at the logical absurdities of the two-party system; and, above all, we should realize how valuable and worthy of conservation are these scarcely formulated traditions, for they are absolutely essential to its efficiency. it is just because the efficiency of the deliberative organisation of a nation depends upon the force of such traditions, that, though it is possible to take the system of parliamentary representation and establish it by decree or plebiscite in a nation which has hitherto had no such deliberative organisation, it is not possible to make it work smoothly and efficiently amongst such a people. hence, although almost every civilised nation has done its best to imitate the british system of parliamentary government, hardly any one has made a success of it; and, in nearly all, it is in constant danger of being superseded by some more primitive form of government—one need only mention mexico, portugal, russia, france, austria-hungary. in all these countries, and even in america, there seems to be already a not very remote possibility of the supersession of parliamentary government by a dictatorship—a process which has actually occurred in many of the municipal governments of america, and the fear of which has constantly checked the smooth working of the parliamentary system in france.
-as a single illustration of the way in which the conditions we have been considering affect the collective acts of the nation, consider what happened at the time of the russian outrage in the north sea during the russo-japanese war. when a russian fleet fired upon our fishing boats doing considerable damage to them, the means of communication were sufficiently developed among us to allow of the action and reaction of all on each which produces the characteristic results of collective mental action, the exaltation of emotion, the suggestibility, the sense of irresponsible power; and, in the absence of the deliberative organisation which, by concentrating influence and responsibility in the hands of a few of the best men, controlled and modified this collective action, we should have rushed upon the russian fleet and probably have brought on a general european war. the control and counteraction of this kind of outburst of collective emotion and impulsive action is one of the heaviest responsibilities of those to whom predominant influence is accorded.
-it is only in virtue of the strong organisation of the national mind resting upon these long traditions of parliamentary government, that at such a time control of the popular emotion and impulse is possible. and the weaker and less efficient is such traditional organisation, the more does any such incident tend to provoke a collective manifestation which approximates in its uncontrollable violence and unconsidered impulsiveness to the behaviour of an unorganised crowd. hence governments, where the democratic principle is acknowledged but the traditional organisation is less strong, are constantly in danger of having their hands forced by some outburst of popular passion—as in france.
-it is worth noting that, when aristotle inveighed against democracy as an evil form of government, the only form of democratic government he had in mind was government by the voices of a mob gathered together in one place and lacking all the safeguards which, as we have seen, render our british national deliberations so much superior to those of a mere crowd of persons of equally good average capacity and character.
-but it is not only in the formal deliberations of the nation that internal organisation, resting on tradition, secures the predominance of the influence of the best and ablest minds. the same is true of all national thought and feeling. there exists in every great nation the vague influence we call public opinion, which is the great upholder of right and justice, which rewards virtue and condemns vice and selfishness. public opinion exists only in the minds of individuals (for we have rejected, provisionally at least, the conception of a collective consciousness); yet it is a product not of individual, but of collective, mental life. and it has in any healthy nation far higher standards of right and justice and tolerance than the majority of individuals could form or maintain; that is to say, it is in these respects far superior to an opinion which would be the mere resultant or algebraic sum of the opinions of all the living individuals. in reference to any particular matter its judgment is far superior to that of the average of individuals, and superior probably in many cases to that which even the best individuals could form for themselves.
-how does public opinion come to be superior to individual and to average opinion? there seems to be something paradoxical in the statement.
-the fact is of the utmost importance; for public opinion is the ultimate source of sanctions of all public acts, the highest court of appeal before which every executive act performed in the name of the nation must justify itself. if public opinion were merely the immediate expression of the collective feelings and judgments of an unorganised mass of men, its verdicts would be (as we have seen) inferior to those of the average individuals, whereas, as a matter of fact, its expressions are much superior to those of the average individuals.
-the influence of public opinion is especially clear and interesting in its relations to law. in this country it is not made by law, but makes law. where law is imposed and long maintained by the authority of despotic power, it will of course mould public opinion; but, in any progressive highly organised nation, law and the lawyers are always one or two or more generations behind public opinion. the most progressive body of law formally embodies the public opinion of past generations rather than of the generation living at the time.
-but this explanation is only partially true. it represents the average man as more hypocritical than he really is, and as falling farther below the standards he acknowledges than he actually does fall. it leaves unexplained the fact that he has this sentiment for an ideal of justice and right; and it proceeds on a false assumption as to the nature of the problem, in assuming that men judge the actions of other men by higher standards than those which they apply to their own conduct; whereas this is by no means generally true.
-is it, then, that superior abilities, which enable a man to gain prestige and to impress his ideas and sentiments upon his fellow men and so to influence public opinion, are commonly combined with a natural superiority of moral sentiment, with a love of right and a hatred of injustice? there may be some degree of such natural correlation of superior abilities with superior moral qualities, but the supposition seems very doubtful; and certainly, if it exists, it is not sufficient to account for the elevation of public opinion. we frequently see consummate ability combined with most questionable moral sentiments, as in napoleon and many other historic personages.
-but with those persons in whom great abilities are naturally combined with moral disposition the case is very different. the moral disposition is essentially altruistic; it is concerned for the welfare of others, of men in general. hence such a man deliberately applies his abilities to influence the minds of others. the exertion of such influence is for him an end in itself. he seeks and finds his chief satisfaction in exerting an influence, as wide and deep as possible, over the minds of men; not merely in evoking fear or admiration of himself, but in inspiring in them the same elevated sentiments and sympathies which he finds within himself.
-for this reason such men as g. f. watts, carlyle and ruskin exert a much greater and more widespread and lasting influence over the minds of men than do equally able men who are devoid of moral disposition; for the former make the exertion of this influence their chief end, while the others care not at all about the state of public opinion and the minds of the mass. still less does the non-moral man of great ability strive with all his powers to make others act upon base motives like his own and to degrade their sentiments; rather, he sees that he can better accomplish his selfish ends if other men are unlike himself and are governed by altruistic sentiments; and he sees also that he can better attain his ends if he does lip-service to altruistic ideals; and he is, therefore, apt to exert whatever direct influence he has over the sentiments of men in the same direction as the moral leaders, praising the same actions, upholding in words the same ideals. in this way the men of great abilities, but of immoral or non-moral character, actually aid the moral leaders to some extent in their work; whereas under no conditions is the relation reversed; the moral leaders never praise or acquiesce in bad actions, but always denounce them and use their influence against them.
-it follows that, in a well organised nation, public opinion, which is formed and maintained so largely by the influence of leading personalities, will usually be more in conformity with the sentiments of the best men than of the average man, will be above rather than below private opinion. for, if the bad and the good men of exceptional powers were equal in numbers and capacity, the sum of their influences tending directly to exalt public opinion would be enormously greater than the sum of their influences tending to degrade it; and, as a matter of fact, the influence for good of a few altruistic leaders is able to outweigh the degrading influences of a much larger number of purely selfish men of equally great capacities, and is able to maintain a high standard of public opinion.
-we have distinguished a formal and an informal organisation of the national deliberative processes, the latter expressing itself as public opinion. these two organisations co-exist and are, of course, not altogether independent of one another; yet they may be to a considerable extent independent; though the more intimate the functional relations and the greater the harmony between them, the healthier will be the national life.
-we may note in passing an interesting difference in respect to organisation of the national mind between the english and the american peoples, a difference which illustrates this relative independence of the formal and informal organisations.
-in england both the formal and informal organisations have achieved a pretty good level; in both cases the best minds are enabled to exert and have long exerted a dominant influence; and the interaction between the two organisations is very intimate. but in america, while the informal organisation expressed in public opinion seems to be very highly developed, the formal organisation is much inferior; it has not yet such traditions as give the greatest influence to the best minds and embody the effects of their influence. and the better americans tend to value lightly the formal organisation, to take no part in the working of it, deliberately to ignore it, and to rely rather upon public opinion to repress any evils when they are in danger of reaching an intolerable development.
-both in the formal organisation of the national mind, which is the parliamentary or other national assembly, and in the informal organisation which is public opinion, we see, then, that (in the nation of higher civilisation at least) organisation results in a raising of the collective mental process above the level of the average minds, because it gives a predominant influence to the best minds who form and maintain the traditions, especially the moral traditions; and these press upon the minds of all members of the community from their earliest years, moulding them more or less into conformity with themselves, fostering the better, repressing the purely egoistic, tendencies.
-and the ideal organisation after which we ought to strive, is that which would give the greatest possible influence of this sort to the best minds, an influence which consists not in merely organising and directing the energies of the people in the manner most effective for material or even scientific progress, as in modern germany; but one which, by moulding the sentiments and guiding the reasoning of the people in all matters, public and private alike, secures their consent and agreement and the co-operation of their wills in all affairs of national importance.
-when such organisation is in any degree attained and a more or less consistent system of national traditions is embodied in the political, religious, literary, and scientific culture, which moulds in some degree the minds of all men, the national mind clearly becomes, as we said in an earlier chapter, a system of interacting mental forces which are not merely tendencies of the living members of the nation, but are also, in an even greater degree, the ideas and tendencies of the dead; and we see also that in such a people the national consciousness is most truly embodied, not in the minds of the average men, but in the minds of the best men of the time.
-public opinion, in the sense in which i have used the words in this chapter (which seems to me the only proper use of them) is, then, not a mere sum of individual opinions upon any particular question; it is rather the expression of that tone or attitude of mind which prevails throughout the nation and owes its quality far more to the influence of the dead than of the living, being the expression of the moral sentiments that are firmly and traditionally established in the mind of the people, and established more effectively and in more refined forms in the minds of the leaders of public opinion than in the average citizen. this tone of the national mind enables it to arrive at just judgments on questions of right and wrong, of duty and honour and public desert; though it may have little bearing upon such practical questions as bimetallism, tariff reform, or railway legislation. the current use of the term, in this country at least, does, i think, recognise that public opinion properly applies only to the sphere of moral judgments and can and should have no bearing upon the practical details of legislation. public opinion is, both in its development and in its operations, essentially collective; it is essentially the work of the group mind. its accepted standards of value are slowly built up under the influence of the moral leaders of past ages; and, in the application of those standards to any particular question, the influence of the moral leaders of the time makes itself felt. i have kept in mind in the foregoing pages the public opinion of the nation; but every community, every association, every enduring group has its own public opinion, which, though it is influenced by, and indeed is, as it were, a branch of, the main stem of national public opinion and is therefore of the same fibre and texture, has nevertheless its own peculiar tone and quality, especially in regard to the moral questions with which each group is specially concerned.
-the development of national mind and character
-in the third part i take up the consideration in a general way of the processes by which national mind and character are gradually built up and shaped in the long course of ages. for, just as we cannot understand individual minds, their peculiarities and differences, without studying their development, so we cannot hope to understand national mind and character and the peculiarities and differences of nations, without studying the slow processes through which they have been built up in the course of centuries.
-in an earlier chapter, in connexion with the question of the importance of homogeneity of mental qualities as a condition of the existence of the national mind, i argued that race has really considerable influence in moulding the type of national mind. i recognized that differences of innate qualities between races, at any rate between allied subraces, are not great, and that they can be, and generally are, almost completely over-ridden and obscured in each individual by the moulding power of the social environment in which he grows up; but i urged that these racial qualities are very persistent, and that they exert a slight but constant pressure or bias upon the development of all that constitutes social environment, upon the forms of institutions, customs, traditions, and beliefs of every kind, so that the effect of such slight but constant bias accumulates from generation to generation, and in the long run exerts an immense influence.
-one way of treating the part played by the racial mental qualities in the development of the national mind would be to attempt to define the racial or innate peculiarities of the peoples existing at the present time, and to assume that these peculiarities were produced in the remote past, before the formation of nations began, and that they have persisted unchanged throughout the period of the development of nations. something of this sort was proposed by walter bagehot in his physics and politics. he distinguished in the development of peoples two great periods—on the one hand the race-making period, which roughly corresponds to the whole prehistoric period, and on the other hand the nation-making period, which roughly corresponds to the historic period. this distinction has undoubtedly a certain validity.
-it seems probable that man was evolved from his prehuman ancestry as a single stock, probably a stock somewhat widely distributed in the heart of the eurasian continent, or possibly in africa according to the recent view of some authors, or in the area which is now the indian ocean. if this be true, it follows that the differentiation of the mental and physical qualities of the principal human races, the differentiation of the white and black and yellow and brown races, as well as of the chief subraces, such as the semitic, the races of europe—the homo europaeus, alpinus and mediterraneus—was the work of the immensely prolonged prehistoric period. for these races and subraces, as we now know them, seem to have been in existence and to have had recognisably and substantially the same leading qualities, both mental and physical, that they now have, before the beginning of the historic period.
-the racial differentiation during the prehistoric period must have been much greater than during the historic period; and this was not only because the former period was immensely longer, but also because, in all probability, the rate of racial change has been on the whole slower in the historic period.
-the differentiation of racial types in the prehistoric period must have been in the main the work of differences of physical environment, operating directly by way of selection, by way of the adaptation of each race to its environment through the extermination of the strains least suited to exist under those physical conditions. but this process, this direct moulding of racial types by physical environment, must have been well nigh arrested as soon as nations began to form. for the formation of nations implies the beginning of civilisation; and civilisation very largely consists in the capacity of a people to subdue their physical environment, or at least to adapt the physical environment to men’s needs to a degree that renders them far less the sport of it than was primitive man; it consists, in short, in replacing man’s natural environment by an artificial environment largely of his own choice and creation.
-in a second and perhaps even more important way, the formation of nations with the development of civilisation modified and weakened the moulding influence of the physical environment; namely, it introduced social co-operation in an ever increasing degree, so that the perpetual struggle of individuals and of small family groups with one another and with nature was replaced by a co-operative struggle of large communities against the physical environment and with one another. and in this process those members of each community who, by reason of weakness, general incapacity, or other peculiarity, would have been liable to be eliminated under primitive conditions became shielded in an ever increasing degree by the powers of the stronger and more capable against the selective power of nature and against individual human forces. and, although within the community the rivalry of individuals and families still went on, it was no longer so much a direct struggle for existence, but rather became more and more a struggle for position in the social scale; and failure in the struggle no longer necessarily meant death, or even incapacity to leave an average number of descendants. that is to say, primitive man’s struggle for existence against the forces of nature and against his fellow men, which made for racial evolution and differentiation through survival of those fittest to cope with various environments, tended to be replaced by a struggle which no longer made for racial evolution towards a higher type, and which may even have made for race-deterioration, at the same time that civilisation and national organisation continued to progress.
-we may, then, recognise a certain truth in bagehot’s distinction of two great periods, the race-making and the nation-making periods. nevertheless, it would not be satisfactory to follow the course suggested above and simply assume certain racial characters as given fixed data without further consideration. for, firstly, it is interesting and perhaps not altogether unprofitable to indulge in speculations on the race-making processes of the prehistoric period. secondly, although it seems likely that racial changes have been in the main slower and on the whole relatively slight in the historic period, yet they have not been altogether lacking; and, in proportion to their magnitude, such changes as have occurred have been of great importance for national life; and changes of this kind are still playing their part in shaping the destinies of nations. possible racial changes of mental qualities must therefore be considered, when we seek to give a general account of the conditions of the development of nations.
-on the other hand, we must reject root and branch the crude idea, which has a certain popular currency, that the development of civilisation and of nations implies a parallel evolution of individual minds. that idea we have already touched upon and rejected in a previous chapter, where we arrived at the conclusion that there is no reason to suppose the present civilised peoples to be on the whole innately superior to their barbaric ancestors.
-if we use the word ‘tradition’ in the widest possible sense to denote all the intellectual and moral gains of past generations, in so far as they are not innate but are handed on from one generation to another by the personal intercourse of the younger with the older generation, and if we allow the notion of tradition to include all the institutions and customs that are passed on from generation to generation, then we may class all the changes of a people that constitute the evolution of a national character under the two heads: evolution of innate qualities and evolution of traditions. using the word ‘tradition’ in the wide sense just now indicated, the traditions of a people may be said to include the recognised social organisation of the whole people into classes, castes, clans, phratries, or groups of any kind, whose relations to one another and whose place in the national system are determined by law, custom and conventions of various kinds. this part of the total tradition is relatively independent of the rest, and we may usefully distinguish the development of such social organisation as social evolution—giving to the term this restricted and definite meaning—and we may set it alongside the other two conceptions as of co-ordinate value.
-if we thus set apart for consideration under a distinct head the evolution of social organisation, the rest of the body of national traditions may be said to constitute the civilisation of a people. for the civilisation of a people at any time is essentially the sum of the moral and intellectual traditions that are living and operative among them at that particular time. we are apt in a loose way to consider the civilisation of a people to consist in its material evidences; but it is only in so far as these material evidences, the buildings, industries, arts, products, machinery, and so forth, are the expression and outcome of its mental state that they are in any degree a measure of its civilisation. we may realize this most clearly by considering the case of a people on which the material products of civilisation have been impressed from without. thus the peasants of india live amongst, and make use of, and benefit materially by, the railways and irrigation works created by their british rulers, and are protected from invasion and from internal anarchy by the british military organisation and equipment; and they play a subordinate though essential part in the creation and maintenance of all these material evidences of civilisation. but these material evidences are not the expression of the mental state of the peoples of india, and form no true part of their civilisation; and, in fact, they affect their civilisation astonishingly little; although if these products of a higher civilisation should be maintained for a long period of time they would, no doubt, produce changes of their civilisation, probably tending in some degree to assimilate their mental state to that of western europe.
-we may, then, with advantage distinguish between the social organisation and the civilisation of a people. in doing so we are of course making an effort of abstraction, which, though it results in an artificial separation of things intimately related, is nevertheless useful and therefore justifiable. in a similar way the progress of civilisation may be distinguished from social evolution. social evolution is profoundly affected by the progress of civilisation, and in turn reacts powerfully upon it; for any given social organisation may greatly favour or obstruct the further progress of civilisation. there could have been no considerable advance of civilisation without the evolution of some social organisation; but that the two things are distinct is clear, when we reflect that there may be a very complex social organisation, implying a long course of social evolution, among a people that has hardly the rudiments of civilisation. extreme instances of social organisation in the absence of civilisation are afforded by some animal societies—for example, societies of ants, bees, and wasps. among peoples, the native tribes of australia illustrate the fact most forcibly. they are at the very bottom of the scale of civilisation; yet it has been discovered that they have a complex and well-defined social organisation, which can only have been achieved by a long course of social evolution. these people are divided into totem clans, which clans are grouped in phratries, each individual being born, according to well recognised rules, into a clan of which he remains a life-long member; and his membership in the clan and phratry involves certain well-defined rights and obligations, and well-defined relations to other persons, especially as regards marriage; and these rights, obligations and relations are recognised and rigidly maintained throughout immense areas.
-on the other hand, although no people has attained any considerable degree of civilisation without considerable social organisation, nevertheless we can at least imagine a people continuing to enjoy a high civilisation, practising and enjoying much of the arts, sciences, philosophy, and literature, which we regard as the essentials of civilisation, yet retaining a bare minimum of social organisation. and this state of affairs is not only conceivable, but is held up as a practicable ideal by philosophical anarchists such as tolstoi and kropotkin; and it is, i think, true to say that the american nation presents an approximation to this condition.
-we have so far distinguished three principal factors or groups of factors in the evolution of national mind and character: (1) evolution of innate or racial qualities: (2) development of civilisation: (3) social evolution, or the development of social organisation.
-now the first two of these we may with advantage divide under two parallel heads, the heads of intellectual and moral development. no doubt, the intellectual and the moral endowment of a people continually react on each other; and many of the manifestations of the national mind are jointly determined by the intelligence and the morality of a people; especially perhaps is this true of their religion and their art. nevertheless, it is clear that we can distinguish pretty sharply between the intellectual and the moral traditions of a people; and that these may vary independently of one another to a great extent. a rich and full intellectual tradition may go with a moral tradition of very low level, as in the italian civilisation of the renascence; and a very high moral tradition with a relative poverty of the intellectual, as in the early days of the puritan settlements of new england.
-the same distinction between the intellectual and the moral level is harder to draw in the case of the racial qualities of a people, but it undoubtedly exists and is valid in principle, no matter how difficult in practice to deal with.
-we have, then, to distinguish five classes of factors, five heads under which all the factors which determine the evolution of national character may be distributed. they are
-every nation that has advanced from a low level to a higher level of national life has done so in virtue of development or progress in one or more of these respects. and a principal part of our task, in considering the evolution of national mind and character, is to assign to each of these its due importance and its proper place in the whole complex development.
-the distinction between the racial and the traditional level of a people is too often ignored; chiefly, perhaps, for the reason that it has usually been assumed that whatever is traditional becomes innate and racial through use. since in recent years it has been shown that this assumption is very questionable, a number of authors have recognised the importance of the distinction as regards the intellectual qualities of a people; but, as regards the moral qualities, the distinction is still very generally overlooked.
-i propose to make first a very brief critical survey of some of the most notable attempts that have been made to account for racial qualities, and i shall try to supplement and harmonise these as far as possible. we may with advantage consider at the outset the race-making period, and afterwards go on to consider changes of racial qualities in the historic period. this part of the book is necessarily somewhat speculative, but its interest and importance for our main topic may justify its inclusion.
-the race-making period
-let us now see what can be said about the process of racial differentiation which, as we saw in the foregoing chapter, was in its main features accomplished in the prehistoric or race-making period. we cannot hope to reach many positive conclusions, but rather merely to discuss certain possibilities and probabilities in regard to the main factors of the differentiation of racial mental types.
-i would point out at once that the answer to be given to the question—are acquired qualities transmitted? are the effects of use inherited? is all important for our topic. i do not propose to discuss that difficult question now. i will merely say that the present state of biological science makes it seem doubtful whether such inheritance takes place, and that, although the question remains open, we are not justified in assuming an affirmative answer; that, therefore, we must not be satisfied with any explanation of racial and national characteristics based upon this assumption; and in the following discussion i shall provisionally assume the truth of the neo-darwinian principle that acquired modifications are not transmitted.
-assuming, as we must, that all peoples are descended from some one original stock, the problem is—can anything be said of the conditions which have determined the differentiation of races of different mental constitutions, of the development of racial qualities which, having become relatively fixed, have led to the evolution of different types of national organisation and culture? and especially we have to consider the conditions which have produced, and may still produce in the future, the qualities that make for the progress of nations.
-we must suppose a certain social organisation to have obtained among that primitive human stock from which all races have been evolved, probably an organisation in small groups based on the family under the rule and leadership of a patriarch.
-it is possible that considerable divergences of social organisation may have taken place, without any advance towards civilisation; such divergences of social organisation must have tended to divert the course of mental evolution along various lines; but they must themselves have had their causes; they cannot in themselves be the ultimate causes of divergence of racial mental types.
-such ultimate causes of the differentiation of mental qualities must have been of two orders only, so far as i can see: (1) differences of physical environment; (2) spontaneous variations in different directions of the innate mental qualities of individuals, especially of the more gifted and energetic individuals of each people.
-in the mental evolution of animals these two factors are not distinguishable. we may say that the main and perhaps the sole condition of their evolution is the selection by the physical environment of spontaneous favourable variations and mutations of innate mental qualities; if we include under the term physical environment of the species all the other animal and vegetable species of its habitat. for it is only by its selective influence upon individual variations that physical environment can determine differentiation of races.
-but with man the case is different; spontaneous variation not only provides the new qualities which, by determining the survival of the individual in his struggle for existence with the physical environment, secure their own perpetuation by transmission to the after coming generations. the new qualities determine mental evolution in another manner, by a mode of operation which is almost completely absent in animal evolution; namely, the spontaneous variations create a social environment which profoundly modifies the influence of the physical environment, and itself becomes a principal factor in the determination of the trend of racial evolution.
-man is distinguished from the animals above all things by his power of learning. whereas the behaviour of animals, even of the higher ones, consists almost entirely of purely instinctive actions, innate modes of response to a limited number of situations; man has an indefinitely great capacity for acquiring new modes of response, and so of adapting himself in new and more complex ways to an almost indefinite variety of situations. and his new mental acquisitions are not made only by the slow process of adaptation in the light of his own individual experience of the consequences of behaviour of this and that kind; as are most of the few acquisitions of the animals. by far the greater part of the mental stock-in-trade by which his behaviour is guided is acquired from his fellow men; it represents the accumulated experience of all the foregoing generations of his race and nation. man’s life in society, together with the great plasticity of his mind, its great capacity for new adaptations, secures him this enormous advantage; the two things are necessarily correlated. without the plasticity of mind, his life in society would benefit him relatively little. many animals that lead a social life in large herds or flocks are not superior, but rather inferior, in mental power to animals that lead a more solitary life; and indeed this seems to be generally true, as we see on comparing generally the herbivorous gregarious animals with the solitary carnivores that prey upon them. the social life of such animals, rendering individual intelligence less necessary for protection and escape from danger, tends actually against mental development.
-on the other hand, man’s great plastic brain would be of comparatively little use to him if he lived a solitary unsocial life. his great brain is there to enable him to assimilate and make use of the accumulated experience, the sum of knowledge and morality, which is traditional in the society into which he is born a member; that is to say, the development of social life, which depended so much upon language and for the forwarding of which language came into existence, must have gone hand in hand with the development of the great brain, which enables full advantage to be secured from social co-operation and which, especially, renders possible the accumulation of knowledge, belief, and traditional sentiment.
-now this traditional stock of knowledge and morality has been very slowly accumulated, bit by bit; and every bit, every least new addition to it, has been a difficult acquisition, due in the first instance to some spontaneous variation of some individual’s mental structure from the ancestral type of mental structure. that is to say, throughout the evolution of civilisation, progress of every kind, increase of knowledge or improvement of morality, has been due to the birth of more or less exceptional individuals, individuals varying ever so slightly from the ancestral type and capable, owing to this variation, of making some new and original adaptation of action, or of perceiving some previously undiscovered relation between things.
-these new acquisitions, first made by individuals, are, if true or useful, sooner or later imitated or accepted by the society of which the original-minded individual is a member, and then, becoming incorporated in the traditional stock of knowledge and morality, are thereby placed at the service of all members of that society.
-thus favourable spontaneous variations do not, as with the animals, render possible mental evolution merely by conducing to the survival of, and the perpetuation of the qualities of, those individuals in whom the variations occur. they may do this, or they may not; but, in addition and more importantly, they contribute to the stock of traditional knowledge and morality, and so raise the social group as a whole in the scale of civilisation; they render it more capable of successfully contending against other groups and against the adverse influence of the physical environment; and they promote the solidarity of the group by adding to its stock of common tradition; thus the acquisitions of each member benefit the group as a whole and all its members, quite apart from any philanthropic purpose or intention of producing such a result.
-the achievement of this unconscious undesigned solidarity of human societies is one of two great steps in the evolution of the human race by which the process is rendered very different from, and is raised to a higher plane than, the mental evolution of the animal world. the second and still more important step is one which is only just beginning to be achieved in the present age; i shall have to touch on it in a later chapter.
-the original or primary divergence of mental type between any two peoples must, then, have been due to these fundamental causes—namely, differences of physical environment and spontaneous variations of mental structure, the latter adding to the traditional stock of knowledge and belief, of moral precepts and sentiments.
-intellectual or moral divergence produced by these two primary causes would tend to determine the course of social evolution along different lines and so to produce different types of social organisation. and different social organisations thus produced would then react upon the moral and intellectual life of the people to produce further divergence; for example, one type of social organisation determined by physical environment, say a well developed patriarchal system, may have made for progress of intellect and morals; another, say a matriarchal organisation, or one based on communal marriage, may have tended to produce stagnation.
-as social evolution proceeded and brought about more extensive and more complex forms of social organisation, which included, within any one society or group, larger numbers of individuals in more effective forms of association, social organisation must have assumed a constantly increasing importance as a condition of mental evolution relatively to all other factors, especially as compared with the influence of physical environment; until, in the complex societies of the present time, it has an altogether predominant importance. this truth is concisely stated in the old dictum that “in the infancy of nations men shape the state; in their maturity the state shapes the men.” accordingly, in considering the mental evolution of peoples we must never lose sight of the influence of social organisation. it follows that the conditions of the mental evolution of man are immensely more complex than those of the mental evolution of animals.
-we must recognise not only the selection, through survival in the struggle for existence, of new mental qualities arising as spontaneous variations of individual mental structure. this, which is the only, or almost the only, process at work in the mental evolution of animals, is immensely complicated and overshadowed in importance by two processes. the first is the accumulation of knowledge and morality in traditional forms. the traditional accumulation, which so far outweighs the mental equipment possible to any individual isolated from an old society, not only constitutes in itself a most important evolutionary product, but it modifies profoundly the conditions of evolution of the individual innate qualities of mind; for example, the greater and more valuable the stock of traditional knowledge and morality becomes, the more does fitness to survive consist in the capacity to assimilate this knowledge and to conform to these higher moral precepts, the less does it consist in the purely individualistic qualities, such as quickness of eye and ear, fleetness of foot, or strength and skill of hand. secondly, the processes of natural selection are complicated by the social evolution, which tends progressively to abolish the struggle for existence between individuals, and to replace it by a struggle between groups; in which struggle success is determined not only by the qualities of individuals, but also very largely by the social organisation and by the traditional knowledge and morality of the groups.
-each variety of the human species, each race considered as a succession of individuals having certain innate mental qualities, has been evolved, then, not merely under the influence of the physical environment, like the animal species, but also and to an ever increasing extent under the influence of the social environment. the social environment we regard as consisting of two parts; namely, the social organisation and the body of social tradition; for these, though interdependent and constantly interacting, may yet with advantage be kept apart in thought. we must, then, bear constantly in mind the fact that man creates for himself an environment which becomes ever more complex and influential, overshadowing more and more in importance the physical environment.
-here i would revert to some points of the analogy, drawn in chapter x, between the mind of a nation and that of an individual. the mind of an individual human being develops by accumulating the results of his experience; and so does that of a people. in this respect the analogy holds good. but the development possible to an individual is strictly limited in two ways. first, by the short duration of the material basis of his mental life; secondly by the extent of his innate capacities. neither of these limitations applies to the national mind. its material basis is in principle immortal, because its individual components may be incessantly renewed; and its development has no limit set to it by its innate capacities, because these may be indefinitely extended and improved. in these respects the national mind resembles the species rather than the individual.
-the development of the national mind, and of the minds of those who share in the mental life of the nation, thus combines the methods and advantages of the development of individuals and of species, methods which are essentially different. the result is that the mental development of man, since his social life began, has been radically different from that of the animals; it has been a social process; it has been the evolution of peoples rather than of individuals. the evolution of man as an individual has been wholly subordinated to that of peoples; and it is incapable of being understood or profitably considered apart from the development of the group mind.
-assuming, as we must, that all the races of men are derived from a common stock, it is obvious, i think, that the first differentiation of racial types was determined almost exclusively by differences of physical environment, and that the other conditions only very slowly developed and did not assume their predominant importance until the time which may be roughly defined as the beginning of the historic or nation-making period.
-physical environment affects the mental qualities of a people in three ways: firstly, it directly influences the minds of each generation; secondly, it moulds the mental constitution by natural selection, adapting the race to itself; thirdly, it exerts indirect influence by determining the occupations and modes of life and, through these, the social organisation of a people. we may consider these three modes of influence in turn.
-there has been much speculation on the direct influence of the physical environment in moulding the mental type of a people, but little or nothing can be said to be established.
-there is a fair concensus of opinion to the effect that what we may call climate exerts an important influence. in climate the two factors recognised as of chief importance are temperature and moisture. high temperature combined with moisture certainly tends to depress the vital activity of europeans and to render them indolent, indisposed to exertion of any kind. on the other hand, high temperature combined with dryness of the atmosphere seems to have the effect of rendering men but little disposed to continuous activity, and yet capable of great efforts; it tends to produce a violent spasmodic activity. a cold climate seems to dispose towards sustained activity and, when combined with much moisture, to a certain slowness.
-these effects, which we ourselves experience and which we see produced upon other individuals on passing from one climate to another, we seem to see impressed upon many of the races which have long been subjected to these climates; for example, the slow and lazy malays have long occupied the hottest moistest region of the earth. the arabs and the fiery sikhs may be held to illustrate the effect of dry heat. the englishman and the dutchman seem to show the effects of a moist cool climate, a certain sluggishness embodied with great energy and perseverance.
-in these and other cases, in which the innate temperament of a people corresponds to the effects directly induced by their climate, it seems natural to suppose that the innate temperament has been produced by the transmission and accumulation from generation to generation of the direct effects of the climate. the assumption is so natural that it has been made by almost every writer who has dealt with the question. and these instances of conformity of the temperament of peoples to the direct effects of climate are sometimes offered as being among the most striking evidences of the reality of hereditary transmission of acquired qualities; and the argument is reinforced by instances of what seem to be similar results produced by climate on physical types. thus, it is said that in north america a race characterised by a new specific combination of mental and physical qualities is being rapidly formed; and it seems to be well established that long slender hands are among these features; for in paris a specially long slender glove is made every year in large quantities for the american market. again, we see apparently a change of physical type in the white inhabitants of australia. they seem to be becoming taller and more slender ‘cornstalks’; and this is commonly regarded as the direct effect of climate.
-now, that a new race or subrace with a specific combination of qualities should be forming in america is certainly to be expected from the fact that the intimate blending of a number of european stocks has been going on for some generations. but what gives special support to the assumption that these new qualities are the direct effects of climate is that these qualities, the physical at least, seem to be approximations to the type of the red indians, the aboriginal inhabitants. and, it is said, this approximation of type can only be due to hereditary accumulation of the direct effects of the climate on individuals.
-it is certainly true that climate tends to produce these effects by its direct action on individuals. anyone who has lived for a time in the southern climes must have noted these effects upon himself. but we have no proof that the effects of climate are directly inherited. it suffices to suppose that the direct effects are imposed afresh by the climate on the minds of each generation. this view is borne out by the fact that two races may live for many generations in the same climate and yet remain very different in temperament in these respects; for example the irish climate is very similar to the english, perhaps even more misty and damp; yet the irish have much more wit and liveliness than the english. and in every case in which adaptation to physical environment has clearly become innate or racial, an explanation can be suggested in terms of selection of spontaneous variations, or of crossing of races. thus, the approximation of the american people to the type of the aboriginals, if it is actual, and some observers deny it, may well be due to the small infusion of the native blood which has admittedly taken place. it may well be that certain qualities of the red indian, for example, the straight dark hair and prominent cheek bones, are what the biologists call ‘dominant characters’ when the indian is crossed with the european; that is, qualities which always assert themselves in the offspring, to the exclusion of the corresponding quality of the other race involved in the cross. if that is so, a very small proportion of indian blood would suffice to make these features very common throughout the population of america. as an exception to the supposed law of direct hereditary adaptation to climate take the colour of the skin. the black negroes live in the hot moist regions of africa, and it has been said that pigmentation is the hereditary effect of a hot moist climate. but there are men of a different race who have long lived in an equally hot and moist climate, but who do not show this effect—namely, tribes in the heart of borneo, right under the equator, whose skins are hardly darker than the average english skins and less dark than the southern europeans’. take again the indolence of the peoples of warm hot climates and the energy of peoples of colder climates. these certainly seem to be racial qualities; but their distribution is adequately explained by the indirect effect of physical environment exerted by way of natural selection; and these differences of energy afford the best illustration of such indirect action of physical environment in determining racial mental qualities.
-before considering the question further, let us note yet another way in which the physical environment affects men’s minds and has been supposed directly to induce certain racial qualities. buckle pointed out with great force the influence on the mind of what he called the external aspects of nature. he showed that where, as in india and the greater part of asia, the physical features of a country are planned upon a very large scale; where the mountains are huge, where rivers are of immense length and volume, where plains are of boundless extent, and the sun very hot, there the forces of nature are exerted with an intensity that renders futile the best efforts of man, at any rate of man in a state of low civilisation, to cope with them. in such countries men are exposed to calamities on an enormous scale, great floods, violent storms and deluges of rain, earthquakes, excessive droughts resulting in famine and plague; and they are exposed to the attacks of many dangerous animal species, which are bred by the great heat in the dense and unconquerable forests. these disasters have repeatedly occurred on a scale such that in comparison with them the recent earthquake in california appears a mere trifle. millions have been destroyed in a few hours in some of the floods of the yellow river of china.
-the magnitude of these objects and the appalling and irresistible character of such devastating forces produce, said buckle, two principal and closely allied effects upon the mind; they stimulate the imagination to run riot in extravagant and grotesque fancies; at the same time, they discourage any attempt to cope with these great forces and to understand their laws, and thus keep men perpetually in fearful uncertainty as to their fate; for they cannot hope to control it by their own unaided efforts.
-we have here a very important principle which we must constantly bear in mind—namely, that not only the physical environment, but also the social environment, may determine the survival of those temperaments and qualities of mind best fitted to thrive in it, and, by handicapping those least fitted to it, may gradually bring the mental qualities of the race into conformity with itself. we shall later see other examples by which this principle is more clearly illustrated.
-we conclude that, while physical environment may act powerfully upon the minds of individuals, moulding their acquired qualities in the three ways noticed—namely, influencing the mind through bodily habit, through the senses, and through the imagination—there is no sufficient evidence that the acquired qualities so induced ever become innate or racial characters by direct transmission. in those instances in which the racial qualities approximate to these direct effects of physical environment, it may well be because the physical environment has brought about adaptation of the race by long continued selection of individuals, or because it has determined peculiarities of social environment, which in turn have brought about adaptation of the racial qualities by long continued selection.
-the race-making period (continued)
-we considered in our last chapter the principal modes in which physical environment affects the character of a people—namely, (1) influence on temperament exerted chiefly through climate acting upon the bodily functions: (2) influence through the senses, exerting secondary effects upon the higher mental processes: (3) direct influence on the imagination. we concluded that these effects become innate in some degree; though whether they are impressed on the race by direct inheritance, or by processes of direct or of social selection, or in all three ways, remains an open question.
-we distinguished, besides these direct modes of influence, two indirect modes by which physical environment affects the mind and character of a people: (1) by its selective action on individuals apart from its influence upon their minds: (2) by determining occupations and social organisation. we may consider them in turn.
-it is recognised, as i pointed out above, that the races inhabiting hot moist countries are commonly indolent, while those of the moderately cold and moist climates tend to be extremely active and energetic.
-such peoples have failed to acquire the energy which leads men to delight in activity for its own sake, not merely because a hot moist climate inclines directly to indolence, but rather because the prime necessities of life are to be had almost without labour; the heat dispenses with the necessity for clothing and shelter, while the hot sun and the moisture provide an abundance of vegetable food in response to a minimum of labour. hence, no man perishes through lack of energy to secure the prime necessities of life; and there has been no great weeding out of the indolent by severe conditions of life, such as alone can produce an innately energetic race, one that loves activity for its own sake. for the same reason these same peoples also exercise but little foresight, they are naturally improvident; the abundance of nature renders it possible to survive and propagate without any prudent provision for the future.
-boutmy is inclined to attribute to this love of activity, as a secondary effect, the dislike of the mass of englishmen for generalisations and for theoretical construction; for, he says, these are the results naturally achieved by the reflective mind, whereas the english mind gets no time for reflection, its attention is perpetually drawn off from general principles by its tendency to pursue some immediate practical end. hence, he says, abstraction is subordinated to practical ends and does not soar for its own sake. this truth is well illustrated by the fact that all our english philosophers, bacon, hobbes, locke, mill, bentham, spencer, etc., have been practical moralists, and have conducted their investigations always with an eye to concrete applications to the conduct of the state or of private life.
-boutmy regards this love of activity, together with foresight and self-control, as racial qualities engendered by the severity of the climate, working chiefly by way of natural selection. in the prehistoric period more especially, when man had little knowledge of means of protection from climate and hardship such as have been developed by civilised societies, those individuals who were deficient in these qualities must have succumbed to the rigours of the climate, leaving their more energetic fellows to propagate the race.
-that there is truth in the view is shown by the fact that the degree to which the love of activity is developed seems to vary roughly with the severity of the climate even among the closely allied races of europe. as we pass northward from the coast of the mediterranean, we find the quality more and more strongly marked; and it is in accordance with this principle that the dominant power, the leadership in civilisation, has passed gradually northwards in the historic period. civilisation first developed in the sub-tropical regions, in which the abundance of nature first gave men leisure to devote themselves to things of the mind, to contemplation and inquiry; while the northern races were still battling as savages against the inclemency of the climate, were still being ruthlessly weeded out by the rigorousness of the physical environment, and so were being adapted to it, that is to say, were being rendered capable of sustained and vigorous effort. but, as the means of subduing nature and of protecting himself against nature have been developed by man, the dominance has passed successively northwards to peoples whose innate energy and love of activity were more highly developed in proportion to the severity of the selection exerted upon many preceding generations.
-the severe climate has not been the only cause of this evolution of an energetic active type. no doubt military selection played its part also. the northern races of europe, more particularly the nordic, the fair-haired long-headed race, underwent a prolonged and severe process of such military group selection, before branches of it settled in our island; and, among the qualities which must have tended to success and survival in this process, energy and capacity for prolonged and frequent effort, especially bodily effort, must have been one of the chief. still, even such group selection was probably a secondary result of the direct climatic selection; for it must have been the love of activity and enterprise that led these peoples perpetually to wander, and so to come into conflicts with one another, conflicts in which the more energetic would in the main survive and the less energetic succumb. in part also it must have been determined in the third and the most indirect manner in which physical environment shapes racial qualities—namely, by determining occupations and modes of life, and through these the forms of social organisation, both of which then react upon the racial qualities.
-the same quality of the french shows itself in the tendency to prefer the monarchical rule of any man who shows himself capable of ruling, a tendency which constantly besets the republican state with a well-recognised danger. these are not local and temporary manifestations, but have characterised the french nation throughout the whole period of its existence. in the feudal period which preceded its formation, there was considerable local independence; but the feudal system was due to the dominant influence of frankish chiefs, of the same race as our saxon forefathers, who overran most of france as a ruling caste, but did not contribute any large element to the population, and whose blood therefore has been largely swamped. it appears in the greater violence among the french people of collective mental processes, those of mobs, assemblies, factions, and groups of all kinds. each individual is easily carried away by the mass; there are none to withstand the wave of contagion and, by so doing, to break and check its force.
-in england on the other hand political activity has always been characterised by extreme jealousy of the central power, and by the tendency to achieve everything possible by local action and voluntary private effort. all reforms are initiated from the periphery, instead of from the centre as in france. great institutions, the universities, schools, colleges, hospitals, railways, canals, docks, insurance companies, even water supplies and telephones and many other things which, it would seem, should naturally and properly be undertaken by the state, or other official public body, have been generally set on foot and worked by individuals or private associations of individuals. even vast colonial empires—india, rhodesia, canada, sarawak, nigeria, north borneo—have been in the main acquired through the enterprise and efforts of individuals or associations of individuals; the state only intervening when the main work has been accomplished.
-in their religion, too, the english are markedly individualistic; our numerous dissenting bodies have mostly dispensed with the centralised official hierarchy which in roman catholic countries mediates between god and man, and have insisted upon a direct communion with god; and we have many little churches each of which governs itself in absolute independence of every other. in the family relations the same difference appears very strongly. the french family regards itself, and is regarded by law, as a community which holds its goods in common; each child has his legal claim upon his share, relies upon his family for support in his struggle with the world, and is encouraged by his parents to do so. in the english family, on the other hand, the father is a supreme despot, who disposes of his property as he wills. the children are not encouraged to look for further support, when once they become adult, but are taught that they must go out into the world to seek their fortunes unaided. at an early age, the english boy is usually thrust out of the family into the life of a school in which, by his own efforts, he must find and keep his position among his fellows; and he lives a life which, compared with that of the french boy, is one of freedom and independence. in the distribution of the people on the land we see the same difference of mental qualities revealed. the french peasants are for the most part congregated sociably in villages and small towns; the english farmer builds his homestead apart upon his own domain. and this determines one of the most striking differences in the aspect of the rural districts of both countries. in the towns also the same tendencies are clearly shown; in the separate little homes of the english and in the large houses of the french shared by several families.
-it is in the expansion in the world of the two peoples that the effects of this difference are most clearly expressed and assume the greatest importance. the english race has populated a vast proportion of the surface of the world, and rules over one-fifth of the total population. whereas the french people, who have conquered large areas, have never succeeded in permanently colonising any considerable portion of their conquests and they have failed to maintain their domination in many regions where they have for a time established it. in every extra-european region where they have come into conflict with the english race they have been worsted.
-the secret of the difference in the expansion of the two peoples is the difference of innate mental quality that we are considering, enhanced by the differences of custom and of political and family organisation engendered by it. for, like all other innate tendencies, the two to which we are referring obtain accentuated expression through moulding customs, institutions and social organisation in ways which foster in successive generations just those tendencies of which these institutions are themselves the traditional outcome and expression. thus, it is the individualistic nature of the political, religious, and family organisation of the english people which, having been engendered by innate independence of character and having in turn accentuated it in each generation, has enabled the people to achieve its marvels of colonisation and tropical administration. we see these tendencies playing a predominant part in the history of every british colony.
-the most superficial attempt at explanation is to say that the political and social institutions of the french people foster in each individual the social tendencies in question, while the english institutions develop their opposites. it is true, but it obviously is not the explanation of the difference; for that we must go further back, in order to find the origin of these differences of institution.
-an explanation a little less superficial is that the domination of the first napoleon and the strong centralised system of administration established by him accounts for the difference. but the permanence, if not the very possibility, of that system, and the rise to power of napoleon himself, were but symptoms of this deep-lying tendency of the french mind.
-buckle, recognising the profound difference which we are considering, summed it up in the phrases ‘the dominance of the protective spirit in france’ and of ‘the spirit of independence in england,’ he attributed the former partly to the influence of the roman catholic church in france with its centralised authoritative system, partly to the long prevalence of the feudal system of social organisation, under which every man was made to feel his personal dependence upon the despotic power of an independent noble and was accustomed to look to him for all initiative and guidance—was trained to obey a despot, whose absolute jurisdiction and whose title to his lands and rights was unchallenged. the system, he said, culminated in the despotism of louis xiv, by the subjection of the previously independent nobles to the king, and was revived in a different form, immediately after the great revolution, by napoleon.
-the dominance of the spirit of independence among the english people he would explain also from the character of their political institutions during recent centuries. after recounting the political history of england from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, and after showing how the people during that period repeatedly succeeded in asserting its liberties against the encroachments of the kings, he wrote—“in england the course of affairs, which i have endeavoured to trace since the sixteenth century, had diffused among the people a knowledge of their own resources and a skill and independence in the use of them, imperfect indeed, but still far superior to that possessed by any other of the great european countries,” but he was not wholly satisfied with this explanation; he added—“besides this, other circumstances, which will be hereafter related, had, as early as the eleventh century, begun to affect our national character and had assisted in imparting to it that sturdy boldness, and at the same time, those habits of foresight, and of cautious reserve, to which the english mind owes its leading peculiarities.”
-“the practice of subinfeudation, became in france almost universal.” the great lords subgranted parts of their lands to lesser lords, and these again to others, and so on—“thus forming a long chain of dependence, and, as it were, organising submission into a system.” in this country, on the other hand, the practice was actively checked. “the result was that by the fourteenth century the liberties of englishmen were secured,” and the spirit of independence had become a part of the national character; that is to say, buckle maintained that three centuries of a different form of the feudal system sufficed to produce this profound difference between the french and english peoples.
-boutmy also fully recognises the important difference between the innate qualities of the french and english; and he also would explain it as the effect of political institutions since the middle ages, but on lines somewhat different from buckle’s—namely, that england was early ruled by a king invested with great power, and inclined to all the excesses of arbitrary rule. hence the first need of the people was to fortify themselves against his power. all the law of england carries the imprint of this fear and this defiance. the parliament has been set up against the crown, the judges against parliament, and the jury against the power of the judges; and so, ever since the conquest, individuals have been accustomed to think, and to assert, that their persons, their purse, and their homes are inviolable; and that the state is an enemy whose encroachments must be resisted. this way of thinking has by long usage become instinctive, increasing from generation to generation; until the horror of servitude has become rooted in the englishman’s temperament, and the desire of independence has become a native and primary passion.
-both buckle and boutmy agree, then, that the english love of liberty is due to england having been conquered and ruled by a powerful king, and that in france the opposite effect is to be attributed to the same cause—namely, the influence of despotic rulers. surely this is to reverse cause and effect. if the english people had not already possessed the sturdy spirit of independence when they were conquered by the norman, his strong centralised rule would only have rendered them still less independent and would have fostered the spirit of protection, as buckle calls it. if the national characters had been reversed in this respect, how easy it would have been to show that the dependence of the english character was due to the strong rule of a foreign despot, william of normandy, while the french independence was due to the existence in feudal times of many centres of independent power, the nobles, each capable of resisting the central authority! it was just because this spirit was theirs already that the english people resisted their kings and were able to secure their liberties by setting up institutions congenial to their nature, institutions and customs which have fostered in each individual and each generation the spirit of independence inherited as a racial quality, and which possibly, though by no means certainly, have further intensified the racial peculiarity.
-another cause for the difference of institutions is assigned by sir henry maine. he pointed to the great influence of roman law upon french institutions; he showed how the french lawyers, brought up in the school of roman law and holding the roman empire as the ideal of a political organisation, threw all their weight upon the side of the monarchy, and in favour of centralised administration. more, perhaps, is due to this influence than to the causes assigned by buckle and boutmy; but no one of these alleged causes, nor all of them combined, can be accepted as adequate to explain the origin of the difference of national characters. these authors fail also to make clear how the political institutions can have modified character. boutmy frankly assumes use-inheritance, which, as i have said, is, in the present state of science, an unwarrantable assumption.
-that these qualities of the french and english peoples are innate racial qualities, evolved during the race-making or prehistoric period, is proved not only by the inadequacy of any assignable causes operating during the historic period, but also by the fact that similar qualities are described by the earliest historians as characterising the ancestors, or the principal ancestral stocks, of the two peoples, when they first appear in history. it is proved also by the fact that other branches of the nordic race have displayed similar qualities, more especially the dutch, and also the normans, who, though they have long formed part of the french state in the political sense, and have suffered most of the political influences assigned as causes of the spirit of protection, not only displayed the spirit of independence in the highest degree ten centuries ago, but are admitted to be still distinguished from the bulk of the french people by the greater individualism of their character, just as they are still markedly different in physical traits. they offer one of the best examples of fixity of the physical characters of a race. no one can travel in normandy without being struck by the very marked and distinctive physical type, which, according to all accounts, is that of the norman who came over to england with the conqueror; and there is every reason to believe that the mental qualities of the race have been equally fixed and enduring.
-julius caesar, tacitus, and other early historians have described for us the leading qualities of the gauls on the one hand and of the teutons on the other. fouillée in his psychology of the french people has brought together the evidence of these early historians on the point; it shows that the gauls and the teutons were distinguished very strongly by the same differences which obtain between the french and english peoples at the present time, especially the difference in respect of independence and initiative, the origin of which we are seeking to explain. the gauls were eminently sociable people, sympathetic, emotional, demonstrative, vivacious, very given to oratory and discussion, vain and moved by the desire of glory, capable of great gallantry, but not of persevering effort in face of difficulties, easily elated, easily cast down. and, what from our point of view is especially important, they were readily led by the chiefs, to whom they were attached by the bonds of personal loyalty; and they were constantly banding themselves together in large groups, under such leaders as attained popularity by their superior qualities; and, again, they were dominated by the priestly caste, the druids. the gauls even had those family institutions which characterise the modern french and which have been held to be the expression of their recently acquired qualities and traditions; namely, the family had the character of a community in which the wife had equal rights with the husband, and the children were regarded also as members of the community having their equal claims upon the family property. and society was bound together by a system of patrons and clients, a system of personal dependence.
-on the other hand, the teutonic people, as described by the same ancient authorities, displayed a decided individualism in virtue of which their social organisation was more rudimentary. the father was supreme in the family, and his power and property descended to his eldest son. they were a more phlegmatic people, but of great energy and persistence. unlike the gauls, they were dominated by no priestly caste. the religious rites were conducted by the elder men.
-the gauls were a mixed people of whom the minority, constituting the nobility, were of the tall, fair, long-headed nordic race, while the majority, the mass of the common people, were of the short, dark, round-headed race. and these, as the numerous observations of the anthropologists show, constitute to-day the bulk of the population, except in normandy and the extreme north-east of france.
-the teutons or germans of caesar and tacitus, on the other hand, were of the fair nordic race; and the anglo-saxons who overran britain, together with the danes and normans, who, with the saxons, formed the principal ancestral stock of the english, were of this same nordic race, or northmen, as we may call them.
-it is a curious fact that the work of the le play school is almost entirely ignored by the other french sociologists and anthropologists. it is seldom referred to by them, and outside france also it has not received the attention it deserves. much of it is of the nature of brilliant speculation, and is regarded no doubt as unsound by many more sober minds. yet, when we attempt to understand the evolution of man in the prehistoric period, brilliant speculation becomes a necessary supplement to the work of measuring skulls and digging up ruins, to which some less ingenious workers confine themselves. and, of all the conclusions of the le play school, their account of the origin of the distinctive characters of the northmen is one of the most striking and satisfactory; while their account of the origins of the gauls and of their peculiar social organisation and well marked mental traits is also among their best work.
-the race-making period (continued)
-the influence of occupations and of race-crossing
-in the foregoing chapter we noticed certain well-marked and generally recognised differences of national character presented by the french and the english peoples—namely, the greater independence of the english, the greater sociability of the french people; and we noted how these differences of national character show themselves throughout the institutions of the two nations, and how they have played a great part in determining the difference of their histories; especially, we saw, how they are of prime importance, when we seek to account for the greater expansion of the english people throughout the world.
-we then noticed several attempts that have been made, by buckle, boutmy, maine and others, to account for these differences as results of differences of political institutions during the last thousand years. we found that all these attempts fail, and that the differences of political institutions, which these authors have regarded as the causes of the differences of national character, are really the expressions of a fundamental racial difference; that, in short, these authors have inverted the true causal relation. i then drew attention to the work of the school of le play and especially to its fundamental principle—namely, that, while peoples are in a state of primitive or lowly culture, their geographical or physical environment determines their occupations and, through their occupations, their social organisations, especially their domestic organisation; and that particular modes of occupation and of social organisation of a primitive people, persisting through many generations, mould the innate qualities and form the racial character.
-i said that two brilliant workers of the school—namely, demolins and de tourville—had applied this principle to account for those differences between the national characters of the french and english peoples which we were considering. i have now to reproduce their account in as condensed a form as possible.
-demolins claims to show that the short dark round-headed people, who formed the bulk of the gauls and also of the population of modern france, came, in prehistoric times, from the eurasian steppe region, reaching france by way of the valley of the danube, a long narrow lowland region confined on the north by the carpathians and mountains of bohemia, on the south by the balkans and swiss alps. he supposes that, for long ages, they had lived as pastoral nomads on the steppes. by examining the nomads who still lead the pastoral life on the steppes, he shows the kind of social organisation to which this pastoral life inevitably gives rise and under which they lived; and he traces the effects which such occupation and such social organisation produce on the mental qualities of a people.
-the system is the patriarchal system par excellence. it is something very different from the roman system characterised by the patria potestas, which the writings of sir h. maine have perhaps tended to confuse with the true patriarchal system. the patriarchal system of the pastoral nomads is essentially a communal system, under which all the brothers, sons, and grandsons of the patriarch form, with their families, a community which holds all the property, consisting of flocks and herds, in common; each member having his claim to his share of the produce, each doing his share of the common labour, and each having a voice in the regulation of the affairs of the family. such a system represses individualism; there is no individual property, there are no individual rights, duties, or responsibilities; no scope for individual initiative; the individual is swallowed up in the community; superior energy or enterprise bring no superior rewards, but rather tend to social disorganisation and to the detriment of the individual who displays them. further, the work of looking after the herds of cattle is easy and delightful, calling for no sustained exertion; and the herds provide every necessary article of food, clothing, and shelter. beyond the family group there exists no political organisation; for the group is self-supporting and independent, it has no need of relations with other groups, and each group lives far apart from others, wandering in some ill-defined region of the immense plain.
-the peculiarities of this social organisation and of this mode of life are clearly created by the physical environment, by the boundless grassy plains, which enable each family group to maintain a large troup of cattle, chiefly horses. at the same time, these conditions render necessary the co-operation of all the members of the family in the common work of tending the cattle; while the necessity of continually moving on to fresh pasture prevents the growth of any fixed forms of property and of any more elaborate social organisation.
-it is an extremely stable and persistent mode of life and of social organisation. so long as the geographical conditions remain unchanged, it is difficult to see how any change would take place in it, how any progress towards civilisation could begin. and, as a matter of fact, the people who have remained in these regions continue to lead just the same patriarchal, pastoral, nomadic life. long ages of this mode of life may well put upon a people the stamp of sociability and communism and kill out individualism and individual initiative! demolins points out in a very interesting way how these effects of the patriarchal system of the pastoral nomads are displayed most clearly still by the population of southern russia, who, of all the settled european peoples descended from such pastoral nomads, have suffered fewest disturbing influences; how still the individual is subordinated to the community, to the mir, by which all private life and industrial activity is directed and which is the owner of the principal property, namely the land; and how, in consequence, the people remain devoid of all individual initiative and enterprise.
-the celts arriving in gaul retained these qualities and something of the patriarchal organisation, although they were no longer simply pastoral nomads; for, in the course of their migrations, they had been forced to take up agriculture and the rearing of other domestic animals, especially the pig, through lack of sufficient open steppe land. while in this disorganised condition in gaul, they were overrun by tribes of the nordic race, who established themselves as a conquering nobility, superimposing upon the rudimentary political organisation of the celts a loose military organisation of clans; each clan was led by a popular warrior who attached to himself by his personal qualities as large as possible a number of clients or clansmen, acquiring rights over their land and property, in return for the patronage and protection he offered them. these nobles with their blood relatives were the tall fair-haired gauls described by caesar. the celts lent themselves readily to this system based on personal loyalty and leadership, owing to their lack of independence of character engendered by long ages of the patriarchal communal régime. and the new social organisation fostered and developed still more through many generations the spirit of dependence, the tendency to look for authoritative guidance and control to some recognised centre of power.
-under the two circumstances, the long régime of patriarchal communism and the subsequent prevalence for many generations of the clan system, we may see, according to demolins, the causes of those deep-seated tendencies of the french nation (summed up by buckle in the phrase the spirit of protection) which throughout their history have played so large a part in shaping the destinies of the people, and which are still the source of grave anxiety to many patriotic frenchmen.
-it is interesting to note that among the celtic populations of the british isles the same features have been clearly displayed. we see among them the clan-system with its dual ownership of the soil, which has been perpetuated in ireland to the present day and has received more formal and legal recognition from the british government in its recent legislation. we see the strong clannish spirit and relative lack of independence. these qualities are clearly shown by the celtic irish, even when they have been compelled by necessity to emigrate to america. there they are not found to be pioneers on the frontiers of civilisation, but rather remain herded together in clannish communities in the cities of the eastern states, where they create such powerful unofficial associations as ‘tammany hall.’
-demolins’ account of the genesis of the spirit of independence and enterprise of the anglo-saxons is still more interesting and seductive. he supposes that their ancestors also came originally in very remote times from the eurasian steppes; but that is a disputable point and forms no essential part of his argument. they settled in prehistoric times around the coasts of the baltic and the north sea, especially in scandinavia. and the physical peculiarities of this region impressed upon their descendants the qualities which have enabled them to play a leading part in the destruction of the roman power and in the development of the civilisation of modern europe, and which have established them in almost every part of the world as a dominant race, increasing in power and numbers at the expense of other peoples.
-what, then, are these physical conditions?
-scandinavia is a mass of barren mountains coming down in almost all parts abruptly to the sea. its coast line is indented by innumerable fiords and bordered by thousands of small islands; and the sea which washes these coasts is warmed by the gulf stream. this sea, owing to its warmth and to the existence of a great bank which lies near the surface and runs parallel to the coast line, is extremely rich in fish. hence, the nordic tribes who settled in scandinavia inevitably became a sea-faring folk, spreading slowly along the coasts in small boats, supporting themselves in large part upon the fish which they caught in the sea; for the land is barren, while the sea offers ideal conditions for fishing in small boats. but, unlike the herds of pastoral peoples, sea-fishing does not provide all the necessities of a simple life. it must be combined with agriculture. hence, the ancient northmen became a race of hardy seafarers who at the same time practised agriculture.
-the character of the land which was available for the necessary but supplementary agriculture was all important. it consisted, as it does still, of small isolated strips of cultivatable soil at the feet of the mountains where they plunge into the sea. on such land it was impossible for the family to retain the form of a patriarchal community. the fertile areas were too small to support such communities, and the individualistic form of family was inevitably evolved. on each small plot of cultivatable land a little farm was formed, a homestead in which lived a family restricted to father, mother, and children. as the children grew up, it was impossible to support them on the one small farm or to divide it among them; one son alone was chosen as the inheritor of the paternal farm; and each of the others had to seek a new piece of land, build a new homestead, and acquire his own boat.
-thus, the family was forced to become the individualistic family; and the home of each such family was necessarily isolated, widely separated from that of every other, owing to the scattered distribution of the little areas of fertile soil. thus were formed the first homes in the english sense of the word; the home in which the father rules supreme over his own little household, brooking no interference from outside; the home in which the children are brought up to look forward to establishing, each child for himself, similar independent individualistic homes. such homes have been established by the northmen in every part of the world in which they have settled; and they are peculiar to them and their descendants.
-it is obvious that all the very limited domains of the scandinavian coasts must have been fully occupied in the way described in a comparatively few generations after the process of settlement began. this seems to have occurred about the fourth or fifth century a.d. then the younger sons, for whom there was no place at home and for whom there remained no spots suitable for homesteads in their native land, were sent out into the world to seek their fortunes. they banded themselves together to man single boats, or formed fleets of boats; and, leaving their parents and women-folk behind, set out to conquer for themselves new homesteads. large numbers, sailing to the southern shores of the baltic and up the weser and the elbe, settled on the plains of saxony; and from this new centre they again spread, as the anglo-saxons to england, and as the franks to gaul. others settled directly in northern france and became the normans. others, the varegs, penetrated the plains of russia and established themselves as princes over the slav population.
-this was a migration such as had never before been seen; bands of armed men, all young or in the prime of life, coming not as mere robbers, but seeking to conquer for themselves and to settle upon whatever land seemed to them most desirable. everywhere they went they conquered and either exterminated or drove out the indigenous population, as in the south and east of england, or established themselves as an aristocracy, a ruling military caste, as the franks in the north-east of gaul. and everywhere they established firmly their individualistic social organisation, especially the isolated homestead of the individualistic family, characterised by the despotic power of the father and by great regard for individual property and for the rights of the individual as against all state institutions and public powers. in hostile countries the homestead became a fortified place, or at least was furnished with a fortified keep or castle; and in those regions, such as gaul, in which the indigenous population was not exterminated, the feudal system was thus initiated. everywhere they carried their spirit of independence, enterprise, and initiation.
-it was the swarming of the young broods of northmen in search of new homes that caused the romans to describe these northern lands as the womb of peoples, and to regard them with wonder and something of fear.
-these qualities and habits continued to be displayed in the highest degree by the normans after their first settlement in the north of france. the younger sons kept up the good old fashion of going out into the world to seek a fortune or rather a territory, which often was a dukedom or a kingdom. their most characteristic performance was the conquest of the greater part of italy. a little before william of normandy and his companions secured for themselves domains in this country, norman knights, engaging in enterprises that might well have seemed absolutely foolhardy, had established themselves in mediterranean lands. some two thousand normans, arriving viking fashion in their small ships, conquered sicily and the south of italy and divided these lands among themselves; and for a time they introduced order and a settled mode of life among the peoples of those parts. the leading spirits among them were ten sons of one norman gentleman, tancrède de hauteville, the father of twelve sons of whom two only remained at home, while each of the others carved out for himself a domain in italy. as demolins remarks, these families, retaining undiminished their individualistic tendencies and spirit of independence, were veritable factories of men for exportation.
-the modern frenchman, says demolins, would regard as the height of folly the enterprises of the old northmen, who, mounted on their frail ships, quitted each spring the coast of scandinavia, launched out on the wild sea, landed, a mere handful of men, on the coasts of germany, britain, or gaul, and there with their swords carved out domains and made new homesteads. it was thus that the ancestors of tancred had acquired the manor of hauteville, and it was thus that his sons conquered italy and sicily.
-it was in a very similar way that, in a later age, men of the same breed carried to the new world the same individualistic institutions and the same spirit of independence, and in doing so, laid the sure foundations of the immense vigour and prosperity of the american people.
-there is one almost more striking illustration of the great and lasting effects upon character and institutions of the mode of life of the northmen determined by their physical environment. it is furnished by the character and habits of the people who still dwell in the plains between the mouths and lower parts of the weser and the elbe, a region which was naturally one of the first to be conquered and occupied by the northmen. this territory is an infertile sandy plain, and at the time of the coming of the northmen had but scanty population; hence, instead of becoming the military and ruling caste of a subject people, the northmen became themselves peasants and farmers. in doing so, they retained all the characteristic features of the individualistic family and have perpetuated them, together with the spirit of enterprise and independence, undiminished to the present day.
-in this region each farm is a freehold which has remained in the hands of the same family for long periods, in many cases for hundreds of years. each farm has its isolated homestead inhabited by the head of the family, his wife and young children, and one or two hired servants. each homestead is well nigh completely self-supporting and lives almost independent of the outside world. in spite of the isolation, which might have been expected to engender an extreme conservatism and backwardness of culture, these farmers have continued to exhibit the old northmen’s spirit of enterprise and their power of voluntary combination in the pursuit of individual ends. they were the first in europe to establish a society for the scientific study of agriculture, and they have thus maintained themselves in the first rank as cultivators of the land, quite without state assistance. in the same way and at an early date they established schools for their children. they have continued to produce large families and have retained the custom of handing over the farm and homestead intact to one son, chosen for his ability to manage it; while all the other sons keep up the old custom of going out into the world to seek their fortunes, in the shape of new homesteads.
-most striking of all, they still do this in the old norse fashion as nearly as possible. in one district these farmers combined their efforts some sixty years ago and built a ship which, since that time, has sailed every year to south africa, carrying there the surplus sons in search of new domains for themselves. in that far country their spirit of independence finds satisfaction in establishing new homesteads, new families of the individualistic type, and in perpetuating their traditions of enterprise and self-reliance.
-it is because the modern scandinavians are of the same stock, fashioned for long ages by the same physical environment, that they have continued to emigrate in large numbers to north america, where some of their ancestral race landed centuries before columbus was born, and where, in the newly opened territories of canada and the united states, they are generally recognised as being among the best of the settlers.
-demolins does not enter into the question—how did the institutions and mode of life of these or other peoples, determined by physical environment, bring about adaptation of racial qualities to the environment? he seems to assume in all cases use-inheritance. but if, as seems possible or even probable, this is a false assumption, we may still see clearly that, in the case of the northmen at least, adaptation may well have been effected by selection. the conditions of life of these northmen were such that in each generation the majority of men could become fathers of families only after carrying through successfully an enterprise in which a bold independence of spirit was the prime condition of success.
-the crossing of races
-before passing on to the consideration of evolutionary changes during the historic period, a few words must be said about the crossing and blending of races. such blending has been, no doubt, one of the principal causes of the great variety of human types at present existing on the earth. it has been going on for long ages in almost all regions; but especially in europe and africa. all existing stocks (with few exceptions) are the products of race-blending. no one of the existing european peoples is of unmixed stock; every one is the product of successive mixtures and blendings of allied stocks; and the mixing and blending still goes on; while in america (both north and south) the greatest experiments in race-blending that the world has yet seen are taking place before our eyes.
-authors differ widely as to the results of the crossing of human races and subraces. some assert that the effect of crossing of races is always bad, that the cross-bred progeny is always inferior to the parent stocks. they make no allowance for unfavourable conditions, especially the lack of the strong moral traditions of old organised societies. others maintain the opposite opinion. both opinions are probably correct in a certain sense. i think the facts enable us to make with some confidence the following generalisation. the crossing of the most widely different stocks, stocks belonging to any two of the four main races of man, produces an inferior race; but the crossing of stocks belonging to the same principal race, and especially the crossing of closely allied stocks, generally produces a blended subrace superior to the mean of the two parental stocks, or at least not inferior.
-this generalisation cannot yet be based on exact and firmly established data, unfortunately; but it is in harmony with old established popular beliefs, and with what we know of the crossing of animal breeds; and it is borne out by a general inspection of many examples. for instance, the blending of the white, negro, and american stocks, which has been going on in south america for some centuries, seems to have resulted in a subrace which up to the present time is inferior to the parent races; or at any rate to the white race. so the mulattoes of north america and the west indies, although superior in some respects to the pure negroes, seem deficient in vitality and fertility, and the race does not maintain itself. the eurasians of india are commonly said to be a comparatively feeble people. the blend of the caucasian with the yellow race is also generally of a poor type. examples abound in java of people of mixed javanese and dutch blood; and they are for the most part feeble specimens of humanity. it is generally recognised that a recently blended stock may produce a few individuals of exceptional vigour and capacity and physical beauty. but setting these aside, the blended stock seems to be inferior in two respects: (1) a general lack of vigour, which expresses itself in lack of power of resistance to many diseases and in relative infertility; so that the blended stock can hardly maintain its numbers; (2) a lack of harmony of qualities, both mental and physical. it may be that such lack of harmony is the ground of the relative infertility of blended stocks. it expresses itself in the inharmonious combination of physical features, characteristic of the mongrel. the negro race has a beauty of its own, which is spoilt by blending.
-as regards mental constitution, although we cannot directly observe and measure these disharmonies of composition, there seems good reason to believe that they exist. the soul of the cross-bred is, it would seem, apt to be the scene of perpetual conflict of inharmonious tendencies. this has been the theme of many stories, and, though no doubt many of them are overdrawn, there is no reason to doubt that they in the main depict actual experience or are founded on close observation.
-it is on the moral, rather than the intellectual, side of the mind that the disharmony seems to make itself felt most strongly; and the moral detachment of the cross-bred from the moral traditions of both the parent stocks is possibly due in part to a certain lack of innate compatibility with those traditions, as well as to social ostracism; the cross-bred can assimilate neither tradition so easily and completely as the pure-bred stocks.
-it is possible, though this is a still more speculative view, that the same is true of the intellectual constitution of the mind.
-the superiority of subraces formed by the blending of allied stocks seems to fall principally under two heads: (1) a general vigour of constitution; (2) a greater variety and variability of innate mental qualities. the greater variability of qualities of a subrace renders that race more adaptable to changing conditions; for racial adaptability depends upon the occurrence of abundant spontaneous variations. a large variety of innate qualities renders a race capable of progressing rapidly in civilisation; it renders it more capable both of producing novel ideas and of appreciating and assimilating the ideas, discoveries, and institutions of other peoples; and such imitative assimilation from one people to another has been a main condition of the progress of culture.
-it is, of course, well recognised that the great centres of development of culture have been the places where different peoples have come most freely into contact, notably the centre of the old world where asia, africa, and europe meet together. this was the area in which the three great races of europe came first into contact and mingled freely. some authors attribute the fertilising influence upon culture wholly to the blending or contact of cultures; but there is good reason to believe that it is largely due also to race-blending.
-we might compare in this respect the three great culture areas of the old world—europe, india and china. the chinese afford an instance of one relatively pure race occupying a very large area. in spite of its early start and great mental capacities, its culture has stagnated. the stock was perhaps too pure. india on the other hand seems to owe its peculiar history largely to the fact that its population in almost all parts has been made up from very widely different races—white, yellow and black; the heterogeneity has been too great for stability and continued progress. in europe different branches and sub-branches of the white race, that is of stocks not too widely different in constitution, have undergone repeated crossing and recrossing.
-it is an interesting question—when two races or subraces are crossed, do they ever produce a homogeneous and true subrace, exhibiting a true and stable blend of the qualities of the parental stocks? or does the blend always remain imperfect, with many individuals in whom the qualities of one or other of the parental stocks predominate? the answer seems to be that a stable subrace may be formed in this way, though usually not until free intermarriage has gone on for many generations. according to the most recent doctrine of heredity, the mendelian, every human being is a mosaic or patchwork of unit qualities, organs, or capacities, each of which is inherited wholly from one of the parents and not at all from the other. if this view is well founded, it follows that there can be no true blending of these unit qualities. but still the mosaic may be so finely grained and the unit qualities derived from the two parents so closely interwoven, that each individual may present an intimate mixture of the parental qualities, may represent for all practical purposes a blending of the two stocks.
-racial changes during the historic period
-conception of the open sea
-the freedom of the open sea
-§ 255. this legal order is created through the co-operation of the law of nations and the municipal laws of such states as possess a maritime flag. the following rules of the law of nations are universally recognised, namely:--first, that every state which has a maritime flag must lay down rules according to which vessels can claim to sail under its flag, and must furnish such vessels with some official voucher authorising them to make use of its flag; secondly, that every state has a right to punish all such foreign vessels as sail under its flag without being authorised to do so; thirdly, that all vessels with their persons and goods are, whilst on the open sea, considered under the sway of the flag state; fourthly, that every state has a right to punish piracy on the open seas even if committed by foreigners, and that, with a view to the extinction of piracy, men-of-war of all nations can require all suspect vessels to show their flag.
-these customary rules of international law are, so to say, supplemented by municipal laws of the maritime states comprising provisions, first, regarding the conditions to be fulfilled by vessels for the purpose of being authorised to sail under their flags; secondly, regarding the details of jurisdiction over persons and goods on board vessels sailing under their flags; thirdly, concerning the order on board ship and the relations between the master, the crew, and the passengers; fourthly, concerning punishment of ships sailing without authorisation under their flags.
-the fact that each maritime state has a right to legislate for its own vessels gives it a share in keeping up a certain order on the open sea. and such order has been turned into a more or less general order since the large maritime states have concurrently made more or less concordant laws for the conduct of their vessels on the open sea.
-jurisdiction on the open sea
-§ 266. although the freedom of the open sea and the fact that vessels on the open sea remain under the jurisdiction of the flag state exclude as a rule the exercise of any state's authority over foreign vessels, there are certain exceptions in the interest of all maritime nations. these exceptions are the following:--
-§ 267. a man-of-war which meets a suspicious merchantman not showing her colours and wishes to verify the same, hoists her own flag and fires a blank cartridge. this is a signal for the other vessel to hoist her flag in reply. if she takes no notice of the signal, the man-of-war fires a shot across her bows. if the suspicious vessel, in spite of this warning, still declines to hoist her flag, the suspicion becomes so grave that the man-of-war may compel her to bring to for the purpose of visiting her and thereby verifying her nationality.
-§ 268. the intention to visit may be communicated to a merchantman either by hailing or by the "informing gun"--that is, by firing either one or two blank cartridges. if the vessel takes no notice of this communication, a shot may be fired across her bows as a signal to bring to, and, if this also has no effect, force may be resorted to. after the vessel has been brought to, either an officer is sent on board for the purpose of inspecting her papers, or her master is ordered to bring his ship papers for inspection on board the man-of-war. if the inspection proves the papers to be in order, a memorandum of the visit is made in the log-book, and the vessel is allowed to proceed on her course.
-§ 269. search is naturally a measure which visit must always precede. it is because the visit has given no satisfaction that search is instituted. search is effected by an officer and some of the crew of the man-of-war, the master and crew of the vessel to be searched not being compelled to render any assistance whatever except to open locked cupboards and the like. the search must take place in an orderly way, and no damage must be done to the cargo. if the search proves everything to be in order, the searchers have carefully to replace everything removed, a memorandum of the search is to be made in the log-book, and the searched vessel is to be allowed to proceed on her course.
-§ 274. the crew or the whole or a part of the passengers who revolt on the open sea and convert the vessel and her goods to their own use, commit thereby piracy, whether the vessel is private or public. but a simple act of violence alone on the part of crew or passengers does not constitute in itself the crime of piracy, at least not as far as international law is concerned. if, for instance, the crew were to murder the master on account of his cruelty and afterwards carry on the voyage, they would be murderers, but not pirates. they are pirates only when the revolt is directed not merely against the master, but also against the vessel, for the purpose of converting her and her goods to their own use.
-§ 275. the object of piracy is any public or private vessel, or the persons or the goods thereon, whilst on the open sea. in the regular case of piracy the pirate wants to make booty; it is the cargo of the attacked vessel which is the centre of his interest, and he might free the vessel and the crew after having appropriated the cargo. but he remains a pirate whether he does so or kills the crew and appropriates the ship, or sinks her. on the other hand, it does not matter if the cargo is not the object of his act of violence. if he stops a vessel and takes a rich passenger off with the intention to keep him for the purpose of a high ransom, his act is piracy. it is likewise piracy if he stops a vessel for the purpose of killing a certain person only on board, although he may afterwards free vessel, crew, and cargo.
-that a possible object of piracy is not only another vessel, but also the very ship on which the crew and passenger navigate, is an inference from the statements above in § 274.
-§ 276. piracy is effected by any unauthorised act of violence, be it direct application of force or intimidation through menace. the crew or passengers who, for the purpose of converting a vessel and her goods to their own use, force the master through intimidation to steer another course, commit piracy as well as those who murder the master and steer the vessel themselves. and a ship which, through the threat to sink her if she should refuse, forces another ship to deliver up her cargo or a person on board, commits piracy as well as the ship which attacks another vessel, kills her crew, and thereby gets hold of her cargo or a person on board.
-that men-of-war of all nations have, with a view to insuring the safety of traffic, the power of verifying the flags of suspicious merchantmen of all nations, has already been stated above (§ 266, no. 2).
-fisheries in the open sea
-telegraph cables in the open sea
-the signatory powers are:--great britain, argentina, austria-hungary, belgium, brazil, colombia, costa rica, denmark, san domingo, france, germany, greece, guatemala, holland, italy, persia, portugal, roumania, russia, salvador, servia, spain, sweden-norway, turkey, the united states, and uruguay. colombia and persia did not ratify the treaty, but, on the other hand, japan acceded to it later on.
-§ 287. the protection afforded to submarine telegraph cables finds its expression in the following stipulations of this international treaty:--
-wireless telegraphy on the open sea
-the subsoil beneath the sea bed
-if these five rules are correct, there is nothing in the way of coal and other mines which are being exploited on the shore of a littoral state being extended into the subsoil beneath the open sea up to the boundary line of the subsoil beneath the territorial maritime belt of another state. further, a tunnel which might be built between such two parts of the same state--for instance, between ireland and scotland--as are separated by the open sea would fall entirely under the territorial supremacy of the state concerned. on the other hand, for a tunnel between two different states separated by the open sea special arrangements by treaty would have to be made concerning the territorial supremacy over that part of the tunnel which runs under the bed of the open sea.
-the international commission shall ... submit to the two governments its proposals for supplementary conventions with respect--(a) to the apprehension and trial of alleged criminals for offences committed in the tunnel or in trains which have passed through it, and the summoning of witnesses; (b) to customs, police, and postal arrangements, and other matters which it may be found convenient so to deal with.
-in spite of this elaborate preparation the project could not be realised, since public opinion in england was for political reasons opposed to it. and although several times since--in 1880, 1884, 1888, and 1908--steps were again taken in favour of the proposed tunnel, public opinion in england remained hostile and the project has had for the time to be abandoned. it is, however, to be hoped and expected that ultimately the tunnel will be built when the political conditions which are now standing in the way of its realisation have undergone a change.
-position of individuals in international law
-§ 288. the importance of individuals to the law of nations is just as great as that of territory, for individuals are the personal basis of every state. just as a state cannot exist without a territory, so it cannot exist without a multitude of individuals who are its subjects and who, as a body, form the people or the nation. the individuals belonging to a state can and do come in various ways in contact with foreign states in time of peace as well as of war. the law of nations is therefore compelled to provide certain rules regarding individuals.
-§ 295. although nationality alone is the regular means through which individuals can derive benefit from the law of nations, there are two exceptional cases in which individuals may come under the international protection of a state without these individuals being really its subjects. it happens, first, that a state undertakes by an international agreement the diplomatic protection of another state's citizens abroad, and in this case the protected foreign subjects are named "protégés" of the protecting states. such agreements are either concluded for a permanency as in the case of a small state, switzerland for instance, having no diplomatic envoy in a certain foreign country where many of its subjects reside, or in time of war only, a belligerent handing over the protection of its subjects in the enemy state to a neutral state.
-it happens, secondly, that a state promises diplomatic protection within the boundaries of turkey and other oriental countries to certain natives. such protected natives are likewise named protégés, but they are also called "de facto subjects" of the protecting state. the position of these protégés is quite anomalous, it is based on custom and treaties, and no special rules of the law of nations itself are in existence concerning such de facto subjects. every state which takes such de facto subjects under its protection can act according to its discretion, and there is no doubt that as soon as these oriental states have reached a level of civilisation equal to that of the western members of the family of nations, the whole institution of the de facto subjects will disappear.
-modes of acquiring and losing nationality
-§ 297. although it is for municipal law to determine who is and who is not a subject of a state, it is nevertheless of interest for the theory of the law of nations to ascertain how nationality can be acquired according to the municipal law of the different states. the reason of the thing presents five possible modes of acquiring nationality, and, although no state is obliged to recognise all five, nevertheless all states practically do recognise them. they are birth, naturalisation, redintegration, subjugation, and cession.
-§ 301. the fourth and fifth modes of acquiring nationality are by subjugation after conquest and by cession of territory, the inhabitants of the subjugated as well as of the ceded territory acquiring ipso facto by the subjugation or cession the nationality of the state which acquires the territory. these modes of acquisition of nationality are modes settled by the customary law of nations; it will be remembered that details concerning this matter have been given above, §§ 219 and 240.
-§ 302. although it is left in the discretion of the different states to determine the grounds on which individuals lose their nationality, it is nevertheless of interest for the theory of the law of nations to take notice of these grounds. seven modes of losing nationality must be stated to exist according to the reason of the thing, although all seven are by no means recognised by all the states. these modes are:--release, deprivation, expiration, option, substitution, subjugation, and cession.
-naturalisation in especial
-§ 304. the object of naturalisation is always an alien. some states will naturalise such aliens only as are stateless because they never have been citizens of another state or because they have renounced, or have been released from or deprived of, the citizenship of their home state. but other states, as great britain, naturalise also such aliens as are and remain subjects of their home state. most states naturalise such person only as has taken his domicile in their country, has been residing there for some length of time, and intends permanently to remain in their country. and according to the municipal law of many states, naturalisation of a married individual includes that of his wife and children under age. but although every alien may be naturalised, no alien has, according to the municipal law of most states, a claim to become naturalised, naturalisation being a matter of discretion of the government, which can refuse it without giving any reasons.
-double and absent nationality
-§ 308. the law of nations having no rule concerning acquisition and loss of nationality beyond this, that nationality is lost and acquired through subjugation and cession, and, on the other hand, the municipal laws of the different states differing in many points concerning this matter, the necessary consequence is that an individual may own two different nationalities as easily as none at all. the points to be discussed here are therefore: how double nationality occurs, the position of individuals with double nationality, how absent nationality occurs, the position of individuals destitute of nationality, and, lastly, means of redress against difficulties arising from double and absent nationality.
-it must, however, be specially mentioned that the law of nations is concerned with such cases only of double and absent nationality as are the consequences of conflicting municipal laws of several absolutely different states. such cases as are the consequence of the municipal laws of a federal state or of a state which, as great britain, allows outlying parts to legislate on their own account concerning naturalisation, fall outside the scope of the law of nations. thus the fact that, according to the law of germany, a german can be at the same time a subject of several member-states of the german empire, or can be a subject of this empire without being a subject of one of its member-states, does as little concern the law of nations as the fact that an individual can be a subject of a british colonial state without at the same time being a subject of the united kingdom. for internationally such individuals appear as subjects of such federal state or the mother-country, whatever their position may be inside these states.
-§ 310. individuals owning double nationality bear in the language of diplomatists the name sujets mixtes. the position of such "mixed subjects" is awkward on account of the fact that two different states claim them as subjects, and therefore their allegiance. in case a serious dispute arises between these two states which leads to war, an irreconcilable conflict of duties is created for these unfortunate individuals. it is all very well to say that such conflict is a personal matter which concerns neither the law of nations nor the two states in dispute. as far as an individual has, through naturalisation, option, and the like, acquired his double nationality, one may say that he has placed himself in that awkward position by intentionally and knowingly acquiring a second without being released from his original nationality. but those who are natural-born sujets mixtes in most cases do not know thereof before they have to face the conflict, and their difficult position is not their own fault.
-§ 311. an individual may be destitute of nationality knowingly or unknowingly, intentionally or through no fault of his own. even by birth a person may be stateless. thus, an illegitimate child born in germany of an english mother is actually destitute of nationality because according to german law he does not acquire german nationality, and according to british law he does not acquire british nationality. thus, further, all children born in germany of parents who are destitute of nationality are themselves, according to german law, stateless. but statelessness may take place after birth. all individuals who have lost their original nationality without having acquired another are in fact destitute of nationality.
-reception of aliens and right of asylum
-§ 315. it is obvious that, if a state need not receive aliens at all, it can, on the other hand, receive them under certain conditions only. thus, for example, russia does not admit aliens without passports, and if the alien adheres to the jewish faith he has to submit to a number of special restrictions. thus, further, during the time napoleon iii. ruled in france, every alien entering french territory from the sea or from neighbouring land was admitted only after having stated his name, nationality, and the place to which he intended to go. some states, as switzerland, make a distinction between such aliens as intend to settle down in the country and such as intend only to travel in the country; no alien is allowed to settle in the country without having asked and received a special authorisation on the part of the government, whereas the country is unconditionally open to all mere travelling aliens.
-§ 316. the fact that every state exercises territorial supremacy over all persons on its territory, whether they are its subjects or aliens, excludes the prosecution of aliens thereon by foreign states. thus, a foreign state is, provisionally at least, an asylum for every individual who, being prosecuted at home, crosses its frontier. in the absence of extradition treaties stipulating the contrary, no state is by international law obliged to refuse admittance into its territory to such a fugitive or, in case he has been admitted, to expel him or deliver him up to the prosecuting state. on the contrary, states have always upheld their competence to grant asylum if they choose to do so. now the so-called right of asylum is certainly not a right of the alien to demand that the state into whose territory he has entered with the intention of escaping prosecution from some other state should grant protection and asylum. for such state need not grant them. the so-called right of asylum is nothing but the competence mentioned above of every state, and inferred from its territorial supremacy, to allow a prosecuted alien to enter and to remain on its territory under its protection, and to grant thereby an asylum to him. such fugitive alien enjoys the hospitality of the state which grants him asylum; but it might be necessary to place him under surveillance, or even to intern him at some place in the interest of the state which is prosecuting him. for it is the duty of every state to prevent individuals living on its territory from endangering the safety of another state. and if a state grants asylum to a prosecuted alien, this duty becomes of special importance.
-position of aliens after reception
-he was tried in march 1901, and convicted of high treason, and sentenced to five years' imprisonment and a fine of £5000, or, failing payment thereof, to a further three years.
-§ 320. under the influence of the right of protection over its subjects abroad which every state holds, and the corresponding duty of every state to treat aliens on its territory with a certain consideration, an alien, provided he owns a nationality at all, cannot be outlawed in foreign countries, but must be afforded protection of his person and property. the home state of the alien has by its right of protection a claim upon such state as allows him to enter its territory that such protection shall be afforded, and it is no excuse that such state does not provide any protection whatever for its own subjects. in consequence thereof every state is by the law of nations compelled, at least, to grant to aliens equality before the law with its citizens as far as safety of person and property is concerned. an alien must in especial not be wronged in person or property by the officials and courts of a state. thus, the police must not arrest him without just cause, custom-house officials must treat him civilly, courts of justice must treat him justly and in accordance with the law. corrupt administration of the law against natives is no excuse for the same against aliens, and no government can cloak itself with the judgment of corrupt judges.
-expulsion of aliens
-§ 323. just as a state is competent to refuse admittance to an alien, so it is, in conformity with its territorial supremacy, competent to expel at any moment an alien who has been admitted into its territory. and it matters not whether the respective individual is only on a temporary visit or has settled down for professional or business purposes on that territory, having taken his domicile thereon. such states, of course, as have a high appreciation of individual liberty and abhor arbitrary powers of government will not readily expel aliens. thus, the british government has no power to expel even the most dangerous alien without the recommendation of a court, or without an act of parliament making provision for such expulsion. and in switzerland, article 70 of the constitution empowers the government to expel such aliens only as endanger the internal and external safety of the land. but many states are in no way prevented by their municipal law from expelling aliens according to discretion, and examples of arbitrary expulsion of aliens, who had made themselves objectionable to the respective governments, are numerous in the past and the present.
-on the other hand, it cannot be denied that, especially in the case of expulsion of an alien who has been residing within the expelling state for some length of time and has established a business there, the home state of the expelled individual is by its right of protection over citizens abroad justified in making diplomatic representations to the expelling state and asking for the reasons for the expulsion. but as in strict law a state can expel even domiciled aliens without so much as giving the reasons, the refusal of the expelling state to supply the reasons for expulsion to the home state of the expelled alien does not constitute an illegal, although a very unfriendly, act. and there is no doubt that every expulsion of an alien without just cause is, in spite of its international legality, an unfriendly act, which can rightfully be met with retorsion.
-§ 325. expulsion is, in theory at least, not a punishment, but an administrative measure consisting in an order of the government directing a foreigner to leave the country. expulsion must therefore be effected with as much forbearance and indulgence as the circumstances and conditions of the case allow and demand, especially when compulsion is meted out to a domiciled alien. and the home state of the expelled, by its right of protection over its citizens abroad, may well insist upon such forbearance and indulgence. but this is valid as regards the first expulsion only. should the expelled refuse to leave the territory voluntarily or, after having left, return without authorisation, he may be arrested, punished, and forcibly brought to the frontier.
-such states as possess no extradition laws and whose written constitution does not mention the matter, leave it to their governments to conclude extradition treaties according to their discretion. and in these countries the governments are competent to extradite an individual even if no extradition treaty exists.
-§ 331. unless a state is restricted by an extradition law, it can grant extradition for any crime it thinks fit. and unless a state is bound by an extradition treaty, it can refuse extradition for any crime. such states as possess extradition laws frame their extradition treaties conformably therewith and specify in those treaties all those crimes for which they are willing to grant extradition. and no person is to be extradited whose deed is not a crime according to the criminal law of the state which is asked to extradite, as well as of the state which demands extradition. as regards great britain, the following are extraditable crimes according to the extradition act of 1870:--murder and manslaughter; counterfeiting and uttering counterfeit money; forgery and uttering what is forged; embezzlement and larceny; obtaining goods or money by false pretences; crimes by bankrupts against bankruptcy laws; fraud by a bailee, banker, agent, factor, trustee, or by a director, or member, or public officer of any company; rape; abduction; child stealing; burglary and housebreaking; arson; robbery with violence; threats with intent to extort; piracy by the law of nations; sinking or destroying a vessel at sea; assaults on board ship on the high seas with intent to destroy life or to do grievous bodily harm; revolt or conspiracy against the authority of the master on board a ship on the high seas. the extradition acts of 1873 and 1906 added the following crimes to the list:--kidnapping, false imprisonment, perjury, subornation of perjury, and bribery.
-principle of non-extradition of political criminals
-on the other hand, a reaction set in in 1833, when austria, prussia, and russia concluded treaties which remained in force for a generation, and which stipulated that henceforth individuals who had committed crimes of high treason and lèse-majesté, or had conspired against the safety of the throne and the legitimate government, or had taken part in a revolt, should be surrendered to the state concerned. the same year, however, is epoch-making in favour of the principle of non-extradition of political criminals, for in 1833 belgium enacted her celebrated extradition law, the first of its kind, being the very first municipal law which expressly interdicted the extradition of foreign political criminals. as belgium, which had seceded from the netherlands in 1830 and became recognised and neutralised by the powers in 1831, owed her very existence to revolt, she felt the duty of making it a principle of her municipal law to grant asylum to foreign political fugitives, a principle which was for the first time put into practice in the treaty of extradition concluded in 1834 between belgium and france. the latter, which to the present day has no municipal extradition law, has nevertheless henceforth always in her extradition treaties with other powers stipulated the principle of non-extradition of political criminals. and the other powers followed gradually. even russia had to give way, and since 1867 this principle is to be found in all extradition treaties of russia with other powers, that with spain of 1888 excepted. it is due to the stern attitude of great britain, switzerland, belgium, france, and the united states that the principle has conquered the world. these countries, in which individual liberty is the very basis of all political life, and constitutional government a political dogma of the nation, watched with abhorrence the methods of government of many other states between 1815 and 1860. these governments were more or less absolute and despotic, repressing by force every endeavour of their subjects to obtain individual liberty and a share in the government. thousands of the most worthy citizens and truest patriots had to leave their country for fear of severe punishment for political crimes. great britain and the other free countries felt in honour bound not to surrender such exiled patriots to the persecution of their governments, but to grant them an asylum.
-without doubt the answer must be in the affirmative. i readily admit that every political crime is by no means an honourable deed, which as such deserves protection. still, political crimes are committed by the best of patriots, and, what is of more weight, they are in many cases a consequence of oppression on the part of the respective governments. they are comparatively infrequent in free countries, where there is individual liberty, where the nation governs itself, and where, therefore, there are plenty of legal ways to bring grievances before the authorities. a free country can never agree to surrender foreigners to their prosecuting home state for deeds done in the interest of the same freedom and liberty which the subjects of such free country enjoy. for individual liberty and self-government of nations are demanded by modern civilisation, and their gradual realisation over the whole globe is conducive to the welfare of the human race.
-political crimes may certainly be committed in the interest of reaction as well as in the interest of progress, and reactionary political criminals may have occasion to ask for asylum as well as progressive political criminals. the principle of non-extradition of political criminals indeed extends its protection over the former too, and this is the very point where the value of the principle reveals itself. for no state has a right to interfere with the internal affairs of another state, and, if a state were to surrender reactionary political criminals but not progressive ones, the prosecuting state of the latter could indeed complain and consider the refusal of extradition an unfriendly act. if, however, non-extradition is made a general principle which finds its application in favour of political criminals of every kind, no state can complain if extradition is refused. have not reactionary states the same faculty of refusing the extradition of reactionary political criminals as free states have of refusing the extradition of progressive political criminals?
-now, many writers agree upon this point, but maintain that such arguments meet the so-called purely political crimes only, and not the relative or complex political crimes, and they contend, therefore, that the principle of non-extradition ought to be restricted to the former crimes only. but to this i cannot assent. no revolt happens without such complex crimes taking place, and the individuals who commit them may indeed deserve the same protection as other political criminals. and, further, although i can under no circumstances approve of murder, can never sympathise with a murderer, and can never pardon his crime, it may well be the case that the murdered official or head of a state has by inhuman cruelty and oppression himself whetted the knife which cut short his span of life. on the other hand, the mere fact that a crime was committed for a political purpose may well be without any importance in comparison with its detestability and heinousness. attempts on heads of states, such, for example, as the murders of presidents lincoln and carnot or of alexander ii. of russia and humbert of italy, are as a rule, and all anarchistic crimes are without any exception, crimes of that kind. criminals who commit such crimes ought under no circumstances to find protection and asylum, but ought to be surrendered for the purpose of receiving their just and appropriate punishment.
-organs of the states for their international relations
-heads of states, and foreign offices
-position of heads of states according to international law
-§ 341. as a state is an abstraction from the fact that a multitude of individuals live in a country under a sovereign government, every state must have a head as its highest organ, which represents it within and without its borders in the totality of its relations. such head is the monarch in a monarchy and a president or a body of individuals, as the bundesrath of switzerland, in a republic. the law of nations prescribes no rules as regards the kind of head a state may have. every state is, naturally, independent regarding this point, possessing the faculty of adopting any constitution it likes and of changing such constitution according to its discretion. some kind or other of a head of the state is, however, necessary according to international law, as without a head there is no state in existence, but anarchy.
-§ 342. in case of the accession of a new head of a state, other states are as a rule notified. the latter usually recognise the new head through some formal act, such as a congratulation. but neither such notification nor recognition is strictly necessary according to international law, as an individual becomes head of a state, not through the recognition of other states, but through municipal law. such notification and recognition are, however, of legal importance. for through notification a state declares that the individual concerned is its highest organ, and has by municipal law the power to represent the state in the totality of its international relations. and through recognition the other states declare that they are ready to negotiate with such individual as the highest organ of his state. but recognition of a new head by other states is in every respect a matter of discretion. neither has a state the right to demand from other states recognition of its new head, nor has any state a right to refuse such recognition. thus russia, austria, and prussia refused until 1848 recognition to isabella, queen of spain, who had come to the throne as an infant in 1833. but, practically, in the long run recognition cannot be withheld, for without it international intercourse is impossible, and states with self-respect will exercise retorsion if recognition is refused to the heads they have chosen. thus, when, after the unification of italy in 1861, mecklenburg and bavaria refused the recognition of victor emanuel as king of italy, count cavour revoked the exequatur of the consuls of these states in italy.
-but it must be emphasised that recognition of a new head of a state by no means implies the recognition of such head as the legitimate head of the state in question. recognition is in fact nothing else than the declaration of other states that they are ready to deal with a certain individual as the highest organ of the particular state, and the question remains totally undecided whether such individual is or is not to be considered the legitimate head of that state.
-on the other hand, this competence is certainly independent of the question whether a head of a state is the legitimate head or a usurper. the mere fact that an individual is for the time being the head of a state makes him competent to act as such head, and his state is legally bound by his acts. it may, however, be difficult to decide whether a certain individual is or is not the head of a state, for after a revolution some time always elapses before matters are settled.
-§ 346. in every monarchy the monarch appears as the representative of the sovereignty of the state and thereby becomes a sovereign himself, a fact which is recognised by international law. and the difference between the municipal laws of the different states regarding this point matters in no way. consequently, international law recognises all monarchs as equally sovereign, although the difference between the constitutional positions of monarchs is enormous, if looked upon in the light of the rules laid down by the constitutional laws of the different states. thus, the emperor of russia, whose powers are very wide, and the king of england, who is sovereign in parliament only, and whose powers are therefore very much restricted, are indifferently sovereign according to international law.
-§ 348. as regards, however, the consideration due to a monarch abroad from the state on whose territory he is staying in time of peace and with the consent and the knowledge of the government, details must necessarily be given. the consideration due to him consists in honours, inviolability, and exterritoriality.
-however, exterritoriality is in the case of a foreign sovereign, as in any other case, a fiction only, which is kept up for certain purposes within certain limits. should a sovereign during his stay within a foreign state abuse his privileges, such state is not obliged to bear such abuse tacitly and quietly, but can request him to leave the country. and when a foreign sovereign commits acts of violence or such acts as endanger the internal or external safety of the state, the latter can put him under restraint to prevent further acts of the same kind, but must at the same time bring him as speedily as possible to the frontier.
-§ 350. hitherto only the case where a monarch is staying in a foreign country with the official knowledge of the latter's government has been discussed. such knowledge may be held in the case of a monarch travelling incognito, and he enjoys then the same privileges as if travelling not incognito. the only difference is that many ceremonial observances, which are due to a monarch, are not rendered to him when travelling incognito. but the case may happen that a monarch is travelling in a foreign country incognito without the latter's government having the slightest knowledge thereof. such monarch cannot then of course be treated otherwise than as any other foreign individual; but he can at any time make known his real character and assume the privileges due to him. thus the late king william of holland, when travelling incognito in switzerland in 1873, was condemned to a fine for some slight contravention, but the sentence was not carried out, as he gave up his incognito.
-§ 351. all privileges mentioned must be granted to a monarch only as long as he is really the head of a state. as soon as he is deposed or has abdicated, he is no longer a sovereign. therefore in 1870 and 1872 the french courts permitted, because she was deposed, a civil action against queen isabella of spain, then living in paris, for money due to the plaintiffs. nothing, of course, prevents the municipal law of a state from granting the same privileges to a foreign deposed or abdicated monarch as to a foreign sovereign, but the law of nations does not exact any such courtesy.
-§ 352. all privileges due to a monarch are also due to a regent, at home or abroad, whilst he governs on behalf of an infant, or of a king who is through illness incapable of exercising his powers. and it matters not whether such regent is a member of the king's family and a prince of royal blood or not.
-§ 353. when a monarch accepts any office in a foreign state, when, for instance, he serves in a foreign army, as the monarchs of the small german states have formerly frequently done, he submits to such state as far as the duties of the office are concerned, and his home state cannot claim any privileges for him that otherwise would be due to him.
-presidents of republics
-§ 354. in contradistinction to monarchies, in republics the people itself, and not a single individual, appears as the representative of the sovereignty of the state, and accordingly the people styles itself the sovereign of the state. and it will be remembered that the head of a republic may consist of a body of individuals, such as the bundesrath in switzerland. but in case the head is a president, as in france and the united states of america, such president represents the state, at least in the totality of its international relations. he is, however, not a sovereign, but a citizen and subject of the very state whose head he is as president.
-§ 355. consequently, his position at home and abroad cannot be compared with that of monarchs, and international law does not empower his home state to claim for him the same, but only similar, consideration as that due to a monarch. neither at home nor abroad, therefore, does a president of a republic appear as a peer of monarchs. whereas all monarchs are in the style of the court phraseology considered as though they were members of the same family, and therefore address each other in letters as "my brother," a president of a republic is usually addressed in letters from monarchs as "my friend." his home state can certainly at home and abroad claim such honours for him as are due to its dignity, but no such honours as must be granted to a sovereign monarch.
-§ 357. as a rule nowadays no head of a state, be he a monarch or a president, negotiates directly and in person with a foreign power, although this happens occasionally. the necessary negotiations are regularly conducted by the foreign office, an office which since the westphalian peace has been in existence in every civilised state. the chief of this office, the secretary for foreign affairs, who is a cabinet minister, directs the foreign affairs of the state in the name of the head and with the latter's consent; he is the middle-man between the head of the state and other states. and although many a head of a state directs in fact all the foreign affairs himself, the secretary for foreign affairs is nevertheless the person through whose hands all transactions must pass. now, as regards the position of such foreign secretary at home, it is the municipal law of a state which regulates this. international law defines his position regarding international intercourse with other states. he is the chief over all the ambassadors of the state, over its consuls, and over its other agents in matters international. it is he who, either in person or through the envoys of his state, approaches foreign states for the purpose of negotiating matters international. and again it is he whom foreign states through their foreign secretaries or their envoys approach for the like purpose. he is present when ministers hand in their credentials to the head of the state. all documents of importance regarding foreign matters are signed by him or his substitute, the under-secretary for foreign affairs. it is, therefore, usual to notify the appointment of a new foreign secretary of a state to such foreign states as are represented within its boundaries by diplomatic envoys; the new foreign secretary himself makes this notification.
-the institution of legation
-right of legation
-it may, however, in consequence of revolutionary movements, be doubtful who the real head of a state is, and in such cases it remains in the discretion of foreign states to make their choice. but it is impossible for foreign states to receive diplomatic envoys from both claimants to the headship of the same state, or to send diplomatic envoys to both of them. and as soon as a state has recognised the head of a state who came into his position through a revolution, it can no longer keep up diplomatic relations with the former head.
-it should be mentioned that a revolutionary party which is recognised as a belligerent power has nevertheless no right of legation, although foreign states may negotiate with such party in an informal way through political agents without diplomatic character, to provide for the temporal security of the persons and property of their subjects within the territory under the actual sway of such party. such revolutionary party as is recognised as a belligerent power is in some points only treated as though it were a subject of international law; but it is not a state, and there is no reason why international law should give it the right to send and receive diplomatic envoys.
-kinds and classes of diplomatic envoys
-§ 364. diplomatic envoys accredited to a state differ in class. these classes did not exist in the early stages of international law. but during the sixteenth century a distinction between two classes of diplomatic envoys gradually arose, and at about the middle of the seventeenth century, after permanent legations had come into general vogue, two such classes became generally recognised--namely, extraordinary envoys, called ambassadors, and ordinary envoys, called residents; ambassadors being received with higher honours and taking precedence of the other envoys. disputes arose frequently regarding precedence, and the states tried in vain to avoid them by introducing during the eighteenth century another class--namely, the so-called ministers plenipotentiary. at last the powers assembled at the vienna congress came to the conclusion that the matter ought to be settled by an international understanding, and they agreed, therefore, on march 19, 1815, upon the establishment of three different classes--namely, first, ambassadors; second, ministers plenipotentiary and envoys extraordinary; third, chargés d'affaires. and the five powers assembled at the congress of aix-la-chapelle in 1818 agreed upon a fourth class--namely, ministers resident, to rank between ministers plenipotentiary and chargés d'affaires. all the other states either expressly or tacitly accepted these arrangements, so that nowadays the four classes are an established order. although their privileges are materially the same, they differ in rank and honours, and they must therefore be treated separately.
-§ 366. the second class, the ministers plenipotentiary and envoys extraordinary, to which also belong the papal internuncios, are not considered to be personal representatives of the heads of their states. therefore they do not enjoy all the special honours of the ambassadors, and have not the privilege of treating with the head of the state personally. but otherwise there is no difference between these two classes.
-§ 367. the third class, the ministers resident, enjoy fewer honours and rank below the ministers plenipotentiary. but beyond the fact that ministers resident do not enjoy the title "excellency," there is no difference between them and the ministers plenipotentiary.
-§ 369. all the diplomatic envoys accredited to the same state form, according to a diplomatic usage, a body which is styled the "diplomatic corps." the head of this body, the so-called "doyen," is the papal nuncio, or, in case there is no nuncio accredited, the oldest ambassador, or, failing ambassadors, the oldest minister plenipotentiary, and so on. as the diplomatic corps is not a body legally constituted, it performs no legal functions, but it is nevertheless of great importance, as it watches over the privileges and honours due to diplomatic envoys.
-appointment of diplomatic envoys
-§ 371. the appointment of an individual as a diplomatic envoy is announced to the state to which he is accredited in certain official papers to be handed in by the envoy to the receiving state. letter of credence (lettre de créance) is the designation of the document in which the head of the state accredits a permanent ambassador or minister to a foreign state. every such envoy receives a sealed letter of credence and an open copy. as soon as the envoy arrives at his destination, he sends the copy to the foreign office in order to make his arrival officially known. the sealed original, however, is handed in personally by the envoy to the head of the state to whom he is accredited. chargés d'affaires receive a letter of credence too, but as they are accredited from foreign office to foreign office, their letter of credence is signed, not by the head of their home state, but by its foreign office. now a permanent diplomatic envoy needs no other empowering document in case he is not entrusted with any task outside the limits of the ordinary business of a permanent legation. but in case he is entrusted with any such task, as, for instance, if any special treaty or convention is to be negotiated, he requires a special empowering document--namely, the so-called full powers (pleins pouvoirs). they are given in letters patent signed by the head of the state, and they are either limited or unlimited full powers, according to the requirements of the case. such diplomatic envoys as are sent, not to represent their home state permanently, but on an extraordinary mission such as representation at a congress, negotiation of a special treaty, and other transactions, receive full powers only, and no letter of credence. every permanent or other diplomatic envoy is also furnished with so-called instructions for the guidance of his conduct as regards the objects of his mission. but such instructions are a matter between the envoy and his home state exclusively, and they have therefore, although they may otherwise be very important, no importance for international law. every permanent diplomatic envoy receives, lastly, passports for himself and his suite specially made out by the foreign office. these passports the envoy after his arrival deposits at the foreign office of the state to which he is accredited, where they remain until he himself asks for them because he desires to leave his post, or until they are returned to him on his dismissal.
-§ 372. as a rule, a state appoints different individuals as permanent diplomatic envoys to different states, but sometimes a state appoints the same individual as permanent diplomatic envoy to several states. as a rule, further, a diplomatic envoy represents one state only. but occasionally several states appoint the same individual as their envoy, so that one envoy represents several states.
-reception of diplomatic envoys
-§ 374. every member of the family of nations that possesses the passive right of legation is under ordinary circumstances bound to receive diplomatic envoys accredited to itself from other states for the purpose of negotiation. but the duty extends neither to the reception of permanent envoys nor to the reception of temporary envoys under all circumstances.
-but a state may receive a permanent legation from one state and refuse to do so from another. thus the protestant states never received a permanent legation from the popes, even when the latter were heads of a state, and they still observe this rule, although one or another of them, such as prussia for example, keeps a permanent legation at the vatican.
-such master or owner shall be guilty of an offence against this act, and the following consequences shall ensue; that is to say,--
-illegal shipbuilding and illegal expeditions.
-8. if any person within her majesty's dominions, without the license of her majesty, does any of the following acts; that is to say,--
-such person shall be deemed to have committed an offence against this act, and the following consequences shall ensue:
-provided that a person building, causing to be built, or equipping a ship in any of the cases aforesaid, in pursuance of a contract made before the commencement of such war as aforesaid, shall not be liable to any of the penalties imposed by this section in respect of such building or equipping if he satisfies the conditions following; (that is to say,)
-9. where any ship is built by order of or on behalf of any foreign state when at war with a friendly state, or is delivered to or to the order of such foreign state, or any person who to the knowledge of the person building is an agent of such foreign state, or is paid for by such foreign state or such agent, and is employed in the military or naval service of such foreign state, such ship shall, until the contrary is proved, be deemed to have been built with a view to being so employed, and the burden shall lie on the builder of such ship of proving that he did not know that the ship was intended to be so employed in the military or naval service of such foreign state.
-10. if any person within the dominions of her majesty, and without the license of her majesty,--
-by adding to the number of guns, or by changing those on board for other guns, or by the addition of any equipment for war, increases or augments, or procures to be increased or augmented, or is knowingly concerned in increasing or augmenting the warlike force of any ship which at the time of her being within the dominions of her majesty was a ship in the military or naval service of any foreign state at war with any friendly state,--
-such person shall be guilty of an offence against this act, and shall be punishable by fine and imprisonment, or either of such punishments, at the discretion of the court before which the offender is convicted; and imprisonment, if awarded, may be either with or without hard labour.
-11. if any person within the limits of her majesty's dominions, and without the license of her majesty,--
-prepares or fits out any naval or military expedition to proceed against the dominions of any friendly state, the following consequences shall ensue:
-12. any person who aids, abets, counsels, or procures the commission of any offence against this act shall be liable to be tried and punished as a principal offender.
-13. the term of imprisonment to be awarded in respect of any offence against this act shall not exceed two years.
-14. if during the continuance of any war in which her majesty may be neutral, any ship, goods, or merchandize captured as prize of war within the territorial jurisdiction of her majesty, in violation of the neutrality of this realm, or captured by any ship which may have been built, equipped, commissioned, or despatched, or the force of which may have been augmented, contrary to the provisions of this act are brought within the limits of her majesty's dominions by the captor, or any agent of the captor, or by any person having come into possession thereof with the knowledge that the same was prize of war so captured as aforesaid, it shall be lawful for the original owner of such prize, or his agent, or for any person authorised in that behalf by the government of the foreign state to which such owner belongs, to make application to the court of admiralty for seizure and detention of such prize, and the court shall, on due proof of the facts, order such prize to be restored.
-every such order shall be executed and carried into effect in the same manner, and subject to the same right of appeal as in the case of any order made in the exercise of the ordinary jurisdiction of such court; and in the meantime and until a final order has been made on such application the court shall have power to make all such provisional and other orders as to the care or custody of such captured ship, goods, or merchandize, and (if the same be of perishable nature, or incurring risk of deterioration) for the sale thereof, and with respect to the deposit or investment of the proceeds of any such sale, as may be made by such court in the exercise of its ordinary jurisdiction.
-15. for the purpose of this act, a license by her majesty shall be under the sign manual of her majesty, or be signified by order in council or by proclamation of her majesty.
-16. any offence against this act shall, for all purposes of and incidental to the trial and punishment of any person guilty of any such offence, be deemed to have been committed either in the place in which the offence was wholly or partly committed, or in any place within her majesty's dominions in which the person who committed such offence may be.
-17. any offence against this act may be described in any indictment or other document relating to such offence, in cases where the mode of trial requires such a description, as having been committed at the place where it was wholly or partly committed, or it may be averred generally to have been committed within her majesty's dominions, and the venue or local description in the margin may be that of the county, city, or place in which the trial is held.
-18. the following authorities, that is to say, in the united kingdom any judge of a superior court, in any other place within the jurisdiction of any british court of justice, such court, or, if there are more courts than one, the court having the highest criminal jurisdiction in that place, may, by warrant or instrument in the nature of a warrant in this section included in the term "warrant," direct that any offender charged with an offence against this act shall be removed to some other place in her majesty's dominions for trial in cases where it appears to the authority granting the warrant that the removal of such offender would be conducive to the interests of justice, and any prisoner so removed shall be triable at the place to which he is removed, in the same manner as if his offence had been committed at such place.
-any warrant for the purposes of this section may be addressed to the master of any ship or to any other person or persons, and the person or persons to whom such warrant is addressed shall have power to convey the prisoner therein named to any place or places named in such warrant, and to deliver him, when arrived at such place or places, into the custody of any authority designated by such warrant.
-every prisoner shall, during the time of his removal under any such warrant as aforesaid, be deemed to be in the legal custody of the person or persons empowered to remove him.
-19. all proceedings for the condemnation and forfeiture of a ship, or ship and equipment, or arms and munitions of war, in pursuance of this act shall require the sanction of the secretary of state or such chief executive authority as is in this act mentioned, and shall be had in the court of admiralty, and not in any other court; and the court of admiralty shall, in addition to any power given to the court by this act, have in respect of any ship or other matter brought before it in pursuance of this act all powers which it has in the case of a ship or matter brought before it in the exercise of its ordinary jurisdiction.
-20. where any offence against this act has been committed by any person by reason whereof a ship, or ship and equipment, or arms and munitions of war, has or have become liable to forfeiture, proceedings may be instituted contemporaneously or not, as may be thought fit, against the offender in any court having jurisdiction of the offence, and against the ship, or ship and equipment, or arms and munitions of war, for the forfeiture in the court of admiralty; but it shall not be necessary to take proceedings against the offender because proceedings are instituted for the forfeiture, or to take proceedings for the forfeiture because proceedings are taken against the offender.
-21. the following officers, that is to say,--
-22. any officer authorised to seize or detain any ship in respect of any offence against this act may, for the purpose of enforcing such seizure or detention, call to his aid any constable or officers of police, or any officers of her majesty's army or navy or marines, or any excise officer or officers of customs, or any harbour-master or dock-master, or any officers having authority by law to make seizures of ships, and may put on board any ship so seized or detained any one or more of such officers to take charge of the same, and to enforce the provisions of this act, and any officer seizing or detaining any ship under this act may use force, if necessary, for the purpose of enforcing seizure or detention, and if any person is killed or maimed by reason of his resisting such officer in the execution of his duties, or any person acting under his orders, such officer so seizing or detaining the ship, or other person, shall be freely and fully indemnified as well against the queen's majesty, her heirs and successors, as against all persons so killed, maimed, or hurt.
-23. if the secretary of state or the chief executive authority is satisfied that there is a reasonable and probable cause for believing that a ship within her majesty's dominions has been or is being built, commissioned, or equipped contrary to this act, and is about to be taken beyond the limits of such dominions, or that a ship is about to be despatched contrary to this act, such secretary of state or chief executive authority shall have power to issue a warrant stating that there is reasonable and probable cause for believing as aforesaid, and upon such warrant the local authority shall have power to seize and search such ship, and to detain the same until it has been either condemned or released by process of law, or in manner herein-after mentioned.
-the owner of the ship so detained, or his agent, may apply to the court of admiralty for its release, and the court shall as soon as possible put the matter of such seizure and detention in course of trial between the applicant and the crown.
-if the applicant establish to the satisfaction of the court that the ship was not and is not being built, commissioned, or equipped or intended to be despatched contrary to this act, the ship shall be released and restored.
-if the applicant fail to establish to the satisfaction of the court that the ship was not and is not being built, commissioned, or equipped, or intended to be despatched contrary to this act, then the ship shall be detained till released by order of the secretary of state or chief executive authority.
-the court may in cases where no proceedings are pending for its condemnation release any ship detained under this section on the owner giving security to the satisfaction of the court that the ship shall not be employed contrary to this act, notwithstanding that the applicant may have failed to establish to the satisfaction of the court that the ship was not and is not being built, commissioned, or intended to be despatched contrary to this act. the secretary of state or the chief executive authority may likewise release any ship detained under this section on the owner giving security to the satisfaction of such secretary of state or chief executive authority that the ship shall not be employed contrary to this act, or may release the ship without such security if the secretary of state or chief executive authority think fit so to release the same.
-if the court be of opinion that there was not reasonable and probable cause for the detention, and if no such cause appear in the course of the proceedings, the court shall have power to declare that the owner is to be indemnified by the payment of costs and damages in respect of the detention, the amount thereof to be assessed by the court, and any amount so assessed shall be payable by the commissioners of the treasury out of any moneys legally applicable for that purpose. the court of admiralty shall also have power to make a like order for the indemnity of the owner, on the application of such owner to the court, in a summary way, in cases where the ship is released by the order of the secretary of state or the chief executive authority, before any application is made by the owner or his agent to the court for such release.
-nothing in this section contained shall apply to any foreign non-commissioned ship despatched from any part of her majesty's dominions after having come within them under stress of weather or in the course of a peaceful voyage, and upon which ship no fitting out or equipping of a warlike character has taken place in this country.
-24. where it is represented to any local authority, as defined by this act, and such local authority believes the representation, that there is a reasonable and probable cause for believing that a ship within her majesty's dominions has been or is being built, commissioned, or equipped contrary to this act, and is about to be taken beyond the limits of such dominions, or that a ship is about to be despatched contrary to this act, it shall be the duty of such local authority to detain such ship, and forthwith to communicate the fact of such detention to the secretary of state or chief executive authority.
-upon the receipt of such communication the secretary of state or chief executive authority may order the ship to be released if he thinks there is no cause for detaining her, but if satisfied that there is reasonable and probable cause for believing that such ship was built, commissioned, or equipped or intended to be despatched in contravention of this act, he shall issue his warrant stating that there is reasonable and probable cause for believing as aforesaid, and upon such warrant being issued further proceedings shall be had as in cases where the seizure or detention has taken place on a warrant issued by the secretary of state without any communication from the local authority.
-where the secretary of state or chief executive authority orders the ship to be released on the receipt of a communication from the local authority without issuing his warrant, the owner of the ship shall be indemnified by the payment of costs and damages in respect of the detention upon application to the court of admiralty in a summary way in like manner as he is entitled to be indemnified where the secretary of state having issued his warrant under this act releases the ship before any application is made by the owner or his agent to the court for such release.
-26. any powers or jurisdiction by this act given to the secretary of state may be exercised by him throughout the dominions of her majesty, and such powers and jurisdiction may also be exercised by any of the following officers, in this act referred to as the chief executive authority, within their respective jurisdictions; that is to say,
-a copy of any warrant issued by a secretary of state or by any officer authorised in pursuance of this act to issue such warrant in ireland, the channel islands, or the isle of man shall be laid before parliament.
-27. an appeal may be had from any decision of a court of admiralty under this act to the same tribunal and in the same manner to and in which an appeal may be had in cases within the ordinary jurisdiction of the court as a court of admiralty.
-28. subject to the provisions of this act providing for the award of damages in certain cases in respect of the seizure or detention of a ship by the court of admiralty no damages shall be payable, and no officer or local authority shall be responsible, either civilly or criminally, in respect of the seizure or detention of any ship in pursuance of this act.
-29. the secretary of state shall not, nor shall the chief executive authority, be responsible in any action or other legal proceedings whatsoever for any warrant issued by him in pursuance of this act, or be examinable as a witness, except at his own request, in any court of justice in respect of the circumstances which led to the issue of the warrant.
-30. in this act, if not inconsistent with the context, the following terms have the meanings herein-after respectively assigned to them; that is to say,
-"foreign state" includes any foreign prince, colony, province, or part of any province or people, or any person or persons exercising or assuming to exercise the powers of government in or over any foreign country, colony, province, or part of any province or people:
-"military service" shall include military telegraphy and any other employment whatever, in or in connection with any military operation:
-"naval service" shall, as respects a person, include service as a marine, employment as a pilot in piloting or directing the course of a ship of war or other ship when such ship of war or other ship is being used in any military or naval operation, and any employment whatever on board a ship of war, transport, store ship, privateer or ship under letters of marque; and as respects a ship, include any user of a ship as a transport, store ship, privateer or ship under letters of marque:
-"united kingdom" includes the isle of man, the channel islands, and other adjacent islands:
-"british possession" means any territory, colony, or place being part of her majesty's dominions, and not part of the united kingdom, as defined by this act:
-"the secretary of state" shall mean any one of her majesty's principal secretaries of state:
-"the governor" shall as respects india mean the governor general or the governor of any presidency, and where a british possession consists of several constituent colonies, mean the governor general of the whole possession or the governor of any of the constituent colonies, and as respects any other british possession it shall mean the officer for the time being administering the government of such possession; also any person acting for or in the capacity of a governor shall be included under the term "governor":
-"court of admiralty" shall mean the high court of admiralty of england or ireland, the court of session of scotland, or any vice-admiralty court within her majesty's dominions:
-"ship" shall include any description of boat, vessel, floating battery, or floating craft; also any description of boat, vessel, or other craft or battery, made to move either on the surface of or under water, or sometimes on the surface of and sometimes under water:
-"building" in relation to a ship shall include the doing any act towards or incidental to the construction of a ship, and all words having relation to building shall be construed accordingly:
-"equipping" in relation to a ship shall include the furnishing a ship with any tackle, apparel, furniture, provisions, arms, munitions, or stores, or any other thing which is used in or about a ship for the purpose of fitting or adapting her for the sea or for naval service, and all words relating to equipping shall be construed accordingly:
-"ship and equipment" shall include a ship and everything in or belonging to a ship:
-repeal of acts, and saving clauses.
-31. from and after the commencement of this act, an act passed in the fifty-ninth year of the reign of his late majesty king george the third, chapter sixty-nine, intituled "an act to prevent the enlisting or engagement of his majesty's subjects to serve in foreign service, and the fitting out or equipping, in his majesty's dominions, vessels for warlike purposes, without his majesty's license," shall be repealed: provided that such repeal shall not affect any penalty, forfeiture, or other punishment incurred or to be incurred in respect of any offence committed before this act comes into operation, nor the institution of any investigation or legal proceeding, or any other remedy for enforcing any such penalty, forfeiture, or punishment as aforesaid.
-32. nothing in this act contained shall subject to forfeiture any commissioned ship of any foreign state, or give to any british court over or in respect of any ship entitled to recognition as a commissioned ship of any foreign state any jurisdiction which it would not have had if this act had not passed.
-33. nothing in this act contained shall extend or be construed to extend to subject to any penalty any person who enters into the military service of any prince, state, or potentate in asia, with such leave or license as is for the time being required by law in the case of subjects of her majesty entering into the military services of princes, states, or potentates of asia.
-whereas it is expedient to enact permanently, with amendments, such provisions concerning naval prize, and matters connected therewith, as have heretofore been usually passed at the beginning of a war:
-be it therefore enacted by the queen's most excellent majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the lords spiritual and temporal, and commons, in this present parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:
-1. this act may be cited as the naval prize act, 1864.
-2. in this act--
-the term "the lords of the admiralty" means the lord high admiral of the united kingdom, or the commissioners for executing the office of lord high admiral:
-the term "the high court of admiralty" means the high court of admiralty of england:
-the term "any of her majesty's ships of war" includes any of her majesty's vessels of war, and any hired armed ship or vessel in her majesty's service:
-the term "officers and crew" includes flag officers, commanders, and other officers, engineers, seamen, marines, soldiers, and others on board any of her majesty's ships of war:
-the term "ship" includes vessel and boat, with the tackle, furniture, and apparel of the ship, vessel, or boat:
-the term "ship papers" includes all books, passes, sea briefs, charter parties, bills of lading, cockets, letters, and other documents and writings delivered up or found on board a captured ship:
-the term "goods" includes all such things as are by the course of admiralty and law of nations the subject of adjudication as prize (other than ships).
-3. the high court of admiralty, and every court of admiralty or of vice-admiralty, or other court exercising admiralty jurisdiction in her majesty's dominions, for the time being authorised to take cognizance of and judicially proceed in matters of prize, shall be a prize court within the meaning of this act.
-every such court, other than the high court of admiralty, is comprised in the term "vice-admiralty prize court," when hereafter used in this act.
-high court of admiralty.
-4. the high court of admiralty shall have jurisdiction throughout her majesty's dominions as a prize court.
-the high court of admiralty as a prize court shall have power to enforce any order or decree of a vice-admiralty prize court, and any order or decree of the judicial committee of the privy council in a prize appeal.
-appeal; judicial committee.
-5. an appeal shall lie to her majesty in council from any order or decree of a prize court, as of right in case of a final decree, and in other cases with the leave of the court making the order or decree.
-every appeal shall be made in such manner and form and subject to such regulations (including regulations as to fees, costs, charges, and expenses) as may for the time being be directed by order in council, and in the absence of any such order, or so far as any such order does not extend, then in such manner and form and subject to such regulations as are for the time being prescribed or in force respecting maritime causes of appeal.
-6. the judicial committee of the privy council shall have jurisdiction to hear and report on any such appeal, and may therein exercise all such powers as for the time being appertain to them in respect of appeals from any court of admiralty jurisdiction, and all such powers as are under this act vested in the high court of admiralty, and all such powers as were wont to be exercised by the commissioners of appeal in prize causes.
-7. all processes and documents required for the purposes of any such appeal shall be transmitted to and shall remain in the custody of the registrar of her majesty in prize appeals.
-8. in every such appeal the usual inhibition shall be extracted from the registry of her majesty in prize appeals within three months after the date of the order or decree appealed from if the appeal be from the high court of admiralty, and within six months after that date if it be from a vice-admiralty prize court.
-the judicial committee may, nevertheless, on sufficient cause shown, allow the inhibition to be extracted and the appeal to be prosecuted after the expiration of the respective periods aforesaid.
-vice-admiralty prize courts.
-9. every vice-admiralty prize court shall enforce within its jurisdiction all orders and decrees of the judicial committee in prize appeals and of the high court of admiralty in prize causes.
-10. her majesty in council may grant to the judge of any vice-admiralty prize court a salary not exceeding five hundred pounds a year, payable out of money provided by parliament, subject to such regulations as seem meet.
-a judge to whom a salary is so granted shall not be entitled to any further emolument, arising from fees or otherwise, in respect of prize business transacted in his court.
-an account of all such fees shall be kept by the registrar of the court, and the amount thereof shall be carried to and form part of the consolidated fund of the united kingdom.
-11. in accordance, as far as circumstances admit, with the principles and regulations laid down in the superannuation act, 1859, her majesty in council may grant to the judge of any vice-admiralty prize court an annual or other allowance, to take effect on the termination of his service, and to be payable out of money provided by parliament.
-12. the registrar of every vice-admiralty prize court shall, on the first day of january and first day of july in every year, make out a return (in such form as the lords of the admiralty from time to time direct) of all cases adjudged in the court since the last half-yearly return, and shall with all convenient speed send the same to the registrar of the high court of admiralty, who shall keep the same in the registry of that court, and who shall, as soon as conveniently may be, send a copy of the returns of each half year to the lords of the admiralty, who shall lay the same before both houses of parliament.
-13. the judicial committee of the privy council, with the judge of the high court of admiralty, may from time to time frame general orders for regulating (subject to the provisions of this act) the procedure and practice of prize courts, and the duties and conduct of the officers thereof and of the practitioners therein, and for regulating the fees to be taken by the officers of the courts, and the costs, charges, and expenses to be allowed to the practitioners therein.
-any such general orders shall have full effect, if and when approved by her majesty in council, but not sooner or otherwise.
-every order in council made under this section shall be laid before both houses of parliament.
-every such order in council shall be kept exhibited in a conspicuous place in each court to which it relates.
-14. it shall not be lawful for any registrar, marshal, or other officer of any prize court, or for the registrar of her majesty in prize appeals, directly or indirectly to act or be in any manner concerned as advocate, proctor, solicitor, or agent, or otherwise, in any prize cause or appeal, on pain of dismissal or suspension from office, by order of the court or of the judicial committee (as the case may require).
-15. it shall not be lawful for any proctor or solicitor, or person practising as a proctor or solicitor, being employed by a party in a prize cause or appeal, to be employed or concerned, by himself or his partner, or by any other person, directly or indirectly by or on behalf of any adverse party in that cause or appeal, on pain of exclusion or suspension from practice in prize matters, by order of the court or of the judicial committee (as the case may require).
-ii.--procedure in prize causes.
-proceedings by captors.
-16. every ship taken as prize, and brought into port within the jurisdiction of a prize court, shall forthwith and without bulk broken, be delivered up to the marshal of the court.
-if there is no such marshal, then the ship shall be in like manner delivered up to the principal officer of customs at the port.
-the ship shall remain in the custody of the marshal, or of such officer, subject to the orders of the court.
-17. the captors shall, with all practicable speed after the ship is brought into port, bring the ship papers into the registry of the court.
-the officer in command, or one of the chief officers of the capturing ship, or some other person who was present at the capture, and saw the ship papers delivered up or found on board, shall make oath that they are brought in as they were taken, without fraud, addition, subduction, or alteration, or else shall account on oath to the satisfaction of the court for the absence or altered condition of the ship papers or any of them.
-where no ship papers are delivered up or found on board the captured ship, the officer in command, or one of the chief officers of the capturing ship, or some other person who was present at the capture, shall make oath to that effect.
-18. as soon as the affidavit as to ship papers is filed, a monition shall issue, returnable within twenty days from the service thereof, citing all persons in general to show cause why the captured ship should not be condemned.
-19. the captors shall, with all practicable speed after the captured ship is brought into port, bring three or four of the principal persons belonging to the captured ship before the judge of the court or some person authorised in this behalf, by whom they shall be examined on oath on the standing interrogatories.
-the preparatory examinations on the standing interrogatories shall, if possible, be concluded within five days from the commencement thereof.
-21. where, on production of the preparatory examinations and ship papers, it appears to the court doubtful whether the captured ship is good prize or not, the court may direct further proof to be adduced, either by affidavit or by examination of witnesses, with or without pleadings, or by production of further documents; and on such further proof being adduced the court shall with all convenient speed proceed to adjudication.
-22. the foregoing provisions, as far as they relate to the custody of the ship, and to examination on the standing interrogatories, shall not apply to ships of war taken as prize.
-23. at any time before final decree made in the cause, any person claiming an interest in the ship may enter in the registry of the court a claim, verified on oath.
-within five days after entering the claim, the claimant shall give security for costs in the sum of sixty pounds; but the court shall have power to enlarge the time for giving security, or to direct security to be given in a larger sum, if the circumstances appear to require it.
-24. the court may, if it thinks fit, at any time direct that the captured ship be appraised.
-every appraisement shall be made by competent persons sworn to make the same according to the best of their skill and knowledge.
-delivery on bail.
-25. after appraisement, the court may, if it thinks fit, direct that the captured ship be delivered up to the claimant, on his giving security to the satisfaction of the court to pay to the captors the appraised value thereof in case of condemnation.
-26. the court may at any time, if it thinks fit, on account of the condition of the captured ship, or on the application of a claimant, order that the captured ship be appraised as aforesaid (if not already appraised), and be sold.
-27. on or after condemnation the court may, if it thinks fit, order that the ship be appraised as aforesaid (if not already appraised), and be sold.
-29. the proceeds of any sale, made either before or after condemnation, and after condemnation the appraised value of the captured ship, in case she has been delivered up to a claimant on bail, shall be paid under an order of the court either into the bank of england to the credit of her majesty's paymaster general, or into the hands of an official accountant (belonging to the commissariat or some other department) appointed for this purpose by the commissioners of her majesty's treasury or by the lords of the admiralty, subject in either case to such regulations as may from time to time be made, by order in council, as to the custody and disposal of money so paid.
-small armed ships.
-30. the captors may include in one adjudication any number, not exceeding six, of armed ships not exceeding one hundred tons each, taken within three months next before institution of proceedings.
-31. the foregoing provisions relating to ships shall extend and apply, mutatis mutandis, to goods taken as prize on board ship; and the court may direct such goods to be unladen, inventoried, and warehoused.
-monition to captors to proceed.
-32. if the captors fail to institute or to prosecute with effect proceedings for adjudication, a monition shall, on the application of a claimant, issue against the captors, returnable within six days from the service thereof, citing them to appear and proceed to adjudication; and on the return thereof the court shall either forthwith proceed to adjudication or direct further proof to be adduced as aforesaid and then proceed to adjudication.
-claim on appeal.
-33. where any person, not an original party in the cause, intervenes on appeal, he shall enter a claim, verified on oath, and shall give security for costs.
-iii.--special cases of capture.
-34. where, in an expedition of any of her majesty's naval or naval and military forces against a fortress or possession on land, goods belonging to the state of the enemy or to a public trading company of the enemy exercising powers of government are taken in the fortress or possession, or a ship is taken in waters defended by or belonging to the fortress or possession, a prize court shall have jurisdiction as to the goods or ship so taken, and any goods taken on board the ship as in case of prize.
-conjunct capture with ally.
-35. where any ship or goods is or are taken by any of her majesty's naval or naval and military forces while acting in conjunction with any forces of any of her majesty's allies, a prize court shall have jurisdiction as to the same as in the case of prize, and shall have power, after condemnation, to apportion the due share of the proceeds to her majesty's ally, the proportionate amount and the disposition of which share shall be such as may from time to time be agreed between her majesty and her majesty's ally.
-36. before condemnation, a petition on behalf of asserted joint captors shall not (except by special leave of the court) be admitted, unless and until they give security to the satisfaction of the court to contribute to the actual captors a just proportion of any costs, charges, and expenses or damages that may be incurred by or awarded against the actual captors on account of the capture and detention of the prize.
-after condemnation, such a petition shall not (except by special leave of the court) be admitted unless and until the asserted joint captors pay to the actual captors a just proportion of the costs, charges, and expenses incurred by the actual captors in the case, and give such security as aforesaid, and show sufficient cause to the court why their petition was not presented before condemnation.
-provided, that nothing in the present section shall extend to the asserted interest of a flag officer claiming to share by virtue of his flag.
-offences against law of prize.
-37. a prize court, on proof of any offence against the law of nations, or against this act, or any act relating to naval discipline, or against any order in council or royal proclamation, or of any breach of her majesty's instructions relating to prize, or of any act of disobedience to the orders of the lords of the admiralty, or to the command of a superior officer, committed by the captors in relation to any ship or goods taken as prize, or in relation to any person on board any such ship, may, on condemnation, reserve the prize to her majesty's disposal, notwithstanding any grant that may have been made by her majesty in favour of captors.
-38. where a ship of a foreign nation passing the seas laden with naval or victualling stores intended to be carried to a port of any enemy of her majesty is taken and brought into a port of the united kingdom, and the purchase for the service of her majesty of the stores on board the ship appears to the lords of the admiralty expedient without the condemnation thereof in a prize court, in that case the lords of the admiralty may purchase, on the account or for the service of her majesty, all or any of the stores on board the ship; and the commissioners of customs may permit the stores purchased to be entered and landed within any port.
-capture by ship other than a ship of war.
-39. any ship or goods taken as prize by any of the officers and crew of a ship other than a ship of war of her majesty shall, on condemnation, belong to her majesty in her office of admiralty.
-40. where any ship or goods belonging to any of her majesty's subjects, after being taken as prize by the enemy, is or are retaken from the enemy by any of her majesty's ships of war, the same shall be restored by decree of a prize court to the owner, on his paying as prize salvage one eighth part of the value of the prize to be decreed and ascertained by the court, or such sum not exceeding one eighth part of the estimated value of the prize as may be agreed on between the owner and the re-captors, and approved by order of the court; provided, that where the re-capture is made under circumstances of special difficulty or danger, the prize court may, if it thinks fit, award to the re-captors as prize salvage a larger part than one eighth part, but not exceeding in any case one fourth part, of the value of the prize.
-provided also, that where a ship after being so taken is set forth or used by any of her majesty's enemies as a ship of war, this provision for restitution shall not apply, and the ship shall be adjudicated on as in other cases of prize.
-41. where a ship belonging to any of her majesty's subjects, after being taken as prize by the enemy, is retaken from the enemy by any of her majesty's ships of war, she may, with the consent of the re-captors, prosecute her voyage, and it shall not be necessary for the re-captors to proceed to adjudication till her return to a port of the united kingdom.
-the master or owner, or his agent, may, with the consent of the re-captors, unload and dispose of the goods on board the ship before adjudication.
-in case the ship does not, within six months, return to a port of the united kingdom, the re-captors may nevertheless institute proceedings against the ship or goods in the high court of admiralty, and the court may thereupon award prize salvage as aforesaid to the re-captors, and may enforce payment thereof, either by warrant of arrest against the ship or goods, or by monition and attachment against the owner.
-42. if, in relation to any war, her majesty is pleased to declare, by proclamation or order in council, her intention to grant prize bounty to the officers and crews of her ships of war, then such of the officers and crew of any of her majesty's ships of war as are actually present at the taking or destroying of any armed ship of any of her majesty's enemies shall be entitled to have distributed among them as prize bounty a sum calculated at the rate of five pounds for each person on board the enemy's ship at the beginning of the engagement.
-43. the number of the persons so on board the enemy's ship shall be proved in a prize court, either by the examinations on oath of the survivors of them, or of any three or more of the survivors, or if there is no survivor by the papers of the enemy's ship, or by the examinations on oath of three or more of the officers and crew of her majesty's ship, or by such other evidence as may seem to the court sufficient in the circumstances.
-the court shall make a decree declaring the title of the officers and crew of her majesty's ship to the prize bounty, and stating the amount thereof.
-the decree shall be subject to appeal as other decrees of the court.
-44. on production of an official copy of the decree the commissioners of her majesty's treasury shall, out of money provided by parliament, pay the amount of prize bounty decreed, in such manner as any order in council may from time to time direct.
-45. her majesty in council may from time to time, in relation to any war, make such orders as may seem expedient, according to circumstances, for prohibiting or allowing, wholly or in certain cases, or subject to any conditions or regulations or otherwise, as may from time to time seem meet, the ransoming or the entering into any contract or agreement for the ransoming of any ship or goods belonging to any of her majesty's subjects, and taken as prize by any of her majesty's enemies.
-any contract or agreement entered into, and any bill, bond, or other security given for ransom of any ship or goods, shall be under the exclusive jurisdiction of the high court of admiralty as a prize court (subject to appeal to the judicial committee of the privy council), and if entered into or given in contravention of any such order in council shall be deemed to have been entered into or given for an illegal consideration.
-if any person ransoms or enters into any contract or agreement for ransoming any ship or goods, in contravention of any such order in council, he shall for every such offence be liable to be proceeded against in the high court of admiralty at the suit of her majesty in her office of admiralty, and on conviction to be fined, in the discretion of the court, any sum not exceeding five hundred pounds.
-46. if the master or other person having the command of any ship of any of her majesty's subjects, under the convoy of any of her majesty's ships of war, wilfully disobeys any lawful signal, instruction, or command of the commander of the convoy, or without leave deserts the convoy, he shall be liable to be proceeded against in the high court of admiralty at the suit of her majesty in her office of admiralty, and upon conviction to be fined, in the discretion of the court, any sum not exceeding five hundred pounds, and to suffer imprisonment for such time, not exceeding one year, as the court may adjudge.
-customs duties and regulations.
-47. all ships and goods taken as prize and brought into a port of the united kingdom shall be liable to and be charged with the same rates and charges and duties of customs as under any act relating to the customs may be chargeable on other ships and goods of the like description; and
-all goods brought in as prize which would on the voluntary importation thereof be liable to forfeiture or subject to any restriction under the laws relating to the customs, shall be deemed to be so liable and subject, unless the commissioners of customs see fit to authorise the sale or delivery thereof for home use or exportation, unconditionally or subject to such conditions and regulations as they may direct.
-48. where any ship or goods taken as prize is or are brought into a port of the united kingdom, the master or other person in charge or command of the ship which has been taken or in which the goods are brought shall, on arrival at such port, bring to at the proper place of discharge, and shall, when required by any officer of customs, deliver an account in writing under his hand concerning such ship and goods, giving such particulars relating thereto as may be in his power, and shall truly answer all questions concerning such ship or goods asked by any such officer, and in default shall forfeit a sum not exceeding one hundred pounds, such forfeiture to be enforced as forfeitures for offences against the laws relating to the customs are enforced, and every such ship shall be liable to such searches as other ships are liable to, and the officers of the customs may freely go on board such ship and bring to the queen's warehouse any goods on board the same, subject, nevertheless, to such regulations in respect of ships of war belonging to her majesty as shall from time to time be issued by the commissioners of her majesty's treasury.
-49. goods taken as prize may be sold either for home consumption or for exportation; and if in the former case the proceeds thereof, after payment of duties of customs, are insufficient to satisfy the just and reasonable claims thereon, the commissioners of her majesty's treasury may remit the whole or such part of the said duties as they see fit.
-50. if any person wilfully and corruptly swears, declares, or affirms falsely in any prize cause or appeal, or in any proceeding under this act, or in respect of any matter required by this act to be verified on oath, or suborns any other person to do so, he shall be deemed guilty of perjury, or of subornation of perjury (as the case may be), and shall be liable to be punished accordingly.
-limitation of actions, &c.
-51. any action or proceeding shall not lie in any part of her majesty's dominions against any person acting under the authority or in the execution or intended execution or in pursuance of this act for any alleged irregularity or trespass, or other act or thing done or omitted by him under this act, unless notice in writing (specifying the cause of the action or proceeding) is given by the intending plaintiff or prosecutor to the intended defendant one month at least before the commencement of the action or proceeding, nor unless the action or proceeding is commenced within six months next after the act or thing complained of is done or omitted, or, in case of a continuation of damage, within six months next after the doing of such damage has ceased.
-in any such action the defendant may plead generally that the act or thing complained of was done or omitted by him when acting under the authority or in the execution or intended execution or in pursuance of this act, and may give all special matter in evidence; and the plaintiff shall not succeed if tender of sufficient amends is made by the defendant before the commencement of the action; and in case no tender has been made, the defendant may, by leave of the court in which the action is brought, at any time pay into court such sum of money as he thinks fit, whereupon such proceeding and order shall be had and made in and by the court as may be had and made on the payment of money into court in an ordinary action; and if the plaintiff does not succeed in the action, the defendant shall receive such full and reasonable indemnity as to all costs, charges, and expenses incurred in and about the action as may be taxed and allowed by the proper officer, subject to review; and though a verdict is given for the plaintiff in the action he shall not have costs against the defendant, unless the judge before whom the trial is had certifies his approval of the action.
-any such action or proceeding against any person in her majesty's naval service, or in the employment of the lords of the admiralty, shall not be brought or instituted elsewhere than in the united kingdom.
-petitions of right.
-52. a petition of right, under the petitions of right act, 1860, may, if the suppliant thinks fit, be intituled in the high court of admiralty, in case the subject matter of the petition or any material part thereof arises out of the exercise of any belligerent right on behalf of the crown, or would be cognizable in a prize court within her majesty's dominions if the same were a matter in dispute between private persons.
-any petition of right under the last-mentioned act, whether intituled in the high court of admiralty or not, may be prosecuted in that court, if the lord chancellor thinks fit so to direct.
-the provisions of this act relative to appeal, and to the framing and approval of general orders for regulating the procedure and practice of the high court of admiralty, shall extend to the case of any such petition of right intituled or directed to be prosecuted in that court; and, subject thereto, all the provisions of the petitions of right act, 1860, shall apply, mutatis mutandis, in the case of any such petition of right; and for the purposes of the present section the terms "court" and "judge" in that act shall respectively be understood to include and to mean the high court of admiralty and the judge thereof, and other terms shall have the respective meanings given to them in that act.
-orders in council.
-53. her majesty in council may from time to time make such orders in council as seem meet for the better execution of this act.
-54. every order in council under this act shall be published in the london gazette, and shall be laid before both houses of parliament within thirty days after the making thereof, if parliament is then sitting, and, if not, then within thirty days after the next meeting of parliament.
-55. nothing in this act shall--
-56. this act shall commence on the commencement of the naval agency and distribution act, 1864.
-be it enacted by the queen's most excellent majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the lords spiritual and temporal, and commons, in this present parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:
-1. this act may be cited as the prize courts act, 1894.
-2.--(1) any commission, warrant, or instructions from her majesty the queen or the admiralty for the purpose of commissioning or regulating the procedure of a prize court at any place in a british possession may, notwithstanding the existence of peace, be issued at any time, with a direction that the court shall act only upon such proclamation as herein-after mentioned being made in the possession.
-3.--(1) her majesty the queen in council may make rules of court for regulating, subject to the provisions of the naval prize act, 1864, and this act, the procedure and practice of prize courts within the meaning of that act, and the duties and conduct of the officers thereof, and of the practitioners therein, and for regulating the fees to be taken by the officers of the courts, and the costs, charges, and expenses to be allowed to the practitioners therein.
-4. her majesty the queen in council may make rules of court for regulating the procedure and practice, including fees and costs, in a vice-admiralty court, whether under this act or otherwise.
-5. section twenty-five of the government of india act, 1800, is hereby repealed.
-naval prize bill of 1911 passed by the house of commons, but thrown out by the house of lords a bill to consolidate, with amendments, the enactments relating to naval prize of war.
-whereas at the second peace conference held at the hague in the year nineteen hundred and seven a convention, the english translation whereof is set forth in the first schedule to this act, was drawn up, but it is desirable that the same should not be ratified by his majesty until such amendments have been made in the law relating to naval prize of war as will enable effect to be given to the convention:
-and whereas for the purpose aforesaid it is expedient to consolidate the law relating to naval prize of war with such amendments as aforesaid and with certain other minor amendments:
-be it therefore enacted by the king's most excellent majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the lords spiritual and temporal, and commons, in this present parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:--
-part i.--courts and officers.
-the prize court in england.
-1.--(1) the high court shall, without special warrant, be a prize court, and shall, on the high seas, and throughout his majesty's dominions, and in every place where his majesty has jurisdiction, have all such jurisdiction as the high court of admiralty possessed when acting as a prize court, and generally have jurisdiction to determine all questions as to the validity of the capture of a ship or goods, the legality of the destruction of a captured ship or goods, and as to the payment of compensation in respect of such a capture or destruction.
-for the purposes of this act the expression "capture" shall include seizure for the purpose of the detention, requisition, or destruction of any ship or goods which, but for any convention, would be liable to condemnation, and the expressions "captured" and "taken as prize" shall be construed accordingly, and where any ship or goods have been so seized the court may make an order for the detention, requisition, or destruction of the ship or goods and for the payment of compensation in respect thereof.
-2. the high court as a prize court shall have power to enforce any order or decree of a prize court in a british possession, and any order of the supreme prize court constituted under this act in a prize appeal.
-prize courts in british possessions.
-3. his majesty may, by commission addressed to the admiralty, empower the admiralty to authorise, and the admiralty may thereupon by warrant authorise, either a vice-admiralty court or a colonial court of admiralty, within the meaning of the colonial courts of admiralty act, 1890, to act as a prize court in a british possession, or may in like manner establish a vice-admiralty court for the purpose of so acting; and any court so authorised shall, subject to the terms of the warrant from the admiralty, have all such jurisdiction as is by this act conferred on the high court as a prize court.
-4.--(1) any commission, warrant, or instructions from his majesty the king or the admiralty for the purpose of commissioning a prize court at any place in a british possession may, notwithstanding the existence of peace, be issued at any time, with a direction that the court shall act only upon such proclamation as herein-after mentioned being made in the possession.
-5. every prize court in a british possession shall enforce within its jurisdiction all orders and decrees of the high court and of any other prize court in a british possession in prize causes, and all orders of the supreme prize court constituted under this act in prize appeals.
-6.--(1) his majesty in council may, with the concurrence of the treasury, grant to the judge of any prize court in a british possession, other than a colonial court of admiralty within the meaning of the colonial courts of admiralty act, 1890, remuneration, at a rate not exceeding five hundred pounds a year, payable out of money provided by parliament, subject to such regulations as seem meet.
-7. the registrar of every prize court in a british possession shall, on the first day of january and first day of july in every year, make out a return (in such form as the admiralty from time to time direct) of all cases adjudged in the court since the last half-yearly return, and shall with all convenient speed send the same to the admiralty registrar of the probate, divorce, and admiralty division of the high court, who shall keep the same in the admiralty registry of that division, and who shall as soon as conveniently may be, send a copy of the returns of each half year to the admiralty, and the admiralty shall lay the same before both houses of parliament.
-8. if any colonial court of admiralty within the meaning of the colonial courts of admiralty act, 1890, is authorised under this act or otherwise to act as a prize court, all fees arising in respect of prize business transacted in the court shall be fixed, collected, and applied in like manner as the fees arising in respect of the admiralty business of the court under the first-mentioned act.
-9.--(1) any appeal from the high court when acting as a prize court, or from a prize court in a british possession, shall lie only to a court (to be called the supreme prize court) consisting of such members for the time being of the judicial committee of the privy council as may be nominated by his majesty for that purpose.
-10.--(1) an appeal shall lie to the supreme prize court from any order or decree of a prize court, as of right in case of a final decree, and in other cases with the leave of the court making the order or decree or of the supreme prize court.
-11. the supreme prize court shall have jurisdiction to hear and determine any such appeal, and may therein exercise all such powers as are under this act vested in the high court, and all such powers as were wont to be exercised by the commissioners of appeal or by the judicial committee of the privy council in prize causes.
-rules of court.
-12. his majesty in council may make rules of court for regulating, subject to the provisions of this act, the procedure and practice of the supreme prize court and of the prize courts within the meaning of this act, and the duties and conduct of the officers thereof, and of the practitioners therein, and for regulating the fees to be taken by the officers of the courts, and the costs, charges, and expenses to be allowed to the practitioners therein.
-officers of prize courts.
-13. it shall not be lawful for any registrar, marshal, or other officer of the supreme prize court or of any other prize court, directly or indirectly to act or be in any manner concerned as advocate, proctor, solicitor, or agent, or otherwise, in any prize appeal or cause.
-14. the public authorities protection act, 1893, shall apply to any action, prosecution, or other proceeding against any person for any act done in pursuance or execution or intended execution of this act or in respect of any alleged neglect or default in the execution of this act whether commenced in the united kingdom or elsewhere within his majesty's dominions.
-continuance of proceedings.
-15. a court duly authorised to act as a prize court during any war shall after the conclusion of the war continue so to act in relation to, and finally dispose of, all matters and things which arose during the war, including all penalties, liabilities and forfeitures incurred during the war.
-part ii.--procedure in prize causes.
-16. where a ship (not being a ship of war) is taken as prize, and is or is brought within the jurisdiction of a prize court, she shall forthwith be delivered up to the marshal of the court, or, if there is no such marshal, to the principal officer of customs at the port, and shall remain in his custody, subject to the orders of the court.
-17.--(1) the captors shall in all cases, with all practicable speed, bring the ship papers into the registry of the court.
-18. the captors shall also, unless the court otherwise directs, with all practicable speed after the captured ship is brought into port, bring a convenient number of the principal persons belonging to the captured ship before the judge of the court or some person authorised in this behalf, by whom they shall be examined on oath.
-19. the court may, if it thinks fit, at any time after a captured ship has been appraised direct that the ship be delivered up to the claimant on his giving security to the satisfaction of the court to pay to the captors the appraised value thereof in case of condemnation.
-20. the court may at any time, if it thinks fit, on account of the condition of the captured ship, or on the application of a claimant, or on or after condemnation, order that the captured ship be appraised (if not already appraised), and be sold.
-22.--(1) the provisions of this part of this act relating to ships shall extend and apply, with the necessary adaptations, to goods taken as prize.
-part iii.--international prize court.
-23.--(1) in the event of an international prize court being constituted in accordance with the said convention or with any convention entered into for the purpose of enabling any power to become a party to the said convention or for the purpose of amending the said convention in matters subsidiary or incidental thereto (hereinafter referred to as the international prize court), it shall be lawful for his majesty from time to time to appoint a judge and deputy judge of the court.
-24. any sums required for the payment of any contribution towards the general expenses of the international prize court payable by his majesty under the said convention shall be charged on and paid out of the consolidated fund and the growing proceeds thereof.
-25. in cases to which this part of this act applies an appeal from the supreme prize court shall lie to the international prize court.
-26. if in any case to which this part of this act applies final judgment is not given by the prize court, or on appeal by the supreme prize court, within two years from the date of the capture, the case may be transferred to the international prize court.
-27. his majesty in council may make rules regulating the manner in which appeals and transfers under this part of this act may be made and with respect to all such matters (including fees, costs, charges, and expenses) as appear to his majesty to be necessary for the purpose of such appeals and transfers, or to be incidental thereto or consequential thereon.
-28. the high court and every prize court in a british possession shall enforce within its jurisdiction all orders and decrees of the international prize court in appeals and cases transferred to the court under this part of this act.
-29. this part of this act shall apply only to such cases and during such period as may for the time being be directed by order in council, and his majesty may by the same or any other order in council apply this part of this act subject to such conditions, exceptions and qualifications as may be deemed expedient.
-30. where any ship or goods belonging to any of his majesty's subjects, after being taken as prize by the enemy, is or are retaken from the enemy by any of his majesty's ships of war, the same shall be restored by decree of a prize court to the owner.
-31.--(1) where a ship belonging to any of his majesty's subjects, after being taken as prize by the enemy, is retaken from the enemy by any of his majesty's ships of war, she may, with the consent of the re-captors, prosecute her voyage, and it shall not be necessary for the re-captors to proceed to adjudication till her return to a port of his majesty's dominions.
-32. if, in relation to any war, his majesty is pleased to declare, by proclamation or order in council, his intention to grant prize bounty to the officers and crews of his ships of war, then such of the officers and crew of any of his majesty's ships of war as are actually present at the taking or destroying of any armed ship of any of his majesty's enemies shall be entitled to have distributed among them as prize bounty a sum calculated at such rates and in such manner as may be specified in the proclamation or order in council.
-33.--(1) a prize court shall make a decree declaring the title of the officers and crew of his majesty's ship to the prize bounty, and stating the amount thereof.
-34. where, in an expedition of any of his majesty's naval or naval and military forces against a fortress or possession on land goods belonging to the state of the enemy, or to a public trading company of the enemy exercising powers of government, are taken in the fortress or possession, or a ship is taken in waters defended by or belonging to the fortress or possession, a prize court shall have jurisdiction as to the goods or ships so taken, and any goods taken on board the ship, as in case of prize.
-35. where any ship or goods is or are taken by any of his majesty's naval or naval and military forces while acting in conjunction with any forces of any of his majesty's allies, a prize court shall have jurisdiction as to the same as in case of prize, and shall have power, after condemnation, to apportion the due share of the proceeds to his majesty's ally, the proportionate amount and the disposition of which share shall be such as may from time to time be agreed between his majesty and his majesty's ally.
-36.--(1) in any case where a petition of right under the petitions of right act, 1860, is presented and the subject-matter of the petition or any material part thereof arises out of the exercise of any belligerent right on behalf of the crown, or would be cognizable in a prize court within his majesty's dominions if the same were a matter in dispute between private persons, the petition may, if the subject thinks fit, be intituled in the high court as a prize court.
-37. a prize court, on proof of any offence against the law of nations, or against this act, or any act relating to naval discipline, or against any order in council or royal proclamation, or of any breach of his majesty's instructions relating to prize, or of any act of disobedience to the orders of the admiralty, or to the command of a superior officer, committed by the captors in relation to any ship or goods taken as prize, or in relation to any person on board any such ship, may, on condemnation, reserve the prize to his majesty's disposal, notwithstanding any grant that may have been made by his majesty in favour of captors.
-38. if any person wilfully and corruptly swears, declares, or affirms falsely in any prize cause or appeal, or in any proceeding under this act, or in respect of any matter required by this act to be verified on oath, or suborns any other person to do so, he shall be deemed guilty of perjury, or of subornation of perjury (as the case may be), and shall be liable to be punished accordingly.
-39. if the master or other person having the command of any british ship under the convoy of any of his majesty's ships of war, wilfully disobeys any lawful signal, instruction, or command of the commander of the convoy, or without leave deserts the convoy, he shall be liable to be proceeded against in the high court at the suit of his majesty in his office of admiralty, and upon conviction to be fined, in the discretion of the court, any sum not exceeding five hundred pounds, and to suffer imprisonment for such time, not exceeding one year, as the court may adjudge.
-part vii.--miscellaneous provisions.
-40.--(1) his majesty in council may, in relation to any war, make such orders as may seem expedient according to circumstances for prohibiting or allowing, wholly or in certain cases or subject to any conditions or regulations or otherwise as may from time to time seem meet, the ransoming or the entering into any contract or agreement for the ransoming of any ship or goods belonging to any of his majesty's subjects, and taken as prize by any of his majesty's enemies.
-customs duties and regulations.
-41.--(1) all ships and goods taken as prize and brought into a port of his majesty's dominions shall be liable to and be charged with the same rates and charges and duties of customs as under any act relating to the customs in force at the port may be chargeable on other ships and goods of the like description.
-42. where any ship or goods taken as prize is or are brought into a port of his majesty's dominions, the master or other person in charge or command of the ship which has been taken or in which the goods are brought shall, on arrival at such port, bring to at the proper place of discharge, and shall, when required by any officer of customs, deliver an account in writing under his hand concerning such ship and goods, giving such particulars relating thereto as may be in his power, and shall truly answer all questions concerning such ship or goods asked by any such officer, and in default shall forfeit a sum not exceeding one hundred pounds, such forfeiture to be enforced as forfeitures for offences against the laws relating to the customs in force at the port are enforced, and every such ship shall be liable to such searches as other ships are liable to, and the officers of the customs may freely go on board such ship and bring to the king's or other warehouse any goods on board the same, subject, nevertheless, to such regulations in respect of ships of war belonging to his majesty as shall from time to time be issued by his majesty.
-43. goods taken as prize may be sold either for home consumption or for exportation; and if in the former case the proceeds thereof, after payment of duties of customs, are insufficient to satisfy the just and reasonable claims thereon, the customs authority may remit the whole or such part of the said duties as they see fit.
-capture by ship other than a ship of war.
-44. any ship or goods taken as prize by any of the officers and crew of a ship other than a ship of war of his majesty shall, on condemnation, belong to his majesty in his office of admiralty.
-45. nothing in this act shall--
-46.--(1) his majesty in council may from time to time make such orders in council as seem meet for the better execution of this act.
-47. in this act unless the context otherwise requires--
-the expression "the high court" means the high court of justice in england:
-the expression "any of his majesty's ships of war" includes any of his majesty's vessels of war, and any hired armed ship or vessel in his majesty's service:
-the expression "officers and crew" includes flag officers, commanders, and other officers, engineers, seamen, marines, soldiers, and others on board any of his majesty's ships of war:
-the expression "ship" includes vessel and boat, with the tackle, furniture, and apparel of the ship, vessel, or boat:
-the expression "ship papers" includes all books, papers, and other documents and writings delivered up or found on board a captured ship, and, where certified copies only of any papers are delivered to the captors, includes such copies:
-the expression "goods" includes all such things as are by the course of admiralty and law of nations the subject of adjudication as prize (other than ships):
-the expression "customs authority" means the commissioners or other authority having control of the administration of the law relating to customs.
-48.--(1) this act may be cited as the naval prize act, 1911.
-whereas his majesty has ratified, with certain reservations, the convention for the amelioration of the condition of the wounded and sick of armies in the field, drawn up in geneva in the year one thousand nine hundred and six, and it is desirable, in order that those reservations may be withdrawn, that such amendments should be made in the law as are in this act contained:
-be it therefore enacted by the king's most excellent majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the lords spiritual and temporal, and commons in this present parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:--
-1.--(1) as from the commencement of this act it shall not be lawful for any person to use for the purposes of his trade or business, or for any other purpose whatsoever, without the authority of the army council, the heraldic emblem of the red cross on a white ground formed by reversing the federal colours of switzerland, or the words "red cross" or "geneva cross," and, if any person acts in contravention of this provision, he shall be guilty of an offence against this act, and shall be liable on summary conviction to a fine not exceeding ten pounds, and to forfeit any goods upon or in connection with which the emblem or words were used.
-2. this act may be cited as the geneva convention act, 1911.
-this index does not refer to conventions, &c., printed in the appendices.
-aerial warfare. see air-vessels
-ambulances, see convoys of evacuation
-amicable settlement of state differences. see state differences
-analogous of contraband. see unneutral service
-armed neutrality. see neutrality
-asylum. see neutral asylum
-attack on enemy vessels, 225-237. see also enemy vessels
-carriage of contraband. see contraband of war
-citizens. see private individuals
-commercial treaty. see treaties
-compulsive settlement of state differences. see state differences
-conquest, 325. see also subjugation
-court of arbitration at the hague. see permanent court of arbitration
-enemy property. see public enemy property; private enemy property
-flight. see escape
-foreign enlistment act. see enlistment act
-hague court of arbitration. see permanent court of arbitration
-international court of arbitration. see permanent court of arbitration
-jus: angariae, 45, 446 belli, 91 postliminii, 339 see also right
-medical establishments, &c. see land warfare, also naval warfare
-naval code: italian, 222 united states. see united states
-naval conference of london. see london
-north sea outrage. see dogger bank
-occupation of enemy territory. see enemy territory
-paris: act of november (1815), 392 declaration of (1856). see declaration of paris peace treaty of. see peace treaty
-peace conferences. see hague peace conferences
-property. see private enemy property; public enemy property
-pursuit, right of. see right of pursuit
-right: of angary, 446-449, 510 of convoy, 535 of pursuit of a vanquished army into neutral territory, 352, 387 of pursuit of a defeated fleet into neutral waters, 352, 387, 422 of stoppage in transitu, 120 of visit and search, 290, 533 see also jus
-scott, sir william: neutral property on armed enemy vessels condemned by, 542 on capture of enemy vessels in neutral waters, 443 on contraband, 503 on unneutral service, 519 on vessels under neutral convoy, 543 see also stowell, lord
-sea warfare. see naval warfare
-seizure, immunity of vessels from, 232-237 see also enemy vessels
-stowell, lord: on immunity of fishing-boats, 234 on prize courts, 554 see also scott, sir william
-stratagems. see ruses
-submarine mines. see mines
-trading between belligerent's subjects. see intercourse
-transvaal. see south african republic
-vessels. see enemy vessels; contraband vessels
-printed by ballantyne, hanson & co.
-edinburgh & london
-the onslaught from rigel
-by fletcher pratt
-the onslaught from rigel
-by the author of "the reign of the ray," "the war of the giants," etc.
-mr. pratt is well known for his "reign of the ray," and "the war of the giants" where in both stories he showed his excellent knowledge of warfare, and what a future war might be like.
-in this story he combines that knowledge with a vivid and fertile scientific imagination to construct an interplanetary story that marks a new triumph for wonder stories quarterly.
-we know that many scientists believe that life may originally have come to earth in the form of spores, from other solar systems and other universes. we therefore might really have had our home dim ages ago, on worlds distantly removed from our earth.
-the ability to travel the interstellar spaces, however, might also be religion given him?" said rose, timidly.
-"you need not mention that," said vesper; "it goes without saying."
-rose took a crucifix from her breast and handed it to him. "you will give him that from his mother," she said, with trembling lips.
-vesper held it in his hand for a minute, then he silently put it in his pocket.
-there was a long pause, broken at last by agapit, who said, "will you get the breakfast, rose? mr. nimmo assured me that he wished to start at once. is it not so?"
-"yes," said vesper, shortly.
-rose got up and went to the pantry.
-"will you put the things on this table?" said vesper. "and will not you and agapit have breakfast with me?"
-rose nodded her head, and, with a breaking heart, she went to and fro, her feet touching the hardwood floor and the rugs as noiselessly as if there had been a death in the house.
-the two young men sat and stared at the stove or out the windows. agapit was anathematizing vesper for returning to settle a matter that could have been arranged by writing, and vesper was alternately in a dumb fury with agapit for not leaving him alone with rose, or in a state of extravagant laudation because he did not do so. what a watch-dog he was,--what a sure guardian to leave over his beautiful sweetheart!
-dispirited and without appetite, the three at last assembled around the table. rose choked over every morsel that she ate, until, unable longer to endure the trial, she left the table, and contented herself with waiting upon them.
-vesper was famished, having eaten so little the evening before, yet he turned away from the toast and coffee and chops that rose set before him.
-"i will go now; agapit, come to the gate with me. i want to speak to you."
-rose started violently. it seemed to her that her whole agitated, overwrought soul had gone out to her lover in a shriek of despair, yet she had not uttered a sound.
-vesper could not endure the agony of her eyes. "rose," he said, stretching out his hands to her, "will you do as i wish?"
-"no," said agapit, stepping between them.
-"rose," said vesper, caressingly, "shall i go to see charlitte?"
-"yes, yes," she moaned, desperately, and sinking to a chair, she dropped her swimming head on the table.
-"no," said agapit, again, "you shall not break god's laws. rose is married to charlitte."
-vesper tried to pass him, to assist rose, who was half fainting, but agapit's burly form was immovable, and the furious young american lifted his arm to strike him.
-"nâni," said agapit, tossing his arm in the air, "two blows from no man for me," and he promptly knocked vesper down.
-rose, shocked and terrified, instantly recovered. she ran to her fallen hero, bent over him with fond and distracted words, and when he struggled to his feet, and with a red and furious face would have flown at agapit, she restrained him, by clinging to his arm.
-"dear fools," said agapit, "i would have saved you this humbling, but you would not listen. it is now time to part. the doctor comes up the road."
-vesper made a superhuman effort at self-control, and passed his hand over his eyes, to clear away the mists of passion. then he looked through the kitchen window. the doctor was indeed driving up to the inn.
-"good-by, rose," he exclaimed, "and do you, agapit," and he surveyed the acadien in bitter resentment, "treat charlitte as you have treated me, if he comes for her."
-even in her despair rose reflected that they were parting in anger.
-"vesper, vesper,--most darling of men," she cried, wildly, detaining him, "shake hands, at least."
-"i will not," he muttered, then he gently put her from him, and flung himself from the room.
-"one does not forget those things," said agapit, gloomily, and he followed her out-of-doors.
-vesper, staggering so that he could hardly mount his wheel, was just about to leave the yard. rose clung to the doorpost, and watched him; then she ran to the gate.
-a new arrival at sleeping water.
-"but swift or slow the days will pass, the longest night will have a morn, and to each day is duly born a night from time's inverted glass."
-five years have passed away,--five long years. five times the acadien farmers have sown their seeds. five times they have gathered their crops. five times summer suns have smiled upon the bay, and five times winter winds have chilled it. and five times five changes have there been in sleeping water, though it is a place that changes little.
-some old people have died, some new ones have been born, but chief among all changes has been the one effected by the sometime presence, and now always absence, of the young englishman from boston, who had come so quietly among the acadiens, and had gone so quietly, and yet whose influence had lingered, and would always linger among them.
-in the first place, rose à charlitte had given up the inn. shortly after the englishman had gone away, her uncle had died, and had left her, not a great fortune, but a very snug little sum of money--and with a part of it she had built herself a cottage on the banks of sleeping water river, where she now lived with célina, her former servant, who had, in her devotion to her mistress, taken a vow never to marry unless rose herself should choose a husband. this there seemed little likelihood of her doing. she had apparently forsworn marriage when she rejected the englishman. all the bay knew that he had been violently in love with her, all the bay knew that she had sent him away, but none knew the reason for it. she had apparently loved him,--she had certainly never loved any other man. it was suspected that agapit lenoir was in the secret, but he would not discuss the englishman with any one, and, gentle and sweet as rose was, there were very few who cared to broach the subject to her.
-another change had been the coming to sleeping water of a family from up the bay. they kept the inn now, and they were protégés of the englishman, and relatives of a young girl that he and his mother had taken away--away across the ocean to france some four years before--because she was a badly brought up child, who did not love her native tongue nor her father's people.
-it had been a wonderful thing that had happened to these watercrows in the coming of the englishman to the bay. his mission had been to search for the heirs of etex lenoir, who had been murdered by his great-grandfather at the time of the terrible expulsion, and he had found a direct one in the person of this naughty little bidiane.
-she had been a great trouble to him at first, it was said, but, under his wise government, she had soon sobered down; and she had also brought him luck, as much luck as a pot of gold, for, directly after he had discovered her he--who had not been a rich young man, but one largely dependent on his mother--had fallen heir to a large fortune, left to him by a distant relative. this relative had been a great-aunt, who had heard of his romantic and dutiful journey to acadie, and, being touched by it, and feeling assured that he was a worthy young man, she had immediately made a will, leaving him all that she possessed, and had then died.
-he had sought to atone for the sins of his forefathers, and had reaped a rich reward.
-a good deal of the englishman's money had been bestowed on these watercrows. with kindly tolerance, he had indulged a whim of theirs to go to boston when they were obliged to leave their heavily mortgaged farm. it was said that they had expected to make vast sums of money there. the englishman knew that they could not do so, but that they might cease the repinings and see for themselves what a great city really was for poor people, he had allowed them to make a short stay in one.
-the result had been that they were horrified; yes, absolutely horrified,--this family transported from the wide, beautiful bay,--at the narrowness of the streets in the large city of boston, at the rush of people, the race for work, the general crowding and pushing, the oppression of the poor, the tiny rooms in which they were obliged to live, and the foul air which fairly suffocated them.
-they had begged the englishman to let them come back to the bay, even if they lived only in a shanty. they could not endure that terrible city.
-he generously had given them the sleeping water inn that he had bought when rose à charlitte had left it, and there they had tried to keep a hotel, with but indifferent success, until claudine, the widow of isidore kessy, had come to assist them.
-the acadiens in sleeping water, with their keen social instincts, and sympathetically curious habit of looking over, and under, and into, and across every subject of interest to them, were never tired of discussing vesper nimmo and his affairs. he had still with him the little narcisse who had run from the bay five years before, and, although the englishman himself never wrote to rose à charlitte, there came every week to the bay a letter addressed to her in the handwriting of the young bidiane lenoir, who, according to the instructions of the englishman, gave rose a full and minute account of every occurrence in her child's life. in this way she was kept from feeling lonely.
-these letters were said to be delectable, yes, quite delectable. célina said so, and she ought to know.
-the white-headed, red-coated mail-driver, who never flagged in his admiration for vesper, was just now talking about him. twice a day during the long five years had emmanuel de la rive flashed over the long road to the station. twice a day had this descendant of the old french nobleman courteously taken off his hat to the woman who kept the station, and then, placing it on his knee, had sat down to discuss calmly and impartially the news of the day with her, in the ten minutes that he allowed himself before the train arrived. he in the village, she at the station, could most agreeably keep the ball of gossip rolling, so that on its way up and down the bay it might not make too long a tarrying at sleeping water.
-on this particular july morning he was on his favorite subject. "has it happened to come to your ears," he said in his shrill, musical voice to madame thériault, who, as of old, was rocking a cradle with her foot, and spinning with her hands, "that there is talk of a great scheme that the englishman has in mind for having cars that will run along the shores of the bay, without a locomotive?"
-"yes, i have heard."
-"it would be a great thing for the bay, as we are far from these stations in the woods."
-"it is my belief that he will some day return, and rose will then marry him," said the woman, who, true to the traditions of her sex, took a more lively interest in the affairs of the heart than in those connected with means of transportation.
-"it is evident that she does not wish to marry now," he said, modestly.
-"she lives like a nun. it is incredible; she is young, yet she thinks only of good works."
-"at least, her heart is not broken."
-"hearts do not break when one has plenty of money," said madame thériault, wisely.
-"if it were not for the child, i daresay that she would become a holy woman. did you hear that the family with typhoid fever can at last leave her house?"
-"yes, long ago,--ages."
-"i heard only this morning," he said, dejectedly, then he brightened, "but it was told to me that it is suspected that the young bidiane lenoir will come back to the bay this summer."
-"indeed,--can that be so?"
-"it is quite true, i think. i had it from the blacksmith, whose wife perside heard it from célina."
-"who had it from rose--eh bonn! eh bonn! eh bonn!" (eh bien!--well, well, well). "the young girl is now old enough to marry. possibly the englishman will marry her."
-emmanuel's fine face flushed, and his delicate voice rose high in defence of his adored englishman. "no, no; he does not change, that one,--not more so than the hills. he waits like gabriel for evangeline. this is also the opinion of the bay. you are quite alone--but hark! is that the train?" and clutching his mail-bag by its long neck, he slipped to the kitchen door, which opened on the platform of the station.
-yes; it was indeed the flying bluenose, coming down the straight track from pointe à l'eglise, with a shrill note of warning.
-emmanuel hurried to the edge of the platform, and extended his mail-bag to the clerk in shirt-sleeves, who leaned from the postal-car to take it, and to hand him one in return. then, his duty over, he felt himself free to take observations of any passengers that there might be for sleeping water.
-there was just one, and--could it be possible--could he believe the evidence of his eyesight--had the little wild, red-haired apostate from up the bay at last come back, clothed and in her right mind? he made a mute, joyous signal to the station woman who stood in the doorway, then he drew a little nearer to the very composed and graceful girl who had just been assisted from the train, with great deference, by a youthful conductor.
-"are my trunks all out?" she said to him, in a tone of voice that assured the mail-man that, without being bold or immodest, she was quite well able to take care of herself.
-the conductor pointed to the brakemen, who were tumbling out some luggage to the platform.
-"i hope that they will be careful of my wheel," said the girl.
-"it's all right," replied the conductor, and he raised his arm as a signal for the train to move on. "if anything goes wrong with it, send it to this station, and i will take it to yarmouth and have it mended for you."
-"thank you," said the girl, graciously; then she turned to emmanuel, and looked steadfastly at his red jacket.
-he, meanwhile, politely tried to avert his eyes from her, but he could not do so. she was fresh from the home of the englishman in paris, and he could not conceal his tremulous eager interest in her. she was not beautiful, like flaxen-haired rose à charlitte, nor dark and statuesque, like the stately claudine; but she was distinguée, yes, très-distinguée, and her manner was just what he had imagined that of a true parisienne would be like. she was small and dainty, and possessed a back as straight as a soldier's, and a magnificent bust. her round face was slightly freckled, her nose was a little upturned, but the hazy, fine mass of hair that surrounded her head was most beauteous,--it was like the sun shining through the reddish meadow grass.
-he was her servant, her devoted slave, and emmanuel, who had never dreamed that he possessed patrician instincts, bowed low before her, "mademoiselle, i am at your service."
-"merci, monsieur" (thank you, sir), she said, with conventional politeness; then in rapid and exquisite french, that charmed him almost to tears, she asked, mischievously, "but i have never been here before, how do you know me?"
-he bowed again. "the name of mademoiselle bidiane lenoir is often on our lips. mademoiselle, i salute your return."
-"you are very kind, monsieur de la rive," she said, with a frank smile; then she precipitated herself on a bed of yellow marigolds growing beside the station house. "oh, the delightful flowers!"
-"is she not charming?" murmured emmanuel, in a blissful undertone, to madame thériault. "what grace, what courtesy!--and it is due to the englishman."
-madame thériault's black eyes were critically running over bidiane's tailor-made gown. "the englishman will marry her," she said, sententiously. then she asked, abruptly, "have you ever seen her before?"
-"yes, once, years ago; she was a little hawk, i assure you."
-"she will do now," and the woman approached her. "mademoiselle, may i ask for your checks."
-bidiane sprang up from the flower bed and caught her by both hands. "you are madame thériault--i know of you from mr. nimmo. ah, it is pleasant to be among friends. for days and days it has been strangers--strangers--only strangers. now i am with my own people," and she proudly held up her red head.
-the woman blushed in deep gratification. "mademoiselle, i am more than glad to see you. how is the young englishman who left many friends on the bay?"
-"do you call him young? he is at least thirty."
-"but he was young when here."
-"true, i forgot that. he is well, very well. he is never ill now. he is always busy, and such a good man--oh, so good!" and bidiane clasped her hands, and rolled her lustrous, tawny eyes to the sky.
-"and the child of rose à charlitte?" said emmanuel, eagerly.
-"a little angel,--so calm, so gentle, so polite. if you could see him bow to the ladies,--it is ravishing, i assure you. and he is always spoiled by mrs. nimmo, who adores him."
-"will he come back to the bay?"
-"i do not know," and bidiane's vivacious face grew puzzled. "i do not ask questions--alas! have i offended you?--i assure you i was thinking only of myself. i am curious. i talk too much, but you have seen mr. nimmo. you know that beyond a certain point he will not go. i am ignorant of his intentions with regard to the child. i am ignorant of his mother's intentions; all i know is that mr. nimmo wishes him to be a forester."
-"a forester!" ejaculated madame thériault, "and what is that trade?"
-bidiane laughed gaily. "but, my dear madame, it is not a trade. it is a profession. here on the bay we do not have it, but abroad one hears often of it. young men study it constantly. it is to take care of trees. do you know that if they are cut down, water courses dry up? in clare we do not think of that, but in other countries trees are thought useful and beautiful, and they keep them."
-"hold--but that is wonderful," said emmanuel.
-bidiane turned to him with a winning smile. "monsieur, how am i to get to the shore? i am eaten up with impatience to see madame de forêt and my aunt."
-"but there is my cart, mademoiselle," and he pointed to the shed beyond them. "i shall feel honored to conduct you."
-"i gladly accept your offer, monsieur. au revoir, madame."
-madame thériault reluctantly watched them depart. she would like to keep this gay, charming creature with her for an hour longer.
-"it is wonderful that they did not come to meet you," said emmanuel, "but they did not expect you naturally."
-"i sent a telegram from halifax," said bidiane, "but can you believe it?--i was so stupid as to say wednesday instead of tuesday. therefore madame de forêt expects me to-morrow."
-"you advised her rather than mirabelle marie, but wherefore?"
-bidiane shook her shining head. "i do not know. i did not ask; i did simply as mr. nimmo told me. he arranges all. i was with friends until this morning. only that one thing did i do alone on the journey,--that is to telegraph,--and i did it wrong," and a joyous, subdued peal of laughter rang out on the warm morning air.
-emmanuel reverently assisted her into his cart, and got in beside her. his blood had been quickened in his veins by this unexpected occurrence. he tried not to look too often at this charming girl beside him, but, in spite of his best efforts, his eyes irresistibly and involuntarily kept seeking her face. she was so eloquent, so well-mannered; her clothes were smooth and sleek like satin; there was a faint perfume of lovely flowers about her,--she had come from the very heart and centre of the great world into which he had never ventured. she was charged with magic. what an acquisition to the bay she would be!
-he carefully avoided the ruts and stones of the road. he would not for the world give her an unnecessary shock, and he ardently wished that this highway from the woods to the bay might be as smooth as his desire would have it.
-"and this is sleeping water," she said, dreamily.
-emmanuel assured her that it was, and she immediately began to ply him with questions about the occupants of the various farms that they were passing, until a sudden thought flashed into her mind and made her laughter again break out like music.
-"i am thinking--ah, me! it is really too absurd for anything--of the astonishment of madame de forêt when i walk in upon her. tell me, i beg you, some particulars about her. she wrote not very much about herself."
-emmanuel had a great liking for rose, and he joyfully imparted to bidiane the most minute particulars concerning her dress, appearance, conduct, daily life, her friends and surroundings. he talked steadily for a mile, and bidiane, whose curiosity seemed insatiable on the subject of rose, urged him on until he was forced to pause for breath.
-bidiane turned her head to look at him, and immediately had her attention attracted to a new subject. "that red jacket is charming, monsieur," she said, with flattering interest. "if it is quite agreeable, i should like to know where you got it."
-"mademoiselle, you know that in halifax there are many soldiers."
-"yes,--english ones. there were french ones in paris. oh, i adore the short blue capes of the military men."
-"the english soldiers wear red coats."
-"sometimes they are sold when their bright surface is soiled. men buy them, and, after cleaning, sell them in the country. it is cheerful to see a farmer working in a field clad in red."
-"ah! this is one that a soldier used to wear."
-"no, mademoiselle,--not so fast. i had seen these red coats,--acadiens have always loved that color above others. i wished to have one; therefore, when asked to sing at a concert many years ago, i said to my sister, 'buy red cloth and make me a red coat. put trimmings on it.'"
-"and you sang in this?"
-"no, mademoiselle,--you are too fast again," and he laughed delightedly at her precipitancy. "i sang in one long years ago, when i was young. afterwards, to save,--for we acadiens do not waste, you know,--i wore it to drive in. in time it fell to pieces."
-"and you liked it so much that you had another made?"
-"exactly, mademoiselle. you have guessed it now," and his tones were triumphant.
-her curiosity on the subject of the coat being satisfied, she returned to rose, and finally asked a series of questions with regard to her aunt.
-her chatter ceased, however, when they reached the bay, and, overcome with admiration, she gazed silently at the place where
-from shore to shore the shining waters lay, beneath the sun, as placid as a cheek.
-emmanuel, discovering that her eyes were full of tears, delicately refrained from further conversation until they reached the corner, when he asked, softly, "to the inn, or to madame de forêt's?"
-bidiane started. "to madame de forêt's--no, no, to the inn, otherwise my aunt might be offended."
-he drew up before the veranda, where mirabelle marie and claude both happened to be standing. there were at first incredulous glances, then a great burst of noise from the woman and an amazed grunt from the man.
-bidiane flew up the steps and embraced them, and emmanuel lingered on in a trance of ecstasy. he could not tear himself away, and did not attempt to do so until the trio vanished into the house.
-bidiane goes to call on rose à charlitte.
-"love duty, ease your neighbor's load, learn life is but an episode, and grateful peace will fill your mind."
-aminta. archbishop o'brien.
-mirabelle marie and her husband seated themselves in the parlor with bidiane close beside them.
-"you're only a mite of a thing yet," shrieked mrs. watercrow, "though you've growed up; but sakerjé! how fine, how fine,--and what a shiny cloth in your coat! how much did that cost?"
-"do not scream at me," said bidiane, good-humoredly. "i still hear well."
-claude à sucre roared in a stentorian voice, and clapped his knee. "she comes home eenglish,--quite eenglish."
-"and the englishman,--he is still rich," said mirabelle marie, greedily, and feeling not at all snubbed. "does he wear all the time a collar with white wings and a split coat?"
-"but you took much money from him," said bidiane, reproachfully.
-"oh, that boston,--that divil's hole!" vociferated mirabelle marie. "we did not come back some first-class yankees whitewashés. no, no, we are french now,--you bet! when i was a young one my old mother used to ketch flies between her thumb and finger. she'd say, 'je te squeezerai'" (i will squeeze you). "well, we were the flies, boston was my old mother. but you've been in cities, biddy ann; you know 'em."
-"ah! but i was not poor. we lived in a beautiful quarter in paris,--and do not call me biddy ann; my name is bidiane."
-"lord help us,--ain't she stylish!" squealed her delighted aunt. "go on, biddy, tell us about the fine ladies, and the elegant frocks, and the dimens; everythin' shines, ain't that so? did the englishman shove a dollar bill in yer hand every day?"
-"no, he did not," said bidiane, with dignity. "i was only a little girl to him. he gave me scarcely any money to spend."
-"is he goin' to marry yer,--say now, biddy, ain't that so?"
-bidiane's quick temper asserted itself. "if you don't stop being so vulgar, i sha'n't say another word to you."
-"aw, shut up, now," said claude, remonstratingly, to his wife.
-mrs. watercrow was slightly abashed. "i don't go for to make yeh mad," she said, humbly.
-"no, no, of course you did not," said the girl, in quick compunction, and she laid one of her slim white hands on mirabelle marie's fat brown ones. "i should not have spoken so hastily."
-"look at that,--she's as meek as a cat," said the woman, in surprise, while her husband softly caressed bidiane's shoulder.
-"the englishman, as you call him, does not care much for women," bidiane went on, gently. "now that he has money he is much occupied, and he always has men coming to see him. he often went out with his mother, but rarely with me or with any ladies. he travels, too, and takes narcisse with him; and now, tell me, do you like being down the bay?"
-her aunt shrugged her shoulders. "a long sight more'n boston."
-"why did you give up the farm?" said the girl to claude; "the old farm that belonged to your grandfather."
-"i be a fool, an' i don' know it teel long after," said claude, slowly.
-"and you speak french here,--the boys, have they learned it?"
-"you bet,--they learned in boston from acajens. biddy, what makes yeh come back? yer a big goose not to stay with the englishman."
-bidiane surveyed her aunt disapprovingly. "could i live always depending on him? no, i wish to work hard, to earn some money,--and you, are you not going to pay him for this fine house?"
-"god knows, he has money enough."
-"but we mus' pay back," said claude, smiting the table with his fist. "i ain't got much larnin', but i've got a leetle idee, an' i tell you, maw,--don' you spen' the money in that stockin'."
-his wife's fat shoulders shook in a hearty laugh.
-his face darkened. "you give that to biddy."
-"yes," said his niece, "give it to me. come now, and get it, and show me the house."
-mrs. watercrow rose resignedly, and preceded the girl to the kitchen. "let's find claudine. she's a boss cook, mos' as good as rose à charlitte. biddy, be you goin' to stay along of us?"
-"i don't know," said the girl, gaily. "will you have me?"
-"you bet! biddy,"--and she lowered her voice,--"you know 'bout isidore?"
-the girl shuddered. "yes."
-"it was drink, drink, drink, like a fool. one day, when he works back in the woods with some of those frenchmen out of france, he go for to do like them, an' roast a frog on the biler in the mill ingine. his brain overswelled, overfoamed, an' he fell agin the biler. then he was dead."
-"hush,--don't talk about him; claudine may hear you."
-"how,--you know her?"
-"i know everybody. mr. nimmo and his mother talked so often of the bay. they do not wish narcisse to forget."
-"that's good. does the englishman's maw like the little one?"
-"yes, she does."
-"claudine ain't here," and mirabelle marie waddled through the kitchen, and directed her sneaks to the back stairway. "we'll skip up to her room."
-bidiane followed her, but when mrs. watercrow would have pushed open the door confronting them, she caught her hand.
-"the divil," said her surprised relative, "do you want to scare the life out of me?"
-"knock," said bidiane, "always, always at the door of a bedroom or a private room, but not at that of a public one such as a parlor."
-"am i english?" exclaimed mirabelle marie, drawing back and regarding her in profound astonishment.
-"no, but you are going to be,--or rather you are going to be a polite frenchwoman," said bidiane, firmly.
-mirabelle marie laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. she had just had presented to her, in the person of bidiane, a delicious and first-class joke.
-claudine came out of her room, and silently stared at them until bidiane took her hand, when her handsome, rather sullen face brightened perceptibly.
-bidiane liked her, and some swift and keen perception told her that in the young widow she would find a more apt pupil and a more congenial associate than in her aunt. she went into the room, and, sitting down by the window, talked at length to her of narcisse and the englishman.
-at last she said, "can you see madame de forêt's house from here?"
-mirabelle marie, who had squatted comfortably on the bed, like an enormous toad, got up and toddled to the window. "it's there ag'in those pines back of the river. there's no other sim'lar."
-bidiane glanced at the cool white cottage against its green background. "why, it is like a tiny grand trianon!"
-"an' what's that?"
-"it is a villa near paris, a very fine one, built in the form of a horseshoe."
-"yes,--that's what we call it," interrupted her aunt. "we ain't blind. we say the horseshoe cottage."
-"one of the kings of france had the grand trianon built for a woman he loved," said bidiane, reverently. "i think mr. nimmo must have sent the plan for this from paris,--but he never spoke to me about it."
-"he is not a man who tells all," said claudine, in french.
-bidiane and mirabelle marie had been speaking english, but they now reverted to their own language.
-"when do you have lunch?" asked bidiane.
-"lunch,--what's that?" asked her aunt. "we have dinner soon."
-"and i must descend," said claudine, hurrying down-stairs. "i smell something burning."
-bidiane was about to follow her, when there was a clattering heard on the stairway.
-"it's the young ones," cried mirabelle marie, joyfully. "some fool has told 'em. they'll wring your neck like the blowpipe of a chicken."
-the next minute two noisy, rough, yet slightly shy boys had taken possession of their returned cousin and were leading her about the inn in triumph.
-mirabelle marie tried to keep up with them, but could not succeed in doing so. she was too excited to keep still, too happy to work, so she kept on waddling from one room to another, to the stable, the garden, and even to the corner,--to every spot where she could catch a glimpse of the tail of bidiane's gown, or the heels of her twinkling shoes. the girl was indefatigable; she wished to see everything at once. she would wear herself out.
-two hours after lunch she announced her determination to call on rose.
-"i'll skip along, too," said her aunt, promptly.
-"i wish to be quite alone when i first see this wonderful woman," said bidiane.
-"but why is she wonderful?" asked mirabelle marie.
-bidiane did not hear her. she had flitted out to the veranda, wrapping a scarf around her shoulders as she went. while her aunt stood gazing longingly after her, she tripped up the village street, enjoying immensely the impression she created among the women and children, who ran to the doorways and windows to see her pass.
-there were no houses along the cutting in the hill through which the road led to the sullen stream of sleeping water. rose's house stood quite alone, and at some distance from the street, its gleaming, freshly painted front towards the river, its curved back against a row of pine-trees.
-it was very quiet. there was not a creature stirring, and the warm july sunshine lay languidly on some deserted chairs about a table on the lawn.
-bidiane went slowly up to the hall door and rang the bell.
-rosy-cheeked célina soon stood before her; and smiling a welcome, for she knew very well who the visitor was, she gently opened the door of a long, narrow blue and white room on the right side of the hall.
-bidiane paused on the threshold. this dainty, exquisite apartment, furnished so simply, and yet so elegantly, had not been planned by an architect or furnished by a decorator of the bay. this bric-à-brac, too, was not acadien, but parisian. ah, how much mr. nimmo loved rose à charlitte! and she drew a long breath and gazed with girlish and fascinated awe at the tall, beautiful woman who rose from a low seat, and slowly approached her.
-rose was about to address her, but bidiane put up a protesting hand. "don't speak to me for a minute," she said, breathlessly. "i want to look at you."
-rose smiled indulgently, and bidiane gazed on. she felt herself to be a dove, a messenger sent from a faithful lover to the woman he worshipped. what a high and holy mission was hers! she trembled blissfully, then, one by one, she examined the features of this acadien beauty, whose quiet life had kept her from fading or withering in the slightest degree. she was, indeed, "a rose of dawn."
-these were the words written below the large painting of her that hung in mr. nimmo's room. she must tell rose about it, although of course the picture and the inscription must be perfectly familiar to her, through mr. nimmo's descriptions.
-"madame de forêt," she said at last, "it is really you. oh, how i have longed to see you! i could scarcely wait."
-"won't you sit down?" said her hostess, just a trifle shyly.
-bidiane dropped into a chair. "i have teased mrs. nimmo with questions. i have said again and again, 'what is she like?'--but i never could tell from what she said. i had only the picture to go by."
-"the picture?" said rose, slightly raising her eyebrows.
-"your painting, you know, that is over mr. nimmo's writing-table."
-"does he have one of me?" asked rose, quietly.
-"yes, yes,--an immense one. as broad as that,"--and she stretched out her arms. "it was enlarged from a photograph."
-"ah! when he was here i missed a photograph one day from my album, but i did not know that he had taken it. however, i suspected."
-"but does he not write you everything?"
-"you only are my kind little correspondent,--with, of course, narcisse."
-"really, i thought that he wrote everything to you. dear madame de forêt, may i speak freely to you?"
-"as freely as you wish, my dear child."
-bidiane burst into a flood of conversation. "i think it is so romantic,--his devotion to you. he does not talk of it, but i can't help knowing, because mrs. nimmo talks to me about it when she gets too worked up to keep still. she really loves you, madame de forêt. she wishes that you would allow her son to marry you. if you only knew how much she admires you, i am sure you would put aside your objection to her son."
-rose for a few minutes seemed lost in thought, then she said, "does mrs. nimmo think that i do not care for her son?"
-"no, she says she thinks you care for him, but there is some objection in your mind that you cannot get over, and she cannot imagine what it is."
-"dear little mademoiselle, i will also speak freely to you, for it is well for you to understand, and i feel that you are a good friend, because i have received so many letters from you. it is impossible that i should marry mr. nimmo, therefore we will not speak of it, if you please. there is an obstacle,--he knows and agrees to it. years ago, i thought some day this obstacle might be taken away. now, i think it is the will of our lord that it remain, and i am content."
-"oh, oh!" said bidiane, wrinkling her face as if she were about to cry, "i cannot bear to hear you say this."
-rose smiled gently. "when you are older, as old as i am, you will understand that marriage is not the chief thing in life. it is good, yet one can be happy without. one can be pushed quietly further and further apart from another soul. at first, one cries out, one thinks that the parting will kill, but it is often the best thing for the two souls. i tell you this because i love you, and because i know mr. nimmo has taken much care in your training, and wishes me to be an elder sister. do not seek sorrow, little one, but do not try to run from it. this dear, dear man that you speak of, was a divine being, a saint to me. i did wrong to worship him. to separate from me was a good thing for him. he is now more what i then thought him, than he was at the time. do you understand?"
-"yes, yes," said bidiane, breaking into tears, and impulsively throwing herself on her knees beside her, "but you dash my pet scheme to pieces. i wish to see you two united. i thought perhaps if i told you that, although no one knows it but his mother, he just wor--wor--ships you--"
-rose stroked her head. "warm-hearted child,--and also loyal. our lord rewards such devotion. nothing is lost. your precious tears remind me of those i once shed."
-bidiane did not recover herself. she was tired, excited, profoundly touched by rose's beauty and "sweet gravity of soul," and her perfect resignation to her lot. "but you are not happy," she exclaimed at last, dashing away her tears; "you cannot be. it is not right. i love to read in novels, when mr. nimmo allows me, of the divine right of passion. i asked him one day what it meant, and he explained. i did not know that it gave him pain,--that his heart must be aching. he is so quiet,--no one would dream that he is unhappy; yet his mother knows that he is, and when she gets too worried, she talks to me, although she is not one-half as fond of me as she is of narcisse."
-a great wave of color came over rose's face at the mention of her child. she would like to speak of him at once, yet she restrained herself.
-bidiane sprang lightly to her feet, and rose went to a bookcase, and, taking out a small volume bound in green and gold, read to her: "'marriage is a high and holy state, and intended for the vast majority of mankind, but those who expand and merge human love in the divine, espousing their souls to god in a life of celibacy, tread a higher and holier path, and are better fitted to do nobler service for god in the cause of suffering humanity.'"
-"those are good words," said bidiane, with twitching lips.
-"it is of course a catholic view," said rose; "you are a protestant, and you may not agree perfectly with it, yet i wish only to convince you that if one is denied the companionship of one that is beloved, it is not well to say, 'everything is at an end. i am of no use in the world.'"
-"i think you are the best and the sweetest woman that i ever saw," said bidiane, impulsively.
-"no, no; not the best," said rose, in accents of painful humility. "do not say it,--i feel myself the greatest of sinners. i read my books of devotion, i feel myself guilty of all,--even the blackest of crimes. it seems that there is nothing i have not sinned in my thoughts. i have been blameless in nothing, except that i have not neglected the baptism of children in infancy."
-"you--a sinner!" said bidiane, in profound scepticism. "i do not believe it."
-bidiane flung her arms about her neck. "teach me to be good like you and mr. nimmo. i assure you i am very bad and impatient."
-"my dear girl, my sister," murmured rose, tenderly, "you are a gift and i accept you. now will you not tell me something of your life in paris? many things were not related in your letters."
-"who can speak the mingled passions that surprised his heart?"
-"but you were young, you had never travelled, mademoiselle."
-"don't say mademoiselle, say bidiane,--please do, i would love it."
-"very well, bidiane,--dear little bidiane."
-the girl leaned forward, and was again about to embrace her hostess with fervent arms, but suddenly paused to exclaim, "i think i hear wheels!"
-she ran to one of the open windows. "who drives a black buggy,--no, a white horse with a long tail?"
-"agapit lenoir," said rose, coming to stand beside her.
-"oh, how is he? i hate to see him. i used to be so rude, but i suppose he has forgiven me. mrs. nimmo says he is very good, still i do not think mr. nimmo cares much for him."
-rose sighed. that was the one stain on the character of the otherwise perfect vesper. he had never forgiven agapit for striking him.
-"why he looks quite smart," bidiane rattled on. "does he get on well with his law practice?"
-"very well; but he works hard--too hard. this horse is his only luxury."
-"i detest white horses. why didn't he get a dark one?"
-"i think this one was cheaper."
-"is he poor?"
-"not now, but he is economical. he saves his money."
-"oh, he is a screw, a miser."
-"no, not that,--he gives away a good deal. he has had a hard life, has my poor cousin, and now he understands the trials of others."
-"poverty is tiresome, but it is sometimes good for one," said bidiane, wisely.
-rose's white teeth gleamed in sudden amusement. "ah, the dear little parrot, she has been well trained."
-bidiane leaned out the window. there was agapit, peering eagerly forward from the hood of his carriage, and staring up with some of the old apprehensiveness with which he used to approach her.
-"what a dreadful child i was," reflected bidiane, with a blush of shame. "he is yet afraid of me."
-agapit, with difficulty averting his eyes from her round, childish face and its tangle of reddish hair, sprang from his seat and fastened his horse to the post sunk in the grass at the edge of the lawn, while rose, followed by bidiane, went out to meet him.
-"how do you do, rose," he murmured, taking her hand in his own, while his eyes ran behind to the waiting bidiane.
-the girl, ladylike and modest, and full of contrition for her former misdeeds, was yet possessed by a mischievous impulse to find out whether her power over the burly, youthful, excitable agapit extended to this thinner, more serious-looking man, with the big black mustache and the shining eye-glasses.
-"ah, fanatic, acadien imbecile," she said, coolly extending her fingers, "i am glad to see you again."
-though her tone was reassuring, agapit still seemed to be overcome by some emotion, and for a few seconds did not recover himself. then he smiled, looked relieved, and, taking a step nearer her, bowed profoundly. "when did you arrive, mademoiselle?"
-"but you knew i was here," she said, gaily, "i saw it in your face when you first appeared."
-agapit dropped his eyes nervously. "he is certainly terribly afraid of me," reflected bidiane again; then she listened to what he was saying.
-"the bay whispers and chatters, mademoiselle; the little waves that kiss the shores of sleeping water take her secrets from her and carry them up to the mouth of the weymouth river--"
-"you have a telephone, i suppose," said bidiane, in an eminently practical tone of voice.
-"yes, i have," and he relapsed into silence.
-"here we are together, we three," said bidiane, impulsively. "how i wish that mr. nimmo could see us."
-rose lost some of her beautiful color. these continual references to her lover were very trying. "i will leave you two to amuse each other for a few minutes, while i go and ask célina to make us some tea à l'anglaise."
-"i should not have said that," exclaimed bidiane, gazing after her; "how easy it is to talk too much. each night, when i go to bed, i lie awake thinking of all the foolish things i have said during the day, and i con over sensible speeches that i might have uttered. i suppose you never do that?"
-"why not, mademoiselle?"
-"oh, because you are older, and because you are so clever. really, i am quite afraid of you," and she demurely glanced at him from under her curly eyelashes.
-"once you were not afraid," he remarked, cautiously.
-"no; but now you must be very learned."
-"i always was fond of study."
-"mr. nimmo says that some day you will be a judge, and then probably you will write a book. will you?"
-"some day, perhaps. at present, i only write short articles for magazines and newspapers."
-"how charming! what are they about?"
-"they are mostly acadien and historical."
-"do you ever write stories--love stories?"
-"delicious! may i read them?"
-"i do not know," and he smiled. "you would probably be too much amused. you would think they were true."
-"and are they not?"
-"oh, no, although some have a slight foundation of fact."
-bidiane stared curiously at him, opened her lips, closed them again, set her small white teeth firmly, as if bidding them stand guard over some audacious thought, then at last burst out with it, for she was still excited and animated by her journey, and was bubbling over with delight at being released from the espionage of strangers to whom she could not talk freely. "you have been in love, of course?"
-agapit modestly looked at his boots.
-"you find me unconventional," cried bidiane, in alarm. "mrs. nimmo says i will never get over it. i do not know what i shall do,--but here, at least, on the bay, i thought it would not so much matter. really, it was a consolation in leaving paris."
-"mademoiselle, it is not that," he said, hesitatingly. "i assure you, the question has been asked before, with not so much delicacy--but with whom should i fall in love?"
-"with any one. it must be a horrible sensation. i have never felt it, but i cry very often over tales of lovers. possibly you are like madame de forêt, you do not care to marry."
-"perhaps i am waiting until she does, mademoiselle."
-"i suppose you could not tell me," she said, in the dainty, coaxing tones of a child, "what it is that separates your cousin from mr. nimmo?"
-"no, mademoiselle, i regret to say that i cannot."
-"is it something she can ever get over?"
-"you don't want to be teased about it. i will talk of something else; people don't marry very often after they are thirty. that is the dividing line."
-agapit dragged at his mustache with restless fingers.
-"you are laughing at me, you find me amusing," she said, with a sharp look at him. "i assure you i don't mind being laughed at. i hate dull people--oh, i must ask you if you know that i am quite acadien now?"
-"rose has told me something of it."
-"yes, i know. she says that you read my letters, and i think it is perfectly sweet in you. i know what you have done for me. i know, you need not try to conceal it. it was you that urged mr. nimmo not to give me up, it is to you that i am indebted for my glimpse of the world. i assure you i am grateful. that is why i speak so freely to you. you are a friend and also a relative. may we not call ourselves cousins?"
-"certainly, mademoiselle,--i am honored," said agapit, in a stumbling voice.
-"you are not used to me yet. i overcome you, but wait a little, you will not mind my peculiarities, and let me tell you that if there is anything i can do for you, i shall be so glad. i could copy papers or write letters. i am only a mouse and you are a lion, yet perhaps i could bite your net a little."
-agapit straightened himself, and stepped out rather more boldly as they went to and fro over the grass.
-"i seem only like a prattling, silly girl to you," she said, humbly, "yet i have a little sense, and i can write a good hand--a good round hand. i often used to assist mr. nimmo in copying passages from books."
-agapit felt like a hero. "some day, mademoiselle, i may apply to you for assistance. in the meantime, i thank you."
-they continued their slow walk to and fro. sometimes they looked across the river to the village, but mostly they looked at each other, and agapit, with acute pleasure, basked in the light of bidiane's admiring glances.
-"you have always stayed here," she exclaimed; "you did not desert your dear bay as i did."
-"but for a short time only. you remember that i was at laval university in quebec."
-"oh, yes, i forgot that. madame de forêt wrote me. do you know, i thought that perhaps you would not come back. however, mr. nimmo was not surprised that you did."
-"there are a great many young men out in the world, mademoiselle. i found few people who were interested in me. this is my home, and is not one's home the best place to earn one's living?"
-"yes; and also you did not wish to go too far away from your cousin. i know your devotion, it is quite romantic. she adores you, i easily saw that in her letters. do you know, i imagined"--and she lowered her voice, and glanced over her shoulder--"that mr. nimmo wrote to her, because he never seemed curious about my letters from her."
-"that is mr. nimmo's way, mademoiselle."
-"it is a pity that they do not write. it would be such a pleasure to them both. i know that. they cannot deceive me."
-"but she is not engaged to him."
-"if you reject a man, you reject him," said bidiane, with animation, "but you know there is a kind of lingering correspondence that decides nothing. if the affair were all broken off, mr. nimmo would not keep narcisse."
-agapit wrinkled his forehead. "true; yet i assure you they have had no communication except through you and the childish scrawls of narcisse."
-bidiane was surprised. "does he not send her things?"
-"but her furniture is french."
-"there are french stores in the states, and rose travels occasionally, you know."
-"hush,--she is coming back. ah! the adorable woman."
-agapit threw his advancing cousin a glance of affectionate admiration, and went to assist her with the tea things.
-bidiane watched him putting the tray on the table, and going to meet célina, who was bringing out a teapot and cups and saucers. "next to mr. nimmo, he is the kindest man i ever saw," she murmured, curling herself up in a rattan chair. "but we are not talking," she said, a few minutes later.
-rose and agapit both smiled indulgently at her. neither of them talked as much as in former days. they were quieter, more subdued.
-"let me think of some questions," said the girl. "are you, mr. lenoir, as furious an acadien as you used to be?"
-agapit fixed his big black eyes on her, and began to twist the ends of his long mustache. "mademoiselle, since i have travelled a little, and mingled with other men, i do not talk so loudly and vehemently, but my heart is still the same. it is acadie forever with me."
-"ah, that is right," she said, enthusiastically. "not noisy talk, but service for our countrymen."
-"will you not have a cup of tea, and also tell us how you became an acadien?" said agapit, who seemed to divine her secret thought.
-"thank you, thank you,--yes, i will do both," and bidiane's round face immediately became transfigured,--the freckles almost disappeared. one saw only "the tiger dusk and gold" of her eyes, and her reddish crown of hair. "i will tell you of that noblest of men, that angel, who swept down upon the bay, and bore away a little owl in his pinions,--or talons, is it?--to the marvellous city of paris, just because he wished to inspire the stupid owl with love for its country."
-"but the great-grandfather of the eagle, or, rather, the angel, killed the great-grandfather of the owl," said agapit; "do not forget that, mademoiselle. will you have a biscuit?"
-"thank you,--suppose he did, that does not alter the delightfulness of his conduct. who takes account of naughty grandfathers in this prosaic age? no one but mr. nimmo. and do we not put away from us--that is, society people do--all those who are rough and have not good manners? did mr. nimmo do this? no, he would train his little acadien owl. the first night we arrived in paris he took me with narcisse for a fifteen minutes' stroll along the arcades of the rue de rivoli. i was overcome. we had just arrived, we had driven through lighted streets to a magnificent hotel. the bridges across the river gleamed with lights. i thought i must be in heaven. you have read the descriptions of it?"
-"of paris,--yes," said agapit, dreamily.
-"every one was speaking french,--the language that i detested. i was dumb. here was a great country, a great people, and they were french. i had thought that all the world outside the bay was english, even though i had been taught differently at school. but i did not believe my teachers. i told stories, i thought that they also did. but to return to the rue de rivoli,--there were the shops, there were the merchants. now that i have seen so much they do not seem great things to me, but then--ah! then they were palaces, the merchants were kings and princes offering their plate and jewels and gorgeous robes for sale.
-"'choose,' said mr. nimmo to narcisse and to me, 'choose some souvenir to the value of three francs.' i stammered, i hesitated, i wished everything, i selected nothing. little narcisse laid his finger on a sparkling napkin-ring. i could not decide. i was intoxicated, and mr. nimmo calmly conducted us home. i got nothing, because i could not control myself. the next day, and for many days, mr. nimmo took us about that wonderful city. it was all so ravishing, so spotless, so immense. we did not visit the ugly parts. i had neat and suitable clothes. i was instructed to be quiet, and not to talk loudly or cry out, and in time i learned,--though at first i very much annoyed mrs. nimmo. never, never, did her son lose patience. madame de forêt, it is charming to live in a peaceful, splendid home, where there are no loud voices, no unseemly noises,--to have servants everywhere, even to push the chair behind you at the table."
-"yes, if one is born to it," said rose, quietly.
-"but one gets born to it, dear madame. in a short time, i assure you, i put on airs. i straightened my back, i no longer joked with the servants. i said, quietly, 'give me this. give me that,'--and i disliked to walk. i wished always to step in a carriage. then mr. nimmo talked to me."
-"what did he say?" asked agapit, jealously and unexpectedly.
-"my dear sir," said bidiane, drawing herself up, and speaking in her grandest manner, "i beg permission to withhold from you that information. you, i see, do not worship my hero as wildly as i do. i address my remarks to your cousin," and she turned her head towards rose.
-they both laughed, and she herself laughed merrily and excitedly. then she hurried on: "i had a governess for a time, then afterwards i was sent every day to a boarding-school near by the hotel where we lived. i was taught many things about this glorious country of france, this land from which my forefathers had gone to acadie. soon i began to be less ashamed of my nation. later on i began to be proud. very often i would be sent for to go to the salon (drawing-room). there would be strangers,--gentlemen and ladies to whom mrs. nimmo would introduce me, and her son would say, 'this is a little girl from acadie.' immediately i would be smiled on, and made much of, and the fine people would say, 'ah, the acadiens were courageous,--they were a brave race,' and they would address me in french, and i could only hang my head and listen to mr. nimmo, who would remark, quietly, 'bidiane has lived among the english,--she is just learning her own language.'
-"ah, then i would study. i took my french grammar to bed, and one day came the grand revelation. i of course had always attended school here on the bay, but you know, dear madame de forêt, how little acadien history is taught us. mr. nimmo had given me a history of our own people to read. some histories are dull, but this one i liked. it was late one afternoon; i sat by my window and read, and i came to a story. you, i daresay, know it," and she turned eagerly to agapit.
-"i daresay, mademoiselle, if i were to hear it--"
-"it is of those three hundred acadiens, who were taken from prince edward island by captain nichols. i read of what he said to the government, 'my ship is leaking, i cannot get it to england.' yet he was forced to go, you know,--yet let me have the sad pleasure of telling you that i read of their arrival to within a hundred leagues of the coast of england. the ship had given out, it was going down, and the captain sent for the priest on board,--at this point i ran to the fire, for daylight faded. with eyes blinded by tears i finished the story,--the priest addressed his people. he said that the captain had told him that all could not be saved, that if the acadiens would consent to remain quiet, he and his sailors would seize the boats, and have a chance for their lives. 'you will be quiet, my dear people,' said the priest. 'you have suffered much,--you will suffer more,' and he gave them absolution. i shrieked with pain when i read that they were quiet, very quiet,--that one acadien, who ventured in a boat, was rebuked by his wife so that he stepped contentedly back to her side. then the captain and sailors embarked, they set out for the shore, and finally reached it; and the acadiens remained calmly on board. they went calmly to the bottom of the sea, and i flung the book far from me, and rushed down-stairs,--i must see mr. nimmo. he was in the salon with a gentleman who was to dine with him, but i saw only my friend. i precipitated myself on a chair beside him. 'ah, tell me, tell me!' i entreated, 'is it all true? were they martyrs,--these countrymen of mine? were they patient and afflicted? is it their children that i have despised,--their religion that i have mocked?'
-"'yes, yes,' he said, gently, 'but you did not understand.'
-"'i understand,' i cried, 'and i hate the english. i will no longer be a protestant. they murdered my forefathers and mothers.'
-"he did not reason with me then,--he sent me to bed, and for six days i went every morning to mass in the madeleine. then i grew tired, because i had not been brought up to it, and it seemed strange to me. that was the time mr. nimmo explained many things to me. i learned that, though one must hate evil, there is a duty of forgiveness--but i weary you," and she sprang up from her chair. "i must also go home; my aunt will wonder where i am. i shall soon see you both again, i hope," and waving her hand, she ran lightly towards the gate.
-"an abrupt departure," said agapit, as he watched her out of sight.
-"she is nervous, and also homesick for the nimmos," said rose; "but what a dear child. her letters have made her seem like a friend of years' standing. perhaps we should have kept her from lingering on those stories of the old time."
-"do not reproach yourself," said agapit, as he took another piece of cake, "we could not have kept her from it. she was just about to cry,--she is probably crying now," and there was a curious satisfaction in his voice.
-"are you not well to-day, agapit?" asked rose, anxiously.
-"mon dieu, yes,--what makes you think otherwise?"
-"you seem subdued, almost dull."
-agapit immediately endeavored to take on a more sprightly air. "it is that child,--she is overcoming. i was not prepared for such life, such animation. she cannot write as she speaks."
-"no; her letters were stiff."
-"without doubt, mr. nimmo has sent her here to be an amiable distraction for you," said agapit. "he is afraid that you are getting too holy, too far beyond him. he sends this parisian butterfly to amuse you. he has plenty of money, he can indulge his whims."
-his tone was bitter, and rose forbore to answer him. he was so good, this cousin of hers, and yet his poverty and his long-continued struggle to obtain an education had somewhat soured him, and he had not quite fulfilled the promise of his earlier years. he was also a little jealous of vesper.
-if vesper had been as generous towards him as he was towards other people, agapit would have kept up his old admiration for him. as it was, they both possessed indomitable pride along different lines, and all through these years not a line of friendly correspondence had passed between them,--they had kept severely apart.
-but for this pride, rose would have been allowed to share all that she had with her adopted brother, and would not have been obliged to stand aside and, with a heart wrung with compassion, see him suffer for the lack of things that she might easily have provided.
-however, he was getting on better now. he had a large number of clients, and was in a fair way to make a good living for himself.
-they talked a little more of bidiane's arrival, that had made an unusual commotion in their quiet lives, then agapit, having lingered longer than usual, hurried back to his office and his home, in the town of weymouth, that was some miles distant from sleeping water.
-a few hours later, bidiane laid her tired, agitated head on her pillow, after putting up a very fervent and protestant petition that something might enable her to look into the heart of her catholic friend, rose à charlitte, and discover what the mysterious obstacle was that prevented her from enjoying a happy union with mr. nimmo.
-an unknown irritant.
-"il est de ces longs jours d'indicible malaise où l'on voudrait dormir du lourd sommeil des morts, de ces heures d'angoisse où l'existence pèse sur l'âme et sur le corps."
-two or three weeks went by, and, although bidiane's headquarters were nominally at the inn, she visited the horseshoe cottage morning, noon, and night.
-rose always smiled when she heard the rustling of her silk-lined skirts, and often murmured:
-"sa robe fait froufrou, froufrou, ses petits pieds font toc, toc, toc."
-"i wonder how long she is going to stay here?" said agapit, one day, to his cousin.
-"she does not know,--she obeys mr. nimmo blindly, although sometimes she chatters of earning her own living."
-"i do not think he would permit that," said agapit, hastily.
-"nor i, but he does not tell her so."
-"he is a kind of grand monarque among you women. he speaks, and you listen; and now that bidiane has broken the ice and we talk more freely of him, i may say that i do not approve of his keeping your boy any longer, although it is a foolish thing for me to mention, since you have never asked my advice on the subject."
-"my dear brother," said rose, softly, "in this one thing i have not agreed with you, because you are not a mother, and cannot understand. i feared to bring back my boy when he was delicate, lest he should die of the separation from mr. nimmo. it was better for me to cry myself to sleep for many nights than for me to have him for a few weeks, and then, perhaps, lay his little body in the cold ground. where would then be my satisfaction? and now that he is strong, i console myself with the thought of the fine schools that he attends, i follow him every hour of the day, through the letters that mr. nimmo sends to bidiane. as i dust my room in the morning, i hold conversations with him.
-agapit, with a resigned gesture, drew on his gloves. he had been making a short call and was just about to return home.
-"are you going to the inn?" asked rose.
-"why should i call there?" he said, a trifle irritably. "i have not the time to dance attendance on young girls."
-rose was lost in gentle amazement at agapit's recent attitude towards bidiane. her mind ran back to the long winter and summer evenings when he had come to her house, and had sat for hours reading the letters from paris. he had taken a profound interest in the little renegade. step by step he had followed her career. he had felt himself in a measure responsible for the successful issue of the venture in taking her abroad. and had he not often spoken delightedly of her return, and her probable dissemination among the young people of the stock of new ideas that she would be sure to bring with her?
-this was just what she had done. she had enlarged the circle of her acquaintance, and every one liked her, every one admired her. day after day she flashed up and down the bay, on the bicycle that she had brought with her from paris, and, as she flew by the houses, even the old women left their windows and hobbled to the door to catch a gay salutation from her.
-only agapit was dissatisfied, only agapit did not praise her, and rose on this day, as she stood wistfully looking into his face, carried on an internal soliloquy. it must be because she represents mr. nimmo. she has been educated by him, she reveres him. he has only lent her to the bay, and will some day take her away, and agapit, who feels this, is jealous because he is rich, and because he will not forgive. it is strange that the best of men and women are so human; but our dear lord will some day melt their hearts; and rose, who had never disliked any one and had not an enemy in the world, checked a sigh and endeavored to turn her thoughts to some more agreeable subject.
-agapit, however, still stood before her, and while he was there it was difficult to think of anything else. then he presently asked a distracting question, and one that completely upset her again, although it was put in a would-be careless tone of voice.
-"does the poirier boy go much to the inn?"
-rose tried to conceal her emotion, but it was hard for her to do so, as she felt that she had just been afforded a painful lightning glance into agapit's mind. he felt that he was growing old. bidiane was associating with the girls and young men who had been mere children five years before. the poirier boy, in particular, had grown up with amazing rapidity and precociousness. he was handsomer, far handsomer than agapit had ever been, he was also very clever, and very much made of on account of his being the most distinguished pupil in the college of sainte-anne, that was presided over by the eudist fathers from france.
-"agapit," she said, suddenly, and in sweet, patient alarm, "are we getting old, you and i?"
-"we shall soon be thirty," he said, gruffly, and he turned away.
-rose had never before thought much on the subject of her age. whatever traces the slow, painful years had left on her inner soul, there were no revealing marks on the outer countenance of her body. her glass showed her still an unruffled, peaceful face, a delicate skin, an eye undimmed, and the same beautiful abundance of shining hair.
-"but, agapit," she said, earnestly, "this is absurd. we are in our prime. only you are obliged to wear glasses. and even if we were old, it would not be a terrible thing--there is too much praise of youth. it is a charming time, and yet it is a time of follies. as for me, i love the old ones. only as we grow older do we find rest."
-"the follies of youth," repeated agapit, sarcastically, "yes, such follies as we have had,--the racking anxiety to find food to put in one's mouth, to find sticks for the fire, books for the shelf. yes, that is fine folly. i do not wonder that you sigh for age."
-rose followed him to the front door, where he stood on the threshold and looked down at the river.
-"some days i wish i were there," he said, wearily.
-rose had come to the end of her philosophy, and in real alarm she examined his irritated, disheartened face. "i believe that you are hungry," she said at last.
-"no, i am not,--i have a headache. i was up all last night reading a book on commercial law. i could not eat to-day, but i am not hungry."
-"you are starving--come, take off your gloves," she said, peremptorily. "you shall have such a fine little dinner. i know what célina is preparing, and i will assist her so that you may have it soon. go lie down there in the sitting-room."
-"i do not wish to stay," said agapit, disagreeably; "i am like a bear."
-"the first true word that you have spoken," she said, shaking a finger at him. "you are not like my good agapit to-day. see, i will leave you for a time--jovite, jovite," and she went to the back door and waved her hand in the direction of the stable. "go take out monsieur lenoir's horse. he stays to dinner."
-after dinner she persuaded him to go down to the inn with her. bidiane was in the parlor, sitting before a piano that vesper had had sent from boston for her. two young acadien girls were beside her, and when they were not laughing and exchanging jokes, they sang french songs, the favorite one being "un canadien errant," to which they returned over and over again.
-several shy young captains from schooners in the bay were sitting tilted back on chairs on the veranda, each one with a straw held between his teeth to give him countenance. agapit joined them, while rose went in the parlor and assisted the girls with their singing. she did not feel much older than they did. it was curious how this question of age oppressed some people; and she glanced through the window at agapit's now reasonably contented face.
-"i am glad you came with him," whispered bidiane, mischievously. "he avoids me now, and i am quite afraid of him. the poor man, he thought to find me a blue-stocking, discussing dictionaries and encyclopædias; he finds me empty-headed and silly, so he abandons me to the younger set, although i admire him so deeply. you, at least, will never give me up," and she sighed and laughed at the same time, and affectionately squeezed rose's hand.
-rose laughed too. she was becoming more light-hearted under bidiane's half-nonsensical, half-sensible influence, and the two young acadien girls politely averted their surprised eyes from the saint who would condescend to lay aside for a minute her crown of martyrdom. all the bay knew that she had had some trouble, although they did not know what it was.
-bidiane plays an overture.
-"i've tried the force of every reason on him, soothed and caressed, been angry, soothed again."
-a few days later, bidiane happened to be caught in a predicament, when none of her new friends were near, and she was forced to avail herself of agapit's assistance.
-she had been on her wheel nearly to weymouth to make a call on one of her numerous and newly acquired girl friends. merrily she was gliding homeward, and being on a short stretch of road bounded by hay-fields that contained no houses, and fancying that no one was near her, she lifted up her voice in a saucy refrain, "l'homme qui m'aura, il n'aura pas tout ce qu'il voudra" (the man that gets me, will not get all he wants).
-"la femme qui m'aura, elle n'aura pas tout ce qu'elle voudra" (the woman that gets me, she'll not get all she wants), chanted agapit, who was coming behind in his buggy.
-suddenly the girl's voice ceased; in the twinkling of an eye there had been a rip, a sudden evacuation of air from one of the rubber tubes on her wheel, and she had sprung to the road.
-"good afternoon," said agapit, driving up, "you have punctured a tire."
-"yes," she replied, in dismay, "the wretched thing! if i knew which wicked stone it was that did it, i would throw it into the bay."
-"what will you do?"
-"oh, i do not know. i wish i had leather tires."
-"i will take you to sleeping water, mademoiselle, if you wish."
-"but i do not care to cause you that trouble," and she gazed mischievously and longingly up and down the road.
-"it will not be a trouble," he said, gravely.
-"anything is a trouble that one does not enjoy."
-"but there is duty, mademoiselle."
-"ah, yes, duty, dear duty," she said, making a face. "i have been instructed to love it, therefore i accept your offer. how fortunate for me that you happened to be driving by! almost every one is haying. what shall we do with the wheel?"
-"we can perhaps lash it on behind. i have some rope. no, it is too large. well, we can at least wheel it to the post-office in belliveau's cove,--or stay, give me your wrench. i will take off the wheel, carry it to meteghan river, and have it mended. i am going to chéticamp to-night. to-morrow i will call for it and bring it to you."
-"oh, you are good,--i did not know that there is a repair shop at meteghan river."
-"there is,--they even make wheels."
-"but the outside world does not know that. the train conductor told that if anything went wrong with my bicycle, i would have to send it to yarmouth."
-"the outside world does not know of many things that exist in clare. will you get into the buggy, mademoiselle? i will attend to this."
-bidiane meekly ensconced herself under the hood, and took the reins in her hands. "what are you going to do with the remains?" she asked, when agapit put the injured wheel in beside her.
-"we might leave them at madame leblanc's," and he pointed to a white house in the distance. "she will send them to you by some passing cart."
-"that is a good plan,--she is quite a friend of mine."
-"i will go on foot, if you will drive my horse."
-they at once set out, bidiane driving, and agapit walking silently along the grassy path at the side of the road.
-the day was tranquil, charming, and a perfect specimen of "the divine weather" that saint-mary's bay is said to enjoy in summer. earlier in the afternoon there had been a soft roll of pearl gray fog on the bay, in and out of which the schooners had been slipping like phantom ships. now it had cleared away, and the long blue sweep of water was open to them. they could plainly see the opposite shores of long digby neck,--each fisherman's cottage, each comfortable farmhouse, each bit of forest sloping to the water's edge. over these hills hung the sun, hot and glowing, as a sun should be in haying time. on digby neck the people were probably making hay. here about them there had been a general desertion of the houses for work in the fields. men, women, and children were up on the slopes on their left, and down on the banks on their right, the women's cotton dresses shining in gay spots of color against the green foliage of the evergreen and hardwood trees that grew singly or in groups about the extensive fields of grass.
-madame leblanc was not at home, so agapit pinned a note to the bicycle, and left it standing outside her front gate with the comfortable assurance that, although it might be the object of curious glances, no one would touch it until the return of the mistress of the house.
-then he entered the buggy, and, with one glance into bidiane's eyes, which were dancing with merriment, he took the reins from her and drove on briskly.
-she stared at the magnificent panorama of purple hills and shining water spread out before them, and, remembering the company that she was in, tried to concentrate her attention on the tragic history of her countrymen. her most earnest effort was in vain; she could not do so, and she endeavored to get further back, and con over the romantic exploits of champlain and de monts, whose oddly shaped ships had ploughed these waters; but here again she failed. her mind came back, always irresistibly back, from the ancient past to the man of modern times seated beside her.
-she was sorry that he did not like her; she had tried hard to please him. he really was wiser than any one she knew; could she not bring about a better understanding with him? if he only knew how ignorant she felt, how anxious she was to learn, perhaps he would not be so hard on her.
-it was most unfortunate that she should have had on her bicycling dress. she had never heard him speak against the wheel as a means of exercise, yet she felt intuitively that he did not like it. he adored modest women, and in bicycling they were absolutely forced to occasionally show their ankles. gradually and imperceptibly she drew her trim-gaitered feet under her blue skirt; then she put up a cautious hand to feel that her jaunty sailor hat was set straight on her coils of hair. had he heard, she wondered, that six other acadien girls, inspired by her example, were to have wheels? he would think that she had set the bay crazy. perhaps he regarded it as a misfortune that she had ever come back to it.
-if he were any other man she would be furiously angry with him. she would not speak to him again. and, with an abrupt shrug of her shoulders, she watched the squawking progress of a gull from the bay back to the woods, and then said, impulsively, "it is going to rain."
-agapit came out of his reverie and murmured an assent. then he looked again into her yellowish brown, certainly charming eyes when full of sunlight, as they were at present from their unwinking stare at the bright sky.
-"up the bay, digby neck was our barometer," she said, thoughtfully. "when it grew purple, we were to have rain. here one observes the gulls, and the sign never fails,--a noisy flight is rain within twenty-four hours. the old gull is telling the young ones to stay back by the lake in the forest, i suppose."
-agapit tried to shake off his dreaminess and to carry on a conversation with her, but failed dismally, until he discovered that she was choking with suppressed laughter.
-"oh, pardon, pardon, monsieur; i was thinking--ah! how delicious is one's surprise at some things--i am thinking how absurd. you that i fancied would be a brother--you almost as angelic as mr. nimmo--you do not care for me at all. you try so hard, but i plague you, i annoy. but what will you? i cannot make myself over. i talk all the acadienism that i can, but one cannot forever linger on the old times. you yourself say that one should not."
-"so you think, mademoiselle, that i dislike you?"
-"think it, my dear sir,--i know it. all the bay knows it."
-"then all the bay is mistaken; i esteem you highly."
-"actions speak louder than words," and her teasing glance played about his shining glasses. "in order to be polite you perjure yourself."
-"i am sorry to be so terribly plain-spoken," she said, nodding her head shrewdly, yet childishly. "but i understand perfectly that you think i have a feather for a brain. you really cannot stoop to converse with me. you say, 'oh, that deceived mr. nimmo! he thinks he has accomplished a wonderful thing. he says, "come now, see what i have done for a child of the bay; i will send her back to you. fall down and worship her."'"
-agapit smiled despite himself. "mademoiselle, you must not make fun of yourself."
-"but why not? it is my chief amusement. i am the most ridiculous mortal that ever lived, and i know how foolish i am; but why do you not exercise your charity? you are, i hear, kind and forbearing with the worst specimens of humanity on the bay. why should you be severe with me?"
-agapit winced as if she had pinched him. "what do you wish me to do?"
-"already it is known that you avoid me," she continued, airily; "you who are so much respected. i should like to have your good opinion, and, ridiculous as i am, you know that i am less so than i used to be."
-she spoke with a certain dignity, and agapit was profoundly touched. "mademoiselle," he said, in a low voice, "i am ashamed of myself. you do not understand me, and i assert again that i do not dislike you."
-"then why don't you come to see me?" she asked, pointedly.
-"i cannot tell you," he said, and his eyes blazed excitedly. "do not urge the question. however, i will come--yes, i will. you shall not complain of me in future."
-bidiane felt slightly subdued, and listened in silence to his energetic remarks suddenly addressed to the horse, who had taken advantage of his master's wandering attention by endeavoring to draw the buggy into a ditch where grew some luscious bunches of grass.
-"there comes pius poirier," she said, after a time.
-the young acadien was on horseback. his stolid, fine-featured face was as immovable as marble, as he jogged by, but there was some play between his violet eyes and bidiane's tawny ones that agapit did not catch, but strongly suspected.
-"do you wish to speak to him?" he inquired, coldly, when bidiane stretched her neck outside the buggy to gaze after him.
-"no," she said, composedly, "i only want to see how he sits his horse. he is my first admirer," she added, demurely, but with irrepressible glee.
-"indeed,--i should fancy that mademoiselle might have had several."
-"what,--and i am only seventeen? you are crazy, my dear sir,--i am only beginning that sort of thing. it is very amusing to have young men come to see you; although, of course," she interpolated, modestly, "i shall not make a choice for some years yet."
-"i should hope not," said her companion, stiffly.
-"i say i have never had an admirer; yet sometimes gay young men would stare at me in the street,--i suppose on account of this red hair,--and mr. nimmo would be very much annoyed with them."
-"a city is a wicked place; it is well that you have come home."
-"with that i console myself when i am sometimes lonely for paris," said bidiane, wistfully. "i long to see those entrancing streets and parks, and to mingle with the lively crowds of people; but i say to myself what mr. nimmo often told me, that one can be as happy in one place as in another, and home is the best of all to keep the heart fresh. 'bidiane,' he said, one day, when i was extolling the beauties of paris, 'i would give it all for one glimpse of the wind-swept shores of your native bay.'"
-"ah, he still thinks that!"
-"yes, yes; though i never after heard him say anything like it. i only know his feelings through his mother."
-agapit turned the conversation to other subjects. he never cared to discuss vesper nimmo for any length of time.
-when they reached the sleeping water inn, bidiane hospitably invited him to stay to supper.
-"good-by, then; you were kind to bring me home. shall we not be better friends in future?"
-"yes, yes," said agapit, hurriedly. "i apologize, mademoiselle," and jumping into his buggy, he drove quickly away.
-bidiane's gay face clouded. "you are not very polite to me, sir. sometimes you smile like a sunbeam, and sometimes you glower like a rain-cloud, but i'll find out what is the matter with you, if it takes me a year. it is very discomposing to be treated so."
-a snake in the grass interferes with the education of mirabelle marie.
-"fair is the earth and fair is the sky; god of the tempest, god of the calm, what must be heaven when here is such balm?"
-bidiane, being of a practical turn of mind, and having a tremendous fund of energy to bestow upon the world in some way or other, was doing her best to follow the hint given her by vesper nimmo, that she should, as a means of furthering her education, spend some time at the sleeping water inn, with the object of imparting to mirabelle marie a few ideas hitherto outside her narrow range of thought.
-sometimes the girl became provoked with her aunt, sometimes she had to check herself severely, and rapidly mutter vesper's incantation, "do not despise any one; if you do, it will be at a great loss to yourself."
-at other times bidiane had no need to think of the incantation. her aunt was so good-natured, so forgiving, she was so full of pride in her young niece, that it seemed as if only the most intense provocation could justify any impatience with her.
-mirabelle marie loved bidiane almost as well as she loved her own children, and it was only some radical measure, such as the changing of her sneaks at sundown for a pair of slippers, or the sitting in the parlor instead of the kitchen, that excited her rebellion. however, she readily yielded,--these skirmishes were not the occurrences that vexed bidiane's soul. the renewed battles were the things that discouraged her. no victory was sustained. each day she must contend for what had been conceded the day before, and she was tortured by the knowledge that so little hold had she on mirabelle marie's slippery soul that, if she were to leave sleeping water on any certain day, by the next one matters would at once slip back to their former condition.
-"do not be discouraged," vesper wrote her. "the bay was not built in a day. some of your ancestors lived in camps in the woods."
-this was an allusion on his part to the grandmother of mrs. watercrow, who had actually been a squaw, and bidiane, as a highly civilized being, winced slightly at it. very little of the indian strain had entered her veins, except a few drops that were exhibited in a passion for rambling in the woods. she was more like her french ancestors, but her aunt had the lazy, careless blood, as had also her children.
-one of the chief difficulties that bidiane had to contend with, in her aunt, was her irreligion. mirabelle marie had weak religious instincts. she had as a child, and as a very young woman, been an adherent of the roman catholic church, and had obtained some grasp of its doctrines. when, in order to become "stylish," she had forsaken this church, she found herself in the position of a forlorn dog who, having dropped his substantial bone, finds himself groping for a shadow. protestantism was an empty word to her. she could not comprehend it; and bidiane, although a protestant herself, shrewdly made up her mind that there was no hope for her aunt save in the church of her forefathers. however, in what way to get her back to it,--that was the question. she scolded, entreated, reasoned, but all in vain. mirabelle marie lounged about the house all day sunday, very often, strange to say, amusing herself with declamations against the irreligion of the people of boston.
-bidiane's opportunity to change this state of affairs at last came, and all unthinkingly she embraced it.
-the opportunity began on a hot and windy afternoon, a few days after her drive with agapit. she sat on the veranda reading, until struck by a sudden thought which made her close her book, and glance up and down the long road, to see if the flying clouds of dust were escorting any approaching traveller to the inn. no one was coming, so she hastily left the house and ran across the road to the narrow green field that lay between the inn and the bay.
-the field was bounded by straggling rows of raspberry bushes, and over the bushes hung a few apple-trees,--meek, patient trees, their backs bent from stooping before the strong westerly winds, their short, stubby foliage blown all over their surprised heads.
-there was a sheep-pen in the corner of the field next the road, and near it was a barred gate, opening on a winding path that led down to the flat shore. bidiane went through the gate, frowned slightly at a mowing-machine left out-of-doors for many days by the careless claude, then laughed at the handle of its uplifted brake, that looked like a disconsolate and protesting arm raised to the sky.
-all the family were in the hay field. two white oxen drew the hay wagon slowly to and fro, while claudine and the two boys circled about it, raking together scattered wisps left from the big cocks that claude threw up to mirabelle marie.
-the mistress of the house was in her element. she gloried in haying, which was the only form of exercise that appealed in the least to her. her face was overspread by a grin of delight, her red dress fluttered in the strong breeze, and she gleefully jumped up and down on top of the load, and superimposed her fat jolly weight on the masses of hay.
-bidiane ran towards them, dilating her small nostrils as she ran to catch the many delicious odors of the summer air. the strong perfume of the hay overpowered them all, and, in an intoxication of delight, she dropped on a heap of it, and raised an armful to her face.
-a squeal from claudine roused her. her rake had uncovered a mouse's nest, and she was busily engaged in killing every one of the tiny velvety creatures.
-"but why do you do it?" asked bidiane, running up to her.
-claudine stared at her. she was a magnificent specimen of womanhood as she stood in the blazing light of the sun, and bidiane, even in the midst of her subdued indignation, thought of some lines in the shakespeare that she had just laid down:
-claudine was carrying on a vigorous line of reasoning. she admired bidiane intensely, and she quietly listened with pleasure to what she called her rocamboles of the olden times, which were bidiane's tales of acadien exploits and sufferings. she was a more apt pupil than the dense and silly mirabelle marie.
-"if i was a mouse i wouldn't like to be killed," she said, presently, going on with her raking; and bidiane, having made her think, was satisfied.
-"now, claudine," she said, "you must be tired. give me your rake, and do you go up to the house and rest."
-"yes, go, claudine," said mirabelle marie, from her height, "you look drug out."
-"i am not tired," said claudine, in french, "and i shall not give my rake to you, bidiane. you are not used to work."
-bidiane bubbled over into low, rippling laughter. "i delicate,--ah, that is good! give me your rake, claude. you go up to the barn now, do you not?"
-claude nodded, and extended a strong hand to assist his wife in sliding to the ground. then, accompanied by his boys, he jogged slowly after the wagon to the barn, where the oxen would be unyoked, and the grasping pitcher would lift the load in two or three mouthfuls to the mows.
-bidiane threw down her rake and ran to the fence for some raspberries, and while her hands were busy with the red fruit, her bright eyes kept scanning the road. she watched a foot-passenger coming slowly from the station, pausing at the corner, drifting in a leisurely way towards the inn, and finally, after a glance at mirabelle marie's conspicuous gown, climbing the fence, and moving deliberately towards her.
-"h'm--a snake in the grass," murmured bidiane, keeping an eye on the new arrival, and presently she, too, made her way towards her aunt and claudine, who had ceased work and were seated on the hay.
-"this is nannichette," said mirabelle marie, somewhat apprehensively, when bidiane reached them.
-"yes, i know," said the girl, and she nodded stiffly to the woman, who was almost as fat and as easy-going as mirabelle marie herself.
-nannichette was half acadien and half english, and she had married a pure indian who lived back in the woods near the sleeping water lake. she was not a very desirable acquaintance for mirabelle marie, but she was not a positively bad woman, and no one would think of shutting a door against her, although her acquaintance was not positively sought after by the scrupulous acadiens.
-"we was gabbin' about diggin' for gold one day, nannichette and i," said mirabelle marie, insinuatingly. "she knows a heap about good places, and the good time to dig. you tell us, biddy,--i mean bidiane,--some of yer yarns about the lake. mebbe there's some talk of gold in 'em."
-bidiane sat down on the hay. if she talked, it would at least prevent nannichette from pouring her nonsense into her aunt's ear, so she began. "i have not yet seen this lake of l'eau dormante, but i have read of it. long, long ago, before the english came to this province, and even before the french came, there was an indian encampment on the shores of this deep, smooth, dark lake. many canoes shot gaily across its glassy surface, many camp-fires sent up their smoke from among the trees to the clear, blue sky. the encampment was an old, old one. the indians had occupied it for many winters; they planned to occupy it for many more, but one sweet spring night, when they were dreaming of summer roamings, a band of hostile indians came slipping behind the tree-trunks. a bright blaze shot up to the clear sky, and the bosom of sleeping water looked as if some one had drawn a bloody finger across it. following this were shrieks and savage yells, and afterward a profound silence. the indians left, and the shuddering trees grew closer together to hide the traces of the savage invaders--no, the marks of devastation," she said, stopping suddenly and correcting herself, for she had a good memory, and at times was apt to repeat verbatim the words of some of her favorite historians or story-tellers.
-"the green running vines, also," she continued, "made haste to spread over the blackened ground, and the leaves fell quietly over the dead bodies and warmly covered them. years went by, the leaf-mould had gathered thick over the graves of the indians, and then, on a memorable day, the feast of sainte-anne's, the french discovered the lovely, silent sleeping water, the gem of the forest, and erected a fort on its banks. the royal flag floated over the trees, a small space of ground was cleared for the planting of corn, and a garden was laid out, where seeds from old france grew and flourished, for no disturbing gales from the bay ever reached this sanctuary of the wildwood.
-"all went merrily as a marriage bell until one winter night, when the bosom of the lake was frosted with ice, and the snow-laden branches of the trees hung heavily earthward. then, in the hush before morning, a small detachment of men on snowshoes, arrayed in a foreign uniform, and carrying hatchets in their hands--"
-"more injuns!" gasped mirabelle marie, clapping her hand to her mouth in lively distress at bidiane's tragic manner.
-"no, no! i didn't say tomahawks," said bidiane, who started nervously at the interruption; "the hatchets weren't for killing,--they were to cut the branches. these soldiers crept stealthily and painfully through the underbrush, where broken limbs and prickly shrubs stretched out detaining arms to hold them back; but they would not be held, for the lust of murder was in their hearts. when they reached the broad and open lake--"
-"you jist said it was frozen," interrupted the irrepressible mirabelle marie.
-"i beg your pardon,--the ice-sealed sheet of water,--the soldiers threw away their hatchets and unslung their guns, and again a shout of horror went up to the clear vault of heaven. white men slew white men, for the invaders were not indians, but english soldiers, and there were streaks of crimson on the snow where the french soldiers laid themselves down to die.
-"there seemed to be a curse on the lake, and it was deserted for many years, until a band of sorrowing acadien exiles was forced to take refuge in the half-ruined fort. they summered and wintered there, until they all died of a strange sickness and were buried by one man who, only, survived. he vowed that the lake was haunted, and would never be an abode for human beings; so he came to the shore and built himself a log cabin, that he occupied in fear and trembling until at last the time came when the french were no longer persecuted."
-"agapit lenoir also says that the lake is haunted," exclaimed claudine, in excited french. "he hates the little river that comes stealing from it. he likes the bay, the open bay. there is no one here that loves the river but rose à charlitte."
-"but dere is gold dere,--heaps," said the visitor, in english, and her eyes glistened.
-"only foolish people say that," remarked claudine, decidedly, "and even if there should be gold there, it would be cursed."
-"you not think that," said nannichette, shrinking back.
-"oh, how stupid all this is!" said bidiane. "up the bay i used to hear this talk of gold. you remember, my aunt?"
-mirabelle marie's shoulders shook with amusement. "mon jheu, yes, on the stony dead man's point, where there ain't enough earth to fricasser les cailloux" (fricassee the pebbles); "it's all dug up like graveyards. come on, nannichette, tell us ag'in of yer fantome."
-nannichette became suddenly shy, and mirabelle marie took it upon herself to be spokeswoman. "she was rockin' her baby, when she heard a divil of a noise. the ceiling gapped at her, jist like you open yer mouth, and a fantome voice says--"
-"'dere is gole in sleepin' water lake,'" interrupted nannichette, hastily. "'only women shall dig,--men cannot fine.'"
-"an' nannichette was squshed,--she fell ag'in the floor with her baby."
-"and then she ran about to see if she could find some women foolish enough to believe this," said bidiane, with fine youthful disdain.
-a slow color crept into nannichette's brown cheek. "dere is gole dere," she said, obstinately. "de speerit tell me where to look."
-"that was satan who spoke to you, nannichette," said claudine, seriously; "or maybe you had had a little rum. come now, hadn't you?"
-nannichette scowled, while mirabelle marie murmured, with reverent admiration, "i dessay the divil knows where there is lots of gold."
-"it drives me frantic to hear you discuss this subject," said bidiane, suddenly springing to her feet. "oh, if you knew how ignorant it sounds, how way back in the olden times! what would the people in paris say if they could hear you? oh, please, let us talk of something else; let us mention art."
-"what's dat?" asked nannichette, pricking up her ears.
-"it is all about music, and writing poetry, and making lovely pictures, and all kinds of elegant things,--it elevates your mind and soul. don't talk about hateful things. what do you want to live back in the woods for? why don't you come out to the shore?"
-"dat's why i wan' de gole," said nannichette, triumphantly. "of'en i use to hunt for some of cap'en kidd's pots."
-"good gracious!" said bidiane, with an impatient gesture, "how much money do you suppose that man had? they are searching for his treasure all along the coast. i don't believe he ever had a bit. he was a wicked old pirate,--i wouldn't spend his money if i found it--"
-mirabelle marie and nannichette surveyed each other's faces with cunning, glittering eyes. there was a secret understanding between them; no speech was necessary, and they contemplated bidiane as two benevolent wild beasts might survey an innocent and highly cultured lamb who attempted to reason with them.
-bidiane dimly felt her powerlessness, and, accompanied by claudine, went back to her raking, and left the two sitting on the hay.
-while the girl was undressing that night, claudine tapped at her door. "it is all arranged, bidiane. they are going to dig."
-bidiane impatiently shook her hanging mass of hair, and stamped her foot on the floor. "they shall not."
-"nannichette did not go away," continued claudine. "she hung about the stable, and mirabelle marie took her up some food. i was feeding the pig, and i overheard whispering. they are to get some women together, and nannichette will lead them to the place the spirit told her of."
-"oh, the simpleton! she shall not come here again, and my aunt shall not accompany her--but where do they wish to go?"
-"to the sleeping water lake."
-"claudine, you know there is no gold there. the indians had none, the french had none,--where would the poor exiles get it?"
-"all this is reasonable, but there are people who are foolish,--always foolish. i tell you, this seeking for gold is like a fever. one catches it from another. i had an uncle who thought there was a treasure hid on his farm; he dug it all over, then he went crazy."
-bidiane's head, that, in the light of her lamp, had turned to a dull red-gold, sank on her breast. "i have it," she said at last, flinging it up, and choking with irrepressible laughter. "let them go,--we will play them a trick. nothing else will cure my aunt. listen,--" and she laid a hand on the shoulder of the young woman confronting her, and earnestly unfolded a primitive plan.
-claudine at once fell in with it. she had never yet disapproved of a suggestion of bidiane, and after a time she went chuckling to bed.
-ghosts by sleeping water.
-"which apparition, it seems, was you."
-the next day claudine's left eyelid trembled in bidiane's direction.
-the girl followed her to the pantry, where she heard, murmured over a pan of milk, "they go to-night, as soon as it is dark,--mirabelle marie, suretta, and mosée-délice."
-"very well," said bidiane, curling her lip, "we will go too."
-accordingly, that evening, when mirabelle marie clapped her rakish hat on her head,--for nothing would induce her to wear a handkerchief,--and said that she was going to visit a sick neighbor, bidiane demurely commended her thoughtfulness, and sent an affecting message to the invalid.
-however, the mistress of the inn had no sooner disappeared than her younger helpmeets tied black handkerchiefs on their heads, and slipped out to the yard, each carrying a rolled-up sheet and a paper of pins. with much suppressed laughter they glided up behind the barn, and struck across the fields to the station road. when half-way there, bidiane felt something damp and cold touch her hand, and, with a start and a slight scream, discovered that her uncle's dog, bastarache, in that way signified his wish to join the expedition.
-"come, then, good dog," she said, in french, for he was a late acquisition and, having been brought up in the woods, understood no english, "thou, too, shalt be a ghost."
-it was a dark, furiously windy night, for the hot gale that had been blowing over the bay for three days was just about dying away with a fiercer display of energy than before.
-the stars were out, but they did not give much light, and bidiane and claudine had only to stand a little aside from the road, under a group of spruces, in order to be completely hidden from the three women as they went tugging by. they had met at the corner, and, in no fear of discovery, for the night was most unpleasant and there were few people stirring, they trudged boldly on, screaming neighborhood news at the top of their voices, in order to be heard above the noise of the wind.
-bidiane and claudine followed them at a safe distance. "mon dieu, but mirabelle marie's fat legs will ache to-morrow," said claudine, "she that walks so little."
-"if it were an honest errand that she was going on, she would have asked for the horse. as it is, she was ashamed to do so."
-the three women fairly galloped over the road to the station, for, at first, both tongues and heels were excited, and even mirabelle marie, although she was the only fat one of the party, managed to keep up with the others.
-to claudine, bidiane, and the dog, the few miles to the station were a mere bagatelle. however, after crossing the railway track, they were obliged to go more slowly, for the three in front had begun to flag. they also had stopped gossiping, and when an occasional wagon approached, they stepped into the bushes beside the road until it had passed by.
-the dog, in great wonderment of mind, chafed at the string that bidiane took from her pocket and fastened around his neck. he scented his mistress on ahead, and did not understand why the two parties might not be amicably united.
-a mile beyond the station, the three gold-seekers left the main road and plunged into a rough wood-track that led to the lake. here the darkness was intense; the trees formed a thick screen overhead, through which only occasional glimpses of a narrow lane of stars could be obtained.
-"this is terrible," gasped bidiane, as her foot struck a root; "lift your feet high, claudine."
-claudine gave her a hand. she was almost hysterical from listening to the groaning on ahead. "since the day of my husband's death, i have not laughed so much," she said, winking away the nervous tears in her eyes. "i do not love fun as much as some people, but when i laugh, i laugh hard."
-"my aunt will be in bed to-morrow," sighed bidiane; "what a pity that she is such a goose."
-"she is tough," giggled claudine, "do not disturb yourself. it is you that i fear for."
-at last, the black, damp, dark road emerged on a clearing. there stood the indian's dwelling,--small and yellow, with a fertile garden before it, and a tiny, prosperous orchard at the back.
-"you must enter this house some day," whispered claudine. "everything shines there, and they are well fixed. nannichette has a sewing-machine, and a fine cook-stove, and when she does not help her husband make baskets, she sews and bakes."
-"will her husband approve of this expedition?"
-"no, no, he must have gone to the shore, or nannichette would not undertake it,--listen to what mirabelle marie says."
-the fat woman had sunk exhausted on the doorstep of the yellow house. "nannichette, i be dèche if i go a step furder, till you gimme checque chouse pour mouiller la langue" (give me something to wet my tongue).
-"all right," said nannichette, in the soft, drawling tones that she had caught from the indians, and she brought her out a pitcher of milk.
-mirabelle marie put the pitcher to her lips, and gurgled over the milk a joyful thanksgiving that she had got away from the rough road, and the rougher wind, that raged like a bull; then she said, "your husband is away?"
-"no," said nannichette, in some embarrassment, "he ain't, but come in."
-mirabelle marie rose, and with her companions went into the house, while bidiane and claudine crept to the windows.
-"dear me, this is the best indian house that i ever saw," said bidiane, taking a survey, through the cheap lace curtains, of the sewing-machine, the cupboard of dishes, and the neat tables and chairs inside. then she glided on in a voyage of discovery around the house, skirting the diminutive bedrooms, where half a dozen children lay snoring in comfortable beds, and finally arriving outside a shed, where a tall, slight indian was on his knees, planing staves for a tub by the light of a lamp on a bracket above him.
-his wife's work lay on the floor. when not suffering from the gold fever, she twisted together the dried strips of maple wood and scented grasses, and made baskets that she sold at a good price.
-the indian did not move an eyelid, but he plainly saw bidiane and claudine, and wondered why they were not with the other women, who, in some uneasiness of mind, stood in the doorway, looking at him over each other's shoulders.
-after his brief nod and taciturn "hullo, ladies," his wife said, "we go for walk in woods."
-"what for you lie?" he said, in english, for the micmacs of the bay are accomplished linguists, and make use of three languages. "you go to dig gold," and he grunted contemptuously.
-no one replied to him, and he continued, "ladies, all religions is good. i cannot say, you go hell 'cause you catholic, an' i go heaven 'cause i protestant. all same with god, if you believe your religion. but your priesties not say to dig gold."
-he took up the stave that he had laid down, and went on with his work of smoothing it, while the four "ladies," mirabelle marie, suretta, mosée-délice, and his wife, appeared to be somewhat ashamed of themselves.
-"'pon my soul an' body, there ain't no harm in diggin' gold," said mirabelle marie. "that gives us fun."
-"how many you be?" he asked.
-"four," said nannichette, who was regarding her lord and master with some shyness; for stupid as she was, she recognized the fact that he was the more civilized being, and that the prosperity of their family was largely due to him.
-the indian's liquid eyes glistened for an instant towards the window, where stood bidiane and claudine. "take care, ladies, there be ghosties in the woods."
-the four women laughed loudly, but in a shaky manner; then taking each a handful of raspberries, from a huge basketful that nannichette offered them, and that was destined for the preserve pot on the morrow, they once more plunged into the dark woods.
-bidiane and claudine restrained the leaping dog, and quietly followed them. the former could not conceal her delight when they came suddenly upon the lake. it lay like a huge, dusky mirror, turned up to the sky with a myriad stars piercing its glassy bosom.
-"stop," murmured claudine.
-the four women had paused ahead of them. they were talking and gesticulating violently, for all conversation was forbidden while digging. one word spoken aloud, and the charm would be broken, the spirit would rush angrily from the spot.
-therefore they were finishing up their ends of talk, and nannichette was assuring them that she would take them to the exact spot revealed to her in the vision.
-presently they set off in indian file, nannichette in front, as the one led by the spirit, and carrying with her a washed and polished spade, that she had brought from her home.
-claudine and bidiane were careful not to speak, for there was not a word uttered now by the women in front, and the pursuers needed to follow them with extreme caution. on they went, climbing silently over the grassy mounds that were now the only reminders of the old french fort, or stumbling unexpectedly and noisily into the great heap of clam shells, whose contents had been eaten by the hungry exiles of long ago.
-at last they stopped. nannichette stared up at the sky, down at the ground, across the lake on her right, and into the woods on her left, and then pointed to a spot in the grass, and with a magical flourish of the spade began to dig.
-having an indian husband, she was accustomed to work out-of-doors, and was therefore able to dig for a long time before she became sensible of fatigue, and was obliged mutely to extend the spade to suretta.
-not so enduring were the other women. their ancestors had ploughed and reaped, but acadiennes of the present day rarely work on the farms, unless it is during the haying season. suretta soon gave out. mosée-délice took her place, and mirabelle marie hung back until the last.
-bidiane and claudine withdrew among the trees, stifling their laughter and trying to calm the dog, who had finally reached a state of frenzy at this mysterious separation.
-"my unfortunate aunt!" murmured bidiane; "do let us put an end to this."
-claudine was snickering convulsively. she had begun to array herself in one of the sheets, and was transported with amusement and anticipation.
-meanwhile, doubt and discord had reared their disturbing heads among the members of the digging party. mirabelle marie persisted in throwing up the spade too soon, and the other women, regarding her with glowing, eloquent looks, quietly arranged that the honorable agricultural implement, now perverted to so unbecoming a use, should return to her hands with disquieting frequency.
-"the divil!" she cried, and her voice broke out shrilly in the deathly silence; "bidiane was right. it ain't no speerit you saw. i'm goin'," and she scrambled out of the hole.
-with angry reproaches for her precipitancy and laziness, the other women fell upon her with their tongues. she had given them this long walk to the lake, she had spoiled everything, and, as their furious voices smote the still air, bidiane, claudine, and the dog emerged slowly and decently from the heavy gloom behind them like ghosts rising from the lake.
-"i will give you a bit of my sheet," bidiane had said to bastarache; consequently he stalked beside them like a diminutive bogey in a graceful mantle of white.
-"ah, mon jheu! chesque j'vois?" (what do i see), screamed suretta, who was the first to catch sight of them. "ten candles to the virgin if i get out of this!" and she ran like a startled deer.
-with various expressions of terror, the others followed her. they carried with them the appearance of the white ethereal figures, standing against the awful black background of the trees, and as they ran, their shrieks and yells of horror, particularly those from mirabelle marie, were so heartrending that bidiane, in sudden compunction, screamed to her, "don't you know me, my aunt? it is bidiane, your niece. don't be afraid!"
-mirabelle marie was making so much noise herself that she could scarcely have heard a trumpet sounding in her ears, and fear lent her wings of such extraordinary vigor in flight that she was almost immediately out of sight.
-bidiane turned to the dog, who was tripping and stumbling inside his snowy drapery, and to claudine, who was shrieking with delight at him.
-"go then, good dog, console your mistress," she said. "follow those piercing screams that float backward," and she was just about to release him when she was obliged to go to the assistance of claudine, who had caught her foot, and had fallen to the ground, where she lay overcome by hysterical laughter.
-bidiane had to get water from the lake to dash on her face, and when at last they were ready to proceed on their way, the forest was as still as when they had entered it.
-"bah, i am tired of this joke," said bidiane. "we have accomplished our object. let us throw these things in the lake. i am ashamed of them;" and she put a stone inside their white trappings, and hurled them into sleeping water, which mutely received and swallowed them.
-"now," she said, impatiently, "let us overtake them. i am afraid lest mirabelle marie stumble, she is so heavy."
-claudine, leaning against a tree and mopping her eyes, vowed that it was the best joke that she had ever heard of; then she joined bidiane, and they hurriedly made their way to the yellow cottage.
-it was deserted now, except for the presence of the six children of mixed blood, who were still sleeping like six little dark logs, laid three on a bed.
-"we shall overtake them," said bidiane; "let us hurry."
-however, they did not catch up to them on the forest path, nor even on the main road, for when the terrified women had rushed into the presence of the indian and had besought him to escort them away from the spirit-haunted lake, that amused man, with a cheerful grunt, had taken them back to the shore by a short cut known only to himself.
-therefore, when bidiane and claudine arrived breathlessly home, they found mirabelle marie there before them. she sat in a rocking-chair in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by a group of sympathizers, who listened breathlessly to her tale of woe, that she related with chattering teeth.
-bidiane ran to her and threw her arms about her neck.
-"mon jheu, biddy, i've got such a fright. i'm mos' dead. three ghosties came out of sleepin' water, and chased us,--we were back for gold. suretta an' mosée-délice have run home. they're mos' scairt to pieces. oh, i'll never sin again. i wisht i'd made my easter duties. i'll go to confession to-morrer."
-"it was i, my aunt," cried bidiane, in distress.
-"it was awful," moaned mirabelle marie. "i see the speerit of me mother, i see the speerit of me sister, i see the speerit of me leetle lame child."
-"it was the dog," exclaimed bidiane, and, gazing around the kitchen for him, she discovered agapit sitting quietly in a corner.
-"oh, how do you do?" she said, in some embarrassment; then she again gave her attention to her distressed aunt.
-"the dogue,--biddy, you ain't crazy?"
-"yes, yes, the dog and claudine and i. see how she is laughing. we heard your plans, we followed you, we dressed in sheets."
-"the dogue," reiterated mirabelle marie, in blank astonishment, and pointing to bastarache, who lay under the sofa solemnly winking at her. "ain't he ben plumped down there ever since supper, claude?"
-"yes, he's ben there."
-"but claude sleeps in the evenings," urged bidiane. "i assure you that bastarache was with us."
-"oh, the dear leetle liar," said mirabelle marie, affectionately embracing her. "but i'm glad to git back again to yeh."
-"i'm telling the truth," said bidiane, desperately. "can't you speak, claudine?"
-"we did go," said claudine, who was still possessed by a demon of laughter. "we followed you."
-"followed us to sleepin' water! you're lyin', too. sakerjé, it was awful to see me mother and me sister and the leetle dead child," and she trotted both feet wildly on the floor, while her rolling eye sought comfort from bidiane.
-"what shall i do?" said bidiane. "mr. lenoir, you will believe me. i wanted to cure my aunt of her foolishness. we took sheets--"
-"sheets?" repeated mirabelle. "whose sheets?"
-"yours, my aunt,--oh, it was very bad in us, but they were old ones; they had holes."
-"what did you do with 'em?"
-"we threw them in the lake."
-bidiane, with a gesture of utter helplessness, gave up the discussion and sat down beside agapit.
-"and what do you think of me?" she asked, anxiously.
-agapit, although an ardent acadien, and one bent on advancing the interests of his countrymen in every way, had yet little patience with the class to which mirabelle marie belonged. apparently kind and forbearing with them, he yet left them severely alone. his was the party of progress, and he had been half amused, half scornful of the efforts that bidiane had put forth to educate her deficient relative.
-"on general principles," he said, coolly, "it is better not to chase a fat aunt through dark woods; yet, in this case, i would say it has done good."
-"i did not wish to be heartless," said bidiane, with tears in her eyes. "i wished to teach her a lesson."
-"well, you have done so. hear her swear that she will go to mass,--she will, too. the only way to work upon such a nature is through fear."
-"i am glad to have her go to mass, but i did not wish her to go in this way."
-"be thankful that you have attained your object," he said, dryly. "now i must go. i hoped to spend the evening with you, and hear you sing."
-"you will come again, soon?" said bidiane, following him to the door.
-"it is a good many miles to come, and a good many to go back, mademoiselle. i have not always the time--and, besides that, i have soon to go to halifax on business."
-"well, i thank you for keeping your promise to come," said bidiane, humbly, and with gratitude. she was completely unnerved by the events of the evening, and was in no humor to find fault.
-agapit clapped his hat firmly on his head as a gust of wind whirled across the yard and tried to take it from him.
-"we are always glad to see you here," said bidiane, wistfully, as she watched him step across to the picket fence, where his white horse shone through the darkness; "though i suppose you have pleasant company in weymouth. i have been introduced to some nice english girls from there."
-"yes, there are nice ones," he said. "i should like to see more of them, but i am usually busy in the afternoons and evenings."
-"do not work too hard,--that is a mistake. one must enjoy life a little."
-he gathered up the reins in his hands and paused a minute before he stepped into the buggy. "i suppose i seem very old to you."
-she hesitated for an instant, and the wind dying down a little seemed to take the words from her lips and softly breathe them against his dark, quiet face. "not so very old,--not as old as you did at first. if i were as old as you, i should not do such silly things."
-he stared solemnly at her wind-blown figure swaying lightly to and fro on the gravel, and at the little hands put up to keep her dishevelled hair from her eyes and cheeks, which were both glowing from her hurried scamper home. "are you really worried because you played this trick on your aunt?"
-"yes, terribly, she has been like a mother to me. i would be ashamed for mr. nimmo to know."
-"and will you lie awake to-night and vex yourself about it?"
-"oh, yes, yes,--how can you tell? perhaps you also have troubles."
-agapit laughed in sudden and genuine amusement. "mademoiselle, my cousin, let me say something to you that you may perhaps remember when you are older. it is this: you have at present about as much comprehension and appreciation of real heart trouble, and of mental struggles that tear one first this way, then that way,--you have about as much understanding of them as has that kitten sheltering itself behind you."
-bidiane quietly stowed away this remark among the somewhat heterogeneous furniture of her mind; then she said, "i feel quite old when i talk to my aunt and to claudine."
-"you are certainly ahead of them in some mental experiences, but you are not yet up to some other people."
-"i am not up to madame de forêt," she said, gently, "nor to you. i feel sure now that you have some troubles."
-"and what do you imagine they are?"
-"i imagine that they are things that you will get over," she said, with spirit. "you are not a coward."
-he smiled, and softly bade her good night.
-"good night, mon cousin," she said, gravely, and taking the crying kitten in her arms, she put her head on one side and listened until the sound of the carriage wheels grew faint in the distance.
-"could but our ancestors retrieve their fate, and see their offspring thus degenerate, how we contend for birth and names unknown; and build on their past acts, and not our own; they'd cancel records and their tombs deface, and then disown the vile, degenerate race; for families is all a cheat, 'tis personal virtue only, makes us great."
-the true born englishman. defoe.
-bidiane was late for supper, and claudine was regretfully remarking that the croquettes and the hot potatoes in the oven would all be burnt to cinders, when the young person herself walked into the kitchen, her face a fiery crimson, a row of tiny beads of perspiration at the conjunction of her smooth forehead with her red hair.
-"i have had a glorious ride," she said, opening the door of the big oven and taking out the hot dishes.
-claudine laid aside the towel with which she was wiping the cups and saucers that mirabelle marie washed. "go sit down at the table, bidiane; you must be weary."
-the girl, nothing loath, went to the dining-room, while claudine brought her in hot coffee, buttered toast, and preserved peaches and cream, and then returning to the kitchen watched her through the open door, as she satisfied the demands of a certainly prosperous appetite.
-"and yet, it is not food i want, as much as drink," said bidiane, gaily, as she poured herself out a second glass of milk. "ah, the bicycle, claudine. if you rode, you would know how one's mouth feels like a dry bone."
-"i think i would like a wheel," said claudine, modestly. "i have enough money saved."
-"have you? then you must get one, and i will teach you to ride."
-"how would one go about it?"
-"we will do it in this way," said bidiane, in a business-like manner, for she loved to arrange the affairs of other people. "how much money have you?"
-"i have one hundred dollars."
-"'pon me soul an' body, i'd have borrered some if i'd known that," interrupted mirabelle marie, with a chuckle.
-"good gracious," observed bidiane, "you don't want more than half that. we will give fifty to one of the men on the schooners. isn't la sauterelle going to boston, to-morrow?"
-"yes; the cook was just in for yeast."
-"has he a head for business?"
-"does he know anything about machines?"
-"he once sold sewing-machines, and he also would show how to work them."
-"the very man,--we will give him the fifty dollars and tell him to pick you out a good wheel and bring it back in the schooner."
-"then there will be no duty to pay," said claudine, joyfully.
-"h'm,--well, perhaps we had better pay the duty," said bidiane; "it won't be so very much. it is a great temptation to smuggle things from the states, but i know we shouldn't. by the way, i must tell mirabelle marie a good joke i just heard up the bay. my aunt,--where are you?"
-mirabelle marie came into the room and seated herself near claudine.
-"marc à jaddus à dominique's little girl gave him away," said bidiane, laughingly. "she ran over to the custom-house in belliveau's cove and told the man what lovely things her papa had brought from boston, in his schooner, and the customs man hurried over, and marc had to pay--i must tell you, too, that i bought some white ribbon for alzélie gauterot, while i was in the cove," and bidiane pulled a little parcel from her pocket.
-mirabelle marie was intensely interested. ever since the affair of the ghosts, which bidiane had given up trying to persuade her was not ghostly, but very material, she had become deeply religious, and took her whole family to mass and vespers every sunday.
-just now the children of the parish were in training for their first communion. she watched the little creatures daily trotting up the road towards the church to receive instruction, and she hoped that her boys would soon be among them. in the small daughter of her next-door neighbor, who was to make her first communion with the others, she took a special interest, and in her zeal had offered to make the dress, which kind office had devolved upon bidiane and claudine.
-"mon jheu! but you are smart, and a real acadien brat," said her aunt. "claudine, will you go to the door? some divil rings,--that is, some lady or gentleman," she added, as she caught a menacing glance from bidiane.
-"if you keep a hotel you must always be glad to see strangers," said bidiane, severely. "it is money in your pocket."
-"but such a trouble, and i am sleepy."
-"if you are not careful you will have to give up this inn,--however, i must not scold, for you do far better than when i first came."
-"it is the political gentleman," said claudine, entering, and noiselessly closing the door behind her. "he who has been going up and down the bay for a day or two. he wishes supper and a bed."
-"sakerjé!" muttered mirabelle marie, rising with an effort. "if i was a man i guess i'd let pollyticks alone, and stay to hum. i s'ppose he's got a nest with some feathers in it. i guess you'd better ask him out, though. there's enough to start him, ain't there?" and she waddled out to the kitchen.
-"ah, the political gentleman," said bidiane. "it was he for whom i helped maggie guilbaut pick blackberries, yesterday. they expected him to call, and were going to offer him berries and cream."
-mirabelle marie, on going to the kitchen, had left her niece sitting composedly at the table, only lifting an eyelid to glance at the door by which the stranger would enter; but when she returned, as she almost immediately did, to ask the gentleman whether he would prefer tea to coffee, a curious spectacle met her gaze.
-bidiane, with a face that was absolutely furious, had sprung to her feet and was grasping the sides of her bicycle skirt with clenched hands, while the stranger, who was a lean, dark man, with a pale, rather pleasing face, when not disfigured by a sarcastic smile, stood staring at her as if he remembered seeing her before, but had some difficulty in locating her among his acquaintances.
-upon her aunt's appearance, bidiane found her voice. "either i or that man must leave this house," she said, pointing a scornful finger at him.
-mirabelle marie, who was not easily shocked, was plainly so on the present occasion. "whist, bidiane," she said, trying to pull her down on her chair; "this is the pollytickle genl'man,--county member they call 'im."
-"i do not care if he is member for fifty counties," said bidiane, in concentrated scorn. "he is a libeller, a slanderer, and i will not stay under the same roof with him,--and to think it was for him i picked the blackberries,--we cannot entertain you here, sir."
-the expression of disagreeable surprise with which the man with the unpleasant smile had regarded her gave way to one of cool disdain. "this is your house, i think?" he said, appealing to mirabelle marie.
-"yessir," she said, putting down her tea-caddy, and arranging both her hands on her hips, in which position she would hold them until the dispute was finished.
-"and you do not refuse me entertainment?" he went on, with the same unpleasant smile. "you cannot, i think, as this is a public house, and you have no just reason for excluding me from it."
-"my aunt," said bidiane, flashing around to her in a towering passion, "if you do not immediately turn this man out-of-doors, i shall never speak to you again."
-"i be dèche," sputtered the confused landlady, "if i see into this hash. look at 'em, claudine. this genl'man'll be mad if i do one thing, an' biddy'll take my head off if i do another. sakerjé! you've got to fit it out yourselves."
-"listen, my aunt," said bidiane, excitedly, and yet with an effort to control herself. "i will tell you what happened. on my way here i was in a hotel in halifax. i had gone there with some people from the steamer who were taking charge of me. we were on our way to our rooms. we were all speaking english. no one would think that there was a french person in the party. we passed a gentleman, this gentleman, who stood outside his door; he was speaking to a servant. 'bring me quickly,' he said, 'some water,--some hot water. i have been down among the evil-smelling french of clare. i must go again, and i want a good wash first.'"
-mirabelle marie was by no means overcome with horror at the recitation of this trespass on the part of her would-be guest; but claudine's eyes blazed and flashed on the stranger's back until he moved slightly, and shrugged his shoulders as if he felt their power.
-"imagine," cried bidiane, "he called us 'evil-smelling,'--we, the best housekeepers in the world, whose stoves shine, whose kitchen floors are as white as the beach! i choked with wrath. i ran up to him and said, 'moi, je suis acadienne'" (i am an acadienne). "did i not, sir?"
-the stranger lifted his eyebrows indulgently and satirically, but did not speak.
-"and he was astonished," continued bidiane. "ma foi, but he was astonished! he started, and stared at me, and i said, 'i will tell you what you are, sir, unless you apologize.'"
-"i guess yeh apologized, didn't yeh?" said mirabelle marie, mildly.
-"the young lady is dreaming," said the stranger, coolly, and he seated himself at the table. "can you let me have something to eat at once, madame? i have a brother who resembles me; perhaps she saw him."
-bidiane grew so pale with wrath, and trembled so violently that claudine ran to support her, and cried, "tell us, bidiane, what did you say to this bad man?"
-bidiane slightly recovered herself. "i said to him, 'sir, i regret to tell you that you are lying.'"
-the man at the table surveyed her in intense irritation. "i do not know where you come from, young woman," he said, hastily, "but you look irish."
-"and if i were not acadien i would be irish," she said, in a low voice, "for they also suffer for their country. good-by, my aunt, i am going to rose à charlitte. i see you wish to keep this story-teller."
-"hole on, hole on," ejaculated mirabelle marie in distress. "look here, sir, you've gut me in a fix, and you've gut to git me out of it."
-"i shall not leave your house unless you tell me to do so," he said, in cool, quiet anger.
-bidiane stretched out her hands to him, and with tears in her eyes exclaimed, pleadingly, "say only that you regret having slandered the acadiens. i will forget that you put my people to shame before the english, for they all knew that i was coming to clare. we will overlook it. acadiens are not ungenerous, sir."
-"as i said before, you are dreaming," responded the stranger, in a restrained fury. "i never was so put upon in my life. i never saw you before."
-bidiane drew herself up like an inspired prophetess. "beware, sir, of the wrath of god. you lied before,--you are lying now."
-the man fell into such a repressed rage that mirabelle marie, who was the only unembarrassed spectator, inasmuch as she was weak in racial loves and hatreds, felt called upon to decide the case. the gentleman, she saw, was the story-teller. bidiane, who had not been particularly truthful as a child, had yet never told her a falsehood since her return from france.
-"i'm awful sorry, sir, but you've gut to go. i brought up this leetle girl, an' her mother's dead."
-the gentleman rose,--a gentleman no longer, but a plain, common, very ugly-tempered man. these acadiens were actually turning him, an englishman, out of the inn. and he had thought the whole people so meek, so spiritless. he was doing them such an honor to personally canvass them for votes for the approaching election. his astonishment almost overmastered his rage, and in a choking voice he said to mirabelle marie, "your house will suffer for this,--you will regret it to the end of your life."
-"i know some business," exclaimed claudine, in sudden and irrepressible zeal. "i know that you wish to make laws, but will our men send you when they know what you say?"
-he snatched his hat from the seat behind him. his election was threatened. unless he chained these women's tongues, what he had said would run up and down the bay like wildfire,--and yet a word now would stop it. should he apologize? a devil rose in his heart. he would not.
-"do your worst," he said, in a low, sneering voice. "you are a pack of liars yourselves," and while bidiane and claudine stiffened themselves with rage, and mirabelle marie contemptuously muttered, "get out, ole beast," he cast a final malevolent glance on them, and left the house.
-for a time the three remained speechless; then bidiane sank into her chair, pushed back her half-eaten supper, propped her red head on her hand, and burst into passionate weeping.
-claudine stood gloomily watching her, while mirabelle marie sat down, and shifting her hands from her hips, laid them on her trembling knees. "i guess he'll drive us out of this, biddy,--an' i like sleepin' water."
-bidiane lifted her face to the ceiling, just as if she were "taking a vowel," her aunt reflected, in her far from perfect english. "he shall not ruin us, my aunt,--we will ruin him."
-"what'll you do, sissy?"
-"i will tell you something about politics," said bidiane, immediately becoming calm. "mr. nimmo has explained to me something about them, and if you listen, you will understand. in the first place, do you know what politics are?" and hastily wiping her eyes, she intently surveyed the two women who were hanging on her words.
-"yes, i know," said her aunt, joyfully. "it's when men quit work, an' gab, an' git red in the face, an' pass the bottle, an' pick rows, to fine out which shall go up to the city of boston to make laws an' sit in a big room with lots of other men."
-bidiane, with an impatient gesture, turned to claudine. "you know better than that?"
-"well, yes,--a little," said the black-eyed beauty, contemptuously.
-"is it?" said her aunt, humbly. "an' what's a science?"
-"a science is--well, a science is something wonderfully clever--when one knows a great deal. now this dominion of canada in which we live is large, very large, and there are two parties of politicians in it. you know them, claudine?"
-"yes, i do," said the young woman, promptly; "they are liberals and conservatives."
-"that is right; and just now the premier of the dominion is a frenchman, my aunt,--i don't believe you knew that,--and we are proud of him."
-"an' what's the premier?"
-"he is the chief one,--the one who stands over the others, when they make the laws."
-"oh, the boss!--you will tell him about this bad man."
-"no, it would grieve him too much, for the premier is always a good man, who never does anything wrong. this bad man will impose on him, and try to get him to promise to let him go to ottawa--oh, by the way, claudine, we must explain about that. my aunt, you know that there are two cities to which politicians go to make the laws. one is the capital."
-"yes, i know,--in boston city."
-"nonsense,--boston is in the united states. we are in canada. halifax is the capital of nova scotia."
-"but all our folks go to boston when they travels," said mirabelle marie, in a slightly injured tone.
-"yes, yes, i know,--the foolish people; they should go to halifax. well, that is where the big house is in which they make the laws. i saw it when i was there, and it has pictures of kings and queens in it. now, when a man becomes too clever for this house, they send him to ottawa, where the premier is."
-"yes, i remember,--the good frenchman."
-"well, this bad man now wishes to go to halifax; then if he is ambitious,--and he is bad enough to be anything,--he may wish to go to ottawa. but we must stop him right away before he does more mischief, for all men think he is good. mr. guilbaut was praising him yesterday."
-"he didn't say he is bad?"
-"no, no, he thinks him very good, and says he will be elected; but we know him to be a liar, and should a liar make laws for his country?"
-"a liar should stay to hum, where he is known," was the decisive response.
-"very good,--now should we not try to drive this man out of clare?"
-"but what can we do?" asked mirabelle marie. "he is already out an' lying like the divil about us--that is, like a man out of the woods."
-"we can talk," said her niece, seriously. "there are women's rights, you know."
-"women's rights," repeated her aunt, thoughtfully. "it is not in the prayer-book."
-"no, of course not."
-"come now, biddy, tell us what it is."
-"it is a long subject, my aunt. it would take too many words to explain, though mr. nimmo has often told me about it. women who believe that--can do as men. why should we not vote,--you, and i, and claudine?"
-"i dunno. i guess the men won't let us."
-"i should like to vote," said bidiane, stoutly, "but even though we cannot, we can tell the men on the bay of this monster, and they will send him home."
-"all right," said her aunt; while claudine, who had been sitting with knitted brows during the last few minutes, exclaimed, "i have it, bidiane; let us make bombance" (feasting). "do you know what it means?"
-no, bidiane did not, but mirabelle marie did, and immediately began to make a gurgling noise in her throat. "once i helped to make it in the house of an aunt. glory! that was fun. but the tin, claudine, where'll you git that?"
-"my one hundred dollars," cried the black-eyed assistant. "i will give them to my country, for i hate that man. i will do without the wheel."
-"but what is this?" asked bidiane, reproachfully. "what are you agreeing to? i do not understand."
-"tell her, claudine," said mirabelle marie, with a proud wave of her hand. "she's english, yeh know."
-claudine explained the phrase, and for the next hour the three, with chairs drawn close together, nodded, talked, and gesticulated, while laying out a feminine electioneering campaign.
-love and politics.
-"calm with the truth of life, deep with the love of loving, new, yet never unknown, my heart takes up the tune. singing that needs no words, joy that needs no proving, sinking in one long dream as summer bides with june."
-one morning, three weeks later, rose, on getting up and going out to the sunny yard where she kept her fancy breed of fowls, found them all overcome by some strange disorder. the morning was bright and inspiring, yet they were all sleeping heavily and stupidly under, instead of upon, their usual roosting-place.
-she waked up one or two, ran her fingers through their showy plumage, and, after receiving remonstrating glances from reproachful and recognizing eyes, softly laid them down again, and turned her attention to a resplendent red and gold cock, who alone had not succumbed to the mysterious malady, and was staggering to and fro, eyeing her with a doubtful, yet knowing look.
-"come, fiddéding," she said, gently, "tell me what has happened to these poor hens?"
-fiddéding, instead of enlightening her, swaggered towards the fence, and, after many failures, succeeded in climbing to it and in propping his tail against a post.
-then he flapped his gorgeous wings, and opened his beak to crow, but in the endeavor lost his balance, and with a dismal squawk fell to the ground. sheepishly resigning himself to his fate, he tried to gain the ranks of the somniferous hens, but, not succeeding, fell down where he was, and hid his head under his wing.
-a slight noise caught rose's attention, and looking up, she found jovite leaning against the fence, and grinning from ear to ear.
-"do you know what is the matter with the hens?" she asked.
-"yes, madame; if you come to the stable, i will show you what they have been taking."
-rose, with a grave face, visited the stable, and then instructed him to harness her pony to the cart and bring him around to the front of the house.
-half an hour later she was driving towards weymouth. as it happened to be saturday, it was market-day, and the general shopping-time for the farmers and the fishermen all along the bay, and even from back in the woods. many of them, with wives and daughters in their big wagons, were on their way to sell butter, eggs, and farm produce, and obtain, in exchange, groceries and dry goods, that they would find in larger quantities and in greater varieties in weymouth than in the smaller villages along the shore.
-upon reaching weymouth, she stopped on the principal street, that runs across a bridge over the lovely sissiboo river, and leaving the staid and sober pony to brush the flies from himself without the assistance of her whip, she knocked at the door of her cousin's office.
-"come in," said a voice, and she was speedily confronted by agapit, who sat at a table facing the door.
-he dropped his book and sprang up, when he saw her. "oh! ma chère, i am glad to see you. i was just feeling dull."
-she gently received and retained both his hands in hers. "one often does feel dull after a journey. ah! but i have missed you."
-"it has only been two weeks--"
-"and you have come back with that same weary look on your face," she said, anxiously. "agapit, i try to put that look in the back of my mind, but it will not stay."
-he lightly kissed her fingers, and drew a chair beside his own for her. "it amuses you to worry."
-"i apologize,--you are the soul of angelic concern for the minds and bodies of your fellow mortals. and how goes everything in sleeping water? i have been quite homesick for the good old place."
-rose, in spite of the distressed expression that still lingered about her face, began to smile, and said, impulsively, "once or twice i have almost recalled you, but i did not like to interrupt. yours was a case at the supreme court, was it not, if that is the way to word it?"
-"yes, rose; but has anything gone wrong? you mentioned nothing in your letters," and, as he spoke, he took off his glasses and began to polish them with his handkerchief.
-"not wrong, exactly, yet--" and she laughed. "it is bidiane."
-the hand with which agapit was manipulating his glasses trembled slightly, and hurriedly putting them on, he pushed back the papers on the table before him, and gave her an acute and undivided attention. "some one wants to marry her, i suppose," he said, hastily. "she is quite a flirt."
-"no, no, not yet,--pius poirier may, by and by, but do not be too severe with her, agapit. she has no time to think of lovers now. she is--but have you not heard? surely you must have--every one is laughing about it."
-"i have heard nothing. i returned late last night. i came directly here this morning. i intended to go to see you to-morrow."
-"i thought you would, but i could not wait. little bidiane should be stopped at once, or she will become notorious and get into the papers,--i was afraid it might already be known in halifax."
-"my dear rose, there are people in halifax who never heard of clare, and who do not know that there are even a score of acadiens left in the country; but what is she doing?" and he masked his impatience under an admirable coolness.
-"she says she is making bombance," said rose, and she struggled to repress a second laugh; "but i will begin from the first, as you know nothing. the very day you left, that mr. greening, who has been canvassing the county for votes, went to our inn, and bidiane recognized him as a man who had spoken ill of the acadiens in her presence in halifax."
-"what had he said?"
-"he said that they were 'evil-smelling,'" said rose, with reluctance.
-"oh, indeed,--he did," and agapit's lip curled. "i would not have believed it of greening. he is rather a decent fellow. sarcastic, you know, but not a fool, by any means. bidiane, i suppose, cut him."
-"no, she did not cut him; he had not been introduced. she asked him to apologize, and he would not. then she told mirabelle marie to request him to leave the house. he did so."
-"was he angry?"
-"yes, and insulting; and you can figure to yourself into what kind of a state our quick-tempered bidiane became. she talked to claudine and her aunt, and they agreed to pass mr. greening's remark up and down the bay."
-agapit began to laugh. something in his cousin's strangely excited manner, in the expression of her face, usually so delicately colored, now so deeply flushed and bewildered over bidiane's irrepressibility, amused him intensely, but most of all he laughed from sheer gladness of heart, that the question to be dealt with was not one of a lover for their distant and youthful cousin.
-rose was delighted to see him in such good spirits. "but there is more to come, agapit. the thing grew. at first, bidiane contented herself with flying about on her wheel and telling all the acadien girls what a bad man mr. greening was to say such a thing, and they must not let their fathers vote for him. following this, claudine, who is very excited in her calm way, began to drive mirabelle marie about. they stayed at home only long enough to prepare meals, then they went. it is all up and down the bay,--that wretched epithet of the unfortunate mr. greening,--and while the men laugh, the women are furious. they cannot recover from it."
-"well, 'evil-smelling' is not a pretty adjective," said agapit, with his lips still stretched back from his white teeth. "at bidiane's age, what a rage i should have been in!"
-"but you are in the affair now," said rose, helplessly, "and you must not be angry."
-"i!" he ejaculated, suddenly letting fall a ruler that he had been balancing on his finger.
-"yes,--at first there was no talk of another candidate. it was only, 'let the slanderous mr. greening be driven away;' but, as i said, the affair grew. you know our people are mostly liberals. mr. greening is the new one; you, too, are one. of course there is old mr. gray, who has been elected for some years. one afternoon the blacksmith in sleeping water said, jokingly, to bidiane, 'you are taking away one of our candidates; you must give us another.' he was mending her wheel at the time, and i was present to ask him to send a hoe to jovite. bidiane hesitated a little time. she looked down the bay, she looked up here towards weymouth, then she shot a quick glance at me from her curious yellow eyes, and said, 'there is my far-removed cousin, agapit lenoir. he is a good acadien; he is also clever. what do you want of an englishman?' 'by jove!' said the blacksmith, and he slapped his leather apron,--you know he has been much in the states, agapit, and he is very wide in his opinions,--'by jove!' he said, 'we couldn't have a better. i never thought of him. he is so quiet nowadays, though he used to be a firebrand, that one forgets him. i guess he'd go in by acclamation.' agapit, what is acclamation? i searched in my dictionary, and it said, 'a clapping of hands.'"
-agapit was thunderstruck. he stared at her confusedly for a few seconds, then he exclaimed, "the dear little diablette!"
-"perhaps i should have told you before," said rose, eagerly, "but i hated to write anything against bidiane, she is so charming, though so self-willed. but yesterday i began to think that people may suppose you have allowed her to make use of your name. she chatters of you all the time, and i believe that you will be asked to become one of the members for this county. though the talk has been mostly among the women, they are influencing the men, and last evening mr. greening had a quarrel with the comeaus, and went away."
-"i must go see her,--this must be stopped," said agapit, rising hastily.
-rose got up, too. "but stay a minute,--hear all. the naughty thing that bidiane has done is about money, but i will not tell you that. you must question her. this only i can say: my hens are all quite drunk this morning."
-"quite drunk!" said agapit, and he paused with his arms half in a dust coat that he had taken from a hook on the wall. "what do you mean?"
-rose suffocated a laugh in her throat, and said, seriously, "when jovite got up this morning, he found them quite weak in their legs. they took no breakfast, they wished only to drink. he had to watch to keep them from falling in the river. afterwards they went to sleep, and he searched the stable, and found some burnt out matches, where some one had been smoking and sleeping in the barn, also two bottles of whiskey hidden in a barrel where one had broken on some oats that the hens had eaten. so you see the affair becomes serious when men prowl about at night, and open hen-house doors, and are in danger of setting fire to stables."
-agapit made a grimace. he had a lively imagination, and had readily supplied all these details. "i suppose you do not wish to take me back to sleeping water?"
-rose hesitated, then said, meekly, "perhaps it would be better for me not to do it, nor for you to say that i have talked to you. bidiane speaks plainly, and, though i know she likes me, she is most extremely animated just now. claudine, you know, spoils her. also, she avoids me lately,--you will not be too severe with her. it is so loving that she should work for you. i think she hopes to break down some of your prejudice that she says still exists against her."
-rose could not see her cousin's face, for he had abruptly turned his back on her, and was staring out the window.
-"you will remember, agapit," she went on, with gentle persistence; "do not be irritable with her; she cannot endure it just at present."
-"and why should i be irritable?" he demanded, suddenly wheeling around. "is she not doing me a great honor?"
-rose fell back a few steps, and clasped her amazed hands. this transfigured face was a revelation to her. "you, too, agapit!" she managed to utter.
-"yes, i, too," he said, bravely, while a dull, heavy crimson mantled his cheeks. "i, too, as well as the poirier boy, and half a dozen others; and why not?"
-"you love her, agapit?"
-"does it seem like hatred?"
-"yes--that is, no--but certainly you have treated her strangely, but i am glad, glad. i don't know when anything has so rejoiced me,--it takes me back through long years," and, sitting down, she covered her face with her nervous hands.
-"i did not intend to tell you," said her cousin, hurriedly, and he laid a consoling finger on the back of her drooping head. "i wish now i had kept it from you."
-"ah, but i am selfish," she cried, immediately lifting her tearful face to him. "forgive me,--i wish to know everything that concerns you. is it this that has made you unhappy lately?"
-with some reluctance he acknowledged that it was.
-"but now you will be happy, my dear cousin. you must tell her at once. although she is young, she will understand. it will make her more steady. it is the best thing that could happen to her."
-agapit surveyed her in quiet, intense affection. "softly, my dear girl. you and i are too absorbed in each other. there is the omnipotent mr. nimmo to consult."
-"he will not oppose. oh, he will be pleased, enraptured,--i know that he will. i have never thought of it before, because of late years you have seemed not to give your thoughts to marriage, but now it comes to me that, in sending her here, one object might have been that she would please you; that you would please her. i am sure of it now. he is sorry for the past, he wishes to atone, yet he is still proud, and cannot say, 'forgive me.' this young girl is the peace-offering."
-agapit smiled uneasily. "pardon me for the thought, but you dispose somewhat summarily of the young girl."
-rose threw out her hands to him. "your happiness is perhaps too much to me, yet i would also make her happy in giving her to you. she is so restless, so wayward,--she does not know her own mind yet."
-"she seems to be leading a pretty consistent course at present."
-rose's face was like an exquisitely tinted sky at sunrise. "ah! this is wonderful, it overcomes me; and to think that i should not have suspected it! you adore this little bidiane. she is everything to you, more than i am,--more than i am."
-"i love you for that spice of jealousy," said agapit, with animation. "go home now, dear girl, and i will follow; or do you stay here, and i will start first."
-"yes, yes, go; i will remain a time. i will be glad to think this over."
-"you will not cry," he said, anxiously, pausing with his hand on the door-knob.
-"i will try not to do so."
-"probably i will have to give her up," he said, doggedly. "she is a creature of whims, and i must not speak to her yet; but i do not wish you to suffer."
-rose was deeply moved. this was no boyish passion, but the unspeakably bitter, weary longing of a man. "if i could not suffer with others i would be dead," she said, simply. "my dear cousin, i will pray for success in this, your touching love-affair."
-"some day i will tell you all about it," he said, abruptly. "i will describe the strange influence that she has always had over me,--an influence that made me tremble before her even when she was a tiny girl, and that overpowered me when she lately returned to us. however, this is not the occasion to talk; my acknowledgment of all this has been quite unpremeditated. another day it will be more easy--"
-"ah, agapit, how thou art changed," she said, gliding easily into french; "how i admire thee for thy reserve. that gives thee more power than thou hadst when young. thou wilt win bidiane,--do not despair."
-"in the meantime there are other, younger men," he responded, in the same language. "i seem old, i know that i do to her."
-"old, and thou art not yet thirty! i assure thee, agapit, she respects thee for thy age. she laughs at thee, perhaps, to thy face, but she praises thee behind thy back."
-"she is not beautiful," said agapit, irrelevantly, "yet every one likes her."
-"and dost thou not find her beautiful? it seems to me that, when i love, the dear one cannot be ugly."
-"understand me, rose," said her cousin, earnestly; "once when i loved a woman she instantly became an angel, but one gets over that. bidiane is even plain-looking to me. it is her soul, her spirit, that charms me,--that little restless, loving heart. if i could only put my hand on it, and say, 'thou art mine,' i should be the happiest man in the world. she charms me because she changes. she is never the same; a man would never weary of her."
-rose's face became as pale as death. "agapit, would a man weary of me?"
-he did not reply to her. choked by some emotion, he had again turned to the door.
-"i thank the blessed virgin that i have been spared that sorrow," she murmured, closing her eyes, and allowing her flaxen lashes to softly brush her cheeks. "once i could only grieve,--now i say perhaps it was well for me not to marry. if i had lost the love of a husband,--a true husband,--it would have killed me very quickly, and it would also have made him say that all women are stupid."
-"rose, thou art incomparable," said agapit, half laughing, half frowning, and flinging himself back to the table. "no man would tire of thee. cease thy foolishness, and promise me not to cry when i am gone."
-she opened her eyes, looked as startled as if she had been asleep, but submissively gave the required promise.
-"think of something cheerful," he went on.
-she saw that he was really distressed, and, disengaging her thoughts from herself by a quiet, intense effort, she roguishly murmured, "i will let my mind run to the conversation that you will have with this fair one--no, this plain one--when you announce your love."
-agapit blushed furiously, and hurried from the room, while rose, as an earnest of her obedience to him, showed him, at the window, until he was out of sight, a countenance alight with gentle mischief and entire contentment of mind.
-a campaign begun in bribery.
-"after madness acted, question asked."
-before the day was many hours older, agapit was driving his white horse into the inn yard.
-there seemed to be more people about the house then there usually were, and bidiane, who stood at the side door, was handing a long paper parcel to a man. "take it away," agapit heard her say, in peremptory tones; "don't you open it here."
-the acadien to whom she was talking happened to be, agapit knew, a ne'er-do-weel. he shuffled away, when he caught sight of the young lawyer, but bidiane ran delightedly towards him. "oh, mr. lenoir, you are as welcome as mayflowers in april!"
-her face was flushed, there were faint dark circles around the light brown eyes that harmonized so much better with her red hair than blue ones would have done. the sun shone down into these eyes, emphasizing this harmony between them and the hair, and agapit, looking deeply into them, forgot immediately the mentor's part that he was to act, and clasped her warmly and approvingly by the hand.
-"come in," she said; but agapit, who would never sit in the house if it were possible to stay out-of-doors, conducted her to one of the rustic seats by the croquet lawn. he sat down, and she perched in the hammock, sitting on one foot, swinging the other, and overwhelming him with questions about his visit to halifax.
-"and what have you been doing with yourself since i have been away?" he asked, with a hypocritical assumption of ignorance.
-"you know very well what i have been doing," she said, rapidly. "did not i see rose driving in to call on you this morning? and you have come down to scold me. i understand you perfectly; you cannot deceive me."
-agapit was silent, quite overcome by this mark of feminine insight.
-"i will never do it again," she went on, "but i am going to see this through. it is such fun--'claude,' said my aunt to her husband, when we first decided to make bombance, 'what politics do you belong to?' 'i am a conservative,' he said; because, you know, my aunt has always told him to vote as the english people about him did. she has known nothing of politics. 'no, you are not,' she replied, 'you are a liberal;' and claudine and i nearly exploded with laughter to hear her trying to convince him that he must be a liberal like our good french premier, and that he must endeavor to drive the conservative candidate out. claude said, 'but we have always been conservatives, and our house is to be their meeting-place on the day of election.' 'it is the meeting-place for the liberals,' said my aunt. but claude would not give in, so he and his party will have the laundry, while we will have the parlor; but i can tell you a secret," and she leaned forward and whispered, "claude will vote for the liberal man. mirabelle marie will see to that."
-"you say liberal man,--there are two--"
-"but one is going to retire."
-"and who will take his place?"
-"never mind," she said, smiling provokingly. "the liberals are going to have a convention to-morrow evening in the comeauville schoolhouse, and women are going. then you will see--why there is father duvair. what does he wish?"
-she sprang lightly from the hammock, and while she watched the priest, agapit watched her, and saw that she grew first as pale as a lily, then red as a rose.
-the parish priest was walking slowly towards the inn. he was a young man of tall, commanding presence, and being a priest "out of france," he had on a soutane (cassock) and a three-cornered hat. on the bay are irish priests, nova scotian priests, acadien priests, and french-canadian priests, but only the priests "out of france" hold to the strictly french customs of dress. the others dress as do the halifax ecclesiastics, in tall silk or shovel hats and black broadcloth garments like those worn by clergymen of protestant denominations.
-"bon jour, mademoiselle," he said to bidiane.
-"bon jour, monsieur le curé," she replied, with deep respect.
-"is madame corbineau within?" he went on, after warmly greeting agapit, who was an old favorite of his.
-"yes, monsieur le curé,--i will take you to her," and she led the way to the house.
-in a few minutes she came dejectedly back. "you are in trouble," said agapit, tenderly; "what is it?"
-she glanced miserably at him from under her curling eyelashes. "when mirabelle marie went into the parlor, father duvair said politely, so politely, 'i wish to buy a little rum, madame; can you sell me some?' my aunt looked at me, and i said, 'yes, monsieur le curé,' for i knew if we set the priest against us we should have trouble,--and then we have not been quite right, i know that."
-"where did you get the rum?" asked agapit, kindly.
-"from a schooner,--two weeks ago,--there were four casks. it is necessary, you know, to make bombance. some men will not vote without."
-"and you have been bribing."
-"not bribing," she said, and she dropped her head; "just coaxing."
-"where did you get the money to buy it?"
-for some reason or other she evaded a direct answer to this question, and after much deliberation murmured, in the lowest of voices, that claudine had had some money.
-"bidiane, she is a poor woman."
-"she loves her country," said the girl, flashing out suddenly at him, "and she is not ashamed of it. however, claude bought the rum and found the bottles, and we always say, 'take it home,--do not drink it here.' we know that the priests are against drinking, so we had to make haste, for claudine said they would get after us. therefore, just now, i at once gave in. father duvair said, 'i would like to buy all you have; how much is it worth?' i said fifty dollars, and he pulled the money out of his pocket and mirabelle marie took it, and then he borrowed a nail and a hammer and went down in the cellar, and claudine whispered loudly as he went through the kitchen, 'i wonder whether he will find the cask under the coal?' and he heard her, for she said it on purpose, and he turned and gave her a quick look as he passed."
-"i don't understand perfectly," said agapit, with patient gravity. "this seems to be a house divided against itself. claudine spends her money for something she hates, and then informs on herself."
-bidiane would not answer him, and he continued, "is father duvair at present engaged in the work of destruction in the cellar?"
-"i just told you that he is."
-"how much rum will he find there?"
-"two casks," she said, mournfully. "it is what we were keeping for the election."
-"and you think it wise to give men that poison to drink?" asked agapit, in an impartial and judicial manner.
-"a little does not hurt; why, some of the women say that it makes their husbands good-natured."
-"if you were married, would you like your husband to be a drunkard?"
-"no," she said, defiantly; "but i would not mind his getting drunk occasionally, if he would be gentlemanly about it."
-her tone was sharp and irritated, and agapit, seeing that her nerves were all unstrung, smiled indulgently instead of chiding her.
-she smiled, too, rather uncertainly; then she said, "hush, here is father duvair coming back."
-that muscular young priest was sauntering towards them, his stout walking-stick under his arm, while he slowly rubbed his damp hands with his white handkerchief.
-agapit stood up when he saw him, and went to meet him, but bidiane sat still in her old seat in the hammock.
-agapit drew a cheque-book from his pocket, and, resting it on the picket fence, wrote something quickly on it, tore out the leaf, and extended it towards the priest.
-"this is for you, father; will you be good enough to hand it to some priest who is unexpectedly called upon to make certain outlays for the good of his parishioners?"
-father duvair bowed slightly, and, without offering to take it, went on wiping his hands.
-"how are you getting on with your business, agapit?"
-"i am fully occupied. my income supports me, and i am even able to lay up a little."
-"are you able to marry?"
-"yes, father, whenever i wish."
-a gleam of humor appeared in father duvair's eyes, and he glanced towards the apparently careless girl seated in the hammock.
-"you will take the cheque, father," said agapit, "otherwise it will cause me great pain."
-the priest reluctantly took the slip of paper from him, then, lifting his hat, he said to bidiane, "i have the honor to wish you good morning, mademoiselle."
-"monsieur le curé," she said, disconsolately, rising and coming towards him, "you must not think me too wicked."
-"mademoiselle, you do not do yourself justice," he said, gravely.
-bidiane's eyes wandered to the spots of moisture on his cassock. "i wish that rum had been in the bay," she said; "yet, monsieur le curé, mr. greening is a very bad man."
-"charity, charity, mademoiselle. we all speak hastily at times. shall i tell you what i think of you?"
-"yes, yes, monsieur le curé, if you please."
-"i think that you have a good heart, but a hasty judgment. you will, like many others, grow wise as you grow older, yet, mademoiselle, we do not wish you to lose that good heart. do you not think that mr. greening has had his lesson?"
-"yes, i do."
-"then, mademoiselle, you will cease wearying yourself with--with--"
-"with unwomanly exertions against him," said bidiane, with a quivering lip and a laughing eye.
-"hardly that,--but you are vexing yourself unnecessarily."
-"don't you think that my good cousin here ought to go to parliament?" she asked, wistfully.
-father duvair laughed outright, refused to commit himself, and went slowly away.
-"i like him," said bidiane, as she watched him out of sight, "he is so even-tempered, and he never scolds his flock as some clergymen do. just to think of his going down into that cellar and letting all that liquor run out. his boots were quite wet, and did you notice the splashes on his nice black cassock?"
-"yes; who will get the fifty dollars?"
-"dear me, i forgot all about it. i have known a good deal of money to go into my aunt's big pocket, but very little comes out. just excuse me for a minute,--i may get it if i pounce upon her at once."
-bidiane ran to the house, from whence issued immediately after a lively sound of squealing. in a few minutes she appeared in the doorway, cramming something in her pocket and looking over her shoulder at her aunt, who stood slapping her sides and vowing that she had been robbed.
-"i have it all but five dollars," said the girl, breathlessly. "the dear old thing was stuffing it into her stocking for mr. nimmo. 'you sha'n't rob peter to pay paul,' i said, and i snatched it away from her. then she squealed like a pig, and ran after me."
-"you will give this to claudine?"
-"i don't know. i think i'll have to divide it. we had to give that maledicted jean drague three dollars for his vote. that was my money."
-"where did you see jean drague?"
-"i went to his house. some one told me that the conservative candidate had called, and had laid seven dollars on the mantelpiece. i also called, and there were the seven dollars, so i took them up, and laid down ten instead."
-agapit did not speak, but contented himself with twisting the ends of his mustache in a vigorous manner.
-"and the worst of it is that we are not sure of him now," she said, drearily. "i wonder what mr. nimmo would say if he knew how i have been acting?"
-"i have been wondering, myself."
-"some of you will be kind enough to tell him, i suppose," she said. "oh, dear, i'm tired," and leaning her head against the hammock supports, she began to cry wearily and dejectedly.
-agapit was nearly frantic. he got up, walked to and fro about her, half stretched out his hand to touch her burnished head, drew it back upon reflecting that the eyes of the street, the neighbors, and the inn might be upon him, and at last said, desperately, "you ought to have a husband, bidiane. you are a very torrent of energy; you will always be getting into scrapes."
-"why don't you get married yourself?" and she turned an irritated eye upon him.
-"i cannot," said agapit, in sudden calm, and with an inspiration; "the woman that i love does not love me."
-"are you in love?" asked bidiane, immediately drying her eyes. "who is she?"
-"i cannot tell you."
-"oh, some english girl, i imagine," she said, disdainfully.
-"suppose mr. greening could hear you?"
-"i am not talking against the english," she retorted, snappishly, "but i should think that you, of all men, would want to marry a woman of your own nation,--the dear little acadien nation,--the only thing that i love," and she wound up with a despairing sob.
-"the girl that i love is an acadien," said agapit, in a lower voice, for two men had just driven into the yard.
-"is it claudine?"
-"claudine has a good education," he said, coldly, "yet she is hardly fitted to be my wife."
-"i daresay it is rose."
-"it is not rose," said agapit; and rendered desperate by the knowledge that he must not raise his voice, must not seem excited, must not stand too close to her, lest he attract the attention of some of the people at a little distance from them, and yet that he must snatch this, the golden moment, to press his suit upon her, he crammed both hands in his coat pockets, and roamed distractedly around the square of grass.
-"do i know her?" asked bidiane when, after a time, he came back to the hammock.
-"a little,--not thoroughly. you do not appreciate her at her full value."
-"i wish i could tell you."
-"is it something that can be got over?"
-she swung herself more vigorously in her delight. "if they could only marry, i would be willing to die an old maid."
-"but i thought you had already made up your mind to do that," said agapit, striking an attitude of pretended unconcern.
-"oh, yes, i forgot,--i have made up my mind that i am not suited to matrimony. just fancy having to ask a man every time you wanted a little money,--and having to be meek and patient all the time. no, indeed, i wish to have my own way rather more than most women do," and, in a gay and heartless derision of the other sex, she hummed a little tune.
-"just wait till you fall in love," said agapit, threateningly.
-"a silly boy asked me to marry him, the other evening. just as if i would! why, he is only a baby."
-"that was pius poirier," said agapit, delightedly and ungenerously.
-"i shall not tell you. i did wrong to mention him," said bidiane, calmly.
-"he is a diligent student; he will get on in the world," said agapit, more thoughtfully.
-"but without me,--i shall never marry."
-"i know a man who loves you," said agapit, cautiously.
-"do you?--well, don't tell me. tell him, if you have his confidence, that he is a goose for his pains," and bidiane reclined against her hammock cushions in supreme indifference.
-"but he is very fond of you," said agapit, with exquisite gentleness, "and very unhappy to think that you do not care for him."
-bidiane held her breath and favored him with a sharp glance. then she sat up very straight. "what makes you so pale?"
-"i am sympathizing with that poor man."
-"but you are trembling, too."
-"am i?" and with the pretence of a laugh he turned away.
-"mon cousin," she said, sweetly, "tell that poor man that i am hoping soon to leave sleeping water, and to go out in the world again."
-"no, no, bidiane, you must not," he said, turning restlessly on his heel, and coming back to her.
-"yes, i am. i have become very unhappy here. every one is against me, and i am losing my health. when i came, i was intoxicated with life. i could run for hours. i was never tired. it was a delight to live. now i feel weary, and like a consumptive. i think i shall die young. my parents did, you know."
-"yes; they were both drowned. you will pardon me, if i say that i think you have a constitution of iron."
-"you are quite mistaken," she said, with dignity. "time will show that i am right. unless i leave sleeping water at once, i feel that i shall go into a decline."
-"may i ask whether you think it a good plan to leave a place immediately upon matters going wrong with one living in it?"
-"it would be for me," she said, decidedly.
-"then, mademoiselle, you will never find rest for the sole of your foot."
-"i am tired of sleeping water," she said, excitedly quitting the hammock, and looking as if she were about to leave him. "i wish to get out in the world to do something. this life is unendurable."
-"bidiane,--dear bidiane,--you will not leave us?"
-"yes, i will," she said, decidedly; "you are not willing for me to have my own way in one single thing. you are not in the least like mr. nimmo," and holding her head well in the air, she walked towards the house.
-"not like mr. nimmo," said agapit, with a darkening brow. "dear little fool, one would think you had never felt that iron hand in the velvet glove. because i am more rash and loud-spoken, you misjudge me. you are so young, so foolish, so adorable, so surprised, so intoxicated with what i have said, that you are beside yourself. i am not discouraged, oh, no," and, with a sudden hopeful smile overspreading his face, he was about to spring into his buggy and drive away, when bidiane came sauntering back to him.
-"i am forgetting the duties of hospitality," she said, stiffly. "will you not come into the house and have something to eat or drink after your long drive?"
-"bidiane," he said, in a low, eager voice, "i am not a harsh man."
-"yes, you are," she said, with a catching of her breath. "you are against me, and the whole bay will laugh at me,--and i thought you would be pleased."
-"bidiane," he muttered, casting a desperate glance about him, "i am frantic--oh, for permission to dry those tears! if i could only reveal my heart to you, but you are such a child, you would not understand."
-"will you do as i wish you to?" she asked, obstinately.
-"yes, yes, anything, my darling one."
-"then you will take mr. greening's place?"
-"oh, the baby,--you do not comprehend this question. i have talked to no one,--i know nothing,--i am not one to put myself forward."
-"if you are requested or elected to-night,--or whatever they call it,--will you go up to halifax to 'make the laws,' as my aunt says?" inquired bidiane, smiling slightly, and revealing to him just the tips of her glittering teeth.
-"yes, yes,--anything to please you."
-she was again about to leave him, but he detained her. "i, also, have a condition to make in this campaign of bribery. if i am nominated, and run an election, what then,--where is my reward?"
-she hesitated, and he hastened to dissipate the cloud overspreading her face. "never mind, i bind myself with chains, but i leave you free. go, little one, i will not detain you,--i exact nothing."
-"thank you," she said, soberly, and, instead of hurrying away, she stood still and watched him leaving the yard.
-just before he reached weymouth, he put his hand in his pocket to take out his handkerchief. to his surprise there came fluttering out with it a number of bills. he gathered them together, counted them, found that he had just forty-five dollars, and smiling and muttering, "the little sharp-eyes,--i did not think that she took in my transaction with father duvair," he went contentedly on his way.
-what election day brought forth.
-"oh, my companions, now should we carouse, now we should strike the ground with a free foot, now is the time to deck the temples of the gods."
-ode 37. horace.
-it was election time all through the province of nova scotia, and great excitement prevailed, for the bluenoses are nothing if not keen politicians.
-in the french part of the county of digby there was an unusual amount of interest taken in the election, and considerable amusement prevailed with regard to it.
-mr. greening had been spirited away. his unwise and untrue remark about the inhabitants of the township clare had so persistently followed him, and his anger with the three women at the sleeping water inn had at last been so stubbornly and so deeply resented by the acadiens, who are slow to arouse but difficult to quiet when once aroused, that he had been called upon to make a public apology.
-this he had refused to do, and the discomfited liberals had at once relegated him to private life. his prospective political career was ruined. thenceforward he would lead the life of an unostentatious citizen. he had been chased and whipped out of public affairs, as many another man has been, by an unwise sentence that had risen up against him in his day of judgment.
-the surprised liberals had not far to go to seek his successor. the whole french population had been stirred by the cry of an acadien for the acadiens; and agapit lenoir, nolens volens, but in truth quite volens, had been called to become the liberal nominee. there was absolutely nothing to be said against him. he was a young man,--not too young,--he was of good habits; he was well educated, well bred, and he possessed the respect not only of the population along the bay, but of many of the english residents of the other parts of the county, who had heard of the diligent young acadien lawyer of weymouth.
-the wise heads of the liberal party, in welcoming this new representative to their ranks, had not the slightest doubt of his success.
-without money, without powerful friends, without influence, except that of a blameless career, and without asking for a single vote, he would be swept into public life on a wave of public opinion. however, they did not tell him this, but in secret anxiety they put forth all their efforts towards making sure the calling and election of their other liberal candidate, who would, from the very fact of agapit's assured success, be more in danger from the machinations of the one conservative candidate that the county had returned for years.
-one liberal and one conservative candidate had been elected almost from time immemorial. this year, if the campaign were skilfully directed in the perilously short time remaining to them, there might be returned, on account of agapit's sudden and extraordinary popularity, two liberals and no conservative at all.
-agapit, in truth, knew very little about elections, although he had always taken a quiet interest in them. he had been too much occupied with his struggle for daily bread for mind and body, to be able to afford much time for outside affairs, and he showed his inexperience immediately after his informal nomination by the convention, and his legal one by the sheriff, by laying strict commands upon bidiane and her confederates that they should do no more canvassing for him.
-apparently they subsided, but they had gone too far to be wholly repressed, and mirabelle marie and claudine calmly carried on their work of baking enormous batches of pies and cakes, for a whole week before the election took place, and of laying in a stock of confectionery, fruit, and raisins, and of engaging sundry chickens and sides of beef, and also the ovens of neighbors to roast them in.
-"for men-folks," said mirabelle marie, "is like pigs; if you feed 'em high, they don' squeal."
-agapit did not know what bidiane was doing. she was shy and elusive, and avoided meeting him, but he strongly suspected that she was the power behind the throne in making these extensive preparations. he was not able to visit the inn except very occasionally, for, according to instructions from headquarters, he was kept travelling from one end of the county to the other, cramming himself with information en route, and delivering it, at first stumblingly, but always modestly and honestly, to acadien audiences, who wagged delighted heads, and vowed that this young fellow should go up to sit in parliament, where several of his race had already honorably acquitted themselves. what had they been thinking of, the last five years? formerly they had always had an acadien representative, but lately they had dropped into an easy-going habit of allowing some englishman to represent them. the english race were well enough, but why not have a man of your own race? they would take up that old habit again, and this time they would stick to it.
-at last the time of canvassing and lecturing was over, and the day of the election came. the sleeping water inn had been scrubbed from the attic to the cellar, every article of furniture was resplendent, and two long tables spread with every variety of dainties known to the bay had been put up in the two large front rooms of the house.
-in these two rooms, the smoking-room and the parlor, men were expected to come and go, eating and drinking at will,--liberal men, be it understood. the conservatives were restricted to the laundry, and claude ruefully surveyed the cold stove, the empty table, and the hard benches set apart for him and his fellow politicians.
-he was exceedingly confused in his mind. mirabelle marie had explained to him again and again the reason for the sudden change in her hazy beliefs with regard to the conduct of state affairs, but claude was one acadien who found it inconsistent to turn a man out of public life on account of one unfortunate word, while so many people in private life could grow, and thrive, and utter scores of unfortunate words without rebuke.
-however, his wife had stood over him until he had promised to vote for agapit, and in great dejection of spirit he smoked his pipe and tried not to meet the eyes of his handful of associates, who did not know that he was to withhold his small support from them.
-from early morn till dewy eve the contest went on between the two parties. all along the shore, and back in the settlements in the woods, men left their work, and, driving to the different polling-places, registered their votes, and then loitered about to watch others do likewise.
-it was a general holiday, and not an acadien and not a nova scotian would settle down to work again until the result of the election was known.
-bidiane early retreated to one of the upper rooms of the house, and from the windows looked down upon the crowd about the polling-booth at the corner, or crept to the staircase to listen to jubilant sounds below, for mirabelle marie and claudine were darting about, filling the orders of those who came to buy, but in general insisting on "treating" the liberal tongues and palates weary from much talking.
-bidiane did not see agapit, although she had heard some one say that he had gone down the bay early in the morning. she saw the conservative candidate, mr. folsom, drive swiftly by, waving his hat and shouting a hopeful response to the cheering that greeted him from some of the men at the corner, and her heart died within her at the sound.
-shortly before noon she descended from her watch-tower, and betook herself to the pantry, where she soberly spent the afternoon in washing dishes, only turning her head occasionally as mirabelle marie or claudine darted in with an armful of soiled cups and saucers and hurried ejaculations such as "they vow agapit'll go in. there's an awful strong party for him down the bay. every one's grinning over that story about old greening. they say we'll not know till some time in the night--bidiane, you look pale as a ghost. go lie down,--we'll manage. i never did see such a time,--and the way they drink! such thirsty throats! more lemonade glasses, biddy. it's lucky father duvair got that rum, or we'd have 'em all as drunk as goats." and the girl washed on, and looked down the road from the little pantry window, and in a fierce, silent excitement wished that the thing might soon be over, so that her throbbing head would be still.
-soon after five o'clock, when the legal hour for closing the polling-places arrived, they learned the majority for agapit, for he it was that obtained it in all the villages in the vicinity of sleeping water.
-"he's in hereabouts," shouted mirabelle marie, joyfully, as she came plunging into the pantry, "an' they say he'll git in everywheres. the ole conservative ain't gut a show at all. oh, ain't you glad, biddy?"
-"of course she's glad," said claudine, giving mrs. corbineau a push with her elbow, "but let her alone, can't you? she's tired, so she's quiet about it."
-as it grew dark, the returns from the whole, or nearly the whole county came pouring in. men mounted on horseback, or driving in light carts, came dashing up to the corner to receive the latest news from the crowd about the telephone office, and receiving it, dashed on again to impart the news to others. soon they knew quite surely, although there were some backwoods districts still to be heard from. in them the count could be pretty accurately reckoned, for it did not vary much from year to year. they could be relied on to remain liberal or conservative, as the case might be.
-bidiane, who had again retreated up-stairs, for nothing would satisfy her but being alone, heard, shortly after it grew quite dark, a sudden uproar of joyous and incoherent noises below.
-she ran to the top of the front staircase. the men, many of whom had been joined by their wives, had left the dreary polling-place, which was an unused shop, and had sought the more cheerful shelter of the inn. soft showers of rain were gently falling, but many of the excited acadiens stood heedlessly on the grass outside, or leaned from the veranda to exchange exultant cries with those of their friends who went driving by. many others stalked about the hall and front rooms, shaking hands, clapping shoulders, congratulating, laughing, joking, and rejoicing, while mirabelle marie, her fat face radiant with glee, plunged about among them like a huge, unwieldy duck, flourishing her apron, and making more noise and clatter than all the rest of the women combined.
-agapit was in,--in by an overwhelming majority. his name headed the lists; the other liberal candidate followed him at a respectful distance, and the conservative candidate was nowhere at all.
-bidiane trembled like a leaf; then, pressing her hands over her ears, she ran to hide herself in a closet.
-in the meantime, the back of the house was gloomy. one by one the conservatives were slipping away home; still, a few yet lingered, and sat dispiritedly looking at each other and the empty wash-tubs in the laundry, while they passed about a bottle of weak raspberry vinegar and water, which was the only beverage mirabelle and claudine had allowed them.
-claude, as in honor bound, sat with them until his wife, who gloried in including every one within reach in what she called her "jollifications," came bounding in, and ordered them all into the front of the house, where the proceedings of the day were to be wound up with a supper.
-good-humored raillery greeted claude and his small flock of conservatives when mirabelle marie came driving them in before her.
-"ah, joe à jack, where is thy doubloon?" called out a liberal. "thou hast lost it,--thy candidate is in the bay. it is all up with him. and thou, guillaume,--away to the shore with thee. you remember, boys, he promised to swallow a dog-fish, tail first, if agapit lenoir went in."
-a roar of laughter greeted this announcement, and the unfortunate guillaume was pushed into a seat, and had a glass thrust into his hand. "drink, cousin, to fortify thee for thy task. a dog-fish,--sakerjé! but it will be prickly swallowing."
-"biddy ann, biddy ann," shrieked her aunt, up the staircase, "come and hear the good news," but bidiane, who was usually social in her instincts, was now eccentric and solitary, and would not respond.
-"skedaddle up-stairs and hunt her out, claudine," said mrs. corbineau; but bidiane, hearing the request, cunningly ran to the back of the house, descended the kitchen stairway, and escaped out-of-doors. she would go up to the horseshoe cottage and see rose. there, at least, it would be quiet; she hated this screaming.
-her small feet went pit-a-pat over the dark road. there were lights in all the windows. everybody was excited to-night. everybody but herself. she was left out of the general rejoicing, and a wave of injured feeling and of desperate dissatisfaction and bodily fatigue swept over her. and she had fancied that agapit's election would plunge her into a tumult of joy.
-however, she kept on her way, and dodging a party of hilarious young acadiens, who were lustily informing the neighborhood that the immortal malbrouck had really gone to the wars at last, she took to the wet grass and ran across the fields to the cottage.
-there were two private bridges across sleeping water just here, the comeau bridge and rose à charlitte's. bidiane trotted nimbly over the former, jumped a low stone wall, and found herself under the windows of rose's parlor.
-why, there was the hero of the day talking to rose! what was he doing here? she had fancied him the centre of a crowd of men,--he, speech-making, and the cynosure of all eyes,--and here he was, quietly lolling in an easy chair by the fire that rose always had on cool, rainy evenings. however, he had evidently just arrived, for his boots were muddy, and his white horse, instead of being tied to the post, was standing patiently by the door,--a sure sign that his master was not to stay long.
-well, she would go home. they looked comfortable in there, and they were carrying on an animated conversation. they did not want her, and, frowning impatiently, she uttered an irritable "get away!" to the friendly white horse, who, taking advantage of one of the few occasions when he was not attached to the buggy, which was the bane of his existence, had approached, and was extending a curious and sympathetically quivering nose in her direction.
-the horse drew back, and, moving his ears sensitively back and forth, watched her going down the path to the river.
-bidiane falls in a river.
-"he laid a finger under her chin, his arm for her girdle at waist was thrown; now, what will happen, and who will win, with me in the fight and my lady-love?
-"sleek as a lizard at round of a stone, the look of her heart slipped out and in. sweet on her lord her soft eyes shone, as innocents clear of a shade of sin."
-five minutes later, agapit left rose, and, coming out-of-doors, stared about for his horse, turenne, who was nowhere to be seen.
-while he stood momentarily expecting to see the big, familiar white shape loom up through the darkness, he fancied that he heard some one calling his name.
-he turned his head towards the river. there was a fine, soft wind blowing, the sky was dull and moist, and, although the rain had ceased for a time, it was evidently going to fall again. surely he had been mistaken about hearing his name, unless turenne had suddenly been gifted with the power of speech. no,--there it was again; and now he discovered that it was uttered in the voice that, of all the voices in the world, he loved best to hear, and it was at present ejaculating, in peremptory and impatient tones, "agapit! agapit!"
-he precipitated himself down the hill, peering through the darkness as he went, and on the way running afoul of his white nag, who stood staring with stolid interest at a small round head beside the bridge, and two white hands that were clinging to its rustic foundations.
-"do help me out," said bidiane; "my feet are quite wet."
-agapit uttered a confused, smothered exclamation, and, stooping over, seized her firmly by the shoulders, and drew her out from the clinging embrace of sleeping water.
-"i never saw such a river," said bidiane, shaking herself like a small wet dog, and avoiding her lover's shocked glance. "it is just like jelly."
-"come up to the house," he ejaculated.
-"no, no; it would only frighten rose. she is getting to dislike this river, for people talk so much against it. i will go home."
-"then let me put you on turenne's back," said agapit, pointing to his horse as he stood curiously regarding them.
-"no, i might fall off--i have had enough frights for to-night," and she shuddered. "i shall run home. i never take cold. ma foi! but it is good to be out of that slippery mud."
-agapit hurried along beside her. "how did it happen?"
-"i was just going to cross the bridge. the river looked so sleepy and quiet, and so like a mirror, that i wondered if i could see my face, if i bent close to it. i stepped on the bank, and it gave way under me, and then i fell in; and to save myself from being sucked down i clung to the bridge, and waited for you to come, for i didn't seem to have strength to drag myself out."
-agapit could not speak for a time. he was struggling with an intense emotion that would have been unintelligible to her if he had expressed it. at last he said, "how did you know that i was here?"
-"i saw you," said bidiane, and she slightly slackened her pace, and glanced at him from the corners of her eyes.
-"through the window?"
-"why did you not come in?"
-"i did not wish to do so."
-"you are jealous," he exclaimed, and he endeavored to take her hand.
-"let my hand alone,--you flatter yourself."
-"you were frightened there in the river, little one," he murmured.
-bidiane paused for an instant, and gazed over her shoulder. "your old horse is nearly on my heels, and his eyes are like carriage lamps."
-"back!" exclaimed agapit, to the curious and irrepressible turenne.
-"you say nothing of your election," remarked bidiane. "are you glad?"
-he drew a rapid breath, and turned his red face towards her again. "my mind is in a whirl, little cousin, and my pulses are going like hammers. you do not know what it is to sway men by the tongue. when one stands up, and speaks, and the human faces spreading out like a flower-bed change and lighten, or grow gloomy, as one wishes, it is majestic,--it makes a man feel like a deity."
-"you will get on in the world," said bidiane, impulsively. "you have it in you."
-"but must i go alone?" he said, passionately. "bidiane, you, though so much younger, you understand me. i have been happy to-day, yes, happy, for amid all the excitement, the changing faces, the buzzing of talk in my ears, there has been one little countenance before me--"
-"you treat me as if i were a boy," he said, vehemently, "on this day when i was so important. why are you so flippant?"
-"don't be angry with me," she said, coaxingly.
-"angry," he muttered, in a shocked voice. "i am not angry. how could i be with you, whom i love so much?"
-"easily," she murmured. "i scarcely wished to see you to-day. i almost dreaded to hear you had been elected, for i thought you would be angry because we--because claudine, and my aunt, and i, talked against mr. greening, and drove him out, and suggested you. i know men don't like to be helped by women."
-"your efforts counted," he said, patiently, and yet with desperate haste, for they were rapidly nearing the inn, "yet you know sleeping water is a small district, and the county is large. there was in some places great dissatisfaction with mr. greening, but don't talk of him. my dear one, will you--"
-"you don't know the worst thing about me," she interrupted, in a low voice. "there was one dreadful thing i did."
-he checked an oncoming flow of endearing words, and stared at her. "you have been flirting," he said at last.
-"worse than that," she said, shamefacedly. "if you say first that you will forgive me, i will tell you about it--no, i will not either. i shall just tell you, and if you don't want to overlook it you need not--why, what is the matter with you?"
-"nothing, nothing," he muttered, with an averted face. he had suddenly become as rigid as marble, and bidiane surveyed him in bewildered surprise, until a sudden illumination broke over her, when she lapsed into nervous amusement.
-"you have always been very kind to me, very interested," she said, with the utmost gentleness and sweetness; "surely you are not going to lose patience now."
-"go on," said agapit, stonily, "tell me about this--this escapade."
-"how bad a thing would i have to do for you not to forgive me?" she asked.
-"bidiane--de grâce, continue."
-"but i want to know," she said, persistently. "suppose i had just murdered some one, and had not a friend in the world, would you stand by me?"
-he would not reply to her, and she went on, "i know you think a good deal of your honor, but the world is full of bad people. some one ought to love them--if you were going to be hanged to-morrow i would visit you in your cell. i would take you flowers and something to eat, and i might even go to the scaffold with you."
-agapit in dumb anguish, and scarcely knowing what he did, snatched his hat from his head and swung it to and fro.
-"you had better put on your hat," she said, amiably, "you will take cold."
-agapit, suddenly seized her by the shoulders and, holding her firmly, but gently, stared into her eyes that were full of tears. "ah! you amuse yourself by torturing me," he said, with a groan of relief. "you are as pure as a snowdrop, you have not been flirting."
-"oh, i am so angry with you for being hateful and suspicious," she said, proudly, and with a heaving bosom, and she averted her face to brush the tears from her eyes. "you know i don't care a rap for any man in the world but mr. nimmo, except the tiniest atom of respect for you."
-agapit at once broke into abject apologies, and being graciously forgiven, he humbly entreated her to continue the recital of her misdeeds.
-"it was when we began to make bombance" she said, in a lofty tone. "every one assured us that we must have rum, but claudine would not let us take her money for it, because her husband drank until he made his head queer and had that dreadful fall. she said to buy anything with her money but liquor. we didn't know what to do until one day a man came in and told us that if we wanted money we should go to the rich members of our party. he mentioned mr. smith, in weymouth, and i said, 'well, i will go and ask him for money to buy something for these wicked men to stop them from voting for a wretch who calls us names.' 'but you must not say that,' replied the man, and he laughed. 'you must go to mr. smith and say, "there is an election coming on, and there will be great doings at the sleeping water inn, and it ought to be painted."' 'but it has just been painted,' i said. 'never mind,' he told me, 'it must be painted.' then i understood, and claudine and i went to mr. smith, and asked him if it would not be a wise thing to paint the inn, and he laughed and said, 'by all manner of means, yes,--give it a good thick coat and make it stick on well,' and he gave us some bills."
-"how many?" asked agapit, for bidiane's voice was sinking lower and lower.
-"one hundred dollars,--just what claudine had."
-"and you spent it, dearest child?"
-"yes, it just melted away. you know how money goes. but i shall pay it back some day."
-"how will you get the money?"
-"i don't know," she said, with a sigh. "i shall try to earn it."
-"you may earn it now, in the quarter of a minute," he said, fatuously.
-"and you call yourself an honest man--you talk against bribery and corruption, you doubt poor lonely orphans when they are going to confess little peccadilloes, and fancy in your wicked heart that they have committed some awful sin!" said bidiane, in low, withering tones. "i think you had better go home, sir."
-they had arrived in front of the inn, and, although agapit knew that she ought to go at once and put off her wet shoes, he still lingered, and said, delightedly, in low, cautious tones, "but, bidiane, you have surely a little affection for me--and one short kiss--very short--certainly it would not be so wicked."
-"if you do not love a man, it is a crime to embrace him," she said, with cold severity.
-"then i look forward to more gracious times," he replied. "good night, little one, in twenty minutes i must be in belliveau's cove."
-bidiane, strangely subdued in appearance, stood watching him as, with eyes riveted on her, he extended a grasping hand towards turenne's hanging bridle. when he caught it he leaped into the saddle, and bidiane, supposing herself to be rid of him, mischievously blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers.
-in a trice he had thrown himself from turenne's back and had caught her as she started to run swiftly to the house.
-"do not squeal, dear slippery eel," he said, laughingly, "thou hast called me back, and i shall kiss thee. now go," and he released her, as she struggled in his embrace, laughing for the first time since her capture by the river. "once i have held you in my arms--now you will come again," and shaking his head and with many a backward glance, he set off through the rain and the darkness towards his waiting friends and supporters, a few miles farther on.
-an hour later, claudine left the vivacious, unwearied revellers below, and went up-stairs to see whether bidiane had returned home. she found her in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.
-"claudine," she said, turning her brown eyes on her friend and admirer, "how did you feel when isidore asked you to marry him?"
-"how did i feel--miséricorde, how can i tell? for one thing, i wished that he would give up the drink."
-"but how did you feel towards him?" asked bidiane, curiously. "was it like being lost in a big river, and swimming about for ages, and having noises in your head, and some one else was swimming about trying to find you, and you couldn't touch his hand for a long time, and then he dragged you out to the shore, which was the shore of matrimony?"
-claudine, who found nothing in the world more delectable than bidiane's fancies, giggled with delight. then she asked her where she had spent the evening.
-bidiane related her adventure, whereupon claudine said, dryly, "i guess the other person in your river must be agapit lenoir."
-"would you marry him if he asked you?" said bidiane.
-"mercy, how do i know--has he said anything of me?"
-"no, no," replied bidiane, hastily. "he wants to marry me."
-"that's what i thought," said claudine, soberly. "i can't tell you what love is. you can't talk it. i guess he'll teach you if you give him a chance. he's a good man, bidiane. you'd better take him--it's an opening for you, too. he'll get on out in the world."
-bidiane laid her head back on her pillow, and slipped again into a hazy, dreamy condition of mind, in which the ever recurring subject of meditation was the one of the proper experience and manifestation of love between men and the women they adore.
-charlitte comes back.
-"from dawn to gloaming, and from dark to dawn, dreams the unvoiced, declining michaelmas. o'er all the orchards where a summer was the noon is full of peace, and loiters on. the branches stir not as the light airs run all day; their stretching shadows slowly pass through the curled surface of the faded grass, telling the hours of the cloudless sun."
-j. f. h.
-the last golden days of summer had come, and the acadien farmers were rejoicing in a bountiful harvest. day by day huge wagons, heaped high with grain, were driven to the threshing-mills, and day by day the stores of vegetables and fruit laid in for the winter were increased in barn and store-house.
-everything had done well this year, even the flower gardens, and some of the more pious of the women attributed their abundance of blossoms to the blessing of the seeds by the parish priests.
-agapit lenoir, who now naturally took a broader and wider interest in the affairs of his countrymen, sat on rose à charlitte's lawn, discussing matters in general. soon he would have to go to halifax for his first session of the local legislature. since his election he had come a little out of the shyness and reserve that had settled upon him in his early manhood. he was now usually acknowledged to be a rising young man, and one sure to become a credit to his nation and his province. he would be a member of the dominion parliament some day, the old people said, and in his more mature age he might even become a senator. he had obtained just what he had needed,--a start in life. everything was open to him now. with his racial zeal and love for his countrymen, he could become a representative man,--an acadien of the acadiens.
-then, too, he would marry an accomplished wife, who would be of great assistance to him, for it was a well-known fact that he was engaged to his lively distant relative, bidiane lenoir, the young girl who had been educated abroad by the englishman from boston.
-just now he was talking to this same relative, who, instead of sitting down quietly beside him, was pursuing an erratic course of wanderings about the trees on the lawn. she professed to be looking for a robin's deserted nest, but she was managing at the same time to give careful attention to what her lover was saying, as he sat with eyes fixed now upon her, now upon the bay, and waved at intervals the long pipe that he was smoking.
-"yes," he said, continuing his subject, "that is one of the first things i shall lay before the house--the lack of proper schoolhouse accommodation on the bay."
-"you are very much interested in the schoolhouses," said bidiane, sarcastically. "you have talked of them quite ten minutes."
-his face lighted up swiftly. "let us return, then, to our old, old subject,--will you not reconsider your cruel decision not to marry me, and go with me to halifax this autumn?"
-"no," said bidiane, decidedly, yet with an evident liking for the topic of conversation presented to her. "i have told you again and again that i will not. i am surprised at your asking. who would comfort our darling rose?"
-"possibly, i say, only possibly, she is not as dependent upon us as you imagine."
-"dependent! of course she is dependent. am i not with her nearly all the time. see, there she comes,--the beauty! she grows more charming every day. she is like those lovely flemish women, who are so tall, and graceful, and simple, and elegant, and whose heads are like burnished gold. i wish you could see them, agapit. mr. nimmo says they have preserved intact the admirable naïveté of the women of the middle ages. their husbands are often brutal, yet they never rebel."
-"is naïveté justifiable under those circumstances, mignonne?"
-"hush,--she will hear you. now what does that boy want, i wonder. just see him scampering up the road."
-he wished to see her, and was soon stumbling through a verbal message. bidiane kindly but firmly followed him in it, and, stopping him whenever he used a corrupted french word, made him substitute another for it.
-"no, raoul, not j'étions but j'étais" (i was). "petit mieux" (a little better), "not p'tit mieux. la rue not la street. ces jeunes demoiselles" (those young ladies), "not ces jeunes ladies."
-"they are so careless, these acadiens of ours," she said, turning to agapit, with a despairing gesture. "this boy knows good french, yet he speaks the impure. why do his people say becker for baiser" (kiss) "and gueule for bouche" (mouth) "and échine for dos" (back)? "it is so vulgar!"
-"patience," muttered agapit, "what does he wish?"
-"his sister lucie wants you and me to go up to grosses coques this evening to supper. some of the d'entremonts are coming from pubnico. there will be a big wagon filled with straw, and all the young people from here are going, raoul says. it will be fun; will you go?"
-"yes, if it will please you."
-"it will," and she turned to the boy. "run home, raoul, and tell lucie that we accept her invitation. thou art not vexed with me for correcting thee?"
-"nenni" (no), said the child, displaying a dimple in his cheek.
-bidiane caught him and kissed him. "in the spring we will have great fun, thou and i. we will go back to the woods, and with a sharp knife tear the bark from young spruces, and eat the juicy bobillon inside. then we will also find candy. canst thou dig up the fern roots and peel them until thou findest the tender morsel at the bottom?"
-"oui," laughed the child, and bidiane, after pushing him towards rose, for an embrace from her, conducted him to the gate.
-"is there any use in asking rose to go with us this evening?" she said, coming back to agapit, and speaking in an undertone.
-"no, i think not."
-"why is it that she avoids all junketing, and sits only with sick people?"
-he murmured an uneasy, unintelligible response, and bidiane again directed her attention to rose. "what are you staring at so intently, ma chère?"
-"that beautiful stranger," said rose, nodding towards the bay. "it is a new sail."
-"every woman on the bay knows the ships but me," said bidiane, discontentedly. "i have got out of it from being so long away."
-"and why do the girls know the ships?" asked agapit.
-bidiane discreetly refused to answer him.
-"because they have lovers on board. your lover stays on shore, little one."
-"and poor rose looks over the sea," said bidiane, dreamily. "i should think that you might trust me now with the story of her trouble, whatever it is, but you are so reserved, so fearful of making wild statements. you don't treat me as well even as you do a business person,--a client is it you call one?"
-agapit smiled happily. "marry me, then, and in becoming your advocate i will deal plainly with you as a client, and state fully to you all the facts of this case."
-"i daresay we shall have frightful quarrels when we are married," said bidiane, cheerfully.
-"she is a beauty," said agapit, critically, "and foreign rigged."
-there was "a free wind" blowing, and the beautiful stranger moved like a graceful bird before it. rose--the favorite occupation in whose quiet life was to watch the white sails that passed up and down the bay--still kept her eyes fixed on it, and presently said, "the stranger is pointing towards sleeping water."
-"i will get the marine glass," said bidiane, running to the house.
-"she is putting out a boat," said rose, when she came back. "she is coming in to the wharf."
-"allow me to see for one minute, rose," said agapit, and he extended his hand for the glass; then silently watched the sailors running about and looking no larger than ants on the distant deck.
-"they are not going to the wharf," said bidiane. "they are making for that rock by the inn bathing-house. perhaps they will engage in swimming."
-a slight color appeared in rose's cheeks, and she glanced longingly at the glass that agapit still held. the mystery of the sea and the magic of ships and of seafaring lives was interwoven with her whole being. she felt an intense gentle interest in the strange sail and the foreign sailors, and nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to have shown them some kindness.
-"i wish," she murmured, "that i were now at the inn. they should have a jug of cream, and some fresh fruit."
-the horseshoe cottage being situated on rising ground, a little beyond the river, afforded the three people on the lawn an uninterrupted view of the movements of the boat. while bidiane prattled on, and severely rebuked agapit for his selfishness in keeping the glass to himself, rose watched the boat touching the big rocks, where one man sprang from it, and walked towards the inn.
-she could see his figure in the distance, looking at first scarcely larger than a black lead pencil, but soon taking on the dimensions of a rather short, thick-set man. he remained stationary on the inn veranda for a few minutes, then, leaving it, he passed down the village street.
-"it is some stranger from abroad, asking his way about," said bidiane; "one of the numerous comeau tribe, no doubt. oh, i hope he will go on the drive to-night."
-"why, i believe he is coming here," she exclaimed, after another period of observation of the stranger's movements; "he is passing by all the houses. yes, he is turning in by the cutting through the hill. who can he be?"
-rose and agapit, grown strangely silent, did not answer her, and, without thinking of examining their faces, she kept her eyes fixed on the man rapidly approaching them.
-"he is neither old nor young," she said, vivaciously. "yes, he is, too,--he is old. his hair is quite gray. he swaggers a little bit. i think he must be the captain of the beautiful stranger. there is an indefinable something about him that doesn't belong to a common sailor; don't you think so, agapit?"
-his face was now fully visible, and there was a wild cry from rose. "ah, charlitte, charlitte,--you have come back!"
-bidiane receives a shock.
-"whate'er thy lot, whoe'er thou be,-- confess thy folly, kiss the rod, and in thy chastening sorrow, see the hand of god."
-bidiane flashed around upon her companions. rose--pale, trembling, almost unearthly in a beauty from which everything earthly and material seemed to have been purged away--stood extending her hands to the wanderer, her only expression one of profound thanksgiving for his return.
-agapit, on the contrary, sat stock-still, his face convulsed with profound and bitter contempt, almost with hatred; and bidiane, in speechless astonishment, stared from him to the others.
-charlitte was not dead,--he had returned; and rose was not surprised,--she was even glad to see him! what did it mean, and where was mr. nimmo's share in this reunion? she clenched her hands, her eyes filled with despairing tears, and, in subdued anger, she surveyed the very ordinary-looking man, who had surrendered one of his brown hands to rose, in pleased satisfaction.
-"you are more stunning than ever, rose," he said, coolly kissing her; "and who is this young lady?" and he pointed a sturdy forefinger at bidiane, who stood in the background, trembling in every limb.
-"it is bidiane lenoir, charlitte, from up the bay. bidiane, come shake hands with my husband."
-"i forbid," said agapit, calmly. he had recovered himself, and, with a face as imperturbable as that of the sphinx, he now sat staring up into the air.
-"agapit," said rose, pleadingly, "will you not greet my husband after all these years?"
-"no," he said, "i will not," and coolly taking up his pipe he lighted it, turned away from them, and began to smoke.
-rose, with her blue eyes dimmed with tears, looked at her husband. "do not be displeased. he will forgive in time; he has been a brother to me all the years that you have been away."
-charlitte understood agapit better than she did, and, shrugging his shoulders as if to beg her not to distress herself, he busied himself with staring at bidiane, whose curiosity and bewilderment had culminated in a kind of stupefaction, in which she stood surreptitiously pinching her arm in order to convince herself that this wonderful reappearance was real,--that the man sitting so quietly before her was actually the husband of her beloved rose.
-charlitte's eyes twinkled mischievously, as he surveyed her. "were you ever shipwrecked, young lady?" he asked.
-bidiane shuddered, and then, with difficulty, ejaculated, "no, never."
-"i was," said charlitte, unblushingly, "on a cannibal island. all the rest of the crew were eaten. i was the only one spared, and i was left shut up in a hut in a palm grove until six months ago, when a passing ship took me off and brought me to new york."
-bidiane, by means of a vigorous effort, was able to partly restore her mind to working order. should she believe this man or not? she felt dimly that she did not like him, yet she could not resist rose's touching, mute entreaty that she should bestow some recognition on the returned one. therefore she said, confusedly, "those cannibals, where did they live?"
-"in the south sea islands, 'way yonder," and charlitte's eyes seemed to twinkle into immense distance.
-rose was hanging her head. this recital pained her, and before bidiane could again speak, she said, hurriedly, "do not mention it. our lord and the blessed virgin have brought you home. ah! how glad father duvair will be, and the village."
-"good heavens!" said charlitte. "do you think i care for the village. i have come to see you."
-for the first time rose shrank from him, and agapit brought down his eyes from the sky to glance keenly at him.
-"charlitte," faltered rose, "there have been great changes since you went away. i--i--" and she hesitated, and looked at bidiane.
-the soldiers and the citizens
-from martial law to carpet-bag rule
-the rule of the army had been intensely galling to the people, but it was infinitely preferable to the régime which followed, and there was general regret when the army gave way to the carpet-bag government. in january, 1868, a day of fasting and prayer was observed for the deliverance of the state from the rule of the negro and the alien.
-attitude of the whites
-the organization of the radical party
-conservative opposition aroused
-the registrars continued to instruct "that part of the population which has heretofore been denied the right of suffrage" in the mysteries of citizenship or membership in the union league. by the time of the election they were so effectively instructed that they were sure to vote as they were told by the league leaders. nearly all of the respectable white members of the league in the black belt had fallen away, and but few remained in the white counties. governor patton yielded to radical pressure, wrote reconstruction letters, appeared at reconstruction meetings, and deferred much to pope and swayne. he was harshly criticised by the conservatives for pursuing such a course.
-the elections; the negro's first vote
-the "reconstruction" convention
-character of the convention
-the race question
-debates on disfranchisement
-legislation by the convention
-the "reconstruction" completed
-campaign on the constitution
-vote on the constitution
-the constitution fails of adoption
-the alabama question in congress
-alabama readmitted to the union
-senator george e. spencer.
-senator willard warner.
-c. w. buckley.
-john b. callis.
-j. t. rapier.
-the union league of america
-origin of the union league
-in order to understand the absolute control exercised over the blacks by the alien adventurers, as shown in the elections of 1867-1868, it will be necessary to examine the workings of the secret oath-bound society popularly known as the "loyal league." the iron discipline of this order wielded by a few able and unscrupulous whites held together the ignorant negro masses for several years and prevented any control by the conservative whites.
-extension to the south
-even before the end of the war the federal officials had established the organization in huntsville, athens, florence, and other places in north alabama. it was understood to be a very respectable order in the north, and general burke, and later general crawford, with other federal officers and a few of the so-called "union" men of north alabama, formed lodges of what was called indiscriminately the union or loyal league. at first but few native whites were members, as the native "unionist" was not exactly the kind of person the federal officers cared to associate with more than was necessary. but with the close of hostilities and the establishment of army posts over the state, the league grew rapidly. the civilians who followed the army, the bureau agents, the missionaries, and the northern school-teachers were gradually admitted. the native "unionists" came in as the bars were lowered, and with them that element of the population which, during the war, especially in the white counties, had become hostile to the confederate administration. the disaffected politicians saw in the organization an instrument which might be used against the politicians of the central counties, who seemed likely to remain in control of affairs. at this time there were no negro members, but it has been estimated that in 1865, 40 per cent of the white voting population in north alabama joined the order, and that for a year or more there was an average of half a dozen "lodges" in each county north of the black belt. later, the local chapters were called "councils." there was a state grand council with headquarters at montgomery, and a grand national council with headquarters in new york. the union league of america was the proper designation for the entire organization.
-the ceremonies of the league
-organization and methods
-the relations between the races, with exceptional cases, continued to be somewhat friendly until 1867-1868. in the communities where the league and the bureau were established, the relations were soonest strained. for a while in some localities, before the advent of the league, and in others where the bureau was conducted by native magistrates, the negroes looked to their old masters for guidance and advice, and the latter, for the good of both races, were most eager to retain a moral control over the blacks. barbecues and picnics were arranged by the whites for the blacks, speeches were made, good advice given, and all promised to go well. sometimes the negroes themselves would arrange the festival and invite prominent whites to be present, for whom a separate table attended by the best waiters would be reserved; and after dinner there would be speaking by both whites and blacks. with the organization of the league, the negroes grew more reserved, and finally unfriendly to the whites. the league alone, however, was not responsible for the change. the league and the bureau had to some extent the same personnel, and it is impossible to distinguish clearly between the work of the league and that of the bureau. in many ways the league was simply the political side of the bureau. the preaching and teaching missionaries were also at work. on the other hand, among the lower classes of whites, a hostile feeling quickly sprang to oppose the feeling of the blacks.
-after it was seen that existing political institutions were to be overturned, the white councils and, to a certain extent, the negro councils became simply associations for those training for leadership in the new party soon to be formed in the state by act of congress. the few whites who were in control did not care to admit more white members, as there might be too many to share in the division of the spoils. hence we find that terms of admission were made more stringent, and, especially after the passage of the reconstruction acts, in march, 1867, many applicants were rejected. the alien element was in control of the league. the result was that where the blacks were numerous the largest plums fell to the carpet-baggers. the negro leaders,--politicians, preachers, and teachers,--trained in the league, acted as subordinates to the white leaders in controlling the black population, and they were sent out to drum up the country negroes when elections drew near. they were also given minor positions when offices were more plentiful than carpet-baggers. all together they received but few offices, which fact was later a cause of serious complaint.
-carpet-bag and negro rule
-taxation and the public debt
-taxation during reconstruction
-after the war it was certain that taxation would be higher and expenditure greater, both on account of the ruin caused by the war that now had to be repaired, and because several hundred thousand negroes had been added to the civic population. before the war the negro was no expense to the state and county treasuries; his misdemeanors were punished by his master. yet neither the ruined court-houses, jails, bridges, roads, etc., nor the criminal negroes can account for the taxation and expenditure under the carpet-bag régime. during the three and a half years after the war, under the provisional governments, most of the burned bridges, court-houses, and other public buildings had been replaced; and there were relatively few negroes who were an expense to the carpet-bag government.
-the following table will show the taxation for 1860 and 1870:--
-table of receipts and expenditures of the state government
-effect on property values
-most of the farmers and tenants of that period were unable to send their children to school and pay tuition. the reconstructed school system failed almost at the beginning. consequently, tens of thousands of children grew up ignorant of schools, most of them the children of parents who had had some education. hence the special provision for them in the constitution of 1901. the first democratic legislature restricted taxation to three-fifths of one per cent and local taxation to one-half of one per cent. the rates were lowered gradually, until in the early nineties the rate was only two-fifths of one per cent. since that time, the rate has again increased until in 1899 the state tax was again three-fourths of one per cent, the increase being used for confederate pensions and for schools.
-but in addition to the expenditure of the sums raised by extraordinary taxation, the reconstruction administration greatly increased the bonded debt of the state and by mortgaging the future left a heavy burden upon the people that has as yet been but slightly lessened.
-the public bonded debt
-after 1868 it is impossible to ascertain what the public debt of the state was at any given time until 1875, when the first democratic legislature began to investigate the condition of the finances.
-the financial settlement
-summary of debt
-the interest on this debt at the legal rate of 8 per cent would be over $2,000,000, more than twice the total yearly income of the state. the commission and the legislature declared that in the present condition of the finances the state could not pay the interest, that it would be several years before the state could pay any interest at all. moreover, it could not recognize as valid many items in the great debt. after conference with the representatives of the more innocent creditors, the debt was thus adjusted:--
-i. (a) the state proposed for the next few years to confine its attention to paying domestic claims and to retiring state obligations. (b) new bonds were issued to the amount of $7,000,000, to be exchanged for outstanding state bonds sold by the state to bona fide purchasers. these bonds, known as class a, were to draw interest for five years at 2 per cent, for the next five years at 3 per cent, at 4 per cent for the next ten years, and thereafter at 5 per cent. these bonds were issued to the most innocent creditors and constituted the least questionable part of the debt.
-ii. on the $1,192,000 railroad debt of class two the state accepted a clear loss of one-half, and issued $596,000 in bonds, known as class b, to be exchanged at the rate of one for two. these bonds drew interest at 5 per cent.
-iii. class three was the worst of all, and none of the items were at the time recognized, though the commissioners were authorized to take $310,000 of class a bonds and distribute the amount among the innocent holders of the $650,000 bonds sold by henry clews when held by him as collateral. the other clews claims were emphatically repudiated as fraudulent.
-the corrupt financiering in itself was not, by any means, the worst part of reconstruction. it was only a phase of the general misgovernment. though the whites were conservative and economical during the period of the provisional government and did not spend money or pledge credit recklessly, yet when the carpet-baggers began to loot the treasury, the people were not at first alarmed. many were in sympathy with any honest scheme to aid internal improvements. their confederate experience made them accustomed to the appropriations of large sums--in paper.
-though from the first there were several newspapers that denounced the financial measures of the reconstructionists and warned purchasers against buying the bonds issued under doubtful authority, still it was only the thinking men who understood from the beginning the danger of financial wreck. when the railroads became bankrupt, the people began to understand, and when the state failed two years later to meet its obligations, they had learned thoroughly the condition of affairs. extraordinary taxation had helped to teach them.
-railroad legislation and frauds
-federal and state aid to railroads before the war
-for forty years before the civil war there was a feeling on the part of many thoughtful citizens that the state should extend aid to any enterprise for connecting north and south alabama. it was an issue in political campaigns; candidates inveighed against the political evils resulting from the unnatural union of the two sections. south alabama was afraid that the northern section wanted connections with charleston and the atlantic seaboard, and not with mobile and the gulf; the planters of the black belt wanted the mineral region made accessible; the merchants of mobile wanted all the trade from north alabama; the whig counties of south and central alabama wanted closer connections with the white counties for the purpose of enlightening them and preventing the continual democratic majorities against the black belt at elections.
-at first it was proposed to build plank roads and turnpikes between the sections and thus bring about the desired unity. these failed, and then there was a demand for railroads. there were also other reasons for internal improvements. not only ought the two antagonistic sections to be consolidated, but emigration to the west must be prevented, for thousands of the citizens of the state had gone to texas during the two decades before the war. there was a general feeling that the state only needed railroads to make it immensely wealthy, and a large "western" element demanded that the state or the federal government assist in thus developing the resources of the state and in uniting its people. during the session of 1855-1856, though the governor vetoed thirty-three bills passed in aid of railroads, still the legislature voted $500,000 to two roads.
-in 1850 senator douglas of illinois began the policy of federal aid to railroads by securing the passage of a bill in aid of the illinois central railroad. the alabama delegation was then opposed to such a measure, but douglas visited alabama, conferred with the directors of the mobile railroad, and promised to include that road in his bill in return for the support of the representatives and senators from alabama and mississippi. the directors then brought influence to bear, and the two state legislatures instructed their congressmen to support the measure, which was passed.
-general legislation in aid of railroads
-the alabama and chattanooga railroad
-the history of the road while in the hands of the state authorities was not pleasant to democrat or radical. the state had first seized the section of the road that was in alabama, and had gone into the state courts to get the remainder. the litigation promised to be endless, and the case was taken to the federal courts. finally the road was sold at a bankrupt sale, and lindsay purchased it for the state, paying $312,000. the circuit court reversed this action, and there was a new case in which busteed, district judge, adjudged the company bankrupt. in may, 1872, the federal court placed the road in the hands of receivers for the first mortgage bondholders, who were to issue $1,200,000 in certificates to run the road,--this to be a lien prior to the claim of the state. august 24, 1874, the same court placed the road in the hands of the trustees of the first mortgage bondholders.
-other indorsed railroads
-governor l. e. parsons.
-governor william h. smith.
-the total indorsement was about $17,000,000.
-value of all railroads in the state (from the auditor's reports)
-county and town aid to railroads
-it is impossible to secure complete statistics of the railroad bond issues of counties and towns. some issues were made in ignorance, without authority of law, others were made under the provisions of a general law. naturally, the counties that suffered most were those of the black belt under carpet-bag control. the following is a summary of the issues made under special acts:--
-reconstruction in the schools
-school system before reconstruction
-the provisional government adopted the ante-bellum public school system and put it into operation. the schools were open to both races, from six to twenty years of age, separate schools being provided for the blacks. the greater part of the expenditure of the provisional government was for schools. relatively few negroes attended the state schools proper, as every influence was brought to bear to make them attend the bureau and missionary schools, and the state negro schools soon fell into the hands of the bureau educators, who drew the state appropriation.
-the school system of reconstruction
-cloud proceeded with much haste to open the schools. a year later he made a report which is an interesting document. there was little progress to be noted, but much space was devoted to an appreciation of that "glorious document," the constitution of 1867, the crowning glory of which--the article on education--should "entitle the members to the rare merit of statemen and sages." this provision for education, he said, was the first blow struck in the south, and especially in alabama, to clear out the last vestige of ignorance with all its attendant evils; and now, in spite of the burdens imposed by the unwise legislation of the past forty years, the bosoms of the citizens expanded with a noble pride in the present system of schools.
-reconstruction of the state university
-a prospective scene in the city of oaks, 4th of march, 1869.
-the above cut represents the fate in store for those great pests of southern society--the carpet-bagger and scalawag--if found in dixie's land after the break of day on the 4th of march next.
-the genus carpet-bagger is a man with a lank head of dry hair, a lank stomach, and long legs, club knees, and splay feet, dried legs, and lank jaws, with eyes like a fish and mouth like a shark. add to this a habit of sneaking and dodging about in unknown places, habiting with negroes in dark dens and back streets, a look like a hound, and the smell of a polecat.
-words are wanting to do full justice to the genus scalawag. he is a cur with a contracted head, downward look, slinking and uneasy gait; sleeps in the woods, like old crossland, at the bare idea of a ku-klux raid.
-our scalawag is the local leper of the community. unlike the carpet-bagger, he is native, which is so much the worse. once he was respected in his circle, his head was level, and he would look his neighbor in the face. now, possessed of the itch of office and the salt rheum of radicalism, he is a mangy dog, slinking through the alleys, hunting the governor's office, defiling with tobacco juice the steps of the capitol, stretching his lazy carcass in the sun on the square or the benches of the mayor's court.
-he waiteth for the troubling of the political waters, to the end that he may step in and be healed of the itch by the ointment of office. for office he "bums," as a toper "bums" for the satisfying dram. for office, yet in prospective, he hath bartered respectability; hath abandoned business and ceased to labor with his hands, but employs his feet kicking out boot-heels against lamp-post and corner-curb while discussing the question of office.
-it requires no seer to foretell the inevitable events that are to result from the coming fall election throughout the southern states.
-the unprecedented reaction is moving onward with the swiftness of a velocipede, with the violence of a tornado, and with the crash of an avalanche, sweeping negroism from the face of the earth.
-the people of alabama did not favor the continuance of the university under the reconstructed faculty, and were glad when the doors were closed. the ku klux klan took part in the work of breaking down the venture. notices were posted on the doors, directed to the students, advising them to leave. one sent to the son of governor smith read as follows:--
-david smith: you have received one notice from us, and this shall be our last. you nor no other d--d son of a d--d radical traitor shall stay at our university. leave here in less than ten days, for in that time we will visit the place and it will not be well for you to be found out there. the state is ours and so shall our university be.
-written by the secretary by order of the klan.
-charles muncel. you had better get back where you came from. we don't want any d--d yank at our colleges. in less than ten days we will come to see if you obey our warning. if not, look out for hell, for d--n you, we will show you that you shall not stay, you nor no one else, in that college. this is your first notice; let it be your last.
-the klan by the secretary.
-the next warning was sent to a lone democrat:--
-horton: they say you are of good democratic family. if you are, leave the university and that quick. we don't intend that the concern shall run any longer. this is the second notice you have received; you will get no other. in less than ten days we intend to clear out the concern. we will have good southern men there or none.
-trouble in the mobile schools
-for more than a year cloud had trouble in the schools of mobile. the mobile schools (always independent of the state system) were under the control of a school board appointed by the military authorities in 1865. when all offices and contracts were vacated, g. l. putnam, a member of the board of education, and also connected with the emerson institute, which was conducted at mobile by the american missionary association, had secured the enactment, because he wanted the position, of a school law providing for a superintendent of education for mobile county. in august, 1868, cloud gave him the office. the old school commissioners refused to recognize the authority of putnam, who was unable to displace them, because he himself could not make bond. but, in order to give him some kind of office, cloud went to mobile and proposed a compromise, which was to appoint one of the old commissioners superintendent of education and putnam superintendent of negro schools under the supervision of the other superintendent and the board of commissioners, which was still to exist. this was an arrangement cloud had no lawful authority to make.
-irregularities in school administration
-objections to the reconstruction education
-the question of negro education
-the failure of the educational system
-hodgson did valuable service to his party and to the state in exposing the corrupt and irregular practices of the preceding administration. his own administration was much more economical than that of his predecessor, as the following figures will show:--
-neither of the reconstruction superintendents, cloud or speed, furnished full statistics of the schools. it appears that the average enrolment of students under cloud was, in 1870, 35,963 whites and 16,097 blacks; under his democratic successor the average enrolment, in spite of lack of appropriations, was 66,358 whites and 41,308 blacks in 1871, and 61,942 whites and 41,673 blacks in 1872. speed evidently kept no records of attendance. in 1875, after the democrats came into power, the attendance was 91,202 whites and 54,595 blacks. the average number of days taught in a year under cloud was 49 days in white schools and the same in black; under hodgson the average length of term was 68.5 days and 64.33 days respectively. theoretically the salaries of teachers under cloud should have been about $75 per month, but they received increasingly less each year as the legislature refused to appropriate the school money. the following table will show what the school funds should have been, as provided for by the constitution; the sums actually received were smaller each successive year. in no case was the appropriation as great as in the year 1858, nor was the attendance of black and white together much larger in any year than the attendance of whites alone in 1858 or 1859.
-reconstruction in the churches
-sec. 1. the "disintegration and absorption" policy and its failure
-the other denominations had recognized the legal division of their churches before the war. now they acted on the principle that territory conquered for the united states was also conquered for the northern churches. southern ministers and members were asked to submit to degrading conditions in order to be restored to good standing. they must repudiate their former opinions, and renouncing their sins, ask for pardon and restoration. naturally no reunion resulted.
-sec. 2. the churches and the negro during reconstruction
-the baptists and the negroes
-the alabama baptist convention, in 1865, passed the following resolution in regard to the relations between the white and black members:--
-"resolved, that the changed civil status of our late slaves does not necessitate any change in their relations to our churches; and while we recognize their right to withdraw from our churches and form organizations of their own, we nevertheless believe that their highest good will be subserved by their retaining their present relation to those who know them, who love them, and who will labor for the promotion of their welfare."
-the presbyterians and the negroes
-it is this division of the cumberland presbyterians that is now (1905) hindering somewhat the union of the cumberland presbyterian with the northern presbyterian organization. the blacks demanded the separation of the races; the whites now demand that it be continued.
-the roman catholics
-the methodists and the negroes
-the ku klux revolution
-causes of the ku klux movement
-when the surviving soldiers of the confederate army returned home in the spring and summer of 1865, they found a land in which political institutions had been destroyed and in which a radical social revolution was taking place--an old order, the growth of hundreds of years, seemed to be breaking up, and the new one had not yet taken shape; all was confusion and disorder. at this time began a movement which under different forms has lasted until the present day--an effort on the part of the defeated population to restore affairs to a state which could be endurable, to reconstruct southern society. this movement, a few years later, was in one of its phases known as the ku klux movement. for the peculiar aspects of this secret revolutionary movement many causes are suggested.
-secret societies of regulators, before ku klux klan
-the origin and growth of ku klux klan
-the local bands of regulators in existence immediately after the war were a necessary outcome of the disordered conditions prevailing at the time, and would have disappeared, with a return to normal conditions under a strong government which had the respect of the people. but during the excitement over the action of the reconstruction convention in the fall of 1867 and the elections of february, 1868, a new secret order became prominent in alabama; and when, after the people had defeated the constitution, congress showed a disposition to disregard the popular will as expressed in the result of the election, this order--ku klux klan--sprang into activity in widely separated localities. the campaign of the previous six months had made the people desperate when they contemplated what was in store for them under the rule of carpet-bagger, scalawag, and negro. the counter-revolution was beginning.
-the tribunal of justice consisted of a grand council of yahoos for the trial of all elected officers, and was composed of those of equal rank with the accused, presided over by one of the next higher rank; and for the trial of ghouls and non-elective officers, the grand council of centaurs, which consisted of six ghouls appointed by the grand cyclops, launch right up to de tree, den see wheder we can get past um. if too much in de way, den put tom oberboard. him lift de tree away. if crocodile dere, no matter; tom very good to eat."
-the little man grinned at the big negro, while the latter shook an enormous fist at him, and bared his teeth in just that same manner as had had such effect upon jaime de oteros. but sam recked little of the signal.
-"yo one big, hulkin' nigger, yo," he grinned. "yo eat wonderful nice and tasty."
-meanwhile jim had been careful to reverse his engine, and lay with his machinery out of gear, awaiting further orders.
-"steady ahead! just a few revolutions!" commanded the major. "enough! that has brought us right up to the tree. now, can one pass by it?"
-the dusk was already falling outside, while here, beneath the trees which clung in luxuriant profusion to the banks on either side of the entrance to the river, it was already so dark that a white man was troubled. neither the major, nor jim, nor the policemen, could detect much of their surroundings, but in the case of sam it might have been brilliant daytime. he peered over the edge of the launch, then flopped full length on to the tiny deck she carried forward, and, pushing himself over the side, finally gripped the tree with one hand, his weight suspended between the latter and the launch. a startled cry came from him, a cry which brought tom labouring up beside him.
-"yo hurt yoself?" he demanded abruptly. "hi, yo, sam, what de matter?"
-"massa jim, we got um! we bottled dem men up fine and safe. dey good as hanged. dey jest as well might be dancin' on thin air at dis very instant."
-sam ignored the huge negro--in fact ignored everyone aboard save jim--in his anxiety to make a report direct to his master. "yo see here," he called out, turning slightly so as to be able to look aft, and still clinging half to the launch and half to the fallen tree. "yo come along and look fo yoself. tom, yo great big elephant, yo git along to one side. there ain't no sorter room for a person when yo's hereabouts."
-there was an air of suppressed excitement about the little fellow which caused jim to leave his engine and hasten forward.
-"well?" he demanded curiously. "you've found something? what is it?"
-"reckon dem 'ere blackguard run in here full tilt, i do. dey come whop up agin de tree, and precious nigh upset. dere's a dent right here big enough to put de hand in. stop a minute. sam soon say if dey passed."
-without waiting for his master, he slipped into the water, to discover it deep enough almost to submerge him. but sam was more like a fish than anything. he struck out for the tree, reached it, and clambered down towards that portion which seemed to have sunk deepest. in the gloom they saw him stretching out a hand to the opposite bank. he gripped a branch hanging conveniently overhead, and then swung in the water.
-"dey come right along plump in here," he sang out "den dey sheer off, and steam in alongside. jest room enough. see here, massa jim, plenty space to swing de legs. plenty room to float de launch; but i make extry sure. yo see in one little bit."
-they heard him splash down into the stream, while there came to their ears the swish of the branch suddenly relieved of his weight. then the fitful rays played upon the splashes as the negro breasted the water and swam upstream. presently the swish of his strokes ceased, and his voice was heard again, some little distance inland.
-"yo kin jest steer to de right ob dat stump, yo can, massa jim. plenty water. reckon dem scum come along right in here. we hab um. dere big lagoon way along a little furder."
-thus it proved when the party had forced the boat past the obstruction guarding the river exit. jim pushed his lever over a very little, and sent his propeller whirling just for so long as would give the launch way against the sluggish stream. as he did so tom leaned his ponderous figure over the stem, causing it to dip violently, and, gripping the tree, directed the boat into clear water. a few more revolutions sent the launch through, and in time brought her abreast of sam. they found the little fellow poised on a branch overhanging the water, for all the world as if he were a monkey, and from that position he dropped like a cat on to the deck of the launch.
-"what's this about a lagoon?" asked the major eagerly. "you couldn't see it, surely?"
-sam made no answer for the moment. he took the officer's hand and led him right forward. then, while tom clung to a branch to steady the vessel, his smaller comrade bade the major lie on the deck.
-"not see um if stand up," he explained. "dem leaves and branches in de way; but sam see um when he swim. easy as talkin'. dere's a young moon to-night, and now that we's right under de trees it's easy 'nough to look out into de open. dere: ain't dat a lagoon? gee! ef i don't tink so!"
-it was laughable to watch his eagerness, while sam's curious language, often enough sprinkled with long and difficult words, of the meaning of which he had not the remotest idea, was sufficient to make anyone not morose by nature die of laughing. but in any case he had made no mistake. as the major stooped, so getting beneath the line of overhanging trees and branches, he saw as if from a tunnel a widespreading space filled by water, on the rippling surface of which the moonbeams played. here and there a patch of rushes reared their heads into the air, while the far distance was hidden behind a cloudy, wet mist which smothered everything.
-"and you are sure that those rascals are here?" he asked.
-"sure! guess so, boss. dere ain't no room for a mistake. dem critters comed right in here. i see dere marks on de tree trunk, and den on the bank ob de stream. dey stepped ashore, i tink, just where we are, den go aboard agin. dey here; sam sure as eggs."
-"then, if there is no other exit from the lagoon, we have got them!" came the exultant answer. "we have only to bar the stream, and then set out in search; for, after all, none but a madman would leave the lagoon for the forest. just hereabouts it is intensely thick, to say nothing of the fever which haunts it. then, too, savage natives are known to exist, though some of them are friendly. i think, jim, that we may almost say that we have them. what luck to have pitched upon the very spot they made for!"
-"let us suppose then that they are here, sir," said jim thoughtfully, as he cut his engine down till it did little more than just turn round. "what is the next movement? to try and find them in that lagoon would be to set oneself the task of discovering a needle in a haystack. there is no chance, even with a bright moon, unless they happened to steam out into the centre. it seems to me that for to-night at least we have come to the end of our efforts."
-"right here, i should say," declared jim briskly. "in the first place, we're in a sort of tunnel, which, therefore, is not easy to discover. then we lie right in the track those men would take if they were making out to sea. in fact, it's a blockade; we've bottled them so long as we occupy this channel."
-it was not a matter which admitted of discussion, seeing that the suggestion was so full of common sense. the major swiftly realized that fact, and promptly agreed to act upon it.
-"couldn't do better," he said. "now, see here, boys, we've got to take some precautions. in the first place, we want food cooked, and that means lighting a fire; for no cooking can be done aboard this craft. it wouldn't be safe with our tanks filled with gasolene. suppose we pitch our camp right away in amongst the trees, where a fire couldn't be easily seen; then we'll tie the launch up right across the stream. she'll reach from bank to bank easily. a man can keep watch aboard her while the rest of the party turn in; how's that, jim?"
-"the very thing, i guess. say, major, i'm real hungry; don't mind how soon i sit down to a feed. see here, ching; jest you and tom collect those kettles and things, and take off into the trees. sam, get along with them, and make sure you've chosen a spot where there's plenty of thick stuff about. supposing we walk along to the edge of the lagoon, major. by the time we've had a good look round they'll have the boat moored in position and the fire going. there's just a chance that we might have the luck to catch a sight of those two slippery fellows. it's almost as light as day out there, and they might be still moving."
-swinging themselves ashore the two made their way along the edge of the stream slowly and carefully. indeed, a good deal of care and of agility was required, for the bank was lined by a tangled mass of vegetation which often enough obstructed their path; but as both had encountered the same before, they had brought with them long cutting knives with which to sever the creepers. underfoot they found the ground firm and even stony in places, while to their right the land seemed to rise abruptly. as to the lagoon, when once they were free of the long, tunnel-like archway of trees leading to the sea, they came into uninterrupted view of the huge expanse of water, for the moon was now well up, and flooded the scene.
-"it's so bright that if we were to catch a sight of those rascals we'd be right off after them," said the major. "but they know their way about. i have had information that this gang, with a few in addition who have left them for one reason or another, have visited many places along this coast. it seems that they came from the states; but they know this coast, and knowing it they will have met with lagoons and forests before. they will be just as careful to keep out of our view when there is light enough to see, as we are careful to hide up our fire at night; but i fancy we shall have them. quick pursuit is one of the things they have not been accustomed to."
-"we'll take a couple of grains of quinine apiece to-night," said the major, halting for a breathing spell by the way. "no white man who comes out to a tropical country can afford to neglect that precaution. even in the canal zone, where we have reduced the occurrence of malarial fever to an extraordinary figure, we still insist that all employees should take quinine regularly. and out away here it's far more necessary. that mist we've been watching spells malaria, fever that sticks to a man's bones till he's old, even though he gets safe home, and lives in comfort and warmth. besides, listen to the hum of the mosquitoes; any fool could tell that these parts weren't healthy for a white man."
-jim agreed with him abruptly. he was thinking of his brother, and wishing at that moment that he had been a little more careful to take precautions; but george had been one of those lusty, healthy fellows, never sick or sorry, who had laughed at fever and scoffed at precautions. and see what it had brought him to.
-"my brother might have been alive now if only he had taken his quinine," said jim. "you heard about him, major?"
-"i did. as one of the police at colon his loss was reported to me as a matter of course. it was bad luck, lad; where did he go ashore?"
-"miles away along this coast. i hunted high and low, as far as a man can hunt a jungle. reckon he died in the undergrowth."
-"or fell into a swamp, lad. he died, that's sure enough; but come along. there's the fire, and a good meal waiting for us. gee! we've been getting along; this is better progress than i had dared to hope for."
-skilfully the major drew jim's attention from the tragedy which had fallen upon his young life, and very soon had him seated beside a roaring fire, and dipping his spoon into a steaming cauldron of stew which the wily chinee had provided. in fact, it was a stew which had been prepared ashore in the major's house, and merely required heating.
-"plenty ob dat fo all, i guess," observed tom, as he served out helpings all round, smacking his big lips as the savoury odour filled his nostrils. "by gum, but dis night air make a fellow hungry. yo sam, yo sit right along down dar, and i help yo. not trust a little nigger same as yo to help hisself: eat too much. little man, but plenty big tomach."
-he held the huge cauldron in one hand, and with the fingers of the other pressed his small companion to the ground as if he were as weak as a baby. then, despite his own words, he gave him a liberal helping, and, having done the same for ching, sat himself down beside the cauldron.
-"so as to see dat dat feller sam don't play one ob him tricks," he laughed. "by de poker, 'spose him try, den shob him into the pot and cook um."
-in the firelight his round, rolling eyes gleamed white. tom looked a very terrible person for the moment. but he could never preserve an appearance of ferocity for long; his usual smile was soon wreathing his face, particularly when he had taken the first mouthful of stew.
-"by lummy, but dat extry good!" he observed. "hab more, yo fellows?"
-in turn he offered it to them all, then helped himself again liberally. in fact, it was not until the last spoonful of gravy had been finished that the party turned to their pipes. nor was there much difference to be found between the variety of tobacco loved by the british tar or soldier and that favoured in particular by these american policemen. jim watched them as they cut the cake with their knives and rammed the broken weed into the bowls; then columns of smoke rose amid the branches, while the scent of navy shag made the air redolent.
-"and now for the orders," said the major, when the men had had time for a long smoke. "sam has been keeping an eye on the water all this time. we must relieve him, though he has hardly been doing duty in the ordinary sense of watchman. let me see. there are three of my own men, three of yours, making six, and our two selves, eight altogether; suppose we watch in couples. you with one of my men for two hours, then tom and a second policeman, sam afterwards with the third, and i last of all with our friend ching. how's that? two hours each, four watches altogether, and a good sleep for all of us. it is now eight o'clock, the last spell takes us up to four o'clock in the morning; it'll be light by then. since ching will be on duty from two o'clock he can employ himself with our breakfast. by half-past four we shall be able to get the engine going and be under weigh. now, jim, get to your duty. one aboard the launch, and the second patrolling as far as the lagoon. pipes not to be lit unless well amongst the trees. no one to call loudly to another unless there be need. boys, you've blankets here; turn in."
-ashes were knocked out of pipe stems, and the men at once rolled themselves in their blankets. then jim and the comrade who was to watch with him shouldered their rifles, and with pouches filled with ammunition, attached to the belts round their waists, marched towards the stream.
-"you get aboard," said jim. "i'll make along to the lagoon. when an hour has passed i'll come and take your place."
-he wended his way through the jungle, and presently was on the bank of the lagoon, admiring its broad expanse of rippling water, which looked so solemn and so beautiful beneath the silvery rays of the moon. indeed, it was an enchanting scene, and had our hero been of a romantic turn of mind he might well have been excused for giving free rein to his fancy. but jim was a hard, practical-minded fellow, with the world before him, and his way to make in it. it is not then to be wondered at that his mind strayed from the scene before him to the canal zone, to the gigantic undertaking america had determined on, to the host of workmen labouring there, and to the many problems which confronted them, problems undreamed of by jim till yesterday, undreamed of now by thousands of americans, yet problems, for all that, demanding the anxious thought and effort of the commission staff, in whose able and painstaking hands lay the enormous enterprise. in his mind's eye jim saw that hundred-ton steam digger again. he fancied himself in the driver's seat, with harry watching every movement critically, and coaching his young pupil. his hands seemed to fall quite naturally on the levers, and then the hiss of steam came to his ears, just as it had done when he worked the enormous engine.
-"was it all imagination?" to tell the truth he was getting not a little drowsy, but that peculiar hiss was so realistic that----"gee!" he recovered from his brown study suddenly, and opened his eyes very wide. for there was reality in that hissing steam. he could actually hear it, not over loud, but without doubt steam or gas escaping from some narrow orifice. moreover the sound came from the lagoon; yes, from the lagoon straight before him. a moment later a long, black shape stole into view from behind a mass of reed some few yards away, then lay still on the water. silhouetted against the rippling surface he could make out the dusky outlines of a launch, her funnel amidships, the hood of the cab which sheltered passengers when a sea was running, and the little mast on which her flag drooped. and there were figures--two of them. they stood sharply displayed against the light, perched on the deck of the launch, surveying their surroundings.
-"those villains; then they are here without a doubt. gee, if they try to make out through the opening!"
-jim crouched a trifle lower under the trees beneath which he had taken his station, and watched the launch and her passengers. and steadily, as he watched, the boat drew nearer and nearer.
-"searching for the exit," he thought. "then they mean to come out. they want to get to sea again, feeling sure that on such a bright night they will be able to find their way. they'll just jump into the trap we've laid for them."
-it did indeed look as if fate would play into the hands of those who had set out to take these rascals, and, if jim had but known what was passing in their minds, he would have learned that a crafty plan was about to be put into execution.
-"of course those police are after us, and quick too," one of the two ruffians had said to the other. "they've steamed along the coast, and no doubt have spoken some skipper who saw us. if they fail to find us to-night they'll get along farther to-morrow, and if we're along there east of this the chances are that we shall be taken. but we know a game better than that; we'll slip clear of this, steam back towards colon, run inshore just clear of the port, and sink the launch in deep water. there won't be much of a job in getting a passage to new york; how's that?"
-it was just one of those plans which, by its very boldness, would mean, provided nothing unforeseen happened, security for those who followed it; for, while all eyes would be searching for them along the coast east of colon, the rascals themselves would be securely aboard a ship en route for new york. but jim and his friends were to have a say in the matter. our hero stole back through the trees, gave the warning to his fellow watcher, and then awakened his comrades.
-"s-s-s-he!" he whispered, as he touched the major's shoulder. "the birds are there, on the lagoon. they are searching for the opening. with a little care we shall have them."
-it seemed in fact almost a foregone conclusion, this capture of the rascals. for, when all were gathered close to the launch, while two of the men lay with loaded rifles on her deck, the hiss of steam was heard most distinctly. presently a long, black shape put in an appearance, till all could see it stealing slowly down towards them. instantly four of the weapons were trained on the men aboard, while the major, with jim and tom to help him, crouched beside the bank, ready to spring on board the stranger. it was a time of intense excitement, because even now there might come a hitch, something might happen to alarm the ruffians.
-jim becomes a mechanic
-"see here, jim," whispered the major, as he and our hero, with tom beside them, huddled close to the bank of the stream which gave exit from the lagoon, "when she comes abreast of us you and i will jump aboard. there are branches in plenty overhead from which we can swing ourselves. we leave tom to get a grip of the launch itself, and pull her in to the side; got that?"
-the big negro wagged his head knowingly from side to side. "got um safe and sound, sah," he whispered hoarsely. "tom grip de launch, lift her outer de water if you wants. lummy! but dis goin' to be a bean feast!"
-"s-s-sshe, man! stay here. jim, i'll go a little farther up, just a few feet, and pick my branch. you had better do the same; there won't be much time to waste."
-"supposing she doesn't come in; supposing those men discover us, smell a rat, eh?"
-jim asked the question anxiously, and detained the major on the point of leaving.
-"then we'll be after them quick."
-"will the men fire on them?"
-"no; i've given them orders not to do so unless opposition is offered. i never like shooting into men before they open fire. but we're right this time; those fellows are going to jump into the net we have spread for them."
-he moved off at once, while jim stepped a few paces from the spot where the bulky figure of tom was reclining, and, searching above his head, quickly found a branch strong enough to support his weight. he held to it, and lifted his feet from the ground, making assurance doubly sure. by then the strange launch was heading direct for the opening of the narrow tunnel in which the pursuers were secreted. jim could hear the splash of her tiny propeller; for the launch was running light, and the blades often rose clear of the water. then suddenly the noise ceased absolutely, the low, clock-like tick of her engines could no longer be heard, while the moonrays playing upon the ripples at her stern alone showed that she was in motion.
-for some reason or other our hero felt not the slightest trace of excitement on this occasion. no doubt the experiences he had already gone through had helped not a little to steady his nerves, while the overwhelming force of the party he accompanied seemed to argue that there could be now but little prospect of danger; but he was to learn that it is the least-expected thing that happens. for hardly had the words left his lips when the propeller of the launch was heard again thrashing the water frantically, while the ripple ahead suddenly died out altogether, leaving the surface of the lagoon shimmering placidly beneath the soft rays which flooded every portion of it. then there came a shout, a startled cry from the deck of the launch, a man stood up to his full height forward, his figure silhouetted blackly against the water. a second later he had dived down again, there was another shout, then flames suddenly roared from the funnel, while a glow which illuminated the rear of the vessel showed that the door of the furnace had been thrown open.
-jim rubbed his eyes; the sudden change in the movement of progression of the launch amazed him. he could hardly believe that she was retreating, that those agitated ripples now spreading from her stern right forward beyond the bows meant that she was departing. it was the whirr of her engine and the splashing of her propeller as it churned the water violently which brought the true facts clearly to his mind.
-"they're off," he shouted; "we must follow. quick, on to the launch!"
-he dashed along the bank of the stream, calling loudly to the men, and arriving opposite to their own vessel, swiftly cast adrift the rope which had been passed from her stern to a tree growing close down to the water. with a spring he was aboard, and, tumbling at once into the well, he searched in the darkness for the starting handle. but however convenient a gasolene motor may be on ordinary occasions, the fact cannot be denied that there are at times difficulties in connection with them. for instance, it was always a practice of jim's to shut off his petrol supply when the engine was not running; for otherwise there was risk of leakage through the carburettor, and leakage of such a volatile and inflammable fluid aboard a boat spells danger for those who man her. then, too, it happened that this engine trusted to drip lubricators for her supply of oil, and though she might reasonably be expected to run satisfactorily for a while without that supply, still, in the exciting time before him, jim might easily forget to turn up his lubricators, and such neglect spelt failure for his party. after all, this was decidedly one of those cases where it would be better to follow his usual routine, and thereby make sure that the engine had everything in its favour.
-"i'll have her running in double-quick time," he shouted. "get that painter cast off, major; and, see here, can't you manage to push her along until i have got the engine going?"
-"guess i'se got one mighty big pole here," called tom, an instant later, whilst the launch heaved and rolled as the ponderous fellow moved about. "you get right along wid dat engine, massa jim. i'se gwine astern to pole her."
-once more the launch rolled and heaved as tom made his way rapidly aft. then his pole plunged into the water, one of the policemen pushed the bows out from the bank, and, casting his eye upward for one brief instant, jim saw that they were moving. meanwhile he had found the gasolene tap and turned it, while the fingers of his other hand as rapidly lifted the six lubricators which fed the engine with that fluid so vital to her.
-"ready?" asked the major tersely, his voice hard and cold, as if sudden disappointment had changed it. "get her going quick, my lad, or those fellows will get clear away from us. already they are steaming right out into the lagoon."
-it was true enough; for, casting his eye ahead, jim could see, through the dark tunnel formed by the overhanging branches of the trees, a wide expanse of shimmering water, across which sped the boat that bore the men in pursuit of whom they had come. there was a white wash at her stern, while sparks and flames shot from her funnel. that and the glow which surrounded her, coming from her opened furnace door, showed clearly that the rascals aboard her were fully prepared for flight, with a hot fire burning and roaring in their furnace, and a head of steam which would drive their boat faster perhaps than she had ever travelled.
-"got it! now we'll be moving."
-with the fingers of one hand jim had held the float of his carburettor lifted, thereby making sure that the engine would obtain a free supply of fuel; while with the other hand he had discovered the starting handle. it was a simple matter to slip it on to the shaft and turn it till the clutches engaged. then he bent his back to the work, switched his magneto into circuit and sent the engine twirling round. poof! poof! poof! three of the cylinders fired, but the crank ceased turning. jim lifted his float again, adjusted the handle, and made another effort at starting. gur-r-rr! bizz! she was off. the rhythmical hum of the machinery told his practised ear at once that the engine was running beautifully.
-he dropped the starting handle on to the floorboards and stepped briskly across to his levers.
-"ready?" he asked steadily.
-jim promptly dropped his fingers on the quadrant where throttle and ignition levers lay, and jerked both of them up a few notches. he could feel the thrust of the propeller now, and could hear the wash of the water as the launch pushed her way through it. then suddenly the vessel cleared the dark tunnel in which she had been lying, and a glorious tropical moon shone down upon her, rendering every figure aboard distinctly visible, while, better than all, the rays flooded the engine well and made jim's task all the easier.
-"faster!" commanded the major sharply, and at the word jim jerked his levers some few notches higher, till the engine buzzed more loudly than before, while the floorboards took on a trembling vibration to which, as a general rule, they were unaccustomed.
-"more! we must move faster if we are to catch them," cried the major, something akin to entreaty in his voice. "can't you make her do a little more, my lad? we mustn't let those rascals slip through our fingers."
-jim nodded curtly; he disliked racing his engine as a general rule, for common sense told him that such a course if persisted in might well lead to disaster. but these were exceptional circumstances, and, if race her he must, he determined that no precaution on his part should be relaxed so that the motor might come through the ordeal satisfactorily. once more, therefore, he jerked his levers upwards till the throttle was wide open, while the ignition was advanced to the fullest extent. and how the motor roared! compactly built and beautifully designed, it could not be expected to revolve at such extraordinary speed and give out its full power without some sign of remonstrance. it answered the persistent goadings of its grim young driver with a tremulous roar, while the planks under foot now shook and rattled ominously. indeed the whole vessel vibrated, while the bows lifted out of the water, thrusting a huge wave to either side. the surface of the lagoon, hitherto so placid, was now churned to milky foam at the stern of the vessel, while a white wash trailed aft, glimmering in the moonlight.
-"full out, sir," reported jim to the major. "how are we doing?"
-"fine, fine, my boy. we'll have 'em yet, if only you can keep her at it; but can she last? can she keep up this pace much longer?"
-"guess she's got to," laughed jim, a note of excitement in his voice, in spite of his apparent coolness and unconcern. "guess she's got to, sir; i'll keep her at it all i know."
-he craned his head to one side, and for the space of a minute fixed his eyes upon the black shape ahead which they were following. a column of flame and showers of sparks were being vomited from the funnel, whilst the ruddy hue that had surrounded the escaping launch had now disappeared entirely.
-"closed his furnace; that means that he's got steam up to bursting-point," thought jim. "but we're gaining on him sure. in half an hour, if all goes well, we'll be alongside."
-he let his glance rest for a few seconds on the figures of the policemen huddled in the cab of the launch beside the major. he even caught the reflection of the moonlight in sam's big rolling eyes. then he turned his glance to either side, watching the widespreading bow wave as it swept out over the lagoon. he followed the ripples, and, turning, gazed astern. it came as a shock to him almost to discover two figures there crouching on the little deck aft of the engine well. one was huge and massive, and bore aloft a long, straight pole, while the second sat crouched on his haunches, as motionless as a statue. it was ching. the chinaman sat playing with the end of his pigtail, and giggled as jim looked into his eyes.
-"velly fine! dis allee lightee, sah; you catch him plenty quick," he gurgled.
-"den hang um," simpered tom, his eyes rolling. "dem scum not stand de chance of a dog, i tell yo. massa jim, yo make um buzz right along like dis; and den, by lummy, yo see what we do to um. nobble dem rascals precious quick. kill um; wring de neck of de villains."
-jim scowled at the negro, for such threats vexed him. then, seeing the broad smile on tom's face, he laughed outright.
-"jest like you, tom, always threatening. i don't believe you'd actually hurt a fly unless you were forced to. but have a care, my lad; this boat's over-loaded, and if i hear too much from you i'll give ching orders to send you overboard. get lower, man; your big body meets the wind and keeps us from moving forward."
-the mere suggestion that he might be tossed overboard caused the simple-minded tom to open his big eyes wide in consternation. his huge jaw drooped; then, hearing his young master's merry laugh, the thick lips split asunder, and a loud guffaw came from the negro.
-"wat dat?" he demanded. "yo ask dis man here to throw tom overboard? by de poker, but if dis chinaboy breathe one little word, me smash um. tom nasty fellow to deal with when him angry."
-but jim had other matters to attend to rather than to listen to the negro's sayings. indeed he had already turned his back upon the two men crouching astern, and was bending over the engine. fumbling at the lock of a cupboard, he pulled the door open and extracted a heavy object from within. his finger pressed a button, and instantly a flood of light came from the electric torch he had secured. for five minutes he busied himself with the motor. carefully adjusting the drips from the lubricator, he set them to give a more liberal supply than was usual. then he lifted the board which covered the tail shaft bearing, and squeezed down the grease cup secured there. a finger laid on the top of the bearing assured him that it was running cool, while the same precaution in regard to the cylinders disclosed the fact that the water pump was working as it should do. in fact, in spite of the tremendous pace at which the motor was revolving, there was as yet no sign of failure, nothing to point to an immediate breakdown, nothing, in fact, to lead him to suppose that the chase would have to be abandoned.
-"then i can begin to take a little interest in those rascals," he thought, "ah, we're nearer, we're overhauling them without a shadow of doubt! i give them a quarter of an hour's more freedom."
-it did indeed seem as though the pursuit was entering upon its last stage, for the black shape ahead was decidedly nearer--so near, in fact, that one could make out the various features of the launch as well as the two fugitives crouching beside their engine. tongues of flame and broad showers of sparks still belched from the funnel, while at one moment, when she steamed into the dense shadow cast by some tall trees growing upon the tail end of a group of small islands which studded the lagoon, the funnel itself was seen to be glowing hot. indeed, while the launch herself was blotted out in the darkness, the glowing funnel remained the one conspicuous object.
-"i'm going to give 'em a shot," called out the major, casting a glance at jim over his shoulder. "you see, i don't know the ins and outs of this lagoon, and those fellows might yet escape us if they happen to have had time to do a little exploration. see here, tomkins, send a ball a foot or two ahead of them; and if that does not bring them to a stop, put one right through her funnel. you can do it without fear of hitting one of the men."
-"sure! i'd back myself nine times out of ten to bring off a shot like that. i'll just wait till we're out of the shadow."
-anxious eyes flitted from the dark shape fleeting through the waters of the lagoon to the long, bony fingers of the policeman. he stepped to the front of the cab, leaned forward with his elbows on the deck, and clicked the bolt of his rifle open. then he dropped the weapon into position, and there was a tense silence aboard as tomkins squinted along his sights. a second later the report came, for the policeman was too old a hand with his weapon to hesitate. while he shot the empty cartridge out and slipped in a fresh one all eyes went to the boat ahead, and no doubt the bullet which tomkins had dispatched had passed but a few feet in front of her, conveying a message and a warning; but the effect it had was entirely nil. the launch held on her course as though there was no such thing as a pursuing vessel with arms aboard able to reach the miscreants who were escaping.
-"guess they've got to have it then," growled tomkins. "this time i'll put one through the funnel, and there ain't a doubt that it'll send them bobbing."
-as cool as an icicle, the man stretched himself out again, half on the deck and half in the cab of the launch. once more his eyes went down to the sights, and on this occasion the pause he made was long, so long, in fact, that when the rifle belched forth a stream of fire the suddenness of the report startled his comrades. then they fixed their eyes upon the launch steaming ahead of them.
-"didn't i tell you! got it sure, plump through the centre, and a bare foot above their heads," cried tomkins, dropping his rifle. "see there, the flames tell you what happened."
-his finger shot out instantly, and drew the attention of all to the funnel. flames and sparks were still belching from the opening above, but that was not all, for low down now, but a bare foot above the heads of the two men crouching beside the engine, the sheet-iron tube was punctured, and a thin stream of fire was issuing from the hole. clank! the sound of the furnace door being dragged violently open came clearly to the ears of the pursuers, in spite of the hum of their own motor, while that same red glow which had once before enveloped the launch again surrounded her. it was the only answer the rascals aboard made to tomkins's shot, that and a dense column of smoke which now shot up, mingling with the flames and smoke from the funnel.
-"their last kick," cried the major. "that shot tells them that we mean business. tomkins, my lad, just give 'em another. say, jim, how's the motor running?"
-"fine! fine! couldn't be doing better. sing out when you want me to cut her down a little."
-to all appearances the end of an exciting chase was already in sight, for there was no doubt that now jim and his party were running two feet for the one covered by the escaping launch. but they had wily men to deal with, and that fact was impressed upon them within the space of a few seconds, for hardly had the third shot rung out when the launch in front ran into another long shadow by one of the islands, her form being instantly blotted out by the blackness.
-there came the clang of the furnace door as it was kicked into place by one of the rascals, and then all that could be seen was the glowing funnel. even that did not remain long in evidence, for suddenly it swerved to the right, making off at a sharp angle to the course which the launch had been pursuing. then it disappeared from sight, as if the vessel had gone beneath the water.
-"steady! stop her!" commanded the major, swinging his wheel over. "we'll run on a little till we're out of the shadow. then perhaps we shall be able to see where those fellows have got to. queer! seems to me that they know the road. they must have steered direct for the tail end of these islands."
-jim jerked throttle and ignition levers back as the orders came to his ears, and threw his lever into neutral position. but the launch had been ploughing along at a speed of some twenty knots, and the way on her carried her swiftly forward. dense shadow enveloped her, and for a while there was not one aboard the launch but wondered whether the vessel would dash herself upon a rock, since the course was being followed blindly. the major had swung his wheel just where he guessed the fugitives had done likewise, and that movement still found the boat in dense shadow. a second or two later she shot out into open water, and once more the moon's rays flooded her from stem to stern.
-"gone! not a sign of them! this is the queerest thing i have ever----"
-"stop! i can see them!" shouted jim, interrupting the major. "they steamed straight between two of the islands, and there they are beyond. push ahead, major? our best way is to run right round this island, and so take up their course again. ain't that land ahead?"
-"land fo shore! massa jim right," sang out sam, who seemed to have the sharpest eyes of the whole party. "dem villains know de way; dey been here before. sam say dey heading for anoder opening."
-whatever was the nature of the evolution practised by the fugitives, the major, as leader of the party, did not hesitate to follow jim's advice.
-"forward!" he roared, glancing over his shoulder. "rocks or no rocks, i'll chance rounding the island. send her ahead, jim. give her full power again."
-bizz! gurr! how the motor roared as our hero jerked his levers back into their old position. as for that commanding the gears, it was already in position, while the propeller was churning the water into white foam. the launch shot ahead as if propelled from a gun, and in a trice was rounding the island on the far side of which the fugitives had taken their course. a minute later she was again in open water, while right across her path stretched a dark, unbroken line, the edge of which was obscured in deep shadow. it was the margin of the lagoon, without a doubt, while it was equally certain that those whom jim and his party sought to capture had chosen some point along it on which to land. either that or their explorations had discovered some exit, for which they were at that very instant racing madly.
-"artful dogs!" cried the major, wrath in his voice. "they stole a nice march on us by that movement, and gained many yards. don't fire, tomkins. you might hit one of them in this uncertain light, and that would defeat my special object. i want to capture the two alive and strong, or not at all."
-"see dat? massa jim, dere an openin' ober dere. dose scum race for um!" shouted sam a moment later, stretching one black arm out in front, and pointing eagerly. "me see de light shinin' on de water ob a stream, and de launch just about to enter. steady, sah! not do to dash right in at dis pace. p'raps smash de launch, run ashore, or pile her up on a mudbank. s'pose we take it easy."
-"steady! stop her again!" commanded the major, his eyes fixed on the retreating launch. "sam is right. those gentlemen have discovered a channel leading out of the lagoon, and have made for it at their fastest pace. that shows that they have been there before. look at them; they have sent their boat in without attempting to slow down. steady, jim! let her push ahead slowly; those rascals are a long way from making good their escape. i'll follow them even if it takes me miles into the interior."
-had the major but known it, there was every prospect of this pursuit carrying him and his party many miles beyond the margin of the lagoon, for the band of ruffians who had so lately attracted his attention, and on the catching of two of which he was now bent, had not confined their thieving attentions to the various settlements along the coast. they had even exploited the peoples of the interior of the unsettled regions lying adjacent to the canal zone. there were wide areas of trackless forest, of jungle, and of swamp, which to this day are unexplored and unknown by the white man. that deadly malarial fever, more than attack by unfriendly natives, has kept the white man at a distance. only along the immediate line of the coast has trading been done in some of the districts, and even then the results have not been always satisfactory.
-"it's a queer place," said phineas barton, when describing the isthmus to our hero. "here along the canal zone you have civilization. uncle sam has come in with his dollars and his men, and has worked with an energy which, one of these days, when the facts are known, will surprise the world. as i tell you, you've civilization right here. but jest step out of the canal zone, and what do you find? savages, sir. wild men, armed with spears and bows and poisoned arrows. yes, sir, poisoned arrows that will kill a man inside thirty minutes, even if they only happen to have just broken the skin. and they tell me that 'way along in the jungle, where the fever's that bad that a white man don't dare to go, there are gangs of tall natives that won't allow a stranger to put so much as his nose into their territory."
-it is all true enough, and is, indeed, one of the curious features of the isthmus of panama. there, where one of these days, when america has completed her gigantic task, a mighty canal will stretch from coast to coast, bearing the commerce of the nations to and fro between pacific and atlantic oceans, there lie side by side the modern dwellings and the civilization which an enormous undertaking of this description must inevitably produce, and a condition of savagery unchanged since the middle ages. even spain, with her huge capacity for conquest, failed to penetrate into many of the wide areas of jungle adjacent to panama and colon. doubtless her gallant sons made the attempt; but history records the fact that the fierce tribes within drove them back, murdering those upon whom they could lay their hands, and showing such courage and ferocity that further attempts were not embarked upon. moreover, the malarial fever, which haunts these jungles in its most virulent form, was deterrent enough, without thought of the natives.
-still, there were some who had contrived to open up negotiations with the tribes. there are men who will risk anything for a handsome profit, and the gang of rascals we are dealing with had seen in these tribes an opportunity of enriching themselves. they tempted the natives with the offer of guns and powder, and already the bartering of those weapons had given them access to a part which would have brought inevitable destruction, had they entered on any other pretext. cheap guns and powder were to be obtained, and in return the natives willingly parted with huge quantities of precious stones and gold. sam was perfectly right when he suggested that the man aboard the steam launch had visited the lagoon and its surroundings before.
-"i's sure of that," he cried, bending forward and peering into the gloom. "dem scum know ebery foot of de way, for dey steam hard ahead for a place dat no one else can see."
-"know it or not, we're going on after them," growled the major. "where they can run we can follow. but steady with her, jim. this chase is not going to be finished yet awhile, and we shall do better now that there is no longer a chance of catching them on the lagoon. take it easy. after all, they can't go on for ever; some time or other the stream they are making for will fail them, and then they must take to the jungle or fall into our hands. steady with her! slow but sure must be our motto."
-"steady it is, sir!" cried jim. "but say, i can see a line of water running out of the lagoon. those fellows are steering straight ahead into it."
-all eyes aboard followed the movements of the fleeing launch, and watched as she crossed in the gleam of the moonlight the last few yards of open lagoon. they saw her shoot across the dark line which till a moment before had seemed unbroken; she sped on up the stream to which jim had called their attention, then once again she was lost to sight. the blackness swallowed her; there was not even a glowing funnel to show her whereabouts.
-"forward!" cried the major hoarsely. "but see here, jim, send one of your men right up into the bows, for there's no knowing what may happen. we may run into a mudbank, and if we have a man forward with a pole we can get pushed off in a twinkling."
-the launch heaved and shook as the huge tom rose to his feet. as agile as a cat, in spite of his size, the ponderous fellow went crawling along, past jim and his motor, past the major and his man, and finally established himself right forward in the bows.
-"come a mudbank and tom push de launch off quick," he called. "but hab no fear. me able to see much better right away here; dere no mudbanks in dis stream, sah. all open water; plenty room for eberyone."
-by now jim and his friends had reached the very edge of the lagoon, and were able to make out their surroundings more distinctly. the bright moon above helped them wonderfully; thanks to the light it shed, and to the fact that the stream ahead was wide, and branches could not reach across it, they could discern the path which they were to follow. not a stump, not a single object, broke the shimmering surface of the water. a bright lane stretched before them, with a deep black shadow on either hand.
-"give her steam," commanded the major, forgetting that the launch which he and the others manned was of the gasolene variety. "send her ahead, jim. we've a clear road, way up there ahead, and we'll take it. boys, be on the lookout for trouble; those rascals are not the only ones we are likely to come across in such an out-of-the-way part."
-jim jerked his levers forward promptly; the motor buzzed and roared, while the propeller bit into the water, and, taking a grip of the fluid, shot the launch forward. she swept on gallantly into the unknown, her commander and crew careless of the consequences and determined to do their duty whatever happened.
-running the gauntlet
-there was tense silence aboard the launch from the moment when she had plunged from the placid waters of the lagoon on to the brightly lit surface of the stream which the two fugitives had followed. for half an hour scarcely a word was spoken, while all eyes searched the path ahead, and peered vainly into the deep, impenetrable shadows on either hand. but at length tom broke the trying silence, a sharp exclamation coming from the bows, where he was stationed.
-"by lummy," he called, "but dat precious queer. minute ago dere a bright lane ob water ahead; now noding, jest noding, all dark and black. massa major, yo ain't gwine ter steam ahead like dis all de while! s'pose dere a big rock ahead. s'pose de water come to an end. dat be very awkward."
-"steady," called out the major. "guess it is queer, as tom says; for a minute ago i could have sworn that this stream ran on clear and unbroken a good mile ahead. now, it's suddenly blocked out. perhaps there's a bend 'way there in front."
-"i'm sure," answered jim promptly. "if we run on gently we shall find that the stream opens up again before we get to that patch of darkness. gee! guess i'm right; it was a bend."
-meanwhile he had slowed down his motor; and it was fortunate he had done so, for as the launch covered the intervening space lying between herself and the dense shadow, to which tom had drawn attention, it was noticed by all that the fairway had narrowed considerably. at the bend, when she was gliding slowly forward, the banks came together very abruptly, leaving a stream of water between them which was but a few feet wide. and while the rays from the moon fell upon the surface for some dozen boat-lengths ahead, beyond that point the distance was shrouded in darkness, the jungle cut off the rays as if with a shutter, casting a dense shadow on every side. instantly the major issued his orders.
-"stop her," he cried in low tones. "this is a teaser. i don't much care about going on through that narrow lane; for if there were folks round here to attack us, we might have a job to get out again. chances are we couldn't turn the boat, and that would mean reversing all the way. what do you say, jim? it's a teaser, ain't it?"
-but for the moment our hero was engaged with his engine. he threw out his lever at the major's orders, and then pushed it right forward, till the propeller was reversing. having brought the boat to a standstill, he left the motor running gently, and clambered forward till he was beside the officer.
-"guess it'd be better to stay right here," he said shortly. "i quite agree that if we went along that narrow lane we might be placing ourselves in a difficulty. we might find ourselves in a regular bottle, with only a narrow neck from which to make our escape. best lie here till morning, when we shall see where we are, and what sort of a place that stream leads to."
-"den boil de kettle an' hot up de food," sang out ching, who was still huddled at the stern of the vessel. "plenty hungry and thirsty, mass jim, an if havvy food to eat, den de time slippy along velly quickly."
-the major nodded his head vigorously. "you are a man in a hundred, jim," he said, giving vent to a laugh. "'pon my word, when i am next sent off on an expedition i shall make it a point that you come along with your servants. a more useful lot i never hit upon. gee! of course we're hungry. jest get to with it, ching."
-"drop de anchor, eh!" demanded tom, standing to his full height forward, and holding the pole erect in the air. indeed, for the moment he looked, with the moon playing upon him, for all the world like a dusky sentry, keeping guard over all on the launch and her surroundings. then he set the pole down with a clatter, there came to the ear the clank and chink of a chain being dragged across the boarding. tom lifted the launch's anchor from its rests, and held it out at arm's length, as if it were a feather.
-"drop um in?" he asked, poising it above the water. "wat you say, sir?"
-"let her go," cried the major. "when she's fast, haul in the slack, and let me know what depth we've got. reckon this is as good a place to lie in as we could have, for we're well in midstream, and those rascals could not easily reach us from the banks. but of course they could send their bullets whizzing amongst us, and that's a risk we shall have to laugh at. what's the time, jim?"
-"want's half an hour of midnight, sir. guess we might have a feed, and then turn in."
-the arrangement was one to be recommended, and the major fell in with it instantly. jim stopped his motor, shut off the gasolene and oil, and made a careful inspection of the machinery with the help of his electric torch. ten minutes later ching announced that hot coffee was ready, and, rising from the petroleum stove situated as far forward from the motor as was possible, and over which he had been bending, proceeded to deal out the beverage to each member of the expedition. sam followed him with a tin of biscuits, while the ponderous and good-natured tom thrust his arm over the shoulder of his diminutive comrade, offering squares of cheese which he had cut ready, and had placed upon the lid of the box to serve as a tray.
-"guess better eat as much as you can," he laughed, opening his cavernous mouth. "s'pose dose scum come along fine and early; den hab noting to eat, but p'raps plenty bullet. den very sorry yo not fill up to-night."
-in any case he availed himself of his own advice, and sat on the edge of the well devouring enormous mouthfuls. as to the others, each ate according to his appetite, and we record but the truth when we say that in no case did that fail them. their rush across the lagoon in the wake of the fugitives, the excitement of the chase generally, and the freshness of the night had given them all a feeling of briskness, and with that feeling came undoubted hunger. besides, it might be necessary to push on without a pause, once there was light enough with which to see, then he who had not partaken of a full supper might regret the fact, and might have many hours to wait before an opportunity occurred of taking food.
-"jest you turn in and take a sleep, jim," said the major, when the meal was finished. "it's just midnight now, and between two and three in the morning we shall have light. i'll take the watch till then, and tom may as well be along with me. that big chap somehow seems to make one feel quite secure and safe."
-within five minutes silence once more reigned over the launch, while the moon peeped down upon a number of figures huddled in the well. the chinaman lay bunched in a little ball right aft, which he seemed to have appointed as his own particular quarters, while sam lay curled up like a faithful dog at his master's feet. the major sat beside the engine, a rifle barrel resting against his shoulder, and tom was perched on the rail, his big eyes searching every shadow, a smile of serene happiness on his face. and at length the morning came. while the moon still hung low in the sky, prepared to disappear altogether, a rosy hue lit up the dense banks of green on either hand, and, falling upon the tree trunks, brought them into prominence. swiftly the light increased in strength till the banks beneath the trees were visible. the surface of the water gleamed white and cold, and every feature of the launch stood out distinctly. it was time to move. the major rose from his seat and peered into the narrow channel through which he had not dared to take his men during the darkness. he was on the point of issuing an order when at a spot a little to the right, still hidden somewhat by the lack of light, a puff of white smoke was seen to burst. flame ringed it in the centre, while the smoke itself rose and spread in wide billows. something thudded heavily against the side of the launch, while an instant later a deafening report broke the morning silence, and reverberated along the forest.
-"eugh!" cried tom in alarm, his eyes prominent. "yo hear dat, massa? dem scum do as i say and start in right early. tom not like de bullets singing and humming about his head."
-as if the major could have failed to hear! he started violently as the report swept across the water, and then clambered across into the cab. jim and the others were already on their feet, while the crafty ching had uncurled himself, and now lay full length upon his face, a rifle at his shoulder.
-"do dat again and me fire fo sure," he cried. "mass jim, you call out if dis chinaboy to send dem a bullet."
-but jim had other matters to attend to, for he realized that any instant it might be necessary to set the launch in motion. he crawled along into the engine well, and with the light now to help him, had his motor running within the space of a few seconds.
-"one of you boys get that anchor lifted," commanded the major, his eyes fixed upon the spot from which the shot had come. "tomkins, just fix your sights 'way over at that corner, and if there's another shot, send 'em a bullet. you needn't be careless either; this time they're asking for a lesson."
-the words had hardly left his lips when another shot rang out from the bank, the smoke blowing up again into the cool morning air. it was followed by another and another, till from some twenty places smoke obscured the bank and the forest. as to the missiles, they flew, hummed, and screamed overhead, some dropping into the water beyond, others thudding against the far bank, while a few, just a few only, struck the launch, making her wooden sides rumble. not a man aboard was hit, though many escaped narrowly.
-"precious near every time," cried jim, reddening under the excitement, and finding it extremely difficult to refrain from bobbing. "gee! i declare that one of those bullets went within an inch of my arm while another struck the top of the cylinder here, and--hi! look at this!" he shouted.
-that last bullet had, in fact, done real damage; for it happened to be a big one, discharged from a huge muzzle-loader, sold to the man who had fired the weapon by men who palmed it off as of the latest construction. almost as big as a pigeon's egg, the mass of lead had struck the cylinder heavily, and with disasterous results. a column of water was spurting upward from the rent made in the copper cooling jacket.
-"done any damage? not harmed the engine, i hope?" said the major, looking across at jim, and then at tom, who meanwhile was tugging at the anchor chain. "i hear her running; that sounds hopeful."
-"we'll get along in spite of the damage, major," he sang out cheerily. "but i shall want a man along here to bail. ching, jest you hop in here with me and bring some sort of a pannikin."
-"got um! by de poker, but i tink dat anchor fixed down below beneath a rock," shouted tom at this instant, lurching back on the for'ard deck and just saving a fall into the well. "dat ting stick like wax, and tom not move um at fust. hi, by lummy, you ober dere, yo do dat again and tom say someting to yo. he skin yo alibe. he roast de flesh on yo bones and eat you."
-jim grinned; even in the midst of such excitement the huge negro amused him, so that he was forced to laugh. indeed the antics tom indulged in were enough to cause a shout of merriment. it seemed that a bullet, fired at him a second earlier, just as he was hauling up the anchor, had struck him on the back of the hand; and though it had done nothing more than break the skin, it had caused a great deal of pain. it was that, and the suddenness of it all, which had roused the ire of the negro.
-"you black son ob gun yo!" he bellowed, shaking a huge fist towards the bank from which the shot had come. "me break yo into little pieces, smash yo into fine jelly."
-"hop right down off that deck, and see that you've placed the anchor out of harm's way," commanded the major sharply. "bullets are bad enough, but when they ricochet from an anchor they give very nasty wounds. ah!"
-he had hardly finished speaking when there came another rolling discharge from the bank, followed by the rush of the bullets, and then by a dull thud. the officer commanding the expedition fell forward in the cab, struck his forehead against the edge, and subsided in a heap on the floor. instantly one of his men bent over him.
-"knocked silly, sir," he said, addressing jim. "what's to be done?"
-he looked at his two companions and awaited their answer. but one of them was busily engaged. tomkins crouched in the well, his rifle to his shoulder and a perfect stream of fire issuing from the muzzle. indeed, no one could have handled a magazine rifle better. but he came to the end of his supply of cartridges within a minute, and faced round quickly.
-"what's that?" he demanded anxiously. "the major hit? say, this is bad!"
-"knocked silly; not killed," explained his comrade, shooting a cartridge into his own barrel. "what's to be done?"
-tomkins cast a sympathetic glance at the major, and then across at the river bank. a second later his eyes strayed to jim's figure, and for a few moments he watched the young fellow as he tended to his engine, and with ching's help placed a board padded with oiled cotton waste over the rent in the cooling jacket.
-"see here," he cried abruptly. "the major's down. guess that young fellow had best take his place. he knows how to work this concern, and he ain't no fool by a long way. get to at it."
-he took it for granted that jim would accept the post of commander, and promptly turned towards the bank again, his magazine already replenished.
-meanwhile it may be wondered who had caused the whole commotion, who were the miscreants who had so suddenly and treacherously fired into the launch.
-five minutes almost had passed since the first shot came, when the banks were hardly visible. but the dawn comes quickly in the tropics. the day was full upon them now, and, looking up, jim could perceive the mass of tangled undergrowth beneath the forest trees, while right by the edge of the water were a number of dusky figures. if he could have had any reasonable doubt that they were natives tomkins speedily helped him to a decision. for the man was a first-class marksman, and now that the light was strong enough he began to make good use of his rifle. as jim stared at the bank, one of the dusky figures turned and scrambled towards the jungle. but it seemed that the man had already been hit; for suddenly he swerved and almost tumbled. then he faced round again, and stood unsteadily leaning on his weapon. the next instant a terrible shout escaped him; the native, for a dusky individual it was without question, dropped his weapon and thrust both arms high into the air. then he seemed to crumple up entirely, and, falling forward, rolled with a loud splash into the river. within a second a comrade had followed him to the same destination, dispatched thither by the policeman's unerring rifle.
-bang! bang! from a long length of the bank splashes of smoke came, and once more bullets sped towards the launch. jim heard their thudding, and even noted the various queer sounds they made, the dull blow of one striking her broadside, the cheep of another which merely grazed her rail, and then the nasty screaming of a missile which hit the anchor chain, and, being deflected in its course, rose almost vertically, and later on brought a shower of leaves from the trees beyond. but that was not all. two bullets at least passed with a peculiar whizz, and went on into the jungle on the other bank, as if they had been driven with greater force than all the rest.
-"revolvers!" exclaimed our hero at once. "tomkins, i think there were two revolver shots then. eh?"
-the man nodded; he had hardly time to speak.
-"guess so," he said abruptly. "revolvers--those villains we're after. they've set a whole crowd on to us."
-"then the sooner we are out of their reach the better. see here," cried jim; "try to find out where those particular ruffians have got to and pepper them. sam, get to the wheel; we'll make over to the far bank; that'll bother them."
-the motor buzzed and roared as he switched his levers forward, while the water pump gathered such power from the momentum that the pressure within the jackets increased wonderfully. ching, despite all his efforts and all his cunning, could no longer seal that rent made by the bullet. true, he reduced the leakage wonderfully; but from all round the margin a spray of hot water swept broadcast, quickly drenching our hero to the skin. it was a trifle, however: jim congratulated himself that he was not likely to be scalded.
-"with a motor on a car ashore it would be different," he told himself, as he put the launch in motion. "here the temperature cannot very well rise too high. she takes in her supply direct from the river, and pumps it right through the jackets and out again. swing her over, sam. see here, tomkins, i'm going straight for the far bank, and will swing round in a circle when i get near. we'll bring up end on, beneath a tree if possible; then we shall present less of a mark. ah! good shooting! that'll make 'em careful."
-as yet he had had no time in which to reckon the odds opposed to them, nor the imminence of the danger in which the expedition stood. minor matters occupied his attention, those and vague queries as to how he should proceed. he noted with satisfaction that tomkins and his two comrades were making excellent practice. at least half a dozen of the enemy had already fallen.
-"round with her, right round, sam," he commanded, when the launch was near the bank. "steady! back her! how's that for a tree?"
-with sam aiding him at the wheel, and he himself controlling the pace of the launch, jim soon manoeuvred her beneath a tree which swept its branches right into the water. then he threw his lever out, slowed the motor, and crawled into the cab. with tom's help he laid the major on his back and carefully searched for a wound. and very soon they came upon the result of the bullet. there was a huge, discoloured bump on the top of his head, while an ugly graze crossed the forehead. for the rest, he was breathing deeply and regularly, while the pupils were equal.
-"bullet knock de sense clean out ob him head," explained tom, as if he were completely conversant with the matter. "knock de massa major silly. to-morrow, when he wake up and come to himself, he hold de hands to him head. oh, how him ache! him feel more silly den dan he look now. but, massa jim, dis a bit ob hot stuff. dis quite all right. once de fun begin tom like it hot and plenty. yo bide little bit; soon dem debil fire away all dere powder and ball. den time to make a move; den tom hab someting more to say about de wound. yo see dat!" and he held out a bruised and swollen hand for jim's inspection; "scum of a black nigger do dat. yo see. tom not forget when de time come."
-really the big fellow was too much for jim. grave though the situation was, he was forced to laugh again. for tom did not stop at threats; his words lost all their impressiveness without the gestures. and the latter, terribly fierce though they were--for when he bared his teeth in a snarl no one could look more like a demon than tom--were instantly banished and forgotten by the fellow's well-known merry smile. tom's six-foot smile was too catching. his comical face never failed to draw laughter from his audience.
-"if you stand up and expose your ugly head like that you won't be left when the powder has been done with!" exclaimed jim severely, suppressing his mirth. "now, listen to this: tom will watch up stream, ching will keep a lookout in the downward direction, while sam will hop ashore. don't go more than a few feet away, lad," he warned the little negro. "just enough to keep us from being surprised, and to allow you to rejoin instantly. say, tomkins, supposing we give over firing?"
-a flushed face turned towards him, while the policeman regarded our hero as if he thought him demented.
-"let 'em go on shootin' and not answer!" he gasped. "why, of all----"
-"it's like this," explained jim curtly. "all the time you fire they know where we're lying. i don't say we're likely to get bad wounds at this distance, for most of the weapons yonder are gas barrels, i reckon, but a revolver bullet might hit by accident, and then it'd be a case with one of us."
-there was indecision on tomkins's face for the space of a few seconds. to tell the truth, though an excellent fellow, he was one who boasted unusual independence, both in word and act, and while it was a fact that he had suggested that jim should take the major's place, he had taken it for granted that orders from our hero would not be very frequent, and that he would mainly direct by managing his motor, and seeing that a course was steered. and here he was fighting the vessel. there was something approaching a scowl on tomkins's face as the thought flashed across his brain. he swung round to look at the enemy. but a second later he was glancing up at jim once more, his weapon idle beside him.
-"you're a conjuror, i guess," he said abruptly. "i'd forgotten those revolvers. i thought your suggestion was a bad one; then, blessed if one of them rascals didn't drop in a shot. look there! he winged me!"
-he grinned as he held out a finger of his left hand for inspection.
-"that's what i got for being foolish. you're right, sir," he said with decision. "what next?"
-"see that you don't touch the branches overhead. they'd see them moving from the far side. sam there? come aboard. now," he went on, when the negro had dropped into the well of the launch, "not a sound from anyone. they won't hear the motor while she is running light. we'll run down stream under the trees, and then make a break into the open. a hundred-yards start will allow us to laugh at all their weapons."
-there was agreement on all the faces about him. tomkins nodded very decidedly, showing that the plan met with his approval.
-"then lie out there right forward, tom," said jim, lowering his tones. "those long arms of yours will do as fenders. push us off if we get too near to a tree. but don't touch 'em if you can help it. get on to that wheel, sam; i'm moving off at once."
-he threw in his lever and set the propeller turning very slowly, but the launch felt the effect instantly. she was already heading in the right direction, and at once began to glide away beneath the leafy covering. it happened, too, that she was able to pursue this course for more than a hundred yards before a break in the bank, where there had been a species of landslide, and where the trees receded sharply, caused her to come into the open.
-"take her clear into the centre, and then head her for the lagoon," said jim, calling gently to sam. "tom, slip back into the cab. all hands keep their heads as low as possible. don't fire a shot unless there's actual need, and if there's trouble, let every man who has no other special duty pepper those rascals for all they're worth. over with her."
-bizz! gurr! gurr! the motor roared at his bidding, while the propeller lashed the shallow water into foam. ching grabbed at the covering placed over the rent in the water jacket, and then turned his face from the engine. for, though there was nothing there to harm one, still the spray forced in all directions by the pump was disagreeable, to say the least of it, and made seeing almost impossible! bizz! gurr! the launch shot down the last few yards of the dark lane beneath the trees. sam, his eye fixed on the opening, swung his wheel right over, while jim nudged his levers a trifle higher. the planks at his feet had started to dither again, and practice told him that the vessel must be moving. but they were not shaking and vibrating to such an extent as to make standing upon them uncomfortable. there was no need for such an exhibition of haste yet awhile.
-"might bust the jacket altogether," jim told himself. "might have a bad breakdown. better get along as we are. i can squeeze a little more out of her if there's occasion. ah, here she goes round into the open!"
-turning abruptly, as sam swung the wheel over, the launch canted on her heel till a stream of water swamped far up the rail-less deck astern. the bows lifted from the surface in spite of tom's enormous weight, while a big bow wave collected beneath her cutwater, and, gathering in size as the propeller shot the boat forward, was presently spreading across the surface of the river, and washing heavily against the nearest bank. straight as a dart the vessel was directed to the point that jim had mentioned. she cut obliquely across the stream, and, almost before those aboard could have believed it possible, was heeling again to the swerve of her rudder.
-"done them brown. cut out below them, and left 'em well behind. boys!" cried tomkins, beside himself with delight, "i 'low as we've something to thank the chief for. he's done a cute thing; he's stolen a real march on them blackguards."
-"not know so much, siree," answered tom from his post in the cab, where he had retired at jim's orders. "massa jim all right, don't you fear. he know right well what him up to; but what yo say to dat, and to dat? dem bullets buzz too close fo tom's likin'."
-that the passage of the launch had been observed there could not now be a shadow of doubt, for the far side of the river had already displayed several patches of smoke, billowing from the rifles of the enemy. but tomkins laughed at the idea that they could prove harmful.
-"jest you squat right down here at my feet, darkie," he laughed. "then you won't have no cause to get wonderin' whether a bullet's coming along. fer me, i guess as we're well out of a ruction that looked at one time likely to get too hot fer anything. you ain't got sich a thing as a light along of you?"
-tom grunted. it annoyed the big fellow to have a recommendation to place himself in safety. his eyes gleamed white in the morning light; his sharp teeth gritted together.
-"yo policeman," he said, as he extracted his pipe from his pocket, and still leaned on the edge of the cab, within full view of those on the bank of the river, "yo tomkins, yo ain't the only one as wants a smoke. by gum, but tom like a draw too, 'specially early in de mornin', when dere a chance of gettin' a bullet. yo sit right there and wait. matches ain't so plentiful in this locality."
-he stuffed his pipe methodically and slowly. then he put the stem between his teeth and, slowly again, struck one of his matches. he was on the point of offering the light to the policeman when a sudden exclamation came from sam.
-"look dar!" he shouted. "not tink dat good for dis here party. tings is all changed round. dey's chasin' us instead of we bein' after dem. massa jim, dis am a bit of a conundrum."
-conundrum or not, the situation was sufficiently serious. even tomkins went red and hot as he realized to the full the gravity of this new movement. for the motor launch was not the only one on the river. the launch on which the two ruffians had escaped from colon, and which they themselves had chased in the late hours of the previous night, was now chasing them, but under altered circumstances. there were fifty dark figures swarming over her decks.
-"right straight down the centre!" cried jim, waving to sam. "you hold on dead straight unless i give you an order. i think we shall just clear her."
-but would they? that was the question. the steam launch which had disappeared so mysteriously on the previous night had suddenly darted out from the opposite bank of the river, her decks crowded with men. moreover, she was fully prepared for a speedy journey, for steam was hissing and whistling from her escape. there was a white wave under her foot, a spreading surf behind her, while the course she followed promised to bring her alongside jim's vessel before the latter could make her way down the long stretch of water that led to the lagoon. indeed it looked very much as if the stranger would intercept their passage, and then--what was the prospect?
-"boys," called out jim after a minute, during which time he had pushed his throttle and ignition levers as far forward as was possible, "see here, boys, there may be a tussle before us. get to work right now with your rifles. give it to 'em hot. we may be able to scare 'em."
-pip! pop! the sharp reports of the government rifles punctuated the semi-silence which followed, while screams of rage came from the crowded decks of the enemy. pip! pop! tomkins and his friends splashed their bullets in the centre of the throng, and sent more than one of the dusky warriors rolling. meanwhile, under jim's guiding hand, the motor launch sped faster towards the lagoon, till her whole frame shivered and vibrated. in such acute cases a second's space of time will change the complexion of matters entirely, will advance the fortunes of one party against those of the other. and here there was an illustration of the fact. jim's engine raced madly, while the propeller took a firm grip of the water. the vessel bounded forward at a pace which easily outdistanced that of the steam launch. very soon it became apparent that jim and his friends would slip past the launch that was steaming from the opposite bank to intercept them.
-"keep at it with those rifles, boys!" he shouted, delighted at the turn matters had taken, and, heedless of the spray of water which gushed in all directions from the rent in the cooling jacket of the motor. "keep down their fire, and if you catch a sight of those rascals, pepper them properly. hooray! we'll best 'em yet."
-"run past dem as if they was lame and walking," sang out tom, bubbling over with excitement. "den turn and gib dem what fo. yo tink dat good advice, massa. yo do as i say; den we knock dem into little pieces. tom able to find de blackguard dat fired dat shot; den smash um to a jelly."
-but seconds bring great changes in the fortunes of parties, as we have already observed, and now, having smiled upon jim and his comrades, dame fortune--a fickle dame at any time--turned her face from them. that rent in the water jacket, the spray which the pump forced past the plug which ching held in position, proved the undoing of the party. the rhythmical buzz of the engine suddenly ceased. the explosions came haltingly, while the revolutions lessened sensibly, so much so as to reduce the speed of the boat. then jim's practised ear told him that the ignition had given out, that the vital spark, without which the motor was useless and now deficient, had been cut off, and thus the motor had been sent adrift. let us express the matter in proper terms--the flow of water had smothered the magneto, and the current was shorted; no longer did it flow uninterrupted and insulated to the cylinders. it expended its force elsewhere, sent sparks flashing about the magneto, and in the short space of a minute entirely stopped the motor. but the steam launch made no pause in her progress. she pushed on towards the stranded boat swiftly, while a shriek of delight and triumph burst from the horde of natives crowding her decks.
-tall and lean, the natives aboard the steam launch were plainly visible for a moment, so much so that jim, having regarded his useless motor desperately for some few seconds, was compelled to give his attention to the enemy. tall and thin, each one of the natives was almost naked. their bodies were painted with broad stripes of white, which at a distance made one think of skeletons; while vermilion was daubed on the cheeks, giving each individual the same air of ferocity. for the rest, these men wore their long hair plaited into queues, and bore about their persons a simple belt in which a long knife was suspended.
-but when events are moving fast, and disaster stares one in the face, details and trifles escape attention. jim and his comrades had their safety to think of, so that it is not wonderful that they failed to observe too closely the appearance of their dusky enemies. but however urgent the position, none could fail to see the short spears, with long narrow blades attached to them, which each dusky warrior carried. half a dozen at least were gripped in each left hand, while the right held a single one in readiness to discharge it. as for the gun, the cheap gas barrels with which these wretched natives had been supplied, they were without exception muzzle loaders; and now that events were moving so fast and so furiously there was hardly time to load. a few of the men handled their ramrods, but the rest had discarded their weapons and stood prancing upon the deck of the launch, causing her to heave and roll dangerously, and prepared to throw their spears the instant they came within range of jim and his party. it was not until that moment that our hero realized that if their fortunes were desperate they were at least lucky in one particular.
-"gee, ain't i glad!" he exclaimed. "from what phineas told me i quite expected them to be armed with bows and arrows--the latter poisonous. tomkins, you and your men had best concentrate your force aft of the launch, where the engine is. i caught a glimpse of those rascals there; and though i don't suppose that the death of one or both would cause the gang to sheer off, yet it might do so, and in any case if we could put them out of action there would be no white man to lead the natives."
-"right, sir, right," came from tomkins instantly, while he and his two comrades promptly moved to the back of the cab, from which point they could best command that portion of the launch upon which they were instructed to concentrate their fire.
-"you, tom and sam, fire on the natives," shouted jim. "i'm going to help you. ching, get hold of some of that clean cotton waste and wipe up all round this magneto. dry every part you can, and don't forget those plugs on top of the cylinders."
-he had already pointed out the ignition plugs to the chinaman, for they, like the rest of the engine, had been heavily sprayed with water. then he seized a rifle, jerked the magazine open as the major had instructed him when they first set out on the expedition, and levelled his sights upon the advancing natives.
-by now the latter were dangerously near, and already clouds of spears were flying. it looked as if within a few seconds the steam launch would be right alongside, and the black demons aboard her hurling themselves upon the decks of the motor. but suddenly there came a high-pitched shriek amidst the howls of the enemy, and to the relief of all in jim's party the course of the other vessel was abruptly altered. she shot away obliquely to the left, while one of the white men who had been manning the wheel was seen to tumble backwards.
-"a grand shot," shouted jim. "now is our time to get this motor running. out of the way, ching, and let me get to her. we'll see how she'll run without water in her jackets."
-the idea had suddenly flashed into his brain, and he proceeded promptly to put it into execution. but, first of all, now that he had a short breathing space, it was necessary to supervise the work that ching had been doing.
-"it'll take 'em a good five minutes to round up and get back here within range," he told himself, glancing across at the enemy. "that splendid shot and the fall of their steersman have caused no end of confusion, and now is the time to best them."
-laying his rifle down hurriedly, he bent over the magneto and seized a handful of dry cotton waste.
-"me mop up all de water," grinned ching, looking the coolest person aboard the launch. indeed, there seemed to be little doubt that he was actually the least concerned of all the party, for his inexpressive features had not changed in the slightest. there was not so much as a tinge of red in his sallow cheeks, sure indication of some excitement. his almond eyes--all aslant, as is common to this eastern race--regarded jim, the useless motor, and the howling band of natives steaming across the water with the same tranquillity. "wipey all de water up, mass jim," he repeated. "now, s'pose you start him. he go velly nicely p'laps. den run away from dem rascals, and ching put de kettle on, hab someting to eat, 'cos ching hungry, velly."
-"get out of this!" cried jim irritably. "breakfast, man! why, if we don't get out of this in the next few minutes there won't be one of us left to take a bite!"
-he pushed the chinaman to one side, and rapidly ran over his ignition system. ching had done his work with that painstaking thoroughness for which the chinaman is noted, and though hollows and crevices in and about the motor still held pools of water, the vital parts were dry.
-"then i'll try it," he said. "those beggars have managed to turn rather quicker than i had imagined; but if i can only get her going within a minute we ought to be able to escape them. ah! here come their bullets again, boys; get in at them with your rifles."
-"a cork! a cork!" he cried. "something with which to fill this port."
-he leant over the side of the vessel and pointed out the opening to ching. and the wily, cunning chinee immediately came to his assistance.
-"a cork, sah; i's got the velly thing. you wantee someting to push in dere. ching hab plenty fine cork."
-he moved with exasperating slowness across the engine well, and rummaged in a locker in which his cooking utensils were stored. there came the characteristic sound of a bung being extracted from a bottle, and then ching came back again, still slowly, still unconcernedly, still with that unruffled countenance.
-"he, he, he! him come out of the vinegar bottle," he giggled. "him one velly fine cork, mass jim. but yo gib him back when yo finished? eh? velly fine cork dat."
-jim snatched it from his hand without ceremony, in fact with a brusqueness altogether foreign to him. then he leaned over the side of the launch and gave a shout of triumph when he discovered that ching had supplied him with an article which fitted nicely. he rammed it home forcibly, driving his fist through the water against the cork. then he bounded to the engine, jerked the starting handle into position, and sent the motor whirling. bizz! she was off. the engine went away with an encouraging roar, while but a few ounces of water escaped from the rent in her jacket.
-"wipe it up," he commanded ching. "and guess you'd better keep clear of the magneto and plugs and suchlike. if you touched them you'd get a shock that would knock you endways. gee! ain't she buzzing! hooray! we'll best them."
-sam was already at the steering wheel of the launch, watching his master out of the corner of his big eyes, and paying some attention to the enemy. indeed he would not have been human had he failed to cast more than one anxious look in their direction. sam was not the same stolid, supernaturally unemotional individual as the chinaman. he had nerves; excitement told on the little fellow.
-"dey almighty near, sah," he sang out. "dat motor goin'? den, fo' goodness sake, put de gear in, push on, get away from dem demon."
-"dodge 'em; swing her about. put out their aim," jim called to him, and at once pushed his gear lever home. then, like the practical young man he was, he reached over to his lubricators and sent them dripping at a pace which, while they would not flood the engine and overlubricate her, would still supply a more abundant amount than usual, and so in a measure serve to counteract the want of water cooling.
-"she's bound to run hotter," jim told himself, "and as a permanent arrangement the thing wouldn't do; but for the time being it's got to. round with her, sam."
-the launch meanwhile had floated quietly on the surface of the river, and, owing to the fact that her propeller was stationary, being thrown out of gear by the failure of the engine, she had lost steerage way, and had drifted completely round. she was heading upstream when jim set her propeller thrashing the water again, and for a while she raced away from the other vessel, the manoeuvre drawing shrill yells of rage from the natives. but sam had her in hand. the fine little fellow had not been with jim and his father all this time without learning how to steer a launch, and at once, with a glance over his shoulder, he sent his wheel round, causing the boat to flop over and heel till her rail was almost under the surface. round she spun on her keel, and within the half-minute was heading direct for the enemy. a growl broke from tomkins as he laid his cheek once more down on the butt of his rifle.
-"this time guess we'll make hay with 'em," he shouted. "don't you be in too much of a hurry, sir. you can make rings all round 'em and still keep out of range. dare say their bullets'll reach right enough, but they won't strike hard enough to hurt more'n a fly. it's the spears i'm frightened of."
-and everyone else, too; for the natives aboard the oncoming launch had again discarded their firearms, and were now standing, spear in hand ready poised, waiting for the moment when they might cast them. sam gave every dusky warrior a start when he headed the launch direct for them. it looked as if he were bent on a collision; but a minute later, when effective range for the spear throwers had almost been reached, he put his wheel over again, and shot the launch away at a right angle. then a figure aboard the enemy was seen to rise erect beside her steering gear, and within the space of a few seconds she paid off in the same direction as jim's craft had taken--on a course, in fact, which would bring the two boats alongside very shortly. either that or they must run hard into the bank.
-"right round with her again; dodge them!" shouted jim, his heart in his mouth. "then take her up stream a little. we have the legs of them, and if only we can shake them clear for a while we shall get past them."
-that was the difficulty. the enemy remained all the while between them and the lagoon, and in that direction safety lay. even a swift boat such as the motor launch had proved herself to be could not slip by easily, unless she risked running so close into the other as to place her crew in danger of those terrible spears; but sam seemed fully to have realized the difficulty, and at jim's command he brought the boat heeling round again. hardly three lengths separated the combatants when he swung the wheel again, and, driven by her fast-rotating propeller, the launch shot obliquely up the stream, leaving the other heading helplessly for the bank. tom roared with delight, brandishing his rifle overhead, while ching giggled and simpered as if he looked upon the thing as a glorious joke. but jim's face was set and stern. he had been so close when the vessel turned that he had been able to look into the eyes of the natives; and the ferocity of their appearance, their terrible shrieks and howls, and the cloud of spears which they had discharged brought realistically to him the depth of their danger. within a foot of his hand a spear stood quivering, the blade sunk deeply in the woodwork. it needed but a glance to tell him that the weapon was capable of dealing death to anyone. however, they were out of range now, and the time had come to practise a further manoeuvre. jim waved his hand in sam's direction.
-"over," he shouted. "let her rip for the lagoon."
-meanwhile the course of the other launch had been hurriedly arrested; for the ruffian aboard her was a clever skipper, and handled the craft with decision. the waters churned into white foam beneath her rudder, and before jim and his friend had completed their slanting run upstream the rascal had his boat running rapidly astern in an effort to intercept them.
-"gee, he'll do it, too!" shouted tomkins. "say, sir, we'll have to charge them. but that would mean the end of everything for them and for us."
-jim shook his head emphatically. "you're asking for a funeral," he said bluntly. "we've got to dodge 'em, even if we play at the game for the rest of the morning. steady there, sam; do anything rather than let them get within close range of us. boys, if only you could pick off that rascal who commands them we would soon make an end of the others."
-but the man aboard the other boat proved to be as crafty as he was capable. true, they had obtained a clear view of him on one occasion, at least, when he had dashed for the steering gear of his vessel. but now a gaudily painted native occupied that responsible position, while the spaniard himself lay out of sight in the engine well, but near enough to prompt him. the rim of his hat could be seen on occasion as he glanced across at jim and his party. as for our hero, seeing that the course was blocked, and that for the moment their escape was cut off, he coolly threw his lever out of gear and slowed down his engine. then he reversed his propellor for a while until the launch had come to a standstill.
-"two can play at this sort of game," he told himself. "we'll wait and see what that fellow proposes to do; but listen here, tomkins, and you other fellows. next time we attempt a rush we have to make a big impression on these natives. we'll get them end on, if we can, and then try them with volleys. we want to make every shot tell, and that hasn't been the case up to the present. a moving target isn't too easy to hit from a launch when she's heaving and rolling."
-"lummy! look dere! by de poker, dere more of de scum. yo see dem black sons ob guns coming right away dere? dey likely to be very troublesome."
-it taxed the perception of all to decide where this new arrival could have come from; for up till that moment the banks on either hand had seemed to be untenanted. not a shot had come from them for quite a while, and all imagined that every native taking part in this sudden and unprovoked attack upon jim and his comrades was embarked aboard the other launch. and here, as tom had brought to their notice, was another boat, steering out from a bank to join her consort. it was a long, dark-coloured craft, with sides protruding some little distance out of the water, a stem erected high into the air, and bearing upon it a hideous carving, while astern there was a platform perched up on the post, and squatted upon it a painted and feathered savage, whose steering oar controlled the course of the vessel. as for her crew, a swarm of natives filled her from end to end; those in advance standing ready, spear in hand, to join in the engagement, while the remainder, situated aft, squatted on the floor and churned the water with their paddles. in a little while she had come alongside the steamer, which now rested across the centre of the stream.
-"they'll talk for a bit now, i guess," growled tomkins. "then, like as not, they'll make a dash for it. this here business ain't going to be ended without a rare lot of bloodletting. it's that launch that's the bother. she ain't as quick as we are, but she's swift enough to turn and stop us now that she's got a position downstream. if only we had half a dozen more men aboard here! i wouldn't funk, then, running aboard her. we'd show 'em who was going ter be master."
-the man's eyes were set and shining. there was a good deal of the bull dog about tomkins, and one had only to glance at him to feel satisfied that when the crisis came the american could be trusted.
-"as ef we was goin' down before a lot of black chaps same as they are!" he growled. "but you can't get away from numbers. it's the crowd that tells, and ef we lets 'em get close enough ter get their teeth fixed--gee, it'll be a case! funerals ain't in it. i for one ain't goin' ter drop into the hands of sich rascals. i'll clear out all i can, and then----"
-his eyes were bent on his rifle, while his fingers--strong, brown fingers--played with the lock.
-gurr! jim switched the conversation in another direction by throwing his gear in. "they're moving," he said. "best get steerage way on the boat. see here, boys, we've a heap of room upstream, and if they don't separate directly i shall run up gently. we've always enough water to turn in, and if only we can once fool the launch, and get by her, i don't care a row of chips for the other craft. i'll run her down in a winking. ah, they're coming along! swing her over, sam. there's no hurry: we'll see if the movement won't make them part company."
-but the steamer and the huge war canoe held together. in fact, ropes had been passed from one to the other, and the launch provided the power. but men were stationed ready to cast off the bonds between them, so that each craft could go separately. jim's sudden movement produced nothing more than a howl, while the steamer swung gently over towards him.
-"that'll suit me as well as anything," he cried. "let 'em hold together. i'll tempt them across towards this bank, then double and be away before they can cut the canoe adrift. how's that?"
-the enemy answered the question. for, of a sudden, the ropes were cast off, the canoe lay to in the centre of the stream, while the launch steamed to intercept the other. it was a crafty move on the part of the rascal who commanded the natives; for now he could rush at jim. if he failed to come to grips with him, and the latter attempted to slip downstream, there was a formidable obstacle which was by no means to be sneered at because she had no motor aboard. there were lusty arms to ply the paddles, and when the backs of the natives were bent to the work they could make their craft slip through the water at a pace which had to be witnessed to be believed.
-"round we go, upstream for the moment," called jim to the negro at the wheel. "easy does it: i'm only letting my motor out a little. we'll make things hum before we have finished. she's coming along too. well, we'll make a race of it to the far side of the river."
-all the time he was attempting to get the enemy so near one bank that, in the race across to the other, the launch propelled by an internal-combustion motor, which had already proved herself far the speedier, would outstrip the other by so much that it would be safe to head downstream and sweep past her without risking those formidable spears. but always there was the crafty ruffian aboard the steamer to be reckoned with. he turned as jim's craft ran direct across to the far bank, and followed swiftly. then, as the motor launch approached close to the far bank, the rascal coolly stopped his engine. when sam swung his boat round again the enemy had actually gained. a direct run upstream would almost allow him to meet the motor launch.
-"gee, he's got us there!" cried jim, disappointment in his voice. "i thought we were going to do the trick nicely. but wait a little: we'll be more successful on the second occasion. run her slick across, sam," he called. "i'm going to try and trick him."
-there is little doubt that had the enemy desired it he could almost have arrested their progress on this occasion, or forced jim and his party to change their course. but the commander of the steamer had his own ideas as to how to accomplish his purpose. ching simpered when he discovered the truth of the matter, but had the good sense to mention his fears to our hero.
-"oh, him one velly clever person!" he giggled. "yo see what him up to, mass jim. all de time him run across alongside ob us him slippey nearer and nearer. presently him so close dat de black man able to dig dere spears in."
-jim shivered in spite of the heat, for the sun was now streaming down upon the contestants. then he looked closely at the enemy, and realized that ching had given him valuable information. for though the steamer was cutting across the river on an apparently parallel course to his own, yet all the while her steersman was jerking his helm over, bringing her by degrees closer to jim and his party. it was a difficulty which needed to be faced promptly, and jim's lips were hard set together as he made his plans to meet it. very gradually he slowed down his motor, keeping a keen eye all the while upon the stern of the steamer, where white foam showed how her propeller was working.
-"i don't know that his game won't suit me very well after all," he said to himself. "so long as he actually doesn't come within spear range of us we are all right, and my aim all the while is to get him dead on a line with us. once there he can't catch us by suddenly swerving off from his course, as was nearly the case this last time. sam, boy," he called out, "when i shout, bring her clear round and face her back on her tracks right away for the other side. tomkins, you can get your men ready for a little bit of quick business."
-for the past five minutes not a shot had left the rifles of his comrades, though an occasional ball came from the deck of the steamer. it was remarkable that the rascal there made no attempt to use his revolver; but perhaps he had run out of ammunition, and in any case the management of the craft occupied all his attention. as to the men under jim's command, all wore a grim determined expression. even ching seemed to take some definite interest in the adventure, and, though one could not be quite sure of the matter, those slanting, almond eyes bore just the merest trace of anxiety. otherwise, there was tense excitement on board, for by now each man had realized the nature of the manoeuvre about to be attempted, and the narrow margin which must necessarily lie between themselves and safety. it was tomkins who put in an encouraging word.
-"jest you get in at it, pard," he said, moistening the palms of his hands preparatory to gripping his rifle. "you ain't got no cause to fear that we won't fight. when the ruction comes you can count on us, every blessed mother's son of us; and, see here, siree, ef you don't happen to bring off this trick, and there's a chance of them chaps driving us up into a corner, jest round her and go baldheaded for 'em. i'm getting sick of this here runnin'."
-his two comrades nodded curtly to show that this statement met with their full approval, while tom, the noble fellow, who always seemed to carry his young master's interests uppermost in his mind, stepped across to the rear edge of the cab and leaned over towards the motor.
-"we ain't gwine to knuckle down to dem black niggers," he said in a voice which was meant to be a confidential whisper, but which as an actual fact was a deep-chested roar that wellnigh drowned the noise of the engine. "yo ain't got no cause to fear, 'cos this here boy and all de odders wants to get back right along home again. we ain't a-goin' to let scum like this stan' in de way. nebber. we's gwine to do as we wants. sam, jest see that you're nippy."
-tom gave his master one of his most expansive smiles; then, as if to relieve his overwrought feelings, he swung round and glowered upon the harmless but extremely energetic sam. indeed, if the fortunes of the day were due to some extent to those who had wielded rifles, they were none the less the work of jim and sam and ching between them, while at this very critical moment they may rightly be said to have rested in the hands of our hero and the little negro only.
-jim glanced swiftly across at the steamer. by now she was almost abreast of them, and if only he had but known it her commander was on the point of bringing his scheme to a termination by a rapid movement. he imagined that the slowing down of the launch was due again to further trouble of her motor. it was distinctly an opportunity to be snatched at, and, with a promptness which did him credit, he caused his steersman to swing his helm over. in an instant the steamer had changed her course and was heading for the broadside of the other vessel.
-it is one of the advantages of a gasolene motor, that the engine is capable of instant acceleration. a second before it had been purring gently, whilst the propeller was barely turning; but now the machinery gave out a sudden roar, while every plank and strut aboard shivered and vibrated. under her keel the blades of her propeller churned the stream into milky foam, while the craft itself gathered way promptly. once more she rolled heavily as sam swung his wheel. then she came round on her former course as if she were a living thing that understood, and was in full sympathy with the work expected of her. she bounded forward, raising her bows clear of the water, and by the time she had reached midstream had gained five lengths on the steamer.
-"edge her down, sam; edge her down," urged jim, giving hasty directions to his steersman. "be ready to bring her over. that will be the time for you, tomkins, and the others with the rifles."
-it hardly needs the telling that the din from those aboard the steamer was now bewildering and deafening. but a few short seconds before the game had seemed entirely in their hands; it looked as though they would be aboard the other craft in a twinkling. now they were hopelessly left behind; every instant made their failure more certain. puffs of smoke burst from the crowded decks, while the huge bullets discharged from the gas barrels owned by the natives splashed all round jim and his friends. then there was a roar of anger as the launch turned once more on her heel, exposing her bottom boards right down to the keel as she rolled to the movement. a cloud of useless spears filled the air, while right aft of the steamer a figure sprang on to the stern deck waving both arms and shouting furiously. tomkins's eye fell upon the man, and he gripped hard to the rail of the vessel to steady himself whilst she was rolling. then down came his rifle, the weapon cracked forth a bullet, and the figure beyond collapsed across the engine and was hidden from view in the depth of the well which housed it. there were others amongst the natives who met with their deserts about the same moment; while, as if to put the question of the steamer's further utility entirely beyond discussion, there came suddenly from the neighbourhood of her funnel a thick column of hissing steam which rose in clouds over the river.
-"i guess i'd had to shoot him," declared tomkins grimly; "and well he deserved it. say, sir, you needn't think no more of that steamer, for she's put clean out of the running. reckon a bullet found her boiler and plugged a hole clean through it."
-whatever the cause of that cloud of escaping steam the effect was to bring the launch to a standstill. indeed the position of affairs seemed to have become suddenly reversed. a little while before it had been jim's motor which was hors de combat. he and his friends were stranded and helpless on the water. now the situation was pleasantly reversed. as tomkins had said, the steamer was out of the running.
-"dead straight ahead for them," called jim, his eye fixed upon the huge war canoe hovering farther down the stream. "if they swerve, swing over towards them, and, when within a couple or more lengths, cut off in the other direction. don't forget to keep them a spear throw from us."
-"and meanwhile pepper 'em with the rifles, eh?" asked tomkins, grinning over his shoulder, and wearing now a very different expression to the grim, determined look he had shown but a short while before. "pepper 'em nicely, eh, so as to give 'em a taste of what's coming?"
-but jim shook his head decidedly. "there's been enough bloodlettin' already," he said, using the very words which the policeman had employed already. "we've done well with these other fellows, and have shot the two rascals for whom we came in this direction. these ignorant natives don't know any better. guess we'll give 'em a chance."
-a flush of vexation rose to tomkins's face as he heard his suggestion scouted. he turned with shining eyes upon our hero, and doubtless, had the incident happened some few hours before, would have blurted out a protest. but jim's manly form, his stern, set face, and his coolness disarmed the policeman and smoothed down his ruffled temper. he recollected that it was to our hero's guidance that the party, so far, owed in great measure its security. the young fellow had done right well, as his worst enemy must needs admit. then why should he, tomkins, step in to disturb him? true, jim was not his lawful commander; but then he himself had placed the lad in that position of responsibility, while a sense of discipline urged him to support one who filled the post of officer.
-"dash it all, man," he growled, "play the game! don't he deserve it?"
-"right, sir," he said pleasantly, turning to jim. "you've shown us a cool head so far, and, gee! if i don't think you'll pull us through this business. not a trigger will we draw on those darkies till you give the word, or till there's actual reason to teach them a lesson. now, sonny, you ain't got no need to glare at me as if i'd stolen yer last dollar. i ain't done nothing to hurt your master."
-it was tom to whom he addressed himself on this last occasion, for the watchful negro had overheard the words which had passed between jim and the policeman. incensed at tomkins's seeming disloyalty, and always eager to protect our hero, tom was on the verge of indignation. his big, broad face, which had lost its happy smile since the beginning of the action, now wore an expression akin to anger. his sharp, white teeth were gritted together, while he leaned toward the policeman as if he would do him an injury. but in an instant his manner changed. tom could not be resentful for more than a moment; besides, there were other pressing matters to engage his attention.
-"yo hab a care, yo policeman," he cried; "me smash dem niggers easy. if me commence on yo, knock de stuffing out ob yo altogether, make yo terrible ill and shaky. savvy dat? den put dem in yo pipe and smoke dem."
-but tomkins had already turned away from him with a grin and a shrug of his shoulders, while jim silenced the negro peremptorily.
-"get a grip of that pole," he cried, nodding to the one that tom had used on the previous evening, "just in case they happen to come within close distance of us. i hope they won't. we ought to run slick past them."
-and that, in fact, seemed to be the most likely termination of the matter, though it was a little disconcerting to notice that the huge war canoe still lay stationary in the very centre of the river. so far it had not been necessary for sam to swerve the launch in the slightest, and now, as before, she was running head on towards the enemy. in a minute it would be necessary to cut away to one side or the other, the choice resting entirely with sam, the negro. deliberately he swung his wheel to the right, and shot the launch obliquely across the river. at the very same instant the man squatting upon the high platform right aft of the canoe shouted, and some fifty paddles plunged into the water. with incredible speed the native craft made off, and shot forward at an angle which would bring her alongside the launch. in spite of the latter's speed it became evident, with startling suddenness, that she could not escape contact with the enemy. it was sam who decided the course of jim's party. he bent over his steering wheel till he seemed to hug it. then he twisted it to the left abruptly.
-"down under with you all!" shouted jim. "we shall strike her. tom, get your pole ready." but the negro's services were not required, for the collision and all that followed was ended with startling swiftness. the bows of the launch swung round till they pointed but a few feet ahead of the canoe. then they came round a little more, while a terrible shout burst from the enemy. there was a gentle shock as the launch struck the stem post of the huge native craft, spears rattled upon her deck, and then they were passed. as for the canoe, the collision had driven her to one side just as she had seemed on the point of running along in close company with the launch. she was now some twenty yards in rear, her crew paddling hopelessly. that she had very nearly run aboard jim's boat there could be no doubt, for one of the warriors had actually managed to leap forward and reach her. tom discovered him clinging to the rail amidships, his mouth wide open to hold his spears.
-"oh, dat yo, my frien'!" he laughed, peering over at him. "you hab a free ride all fo' noding. but goodbye now. sorry to lose yo: we a bit in a hurry."
-the burly fellow pushed his pole beneath the man, and by sheer strength lifted him clear out of the water. he held him there for a little while, casting choice expressions at him, then he cast him back into the water, as if the native were some species of fish for which tom had no use whatever.
-"lucky him swim so well," he laughed. "tom almost sorry he not kill um. not so sure dat blackguard not de one who shoot and hit him hand."
-"nonsense!" cried jim. "nothing of the sort. that man was aboard the steamer. stand out of the way, tom! i think we may take it easily."
-there was, in fact, no longer any reason for haste; therefore jim slowed down his motor. they cruised slowly across the lagoon, and lay close to its exit. there, with the help of the kit of tools carried aboard, and a strip of tinned iron cut from a biscuit box, our hero effected a temporary repair to the water jacket, soldering the patch into position. it was a triumphant crew which returned to colon, for the major was himself again, and their duty was accomplished.
-an american undertaking
-"i never did meet such a fellow as you, jim partington," cried phineas barton, when our hero and his comrades turned up at the house situated above the huge dam of gatun, in progress of building. "no, never before. you get introduced to me after a likely enough adventure. perhaps i ought to say that i was introduced to you; reckon anyway our meeting was as strange as one might imagine, and there was no end of excitement in it. you behaved like a plucky young beggar."
-jim went very red at once. "i thought we weren't to hear anything more about that," he said bluntly. "that was our agreement."
-jim was horrified at the suggestion. though he was american born, and was blessed with an american's average allowance of assurance, the lad was undoubtedly modest when his own actions were in question. he would have given anything to escape from what promised to be an ordeal, and made numerous excuses. but phineas bore him off in spite of all of them, and tom and sam and ching fell in as a bodyguard in rear, in case his protégé should attempt to escape.
-jim agreed with him heartily, though, as a matter of fact, when he came to face what in his imagination would be an ordeal, he discovered it to be but the pleasantest ceremony. quiet, earnest men crowded round him to shake his hand; then he was bidden to sit at a table in the centre of his new comrades.
-"yer see," said harry, who regarded our hero with an envious expression, "that 'ere tomkins ain't the man to talk, while the major's much too busy; besides, guess his head's much too sore for chatting. you jest get right in at it, and give us the yarn from start to finish."
-jim did as he was bidden, describing every incident, and drawing a growl from many of his audience when he came to that part of his narrative which dealt with the injury to the engine; for it can well be imagined that amongst those white employees on the huge canal a goodly number were, if not actually engineers by profession, certainly most strongly imbued with a leaning towards it. all may have been said to have had mechanical knowledge, since there were few who did not run a steam navvy, a rock drill, a rail-laying plant, or a lifting derrick of some description.
-"gee whiz! that's hot!" exclaimed one of them, interrupting for a moment. "one of those muzzle-loading gas barrels chucked a shot right at your motor, did it? and knocked a hole clean through the water jacket? my, that must have been awkward! reckon the water pumped up most everywhere, and swamped the ignition. tell us jest how yer fixed it."
-jim described exactly what had happened, how he had plugged the water entrance to the pump of his motor, and drained the jackets dry. "it was a near thing," he admitted, with a grin. "i thought i should never get going again; but we mopped the water from the magneto, and reckon we fixed it just in time. of course i gave her plenty of oil, and all the time i was scared that the motor would become overheated."
-"excuse me, sir," said one of the audience, suddenly pressing forward and disclosing himself as one of the officials. "all the time you were fixing this motor, shots were flying, and i understand that there was a boatload of dark-skinned gentlemen thirsting for the lives of yourself and your comrades, and not forgetting to let you know it either. reckon many a man would have been too upset to think of extra lubrication, though everyone here who knows a gasolene motor realizes well enough that it was extra lubrication, and that alone, which saved your engine from overheating."
-he looked round at the assembled audience enquiringly, and was rewarded with many a sharp nod of approval.
-"you've got it, siree," cried one of them. "you've jest put your finger on the very point i was about to ask."
-"it's as clear as daylight," went on the official, "our young friend here saved the whole party by keeping his head well screwed down and his wits about him. if that motor had overheated, as any self-respecting engine might well have been expected to do under the circumstances, you were all goners. all dead, sir. wiped out clean by those natives."
-there came a grunt of acquiescence from the audience, while jim went red to the roots of his hair.
-"you don't happen to have got fixed on a special job yet awhile?" asked the official pointedly.
-"i'm to take a steam digger away up by culebra."
-"and you wouldn't change, supposing i was to come forward with an offer? see here," said the official eagerly, "i'm from the machine shops 'way over at gorgona. you've heard of them?"
-everyone in the canal zone had heard of these immense shops to which the official alluded, for there a great amount of engineering work was undertaken. in such a colossal task as this building of a canal between panama and colon, between the pacific and atlantic oceans, the reader will readily comprehend that an enormous number of locomotives, steam diggers, and machinery of every sort and description was in constant operation, and that, like machinery all the world over, such implements break down on occasion and require repair. the works at gorgona coped with all such matters, and was staffed by such keen engineers that they even did not stop at repairs of whatever description. there, in those sheds, engines were constructed, from the smallest bolt down to the heaviest crank shaft, according to the designs produced at the drawing offices at gorgona. the workers on the canal had long since discovered that special machines were often required to deal with the special jobs they had in progress. and clever heads at gorgona invented means to satisfy them. witness the ingenious rail layer, without which the task of delving would have been much delayed; witness that other clever arrangement which did in seven minutes the work of a hundred men, and swept the dirt clear from a whole line of earth wagons.
-"you've heard of those shops 'way over at gorgona?" asked the official again.
-"i have," jim admitted. "i'm longing to see them."
-"then you shall, i promise. but, see here, about this job. a good man deserves a proper place for his knowledge and his energies; down there, at gorgona, we've just turned out a gasolene rock driller that'll knock the other steam-driven concerns into the shade. i'm looking for a man to run it, one used to gasolene motors. say, if i apply for you, sir, will you take the work?"
-jim looked round the circle before he replied, and almost smiled at the expression he caught on harry's face. the genial fellow who had given him a day's instruction in the working of a hundred-ton steam digger did not look best pleased; but that was to be put down to his own keenness, to the keenness which he inherited in common with every white man labouring on the canal. for in harry's eyes it was the machine which he himself ran which was helping the progress of the canal; it was the enormous mouthfuls of dirt which his digger tore from the soil that placed the undertaking nearer completion. and every man he coached in the task was something approaching a traitor if he abandoned that particular machine for another. then, of a sudden, his face took on another expression.
-"you ain't got no cause to think of me, young 'un," he said pleasantly. "i don't deny as i'd have liked to see you running a digger, 'cos it's me as taught you; but, then, i don't forget that you've shown that you know one of these gasolene motors right away from the piston to the crank shaft. you close with the offer if you like it; there'll be more dollars in it, i reckon."
-he addressed the last remark to the official, who nodded acquiescence.
-"special work, special pay," he replied curtly. "we want a man, and we must be prepared to spend dollars on him. i offer a dollar more than digger rates. what's the answer?"
-"of course he takes it!" burst in phineas eagerly. "it ain't in human nature to refuse advancement, and of course jim'll take that motor. do you want him yet awhile?"
-"in a couple of weeks perhaps. we're not quite ready."
-"then i accept, with many thanks," said jim, his heart beating fast with pleasure at such rapid progress; for here was advancement, here was pay which made his own future and that of sadie all the brighter. "in two weeks' time; and in the meanwhile perhaps you'll allow me to see the machine and get an idea of its construction."
-"you can come along whenever you like and handle the concern. it'll knock spots out of those steam drills," declared the official.
-"and now, as this here business interview seems to have come to an end, supposing we get to with a song," cried one of the audience. "didn't i hear tell as you could play a banjo, jim, and sing a tune when you was axed?"
-"i've done so before; i can try," answered our hero, breathing more freely now that his ordeal was over. "i'll buy a banjo as soon as i can; then i'll let you see what i can do."
-"you'll get right away in at it, siree," said the man severely, grinning at his comrades. "see here, there's a banjo i brought along with me from the states. not that i can tune on it; i allow as i've tried, but, gee! the performance was enough to make a cat laugh. the boys passed a resolution axing me to give over at once, and fer that reason the instrument's been lying idle in my quarters this three months past. get in at it, siree."
-he produced a stained and somewhat battered instrument from behind his chair and passed it to jim. now jim was by no means a poor instrumentalist, and in addition was one of those fortunate individuals gifted with a fair voice. thousands of men have found before this that the power to sing and entertain their fellows is the key to popularity, and jim was no exception. it had been his fortune to live as a rule amongst small communities, where any form of entertainment was appreciated, and none more than a song. it followed, therefore, that here again, as in the case of the gasolene motor, he had had experience, and seeing that his audience were determined to hear him, he settled down to the work without more ado. a fine young fellow he looked, too, seated in their midst, the banjo in correct position as he leant over it, touching the strings and tightening them till his keen ear was satisfied. burnt a deep brown by the hot sun of those parts, his hair somewhat dishevelled, and his clothing by no means improved by the adventures through which he had passed, jim had a rugged, healthy, out-of-doors appearance which was most attractive. that he was by no means a weakling was at once apparent, for he filled his clothing well, and presented a fine pair of broad shoulders. when he lifted his face and glanced round at his audience, smiling in his own serene, inimitable manner, there was not one who did not know in his heart that our hero was a stanch and jolly individual, free from side and that stupid conceit which spoils some young men of his age, but full of go and energy as became an american; ready when his work was done, and only then, to enjoy himself as much as possible and help to give enjoyment to others.
-"see here," laughed jim, looking round the circle of men, all of whom had their eyes on him, for there was no little curiosity to see how he would accomplish the task; "if i break down, you must forgive me, for, gee! it's like being in a cage with a whole crowd watching."
-down went the head over the banjo again, while his fingers played on the strings; and at once, by the notes which issued, it became apparent that here was no novice. jim struck up a gay tune, and in a little while had given his audience the first verse of a jaunty song, to which there was an equally jaunty chorus; so that before the evening had passed the rafters above were ringing to the sound made by a hundred or more lusty voices.
-"fine, jest fine!" cried one of the men.
-"gee! if he don't take it!" shouted harry.
-"i'm shaking hands with myself," declared the official who had offered him a post at gorgona. "you men down here needn't think that you're going to have young partington all to yourselves. a fortnight to-day he'll be a gorgona man, when we'll send you invitations to our concerts."
-there was a shout at that, a shout denoting some displeasure. phineas barton rose from his chair, his fractured arm swathed and bandaged and slung before him, and regarded the official triumphantly. "not a bit of it, siree," he said. "jim's my lodger. don't matter whether he works along here at gatun or way over there at culebra or gorgona, he jest comes home every night of the week. the commission's jest got to pass him a free ticket, and ef he's in a concert, why, guess it'll be here, and the folks at gorgona will be the ones to be invited."
-there was a roar of laughter at the sally, and jim was called upon for a second song. modestly enough he gave it too; for such open praise as had been bestowed upon him is not always good for a lad of his age, and might well be expected to turn the heads of many. our hero had his failings without doubt, and we should not be recording truly if we did not allow the fact, but a swelled head was not one of the ailments he was wont to suffer from. so far his friends and acquaintances had never known jim partington to be too big for the boots he stood up in.
-"which is jest one of the things that made me take to him right away from the first," said phineas, when discussing the matter that same evening with the police officer who had been in command of the launch expedition. "he ain't bumptious, major. he's jest a lively young fellow, full of sense and grit, and i tell you, if there's one lad here in the zone who's made up his mind to make a job of the canal, it's jim. he's fixed it that he's going to rise in the world, and if nothing unforeseen happens we shall find him well up the ladder one of these days, and making a fine living."
-"not that it did any great harm," laughed the major. "they tell me that there was tremendous swelling at first, but the blood which escaped from the wound brought that down wonderfully; but i admit that at first i felt that my head was as big as a pumpkin. how's your own wound?"
-jim had forgotten all about it, though on his arrival that morning he had taken the precaution to have it dressed. but it was already partially healed, and caused him not the slightest inconvenience.
-"i think i had the best of the matter altogether," he answered, "for though up there on the river i was unable to distinguish the man who began all this business by firing at me, yet both were hit, and i fancy pretty badly."
-"you can count them as almost wiped out completely," agreed the major. "but i have serious news to give you regarding the other three. during our absence jaime de oteros and his comrades broke out of prison and made good their escape. the scoundrels are once more free to carry on any form of rascality. of course i have sent trackers after them; but the latest news is that they have disappeared into the bush, and pursuit there is almost hopeless. i own i'm vexed, for there is never any knowing what such men may be up to. a spaniard with a grudge to work off is always a dangerous individual."
-the information of the escape of the prisoners was indeed of the most serious moment, and jim and his friends were yet to learn the truth of the words that the major had spoken. for jaime de oteros had indeed a grudge, and with all the unreasonableness of men of his violent disposition he had already determined in his own mind that our hero jim was the cause of all his troubles. he brushed aside the fact that one of his ruffianly comrades had most deliberately attempted murder, and that the effort made to capture the offender was but a natural reprisal. that effort had led to the discovery of the gang and its break-up, and in jaime's eyes our hero was the culprit. he swore as he lay in prison to take vengeance upon him, while he did not forget his animosity towards the police officials.
-"i tell you," he cried fiercely, once he had contrived to break out of the prison, "i don't move away from these parts till i've killed that young pup, while as to these others, these americans, i'll do them an injury, see if i don't. i'll wreck some of the work they're doing; break up the job they're so precious proud of."
-meanwhile jim had many other things to think of, and very promptly forgot all about the miscreants. he sauntered back to the house with phineas, and on the following morning boarded a motor-driven inspector's car running on the isthmian railway.
-"we'll just hop along first to gorgona," said phineas. "and on the way we'll take a look at the valley of the chagres river. you've got to understand that right here at gatun, where we're building the dam, and where the river escapes between the hills which block this end of the valley, we shall have the end of the lake we're going to form. for the most part the valley is nice and broad, running pretty nigh north and south. this track we're on will be covered with water, so that gangs of men are already at work fixing the track elsewhere on higher ground. but i want to speak of this valley. it runs clear south to obispo, where there is hilly ground dividing it from the valley of the rio grande, and there, at culebra, which is on the hill, we're up against one of the biggest jobs of this undertaking. you see, it's like this: from gatun to obispo we follow a route running almost due south, with the chagres river alongside us all the way; but at obispo, which i ought to have said is just twenty-six miles from the head of limon bay, the chagres river changes its course very abruptly, and if followed towards its source is found to be confined within a narrow valley through which it runs with greater speed, and in a north-easterly direction. now, see here, to figure this matter out correctly let's stand up in this car. there's the track running way ahead of us through the chagres valley in a direction i described as southerly, though to be correct it is south-westerly. dead behind us is limon bay; right ahead is panama. i've given you an idea of the works we're carrying out at this end--first dredging limon bay for 4-1/2 miles, then canal cutting for say another 4 miles. there you get three tiers of double locks, and the gatun dam that's going to fill in the end of this valley, and give us a lake which will spread over an area of no fewer than 164 square miles, and which will fill the valley right away up to obispo, where the chagres river, coming from a higher elevation, will pour into it."
-"and then," demanded jim, beginning, now that he was actually in the valley, to obtain a better conception of the plan of this huge american undertaking. "i can see how you will bring your ships to the gatun locks, and how you will float them into the lake. i take it that there will be water enough for them to steam up to obispo. after that, you still have to reach panama."
-"gee! i should say we had. but listen here. taking this line, with panama dead south-west of us, we come at obispo to a point where the designers of the canal had two alternatives. the first was to cut up north-west, still following the chagres valley where it has become very narrow, and so round by a devious route to panama. that meant sharp bends in the canal, which ain't good when you've got big ships to deal with, and besides a probable increase in the cost and in the time required to complete the undertaking."
-"and the second?" demanded jim.
-"the second alternative was to cut clear through the dividing ridge which runs up at obispo some 300 feet above sea level. following that route for 9 miles in the direction of panama you come to the alluvial plain of the rio grande, and from thence to the sea in another 6 miles. forty-one miles from shore to shore you can call it, and, with the dredging we have to do at either end, a grand total of 50 miles. but we'll leave this culebra cutting till we reach it. sonny, you can get right along with the car."
-jim would have been a very extraordinary mortal if he had not been vastly interested in all that he saw from his seat in the rail motor car. to begin with, it was a delightfully bright day, with a clear sky overhead and a warm sun suspended in it. hills lay on either hand, their steep sides clothed with luxuriant verdure, while farther away was a dark background of jungle, that forbidding tropical growth with which he had now become familiar. on his right flowed the chagres river, winding hither and thither, and receiving presently a tributary, the rio trinidad. along the line there were gangs of men at work here and there laying the new tracks for the railway, while, when they had progressed on their journey, and were nearer obispo, his keen eyes discovered other subjects for observation. there were a number of broken-down trucks beside the railway, which were almost covered by vegetation, while near at hand on the banks of the river a huge, unwieldy boat seemed to have taken root, and, like the trucks, was surrounded by tropical growth.
-"queer, ain't they?" remarked phineas. "guess you're wondering what they are."
-"reckon it's plant brought out here at the very beginning of this work, and scrapped because it was found to be unsatisfactory."
-"wrong," declared phineas promptly. "young man, those trucks were made by the frenchmen. that boat is a dredger which was laid up before you were born, and was built by the same people."
-the information caused our hero to open his eyes very wide, for he, like many another individual, had never heard of the french nation in connection with the isthmus of panama; or if he had, had entirely forgotten the matter. but to a man like phineas, with all his keenness in the work in which he was taking no unimportant part, it was not remarkable that french efforts on the isthmus were a matter of historical interest to him.
-"a man likes to know the ins and outs of the whole affair," he observed slowly, as they trundled along on the car. "there's thousands, i should say, who don't even know why we have decided to build this canal, and thousands more who don't rightly guess what we're going to do with it when it's finished. but columbus, when he discovered the bay of limon round about the year 1497, thought that he had found a short cut across to the east indies. he didn't cotton to the fact that the isthmus stretches unbroken between the two americas, and only came to believe that fact when his boats came to a dead end in the bay he had discovered. cortés sought for a waterway at mexico, while others hunted round for a channel along the river st. lawrence, and all with the one idea of making a short passage to the east indies.
-"then the straits of magellan were discovered, while some of those bold spaniards clambered across the isthmus and set eyes upon the pacific ocean. you know what happened? guess they built and launched ships at panama, and the conquest of peru was undertaken, and following it gold and jewels in plenty were brought by mule train from the pacific to the atlantic, across from panama to colon. so great was the traffic that even in the days of charles v of spain the question of an isthmian canal was mooted; for, recollect, spain drew riches from the indies as well as from peru. and now we come to the nineteenth century. america badly wanted an isthmian crossing which would bring her western ports closer to those on the east, and vice versa. a railway seemed to be the only feasible method, and we tackled the job splendidly. that railway was completed in 1855, in spite of an awful climate, and guess it filled the purpose nicely. just hereabouts came our war, north against south, and, as you can readily understand, there wasn't much chance of canal building.
-"now we come to the frenchmen, to ferdinand de lesseps," said phineas, pointing out another group of derelict trucks to our hero. "you want to bear in mind that the question of an isthmian canal was always in the air, always attracting the attention of engineering people. well, de lesseps had just completed the suez canal, connecting the east with the west, and guess he cast his eye round for new fields to conquer. he floated a company in france, and raised a large sum of money. then he bought out the isthmian railway for twenty-five and a half million dollars. you see, he knew that a railway was wanted to carry his plant, and i guess that the fact of having that railway made him decide to build his canal across where we are working. but there was mismanagement. de lesseps, like many another man, had been spoiled by success, and had lost his usual good judgment. his expenses were awful, and finally, when the money ran out, his company abandoned the undertaking. in eight years he had spent more than three times the amount for the suez canal, and had got through some three hundred million dollars. he and his staff left behind them the trucks you see, besides a large amount of other machinery. at this day there's many a french locomotive pulling our dirt trains right here in the culebra cutting, while his folks set their mark on the soil. they, too, started to cut through at culebra, and in those eight years did real honest work. but shortage of money ended their labours, and, as i've said, they've left behind these marks of their presence, with rows and rows of graves over at ancon; for fever played fearful havoc with the workmen. yes, it was that which gave america her warning, and set our medical folk at work to tidy up this zone and sweep it clear of mosquitoes and fever."
-it was all very interesting, and jim listened most attentively, though, to be sure, every now and then his mind was distracted for a brief instant by some new object to right or left of the line; while from the very beginning the desire to ask one question and to receive information in reply had been present.
-"that tale of the french is new to me," he said, "and i hadn't the faintest idea that a canal had been previously attempted. you've said that spain desired one by means of which to reach the east indies and so save the long trip round by the straits of magellan; how does america stand when all's finished?"
-the fingers of phineas's only usable hand were clenched instantly. was it likely that a man such as he, who had counted the cost of the undertaking, and knew something of its vastness, would not also have counted the gain?
-they descended from the car promptly, and made for the huge sheds where one portion of the engineering staff undertook the upkeep of the machinery engaged along the whole line of the canal. the friendly official was waiting for them, and very soon jim's eyes were bulging wide with delight at the sight of the motor drill he was to manage.
-hustle the order of the day
-never in the whole course of his short existence had jim come upon such a busy scene as he encountered, when phineas barton at length contrived to drag the eager young fellow away from the engineering shops at gorgona.
-"my!" cried phineas, simulating a snort of indignation; "i never did come across such a curious chap in all my born days. i began to think that you'd stick in the place, grow to it as the saying is. but there, i don't blame any youngster for liking a big works same as this. there's so much to see, huge lathes and planing machines running and doing their work as if they were alive and thinking things out. steam-hammers thudding down on masses of red-hot metal, giving a blow that would crack a house and smash it to pieces, or one that would as easily fracture a nut. then there are the furnaces and the foundry: guess all that's interesting. but you've got more to see; it's time we made way up for culebra. look here, boy, set her going, and mind you watch the spoil trains."
-the precaution and the warning were necessary, for the double track of the panama railway at this point was much occupied by the long trains of cars filled with earth coming from the trench that was being cut through the high ground just ahead. it was not until they actually reached the neighbourhood of culebra, which may be said to occupy a place in the centre of the gigantic cut, that jim gathered a full impression of the work, or the reason for so many freight cars. but it was true enough that the driver of the motor truck had to keep his wits about him to escape collision; for every three minutes a spoil train came along, dragged perhaps by a locomotive made at gorgona, or by one imported by the french, and of belgian manufacture. every three minutes, on the average, a train came puffing down the incline from culebra, and nothing was allowed to delay it. in consequence, the motor inspection car on which phineas and his young friend were journeying was compelled at times to beat a hasty retreat, or to go ahead at full power before an advancing empty train--returning from the great dam at gatun, where it had deposited its load--till it arrived at a point where a switch was located. there was nearly always a man there, and promptly the car was sidetracked.
-"it's the only way to do the business," explained phineas. "the getting away of those spoil trains means the success of our working. if they don't get clear, so as to be back at the earliest moment, there's going to be any number of steam diggers thrown out of work; for it's no use shovelling dirt if there aren't cars to load the stuff in. if there's a breakdown with one of the cars, guess the whole labour force is pushed on to it, so as to get the lines clear. telephone wires run up and down the line, and a breakdown is at once reported. but we're just entering the cut, and in a little while you'll be able to see and understand everything."
-to be accurate, it took our hero quite a little while to grasp the significance of all that he saw, for the culebra cut extends through nine miles of rocky soil, and at the period of his inspection it had already bitten deep into the hilly ground which barred the onward progress of the canal at obispo. one ought to say, in an endeavour to give facts accurately, that this mass of material forms the southern boundary of the huge chagres valley which, when the works are completed, will be flooded with water. it bars all exit there, though by turning sharply to the left one may follow the course of the river through a narrow, ascending valley. however, the scheme of the undertaking required that there should be no sharp bends, and in consequence the host of workers were toiling to cut a gigantic trench, of great width and enormous depth, right through this hilly ground. what jim saw was somewhat similar to the works below gatun, at the colon end of the canal, but vastly magnified. there were the same terraces, with tracks of rails laid, bearing an endless procession of spoil trains and numbers of steam diggers. there was the same pilot cut in the very centre, from which the terraces ascended step by step, as if they were portions of another egyptian pyramid. but there comparisons ceased. this huge ditch extended for nine miles, and throughout its length presented an army of toilers, any number of dirt trains, and a constant succession of white steam billows, at various elevations, pointing to the places where the hundred-ton diggers were at work.
-"you have to get right on the spot to see what's happening," said phineas, looking proudly about him. "you can see for yourself now that it means everything to us to get rid of the dirt as quickly as possible, and everything to have spare trains ready to fill the place of those taking the spoil away. this concern is simply a question of dirt, and of how rapidly we can shift it. if i was the president of the republic of the united states himself i should have to look lively all the same, and dodge about so as not to get in the way of the dirt trains. but we'll get out here and climb; i'll show you a thing or two."
-he chuckled at the prospect before him, for to expatiate on the canal works to a keen young fellow, such as jim undoubtedly was, was the height of enjoyment to the energetic official. their car was switched on to a side track at once, and, descending from it, the two clambered up the scarped side of the trench till they were on the summit of the rocky ground. then it was possible to obtain a bird's-eye view of the whole cut, and to appreciate its vastness. jim noticed that the path he had clambered by shelved rather gently, while elsewhere the bank of the trench was steeply scarped, and at once drew phineas's attention to the matter.
-"you don't miss much, siree," came the answer. "we've come face up against more than one tough job 'way up here at culebra, and the question of the slope of our banks is one. you see, this trench will be mighty deep, and if we were to cut the sides perpendicular they would soon fall in. most of the stuff's rock, of course, but it's queer rock at that. it's soft, weathers quickly, and becomes easily friable when water has got to it. so we've had to spread the banks wide, and make the slope easy, except where the rock's harder and allows a steeper slope. now, guess we're near about the centre of the cut. you've seen what's happening to the north. dirt trains run down the incline, enter the tracks of the panama railway, and run 26 miles to the dam at gatun. south of us the tracks fall to the plain of the rio grande, and the spoil trains run down and dump their stuff on either side of the line the canal will take. you've got to remember that this trench is 'way up above tide level; so at the end of the cut, at pedro miguel, there is to be a lock, or, rather, a double lock--one for a vessel going north and one for a ship coming south. a matter of a mile farther along there is another lock--the milaflores lock--double, like the last, but with two tiers. it will let our ships down into the pacific. but you've got to remember that there is a tide in that ocean, so the lift of the milaflores lower lock will be variable. now, lad, come and see the rock drills."
-they descended into the bottom of the trench again, phineas explaining that when it was completed there would be a bottom width of 200 feet, ample to allow the passing of two enormous ships.
-"guess it's the narrowest part of the canal," he said, "though no one would call it narrow; but it's through hard rock, which is some excuse, and then this narrowest part happens to be dead straight. north of us the cut widens at the bottom to 300 feet, while elsewhere, outside the cut, the minimum width is 500 feet. you've got to bear in mind that i'm talking of bottom widths. recollect that the banks slope outwards fairly gently, and you can appreciate the fact that the surface width of the canal stream will make a stranger open his eyes. ah, here's a drill! this is the sort of thing you'll be doing."
-to the novice the machine to which phineas had drawn attention was indeed somewhat curious. it looked for all the world like an overgrown motor car, constructed by an amateur engineer in his own workshop, and out of any parts he happened to have by him; for it ran on four iron wheels with flat tyres, and bore at the back the conventional boiler and smokestack. in front it carried a post, erected to some height, and stayed with two stout metal rods from the rear. the remainder of the machine consisted of the engine and driving gear which operated the drills.
-"it'll get through solid rock at a pace that will make you stare," declared phineas, "though our friend at gorgona believes that this new model that you're to run will do even better. but you can see what happens; these drills get to work where the diggers will follow. they drill right down, 30 feet perhaps, and then get along to another site. the powder men then come along, put their shot in position, place their fuse, wire it so that a current can be sent along to the fuse, and then get along to another drill hole. at sunset, when all the men have cleared, the shots are fired, and next morning there's loose dirt enough to keep the diggers busy. guess you'll be put to work with one of these drillers, so as to learn a bit. you can't expect to handle a machine unless you know what's required of you."
-the following morning, in fact, found our hero dressed in his working clothes, assisting a man in the management of one of the rock drills. he had risen at the first streak of dawn, and after breakfasting, had clambered aboard an empty dirt train making for culebra.
-"yer know how to fire a furnace?" asked the man who was to instruct him. "ay, that's good; i heard tell as i wasn't to have no greenhorn. ain't you a pal o' harry's?"
-there might have been only one harry amidst the huge army of white employees; but jim knew who was meant, and nodded promptly.
-"and you're the chap as went off into the swamps, across a lagoon, along with the police major, ain't you?"
-"yes," responded our hero shortly.
-"huh! you and i is going to be pals. harry's been blabbing. you don't happen to have brought that 'ere banjo along with you?"
-jim had not, but promised to do so if this new friend liked.
-"why, in course we like," cried hundley, for that was the man's name. "seems that you're to live 'way down there at gatun, so the boys along over there will get you of an evening; but you'll feed with us midday. i tell you, jim, there's times when a man feels dull out here, particularly if he's had a go of fever, same as i have. it takes the life out of a fellow, and ef he ain't brightened he gets to moping. that's why i'm precious keen on music; a song soothes a man. there's heaps like me up at the club; jest steady, quiet workers, sticking like wax to the job, 'cos the most of us can't settle to pack and leave till we've seen the canal completed."
-there it was again! right along the fifty miles of works jim had come across the same expressions. it mattered not whether a man drove a steam digger or a dirt train, whether he were official or labouring employee, if he were american, as all were, the canal seemed to have driven itself into his brain; the undertaking had become a pet child, a work to be accomplished whatever happened, an exacting friend not to be cast aside or deserted till all was ended and a triumph accomplished. but jim had heard the request, and promptly acceded.
-"i'll bring the banjo along one of these days right enough," he smiled. "perhaps you'll make a trip down to gatun and hear one of our concerts. they tell me there's to be one within a few days."
-hundley eagerly accepted the invitation, and then proceeded to instruct our hero. as to the latter, he found no great difficulty in understanding the work, and, indeed, in taking charge of the machine. for here it was not quite as it was with a hundred-ton digger, when the lip of the huge shovel might in some unexpected moment cut its way beneath a mass of rock, and be brought up short with a jerk capable of doing great damage. the rock drill, on the other hand, pounded away, the engine revolving the drill, while the crew of the machine saw that the gears were thrown out when necessary, and an extra length added to the drill. if the hardened-steel point of the instrument happened to catch--as was sometimes the case--and held up the engine, then steam had to be cut off quickly, the drill reversed and lifted, so as to allow it to begin afresh.
-"you never know what's goin' to happen," explained hundley; "but most times things is clear and straightforward. you lengthen the drill till you've run down about 30 feet: that means eight hours' solid work--a day's full work, jim. you don't see the real result till the next morning; but my, how those dynamite shots do rip the place about! for instance, jest here where we're sinkin' the drill we're yards from the edge of the step we're working on. well now, that shot'll be rammed home, and the hole plugged over it. something's got to go when dynamite is exploded, and sense there's all this weight of stuff to the outside of the terrace, and the shot is 30 feet deep, the outer lip gives way, and jest this boring results in tons of rock and dirt being broken adrift. it's when you see the huge mass of loose stuff next morning that you realize that you ain't been doin' nothin'."
-at the end of a week jim was placed in entire charge of a rock drill, while a negro was allocated to the machine to help him. then, somewhat later than the official had intimated, the motor driller was completed, and our hero was drafted to the gorgona works for some days, to practise with the implement and get thoroughly accustomed to it. it was a proud day when he occupied the driving seat, threw out his clutch, and set the gears in mesh. then, the engine buzzing swiftly, and a light cloud of steam coming from the nozzle of the radiator--for, like all rapidly moving motor engines designed for stationary work, the water quickly heated--he set the whole affair in motion, and trundled along the highroad towards the cut.
-"if you don't make a tale of this machine i shall be surprised," said the official, as he bade him farewell. "this motor should get through the rock very quickly, quicker a great deal than the steam-driven ones. but go steady along the road; steering ain't so easy."
-easy or not, jim managed his steed with skill, and soon had the affair on one of the terraces. he had already had a certain part allotted to him, and within an hour of his departure from the works had set his first drill in position. nor was it long before he realized that the desire of the staff at gorgona was to be more than realized; for the drill bit its path into the rock swiftly, more so than in the case of the slower revolving steam drills, while there were fewer sudden stops. that first day he accomplished two bore holes, giving four hours to each operation. his cheeks were flushed with pleasure when he reported progress to the official.
-"and the engine?" asked the latter. "she ran well?"
-"couldn't have gone better," declared jim. "she gives off ample power, and there is plenty of water for cooling. that machine easily saves the extra dollar wages you offered."
-"and will pay us handsomely to repeat it, for then there will be more dirt for the diggers to deal with, and the more there is the sooner the cut will be finished. we can always manage to get extra diggers."
-that the innovation was a success was soon apparent to all, and many a time did officials come from the far end of the canal works to watch jim at work, and to marvel at the swiftness with which his machine opened a way through the rock. it was three months later before anything happened to disturb our hero, and during all that time he continued at his work, coming from gatun in the early hours, usually aboard an empty spoil train, but sometimes by means of one of the many motor trolley cars which were placed at the disposal of inspectors. at the dinner hour he went off to one of the commission hotels, and there had a meal, and often enough sang for the men to the banjo which he had since purchased. when the whistles blew at sundown he pulled on his jacket, placed a mackintosh over his shoulders if it happened to be raining, which was frequently the case, and sought for a conveyance back to gatun. and often enough these return journeys were made on the engine hauling a loaded spoil trail.
-as for tom and sam, the two negroes had received posts at the very beginning, the little negro working with the sanitary corps and the huge tom being made into a black policeman.
-"he's got a way with the darkies," explained phineas, when announcing the appointment, "and i've noticed that they're mighty civil to him. you see, the majority of our coloured gentry come from the west indies, and, though they are likely enough boys, they are not quite so bright, i think, as are the negroes from the states. anyway, tom has a way with them, and don't stand any sauce; while, when things are all right, he's ready to pass the time of day with all, and throw 'em a smile. gee, how he does laugh! i never saw a negro with a bigger smile, nor a merrier."
-it may be wondered what had happened to the worthy and patient ching. the chinaman was far too good a cook to have his talents wasted in the canal zone, and from the very beginning was installed in that capacity at phineas barton's quarters, thus relieving the lady who had formerly done the work. the change, indeed, was all for the best, for now sadie received more attention.
-three months almost to a day from the date when jim had begun to run the motor drill the machinery got out of order.
-"one of the big ends of a piston flew off," he reported to the official, when the latter arrived. "before i could stop her running the piston rod had banged a hole through the crank case, and i rather expect it has damaged the crank shaft."
-it was an unavoidable accident, and meant that the machine must undergo repair.
-"you'll have to be posted to another job meanwhile, jim," said the official. "of course i know that this is none of your doing. we shall be able to see exactly what was the cause of the accident to that piston rod when we've taken the engine down. perhaps one of the big end bolts sheered. or there may have been a little carelessness when erecting, and a cotter pin omitted. but i don't think that: my staff is too careful to make errors of that sort. how'd you like to run one of the inspection motor trolleys? they were asking me for a man this morning; for one of the drivers is down with fever. you'd be able to take on the work at once, since you understand motors. of course there isn't any timetable to follow. you just run up and down as you're wanted, and all you've got to learn really is where the switches and points are; so as to be able to sidetrack the car out of the way of the dirt trains."
-so long as it was work in connection with machinery jim was bound to be pleased, and accepted the work willingly. the next day he boarded the inspection car at gatun, and within half an hour had made himself familiar with the levers and other parts. then he was telephoned for to a spot near gorgona, and ran the car along the rails at a smart pace. twice on the way there he had to stop, reverse his car, and run back to a siding, there to wait on an idle track till a dirt train had passed.
-"you'll get to know most every switch in a couple of days," said the negro who was in charge of this particular point, "and sometimes yo'll be mighty glad that you did come to know 'em. them spoil trains don't always give too much time, particularly when there's a big load and they're coming down the incline from way up by culebra."
-the truth of the statement was brought to our hero's mind very swiftly; for on the following morning, having run out on the tracks ahead of an empty spoil train, and passed a passenger train at one of the stations, he was slowly running up the incline into the culebra cut when he heard a commotion in front of him. at once he brought his car to a standstill beside one of the points.
-"specks there's been a breakdown, or something of that sort," said the man in charge, coming to the side of the car. "the track's clear enough, but i guess there'll be a dirt train along most any minute. are you for runnin' in over the points out of the way?"
-at that moment jim caught sight of something coming towards him. suddenly there appeared over the brow of the incline the rear end of a dirt train, and a glance told him that it was loaded. a man was racing along beside one of the cars, somewhere about the centre of the train, and was endeavouring to brake the wheels with a stout piece of timber. jim saw the timber suddenly flicked to one side, the man was thrown heavily, then, to his horror, there appeared a whole length of loaded cars racing down towards him, with nothing to stop the mad rush, not even an engine.
-"gee, she's broken away from the loco!" shouted the man at the points. "she's runnin' fast now, but in a while she'll be fair racing. time she gets here, which'll be within the minute, she'll be doing sixty miles an hour. she'll run clear way down to gatun. come right in over the points."
-he ran to open the switch, so that jim could reach safety, while our hero accelerated his engine in preparation for the movement. then a sudden thought came to his mind. he recollected the passenger train which was coming on behind him.
-"man," he shouted, "there's a passenger coming 'way behind us! the cars were filled with people when i passed. she's ahead of the dirt trains, and of course does not expect to have a full spoil train running down on this line. she'll be smashed into a jelly."
-"so'll you if you don't come right in," cried the man, waving to jim frantically.
-but he had a lad of pluck to deal with. jim realized that between himself and the oncoming passenger train, now some six miles away perhaps, there lay a margin of safety for himself, if only he could run fast enough before the derelict spoil train racing towards him. but that margin might allow him to warn the driver of the passenger train. he took the risk instantly, shouted to the pointsman, and began to back his car. fortunately it was one of those in which the reverse gear applied to all speeds, and, since there was no steering to be done, he was able to proceed at a furious pace.
-"get to the telephone," he bellowed to the man as he went away. "warn them down the line."
-then began an exciting race between his car and the spoil train; for the latter was composed of many long, heavy trucks, all laden to the brim with rock debris, consequently the smallest incline was sufficient to set them in motion if not properly braked. now, when the whole line had broken adrift from its engine, and had run on to the culebra incline, the weight told every instant. the pace soon became appalling, the trucks bounding and scrunching along the tracks, shaking violently, throwing their contents on either side, threatening to upset at every curve, gained upon jim's car at every second.
-"i'll have to jump if i can't get clear ahead," he told himself. "but if i can only keep my distance for a while the incline soon lessens, when the pace of the runaway will get slower. but that man was right; she's coasting so fast, and has so much weight aboard, that the impetus will take her best part of the way to gatun."
-once more it was necessary for jim to do as he had done aboard the motor launch. his ignition and throttle levers were pushed to the farthest notch. he was getting every ounce of power out of his car, desperately striving to keep ahead. but still the train gained. they came to a curve, our hero leading the runaway by some fifty yards, and both running on the tracks at terrific speed. suddenly the inside wheels of the inspection car lifted. jim felt she was about to turn turtle and promptly threw himself on to the edge of the car, endeavouring to weigh her down. over canted the car till it seemed that she must capsize. jim gave a jerk with all his strength, and slowly she settled down on to her inside wheels again, clattering and jangling on the iron track as she did so. then he glanced back at the dirt train racing so madly after him.
-"she'll be over," he thought. "she'll never manage to get round that bend at such a pace."
-but weight steadies a freight car, and on this occasion the leading trucks at least managed to negotiate the curve without sustaining damage. the long train, looking like a black, vindictive snake, swung round the bend, with terrific velocity, and came on after him relentlessly. then, as the last truck but one reached the bend, there was a sudden commotion. the dirt it contained heaved spasmodically and splashed up over the side; it seemed to rise up at the after end in a huge heap, and was followed by the tail of the truck. the whole thing canted up on its head, then swayed outwards, and, turning on its side, crashed on to the track running along beside it. there was a roar, a medley of sounds, while the actual site of the upset was obscured by a huge cloud of dust.
-"that'll do it," thought our hero. "if we have any luck, that upsetting truck will pull the rest of the cars off the road, and bring the whole train to a standstill."
-but he was counting his chickens before they were hatched. the cloud of dust blew aside swiftly, and, when he was able to see again, there was the line of cars, nearer by now, leaping madly along, trailing behind them the broken end of the one which had overturned. right behind, the other portion, together with the greater portion of the last truck of all, was heaped in a confused mass on the second track of rails, disclosing its underframe and its two sets of bogie wheels to the sky.
-"that passenger train must be only a couple of miles from us now," said jim, as he desperately jerked at his levers, in the endeavour to force his car more swiftly along the track. "if i can keep ahead for half that distance i shall manage something, for then the incline lessens. just here she's going faster if anything. if only i could send this car along quicker!"
-he gazed anxiously over his shoulder, in the direction in which he was flying, and was relieved to discover that the rails were clear. then he took a careful look at the line of cars bounding after him. there was no doubt that the train was nearer. the leading car was within two hundred yards of him, and a minute's inspection told him clearly that the distance between them was lessening very rapidly; for the runaway now seemed to have taken the bit between her teeth with a vengeance. despite the weight of earth and rock in the cars they were swaying and leaping horribly, causing their springs to oscillate as they had, perhaps, never done before. the wheels on the leading bogie seemed to be as much off the iron tracks as on them, and at every little curve the expanse of daylight on the inner side beneath the trucks increased in proportions, showing how centrifugal force was pulling the heavy mass and endeavouring to upset it. it was an uncanny sight, but yet, for all that, a fascinating one. jim watched it helplessly, almost spellbound, conscious that the few moments now before him were critical ones. he unconsciously set to work to calculate how long it would take, at the present rate of comparative progression of his own car and the runaway train, for the inevitable collision to occur. then, seeing the heaving bogies of the trucks, he leaned over the side of his own car and watched the metal wheels. they clattered and thundered on the rails, the spokes were indistinguishable, having the appearance of disks. but at the bends this was altered. the car tipped bodily, the inner wheels left the tracks, and at once their momentum lessened. then, though he could not see the individual spokes, the disk-like appearance was broken, telling him plainly, even if his eyes had not been sufficiently keen to actually see the fact, that the wheels and the track had parted company.
-"ah!" it was almost a groan that escaped him. in the few minutes in which he had been engaged in examining his own wheels the runaway train had gained on him by leaps and bounds. he could now hear the roar of its wheels above the rumble and clatter of his own, that and the buzz of the motor so busy beneath the bonnet. he cast his eye on either side, as if to seek safety there, and watched the fleeting banks of the chagres river, bushes and trees, and abandoned french trucks speeding past. a gang of workmen came into view, and he caught just a glimpse of them waving their shovels. their shouts came to his ears as the merest echoes. then something else forced itself upon his attention. it was the figure of a white man, standing prominent upon a little knoll beside the rails, and armed with a megaphone. he had the instrument to his mouth, and thundered his warning in jim's ears.
-"jump!" he shouted. "jump! she'll be up within a jiffy!"
-within a jiffy! in almost less time than that; there were but two yards now between the small inspection car and the line of loaded trucks. jim could see the individual pieces of broken rock amongst the dirt, could watch the fantastic manner in which they were dancing. he looked about him, standing up and gripping the side of the car. then away in front, along the clear tracks. he thought of the passenger train, and remembered that he alone stood between it and destruction.
-"i'll stick to this ship whatever happens," he told himself stubbornly. "if the train strikes me and breaks up the car, the wreck may throw it off the rails. better that than allow it to run clear on into the passenger train. ah! here it is."
-crash! the buffers of the leading truck struck the motor inspection car on her leading spring dumb irons, and the buffet sent her hurtling along the track, while the shock of the blow caused jim to double up over the splashboard. but the wheels did not leave the tracks. nothing seemed to have been broken. the dumb irons were bent out of shape, that was all.
-"jump, yer fool!" came floating across the air to jim's ear, while the figure of the man with the megaphone danced fantastically, arms waving violently in all directions.
-but jim would not jump; he had long since made up his mind to stick to his gun, to remain in this car whatever happened; for the safety of the passenger train depended on him. true, a telephone message might have reached the driver; but then it might not have done so. he recollected that at the switch where this mad chase had first begun there was no telephone station closely adjacent. it would be necessary for the man there to run to the nearest one. that would take time, while his own flight down the tracks had endured for only a few minutes, though, to speak the truth, those minutes felt like hours to our hero.
-bang! the cars struck him again, causing the one on which he rode to wobble and swerve horribly; the wheels roared and flashed sparks as the flanges bit at the rails. the bonnet that covered the engine, crinkled up like a concertina; but the car held the track. jim was still secure, while the second buffet had sent him well ahead. better than all, he realized that he was now beyond the steeper part of the incline, while his engine was still pulling, urging the car backward. if only he could increase the pace, if only he could add to the distance which separated him from that long line of trucks bounding after him so ruthlessly. then a groan escaped him; for along the chagres valley, where, perhaps, in the year 1915 a huge lake will have blotted out the site of the railway along which he flew, and where fleets of huge ships may well be lying, there came the distinct, shrill screech of a whistle. jim swung round in an agony of terror. he looked along the winding track and his eyes lit upon an object. it was the passenger train, loaded with human freight, standing in the way of destruction.
-the runaway spoil train
-barely a mile of the double track of the panama railway stretched between the inspection car, on which jim was racing for his life, and the oncoming passenger train. glancing over his shoulder he could see the smoke billowing from the locomotive and the escape steam blowing out between her leading wheels. behind him there was the scrunch, the grinding roar, of the long line of steel wheels carrying the runaway spoil train. he kneeled on his driving seat and looked first one way and then the other, hesitating what to do. the rush of air, as he tore along, sent his broad-brimmed hat flying, and set his hair streaking out behind him. his eyes were prominent, there was desperation written on his face; but never once did he think of taking the advice which the megaphone man flung at him.
-"jump for it! no! i won't!" he declared stubbornly to himself. "i'll stick here till there's no chance left; then i'll bring this machine up sharp, and leave her as a buffer between the spoil train and the one bearing passengers. not that she'll be of much use. that heavy line of cars will punch her out of the way as if she were as light as a bag; but something might happen. the frame of this car might lift the leading wheels of the spoil train from the tracks and wreck her."
-there was an exhaust whistle attached to his car, and he set it sounding at once, though all the time his eyes drifted from passenger train to spoil train, from one side of the track to the other. suddenly there came into view round a gentle bend a mass of discarded machinery. he remembered calling phineas's attention to it some weeks before. broken trucks, which had once conveyed dirt from the cut at culebra for the french workers, had been run from the main track on to a siding and abandoned there to the weather, and to the advance of tropical vegetation, that, in a sinister, creeping manner all its own, stole upon all neglected things and places in this canal zone, and wrapped them in its clinging embrace, covering and hiding them from sight, as if ashamed of the work which man had once accomplished. jim remembered the spot, and that it was one of the unattended switching stations rarely used--for here the tracks of the railway were less encumbered with spoil trains--yet a post for all that where the driver of an inspection car might halt, might descend and pull over the lever, and so direct his car into the siding.
-"i'll do it," he told himself. "if only i can get there soon enough to allow me to reach the lever."
-he measured the distance between himself and the pursuing spoil train, and noted that it had increased. his lusty little engine, rattling away beneath its crumpled bonnet, was pulling the car along at a fine pace. true, the velocity was not so great as it had been when descending the first part of the incline, that leading out of the culebra cut; but then the swift rush of the spoil train was also lessened. the want of fall in the rails was telling on her progress, though, to be sure, she was hurtling along at a speed approximating to fifty miles an hour; but the bump she had given to jim's car had had a wonderful effect. it had shot the light framework forward, and, with luck, jim determined to increase the start thus obtained.
-he scowled in the direction of the approaching passenger train, and knelt still higher, shaking his fists in that direction. it seemed that the man must be blind, that his attention must be in another direction; for already the line of coaches was within five hundred yards of the points which had attracted jim's attention, and he realized that she would reach the spot almost as soon as the spoil train would.
-"'cos she's closer," he growled. "if he don't shut off steam, anything i may be able to do will be useless. he'll cross the switch and come head on to the collision."
-a minute later he saw a man's figure swing out from the cab of the locomotive on which his eyes were glued, while a hand was waved in his direction. then a jet of steam and smoke burst from the funnel, while white clouds billowed from the neighbourhood of the cylinders. even though it was broad daylight, jim saw sparks and flashes as the wheels of the locomotive were locked and skated along the rails.
-"he's seen it; he knows!" he shouted. "but he ain't got time to stop her and reverse away from this spoil train. if that switch don't work there's bound to be a bad collision."
-there was no doubt as to that point. the driver and fireman aboard the locomotive recognized their danger promptly, and, like the bold fellows they were, stuck to their posts.
-"brakes hard!" shouted the former, jerking his steam lever over, and bringing the other hand down on that which commanded the reverse. "hard, man! as hard as you can fix 'em! be ready to put 'em off the moment she's come to a standstill. this is going to be a case with us, i reckon. that spoil train's doing fifty miles an hour if she's doing one. we can't get clear away from her, onless----"
-he blew his whistle frantically, and once more leaned out far from his cab, waving to the solitary figure aboard the flying inspection car.
-"onless what?" demanded the fireman brusquely, his eyes showing prominently in his blackened face, his breath coming fast after his efforts; for both hand and vacuum brakes had been applied.
-"onless that 'ere fellow aboard the inspection car manages to reach the points in time and switch 'em over. guess he's tryin' for it; but there ain't much space between him and the spoil train. there's goin' ter be an almighty smash."
-thus it appeared to all; for by now men, invisible before, had appeared at different points, and were surveying the scene, holding their breath at the thought of what was about to happen.
-"best get along to the telephone and send 'way up to gorgona for the ambulance staff," said one of these onlookers. "that 'ere passenger train ain't got a chance of gettin' clear away. she ain't got the room nor the time. fust the spoil train'll run clear over the inspection car, and grind it and the chap aboard to powder. then she'll barge into the passenger, and, shucks! there'll be an unholy upset. get to the telephone, do yer hear!"
-he shouted angrily at his comrade, overwrought by excitement, and then set off to run towards the points for which jim was making. as for the latter, by strenuous efforts, by jagging at his levers, he had contrived to get his engine to run a little faster, and had undoubtedly increased his lead over the spoil train. he was now, perhaps, a long hundred yards in advance.
-"not enough," he told himself. "going at this pace it'll take time to stop, though the brakes aboard this car are splendid. i know what i'll do. keep her running till i'm within fifty yards, then throw her out of gear, jam on the brakes, and jump for it just opposite the switch. i'll perhaps be able to roll up to it in time to pull that train over."
-it was the only method to employ, without doubt, though the risk would not be light. for, while a motor car on good hard ground can be brought to a standstill within fifty yards when going at a great pace, when shod with steel wheels and running on a metal track the results are different. jim's steed lacked weight for the work. though he might lock his wheels, they would skate along the tracks, and reduce his pace slowly. the leap he contemplated must be made from a rapidly moving car. that might result in disaster.
-"better a smash like that than have people aboard the train killed by the dozen," he told himself. "those points are two hundred yards off; in a hundred i set to at it."
-he cast a swift glance towards the passenger train, which was now retreating, and then one at the spoil train. he measured the distance between himself and the latter nicely. then he dropped his toe on the clutch pedal, and his hand on the speed lever. click! out shot the gears, while the engine raced and roared away as if it were possessed. but jim paid no attention to it. he let it continue racing, and at once jammed on his brakes. it made his heart rise into his mouth when he noticed with what suddenness the spoil train had recovered the interval between them. she was advancing upon him with leaps and bounds. it seemed as if he were not moving. with an effort he took his eyes from the rushing trucks, and fixed them upon the points he hoped to be able to operate. they were close at hand. his glance was caught by the operating lever. the moment for action had arrived, while still his car progressed at a pace which would have made the boldest hesitate to leap from it. but jim made no pause, more honour to him. he left his seat, placed one hand on the side of the car, and vaulted into space. the ground at the side of the track struck the soles of his feet as if with a hammer, doubling his knees up and jerking his frame forward. the impetus which the moving car had imparted to his body sent him rolling forward. he curled up like a rabbit struck by the sportsman at full pace, and rolled over and over. then with a violent effort he arrested his forward movement. with hands torn, and every portion of his body jarred and shaken, he brought his mad onward rush to a standstill, and, recovering from the giddiness which had assailed him, found that he was close to the all-important lever governing the points. with a shout jim threw himself upon it, tugged with all his might, and jerked the points over.
-meanwhile the thunder of the spoil train had grown louder. the scrunch of steel tyres on the rails, and the grinding of the flanges of the wheels against the edges of the track drowned every other sound, even the singing which jim's tumble had brought to his ears. the runaway, with all its impetus and weight rushing forward to destroy all that happened to be in its path, was within a yard of the points when our hero threw his weight on the lever. the leading wheels struck the points with violence, and jim, watching eagerly, saw the rims mount up over the crossway. then the bogie frame jerked and swung to the right, while the four wheels obeyed the direction of the points and ran towards the side track. but it was when the first half of the leading car had passed the points that the commotion came. the dead weight of the contents--projected a moment earlier directly forward--were of a sudden wrenched to one side. the strain was tremendous. something was bound to give way under it, or the car would capsize.
-as it happened, the wreck was brought about by a combination of movements. the front bogie of the truck collapsed, the wheels being torn from their axles. at the same moment the huge mass capsized, flinging its load of rock and dirt broadcast across the track. the noise was simply deafening, while a huge dust cloud obscured the actual scene of the upset from those who were looking on. but jim could see. as he clung to the lever he watched the first truck come to grief in an instant. after that he himself was overwhelmed in the catastrophe; for the remaining trucks piled themselves up on the stricken leader. the second broke its coupling and mounted on the first; while the third, deflected to one side, shot past jim as if it were some gigantic dart, and swept him and the lever away into space. the remainder smashed themselves into matchwood, all save five in rear, which, with retarded impetus, found only a bank of fallen dirt and rock that broke the collision and left them shaking on the track. when the onlookers raced to the spot, and the people aboard the passenger train joined them, there was not a sight of the young fellow who had controlled the inspection car and had saved a disastrous collision.
-"guess he's buried ten feet deep beneath all that dirt and stuff," said one of the men, gazing at the ruin. "i seed him run to the lever. run, did i say? he jest rolled, that's what he did. he war just in time, though, and then, gee! there war a ruction. i've seen a bust-up on a railway afore, but bless me if this wasn't the wildest i ever seed. did yer get to the telephone?"
-his comrade reassured him promptly.
-"i rung 'em up at gorgona," he answered. "there's a dirt train coming along with the ambulance and commission doctor aboard, besides a wrecking derrick. that young chap saved a heap of lives you'd reckon?"
-it was in the nature of a question, and the answer came from the first speaker speedily.
-"lives! a full trainload, man. i seed his game from the beginning, and guess it war the only manoeuvre that was worth trying. it was a race for the points, and the man aboard the inspection car won by a short head. he hadn't more'n a second or two to spare once he got a grip of the lever; but i reckon he's paid his own life for the work. he war a plucked 'un--a right down real plucked 'un!"
-he stared fiercely into the eyes of the other man, as if he challenged him to deny the statement; but there were none who had seen this fine display of courage who had aught but enthusiasm for it. there was no dissentient voice; the thing was too plain and palpable.
-"some of you men get searching round to see if you can find a trace of that young fellow," cried one of the commission officials who happened to come running up at this moment. "if he's under this dirt he'll be smothered while we're talking."
-every second brought more helpers for the task, and very soon there were a hundred men round the wreck of the spoil train; for the driver of the passenger train had stopped his reverse movement as soon as he saw that all danger for his own charge had gone. then he had steamed forward till within a foot of the inspection car which jim had driven. the latter, thanks to the fact that the brake was jammed hard on, came to a halt some thirty yards beyond the points, and stood there with its engine roaring. but the fireman quickly shut off the ignition. passengers poured from the coaches--for it happened that a number of officials were making a trip to the far end of the culebra cut to inspect progress--and at once hastened to the side of the wreck. but search as they might there was no trace of the lad who had saved so many lives by his gallantry and resourcefulness.
-"come here and tell me what you think of this," suddenly said one of the officials, drawing his comrades after him to the tail end of the train, to the shattered remains of the two trucks which had overturned at a bend, and which had been trailing and clattering along the track in wake of the spoil train. he invited their inspection of the couplings which had bound the last of the cars to the locomotive. there came a whistle of surprise from one of his friends, while something like a shout of indignation escaped another.
-"well?" demanded the first of the officials. "what's your opinion?"
-"that this was no accident. this train broke away from her loco. when she was on the incline because some rascal had cut through the couplings. that, sir, 's my opinion," answered the one he addressed, with severity.
-there was agreement from all, so that, at the first examination, and before having had an opportunity of questioning those who had been in charge of the spoil train, it became evident that there had been foul play, that some piece of rascality had been practised.
-"but who could think of such a thing? there's never been any sort of mean game played on us before this. whose work is it?" demanded one of the officials hotly.
-"that's a question neither you nor i can answer," instantly responded another. "but my advice is that we say not a word. there are but six of us who know about the matter. let us report to the chief, and leave him to deal with it. for if there is some rascal about, the fact that his work is discovered will warn him. if he thinks he has hoodwinked everyone there will be a better opportunity of discovering him."
-the advice was sound, without question, so that, beyond arranging to get possession of the coupling, which showed that it had fractured opposite a fine saw cut, the party of officials preserved silence for the moment. meanwhile american hustle had brought crowds of helpers to the spot. a locomotive had steamed down from gorgona, pushing a wrecking derrick before it, and within thirty minutes this was at work, with a crew of willing helpers. a gang of italian spademen was brought up from the other direction, and these began to remove the rock and dirt. as to jim, not a trace of him was found till three of the overturned and wrecked trucks had been dragged clear by the wrecking derrick. it was then that the actual site of the lever which operated the points was come upon, the most likely spot at which to discover his body.
-"we'll go specially easy here," said the official who was directing operations. "though one expects that the man is killed, and smothered by all this dirt, yet you never can say in an accident of this sort. i've known a life saved most miraculously."
-the hook at the end of the huge chain run over the top of the derrick was attached to the forward bogie of the overturned car, then the whole thing was lifted. underneath was found a mass of dirt and rock which the impetus of the car had tossed forward. at the back, just beneath the edge of the truck, where it had thrust its way a foot into the ground, one of the workers caught sight of an arm with the fingers of the hand protruding from the debris. "hold hard!" he shouted. "he's here. best wait till we've tried to pull him out. the car might swing on that chain and crush him."
-they kept the end of the wrecked truck suspended while willing hands sought for our hero. a man crept in under the truck, swept the earth away, and passed the listless figure of the young car driver out into the open. jim was at once placed on a stretcher, while the commission surgeon bent over him, dropping a finger on his pulse. he found it beating, very slowly to be sure, but beating without doubt, while a deep bruise across the forehead suggested what had happened. a rapid inspection of his patient, in fact, convinced the surgeon that there was no serious damage.
-"badly stunned, i guess," he said. "i can't find that any bones are broken, and though i thought at first that his skull must be injured, everything points to my fears being groundless. put him in the ambulance, boys, and let's get him back to hospital."
-"as if i was a baby," he growled. "i suppose i fell on my head, and that knocked me silly. but it's nothing; i haven't more than the smallest headache now."
-"just because you're lucky, young fellow," quizzed the surgeon. "let me say this: the tumble you had was enough to knock you silly, and i dare say that if you hadn't had something particular to do you would have gone off at once. but your grit made you hold on to your senses. that car, when it overturned, as near as possible smashed your head into the earth beneath it. you'll never be nearer a call while you're working here on the canal. low diet, sister, and see that he keeps quiet."
-jim glowered on the surgeon and made a grimace. "low diet indeed! why, he felt awful hungry."
-but no amount of entreaty could influence the nurse, and, indeed, it became apparent to even our hero himself that the course of procedure was correct. for that evening he was not so well, though a long, refreshing sleep put him to rights.
-"and now you can hear something about the commotion the whole thing's caused," said phineas, as he put jim into a chair in his parlour, and ordered him with severity to retain his seat. "orders are that you keep quiet, else back you go right off to the hospital. young man, there were forty-two souls aboard that passenger train, and i reckon you saved 'em. of course, there are plenty of wise heads that tell us that the driver, when he'd stopped his train, should have turned all the passengers out. quite so, sir; but then it takes time to do that. you might not have opened the points, and the spoil train would have been into them before the people could climb down out of the cars. so the general feeling is that everyone did his best, except the villain who cut that coupling half through. they've told you about it?"
-jim nodded slowly. "who could have done such a miserable and wicked thing?" he asked. "not one of the white employees."
-"it don't bear thinking about," said phineas sharply. "no one can even guess who was the rascal. leave the matter to the police; they're making quiet enquiries. but there's to be a testimonial, jim, a presentation one evening at the club, and a sing-song afterwards."
-"what? more!" jim groaned. "let them take this testimonial as presented. i'll come along to the sing-song."
-"and there's to be promotion for a certain young fellow we know," proceeded phineas, ignoring his remarks utterly. "one of the bosses of a section down by milaflores locks got his thumb jammed in a gear wheel a week back, and the chief has been looking round to replace him. you've been selected."
-jim's eyes enlarged and brightened at once. he was such a newcomer to the canal zone that promotion had seemed out of the question for a long time to come. he told himself many a time that he was content to work on as he was and wait like the rest for advancement.
-"the wages are really good," he had said to sadie, "and after i've paid everything there is quite a nice little sum over at the end of the week. i'm putting it by against a rainy day."
-and here was promotion! by now he had learned the scale of wages and salaries that were paid all along the canal. such matters were laid down definitely, and were decidedly on the liberal side. with a flush of joy he realized that, as chief of a section, he would be in receipt of just double the amount he had had when working the rock drill.
-"and of course there'll be compensation for the accident, just the same as in the case of any other employee," added phineas, trying to appear as if he had not noticed the tears of joy which had risen to jim's eyes. for who is there of his age, imbued with the same keenness, with greater responsibilities on his young shoulders than falls to the lot of the average lad, who would not have gulped a little and felt unmanned by such glorious news? consider the circumstances of our hero's life for some little time past. it had been a struggle against what had at times seemed like persistent bad fortune. first his father ruined, then the whole family compelled to leave their home and drift on the caribbean. the loss of his father and then of his brother had come like final blows which, as it were, drove the lessons of his misfortunes home to jim. and there was sadie, at once a comfort and an anxiety. jim alone stood between her and charity.
-"there'll be compensation for the accident," continued phineas, "and reward from the commissioners for saving that train of passenger cars. you've got to remember that it is cheaper any day to smash up a spoil train than it is to wreck one carrying people. one costs a heap more to erect than the other. so there you saved america a nice little sum. i needn't say that if the people aboard had been killed, compensation would have amounted to a big figure. so the commission has received powers from washington to pay over 500 dollars. i rather think that'll make a nice little nest egg against the day you get married."
-phineas roared with laughter as he caught a glimpse of jim's face after those last words. indignation and contempt were written on the flushed features. then our hero joined in the merriment. "gee! if there ever was a lucky dog, it's me!" he cried. "just fancy getting a reward for such a job! as for the nest egg and marrying, i've better things to do with that money. i'll invest it, so that sadie shall have something if i'm unlucky enough next time not to escape under similar circumstances. bein' married can wait till this canal's finished. guess i've enough to do here. i'm going to stay right here till the works are opened and i've sailed in a ship from pacific to atlantic."
-phineas smiled, and, leaning across, gripped his young friend's hand and shook it hard. open admiration for the pluck which our hero had displayed, now on more than one occasion, was transparent in the eyes of this american official. but there was more. jim had caught that strange infection which seemed to have taken the place of the deadly yellow fever. it was like that pestilence, too, in this, that it was wonderfully catching, wonderfully quick to spread, and inflicted itself upon all and sundry, once they had settled down in the zone. but there the simile between this infection and that of the loathsome yellow fever ended. that keenness for the work, that determination to relax no energy, but to see what many thought a hopeless undertaking safely and surely accomplished, had, in the few months since he came to the canal zone, fastened itself upon jim, till there was none more eager all along the line between the pacific and the atlantic.
-"yes," he repeated, "i'll stay right here till the canal's opened. by then that nest egg ought to be of respectable proportions."
-"of course you'll have to live in one of the hotels at ancon," said phineas, when discussing the matter, "for it is too long a journey from there to this part to make every day. it would interfere with your work. you can come along weekends, and welcome. sadie'll stop right here; i won't hear of her leaving."
-the arrangement fell in with our hero's wishes, for there was no doubt but that his sister was in excellent hands. she had taken a liking to phineas's housekeeper, and was happy amongst her playmates at the commission school close at hand. jim left her, therefore, in the care of his friend, and was soon established in his quarters in a vast commission hotel at ancon, within easy distance of milaflores, the part where he was to be chief of a section of workers. he found that the latter were composed for the most part of italians, though there were a few other european nationalities, as well as some negroes.
-"you'll have plans given you and so get to know what the work is," said his immediate superior. "of course what we're doing here is getting out foundations for the two tiers of double locks. you'll have a couple of steam diggers to operate, besides a concrete mill; for we're putting tons of concrete into our foundations. a young chap like you don't want to drive. though it's as well to remember that foreigners same as these ain't got the same spirit that our men have. they don't care so much for the building of the canal as for the dollars they earn, but if you take them the right way you can get a power of work out of them."
-the advice given was, as jim found, excellent, and with his sunny nature and his own obvious preference for hard work, in place of idleness, he soon became popular with his section, and conducted it for some weeks to the satisfaction of those above him. nor did he find the work less interesting. the huge concrete mill was, in itself, enough to rivet attention, though there was a sameness about its movements which was apt to become monotonous when compared with the varied, lifelike motions of the steam diggers. rubble and cement were loaded into its enormous hopper by the gangs of workmen, and ever there was a mass of semi-fluid concrete issuing from the far side, ready mixed for the foundations of the locks which, when the hour arrives, will carry the biggest ships the world is capable of building. on saturday afternoon, when the whistles blew earlier than on weekdays, jim would return to his hotel, wash and change, and take the first available car down the tracks to gatun. a concert at the club was usually arranged for saturday night, while on sunday he went to the nearest church with phineas and sadie, and then returned in the evening to ancon.
-"strange that we should never be able to get any information about that runaway spoil train," said phineas, on one of the occasions when jim went over to gatun. "there's never been a word about it. the police have failed to fathom what is at this day still a mystery. but there's a rascal at work somewhere. there's been a severe fire down colon way, sleepers near pitched a passenger train from the rails opposite the dam there, while one night, when the works were deserted, someone took the brakes off a hundred-ton steam digger, and sent her running down the tracks. she smashed herself to pieces, besides wrecking a dozen cars."
-the news was serious, in fact, and pointed unmistakably to a criminal somewhere on the canal, someone with a grudge against the undertaking, or against the officials. it made jim think instantly of jaime de oteros, though why he could not imagine. but he was soon to know; little time was to pass before he was to come face to face with the miscreant.
-jaime de oteros forms plans
-if ever there were a rascal it was jaime de oteros, the spaniard, who, if his past history were but fully known, had left his own native country, now many years ago, a fugitive from justice. armed with sufficient money to obtain an entrance into the united states of america, he had quickly re-embarked upon the course he had been following, and with the gang he had contrived to gather about him had committed many burglaries. then, the police being hot on his track, he had left the country, and had begun operations again in southern america.
-"that is our information about the man," said the police major, as he was discussing the matter with phineas and jim one saturday evening, when the latter was over at gatun for the usual weekend stay. "the rascal knew that the police in new york state were making anxious search for him, and with his usual astuteness--for the man is astute without a doubt, and is, indeed, well educated--he slipped away before the net closed round him. later we hear of him at various ports along the mexican gulf, and then in the canal zone. tom brings us news of great importance."
-the big negro stood before them, looking magnificent in his police uniform, and with an air of authority about him which was entirely new, and which caused jim to struggle hard to hide his mirth; for he knew tom so well. severity did not match well with the huge negro's jolly nature.
-"i'se seed dis scum ob a man," he declared to them all, rolling his eyes. "yo tink tom make one big mistake. not 'tall; noding of de sort. me sartin sure. him come out ob a house in colon. same man, but different. no beard, face clean shaved; but scowl all de same. tom know de blackguard when he see um."
-"but," said phineas, "if you knew him why did you not arrest him? there is a warrant out for his apprehension."
-"and me try; but dat spaniard dog quick, quicker'n tom. him slip back into de house and clear out ob de back door. not dere two second later," declared the negro. "and not dere agin when me and sam go some hours after. not come all de time dat we hide up and watch. him vanish into thin air."
-it was a pretty figure of speech for the negro, and brought a huge smile to his jolly countenance. "vanish right slick away into de mist," he added, as if to give more weight to his words.
-"and has not been seen by anyone else, before or since," said the major, his face become very serious. "but i believe tom is right. who else could be the author of these many affairs along the line of canal works?"
-he looked closely at phineas, and from him turned to jim and then to tom. there was indecision on all the faces, though in the hearts of each one there was not the smallest doubt that jaime de oteros was the instigator, even if he did not actually carry out the work. the matter was serious, very serious, without a doubt.
-"it isn't as if there were one isolated case," said the major. "there have been many, and though so far the running away of spoil trains, the upsetting of wagons, and so forth has not resulted in the killing of our employees, it will do so, perhaps, next time, if we do not take steps to put an end to such matters. the difficulty is to know where to begin. we have men engaged in watching every mile of the track, but they do not all know this ruffian, though we have circulated his photograph; besides, he has altered his appearance. he is the most elusive criminal i have ever had dealings with, and at the same time one of the boldest. but a feeling of revenge cannot alone cause him to stay on here in the canal zone, and risk arrest."
-if only the major could have known it, there was a good deal more than the desire to pay off an old score to keep jaime de oteros in that locality. the spaniard had now put in at many a port along that part of the world, and had discovered that the canal zone offered finer opportunities to a man such as he was than any other place.
-he looked round at the ruffians assembled about him, and read approval in their eyes.
-"a grudge is a grudge," said one of them fiercely, dropping his hand to the weapon he carried in his belt. "where i came from an injury done was never paid for till a knife thrust had been given. this young fellow must suffer. how? what is the plan?"
-jaime shrugged his shoulders expressively, and shook his head. "that's for the future," he said quickly. "i'm thinking it out. i've an idea, a fine idea."
-into his eyes there came a savage flash which boded ill for our hero, while the brows contracted and the lips slipped back from his sharp teeth. at that moment jaime de oteros, in place of the polished, smooth-spoken man he could pretend so well to be, was actually himself, a villain who knew not the name of conscience, who would stop at nothing, whose savage disposition was capable of carrying out any atrocity. then he smiled suddenly at his comrades, a crafty smile which was meant to convey a great deal.
-"let it rest for the moment, this idea of mine," he said. "what we've got to talk about is this cash. there's money due within a day or two, money for the payment of the hands engaged on the canal. well, we've made one haul already; we can make another, and then clear for good. this zone will be too hot to hold us once the work's finished. now, let me hear the report. a good general never enters upon an engagement before he has made full arrangements to get clear off in case of things going wrong. well, things will go wrong here--not for us, but for the officials. they'll be real mad, and will do all they know to follow. let me hear what has happened."
-there was a snivel of delight on the face of the rascal who had formerly spoken, and who now responded to his chief's invitation.
-"i was to see what sort of a boat there was ready to put out from colon," he said. "i found one that was rather likely. the old pirate she belongs to has been here all his life, and what he don't know of the surroundings ain't worth knowing. he's ready to clear from the harbour, with two of his sons and two others he'll hire, the instant we want him to do so. reckon it'll be nigh about sundown when the time for moving comes."
-jaime nodded curtly. "about that," he agreed, "well?"
-"this old pirate likes fishing. he'll watch for a fire signal way up over gatun, and then he'll clear right off with his boat. of course he'll do it secretly, but not too secretly. people'll be allowed to catch a glimpse of men getting aboard, and of the boat putting out. she'll disappear."
-"ah!" jaime rubbed his hands together, and then began to roll a cigarette with the nimblest of fingers. a smile broke out over his face, and for the moment the man looked almost handsome. "she'll disappear," he giggled. "yes, where? i begin to follow the move."
-"where? that's for the police to decide. ef they was to ask me at the time i couldn't place a guess. but that old pirate knows a cove, quite handy to colon, where, once a man's lowered his topsail, he can lay hid with his boat from all save those who care to come right into the cove. our man says he'll do a bit of fishing. he'll pass his time with that and sleeping, while the police steam right on, searching for the boat that left colon so secretly. ef they ain't bamboozled, wall, call me a dutchman."
-there was a roar of merriment from the five ruffians. they lay back in their chairs, and closed their eyes, as if thereby to help themselves to imagine the spectacle of the commission police racing across the sea on a wild-goose chase. indeed it was one of the enjoyments of their particular thieving profession to set the police at naught, and make them look foolish by their own astuteness. and here was an astute plan.
-"it licks creation," laughed jaime, bringing a fist down with a crash on to the table, and exposing a hand burned brown by the sun, and on the fingers of which more than one ring glittered. "this old man of yours will fool them nicely for us, and while the police are away on the sea, we shall cut off in a different direction. that brings us to the second report. you see i have to be very careful. time was when i saw to all these matters myself; but hereabouts i'm known, and badly wanted. in spite of shaving off my beard i might easily be recognized, as by that nigger. gee! ef he comes up agin me again i'll give him reasons to mind his manners. now, what about the horses?"
-he turned to another of his comrades, to the second of the two new recruits he had gathered to his band, and looked inquisitively at him. the man was ready with his answer, and blurted it out eagerly, like a schoolboy who longs to make his own voice heard before all others.
-"horses," said the fellow, a dusky south american, whose swarthy features were deeply lined and pitted. "trust me to pick the right sort when they're wanted. you told me to seek mounts strong enough to carry us across a rough country, and fix a rate to be paid for 'em. i went a little better. there ain't many cattle in this place, so that one hasn't to look far. but along over there," and he jerked his head over his left shoulder, "there's a biggish farm, where there's a dozen mounts. we'll want six, i guess, five for ourselves, and one for the dollars."
-"seven," corrected jaime suddenly. "seven, my comrade."
-all looked at him curiously. their chief was not wont to make mistakes, but here it looked as if he were miscalculating. however, jaime smiled serenely back at them. "seven horses without doubt," he said quietly, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips, and cutting it asunder with a wave of his ringed fingers. "precisely that number."
-"i don't follow; six is the figure i put it at," came the answer. "unless----" and at the thought the rascal's face lit up with glee, "unless you reckon the dollars'll be too many for one bag."
-but the leader of the band shook his head, and smiled ambiguously. "seven horses will be required," he said slowly. "tell us more of the business. you arranged the payment?"
-"i fixed the business in a different manner. i scouted round a little, and soon found that, at nighttime, there were but one man and a woman about the place. the stables are well away from the house, and easy to get at. i fixed that there wouldn't be any payment."
-there was a cunning expression about his face as he looked round at his comrades, while the lines about his eyes were sunken deeper. jaime rewarded him with a loud "bravo!" "you begin well with us, comrade," he said eagerly. "the report is a good one. but one little matter occurs to me: this farm is near the works, eh? it is connected by telephone?"
-the other rascal at once relieved him of the doubt. "it lies packed away in a hollow, just on the edge of the zone," he said. "the folks ain't never seen a telephone."
-"then that matter is agreed upon. we can now begin to decide what each one of us is to do. i'll tell you right now what i had intended. to call away attention from the place where the money's banked we decided to cause an upset pretty adjacent. well, now, the culebra cutting seemed to be the most likely spot of all. i've been thinking and planning. a ruction there could be heard way up and down the line, and would set people running. the point was, how to cause that ruction."
-there was more than passing interest on the faces of his followers. in their opinion this leader of theirs was a fine fellow, a cunning man, one whom it was an honour to follow. they awaited the details of his plan with eagerness, not to say anxiety.
-"and how did you fix it?" asked one of the men, proceeding to light his cigarette by means of the candle burning before him. "another train let loose? a shot under the wheels of a passenger coach? a dozen diggers sent scuttling?"
-there was a snigger on his face, quickly copied by the others. jaime showed his pleasure by smiling broadly. after all, it was one of his pleasures in life to have the praise and high opinion of his following. he pulled at his cigarette thoughtfully, and then proceeded with his plan.
-"we've played too many of those games already," he said, with a short laugh. "the officials of the canal are always on the lookout. but the plan i fastened on to would have taken their breath away, if it didn't manage to deprive some of them of the same for good and always. i'd been watching those rock drills, and the powder men laying their shots. it seemed to me that once the shots were wired, and connected to the firing cables, a man had only to get to the firing-point and operate the igniter. i got asking questions. i've done a bit on electricity works before now, and i soon saw that the thing was possible. with a little luck i could fire their shots for them."
-the faces about him showed doubt and a lack of comprehension, for jaime was far more intelligent than any of the other members of his rascally band. "what was the object of firing those shots?" they asked themselves. but their leader soon explained the matter.
-"it is like this," he said suavely, as if describing an everyday matter: "the shots are laid ready for firing, and when the works are cleared the man who operates the igniter gets to work and explodes them, one by one or in batches, according to the wiring. well, now, if the place is cleared of workers, there's no damage done, though rocks and dirt fly out in all directions. but if there was an accident--if, for instance, i happened to meddle with the igniter before the works were cleared--there'd be a tremendous ruction, and that's what we're wanting."
-the diabolical nature of his suggestion dawned only slowly upon the minds of his following; but when it did so, when they fully comprehended his meaning, their faces flushed with enthusiasm. each of the five had worked on the canal, and had seen those dynamite shots fired. tons of earth and rock spouted in all directions. that they had witnessed. to remain in the neighbourhood meant certain death for many, injury for not a few, and a commotion which the officials and workers had so far never experienced. there was joy on their faces. they banged the table with their fists, and stretched across to grasp the rascally palm of their leader; but jaime silenced them with uplifted hand.
-"it sounded right, i grant," he said between the puffs of smoke; "but there was a fly in the ointment. the igniter is kept under lock and key. the place is guarded. these canny americans know that those shots mean danger, and they don't run risks. if i tried the game, the chances are i should be disturbed or taken in the act of trying. so i wiped it out; i started in to think out another plan, something noisy, something that would draw all officials to the spot, away from the place where the money is lying. and at last i fixed it. one of you men will change places with a hand at pedro miguel, where they're building in their foundations for one of the big locks at the end of the culebra cutting. you'll work with the rest till the whistles go at sundown, and then, when the coast is clear, you'll sneak back to the workings. i'll give you the rest of the plan later on; but you'll be the one to create a most almighty ruction, you'll be the one to draw off every official, and while they're busy we others'll get to work at the money. it'll be eight o'clock before we can meet at this farm, and an hour later will take us into the bush. next morning we'll be right away in the swamps, with friends about us, while the police will be following the old fellow, who will put to sea the previous evening."
-they sat in silence for a while, jaime regarding each one of his band in turn, scrutinizing their faces closely, as if seeking for something in particular. then he fastened upon one of them, and stretched across to grip his hand.
-"juan is a brave man," he said impressively; "he will take the post of which i have spoken. to him falls the honour of creating such a trouble that those who go for the dollars may be able to take them easily. it is a post worth the having."
-the rascal greedily accepted it he was one of jaime's old hands, and had complete confidence in his chief. moreover, he had now helped him in so many risky operations that fear did not enter into his calculations. why should it, indeed, seeing that all others would be in ignorance? the plot was being hatched in secrecy. none would know that anything was to happen until the moment arrived. the hard-working officials of the canal would be unable to recover from their astonishment before he and his friends were gone. juan drank deeply from the cup before him, and replenished the vessel from a stone jar standing on the table.
-"it is settled; whatever the plan, it is accomplished," he said with the greatest assurance.
-"then we have merely to arrange the parts for the others. miguel sees to the horses. our friend alfonso, who made the arrangement with the boatman, will be with miguel, and will light a flare above gatun at seven in the evening, or sooner if he discovers that there is a commotion. the two will then go to the farm, take the horses, and ride towards ancon. there is a spot at the bottom of a rocky hill, where the road sweeps sharply round into the valley. my friends, we have all been there before. it is there that we will meet when the work is finished. pedro and myself will take the money, then pedro will carry it to the horses. but i ought to have said that alfonso and miguel will not ride towards ancon with all the horses. they will leave three at the back of gatun, at a spot we can arrange upon. there pedro will take the money and load it on one of the horses. he will wait for me; i shall come, and then we will ride to the place of meeting."
-there were inquisitive glances thrown at the man by his comrades. the question of the seventh horse again occurred to them. jaime smiled when he remarked their curiosity, and busily employed himself in rolling a cigarette. it pleased him to watch his comrades as they endeavoured to fathom his purpose.
-"you ride to join pedro after a while then?" queried the rascal juan. "what keeps you? ah, i see it! a private grudge--that young fellow."
-far into the night they sat discussing their rascally movements, and the following day found all but jaime abroad and active. that very afternoon, in fact, alfonso brought them information that a ship had come into colon bearing specie for the officials, money with which to pay america's army of workmen.
-"i watched it unloaded," said the rascal, glee on his face. "there were boxes of silver and a huge mass of notes; for of course wages are paid in paper. all the better for us, my friends. paper is easy to carry, and is still valuable. they can publish the numbers of the stolen notes as much as they like, but still we can get value for them."
-"and the destination of these boxes?" asked jaime anxiously.
-alfonso told him with pride. he had followed the consignment, and had seen it deposited at the door of one of the official offices. he had seen it carried in, and drew a plan of the building.
-"then to-night," said jaime, pulling at the inevitable cigarette. "juan has already gone across to pedro miguel. and you--you have made full arrangements with the boatman?"
-"full and complete; there will be no hitch to-night," cried alfonso, banging the table.
-a stranger happening to take rail at colon on this day would have been utterly astounded had he been informed that there was to be a commotion that very evening. for the trip along the whole length of the panama railway would have shown him armies of men and officials engaged methodically with their work. the busy scene of smoking steam diggers, of rock drills, and hustling spoil trains would have resolved itself finally, when his eye was at last accustomed to the vastness of it all, into a scene of order and method, into a gigantic undertaking which occupied the wits and strength of all whom he saw. he would at last have appreciated the fact that those vast works at gatun, and between it and limon bay, had a direct connection with that enormous cutting which occupied the time of such an army of delvers at culebra, though twenty odd miles separated the two, and that throughout the length of the panama zone, stretching from north to south of the isthmus, the work undertaken by any one man had some special relation to that appointed to another. moreover, that, in spite of distances, in spite of the fact that the undertaking seemed to be progressing piecemeal at widely separated intervals, yet each and every part was a portion of the whole, a necessary portion, where the work in hand was conducted with a hustle and method truly american, and with a swing which augured for success. but of commotion there was not a sign. that traveller could not possibly have guessed that the evening had a disaster in store for the people who worked beneath his eye.
-it was precisely half-past five on this special evening when a terrible explosion shook every one of the wooden buildings at ancon, and caused the verandas at gorgona to shake as if they would tumble. a vast flame seemed to leap into the air, there came a thunderous report, that went echoing down the chagres valley, and then dust and debris obscured the sky in the direction of pedro miguel. the serene face of this portion of the zone, lit a second or so before by a wonderful moon, was obscured as if by the work of a volcano.
-instantly men poured out from the commission hotels, and stood in the street of ancon and the nearest settlement, asking what had happened.
-"guess it's the dynamite store gone off suddenly," cried one, his hands deep in his pockets, a pipe in his mouth. "hope none of the boys ain't hurt, nor the works neither. it's been a bad blow-up anyway."
-it was an hour later before details filtered through, then, all along the line, it was learned that an attempt had been made to wreck the foundation of the lock at pedro miguel.
-"another of them anarchistic attempts," growled one of the men. "guess this is too almighty queer fer anything. here's spoil trains been sent runnin' down from the cut, and the same with diggers. sleepers and suchlike laid on the rails in order to throw passenger trains off the metals, fires, and what not. this is the limit."
-"it's one of the most serious difficulties we have had to face, boys," said one of the canal officials, coming upon the group of men at that moment. "i've just come along from the dock at pedro miguel, and there isn't a doubt that some rascal endeavoured to blow the whole place to pieces. it's jim partington's section, and he'd left everything safe and sound. there wasn't a rock drill working there, and hasn't been this three weeks past. consequently there weren't any dynamite shots; but a man was seen creeping down that way soon after sundown. guess he'd fixed to place his bomb right in the trench where the foundations are being laid; but something went wrong with it. he was blown to pieces; there were only scraps of him to be found."
-there was a grunt of satisfaction at the news; the men felt that such a fate was only just retribution.
-"but what damage has been done, boss?" asked one of the men anxiously, as if the success of the canal depended on the answer.
-"none; in fact the explosion seems to have helped us. young jim partington tells me he was making a requisition for a rock drill this coming week, as there was a heap of stuff to break down before the diggers could get at it. well, he's saved the trouble. that explosion brought tons of stuff away, and now there's hardly need for a rock drill. of course you've got to remember that it's dark 'way over there, and a man can't fix exactly what may have happened. but we made a quick, and, i believe, thorough survey of the place, and i should say that i've told you everything. this blessed cur who has been worrying us these weeks past has come by his deserts at last."
-there was, in fact, not the smallest doubt that the rascally plot of jaime and his followers had failed at the very beginning. juan, who had accepted the post of honour, had disappeared from the scene swiftly and terribly. he had been hoist by his own petard, and, as the official had stated, there was little left to show that he had actually existed.
-but still there was jaime to reckon with, jaime de oteros and his fellows, and the reader need feel little surprise when he hears that, later on in the evening, there was another disturbance. it was discovered that the pay offices had been burgled, and that a vast sum of money had been removed. then came an urgent telephone message to ancon. the instrument at the club rang loudly and continuously, causing one of the men to go to it instantly. jim, who had just returned from an inspection of his section, where the explosion had taken place, sat at a table near at hand, and, though there was no reason why the telephone should be calling him more than any other, he watched his comrade and listened.
-"what's that? say, who are you?" he heard the man demand. then he suddenly looked over his shoulder, and if ever a man bore a startled expression it was this one. "say, jim, there," he called out, "they're ringing you from gatun. it's phineas barton; there's trouble down there as well."
-jim was beside him in a moment, the receiver to his ear; and at once he recognized phineas's voice, but strangely altered.
-"yes?" he asked as coolly as he could, though something set his heart thumping. "it's jim at this end."
-"then come right along without waitin'. we've trouble down this end. bring a shooter; i'll tell you about it when you arrive. the police major is here waiting."
-it was serious news, whatever it was, for phineas's voice proved it. jim crammed his hat on to his head, raced back to his quarters and snatched a mackintosh, a revolver, and a spare shirt, and then ran down to the railway. he found a motor inspection car awaiting him, with a couple of policemen in it, one of whom was tomkins.
-"you kin get along with it," said the latter curtly, addressing the driver. "and we ain't nervous, so let her go as fast as you're able. jim, there's a regular upset from end to end of the zone, and i'm beginning to get through with it. that explosion was a blind, meant to occupy our attention while those rascals, for there's more than one of 'em, robbed the pay office. but that ain't all. they were up to some other sort of mischief down gatun way, and the major 'phoned through to us to come along that second. we were to bring you, too; so it seems that you've something to do with the business."
-let the reader imagine how jim fretted upon that quick journey. he wondered why he should have been called, and how the matter could specially interest him. a thousand ideas flashed through his busy mind, and were banished as unsatisfactory. it was not until the motor raced into gatun, and he caught a glimpse of phineas's face, that he realized that the matter must be particularly serious. his friend took him by the hand and held it.
-"jim," he said, and his voice broke ever so little, "those scoundrels deserve hanging. we were right in thinking that jaime de oteros had to do with the business, and i guess he'd made up his mind to get even with you for finding the gang and getting it broken. he settled to blow up your section, then he broke into the pay office, and last of all, to pay you out properly, the ruffian slank down to my quarters. sadie was indoors, of course----"
-jim staggered backwards. he had never even thought of sadie in connection with this disaster. the fear that she had been injured, perhaps killed, caused his cheek to pale even beneath the deep tan with which it was covered.
-"get on," he said a moment later, pulling himself together with an effort. "sadie was indoors. yes. that villain----"
-"that villain had fixed to abduct her. we were all outside, watchin' for another explosion. this jaime, or one of his men, slipped in at the back, seized the girl, and got clear off with her. lad, it's a real bad business."
-jim held to the rails of the station. his head swam; he felt giddy, while the beating of his heart was almost painful. he was utterly unmanned for the moment. he, jim partington, who had faced so many dangers smiling, was utterly prostrated by the news imparted to him. then, like the brave fellow he was, he threw off the feeling of weakness with a sharp shrug of his shoulders, and in a moment became his old self, cool and self-possessed, as he asked shrewd questions shortly and sharply.
-"you will follow, of course?" he asked the major.
-"you can guess so. this time nothing shall turn me back."
-"then i can come?"
-"glad indeed to have you, my boy. we'll move the instant we get information. i've men making enquiries down at the port, while your negro, sam, has gone off with a lantern. better start on the right track than start early. let's get in and have some supper."
-it was one of the most anxious meals jim had ever attended. he was eager to set out in search of his sister, but realized all the time that a wrong start might be productive of great delay and failure.
-"but sam will hit their marks if anyone can," he told himself. "then i'll follow wherever the tracks lead. sadie shall not stay in that man's hands an instant longer than i can help it. and if i catch that jaime and his fellows----!"
-his fingers came together; his two hands were clenched beneath the table. at that precise moment good-natured jim felt that he was capable of anything.
-the major forms his parties
-never before, perhaps, had the telephone system in the panama canal zone been so busily employed as on the night of sadie's abduction. the bell of the instrument in phineas's quarters seemed to ring without cessation, while the police major had his ear glued to the receiver by the ten minutes together.
-"a crafty set of dogs," he declared, after one of these long conversations with his office at colon. "they laid their plans most elaborately, and made every preparation to throw dust in our eyes. that explosion way over at pedro miguel wasn't the only little bit of by-play. it seems that they engaged a boatman to steal away from colon this evening, and give us the impression that they were aboard; but that huge negro tom put a spoke in their wheel. he happened to be in colon, and reported to the office at once that he had seen a fire signal up by gatun, way behind this house."
-"and guessed it was meant for someone down by the sea?" asked phineas, rising from his seat at the receipt of such important information. "major, this jim and his servants have done good service to our people here. i'm glad that tom has shown himself such an excellent constable."
-"he's one of the exceptions one finds amongst big men," declared the major. "he's sharp, as sharp as a needle, for all his smiles and easy-going manner. he spotted this flare way back behind us, and looked well about him. he reported, a matter of two hours ago, that a boat had put off with some four men in her. two of the crew at least he knew to be loafers about the streets of colon, and one was the owner, a man of bad repute. still, the fourth might have been one of the rascals we are after. so i sent out a steam launch, and her report has just reached me."
-"well?" demanded phineas shortly, while jim leaned forward anxiously. "it wasn't one of the rascals; it was a blind, as you've intimated."
-the police major nodded promptly. "number two of the schemes of those rascals has failed. my people have just returned, and the sergeant has 'phoned me the news. he overhauled this boat and went aboard her. the fourth individual was another well-known character from colon, while the owner of the craft, thinking perhaps that he would get into trouble, and hoping to set matters right for himself, admitted that he had arranged to slip off when a fire signal was lighted. the sergeant left him out there to go where he liked, and steamed back as fast as his engine would carry him. this time the pursuit will hardly be by way of the atlantic."
-"but perhaps by way of panama, on to the pacific," suggested phineas.
-"or into the bush; that's where i imagine they may have gone," said jim. "it seems to me that we have every reason to suspect that that is the course they will have followed."
-his two companions in the room looked steadily at him. before now they had known our hero to give common-sense solutions when there was a difficulty, and all through, since the moment when they had first known him, he had proved himself to be possessed of a level head, of that sharpness and shrewdness for which the american is notorious. it was therefore with a feeling of interest that they waited for him to speak.
-"every reason to think they've gone into the bush," repeated the major. "i own that i have thought of the matter; but then, we all know the bush. it isn't everyone who would willingly make a journey through it; for fever frightens them, and besides, once you get a little distance from the zone, there are natives. there aren't many men who can tell us much about the latter. of course it's part of my business to have found out something; and i have ascertained that while some are friendly enough, there are others who could not be trusted. they would kill a white man for the clothes he stood up in. then why do you consider that they have gone by way of the bush?"
-jim stood up and walked the room backwards and forwards. nerves were not things that he had much acquaintance with, but the reader can well excuse him if on this occasion he was fidgety. in fact, it was as much as he could do to keep quiet. he longed to rush off and make some sort of effort. it was only his solid good sense that restrained him, the good sense that showed him clearly how a false start, pursuit along a wrong line, might throw the game entirely into the hands of the miscreants who had abducted sadie. it was for her sake that he stayed in the room, fidgeting at the delay, but waiting, waiting for some definite information to show him where the tracks of the fugitives led. and in his own mind he had traced those tracks.
-"it seems clear to me, though of course i may be entirely wrong," he said as he paced the room. "but those fellows have been proved to have had dealing with the natives. the last time we chatted about the matter you, major, told us that you had certain information that they had been selling guns, powder, and spirit to the natives along the coast. then see how those fellows we chased across the lagoon made friends with the inhabitants of that part. it's perfectly plain that they had been trading over there. that being the case, and perhaps because the police have been careful to watch the various launches down at port limon, these men decided not to fly by way of the ocean. they thought that the bush offered better chances; but their destination is the same. they are making for those parts where we did our fighting, and once they have joined that tribe they imagine they will be safe."
-the argument seemed to be clear enough, and for a while the major stood by the telephone thinking deeply. and the more jim's suggestions filtered through his mind, the more sure did he feel that there was something substantial about them. at length he almost took it for granted that the course outlined by our hero was actually the one which the miscreants were following. then the question arose: how could the police best deal with the matter?
-"see here, jim," he said, after a while. "i believe you've just hit the right nail on the head. let us suppose that these men have gone by the way of the bush, with the idea of joining hands with that tribe. what course do you advise for those who follow?"
-jim gave his answer promptly. in fact, as the others admitted, there could be little doubt as to the procedure to be adopted; but all depended on one particular.
-"how many men will you employ?" asked jim.
-"as many as are wanted. a dozen of my own men for certain, and i can get a draft from the force of marines who are garrisoning the canal."
-"then i say that we ought to go in two parties. i with others will take horses and push on through the bush, where sam will be able to lead us; the second party should make round by sea, cross the lagoon, and join hands with us there. we shall, in that way, be able to take them between us, and if one party is attacked first of all, it has the knowledge that the other will come to support it."
-the major at once went to the telephone, and rang up his office. the plan suggested seemed to him to be one of such common sense that it needed little argument to convince him. therefore, within ten minutes, the officials down at colon were making preparations.
-"meanwhile, those who are to follow by way of the bush had better be making preparations," said phineas, who was nothing if not practical. "what have you to say, major?"
-"just this, that i shall support you in every way. i shall command the party which goes by sea, and jim here had better take the other. tom and sam can go with him, as well as tomkins and four or five other constables. you see, we can't send many round that way, for horses are scarce hereabouts. theirs must be in every sense a cutting-out expedition. i take it that jim made his suggestion with that in view. what he wants to do is to rescue his sister. after that he will assist us if possible, once he has made sure the girl is in safety."
-"then let us set to work with food and other things," cried phineas. "look here, jim, i can see that you're just fidgeting. come along with me; it'll settle you a little to have something to do."
-they went off to the kitchen promptly, and with ching to help them quickly filled a sack with eatables. meanwhile the major again had recourse to the telephone, had detailed the four men who were to accompany jim, and had asked for rations, arms, and ammunition.
-"not forgetting quinine," he told jim and phineas when they returned. "if you'll take my advice you'll make every man of the expedition, white or black, swallow two grains daily, just as a precaution. you can't be too careful, especially if it happens to rain, as is probable."
-it was wonderful how quickly all their preparations were completed; so much so that when, an hour later, the diminutive sam returned, jim and his whole party were collected at phineas's quarters. the four policemen had come up with ten horses all ready saddled and bridled.
-"and we're lucky to have them," declared the major. "i'm giving you ten mounts, so that, although there will be only nine of you, you will have a beast to carry blankets and ammunition. the men will carry their own rations, which will last for almost a week. by then you will have to fend for yourselves if you do not happen to reach us; but you should manage that. the spot where our action took place is barely forty miles distant. of course, when you rescue the girl, you will put her on the spare horse. now let us interview sam."
-the little fellow was ushered into the room, still carrying his lantern. sam's face was sternly set, while his whole expression showed eagerness and determination. indeed the little negro would have done anything for sadie and for our hero. he put the lantern down on the floor and pulled off the sack which covered his shoulders.
-"got um!" he cried jubilantly. "dem fellers tink dey fool de lot ob us nicely; but sam tink otherwise. he get on de track ob one ob de men at once, just as once before. any fool able to follow; sam manage him blindfold. him take sadie way along at the back of gatun, den him come to a spot where horses waitin'. dere are three. sam count 'em. dey ride along towards ancon, and me run all de way, followin'. dere dey meet two oders, and strike right off for de bush. i come back runnin'; time we was after dem scum."
-they gave the little fellow meat and drink instantly, for he was exhausted after his efforts. then the whole party mounted, phineas riding beside jim, and just as the light was breaking they cantered over the edge of the canal zone and plunged into the bush.
-"sam'll go ahead," said jim promptly, reining back his mount. "tomkins and i will ride next; then, some twenty yards behind us, tom and ching, with two of the constables. phineas, you take the rear with the last of the police, and ride within twenty yards of the main party. by dividing up like that we stand a better chance in case they try to surprise us. now, sam, we want to get ahead as fast as possible. the moon went down early last night, and though it will have helped those rascals at the beginning, they will have been forced to camp after a time. if, as i imagine, they believe that we are not likely to follow through the bush, in fact that they have covered their trail, and sent us off after that boat, they are not likely to push along very fast. that will be our opportunity; by making the pace we may come up with them."
-sam was like a dog as he followed. there was not the smallest doubt that the little fellow was gifted with the most wonderful power of observation, and with it that of deduction. for now that the sun was up, and the light strong, he led the party at a trot, never even requiring to climb out of his saddle. dressed in tattered garments, which were still drenched with the rain that had fallen upon him during the previous night, the diminutive negro looked wonderfully woebegone; but that was from behind. one must not always judge by the condition of a man's garments; for seen from the front the little fellow was evidently very much alive. that same intent expression was on his face, while his piercing eyes were glued to the track. it was half an hour later when he threw up his hand and slid from his saddle.
-the most unbelieving person would have been convinced, for the ground bore undoubted witness to what had happened. it was thickly marked by horses, while near at hand the animals had been tied to the branch of a tree hanging close to the earth. a little camp had been formed within a few yards, and in and amongst the bootmarks of jaime de oteros and his fellows were the smaller shoe impressions of sadie. jim glowered upon them; his lips came firmly together, and with the impetuosity of youth, which brooks no restraint, he set his party in motion again. but when another two hours had passed sam declared that the fugitives were still far ahead.
-"yo watch de hollows de horses make," he said to jim, inviting him to join him on the ground. "it rain hard for ten minutes two hours ago, yo remember."
-our hero had not failed to recollect the fact. it was one of those little cloudbursts so often experienced in the neighbourhood. a sharp, heavy shower had fallen, and then the clouds had cleared away as if by magic, leaving a fine sky, with the sun floating in it.
-"but how can you say from that shower that they are still far ahead?" he asked the little negro.
-sam screwed up his eyes before he answered, and then bent over one of the hoof impressions.
-"dere's water here, in de hole," he said. "suppose no hole, den no water. run 'way along de ground. ebery one of dese marks here when dat shower come, and de water fill um. yo not tink dat? den look here; dis horse go close under a tree, where de sun not manage to reach. what now do you tink?"
-jim was wonderfully troubled. he had often read and heard of the ways of trackers, and had imagined the art not so difficult; but here was a poser. jim showed him the hoofmarks of one of the beasts ridden by the fugitives, pointing out that they lay beneath the shadow of a tree, and asked him wherein lay evidence that the fugitives were far ahead. it was a conundrum; he shook his head impatiently.
-"read it for me, sam," he said, "and quick about it. how far behind them do you reckon we are?"
-"tree, four hour p'raps. i tell like dis; dese marks here two hour ago, when de rain fall. dat sartin'; but yo look at de water in de holes. where de sun able to reach it it almost gone, sucked up into de sky. dat take little time, longer dan two hour. under de tree de holes full to de top, 'cos dey dere like de oders when de rain fall, and de sun not able to reach 'em. dose men travelling quick."
-"then so will we. forward," commanded jim.
-"better go slow and sure than fast and knock up the horses," cautioned phineas, riding up beside him. "jim, if you'll take my advice, you'll set a steady pace, and keep going at it for the hour together; then give the animals a rest for ten minutes. in the end we'll cover the ground quicker than those rascals, supposing them to be riding on direct without halting."
-it was undoubtedly good advice, and our hero took it. he found it hard to curb his impatience, for he was eager to rescue sadie from such wretches. but he was sensible enough to recognize good advice when it was given, and promptly issued his orders.
-"see here, tomkins," he called out. "you come along with the main party. i'll go ahead with sam, and one of your men can take your place. then, in case there's need to change our plans, i shall be right at the head and able to stop the party."
-they pushed on after that at a steady pace, covering ground which for the most part was only thinly studded with bush, and stretched out flat and level before them; but some five miles ahead a range of hills and broken ground cropped up before them, hiding the country beyond.
-"perhaps we shall be able to catch a sight of those rascals from the top," thought jim, as he rode along in a brown study. "in any case there's much to be thankful for. that rainstorm has softened the ground and made it easy to follow; a little more this afternoon, or when the night falls, would give us a fine line for to-morrow."
-some two hours later they emerged at the top of the hilly ground, still on the tracks of the fugitives, and at a sign from sam dropped from their horses.
-"stop here," he said at once, raising a warning hand. "not show up above de skyline, else p'raps dem scum see us. yo wait little while for me to squint all round; but not t'ink i be able to see um. de bush down dere very dense."
-it was precisely as he had said, for as jim laid himself flat in a tangled mass of brier on the summit of the ridge, and wormed his way forward till he was able to obtain a clear view beyond, he saw that the country down below was green with jungle. a vast sea of waving treetops lay below him, broken only here and there where rocky ground effectively opposed the irresistible march of creepers and verdure. the sight was, in fact, most beautiful, for the leaves shimmered and displayed a thousand different shades of green beneath the sun's rays, while, far off to the left, there came the gleam and scintillation of light falling on water.
-"de lagoon," declared sam without hesitation, tossing a finger to the front. "not able to see de entrance, ob course, 'cos it too far away, and trees hide um; and not able to see where de riber lie for de same reason. but dat de lagoon. sam stake him hat on it."
-"and those men we are after?" asked jim, his eyes searching every foot of the huge green vista.
-"dey down dar somewhere. not see um wid all dose trees; but dere fo' sure. to-morrow we come up with them."
-our hero lay for a while gazing all round and thinking deeply. the sight of the lagoon shimmering and flashing beneath the sun had reminded him of those natives with whom the two rascals they had formerly followed had struck up an acquaintance. jim remembered that it was more than a simple acquaintance, for it had since been proved that jaime de oteros and his gang of evildoers had for long carried on an illicit trade in guns and spirit with the tribe in that neighbourhood. obviously they were making in that direction to join hands with them, and, once there, how was sadie to be recovered?
-"it will be harder than i imagined," he told himself despondently. "once these men reach the natives with their prisoner, nothing but a battle royal and the defeat of the tribe can save her. if only i were near enough to come upon them before they could reach their friends."
-again he lay silent and thinking, till sam looked at his young master wondering. "not good lie here and stare," he said. "dat not de way to save de missie. s'pose we make right way down de hill and get into the jungle. dey down dere, i say. to-morrow dey come up wid the black men we fight wid way ober by de lagoon."
-"and once there sadie is almost lost to us," cried jim, a tone of bitterness in his voice. "see here, sam, i'm going to make a big effort. tell me, can those fellows travel once the night falls? can they push on towards those natives?"
-"dat not easy," came the answer. "sam not tink dey try to do so. for why? i tell yo. what fo' need hurry when dey tink no one follow? back away near de canal dey ride fast, 'cos p'rhaps someone discober where dey gone, and follow quick; but dey seen no one to-day. dat i sure ob, 'cos dere tracks have never stopped fo' once; so dey t'ink dey got heaps ob time and all de jungle to demselves. why den hurry, and bash de head against a tree in de darkness? dat not good enough fo' anyone; dat all tommy nonsense."
-"then i shall do it."
-jim stretched his head farther from between the brambles and stared down into the jungle beneath, as if he were trying to penetrate it to the tree roots. as for sam, the little fellow started, and looked queerly at his master, as if he half thought that anxiety and excitement had unhinged his mind; but jim returned his gaze coolly, and once more repeated the statement.
-"then i shall do it," he said. "listen here, sam, and tell me what you think of the idea. you admit that these men will camp for to-night, satisfied that they are not followed, and that they can easily reach their native friends to-morrow. once there, you can see that sadie will be surrounded, and that rescue will be almost impossible. well now, i'm going to push along through that jungle as quickly as horses can take me, and as quickly as the undergrowth will allow. this evening, the instant night falls, i shall go on on foot, taking the lantern. there's not much danger of the light being seen with all those trees about, and there is a good chance of being able to come up with the fugitives. if i do, i'll snatch my sister away, and return towards our party, who will mount and ride at the first dawn."
-the little negro gasped as he heard the plan outlined. it was not that the danger of such an attempt staggered him; it was the shrewdness of the suggestion. he pinched himself as punishment for not having produced it himself, and turned upon his master with a flash in his eye which showed his pleasure.
-"by lummy, dat fine!" he cried. "dat de only way to do um. s'pose dem scum camp as i say--i shore dey do it. but s'pose dey don't, and ride right on, den no harm done; but if dey camp, den yo have de one chance of savin' missie. ob course i hab to go with yo; yo not able to follow de trail widout sam. and tom extry strong, and able to creep along right well, in spite of his size; besides, he able to carry missie once we have managed to rescue her. den ching know de ways ob de jungle; he mighty fine fighter. him----"
-jim stopped the garrulous little fellow with a movement of his hand. suddenly his finger shot out from the brambles, and he pointed towards the huge sea of waving palms and forest trees, all thickly clad in green. but it was not the jungle to which he drew sam's attention; it was a wide patch of yellowish-white that cropped up amidst the green some miles away, direct in the line of the lagoon.
-"watch that spot," he ordered curtly. "i saw something moving, but the distance is too great for me. what do you see?"
-eagerly he awaited the answer, but it was more than a minute before the negro ventured to open his mouth. he plucked jim by the sleeve and drew him backward, sliding through the briers himself as if he were a snake.
-"then we will take good care not to show ourselves; but advance we must," cried jim. "see here, sam, find a way over for us where we can pass without anyone being able to see us. if necessary i'll push on with a small party afoot and leave the horses to come later; but i'd rather take the whole lot on their mounts, because then we shall be able to get nearer to those ruffians. look around and choose a likely spot."
-he crept back to the party, while the negro stole off along the ridge, keeping well away from the skyline. in ten minutes he was back with them, his face shining under the sun, a hopeful smile on his lips.
-"come 'long, and lead de hosses," he whispered. "sam make along de side ob de hill and find a place where we can slip to de bottom; but not ride. ground very rough and full ob stones and holes."
-they followed him in silence, each man leading his own horse, while the huge tom led also the beast which carried their blankets and ammunition. and a very business-like party they looked as they filed away amongst the bushes; for each one carried a rifle slung across his shoulders, the muzzle sticking up well above his head, while a pouch attached to the belt about his waist was filled with cartridges. khaki clothing was chiefly worn, for since the british introduced the colour many nations have adopted it for their uniforms. water bottles were slung to the belts, and every member of the band was provided with a revolver.
-"best take 'em," said the major, just before the expedition started. "i grant that a rifle is useful most anywhere; but there are times when it is apt to get into the way, and in case such a time should turn up you'd better carry shooters."
-"halt! not come too fast," said sam suddenly, when he and jim had arrived at a rocky crevice which broke its way into the side of the hill. "plenty hole-and-corner 'way in here, and mind yo go very careful. yo chinaboy, don't yo smile as if yo was clever'n anyone; yo hab a bad fall if yo not extry cautious."
-a grim smile lit the usually saturnine face of tomkins, the surly policeman; and indeed anyone could have been excused for merriment. for sam's importance, his high-flown language, to which we cannot here venture to give outlet, and the quick way in which he flashed round upon the harmless chinaman, was most amusing. however, tom quickly silenced the little fellow.
-"yo leab dis chinaboy alone," he cried, looking fiercely at sam, but showing his teeth in a grinning smile for all that. "yo look to yoself, little man. if dere holes way in dere, p'raps yo fall into one; den lost fo' good. no sam to be found. all de boys call out hooray! yo get along, young feller."
-that set tomkins grinning more than ever. to do the man but common justice, he was an excellent fellow at heart, though his taciturnity and the shortness and crispness of his remarks made people consider him to be surly. no one saw the humour of the thing sooner than he did, and no one was more ready to smile. he turned upon the two negroes a scowl which would have scared them, had they not been accustomed to the constable,
-sam glowered upon the man, and looked as if he would be glad to do him an injury; but tom gave vent to a roar, and, dragging his horses after him, stood to his full height within a foot of tomkins. it looked for a moment as if there was to be a fracas, for the two men, white and black, glared at one another furiously; but no one could expect the jovial tom to wear such an expression for long. he burst out laughing, and, swinging round, placed himself side by side with tomkins.
-"oh, yo heard dat?" he called out. "he tink us like monkeys. den yo say, massa jim, who de most handsomest, tom or tomkins."
-but jim was in no mood for jesting. he sent the huge tom to the rear with an impatient movement of his hand, and then bade sam push forward. a moment later he was following, holding his horse by the bridle. for the next half-hour silence again settled down upon the party, though in place of the sound of their voices there came the slither of hoofs on rocks, the crash of boulders falling, and now and again a sudden exclamation as a man just saved his animal from falling; for the gully which sam had found and selected was rough, to say the least of it. probably in the wet weather it was nothing but a watercourse. now it displayed huge holes where the rains had washed the soil away, while every few feet the members of the party had to negotiate boulders, sometimes causing their animals to squeeze round them, and at others having to urge them over the obstruction. finally they all arrived at the bottom, where they were thickly surrounded by jungle.
-"forward," said jim at once, seeing the whole party mounted. "i suppose the first thing is to get back on the track, and then ride for that yellowish-white patch where we saw figures moving. perhaps we'll get there before those rascals leave; if not, we can but follow."
-some three hours later, after making but slow progress through a jungle which was very dense in parts, and after having crossed a stream, the bed of which was soft and boggy, they came to the rocky part where no vegetation had succeeded in growing. it was almost dark then, and experience told them that within a few minutes it would be impossible to see more than a foot or two before them; for in jungle countries, even under a brilliant moon, the shadows beneath the trees are of the densest. no light can penetrate those thick masses of leaves and the thousands of gaily flowered creepers which cling to the branches. here and there, perhaps, where the leaves give back from one another, or where a veteran of the forest has fallen to the ground, some few rays will filter through, making the trunks beneath look strangely ghostly, but for the most part there is dense darkness, the kind of darkness which one can almost feel.
-"here we camp for the night," said jim, slipping from his saddle. "tomkins, i am going ahead with the two negroes and the chinaman. i leave mr. barton in charge of the whole party remaining; but of course, if there is fighting, you will handle your men. see here, i'm going to try to come up to the camp those fellows will have formed and snatch away their prisoner. whatever happens, ride at the first streak of light and follow our tracks; we'll take good care to make them clear and open. tom shall blaze the trees as we pass."
-some fifteen minutes later, having meanwhile partaken of a hurried meal, jim, with sam and tom and ching, slipped away from the little camp where their friends were lying. for a minute, perhaps, the gleam of the lamp that sam carried remained visible; then the jungle swallowed it effectually, so that presently our hero had disappeared entirely. he was gone on an expedition which might bring success or failure, and which in any case meant danger for him and his little party.
-on the track of miscreants
-to those who have had no experience of the jungle, who happen never to have passed a night in such tropical forests as those which clothe the ground about the isthmus of panama, the deadly silence that pervades everything is perhaps the most noticeable feature of all. it is almost terrifying in its intensity, and with dense darkness to help it is apt to awe even the boldest. and when, as happens so often, that silence is suddenly and most unexpectedly broken by the call of some prowling wild beast, when a sharp hissing sound and a rustling amongst the fallen leaves near at hand tells of a creeping snake, then indeed the nerves tingle, the novice feels a strange sensation about the roots of his hair, while perspiration gathers thickly on his forehead. yes, the bravest are awed. even the old hand, the experienced hunter, holds his breath and halts to listen, his senses all alert, ready to defend his life against danger.
-so it was with jim and his friends. one only was accustomed to the jungle; and for a while, after diving into its darkness, they were overawed by its deathly silence at one moment, and at another moment by the weird calls which came to their ears. the lamplight shining on tom's face demonstrated the fact that he was trying to smile; but it was an uneasy and an unnatural movement.
-"by de poker," he gasped, "but not like dis at all! de leaves whisper murder. de branches ob de trees call out and say: 'take care'. tom all ob a shiber."
-"he, he, he! yo not like him, dis forest," grinned ching, though, to tell the truth, the chinaman's slanting eyes were moving restlessly from side to side, in a manner which denoted fear. "yo hold de hand ob dis chinaboy; den feel braver. no harm come when ching near. yo come along wid me, tom."
-his bantering tones caused the huge negro to change his smile for a scowl. he stretched out a hand and slowly doubled up the fingers, as much as to say that he could with pleasure take the chinaman in one hand and crush the life out of him. he began to exclaim, but jim cut him short. our hero brushed the sweat from his forehead, and swung round upon the two.
-"silence, you babies!" he exclaimed. "a sound travels far in the jungle, and who can say how near we are to those villains we are searching for? silence! follow in single file, and take care that you do not tread on fallen branches and twigs. i have often heard it stated that the snap of a broken twig can be heard as plainly as the report of a pistol. guess it's true, too."
-"but dere no fear jest now, massa jim," interrupted sam, his little eyes twinkling in the light of the lamp which dangled from his finger. "still, all de same, dat lubber ob a tom better take care and keep him mouth shut. him never can speak soft; him shout and bawl. him a great, big, hulkin' bull, i reckon."
-that brought the big negro to the point of explosion. after all, it was an event of every day for these three faithful fellows, who had clung so well to jim, to banter one another, and for that bantering to turn mostly against tom. it was the fate of the ponderous fellow often to be the butt of his comrades, to provide them with a ready cause for wit at his expense, and always with the certainty that tom would swallow the bait and lash himself into a pretended fit of anger, in which he threatened terrible things, gesticulated, and roared, and often enough shook his huge fists and bared his fine white teeth in a manner which would have disturbed the courage of a bold man, but which, with ching and sam, who knew him so well, or with our hero, merely resulted in roars of laughter and in further banter. however, this was not the time for such fun and frolic, and jim put a stop to the noise promptly.
-"come," he said; "guess we've got sadie to think about. that's better than badgering one another."
-at once there came a serious look across the faces of his followers. their eyes shone more brightly, while tom gave vent to an exclamation, striking himself across his broad chest at the same moment. "i's ought ter be kicked," he said indignantly. "yo see, tom not say anoder word till missie found. but den, ha! yo take care, tom smash dem rascals. knock 'em all into cocked hat; make jelly and jam ob dem."
-all his pretended ferocity was turned upon the rascals who had abducted sadie; and to look at him as he spoke there was no doubt, remembering the huge negro's prowess in former scuffles, that he would be as good as his word. but sam was already moving ahead, and jim fell in immediately behind him. with the chinaman as third man, and tom bringing up the rear, the party pressed on as rapidly as possible through the forest. nor did sam seem to find any difficulty in holding to the track. his sharp eyes were bent for ever on the ground, while his lamp swung this way and that, lighting the hoofmarks made by the horses of jaime de oteros's party. and as they went, tom, armed with a heavy knife, blazed the trees to the left, to afford a guide to those who were to follow. it was half an hour before the silence amongst them was broken; then sam came to a sudden stop, and drew jim towards him.
-"dey get off de hosses here," he whispered. "jungle growing so low, dey couldn't sit in the saddle any longer. now, yo watch extry close, and i show yo what happen. here one, two, three, yes four ob de scum. four ob de villain, sah, and here am anoder mark. dat missie; yo see how small it am? den i's sure dat missie. she walk between de rascal; two go in front, each leading a hoss. no; one ob dem hab two hosses. den missie; she not hab a hoss. den two oder blackguard, one wid two hosses."
-it seemed clear enough to sam, though for jim the reading of these elusive signs was a somewhat different matter; but by dint of following engine. it must either have been too high up for the good people of delhi to hear it, or its engines must have been shut off, or well throttled down. bah! i know too much about aeroplanes to swallow that." then rounding upon jones, who was standing by awaiting instructions, he said sharply:--
-"did that second message go out to keane?"
-"and there’s still no reply from him?"
-"nothing whatever, sir."
-"h’m. i cannot understand it. send it out again by wireless telephone; he may be on his way back by aeroplane now, and possibly within reach."
-"right, sir," and jones disappeared to stab the ether waves again in search of keane. at that moment the telephone bell on the commissioner’s desk rang. it was the home secretary asking for colonel tempest, for the same messages concerning the aerial brigand had reached him.
-"hello, tempest; is that you?"
-"yes; who is that?"
-"lord hamilton, speaking from the home office."
-"oh, yes, my lord."
-"i say, tempest, what is this news just to hand about aerial highwaymen romping half round the british empire, destroying wireless stations, and burning out the big oil tanks along the all-red route? i thought you had all these aerial criminals well in hand. there’ll be a deuce of a row about all this when parliament meets in two days’ time."
-"well, er--we’re doing our best to deal with it, sir, but it will take time to lay these fellows by the heel, i fear."
-"have you got the matter in hand?"
-"what have you done? i shall be bombarded with questions shortly; in fact, the colonial secretary’s here now. he’s complaining that the routes are not sufficiently well patrolled. what steps have you taken to deal with these marauders?"
-"i’ve wirelessed to all the aerial stations, to get their fastest scouts out all along the line at once to look for these bandits, and i’m staying on here all night expecting news every moment."
-"very well. keep me informed of everything that happens. it’s becoming very serious. you have full powers to deal effectively with these criminals, and they may be shot down at sight if they don’t respond to signals."
-then, as the angry minister rang off, another tap was heard at the door, and the imperturbable jones entered once more, and announced:
-"message from keane and sharpe came in whilst you were speaking on the telephone, sir."
-"good!" ejaculated tempest, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow, for he had expected something much worse from the home secretary. "what does the message say?"
-"they received my last message, sir, and are on their way home by the fastest aeroplane. they are due at hounslow aerodrome at midnight."
-"excellent! what time is it now, jones?"
-"it wants ten minutes to midnight, sir, and i have sent out the fastest car to meet them and bring them straight here. they should be here in half an hour, sir."
-"have you told them at hounslow?"
-"yes, sir, and they have already got out the coloured lights and the ground flares."
-"you have done well, jones, but you had better not leave the office to-night. i’m very sorry, but i may want you. this is urgent business; we’re up against something this time, and unless keane and sharpe have found something out, we’re going to be beaten."
-"i’ll stay, sir, but what about you? this is your third night-sitting, and you’ve had nothing since lunch. shall i order supper for you?"
-"oh, thanks, jones, but i’d forgotten. yes, you may order me coffee and a sandwich, and get something for yourself. you’re getting the strain as well, and i don’t want you to break down."
-when left alone, colonel tempest once more began to pace the soft-carpeted room, much as a captain paces the bridge when his thoughts are unduly disturbed by some untoward event during the watch of the second officer. every other minute he consulted his watch, and wondered why the time passed so slowly. twice he rang down to the lobby attendant and asked if captain keane had arrived, and twice the same answer was returned.
-then he looked at the maps on the wall, and followed with his finger the trail of the all-red route which the aerial liners followed, linking up the empire and half the world. now and again he would glance shrewdly at the large map of germany, as a skipper eyes the weather quarter when a storm is brewing. occasionally he would murmur half aloud:--
-"a silent engine ... three hundred miles an hour. gee whiz! but they have beaten us two to one. we shall never catch them."
-then a slight sound caught his ears from outside the great building. the soft purr of an approaching rolls-royce motor and the sharp blast of a klaxon horn followed.
-"at last!" he cried. "here they come!"
-the next moment the door burst open and two men in flying helmets and leathern coats entered the room, and saluted the colonel. without any ceremony the latter greeted them warmly, almost joyously, for their cheerful presence gave almost instant relief to his over-burdened mind.
-"good evening, keane. good evening, sharpe," he exclaimed, stepping forward and gripping each of them warmly by the hand.
-"good evening, sir."
-"now, have you discovered anything?" began the chief, without waiting for them to divest themselves of their heavy gear.
-keane looked at the commissioner for a second or two and then answered:--
-"yes, and no, colonel."
-"h’m. that means something and nothing, i presume."
-"exactly, sir," continued keane, who acted the part of spokesman. then, speaking more solemnly, and in lowered tones, he continued, "we are up against something abnormal; i had almost said something supernatural. when you recalled us we were hot on the trail of the man who, in my opinion, is behind this conspiracy."
-"you mean this professor weissmann?" added the chief of the aerial police.
-"i thought so. this man is evidently an evil genius of very high mental calibre, and he has determined, out of personal revenge for the defeat of germany, to thwart the allies, and in particular great britain."
-"he is a master-mind, and a highly dangerous personality; dangerous because he is so clever. and now that he has secured a few daring airmen for his tools, there is no end to the possibilities which his evil genius may accomplish before he and his crew are run to earth," replied captain keane.
-"i know it, i know it--look here!" and the colonel handed him the batch of cables and wireless messages which showed how the scorpion had already got to work.
-"h’m! and there will be worse to follow," added the airman after he had glanced through the list.
-"now, tell me briefly what you have found, keane, after which we must get to work to devise some immediate plan to thwart these aerial brigands. but first take off your flying gear, and sit by the fire, for you must be hungry, tired and numbed after that cold night ride." then, ringing for his attendant, he ordered up more strong coffee and sandwiches.
-"thanks, colonel, i will not refuse. it was indeed a cold ride, and we had no time to get refreshments before leaving the aerodrome at cologne this evening," said sharpe, as he divested himself of his heavy gear, sat by the fire and enjoyed the coffee which soon arrived.
-a few moments later, the three men were engaged in serious conversation, although the hour of midnight had long since been tolled out by big ben.
-"you sent me," keane was saying, "to discover the whereabouts of this great german engineer and man of science, this brain wave whose perverted genius is likely to cost us so dear."
-"and you were unable to find any trace of him?" interposed the chief.
-"well, we were unable to come into contact with him, for we found that since peace was concluded he had vacated his professorial chair at heidelberg university, where he had been engaged for some considerable time, not only on some mechanical production, but in an attempt to discover some unknown force, evidently a new kind of highly compressed gas to be used for propulsive purposes."
-"had he been successful?"
-"that, it was impossible to find out during our short stay over there," replied keane, "but i discovered from someone who had been in close touch with him just about the time peace was signed, that he had expressed himself in very hopeful terms."
-"was he a very communicative type of man, then, did you learn?"
-"no; on the contrary, he seldom spoke of his work, but on this occasion, when he communicated this information, he was very much annoyed at the defeat of germany, and considered that his country had been betrayed into a hasty peace."
-"and what happened to him after that?" asked the colonel.
-"shortly afterwards he disappeared completely, taking with him all the apparatus connected with his research work, also a highly skilled mechanic who had been specially trained by him for a number of years. but he left not a trace of himself or his work," said the captain, pausing for a moment to light a cigarette.
-"do you think he is acting under any instructions from his authorities?"
-"no, certainly not; he distrusts his present government entirely, and considers them traitors to the fatherland."
-there was another brief silence, whilst the three men, wrapt in deep thought, sat looking into the fire, or watched the rings of tobacco smoke curling upwards to the ceiling. at last, captain sharpe observed:--
-"a powerful intellect like that did not suddenly disappear in this way without some ulterior motive, colonel tempest."
-"obviously not," returned the latter briefly, for he was deep in contemplation, and his mind was searching for some clue. at length he turned to the senior captain and said:--
-"this silent engine theory, keane, what do you think of it?"
-keane shook his head doubtfully, and the colonel handed to him once more the recent wireless message from delhi, adding merely:--
-"do you think it possible?"
-"scarcely," replied keane carefully, "but with a master mind like this, one never knows. it will be necessary for you to consult the most eminent professors of science and chemistry at once."
-"i intend to visit professor verne at his house first thing to-morrow, or rather to-day, for it is already morning."
-"but the aeroplane," added sharpe, who had been perusing the delhi message, "this also must have been specially built for this new gas."
-"given the one, the other would naturally follow, and would be the lesser task of the two, for this man is a great engineer as well," said keane.
-"it is a deep well of mystery," continued tempest after another pause; "but something must be done at once. to-morrow the morning papers will be full of it. next day parliament meets, and questions will be asked, and it will all come upon us. i shall have to meet the home secretary as soon as i have interviewed professor verne, and lord hamilton will not be easily satisfied. the public will also be clamouring for information on the subject, and they will have to be appeased and calmed. the stock exchange will begin to talk also, and to demand compensation for the companies whose properties have been damaged. insurance rates, marine and otherwise, will be raised, and lloyd’s underwriters will not fail to make a fuss. now, gentlemen, what steps can we take to deal with these raiders in the immediate future?"
-send us after this mystery ’plane on fast scouts with plenty of machine-gun ammunition," urged sharpe.
-"i cannot spare you for that, but i have already ordered strong patrols of aerial police to search for the brigands. i must have you here or somewhere within call. at any rate, i cannot let you go further than germany. it may be necessary to send you there again."
-"on what account, sir?" asked keane.
-"to find the aerodrome which this raider calls ’home,’ for he must have a rendezvous somewhere if only to obtain supplies and repairs."
-"and that secret aerodrome must be somewhere in germany, hidden away in some out-of-the-way place," ventured sharpe.
-"but in what part of germany?" asked the commissioner.
-"let me see," cried keane, rising to his feet, and walking across the room to where the large map of germany hung upon the wall--"why, it must be in the schwarzwald!"
-"the schwarzwald!" exclaimed the other two.
-"yes, it is by far the best hiding-place in the whole country. one may tramp for days and never see a soul. it must be somewhere in the schwarzwald."
-"then to the schwarzwald you must go to-morrow, adopting whatever disguises you desire, and you must find this hidden spot where the conspiracy has been hatched," concluded the colonel.
-the airship liner, empress of india, was preparing to leave her moorings, just outside the ancient city of delhi, for cairo and london. this mammoth airship was one of the finest vessels which sailed regularly from london, east and west, girdling the world, and linking up the british empire along the all-red route. she had few passengers, as she carried an unusually heavy cargo of mails for egypt and england, and a considerable amount of specie for the bank of england. several persons of note, however, figured amongst her saloon passengers, including the maharajah of bangapore, an anglo-indian judge, and a retired colonel of the indian army.
-"have all the engines been tested?" the captain asks of the chief engineer, as he comes aboard with his navigating officer.
-"all the passengers aboard?" he asks next of the ground officer.
-"all except the maharajah, captain, and i expect him any moment."
-"excellent," replied the skipper. "there’s a good deal of bullion aboard from the indian banks, i hear, and the rajah himself is likely touring a lot of valuables with him, i understand, as he is to attend several court functions at st. james’s palace."
-"yes, sir. i hope you won’t meet that aerial raider," replied the ground officer.
-"poof! what can he do? he can’t board us in mid-air! besides, i hear that the aerial police are on his track, and that all their fast scouts are patrolling the mail routes."
-"yes, you’ll have an aerial escort with you for the first two hundred miles, captain. they’ll pick you up shortly after you leave here."
-"absolutely a waste of time. the police could be much better employed in searching for these rascals."
-"well, perhaps you’re right," replied the ground official. "they certainly cannot board you in mid-air, as you observe, and they cannot set you on fire as they did the early zeppelins, for helium won’t burn."
-this conversation was interrupted by shouts and cheers which reached the speakers from down below.
-"hullo! here comes the rajah. i must go down and welcome him," said the captain, as a fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the great indian chief.
-then, with all the ceremonial and pomp of the east, the maharajah of bangapore was welcomed aboard the luxurious air-liner, and, accompanied by his personal attendants, he was shown with much obsequiousness to his private saloon. his baggage, containing treasures worth a king’s ransom, was likewise transferred, under the supervision of his chamberlain, from the ground to his suite of apartments.
-the clock in the palace of the great mogul in the old city of delhi strikes twelve, and the captain’s voice is heard once more, as he speaks from the rear gondola:--
-"yes, sir, all clear!"
-a button is pressed and the water ballast tanks discharge their cargo to lighten the ship, and then swiftly comes the final order:--
-and as the cables are slipped from the mooring tower, the light gangway is drawn back, the crowd down below cheer, and the giant airship backs out, carried by the force of the wind alone till she is well clear of the station. then her engines open up gradually. she turns until her nose points almost due west, then slips away on her four thousand miles’ journey over many a classic land, desert, forest and sea towards the centre of the world’s greatest empire.
-about four o’clock that afternoon, as judge jefferson sat and talked with his friend colonel wilson in one of the rear gondolas where smoking was permitted, he remarked that this was his seventh trip home to england by the aerial route, and declared that he could well spend the rest of his lifetime in such a pleasant mode of travel.
-"there’s no fatigue whatever," he added; "nothing of the jolt and jar which you get in the railway carriage. as for the journey by sea, i was so ill during my last voyage that i simply couldn’t face the sea again. a storm at sea is of all things the most uncomfortable. if we meet with a storm on the air-route we can either go above it or pass on one side, as most storms are only local affairs."
-"not to speak of the time that is wasted by land or sea-travel," added the colonel.
-"exactly," replied the judge.
-"only to think that in forty-eight hours we shall be in london, even allowing for a two hours’ stay in cairo to pick up further mails and passengers."
-"wonderful! wonderful!" agreed his companion.
-"and the absence of heat is some consideration, when travelling in a land like india," continued the colonel as he flicked off the end of his cigar.
-"yes. the stifling heat, particularly in may, june and july, when you get the hot dry winds, is altogether insufferable in those stuffy railway carriages, while up here it is delightfully cool and bracing, and the view is magnificent."
-"hullo! what is that fine river down there?" asked the judge, as he looked down through the clear, tropical atmosphere on to the delightful landscape of river, plain and forest three thousand feet below.
-"can it really be the indus?"
-"it is indeed."
-"then we have already travelled four hundred miles since noon across the burning plains of india, and we have reached the confines of this wonderful land," replied jefferson.
-"yes, we have indeed. we shall soon enter the native state of baluchistan. see yonder, right ahead of us, i can already make out the highest peaks of the sulaiman mountains. we are already rising to cross them."
-"and this evening we shall cross the troubled territory of afghanistan."
-"yes," replied the colonel, "and by midnight, if all goes well, we shall be sailing over persia."
-"persia, the land of enchantment," mused the judge.
-"and of the arabian nights, those wonderful tales which charmed our boyhood--the land of aladdin, of the wonderful lamp, and the magic carpet."
-"the magic carpet," laughed the judge. "this is the real magic carpet. the author of that wonderful story never dreamt that the day would really come when the traveller from other lands, reclining in luxury, would be carried through the air across his native land, by day or by night, at twice the flight of a bird."
-and so these two men talked about these wonderful classic lands over which they were sailing so serenely, of zoroaster, the great persian teacher of other days, of ahura mazda, the all-wise, and the cobbler of baghdad, until the tea-bell startled them.
-then, finding they were hungry because the bracing air had made them so, they passed on to the snug little tea-room, where, amid the palm-trees and the orchids, they listened to soft dulcet notes from a small indian orchestra which accompanied the maharajah. here, they sipped delicious china tea from dainty persian cups, and appeased their hunger, as best they could, from the tiny portions of alluring patisserie which usually accompany afternoon tea.
-but, later that evening, they did ample justice to a fuller and nobler banquet, which had been prepared for them in the gilded and lofty dining saloon; for they were the honoured guests of the maharajah of bangapore. and he entertained them right royally as befitted one of his princely rank.
-and in all the wondrous folk-lore and tradition of the ancient persian kings, was there ever a more regal banquet, or one more conspicuous by the splendour of its oriental wealth than this long-protracted feast? rich emblazoned goblets of gold, bejewelled with rare and precious gems, adorned the table, for the prince had brought his household treasures; they were to him his household gods, and heirlooms of priceless worth.
-while the great, mammoth air-liner is racing like a meteor across the eastern skies, on its way to cairo and london, it is necessary to introduce to the reader a chirpy, little fellow called gadget. in fact, this cute little chap, who stood a matter of four feet two inches in his stockinged feet, deserves a chapter or two all to himself.
-now gadget did not belong to the passengers, nor did his name appear at all in that distinguished list. neither did he rightly belong to the crew, except in the matter of his own opinion--on which subject he held very pronounced views. but he certainly did belong to the airship, and appeared to be part of the apparatus, or maybe the fixtures and effects. he certainly knew the run of that great liner, every nook and corner of it, better even than the purser or the navigating officer.
-to tell the truth, this insignificant but perky little bit of humanity was a stowaway, who had determined, at twelve years of age, to see the world, at the expense of somebody else. how he came aboard, and hid himself amongst the mail-bags, until the airship had sailed a thousand miles over land and sea, still remains a mystery. but it happened that, when the empress of india was crossing the blue waters of the adriatic sea, on her outward voyage, there came a tap at the captain’s door one afternoon when the latter had just retired for a brief spell.
-"come in!" called the air-skipper, in rather surly tones, wondering what had happened to occasion this interruption.
-the next instant, the chief officer entered the little state-room, leading by a bit of string, attached to one of his nether garments, the most tattered-looking, diminutive, but perky little street arab the captain had ever beheld.
-"what in the name of goodness have you got there, crabtree?" exclaimed the skipper, starting up from his comfortable bunk, at this apparition.
-"stowaway, sir!" replied the officer briefly.
-"stowaway?" echoed the captain.
-"where did you find him?"
-"didn’t find him, sir. he gave himself up just now. says he’s been hiding amongst the mail-bags. what shall i do with him, sir?"
-this was said more to frighten the little imp than with real intent, though the air-skipper spoke in angry tones, as if he meant what he said. he was evidently very much annoyed at this discovery.
-"he’s half-frozen, sir," interposed the chief officer in more kindly tones.
-"humph! of course he is," added the captain. "this keen, biting wind at three thousand feet above the sea must have turned his marrow cold. besides, he hasn’t enough clothes to cover a rabbit decently. just look at him!"
-the little chap’s eyes sparkled, and his face flushed a little at this reference to his scant wardrobe. but he knew by the changed tone in the captain’s voice that the worst was now over. he had not even heard a reference to the proverbial rope’s-end, a vision which he had always associated in his mind with stowaways.
-"my word, he’s a plucky little urchin, crabtree!" declared the air-skipper at length, his anger settling down, and his admiration for the adventurous little gamin asserting itself as he gazed at the ragged but sharp-eyed little fellow.
-"what is your name, sonny?" he asked at length.
-"gadget, sir," whipped out the stowaway.
-"good enough!" returned the captain smiling. "we’ve plenty of gadgets aboard the airship, and i guess another won’t make much difference. what do you say, crabtree?"
-"how old are you, gadget?" asked the captain.
-"twelve, sir!" replied the gamin.
-"father and mother dead, i suppose?"
-"been left to look after yourself, gadget, i reckon, haven’t you?" said the skipper kindly, as he gave one more searching glance at the small urchin, and noted how the little blue lips quivered, despite the brave young heart behind them.
-there was no reply this time, for even the poor, ill-treated lad could not bring himself to speak of his up-bringing.
-"never mind, gadget...!" interposed the skipper, changing the subject. "so you determined to see the world, did you, my boy?"
-"yessir!" came the reply, and again the sharp eyes twinkled.
-"well, you shall go round the world with me, if you are a good boy. but, if you don’t behave, mark my words"--and here the captain raised his voice as if in anger--"i’ll drop you overboard by parachute, and leave you behind! do you understand?"
-the urchin promised to behave himself, and, in language redolent of whitechapel, began to thank the captain effusively.
-"there, that will do! take him away, and get him a proper rig-out, crabtree," said the skipper impatiently. "i never saw such a tatterdemalion in all my life."
-"come along, now, gadget," ordered the chief officer, giving a little tug at the frayed rope, which he had been holding all this while, and, which, in some unaccountable way, seemed to hold the urchin’s wardrobe together.
-this little tug, however, had dire results, in-so-far as the above mentioned wardrobe was concerned. it immediately became obvious that it not only served as braces to the little gamin, but also as a girdle, which kept in a sort of suspended animation gadget’s circulating library and commissariat. for, even as the janitor and his prisoner turned, the rope became undone, and, though gadget by a rapid movement retained the nether part of his tattered apparel in position, yet his library--which consisted of a dirty, grease-stained, much worn volume--and his commissariat--composed of sundry fragments of dry crusts of bread wrapped in half a newspaper--immediately became dislodged by the movement, and showered themselves in a dozen fragments at the captain’s feet.
-"snakes alive! what have we here?" demanded that august person, as he stooped and picked up the book. then he laughed outright, as he read aloud from the grubby, much-thumbed title page:--
-five weeks in a balloon ... by jules verne.
-the mate grinned too. he remembered how that same book had thrilled him, not so long ago either. and, perhaps, after all, it was the same with captain rogers.
-"where did you get this, gadget?" asked the captain, reopening the conversation, after this little accident.
-"bought it of jimmy dale, sir," replied the boy readily.
-"and how much did you pay for it?"
-"gev ’im my braces, an’ a piece o’ tar band for it, sir."
-the captain ceased to laugh, and looked at the boy’s earnest face. and something suspiciously like a tear glistened in the eyes of the airman, as he replied:--
-"you actually gave away to another urchin an important part of your scanty wardrobe to get possession of this book?"
-"oh, it wur a fair bargen, sir. jimmy found the book on a dust heap, but i wasn’t takin’ it fur nothin’. and then jimmy never had any braces."
-"i see. very well, you can go now, gadget. mr. crabtree will find you some better clothes, and get you some food. then you shall report to me to-morrow. see, here is your treasured book," said the skipper, dismissing the urchin once more.
-"thank you, sir," returned the boy, pulling a lock of unkempt hair which hung over his forehead, by way of salute. "i’ll lend you the book, sir, if you’ll take care of it," and the chief officer smiled as he led the little chap away.
-so that was how gadget became part of the fixtures and apparatus of the air liner. he was more than an adventurer, was gadget. he might even have been an inventor or a discoverer, if he had met with better fortune in the choice of his parents. his sharp, young brain was full of great ideas.
-in less than a couple of days, rigged out in a smart pair of overalls, which had been very considerably cut down, he was soon perfectly at home aboard the great liner. but then he was so adaptable. as an up-to-date cabin boy, the captain declared that he never knew his equal.
-he became a general favourite, and in a very short space of time he discovered more about airships and internal-combustion engines than many a man would have learnt in six months.
-it was no use, therefore, to argue with the boy that he didn’t belong to the crew of the empress. and it just wasn’t worth while to inform him that, as he was still of school age, he would be handed over to the authorities, or placed in a reformatory, as soon as the vessel returned to england. gadget had made up his mind that he wouldn’t. in a little while it even became an open question whether gadget belonged to the airship or the airship belonged to gadget.
-"i hain’t argefyin’ with you, i’m telling ye. this is the way it should be done!" he was heard to remark to one of the air mechanics one day, after he had been on the vessel about a week. the point at issue concerned a piece of work on which the mechanic was engaged, and gadget had even dared to express his point of view. the extraordinary thing was that gadget was right.
-ships and railway engines were all right in their way, but they were not good enough for gadget. aeroplanes and airships were much more to his liking. he was thoroughly alive and up-to-date, and though some months ago, when this fever of world travel first seized upon him, he had more than once considered the question of stowing himself quietly away on some outward bound vessel from the west india docks in london, his fortunate discovery, and ultimate possession of that tattered copy of five weeks in a balloon, had caused him to change his views.
-ever since reading that volume he had had no rest. even his dreams had been mainly concerning balloons and their modern equivalents, airships.
-"i will see the world from an airship," he had confidently announced to himself one day. "i will sail over tropical forests and lagoons, over deserts and jungles."
-this had been his dream and his prayer. but unlike many older folk, gadget had left no stone unturned in order to answer his own prayer. he had carefully followed the newspapers (for he had earned many a shilling by selling them) for the movements of the new air liner and the opening up of the all-red route. and when the time had arrived for the airship to sail, watching his opportunity the little fellow had smuggled himself on board, and here he was, having now almost sailed around the world, crossing the arabian desert on the homeward voyage.
-gadget’s activities, however, were not confined merely to the duties of cabin boy, although his diminutive size and his rapidity of movement made him very useful in that capacity. to fetch and carry for the skipper or chief officer along that 670 feet of keel corridor was to him a life of sparkle and animation. but, when no particular duty called him, the pulsating mechanism of that mighty leviathan irresistibly attracted him.
-his round, closely cropped, well shaped head, and his roguish little face, would suddenly appear in the wireless cabin or in one of the four gondolas, where the powerful sunbeam-maori engines drove the whirling propellers.
-ship’s mascot and general favourite though he was, his sharp wits soon enabled him to make himself almost indispensable. at length, however, the everlasting call seemed to be----
-"gadget! gadget! where is the little rascal? what mischief is he up to now?"
-for it must be admitted that the overwhelming curiosity of the urchin sometimes got him into trouble. in this respect he had particularly fallen foul of morgan, the third engineer, a short, stout, somewhat stumpy type of welshman, whose spell of duty generally confined his activities to the care of the twin-engines in the rear gondola.
-it appears that gadget had unwittingly broken the rules and regulations of the airship by smuggling two parcels of tobacco aboard during a brief stay in one of the air ports. he knew full well that a little fortune awaited the man who could unload smuggled tobacco down the whitechapel road, and the temptation had been too great for him. he had been discovered, however, and the captain had punished him for the offence.
-now, gadget was still smarting under this punishment when one day he startled the third engineer by his sudden and unlooked for appearance in the rear gondola.
-"how now, you little rascal!" exclaimed morgan, throwing a greasy rag at the boy. "how much did you make on that tobacco?"
-"stop smokin’ on dooty, will yer, an’ mind yer own bisness!" rasped out the urchin, feeling that both his dignity and importance were being imperilled by this reference to his recent offence.
-"go away!" snarled the bad-tempered welshman, surreptitiously hiding the still smoking cigarette.
-"yah! why don’t yer get more ’revs’ out o’ those rear engines?" yapped the insulting little cockney boy, repeating a few words used by the captain himself the day before, and preparing to beat a hasty retreat through the doorway.
-"you dirty ragamuffin!" shouted the stout man, flushing with anger, and hurling the oil can, which he held in his hand, at the gamin.
-for one instant the tantalising little street arab disappeared on the other side of the door, but, when the missile had spent its force, and had crumpled up against the panelling, leaving a pool of oil on the floor, the urchin’s head reappeared once more. the opportunity was too good to be lost. all the vivacity of the boy was pitted against the hot tempered welshman, and gadget was a master of invective, and had a wonderful command of high sounding words, the real meaning of which, however, he did not properly understand. but he was just dying for another of these encounters, so common in his experience of things down stepney way, or along the west india dock road.
-"call yerself an ingineer?" came the next gibe from the saucy, impudent little face, now distorted into something grotesque and ugly. "we’ll be two hours late at cairo, an’ all because you ain’t fit to stoke a donkey-ingine."
-"ger-r-r-o-u-t!" shouted the angry man, making a rush for his tormentor. "i’ll break your head if you come in here again!"
-"i’d like ter see yer!" came the tart reply, ten seconds later, as the head reappeared once again, for gadget had retreated swiftly some way down the keel corridor, as his opponent made for him with a huge spanner.
-the engineer had determined to lock the door of the little engine-room against the little stinging gad-fly, but of course the sharp-witted rascal had outwitted, or "spike-bozzled" him, as they say in the air force, by snatching the key and locking the communication-door on the outer side.
-morgan was beginning to find out to his cost that it was a very unwise proceeding to cross the path of this pertinacious stowaway. he could not get rid of him, and this morning, after the skipper’s recent remarks, he was trying to recover his lost reputation by extra attention to his engines. besides, the captain would be along on his rounds again soon, and, if the engines were not doing their accustomed revolutions, there might be trouble.
-thinking he had now got rid of his tormentor, morgan turned to examine his engines, when the key turned softly in the lock once more, and the irrepressible mascot, peering through the slightly open door, grinned, and then gave vent to the one word, which means so much:--
-"you’re a little villain!" roared the engineer.
-"you’re an incubus!" retorted gadget.
-"swollen head, that’s what you’ve got!"
-"by st. david, if i catch you, i’ll----" cried the now exasperated welshman.
-"abnormal circumference--distended stummick, that’s what you’re sufferin’ from. the capten says so!" replied gadget as a parting shot.
-this ungentle reference to his personal symmetry was too much for the engineer, and he made another wild rush in the direction of his opponent. this time, gadget had no opportunity to lock the door, but, turning round, he bolted precipitately down the long keel corridor, cannoning into the chief officer, who was just coming along to the rear gondola, and receiving a somewhat violent cuff on the head from that dignified official, whose gravity had been gravely endangered by this sudden encounter.
-"here, you little rascal, take that!" cried the angry officer, and gadget, glad to get away on such slight terms, and feeling that he had given his opponent value for his money, scampered off, and made his way to the wireless cabin.
-here he assumed immediately an attitude of respectful attention, and even prevailed on the officer in charge to give him another lesson on the morse code, for the urchin had a wonderful range of feeling which enabled him at a moment’s notice to adapt himself to the circumstances of his environment.
-"wonderful, gadget! you’re making rapid progress. you shall have a lesson in taking down messages, to-morrow. you have the making of a good wireless operator in you. i shall speak to the captain about it."
-"thank you, sir," replied the gamin, pulling his lock of hair by way of salute. this lock of hair, by the way, at the urchin’s special request, had been left there, when the famous "r. d. clippers" had shorn off the rest of the crop, when the airship’s barber had overhauled and close-reefed him, soon after his first encounter with the captain.
-here, again, by his artful, winning way, which gadget knew how to adopt when circumstances demanded it, the little urchin was on good terms with the photographic officer. the latter, who admired the boy’s character and wit, and pitied his upbringing, had declared more than once that gadget possessed in a large degree that intuitive genius which belongs to greatness, and prophesied a brilliant future for the neglected boy, if only he could be properly trained.
-"come to me for an hour a day, gadget, when the captain does not require your services, and i will teach you photography. some day you shall have a camera of your own, and who knows, you may become a great film operator." and the grateful boy was only too quick to learn what these skilful operators had to teach.
-so, into this new life of adventure and travel, this little urchin entered with all the zest and enthusiasm of which he was capable, making many friends, and an occasional enemy. and all the while the great airship, glistening in the tropical sun, sailed on across the wide stretch of desert which lies between india and egypt, along the line of the thirtieth parallel.
-the tropical sun looked fiercely down upon the burning sands of the hamadian desert. north, south, east and west, as far as the eye could reach, in every direction, the illimitable waste of desert stretched, save only at one pleasant, fertile spot, where a cluster of date and lofty palm trees fringed the banks of a silent pool.
-nay, it was no rich argosy of the desert that these fierce men expected; their eyes were directed one and all towards the skies, for the days had now arrived of which the poet spoke, when he
-"saw the heavens filled with commerce, argosies of magic sails, pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;"
-and they were awaiting, with evil intent, the passing of the aerial mail, which they knew to be carrying vast treasures of gold and other precious things from india to cairo and europe.
-the three europeans who had collected and organised these robber chiefs, by appealing to their hereditary instincts, were none other than our friends, rittmeister von spitzer, and his companions carl and max, the german irreconcilables, whom we left in the dark shadows of the schwarzwald preparing for their adventure.
-already they had made a name greater than muller of the emden, but they had made themselves outlaws of the nations of the world, and though for a little while success and fame might attend them, yet they knew that sooner or later the agreed price of their adventure would be death.
-"what news of the british air-liner, max?" called von spitzer, as his subordinate descended by a rope ladder from one of the smaller trees, where an observation post had been fixed, and an aerial mounted, for the purposes of wireless telegraphy and telephony.
-"she left delhi at mid-day yesterday, sir," replied the operator, unclamping the receivers which till now had been fixed over his ears.
-"then she’s running to scheduled time?"
-"was it the official departure message that you tapped?"
-"it must have been, rittmeister, for it announced that a distinguished passenger had joined her at the last moment."
-"indeed! what was his name? did you discover it?" asked the flight-commander, who, to maintain his influence over the wild sons of the desert, was wearing the loose, flowing robes of an arab sheik, richly emblazoned and adorned.
-"his name was the maharajah of bangalore," replied max, the erstwhile gotha pilot.
-"what! the miscreant! he was the man who raised thirty thousand indian troops for the mesopotamian campaign, and made it possible for the british to advance on baghdad after their disaster at kut."
-"that accounts for it. he is to be decorated at st. james’s palace for some eminent services he has rendered to the british government."
-"we’re in luck’s way, max. i may spare his life, as i do not seek to take any man’s life who does not oppose me. but it’s a thousand to one he’s carrying his jewels and his household gods with him; it is the custom of these eastern potentates. i will strip him as the locust strips the vine. i will give his jewels to these brave arabs; it will confirm my hold upon them. we may need their help upon another occasion. but, this is by the way, was there anything from the professor?"
-"only this, rittmeister; i have waited since dawn for it," and the operator handed to spitzer a cryptic message of seven letters, which, to the receiver at least was quite unintelligible. max had pencilled it down as follows:--"x--g--p--c--v--s--m," for it had come through the ether by wireless telegraphy and not by wireless telephone, like the first message. the reason was obvious. one message was for public intelligence and for use in the newspapers, and the other was for more secret and sinister purposes. the cryptogram had come from the professor, who, with his mechanic, had been left behind in the schwarzwald to collect information for the brigands, and to obtain further supplies of uranis for the scorpion.
-the rittmeister eagerly grasped the little strip of paper on which the message was written, and retired to the small hangar where the scorpion was pegged down and stowed away, remarking:--
-"this is evidently urgent; i must get the cipher-key and decode it at once. meantime, i want you to rehearse the men in the parts they are to play, and give carl a hand with the vibration drum. the great liner is almost due. you may tell the sheik that in addition to the large cargo of gold which the airship carries, an indian prince with jewels worth a king’s ransom is on board."
-"your orders shall be carried out, rittmeister," replied max, who was glad to be relieved of his monotonous task of listening hour after hour for coded messages, and looked forward with some pleasure to the coming adventure.
-shortly afterwards, max, having delivered his message to the arabian chief, was standing beside carl under the shadow of a cluster of trees on the very margin of the pool. that wonderful instrument, the vibrative drum, which is fashioned somewhat on the principle of the human ear, but with a large horn-shaped receptacle for receiving the very minutest sound waves, and focussing them on to a very sensitive drum, was engaging their attention.
-every now and then, when they fancied they heard a sound that broke the stillness of the desert, they would listen acutely, turning the horn this way and that way to discover whence came the sound.
-"they are due about mid-day, the chief says," remarked carl, after a brief pause in their conversation. "what time do you make it now?"
-"a quarter of an hour yet," responded max, consulting his chronometer, and making a rapid calculation to allow for the difference in longitude, for he still carried central european time.
-"and they’re sure to follow the 30th parallel?"
-"yes, it’s their shortest route," replied the wireless expert.
-"then they should pass within three or four miles from here," observed carl.
-"yes, unless they’ve drifted a little out of their course."
-"but we should hear them on the vibrator even if they were fifty miles away in a silent land like this."
-"listen! can you hear anything?" exclaimed max in a slightly nervous tone, after a brief silence.
-"no, i don’t think so, but those fellows over there must be quiet; they’re getting excited about the promised loot."
-"go and tell them, carl; you speak the best arabic."
-the german left the drum for a moment and after expostulating for a while with the sheik, he gained his point and the word was passed along for silence.
-the arabs were greatly mystified by this strange instrument, as well as by those aerial wires affixed to the trees, and most of all by that strange, weird machine, hidden away behind the sand-proof curtains of the little camouflaged hangar, like the sacred ark in the holy of holies.
-with wondering eyes they had on occasion watched the scorpion mount to the heavens with marvellous ease and descend with like facility--bearing its human burden aloft to the very skies and bringing them safely to earth again.
-these strange gods which the infidels had brought with them to their desert home were greatly feared even by these brave, proud men, and it was only the largesse and the promise of still better things to come, from the great white chief, which prevented these sons of the desert from leaving this dreaded spot.
-the scout pilot, having obtained his wish, now returned to the instrument, for his companion was already beckoning to him. evidently the approach of the airship had been indicated by the sensitive drum, but, ere carl reached the margin of the pool, he noticed the rittmeister emerge from the hangar where he had been decoding the message, and wave for him to approach.
-"what is it, rittmeister?" he called.
-"the message. come here a moment!"
-max, who thought that a faint sound he had just heard from the instrument might portend the distant approach of the liner, left the drum, for he knew there would be plenty of time, and joined the other two by the hangar on the other side of the pool, for he also was curious about the cryptic message, which he had taken earlier in the day.
-"was it from the professor?" he asked in his first breath.
-"yes, he is in for a bad time, i fear," replied the rittmeister. "he will not be able to communicate again for some time."
-"what is the matter?" asked the others simultaneously.
-"why, keane and sharpe are on his track again. you know the rascals; they were secret service pilots and spies during the war, and now they are scout pilots in the british aerial police. they’re the left-hand and the right hand of that confounded tempest, the little tin god at scotland yard, and the brains of the aerial police."
-"himmel! i hope he can outwit them," exclaimed carl. "they’re keen birds, both of them, and they have some exploits to their credit."
-"if he can’t, then the length of our existence is the capacity of those remaining eight cylinders of uranis," ventured max.
-"and the length of the rope round our necks as well," murmured his companion.
-they all laughed at this, but spitzer looked keenly for an instant into the eyes of the two pilots, as though he would search their innermost souls, and make sure that they would be game to the end. but they evidently read his thoughts also, for max announced:--
-"it’s all right, rittmeister; we’re not going back upon our word. the die is cast!" and carl in a brave attempt at another sally, added:--
-the next instant their thoughts were diverted to another subject. it was already mid-day, for the sun by his altitude announced it. as they approached the drum, they could now distinctly hear the hum of mighty engines though still forty miles away, recorded in that delicate instrument, and one thought, uttered or unexpressed, came instinctively to each mind:--
-"airship or aeroplane?" asked von spitzer, a moment later, as carl closely watched the delicate recorder, which, as the vibration caused by the sound waves increased, indicated not only the type of craft, but the type of engine by which it was driven, and also whether the engine was running with or without defects. so wonderful are the secrets which man has already wrested from nature.
-"airship, decidedly!" replied carl, after a second’s pause. "full-powered too; there are four or five sunbeam-maori engines, and all running smoothly."
-"her position?" demanded the rittmeister next.
-"forty-four miles due east," came the answer.
-"then it must be the aerial mail from india; she is just about due."
-"is she steering due west?" the chief asked.
-"about two degrees south, that’s all," replied carl. "she’s evidently getting a little drift from the upper currents."
-"good!" remarked the chief airman. "then if she continues steering steady, she should pass within a couple of miles of us in another twenty or twenty-five minutes. come along, carl, it is time for us to get away. you will remain on the ground, max. you have a difficult job. as soon as we get away, see that the tents are struck, and all men and horses placed under cover of the trees."
-"and now sound the alarm signal, and help us to get out the scorpion; it is going to bite to-day," ordered the rittmeister as he strode away, exclaiming,
-"who wouldn’t be a king of the desert? for one day at least it will be, ’deutschland, deutschland ueber alles!’"
-the alarm being sounded, all the occupants of the little camp went to quarters, just as they had been rehearsed during the last few days. the camouflaged fabric was stripped from the little hangar, and the scorpion was set free to bite once more. she was released from the ropes which held her down and turned head to wind. the steel folding wings were snapped back into their sockets and made secure.
-"are you ready, carl?" asked the chief, as he completed his rapid survey of the machine, during which neither the propellers, planes, tail-fin nor rudder escaped his scrutiny.
-"aye, ready, sir!" came the reply from the junior, who was now seated in the armour-plated conning-tower, testing the controls and examining his machine guns.
-without a moment’s delay the chief clambered up through the little trapdoor and joined his companion. then he paused for a moment whilst he swept the eastern horizon with his powerful binoculars.
-"i cannot see her yet, carl," he said. then turning to max, who stood by the starboard engine, he shouted, "just try to pick up her position again from the drum. she may have changed her course a trifle."
-the gotha pilot dashed off on his errand, and after carefully listening for a moment, he returned and said, "east-south-east, about four degrees east."
-"good, she’ll pass about five miles south of us then; but she’s not visible yet," replied spitzer.
-"she’s getting a good deal of drift, i fancy," returned max.
-"anyhow, we’ll get up into the blue and wait for her," said the airman, and waving his hand for the signal to stand clear, he pressed the self-starting knob, and instantaneously both engines sprang into life, and the whirring propellers started up such a dust storm from the loose sand of the desert that the arabs were startled, and rushed to secure their frightened steeds.
-"allah, the compassionate, the merciful!" cried the arab chief, as he raised his hands imploringly towards heaven. "it is the bird of destiny, my children, the phantom of the desert!" and max could scarcely restrain a smile as he beheld the momentary fear which had seized these strong, fierce men.
-the next moment, however, they were all busy striking the tents and bringing horses, equipment, and all the camp effects under the shadow of the trees.
-meanwhile the scorpion, appearing exactly like a huge grey phantom bird, soared away in a north-westerly direction, lest it should be observed by the occupants of the approaching liner.
-and in a few minutes, rising rapidly by steep spirals, and an almost vertical climb, it had disappeared from sight. soon it soared over the camp again at ten thousand feet, and appeared but a speck in the cloudless blue, like the faintest suspicion of a tiny cirrus cloud.
-"allah, the compassionate!" again began the sheik, and max, fearing that this strange visitant might affect their nerves, called out aloud in the best arabic he could muster:--
-"allah be praised! this stranger carries gold and rare jewels across the desert. he must pay tribute to the sons of jebel and shomer!"
-this appeal to their cupidity instantly changed the demeanour of these fanatics. their fear departed. even when, later, they heard the roar of the powerful engines which propelled the airship, their one thought was of plunder.
-"the treasures of twenty damascus’ caravans are in that great airship," cried max, fulfilling with considerable skill the part which spitzer had allotted to him.
-the bedouins, whose feelings were now raised to the highest pitch of excitement, began to fear lest, after all, so rich a prize might be lost, and they eagerly searched the skies for the phantom airman, as they called the rittmeister, and shouted:--
-"where is the phantom bird? where is the great white sheik?" and they would have dashed out into the desert on their fiery steeds, for they were already mounted, but the german restrained them, saying:--
-"there is no need to hunt the quarry. the great white sheik will bring down the airship on this very spot. be ready, when i give the signal, to surround it."
-another anxious moment passed, and the airship, travelling rapidly at some three thousand feet above the ground, would have passed them by some few miles to the south, but at that instant, the indian judge caught sight of the picturesque oasis with its cluster of palms far down below, and said to his soldier companion:--
-"look, colonel wilson! just look at that beauty spot after two hundred miles of yellow desert."
-"ah, wonderful!" exclaimed the delighted soldier. "it is a little garden planted by nature in the solitary wastes."
-"how picturesque! i should like to land there," returned the other.
-"let us ask the captain at least to change his course slightly, so that we may pass over it and photograph it as a souvenir of our pleasant journey," said the officer.
-at that moment the captain, passing down the gangway, overheard the remark, and being eager to oblige his distinguished passengers, he telephoned his orders to the navigating officer, who slightly altered the ship’s course, so as to pass almost directly over the oasis.
-it was while they were engaged in delightful contemplation of this emerald isle embedded in the gold of the desert, that another object attracted the attention of the judge. chancing to glance upwards, he caught sight of a silvery speck six thousand feet above them, and a little way on their beam.
-"see, a tiny cloudlet in the sky; the first i have ever seen in crossing these deserts."
-"a cloud, where?" asked his companion.
-"there, right up in the blue vault of heaven," said the judge, pointing out the speck which now seemed to have grown larger.
-"why, it is a bird; some great vulture of the desert. it seems to be diving right down upon us! these vultures, i hear, have often attacked the airships in the desert. it evidently takes us for some new kind of prey."
-"a bird!" cried the captain, who had now joined the speakers. "let me see it?"
-"there it is!" cried the two men simultaneously, pointing out the grey, swift phantom.
-the captain saw the bird-like object, and one glance sufficed.
-"it is an aeroplane," he said, and there was just a touch of uneasiness in his voice.
-"an aeroplane?" echoed the others, and an instant later, viewing it through his glasses, the colonel added:--
-"why, so it is; but i say, captain, what a peculiar type of aeroplane! it is one of the patrols, i expect, come to meet us."
-"your glasses, if you please, for one moment," asked the captain, and he almost snatched them from the hands of the officer.
-the next instant a violent expletive burst from the captain’s lips.
-leaving his companions, he dashed down the corridor to the wireless operator’s room. the operator was already engaged in conversation with the aerial visitor by means of the wireless telephone, and the captain took in the situation at a glance.
-"what does he want? who is he?" blurted out the skipper.
-"someone has signalled us to stop, captain!" said the wireless operator.
-"who is it?" demanded the irate skipper.
-"he will not declare himself, sir!"
-"hand me that receiver, robson!" and the commander, clamping the ear-piece of the wireless telephone to his ear, asked of the intruder, "who are you that thus dares to order me to stop on a lawful voyage?"
-"it is i, sultan von selim, air-king of the hamadian desert, who orders you to stop!" came the reply from the aerial raider, who now rode just a little way above the large airship, and on the starboard side.
-"then i refuse!" thundered the skipper.
-"you will do so at your peril," came the quiet, cool reply, which rather disconcerted the captain.
-"i will call up the patrols, you brigand!" continued the commander of the liner.
-"one word to the patrols and i will blow your wireless to pieces. i have two guns already trained on it," replied the air-king.
-"i dare you to do it!" replied the brave skipper. then, turning to the operator, he said, "send the s.o.s. with the latitude and longitude to the patrols. smartly there, robson."
-"this is that raider we heard of at delhi, but he can’t touch us."
-the raider, however, had caught the sentence, or part of it, and he understood the order. the next instant a burst of fire from a machine gun, trained with wonderful accuracy, blew the main part of the wireless apparatus to pieces, and rendered it perfectly useless for either receiving or transmitting. how the captain and the operator escaped injury or death will for ever remain a mystery.
-seizing a megaphone, the former dashed out of the cabin, down the keel corridor and the narrow slip-way, to the central touring gondola on the starboard side, and, shaking his fist at the raider, who sailed calmly alongside about a hundred feet away, shouted through the instrument: "you brigand! you shall hang for this!"
-a mocking laugh, drowned by the roar of the engines, which still continued full speed ahead, was the only reply. evidently this mad airman was enjoying the fun immensely. at any rate he appeared very careless of the other’s threats.
-"i mean it, you felon!" roared the skipper.
-"are you going to heave to?" came the the reply through the raider’s megaphone.
-"no, certainly not!"
-"then you must take the consequence!" came the mocking taunt, and the next instant, "rep-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!" came another burst from that deadly machine-gun, which seemed so effective every time it spoke.
-this made the captain think furiously. he now recognised, for the first time, that he was absolutely at the mercy of this strange highwayman of the air. evidently he was a determined character, a master criminal, and the skipper looked round for some means of defence.
-there was certainly an old machine-gun aboard the airship, but it had never been used and was not even mounted, for it was believed that a peaceful trader would never need it. the police patrols constituted the real defence of the trade routes, and even with them a few smugglers were the chief offenders.
-the captain’s eyes were fixed for the next few seconds on the wonderful machine which sailed along so easily and so quietly. once, he had noticed, when the raider made a circuit of the great liner, that the machine had shot ahead at twice or thrice the speed of the empress. the armoured conning-tower, over the top of which the heads of the pilot and his companion could just be seen, gave the skipper an impression of strength, against which he knew that even if he could have replied with a machine gun, the bullets would have pattered harmlessly against the sides, and fallen away like rain-drops.
-he was in a quandary, this brave air-skipper. he had missed his chance of calling up the patrols. yet, how could he, a british captain, surrender to some foreign marauder, or perhaps even to a british renegade; for he knew not as yet who this bold fellow was. then he thought of his passengers, those distinguished guests committed to his charge, and last of all of the valuable lading: that consignment of gold for the vaults of the bank of england.
-"by heaven, it’s the gold they’re after!" he exclaimed. "i never thought of it before. they’ve had the news ahead of us and they’ve waited for the airship in this out-of-the-world spot. confound them, but they shan’t get it if i can help it!" and the captain nerved himself to still further resistance, though he felt it was hopeless, unless some outlying patrol should come up quickly.
-the raider seemed to have read his thoughts, for he sailed close up again, and shouted through his megaphone, "for the last time, captain, will you heave to?"
-"no--o!" the courageous man replied, though this time his voice wavered a bit, for he wondered what devilry the stranger would attempt next.
-he had not long to wait, for the pirate suddenly banked his machine, turned swiftly outwards, and circling round till he came up level with the great twin-engine in the rear gondola, which drove the giant propeller near the rudder, he opened once more a terrific burst of fire which instantly put both engines out of action.
-"stop!" signalled the captain to the remaining engineers in charge of those engines.
-and the next instant the huge, looming mass, with her engines silent, lay there helpless, levering away to windward, shorn of her pride, and with the wreckage hanging loose from her rear and central gondolas.
-another surprise that now awaited the crew and passengers of the air-liner was to see the phantom raider careering wildly around the beaten giant at enormous speed, in almost perfect silence, though his two propellers raced wildly as he dipped, spun and rolled to celebrate his victory, and to show off his amazing powers to the victims.
-"good heavens!" ejaculated the captain as he watched all this. "it was only too true, then, what we heard at delhi."
-"you mean about the silent engines and the speed of three hundred miles an hour," added the navigating officer, who now stood by the skipper.
-"yes. it’s some amazing conspiracy. i cannot help admiring the rascals, though i should like to hang the pair of them."
-"hullo! here he comes again. i wonder what he wants this time," and the next instant the raider throttled down, and came close up to the gondola, shouting as he did so in perfectly good english:--
-"start that port engine, please, and bring her to earth by that cluster of palm-trees over there."
-"what more do you want with us?" replied the captain.
-"i must see your passports, and examine your cargo for contraband."
-"eh, what’s that?" exclaimed the amazed commander. "what does he want to examine our passports for?"
-"we haven’t any," remarked the navigating officer.
-"and why the deuce is he to search for contraband, i should like to know?" groaned the skipper.
-"did you hear what i said?" called the raider, who now appeared to be getting angry at the delay.
-"yes," growled the other.
-"then bring her down at once, and let out that mooring cable!"
-and as there was no apparent help for it, and not a single patrol had yet hove in sight, the captain of the liner reluctantly complied, wasting as much time as he dared in the operation.
-as the fight continued, and they heard the rat-tat-tat of the machine-gun, sometimes their doubts and fears overcame them, and many were the cries that went up to allah the compassionate, the faithful, etc. but when they saw that at last the great white sheik had won and the disabled liner was slowly coming lower and lower, their pent-up feelings gave place to wild excitement, and shouts of,
-"allah be praised! the bird of destiny has won! the great white chief has triumphed!" while others, more practical, and also more piratical, exclaimed: "allah is sending down the treasures of heavens into the lap of the faithful. praise be to allah and to mohammed his prophet!"
-it was with some difficulty that max restrained these wild men from dashing out in their frenzy to capture and loot the huge, lowering mass that now loomed but a little way above them. he began to fear that they would not wait for the pre-arranged signal, and he urged the arab sheik to restrain them, and to repeat the orders that the occupants of the airship must not be touched.
-nearer and nearer came the huge mass, steering badly and veering round in attempting to gain the lee-side of the trees, lest she should be totally wrecked in the mooring. two hundred feet of cable suddenly dropped from her bow, and, when it touched the ground, max gave the signal, and with a wild shout these fierce bedouin horsemen suddenly broke from cover, and galloped into the open.
-"ye saints!" gasped the indian judge, when he beheld this wild tournament of galloping horsemen, brandishing their rifles and long spears. "are we to be eaten alive?" less than an hour ago he had expressed a pious wish to visit this peaceful garden in the desert; now, it was too near to be pleasant.
-"all hands to the cable!" shouted max in arabic, and very quickly both horses and men were struggling with the stout hawser.
-"this way," shouted the gotha pilot. "take it round and round these three trees; they should stand the strain unless the wind gets stronger," and selecting a small group of trees on the leeward side of the grove, he very quickly had the cable made fast in such a way that the leviathan of seven hundred feet in length swung easily head to wind, like a ship riding at anchor and swinging with the tide.
-then the tribesmen, kept well in hand, surrounded the prize, keeping some thirty paces distant, for they had not yet quite overcome their fears. never before had such a thing been seen resting on the yellow sands of the hamadian desert.
-as the gondolas of the empress of india came to rest quietly on the ground, the scorpion descended in a rapid spiral, touched the sands lightly and taxied up to the fringe of trees.
-"snakes alive!" ejaculated the colonel; "but what have we here?" his eyes fixed upon the two men.
-"some person of note, evidently," remarked his friend the judge, as he saw the foremost of these individuals mount a richly caparisoned horse which was held in readiness for him, and approach in a dignified and almost royal manner.
-"this king of the desert is evidently some european renegade who is challenging the right of other nations to cross his domain without his permission," said the soldier.
-"he is some daring pilot, at any rate," replied the justiciary.
-"i wonder now what he intends to do with us," observed the other.
-"why, he intends to plunder us, of course," replied his companion. "what else could be his motive?"
-the captives were not long to be left in doubt as to the proceedings of this daring freebooter. raising the megaphone which he had used in the air so effectively, he shouted in perfectly good english:--
-and to make this order immediately effective, the desert king ordered max to see that every member of the great liner, passengers and crew, were immediately assembled before him. the navigating officer and the captain were the last to leave the vessel; they did so unwillingly, and not without a measure of compulsion at the point of a revolver. the skipper’s looks as he fixed them upon this desert freebooter astride the fiery steed, conveyed to the brigand much more than mere words could have expressed.
-fixing him with his keen, malicious eyes, the pirate said: "are you the captain of this vessel?"
-"i am," replied the skipper in surly tones.
-"show me your bill of lading."
-"bill of lading?" echoed the captive. "you must hunt for it if you want it."
-the self-styled king of the desert frowned. he knew that he was up against an english skipper, and that he must adopt other measures to gain his end. without lifting his gaze from the commander of the air-liner, or flinching a muscle, he replied firmly, "one word from me, captain, and your life would be forfeit. you would swing from that tree by one of your own cables."
-"i know that, brigand," replied the prisoner. "get a cable and carry out your threat; the rope that will hang you is not so very far away, either."
-"very well," exclaimed the german. "then, i need only give the order to these, my faithful subjects, and the whole of your valuable cargo will be strewn on the sands, and your airship will be alight. i do not propose to adopt those measures unless you compel me. i will give you five minutes to decide." as the pirate uttered these words in a cool, nonchalant manner, he glanced at the european emblem on his wrist, a gold, gem-studded wristlet watch with luminous dial.
-"i deny your right to interfere with a peaceful trader," blurted out the captain, when he saw the full force of the two alternatives which had been offered to him. he was wondering, moreover, how much the brigand knew about the presence of the specie on the vessel.
-"you deny my right, do you?" returned the other.
-"yes. who are you?"
-"i am sultan von selim, air-king of the hamadian desert. i told you that once before when i first challenged you in the air."
-"who made you king?" snorted the captain.
-there was silence for the space of ten seconds, during which time the brigand consulted his watch again, then replied:--
-"the allies made me king, particularly you verdammt english when you drove me from my fatherland with those impossible peace terms. king i am, and king i will remain, of all the aerial regions where i choose to abide, until there comes a better man who can beat me in the air. and you, captain, of all men, must know from what you have already seen that my powers in that realm are considerable."
-the captain, having cooled somewhat after this outburst, had to admit to this german irreconcilable that there was certainly some truth in his statement about being king of the air. certain things were beginning to dawn upon this english captain, and he was now wondering how far it would be wise to humour the brigand. he added, however, to his admission, the following words, "you are only king by might!"
-"ha! ha!" laughed the outlaw, "but that also is some admission. my position is precisely that of the british in india or egypt. withdraw your soldiers from these two countries and what becomes of your government there? so am i king of the hamadian desert till a stronger man comes. when that time comes one of us must die. there is no room for two kings, even in the desert. till then i am supreme. but come, captain, four minutes have passed already. your bill of lading, quickly now, for we are but wasting time, and these my subjects"--and here the brigand waved his hand towards the restive arabs--"or rather i should say my customs’ officials, are waiting to examine your cargo, and to levy the king’s tribute."
-the captain looked around first upon his own followers and then upon the impatient bedouins--the vultures around the carcase.
-"i could have brought your ship down in flames, but i preferred a milder method," continued the outlaw, as he watched the seconds of the last minute being ticked away on his jewelled watch.
-"but helium will not burn!" returned the captain smartly. "that was beyond your powers."
-a mocking, sardonic laugh came from the robber chief as the englishman uttered these words.
-"would you like to see it burn?" he almost hissed.
-the captain faltered in his reply; he was not quite so decisive as he had been. evidently there was some sense of humour, if not much, about this irreconcilable german.
-"yes, sir," replied the subordinate, stepping up to the king and saluting smartly.
-"take it away to leeward there, and show this dull englishman how he may learn chemistry and science even from inhabitants of the hamadian desert. here, take this, you will need it," and the chief handed to his assistant a small cylindrical tube with which to carry out his orders.
-turning next to the englishman, he observed, "know, you dullard, that a small admixture of a secret gas, which is known only to three living men, will make your renowned helium flare like hydrogen. you shall see it in a short space of time."
-"recall your man, i will take your word for it, sultan!" exclaimed the captain, who now felt that it must be so, for he was already bewildered by the strange things which he had witnessed that day, and he had no desire to see this experiment carried out.
-"you believe me, then," returned the air-king, who seemed particularly to relish this interview with the englishman, especially with this group of celebrities within earshot, for they had listened eagerly to every word which he had spoken. and the german knew that though his days might be numbered, as indeed he felt they were, yet his fame would be greatly enhanced by the episodes of this day, for vanity was not the least among his failings.
-once more he glanced at his watch; for the allotted space of time had nearly run.
-"how now, englishman!" he exclaimed in a harsher tone. "the bill of lading, where is it?"
-the chief purser, receiving the captain’s nod, at once advanced towards the regal horseman, handed him a bundle of papers and said: "here, sir, is the document you desire."
-a dramatic episode followed the examination of the airship’s bill of lading by the pseudo monarch and his so-called chancellor of the exchequer, carl, who aided his master in the task.
-"item one. what does that consist of?" asked the brigand.
-"mails. his britannic majesty’s mails," replied the chancellor.
-"from india for egypt and london," replied carl, maintaining a grave and solemn deportment.
-"h’m! they may pass when the usual tribute is paid," remarked the bandit in serious tones, as though he had delivered himself of some weighty pronouncement.
-the judge looked at the colonel with raised eyebrows when he heard this strange decision, but the captain, forgetting his position for a moment, blurted out:--
-"tribute indeed? when did the king of england pay tribute for his mails to be carried across the hamadian desert?"
-the air-king eyed the speaker with apparent amazement, mingled with a touch of scorn and pity, then quietly observed:--
-"that is the very point, captain. there has been far too much laxity in this respect in the past. the liberties of the small nations to make their own laws, and possess their own lands in peace, have been greatly endangered of late. it is mere brigandage for a great power to over-ride the native interests of small communities. but from to-day this brigandage must cease, at any rate over the territories where i rule."
-the captain could find no reply to this sally of the desert king’s, and, while a smile played about the corners of his mouth, he looked beyond this robber chief, in his gaudy trappings, to where the scorpion lay squatting like an ugly toad upon the sands.
-at length the monarch resumed his cross-examination with these words: "come, captain, will you pay tribute for the transit of mails across my territory, or will you not?"
-"i will not!" replied the skipper.
-with a flash of fire in his tones the brigand ordered: "take the first ten sacks of mails out into the desert and burn them at once."
-"it shall be done, o chief," replied max, who immediately detailed some of the natives to carry the order into effect, when the captain, urged to it by the judge, asked:--
-"what is the amount of the tribute?"
-"ten thousand pounds in english gold," came the immediate reply.
-"i cannot pay it," returned the captain. "it is mere plunder," though the judge pointed out to the commander quietly that it would probably be more profitable to pay it and to get away with the mails in a damaged airship, than to leave the mails behind to be lost or destroyed in the desert.
-"he will take the gold anyhow, when he comes to it on the bill of lading," added the colonel, "though devil a penny i’d pay him."
-"it isn’t my money," argued the captain, "so there’s an end of it."
-"how now, englishmen! we are wasting time. will you pay the sum demanded?"
-"no, i will not!"
-"very good. get out the rest of the mails and burn them at once!" ordered the monarch, and a couple of minutes afterwards the first bags of mails, sprayed with some inflammatory liquid, were blazing furiously.
-"item two!" called the desert king.
-"gold. nineteen boxes of bullion for the bank of england," called out the chancellor.
-"gold?" echoed the air-fiend, as though he were utterly unconscious of the presence of such a commodity, in face of the captain’s refusal to pay over a trifling ten thousand pounds to secure right of way for his mails.
-"yes, sir. nearly one hundred thousand pounds in specie."
-"i thought we had prohibited the importation of gold into these regions, chancellor, because of its evil effects upon the minds of the people."
-"yes, sir," returned the chancellor. "we decided to abolish its importation altogether on that account, save only as tribute money for the royal chest."
-"exactly," replied the bandit, in a tone of assumed moral injury. then, turning to the englishman, he said: "you must know, captain, that most wars are caused by gold, and by the unbrotherly strife which it foments. you must know also that all wars are sustained by it."
-"yes, i agree with you for once," returned the prisoner, boldly, wondering at the ease with which this confirmed brigand could turn moralist.
-"then what must be done with the gold, sir?" asked the chancellor.
-"every ounce of gold on the airship must be confiscated," exclaimed the king of robbers as he uplifted his hands in pious horror. "let it be removed at once."
-"very well, sir," and this second operation, which was more pleasing still to the waiting arabs, was immediately put into effect.
-"item three!" called out the chief.
-"ten boxes of valuables, including the personal property and belongings of one of the passengers," came the reply.
-"what, do they belong to one person?"
-"what is his name?"
-"the maharajah of bangapore?" repeated the monarch, raising his hand to his forehead for an instant, as though he would recall some long forgotten episode. "is he amongst the company present?"
-"i believe so."
-"ask him to stand forth."
-and the indian prince, hearing his name called in english, stepped forth and confronted his old enemy of the mesopotamian campaign. when their eyes met a flash of fire, more eloquent than words, revealed what was in each man’s mind. the prince expected to be tortured to death and was prepared for it, for, like all his people, he was brave as well as fierce. at last the robber spoke.
-"prince jaipur, you are an enemy of mine," he said.
-"i know it!"
-"do you expect mercy after the way your tribesmen massacred my men at kerbela?"
-the maharajah shrugged his shoulders, but disdained to reply to this upstart robber chief who styled himself a king.
-"do you know that your life is in my hands?" exclaimed the bandit fiercely.
-"i am not afraid of anything you can do, brigand!" hissed the prince, and his voice sounded not unlike the angry, venomous snake in the jungle. another man might have quailed before those glaring eyes and those hissing tones. but the german quavered not.
-"i will give you a kingly choice," he said, "as you are the scion of half a hundred kings in your illustrious line."
-"i ask no favours of a common bedouin robber," snarled the other.
-"listen. i will give you the choice of drinking this deadly poison, or of being dropped ten thousand feet from my aeroplane. which will you take?"
-the prince shuddered slightly, and glanced up into the cloudless blue, as though anticipating what such a death might mean, then looked at the small phial which the brigand held forth in his hand.
-"yes, ten thousand feet!" continued the german, as he noted the anxious look which overcast the hindoo’s face for an instant, as he gazed up into the sky. "then i will loop the machine, and, with your hands pinioned, you will be thrown out and drop, drop---- which will you choose?"
-"i will drink the poison," replied the prince, who had now regained his usual composure.
-"very well. let him be securely tied to that tree to await our pleasure," and the maharajah was instantly seized by three or four powerful arabs, and secured to a tree some twenty paces away.
-"what about his valuables, sir?" asked carl.
-"have you examined them?"
-"and what do they consist of?" asked the king.
-"his jewels, his gold and silver plate, studded with rare gems of priceless value. they are worth five times the value of the specie," whispered carl.
-"and what else? you said there were ten boxes."
-"part of his regalia and numerous ceremonial robes."
-"they are all confiscated!" announced the monarch. "the sun will set in another two hours, and at sunset the indian must die."
-"there is nothing else, sir, of much value. all the gold and this personal property has been secured. here is the list of passengers, for there are scarcely any passports held by the strangers," and here carl, who had paid a visit to the aerial, whispered something to his chief.
-"good! then, in your opinion, chancellor, sufficient tribute has now been obtained from these strangers who have crossed our territory without permission," said the bandit aloud for all to hear.
-"then let them board the airship at once. she will be cast adrift in ten minutes."
-at this there was a scramble for the gondolas, and very quickly all, save the captain and the navigating officer, were aboard. the judge and the colonel, however, prevailed upon by the maharajah’s men, descended again to intercede for the life of the indian.
-"you have taken the man’s jewels," said the colonel. "at least you might spare his life."
-"you may have his body," remarked the airman, "but he must first drink the phial," and a stern look appeared once more in the robber-bandit’s eyes. on this point he was unbending, and remained like adamant.
-"the airship is ready now, sir," said the captain, making a final appeal for the life of the maharajah. "i should like to report, at any rate, when i do complete my journey, that all my passengers are safe, though i expect to be two days late with only two engines and this beam wind. once more, will you release the indian?"
-"bring him before me!" commanded the monarch at last, with a bored expression, and the indian, still bound hand and foot, was brought before the pseudo king.
-"unloose his hands," came the order.
-"they ask me to spare your life, indian dog!" continued the robber, addressing the prince in contemptuous tones. "if you sue for it yourself, you may have it, otherwise..." and, instead of completing his sentence, the speaker shook the little phial in the face of the prisoner.
-"i will not ask my life of you, serpent!" hissed the captive. "from you i will accept no favours. robbed of my family heirlooms, my jewels and my household gods, i prefer to die. give me the poison, and i will show you how a real prince of the royal line of indus can die!"
-for one awful instant, the desert chief glared at his enemy, who had dared to refuse his generous offer. then, in angry tones, he cried:--
-"indian dog! i offered you mercy, but you spurn the gift of allah and ask for death. then take this and drink it!" and he tossed him the phial.
-"stay!" cried half a dozen voices from amongst the group of passengers.
-but their expostulations were in vain, for, with an eagerness to hide his disgrace in death, which only a proud oriental can show, the prisoner caught the phial, withdrew the small cork, and drained the contents before his horrified friends could interfere.
-the next moment, the body of the maharajah lay prostrate upon the sands of the hamadian desert.
-horrified and aghast at the foul deed which had been done, the passengers and crew of the air-liner, who had left the gondolas at the cry of consternation which went up, now crowded around the fallen prince. even those fierce sons of the desert who witnessed the dire act could not restrain an involuntary shudder, but they merely shrugged their shoulders, or remarked: "kismet! it is the will of allah, the compassionate, the merciful," and after some such invocation, their piety appeared to be satisfied, for they immediately returned to their treasure.
-the captain and his friends were loud in their protestations and imprecations after their first and futile attempts to rouse the prostrate man, for they believed him to be already dead. they glared at the pseudo caliph, who appeared to be entirely unmoved by the heart-rending spectacle. and if, at that moment, any weapon of offence had remained in their possession, it would certainly have been turned upon the offender, whom they now regarded as a murderer.
-but every weapon had been carefully removed from the air-liner and her complement; even the unmounted machine-gun and the one box of ammunition placed aboard on her first voyage, were now in possession of the bandits.
-the captain in particular was furious, and he turned upon the german fiercely, shook his fist at him and cried, "one day you will pay for this, sirrah! the arm of britain is long enough to reach you!"
-a mocking laugh was the only reply which the german gave. then, looking once more at his jewelled watch, he signified that the time for the airship’s departure had almost arrived.
-"three minutes more and i shall cut her adrift," he said.
-"but the maharajah?" asked the captain. "what can we do with him; we cannot leave his body to the vultures."
-"bah! take him away with you. he will live again in seven hours; it was only morphine!"
-bewildered, but yet relieved by these words, they quickly ascertained that the prostrate man was not actually dead, and they hurriedly placed him aboard the airship and administered emetics.
-"let us get him away at once," urged the indian judge; "perhaps the higher altitudes will quickly dissipate the effects of the morphine."
-"are you ready there?" shouted the caliph, who had ridden with his escort up to the central gondola.
-"yes," came the response.
-"then remember, the next time that you invade my dominions without my permission you will not escape so easily. as you know to your cost, the king of the hamadian desert is able to defend himself and his people, even from the insults of a great power."
-the captain made a slight bow, half ironical, in response to this kingly assertion, and asked,
-"is there any communication which your majesty would like to have delivered to my government?"
-"yes," replied the monarch, drawing from under his loose robe a sealed packet, which he appeared to have had in readiness for the occasion. it was addressed as follows:--
-"to colonel john tempest, d.s.o., m.c.. chief commissioner of the british aerial police, scotland yard, london,"
-and across the top left-hand corner it was marked "confidential," and also "to be delivered personally by the captain of the air-liner, empress of britain."
-the skipper, apparently bewildered for a moment by this strange request, for it seemed to him like a letter from a condemned man to his executioner, looked the packet over for a few seconds. noting the great red seal on the back, he read the imprint embossed on the huge wafer. it read as follows, and was circular in form:--
-"from sultan von selim, air-king of the hamadian desert," and the crest was a scorpion, with the solitary word in latin, "scorpio."
-the caliph waited patiently until the captain had examined the exterior of the packet, and recovered from his amazement, and then said, "before you depart, captain, you must promise me that you will deliver that packet in person to colonel tempest, who is not unknown to me."
-"do you promise, captain?" asked his interrogator, looking at him fixedly.
-"yes, i promise."
-"on your honour?"
-"on my word of honour, i promise to deliver it."
-"then good-bye. i will ’wireless’ the patrols to look out for you."
-"thank you," replied the skipper acidly.
-and the next moment, seeing that only his own accomplices and reputed subjects were left on the ground, the sultan gave the order, "let go!"
-so the huge cable was slipped, and the leviathan left her moorings at once. the north-west wind carried her clear of the trees, and, as she had left nearly two tons of her most precious cargo behind, she rose rapidly, then started falteringly on her long journey to cairo as her two remaining sunbeam-maori engines burst into life.
-the sun, which had shone with pitiless might upon the arabian desert that day, was sinking like a huge red ball beneath the horizon when the great air-liner, drifting considerably from her course, but still making progress in her journey towards cairo, disappeared from the watchers’ view.
-with strange impartiality, inexplicable in such a robber-bandit, the spoil had been divided amongst the bedouins, who, to their bewilderment and surprise, were now rich, each one of them, beyond the dreams of avarice. their gratitude to allah, the giver of all good, and to the great white sheik was unbounded. never before had their greedy eyes beheld such treasure; never before had they gained a prize so easily; and some of them even wondered whether, after all, mohammed had not appeared to the faithful once more in the person of the great white sheik.
-long before midnight, however, the last man, with heavily-laden beast of burden, had disappeared, swallowed up, as it were, by the very sands of the desert, so that, when the full round moon approached the meridian and changed the gold of the desert to silver, not a vestige of man or beast remained. and of the camp, only a few ashes marked the spot where once a fire had burned. the scorpion, too, had taken its departure for an unknown destination, carrying its mysterious crew far, far away from these burning sands, for the indomitable commander knew only too well that the captain spoke truthfully when he said that the arm of britain was very long, and could even reach to this wild desert land.
-before his departure, however, heinrich von spitzer had sent off his promised message in laconic terms to the cairo patrols. it ran as follows:--
-"air-liner empress with damaged engines crossing desert towards cairo. lat. 29-50 n., long. 40-25 e. drifting w.s.w. wireless deranged. scorpio."
-"piece of bad luck, sir!" remarked the commissioner’s assistant at cairo when he received the message.
-"h’m! she carries the indian mail, too," replied his chief.
-"yes, and a good deal more, sir."
-"what else does she carry this trip besides passengers and mails?" asked the alert commissioner.
-"that big loading of specie, sir, for the bank of england. nearly a ton of gold, i believe."
-"phew! and isn’t the maharajah of somewhere or other coming on a state visit to the king also?"
-"yes, by jove, so he is! we had a message this morning saying that he would travel by the empress."
-"heaven help us if she comes down in the desert with that cargo. the bedouins would soon make short work of it. the authorities rely too much upon the patrols for these long journeys," said the commissioner.
-"and you’ve had no further reply till this message came in?" asked the chief.
-"by the way, is her wireless damaged as well as her engine? i didn’t notice."
-"yes, sir. the message says: ’wireless deranged,’" replied the assistant, re-reading from the aerogram.
-"then who the deuce sent the message?"
-"scorpio---- but who scorpio is i can’t make out. it must have been some passing airman, for it cannot have been one of our own patrols."
-"phew! the mystery deepens. get the patrols out at once, and tell them to take plenty of ammunition with them. it will take a few rounds to scare off those bedouin fiends if once they get round a carcase where there are such pickings."
-"i don’t think there’s much to worry about in that respect. those arabs have a wholesome fear of these air-liners, sir. however, i will get the machines off at once."
-the order was quickly given for the aerial police scouts to start. within a few minutes the patrols left cairo and the adjoining air-stations, and, spreading out fan-wise, they crossed the canal, the gulf of sinai, the wild mountainous peninsula which bears the same name, and the hedjaz coast, until they entered the desert regions beyond. then they commenced their search by moonlight for the battered and drifting air-liner over the trackless, desert lands which lie between the 28th and the 30th parallels.
-meanwhile the air-liner, fighting manfully against the freshening wind, made very slow progress, and drifted still further and further away from her course. the air was full of wireless messages both from cairo and the patrols, but she was as yet unable to reply and define her position. the engineer and wireless operator, however, had been able to receive some of the messages indistinctly, and they knew at any rate that help was not far away.
-the captain was naturally very much depressed by the turn of events. somehow he felt that he had not acted very heroically in the matter. he had considered the safety of his distinguished passengers perhaps too much.
-"if i had had no passengers to consider, i would have remained aloft until the whole liner had been shot to ribbons!" he declared to himself, when he at last retired for a few minutes to his private cabin. "they should never have taken me alive! but there, my instructions stand--the safety of the passengers and crew before anything else. i was a fool, though, to act as i did. i ought to have sent out the s.o.s. to cairo without a second’s delay, instead of arguing with this brigand; but there, whoever expected to encounter anything like this?"
-then as his thoughts turned to the wonderful machine, he endeavoured to docket all the information he could remember about the brigand’s aeroplane, for he knew that he would be expected to recount every detail when he met the court of enquiry, "which," he murmured, "is as certain to take place as to-morrow’s sunrise.
-"gee whiz! three hundred miles an hour, and silent engines to boot! phew! nobody will believe me, anyhow. still, i shall have to face the music, and also to explain why i have lost a hundred thousand pounds of specie," and the skipper looked down on the white sands below, and for a moment he almost contemplated suicide.
-"i wouldn’t mind if i could only bring sufficient information to the authorities to lead to the speedy capture of the villain, but i can’t. there wasn’t time even for a photograph. the bandit was aware of all that, and i understand that every camera was removed from the airship before he let us go."
-at that instant there came a slight tap at the cabin door.
-"come in!" cried the commander, expecting some further report from the sick-berth steward about the condition of the maharajah, who, half an hour ago, was said to be showing signs of recovery, owing to the bracing air at three thousand feet.
-the door opened, and gadget, the ship’s mascot, appeared. now gadget’s newest hobby was photography, and through the kindness of the photographic officer he had become the proud possessor of a small pocket camera.
-"i got her, sir! thought you’d like to see her ... begging your pardon," and gadget, with his dirty, but sunny, smiling face stopped short and pulled his lock of hair by way of salute, as the captain pulled him up sharply by snapping out:--
-"got whom? like to see whom, gadget?"
-"the ’clutchin’ hand,’ sir," explained gadget, who now found himself floored for once by his want of english.
-"i don’t understand, boy?"
-"the bloke what played the dirty on us, sir," replied the boy, opening wide his bright blue eyes, and holding out three wet and recently developed pocket films.
-"him what got the swag, sir," continued the urchin, endeavouring to make himself clear.
-"oh, you mean that you photographed the brigand!" replied the skipper as he caught sight of the negatives, and snatched at them eagerly, a new light coming into his eyes.
-"yessir!" exclaimed the lad. "him what said he was a king of the desert."
-"gadget!" exclaimed the captain, after a brief examination of the films, which were really three fine, clearly defined pictures of the scorpion, showing her in mid-air, when alongside the empress.
-"yessir," replied the excited youth, not yet certain whether he was going to be hanged or praised for his offence.
-"thank you, sir! thought you’d like ’em," and the boy’s eyes sparkled even more than ever as the captain shook him by the hand, and planted five new, crisp bradburys therein, then dismissed him.
-"great scott!" exclaimed the captain, "but that little urchin’s saved my reputation. these photographs may prove of more value to the authorities than the lost treasure. i feel a different man. here is extraordinary evidence against the culprit. one photograph shows the fiend actually firing a burst at the twin engines in the rear gondola, and another the faces of the two occupants above the fuselage. they will show more evidence still when they have been enlarged." and the captain, after carefully drying them, placed them in an envelope and put them into his inner coat pocket, muttering:--
-"smart little beggar! i wish i hadn’t punished him the other day for smuggling that tobacco aboard."
-the captain, who had left strict instructions that he should be called half an hour before the end of the watch, in order that he might relieve the navigating officer, was just about to lie down on the couch for a brief spell, when suddenly another knock at his cabin door startled him, and immediately after his servant entered and announced: "seven bells, sir."
-"already?" exclaimed the captain.
-"has the moon set, yet?"
-"yes, it is quite dark now, sir."
-"all right. tell the navigating officer that i’ll be down in one moment."
-at this very instant the telephone bell which connected the cabin with the navigating gondola rang furiously. snatching up the receiver, the captain asked, "what’s the matter, donaldson? is there another raider on the starboard bow?"
-"no, sir, but there’s something very much like a signal flash away in the north-west."
-"sure it wasn’t a shooting star?"
-"more like a very light, sir, but very faint," replied the navigating officer. "shall i reply, sir?"
-"yes, give him three red lights. i expect it’s one of the patrols looking for us. i’m coming down now," and the captain replaced the receiver, and made haste down the corridor which led to the chart and navigation room.
-the next instant three red balls of fire fell from the airship earthwards in rapid succession, and within a couple of minutes a faint gleam of greenish light fell like an arc in the north-western sky.
-"yes, the patrols have found us, sure enough," exclaimed the captain, who had now joined the officer.
-after several further exchanges of fire-balls, repeated now from two or three quarters, the searchers closed in upon the straggler. then a rapid dialogue took place by means of the morse lamp, and, when dawn came, shortly afterwards, no less than six fighting scouts, running at about a quarter throttle, surrounded the wounded leviathan, and escorted her towards cairo.
-when the empress reached that town, she was already twenty-four hours overdue at london, so the cables and the wireless stations were busy with messages relating to the missing liner, and with more than one inquiry as to the safety of her cargo, evidently from the consignees, or more likely still, from the underwriters.
-and when the captain told his story to the commissioner of aerial police at cairo there was another mighty stir, and both the cables and the wireless were busy again, for the whole civilized world was tingling with excitement to know something tangible about this man of mystery--the phantom airman. and the story of gadget’s photographs was told to the world.
-while the events recorded in the last few chapters were taking place, a series of adventures not less exciting and perilous had befallen the two airmen, keane and sharpe, in their endeavours to track that ingenious conspirator, professor rudolf weissmann, in his secret retreat within the dark recesses of the schwarzwald.
-after their midnight consultation with colonel tempest at scotland yard, their instructions were to proceed early next day, by whatever aircraft was then available, to germany, and once there to adopt some suitable disguise, and institute forthwith a most rigorous search for the secret aerodrome. they were to leave no stone unturned in their efforts to track down this great german irreconcilable, who had dared to hold a pistol at the civilized world, and to bring back, if possible, some tangible clue concerning his two great discoveries.
-"time is short," the colonel said. "immediate action on our part is vital. spare no expense in the venture, and if necessary you must even proceed to extreme measures to capture this daring outlaw and his accomplices."
-"and what about this phantom aeroplane?" asked keane. "apparently it has already left the schwarzwald on its piratical expedition."
-"it may return, and you must watch for it. some of those scattered inhabitants of the black forest are sure to have seen or heard something of it. its trial trips must have been carried out somewhere in the vicinity."
-"they are a simple and primitive type of people who still inhabit those forest wastes; wood cutters, lumbermen, makers of little wooden clocks and musical boxes, most of them, i believe," added sharpe, who had often traversed those regions as a british spy during the great war.
-"then they should be easier to handle," added the commissioner of aerial police, who had a ready method of brushing away apparent difficulties. "i am compelled to rely almost entirely upon your efforts. take your pocket-wireless telephones with you and a sufficient quantity of german gold and silver, and start directly you have had a few hours’ rest."
-"we will get away immediately after breakfast, sir," replied keane, who had already made up his mind as to how he should proceed in the matter, for he had fixed up his jumping-off ground for the schwarzwald, and also the type of disguise he intended to adopt.
-"good-bye, both of you, and may good fortune attend you!" said the colonel.
-big ben was striking three o’clock as they left scotland yard and made for their quarters, which were in that part of london known as the adelphi, a quaint, old-fashioned ensemble of buildings of the georgian period, overlooking the thames, not far from the watergate. a few minutes later they bade each other good-night, and turned in for a few hours’ sleep before their long flight across england and france.
-at seven o’clock they were breakfasting together in a private room overlooking the river, and discussing the details of their coming adventure.
-"the schwarzwald!" sharpe was saying, as he helped himself to another egg and a rasher of ham. "where do you think, now, we had better start from, captain keane?"
-"mulhausen," replied the other promptly, for with keane the initial procedure was already cut and dried.
-"mulhausen? capital! i was thinking of strasburg, but your idea is better still. is there a good aerodrome there where we can land?"
-"yes, on the banks of the little river ill, which runs into the rhine a little lower down. and once across the rhine we are already in the black forest, though we shall still have a long tramp to the place which i suspect," added keane, pouring out another cup of coffee.
-"oh, yes, i remember the place; the aerodrome is near the junction of the rhine-rhone canal," replied his companion.
-"you’ve got it, exactly. now we must get away; it must already be seven o’clock, and a fine morning to boot. what says the weather report about the channel crossing?"
-"here it is," exclaimed sharpe, passing a copy of the times across to his friend, who turned over the pages and read as follows:--
-"flying prospects for to-day:--south-east england and continent, including the channel crossing, favourable for flying for all types of machines till mid-day, after that conditions will deteriorate, squalls and heavy rains will predominate, visibility will be poor, and conditions will become unsuitable for cross-country flying."
-"good! then we must get away at once," observed sharpe, and within another five minutes they were being hurled along towards hounslow, the aerodrome from which this new adventure was to begin.
-forty-five minutes later a couple of s.e.9s, the fastest machines in the service, rose from the flying ground and steered a course east-south-east for the straits of dover. thirty-five minutes later, the necessary signals having been accepted by the dover patrols, with throttles wide open, the two daring young aviators rushed the channel at one hundred and fifty miles an hour.
-the french patrols having been informed by dover, permitted them to pass unchallenged. and now changing course till they steered almost due south-east, they sped onwards, catching now and again a glimpse of the old battle-front of the days of 1914-1918, where the shell-marked craters of the hindenberg line were still visible from the air.
-then they followed the railway line from laon to rheims, left the ancient town of nancy to their left, and, crossing the vosges mountains and forests a little to the north of belfort, they dropped down quietly to the landing ground outside mulhausen in alsace, as the clock in the market square struck the hour of noon.
-having left their machines and flying gear in charge of the commandant, they entered the town, purchased a portable camp outfit, and, dressed as tourists of the pedestrian and naturalist type, continued their journey, crossed the rhine and entered the schwarzwald, ostensibly to study the fauna and flora of the black forest.
-"phew! i’m tired of this load. let us camp here for the night, by this little clearing, where these seldom trodden footpaths diverge," said keane, some hours later, as, weary and dusty with his three hours’ tramp through the bracken and the tousled undergrowth, he threw down his heavy knapsack and nets, and began to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.
-then they lit a small fire of dried twigs, cooked their evening meal, and lit their pipes.
-after a quiet smoke, during which time they carefully re-examined a survey map of the schwarzwald, they began to talk in low whispers, whilst the sun descended amongst the pines on the western heights, over which they had dragged their weary feet.
-"it is my opinion," whispered keane, "that we are within five miles of that secret aerodrome."
-his companion nodded, almost drowsily, although every faculty was kept constantly alert.
-"it is just possible that one of these paths leads to the very spot, but it will be necessary to explore them both. we must be extremely careful, however, for this professor is sure to prove a wily opponent. i hope, however, some wood-cutter or peasant may pass this way soon, and that we may learn something from him which will help us," continued the senior airman.
-"what if the wood-cutter should prove to be the professor himself?" asked sharpe, with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.
-"it is even possible," returned his companion.
-"in that case it would be diamond cut diamond, keane, eh?"
-the other shrugged his shoulder at the very thought, and prayed that such a contingency might not happen, at any rate until something tangible had first been discovered.
-"in three hours it will be midnight," he said. "if no one passes this way by then, i think we must carry out our search in the dark. time is pressing; we must find something within another forty-eight hours, or poor old tempest will be at his wit’s end, and calling us home again. he cannot leave us long on this trail."
-"the greater the pity. a fortnight is not too long to follow a trail like this," said sharpe.
-"yet you had to do things pretty smartly in those dark days of 1917 and 1918, sharpe."
-"yes, and there was some danger and excitement attached to it, which sharpened one’s wits."
-"never fear! there’ll be both before we have finished this trek," returned keane.
-"hist! what was that?" said sharpe in an undertone, as he caught the sound of broken twigs.
-"someone approaching," whispered his companion.
-they listened acutely now, with every sense keenly alert. again they heard the sound, and it seemed to come from the western side of the open glade, where the last dull glow of the sunset still revealed the edge of the forest.
-the camp fire had died down to a smoulder, but keane instinctively held his ground sheet before the dying embers, lest their presence should be betrayed. he was anxious to learn something of the nature of this visitor before he revealed himself.
-"bah! it is some creature of the forest," observed sharpe, after a moment’s hesitation. "a wild boar or a red-spotted deer, most likely."
-he was right, for the next moment a series of grunts proceeded from the spot whence came the sounds, and, as though suddenly startled by the consciousness of some human presence, the beast, a fine specimen of the sus scrofa, with fierce protruding tusks and long stiff bristles, broke cover, trotted swiftly across the glade, within thirty yards of the two watchers, and entered the forest on the other side.
-"so much for that little incident," muttered sharpe, as he released his grip of the webley pistol, which his right hand had instinctively grasped, when the dark shadow broke from the margin of the trees.
-keane shook his head as though he disagreed with his companion, and remarked in a low voice, "the creature was evidently startled or it would not have fled like that. its scent is very keen, and as the wind is blowing from the west, it suspected danger from that quarter."
-a few moments later the two men were startled by the sound of a human voice, trolling out the words of some german folk-song, and approaching from the same quarter towards the clearing.
-"this is our man," exclaimed keane, as he removed the screen from the fire and stirred the dying embers into a cheerful blaze, piling on more dried twigs, so that the trees about the glade seemed to dance like fairies.
-"some woodman or peasant returning from a party," observed sharpe.
-"i wonder where his cottage is," replied his friend; "it must be somewhere in the neighbourhood."
-"we must welcome him to a belated supper. perhaps this good rhine wine will open his lips still more, and he may tell us something about the birds of the schwarzwald."
-"particularly the phantom-bird," facetiously observed keane with a smile.
-nearer and nearer came the stranger, breaking occasionally into snatches of song, as though he would frighten away the goblins and weird creatures of the forest, for of the superstitious peoples of europe, the peasantry of the black forest are most given to credulous beliefs. perhaps this is because no other district of europe is so rich in quaint legend, folklore and ghostly tradition.
-now and then the approaching stranger would stop his singing to address some remark to a companion; evidently some beast of burden trudging beside him. the next moment the figure of a man, leading a pack-horse through the forest, suddenly emerged upon the clearing. catching a sight of the dancing flames which mounted skyward as one of the airmen stirred the fire into life, and beholding the dark figures of the two strangers, the newcomer, suddenly stopped, apparently half-terrified by the sudden apparition.
-"geistlich!" he muttered, staring with wide-open eyes towards the sudden flame.
-"guten abend, freund!" exclaimed keane, wishing to draw the man into conversation.
-the man’s fears departed as soon as he discovered that he was addressed by human beings like himself, for in his first wild flight of fancy he feared it was far otherwise, and that he had suddenly come upon one of those forbidden glades, where the sprites and goblins dance after dark.
-"guten abend!" he replied, and, being asked to join the company, made haste to do so, reining in his loaded horse and tethering him to a tree-stump close by.
-"’tis late to travel these lonely woods, friend," said keane in excellent german.
-"yes, ’tis late, but the moon will soon be up, and then, why, ’twill be better footing," replied the stranger, whose full, round face and longing eyes were already directed towards a wicker-covered bottle, which seemed to hold something good, so that he smacked his lips once or twice, and in fancy he was already draining the sweet nectar which the bottle contained.
-"have you far to go?" asked sharpe.
-"why, yes, ’tis another seven miles to my cottage in the woods."
-"then stay with us an hour until the moon shall rise and clear away the goblins of the schwarzwald," urged keane, who, by this time, had been able to examine the stranger’s face by the light of the fire, and to read it like a book.
-"a simple, credulous fellow, a true peasant of the schwarzwald, untouched by the outer world," he told himself. "he should be useful to us." then, passing to him the wicker-covered bottle, he said:--
-"good rhine wine from bacharach, hans. taste it!"
-"ach, from bacharach on the rhine, comes the finest sort of wine,"
-exclaimed the stranger in the rude dialect of the black forest, and his round eyes sparkled as he clutched the bottle, raised it to his lips, and drank half a pint without stopping to take breath.
-"’tis a long time since i tasted such rich and luscious wine, gentlemen," said the peasant, handing back the bottle.
-"pray be seated and rest awhile," urged his companions, and nothing loath to keep such excellent company, hans, if such was really his name, sat down by the fire.
-"pray, what brings you to the lonely schwarzwald, gentlemen? have you come to hunt for the wild boar, or to fish the mountain streams?" he asked, "for i can show you where the biggest fish are to be found, and where the wild pig rears her litters."
-"butterflies and birds, especially birds," replied keane, pointing to his nets, and his neat little boxes for packing specimens.
-"birds? ach, there is one bird which sometimes flies in these parts which you will never catch," said the peasant, speaking in lowered tones, as though half-frightened by his own words.
-"ha! what bird is that?" asked the others.
-"hist!" exclaimed hans, raising his forefinger, and looking guardedly around. "it is the phantom-bird!"
-"the phantom-bird?" echoed the two airmen, who could scarcely believe their eyes and ears, as they earnestly regarded this solemn, frightened, half-childish man, who had evidently seen the very thing they had come so far to find, but who believed it to be something supernatural.
-the two englishmen glanced at each other. had they really found someone who could enlighten them about this mysterious aeroplane, for he could certainly be referring to nothing else? and at that moment keane blessed his lucky star, which had led him to choose these wild forest regions for their jumping-off ground. still, they must not appear too curious, lest they should betray the reason of their presence here.
-keane shook his head as, with an apparently incredulous laugh, and a sympathetic motion of the hand, he would banish all tales of ghostly visitants to the realm of limbo. this only had the effect of egging on the speaker to tell his tale, however.
-"ach, himmel!" he exclaimed. "es war geistlich!"
-"did you see it, then?"
-"ya, das hab ich!" returned the other.
-"was it in the day or the night-time when you saw it?" asked sharpe.
-"it was night, about this time, and there was but a half-moon above the tree tops."
-"were you very much frightened, hans?"
-"yes, i was scared to death almost. i thought the old man of the mountains had come for me. i had been to market to sell my little wooden-clocks, and near this very place the huge grey phantom bird swooped down, then circled round and round and disappeared there, over there!" and the peasant, his eyes almost starting out of his head with terror, pointed away to the east.
-"bah! it was no bird, it was an aeroplane, hans. you should not have been frightened," exclaimed keane, who had been taking particular note of the direction in which the mysterious machine had disappeared.
-"yes, a ghost-aeroplane!" iterated the schwarzwalder. "there has never been anything like it before."
-"did anybody else see it?" queried sharpe, passing the bottle once again to hans, who stayed but a moment to wipe his lips with his sleeve, and to take another deep drink of the wine.
-"ja, it was seen by jacob stendahl the same night, not far from this very place."
-"and who is jacob stendahl?" asked keane.
-"he is the woodcutter whose cottage is down by the stream, two miles away. that path leads to his house. he was terrified; he said it was an evil omen, and next morning his little gretchen died."
-"and what happened to you, hans?" asked sharpe.
-"that same night my sow farrowed, and all the litter were dead next morning," replied the peasant gravely.
-a deep silence followed this last remark, and the schwarzwalder brooded over his misfortune, and lamented to himself the loss of his fine litter of young pigs.
-the two airmen felt certain now that hans had really seen the mysterious aeroplane, and they plied him with a dozen further questions as to the noise it made in passing, and the speed at which it travelled, and whether anyone else had seen or heard of it. to some of their questions hans could give no coherent answer. he said, however, that very few people lived in this part of the forest, and parts of it were seldom or never trodden by human foot. he had spoken to one or two about it, and they also had either seen or heard of it from someone else, and the general opinion amongst the schwarzwalders in that part, was, that it was one of the dead german airmen, whose spirit came to visit the spot in a ghost-aeroplane.
-"which of the german aces is it, then, that revisits this place, do they think?" asked keane.
-"some say that it is the ghost of immelmann, who used to come here before the war to hunt the wild boar; others say that it is the spirit of richthofen, but i cannot say," replied hans.
-on the question of speed and noise, however, the peasant declared that he was certain.
-"it must have been a ghost-aeroplane," he said, "because it was silent, and its speed was like the passing of a spirit when it leaves the body."
-a deep silence followed these words, but at the end of a few minutes hans, pointing to the east, said:--
-"look, friends, the moon is rising already. it is getting lighter, and i must go."
-then, untethering his pack-horse, he thanked the strangers for their hospitality, gave them the direction and situation of his cottage, where they would be welcome, should they care to visit him during their stay in the schwarzwald, and, bidding them adieu, started off on his journey through the forest.
-they watched the schwarzwalder and his beast of burden disappear into the forest, then for some minutes the two englishmen, buried in thought, sat by the embers of the fire. neither spake to his companion for a while, as, deep in contemplation, each endeavoured to fathom in his own mind this secret of the phantom aeroplane, this riddle of the sphinx. at last keane addressed his colleague.
-"this travelling clock-maker has confirmed our theory, sharpe," he said.
-"yes, the simple fellow has helped us not a little," replied the other.
-"we must continue our search without further delay, lest this talkative peasant should himself encounter this genius, and unwittingly announce the presence of two strangers in the forest. that is my great fear now."
-"you don’t think this fellow misled us, keane?"
-"why do you ask? he was too dull-witted to be anything in the nature of an accomplice," replied the captain.
-"quite so, but he might have been a tool in the hands of this mystery man," added sharpe, as a sudden feeling of suspicion shot across his mind.
-"in that case we ought to have followed him, but i scarcely think it worth while. a dull-witted man of that type would have been too dangerous to his employer, even when used merely as a tool. the only danger i anticipate from that quarter, unless i am utterly mistaken, is that the fellow may encounter someone in the forest who is engaged in the plot, and thus reveal our presence, as i stated previously," observed keane, as he began to get his traps together, ready for the march.
-"anyhow, we have learned something from the schwarzwalder."
-"by the way, sharpe, you might tune up your little wireless pocket ’phone, and ascertain if there are any messages floating around."
-"so i will; we might pick up something," replied the junior airman, and the next moment he climbed into a straggling, low-branched tree, uncoiled a small aerial, and, starting his little battery, listened attentively for any stray message that might be floating through the ether.
-"anything?" asked keane, coming to the foot of the tree.
-"nothing," remarked the other.
-"then we’ll push off."
-five minutes later, having adjusted their packs, collected their nets, and having stamped out the remains of the fire, they were ready to start.
-"which path shall we take?" asked sharpe, for there were two ill-defined, grass-grown tracks which led away from the clearing. one led past jacob stendahl’s cottage, and had been followed by the schwarzwalder, and the other, the lesser trodden of the two, led they knew not where.
-"let us take the one on the right," said keane, indicating the latter. "it is more likely to yield us something," and the next moment they were hidden from sight amid the dense undergrowth of this part of the forest.
-scarcely had they disappeared from view when one of the upper branches of a tree near to the edge of the clearing suddenly appeared to move, then to swing loosely for a second, and drop to the ground. then for a moment there was silence, save for the call of a nightjar which had been disturbed, but a moment later a dark shadow debouched from the edge of the forest and crossed quietly but quickly to where the fire had been burning a few minutes previously.
-a low whistle, repeated twice, brought a similar shadow from the opposite side of the clearing, and the two indistinct, but human shapes, met each other face to face.
-"who were they, professor?" asked the second arrival of the first.
-"himmel! ich weiss nicht, strauss," replied his companion, who was none other than the renowned professor rudolf weissmann, "but i fear that they portend us no good."
-"let us examine the ground to see if they have left any clue behind."
-so for the next few minutes the professor and his mechanic searched the ground carefully for any little souvenir which the travellers might have left behind them. and whilst they searched, they talked in low, but eager whispers.
-"did you hear that half-witted schwarzwalder talking aloud about the scorpion?" asked the professor.
-"yes. he called it a phantom-bird, did he not?" replied strauss. "i heard nearly all he said, he spoke so loudly and coarsely."
-"could you hear what the others said?"
-"not a word; they spoke so quietly, save once or twice when they spoke to the clock-maker."
-"nor could i, and that is what makes me so suspicious," returned weissmann.
-"they spoke good german, though," ventured the mechanic.
-"bah! of course they would. nevertheless, it’s my firm opinion that they’re foreigners, and that they’re here for some special reason."
-"and that reason is?"
-"to find out about the scorpion," snarled the mathematician.
-"ach!" exclaimed the other; "the scorpion is two thousand miles away."
-"then their next business is to find the aerodrome," said the professor.
-"blitz! that they’ll never do except by accident. think of those live wires waiting for them if they get within a hundred yards of it. we have found six dead men there already; i don’t want to dig any more graves," returned strauss.
-they had continued the search for fully ten minutes, and the professor, occasionally flashing his pocket torch, was carefully examining the long grass within a radius of some twelve of fifteen feet of the spot where the fire had been. wise man that he was, he carried out his final investigation to the leeward of the fire, trusting that the breeze might have carried some paper fragment, used in lighting a pipe or starting the fire, in that direction. nor was he disappointed. he was just about to conclude his search, however, when his sharp eyes caught sight of a piece of half burnt and twisted paper hidden away amongst the longer grass.
-"donnerwetter!" he exclaimed under his breath, as he flashed his torch upon the paper for a second. "i thought so; here is evidence enough for an execution."
-"what is it, mein herr?" asked the mechanic, hastening to his side.
-"do you see that?" said his companion, untwisting the paper once again and flashing a light upon it.
-"ja! ja!" replied the other as he strained his eyes in the attempt to decipher the handwriting on the half-burnt sheet. "but i cannot understand it, for it is in a foreign language."
-"it is part of a small fragment of an envelope, and the writing, which is in english, is certainly almost undecipherable, but i can distinguish the letters ’...eane’."
-"ach, himmel! that is keane!" replied strauss. "he is one of the aerial police, is he not?"
-"you are right, fritz. this letter was addressed through the english post to captain keane, one of tempest’s best men, if not indeed his most brilliant ’brain-wave,’" hissed the professor.
-"donner und blitzen! then he has come here to search for the scorpion, and the aerodrome."
-"yes, but look, he only left london a few hours ago, for here is the london postmark in the corner, bearing yesterday’s date."
-"and his companion? who is he?" asked the mechanic.
-"it must be that other scout pilot, sharpe; they work together. but, mark my word, friedrich strauss, they are mistaken if they think to find an easy victim in professor rudolf weissmann. i’ll teach them to track me like a murderer through the schwarzwald. they have come to the black forest, and here they shall stay." and for once, the quiet, mild-mannered professor jerked out his words with unusual vehemence.
-the mechanic saw that his chief was deeply agitated by this sudden discovery, which confirmed all his recent fears, and to allay his feelings, he said,
-"but they will never find the aerodrome, professor, or, if indeed they find it, they will never enter it alive; think of the preparations you have made for all uninvited guests," and the speaker shuddered, for he knew something of the terrors of that "death-circle" in the lonely forest.
-"bah! it is my secret they want, the secret of that mysterious power which drives the scorpion."
-"uranis?" ventured the other.
-the professor nodded, for he regarded it as the greater success of the two. without it the scorpion would be useless; with it a dozen scorpions could be built, once the facilities were provided. unfortunately the discovery had been effected too late to win the war for the fatherland. besides, he had not received the encouragement from the government that he had deserved, and his soul was consequently embittered.
-"come," he said at last, "we must get back to the aerodrome and watch for these half-witted englishmen. once there we can afford to laugh at them. they will soon be held in a vice. but i must send a further message to the scorpion out on the hamadian plains, hinting how matters stand. after that communications may have to cease for a while. as for these death-hunters, they will find out presently that they are up against something far more terrible than anything which old jacob stendahl or the wood-cutter have ever imagined in their wildest fancy. the secret of the schwarzwald is not for them. i hold the master-key, fritz, and when i die that master-key will be broken."
-and the two men, who had been aware of the presence of the englishmen ever since they entered the forest, and had watched them accordingly, now moved off in the same direction which the latter had taken half an hour before.
-it was now past midnight, but the two englishmen, who had left the track some time before at a point where its course was suddenly changed, and had continued their journey by the aid of a luminous compass, and the uncertain light of the moon, came at last to another halt.
-"let us stay here a while, sharpe," his companion had whispered. "i have a strong premonition of some impending danger."
-"the deuce you have!" remarked sharpe, who well knew what this meant in a man like keane, whose psychic faculties were not to be sneered at.
-"yes. i cannot explain it, but there is some hidden danger right ahead of us; of that i am as certain as that we are in the schwarzwald. we had better lie down a while and await developments quietly."
-nothing loath, sharpe unfastened his shoulder straps, slid his equipment quietly to the ground, and laid himself down beside his companion.
-for the moment all was quiet. the moon was hidden behind a bank of clouds, and it was therefore very dark, but sounds travel far in the night air of the forest, and when they conversed, they spoke only in whispers.
-"it may be," remarked keane, "that the spot we seek is just in front of us, though i cannot see any glade or clearing as yet; it is too dark."
-"is it likely that there are any booby-traps hereabouts, set by this wily professor?" asked his companion.
-"i cannot say; he may have some outer system of defence."
-"or even a system of ground signals to announce the approach of strangers, whose presence might be undesirable to him," added sharpe.
-"it is possible," whispered keane, whose mind was actively engaged in preparation for eventualities, in view of his inexplicable premonitions. suddenly he started and touched his comrade lightly with his raised forefinger.
-"hist!" he said, in a voice which could not have carried further than a couple of yards then he carefully raised his head, and, turning his eyes towards the thicket through which they had come, he tried to read the secret which it contained. his alarm was justified, yet was he mystified not a little, for the more immediate danger seemed to come from behind.
-"can you hear it, sharpe?"
-"yes, the same crackling of twigs; another wild boar," remarked his friend facetiously.
-keane shook his head, for his sensitive ears had told him that the footsteps which he had heard were those of human beings. nor was he mistaken, for a moment later they both heard distinctly, not merely the crackling of twigs and the rustle of the bracken under heavy footfalls, but voices, human voices, conversing in a guarded and careful manner.
-"none of your schwarzwald peasants this time," he murmured, fingering his webley already, for he instinctively felt that this time they were beset by danger both before and behind. and indeed, these two men, during all their adventures in the secret service during the war, were never in more deadly peril than at this moment, as they were soon to learn.
-scarcely daring to breathe, much less to whisper now, the two englishmen watched furtively for the coming of the strangers, who were now less than a score of yards away, but were approaching very stealthily, as though they were searching for something on the ground.
-"who can they be?" wondered keane. "and what can they be searching for?"
-"poachers," sharpe was thinking, "merely poachers, searching for their booby-traps."
-nearer and nearer came the dark shadows, and both the airmen had their webleys trained on them now. in that moment they might have shot them down easily, and before long they would regret they had not done so. but that is not the english way, for the ordinary englishman would give even a dog his chance, as the saying goes. still, there are dogs and dogs, and sometimes human dogs are worse than the four-footed ones. but the englishmen were uncertain; they did not know what world-wide conspirators were these two men. they did not know what fearful deeds would happen even that day on the hamadian desert, two thousand miles away, but all of it engineered from this spot, and made possible by these two men. and as they did not know, they did not fire, but waited.
-"gott in himmel, where does that verdammt live wire begin?" asked one of the men in a low but vehement voice. it was the professor himself, searching for one of his own man-traps.
-sharpe glanced at keane, but the other motioned him not to fire.
-"we’re learning something, old man!" he whispered. "this is the gateway to the aerodrome."
-the two men had passed them now, passed within six yards, and yet had missed them. they were now groping a little way ahead, looking for secret signs and marks lest they should be hoist upon their own petard.
-"donner und blitzen! have you found it yet, fritz?" called the professor a little louder to his friend.
-"here it is, professor! be careful ... there are six wires already laid for those verdammt englishmen, keane and--what is the name of the other?"
-"sharpe!" rapped out the professor, as though he had known the man all his life.
-at these words the two englishmen looked at each other in blank amazement. and before their astonishment could subside, the opportunity which had been given to them of ridding the world of two great conspirators had passed.
-"one--two--six!" they heard the mechanic say, as he helped the professor over the deadly maze, scarcely fifteen yards in front of them, and then their dark forms had merged into the trees and disappeared, their voices becoming fainter and fainter.
-"great scott!" gasped sharpe, when he recovered from his astonishment; "we’ve walked right into the hornets’ nest."
-"we should have done if we’d gone another fifteen yards," replied keane, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
-"fortunate you had that presentiment of impending danger," said his friend.
-"we should have been lying dead and half grilled over his deadly wires but for that strange, weird feeling of mine," replied keane.
-"but there, after all our attempts at concealment, he knows all about us."
-"even our names seem familiar to him," remarked the senior airman, greatly puzzled.
-"i cannot understand it," replied the other. "who can have given him this information?"
-"who indeed?" asked keane. "it is as great a mystery as the other matter."
-"can it be the woodcutter or the clockmaker, do you think, for hans is sure to have called at jacob stendahl’s cottage and told him the news."
-but keane shook his head, as he remarked: "neither hans nor yet the woodcutter could possibly have told the professor our names. this evil genius must have other sources of information at his command. possibly he has an agent at mulhausen aerodrome, or even at scotland yard. to a man like this, a thousand ways are open. i cannot say, but this i know, we are on the edge of the biggest mystery i have ever encountered."
-"and we might easily have shot him. bah! it would have been better to have fired, keane," added sharpe somewhat bitterly. "cannot we follow him now?"
-"no!" replied his companion, firmly. "it is better as it is."
-"why?" demanded the other.
-"rest content, sharpe," said keane. "to-day we have discovered the aerodrome; to-morrow we will capture it."
-patiently, now, the two englishmen waited for the dawn. till then it would not be safe to move in any direction. as they lay in the long bracken and ferns, however, they were able to converse quietly, and to discuss their plans for the coming day. the spot they had come so far to seek was now before them. the live wires, just a few feet ahead of them, had been duly located, and now that the danger was known, it was not insuperable. it was an added mystery to them, nevertheless, how this wizard secured sufficient voltage to make these wires so deadly. they assumed, however, that powerful dynamos, worked by this same silent energy that propelled the aeroplane, were at work somewhere near this spot.
-dawn came at last; a faint yellow streak lit up the horizon away to the east. then a crimson flush revealed the distant tree-tops, and the moon and stars faded away. a hundred songsters awoke the stillness of the forest, for another day had dawned, and the sable curtain of night rolled westward.
-"see, there is a clearing fifty yards ahead," were keane’s first words to his companion.
-"it is the aerodrome, the secret aerodrome!" replied sharpe, peering through the trees.
-"let us work round a little way and find the workshop or hangar. i fancy we shall find it on the other side of the glade."
-"mind those beastly wires, then!" replied sharpe, as he began to crawl through the dense undergrowth after his companion, who had already started to make a circuit of the outer defences on his hands and knees.
-the next half-hour was spent in cautious creeping and crawling just outside those death-dealing wires. at the end of that time, however, keane made a discovery. he had completed about half the circuit, when, peering carefully through the trees, he fancied he could make out the camouflaged fabric which covered some temporary building. so carefully was this place hidden amongst the trees that he had to look twice or three times before he could make up his mind that he was not mistaken. at last he convinced himself that he had located the workshop, else, why should the place have been so carefully hidden. waiting for his companion to reach him, he pointed to the object and whispered, "there it is, not thirty yards away!"
-"shall we get over these wires, and rush the place?" asked sharpe.
-"no. let us continue our journey until we have completed the circuit. we may make another discovery yet. come along; fortune favours the brave."
-they had scarcely crept another hundred yards, however, when a rustling in the leaves, accompanied by a snort, revealed the presence of another wild boar, which had evidently scented their presence.
-"confound the pig!" muttered sharpe, who was afraid the sounds might lead to their premature discovery. but keane thought otherwise, for, to his quick mind and instructive genius, this trifling event seemed providential.
-"the pig!" he whispered, pointing to the spot whence came the occasional snorts of the angry, disturbed creature.
-"what of it?" queried sharpe.
-"let’s get to the other side of the beast and drive it against the wires."
-"and roast the brute alive for the benefit of their breakfast, i suppose."
-keane laughed silently, and wondered how far the conspirators used this live wire to keep themselves supplied with food. he knew, however, that a wild boar on the live wires would soon bring out the inmates of that mysterious house in the woods, and would sufficiently distract their attention to give the airmen their opportunity.
-the next moment, having made a sufficiently extensive circuit, so as to get the wild boar between them and the wires, they began closing in on the beast, an operation not devoid of peril, should the boar decide to attack them. fortune favoured them, however. the angry beast, noting the approach of some unseen enemy, by the movements of the tangled undergrowth, half frightened and half infuriated, made off in the direction of the clearing, uttering further snorts. the next moment he had touched the first of those deadly wires, and, with a wild scream which rang through the forest, he leapt into the air, then fell back quivering but dead across that fatal grill.
-"back--back for your life!" hissed keane, as he made haste back to the spot where they had sheltered, close to the camouflaged hangar.
-the next instant the watchers saw the professor and his assistant rush out of the little building, towards the place where the animal lay right across the first four wires. in their excitement they both seemed to have forgotten the presence of the two englishmen in the woods during the previous evening, for they were both unarmed. or perhaps it was that they imagined them to be the present victims of their cunning.
-"hoch! another royal boar for the larder, fritz!" exclaimed the professor. "we shall have the winter’s supply complete very soon."
-"gut, mein herr!" came the answer.
-"better go back and switch off the current, so that we can take it away," urged the chief, and, staying but a second to see the royal victim, the assistant complied.
-this was what the two englishmen had been waiting for. the moment of action had come at last. gripping their pistols, they made ready to advance and take possession of the hangar during the absence of the inmates.
-"sind sie fertig, friedrich?" called the professor.
-"ja, das bin ich!" replied the other, as he left the workshop, and rejoined his companion.
-"come along, the wires are dead now," whispered keane, and, keeping well within the shadows of the trees, the two men crept forward, gained the rear of the structure, then cautiously worked their way round and entered the hangar unobserved.
-one glance about the well-fitted workshop sufficed. there were no further occupants, and they lowered their pistols. sharpe at once sprang to the lever which regulated the powerful electrical current and clutched it. in another instant the two men without would have paid the extreme penalty, for they would have been instantly killed by their own evil device, but keane stopped him:--
-"don’t!" he said. "we have much to learn. the professor at least must be taken alive, if possible. the secret he holds is too precious to be lost. let us hide!"
-"where can we hide?" asked the other, somewhat disappointed, and amazed at the further risks which his companion appeared willing to take in order to gratify an insatiable curiosity. "the tables may be quickly turned upon us."
-"we can shoot them as a last resort, if that is necessary," urged keane, who knew the priceless value of the secrets which this place contained.
-"hist! they are coming."
-"this way!" whispered keane, and he drew his companion into a little recess, which had evidently been curtained off for the mechanic’s sleeping berth.
-they had barely withdrawn themselves into this narrow apartment when the two men entered, dragging the carcase of the wild boar with them.
-"leave it there for a moment, strauss. the message from the rittmeister is due. i must also send him that other message again, as the first has not been acknowledged," were the professor’s first words.
-"yes, sir. shall i start the dynamos again?" asked the assistant.
-"perhaps you’d better, but first hand me that message book and the secret code."
-the next moment the professor was busy at the wireless keys, transmitting some message to the far deserts of arabia.
-"by all the saints," gasped keane, "he’s sending a message to the raider, the scorpion, as he calls it. i must have that secret code at all hazards. i wonder what he is saying?"
-for some time the chief conspirator was engaged coding and decoding messages at the little table where the aerials, carefully hidden amongst the trees without, had their terminus. and in that moment keane thanked his stars that he had waited for this, for he saw new possibilities opening out before him. once in possession of this mechanism and the necessary codes, he could communicate at will with the distant raider, who was threatening the whole civilised world by his almost superhuman powers of brigandage. he could recall the raider also, and make his capture certain, once he could secure absolute possession of this little citadel.
-for the present he could do nothing but wait, however, and see how matters developed. once, the assistant came quite close to their hiding-place, and both men again gripped their webleys. at this moment even to breathe seemed fraught with danger. if the man should enter the little apartment, he must die, and the professor must be immediately threatened with the same penalty unless he surrendered.
-"ha! so far so good!" gasped keane, as the mechanic recrossed the workshop without actually entering their hiding-place.
-"teufel!" spluttered the professor. "here is that fool tempest trying to communicate with those two verdammt englishmen who are still roaming about in the schwarzwald. he little knows that we possess his secret code."
-"himmel! what does he say?" asked the other.
-"wants them to report progress at once, and let him know how matters stand," said weissmann in a mocking tone. "he says he will come over himself, if necessary."
-"donnerwetter! ask him to come, professor. he might as well grill with his accomplices on the live wires, for that’s where they’ll be before the day is out, unless they abandon their futile search," replied strauss.
-"this fiend is a perfect wizard!" thought keane, and his glance signified as much to sharpe. "how he manages to get hold of these secrets is beyond me. and yet, there is a defect in his mad science, for he does not know that we’re here, and that his own life is in our hands. fool that he is, he will soon learn that the wit of an englishman is more than a match for his boasted knowledge," and here the senior airman carefully withdrew a cartridge from his webley and inserted another, silently--a cartridge that had a specific mission. his companion watched him and repeated the action with his own weapon, for he understood.
-"blitz! but i’ve half a mind to send for tempest," mused the professor, who was still toying with the keys of the wireless instrument.
-"send for him, professor," urged his accomplice. "those englishmen are getting too close to be pleasant. the british army of occupation will be carrying out a thorough search of the schwarzwald if these men get away, and then where shall we be?"
-"we are in the neutral zone, though," replied the other.
-"but we’re contravening the peace regulations, sir, and the english will not stand upon ceremony. it will be too late should these men get away."
-"donner und teufel!" rasped out the angry professor. "don’t speak to me of the peace regulations. there will be no peace till germany regains all and more than all she has lost. i will send for this commissioner of aerial police, for i believe that he and his two accomplices, keane and sharpe, are the only ones so far who know anything that matters about the secret of the schwarzwald," and he began to tap the keys, reeling out the words as he sent them.
-keane listened acutely for the cyphers of the code. they were:--
-and he understood that tempest was to come at once, make for mulhausen aerodrome, then take a bee-line, east-north-east over the schwarzwald until he saw a smoke column, where a suitable landing-ground would be found, and his accomplices would await him.
-"ach!" shrieked the professor, with a fiendish laugh. "the smoke column will mark his last resting-place. they shall all be buried together, these mad englishmen. we will have more live wires stretched across his landing-ground, and as the wild boar died, so will these men die who dared to follow me into the schwarzwald."
-"the wild boar! hoch! hoch!" exclaimed his companion. "it is a fitting tribute for the english are swine!"
-"and the scorpion shall witness the inglorious end of these men," cried the professor, as a sudden idea came into his mind.
-"der scorpion?" queried fritz, looking up amazed from his task. "what do you mean, professor?"
-"why, the rittmeister will have finished his work in the hamadian desert this afternoon. his instructions are to resign the sultanate of those regions for the present, for the skies will be thick with british scouts by to-morrow."
-"but then he goes to ireland to work with the revolutionists there, does he not, mein herr?"
-"ja! ja! but i will ask him to call here for a day or two before he proceeds. he will have much to tell us, and spitzer, carl and max would like to see these dangerous opponents safely out of the way, for at present they are the only enemies to be considered."
-"gut!" ejaculated strauss, catching something of the professor’s enthusiasm.
-keane would have intervened before this, for he had noted sharpe’s impatience, but he intimated as well as he could by mute signs and otherwise, that the fiend was doing their work for them.
-"let him send this message first," he whispered in his companion’s ears, "and then----" but the sentence was completed by further cabalistic signs.
-again the professor turned to the keys, and sent his last instructions through the ether waves to his confederate, the brigand of the eastern skies.
-"haende in die hohe!" cried keane as soon as the last message had been sent.
-"der teufel!" gasped the professor as two swift shadows darted out from behind the curtain, and the two men whom he had just been discussing with such utter contempt confronted him and his accomplice with gleaming pistols.
-"hands up!" repeated keane, anxious to give the professor another chance.
-with a blasphemous oath the man of evil genius, who saw that he had been outwitted, reached for a small hand grenade which lay beside him on the table, and shouted:--
-"then take that!" cried the englishman, and two puffs of greenish smoke, following a sharp crackle, burst simultaneously from the pistols, for they had both fired together.
-the new asphixor bullets took immediate effect. both the germans staggered, clutched their throats as though to ward off the effects of this new powerful gas recently discovered and adapted by that eminent british scientist, sir joseph verne--then lurched and fell, whilst their opponents stepped back and quickly fitted on their safety masks.
-"they are both sound asleep," observed keane, when, the fumes having cleared away, he threw aside his respirator and carefully examined the unconscious men.
-"let them sleep," said sharpe, who would have adopted even more drastic measures if he could have had his own way. "’tis scant mercy they would have shown to us if we had been in their power."
-"and now let us get to work, for they will awaken in seven or eight hours, and we have much to do. we must prepare for colonel tempest, and also for this raider," urged keane.
-"but they will not come to-day, captain."
-"scarcely, but we must be prepared for anything. there are only a couple of us."
-"shall we secure these men, in case they awake earlier than the stipulated time?"
-"no, let us remove their slumbering forms behind the curtain there; we will attend to them before they awake. i do not like the idea of strapping down unconscious men, even though they are criminals. we will watch them from time to time."
-then for the next half-hour they carried out a careful examination of the hangar and its contents. they were amazed at the intricate and wonderful mechanism with which the place was fitted. it seemed impossible that these things could have been transported hither without attracting attention. parts of aeroplane wings, struts, propellers, engine-fittings, strange, weird-looking cylinders, retorts, analytical appliances, instruments and vessels for chemical research, powerful but silent dynamos, and numberless other things, all neatly arranged, and apparently in working order, half filled the place.
-the further they carried their investigation the more were these two englishmen bewildered by what they saw.
-"is it possible," gasped keane, "or am i only dreaming? we have discovered the home of the super-alchemist. after this, nothing will surprise me."
-"we have discovered the devil’s workshop," replied sharpe, who did not appear to be half so enraptured as his friend.
-"nay, we shall find the philosopher’s stone, or the elixir vitae soon," replied keane, continuing his investigation.
-"we are more likely to find the elixir mortis than anything else," said the gloomy one. "this place gives me the shivers. i am sure that i shall have cold feet for the rest of my life."
-"after this, hermes and geber will be dull reading," continued the enthusiast. "give me the schwarzwald every time for the real thrill of the alchemist."
-"their time might have been more profitably employed, at any rate," remarked sharpe.
-"yes, it is a thousand pities that the wonderful brain which designed and organised all this should have had nothing better in view than brigandage and world revolution."
-"more misdirected energy," moaned sharpe; "the greatest brains often make the greatest criminals."
-"you’re a veritable misanthrope, sharpe!" said his companion, laughing.
-"i have reason to be," returned the other.
-"what do you mean?"
-"i mean this--we’re not out of the wood yet."
-"i agree; we’re in the very centre of it," replied keane.
-"yet you did not inflict the coup de grâce on the diabolical vipers, and they will shortly awake. moreover, the scorpion may arrive unexpectedly, and we shall be unprepared for her."
-"what would you do?"
-"bring over the machines from mulhausen, ready to fight this air fiend when he comes."
-"ho! so you’re longing for another real air fight, are you, like the ’scraps’ we used to have with the richthofen ’circus’?"
-"at any rate, we’d better prepare. then i’d bind those two criminals hand and foot or surround them with live wires, so that, should they awake unexpectedly, they would not dare to stir."
-"there is certainly something in what you suggest about bringing the aeroplanes over, though we should have a deuce of a job to land them in this place; they’re by no means possessed of the powers of a helicopter. however, i’ll get into touch with colonel tempest and ask for immediate assistance, and also ask him to bring over professor verne to investigate these mysterious engineering and chemical appliances."
-so, leaving the workshop, the live wires and the prisoners to the care of sharpe, the senior airman devoted all the rest of that morning to investigating the wireless apparatus, examining the secret codes, and trying to get into touch with the commissioner of aerial police. in this, however, he was not very successful, for the air was full of messages, concerning an overdue air-liner which had been expected for some time at cairo. perhaps his message had been jammed or lost in the aerial jostle.
-colonel tempest was almost at his wits’ end. he sorely needed the help of his able assistants. he wanted to send them out east to chase this daring brigand off the trade routes.
-he was unable also to comply with the request for assistance, when at length it did reach him, for all his best fighting men, with the exception of these two in the black forest, had been sent after the raider. he promised, however, to come personally at the earliest possible moment, as soon as matters had been cleared up a little.
-again and again keane tried to reach him with brief, but urgent coded messages, for he was now getting extremely anxious lest the raider should appear before they were ready. sharpe, however, who was eminently practical, had taken the professor’s own tip, and had laid wires across the glade, which, when properly connected up, would make it a dangerous proceeding for a hostile aeroplane to land there, while, in the event of a friendly one appearing, the current could be immediately switched off. he had seen to the prisoners as well, for, unknown to keane, he had, on the first signs of awakening, given to each of them a sufficiently strong soporific to extend the period of their quiescence for a considerably longer period, so that, late that afternoon, his friend was somewhat alarmed at their quietude.
-that night they watched in turns, and relieved each other every two hours. when morning came they climbed the highest trees and scanned the horizon in every direction for the promised help, and also for the scorpion. but although the column of smoke from the fire which had been lighted, ascended all day in one long grey streak to guide the british airmen, yet morning wore on to afternoon, and no assistance came.
-keane sent message after message, but apparently to no purpose. the very heavens were full of messages, for the whole civilized world had been roused by the last daring feat of the phantom airman. london, paris, cairo, delhi and new york were clamouring for his immediate capture and execution. strong things, too, were being said about the incapacity of the much vaunted aerial police, but all the world realised that the task before these men was almost superhuman.
-twice an urgent message came recalling the two englishmen, but keane replied with the one word, "impossible!"
-and all this time the raider, who was carefully hiding for a few days, delighted his companions by retailing with much gusto such of these messages as he had been able to piece together from the aerial jumble.
-"let them send all their available machines and pilots out east," he had said to carl and max, "then we will quietly slip across europe to ireland, where everything is ripe for the promised revolution."
-"and the schwarzwald?" queried max.
-"oh, we will call there for a few hours en route," replied the pirate, calmly relighting his pipe, "the professor will understand our silence and inactivity."
-so the third morning came, and keane, whose anxiety regarding the still sleeping prisoners had been allayed by sharpe, who smilingly confessed what he had done, now became fearfully uneasy as to the condition of affairs.
-"for heaven’s sake light that beacon again!" he ordered. "if assistance does not arrive to-day, all these secrets i have endeavoured to rescue will be lost."
-"what will you do?" asked his companion, who was already applying a match to the pile of dried tinder and sticks.
-"blow the whole place up," he replied.
-"and shoot the prisoners?" ventured his friend, slyly.
-"rouse them up, somehow, handcuff them together and take them away."
-"some job that," remarked sharpe, looking up at the long thin trail of smoke, for there was still an absence of wind currents.
-even as he gazed into the sky, however, he caught sight of a tiny speck hovering at twelve thousand feet, and he almost shouted, "aeroplane!"
-"where?" asked his startled comrade, whose nerves had undergone some strain during the past few days.
-"right up in the blue. there, can you see her?"
-"yes, i have her now, but she’s very high. can it be the scorpion, do you think?" asked the senior.
-"cannot say yet. i’ll fetch the glasses."
-"run for them, quickly! i cannot hear her engines at all. it must be the brigand."
-"ah, there, i hear the engines now, very faintly, though. rolls-royce engines too, thank god!" exclaimed keane fervently, as he recognised the well-known sound, and knew that assistance had arrived at last, in the shape of at least one bristol fighter.
-"it’s all right, sharpe. cut off that beastly current. tempest will be here in a minute."
-"are you sure it’s tempest?"
-"yes. listen to that! now he’s cut his engine out again, and he’s coming down. it’s the chief right enough; i should know his flying amongst a score of aeroplanes."
-the wires were cut off, a temporary landing-tee quickly rigged up on the ground, and frantic signals were made to the pilot, who was now rapidly coming down in sharp spirals.
-"good-morning, colonel!" cried the two airmen, saluting their chief smartly, as he still sat in the aeroplane, looking not a little crabbed and sour, as he secretly swore at the infamous stretch of ground misnamed an aerodrome; then turned his gaze upon the two airmen who had appealed for assistance.
-"morning! so this is where you young cubs spend your holidays, while the whole world is ramping at me for not catching this infernal brigand. what have you got to say for yourselves?"
-keane was not at all put out by this dour greeting; he knew his chief too well, and admired him accordingly. merit is not always accompanied by a bland and urbane countenance, neither do brains always accompany a white shirt front.
-"i have that to say which will almost make you jump out of your skin, sir," replied keane, "but we must somehow get these aeroplanes under cover, or properly camouflaged, for the scorpion may arrive any minute."
-"eh? what’s that you say, boy?" exclaimed tempest, leaping from the fuselage. "the scorpion?"
-"why, that is the name of your infernal raider, isn’t it, captain watson?" and here the colonel turned and addressed his passenger, who was none other than the skipper of the air-liner which had been so roughly handled in the hamadian desert.
-"the same, sir."
-"and the professor, keane? i sent you to track the professor. have you found him?"
-"he is our prisoner, colonel," and keane bowed stiffly, and pointed to the half-hidden hangar, where the two prisoners, who were now partly roused, had been safely secured.
-an exclamation of pleasure and surprise broke from this dour-looking man when he heard this news, and his face became wreathed with smiles as he advanced to both keane and sharpe, shook them warmly by the hand, and said:--
-"thank you, my boys; i knew if it could be done you would do it, though i could ill spare you for the job. yesterday my reputation was in shreds; i am to be charged with inefficiency, and a public enquiry is to be held. but you two wolf cubs have re-established my character; i can never thank you enough. now lead on, show us this evil-minded genius! professor verne here, who has come in the second bristol, with captain hooper, is anxious to see him. he may redeem him yet from the error of his ways, and it is vital that this secret of his should be in other and better hands, else it will always be a danger to the public."
-so, whilst the party were conducted indoors, and shown the marvels of the modern house of alchemy, the two professors were introduced, and began a series of disputations, very embittered at first, as the german, though relieved of his bonds, and made as comfortable as the circumstances would permit, resolutely refused to give any particulars of his discovery, or even to display the slightest amiability towards his distinguished visitor, though they were not unknown to each other, and had even studied at heidelberg together in their younger days.
-meanwhile, all possible steps were taken to prepare for the possible arrival of the scorpion. the bristol machines, after being carefully stowed away in a gap between the trees, were so camouflaged by branches of pine and larch that they presented but a very indistinct object from the air, and, unless their presence were known, might easily remain unobserved.
-after some time had been spent in examining the highly developed and intricate mechanism of the devil’s workshop, as the place was now called, the commissioner suddenly turned upon his chief mentor, and said:--
-"by the way, keane, have you discovered any drawings or designs of this wonderful aeroplane? i don’t see any amongst this pile of papers, and the professor does not seem inclined to help us at all."
-"no, sir. we have searched the place carefully, but we have found nothing. part of the machine could certainly be reconstructed from those spares, but all the important parts are missing. i have an overwhelming curiosity to see the machine, though, and hope that i may not have this pleasure much longer delayed."
-"then we have nothing but these photographs," returned the captain.
-"photographs?" echoed keane.
-"yes. why, i forgot to tell you in the bewilderment and excitement of the last hour, that captain watson here managed to secure three snapshots of the raider in mid-air, whilst his airship was being attacked."
-"it was the boy gadget who secured them, sir," interposed the air-skipper, anxious to give credit where credit was due.
-"oh, yes, keane, i ought to say that it was a smart little beggar called gadget, a stowaway, who really secured the photographs, and hid them away from the brigand. we must see that the little chap is properly rewarded when we return."
-"let me see the pictures, sir," requested keane, eager to get some idea of his future opponent.
-"here they are. i have had them developed and enlarged. they should be extremely useful to us, as we shall shortly have to encounter this sultan selim, air king of the hamadian desert, the world’s greatest bandit, who had the audacity to send me this document by the captain."
-and here the colonel, having retailed the whole story of the fight in the desert, showed the brigand’s letter, which had been brought to london the previous day by the fast aeroplane which had carried the skipper of the air-liner.
-keane turned in amazement from the clear photographs of the phantom-bird to the brief, audacious letter of the phantom airman, and read as follows:--
-"to colonel tempest, d.s.o., m.c.,
-commissioner of aerial police, scotland yard, london, w.c.
-"greetings from sultan selim, air king of the hamadian desert. i regret to inform you that of late there has been a serious increase of aerial crime in these regions. the frequent passing of large airships containing mails and other commodities, without due payment of tribute to my customs officials, is a serious infringement of the laws of my dominion. this action not only imperils the liberties of small communities, but is also a crafty form of aerial brigandage, inasmuch as it defrauds my exchequer of its just and equitable revenue. this practice must cease forthwith, and i have taken steps to-day which, in my opinion, will render it unwise for this shameful trespass to continue. the bearer of this letter will give you further details of the action which i have been compelled to take on behalf of my subjects. your five missing scouts will be found between the wells of nefud and the hedjaz coast. i have destroyed their machines as a salutary warning to future violaters of these my dominions."
-keane could scarcely restrain a smile when he laid down this wily, half-humorous, half-threatening epistolary from the aerial pirate.
-"what do you think of it?" asked the colonel.
-"it’s a topping letter, sir, but i think he’s trying hard to be funny, this von spitzer, as you call him. a german with a sense of humour, sir, that’s the best way to regard him," replied the airman.
-"humour indeed!" rasped out the colonel, becoming ruffled. "it’s confounded impudence, and worse, when you remember that, apart from the damage to the airship, which is considerable, there is a net loss of specie and other valuables--to wit, the maharajah’s jewels--which is estimated at a quarter of a million sterling. i only hope and pray that we may encounter and waylay this bandit before he does any more damage. the deuce only knows what he’ll do next, or where he’ll go."
-"ireland is to be the scene of his next adventure, sir," remarked keane.
-"are you sure?"
-"i heard the professor say so. they are to work hand in hand with the revolutionists there, and stir up strife which will make that unhappy land a still greater thorn in the side of great britain."
-"just what i feared!" exclaimed the now irate commissioner. "that explains partly those mysterious messages and rumours floating about dingle bay, and unfortunately i have had to withdraw nearly all the aerial police from that quarter to send them out east."
-"you might as well recall them, sir."
-"the raider has left the hamadian desert by this time, and is in hiding somewhere, but will call here on his way to ireland."
-"h’m! we’re being thoroughly fooled, and if you hadn’t found this demon’s nest i should have gone mad. at any rate i should have been compelled to resign my post."
-"still, public opinion had to be satisfied, and you sent the patrols where the public demanded that they should be sent. besides, if you recall them now, this raider will probably pick up your messages and change his tactics. i can tell you this, colonel, that while he can get his necessary supplies of uranis, and a few extra spares from the workshop here, this von spitzer intends to carry out his mad policy of destroying the civilized world by piecemeal. it is all part of a great plan to save germany from the evil consequences of the peace terms. but, whilst we hold this citadel, and retain these two men captive, his activities are limited to his present supply of this secret element--uranis."
-the colonel swore under his breath, and went to examine the prisoners, to make sure that there was no chance of their escaping, for he felt the truth of keane’s words. he now felt grateful that the airman had not responded to the message for his recall, although it had amounted to a serious breach of discipline.
-"ah, well," he said at length, "it only remains to capture this raider, and the whole system of their clever and daring attempt to convulse the allies, break up their international system of mail transit, stop the intercourse of civilized nations, and cause a world revolution--all these things will fail."
-so their efforts were redoubled to make preparations to capture the wonder ’plane, should it descend on the aerodrome. a couple of machine guns were found, and mounted, under the charge of sharpe and captain hooper, though the skipper of the airliner pointed out that the scorpion carried bullet-proof armour.
-"you will need to hit her in a vital spot," he said, "so that your first burst may be your last, or she will be up again like a helicopter."
-"then we must have the two bristols ready," urged the colonel, "though it’s a deuce of a hole to get out of with this new type of a bristol fighter."
-"and the petrol, sir?" asked keane, who, was rather anxious on this point, for he hoped that the scorpion would become his victim in the coming air fight.
-"there may be sufficient for another two hours, certainly not more."
-"that means unless the scorpion chooses to stay and fight, she’ll simply leave us."
-"von spitzer will fight unless i stop him!" called out the professor from behind the curtains, where he was confined under the charge of his colleague of other days, for he had been listening to the conversation.
-"so much the better!" replied keane, tartly.
-"and when the fight is over there won’t be many of you left alive to tell the story," came the rejoinder.
-"message from the scorpion, sir!" cried keane, a little before midday, from the little key-board where he had been patiently waiting for the last hour.
-"good! what does the brigand say?" asked tempest.
-"expects to be here within an hour."
-"then we haven’t a moment to lose," replied the colonel. "at the same time, i am glad we have had this message, for to be forewarned is to be fore-armed."
-then, turning to keane, whom he knew to be his best and most brilliant pilot, he said, "where would you like to be stationed, boy?"
-a sudden gleam came into the youth’s eyes, for he saw that his chance had come.
-"let me have all the spare petrol from the other machine, and let me get up above the clouds in that new no. 7 bristol fighter which you brought over, sir."
-"i’m afraid it means certain death for you, my lad," replied the chief, after a pause, unwilling to permit the youth to take such unknown risks, and yet still more unwilling to deny him his request. "this scorpion, according to captain watson, must be some stunting machine."
-"i am willing to take the risks, sir," replied keane. "it is not my first fight with a hun."
-"don’t i know it, boy!" replied the other, gazing with fond admiration into the frank and pleasing face of the pilot. "the ribbons which you gained speak for themselves, but they don’t tell half the story. don’t i remember the morning when you went over the line by yourself, and encountered seven enemy machines, how you fought with them for an hour and brought five of them down, chased the others till your machine threatened to break up, then turned and staggered home with your wings shot to ribbons?" and the colonel fondly patted the youth’s shoulder.
-"then let me go, sir. the brigand will be not a little confounded to find himself attacked both from the ground and the air at the same time."
-"you shall go!" said the colonel after another pause. "will you take a gunner with you?"
-"no, sir. i would rather go alone."
-and while the petrol was drawn off from the other machine, no. 7 was brought out, filled up, and tested, ready to start at a moment’s notice. the vickers gun, fixed forward to fire through the propeller, was carefully examined, and several drums of the new armour-piercing bullets placed in position. another moment was given to the alignment of the gun-sight, a matter of supreme importance in an aerial duel like this one promised to be, for the slightest error in this respect would be like courting disaster.
-"what are his chances, colonel?" asked captain hooper.
-the chief shook his head as though doubtful of the result, then, after watching the machine for a moment, as it climbed in rapid spirals up into the clouds which half covered the sky at four thousand feet, he said:--
-"there is no pilot aboard the scorpion, or any other machine for that matter, who can hold a candle to keane, but--it is the amazing speed and climbing powers of the other machine that i fear. still, it will be some fight, and if we fail to trap the brigand down here, well, it is just possible, despite his disadvantages, that keane may bring the rascal down. he’ll have to keep well out of sight, though, and run at less than half-throttle behind that cloud bank till the moment comes to strike. and now to stations, all of you, and keep well out of sight. professor verne, i am afraid you will have to take charge of the two prisoners. don’t let them get away for heaven’s sake. you must shoot them first."
-"i’ll take care of them, colonel," replied the eminent man, "though it is a somewhat unusual occupation for me."
-"needs must when the devil drives, professor! i told you it would be some desperate adventure. have you had any luck with that evil genius, yet?"
-"not the slightest, so far. he is prejudiced against the english mind, and is secretly rejoicing over the expected arrival of the scorpion."
-"tell him from me, professor, that if he attempts to escape, i shall shoot both him and his accomplice without the slightest compunction," said the colonel, as he turned away to re-examine all his defensive posts, and to alter the position of one of the machine guns, which had been entrusted to captain sharpe.
-fifteen minutes passed away, and the bristol, hidden away behind the cloud bank, kept its engine well-throttled down, lest the roar of the powerful motor should reveal its presence, when, suddenly, from one of the watchers, the cry arose:--
-"aeroplane approaching from the south-east."
-"is it the scorpion, captain watson?" the colonel asked, as soon as the machine had been located.
-"yes, it is the same brigand, sir."
-then, with amazement bordering on the supernatural, the little garrison saw the scorpion moving across the sky at a miraculous speed, and making directly for the secret aerodrome. once or twice it circled around at three thousand feet, then dived a clean two thousand five hundred upon its objective, silently, like a mysterious phantom bird. at five hundred feet it flattened out, rode gaily above the tree tops, then swooping like a falcon, once more touched the ground lightly, and came to rest within thirty yards of the secret hangar.
-"haende in die hohe!" cried colonel tempest, stepping out into the open, and confronting the visitors with a couple of revolvers, as they prepared to leap from the armoured conning-tower.
-"ach himmel! we are betrayed!" cried spitzer. "the verdammt english have captured the aerodrome."
-without thought of surrender the brigands tumbled swiftly back into the armoured cell, just as a shower of bullets from both revolvers swept the upper surface of the cockpit.
-"fire!" shouted tempest, stepping back, as the daring bandits, regardless of the danger, started the propellers once more by means of the self-starting knob, within the conning-tower.
-and the next instant, even as the machine turned and raced for safety, a terrific hail of bullets from the two machine guns swept the scorpion from stem to stern. one of her machine guns was swept from its mountings, and it is believed that one at least of her crew was wounded, probably by the colonel’s revolver shots, but as for surrender, the pirates would have none of it, as, apparently unhurt in any vital spot, the scorpion recrossed the aerodrome, staggering once or twice under the fierce welter of bullets, managed to leave the ground, and sail over the tree tops out of immediate range.
-"confound it! she’s absolutely bullet-proof!" shouted the colonel, who was furious at his failure, for his object had been to capture the machine and its crew wholesale, because of its valuable secrets.
-"we shall see no more of her!" exclaimed captain hooper.
-"just wait a moment," said the skipper of the air-liner. "she’ll have something to say presently. you don’t know these infernal brigands."
-the last speaker was right, for a moment later the infuriated spitzer, sweeping round at a frightful speed, swooped down upon the little hangar, where he presumed the english were in possession, swept the place with a burst of machine gun fire from his remaining gun, then dropped a bomb filled with high explosive right into the middle of the structure; whilst he, himself, was screened by the trees from the enemy’s fire.
-the roar of the explosion was deafening, and several trees in the vicinity of the workshop were blown to fragments, whilst the workshop was now a tangled mass of wreckage. it was also burning furiously, and a thick pall of dense smoke already hung over the spot.
-"the professor!--we must save him!" cried tempest, who was already limping from a bomb splinter which had pierced his leg.
-captain watson ran to help him, but the two machine gunners, sharpe and hooper, stuck to their posts ready for the next attack, which they knew would not be long delayed, for spitzer, during his last circuit, had marked the position of the two machine gun posts.
-as the rescuers hastened to the assistance of the prisoners, they came upon professor verne, bleeding from the hands and face, dragging the prostrate form of the german from amid the burning wreckage.
-"ah, you are wounded?" cried the colonel.
-"it is nothing," replied the other. "see to the mechanic. i fear he is killed, poor fellow, by his own countrymen."
-"here comes the scorpion!" shouted captain watson. "look out there!" and instantly the air resounded with the sharp, short crackle of the air brigand’s gun--
-"rep-r-r-r-r-r----!" as the raider swept the machine gun posts.
-at this very instant, however, the sound of whistling wires came suddenly from overhead, as something swooped down from the dizzy heights upon the attacker. then the sharp crackle of a vickers gun rent the air, as, in a headlong dive of two thousand feet, the bristol fighter hurtled down, spitting fire through the whirling propeller, and driving its quarry almost to the ground by its unexpected onslaught.
-by a miracle almost, the scorpion escaped a terrible crash, flattening out within two feet of the ground in the middle of the glade, then started its upward climb to out-manoeuvre its new opponent, for the rest of this terrific combat was confined to the air.
-the little garrison below came out to see this thrilling spectacle, and even the wounded german raised himself to watch the scorpion, as he expected, give its coup de grâce to its clumsy opponent. the fight now was for altitude, dead angles, and the blind side of each opponent, but more especially for altitude, for this is the equivalent in an aerial duel of the windward position, in the days of the old frigates.
-once, after climbing on the turn, the two machines approached each other dead on, and each opened a burst of fire simultaneously on its opponent. carl, the scout pilot, was handling the solitary gun, and, if his aim had been more steady, that would have marked the finish of the fight. on the other hand keane’s bullets pattered with unerring aim upon the armoured conning-tower, but with little effect, for so far the finely-tempered steel resisted even these armour-piercing bullets.
-the watchers down below trembled with rage--all save the german--when they saw this fearful waste of markmanship, but up there, calm and collected, the british pilot clenched his teeth and muttered:--
-"i must find his dead angle! i will attack him from below."
-then followed a series of thrilling manoeuvres, in which the daring skill of the englishman alone saved him from his too-powerful opponent. the scorpion, using its superior speed, made a desperate effort to sit upon its opponent’s tail, a deadly position if it could only be attained. but, looping, banking, sideslipping and occasionally spinning, the bristol out-manoeuvred its enemy every time.
-"shade of richthofen!" exclaimed the infuriated spitzer; "but this verdammt britisher is some pilot."
-carl had become nervous and agitated at the gun, and his shooting had begun to annoy his leader, who shouted angrily, "let max take the gun, dachshund!"
-but max was huddled up in the bottom of the cockpit with an english bullet through his head; he had fired his last shot.
-"blitz! here he comes again!" shouted the german pilot, as his opponent in the roaring bristol, with engine full out, made as though he would ram his enemy in mid-air, though such was not his intention.
-"himmel, what does he mean?" yelled spitzer, as he also opened out to avert the threatened collision, then pulled over the controls, stalled his machine, and attempted a vertical climb.
-"thanks be!" muttered keane, for this gave him just the opportunity he sought. for two brief seconds the nether part of the fuselage, the only weak spot in the scorpion, was exposed, and with a quick eye and unerring aim the british pilot poured a short burst into the very vitals of his enemy, then dived for safety.
-it was the end of the fight, for the armour-piercing bullets ripped through the softer, thinner steel of its victim, passed through the chamber where the high-pressure cylinders which contained the uranis were kept, and weakened or cracked one of those deadly things, which were at once both the strength and the weakness of the scorpion--the only thing, as her pilot once said, that its crew need fear.
-down, down sped the bristol, as though conscious of the terrible catastrophe which would shortly follow. it was well that she did, for, ten seconds later, it seemed as if the end of the world had suddenly come.
-even while the scorpion was poised in mid-air, in the very act of her last vertical climb, with nose pointed to the skies, the frightful explosion occurred. the terrified onlookers threw themselves flat upon the ground, but even the earth rocked, and huge trees of the forest were uprooted. it was as though the mighty concussion had veritably blown a hole hi the universe. the scorpion, with all her crew, disappeared as if by magic, blown into ten thousand fragments, and scattered like blazing meteors to the very extremities of the schwarzwald, while the british aeroplane did not escape but crashed to earth, with its unconscious pilot still firmly holding the controls.
-thus did the scorpion meet her end, after all the vaunted pride and skill of her founders. in that place where she was born, there also did she come to an inglorious end, in the very presence of the evil-minded genius who had designed her. even the dying german professor at last saw the error of his ways, and wished, in his latest hours, that his energy and skill had been devoted to a purpose more lofty and humane.
-the great shock of that mighty explosion was felt for a hundred miles and more. in far distant lands the seismographic instruments recorded its effects. some said that a great earthquake had occurred in central europe, but the allied command on the rhine thought that some mighty secret ammunition dump in the schwarzwald had been accidentally destroyed, and they sent assistance in every shape and form. and the first to arrive were the aerial patrols, with medicines and supplies, for the survivors on that blackened, devastated aerodrome.
-the unconscious pilot was extricated from the wreckage of the bristol fighter, and after months of careful nursing he was restored to convalescence, but he will never fly again. for his daring deed, he was honoured by his country, and decorated by his king. sharpe, hooper and captain watson, though severely wounded, recovered from their injuries. professor verne had a miraculous escape from death when the brigands bombed the hangar, and colonel tempest--though for the rest of his days he will limp with the aid of a stick--was mighty glad to lay down his high office with a reputation untarnished, and with the added honour of a knighthood, and a substantial pension.
-it now but remains to tell what happened to that brilliant but misguided german, the renowned professor rudolf weissmann. he lingered for another day after the terrible event which had befallen his fortune, and his friend sir joseph verne, constant as ever, waited beside him and tended him amid his sufferings, for there is a wonderful spirit of brotherhood and fraternity amongst men of learning. they are the children of no particular country, for their parish is the world, and, like our own shakespeare, the whole earth claims them for its own.
-and when he saw that the time of his departure was at hand, this erring genius no longer tried to withhold from the world the great secret which he held, but, desiring to make what amends he could for the evil he had wrought, he freely offered to reveal the secret to his old time friend and fellow-student.
-but, alas, he had left it too long. the candle of life was flickering within him, and the end was too near. even while, with true repentance, he endeavoured to give the hidden formula of the mysterious uranis to his friend, he fell back exhausted and his spirit fled.
-so the wonderful secret was never revealed, for it lies buried deep in a thousand fragments, amid the dark recesses of the schwarzwald. but hans, the clock maker, and his friend jacob stendahl the wood cutter, and many more beside, who dwell amid the legend and folklore of the black forest, still assert that at certain times, especially when the full round moon casts its silvery light over the schwarzwald, the peasant who treads these lonely paths may see the phantom airman on his ghostly ’plane.
-as for gadget, the little urchin of a stowaway, the sharp-witted, up-to-date cabin boy who photographed the raider in mid-air, and rendered such valuable service to the authorities, he was duly rewarded. the commissioner of aerial police pinned a gold medal on to his little tunic, soon after the great air-liner returned to london, and even delivered a speech in his honour, congratulating him upon his resourcefulness and courage.
-he is no longer a street arab, for captain watson has adopted him, and sent him to a preparatory school, where he is pursuing a useful course of studies. but, when the long summer holidays arrive, you will find gadget, dressed in a smart little uniform, with plenty of gold braid about his cap and tunic, standing beside the captain or the chief officer, in the navigating gondola of the empress of india. all who know him speak highly of him. and there are even those who believe that this little, mischievous, up-to-date cabin boy and erstwhile stowaway will one day be one of out great air-skippers.
-the london and norwich press, limited, london and norwich, england
-titles uniform with this series
-the airship "golden hind" to the fore with the tanks the secret battleplane wllmshurst of the frontier force
-s. w. partridge & co. 4, 5 & 6, soho london, w.1.
-under wolfe’s flag
-the fight for the canadas
-author of "the old manor house," "the treasure galleon," etc.
-publishers partridge london
-made in great britain
-list of titles
-the call of honour by argyll saxby under wolfe’s flag; or, the fight for the canadas by rowland walker dick dale; the colonial scout by tom bevan the yellow shield; or, a captive in the zulu camp by wm. johnston roger the ranger by e. f. pollard norman’s nugget by macdonald oxley
-new titles to be added periodically.
-every book in this series has been specially chosen to meet the critical of the boy of to-day, and the publishers have no fear that he will be lacking in his approval of these robust and intensely absorbing stories.
-publishers partridge london
-to the memory of my grandfather, a brave and chivalrous frontiersman, whose remarkable early adventures in the backwoods of canada and america prompted the writing of this book
-in great britain by purnell and sons paulton, somerset, england
-i the trout-stream ii holding the fort iii a long tramp to the sea iv the watch in the fore-top v the fight with the frigate vi prisoners of war vii old quebec viii the night-watch ix the white eagle of the iroquois x a lonely frontiersman xi the smoke signal xii the wigwams of the iroquois xiii the moccasin print in the forest xiv swift arrow disappears xv the tragic circle xvi the paleface hunter xvii a broken scalping-knife xviii a lost trail xix the ambush at seneca falls xx the plains of abraham
-"here’s a beauty, jack!"
-"hold him, jamie, till i come!"
-"come quickly then, old fellow--he’s slipping away from me! quick! hang it, the fellow’s gone! i’ve missed him, and----"
-"splash!" the sentence was never finished, for jamie, stepping too excitedly on a treacherous, moss-covered rock in mid-stream, slipped, and the next instant found himself sitting down, up to the armpits in the water which raced past him like a mill-stream.
-"never mind," said his companion, when the laughter which greeted this mishap had subsided. "there’s a likely spot, up under the fall there, where i’ve landed many a big fish; let’s go and try it."
-this "likely spot," however, was a difficult one, and for any other soul in the tiny village of burnside--these two young rascals excepted--an impossible one. there, right under the overhanging rocks, over which a cascade tumbled twenty feet, into a swirling pool which formed one of the deepest parts of the stream, was a narrow ledge, where the moss grew thick upon the wet, slippery rocks, but in the cracks and fissures beneath that ledge, many a lusty trout was hidden.
-while the two chums are wending their way to this "likely spot," which lay at a bend in the stream, just at the bottom of hawk woods, leaping from boulder to boulder as they crossed the broken stream, i will briefly introduce the reader to a little of their previous history.
-jack elliot and jamie stuart were aged respectively fifteen and fourteen years. only a week ago these two sturdy lads had been soundly thrashed by dr. birch, for playing truant and indulging in the tempting but forbidden pastime of "tickling trout" in the laughing stream, which, descending from the blue moorlands above, sang its way down through the densely wooded slopes of crow hill.
-jack was the youngest son of squire elliot of rushworth hall, an old but somewhat dilapidated manor, standing on one of the ridges of the pennine chain. his eldest brother, who was now twenty-two, was an ensign in the celebrated "john company," and at the present time was engaged in active service in india. his second brother was at oxford. jack was still a scholar (though a dull one) at the old elizabethan grammar school just above the village, where stern dr. birch drilled little else but greek and latin into unwilling pupils.
-jack’s bosom chum and schoolfellow was jamie stuart. now, jamie was an orphan, at least so far as he knew, for his mother died on the day that he was born, and his father, a somewhat daring village character, who once transgressed the game laws, was considered by a bench of land-owning gentry as "too dangerous a character to remain in burnside, lest he should lead other folk astray," and was ultimately transported to the new colonies in north america, and forbidden to set foot in england again "on peril of his life," for those were the days of the cruel game laws, when sheep-stealing was a hanging business, and to touch a pheasant meant transportation for life.
-all this happened when jamie was a little chap of but two years, and so he never remembered either his father or his mother. his father was said to be very fond of his little boy--for despite his transgression, he was a good father and a brave man, and very much the type of man that merry england needed at that time, to fight her enemies--and his only request when he was sentenced was, that before he left the country he might see again his little boy--a request which the selfish and hardened magistrates promptly refused.
-years passed away, and village rumours said that he had escaped from his captors directly he set foot on american soil, and had taken to the forest, amongst the indians tribes that inhabited the backwoods of pennsylvania, and that he had become a great chief amongst them; but this was perhaps only a rumour, for no one really knew whether he was dead or alive. so little jamie grew up under the care of a maiden aunt, who kept a dame school in the little village, and being a lady of some property, when the lad became ten years old, he was sent to the old grammar school.
-the time of which i write was the middle of the eighteenth century, and england was just laying the foundations of her great future empire, which was to be the wonder and envy of the world.
-during the past twenty years, anson and his brave sea-dogs, though always outnumbered in ships and men, had driven the french and spaniards from the seas, and had made the name of england famous all over the world. on all the seven seas the old flag was supreme, and was proudly unfurled to every breeze that blew.
-across the burning plains of india, and under the very palace of the old mogul, was heard the boom of british guns, for against overwhelming odds clive was winning brilliant victories, that would soon end in bringing the vast indian empire, with all its wealth and treasure, and its multitude of dark-skinned princes, to do homage at the feet of england’s king. nor was this all, for over the atlantic, on the shores, the rivers, and the great lakes of the new world, the long campaign had already begun, which was to end in the capture of quebec, and the wresting of the canadas from our inveterate foes across the channel.
-so the squire’s son and the poacher’s son became fast friends. all the squire’s efforts to separate them had failed. they were kindred spirits, and there was no mischief or devilry ever set afoot, either in the school or the village, in which they did not participate. all the rules and laws that were ever invented failed to keep them within bounds.
-their three great enemies were, dr. birch, old click, the keeper of hawk woods, and beagle, the village constable. the first had thrashed them a score of times, the second had threatened to bring the penalties of the game laws upon them, if they did not desist from their depredations, whilst the third had once put them in the stocks, and threatened them with the lock-up for the next offence.
-thus it happened, on this glorious afternoon in the early summer of 1757, when the school bell was calling its unwilling pupils to their lessons, that these two boys were robbing the nest of a humble-bee, in a meadow below the school, extracting the wild honey from the combs, when the bell suddenly ceased ringing.
-"there goes!--that confounded bell has stopped ringing, jamie."
-"so it has. now we’re in for it again."
-"the second time this week, too," and jack sat down and began to whistle, "there’s nae luck aboot the house," while a look of grim despair settled on the countenance of his friend.
-"and my back’s still sore with that last thrashing. what shall we do, jack?"
-"let’s go trouting in hawk woods."
-"and what about old click? he said that the next time he caught us, he’d take us before the magistrates."
-"oh, hang the magistrates and old click too! why shouldn’t we fish there if we like? shall we go?"
-and the next moment they were scampering across the meadows in the direction of the woods, taking care to keep under the shelter of the hedges and walls as much as possible, till they had entered the friendly cover of the trees.
-hawk woods was a lovely bit of primeval forest, that covered both sides of a deep valley. in places, the descent was almost precipitous, right down to the bottom of the gully, where the burn threaded its way amongst the rocks, boulders, and fallen tree-trunks. it was a bewitching spot. the shimmering of a thousand trees, on whose leaves flashed the sunlight, their brown, aged and distorted trunks, the huge scattered rocks, and above all, the music of the stream as it tumbled half a hundred little cascades, with the speckled trout leaping amid its whirls and eddies, made it a charming place. who that has seen that spot can forget it?
-this was the place that had wooed these two boys from their lessons, and here beside the big cascade we have found them again.
-jamie had tried twice to reach the ledge behind the falls, by climbing along the face of the rock, and clinging to the ivy roots, but there was no foothold.
-"it’s no use," said jack, "there’s only one way to get there, and that is by swimming. we can easily duck, when we come to the fall."
-"then we’ll try it, for i’m already wet through, what with the spray from the falls, and sitting down in the stream."
-they quickly divested themselves of their clothing, plunged in, swam across the pool, ducked under the cascade, and reached the narrow ledge, which was the object of their immediate ambition, and within a quarter of an hour they had succeeded in capturing half-a-dozen fine trout, by the process known as "tickling," and as they caught them, they flung them far out on the bank.
-then they swam back, and after drying themselves in the warm rays of the sun, they dressed, and prepared to cook their afternoon meal.
-an armful of twigs and broken branches, a bit of dry grass--these were quickly gathered. then jack struck a spark with his tinder-box, and there was a fire! now the blue smoke was curling upwards, and hanging like a wreath over the tree-tops. alas, that fatal smoke! this it was that betrayed them, and was the means of changing the whole course of their lives, for other eyes had seen it from afar, and were hastening to the spot.
-in later days, amongst the backwoods of another continent, when their nearest neighbours were a scalping party of algonquins or fierce iroquois, they learnt to be more careful about that thin column of blue smoke which rose from their evening camp-fire.
-but at present they were unconscious of any such danger. the feeling that they were most conscious of at this moment was one of hunger somewhere amidships, for their outdoor exercise, and above all, the cold dip, had given them healthy appetites. as soon, therefore, as the fire had burned sufficiently clear, they laid the spoils of the chase across a rude grid, made of a few wet sticks.
-then the savoury smell of roasted trout filled the wood, and when this delicate repast was ready, our two young heroes feasted sumptuously on the royal dish of red-spotted trout. when they had finished their repast, they washed it down with a copious draught of cold water from the stream.
-"there goes the old magpie back to her nest. i wonder if the young ones are hatched yet. i’m going aloft to see," said jamie, and he immediately began to climb the tall, straight fir-tree, which stood on the very edge of a steep slope, about twenty yards away.
-when he had shinned some fifteen feet up the trunk he was able to clasp the lowest branch, and in another minute he had ascended to the very top of the tree, and was swaying dangerously amongst the slender twigs where the magpie had built her nest.
-"how many young ones are there?" called jack from the foot of the tree.
-"three and one egg left."
-"good! bring the egg down. it’s no good to the old bird now. it’s sure to be addled. bring it down--you know we promised to get one for tiny tim the lame boy, who can’t climb."
-"why, what’s the matter? anything wrong?"
-jamie was signalling desperately from the tree-top to his companion below, and pointing across the stream, beyond the camp-fire.
-"who is it?" asked jack, in a hoarse whisper.
-"old click, i do believe--and--beagle!"
-"snakes alive! what now?"
-"better come up the tree. quietly now."
-jack was just as expert at climbing as jamie, and never sailor-boy shinned up the truck to the mast-head more quickly or more neatly than he did up that tall fir-tree. in another moment they were both perched aloft, and hidden amongst the branches.
-the two men had seen the smoke from the distance, as it ascended above the trees, and suspecting either trespassers or poachers, they had crept quietly down to the place, and had reached the neighbourhood of the fire, soon after the boys had left the spot.
-imagine the feelings of the latter, as from their lofty perch they looked down upon their two bitterest enemies, only a stone’s throw away, and effectually cutting off their retreat. only a fortnight before, they had been hauled before the magistrates for this very same offence, and it had required all the influence of jack’s father to protect the youngsters from the penalty of the law.
-"the young vagabonds----" old click was saying, as he kicked aside the embers of the fire.
-"look! here be the heads of six foine trout they have stolen," said beagle.
-"i don’t know whether be the worst--squire’s son or the poacher’s son; but this i know, they be both framing for wakefield gaol, or else the gallows."
-"how do ye know it be they, mr. click?" asked the constable. "there be noa evidence that i con see, as yet."
-"how do i know? why, there ain’t another rascal in the village who dare come into the woods and touch either fish or game since jem mason was transported. nobody dare do it, ’cept these two vagabonds, who are the plague o’ my life."
-"aye, the place is wunn’erfully quiet sin’ i copt jem at his old tricks," said beagle, straightening his shoulders, as he recalled that stirring incident, in which, however, he took a very small part.
-"and i do think, constable, that you ain’t done your duty lately, to let these two rascals play the pranks they ha’ played."
-"what’s that you say, mr. click?" said beagle, rather testily. "what have they done?"
-"why, ’twas only last friday that gaffer john had a dead cat dropped down his chimney, when he was just cooking his supper, too, and it was all spoiled. and who was it that fired farmer giles’s hayrick, but these same ’gallows-birds’? the young varmint!"
-"first catch your man, mr. click, and then you’ll have evidence ’red-hot’ that a bench of magistrates will look at."
-"do you hear that, jamie?" whispered jack. "they’re on our scent for dropping that dead cat down ’surly john’s’ chimney. he deserved it, too, the skulking old miser, for turning poor old betty lamb out of her cottage. i’d do it again. but fancy blaming us for firing that hayrick! surely he can’t mean it!"
-"i’ll tell you what, jack. this place is getting too warm for us. let’s run away and go to sea, as we always said we should."
-"chance is a fine thing. wait till we’re out of this hole. wish we’d the chance to run now, but if we stir they’ll see us."
-at this point a shrill whistle rang through the woods and startled them, and before they had recovered from their surprise, the deep bay of a hound was heard approaching from the distance.
-"phew----" the boys looked at each other, and for a moment their faces blanched, as in an undertone these words simultaneously escaped from their lips.
-"old click’s dog----"
-"we’re up a tree now, jack, in more than one sense." and they were, for they both knew the reputation of this wonderful hound. he could track a poacher for miles, and having once got the scent, he rarely let it go till he had run his victim down. nearer and nearer came that deep bay, and soon the trampling of the shrubs and undergrowth gave notice of its arrival.
-"here, charlie. good dog.--seek ’em.--seek ’em," cried its master.
-instantly the hound began sniffing round about the embers of the fire, till picking up the newly-placed scent, it suddenly gave vent to a peculiar howl, and then dashed directly towards the stream. here it paused abruptly, and began sniffing the air, then it ran back to the fire, picked up the scent again, and stopped once more at the edge of the stream.
-"they’ve crossed the water, that’s certain," said the keeper. makes all pains and aches fly faster,”
-and branched out into the magazines. we sent a to europe, and now some of the crowned heads are wearing our plasters. you all remember stoneley's account of meeting a tribe of natives in the wilds of africa wearing nothing but perkins's paper porous plasters, and recall the celebrated words of rodriguez velos, second understudy to the premier of spain, “america is like perkins's paper porous plasters--a thing not to be sat on.”
-five months ago we completed our ten-story factory, and increased our capital stock to two millions; and those to whom we offered the trade-mark in our early days are green with regret. perkins is abroad now in his private yacht. queer old fellow, too, for he still insists on wearing the go-lightly shoes and the air-the-hair hat, in spite of the fact that he hasn't enough hair left to make a miniature paint-brush.
-i asked him before he left for his cruise when he was from,--portland, me., or portland, oreg.,--and he laughed.
-“my dear boy,” he said, “it's all in the ad. 'mr. perkins of portland' is a phrase to draw dollars. i'm from chicago. get a phrase built like a watch, press the button, and the babies cry for it.”
-that's all. but in closing i might remark that if you ever have any trouble with a weak back, pain in the side, varicose veins, heavy sensation in the chest, or, in fact, any ailment whatever, just remember that
-perkins's paper porous plaster make all pains and aches fly faster.
-ii. the adventure of mr. silas boggs
-before my friend perkins became famous throughout the advertising world,--and what part of the world does not advertise,--he was at one time a soliciting agent for a company that controlled the “patent insides” of a thousand or more small western newspapers. later, my friend perkins startled america by his renowned advertising campaign for pratt's hats; and, instead of being plain mr. perkins of chicago, he blossomed into perkins of portland. still later, when he put perkins's patent porous plaster on the market, he became great; became perkins the great, in fact; and now advertisers, agents, publishers, and the world in general, bow down and worship him. but i love to turn at times from the blaze of his present glory to those far-off days when he was still a struggling amateur, just as we like to read of napoleon's early history, tracing in the small beginnings of their lives the little rivulets of genius that later overwhelmed the world, and caused the universe to pause in stupefaction.
-who would have thought that the gentle perkins, who induced silas boggs to place a five-line ad. in a bunch of back-county weeklies, would ever thrill the nation with the news that
-perkins's patent porous plaster make all pains and aches fly faster, and keep up the thrill until the perkins plaster was so to speak, in every mouth!
-and yet these two men were the same. plain perkins, who urged and begged and prayed silas boggs to let go of a few dollars, and perkins the great, the originator,--perkins of portland, who originated the soap dust triplets, the smile that lasts for aye, ought-to-hawa biscuit,--who, in short, is the father, mother, and grandparent of modern advertising, are the selfsame perkinses. from such small beginnings can the world's great men spring.
-in the days before the kodak had a button to press while they do the rest; even before royal baking powder was quite so pure as “absolutely,”--it was then about 99 99/100% pure, like ivory soap,--in those days, i say, long before soapine “did it” to the whale, mr. silas boggs awoke one morning, and walked out to his wood-shed in a pair of carpet slippers. his face bore an expression of mingled hope and doubt; for he was expecting what the novelists call an interesting event,--in fact, a birth,--and, quite as much in fact, a number of births--anywhere from five to a dozen. nor was silas boggs a mormon. he was merely the owner of a few ravenous guinea-pigs. it is well known that in the matter of progeny the guinea-pig surpasses the famous soap dust, although that has, as we all know, triplets on every bill-board.
-mr. silas boggs was not disappointed. several of his spotted pets had done their best to discountenance race suicide; and silas, having put clean water and straw and crisp lettuce leaves in the pens, began to examine the markings of the newcomers, for he was an enthusiast on the subject of guinea-pigs. he loved guinea-pigs as some connoisseurs love oil paintings. he was fonder of a nicely marked guinea-pig than a dilettante is of a fine corot. and his fad had this advantage. you can place a pair of oil paintings in a room, and leave them there for ages, and you will never have another oil painting unless you buy one; but if you place a pair of guinea-pigs in a room--then, as rudyard says so often, that is another story.
-suddenly mr. silas boggs stood upright and shouted aloud in joy. he hopped around the wood-shed on one leg, clapping his hands and singing. then he knelt down again, and examined more closely the little spotted creature that caused his joy. it was true, beyond doubt! one of his pigs had presented him with something the world had never known before--a lop-eared guinea-pig! his fame was sure from that moment. he would be known to all the breeders of guinea-pigs the world over as the owner of the famous lop-eared spotted beauty. he christened her duchess on the spot, not especially because duchesses have lop-ears, but because he liked the name. that was in the days before people began calling things nearwool and ka-bosh-ko and ogeta jaggon, and similar made-to-order names.
-to mr. boggs, in the midst of his joy, came a thought; and he feverishly raked out with his hands the remaining newly born guinea-piglets, examining one after another. oh, joy! he almost fainted! there was another lop-eared pig in the litter; and, what filled his cup to overflowing, he was able to christen the second one duke!
-at that moment perkins walked into the wood-shed. perkins at that time had a room in the silas boggs mansion, and he entered the wood-shed merely to get an armful of wood with which to replenish his fire.
-“well, boggs,” he remarked in his cheerful way--and i may remark that, since perkins has become famous, every advertising agent has copied his cheerful manner of speech, so that the ad. man who does not greet you with a smile no longer exists--
-“well, boggs,” he remarked, “more family ties, i see. great thing, family ties. what is home without sixty-eight guinea-pigs?”
-silas boggs grinned. “perkins!” he gasped. “perkins! oh, perkins! my dear perkins!” but he could get no farther, so overcome was he by his emotions. it was fully ten minutes before he could fully and clearly explain that the stork had brought him a pair--the only pair--of lop-eared guinea-pigs; and in the meantime perkins had loaded his left arm with stove wood, and stood clasping it, overhand, with his right arm. when silas boggs managed to tell his wonderful news, perkins dropped the armful of wood on the floor with a crash.
-“boggs!” he cried, “boggs! now is your chance! now is your golden opportunity! advertise, my boy, advertise!”
-“what?” asked silas boggs, in amazement.
-“i say--advertise!” exclaimed perkins again.
-“and i say--advertise what?” said silas boggs.
-“advertise what?” perkins ejaculated. “what should you advertise, but silas boggs's celebrated lop-eared guinea-pigs? what has the world been waiting and longing and pining for but the lop-eared guinea-pig? why has the world been full of woe and pain, but because it lacked lop-eared guinea-pigs? why are you happy this morning? because you have lop-eared guinea-pigs! don't be selfish, silas--give the world a chance. let them into the joy-house on the ground floor. sell them lop-eared guinea-pigs and joy. advertise, and get rich!”
-silas boggs shook his head.
-“no!” he said. “no! i can't. i have only two. i'll keep them.”
-perkins seated himself on the wood-pile.
-“silas,” he said, “if i understand you, one of these lop-eared guinea-pigs is a lady, and the other is a gentleman. am i right?”
-“you are,” remarked silas boggs.
-“and i believe the guinea-pigs usually marry young, do they not?” asked perkins.
-“they do,” admitted silas boggs.
-“i think, if i am not mistaken,” said perkins, “that you have told me they have large and frequent families. is it so?”
-“undoubtedly,” agreed silas boggs.
-“and you have stated,” said perkins, “that those families many young and have large and frequent families that also marry young and have large and frequent families, have you not?”
-“then,” said perkins, “in a year you ought to have many, many lop-eared guinea-pigs. is that correct?”
-“i ought to have thousands!” cried silas boggs, in ecstasy.
-“what is a pair of common guinea-pigs worth?” asked perkins.
-“one dollar,” said silas boggs. “a lop-eared pair ought to be worth two dollars, easily.”
-“two dollars!” cried perkins. “two fiddlesticks! five dollars, you mean! why, man, you have a corner in lop-ears. you have all there are. shake hands!”
-the two men shook hands solemnly. mr. perkins was hopefully solemn. mr. boggs was amazedly solemn.
-“i shake your hand,” said perkins, “because i congratulate you on your fortune. you will soon be a wealthy man.” he paused, and then added, “if you advertise judiciously.”
-there were real tears in the eyes of silas boggs, as he laid his arm affectionately across perkins's shoulders.
-“perkins,” he said, “i can never repay you. i can never even thank you. i will advertise. i'll go right into the house and write out an order for space in every paper you represent. how many papers do you represent, perkins?”
-“perhaps,” he said, gently, “we had better begin small. perhaps we had better begin with a hundred or so. there is no use overdoing it. i have over a thousand papers on my list; and if the lop-eared brand of guinea-pig shouldn't be as fond of large families as the common guinea-pig is--if it should turn out to be a sort of fashionable american family kind of guinea-pig, you know--you might have trouble filling orders.”
-but silas boggs was too enthusiastic to listen to calm advice. he waved his arms wildly above his head.
-“no! no!” he shouted. “all, or none, perkins! no half-measures with silas boggs! no skimping! give me the whole thousand! i know what advertising is--i've had experience. didn't i advertise for a position as vice-president of a bank last year--and how many replies did i get? not one! not one! not one, perkins! i know, you agents are always too sanguine. but i don't ask the impossible. i'm easily satisfied. if i sell one pair for each of the thousand papers i'll be satisfied, and i'll consider myself lucky. and as for the lop-eared guinea-pigs--you furnish the papers, and the guinea-pigs will do the rest!”
-thus, in the face of perkins's good advice, silas boggs inserted a small advertisement in the entire list of one thousand country weeklies, and paid cash in advance. to those who know perkins the great to-day, such folly as going contrary to his advice in advertising matters would be unthought of. his word is law. to follow his advice means success; to neglect it means failure.
-he is infallible. but in those days, when his star was but rising above the horizon, he was not, as he is now, considered the master and leader of us all--the king of the advertising world--mighty giant of advertising genius among the dwarfs of imitation. so silas boggs refused his advice.
-the next month the advertisement of the silas boggs lop-eared guinea-pigs began to appear in the weekly newspapers of the west. the advertisement, although small, was well worded, for perkins wrote it himself. it was a gem of advertising writing. it began with a small cut of a guinea-pig, which, unfortunately, appeared as a black blot in many of the papers; but this, perhaps, lent an air of mystery to the cut that it would not otherwise have had. the text was as follows:
-“the celebrated lop-eared andalusian guinea-pigs! hardy and prolific! one of nature's wonders! makes a gentle and affectionate pet. for young or old. you can make money by raising and selling lop-eared andalusian guinea-pigs. one pair starts you in business. send money-order for $10 to silas boggs, 5986 cottage grove avenue, chicago, hi., and receive a healthy pair, neatly boxed, by express.”
-to silas boggs the west had theretofore been a vague, colorless expanse somewhere beyond the west side of chicago. three days after his advertisements began to appear, he awoke to the fact that the west is a vast and mighty empire, teeming with millions of souls. and to silas boggs it seemed that those souls had been sleeping for ages, only to be called to life by the lop-eared andalusian guinea-pig. the lop-eared andalusian guinea-pig was the one touch that made the whole west kin. mail came to him by tubfuls and basketfuls. people who despised and reviled the common guinea-pig were impatient and restless because they had lived so long without the sweet companionship of the lop-eared andalusian. from tipton, ia., and vida, kan., and chenawee, dak., and orangebloom, cal., came eager demands for the hardy and prolific lop-ear. ministers of the gospel and babes in arms insisted on having the gentle and affectionate andalusian lop-eared guinea-pigs.
-the whole west arose in its might, and sent money-orders to silas boggs. and silas boggs opened the letters as fast as he could, and smiled. he piled the blue money-orders up in stacks beside him, and smiled. silas boggs was one large, happy smile for one large, happy week. then he frowned a little.
-for all was not well with the lop-eared andalusian guinea-pigs. they were not as hardy as he had guaranteed them to be. they seemed to have the pip, or glanders, or boll-weevil, or something unpleasant. the duke was not only lop-eared, but seemed to feel loppy all over. the duchess, in keeping with her name, evinced a desire to avoid common society, and sulked in one corner of her cage. they were a pair of very effete aristocrats. silas boggs gave them catnip tea and bran mash, or other sterling remedies; but the far-famed lop-eared andalusians pined away. and, as silas boggs sat disconsolately by their side, he could hear the mail-men relentlessly dumping more and more letters on the parlor floor.
-the west was just beginning to realize the desirability of having lop-eared guinea-pigs at the moment when lop-eared guinea-pigs were on the point of becoming as extinct as the dodo and mastodon. in a day or two they became totally extinct, and the lop-eared andalusian guinea-pig existed no more. silas boggs wept.
-but his tears did not wash away the constantly increasing heaps of orders. he ordered perkins to withdraw his advertisement, but still the orders continued to come, and silas boggs, assisted by a corps of young, but industrious, ladies, began returning to the eager west the beautiful blue money-orders; and, if anything sends a pang through a man's breast, it is to be obliged to return a money-order uncashed.
-by the end of the month the incoming orders had dwindled to a few thousand daily--about as many as silas boggs and his assistants could return. by the end of the next month they had begun to make noticeable inroads in the accumulated piles of orders; and in two months more the floor was clear, and the arriving orders had fallen to a mere dribble of ten or twelve a day, but the hair of silas boggs had turned gray, and his face was old and wan.
-silas boggs gave away all his guinea-pigs--the sight of them brought on something like a fit. he could not even bear to see a lettuce leaf or cabbage-head. he will walk three blocks to avoid passing an animal store, for fear he might see a guinea-pig in the window. only a few days ago i was praising a certain man to him, and happened to quote the line from burns,--
-“rank is but the guinea's stamp,”
-but when i came to the word “guinea,” i saw silas boggs turn pale, and put his hand to his forehead.
-but he cannot escape the results of his injudicious advertising, even at this day, so many years after. from time to time some one in the west will unpack a trunk that has stood for years in some garret, and espying a faded newspaper laid in the bottom of the trunk, will glance at it curiously, see the advertisement of the lop-eared andalusian guinea-pigs, and send silas boggs ten dollars.
-for an advertisement, like sin, does not end with the day, but goes on and on, down the mighty corridors of time, and, like the hall-boy in a hotel, awakes the sleeping, and calls them to catch a train that, sometimes, has long since gone, just as the lop-eared andalusians have gone.
-iii. the adventure of the lame and the halt
-i had not seen perkins for over two years, when one day he opened my office door, and stuck his head in. i did not see his face at first, but i recognized the hat. it was the same hat he had worn two years before, when he put the celebrated perkins's patent porous plaster on the market.
-“pratt's hats air the hair.” you will remember the advertisement. it was on all the bill-boards. it was perkins, perkins of portland, perkins the great, who conceived the rhyme that sold millions of the hats; and perkins was a believer in advertising and things advertised. so he wore a pratt hat. that was one of perkins's foibles. he believed in the things he advertised.
-“perkins!” i cried.
-he raised his free hand with a restraining motion, and i noticed his fingers protruded from the tips of the glove.
-“say,” he said, still standing on my threshold, “have you a little time?”
-i glanced at my watch. i had twenty minutes before i must catch my train.
-“i'll give you ten minutes,” i said.
-“not enough,” said perkins. “i want a year. but i'll take ten minutes on account. owe me the rest!”
-he turned and beckoned into the hall, and a small boy appeared carrying a very large glass demijohn. perkins placed the demijohn on a chair, and stood back gazing at it admiringly.
-“great, isn't it?” he asked. “biggest demijohn made. heavy as lead! fine shape, fine size! but, say--read that!”
-i bent down and read. the label said: “onotowatishika water. bottled at the spring. perkins & co., glaubus, ia.”
-i began spelling out the name by syllables, “o--no--to--wat--” when perkins clapped me on the back.
-“great, hey? can't pronounce it? nobody can. great idea. got old hunyadi janos water knocked into a cocked hat. hardest mineral water name on earth. who invented it? i did. perkins of portland. there's money in that name. dead loads of money. everybody that can't pronounce it will want it, and nobody can pronounce it--everybody'll want it. must have it. will weep for it. but that isn't the best!”
-“no?” i inquired.
-“no!” shouted perkins. “i should say 'no!' look at that bottle. look at the size of it. look at the weight of it awful, isn't it? staggers the brain of man to think of carrying that across the continent! nature recoils, the muscles ache. it is vast, it is immovable, it is mighty. say!”
-perkins grasped me by the coat-sleeve, and drew me toward him. he whispered excitedly.
-“great idea! o-no-to-what-you-may-call-it water. big jug full. jug too blamed big. yes? freight too much. yes? listen--'perkins pays the freight!'”
-he sat down suddenly, and beamed upon me joyfully.
-the advertising possibilities of the thing impressed me immediately. who could resist the temptation of getting such a monstrous package of glassware by freight free of charge? i saw the effect of a life-size reproduction of the bottle on the bill-boards with “perkins pays the freight” beneath it in red, and the long name in a semicircle of yellow letters above it. i saw it reduced in the magazine pages, in street-cars--everywhere.
-“great?” queried perkins.
-“yes,” i admitted thoughtfully, “it is great.”
-he was at my side in an instant.
-“wonderful effect of difficulty overcome on the human mind!” he bubbled. “take a precipice. people look over, shudder, turn away. put in a shoot-the-chutes. people fight to get the next turn to slide down. same idea. people don't want o-no-to-thing-um-bob water. hold on, 'perkins pays the freight!' all right, send us a demijohn!”
-i saw that perkins was, as usual, right.
-“very well,” i said, “what do you want me to do about it?”
-“now about the water?” i asked comfortably.
-“vile!” cackled perkins, gleefully. “perfectly vile! it is the worst you ever tasted. you know the sulphur-spring taste? sort of bad-egg aroma? well, this o-no-to-so-forth water is worse than the worst. it's a bonanza! say! it's sulphur water with a touch of garlic.” he reached into his pocket, and brought out a flask. the water it contained was as clear and sparkling as crystal. he removed the cork, and handed the flask to me. i sniffed at it, and hastily replaced the cork.
-perkins grinned with pleasure.
-“fierce, isn't it?” he asked. “smells as if it ought to cure, don't it? got the real old style matery-medica-'pothecary-shop aroma. none of your little-pill, sugar-coated business about o-no-to-cetera water. not for a minute! it's the good old quinine, ipecac, calomel, know-when-you're-taking-dose sort. why, say! any man that takes a dose of that water has got to feel better. he deserves to feel better.”
-i sniffed at the flask again, and resolutely returned it to perkins.
-“yes,” i admitted, “it has the full legal allowance of smell. there's no doubt about it being a medicinal water. nobody would mistake it for a table water, perkins. a child would know it wasn't meant for perfume; but what is it good for? what will it cure?”
-perkins tilted his pratt hat over one ear, and crossed his legs.
-“speaking as one chicago man to another,” he said slowly, “what do you think of rheumatism?”
-“if you want me to speak as man to man, perkins,” i replied, “i may say that rheumatism is a mighty uncomfortable disease.”
-he leaned back, and smiled. then he waved his hand jauntily in the air.
-“but i'm not partial,” he added. “if you can think of a better disease, we'll cure it. anything!”
-“perkins,” i said, “would you take this water for rheumatism?”
-“would i? say! if i had rheumatism i'd live on it. i'd drink it by the gallon. i'd bathe in it--”
-he stopped abruptly, and a smile broke forth at one corner of his mouth, and gradually spread over his face until it broke into a broad grin, which he vainly endeavored to stifle.
-“warm!” he murmured, and then his grin broadened a little, and he muttered--“lukewarm!”--and grinned again, and ran his hand through his hair. he sat down and slapped his knee.
-“say!” he cried, “greatest idea yet! i'm a benefactor! think of the poor old people trying to drink that stuff! think of them trying to force it down their throats! it would be a sin to make a dog drink it!”
-he wiped an actual tear from his eye.
-“what if i had to drink it! what if my poor old mother had to drink it! cruelty! but we won't make 'em. we will be good! we will be generous! we will be great! we will let them bathe in it. twice a day! morning and night! lukewarm! why make weak human beings swallow it? and besides, they'll need more! think of enough o-no-to-so-forth water to swim in twice a day, and good old perkins paying the freight!”
-without another word i reached over and clasped perkins by the hand. it was a silent communion of souls--of the souls of two live, up-to-date chicagoans. when the clasp was loosened, we were bound together in a noble purpose to supply o-no-to-something water to a waiting, pain-cursed world. we were banded together like good samaritans to supply a remedy to the lame and the halt. and perkins paying the freight.
-then perkins gave me the details. there were to be three of us in the deal. there was a young man from glaubus, ia., in chicago, running a street-car on the north side. he had been raised near glaubus, and his father had owned a farm; but the old man was no financier, and sold off the place bit by bit, until all that was left was a forty-acre swamp,--“skunk swamp,” they called it, because of the rank water,-- and when the old man died, the son came to chicago to earn a living. he brought along a flask of the swamp water, so that when he got homesick, he could take out the cork, smell it, and be glad he was in chicago, instead of on the old place. up in the corner of the swamp a spring welled up; and that spring spouted onotowatishika water day and night, gallons, and barrels, and floods of it.
-but it needed a perkins the great to know its value. perkins smelled its value the first whiff he got. he had a rough map of glaubus with the skunk swamp off about a mile to the west.
-we patched up the deal the next day. the young fellow was to have a quarter-interest, because he put in the forty acres, and perkins put in his time and talent for half the balance; and i got the remainder for my time and money. we wanted the young fellow to take a third interest, and put in his time, too; but he said that rather than go back to the old place, he would take a smaller share, and get a job in some nice sweet spot, like the stock-yards or a fertilizer factory. so perkins and i packed up, and went out to glaubus.
-when we got within two miles of glaubus, perkins stuck his head out of the car window, and drew it back, covered with smiles.
-“smell it?” he asked. “great! you can smell it way out here! wait till we get on the ground! it must be wonderful!”
-i did not wonder, when the train pulled up at the glaubus station, that the place was a small, dilapidated village, nor that the inhabitants wore a care-worn, hopeless expression. there was too much onoto-watishika water in the air. but perkins glowed with joy.
-“smell it?” he asked eagerly. “great 'ad.!' you can't get away from it. you can't forget it. and look at this town. look at the bare walls! not a sign on any of them! not a bill-board in the place! not an 'ad.' of any kind in sight! perkins, my boy, this is heaven for you! this is pie and nuts!”
-there was no shanty in the village good enough for our office, so that afternoon we bought a vacant lot next to the post-office for five dollars, and arranged to have a building put up for our use; and then, as there was nothing else for us to do, until the next train came along, perkins sat around thinking. and something always happened when perkins thought.
-in less than an hour perkins set off to find the mayor and the councilmen and a notary public. he had a great idea.
-they had a park in glaubus,--a full block of weeds and rank growth,--and perkins showed the mayor what a disgrace that park was to a town of the size and beauty of glaubus. he said there ought to be a fountain and walks and benches where people could sit in the evenings. the mayor allowed that was so, but didn't see where the cash was to come from.
-perkins told him. here we are, he said, two public-spirited men come over from chicago to bottle up the old skunk spring, and make glaubus famous. glaubus was to be our home, and already we had contracted for a beautiful one-story building, with a dashboard front, to make it look like two stories. if glaubus treated us right, we would treat glaubus right. didn't the mayor want to help along his city?
-the mayor certainly did, if he didn't have to pay out nothin'.
-the mayor and the council didn't see but what that was a square deal, so they called a special meeting right there; and in half an hour we had the whole thing under way.
-“but, perky,” i said, when we were on the train hurrying back to chicago, “how are you going to sell those lots? they are nothing but mud and water, and no sane man would even think of paying money for them. why, if the lot next the post-office is worth five dollars, those lots a mile away from it, and ten feet deep in mud, wouldn't be worth two copper cents.”
-“sell?” said perkins, sticking his hands deep into the pockets of his celebrated “baffin bay” pants. “sell? who wants to sell? we'll give 'em away! what does the public want? something for nothing! what does it covet? real estate! all right, we give 'em real estate for nothing! a lot in the glaubus land and improvement company's addition to the town of glaubus free for ten labels soaked from o-no-to-thing-um-bob water bottles. send in your labels, and get a real deed for the lot, with a red seal on it. and perkins pays the freight!”
-did it go? does anything that perkins the great puts his soul into go? it went with a rush. we looked up the rheumatism statistics of the united states, and, wherever there was a rheumatism district, we billed the barns and fences. we sent circulars and “follow-up” letters, and advertised in local and county papers. we shipped the water by single demijohns at first, and then in half-dozen crates, and then in car-lots. we established depots in the big business centres, and took up magazine advertising on a big scale. wherever man met man, the catchwords, “perkins pays the freight,” were bandied to and fro. “how can you afford a new hat?” “oh, 'perkins pays the freight'!”
-the comic papers made jokes about it, the daily papers made cartoons about it, no vaudeville sketch was complete without a reference to perkins paying the freight, and the comic opera hit of the year was the one in which six jolly girls clinked champagne glasses while singing the song ending:
-“to us no pleasure lost is, and we go a merry gait; we don't care what the cost is, for perkins pays the freight.”
-as for testimonials, we scooped in twenty-four members of congress, eight famous operatic stars, eighty-eight ministers, and dead loads of others.
-and our lots in the glaubus land and improvement company's addition to the town of glaubus? we began by giving full-sized dwelling-house lots. then we cut it down to business-lot size; and, as the labels kept pouring in, we reduced the lots to cemetery lot size. we had lot owners in alaska, mexico, and the philippines; and the village of glaubus fixed up its park, and even paved the main street with taxes. whenever a lot owner refused to pay his taxes, the deed was cancelled; and we split the lot up into smaller lots, and distributed them to new label savers.
-we also sent agents to organize rheumatism clubs in the large cities. that was perkins's greatest idea, but it was too great.
-“what is it, perky?” i asked.
-he lay back in his chair, and gazed at me blankly. then he spoke.
-“the lame and the halt,” he murmured. “they are coming. they are coming here. read it?”
-he pushed the letter toward me feebly. it was from the corresponding secretary of the grand rapids rheumatic club. it said:
-“gentlemen:--the members of the club have used onotowatishika water for over a year, and are delighted to testify to its merits. in fact, we have used so much that each member now owns several lots in the glaubus land and improvement company's addition to the town of glaubus; and, feeling that our health depends on the constant and unremitting use of your healing waters, we have decided as a whole to emigrate to glaubus, where we may be near the source of the waters, and secure them as they arise bubbling from the bosom of mother earth. we have withheld this pleasant knowledge from you until we had completed our arrangements for deserting grand rapids, in order that the news might come to you as a grateful surprise. we have read in your circulars of the beautiful and natural advantages of glaubus, and particularly of the charm of the glaubus land and improvement company's addition to the town of glaubus, and we will come prepared to rear homes on the land which has been allotted to us. we leave to-day.”
-i looked at perkins. he had wilted.
-perkins didn't take my remarks in the spirit in which they were meant. he jumped up and slammed his desk-lid, and locked it, banged the door of the safe, and, grabbing his pratt hat, crushed it on his head. he gave one quick glance around the office, another at the clock, and bolted for the door. i saw that he was right. the train was due in two minutes; and it was the train from chicago on which the grand rapids rheumatic club would arrive.
-when we reached the station, the train was just pulling in; and, as we jumped aboard, the grand rapids delegation disembarked. some had crutches and some had canes, some limped and some did not seem to be disabled. in fact, a good many seemed to be odiously able-bodied; and there was one who looked like a retired coal-heaver.
-it was beautiful to see them sniffing the air as they stepped from the train. they were like a lot of children on the morning of circus day.
-they gathered on the station platform, and gave their club yell; and then one enthusiastic old gentleman jumped upon a box and shouted:--
-“what's the matter with perkins?”
-the club, by their loudly unanimous reply, signified that perkins was all right but as i looked in the face of perkins the great, i felt that i could have given a more correct answer. i knew what was the matter with perkins. he wanted to get away from the vulgar throng. he wanted that train to pull out and it did.
-as we passed out of the town limits, we heard the grand rapids rheumatic club proclaiming in unison that perkins was--
-“first in peace! first in war! first in the hearts of his countrymen!”
-but that was before they visited their real estate holdings.
-after that glaubus affair, i did not see perkins for nearly a year. he was spending his money somewhere, but i knew he would turn up when it was gone; and one day he entered my office hard up, but enthusiastic.
-“ah,” i said, as soon as i saw the glow in his eyes, “you have another good thing? am i in it?”
-“in it?” he cried. “of course, you're in it! does perkins of portland ever forget his friend? never! sooner will the public forget that 'pratt's hats air the hair,' as made immortal by perkins the great! sooner will the world forget that 'dill's pills cure all ills,' as taught by perkins!”
-“is it a very good thing, this time?” i asked.
-“good thing?” he asked. “say! is the soul a good thing? is a man's right hand a good thing? you know it! well, then, perkins has fathomed the soul of the great u. s. a. he has studied the american man. he has watched the american woman. he has discovered the mighty lever that heaves this glorious nation onward in its triumphant course.”
-“i know,” i said, “you are going to start a correspondence school of some sort.”
-perkins sniffed contemptuously.
-“wait!” he cried imperiously.
-“see the old world crumbling to decay! see the u. s. a. flying to the front in a gold-painted horseless band-wagon! why does america triumph? what is the cause and symbol of her success? what is mightier than the sword, than the pen, than the gatling gun? what is it that is in every hand in america; that opens the good things of the world for rich and poor, for young and old, for one and all?”
-“the ballot-box?” i ventured.
-perkins took something from his trousers pocket, and waved it in the air. i saw it glitter in the sunlight before he threw it on my desk. i picked it up and examined it. then i looked at perkins.
-“perkins,” i said, “this is a can-opener.” he stood with folded arms, and nodded his head slowly.
-“can-opener, yes!” he said. “wealth-opener; progress-opener!” he put one hand behind his ear, and glanced at the ceiling. “listen!” he said. “what do you hear? from portland, maine, to portland, oregon; from the palms of florida to the pines of alaska--cans! tin cans! tin cans being opened!”
-he looked down at me, and smiled.
-“the back-yards of massachusetts are full of old tin cans,” he exclaimed. “the gar-bage-wagons of new york are crowned with old tin cans. the plains of texas are dotted with old tin cans. the towns and cities of america are full of stores, and the stores are full of cans. the tin can rules america! take away the tin can, and america sinks to the level of europe! why has not europe sunk clear out of sight? because america sends canned stuff to their hungry hordes!” he leaned forward, and, taking the can-opener from my hand, stood it upright against my inkstand. then he stood back and waved his hand at it.
-“behold!” he cried. “the emblem of american genius!”
-“well,” i said, “what are you going to sell, cans or can-openers?”
-he leaned over me and whispered.
-“neither, my boy. we are going to give can-openers away, free gratis!”
-“they ought to go well at that price,” i suggested.
-“one nickel-plated perkins can-opener free with every can of our goods. at all grocers,” said perkins, ignoring my remark.
-“well, then,” i said, for i caught his idea, “what are we going to put in the cans?”
-“what do people put in cans now?” asked perkins.
-i thought for a moment.
-“oh!” i said, “tomatoes and peaches and com, sardines, and salmon, and--”
-“yes!” perkins broke in, “and codfish, and cod-liver oil, and kerosene oil, and cottonseed-oil, and axle-grease and pie! everything! but what don't they put in cans?”
-i couldn't think of a thing. i told perkins so. he smiled and made a large circle in the air with his right forefinger.
-“cheese!” he said. “did you ever see a canned cheese?”
-i tried to remember that i had, but i couldn't. i remembered potted cheese, in nice little stone pots, and in pretty little glass pots.
-“yes,” he said, “and how did you open it?”
-“the lids unscrewed,” i said.
-perkins waved away the little stone and the little glass pots.
-“individual cheese! why make cheese the size of a dish-pan? because grandpa did? why not make them small? perkins's reliable full cream cheese, just the right size for family use, twenty-five cents a can, with a nickel-plated perkins can-opener, free with each can. at all grocers.”
-that was the beginning of the fifth street church, as you shall see.
-we bought a tract of land well outside of chicago, and, to make it sound well on our labels, we named it cloverdale. this was perkins's idea. he wanted a name that would harmonize with the clean cow and the rosy milkmaid on our label.
-we owned our own cows, and built our own dairy and cheese factory, and made first-class cheese. as each cheese was just the right size to fit in a can, and as the rind would protect the cheese, anyway, it was not important to have very durable cans, so we used a can that was all cardboard, except the top and bottom. perkins insisted on having the top and bottom of tin, so that the purchaser could have something to open with a can-opener; and he was right. it appealed to the public.
-the perkins cheese made a hit, or at least the perkins advertising matter did. we boomed it by all the legitimate means, in magazines, newspapers, and street-cars, and on bill-boards and kites; and we got out a very small individual can for restaurant and hotel use. it got to be the fashion to have the waiter bring in a can of perkins's cheese, and show the diner that it had not been tampered with, and then open it in the diner's sight.
-we ran our sales up to six hundred thousand cases the first year, and equalled that in the first quarter of the next year; and then the cheese trust came along, and bought us out for a cool eight-hundred thousand, and all they wanted was the good-will and trade-mark. they had a factory in wisconsin that could make the cheese more economically. so we were left with the cloverdale land on our hands, and perkins decided to make a suburb of it.
-perkins's idea was to make cloverdale a refined and aristocratic suburb; something high-toned and exclusive, with queen anne villas, and no fences; and he was particularly strong on having an ennobling religious atmosphere about it. he said an ennobling religious atmosphere was the best kind of a card to draw to--that the worse a man was, the more anxious he was to get his wife and children settled in the neighborhood of an ennobling religious atmosphere.
-“cloverdale, the ideal home site. a church on every street. ennobling religious atmosphere. lots on easy payments.”
-the old cheese factory was to be the cloverdale club-house, and we set to work at once to remodel it. we had the stalls knocked out of the cow-shed, and made it into a bowling-alley, and added a few cupolas and verandas to the factory, and had the latest styles of wall-paper put on the walls, and in a few days we had a first-class club-house.
-but we did not stop there. perkins was bound that cloverdale should be first-class in every respect, and it was a pleasure to see him marking in public institutions. every few minutes he would think of a new one and jot it down on the map; and every time he jotted down an opera-house, or a school-house, or a public library, he would raise the price of the lots, until we had the place so exclusive, i began to fear i couldn't afford to live there. then he put in a street-car line and a water and gas system, and quit; for he had the map so full of things that he could not put in another one without making it look mussy.
-one thing perkins insisted on was that there should be no factories. he said it would be a little paradise right in cook county. he liked the phrase, “paradise within twenty minutes of the chicago post-office,” so well that he raised the price of the lots another ten dollars all around.
-then we began to advertise. we did not wait to build the churches nor the school-house, nor any of the public institutions. we did not even wait to have the streets surveyed. what was the use of having twenty or thirty streets and avenues paved when the only inhabitants were perkins and i and the old lady who took care of the club-house? why should we rush ourselves to death to build a school-house when the only person in cloverdale with children was the said old lady? and she had only one child, and he was forty-eight years old, and in the philippines.
-we began to push cloverdale hard. there wasn't an advertising scheme that perkins did not know, and he used them all. people would open their morning mail, and a circular would tell them that cloverdale had an ennobling religious atmosphere. their morning paper thrust a view of the cloverdale club-house on them. as they rode down-town in the street-cars, they read that cloverdale was refined and exclusive. the bill-boards announced that cloverdale lots were sold on the easy payment plan. the magazines asked them why they paid rent when cloverdale land was to be had for little more than the asking. round-trip tickets from chicago to cloverdale were furnished any one who wanted to look at the lots. occasionally, we had a free open-air vaudeville entertainment.
-our advertising campaign made a big hit. there were a few visitors who kicked because we did not serve beer with the free lunches we gave, but perkins was unyielding on that point. cloverdale was to be a temperance town, and he held that it would be inconsistent to give free beer. but the trump card was our guarantee that the lots would advance twenty per cent, within twelve months. we could do that well enough, for we made the price ourselves; but it made a fine impression, and the lots began to sell like hot cakes.
-there were ten streets in cloverdale (on paper) and ten avenues (also on paper); and perkins used to walk up and down them (not on the paper, but between the stakes that showed their future location), and admire the town of cloverdale as it was to be. he would stand in front of the plot of weeds that was the site of the opera-house, and get all enrapt and enthusiastic just thinking how fine that opera-house would be some day; and then he would imagine he was on our street-car line going down to the library. but the thing perkins liked best was to go to church. whenever he passed one of the corner lots that we had set aside for a church, he would take off his hat and look sober, as a man ought when he has suddenly run into an ennobling religious atmosphere.
-one day a man came out from chicago, and, after looking over our ground, told us he wanted to take ten lots; but none suited him but the ten facing on first avenue at the corner of first street. perkins tried to argue him into taking some other lots, but he wouldn't. perkins and i talked it over, and, as the man wanted to build ten houses, we decided to sell him the lots.
-we thought a town ought to have a few houses, and so far cloverdale had nothing but the club-house. as we had previously sold all the other lots on first street, we had no place on that street to put the first street church, so perkins rubbed it off the map, and marked it at the corner of first avenue and fifth street.
-the next day a man came down who wanted a site for a grocery. we were glad to see him, for every first-class town ought to have a grocery; but perkins balked when he insisted on having the lot at the corner of sixth avenue and sixth street that we had set aside for the first methodist church. perkins said he would never feel quite himself again if he had to think that he had been taking off his hat to a grocery every time he passed that lot. it would lower his self-respect. i was afraid we were going to lose the grocer to save perkins's self-respect. then we saw we could move the church to the corner of sixth avenue and fifth street.
-when we once got those churches on the move, there seemed to be no stopping. we doubled the price, but still people wanted those lots, and in the end they got them; and as soon as we sold out a church lot, we moved the church up to fifth street, and in a bit perkins got enthusiastic over the idea, and moved the rest of the churches there on his own accord. he said it would be a great “ad.”--a street of churches; and it would concentrate the ennobling religious atmosphere, and make it more powerful.
-all this time the lots continued to sell beyond our expectations; and by the end of the year we had advanced the price of lots one hundred per cent., and were considering another advance. we did not think it fair to the sweltering chicago public to advance the price without giving it a chance to get the advantage of our fresh air and pure water at the old price, so we told them of the contemplated rise. we let them know it by means of bill-boards and newspapers and circular letters and magazines; and a great many people gladly availed themselves of our thoughtfulness and our guarantee that we would advance the price twenty-per cent, on the first day of june.
-so many, in fact, bought lots before the advance that we had none left to advance. perkins came to me one morning, with tears in his eyes, and explained that we had made a promise, and could not keep it. we had agreed to advance the lots twenty per cent., and we had nothing to advance.
-“well, perky,” i said, “it is no use crying. what is done is done. are you sure there are no lots left?”
-“william,” he said, seriously, “we think a great deal of these churches, don't we?”
-“yes!” i exclaimed. “we do! we think an ennobling religious atmosphere--” but he cut me short.
-“william,” he said, “do you know what we are doing? we talk about our ennobling religious atmosphere, but we are standing in the path of progress. a mighty wave of reform is sweeping through christendom. the new religious atmosphere is sweeping out the old religious atmosphere. i can feel it. brotherly love is knocking out the sects. shall cloverdale cling to the old, or shall it stand as the leader in the movement for a reunited church?”
-i clasped perkins's hand.
-“a tabernacle!” i cried.
-“right!” exclaimed perkins. “why ten conflicting churches? why not one grand meeting-place--all faiths--no creeds! bring the people closer together--spread an ennobling religious atmosphere that is worth talking about!”
-“perkins,” i said, “what you have done for religion will not be forgotten.”
-he waved my praise away airily.
-“i have buyers,” he said, “for the nine church lots at the advanced price.” considering that the land practically cost us nothing, we made one hundred and six thousand dollars on the cloverdale deal. perkins and i were out that way lately; and there is still nothing on the land but the club-house, which needs paint and new glass in the windows. when we reached the fifth street church, we paused, and perkins took off his hat. it was a noble instinct, for here was one church that never quarrelled with its pastor, to which all creeds were welcome, and that had no mortgage.
-“some of these days,” said perkins, “we will build the tabernacle. we will come out and carry on our great work of uniting the sects. we will build a city here, surrounded by an ennobling religious atmosphere--a refined, exclusive city. the time is almost ripe. by the time these lot-holders pay another tax assessment, they will be sick enough. we can get the lots for almost nothing.”
-perkins is the advertising man. advertising is not his specialty. it is his life; it is his science. that is why he is known from portland, me., to portland, oreg., as perkins the great. there is but one perkins. a single century could never produce two such as he. the job would be too big.
-“perky,” i said, “you look sad.”
-he waved his hand toward the procession of horseless vehicles, and nodded.
-“sad!” he ejaculated. “yes! look at them. you are looking at them. everybody looks at them. wherever you go you see them--hear them--smell them. on every road, in every town--everywhere--nothing but automobiles; nothing but people looking at them--all eyes on them. i'm sad!”
-“they are beautiful,” i ventured, “and useful.”
-perkins shook his head.
-“useless! wasted! thrown away! look at them again. what do you see?” he stretched out his hand toward the avenue. i knew perkins wanted me to see something i could not see, so i looked long enough to be quite sure i could not see it; and then i said, quite positively,--
-“i see automobiles--dozens of them.”
-“ah!” perkins cried with triumph. “you see automobiles! you see dozens of them! but you don't see an ad.--not a single ad. you see dozens of moving things on wheels that people twist their necks to stare at. you see things that men, women, and children stand and gaze upon, and not an advertisement on any of them! talk about wasted opportunity! talk about good money thrown away! just suppose every one of those automobiles carried a placard with 'use perkins's patent porous plaster,' upon it! every man, woman, and child in new york would know of perkins's patent porous plaster by this evening! it would be worth a million cold dollars! sad? yes! there goes a million dollars wasted, thrown away, out of reach!”
-“perkins,” i said, “you are right. it would be the greatest advertising opportunity of the age, but it can't be done. advertising space on those automobiles is not for sale.”
-“no,” he admitted, “it's not. that's why perkins hates the auto. it gives him no show. it is a fizzle, a twentieth-century abomination--an invention with no room for an ad. i'm tired. let's go home.”
-we settled our small account with the waiter, and descended to the avenue, just as a large and violent automobile came to a full stop before us. there was evidently something wrong with the inwardness of that automobile; for the chauffeur began pulling and pushing levers, opening little cubby-holes, and poking into them, turning valves and cocks, and pressing buttons and things. but he did not find the soft spot.
-i saw that perkins smiled gleefully as the chauffeur did things to the automobile. it pleased perkins to see automobiles break down. he had no use for them. they gave him no opportunity to display his talents. he considered them mere interloping monstrosities. as we started homeward, the chauffeur was on his back in the road, with his head and arms under his automobile, working hard, and swearing softly.
-i did not see perkins again for about four months, and when i did see him, i tried to avoid him; for i was seated in my automobile, which i had just purchased. i feared that perkins might think my purchase was disloyal to him, knowing, as i did, his dislike for automobiles; but he hailed me with a cheery cry.
-“ah!” he exclaimed. “the automobile! the greatest product of man's ingenious brain! the mechanical triumph of the twentieth century! useful, ornamental, profitable!”
-“perky!” i cried, for i could scarcely believe my ears. “is it possible? have you so soon changed your idea of the auto? that isn't like you, perky!”
-he caught his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and waved his fingers slowly back and forth. “my boy,” he said, “perkins of portland conquers all things! else why is he known as perkins the great? genius, my boy, wins out. before genius the automobile bows down like the camel, and takes aboard the advertisement. perkins has conquered the automobile!”
-i looked over my auto carefully. i had no desire to be a travelling advertisement even to please my friend perkins. but i could notice nothing in the promotion and publicity line about my automobile. i held out my hand. “perkins,” i said heartily, “i congratulate you. is there money in it?” he glowed with pleasure. “money?” he cried. “loads of it. thousands for perkins--thousands for the automobile-makers--huge boom for the advertiser! perkins put it to the auto-makers like this: 'you make automobiles. all right. i'll pay you for space on them. just want room for four words, but must be on every automobile sent out. perkins will pay well.' result--contract with every maker. then to the advertiser: 'mr. advertiser, i have space on every automobile to be made by leading american factories for next five years. price, $100,000!' advertiser jumped at it! and there you are!”
-i do not know whether perkins meant his last sentence as a finale to his explanation or as a scoff at my automobile. in either case i was certainly “there,” for my auto took one of those unaccountable fits, and would not move. i dismounted and walked around the machine with a critical, inquiring eye. i poked gingerly into its ribs and exposed vitals; lifted up lids; turned thumb-screws, and shook everything that looked as if its working qualities would be improved by a little shaking, but my automobile continued to balk.
-a few small boys suggested that i try coaxing it with a lump of sugar or building a fire under it, or some of the other remedies for balking animals; but perkins stood by with his hands in his pockets and smiled. he seemed to be expecting something.
-i am not proud, and i have but little fear of ridicule, but a man is only human. fifth avenue is not exactly the place where a man wishes to lie on the fiat of his back. to be explicit, i may say that when i want to lie on my back in the open air, i prefer to lie on a grassy hillside, with nothing above me but the blue sky, rather than on the asphalt pavement of fifth avenue, with the engine-room of an automobile half a foot above my face.
-perkins smiled encouragingly. the crowd seemed to be waiting for me to do it. i felt, myself, that i should have to do it. so i assumed the busy, intense, oblivious, hardened expression that is part of the game, and lay down on the top of the street. personally, i did not feel that i was doing it as gracefully as i might after more practice; but the crowd were not exacting. they even cheered me, which was kind of them; but it did not relieve me of the idiotic sensation of going to bed in public with my clothes on.
-if i had not been such an amateur i should doubtless have done it better; but it was disconcerting, after getting safely on my back, to find that i was several feet away from my automobile. i think it was then that i swore, but i am not sure. i know i swore about that time; but whether it was just then, or while edging over to the automobile, i cannot positively say.
-i remember making up my mind to swear again as soon as i got my head and chest under the automobile, not because i am a swearing man, but to impress the crowd with the fact that i was not there because i liked it. i wanted them to think i detested it. i did detest it. but i did not swear. as my eyes looked upward for the first time at the underneath of my automobile, i saw this legend painted upon it: “don't swear. drink glenguzzle.”
-peering out from under my automobile, i caught perkins's eye. it was bright and triumphant. i looked about and across the avenue i saw another automobile standing.
-as i look back, i think the crowd may have been justified in thinking me insane. at any rate, they crossed the avenue with me, and applauded me when i lay down under the other man's automobile. when i emerged, they called my attention to several other automobiles that were standing near, and were really disappointed when i refused to lie down under them.
-i did refuse, however, for i had seen enough.
-this automobile also bore on its underside the words: “don't swear. drink glenguzzle.” and i was willing to believe that they were on all the automobiles.
-i walked across the avenue again and shook hands with perkins. “it's great!” i said, enthusiastically.
-perkins nodded. he knew what i meant. he knew i appreciated his genius. in my mind's eye i saw thousands and thousands of automobiles, in all parts of our great land, and all of them standing patiently while men lay on their backs under them, looking upward and wanting to swear. it was a glorious vision. i squeezed perkins's hand.
-“it's glorious!” i exclaimed.
-vi. the adventure of the poet
-about the time perkins and i were booming our justly famous codliver capsules,--you know them, of course, “sales, ten million boxes a year,”--i met kate. she was sweet and pink as the codliver capsules. you recall the verse that went:--
-“'pretty polly, do you think, blue is prettier, or pink?' 'pink, sir,' polly said, 'by far; thus codliver capsules are.'”
-you see, we put them up in pink capsules.
-“the pink capsules for the pale corpuscles.”
-perkins invented the phrase. it was worth forty thousand dollars to us. wonderful man, perkins!
-but, as i remarked, kate was as sweet and pink as codliver capsules; but she was harder to take. so hard, in fact, that i couldn't seem to take her; and the one thing i wanted most was to take her--away from her home and install her in one of my own. i seemed destined to come in second in a race where there were only two starters, and in love-affairs you might as well be distanced as second place. the fellow who had the preferred location next pure reading-matter in kate's heart was a poet.
-in any ordinary business i will back an advertising man against a poet every time, but this love proposition is a case of guess at results. you can't key your ad. nor guarantee your circulation one day ahead; and, just as likely as not, some low-grade mailorder dude will step in, and take the contract away from a million-a-month home journal with a three-color cover. there i was, a man associated with perkins the great, with a poet of our own on our staff, cut out by a poet, and a chicago poet at that. you can guess how high-grade he was.
-the more i worked my follow-up system of bonbons and flowers, the less chance i seemed to have with kate; and the reason was that she was a poetry fiend. you know the sort of girl. first thing she does when she meets you is to smile and say: “so glad to meet you. who's your favorite poet?”
-she pretty nearly stumped me when she got that off on me. i don't know a poem from a hymn-tune. i'm not a literary character. if you hand me anything with all the lines jagged on one end and headed with capital letters on the other end, i'll take it for as good as anything in the verse line that longfellow ever wrote. so when she asked me the countersign, “who's your favorite poet?” i gasped, and then, by a lucky chance, i got my senses back in time to say “biggs” before she dropped me.
-when i said biggs, she looked dazed. i had run in a poet she had never heard of, and she thought i was the real thing in poetry lore. i never told her that biggs was the young man we had at the office doing poems about the codliver capsules, but i couldn't live up to my start; and, whenever she started on the poetry topic, i side-stepped to advertising talk. i was at home there, but you can't get in as much soulful gaze when you are talking about how good the ads. in the “home weekly” are as when you are reciting sonnets; so the poet walked away from me. 'i got kate to the point where, when i handed her a new magazine, she would look through the advertising pages first; but she did not seem to enthuse over the codliver capsule pages any more than over the ivory soap pages, and i knew her heart was not mine.
-when i began to get thin, perkins noticed it,--he always noticed everything,--and i laid the whole case before him. he smiled disdainfully. he laid his hand on my arm and spoke.
-“why mourn?” he asked. “why mope? why fear a poet? fight fire with fire; fight poetry with poetry! why knuckle down to a little amateur poet when perkins & co. have a professional poet working six days a week? use biggs.”
-he said “use biggs” just as he would have said “use codliver capsules.” it was perkins's way to go right to the heart of things without wasting words. he talked in telegrams. he talked in caps, double leaded. i grasped his hand, for i saw his meaning. i was saved--or at least kate was nailed. the expression is perkins's.
-“kate--hate, kate--wait, kate--mate,” he said, glowingly. “good rhymes. biggs can do the rest. we will nail kate with poems. biggs,” he said, turning to our poet, “make some nails.”
-biggs was a serious-minded youth, with a large, bulgy forehead in front, and a large bald spot at the back of his head, which seemed to be yearning to join the forehead. he was the most conceited donkey i ever knew, but he did good poetry. i can't say that he ever did anything as noble as,--
-“perkins's patent porous plaster makes all pains and aches fly faster,”
-but that was written by the immortal perkins himself. it was biggs who wrote the charming verse,--
-“when corpuscles are thin and white, codliver capsules set them right,” and that other great hit,--
-“when appetite begins to fail and petty woes unnerve us, when joy is fled and life is stale, the pink capsules preserve us.
-“when doubts and cares distress the mind and daily duties bore us, at fifty cents per box we find the pink capsules restore us.”
-you can see that an amateur poet who wrote such rot as the following to kate would not be in the same class whatever:--
-“your lips are like cherries all sprinkled with dew; your eyes are like diamonds, sparkling and true.
-“your teeth are like pearls in a casket of roses, and nature has found you the dearest of noses.”
-i had kate copy that for me, and i gave it to biggs to let him see what he would have to beat. he looked at it and smiled. he flipped over the pages of “munton's magazine,” dipped his pen in the ink, and in two minutes handed me this:--
-“your lips are like lowney's bonbons, they're so sweet; your eyes shine like pans that pearline has made neat.
-“your teeth are like ivory soap, they're so white, and your nose, like pink capsules, is simply all right!”
-i showed it to perkins, and asked him how he thought it would do. he read it over and shook his head.
-“o. k.,” he said, “except ivory soap for teeth. don't like the idea. suggests kate may be foaming at the mouth next. cut it out and say:--
-“'your soul is like ivory soap, it's so white.'”
-i sent the poem to kate by the next mail, and that evening i called. she was very much pleased with the poem, and said it was witty, and just what she might have expected from me. she said it did not have as much soul as tennyson's “in memoriam,” but that it was so different, one could hardly compare the two. she suggested that the first line ought to be illustrated. so the next morning i sent up a box of bonbons,--just as an illustration.
-“now, biggs,” i said, “we have made a good start; and we want to keep things going. what we want now is a poem that will go right to the spot. something that will show on the face of it that it was meant for her, and for no one else. the first effort is all right, but it might have been written for any girl.”
-“then,” said biggs, “you'll have to tell me how you stand with her, so i can have something to lay hold on.”
-i told him as much as i could, just as i had told my noble perkins; and biggs dug in, and in a half-hour handed me:--
-the girl i love
-“i love a maid, and shall i tell you why? it is not only that her soulful eye sets my heart beating at so huge a rate that i'm appalled to feel it palpitate; no! though her eye has power to conquer mine. and fill my breast with feelings most divine, another thing my heart in love immersed-- kate reads the advertising pages first!
-“a sunday paper comes to her fair hand teeming with news of every foreign land, with social gossip, fashions new and rare, and politics and scandal in good share, with verse and prose and pictures, and the lore of witty writers in a goodly corps, wit, wisdom, humor, all things interspersed-- kate reads the advertising pages first!
-“the magazine, in brilliant cover bound, into her home its welcome way has found, but, ere she reads the story of the trust, or tale of bosses, haughty and unjust, or tale of love, or strife, or pathos deep that makes the gentle maiden shyly weep, or strange adventures thrillingly rehearsed, kate reads the advertising pages first!
-“give me each time the maid with such a mind, the maid who is superior to her kind; she feels the pulse-beats of the world of men, the power of the advertiser's pen; she knows that fact more great than fiction is, and that the nation's life-blood is its 'biz.' i love the maid who woman's way reversed and reads the advertising pages first!”
-“now, there,” said biggs, “is something that ought to nail her sure. it is one of the best things i have ever done. i am a poet, and i know good poetry when i see it; and i give you my word that is the real article.”
-i took biggs's word for it, and i think he was right; but he had forgotten to tell me that it was a humorous poem, and when kate laughed over it, i was a little surprised. i don't know that i exactly expected her to weep over it, but to me it seemed to be a rather soulful sort of thing when i read it. i thought there were two or three quite touching lines. but it worked well enough. she and her poet laughed over it; and, as it seemed the right thing to do, i screwed up my face and ha-ha'd a little, too, and it went off very well. kate told me again that i was a genius, and her poet assured me that he would never have thought of writing a poem anything like it.
-so far as i could remember she had not.
-“that is good,” said biggs; “very good, indeed. she probably doesn't identify you with them yet, or she would have thrown herself at your head long ago. we don't want to brag about it--not yet. we want to break it to her gently. we want to be humble and undeserving. you must be a worm, so to speak.”
-“biggs,” i said, with dignity, “i don't propose to be a worm, so to speak.”
-“but,” he pleaded, “you must. it's only poetic license.”
-that was the first i knew that poets had to be licensed. but i don't wonder they have to be. even a dog has to be licensed, these days.
-“you must be the humble worm,” continued biggs, “so that later on you can blossom forth into the radiant conquering butterfly.”
-i didn't like that any better. i showed biggs that worms don't blossom. plants blossom. and butterflies don't conquer. and worms don't turn into butterflies--caterpillars do.
-“very well,” said biggs, “you must be the humble caterpillar, then.”
-i told him i would rather be a caterpillar than a worm any day; and after we had argued for half an hour on whether it was any better to be a caterpillar than to be a worm.
-biggs remembered that it was only metaphorically speaking, after all, and that nothing would be said about worms or caterpillars in the poem, and he got down to work on no. 3. when he had it done, he put his feet on his desk and read it to me. he called it
-“no prince nor poet proud am i, nor scion of an ancient clan; i cannot place my rank so high-- i'm the codliver capsule man.
-“no soulful sonnets i indite, nor do i play the pipes of pan; in five small words my place i write-- i'm the codliver capsule man.
-“no soldier bold, with many scars, nor hacking, slashing partisan; i have not galloped to the wars-- i'm the codliver capsule man.
-“no, mine is not the wounding steel, my life is on a gentler plan; my mission is to cure and heal-- i'm the codliver capsule man.
-“i do not cause the poor distress by hoarding all the gold i can; i, advertising, pay the press-- i'm the codliver capsule man.
-“and if no sonnets i can write, pray do not put me under ban; remember, if your blood turns white, i'm the codliver capsule man!”
-“well,” asked biggs, the morning after i had delivered the poem, “how did she take it?”
-i looked at biggs suspiciously. if i had seen a glimmer of an indication that he was fooling with me, i would have killed him; but he seemed to be perfectly serious.
-“was that poem intended to be humorous?” i asked.
-“why, yes! yes! certainly so,” biggs replied. “at least it was supposed to be witty; to provoke a smile and good humor at least.”
-“then, biggs,” i said, “it was a glorious success. they smiled. they smiled right out loud. in fact, they shouted. the poet and i had to pour water on kate to get her out of the hysterics. it is all right, of course, to be funny; but the next time don't be so awful funny. it is not worth while. i like to see kate laugh, if it helps my cause; but i don't want to have her die of laughter. it would defeat my ends.”
-“that is so,” said biggs, thoughtfully. “did she say anything?”
-“yes,” i said; “when she was able to speak, she asked me if the poem was a love poem.”
-“what did you tell her?” asked biggs, and he leaned low over his desk, turning over papers.
-“i told her it was,” i replied; “and she said that if any one was looking for a genius to annex to the family, they ought not to miss the chance.”
-“ah, ha!” said biggs, proudly; “what did i tell you? you humbled yourself. you said, 'see! i am only the lowly codliver capsule man;' but you said it so cleverly, so artistically, that you gave the impression that you were a genius. you see what rapid strides you are making? now here,” he added, taking a paper from his desk, “is no. 4, in which you gracefully and poetically come to the point of showing her your real standing. you have been humble--now you assert yourself in your real colors. when she reads this she will begin to see that you wish to make her your wife, for no man states his prospects thus clearly unless he means to propose soon. you will see that she will be ready to drop into your hand like a ripe peach from a bough. i have called this 'little drops of water.'”
-“wait a minute,” i said. “if this is going to have anything about the codliver capsules in it, don't you think the title is just a little suggestive? you know our formula. don't you think that 'little drops of water' is rather letting out a trade secret?” biggs smiled sarcastically.
-“not at all,” he said. “the suggestion i intended to make was that 'little drops of water, little grains of sand, make the mighty ocean,' etc. but if you wish, we will call it 'many a mickle makes a muckle';” and he read the following poem in a clear, steady voice:--
-“how small is a codliver capsule, and ten of them put in each box! and the boxes and labels cost something-- no wonder that ignorance mocks!
-“how cheap are the codliver capsules; two boxes one dollar will buy! one capsule costs only a nickel-- the price is considered not high.
-“well known are the codliver capsules,-- we herald their fame everywhere; and costly is our advertising, but perkins & co. do not care.
-“we spend on the codliver capsules, to advertise them, every year, a million cold uncle sam dollars-- i hope you will keep this point clear.
-“how, then, can the codliver capsules, which bring but a nickel apiece, yield us on our invested money a single per cent, of increase?
-“how? we sell of the codliver capsules full four million boxes a year, which, at fifty cents each, gives a total of two million dollars, my dear.
-“you see that the codliver capsules, when all advertising is paid, net us just a million of dollars, from which other costs are defrayed.
-“less these, then, the codliver capsules net five hundred thousand of good, cold, useful american dollars-- a point i would have understood.
-“and who owns the codliver capsules? two partners in perkins & co. one-half of the five hundred thousand to perkins the great must then go.”
-“and the rest of the codliver capsules belong to your servant, my sweet, and these, with my love and devotion, i hasten to lay at your feet.”
-when i read this pretty poem to kate, she began laughing at the first line, and i kept my eye on the water-pitcher, in case i should need it again to quell her hysterics; but, as i proceeded with the poem, she became thoughtful. when i had finished, her poet was laughing uproariously; but kate was silent.
-“is it possible,” she said, “that out of these funny little pink things you make for yourself two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year?”
-“certainly,” i said. “didn't you understand that? i'll read the poem again.”
-“no! no!” she exclaimed, glancing hurriedly at the poet, who was still rolled up with laughter. “don't do that. i don't like it as well as your other poems. i do not think it is half so funny, and i can't see what mr. milward there sees in it that is so humorous.”
-my face must have fallen; for i had put a great deal of faith in this poem, because of what biggs had said. kate saw it.
-“you are not a real poet,” she said as gently as she could. “you lack the true celestial fire. your poems all savor of those i read in the street-cars. poets are born, and not made. the true poet is a noble soul, floating above the heads of common mortals, destined to live alone, and unmarried--”
-mr. milward sat up suddenly and ceased laughing.
-“and now,” continued kate, “i must ask you both to excuse me, for i am very tired.” but what do you think! as i was bowing good-night, while her poet was struggling into his rubber overshoes, she whispered, so that only i could hear:--
-“come up to-morrow evening. i will be all alone!”
-when, two days later, i told perkins of my engagement, he only said:--
-“pays to advertise.”
-vii. the adventure of the crimson cord
-i had not seen perkins for six months or so, and things were dull. i was beginning to tire of sitting indolently in my office, with nothing to do but clip coupons from my bonds. money is good enough in its way, but it is not interesting unless it is doing something lively--doubling itself or getting lost. what i wanted was excitement,--an adventure,--and i knew that if i could find perkins, i could have both. a scheme is a business adventure, and perkins was the greatest schemer in or out of chicago.
-just then perkins walked into my office.
-“perkins,” i said, as soon as he had arranged his feet comfortably on my desk, “i'm tired. i'm restless. i have been wishing for you for a month. i want to go into a big scheme, and make a lot of new, up-to-date cash. i'm sick of this tame, old cash that i have. it isn't interesting. no cash is interesting except the coming cash.”
-“i'm with you,” said perkins; “what is your scheme?”
-“i have none,” i said sadly. “that is just my trouble. i have sat here for days trying to think of a good, practical scheme, but i can't. i don't believe there is an unworked scheme in the whole wide, wide world.” perkins waved his hand.
-“my boy,” he exclaimed, “there are millions! you've thousands of 'em right here in your office! you're falling over them, sitting on them, walking on them! schemes? everything is a scheme. everything has money in it!”
-i shrugged my shoulders.
-“yes,” i said, “for you. but you are a genius.”
-“genius, yes,” perkins said, smiling cheerfully, “else why perkins the great? why perkins the originator? why the great and only perkins of portland?”
-“all right,” i said, “what i want is for your genius to get busy. i'll give you a week to work up a good scheme.”
-perkins pushed back his hat, and brought his feet to the floor with a smack.
-“why the delay?” he queried. “time is money. hand me something from your desk.”
-i looked in my pigeonholes, and pulled from one a small ball of string. perkins took it in his hand, and looked at it with great admiration.
-“what is it?” he asked seriously.
-“that,” i said, humoring him, for i knew something great would be evolved from his wonderful brain, “is a ball of red twine i bought at the ten-cent store. i bought it last saturday. it was sold to me by a freckled young lady in a white shirt-waist. i paid--”
-“stop!” perkins cried, “what is it?”
-i looked at the ball of twine curiously. i tried to see something remarkable in it. i couldn't. it remained a simple ball of red twine, and i told perkins so.
-“the difference,” declared perkins, “between mediocrity and genius! mediocrity always sees red twine; genius sees a ball of crimson cord!”
-he leaned back in his chair, and looked at me triumphantly. he folded his arms as if he had settled the matter. his attitude seemed to say that he had made a fortune for us. suddenly he reached forward, and, grasping my scissors, began snipping off small lengths of the twine.
-“the crimson cord!” he ejaculated. “what does it suggest?”
-i told him that it suggested a parcel from the druggist's. i had often seen just such twine about a druggist's parcel.
-perkins sniffed disdainfully.
-“druggists?” he exclaimed with disgust. “mystery! blood! 'the crimson cord.' daggers! murder! strangling! clues! 'the crimson cord'--”
-he motioned wildly with his hands, as if the possibilities of the phrase were quite beyond his power of expression.
-“it sounds like a book,” i suggested.
-“great!” cried perkins. “a novel! the novel! think of the words 'a crimson cord' in blood-red letters six feet high on a white ground!” he pulled his hat over his eyes, and spread out his hands; and i think he shuddered.
-“think of 'a crimson cord,'” he muttered, “in blood-red letters on a ground of dead, sepulchral black, with a crimson cord writhing through them like a serpent.”
-he sat up suddenly, and threw one hand in the air.
-“think,” he cried, “of the words in black on white, with a crimson cord drawn taut across the whole ad.!”
-he beamed upon me.
-“the cover of the book,” he said quite calmly, “will be white,--virgin, spotless white,--with black lettering, and the cord in crimson. with each copy we will give a crimson silk cord for a book-mark. each copy will be done up in a white box and tied with crimson cord.”
-he closed his eyes and tilted his head upward.
-“a thick book,” he said, “with deckel edges and pictures by christy. no, pictures by pyle. deep, mysterious pictures! shadows and gloom! and wide, wide margins. and a gloomy foreword. one-fifty per copy, at all booksellers.”
-perkins opened his eyes and set his hat straight with a quick motion of his hand. he arose and polled on his gloves.
-“where are you going?” i asked.
-“contracts!” he said. “contracts for advertising! we most boom 'the crimson cord!' we must boom her big!”
-he went out and closed the door. presently, when i supposed him well on the way down-town, he opened the door and inserted his head.
-“gilt. tops,” he announced. “one million copies the first impression!”
-and then he was gone.
-a week later chicago and the greater part of the united states was placarded with “the crimson cord.” perkins did his work thoroughly and well, and great was the interest in the mysterious title. it was an old dodge, but a good one. nothing appeared on the advertisements but the mere title. no word as to what “the crimson cord” was. perkins merely announced the words, and left them to rankle in the reader's mind; and as a natural consequence each new advertisement served to excite new interest.
-when we made our contracts for magazine advertising,--and we took a full page in every worthy magazine,--the publishers were at a loss to classify the advertisement; and it sometimes appeared among the breakfast foods, and sometimes sandwiched in between the automobiles and the hot-water heaters. only one publication placed it among the books.
-but it was all good advertising, and perkins was a busy man. he racked his inventive brain for new methods of placing the title before the public. in fact, so busy was he at his labor of introducing the title, that he quite forgot the book itself.
-one day he came to the office with a small rectangular package. he unwrapped it in his customary enthusiastic manner, and set on my desk a cigar-box bound in the style he had selected for the binding of “the crimson cord.” it was then i spoke of the advisability of having something to the book besides the cover and a boom.
-“perkins,” i said, “don't you think it is about time we got hold of the novel--the reading, the words?”
-for a moment he seemed stunned. it was clear that he had quite forgotten that book-buyers like to have a little reading-matter in their books. but he was only dismayed for a moment.
-“tut!” he cried presently. “all in good time! the novel is easy. anything will do. i'm no literary man. i don't read a book in a year. you get the novel.”
-“but i don't read a book in five years!” i exclaimed. “i don't know anything about books. i don't know where to get a novel.”
-“advertise!” he exclaimed. “advertise! you can get anything, from an apron to an ancestor, if you advertise for it. offer a prize--offer a thousand dollars for the best novel. there must be thousands of novels not in use.”
-perkins was right. i advertised as he suggested, and learned that there were thousands of novels not in use. they came to us by basketfuls and cartloads. we had novels of all kinds,--historical and hysterical, humorous and numerous, but particularly numerous. you would be surprised to learn how many ready-made novels can be had on short notice. it beats quick lunch. and most of them are equally indigestible. i read one or two, but i was no judge of novels. perkins suggested that we draw lots to see which we should use.
-it really made little difference what the story was about. “the crimson cord” fits almost any kind of a book. it is a nice, non-committal sort of title, and might mean the guilt that bound two sinners, or the tie of affection that binds lovers, or a blood relationship, or it might be a mystification title with nothing in the book about it.
-but the choice settled itself. one morning a manuscript arrived that was tied with a piece of red twine, and we chose that one for good luck because of the twine. perkins said that was a sufficient excuse for the title, too. we would publish the book anonymously, and let it be known that the only clue to the writer was the crimson cord with which the manuscript was tied when we received it. it would be a first-class advertisement.
-perkins, however, was not much interested in the story, and he left me to settle the details. i wrote to the author asking him to call, and he turned out to be a young woman.
-our interview was rather shy. i was a little doubtful about the proper way to talk to a real author, being purely a chicagoan myself; and i had an idea that, while my usual vocabulary was good enough for business purposes, it might be too easy-going to impress a literary person properly, and in trying to talk up to her standard i had to be very careful in my choice of words. no publisher likes to have his authors think he is weak in the grammar line.
-miss rosa belle vincent, however, was quite as flustered as i was. she seemed ill at ease and anxious to get away, which i supposed was because she had not often conversed with publishers who paid a thousand dollars cash in advance for a manuscript.
-she was not at all what i had thought an author would look like. she didn't even wear glasses. if i had met her on the street i should have said, “there goes a pretty flip stenographer.” she was that kind--big picture hat and high pompadour.
-i was afraid she would try to run the talk into literary lines and ibsen and gorky, where i would have been swamped in a minute, but she didn't; and, although i had wondered how to break the subject of money when conversing with one who must be thinking of nobler things, i found she was less shy when on that subject than when talking about her book.
-“well, now,” i said, as soon as i had got her seated, “we have decided to buy this novel of yours. can you recommend it as a thoroughly respectable and intellectual production?”
-she said she could.
-“haven't you read it?” she asked in some surprise.
-“no,” i stammered. “at least, not yet. i'm going to as soon as i can find the requisite leisure. you see, we are very busy just now--very busy. but if you can vouch for the story being a first-class article,--something, say, like 'the vicar of wakefield,' or 'david hamm,'--we'll take it.”
-“now you're talking,” she said. “and do i get the check now?”
-“wait,” i said, “not so fast. i have forgotten one thing,” and i saw her face fall. “we want the privilege of publishing the novel under a title of our own, and anonymously. if that is not satisfactory, the deal is off.”
-she brightened in a moment.
-“it's a go, if that's all,” she said. “call it whatever you please; and the more anonymous it is, the better it will suit yours truly.” so we settled the matter then and there; and when i gave her our check for a thousand, she said i was all right.
-half an hour after miss vincent had left the office, perkins came in with his arms full of bundles, which he opened, spreading their contents on my desk.
-he had a pair of suspenders with nickeldiver mountings, a tie, a lady's belt, a pair of low shoes, a shirt, a box of cigars, a package of cookies, and a half a dozen other things of divers and miscellaneous character. i poked them over and examined them, while he leaned against the desk with his legs crossed. he was beaming upon me.
-“well,” i said, “what is it--a bargain sale?”
-perkins leaned over and tapped the pile with his long forefinger.
-“aftermath!” he crowed. “aftermath!”
-“the dickens it is!” i exclaimed.
-“and what has aftermath got to do with this truck? it looks like the aftermath of a notion store.” he tipped his “air-the-hair” hat over one ear, and put his thumbs in the armholes of his “ready-tailored” vest.
-“genius!” he announced. “brains! foresight! else why perkins the great? why not perkins the nobody?”
-he raised the suspenders tenderly from the pile, and fondled them in his hands.
-“see this?” he asked, running his finger along the red corded edge of the elastic. he took up the tie, and ran his nail along the red stripe that formed the selvedge on the back, and said, “see this?” he pointed to the red laces of the low shoes and asked, “see this?” and so through the whole collection.
-“what is it?” he asked. “it's genius! it's foresight!”
-he waved his hand over the pile.
-“the aftermath!” he exclaimed.
-“these suspenders are the crimson cord suspenders. these shoes are the crimson cord shoes. this tie is the crimson cord tie. these crackers are the crimson cord brand. perkins & co. get out a great book, 'the crimson cord'! sell five million copies. dramatized, it runs three hundred nights. everybody talking crimson cord. country goes crimson cord crazy. result--up jump crimson cord this and crimson cord that. who gets the benefit? perkins & co.? no! we pay the advertising bills, and the other man sells his crimson cord cigars. that is usual.”
-“tes,” i said, “i'm smoking a david harum cigar this minute, and i am wearing a carvel collar.”
-“how prevent it?” asked perkins. “one way only,--discovered by perkins. copyright the words 'crimson cord' as trademark for every possible thing. sell the trade-mark on royalty. ten per cent, of all receipts for 'crimson cord' brands comes to perkins & co. get a cinch on the aftermath!”
-“perkins!” i cried, “i admire you. you are a genius! and have you contracts with all these:--notions?”
-“yes,” said perkins, “that's perkins's method. who originated the crimson cord? perkins did. who is entitled to the profits on the crimson cord? perkins is. perkins is wide-awake all the time. perkins gets a profit on the aftermath and the math and the before the math.”
-and so he did. he made his new contracts with the magazines on the exchange plan. we gave a page of advertising in the “crimson cord” for a page of advertising in the magazine. we guaranteed five million circulation. we arranged with all the manufacturers of the crimson cord brands of goods to give coupons, one hundred of which entitled the holder to a copy of “the crimson cord.” with a pair of crimson cord suspenders you get fire coupons; with each crimson cord cigar, one coupon; and so on.
-on the first of october we announced in our advertisement that “the crimson cord” was a book; the greatest novel of the century; a thrilling, exciting tale of love. miss vincent had told me it was a love story. just to make everything sure, however, i sent the manuscript to professor wiggins, who is the most erudite man i ever met. he knows eighteen languages, and reads egyptian as easily as i read english. in fact, his specialty is old egyptian ruins and so on. he has written several books on them.
-professor said the novel seemed to him very light and trashy, but grammatically o. k. he said he never read novels, not having time; but he thought that “the crimson cord” was just about the sort of thing a silly public that refused to buy his “some light on the dynastic proclivities of the hyksos” would scramble for. on the whole, i considered the report satisfactory.
-we found we would be unable to have pyle illustrate the book, he being too busy, so we turned it over to a young man at the art institute.
-that was the fifteenth of october, and we had promised the book to the public for the first of november, but we had it already in type; and the young man,--his name was gilkowsky,--promised to work night and day on the illustrations.
-“i have a girl i go with,” he said; and i wondered what i had to do with mr. gilkowsky's girl, but he continued:--
-“she's a nice girl and a good looker, but she's got bad taste in some things. she's too loud in hats and too trashy in literature. i don't like to say this about her, but it's true; and i'm trying to educate her in good hats and good literature. so i thought it would be a good thing to take around this 'crimson cord' and let her read it to me.”
-“did she like it?” i asked.
-mr. gilkowsky looked at me closely.
-“she did,” he said, but not so enthusiastically as i had expected. “it's her favorite book. now i don't know what your scheme is, and i suppose you know what you are doing better than i do; but i thought perhaps i had better come around before i got to work on the illustrations and see if, perhaps, you hadn't given me the wrong manuscript.”
-“no, that was the right manuscript,” i said. “was there anything wrong about it?”
-mr. gilkowsky laughed nervously.
-“oh, no!” he said. “but did you read it?”
-i told him i had not, because i had been so rushed with details connected with advertising the book.
-“well,” he said, “i'll tell you. this girl of mine reads pretty trashy stuff, and she knows about all the cheap novels there are. she dotes on 'the duchess,' and puts her last dime into braddon. she knows them all by heart. have you ever read 'lady audley's secret'?”
-“i see,” i said. “one is a sequel to the other.”
-“no,” said mr. gilkowsky, “one is the other. some one has flimflammed you and sold you a typewritten copy of 'lady audley's secret' as a new novel.”
-when i told perkins, he merely remarked that he thought every publishing house ought to have some one in it who knew something about books, apart from the advertising end, although that was, of course, the most important. he said we might go ahead and publish “lady audley's secret” under the title of “the crimson cord,” as such things had been done before; but the best thing to do would be to charge rosa belle vincent's thousand dollars to profit and loss, and hustle for another novel--something reliable, and not shop-worn.
-perkins had been studying the literature market a little, and he advised me to get something from indiana this time; so i telegraphed an advertisement to the indianapolis papers, and two days later we had ninety-eight historical novels by indiana authors from which to choose. several were of the right length; and we chose one, and sent it to mr. gilkowsky, with a request that he read it to his sweetheart. she had never read it before.
-we sent a detective to dillville, ind., where the author lived; and the report we received was most satisfactory.
-the author was a sober, industrious young man, just out of the high school, and bore a first-class reputation for honesty. he had never been in virginia, where the scene of his story was laid, and they had no library in dillville; and our detective assured us that the young man was in every way fitted to write a historical novel.
-“the crimson cord” made an immense success. you can guess how it boomed when i say that, although it was published at a dollar and a half, it was sold by every department store for fifty-four cents, away below cost, just like sugar, or vandeventer's baby food, or q & z corsets, or any other staple. we sold our first edition of five million copies inside of three months, and got out another edition of two million, and a specially illustrated holiday edition, and an “edition de luxe;” and “the crimson cord” is still selling in paper-covered cheap edition.
-with the royalties received from the after-math and the profit on the book itself, we made--well, perkins has a country place at lakewood, and i have my cottage at newport.
-viii. the adventure of the princess of pilliwink
-perkins slammed the five-o'clock edition of the chicago “evening howl” into the waste-paper basket, and trod it down with the heel of his go-lightly rubber-sole shoe.
-“rot!” he cried. “tommy rot! fiddlesticks! trash!”
-i looked up meekly. i had seldom seen perkins angry, and i was abashed. he saw my expression of surprise; and, like the great man he is, he smiled sweetly to reassure me.
-“diamonds again,” he explained. “same old tale. georgiana de vere, leading lady, diamonds stolen. six thousand four hundred and tenth time in the history of the american stage that diamonds have been stolen. if i couldn't--”
-“but you could, perkins,” i cried, eagerly. “you would not have to use the worn-out methods of booming a star. in your hands theatrical advertising would become fresh, virile, interesting. a play advertised by the brilliant, original, great--”
-“illustrious,” perkins suggested. “illustrious perkins of portland,” i said, bowing to acknowledge my thanks for the word i needed, “would conquer america. it would fill the largest theatres for season after season. it would--”
-perkins arose and slapped his “air-the-hair” hat on his head, and hastily slid into his “ready-tailored” overcoat. without waiting for me to finish my sentence he started for the door.
-“it would--” i repeated, and then, just as he was disappearing, i called, “where are you going?”
-he paused in the hall just long enough to stick his head into the room.
-“good idea!” he cried, “great idea! no time to be lost! perkins the great goes to get the play!”
-he banged the door, and i was left alone.
-that was the way perkins did things. not on the spur of the moment, for perkins needed no spur. he was fall of spurs. he did things in the heat of genius. he might have used as his motto those words that he originated, and that have been copied so often since by weak imitators of the great man: “don't wait until to-morrow; do it to-day. tomorrow you may be dead.” he wrote that to advertise coffins, and--well, li hung chang and sara bernhardt are only two of the people who took his advice, and lay in their coffins before they had to be in them.
-i knew perkins would have the whole affair planned, elaborated, and developed before he reached the street; that he would have the details of the plan complete before he reached the corner; and that he would have figured the net profit to within a few dollars by the time he reached his destination.
-i had hardly turned to my desk before my telephone bell rang. i slapped the receiver to my ear. it was perkins!
-“pilly,” he said. “pilly willy. pilly willy winkum. pilliwink! that's it. pilliwink, princess of. write it down. the princess of pilliwink. good-by.”
-i hung up the receiver.
-“that is the name of the play,” i mused. “mighty good name, too. full of meaning, like 'shout zo-zo' and 'paskala' and--”
-the bell rang again.
-“perkins's performers. good-by,” came the voice of my great friend.
-“great!” i shouted, but perkins had already rung off.
-he came back in about half an hour with four young men in tow.
-“good idea,” i said, “male quartettes always take well.”
-perkins waved his hand scornfully. perkins could do that. he could do anything, could perkins. “quartette? no,” he said, “the play.” he locked the office door, and put the key in his pocket. “the play is in them,” he said, “and they are in here. they don't get out until they get the play out.”
-he tapped the long-haired young man on the shoulder.
-“love lyrics,” he said, briefly.
-the thin young man with a sad countenance he touched on the arm and said, “comic songs,” and pointing to the youth who wore the baggiest trousers, he said, “dialogue.” he did not have to tell me that the wheezy little german contained the music of our play. i knew it by the way he wheezed.
-perkins swept me away from my desk, and deposited one young man there, and another at his desk. the others he gave each a window-sill, and to each of the four he handed a pencil and writing-pad.
-“write!” he said, and they wrote.
-as fast as the poets finished a song, they handed it to the composer, who made suitable music for it. it was good music--it all reminded you of something else. if it wasn't real music, it was at least founded on fact.
-the play did not have much plot, but it had plenty of places for the chorus to come in in tights or short skirts--and that is nine-tenths of any comic opera. i knew it was the real thing as soon as i read it. the dialogue was full of choice bits like,--
-“so you think you can sing?”
-“well, i used to sing in good old boyhood's hour.”
-“then why don't you sing it?”
-“why, 'in good old boyhood's hour,'” and then he would sing it.
-the musical composer sang us some of the lyrics, just to let us see how clever they were; but he wheezed too much to do them justice. he admitted that they would sound better if a pretty woman with a swell costume and less wheeze sang them.
-the plot of the play--it was in three acts--was original, so far as there was any plot. the princess of pilliwink loved the prince of guam; but her father, the leading funny man, and king of pilliwink, wanted her to marry gonzolo, an italian, because gonzolo owned the only hand-organ in the kingdom. to escape this marriage, the princess disguised herself as a zulu maiden, and started for zululand in an automobile. the second act was, therefore, in zululand, with songs about palms and a grand cakewalk of amazons, who captured another italian organ-grinder. at the request of the princess, this organ-grinder was thrown into prison. in the third act he was discovered to be the prince of guam, and everything ended beautifully.
-perkins paid the author syndicate spot cash, and unlocked the door and let them go. he did not want any royalties hanging over him. “ah!” he said, as soon as they were out of sight.
-we spent the night editing the play. neither perkins nor i knew anything about plays, but we did our best. we changed that play from an every-day comic opera into a bright and sparkling gem. anything that our author syndicate had omitted we put in. i did the writing and perkins dictated to me. we put in a disrobing scene, in which the princess was discovered in pain, and removed enough of her dress to allow her to place a perkins's patent porous plaster between her shoulders, after which she sang the song beginning,--
-“now my heart with rapture thrills,”
-only we changed it to:--
-“how my back with rapture thrills.”
-that song ended the first act; and when the opera was played, we had boys go up and down the aisles during the intermission selling perkins's patent porous plasters, on which the words and music of the song were printed. it made a great hit.
-the drinking song--every opera has one--we changed just a little. instead of tin goblets each singer had a box of perkins's pink pellets; and, as they sang, they touched boxes with each other, and swallowed the pink pellets. it was easy to change the song from
-“drain the red wine-cup-- each good fellow knows the jolly red wine-cup will cure all his woes”
-to the far more moral and edifying verse,--
-“eat the pink pellet, for every one knows that perkins's pink pellets will cure all his woes.”
-when perkins had finished touching up that opera, it was not such an every-day opera as it had been. he put some life into it.
-i asked him if he didn't think he had given it a rather commercial atmosphere by introducing the porous plaster and the pink pellets, but he only smiled knowingly.
-“wait!” he said, “wait a week. wait until perkins circulates himself around town. why should the drama be out of date? why avoid all interest? why not have the opera teem with the life of the day? why not?” he laid one leg gently over the arm of his chair and tilted his hat back on his head.
-“literature, art, drama,” he said, “the phonographs of civilization. where is the brain of the world? in literature, art, and the drama. these three touch the heartstrings; these three picture mankind; these three teach us. they move the world.”
-“yes,” i said.
-“good!” exclaimed perkins. “but why is the drama weak? why no more shakespeares? why no more molières? because the real life-blood of to-day isn't in the drama. what is the life-blood of to-day?”
-i thought he meant perkins's pink pellets, so i said so.
-“no!” he said, “advertising! the ad. makes the world go round. why do our plays fall flat? not enough advertising. of them and in them. take literature. see 'bilton's new monthly magazine.' sixty pages reading; two hundred and forty pages advertising; one million circulation; everybody likes it. take the bible--no ads.; nobody reads it. take art; what's famous? 'gold dust triplets;' 'good evening, have you used pear's?' who prospers? the ad. illustrator. the ad. is the biggest thing on earth. it sways nations. it wins hearts. it rules destiny. people cry for ads.”
-“that is true enough,” i remarked.
-“why,” asked perkins, “do men make magazines? to sell ad. space in them! why build barns and fences? to sell ad. space! why run street-cars? to sell ad. space! but the drama is neglected. the poor, lonely drama is neglected. in ten years there will be no more drama. the stage will pass away.”
-perkins uncoiled his legs and stood upright before me.
-“the theatre would have died before now,” he said, “but for the little ad. life it has. what has kept it alive? a few ads.! see how gladly the audience reads the ads. in the programmes when the actors give them a little time. see how they devour the ad. drop-curtain! who first saw that the ad. must save the stage? who will revive the down trod theatrical art?”
-“perkins!” i cried. “perkins will. i don't know what you mean to do, but you will revive the drama. i can see it in your eyes. go ahead. do it. i am willing.”
-i thought he would tell me what he meant to do, but he did not. i had to ask him. he lifted the manuscript of the opera from the table.
-“sell space!” he exclaimed. “perkins the originator will sell space in the greatest four-hour play in the world. what's a barn? so many square feet of ad. space. what's a magazine? so many pages of ad. space. what's a play? so many minutes of ad. space. price, one hundred dollars a minute. special situations in the plot extra.”
-i did not know just what he meant, but i soon learned. the next day perkins started out with the manuscript of the “princess of pilliwink.” and when he returned in the evening he was radiant with triumph. every minute of available space had been sold, and he had been obliged to add a prologue to accommodate all the ads.
-the “princess of pilliwink” had some modern interest when perkins was through with it. it did not take up time with things no one cared a cent about. it went right to the spot.
-there was a winton auto on the stage when the curtain rose, and from then until the happy couple boarded the green line flyer in the last scene the interest was intense. there was a shipwreck, where all hands were saved by floating ashore on ivory soap,--it floats,--and you should have heard the applause when the hero laughed in the villain's face and said, “kill me, then. i have no fear. i am insured in the prudential insurance company. it has the strength of port arthur.”
-we substituted a groanograph--the kind that hears its master's voice--for the hand-organ that was in the original play, and every speech and song brought to mind some article that was worthy of patronage.
-the first-night audience went wild with delight. you should have heard them cheer when our ushers passed around post-cards and pencils between the acts, in order that they might write for catalogues and samples to our advertisers. across the bottom of each card was printed, “i heard your advertisement in the 'princess of pilliwink.'”
-run? that play ran like a startled deer i it drew such crowded houses that we had to post signs at the door announcing that we would only sell tickets to thin men and women; and then we had an especially narrow opera chair constructed, so that we were able to seat ten more people on each row.
-the play had plenty of variety, too. perkins had thought of that. he sold the time by the month; and, when an ad. expired, he only sold the space to a new advertiser. thus one month there was a lullaby about ostermoor mattresses,--the kind that advertises moth-eaten horses to show what it isn't made of,--and it ran:--
-“bye, oh! my little fairy. on the mattress sanitary sent on thirty days' free trial softly sleep and sweetly smile.
-“bye, oh! bye! my little baby, though your poor dad busted may be. thirty days have not passed yet, so sleep well, my little pet.”
-and when perkins sold this time space the next month to the makers of the fireproof aluminum coffin, we cut out the lullaby, and inserted the following cheerful ditty, which always brought tears to the eyes of the audience:--
-“screw the lid on tightly, father, darling ma has far to go; she must take the elevator up above or down below.
-“screw the lid on tightly, father, darling ma goes far to-night; to the banks of rolling jordan, or to realms of anthracite.
-“screw the lid on tightly, father, leave no chinks for heated air, for if ma is going one place, there's no fire insurance there.”
-you can see by this how different the play could be made from month to month. always full of sparkling wit and clean, wholesome humor--as fresh as uneeda biscuit, and as bright as a loftis-on-credit diamond. take the scene where the princess of pilliwink sailed away to zululand as an example of the variety we were able to introduce. the first month she sailed away on a cake of ivory soap--it floats; the next month she sailed on an ostermoor felt mattress--it floats; and then for a month she voyaged on the floating wool soap; and she travelled in steam motor-boats and electric motor-boats; by cook's tours, and across the ice by automobile, by kite, and on the handle of a bissell carpet sweeper, like an up-to-date witch. she used every known mode of locomotion, from skates to kites.
-she was a grand actress. her name was bedelia o'dale; and, whatever she was doing on the stage, she was charming. whether she was taking a vapor bath in a $4.98 cabinet or polishing her front teeth with sozodont, she was delightful. she had all the marks of a real lady, and gave tone to the whole opera. in fact, all the cast was good. perkins spared no expense. he got the best artists he could find, regardless of the cost; and it paid. but we nearly lost them all. you remember when we put the play on first, in 1897,--the good old days when oatmeal and rolled wheat were still the only breakfast foods. we had a breakfast scene, where the whole troup ate oatmeal, and pretended they liked it. that scene went well enough until we began to get new ads. for it. the troup never complained, no matter how often he shifted them from oatmeal to rolled wheat and back again. they always came on the stage happy and smiling, and stuffed themselves with pettijohns and mothers' oats, and carolled merrily.
-but about the time the twentieth century dawned, the new patent breakfast foods began to boom; and we got after them hotfoot. first he got a contract from grape-nuts, and the cast and chorus had to eat grape-nuts and warble how good it was.
-perkins was working up the pink pellets then, and he turned the princess of pilliwink job over to me.
-if perkins had been getting the ads., all would still have been well; but new breakfast foods cropped up faster than one a month, and i couldn't bear to see them wait their turn for the breakfast scene. there were malta-vita and force and try-a-bita and cero-fruto and kapl-flakes and wheat-meat, and a lot more; and i signed them all. it was thoughtless of me. i admit that now, but i was a little careless in those days. when our reviser revised the play to get all those breakfast foods in, he shook his head. he said the audience might like it, but he had his doubts about the cast. he said he did not believe any cast on earth could eat thirteen consecutive breakfast foods, and smile the smile that won't. he said it was easy enough for him to write thirteen distinct lyrics about breakfast foods, but that to him it seemed that by the time the chorus had downed breakfast food number twelve, it would be so full of oats, peas, beans, and barley that it couldn't gurgle.
-i am sorry to say he was right. we had a pretty tough-stomached troup; and they might have been able to handle the thirteen breakfast foods, especially as most of the foods were already from one-half to three-quarters digested as they were sold, but we had a few other lunchibles in the play already.
-that year the ads. were running principally to automobiles, correspondence schools, and food stuffs; and we had to take in the food stuffs or not sell our space.
-as i look back upon it, i cannot blame the cast, although i was angry enough at the time. when a high-bred actress has eaten two kinds of soup, a sugar-cured ham, self-rising flour, air-tight soda crackers, three infant foods, two patent jellies, fifty-seven varieties of pickles, clam chowder, devilled lobster, a salad dressing, and some beef extract, she is not apt to hanker for thirteen varieties of breakfast food. she is more likely to look upon them with cold disdain. ho matter how good a breakfast food may be by itself and in the morning, it is somewhat unlovely at ten at night after devilled lobster and fifty-seven varieties of pickles. at the sight of it the star, instead of gaily carolling,--
-“joy! joy! isn't it nice to eat cook's flaked rice,”
-is apt to gag. after about six breakfast foods, her epiglottis and thorax will shut up shop and begin to turn wrong side out with a sickly gurgle. the whole company struck. they very sensibly remarked that if the troup had to keep up that sort of thing and eat every new breakfast food that came out, the things needed were not men and women, but a herd of cows. they gave me notice that they one and all intended to leave at the end of the week, and that they positively refused to eat anything whatever on the stage.
-i went to perkins and told him the game was up--that it was good while it lasted, but that it was all over now. i said that the best thing we could do was to sell our lease on the theatre and cancel our ad. contracts.
-but not for a moment did my illustrious partner hesitate. the moment i had finished, he slapped me on the shoulder and smiled.
-“great!” he cried, “why not thought of sooner?”
-and, in truth, the solution of our difficulty was a master triumph of a master mind. it was simplicity itself. it made our theatre so popular that there were riots every night, so eager were the crowds to get in.
-people long to meet celebrities. if they meet an actor, they are happy for days after. and after the theatre people crave something to eat. perkins merely combined the two. we cut out the eating during the play, and after every performance our actors held a reception on the stage; and the entire audience was invited to step up and be introduced to bedelia o'dale and the others, and partake of free refreshments, in the form of sugar-cured ham, beef extract, fifty-seven varieties of pickles, and thirteen kinds of breakfast foods, and other choice viands.
-red head and whistle breeches
-by ellis parker butler
-it is believed that this little story by a master story teller, may, through its human interest and homely suggestion, exert a wholesome influence and warrant its publication in permanent form.
-with illustrations by arthur d. puller
-the bancroft company publishers new york
-red head and whistle breeches
-when tim murphy let his enthusiasm get the better of his judgment and, in the excitement of that disastrous night, joined the front rank of the strikers in a general mix-up and cracked the head of a deputy sheriff, the result was what he might have expected--two years in the penitentiary. that was all right. the peace of the commonwealth must be preserved, and that is why laws and penitentiaries exist, but it sometimes goes hard with the mothers and wives. that is also to be expected, and the boy should have thought of it before he crowded to the front of the angry mob or struck the deputy.
-it went very hard with the boy's mother and wife. it went hard with his old man, too. it is a cruel thing to have one's only boy in the penitentiary, even if one is only a village hod carrier.
-maggie murphy, the boy's wife, did not suffer for food or shelter after the boy went to wear stripes, for old mike had a handy little roll in the bank and a shanty of his own, and he took maggie into his home and made a daughter of her; but the girl grew thin and had no spirits. she cried a good part of the time, quite as if tim had been a law abiding citizen, instead of a law breaking rowdy. then the baby came, and after that she cried more than ever.
-as for the boy's mother, it was to be expected that she would weep also. mothers have a way of weeping over the son they love, even if he has gone wrong. it is not logical, but it is a fact. it is one of the grand facts of human life.
-when maggie's baby came the boy's mother could stand it no longer. it had been urged--and there was some evidence to support it--that the boy had acted in self-defense. he said so himself, but he admitted he had been in the front rank. the strikers had carried things with a high hand all along, and the jury had decided against him.
-night and day the boy's mother begged the old man to try for a pardon, but mike knew it was not worth a trial. the governor was an old man and a strong man, and not one to forgive an injury done to the state or to himself. he had never been known to forget a wrong, or to leave a debt unpaid.
-he was a just man, as the ancient jews were just. it was this that had made him governor; his righteousness and fearlessness were greater than cliques and bosses.
-old mrs. murphy, however, was only a woman, and the boy was her boy, and she pardoned him. she knew he was innocent, for he was her boy. mike refused a thousand times to ask the governor for a pardon, but as mrs. murphy was the boy's mother and had a valiant tongue, the old man changed his mind. one day he put on his old silk hat, and with father maurice, the good gray priest, went up to the capital.
-a strange pair they were to sit in the governor's richly furnished reception room--mike with his smoothly shaven face, red as the sunset, his snowy eye brows, his white flecked red hair, and the shiny black of his baggy sunday suit; father maurice with his long gray beard that had been his before the days of the smoothly shaven priests, his kindly eyes, and the jolly rotundity of his well fed stomach. the father's gentle heart was hopeful, but mike sat sadly with his eyes on the toe of his boot, for he knew the errand was folly; not alone because the governor had never pardoned a condemned man, but because it was he, mike murphy, who came.
-he remembered an incident of his boyhood, and he frowned as he recalled it. think of it! he, mike murphy, had bullied the governor--had drubbed him and chased him and worried the life out of him. that was why he had told the old woman it was no use to try it.
-who was he to come asking pardons when, years ago, he had done his best to make life miserable for the quaking schoolboy who was now the stern faced governor--the governor who never forgot or forgave, or left a debt unpaid?
-when the governor entered the reception room he came in unexpectedly, as father maurice was leaning forward with one of mike's red hands clasped in his two white ones. mike was wiping his eyes with his coat sleeve.
-the governor paused in the doorway and coughed. his visitors started in surprise, and then arose.
-it was father maurice who stated their errand, his seamed face turned upward to the serious eyes of the governor; and as he proceeded, choosing his quaint frenchified english carefully, the governor's face became grave. he motioned them to their chairs.
-he was a gray haired man, and his face was the face of a nobleman. clear, gray eyes were set deep under his brows, and his mouth was a straight line of uncompromising honesty. he sat with one knee thrown over the other. with one hand he fingered a pen on the desk at his side; the other he ran again and again through the hair that stood in masses on his head. his face was long, and the cheekbones protruded. his nose was power, and his chin was resistance.
-he listened silently until father
-maurice had ended. then he laid the pen carefully by the inkstand, unfolded his gaunt limbs, and arose.
-“no,” he said slowly. “i cannot interfere.”
-“but his wife? his mother?” asked the priest.
-“he should have considered them before,” said the governor sadly. “if you prepare a petition, i will consider it, but i cannot offer you any hope. they all come to me with the same plea--the wife and the mother--but they do not take the wife and the mother into account when the blow is struck. it is late to think of them when the prison door is closed. you will pardon me, father, but i am very tired to-night.”
-he extended his hand, in token that the interview was at an end, and mike arose from his chair in the shadow. he stood awkwardly turning his hat while the governor shook the priest's hand, and then shuffled forward to be dismissed.
-“good night, sir,” said the governor. “i did not hear your name--”
-“murphy,” said the priest quickly--“michael murphy. he is the father of the boy.”
-the governor looked the old man over carefully, and the old man's eyes fell under his keen glances.
-“mike murphy?” asked the governor slowly. “are you the mike murphy who used to go to old no. 3 school in harmontown, forty--no, nearly fifty--years ago? there was a mike murphy sat on my bench. are you the boy they called red head?”
-the old man tried to answer. his lips formed the words, but his voice did not come. he nodded his head.
-“be seated, gentlemen,” said the governor, and father maurice sat down hopefully. mike murphy dropped into a chair with deeper dejection.
-“well, well!” the governor nodded his head slowly, his gray eyes searching the ruddy face before him. “so you are the mike murphy who used to drub me?”
-he smiled grimly. his eyes strayed from the old man's face, and their glance was lost in the air above his head. he smiled again, as he sat with the fingers of his left hand pressing the thin skin into a roll above his cheek bone, for he recalled an incident of his boyhood.
-the governor had once been an arrant little coward. his mother lived in the big white house two blocks above the schoolhouse, on the opposite side of the street. red head mike lived across the alley in a shanty. the governor's mother bought milk of mrs. murphy, and red head brought it every evening.
-red head was a wonderful boy. he was the first to go barefoot in the spring, picking his way with painful carefulness over the clods in the street. he was the only boy who chewed tobacco. the others chewed licorice or purple thistle tops, but red head had the real thing. he even smoked a real pipe without dire consequences, and laughed at the other boys' mild substitutes of corn silk and “lady cigars”; and the way he swore was a liberal education. all the boys swore more or less, especially when they were behind the barn smoking com silk, but they knew it was not natural it was a puny imitation, but the red head article sounded right.
-but it was when it came to fighting that red head had proved his right to the worship of the world. he could lick any two boys in the school. the governor, who was plain willie gary then, could not fight at all. his early youth was one great fear of being whipped. the smallest boys in the school were accustomed to practice on him until they gained sufficient dexterity or courage to attack one another. he had a hundred opprobrious nicknames, which he accepted meekly. “cry-baby” was the favorite. when he was attacked he hid his face in his arm and bawled, leaning his arm against any convenient fence or tree, while his tormentor drubbed his back at pleasure. he was happy when he could sneak home unmolested. the chiefest of his tormentors was red head, but there was no partiality. all the boys drubbed him.
-one day mrs. gary made him a pair of breeches. they were good, stout breeches of dove colored corduroy, and his mother was proud of them. so was willie. as he walked to school he felt that every one saw and admired them he felt as conspicuous as when, in a dream, he went to school in his night dress, but he felt more comfortable.
-he took his seat in the school room proudly, and when he was called to the blackboard to do a sum he walked with a strut. he felt that even the big boys--the wonderful youths who had money to jingle in their pockets--observed him, and he blushed as he imagined the eyes of the little women on the girls' side of the room following him.
-as he crossed the floor, the legs of his breeches rubbed against each other, giving forth the crisp corduroy sound of “whist--whist--whist.” it could be heard in the farthest corner. all the scholars looked up from their slates or books. he caught bessie clayton's eye upon him, and his cheek flamed. she had blue eyes and yellow curls, and snubbed him daily.
-even the teacher glanced at his new breeches. willie paused in his sum and looked at them with satisfaction himself. then he walked back to his bench, and the corduroy spoke again--“whist--whist--whist.” it was as musical as the clumping of a new pair of red topped boots.
-as he slid into his place on his bench, red head turned his face and made a mouth.
-“don't you think you're smart, whistle breeches?” he whispered.
-“whist--whist,” said the breeches in reply, as willie moved, and every eye in the school seemed to gaze on him, not enviously as before, but sneeringly. who'd want whistle breeches?
-when the recess bell rang, willie walked to the playground with short steps, but still the corduroy whistled. two boys behind him laughed, and willie burned with shame. they must be laughing at his new breeches. bessie clayton passed him, and he stood motionless, crowded against the wall, until she was out of hearing.
-he paused in the doorway timidly. red head was standing just outside, one shoulder turned toward freckles redmond. it was the signal for a fight, and the small boys were crowded about them.
-“aw, you're one yourself,” red head was saying, “an' you dassan't say it agin. i dare you to say it,” he cried, but he caught sight of willie. “huh!” he shouted. “look here, fellers! here's whistle breeches. let's spit on 'em!”
-the boys crowded into the entry and spat on them. red head pulled willie's hair twice, drawing his head forward as he would pull a bell rope.
-“don't he think he's smart?” “wouldn't have 'em!” “whistle breeches! whistle breeches!” they shouted in derision, and willie whimpered and edged into a corner.
-“don't you do that,” he said in a choking voice. “i'll tell teacher, i will!”
-red head stuck his freckled face close and shoved him with a warlike shoulder. his fists were doubled, and he jabbed willie with his elbow.
-“aw, you tell him, then, why don't you, whistle breeches?” he inquired. “jist you tell him, an' i'll punch your face off.”
-he drew his arm back and feinted, willie crooked his elbow to hide his face.
-“aw, come on, fellers,” said red head with deep disgust. “what's the use of foolin' with him? he ain't nothin' but a cry-baby in whistle breeches. he ain't no fun.”
-that noon willie remained in the schoolroom until the boys had gone. some went home for dinner, and the rest ate their lunches under the oak tree at the side of the school. when the room was clear, willie stole out by the back way and ran rapidly up the alley. he knew he was branded for life; the shame of the name of whistle breeches bore him down. he meditated wild plans for getting rid of the offending garment. he would burn it, lose it in the river.
-he even considered running away from home.
-after dinner he slipped quietly away from the table, crept up to his room under the slanting roof, and put on his old, patched breeches. he came down quietly, but his mother caught him tiptoeing through the hall.
-“why, willie,” she said, “where are your new trousers, dear?”
-“up-stairs,” he said simply. “i don't want to wear them they--they're too tight.”
-his mother saw the prevarication in the droop of his head.
-“nonsense!” she answered lightly. “they fit you perfectly, dear. if they are a little stiff now, they will soon wear soft. go up and put them on.”
-“i don't want to,” he replied stubbornly. he meant, “i will not,” but he had learned the disadvantage of contradicting his mother flatly.
-“william,” said his mother sternly, “go up-stairs and put on those trousers this instant.”
-he climbed the stairs slowly. he hoped he would be late to school. he would be so leisurely in donning them that his mother would make him stay at home to avoid the greater disgrace of being tardy. he thought of playing sick, but decided such an illness would be too sudden to excite his mother's sympathy. if only the schoolhouse would burn down, or word come that the teacher was dead! but neither came to pass, and his mother's voice sounded from the hall, bidding him hurry.
-with his load of shame, he slunk out of the gate and crept to school, hugging the fences and making himself as insignificant and small as possible, walking with short steps to avoid the endless “whist--whist” of the corduroy. he sniffled as he thought of the wo the day still held for him. some men, going back to business, glanced at him to see the cause of his whimpering. he imagined they were thinking cruel things of his breeches.
-he heard the tardy bell ring, and then he ran in and hurried to his seat. as he hastened down the aisle the corduroy spoke louder than before, but if red head heard, he made no sign, and as willie sidled on to the bench beside him he kept his nose buried in his book.
-willie did not go to the playground at the afternoon recess. he would have died rather, and for once he saw the advantage of the rule that the tardy scholar must lose that half hour of play.
-when school ended for the day, willie hoped the teacher would keep him in. he was willing to be whipped rather than meet red head again, but he was dismissed with the rest. he paused in the doorway, gathering his breath to make a run for liberty, as he had often run to escape his persecutors. as he waited, he saw red head approaching, and he drew back; but red head stepped up to him and took him by the arm.
-“you let me alone now!” whimpered willie.
-“aw, shut up,” said red head roughly. “i ain't goin' to hurt you. you shut up an' don't be a cry-baby. come along an' i won't let 'em hurt you.”
-fighting and scuffling were not allowed in the entry. willie put his thumb in his mouth and gazed at red head doubtfully. such friendliness was unnatural. it savored of a plot to entice him forth to be slaughtered. it was not easy to believe that the red head who had drubbed him a hundred times, and who scorned him as a cry-baby, should seek to defend him.
-red head waited.
-“come on,” he said at length. “i'll let you help me drive the cow home tonight.”
-still willie hesitated, although he was almost willing to risk a licking to be allowed to slap the sleek legs of mrs. murphy's cow with a limber willow switch.
-“come on,” said red head. “i'll let you smoke my pipe.”
-“won't you lick me?” asked willie doubtfully.
-“naw, i won't lick you. what would i want to lick you for?” willie followed red head hesitatingly, with an eye to a safe retreat, if necessary.
-one of the boys came forward from the group by the gate.
-“hi, here comes whistle breeches!” he shouted gleefully.
-red head turned and clenched his fists, his blue eyes blazing; “shut up, bob palmer!” he cried fiercely. “don't you call him that. that ain't no name to call a feller. you jist wisht you had breeches like 'em!”
-bob stopped suddenly. he looked at red head in astonishment. then he turned and ran to the boys by the gate. they listened to what he said, and then began a loud singsong chant: “whistle--bree-ches --whistle--bree-ches--whistle--bree-ches!”
-red head bounded forward, his eyes glowing with anger. he toppled two boys over, and rained his blows right and left.
-“don't youse call him that!” he cried.
-it was a surprise. the boys drew back and stood ready to scatter at the next onslaught. red head waited, puffing, with clenched fists.
-“the next feller that calls him that, i'll break his face!” he threatened. “an' i ain't foolin', neither.”
-they saw that he was not, and they waited respectfully as red head and willie walked away.
-willie went with red head to drive the cow home, and red head taught him how to double up his fist for battle according to the traditions of the school, with the knuckle of the second finger protruded.
-“you jist do that,” he explained, “an' you can hurt 'em worse. an' if they fight back, kick 'em in the legs. that's how i do. why, you're as big as i am, an' i bet you're jist as strong. you jist stand up to 'em. there ain't nothin' in fightin' when you know how. if you jist stand up to 'em, they 'most always back down. you begin on tom ament. he's a bigger baby'n you are. anybody kin lick him i kin lick him with my little finger. an' then you tackle shorty. he's a baby, too. you're jist afraid.”
-it was red head who egged willie on to strike tom ament the next day, and red head coached him until tom took to his heels, defeated. then red head made him lick shorty, and with the lust of victory in his veins willie worked his way upward, and soon the other mothers began telling willie's mother that he was a bad boy, always fighting, and mrs. gary wept over him. but no one called him whistle breeches, and he learned that he was as much of a man as any of them, and more of a man than most.
-then came a battle royal, when red head and willie stood face to face and pounded each other for a good half hour for supremacy, and willie went down with a bleeding nose and an eye that was dark for days.
-but red head had taught him self confidence, and self confidence made him the governor of a great state.
-when the governor's eyes came back to mike murphy's face, they rested a moment on the grizzled red hair, and a smile softened the lines of his mouth.
-“mike,” he said, “i believe you used to give me a drubbing about once every day.”
-the old irishman moved uneasily, and his hands played nervously with the rim of his hat. he drew his feet under his chair, and moved his lips without speaking. he thought of that last fierce battle, when the governor had fallen with a bleeding nose, and he shifted his eyes from spot to spot on the soft carpet. he felt as does a mouse when the cat plays with it.
-the governor turned to father maurice.
-“father,” he said, “i do not often allow myself a personal indulgence, but i have an unsettled score with mike. i shall settle it now. i am going to pardon that young man.”
-two tears fell from the priest's eyes and rolled slowly into the white forest of his beard. mike murphy stared straight before him, while his fingers felt vaguely for the rim of the hat that had fallen from his hands.
-“go home, mike,” said the governor gently. “go home and tell the wife and the mother.” when his petitioners had departed, the governor sat long in the reception room, thinking of the old days. when he opened his watch it was not to note the hour, but to look on a woman's likeness; and he crossed his arms on the desk and buried his face in them. the old days had given him much that the later years had stolen from him. he sighed and lifted his head.
-“poor old mike!” he said. “i'm square with him at last. i wonder why he took my part that day?” and he wearily climbed the stair to his lonely room.
-he did not know that when red head went home that noon, nearly fifty years before, he had found mrs. murphy cutting out a pair of corduroy breeches.
-the adventures of a suburbanite
-by ellis parker butler
-illustrator: a. b. phelan
-garden city new york doubleday, page & company
-i. the prawleys
-isobel was born in a flat, and that was no fault of her own; but she was born in a flat, and reared in a flat, and married from a flat, and, for two years after we were married, we lived in a flat; but i am not a born flat-dweller myself, and as soon as possible i proposed that we move to the country. isobel hesitated, but she hesitated so weakly that on the first of may we had bought the place at westcote and moved into it.
-the very day i moved into my house millington came over and said he was glad some one had moved in, because the last man that had lived in the house was afraid of automobiles, and would never take a spin with him. he said he hoped i was not afraid; and when i said i was not, he immediately proposed that we take a little spin out to port lafayette as soon as i had my furniture straightened around. i thought it was very nice and neighbourly and unusual for a man with an automobile to begin an acquaintance that way; but i did not know millington's automobile so well then as i grew to know it afterward.
-i liked millington. he was a short, napoleon-looking man, with bulldog jaws and not very much hair, and i was glad to have him for a neighbour, particularly as my neighbour on the other side was a tall, haughty-looking man. he leaned on the division fence and stared all the while our furniture was being moved in. i spoke to millington about him, and all millington said was: “rolfs? oh, he's no good! he won't ride in an automobile.”
-at first, while we were really getting settled in our house, isobel was bright and cheerful and seemed to have forgotten flats entirely but on the tenth of may i saw a change coming over her, and when i spoke of it she opened her heart to me.
-“john,” she said, “i am afraid i cannot stand it. i shall try to, for your sake, but i do not think i can. i am so lonely! i feel like an atom floating in space.”
-“isobel!” i said kindly but reprovingly. “with the millingtons on one side and the rolfs on the other?”
-“i know,” she admitted contritely enough; “but you can't understand. always and always, since i was born, some one has lived overhead, and some one has lived underneath. sometimes only the janitor lived underneath--”
-“isobel,” i said, “if you will try to explain what you mean--”
-“i mean flats,” she said dolefully. “i always lived in a flat, john, and there was always a family above and a family below, and it frightens me to think i am in a house where there is no family above me, and not even a janitor's family below me. it makes me feel naked, or suspended in air, or as if there was no ground under my feet. it makes me gasp!”
-“that is nonsense!” i said. “that is the beauty of having a house. we have it all to ourselves. now, in a flat--”
-“we had our flat all to ourselves, john,” she reminded me; “but a flat isn't so unbounded as a house. just think; there is nothing between us and the top of the sky! not a single family! it makes me nervous. and there is nothing beneath us!”
-“now, my dear,” i said soothingly, “china is beneath us, and no doubt a very respectable family is keeping house directly below.”
-isobel sighed contentedly.
-“i am so glad you thought of that!” she cried. “now, when i feel lonely, i can imagine i feel the house jar as the chinese family move their piano, or i can imagine that i hear their phonograph.”
-“very good,” i said; “and if you can imagine all that, why cannot you imagine a family overhead, too? the whole attic is there. very well; i give up the entire attic to your imagination.”
-then i kissed her and went into the back garden. my opinion is that the man that laid out that back garden was over-sanguine. i am passionately fond of gardening, and believe in back gardens; but at the present price of seed and the present hardness of hoe handles, i think that back garden is too large. this is not a mere flash opinion, either; it is a matter of study. the first day i stuck spade into that garden i had given little thought to its size, but by the time i had spaded all day i began to have a pretty well-defined opinion of gardens and how large they should be, and by the end of the third day of spading i believe i may say i was well equipped to testify as an expert on garden sizes. that was the day the blisters on my hands became raw.
-the day after my little conversation with isobel i returned home from business to find her awaiting me at the gate. she wore a bright smile, and she put her hand through my arm and hopped into step with me.
-“john,” she said cheerfully, “the prawleys moved in to-day.”
-“the prawleys? who are the prawleys, and what did they move into?” i asked.
-“why, how do i know who they are, john?” she said. “i suppose we will know all about them soon enough, but you can't expect me to learn all about a family the day they move in. and as for what they moved into, of course there was only one vacant flat.”
-“flat? one vacant flat? what flat?” i asked. i was afraid isobel was not entirely herself.
-“the one above us,” she said, and then as she saw the blank look on my face she said: “the--the--oh, john, don't you understand? the attic!”
-“hum!” i said suspiciously, looking at isobel; but her face was so bright, and she looked so thoroughly contented that i did not tell her what i thought of this sort of pretending. too much of it is not good for a person. “very well,” i said; “i only hope they will not be too noisy.”
-“i don't think they will,” said isobel, smiling. “at least not while you are home.” she helped me off with my light coat, and when we were seated at the table she said: “by the way, mr. millington leaned over the fence this afternoon, and said he hoped you would take a little ride to port lafayette with him soon. he says his automobile is in almost perfect shape now.”
-ii. mr. prawley's garden
-isobel was brighter at dinner than she had been for some days. she seemed quite contented, now that the imaginary prawleys had moved into the attic. she said no more about them, and when i had finished my dinner i put on my gardening togs and went out to garden awhile before dark. blisters are certainly most painful after a day of rest, and i did not work long. i was almost in despair about the garden. fully half had not been touched, and what i had already done looked ragged and as if it needed doing over again. the more i dug, the more great chunks of sod i found buried in it, and it seemed as if my garden, when i had dug out all the chunks of sod, would be a pit instead of a level. it threatened to be a sunken garden.
-“isobel,” i said angrily, when the sun had set and i was once more sitting in the chair on my veranda, with my hands wrapped in wet handkerchiefs, “you know how passionately fond of gardening i am, and how i longed and pined for a garden for two full years, and you know, therefore, that it takes a great deal of gardening to satisfy me; but i must say that the man who laid out that garden must have been a man of shameful leisure. he laid out a garden twice as large as any garden should be.”
-“then why do you try to work it all?” she asked.
-“oh, work it!” i exclaimed with some irritation. “i can't let half a garden go to weeds! that would look nice, wouldn't it! i'll work it all right! you don't care how i suffer and struggle. you sit here--”
-the next evening when i reached home
-i did not feel particularly happy. my hands were quite raw, and my back had sharp pains and was stiff, and i spoke gruffly to millington when he suggested an automobile ride to port lafayette for that evening.
-“no!” i said shortly. “you ought to know i can't go. i've got to kill myself in that garden!”
-but i was resolved isobel should never see me conquered by a patch of ground, and after dinner i went out with my spade and hoe. when my glance fell on the garden i stopped short. i was very angry.
-“isobel?” i called sharply.
-she came tripping around the house and to my side.
-“who did that?” i asked severely. i was in no mood for nonsense.
-she looked at the garden. one half of it--not the half i had struggled with, but the other 'half--had been spaded, crushed, ridged, planted, and left in perfect condition. the small cabbage plants had been carefully watered. not a grain of earth was larger than a pin head. not a blade of grass stuck up anywhere. isobel looked at the garden, and then at me.
-“i warned him!” she said. “i warned him you would be angry when you came home! i told him you wanted to garden that half of the garden, too, and that you would probably go right up and give him a piece of your mind, but he insisted that he had a right to half the garden, and--”
-“who insisted that he had a right to half my garden?” i demanded.
-“why,” said isobel, as if surprised at the question, “mr. prawley did.”
-“prawley? prawley? i don't know any prawley!”
-“don't you know the prawleys that moved into the flat above us?” said isobel. “and he is a very nice man, too,” she continued. “he was not at all rude. he merely insisted, in a quiet way, that as he was a tenant and as there was only one back garden, and two families in the house, he was entitled to half the garden.”
-she did not give me a chance to speak, but ran on in that vein, while i stood and looked at the garden and, among other things, thought of my blistered hands and my lame back.
-“well and good, isobel,” i said at length. “i do not wish to have anything to say to the prawleys, nor do i wish to quarrel with them, and since he demands half the garden you may tell him he is welcome to it. i cannot conceal that in taking half of it away from me he has robbed me of just that much passionate happiness, and you may tell him i do not like the way he gardens, but i will say no more about it!”
-“oh, you dear old john!” said isobel. “and now you shall not touch that miserable garden with your poor sore hands. you shall just sit on the veranda with me and let me bathe your palms with witch hazel.” although i assumed an air of sternness in speaking to isobel of mr. prawley i was glad to be able to humour her, for she seemed so much happier after beginning to pretend that the prawley family occupied the attic of our house. giving in to these harmless little whims of our wives does much to make life pleasanter for them--and for us--and as long as mr. prawley left me my own half of the garden i could not be discontented. one half of that garden was really all a man should attempt to garden, no matter how passionately fond of gardening he might be.
-it is fine to be the owner of a bit of soil and to feel the joy of possession, but it is still more delightful to be able to see one's own garden truck springing into life after one has dug and planted and weeded and cultivated with one's own hands. i had no greater desire in life than to devote all my spare time to my garden, but a man must give his health some attention, and isobel pointed out that if i gardened but one half of the garden i would have time to ride to port lafayette with millington in his automobile now and then, and as port lafayette is on the salt water the air would be good for me.
-port lafayette is about eleven miles from westcote, and i had often wished to go to port lafayette, but millington is absurdly jealous. of course, i could have taken isobel by train in about one half hour, or i could walk it in two or three hours, or drive there in an hour; but i knew that would hurt millington's feelings. he would take it as an insult to his automobile.
-but now i told isobel that as soon as my garden got into reasonable shape we would go to port lafayette with millington. isobel told me that my health was more important than radishes, and reasoned that a few weeds in a garden were not a bad thing. weeds, she said, grow rapidly, while vegetables are modest and retiring things, and she considered that a few weeds in my half of the garden might set a good example to the vegetables.
-mr. prawley evidently held a different view, for he did not allow a single weed to raise its head in his half of the garden, and i told isobel, rather sharply, that his idea was the right one, and that i should weed my garden every evening until there was not a weed in it.
-“but, john,” she said, “i have never ridden in an automobile, and it would be a great treat for me.”
-“no doubt,” i groaned--i was weeding in my garden at the moment--“but, treat or no treat, i am not going to have this half of the garden look like a forest.”
-“i know you enjoy it,” she began, but i silenced her.
-“i am passionately fond of gardening,” i said, “and i have told you so a million times. now will you leave me alone to enjoy it, or won't you?”
-she went into the house and left me enjoying it alone.
-the very next evening, when i looked into my half of the garden, i found it weeded and put into the best of shape, and when i hunted up isobel, angry indeed at having so much pleasure taken from me, she did not dare look me in the eye.
-“isobel,” i said sharply, “what is the meaning of this?”
-“john,” she said meekly, “i am afraid i am to blame. you know mr. prawley does not like automobile riding--”
-“i know nothing of the kind, isobel,” i said. “i know i am passionately fond of gardening, and that some one has robbed me of the pleasure i have looked forward to for years: the joy of weeding my own garden on my own land.”
-“mr. prawley does not like automobile riding,” continued isobel, “and he came to me this morning and told me his health was so poor that his doctor had told him nothing but gardening could save his life. when he showed the garden to his doctor, the doctor told him he was not getting half enough gardening--that he must garden twice as much. i told mr. prawley he could not have your half of the garden, because you were passionately fond of it--”
-“true, isobel!” i said, rubbing my back at the lamest spot.
-“but he begged on his knees, saying that while it was only a pleasure for you, it was life and health for him, and when his wife wept, i had not the heart to refuse. he said he would make a fair exchange, and that as he was an anti-vegetarian you could have all the vegetables that grew in your own half, and all that grew in his, too.”
-“isobel,” i said, taking her hand, “this is a great, great disappointment to me. it robs me of a pleasure of which i may say i am passionately fond, but i cannot disown a contract made by my little wife. mr. prawley may garden my half of the garden.”
-i must admit that the prawleys were ideal tenants. not a sound came from his floor of the house. indeed, i did not see him nor his family at all. but during my days in town he and isobel seemed to have many conversations, and she was so tender-hearted and easily moved that one by one she let mr. prawley take all the outdoor work of which i may rightly claim to be passion--to be exceedingly fond.
-mowing the lawn is one of the things in which i delight. i ardently love pushing the lawn mower, and if, occasionally, i allowed the grass to grow rather long, it was only because i was saving the pleasure of cutting it, as a child saves the icing of its cake for the last sweet bite. i remember remarking, quite in joke, one morning, that the confounded lawn needed mowing again, and that the grass seemed to do nothing but grow, and that i'd probably have to break my back over it when i got home that evening. but when i reached home that evening i suspected that isobel must have taken my little joke as earnest, for the lawn was nicely mown and the edges trimmed. it seemed, when i questioned isobel, that mr. prawley's doctor was not satisfied with his progress and had assured him that lawn mowing was necessary for his complete recovery. thus isobel allowed mr. prawley to usurp another of my pleasures.
-so, one by one, the outdoor tasks of which i am so passionately fond were wrested from me. i allowed them to go because i thought it necessary to humour isobel in her pretence that some family occupied a flat above us, and all seemed well; and we were ready to go to port lafayette in mr. millington's automobile whenever it was ready to take us, when one day in june i happened to notice that our grass was getting unusually long and untidy.
-“isobel,” i said, “i have humoured mr. prawley, abandoning to him all the outdoor chores of which i am so passionately fond, but if he is to do this lawn i want him to do it, and not neglect it shamefully. i will not have it looking like this!”
-“but, john--” she began.
-“i tell you, isobel,” i said, with rising anger, “i won't have it! i'll stand a good deal, but when i have robbed myself of my greatest pleasure, and then see the other man neglecting it, i rebel. if this goes on i'll forget that mr. prawley has bad health. i'll enjoy cutting the lawn myself!”
-“john,” said isobel, throwing her arms about my neck, “you will be so glad! i have good news to tell you! the prawleys have moved away! now you can do all your own hoeing and mowing.”
-“the prawleys have moved away?” i gasped.
-“yes,” she said cheerfully, “and now you can garden all the garden, and cut all the lawn and rake all the walks, and weed, and do all the things you are so fond of doing.”
-“isobel,” i said sternly, “if i thought only of myself i would indeed be glad. but i cannot have my little wife fearing the empty flat above her. you must immediately hire another--er--get another family.”
-“but i shall not be nervous any more, john,” she said; “and it is a shame to deprive you of the outdoor work.”
-i looked out upon the large lawn and the large garden.
-“no, isobel,” i said, “you must take no chances. you may not think you will be nervous, but the feeling may return. if you do not get a family to move in, i shall!”
-i rubbed the palms of my hands where the blisters had been, and thought of the middle of my back where the pains and aches had congregated. i was ready to sacrifice my passionate longing for outdoor work once more for isobel's sake.
-“well,” she said thoughtfully, “i know of an excellent coloured man in lower westcote, that we can hire by the day--i mean that we can get to move into the flat--but i can hardly afford, with my present allowance, to pay his wages--that is, i mean--”
-“for some time, isobel,” i said hastily, “i have been thinking your allowance was too small. you must have a--a great many household expenses of which i know nothing.”
-“i have,” she said simply.
-that evening when i returned from the city i saw that the lawn grass had been cut so closely that it looked as if the lawn had been shaved. isobel ran to meet me.
-“john!” she cried; “john! who do you think has moved into the flat overhead?”
-“dear me!” i exclaimed. “how should i know?”
-“the prawleys!” she cried. “the prawleys have moved back again. are you not glad?”
-i concealed my chagrin. i hid the sorrow with which i saw my passionate fondness for outdoor work once more defeated of its object.
-“isobel,” i said, “i wish you would tell mr. prawley's doctor to tell mr. prawley that it is imperative for mr. prawley's best health that mr. prawley dig the grass out of the gravel walks to-morrow. tell him--”
-“i told him this evening to do the walks the first thing in the morning,” said isobel innocently, “and when he has done them i am going to have him help mary wash the windows.”
-iii. the equine palace
-“now that mr. prawley is back,” i told isobel, “we can take that trip to port lafayette with millington,” and it was then isobel mentioned the advisability of keeping a horse; but millington and i, not being afraid of automobiles, began to go to port lafayette in his automobile. as a rule we began to go every day, and sometimes twice a day, and i must say for millington's automobile that it was one of the most patient i have ever seen. patient and willing are the very words. it would start for port lafayette as willingly as anything, and go along as patiently as possible. it was a very patient goer. haste had no charms for it.
-millington used to come over bright and early and say cheerfully, “well, how would you like to take a little run out to port lafayette to-day?” and i would get my cap, and we would go over to his garage and get into the machine. then millington would pull a lever or two, and begin to listen for noises indicative of internal disorders. as a rule, they began immediately, but sometimes he would not hear anything that could be called really serious until we reached the corner of the block. once, i remember, and i shall never forget the date, we went three miles before millington stopped the car and got out his wrenches and antiseptic bandages and other surgical tools; but usually the noises began inside of the block. then we would push it home, and postpone the trip for that day, while millington laboured over the automobile.
-“we will get to port lafayette yet,” he would say hopefully.
-as soon as isobel mentioned keeping a horse i knew she was beginning to like suburban life, and i was delighted. having lived all her life in a flat, her mind naturally ran to theatres and roof gardens, rather than to the delights of the suburbs, and her reading still consisted more of department store bargain sales and advertisements of new plays than of seed catalogues and ready mixed paints, as a good suburban wife's reading should; but as soon as she mentioned that it would be nice to have a horse i knew she was at length falling a victim to the allurements of our semi-country existence. in order to add fuel to the flame i took up the suggestion with enthusiasm.
-“isobel,” i said warmly, “that is a splendid idea! a horse is just what we need to add the finishing touch to our happiness! with these splendid, tree-bordered roads--”
-“a horse that is not afraid of mr. millington's automobile,” interposed isobel.
-“certainly,” i said, “a horse that you can drive without fear--”
-“but not a pokey old thing,” said isobel.
-“by no means,” i agreed; “what we want is a young, fresh horse that can get over the road--”
-“and gentle,” said isobel. “and strong. and he must be a good-looking horse. one with a glossy skin. reddish brown, with a long tail. i would like a great, big, strong-looking horse, like the donelleys', but faster, like the smiths'.”
-“exactly,” i said. “that's the sort of horse i had in mind. and we will get the horse immediately. i shall stay at home tomorrow and select the kind of horse we want, unless mr. millington takes me to port lafayette--”
-“now, john,” said isobel, “you must not be too hasty. you must be careful. i think the right way to buy a horse is to shop a little first, and see what people have in stock, and not take the first thing that is offered, the way you do when you buy shirts. you know how hideous some of those last shirts are, and the arms far too long, and we don't want anything like that to happen when you are buying a horse. i have been talking to mrs. rolfs, and she says it is mere folly to buy the first horse that is offered. mrs. rolfs says it stands to reason that a man who wants to get rid of a horse would be the first man to offer it. as soon as he learned we wanted a horse he would rush to us with the horse, so as not to lose the chance of getting rid of it. and mrs. millington says it is worse than foolish to wait until the very last horse is offered and then buy that one, for the man that hung back in that way would undoubtedly be the man that did not particularly care to part with his horse, and would feel that he was doing us a favour, and would ask a perfectly unreasonable price. the thing to do, john, is to buy, as nearly as possible, the middle horse that is offered. if twenty-one horses were offered the thing to do would be to buy the eleventh horse, and in that way we would be sure to get a good horse at a reasonable price.”
-i told isobel that what she said was perfectly logical, and that i would get right to work and frame up an advertisement for the local paper, saying we wanted a horse and would be glad to examine twenty-one of them.
-“now, wait a minute,” she said, when i had started for my desk, “and don't be in too great a hurry. you know the mistake you made in those last socks you bought, by going into the first store you came to, and the very first time you put on those socks they wore full of holes. we don't want a horse that will wear like that. mrs. rolfs says we must be very particular what sort of man we buy our horse from. she says it is like suicide to buy a horse from a dealer, because a dealer knows so much more about horses than we do, and is up to so many tricks, that he would have no trouble at all in fooling us, and we would probably get a horse that was worth nothing at all. and mrs. millington says it is the greatest mistake in the world to buy a horse from an ordinary suburban commuter. she says commuters know nothing at all about horses and just buy them blindfold, and that, if we buy a horse from a commuter, we are sure to get a worthless horse that the commuter has had foisted upon him and is anxious to get rid of. the person to buy a horse of, john, is a person that knows all about horses, but who is not a dealer.”
-“my idea exactly,” i told isobel, and started for my desk again.
-“john, dear,” said isobel, before i had taken two steps, “why are you always so impetuous? of course i want a horse, and i would like to have it as soon as possible, but i believe in exercising a little common sense. where, may i ask, are you going to keep the horse when you have got him?”
-now, this had not occurred to me, but i answered promptly.
-“i shall put him out to board,” i said unhesitatingly, and there was really nothing else i could say, for there was no stable on my place. i know plenty of suburbanites who keep horses and have them boarded at the livery stables. but this did not please isobel.
-“you must do nothing of the kind!” said isobel firmly. “mrs. rolfs and mrs. millington both say there is nothing worse for a good horse than to put it out to board. mrs. rolfs says it is much cheaper to keep your horse in your own bam, and mrs. millington says she would have a very low opinion of any man who would trust his horse to a liveryman. she says the horse is man's most faithful servant, and should be treated as such, and that she has not the least doubt that the liveryman would underfeed our horse, and then let it out to hire to some young harum-scarum, who would whip it into a gallop until it got overheated, and then water it when it was so hot the water would sizzle in its stomach, creating steam and giving it a bad case of colic. and mrs. rolfs says the liveryman would be pleased with this, rather than sorry, for then he would have to call in the veterinary, who would divide his fee with the liveryman. so, you see, we must keep our horse in our own stable.”
-“but, my dear,” i protested, “we have no stable.”
-“then we must build one,” said isobel with decision. “mrs. rolfs, as soon as she heard we were going to keep a horse, lent me a magazine with a picture of a very nice stable, and mrs. millington lent me another magazine with some excellent hints on how a modern stable should be arranged, and i think, with all the modern methods of doing things rapidly, we might have our stable all complete in a week, or ten days at the most.”
-when i looked at mrs. rolfs's picture of a stable i felt immediately that it would not suit my purse. i admitted to isobel that it was a handsome stable, and that the cupola with the weather vane looked very well indeed, and that the idea of having two wings extended from the main building to form a sort of court was a good one; but i told her it would inconvenience the traffic on the street before our house if we moved our house far enough into the street to permit putting a stable of that size in our back-yard. i also told her, as gently as i could, that the style of architecture did not suit our house, for while our house is a plain house, the stable recommended by mrs. rolfs was pressed brick and stained shingles, with a slate roof. i also pointed out to isobel that one horse hardly needed a stable of that size, and that even a very large horse would feel lonely in the main building.
-i remarked jocosely that it would be well enough, if we could keep two or three grooms with nothing to do but hunt through the stable, trying to find the horse. if we could afford to do that, it would be a pleasure to awaken in the morning and have one of the grooms come running to us with the light of joy on his face, saying, “what do you think, sir?
-“but i told her it would inconvenience the traffic on the street before our house if we moved our house far enough into the street to permit putting a stable of that size in our backyard.”
-isobel smiled in a wan, sad way at this, so i did not say, as i had intended saying if she had received my joke well, that the only horse requiring wings was pegasus, and that he furnished his own.
-instead, i took up mrs. millington's article on the modern stable. it was a masterly article, indeed, and it spoke highly of the gravity stable. no hay forks, no pitching up forage, no elevating feed, no loading of manure from a heap into a wagon. no, indeed! everything must go down; the natural law of gravitation must do the work. three stories, with the rear of the stable against the side of the hill. drive your feed into the top story and unload it. slide it down into the second story to the horse. through a trap in the stall the manure falls into a wagon waiting to receive it.
-there were other details--electric lights, silver-mounted chains, and other little things--but i did not pay much attention to them. i explained to isobel that it would be difficult to build a firm, solid hill, large enough to back a three-story stable against, in our backyard. of course, there were plenty of hills in our part of long island that were lying idle and might be had at low cost, but it costs a great deal to move a hill, and all of them were so large they would overlap our property and bury the homes of mr. rolfs and mr. millington. this did not greatly impress isobel, however, and i had to come out firmly and tell her it would be impossible to build a stable three stories high, with two wings, pressed brick, shingle walls, slate roof, and a weather vane, and at the same time erect a nice hill and buy a horse and rig, all with one thousand dollars, which was all the money i could afford to spend.
-when i put it that way, and gave her her choice of one thousand dollars' worth of hill, or one thousand dollars' worth of stable, or one thousand dollars' worth of assorted horse, stable, and rig, she chose the last, and only remarked that she would insist on the weather vane and the manure pit. she said that mrs. rolfs had taken such an interest, bringing over the magazine, that it was only right to have the weather vane, at least; and that mrs. millington had been so interested and kind that the very least we could do was to have the manure pit.
-“and another thing,” said isobel, “mr. prawley is going to move out of the flat overhead.”
-“great cæsar!” i exclaimed. “is that man quitting again? isn't he getting enough wages?”
-“wages?” said isobel. “nothing has been said about wages. but this mr. prawley will not stay if we buy a horse. he says he does not mind gardening your garden and mowing your lawn and taking all your other outdoor exercise for you, but that a horse once reached over the side of the stall and bit him, and he doesn't want to work--to live in a place where horses are liable to bite him at any time without a minute's notice.”
-“tell that fellow,” i said, “that we will get a horse that doesn't bite, or that we will muzzle the horse, or--”
-“it would be easier,” said isobel, “to--to have a prawley move in who was not afraid of horses. i know of a man in east westcote, and he has had experience with horses--”
-“very well,” i said. “i suppose you will wish your allowance increased?”
-“yes,” said isobel, “if the new mr. prawley moves into the flat overhead, i will need about five dollars a month more than you have been allowing me.”
-the next morning i stayed at home to see about getting the stable built in a hurry, but before i had finished breakfast millington came over and said it was an ideal day for a little spin up to port lafayette in his automobile. he said the whole machine was in perfect order and we would dash out to port lafayette, have a bath in the salt water, and come spinning back, and he told isobel and me to get on our hats, and he would have the car before the door in a minute.
-isobel and i hastily finished our coffee and put on our hats and went out to the gate, for, although we were very eager to build the stable, we did not like to offend millington by refusing his invitation, when he had asked us so often to go to port lafayette. in half an hour he arrived at the gate, and we climbed in.
-our usual custom, on these trips to port lafayette, was for millington and me to sit in front, while isobel and mrs. millington sat in the rear. there was a nice little gate in the rear by which they could enter.
-you see, millington's automobile was just a little old. i should not go so far as to say it was the first automobile ever made. it was probably the thirteenth, and millington was probably the thirteenth owner. i know it had four cylinders, because millington was constantly remarking that only three were working. sometimes only one worked, and sometimes that one did not.
-when we were all comfortably arranged in our seats, and all snugly tucked in, millington cranked the machine for half an hour, and then remarked regretfully that this was one of the days none of the cylinders was working, and we got out again.
-mr. rolfs had come out to see us start, and he helped millington and me push the automobile back to the millington garage; and as i walked homeward he said he had heard i was going to buy a horse, and he wanted to give me a little advice.
-“probably you have not given much attention to the subject of deforestation,” he said, “but i have, and it is the great crime of our age.”
-i told him i did not see what that had to do with my purchasing a horse, but he said it had everything to do with it.
-“when you buy a horse, you have to erect a stable,” he said, “and when you erect a stable, you have to buy lumber, and when you have to buy lumber, you suffer in your purse because the forests have been ruthlessly destroyed. as a friend and neighbour i would not have you go and purchase poor lumber, and with it build a stable that will rot to pieces in a few years. you must buy the best lumber, and that is too expensive to use recklessly. i want to warn you particularly about wire nails. do not let your builder use them. they loosen in a short time and allow the boards to warp and crack. personally, if i were building a stable i should have the ends of the boards dovetailed, and instead of nails i should use ash pegs, but i understand you do not wish to go to great expense, so screws will do. let it be part of your contract that not a nail shall be used in your stable--nothing but screws, and if you can afford brass screws, so much the better. but remember, no nails!”
-i thanked rolfs, and when millington came over to invite me to take a little run up to port lafayette the next morning i told him what mr. rolfs had said.
-“now that is just like rolfs,” he said, “impractical as the day is long. screws would not do at all. the carpenters would drive the screws with a hammer, and the screws would crack the wood. take my advice and let it be part of your contract that not a screw is to be used in your stable; nothing but wire nails. but stipulate long wire nails; wire nails so long that they will go clear through and clinch on the other side, and then see that each and every nail is clinched. if you do this you will have no trouble with split lumber and not a board will work loose.”
-when i spoke to the builder about the probable cost of the stable, i was sorry i had been so lenient with isobel, and that i had not put my foot down on the weather vane at once. a weather vane does not add to the comfort of a family horse, and the longer i spoke with the builder the surer i became that what i needed was not a lot of gimcracks, but a plain, simple, story-and-a-half affair, with the chaste architectural lines of a dry-goods box. i mentioned, casually, the hints mr. rolfs and mr. millington had given me, but the builder did not seem very enthusiastic about them. he snorted in a peculiar way and then said that if i was going in for that sort of thing i could get better results by having no nails or screws at all. he said i could have holes bored in the boards with a gimlet, and have the stable laced together with rawhide thongs, but that when i got ready to talk business in a sensible way, i could let him know. he said this was his busy day, and that his office was not a lunatic asylum.
-i managed to calm him in less than half an hour, and he remained quite docile until i mentioned isobel and said she hoped he would have the stable ready for the horse within a week. it took me much longer to calm him that time. for a few moments i feared for his reason. but he quieted down.
-then i showed him a plan i had drawn, showing the working of the manure dump, and this had quite a different effect on him. it pleased him immensely, as i could see by his face. i explained how it operated; how throwing a catch allowed one end of the stall floor to drop, while the other end of the stall floor was held in place by hinges, and he said it was certainly a new idea. he asked me whether it was mr. rolfs's idea or mr. millington's, and when i told him i had worked out the plan myself, he said he had rather thought so.
-“it is just such a plan as i should expect a man of your intelligence to work out,” he said.
-then he asked to see my bank-book, and when i had shown him just how much money i had, he said the best way to build the stable was by the day. if it was built by the job, he explained, a builder naturally had to hurry the job, and things were not done as carefully as i wished them done; but if it was done by the day, every hammer stroke would be carefully made, and i could pay every evening for the work done that day.
-about the third week of the building operations those careful hammer strokes began to get on my nerves. i never knew hammer strokes so carefully considered and so cautiously delivered. the carpenters were most careful about them, and several times i spoke to the builder and suggested that if shorter nails were used perhaps it would not take so many strokes of the hammer to drive them in. i told him, if he was willing, i was willing to have the rest of the stable done by the job, but he said it had gone too far for that.
-there were two men working on my stable--“two souls with but a single thought,” isobel called them--and they were hard thinkers. the two of them would take hold of a board, one at either end, and hold it in their hands, and look at it, and think. i do not know what they thought about--deforestation, probably--but they would think for ten minutes and then put the board gently to one side and think about another board. they did their thinking, as they did their work, by the day.
-we had plenty of time in which to select our horse while our stable was building. my advertisement in the local paper brought a horse to my door the morning after it appeared, and no horse could have suited me quite so well as that one, but i was resolute and firm. i told the man--he was not a dealer nor yet a commuter, and my conversation with him showed me that he knew just enough, and not too much, about horses--that i liked his horse very well indeed, but that i could not purchase it.. at this he seemed downcast, and i did not blame him. he seemed to take my refusal as some sort of personal insult, for the horse was young, large, strong, gentle, and speedy, and the price was right; but every time i began to weaken isobel said, “john, remember number eleven!” and i refrained from purchasing that horse. i finally sent the man away with warm expressions of my esteem for him as a man, but that did not seem to cheer him much.
-an hour later another man brought another horse, and i sent him away also, as was my duty, for he was only number two; but he was hardly gone when horse number one appeared again. i saw at once that i was going to have trouble with that man. he was so sure he had the horse i wanted that he would not go away and stay away. he kept coming back, and each time he went away sadder than before. he was a sad-looking man, anyway, and he would sit in his buggy and talk to me until another horse was driven up, and then he would sigh and drive down to the corner, and sit and look at me reproachfully until the other man drove away again. then he would drive back and reproach me, with tears in his eyes, for not buying his horse. by lunch time i was almost worn out, and i told isobel as much when i looked out of the window and saw that handsome horse and his sad driver waiting patiently at my gate. i told her i was tempted to take that horse, mrs. rolfs or no mrs. rolfs.
-“take that horse?” said isobel, as if my words surprised her. “why, of course we are going to take that horse!”
-“but, my dear,” i said, “after what you told me about taking the eleventh horse?”
-“certainly,” said isobel. “what is this but the eleventh horse? it came first, and then another horse came, and then this one came third, and then some other horse came, and then this one came fifth, and so on, and now it is standing there at the gate, the eleventh horse. certainly we will buy this horse.”
-“isobel,” i said, “we might quite as well have bought it the first time it was driven to our gate as this time.”
-“not at all,” she said; “that would have been an altogether different thing. if we had taken the first horse that was offered we would have regretted it all our lives; but now we can take this horse and feel perfectly safe.”
-bob--that was the name of the horse--fitted into our stable pretty well. he had to bend rather sharply in the middle to get out of his stall, but he was quite limber for a horse of his age and size, so he managed it very well. a stiffer horse might have broken in two or have been permanently bent. the stall was so economically built that a large, long horse like bob stuck out of it like a long ship in a short dock; he stuck out so far that we had to go around through the carriage room to get on the other side of him. our new mr. prawley did not mind this. he was willing to spend all the time necessary going from one bit of work to another.
-there was one advantage in having the stable and everything about it on a small scale--it lessened the depth of the manure pit. the very first night we put bob in his stall we heard a loud noise in the stable. isobel suggested that we had overfed bob, and that he had swelled out and pressed out the sides of the stable, but i thought it more likely that the weather-boarding had slipped loose. i had seen the thoughtful carpenters putting that weather-boarding on the stable. but isobel and i were both wrong. bob had merely dropped into the manure pit.
-i was glad then that i had chosen a strong horse, for he did not seem to mind the drop in the least. he stood there with his front feet in the basement, as you might say, and with his rear feet upstairs, quite as if that was his usual way of standing. after that he often fell into the manure pit, and he always took it good-naturedly. he got so he expected it, after awhile, and if his stall floor did not drop once a day, he became restless and took no interest in his food. usually, during the day, bob and mr. prawley dropped into the basement together while mr. prawley was currying bob, but at night, when we heard bob calling us in the homesick, whinnying tone, and kicking his heels against the side of the stable, we knew what he wanted, and to prevent him kicking the stable to ruins, we--isobel and i--would go out and drop him into the basement a couple of times. then he would be satisfied.
-there was but one thing we feared: bob might become so fond of having his forefeet in the basement and his rear feet upstairs, that he would stand no other way, and in course of time his front legs would have to lengthen enough to let his head reach his manger, or his neck would have to stretch. either would give him the general appearance of a giraffe. while this would be neat for show purposes, it would attract almost too much attention in a family horse. i have no doubt this is the way the giraffe acquired its peculiar construction, but we were able to avoid it, for we awoke one night when bob made an unaided descent into the manure pit, and when we went to aid him we found he had descended at both ends, on account of the economical hinges used on the drop floor of the stall of our equine palace. bob showed in every way that he had enjoyed that drop more than any drop he had ever taken, but i drew the line there. i had other things to do more important than conducting a private coney island for a horse. if bob had been a colt i might not have been so stern about it, but i will not pamper a staid old family horse by operating shoot-the-chutes and loop-the-loops for him at two o'clock in the morning.
-“isobel,” i said, “if that horse is to continue in my stable you may tell mr. prawley that it is necessary for his health that he sleep in the stable-loft hereafter. it will be good exercise for him to get up at midnight and pull bob out of the manure pit.”
-“this present mr. prawley will not do it,” said isobel. “he has a wife and family at east westcote, and he--”
-“very well,” i said, “then get another mr. prawley!”
-of the new mr. prawley it is necessary to speak a few words.
-the new mr. prawley (by this time a family, but we still clung to the name prawley, just as all coloured waiters are called “george”) was a most unusual man.
-for a month before we hired him he had been trying to undermine isobel's faith in the mr. prawley from east westcote. he had called at the house two or three times a week. at first he merely asked for the job of man-of-all-work, as any applicant might have asked for it, but he soon began speaking of our prawley in the most damaging terms. i believe there was hardly a crime or misdemeanour that he did not lay at the door of our mr. prawley, and so insistent was he that isobel and i had ceased to speak of him as living in our attic.
-isobel decided the two men must be deadly enemies, and that this fellow was set on hounding our mr. prawley from pillar to post, like an avenging angel. she concluded that this man must have been frightfully wronged by our mr. prawley, and that he had sworn to dog his footsteps to the grave.
-but when she let our mr. prawley go and hired this new mr. prawley, his interest in his predecessor ceased entirely. in place of the eager, longing look his face had worn, he now wore a thin, satisfied look, which i can best describe as that of a hungry jackal licking his chops. mr. prawley--his name, he told us, was duggs, alonzo duggs, but we called him mr. prawley--was a tall, lean, villanous-looking fellow, with a red, pointed beard, and at times when he leaned on the division fence and looked into mr. millington's yard i could see his fingers opening and shutting like the claws of a bird of prey. he seemed to hate mr. millington with a deep but hidden hatred, and often, when mr. millington was preparing to take isobel and me to port lafayette, mr. prawley would stand and grit his teeth in the most unpleasant manner. when i spoke to mr. prawley about it he said, “it isn't mr. millington. it is the automobile. i hate automobiles!”
-for that matter, i was beginning to hate them myself. many a pleasant ride behind bob did i have to sacrifice because millington insisted that we take a little run up to port lafayette with him and mrs. millington. we would all get into his car, and millington would pull his cap down tight, and begin to frown and cock his head on one side to hear signs of asthma or heart throbs or whatever the automobile might take a notion to have that day. and off we would go!
-i tell you, it was exhilarating. after all there is nothing like motoring. we would roll smoothly down the street, with millington frowning like a pirate all the way, and then suddenly he would hear the noise he was listening for, and he would stop frowning, and jerk a lever that stopped the car, and hop out with a satisfied expression, and begin to whistle, and open the car in eight places, and take out an assorted hardware store, and adhesive tape, and blankets, and oil cans, and hatchets, and axes, and get to work on the car as happy as a babe; and mrs. millington and isobel and i would walk home.
-the sight of an automobile seemed to madden mr. prawley, but otherwise he was the meekest of men, and a good example of this was the manner in which he behaved at our christmas party.
-the idea of having a good, old-fashioned christmas house party for our city friends was isobel's idea, but the moment she mentioned it i adopted it, and told her we would have jimmy dunn out. jimmy dunn is one of those rare men that have acquired the suburban-visit habit. usually when we suburbanites invite a city friend to spend the week-end with us, the city friend balks.
-into his frank eyes comes a furtive, shifty look as he tries to think of an adequate lie to serve as an excuse for not coming, but jimmy was taken in hand when he was young and flexible, and he has become meek and docile under adversity, as i might say. when any one invites jimmy to the suburbs he hardly makes a struggle. i suppose it is because of the gradual weakening of his will power.
-“good!” i said. “we will have jimmy dunn out over christmas.”
-“oh! jimmy dunn!” scoffed isobel gently. “of course we will have jimmy, but what i mean is to have a lot of people--ten at least--and we must have at least two lovers, because they will look so well in that little alcove room off the parlour, and we can go in and surprise them once in a while. and we will have a santa claus, and lots of holly and mistletoe, and a tree with all sorts of foolish presents on it for every one, and--”
-“splendid!” i cried less enthusiastically.
-“now as for the ten--”
-“well,” said isobel, “we will have jimmy dunn--”
-“that is what i suggested,” i said meekly. “we will have jimmy dunn,” repeated isobel, “and then we will have--we will have--i wonder who we could get to come out. mary might come, if she wasn't in europe.”
-“that would make two,” i said cheerfully, “if she wasn't in europe.” “and we must have a yule-log!” exclaimed isobel. “a big, blazing yule-log, to drink wassail in front of, and to sing carols around.” i told isobel that, as nearly as i could judge, the fireplaces in our house had not been constructed for big, blazing yule-logs. i reminded her that when i had spoken to the last owner about having a grate fire he had advised us, with great excitement, not to attempt anything so rash. he had said that if we were careful we might have a gas-log, provided it was a small one and we did not turn on the gas full force, and were sure our insurance was placed in a good, reliable company. he had said that if we were careful about those few things, and kept a pail of water on the roof in case of emergency, we might use a gas-log, provided we extinguished it as soon as we felt any heat coming from it. i had not, at the time, thought of mentioning a yule-log to him, but i told isobel now that perhaps we might be able to find a small, gas-burning yule-log at the gas company's office. isobel scoffed at the idea. she said we might as well put a hot-water bottle in the grate and try to be merry around that.
-“i don't see,” she said, “why people build chimneys in houses if it is going to be dangerous to have a fire in the fireplace.”
-“they improve the ventilation, i suppose,” i said, “and then, what would santa claus come down if there were no chimneys?”
-i frequently drop these half-joking remarks into my conversations with isobel, and not infrequently she smiles at them in a faraway manner, but this time she jumped at the remark and seized it with both hands.
-“john!” she cried, “that is the very, very thing! we will have santa claus come down the chimney! and you will be santa claus!” i remained calm. some men would have immediately remembered they had prior engagements for christmas. some men would have instantly declared that santa claus was an unworthy myth. but not i! i dropped upon my hands and knees and gazed up the chimney. when i withdrew my head, i stood up and grasped isobel's hand.
-“fine!” i cried with well-simulated enthusiasm. “i'll get an automobile coat from millington, and sleigh bells and a mask with a long white beard--”
-“and a wig with long white hair,” isobel added joyously.
-“and while our guests are all at dinner,” i cried, “i will steal away from the table--”
-“john!” exclaimed isobel. “you can't be santa claus! can't you see that it would never, never do for you to leave the table when your guests were all there? you cannot be santa claus, john!”
-“no,” she said firmly, “you cannot be santa claus. jimmy dunn must be santa claus!”
-we had jimmy dunn out the next sunday and broke it to him as gently as we could, and explained what a lot of fun it would be for him, and how i envied him the chance. for some reason he did not become wildly enthusiastic. instead he kneeled down, as i had done, and put his head into the fireplace, in his usual slow-going manner, and looked up to where the small oblong of blue sky glowed far, far above him.
-it was mrs. rolfs who changed our plans.
-as soon as she heard we were going to have a santa claus, she brought over a magazine and showed isobel an article that said santa claus was lacking in originality, and that it was much better to have two little girls dressed as snow fairies distribute the presents from the tree, and mrs. rolfs said she was willing to lend us her two daughters, if we insisted. so we had to insist.
-by the merest oversight, such as might occur in any family excited over the preparations for a christmas party, isobel forgot to tell jimmy dunn that the plan was changed. she had enough to think of without thinking of that, for she found, at the last moment, that she could not pick up a regularly constituted pair of lovers for the little alcove room, and she had to patch up a temporary pair of lovers by inviting miss seiler, depending on jimmy dunn to do the best he could as the other half of the pair. of course jimmy dunn does not talk much, and it was apt to be a surprise to him to learn he was scheduled to make love, but miss seiler talks enough for two. when jimmy arrived, about four o'clock christmas eve, isobel let him know he was to be a lover, but he was then in the house, and it was too late for him to get away.
-isobel had done nobly in securing guests. jimmy and miss seiler were the only guests from the city, but she had captured some suburbanites. ten of us made merry at the table--that is, all ten except jimmy. i was positively ashamed of jimmy. there we were at the culminating hours of the merry yule-tide, gathered at the festive board itself, with a bowl of first-rate home-made wassail with ice in it, and jimmy was expected to smile lovingly, and blush, and all that sort of thing, and what did he do? he sat as mute as a clam, and started uneasily every time a new course appeared. before dessert arrived he actually arose and asked to be excused.
-now, if you intended making a fool of yourself in a friend's house by impersonating santa claus and coming down a chimney in a fur automobile coat, and nonsense like that, you would have sense enough to remember which room upstairs had the chimney that led down into the parlour fireplace, wouldn't you? so i blame jimmy entirely, and so does isobel. jimmy says--of course he had to have some excuse--that we might have told him we had given up the idea of having santa claus come down the chimney, and that if we had wanted him to come down any particular chimney we should have put a label on it. “santa claus enter here,” i suppose.
-jimmy said he did the best he could; that he knew he did not have much time between the threatened appearance of the dessert and the time he was supposed to issue from the fireplace--and so on! he was quite excited about it. quite bitter, i may say.
-it seems--or so jimmy says--that, when he left the table, jimmy went upstairs and got into his automobile coat of fur, and his felt boots, and his mask, and his fur gloves, and his long white hair, and his stocking hat, and that about the time we were sipping coffee he was ready. he says it was no joke to be done up in all those things in an overheated house, and he thought if he got into the chimney he might be in a cool draught, so he poked about until he found a fireplace and backed carefully into it, and pawed with his left foot for the top rung of the ladder. that was about the time we arose from the table with merry laughs, as nearly as isobel and i can judge.
-no one missed jimmy, except miss seiler, and she was so unused to being made love to as jimmy made love that she thought nothing of a temporary absence. it was not until i took jimmy's present from the tree and sent one of the rolfs fairies to hand it to jimmy that we realized he was not in the parlour, and then isobel and i both felt hurt to think that jimmy had selfishly withdrawn from among us when we had gone to all the trouble of getting the other half of a pair of lovers especially on his account. it was not fair to miss seiler, and i told jimmy so the next time i saw him.
-when the rolfs fairy had looked in all the rooms, upstairs and down, and had not found jimmy, she came back and told isobel, and that was when isobel remembered she had forgotten to tell jimmy we had given up the idea of having a santa claus. isobel looked up the parlour chimney, but he was not there, and then we all started merrily looking up chimneys. we found santa claus up the library chimney almost immediately. he was still kicking, but not with much vim--more like a man that is kicking because he has nothing else to do than like a man that enjoys it.
-i think we must have been gathering around the christmas tree to the cheery music of a carol when santa claus put his foot on a loose brick in the fireplace and slipped. i claim that if santa claus had instantly thrown his body forward he would have been safe enough, but santa claus says he did not have time--that he slid down the chimney immediately, as far as his arms would let him. he says that when he caught the edge of the hearth with his hands he did yell; that he yelled as loud as any man could who was wrapped in a fur coat and had his mouth full of white horse-hair whiskers and his face covered by a mask. i say that proves he yelled just as we were singing the carol. he should have yelled a moment sooner, or should have waited half an hour, until the noise in the parlour abated. santa claus says he tried to stay there half an hour, but the two bricks he had grasped did not want to wait. they wanted to hurry down the chimney without further delay, and they had their own way about it. so santa claus went on down with them.
-i tell santa claus that even if we were singing carols we would have heard him if he had fallen to the library floor with a bump, and that it was his fault if he did not fall heavily, but he blames the architect. he says that if the chimney had been built large enough he would have done his part and would have fallen hard, but that when he reached the narrow part of the chimney he wedged there. i said that was the fault of wearing an automobile coat that padded him out so he could not fall through an ordinary chimney, and i asked him if he thought any man who meant to fall down chimneys had ever before put on an automobile coat to fall in.
-certainly i, the host, could not be expected to stop the laughter and merriment when i was taking presents from the tree, and bid every one be silent and listen for the muffled tones of a santa claus in the library chimney. i do not say santa claus did not yell as loudly as he could. doubtless he did. and i do not say he did not try to get out of the chimney. he says he did, but that with his arms crowded above his head he could do nothing but reach. he says he also kicked, but there was nothing to kick. he says the most fruitless task in the world is to kick when wedged in a chimney with a whole fur automobile coat crowded up under the arms and nothing below to kick but air.
-luckily i was able to send for mr. rolfs and mr. millington, whose advice is always valuable, since when i know what they advise i know what not to do. mr. rolfs rushed in and was of the opinion that we must get a chisel and chisel a hole in the library wall as near as possible to where santa claus was reposing, but when mr. millington arrived, breathless, he said this would be simple murder, for as likely as not the chisel would enter between two bricks and perforate santa claus beyond repair. mr. millington said the thing to do was to get a clothesline and attach it to santa claus's feet and pull him down. he said it was logical to pull him downward, because we would then be aided by the law of gravitation. mr. rolfs said this was nonsense, and that it would only wedge santa claus in the chimney more tightly, and that we would, in all probability, pull him in two, or at least stretch him out so long that he would never be very useful again.
-mr. rolfs and mr. millington became quite heated in their argument. mr. rolfs said that if a rope was to be used it should be used to pull santa claus upward, but they compromised by agreeing to cut the clothesline in two, choose up sides, and let one side pull santa claus upward, while the other pulled him downward. then santa claus would move in the direction of least resistance. so they got the clothesline, and mr. rolfs was about to cut it, when miss seiler screamed.
-at that moment miss seiler screamed again, and when we turned we saw the reason, for the glass door to the little upper porch had opened and jimmy dunn was entering the room.
-we laid santa claus on the floor and let him kick, for he seemed to have acquired the habit, but after awhile he slowed down and only jerked his legs spasmodically. mr. millington explained that it was only the reflex action of the muscles, and that probably santa claus would kick like that for several months, whenever he lay down. he said if we had followed his advice and pulled downward we would have yanked all the reflex action out of the legs.
-“what i want to know,” said mr. millington, “is what you were doing in that chimney in my automobile coat?”
-“doing?” said mr. prawley. “why, i'm jolly old santa claus. i come down chimneys.”
-“well, my advice to you, mr. prawley,” i said, “is to stop it. you don't do it at all right. don't try it again. i've had enough of this jolly old santa claus business. who told you to do it?”
-“the little gentleman with the scared look,” said mr. prawley, looking around for jimmy dunn. “he isn't here.”
-“and what did he give you for doing it?” i asked.
-“nothing!” said mr. prawley. “he just--”
-“just what?” i asked when he hesitated. mr. prawley drew me to one side and whispered.
-“he said i might wear an automobile coat. and i couldn't resist the temptation,” said mr. prawley. “i've been hankering to get inside an automobile coat for weeks and weeks, sir. i couldn't resist.”
-of course, i could make nothing of this at the time, so i merely said a few words of good advice, and ordered mr. prawley never to try the santa claus impersonation again.
-“of course, i'm only an amateur at it,” said mr. prawley apologetically, and then he brightened, “but i made good speed as far as i got. i'll bet i broke the world's speed record for jolly old santa clauses!”
-vi. the speckled hen
-in order to relieve the reader's suspense, i may as well say here that jimmy dunn did not marry miss seiler. it is too bad to have to sacrifice what promised to be a first-class love interest, but the truth is that there is less chance of jimmy ever marrying miss seiler than there seemed likelihood of isobel and me reaching port lafayette in mr. millington's automobile.
-usually when we started for port lafayette, my wife and millington's wife would dress for the matinée or church, or wherever they intended going that day, and when millington heard the knocking sound in his engine and began to get out his tools, they would excuse themselves politely and go and spend the day in the city. they usually returned in time to get into the car and ride back to the garage. but i stuck to millington. you never can tell when a car of that kind will be ready to start up, and i was really very anxious to go to port lafayette. i spent some very delightful days with millington that way, for when he was mending his car he was always in a charming humour, and as gay and playful as a kitten.
-i began to fear that one, if not the only, reason why mr. millington was always in such a good humour when his car was in a bad one, was because i had told him that i had heard of a man in port lafayette who had a fine farm of white wyandotte chickens, and that i thought i might buy some for my place. millington does not believe in wyandottes. he is all for orpingtons.
-it is remarkable how many wives object to chickens. i do not blame isobel for not liking chickens, for she was born in a flat, and i am willing to make allowances for her lack of education; but why mrs. rolfs and mrs. millington should dislike chickens was beyond my comprehension. both were born in the suburbs, and grew up in a real chickenish atmosphere, and still they do not keep chickens. i must say, however, that mr. rolfs and mr. millington are persons of greater intelligence. almost the first day i moved into the suburb of westcote, mr. rolfs leaned over the division fence and complimented me on my foresight in purchasing such an admirable place on which to raise chickens. he told me that if i needed any advice about chickens he would be glad to supply me with all i wished, just as a neighbourly matter. he seemed to take it as a matter of course that i would arrange for a lot of chickens as soon as i was fairly settled on the place, and in this he was seconded by mr. millington.
-when mr. millington saw mr. rolfs talking to me, he came right over and said that, while he hated to boast, he had studied chickens from a to gizzard, and that when i was ready to get my chickens he could give me some suggestions that would be simply invaluable. we talked the chicken matter over very thoroughly, and i soon saw that they were men of knowledge and deep experience in chicken matters, and when they had decided that i would keep chickens, and what kind of chickens, and where i should build the coop, and what kind of coop i should build, we all shook hands warmly, and i went around front to tell isobel. i was very enthusiastic about chickens when i went.
-after i had interviewed isobel for three minutes i learned, definitely, that i was not going to keep chickens. there were a great many things mr. rolfs and mr. millington had not said about chickens, and those were the very things isobel told me, and they were all reasons for not having chickens on the place at all. she also threw in an opinion of mr. rolfs and mr. millington. it seemed that they were two villains of the most depraved sort, who did not dare keep chickens themselves because they were afraid of their wives, and who were trying to steal a vicarious joy by bossing my chickens when i got them, but that i was not going to get any. absolutely!
-toward fall mr. rolfs and mr. millington were beginning to talk about the large sums of money they were making out of their chickens, and promising settings of their white orpington and white wyandotte eggs to the commuters, and they began to be really annoying. they would stand at the fence, hollow-eyed and hungry-looking, staring into my yard, and when i passed they would make slighting remarks about me and the lack of decision in my character. they said sneeringly that they did not believe i would ever get any chickens.
-“you, millington, and you, rolfs,” i said firmly, “should remember one thing: i am the man who is getting these chickens, and the main thing in raising chickens is to start right. i do not want to go into this thing hastily and then regret it all my life. if you do not like my way, all you have to do is to build coops yourselves and buy chickens and raise them yourselves. be patient. every day i am learning more about chickens from your conversations on the train, and when i do get my chickens you will find i have profited by your suggestions.”
-millington and rolfs had to be satisfied with that, so far as i was concerned, for although i spoke to isobel frequently on the subject of chickens she had not changed. i silenced millington by telling him i would have chickens long before he ever succeeded in taking isobel and me to port lafayette in his automobile.
-“if that is all you are waiting for,” he said, “we will start to-morrow,” and so we did; but that was all.
-millington and rolfs, during the winter, worked off some of their surplus chicken energy writing letters to the poultry periodicals. my friends in town began asking me why i did not keep chickens when i lived near to such chicken experts as rolfs and millington, by whose experience i could profit; but the worst came one day on the train when rolfs actually had the assurance to offer me a setting of his white wyandotte eggs. i blame rolfs and millington for acting in this way. no man should brag about chickens he has not; i only bragged about those i meant to get.
-by the time spring put forth her tender leaves, rolfs and millington were so deep in their imaginary chicken business that they talked nothing else, and all their spare time was spent in my yard, urging me to hurry a little and get the chickens.
-“i wish you would hurry a bit in getting those chickens of mine,” millington would say; “i ought to have at least ten hens sitting by this time.” and then rolfs would say: “he is right about that. unless you get my white wyandottes soon, the chicks will not be hatched out before cold weather. i ought to have the hens on the eggs now.” occasionally i mentioned chickens in an off-hand way to isobel, but she had not changed her views.
-“now, isobel,” i would say, “about chickens--”
-at the word “chickens” isobel would look at me reproachfully, and i would end meekly: “about chickens, as i was saying. don't you think we could have a pair of broilers to-morrow?”
-as a matter of fact, this happened so often that i began to hate the sight of a broiled chicken, and was forced to mention roast chicken once in a while. it was after one of these times that the event happened that stirred all westcote.
-i had reached a point where i dodged mr. rolfs and mr. millington when i saw them, in order to avoid their insistent clamour for chickens, when one evening isobel met me at the door with a smile.
-“john!” she cried. “what do you think! our chicken laid an egg!”
-“chicken?” i asked anxiously. “did you say chicken?”
-“and i am going to give you the egg for dinner,” cried isobel joyfully. “just think, john! our own egg, laid by our own chicken! do you want it fried, or boiled, or scrambled?”
-“isobel,” i demanded, “what is the meaning of all this?”
-“i just could not kill the hen,” isobel ran on, “after it had been so--so friendly. could i? i felt as if i would be killing one of the family.”
-“people do get to feeling that way about chickens when they keep them,” i said insinuatingly. “why, isobel, i have known wives to love chickens so warmly--wives that had never cared a snap for chickens before--wives that hated chickens--and they grew to love chickens so well that as soon as the coop was made--of course it was a nice, clean, airy coop, isobel--and the dear little fluffy chicks began to peep about--”
-“john,” she said finally “you are not going to keep chickens!”
-“certainly not!” i agreed hastily.
-“but of course we can't kill spotty,” said isobel. “i call her spotty because that seems such a perfect name for her. i telephoned for a roaster this morning, because you suggested having a roaster for dinner, john, and when the roaster came it was a live chicken! imagine!”
-“horrors!” i exclaimed.
-“i should think so!” agreed isobel. “so there was nothing to do but 'phone the grocer to come and get the live roaster, but when i 'phoned, his grandmother was much worse, and the store was closed until she got better--or worse--and i couldn't bear to see the poor thing in the basket with its legs tied all that time, for there is no telling how long an old person like a grandmother will remain in the same condition, so i loosened the roaster in the cellar, and at a quarter past four i heard it cluck. it had laid an egg. i knew that the moment i heard it cluck.”
-“isobel,” i said, “you were born to be the wife of a chicken fancier! you shall eat that egg!”
-“no, john,” she said, “you shall eat it. it is our first real egg, laid by our dear little spotty, and you shall eat it.”
-“no, isobel,” i began, and then, as i saw how determined she was, i compromised. “let us have the egg scrambled,” i said, “and each of us eat a part.”
-“very well,” said isobel, “if you will promise not to kill spotty. we will keep her forever and forever!”
-i agreed. isobel kissed me for that.
-after we had eaten the egg--and both isobel and i agreed that it was really a superior egg--we went down cellar and looked at spotty. i should say she was a very intelligent-looking hen, but homely. there was nothing flashy about her. she was the kind of hen a man might enter in the sweepstakes class, and not get a prize, and then enter in the consolation class and not get a prize, and then enter for the booby prize and still be outclassed, and then enter in the plain old barnyard fowl class and not get within ten miles of a prize, and then be taken to the butcher as a boarding house broiler, and be refused on account of age, tough looks, and emaciation.
-she was no pampered darling of the hen house, but a plain old survival-of-the-fittest squawker; the kind of hen that along about the first of may begins clucking in a vexed tone of voice, flies over the top of a two-story bam, and wanders off somewhere into the tall grass back of the cow pasture, to appear some weeks later with twelve chicks of twelve assorted patterns, ranging from shanghai-bantam to plain yellow nondescript. she was a good, durable hen of the old school, with a wary, startled eye, an extra loud squawk, and a brain the size of a grain of salt.
-spotty was the sort of hen that could go right along day after day without steam heat or elevators in her coop and manage to make a living. as soon as i saw her, my heart swelled with pride, for i knew i had secured a very rare variety of hen. since every man that can tell a chicken from an ostrich--and some that can't--has become a chicken fancier, the aristocratic, raised-by-hand, pedigree fowl has become as common as dirt, and it is indeed difficult to secure a genuine mongrel hen. i was elated. as nearly as i could judge by first appearances, i was the owner of one of the most mongrel hens that ever laid a plain, omelette-quality egg.
-when i had made a coop by nailing a few slats across the front of a soap box, and had nailed spotty in, i took the coop under my arm and went into the back yard. mr. millington was there, and mr. rolfs was there, and they were arguing angrily about the respective merits of white wyandottes and white orpingtons, but when they saw me they uttered two loud cries of joy and ran to meet me. i tried to cling to the coop, but they wrested it from me and together carried it in triumph to the north corner and set it on the grass. mr. millington pulled his compass from his pocket and set the coop exactly as advised by “the complete poultry guide,” with the bars facing the morning sun, and rolfs hurried into the back lot and hunted up a piece of bone, which he crushed with a brick and placed in the coop, as advised by “the gentleman poultry fancier.” he told us that a supply of bone was most necessary if he expected his hen to lay eggs, and that he knew this hen of his was going to be a great layer. he said he had given the egg question years of study, and that he could tell a good egger when he saw one.
-millington told me his coop was not as he had meant it to be, but said it would do until he could get one built according to scientific poultry principles. he pointed out that the poultry coop should be heated by steam, and showed me that there was no room in the soap box for a steam heating plant. he said he would not trust his flock of chickens through the winter unless there was steam heating installed.
-then rolfs and millington said they guessed the first thing to do, as it was so late in the season, was to set their hen immediately, and as it would probably take spotty thirteen days to lay enough eggs, they told me to run down to the delicatessen store and buy thirteen eggs, while they arranged a scientific nest in the corner of their coop, for sitting purposes. when i suggested that perhaps spotty was not ready to set, they laughed at me. they said they could see i would never make a prosperous chicken farmer if i put off until to-morrow what the hen ought to do to-day, and that a hen that ought to set, and would not set, must be made to set. millington said that he did not mind if spotty wanted to lay. if she felt so, she could go ahead and lay while she was taking her little rests between sets. he said that in that way she would be doubly useful and that, judging by appearances, she was the kind of hen that could do two or three things at the same time.
-the next day mr. millington and mr. rolfs were so swelled with pride that they would not speak to me on the train. millington did not ask me, that entire day, to take a little run up to port lafayette in his automobile. i heard him tell one man on the train to town that he had just set his eighteen prize white orpingtons, and i heard rolfs tell another man, at the same time, about a coop he had just had made for his white wyandottes. he drew a sketch of it on the back of an envelope, showing the location of the heating plant, the location of the gasoline brooders, and the battery of eight electric incubators. he said he saw but one mistake he had made, which was that he had had a gravel roof put on. it should have been slate. he was afraid the hens would fly up onto the roof and eat the gravel for digestive purposes, and if a lot of tarry gravel got in their craws and stuck together in a lump, his hens would suffer from indigestion. but he said he meant to have the gravel roof taken off at once, regardless of cost, but he had not quite decided on a slate roof. one of the slates might become loosened and fall and kill one of his prize white wyandottes, which he held at seventy-five dollars each. if he could avoid the tar trouble, rolfs said, he ought to have twelve hundred laying hens by the end of the summer, besides the broilers he would sell. he said he was going straight to a distinguished chemist when he reached town to learn if there was any dissolvent that would dissolve tar in a chicken's craw, without harming the craw.
-then millington drew a sketch of the automatic heat regulator he was having made to attach to his heating apparatus. he said that ever since he had been keeping poultry he had made a study of coop heating, and that the trouble with most coops was that they were either too hot or too cold. he said a cold coop meant that the chickens got chilly and exhausted their vitality growing thick feathers when all their strength should have been used in egg-laying, and that a hot coop meant that the chickens felt lax and indolent. a hot coop enervated a chicken and made it too lazy to lay eggs, millington said, but this regulator he was having made would keep the heat at an even temperature, summer and winter, and render the hens bright and cheerful and inclined to do their best. millington explained that this was especially necessary with white orpingtons, which are great eaters and consequently more inclined toward nervous dyspepsia, which makes a hen moody. he was going on in this way, and every one was hanging on his words, when he happened to say that one thing he always attended to most particularly was the state of his hens' teeth. he said he had, so far, avoided dyspepsia in his hens, by keeping their teeth in good condition. every one knew poor teeth caused stomach troubles.
-that was the end of millington. rolfs had been green with jealousy because so many commuters were listening to millington, and the moment millington mentioned teeth rolfs sneered.
-“how many teeth do white orpingtons have, millington?” he asked.
-“i did not know they had any.”
-then millington saw his mistake, and did his best to explain that as a rule chickens had no teeth, but that he had, by a process of selection, created a strain that had eighteen teeth, nine above and nine below, but no one believed him, and rolfs was crowing over him when he made his mistake. he was bragging that he never made a mistake of that kind, because he knew hens never got indigestion in any such way. all that was necessary he said, was to let them have plenty of exercise, and to let them out once in a while for a good fly. he said he let his hens out once every three days, so they could fly from tree to tree.
-then millington asked, sneeringly, how high his hens could fly, and rolfs said they were in such good condition they thought nothing of flying to the top of a forty-foot elm tree, and millington sneered and said any one could guess what kind of white wyandottes rolfs had, when a common white wyandotte is so heavy it cannot fly over a rake handle. that was the end of rolfs, and i was glad of it, for the two of them had been getting enough reputation on the strength of my chickens. they sneaked out of the smoking car, and at last i had a chance to say a few words, modestly of course, about my splendid group of six hundred buff leghorns. i did not brag, as millington and rolfs had bragged, but stated facts coldly and calmly, and my words met the attention they deserved, for i was not speaking without knowledge, as millington and rolfs had spoken, but as a man who owns a hen can speak.
-i reached home that evening in a pleasant state of mind, for i knew how kind hearted isobel is, and i knew she would see, if i placed it before her, that it was extremely cruel to keep a hen in solitary confinement, when the hen had probably been accustomed to a great deal of society. i felt sure that in a few days isobel would order me to purchase enough more poultry to allow spotty to lead a pleasant and sociable life. but when isobel met me at the gate she disheartened me.
-she said the grocer's grandmother had not been seriously ill, after all; she had been in a mere comatose condition, and had come to, and the grocer had come back, and he had called and taken spotty. he offered to kill her--spotty, not isobel or his grandmother--but isobel could not bear to eat spotty so soon after she had been a member of our family, so the grocer took spotty away and sent up another roaster. at least he said it was another, but after i had carved it i had my doubts. in general strength and durability the roaster and spotty were one.
-the next morning, when i went out to see if mr. prawley had hoed the garden properly, i found mr. rolfs and mr. millington leaning over my fence. they were unabashed.
-“i have just been looking over your place,” said rolfs, “and i must say it is a most admirably located place on which to keep a cow. and if you want any suggestions on cow-keeping, you may call on me at any time. i have studied the cow, in all her moods and tenses, for years.”
-“nonsense!” said millington. “a man is foolish to try to keep live stock. live stock is subject to all the ills--”
-“such as toothache!” sneered rolfs.
-“all the ills of man and beast,” continued millington. “what you want is an automobile. now i will sell mine--”
-“no!” i said positively.
-“you only say that because you do not know my automobile as i know it,” said millington. “it is a wonder, that machine is. now, i propose that to-morrow you and your wife take a little run up to port lafayette with me and my wife. after the cares of chicken raising--”
-“very well, millington,” i said, “we will go to port lafayette!”
-vii. chesterfield whiting
-the next morning millington came over bright and early, and his face was aglow with joy.
-millington loved all the sounds of trouble, but this knocking gave him the most pleasure and put him in his pleasantest mood, for he could never quite discover the cause of it. when everything else was in perfect order the knock remained. he would do everything any man could think of to cure it, but the machine would continue to knock. i remember he even went so far as to put a new inner tube in a tire once, to see if that would have any effect, but it did not. but there were plenty of other noises, too. millington once told me he had classified and scheduled four hundred and eighteen separate noises of disorder that he had heard in that one automobile, and that did not include any that might be another noise for the same disorders. and some days he would hear the whole four hundred and eighteen before we had gone a block. those were his happy days.
-but this morning millington came over bright and early. isobel was just putting a cake in the oven, and she only took time to tell jane, or sophie, or whoever happened to be our maid that week, that she would be back in time to take the cake out, and then we went over to millington's garage.
-mrs. millington, was already in the automobile, and isobel and i got in, and millington opened the throttle and the machine ran down the road to the street as lightly and skimmingly as a swallow. it glided into the street noiselessly and headed for port lafayette like a thing alive. i noticed that millington looked anxious, but i thought nothing of it at the time. his brow was drawn into a frown, and from moment to moment he pulled his cap farther and farther down over his eyes. he leaned far over the side of the car. he listened so closely that his ears twitched.
-without a word he began walking around the automobile, eyeing it maliciously, and every time he passed a tire he kicked it as hard as he could. then he began opening all the opening parts, and when he had opened them all and had peered into them long and angrily he went over to the curb and sat down and swore. isobel and mrs. millington politely stuffed their handkerchiefs in their ears, but i went over to millington and spoke to him as man to man.
-“millington,” i said severely, “calm down! i am surprised. time and again i have started for port lafayette with you, and time and again we have paused all day while you repaired the automobile. much as i have wished to go to port lafayette i have never complained, because you have always been better company while repairing the machine than at any other time. but this i cannot stand. if you continue to act this way i shall never again go toward port lafayette with you. brace up, and repair the machine.”
-millington's only answer was a curse.
-i was about to take him by the throat and teach him a little better manners when he arose and walked over to the machine again. he got in and started the motor, and listened intently while i ran alongside. then, with a great effort he controlled his feelings and spoke.
-“ladies,” he said between his teeth, “we shall have to postpone going to port lafayette. i am afraid to drive this car any farther. there is something very, very serious the matter with it.”
-then, when the women had disappeared, my wife walking rapidly so as to arrive at home before her cake was scorched, millington turned to me.
-“john,” he said with emotion, “you must excuse the feeling i showed. i was upset; i admit that i was overcome. i have owned this car four years, but in all that time, although i have started for port lafayette nearly every day, the car has never behaved as it has just behaved. i am a brave man, john, and i have never been afraid of a motor-car before, but when my car acts as this car has just acted, i am afraid!”
-i could see he was speaking the truth. his face was white about the mouth, and the tense lines showed he was nerving himself to do his duty. his voice trembled with the intensity of his self-control.
-��john,” he said, taking my hand, “were you listening to the car?”
-“no,” i had to admit. “no, millington, i was not. i am ashamed to say it, but at the moment my mind was elsewhere. but,” i added, as if in self defence, “i am pretty sure i did not hear that knocking. i remember quite distinctly that i was not holding on to anything, and when the engine knocks--but what did you hear?”
-a shiver of involuntary fear passed over millington, and he lowered his voice to a frightened whisper. he glanced fearfully at the automobile.
-“nothing!” he said.
-“what?” i cried. i could not hide my astonishment and, i am afraid, my disbelief. i would not, for the world, have had millington think i thought he was prevaricating.
-“not a thing!” he repeated firmly. “not a sound; not one bad symptom. every--everything was running just as it should--just as they do in other automobiles.”
-“millington!” i said reproachfully.
-“it is the truth!” he declared. “i swear it is the truth. nothing seemed broken or about to break. i could not hear a sound of distress, or a symptom of disorder. do you wonder i was overcome?”
-“millington,” i said seriously, “this is no light matter. i shall not accuse you of wilfully lying to me, but i know your automobile, and i cannot believe your automobile could proceed four hundred feet without making noises of internal disorder. it is evident to me that your hearing is growing weak; you may be threatened with deafness.” at this millington seemed to cheer up considerably, for deafness was something he could understand. i proposed that we both get into the automobile again, and i, too, would listen. so we did. it was almost pathetic, it was most pathetic, to see the way millington looked up into my face to see what verdict i would give when he started the motor.
-my verdict was the very worst possible. we ran a block at low speed but the head of the colonel who stood at the stirrup was rolling upon the ground. a cannon ball had carried it off. how the duke had escaped was a marvel and a mystery.
-excitement and lust of battle had fast hold of grey dumaresq and his horse. the gallant animal carried the duke safely back to his own lines, amid the cheers of his soldiers. the young man swung himself upon the back of the riderless horse belonging to the killed colonel, and followed him, scarce thinking what he was doing. none forbade him. many had seen his prompt and timely action; many watched him as the tide of battle raged this way and that, and saw that, whether a trained soldier or not, this young stranger was no novice in the art of war. the duke himself turned more than once to watch him, as he joined in some headlong charge, and turned and wheeled, or gave thrust or parry with the ease of practice and the skill which only comes through experience. once in a pause he beckoned the young man to his side, and said,—
-"i would speak with you, sir, when i am at leisure. come to my quarters, wherever they may be, when the battle is over. i have somewhat to say to you."
-the young man bowed low, and promised compliance with this request; but it was many long hours before he and the victorious general stood face to face. the battle itself had been won in less than four hours, but the pursuit had been long, lasting far into the night; and the dawn was well-nigh breaking in the eastern sky when grey received a message that the duke desired speech of him in the house at meklert, where he had stopped short, whilst his soldiers continued the pursuit of the flying foe almost up to the walls of louvain.
-marlborough was sitting at a table, whereon stood the remains of a hasty meal; and from the writing materials before him, it was plain that he had been penning one of those dispatches to his wife without which he could never rest, even after the most arduous day’s campaigning. he had changed some of his clothes, and though pale and somewhat jaded, preserved that air of elegance and distinction which was always one of his most marked characteristics. but even without spotless linen and fine array, there was something in the high-bred courtesy of marlborough’s manner, and in the singular beauty of his face and person, which always won the hearts of those about him, and particularly so during those years when the magnificence of his military genius was making him the man of greatest mark in europe.
-he rose as the young stranger was ushered in, and offered his hand with a frank and gracious courtesy free from any alloy of condescension or patronage.
-"i wish to thank you in person, sir, for the great service you this day rendered me with such timely promptitude. i have never bestridden a better horse, and owe you much for the loan. i would fain learn the name of the gentleman to whom i am so deeply indebted."
-"my name, your grace, is grey dumaresq; and that of my horse, don carlos. i thank you for your gracious words. we shall feel honoured for all time in that kind fortune gave us the chance of rendering you some small aid in a moment of peril. the world would have been terribly the poorer by this day’s work, had mischance touched the duke of marlborough!"
-the general smiled, and motioned the young man to be seated. he himself took a seat opposite, and studied him with some attention.
-"if you and your good horse are in any sort disposed to put your strength and skill at the service of your country, mr. dumaresq, i think i can promise you a position not far from my own person, which will not be without opportunities of profit, and will give scope to your prowess with sword and lance, which i have had the opportunity of observing more than once this day."
-the young man’s face flushed with pleasure. he looked eagerly into the face of the great man.
-"were i a free agent, your grace, most gladly would i take advantage of your offer, asking nothing better at fortune’s hands than to serve you faithfully. but i am on my way to england to learn news of my father. for three years i have been absent from my native shores. for three years i have been a wanderer, and, i fear me, a spendthrift to boot. i have spent or squandered the fortune with which i started forth. rumour has reached me that my father’s health has given way, and that i am needed at home. i fear me i have not been a good son to him heretofore. i must therefore seek to be the solace of his declining years, if the reports i have heard concerning him be true."
-marlborough mused awhile with a slight smile upon his lips. he had a good memory for names, and had an idea that sir hugh dumaresq, the probable father of the youth before him, had not been a man to inspire any very deep affection in the heart of his son. he bore the reputation of being a rake of the first order. it was said that he had broken his wife’s heart, and cared nothing for the boy who would succeed him.
-"that is a pious resolution on your part, my friend. i trust you may be rewarded, and i will not seek to stay you. methinks your mother was a good and gentle woman. her son will live to do her credit yet."
-the young man’s eyes lighted, and his face softened.
-"my mother was an angel upon this earth. would god i had not lost her so soon! did you know her, my lord? she was kinswoman to the hapless lord grey, who took up the cause of the duke of monmouth twenty years since, and whom your grace defeated and routed on the field of sedgemoor, fatal to so many. she gave me her name, and she bequeathed to me the small fortune which passed into my keeping three years ago, when i came of age. since then i have been a wanderer in many lands. i have seen hard blows given and taken; i have been in many perils and battles. i was with lord peterborough when he fell upon the fort of mountjuich, and made himself master of barcelona, just when all hope of taking it seemed at an end. i have fought in the ranks of the duke of savoy against the veterans of france. i have been a soldier of fortune for this year or more, and though often in peril and hard pressed, have never received aught but a scratch now and again. i did hope that i should not travel northwards without seeing something of the campaign under the great duke, whose name is in all men’s mouths; but i did not dare to ask or hope for the honour which has been mine to-day."
-marlborough’s eyes lighted as the young man spoke, and he asked many quick and pertinent questions of the traveller anent those lands of spain and italy, in whose politics and disposition of parties he was so keenly interested. he had desired above all things to prosecute this summer an italian campaign. difficulties with the dutch field-deputies alone hindered the more dashing and offensive policy which he would so gladly have adopted. he listened with keen interest to grey’s account of his journey through savoy, his interview with victor amadeus, and his successful feat of carrying important dispatches into turin, though hemmed in by the french, and waiting sorrowfully for relief; and his escape thence, and journey to the camp or prince eugene, who was seeking to carry relief to the duke of savoy, and eventually to drive the french back over their own borders.
-all this was intensely interesting to marlborough, and he more than ever felt a desire to keep in his service a youth who seemed to possess so many of the qualifications which he most prized. but he was a man, too, who never undervalued the domestic side of life, or willingly interfered with the duties engendered by filial or conjugal ties. so he checked the words which had well-nigh risen once again to his lips, and only said graciously,—
-"you have indeed been smiled upon by dame fortune, mr. dumaresq. many a young blood would give half his fortune for the chances you have had. methinks the world will hear of you yet. the brow of a poet, the thews of a warrior, a head calm and well-balanced, and a soul that shrinks not in the hour of peril—"
-he paused a moment, and the young man’s cheek glowed.
-"your grace thinks too highly of my poor merits, i fear me. i trust i have not spoken as a braggart; for, in sooth, it is little i have to boast me of. a good horse beneath me, a faithful comrade by my side, a keen toledo blade in mine hand, and all else came of itself. i have been happy in my days of peril and adventure; but now i must lay aside my weapons and my roving habits, and strive to show myself a good son, and take up my duties as my father’s right hand and helper, if it be true that he is laid aside from active life, and needs me with him henceforth."
-marlborough had taken up a pen, and was writing a few lines upon a sheet of paper which lay upon the table. when he had finished, he handed it open to the young man.
-"a pass for yourself and your servant, mr. dumaresq; you may find it useful in passing through a disturbed country. but you will be wise to avoid the french frontier, and all cities where they have garrisons, and to confine yourself to the dutch netherlands, to make your way to the hague, and thence to england. with this pass in your possession, you should then have small difficulty in travelling without molestation. and let me ask you if you have funds sufficient for your needs, since it is dear work at times travelling through a country devastated by war, and i would not have my benefactor crippled for lack of a few pieces of gold."
-the young man’s face flushed slightly, but his eyes were frank and smiling. he laid his hand upon an inner breast pocket, and tapped it significantly.
-"i thank your grace from my heart; but, albeit i have squandered my fortune something too lavishly, i have yet enough and to spare to take me home. were it otherwise," he added, with a very engaging look upon his handsome features, "there is nobody to whom i would be more gladly indebted than to his grace of marlborough."
-the duke’s face was pleasant to see. he had taken a great liking for this young man. he hesitated a moment, and said,—
-"you would not care to sell your horse? i would give a goodly price for such a charger."
-"my lord, if i loved him less, most gladly would i beg your grace’s acceptance of him, and would rejoice that don carlos should be thus honoured. as it is, he is the greatest friend and best comrade i possess in the world. i trow i must needs take him home with me."
-"you are right, boy, you are right. and it is better so; for he might meet a bloody end any moment in these rough campaigning days. but you must not go hence without some token of the good will and gratitude john churchill bears you. take this ring, and wear it for my sake. and should ever trouble, or loss, or misfortune fall upon you, and you be in need, in my absence abroad, of a friend at home, take it and show it to my wife. i shall write to her of this day’s peril, and how i was saved in the nick of time; and when she sees that ring in your hands, she will know who was her husband’s deliverer, and will know, too, how to receive and reward him."
-the ring held out was a large amethyst of great brilliance and beauty, with a curious oriental-looking head engraved upon it, with what might be a legend in some eastern tongue. it was a trinket which, once seen, would not easily be forgotten, and grey dumaresq slipped it upon his finger with a smile of gratification. it was no small thing to feel himself thus honoured by europe’s greatest general.
-he rose to his feet and bowed low; but marlborough held out his hand and pressed his fingers warmly. "i shall not forget you, my friend. i trust that yours will be one of the faces that will greet me first, when i shall return home to england after the close of the campaign."
-the young man’s face lighted with pleasure at these words.
-"i think your grace may rely upon that," he said. "i thank you with all my heart for this most gracious reception."
-"the thanks are mine to give—yours to receive," spoke the duke with his winning graciousness. "farewell, my friend. may dame fortune continue to smile upon your career; and may you live to be prosperous and famous, and find one to love and be loved by faithfully—for, believe me, without true conjugal love, a man’s life is desolate and empty, and nothing can fill the ache of a heart that has no loving ones at home to rejoice with him in his joy and weep at his misfortunes. ambition may go far, success may be sweet; but it is love which is the true elixir of life. a man who loves and is loved can defy misfortune, poverty, even age and sickness and death; for love alone is eternal."
-he spoke like one inspired, and his whole face kindled. grey dumaresq never forgot the smile upon the face of the great victorious general, as he saw it in that little room at meldert on the morrow of the victory of ramillies.
-the soft june dusk was falling with dewy freshness over smiling meadow and forest glade, and the long, long shadows were melting away in the dimness of a night that would never be dark, when grey dumaresq halted upon the brow of a little hill, and gazed before and around him with eager pleasure, not untinged with wistfulness.
-somewhere amid those swelling woodlands lying to the south-west lay his childhood’s home. he had hoped to make this spot ere the sun sank; and then he knew he could have traced the gleam of the shining streamlet, slipping like a silver streak between masses of sombre green. he might even, if the leaves had not made too thick a screen, have descried the twisted chimneys and timbered gables of the old house itself. his heart beat and his throat swelled as he gazed out over the darkening prospect. how he had loved that home of his so long as it had been blessed by his mother’s presence there! with what proud delight had he sometimes pictured to himself the time when it might be his own, his very own! from childhood he had been called "the little master—the little heir." if his mother had not dubbed him so, the servants had. for sir hugh dumaresq, alas, had not been a man to inspire either affection or respect in the hearts of servants or of son, and the child had dreamed dreams of the golden days which he and his mother might some day enjoy, when he should be lord of all, and live to wipe away tears from her eyes, and ensure that nothing should trouble or harass her again.
-that fond dream had died its own death when the mother was laid to sleep beneath the churchyard sod, and the boy, broken-hearted and indifferent to his fate, had gone forth first to school and then to college, and had known the sweet word "home" no longer.
-it was years now since he had seen hartsbourne. at first he could not bear the idea of revisiting it, to find it empty of the one loved presence which had made it what it was to him. afterwards his father had ceased to dwell there, had lived more and more in london, had even let the old manor, as grey heard before he quitted england for the roving life of the past three years.
-he had been somewhat hurt and angry when this was told him; for he had planned to go and bid the old place farewell, and he no longer cared to do so then. true, it was a kinsman who dwelt there now. his father had spoken of him with a cynical smile.
-"he is next of kin, after you, my son; and he has a greater gift of thrift than will ever be mine or yours, i take it. if anything should befall you on these wanderings upon which your heart is set, he would be the one to come after me, and take title and estates in his own right. if he like now to pay me my price, he may share the old house with the rats and the bats, for all i care. i love not to spend good money upon leaking roofs and bowing walls. give me the parks and the coffee-houses, the mall and the play-house! the devil may fly away with that rotten old house, for all i care!"
-this sentiment, rapped out with a good many of the fashionable oaths of the time, had been grey’s first intimation that his beloved old home was falling into decay. as a child it had seemed all the more perfect from that lack of newness or primness, the wildness of the garden, the encroachments of weed and woodland, which mark the first stages of decay. these words had opened his eyes to the fact that his father was letting the old place take care of itself, without regard to the future, and even then he had been conscious of the stirrings of a certain vague resentment. but he had been powerless to act; for although he had just received a small fortune which his mother had hoarded for him, and which had been nursed for him by a kinsman on the grey side, he had no power to take over hartsbourne and expend his wealth upon the old home; moreover, by that time the longing for travel and adventure was keen upon him, and he had made every arrangement for a tour of the then known world. his father rather encouraged than lamented his proposed absence; and the youth longed to be his own master, and to feel the strength of his wings.
-yet now, after three years’ wandering about the world, grey found himself gazing with a swelling heart upon the familiar outlines of the region of his childhood’s home, and the voices of the past seemed calling him aloud—tender, sweet-toned voices, which had been silent for long, but which awoke now to cry aloud with strange insistence.
-the solemn moon rose over the tree-tops as grey gazed breathlessly upon the dim panorama before him, and instantly the world became flooded with a mystic radiance. a church spire stood suddenly out like a silver beacon, and grey caught his breath as he watched; for his mother’s grave lay beneath the walls of that little church, and the cross upon its apex seemed like a finger beckoning to him to come.
-"yonder is our goal, dicon," spoke the young man, as his servant, whom he had outridden in his eager haste, spurred up the ridge to his side. "you cannot see the house in this uncertain light; but it lies in yon deep hollow, away to the right from the church. the river winds about it, guarding it from ill, as i used to think in my boyish fantasy. i have seen the harts and does come down from the forest to drink at its waters. hartsbourne was the name they gave the house, and methinks it was well named. ah me!—to think how many years have passed since i beheld it all! hark! can you not hear the old familiar voices calling the wanderer home?"
-the honest servant nodded his head with a smile upon his rugged features. he loved his young master devotedly, and was not unaccustomed to share his musings, whether they were dashed with poetic melancholy or were full of reckless daring. whatever his master’s mood, honest dick admired him with equal fervour. as their horses picked a way down the descent in the darkness, he hazarded a question.
-"you think you will find your noble father there, sir?"
-"why, surely yes, dicon. where should a man be when failing in health and strength, if not at his own home?"
-"as for that, sir, i know nothing. but you have told me how that he loved not his own house, but gave it over into the hands of his kinsman, that he might take his pleasure elsewhere."
-"very true, dicon; but that was when he was hale and strong. when ill-health and feebleness overtook him, i doubt not that all was changed. true, i have not heard from him these many months; but that is no marvel, since i myself have been a very wandering jew. but the gentleman who brought me news of him unawares did say that he was about to quit london, for whose giddy round he had no longer strength or inclination. i have never doubted but that hartsbourne would be the place of his choice; and hither have i come. i might have learned news of him by going straight to london; but why turn aside from our way for that, when i feel so sure that it is here we shall find him? doth not nature call every man home to his bed at night, and to his own home at the close of his life? my father is not old—heaven send he may live long yet; but if disease has crippled his powers and robbed him of his zest of life, i doubt not but that it is here we shall surely find him."
-two days previously the travellers had landed safely at the port of harwich, having had a safe and speedy crossing from the hague. the pass given them by the duke of marlborough had rendered their journey from louvain an easy one. from the seaport, grey had taken the direct road into hertfordshire, feeling certain that here, and not in london, would he now find his father. he had hoped to arrive ere set of sun; but a few mischances along the road, and the sultry heat of the midday hours, had delayed them. nevertheless, being now so near, he pressed on steadily. he could not rest so near to home, save beneath the old roof-tree. as the windings of the path grew more familiar, his heart throbbed in his breast. here they passed the boundary of his father’s estate. that broken cross marked the spot. and yonder, sleeping in the moonlight, hoary and beautiful, lay the ruined fragments of what had once been an old priory. he could see that the walls had crumbled away during his years of absence; but one beautiful arch still stood as of old, the delicate tracery showing clear in the moonlight. white owls flitted from the thick wreaths of ivy, and hooted weirdly as they sailed by on noiseless wing. a wild cat leaped out with a menacing yell, and both horses snorted and plunged at the sight and sound. dick’s hand was on his pistol stock; but seeing what it was, he uttered a half uneasy laugh.
-"a bad omen, my master," he spoke, as he quieted his horse. "that wild black thing was liker some witch or devil than aught i have clapped eyes on this many a day. saints preserve us from spell or charm!"
-for dick, albeit a good protestant by profession, had caught some of the phrases of the people in whose lands he had dwelt, and he was by no means free from superstition, though a bold enough rogue to meet any peril that he could combat with sword or bullet.
-"tush, dicon! dost fear a cat, man? for my part, i love all the wild things of the woods, and would be the friend of all. see yonder! there should be a tangled path leading down through the forest glade, and across the stream by a ford to the house itself. methinks i cannot lose the way, though the path be overgrown, and the light treacherous.—onward, good carlos! fodder and rest are nigh at hand. within the space of half an hour you and i should both be installed safely at home."
-home! the word was as music to his ears. it seemed to set itself to the beat of the horses’ hoofs along the tangled path, which grey had some trouble in finding. but once found, he was able to trace it without difficulty; and soon the soft whisper of the water fell upon his ears, and the stream lay before him shining in the moonlight.
-how beautiful it was upon this still june night! the young green of the trees could not shut out the silvery beams of the moon. the forest was full of whispering voices, and every voice seemed to be welcoming back the stranger-son. the warblers amid the sedges and the fringe of alders along the course of the winding stream filled the air with soft music, not less sweet, if less powerful, than that of the nightingale pouring out his heart in song a little farther away. sometimes a sleeping deer in some deep hollow sprang up almost from beneath their feet, and dashed, phantom-like, away into the dim aisles of the wood.
-and now the wall loomed up before them which separated the house and its precincts from the wilderness of wood and water beyond. grey well knew this mouldering wall, from which the coping had fallen in many places, and which showed more than one ill-repaired breach in the once sound masonry. the ivy had grown into a tangled mass upon it, and was helping to drag it down. any active marauder could have scaled it easily. but grey turned his horse, and skirted round it for some distance. for he knew that a door at the angle gave entrance into the stable-yard, and from thence to the courtyard and entrance-hall of the old house; and as it was already past midnight, he preferred to take this way rather than approach by the avenue to the front of the house.
-he turned the angle of the wall, and there was the entrance he was making for. but how desolate it all looked! the double doors had rusted from off their hinges, and stood open, none seeming to care to close them at night. the courtyard was so grass-grown that the feet of the horses scarcely sounded as they entered. a range of stables stood half open, some mouldy straw rotting in the stalls, but no signs of life either in the stables below or the living-rooms above. grey directed dicon to the forage store, and bade him look if there were not something to be found there for the horses; and whilst the man was thus engaged, finding enough odds and ends to serve for a meal for the beasts, the master passed through an inner door into a second courtyard, and gazed upward at a range of lancet windows which, in former days, had belonged to the rooms occupied by the servants.
-not a light glimmered in any casement; not a dog barked challenge or welcome. it was not wonderful that the house should be dark and silent at such an hour; but it was more than darkness which reigned here. there was a look of utter desolation and neglect brooding over the place. broken casements hung crazily, and swung creaking in the night air. tiles had slipped from the roof, chimney stacks seemed tottering to their fall. true, the great nail-studded oaken door, which grey well remembered as leading through a long arched passage past the servants’ quarters and into the front entrance-hall, was closed and locked; but rust had eaten deep into all the iron work, and cobwebs hung in festoons from the eaves of the dilapidated porch.
-in vain grey beat upon the door with the pommel of his sword. not a sound from within betokened the presence of living creature. a sudden fear shook him lest he had come too late. this idea had never troubled him before. his father was still young in years. dissipation might have weakened him, made him an easy prey to disease; but surely, surely had aught worse than that befallen, he would have heard it—he would have been summoned back. it was not any very tender bond that had existed betwixt father and son; but after all, they had no one else. grey felt his heart grow suddenly cold within him.
-then a new idea entered his head. he turned away from the door, and passed hastily through the courtyard into a walled enclosure beyond, which had plainly once been a fine kitchen-garden, where giant espaliers still lined the paths, and masses of apple blossom glimmered ghostly in the moonlight. striding along one of the paths under the house wall, where shuttered windows, looking like blind eyes, gave back a stony stare, he reached at last a quaint little offshoot of the house, set in an angle where house and garden wall joined; and he uttered a short exclamation of satisfaction as he saw that here there were traces of habitation in clean, bright window panes, flowers in a strip of border beneath, and a door that looked as though it could move upon its hinges. upon this door he thumped with hearty good will.
-"jock! jock! wake up, man—wake up! don’t tell me that you are a ghost too—that the old house is peopled only with ghosts of the past.—a dog’s bark! good! where there is dog, there is man.—wake up, jock! wake up and open the door. have no fear. it is i—the young master."
-"god bless my soul! ye don’t say so!" cried a cracked voice from within.—"quiet, ruff; be still, man!—yes, yes, i’m comin’, i’m comin’."
-the sound of a bolt slipped back gave evidence of this, and next moment the door was opened from within, a shaggy head was thrust forth, and an old man, evidently just risen from his bed, gazed for a moment at the intruder, who stood plainly revealed in the moonlight and uttered a heartfelt exclamation.
-"heaven be praised!—it is sir grey himself!"
-the young man fell back as though before a blow. "sir grey! what mean you by that, jock? sir grey!"
-"why, master dear, you surely have heard the news! you have been sir grey since the week after christmas."
-"you mean—my father—nay, jock—how can i speak the words?"
-"he died two days after christmas, sir grey. he had me with him to the last. he never trusted that knave of a kinsman, not he, though he had let himself get fast into his clutches. ah, if you had but been with us then! woe is me! for we wanted you sorely. it was hard upon all saints’ day that the old master came back. he was sick; he had lost the use of his limbs. the leeches said they could do naught for him, but that he might live to be an old man yet. he made light of it at first. he vowed he would cheat them all. but we all saw death in his face. in two months he lay over yonder by the side of our sweet lady."
-jock, though no great speaker at ordinary times, had made, for him, a long speech, because the young master said not a word, but stood leaning against the angle of the wall as though overcome by the news he had heard.
-"and why was i not sent for?" the words were a whisper.
-"you were, sir grey, you were—leastways the master told me so. he said that mr. barty had written many letters, and sent them after you by trusty messengers. but lord, if ’twere only what that rogue said, belike the trusty messenger was nothing better than the fire, into which he dropped his own letters after satisfying the master by writing them."
-"what mean you, jock?" asked grey, with dry lips. "and who is this mr. barty of whom you speak?"
-"faith, none other but him as hopes one day to style himself sir bartholomew dumaresq—your father’s cousin, sir grey, and next of kin after you. ’tis he as has got his grip so fast upon hartsbourne that it’ll be a tough bit of work to shake it off. he’s got mortgages on the place, the old master told me at the last, and he’s been squeezing it like a sponge these many years—cutting the timber, grinding the tenants, living like a miser in one corner of the house, letting all else go to wrack and ruin, that there may be nothing for the heir to come into. oh, the master saw through him at the last, that he did; but ’twas too late then. here he is, stuck fast like a leech to the old place, and sucking its life-blood dry, and protected by the law, so that even you can’t touch him; the master told me that before he died. he’d got him to sign papers when he was merry with wine, and knew not nor cared what he signed. so long as mr. barty supplied him with money, he cared for naught else; and now he’s got such a grip on house and lands that it’ll be a matter of years before ever he can be got out, if ever that day come at all."
-a numb feeling began to creep over grey. he felt like one walking in a bad dream. the blow of hearing of his father’s death was a heavy one. it seemed to shake the foundations of his life to their very base. and now his home was lost to him! little as he understood the machinations of his kinsman, he grasped that he had come into nothing but a barren title and nominal possession of a ruinous and dilapidated old house, the revenues of which were in some way alienated to another. he had heard such tales before. he did not discredit old jock’s recital. it fitted in only too well with what he knew of his father’s recklessness and selfish expenditure, and his kinsman’s artful grasping policy. so, after all, he had come to a home that was not his; and he would have to face the world again as something very like a beggar.
-old jock’s hand upon his arm aroused him to a sense of outward things. dicon had come up, and was listening with wide eyes and falling jaw to the recital of the same story as had been told in outline to grey. the fuller details only made it sound more true and lifelike.
-"come in, sir grey, come in. there’s bite and sup for you in the cupboard. the old master didn’t forget me, and i can make shift to earn my bread by hook or by crook even without regular wage. come in, come in, and i’ll give ye what i’ve got for ye. ’twas all the old master had left from his hoard; but he said it would give you a start in life, and that your wits must do the rest. he gave it me private like, when mr. barty was off the place, and i buried it beneath the hearthstone that same day. ’tis all safe for you, sir grey; and you won’t go penniless into the world, for all that this villain of a kinsman reigns at hartsbourne, where you should be."
-they sat face to face in a room which grey well remembered. it had been lined with folios in those days—great tomes in which he had dug with breathless delight, for the treasures of wood-cuts and the strange stories they possessed—and illuminated missals, where, amid a mass of gilding and wonderful colours, the story of saint or martyr could be traced. other and more modern works had been also there, specimens of the art of printing as carried on through the days of the stuarts. but where were all these tomes and scrolls and books now? grey swept the empty shelves with quick, indignant glances. a motion of his hands seemed to ask the question his lips were too proud to speak.
-a small and wizened man sat before him, his eyes furtively scanning the young man’s face with an unwinking attention. he could not have been old, this parchment-faced kinsman—not more than five-and-forty at the most—and yet he wore the look of an old man, and was fond of speaking of himself as such. the unhealthy pallor of his face bespoke a life of inaction, and the lines and wrinkles on the puffy skin, and the emaciation of the frame and claw-like hands, seemed either to indicate some wasting disease, or else a miser-like habit of life which denied its owner the common necessaries of existence. grey fancied that perhaps this latter surmise might be the right one; for he himself would have fared ill at breakfast that morning, had it not been for the fish which dicon had caught and cooked for the pair, ere he presented himself at the meal to which his kinsman invited him on hearing of his advent to the old house. that meal had been so frugal that grey almost disdained to partake of it. and now he and mr. dumaresq sat facing each other in the green light which fell through the big north window, against which the trees almost brushed, rather like combatants in a duel, each of which measures the strength and skill of the other before attempting to strike.
-the wizened man made a deprecating gesture with his hand, and answered the unspoken question.
-"sold, sold—every one of them! i did my best to keep them in the family, but it was of no avail. your father would have money—no matter at what cost. i was toiling all i knew for him, as it was. everything that could be got out of the estate i squeezed out for him. never man had so faithful a steward as i was to my poor cousin. but it was like pouring water through a sieve. nay, you need not look so fiercely at me. i am not traducing the dead. ask those with whom he consorted. ask the boon companions he made in gay london town. ask his very servants, an you will. you will hear the same tale from all. he spent money like water. never did he trouble his head where it was to come from. i have papers; i can show them if you have knowledge of the law enough to understand. i advanced him sum after sum, on such poor security as this tumble-down house and impoverished estate has to offer. i beggared myself for his sake. he was the only kinsman left me. i could deny him nothing. and when my funds were gone, i must needs squeeze all that could be squeezed out of the house and land. the books went; the timber was felled; the pictures were taken away; the best of the furniture went to adorn the houses of merchants and parvenus. i argued and entreated in vain. when the wild fit was upon him, hugh would listen to nothing. i had to content myself with serving him, by seeing that he was not cheated beyond bearing by the crew of harpies he had around him. at least i secured him equitable prices for family heirlooms; but it went to my heart to see them vanish one by one. and now, what is left save the shell of the old house, and an estate burdened and impoverished well-nigh beyond the power of redemption?"
-he heaved a great sigh, looking cunningly at the young man out of the corners of his ferret-like eyes. grey’s glance was stern and direct. his words were quietly and coldly spoken.
-"we will see about that. i am here to take up my burden. i will learn whether or not hartsbourne be past redemption."
-"you!" cried ’mr. dumaresq quickly; "and pray what can you do?"
-"i can live here quietly, and see what can be done towards retrieving the past. even if i toil with my own hands, i shall think it no shame, if it be for the home of my forefathers."
-"you live here!" sneered the other, seeking to mask the sneer by a smile; "and by what right will you do that, pray?"
-"i am the owner," answered grey proudly. "i presume that i have the right to live in my own house, and to administer such revenues as may be left to the estate?"
-"oh yes, fair kinsman, so soon as the mortgages be paid. i will get them out for your high mightiness to examine. pay them off, and house and manor are yours to do with as you will. but till that time come, i, and not you, am master here. the revenues are mine; the house i have the right to occupy, to the exclusion of any other. it is all writ fair to see—signed and sealed. will you see the papers for yourself? they will make pleasant study for a summer morning."
-"i will look at the papers anon," answered grey quietly; "but first i would know from you what it all means. it is you, not i, to whom hartsbourne belongs, then? you are the master, and i am the guest?"
-"for the present, yes; but a welcome guest, none the less," spoke the older man with a repulsive leer. "the situation, my bold young cousin, is easily understood. your father loved not the old family house. i did love it. could he have sold it, it would have been mine long since; but he had not the power to alienate it from the title. but he did all else that was possible. he raised mortgage upon mortgage upon it—first on the house, then on the land. i came to live in the house, and paid him rent for it once. then i supplied him with money and took up the mortgages. he and i had been boys together. the tie between us was strong. i verily believe he was glad to have me here, and when he was sick and smitten with mortal disease he came hither to die, and i was with him to the last. he was grateful for my devoted service. he was glad to think that i should live on here afterwards. ’it is no life for a young man,’ he said almost at the last. ’grey will carve out a career for himself. here he could only rot and starve like a rat in a hole.’ and i pointed out that you were my natural heir, and that you might not have very long to wait before coming a second time into your inheritance."
-grey sat silent and baffled. it was little he knew of the law; but he had heard before this of men who had left nothing save debts and troubles for those who came after them. many a fair manor and estate passed into alien hands for years, or even for generations, when trouble fell upon the owners. he understood only too well how it had been here at hartsbourne—everything squeezed out of the estate, nothing put in, till at last the house was falling into ruin, and the rights of the lord of the manor had passed away from the owner. it was no consolation to grey that a dumaresq had supplanted him. he was cut to the heart by the selfish extravagance of his father, and the way in which he had played into the hands of this schemer. he saw how impossible it would be to attempt to live here himself, even if he could establish a legal right to do so. he was not certain if his father could have done anything which should actually hinder him from claiming possession of the house which was his, but to find money to pay off the mortgages—he might as well have sought for money to buy the moon! and even then, how could he live in a house without money, without servants, without friends? no; he must seek to carve out a fortune for himself. his fair dream of a peaceful life in england as a country squire was shattered into a thousand pieces. some day perhaps—some day in the dim and distant future, when fortune and fame were his—he might come back to take possession of his own. it should be his dream—the goal of his ambition—to dwell at hartsbourne as its lord and master. but for the present he could call nothing his own save the good horse cropping the lush june grass in the paddock, and that casket so carefully hidden beneath the hearthstone of old jock’s living-room. he would look at the papers. he would make careful study of them. he would take notes as to the amount necessary to clear the estate and make him master in reality. and then he would go; he would not be beholden to this kinsman, whose shifty face he distrusted heart and soul, though his words were smooth and fair. he would ride forth into the fair world of an english midsummer, and would see what the future held there for him.
-it was not an exhilarating hour which he spent over the parchments spread out before his eyes, which were eagerly explained to him by the lynx-eyed kinsman, who seemed half afraid to trust them out of his own claw-like clutches. but grey perused them with attention, making notes the while; and after studying these at the close, whilst the deeds were being locked away, he said,—
-"then when i return with thirty thousand pounds in my pocket, i can take over hartsbourne, house and lands and all, and be master of my own estate in deed as well as in word?"
-"and how are you to come by this thirty thousand pounds, fair coz?" asked mr. dumaresq, with something slightly uneasy in his shifty glance. "right gladly would i receive mine own, and make way for a gallant gentleman like you; but where are these riches of aladdin to come from?"
-"perchance from the same source as yours did come, sir," answered grey, looking full at his interlocutor. "the dumaresqs have not ranked as a wealthy family since the days of the civil war, when they lost so much. but you seem to have found fortune’s golden key; and if you, why not i?"
-did he shrink and cower under these words, or was it only grey’s fancy that he did so? the young man could not be sure, though he had his suspicions. at any rate he spoke suavely enough.
-"thrift and care, my young friend, care and thrift—these qualities are better than any golden key of hazard. my father was a careful, saving man, and at his death bequeathed me greater wealth than i dreamed he did possess. i followed in his footsteps until, for your father’s sake, i elected to prop the falling fortunes of the house rather than live in selfish affluence on my own revenues. well, i did what seemed right; and my reward shall be the hope of seeing hartsbourne one day restored to its former glories. but for the present i must needs live like a poor man, though that is no trouble to one who has ever made thrift the law of life."
-grey went forth from the presence of his kinsman with a cloud on his brow and a fire in his heart.
-"why doth he speak of himself as poor?" he asked of himself. "he takes to himself all the revenues of the estate; and when i was a boy, i always heard that the farms were prosperous, the land fertile, the timber fine, game and deer plentiful, and the tenants able to pay their dues. if all that comes in goes into his pocket, wherefore doth he live like a miser? wherefore doth he let the house fall into decay? he ruined himself for my father’s sake? tush! a man with that face sacrifice himself for another! nay; but he is hoarding up gold for himself, or i greatly mistake me. truly do i believe that he is playing some deep game of his own. well, i can but wait and see what time will bring forth. it is a shame that the old house should be left to go to ruin like this, with its revenues falling regularly into the hands of a dumaresq! why doth he not spend them upon the fine old structure, to make it what it was before? why, now i see. he thinks it would stimulate me to fresh desire to make myself master. he may haply think that i care not for a habitation given up to rats and ghosts and cobwebs. he little thinks that every fallen stone seems to cry out aloud to me, and that the lower falls the old house in ruin and neglect, the more urgent is the voice with which it urges me to come and save it."
-the young man was walking up and down the grass-grown avenue as he thus mused. from thence he could see in perspective the long south front, with its many mullioned windows, its beautiful oriels, and the terrace up and down which he had raced in the days of his happy childhood. straight in front was the eastern portion of the house, with its great entrance doors, led up to by a fine double stairway, beneath which a coach could stand, and its occupants in wet weather enter by a lower door. but the stone work was chipped and broken; the balustrade had lost many of its balls, which lay mouldering in the long grass that grew up to the very walls. moss and lichen and stone-crop clothed all, and the creepers which clung about the house itself were wild and tangled, and in many cases had completely overgrown the very windows, so that scarce a trace of them could be seen.
-yet even in its decay the old house was strangely beautiful, and grey’s heart was stirred to its depths. he wandered through the tangled garden, and out towards the fish-ponds beyond and then by a winding pathway he made his way to the churchyard, and stood bare-headed at his mother’s grave.
-"i will win it back, mother; i will win it back!" he spoke the words aloud, in a low-toned, earnest voice. "you loved the place, and you taught me to love it. for that alone i would seek to call it one day mine own. i will win it back, and methinks your heart will rejoice when your son is ruling there at last."
-grey had meant to leave that very day; but there was much he longed to see, and his kinsman had given him an earnest invitation to pass the night beneath the old roof-tree. repugnant as this man was to him, and bitterly as he resented his conduct and distrusted his motives, it was not in the young man’s nature to be churlish. every hour of daylight he spent wandering about the place, revisiting his boyish haunts, and chatting with old jock, who, without being able to give any exact reason for it, distrusted and despised the present master as heartily as grey himself.
-"the old master did too, at the last. i am main sure of it," he said; "else for why should he have given me yon box, sir? and why should he have bidden me hide it and guard it, and let none see it till sir grey should claim it himself? for years he had thought him a friend; but i trow he knew him for a false one at the last. you’ll best him yet, sir grey—see if you don’t. a villain always outwits himself in the end. you’ll be master here one day, please god, or my name’s not jock jarvis!"
-grey had taken out the casket, and found that it contained three hundred golden guineas—the remnant of his father’s fortune, and all that he had been able to preserve to his son of what had once been a fine estate. a few words cautioned grey to be careful of the hoard, and let no one know of its existence—"no one" plainly meaning his kinsman. it also contained a few faintly traced words of farewell, and just a plea for forgiveness—evidently written when mortal weakness was upon the writer—which brought sudden tears to the eyes of the son, and blotted out the bitterness of heart which had been growing up as he mused upon his fallen fortunes and his lost inheritance.
-that evening grey supped with his kinsman in a corner of the despoiled library, which seemed the only room in the house now lived in. he had walked through some of the other state apartments, denuded of their pictures and the best of the furniture, and looking ghostlike with closed shutters and overgrown windows. he had not had heart to pursue his investigations far; and all that he carried away with him were saddened memories, and one little mouldering volume of poems, with his mother’s name on the fly leaf, which he had found lying in a corner of the little room with the sunny oriel, where she had passed the greater part of her time. he thought he even remembered the book in her hands; and he slipped it into his breast as though it were some great treasure. the sneering smile of his kinsman as he bade him keep the volume, and saw where he placed it, did not endear him any the more. he wished he could get rid of his companionship, but that seemed impossible; and grey soon gave up the tour of the house, and let himself be led back to the library.
-"no, i have no plans," he said briefly, as they sat at their frugal supper, to which, in honour of the occasion, a small flagon of wine had been added. "i think i shall remain in england. i have been a wanderer something too long. a homely saying tells us that the rolling stone gathers no moss. i have youth and health and strength, and the world lies before me. men have won success with more against them before this, and why not i?"
-"i should have thought the battlefield would have tempted you. there is honour and renown to be won there, to say nothing of the spoils of a vanquished foe," spoke mr. dumaresq, looking at him in a peering, crafty fashion. "surely a gallant young gentleman of your birth and training would not lack for opportunities of distinction amid the perils and glories of war!"
-suddenly grey became aware that his kinsman was anxious for him to go and fight in the cause of the allies. it could not be that he had heard of the happy chance which had made marlborough his friend, for he had spoken of that to none; and even if dicon had boasted to old jock, neither cared to have aught to do with the deaf and cross-grained serving-man who waited upon the master within doors. a moment more and grey had found the clue, and realized that his own death would make bartholomew dumaresq not only absolute master of hartsbourne, but a baronet to boot; and in every battle thousands of brave soldiers were left dead upon the field, whilst many fell victim to wounds and the ravages of disease caught during the hard weeks of campaigning.
-"i think i shall remain in england," he answered quietly. "i have seen something of war, but a career of peace has more attractions for me;" and he smiled to see the look of chagrin which played for a moment over the crafty face of his kinsman.
-grey did not find it easy to sleep when he had climbed up into the great canopied bed in the guest chamber allotted to him. he scarcely remembered this room. it was very large, and before he went to rest grey drew aside all the mouldering draperies from the windows, and opened every casement wide to the summer night. even so the place felt musty. there were strange creakings and groanings of the furniture, and the owls without hooted and hissed in the ivy wreaths. more than one bat flew in and out, circling over his head in uncanny flight; and had it not been that the previous night had been an almost sleepless one, grey would scarce have closed an eye. as it was, he grew drowsy gradually, and felt a strange swimming in his head to which he was a stranger. he was just wondering whether the wine he had taken at supper, the taste of which seemed curious to him at the time, could have anything to do with this, when sleep suddenly fell upon him like a pall, and for a space he could not gauge he remained lapped in the unconsciousness of oblivion.
-what was it roused him? or was he indeed awake? the moonlight streamed into the room, and lay like bars upon the floor. its radiance was sufficient to light every corner of the room, and grey found himself lying still as a stone, yet sweeping every corner with his gaze, for surely he was not alone. he felt some presence close beside him, yet where could it be?
-suddenly his gaze travelled upwards, and for a few awful seconds he lay gazing as the bird before the gaze of the snake.
-a shining poniard hung, as it were, over his head. he saw the gleaming silver of the blade. its haft was grasped by a hand—a lean, claw-like hand. its point was aimed at his own heart.
-for a few endless seconds grey lay staring up helplessly. then the blade moved swiftly downwards. with a motion as swift, the young man threw himself sidewise out of bed and upon the floor, and turning, sprang to his feet to meet the murderous foe.
-behold there was nothing! he was alone in the great moonlit room. the curtains behind the bed’s head were slightly shaken—nothing more.
-horrified and bewildered, grey dashed them aside. behind was a wall panelled like the rest of the room in black oak. was it his fancy, or had he heard just as he sprang to his feet the click as of a closing spring? grey passed his hand over and over the woodwork, but could find nothing to give a clue. old memories of secret sliding panels, unknown passages to hiding-places, and ghostly visitants to sleeping guests, rose in succession before him. but this was something more than an ordinary ghostly visitor. grey saw again the murderous gleam of cold steel over his head—saw the claw-like hand in its faded russet sleeve, the fierce downward sweep of the weapon.
-"it was my kinsman, and he sought to do me to death—here in the haunted chamber, where perhaps some infernal machinery exists whereby the corpse could have been quickly and quietly removed and heard of no more. who would care save dicon, and what could a poor varlet like that do if the master of hartsbourne were to assert that his kinsman had ridden off in the early hours of the morning, he knew not whither? did he drug the wine? was this in his head all the while? or was the idea suggested only by my refusal to place my neck in peril at the wars? o barty, barty dumaresq, a pretty villain art thou! before this i might perhaps have been tempted to return to the duke, and seek to win my spurs at his side; but now—no. i will take the safer, if the slower, path to fame and fortune, and i will live to make you rue the day you sought to rid yourself, by secret assassination, of the man in whose shoes you hope some day to stand."
-with the first streak of midsummer dawn grey dumaresq was in the paddock, looking well to the condition of his horse, and grooming the soft, satin coat lovingly with his own hands.
-"we must be up and away, my beauty, ere the sun be high. this is no place for either you or me, albeit every foot of ground is mine own, and it will go hard if i let that weasel-faced scoundrel filch it altogether from me. i know him now in his true colours. heaven send the day may come when i shall repay with interest that which i owe him."
-the horse tossed his head and neighed as though in response; and perhaps dicon heard the sound from where he slept, for almost at once he was at his master’s side; and old jock came cautiously out by the doorway leading towards the house, and looked relieved and gratified to see the young master abroad.
-"i had my dreams too, jock, and i have not slept since," answered grey, with a significant glance at the old man. "tell me, good fellow, what know you of the panelled guest-chamber, with the row of windows looking south over the park? ha! why look you so, man? what know you of the chamber?"
-"did he put you there, my master? then peter lied to me, the false-tongued knave. if i had known that! no wonder the dreams were bad that came to me. the haunted room! tush! it is not ghosts that hurt, but men who come and go at will and leave no trace behind."
-"i thought so," spoke grey composedly. "then there is a secret way of entrance into that room?"
-"ay, behind the bed. i do not know the trick, but i have heard of it. men have been done to death in that room ere this, and none the wiser for it. oh if i had but known!"
-grey’s eyes were fixed full upon the pallid face of the old man. he put the next question gravely and almost sternly.
-"he made the same to sir hugh," answered jock in a trembling voice, "and for long the master believed in him. but methinks he never would have died as he did, had he not come to live here with mr. barty at hartsbourne."
-grey started and changed colour, clinching his hand,
-"you think that this kinsman of ours compassed his death?"
-jock looked over his shoulder as though fearful of listening ears. he drew a step nearer; and dicon, with fallen jaw and staring eyes, came up close to listen.
-"how can i tell? i was seldom in the house. i work in the garden, and because i am a cheap servant, asking no money, but making a pittance by what i can sell, mr. barty has kept me here where he found me. but when the old master came, he often sent for me. before he became too ill, he sometimes crawled to my little cottage yonder for a bit of chat. he told me the doctors and leeches told him he had but to rest and live simply in the country for a few years to be a sound man again. but for all that he dwindled and dwindled away, and was gone in two months."
-"did no leech attend him here?" asked grey breathlessly.
-"not till the very last, when they sent me to edgeware to fetch one who could do naught. mr. barty professed to know many cures, and the master believed in him. he eased his pain, but he sank into an ever-increasing, ever-mastering drowsiness, and he shrank away to skin and bone. it went to my heart to see him. many’s the time when i have wondered whether it would have ended so if he had not taken mr. barty’s simples and draughts."
-"was he poisoned, then?" asked grey, between his shut teeth.
-jock looked nervously over his shoulder; the word seemed to frighten him. he shook his old head from side to side.
-"nay, nay, how can i tell—a poor old ignorant man like me? but he used to say that you would likely never come home again (travellers met such a deal of peril, he would say), and then his eyes would gleam and glisten, for there was but the old master’s life and yours betwixt him and the title and all."
-grey ground his teeth, and his eyes flashed. somehow he did not doubt for a moment that foul play had been used to compass his father’s death. had he not escaped assassination himself that night only by the skin of his teeth?
-"could any man living throw light upon this matter?" he asked. "the leech from edgeware, or any other?"
-"i misdoubt me if any could, save wall-eyed peter, mr. barty’s man; and i trow his master makes it worth while for him to hold his tongue and know nothing."
-"gold will sometimes unloose a miscreant’s tongue."
-"ay, ay, maybe; but mr. barty’s purse is longer than yours, sir grey, and his mind is crookeder and his ways more artful. don’t you go for to anger him yet: hurt might come to you an you did. get you gone from the place, and that right soon; for the sooner you leave hartsbourne behind you, the safer it will be for you."
-"yes, my master; let us indeed be gone," pleaded dicon earnestly. "this is a god-forsaken hole, not fit for you to dwell in. take the store of gold pieces, and let us begone, for i trow that harm will come to you if you linger longer here."
-it took little to persuade grey to be off and away. old jock provided them with a meal, and they could break their fast at the old inn at edgeware, through which they would pass. he had no desire to go through the farce of a farewell to his kinsman. he only desired to shake off the dust of his feet against him; and ere the chimes of the church rang out the hour of six, grey was turning on the crest of a ridge of rising ground, to look his last for the nonce upon the old home he had dreamed of so many a time, and round which so many loving thoughts centred.
-"let kind fortune but smile upon me, dicon, and show me the way to affluence and fame, and i will yet be lord and master there, and the manor of hartsbourne shall be one of the fairest in the land!"
-"why, so you shall, sir grey, and that right speedily!" cried honest dick, who had an unbounded admiration for his young master, and an immense confidence in his luck, albeit no special good fortune had befallen him since he had taken service with him.
-dick had led a seafaring life during his earlier years, and grey had picked him up in a shipwrecked, ragged, and starving condition on the coast of spain some two years previously. in those days ship-wrecked sailors often had a hard time of it, even though the terrors of the galleys or the inquisition did not loom quite so perilously before them as had been the case a century before. to find himself taken into the service of a young english gentleman of quality, and to be the companion of his travels, had been a piece of luck that dick thanked providence for every day of his life. he had been one of four servants at the outset; but as grey’s resources diminished, or his roving life took him into perils for which some men had little stomach, he gradually lost his retinue, till, for the past year, dick alone had followed him, and the two had become friends and comrades, as well as master and servant. now at their first halting-place, where they paused to let the horses breathe after a steady half-hour’s gallop, grey opened the wallet at his side, which he had filled with gold pieces from the casket (the rest he had sewn carefully into his clothes for safety), and counted out a certain number, which he shook in his fist as he spoke.
-"dicon, i am going to london to try my luck there. but, as i have ofttimes heard, fortunes are as easily lost there as won, wherefore it may be that i shall become a beggar instead of growing in wealth and greatness."
-"heaven forbid!" ejaculated dick in passionate protest.
-"well, heaven watches over the undeserving as well as the virtuous, so there is e’en hope for me," answered grey with his winning smile. "but look ye here, dicon. you have been a faithful rogue, and have served me well, and i hope we may company together many a long day yet. but inasmuch as there are uncertainties in life, and we are going forth into a new world, where perchance i may sink rather than swim, i desire to give you six months’ wage in advance, whilst i have my pockets lined with gold, so that should any untoward chance befall me, as it has befallen better men than myself, i shall not have to turn you adrift unrewarded, nor will you, if you can be a wise varlet, and husband your resources, be thrown on the world without some means of support."
-dick seemed about to protest, but either the look on his master’s face or some idea which had entered his own head held him silent. he took the coins without counting them, and producing a greasy leathern pouch, such as sailors often carry with them, he dropped the gold pieces into it one by one, tied it up, and fastened it safely in an inner pocket.
-"that pouch stuck by me when i lost everything else in the world, and well-nigh my own life," said the fellow with a grin. "my mother did give it me when i first went to sea, and she told me as a wise witch woman had given it her. she thought ’twas the caul of a child; and like enough it be, for salt water never hurts it, and i was the only one saved of all the crew that went down off the spanish coast. i’d sooner part with the gold pieces than with the pouch that holds them."
-they both rode on with thoughtful faces after this brief interlude. grey was turning over a dozen different schemes in his mind; but all were vague and chimerical. now and again he looked at an amethyst ring upon his finger, and it came over him that the shortest cut to fortune might be to present himself as a suppliant for favour at the feet of the great duchess of marlborough, who was said to rule the queen with a rod of iron, and whose known devotion to her husband would be certain to raise high in her favour any person who had rendered him so timely a service as that which grey had been able to offer on the day of ramillies.
-but then, again, it seemed to grey that to claim reward for that chance service, which had cost him nothing, was little better than playing the beggar or the sycophant. there was in his nature a strong strain of chivalrous romance—of love of adventure for its own sake, without thought of reward or favour. that encounter with the great duke, the interview which had followed, the consciousness that he had done his country a notable service that day—all these things were very sweet to him, forming an episode pleasant to look back upon. if he now presented himself on the strength of it as a petitioner for place or favour, at once the whole thing would be vulgarized—he would be lowered in his own estimation, sinking to the level of one of the crowd of greedy flatterers and place-hunters who thronged the antechambers of the rich and great, and fawned upon them for the crumbs of patronage which they were able to dispense as the price of this homage.
-grey had seen this sort of thing at foreign courts, and his soul had sickened at it. doubtless, in this great world of london it was the same. as a baronet, a young man of parts, with an attractive person, and, at present, a well-filled purse, he might not improbably please the fancy of the duchess, and obtain some post in her household or about the court that would give him a chance at least to rise. but the more he thought of this the less he liked the idea, and at last he flung it from him in scorn.
-"i would sooner live in grub street, and drive a quill!" he said half aloud. "i could praise a hero with my pen, but i cannot fawn and flatter with my lips. and methinks i am not fit for the life of a place-man: i have been too long mine own master. surely there are ways by which a man may rise in the world without abasing himself in his own esteem first. i will go to london, and look about me with open eyes. there are the world of politics, the world of art and literature, and the theatre of war, if other spheres should fail. surely there must be a place for me somewhere; but i will not choose the latter if i can help it. i fear not death on mine own account; but i desire to live, and to grow rich, that i may square matters with yonder villain, and avenge upon him my father’s untimely death!"
-for that his father had been in some sort done to death by his false kinsman, grey did not now doubt, though whether he would be able to bring that crime home to him later, he could not at present surmise. much might be possible to a man with friends in high places; but these would have to be found and won ere any step could be taken.
-grey often felt within himself the stirrings of ambition. he had shown promise of something akin to genius in his oxford days, and there had not been lacking those among his companions and tutors who had declared that he could win fame and fortune through academic laurels. but grey had then turned a deaf ear to such propositions. he desired to travel and see the world, and he had done this with much zest. but the muse within had not been altogether silent, and he had many times covered sheets of paper with flowing stanzas or stately sonnets, which bore witness to the fire that burned within. his pencil, too, was not without cunning; and his study of the treasures of many an art gallery, many a foreign church, had given him knowledge and culture beyond what the average gallant of the day could boast. the double strand in his nature was very marked—a reckless love of adventure, and a delicate appreciation of the beautiful. often he longed after the days of the early troubadours, when the two walked hand in hand. he pondered these matters in his busy brain as he rode onward in the sunny brightness of the june morning, and found it in his heart to wish that he was not thus possessed by such conflicting passions. he felt he would have had a better chance of success had his bent in any one direction been more decided.
-they pulled up at the quaint old inn at edgeware, and rode into the courtyard, where lackeys and hostlers were making merry together, and where some handsome horses were being groomed down, prior to being put into the cumbersome but very handsome coach that stood beneath the protecting galleries which ran round the court. the lackeys wore a livery of snuff-coloured cloth, with a quantity of gold lace about it. the panels of the coach were snuff-coloured, and there was much heavy gilding about it, which was being polished with great zeal by the servants of the inn. it was plainly the equipage of some person of quality, and had evidently put up there for the night, but was likely to be wanted shortly for the road again.
-grey dismounted, and leaving dick in charge of the horses, made his way in through the low-browed entrance, along a sanded passage, and so to the public room, the door of which stood open. as a boy he had known this house, and it still seemed familiar to him, though it had changed hands since he had been there last, and his face was not known to mine host.
-"your pardon, sir," spoke this functionary, bustling forward on his entrance, "but this room is bespoke for my lord sandford. if you are wanting a meal, it shall be quickly served elsewhere—"
-but at that moment a rollicking voice from the foot of the adjacent staircase broke in upon the excuses of the host.
-"gadzooks, man, but it shall be nothing of the sort. set a cover for the gentleman at my table. gosh! is a man so enamoured of his own company that he must needs drive all the world away?—come in, sir, come in, and take pot-luck with me.—landlord, see you give us of your best, or i’ll spit you on your own jack! i’ve a great thirst on me, mind you; and let the dishes be done to a turn.—take a seat in the window, sir; the air blows fresh and pleasant, but it will be infernally hot ere noon. i must be off and away in good time. in london streets you can find shade; but these country roads—hang them all!—get like what’s-his-name’s fiery furnace seven times heated if they don’t chance to run through forest land!"
-the speaker was a young man of perhaps seven-and-twenty, though reckless dissipation had traced lines in his face which should not so early have been there. he was dressed according to the most extravagant fashion of the day, with an immense curled wig, that hung half-way down his back; a coat of velvet, richly laced, the sleeves so short that the spotless lawn and ruffles of the shirt showed half-way up the forearm; a wonderful embroidered vest, knee breeches of satin equally gorgeous, and silk stockings elaborately gartered below the knee with bands of gold lace. he carried a fashionably cocked hat beneath his arm, with a gold-headed cane; and a small muff was suspended from his neck by gold chains. the muff held a golden snuff-box, with a picture on the lid which modesty would refuse to describe; and the young spark took snuff and interlarded his talk with the fashionable oaths of the day as a matter of course.
-he looked curiously at grey when they had taken their seats; for the traveller, though dressed with exceeding simplicity, and wearing his own hair in loose, natural curls, just framing his face and touching his shoulders, was so evidently a man of culture and of gentle blood that the dandy was both impressed and perplexed by him. for high-bred look and instinctive nobility of bearing lord sandford could not hold a candle to grey dumaresq.
-"i saw you ride into the yard just now. fine horse that of yours, sir—very fine horse! if he’s ever for sale, mind you let me know of him. lord sandford—your very humble servant—always to be heard of at will’s coffee house or the mohawk club. seem to remember your face; but dash me if i can give it a name. awful memory for names i have—know too many fellows, i suppose. not that there are so many like you, either; but hang me, i must have met you somewhere before."
-grey had caught the fleeting memory, and answered at once,—
-"we were at oxford together, my lord. not at the same college, though; but we have met, doubtless. my name is grey dumaresq—"
-"why, to be sure. gad! but that’s strange! thought i wasn’t wrong about a face! i heard you spout forth a poem once. lord, it was fine, though i didn’t understand one word in ten! latin or greek—rabbit me if i know which! and i knew your father, too; met him in london now and again. he’s not been seen anywhere these eight or nine months."
-"my father died last christmas," spoke grey gravely. "i did not know it myself, being abroad." and led on by lord sandford’s questions, which, if not very delicately put, showed a real interest in the subject, grey gave him a bare outline of his own life since quitting oxford, and of the position in which he now found himself.
-"oddsfish, man—as our merry monarch of happy memory used to say—but yours is a curious tale. the ladies will rave over the romance of it—coupled with that face of yours. oh, never say die, man! you’ve the world before you. what more do you ask than such a face, such a story, and a few hundred pounds in your pocket? why, with decent luck, those hundreds ought to make thousands in a very short time. you trust yourself to me, my young friend. i know my london. i know the ropes. i will show you how fortunes are made in a night; and you shall be the pet of the ladies and the envy of the beaux before another month has passed. we will find you an heiress for a wife, and—heigh, presto!—the thing is done."
-grey started, and made a gesture as of repulsion, whereat lord sandford roared with laughter; and there was something so heartwhole and infectious in his laugh that grey found himself joining in almost without knowing it. the man had a strong personality, that was not to be doubted, and at this moment grey felt himself singularly lonely, singularly perplexed about his own immediate future. he did not know london. he had scarcely set foot within its precincts, save on the occasion when he went to bid his father farewell, and when it seemed to him that he stepped into pandemonium itself. since then he had visited many foreign capitals, and had accustomed himself to the life there to some extent; but only to the life of a traveller—an onlooker. now he felt that something more lay before him—that it was as a citizen and a unit in the great hive that he must go. and how to steer his bark through the shoals and quicksands of the new life, he had very small idea. to win fame and fortune was his wish; but how were these good things to be achieved? never had it entered his head to look upon marriage as a way of gaining either.
-"zounds, man, don’t look like that! better men than you or i have not been shamed to thank their wives for their promotion. but there are more ways of killing a cat than hanging. we’ll look about and see. you put yourself in my hands, and i’ll show you the ropes. no, no; no thanks. i want some diversion myself. poor tom gregory, my boon companion, made a fool of himself over the wine the other night, and got spitted like a cockchafer by captain dashwood. i’ve felt bad ever since. i tried what a trip into the country would do for me. but dash it all, i can’t stand the dreariness of it. i am on my way back to town as fast as may be. and you shall come with me. nay, i’ll take no denial. a man must have something to do with his time, or he’ll get into a pretty peck of mischief. i’ve taken a liking to you; and i always get my own way, because i won’t listen to objections."
-so an hour later, when the coach rumbled out from under the archway of the old inn, grey dumaresq sat within by lord sandford’s side, and dick, with a puzzled but satisfied face, led his master’s horse behind.
-westward from whitehall, just after one had left behind the streets and lanes of the fashionable westerly portion of london town, and emerged into a fair region of smiling meadows, blossoming fruit-trees, orchards, and woodlands, were in those days to be found many pleasant and stately houses, varying in size and splendour according to the condition of the owner, but fair mansions for the most part, and inhabited by persons of quality, many of whom held posts at court, and found this proximity to whitehall a matter of no small convenience.
-some of the fairest and seemliest of these mansions were those which lay along the river banks, with gardens terraced to the water’s edge, where light wherries could deposit gay gallants at the foot of the steps leading to the wide gravelled walks, and where a gay panorama of shipping could be seen by those who paced the shady walks, or sat in the little temples and bowers which made a feature of so many of these gardens.
-there was one house in particular that in these days had a notoriety of its own. it had been an old manor house in the time when london had not extended so far to the west, and it lay embosomed in a quaint old garden, where fair and tall trees made a pleasant shade through the hot summer days, where the turf was emerald green and soft to the foot, and roses flourished in wild abundance. now there was a formal dutch garden set in the midst of the old-time wilderness, where clipped box edges divided the parterres of brilliant-hued blossoms sent from holland, and where nymphs disported themselves around marble fountains, and heathen divinities on pedestals kept watch and ward over the long terraces which lined the margin of the river. but in spite of these innovations of modern taste, the silvan charm of the old garden had by no means been destroyed, and there were many who declared that not even hampton court itself could hold a candle to lord romaine’s riverside garden for beauty and brightness and the nameless fascination which defies analysis. lord romaine was accounted a rising man. the friend of marlborough and godolphin, a moderate whig in politics, a courtier above all else, and loyal to the backbone, he had been regarded with favour by the late king, who had given him some appointment about the court, which had been confirmed by the queen on her accession. and although queen anne was herself of such strong tory leanings, she was beginning to find that the moderate whigs were the men most useful and most to be depended upon; and the shrewd duchess sarah—her dear "mrs. freeman"—herself a convert from high tory principles to those of their moderate opponents, was using her influence steadily and strongly to bring the queen round to the same state of mind.
-so lord romaine’s star was likely to rise with the rising tide of whig supremacy; and as he was a man of very large private means, and kept open house in a lavish fashion, it was likely enough that he would make his mark in the world. it would be certainly no fault of his wife if he did not.
-truth to tell, lady romaine’s head had been somewhat turned when, three years before, her husband succeeded to his father’s title and estates, and from being viscount latimer, with moderate means and only a measure of court favour to depend upon, became an earl with a very large rent-roll, and a great fortune in ready money, which his father, who lived a secluded existence in the country, had amassed during the later years of his life. as lord and lady latimer this couple had lived at the riverside house they still occupied when in town; but it had not then worn the aspect that it did to-day, albeit the garden had been something of a hobby to its owner for many years.
-the lady cared little for the garden, save for the admiration it aroused in others; but she longed with a mighty longing to furbish up the old house after her own design, and as soon as the funds for this were in their hands, not a moment was lost in the carrying out of her cherished plans and projects. with a rapidity that astonished the town, a great new front was added to the old building, converting it into a quadrangle, in the centre of which a great fountain threw its waters high into the air. all the new rooms were large, stately, and imposing, and furnished according to the latest mode. inlaid cabinets from the far east, crammed with curios of which my lady knew not even the names; crooked-legged chairs and sofas of french make; furniture in the new mahogany wood, just beginning to attract attention and admiration; rich carpets and hangings from india, persia, or china; embroideries from all quarters of the globe; italian pottery, spanish inlaid armour, silver trinkets from mexico, feather work from the isles of the west—all these things, jostled and jumbled together in rich confusion, made lady romaine’s new house the talk of the town; and her tall powdered lackeys and turbaned negro pages were more numerous and more sumptuously attired than those of any other fashionable dame of her acquaintance.
-my lady was at her toilet upon this brilliant june morning; and as custom permitted the attendance of gentlemen at this function, in the case of married ladies, the hall and staircase leading up to her suite of private apartments were already thronged by a motley crew.
-there were dandies, fresh from their own elaborate toilets, reeking of the perfume in which they had bathed themselves, displaying in their own persons all the hues of the rainbow, and all the extravagant fripperies of the day, laughing and jesting together as they mounted the softly-carpeted stairs, their cocked hats under their arms, or descended again after having paid their devoirs to my lady, often cackling with mirth over some bon mot they had heard or uttered. there were chattering french milliners or french hair-dressers, with boxes or bundles of laces, silks, perfumes, or trinkets, wherewith to tempt the fancy of their patroness. there were gaily-dressed pages running to and fro with scented notes; turbaned negro boys carrying a lap-dog or monkey or parrot to the doting mistress, who had suddenly sent for one of her pets. tire-women pushed themselves through the throng, intent on the business of the toilet, which was such an all-absorbing matter; and the whole house seemed to ring with the loud or shrill laughter and the ceaseless chatter of this motley throng, bent on killing time in the most approved fashion.
-some of the dandies about to depart, who were sipping chocolate from cups of priceless sèvres china, and talking in their free, loose fashion with each other, kept looking about them as though in hope or expectation, and more than once the name of "lady geraldine" was bandied about between them. one young blood asked point blank why she was never to be seen at her mother’s toilet. a laugh broke from his companions.
-"if it’s lady geraldine you come to see, you can save yourself the trouble of the visit. they say she was brought up by a puritan grandmother, who died last year, and left her all her fortune. however that may be, the lady geraldine never appears when she can escape doing so. my lady gives way to her. they say she does not care to have a grown-up daughter at her heels, she who might pass for four-and-twenty herself any day, but for that damning evidence. but they say the father is beginning to declare that his daughter is no longer to be kept in the background. i suppose the next thing will be that they will marry her to some young nobleman. gadzooks! with that face and that fortune—if the fortune be not a clever myth—they ought not to find it a difficult task!"
-"i heard it said at the club that sandford was the favoured suitor for the hand of lady geraldine," said one young exquisite, speaking with a lisp and taking snuff.
-there was a laugh from the group of men standing by.
-"oh, sandford is my lady’s favourite! they say he is a kinsman; and he amuses her vastly, and gives her all the homage her heart desires. but lord romaine may have something to say to that. sandford is going the pace that kills, and is playing old harry with his fortune and estate. and as for my lady geraldine—well, ’tis said the pretty little puritan will look at none of us. split me! but it will be a pretty comedy to watch! the awakening of aphrodite; isn’t that the thing to call it? but aphrodite is not generally credited with much coyness—ha, ha, ha! perhaps it is but a pose on the part of the pretty maid. the sweet creatures are so artful in these days, one can never be too cautious." and a roar of laughter answered this sally, caution being about the last quality ever cultivated by the speaker.
-whilst all this was going on within doors, the object of these latter remarks was enjoying a silvan solitude in the most secluded portion of the beautiful old garden.
-far away from the house, far out of earshot of all the fashionable clamour resounding there, set in the midst of a dense shrubbery of ilex and yew, was an arbour—itself cut out of a giant yew-tree—commanding a view of a portion of the river, slipping by its alder-crowned banks, and overlooking a small, square lawn, sunk between high turf walls, in the centre of which stood an ancient moss-grown sundial, whose quaintly-lettered face was a source of unending interest to the fair girl, who had made of this remote and sheltered place a harbour of refuge for herself.
-she was seated now just within the arbour, an open book of poetry upon her knee; but she was not reading, for her chin rested in the palm of her hand, as she leaned forward in an unstudied attitude of grace, her elbow on her knee, her wonderful dark eyes fixed full upon the shining river, a dreamy smile of haunting sweetness playing round her lips. at her feet a great hound lay extended, his nose upon his paws, his eyes often lifted to the face of his mistress, his ears pricked at the smallest sound, even at the snapping of a twig. nobody could surprise the lady geraldine when she had this faithful henchman at her side.
-the girl was dressed with extreme simplicity for the times she lived in, when hoops were coming in, stiff brocades, laces and lappets, high-heeled coloured shoes, and every extravagance in finery all the rage. true, the texture of her white silk gown was of the richest, and it was laced with silver, and fastened with pearl clasps that must have cost a great sum; but it was fashioned with a simplicity that suggested the rustic maiden rather than the high-born dame. yet the simple elegance of the graceful, girlish figure was displayed to such advantage that even the modish mother had been able to find no fault with the fashion in which her daughter instructed that her gowns should be cut; and surmises and bets were freely exchanged by the gallants crowding lord romaine’s house as to whether it were a deep form of coquetry or real simplicity of taste which made the lady geraldine differ so much from the matrons and maids about her.
-she wore no patches upon her face, though the dazzling purity of her complexion would thereby have been enhanced. and in days when the hair was dressed into tower-like erections, and adorned with powder, laces, ribbons, and all manner of strange fripperies, this girl wore her beautiful waving golden tresses floating round her face in the fashion of the ladies of charles the second’s reign, or coiled them with careless grace about her head in a natural coronet. with powder or pomatum, wires or artificial additions, she would have nothing to do. she had been brought up in the country by her grandmother, a lady of very simple tastes, who would in no wise conform to the extravagant fashions which had crept in, and were corrupting all the old-time grace and simplicity of female attire.
-"leave those fripperies to the gallants," had been the old lady’s pungent remark; "what do we want with powder and periwigs, patches and pomatum?"
-she remembered the simple elegance of the court-dresses of the ladies in the stuart times, and had no patience with the artificial trappings that followed. moreover, albeit not a puritan in any strict sense of the word—being a loyal advocate of the stuart cause—she was a woman of great piety and devotion, and studied her bible diligently; so that she took small pleasure in the adornment of the person in gaudy clothing, and the broidering of the hair, and in fine array. she taught her granddaughter to think more of the virtue of the meek and quiet spirit, and to seek rather to cultivate her mind, and store it with information and with lofty aspirations, than to give her time and thoughts to the round of folly and dissipation which made up the life of the lady of fashion.
-geraldine was so happy in the care of her grandmother, and felt so little at home with her fashionable mother, that her visits had been few and far between hitherto, until the sudden death of mrs. adair six months previously had obliged her to return permanently to her father’s roof.
-here she found a state of things which amazed and troubled her not a little, and greatly did she marvel how her mother could be the daughter of the guardian of her childhood. true, lady romaine had married very young, and early escaped from the watchful care of her judicious mother; but it seemed marvellous that so close a tie could have existed between them, and the girl would look on with amaze and pain at her mother’s freaks and follies, wondering how any woman could find entertainment in the idle, foolish, and often profane vapourings of the beaux who fluttered about her, and how any sane persons could endure such a life of trivial amusement and ceaseless meaningless dissipation.
-pleading with her father her grief at her grandmother’s death, she had obtained a six months’ respite from attendance at the gay functions which made up life to lady romaine. those six months had been spent, for the most part, in the privacy of her own apartments, which she had furnished with the dim and time-honoured treasures of her grandmother’s house, all of which were now her own, and which made her quarters in the old part of the house like an oasis of taste, and harmony, and true beauty in an ocean of confused and almost tawdry profusion. the old garden was another favourite haunt of hers, for there were portions of it which were seldom invaded by the gay butterflies who often hovered about the newer terraces and the formal dutch garden, and the hound always gave her ample warning of any approaching footstep, so that she could fly and hide herself before any one could molest her.
-so here she prosecuted her studies, read her favourite authors, and when the house was quiet—her mother having flown off to some gay rout or card-party or ball—she would practise her skill on the lute, virginal, spinet, or harp, and her fresh young voice would resound through the house, drawing the servants to the open windows to hear the sweet strains.
-lady romaine would have humoured the girl’s fancy for seclusion indefinitely. she felt almost humiliated by the presence of a daughter so stately and so mature. geraldine was nineteen, but might have passed for more, with her grave, refined beauty, and her lack of all the kittenish freakishness which made many matrons seem almost like girls, even when their charms began to fade, and nature had to be replaced by art. lady romaine fondly believed that her admirers took her for four-and-twenty; and now to have to pose as the mother of a grown-up daughter was a bitter mortification, and one which disposed her to make as speedy a marriage for geraldine as could well be achieved. lord romaine had at last insisted that his daughter should appear in the world of fashion, and she had been once or twice to court in her parents’ train, where her striking beauty and unwonted appearance had made some sensation. geraldine had little fault to find with what she saw and heard there. good queen anne permitted nothing reprehensible in her neighbourhood, and her court was grave to the verge of dullness. she was a loving and a model wife; and the duchess was devoted to her husband, though often making his life a burden by her imperious temper. anything like conjugal infidelity was not tolerated therefore by either of these ladies, and decorum ruled wherever the queen was to be found.
-but at other places and in other company matters were far different, and already geraldine began to shrink with a great disgust and distaste from the compliments she received, from the coarse, foolish, affected talk she heard, and from the knowledge of the senseless dissipation which flowed like a stream at her feet, and which seemed to encircle the span of her life in a way that made escape impossible.
-but she had been taught obedience as one of the cardinal virtues, and the days of emancipated daughters were not yet. when her father bade her lay aside her mourning and join in the life of the house, she knew she must obey. but she had asked from him the favour of being permitted to design her own dresses, and to follow her own tastes in matters pertaining to her own toilet, and also that she might be excused attendance at her mother’s morning levee; for the spectacle of crowds of men flocking in and out of her mother’s apartments, and witnessing the triumphs of the coiffeurs and tire-women, was to her degrading and disgusting; and though lord romaine laughed—being himself so inured to the custom—and told her she was a little fool, and must get the better of her prudery, he gave way to her in this, and the more readily because she represented to him how that these morning hours were now the only ones she could command for study; and he was proud to find in his daughter an erudition and talent very rare amongst women in those days.
-but now an approaching footstep warned the girl that her pleasant morning was over. the dog sprang up, but did not growl. it was geraldine’s own serving-woman approaching with the girl’s white-plumed hat and long silver-laced gloves.
-"my lady’s coach waits, and she desires your presence," was the message that reached her. geraldine sat down to let the woman fasten the hat upon her head, and with a sigh she put away her books in their basket, and gave it to the charge of the faithful hound. she had found that her treasures were far more carefully safeguarded by him than when left in the care of a giddy maid, who was more bent on having the same kind of amusement with the men-servants that her mistress had with the gallants than of seeking to discharge her duties faithfully and well.
-"hasten, child, hasten!" cried lady romaine’s shrill voice from the entrance-hall, as geraldine approached. she was a wonderful object as she stood there in the full light of the june sunshine, her stiff amber brocade sweeping round her in great billows, her waist laced in like that of a wasp, and accentuated by the style of the long-pointed bodice; her high-heeled shoes, ornamented to extravagance, the heels being bright red and the uppers sewed with precious stones; gems glittering in the mass of laces at her throat, and in a number of clasps fastened to the bodice; her hair towering upwards to such a height that she could scarce sit comfortably in her lofty coach, and could wear nothing in the way of head-gear save the laces and ribbons which were worked in with much skill by the french hair-dresser. she was redolent of perfume; gloves, lace handkerchief, dainty muff, every little knickknack, of which she possessed so many, all emitted the same cloying sweetness. geraldine felt herself heave a sigh of oppression as she followed this grotesque object into the coach. she was growing used to the aspect presented by the dames of fashion, but there were moments when her first disgust came over her in great waves.
-"i marvel that you like to make yourself such a figure of fun, child," remarked the mother, as she settled herself in her coach, smirked towards the piece of looking-glass let in opposite, and turned a sidelong glance upon her daughter; "’tis enough to set the gallants laughing to see how you habit yourself. well, well; you are a lucky girl to have found a suitor so soon. now take good heed to show him no saucy airs, should he present himself at our box at the play to-day. he has been away these last days, but he can never long absent himself from town. mind you have a smile for him when he appears, or i shall have somewhat to say to you later, miss impertinence." and the lady’s ivory fan came down somewhat smartly upon geraldine’s arm.
-"of whom are you speaking, ma’am?" she asked, whilst the colour mounted suddenly in her fair face.
-"oh, come now; so we are already posing as a belle of many beaux! pray who has ever cast a glance upon you save my good kinsman sandford? and, mind you, he is a man of taste and fashion, and it is a great compliment that he has singled you out for notice. there be girls would give their ears for a kind glance from his eyes, and there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it; so mind your manners, miss, and treat him to no tricks. it is high time you were wed, and had a husband to look after you, and that is why i take you about. for, as for pleasure in such company, one might as well play bear-leader to a snow queen!"
-"i did not know that lord sandford had done me any favour," spoke geraldine quietly. "i have seen him but seldom, and he has spoke not over much to me. but i will bear your wishes in mind, madam, should he appear to-day."
-"ha! there he is!" suddenly cried my lady, becoming excited, and rapping smartly with her fan on the glass of the window. the next minute the coach had pulled up, and lord sandford, attired in the very height of the fashion, was bowing over her hand with his courtliest air.
-"the sun shines once again," quoth lord sandford, as he raised the extended hand of lady romaine to his lips, and dropped a light kiss upon her scented glove. "the sun shines in the sky; but let him beware and look to his laurels, for there are stars abroad of such dazzling lustre that phoebus must have a care lest the brightness of his shafts be quenched in a more refulgent glow." and the young man gazed into the lady’s eyes with a bold laughing stare that pointed the meaning of the compliment.
-"la! but you talk the greatest nonsense!" cried lady romaine, highly delighted, as she tapped him smartly with her fan. "come, tell me where you have been these many days. some said you had been a-wooing in the country, and others that your dolts of tradesmen were dunning you to distraction, and others that you had fought a duel and had need to fly; but, pardieu! if one believed all the gossip of the town, one would have enough to do. i know there has been a duel, and i am aching to hear all about it. i’ll warrant you know all the story, since he was your friend. come, get into the coach, and tell me all about it. were you there? what was it all about? and what sort of an end did he make?"
-lady romaine’s face expressed the eager pleasure and curiosity of a child talking over some trivial pleasure; she flirted her fan, cast languishing glances, and played off upon the young earl all those countless little airs and graces which characterized the fine lady of the period.
-but geraldine drew back in her corner, her face growing cold and pale. she had scarcely acknowledged lord sandford’s presence, only just bending her head in response to his bow. he had not addressed her as yet, and he appeared engrossed by the mother; but he flashed one quick glance upon her now, and possibly read something of the pain and disgust which possessed her, for he answered,—
-"nay, madam, let us not talk of what is past and done. how can thought of gloom and death dwell in so radiant a presence? in sooth, all dark thoughts take to themselves wings in this company, and will not be caught or caged. i forget that we are not in the bowers of arcadia; for, in sooth, i am transported thither so soon as these poor eyes be dazzled by the light of those twin stars of love and beauty!"
-again lady romaine tapped him with her fan. she loved a compliment, however fulsome; but she wanted at this moment to be entertained by the account of the duel, which had made a little stir in the town, from the fact of one of the combatants having been the boon companion and friend of lord sandford.
-"you dear, tormenting devil! but i will have the story yet! and we are all dying to know how you will get on without your fidus achates. by my troth, you do not look as though you had wasted away in fruitless longing. perchance you have found already another to fill his place?"
-"perhaps i have, madam," was the negligent reply. "i had not known the town had so much thought to spare for worthless me. i’ faith, i am a bigger man than i thought for. but i must not keep your coach standing in this blaze of sunshine. whither are you bound, fair ladies? to some arcadian bowers of paphos, i doubt not, where orpheus will charm you with his lyre, and nymphs will cluster round in envy, marvelling at those charms which not even aphrodite herself can rival."
-"oh fie! you are a sad flatterer!" cried lady romaine, sinking back upon her cushions and waving her hand. "we are bound to lady saltire’s hazard table for an hour’s play. shall we meet you there, my lord? afterwards, we take supper at our favourite india house, and then to the play—wynstanly’s water theatre. he has a new piece—monstrous fine, those who have seen it vow. they have nymphs, and mermaids, and tritons, and i know not what beside; and they ask a pretty price for the boxes, i can tell you. but la! one must go and see what all the world is talking of. mind you come to our box if you be there. we shall expect you, and shall welcome you and any friend you like to bring."
-"even the new fidus achates, of whom you spoke just now?" asked lord sandford, with a slightly ironical bow.
-"oh gracious, yes!" cried lady romaine, excited by the very idea; "bring him at once and present him to us. i hope he is a pretty fellow, and can turn a merry quip and tell a story. you should have heard beau sidney last night! sakes! i thought i should have split my sides!"
-at this juncture the horses became so fidgety with standing in the glare of the sun that lord sandford stepped back, and the coach rolled upon its way. lady romaine waved her scented kerchief, and then routed her scent-bottle out of her reticule, and turning sharply upon her daughter, said,—
-"why sit you ever like a stuffed owl, without so much as a word or a smile? i die for shame every time i take you out. what have i done to be punished with such a daughter? one would think you to be a changeling child, if you did not so favour the adairs. how think you you will ever get wed, sitting gaping there like a farm-house wench, who is afraid to open her lips lest she should betray herself by her speech. you put me to shame, child; i could cry with mortification. what will the world say, save that i have an idiot for a daughter?"
-geraldine knew not what to answer. as she listened to the fatuous and stilted talk which was fashionable in her mother’s world, with its senseless mythological allusions and high-flown extravagances, it often seemed to her that these gay dandies and dames were all playing at madmen together. her tongue had never learned the trick of such talk. it perplexed and disgusted her, seeming trivial and childish when it was not improper or profane. she saw other young girls who listened eagerly, and as eagerly reproduced the flowery nonsense amongst themselves and their admirers; but it seemed impossible to her to do the like, and she listened in humble silence to her mother’s tirades, wondering whether there were something radically wrong about herself, or whether the absurdity and folly were in others.
-"but, madam," she said gently at the last, "why should i get me a husband so soon? my grandmother was against very early marriages, and as she lay dying she often warned me to make very careful choice ere i gave my hand in troth-plight. she said i must needs be certain of mine own heart, for that no more wretched life could exist for woman than when she was tied to a man she could not love or respect."
-"tush, child! your grandmother was a good woman. i speak no hurt of her. but she knew less of life than many a girl of eighteen does nowadays, and her ideas were all topsy-turvy. a woman wants a fine establishment, her powdered footmen, her negro boys, her dresses, her jewels, and all the world doing her homage. that is what makes the pleasure of life. a good husband who can give you all that is what you want; and what can you ask better than the addresses of lord sandford? i tell you there are half the girls in town would give their ears for his smiles. he has been extravagant, ’tis true; but the estate can stand a heavy drain, and he is lucky at cards. he soon finds himself on his legs again. when he marries he will open his great house in the strand, of which he uses but one wing now. with your fortune and his estates and his luck in gaming, you might be the gayest couple in town. look to it, girl, that you show him no airs. i am ashamed to have such a mannerless wench for a daughter. if you are not more careful, you will drive all the beaux away; and then, when it is too late, you will be sorry."
-geraldine had her own ideas on that point. it was her one desire just now to keep at arm’s length all those gay popinjays that fluttered about her mother. lord sandford, it is true, was somewhat removed from the crowd by a handsomer person, a more distinguished air, and by a greater force of character. on more than one occasion, when he had put himself about to gain her ear, she had found that he could drop his mask of gay affectations, and be both shrewd and entertaining. some of his criticisms had even interested and aroused her; but she was very far from being captivated. she did not know whether it would be possible to give to such a man either love or reverence, and without either one or other geraldine had resolved not to marry, though she knew that it was a hard task for a daughter to set at naught the wishes of her parents in these matters. she saw that both father and mother, though for different reasons, desired her to make a speedy choice, and take up her position in the fashionable world as a lady of title and importance.
-however, she was spared further strictures by the arrival of the carriage at lady saltire’s fine house: and shortly she found herself standing behind her mother’s chair at the hazard table, half stunned by the clatter and clamour of voices, watching with grave, pained eyes the eager faces of the players, their excited gestures as they reached for their winnings, their rage and disappointment when the luck went against them, the greed she saw in all faces—that lust after gold which is of all vices one of the most hateful and degrading.
-old men and young girls, matrons and aged dames, all crowded round the tables, their hoops crushing together, their tall powdered heads sometimes meeting in sharp collision. there were scented dandies, who regarded this "ladies’ play" as the merest bagatelle, and lost or won their gold pieces with careless grace, thinking of the more serious play which awaited them later at the club, or at the lodgings of some member of their own set.
-amongst this motley crowd, gaily apparelled servants moved to and fro, handing coffee, chocolate, and delicate confectionery, or offering scented waters for the refreshment of the ladies. the gentlemen preferred stronger potations, and congregated together, laughing and jesting. but not infrequently they would be joined by some giddy young matron, who called them all by their christian names, passed jests with them that would not bear repetition in these days, and even toasted some "pretty fellow," laughing gaily and giddily the while.
-there were a few graver spirits congregated together in one small room, and geraldine could catch fleeting glimpses of them through an open door. she knew some of the faces, and that they were politicians and men of letters; and she thought they were discussing some literary point, for one held a paper in his hand, and he seemed to be reading from it to the others.
-"i’ll warrant they have got a new ode to my lord of marlborough yonder," spoke a voice at geraldine’s elbow; and turning she saw an elderly man whose face was known to her from his having been a guest at her father’s house. "they had a great trouble after the victory of blenheim to find a poet able to hymn the triumph in periods sufficiently fine; but i think it was lord halifax who discovered mr. addison, whose noble lines set the city wondering. belike he has broken forth into lyric or epic praise over the battle of ramillies, and the marvellous effects it has had abroad. shall we go and listen to his periods?"
-geraldine was thankful to get away from the heated atmosphere of the card-room, and to find herself amongst men and women who had other fashions of thought and speech. but she was not allowed much peace in these different surroundings; for she was quickly summoned to her mother’s side, taken from house to house, ever seeing and hearing the like vapourings, the like fripperies and follies. it was the same thing at the dinner or supper, where her mother had a whole train of young bloods in her wake. she gave them the best the house afforded, and spent her time quizzing the dresses of the other ladies at the surrounding tables, learning all the gossip about any person whose face or costume struck her, and drinking in flattery and adulation as a bee sips honey from the flowers.
-in spite of her efforts to please her mother, geraldine found it impossible to take any share in this strange sort of gaiety. her answers were little more than monosyllables. often she did not even understand the allusions or the far-fetched metaphors of those who addressed her. more often she shrank from their glances and their open compliments, feeling degraded by both, but powerless to repel them. she was thankful when at last she found herself by her mother’s side in the box at wynstanly’s; for here she hoped she might find some measure of peace, since the box would not hold any great number of persons, and her mother was never satisfied without the attention of four or five gentlemen at once.
-if the play in itself were not very entertaining, the effects of fire and water were rather magnificent, and something new, so that more attention was given to the stage than was usual at such entertainments in those days. the fashionable listeners did not turn their backs upon the players and talk at the top of their voices all the while the play was in progress, as in some houses, and geraldine was quite wrapped in contemplation of the monsters and mermaids and denizens of the deep, with father neptune and his trident at their head, so that she knew nothing of what went on in the box where she sat, till a voice at her elbow spoke insistently.
-"they lack but one thing more—snow-white aphrodite rising in peerless beauty from the foam of the sea; and yet the audience has but to turn its eyes hither, and behold they will see that crowning marvel for themselves!"
-the girl started, and looked full into the eyes of lord sandford, bent upon her with a significance there was no misunderstanding. he was dressed in a daring costume of scarlet and gold, with quantities of lace and sparkling jewels. even his well-turned legs were encased in scarlet stockings, and his shoes were of the same flaming hue. his height and breadth of shoulder always made him a notable figure; and the immense wig he wore, which to-night was cunningly powdered so as to look almost like frosted silver, added to the distinction of his appearance. gilded popinjay lord sandford with all his extravagances could never be called. there was something too virile and strong about his whole personality for that.
-"i do not like compliments, my lord," she answered, the words escaping her lips almost before she was aware; "i have heard something too much of venus and cupid, pallas and hymen, since i made my appearance in london routs. i am but a simple country maid, and desire no high-flown compliments. i am foolish enough to regard them rather as honeyed insults. i pray you pardon my freedom of speech."
-"i pray you pardon mine," spoke lord sandford quickly. "you have spoken, lady geraldine, a deeper truth than perchance you know. i, for one, will not offend again. i would that all our sisters, wives, and daughters would look as you and speak as you."
-the frank sincerity in face and voice pleased her, and a smile dawned in her eyes. it was the first he had ever seen bent on him, and he was struck afresh with the pure unsullied beauty of this girl’s face. truth to tell, his first attraction towards her had been the rumour of her fortune, for he was more deeply in debt than he wished the world to know; but something in the remoteness and isolation in which she seemed to wrap herself piqued and interested him; for his jaded palate required fresh food when it was to be had, and the vein of manliness and strength which his life had never altogether warped or destroyed responded to the sincerity he read in lady geraldine’s fair face.
-the curtain was down now. for a few minutes he spoke of the play and the water apparatus, worked by a windmill on the roof, which was exciting so much interest in london. geraldine’s eyes meantime travelled round the box. she saw her mother engrossed in gay talk with a small circle of admirers; but one of these edged himself somewhat away from the rest, and finally stood apart, leaning against the wall of the box and surveying the house from that vantage point.
-geraldine’s eyes were riveted with some interest upon this newcomer, whom she was certain she had never seen before. in some indefinable way he was different from the men she had been used to meet at such places. for one thing, he wore his own hair; and the floating brown curls, like cavalier love-locks, seemed to her infinitely more becoming than the mass of false hair which was so much in vogue in all ranks save the lowest. his dress, too, though far more simple than that of the beaux fluttering round her mother, seemed to her far more graceful and distinguished. his stockings, breeches, and vest were all of white, with a little silver frosting. his coat was of pale blue, with silver buttons; and his lace cravat, though small and unostentatious, was rich in quality, and fastened by a beautiful pearl. he carried neither muff nor snuff-box, cane nor toothpick. he did not simper nor ogle, nor look as though he desired to attract the eyes of the house upon himself. but he was, notwithstanding, a rather notable figure as he stood looking gravely and thoughtfully downwards; there was something very graceful in his attitude, and in the carriage of his head, and his features were so remarkably handsome that lady romaine turned her eyes upon him many times, and exerted all her artifices to draw him back to her immediate neighbourhood. but he was perfectly unconscious of this, not hearing the chatter which went on about him, lost in some reverie of his own, which brought a peculiar dreamy softness into his eyes.
-lord sandford, following the direction of geraldine’s glance, looked at this motionless figure, then back at the girl, and laughed.
-"lady geraldine, pray permit me to present to you my newly-made friend and comrade, sir grey dumaresq, who, i doubt not, is dying to make his bow to so fair a lady."
-she flashed him a glance half merry, half reproachful, and he suddenly laid his hand upon his lips, a laugh rolling from them hearty and full.
-"i’ faith i had forgot! how shall i teach my rebel tongue a new language? but sir grey will atone for all my defects.—here is a lady, if you will believe it, o friend, who loves not the sugared and honeyed phrase of adulation, but seeks in all things truth, virtue, and i know not what else beside. it is whispered to me that she is a mistress of all the belles lettres, and perchance a poetess herself."
-"nay, my lord," answered geraldine, with a blush and a smile—"only one who loves the poesy of those who have lived before, and left their treasures for us who come after, and would fain drink in all the beauty of their thoughts and of their lives."
-lord sandford good-naturedly yielded his seat to grey, whose sensitive face had lighted at the girl’s words.
-"methought i had come to a world where naught was dreamed of save fashion and frippery, false adulation and falser scorn. i am well-nigh stunned by the clamour of tongues, the strife of parties, the bustle of this gay life of fashion."
-"oh, and i too—i too!" breathed the girl softly: and he flashed at her a quick, keen glance of sympathy and interest.
-"still there is life here," spoke grey quickly, "and it behoves us to know men as well as books. i have studied both. i will study them again. i would fain learn all that life has to teach, whether for weal or woe. no hermit-monk was ever truly a man. yet there be times when one shrinks in amaze from all one sees and hears."
-the chord of sympathy was struck. they passed from one thing to another. she found one at last who knew and loved the poets of her childhood’s dreams—who could talk of spenser and sidney, of watson, greville, and drayton, quoting their verses, and often lighting upon her favourite passages. here was a man who knew milton and clarendon, hobbes, herbert, lovelace and suckling, lord herbert of cherbury and izaak walton. he had read eagerly, like herself, poetry and prose, drama and epic, lyric and sonnet. he could speak of poetry as one who had loved and courted her as a mistress. the girl longed to ask him if he had written himself, but maiden shyness withheld her. yet her eyes brightened as she talked, and the peach-like colour rose and deepened in her cheeks; and lord sandford, turning back once again from the mother to look at the daughter, was struck dumb with admiration and delight.
-"there is a rose worth winning and wearing, though the stem may not be free from a sharp thorn," he said to himself; and lady romaine, who chanced to catch sight of geraldine during a shifting of the admirers who surrounded her, gave something very like a start, and felt a curious thrill run through her in which pride and envy were blended.
-"gracious! i did not know i had so handsome a daughter! i must wed her as fast as may be, else shall i find my beaux going from me to her," was her unspoken thought; and aloud she said, tapping lord sandford with her fan, "pray tell my daughter that i am about to depart. we have had enough of the naiads and dryads, and i am tired and hungry. who will come home with me to supper—to take pot-luck with us?"
-there was an eager clamour in response; but when the supper-party assembled round lady romaine’s chocolate tables in her favourite private parlour, she noted that geraldine had disappeared to bed, and that sir grey dumaresq had not availed himself of her open invitation.
-if grey dumaresq was a man who craved a variety of experiences, and wished to see life under different aspects, he was getting his wish now; for the gay world of fashion, into which he suddenly found himself plunged, differed in toto from any of his former experiences; and so swift was the pace, and so shifting the throng amid which he moved, that he often felt as though his breath were fairly taken away, and as though he had suddenly stepped into a new existence.
-lord sandford had chanced upon the young baronet at a moment when a blank had been made in his own life by the sudden and violent death of one who had been his boon companion and friend. the gay young man, who had fallen in a foolish duel a few weeks before, had been the inmate of his house and the companion in all his freaks and follies; so much so, that without him the young nobleman felt for the moment bewildered and lost, and had absented himself from town with a view to "getting over it," as he hoped: for he despised himself for any sign of weakness, and would not for worlds have had his comrades and boon companions know how the loss had affected him.
-then, as it seemed just by a lucky chance, this young and attractive man had fallen as from the very skies at his feet. grey dumaresq, new to the world of london, curious and speculative, willing to see all, learn all, participate in all, seemed exactly the person to fill the gap in his life. grey had no place of abode; why, then, should he not occupy the vacant chambers in the wing of the great mansion in the strand which lord sandford used as his customary lodging, when he was not spending his time with friends, or making one of a gay party elsewhere? grey had no valid reason for declining the invitation pressed upon him. lord sandford was a masterful man, and his strong personality impressed itself upon grey with something between attraction and repulsion. but, on the whole, attraction seemed the stronger power, and curiosity to know more of this man and his life held grey’s soul in thrall. he had always experienced a vivid curiosity to taste life in its various forms, to know and understand the thoughts, the feelings, the aspirations, the ambitions of other men. his travels had given him insight into many matters; but he felt that these new experiences were likely to be more searching, more exciting, more full of keen personal interest. he had been, as it were, a spectator heretofore; now he was to be a participator.
-he had not meant to be any man’s guest; he had meant to take a modest lodging of his own, and look about him for something in the way of employment, but lord sandford had roared with laughter over such a notion.
-"what! sir grey dumaresq going cap in hand to some proud place-giver to ask for patronage, or i know not what! gadzooks, man, with that face, that figure, that horse, and a purse full of guineas, you can do better than that! trust yourself to me. i’ll show you where fame and fortune lie. you shall redeem your rat-infested old house in a very brief while, if you will but trust yourself to my guidance. you be damon to my pythias—or is it t’other way round, eh?—and i’ll show you the royal road to the goal you want."
-for lack of any definite plans, grey had consented for the nonce to accept lord sandford’s advice, and had quickly found himself installed in some gloomy and stately yet luxurious chambers in a vast house, of which only a portion was open for use, and the rest given over to a neglect and decay that hartsbourne itself could scarcely rival.
-"but we shall change all that some day," spoke lord sandford, with a careless laugh, as grey expressed his surprise at the vast rooms and long galleries shut up and infested by rats and spiders. "oh yes, we shall change all that some day; but what does a bachelor want with such a house as this? what should i be the better for a crowd of liveried servants, eating off their heads, idling away their time dicing and drinking? what have i to give an army of scullions and cooks to do—i who seldom take a meal at home after my morning chocolate? no, no; i know a trick worth two of that. i don’t ruin myself to keep a crew of fat, lazy rogues about me, cheating me at every turn. half a dozen fellows and a few kitchen wenches do well enow for me; but when lady sandford comes to her husband’s home—ah well! then we shall see the difference."
-but though he talked jestingly from time to time of the lady sandford that was to be, he gave grey no hint as to whether his fancy inclined more to one or another of the many gay maidens with whom he chatted and flirted, danced and romped, in the fashion of the day; and so bewildering and dazzling were these young madams and their surroundings that the newcomer was lost in a maze of wonder and bewilderment, and found it hard to distinguish one face from another, until he met one, different from all the rest.
-but grey was not left idle; he had small time for musing. the very first day of his sojourn in london he was surrounded by a fluttering crowd of tailors, glove-sellers, barbers, fencers, sellers and purveyors of every imaginable ware, who all professed their eagerness to serve him, and quoted lord sandford as a patron who could swear to their honesty and the excellence of their goods.
-into the midst of this motley throng lord sandford thrust himself, laughing his great hearty laugh, and quickly sent to the right-about two-thirds of the importunate crowd—a jest here, a keen thrust there, a slap on back or shoulder in another quarter, emphasizing his forcible hints. and when the room was cleared of all but the lucky few, he flung himself into an armchair with another laugh, telling grey he was sorry his knaves of servants, who looked for perquisites everywhere, had let in this flood of rogues upon him, but added that he must needs have the wherewithal to cut a proper figure in london town, and forthwith set about the business of ordering an outfit for the young man which almost took his guest’s breath away.
-"poof!" he cried, when the latter strove to remonstrate, "you have plenty of money; and these rascals can wait if it suits your pleasure. father’s memory! oh, be hanged to all such mawkish sentiment! you need not think less of your father because you wear a blue coat in lieu of a black! rabbit me! but you are of a different world from this if you keep alive your father’s memory for six months after his decease! no, no; you must cut a figure. sir hugh’s name is clean forgot by now. i’ll eat my boots if ’tis not so. i’ll have you as gay as my fancy paints you. no black—no sables for the gentleman, i tell you. let us see those other patterns. ah! here is something more like."
-grey submitted. in sooth, he cared but little for the colour of his clothes, or the set of his hat, or the cut of his coat. he let lord sandford have his way for the most part, only insisting here and there upon soft and tender tints, and showing a predilection for white, which his friend quite approved.
-"you shall be a foil to me, not a rival. i have learned that art from the ladies. i like to blaze like old sol in his strength; you shall rather recall gentle luna amid her galaxy of stars. faugh! one’s tongue gets into this silly trick of speech, so that one cannot drop it even betwixt man and man! but you are right to think that white becomes you well. you will look a pretty fellow, in all conscience, when you have added a peruke to your other adornments."
-but here grey stood firm. nothing would induce him to cumber his head with one of those mountains of hair. in vain the perruquiers displayed their wares; in vain lord sandford bantered and laughed, and made out that he would be reckoned as a mad fellow by the young bloods of the city. grey would not yield an inch. he had always found his own hair sufficient and comfortable, and he would wear it to the end. and as the discomfited perruquier at last departed, lord sandford broke into another of his great laughs.
-"i’ faith you are right, man. i like you the better that you have the courage of your opinions, and care no whit for fashion. you’ll be a match for more than the perruquiers yet. there’s a fighting strain in your blood. i can see it in the glint of your eye. well, you shall not lack opportunity to fight as well as to laugh here in london town; but we’ll not have cold steel or hot lead again. i’ve seen enough of that cursed duelling to last me for a lifetime."
-grey was quickly to discover the nature of the battles in which he was to take a part, and at the first he shrank from them with an instinctive aversion he could not well have defined, being no grave moralist or philosopher. contests of skill or of luck at the gaming tables were all the rage of the day with the young dandies of the town, and the man who could keep a steady head, and in some cases a steady hand, was certain in the long run to obtain advantage over his fellows. at one club a game something like our modern billiards was all the rage; and, of course, a man who was moderate in his cups could score heavily over the reckless, dissipated bloods, who were seldom sober after sundown. dice and cards had their vogue at other places; and though some of the games played were those purely of chance, others required no small skill and a clear head to ensure success, and it was here that lord sandford’s strong head and grey’s cool blood and temperate habits gave them the advantage.
-the young man had not been a fortnight in town before finding his capital doubled, as well as all bills paid to the astonished tradesmen, who seldom looked to receive their money within a twelvemonth. he was disposed to be troubled at this easy fashion of making money; but lord sandford laughed him to scorn.
-"zounds, man, what does it matter? those young popinjays are bound to lose their money to some one. why not then to honest fellows like you and me, who pay our bills and do good to the community with the money? scruples! faugh! you must rid yourself of them! sir hugh dumaresq’s son need not trouble himself thus. let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. isn’t that good scripture?" but the reckless young lord paled a little at the sound of his own words. he had seen sudden death once too often for his peace of mind of late.
-in sooth, grey felt but little scruple in taking his winnings. the young man was not greatly in advance of his age, although he was indued with a nature more finely strung and aspirations more lofty than belonged to most. gambling was so much a matter of course both in this and in other lands, and the devotees of the amusement so numerous and so bent upon their sport, that it would have needed stronger convictions than grey as yet possessed to make any stand on such a point. he took the same risks as the others, and if his coolness of head, steadiness of hand, and quick observation and memory served to make for success in his case, he rather regarded this as a witness to his superiority, and felt only a small sense of reluctance in pocketing his gains; which reluctance he could only attribute to a lingering memory of words spoken by his mother when he was a growing boy, and news came to them from time to time of sir hugh’s losses over cards, and the necessity for further retrenchments upon the already impoverished estate.
-but the cases being so dissimilar, grey did not see that he need debar himself from this easy highroad to fortunes, as it then seemed. nobody was dependent upon him. nobody was there to grieve over his troubles or to rejoice over his success. his honest serving-man was in sooth the only being in any way deeply attached to him; and dick was as delighted at his master’s brave appearance, and at the golden stream running into his pocket, as though he had achieved some great success or triumph.
-there was one way by which grey had pocketed considerable sums of money that was very congenial to him, and had given him some very happy hours. this was the speed and strength of his horse, which lord sandford had made boast of, vowing in the hearing of some of the smartest dandies of the town that don carlos would beat any steed against whom he was pitted—a challenge eagerly taken up by the young bloods, proud of their own horses and horsemanship, to whom trials of skill and strength, and contests over which wagers might freely be exchanged, were as the very salt of life.
-so either out at hampstead, or at richmond or hampton court, don carlos had been set to show the metal of which he was made, and had come off easy victor in every race and every match, whether flat running, or leaping, or a course of the nature of a steeplechase had been elected. his strength and speed, sagacity and endurance, had never once failed him, and already he was the talk of the town, and grey could have sold him for a great price had he been willing to part with his favourite.
-many bright eyes had smiled upon the young centaur, many languishing glances had been cast at him. he had been called up again and again to be presented to some high-born dame, or some bevy of laughing maidens, and he had bowed with courtly grace, and received their sugared compliments with suitable acknowledgments. but no face had attracted him as that face he had seen once at the water theatre, almost upon his first appearance in the gay world. he knew that it belonged to lady geraldine romaine; and often his eyes roved round some gay assemblage, searching half unconsciously for a sight of her tall and graceful figure, and the sweet, earnest face, so different from the laughing and grimacing crowd in which he now moved. grey had not known much of women, so far. his college life first, and then his roving career of adventure, had hindered him from making friendships save with those of his own sex; and his deep love for his mother had preserved as a living power his chivalrous belief in women, and a resolute determination to disbelieve the idle, malicious, and vicious tales he heard of them on all sides. womanhood was sacred to him, and should be sacred to the world. that was his inalienable conviction; and he had striven to be blind and deaf to much of what had often been passing around him, that he might not sink to the level of the men he met, who would tear to tatters a woman’s reputation for an evening’s pastime, or revel in every ugly bit of scandal or tittle-tattle that the young beaux’ valets learned from the lackeys of other fine folk, and retailed with additions at the door of the theatre, the gates of the park, or on the staircases of the fashionable houses whither their masters and mistresses flocked for amusement, unconscious or heedless of the gossip spread abroad about them by their servants at the doors.
-grey took no pleasure in the society of these fashionable dames. his tongue had not learned the trick of the artificial language then in vogue. he was disgusted by the gross flattery every lady looked to receive, and the lisping platitudes of the attendant beaux filled him with scorn. it was small wonder that he chose rather the society of men of more virility and stronger fibre, such as lord sandford and his chosen friends; for though many of them were wild young rakes, and not a few had a very doubtful record, yet grey knew little enough about that, and found them not without attraction, although the higher part of his nature revolted from much that he saw and heard. nevertheless, he regarded it all as a part of the experience in life which he craved, and he might have become in a short while just such another as these, had it not been for an incident which suddenly arrested him in his career of dissipation, and turned his thoughts into different channels.
-it had been early june when he came to town, and now july had come, with its sultry suns and breathless nights, when grey ofttimes felt after an evening over cards that it was mockery to go to bed, and lounged away the residue of the night at his open window, enjoying the only coolness and freshness that was to be had, as the wind came whispering from the river charged with refreshing moisture.
-sometimes the river seemed to call him; and at such times he would lay aside his finery, clothe himself in some plainer habit, and betake himself through the silent house, where the night watchman was always found slumbering at his post, out through the big courts and down to the river steps, where a few light wherries were always kept moored, one of which he would select, and shoot out upon the glimmering river to meet the new day there.
-some of his happiest hours were spent thus; and at such times as these he felt rising within him a vague sense of unrest and of disgust. he had come to the world of london to conquer fate, to make for himself a name and a career; and here he was wasting day after day in coffee-houses or clubs, with a crowd of idlers whose thoughts never rose above the fancy of the hour, whose only ambition was to kill time as easily and pleasantly as possible, and to line their pockets with gold, that they might have more to throw away on the morrow.
-was this what he would come to? was this what he was made for? would he become like unto them, a mere roisterer and boon companion, a man without aspirations and without ambition? his cheeks burned at the thought; and he sent his light craft spinning rapidly up the stream as the questions formed themselves.
-it was an exquisite summer morning. the bells in the many towers and steeples of the city had chimed the hour of five. the sun had long been up, yet the glamour and glory of the new-born day still lay upon the sleeping city and the dewy meadows of the opposite shore. grey rowed on rapidly, yet drinking in the beauty of all he saw. he knew not how far he had rowed; he had lost count of his surroundings; he was absorbed in a deep reverie, when he was suddenly brought up breathless and wondering by the sound of a voice singing—a voice so clear and sweet and true that he asked himself whether it could be any creature of earth that sang, or whether it might be some nymph or mermaid such as sailors spoke of in their wondrous tales.
-he gazed about him. he saw that he was passing a garden, and that a group of weeping willows overhung the water at this spot. the singing seemed to come from thence. burning curiosity possessed him, and he very slowly and softly rowed himself onwards, till the prow of his boat met the drooping boughs with a soft rustle. the song ceased suddenly. grey turned in his seat, and drew himself within the sheltering shade; as he did so, a quick exclamation broke from him. he dropped his oars as he exclaimed,—
-"the lady geraldine!"
-how had it come about? grey never could have said. but now it was all told—the story of his chequered life. she had been silent at the first—not exactly resentful of his intrusion, not unwilling to let him have speech of her again, but quiet, with a maidenly reserve and dignity which had acted upon him like a charm. it brought back to him the memory of his mother, and her noble dignity. the look in her eyes recalled those things that he had learned at her knee, and those aspirations after true greatness of life which she had cherished and fostered. suddenly his present life looked to him utterly sordid, mean, and unworthy; and in a burst of confidence, for which he could have given no reason, he told her all his tale, encouraged by the soft and earnest glances of her beautiful eyes, although she scarcely spoke a word from beginning to end.
-and now she looked at him with a great compassion in her face.
-"oh, it is sad, it is sad!" she said in her earnest musical tones. "i know a little how sad it is. i see it too. but you are a man. you are strong, you are your own master. why do you let yourself be made the sport and plaything of fate? oh, do not do it! rise to your calling as a man, as a gentleman, as a christian! you can—i know you can! i read it in your face! what is lord sandford to you? the acquaintance of a few weeks. what are his comrades to you? you know that in your heart you despise them. then will you make yourself as one of them? will you sink to their level? oh no, no, no! break the fetters; they cannot be fast riveted yet. break them, and stand a free man, and then see what the world has to offer you."
-she was gazing at him now, not shyly, not as a maiden archly coquetting with a handsome young swain, but as a woman yearning to reclaim one whose footsteps had well-nigh slipped in the mire, and whose whole soul was stirred by the effort.
-grey listened like a man who dreams; and yet his eyes were on fire, and his heart was kindled to a great flame—shame at his own weakness, yearnings after vanished memories and half-forgotten aspirations struggling together with some new and utterly unknown emotion which seemed to come surging over him like a flood, leaving him speechless, motionless.
-she had risen, and now held out her hand.
-"you will triumph yet. i am assured of it. and i shall pray god to give you his strength and grace. farewell, sir; we may meet again sometimes. i shall hear of you. i shall listen to hear naught but good. your mother’s voice shall plead through mine. give up evil companions; give up idle dissipation, and all that it brings in its train. lead the higher life of the courteous knight, the spotless knight, the knight of the holy grail. did we not speak of them all when first we met, and methought you looked such a one yourself? be true to that better self; and so i say farewell again. may god be with you!"
-she was gone, and grey stood looking after her as a man who sees a vision.
-as grey dumaresq drifted downstream with the tide that sunny july morning, he felt as though something new and wonderful had come into his life, as though some great and marvellous change had fallen upon him, which, for good or ill, must leave its mark upon his life.
-he did not try to analyze the strange feelings which possessed him. for a time he did not even consciously think. he seemed to be drifting along a shining pathway—drifting, he scarce knew whither, and did not care to ask. his heart was strangely heavy, and yet strangely light. a curious loathing and shame at himself was blended with a sense of exultant triumph, which held him in a mood of ecstasy. for a long while he drifted onwards, scarce thinking or knowing whither he went, till a sudden consciousness that he was passing lord sandford’s house brought him to himself with a sense of shock. he had left that house only two hours before; yet it might have been as many years that had rolled over his head, so different were his feelings, so changed was his outlook upon life.
-he moored his boat, and went up to his room. before long he would be expected to drink coffee or chocolate at his friend’s levee, meet all those of his comrades who had energy to pay their customary devoirs to their patron, and discuss the plans for the ensuing day and night. grey dashed some cold water over his hot head, and sat down to think.
-what would lord sandford say if he suddenly expressed his intention of giving up gambling in all its many insidious forms, in order to enter upon a life totally different from that of the past weeks? it was not as though he had any alternative plan to unfold to him. he was as ignorant how his fortune was to be made now, after several weeks in gay london town, as he had been on his first approach to that city. he could almost hear the great guffaw of laughter with which lord sandford would greet his confession. he half feared the powerful personality and the imperious temper of the man who had been a good friend to him, and who had the reputation of being a dangerous enemy when his will was crossed. grey knew that this man liked him—went near to loving him—would not easily let him go. he knew that he would appear both ungrateful and capricious; and the young man writhed at the thought of seeming either the one or the other. but yet he must break away. pacing up and down the room, he seemed to see the soft earnest eyes of the lady geraldine bent upon him. he had pledged his word to her, and in spirit to his dead mother. from that pledge there was no drawing back. yet how could the break best be made?
-he thought over the engagements already entered into. was it needful that these should be kept? he thought not—at least not those which were but promises to meet at such and such clubs or coffee-houses for the purposes of card-playing and similar recreations. but there was one engagement that grey did not see his way honourably to break. he had promised to ride don carlos the following saturday in a course against three other picked horses, and heavy wagers, he knew, had been laid upon or against his steed. this engagement he felt he could not break; but the rest he would. he might even make the excuse that don carlos wanted attention, and that he was going to take him into the country for purposes of training; and, once away from sandford house, he ought to be able to pen a letter to the master which might excuse his return, and explain the nature of the change which had come over him.
-yes, that would be the way. he would not go open-mouthed to him this morning, to be perhaps scoffed or cajoled into some rash compromise. grey knew that his ability to see both sides of a question often led him into difficulties and the appearance of vacillation. surely he could keep his pledge if he made the break with a certain diplomatic skill. not only would it be easier to himself, but it might prove the safer method also.
-when he saw lord sandford in the midst of his friends, laughing at the last bit of scandal, passing jokes over the latest repartee of the redoubtable duchess of marlborough to the meek queen, discussing the rivalries of the ministers, and the other rivalries (to them more important) of the reigning beauties of the gay world, grey felt that it would indeed be impossible to speak in this company of any of those things which were in his mind. he contented himself by standing aloof, looking out of the window and sipping his chocolate, whilst the gay flood of talk surged around him, and he caught a word here and a phrase there, but always heard when lord sandford’s resonant tones dominated those of all others.
-"talk of rival beauties; we shall see sport to-night. lady romaine and lady saltire—dearest friends and dearest foes—are to go to vauxhall gardens to-night, each in a new toilet specially designed and ordered for the occasion. it will be a ladies’ battle, in very truth; and public opinion must needs decide which of the rival queens is fairest to look upon. i have promised both the dear creatures to be there, to give my admiration to both alike. shall i risk the undying enmity of either by giving the palm to one? no such fool, gentlemen—no such fool is sandford. i vow i will have ready such a pretty speech or couplet for each that she shall go away with a better opinion of me than ever! ha, ha, ha! i love to see the pretty dears, tricked out in their finery, and ready to tear each other’s eyes out! so, gentlemen, i cancel all previous engagements for to-night. i am for vauxhall, and heaven only knows how late we shall be detained there by the battle of beauty."
-"we will all be there!" cried the young bloods, who were at all times ready to follow lord sandford to whatever place of entertainment he elected to go; and one voice followed with a laughing question,—
-"will the snow maiden be there in the train of her mother?"
-grey felt himself start, and was glad his face was turned away. he would not for worlds that the sharp mocking eyes of lord sandford should see him at this moment, albeit he had no notion of any sort that he had special interest in his spotless lady geraldine.
-"i trow so," was the carelessly-spoken reply of lord sandford, as he adjusted his wig and suffered his valet to spray some delicate perfume over his person, as a finishing touch to his toilet. "the lady geraldine is no longer to lead the life of a nun. it has been decreed that she is to show her lovely face abroad, and add thereby a lustre to her mother’s charms."
-"a lustre her ladyship would well dispense with," laughed another. "she would sooner pose as the stepmother than the mother of a grown-up daughter—ha, ha! how comes it that this young beauty hath never been shown before to the world? other damsels make their début at sixteen; but the lady geraldine can scarce be less than twenty, and has the dignity of matronhood."
-"a vast deal more dignity than the most part of our matrons do show forth," spoke lord sandford incisively. "doubtless she learned it from her grandam, her mother’s mother and her father’s aunt; for my lord and my lady romaine are cousins, and mrs. adair was trusted and revered by both. young children are in the way of such gay ladies of fashion, wherefore the babe was sent to its grandam, and remained with her till the virtuous and discreet old lady died, having bequeathed her store of wisdom and discretion to the beautiful maid she had reared."
-"and her fortune too," sniggered one gay dandy. "do not forget that item, my lord. it is whispered that it will make the biggest of her charms. what is the figure? doth anybody know?"
-all disclaimed any precise information, and lord sandford spoke no word; his brow was slightly furrowed, and there was a subdued gleam in his eye which warned those who saw it that something in the conversation was not to his mind. they therefore hastened to change it, and many of them said adieu and sauntered away. only a small knot remained with their patron, discussing the plans for the day; and grey stood still in the embrasure of the window, his heart still beating with curious violence and rapidity. when those men were speaking of geraldine, he had scarce been able to keep his fingers from their throats. what business had they taking her pure name upon their lips? and why had they spoken of her fortune? could it be true that she was so great an heiress? he hated to believe it; yet what was it to him? he was wakened from his reverie by a quick question from lord sandford, which he heard as through the mists of a dream, and answered,—
-"’tis true i am not quite myself. i slept not at all last night, and have been on the river well-nigh since sunrise to rid me of the vapours. methinks i will seek some sleep in mine own rooms ere night. reckon not on me for to-day’s pastime."
-"ay, you have the air of a man squeamish and in need of rest. go get thee a good sleep, friend grey, for we must keep you in fettle for the match on saturday. man and beast must come to the field strong and robust, with nerve and wind and muscle true and taut. but you must make one of our party to vauxhall to-night. there will be many bright eyes on the lookout for the gay cavalier, as the ladies call you for your love-locks. you must not fail us there."
-for a moment grey hesitated, prudence and passion fighting together for mastery. but the overwhelming desire to see geraldine again—perhaps to speak a word of farewell—overcame him, and he answered briefly as he strolled through the room on his way out,—
-"i shall be ready enough for that; you can reckon on me."
-how the day passed grey never knew, and it was still broad daylight when he and his comrades started for the gardens of vauxhall, where it was the fashion to spend the evening hours when nothing more attractive offered, and where such music and such illuminations as the times had to offer were to be enjoyed, and where ladies and their attendant beaux fluttered about like so many gay butterflies, and found opportunity as the dusk fell for walks and talks of a more private nature in the bosky alleys and shady paths than they could hope to gain in crowded routs and card-parties. supper could be obtained too, and pleasant little parties made up; and the fashionable world found it agreeable on these hot summer nights to take their pleasure out in the open air.
-grey detached himself from his friends upon the first opportunity, and wandered alone through the gardens, avoiding encounters with persons he knew, though often accosted with laugh and jest and challenge by masked ladies, or young bloods eager to make friends with one whose face and figure began to be known, owing to his successes in horsemanship with don carlos, and his friendship with lord sandford. but grey made small response to overtures, quickly shook himself free, and pursued his solitary ramble, till at length a sound of gay voices, laughter, and almost uproarious mirth, in which the tones of lord sandford could plainly be heard, drew him to a wide open space where an illuminated fountain seemed to have drawn a great concourse of people; and there, amid a tossing crowd of gaudy gallants, and ladies with towering heads, mincing, giggling, uttering little shrieks, little jests, or playing off an infinitude of coquetries and artifices to attract admiration, he beheld the stately white-robed figure around which his thoughts and fancies had been playing all through the long hours of the day.
-he saw not the rival queens of beauty in their gorgeous apparel. he saw not the surging crowd that eddied around them, appraising, flattering, admiring, laughing. he only saw one white figure, standing aloof and for the moment alone, the moonbeams glimmering upon the shining whiteness of her dress, the fair face bent, as though in some sort of sorrow or shame. he saw it, and he was instantly at her side.
-whether or not he spoke, he knew not. he offered his arm, and the next moment he was leading her away from that giddy, mocking crowd; and he felt the clinging clasp of her fingers thrilling him to his heart’s core. he heard the breath of relief as the chorus of flippant merriment died away in the distance. he paused, and a quick exclamation escaped his lips.
-"this is no place for you, lady geraldine. why do they bring you hither?"
-she answered not, but turned her gaze for a moment towards him, and then dropped her eyes. with an impulse for which he could not account, he covered the fingers which lay upon his arm with his own disengaged hand, and passionate words sprang to his lips.
-"give me only the right, fair lady, and i will save you from them all. i ask only to live and die as your knight—your champion—without wages—without reward!"
-then he was silent. his breath came thick and fast. he felt the quiver of the hand he held. he knew not how long the silence lasted, it was so strangely sweet, so full of mysterious meaning.
-"i thank you, sir. i trow that you speak truth, and that your words are not idle froth—gone in a moment—as the words of so many of yonder gallants. but it may not be. i may not give you such a right. a maiden is not free to choose her friends; and the knights of chivalry are long since vanished from the earth. i would that i might call you friend, that sometimes we might meet and hold converse together. i trust that i may learn a good report of you, that one day i may speak with pride of having known you in your youth. but that must suffice us. let it be enough for both. i may not—"
-she hesitated, and her voice died into silence. she spoke with a repressed emotion which he scarcely understood. the tumult of his own heart was such that he could not seek to gauge the depths of her feelings.
-"if i may not be your knight, let me at least be your friend—your servant!" he pleaded. "and if there is anything wherein i can serve you—"
-she seemed struck by the phrase. she lifted her bent head and gazed earnestly at him; but the words she spoke seemed strange.
-"you are the friend of lord sandford; is it not so?"
-"and you must know him well, i doubt not. tell me, sir grey—and i pray you deceive me not—what kind of a man is this same lord sandford? is he leal and true, faithful, loving, and loyal? is he better than the crowd who follow at his heels and ape his manners, use his name as a watchword, and fawn upon his favour? tell me, what think you of him? a friend must needs speak sooth."
-"lady, you have asked a hard question, inasmuch as i know but little of the man, albeit i have lived with him above a month. he attracts me, and yet there be moments when he repels me too. he is a good friend—i would not speak a word against him; yet it is said that he can be a bitter and an unscrupulous enemy; and those who have lost his favour withdraw themselves as speedily as possible from his notice, fearful lest some evil may befall them."
-"is he then cruel and rancorous?"
-"i can believe that he might be, were his passions roused. he has that forceful nature which tends to vehement liking and bitter hatred. i have experienced the one; i have not tasted of the other. for the rest, he is a man of parts, and can do all well to which he puts his hand. methinks he would be strong enough to break off his reckless and vicious habits, had he but motive sufficient to make him! desire to do so. but for the nonce he floats with the current, and lives as the world lives. more i cannot say."
-at that moment a swift, firm tread was heard approaching along the dim alley; and geraldine looked hastily round, her hand dropping from grey’s arm.
-"it is he!" she whispered, and there was a catch in her voice which the young man heard without understanding. he faced round, and beheld the towering figure of lord sandford beside them.
-"well chanced upon!" quoth he in his resonant tones. "i was sent by your mother in search of you, lady geraldine. the court of beauty has sat. to her has been adjudged the prize. she now desires the presence of her daughter, to share her triumph. we shall sup anon, and the table will not be complete without one gracious and lovely presence. lady geraldine, honour me by accepting my escort.—grey, will you join us?"
-he spoke the last words over his shoulder, and there was a note in his voice which the young man had never heard before, and which he did not fully understand. it seemed to sting him, but he knew not why.
-"i thank you—no," he answered. "i am going home."
-and then he stood quite still to watch lord sandford lead away the fair geraldine, who threw him one strange, half-appealing glance over her shoulder, but spoke no word of farewell.
-grey had meant to go home, but somehow he could not bring himself to do so. his brain seemed on fire, and his heart with it. he knew not what ailed him, but a fever was consuming him. he left the gardens, but walked on and on, not knowing or caring whither he went. the night was far spent, and the dawn was beginning to blush in the eastern sky, before he found himself in the region of sandford house again.
-the place was still and deserted. the revellers and roisterers seemed all at home. a watchman dozed at his post, thankful for the peace of the streets, and grey met no interruption, till suddenly, round a corner, he came face to face with his host, who gave him a look, uttered a short laugh, and linked his arm within his.
-"well met, friend grey! you too have had no desire to woo the somnolent god? we find metal more attractive elsewhere. say now, what think you of the future lady sandford? methought you had eyes but for her to-night. will she not queen it right royally here—the beautiful stately creature? you have taste, grey, and i am well pleased that you have. those painted, patched, and powdered jezebels, smirking and ogling and running all over the town for the adulation of the crowd, are as little to your mind as to mine. we can flatter and fool and make mock with the best; but when it comes to marriage! faugh! one’s soul sickens at the thought. what man in his senses would trust his happiness or his honour in the hands of that tawdry crew? gilt and tinsel do very well to play with; but when one desires to purchase, one asks for gold."
-grey’s heart seemed to stand still within him. he felt growing numb and cold. as they passed beneath the gateway, and the lamp shone upon his face, lord sandford saw that it was white as death, and a strange gleam came into his own eyes.
-"come, my friend, you do not answer. what think you of the wife that i have chosen? what think you of the lady geraldine adair? is she not a matchless creature? who would have believed such a sport could come from such a tree?"
-grey commanded himself by a great effort.
-"is the lady geraldine adair, then, your affianced wife?"
-"that, or next door to it. my suit is approved of her parents. we shall be betrothed ere long. i thought you might be learning as much from her own lips to-night. did i not hear my name pass between you twain?"
-"she did ask some question anent you," answered grey, who had no desire to fence or parry—he felt too stunned and bewildered; "but she spoke not of any troth-plight. why should she?"
-"true, why should she? she is not one of your empty-headed chatterers. she wears not her heart upon her sleeve. and your acquaintance is of the slightest; is it not so? have you met before, since that evening in the water theatre when i did first present you to each other?"
-"i have seen her but once between," answered grey, still in the same quiet, stunned fashion; and when they had entered the house, he made excuse to go at once to his room, declining all proffer of refreshment or further converse.
-lord sandford looked after him with an intent look upon his face, which slowly clouded over, till there was something almost malignant and ferocious in his aspect.
-"so it is as i thought. he has been hit, and hard hit. where can he have seen her in the interim? they would not have been standing thus, talking thus, if some bond had not been established between them. yet i thought i had kept an eye upon him. i knew there might be danger. i saw it the first moment that they met. there is something akin in their natures. they feel it themselves. hr-r-r-rr! that must be put a stop to. i will have no rival in geraldine’s heart. she does not love me yet; but she fears me a little, and she thinks of me. that is no bad basis to build upon. i shall win her yet, if i have a fair field. but a rival—no, that must not be! and yet i read somewhat in her eyes to-night which had not been there before. the fiend take all false friends! i must rid myself of this one, and that speedily. i have liked him; but he shall not stand in my way. well, ’tis i have made him: i can quickly unmake him. let me but think of the way and the means. grey dumaresq, you are a pretty fellow and a pleasant comrade; but you shall never be suffered to stand in the light of sandford’s hopes and plans and desires. look to yourself, my friend; for evil is abroad for you!"
-"master, master, wake up! what ails you? have you forgot the day, and what has to be done?"
-dick, with an expression of uneasiness and determination upon his face, was shaking grey somewhat vehemently by the shoulder. the latter seemed to find it hard to wake; and when his eyes opened at last, there was a lack-lustre expression in them that was strange and unnatural. dick’s honest face clouded over yet more.
-"i was certain there was some devilry afoot when they all came here last night. i have never seen my master in such a mad mood of merriment," he muttered half aloud, as he turned away to get a brimming glass of pure cold water from the table. "what has come over them, i don’t know. but i like not the change. i liked not the look in lord sandford’s eyes. he is a great man, i doubt it not; but i wish my master had chanced upon another as a friend and comrade in this great babylon of a city. there is more going on here than i well understand."
-"what are you grumbling over there to yourself, dicon?" asked grey from his bed, and his voice sounded more natural and quiet than his servant had heard it yet; "and where am i? for sure this room is strange to mine eyes, nor have i any recollection of it overnight; and how come you to be here, for that matter, honest dicon? methought you were at hampstead, watching over don carlos, that he might be ready for saturday’s race."
-"yes, master, and so i am; and this is the hostelry at hampstead where i have taken up my quarters with the horse; and hither it was that you came yestere’en, with lord sandford and his friends, to be ready for the match to-day. but beshrew me if i did think yesterday you would be fit for the saddle to-day! is it strange i should mutter and grumble to myself when such things happen?"
-"nay now, what things, good dicon? i pray you tell me," spoke grey, as he drained at one draught the ice-cold water, and drew a long breath of relief. "i feel like a man waking from a strange and fevered dream; for, in sooth, i know but little of what has been passing these last days. some strange madness seems to have possessed me. i had meant to say farewell to lord sandford and his world, and seek mine own fortunes in some other field. yet methinks i have not made the break. i have visions of wild orgies and furious gaming—such as i held aloof from before. dicon, i fear me i have made a desperate fool of myself, and of my fortunes too. tell me, what money have i with me now?"
-"not much, master. i took what you had—a matter of some twenty guineas perhaps. i have it safe in a bag. but surely that is not all. you had won a fortune, you did tell me—"
-"ay, and now i have lost it. i can recollect how the guineas flew, and how the stakes were doubled, and how i lost again and yet again. i take it i am a ruined man, good dicon. these twenty guineas saved from the wreck are all the fortune i possess, and belike it is better so—better so."
-"better!" echoed the dismayed dick; "nay, my master. but you will win it back again. the luck cannot always be against you. think how it was at the first!"
-"yes, dicon, and perchance it had been better had the luck been worse. i love not such gains as these. besides, there is somewhat in this beyond my ken. lord sandford desired my friendship and company then, and luck was with me. now that he desires it no more, the luck has changed, and that so strangely and desperately that one might almost say there was magic in it."
-dick’s jaw dropped; he longed to know more, but feared to intrude too much upon his master’s secrets. grey, however, knew how faithful and attached was his stanch henchman, and as he went through his morning toilet he told him a little of the events of the past three days, in as far as he himself could remember them.
-"i have offended lord sandford doubly," he said, "though he will not openly admit it. but i know—i feel the change. i trow that he is my enemy. nay, dicon, look not so aghast; it will matter little in the future, since to-day i take my leave of him, and most like in this great whirling world our paths will not again cross, either for weal or woe."
-"but how?—what? he did seem to love you well."
-"i think he did; but a mischance befell. he did not tell me of his troth-plight to a fair lady—a lady of surpassing beauty, and of a virtue and purity which make her like a bright particular star amid the painted dames and mincing damsels of this giddy london town. twice or thrice did i meet her and pay homage to her wondrous beauty and goodness. it was words she spoke to me that decided me, ere ever any ill-blood had been aroused, to leave off from this life of pleasure-seeking and distraction, and seek a nobler career than that of the butterfly dandy fluttering round the town. but lord sandford thought that there was somewhat more than this betwixt us. of that i am assured. a flame of jealousy swept over him; and when i told him of my resolution, i trow that his suspicions received confirmation. i did not see it then, but i see it now. he thought i left him to pursue my ends alone, and, perchance, to seek to win the lady of his choice. but he spoke nothing of this—only insisted that for this week my engagements should be kept, and that after to-day’s race i might go my own way, an i was so resolved. he was not unkindly; yet there was something strange and stern in his bearing and language, and you have seen how his imperious temper and will sweep all before them. i myself was strangely dazed and something sorrowful. i scarce do know why my heart was so heavy within me. i let him have his way; and you behold what that way has been. i am a ruined man, beggared of all my winnings; and methinks my lord sandford has plotted for this very thing."
-"it is a shame! would i could take my horsewhip to him—"
-"nay, nay, good dicon; be not so wroth," spoke grey calmly and quietly. "in sooth, i know not that i owe him aught but thanks. when all is said and done, it was but ill-gotten gain. i would sooner face life with none of it upon me. i had a few guineas to start with—well, it was more than a few; yet had i spent my time in london, i should have had but little left by now. i have learned many lessons, and i shall start clear of debt, and without my pockets filled with other men’s gold."
-dick was scarce moralist enough to understand or appreciate his master’s scruples—scruples new, indeed, to grey himself—but the faithful fellow was ready to accept any verdict and any decision made by the man he loved and served; and as he put the finishing touches to the workmanlike riding toilet which he had in readiness, he remarked with a short laugh,—
-"faith, master, you and i betwixt us, with don carlos and my good nag for company, and a few guineas in our pockets, need not fear the future; and i trow it will be well for you to be quit for ever of my lord sandford’s company. i liked him not greatly for your friend; i hate him with a goodly hatred since he shows himself your foe. shall we turn our backs upon him and upon london town, and seek our fortunes with the army over the water, where his grace of marlborough will give you welcome?"
-"i scarce know what the future will bring for me, dicon," was the reply, spoken gravely, yet with a certain listless indifference not lost upon the servant; "i have made no plans as yet. let us see what this day brings forth first."
-"i wager it will fill our pockets anew with gold!"
-"i will not touch their gold!" spoke grey with eyes that suddenly flashed fire. "i have cancelled all my wagers. i will take nothing at their hands. i will ride don carlos and ride my best for mine own honour and that of the good steed i shall bestride; but their money will i not touch. i have done with all that. nay, stare not in such amaze, good dicon. i have not taken leave of my senses; rather, i trow, i have come to my better mind. now get me somewhat to eat here, and then we will to the stables to see my beauty. this match once over, we turn a new page in our life’s story. who knows what the next will be?"
-it was not much that grey could eat. the three days which had passed since he and lord sandford had come to an understanding, which was well-nigh a rupture, had left a mark upon him. moreover there was a weary ache at his heart which he did not fully understand, and which was harder to bear than aught beside. dimly he knew that it had some connection with the lady geraldine adair; but he feared to search too deeply into that matter. she was as far removed from him as the moon in the heavens, and he believed her plighted to another, and that one a man who had stood his friend, even though suspicion, jealousy, and an imperious temper had changed friendship into something very like enmity. grey never for a moment dreamed of regarding himself as an aspirant for that fair hand; but he knew that the motive which was urging him to change the manner of his life and become a worthier and a better man was the hope that she might watch his career, and hear a whisper of his fame or his success; or that he might win some laurels in the fields of literature, art, or politics, which he might perchance in some sort lay at her feet.
-this, however, lurked in the background of his thoughts. he scarcely owned to himself that he expected ever to look upon that fair face again; hence the sensation of heart sickness which had rendered him well-nigh desperate for a few days, and had helped him to squander without a qualm the hoard which his previous successes had accumulated. and now the end of this mad life of gay folly had come. he had drained the cup to the dregs, and found it bitter to the taste. he had neither liking nor respect for the companions with whom he had associated. towards lord sandford his feelings were very mixed. the power of the man was too great to be shaken off entirely, nor could he despise or dislike him. but the tie of friendship had snapped asunder. a chasm had opened between them, and he felt that he was regarded, if not as a foe, yet as something akin, and it needed not dick’s words of warning to tell him that the less he saw of this man in the future the better it would be for himself.
-sounds of laughter and revelry greeted his ears as he slipped quietly out towards the paddock and shed where his horse had been stabled these past weeks, tended and exercised by dick, and ready for whatever demand might be made upon him. he greeted his master with a neigh of recognition, dropped his nose in the extended hand, and stood tranquil and content under grey’s quiet caresses. the glossy coat was satin smooth, the delicate tracery of veins could be distinctly seen, and each muscle stood out hard and taut; there was no superfluous flesh, but a firmness and excellence of condition that brought a smile of satisfaction to grey’s face. he turned with a smile to dick, who stood by beaming.
-"not much fear of him to-day, eh, dicon?"
-"he would jump the moon, master, if you asked it of him," was the proud and confident answer.
-"how do the others look? have you seen them?"
-"pretty bits of horseflesh every one; and there is a black stallion of mr. artheret’s that will take some beating. but he’s too heavy for some of the jumps. he don’t take off fast enough. and he’s a nasty temper too. there’s a gray arab with pace; but he falls away behind, as they all do. i don’t think don carlos will be troubled long by him. none of the others will take much beating. pretty to look at, but not trained for what they’ve got to do. lord sandford was here yesterday early, looking at the jumps, and he had several of them made stiffer; but there’s nothing don carlos cannot sail over like a bird!"
-"let us go and see," said grey. "i will take a canter on the turf to warm myself to the saddle. soh, boy, soh!" as he lightly vaulted to his seat, and the horse curveted beneath him. "we will take a look at these obstructions. the stiffer they are, the better you and i will be pleased—eh, my beauty?"
-"it was here they were busy yesterday, but i could not see all they did. i was afraid to leave don carlos with so many strangers about. some of the grooms with the other horses looked up to mischief. but i heard them say afterwards that lord sandford had not been satisfied with the field as it was. he said they must have something that really would be a test, or the black stallion and don carlos were like to come in together."
-but now a horn blew gaily, and horsemen were seen approaching from many quarters. in the neighbourhood of the inn all was bustle and excitement, whilst from all sides there appeared streams of people converging to this spot. some fine carriages had been driven out from london, with bedecked ladies eager to witness the contest. others had stayed the night in the neighbourhood to be ready; and all the natives of the place who could get a holiday had come to gape at the fine folks, and see the grand gentlemen racing their own horses.
-grey, all unconscious of the favour bestowed upon him, rode up and saluted courteously the gentlemen who were to meet him and each other in rivalry. lord sandford, splendidly mounted, was to act as judge at the winning post. another of his friends was to be starter; and gentlemen were posted at various points along the course to see that all the rules laid down were observed, and that no rider deviated from the well-pegged-out route prescribed for all. the spectators scattered hither and thither, taking up stations wherever their fancy prompted. the course seemed marked out by a glittering border extending down both sides. the sun shone brilliantly in the sky, and all nature seemed in gladsome mood.
-grey cast a keen look at the seven rival steeds as they were brought into line for the start. he picked out in a moment the two of whom dicon had spoken, and saw that he had judged well. then he gave his whole mind to the task in hand, checked with hand and voice the prancing of the excited don carlos, and brought him up to his appointed place docile and motionless.
-the word was given, but the black stallion had bounded off a few seconds too soon, and had to be recalled. a second start was spoiled by two other competitors, who suddenly reared at each other, and strove to fight. one iron hoof, indeed, inflicted such a wound upon the shoulder of his neighbour that that horse had to be taken away limping and bleeding.
-it was trying to all, horses and riders alike; but at the third start all got off, though grey saw that again the black stallion had made his bound a second too soon. this gave him a few yards the advantage, which, as his rider pressed him hard from the first, and his temper was evidently up, he increased in the next minute to more than a length. the arab and don carlos were neck and neck, and sailed over the first easy jump side by side, the stallion having cleared it with a tremendous bound a couple of seconds earlier.
-the water jump was next, and it was obvious that one spot offered greater advantages to the horse than any other. the stallion made for this spot with a rush, took off and bounded clear over, just as don carlos and the arab came rushing up neck and neck, each rider desirous of the advantage of the sound bank. grey set his teeth and glanced at his adversary. a collision at the leap might be fatal to one or both, so far as the race went. his rival would not budge an inch—that he saw. with a muttered oath between his teeth, he pulled his left rein, and used his knees. don carlos felt, and instantly understood: swerving slightly, he gathered himself together, and rose magnificently where the water was wider and the bank less safe; but he landed safely, and with a hardly perceptible scramble found his feet again, and amid the plaudits of the people raced on after the arab, who, having got a momentary advantage, was now slightly in advance.
-the black stallion had just reached the downward dip leading to the deep ditch filled with gorse bushes. his rider had had perforce to pull him up somewhat, lest he should slip and fall, for the ground was sandy and treacherous. but don carlos had been born and bred to this sort of wild work, and dashing onwards and downwards with the agility of a deer, came neck and neck with his rival, and having passed the arab, cleared with a bound the treacherous gully, landing true and safe upon the opposite side. the arab followed in his tracks, his rider taking advantage of the lead given; but the black stallion slipped and snorted, could not be made to try the leap till another of the horses came up and took it, after which he sprang across with a vicious energy which tried the horsemanship of his rider, and tore like a wild thing after the leading pair.
-these had cleared one after the other the wall and ditch; but the arab was showing signs of distress, whilst don carlos looked fresh and eager as at the start. there now remained only a quarter of a mile of smooth sward, and then the last critical jump; and grey, knowing himself first, and not knowing what had betided his rivals, sailed happily onward, secure of victory, though he heard behind him the thud of flying horse hoofs, and knew that the black stallion was not beaten yet. it was he who snorted with such excitement and fury, and seemed to awaken thunders with his iron-shod hoofs.
-one glance over his shoulder, and grey passed his whip very lightly across the neck of don carlos. the gallant animal sprang forward like an arrow from a bow, showing how well within himself he had been travelling so far. the sound of other beating hoofs was fainter now. grey looked keenly at the great obstacle looming up in his path, and measured the height at various places, deciding where the leap could best be taken.
-next moment he felt strong hands lifting and dragging him upwards. dick’s white face looked into his own, and the first words he heard were hissed in his ear by his faithful henchman.
-"foul play, foul play, my master. that ditch was dug and concealed—ay, and more than concealed; it has been an old well at some time, and it will open with a spring. you have been grossly tricked and cozened. it has been a trap cleverly laid and baited. but let me only get at them—my lord sandford—"
-dick almost choked in his fury; but grey was now on his feet, and his one thought was for the good horse, who had dropped downwards into this unseen, unsuspected pit, and was gasping in affright, but might possibly have escaped serious injury. he himself felt little ill effects, having had a marvellous escape. but his soul was stirred within him, and in getting out the horse he saw plainly that dick had been right, and that some sort of old trap-door concealed an opening into the ground which might have been at one time a well, but was now silted up with sand. by luring the foremost rider to this particular spot to take the leap, any astute enemy aware of the nature of the ground could almost certainly ensure his overthrow and defeat; and grey had his suspicions that lord sandford had hoped that he might then and there break his neck—a thing which might very well have happened.
-there was a crowd round the spot now, and great horror was expressed by many at sight of the unsuspected well, no voice being louder than lord sandford’s in proclaiming astonishment and indignation. but grey took no notice of the clamour, only busying himself about his horse; and presently, with some difficulty, the sagacious and docile creature was got out, and it appeared that no limb was broken, though one hock was deeply cut, and one shoulder badly strained.
-grey stood in silent thought awhile, his hand upon the neck of his favourite, who stood with drooping head and dejected mien, as though wondering whether he would ever be whole and sound again. dick was binding up the wound, his face like a thunder-cloud. a knot of persons of all ranks stood watching at a little distance; but grey had courteously waved away all proffers of help, and indicated that he desired no attentions.
-"dicon," he said in a low tone, "we must now part for a while. don carlos will need you more than i. he is now my sole fortune, and must be respected as such. take him and your own nag, and walk them both by easy stages to hartsbourne. there are paddocks enough and to spare, and i surely have the right to pasture my horse in one; but if the thing should come to my kinsman’s ears, give him what is due in money, and i will repay you. old jock jarvis will be your friend. he will rejoice in your company and give you house-room with him, and it is not so far but that i can get news of you from time to time. your good horse will bring you to london in three hours or less any day you have a mind to come; and you can watch for me what goes on yonder, and bring me word again."
-it was a grief to dick to part from his master; but he saw the need, and he loved the horse only second to grey himself.
-"i will do your behest, master. nay, i want no money; i have plenty for all my needs. i too have made some modest wealth here in this great city. only tell me where i may find you, and i will be gone, and do what can be done for the poor beast."
-"you shall always get news of me at wills’ coffee house, good dicon," was the answer. "where i go and how i live, i know not yet; but i will leave word there for you. so now, farewell. i turn a new page in my life from this day forth."
-grey dumaresq, having settled matters with his servant, and adjusted the disarray of his own dress and person, turned towards a group of men who were standing round lord sandford, making believe to laugh and jest, but showing some vague symptoms of uneasiness as they cast sidelong glances in the direction of their erstwhile comrade.
-grey walked straight up to lord sandford, and looked him full in the eyes. did the glance of the other quail ever so little before his? he thought so, but could scarce be certain.
-"my lord," he said, "i have to thank you for many acts of kindness and courtesy, and a certain liberality of treatment which i have received at your hands and within your doors. in taking my farewell, i wish freely to acknowledge all this debt. but other matters which i need not specify, yet which are well understood by your lordship, have transpired to change the relations betwixt us; and i wish to add that i desire to be beholden to no man. in the rooms allotted to me in your lordship’s house there is a quantity of wearing apparel, jewels, trinkets, for which i have no more use. i pray you have them sold, and the amount thus realized will reimburse you for all charges you have been at in my maintenance during the time i have dwelt beneath your roof. that is all i have to say.—gentlemen, i wish you a very good day."
-and lifting his hat with quiet dignity and grace, grey made them a general salute and turned upon his heel.
-but lord sandford’s voice came thundering after him. "do you desire to insult me, sir? am i a beggarly inn-keeper, that i should sell a guest’s belongings to pay my bill? what do you mean by such words? do you desire that i should demand satisfaction for them at your hands?"
-grey did not know whether this man desired to fasten a quarrel upon him or not, and, truth to tell, he did not care. he just turned his head over his shoulder, and threw back an answer in tones of scarcely veiled contempt.
-"that is for your lordship to decide. i shall have pleasure in giving any satisfaction demanded at any time, and in any place appointed. for the rest, a man who has sought to compass the death of a comrade by a foul trick need scarcely fear to soil his hands by the touch of his gold. again i wish you good-day, my lord."
-and without so much as turning his head again, grey dumaresq walked off, his head held high, neither observing nor returning the many salutes and bright arch glances shot at him from the lane of bystanders through which he needs must pass, but walking like a man in a dream, and so disappearing from view along the white road which led londonwards.
-round lord sandford men were buzzing like bees disturbed.
-"insolent young jackanapes!" "what did he mean?" "what was his motive in such an insult?" "what will you do, my lord?" "whither has he gone? whither will he go?" "is it true that he is ruined?" "he has lost his horse, at least. none will give him a score of guineas for the beast now." "how did it chance?" "was it an accident?" "what meant he by his words?" all were pouring out these and like questions; but there was none to answer them, till lord sandford himself spoke.
-"the fellow’s wits are gone astray," he cried in his loud, dominating tones. "it is the dumaresq blood. sir hugh was just such another—mad as a march hare half his time, flinging his gold to the winds, and quarrelling with every man he met. like father, like son. it has been coming on for days. i misdoubted me if ever he would ride this race. he came and told me he must reform. that was ever his father’s cry, and he would disappear into the country for a while, and reappear again as gay as ever. ’tis the same with the son. i saw it then, and i strove to combat the madness; but ’tis ill dealing with the lunatic. you see what we get for our pains! tush! let the fellow alone. i did wrong to answer him. let him go his own way, and we will think of him no more."
-and lord sandford, with a heavy cloud upon his brow, and a look about the corners of his mouth which warned those about him to say no more, but leave matters as they were, flung away from them, and made his way back alone to the inn, from which he was presently seen to issue forth in his gorgeous chariot, driving furiously along the road which led to st. albans.
-his boon companions, thus left to their own devices, went over to the spot where the strange thing had befallen at the race, and where the country folk had gathered with shakings of the head and questionings beneath their breath; and there, plain for all men to see, was the yawning hole with the open trap hanging down, and the marks of the heavy fall of the good horse, whose escape with whole bones was little short of a miracle.
-an old countryman was holding forth to a knot of eager questioners, now swelled by lord sandford’s friends.
-lord sandford’s comrades looked each other in the eyes, and drew a little away. all knew that something strange had passed upon him of late, and that there was some rupture betwixt him and the man who had but lately accused him of seeking to compass his death.
-"did he know?" "was it plot or plan of his?" whispered one and another; but none could give the answer.
-a wild, wet september day was drawing to its close, amid pelting squalls of cold rain, when a tall young man, gaunt and hollow-eyed, pushed his way into a small coffee-house in an obscure thoroughfare somewhere in the region of drury lane, and took a seat in a dark corner as near to the stove as he could get, for he looked pinched with cold, and his plain and rather threadbare black suit was pretty well wet through. as soon as he was seated, he drew from his breast a roll of paper, which he regarded with solicitude. that at least was dry, and he heaved a sigh that sounded like one of satisfaction.
-in this narrow street the daylight had completely faded, though it was not yet six o’clock. the room was furthermore darkened by clouds of tobacco smoke which the guests were puffing forth. the smell of coffee mingled with the ranker fumes of the tobacco, and the clink of cup and spoon made ceaseless accompaniment to the talk, which went on in a continuous stream.
-grey (for it was he) leaned his head on his hand wearily, and fell into something like a doze as he sat in his shadowy corner. he was exhausted in mind and in body. he was faint with hunger, and yet half afraid to order food; for his funds were dwindling almost to the vanishing point, and as yet he had found no means of replenishing his exchequer. but he had not been able to resist the temptation to escape from the buffetings of the tempest, and when the boy in attendance upon the guests came to ask his pleasure, he ordered some coffee and bread, and devoured it with a ravenous appetite when it was set before him.
-the pangs of hunger stayed, if not appeased, he began to look about him, and to wonder into what manner of company he had thrust himself. he had never before been inside this house, though he had, in the first days of his new career, taken his meals in some of the numerous coffee or chocolate houses, or the taverns which abounded throughout the town. latterly he had generally bought his food at the cheapest market, and had eaten it in the attic to which he had removed himself and his few belongings. he was beginning to wonder how long he should be able even to retain that humble abode as his own. dame fortune’s smiles seemed quite to have deserted him, and abject poverty stared him grimly in the face.
-a smoking lamp had been brought in, and hung overhead, lighting up the faces of the company with its yellow glare. there was something strange and rembrandt-like in the effect of the picture upon which grey’s eyes rested. leaning back dreamily with his head against the wall, he could almost fancy himself back in one of those foreign picture galleries, in which heretofore he had delighted, and where so many hours of his time had been spent.
-but this was a living picture, shifting, changing, breaking up into groups and re-forming again; and the hum of talk went on unceasingly, as one after another took up the word and launched forth his opinions, generally in florid and flowery language, and with much gesticulation and indignation.
-what first struck grey as strange was the anger which seemed to possess all these men. that they were in no good case was well-nigh proved by the shabbiness of their dress, and by the fact of their being gathered in this very humble and cheap place of resort, which would not tempt any but those in adverse circumstances. but over and above their poverty, they seemed to be railing at neglect or injustice of some sort, and ever and anon would break out into virulent abuse of some person or persons, whose names were unknown to grey, but who evidently were characters well known to the others of the company.
-"there is no such thing as justice left, or purity of taste, or any such thing!" shouted a handsome, well-proportioned fellow, whose face had attracted grey’s notice several times, and seemed dimly familiar to him. "look at the mouthing mountebanks that walk the boards now! they strut like peacocks, they gibber like apes. they have neither voice, nor figure, nor talent, nor grace. but, forsooth, because some fine dame has smiled upon them, or they are backed by a nobleman’s patronage, they can crow it over the rest of us like a cock upon his dunghill, and we, who have the talent and the gifts, may rot like rats in our holes!"
-"shame! shame! shame!" cried an admiring chorus.
-"look at me!" thundered the young man, his eyes flashing. "who dares say i cannot act? have i not held spellbound, hanging on my lips, whole houses of beauty and fashion? have i lost my skill or cunning? has my voice or has my grace departed from me? wherefore, then, do i sit here idle and hungry, whilst men not fit to black my boots hold the boards and fill their pouches with gold? why such injustice, i say?"
-a chorus of indignation again arose; but out of the shadows came a deep voice.
-"the answer is easy, friend lionel; arrogance and drink have been the cause of your downfall. how could any manager continue to engage you? how many times has it happened that you have come to the theatre sodden with drink? how many representations have you spoiled by your bestial folly? they were patient with you. oh yes, they were very patient; for they knew your gifts and recognized them. but you met friendly rebuke or warning with haughtiness and scorn. you would listen to no counsel; you would heed no warnings. the end should have been plain to you from the beginning, an you would not mend your ways. i told you how it needs must be; and now the time has come when you see it for yourself. worse men are put in the parts that you excelled in, because they can be depended upon. no drunkard can ever become great. put that in your pipe and smoke it, lionel field."
-at the sound of this new voice, speaking out of the shadows of the ingle-nook, a great hush had fallen upon the room. grey leaned forward to obtain a view of the speaker, and the firelight played upon the striking features and iron-gray hair of a very remarkable-looking old man of leonine aspect, whose voice was of that penetrating quality which makes itself heard without being raised; and it was plain that something in the personality of the man lifted him above his fellows, for all listened in silence whilst he spoke, and even the arrogant young actor looked for the moment abashed.
-"who is it?" whispered grey to the man next him; and the answer came readily, though spoken in a cautious whisper.
-"his name is jonathan wylde. once he, too, was a famous actor; but long illness crippled his limbs, and he has fallen into poverty. he is always called the old lion, and methinks the name suits him well. he is a very lion for courage, else would he not dare to rebuke master lionel field. for he is one who is ready with his fist, or with knife or bludgeon, and it is ill work meeting him when he is in his cups."
-grey looked with interest and attention at the old man in the shadows; but he was leaning back again, and spoke no more. the talk surged round him again from the rest; they spoke of the plays that were being enacted at the various theatres, and of those who were playing the various rôles. some of them stood up and rolled forth bits of congreve’s witty and sparkling dramas, and disputed as to whether the "old bachelor" or the "way of the world" were his happiest effort; whilst some declared that the "double dealer" was the best of all. they talked excitedly of the revival at drury lane of farquhar’s "love and a bottle," which had scored such a success some fourteen or fifteen years previously. and there were some who lauded and some who depreciated colley cibber and his "careless husband" and "love’s last shift," which were favourites throughout the town.
-it was a new world to grey; but he listened with a certain fascination, for the drama had always attracted him, and he watched the gestures of the actors and listened to their mouthing periods with something between wonder and amusement. he could understand that these men had been failures. only lionel field appeared to have any true histrionic gift, and the cause of his downfall was plain to be read after the speech of the "old lion." from time to time, as the light flickered upon the striking face in the ingle, grey caught a fine-lipped smile upon it, and once or twice he thought the old actor’s eyes met his in a gleam of humour. but of that he could not be sure—it might be but the trick of the firelight; and presently wearied nature asserted itself, and the young man passed from drowsiness to actual sleep, and knew nothing more till a sharp grip upon his arm roused him to a sense of his surroundings.
-it was the tapster who thus shook him; and when he opened his eyes, grey saw—or thought, at least—that the room was empty. what the time was he had no idea; but it must be late, and he rose hastily to his feet with a muttered apology at having overstayed the closing time.
-at that moment there emerged out of the shadows of the ingle-nook a bent figure, dignified even in its infirmity, and the voice which grey had heard before spoke in quietly authoritative accents.
-"bring hither coffee and a dish of eggs for two. the wind and rain yet howl around the house. this gentleman will sup with me ere we go home. go and serve us quickly, for we have both a good stomach, and would eat ere we depart hence."
-the tapster vanished quickly to do the bidding of the guests, and grey turned a wondering glance upon the old lion, whose face, framed in its shaggy gray hair, looked more leonine than ever, the bright eyes shining out of deep caverns from under bushy brows, the rugged features full of power, not unmixed with a curious underlying ferocity. but the glance bent upon grey was kindly enough.
-"sit down, young man; i would know more of you. i have a gift for reading faces. i have marked yours ever since you entered this room. tell me your name. tell me of yourself, for you were not born to the state to which you have now fallen."
-"my name is grey," was the ready answer. grey had dropped his title and patronymic with his fallen fortunes, and used his mother’s name alone. "my father was a country gentleman. i was gently reared, and was at one time a scholar at oxford, where i dreamed many dreams. afterwards i travelled abroad, returning to find my father dead and my home in the hands of a kinsman to whom it was mortgaged by my father. the small fortune i received i squandered foolishly in a few weeks of gay living with young bloods of the town. i wakened from my dream to find myself well-nigh penniless, disgusted alike with myself and those i had called my friends. i have ever been something ambitious. i misdoubt me i am a fool; but i did think that i might win laurels upon the field of literature. i have never lost the trick of rhyming, and jotting down such things as pleased my fancy, whether in prose or in verse. do i weary you with my tale?"
-"no, sir—far from it. let me hear you to the end. i did see you take forth a roll of paper from your breast as you came in. that action, together with your face, told me much. you have the gift of a creative fancy. you have written a poem or a play."
-"neither the one nor the other, but a romance," answered grey, the colour flushing his face as it flushes that of a maiden when the love of her heart is named by her. "i scarce know how to call it, but methinks it savours more of a romance than of aught besides. when i was rudely awakened from my pleasure-loving life, saw the folly and futility thereof, and desired to amend, i did take a quiet lodging high up in a building off holborn, and there i did set myself to the task, and right happy was i in it. i had a score of gold pieces still left me, and my needs i did think modest; though, looking back, they seem many to me now. the weeks fled by, and my work reached its close. when my romance was finished, my money was all but spent. for the past week or more i have been seeking a publisher for it. in my folly i did think that it would bring me gold as fast as i wanted. my eyes have been rudely opened these last days."
-the old lion nodded his head many times.
-"you made a mistake in seeking a publisher, young sir. you should first have sought a patron."
-grey’s face flushed slightly, and he hesitated before he spoke.
-"others have said the same to me; but there are difficulties. i have not learned to go cap in hand to cringe for patronage to the great ones of the earth." but, as grey saw a slight smile flicker in the old man’s eyes, he added rather hastily, "and then i desire not to be known and recognized by those whom i did know ha my former life. there is scarce an antechamber in those fine houses where patrons dwell where i might not meet the curious and impertinent regard of those who would know me again. that i will not brook." and now grey’s eyes flashed, thinking of lord sandford, and how he would chuckle to hear how low his rival had fallen. "no; if i am to succeed at all, i must needs do so without a patron. if i fail, there is one resource left. able-bodied paupers are sent to the wars. i can go thither and fight."
-again a smile flickered over the old lion’s face; but the tapster was entering with the smoking viands, and the gleam in grey’s eyes bespoke the wolf within him.
-"set to, my friend, and make a good meal. when we have cleared the trenchers, you shall come with me to my lodging. i would hear the end of your tale; but that can wait till after supper."
-"welcome to the lion’s den!" spoke the man wylde, as he threw open the door of a room which he had unlocked, and kicking a smouldering log upon the hearth, evoked a cheery blaze, by the aid of which he lighted a lamp that swung over a table littered with books, papers, and quills.
-grey stepped within the threshold, and looked about him with curious eyes. the house they had entered a few minutes before was a tall and narrow one in harpe alley, leading from shoe lane. it was not an old house, for it came within the area of the great fire of fifty years back, and had been rebuilt, like the whole of the surrounding buildings, with greater speed than discretion. grey had once come across sir christopher wren in his other life, and had talked with him of the short-sighted policy observed in the rebuilding of the city. the great architect declared that had his plans been carried out, london would have been the finest city in the world: but the haste and false economy of the citizens and city companies had thwarted his plans, and the old lines of narrow and crooked streets were kept as before, to the cost of succeeding generations.
-this house had been hastily run up, like those surrounding it, and the tempest from without rattled and shook the walls and windows as though to drive them in. but the room itself, though no more than an attic, bore an air of comfort very pleasant to the eyes of the homeless grey, whose own quarters only contained the barest necessities of life; for there were some rough shelves full of books in one corner, and a rug before the fire gave a look of comfort to the place. two armchairs of rude pattern, but furnished with down cushions, seemed to invite repose; and everything was scrupulously clean, even to the boards of the floor.
-"’a poor thing, but mine own,’" spoke the old lion, with his grim smile, as he motioned to grey to take one chair, and he himself pulled up the other. "i have dwelt here two years and more now, and i have not been unhappy; albeit i never thought to end my days in a garret, as belike i shall do now."
-"fortune has been hard upon you," spoke grey earnestly. "you have the gifts and the powers; it is cruel that your limbs should have become crippled."
-"we must take the rough and the smooth of life as we find it," answered the other. "i have had my moments of rebellion—i have them still; but i seek the consolations of philosophy; and i have never yet wanted for bread or shelter. but there be times when the future looks dark before me. those who remember me, and pity my misfortunes, drop away one by one. i lacked not for patrons at the first. when i could not longer tread the boards, i was ofttimes engaged to make men laugh or weep at some gay rout at a nobleman’s house. then, too, my jests and quips were in request at gay supper-parties, and i was paid to set the table in a roar, which in all sooth was not difficult when the wine-bottle was going round and round. oh, i knew gay times for many a year after my stage career closed. but patrons have died off one by one. i am more crippled than i was, and the young wits are pushing to the front, whilst the old lion has been crowded out. my pen still serves me in a measure. i can turn an epigram, or write a couplet, or even make shift to pen a sonnet that lacks not the true ring. grist yet comes to the mill, but more and more slowly. there come moments when i wonder what will be the end of the old lion’s career—the poorhouse, or a death by slow starvation in some garret!"
-"no, no," cried grey almost fiercely; "that would be shame indeed. surely, if nothing better turn up, there must be places of refuge for fallen genius. have not almshouses been built, again and again, by the well-disposed for such men as sickness has laid aside? you smile, but in sooth it is so."
-"ay, and how many are there to claim the benefits of pious founders? yet no matter. i brought you not here to talk of my troubles, but of yours. that romance of which you speak—"
-"it would seem the world cares little for such things. i did hear the same tale everywhere. was it a pamphlet i had to give them, a lampoon upon some great man, an attack against the tories, the whigs, the dissenters? if so, they would read it; for there was great eagerness amongst the people to read such things, and no matter what side was attacked, there were hundreds eager to buy and to read. but a romance—no; that was a mistake altogether. a writer of successful pamphlets might perhaps find readers for a merry tale, or even a romance; but for an unknown aspirant to fame—no, that was another matter. no one would buy it; no one would even read it; though there were one or two who took it and glanced through some pages, praised the style and the easy flow of words, and advised me to take to pamphleteering, promising that they would read anything like that."
-"how should i write these party diatribes—i who know little of their cries? whig or tory, tory or whig—what care i? the tory of one parliament is the whig of the next. have not lords marlborough and godolphin gone over to the whigs? the queen herself, they say, is changing slowly."
-"nay, the queen herself will never change!" cried wylde, with an emphatic gesture. "the duchess has changed, and she seeks to use her influence with the queen to make her change also, and give up her tory advisers altogether. but she will not succeed. the queen may be timid and gentle, but she has all her father’s tenacity and obstinacy. let my lady of marlborough look to it! she may strain the cord to breaking point. already they say that the new favourite, mrs. masham, is ousting her kinswoman, the duchess, from the foremost place in the queen’s affections. favourites have fallen ere this through too great arrogance. the victories of ramillies and oudenarde, and the successes that have followed, make the duke the idol of the nation and the favourite of the queen yet; but the day may come when this may change, and then the high tories may come in once more with a rush."
-"i should be sorry for the duke to lose favour," spoke grey thoughtfully. "i did see him once, and had speech with him after the battle of ramillies, and a more gracious and courtly gentleman it has never been my lot to meet."
-suddenly the old lion’s eyes flashed fire.
-"you have seen and had speech with the duke on the field of ramillies? you saw the battle, or something of it? speak! tell me all! i must hear this tale. it may mean much to us both."
-"in sooth it is little i can tell you of the battle, for i was in the thick of it myself. it was by accident that my servant and i came upon the rival armies; and another happy accident gave me the chance of doing a small service for the duke. after the battle, when we were hard by louvain, he called me to him, and spoke many gracious words. i would fain hope that some day i may see him again."
-"you had speech with him? you saw his manner and his port? tell me—show me—how did he carry himself?"
-"boy!" he cried, with a new access of energy, "i trow i see for both of us a way to fame and fortune."
-grey’s eyes lighted as he eagerly asked his meaning.
-"that is soon told. have you heard how, after the victory of blenheim, none could be found to hymn the praises of the great general till the poet addison was introduced to notice, and penned his immortal lines? now, since the victory of ramillies, i have burned with desire to show the world by somewhat more than verse alone the power and genius of england’s mighty soldier. see here!"
-the old man rose and crossed to his table, where he fetched from a drawer a scroll covered with writing, which he put in the hands of his companion. grey saw that it was a dialogue cast in dramatic form, and though he could not read it then and there, he could see, by casting his eyes over it, that there were many very fine periods in it, and that it was filled with descriptive passages of some great battle, and the energy and glory of the general in command. he raised his eyes inquiringly to the impassioned face of the author, which was working with excitement.
-"see you not something of the form? it is a dramatic interlude. it should be played upon the stage during the intervals of the play. time sits aloft, aged and grim, his scythe in his hand, his hour-glass beside him, and he speaks of the decay of mankind—that the world’s greatness is vanishing, its men of genius growing ever fewer and fewer. that is my part. i take the rôle of time. to him then enters one in the guise of youth—one in the flush of manhood’s prime—one who has seen great and doughty deeds, and comes to rehearse the same in the ears of old time, to bid him change his tune, to tell him that giants yet live upon the earth. this youth comes with songs of victory; he speaks of what he has seen; he describes in burning words and glowing colours that last great fight wherein england’s general put to flight the hosts of the haughty monarch of france. for months has this been written; for months have i gone about seeking the man to take the part of youth and manhood. but i have sought in vain. all those whom i would have chosen have other work to do, and did but laugh at me. those who would gladly do my bidding, i will none of. you saw how they did mouth and rant to-night, thinking to show their talent, when they only displayed their imbecile folly. but here have i found the very man for whom i have long waited. you have youth, beauty—that manly beauty which transcends, to my thinking, the ephemeral loveliness of woman; you have the gift; you have seen the great hero: you have caught the very trick of his words and speech. oh, i know it! once did i hear him address the house of lords, and when you spoke i seemed to see and hear him again. the great world of fashion will go mad over you. we shall draw full houses; we shall succeed. i know it! i feel it! the old lion is not dead yet! he shall roar again in his native forest. say, boy, will you be my helper in this thing? and in the gains which we shall make we will share and share alike."
-it was a very different sort of fame from anything grey had pictured for himself, and for a moment he hesitated; for he realized that were this dramatic sketch to take hold of the imagination of the town, and draw fashionable audiences, he could scarcely avoid recognition, disguise himself as he might. but as against this there was the pressing need of the moment. he was well-nigh penniless; his romance seemed likely to be but so much waste paper. he was hiding now even from dick, who periodically visited london to see him, lest the honest fellow should insist upon maintaining him from his own small hoard. here was an opening, as it seemed, to something like prosperity; and the alternative of being drafted into the army as a pauper recruit was scarcely sufficiently attractive to weigh in the balance. moreover, there was something so earnest and pathetic in the glance bent upon him by the old lion that he had not the heart to say him nay, and he held out his hand with a smile.
-"i will be your helper; and as for the gains, let them be yours, and you shall give me what wage i merit. the play is yours, the thought is yours: it is for you to reap the harvest. i am but the labourer—worthy of his hire, and no more."
-the compact was sealed, and the old man then insisted that grey should take his bed for the night, as he must sit up and remodel his play upon lines indicated by the young man, who had seen the field of ramillies and the disposition of troops. grey furnished him with sundry diagrams and notes, and left him perfectly happy at his task, which would doubtless occupy him during the night, whilst the weary guest slumbered peacefully upon the humble bed in the little alcove beyond the larger room.
-when grey awoke next morning, the sun was shining; a frugal but sufficient meal was spread upon the table; a fire was blazing cheerily upon the hearth; and there was the old lion, with his manuscript before him, muttering beneath his breath, and throwing out his hand in telling gesture, making so fine a picture with his leonine face and shaggy mane of hair that grey watched him awhile in silence before advancing.
-the removal of grey’s simple belongings took but little time, and lucky did he feel himself to be able to call this comfortable abode his home. a small attic upon the same floor of the house made him a sleeping chamber at very small cost, and his days were spent in the sunny south garret, which was called the lion’s den; and there they studied, and wrote, and rehearsed this eulogy upon the duke, and the prowess of the english arms, the old man introducing here and there allusions and innuendoes which grey scarcely understood, but which wylde declared would bring down thunders of applause from the house—as, indeed, proved to be the case.
-grey had a faint misgiving at the first that no manager might be forthcoming to admit the dialogue to his boards; but there the old actor knew his ground. he succeeded in inviting two of the most successful managers to listen to a performance in the attic, without the accessories which would add much to the effect upon the stage; and even so the scene proved so telling, the acting of the old lion was so superb in its quiet dignity, and grey (who had learned and studied patiently and diligently) went through his part with such spirit, such power, such dramatic energy, that even his instructor was surprised at his success, and the managers exchanged glances of astonishment and pleasure.
-it was just the sort of piece to catch the public favour at this juncture. marlborough was still the idol of the nation, and might be expected home some time before the winter closed—perhaps before christmas itself. the nation was discussing how to do him honour, and would flock to see a piece wherein his praises were so ably sung.
-"with a wig such as the duke wears, and with military dress, mr. grey could be made to look the very image of the great general," cried one.
-"he has something the same class of face—handsome, regular features, grace of action and bearing. he does but want to be transformed from fair to dark, and his acting of the duke will bring down veritable thunders of applause from all."
-and then began a gratifying rivalry as to terms, in which the old lion sustained his part with dignity and firmness. both managers desired to secure this interlude for their respective theatres, and at the last it was settled that the performance was to be given two nights a week at drury lane, and two at sadler’s wells, the astute old actor retaining the right to make his own terms at private houses upon the two remaining nights of the working week. the costumes were to be provided by the managers, but were to be the property of the actors, who would undertake to replace them should any harm befall them at private representations.
-when these matters had been satisfactorily settled, and certain other details arranged, the great men took their leave in high good humour; and the old lion, shaking back his mane of shaggy hair, grasped grey by the hands, his eyes sparkling in his head.
-"your fortune is made, young man! your fortune is made! you will never need to fear poverty again. what life so grand as that of the man who can sway the multitude, make men laugh or weep at his bidding, hold them suspended breathless upon his lips, move them to mirth, or rouse them to the highest realm of passion? ah, that is life! that is life! have i not tasted it? do i not know? and that life lies before you, my son. i will be your guide and mentor; you have but to use patience and discretion, and with your gifts and with your person you shall hold all men in thrall. ay, and you shall write, too—cibber shall find a rival. men shall sing your praise. the world shall lie at your feet. and i shall see it—i, who have found and taught you, who have discerned your powers with pen and tongue. i shall be content. i ask nothing better of fortune. ah, my son, it was indeed a providence which made our paths to cross!"
-grey smiled, and was silent. the life of an actor was not the life of his ambition, and he doubted if it would enthrall him as it had enthralled the old lion. but it would be at least a new experience. he was ready and willing to make trial of it. as matters now stood with him, he had scarce a choice. he would go through with this thing that was planned, and with the future he would not immediately concern himself.
-so he smiled back at the old man, and took his hand, saying simply,—
-"i am well pleased that i have acquitted myself to your liking. i will seek to do you credit in the eyes of the world."
-grey gazed at himself in astonishment. his fear of the eyes of quondam friends vanished into thin air. scarce would he have known himself. that others would know him, he could not believe. he had had no idea of the transforming properties of one of the great flowing wigs of the period; but when his own brown curls were covered and hidden beneath this mass of perfumed hair, his brows darkened and the skin of his face olive-tinted, his figure padded and arrayed in full military finery such as the duke of marlborough was wont to wear, he could almost believe that he saw that great warrior before his eyes, so cunningly had the artificers wrought. he looked younger than the general, but that was intended—an impersonation of youth and manly beauty and war-like prowess. this was what the author of the interlude aimed at, and this grey looked to perfection, as he stood habited in the garments in which he was to appear before the public.
-the old lion, himself transformed into an excellent presentment of father time, stood gazing at the young man with glowing eyes, directing the attendants to give a touch here or there to accentuate any point he wished brought out. satisfaction beamed from every feature of his face. he seemed to see the town at his feet. in a week’s time all london would be ringing with the fame of jonathan wylde.
-it was just the sort of artificial scene likely to catch the popular taste. there was a rage for semi-mythological representations—dryads and nymphs and mermaids at the water theatre, cupids and psyches and heathen or classical deities at other places, whilst stilted and absurd allusions to arcadian joys, nectar and ambrosia, spicy breezes of paphos, or hymen’s seductive temples, fell trippingly from the tongues of every dandy with any claim to be a man of fashion, and were echoed in simpering accents by the ladies to whom this flowery nonsense was addressed.
-the setting of the dramatic interlude had been carefully arranged. father time, with his flowing white beard, his scythe leaning against him, and his hour-glass at his feet, was seated aloft at one side of the stage overlooking a dim and vague expanse, which was supposed to represent the earth. there was something very majestic in the aspect of the old actor, whose name many still remembered, and a burst of applause followed the rise of the curtain. curiosity was raised to a high pitch by the gossip already excited in dramatic circles, and the house was crowded to the ceiling with breathless and eager spectators.
-the old lion delivered his harangue with all the fire and dignity for which his acting had been celebrated in past years. seated upon his throne, surveying, as it were, the world, the crippled limbs no longer hampered him. a few telling gestures of the brown and skinny hand, the play of facial expression, the thunder or the melting pathos of his rich voice—these were all the aids he needed, and he used them with excellent effect. the audience sat spellbound. the young bloods even shrank and quailed and exchanged shamefaced glances as father time launched his thunders of scorn at the decadence of manhood, the decay of all true chivalry, the gilded luxury, the senseless folly, the gross extravagance he beheld on all hands. where were the men? he asked, pointing a long and skinny finger straight at the house filled to overflowing with the fashion and wealth of the town. how did the youth of the great cities show their valour now? why, by scouring the streets at night, setting upon helpless citizens, using them shamefully, even to leaving them half dead, with eyes gouged out, in emulation of the barbarous fashion of the indian tribes, after which these gallants were not ashamed to call themselves. in the past men had laid down their lives to defend their country and the liberties of the subject; now they banded together to maltreat the very men who were set to maintain law and order. of old, womanhood was sacred, and knights went forth to do doughty deeds for the honour of their ladies, and for the upholding of all the laws of chivalry, which they held dearer than life itself. now young gallants delighted to show their reverence for womanhood by rolling some hapless citizen’s wife or daughter down a sloping street in a barrel, laughing the louder if she screamed piteously, or even swooned with fright.
-was there a man yet left in the land? where was such to be found? and tears streamed down the face of father time, as he made his moan, lamenting the days which had gone by, and fearing he would never see the like again.
-then came a telling pause of deep silence. the applause, which had broken out once and again during the monologue, had been hushed into shamed stillness at the last. murmurs of sympathy and approval rose from the many present who hated and lamented the folly and extravagances of the day, and delighted to hear them so tellingly and scathingly reproved. even the young bloods themselves could not but admire the skill and power of the speaker. they recognized the truth of the indictment, and felt a sense of shame and uneasiness which no preacher in the pulpit had ever aroused—perhaps because they so seldom went to listen, and only stayed to mock.
-and then the silence was as suddenly broken by a tumultuous burst of amazed applause. a second figure had stepped upon the stage—tall, graceful, alert, instinct with strength and manly beauty; and a thundering shout went up from all the house,—
-"the duke! the duke!"
-paying no heed to the tumult of applause, the youth went slowly forward towards the throne upon which sat father time, and to him he made a deep obeisance. then amid the breathless hush of the house began the animated dialogue betwixt the twain, wherein the youth did strive to show that manhood was not yet dead, and to call to the notice of father time the things which he had seen, and which were yet taking place upon the face of the globe.
-then after a good deal of discussion, in which telling phrases were dropped on both sides, which evoked roars of applause and approval, the young man was called upon to tell of those great acts of which he spoke. whereupon came grey’s great speech, descriptive of the battle of ramillies, and the superb generalship and dauntless personal courage of england’s great general.
-the audience hung spellbound upon the words and gestures of the speaker. a breathless hush told of the effect produced. to those who had known the duke, it seemed as though he himself were recounting the story of his victory. to those who had not, it was still a marvellous and soul-stirring oration, as though the strictures lately passed upon manhood by father time were in some sort swept away, and england’s honour vindicated by this young champion, who represented the nation’s idol.
-the thing was an unqualified success. behind the scenes the two actors were received with warm congratulation scarcely tinged by jealousy. old wylde was greeted by many a friend who had not troubled to recognize him during his days of eclipse; and in addition to the ovations from managers and actors, scores of men, and even of fine ladies, crowded round behind the scenes to shake hands with the heroes of the night, and satisfy their curiosity by gazing at them at close quarters.
-this part of the business was little to the taste of grey, who desired nothing so little as any recognition by former acquaintances. he saw one or two faces that he knew, but no one came near him to whom he remembered having spoken in his past life. he retained his heavy wig and military dress as he talked with those pressing round him. but as soon as he was able he disengaged himself from the crowd, and ordering a coach to be called, he and his comrade drove home together, weary but exultant.
-"i told you how it would be!" spoke the old lion, as they stood together in their upper chamber, smiling at the remembrance of the scene just passed through. "i knew i had but to find the right man, and our fortune would be made! you were fine, boy; you were fine! i had reckoned upon you; yet one never knows how it will be till the moment comes. some are struck with stage-fright, and blunder and trip, till all illusion vanishes. others mouth and strut through pure terror of the myriad eyes bent upon them, and bring down ridicule and contempt upon their heads. but i had confidence in you, and my confidence was not misplaced. we have taken the town by storm this night; and as we have begun, so shall it be to the end."
-certainly it seemed as though this prediction were to be fulfilled, for every performance was crowded to the utmost limit of the two theatres; and the extraordinary resemblance of the young actor—whose name was quite unknown to the world—to the great duke of marlborough was the talk of the whole town, and raised an immense curiosity, which spread through all classes.
-grey called himself edward white upon the playbills, and was thus known to the theatre managers, who could give no information about the young man save that he was a pupil of the old actor wylde, who had written the piece, and cast it especially for himself and his protégé. when it was urged that the young man must have known the duke, else how could he so accurately reproduce his tricks of voice and speech and manner, they drily shook their heads, saying that of his past history they were ignorant, but that as an actor they were satisfied with his capacity, and were struck by his similarity in figure and bearing to the great general.
-the talk spread through the town, the theatres filled to overflowing, and crowds flocked behind the scenes nightly to get speech with the successful actors.
-it was perhaps a week after the first performance, and grey was just meditating the possibility of escape from the attentions of the fashionable mob, when a loud and resonant laugh broke upon his ear, and his face flushed deeply beneath its olive tinting.
-lord sandford made his way through the crowd about him, and in a moment the two were face to face.
-grey had of set purpose taken up a station, according to his custom, in a place where the light was sufficiently bad. the passages and rooms behind the scenes were never brilliantly illuminated, and the shadows fell somewhat deeply upon his face; yet it seemed to him well-nigh impossible, as he looked full into the eyes of the man he had trusted, and who had failed him, that he should not at once be discovered.
-but there was no trace of recognition in lord sandford’s bold glance, though it rested upon his face with a shrewd curiosity.
-"good-even, sir. i have desired to see your performance ere this, but have always been hindered. a fine piece of acting as ever i saw. and yet your name is unknown to me, and i thought i knew every actor in the town and in the country."
-"it is my first appearance, your lordship," answered grey in his stage voice. "i owe my success to the kindliness of mr. wylde. i have had no previous training. i have to thank the public for a very kind reception."
-"no previous training for the boards? i can believe that, my friend. but i warrant me you have had previous acquaintance with the great world. you are no stranger to my lord of marlborough—that i will warrant."
-"i did see him once, my lord; and there are some persons whom once to see and hear is always to remember. the impression of a great personality is not easily effaced."
-lord sandford’s bold eyes were roving over grey’s face and figure in a way that was disconcerting, but he would not flinch or abase his gaze. he, at least had nothing of which to be ashamed.
-"i have seen you before, mr. white," he remarked suddenly; "i cannot yet say where or when. but you have been in my company ere this. say, is not that true?"
-"to have been in your lordship’s company is surely no great distinction," answered grey, with slightly veiled irony. "is it not well known that lord sandford goes everywhere, is seen everywhere, and keeps company with all sorts and conditions of men?"
-the young peer threw back his head and broke into a great laugh.
-"gadzooks, you have a ready tongue, my friend, and are not afraid to use it. well, well, if you desire to tell me nothing, i will ask no more. every man has a right to his own secret, though i make no pledge that i will not discover yours ere long. i have a mighty curiosity about some men’s affairs, which i will gratify at my pleasure."
-"was it a threat?" asked grey of himself, "and had he any suspicion?" he scarce thought so. he would have seen a glint of recognition in his eyes had he been known beneath his disguise. but he was glad when lord sandford turned away with another loud laugh, though his heart seemed to throb with a painful intensity as he heard his loud voice speaking to his companions,—
-"well, i must away to my lord romaine’s house. my lady holds a rout to-night, and will be ill pleased if i present not myself. the lady geraldine will expect to see me. we must not disappoint the pretty birds. who is for the rout, and who to stay for what fare they give us here?"
-grey turned away with his heart on fire. what meant that jesting allusion to the lady geraldine? could it be that she had plighted her troth to him? what else could he expect to hear than that she would obey the wishes of her parents? if lord sandford were the husband chosen for her, how could she escape the fate of becoming his wife? would she even desire to escape it? how could a pure and innocent maiden know the sort of life which he had hitherto led?
-lady romaine’s rooms were full of gay company, and a clamour of laughter and chatter rose up in a never-ceasing hum. the card-tables were crowded, and little piles of gold coins were constantly changing hands. gay gallants fluttered hither and thither like great painted butterflies, first stopping before one fair lady and then hovering round another; taking snuff with one another; bandying jest or anecdote, quip or crank; putting their heads eagerly together over some bit of new scandal, and then going off in high glee to tell the news elsewhere.
-there were a few grave politicians gathered together in one corner discussing the affairs of the day—the successful campaign on the continent, and the possibilities of an honourable peace. there were none of the high tories to be seen at lord romaine’s house. he belonged to the whig faction, and pinned his faith to godolphin, whom he thought the finest statesman of the day. he was on friendly terms with all the men of the so-called whig junto, and lord halifax and lord sunderland were to be seen at his house to-night, foremost amongst those who preferred quiet converse on weighty matters to the laughter and giddy talk in the larger rooms.
-the lady geraldine had betaken herself to the inner apartment, where her father was to be found in converse with his friends. it interested her far more to listen to the topics of the day discussed by them than to receive the vapourings of the gilded dandies, or to hear the chatter of painted dames. to her great relief lord sandford had not appeared at the rout, and sincerely did she hope he would continue to absent himself. of late his attentions had become more pressing, and every day she feared to hear from her father that he had made formal application for her hand, and had been accepted.
-geraldine did not want to marry him. from the first she had shrunk from his admiration, but had not been able to satisfy herself as to whether such shrinking were just or right. she knew her mother favoured him, and that her father thought he would rise to eminence if once he could shake off the follies and extravagances of youth, and settle down to wedded life with the woman of his choice. there was something attractive in his great strength, and in the manhood which was never eclipsed even when he followed the fashion of the day in dress and talk. but whilst she was hesitating, something had come into her life which seemed quite to have changed its current; and from that time forward she had resolutely set herself against lord sandford’s suit, and received his attentions with a coldness and aloofness which whetted his desire and piqued his vanity as nothing else could have done.
-there was one face for which geraldine looked in vain, and had looked for many long weary weeks. why she so desired to see that face, she could scarce have told; yet thus it was. but it never came. she asked questions now and again of some young beau who had lived in lord sandford’s world; but it was little she could learn of what she so much wished.
-"oh, sir grey and my lord sandford had a quarrel. none know the cause, but they say ’twas about a woman. i know naught of it. but they parted company; and belike he has gone off to the wars, for none of us have set eyes upon him since the day when he lost the race, and went near to lose his life."
-"how was that?" geraldine had asked with whitening lips.
-then she had heard, with sundry embellishments, the story of the race, and the suspicions which had been aroused as to whether or not a trap had been laid for the young baronet, into which he had fallen, and had only escaped severe injury by a happy chance.
-geraldine’s heart had been filled with horror.
-"think you that lord sandford had a hand in it?" had been her whispered question, to which a careless laugh was the answer. she gathered from more than one source that his companions believed lord sandford quite capable of such a deed; for he had the reputation of being a man good as a friend, but bad to quarrel with, and absolutely unscrupulous when his passions were roused. none would ever answer for what he might do.
-a great horror had fallen upon geraldine at hearing this tale—a horror which haunted her still after all these weeks. she could not forget how lord sandford had come upon her and grey in the gardens of vauxhall, and how he had spoken in a stern voice, and had carried her off with an air of mastery that she had been unable to resist. and almost immediately after this had come the quarrel—which men said was about a woman—and the disappearance of sir grey dumaresq from the world which had known him. her heart often beat fast and painfully as she mused on these things. had he not promised her to give up that idle life, that gaming and dissipation which in their hearts they both despised? and he had kept his promise. he had broken loose from his fetters. he might now be living a life of honourable purpose elsewhere. but she had hoped to see and know more of him. she had not thought of his exiling himself altogether. true, if lord sandford were his foe, and such a dangerous one to boot, it were better he should be far away. and yet she longed to see him again, to hear his voice, to know how it went with him. oft-times in the midst of such gay scenes as the one before her eyes her thoughts would go roving back to that golden summer morning when he had come to her upon the shining river; and she would rehearse in her memory every word that had passed, whilst her eyes would grow dreamy, and her lips curve softly, and her whole face take an expression which was exquisite in its tenderness and purity.
-"good-even, lady geraldine! i trust that your thoughts are with your poor servant now before you, who has been chafing in sore impatience at the delay in presenting himself here."
-she raised her eyes, and there was lord sandford standing before her; and they seemed almost alone, for no one was near, the group of politicians having moved farther away towards the doorway commanding the larger suite.
-she rose and made him the sweeping curtsy of the day; but he possessed himself of her hand, and carried it to his lips.
-"i pray you treat me with none such ceremony, sweet lady. we may surely call ourselves something more than acquaintances, after all that has passed betwixt us. i may safely style myself your friend, i trow. is it not so, lady geraldine?"
-there was something almost compelling in the glance he bent upon her. there was a ring of mastery in his words, despite the gentleness he strove to assume. she felt it, and she inwardly rebelled, although she gave no sign.
-"friendship, i trow, my lord, doth mean something very near and intimate and sacred. i scarce know myself at what point an acquaintance doth become a friend. i would that all true and noble-hearted men and women would honour me by their friendship, for i prize not any other."
-he looked at her searchingly, wondering what she meant, and if she were levelling any taunt at himself. the thought was like the sting of a lash upon his skin, and a flush rose slowly to his brow, out his voice was steady as he answered,—
-"i care not how intimate and near and sacred such friendship be, provided it be vouchsafed to me, madam. i have not been thought by those who know me to be a bad friend; but it would ill become me to sing mine own praises to win the regard of the woman who is queen of my heart."
-it was the first time he had spoken quite so openly, and geraldine’s fair, pale face flushed beneath his ardent gaze. what she would have answered she never knew; he held her gaze almost as the snake holds that of the bird it has in thrall. yet, all the while, her heart was rebelling fiercely, and her vague doubts and misgivings were changing rapidly into a very pronounced fear and distrust and loathing.
-but ere she had time to think what she should say, or he to make further protestations, a great rustling of silken skirts was heard, and in rushed lady romaine in a state of her usual artificial excitement and animation.
-"ah, my lord, there you are! they did tell me you had come. and it is said that you have been to see the representation of which all men are talking—the dreadful old father time, who says such horrid things, but is put to shame by a wonderful youth who is as like the duke of marlborough as though they were cast in the same mould. tell me, is this so? what is it like, this performance? i have been dying to see it, yet never have done so. tickets are scarce to be had—and such a price! all the town is flocking. tell us truly, is it such a wonderful thing, or is it just something for empty heads to cackle over?"
-"it is well enough," answered lord sandford carelessly, wishing the ogling lady farther at this moment. "the acting is good, and the piece not bad; there is power and wit in it, as all may hear, and it lacks not for boldness neither. but ’tis the resemblance of the young actor to the great duke which is the attraction to the populace. i went to speak with him after all was over, to see if the likeness was as great close at hand as it seems on the stage."
-"and is it so?" asked the lady breathlessly.
-"no; the features in no way favour the duke’s, save that both are handsome and regular. but the carriage, the action, the voice—these are excellent. the fellow must have known his grace in days gone by. but no man knows who he is nor whence he comes. he calls himself edward white; but none know if that be his name or not."
-a sudden flush mounted to geraldine’s face, and faded, leaving her snow-white. a thought had flashed into her mind; it set her heart beating violently. white! how often had he said to her, "would i were white as thou!" he had gifts; she had told him of them. he had seen and known the duke, and was tall and comely to look upon; and she had heard him speak with his voice and manner as he told her of their meeting. everything seemed whirling in a mist about her. she was recalled to herself by hearing her mother exclaim, in her shrill, eager tones,—
-"then, by my troth, we will have them here, and see for ourselves what they can do, without the crowding we should suffer at the theatre. we will engage them for the first night they can come."
-grey’s heart was beating to suffocation as he put the finishing touches to his toilet. the old lion sat beside the fire in his costume of father time, bending forward to the blaze, but giving vent from time to time to a hollow cough, which at a less all-engrossing moment might have caused grey some uneasiness. but to-night his head was filled with other thoughts. he was about to start for lord romaine’s house. the representation of "time and the youth" was to be given there before a large and fashionable assembly. she would be there! that was his first thought. she would watch the performance. he might even be able to pick her out from crowded audience, and feast his eyes upon her pure, pale beauty. at least for an hour he would be near her. that alone was enough to set his heart beating in tumultuous fashion. she would be there. at lord romaine’s own house it was impossible it should be otherwise. their eyes might meet; and though she would know him not—better that she should not, indeed—he would gaze upon those features which were dearest to him out of all the world. and whether for weal or woe, grey knew by this time that the love of his whole being was centred in lady geraldine adair, though he was schooling himself to the thought of seeing her and knowing her to be another man’s wife. to him she could only be as a star in the firmament of heaven—as a benignant influence guiding him to higher and nobler paths. that was how he must ever learn to regard her, for her world and his were poles asunder. and what had he to offer to any woman—he whose future lay all uncertain before him, and whose fortunes were yet in the clouds?
-a message from below warned them that the coach which was to convey them to lord romaine’s house was now at the door.
-"you are tired, sir," spoke grey, suddenly waking from his reverie and turning to the old man, who rose with an air of lassitude which his strong will could not entirely conceal; "i fear me you are not quite yourself to-night. this constant acting is something too great a strain upon you."
-"ay, my boy, i am growing old," answered the other, with a note of pain in his voice; "i feel it as i never felt it before. my triumph has come just a little too late. i am too old to take up the threads of the past again. the old lion has risen once again to roar in the forest, but he must needs lay him down soon in his den—to die."
-over grey’s face there passed a quick spasm of anxiety and pain.
-"nay, nay; say not so. i have never heard you speak in such vein before. what ails you to-night, dear master?"
-"no matter, boy, no matter; heed not my groanings," answered wylde, assuming more of his usual manner, though he held tightly to grey’s arm as they descended the stairs. "i have been somewhat out of sorts these last few days, and you know how they did tell me at the theatre that my voice was not well heard the other night—"
-"ah, but you had that rheum upon you. it is better now. yesterday your notes rang forth like those of a clarion."
-"ah yes, that may be; but what has happened once may chance again. boy, did you observe a gray-headed man standing in the slips and watching my every action, his lips following mine as i spoke my part?"
-"i did. i thought he seemed to know every word by heart himself. he had the face of an actor, methought."
-"he is one, and a favourite with the people—anthony frewen is his name. he and i have held many an audience spellbound ere now. what think you he was there for?"
-"nay, i know not, save to watch and learn and admire."
-"ay, truly, to watch and learn, that he may step into father time’s part, should the day come when i can hold my throne no longer."
-a violent fit of coughing here interrupted the old man’s words, seeming to give a point to his speech that otherwise it might have lacked.
-grey supported him tenderly whilst the paroxysm lasted; but he sat aghast, thinking what might be coming upon his master and friend. if, indeed, he were to be laid aside by illness, how could the successful dramatic interlude be carried on, save by another actor? and did it not look as though theatre managers were foreseeing this contingency, and preparing for it?
-"could they, indeed, supersede you, sir?" he asked at length. "have they the right to do so, since the thing was written by you? must they not rather wait for you to take up your part again, should the cold seize upon you, and for a time render you unfit for your part?"
-"nay, nay, they will not do that; and they have purchased the rights to produce the piece as long as they will. i could not complain. i could only submit." he stopped and drew his breath rather hard, and then broke out with something of his old fire: "but what matter? what matter? it is nature’s law! the old must give way to the young. i have lived my life. i have shown men what i can do. i have aroused me from sleep, and shone like a meteor in the sky ere my long eclipse shall come. i am content. i ask no more. let elisha take up the mantle which falls from elijah. my work will be remembered when the hand that penned it is dust."
-grey was almost horrified by these words. it seemed to him as though the old lion were almost making up his mind to some approaching calamity; and at the thought of losing his one friend, the young man’s heart stood still. he had become greatly attached to wylde; but he knew that amid those of his own profession he had many enemies. nor had he been many weeks amongst actors before he had learned the jealousies and emulations that burned so fiercely amongst them, and how eagerly every vacant place was snapped up by one of a crowd of eager aspirants. who knew but that somebody might even now be studying his part of the youth, ready to step into his shoes should any untoward event occur to incapacitate him? he had constantly seen the handsome but unsteady lionel field hanging about the theatre, and once or twice he had come to see them in their lodgings, and had asked the old lion to speak a good word for him, declaring that he had resolved upon turning over a new leaf, and becoming steady and sober again. grey remembered now how many questions he had put about the duke of marlborough, asking how grey had become so well acquainted with his person and voice and gestures. these he himself had imitated, not without success, for the young man had considerable natural gifts, and far more training than grey could boast, although he had won so great success through the close instructions of an able master.
-the young man knew perfectly by this time that wylde was somewhat feared in dramatic circles for his keen criticisms, his autocratic temper, and his scathing powers of retort. he knew, likewise, that he was regarded as something of an interloper—a man who had risen suddenly into notice by what might be called "back-stair" influence. grey was fully aware himself that he had served no apprenticeship to his present calling, that he had stepped into success simply and solely through a series of happy accidents. he could not wonder that to others he should seem to be something of an impostor and a fraud. whilst under the old lion’s immediate patronage, nobody dared to flout or insult him; but he was sometimes conscious of an undercurrent of hostile jealousy directed against him, which increased with his increasing popularity with the public. he could not doubt that if some mischance were to befall him or his patron, his fall would be acclaimed in many circles with delight, as making room for another to fill his vacant place. and grey, looking at the hollow cheeks and the gaunt frame of the old lion, hearing from time to time his painful coughing, began to fear that he, indeed, would not long be able to face the world or fight his own battle; and doubtful, indeed, did he feel of his own power and ability to fight that battle for himself single-handed.
-these fears and misgivings, however, though somewhat dismal at the moment, were all driven away as the carriage rolled under the archway of lord romaine’s house, and he found himself at his journey’s end, and so close to the object of his heart’s desire.
-the actors were not, of course, taken into any of the thronged drawing-rooms; the day for the reception of dramatists as honoured guests at the houses of the nobility was not yet. they were, however, respectfully conducted to a small apartment and offered refreshments, which they partook of sparingly, and then conducted through the garden to a large temporary structure, which lady romaine had insisted on having run up, so that she might invite a very large audience to her house for the occasion.
-there was a well-arranged stage for the actors, and the scenery, such as it was, had been well painted, in imitation of that at the theatres; father time’s throne was a very fine erection, and all the arrangements were excellent. the old man seemed to throw off his lassitude as he made his observations, and the fire came back to his eyes and the power to his voice. grey forgot his uneasiness in the excitement of the moment, and in the realization of where he was and who might at any moment appear before his eyes, and he was resolved that this representation should be the finest which had ever been seen heretofore.
-in the grand reception-rooms of the countess, geraldine stood apart as one who dreams. she saw the throng of fashionable persons assembling; she heard delighted exclamations about the wonders of the little theatre which all had heard of. it had been brought from spring gardens, and the moving of it had been quite a small excitement for the fashionable world, who declared that lady romaine was the cleverest and most delightful of women, and that it was quite too charming to be able to witness this representation, of which all the town was talking, without the crush and fatigue of attending the theatres.
-geraldine heard as in a dream all this hubbub and clatter. she herself was as eager as any to witness the dramatic interlude, but from a motive different from that of the rest of the world. there was an unwonted flush upon her cheeks, a brilliance in her dreamy eyes. many persons, who had scarcely noticed her before, or had passed her by with the epithet, "a maid of ice," "a snow-queen," now regarded her with greater attention, and said one to another that the lady geraldine was a more beautiful creature than they had fancied before.
-lord sandford, pushing his way through the throng towards her, felt a peculiar thrill of triumph run through him as his eyes dwelt upon her face.
-"she is a splendid woman—just fit to be the future lady sandford, the mother of those who shall come after me! my wooing shall not last much longer. i know the mind of her mother, and though her father promises nothing, he wishes me well. he will not have her coerced, nor would i. she must come to me willingly; but come she shall. she has no mind towards marriage, as other maids and damsels. better so, better so. i would not have my mistress one of those whose ears are greedy for the flattery of all the world—one who looks upon each man as he appears in the light of a possible suitor. no, i would have my white lily just as she is—pure, spotless, calm, cold. it is for me to kindle the fire, for me to unlock the heart; and i will not grumble if the task be something hard, for better is the prize for which we have toiled and sweated, than the one which drops into our hands at the first touch."
-so thinking, he pushed his way till he stood by geraldine’s side, and met the clear, steady glance of her eyes.
-"fair lady, i give you greeting. you are not going to absent yourself from the representation this night? we never know in our garish world where the lady geraldine will appear, or what places she will illumine with the light of her countenance. i rejoice to see you here to-night."
-"i have a great desire to see this spectacle of which i have heard so much," answered geraldine quietly; "i would fain have gone to the theatre, if so be that my mother had not arranged this representation here. i have heard of the old lion of the stage, though never have i seen him. there is something grand in the story i have heard of his talent, his early successes, and his bravely endured eclipse and poverty. i am right glad he has lived again to taste success and the plaudits of the people."
-lord sandford laughed at her earnestness.
-"you are a philanthropist in sooth, lady geraldine, to interest yourself in the affairs of such persons as these."
-"are they not of our own flesh and blood, my lord?" she asked.
-"faith, i know not, and i care not! at least, they are not of our world, which is more to the point in these days."
-geraldine turned away with a look upon her face which roused the hot blood of lord sandford; he was not used to scorn.
-she had decided beforehand where she would sit—near to a side-door into the garden, which, standing half-open, let in a current of cool air into the heated place. it had been warmed beforehand, and was dimly lighted by a number of small lanterns overhead, such as were used in the gardens of vauxhall and ranelagh.
-her heart was beating almost to suffocation as the curtain went up, and she saw the often-described figure of time upon his throne. but it was not of his rounded periods nor his telling gestures that she had been dreaming; and though she listened and watched with a sense of fascination, she knew that she was waiting—waiting—waiting for the next actor, with a sense almost of suffocation in her throat.
-why had she thought this thing? why had it seemed to her no impossibility that sir grey dumaresq, vanished utterly from his old world, should be masquerading now in this part of the youth? she could not have answered even to herself these questions, yet her heart was all in a tumult. had he not once said to her, as he plucked a white rosebud and gave it her, "why was my name not white instead of grey? then it would be like unto you"? was that enough to build upon? hardly, but yet she could not help it. did not men speak of his grace, dignity, manly beauty? and did not many say of him that his face seemed familiar in some sort, yet none could say who he was? and now a thunder of new applause rent the air. for a moment her vision grew dim and she could not see. then it cleared, and her heart gave a great bound. clear silver tones fell upon her ear, and the ring of a voice that she knew. his face for the moment was turned away. he was addressing himself to father time; but as he turned towards the house and gazed full upon the audience sitting in spellbound silence, the foot-lights fell full upon his face, and she knew him!
-she knew him—that was enough! what he said or did, she knew not—cared not. she sat with her gaze fastened full upon him. she recked not why that alone seemed enough. a strange trance that was half dream fell upon her. she gazed, and gazed, and gazed.
-"good lack, but the fellow is the very mirror of my husband! i had not believed it, had i not seen it with mine own eyes." the voice of the duchess was clearly heard above the clarion notes of the actor. she was not one to hush her tones, and she was not a little astonished by the performance. pleasure, gratification, and surprise were all written upon the hard but handsome features of the queen’s favourite; and every now and again she would tap her long ivory fan with some vehemence upon the back of the seat in front, and would exclaim aloud,—
-"vastly good! vastly well done! faith, but he is a pretty fellow, and knows what he is about. i must have speech with him. i would learn more of this. beshrew me, but the duke must see this when he returns!"
-this loud-voiced praise could not but reach the ears of the actors, and they could not fail to know who it was that spoke. all knew that the duchess was to be present, as a special mark of good will and condescension, and that she should speak such open praise seemed to set a seal upon the success of the entertainment. lady romaine could scarce contain herself for delight.
-geraldine still sat as in a maze of bewildered happiness. it was not till just as the performance was closing that she was awakened from her trance, and that somewhat rudely. the last words of the interlude were being spoken. father time and the youth were standing together making their last speeches to the audience, and she was gazing with all her eyes into the face of one whom she alone out of all the company had recognized, when one of the lanterns overhead, insecurely fastened, burnt its way loose, and fell flaring and blazing upon the light train of her dress. instantly she was in a blaze. the flames shooting up made a glare all over the house, and a hundred piercing shrieks attested the terror of the ladies at the sight.
-he bent over her, his face white and ghastly in the moonlight.
-"you are not hurt—say you are not hurt!"
-"i think not; you were so quick—so quick. how can i thank you?"
-her eyes looked into his; it was just one moment before the people came rushing out upon them in a frantic crowd. but that moment was their own. they looked into each other’s eyes, and a thrill passed from heart to heart that never could be forgotten. out rushed lord romaine, frantic with anxiety; out followed a motley crowd—some weeping, some gasping, some exclaiming, some even laughing in hysterical excitement. grey stood up suddenly, and slipped away like a wraith in the moonlight.
-lord romaine bent tenderly over his daughter, who was struggling to her feet, still encumbered by the folds of the great rug. she was dishevelled, her dress was torn and burnt, she held the folds of the covering wrap about her still; but her voice was only a little tremulous as she clung to her father’s arm.
-"i am not hurt; no, i am sure i am not. the hot breath of the fire just scorched for a moment; but then it was crushed out.. please send the people away. i do not want to be stared at. i am not hurt. please take me in, and let me go to my own room."
-"bless me, but what a pretty kettle of fish!" cried a loud and imperious voice. "let me see the child and be sure she is all safe. ha, there you are, my pretty white bird! a nice scare you gave us all wrapped about in a ring of fire like—who was the woman?—brynhild, or some such outlandish name. but it was a fine ending to the drama. we have not quite lost our heroes yet. my faith, how he leaped down! he must have seen it before any of the rest of us. well, well, well; it is a good thing that his fine show of bravery was not all in words. he is a mettlesome youth, and deserves the praise of the town. he will be more the hero of the hour than ever. where is the boy? i would have speech of him myself."
-the duchess looked about her; but no one like the youth was to be seen. he had vanished altogether; but, doubtless, he would be somewhere on the place, and could be fetched to receive the thanks of the parents and the compliments of the duchess.
-it was too cold to stand out in the moonlight, and there was a general move towards the house, geraldine still clinging to her father’s arm, avoiding the shrill questions, comments, and congratulations of the company, and shrinking back especially when lord sandford would have approached.
-"the luck was not for me to-night," he said; "nevertheless, give me the chance, lady geraldine, and you shall see what i will do. but that actor chap shall not lose his reward for his promptitude. i will see to that."
-she started as though she had been stung.
-"my lord, do not insult him!"
-he stared at her in amaze; but she slipped away and vanished like a wraith. he strode moodily about the rooms, joining in the general inquiry after the young actor whom the duchess had sent for; but the servants came back after some time to say that the young man could not be found. he seemed to have disappeared into thin air.
-grey had a double reason for his rapid disappearance from the scene of his recent exploit. for one thing, he had recognized amid the audience assembled by lady romaine to witness the performance quite a number of men whom he had known with more or less intimacy in the former days, and whom he now desired to avoid. he knew that both his flowing wig and his fine clothes had received some injury from the fire, and moreover he quickly felt that his hands and one of his arms had suffered from the flames. if he were to be taken possession of by friendly or compassionate persons, to have these matters looked to, there was no end to the possible complications which might arise. the sensitive pride of the young man of gentle birth rose in arms against being unmasked in the midst of old associates. he pictured the laugh with which lord sandford would make the discovery that the youthful baronet, his whilom friend, was playing upon the boards of the theatre for a livelihood. that was a thing he could not and would not endure. and he had fled hastily from the coming crowd, so soon as he had been assured that lord romaine was on the spot to take care of his daughter.
-again, he was frightened by the intensity of his own feelings. when he held geraldine in his arms, and when their eyes met, and he knew himself recognized, the flood of emotion which surged over him had well-nigh mastered him and led him into some wild act of folly. he had had much ado to stay the burning words which rushed like a torrent to his lips. he dared not trust himself to look again upon geraldine’s fair face. he was frightened at the immensity of the temptation which had assailed him to break into some wild declaration of love.
-but when he had reached the waiting coach which was to convey him and his companion back to town, his thoughts were directed into quite another channel by the frightened faces of the servants who stood by.
-"you had better get master wylde home without delay," spoke one, "and have a leech for him. he was taken with bleeding at the mouth almost as soon as he left the stage. he has only spoken once, and that was to ask for you. he should be got to bed as quick as may be, and kept there till he is better."
-with a pale and anxious face grey threw himself into the coach where the old lion was sitting, leaning back feebly against the cushions, his face ghastly, his hand holding to his mouth a kerchief stained and spotted with blood. in a great fright the young actor bade the man drive fast, and stop on his way at the residence of one of the many physicians, or quacks, who drove so brisk a trade in these times, each having some wonderful nostrum of his own for the cure of all ills under the sun, and some of them thriving so mightily that they drove four or six horses in their coaches, and had lackeys in scarlet and silver lace running beside them and distributing small leaflets, in which the wonders their master had performed were set forth.
-grey had heard of some of these men, and that they performed wonderful cures; and he cared not what he paid, at that moment, so that his master and friend might be relieved and healed.
-with no small trouble he got him up the stairs to their attic, and put him to bed. but more than once the hacking cough brought back the dreaded bleeding; and by the time that the leech arrived, pompous and haughty, and none too well pleased at being summoned from the convivial gathering of friends whither he had betaken himself, he looked more like a corpse than a living man.
-grey was in a fever of anxiety, and listened with earnest heed to the words of the leech, and his instructions for the relief of the patient. he bought every suggested medicament, regardless of the cost, and made no hesitation in handing the exorbitant fee demanded by the great man for his valuable services. he cared for nothing, so that his master should recover; and the leech, finding that gold was plentiful in this humble abode, and rather interested in the discovery that he was attending the actor whose father time had made such talk in the town, really began to take some interest in the case, and to put forth his best skill; so that before very long the death-like hue of the patient’s face changed to something more natural, and the hemorrhage was for the time being checked.
-"he must be kept perfectly quiet. on no account must he exert his voice, or leave his bed, or take any liberties. nature must be humoured, my dear sir; nature must be helped and aided. she is a kind mother to her obedient and reasonable children, but she has many a rod for the backs of those who despise her warnings. our worthy friend has been tendering a deaf ear to her counsels; therefore has she chastened him somewhat severely. but let him show himself mild and docile under her rod, and it may be that she will restore him to favour again, and that the world will once more pay to him its tribute of admiration and praise."
-so saying the leech took his departure, promising to come at any hour of the day or night that he might be sent for; and grey was left alone with his patient, who had been soothed off to a quiet sleep by a draught administered. and it must be said in justice to these men—half physician, half quack—who flourished at this time, that some of their remedies were of no small value when properly applied. they used herbs and concoctions brewed from the leaves and roots of plants far more freely than has since become fashionable. many purchased their nostrums from old women, who went forth into the fields and lanes, and distilled from their spoil mixtures which they regarded as remedies of infallible potency. much ignorance prevailed as to the action of these simples upon the human body; but many of them were of no small value in sickness, and when used in cases where it chanced to be the thing required, worked wonders in rapid healing, and became at once the favourite elixir of the moment amongst those who had known of the cure.
-so the old lion was at least soothed to quiet sleep, and in the warm atmosphere of the attic his breathing was sensibly relieved. grey was able now to strip off his own finery, rather aghast at the sorry state of his coat, the total destruction of his costly ruffles, and the singed condition of his wig.
-"these must be made good quickly, or i shall not be fit to appear on the boards on monday night," he mused, as he looked at them. luckily as this was saturday night, he felt as though there were breathing time before him. "i must send word to mr. butler of what has befallen. anthony frewen, or some other, must needs play father time for a score of performances at least, i fear me. it will be a loss: i shall earn but the half of what was given us before. still it will suffice to keep us, and i trust and hope that it will not be long ere he recover, to take his place once more."
-a troubled look came over grey’s face as he looked towards the bed, and noted the patient’s sunken cheek and cavernous eyes. he wondered that he had not before seen how thin and shrunken the old man was getting; but there was always so much fire about him that it deceived even those who saw him oftenest and loved him best.
-"it hath been too much for him—the triumph, the adulation, the excitement of taking again his old place before the world. it meant so much to him, this play. it was like the child of his old age. it brought him his final triumph; but it took much out of him also. the fires of life blazed up too fiercely. now they seem sinking down to ashes. heaven grant that we may feed them yet, that he may recover him of this sickness. yet will he ever be able to face the world again as remained still, while faint lines of interrogation puckered the placid forehead. betty continued: "i ought not to ask such questions. i rush in like a fool. but then i am a fool, although i long to be wise. there is so much a girl like me wants to know, but if you tell me to hold my tongue i shall not be surprised or offended."
-"i’m glad that i have lived, betty."
-"that is because you have loved. your love for jim has filled your life, ever since i have known you. if—if—oh, i am ashamed to put it so brutally—but if you lost jim, or if jim had never been born—what then?"
-"my dear, you press me too hard. i can hardly conceive of life without jim," she smiled. "he came when all was dark, and there has been light for me—ever since."
-"when all was dark——" repeated betty. she knew that jim’s father had died when jim was a small boy.
-"yes. my married life was not happy. perhaps i expected too much, as is the way with women; perhaps it was not meant that i should be happy."
-"not meant?" betty spoke with impatience. "surely the design, the intention, includes happiness, only we mar it."
-"all young people think that," said mrs. corrance, "but as we grow older we see so little real happiness that we must believe, if we believe in the mercy of god, that, save for the few, happiness on earth is not to be enjoyed but earned rather, so that it may be enjoyed, without alloy, hereafter. and i believe that to everyone a glimpse of happiness is vouchsafed. were it not for that, how many would struggle on?"
-betty asked no more questions. the youth in her rebelled against this placid acceptance of suffering and strife. she told herself that she had enormous capacity for enjoyment. politics, literature, history, sport: all were fish to her net. but religion, and in particular that concrete presentation of it by the church of england, had, so far, left her cold. she seemed to have touched but its phylacteries, out of which came no virtue. she had met many clever men who confessed themselves agnostic. her kind friend, lady randolph, never spoke of religion, either in its wide or narrow sense. certainly she did her duty without aid or formulæ. in fact, when betty came to think of it, some freethinkers of her acquaintance lived more christian lives than many churchpeople who took the sacrament every sunday. this was puzzling. on the other hand, the life she had led since the admiral’s death, the life of mayfair, of big country houses, of race-meetings, of perpetual pleasure-seekings, had begun to pall. the grandmothers—some of them—who gambled, and made love, and over-ate themselves, revolted her. that they were at heart discontented and unhappy she could not doubt. finally, she had just come to the trite conclusion that, in or out of the fashionable world, the people least to be pitied were those who had some definite object in view. politics, for instance, had probably saved lord randolph from the hereditary curse of his family; fox-hunting made harry kirtling ride straight and walk straight; jim corrance admitted that money-grubbing kept him out of mischief. these pursuits, however, led to negative results: being preventive of evil, not productive of good, except indirectly. mark samphire not only avoided evil, but did good, as dozens were eager to testify, including herself. when with mark she had always been conscious of his power to bring out the good in her. and this afternoon, listening to archie, she had felt the same thrill, the same irresistible yearning to ascend, to scale the heights. none the less, she was whimsically aware, being a creature of sense as well as sensibility, that mark cast a glamour. she loved him, and, loving him, loved what he loved, tried to see heaven’s wares with his eyes, and succeeded, so long as the magician remained at her side. when he was at work in whitechapel and she was shopping in bond street, heaven, somehow, seemed distant. at such times she looked at a set of sables or a diamond ornament with a pleasure which proved that the clay within her was very far from being purged.
-upon the following saturday, when jim asked her to become his wife, to share the fortune which would be no fortune without her, she said no, as kindly as words and looks could say it. her distress at the pain she inflicted touched him profoundly.
-"i shall remain your pal, betty," jim declared. "the other thing was always a forlorn hope. is it any use saying that i have known for years that i wasn’t first, and that i was sanguine enough to believe that if the first failed, i might be second? isn’t half a loaf better than no bread, dear?"
-she let him take her hand, but she turned aside eyes full of tears.
-"we’ll go on as before. the mater needn’t know—eh? it has been a great thing for her having you here."
-"and a great thing for me," said betty unsteadily. "i wish i could marry you, dear old jim, but i can’t—i can’t."
-she broke down, sobbing bitterly. jim patted her hand, wondering what he could say to comfort her, but the words which came into his head seemed inadequate. if he had taken her face between his strong hands, kissed away her tears, and sworn passionately that he would love and cherish her so long as she lived, she might have changed a mind which was less strong than her body. while she sat weeping beside him, she was thinking not so much that she had lost mark, but that she had lost love. the woman within her groaned, the flesh and blood protested. she saw herself as in a vision, treading the dreary years alone, with no strong arm to protect and defend, with no tiny hands to cling to and caress her. and at the end of the pilgrimage stood old age, grim and grey, carrying a sprig of rue in palsied shrivelled hands!
-mark went north with david ross convinced that his months, if not his days, were numbered; but as time passed, this conviction passed with it, and hope once more fluttered into his heart. stride took extraordinary interest in his case.
-"you must become an animal and remain an animal till i give you leave to assume again the man," he told mark after archibald had left crask. "i don’t know what you and your brother have been up to, but you’ve had a relapse. you must go on all-fours till i tell you to walk upright."
-mark promised, but he added: "i feel an animal—an ass!"
-stride growled out something about dead lions, and set mark to work in the garden, bare-legged and bare-headed. the work was light, but it strained every muscle in mark’s body. then he was made to lie down in one of the sheds. after such rest came refreshment—easily digested, nourishing food, taken in small quantities, but often. during this month mark reckoned that he was sleeping fourteen hours out of the twenty-four. at the end of each week stride weighed him and applied a number of tests to determine what strength he had gained. there was a sort of rivalry between the patients. dick who had gained two pounds crowed over tom who had gained one. into this competition mark entered with boyish keenness. stride said he was the star pupil of the class.
-by the beginning of october, a radical improvement had taken place. the cold weather set in sharply, but mark, always susceptible to atmospheric change, braved the frosty nights with impunity, sleeping in the sheds with the winds howling about him. he had the confidence in stride that a well-trained dog has in his master. some of stride’s "animals"—as he called them—proved at first unmanageable. coming, as most of them did, from the strenuous life of crowded cities, accustomed to and yearning for the stimulus of constant mental action, such stagnation as stride enforced seemed insupportable. these kittle cattle were yoked for a season with mark.
-meantime he had received many letters from his friends, but none from betty, who had returned to lady randolph. jim wrote that he had been rejected, but made no mention of archibald, who was often seen crossing the downs between westchester and birr wood. as a matter of fact, jim was not aware of these rides. he remained in london making money. from pynsent mark learned of the enthusiasm aroused by archibald’s windsor sermon.
-"reading in the paper" (he wrote) "that your brother was preaching in st. george’s chapel, i went down to windsor yesterday to hear him. he is quite amazing. what he said and the way he said it took us by storm. the whitsuntide sermon gave only a taste of his quality. out of the pulpit he has always struck me as being the typical english parson of means and position; in it he is—apostolic! i can find no other adjective to describe his persuasiveness, sincerity, and power. lord randolph tells me that it made a profound impression in the highest quarter. i saw betty kirtling and lady randolph in the knights’ stalls...."
-mark thrust the letter into his pocket with an exclamation which made the man working next to him raise his brows.
-"anything wrong, samphire? no bad news, i hope?"
-mark blurted out the truth. his companion, broken down by hard work in manchester, had sympathetic eyes and lips which dropped compassion upon all infirmities save his own.
-"i’ve had good news, maitland: my brother has preached a great sermon at windsor, and—and there is something wrong with me. i have the damnable wish that he’d failed—as i failed." then he laughed harshly, bending down to pick up his spade.
-that afternoon he climbed the mountain, which sloped steeply to the loch. the air, he felt, on the top of ben caryll would purge and purify; the panoramic view would enlarge the circle of his sympathies. and so it proved, although a materialist might assign another cause. when mark reached the highest peak he became aware that he had accomplished a feat of physical endurance beyond such powers as he possessed two months before. he was not aware of undue fatigue; on the contrary, a strange exhilaration permeated mind and body. he could have danced, but he sat down, soberly enough, and reread pynsent’s letter. when he had done this, he tried to transport himself to windsor. he wanted to sit with betty in the knights’ stalls, beneath the gorgeous silken banners, and the emblazoned shields of the princes of the world, under the eye and ægis of a living sovereign. but fancy left him—in sutherland. he gazed upon moor and mountain whitened here and there by snow. he looked into the pale, luminous skies above, into the frosty opalescent mists to the westward, through which the sun glowed like a red-hot ball, and wherever he looked betty was not. for the moment he could not recall her face. it seemed as if he were seeking a stranger with a written description of her in his hand.
-sitting there, some voice whispered to him that betty wanted him, that he must descend the mountain and go to her. then he told himself that he was mad. if he obeyed this beguiling voice in his ears, if he went south—what then? the hope in his eye and heart would kindle like hope in her, and such hope was a will-o’-the-wisp flickering above—a grave!
-when he came down from the mountain, he found stride busy in his laboratory. stride possessed a magnificent zeiss microscope and all the accessories—incubating ovens, sterilising apparatus, stains, and reagents—for the highest bacteriological work. of late, mark had given the little man some help in staining and mounting preparations.
-"we are out of one world," stride had said, "but i will introduce you to another through an apochromatic lens. you will find yourself quite at home, my friend. here, in this drop of water, you will note the same struggle for existence, the same old game as it is played in whitechapel or whitehall."
-when mark began to understand something of the technique of the microscope, when stride had shown him its uses, for instance, in the analysis of diseased tissue or blood, and revealed its magical powers of diagnosis, mark asked a question: "how can any doctor work without one?" stride laughed at such innocence.
-"it takes up too much time. no hard-working practitioner ignores the value of it, but he cannot use it. when necessary, he sends preparations to some specialist. a microscope exacts more attention than a wife. that is why i"—he slapped his chest and winked furiously—"have remained single."
-this devotion to his work strengthened the chain which linked patient to doctor. stride—mark felt assured—might have secured fame and fortune in london. yet he chose to remain unknown and poor in sutherland.
-mark told him that he had climbed ben caryll, and felt none the worse for it. stride shook his big head.
-"you oughtn’t to attempt such walks—yet."
-"then the time is coming. i shall regain my health?"
-he had never put the question so directly before. stride eyed him attentively, hearing a new note in his voice.
-"if i asked for leave of absence——"
-"it would be refused—peremptorily," said stride. "why, man, you’d douse the glim which i’ve been coaxing into flame all these weeks. what magnet draws you from crask? a woman?"
-"oh, these tempestuous petticoats! now, samphire, i’m not a fool, and i guessed, when you came here, that you left a girl behind you. you are not engaged to her?"
-"good! now, listen to wisdom. if everything goes well with you—if fresh air and simple food and freedom from worry make you whole, you may marry some day—but you’ll have to wait a long time, so as to make sure, and even then, after years of comparative health, you may break down again. will this young lady wait for you—indefinitely?"
-"i should never ask her to do that."
-"um! i daresay she’s flirting with someone at this very minute. eh? i beg pardon, samphire. your goddess, no doubt, is an exception; but few women, if they are women, can get along without a man. and now you must leave me. i’m on the edge of a small discovery. i’ve done some good work to-day."
-"your good work will tell, stride."
-"what d’ye mean? recognition? if it comes, so much the better; if it doesn’t, i’ve had ’the joy of the working’—eh?"
-next day, a letter from archibald gave many details. he had enjoyed the honour of meeting his sovereign, who said gracious things; he had dined with a cabinet minister; he had been interviewed at length by a reporter. the letter concluded as follows:—
-mark’s smile, when he read these lines, was not easy to interpret, but the sense that, for a brief hour, he had grudged his own flesh and blood a triumph, made him reply cordially and affectionately. he ended his letter by assuring archibald that such help as one brother could give another would always be at his disposal.
-about this time, feeling stronger day by day, he began to wonder what work he should do in the future. stride was emphatic that life in the east end would mean a return of his malady. not being able to preach, a country curacy was unavailable; and in any case mark told himself that such work would be distasteful. stride startled him by saying abruptly, "why don’t you write?"
-"it’s in you, i’ll swear. it would be only a crutch, at first, but you have private means. you can write out-of-doors. you will be your own master. you can take proper care of yourself...." stride waxed eloquent, and mark listened with a curious exaltation.
-"by jove!" he said, drawing a deep breath, "i believe i can write."
-"everybody writes nowadays," said stride, "but i have the feeling that you can write what a lot of us will want to read. think it over!"
-mark thought it over for a week. ideas inundated his brain, clamouring for expression. he begged permission to try his hand at a short story: four thousand words. stride gave a grudging consent.
-"mind you," said he, "you’re not fit for any sustained mental exertion, but go ahead—full steam, if you like, and we’ll see what will happen."
-mark wrote his story, and submitted both it and himself to the autocrat. this was a week later, and the scales proclaimed a loss of two pounds. stride pursed up his lips and waggled his big head.
-"back you go to the garden to-morrow," he growled. "i’ll read your stuff to-night, and tell you what i think of it. it’s almost certain to be rubbish."
-in the morning, however, he had nothing but praise for the author, whose mind was by no means as familiar to him as his body. he beamed and gesticulated as if he had discovered a new bacillus. the story was despatched to an editor, arthur conquest, whom stride knew, and mark was enjoined to think no more about it. think about it he did, naturally. the possibility of doing good work in a new field filled him once more with the ardours of youth. he told stride there was a certain inevitableness about his failures. what had gone before—all trials and disappointments—were part of a writer’s equipment. he could not doubt that he had found at last a strong-box, so to speak, for such talents as he possessed. action had been denied him, articulate speech was not his, the power of putting a noble conception on to canvas he lacked; but he could, he would, he should write according to the truth that was in him, so help him god!
-stride warned him that the odds were greatly against his manuscript being accepted. the editor, however, read the story himself, and promised to publish it. his letter contained a message to mark.
-"will you tell mr. samphire" (wrote conquest) "that i am going to red-pencil his story, which i take to be a first attempt. he must serve his apprenticeship, which in his case needn’t be a long one. i can see that he sets for himself a high standard. if he means business i should advise him to write a novel and burn it. when he comes to town, i hope to make his acquaintance."
-"conquest is cold-blooded," said stride, "but he has a prescient eye. all the same, if you have business dealings with him—look out! and now—go back to your cabbages."
-mark told maitland what had passed. maitland entered with sympathy into his plans, confessing that he had tried writing as a trade.
-"grub street is a long lane with no turning in it for nine-tenths of the foot passengers. i hope you’ll gallop down it, samphire, not crawl as i did."
-maitland looked, so mark reflected, as if he had gone afoot down many paths. failure was branded upon his pale, too narrow face, his stooping shoulders, his large, clumsy hands: all thumbs, and crudely fashioned at that! but ross, who was no longer at crask, had told mark that maitland filled a very large place in his huge manchester parish.
-"what made you go into the church?" mark asked abruptly.
-"i had to earn my bread and—scrape; but afterwards——"
-maitland’s dull, sallow complexion seemed to be suffused with a glow. it struck mark that between his face as he was accustomed to see it and as he saw it now lay the difference between a stage-scene lighted and unlighted.
-"afterwards," said maitland, "i knew that the choice of my profession had been determined by a power infinitely greater than my own will. i became a parson from ignoble motives. i was soured, bitter, sick in mind and body, unfit for the duties i undertook. and then suddenly—one hardly likes to talk about it—my eyes were opened. i came into contact with hundreds worse off than myself. some of them bore their burdens with a patience, a serenity, an unselfishness that were a revelation—to me. and then i realised that no life is a failure which brightens however faintly the lives of others. napoleon is the colossal failure of history, because he darkened a continent. i would sooner be a beggar sharing a crust with a child than such as he."
-"if you were offered preferment——?"
-"i hope to live and die in manchester."
-"you nearly did die. suppose you were not strong enough to go back? you wince, maitland. that would try your faith. you have been frank with me; i shall be frank with you. i have always wanted one thing, and because i wanted it so much, i tried to bargain with heaven. i said, ’you shall do what you like with me, only give me, give me the woman i love!’ well, heaven seemed to take up the challenge. you know my story. i was defeated again and again. and i said to myself i’ll grin and bear it, because she is mine. ah, if you could see her, maitland, as i see her, if you knew what i have f-f-felt, when i saw her image f-f-fa—fading——" he paused, overcome by his stammer, controlled it, and continued quietly, "i was told that i must die. ross found me in despair. i—i do not know, but the river was close at hand, and—perhaps—at any rate he rescued me, brought me here, and now, now, i am beginning to live again. i see god in his heaven. and i see my angel in mine."
-he was so excited that maitland entreated him to be calm, introducing, as an anticlimax, the cabbages to be cut and carried in.
-shortly after this stride allowed him to begin his novel. after the first distress of beginning it became plain that this work agreed with him. weight and appetite increased as the manuscript grew fat. he was out all weathers, and his face became tanned like that of a north sea fisherman. stride rubbed his hands chuckling, whenever he saw him.
-during these months mark told himself that it was impossible for betty to write to him till he broke the silence which he had imposed. meanwhile, he heard that archibald had accepted a london living: st. anne’s in sloane street. mrs. samphire sent mark a long cutting from the slowshire chronicle, a synopsis of his brother’s labours in and about westchester. as secretary, and member of many committees, as a lecturer on temperance, as a pillar of the charity organisation society, as the first tenor of the westchester choral association, archibald samphire had honestly earned the gratitude of the community and the very handsome salver, which embalmed that gratitude in a latin sentence composed by the dean. archibald had been asked to preach four advent sermons in westminster cathedral. mark suggested a theme, revised the sermons, interpolated a hundred passages, cut and slashed his brother’s beautiful mss., and when the sermons were preached and attracted the attention of london, wrote a letter of warm congratulation to his "dearest old fellow." he had taken greater pains with these sermons than with his own novel, because—as he put it to himself—he had grudged his brother a triumph which betty kirtling had witnessed.
-one week after the new year, he was writing the last lines of his book, when stride came into the room and flung down a letter in archibald’s handwriting. mark glanced at it, and at the pile of ms. beside it.
-"is the magnum opus done?" said stride.
-"very nearly," mark replied.
-"are you going to take conquest’s advice and—burn it?"
-"i shall let conquest see it first," said mark. he rose from his chair, crossed the room to where stride was warming his hands at the fire, and laid his hand upon his friend’s shoulder. "it’s not bad," he said slowly; "i know it’s not bad; and i owe it all to you, stride."
-"what is it about?" said stride, repudiating the debt with a shake of his head. mark had not shown him any portion of the ms., nor discussed the theme.
-"it’s the story of a faith that was lost and found," said mark. "i can say to you that it is part of my own life, red-hot from my heart, the sort of story that is written once, you understand, and i have the feeling that it could have been written only here, in these solitudes."
-"i hope it ends happily," said stride.
-"it ends happily," said mark, staring at his ms.
-stride filled his pipe and then moved to the door.
-"it’s going to snow," he said. "we shall have a heavy fall, unless i’m mistaken. it was just such a night as this, last year, when we lost our shepherd on ben caryll."
-he went out, whistling. the door slammed behind him, and the draught from it fluttered the pages of foolscap lying loose on the table. mark stared at them, smiling, with such a look on his face as a mother bestows on her first-born, when she is alone with him. then, still smiling, he picked up his brother’s letter and broke the seal, the seal of many quarterings, which archibald habitually used.
-"my dear mark" (he wrote): "i am the happiest as well as the luckiest of men. betty kirtling has promised to become my wife. we shall be married as soon as possible, before i settle down to my new work in london...."
-the letter fell from mark’s hands. he bent down, trembling, picked it up, and reread its message. then, crushing the letter into a ball, he flung it into the fire, and watched it crumble and dissolve into ashes. as the flame licked the white paper, the face that stared into the fire shrivelled into a caricature of what it had been a few moments before. the lips were drawn back from the teeth in a snarling grin; colour left the cheeks and flared in purple patches upon the brow. the slender limbs shook as with a palsy....
-suddenly, the silence was broken by a laugh: the derisive laugh of the man who knows that his heavens have fallen. the sound of his own laughter seemed to move mark to action. he seized the manuscript, and thrust it into the flames. when it was destroyed, he laughed again, crossed to the door, opened it, and passed out—still laughing—into the driving wind and rain.
-"curse him!" he cried. "curse him! curse him!"
-then he crossed the hags, and gained a small turf-covered plateau, whence ben caryll rose steeply and stonily. this part of the mountain was known as eagle rocks, because for many seasons a pair of golden eagles had nested on one of the crags. on a calm day it was no easy feat to scale these rocks. tourists, for instance, always went round by a deer path, which the gillies used also. mark laughed. he felt strong, a man: here was an opportunity to test his strength. he grasped a tuft of heather and swung himself to the top of the first rock, but when he tried to stand upright the wind wrestled with him and prevailed. he was constrained to crouch and crawl, clinging to every stick and stone which hands or feet could find. but the spirit within would not allow him to turn back. foot by foot he ascended the face of the precipice, knowing that if a stone turned, or a tuft gave way, he must fall on the sharp rocks below—knowing and not caring. when he reached the top he was perspiring, breathless, bleeding and spent. he lay still, letting the sleet lash his face. when he felt able to move he sat up and looked across the corrie which lay to the left of the eagle rocks. beyond this stretched a gigantic spur of the mountain; and immediately below lay the strath, with the crask burn curling down the middle of it. as he looked a veil of mist and scud swept over the mountain. when it seemed thickest, the wind took it and tore it asunder. glimpses of objects familiar to him during the past five months succeeded each other in procession, filing by to the roar of the wind and the voices of the mountain. in like manner glimpses of his past life presented themselves for an instant, only to be wiped from memory and obliterated as swiftly. out of the mirk soared the spire of harrow church. in the yard below the boys were cheering a school-fellow, who ran bare-headed down the steps and into the street. it was archibald, newly elected a member of the school eleven. he saw him again, as he stood in the pulpit in westchester cathedral. again and again, in the arms of betty!
-suddenly he became aware that the wind had moderated somewhat in violence and that snow was falling. he recalled what stride had said, as he rose, stretched his stiffening limbs, and turned to the huge spur which led to the bridge across the crask burn. the snow fell in larger flakes. the wind moaned like a woman who has no strength left to scream.
-after stumbling on for a mile or so amongst the rough heather, mark was obliged to sit down in the lee of a "knobbie." with the waning light of a highland winter’s afternoon, the air had turned cold; and it seemed to have thickened, so that mark breathed as a man breathes in a close and stifling room. this rapid fall of temperature and wind produced weird effects. the voices of the mountain changed their note. defiance died away in a diminuendo. mountain rills, trickling from a thousand springs to join the burn below, purred beneath the touch of the snow. the roar of the falls came faintly to the ear. after strife and confusion, nature was crooning a lullaby.
-"who touched me?"
-no answer came out of the white silence.
-"who touched me?" he cried again.
-the instinct of life began to throb when he realised the imminence of death. fatigue left him as he strode forward, quickening his pace, where the ground permitted, to a run. it was difficult to see, but salvation lay down hill. he staggered on, peering to left and right, as the faint light that remained slowly failed. before he reached the burn it had failed entirely. he was now in a sore predicament, for the ground no longer descended sharply, but sloped in undulations. he began to grope his way like a blind man, walking in circles. the roar of the falls far away to his right could no longer be heard.
-he was lost!
-he stood compassless in a desert. no friendly ray from a lantern could pierce this white horror. if his friends discovered his absence, which was unlikely till too late, what could they do? search sutherland in a snowstorm for one man?
-staggering on through drifts and hags, he realised that the time was fast approaching when his muscles would fail.
-did he pray for deliverance? no. if at that moment one thought dominated another, it was the conviction that god, if a god existed, had forsaken him. the struggle for life involved a paradox with which his brain could not grapple. life had become sweet because it seemed inevitable that he must die.
-stumbling over a tuft of heather, a cock grouse rose, cackled, and whirled away. the vigour of the flight, the vitality of that defiant note, stimulated the jaded man. he chose at random a direction, and began to run, stopping now and again, straining his ears to catch the sound of the burn.
-presently he stopped altogether, sinking inert, hopeless, spent, upon the soft snow which received him wantonly, touching him with a caress, winding itself round him. he lay still, submitting to nature, stronger than he, confessing himself vanquished, and asking that the end might be speedy. with death impending, he turned his thoughts towards the woman he loved—the woman about to marry his brother. he would die, as he wished to die, gazing into her face, feeling the cool touch of her fingers, hearing her voice with its tender inflections and modulations. and her image came obedient to his call. her eyes, with their beguiling interrogation, showing the full orb of the irid between the thin black lines of the lashes, looked into his. for the last time he marked the pathetic droop of the finely curved lips, coral against the ivory of cheek and chin, lips revealing the teeth which were such an admirable finish to the face. her dark hair, with the dull red glow upon it, curving deliciously from the forehead, was held together at the top by a white niphétos rose he had given her. she was like the rose, he reflected, a blossom of the earth, sweet, lovely, ephemeral. he could not conceive her old, faded, crushed beneath the relentless touch of time.
-the fancy possessed him that she was his, to be taken whithersoever he might go. he stretched out his hands, trembling with passion, and the vision melted. he grasped the cold snow, not the warm flesh.
-at this moment, out of the suffocating silence an attenuated vibration of sound thrilled his senses. instantly he was awake, alert—conscious that help was coming; how and whence he knew not. the sound permeated every fibre, but, numbed by exposure and fatigue, he was unable to interpret its message. such as it was, it possessed rhythm—a systole and diastole, like the laboured beating of his heart. was it merely the heart, recording with solemn knell the passing of a soul? no—no! he sprang to his feet, aflame once more with the lust of life. the sound he heard was no delusion of a fanciful brain, no fluttering of a moribund heart, but a clarion note from without, steadily increasing in volume, forcing a passage through the blinding snows—the crask bell!
-but at first he was unable to localise the sound: plunging madly this way and that, settling down at length to his true course, which brought him within half an hour to the bridge across the burn. even then he strayed again and again from the road, led back to it as often by the voice of the bell, growing clearer and louder with every step he took. presently he heard voices, hoarse shouts, which he answered in feeble whispers; then a yellow light swinging to and fro shone through the darkness. he staggered on to meet it, falling fainting into the arms of stride.
-stride asked no questions. mark was put to bed, and lay still for some four hours: then he began to grind his teeth, to clench his fists. stride sat beside him watching his friend and patient, with eyes half shut, like a purring cat’s, the pupils narrowed to a black slit. presently he went to the window. the wind had ceased. outside, in silence, the snow kept on falling, spreading its pall upon the world, while the cold grew more and more intense. the crystals were forming upon the pane, and despite the big peat fire, the temperature in the room fell point after point. staring through the pane, stride could see nothing save the piled-up snow on the sill, and the myriad fluttering flakes beyond: each, as he knew, a crystal of surpassing symmetry and loveliness, each fashioned by the master in his sky and despatched to earth, there to be destroyed, trodden, maybe, into mire and filth, and, rising again, seeking the skies anew, to be transformed by the same hand into rain, or dew, or sleet, or snow, ordained to fall as before, and as before to rise, the eternal symbol of the soul which descends into the clay, softens it, is tainted and discoloured by it, and then, in glorious resurrection, ascends to be purged and purified in the place whence it came.
-upon the morning of his wedding-day, archibald samphire went into the church of king’s charteris and prayed before the altar. while he was praying, jim corrance pushed aside the heavy curtain of the west door and peered in. a whim had seized him. he, the freethinker, the agnostic, had said to himself that he would like to spend a few minutes alone in the church where he had been baptised and confirmed. rank sentiment! but jim at heart was a man of sentiment, although he took particular pains to prove to the world that he was nothing of the sort.
-when jim saw archibald’s fine figure he frowned, thrusting forward his square chin, and the short hair on the top of his head bristled with exasperation. upon each side of the kneeling man were ferns and palms, whose fronds touched overhead. the priests’ stalls were ablaze with daffodils and primroses picked by the school-children in the water meadows and woods near pitt hall. through the east window a may sun streamed in full flood of prismatic colour. the pure rays of the sun passing through the gorgeous glass absorbed its tints and flung them lavishly here and there, staining with crimson, or blue, or yellow, the white lilies which stood upon the altar. jim smiled derisively. the fancy struck him that archie’s prayers would absorb, so to speak, the colours of his mind. the words of the general thanksgiving occurred to jim.
-"and we beseech thee, give us that due sense of all thy mercies, that our hearts may be unfeignedly thankful, and that we shew forth thy praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives; by giving up ourselves to thy service, and by walking before thee in holiness and righteousness all our days."
-surely this set—so jim reflected—forth archibald samphire’s pious ambition. doubtless he did aspire to give himself to god’s service, particularly that form of it which is held in cathedrals; and he intended, honestly enough, to walk before him (and before the world) in holiness and righteousness all his days (which he had reason to believe would be long and fruitful).
-archibald rose and walked down the aisle. jim hid himself behind the tall font, but he stared curiously at his old school-fellow. archibald’s face had lost its normal expression of a satisfaction too smug to please such a critical gentleman as mr. james corrance. his massive features were troubled. he looked humble! why? surely the crimson carpet beneath his feet, bordered with flowers, over-shadowed by exquisite ferns and rare shrubs, indicated the procession of a successful life: a majestic march through the hallowed places of earth to the heaven of all saints beyond!
-had jim been able to peer within that mighty body, he might have seen a self-confidence strangely deflated, a conscience quickened by pangs. the colossus, whose physical prowess had become a glorious tradition at harrow and cambridge, knew himself to be a moral coward, inasmuch as he had withheld a vital truth from the woman he loved. fear of losing, first, her good opinion of him, then the greater fear of losing the woman altogether, had withered again and again the impulse to say frankly: "mark wrote the two sermons which have made me what i am." unable to say this, realising that the many opportunities for speech had passed, he had just vowed solemnly that his transgression should be expiated by hard work in his new parish. truly—as lady randolph had said—was archibald samphire an unconscious humourist! and before we leave him to return to jim, let it be added that the big fellow did not know (and being the man he was could not possibly have known) that he had wooed betty with mark’s words, that he would have wooed in vain with his own. not unreasonably, he was absolutely convinced that the qualities which had won success in everything undertaken by him had assured this also, the greatest prize of all, a tender, loving wife.
-jim waited till five minutes had passed, then he strolled back to his mother’s house, telling himself that he was a brute, a dog in the manger, because he had misjudged a god-fearing fellow-creature, immeasurably his superior, who had won in fair competition a prize beyond his (jim’s) deserts.
-when he returned to his mother’s house a trim parlourmaid handed him a note. she told him at the same time that mrs. corrance was taking breakfast in her own room. jim nodded, and broke the seal: a lilac wafer with betty kirtling’s initials entwined in a cypher.
-"dear old jim" (betty wrote): "please come up after breakfast and take me for a walk.
-"your affectionate betty."
-betty was installed in the whim for her wedding; and the randolphs and harry kirtling—not to mention other relations—were keeping her company. since her engagement had been announced, jim had scarcely seen her. he had taken the news hard. his clerks, and the jobbers with whom he dealt found him difficult to please, argumentative, contemptuous, and a glutton for work throughout that lenten season.
-as jim approached the whim, betty joined him on the drive. he saw that she was very pale.
-"how good of you to come," she exclaimed.
-"good!" growled jim. "as if i wouldn’t cross the atlantic or the styx to walk with you. where shall we go?"
-betty took a path which led to the lane running at right angles to the westchester road. high hedges bordered this lane, with ancient yew trees at uncertain intervals. to the right lay the best arable land in king’s charteris, rich alluvial soil, now green with spring wheat; to the left, the ground ascended in undulating slopes of pasture till it melted in the downs beyond.
-"sun is going to shine on you," said jim.
-the sun was blazing in a sky limpid after a week’s heavy rain. beneath its warm beams the soaked landscape seemed to be smiling with satisfaction. a peculiar odour of fertility, pungent and potent, assailed the nostrils, the odour of spring, the odour of earth renascent, rejuvenated, once more a bride.
-"i wish it were june instead of may, jim."
-"that’s the most absurd superstition."
-"jim, i want to ask a question. have you seen or heard of mark?"
-jim looked cross.
-"he’s in sutherland."
-"go on, please."
-"he doesn’t answer my letters," said jim, after a pause.
-"he writes to nobody."
-"did you expect him to write?"
-"yes, i did," said betty vehemently. "if it had been an ordinary man, but mark—heavens! why should i beat about the bush with you, jim? once i wanted to marry mark! you know that. but he didn’t want—me."
-she paused, blushing, her eyes, pools of brown light, opened wide with their strange look: entreating, interrogating.
-"which was a woman’s reason, i suppose, for engaging yourself to somebody who did."
-the words slipped from him. caring for mark, how could she have accepted archibald? that cried to heaven for explanation. he stared at her, seeing no reproach in her eyes, only a soft shadow of wonder—or was it regret—or something subtler than either.
-"you say that archibald samphire revealed god to you?"
-"in that sermon at windsor—yes. if you had heard it——"
-"i heard of it. you will be the wife of a bishop some day."
-he tried to give the conversation a lighter turn, fearing that she would speak again of mark, understanding at last that mark, standing under sentence of death, had deliberately hidden his heart from her. what else could such a man have done? and if betty realised this, even now, at the eleventh hour, she might refuse to marry the silver-tongued brother. and because the temptation to tell her the truth was so poignant, he resisted it. it lay on his tongue’s tip to exclaim: "good lord! is it possible that you, with your intuitions and sympathies, have failed to divine mark’s love for you? can’t you understand that his love keeps him in sutherland, that he dares not write for fear that he should reveal it?" at the same time, he knew that marriage between any young woman and a man suffering from an almost incurable malady was unthinkable. and if betty could not marry mark, was it not better from every point of view that she should marry his brother? would not he (jim) be taking upon himself a terrible responsibility if he broke the silence which mark’s self-sacrifice had made sacred? these, and a thousand other thoughts, jostled each other in his brain.
-"that sermon touched me at first, because i thought it was mark speaking. not till then had i realised that archie possessed the wonderful power of making life easier, happier, ampler; but why does mark, if he cares nothing for me, stand aloof, why—why?"
-"it is strange," he admitted slowly.
-"ah," she cried, "you say that reservedly. you, too, have guessed or at least suspected——"
-"that mark is—jealous—of—archie." the words dropped from her lips as if she loathed them, as if she loathed herself for speaking them. she continued quickly: "at westchester, he was alone with me. i was thrilling with surprise and admiration. we had underrated archie; you know that, jim. and he had vindicated himself so gloriously. well, mark said nothing, not a word of praise. oh, it was ungenerous—abominable! but i did not think so then. but now, what other interpretation can i put upon his silence?"
-when she paused, jim burst into a vehement defence of mark. he spoke as he spoke to his clerks, clenching his fists, thrusting out his chin, repeating his phrases: "what? you say that? you use such words as abominable, ungenerous? you, betty kirtling? abominable? ungenerous? well, if he be jealous, is it surprising, is it not most natural? abominable? great scott! he looks at the man, the brother, who has everything, everything which he lacks—the physical strength, the persuasive voice, the luck—the devil’s own luck—i don’t pick my words, betty kirtling! why—if he were not jealous, if envy at times did not tear him, he would not be mark at all, but some impeccable, immaculate humbug! abominable! from—you!"
-betty turned her back, and walked down the lane; jim hesitated, and pursued.
-"betty, forgive me! i’m a brute, and this, this is your wedding-day. here, give me your hand, both hands! that’s better. tell me i’m a beast. i deserve kicking. i’ll lie down and let you wipe your boots on me. your wedding-day—and i’ve treated you to this."
-the feeling in his face went straight to her heart.
-"it’s all right, jim," she whispered, half crying, half laughing. "and i take back—abominable." she sighed, gazing towards the downs where she and mark had played truant. then, with quivering lips and wet eyes, she murmured, "poor mark—poor mark!" disengaged her hands, and ran down the lane and out of sight.
-after the wedding there was an old-fashioned breakfast at the whim, with toasts, speeches, cutting of cake, and so forth. slowshire came in force, ate largely, drank deeply, and made merry in the solid, stodgy, slowshire way. none the less, to lady randolph and other less acute observers, the function was somewhat depressing. the whim, where so many cheery gatherings had taken place, had been sold. the furniture was to be moved into the samphires’ london house, while the bride and groom were on their honeymoon. the squire’s wife, in purple satin slashed with heliotrope silk, supplied every guest who belonged to the county families with details.
-"the dear couple will be so comfortable. no—there is no rectory. they will live in cadogan place. lord minstead was glad to sell the lease. they say, you know, that he—pst—pst—pst——" the speaker’s prominent blue eyes seemed positively to bulge from her plump, pink cheeks, as she whispered minstead’s unsavoury story into attentive ears. "but, as i was saying, our dear couple—really the handsomest couple i ever saw in my life—will be très bien installés. i am to find them a cook—fifty-five pounds a year—do you know of one? she must be a cordon bleu. yes, a kitchen and a scullery-maid. they are very well off, very well off indeed. it is expected that they will entertain——"
-the squire, meantime, exchanged a few words with his old friend lady randolph. his face was flushed and his eyes congested and very puffy below the lids. lips and chin, too, had a faint purplish tinge, always seen on the faces of those afflicted by a certain form of heart disease. he was certainly failing, lady randolph reflected. still, he had lived his life, enjoyed the cakes and ale—too much of them!—and might reckon himself amongst the lucky ones. pomméry had loosened his tongue.
-"they will have—this between ourselves, my dear lady—nearly five thousand a year. archie has done well. i am very proud of archie—a fine fellow—hay? you may call him that—a fine fellow—a very fine fellow indeed! sound"—the squire thumped his own broad chest—"sound as i am, sound as a bell, and likely to make old bones."
-lady randolph, with eyes half closed, nodded, wondering if this pitiful assumption of high health were genuine or assumed. surely the squire must know himself to be no sounder than a big pippin rotten at the core. he stood beside her, tall, portly, scrupulously dressed as a country gentleman of the old school; and the purple flush deepened and spread as he talked.
-what was fermenting in his mind had come, as it generally does with such men, to the surface. lady randolph looked unaffectedly sorry, and expressed her sympathy. the squire plunged into the interminable subject of falling prices, rates, impoverished soil, the difficulty of finding good tenant farmers, and so forth. not till the bride entered did he cease from his jeremiads.
-"here is betty," said lady randolph.
-she wore a travelling dress of pale grey cloth edged and lined with lavender silk. betty had refused to adorn herself in bright colours, which happened to suit her admirably. a parson’s wife, she observed, should dress soberly, and she quoted the vicar of wakefield, to lady randolph’s great amusement. a controversy had arisen over this particular frock. betty, however, seconded by the dressmaker, had her own way about it. now lady randolph was certain that her protests had been justifiable. the dress, lovely though it was in texture and fit, had a faded appearance; it suggested autumn instead of spring, dun october, not merry may.
-betty tripped here and there, bidding her friends and neighbours good-bye, while archie stood smiling at the door. he looked very large and imposing in a rough grey serge suit, which fused happily the clerical garb with that of a bridegroom. calm and dignified, he received the congratulations of the men. once or twice he drew a gold watch from his pocket—a present from the dean and chapter—opened it, glanced at it, and closed it with a loud click. he had never missed a train, but the possibility of doing so now impended.
-mrs. samphire held her handkerchief to her face. mrs. corrance’s handkerchief was in her pocket, but her kind eyes were wet. the young men from the barracks were laughing loudly, cracking jokes with the bridesmaids, "whooping things up a bit." the elderly guests smiled blandly, thinking possibly of their own weddings. the children alone really enjoyed themselves. jim corrance waited till the bride had passed him; then he rushed into the dining-room, where he found two generals and an indian judge solemnly employed in finishing the admiral’s famous waterloo brandy.
-"wonderful stuff," said the judge, as he passed the decanter to jim; "it puts everything right—eh?"
-jim nodded. through the open doors, leading into the hall, he could see betty run down the stairs, followed by archibald.
-the squire called after her: "god bless you, my dear! god bless you!"
-she was gone.
-jim went out of the dining-room, which was situated, it will be remembered, at the top of the whim. most of the guests had followed the bride and groom downstairs. upon the persian carpet lay a small spray of lilies of the valley, fallen from betty’s bouquet. jim glanced to right and left. nobody was looking at him. furtively, scarlet in the face, he stalked and bagged the spray of lilies. he placed it carefully in his pocket-book.
-"that’s the last of our betty," he said.
-archibald had ordered a coupé to be ready for him at westchester, but when the bournemouth express dashed up, the stationmaster was obliged to confess that a blunder had taken place; no coupé was on the train. a first-class carriage was found, in which two seats were already occupied.
-"somebody ought to be censured for this," said the bridegroom, as the train slid out of the station. "it’s inexcusable carelessness. i shall write to the directors about it."
-"we shall find a coupé at victoria," he whispered, bending forward. they were en route for france, having agreed to spend their honeymoon in touraine. betty glanced at the elderly couple, whose curiosity had been quickened. archibald drew back with a slight frown. "i shall write from dover," he said. "i regard it as a duty."
-betty pouted, surprised that he should treat her injunction so cavalierly. men, she reflected, were men, and must be humoured. after all, her husband’s annoyance was a compliment to her. she blushed as she lay back against the cushions, shutting her eyes. her husband! she repeated the word very softly, the colour ebbing and flowing in her cheeks, as she gave herself up to the thought of him. archibald said nothing; that was tactful. he had plenty of tact—a great gift—and most agreeable manners. suddenly she realised that she was making an inventory of his good qualities, repeating them to herself like a parrot. she sat up, opening her eyes, opening them indeed wider than usual when she saw what had happened. archibald had risen early; he had spent a busy and exciting morning; he had made an excellent breakfast, although, being a total abstainer, he had refused the pomméry and waterloo brandy. now, not being able to talk to his bride in the presence of strangers, seeing that she wanted to rest and reflect, he had settled himself comfortably into his corner and—had fallen asleep!
-betty eyed him furtively. she did not like to wake him, but his appearance distressed her. she bent forward and touched his arm.
-"dear me," he said. "i saw you close your eyes, betty, and i closed mine. you did right to wake me."
-"i couldn’t help it," she replied. "your hat had fallen over your left eye. it made you look—ridiculous."
-they spoke in whispers, leaning forward, so that their heads almost touched. but at the word "ridiculous" the bridegroom winced.
-betty had pierced a sensitive skin. seeing this, she tried to turn the incident into a joke, laughing lightly, sorry that she should have hurt him, yet still seeing the hat tilted over the left eye.
-at victoria the coupé was awaiting them. the train, however, had only just backed into the station and would not leave for a quarter of an hour. archibald and betty arranged their belongings, and proceeded to walk up and down the platform. a great station was a never-failing source of interest to betty. the infinite variety of faces, the bustle, the pervading air of change and motion, even the raucous, ear-splitting sounds, stimulated her imagination. nothing amused her more than to invent stories concerning fellow-travellers. she brought to this an ingenuity and an insight which had often delighted lady randolph. now, as usual, her eye drifted here and there in search of some attractive lay figure. as a rule she selected someone out of the ordinary groove. the flare of an eye, the twist of a moustache, a peculiarity in figure or gait instantly aroused her interest. passing the bookstall, she saw a man in an inverness cape made out of harris tweed. because he had the appearance of coming straight from scotland, she examined him more closely. at the moment he turned, and their eyes met. the stranger was very brown of complexion and wore a beard, but the eyes, blue eyes with sparkling pin-points of frosty light, were mark’s eyes.
-"that’s mark!" said betty excitedly, clutching her husband���s arm. "look—look!"
-archibald looked and laughed.
-"you have an amazing imagination, my dearest mark? that man in homespun, and a red tie! he’s twice mark’s size, and he wears a beard. i noticed him just now. mark? why mark’s in sutherland."
-"i was mistaken," said betty absently. she walked on quite sure that the man’s eyes were following her. she was sure of it, although her back was turned to him. a minute before archibald had asked her if she would like a tea-basket. the refreshment-room was just opposite. an impulse seized her.
-"i think i should like a tea-basket," she said, pausing. "will you get one? i’ll go back to the carriage."
-archibald obeyed, unsuspecting. betty turned and ran to the bookstall. the man was no longer there. she looked right and left. that was he—disappearing, melting into the crowd outside. without a moment’s hesitation she hastened after him, came up behind, plucked at his cape. he turned at once. it was mark.
-"you?" she gasped. "you—here?"
-her eyes, wide open, glaring interrogation, fell before his. he took her hand, grasping it firmly.
-"i can explain. i heard of your plans from mrs. samphire. i knew that you were leaving by this train. i came on the off chance of getting a glimpse of you."
-"you are well, strong!"
-she raised her eyes, devouring him. he could see that people in the crowd were nudging each other, grinning and pointing. he drew her aside.
-"yes; i am strong." as he said it, he realised that he would need all his strength. what a mad fool he had been to come, to risk so much. "look here," he said harshly, "you must go back to archie. tell him—tell him that i couldn’t come to his wedding, because, b-b-because i’ve left the church. i wasn’t going to set every tongue wagging in slowshire. do you see? do you understand? now—go—run!"
-he almost pushed her from him. her eyes never left his face.
-"can’t you see me to my carriage?"
-this, the obvious thing, had not occurred to him. he walked beside her. as they passed into the station, archibald appeared on the platform, followed by a boy carrying a tea-basket.
-"it is mark," said betty, as her husband joined them. they walked towards the carriage, the most amazing trio in that vast station. mark repeated his reasons for not taking part in the wedding. archibald looked confused.
-"you have left our church?"
-he repeated it three times.
-"yes; yes—we can’t go into reasons here and now."
-"what are you going to do?"
-"i am writing."
-the guard began to slam the doors. he came up to the brothers, smiling, seeing the bride, feeling in his broad palm the tip of the bridegroom.
-"better get in, sir," he said to mark, who, in his inverness cape and rough cap, looked the traveller.
-archibald pushed betty into the coupé and shook hands with mark.
-"you must tell us everything when we get back. it has been a great shock," he stared at the red tie; "but i’m delighted to see you looking so well."
-he sprang into the coupé as the train began to move. betty pushed him aside and leaned out of the window. mark never forgot the expression on her face framed by the small, square window. the engine was screeching lamentably, like a monster in agony. another train was entering the station, adding its strident note to the chorus, filling the atmosphere with clouds of white steam. a third-class carriage full of soldiers glided by. the soldiers, mostly boyish recruits, were singing at the top of their voices, "good-bye, my lover, good-bye." a girl standing near burst into hysterical sobbing. mark noted these details, as a man notes some irrelevant trifle in a dream, which remains part of that dream for ever after. but his eyes were on betty’s face. she had been borne away by a force slow but irresistible, the relentless machine, the symbol of progress, of fate, if you will, which tears asunder things and men, and brings some together again, but not all, nor any just as they were before. the face was white and piteous, the face of an andromeda. upon it, in unmistakable lines, were inscribed regret and reproach. mark turned sick. he had wished to save this woman; had he sacrificed her?
-betty heard her husband say, "this has been very upsetting." immediately she laughed, withdrawing her face from the window. nothing else, probably, would have erased the tell-tale lines. she thought that her laugh was a revelation of what was passing in her mind; but archibald took other notice of it.
-"you laugh?" he said heavily. "i know what has happened. i am not much surprised. mark has gone over to rome. really, my dear little woman, you must not laugh like that. i give you my word that i am terribly distressed. that red tie!"
-"the scarlet woman."
-"pray don’t joke! this is most upsetting."
-she laughed again, knowing that she was on the verge of hysterics, trying to control herself. the train, rushing on out of the mists of london into the splendid may sunshine of the country, rocked violently as it crossed the points. betty fell back upon the cushions, still laughing and repeating archibald’s words.
-"upsetting? i should think so."
-like mark, she was reflecting that force was bearing her away, whirling her asunder, leaving heart and soul here, flinging her body there. the irony of it was stunning in its violence. she covered her face with her hands, pressing her finger-tips upon her temples, but she did not close her eyes, which followed archibald’s slow, methodical movements. he was arranging the baggage—her handsome travelling-bag, a wedding present from the squire, his own massive suit-case, the parasols and umbrellas, the tea-basket. in the contracted space wherein he moved he loomed colossal. she felt herself shrinking, collapsing. in a minute, a moment, he would turn, he would take her cold hands in his, removing them gently but masterfully from the face quivering beneath. then he would surely read and know. he had nearly finished his fiddle-faddling arrangements. he took his hat from his head, looked at it, brushed a few specks of dust from the crown and rim, and placed it carefully in the rack. out of the pocket of an overcoat he drew a soft travelling cap, putting it on deliberately, making himself comfortable. at last he was coming towards her, the tea-basket in his hand, a smile upon his face, an endearing phrase upon his lips. betty closed her eyes. the words of the marriage service sounded loud in her ears, rhythmic, like the roar of waves breaking on an iron-bound coast: the echo of her oath before the altar thundering down the empty corridors of the future—"from this day forward ... to love, cherish, and to obey till death us do part!"
-archibald dropped the tea-basket with a crash. his bride had fainted.
-two days later mark samphire called upon jim corrance at his chambers in bolton street, piccadilly. here jim lived when he was not making money or playing golf at woking. he played golf regularly to keep himself fit. he also played whist and billiards. whatever he did, work or play, was characterised by a dexterity and fertility of resource which generally ensured success.
-jim’s chambers were furnished comfortably but conventionally. as a matter of fact, he had told a famous firm of decorators to do the best they could for a certain sum of money. jim added a few pictures and engravings, some books, and an impeccable manservant, tom wrenn. he did not look at the pictures or read the books, but he studied wrenn, an interesting document, and mastered him. wrenn, for his part, had nothing but praise for a gentleman who bought the best of wine and tobacco and entrusted them unreservedly to his man.
-when wrenn ushered mark into the sitting-room, he exhibited no surprise, but his master stared at his old friend as if he (mark) had risen from the dead. mark, bearded, brown, sinewy, larger about the chest and shoulders, confounded jim—and he said so in his usual abrupt, jerky fashion. then he noted the rough tweeds and the red tie. wrenn lingered for a moment.
-"wrenn," said jim, "bring some whisky and mineral waters, and the rothschild excepcionales!" wrenn vanished silently. jim seized mark by the coat.
-"why, this howls for explanation. you’ve chucked your black livery—you?"
-the emphasis laid on the pronoun expressed surprise, incredulity, and amusement.
-"yes. i’ve come here to tell you all about it."
-wrenn appeared with a tray and a long, shallow box of cigars. mark, however, preferred to light his pipe. as soon as wrenn had left the room, he plunged into his story.
-"no," said jim; "but—well, never mind; go on——"
-"after archibald had left crask i took a big turn for the better. i suppose that glorious air and the simple food and stride’s knowledge of my case worked the miracle. and then i began to hope again; and i began to work." he told jim about the first short story and the novel, but he did not mention the advent sermons of his brother. "time slipped by, jim. i was awfully keen about my work."
-"i’ll bet you were," said jim.
-"you always chaffed me, because i said that in my philosophy things turned out for the best. i told myself that every incident in my life, every trial and infirmity, had meaning. can a man write what is really vital unless he has striven and suffered and seen others striving and suffering? i say—no. god knows i longed to be a man of action. that was denied me. the desire to paint, to express what was in me on canvas, proved fruitless. then the church opened her doors—i saw a goal, but my stammer choked me at the start. all the same, the work in stepney warmed me to the core. i was up to my neck in it."
-"ah—betty. she was out of sight, jim, but never out of mind. a thousand times i told myself she was unattainable; that a man was a sickly anæmic ass who allowed a woman to interfere with what he had to do."
-"right," said jim. "that’s gospel."
-"all the same, she was back of everything. then came last whitsuntide——"
-he paused. jim continued: "i know about that. i suppose you learned, then, of this cursed mischief inside you?"
-"i suspected something; i went to barger and drax. they told me marriage was madness."
-he was more agitated than mark, thrusting out his chin, shaking his shoulders, clenching his fists: gestures familiar to mark since the harrow days and before. it struck mark suddenly that this scene was recurrent, the ebb and flow of the heart’s tide breaking on rocks. could anything be more futile than talk: the interminable recital of what was and what might have been? his voice, as he continued, lost its tonic quality:
-"there is not much more to tell. just as i began to hope that my life might still hold betty, the news came of her engagement——"
-jim looked at the red tie.
-"and then you saw red," he spluttered, "you saw red."
-"when that letter came, i could—have—killed—my—brother."
-the two men had risen and were staring at each other with flaming eyes.
-"i could have killed him," mark repeated sombrely. "you know, jim, what archie was to me at harrow—and long afterwards?"
-"the greatest thing on earth," said jim. "i used to be awfully jealous."
-"i loved him for his beauty," said mark drearily, "for his strength and for his weakness. i loved him the more because in some small ways i could help him. i grudged him nothing—i swear it!—nothing, nothing, except betty. i could have let her go to you or harry kirtling; but to him who had all i had not, my b-b-brother——"
-his stammer seized him, and he trembled violently.
-"we’ll drop it," exclaimed jim. he had turned away from mark’s eyes, reading in them the hate which was not yet controlled. "you don’t feel—er—that way towards her?"
-"never, never!" his eyes softened at once; then he broke out abruptly: "what made her take him?" it was out at last. he expected no answer from his friend, but jim said simply: "surely you know?"
-"it’s darkest mystery."
-"why, man, she told me that he dragged her out of the depths." jim repeated what betty had said. "you know what women are. a petticoat flutters naturally towards a parson whenever the wind blows. that did me. i couldn’t promise to personally conduct her to—heaven. yes, his sermons, particularly that windsor sermon, captured her."
-"the windsor sermon! you say the windsor s-s-sermon?" mark stuttered out.
-"yes, the windsor sermon. i’m told it was wonderful. he’s a bit of a prig, but he can preach, and no mistake! why, look here! have you seen this? out this morning!"
-he took up the current vanity fair and displayed a caricature of archibald samphire—the chrysostom of sloane street. it was one of pellegrini’s best bits of work, but the "fine animal" in archibald had been slightly overdrawn, unintentionally, no doubt, on the artist’s part. the florid complexion, the massive jaw, the curls, the lips, were subtly exaggerated. none would be surprised to learn that chrysostom lived in cadogan place with a cordon bleu at fifty-five pounds a year. mark gazed at the cartoon and then laid it, face downwards, on the table.
-"the thing’s wonderful," he said slowly, "but it will hurt betty."
-jim corrance shrugged his shoulders. he had come to the conclusion that a touch of the animal in men was not a disability where women were concerned.
-"i saw them at victoria," said mark.
-mark explained, blaming himself.
-"you’ve given yourself away," said jim disgustedly. "she had got it into her head that you didn’t care, but the man who doesn’t care would hardly travel from sutherland to london to catch one glimpse of another fellow’s bride. lord! you have made a mess of it. and what are you going to do now? have a drink, and tell me your plans."
-"i’m going to write."
-"have you rewritten the novel you burnt?"
-"no; but i’m half-way through another."
-"you may as well camp with me. why not?"
-mark had several reasons "why not," but he gave one which was sufficient: "i mean to eat and sleep and work out-of-doors."
-the two men talked together for an hour and then parted.
-"by the way," said jim, as mark was taking leave, "the squire is looking rather seedy. i fancy he’s something on his mind. are you going down to king’s charteris?"
-mark shook his head impatiently, hearing a terrible bleating; but as he passed through the green park, on the way to his lodgings, he reflected that he would have to go to pitt hall sooner or later. why not sooner? he would run down the next day. then, he repeated to himself what jim corrance had said about archibald’s sermons, and their effect on betty. looking back now, with an odd sense of detachment, he realised how much of these sermons had been his, how little archibald’s. for this he blamed himself. his brother had asked for an inch. he had given gladly an ell. but if—the possibility insisted on obtruding itself (an unwelcome guest)—if betty discovered the truth, what would happen?
-when he reached his lodging he wrote a letter to the squire, saying that he was running down on the morrow and preparing him for a change of cloth.
-"i no longer count myself of the church of england" (he wrote), "but you will be doing the wise thing and the kind thing if you ask no questions."
-this bolt from the blue fell on to the breakfast-table. mrs. samphire, like archibald, jumped to the conclusion that mark had gone over to rome.
-"i knew how it would be," she said acidly, "from the very beginning. i dare say he will arrive with his head shaved and wearing a cowl. and you were saying only yesterday that he could have the king’s charteris living, now that archie is provided for."
-"the boy is a good lad," said the squire heavily. "i shall talk to him. he must take the king’s charteris living, he must. i shall make a point of it. he can keep a curate to preach. it’s the obvious way out of the wood."
-"then he won’t take it."
-she burst into detraction of the boy who was like the woman the squire had loved. the squire listened moodily, eating his substantial breakfast of kidneys and poached eggs and a slice from the ham of his own curing.
-"he is not a samphire at all," concluded the lady, as she rose from the table, leaving the squire still eating, very red in the face where the colour was not purple, and showing a massive jowl above his neatly folded white scarf. left alone, he cut himself another slice from the huge ham, and then reread mark’s letter, staring at it with congested eyes, and muttering: "yes, yes—it’s the obvious way out of the wood, the obvious way out of the wood. he can keep a curate who can preach. four hundred a year, even in these times, and a capital house, a really capital house, in first-rate repair. i shall talk to him. the madam doesn’t like him—never did! but he’ll listen to his old pater. it’s the obvious way out of the wood."
-mark arrived in time for tea. mrs. samphire received him in the long, narrow drawing-room; and mark was conscious that his red tie was to her as a red rag to a bull. when she spoke, sniffs were audible; and mark kept on telling himself that he had been a fool to come. the squire seemed very robust. what did jim mean? the congested eyes, the purple tinge, conveyed no meaning to a man who had never learned the meaning of health’s danger-signals.
-after dinner father and son found themselves alone. the squire had ordered a bottle of ’47 port to be decanted, almost the last that was left in the bin. he had to drink most of it, and while he did so complained of the changes since his day.
-"archie is teetotal," he said. "well he’s playing his own game his own way, and scoring too, no doubt o’ that. i dare say you forget that now he’s provided so well for himself, you can step into the king’s charteris living, which in the nature of things must soon be vacant. nearly four hundred a year—and a capital house, in first-rate repair. you can hire a curate who can preach."
-the words came out very fluently, for the squire had repeated them to himself a dozen times since breakfast. as mark made no reply, he repeated them again, adding, however, somewhat confusedly: "it’s the obvious way out of the wood."
-"eh?" said mark. "what do you mean, pater?"
-the squire coughed nervously. he was not clever at making explanations.
-"oh," he replied testily, "i take it we needn’t go into that. times are hard. the allowance i have made you and archie has crippled me. archie gave up his when he came into aunt deb’s money—and in the nick of time, egad!"
-"i can get along with a hundred a year," said mark quietly.
-"rubbish, my dear lad, rubbish! but the living’s a good ’un, and the house in capital repair. you would be very comfortable; and," he eyed mark pleasantly, "and you’ll be following archie’s example—hey? marry a girl with a bit o’ money! there’s kitty bowker, and——"
-"pater—we won’t talk of that."
-"we? i’m talking of it. i don’t ask you to say a word, not a word. oh, i know why you didn’t come to archie’s wedding, but bless you, betty’s not the only nice girl in the world. i’ll say no more. i’m glad to see you looking so fit. that slumming in the east end disgusted you—drove you into that tweed suit—hey? but it’ll be quite different at king’s charteris. you can manage a day’s hunting a week and a day’s shooting throughout the season. kitty bowker looks very well outside a horse—and she likes a man who goes free at his fences as you used to do. your letter this morning, you know, startled us a bit. the madam thought of rome. nothing in that—hey?"
-the squire looked hard at the decanter which indeed was quite empty.
-"absolutely nothing," said mark absently.
-"i told the madam i’d say a word, and there it is: a capital house, in excellent repair, with——"
-"the present incumbent still alive," said mark.
-"true, true—we’ll say no more, not a word. shall we go into the drawing-room?"
-he rose with a certain effort and moved too ponderously towards the door. for the first time mark realised that his father must soon become an old man. a wave of affection surged through him.
-"pater," he said, touching the squire’s massive shoulder, "how are you feeling? any twinges of gout or—er—anything of that sort?"
-"i’m sound as a bell, mark. of course i have my worries. there are three farms on my hands, and the price of corn lower than it has been for years. i don’t know what george will do after i’m gone. that is why i—um—spoke of the obvious way out of the wood. put on a black tie to-morrow morning, my dear lad, and—er—a grey suit, to—to oblige me."
-"all right," said mark. "i’m going to write, you know."
-"write?" the squire turned, as he was passing into the hall. "write—what?"
-"novels, short stories, plays perhaps."
-"oh, d——n it!" said the squire ruefully.
-after mark’s return from pitt hall, he called on barger and drax, who overhauled him and pronounced him a new man. drax, in particular, took extraordinary interest in the case, refused a fee, and begged mark to come and see him at least once a quarter.
-"i never thought i should speak to you again," he said frankly. "it’s the vis medicatrix naturæ. you went back to the simple primal life. well—stick to it! a winter in sutherland! phew-w-w! kill or cure, and no mistake. i should like to meet your friend, doctor stride."
-the question now presented itself: where should he pitch his tent? such work as he had in mind must be finished in or near london. his half-completed novel, shall the strong retain the spoil? dealt with londoners; the scene of it was laid in london. finally, after some search, he found a camping-ground in a small pine wood crowning a great ridge which overlooked the thames valley and the surrey heaths.
-he discovered this spot, which suited him exactly, by accident. just outside weybridge he punctured the tyre of his bicycle. while repairing it, he smelled the balsamic fragrance of some pines to his right, and longfellow’s lines came into his mind:—
-"stood the groves of singling pine trees, green in summer, white in winter, ever sighing, ever singing."
-the west wind was blowing, and from the pine-tops floated a lullaby, soothing and seductive. mark sat down, listening to this alluring song, absorbing the scents and sounds. presently he climbed a rough fence and wandered down one of the many aisles. the carpet beneath his feet was soft as velvet pile, a carpet woven by the years out of the myriad leaves dropping unseen and unheard. passing through the wood, he saw the thames valley. a silvery mist was rising out of it. on each side of the river were green meadows, bordered by poplars and willows. the tower of a church could be seen amongst a group of fine elms. this was such a spot as he had hoped to find. regaining the high-road, he pushed his bicycle to the top of the hill and stopped opposite a pretty cottage standing in a garden gay with old-fashioned flowers. above the gate was a sign: board and lodging. mark stared for a moment at the sign, smiling, because he had expected to find it there. if the tiny wood belonged to the owner of the cottage, the matter was clinched.
-he left his bicycle against the palings and walked through the garden and up to the door. he had time to note that the cottage was built of brick. some of the bricks had a vitreous surface, which caught the light and suffused a radiance over the other bricks. the general effect was ripe, mellow, rosy. the sills and casings of the lattice windows were painted white; the door was a bright apple-green, with a shining brass handle, bell, and knocker. the cottage was heavily thatched.
-"is that wood yours?" he asked.
-the girl seemed amused, but she said: "oh, yes; everything inside the paling belongs to mother."
-"and you have rooms to let?"
-the girl asked him to come in and see them, but she added doubtfully: "i don’t think they’ll suit you."
-"i haven’t seen them yet," said mark, "but i’m sure they will."
-the rooms included a small sitting-room and bedroom. mark looked at them with an indifference which brought disappointment to the face of the girl.
-"can i speak to your mother?"
-"she’s an invalid—and in bed, to-day. if you want to talk business you must talk with me."
-mark explained that he was anxious to build a shelter in the garden, at the edge of the wood. he added that unless the weather was unusually severe he should sleep, and eat, and work there. the rooms would do for a friend, who might come to see him from saturday to monday. he should want the simplest food, and so forth. the girl said that the carrying of meals to the shelter would be a nuisance, especially in rainy weather. mark compromised by offering to eat indoors if the weather became wet or boisterous. a bargain was made in three minutes.
-"when will you come?" said the girl.
-"to-morrow. my name is mark samphire."
-"mother’s name is dew. i am mary dew."
-"mary dew," repeated mark. he had a tobacco-pouch in his hand and was filling a pipe. a pun occurred to him, execrable and therefore irresistible. "honeydew is my constant companion," said he; "it is quite certain that we shall be friends."
-"i hope so," she said frankly. "it’s dreadful waiting on people one doesn’t like. last summer we had a gentleman who——"
-"yes," said mark, lighting his pipe.
-"who wasn’t a gentleman—and i hated him."
-she looked serious. her face was charming, because the texture of skin and the colouring were so admirable. for the rest she was about middle height, of trim figure, neither thin nor plump: her eyes were of a clear, intelligent grey, shaded by short black lashes which gave them distinction and vivacity. long lashes may be a beauty in themselves, but they conceal rather than reveal the eyes behind them. mary had brown hair, and plenty of it, simply arranged; her mouth was wide and amply provided with white, even teeth; her nose was certainly tip-tilted. altogether a young woman at whom most men would look with pleasure.
-as she stood in the garden, the may sun falling full upon her, every line of face and figure suggested spring: spring in arcady, fresh, joyous, radiant. mark was artist enough to perceive the delicious half-tones, the tender shades beneath the round chin and about the finely modelled cheeks. if pynsent saw her, he would be mad to paint her, there, in the crisp sunlight, amongst the honeysuckle, with the pines "ever sighing, ever singing" behind her.
-suddenly, a thin, querulous note seemed to pierce the silence of the garden.
-"mother wants me. good-bye, mr. samphire."
-mark held out his hand.
-he turned and moved down the path. again that thin, querulous note pierced the silence. mary, mary! an appeal from age to youth, ay, and a protest, a far-reaching protest, of pain against pleasure. mark pictured the invalid mother, bedridden, possibly, dependent upon the ministrations of others, calling out of the dismal seclusion of her chamber to the young, healthy creature in the garden. he mounted his bicycle, wondering whether mary had grown accustomed to that heart-piercing note, speculating vaguely in regard to its meaning for her and for others.
-when it was finished pynsent and jim corrance were invited to inspect and criticise. pynsent brought with him a couple of mezari, those quaint, decorative shawls worn by the women of genoa, and draped them cleverly; corrance brought an indian rug. both men were charmed with the cottage, the garden, the grove, and the view. pynsent, as mark had foreseen, wanted to paint mary dew, but every hour of the weeks between june and august was engaged. "you’re a tremendous worker," said jim.
-"so are you, corrance. a man must work nowadays, if he means to keep his place in the procession. the competition is frightful all along the line. i shall paint mary dew in the autumn. what do you call her, mark?"
-"honey. honey dew. do you see? a poor pun, but my own. she’s sweet as honey and fresh as dew, but her mother is a terrible person."
-he described an interview with mrs. dew.
-"mary told me that her mother wished to see me. i found her in her own sitting-room, the prettiest and most comfortable room in the cottage. everything deliciously fresh—chintzes, flowers, paper on the wall, matting—and in the middle mrs. dew: faded, peevish, puckered, old beyond her years. picture to yourselves a puffy, yellow face with dim, shifty eyes peering out restlessly between red, swollen lids, a face framed by mouse-coloured hair and surmounting a great, shapeless body clad in black alpaca."
-"good! i see her," said pynsent.
-"i was prepared to sympathise. she has some ailment, poor creature, a chronic dyspepsia and a grievance as chronic against destiny. one could pity her if she said and ate less. her daughter admits that she would be a different woman if she kept on the muzzle. she calls herself a lady, and told me that she married beneath her. dew, i fancy, was a petty tradesman. he left his widow this small property and a tiny income. mary has a tremendous struggle to make ends meet means. she’s one in ten thousand."
-"um!" said pynsent. "don’t fall in love with your honey dew!"
-"don’t talk rot, pynsent!" mark replied sharply. jim corrance frowned at the painter, who realised at once that he had said something mal-à-propos.
-"i shall cut a lettuce for you fellows," said mark.
-as he left the shelter, jim turned to pynsent.
-"you put your hoof into it," he growled.
-"i did," said pynsent.
-"i say—is mark going to take a front seat?"
-"i don’t know."
-mark came back carrying a bottle of sauterne and a noble romaine, which he handed to pynsent, who was famous for his salads. mary entered a minute later with a well-basted chicken and a great dish of peas. the trio fell to their luncheon with appetite. mary added a tart, some excellent cheese, and the best of coffee.
-"i’ve enjoyed myself immensely," said pynsent. "you’re in arcady, mark. you ought to write an idyll here: aucassin and nicolete—hey?"
-they moved up into the pine grove, talking about books and art. jim corrance listened, smoking his big cigar. pynsent, who smoked caporal cigarettes which he rolled himself, spoke volubly in a sharp new england twang:
-"people prate about giving the world what the world wants. an artist gives what’s in him to give. i say that nothing else is possible, whether the world likes it or whether it doesn’t. and, luckily, the world that buys pictures and books is catholic in its tastes. all the same, just at present there is a big demand for stuff which is signed. you know what i mean. the crowd clamours for individuality. i was standing in front of a picture of mine at the academy last year, and a cleverish-looking girl said: ’that’s a pynsent. i like his work because i always know it, not because i understand it.’ i nearly asked her to shake hands. it’s the same with books. there’s an immense quantity of well-written, interesting novels published every year, but you’ll find that the few which sell are stamped on every page with the author’s name. the brand does it, first and last."
-"i only read books that amuse me," said jim.
-"you’re a man. men read books sometimes, but women buy them. let’s hope that mark’s stuff will please the women. then he will arrive."
-while they were talking, a young man passed through the gate and up the garden to the cottage door.
-"hullo! who’s this?" said pynsent.
-mary answered the question by coming out of the house in a becoming frock and hat and joining the young man. together they strolled down the path. the three men stared at each other. it had not occurred to any of them that mary might have a young man. and this particular one seemed to be the typical young man, always seen of a sunday arm-in-arm with a pretty girl: commonplace, smug, self-assured. while they looked mrs. dew’s thin querulous voice filtered through the sunlit space of the garden—
-"mary, mary—don’t be away too long!"
-mary’s fresh voice came from behind the palings—
-"of course not, mother. i shall be back to make your tea at four."
-"our jill has her jack," said pynsent. "that was a becoming hat."
-"she made it herself," mark observed.
-"then she likes her jack. such a girl would not prink to please a man to whom she was indifferent."
-jim corrance thrust out his big jaw. "mary may have made that hat to please herself. if i’d her face, by gad, i’d make just such a hat and enjoy myself with a looking-glass."
-"so would i," said mark.
-pynsent and jim returned to town before dinner. they promised to come again, and often, but mark guessed that such promises were written in ink, blue and variable as a may sky. he expected to be much alone, and during the months that followed was not disappointed. from his friends at the mission he held aloof. he knew they would ask questions, deeming it a duty to argue and reprove.
-mark had written the truth to david ross after the night on ben caryll. in reply, david wisely made no protest against mark’s determination to leave the church. that he would speak in due time mark was uncomfortably aware, and he learned—not without a feeling of relief—that his old chief was the busiest man in poplar.
-may passed quickly, devoid of incident and accident. towards the end of it, however, mark, reading his morning paper, was horrified to learn that bagshot, the man he had tried to reclaim, had murdered his wife in a drunken fit. he hastened to london, saw the prisoner—an abject, cowering wreck of what he had been—and listened to his dreadful story. the poor fellow had struggled hard against the craving for drink, yet in the end he had slain the woman he loved. it was heartrending—the triumph of evil over good.
-after seeing bagshot, mark reread that battered memorandum-book which he had carried through terrible slums. once more, the appeal of the friendless and helpless stirred him profoundly. very stealthily, like "humble allen," he began to revisit some of his waifs; most of them had disappeared; others as wretched and forlorn occupied their place. but his ministrations—necessarily ill-sustained and intermittent—appeared ineffectual. the joyous confidence of former days had departed. the squalor seemed invincible, the forces against which he contended so vast and ungovernable that sense and sensibility revolted. only faith could remove such mountains, and faith had forsaken mark samphire. none the less, he persevered.
-about the end of june archibald and his wife came back from france and settled down in cadogan place. archibald asked mark to meet them in a long letter, full of a description of chenonçeau. at the end was a postscript in betty’s handwriting: "please come." mark obeyed—a prey to feelings which cannot be set down. for six weeks he had seen betty’s face looking out of the window of the train, white, piteous, despairing. but when they met he was amazed to find her rosy and smiling, full of plans, in high health and spirits. then he remembered that his own health was excellent. archibald made him welcome, entreated his advice about the arrangement of books and engravings, begged him to hang his hat on his own peg, and alluded only vaguely to the red tie.
-"you will come back to us," he said confidently.
-betty held his hand tight at parting. "don’t slip out of our lives!" she whispered.
-mark had a glimpse of the face seen from the train, and hardly knew to what he was pledging himself when he stammered: "n-n-no, n-n-no—c-c-certainly not."
-after this first meeting it became easy to drop in to luncheon or tea. the novel was under revision, and several passages describing certain streets and localities had to be rewritten. mark had the artist’s passion for truth, carried possibly to excess. one of his characters was a shopgirl who worked in edgware road. mark spent three days in edgware road, notebook in hand, greedily absorbing the light and colour of the great thoroughfare. but he made a point of returning to weybridge each night and slept, whenever it was fine, in the grove, lulled to sleep by the pines.
-curiosity took him to st. anne’s in sloane street, when archibald preached his first sermon. it was crowded with a fashionable congregation, some of whom came to hear the music—as fine as could be found in london outside the cathedrals; others, no doubt, were attracted by a new and eloquent preacher; the rest attended divine service in their parish church, and would have been in their places, cheered and sustained by the reflection that they were doing their duty, if the rector had had no palate to his mouth and the choir had been composed of village boys squalling free of charge to the accompaniment of a harmonium. mark sat in the gallery, whence he could see betty occupying a pew not far from the pulpit. he wondered what sort of sermon archibald would preach. and he wondered also how it would affect betty. meantime, he examined the congregation. all these fine folk were possessed of substantial incomes. the struggle for daily bread was an experience unknown to them. the men seemed to be fathers of families for the most part, portly squires of ripe, rosy countenances, many-acred, and duly sensible of the position and station in life to which it had pleased god to call them. they put gold into the offertory bag, and could be counted upon to subscribe handsomely to parochial charities. in striking contrast were the brothers and lovers of the beautifully gowned women beside them. all, to a man, were frock-coated, patent-leather-booted, exquisitely cravatted—gilded youths, indifferent to music or sermon, worshippers in form only, because "it pleases the mater, you know," or "dolly expects it," or "i must make myself solid with aunt sarah." mark noted their well-cut, impassive features, their resigned air, and their contemptuous negligence of the responses. the women, on the other hand, displayed a certain ardour of devotion tempered by a lively interest in their neighbours’ clothes. a few prayed long and fervently, giving themselves up to the emotions inspired by the lovely music and splendid ritual; the many were intermittent in their attention. it was plain that a girl just below mark, who sang delightfully, was distracted from thoughts of heaven by the difficulty of determining whether the cape of a friend across the aisle was trimmed with sable or mere mink. but what struck mark more forcibly than anything else was an expression common to all the faces when in repose. while the lessons were being read, men and women alike suffered their features to relax into a normal look of discontent. mouths dropped; heavy lids veiled tired eyes; dismal lines appeared upon fair faces.
-when archibald ascended the pulpit, a thrill vibrated through his congregation. mark perceived at a glance that the rector of st. anne’s had secured the goodwill and enthusiasm of the women. they stared at his fine head, their eyes suffused and shining, their lips slightly parted, a-quiver with anticipation.
-"let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his."
-after a moment’s pause, archibald repeated the text with a different inflection. then, leaning forward, speaking without notes, he began his sermon. mark noted certain mannerisms common to many preachers. archibald hoped that his brothers and sisters in christ would bear with him while he laid before them a few thoughts. the thoughts appealed emotionally to a congregation who had consecrated their energies and potentialities to the art of living. to such, death, especially a painful death, is horror. the preacher pictured the last hours of the righteous man, the faithful servant, conscious that his task has been accomplished in this world, and that in the next a place is awaiting him, where, under freer, fuller conditions, he may still carry on the master’s work. then, changing his tone, archibald portrayed the death-bed of the evil-liver—hopeless, faithless, god-forsaken!
-the sermon made an impression. as the congregation streamed out of church into the sunshine, mark caught words, phrases, ejaculations which showed plainly that the new rector had at least satisfied expectation. but mark told himself the fringe of a great subject had been touched—and no more. archibald’s manner almost suggested the detestable adjective—melodramatic. his power was that of an actor rather than an evangelist. above and beyond mark’s recognition of this was the certainty that betty recognised it also, albeit, possibly, not so clearly. mark had kept his eyes on betty’s face. more than once some subtile inflection of the preacher’s voice had thrilled her; but towards the end of the sermon her attention and interest had waned. instinctively mark groped his way to the conclusion that if archibald had gained his wife’s love and esteem by the use of another’s brain, he might find it difficult to hold by the strength of his own.
-mark’s short story had been duly printed and published in conquest’s magazine. about the time of its appearance (midsummer) mark called on conquest, and the acquaintance then made ripened into a sort of intimacy. conquest, quick to perceive that mark had "stuff" in him, and learning that mark was writing a novel, expressed a wish to read it in typescript.
-"i advised you, you remember, to write a novel and burn it."
-"i have done so," said mark quietly.
-a big, burly man, with a rugged, leonine head, conquest liked to be told he resembled landor. with this robust physique went a singularly feminine apprehension and appreciation of details. the enormous amount of work he could accomplish, his grasp of technicalities, his knowledge, amounting to intuition, of what the public wanted, his power of attracting and dominating young men of talent, and, above all, his encyclopædic memory, made him invaluable to the firm who employed him.
-mark submitted his novel. conquest read it, and sent for the author. mark found him in the editorial chair, surrounded by books, papers, manuscripts, press-clippings innumerable—a chaos out of which the master alone could evoke order. in the room beyond, two type-writing machines were clicking savagely. here conquest’s "sub," a secretary, and half a dozen myrmidons were hard at work. the "sub" and his assistants looked pale and thin; conquest alone seemed to thrive and expand in an atmosphere impregnated with the odour of tobacco-smoke, damp paper, and printers’ ink.
-"sit down! and listen to the words of the ancient! this is the place where i do the talking. when i stop, you must go. shall the strong retain the spoil? is d——d good and—don’t look so pleased!—d——d bad. there’s hope for you. we’ll publish if you like to pay half the printer’s bill. mind you, the book has but a ghost’s chance of catching on; but i don’t want it altered. you’d cut out the best stuff and leave the trash. i red-pencilled your short story, but i can’t afford the time to prune this—and you wouldn’t like it. leave it here, and i’ll send you our regular agreement to look over and sign. you are under no obligations, remember, to publish with us. good morning. dine with me next tuesday. eight sharp!"
-mark found himself walking down a steep flight of stairs, and heard conquest’s strident tones echoing after him. he could not remember that he had accepted the offer made to him, but he was sure that conquest took such acceptance for granted.
-when tuesday came, he told conquest that he had read and was willing to sign the agreement which had been sent him. conquest nodded in an off-hand manner, and did not allude to the subject again. but he pressed upon mark the expediency of joining "the scribblers," a club newly organised, and likely to become a power. mark consented, pleased and flattered that a celebrity should exhibit such interest in him. he was put up and elected the same week. conquest introduced him to half a dozen members, most of whom took an early opportunity of congratulating mark upon his friendship with the great man.
-"he’s a wonder," said a popular author, "but, mind you, he works for wisden and evercreech, and he’ll squeeze you like an orange, if you give him the chance."
-the others winked at each other, but said nothing. tommy greatorex, a small, pale man, with very bright dark eyes which redeemed his face from insignificance, began to talk loudly. mark had watched him gnawing nervously at his nails when conquest’s name was mentioned.
-"oh—these editors!" he exclaimed, shaking his fist. "wouldn’t i like to tell some of ’em what i think of ’em! yes; there are exceptions—thank the lord!—but samphire will soon find out that most of ’em are pinchers. six men in this room sling ink for a living. is there one who can stand up and swear that he’s not been squeezed?" not a man moved. "you see—they sit tight. in this trade of ours the worker is not paid for his work when it’s done. he has to wait for his pennies, poor devil, although he may be starving. and often he isn’t paid at all. a paper goes to pot, or the special article he has been asked—asked, mind you—to write is pigeon-holed and doesn’t appear, or there is a change of management. any recourse? why, man, if you send one of ’em a lawyer’s letter, you may get your cheque by return of post, but never a line will you write for my gentleman again. never more, as the raven said! one can’t afford to quarrel with ’em. and don’t they know it—don’t they know it, as they blandly turn the screw? now, in america, with the big magazines, it’s different. you submit your stuff, and if it’s available a cheque comes along with the acceptance, and a good cheque too. over here, a few writers, of course, dictate terms, but the many take what they get with a humble if not a grateful heart. if you’ve private means of your own, you’re all right, but if you have any idea of supporting yourself with the pen—why, god help you!—for the editors won’t."
-"cool yourself with a whisky and soda," said the popular author, touching the electric bell. "our profession," he looked at mark, "is like all others, overcrowded, and editors and publishers carry on their business along business lines. i’ll admit that most authors are not fit to deal with them in a business way. they don’t like to haggle, and they don’t know how to haggle. personally, i employ an agent."
-"that’s all right for you," tommy retorted, "but an agent’s not much use unless there’s an established market for one’s wares. what’s this book of yours about, samphire?"
-"the east end," said mark.
-"um—the slums treated humorously?"
-"i’ve tried to stick to the facts."
-"and you expect to sell ’em as fiction? oh—you optimist!"
-"a play’s the thing," observed another scribbler. "write plays."
-"any fool can write a play," said the little man, very scornfully. "i—mot qui sous parle—have written plays, but it takes a diplomatist to get them read and a genius to get them accepted."
-mark returned to weybridge rather despondent.
-immediately afterwards he received his first instalment of proofs from wisden and evercreech. correcting these proved a painful pleasure. conquest’s judgment coloured and discoloured every sheet. what was good—what was bad? for his life mark was unable to criticise his own work. some of the bits he had liked when he wrote them now seemed crude and trite. his dialogue, he decided, was fair, but the narrative lacked distinction. before beginning another novel, he would study the best models in french and english. meantime he would turn out a story or two. these were written, despatched to conquest—and returned with a printed slip politely setting forth the editor’s regret that they were unavailable. when he met conquest some ten days later, the great man vouchsafed a few words.
-"sorry to return your stuff. we shall publish the book in october. have you thought of a subject for another? you seem to have gripped conditions in the east end. how about a novel in rather lighter vein dealing with the adventures and misadventures of a millionaire who has turned philanthropist and wants to spend his pile in stepney? or—happy thought!—make your millionaire a millionairess—a good-looking spinster paddling her canoe through the slums. that would be capital. what do you say?"
-"i’ll think about it," said mark hesitatingly. "i’m awfully obliged to you, conquest."
-"that’s all right. by the way, i can use an article on your brother, two thousand words. make it very personal, and secure good photographs of him and his church."
-"but he mightn’t like it, you know."
-conquest roared. "i say—that’s immense—immense! not like it? a popular preacher! ha—ha—ha! why, it’s incense to ’em, man alive. ask him, at any rate. if he doesn’t jump, call me fool. can you see him at once?"
-"if you wish it."
-"i suppose you know," he said carelessly, but keeping his eyes on mark’s, "that i pull many strings. now this is between ourselves, in—the—strictest—confidence. i want to pump you. bless you, it always pays to be frank. how do i stand with your brother? does he like me?"
-"i’m sure he does," said mark warmly. at conquest’s desire he had introduced him to archibald. conquest had dined in cadogan place.
-"i can help him—materially. of course there’s something in it for me, but there’s more in it for him, and i thought that you might be willing to act as a go-between. have you noticed a big basilica which lord vauxhall is building in that part of chelsea where his new houses are? you have? a fine thing—hey? oh, you don’t admire the byzantine style. well, that church is the biggest advertisement in london. shush-h-h! i don’t want to be misunderstood. vauxhall, who is a friend of mine, understands the value of churches. and he’s a churchman, too. he felt it to be his duty to build that church, and i say, not he, that it’s a thundering big ’ad’ for the neighbourhood. now vauxhall is immensely struck by your brother’s eloquence. vauxhall always wants the best of everything, and he pays for it, cash on the nail. he would like to offer the basilica and fifteen hundred a year to your brother. now the cat’s out of the bag. what d’you think of her?"
-mark flushed. conquest was his host.
-"i think she’s mangy."
-"good," said conquest, in no way perturbed. "i wanted an honest opinion."
-"as i understand this," said mark, "lord vauxhall offers my brother a bribe to boom his new neighbourhood."
-conquest shrugged his mighty shoulders.
-"you are a young man," he said drily. "beware of hasty judgments. it’s my experience that motives are generally mixed. vauxhall has built and endowed a magnificent church. he offers it to your brother, or rather he empowers me to offer it, if there is a likelihood of the offer being accepted. perhaps i had better speak to your brother myself."
-"i should prefer that," said mark.
-when he saw archibald, some days later, he was quite sure, from his knowledge of conquest, that the matter had been broached, but archibald said nothing to him about it. betty, however, talked as if no change was impending, so mark inferred that she was either without her husband’s confidence or that lord vauxhall’s offer had been refused. betty was full of plans connected with the parish, and busy organising a large charity concert. jim corrance told mark that he (jim) had misread betty’s character and temperament.
-"she’s happy with her husband," he declared. "he has a way with him—women can’t resist parsons when they’re good and good-looking. one must concede that archie is both."
-"archie is quite right, my dear. he’s not going to imperil his preferment by hobnobbing with such frisky folk. it pays to be exclusive. look at those bertheim women! they were—well, we know what they were; but when they married rich men, they refused to entertain any matron who was not immaculate. now, to be seen at their houses is a patent of virtue!"
-"archie," said betty, "is governed by the highest motives; still, i should like to see this house open to a few nice sinners: painters, writers, musicians; but archie says they are all freethinkers or laodiceans. it is a great grief to him that mark gave up his orders. he offered to take him as secretary."
-lady randolph stared. there were times when she felt that betty was an unknown quantity.
-"you allowed him to make that offer?"
-betty turned aside her eyes. "i did not know that it was made. of course mark refused—would have done so in any case. i mention it to show you what manner of man archie is. i don’t think you do him justice. you spoke just now as if he were a time-server. his whole life is devoted to others."
-"does he—know?" said lady randolph, alluding to what had passed at birr wood.
-"why should i tell him?"
-"why, indeed, my dear?"
-"it would distress him infinitely. and it might lead to a breach between the brothers. mark comes here. he has changed greatly. i don’t think that anything interests him very much except his literary work."
-"he looks a different man," said lady randolph absently.
-"if he needs no encouragement—so much the worse."
-betty laughed nervously. mark’s companionship was a pleasure she would not forego. she was interested in his book; she liked to hear his talk, his gossip of grub street; his descriptions of the dews, mother and daughter; his adventures in search of material. behind this lay the comfortable assurance that she had adjusted a difficult situation. she had lost the lover of her youth, but she had gained a good husband, a brother, and a friend. so she told herself that she was rich, repeating the phrase, till she came to believe it true. one day she said to mark, "i suppose you would call me a rich woman, using the adjective in its widest sense."
-"we are all rich—and poor," mark replied evasively. "what rich man is not poor in some respect; what poor man is not rich in another? this is an age of classification. we go about sticking labels on to our friends and ourselves. if you honestly think yourself rich, you are so."
-sometimes he wondered if she could measure the violence of feeling which had driven him from the church. she never spoke of his change of cloth; still she eyed his red tie askance. archibald had said something when he came back from his honeymoon.
-"at king’s charteris you could keep a curate. the pater said that he had spoken to you. and it’s the family living."
-"i’ll say to you what i didn’t like to say to the pater: ’drop it.’"
-"certainly," archibald replied. "but it’s a pity your powers of organisation should be wasted." then he made the offer which had provoked astonishment in lady randolph. it astonished mark also, revealing as it did his brother’s lack of insight where he (mark) was concerned.
-"you could help me enormously," archibald concluded.
-"i am going to help myself," said mark.
-just before the novel was published, archibald let fall a hint that conquest had spoken to him. betty happened to be present, but archibald addressed himself to mark.
-"have you ever met lord vauxhall?"
-"a very charming man—and a christian. he dines here next week. i should like you to meet him. by the way, he’s a friend of conquest."
-"ah!" said mark.
-"i like conquest immensely," said archibald suavely. "he has the larger vision."
-"betty—do you like conquest?" said mark abruptly.
-she answered promptly: "no."
-"why not?" her husband inquired.
-"he’s an octopus man, with his tentacles waving in every direction. and his mind is like a big room handsomely furnished, but without a fireplace in it. certainly—he’s been sweet as hybla honey to me, and i ought to like him, but i don’t."
-in late october, when pages fall as thickly from printing-presses as leaves do from trees, shall the strong retain the spoil? appeared. during the preceding spring many of the best publishers had withheld books which were now offered to the public. conquest predicted a glutted market, and no sales for wares bearing obscure brands. mark, he said, might compass a succès d’estime—nothing more. he added that the time had come to pull strings, if strings were to be pulled.
-"i don’t quite understand," said mark.
-"get so-and-so," he named a popular author, "to enlighten you. look here, samphire, you’re a man of good family, your people know numbers of swells, that brother of yours is hand in glove with some bigwigs. stir ’em up with a long pole. i don’t suppose you care to fork out for such advertising as our friend i mentioned uses. paragraphs and all that."
-"he pays for paragraphs?"
-"directly and indirectly—you innocent! i see you are disgusted. that’s all right. i mentioned the matter, because i could steer you a bit, if you wished to spend say—fifty pounds. we shall advertise the book, of course, in the regular way. it’s the irregular way, my boy, which brings in the dollars."
-"the book must sell on its merits," said mark.
-"as you please," said conquest.
-shortly afterwards, the first notices were sent to him by the press clipping agency to which he had become a subscriber. mark was told that his work showed extraordinary promise, that he would take high rank, when he had found himself, that he was a master of dialogue and dialect, the author of a powerful and convincing study of conditions which challenged the attention of every thinking man and woman, and so on and so forth. he rushed up to town, showed the clippings to betty, who seemed to be more excited and pleased than he was himself, went on to wisden and evercreech, and thence to his club, where he found tommy greatorex, whiter and more nervous than usual, sitting alone by the fire in the library. to him the clippings were presently submitted with an apology. tommy took them with an ironical smile.
-"they’re always kind to a new man if he shows any ability." he glanced at the clippings, flipping them with his lean delicately shaped fingers. "you are subtle, i see, and daring, and brilliant—and strong! by jove, samphire, i’ll bet a new umbrella, which i want badly, that you didn’t know you were such a ring-tailed squealer—hey? don’t blush, my dear fellow. wait till your stuff sells, and then read what they’ll say about it. ha—ha! listen to this! one of ’em says: ’mr. samphire is evidently at home in some of the sordid scenes which he describes with such power and pathos; we take it that he has spent many years in the slums.’ so far—so good. it’s more than likely that the fellow who wrote that is a member of this club and in the know. here’s another, next to it, egad! ’this story reveals imaginative powers of a high order, for it is plain that the author has never set foot in stepney....’ ha—ha—ha! now sit down, stand me a drink, and tell me how many copies have been sold."
-"a hundred copies were sold the day before yesterday," said mark.
-"now, that’s a little bit of all right, and no mistake. i’m delighted to hear it. i congratulate you—con fuoco! that means business. one—hundred—copies in one day! whew-w-w! hang it, why don’t you rejoice?"
-"because," said mark, "i found out that the hundred copies were bought by one man for one man. a friend of mine on the stock exchange took the lot. the book is not selling."
-"sorry," said tommy quietly. "i’ve read it. i’ve reviewed it. this," he tapped one of the clippings which he still held in his hand, "is mine. i got for it a few shillings, already spent, and the book which i shall keep, because it is written by a good fellow. it’s not what’s in the book which appeals to me, but what’s in the writer, and which will come out—some day."
-"thank you," said mark.
-he returned to luncheon at cadogan place, humbled, and therefore, in a woman’s eyes, meet for sympathy and encouragement.
-"in any case," said betty, "you have had the delight of writing the book. and it is strong and subtle; but, mark, few people are interested in slums. your book made me cry, and i want to laugh. life is so sad, why make it sadder?"
-mark had listened to interminable arguments upon this vexed question. but in betty’s tone and manner he caught a glimpse of a spectre.
-"your life is not sad," he said.
-"i’m one of the lucky ones," she replied hastily "we were speaking of your book."
-"hang the book," said mark impatiently "what is that to me in comparison with——" he stopped abruptly, got up from his chair, paced the length of the room, and came back.
-"you are happy—are you not?" he asked. they were alone in the drawing-room, filled with the pictures and china which had come out of the saloon at the whim. archibald was presiding over one of his innumerable committees. looking at betty as she sat amongst things familiar to mark from childhood, it was difficult to believe that she was a married woman. she still retained a bloom of maidenhood, a daintiness and freshness. her face suggested the nymph rather than the matron.
-"of course i am happy," she replied; then she added in a whisper: "mark, i ought to be happy, but i am a rebel."
-"all women are rebels, betty. against what in particular do you rebel?"
-"i oughtn’t to tell you, but—but i must. i suppose i am the many-sided woman, who ought to have half a dozen husbands. i am interested in so many things. i like to browse here and there. but archie doesn’t care about anything or anybody outside his own vineyard. he is going up and up and i am—falling! oh, i’m disloyal, but i must speak. it comes to this: archie loves me and of course i love him, but we—we have nothing to say to each other when we’re alone."
-she sat, twisting her fingers, staring forlornly at the carpet. mark burst into speech. at the sound of his voice, still so youthful in quality, she raised her head, smiling, eager, intent.
-"why, betty, we all get blue at times, and sigh for what we’ve not got. there are women, no doubt, who are fatly content with their lives, but i don’t suppose they go up or down. one pictures them in one spot, doing the same stupid thing, saying the same stupid thing for ever and ever. i think you’re in a healthy state. when we feel that we are going down, we begin to beat our wings and flap upwards. some saints, possibly, might be justified in taking a rest-cure; they are the ones who never do it."
-he rose to go, not daring to stay.
-"when are you coming again, mark? you always do me good. can’t you spend next sunday with us? by the way, have you ever been to our church?"
-"yes; the first sunday archibald preached."
-"oh! the sermon about balaam."
-"you know, he says that he’s uneven. but the women in this parish think him wonderful. some of them, who sit near the pulpit, make a point of crying whenever he gives them a chance. one told me that when he pronounced the benediction she felt purged of all sin! i could have bitten her."
-mark promised to spend the following sunday in cadogan place, and duly accompanied betty to morning service. for nearly thirty minutes archibald preached to a crowded congregation, who listened intently to a conventional theme, treated conventionally. coming out mark heard a tall, thin man, with a striking face, whisper to the woman beside him: "i came for bread; he gave us pap—in a golden spoon."
-"did you hear that?" said betty, a moment later.
-some friends greeted betty, and no more was said till luncheon, to which the chrysostom of sloane street applied himself, as usual, seriously and silently. he looked slightly puffy and his eyes were losing their clearness and sparkle. mark asked abruptly if he were overworked.
-"every minute is filled," said archibald heavily. "overworked? i can stand a lot of work."
-"he would be miserable without it—and bored," said betty. "he won’t even come to concerts with me now."
-"it’s the work that tells, nowadays, my dear. preaching gives a man a start, but it’s the steady strain of parochial organisation which brings one to the top of the hill."
-"you are neglecting your sermons," said betty. "for several sundays they have struck me as being—how shall i put it—uninspired. they hold one’s attention, yes, but they do not grip; they touch, but they do not penetrate."
-archibald nodded, frowning and crumbling the bread beside his plate.
-"the duchess," he said, "stopped me this morning after church to tell me that she liked the treatment of my text immensely."
-"oh—the duchess!" exclaimed betty.
-"i’ve so much on my mind," said archibald, turning to mark. he rose, looking at his watch. "i must go now to hear a man sing in upper tooting. the cigars are in my room."
-he went out. as the door shut behind him, betty turned a contrite face to mark’s.
-"i hit him when he was down. what a beast i am!"
-at that moment it became a conviction to mark that betty loved an ideal husband, who would fall from the pinnacle on which she had perched him. a feeling of pleasure at this impending catastrophe almost turned him sick. then, very slowly, he resolved that the powers within him should be devoted to the preservation of an ideal, so vital to the welfare of the woman he loved. betty began to speak of his literary work.
-"when i read your book," she said, "i had an intuition that one day you would write a play."
-mark quoted tommy greatorex. "that’s an easy job."
-"i have a motif for you. the emotional treatment of religion. look at the success of this new book, robert elsmere! the same success awaits the dramatist who can use like material. i should make the principal character a woman of passion with a strong sense of religion."
-"yes. it seems to me that sinners on the stage have great opportunities. the world must listen to what they have to say. in real life the good people do all the talking, the moral talking, i mean; an honest sinner holds his or her tongue. it’s such a pity, for i’m sure your honest sinner loathes his sin. in my drama the sinner is saved, because the sense of what she has suffered, her personal experience of the horror and misery of sin, make for her salvation."
-"the right man could do something with it, no doubt."
-"why not you, mark?"
-he fell into a reverie, staring into the fire. betty perceived that he had wandered out of the world of speech into the suburbs of silence, where visions of what might have been come and go. presently he said abruptly:
-"shall we walk?"
-"there’s an east wind blowing, evil for man and beast."
-"you’re neither. come on."
-they crossed the park, skirting the serpentine, a dull, leaden-coloured lake wrinkled by the keen wind. on some of the benches sweethearts were sitting, serenely unmindful of the blast.
-"they feel warm enough," said betty, laughing. "well, i’m in a glow, too."
-when they returned to cadogan place, archibald had just arrived from upper tooting. he said that he had found a superb tenor, whom he had engaged.
-"he sang ’nazareth’—quite admirably."
-betty, teapot in hand, looked up, interested at once.
-"oh, archie, you have not sung ’nazareth’ for months. do sing it after tea!"
-"do!" mark added. "i haven’t heard you sing for a year."
-finally, after a little pressing, archibald seated himself at the piano, a beautiful steinway. as he touched the keys, betty’s face assumed the expression of delighted receptivity so familiar to mark. she glanced at the singer between half-closed eyes, lying back in her chair in an attitude of physical and mental ease. one hand drooped at her side, and as archibald sang the fingers of this hand contracted and relaxed, keeping time to the rhythm of the song. mark felt that her pulses were throbbing, quivering with delight and satisfaction. the music touched him also, stirring to determination his desire to help and protect the woman he loved. but when his thoughts turned, as they did immediately, to archibald, they became of another texture and complexion. he had not prayed to god since that night on ben caryll. now, beneath the spell of the music, he repeated to himself: "oh god, take this hate from me; take this hate from me!"
-when archibald stopped singing, he said that he must go to his study for an hour’s work before evening service. mark accompanied him. as soon as they were alone, he blurted out what was in his mind.
-"i say, archie, if you want a little help, i’m your man. i suppose work means the preparation of your advent sermons. i helped you last year. shall i help you this?"
-archibald’s face flushed.
-"i don’t know what’s wrong with me," he muttered; "but ideas don’t flow. if you would help—but, but you have your own work."
-"my work! well, it’s lucky i’ve an allowance, or i should certainly starve. archie, i’d like to help you. i ask it as a favour. come on; what’s the use of jawing? what’s it to be this advent? i thought of something in church this morning which you might lick into shape."
-he filled his pipe, talking in his hesitating yet voluble way. archibald, the practical, took a pad to jot down notes in shorthand. mark began to pace the room as his ideas flowed faster. it seemed to him that he had dammed them up for many months; now they came down like the crask after a big rain, a cleansing flood, carrying away all refuse, all barriers. when he had finished, archibald arose ponderously and shook his hand.
-"you’re a wonderful fellow," he said slowly; "the hare you, the tortoise i. it was always so."
-"the tortoise won the r-r-race," said mark.
-when he went to bed that night he flung open wide the window of his room. outside, the night was inky black and tempestuous. not a star to be seen above, and the lamps below burning dimly, throwing pale circles of light upon the wet, muddy street. mark stood inhaling the fresh air, drawing long and deep breaths, saturating himself with it. presently he muttered:
-"i may be happy yet."
-late in may betty was expecting to be confined; and mark could see that archibald tried in vain to conceal his anxiety. "one never knows how these affairs will end," he said a score of times to his brother, who replied, "betty is strong; she will do well; you are foolish to borrow trouble." none the less, mark’s anxiety quickened also as the time approached, becoming the more poignant, possibly, because the birth of this baby emphasised his own isolation and loneliness. betty as mother—and he felt sure that she would prove an admirable mother—appeared indescribably remote. archibald as father, babbling already about his son, obstructed the horizon.
-"the boy may reign at pitt hall," said archibald. "george has written to say that he hopes it will be an heir—his word—because then he will feel at liberty to remain a bachelor. do you think that betty is as prudent as she ought to be?"
-"she will do well, she will do well," mark reiterated.
-"you will come to us, mark. i shall want you, you know."
-"if you insist——"
-"i don’t think i could face it without you."
-betty added her entreaties. "i’m not afraid," she maintained; "but archie is behaving like an old woman. lady randolph will be with me; i should feel easier if you were with archie. how devoted you brothers are to each other!"
-mark hastily put up his hand to cover a smile which he felt to be derisive. then he muttered awkwardly, "all right, i’ll c-c-come."
-again he wondered whether she had suspected the hatred within him. surely a creature of her intuitions and sympathies must know. and if she did know, and, knowing, faced the facts, trying to adjust the balance, piecing together the fragments of broken lives, was it not his duty, however painful, to help her and the man she had married? and perhaps she had foreseen that any peril threatening an object dear to both brothers might serve to unite them. the woman who had whirled them asunder must cherish the hope that she alone could bring them together.
-when the hour came, when he was alone with archibald at midnight, straining his ears for that thin, querulous wail of the newly born, he forgot everything except that betty might be taken away. the doctor bustled in from time to time, cheery and sanguine at first, but as the hours passed betraying uneasiness and anxiety. towards morning, when the whole world seemed to have grown chill and dreary, he asked for a consultation; and a servant was sent hot-foot for the most famous accoucheur in harley street.
-archibald rushed upstairs. he crawled down them a few minutes later, ghastly, trembling, the scarecrow of the prosperous rector of st. anne’s. mark, as white as he, seized his arm.
-"well, well, how is she? that fool of a doctor has exaggerated. they always make out everything to be more serious than it is."
-"she is going, she is going," the husband muttered.
-mark shook him violently.
-"archie, you must pull yourself together. do you hear?"
-"it’s a judgment, a judgment."
-"what do you say?"
-"i never told her about those two sermons. i’m a coward, a coward. you despise me—i have felt it."
-the big fellow had collapsed, shrunk incredibly, depleted of windy self-assurance and vanity. mark’s hate and scorn and envy began to ooze from him as the old love, the virile instinct of the strong to comfort and protect the weak, gushed into his heart, suffusing a genial warmth through every fibre of his being.
-"i gave them to you freely," he said. "i urged you to preach that first sermon. put what is past from you."
-but archibald shook his head. now that the silence was broken, he wished to speak, to give his shame and trouble all the words so long suppressed. in a pitiful manner he began a self-indictment—qui s’accuse s’excuse.
-"if betty is spared, i shall tell her the truth," he concluded.
-mark frowned, trying to measure the effect of such a belated confession on betty. then he heard his brother saying in the tone of conviction which so impressed his congregations, "of course, betty did not marry me because i preached those sermons."
-mark started. temptation beset him to answer swiftly: "she did—she did. i know she did. had it not been for my words in your mouth, she would have waited for, she would have married—me."
-he turned aside his face, twisted and seamed by the effort of holding his tongue. archibald continued: "it has been a secret sore. i thought hard work—i have worked very hard—would heal it. if—if she is spared, i shall speak for all our sakes."
-mark’s voice was quite steady when he replied, "for all our sakes. you take me into account?"
-"why, of course. don’t you remember? you wished her to know. you said you would tell her. why didn’t you?"
-"why, indeed?" mark echoed fiercely. then, with a sudden change of manner, he went on: "you must do what you think best. betty has placed you on a pinnacle. see that you don’t topple over! practise what you preach. then you will save her soul and your own."
-"we talk as if she were not dying."
-"she will not die," said mark solemnly. at that moment he was sure that betty would live, must live, because (and the reason illumines the dark places through which mark had passed), because it would be so much better for her if she died.
-just then the consulting surgeon arrived. archibald took him upstairs, and returned to mark within a quarter of an hour, saying that the case was even more serious than had been supposed.
-"drax sentenced me to death," said mark, "but i’m alive and strong."
-"in the name of god, pray," he entreated. "you are a better man than i—pray!"
-but mark remained standing.
-he desired to pray, but above this desire and dominating it was the vivid horror of that evil spirit, which had so lately fled and which might come back. a sense of unworthiness prostrated his spirit, but not his body. he glanced at archibald, and left the room.
-outside, the gas in the hall and passages seemed to be struggling helplessly against the light of breaking day. familiar objects—furniture belonging to the admiral—loomed large out of a sickly, yellow mist. mark found himself staring blankly at an ancient clock ticking with loud and exasperating monotony. it had so ticked away the seconds, the minutes, the hours of more than a hundred years!
-the next objects that caught his eye were two umbrellas. they stood side by side, curiously contrasted: the one a dainty trifle of violet silk and crystal, encircled with a gold band; and the other large and massive with a symbolic shepherd’s crook as a handle. these arrested mark’s attention. he remembered that he had chaffed betty about her umbrella, telling her that it was too smart for a parson’s wife, and absurdly frail as a protection against anything save a passing shower. she retorted that a wise woman never braves a storm, and then she had said with the smile he knew so well: "my umbrella, which, after all, is an en tout cas, is just like me: made for sunshine rather than rain."
-he sat down, waiting, staring at betty’s umbrella. when he looked up lady randolph was coming down the stairs very slowly—a white-haired old woman. something in her face choked the question which fluttered to his lips. to gain an instant’s time, he opened the library door and called to his brother—
-archibald appeared instantly.
-"a girl has been born," said lady randolph, "but she is dead."
-"dead?" repeated archibald.
-"and betty?" mark demanded hoarsely.
-"the doctors think she is safe."
-the three passed into the dining-room, where some food had been laid out. lady randolph gave details in a worn voice. betty’s pluck had been amazing; she had displayed a fortitude lacking which she would probably have succumbed. the consulting surgeon, who entered shortly afterwards, assured the husband that, humanly speaking, the danger was over. almost at once archibald recovered his normal composure and dignified deportment. mark, on the other hand, exhibited signs of collapse. he sat down shivering, as if he had been attacked by malignant malaria.
-next day he saw betty for a couple of minutes. she smiled and thanked him, intimating that archibald had told her that the suspense would have been intolerable had not mark helped him to bear it. of the loss of her baby she said nothing, but before mark left the room she exacted a promise that he would come to see her during the period of convalescence.
-about this time he began his third novel, the songs of the angels. conquest asked him if he were setting to work on the theme suggested by him, and when mark pleaded inability to guide a young and beautiful heiress through the slums of stepney, the great man shrugged his shoulders—a gesture now associated in mark’s mind with derision and contempt. conquest then demanded what he was doing, and hearing the synopsis of the new story shrugged his vast shoulders once more.
-"that won’t sell," he said. "you could have handled my theme—if you had tried. by the way, that brother of yours has jumped at vauxhall’s offer. i knew he would. he’ll go very far, that young man. even the basilica won’t be big enough to hold him."
-he laughed loudly and strode away.
-during july mark saw betty regularly twice a week. archibald was working harder than ever in and out of st. anne’s parish, but of the basilica, now nearing completion, not a word was said by either husband or wife. mark wondered if betty knew. her recovery was slow and intermittent.
-"are you worried about anything?" mark asked one day.
-"yes," she admitted, after a minute’s hesitation; then she continued quickly, "have you noticed another falling off in archie’s sermons?"
-"he’s unequal, of course," mark replied. "and the best brains refuse to work in a tired body."
-"i wish you’d say a word about that. he’d take anything from you."
-again she caught a glimpse of that derisive smile of mark’s which she could not interpret, as he promised to speak to his brother. did he reap his reward when betty said, three weeks later, "archie has preached splendidly the last two sundays. has he told you that he has been commanded to preach again at windsor?"
-mark nodded rather coldly, so betty thought. he reflected that he was the man with one talent. how much better that it should be given to the man who had ten rather than be atrophied by disuse, buried, so to speak, in one upon whom silence was imposed. every pang of envy which twisted his heart he tried to assuage with the anodyne of kind actions. but the faith which had never failed him when he was sick seemed to have forsaken him utterly now that he was whole.
-when the songs of the angels was half written, telegrams summoned mark and his brothers to pitt hall, where the squire lay dying, senseless and speechless. he had been seized with a fit, after returning from a long day’s hunting on christmas eve. the doctors said at once that nothing could be done. pitt hall was hung with holly and mistletoe; and mark, coming out of the room where his father lay dead, saw the servants pulling down the decorations. it seemed to him that the old house would never be the same again. it never was—to him.
-the will revealed a terrible state of affairs. after the widow’s jointure was paid, only enough money would be left to keep the estate out of the market. george, in any case, would have to let it for a term of years and economise closely, if he hoped to cancel the mortgages. low prices, bad years, and a disastrous attempt to recover losses by speculation had almost wrecked one of the finest properties in slowshire. the younger sons, as residuary legatees, found themselves absolutely unprovided for. this, it is true, made no difference to archibald, but mark told himself ruefully that he only possessed his books and simple furnishings and some ninety pounds. george was unable to do anything; but archibald offered his brother the same allowance he had been in the habit of receiving. mark refused it.
-"i think i can pay my way," said mark.
-"i owe you that—and more too."
-"if you would live with us, and become my paid secretary. you could have your afternoons and evenings free."
-"i shall not leave my pines," said mark. "many thanks, but i’m going to score off my own bat."
-this conversation took place upon the afternoon of the funeral. that evening, in the smoking-room, the question of the living again presented itself. george samphire had inherited his father’s manner and ideas, the latter tempered, possibly, by life in a cavalry regiment.
-"by jove!" said he, "there’s king’s charteris for you, mark. the rector, they tell me, won’t see easter. it’s the very thing, and you can keep an eye on my tenant. that’s settled, thank the lord!"
-an awkward pause followed. at his father’s grave mark had worn, and wore still, black clothes of clerical cut.
-"i am a layman," said mark.
-"what? you’ve chucked it! but you can’t—can he, archie? once a parson, always a parson. archie can arrange anything."
-"true," said archibald, "but——" he glanced at mark, who had risen.
-"don’t badger me, george," mark said quietly. "you must find a better fellow than i for king’s charteris. it’s been a terrible day. i’m off to bed."
-he marched out of the room, leaving george agape with astonishment.
-"what the devil’s the meaning of this?" he asked of archibald.
-"i’m afraid he’s an agnostic."
-archibald explained the meaning of the word, not so familiar then as now. george listened, frowning, interjecting many an "oh!" and "ah!" and "by jove!" as the speaker delicately conveyed the impression that he did not despair of leading this errant sheep back into the fold.
-"mark," he concluded, "has shown a great deal of right feeling, my dear george. i cannot doubt but that it will be well with him. but he is not one to be pressed."
-"that’s sound enough, old slow-and-sure, and i suppose we can get some fellow to keep king’s charteris warm for him—eh? and they tell me you’ll have livings to give away one of these fine days. good lord! what a mess the poor governor has made of things!"
-saying this, the new squire of pitt hall sighed, poured himself out a whisky and soda, drank it, lit a candle, and went to bed, followed by archibald.
-within the week mark saw conquest, by appointment, and told him what had happened, asking at the same time for a settlement of his small account. to his dismay he learned that he was in the debt of wisden and evercreech. what was due for his first short story and the illustrated interview with the rector of st. anne’s was swallowed up in the bill for printing the novel. of this, not counting press copies, some three hundred and fifty had been sold, of which—as had been said—jim corrance bought one hundred outright.
-"our bill needn’t bother you," said conquest. "and the novel may square it yet. you ask for my advice. frankly, then, i say—journalism, but it’s uphill work. you’ve got to make a special study of editors—and what they want. the stuff which jones prints and pays for, smith, perhaps, won’t even take the trouble to return as unavailable."
-"can you give me anything?"
-"nothing except advice, samphire, and a letter or two. we are chock full. of course i’ll always consider what you send me, but we have our regular staff, and fifty besides waiting to step into their shoes."
-"if i could get a sub-editorship?"
-"ask for the moon at once. you don’t know the ropes. every fool thinks he can edit or sub-edit a paper, but the proprietors are not of their mind. you’re a clever fellow, samphire, but you’ll pardon me for saying that you’re kinky, and you seem to possess a vermiform appendix of a conscience. you can support yourself with your pen, when you know how to use it."
-"i’m much obliged to you," said mark humbly.
-"greatorex says you talk italian like a dago. would you care to translate an italian novel for us? we’ll pay you sixty pounds."
-"thank you very much," said mark.
-conquest handed him the proof sheets of the novel.
-"you must translate with discretion," he said carelessly; "but don’t emasculate it! after all, we are not publishing for schoolgirls."
-mark left paternoster row, and mounted a ’bus in st. paul’s churchyard. when he had taken his seat, he looked at the sheets and began to read them very rapidly. tommy greatorex was waiting for him at the scribblers.
-"has conquest given you nespoli’s novel?"
-"it’s in my pocket," said mark, rather red in the face. "and it ought to be in the public sewer. i shan’t translate it."
-"phew-w-w!" said tommy. "what’s the use of being so bally particular? what did he offer? seventy-five? oh, sixty—the shylock. well, old chap, if you don’t take the job, somebody else will."
-"there’s not a particle of doubt about that," said mark.
-but when he returned the novel to conquest, he saw that he had offended the great man, who shrugged his shoulders and said curtly that mark had better buy a little lamb and play with it. this was too much. mark flamed.
-"i’ve stood your sneers long enough, conquest," he said. "you’ve done me some good turns——"
-"hold on," said conquest, black and grim. "don’t flatter yourself that i did them for you. you are the brother of archibald samphire, and that’s about the only claim you have to my consideration. now then—march!"
-he pointed insolently to the door, towering above the slight figure confronting him. mark recovered his temper.
-"i’d hit you," he said politely, "if you were smaller, but i can’t reach your brazen face, you b-b-bully and b-b-blusterer. and i couldn’t injure your thick skin with an axe."
-the door between the sanctum and the room where the typewriters were clicking stood ajar. when mark ended his sentence a sound of giggling was heard. conquest, cursing, turned and kicked the door with violence. mark laughed and disappeared, leaving an unscrupulous enemy behind him.
-misfortune, however, introduces us to friends as well as enemies. mark had been hurt because jim corrance had not repeated his visit to weybridge. jim, he had said to himself, was cold, absorbed in money-getting, unmindful even of his mother, dear soul, who must often yearn for the companionship of her son. but when jim heard of the squire’s will, he rushed down to weybridge, taking with him an enormous hamper. mark told betty what passed.
-"jim arrived with a hamper. i believe he thought i was starving. he brought champagne, cigars, and every potted thing which grows in fortnum and mason’s. and he told me that he was looking for a confidential clerk at five hundred a year. and would i do him the favour to take the billet. by heaven—his face warmed my heart through and through."
-"you look," said betty, "as if someone had left you a fortune! those potted things may come in handy, if you insist on refusing the help which your friends are only too glad to offer."
-"i shall make my way, betty."
-her eyes were troubled, as she said hurriedly, "are you sure of that, mark? if—if you should break down again. oh, i know what’s in your mind. you are going to drudge. and why should you, when archie and i would be so delighted to have you here? you could help him. he has told me——"
-"what has he told you?"
-his sharp interrogation slightly puzzled her.
-"oh, he says that your hints have been invaluable."
-so archibald had withheld the truth. he heard betty’s voice entreating him to come to cadogan place. his heart was throbbing. perhaps she wanted him.
-"i c-c-can’t," he stammered. "i have my p-pride."
-"so had lucifer," she retorted.
-that she supposed him cold, he knew. when they parted, he smiled to himself because she said angrily: "you think of nothing but your songs of the angels!"
-"angels won’t sing in london," he said.
-shortly after this he received a letter from dudley mcintyre, the head of an historic publishing house. mcintyre had read the novel which would not sell, and begged to have the pleasure of meeting the author at an early date. this again was a piece of luck which mark discovered, later, to be due to tommy greatorex. tommy, who loathed conquest, had told mcintyre of what had passed. mcintyre had no love for conquest and despised his business methods. when he met mark, he took a fancy to him. mark, for his part, was charmed with mcintyre, who represented the publisher of the old school: being all that conquest was not: courteous, sympathetic, speaking with precision in well-chosen words untainted by slang. mcintyre, however, published belles lettres, biographies, books of travel, rather than novels. still, he expressed a wish to see the songs of the angels, and said that the theme appealed to him.
-"not that i pretend to be a judge of what will sell or not sell," he concluded. "and i seldom pass an opinion upon a manuscript."
-"i should be glad to undertake translations," said mark.
-"will that be worth your while, mr. samphire?"
-mark frankly explained his position. he thought he was qualified to translate either french or italian books. mcintyre said he would make a note of it, and did so, entering mark’s address in a small pocket-book.
-"finish your novel," said he at parting. "and give it undivided attention."
-accordingly, mark remained at weybridge. he realised that if this novel failed, he must become, as betty said, a drudge; and he was certain that hack-writing meant the sacrifice of higher literary ambitions. mcintyre was right. he must make the effort of his life to grasp something substantial. if he failed, let him clutch at straws!
-necessity lent edge to the enterprise. each morning he woke with an appetite for work which seemed to increase rather than diminish. he became so absorbed in his task that everything and everybody became subservient to it. archibald had taken betty abroad; pynsent was in paris; jim corrance had been summoned to new york; david ross still held aloof. so, for six weeks or more, he was undisturbed by the claims of friendship: the only claims at that time which he would have considered.
-but to such a temperament as mark’s, speech is vital. having no one else, he talked with mary. he told himself that mary was a remarkable girl, endowed with a fund of practical common sense upon which he was entitled to draw. mary walked every other sunday, if it was fine, with the young fellow of whom mention has been made. the rest of her time was spent with her mother and in the prosecution of duties which lay within the apple-green palings of her home. mrs. dew kept one servant, a cook; mary worked in the house and in the garden.
-the dews, mother and daughter, knew that mark was a writer. mrs. dew, however, considered literary work not quite "genteel." when mark said to her: "you know, mrs. dew, that i’m an author," she sniffed and replied: "i didn’t think you liked it mentioned."
-it is curious and instructive to trace any friendship to its source. mark had a character in his book not unlike mary. the reviewers of his first novel agreed that mark drew men with a firm touch; his women, on the other hand, were unconvincing, artificial, idealised. it was the most natural thing that he should say to mary in his pleasant, friendly voice: "i s-s-say, honeydew, if you found yourself in such-and-such a quandary, what would you do?"
-mary answered this first question so simply and convincingly that it led to many others. mark ignored her sex, talking to her as he talked to pynsent and corrance.
-"such a lot depends upon the success of this book," he told her. "journalism means bread-and-scrape, at best cakes and ale, but i’m hungering for the nectar and ambrosia of literature. i feel my power with the men, but with the women—i grope. what i don’t know about your delightful sex, mary, would fill an encyclopædia."
-he eyed mary with wrinkled irritability as a type of composite womanhood. after all, he reflected, "judy o’grady and the colonel’s lady are sisters under their skins!" mary was a bridge by which a poor ignorant man might cross the gulf which separates the sexes. the songs of the angels was a love story. he submitted the plot to mary, who confounded him by an apt suggestion.
-"by jove, honeydew, you know all about it. i suppose you’ve had half a dozen lovers?"
-"only albert batley."
-he spared her confusion, but mrs. dew supplied details. albert batley had a nice growing business, as a contractor, in and about weybridge, where houses were popping up like mushrooms in a night. mrs. dew fretfully complained that mary did not know her own mind. albert, it appeared, was quite willing to accept a mother-in-law as a permanent guest, if mary would only accept him. "but naturally i’m not considered," she concluded, in that querulous whine which penetrated so far.
-"now, mrs. dew," mark replied, "that won’t do with me. mary is as good as gold and your faithful slave."
-"she won’t have me long, mr. samphire. i’d like to see her settled, before i die."
-mark had met albert, and been much entertained by him. without wasting time in superfluous verbiage, mr. batley had given mark to understand that he was ready to buy a wedding-ring, not to mention other trinkets, as soon as mary gave him the word. if ever man was deeply, inextricably in cupid’s toils, mr. batley was he. à propos of this mark said one day:
-"you see, honeydew, when a man is in love, he knows it."
-"it works the same way with a woman," said mary. "only more so."
-"eh?" said mark.
-mary explained that a girl really and truly in love was of necessity aware of her condition, because the fermentation, so to speak, took place in the bottle, instead of in the barrel with the bung out. "with men," she concluded, "it often bubbles away."
-mark detected a note of pain.
-"my poor little honeydew," he said, with warm sympathy. "you have suffered. some day you must tell me about it."
-"i cared for a man," she murmured, "who cared nothing for me; but that’s over and done with." then she added, blushing: "albert knows all about it, and he says he doesn’t mind."
-"there’s no chance of the other——"
-"no, no," mary interrupted. "he married."
-"you will make albert very happy," said mark; "and you will be happy yourself."
-"i am happy now," she replied with conviction.
-mark said no more; but mary’s words gave him pause. she called herself happy. happy—in what? only one answer was possible. inasmuch as she had given in fullest measure to others, happiness had been given to her.
-the samphires returned to cadogan place in november. it was now settled that archibald should take the basilica whenever it was finished, but the world knew nothing of this till after christmas, when there appeared paragraphs in the papers controlled by conquest. one of these caught the eye of betty, and she took it to her husband, with the direct question: "are you thinking of leaving st. anne’s?"
-he replied with a certain air of restraint: "yes."
-"my dearest, i can do better work there than here. i had not meant to speak about it to you—yet. lord vauxhall has paid me a very great compliment."
-"what sort of compliment has he paid me? did he ask you to keep so important a matter from your wife?"
-"i so understood him."
-"and your word is pledged?"
-"has he offered you more than you receive here?"
-"we shall be richer by some hundreds a year."
-"i am sorry," said betty, with heightened colour. "lord vauxhall is shrewd. had you seen fit to consult me, i should have implored you to remain where you are. money is no object to you."
-"true. but preferment——"
-"preferment! promotion! that implies service. you have only been here eighteen months. there will be gossip about this."
-"we will say no more about it," said betty; "but i tell you frankly that i am hurt!"
-she turned and left the room. that he should not have trusted her was hard to be borne; yet later she made allowances for him. doubtless, lord vauxhall had insisted upon secrecy. her husband’s sense of honour had closed his lips. she had been unjust, unkind, a disloyal wife. she had even insulted him, hinting that an increase of income had lured him from duty. at this point she bathed her eyes, arranged her hair, and ran downstairs to beg pardon and entreat forgiveness. archibald was magnanimous.
-"you have shown the right feeling, dear betty, which i knew you possessed. i am acting according to my lights."
-next day the rector of st. anne’s wired to mark to come to town; mark replied that he had had a bad bout of influenza, in those days a new and virulent disease. archibald, nervous about his lenten sermons but laughing to scorn the possibility of catching influenza, went down to weybridge in the afternoon. he found mark looking pale and thin, but otherwise in good spirits, and on the high road to recovery.
-"you’re a valiant man to visit me. this confounded disease is so infectious. you laugh? you’ll cry if you get it! i’ve been as weak as a baby. if it had not been for honeydew——"
-he spoke enthusiastically of all his nurse had done for him. archibald nodded absently, turning over in his mind certain possible themes which he wished mark to consider.
-"yes, yes," he interrupted. "she did what she could, i make no doubt."
-"it has; it has. i want to speak to you about that." he paused for a moment, as a smile flickered across mark’s lips. archibald, mark was reflecting, had an axe to grind. he had not left home merely to visit a brother laid by the heels. suddenly his feeling which had flamed grew chill. he listened perfunctorily to some introductory remarks.
-"my lenten sermons are giving me grave anxiety; i find that something out of the common is expected. if you will bear with me, i’ll walk over the—er—course which i’ve marked out."
-"cut along!" said mark.
-archibald winced. mark had no sense of the fitness of things. he spoke at times as if he (the rector of st. anne’s) were a boy in his teens. perhaps a word in season might——
-"à propos," he said, with dignity, "don’t you think, my dear fellow, that it is time for you to put away certain childish—you will pardon the adjective—certain childish expressions. it’s absurd to talk of a man of my weight—’cutting along’...."
-"true! you can stroll if you like, as the placid pecksniff strolled. you have put on weight, archie."
-archibald, indeed, was broader and thicker about the neck and shoulders. he had lost the look of youth; the hair on the top of his head was thinner; his eyes were less clear; his fine skin had become redder and coarser in texture.
-"i carry great burdens," he replied. "perhaps i ought not to ask you to share them."
-mark responded instantly, touched by this unexpected solicitude: "i’m all right."
-"you might come to us for a week. betty will nurse you."
-"that is impossible. i must finish my book."
-"oh, yes—your book. i am looking forward to reading that. but i wish you would turn your talents to something more serious than fiction. i——"
-"shall we talk about your work?"
-archibald smiled, but mark fidgeted and frowned, as carefully culled platitudes fell upon his ear. archibald was indeed strolling placidly down familiar paths to the great festival of christendom. the very name of easter had always quickened mark’s pulses. hitherto he had hastened to the feast, the most joyful of pilgrims. now he was shut out; or rather, the door stood wide open, but he dared not pass it. the ban lay upon him—and upon how many thousands? his imagination flared, revealing a multitude staring with yearning eyes at tables spread for others. archibald, in his silky tones, was enumerating celestial joys. his words flowed like a pellucid stream.
-"what are you smiling at?" he asked abruptly.
-"i beg your pardon," mark replied, "but you remind me of an alderman reciting to a starving mob the names of the dishes to which he and his corporation are about to sit down."
-archibald had wit enough to see and feel the point. he saw, too, that mark was moved.
-"you have an idea. i should like to hear it, although——"
-"although i am without the pale, you would say. archie, if you would descend from your pulpit and walk in the shadows with me for a little while—and if then you could set forth my doubts and perplexities, how many, think you, of your congregation would not say: ’i, too, have wandered in those blind alleys.’ and having pierced the crust of their indifference with your sympathy and insight, if then you could transmit the light which seems to have always blazed on you, this easter would indeed be a day of resurrection to hundreds who now lie cold and dead." he paused, gazed keenly at archibald, and continued: "but you—you cannot do that. you have not trod the wilderness...." he covered his face with his hand.
-"it is true," said archibald, in a low voice, "that i do lack an experience common, i fear, to hundreds of my parishioners. and if i cannot open their hearts, and you can, lend me your key."
-mark was silent. then, as before, the sense that he had envied and hated this once dearly beloved brother made him generous.
-"i will write down and send what is in my mind. no—don’t thank me!"
-he began to talk briskly of other things. presently mary came in and reminded him to take his medicine. archibald had not seen her before. twice during the previous summer betty and he had come to weybridge, but each day had been spent upon the river. mark went into his bedroom, and mary disappeared, to reappear a moment later with a tea-tray. archibald was alone with her for a couple of minutes. she arranged the tea-things with quick, deft fingers, displaying the admirable lines of her figure as she moved to and fro, now standing upright, now bending down. in the soft light of the spring afternoon she looked charming, with the inexpressible freshness of youth and health. archibald addressed her.
-"you are," he was about to say "mary," but changed it to "miss dew."
-"oh, no, i am mary," she replied, smiling. "your brother calls me ’honeydew.’"
-"my brother calls you a ministering angel."
-his soft voice had that fluid quality which percolates everywhere. he meant to be polite, nothing more; he wished to thank a pretty girl who had nursed a brother: but to mary his words had other significance; his glance became an indictment, his tone inquisitorial. without reason, her cheeks flamed. archibald turned aside, murmuring a commonplace. when he looked at her, after a discreet interval, she was composed but pale. she went out of the room and did not return.
-"um!" said archibald to himself, "i must speak to betty about this."
-not, however, till late did he find an opportunity. harry kirtling was dining in cadogan place, and loath to say good-night. the young fellow had crushed a muscle of his leg out hunting, and had come up to london to see a famous surgeon, who prescribed gentle walking exercise and massage. harry complained bitterly of the hardship of spending a fortnight away from his kennels, but was consoled by betty, who promised to entertain him. despite his injury, he looked astonishingly well, and brought with him from cumberland a breezy atmosphere of mountain and moor which betty inhaled gratefully. he had managed to make it plain that he was still her devoted slave—a tribute which the best of women accept without scruple. and he had asked her advice upon a score of matters connected with kirtling.
-when harry had taken his clean, lean body out of her drawing-room, betty turned rather impatiently to archibald.
-"has anything happened? you have been so glum. surely you do not resent my asking harry to dine without consulting you?"
-"harry?" his tone was heavily contemptuous. "harry can waste as much of your time as you like to give him. yes; something has happened."
-he told his story.
-"i don’t believe it."
-"the girl is attractive. her mother, i am told, reckons herself a lady. something must be done. i give you my word that i am not mistaken."
-"i don’t believe it," betty repeated.
-none the less, she did believe it. here again archibald’s voice beguiled her understanding. he had acquired that power, invaluable to a clergyman or a barrister, of making every statement sound as if it were irrefutable fact.
-"i went down to weybridge to see mark on important business, and for a quarter of an hour he sang this girl’s praises. it is obvious that he wished to impress me, to make me see with his eyes."
-"what is she like?" betty asked, shortly.
-archibald described her with a deliberation which annoyed his wife.
-"the girl is very comely, my dear; alluring, many men would call her. a seductive figure—round, but not too plump; the complexion of hebe."
-"that’s enough," said betty.
-"i tried to do the girl justice," replied her husband with dignity. "personally speaking, her type of beauty does not appeal to me, but as a man of the world i cannot deny that it may appeal irresistibly to others!"
-"you call yourself a man of the world," said betty suddenly. "you do not preach to us as a man of the world. if this girl loves mark, if he has made her love him, you ought to be the first to urge him to marry her. from a pagan point of view such a marriage may seem disastrous, but from the christian’s——"
-she confronted him with heaving bosom and flaming eyes. her agitation and excitement amazed him. but he grasped the essential fact that he had blundered, that it might be difficult to retrieve the blunder. he was aware that some of his sermons moved his wife to the core, for she had told him so a score of times. he was also aware, but as yet in less degree, that as mere man he had aroused without adequately satisfying her expectations.
-"if you choose to misinterpret me——" he began.
-"but i don’t choose. i ask you, you the preacher and teacher, to make plain a puzzle which you, not i, have propounded. let us admit what you tell me. heaven knows that mark has lived a lonely and forlorn life. never has he complained to me; but i have guessed, i have felt that—that—beneath the mask he chooses to wear a devil tears him. that devil drove him from the church. well, we know that misery loves company. he has talked to me about this girl. she is a plucky creature, like mark, inasmuch as she faces adversity with a smile. she has a selfish, querulous mother to whom she is devoted. such a girl would appeal to such a man. and now you tell me that she is attractive. it is significant that mark never mentioned that to me. i take back what i said. i believe you are right. mark has learned to love this girl, and she loves him. and what are you going to do about it? and in what capacity? as a man of the world? or as a priest of the most high god?
-"i beg you to compose yourself."
-"you can compose me by telling the truth——"
-"you dare to imply that——"
-"i dare be honest with my husband. i have not been happy for some weeks, and you must have noticed it. sometimes, particularly of late, i look for the man i married, and i find somebody else. let me finish! i am too conscious of my own shortcomings not to be aware that between most husbands and wives lie troubled waters only to be passed by mutual faith and patience. why, happiness is faith; and women, i often think, are on the whole happier than men, because their faith is stronger. a woman can believe in her child, in her husband, in her god. well, as years passed, my faith in god grew dim, and you restored my sight. but now, somehow, i no longer see so clearly. is it my fault or yours? i listen to your sermons, and then i come back to this luxurious house, and somebody tells me that you are persona grata at windsor—that you are sure to be made a bishop, as if preferment were salvation; and——"
-"my dear!" said archibald, "it is late, and i have half a dozen letters to write. you have been talking in an unrestrained manner. you are not yourself."
-he left the room, erect, impassive, master of himself, but not of her. she gazed defiantly after him, clenching her slender fingers. intuition told her that this man was trying to serve god and mammon, but when he came to bed an hour later, she owned herself humbly in the wrong. again archibald was magnanimous, assuring his dearest betty that already he had forgiven and forgotten her offence. the "forgotten" sounded patronising. as if he, with his memory, could forget! she lay awake, perplexed and dismayed, for she knew that mark was still so dear to her that the thought of his caring for any other woman was insupportable.
-second thoughts constrained archibald not to interfere with mark. he told himself that he had been alarmed unnecessarily. mark was in no position to marry a penniless girl; the infatuation—if infatuation had been aroused—would subside, the more quickly, doubtless, if undisturbed. moreover, he was too busy to give affairs other than his own more than a passing thought. four days after the visit to weybridge he received from mark a huge envelope filled with rough notes and suggestions for a course of lenten sermons. with these (and supplementary to them) were a score of sheets of foolscap setting forth the phases of modern unbelief, or want of belief. archibald read this record with a keen appreciation of its dramatic value, but—it would be unfair to suppress the fact—touched to issues higher than those involved in rhetoric. his extraordinary "flair" had not been at fault. mark had given him more than ideas: insight into a human heart. and whatever he saw archibald could describe with emphasis and effect. at once the plan and purpose of his sermons were made clear. he would take infidelity as his theme, and treat it synthetically, putting together all forms of unbelief, and exhibiting them as the root from which evil sprang and flourished. faithlessness was the common denominator of suffering and sin. he remembered what betty had said about happiness in women being dependent on faith, and told her that wittingly or unwittingly she had hit a truth. but if he expected her to hit another, he was disappointed. she said quietly that she had drawn a bow at a venture.
-about this time she paid a visit to weybridge, mark still pleading work as an excuse for not coming to cadogan place. archibald awaited her report with awakened interest. betty told her husband that mark was certainly madly in love—with his heroine.
-"and he tells me," she concluded triumphantly, "that mary, who seems a nice modest girl, is going to marry a mr. batley. when the songs of the angels is sent off to his publisher, he will come to us."
-about mid-lent the novel was despatched to town. after a few days a letter came from mcintyre, accepting the ms. and offering better terms than mark had expected—fifty pounds upon the day of publication and a royalty upon a sliding scale. an american publisher, cyrus otway, who had large dealings with mcintyre’s house, happened to be in england. he offered mark similar terms for the american rights. mark was jubilant, but mcintyre predicted limited sales.
-"it will be well received," he said. "my readers have no doubt on that point, but we do not expect it to be popular. you have an admirable style, but your subject—eh?—is sublimated: over the heads of many. and the story is sad. the public likes a happy ending. other things being equal, the story with the happy ending sells four to one at least. mr. cyrus otway would like to meet you." mark lunched with cyrus otway, and was entertained handsomely.
-"i’ll be frank with you, mr. samphire," said the boston publisher, a thin, pale, carefully dressed man, with a typical new england manner as prim and precise as a spinster’s, and very bright, restless eyes. "this is an experiment on our part—a leap in the dark. our people, sir, know a good thing when they see it. but the difficulty lies in making them see it. have you done any dramatic work? you have not. ah, there’s a goldfield! and, if i may be allowed to say so, i think that you would strike rich ore there. you have dramatic power and a re—markable insight into character...."
-mark repeated this conversation to betty. he was staying at cadogan place and in high spirits. the drudgery of hack-writing no longer impended. already he was in a position to do the work he liked best where and when and how he pleased.
-"a hundred pounds is not much," said betty doubtfully.
-"it will last me a year," said mark.
-meantime, archibald’s lenten sermons were filling st. anne’s every sunday and exciting widespread comment. mark had seen and revised the first three before he left weybridge. the others were prepared and written out under mark’s eye in the comfortable library at cadogan place. the rector of st. anne’s made no scruple of accepting what help his brother could give him. mark honoured all cheques, reflecting that this was a labour of love, which made for his happiness as well as betty’s. it never struck him that he was compounding a moral felony. such knowledge came later; but, at the moment, had any person—lady randolph, for instance—pointed out what he was doing, he would have indignantly (and honestly) repudiated his own actions.
-betty listened to every word of these sermons and told herself she was the wife of an evangelist. none the less, she did not ignore the fact that a sharp distinction lay between archibald as man and archibald as priest. one day she said to mark, "somehow one does not expect a great preacher to lose his temper because the cook has sent up cod without oyster sauce."
-"oh, his little weaknesses ought to endear him to such a woman as you are. he tells us each sunday what a man ought to be, and on weekdays he shows us what a man is. a preacher without his little infirmities would be as uninteresting as—as cod without oyster sauce."
-after easter, mark returned to weybridge. betty missed him so much that she had a fit of nervous depression which lasted two days. she made a resolution to devote herself to parochial work, to begin a course of stiff reading: pamphlets dealing with the better housing of the poor, and kindred subjects.
-mark was now absorbed in writing another novel, and in the correction of proofs. the songs of the angels appeared simultaneously in new york and london upon the first of may. mark wrote to betty that he had never felt in such good health, or more sanguine about the future. he was living in the open air, and had the appetite and complexion of a gipsy.
-archibald, meanwhile, was working hard on committees, hand-in-glove with a ducal philanthropist, whose music-loving duchess declared that mr. samphire had the best tenor voice in the kingdom. in return for this high compliment, the rector of st. anne’s was persuaded to sing at the duchess’s small dinner parties; and this led to a widening of a circle of acquaintance, which now included some very great people indeed. betty found herself dining out three days in the week, and was amazed to discover that her husband enjoyed this mild dissipation. as a celebrity he began to be courted wherever he went, and his photograph embellished certain shops. young women entreated him to write in their albums.
-the world said that chrysostom was a good fellow and still unspoiled, but his wife noted an ever-increasing complacency and compliancy which gave her pause. he had begged her, it will be remembered, to keep at arm��s length certain frisky dames whom she had met at newmarket and monte carlo, when she was under lady randolph’s wing. these ladies were of no particular rank or position. but when lady cheyne, notorious all over europe before and after she married her marquess, called upon mrs. samphire, archibald insisted upon betty returning the call and accepting an invitation to dine at cheyne house. betty protested, but he said blandly: "i have reason to know that lady cheyne is an indefatigable worker in chelsea. she will be a parishioner of ours when we go to the basilica. personally i do not believe half the stories they tell about her."
-"i should hope not," said betty. "if a quarter be true, she is dyed scarlet."
-often she talked to lady randolph, but never with the candour of bygone days. intuition told her that her old friend had no great liking for archibald, although she rejoiced at his success.
-"you were at cheyne house last night," said lady randolph, with the twinkle in her eye which betty knew so well. "i dare swear the dinner, my dear, was better than the company."
-"archie says the dinner was perfection." then she flushed slightly, remembering that her husband ought to know, for he had spared but few dishes. "have you read mark’s new book?"
-"i have," said lady randolph.
-at once betty began to praise the songs. it was to be inferred from her sparkling eyes and eager gestures that mark’s success had become vital to her. lady randolph drew conclusions which she kept to herself. but that night she said to lord randolph: "i saw betty samphire this afternoon. it is as i feared. her parson, the man beneath the surplice, never inspired anything warmer than respect."
-"ay, say you so? dear me—that’s a pity. but there’s stout stuff under the surplice."
-"stout?" lady randolph smiled. "you have hit the word, randolph. stout—and growing stouter. and some of the stuff is—stuffing."
-"my dear, you are severe. who drives fat horses should himself be fat. i have noticed that your good round parson is the most popular; your lean fellow makes everybody uncomfortable. archibald is thought highly of. he is approachable; he has great gifts of organisation; he is liked by nonconformists and roman catholics."
-"no doubt," replied lady randolph impatiently. "in a word he can lunch at lambeth and dine at cheyne house, but i am thinking of betty. a sword impends."
-"you must not peach, mrs. samphire!" cried lady cheyne, turning up her impudent nose.
-for a moment the game was stopped, and those present stared at betty.
-"peach?" echoed harry, who had certainly taken more than his allowance of champagne. "not she! come on, betty, let us venture a sovereign!" he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a five-pound note. "halves?" betty nodded. "when it’s gone, we’ll stop—eh?"
-betty nodded again, beginning to laugh. one of the young men offered her his chair.
-"you play," said harry. "i’m such an unlucky beggar." he pushed the counters which he had received in exchange for his note in front of her. the dealer picked up the pack in front of him, and began to deal. up till then he had won. now his luck deserted him and fell on betty.
-"tapez sur la veine," said harry. "pile it on, betty!"
-by this time betty was sorry she had sat down. in the hope of losing what she had won already, she did pile it on, the banker making no objection. but still she won, and won, and won. and then, in the middle of the noise and laughter, the host walked in—and out! but the expression on his face put an instant stop to the proceedings. the young guardsman, looking exceedingly foolish, pulled out a pencil and began computing his losses to betty.
-"i make it seventy-five pound," he said. "i’ll send it to you to-morrow, mrs. samphire."
-"no, no," said betty.
-"pooh," said harry. "you forget that i’m your partner. we’ll have a spree together with this ill-gotten gold." he laughed, and the others joined in, but betty smiled dismally. all london would be prattling of this escapade within a few hours.
-going home in the brougham she told archibald what had passed. the light inside the carriage was dim, but she felt rather than saw his face stiffen into amazed displeasure.
-"and the duke came in?"
-she understood from his tone that being caught was not the least part of the offence.
-"i have said that i am very sorry."
-"you have made me ridiculous," said archibald in a tone she had not heard from him before.
-"you will make yourself ridiculous," she retorted, "if you take this too seriously."
-he exclaimed hotly: "i would not have had it happen for five hundred pounds."
-the opportunity was irresistible to murmur: "the moral obliquity of it seems to have escaped you."
-"what? you laugh? you sneer? this is too much, too much."
-"much too much," betty answered disdainfully. "i said i was sorry. well, i’m nothing of the kind—now. i’m glad. and i shall play again, if i choose, and back horses, as i used to do, when i was a happy sinner."
-to this archibald made no reply, and betty told herself that she was a shrew. as the brougham stopped she said in a low voice: "archie, i apologise."
-her husband, in a voice colder than liquid air, replied: "i accept your apology, betty, but let me beg that nothing of this sort occurs again."
-conquest looked more enormous than usual in a light grey frock-coat, open in front, revealing a vast extent of white waistcoat. his eyes sparkled keenly beneath the heavy black brows. archibald found himself shirking these piercing eyes, as he explained that his library was filled with a deputation of working men, from whom he had escaped with difficulty. conquest nodded impatiently as archie’s polished periods fell softly upon the air heavy with the heat of summer and the perfume of many flowers.
-"yes, yes," he said; "i’m obliged. i hate to be kept waiting. about this deanery—hey?"
-"i am giving the matter earnest consideration."
-"you can’t afford to take it," said conquest abruptly. "if you go there, you’ll stay there, mark my words! that’ll be the end of you. i told vauxhall you’d too much common sense to chuck him. if it were a bishopric, of course, vauxhall would not stand in the way. i can’t pick my words. and by this time you and i understand each other."
-he spread out his broad, pudgy hands in a gesture familiar to archibald.
-"how did you hear?"
-"it’s my business to hear things. i’ve a hundred eyes and a thousand ears. well?"
-"it’s great preferment."
-"you will be ’mr. dean’ of course. but you’ll be out of sight and out of mind. how did you get this offer? by being on the spot. i’ll say a word more, only you mustn’t give me away. you met the prime minister at belgrave house the other day. my friend, he had heard you preach a certain sermon at westchester, but, by gad! he’d forgotten you."
-"forgotten me?" exclaimed archibald. "why, he came up as soon as the ladies left the dining-room, and was most civil."
-"he can be civil when he likes," said conquest drily. "all the same, he had forgotten your name; he did not know what you were doing. the duchess, who is a capital friend of yours and a good creature although she does sniff, sang your praises for five minutes. and that did the trick. of course, he made inquiries; he satisfied himself that you are a corking good worker and a discreet fellow, and all that, but, bless my soul, aren’t there hundreds of such? lord—yes. but they don’t dine at belgrave house. now, look here, i’ve no time to waste. i came here to do you a friendly turn. you will gain far more than you will lose by refusing this so-called preferment. and i’ll see that your self-sacrifice is duly recorded. trust me for that. you think you’ve made a mark. so you have; so you have; but you must deepen the impression. you’ve a magnificent voice, but, man—it won’t carry four hundred miles. if you want it to be heard by the right people you must preach in a london pulpit."
-"my dear conquest, i really——"
-"pooh, pooh! you don’t like me the less because i talk straight when no one is listening. now—stand and deliver a monosyllable. are you going to chuck vauxhall? yes—or no?"
-"i have no intention of chucking lord vauxhall or anybody else."
-"right. that means no. good-bye. you’ll see a leader in next saturday’s mercury which will warm the cockles of your heart."
-before archibald could reply, conquest was out of the room. for a big man he could move—when he so chose—with amazing quickness and lightness. he disappeared, leaving a vacuum which betty filled. as archibald turned, after ringing the bell for a servant to show out conquest, he saw his wife standing in the window, framed by the ferns and palms.
-"betty!" he exclaimed.
-"why didn’t you kick that—that beast downstairs? i heard what he said. he insulted you. i was asleep outside. his voice woke me. for your sake, not mine, i resisted the temptation to come forward, and—oh, i could have flown at him!"
-her bosom heaved; her eyes sparkled. archibald stared at her dully, wondering what words would meet this emergency.
-"have you nothing to say?" she cried.
-"my dear," he said, "you do not understand."
-"conquest means well. he is our friend; a rough diamond, i grant you, but he means well. he is our friend."
-he repeated the words, sensible that they were inadequate, yet unable to find others.
-"save us from such friends!"
-"i had almost decided to send a refusal."
-"why—why, only last night you were on edge to accept. you gave me a dozen pros against my two or three cons."
-"and perhaps," said archibald, in what betty sometimes called his "antiseptic" manner, "those cons outweighed the pros, although numerically less. conquest takes your view of the matter. he feels that i have undertaken a task here in chelsea, which cannot be abandoned. he——"
-"he tells you to reculer pour mieux sauter," said betty derisively, "to refuse a deanery and accept a bishopric later! he—the apostle of expediency, of diplomacy, of compromise! well—i do not judge him. but he counts you to be of his own opinion. he brands you as a time-server, a worldling, a parasite. and you let him do it—and shake hands with him! and, on next saturday—you will read a leader in the mercury which will warm the cockles of your heart."
-"protest would have been wasted," said archibald. "if you will excuse me, my dear, i will go downstairs. the deputation is waiting for me."
-"one moment," said betty. "i have something to say which must be said—here and now. last night you spoke eloquently enough of that west country and the life we might lead there. and i—i," she faltered and blushed, "i was not honest when i urged you to stay here. i am drifting into the old hateful whirlpool from which i thought i had escaped for ever. i pictured to myself life in a cathedral close—stagnant, dun-coloured, full of uninteresting duties—and i recoiled from it. i smelled that old smell of cleaned gloves at all the parties. i thought of myself, not of you. but now, i beseech you to consider what london means to both of us—to you and to me. and if mr. conquest is right, if your sacred profession is a trade, if great success in it can be achieved only by such self-advertisement as he thinks justifiable, is such success worth having to a christian gentleman?"
-archibald frowned. then, feeling that his powers of speech had returned to him, he answered at length, citing certain prelates whose piety, sincerity, and humility were above reproach. conquest took the worldling’s view. he was more than half pagan, and he posed openly as a scoffer and a cynic. still, he was right in contending that the great places in the church’s gift were held by those whom a wide knowledge of the world had equipped. such knowledge was not to be gleaned in a cathedral close lying in the heart of a sleepy west country town. he hoped that his dearest betty would not misunderstand him when he confessed frankly that he did aspire to the highest positions, not for what they might hold of honour or emolument, but for the power they conferred of doing widespread good to others. warming to his theme, he flooded betty’s perplexed mind with scores of ready-made phrases—phrases laboriously accumulated: stones, so to speak, with which he had fortified his own position.
-"oh—i am muddled, muddled," said betty.
-"i have been muddled myself," her husband admitted. "modern life must perplex and distress the wisest. and all of us at times feel a desire to get out of the hurly-burly. shall i say that last night, feeling worn out and discouraged, i did long for the quiet and peace of that west-country deanery; but this morning—now," he expanded his chest, "i am myself again."
-he smiled assuringly and left the room.
-when he had gone, betty went back to the chair among the ferns and palms. she tried to go over what her husband had said, to look at the matter fairly from his point of view. but the effort was greater than she could compass. she felt as if she had been submerged in a torrent of words, and of these words nothing was left—only a sense of desolation and isolation.
-when she saw mark a few days later, the article in the mercury had been published. conquest was given to boasting that he could "boom" an author with such subtlety that none, not even the man himself, suspected what was being done. the readers of the mercury rose from the perusal of the article in question convinced that a seasonable and well-deserved tribute had been paid to a saintly and self-sacrificing preacher of christ’s gospel. archibald, reading it, was aware that his cheeks, as also the cockles of his heart, were very warm indeed. betty did not read the article. mark, however, was full of it, not knowing that conquest had written it.
-"the truth is," he told betty, "the truth is, betty, that i did not like his acceptance of the basilica. it bothered me a good deal. now this proves plainly that archie is above worldly considerations. not another man of his age would have refused such an offer."
-betty asked for news of the songs.
-of this mark had nothing very encouraging to tell. the book, handsomely received by the press, was in fair demand at the libraries, but less than two thousand copies had been sold. in america as yet it had not, so otway wrote, "caught on." the new novel, a soul errant, was sure to be a success. he talked with animation for half an hour, describing his characters.
-"you live for this," said betty abruptly.
-"do you blame me," he answered quickly, "because i make the most of what is left?"
-"i beg your pardon," she replied.
-later, she inquired after mary dew.
-"she’s having a better time of it," mark declared. "i don’t mind telling you, betty, that i’ve tackled her mother. i told her she was a slave-owner, a despot, and a bully. she took it like a lamb, and things at myrtle cottage are easier, i can assure you."
-"and albert what’s-his-name, who is going to marry your paragon——"
-"albert batley is making money. he has a big building contract near surbiton. he will give honeydew all she wants, and deserves."
-"you know nothing of women, mark."
-"so the critics say—confound ’em; but i tell you, betty, i know a good woman when i see her."
-"there you are; displaying your ignorance. you talk in that foolish masculine manner of good women, as if good women were in a class by themselves, and different from all others. why good and evil are such relative terms that sometimes i can’t tell one from the other."
-"then you’re a miserable sinner, and blind to boot. good, the genuine article, can never be mistaken for evil, although evil, i grant you, may counterfeit good. bless me! i’ve been puzzled a score of times by sinners, but i never mistook a saint."
-"how many have you met?"
-"more than you think," he replied gravely.
-"and where do you place me? among the sheep or the goats?"
-mark wondered why her lips trembled. she looked tired and pale, much paler than usual.
-"what a question!" he said lightly.
-"i’ll answer it myself, mark. i have an extraordinary appreciation of good. there are times when i have soared—yes, that’s the word—into another world. i had dreams, visions if you like, when i was a girl, but the most vivid experience of the kind came upon me unexpectedly—in westchester cathedral, upon the day archie preached his sermon. i grasped something that morning which cannot be described, but it was real substance. i grasped it, and i let it go. since i have wondered what it was. perhaps i—touched—god."
-"ah!" said mark. "go on, go on!"
-she saw that his eyes were shining, that the expression which she had missed from his face since her marriage had come back.
-"go—on," she sighed. "i am going back. can you help me?"
-she turned to him with a pathetic gesture of entreaty. the light faded in mark’s face. he began to stammer.
-"if i c-c-could——"
-"you believed once. and now your faith is gone! why? how? you must tell me."
-in her excitement she laid her hand upon his wrist, clutching it fiercely. he felt that her fingers were burning, that the fire in them was fluid, that in another moment the flame would flare in him, consuming them both. he rose, releasing his wrist with violence.
-"i c-c-can’t tell you that." he moved half a dozen paces from her, before he turned. when he spoke again his voice was quite steady. "faith oozes from some people imperceptibly: there is a steady drain of which they may be unaware, but my faith left me in an instant. it may come back as suddenly. it may be redeemed. i have thought sometimes that faith is god’s franchise which is given freely to all, and taken away from the unworthy. and once taken away, it is never given again, never. it must be ransomed—paid for."
-as he spoke he was aware that at any cost to his own feelings the talk must be turned into safer channels. his first impulse had been one of unreasoning fear and horror. when she touched him, he lost for a terrible moment his self-control. love is a despot whose lightest word may make the bravest coward. seeing her distress, hearing her quavering voice, feeling her trembling fingers, he had divined his own weakness.
-"paid for?" she echoed the words. "how?"
-"by sacrifice," he answered slowly. "by blood sacrifice."
-when he had gone, she went to her room and locked the door. alone, her face flamed with anger against herself. had she betrayed her secret? she could not answer the question. had he spoken coldly, precisely—on purpose? nine women out of ten distrust a man’s works, and have absurd and infantile faith in his words. but betty had had a surfeit of words from her husband. of late, much of her leisure had been wasted in trying to determine their value. archibald’s works were self-explanatory. he was indefatigable as parish priest and philanthropist. such work could be measured; it lay within a circle, say the inner circle of the underground railway. but his sonorous phrases, his dogmas and doctrines, were immeasurable: including this world, past and present, and the world to come. it was natural, therefore, that finding herself compassless in a sea of sentences, she would steer by the light of such fixed stars as frequent communions, charity organisation, the visiting of the sick, and the crusade against alcohol. in a word, she had come to the conclusion that it did not matter very much what a man said, but that what he did was vital to his own welfare and the welfare of others, the true expression of his character and temperament. whenever a woman touches the fringe of such a commonplace, you may be sure that she will watch a man’s actions, the more closely, perhaps, because she has become too heedless of his words. betty had seen mark shrink with a violent effort from her touch; he had kept out of cadogan place during the summer; he had lost faith in revealed religion. what if these effects were to be traced to one cause—herself?
-when she was able to think articulately, pleasure in her discovery was obliterated by pain—the bitter pangs of retrospection. why had she doubted him—and herself? by what irony of fate had she given herself to archibald? but almost instantly she curbed these unavailing regrets. the past was irrevocable. what did the future hold for mark and for her? one thing was certain: they must meet but rarely, perhaps not at all.
-and then ensued a struggle, from which she emerged weak indeed, but triumphant. once again she was conscious of that sense of detachment, of looking in spirit upon the flesh; once again a strange giddiness warned her that only in fancy had she attained to the heights, that the cliffs were yet to be scaled.
-when she met her husband that afternoon a closer observer than he might have detected a tenderness in her voice and manner: the first-fruits of a resolution to do her duty as wife to a good man. that night, when she said her prayers, she thanked god passionately, because she could esteem and respect the rector of st. anne’s.
-in august the archibald samphires moved from cadogan place to a house on the embankment, which belonged to lord vauxhall, and was part of that property which he was so anxious to populate with the "right kind of people." the house faced the thames and contained some charming rooms, which combined the quaintness and fine proportions of the old chelsea houses with such modern luxuries as electric light and radiators. the house in cadogan place had been papered and decorated by a former tenant, whose taste was severely æsthetic. betty abhorred the olive-greens, the dingy browns, the sickly ochres of the burne-jones school. but she had accepted them philosophically, reflecting that houses in london must be repapered and decorated more often than in the country. none the less, she sometimes told herself that certain fits of depression were due to her bilious-coloured walls, and that babbit’s theories, as set forth by the squire’s widow, were worth consideration.
-now she had been given a free hand, at a moment when fashion was changing with protean swiftness from darkness to light. rose-red and yellow, delicate greens, ethereal blues, and white-enamelled woodwork wooed the fancy of housewives. betty told lady randolph that she was no longer a woman, but a colour scheme diffusing prismatic tints.
-"the rainbow after the storm."
-betty glanced up quickly. did her old friend guess that she had passed through a storm? or was it a happy allusion to that frightful bistre-coloured paper in her bedroom in cadogan place?
-"i shall be happy here," she said gravely.
-they were standing in the drawing-room of the new house. the admiral’s chippendale furniture was in its place, delicately revealed against lovely white panelling. the walls were rose-coloured, of a paper whose texture was as that of brocade. the general effect was fresh and joyous: vernal in the delicacy of its tints, without a hint of the bonbonnière. outside, the sun was declining in the west, and the river ran all golden past the trees and meads of battersea park. some barges, laden with hay, were gliding by on the ebb-tide.
-"archie’s room will be ready to-morrow," said betty, "and we ought to be in the day after. you have all pitied me, but i have enjoyed the dead season immensely."
-lady randolph, who was passing through town on her way to scotland from birr wood, nodded understandingly.
-"the room is just like you, betty, and that is the prettiest compliment, my dear, i have ever paid you. and i must say that the dead season has agreed with you. i never saw you look more alive."
-"the fact is," said betty seriously, "i have been setting more than one house in order."
-lady randolph smiled. "i have seen—i have guessed—— ah, well, we wives try to remould our husbands, and the time is not wasted if we succeed in remoulding ourselves. my dear, i must fly. can i give you a lift?"
-betty said that much remained to be done, but after her friend had gone she showed no inclination to set about doing it. instead, she sat by the open window, gazing at the river flowing slowly and silently to the sea. already she had come to regard this as the great waterway of her thoughts. she rejoiced because she was about to live upon its banks; she recognised its suggestion and symbolism, its myriad beauties, its mystery and power.
-at this moment she was reflecting that the thames was a source of pleasure and profit to man, because man, as embodied by the thames conservancy, controlled it. when it burst its banks, the abomination of desolation followed. without the innumerable dams and locks cribbing and confining it, these splendid waters would be wasted. now they percolated everywhere, into hundreds and thousands of homes.
-would it be so with her own life? it ran in a channel other than the one she would have chosen, had choice been given her; it was diverted to uses she had not apprehended; it was likely to be diffused infinitely, trickling here and there, instead of rushing free and untrammelled over a course of its own making. since that memorable interview with mark, betty had accepted the limitations which duty imposed. she had not shirked the trivial tasks of a parson’s wife, albeit she was tempted to spend more time (and money) than was lawful in alluring shops. she had not seen mark alone. she had put from her comment and criticism of her husband: striving to think of the strength that was in him rather than the weakness.
-now she was aware that these efforts had not been made in vain. life had become easier, happier, more profitable to herself and others. she dared to look forward, and refrained from looking back.
-presently she rose up, glanced, smiling, at the pretty room, and leaving it reluctantly went downstairs. archibald was out of town for a few days on duty in the midlands, and by the morrow she hoped that all his furniture would be moved. part had come from cadogan place that afternoon, and, before returning home, she wished to see it placed in the right room. in the hall she met one of the servants, who was acting as caretaker. in answer to a question, the man said his master’s desk had arrived in the van which was leaving. betty entered her husband’s room trying to remember the exact spot where archie wished his desk to stand. it was an immense affair, with a fluted, revolving top, which, when closed, locked itself and all drawers. as she crossed the threshold of the room, she remembered what archibald had said. the desk had been placed in the wrong position.
-"oh, dibdin," she exclaimed, "that will never do. have the men gone?"
-dibdin said respectfully that the van was still at the door, but suggested that the men should move the desk on the morrow. betty, however, was anxious to see how it looked in the place her husband had chosen. so the men were summoned. doubtless, they were tired, and possibly sulky at being called as they were about to drive away. the desk was very heavy and awkward to move; it stood on a rug upon a slippery parquet floor. the men, using unnecessary violence, canted it slightly forward. in the effort to steady it, their feet slipped, the desk fell forward with a crash, and burst open: the fluted lid flying back, and the contents of a dozen pigeon-holes and drawers being scattered over the floor. however, upon examination it was found that no damage had been done. the desk was lifted and placed in the desired position, and the men dismissed. dibdin looked so dismayed that betty laughed.
-"why, dibdin, all’s well that ends well."
-"master is so particular about his desk," said dibdin. he had been with archibald before his marriage. "he’d never allow me to touch his papers."
-"you shan’t touch them now," said betty. "i’ll arrange them, dibdin, before i go home."
-dibdin went out, leaving his mistress sitting on the floor surrounded by notebooks, cheque-books, manuscripts, and all the accessories which usually cover a busy man’s desk. as she began to arrange these, she reflected that the best-laid plans gang agley. archibald had insisted upon locking up everything, and yet, despite precaution—his precious desk had burst open. what a lot of mms. to be sure! and she had not the vaguest idea into what drawers and pigeon-holes they ought to go. archibald had a reasonable dislike of being disturbed when at work, and when he was not at work the huge desk was always locked.
-the words provoked a score of memories. once more she knelt in the chancel of that splendid fane, hearing the flute-like notes of the boy; once more she was conscious of being whirled aloft to ineffable heights. then she dropped to earth as suddenly, with a vivid realisation that if this sermon had never been preached, she would not be here in this house, the wife of the preacher. with this reflection came a desire to read the sermon. she laid it aside, while she finished the work of replacing the other mss. then she closed the desk, and discovered that the lock was hampered. she was wondering whether she ought to seal it, when she remembered that it would be easy to lock up the room. the light was failing, yet the fancy took her that she would like to read her husband’s sermon in her own room, overlooking the river as it flowed to the sea.
-betty unrolled the ms., spread it upon her knee, and began to read. but at the first glance she blinked, as if her eyesight were deceiving her. then with a muttered exclamation of surprise, she held the sheets of blue foolscap to the light, and examined them attentively. the ms., from beginning to end, was in mark’s handwriting. here and there words were interpolated or excised. in the margin were her husband’s notes, but the ms. was mark’s. what did it mean?
-she read it through. yes: as it was written, so it had been preached, and it had been written by mark!
-why had she not guessed as much before? she rolled up the ms., tied it with the red tape which the orderly archibald used, and went downstairs. the only other sermon in mark’s handwriting was the "purity" sermon, but many were covered with his notes. again and again a phrase remembered, a thought treasured—because it revealed the man she had chosen as wise, and noble, and good, and therefore justified that choice and silenced any doubts she might have entertained regarding it—stood out as mark’s. again and again she read some common-place, some compromise, some paragraph which rang false, slashed by mark’s red pencil. once or twice she held up the sheets, examining closely the condemned passages; smiling derisively as she perceived the violence of protest in the broad, deeply indented excoriations. suddenly dibdin appeared, bland but surprised.
-"shall i bring a lamp, m’m?"
-"bring me a basket, dibdin, and then whistle for a hansom."
-she put the sermons into the basket and went back to cadogan place, where a cold supper awaited her. the footman told the cook that his mistress had eaten nothing, but had called for a pint of champagne. the cook expressed an opinion that nothing in the world was so upsetting as a "move"; which turned everything and everybody upside down, and produced "squirmishy" feelings inside. presently betty’s maid went upstairs, and returned with heightened colour. her mistress, so she reported, was as cross as two sticks.
-betty, indeed, was pacing up and down her bedroom in a fever of indecision and unrest. the husband she had honoured was destroyed. the ghost of him inspired repugnance—a repugnance which found larger room in the new house. the pleasure she had taken in furnishing became pain, inasmuch as not a chintz had been chosen without the reflection that she was recovering what was dingy and discoloured in her life, substituting for the old and worn the fresh and new. and now, in the twinkling of an eye, her good resolutions, her hopes and aims, her readjusted sense of proportion—had vanished. she was in the mood to set ablaze that dainty room in which in fancy she had passed so many happy hours, to tear down and destroy the tissues through which she had looked out upon a future as rose-coloured as they.
-she passed a sleepless night, got up feeling and looking wretched, gave her servants certain hasty directions, and drove to waterloo. in her hand she carried a small bag containing the westchester and windsor sermons.
-from weybridge she walked to myrtle cottage, and the exercise brought colour into her cheeks. she was sure that she would find mark in the shelter, so she approached it from the side of the grove, being unwilling to face mary’s clear and possibly curious eyes.
-mark was at his typewriting machine when she saw him, and as usual so absorbed in his task that he never perceived her. betty reflected that he could not have approached her without her being aware of it, but men surely were fashioned out of clay other than what was used for women.
-he sprang up, with a startled exclamation, and came forwards, holding out both hands.
-"what has happened?"
-as he spoke her indignation began to ooze from her. intuition told her that the expression upon mark’s face revealed intense sympathy. her trouble, whatever it might be, had moved him to the core. suddenly, a light flickered out of the darkness. for the first time, she saw herself and him alone together, shut off from the world. it came upon her with a shock that she was glad that mark, not archibald, had written the sermon. only he, the lover of her girlish dreams, could have found the words which had stirred her so profoundly. mark repeated the question, "what has happened?"
-"you wrote this?" she cried, holding out the westchester sermon.
-he nodded, realising the fatuity of denial. for a moment they gazed into each other’s eyes. then she said slowly—
-"you wrote the ’purity’ sermon?"
-"m-m-m-most of it," he admitted reluctantly.
-"you have helped him ever since?"
-"i have revised some of his work."
-"and i never guessed it," she exclaimed passionately. "if i had thought for a moment i must have known that it was you—you—you, not him. oh, my god, i shall go mad! i married him because you—you had tricked him out in a garment of righteousness! had you come forward at the eleventh hour and spoken i should have thanked you and blessed you. why did you hold your tongue—why—why—why?"
-"i thought you l-l-loved him," he stammered.
-"loved him?" the scorn in her voice thrilled his pulses. "i loved what he said, which was yours. why did you not say it yourself?"
-"because," his infirmity gripped him, "i c-c-c-couldn’t." her face softened, and the lines of her figure relaxed.
-"it is my fault," she said, gazing at him through tears; "i ought to have guessed."
-"betty"—he had recovered his self-control, now that she was in danger of losing hers—"betty, i have done you a wrong. i withheld the truth, because truth, faith, love had gone out of my life, blasted by—b-b-by——"
-"by whom?" he paused, and she continued vehemently: "mark, i want the truth. nothing else is possible between us. what killed your faith? you have never answered that question. what changed you from the man you were to the man you are?"
-she recoiled at the grim word, recoiled, too, from the expression on his face.
-"you hated—your brother?" the words fell from quivering lips. he saw that she was about to swoop on the truth he had hidden so long. he was impotent to avert discovery. she came very slowly towards him, her eyes fixed on his. the expression in them bewildered him. she raised both her arms and laid her hands upon his shoulders.
-"you hated him. then you loved—me."
-"always," he answered. "to me you came out of paradise, and brought the best part of it with you."
-"say it again," she whispered.
-"i loved you—always: as child, as boy, as man."
-she smiled piteously. "as child, as girl, as woman i have loved—you. and yet loving me like that you could believe that i loved him. ah, love is blind indeed." she held him with her eyes and hands, speaking softly and quickly: "and because you loved me you gave him what he lacked. that was like you. but did it never strike you that i might find out?"
-"what shall we do now?" she asked.
-above, the song of the pines rose and fell in melancholy cadence. the day was hot, and would become hotter, but here in this sylvan temple the air flowed in cool and fragrant currents. mark was silent, reflecting that always he had known this hour would come. from the moment he had read archibald’s letter announcing his engagement, destiny, with the leer of some hideous gargoyle, had decreed that he should hate his brother and love his brother’s wife. up to the present moment both passions had been controlled and confined. the unforeseen had turned them loose.
-"what shall we do now?"
-she stood before him absorbed in the love which at last had found expression. what else the world might hold for her was not.
-so standing, delicately flushed, but with eyes which neither faltered nor fell beneath his, the daughter of louise de courcy awaited mark’s answer.
-"you are my brother’s wife," he said slowly.
-betty shrugged her shoulders. the gesture, almost piteous in its shrinking protest, moved mark more than any words she had spoken.
-"if—if i asked you, you would come away with me?"
-she nodded, meeting his passionate glance, facing, as he did, the issues involved. her hands moved towards him—timidly, but with unmistakable invitation.
-"betty," he cried, "betty!"
-"ah! you want me. you do want me—you do, you do!"
-"want you?" his voice broke. instantly she had seized his hands, drawing him towards her. he held her firmly—at arm’s length. in that supreme moment he was perhaps stronger than he had been ever before, inasmuch as the faith which once had fortified him was his no longer, and yet without it, believing in nothing, holding in derision god’s law and man’s, he resisted her, because he was counting the cost to her. then, reading his thought, she inclined her head, whispering, "if there is a god, and if he bade me choose between life here with you and life hereafter without you, not being allowed to have both—do you know what i should say?"
-"do not say it," he entreated. his face was so twisted by the consciousness that he was taking advantage of her weakness that she thought he was ill. when he remained rigid, she added gently, "let us go to some place where my love shall make up to you for every pang you have suffered."
-"stop!" he cried hoarsely. "apart from our love, you have not considered what this means: to me, the man, nothing; to you the loss of everything which women hold dear. you must not decide rashly—you—must—take—time."
-she laughed derisively.
-"i will take anything you like, so long as you take me."
-he caught her to him, closing her mouth with kisses.
-betty returned alone to london before mid-day. mark decided to follow by an afternoon train. they had agreed to meet at charing cross, to cross that night to ostend. then, in some remote corner of the ardennes, they expected to make plans for the future. the "move," as betty had pointed out, covered anything that might appear odd to the enlightened dibdin. her divided household would understand that she was going to a friend’s house for the few hours during which her own bedroom furniture was being shifted.
-mark accompanied her to the station, returning home to pack a portmanteau. what doubts he had entertained were dispersed. he swore that he would look forward, never backward, and found himself whistling as he climbed the hill to the cottage.
-in the shelter, the first object that he saw was betty’s handkerchief lying in the corner of a chair. he picked up the small, square piece of cambric and put it to his lips. a faint essence reminded him that fragrance had come again into his life. then he began to arrange his papers. when mary came in to arrange the cloth for luncheon, he told her that he was going away for a few days. she expressed no surprise. why should she? it lay on his tongue’s tip to say: "i have been wretched: now i am going to be happy. let us shake hands!" watching her moving here and there he was sensible of an impatience, an irritability almost impossible to suppress. mary subtly conveyed an impression of protest. he told himself that this was absurd. suddenly her eyes met his.
-"what have i done?" she faltered.
-"why, nothing," he answered.
-"you were staring at me so queerly," she answered. "the business which takes you away is pleasant, isn’t it?"
-he smiled reassuringly.
-"connected with your work, i suppose?"
-her curiosity was natural. he always spoke of his work to her.
-"no," he said shortly. "it is not. i dare say you think that i could not be really keen about anything or anybody outside of my work. if i told you——"
-he closed his lips, wondering why the truth had so nearly leaked from them. his joy had expanded so quickly, that it exacted a larger habitation.
-"i have nothing to tell yet," he said confusedly, "but i may write; you shall hear from me; i shall be frank—with you."
-he fell into a reverie, as she left the shelter. in a minute she returned.
-"there is a gentleman to see you, mr. samphire. shall i bring him here?"
-she handed him a card. a cry escaped mark’s lips.
-the card fell to the ground. for the moment he felt as if some icy finger had been laid upon his heart. he had not seen david since the crask days. and he had told himself that this old friend had held sorrowfully aloof, because he had divined that intercourse between the faithful and the faithless, between christian and pagan, would prove (temporarily at least) inexpedient and abortive.
-"please ask his lordship to come here," he said, frowning.
-mary glanced at his face and withdrew. mark followed her with his eyes as she crossed the pretty garden between the shelter and the cottage. not a cloud, he noted, obscured the soft azure of the skies; upon all things lay the spell of summer.
-"why has he come?"
-instinctively he armed himself for conflict. it was curious that he associated the highlander and his strange powers of second sight with the quiet english mary. the impending fight would be two against one. good would side with good, although evil might array itself against evil.
-these thoughts flitted through his mind as david was advancing. mark, summoning up a smile of welcome, met his friend, who smiled back, extending both hands.
-"mark," he exclaimed, "i am glad to see you. thank god, you’re well."
-"and stronger than i ever was in my life," said mark. "you’ll lunch with me, david. i must go to town this afternoon, but we can have an hour together."
-"i must go to town too," replied david. "you look a different man, mark."
-"i am a different man."
-david followed him into the shelter and sat down, with a puzzled glance at his surroundings. during luncheon both men were conscious of a new and disagreeable sense of restraint.
-"have you another novel on the stocks?"
-david jumped up, eager, vigorous, impetuous.
-"i have come a long way out of my road to ask you a question."
-"ask it," said mark.
-"when are you coming back to us?"
-"can god only be served in cassock and surplice?"
-"you evade my question," said david. "mark, i have had the feeling that you were in trouble: ill, dying perhaps. i—i had to come to you. but i find you a strong man, and "—he glanced round at the pleasant garden—"and wasting time. don’t mistake me! you have been working hard, no doubt, but at work which others can do as well. you have recovered your health and——"
-"the work god intended you to do is being left undone," said david. "why?"
-"if we are to remain friends, david, you had better not press this question."
-"if we are to remain friends, i must. you have resigned a stupendous responsibility—why?"
-"shall we say—incapacity to administer it?"
-"give me the true reason."
-"can’t you divine it?"
-"i have divined it," said david, after a long pause. "you sneer at a gift which is given to few; but you, of all men, ought to know that it has been given to me. and i have divined more. i know that you are on the edge of an abyss which may engulf you and another."
-"you have divined that?"
-the sneer had left him; amazement, incredulity took its place. david must have heard some idle rumour. he asked him at once if it were not so.
-"i have heard nothing."
-"on your oath?"
-"certainly—if you wish it."
-mark paced the length of the shelter; then he turned and approached david, who was watching him. when less than a yard separated them mark stood still and pulled his watch from his pocket.
-"it is now two o’clock," he said. "at half-past six this afternoon i meet the woman i love and who loves me at charing cross. to-night—we leave england—together."
-the relief of speech was immense, but with this, and dominating it, was the fierce desire to confront david with the truth, to invite his arguments, so as to trample on them.
-david said hoarsely: "the woman is your brother’s wife. you—you—mark samphire, the man i thought so strong, will do this shameful thing? impossible!"
-"i’m going to speak plainly, david. for the first and last time i mean to let myself r-r-rip!" he drew in his breath sharply. "you shall see me as i am. i appeal not to the bishop, not to my old friend of the mission, but to a more merciful judge than either—a man of flesh and blood."
-he paused, frowning, trying to compose, to marshal his thoughts. then he began quietly, exercising restraint at first, but using increasing emphasis of word and intonation as he proceeded.
-"you say it is impossible that mark samphire should do this thing. strange! you have intelligence, sympathy, intuition. impossible! oh, the parrot cry of the slave of convention and tradition, of the worshipper of his own graven images, bowing down before them, unable to look beyond the tiny circle wherein he moves and thinks. impossible, you say? impossible for mark samphire to run away with his brother’s wife!"
-"incredible then," ross interrupted.
-"incredible. it’s incredible you should use such a word with your experience. can’t you realise that the same strength which made me struggle up towards what you call good or god is driving me as relentlessly down the other road? i am not the mark samphire of the mission days, but the mark samphire who came from ben caryll knowing that if he had met his brother alone upon that mountain he would have killed him, or been killed by him. and having felt that, do you think i would stick at running away with his wife?"
-his tone was so bitterly contemptuous that ross could only stammer out: "i have never understood why such love as you bore him turned to such hate."
-"let your god answer that question. as man to man i swear to you that my brother’s extraordinary success in everything we undertook together, and my own failure, did not sour me. i grudged him nothing—except her. and i could have let her go to any other. i tell you, david, i’ve been tried too high. the irony of fate has been too much for me. a time comes to the stoutest runner when he falls. then the fellows who have been ambling along behind trot past blandly complacent. they are not first, but they are not last. the man who might have been first is last. i fell at a fence too big for me—and i broke my neck. we’ve said enough, too much, about that, but the fact that i could love as few love ought to be proof to you that my hate would be as strong."
-ross saw that he was trembling violently.
-"if you had written to her——"
-"if? that ’if’ is crucifixion. yes; yes; if i had written one line, whistled one note, held up one finger—she would have come to me. but then hope had scarcely budded. my life was so pitiful, so frail a thing to offer. and, voluntarily, she had engaged herself to him. he had won her, as he had won everything else——"
-"no. not fairly."
-briefly, but in vehement words, mark told the story of the sermons, concluding with betty’s discovery of the truth.
-"and now," he demanded, stretching out his shaking hands, "do you see the real mark samphire? is your finger on the pulse of a poor wretch who tried to do his duty and—here’s the rub, david—who was punished the more heavily on that account? if i had played the world’s game, betty would be my wife. archibald would be still minor canon of westchester."
-ross took the outstretched hands.
-"my poor mark," he murmured.
-"thanks, david; but don’t pity me! i envy no man living. you have listened to my story, patiently. one thing more remains to be said. if betty had not discovered the truth, i could have held aloof from her to the end. on her account, not because she was my brother’s wife, i respected the law. but now," his voice was triumphant, "she wants me. do you hear? she wants me. i’m necessary to her. and because of that, and for no baser reason, i am going to her—to-night."
-ross met his eyes.
-"in a word," said he, "you refuse to protect the woman you love against herself?"
-"once, i should have used that very phrase. what an ocean flows between us, david!"
-"in six months," continued ross, "you and she will be tormented in a hell of your own making. there are men and women, thousands of them, who can steep themselves in the life of the senses. you are not of them, mark, nor ever will be; nor is she."
-mark smiled derisively.
-"she and i," he retorted, "are two of the myriad insects crawling upon one of a million worlds. something within both of us bids us make the most of our hour. we shall do so. you mean well, david, but you rack me—you rack me. go!"
-"so be it," said david.
-as he was turning, mark clutched his sleeve. an expression in david’s eyes—the expression which refuses to acknowledge defeat, which indicates unknown resources—alarmed him.
-"you are not going to archibald," he said hoarsely.
-david’s face was twitching with emotion, but his voice was firm and even.
-"you must know where i am going," he said simply. "i have failed—through my own weakness—as i have failed before, as i shall fail again and again, but i believe that he, whose help i am about to implore, will not fail. you will not leave england to-night."
-when mark looked up the speaker was gone.
-during the next hour preparations for the journey occupied his attention. but after his portmanteau was strapped and a fly had been ordered to take him to the station, nearly an hour remained. mark went into the grove and flung himself at length upon the soft carpet woven by the singing pines. he closed his eyes, invoking the alluring image of betty. instantly she came with outstretched hands and shining eyes, but what the principles of wycliffe have done for england, the principles of savonarola may yet do for italy. at any rate, his work for italy is not done yet.
-december 19, 1902.
-the four chief objects of interest at pisa are all in a group at the northern end of the town, and a wonderfully effective group it is: the cloistered cemetery, or camp santo, with its fifty-five shiploads of earth from the holy land; the baptistery, with its remarkable echo; the cathedral, with the pendent lamp in the nave which suggested to galileo the idea of the pendulum; and that wonder of the world, the white marble tower, which leans thirteen feet out of the perpendicular. we all tried in vain to stand with heels and back to the inside of the north wall on the ground floor--it cannot be done; one falls forward at once. from the top there is a magnificent view of the city and the surrounding plain, of the mountains on the east and the sea on the west, of the city of leghorn and the island of elba.
-from the windows of our hotel at pisa we saw for the first time the red gold of ripe oranges shining amid their dark green leaves in the gardens, and rejoiced to think that at last we had reached a somewhat milder climate, and were now leaving rigorous winter behind us.
-the journey from pisa to rome is a long one, and the schedule was such that we did not arrive till late at night. from the car windows we had some impressive views of the mediterranean by moonlight, and of the solemn campagna, and, thus prepared, we crossed the tiber at midnight, and passed through the breach in the walls which has been made for the railway, feeling, perhaps even more deeply than is usual, the thrill with which all travellers except those who are utterly devoid of imagination first enter the eternal city.
-some little adventures by the way.
-december 21, 1902.
-the margin of leisure left to a traveller in europe for the writing of letters is, after all, a very narrow one, as those of my readers who have been abroad will readily remember. one generally moves from place to place in such rapid succession that the feeling of being settled, which is essential to the most satisfactory writing, is almost unknown. then, when one does stop for a few days in a historic city, each day is so full of interest, and the golden opportunity to see its sights seems so fleeting, that one hesitates to take any part of such time for writing, to say nothing of the weariness and drowsiness of an evening that follows a day of sightseeing.
-add to this the amount of time required of one who acts as general director of the tour, and has to take account of all manner of business details, and the number of questions to be answered when there are three or four young people in the party who have read just enough general history to make their minds bristle with interrogations at every interesting place, and who have to be read to daily en masse on the spot in order to improve the psychological moment of excited curiosity; add also the physician's injunction to take abundance of exercise in the open air, in order to the full recovery of health and the laying up of strength for future work, and his earnest counsel not to linger much at a writing desk or a study table--and it will be seen that if the continuity of this series of letters suffers an occasional break, it is but the natural result of the conditions of tourist life.
-it may interest some of my younger readers to know that the member of our party who receives the most attention is a little blue-eyed girl, just two years old to-day, who is the most extraordinary traveller of her age that i ever saw or ever heard of, accepting all the irregularities, inconveniences and discomforts of this migratory mode of life with the serene indifference of a veteran. we naturally supposed that, being so young, she would give us more or less trouble on so long a journey, and this proved to be true on the cold and rough sea voyage, but, from the day that we landed on this side of the ocean, she has been a delight to our whole party, a maker of friends wherever we have gone, and an immensely interesting object to the populace of the cities through which we have passed. at leyden, in holland, as we passed along the streets, we were followed all over town by an admiring throng of dutch children, just out of school, to whom our baby's bright red coat and cap were no less interesting than their wooden shoes were to us; and so we found out how the elephants and monkeys and musicians and other people who make up the street parade of a circus may be supposed to feel when they pass through a town followed by the motley gang of school boys, ragamuffins, and general miscellanies of humanity.
-at wiesbaden, in germany, we bought one of those odd little german baby carts with two wheels and two handles, like plow handles, between which the person who pushes it walks, the baby really riding backwards, instead of forwards, as in our american baby carriages. you will see from this description that german baby carriages are like the german language--all turned the wrong way, though it must be said for this arrangement that the baby is not so likely to be lonesome as when riding face forward, since she always has some one to look at. well, at venice, which is almost a dead town now, so far as business is concerned, and which has perhaps as large a leisure class--that is, street loafers--as any city of equal size on this terraqueous planet, a lady of our party essayed to take the baby out for an airing in her german cart. it would appear that it was the first time since the foundation of that pile-driven city in the sea that a pair of wheels was ever seen on her streets. at any rate, from the moment that the lady and the baby and the cart emerged from the hotel door they were attended by an ever-increasing throng of unwashed venetians, whose interest could not have been keener had santos dumont's air-ship or a japanese jinriksha suddenly appeared in their gondola-ridden town, and who commented in shrill italian on this wheeled apparition. the lady is not easily beaten when she decides to do anything, but, after standing that for half a block or so, she made a hasty retreat to the hotel, and wheels disappeared, probably forever, from the streets of venice.
-although venice, with its population of one hundred and sixty-three thousand, is seven miles in circumference, and is divided by one hundred and forty-six canals into one hundred and seventeen islands, yet these are so joined together by means of four hundred bridges that it is possible to walk all over the city. but the bridges are built in steps, and cannot be used by wheeled vehicles. there are no horses or carriages of any kind. the funereal-looking gondola, always painted black, is the only conveyance upon these streets of water, and does duty for cab, omnibus, wagon, cart, wheelbarrow and hearse. it is used for pleasure riding, shopping, church-going, theatre-going, visiting, carrying prisoners to jail, carrying the dead to the cemetery--in short, for everything.
-in propelling this black but graceful and easy-going boat, the gondolier does not sit. he stands, on a sort of deck platform towards the stern, and to balance his weight there is affixed to the prow a heavy piece of shining steel, which rears itself at the front almost like a figure-head, only this is always of the same pattern, simply a broad, upright blade of steel, notched deeply on the front edge. the gondolier does not pull the oar, he pushes it--there is only one oar--and he does not change it from side to side, as in paddling a canoe, but makes all the strokes on one side, a thing that looks very easy, but is in fact extremely difficult. the dexterity of these men with their long single oar is wonderful. they glide in and out among scores of gondolas on the crowded canals without collision or jerking, and they turn a corner within an inch.
-these remarks upon the skill of the gondoliers, and the ease and safety of the gondolas, remind me, by contrast, of the destructive bungling of a porter in cologne, who undertook to cart a load of trunks and handbags and shawl-straps down from our hotel to the rhine steamer, and who, in turning a corner on a down grade, made the turn too short, and hurled the whole lot of our belongings into the muddy street with such violence that many of them were defaced, some permanently damaged, and one valise broken to pieces and utterly ruined.
-that german baby carriage had an exciting adventure also on the night of our arrival in rome. as usual, it was made the apex of the pyramid of trunks and grip-sacks which constitute our sign manual, so to speak, on the top of every omnibus that takes us from the station to the hotel; but in this instance it was carelessly left untied, so that as we went steeply down one of the seven hills of rome, the cart tumbled from its high perch to the stone-paved street, snapping off one of the handles, and suffering sundry other shattering experiences. a few days after we had the pleasure of paying a fraudulent cabinetmaker more for repairing it than it cost in the first instance. the italian workmen and shopkeepers uniformly charge you more than their work and goods are worth. i think i have had more counterfeit money passed on me in the short time i have been in italy than i have had in all the rest of my life before, and the very first swindle of this kind to which i was subjected was in a church, when the sacristan gave me a counterfeit two-franc piece in change as i paid the admission fees to see certain paintings and sculptures behind the high altar.
-however, i am wandering from my subject; i may conclude my eulogy on the baby above mentioned by saying that, young as she is, she sits through the seventy or eighty minutes of the customary tedious european dinner almost as circumspectly as a graven image might, but reminding us of one of raphael's cherubs in her blue-eyed combination of sweetness, archness and dignity.
-next time we will resume our account of matters of more general interest.
-relics in general, and the iron crown of lombardy in particular.
-rome, december 23, 1902.
-i had heard of relics before. years ago i had read mark twain's account of the large piece of the true cross which he had seen in a church in the azores; and of another piece which he had seen in the cathedral of notre dame in paris, besides some nails of the true cross and a part of the crown of thorns; and of the marble chest in the cathedral of san lorenzo at genoa, which he was told contained the ashes of st. john, and was wound about with the chain that had confined st. john when he was in prison; and of the interesting collection shown him in the cathedral of milan, including two of st. paul's fingers and one of st. peter's, a bone of judas iscariot (black, not white), and also bones of all the other disciples (presumably of the normal color), a handkerchief in which the saviour had left the impression of his face, part of the crown of thorns, a fragment of the purple robe worn by christ, a picture of the virgin and child painted by st. luke, and a nail from the cross--adding in another place that he thought he had seen in all not less than a keg of these nails.
-but i had hardly taken mark twain seriously in these statements, not knowing at the time that his innocents abroad was, notwithstanding its broad humor, really one of the best guide-books to europe that was ever written.
-i had read repeatedly the story of the bringing of st. mark's bones from alexandria, in egypt, to their present resting-place in st. mark's cathedral at venice--a story which is related as follows in that same lively volume:
-"st. mark died at alexandria, in egypt. he was martyred, i think. however, that has nothing to do with my legend. about the founding of the city of venice--say four hundred and fifty years after christ--(for venice is much younger than any other italian city), a priest dreamed that an angel told him that until the remains of st. mark were brought to venice, the city could never rise to high distinction among the nations; that the body must be captured, brought to the city, and a magnificent church built over it; and that if ever the venetians allowed the saint to be removed from his new resting-place, in that day venice would perish from off the face of the earth. the priest proclaimed his dream, and forthwith venice set about procuring the corpse of st. mark. one expedition after another tried and failed, but the project was never abandoned during four hundred years. at last it was secured by stratagem, in the year eight hundred and something. the commander of the venetian expedition disguised himself, stole the bones, separated them, and packed them in vessels filled with lard. the religion of mahomet causes its devotees to abhor anything in the nature of pork, and so when the christian was stopped at the gate of the city, they only glanced once into the precious baskets, then turned up their noses at the unholy lard, and let him go. the bones were buried in the vaults of the grand cathedral, which had been waiting long years to receive them, and thus the safety and the greatness of venice were secured. and to this day there be those in venice who believe that if those holy ashes were stolen away, the ancient city would vanish like a dream, and its foundation be buried forever in the unremembering sea."
-more recently i had read of what has been well called the burlesque enacted at arundel castle no longer ago than in july, 1902, in which the duke of norfolk, cardinal vaughan, and many lesser ornaments and dignitaries of the romish church, took part.
-i had read with cordial approval mark twain's animadversions upon the fraud which is regularly practiced on the people of naples by the priests in the cathedral:
-"and here, also, they used to have a grand procession of priests, citizens, soldiers, sailors, and the high dignitaries of the city government, once a year, to shave the head of a made-up madonna--a stuffed and painted image, like the milliner's dummy--whose hair miraculously grew and restored itself every twelve months. they still kept up this shaving procession as late as four or five years ago. it was a source of great profit to the church that possessed the remarkable effigy, and the public barbering of her was always carried out with the greatest éclat and display--the more the better, because the more excitement there was about it the larger the crowds it drew and the heavier the revenues it produced--but at last the day came when the pope and his servants were unpopular in naples, and the city government stopped the madonna's annual show.
-"there we have two specimens of these neapolitans--two of the silliest possible frauds, which half the population religiously and faithfully believed, and the other half either believed or else said nothing about, and thus lent themselves to the support of the imposture."
-i had read the story of the casa santa, or holy house, the little stone building, thirteen and one-half feet high and twenty-eight feet long, in which the virgin mary had lived at nazareth. in 336 the empress helena, mother of constantine the great, made a pilgrimage to nazareth and built a church over the holy house. this church fell into decay when the saracens again got the upper hand in palestine, and when the christians lost ptolemais the holy house was carried by angels through the air from nazareth to the coast of dalmatia. this miraculous transportation took place in 1291. a few years later it was again removed by angels during the night, and set down in the province of ancona, near the eastern coast of italy, on the ground of a widow named laureta. hence the name, loretto, given to the town which sprang up around it for the accommodation of the thousands of pilgrims who flocked thither, and which is now a place of some six thousand inhabitants, whose principal business is begging and the sale of rosaries, medals and images. in a niche inside the casa santa is a small black image of the virgin and child, of cedar, attributed, of course, to st. luke. we did not visit loretto, but at bologna we had the satisfaction of seeing a fac-simile of the casa santa, with its little window and fireplace, and the replica of st. luke's handi-work in the niche above. a large number of women, some of them handsomely dressed, were saying their prayers and counting their beads before the altar that had been erected in front of these images and the holy house, and a few were kneeling in the narrow space behind the altar, close to the fireplace of the house. as we passed, one of these women, in plainer garb, interrupted her devotions long enough to hold out her hand to us, begging for pennies, but without rising from her knees. there was nothing unusual about this, except that this beggar made her appeal to us while actually on her knees to the image of the virgin, for nothing is more common in italy than for visitors to a roman catholic church to pass through such "an avenue of palms" when leaving it.
-i had even seen a few relics, not mere reproductions like that of the casa santa at bologna, but the relics themselves. for instance, three summers ago, when in quebec, i had made a special trip to the church of st. anne beaupre, some twenty miles below the city, for the purpose of seeing the wonder-working relics of st. anne, the alleged mother of the virgin mary--a bit of her finger bone and a bit of her wrist bone--which are devoutly kissed and adored by thousands of pilgrims to this magnificent church from all the french and irish portions of canada, and which are said to have wrought miraculous cures of all manner of maladies, cures which are attested by two immense stacks of canes, crutches, wooden legs, and the like, which rise from the floor almost to the roof on either side of the entrance. in the store in another part of the church i had got a clue to it all by seeing the poor pilgrims buying all sorts of cheap, tawdry, worthless little images and pictures, and especially little vials of oil of remarkable curative virtue because it had stood for a while before the image of st. anne, and for which they paid probably five times as much as the oil had cost the priests who were selling it.
-these, then, are potent bones and images and oils, but by far the most interesting relic i had seen before reaching rome itself was the iron crown of lombardy, at monza, a little town in northern italy. this is the place where the good king humbert was assassinated on the 29th of july, 1900, and it is not without interest for other reasons. for instance, it has a cathedral built of black and white marble in horizontal stripes, and containing, besides the tomb of queen theodolinda and other interesting objects in the nave and its chapels, a great number of costly articles of gold and silver, set with precious stones, in the treasury, as well as various relics, such as some of the baskets carried by the apostles, a piece of the virgin mary's veil, and one of john the baptist's teeth. but we should never have made a special trip to monza in such weather as we were having at the time of our visit, last november, had it not been for our intense desire to see its chief treasure, the iron crown, the most sacred and most celebrated diadem in the world, a relic possessing real historical interest, not because of any probability whatever in the story of its origin, but because of the extraordinary uses and associations of it within the last thousand years.
-so, regardless of the wet, cold, foggy weather that we found in milan, and the rivers of mud and slush that were then doing duty for streets, and the splotches of snow that lay here and there in the forlorn-looking olive orchards, we took the electric tram, which was comfortably heated, and ran out to monza, a distance of some ten miles. when we stepped into the chilly cathedral and looked about us, we could not at first see anybody to show us around, though there were a good many poor people saying their prayers there. evidently the custodians were not expecting tourists at such a season and in such weather. but presently, in an apartment to the left, we found a number of the priests warming their hands over a dish of twig coals covered with a light layer of white ashes, which they kindly stirred a little to make them give forth more heat as they saw us stretch our cold hands also towards the grateful warmth.
-when we asked if we could see the iron crown, they said we could; but instead of going at once to the chapel in which it is kept, they got a great bag of keys, large keys, thirty-seven in number, as the observant statistician of our party ascertained, and led us into the treasury and unlocked a great number of doors (one of which had seven locks), and showed us the costly objects and precious relics above mentioned. we were only mildly interested in these--even in the apostolic baskets, the virgin's veil, and john the baptist's tooth--partly because we were so cold and partly because of our greater interest in the more famous relic which we had come especially to see.
-at last one of the priests, attended by an acolyte, took up a censer, placed a little incense on the coals with a teaspoon, and, swinging it in his hand by the chain, led us back into the cathedral, turned to a chapel on the left, unlocked an iron gate in a tall railing which separated this chapel from the body of the building, closed the gate again when our party had come inside, and, while a dozen or so of the people who had been at their devotions crowded up to the railing and peered curiously through, he and his attendant began to kneel repeatedly before the altar and to swing the smoking censer on every side. above the altar was a strong, square steel box, over which, in plain view, was suspended a fac-simile of the iron crown, made of cheaper materials, while the real crown was still concealed within the steel safe.
-handing the censer to his attendant, that it might be kept swinging without intermission, the priest produced another series of keys and proceeded to unlock a succession of small doors in the side of the metal safe, which proved to be a "nest" of caskets, one within another, the last of which was a glass case. drawing this out, he brought into full view the venerated crown of the lombard kings, and told us to step up on the stool by the altar so as to see it better. it is made of six plates of gold, joined end to end, richly chased, and set with splendid jewels. but one would see at a glance that neither the material, nor the workmanship, nor the gems, could account for the unique reverence with which it has been regarded for centuries, and an indication of which we had just seen in the service conducted by the priest. among the regalia in the tower of london, and at several other places in europe, we had seen crowns which far surpassed this one in costliness and beauty, but none of which, nor all of which combined, had ever excited a thousandth part of the interest attaching to this old crown in monza.
-the explanation is this: within that ring of jointed plates of gold runs a thin band of iron, which priestly tradition says was made of one of the spikes that fastened the feet of our lord jesus christ to the cross. it was this band of iron that we tiptoed to see, hardly noticing the bejewelled rim of gold around it. it was on account of this band of iron that the priest and his attendant swung their censer and performed their ceremony as we entered. it was this band of iron that gave to the crown its sacred place above the altar. it was for the safe keeping of this band of iron that the steel case, with its numerous locks, was made. it was from this band of iron that the diadem received its name, the iron crown of lombardy.
-and what were the historical uses of it, referred to above, which made it so much more interesting to us than the many other so-called nails of the true cross elsewhere? well, this among others: on the last christmas day of the eighth century, while charlemagne was kneeling with uncovered head before the high altar of st. peter's in rome, the pope approached him from behind, and, placing the iron crown of lombardy on his head, hailed him as emperor of the holy roman empire.
-a thousand years later on the 26th of may, 1805, napoleon bonaparte, "watched by an apparently invincible army which adored him and a world which feared him," standing in the vast marble cathedral at milan, with fifteen thousand of his soldiers around him, lifted this same iron crown of lombardy into their view, and placed it upon his brow, saying, "god has given it to me, let him touch it who dares!"
-that men who, like charlemagne and napoleon, had reached the highest pinnacle of human power, should seek to enhance their influence by crowning their heads with one of the nails which, as their followers believed, had pierced the galilean's foot, is a richly suggestive fact. but we must keep our tempted thoughts to another and less edifying line at present.
-when we had examined all the parts of the famous crown to our satisfaction, we stepped to the desk in the ante-room and paid our five francs (one dollar), the regular price for the exhibition of the iron crown, then left the cathedral, bought one or two post-card pictures of the crown, and took the tram through the dreary weather back to milan, well pleased with the results of our first pilgrimage to the shrine of a real roman catholic relic in italy.
-but on our arrival at rome, a month later, we found that, interesting as were the relics which we had seen or read of elsewhere, they were nothing to those in the eternal city itself. in this, as in everything else except such little matters as cleanliness and morality and truthfulness and honesty, rome outvies all her rivals. it is only fair to add, however, that, since the overthrow of the papal sovereignty and the establishment of a capable government, rome has improved immensely in the matter of cleanliness, and even her immorality is not so flaunting as it was. this is attested by the hon. guiseppe zanardelli, the present premier of italy, who says:
-"the church appears better than it once was. i no longer see in rome what i used often to see in my young days, ladies driving about its streets with their coachmen and footmen in the liveries of their respective cardinals. has this improvement come about because the church is really growing better? nothing of the kind. it is because the strong arm of the law checks the villainy of the priests." that is the testimony of the prime minister of italy.
-a few weeks after my return from italy, while driving one afternoon with a friend of mine, a lawyer of high intelligence and wide information, our conversation turned to the subject of the recent death of pope leo xiii., and from that drifted to the alleged liquefaction of the blood of st. januarius, and from that to relics in general. i mentioned some of the facts above stated concerning the numerous pieces of the true cross and the miracle-working bones and oils to be seen in roman catholic churches in europe. "but," he said, "surely the roman catholics in america do not believe in such mediæval superstitions." i happened to have in hand a couple of copies of a daily newspaper, published in one of our southern towns, dated august 9, 1903, and august 17, 1903, respectively, containing extracts from the letters of a roman catholic bishop, the highest dignitary of his church in that state; and, for answer to my friend's remark, i cited the following passage from the bishop's letter of july 10th, written from munich, concerning the abbey church of scheyern:
-"the chapel of the holy cross is specially sacred, as within is preserved a very large piece of the true cross upon which christ was crucified, brought to scheyern in 1156 by count conrad, the crusader, who afterwards entered the monastery as lay-brother, and lies buried near the altar upon which the sacred relic is preserved."
-also the following passage from his letter of july 12th, written from eichstadt:
-"i remained the guest of prince ahrenberg for the night, and early in the morning, accompanied by some benedictine students, i made a pilgrimage to the shrine of st. walburg. above the altar is the large silver receptacle into which flows the miraculous oil from her sacred relics, which is known the world over."
-writing from vienna, july 20, 1903, concerning the imperial palaces, he says, "they are awfully big and grand, and cost a lot of good people's money," but adds that "the pride and glory of vienna" is the cathedral, and then exclaims: "how often have i wished we could have some such church in ----, so that our good people who cannot visit the achievements of catholic life in europe could form some idea of the greatness of the religion of their fathers!"
-one hesitates to differ from so good an authority on such matters as this bishop, but really would he not agree, on reflection, that what this benighted and decaying country of ours needs to bring it up to a level with italy and austria and spain is not a big church, but some relics? would not some miraculous oil, or some wonder-working bones, or a piece of the true cross, or one of the nails, if placed on exhibition here attract far more attention than a big church, and enable "our good people who cannot visit the achievements of catholic life in europe" to form a much better "idea of the greatness of the religion of their fathers"? does it not seem strange that so many hundreds of these relics should be kept in those enlightened and happy countries like italy, where "the achievements of catholic life" are so well known, and where mother church has for centuries had full sway, and that none of them should be brought to these benighted protestant regions, where they could effect such a salutary change in the faith of the people? but, seriously, as i added to my friend in the conversation referred to, i have a better opinion of the intelligence of our good roman catholic people in america than to believe that they put the slightest credence in these childish superstitions. whatever the bishop above quoted may believe, i am confident that the intelligent roman catholic people of our country have no more faith in many of these alleged relics than we have.
-roman catholic relics at rome.
-we reached rome at a good time for seeing relics, as the special services of the christmas season were just beginning. one of the most splendid of these ceremonies is the procession in honor of the santa culla; that is, the cradle in which the priestly tradition says the infant jesus was carried into egypt. this is the great relic and chief distinction of the church of santa maria maggiore, though it contains a number of others, such as the bodies of st. matthew and st. jerome, and two little bags of the brains of thomas á becket, and "one of the pictures attributed to st. luke (and announced to be such in a papal bull attached to the walls!), much revered for the belief that it stayed the plague which decimated the city during the reign of pelagius ii., and that (after its intercession had been sought by a procession by order of innocent viii.) it brought about the overthrow of the moorish dominion in spain."
-moreover, this church of santa maria maggiore is by no means lacking in legendary and architectural interest. it was founded a. d. 352, by pope liberius and john, a roman patrician, to commemorate an alleged miraculous fall of snow, which covered this spot of ground and no other, on the 5th of august, and an alleged appearance of the virgin mary, in a vision, at the same time, showing them that she had thus appropriated the site of a new temple, all of which is duly represented in a fine painting on the wall of the church, and in two of murillo's most beautiful pictures in the academy at madrid, and commemorated every year on the 5th of august by a solemn high mass, and by showers of white rose leaves thrown down constantly through two holes in the ceiling, "like a leafy mist between the priests and the worshippers."
-the worshippers of the virgin have not been lacking in their efforts to erect a suitably sumptuous building on the site of this "miracle." the magnificent nave, with its avenue of forty-two columns of greek marble, surmounted by a frieze of mosaic pictures; the glorious pavement of opus alexandrinum, whose "crimson and violet hues temper the white and gold of the walls"; the grand baldacchino, with its four porphyry columns wreathed with gilt leaves; and the splendid tomb chamber of pius ix. (predecessor of the late pope leo xiii.), with its riot of rich marbles and alabaster, in front of the high altar--to say nothing of the almost incredibly costly chapels opening into the nave--combine to give s. maria maggiore a proud place among the very finest of the fine basilicas of rome.
-but not all the splendors of the building, nor all the fascination of its "miracles" and legends, nor all the spell of its other relics, can equal the interest attaching to the "santa culla," the holy cradle. on the afternoon of christmas day, we walked through the wet streets to the front of the church, pushed back the heavy, dirty screen of padded canvas, such as hangs at the door of every great church in italy, however fine, and, stepping within, found ourselves in the midst of a scene of the most dazzling splendor. the building was brilliantly illuminated with hundreds of electric lights and huge candles, which were sharply reflected by the glistening marbles on every hand; the air was heavy with clouds of incense, through the blue smoke of which the lofty ceiling looked higher than ever, and the organ and choir were pouring forth the richest music, while a dense crowd of people, many thousands, all standing, watched with eager interest a small, crate-like object, made of slats of dark wood, which rested on the high altar, enclosed in a glass case, with a gold baby on top and gold ornaments round about.
-we pushed our way through the crowd, so as to get a satisfactory view of it while the service was in progress--the genuflections, the robing and disrobing of the archbishop, the chanting, and the rest--after which six men, dressed in pure white from head to foot (white gloves included), except for a red circle and cross on the breast, knelt before the cradle, then lifted it from the altar, with its gold and glass setting, and placing it on a kind of litter on their shoulders, under a gilt and white canopy borne by other attendants, marched with it thus, in procession around the church, along with a large crucifix under another canopy, and followed by a long line of cardinals, bishops, priests and acolytes, carrying it back finally to its place in the sacristy, where it will remain till next christmas day.
-we squeezed our way through the great crowd at the door, and walked back to our hotel, wondering to what extent the usual roman catholic conception of christ had deprived that organization of real spiritual energy; for, almost invariably, roman catholic art represents him either as a dead christ on the cross, or a babe in his mother's arms, and hardly ever as the risen and glorified lord, the conqueror of death, the leader of his people, to whom all power is given in heaven and on earth--the more usual protestant conception. and we asked ourselves whether this difference did not help to explain the greater hopefulness, vigor and growth of protestant christianity in these strenuous latter days.
-but we were soon to learn that the roman catholics did not think of the infant christ as lacking in power of a certain sort; on the contrary they ascribe miraculous agency even to an image of the divine babe. on the afternoon of december 29th, as two of our party were returning to our hotel, they passed at the foot of the capitoline hill a carriage, out of the window of which hung a ribbon or sash of cloth of gold, and they were not a little astonished to observe that, as this carriage rolled along, people knelt reverently before it on the street. inside they saw two bareheaded men holding a child on a pillow with a wealth of lace about it. they thought perhaps it was the royal carriage with the baby princess, but they could not imagine why men should be nursing the baby, as that is usually the employment of women, nor why the people should kneel so reverently before the young princess, a thing which they never did even for the king himself. the fact is that, as they learned on the following afternoon when visiting the church of ara coeli, on the capitoline hill, the carriage in question belonged to a far more important personage in rome than any princess, though that personage was not even a living baby, but only a doll. it was the coach of the famous bambino--il santissimo bambino--which with its dress of gold and silver tissue and its magnificent diamonds, emeralds and rubies, is the chief attraction of this church.
-dr. alexander robertson, in his book on the roman catholic church in italy, says: "the bambino is a doll about three feet high, and it stands on a cushion in a glass case. it is clad in rich robes with a crown on its head, a regal order across its breast, and embroidered slippers on its feet. from head to foot it is one mass of dazzling jewelry, gold chains, strings of pearls, and diamond bracelets and rings, which not only cover the neck, arms and fingers, but are suspended, intermixed with crosses, stars, hearts, monograms, and every kind of precious stone, to all parts of its body. the only part unweighted with gems is its round, priest-like, wax face. but all this display of wealth, great in itself, is really only suggestive of that untold quantity which it has brought, and is still daily bringing, into the coffers of the church. people are continually kneeling before this dumb idol, offering petitions and leaving gifts, whilst letters containing requests, accompanied with post-office orders and checks to pay for the granting of the same, arrive by post for it from various parts of the globe."
-hare's walks in rome gives the following account of the bambino and one of its most remarkable experiences:
-"it has servants of its own, and a carriage in which it drives out with its attendants, and goes to visit the sick; for, though an infant, it is the oldest medical practitioner in rome. devout peasants always kneel as the blessed infant passes. formerly it was taken to sick persons and left on their beds for some hours, in the hope that it would work a miracle. now it is never left alone. in explanation of this, it is said that an audacious woman formed the design of appropriating to herself the holy image and its benefits. she had another doll prepared of the same size and appearance as the santissimo, and having feigned sickness and obtained permission to have it left with her, she dressed the false image in its clothes, and sent it back to ara coeli. the fraud was not discovered till night, when the franciscan monks were awakened by the most furious ringing of bells and by thundering knocks at the west door of the church, and hastening thither, could see nothing but a wee naked pink foot peeping in from under the door; but when they opened the door, without stood the little naked figure of the true bambino of ara coeli, shivering in the wind and rain--so the false baby was sent back in disgrace, and the real baby restored to its home, never to be trusted away alone any more."
-but if i dwell on all these interesting relics and images as i have done on the holy cradle and the miraculous bambino, i shall never finish even the brief list of them which i had in mind when i began. i must hasten on, contenting myself with a bare mention of a few of the more notable relics at the other churches.
-but the great relic of pilate's house, and one of the most interesting of all the relics in rome, is across the street from st. john lateran, viz., the world-renowned scala santa, or holy stairway, a flight of twenty-eight marble steps, once ascended by our saviour in the palace of pilate, and brought from jerusalem to rome in 326 by the empress helena, mother of constantine the great. they are covered with a wooden casing, but holes have been left through which the marble steps can be seen. two of them are stained with the saviour's blood. these spots are covered with glass. the light was rather dim, and as we entered a gentleman struck a match and held it over one of these glass-covered stains to show it to his little girl, so that, passing just at that moment, we also had a good view.
-no foot is allowed to touch the scala santa; it must be ascended on the knees. a number of people were going up in this way when we entered, pausing on each step to repeat a prayer, for which indulgences are granted by the pope. there are stairways on each side, by which those who have thus crawled up may walk down. the only man i know of that ever walked down the holy stairs themselves, and the most illustrious man that ever crawled up them on his knees, was martin luther. when he had mounted slowly half way up, step by step on his knees, he seemed to hear a voice saying, "the just shall live by faith." martin luther rose from his knees, walked down the staircase, and left the place a free man so far as this superstition was concerned, and shortly afterwards became the most formidable foe that ever assailed the falsehood and corruption of the romish church.
-a short walk beyond the scala santa and the lateran brings us to the church of s. croce in gerusalemme, which is specially rich in relics. here our party was shown a piece of the true cross of christ and the original plank bearing the inscription, "jesus, nazarene king," in hebrew, greek and latin, which was placed over his head; also one of the nails used in his crucifixion, and two of the thorns of his crown; besides a large piece of the cross of the penitent thief who was executed with him; and, most interesting of all in some respects, the finger used by thomas to resolve his doubts as to the resurrection of christ (john xx. 24-28).
-but our party saw none of these except the finger of thomas. it is to be hoped that the others have been withdrawn from exhibition, for surely superstition and vulgarity can no further go. i fear, however, that those who are willing to pay enough can still see "one bottle of the most precious blood of our lord jesus christ," and "another of the milk of the most blessed virgin"! there is also "una ampulla lactis beatae mariae virginis" among the many relics to be seen in the church of ss. cosmo and damiano, near the forum.
-the mention of this column reminds me of the two columns in the church of s. maria transpontina, on the other side of the tiber, near st. peter's, which bear inscriptions stating that they were the pillars to which st. peter and st. paul were fastened, respectively, when they suffered flagellation by order of nero. a little farther on towards st. peter's is the piazza scossa cavalli, with a pretty fountain. "its name bears witness to a curious legend, which tells how when s. helena returned from palestine, bringing with her the stone on which abraham was about to sacrifice isaac, and that on which the virgin mary sat down at the time of the presentation of the saviour in the temple, the horses drawing these precious relics stood still at this spot, and refused every effort to make them move. then christian people, 'recognizing the finger of god,' erected a church on this spot--s. giacomo scossa cavalli--where the stones are still to be seen."
-while speaking of interesting stones, i must not omit to mention those in the church of s. francesca romana, near the forum, containing the marks of the knees of st. peter--(which show, by the way, that this apostle was a giant in size)--when he knelt to pray that simon magus might be dropped by the demons he had invoked to support him in the air in fulfilment of his promise to fly. one of these stones used to lie in the via sacra, and the water which collected in the two holes or knee prints was looked upon as so potent a remedy of disease that groups of infirm people used to gather around them on the approach of a shower. according to the legend, the place where peter knelt when he thus effected the discomfiture of simon magus and brought him to the ground with such force that his thigh was fractured, never to be healed, was the ancient via sacra. but, after the priests had removed the stone from the roadway into the church, the inconsiderate and iconoclastic explorers of our day, who have made so many discoveries in their excavations about the forum, proved that the roadway from which this relic was taken was not the ancient via sacra at all, but a more modern roadway which had been mistaken for it!
-in the mamertine prisons, which are also quite close to the forum, a depression on the stone wall by which we descend to the lower dungeon is shown as the spot against which st. peter's head rested, though our guide had just told us that these stairs were not in existence then and prisoners were let down into the dungeon through the hole in the middle of the stone floor. such trifling discrepancies do not seem to trouble the average italian mind.
-st. peter and st. paul are said to have been bound in this prison for nine months to a pillar, which is shown here. "a fountain of excellent water beneath the floor of the prison is attributed to the prayers of st. peter, that he might have wherewith to baptize his gaolers, processus and martinianus; but, unfortunately for this ecclesiastical tradition, the fountain is described by plutarch as having existed at the time of jugurtha's imprisonment" here, long before the time of st. peter.
-but the most interesting of all the miraculous springs in or around rome are the three fountains, about two miles from the city, where the apostle paul was executed. when his head was severed from his body it bounded from the earth three times, crying out thrice, "jesus! jesus! jesus!" a fountain burst from the ground at each of the three spots where the severed head struck. it is asserted, in proof of this origin of the fountains, that the water of the first is still warm, of the second tepid, and of the third cold, but we drank of them one after another without being able to detect any difference in temperature. the apostle's head is shown in bas relief upon the three altars above the fountains. in the church which has been built over them we were shown the pillar to which he was bound, and the block of marble upon which he was decapitated, and, in the vault of another church hard by, the prison in which he was placed just before his execution.
-we could not help asking the priest who was our escort whether this extraordinary story was still believed. his answer was: "certainly! there is no reason whatever to doubt it. the facts have been handed down in an unbroken succession from eye-witnesses," a position which he proceeded to defend at length and with great warmth when one of our party in particular manifested much slowness to believe.
-furthermore, the opening of these three fountains was not the only miracle wrought by the apostle after his death. mrs. jameson says: "the legend of his death relates that a certain roman matron named plautilla, one of the converts of s. peter, placed herself on the road by which s. paul passed to his martyrdom, to behold him for the last time; and when she saw him she wept greatly and besought his blessing. the apostle then, seeing her faith, turned to her, and begged that she would give him her veil to blind his eyes when he should be beheaded, promising to return it to her after his death. the attendants mocked at such a promise; but plautilla, with a woman's faith and charity, taking off her veil, presented it to him. after his martyrdom, s. paul appeared to her and restored the veil, stained with his blood. in the ancient representations of the martyrdom of s. paul, the legend of plautilla is seldom omitted. in the picture by giotto in the sacristy of s. peter's, plautilla is seen on an eminence in the background, receiving the veil from the hands of s. paul, who appears in the clouds above; the same representation, but little varied, is executed in bas-relief on the bronze doors of st. peter's."
-about two miles northeast of the three fountains, and the same distance from the city, on the appian way, stands the church of st. sebastian. over an altar on the right, as you enter, the attendant priest, drawing aside a curtain, shows you a slab of dark red stone with two enormous footprints on it. these, we are told, were made by the feet of christ during an interview with peter which took place near here, on the site of the small church of domine quo vadis. the story is as follows: after the burning of rome, nero charged the christians with having fired the city. straightway the first persecution broke forth, and many of the christians were put to death with dreadful torture. the survivors besought peter not to expose his life. as he fled along the appian way, christ appeared to him travelling towards the city. the fleeing apostle exclaimed in amazement, "domine, quo vadis?" (lord, whither goest thou?), to which, with a look of mild sadness, the saviour replied, "venio iterum crucifigi" (i come to be crucified a second time), then vanished, whereupon the apostle, ashamed of his weakness, returned to rome, and shortly afterwards was crucified there himself.
-we may close this running account of the relics at rome with a brief mention of those that are to be seen in st. peter's itself, the largest and costliest church in the world. the construction of it extended over one hundred and seventy-six years. the cost of the main building alone was fifty million dollars. the annual outlay for repairs is thirty-one thousand five hundred dollars. but it cost the romish church far more than money--it cost her the loss of all the leading nations of the world, which had been under her dominion till that time. for the expense of the vast structure, with its "insolent opulence of marbles," was so great that julius ii. and leo x. were obliged to meet the enormous outlay by the sale of indulgences, and that, as is well known, precipitated the reformation. so that protestants may well feel a peculiar interest in this mighty cathedral.
-at the other end of the church we are shown an ancient wooden chair, encrusted with ivory, which we are told was the cathedra petri, the episcopal throne of st. peter and his immediate successors. a magnificent festival in honor of this chair has been annually celebrated here for hundreds of years.
-my party seems to be made up of very determined protestants. at any rate, the sight of this relic leads an inquisitive person in the party to ask whether the bible does not say that "peter's wife's mother lay sick of a fever."
-"yes," replies the unfortunate gentleman to whose lot it falls to answer all questions of all kinds.
-"then," continues the inquisitive person, "peter was married?"
-unfortunate gentleman: "yes."
-u. g.: "no."
-u. g.: "these questions are becoming too hard for me. come, let me show you the tomb which contains the bones of st. peter and st. paul. only half of their bodies are preserved here, the other portion of st. peter's being in the church of st. john lateran and the other portion of st. paul's at the magnificent basilica of st. paul's without the walls."
-"a circle of eighty-six gold lamps is always burning around the tomb of the poor fisherman of galilee.... hence one can gaze up into the dome, with its huge letters in purple-blue mosaic upon a gold ground (each six feet long)--tu es petrus, et super hanc petram ædificabo ecclesiam meam, et tibi dabo claves regni coelorum.' above this are four colossal mosaics of the evangelists.... the pen of st. luke is seven feet in length."
-but we must not permit ourselves to be diverted from our proper subject by the vastness and splendor of the building, natural as it is to do so when standing under this matchless dome. the four huge piers which support the dome are used as shrines for the four great relics of the church, viz.: 1. the lance of st. longinus, the soldier who pierced the saviour's side; 2. a portion of the true cross; 3. the napkin of st. veronica, containing the miraculous impression of our lord's face; and 4. the head of the apostle andrew.
-i did not see these relics myself, as i was in the east when they were exhibited, but on april 11th, the day before easter, other members of my party did, that is, they saw all of them but andrew's head, and from a letter written me by the youngest of my correspondents in my own family, giving not only description, but drawings of the spear head, the cross and the handkerchief in their several frames, i infer that, notwithstanding the great height of the veronica balcony from which they are exhibited, my young correspondent and his companions fared better in the matter of a good view than fritz in chronicles of the schönberg cotta family, who says: "to-day we gazed on the veronica--the holy impression left by our saviour's face on the cloth s. veronica presented to him to wipe his brow, bowed under the weight of the cross. we had looked forward to this sight for days, for seven thousand years of indulgence from penance are attached to it. but when the moment came we could see nothing but a black board hung with a cloth, before which another white cloth was held. in a few minutes this was withdrawn, and the great moment was over, the glimpse of the sacred thing on which hung the fate of seven thousand years."
-the legends, the popes, and the pasquinades.
-before quitting the subject of the relics at rome, i must give my readers what hare calls "the extraordinary history of the manufacture of s. filomena, now one of the most popular saints in italy, and one towards whom idolatry is carried out with frantic enthusiasm both at domo d'ossola and in some of the neapolitan states."
-"in the year 1802, while some excavations were going forward in the catacombs of priscilla, a sepulchre was discovered containing the skeleton of a young female; on the exterior were rudely painted some of the symbols constantly recurring in these chambers of the dead--an anchor, an olive branch (emblems of hope and peace), a scourge, two arrows, and a javelin; above them the following inscription, of which the beginning and end were destroyed:
---"lumena pax te cum fi"--
-but, after all, the most extraordinary case of saint-manufacture is not that of philomena, but that of buddha! i have not room for the story here, but if any one wishes to know how the papacy made buddha a christian saint, he will find the whole story, with the proofs, in a history of the warfare of science and theology, by andrew d. white, ll. d., late president and professor of history at cornell university, and until recently united states ambassador to germany.
-a few days ago we visited the church of st. laurence without the walls, where in a silver shrine under the high altar, the remains of st. laurence and st. stephen are said to rest. the walls of the portico of the church are covered with a series of frescoes, lately repainted. one series represents the story of st. stephen and that of the translation of his relics to this church. "the relics of st. stephen were preserved at constantinople, whither they had been transported from jerusalem by the empress eudoxia, wife of theodosius ii. hearing that her daughter, eudoxia, wife of valentinian ii., emperor of the west, was afflicted with a devil, she begged her to come to constantinople, that her demon might be driven out by the touch of the relics. the younger eudoxia wished to comply, but the devil refused to leave her unless st. stephen was brought to rome. an agreement was therefore made that the relics of st. stephen should be exchanged for those of st. laurence. st. stephen arrived, and the empress was immediately relieved of her devil; but when the persons who had brought the relics of st. stephen from constantinople were about to take those of st. laurence back with them, they all fell down dead! pope pelagius prayed for their restoration to life, which was granted for a short time, to prove the efficacy of prayer, but they all died again ten days later! thus the romans knew that it would be criminal to fulfil their promise, and part with the relics of st. laurence, and the bodies of the two martyrs were laid in the same sarcophagus." and thus we know how much more the romans think of relics than of honor and truth. "it is related that when they opened the sarcophagus, and lowered into it the body of st. stephen, st. laurence moved on one side, giving the place of honor on the right hand to st. stephen; hence, the common people of rome have conferred on st. laurence the title of 'il cortese spagnuolo'--the courteous spaniard."
-another series of these pictures in the portico represents the story of a sacristan who, coming to pray in this church before day, found it filled with worshippers, and was told by st. laurence himself that they were the apostle peter, the first martyr, stephen, and other apostles, martyrs and virgins from paradise, and was ordered to go and tell the pope what he had seen, and bid him come and celebrate a solemn mass. the sacristan objected that the pope would not believe him, and asked for some visible sign. then st. laurence ungirt his robe and gave him his girdle. when the pope was accompanying him back to the basilica they met a funeral procession. to test the powers of the girdle, the pope laid it on the bier, and at once the dead arose and walked.
-that is not the only miracle of resurrection offered to our credulity by these ecclesiastical legends. the three principal frescoes in the chapter house of the church of st. sisto, recently painted by the padre besson, represent three miracles of st. dominic--in each case of raising from the dead--the subjects being a mason who had fallen from a scaffold when building this monastery, a child, and the young lord napoleone orsini, who had been thrown from his horse and instantly killed, and who was brought to life by st. dominic on this spot, as is further commemorated by an inscription on the wall. but miracles were nothing uncommon in the history of the founder of the powerful dominican order. in the refectory of st. marco, at florence, we had seen the fine fresco which represents the miraculous provision made for him and his forty friars at a time of scarcity by two angels. the refectory in which this miracle took place is at the church of st. sabina, on the aventine, in rome; but there are three other things at this church which interested us hardly less than the scene of that miracle. one of them is the huge, pumpkin-shaped, black stone, two or three times as big as a man's head, which the devil is said to have hurled at st. dominic one day when he found him lying prostrate in prayer. this stone is the most conspicuous object in the church, being set up on a pillar about three feet high, right in the middle of the nave. not far away is the marble slab on which the saint was lying at the time that the formidable missile was thrown. the adversary's aim was not good, and the saint was not harmed. the second thing of chief interest here is the chapel of the rosary, at the other end of the same aisle in which the marble slab lies, built on the very spot where st. dominic had the vision in which he received the rosary from the hands of the virgin. the supernatural gift is commemorated in a beautiful painting by sassoferato. it is hardly necessary to explain to any of my readers that a rosary is a string of beads used by roman catholics to keep the count of the number of pater-nosters and ave-marias which they repeat, and that this manner of "vain repetitions" was first used by the dominicans among roman catholics, though the custom was really borrowed from the mohammedans and brahmins, who still use rosaries. the third object is the famous orange tree, now six hundred and seventy years old, which is said to have been brought from spain and planted in the court here by st. dominic himself, orange trees having been unknown in rome before that time, and "which still lives, and is firmly believed to flourish or fail with the fortunes of the dominican order." ladies are not allowed to approach this tree, so, as there were ladies in our party, we all contented ourselves with a look at it through a window. hard by, of course, there is a room where things are sold to pilgrims and visitors. there we bought a rosary, the beads of which are made of the fruit of the plant called the thorn of christ, with the exception of the bead next to the cross, which is a tiny dried orange from st. dominic's tree. enclosed in the cross are a little piece of the wood of the tree, and some earth from the catacombs where the bodies of sts. peter and paul, and of the holy virgin martyrs, sts. agnes and cecilia, reposed for some time. the printed leaflet which accompanies our purchase tells us that "these rosaries, when sold or ordered, are blessed and enriched with the indulgences of the rosary confraternity and the papal blessing. when blessed they may be distributed; but if resold they lose all the indulgences." (italics ours.)
-not far from the church of st. gregory we were shown the hermitage where st. giovanni de matha lived. "before he came to reside here he had been miraculously brought from tunis (whither he had gone on a mission) to ostia, in a boat without helm or sail, in which he knelt without ceasing before the crucifix throughout the whole of his voyage!"
-time would fail me to tell of the miraculous surgical operation performed by sts. cosmo and damian upon a man who was praying in the church dedicated to them, and who had a diseased leg amputated without pain by the good saints while he slept; and not only so, but had a sound leg, which they had taken from the body of a man just buried, substituted for the diseased one. nor can i dwell on the miraculous blindness with which the guard sent to seize pope st. martin i. was stricken the moment he caught sight of the pontiff in st. maria maggiore, or the miraculous tears shed by an image of the virgin attached to a neighboring wall when she saw a cruel murder committed in the street below, or the madonnas and crucifixes that spoke to saints on various occasions. one of these, however, is too significant to be omitted altogether. there is in the church of st. agostino a sculptured image of the madonna and child. "it is not long since the report was spread that one day a poor woman called upon this image of the madonna for help; it began to speak, and replied, 'if i had only something, then i could help thee, but i myself am so poor!' this story was circulated, and very soon throngs of credulous people hastened hither to kiss the foot of the madonna, and to present her with all kinds of gifts." (italics mine.)
-the evil methods employed at various times to replenish the papal treasury are known to all readers of history. the best known, perhaps, is the shameless traffic in indulgences by tetzel, which helped to precipitate the reformation. hare closes his account of the execution of beatrice cenci for complicity in the murder of her father with the statement that "sympathy will always follow one who sinned under the most terrible of provocations, and whose cruel death was due to the avarice of clement viii. for the riches which the church acquired by the confiscation of the cenci property," and cites the petition of gaspare guizza (1601), in which he claims a reward from the pope for his service in apprehending one of the assassins of francesco cenci, on the ground that thus "the other accomplices and their confessions were secured, and so many thousands of crowns brought into the papal treasury." the venality of pope alexander vi., rodrigo borgia (1492-1503), "the wicked and avaricious father of cæsar and lucretia, who is believed to have died of the poison which he intended for one of his cardinals," is thus hit off by pasquino:
-"vendit alexander claves, altaria, christum; emerat ille prius, vendere jure potest."
-of innocent x. (1644-'55), pasquino says, "magis amat olympiam quam olympium," referring to the shameful relations existing between this pope and his avaricious sister-in-law, olympia maidalchini, who made it her business to secure the profits of the papacy in hard cash. trollope, in his life of olympia, says: "no appointment to office of any kind was made except in consideration of a proportionable sum paid down into her own coffers. this often amounted to three or four years' revenue of the place to be granted. bishoprics and benefices were sold as fast as they became vacant. one story is told of an unlucky disciple of simon, who in treating with the pope for a valuable see, just fallen vacant, and hearing from her a price at which it might be his, far exceeding all he could command, persuaded the members of his family to sell all they had for the purpose of making this profitable investment. the price was paid, and the bishopric was given him, but, with a fearful resemblance to the case of ananias, he died within the year, and his ruined family saw the see a second time sold by the insatiable and incorrigible olympia.... during the last year of innocent's life, olympia literally hardly ever quitted him. once a week, we read, she left the vatican, secretly by night, accompanied by several porters carrying sacks of coins, the proceeds of the week's extortions and sales, to her own palace. and during these short absences she used to lock the pope into his chamber, and take the key with her!" she finally "deserted him on his death-bed, making off with the accumulated spoils of his ten years' papacy, which enabled her son, don camillo, to build the palazzo doria pamfili, in the corso, and the beautiful villa doria pamfili," west of the janiculan hill. this villa, with its casino, garden, lake, fountain, pine-shaded lawns and woods, and its fine view of st. peter's standing out against the green campagna beyond, and the blue sabine mountains in the distance, is to this day one of the loveliest villas in italy, and the favorite resort of the latter-day romans and visitors to their city on the two afternoons of the week on which it is open to pedestrians and two-horse carriages.
-the notorious simony practiced by the popes, in which, as we have just seen, olympia became such an adept, gave rise to the biting latin couplet--
-"an petrus romæ fuerit, sub judice lis est; simonem romæ nemo fuisse negat."
-some of the modern methods of making use of the pope for purposes of gain are less objectionable than those of olympia. dr. alexander robertson, in his roman catholic church in italy, just published, says: "one of the very latest novelties of the 'pope's shop' is a penny-in-the-slot blessing machine. specimens of this were lately to be seen in the corso, rome, about half way between the piazza colonna and the piazza del popolo. a penny is dropped into it. the cinematograph, or wheel of life, goes round, when, lo! there appears a long procession of richly clothed cardinals and monsignori, and then the pope in a sedan chair, accompanied by his swiss guards. as he is carried past the spectator, he turns towards the window of his chair, a smile overspreads his face, he raises his hands, and gives his blessing. on these machines there is an inscription to the effect that the blessing thus given and received is equivalent to that given by the pope in person in st. peter's. truly a novel way of turning an honest penny!" we hear that a rash churchman, not liking the facts just stated, undertook to deny them in the public prints, when up spoke some english gentlemen, who had been in rome recently, and bowled the churchman over with the statement that they had themselves seen this blessing machine on the corso.
-one never touches this subject of the vast wealth of the papacy without calling to mind the well-known rejoinder of the great theologian, thomas aquinas, when the pope was showing him all his money and riches, and said, "you see, thomas, the church cannot now say what it said in early times, 'silver and gold have i none.'" "no," answered aquinas, "nor can it say, 'rise up and walk'" (acts iii. 6). this loss of spiritual power, this loss of ability to minister salvation to others, is one of the most melancholy results of the corruption of the papacy.
-these are some of the things that help to explain not only the tone of the pasquinades, not only the indictments of the world's leading historians, which are to be presently cited, but also the present attitude of something like twenty millions of the thirty-odd millions of italy's inhabitants, who have forsaken the church altogether.
-what idea the people have of the jesuits in particular is well shown by the legend connected with the piazza del gesu, the great open space in front of the jesuit church, which is considered the windiest place in rome. the story is that the devil and the wind were one day taking a walk together. "when they came to this square, the devil, who seemed to be very devout, said to the wind, 'just wait a minute, mio caro, while i go into this church.' so the wind promised, and the devil went into the gesu, and has never come out again--and the wind is blowing about in the piazza del gesu to this day."
-one of the interesting objects in rome is a mutilated statue called pasquino, which stands at the corner of the orsini palace, one of the most central and public places in the city. the reason for the interest attaching to this almost shapeless piece of marble is that for centuries it was used for placarding those satires upon the popes which, by their exceeding cleverness and biting truth, have made the name of pasquinade famous the world over. no squib that was ever affixed to that column had a keener edge than the one known as "the antithesis of christ," which appeared at the beginning of the sixteenth century, and runs as follows:
-christ said, "my kingdom is not of this world." the pope conquers cities by force.
-christ had a crown of thorns: the pope wears a triple diadem.
-christ washed the feet of his disciples: the pope has his kissed by kings.
-christ paid tribute: the pope takes it.
-christ fed the sheep: the pope wishes to be master of the world.
-christ carried on his shoulders the cross: the pope is carried on the shoulders of his servants in liveries of gold.
-christ despised riches: the pope has no other passion than for gold.
-christ drove out the merchants from the temple: the pope welcomes them.
-christ preached peace: the pope is the torch of war.
-christ was meekness: the pope is pride personified.
-christ promulgated the laws that the pope tramples under foot.
-"but," some one may say, "the pasquinades were written long ago, and, while they are doubtless true descriptions of the papacy of the past, surely no one would take the same view now." for answer i may quote the statement of dr. raffaelle mariano, professor of philosophy in the university of naples, who is not a protestant, but, as he tells us, was "born in the roman catholic church," and was "a fervent catholic from infancy." speaking of the vast difference which he found between the teachings of the church and those of the new testament as to what is necessary to salvation, he says, "therefore, roman catholicism is not only not christianity, but it is the very antithesis of christianity," a statement every whit as strong as pasquino's. some american protestants, especially those who have personal friends in the roman catholic church whom they honor and love--and there are many people in that church who are richly worthy of honor and love, and who do not approve of the evils we have been describing any more than we do--are sometimes disposed to think that protestant writers are too severe in their condemnation of the romish church as a system. a visit to italy, the centre of romanism, would quickly disabuse these overcharitable protestants of that impression. we have all read of such things as are described above in connection with the relics and legends, but they seem far away and unreal, and almost impossible, until we come to the home of romanism and find them all around us. then it ceases to surprise us that so large a proportion of the most intelligent men in italy occupy a position of indifference and unbelief, or hostility and scorn, towards the christian religion, for romanism is the only christianity that most of them know. let it be remembered, too, that the king, able, conscientious, patriotic, devoted to the welfare of his people, and the prime minister, zanardelli, like his predecessor, crispi, and the members of parliament, and the army and navy, and the whole government which has given italy such wonderful stability and prosperity since the overthrow of the papal dominion and opened before the nation a future of so much promise, are all standing aloof from the pope. let any one see one of the great pilgrimages from every part of the country to the tomb of victor emmanuel, who freed italy, as we saw it the other day, and observe the immense popularity of the great liberator and his successors of the house of savoy, and let him note the firm opposition of italy's leading men to the papacy, and he will see that the view of the pope which the secular newspapers so persistently seek to force upon the people of the english-speaking world simply cannot be that of the thoughtful men of italy.
-most of the facts above cited, especially those concerning the legends and the popes, except where specific acknowledgment is made to other writers, have been drawn from hare's invaluable walks in rome. let us conclude the list with the testimonies of a few eminent men of unimpeachable competence and veracity as to the character and influence of the roman catholic church as a system.
-in the first chapter of his history of england, lord macaulay says: "from the time when the barbarians overran the western empire to the time of the revival of letters, the influence of the church of rome had been generally favorable to science, to civilization, to good government. but during the last three centuries, to stunt the growth of the human mind has been her chief object. throughout christendom, whatever advance has been made in knowledge, in freedom, in wealth, and in the arts of life, has been made in spite of her, and has everywhere been in inverse proportion to her power. the loveliest and most fertile provinces of europe have, under her rule, been sunk in poverty, in political servitude, and in intellectual torpor, while protestant countries, once proverbial for sterility and barbarism, have been turned by skill and industry into gardens, and can boast of a long list of heroes and statesmen, philosophers and poets. whoever, knowing what italy and scotland naturally are, and what, four hundred years ago, they actually were, shall now compare the country round rome with the country round edinburgh, will be able to form some judgment as to the tendency of papal domination. the descent of spain, once the first among the monarchies, to the lowest depths of degradation, the elevation of holland, in spite of many natural disadvantages, to a position such as no commonwealth so small has ever reached, teach the same lesson. whoever passes in germany from a roman catholic to a protestant principality, in switzerland from a roman catholic to a protestant canton, in ireland from a roman catholic to a protestant county, finds that he has passed from a lower to a higher grade of civilization. on the other side of the atlantic the same law prevails. the protestants of the united states have left far behind them the roman catholics of mexico, peru and brazil. the roman catholics of lower canada remain inert, while the whole continent round them is in a ferment with protestant activity and enterprise. the french have doubtless shown an energy and intelligence which, even when misdirected, have justly entitled them to be called a great people. but this apparent exception, when examined, will be found to confirm the rule, for in no country that is called roman catholic has the roman catholic church, during several generations, possessed so little authority as in france."
-charles dickens, in a letter written from switzerland, in 1845, to his friend and biographer, forster, says: "in the simplon, hard by here, where (at the bridge of st. maurice over the rhone) the protestant canton ends and a catholic canton begins, you might separate two perfectly distinct and different conditions of humanity by drawing a line with your stick in the dust on the ground. on the protestant side--neatness, cheerfulness, industry, education, continued aspiration, at least, after better things. on the catholic side--dirt, disease, ignorance, squalor and misery. i have so constantly observed the like of this since i came abroad that i have a sad misgiving that the religion of ireland lies at the root of all its sorrows." writing from genoa, in 1846, dickens says, "if i were a swiss, with a hundred thousand pounds, i would be as steady against the catholic canons and the propagation of jesuitism as any radical among them; believing the dissemination of catholicity to be the most horrible means of political and social degradation left in the world."
-mr. gladstone, in an article on "italy and her church," in the church quarterly review for october, 1875, says: "profligacy, corruption and ambition, continued for ages, unitedly and severally, their destructive work upon the country, through the curia and the papal chair; and in doing it they of course have heavily tainted the faith of which that chair was the guardian." elsewhere he says, "there has never been any more cunning blade devised against the freedom, the virtue and the happiness of a people than romanism."
-nathaniel hawthorne, in his marble faun, which, by the way, contains the most charming of all the descriptive writing about rome, put the case none too strongly when he spoke of being "disgusted with the pretense of holiness and the reality of nastiness, each equally omnipresent" in the city of the popes. the new government has wrought a great change in this respect, and rome is in many parts of it now quite a clean city.
-there, then, are the facts as to the influence of the roman catholic church. i am, of course, very far from saying that there are no good people in that church. as i have already stated, i believe that there are many good people in it, but my own observation has satisfied me that the verdict of history as to the baleful influence of the system is absolutely correct.
-"what, then," some one may ask, "do the good people in that church think of all the immoralities and frauds that it has condoned and fostered?" the answer is that the really good people in that church must grieve over them and deplore them just as the good people in other churches do.
-the old forces and the new in the eternal city.
-well, we have seen the pope. hearing that a body of italian pilgrims were to be received by the pontiff at the vatican, and having assured ourselves that the function was one which would involve no official recognition of the pope on our part, and that we should be merely protestant spectators, we gladly accepted the offer of tickets for the audience, and, supposing in our simplicity that, as the reception was set for noon, we should be sufficiently early if we went at eleven o'clock, we drove up to the main entrance of the vatican at that hour. there was a great throng of people about the door, but our tickets obtained for us immediate entrance along with a stream of other ladies and gentlemen. the regulation attire for these functions is full evening dress for gentlemen, while ladies wear black, with no hat, but with a lace mantilla on the head. we first passed through a double line of the famous swiss guards, in their extraordinary uniform of crimson, yellow and black, designed by no less a person than michael angelo. then we were shown up the great stairway, and passing through a couple of large rooms, one of which was adorned with raphael's frescoes, we found ourselves at the entrance of a long and spacious hall, already densely crowded, as it seemed to us, but with a space kept open down the centre between the rows of seats on either side. looking down this open space, we could see at the other end, on a slightly raised platform, the pontifical throne, upholstered in red velvet, with golden back and arms, effectively set in the midst of crimson hangings, which swept in rich masses from the lofty ceiling to the floor. preceded by guards, we travelled the whole length of the hall, and found, to our great gratification, that our seats were quite close to the throne, so that we had an excellent position for seeing and hearing all that was going on. we soon noticed that many of the hundreds of people present, like some of us, had not observed the regulations as to dress. many others had. mingled with the soberer attire of the spectators, pilgrims and priests, we saw now and then a violet cassock, as one bishop after another drifted in. apart from these vestments, there was no semblance of a religious gathering. it was more like a social function, and the people were chatting gaily, the jolliest and noisiest crowd being a group of young seminarians, prospective priests, who occupied the same bench with us and the two or three nearest to it. after we had been there an hour the great clock of st. peter's struck twelve. instantly all the noisy young seminarians rose to their feet and began to recite, in a lower, humming tone, their ave-marias and pater-nosters. as soon as the reciting and counting of beads was over, as it was in a minute, they struck in again with their gay conversation. we had plenty of time to take it all in. the pope is always late, and it was an hour after the time fixed for the audience when he appeared; but at last he did, and instantly everybody, men and women, sprang up on the benches and chairs, frantically waving their handkerchiefs and shouting at the top of their voices, "evviva il papa-re! evviva il papa-re!"--"long live the pope-king! long live the pope-king!"--the ablest performer in this part of the ceremony being a leather-lunged young priest at my elbow, with a voice as powerful and persistent as that of a hungry calf, and who made known his desire for the restoration of the temporal power to the pope with such energy that the perspiration rolled down his fat face in shining rivulets. i never heard anything like it except in a political convention or a stock exchange. accompanied by the noble guard, a body of picked men renowned for their superb physique and clad in resplendent uniform, the holy father was borne in on an arm-chair, carried by twelve men, also in uniform. occasionally he would rise to his feet with evident effort, leaning on, or rather grasping, one arm of his chair, and bless the people he was passing, with two fingers outstretched in the familiar attitude that we have seen in the pictures. at such times the furious acclamations, and waving of handkerchiefs, and clapping of hands, would be redoubled. he passed within arm's length of us, a little knot of protestants, silent amid the uproar. it was a pitiful spectacle. a pallid, feeble, tottering old man, with slender, shrunken neck, and excessively sharp and prominent features, nose and chin almost meeting--we now understood zola's description: "the simious ugliness of his face, the largeness of his nose, the long slit of his mouth, the hugeness of his ears, the conflicting jumble of his withered features." but out of this waxen face peered a pair of brilliant dark eyes, the only sign of real vitality about him. when he had been carefully lowered by the chair-bearers, and had taken his throne on the platform, with his attendants ranged round him, the spokesman of the pilgrims came forward and read an address, to which the pope's amanuensis, standing by his side, read a brief reply. then the pope pronounced the benediction in a surprisingly clear voice, after which the pilgrims were introduced individually, not all of them, but a certain number of representative persons among them. these all knelt and kissed his hand. when this ceremony was over the audience closed, and the pontiff was borne out as he came in, amid wild applause.
-on the third of march, while i was in egypt, our party in rome saw a much more imposing ceremony than the one i have just described. every one has noticed how numerous the papal jubilees have been during the last quarter of a century, every year or so seeing the celebration of some jubilee of the pope's official life. in twenty-one years he has had no less than fourteen of them. their frequency should not surprise us when we remember that each of them turns a vast stream of gifts and money into the papal treasury from every part of the world. one of my correspondents writes me that for the celebration of march 3rd both sides of the nave of st. peter's were lined with pens or boxes, all free except those near the high altar, and in the middle of the nave a passage about fifteen feet wide was railed off for the procession. "we drove to st. peter's through a pouring rain about 7:45 a. m. the building was already packed with people. it is estimated that there were fifty thousand of us by eleven o'clock. we walked down the left aisle and took our position at the base of a pillar, where we could see the pope as he entered from the right aisle. there we waited from eight o'clock till after eleven. he was an hour late. finally, we heard the silver trumpets sounding from the gallery in the dome. his guards preceded him, and other attendants bearing swords, maces and a cross. the caps indicating the offices he filled before he became pope were carried on cushions by three cardinals. he was himself carried on the shoulders of twelve men, dressed in rich red costumes. the pope sat in his red and gold chair, richly robed in white satin embroidered with gold. he wore a crown of the same materials, white silk mits, and a large ring. when he entered the nave he stood and blessed the people, holding up two fingers. the music was fine. we heard the singing as it came nearer and nearer, but as soon as the pope appeared the people broke into shouts, waving handkerchiefs, and making so much noise that we could no longer hear the music. we left after five hours."
-later in the season those members of our party who remained in rome while we were travelling through egypt and palestine, had very satisfactory views of king edward vii. of england and william ii., the emperor of germany, on their visits to rome. as they had seen the prince of wales in london, and young prince edward, who will also be king of england some day if he lives, and the other royal children at marlborough house, and as they have repeatedly seen king victor emmanuel and queen helena, they have had unusual opportunities for seeing for themselves whether the royalties are made of common clay. i must say for them that they are stauncher than ever in their devotion to the republican ideals of our own country. their opportunities for seeing these royalties were better than those enjoyed by most visitors to rome, because their rooms overlooked the palace and grounds of the queen mother, marguerita, and king edward and the kaiser, like other royal visitors to rome, made it their first business to call on her. she is still the most beloved woman in italy.
-but it is from the janiculan hill, on the other side of the tiber, that one gets the most comprehensive view of the city. among other things that take the eye from that commanding point there are three hills which may be said to epitomize the history of rome: on the east the palatine, where, as its name intimates, the palaces of the cæsar's stood, representing the culmination of the glory of pagan rome; on the west, the vatican, where, as its name suggests, a prophet ought to dwell, though i fear he does not, and where st. peter's, with its "insolent opulence of marble" and its colossal apotheosis of the popedom, represents the culmination of the glory of papal rome; and, immediately in front, in the centre of the city, the quirinal, where victor emmanuel's royal house stands, representing the new government of free and united italy. from his windows in the quirinal palace, the king can look across the intervening city to the windows of that other palace where the relentless foe of his government lives, that vast, luxurious "prison" of the vatican, with its eleven thousand rooms, the largest palace in the world, with its museums and libraries filled with priceless treasures, and with its extensive gardens and grounds.
-zola has pointed out how persistent, through all these three periods of rome's history, has been that passion for cyclopean building, the "blossoming of that ancient sap, peculiar to the soil of rome, which in all ages has thrown up preposterous edifices, of exaggerated hugeness and dazzling and ruinous luxury." first, the pagan emperors set the pace, and of their work we may take the colosseum and the baths of caracalla as specimens.
-"the colosseum. ah! that colossus, only one-half or so of which has been destroyed by time as with the stroke of a mighty scythe, it rises in its enormity and majesty like a stone lacework, with hundreds of empty bays agape against the blue of heaven! there is a world of halls, stairs, landings and passages, a world where one loses one's self amid the death-like silence and solitude. the furrowed tiers of seats, eaten into by the atmosphere, are like shapeless steps leading down into some old extinct crater, some natural circus excavated by the force of the elements in indestructible rock. the hot suns of eighteen hundred years have baked and scorched this ruin, which has reverted to a state of nature, bare and golden-brown like a mountain side, since it has been stripped of its vegetation, the flora which once made it like a virgin forest. and what an evocation when the mind sets flesh and blood and life again on all that dead osseous framework, fills the circus with the ninety thousand spectators which it could hold, marshals the games and the combats of the arena, gathers a whole civilization together, from the emperor and the dignitaries to the surging plebeian sea, all aglow with the agitation and brilliancy of an impassioned people, assembled under the ruddy reflection of the giant purple velum. and then, yet further on the horizon, were other cyclopean ruins, the baths of caracalla, standing there like relics of a race of giants long since vanished from the world: halls extravagantly and inexplicably spacious and lofty; vestibules large enough for an entire population; a frigidarium, where five hundred people could swim together; a tepidarium and a calidarium on the same proportions, born of a wild craving for the huge; and then the terrific massiveness of the structures, the thickness of the piles of brick-work, such as no feudal castle ever knew; and, in addition, the general immensity which makes passing visitors look like lost ants; one wonders for what men, for what multitudes, this monstrous edifice was reared. to-day you would say a mass of rocks in the rough thrown from some height for building the abode of titans."
-and, finally, the new government of victor emmanuel, for a time at least, was caught in the same current, infected with the same mania for building that seems to exhale from the very soil of the eternal city. as the popes had not become masters of rome without feeling impelled to rebuild it in their passion to rule over the world, so young italy, "yielding to the hereditary madness of universal domination, had in its turn sought to make the city larger than any other, erecting whole districts for people who never came." but, fortunately for italy, the old idea was not unmixed with newer and better ones. their first delirious outburst of huge building operations has been explained as "a legitimate explosion of the delight and the hopes of a young nation anxious to show its power. the question was to make rome a modern capital worthy of a great kingdom, and before aught else there were sanitary requirements to be dealt with; the city needed to be cleansed of all the filth which disgraced it. one cannot nowadays imagine in what abominable putrescence the city of the popes, the roma sporca which artists regret, was then steeped: the vast majority of the houses lacked even the most primitive arrangements, the public thoroughfares were used for all purposes, noble ruins served as store-places for sewage, the princely palaces were surrounded by filth, and the streets were perfect manure beds, which fostered frequent epidemics. thus, vast municipal works were absolutely necessary; the question was one of health and life itself. and in much the same way it was only right to think of building houses for the new comers who would assuredly flock into the city. there had been a precedent at berlin, whose population, after the establishment of the german empire, had suddenly increased by some hundreds of thousands. in the same way the population of rome would certainly be doubled, tripled, quadrupled, for, as the new centre of national life, the city would necessarily attract all the vis viva of the provinces. and at this thought pride stepped in; the fallen government of the vatican must be shown what italy was capable of achieving, what splendor she would bestow on the new and third rome, which, by the magnificence of its thoroughfares and the multitude of its people, would far excel either the imperial or the papal city." we need not follow the melancholy story of this delusion. the boom had a disastrous collapse, and the city was left full of vast, pretentious, flimsy, deserted palaces. the best thing about them is that they are perishable. the lesson, happily, was not lost on the men of the new order in italy, and they seem at last to have extricated themselves from the toils of that miasmatic megalo-mania. the government is sane, sound, conservative, proceeding with care and deliberation in its upbuilding of the country, understanding the meaning of the proverb that "rome was not built in a day," and it has already given the country more security and prosperity than it has enjoyed for many, many centuries. if it can continue to maintain itself against the priests, there is undoubtedly a bright future before italy.
-but can it maintain itself against the priests? i think so. yet a man would be blind indeed who could not see their number, power and activity. rome swarms with them. speaking of the incredible number of cassocks that one encounters in the streets, zola says: "ah! that ebb and flow; that ceaseless tide of black gowns and frocks of every hue! with their processions of students ever walking abroad, the seminaries of the different nations would alone suffice to drape and decorate the streets, for there are the french and the english all in black, the south americans in black with blue sashes, the north americans in black with red sashes, the poles in black with green sashes, the greeks in blue, the germans in red, the scots in violet, the romans in black or violet or purple, the bohemians with chocolate sashes, the irish with red lappets, the spaniards with blue cords, to say nothing of all the others with broidery and bindings and buttons in a hundred different styles. and, in addition, there are the confraternities, the penitents, white, black, blue and gray, with sleeveless frocks and capes of different hue, gray, blue, black or white. and thus, even nowadays, papal rome at times seems to resuscitate, and one can realize how tenaciously and vigorously she struggles on in order that she may not disappear in the cosmopolitan rome of the new era." yes, italy will escape from the clutches of the papacy, but she will have to work. there must be no relaxation of vigilance or energy on her part--or on ours. for this multitude of young priests from every part of the world spells menace for other lands besides italy.
-the two types of religion in rome.
-only three or four blocks from our hotel stands the church of the cappuccini, which contains one of the most gruesome sights in rome, the celebrated cemetery of the cappuccini monks, the soil of which was brought from jerusalem. all roman catholic cemeteries have a peculiarly melancholy aspect. they have none of that gentle beauty which is so characteristic of our cemeteries, where the grass grows green under the open sky or great trees cast their peaceful shade over "god's acre." but this is the most weird and ghastly of them all. there are four recesses or chapels underneath the church, the pillars and pilasters of which are made of thigh-bones and skulls, the architectural ornaments being represented by the joints of the spine, and the more delicate tracery by the smaller bones of the human frame. "the summits of the arches are adorned with entire skeletons, looking as if they were wrought most skillfully in bas-relief. there is no possibility of describing how ugly and grotesque is the effect.... on some of the skulls there are inscriptions, purporting that such a monk, who formerly made use of that particular head-piece, died on such a day and year; but vastly the greater number are piled up undistinguishably into the architectural design.... in the side walls of the vaults are niches where skeleton monks sit or stand, clad in the brown habits that they wore in life.... yet let us give the cemetery the praise that it deserves. there is no disagreeable scent, such as might have been expected from the decay of so many holy persons, in whatever odor of sanctity they may have taken their departure. the same number of living monks would not smell half so unexceptionably." so hawthorne says, and i have spared my readers the most disagreeable parts of his description.
-the allusion in his last sentence is one which is justified by the olfactory organs of every visitor to rome. the vices which were encouraged in the magnificent baths of the emperors, and which have given the word bagnio an evil signification the world over, "found their reaction in the impression of the early christians that uncleanliness was a virtue, an impression which is retained by several of the monastic orders to the present day." we sometimes weary of the superabundant advertisements of the different kinds of soap in the advertising pages of our monthly magazines. but what a wholesome sign it is! and what a difference it marks between us and the average italian! and what a field for their business would be opened to mr. pears and the rest if only the monks would adopt the view that "cleanliness is next to godliness," and that, therefore, soap might be regarded as a sort of means of grace!
-while i have mark twain in hand, i will make two more quotations from him, and then dismiss him for good. looking from the dome of st. peter's upon the building which was once the inquisition, he says: "how times are changed, between the older ages and the new! some seventeen or eighteen centuries ago, the ignorant men of rome were wont to put christians in the arena of the coliseum yonder, and turn the wild beasts in upon them for a show. it was for a lesson as well. it was to teach the people to abhor and fear the new doctrine the followers of christ were teaching. the beasts tore the victims limb from limb, and made poor mangled corpses of them in the twinkling of an eye. but when the christians came into power, when the holy mother church became mistress of the barbarians, she taught them the error of their ways by no such means. no, she put them in this pleasant inquisition, and pointed to the blessed redeemer, who was so gentle and so merciful toward all men, and they urged the barbarians to love him; and they did all they could to persuade them to love and honor him--first by twisting their thumbs out of joint with a screw; then by nipping their flesh with pincers--red-hot ones, because they are the most comfortable in cold weather; then by skinning them alive a little, and finally by roasting them in public. they always convinced those barbarians. the true religion, properly administered, as the good mother church used to administer it, is very, very soothing. it is wonderfully persuasive, also. there is a great difference between feeding parties to wild beasts and stirring up their finer feelings in an inquisition. one is the system of degraded barbarians, the other of enlightened, civilized people. it is a great pity the playful inquisition is no more."
-speaking of a mosaic group at the side of the scala santa which represents the saviour, st. peter, pope leo, st. silvester, constantine and charlemagne, he says: "peter is giving the pallium to the pope, and a standard to charlemagne. the saviour is giving the keys to st. silvester, and a standard to constantine. no prayer is offered to the saviour, who seems to be of little importance anywhere in rome; but an inscription below says, 'blessed peter, give life to pope leo and victory to king charles.' it does not say, 'intercede for us, through the saviour, with the father, for this boon,' but 'blessed peter, give it us.'
-"in all seriousness--without meaning to be frivolous, without meaning to be irreverent, and, more than all, without meaning to be blasphemous--i state, as my simple deduction from the things i have seen and the things i have heard, that the holy personages rank thus in rome:
-"first. 'the mother of god'--otherwise the virgin mary.
-"second. the deity.
-"fourth. some twelve or fifteen canonized popes and martyrs.
-"fifth. jesus christ the saviour (but always an infant in arms).
-"i may be wrong in this--my judgment errs often, just as is the case with other men's--but it is my judgment, be it good or bad.
-"just here i will mention something that seems curious to me. there are no 'christ's churches' in rome, and no 'churches of the holy ghost,' that i can discover. there are some four hundred churches, but about a fourth of them seem to be named for the madonna and st. peter. there are so many named for mary that they have to be distinguished by all sorts of affixes, if i understand the matter rightly. then we have churches of st. louis, st. augustine, st. agnes, st. calixtus, st. lorenzo in lucina, st. lorenzo in damaso, st. cecilia, st. athanasius, st. philip neri, st. catherine, st. dominico, and a multitude of lesser saints whose names are not familiar in the world--and away down, clear out of the list of the churches, comes a couple of hospitals; one of them is named for the saviour and the other for the holy ghost!"
-but we have allowed this clean, shrewd, racy american with his biting satire and his outspoken common sense, to lead us far away from our subject. let us come back to the church of the cappuccini. for, besides its horrible cemetery, it contains another object of great interest, though of a very different character, viz., guido's great picture of the archangel michael trampling upon the devil. the devil's face is said to be a portrait of pope innocent x., against whom the painter had a spite. it is not for the purpose of describing the picture that i refer to it, for i am not competent to do that, but for the purpose of quoting the animadversions of another american writer upon the custom of concealing this picture and others of special interest in romish churches with closely drawn curtains, requiring the presence of an attendant to unveil them and the bestowment of a fee by the visitor. "the churchmen of italy make no scruple of sacrificing the very purpose for which a work of sacred art has been created, that of opening the way for religious sentiment through the quick medium of sight, by bringing angels, saints and martyrs down visibly upon earth--of sacrificing this high purpose, and, for aught they know, the welfare of many souls along with it, to the hope of a paltry fee. every work by an artist of celebrity is hidden behind a veil, and seldom revealed, except to protestants, who scorn it as an object of devotion, and value it only for its artistic merit."
-the same author (hawthorne), speaking of the terrible lack of variety in the subjects of the great italian masters, says a quarter part, probably, of any large collection of pictures consists of virgins and infant christs.... half of the other pictures are magdalens, flights into egypt, crucifixions, etc. "the remainder of the gallery comprises mythological subjects, such as nude venuses, ledas, graces, and, in short, a general apotheosis of nudity.... these impure pictures are from the same illustrious and impious hands that adventured to call before us the august forms of apostles and saints, the blessed mother of the redeemer, and her son, at his death, and in his glory, and even the awfulness of him to whom the martyrs, dead a thousand years ago, have not dared to raise their eyes. they seem to take up one task or the other--the disrobed woman whom they call venus, or the type of highest and tenderest womanhood in the mother of the saviour--with equal readiness, but to achieve the former with far more satisfactory success. if an artist sometimes produced a picture of the virgin possessing warmth enough to excite devotional feelings, it was probably the object of his earthly love, to whom he thus paid the stupendous and fearful homage of setting up her portrait to be worshipped, not figuratively as a mortal, but by religious souls in their earnest aspirations towards divinity. and who can trust the religious sentiment of raphael, or receive any of his virgins as heaven-descended likenesses, after seeing, for example, the "fornarina" of the barberini palace, and feeling how sensual the artist must have been to paint such a brazen trollop of his own accord, and lovingly? would the blessed mary reveal herself to his spiritual vision, and favor him with sittings alternately with that type of glowing earthliness, the fornarina?"
-true, hawthorne proceeds at once to weaken the force of this criticism somewhat by referring to the throng of spiritual faces, innocent cherubs, serene angels, pure-eyed madonnas, and "that divinest countenance in the transfiguration"--all of which we owe to raphael's marvellous brush. but the criticism above quoted is sound. and that hawthorne himself saw how little such "sacred art" had availed to lift the representatives of this kind of worship out of gross sensualism, let the following passage witness: "here was a priesthood, pampered, sensual, with red and bloated cheeks, and carnal eyes. with apparently a grosser development of animal life than most men, they were placed in an unnatural relation with woman, and thereby lost the healthy, human conscience that pertains to other human beings, who own the sweet household ties connecting them with wife and daughter. and here was an indolent nobility, with no high aims or opportunities, but cultivating a vicious way of life, as if it were an art, and the only one which they cared to learn. here was a population, high and low, that had no genuine belief in virtue; and if they recognized any act as criminal, they might throw off all care, remorse and memory of it, by kneeling a little while at the confessional, and rising unburdened, active, elastic and incited by fresh appetite for the next ensuing sin."
-of course all the priests are not such as above described, as eugene sue has endeavored to show in the character of gabriel in the wandering jew, and victor hugo in the character of the good bishop in les miserables, and marie corelli in the character of the good cardinal bonpre in the master christian. hawthorne simply describes the prevailing type. let it be observed, too, that he is speaking of the priests in italy, not of those in america, among whom we are glad to believe there is a much larger proportion of good men. moreover, it should not be forgotten that the present premier of italy has himself stated publicly, in a passage which i have quoted in chapter xxix., that there has been some improvement, at least in the outward conduct of the clergy, since the overthrow of the papal government, and that the immorality of the priests and cardinals is not so shamelessly flaunted in rome as it used to be under the popes.
-on the 20th of september, 1870, the italian army entered rome, after a slight resistance. this event, which marked the downfall of the temporal power of the papacy, the unification of italy, and the establishment of religious liberty under the enlightened and progressive government of victor emmanuel, is properly commemorated in the name of a handsome street, via venti settembre, which extends from the porta pia, where the army entered, to the quirinal palace, where the king resides. appropriately placed on a street which thus commemorates the establishment of civil and religious freedom in italy, are several of the protestant churches, which for the last thirty years have caused a pure river of water of life to flow once more through rome as in the days when the great apostle of the gentiles preached there the kingdom of god, and taught the things concerning the lord jesus christ with all boldness, none forbidding him.
-when you enter the church on sunday morning, a few minutes before eleven o'clock, you find it filled with a congregation of exceptionally intelligent people, mostly english-speaking residents in rome and english-speaking visitors from every part of the world, including many christians of other denominations besides our own--for it does not take visitors in rome long to find out how strong and wholesome is the spiritual nourishment here furnished, how broad-minded and large-hearted the minister is, and how surely he declares the whole counsel of god, without ever a syllable that can offend any of those who love our lord jesus christ in sincerity. if you return in the afternoon, as you will do if you are wise, and as everybody does, in fact, after hearing him once, you will find the house full again, and, while you will see no splendid pageant, no rows of bishops and archbishops in purple and lace and furs, no robing and disrobing, no intoned service in latin, no choral responses from high and gilded choir loft, no clouds of incense filling the air--you will hear the old sweet gospel in all its pristine purity--you will see the great apostle and his friends before you, instinct with life and love and zeal, as the minister lectures, with astonishing fullness and accuracy of information and sympathetic understanding, on roman sites which can be identified with st. paul's sojourn here, the saints of cæsar's household in the light of the columbaria, the site and probable incidents of paul's roman trial, the first martyrdoms and the probable site of nero's circus, paul's two years in his hired house, paul's travels and labors between his first and second roman imprisonments, the closing years of paul's ministry, the jews in rome in paul's time--and you will hear things that make for the peace of your soul and for your upbuilding on your most holy faith as he expounds the chief elements of paul's teaching; christ in early christian art as found in the roman catacombs; the state after death, prayers to the dead, and prayers for the dead, in the light of the testimony of the roman catacombs; the place and efficacy of the sacraments in the light of the testimony of the roman catacombs; and the ministry in the early church of the catacombs.
-surely never was christian workman better adapted to his work than dr. gray. the sturdy frame, the massive head, the clear eye, the kindly voice, the genial manner, the transparent sincerity, and the ready sympathy of the man, invite one's confidence from the first, and the longer you know him the more you value him for his rare combination of strength and tenderness, and for his wisdom, piety and learning. we had the good fortune to hear his sermon on the eighteenth anniversary of the formation of his pastorate in rome, in which he reviewed the history of his church during those eighteen years, and the years immediately preceding, and the growth of protestantism in rome since the downfall of the papacy--and a deeply interesting discourse it was. it lifted one's hopes for the future of italy. undoubtedly the day is breaking over the darkness which has so long lain like a pall over this lovely land.
-a good man is known by his prayers. there is a fullness, propriety and fervor about dr. gray's public prayers that are seldom equalled. the homesick stranger, with the wide ocean between him and his native land--the professional man wavering in health and doubtful as to the future--the stricken widow, who has lost her husband by the sudden stroke of death--as well as those who bear the usual burdens of the human heart, find themselves strangely comforted and cheered, strangely relieved of their toils and cares and anxieties and fears, strangely upborne and strengthened, as this man of god pours from a sympathetic heart the needs of his people into the ear of him who careth for us. among the usual petitions on sunday morning there is invariably one for the king of england and the royal family, the president of the united states, and the king and queen of italy. we had two reminders on the 22nd of february that it was washington's birthday: one was the flags hanging out at the american embassy, and the other was dr. gray's prayer of thanksgiving for the character and services of washington. he never forgets anything.
-yet his activities are multifarious. his resourcefulness, adequacy and strength have long since made him the real dean of the fine force of protestant ministers in rome. his advice is sought by them, and by all manner of visitors to rome, on all manner of subjects. he is deeply interested in the matter of excavating the house of priscilla and aquila, the apostle paul's friends, on the aventine, and hopes to raise the necessary funds and have that done--a valuable service to archæological and biblical learning. he ought by all means to be allowed to find time to publish a volume on the apostle paul in rome. dr. gray is another of the many good gifts of scotland to the world, and, like dr. alexander whyte, of edinburgh, and other eminent scotchmen, is an aberdeen man. they are some of the aberdonians who almost tempt us at times to agree with the aberdeen man of whom our good scotch physician in rome told me the other day, who said, "tak' awa' aberdeen and sax miles around it, and what would you have left?"
-the inexhaustibleness of rome.
-rome is easily the most interesting city in the world. the subject is simply inexhaustible. ampere said that by diligence one could obtain a superficial knowledge of it in ten years. just what terms should be used to characterize the seventy pages or so that i have written, from the basis of the desultory reading and observation of only a few months, i must leave to the decision of the reader. "presumptuous sciolism," perhaps. and, yet, though i have filled these seventy pages with what i regarded as pertinent descriptions, salient facts and suggestive quotations from the best authorities, all subjected to as much compression as was consistent with a fair statement of the particular points which i wished to make, i have restricted myself almost exclusively to one phase of the subject, viz., ecclesiastical rome, and have had almost nothing to say of classical rome and artistic rome.
-i have been able to say nothing of the remains of classical rome, such as the palaces of the cæsars, the arch of titus--with its bas-reliefs of the golden candle-stick and other treasures from the temple at jerusalem, which were borne among the spoils of that emperor's triumph--the monuments of the forum, the column of trajan, the tomb of hadrian, the much lauded equestrian statue of marcus aurelius on the capitoline hill, the immensely impressive pantheon, and the majestic statue of pompey, at the foot of which julius cæsar was assassinated.
-i have not been able even to mention such masterpieces of sculpture as the dancing faun, the dying gaul--"butchered to make a roman holiday"--the laocoon, the apollo belvedere, the young augustus, and scores of others, or such paintings as guido's "aurora," michelangelo's "last judgment," and the scarcely less wonderful creations of botticelli, titian and domenichino.
-i have had to pass unnoticed such tempting details as the tarpeian rock, the site of the bridge which horatius kept in the brave days of old, the walls of the paedagogium under the palatine cliff, where a school boy had drawn, for the encouragement of his successors, a sketch of an ass turning a corn-mill, with the superscription in latin, "work, little donkey, as i have worked, and it will profit thee"; the famous keyhole view of st. peter's from the aventine, and many others, for which i must refer you to other books.
-besides the books on rome, such as hare's walks, and hawthorne's marble faun, to which i have tried to introduce my readers by appetizing quotations from time to time in former letters, i must mention also dennie's pagan rome, story's roba di roma, mrs. ward's eleanor (which contains the best descriptions of the wonderful scenery around lake nemi), and the standard works of professor lanciani. these are much better for home reading, and even for reading on the spot, than the guide books. in a sumptuously bound and profusely illustrated copy of lanciani's new tales of old rome, which was presented to me by a friend last christmas, i find a criticism of the well-known passage in which lord mahon refers to the fact that the last of the stuarts, the old pretender, his wife, and his two sons, are buried in st. peter's, and where, lord mahon says, "a stately monument from the chisel of canova has since risen to the memory of james iii., charles iii., and henry ix., kings of england, names which an englishman can scarcely read without a smile or a sigh." lanciani says, "lord mahon could have saved both his smiles and his sighs if he had simply read with care the epitaph engraved on the monument, which says: 'to james iii., son of james ii., king of great britain, to charles edward, and henry, dean of the sacred college, sons of james iii., the last of the royal house of stuart.'" this is the only statement, so far as i have observed, in professor lanciani's writings which is not scrupulously fair. that the criticism is not perfectly fair is clear from the very inscription which he cites, where the old pretender is twice called james iii.; from the inscription on the tomb of his wife, close at hand, where she is called "queen of great britain, france and ireland"; from the fact that the canopy under which the body of the old pretender lay in state at rome for five days, crowned, sceptred, and in royal robes, was inscribed, "jacobus, magnæ britanniæ rex, anno mdcclxvi."; and from the fact, stated by lanciani himself in the same volume, that when charles edward, the young pretender, died, cardinal york, his brother, proclaimed himself the legitimate sovereign of great britain and ireland, under the name of henry ix. lord mahon was substantially correct.
-st. peter's is a peculiarly appropriate place of sepulture for the line of tyrannical kings who tried so hard to fasten the yoke of romanism upon great britain. they went to their own place. england and scotland will do well to remember that the same forces which the stuarts represented, and which endangered their liberties then, still constitute the gravest menace to the true freedom of their island empire.
-one other book i must mention before finishing what i have to say about the literature of this vast subject: the volume entitled ave roma immortalis, by francis marion crawford, son of the sculptor to whom we are indebted for the superb equestrian statue of washington at richmond, with its circle of illustrious virginians in bronze. let no one be deterred by the latin title. the book itself is written in the most delightful english. it is not to be commended without qualification, for this prolific author who bears the name of the immortal huguenot partisan of south carolina, and ought by every consideration, so far as we know, to be a sturdy protestant, has suffered somewhat in his religious faith by his italian birth and rearing. but his book is full of good things culled from wide and discriminating reading, the feature that is really of most value in a book of travel.
-but i must not forget that, while there is no limit to such a subject as rome, there is a limit to the patience of my readers. so we will now take leave of rome abruptly, and pass at once to naples and its environs, where we spent the concluding days of our sojourn in italy.
-naples, capri, vesuvius, amalfi and pompeii.
-naples is the largest, dirtiest and most beautiful city in italy. from the balconies of our hotel, which stands high on the thickly-built hillside, we have a matchless view--the cream-colored city at our feet, with its red roofs and blue domes, rising from the water's edge and climbing the embayed mountain like half of a vast amphitheatre; the volcano of vesuvius beyond, lifting its white plume of warning smoke by day, and sometimes glaring red at night; the brown ruins of overwhelmed but disentombed pompeii a little to the right; then the cliffs of sorrento; and, stretching between us and them, the bay itself, with its incomparable crescent of contiguous cities running like a fringe of snow round its blue waters. there--
-"the bridegroom sea is toying with the shore, his wedded bride; and in the fullness of his marriage joy he decorates her tawny brow with shells, retires a space to see how fair she looks, then proud runs up to kiss her."
-the contrast between the heavenly scenery of this bay and that awful volcano, which stands over it like an ever-present threat of destruction, reminds one of the cherubim which stood at the gate of eden to guarantee the restoration of redeemed and glorified humanity to communion with god, along with the self-revolving sword which symbolized the certainty and terribleness of divine vengeance upon sin. but neither by the promises of his grace nor by the threat of his vengeance do these people seem to be restrained from sin. many of them are sunk in vice. the contrast between splendor and squalor, superfluous wealth and abject poverty, which characterizes all large cities, is sharper, if possible, here than anywhere else. but it is the latter, the picturesque misery of naples, that makes most impression upon the visitor. some of the narrow streets, often not more than ten or twenty feet wide, are indescribably filthy, and they swarm with bareheaded, untidy women and half-naked children, yelling hucksters and pertinacious beggars, dirty monks and gowned priests. all this, and more which cannot here be set down, in one of the loveliest places on this beautiful earth.
-an observant and witty friend of mine says: "the people live outdoors, and for the best of reason--they would die indoors.... into most of the living rooms on their narrowest streets the sun never shines.... at the best, the ordinary buildings feel sepulchral, and an overcoat is to be worn here in the house, and not on the streets! lining the sides of many, if not most of the streets, are shops or booths. they are, as far as one can see, single rooms, furnished about the door with vegetables, or meats, or maccaroni, or wine bottles, or charcoal, or bread, the rest of the room filled with beds and tables and dressers, with dishes and food, and shrines and highly-colored chromos of the saints and apostles. the children are washed and dressed in the doorways, and their heads constantly watched and investigated, much after the friendly fashion of monkeys. by the way, peddlers are forever thrusting small boxes of combs into our faces, insisting upon our buying. we have not purchased any yet--but who can tell? the people do much of their cooking in small braziers outside the doors, on the sidewalk, burning charcoal and fanning the fires with hats or aprons. they have no hesitancy about eating out of the same dish and in the public eye. cows and goats are driven along the street and milked at the doors into glasses or bottles, which seems a fair guarantee for the milk being fresh. the calves and kids come to town, too, and take in the ways of the city, along with what they get of their mothers' milk. women wash clothes at the public fountains, some bringing wash-boards or flat stones, some treading the clothes in tubs with their feet. from windows and balconies, on lines stretched along the streets and on cane poles that almost touch the opposite houses, the wet things drip and dry. squads of soldiers in various uniforms pass and repass at all times of day; old women knit and rest in the doorways; vegetable and fish venders proclaim their wares in high, hard voices. at their cries baskets are let down from upper windows, and the sharpest bargains in the shrillest accents are driven in midair. if the goods are not satisfactory, down go the baskets to the sidewalk."
-of course we visited the aquarium, said to be the finest in the world, and the museum, with its two thousand mural paintings brought from pompeii, and its collection of ancient bronzes--also the finest in the world.
-but the things that interested us most were not in naples, but around it--such as puteoli, where, many centuries ago, on a balmy spring day like this, when the south wind was blowing softly over the sea, the apostle paul landed, with luke and aristarchus, on his way to rome; and where the ruins of the temple of jupiter serapis, bearing sea-marks at various levels and having its columns perforated by lithodomites and containing imbedded shells, shows how the building, by gradual subsidence of the land, was first let down into the water, and then by volcanic upheaval lifted again to the higher level.
-directly in front of us as we look from our windows, but far out over the expanse of sunlit water, twenty-two miles away, we can see capri, lying like a turquoise gem on the bosom of the bay. our party returned from their visit to this enchanting island with quite new conceptions of the color effects that may be produced by the combination of sunlight and sea water. when the steamer stops at capri, a short distance beyond the town of capri, the passengers get into small boats and are rowed up to a lofty cliff, in the base of which, at the water level, there is a small hole, four feet high and four feet wide, so small, indeed, that it cannot be entered at all when the tide is up or the water is rough. even under favorable conditions, passengers have to sit on the bottom of the boat and duck their heads. this is the entrance to the wonderful blue grotto. "once within, you find yourself in an arched cavern about one hundred and sixty feet long, one hundred and twenty wide, and about seventy high. how deep it is no man knows. it goes down to the bottom of the ocean. the waters of this placid subterranean lake are the brightest, loveliest blue that can be imagined. they are as transparent as plate glass, and their coloring would shame the richest sky that ever bent over italy. no tint could be more ravishing, no lustre more superb. throw a stone into the water, and the myriad of tiny bubbles that are created flash out a brilliant glare like blue theatrical fires. dip an oar, and its blade turns to frosted silver, tinted with blue. let a man jump in, and instantly he is cased in an armor more gorgeous than ever kingly crusader wore." two boys, in the scantiest possible attire, who were standing on a ledge when we entered, clothed themselves repeatedly in this celestial armor for our delectation and their profit, by diving for the pennies flung into the water by the passengers.
-i had had the good fortune on a former visit to see the process of its formation. at that time the lava was actually flowing from a breach in the side of the mountain, a little below the cone which surrounds the great crater, and a party of us walked over a half mile or so among the wild rocks and congealed lava to get a sight of it. the rocks over which we walked were too hot to touch with the naked hand, and scorched the bottoms of our shoes. the fumes of sulphur escaping through the crevices made the air almost suffocating. these conditions became more aggravated the nearer we came to the object of our search, so that one or two of the party became quite unnerved, gave up the expedition, and returned. we felt like we were walking in a furnace. then the guide made a turn round some great boulders, and there it was--a slowly moving stream of liquid fire, issuing from under a great rock, and flowing down the side of the mountain. every one threw his hands before his face to protect it from the blistering heat. the guide, standing behind a big rock, reached over with a long pole into this fearful red river and lifted out a glob of the molten lava on the end of it, as you would dip up a bit of hot molasses candy on the end of a fork, then, withdrawing a little way, he disengaged the lava from the end of the pole with a smaller stick, and, asking me for a penny, he laid the coin on the lump of lava and pressed it well down into the mass which rose round the edges of the coin, holding it firmly in its place--and thus made for me a paper weight, which is my best souvenir of vesuvius.
-perhaps the most beautiful drive in the world is the drive from castellamare to amalfi. castellamare is about an hour and a half by rail from naples, and not far from pompeii. it was here, indeed, that the elder pliny lost his life in the eruption of 79 a. d., which destroyed pompeii and herculaneum. taking a wagonette there about the middle of the day, we followed this magnificent road nearly all the afternoon, as it wound in and out along the mountainside, with the towering cliffs on one hand and the intensely blue bay on the other, seen ever and anon through openings between the silvery olive trees which clothed all the slopes, the view backwards being terminated by the majestic uplift of vesuvius, wearing a soft plum-colored tinge that we had never seen it have before. the soil here is wonderfully fertile, and every hillside is terraced and cultivated with the utmost care. the orange and lemon groves, with the trees trained over trellises and protected from too intense heat by straw, laid on frames above, were still blooming, though the trees were heavily laden with green and golden fruit. every now and then little boys and girls from the villages which are perched on the rocks or cling to the hillsides would run after us, throwing nosegays into the carriage and expecting "soldi" in return. after a while the scenery became more rugged, not unlike switzerland, with little waterfalls trickling down the cliffs, and scotch broom and other wild plants taking the place of the vineyards and orchards on the towering rocks. and now we begin to drive through tunnels cut through the cliffs and to pass over solid stone bridges, spanning glorious ravines at a dizzy height, with the transparent sea making in far below us, and the mountains of gray rock towering skyward above us. and at last, in the soft evening light, we reached the culmination of all this wonderful beauty at amalfi. when we stopped at the foot of the cliff on which the cappuccini hotel stands, overlooking the town and the sea, we found the uniformed portiere and other attendants in a little lodge or office at the bottom of a long, zigzag flight of stone steps, which leads up to the high perched hotel. but there were sedan chairs and chair-bearers to spare the ladies and the youngest of the children the long, lung-taxing climb, and we were soon comfortably installed in the most romantically situated hotel i have ever seen. it was a cappucin monastery once, and the cloisters are still there, but the cells are now used as bed-rooms. from the windows and balconies, and from the long and lovely arcade, covered with grape vines and lined with the most beautiful marguerites, lilies, roses and geraniums, the guests look down upon the picturesque little city, the boats drawn up on the beach, the burnished mediterranean, and the opaline islands in the offing. and how we protestants did sleep in the comfortably furnished cells of those ousted monks! amalfi is the place i wish to come to if i am ever again in italy.
-when we tore ourselves away from amalfi, we drove on around by salerno, another feast of beauty, and took the train at la cava for pompeii. for days we had been reading, or re-reading, bulwer's last days of pompeii with breathless interest, or plodding through the dryer, but hardly more accurate, details of the guide book--we had been to the museum at naples, where the mural paintings and other disentombed relics of the city are shown, and we had stood on the crater of the volcano that wrought its destruction--so that we came to the exhumed ruins with as thorough preparation as we had found it possible to make. but what description can prepare one for the impression of that appalling catastrophe which one receives when he stands in the midst of the ruins themselves, and sees how sudden and terrible the overthrow was?
-pompeii had been shattered by an earthquake sixteen years before the final catastrophe, but the warning had been disregarded. the place was rebuilt with lavish outlay, and embellished with all the resources of contemporary art, so that it was a new and splendid city which was buried by the eruption of 79 a. d. on the 23rd of august in that year, about two o'clock in the afternoon, terrible detonations were heard in the mountain, and shortly afterwards an enormous column of watery vapor issued from the top of it, remained suspended for a time in the air, then condensed and fell in boiling rain on the mountain sides, creating an irresistible torrent of mud, which quickly engulfed the city of herculaneum. following this, later in the evening, apparently about dark, came a roaring eruption of red hot pumice stones and volcanic dust, succeeded quickly by other showers of the same material, which covered pompeii to the depth of fifteen or twenty feet. thus was the brilliant city, in all the exuberance of its gay life, plunged into death in a single night. and all the inhabitants of that part of italy believed that they were about to share the same dreadful fate. the air was so thick that for many miles from the volcano it was almost stifling. it is said to have extended as far as africa. it certainly reached as far as rome, and covered that city with a pall of darkness so deep that the people took it for a sign of impending doom. they said to each other, "the end of the world is come! the sun is going to fall to the earth, or the earth mount up and be set on fire by the heavens."
-the most graphic account of the horrors of that awful night at pompeii is to be found in the two letters of the younger pliny to tacitus. speaking of his efforts to remove his mother out of reach of harm, while she was begging him to leave her to perish and save himself, he says: "by this time the murky darkness had so increased that one might have believed himself abroad in a black and moonless night, or in a chamber where all the lights had been extinguished. on every hand were heard the complaints of women, the wailing of children, and the cries of men. one called his father, another his son, another his wife, and only by their voices could they know each other. many in their despair begged that death would come and end their distress. some implored the gods to succor them, and some believed that this night was the last, the eternal night which should engulf the universe! even so it seemed to me--and i consoled myself for the coming death with the reflection, behold the world is passing away!"
-no one saw the sun rise on the morrow. the clouds of volcanic matter, still pouring their pitiless rain upon the ruins, so darkened the sky that people could not tell when the day came.
-and there, under the superincumbent mass of stones and dust, the city slept undisturbed till a few years ago, with everything as it was in the days of titus. "it was like a clock that stopped when the householder died. meats were on the table and bread was in the oven; sentries were in their boxes and dogs on guard at house doors." most of the inhabitants escaped, but it is estimated, from the skeletons found in the ruins, that not less than two thousand lost their lives. in the museum by the entrance at the marine gate we are shown the blackened loaves of bread, recovered from the bakeries, the beans and eggs, the chickens and dogs, or their shapes from the moulds they left--and, most distressing of all, human figures. "plaster of paris had been poured into the hollows where bones were found, and in all the contortion of suffocation or convulsion appeared the forms of men and women. how little the ones whose brawny or whose delicate outlines we gazed upon dreamt that they would be their own monuments to-day, and be seen by the eyes of other races and ages, eyes curious, but not unsympathetic! it was good to be in the warm sunshine again. a cloud of smoke floated like a gray scarf--how gracefully and innocently!--from vesuvius."
-we walked up the narrow streets, paved with blocks of hard lava, deeply rutted by chariot wheels, passing the basilica, the forum, the triumphal arch, the temples, the theatres, the baths, the bakeries, and the houses of pansa, diomedes, and the tragic poet--all laid bare and clean to the view. we had the good fortune to see the process of excavation itself--for while most of the city has been disentombed, some of it still remains under the layers of small grayish white pumice stones and brown dust. three or four men were shovelling these away as we passed. from most of the houses the furniture and wall paintings have been taken away to the museums. but in the last large residence exhumed, one which has only recently been brought to light, nearly everything has been left as it was, except for a new roof of mica or some such substance, which has been built over it for its protection. nearly all the frescoes are as fresh as on the day when they were painted, and the fountain in the peristyle and its connecting pipes are so perfectly preserved that, when the water was turned into them by the excavators, the fountains began to play as they did on that fateful day eighteen hundred years ago. "for as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day that noah entered into the ark, and knew not until the flood came, and took them all away," so it was with the careless dwellers in this opulent city--and so it is with the careless dwellers in many an opulent city to-day.
-from naples we turned our faces homeward, taking passage on the könig albert, and coming by way of gibraltar and the azores. we had a delightful ship's company, including dr. andrew d. white, the accomplished ex-president of cornell university and our late ambassador to berlin, whom we found full of illuminating talk about fra paolo sarpi and other great men and great subjects. after a quiet and restful voyage, affording a pleasant contrast with our experience of the preceding summer when outward bound, we arrived at new york on the 10th of june, 1903, deeply thankful for all the pleasure and benefit the year had brought us, and fully convinced that, after all, ours is the best country in the world.
-addison, joseph, funeral of, 159.
-alfred the great, 28, 147, 148.
-america and england, proposed alliance of, 47.
-america's future, english view of, 50, 51.
-american revolution, british view of, 42-45.
-amsterdam, islands and canals, 226. built on piles, 227. business activities, 227. jewish quarter, 228.
-aquinas, thomas, retort to the pope, 303.
-balfour, arthur j., prime minister, 59.
-bibles, in edinburgh churches, 84, 88.
-blackie, prof. stuart, on jenny geddes, 91. on oban, 119.
-blowing stone of king alfred, 148, 149.
-blue grotto at capri, 349.
-bologna, colonnades, 248. leaning towers, 249. university, 249. galvani's frog, 249. house of the virgin, 264.
-booth, general, and salvation army, 80.
-buddha canonized by rome, 295.
-british government a republic, 55, 56.
-burns, robert, birthplace, 136.
-caledonian canal, 123.
-canterbury cathedral, 187, 188.
-carnegie, andrew, on america's future, 50, 51. on intemperance, 104, 105.
-cathedrals in england, original significance, 177. æsthetic influence, 178. romanizing tendency, 179-185.
-cenci, beatrice, 300.
-charles i., "the martyr," 139.
-charles ii., wax effigy of, in westminster abbey, 170. defied by bishop ken, 33.
-church-going in edinburgh, 88.
-claverhouse, victory and death at killiecrankie, 133.
-coligni, admiral, 201-203.
-cologne, cathedral, 238. accident to baggage, 257.
-commons, house of, 57-61.
-confession of faith, 153.
-confessional, the, in rome, 309, 310.
-crockett, s. r., author, 109.
-cromwell, oliver, portrait at sidney sussex college, 62. slandered by royalists, 174. body disinterred and hanged, 175, 176. statue at westminster, 176.
-culloden moor, battle of, 126.
-davis, jefferson, name erased by gen. meigs, 173, 174.
-dickens, charles, on the influence of romanism, 312, 313.
-disruption of 1843 in scotland, 93.
-dods, marcus, d. d., 82, 83.
-edinburgh and environs, 100. slums, 101.
-english channel, 199.
-english education bill, a sectarian measure, 51-54.
-english lakes, 135.
-english pronunciations, 140, 141.
-english rural scenery, 23.
-episcopalians in virginia, 192, 193.
-erasmus, statue of, 218.
-farrar, dean, sermon in westminster abbey, 77.
-fingal's cave, 121, 122.
-florence, art treasures, 250. savonarola, 251, 252.
-foxe, book of martyrs, 304.
-geddes, jenny and her stool, 91, 92.
-german steamships, 12.
-gibson, mrs. margaret d., ll. d., 65, 66.
-gladstone, on the papacy, 313.
-glasgow, 111. cathedral, 115, 116.
-haarlem, flowers, tulip mania, 225.
-hague, the, 218.
-hawthorne, nathaniel, on borghese gardens, 320, 321. on sensual and spiritual art, 334, 335. on the priests of rome, 335, 336.
-henry vii.'s chapel in westminster abbey, 161.
-henry viii. detaches church of england from the papacy, 181.
-henson, canon, on anglican narrowness, 190-192.
-holland, wrested from the sea, 212, 213. dykes, canals, windmills, polders, 213-215. scenery, 217. art, 219. presbyterian faith and un-presbyterian church buildings, 220, 221. queer customs, 228, 229. cleanliness, 230, 231. mother of america, 231-237.
-huguenots, worshipping in canterbury cathedral, 187, 188, 207. origin of name, 201. massacre of st. bartholomew, 202. other persecutions, 204, 205. the world's debt to them, 205, 206. revival in france, 208-210.
-intemperance in scotland, 103-105.
-iron crown of lombardy, 265-269.
-jerusalem chamber westminster abbey, 154-160.
-johnson, dr. samuel, opinion of london, 40. prejudice against scotland, 71. visits flora macdonald, 130. house and monument at lichfield, 137. buried in westminster abbey, 165.
-kelvin, lord, 116, 117.
-ken, thomas, 31-33.
-knox, john, greatest of scotchmen, 80. comments on the ominous advent of mary queen of scots, 85.
-kruger, oom paul, at utrecht, 228.
-lewis, mrs. agnes s., ll. d., 65, 66.
-leyden, siege, 222. university, 223, 224. pilgrim fathers, 224. horse flesh as food, 224, 225. interest in an american baby, 255.
-liguori's moral philosophy approved by leo xiii., 309, 310.
-loch katrine, 110.
-loch leven, 135.
-loch lomond, 111.
-loch tay, 111.
-london, soot, 34, 35. brick houses, 36. compared with glasgow and paris, 37-39, 200. immensity, 38. charm, 39, 40.
-lucerne, lake, 243. lion of, 242.
-luther, monument at worms, 241. disenthrallment at rome, 280.
-macaulay, lord, on romanism, 311, 312.
-macdonald, flora, statue at inverness, 125. saves prince charlie, 126-128. arrested, 128. confined in tower of london, 129. marries, 130. entertains dr. johnson and boswell, 130. moves to north carolina, 130. her husband defeated at moore's creek, 131. returns to scotland, 132.
-mal de mer, 11, 199.
-martyrs of scotland, 100, 107-9.
-matheson, geo., d. d., 82, 83.
-milan, cathedral, leonardo's great picture, 244.
-milton, john, monument in westminster abbey, 173.
-miracles, alleged, of christ's portrait, 280, 291. christ's footprints, 286. ghislieri, 298, 299. santissimo bambino, 276-278. st. anne's bones, 264. sts. cosmo and damian, 299. st. dominic, 296, 297. st. giovanni de matha, 299. st. gregory, 299. st. januarius' blood, 262. st. martin i., 299. st. paul's head, 284, 285. st. peter's head, 284. st. peter's knees, 283. st. veronica's napkin, 291. the virgin's house, 264. the virgin's image, 300. wafer, 279.
-monza, iron crown of lombardy, 265-269.
-moravian mission agency, london, 79.
-more, sir thos., imprisonment and death, 158.
-naples, scenery and scenes, 346-348. blood of st. januarius, 262.
-newton, sir isaac, 159.
-ocean, a modern highway, 13.
-overtoun, garden party, 112.
-oxford, compared with cambridge, 63-65.
-palissy the potter, 202, 203.
-papal mania for building, 324.
-paris, beauty of, 37, 38, 199, 201. customs in, 200.
-parker, joseph, d. d., 78.
-parliament houses, london, 56, 57.
-pasquinades, 301, 302, 307, 308.
-penelope's progress, quoted, 88.
-perth, 133, 134.
-pisa, four monuments, 252.
-prayers, written, in presbyterian churches, 186, 187.
-presbyterian church, largest protestant church in the world, 114.
-presbyterian queen of holland, 220.
-presbyterian services, 183, 184, 196-198, 220, 221.
-prestonpans, battle of, 87.
-prince charlie, unique prayer for, 87. victory at prestonpans, 87. defeat at culloden, 126. flight to hebrides, 126. saved by flora macdonald, 127, 128. ingratitude, 128. burial in st. peter's cathedral, 128.
-protestantism contrasted with romanism by macaulay, dickens and gladstone, 311-313.
-queen elizabeth, wax effigy in westminster abbey, 170.
-queen wilhelmina, 220.
-quhele, shoe heel, maxton, 134.
-relics-- abraham's stone, 283. aaron's rod, 279, 281. bambino, santissimo, 276-278. christ's blood, 281. communion table, 278. cross, 280, 291. footprints, 286. loaves and fishes, 279. pillar, 282, 289. portrait, 280, 291. sandals, 280. seamless coat, 278. towel, 279. devil's, the, missile against st. dominic, 297. john the baptist's tooth, 265. maccabees, 286. santa culla, 273-275. santissimo bambino, 276-278. scala santa, 279, 280. st. andrew's head, 291. cross, 286. st. anne's bones, quebec, 264. st. dominic's orange tree, 298. st. edmund's bones, 261. st. januarius' blood, 262. st lawrence's bones, 295, 296. fat, 281. st. longinus' spear, 291. st. mark's bones, 260. st. paul's body, 290. head, miraculous springs, 284, 285. st. peter's body, 290. chains, 286-288. chair, 290. cross, 286. head, 278. knees, 283. spring, 284. st. philomena's bones, 293, 294. st. stephens's bones, 295, 296. st. thomas' finger, 281. st. veronica's napkin, 291. virgin's hair, 281. house, 263. milk, 281. stone seat, 283. veil, 265, 281.
-rembrandt's "school of anatomy," 217.
-renwick, james, martyr, 107.
-rhine, vintage, 239.
-roman catholicism in italy, dr. mariano on, 308. macaulay, dickens and gladstone on, 311-313. (see also robertson.)
-rosaries, introduced by dominicans, 298.
-sabbath observance in scotland, 102.
-salisbury cathedral, 21, 22.
-sanquhar declaration, 109.
-sarpi, fra paolo, 247, 248.
-savonarola, 251, 252.
-sayce, prof. a. h., 84.
-scotland, character of people, 80, 81, 102. cities solid and stately, 37. humor, 113. oatmeal, 70, 71. public worship, 71-90, 184-'5. scenery, 68, 69. sermon taster, 94. weather, 84, 85.
-scott, sir walter, 69, 70, 100. on superiority of presbyterian worship, 183, 184.
-scottish and american repartee, 96-98.
-shorter catechism, 151-156.
-simon magus, discomfited by st. peter, 283.
-simony at rome, 302.
-staffa, 121, 122.
-stirling, 107, 108.
-stonehenge, 24, 25.
-strasburg, clock, 241, 243.
-stratford-on-avon, 138. american window, 139. sing-song of children, 140.
-stuart kings, buried in st. peter's, 343, 344.
-st. peter's cathedral, 289.
-switzerland, scenery in summer and winter, 241, 242.
-twain, mark, on relics, 259, 260, 262, 263. on differences between america and italy, 329, 330. on the inquisition, 331, 332. on the relative rank of the deities of rome, 332, 333.
-venice, palaces, 245. fallen campanile, 245, 246. church of jesuits, 246. gondolas, 246, 256, 257. fra paolo sarpi, 247, 248. bones of st. mark, 260.
-vesuvius, ascent of, 350-352.
-victor emmanuel, liberator of italy, 309.
-wallace, sir william, 107.
-walton, izaak, 29, 30.
-watts, isaac, 17-20.
-westminster abbey-- architectural interest, 160-'1. burials, 163, 164. coronations, 161, 162. decorated for coronation, 152, 153. edward the confessor's tomb, 171. henry vii.'s chapel, 161. jerusalem chamber, 154-161. monuments, 164-167. monuments denied to notable persons, 172, 173. mutilated monuments, 171. poets' corner, 164. royal chapels, 168, 169. wax effigies, 169, 170.
-westminster assembly of divines, 153-155.
-westminster college, cambridge, 64.
-white, dr. andrew d., on canonization of buddha, 295. on fra paolo sarpi, 357.
-white horse hill, 145-149.
-wiesbaden, 239, 240.
-wilson, margaret, martyr, 107-109.
-winchester, cathedral, 28-30. college, 30, 31.
-worms, luther monument, 241.
-zanardelli, prime minister, on the morality of the priests, 269, 270. opposition to the papacy, 309.
-zola, emile, on roman megalo-mania, 322-326. on the multitude of priests in rome, 326, 327.
-joan of the journal
-joan of the journal
-helen diehl olds
-illustrated by robb beebe
-grosset & dunlap
-publishers new york
-by arrangement with d. appleton-century company
-copyright, 1930, by
-d. appleton and company
-all rights reserved. this book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission of the publisher.
-copyright, 1927, 1928, 1929, 1930 by the methodist book concern
-printed in the united states of america
-to my sons bob and jerry just because ...
-it was the story of the charity play “i’ll talk with this young woman alone,” he said “mark ’em ‘first’ and ‘second’,” tim shouted “are you a deaf-mute or aren’t you?”
-joan gets a job
-“i’ll be back in a minute,” joan called over her shoulder to mother, as she scurried around past the lilac bushes by the kitchen windows.
-oh, suppose she were too late!
-tim had gone into the journal office, just as she had started doing the dishes. joan rarely minded doing dishes, because the windows above the kitchen sink looked across at the journal office and she could watch everything that went on over there. usually, she lingered over the dishes, just as she hustled over the bed making because the bedrooms were on the other side of the house. but to-day, she had done the dishes in less than no time, because she wanted to be nearer the scene of action than the kitchen windows.
-she hurried now, though it was rather undignified for a person fourteen years old to run in a public place like this. that was the trouble with living right down town. no privacy. joan thought of the rows and rows of new homes out at the end of market street, and then looked back at her own little home—also on market street. it was a tiny, red brick house, tucked in between the journal office and the county court house, set back behind a space of smooth green lawn. it was like living in a public square. but joan had lived there all her life and really loved the excitement of it.
-uncle john, who was general manager of the paper, would probably be busy and tell tim to wait, as though he were just anybody applying for a summer-time job and not his own nephew, joan’s seventeen-year-old brother.
-joan crossed the green plot to the nearest window of the journal—she had climbed in and out of those windows as a little girl. she could see chub, the red-haired office boy, wandering around. he was never very busy this time of the afternoon after the paper was on the press. joan was as much at home in the journal office as in her own brick house next door. as a baby, she had often curled up on a heap of newspapers and taken her nap, regardless of the roar and throb of the presses. that was when daddy had been alive and had been city editor. he had been so proud of his baby girl that he had often taken her to work with him in an afternoon when mother was busy and things at the office were slack.
-she had grown up with the roar and clatter of the machines, and the smell of hot ink, and she loved it all, just as other girls might love a battered old piano in the parlor—just because it spelled home.
-uncle john’s office was at the end of the editorial rooms, just by the swinging door into the composing room. “sanctum sanctorum” she and tim called uncle john’s office. joan stationed herself out of sight, under the buckeye tree, and peered through the dirty, streaked window. she could see uncle john’s desk, with its crowded cubby-holes, frayed blotter, and books about to fall off.
-she craned her neck and saw tim standing before the desk, twisting his cap in his hands. of course, talking to uncle john wasn’t anything, but asking for a job as a cub reporter was. they were talking together, and tim looked so serious, joan would hardly have recognized him.
-oh, he had to get that job! it was during graduation week, when tim had had to have a new outfit for the commencement exercises, that mother had done some figuring and suddenly discovered that perhaps there would not be enough money for college for tim, after all. tim had had his heart set on going to the state university at columbus that fall. joan herself had even dreamed of attending the big football games while he was there, and when they cheered, “martin! atta boy, martin!” she would say, as modestly as she could, “that’s my brother!” tim was good in all sports—had been a leader in them all through high school. it was the only thing he really liked, but, in a town like plainfield, excelling in sports offered no method of earning money during the summer months.
-if he’d said anything like that to joan, she would have been in seventh heaven, she thought. but tim seemed only mildly thrilled. of course, he wanted the job, but it was only a job to tim, while a job on the journal had been joan’s lifelong dream.
-finally, as she watched now, she saw uncle john get up and walk around his desk. he shook hands with tim and patted him on the shoulder. tim grinned all over his face, then turned and went out the door, while uncle john went back to his cluttered desk. joan could have watched tim as he went through the editorial rooms and the business office and the front door of the journal, for there were rows of windows all facing her own green yard, but instead, she turned and raced to their kitchen door.
-“mother!” her voice vibrated through the old house. “tim got the job!”
-mrs. martin looked up from the oven where she had slipped in a cake, and smiled. “that’s nice.”
-joan sank down on a kitchen chair that was peeling its paint. “mother, it’s wonderful!”
-“joan, don’t get so excited.” the oven door banged. “it’s not you that’s got the job.”
-“i really feel as though it was, honest,” declared the girl. “you know, i’ve always dreamed of having a job on the journal and now i have it—or rather tim has, but it’s all in the family.”
-“you should have been a boy, jo,” mrs. martin made her oft-repeated remark. as it was, joan’s dark, straight hair was always given a boyish bob, and there were some boyish freckles on her short nose, too. “tim may be the image of his father, but you’re just the way he was, crazy about the newspaper. i don’t see what you see in it. though i guess it has been better since john’s been managing it. but as soon as we can sell this house without a loss, we’ll move.”
-“mother!” joan wouldn’t feel she were living without the journal next door. but she didn’t take her mother’s words seriously. mother was always talking vaguely of selling the house and had suggested it in earnest recently. the interest on the mortgage was high and being in a business block, it was hard to find a buyer. if she could retain it, until some one wanted it for business purposes, they might make a nice profit. but plainfield was a slow-growing town. uncle john advised holding it until some one wanted it for a business.
-“your poor father just slaved for that paper, and it never got him anywhere,” went on her mother. “i hope you get over the notion of being a reporter by the time you’re tim’s age, and take up stenography.”
-“ugh.” joan made a little face. “office work—not me!”
-no, she was going to be a reporter, no matter what. hadn’t daddy taught her to typewrite when she was only eleven, and didn’t even tim think she was a “pretty good typist”? daddy had always said she had a “nose for news,” too. she remembered feeling her pug nose speculatively the first time he said that, wondering what it meant. her nose did turn up inquisitively. now she knew, “nose for news” meant she had the natural curiosity that it took to make a good reporter.
-then the door opened and tim came in, still wearing the broad grin with which he had left the journal office.
-“i’m glad you got it, son.” mrs. martin spoke before tim could say a word.
-“just like that kid, to tell everything before any one else gets a chance.”
-he was really cross. that’s the way he was most of the time, these days. they had been good chums until his senior year in high school, when he had assumed such superior airs. he had acted especially high and mighty since his graduation last week. as far as joan could find out, he had nothing against her except her age. could she help it that she was nearly four years the younger? she was almost as tall as amy powell, her best friend, and amy was fifteen years old. he was usually nice to amy, too, but then amy had a grown-up way around the boys.
-only at times did he seem the same old brother. to think that only a year ago they had been such chums, even to having a secret code between them. when she was small, it had amused her to learn that tim’s real name, timothy, was also the name of a grain. “oats and beans and barley,” she used to sing the old song at him, and somehow or other in their play that phrase came to mean, “danger. look out.” it had been convenient lots of times in their games, hie spy and run sheep run. but they hadn’t used it for a long time now.
-“tim, i just couldn’t help telling. i was so excited.” she tried to make her dark eyes sober and her voice sorry sounding, now.
-“she’s the limit.” tim turned to his mother. “reads what i’m writing over my shoulder and breathes down my neck till i’m nearly crazy.”
-he, like mother, refused to believe she was in earnest about being a reporter.
-“you ought to be glad i do snoop around,” joan told him, as she wiped off the table for mother. “you know edna ferber’s dawn o’hara was rescued from the wastebasket by her sister, so you see! when do you start in?”
-“to-morrow.” tim drew up his shoulders, proudly. “uncle john says they really need a cub reporter since they put mack on sports. that’s the place i’d really like! but—they need a cub, and i’m it. decent enough salary, too, mother; i’ll be able to pay you some board, besides saving for the university.”
-mother smiled. “that’s fine!”
-“i stopped at nixon’s desk and he gave me my beat.” tim pulled a scrap of yellow paper from his pocket.
-“what is your beat?” joan squirmed to see.
-he let her read: railway station flower shops library post office
-“i have to go round there every day and scare up news,” he said. “the rest of the time, i’ll be busy doing obits and rewrites.” (that meant obituary notices and articles rewritten from other newspapers.)
-joan gazed at him over the plates and things she was carrying into the china closet. she always just drained them, and they were dry now. “and can i go with you?”
-“on my beat?” came the scandalized echo. “i should say not!”
-but, as she put the plates away, joan schemed to go. how else could she learn what a cub reporter did on his beat? and since she wanted to be a reporter some day herself, she must not miss this opportunity.
-“and i mustn’t make any mistakes.” tim followed her into the dining room. “uncle john says we can’t stand a black eye with election time coming off in the fall.”
-“why, what has that to do with it?” joan asked.
-tim, always willing to display his knowledge, went on to explain that a man named william berry from western ohio and called “billy berry” in political circles, was running for governor of the state. he had bought the journal’s rival, the morning star, the only other newspaper in town, and was trying every way to “get in good with the people,” to insure his election. the journal, opposed to certain methods and past actions of billy berry, had had to double their efforts against this man, who was not the right one for governor at all. the journal had its own candidate, edward hutton, who lived in cleveland, but who spent a great deal of time on his estate in the beautiful ohio valley country near plainfield. the journal and edward hutton’s followers were striving to show every one that he was the better man for governor.
-joan listened intently and tried hard to understand. “and is the journal uncle john’s ‘political tool’?” she asked.
-study what, joan wondered, but she knew better than to ask. he had been such a peach telling her so much, she mustn’t get him provoked with her. she wandered out to the yard and called em, the cat. em really belonged to the journal but she spent most of her time at the martins’. daddy had named her em—which is a very small newspaper measure—when she had been a tiny, black kitten that you could hold in the palm of your hand. now, she was a big, shiny cat. she rubbed against joan’s plaid sport hose, entreatingly. joan picked her up and cuddled her slippery length on her shoulder.
-what did it matter if em shed black hairs over joan’s white middy? joan never bothered much about clothes. she wore middies almost all the time because they were easy to get into and were comfortable. she wished she might always wear knickers, but since she couldn’t, she wore pleated skirts as often as she could. the one she had on to-day was a real scotch plaid.
-joan began to hunt for four-leaf clovers in the short-cropped grass. if she found one, she’d give it to tim, to bring him good luck in his new work. they could have them for “talismen” like lloyd and rob in the little colonel books. she was half afraid that tim would not be a good reporter; he was too—temperamental somehow.
-she glanced often toward the journal windows. mother hated having her run over there so much—was afraid uncle john wouldn’t like it, so she was never to go without an excuse. but chub often called her to the windows to keep her posted on everything that went on.
-pretty soon, she heard his familiar, “yoo-whoo!”
-a window in the journal office opposite was pushed up, and chub stuck his red head out. “come here a minute.”
-chub was just joan’s age and her special pal. he knew almost everything there was to know about a newspaper office. he was sympathetic with joan’s ambitions to newspaper fame, and was always willing to answer any of her questions. when work was slack at the journal, the two often had games together—even playing mumble-peg on the worn, splintery floor of the editorial office.
-“i suppose you know the news?” he grinned, as she came to the window.
-“about tim? sure thing,” she answered. “say, chub, do me a favor, and think up something to call me over to the journal about, to-morrow afternoon, will you? it’ll be tim’s first day, and i’ll be so anxious to know how everything goes, but i don’t dare let on to him.”
-“o.k.” that was chub’s favorite expression at the present. he got a new one every few weeks.
-“say, jo,” he lowered his voice. “there’s something queer going on over here. mystery. i’m working on it—oh, gee, there’s cookie waving some copy at me. i gotta go. but i’ll tell you more as soon as i really find out something.”
-the red head was withdrawn, and joan went back to the kitchen steps, depositing em beside her saucer of milk.
-a mystery at the journal! what could it be? and would it affect tim? joan rather guessed so, from chub’s remarks. joan loved mysteries, and chub knew it. besides, if chub had discovered it, then it was bound to be a really good one. a real man’s mystery—nothing silly, like the mysteries amy tried to concoct.
-in a little bit, tim came out, in a radiant mood, joan could tell at a glance. “grab your swimming suit, kid. i want to get in a last swim before i start my job—i’ll be too busy as a cub, and don’t want to go alone.”
-it was wonderful having tim decent to her, joan thought as she flew to do his bidding. would he always be this agreeable, now that he was happy and important over having a job? she hoped so.
-after supper, joan sat on the side steps and listened to the drone of the humming bird that visited the honeysuckle vines, and looked up at the stars above the journal office roof.
-“to-morrow, i start my job,” she thought. she really could not have been more interested if she herself, instead of tim, were to report at the journal at eight o’clock in the morning.
-soon, there was a little jingle behind her. it was tim, putting out the milk bottle, with its pennies and nickels, for mother—also a signal that joan should come on to bed.
-as she went through the dining room to the stairs, a slim tan booklet lying there on the dining room table caught her eye. it was entitled journal style, and was a little pamphlet on what a cub should and should not do. she had never seen a copy of it before. she supposed they were just given to the new men and that was why. that was what tim had been studying that afternoon up in his room, and this evening, too, probably while she sat on the steps.
-she opened it. “the lead of every story should answer, if possible, the questions: who? what? where? when? and how?”
-why, this was just exactly what she wanted! she hooked one of the chairs up to the table with her foot and began to read.
-about an hour later, mother’s voice called her. “joan, aren’t you ever coming up to bed?”
-she left the book where she had found it, and stumbled up the stairs, trying to remember all the hints to reporters she had read.
-to-morrow. the job! that reminded her of chub’s mystery. what could he mean, and when would he tell her?
-the journal family
-next morning, joan did not even hint to tim that she was planning some time to follow him. it would seem like “tagging” to him. but she must learn all she could about his job. maybe she could really help him in some way, and then he’d be glad she had taken such an interest.
-she hustled about making beds and putting the house in order. she had her regular duties, and in the summer-time they were heavier than when she went to school. joan did not like housework. but she always tackled it the way she did everything, and was done before she really had much time to think how she hated it. whenever she demurred at having to do household tasks, when she would rather be over at the journal, learning about newspapers, mother would say, “joan, remember that louisa alcott often had to drop her pen for her needle or broom.” sometimes, mother almost seemed to understand.
-joan had to stop in the middle of her dusting this morning to answer the telephone. it was amy asking her to go for a swim.
-“i can’t—i tell you, i’ve got a job.” joan told her for the fourth time. joan adored swimming, even though the inland city of plainfield offered nothing more than a dammed-up creek.
-a laugh buzzed through the wire. “jo, don’t be silly.”
-it was hard to refuse amy. she was one of those bossy girls. but joan hung on, and though amy coaxed at great length, she was firm.
-“you’re going to spoil our vacation!” finally amy banged down at her end.
-joan, rising with cramped muscles to resume her work, thought to herself that this was going to be the best vacation she ever had because she—well, tim really—had a job on the journal. as she turned from the telephone, she saw her mother’s face full of disapproval. mother always wanted her to go with amy, rather than hang around the journal office.
-“how could i go, to-day,” she appealed, “when tim just starts his job? i don’t know when something may break, and tim might miss a big story. why, there might be a big fire right in this block. i have to stick around.”
-the disapproval did not leave mother’s face, but she said nothing.
-everything finished, joan found it impossible to settle down to reading. it seemed strangely lonesome in the house without tim. their vacation had been going on for a whole week now, and the two had been together most of that time, laughing, chattering and bickering with each other. she missed tim, even if he often did fail to treat her with proper respect.
-she wandered down to the kitchen and was grateful for mother’s timid suggestion that the ice box needed cleaning. anything to keep busy! she discovered a quantity of milk. enough for fudge, she decided. tim would love some when he came home from work that afternoon. she’d make it for a surprise. she followed the directions amy had written for her in the back of the thick cook book—a new kind of fudge. it turned out beautifully. mother praised it with lavish adjectives. joan knew it wasn’t that wonderful, but mother was always pleased when she took an interest in anything domestic.
-tim came home for lunch and between mouthfuls he told joan what he had written up that morning—one really sizable obituary. she hoped he had put in all the details that the journal style booklet had said were necessary for the well-written obit. that was pretty good for him actually to report something the first day, she thought. she wished he would tell her in minutest detail, moment by moment, what he had done that morning, but boys were so vague in their conversations. he merely said he had “legged” it all over town—a leg man, is what he was called on the newspaper.
-joan was eager to go over to the journal for the paper as soon as it was off the press to see tim’s story. would chub remember to call her?
-she would go over sooner if an excuse offered itself, she decided as she settled down restlessly with a book on the side steps. if only uncle john would need her for something; or miss betty, who did the society notes, would send her out for candy to nibble on, or for an extra hair net or something, as she often did.
-about the middle of the afternoon the call came.
-“yoo-whoo!” it was chub at the journal window. “come on over.”
-joan’s book fell on the ground and she hurried over. in the editorial room, she glanced around. tim was not at his desk—he had told her that he was to have the one right next to mack’s. he was probably out on a story. she hoped it was a big one.
-mr. nixon, the editor, was in a good humor and gave the manager’s niece a smile. the editor seldom wore a coat these days. he was usually in vest and shirt sleeves which made him seem younger than he really was. the collar button at the back of his neck always showed. often he was cross and would bellow, “get a job on a monthly,” at all the unlucky ones who tried to plead that their stories were not quite finished. he was just as apt to call pretty miss betty a nincompoop if she made a mistake, as he was to say, when she wrote up a good article, “a few more stories like this, and the journal won’t be able to hold you.”
-miss betty parker waved hello from her desk by the window. miss betty had the distinction of being the only woman on the editorial staff. “here, woman!” was the way the men often summoned her to the telephone.
-there was a pink rose on miss betty’s desk. had mack, the sport editor, who was there with a green eye shade and a pencil behind his ear, given it to her? joan thought it must be lovely to write all those society items about the people who lived on the north side and who gave teas and parties and luncheons and things. beside that, miss betty conducted an advice to the lovelorn column, which joan read every evening. she signed her answers, betty fairfax. mack tried to make joan believe that he wrote the questions, but she knew better than that, because they had had them before he came to the journal, which was only a few months ago.
-somehow, joan did not like mack, although he was really almost as good-looking as tim. tim was dark, with wavy hair and dark eyes, while mack was very blond, with a reddish mustache. tim had been loud in his protest against mack when he first joined the journal family, and especially when he had been made sport editor. “that sissy! imagine him a sport editor.” but later, he admitted that mack was a smart fellow. “he has a ‘nose for news’ all right and he certainly can write,” tim had added admiringly.
-mack’s corner had been fixed up with appropriate sport pictures before he came. he had added no new ones. tim would have.
-there was a member of the journal staff, of whom joan approved whole-heartedly. that was old james cook, a veteran reporter, called cookie by all who knew him. he was fat and old, but kind, and always as gracious to joan as though she had been miss betty’s age.
-“well, well,” he greeted her now, as he shuffled over to the files. “i thought the day wouldn’t be complete without your shining face around here. especially now with brother tim on the pay roll. when are you going to steal miss betty’s job away from her?”
-he was not teasing, like mack. but joan was embarrassed. she really did hope to have miss betty’s job in a few more years, but it hardly seemed polite to admit it.
-“just as soon as i get to be the star reporter around here on double space rates,” miss betty laughed in reply to cookie, and joan did not need to answer.
-cookie was one of the nicest men in the world—always ready to help any one. he would even pitch in and help miss betty write up social items, pink teas and things when she got rushed. “i can describe a wedding gown as well as any one,” he would brag. he had once been on the new york banner, but his health had failed and now he was content to putter along here on the journal, doing desk work. he was liked by every one. he was always willing to answer all joan’s questions about the newspaper. he had taught her long ago that “news is anything timely that is of interest,” and joan had learned that phrase by heart before she was ten. he had told her that the word “news” came from the letters of the four points of the compass, north, east, west, and south.
-“cookie,” joan reminded him, “you’re always saying you are going to tell chub and me some of your experiences on that big new york newspaper. when are you?”
-“oh—some time,” he drawled, as he ambled off.
-there was no squelching bossy. he was a great talker and every one let him ramble on. he had been the janitor so long that he felt almost as though he owned the paper. no one felt it more keenly when the journal was “scooped” by the star, than did this same, good-natured bossy. he prided himself that he read every word in the journal every day.
-“your brother gwine be a newspaper reporter, dat what?” he turned to joan. “well, he’ll hab to be careful and not make no mistakes. de journal got to be careful. mistakes is bad. bossy knows.” he muttered something to himself.
-tim came back into the office now, with a rather disgusted look on his face, and began pounding his typewriter keys, for all the world like a provoked small boy doing his detested piano practice. joan went over and glanced over his shoulder at what he was writing. it was a short article asking for cast-off baby things, toys and clothing for the babies of the crowded-to-overflowing day nursery on grove street. of course, tim would hate a “sissy” assignment like that, but joan would have enjoyed seeing all the babies and having the matron tell her of the things recently donated.
-when he finished that story, he started on the rewrites, stories from the morning star dished up in a different style. joan glanced at his desk. it was cluttered like a real reporter’s. the whole editorial office was untidy. the staff seldom used the tall, green metal wastebasket in the corner. they wadded up papers and aimed at it. chub often said, “the first person to hit the wastebasket around here will be fired.”
-joan noticed that tim had tacked a slip of yellow copy paper on the wall just above his typewriter. it read, in the editor’s handwriting:
-martin— call undertakers twice a day, at 9:30 and 1:15. call medical examiner at the same time. read other papers and clip any local deaths.
-ugh! being a cub reporter was sort of a gruesome job. but tim did not seem to mind that part of it. would he really like the work, she wondered. he had never been half so crazy about the journal as she was.
-“they’re running, jo!” called chub from the swinging door to the composing room, and joan hurried after him.
-that meant that the paper was being printed. joan followed chub “out back” into the composing room where the linotype machines were all silent now. this part of the journal was just as important as the writing and business end, joan knew, though amy did not agree with her. amy had visited “out back” only once, and then had brushed daintily by the printers in their ink-smeared aprons. joan didn’t mind the dirty, dim old place, or the rough men. they might be inky and stained, but they were kind, always joking together just as the men in the front offices did. the “front” and “back” were like brothers of an oddly assorted family.
-joan knew all the men back here. the head pressman, the linotype men who often printed her name in little slim lines of lead for her when they weren’t busy. but she had to hold the lines up to the looking glass to read her name. it always made her feel like alice in through the looking glass.
-all about on shelves under the long tables stood little tin trays of type, stacked—stuff ready set for a dearth of news. joan had learned to read type, too. it was just as easy as anything when you got used to it.
-they passed a gray-haired man sitting hunched on a tall stool, reading yards and yards of proof.
-“meet the dummy!” chub said, with a wave of his hand.
-joan looked at the man, whom she had seen only once before, with some interest. chub’s remark was not so impolite as it seemed, for “dummy” is a word used for the plan of the newspaper before it is made up, and names apropos of their work delighted the journal family. just like em, the cat.
-he was a middle-aged man, and seemed rather dignified for a proofreader, with his gray hair and blue eyes.
-“the office dummy. he can’t hear a sound or say a word,” chub stated in his ordinary voice, just at the man’s elbow. “but i’d forgotten that you were introduced to him the other day when you were over. he came last week, you know.”
-the man gave joan a half-smile of recognition. there was something puzzling about him. perhaps there was about every deaf-mute. it really must be terrible to have to write everything you wanted to say, joan mused. and not to be able to hear, but still he couldn’t hear the rumble and clatter of the presses, and that might be a blessing, though joan liked it.
-joan recalled what chub had told her of dummy. that he had applied for the job in writing. “i do not speak,” he wrote, “but i can work. i can read proof. i do not have to talk to read proof.” he got the job.
-“dat new proofreader gives me de creeps,” said a voice behind joan and chub, and there was bossy. “never saying a word, like dat. hit ain’t natural.”
-“well, it is for a deaf-mute,” explained the office boy.
-they went on out to the cement-floored pressroom where the big presses were. they were roaring like thunder, and whirling endlessly back and forth, over and over. little ridges of tiny blue flames, to speed up the drying of the ink, made blobs of color in the drabness. leather straps above the presses were slap-slapping to a dull rhythm. it was a dim place, old, musty, ink-reeking, but romantic to joan. and to think that to-day, this big press was multiplying tim’s story for the thousands of journal readers!
-the place had a spell for chub, too, for it was here that he chose to mention the mystery.
-“say, jo, you remember what i said yesterday? well, there’s nothing new for me to tell you. when there is, i will. it’s just a mystery, that’s all.”
-“but what’s it about?” pleaded joan. she hated to be kept in the dark.
-“it’s—well, i guess i can tell you this much,” he granted. “it’s about—mistakes.” he shouted the last word, to be heard above the roar.
-“sh!” warned joan. she was bewildered. mistakes. it seemed to be in every one’s mind. first tim had mentioned mistakes, then bossy, and now chub! she wanted to ask more about the mysterious mistakes, but she knew chub would tell her when he was ready and no sooner.
-they went around to the other side of the big goss press, where a crowd of newsboys, both white and colored, were waiting for the papers. joan hardly noticed their grins. she rushed to the levers that were shoving the papers, already folded, and let one be shot right into her hands.
-she looked down at the folded paper, opened it out, and searched the front page. tim’s story wasn’t there. she had expected it would be, with a two-column head, at least. but now she realized that was silly. a new cub reporter wouldn’t make the front page, right off like that! she turned the pages and hunted. on the back page, she found it—about two paragraphs long and under the regular obituary heading. she was thrilled, anyway.
-she clasped the damp paper, reeking of fresh ink, to her chest and the inky letters reprinted themselves in a blur upon the front of her white middy. “my brother wrote that!”
-over the paper she caught a glimpse of dummy, who had left his corner in the other room and appeared now around the big press. why, the man had rather a scared look. had he read her lips and was he afraid of her brother, perhaps? maybe tim’s job wasn’t so safe as they thought. the man might be plotting against the manager’s nephew. joan had read of such things, but her thoughts were rather vague.
-joan on the beat
-joan opened the drawer to her dresser by sticking the buttonhook into the keyhole. the handle had been gone for years, but she never minded, except when she forgot and shut the drawer tight. then she had to resort to the buttonhook.
-she carefully tucked inside the little tan booklet journal style that she had been studying, and shut the drawer again tight. she borrowed it whenever she had a chance. tim hadn’t missed it, and she hoped he would not find out that she had it. he would only tease; for he refused to believe how frightfully in earnest she herself was about getting a job on the journal one of these days.
-she went down the stairs, tying her middy tie and saying under her breath, “never call a bridegroom a groom. a groom is a horseman.” that had been one of the bits of advice in the booklet.
-tim was just going out of the door when she reached the kitchen.
-every morning during the past week since tim had become a reporter on the evening journal, he had managed to slip out of the house before joan was up and around. but this morning he wasn’t so far ahead of her but that she could catch up with him. perhaps her chance had come. she’d go with him this morning to see what having a beat was like.
-she sat down on the edge of a chair, and poured most of the contents of the cream pitcher into her cup of cocoa to make it cool enough to swallow in a gulp or two. then she reached for a crumbly, sugary slice of coffee cake.
-“no cereal, thanks. i’m in a hurry.” joan started for the door, the coffee cake in one hand. at her mother’s look, she added, “i’ll eat an extra egg at lunch to make up the calories, but i must go now.”
-she dashed out.
-what luck! tim was just coming out of the front door of the journal office when she reached the sidewalk. she paused there, pretending to be absorbed in nibbling her cake, her eyes ostensibly fastened on the cracks in the sidewalk. the sidewalk was worth looking at—it was brick and the bricks were laid diagonally. it had been a game, when she was small, to walk with each step in a brick.
-tim mustn’t see her. he would accuse her of tagging, and he was cross enough with her as it was. for all week she had been offering bits of information, like, “mrs. redfern has had her dog clipped,” and asking, “is that news, tim?”
-and tim, harried with his new work, would snap out an answer in the negative. poor tim had already, as he often remarked, written up “battle, murder, and sudden death” since he had taken the job on the journal.
-he went on, now, up the slight slope of market street. joan, slipping along as though headed for the journal office, went too. at the journal door, she paused and watched while tim crossed through the traffic of main street and started on towards gay street. block by block, or “square” as they say in ohio, she trailed after, looking into the shop windows every now and then, lest he should turn around.
-he kept right on, however—straight to the plainfield railroad station, where he disappeared through the heavy doors. joan, across the street, stopped in front of the star office. somehow, the star office seemed almost palatial with its white steps and pillars, in contrast with the somewhat shabby journal office. that was because the star was a government newspaper, that is, a political man owned it. tim had once said that about one third of the newspapers in the united states were owned by politicians. the journal wasn’t, though.
-but joan wouldn’t have traded the journal office for the shiny new one of the star. she loved every worn board in the journal floor, every bit of its old walls, plastered with pictures and old photographs.
-she crossed the street and opened the heavy door by leaning her weight against it. tim was at the ticket window. the ticket agent was shaking his head, and tim went on.
-no news there, joan guessed, as she, too, went across the sunny station and out the opposite door to where the express men were hauling trunks, and travelers were waiting for trains.
-back to gay street, through the musty-smelling arcade, then tim entered a small florist shop, crowded with flowers. joan looked in the window. the girl at the counter reminded her of gertie in the business office of the journal. she was chewing gum, and as she talked to tim, her hands were busy twisting short-stemmed pink roses onto tiny sticks of wood. tim got his pencil and pad, and wrote leaning on the counter.
-when tim opened the door, a whiff of sweet flowers was wafted to joan who was innocently gazing into the window of the baby shop next door.
-tim hurried on up toward the corner, brushing past two ragged children who stood by the curb, both of them crying. they might be “news,” thought joan, but tim was hurrying on. joan took time to smile at the smaller child. though she wore boy’s clothing, joan could tell she was a girl by her mass of tangled, yellow curls. “what’s the matter, honey?” she asked.
-tim was up at the corner, now, going into the public library, and joan hurried on. maybe it wasn’t true anyway.
-joan stood behind a tall rack of out-of-town newspapers while she listened as tim asked the stiff-backed, white-haired librarian, “anything for the journal to-day?” that must be the formula cub reporters used. but miss bird had said no, softly but surely, almost before he had the question asked.
-then, across the street to the post office. joan, feeling safe in the revolving door, watched while tim approached the stamp window. he was getting some news, for the clerk was talking to him.
-just then, a brisk business man of plainfield, hurrying into the post office to mail a letter while the engine of his car chugged at the curb, banged into the section of the revolving door behind joan with such force that she was sent twirling twice around the circle of the door, and in the dizziness of the unexpected spin, she shot out of the door—on the post office side, instead of the street side. tim, leaving the stamp window and coming toward the door, bumped into her!
-“i beg your pardon—” he began, before he recognized his sister. then, “jo, you imp! where’d you come from?”
-“tim, i’m sorry,” she pleaded. “but i had to see what you did on your beat.”
-“tagging me—making a fool of me,” tim fairly sputtered.
-“tim, there’s two children on gay street, crying—i think it’s ‘news.’”
-“news! what do you know about news?” scoffed tim. “probably lost the penny they were going to spend on candy.”
-“no, the boy said that their mother was dead and their father went away. if the mother just died, you could at least get an obit out of it,” she explained.
-“sounds like a decent human interest story,” tim admitted. “say, maybe the father couldn’t pay the rent and got dispossessed.”
-they came successfully through the revolving doors and started down gay street together. “is that the gang over there?” he pointed across at the boy and girl. “they do look forlorn. maybe i’ve found a big story. you go on home, jo. i don’t want you following me around on my beat. looks crazy.”
-no use trying to explain her real motive to him. “did the flower shop girl give you a story?” she asked, partly to make conversation and partly because she was curious.
-“a wedding. i’ll hand it over to betty.”
-“what’d the post office man give you?”
-“just a notice about the letter carriers organizing a bowling team,” he told her. “run on, now. maybe this isn’t anything. you can meet me at the journal and i’ll tell you.”
-joan was sitting on the sunny stone step of the journal office, half an hour later, when tim returned.
-“it’ll be a dandy feature,” he announced. “may even make the front page.” he forgot it was just his “kid” sister to whom he was talking. he had to tell some one. “that father deserted those children. i turned them over to the welfare society.” he told her details, excitedly.
-joan hung about the journal office, though tim hinted openly that she should go home. she wasn’t going to leave now. tim was working hard over his story of the deserted children. the father’s name was albert jackson and he lived in south market street, a poor section of the city.
-tim was getting nervous over the story. he was sitting on the edge of his chair and squinting at the machine before him. finally, he jerked the page out, crushed it into a wad and dropped it on the floor.
-“nixon’ll jump on me for such awful-looking copy,” he muttered. “i’ll have to do the whole thing over.”
-the editor often remarked that “copy” didn’t need to be perfect, but it had to be understandable to avoid mistakes, and he often told the young reporters, when they handed him scratched-up copy, “don’t economize on paper. there’s plenty around here and it’s free. do it over, if there are too many changes.”
-tim reached for the sheet and straightened it out. “it’s written all right, i guess—”
-“just copying?” joan queried. “oh, tim, let me do it.”
-“think you can?” tim glanced around the office. mr. nixon was out to lunch, or he would have refused right off.
-“of course,” joan assured him. “i’ve often copied lists of guests for miss betty. you know, sometimes folks write up their own parties and lots of the county correspondents write in longhand. she lets me copy them for her.”
-“i didn’t know that.” tim gave her his chair. “well, go ahead. that typewriter makes me nervous. some of the letters don’t hit. the comma’s nothing but a tail. see? it doesn’t write the dot part at all. you’d think i’d rate a better typewriter than this old thrashing machine.”
-joan made no reply. she was too thrilled to speak—to think of helping tim! she must do her best and not make any mistakes. she smoothed out the copy sheet and placed it on the sliding board.
-“albert jackson of—” her fingers struck the keys slowly but surely.
-the sport editor’s face was always smile-lit, like that of an æsthetic dancer. he teased every one. when gertie from the front office walked through, with stacks of yellow ads in her hands, he had a tantalizing remark ready for her. he started the rumor in the office that gertie was making love openly and loudly to dummy’s silent back.
-joan went back to the journal after lunch to bask in the last-minute rush, just before the paper was locked up, or “put to bed”—that last, breathless pause to see whether anything big is going to break before the paper is locked into the forms. she was glad school was over—suppose she’d have had to miss all this excitement of tim’s job!
-she and chub went out into the press room again and she grabbed another folded newspaper, damp with fresh ink, from the press. she turned the pages, the narrow strips of cut edges peeling away from them as she opened out the paper. there was the story she’d typed—on the back page, among the obituary notices. it was almost as though she herself had written it. why, the name was wrong. instead of starting “albert jackson,” as she had written it, the story began, “albert johnson of north market street—” a different name and address.
-“i guess that won’t make much difference,” reflected joan, as she carried the paper back to the editorial office to show to tim.
-“you never can tell,” grinned chub, as he trotted along beside her, his rubber sneakers slipping over the oil spots on the cement floor. he had not been an office boy in a newspaper office for two summers for nothing. he knew any mistake was apt to be serious. “that’s what i was telling you about, jo—mistakes.” but joan hardly heard him.
-tim was furious when he saw the story.
-miss betty, busy already writing up a lengthy account of a wedding that would take place to-morrow, for the next day’s paper, paused in the middle of her description of the bridal bouquet to console the cub reporter.
-“mistakes do happen, tim,” she laughed. “think of the day i wrote up a meeting of the mission band and said that the members spent the afternoon in ‘shade and conversation,’ only to have it come out as ‘they spent the afternoon in shady conversation’!”
-but tim refused to be cheered, and joan began to realize that the mistake was serious, for mr. nixon, the editor, had a set look on his face, too.
-“does it really make so much difference?” she asked.
-“does it?” tim glared at her, his eyes darker than ever. “with albert johnson one of the most influential men in town?”
-then joan understood. it was the name and address of a real resident of plainfield that had been printed, and that was bad. the man wouldn’t relish reading in the paper that he had deserted his children when he hadn’t at all.
-“i can kiss my job good-by,” groaned tim. “why weren’t you careful?”
-“i’m sure i wrote it right!” to think she had brought all this on tim.
-“but you couldn’t have, jo,” he insisted.
-“i’ll hunt up the copy for you, tim,” offered chub. this was often part of his duties.
-joan went with him. they went up to the high stool, before a tall, flat table, where dummy read yards and yards of proof every day. it was such a nuisance having to write everything out to him. he directed them to the big copy hook where used copy was kept for alibis. joan fumbled through the sheets and found the story. it had “martin” up in the left-hand corner, the way tim marked all his copy. the story started, “albert johnson of north market street.”
-“why, it’s written wrong!” she gasped. her eyes fell on dummy’s bowed gray head. he gave a start as he bent over his pad, wrote something, and held it out to her. “that’s the way the copy came to me,” she read.
-it was certainly a mystery how she could write one thing, and it could be changed into something different. there was nothing to be gained by scribbling notes to the dummy, and so joan and chub filed back.
-tim was glummer than ever when she told him the news. “you must have written it that way, without realizing,” he said. “we’ve asked mack, and he says it came to him that way.” he bent over his typewriter and banged away. he was doing rewrites now.
-“much as we all like you, tim, we can’t let any mistakes like this happen,” the editor said. “i’m responsible for everything in the paper, and if anything gets in wrong, i have to discover who’s the guilty party and get rid of him.”
-joan and chub crept away to the open back window, perched themselves on the broad sill, with their legs outside.
-“i bet that dummy’s like dumb dora in the comic strip, ‘she ain’t so dumb,’” remarked chub. “there’s something queer about him. i’ve always said so. and there’s been queer things going on. you know what i told you about the mysterious mistakes. they’ve been happening before tim got on the paper. but i couldn’t prove who made ’em. now, i’m sure it’s dummy.”
-“he couldn’t help it, when the story came to him wrong.”
-“but, jo, if you’re sure you wrote it right, then somebody changed it and i think dummy did. he’s got it in for tim somehow, or for the paper, and put that mistake there on purpose. he thinks no one would dare accuse him, being a deaf-mute.”
-“but nothing was erased. i looked especially to see. perhaps i did write it wrong,” began joan, and then broke off, “oh, there’s amy.”
-a figure in an orchid sweater was waving to them from the corner. it was amy in a new sweater. she adored clothes. amy didn’t know a thing about a newspaper, and chub was always disgusted with her for that. tim, surprisingly enough, thought her a “decent kid” and really treated her with respect. amy openly admired tim—she thought him so romantic looking.
-“jo, you wretch!” she said now, crossing the lawn to the journal window. “you’re never at home since tim got that job. i’ve been phoning you all afternoon and i think your mother’s tired of answering.”
-chub got off the window sill. “here,” he offered amy a seat.
-“there’s room for all of us.” amy was always nice to every male creature, even though he might be just a red-haired, freckle-faced, chubby office boy.
-they all sat together and joan confided the new mystery to amy. though amy knew little about newspaper life, she knew mysteries. she agreed that dummy seemed a most suspicious character.
-“but he’s so refined and nice,” joan demurred.
-“spies are always refined like that,” was amy’s reply. her ideas were based on prolific reading. “the more refined they are the worse they are, always.”
-“oh!” joan’s mouth dropped open. “i wonder,” she mused. “say, amy, you’ve said something. i believe he is a spy.”
-amy had no notion of what the man could be spying for, but joan’s eager mind was grasping at ideas. bits of tim’s conversation about the political candidate came to her—the importance of not having mistakes in the journal just at this time. that man, dummy, had been hired to spy upon the journal and to see that somehow mistakes were made, mistakes that would give the journal that “black eye” that tim talked about; mistakes that would eventually elect the star’s candidate. she was a little hazy about how it worked. but of course, a deaf man had been chosen because no one would bother to argue much with a deaf person. it was too much trouble to write everything.
-“i’ve read of things like that,” admitted chub, when she had explained her ideas. “we’ll be detectives,” he announced. “and we’ll be on the watch for developments. i’ve a peachy book, how to be a detective.”
-list of illustrations
-new bridge--the tamar--morwell rocks--calstock--cothele--pentillie--landulph
-the southern portion of the cornish coast may be said to begin at the head of the navigation of the river tamar, at weir head, to which the excursion steamers from plymouth can come at favourable tides, or a little lower, at morwellham quay, where the depth of water permits of more frequent approach. but barges can penetrate somewhat higher than even weir head, proceeding through the canal locks at netstakes, almost as far as that ancient work, new bridge, which carries the high road from dartmoor and tavistock out of devon into cornwall.
-from hence, then, at new bridge, a hoary gothic work of five pointed arches with picturesquely projecting cutwaters, the south coast of cornwall may most fitly be traced. it is a constant surprise to the explorer in england to discover that almost invariably the things that are called "new" are really of great age. they were once new and remarkable things. there is a "new bridge" across the thames, but it is the oldest now existing. the town of newmarket, in cambridgeshire, was a new thing in 1227, and there are other "newmarkets" of even greater age. the subject might be pursued at great length; but sufficient has been said to prepare those who come this way not to expect some modern triumph of engineering in iron or steel.
-new bridge, three and a half miles west of tavistock, is approached from that town by the old coach road and the new, descending with varying degrees of steepness to the river. as you come down the older and steeper and straighter road, you see the bridge far below, and the first glimpse of cornwall beyond it, where the lofty hills of gunnislake rise, scattered with the whitewashed cottages of the miners engaged in the tin mines of the district. they, and the large factory buildings below, near the river level, are not beautiful, and yet the scene is of great picturesqueness and singularity. a weird building beside the bridge on the devonshire side, with two of its angles chamfered off, is an old toll-house. mines in working on the devonshire side belong to the duke of bedford, who has a fine park and residence near by, at endsleigh, which he would not (according to his own account), be able to maintain, together with various other residences, including the palatial woburn abbey, were it not for his vast income from the ground-rents of what he was pleased to style "a few london lodging-houses."
-the surrounding country is dominated for many miles by the cone-shaped kit hill, the crest of the elevated district of hingston down, crowned by a monumental mine-chimney.
-"hingston down, well wrought, is worth london, dear bought."
-so runs the ancient rhyme. it has been "well wrought," not yet perhaps to the value indicated above, and now its scarred sides are deserted; but perhaps another instalment of london's ransom may yet be mined out of it.
-the riverside walk along the cornish bank of the tamar is at first as smoothly beautiful as a thames-side towing-path. thus you come past the locks at netstakes to the morwell rocks, masses of grey limestone cliffs rising from the devonshire shore and hung with ivy and other growths. soon the tamar falls over the barrier of weir head, and then reaches the limit of the steamship navigation, at morwellham quay. words and phrases seem colourless and inexpressive in face of the sweet beauties of limestone crag and winding river here; of the deep valley, wooded richly to the hill-tops, and the exquisitely tender light that touches the scene to glory. nor is it without its everyday interest, for the excursion steamers come up on favourable tides from plymouth and wind with astonishing appearance of ease round the acute bends of the narrow channel; the branches of overhanging trees sweeping the funnels. the lovely valley is seen in a romantic perspective from the summit of the lofty hill that leads up to calstock church, for from that point of view you look down upon the little peninsular meadows that now and again give place to cliffs, and through an atmosphere of silver and gold see the river winding past them, like some pactolian stream. down there lie the ruins of harewood house, the old duchy of cornwall office; across, as far as eye can reach, spread the blue distances of devon, and all along the course of the river the hamlets are transfigured to an unutterable beauty. leave it at that, my friends. do not explore those hamlets, for, in fact, they are neither better nor worse than others. like many among the great characters in history, upon whom distance confers a greatness greater than properly belongs to them, they have their littlenesses and squalors.
-calstock church must be, and must always have been, a prime test of piety, for it stands upon a tremendous hilltop nearly a mile from the village, and calstock stands below by the water.
-calstock is the richmond and hampton court of plymouth. what those places are to london, this is to the three towns of plymouth, devonport, and stonehouse; only the scenery is immeasurably finer than that along the thames, while, on the other hand, cothele is not to be compared with hampton court, nor is it so public. of all the many varied and delightful steamboat trips that await the pleasure of the plymouth people, or of visitors, none is so fine as the leisurely passage from plymouth to calstock and back, first along the hamoaze and then threading the acutely curving shores of the tamar, rising romantically, covered exquisitely with rich woods. at the end of the voyage from plymouth, calstock is invaded by hungry crowds. one of the especial delights of the place is found in its strawberries, for the neighbourhood is famous for its strawberry-growing. but the tourist, who is not often able to set about his touring until the end of july, is rarely able to visit calstock in strawberry-time, and plymouth people have the river in the tender beauty of early summer, with strawberries to follow, all to themselves. here let a word of praise be deservedly given to the extraordinarily cheap, interesting and efficient excursions by steamboat that set out from plymouth in the summer. without their aid, and those of the ordinary steam ferries, i know not what the stranger in these parts would do, for the plymouth district is one of magnificently long distances, and the creeks of the hamoaze and the tamar are many and far-reaching. and latterly the calstock excursion has been advantaged by the acquisition of the burns steamer, one of the london county council's flotilla on the thames that cost the ratepayers so dearly. there are shrewd people down at plymouth--or as we say in the west, down tu plymouth--and when the county council's expensive hobby was abandoned, these same shrewd fellows secured the burns in efficient condition for about one-twentieth part of its original cost, and are now understood to be doing extremely well out of it.
-i could wish that calstock were in better fettle than it now is. he who now comes to the village will see that it is completely dominated by a huge granite railway viaduct of twelve spans, crossing the river, and furnished with a remarkable spidery construction of steel, rising from the quay to the rail-level. this is a lift, by which loaded trucks, filled with the granite setts, kerbs, channelings, and road-metal chips, in which the local "cornwall granite company" deals, are hoisted on to the railway, and so despatched direct to all parts. the evidences of the granite company's special article of commerce are plentiful enough, littering the riverside and strewing the roads, just as though the cornwall granite company were wishful by such means to advertise their goods; but since the opening of the new railway, in 1909, the unfortunate lightermen and bargemen of the place have been utterly ruined. the plymouth, district, and south-western railway, whose viaduct crosses the river, has taken away their old trade, and has not the excuse, in doing so, of being able to earn a profit for itself.
-below calstock, at the distance of a mile, is cothele, an ancient mansion belonging to the earl of mount edgcumbe. steep paths through woodlands lead to it, and the house itself is not the easiest to find, being a low, grey granite building pretty well screened by shrubberies. the real approach, is, in fact, rather from cothele quay, on the other side of the hill, away from calstock. cothele is only occasionally used by lord mount edgcumbe, but it is not, properly speaking, a "show house," although application will sometimes secure admission to view its ancient hall and domestic chapel.
-cothele, begun by sir richard edgcumbe in the reign of henry the seventh, is still very much as he and his immediate successors left it, with the old armour and furniture remaining. richard is a favourite name among the edgcumbes. this particular sir richard engaged in the dangerous politics of his time, and very nearly fell a victim to his political convictions. suspected of favouring the pretensions of the earl of richmond, he was marked for destruction, and only escaped arrest by plunging into the woods that surround cothele. from a crag overlooking the river he either flung his cap into the water, or it fell off, and the splash attracting attention, it was thought he had plunged into the river, and so was drowned. this supposition made his escape easy. he returned on the death of richard the third and the consequent accession of the earl of richmond, as henry the seventh, and marked his sense of gratitude for the providential escape, by building a chapel on the rock, overlooking danescombe.
-a sir richard, who flourished in the time of queen elizabeth, and was ambassador to ireland, brought home the curious ivory "oliphants" or horns, still seen in the fine hall, where the banners of the edgcumbes hang, with spears and cross-bows and armour that is not the merely impersonal armour of an antiquary's collection, but the belongings of those who inhabited cothele of old. the most curious object among these intimate things is a steel fore-arm and hand, with fingers of steel, made to move and counterfeit as far as possible the lost members of some unfortunate person who had lost his arm. to whom it belonged is unknown.
-the tapestries that decorated the walls of cothele at its building still hang in its rooms, the furniture that innovating brides introduced, to bring the home up-to-date, has long since become the delight of antiquaries, and the extra plenishings provided for the visits of charles the second and george the third and his queen may be noted. so do inanimate things remain, while man is resolved into carrion and perishes in dust. i find no traces of the early victorian furnishings that probably smartened up cothele for the visit of queen victoria and prince albert in 1846. they are well away.
-many are the royal personages who have visited cothele. sometimes they have been as desolating as the merely vulgar could be; as, for example, when one of them, disregarding the very necessary request not to handle the curious old polished steel mirrors that are numbered among the curiosities of the mansion, did so, with the result that a rusty finger-mark appeared. here was a chance for the reverential! a royal finger-mark, wrought in rust! it might have served the turn either of a snob or a cynic, equally well; but it was removed at last, not without much strenuous labour.
-cothele quay stands deep down by the riverside, with a cottage or so near, but otherwise solitary amid the woods, where the little creek of danescombe is spanned by an ancient gothic bridge. the quay is the port, so to speak, of cothele, and of the village of st. dominic, high up on the hills; the readiest way for supplies of all kinds being from plymouth, by water.
-up there, through st. dominic, the lofty high road that runs between callington and saltash is reached. it runs through the village of st. mellion, whose church contains monuments, some of them rather astonishing, to the corytons of west newton ferrers, three miles to the west.
-passing through st. mellion, the road comes presently to the lovely park of pentillie, a wooded estate overlooking the tamar in one of its loveliest and most circuitous loops, where the river may be seen through the woods winding and returning upon itself far below. hidden away in luxuriant glades almost on a level with the river is the mansion of the coryton family, itself of no great charm or interest; but there is on one of the heights above it, known as "mount ararat," a weird "folly," or monument, rather famous in its way, in which was buried, under peculiar conditions, the body of a former owner of pentillie, who died in 1713. it is well worth seeing, but in those woody tangles is not so easily to be found. it stands, in fact, not so far from the road itself, down a lane on the left hand before coming to the lodge-gates of pentillie, and then through a rustic gate or two; but the stranger might easily take the wrong one among the several rough footpaths, and the whole hillside is so overgrown with trees, that the tower is not seen until you are actually at the base of it. the better course is to proceed along the highway until you come to the lodge-gates and to the broad, smooth carriage-road leading lengthily down to the mansion. if you are on a bicycle, so much the better; you are down there and in the courtyard of pentillie "castle," as it is called, in a flash. proceeding then straight through to the kitchen-gardens, there is a gardener's cottage, where, to those gifted with a proper degree of courtesy, the gardener will point out the hillside footpath by which you presently come to the tower, containing a forbidding statue of sir james tillie. "an' if ye look through a peephole in the wall," says the gardener, "ye can see th' owd twoad quite plainly."
-sir james tillie was a person of very humble origin, born at st. keverne in 1645. he was soon in the service of sir john coryton, bart., of west newton ferrers, st. mellion, who befriended him to a considerable extent, placing him with an attorney and afterwards making him his own steward. in 1680 the baronet died. meanwhile tillie, by industry and prudence, had grown pretty well-to-do, and had married the daughter of sir harry vane, who brought him a fortune. she had died some years before the decease of sir john coryton, at whose death tillie was a childless widower. his master had arranged that tillie should continue steward to his eldest son, john, the next baronet, and guardian to his younger children. it was not long before the second sir john died, and tillie married his widow, and seems in the thirty years or so following to have been undisputed owner of pentillie. how all these things came to pass does not exactly appear; but at any rate tillie, who by false pretences of gentility and a considerable payment of money had secured the honour of knighthood in 1686, built pentillie castle, which he named after himself, and formed the park, and there he resided until his death in 1713. his wife survived him. he had no children, but was anxious to found a tillie family, and left a will by which his nephew, james woolley, son of his sister, should inherit his estates on assuming the name of tillie.
-wild and fantastic legends fill up the mysterious lack of facts here and there in tillie's life. he is said to have poisoned sir john coryton the younger, and was, among other things, reputed to be a coiner, on a large scale, of base coin. but there is no evidence for those tales. more certain it is that the college of heralds in 1687 revoked the grant of arms to him, and fined him £200 for the mis-statements that led to his obtaining them.
-a vein of eccentricity certainly ran through the composition of this remarkable man. his "castle" has been rebuilt, but contains a life-size leaden statue of himself that he had made, in voluminous periwig and costume of the period, holding a roll of documents. his will contained some remarkable provisions, including instructions for the building of the tower and for his body to be laid there, with a seated stone statue of himself. these instructions, repeated and noted down by a succession of writers, have lost nothing of their oddity. thus hals tells us that tillie left directions that his body, habited in his hat, gloves, wig, and best apparel, with shoes and stockings, should be fastened securely in his chair and set in a room in the tower, with his books and pen and ink in front of him, and declared that tillie had said he would in two years come to life and be at pentillie again. the chamber in which his body was to be set was to have another over it containing portraits of himself, of his wife, and his nephew, to remain there "for ever." the upper chamber many years ago fell into decay, and the portraits were removed to the mansion; and no one knows what became of tillie's remains. his scheme of founding a tillie family failed, and the property eventually came into possession of descendants of the coryton family, through the marriage of mary jemima tillie, granddaughter of sir james tillie's nephew, with john goodall, great-grandson of sir john coryton the younger's daughter, who assumed the name of coryton.
-the brick tower of "mount ararat," now open to the sky and plentifully overgrown with ivy, is approached by moss-grown stone steps. a lobby at the summit of them ends in a blank wall with a kind of peep-hole into the space within, not at all easy to get at. any stranger peering through, and not knowing what to expect, would be considerably startled by what he saw; for directly facing the observer is the life-size effigy of a ferociously ugly, undersized man, with scowling countenance and great protruding paunch, seated in a chair and wearing the costume of the early eighteenth century. the statue is of a light sandstone, capable of high finish in sculpture; and every detail is rendered with great care and minuteness, so that, in spite of the damp, and of the ferns and moss that grow so plentifully about its feet, the statue has a certain, and eerie, close resemblance to life. it is so ugly and repellent that the sculptor was evidently more concerned about the likeness than to flatter the original of it.
-the tamar may be reached again in something over two miles, at cargreen, a hamlet at whose quay the steamers generally halt. it is a large hamlet, but why it ever came into existence, and how it manages to exist and to flourish in a situation so remote, is difficult to understand, except on the supposition that the barge traffic has kept it alive. landulph, a mile away, on a creek of its own, and not so directly upon the main stream, is a distinct parish with an ancient church, but it has not the mildly prosperous air of cargreen, and indeed consists of only two or three easily discernible houses. the fine church contains a mural brass to theodore palæologus, who died in 1636, at clifton in landulph, one of the last obscure descendants of the palæologi, who were emperors of byzantium from the thirteenth century until 1453, when the turks captured constantinople and killed constantine palæologus, the eighth and last emperor. he was brother of thomas palæologus, great-great-grandfather of the theodore who lies here.
-the reasons for this humble descendant of a line of mighty autocrats living and dying in england are obscure, but he appears to have attracted the compassionate notice abroad of some of the lower family, who brought him home with them and lent him their house of clifton. here he married one mary balls in 1615. although he is sometimes stated to be the last of his race, this is not the fact, for of his five children three certainly survived him. john and ferdinand have left no traces. theodore, the last of whom we have any knowledge, became a lieutenant in the army of the parliament, and died and was buried, not unfittingly for the last representative of an imperial line, in westminster abbey, in 1644. mary died a spinster, in 1674, and was buried at landulph. dorothy, who in 1656 married a william arundel, died in 1681, and it is not known if she left any descendants.
-the brass bears a neat representation of the double-headed imperial eagle of byzantium, standing upon two towers, and has this inscription:
-"here lyeth the body of theodore paleologvs, of pesaro in italye, descended from y^e imperyall lyne of y^e last christian emperors of greece, being the sonne of camilio, y^e sonne of prosper, the sonne of theodoro, the sonne of iohn, y^e sonne of thomas second brother to constantine paleologvs; the 8th of that name and last of y^e lyne y^t raygned in constantinople vntil svbdewed by the tvrkes. who married w^{th} mary, y^e davghter of william balls of hadlye in sovffolke, gent.; & had issve 5 children, theodoro, iohn, ferdinando, maria, & dorothy, & depted this life at clyfton, y^e 21st of ianvary, 1636."
-winding roads of considerable intricacy and almost absolute loneliness lead away from the creeks about landulph to botus fleming, with a church remarkable only for the extraordinary quantity of stucco placed on its tower. thence the good broad high-road leads on to saltash, with milestones marked rather speculatively to "s" and "c"; saltash and callington being understood.
-saltash--saltash bridge--trematon castle--st. germans--antony--rame--mount edgcumbe--millbrook
-the name "saltash" simply means "salt water"--the "ash" having originally been the celtic "esc." salt water is found, as a matter of fact, as far up river as calstock, but here it is, by all manner of authorities, that the river tamar, the "taw mawr," or "great water," joins that broad and often extremely rough and choppy estuary, the hamoaze: "hem-uisc," the border water.
-saltash is a borough-town of an antiquity transcending that of plymouth, and the rhyme
-"saltash wer' a borough town, when plymouth wer' a vuzzy down,"
-is equally proud and true. it was once also a parliamentary borough, but that glory has faded away. yet once more, it is in cornwall, and that, according to any true cornishman, is far better than being in devonshire. so saltash is amply blest. and if to these dignities we add the material advantage of possessing jurisdiction over hamoaze, down even to plymouth sound, and over all its creeks, we shall see that saltash does right to be proud. it was by virtue of the borough authority over those waterways that saltash was enabled to be so splendidly patriotic in the time of good queen bess. at that period the harbour dues were one shilling for an english ship, and two shillings for a foreigner. after the armada saltash levied an extra discriminatory five shillings upon spanish vessels. among the corporation regalia is a silver oar, typifying this jurisdiction.
-it is perhaps a little grievous, after all these noble and impressive things, to learn that saltash church, which crests the hill on whose steep sides the town is built, is really, although very ancient, not a church, but a chapelry of st. stephen's, a quite humble village inland, on the way to trematon. and there is one other thing: saltash cannot see its own picturesqueness, any more than one can see the crown of one's head, except for artificial aid. the mirror by which saltash is enabled to see itself is the devonshire shore, and across the quarter of a mile to it the steam-ferry, that plies every half-hour or less, will take you for one penny. from that point of view, not only saltash, but also the best picture of saltash bridge is to be had: that giant viaduct which carries the great western railway across from devon to cornwall in single track, at a height of 100 feet above the water. saltash bridge--no one calls it by its official name, the "royal albert bridge"--has in all nineteen spans, and is 2,240 feet long; but its great spectacular feature is provided by the two central spans of 455 feet each. twelve years were occupied in building, and it was opened in 1859. the name of i. k. brunel, the daring engineer, is boldly inscribed on it. there is a story told of some one asking brunel how long it would last.
-"a hundred years," said he.
-"then it will no longer be needed."
-there is a good deal more work in saltash bridge than is visible to the eye, the stone base of the central pier going down through seventy feet of water and a further twenty feet of sand and gravel, to the solid rock. the cost of the bridge is said to have been £230,000.
-great ships may easily pass under the giant building, and old wooden men-o'-war lie near at hand, giving scale to it, including the mount edgcumbe training-ship, the implacable, and an old french hulk.
-this way came the romans into cornwall, their post, statio tamara, established on the devonshire side at what is now king's tamerton. and this way came the normans, building a strong fortress nearly two miles west of saltash, at trematon, on a creek of the lynher river. they are "proper rough roads" and steep that lead to trematon castle. you come to it by way of the hamlet of burraton combe and the village of st. stephen's-by-saltash. at burraton some old cottages are seen with a half-defaced tablet on them, once covered over with plaster. most of the plaster has now fallen off, revealing this inscription, which some one, long ago, was evidently at some pains to conceal:
-"this almshouse is the gift of james buller of shillingham, esq., deceased, whose glorious memory as well as illustrious honours ought not to be forgotten but kept, as 'tis to be hoped they will, in euerlasting remembrance, decem^r. y^e 6 in y^e yeare of our lord 1726."
-a shield, displaying four spread eagles, surmounts these praises to the illustrious buller, whose honours and glorious memory are indeed clean forgot.
-trematon castle stands on the summit of a mighty steep hill, rising from a creek branching out of a creek. at the head of this remote tongue of water, where the salt tide idly laps, stands the hamlet of forder. turner painted trematon castle, and in his day the crenellated walls of that amazing strong place could easily be seen from the creek. in these latter days the trees of the castle hill have grown so tall and dense that little of the ancient stronghold can be glimpsed. a carriage-road winds up the hill, for a residence--not in the least pretending to be a castle, one is happy to say--stands in midst of the fortress precincts.
-it is a peculiar castle, the "keep" crowning a lofty mound, difficult of access, heaped upon the highest point of the hill, resembling that of totnes and some two or three others in the west country, which exhibit vast circular battlemented walls, evidently never roofed nor intended to be roofed. below this keep is a wide grassy space now occupied by the mansion and its beautiful rose and other gardens. entrance to this court was formerly obtained by a strong gateway tower still remaining, but not now forming the approach; and around this court ran another massive battlemented wall, most of it existing to this day, and enclosed the castle. such was the ancient hold of the valletorts, afterwards the property of the duchy of cornwall. carew finely describes the "ivy-tapissed walls"--it is a pretty expression, thus likening the ivy to tapestry--and tells us how the cornish rebels of 1549, standing out for the old religion, treacherously invited the governor, sir richard grenville, outside, on pretence of a parley, and then captured the castle and plundered at will. then "the seely gentlewomen, without regard of sex or shame, were stripped from their apparel to their very smocks, and some of their fingers broken, to pluck away their rings."
-just below trematon castle, passing under a viaduct of the great western railway, the creek opens out upon the broad and placid lynher river, exactly resembling a lake, as its name implies. here are the four or five cottages of antony passage, including a primitive inn. antony is nearly half a mile across the ferry, but the lynher, or "st. germans river," as it is sometimes called, should certainly be explored by boat for its length of four miles to st. germans, the prettily situated village where the ancient bishopric of cornwall was seated from its beginning in a.d. 909 until its transference to exeter in 1046; and where port eliot, the park and mansion of the earl of st. germans, is placed. ince castle, a curious brick-built sixteenth-century building, peers from the wooded shores on the way. an earl of devon built it, and the killigrews held it for a time. the house has a tower at each of its four corners, and according to legend, one of the killigrews, a kind of double-barrelled bigamist, kept a wife in each tower, ignorant of the others' existence.
-st. germans, from being a borough, has declined to the condition of a village, and a very beautiful and aristocratic-looking village it is. the parish church stands on the site of the cathedral of the ancient see of cornwall, and, although practically nothing is left of the original building, the great size and the unusual design of the existing church in a great degree carry on the traditional importance of the place. you perceive, glancing even casually at the weird exterior, with its two strange western towers, square as to their lower stages and octagonal above, that this has a story more important than that of a mere parish church. the dedication is to st. germanus of auxerre, a missionary to britain in the fifth century. the importance of the building is due to its having been collegiate. the noble, if strange, west front is largely norman, the upper stages of the towers early english and perpendicular. the interior is norman and perpendicular. it will at once be noticed that there is no north aisle. it was demolished towards the close of the eighteenth century, in the usual wanton eighteenth-century way. the only remaining fragment of the ancient collegiate stalls is a mutilated miserere seat worked up into the form of a chair. it is carved with a hunting-scene; a sportsman carrying a hare over his shoulder, with animals resembling a singular compromise between pigs and dogs, in front, and huge hell-hounds with eyes like hard-boiled eggs, following.
-st. germans church is practically a mortuary chapel of the eliot family, and it stands, too, in the grounds of their seat, port eliot, with the mansion adjoining.
-it was in 1565 that the eliots first settled here. the augustinian priory and its lands had been granted at the dissolution to the champernownes, who exchanged it with the eliots, who came from coteland, in devon. the greatest of the eliot race, sir john, vice-admiral in the west, and patriot member of parliament in resistance to the arbitrary rule of charles the first, paid the penalty of his patriotism by death in the tower of london in 1632, after four-and-a-half years' captivity. his body does not lie here. "let him be buried in the parish in which he died," wrote the implacable king; and he lies in the church of st. peter-ad-vincula, on tower green, instead of at st. germans, where his own people would have laid him.
-many monuments to eliots stud the walls, and hatchments gloom in black and heraldic colours, bearing their inspiring motto, præcedentibus insta, i.e., "urge your way among the leaders," suggested, no doubt, by the career of their great ancestor; but the inspiration has never been keen enough to produce another great man from among them, and since the earldom of st. germans was conferred in 1815 the eliots have been respectably obscured.
-the lynher river ends just beyond st. germans at the village of polbathick. other creeks branch out on either hand, like fingers; beautifully wooded hillsides running down to them. at low water they are mostly mud flats, with the gulls busily feasting in the ooze, but when the tide flows they become still lakes, solitary except for a few "farm-places" along their course. on a knoll, high above the lynher, the spire of sheviock church peeps out. it is simply bathed in stucco. carew gives an amusing legend relating to the building of the church, and tells how one of the dawney family built it, while at the same time his wife was engaged in building a barn. the cost of the barn was supposed to have exceeded that of the church by three-halfpence; "and so it might well fall out, for it is a great barn and a very little church." it is a quaint legend, but there is no satisfaction to be got in visiting the church, for it is not a "very little church," and the barn with which it was compared is not now in existence.
-below sheviock comes antony, sometimes called "antony-in-the-east," to distinguish it from the two other antonys, or anthonys, in cornwall. antony village stands high up on the hillside, and the park and mansion of the same name, seat of the pole-carew family, are nearly two miles away, down by antony passage, where the lynher makes ready to join hamoaze. the park of thanckes adjoins.
-antony church is approached by long flights of steps. it contains a monument to richard carew, of antony, author of the "survey of cornwall," published in 1602, a work of mingled quaintness and grace. he died in 1620, as his epitaph shows. the part of it in latin was written by his friend, camden; the english verses are his own.
-antony lies directly upon the old coach road from plymouth to liskeard and falmouth, three miles from torpoint, to which a steam-ferry, plying every half-hour, brings the traveller from devonport. turner is said to have greatly admired the view from the churchyard, but it is greatly obscured in our own times by trees. the grandest of all views is the astonishingly noble panoramic view of plymouth and the hamoaze, from the summit of the road to tregantle fort. there the whole geography of the district is seen unfolded, mile upon mile, with the three towns of plymouth, devonport, and stonehouse--to say nothing of stoke damerel, ford, morice town, and st. budeaux--looking like some city of the blest, which we know not to be the case, and the great railway bridge of saltash resembling an airy gossamer. it is a view of views. incidentally, the panorama explains the existence here of tregantle fort, and of that of scraesdon, down by antony. this elevated neck of land commands plymouth, which, with the arsenals and dockyards of devonport and keyham, could be either taken in the rear or bombarded by an enemy who could effect a landing in whitesand bay. tregantle fort, mounting many heavy guns, therefore stands on the ridge, to prevent such a landing, and a fine military road runs between it and rame, a distance of three miles, skirting the cliffs of whitesand bay. from the hillsides you see the soldiers firing at targets in the sea--and never hitting them. the way to rame, along this military road, crosses lonely downs, with the tempting sands of whitesand bay down below. the dangers of this treacherous shore, often pointed out by guide-books, are made manifest by an obelisk beside the road, on the brink of the low cliffs, bearing an inscription to "reginald spender, aged 44, and his sons reginald and sidney, aged 13 and 11, who were drowned while bathing, whit sunday, june 9th, 1878."
-at the end of the military road and its numerous five-barred gates, the village of rame, consisting of a small cluster of a church and some farms screened by elms, stands in a sheltered fold of the hills. the church, with needle spire, is an almost exact replica of that of sheviock, and, like it, has been covered with rough-cast plaster, as thoroughly as a twelfth-cake is faced with sugar. it contains a poor-box pillar, dated 1633. the lighting arrangements are in the primitive form of paraffin candles on wooden staves. rame head, almost islanded from the mainland, is the western point of the bold promontory that encloses the cornish side of plymouth sound. penlee point is the eastern. "when rame and dodman meet" is a west-country way of mentioning the impossible. the two headlands are twenty-seven miles apart, in a straight line. fuller, who dearly loved a conceit of this kind, tells us that the meeting did actually come to pass when sir piers edgcumbe, who owned rame, married a lady who brought him the land including the dodman. the small chapel of st. michael on rame head, long in ruins, has been restored by lord mount edgcumbe.
-penlee point looks directly upon the sound: an inspiring sight in the imperial sort. it is indeed an epic of empire, that broad waterway, three miles across, with the great breakwater straddling in its midst, and shipping busily coming and going, and forts on land and battleships on sea. and i wish the walking were not so rough, and the near contact with the forts a little more martial and not so domestic. it resembles tricks upon travellers to find that the signals flying from picklecombe fort are not really, you know, signals when seen close at hand, but shirts hung out to dry.
-and so presently round to cawsand bay. first you come to cawsand and then kingsand, villages not easily to be distinguished from one another. notorious in the eighteenth century for being a nest of daring smugglers, these places nowadays form excursion resorts for afternoon trippers from plymouth, and almost every house supplies teas and refreshments. but in spite of the crowds that resort to cawsand and kingsand, they are sorry places, with a slipshod, poverty-stricken air. only the splendid views make them at all endurable.
-mount edgcumbe is one of the great attractions for the people of plymouth. it is, of course, the private park of the earl of mount edgcumbe, but the plymouth people have by long use come to look upon the usual free access to it very much as a right, and the excursion steamers from plymouth to cremyll would receive a severe blow if the permission to wander here at large were withdrawn. the duke of medina-sidonia, admiral commanding the spanish armada, is said to have selected mount edgcumbe as his share of the spoil, when england should be conquered. contrary from all reasonable expectations, there was no conquest, and consequently no spoils.
-maker church, on the heights above mount edgcumbe, commands panoramic views over hamoaze, and its tower was used in the old semaphore signalling days, in connection with mount wise at devonport and the fleets at sea.
-the proper local pronunciation of "hamoaze" is shown in the ode written by a parish clerk of maker:
-"mount edgcumbe is a pleasant place, it looketh on hamoaze, and on it are some batteries to guard us from our foes."
-equally fine, and more pictorially manageable views are those from the "ruined chapel" down below. the "ruin" is indeed a sham ruin, and was simply built for effect, but a fine effective foreground it makes, with all plymouth massed over yonder, and the hoe with smeaton's old eddystone tower prominent, and in the middle distance the fortified rock of drake's island.
-a deep inlet runs inland past cremyll to southdown and millbrook, whither frequent ferries also ply, at astonishing penny fares. at millbrook, too, every other house supplies teas to hungry and thirsty crowds. you would not say the waters of millbrook creek were altogether salubrious, and the steamers' paddles stir them up sometimes with desolating effect upon the nose, but the mackerel do not seem to be adversely affected. indeed, they appear rather to affect these turbid and odorous waters, and may often be seen from the steamers leaping up into the air. there are few more beautiful sights than those on the return from millbrook to plymouth on a summer evening, when the moon peers over the wooded shores and the mackerel leap and glitter in her silver light.
-beyond downderry the road descends to a marshy valley crossed by a small stone bridge, at the point where a stream hesitates between percolating through the sands and running back upon itself to convert the marshy vale into a lake. this is marked on the maps "seaton," but for town or village, or even hamlet, the stranger will look in vain. from this point it is a long four miles into looe, and i can honestly say that, whichever way you go, by the road leading inland, and incidentally as steep as the roof of a house, or by the cliffs, in places considerably steeper, you will wish you had gone the other way. for indeed both ways are deadly dull. coming on a first occasion by road the reverse way, from looe, an old man, indicating the way, remarked that it would be a very good road "ef 'twadden for th' yills. ye goo up th' yill, and ye tarn" (i forget where you turn), "an' then ye goo straight down th' yill to satan."
-as one had not at that time heard of seaton, this final descent had a certain awful speculative interest.
-even the cliff route into looe ends at last. there, almost hanging over the brink of looe, as it were, you realise for the first time, in all the way from rame, that you are really in cornwall, for the coast has hitherto lacked the rugged beauty that is found almost everywhere else. but looe makes an honourable amende. it might not unfittingly typify cornwall. conceive two closely-packed little towns down there (for there are two looes, east and west), fringing the banks of an extremely narrow and rocky estuary, widening as it goes inland; and imagine just offshore on the further side a craggy island, and there you have the seaward aspect of the place. looe has been considerably altered during the last few years, but it can never be a typical seaside place; its physical peculiarities forbid that. it has no sea-front, and possesses only the most microscopic of beaches, just large enough to hold a few boats and to launch the lifeboat. the life of the looes, east or west, is all along the streets and quay beside the estuary. the place is, as it were, a smaller dartmouth, but with the added convenience of a bridge crossing the looe river, half a mile from the sea.
-the looe river is partly an actual river, but very much more of a creek: a lakelike creek at high water, dividing above the bridge into two creeks, into which freshwater streams trickle from liskeard and the bodmin moors. looe, in fact, takes its name from these lakelike estuaries. it signifies "lake," and has a common ancestry in the welsh "llwch" and the gaelic "loch." thus in speaking of looe river "we admit not only a redundancy but actually a contradiction. there are two looes, or lakes, the east and the west, just as there are the two towns so-called. between these two waters, three miles inland, is the rustic village of duloe, whose name is supposed to have originally been "dew looe," i.e., the two looes. "but there has always been great variety of opinion about this, and old writers on cornwall have variously considered it to be "du looe," or "god's lake," or "du looe" (spelled the same way), "black lake." a resourceful antiquary has, in addition, pointed out the difficulties of finding the true origin of place-names by advancing no fewer than six other possible origins:--
-the "black-barrow" or "devils" derivations, it is said, might come from the remains of a prehistoric stone circle still existing at duloe, where eight stones from four to ten feet high, are still standing. they may have once formed an awe-inspiring sight to the early peoples who gave names to places.
-the foregoing is, however, only an exercise in possibilities, intended as a warning to those who make certain of meanings; the probabilities rest with "dew looe."
-east looe, formerly called portuan, as its old borough seal shows, is the larger of the twin towns. it has a town hall, retaining the porch of an older building with the old pillory; and a church whose only old part is a singularly sturdy and clumsy tower. it is equally puzzling to find the church and the tiny beach of looe in the maze of narrow alleys. west looe has also its church, very much of a curiosity, in a humble way. its slender campanile tower, properly introduced into a view, makes a picture of the brother town across the water. years ago, this church was desecrated in many ways. among other uses it was made to do duty for a town hall and as a room for theatrical entertainments.
-along the west looe water is the lovely inlet of trelawne mill, just above the bridge, with dense woods clothing the hillsides and mirrored in the still waters. here is trelawne, seat of the trelawny family since the time of sir jonathan trelawny, bishop of bristol, and afterwards successively of exeter and winchester, one of the seven bishops sent to imprisonment in the tower of london by james the second in 1688. the "song of the western men," written by hawker, using the old refrain, "and shall trelawny die?" refers to that occasion:--
-"a good sword and a trusty hand! a merry heart and true! king james's men shall understand what cornish lads can do. and have they fixed the where and when? and shall trelawny die? here's twenty thousand cornish men will know the reason why."
-the "jolly sailor" inn at west looe is perhaps the most picturesque building in the little town, whose long steep street goes staggering up towards talland, and its toppling chimney is a familiar object. it is not so much an accidental as an intentional slant, designed to counteract the down-draught of the winds.
-the cliffs between talland and polperro are in places fast crumbling away, and no one seems in the least concerned to do anything; perhaps because anything that might be done would presently be undone again by the sea. "ye med so well throw money in the sea as spend et on mending they cliffs," is the local opinion. at polperro itself the cliffs are of dark slate, and seem almost as hard as iron.
-i suppose no one will deny polperro the dignity of being the most picturesque village on the south coast of cornwall. the place-name means "peter's pool," and the sea does indeed exactly form a pool in the little harbour at high water, retreating entirely from it at the ebb. the entrance from the open sea is a narrow passage between headlands of dark slate, whose characteristic stratification produces weird spiny outlines and needle-like points, inclined at an angle to the horizon. on the western of these two headlands formerly stood a chapel dedicated to st. peter, the peculiar patron of fishermen. instead of anything in that sort, the cliffs now exhibit a monster black and white lattice hoarding, as though a mad napoleon of advertising had proposed to celebrate some one's pills and soap, and had been hauled off to a lunatic asylum before he could complete his project. a similarly hideous affair infests the cliffs by talland, a mile away. they are, however, not advertising freaks, but structures placed by the admiralty to mark a measured mile for the steam-trials of new vessels. the artist-colony at polperro, a large community, is rightly indignant at this uglification, but fortunately it is not seen all over polperro.
-the little town is in every way a surprise and a curiosity, and in most ways a delight. the stone piers that project from either side of the entrance to the harbour leave a space for entrance so narrow that it is commonly closed in stormy weather by dropping stout baulks of timber into grooves let into the pier-heads. the chief industries of polperro are the pilchard-fishery and the painting of pictures, and it is because of the commercial, as well as the æsthetic, interest of the artistic community, in preserving the old-world picturesqueness of polperro, that the wonderful old place remains so wonderful and retains its appearance of age. the rough cobble-stones that have mostly disappeared from other fisher villages are left in their wonted places, and when the local authority a little while ago removed some, in the innovating way that local authorities have, the loud cries of protest that were made speedily caused the replacement of them. i do not think there is any other place, even in cornwall, which is situated in so sudden and cup-like a hollow as polperro, and with houses so closely packed together and staged so astonishingly above one another. port loe nearly approaches it, but that place is much smaller.
-the time for sketching and seeing polperro at its best is in the sweet of the morning, before the tender light of the sun's uprising has given place to the fierce sunshine of the advancing forenoon. a pearly opalescent haze then pervades the scene, in which the shadows are luminous. then the smoke from the clustered chimneys of polperro ascends lazily from the sheltered hollow: breakfast is preparing. polperro is unquestionably in many ways old england of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, surviving vigorously into the twentieth. the artist, sketching here, is startled at frequent intervals by glissades of slops, flung by housewives, adopting the "line of least resistance," over the rocks into the harbour. it is a custom that makes him nervous at first, but he gets used to it. at polperro, it is always well, in seeking a picturesque corner, say half-way down, below any houses, to make quite sure (if in any way possible to make sure), that one is not in the line of discharge of any liquids or solids that in more conventional places are deposited in the ash-bin or thrown into the sink.
-many odd old cottages remain here, some of them with outside staircases, and most roughly built of granite and slate, and whitewashed. the chief industry of polperro is evident, not only in the fishy smells, or in the fishing-boats and the appearance of the people; but its specialised character is hinted at by the sign of the humble "three pilchards" inn on the quay, near the old weigh-beam. good catches of pilchards or bad make all the difference here, where these peculiarly cornish fish are largely prepared and packed for export to italy. an italian packing-house has indeed an establishment on the quay. the salted pilchards, long since known among the cornish as "fair maids" from the italian "fumadoes"--the original method of preserving them having been by drying in smoke--are the chief source of the polperro fishermen's livelihood. thus the time-honoured toast of these otherwise sturdy protestants:
-"here's a health to the pope; may he never know sorrow, with pilchards to-day and pilchards to-morrow. good luck to his holiness; may he repent, and add just six months to the length of his lent; and tell all his vassals from rome to the poles, there's nothing like pilchards for saving their souls."
-others beside the fisherfolk rejoice when the fishery is good. i refer to the gulls. nowhere is the seagull happier than in cornwall, if immunity from attack and the certainty of plenty to eat constitute happiness in the scheme of existence as it is unfolded to gulls. the wild birds' protection act is scarcely necessary for the protection of gulls in cornwall, and the birds are so used to this affectionate tolerance that it might almost be denied that they are wild, except technically. i am afraid the gull presumes not a little upon all this. he seems to know that the fishermen dare not punish him, if sometimes they feel inclined, for to ill-treat a gull is notoriously the way in cornwall to bring bad luck; and although they are incredibly ravenous eaters of fish, it is one of the fisher-folk's most deeply rooted convictions that the boats are lucky in proportion to the numbers of gulls that accompany them. there is, of course, a good reason at bottom for this, because the gulls are the first to note the whereabouts of the fish, and scream and swoop down upon the shoals long before any human eye can detect their existence. the gulls go out with the boats and come back with them, and often they are the first to return; the winged couriers who awaken the little port with news of the home-coming of its men.
-when the boats are in harbour, the gulls are at home, too. every roof-ridge is alive with them, and they even take an intelligent interest in the domestic cooking. it is one of the most ridiculous sights to observe a gull perched on the edge of a chimney-pot smelling the odours that come up from cottage chimneys. when the tide is out, the gulls quest diligently in the ooze and scavenge all the offal that is plentifully flung into the harbour, for there is nothing nice in the feeding of a gull. dead kittens and dogs come as handy and as tasty morsels as potatoes and cabbage-stalks. i have even seen a gull steal and bolt a pudding-cloth; but what happened to him afterwards i don't know. there are, indeed, few things a gull will not steal. the dogs and cats in polperro have even developed a way of furtively glancing up at the roofs, for the gulls swoop down like lightning when the cats' dinners are put outside, and their food is gone on the instant. thus you will notice the cats run to cover with their meal, while the dogs do the like, or are careful to place one paw on their bone, lest it be snatched away in a twinkling. nay, worse; the gull ashore will kill rabbits, rob nests, steal chickens, and poach young pheasants; and the "jowster" who hawks fish through the villages not infrequently finds his stock depleted through the same agency. and yet the gull is suffered gladly. he is the most privileged and the hungriest thief in existence.
-a valley road leads inland from polperro to the hamlet of crumplehorn, a pretty spot whose name originated i know not how. the coastwise road goes through lansallos to fowey.
-"a bit of a nip" they call the sharp road on the way to lansallos, by which you see that the old word "knap," for a hill, is degenerating. lansallos church tower, in rather a crazy condition, is a prominent landmark. the coast-line beyond lansallos juts out at pencarrow head, a "cliff-castle" promontory, whose name comes from "pen-caerau," the fortified headland. there are several shades of meaning in "caer," of which "caerau" is the plural form. it may indicate a town, a castle, a dwelling, or a camp, just as a dwelling in remote times was of necessity fortified against attack.
-lanteglos, inland from pencarrow, is like lansallos, lonely, but it is tenderly cared for, after long neglect. the full name of it, "lanteglos-juxta-fowey," sounds urban. the tall granite, fifteenth-century canopied cross, standing by the south porch, was discovered some eighty years ago, buried in the churchyard. among the brasses in the church is one for john mohun and his wife, who died in 1508 of the "sweating sickness."
-polruan, the "pool of st. ruan," at the foot of the steep road leading down from lanteglos, is a sort of poor relation of the prosperous town and port of fowey over there, across the so-called "fowey river," which here and for five miles up inland is a salt estuary, with smaller divergent creeks. the beauty of fowey and its river unfolds with new delights at every stroke of the oars, as the ferry-boat, gliding through the translucent green sea-water, brings one across to the town quay.
-fowey--the fowey river--st. veep--golant--lerrin--st. winnow--lostwithiel
-at length, after centuries of turbulence, the privileges of fowey were taken away, about 1553, and given to dartmouth, which itself was a nest of pirates and buccaneers. but a good deal of fight seems to have been left in fowey, and its sailors in the time of charles the second rendered good service against the dutch.
-the houses of fowey press closely against one another, and line the water very narrowly, and its "streets" are rather lanes. the greatest glory of the town is the fine church of st. finbar, whose tall pinnacled tower, built of pentewan granite, yellow with age, is elaborately panelled. behind it rise the battlemented and still more elaborately panelled towers of place (not place "house" as it is often redundantly styled), seat of the treffry family. but most of the old-time houses have in these later years been ruthlessly destroyed, and the lanes of fowey are becoming as commonplace as a london suburb. nay, even more, a suburb of london would be ashamed of the tasteless, plasterful houses and vulgarian shop-fronts that have lately come into existence here. it is a sorrowful fact that the west country is the last stronghold of plaster and bad taste and that things are now done here, of which the home counties grew ashamed a generation ago. lately the old "lugger" inn, almost the last picturesque bit of domestic architecture in fowey, has been rebuilt. readers of "q's" stories of "troy town," by which, of course, fowey is meant, will not, in short, now find their picturesque expectations realised.
-the last warlike experiences of fowey, apart from the amusing antics of the volunteers enrolled to withstand the expected french invasion under napoleon, celebrated by "q," were obtained in the operations that included the surrender of the parliamentary army here in 1644. the visit of queen victoria and prince albert in 1846 is celebrated in a misguided way, by a granite obelisk of doleful aspect on the quay. it would add greatly to the gaiety of fowey if it were disestablished.
-st. finbar, to whom the fine church is dedicated, was bishop of cork. he is said to have been buried in an earlier church on this site. the existing church, built 1336--1466, is one of the few in cornwall possessing a clerestory.
-there are interesting monuments of the rashleighs of menabilly here; the old family that came from rashleigh in mid-devon, but even then bore a cornish chough in their curious and mysterious arms. their heraldic shield includes, among other charges, the letter t, but the meaning of it being there is unknown, even to the rashleighs. the family formerly owned fowey. it was their parliamentary pocket-borough, and only their nominees could be elected. but this valuable privilege passed from them in 1813, i know not how. it suggests, however, that the rashleigh punning motto, nec temere, nec timide,--i.e. "neither rashly nor timidly," had in some way ceased to regulate their doings.
-the treffrys, too, are well represented in monuments and epitaphs, as it is only right they should be, considering that their house, place, adjoining the church, has been their home for many centuries. they were settled here long before the rashleighs, but are now really extinct in the male line. the great j. t. treffry, builder of the harbour at par and constructor of the cornwall minerals railway, and other works, was an austen before he assumed the name by which he is better known.
-no method of exploring the country on either side of the fowey river is to be compared, for ease and beauty, with that of taking boat on the rising tide, and so being borne smoothly along those exquisite six miles to lostwithiel. here, and for a long way up the estuary, is deep water and safe anchorage for large vessels, as the pretty sight of weatherworn ships anchored over against bodinnick shows; their tall masts and graceful spars contrasting with the wooded hills, and hinting of strange outlandish climes to the nestling hamlets.
-bodinnick is, like polruan, a ferry village, opposite fowey. it looks its best from the water. a mile up, on the same side, a creek opens to st. veep, a sequestered church dedicated to a saint called by that name. her real name was wennapa, aunt of st. winnow, and sister of gildas the historian.
-the cornish way of dealing with saints' names may seem to some delightfully intimate, and to others a profane familiarity, almost as bad as it would be to style st. john "jack," but the west country saints are to the evangelists and to the major saints what irish and scotch peers are to peers of the united kingdom; or perhaps, better still, what knights bachelors are to dukes. i do not mean to say that they have not seats among the rest of the sanctified, but they are decidedly of a lower grade; a good deal more human and less austere than the great and shining ones. and when we find, as often we do find among the irish, welsh, native cornish, or breton saints, that entire families have attained to that state, we do right to look shyly upon their title.
-further up the fowey river, on our left side, we come to golant and the church of st. samson, or sampson, dedicated to a sixth-century breton saint, who early fled his country and was educated in wales, and then settled in cornwall. finally he returned to brittany (when he thought it quite safe to do so), and died bishop of dôl.
-passing penquite, which means "pen coed"--i.e. "head of the woods"--a creek opens on the right, to lerrin, a picturesque hamlet on the hillside, where the creek comes to an end, and the futile comings and goings of the sea die away in ooze. a prehistoric earthwork, running inland between lerrin and looe, is locally attributed to the devil, in the rhyme:
-"one day the devil, having nothing to do, built a great hedge from lerrin to looe."
-"hedge," to any one from the home counties, indicates a boundary formed by growing bushes. in cornwall it is often either a rough stone or earthen bank.
-above lerrin creek is st. winnow, a fine old church standing by the waterside. st. winnoe is an obscure saint. he was son of gildas, the pessimist historian of the woes of britain at the coming of the saxons. there is some good old stained glass in st. winnow church, and an inscribed font (inscription not decipherable).
-a curious anagram-epitaph on one william sawle, who died in 1651, may be seen here. it has been restored of late years by one of his collateral descendants:
-"william sawle, annagr. i was ill; am wel. when i was sick, most men did deeme me ill. if i had liv'd i should have beene soe still. prais'd be the lord, that in the heavn's doth dwell, who hath receiv'd my sovle, now i am wel."
-this perhaps plumbs the depths of tortured conceits, with its back and forth play upon "william sawle," "i am well," and the resemblance of "soul" to "sawle": a closer resemblance in the speech of the west country than it would appear in print to be. any day the stranger in devon and cornwall may, for instance, hear the common salutation, "well, how be 'ee t'-daa, my dear sawle?"
-"aw, pretty tidily, thank 'ee."
-there is no village of st. winnow, only a farmhouse and a vicarage, at the foot of a hill, bordered by a noble beech avenue.
-about a mile above st. winnow, the narrowing stream comes to lostwithiel quay, where the navigable fowey river ends.
-"lostwithiel!" i like that name. it is musical. to repeat it two or three times to one's self is an ineffable satisfaction. one is immediately seized, on hearing it, with a desire to proceed to the town of lostwithiel. romance, surely, lives there. foolish country folk in the neighbourhood, noting that great heights rise all around the little town, say the meaning of its name is "lost-within-the-hill." i blush for them, for it means nothing of the sort; but who wants to attach a meaning to that melody? not i, at any rate, and i care little whether it be properly "les gwithiel," the palace in the wood, or the "supreme court." the old palace indicated is the ancient duchy house, a seat of the early dukes of cornwall, who also had their stannary courts, that is to say, their tin-mining tribunals, here. the buildings, much modernised, in part remain; and up in the valley of the fowey, one mile further inland, are the remains of their stronghold, restormel, properly "les-tormel," castle.
-there is not much of lostwithiel. past the railway station, and over the nine-arched, partly thirteenth-century bridge across the river fowey, and you are in a town of about two thousand inhabitants, which looks as though it accommodated only half that number. yet, small though it be, it is divided into two parts, lostwithiel proper, and bridgend, and has a mayor and corporation. the central feature and great glory of lostwithiel is the lovely octangular stone spire and lantern of its parish church of st. bartholomew, a work of the decorated, fourteenth-century period of architecture, before which most architects very properly abase themselves in humble admiration, while many hasten to adopt its beautiful lines for their own church designs. lostwithiel spire has, in especial, been the model for the spires of many latter-day wesleyan and congregational chapels.
-the description of architecture without the aid of illustration is a vain and futile thing, and what the likeness of this work is let the drawing herewith attempt to show. the tower itself is an earlier building, of the thirteenth century, but tower and spire taken together are of no great height--about 100 feet. the effective tracery of the eight windows surmounted by gables is all of one pattern, except a window on the north side, whose feature is a wheel. the font is one of the most remarkable in cornwall. it seems to be of the fourteenth century. its five legs are of different shape. the strangest feature of its eight sculptured sides, which include a most clumsy and almost shapeless representation of the crucifixion, is a curious attempt at a hunting scene, rendered in very bold relief. a huntsman on horseback is shown, holding a disproportionately large hawk on one upraised hand, and a queer-looking dog bounds on in front, in a ludicrous attitude. this font is historically interesting, as figuring in the disgraceful doings of the parliamentary troops, who in 1644 occupied lostwithiel and used the church as a stable; baptizing a horse at it, and calling it "charles," as symonds, the diarist trooper, tells us, "in contempt of his sacred majesty."
-probably one of the longest leases on record is alluded to, on a stone in the wall of a shed at the corner of north street and taprell's lane, in the inscription: "walter kendall of lostwithiel was founder of this house in 1638. hath a lease for three thousand years, which hath beginning the 29th of september, anno 1632."
-polkerris--menabilly--par--the biscovey stone--charlestown, st. austell, and the china-clay industry--the mengu stone--porthpean--mevagissey--st. michael caerhayes--veryan--gerrans--st. anthony-in roseland
-there is little in fowey for the landsman. its chief delights are upon the water: boating or sailing on the river, or yachting out to sea. yachtsmen are familiar figures, both at the inns and hotels of the actual town, and at the new hotel outside, overlooking the channel from point neptune. a thirsty yachtsman, asking for some "cornish cider," revealed by accident one article at any rate which cornish local patriotism does not approve. the cornishman, it appeared, although believing in most things cornish, drew the line there, and devonshire cider was offered instead, with the admission that, although there was cornish cider, no one who could possibly help themselves would drink it.
-the coast round past point neptune and by the wooded groves of menabilly, on to polkerris, a queer little fisher-village, is much better made the subject of a trip by sailing-boat than a tramp along those rugged ways; and then, returning, the direct road from fowey to par may be taken, past the lodge-gates of menabilly, at castle dour.
-the name originated in "castell dwr"--i.e., the "castle by the water"--an ancient granite post, or cross, known as the "longstone." it is seen standing on a plot of grass in the road. this is the tombstone of a romanised briton, and formerly bore the inscription, "cirvsivs hic iacit cvnomori filivs," plainly. it is not now so easily read.
-soon the way leads almost continuously down hill to par. on the hedge-bank to the right is a striking modern wayside cross, bearing the inscription, "i thank thee, o lord, in the name of jesus, for all thy mercies. j. r., may 13, 1845, 1887, 1905." it was erected by the late jonathan rashleigh, of menabilly.
-at the foot of the hill is par. the name of the place means, in the cornish language, a marsh, or swamp, and par certainly lies almost on a level with the sea, where a little stream wanders out of the luxulyan valley on to the sands of a small bay, opening to the larger bay of tywardreath. the original character of this once marshy spot is very greatly hidden by the many engineering and other works established here by j. t. treffry. here his cornwall minerals railway, running across country to the north coast at newquay, comes to his harbour; and his mines, canal, and smelting works make a strange industrial medley, through whose midst runs the main line of the great western railway.
-the great enterprises of that remarkable man have long since suffered change. his railway is now the newquay branch of the great western, his mines and canal have fallen upon less prosperous days, and the great chimney of the smelting-works, 235 feet high--"par stack," as it is called--no longer smokes. the pleasant humour of the neighbourhood long since likened silk hats, the "toppers" of everyday speech, to the big chimney, and he who wore one was said to be wearing a "par stack."
-there is no gain in the scenic way by following the coast from par to charlestown. nothing of any outstanding character appears along those coastwise paths, which are long and obscure. this is not to say that the road inland is in any way delightful. it is, in fact, a plaguey ill-favoured road, for when you have left the various railway bridges and junctions of par behind, you come to a very gehenna of a place; a sterile plain through whose midst the highway proceeds bumpily. many years ago the miners turned the land at this point inside out, in search of copper, and now that they have long left it, the place remains the abomination of desolation, where nothing will grow amid the mundic and heaps and hollows of tailings. south of the road at biscovey, past this desolate region, stood an ancient granite cross, minus its head, but still seven feet eight inches high, known as the "biscovey stone," and serving the humble office of a gatepost. it was in 1896 removed to biscovey churchyard. its original function was that of a monument to one alroron, and it bears on its two broad sides, amid curiously interlaced decorative patterns, the inscription "--alroron ullici filivs--."
-the dusty road leads through holmbush, a suburb of charlestown, which took its name from the wayside "holly bush" inn. charlestown itself is more curious than beautiful. it is, in fact, the port of st. austell, of which it is really an extension, and was formerly called polmear. charlestown is a place with one small, but very busy and crowded dock; and the dock and the quays, and all the roads into and out of the place are a study in black and white, and barrels. the stranger to cornwall, proceeding westward for the first time, is apt to be puzzled by these strange evidences. he has come, unaware, upon the first signs of the great and prosperous cornish china-clay industry. the whiteness of everything that is not black is caused by the leakage of the china-clay, and the blackness of everything that is not white is the result of coal-dust.
-china-clay is a substance greatly resembling chalk, and varying from a putty-like consistency to a powdery brittleness. a little of it is inevitably dropped in the cartage down from carclaze, inland, where it is got, through st. austell, and down to the port, and a little more is spread about in loading the vessels that take it abroad; and so, as "mony a mickle makes a muckle," there is generally a good deal of china-clay pervading the place. the mountains of clean new barrels, just fresh from the cooper's, are for packing the clay for export. charlestown also does an import trade in coal, hence the alternative to charlestown's sanctified whiteness, but when it rains, as it not infrequently does in cornwall, the result here is a grey and greasy misery, compact of these two substances.
-china-clay is decomposed granite, rotted by the action of water during uncounted thousands of years. up at carclaze and further inland, at st. stephen's-in-brannel, it is dug out of quarries that were once open workings for tin. the deposits are of great depth and extent. although so easily dug out, the white clay in its natural state is mixed with hard and gritty particles of quartz, and has therefore to be subjected to a refining process, to separate that undesirable element. the method of separation is very simple, the clay being subjected to a washing by which the heavy, useless particles remain, and the soft material is carried down into a series of tanks. there it is left to settle, and the water is then drawn off. the clay is then allowed to dry, and is finally dug out and packed in barrels. modern improvements in the preparation of china-clay have been chiefly directed to the quick-drying of the masses in these tanks, and minutes are now taken instead of the months formerly occupied in natural evaporation. china-clay, it may be added, is used for many other purposes than the manufacture of porcelain, and, although the staffordshire and foreign potteries use it largely, it is extensively employed in loading calico, and in giving inferior cottons a specious and illusory excellence. it enters also into the composition of the heavier and more highly glazed printing papers, chiefly those used for printing illustrations.
-st. austell and carclaze owe their prosperity, in the origination of all these things, to william cookworthy, who first discovered china-clay in england. he has his memorial in plymouth, where he lived for many years, for one of the fine series of modern stained-glass windows in plymouth guildhall shows him as chemist and porcelain-maker; but the landowners of carclaze and the people of st. austell have certainly fallen short of their duty by failing to set up a statue of him in some prominent place.
-william cookworthy, a native of kingsbridge, in south devon, was born in 1705, one of the seven children of another william cookworthy, a weaver, who died early and left his widow and family with very narrow means. they owed their sustenance, and the children owed their education, to the quakers of kingsbridge. william was apprenticed to a chemist and druggist, and eventually established himself in the same way of business, wholesale, at plymouth. the firm of bevan & cookworthy prospered early, and cookworthy at thirty-one years of age very largely freed himself from its cares and devoted himself to preaching. ten years later, in 1745, he became interested in kaolin, or china-clay, which until 1708 had been found only in china, giving that country the entire output of porcelain, which from the land of its origin obtained its very name of "china." cookworthy, in common with several other of his contemporaries, wished to produce "china," and when news came in 1745 that china-clay had been found in virginia, he commissioned a quaker friend to obtain some for him. travelling much in cornwall, he himself discovered a coarse variety of it on tregoning hill, in germoe, and a little later found the great deposits at carclaze, in the parish of st. stephens, behind st. austell.
-in that year, 1758, he began experimentally making porcelain at plymouth. already, in 1709, dresden china was being made from the kaolin found in saxony, and a little later than his own beginning the sèvres porcelain factory was using a deposit found at limoges. he was joined by lord camelford, and a patent for making china was obtained in 1768, but the plymouth factory was not at any time remunerative, and the works were removed to bristol and eventually into staffordshire. cookworthy died in 1780, not in any way advantaged by his discovery.
-the town of st. austell--"storsel," locally--does not in the least know how it came by that name. an altogether uncertain "augustulus" has been presumed, while others think they find glimmerings of a hermit "st. austolus." it is a town of narrow, crowded streets, with little of interest apart from the fine parish church, chiefly of the early part of the fifteenth century. the font, however, is norman, of the very marked cornish type, consisting of a bowl supported on four legs ending in grotesque faces. the fine perpendicular tower and the south aisle, richly carved in the stubborn granite with numerous shields and devices bearing the emblems of the passion and crucifixion, are among the most ornate in cornwall.
-a mysterious inscription, whose meaning is still hotly debated, is found above the west door, immediately surmounting a sculptured group representing the "pelican in her piety." the old story of the pelican wounding her breast--"vulning herself," ancient writers call it--for the sustenance of her young, is here thought to typify the sacrifice made by our blessed lord and saviour for our sakes; and in this light the inscription above may be read. the rudely sculptured letters of it form the words and initials--
-ky ch (or ry du) inri
-the original view was that ry du was the correct rendering, signifying in the cornish language "god is king." of the meaning of inri there can, of course, be no question; it is "jesus nazarenus rex judæorum." it is now sometimes held that, as the lower line is latin, the upper is greek, and is a contraction for kyrius christus, i.e., "christ is lord." yet other attempts take us into the syro-phœnician and hebrew tongues, and read the meanings, "dearly beloved," or, "he gave us his blood." but no one will ever definitely put the question to rest.
-there is but one other really interesting object in st. austell. that is the famous, but mysterious, mengu, or menagu, stone, removed of late from the market place to the spot known universally in st. austell (but not officially named), as "fool's corner." it is placed, or was placed, it is said, where the boundaries of the three manors of trenance--austell, treverbyn, and towington--met. a brass plate fixed upon it in 1892 gives a certain modicum of information respecting this slab, but it is little enough, and to this day the words written by walter white, in his "londoner's walk to the land's end," of 1854, hold good. "enquire," he says, "for anything remarkable in the town, and you will hardly fail to be told of the mengu stone, regarded with some veneration by its possessors because no one knows anything about it." but is not that precisely the reason why so many things are venerated? there is something of the sublime in the mere vague importance of this stone, from which proclamations and announcements of local public events have from time immemorial been made, and it is as important to st. austell as the famous stone of destiny from scone, now in the coronation chair at westminster abbey; the stone on which the ancient scottish kings were, and our own monarchs now are, crowned.
-returning to the coast, at charlestown, porthpean is reached; apparently a small holiday-resort of the burgesses of st. austell. you see from this sketch exactly what it is: a little sandy bay with a few row-boats and sailing-vessels, a few bathing-machines, and a refreshment-house or two. more or less steep and obscure paths lead from it round black head, and so down hill into pentewan, a very busy little port with railway-sidings and docks, and vessels waiting cargoes of tin-ore and china-clay.
-mevagissey, three miles or more, by pennare and the cliffs, is two staggeringly steep miles distant by road, ending in a murderous crooked descent. at the same time, it is all nonsense to say that cycling is not possible in cornwall. work, courage, and good, reliable brakes are requisite, it is true; but although a good deal of hard work and much walking uphill (and some down) are necessary, cycling, after all, saves effort, here as elsewhere. in the far from bracing climate of cornwall, the exertion of carrying one's own body is often more tiring than even pedalling hard uphill. even on the shocking coastwise bye-roads, apt often to be mere cascades of loose stones, and full of sharp turns, it is often better to have a cycle than to be without one. even so, letting the machine go down these dubious ways, i murmur, as did the pious knights of old, travelling the haunted valleys and the darkling woods, 'in manus tuas, domine,' and brave the unknown perils that lurk behind hairpin corners and down steep gradients.
-mevagissey is said to derive its name from saints mewan and issey, to whom its church is dedicated. it is a little town as crowded together as polperro, but not by any means so picturesque. also it faces more directly upon the sea, and although it offers no sands for the visitor and has a very fishy, smelly little harbour, it has in many ways been modernised. take it for all in all, mevagissey looks its best from the sea. perhaps mevagissey has been frightened into modern ways, for it had an unexampled experience among cornish villages in 1849, when cholera was so rampant that it was deserted until a thorough cleansing was effected.
-if we may trust a satirical saying of fowey and st. austell, the mevagissey people are not, or were not used to be, given to acknowledging authority. one man they considered to be as good as another, and thus the old local by-word may yet be heard in the district: "like the mevagissey volunteers; all officers and no privates." but the allusion is over a century old, and belongs to that volunteering epoch when napoleon was threatening to invade england; so let us hope things have altered since then.
-there are sands of some small extent at portmellin, up out of mevagissey and then steeply down, half a mile distant, to where the land begins to trend abruptly out towards chapel point, and a few bungalows have, in consequence, been lately built in what was until recently a lonely hollow. looking backwards for many miles, the china-clay works on the distant hills about st. stephen-in-brannel shine white, like the glorious camp of some heavenly host.
-always steeply up, the road goes on to gorran, a mile inland, with gorran haven, a little crabbers' and shrimpers' village, as a kind of seashore annexe. the dodman, a desolate headland, shuts out everything to the westward and forms the eastward horn of veryan bay. on its cliffs, of three hundred feet and more, a coastguard station looks out upon many empty leagues of troubled waters.
-st. michael caerhayes lies snugly in a little bay within the greater bay of veryan. the road, curving a little way inland, out of sight of the sea, descends steeply through overhanging trees and suddenly emerges upon a level strand, where the sea comes rolling in, over sands that afford a foothold as unyielding as the floor of a room. on either side of the inlet rise picturesque rocks, those on the western side the bolder of the two, and draped, moreover, with luxuriant vegetation, and further crested with larch and pine. whether you look out to sea, or, standing on those yellow sands, face inland, the scene is of the most romantic description and worthy of the great skelt himself, of the famous "skelt's juvenile drama." indeed, those massed and jagged rocks, with darkling fissures, on whose summits the pine-trees seem to cling desperately, might well have served as models for the set scenes of skelt's thrilling stage, in "the red rover," or "the smuggler," or other of his melodramas. out to sea, in the "offing," ships hover; inland, under the lee of the wooded rocks, rises a castle. the place is instinct with drama, and it has a name of the strangest--st. michael caerhayes--but it is quiet enough for all that, and there is no village.
-the castle looks sufficiently thrilling, and might, with its surrounding fitly set the stage in ruddigore, but the inevitable guide-book spoils the thrill it gives, by letting us into the secret of its being built in 1808, when country mansions took the form of "castles" only for "picturesque" reasons. no bad baronet resides there, only the worthy commoner family of williams; and any one who is afraid of a person called williams, who lives in a sham castle, must be a poor creature, even though the castellan does display threatening notice-boards, setting forth what trespassers may expect to suffer. st. michael caerhayes was anciently the seat of the famous trevanion family, extinct a century or more ago, and their old house demolished to make way for the present building. there are many place-names in brittany parallel with those in cornwall, and st. michael carhaix is one of them. not only so, but a justification of cornwall and of the breton "cornouaille" calling cousins is further shown by a singular occurrence which happened during our wars with france towards the close of the eighteenth century. among the french (or rather bretons, for brittany is not france to a breton, any more than cornwall to a cornishman is england), among the breton prisoners, therefore, landed at falmouth, was one jean trevanion de carhaix.
-in mevagissey the people talk strangely about the seclusion sought for at st. michael caerhayes, and tell weird tales of photographers and artists prevented from taking views of this lovely spot. so it was, perhaps, not altogether without trepidation that the sketch for the accompanying illustration was taken, from the seashore. no angry williams, no brutal bailiff, appeared; and so perhaps the mevagissey folk exaggerate. and since then a report of the visit of an antiquarian society to the dread castle itself has appeared, by which it seems that the owner had not lured the party into his stronghold with a view to casting them into noisome dungeons, or having them flung from the battlements, or anything else in that full-flavoured way. he simply welcomed them, as any civilised being would have done, and the only outstanding feature of the day seems to have been his remark that, except the collections of different kinds in the house, there was really nothing of antiquity left; not even the stone sculptured with arms, of the time of henry the eighth, which the guide-books declare to be here, but is not.
-the church of st. michael caerhayes stands high, somewhat inland. one comes to it through a wan and sorry avenue of spindly sycamores, past the lodge-gates of the "castle"; and then it is seen standing in a bald, exposed situation beside the road. the last vestiges of the olden trevanions are seen in the church. an alien fowl has nested on the site of their ancient home, but still the church houses the rusty helmets of their funeral armour, and a sword, said to be the identical falchion wielded by sir hugh trevanion at bosworth, august 21st, 1485, hangs among them. the last trevanions, whether pure-blooded, or merely bettesford-trevanions, would seem, according to the evidence of the monumental inscriptions of a century or so ago, their natural force abated, to have slid early and gratefully out of an existence of pain and suffering.
-but the most interesting object in the church, interesting because of its mystery, is a black-painted, life-sized statue, in coade-ware, dated 1812, of a naval officer, with a real sword. the singular thing is that, although the antiquity of the thing is of the slightest, nobody knows who is represented by it. it is thought to be one of the bettesford-trevanions. yet, although we have lost count of this recent statue's identity, the mummified pharaohs of thousands of years ago are identified with certainty.
-veryan, the village that gives a name to the bay, does not lie upon the seashore. you come to it round the majestically romantic cliffs past port holland, a small fisher-hamlet perched upon the rocky outlet of a quite solitary valley, and thence a little way inland, and presently out again and very steeply and lengthily down, so that you wonder when you will reach the bottom, to port loe, a gloomy inlet amid dark overhanging cliffs. down there is the poor fishing village, in a primitive state, absolutely untouched by pleasure-seekers, and apparently not thriving in its fishery. but its situation down there, below the echoing cliffs reverberating to the mocking cries of the sea gulls, is magnificent.
-the road out of veryan leads directly to gerrans bay, passing under the shoulder of the strikingly sudden hill known as carn beacon. it is a hill upon a hill, a sepulchral barrow heaped up upon a height overlooking the sea; placed in this commanding position by way of doing greater honour to the ancient chieftain buried there. this was, traditionally, the sixth-century cornish king and saint, geraint, or gerennius, who died in a.d. 596, from whom the village and the bay of gerrans are named. he is not to be confused with the arthurian geraint, who died in battle. tradition has been often proved true, but the gorgeous story which told how the king had been buried here, in a golden boat with silver oars, and with his sword and crown, has been disproved, flatly enough, for the barrow was opened in 1855, and only a stone chest containing the ashes of geraint, or another, was found. "sold again!" as smith minor of the lower fourth might say.
-the village of gerrans calls for little remark. it stands high, some distance back from the sea, and therefore suffers considerably from the severe competition of its offshoot, portscatho, down below, a thriving seaside place on gerrans bay.
-three miles along a narrowing peninsula bring one to st. anthony-in-roseland, where a charming little early english church, with stone spire, stands in the grounds of place, a handsome mansion belonging to the spry family. in front of it rest the calm waters of st. mawes creek, looking across to polvarth and porthcueil. the extremity of the peninsula is occupied by st. anthony's lighthouse, lighting the entrance to falmouth harbour, over against pendennis, where the channel is one mile wide.
-the great harbour of falmouth and the many creeks of the estuary of the fal, running far inland to truro and tresilian bridge, rival the hamoaze and the estuary of the tamar in size, and more than rival them in beauty. or perhaps, instead of setting them in competition with one another, it may be said that their beauty is of different character. along the shores of hamoaze and tamar, the great commercial and naval and warlike interests of plymouth and devonport form striking features, and you can by no means lose sight of them until saltash is passed. in falmouth harbour and along the broad estuary of the fal, past carrick roads and so on to malpas, towns, commerce, and shipping are only incidental and remote. if you want falmouth, you must go seek it; if you would seek its smaller brother, st. mawes, on the hither side, you must almost make diligent quest; and as for the villages of st. just-in-roseland, mylor, st. feock, lamorran, ruan lanihorne, and others, why, they are all tucked away in creeks, in a kind of robinson crusoe reclusion. to say that the creeks of falmouth harbour and the estuary of the fal resemble a hand with spreading fingers is a ready and irresistible figure of speech, but it is a hand with at least nine fingers, of very varying size. they are st. mawes, or porthcueil creek; st. just creek; ruan creek; tresilian creek; truro river; roundwood creek; restronguet creek, mylor creek, and penryn creek. it is about nine miles, measured direct on the map, from the entrance to falmouth harbour, between pendennis and st. anthony's lighthouse, to truro, and a little longer to tresilian bridge, but the course is anything but straight, and therein--in the winding wooded shores, with inviting channels opening out on either side--lies much of the charm of these waterways.
-the district on this, the eastern, side of falmouth harbour, is roseland, not by any means so named from roses, but rather from "rhos," meaning "moorland." it does not nowadays seem a good description. you figure a moor as a ghastly inhospitable upland, where it always rains or snows, and where the bleak winds beat upon the traveller on its unsheltered wilds. now the cornish "roseland" is, in fact, a good deal nearer a land of roses than a terrible district of savage moors; and although part of it is undoubtedly high and exposed, it is not by any means an unfertile spot, and it abounds in the most delightful valleys, deep down, where the last salt ripples of the creeks lap lazily to the roots of oak-woods, and where the airs are warm and steamy; where not merely roses will grow, but sub-tropical plants flourish, and the fuchsia and the geranium come to amazingly vigorous developments. such is roseland.
-st. mawes, and falmouth too, and indeed most of the places beside these waters, wear a very foreign look. the warm, languorous climate, inducing luxuriant and exotic growths and unusual ways of building, is largely responsible for this. st. mawes, too, is built up-along from the waterside, on the face of a hill almost cliff-like. it owes its name to an irish saint, who is variously styled st. machutus, or mauduit. he is the st. malo after whom the well-known port in brittany is christened. it is an ill-sounding name for a saint, whether we call him "mauduit" or "malo," reminding one of the rhyme in valpy's "latin delectus":
-"'malo,' i would rather be, 'malo,' up an apple-tree, 'malo quam,' rather than 'malo,' with a wicked man."
-st. mawes castle shares with pendennis, on the opposite headland, the duty of defending the entrance to falmouth harbour from the open sea; but the saints--st. mawes and others--preserve us from reliance upon such defenders! they may have been formidable castles of the battery kind when originally built by henry the eighth, who, apart from his strange matrimonial experiments, is a very much misunderstood monarch, but they could not nowadays give an enemy the slightest hesitation. all the same, elaborate pretences are maintained, and pendennis and st. mawes are girdled about with war office prohibitions; just as though they were not shams that fail to deceive any one.
-historians, too busy with the domestic affairs of henry the eighth, and too interested in the great religious cataclysm of his reign, do not award him the title of "patriot king" that is really his due. he was a mighty builder of coastwise batteries against possible invasion; not only ordaining the building of them, but travelling much to see that they were built upon the most effective situations. from the coast of kent to the isles of scilly his pot-bellied batteries are to be found: formidable in their day and still often occupied by details of garrison artillery playing a great game of make-believe, in which neither the foreigner nor the englishman has any faith. latin inscriptions carved on the exterior walls of st. mawes castle give henry his due, and, he at last being dead, piously hope edward the sixth will resemble him. here is the english of them:
-"henry, thy honour and praises shall always remain."
-"may happy cornwall now rejoice, edward being chief."
-"may edward be like his father in deeds and reputation."
-i think the person who composed that last line and also the other person who cut it in the stone must have smiled at it, just as every one has done in all the three and a half centuries since.
-half-way across the entrance to the harbour is the black rock, visible at low water, but covered at the flood. it is the subject of a story which tells how a trefusis of trefusis, not living on altogether satisfactory terms with his wife, determined to be rid of her in an ingenious way. "shall we, my dear," said he, "sail down the harbour and land at black rock?" "agreed," she replied, unsuspecting; and so they proceeded to the spot. he handed her ashore, and then jumped again into the boat and made off, leaving her, as he supposed, to drown. but unfortunately, from his point of view, some fishermen later on brought her off and home. the lady bade them wait, and her husband would suitably reward them. "to the devil with you!" he exclaimed, in a fury; "you have played me a sorry trick indeed, and so you'll get nothing. you might have earned gold by leaving her there!"
-there is ample opportunity in crossing from st. mawes to falmouth by steamer to perceive the truth of carew's remark, that a hundred sail of vessels might anchor in falmouth harbour and not one see the mast of another. in these latter days this magnificent haven is not put to much use, and falmouth has since 1850 ceased to be the west indian mail-packet station. in that year its long and honourable connection with the admiralty and the post office, which had been continuous since 1688, ended in favour of southampton.
-the town of falmouth is seen hiding snugly away at the opening of penryn creek, on the inner side of the low-lying isthmus connecting the headland of pendennis with the mainland. it is not an ancient place, and did not, in fact, come officially into existence until 1660, although some few years earlier the custom-house had been removed from penryn and a market had been established in 1652. on august 20th, 1660, a proclamation was issued by the king, in answer to a petition by sir peter killigrew, commanding that "smithike, alias penny-come-quick, shall for ever after this day be called, named, and known by the name of falmouth."
-falmouth town is practically one long, very narrow, and not very clean waterside street of closely packed houses and shops, which shut out all except occasional glimpses of the beautiful harbour, seen from a quay here and there, or framed in by narrow alleys giving upon steps going down to the water. there is much of the nautical dibdin and wapping old stairs feeling about this long, long street of market strand, with the strong sea air blowing in upon the otherwise stuffy thoroughfare through these dark-browed openings. suggestions, too, of old smuggling days are found in queer sail-lofts overhanging the water; suggestions not without plentiful warranty in old records, for we know that smuggling proceeded impudently and openly at falmouth in the last quarter of the eighteenth century. the sheer matter-of-course of it raises a smile. men spoke of being--as of in the army or the navy--in the smuggling "service"; which at once shows how widespread and highly organised the operations were. captain pellew, brother of lord exmouth, sent to falmouth to put down smuggling, actually found some of his own officers running contraband cargoes of wine, in open port and in broad daylight.
-as you go seaward, past the railway station, the almost island promontory of pendennis rises up, and stretches a much greater distance out to sea than the explorer who seeks to round the point at first supposes. a fine, broad carriage-road describes a loop round this headland. "pendinas," "the headland castle"--for that was the original form of the name--has been, as the name itself implies, from the earliest times a place of defence, but the only known event of any moment that is remembered in connection with it is the stand here made for the king by sir john arundell of trerice, then in his eighty-seventh year, and known in all these parts as "jack-for-the-king." it was one of the most memorable deeds done in those troublous, long-drawn contentions between king and parliament. with the exception of raglan castle, in monmouthshire, which held out to the last for king charles, and only surrendered on august 19th, 1646, pendennis castle was the last stronghold to fly the royal standard. it capitulated on august 16th, only three days earlier, after a vigorous six months' siege, and when hunger, rather than any quality of the enemy, had brought the garrison low. hence the queen had embarked for france two years earlier, and the prince of wales departed for scilly in february 1646.
-the stranger is more likely to be impressed by the ugly lines of sharp-pointed pike railings that surround the precincts of pendennis castle, and have been richly tarred, lest by any chance the spikes are not sufficiently formidable, than by any appearance either of strength or picturesqueness that belongs to the place. the military genius that finds a first line of defence in the messy horrors of tar, seems something not much better than the old practice in the chinese army, of making horrible grimaces, wherewith to strike terror into the enemy.
-you see, on returning to falmouth from pendennis, how entirely land-locked the harbour appears to be. not the slightest indication points to which way the channel lies. yet this enclosed water has been ruffled by great and disastrous storms, and in one of them, off trefusis point, directly opposite the town, the transport queen was lost, in january 1814.
-the climate of falmouth is tearful. i may be unlucky in the matter of weather here, but i have never yet been at falmouth when it did not rain. but it is also phenomenally warm. st. gluvias, by penryn, is said to be the warmest place in england. the sailors' home, on the quay by arwenack, gives earnest of these warm conditions. it is a great, grim, eighteenth-century mansion of red brick, but made beautiful, almost transfigured indeed, by a wonderful fuchsia, covering the whole of the frontage up to the first-floor windows.
-in the humblest cottage-gardens grows the fuchsia. it flourishes even in the merest cobble-stoned backyards, enclosed within white-washed walls, and neighboured by the washing-stool and tub, and the clothes hung out to dry; and it is amidst such apparently unsuitable surroundings, rather than in the most carefully tended gardens, that this gorgeous alien seems most to prosper. for the fuchsia is an alien, brought into europe in 1703, from the pacific coast of south america, and named after an old-time german botanist of the sixteenth century; one leonard fuchs. all through the west of england the fuchsia has become--not common; we must not use that word, lest by any chance we should seem to slight so exquisite a plant--but usual, and especially it flourishes along the coasts, and thrives so greatly that it grows in the open all the year round, and frequently attains such dimensions that the stems of old-established plants are not uncommonly nearly as thick as a man's arm.
-yet in 1788 there was but one fuchsia in england, and that was in kew gardens. soon after that date an enterprising nurseryman of hammersmith, one lee by name, had secured cuttings, and was selling plants at one guinea each. thenceforward the spread of the fuchsia was rapid.
-the variety seen in devon and cornwall is nearly always that with abundance of small blossoms: scarlet petals, and blue or purple sepals.
-the parish church of falmouth is almost the oldest building in the town, but it is hardly venerable. it is galleried within and hangs gloomily upon the narrow street, squalidly mingled with a cab-rank. it was built in 1663, and has the peculiarity of being dedicated to charles the first, king and martyr; a distinction it shares with three other churches in england and one in wales; i.e. those of tunbridge wells, charles church, plymouth, peak forest, derbyshire, and newtown, montgomeryshire. a further peculiarity is that its tower is not square on plan.
-there are many other public buildings in the town, none of much interest; but it is interesting to know that there was once a mayor of falmouth who thanked god when the gaol was enlarged. he, or his remark, is quite famous, but i have no record of the period in which this worthy, so thanksgiving for benefits received, flourished. there is, however, no doubt at all that, if it was in the sixteenth century, when such doings as those of the piratical lady killigrew (of whom we shall hear at penryn) were possible, not only the enlargement of a gaol was required, but a special assize as well.
-among the oddest of these collections is a strange assemblage of inn and trade signboards, mostly of cornish origin, most of them so fantastically grotesque in spelling and unconsciously humorous in phrasing, that they would almost appear to be inventions, produced to astonish and to raise a laugh, were it not that they are obviously old, and that the proprietor keeps a register of their place of origin. thus runs the signboard of ellen tone's "tempurence hottell," from herodsfoot, near liskeard:
-"ellen tone, sells here lemanade and gingur beer, cow hels and tripe every fridey sekond hand cloes to make ee tidy, crox and kittles, pans and all and godly bukes to save yer sole, man-traps, gins, and pattens likewise and on saturday nights hot mutton pies."
-the signboard of one roger giles easily bears away the bell. it has been printed before now, but is too good, whether genuine or not, to be passed over:
-respectably informs ladys and gentlemans that he drors teef without waiting a minit, applies laches every hour, blisters on the lowest tarms, and vizicks for a penny a peace. he sells godsfathers kordales, kuts korns, bunyons docters hosses, clips donkies wance a munth, and undertakes to look after everybodys nayls by the ear. joesharps, penny wissels, brass kanelsticks, fryin pans, and other moosical hinstruments hat greatly reydooced figers. young ladies and gentlemen larnes their grammur, and langeudge in the purtiest mannar, also grate care taken off their morrels and spelling. also zarm singing, tayching base vial, and all other sorts of fancy work, squadrils, pokers, weazels, and all country dances tort at home and abroad, at perfeksun. perfumery and snuff in all its branches. as times is cruel bad i beg to tell ee that i has just beginned to sell all sorts of stashonery, ware, cox, hens, vouls, pigs, and all other kind of poultry, blackin-brishes, herrins, coles, scrubbin-brishes, traykel, and godley bukes and bibles, mise-traps, brick-dist, whisker seeds, morrel pokkerankechers, and all zorts of swatemaits including taters, sassages, and other garden stuff, bakky, zizars, lamp oyle, tay kittles, and other intoxzikating likkers, a dale of fruit, hats, zongs, hair oyle, pattins, bukkits grindin stones and other aitables, korne and bunyon zalve, and all hardware, i as laid in a large assortment of trype, dogs mate, lolipops, ginger beer, matches, and other pikkles, such as hepson salts, hoysters, winsre sope, anzetrar--old rags bort and sold here and nowhere else, new laid eggs by me roger giles; zinging burdes keeped, such as howles, donkies, paykox, lobsters, crickets, also a stock of celebrated brayder.
-flushing--penryn and the killigrew ladies--mylor--st. just-in-roseland--restronguet creek, devoran and st. feock--king harry passage--ruan creek--malpas--tresilian creek and the surrender of the cornish army.
-flushing, a little over-the-water town opposite falmouth, shares with the neighbouring st. gluvias the reputation of being the warmest place in england. it is said to have been founded by dutchmen, from flushing in holland. near by it is the hamlet curiously known as little falmouth; a place with a few waterside houses and remains of a granite-built dock, commanding views down to falmouth and pendennis, which looks like an island from here. little falmouth, with its decaying dock, forms a picturesque scene of blighted hopes.
-the old town of penryn, at the head of penryn creek, is even more dirty than falmouth, and does not look prosperous. falmouth, as penryn surely foresaw, has filched away much of the trade, and although the shipping of granite from the neighbouring quarries of mabe and constantine gives employment still, it is not an increasing business. the parish church is quite apart from the town, in the village of st. gluvias. the saint of that name appears to have been a welshman. he spelt his name "glywys," a fearful mouthful for a saxon to deal with, and apparently not easy even for a cornishman, seeing that cornwall has modified the name. glywys was brother to st. cadoc, or cadwg, and i have no doubt called cousins with half a hundred others.
-penryn is closely associated with two lady killigrews, who are generally confused almost inextricably with one another. the killigrew family of arwenack, where falmouth town now stands, had striven from about 1602 for a new town and market to be planted there, and thus earned the undying hatred of penryn; and so it happened that when sir john killigrew and his wife quarrelled and fought, he for divorce and she against it, about 1620, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to take refuge in penryn, and there, encouraged by the bad blood of the place, to protract ruinous litigation with her husband. all the evidence seems to show that she was as bad a character as possible, even though she came of an old landed family, the fermors, afterwards barons lempster and earls of pomfret. this lady jane killigrew was at last divorced, but the unhappy sir john did not long survive his victory, and his unamiable wife thereupon presented to the corporation of penryn the tall silver killigrew cup still in existence, inscribed: "1633 from maior to maior to the towne of permarin, where they received mee that was in great misery, jane killygrew."
-the earlier lady killigrew was mary, wife of another sir john, grandfather of the unhappy man just mentioned. it was in january 1583 that the spanish ship maria, upon which she exercised her piratical genius, sailed into falmouth harbour and cast anchor. the crew remained on board, but the two merchants who owned her cargo went to a penryn inn. lady killigrew seems to have entirely originated the scheme of piracy and murder that was carried through. she procured a boatload of fishermen, sworn to secrecy, who at midnight swarmed aboard and murdered some of the spaniards, and flung others into the sea. they then took the vessel to ireland. the spoils of the spanish ship consisted of holland-cloth and leather, together with two hogsheads of spanish pieces of eight. it had been intended to cajole the two merchants aboard, on some pretext, and so to murder all concerned with the vessel, but they remained ashore. not even in those times was it possible to commit piracy and murder in home waters altogether with impunity; and by some means the owners heard of what had really happened, and sought redress of the government. in the end, lady killigrew and two of her fellow-conspirators were found guilty and sentenced to death. unfortunately, the influence brought to bear on behalf of lady killigrew procured her a pardon. the others, not being persons of quality, were hanged in an expeditious and workmanlike manner.
-round trefusis point opens mylor creek, a mile and a half long, with mylor village appearing at the opening and the much larger village of mylor bridge at its inland extremity. mylor is a favourite place for afternoon excursions from falmouth, and there are farmhouse tea-gardens amid much charming woodland scenery.
-st. melor, to whom the church is dedicated, and after whom the village of mylor is in turn named, was traditionally martyred here. other legends, however, place the scene of his death in brittany. he was son of melian, king of cornu-gallia, or brittany, in the sixth century. melian himself is said to have been killed in a.d. 537, by his brother, rivold, and is regarded as something of a saint in brittany. the village of guimiliau enshrines his name.
-rivold then, having ended king melian, mutilated his son, melor, by cutting off his right hand and left foot; the object being to invalidate him from the succession to the throne, the armorican laws forbidding any who suffered from physical disabilities from becoming king. the affectionate servants of melor, however, provided him with a silver hand and a brazen foot, which became miraculously endowed with the powers and attributes of his lost natural members. melor, sent to the monastery of saint corantine, became so saintly and therefore so dangerous to the usurper rivold, that his death was resolved upon. one cerialtan, a man-of-all-work in crime, was commissioned to end him; his promised reward being "as much land as he could see from the summit of mount coc"--wherever that may be. cerialtan, in workmanlike manner, cut off melor's head as he lay asleep, and conveyed it to rivold, who carried out his compact to the letter, if not to the spirit; for he caused cerialtan's eyes to be put out, and then had him to the crest of that high place and bade him look upon the land!
-and that is all i know about the life and times of st. melor; or at any rate, that is the most likely among the different marvellous stories from which the investigator is at liberty to choose. but legendary vagueness pervades all of them, and there is the very wide choice of dates between a.d. 411 and 537 for the speculative to select from.
-mylor church lies in a hollow, a favourite situation for churches in cornwall. although now chiefly in the perpendicular style, some portions of a former norman church, which must have been a building of considerable richness and beauty, remain, including three norman doorways, all of unusual design. the hood-moulding of that on the north side represents a snake, with its head to the west. the south doorway, illustrated here, has, it will be observed, some curiously flamboyant tracery added to the round arch, with an odd variety of perpendicular panelling at the sides. the identical pattern, peculiar to cornwall, is found in a similar position on the south porch at lelant, near st. ives.
-a monument in the church recalls a dramatic and terrible shipwreck that happened scarce two miles away, off trefusis point, in falmouth harbour. the epitaph briefly refers to it as under:
-"to the memory of the warriors, women, and children who, on their return to england from the coast of spain, unhappily perished in the wreck of the queen transport, on trefusis point, january 14th, 1814."
-three hundred lives were lost on that occasion, and one hundred and thirty-six of the drowned were buried here.
-the pastime of curious epitaph-hunting, which helps to occupy the time of many explorers in the country, may be indulged in at mylor with certain prospect of reward. here is a taste of their quality:
-"in memory of m^r. joseph crapp, ship wright. who died y^e 26th of nov^{br} 1770. aged 43 years alass frend joseph his end war allmost sudden as thou the mandate came express from heaven. his foot it slip and he did fall help, help, he cried, and that was all."
-opposite mylor creek, on the eastern side of the harbour, is the creek of st. just-in-roseland, with st. just's church down by the waterside, among the trees.
-the parson of st. just-in-roseland must surely be a kindly man. instead of threatening or rebuking the numerous visitors from falmouth, who come down the creek in boats and land to explore the place, and have doubtless in the past pillaged the ferns and other things growing in the beautiful churchyard, he displays the following notice in the lych-gate: "visitors are requested not to touch anything in the churchyard, and then, by calling at the rectory, all those from beyond the county of cornwall will be welcome to a gift plant or tree, as a souvenir of their visit to st. just-in-roseland."
-in the great roomy church, which must always have been, as it is now, many times larger than the needs of the place, there may be noticed a tablet which describes how john randall, for one thousand years from his death in 1733, has "given to ye poor widows and fatherless children of ye parish, not having parish pay, twenty shillings yearly, and ten shillings yearly to ye minister, for preaching a funeral sermon."
-the next creek on the western side of the harbour is that of restronguet, a name which appears to mean "deep channel." dense woods line its banks, with the park of carclew half-way along, upon the left hand, and on the right the modern port of devoran, carved out of the parish of st. feock in 1873, with the penpoll tin smelting works fuming away, a mile below. devoran is at the terminus of a mineral railway from redruth, which thus brings tin and copper-ore to deep-water quays. restronguet creek will, however, need dredging, for the mine-water, charged with mud, flowing down from the pits about gwennap, is shoaling the fairway, and has almost choked the forked endings of the creek at perran wharf. this is the waterside extension of perranwell and perranarworthal, i.e. "piran the wonderful"; the really wonderful st. piran, who voyaged from ireland to the north coast of cornwall on a millstone. the grass that grows in the mud-choked creek stretching towards ponsanooth is in some way affected by the sea-water in the ooze, turning it to the loveliest yellowish-green imaginable.
-round restronguet point the channel comes to st. feock, a tiny village on a little creek of its own. the church here has a detached belfry, standing beside the road, at a higher level than the body of the building; and over the lych-gate entrance to the churchyard is an old vestry or parish-room. a similar building is seen at the entrance to the churchyard of kenwyn, north of truro.
-the most exquisitely wooded reaches of the fal are found above st. feock, where the river narrows and the banks rise more abruptly. the scenery at this point, and on to malpas and truro, strongly resembles that of the river dart, and many are of opinion that it is really superior. but these comparisons form the thorniest of subjects.
-at the hamlet of trelissick is the well-known ferry of "king harry passage," now a steam-ferry conveying vehicles as well as pedestrians. the "king harry" whose name gives the passage a touch of romance, is henry the eighth, who is said to have stayed a night at trelissick, when on his way to inspect the site of pendennis castle.
-the woods of tregothnan, the wide-spreading park belonging to lord falmouth, come now into view, where ruan creek opens on the right, running three miles in an easterly direction. the creek takes its name from the village of ruan lanihorne, at the furthest extremity, where the waters of the fal run white with the washings from upland clay-workings, like a river of milk, and the mud resembles cream-cheese. midway is lamorran, the detached tower of its church washed by another branching creek.
-returning to the main stream, malpas is reached in another mile and a half, past tregothnan and the hillside church of st. michael penkevil on the right, and the ruins of old kea church on the left. st. michael's churches are generally on heights. this is on the headland of the horse; for that is what "penkevil" means. just as the cornish word "eglos," for church, closely resembles the french église, so it will here be noted how nearly like the french cheval is the cornish "kevil," for horse. in the restored church are monuments to lord falmouth's ancestors, notably to the famous admiral boscawen. the st. kea who gave his name to kea church was a fifth-century irishman who lived awhile in wales, in cornwall, and in brittany.
-malpas is said to mean "smooth passage," although the word certainly seems to be a corruption of malus passus, a bad passage. it is locally "mopus." but whether a good or ill ferry, it is certainly a very beautiful spot.
-tresilian creek, the ultimate extension of these waters, here branches off to the right, with the waterside village of st. clements round the first bend, its rustic cottages and church embowered amid tall trees. there is a charming little corner, illustrated here, behind the old church, whose weathered age, and the bull's head and other symbols of the four evangelists, that look curiously down from the angles of the tower, demand to be put upon record. a very tall cornish cross, of the fifth or sixth century, stands at the back entrance to the vicarage, with an abbreviated inscription in large letters running up the shaft. it has been expanded into isniocvs vitalis filivs torrici.
-higher up the creek, a little distance inland on the right, is the odd-looking little church of merther, quite solitary except for one woodman's cottage. it is dedicated to st. cohan, or coanus, and owes most of its strangeness to the wooden, box-like finish to its tower: giving the effect of a sanctified pigeon-house. a little statue of st. cohan, brought from his desecrated holy well, is within. the church is not now used for services, and is only retained as a mortuary chapel. "merther" signifies "martyr," but history, and even tradition, are silent on the reason for conferring the name.
-tresilian creek (the name "tresilian" means "the place of eels") ends at tresilian bridge, spanning the dusty highway between grampound and truro. here is the battlemented gateway to the park of tregothnan.
-the quiet pastoral scenery, and the elms and other trees here fringing the river, present a picture very little like cornwall.
-the bridge is modern, but the spot is historic; for this is that tresilian bridge where the long contest in the civil war in the west was brought to a conclusion by the surrender of the royalist cornish army under lord hopton, to fairfax, march 14th, 1646. it was an inglorious end to a struggle that had opened so brilliantly for the king at stratton, when grenville and hopton smote the parliament men hip and thigh, close upon three years earlier; but time told continuously against the king, whose troops grew more and more undisciplined and dispirited, while the earlier raw levies of the parliament had become the famous ironsides, who knew little of defeat.
-the final advance of fairfax, commanding the forces of the parliament, into cornwall was swift and certain. he was at exeter on february 8th; at chulmleigh on the 14th; and took torrington by storm on the 16th, when he got hopton's men on the run. thence he advanced and entered launceston on the 25th, and had come to bodmin downs by march 3rd, hopton's force retreating and dissolving before him. the prince of wales, who hitherto had lain at truro, found it prudent to change his residence to pendennis castle, falmouth, and soon afterwards sailed for scilly. hopton at last saw the hopelessness of further resistance, and, after treating with fairfax from march 8th, surrendered here, on terms, on the 14th. the terms were mildness itself: officers and private soldiers being allowed to depart to their homes on taking an oath not to fight again against the parliament; and the officers were, in addition, permitted to keep their arms and horses.
-truro river runs straight up for two miles from malpas, the cathedral of truro rising up from the valley ahead, and shining white amid a setting of green trees and blue distant hills like some unearthly building too beautiful to have been built by man. very little else is seen of truro until quite close to the quays, where the navigation ends, and it is something of a surprise to find the city a place large enough to number 11,562 inhabitants. that is a small population, but it is large compared with the expectations raised by distant views.
-the name of truro is said to derive from tru-ru, the "three streets," or roads; but there are four roads into truro, and its streets are many more than three. bodmin is the county town of cornwall, and launceston rivals it, but truro has of late years risen into equal, if not greater, importance, on account of its population, double that of bodmin, and by reason also of its more accessible situation. bodmin still keeps its assize business, and the county gaol is situated there, giving a certain sinister significance to the information "he's gone to bodmin"; but truro, as the capital city of a newly constituted diocese, has a greater future, unless the cornish folk become much more criminal than they are now, which is not expected of them.
-truro lies down in a valley and the great western railway stalks across to the north of it on gigantic viaducts, the newer streets running up towards the railway station. it is a clean, granite-built place, with a well-defined aristocratic air, and down the gutters of its principal streets, which are chiefly paved with granite setts and would thus be very noisy if there were more traffic, run clear streams of water. as an old county centre, the chief place of meeting for the landed and leisured families of cornwall in the old days before railways, when truro had a "season," and the society of cornwall came hither to their "town houses" to indulge in its gaieties, the aristocratic air it keeps is by no means accidental. the "red lion" hotel in the market place was formerly one of these mansions, as its fine old unaltered front shows. foote, the actor, was born there.
-truro was raised to the dignity of a cathedral city in 1877, when the new cornish diocese was established, and the old parish church of st. mary in high cross became automatically the cathedral. but the patriotic cornish feeling which had thus at last again brought about a bishopric and a cathedral in the west, about eight hundred years after the see had been removed from st. germans to exeter, was not content with making a mere parish church serve the occasion, and steps were soon taken to build an entirely new cathedral. such a thing as the building of a cathedral in england had not been known for many centuries; the full efforts of churchmen had been employed, ever since the reformation, in preserving and repairing those we already possessed, not in creating new cathedrals. moreover, most of our cathedrals have been the products of centuries of growth. even that of salisbury, the one example of an ancient cathedral finished according to its original design, was not completed in less than a hundred and forty years. over £100,000 has gone to the building of truro cathedral, begun in the laying of the foundation-stone by the prince of wales on may 20th, 1880, and completed in the autumn of 1909, in the finishing touches then put to the western towers.
-the old church of st. mary was demolished to provide the site, but the fine late perpendicular south aisle was spared and incorporated with the building, designed in the early english style by j. l. pearson, that forms the cathedral to-day.
-high cross, in which the cathedral stands, is not a very roomy square of houses and shops opening out of the market place in the centre of the city, by a narrow passage, and upon other streets by somewhat broader ways. but it is along this passage that the stranger usually approaches. the cathedral is indeed new, but the old-established cramped surroundings are quite characteristic of ancient cathedral cities, and the calculated picturesqueness of the south side of the building, viewed from this point, resembles that of some north german cathedral. there the central tower and its stone spire, and the lesser western towers and spires group richly together, with the still smaller but very prominent south transept tower and its copper spirelet, a very german importation. the poisonous oxidised green of that copper spirelet is flagrant enough to spoil the whole day of an artist. down beneath it you see the surviving sixteenth century aisle of old st. mary's. i am glad they spared that aisle, for it is not only beautiful in itself, but its venerable presence here serves to illustrate that peculiarly english virtue, a continuity with the past, a sense of history even in things new. but what will future generations say about a late nineteenth-century cathedral whose general style is that of the thirteenth century, and yet whose oldest part is genuine sixteenth-century architecture? it could, perhaps, be wished that the chimes of the cathedral clock had been harmonised to another tune than the hackneyed "westminster chimes," that are noble enough in the clock-tower of the houses of parliament, where they originated, but are tiresome when repeated all over the country. the ancient proverb is sadly at fault, for it is possible to have too much of a good thing.
-the new beauty of truro cathedral at present lacks those weatherings that only time can give. the fine-grained granite and the box stone dressings have not attained the stains and bloom of years, and so it is impossible to altogether judge the merits or drawbacks of the exterior; but that the architect strove to be pictorial, and that he rather overstrained in that direction, seems undeniable. the building, only three hundred feet in its greatest length, from east to west, is really one of our smallest cathedrals, six feet shorter than rochester, and it is ornamented to a degree that in places spoils the effect. this is very noticeable in the south door, the usual entrance. it is contrived in the south transept and is loaded with ornamentation that emphasises the naturally squeezed-in appearance. the over-enrichment was a mistake, but the cramped nature of this part seems to have been unavoidable, considering the extreme narrowness of the site here.
-the interior discloses none of these limitations, and exhibits a noble clerestoried nave of nine bays and of fine proportions. a very notable feature is the beautiful baptistery close by the south door. its many slender columns and the artfully arranged half-light set off the rich stained-glass with the effect of jewels. the choir is a light and graceful and glorified continuation of the nave. most of the windows are already furnished with stained-glass, whose subjects include a representation of wesley preaching at gwennap: a more liberal-minded inclusion than any of which hawker of morwenstow would have been capable, with his bitter remark that wesley had made the cornish change their sins; not get rid of them, you know.
-there are also war memorials in the cathedral: tablets and flags that tell eloquently of the latest great effort in the art of murder by wholesale. it is a bitter commentary upon christianity that in twenty years from the beginning of the cathedral such things should be necessary. but the fault was not ours, and no patriotic englishman would have those memorials away, for they show that we can still hold our own against attack. "the men are splendid," as a famous dispatch from those sun-scorched fields ran. of their officers it were kinder to keep silence, but perhaps their failure was merely the fault of the system.
-there is an interesting museum of the royal institution of cornwall in truro, with illustrations of south american scenes a good deal too prominent on its walls; and there is a curious old inscription carved in granite on a wall in the market house. it belonged to an older building, and runs thus: "ienkin daniel, maior. who seks to find eternal tresvre, mvst vse no gvile in waight or measvre, 1615."
-mawnan--helford river--mawgan-in-meneage--manaccan--st. anthony in roseland--the manacles rocks--wreck of the "mohegan"--st. keverne.
-resuming the coast from falmouth and leaving that town by swanpool, an easy woodland road leads past the little sandy bay of maen porth and, avoiding rosemullion head, comes to the hamlet of mawnan smith, whence most travellers go direct down to the crossing of the helford river at durgan. but the church and the original village of mawnan, such as it is, lie straight ahead.
-the church of mawnan is far remote from the ordinary tourist track. very few are those who, exploring the rugged and greatly indented coasts of cornwall, endure to the end and do not presently take some of the distant headlands and the obscure nooks and corners on trust; and mawnan stands above a remote little land's end of its own that overlooks the otherwise solitary mouth of the salt estuary called the helford river. you come past a few houses and then, through a farmyard, to the church.
-the inquisitive tourist may be recommended to visit that church, not that it possesses anything above the average of architectural interest in cornwall, but because it is a prime example of what is done in the high church way in the nooks and corners. obviously it is ardently desired to put back the clock of progress at mawnan, for the interior of the church is lavishly decorated with texts and admonitions in the old cornish language, which became extinct so long ago that nobody outside the ranks of scholars has the least recollection of it; and it is quite certain that the villagers of mawnan do not understand it, any more than they would coptic or chaldee. so when they read on these walls, among other things, "da thym ythgu nesse the thu," they are obliged to take on trust the translations of this phrase and others, that are thoughtfully provided on cards. this particular example means, it would appear, "good it is to me to draw near to god"; to which one might offer the criticism, that the way would probably be rendered easier by the adoption of a language more readily understanded of the people. no one, however, would be in the least likely to criticise these things if they were done only out of archæological zeal; but they are evidences of obscurantism, and, taken with other things, eloquent of an attempt to recover a lost priestly domination. the other evidences are not lacking; notably among them the notices displayed of some precious "society of king charles the martyr," among which it is sought to restore the old "office for january 30th," introduced by bishop duppa of winchester at the restoration in 1661; an office long ago removed from the prayer book, which is so much the better by the loss of it. there is not so much to complain of in the passage that runs, "preserve from sacrilegious invasions those temporal blessings which thy providence hath bestowed on thy church"; for, put in other words, this is nowadays a prayer against disestablishment and disendowment; and we have all of us the right of praying for our continued existence. but few will be found to defend the supplication, "give us grace by a careful and studious imitation of this thy blessed saint and martyr," meaning thereby charles the first. there are few who are not sentimentally sorry for that unhappy king, born to trouble, and earning more by his own actions; and we hate cromwell and his men. but those must be very few indeed who are prepared to regard charles as a saint and a martyr, and when any attempt is made to make him one we forget our sympathies for a cultured and good-living king, unfortunate enough to be born into distracted times and to be born without tact, and unequipped with the sense of keeping faith with his opponents; and we say that charles was absolutely untrustworthy and a danger to the nation, and that he deserved his fate.
-the helford river is a miniature falmouth harbour, with subsidiary creeks. it is about six miles long and from half a mile to a quarter of a mile wide, and is frequented only by a few small yachts and sailing-boats. above the passage-house at durgan comes the singularly retired hamlet of port navas, in a small creek, with a few thatched cottages smothered in roses and jessamines. yet the place is not so retired and remote from the sophisticated world but that one of the cottages boldly displays the notice "afternoon teas"; not merely "teas" that are meals, but "afternoon teas" that are, in london at any rate, understood to be, not so much teas taken in the afternoon (and when else should they be taken?), as a sparing cup and an insufficient cake, in conjunction with a great deal of more or less scandalous small-talk:
-polwheverill creek runs up on the right to the granite-quarrying village of constantine, but the main helford river continues past the oyster-beds of merthen to the hamlet of gweek, where its farthest point is reached.
-returning round its southern shores, mawgan-in-meneage stands amid great swelling green hills, wooded in rich parklike manner, at the head of a tiny inlet. the st. mawgan who has given his name to this place, and to mawgan-in-pydar, on the north coast of cornwall, was the sixth-century welshman, maucan (the name means "master"), who was head of a religious collegiate establishment in pembrokeshire, and there instructed many of the missionaries to ireland and cornwall, who afterwards became sainted, in the copious hagiology of the west.
-ecclesiastically, this village of mawgan is "in kerrier," but it is generally styled "in meneage": the second syllable pronounced as in the word "vague."
-but "village" is only a conventional term, as applied here. there are but half a dozen scattered cottages to keep company with the large and beautiful church.
-i sketched this view of mawgan church in "soft weather," with rain oozing down--not falling--a way it has in cornwall. and a rustic came to the stable opposite and opened the door, and said, "come forth, my son." i expected a boy to come out in reply to that somewhat biblical and patriarchal invitation, but it was a horse! so, just as in brittany, where you only get the "vraie breton bretonnante" far away from the towns, you find your characteristic expressions in the remote nooks and corners of cornwall.
-the greater part of mawgan church is of the late perpendicular period. a curiously constructed hagioscope, at the angle of the south transept, is equally remarkable for the large blocks of granite used in it, and for a low side window, now blocked up by the addition of a vestry. there is a somewhat similar, but not so good, hagioscope at cury.
-a long way down helford river from mawgan comes helford, a hamlet in the parish of manaccan. helford is at the opposite side of the ferry to durgan, and lies down in a deep hollow of the hills. many charmingly rustic cottages and a delightful old farmhouse face an inner creek. it is hot and steamy at helford, and great pink ivy-geraniums ramble over the house-fronts, sprawl over the thatch, and peep inquiringly into bedroom windows.
-the church is partly early english, and has a very good norman south door. a curious feature is the very flourishing fig-tree that grows out of the wall at the junction of the tower and nave, on the south side.
-manaccan stands on a lofty hill, softly clothed in rich fields and luxuriant trees, not in the least characteristic of the stony meneage district in which it is situated.
-from the heights of manaccan a steep road, heavily shaded by tall elms, leads to a parting of the ways, whence you may go direct to st. keverne, or turn aside to the left for the durra creek of helford river, which is some two miles in length, ending in what map-makers style "dennis point," a corruption of "dinas," an ancient british word signifying a fortress of the earthwork and wooden palisade type, constructed at the extremity of a headland, with the approach across the neck of it cut off by a ditch. there is one of these strongholds on either side of the entrance to the creek from the sea. rabbits hold the fort to-day, but should there come a time when invasions threaten these parts, there can be little doubt of the eternal and unchanging requirements of strategy bringing these salient points again into use, just as, when the last conflicts in the great civil war were disturbing the nation, the royalists established themselves here, only to be turned out by fairfax.
-the durra creek is generally passed by. tourists hasten on to st. keverne, and know nothing of the lovely rugged woodland road that runs beside the water to the church--one can scarce say the village for there are but two or three houses, including the vicarage--of st. anthony-in-meneage. st. anthony stands at the very verge of high water, where a little beach ends, on the landward side, in grassy banks and blackberry tangles, from which spring great elms. trees close in everywhere, with the grey granite tower of the church in their midst and a lovely old vicarage adjoining, wrapped, as it were, in flowers. there is not, nor ever could have been, any need for a church at this spot, and thus the legend accounting for its origin may very well be true. according to this story, some notables voyaging from normandy in mediæval times were in great peril of shipwreck, and vowed st. anthony a church if he would only bring them in safety to shore. they made land here, in the durra creek, and accordingly the church was built at the place where they set foot. there are numerous legends of this kind in cornwall, and all around our coasts; and there is, in general, no occasion to doubt their truth, the absolute uselessness, as a rule, of these votive churches being presumptive evidence of the genuine character of their story. at the same time, it is impossible to believe that st. anthony, or the saints to whom those other churches are dedicated, personally intervened because they were promised churches in places where they could not possibly advance the cause of religion. surely we ought to have a better opinion of the saints than to believe them animated by such appeals to personal vanity.
-inside the protecting shoulder of nare point lies porthallow, a fishing cove, and beyond it, in the next bight, is porthoustock, whose fishing is now mixed with the exportation of granite. up out of porthoustock, over the hill and on to the next point, and you have come to the most recently tragical outlook upon the cornish seas, for there, offshore, lie the manacles rocks. no one but a seaman would take particular note of them, for they do but rise unobtrusively from the water.
-their odd name, forbidding and ominous though it be, and apparently allusive to the fast hold they often keep upon vessels unlucky enough to go out of their course among them, is only accidental; their original title having been, in the cornish language, "maen eglos," the "church stone." why they were so called does not appear. a bell-buoy, floating out there, giving out a harsh knell, might seem to justify the name, but the rocks were so called long centuries before the trinity house placed their buoy here. there is no sadder sound than that of a bell-buoy, tolling on the brightest day with the note of a funeral knell; a likeness well justified here, for many have been cast away on the manacles, notably in the wreck of the dispatch transport, january 25th, 1809, when sixty-four were lost; and in that of the john emigrant ship, may 1855, with the loss of nearly two hundred.
-the terrible wreck of the american steamship mohegan, on friday, october 14th, 1898, is the latest tragedy associated with the fatal manacles. the vessel was on its way to new york, and had left london the day before, carrying fifty-three saloon passengers, a crew of one hundred and seven, and a stowaway. between half-past six and seven o'clock, when the saloon passengers were at dinner, every one on board was suddenly terrified by a violent crashing and grinding and a succession of shocks, indicating only too surely that the vessel had run upon a reef. all the ship's lights went out, and the horror of darkness was added to the peril of the occasion.
-the sun sets at nine minutes past five in the evening on october 14th, and it is normally quite light for an hour later. it is therefore incapable of explanation how, in something like another half-hour, the mohegan should have been as much as ten miles out of her course, especially as the south-westerly trend of the land towards the lizard must have been very noticeable. nor are these coasts ill-lighted. the eddystone and falmouth harbour lights, which the mohegan had already passed, and the lizard light ahead, form a remarkable triangular display for the guidance of the mariner. but it should be noted, perhaps, that the last half-hour of daylight may be especially dangerous. the lighthouses have already lit their warning beams, but they are only faintly to be seen in the still radiant western sky, and only gather strength when the afterglow has died away and darkness falls upon the restless sea and the sombre coast. another explanation of the captain being so far out of his reckoning was sought in the mohegan being a new ship, and her compasses possibly not true; but nothing can actually be known, for all the officers of the ship were drowned. a strong south-easterly wind was blowing at the time, and the bell-buoy on the southern ledge of the manacles at such times rings loudly; but no one on board appears to have heard its warning. only two boats could be launched, so swiftly did the mohegan sink, and one of them was capsized. the porthoustock lifeboat saved many, but one hundred and six were drowned.
-a landsman, looking out on some calm day from the low headland that stretches insignificantly out to sea south of st. keverne cannot easily comprehend the dangers of the scatter of rocks extending seaward for nearly a mile and a half. the spot is by no means dramatic. it is even commonplace, and has no hint of the scenes of terror and despair that have been enacted out yonder. and the photographs of the wreck that were afterwards plentifully taken are probably the tamest among such things, showing merely the funnel and the four masts standing upright from the waves and disclosing that the mohegan sank on an even keel in comparatively shallow water. those views, taken from the water, on a calm sea, only, in the present writer's imagination, add to the pity of the occasion, for in shallow water and so near land, it seems exceptionally hard that so many should have lost their lives. the remarkable attraction of the manacles rocks for vessels was illustrated the following year, when the paris strayed among them, happily with no disastrous results. the glasgow barque glenbervie struck in moderate weather one night, in january 1902, on the ray, a rock two miles distant, off lowlands point, and although the crew were saved, the vessel became a total loss.
-the narrow and miraculous escapes from among this tangle of reefs have been many. the cornish magazine, now extinct, once published an article, in which the writer spoke of a porthoustock fisherman telling him, from memory, the names of thirty vessels of all kinds, from steamships down to ketches, that had been totally lost here. he told a thrilling tale of a ship drifting inshore in a fog, and of the captain anchoring until the fog cleared away, when he sailed off in safety, to the astonishment of the many who had collected on the cliffs. there was also the story of the steamship which came so close to the cliffs that the noise of her engines could be distinctly heard on shore, but she, too, got away. many have been the ships among the manacles, and no word ever said about it; their captains even going the length of covering over the name of their vessels with a sail, lest their mistake in navigation should be published to the world.
-the village of st. keverne lies rather over a mile inland.
-"st. keverne" is another form of "st. piran." it has also been spelled "keveran" and "kieran." its church is very large and roomy, and is one of those few in cornwall that have a spire. the fine inscribed font has demi-angels at the angles, holding crossed swords.
-i do not think there were ever any distinguished persons born at st. keverne. one notoriety, sir james tillie, was born here, and one other was vicar, as would appear from the records of 1467, in which, among a number of piratical cornishmen, who had helped themselves to a quantity of merchandise from a breton ship, we find the vicar, whose share of the booty was three tuns of wine. an order was given to arrest these enterprising persons, but they could not be found; and so st. keverne apparently had a new, and let us hope, a better, vicar.
-coverack cove--poltesco--ruan minor--cadgwith cove--the "devil's frying-pan"--dolor hugo--church cove--landewednack--lizard town--ruan major--the lizard lighthouse.
-striking inland from st. keverne for coverack cove, something of the stony character of the meneage and lizard districts is seen, together with a good deal of the widespread lack of signposts common to all cornwall, but particularly distressing here. wherever it is possible for a stranger to lose his way--and that is very often here--be very sure that the county council has forgotten to place a sign-post; and furthermore, be equally certain that, at those points where no one is likely to go wrong, there will be very informative ones: exercises in the obvious. but there is a deeper depth than this. a fork of roads may be duly sign-posted, but it often leads to another, and a much more puzzling and quite lonely fork, a long way ahead, where not the least indication is vouchsafed. you are lucky if you do not at last find yourself in the yard of some "farm-place," and have to return a mile or more. sorrow's crown of sorrow is, however, attained when a signpost is seen in the distance. you hurry up; it points the way to, let us say, the "hotel parvenu," one of the several up-to-date barrack hotels that have of late risen upon desirable view-points. i want to know why these things should be; not the hotels--we know the reason of them--but why they should be allowed to play these dirty tricks on travellers. we cannot all be guests; nor, perhaps, would very many who could. why, then, should the county council permit the existence of these purely commercial notices?
-coverack village, down upon the cove, was the scene of the dispatch transport wreck in january 1809. a monument in st. keverne church narrates how over sixty were lost on that occasion, including major-general cavendish. they were fresh from the blood-soaked fields of spain and the retreat upon coruña.
-those who originally named black head, beyond coverack, could scarce have had any choice in the matter, for it is a lowering, sullen-looking point. but the rock is rather a dark green in its original tone, when closely examined. it is, in fact, the famed "serpentine" rock that extends all the way from this place, past the lizard, to mullion.
-the way round by the cliffs to the next headland, pedn boar, and beyond it to caraclowse point, where there is a "cliff castle," is wearying in its ups and downs with a stream to cross in one rugged valley, without being exceptionally fine; but the paths or ragged grasslands on the way to kennack sands give easier going. kennack sands form the only available sandy foreshore for many miles along this rugged coast, where the savage cliffs descend as a rule sheer to the water, and the jealous sea generally leaves but a narrow sandy selvedge at the ebb. small wonder, then, that bungalows for summer bathers have appeared here.
-but the trivial urbanities of kennack soon fail him who fares by the cliffs on to caerleon cove and poltesco. brambles clutch at his clothes and bid him stay; stones, loose and knobbly, and tripsome, lie along the path the coastguards seem to patrol all too seldom, and presently the small cove of caerleon appears, with a stream running down to it and the derelict works of an abandoned serpentine factory on the shore. up inland, past a cottage, with a notice declaring that trespassers will be prosecuted (which of course the wise pedestrian treats with contempt), and then past a tree-surrounded farmhouse, displaying the more hospitable intimation of new milk being sold, the watery valley of poltesco is reached, where a great mill-wheel, amid a paradise of ferns, is worked by the spattering stream. i should think poltesco might be a very tedious place on a wet november day, and not good for rheumatism; but, as an american girl tourist remarked, in summer it is "just heavenly."
-abandoning the coast at this point, and content with seeing ynys head in the distance, i walked the half-mile uphill to ruan minor, a pretty little village with a very small but very perfect little perpendicular church, whose pinnacled tower, although well-proportioned, is not higher than the roofs of the village houses.
-the half-mile hence to cadgwith cove is a zigzagging and steep descent. deep down lies the village, with a street clinging to the sides of the descent and thatched cottages at the bottom, facing the sea; one or two in front of their fellows standing on a rocky projection called "the rodden." the sea comes hissing in upon a pebbly beach, alongside tall, sheer cliffs.
-it is even steeper up out of cadgwith on the coastguard path to the lizard than on the other side; an obscure path leading up to scrubby fields and a modern villa called "white heather," facing the sea in what seems a not altogether permanently safe position, considering that the "devil's frying pan" is in front of it. this is a chasm formed in the cliffs by the falling in of the roof of a cave, leaving a huge pit-like opening in the cliff-top, with a neck of land forming a natural arch on the edge of the cliffs. down below, the sea comes foaming and hissing at high tide among the scattered boulders in a way that suggested to some imaginative person the idea of a frying-pan. a not very safe path leads round the landward edge of this place; but the best and most impressive view is from the sea. it is a very short boating trip from cadgwith to the devil's frying pan.
-a boating trip is certainly the best method of seeing the coast between cadgwith and the lizard. you see more, and to better advantage, than by tramping round the interminable headlands and down one not very interesting valley, up to the next hill, conscious all the while that the real beauty of the coast lies under your feet, in the sea-fretted caverns that the waves never leave. the finest of these is dolor hugo: ogof, the old cornish word for "cave." this is a magnificent cavern in the dark but richly variegated serpentine rock. the archway rises high overhead, admitting boats easily in calm weather, but the roof soon descends and exploration cannot be pushed far. the lizard boatmen, too, are very alive to the dangers of the place. the solemn beauty of it and the heavy ground-swell impress the stranger with a full sense of the risks incurred in visiting dolor hugo, except in the calmest weather.
-at cambarrow, the next headland, is the cavern of ravens' hugo, a narrower fissure, the entrance hung with wild growths. then comes the sheer cliff called "the balk," where serpentine quarries may be observed, and round its precipitous adamantine wall the deeply cleft little church cove, known also as perranvose, parnvoose, or lizard cove.
-church cove itself is an almost solitary place, a narrow strip of beach between sheer rocks; but the cottages along the tree-shaded lane that runs up to landewednack are as homely and sheltered, and as richly embowered in roses, fuchsias, honeysuckle, and hydrangeas, as any place in the west. all around is the level, treeless, windswept heath of the lizard district, but down in this sheltered hollow one is in the atmosphere of a conservatory. perhaps one person among every hundred of those who come to lizard town discovers church cove and the village of landewednack, which is the mother-village whence lizard town, half a mile away, has sprung; and the ninety and nine return home, having just caught a glimpse of the lighthouse, and think, vainly, they have seen all there is to be seen.
-furthermore, the stranger will not fail to observe that the huge stones of which the tower is built are partly grey granite and partly of local serpentine, giving a curiously irregular chessboard kind of appearance. the dedication of the church is said to be to st. winwaloe. the place-name has its fellow in brittany--that other cornwall--in landevenec.
-the church of landewednack consists of nave, north aisle, and a south transept, which has a low side-window at the angle formed by its eastern wall and the wall of the nave. the font, dating from about 1404, is mounted on four modern pillars of polished serpentine. the bowl bears an inscription including the name of the rector at that period, "i.h.c. d. ric. bolham me fecit."
-and now we come to lizard town. no one ever planned lizard town, any more than its houses were designed. they were merely built, and the "town," which is a simple collection of cottages and a hotel or two of sorts, is much smaller than many villages. its population, including landewednack, is only 683. lizard town simply grew at haphazard, on the extremity of the level, heather-clad waste of the lizard promontory, and with so little directing hand or purposeful mind that its component houses form hardly any recognisable lines of streets, running in any definite directions. they may be fitly likened to a flock of sheep huddled together, facing all ways, to escape a tempest raging from all quarters at once. the population appears to a casual observer to consist wholly of families of jose and roberts, all inter-related, like the cadgwith people, who are all either janes or stevenses. and they are nearly all workers in serpentine, whose little workrooms and shops are all of one peculiar pattern, with a small show-window closed at night by a hinged shutter. in every one of these shanties a lathe is at work shaping the rough serpentine rock down, and then turning it into one or other of the many ornamental articles exposed for sale in the windows: paper-weights, candlesticks, pen-trays, models of the eddystone lighthouse and of cornish crosses, and so forth; beautifully polished. "serpentine" gets its name from the coloured streaks and patches it displays.
-the "lizard district" is the name given to all that boldly projecting peninsula south of the helford river: the district that is properly "meneage," the "stony district," but "lizard" is only rightly applied to the actual headland. it has nothing to do with the reptile lizards, but is equal to the welsh "llidiart," indicating a rocky height. there is a weston-under-lizard in staffordshire. the peninsula forms the most southerly projection of england, and the lizard point by day or the lizard light by night is the first glimpse homeward-bound voyagers obtain of old england from the decks of the great steamships passing up channel. it is a wild, but scarcely picturesque land, consisting of a high, but level, plateau of heaths and moors. goonhilly downs, in its centre, in spite of their name, are not hilly, nor are they what we generally understand to be downs, but just gently undulating, or even flat, stretches of uncultivated and uncultivable land that by some are styled "dreary." but the justness or otherwise of that expression entirely depends upon the circumstances of the moment. given bad weather, goonhilly downs and the whole lizard peninsula are, indeed, dreary to the traveller, for shelter along the exposed roads, for the most part treeless, lonely, and quite innocent of hedges, is unobtainable for many miles; but in fine weather the purple heather, the occasional wooded hollows and the innumerable grey boulders scattered in these wilds, make a pleasant holiday jaunt. from a cycling point of view, the roads are perfection, and although dreariness is again the word when a cyclist strives along them in the teeth of a gale, to be blown mile after mile on a cycle with the wind is exhilarating. there are few villages here. inland from lizard town you see the church-tower of grade peering across the flats, but it is a village only of "farm-places." grade church takes its name from st. grada, crida, or credanus, a more or less mythical companion of st. petroc, but it has been re-dedicated to holy cross.
-even less of a village is ruan major, whose church is seen amid a cluster of trees on the right of the road to helston. ruan major is a paradoxical place, much smaller than ruan minor, consisting as it does of a church and a farmhouse. st. ruan, or rumon, its godfather, was a sixth-century irish hermit who resided here--if that mode of living may be called residence--both before and after he went to brittany, where he was not altogether favourably received. that he was much better thought of in cornwall and devonshire seems evident in the places named after him, and in the great honour paid to his relics at tavistock abbey. the farm at ruan major and the little woodland distinguishing the place from the surrounding open heaths perhaps represent the "nymet," or sacred enclosure made by st. ruan around his hermitage.
-such then, with an occasional old manor-house and park like trelowarren, bochyn, and bonython, the last near cury, formerly seat of the old family of bonython, is the wide district at the back of lizard town. strangers simply hurry over it, by motor-car or great western motor-omnibus, all anxious to reach the lizard itself, and to explore kynance cove and be off again.
-the lizard lighthouse is three-quarters of a mile distant from lizard town. it occupies the extremity of the point, the ocrinum of ptolemy, and is the successor of a lighthouse first erected in 1619 by sir john killigrew. that early light was only established in the teeth of the strongest discouragement by the trinity house, which in those times adopted what seems to us an extraordinary policy, directed against the increase of lighthouses. sir john killigrew proposed to set up a light here at his own expense and to gather voluntary contributions from ship-owners towards the cost of it, but he found it necessary to first obtain a licence to do so, and therefore petitioned james the first to that effect. he would pay twenty nobles a year for leave to collect voluntary sums for a term of thirty years. this proposition, submitted to the trinity house, produced the criticism that a light was not required upon the lizard, and that in fact any such light would be dangerous, for it would serve as a beacon for pirates and foreign enemies. but the king, really in this instance the solomon his flatterers pretended him to be, disregarded the unfavourable report, and granted the petition, with the only proviso that the light should be extinguished in time of war, when the approach of an enemy was suspected. killigrew thereupon began and soon completed his lighthouse, much to the anger of the coastwise people. "the inabytants neer by," wrote killigrew, "think they suffer by this erection. they affirme i take away god's grace from them. their english meaning is that now they shall receve no more benefitt by shipwreck, for this will prevent yt. they have been so long used to repe profitt by the calamyties of the ruin of shipping that they clayme it heredytarye, and heavely complayne on me."
-a year's working, including the cost of building, cost sir john killigrew £500. the light displayed was a brazier of coal, and this alone cost ten shillings a night. as for the "voluntary contributions" expected, they were simply nonexistent, and in consequence killigrew petitioned for, and obtained, the right to levy dues of one halfpenny a ton on all passing vessels. even then, he took nothing but a loss out of his enterprise, for shipowners, backed by the trinity house, refused to pay, and in the end the lighthouse was pulled down.
-the existing lighthouse dates from 1748, when a captain farrish proposed a building that should display four lights. this was a wholly commercial speculation. farrish proposed to pay a yearly sum of £80 to the trinity house for leave to build, and obtained a lease of sixty-one years; but the lease was taken over and the lighthouse actually built by thomas fonnereau. the lights were first displayed on august 22nd, 1752, in the presence of a great assemblage of people, who had come long distances to honour the event. two lights appear to have been substituted for the four in 1792, but not until 1813 did the coal braziers give place to oil, and oil was replaced by the electric light in 1878. about 1902 the lights were reduced to one powerful revolving electric beam, the strongest in the world, visible for twenty-three miles, and showing once in every three seconds. it is aided in foggy weather by the most dismal of foghorns.
-hard by the lighthouse stands a notice-board of the national lifeboat institution, giving a plain record of the doings of the successive lifeboats that have been established down below, in polpear cove.
-the lizard lifeboats have rendered noble service, as shown by the board telling the doings of them:
-lifeboat anna maria.
-lifeboat edmund and fanny.
-lifeboat admiral sir george back.
-the bald, unvarnished statement in this list under date of march 17th to 18th, 1907, giving the list of saved from the suevic, hides the very narrow escape of the passengers and crew of that white star liner. she was homeward-bound from australia, and had on board between three and four hundred passengers, and a cargo of frozen meat. in the middle of the night she struck upon the brandies rocks, immediately under the lizard lighthouse; thus affording another extraordinary instance of the fatal attraction this, the most salient southerly point of land in england, has for vessels, in spite of the lighthouse exhibiting the most powerful light in the world. the lizard, cadgwith and mullion lifeboats put out, on hearing the news, and landed many of the passengers, and one hundred and forty were taken off by the tug triton of falmouth. fortunately the weather was moderate. the hull was severed by dynamite about a week later, and towed round to falmouth.
-scattered reefs stretch out beyond lizard point, and form the special dangers of the place. they are known in general as "the stags." a vessel, wrecked on the stags about 1845, was driven on to the island rock of crenval, where the crew refuged all night, while the good ship was being reduced to matchwood by the waves. the next morning they were brought ashore, and were greeted by their own cat, which had either swum to land, or had been carried on the wreckage. its tail had somehow been nipped off in the process. the cat was sold to an innkeeper in lizard town, and was long looked upon as very much of a hero.
-immediately to the eastward of the lighthouse is the funnel formed in the cliffs by the falling in of the roof of a cave known as daws' hugo. this subsidence happened on february 19th, 1847, and the hollow thus produced was immediately given the name of "lion's den." beyond it is housel bay, with a hotel on the cliffs. the rugged penolver head comes next, and then the amphitheatrical belidden cove, with beast, or bass point, enclosing it. lloyd's signalling station, displaying the word lloyd's in gigantic letters on its sea-front, stands on beast point. hence inward and outward-bound ships are telegraphed to london as having "passed the lizard." beyond hot point, the next headland, the coast comes to kilcobbin cove and again to church cove.
-kynance cove--asparagus island--the devil's post-office--signposts--gue graze--mullion cove--wreck of the "jonkheer"--mary mundy and the "old inn"
-from polpear cove to kynance cove is a tramp to be undertaken only by the leisured. the distance is but four miles along the cliffs, but the hurried persons who oftenest come to the lizard have not the time or the inclination for it, and go direct across from lizard town.
-but i shall proceed by the cliffs, first noting the cave that is to be seen at low water down at polpear, and the man-o'-war rocks out at sea. the name was originally "maen-an-vawr," the "great stones," but the tradition of the wreck of a transport there has definitely changed it. the cliff-walk passes "pistol meadow," in which numerous mounds still show the places where the seven hundred dead on that occasion were buried. only two persons are said to have been saved. it is strange that neither the date of the wreck nor the name of the ship has been preserved.
-old lizard head, the "false lizard" as it is sometimes called, gives way to crane cove and the larger cove of caerthillian, where a stream comes down a ravine to the shore. this in turn is succeeded by pentraeth beach and by the tall cliffs of yellow carn, with the rock of ynys vean, i.e. "little island," about as big as westminster abbey, below.
-and down there in front is kynance cove, a not very remarkable place at high tide, but of a justly famous beauty at low water. you look down upon it from the cliff called the "tar box," which has not the slightest suggestion of tar in its composition: it is properly "tor balk." a stream comes swirling down the rock-strewn valley that descends to the cove. it is from this the ky-nans, i.e. "dog's brook" it is said, that kynance cove takes its name.
-there are but two or three cottages here. not yet has a hotel been built, but who knows how long before such a thing shall come to pass, and it be possible to sit at a window of its dining-room, overlooking this most typical cornish scenery, while a german waiter, introducing the soup, asks: "thig or glear?" may it be long years yet!
-every one knows that the beauties of kynance are only unveiled at the ebb. then the sands, the delightful, soft, light-yellow sands appear, where were only heaving waters, and the great islanded rocks are seen embedded in them. there is plenty of colour, and plenty of drawing too, at kynance: the streaked black, green, purple, red, and pink serpentine rocks, the yellow sands, and the translucent green sea glow brilliantly under a sunny sky; and under any conditions, except fog, the cove at ebb is full of striking forms. on the west side, between the mainland and the crag called asparagus island, rises the steeple rock, sometimes called the soap rock, from the veins of steatite it contains. it is no fanciful name, for quarries of steatite were worked long ago in the cliffs beyond rill head, and the product dispatched to wholesale soap-boilers, and also to staffordshire, for use in pottery-making. no asparagus now grows on asparagus island, which is a rather fearsome, craggy place to climb, especially as not merely a fall on jagged rocks is possible, but a descent afterwards into the horrible green depths of the sea, where the congers live. for this chamoising over the rocks rubber-soled shoes are the best and safest. in them you may dare things not easily to be contemplated in less pliant footgear, and thus may scale the pinnacled rock, and look down from its further side on to gull rock and the deep-water channel below.
-but the most engaging thing about asparagus island is the devil's post-office, which (facilis descensus averni, you know!) is quite easily reached. it is in working order just below half-tide. at the flood it is entirely submerged. sometimes it is known as the devil's bellows, or again as the devil's throat; but whether it be throat, bellows, or post office, the personality of the owner is unchanged. this natural curiosity is a fissure traversing the entire mass of asparagus island, through which the sea-water is forced in conjunction with air, emerging violently and with a reverberating rumbling report, through a narrow slit, not unlike a letterbox. to "post a letter" at this aperture immediately after one of these spoutings is rather a startling experience, unless you have been told of it beforehand. you unsuspectingly lean over and hold a piece of paper at the orifice, and it is rudely and violently snatched away, to the tune of a harsh indrawn snarl, a sound just as though a giant had sharply drawn his breath in between his teeth. and very often it will happen that, in a sudden outrush again of air and water, your letter will be returned to you full in the face on the instant, with a most discourteous drenching. there are gorgeous caverns, dry at low-water, round past the steeple rock, known as the drawing-room, the kitchen, and the parlour; but the finest view-point at kynance is eastward, back towards the lizard, with the lion rock in the foreground.
-the lion rock is doubtless so called because it has a certain majesty of outline, and because it does suggest a crouching attitude, as of an animal in readiness for an attack. but it does not look like a lion, and indeed lacks a head, and without a head the noblest lion is a poor thing. but it is true that the longer you look at the lion rock, the more you are impressed.
-let those who seek to return direct inland to lizard town have a care how they follow the direction indicated by a signpost, which obligingly indicates "the nearest way to lizard town." i am inclined to think that the old piskies, devils, and malicious sprites that used to inhabit cornwall and lure travellers out of their way, now occupy the bodies of all those people who have anything to do with signposts. they generally manage in some way to mislead, and very often indeed they are repainted at the height of the tourist season, when strangers are mostly about; and who else beside a stranger has any need of a signpost?
-that is to say, the first part of the repainting--the obliterating of the inscription--is done then: the re-lettering may, and does, wait. this is a joke so entirely after the heart of one of those inimical old sprites that i am convinced, though they be gone, their wicked souls go marching on in the persons of road-surveyors and people of that breed.
-but the wickedness of the kynance cove signpost lies in the fact that, although it tells of lizard town, its arm points slightly away from it, along a rough cart-track. now, as in an otherwise roadless and pathless moor such as this the inclination is always to follow any sort of a track, how much more likely then it is that the stranger should take this cart-track, especially when the signpost points to it! and, you know, it leads right away inland; and at last, after a long while, you see lizard town, miles away on the right, across the flatness of the heath. in tracking then across to it, in that hummocky wilderness of gorse and heather, you soon grow quite familiar with erica vagans, the cornish heather, which botanists say is peculiar to the soil of this district, and get an intimate acquaintance with the prickly qualities of gorse.
-resuming the way along the cliffs from kynance, rill head projects boldly, with a pile of rocks on its summit known as the apron-string. here, according to the legend, the devil dropped an apron full of stones he was carrying, to build a bridge across channel for smugglers to come over. in despair, he then abandoned the task. i do not think this can be a genuinely old legend, for the cornish, in company with all seashore peoples, were too prone toward smuggling, and thought it too natural a thing, for the suggestion of a devilish coadjutor to come from them. "the horse" is the name of the next headland, with a dangerous saddle-backed ridge, infinitely tempting to adventurous climbers who do not mind bestriding it, with the knowledge that a false step will probably send them to kingdom come on the moment. in the dour, black little cove, "the horsepond," overlooked by beetling cliffs, is pigeon hugo, only to be seen from a boat.
-the scenery has here again attained to a black and savage grandeur, and the sea is not to be reached at all except at the deep hollow in the cliffs known as gue graze. here were situated the soapstone quarries, and streaks of steatite, the "soapstone" in question, are easily found. they are of a dirty white hue and the substance feels greasy or soapy to the touch. chemically, it is "magnesia," and commercially is generally known as "french chalk," used in softening boots and shoes, and by tailors.
-the bold promontory of vellan head now leads round to pol cornick, and then to the bastioned heights of pradanack, where mullion island comes into view, a long way ahead. the chance explorer here has the scene entirely to himself: to himself and the gulls, and the bunnies that inhabit among the bracken and grey-mottled boulders.
-a final stretch of cliff-tops, and you presently are looking down upon mullion cove, properly "porthmellin," for the village of mullion is close upon a mile inland. "porthmellin" means mill cove. mullion island, a great black rock with some real grass on it, stands guardant, as it were, in advance, with other black and monstrous rocks on either side, those over to poldhu blacker than their fellows; and gulls, emphasising the blackness and their own whiteness, poise, screaming, in air against them.
-a smart hotel--i do not know the name of it--stands on the headland and seems to insolently hint that, even here, mankind has tamed the wilds. he certainly has made the cove, down there, look toy-like, and the road up to mullion village now resembles that through some ancestral park. but nature has provided the huge and savage setting that makes the little enfolding walls of the harbour, the little pool within, and the two or three little houses, look smaller than they really are. a general deceptiveness as to scale pervades the cove: the rock of mullion island is, for instance, a mile in circuit, and does not appear to be one quarter that size. but the calm of a typical august day is the deepest deception of all. it requires one of the autumn equinoctial gales to reveal the innate unconquerable savagery of the place, when a strong man can scarce stand before the wind, and giant waves leap over the arms of the harbour and rush, seething and hungry for prey, up the shore.
-undoubtedly the cornish coasts have their mysteries, but none of them is quite so mysterious as the wreck of the dutch barque, jonkheer meester van de wall van puttershoek, which happened on the night of march 25th, 1867. this vessel, of 650 tons, captain klaas van lammerts, homeward-bound from the east indies with a cargo of sugar, coffee, spices, and tin, was worth about £45,000, and had twenty-five persons on board. she had been observed, the afternoon before, beating up channel in a gale, and it was then noted that she was being very clumsily handled and would perhaps not succeed in rounding the lizard. the wreck took place at night, and all on board were drowned, except one man, a greek sailor, who was discovered the next morning, climbing along the rocks between polurrian and poldhu.
-"my name," he said, "is georgio buffani. i was seaman on board the wrecked ship, which belonged to dordrecht. i joined at batavia, but i do not know either the name of the ship or that of the captain."
-he repeated this extraordinary statement at the inquest on the drowned, and being shown a list of dutch east indiamen, picked out the kosmopoliet, as a likely one. the inquest therefore was concluded on the assumption that this was the lost vessel. the greek then left and was not again heard of. soon afterwards, however, the dutch consul at falmouth came with the captains of two dutch indiamen then lying in port. one of them declared that the kosmopoliet would not be due for nearly another fortnight, and was convinced that the lost ship was the jonkheer. the vicar of mullion then appeared with a fragment of flannel he had found, marked "6 k. l." "yes," said the captain, "it must be the jonkheer, for those are the initials of her captain, klaas lammerts."
-"on the friday following," continues the vicar, "when the consul and this dutch captain again visited mullion, the first thing handed to them was a parchment which had been picked up meanwhile, and this was none other than the masonic diploma of klaas van lammerts."
-the smuggling and the wrecking that once distinguished porthmellin and mullion village may be traced in old records: the wrecking, i hasten to say, not of that criminal, murderous type which produced wrecks, but the fierce hunger for wreck of the sea which animated all coastwise dwellers, and is still only dormant.
-the chief smuggling incident is that of the happy-go-lucky, an armed lugger of fourteen guns, commanded by one welland, of dover. she was located off the cove on april 4th, 1786, by the revenue-cutters hawk and lark, and captured after a running fight in which welland was killed.
-as to the "wrecking," an account, written in 1817, tells us vividly about it.
-"the neighbourhood is sadly infested with wreckers. when the news of a wreck flies round the coast, thousands of people are instantly collected near the fatal spot; pick-axes, hatchets, crow-bars, and ropes are their usual implements for breaking up and carrying off whatever they can. the moment the vessel touches the shore she is considered fair plunder, and men, women, and children are working on her to break her up, night and day. the precipices they descend, the rocks they climb, and the billows they buffet to seize the floating fragments are the most frightful and alarming i ever beheld; the hardships they endure, especially the women, in winter, to save all they can, are almost incredible. should a vessel, laden with wine or spirits, approach the shore, she brings certain death and ruin to many with her. the rage and fighting, to stave in the casks and bear away the spoils, in kettles and all manner of vessels, is brutal and shocking. to drunkenness and fighting succeed fatigue, sleep, cold, wet, suffocation, death. last winter we had some dreadful scenes of this description. a few in this neighbourhood, it seems, having a little more light than others, had scruples against visiting a wreck that came ashore on a lord's day, lest it should be breaking the sabbath; but they gathered all their implements into a public-house and waited until the clock struck twelve at midnight. then they rushed forth; all checks of conscience removed."
-there is scenery here, to be explored at low water, as fine as that of kynance itself, if not finer. at any rate, it is of a more stern and rugged order. mullion cave is a cavern indeed, with a generous opening and deep black depths which it is the proper thing here to illuminate with torches, or by the more ready, if also more evanescent, method of lighting a newspaper.
-mullion village, away up inland, has a church dedicated to st. melyan, and some fine old bench-ends; but mullion is perhaps more celebrated through miss mary mundy, the "old inn," and professor blackie.
-many years ago, in those days when railways were uncommon in cornwall, and when the comparatively few tourists generally walked, the "old inn" at mullion was made famous. those were remarkable tourists in that era. you can see exactly what they were like by referring to old pages of punch, where they will be discovered, generally pictured by john leech, in peg-top trousers, and wearing hats like inverted pudding-basins, and long side-whiskers, which they were for always pulling out, superciliously, between finger and thumb. things have greatly altered since then, perhaps for the better, perhaps not. i will not presume to say. but i do hope pudding-basins and dundreary whiskers (otherwise "let-us-prays") and peg-top trousers will not come in again.
-those were the times when poets and literary men of repute, walking round the coasts, did not disdain to write tributes in the visitors' books of rustic inns. there were few inns and no hotels, and visitors'-books were rarities. to-day, they all abound, but you will seek in vain for any literature left behind by visitors, whose tributes are generally of the kind i observed at land's end, among which one person had described himself as "king of the cannibal islands," and incautiously expressed a desire to eat the donkey outside, he felt so hungry. to this a later visitor had added, "cannibal indeed!"
-professor blackie in 1872 made the "old inn" and mary mundy who, with her brother, kept it, famous. he wrote fourteen verses in her book--no fewer than that!
-mary mundy was, i believe, very proud of them, but they just serve to show that when a literary man, or a professional man, writes undress verses, so to speak, he is capable of many lines that not only will not scan, but are also in horribly bad taste. the patronising air, the liberty taken with the landlady's name, are they not insufferable? and the fleshly delight over roast duck and cream, is it not revolting? the verses are entitled: "laudes hospitii veteris, et dominae mariae mundae."
-full many bright things on this earth there be, which a pious man may enjoy with glee on saturday or sunday; but the brightest thing that chanced to me, in cornish land, was when i did see the 'old inn,' by mary mundy.
-'twas on saturday afternoon that i was trudging, a weary loon, to spend at the "lizard" my sunday, when thro' the corner of my right eye, the happy sign i did espy-- "old inn, by mary mundy."
-so i went in, and out came she with a face from which blue devils would flee, on saturday or on monday; and i said, as soon as i saw her face, "i could not be housed in a better place, so i'll just stay here till monday."
-quoth i, "could you give me a dinner well spread-- an old arm-chair, and a well-aired bed, and a good short sermon on sunday?" quoth she, "indeed, sir, that we can, for i guess, no doubt, you're a gentleman, as sure as my name is mundy."
-i went upstairs with a bound and a hop, and i looked around the tight little shop, and i said, "miss mary mundy, there's not in london a grand hotel where, with such comfort, i could dwell as with you, my dear miss mundy."
-"you've got the tongue of a gentleman," quoth she; "i'll do the best i can, on saturday or sunday." "that's just the thing we all should do; but they who do it are few, and you are one of the few, miss mundy!"
-but now to tell the feast she spread, and with what delicate zest we fed, on the day before the sunday, would stagger the muse of a tennyson, and bring from the devil a benison on the head of mary mundy.
-a london alderman, sleek and fat, would sigh for the sight of a duck like that was served to us by mundy. a roasted duck, with fresh green peas, a gooseberry pie, and a cheddar cheese,-- a feast for a god on sunday.
-but the top of her skill i well may deem was the dear delight of the cornish cream both saturday and sunday. that down my throat did gently glide, like sweet bellini's tuneful tide, by the liberal grace of mundy!
-and then to crown the banquet rare, a brandy bottle she did bear-- (god bless thee! mary mundy!) and said, "full sure, a gentleman abhors the lean teetotal plan on saturday or sunday."
-and when my weary frame did glow with genial warmth from top to toe (good night, my dear miss mundy), i slept on bed as clean and sweet as lass that goes so trim and neat with her lover to church on sunday.
-but why should i go on to sin, spinning bad rhymes to the good old inn while the bell is tolling on sunday? i'll go and hear short sermon there, tho' the best of sermons, i declare, is the face of miss mary mundy!
-and i advise you all to hold by the well-tried things that are good and old, like this snug house of mundy; the good old church, and the good old inn, and the good old way to depart from sin, by going to church on sunday.
-and if there be on cornish cliffs, to swell his lungs with breezy whiffs, who can spare but only one day, let him spend it here; and understand that the brightest thing in cornish land is the face of miss mary mundy.
-long ago mary mundy and her brother left the "old inn," and at this time of writing they are old and poor. how it came that they were jockeyed out of their house i shall not tell here; they will tell it at mullion; but those who did it, i like to think, did not reap the reward they expected, for the increased business looked for has gone to the great new hotels built overlooking the sea itself, from which mullion is one mile distant.
-poldhu and the marconi station--modern cornwall--gunwalloe--the "dollar wreck"--wreck of the "brankelow"--wrecks of the "susan and rebecca" and of h.m.s. "anson"--loe bar and pool--helston and its "furry"--porthleven--breage--wreck of the "noisiel"--pengersick castle.
-a coastguard path runs along the cliffs from mullion cove, descending to the sandy shores of polurrian, and thence to the smaller, but still sandy, poldhu cove. enterprising builders of hotels have erected large and florid and up-to-date caravanserais here, and golfers have impudently taken possession of the waste-lands. and wireless telegraphy presides visibly over the scene; visibly because, although wireless in one sense, it still has taken, besides the four enormously tall iron and steel towers that stand on poldhu headland, a vast quantity of interlacing wires to form this chief among the marconi stations. those great towers, with their staircases that go winding round and round to the dizzy summits, are an obsession, not only here, but all over the lizard district. you may see them quite easily, ten miles away.
-it is the last touch of modernity; and yet, you know, although these towers are so ugly, they are the visible representatives of an invisible power of communication through the ether that is very much more wonderful than any tales of magic ever told in cornwall.
-for the other modern things in cornwall--barrack-hotels, golfers, "tinned" bread, and scientific methods of dealing with the milk--there is no excuse. before these developments, cornwall--save in the matter of overmuch rain--was near perfection.
-the curses of modern cornwall, from the point of view of any one who prefers honesty, old-fashioned ways, and the continuance of the ancient manners and customs of the delightful country west of the tamar, are high churchism, golf, tin bungalows, huge caravanserai hotels, and tinned bread. to these some might add "riviera" expresses and motor-cars, for they are opening up, between them, the uttermost corners of what was once a difficult land for the tourist; and the more you do thus "open up" cornwall, the less like the dear delightful old duchy it ever becomes, and the more closely it approximates to the cockneyfied shores nearer london.
-golf is certainly the prime offender. it is a scourge that has devastated the once beautiful wild sandhills and coastwise heaths, and reduced them to the titivated promenading grounds of the wealthy bounders who generally used to confine their energies to the unhealthy atmosphere of the billiard-room. the newer order of things is better for the bounders, but very bad for the unconventional beauties of the wilds. that desolating game is producing, here as elsewhere, a loafer class of caddies, cockneyfying and undermining the sturdy cornish character, and changing the uprising rustic youth into a loafing, cigarette-smoking type of wastrel who becomes unemployable and vicious when youth is left behind, having learnt nothing but the vices of the rich, which they have not the means to satisfy, while they have lost, beyond recovery, the habit of industry. it was a bad day for england when golf crossed the scottish border and invaded our land.
-most of the other curses of cornwall are the direct and inevitable outcome of better local intercommunication, and of easier travel and the consequent increase of tourists and summer residents. few ever foresaw, when corrugated, galvanised iron was introduced, how in less than a generation the tin bungalow and the simple life would go hand in hand, and settle on the loneliest spots to be found along our seaboard. i will leave it for future philosophers to determine which invented the other; whether the bungalow produced the simple life, or whether an already existent desire for the simplification of existence produced the bungalow; with passing references to the servant difficulty and to that latter-day institution, the week-end. but it is now a well-understood and greatly practised thing that you may cheaply live in a tin house in the wilderness, without servants, on tinned provisions, and on tinned bread from the nearest machine-bakery, and yet be in the intellectual movement of the time, and without reproach, even though your sanitary arrangements be such that even the old-time cottager might consider scandalous, and although, with the lengthening of your sojourn, your rising zareba of empty tins makes ever more squalid the surroundings.
-machine-made bread is a very real offence and distress to any one who has known cornwall for a considerable number of years, for it is a comparatively recent introduction. until quite lately, cornwall was one of the last strongholds of that admirable lady, the old-fashioned housewife who was proud to make her own bread. she would, dear lady, as soon thought of getting outside help for having the beds made, as purchasing what she would have called, with contemptuous inflection, "baker's bread." but nowadays not only the resident, but the farmer even, and the veriest cottager, gets his loaf from the baker's cart that has now taken to calling for orders every morning, even in rural districts, as though they were merely london suburbs. and such a perverted taste in bread exists that not merely decent "baker's bread" now prevails in these parts, but a dry, husky, leathery kind, that is baked in tins, which providence never intended bread to be.
-he thought he saw the sun to shine effulgent o'er the land he looked again--it rained in sheets, with mud on either hand, "if it were only dry," he said, "this country would be grand."
-he thought he saw a rustic inn of which the poets tell; he looked again, and lo! it was a brand-new grand hotel. he looked a trifle glum, and said: "alas! it is not well."
-he thought he saw a table spread with honest english cheer; he looked again, and there he saw tinned bread and lager beer. he turned away, and sadly said: "i take no luncheon here."
-he thought to quench a raging thirst (the way was long and rough); he bought a glass of milk, and cursed: 'twas "separated" stuff. he hurried off; of modern ways he'd had about enough.
-he thought he saw a fisherman-- one of a sturdy race-- he looked again, and saw a youth of weak and vicious face. "a golfing caddie," he remarked, and fled the curséd place.
-from poldhu the cliffs die down for an interval and disclose a flat shore. the little church lying down there, on the other side of the sandy cove, its small detached tower half built into the rocky hillside, is that of gunwalloe. there is no village of gunwalloe, and the living is held with that of cury, two miles inland. scarce removed above high-water mark, and in storms exposed in a large degree to the fury of the waves, the lonely situation of gunwalloe church excites much wonder. legends tell with misty vagueness that it was founded here as the result of a vow made by a storm-tossed mariner that, should providence bring him safe to land, he would build a church where he came ashore. there is not the least reason for doubting the truth of this, and indeed it is the only probable explanation of a church being built on such a spot. the existing building is a late fifteenth-century structure obviously replacing a very early building, of which the bowl of a norman font is the only relic. the usual mean and skimping restoration and refitting with pitch-pine may be noticed here.
-st. winwaloe, to whom the church is dedicated, died, in a.d. 529, abbot of landevenec, in brittany. his life was written by abbot wurdestan of that place, in a.d. 884. "gunwalloe" is simply a perversion of his name, which is sometimes also written "guenole." a curious epitaph may be noted, on john dale, drowned april 1808, in attempting the rescue of a sailor wrecked on loe bar.
-"when softest pity mov'd his heart a brother's life to save, himself alas! a victim fell to the relentless wave.
-"but though his mortal part be dead, his spirit lives above; where he may bathe from dangers free in seas of heavenly love."
-it is a disastrous sign of the times that at cury, and here at gunwalloe, ritualistic excesses are alienating from the church of england even those few who have hitherto adhered to it. these doings so angered the people a year or two back that they threw the pictures and candles and other romish frippery into the sea; but the folly of it goes on, and theatrical parties, wrongly styled religious processions, of clergy proceed occasionally, with pomp of vestments and swinging of incense, to the shore, reciting prayers for those drowned at sea, who, poor souls are quite beyond this sort of thing. even the bunches of flowers the children are taught to throw into the waves don't help them to salvation.
-among the many wrecks at gunwalloe, the story of what is called the "dollar wreck" stands out most prominently. on a stormy night in 1787 a spanish vessel struck on the cliffs by the church and became a total loss. she had among her cargo a great quantity of silver dollars, computed at the lowest at seventeen tons weight. ever since that time the story of the "dollar wreck" has been kept alive, not only by tradition, but by scattered coins being occasionally flung upon the beach by the waves, after some exceptionally heavy storm. gunwalloe, in fact, reeks with well-authenticated stories of dollars. the earliest among these is that of a wonderful dream by a mrs. jose, not long after the wreck. she saw in the vision a heavy bag of dollars lying on the sands, and begged her husband to go and secure it. he laughed the idea to scorn, but she persisted and was so in earnest about it that she got up and dressed; and there, sure enough, lay the bag of dollars. but just as she was rejoicing over the find, a number of wreckers happened along this way and seized the treasure for themselves, quarrelling over it until they resorted to bloodshed.
-in 1845 a serious attempt was made to secure the buried dollars. the position of the wreck was located, iron stanchions were fixed in the cliffs, and a stone dam built out to enclose the spot, with the intention of pumping out the water, but when those preparations were on the eve of completion a storm came and utterly abolished all the works. another party of adventurers tried, about 1865, and sank a shaft into which the sea burst, and in 1872 a further effort was made. the scheme of operations was on this occasion altogether different, the idea being to introduce pipes into the water and by powerful pumps to suck up the sand and incidentally the dollars. but storms made short work of that enterprise also. attempts are even now in progress for the recovery of the treasure that has been waiting over a hundred and twenty years for the finding.
-a mysterious wreck, not, however, so mysterious but that it was quite certainly the result of foul play, happened on gunwalloe sands on april 21st, 1890. the steamship brankelow, from cardiff for cronstadt, with a cargo of 3,000 tons of coal, ran at full speed ahead at midnight on to the sands. fortunately it was not rough weather at the time, and the crew were got off safely, although it was stated that they were all drunk. the cause of the vessel being driven directly for the land was found to have been a malicious tampering with the compasses by trades' union men at cardiff, and by violent damage done wilfully to it on the voyage. two magnets had been inserted at cardiff, by which the needle was wrong to the extent of five points. the brankelow eventually became embedded in the sand and was a total loss.
-loe, or properly looe, bar is a belt of sand thrown up by the sea, obstructing the outflow of a stream called the cober, which has too feeble a discharge to clear away the obstruction, causing the valley running two miles and a half inland to helston to assume the aspect of a lake. in the summer these waters would to some degree percolate through the sand, but in the winter's rains they could not escape so quickly, and consequently the level of looe pool would rise by some ten feet or more, a source of some inconvenience. from this arose an ancient custom, by which the corporation of helston presented the lord of the manor with a leathern purse containing three-halfpence, soliciting permission to cut the sandbar and so permit the water to escape. permission graciously accorded, workmen were engaged who cut a trench in the sand, and so the stream burst through and regained its summer level. this done, the sea began to choke up the outlet as before, and the process was repeated the next winter.
-this quaint old custom is now a thing of the past, it having been of recent years somewhat belatedly realised that a culvert constructed under looe bar would effectually drain the waters off, without the periodic cuttings.
-but cornwall being the cornwall of legends, it was known perfectly well that satanic agency and not natural forces originally produced looe bar. time was, according to these legends, when helston was a thriving port, with trading vessels sailing up the estuary. it was tregeagle who did the mischief. every one in cornwall has heard of tregeagle, the dishonest steward, who pervades many legends and lives in many centuries, these stories not being particular in the matter of ten centuries or so. set to work by st. petroc at gunwalloe, his task was to carry sand in sacks across the mouth of the estuary and empty them at porthleven. laden with a sack of enormous size, the doomed spirit was wading across when one of the wicked demons, who were always on the watch for him, tripped him up, and the contents of the sack fell into the sea.
-helston is nowadays a quiet, uninteresting town, by no means looking its age. it was in existence at the time of the norman conquest, for it appears in domesday book as "henlistone." of its castle, as likewise of its old-time parliamentary importance of returning two members, nothing is left; and only once a year does helston advertise its existence to the world, when its annual furry, held on may 8th, is duly chronicled in the newspapers. it attracted more attention in 1907, because that was the year of sir william treloar, a native of helston, being lord mayor of london; and the sun shone that day on the unwonted spectacle of a lord mayor jigging down the principal street of helston in the furry dance:
-"with hal-an-tow, rumbelow! for we are up as soon as any, o, and for to fetch the summer home, the summer and the may, o! for summer is acome, and winter is agone."
-such is the chorus of the furry song, sung to an immemorially ancient tune. the furry, which some hold to be a survival of the roman "floralia," and is obviously in any case a celebration in honour of spring, is observed with great earnestness and is officially recognised by the mayor and corporation of helston, who take active part in it.
-the woods of penrose descend beautifully to the shares of looe pool, and they are exchanged with some regret for the not very interesting cliff-road on to porthleven, a small harbour town, situated on steep hillsides overlooking a pool. granite is shipped at the quays, and much yacht- and boat-building is carried on. inland is breage, a village lying just off the modern high-road between helston and penzance, and suffering from the fact that it has thus been shouldered aside, in the deviation of traffic. you may perceive, in the following lines, the pronunciation of the place-name:
-it lies off the road to the lizard, the weary old village of breage, you need be no prophet nor wizard to tell that its living is vague. its cottages falling in tatters; their thatch sprouting grasses and weeds; a place where not anything matters: a village that nobody heeds. its existence is rather uncertain, its future decidedly vague, unfertile the tillage around that old village, the derelict village of breage.
-the church is dedicated to a woman-saint, breaca, one of the band of irish missionaries who landed at hayle river. it is a large and fine building. a prominent feature of the interior is a fresco, discovered of late years, representing the saviour as the benefactor of all callings. the almost nude figure, ten feet high, is crowned. gouts of blood, like crows' feet or broad-arrow marks in shape, are plentifully distributed over body and limbs, and all around are shown some fifty articles of handicraft, including scythe, rake, saw, trowel, plumber's iron, harp, zither, pitcher, cart, plate, sickle, axe, anchor, anvil, and horseshoe, all connected with the figure by spurts of blood, typifying the blood of christ crucified sanctifying all callings. the wheel on which the figure stands seems to typify eternity. a similar fresco has already been noted at poundstock.
-the coast from porthleven offers no exceptional features until after passing trewavas head, when the smooth expanse of praa sands is seen.
-here the iron barque noisiel, of plymouth, was driven ashore in a storm on the night of friday, august 4th, 1905, and became a total wreck. she was on her way from cherbourg with 600 tons of armour-plate, and weathered rinsey head only to become embayed off praa sands. anchors were let out, but failed to hold on the sandy bottom, and the noisiel was driven in, broadside on, and the waves speedily broke her back. the crew mostly jumped overboard and struck out for the shore. two of the nine aboard were drowned. the vessel was a total loss. some of the armour-plates still remain, half buried in the sand.
-a little way onward and a quarter of a mile inland is the fine old embattled tower of pengersick castle. it stands in a pleasant meadow, and is now part of a "farm-place." the tower is of comparatively late date, and seems to have been built in the reign of henry the eighth under mysterious circumstances, by a person named millaton. we need not believe the tale that he had committed a murder in some distant shire, and hid himself here, building the tower for defence, in the event of justice nosing him; for the arrival of a stranger and the hasty building of a defensible tower would at once have attracted undesirable curiosity. moreover, the masonry is of such exquisite fineness that it is quite evident it was only built at leisure and by the most skilled of craftsmen. millaton is further said to have lived here with his wife an unhappy existence. they hated one another to extinction; but at last he pretended a reconciliation and planned an elaborate dinner to celebrate the event. after dinner he raised his glass, in a toast, and drained it off. she followed suit. then said she: "yours was poisoned, and in three minutes you will be a dead man!"
-"so was yours," he rejoined, "and you will be a dead woman in five minutes!"
-"no matter for that," replied his wife, "for i shall have two minutes left, in which to kick your dead body!"
-germoc lies just inland from this place. its church, in a hollow beneath the high-road, is dedicated to st. germoch, another of the irish saints. "st. germoe's chair," a canopied stone building, stands in the churchyard. the corbel-stones of the south porch are carved with figures of monkeys.
-beyond pengersick comes hoe point, and then prussia cove.
-the coast of cornwall
-prussia cove and its smugglers--perranuthnoe--st. hilary--marazion--st. michael's mount--ludgvan--gulval
-john carter took his nickname of "king of prussia" from the boyish games of "king of the castle" in which he and his brothers used to fleet their youth away, and the name stuck to him in after life, as often is the way with great and celebrated personages. even so, dickens, the "boses" (for moses) of his and his brothers' games, became "boz"; and louisa de la ramée, who as a baby lisped her name, "ouida," became in after years famous in that signature. so the "king of prussia," i.e. john carter, is in good company. in 1770 he built a substantial stone house on the cliffs, and appears to have used it in part as a residence, partly as a store for smuggled goods, and in some degree as an inn (i fear quite unlicensed) known as the "king of prussia." there he lived until 1806, and from a small battery he had constructed he had the impudence to fire on one occasion upon the fairy revenue sloop, which had chased a smuggling craft into the cove and had sent in a boat-party. the boat retreated, and notice being given to the collector of customs at penzance, a military force was despatched to reduce his fort, by taking it in the rear. the smugglers retreated to the "kidleywink" and the soldiers then left for penzance, perhaps having demolished carter's emplacements.
-elsewhere than in cornwall all these things would have produced bloodshed; but nothing more seems to have been said about the affair, which is delightfully, entirely, and characteristically cornish; own cousin to irish escapades, just as the cornish might, if they cared to do so, even call cousins with the irish themselves.
-prussia cove at the present time of writing is a place wholly uninteresting. the "king of prussia's" house was pulled down in 1906, and a new road is on the site of it. caverns, said, of course, to have been the carters' storehouses, yawn darkly in the low cliffs, above high-water mark. a barbed-wire squalor abounds along the winding road, and through the garden of an uninviting residence you come down to bessie's cove and the dark rocks going sheer into the water; always with "trespassers will be prosecuted" staring you in the face from makeshift posts and notice-boards.
-going up out of the region of these singular developments, i met a man raking over some stones recently placed in the road: a good-looking man, with a beard and an indefinable air of being a retired officer of the royal navy. he asked what i wanted there, a question i thought impudent; but giving the inoffensive answer that i had been seeking prussia cove, the scene of carter, the smuggler's activities, and could not find carter's house, he replied that he thought people coming to see the place for that reason was sheer morbidness.
-"how so?" i asked.
-"oh!" said he, "all that kind of thing is past and done away with; and besides, i've had the house pulled down; and this is a private road."
-"oh!" i rejoined, "the deuce it is, and you have! who does it belong to, then?"
-"to me; but don't you trouble about that. go just where you like."
-i told him, as nicely as possible, that this was precisely what i intended to do; and then this apparently contradictory but not unamiable person began to dilate upon the want of respect the cornish had for antiquity. the text for this was the cantankerous nature of two old maiden ladies, who jointly owned an old wayside smithy on the high road between ashtown and germoe. when one had agreed to sell it to my informant, if he could obtain her sister's consent, he went to the other sister with the proposition.
-"what does my sister say?" she asked.
-"then i won't!"
-and as neither would agree upon anything concerning it, the building was unsold and went tenantless. thenceforward, it fell into disrepair, and eventually fell down altogether.
-laughing at this ridiculous, but true, story, i went my way. i discovered afterwards that the narrator of it was the locally famous mr. behrens, who has purchased the land in and about prussia cove and has figured in some bitterly fought right-of-access cases here.
-the headland beyond prussia cove, forming the eastern horn of mount's bay, is cuddan point. the meaning of "cuddan" is said to be dark, or gloomy, but there is nothing exceptionally so in this not very striking point, and the autumn corn-fields render the approach to it even cheerful. but there is nothing gained by toiling to its extremity. the embattled granite house looking over mount's bay from hence is known as acton castle. from it the coastline can be plainly seen for miles.
-whichever way you go, by cliffs or by the high road, to perranuthnoe, the way is extremely dull, and perranuthnoe--now called locally merely "perran"--is a dull little village. according to a wild legend, it was to the shore by perranuthnoe that an ancestor of the trevelyans came on horseback from the submerged land of lyonesse between land's end and scilly. the roaring waters that had engulfed that fabled land and its 140 churches could not keep pace with his marvellous steed.
-the scenery has for several miles past been distinctly inferior in interest and beauty to that of mount's bay and westward; but as it is the most truistic of truisms that every eye forms its own beauty, there may conceivably be those who can find it otherwise. the proof, or disproof, of the assertion lies with the explorer; he is a poor creature that takes his opinions ready-made.
-regaining the dull high road from perranuthnoe, the very considerable village of marazion is met, fringing the highway. there is very much more of marazion than those who look at it from below would suppose, but as the view from marazion is infinitely better than any view of it, there need be no curiosity cherished by penzance visitors looking eastward, as to what is there, immediately over the shoulder of the hill, beyond the mount. yet, if there can be no interest in marazion, there is plenty of the antiquarian kind in its parish church of st. hilary, over a mile distant, away back in a north-easterly direction, in a lonely situation off the road. it was in 1853 that the body of the church was burnt down, with the exception of the early english tower, with stone spire, remarkable in cornwall, where spires are rare. in the rebuilt church, removed from the churchyard, now stands the famous "constantine stone," inscribed
-imp . caes . flav . val . constantino . pio . caes . nob . divi . constanti . pii . avg . filio.
-rendered in full, this, the longest romano-british inscription in cornwall, becomes a dedication to the emperor constantine the great. the date has been fixed at a.d. 307. the stone was perhaps a milestone, but there is very much more about the ruling monarch than modern travellers would welcome, and if there was ever a mileage inscription as well, it has wholly disappeared. it will probably be conceded by all that in the matter of milestones, at any rate, we are superior to the romans. it is a somewhat curious coincidence that a contemporary milestone has in recent years been discovered at tintagel, bearing an inscription to licinius, co-ruler with constantine.
-a more mysterious stone exists at st. hilary. this is the well-known but imperfectly understood "noti-noti stone" a seven-foot long block of granite, inscribed with those two words and six not very distinct symbols supposed to represent masonic tools. some antiquaries are disposed to regard it as the tombstone of an unknown notus, the son of notus; but the meaning is quite uncertain.
-but to return to marazion, where another insoluble problem awaits us and wordy warfare continually rages around the derivation of the place-name. it was once alternatively, in the local speech, "market jew," and thus arose the popular legend that the jews anciently established here a market for tin. but it seems reasonable to suppose that "market jew" was only a corruption, by people who had almost wholly forgotten the now extinct cornish language, of the cornish words marghasiou, signifying "markets." those "jews" are supposed to have really been phœnician traders. a further theory, that the name derived from margha-ziawn, meaning "market-strand," deserves consideration. but whatever may be the truth, there is no doubt that here was situated a tin-smeltery in very remote times, for in 1849 the ruins of such a building were discovered. the marazion people styled it, of course, the "jews' house," and some of the "jews' house tin" found there is to be seen in the museum at penzance. a great deal of ingenuity, unsupported by any real evidence, has been employed in attempts to solve the meaning of the place-name, and it has been put forward that the spot was originally inhabited by a colony of jews, who handed down the bitterness of their exile by styling it "mara-zion," i.e. "bitter zion." still another theory has been advanced, namely that st. michael's mount was the original marazion, from the hebrew, "marath-aiyin," "the landmark"; the mount being the most prominent object for many miles out to sea. so it will be perceived that there is no lack of choice.
-coming down the long street of marazion to the shores of mount's bay, the most remarkable scene in cornwall opens out before you. there stretch the flat curving shores of the bay, fringed with sands, but for the most part solitary, with the last miles of the great western railway running along the levels, just above high-water mark; and penzance town showing white in the distance, three miles away. there are more beautiful bays in cornwall, and better sands, and repose rather than ruggedness is the note of the scene; but the great distinguishing feature of mount's bay--the feature that gives the bay its name--is st. michael's mount, rising majestically in the sea off marazion, half a mile distant from the mainland, with its castle and priory, now the residence of lord st. levan, cresting the rocky pyramid with a coronet of towers and pinnacles. st. michael's mount is an inspiring sight, whether you are in expectation of seeing it or not. but nothing is unexpected in the way of scenery nowadays. you know what lies round every bend of the road. if we could only recapture the unexpected, how fine that would be!
-but, whether you first see st. michael's mount at high tide, when it is an island, or at the ebb, when it is joined to the land by half a mile of slimy, seaweedy causeway, it is grand.
-at the same time, i like best to think of st. michael's mount as i first saw it, on first coming into cornwall. i had come by train from paddington, and the day had long given place to night. the weary train pulled up for the ticket-taking at marazion road, and in the quiet interval the wind boomed about the station buildings, and the wash of the waves could be plainly heard on the sands. eagerly one looked out upon the night for a possible glimpse of the famous mount, and there indeed, guided by a twinkling light so high that it looked like a star, the eye saw vaguely a monstrous pyramidal bulk, a something darker than the surrounding darkness. "it is the mount," i said, and a thrill of romantic delight possessed me.
-well, you know, st. michael's mount is 231 feet in height. it is no mean altitude, and the rise is so sharp up its sides that one need not be of the falstaff kind, fat and scant of breath, to find the climbing it something tiring on a hot day. but st. michael's mount the next morning was a less impressive object than that darkling glimpse gave warranty for. it was inevitable. just as the impression overnight had been finer than expected, so the reality suffered. but ordinarily st. michael's mount does not disappoint; always with this proviso, that you do not see its bigger brother, mont st. michel, on the coast of normandy, first.
-an ingenious eighteenth-century writer remarked of st. michael's mount that "it seemed emblematic of a well-ordered state, its base being devoted to trade and commerce, its sides to the service of the country, and its summit to the glory of god." by "trade and commerce" he indicated the little village and harbour at the foot of the mount, and the reference to the glory of god was of course an allusion to the remains of the abbey, but what he could have meant by "the service of the country" i cannot tell, unless by any chance it was an allusion to the ineffectual popgun battery mounted on the crags.
-the history of st. michael's mount begins like most history, in uncertainties. it is supposed--and much criticism has not destroyed the supposition--that it is the place called iktis, referred to by posidonius, who travelled in britain during the first century before the christian era. he spoke of the "little islands called cassiterides, lying off the coast of iberia," from which much tin was obtained, and then mentioned the isle of iktis, in britain. it is quite clear, therefore, that the supposition that by the cassiterides he meant the scilly islands, or any islands in britain, must be baseless. they were what we know as the balearic islands, off the coast of spain, the iberia of the ancients. but in other writers we find the cassiterides to indicate tin islands in general.
-diodorus siculus, who was contemporary with julius cæsar, and wrote a universal history, a considerable undertaking for one man even then, appears to have copied a good many of the statements made by posidonius, in addition to having described places seen in his own travels. he is not always regarded as a reliable authority, but there seems no reason to doubt the essential truth of his statements. referring to "belerion," otherwise cornwall, he says: "the inhabitants of that extremity of britain both excel in hospitality and also, by reason of their intercourse with foreign merchants, are civilised in their mode of life. these people prepare the tin, working very skilfully the earth which produces it. the ground is rocky, but has in it earthy veins, the produce of which is wrought down and melted and purified. then, when they have cast it in the form of dice-shaped cubes, they carry it into a certain island adjoining britain, and called iktis. for, during the recess of the tide, the intervening space is left dry, and they carry over abundance of tin to this place in their carts. and there is something peculiar in the islands of these parts lying between europe and britain, for at the full tide the intervening passage being overflowed, they appear islands, but when the sea retires, a large space is left dry, and they are seen as peninsulas. from them the merchants purchase the tin of the natives and transport it into gaul, and finally, travelling through gaul on foot, in about thirty days they bring their burdens on horses to the mouth of the river rhone."
-that diodorus should refer to "islands," rather than the one island that becomes a peninsula at low water, has been held as a proof that he knew nothing at first hand about this coast, but it may well be that in the changes known to have taken place here, other islands have disappeared. quite apart from the fantastic legends of the lost land of lyonesse between scilly and the land's end, where the lone waters, empty except for a few intervening reefs, now roll, it is quite certain that at some early period what is now mount's bay was a forest. hunt, in his "popular romances of the west of england," tells us--not romancing: "i have passed in a boat from st. michael's mount to penzance on a summer day, when the waters were very clear and the tide low, and seen the black masses of trees in the white sands, extending far out into the bay. on one occasion, while i was at school at penzance, after a violent equinoctial gale, large trunks of trees were thrown up on the shore, just beyond chyandour, and then with the other boys i went at the lowest of the tide, far out over the sands, and saw scores of trees embedded in the sands. we gathered nuts--they were beech-nuts--and leaves in abundance." i, too, have found, cast upon the shore, traces of this submarine forest.
-now it is a curious thing, in this connection, that, among the various names by which st. michael's mount has been known, including the earliest of all, "din-sûl," or the "fortress of the sun," is that of carregloose-in-coes, which, spelled in slightly different ways, means the hoar rock (that is to say the grey rock) in the wood. "coes" appears to have been a form of the early british "coed," for woodland. the town of cowes, for example, in the isle of wight, takes its name from the woodlands that once occupied its site. st. michael's mount was once, therefore, a part of the mainland, and if we observe, still further, that the chapel rock on the approach to it, and the great pyramidal form of the mount itself are hard greenstone and granite, resting upon slate and clay, we shall see exactly why they remain whence all other land has disappeared.
-that foreigners, in times long before the romans came to britain, were accustomed to resort to this neighbourhood for tin has already been shown, and that they were phœnicians is certain. many people dismiss the phœnicians as a people almost as mythical as the phœnix itself, but they were the earliest maritime traders. they were the people who founded carthage, and they penetrated to the ends of the known world. also they were of a strongly marked semitic, or jewish type; and thus ancient cornish traditions about "the jews" are well based on facts.
-as "st. michael's" mount the island became early known. at some uncertain time the archangel is said to have appeared here to some hermits, and the place was therefore already holy when st. keyne came from ireland in a.d. 490 and visited it. edward the confessor, in the eleventh century, granted st. michael's mount to the benedictine abbey of mont st. michel in normandy, and until the reign of henry the fifth it remained the property of that abbey, with a priory established on its summit. it was then transferred to the abbey of sion, in middlesex.
-the abbey of mont st. michel and the priory of st. michael's mount were fortresses, as well as religious establishments. the monks had fortified themselves for their own protection, and the strongholds seemed so useful to men of strife that we early find st. michael's mount seized and held by them when trouble was brewing. thus, when richard lion-heart was a prisoner abroad, one henry de pomeroy got possession of the mount on behalf of john. but when richard, contrary from all reasonable expectation, returned, the position became untenable, the garrison yielded, and pomeroy opened one of his veins and bled himself to death; a more excellent way than reserving himself for the picturesque and long-drawn agonies that in those times were the penalty of high treason.
-a more desperate affair was that of 1471, when the earl of oxford, and a party of fugitives from the yorkist crowning mercy at barnet, fled from the vengeance of edward the fourth and took possession of the mount. they came as pilgrims. you may quite easily picture them coming to the shore, pausing a moment at the chapel rock, then with a chapel on it; and thence walking the causeway to the mount, kissing the relics at the foot of it, praying at the two wayside crosses up its steep sides and then admitted to the priory itself, where, with drawn swords, produced from beneath their travel-stained pilgrims' garb, they soon made themselves masters of the place. sir john arundell, sheriff of cornwall, was sent to dislodge them, and was after several attacks slain on the sands. according to the received account, edward the fourth pardoned the earl of oxford, on account of his so gallantly defending himself here; but we may well suppose that he "pardoned" him because he could not by other means dislodge this valorous rebel.
-the priory became a sanctuary for lady catherine gordon, wife of perkin warbeck, in the time of henry the seventh, but sanctuaries were generally violated, and this was no exception. she was dragged out and sent to london.
-during the west-country rebellion against the reformed religion in 1549, the priory having by that time been dissolved and the property granted to the arundells of lanherne, humphrey arundell held it for the rebels. it was taken and retaken in the fights that followed, and arundell at last was captured and put to death. the last warlike operations at st. michael's mount were the defence by the royalist, sir francis basset, and the capture by colonel hammond, on behalf of the parliament. since 1660 it has been the property of the st. aubyn family.
-the village at the foot of the mount, with its little harbour, occupies a humble feudal situation beneath the castle of my lord st. levan. if you would seek revived mediævalism in a democratic age, then st. michael's mount is the place to find it, for lord st. levan maintains a body of gorgeously liveried boatmen to row him across, to and from his island hold; and nowadays, instead of being free to ramble about the craggy sides of the mount, the stranger must resign himself to a guide. whether wanton mischief on the part of holiday-makers, or the scattering of sandwich-papers, has aught to do with this changed condition of affairs, or whether it is merely due to the increased consideration the st. aubyns cherish for themselves since the barony of st. levan was conferred upon the family in 1887, i will not pretend to say.
-the interior of the castellated residence is of somewhat varied interest. the chapel, although originally of perpendicular architecture, was so altered in the "restoration" of 1826 that it is now merely a melancholy example of what was in those days considered to be gothic. it is chill and bare and quite without any feature of note, with the exception of one thing that, being just a hole in the floor, can scarce be described as a "feature." this is an oubliette, discovered during the works of 1826.
-romantic novelists have been largely responsible for a general indifference to the very real mysteries and tragedies of ancient buildings, and the public, unable to distinguish between fact and fiction, have agreed to look upon everything out of the common as fiction. yet here, the workmen of some eighty years ago, removing the old woodwork, discovered a walled-up door in the south wall, and, opening it, a narrow flight of stone steps was revealed, leading down into a grim stone cell, six feet square, without any window or other opening than the door by which they had entered. they were horrified by stumbling in the darkness of that dreadful place upon what proved to be the skeleton of a man of extraordinary height. who that unfortunate wretch was, flung into this living tomb, to be conveniently "forgotten" and to die of starvation, has never been discovered. the appalling cynicism that constructed this particular example of an oubliette beneath the chapel floor is worthy of remark. while the doomed man lay there, above him the pious castellan and his fellow-villains were praising god.
-the chevy chase hall, a room formerly the refectory of the priory, but remodelled in the seventeenth century, is a small apartment with timber roof. the name now given it refers to a curious plaster frieze representing hunting scenes. the tower is the oldest portion of the buildings, rising to a total height of 250 feet from the sea. a projecting granite framework, looking out from the south-west angle of the battlements, is known popularly as "st. michael's chair." it is really the frame of an ancient lantern, beacon, or cresset, lighted in former times to guide the fishing-boats safely into harbour; but a legend has obtained currency that any sweetheart, or husband, or wife, first taking a seat in it will be "master for life." it is not a difficult matter to edge into the "chair," but it requires rather more agility, and a cool head, to return. in spite of this, very many women do perform the act; which shows at once their superstition and the real keenness they have to obtain the upper hand. but at the same time, it may not inaptly be supposed that, to any contemplative and philosophical man, the spectacle of his chosen one attempting the hazardous feat will be something in the nature of a danger-signal. if the loved one be now ready to risk a broken neck for this supposed advantage, what, he might suppose, will be his chance of happiness?
-the church-tower peeping over the hill-top on the right hand, as you proceed along the dull flat road to penzance is that of ludgvan, and the marshes are those of ludgvan leaze. ludgvan church, although an extremely blue-mouldy edifice, is not without interest and has a particularly good tower. moreover, there are tablets in it to the memory of the davy family, of whom the celebrated sir humphry, born at penzance in 1778, is the most notable. dr. borlase, who may be described as the father of cornish archæology, was rector here for fifty-two years, and died in 1772. a well in ludgvan has, by ancient tradition, the curious property of insuring whosoever drinks of its water from being hanged. it may be testimony to the law-abiding character of the ludgvan people that they do not set much store by the virtues of their well; but at the same time they are somewhat sly humorists, as perhaps any stranger not duly forewarned may discover, on asking if there is anything of interest in the place. "oh! yes," you are likely to hear; and then comes the story of the well and an urgent invitation to drink of it, by way of insurance. the origin of this legend is altogether unknown, but may be an entirely distorted recollection of some special property connected with a holy well of st. lidgean, one of the numerous irish saints of cornwall, whose name survives in that of the village.
-behind ludgvan, rising to a height of 765 feet, is the hill of castell-an-dinas, not perhaps so much a hill as a culmination of the downs stretching between the north coast of cornwall and the south, a distance from sea to sea of only five miles between marazion and hayle, and between penzance and st. ives of only seven miles. from the hill-top both the bristol and the english channels can at once be seen. castell-an-dinas is a prehistoric camp, with a modern roughly constructed stone tower, locally known as "roger's tower," in its midst. it seems to have been built about the time when one "j. h., aged 63" was buried, in 1823. this person, together with three others of his family who died in 1812, lie within a little walled enclosure on the hillside. he had some dispute with the vicar of gulval, and so refused to allow any of his family to be buried in the churchyard. something of a key to his sentiments will be found in the inscriptions within the enclosure: "custom is the idol of fools," and "virtue only consecrates this ground."
-as penzance is approached, gulval appears on the right, its church-tower glimpsed from amid its surrounding trees. the flat fields are devoted to the cultivation of broccoli, and early vegetables, fruits, and flowers for the london market. the saint whose name is hidden in that of gulval is said to be wulvella, a welshwoman, sister of st. pol de leon to whom the church of paul near mousehole, is dedicated. it is also said to indicate st. godwald, a sixth-century welsh bishop-hermit.
-gulval is one of the prettiest churchyards in cornwall, beautiful with subtropical plants and pampas grass. behind gulval, on the little trevaylor brook, is bleu bridge, a footbridge only remarkable for a tall granite pillar at one end, inscribed lengthways qvenatavci icdinvi filivs.
-penzance is reached past the fringe of houses called chyandour, on the level, approaching the railway station, where the trevaylor brook enters the sea. "chyandour" means "the house by the water," and probably marks the site of a prehistoric settlement of tin-streamers. tin-smelting works are now situated on the brook.
-penzance--newlyn and the "newlyn school"--paul--dolly pentreath--mousehole--lamorna--trewoofe and the levelis family--boleit--the "merry maidens"--penberth cove.
-penzance is 279-1/2 miles from hyde park corner, london, by road, and 305-1/4 miles by great western railway. until some ten years ago, when the great western adopted a shorter route, and cut off some of the generous curves with which brunel had endowed the cornish portion of the line, the mileage was 328. the name, originally spelled "pen sans," and still pronounced so, means holy head, or headland, but there is some uncertainty as to the precise significance. a chapel dedicated to st. anthony once stood on the bold bluff by the harbour, where the not very satisfactory church of st. mary, built in 1834, is now situated; and it may have been from this sainted headland that the place-name derived. but for long centuries the holy head has been thought that of st. john the baptist, and when in 1614 penzance adopted a borough seal, it was the head of the baptist on a charger they selected for the town's device. the old springtime festival, held from distant centuries in the streets of the town, takes place on the eve of st. john the baptist, and on the eve of st. peter.
-penzance is by no means a parasite seaside town, existing only for and on visitors. it is a busy market-town all the year round, with a considerable harbour. the long straight thoroughfare of market jew street, rising steadily to the market house, which is the centre of penzance, is a street of shops. the market house is a rather gloomy granite building, with a cupola that bulks out conspicuously in distant views and stands for penzance. indeed, in reminiscences of the place you do not so much as think of the sea-front as of this extraordinary municipal building, that shows the ideas of ionic architecture prevailing in 1837, the time when it was built. the market house is, in short, the quintessence of penzance, and that is the reason why i have included an illustration of it. be quite sure it is not for its beauty, or for the justness of its proportions, nor even for the white marble statue of sir humphry davy that has stood since 1872 in front of it, on the site of the house in which he was born. he is penzance's greatest son, and was born here in 1778. philosopher and chemist, and inventor of the miner's safety-lamp, i dare to believe him a greater and a more practical man than sir isaac newton. davy died at geneva in 1829, and was buried there.
-davy at any rate was a man far more practical than the wiseacres who built the market house, blocking up the middle of the street just where it is at its busiest, and where traffic pours in from confluent thoroughfares.
-the ancient market-cross stood until recently at its western end.
-penzance market-cross stood until 1829 in the green market, but was in that year removed to the corner of a house in north street. when that house was demolished, in or about 1868, the cross was again moved on, finding a home, appropriately enough, in the west wall of the market house. there it remained, its inscribed side hidden against the wall, for some thirty years. loungers leaned lazy shoulders against it, butchers rested sides of meat on it, and it grew, about the head of it, a greasy object. and then some one, in july 1899, hit upon the brilliant idea of removing the cross and cleaning it, and placing it upon a nice new base in the morrab gardens, with a metal plate setting forth the year when these things were done. and there it is dripped upon by trees, and although granite is a hard and obstinate substance, yet we have it upon unimpeachable authority that "constant dropping will wear away a stone," and certainly the cross was better preserved by its greasy daily experiences at the back of the market house than in its present dank situation.
-although it is in shape and size (5 feet 6 inches high), just a typical cornish cross, it is one of the most interesting: the front of it curiously incised with little holes, while the back, hitherto hidden, bears an inscription, which has been read as "hic procumbunt corpora piorum."
-beyond this hub of penzance is the more residential part, alverton; and alverton itself is of two quite distinct periods. firstly, the delightfully quaint and cosy-looking regency bay-fronted and plaster-faced villas by the morrab gardens, and then the modern stone-built residential suburb about morrab road.
-the sea-front is quite casual. it boasts a hotel or two and some more early regency cottages, and the broad asphalted parade, raised by a few feet above the narrow beach, commands widespread views over the shallow waters of mount's bay; but it is not thrust forward by penzance as a great feature. it just happened, so to speak.
-almost coterminous with penzance is newlyn, on the west. the name of newlyn does not indicate "new lake," or indeed, anything new, but derives, like that of newlyn near newquay, from st. newlyna, or neulwyn, a breton maiden, who was murdered by a suitor whose love she did not requite. pontivy noyala, in brittany, owes the second half of its name to her.
-newlyn is, of course, a busy fisher-village, and has now got a harbour of its own. they are wilful people at newlyn, or were, as the following story will show.
-tithe of fish, as of other things, was claimed of old by, and paid to, the clergy, but that is now a thing of the past. the sturdy fisher-folk of newlyn were among the earliest to resist it. they banded themselves together, painted "no tithe" on a board which they nailed to a wall, to keep their determination hot, took especial care of their fish-offal, to the sorrow of the gulls, and waited. it was not long before the lawyer came to distrain for tithe. he got it, "in kind." the contents--extremely unsavoury--of various offal-tubs were poured over him.
-about the year 1885 newlyn began to be genuinely astonished. now your true cornishman--and they are all cornishmen and true who live at newlyn--is not easily astonished; that violent rippling of the mental surface is difficult to accomplish here. so the thing that thus surprised this fisher-town must have been, and was, remarkable. it was nothing less than the discovery of the artistic possibilities of the place. every one who knew newlyn knew well enough that it was picturesque: guide-books had told them so, and those who could not discover it for themselves, and knew only of the fishy smells that pervaded the seashore and the crooked alleys, would read to one another in those guide-books, "the village is picturesque," and then perceive that this was indeed the case. but although j. c. hook had for many years painted cornish seas, no one had yet painted the life of this place, or of st. ives, or that of any other among the many characteristic villages of these coasts. cornish landscapes and seascapes, yes; but the everyday existence of the folk who peopled them had not been revealed to art as a thing well worthy of treatment, alike for its drawing and colour, and for its mingled pathos, nobility, and the virtue of long endurance.
-the newlyners, be sure of that, did not suspect themselves out of the common. visitors to penzance discovered newlyn as a curious place worth a morning or an afternoon's exploration, but not a place where the polite might stay. that is to say, here is no up-to-date hotel, and the folk are, or were, primitive. their natural politeness cannot be in question.
-then mr. stanhope forbes, who has since attained to the dignity of "r.a.," found newlyn and perceived its artistic value. he and frank bramley were the founders of what has become famous as the "newlyn school." they painted fish sales, domestic auctions, village weddings, christmas-eve in penzance, "hopeless dawn" in a fisherman's cottage when the fishing-fleet has been storm-tossed, and many another episode in the life of the people, and quite early their success brought about the large artist colonies that have since settled, not only here, but at st. ives, and polperro, and many another old-world waterside village in cornwall, their practice that of the pioneers of newlyn; for although there are different "schools" of fish, pilchards, mackerel,
-accordingly, within four hours of receiving his appointment, terence bade his parent farewell and proceeded by rail to devonport, where the "sunderland" was lying. it was nearly dark when he alighted at millbay station. here he called a taxi and was whirled off to the dockyard, whence a picquet boat conveyed him to the cruiser, which was lying at a buoy in the hamoaze.
-"we're off under sealed orders at six o'clock tomorrow morning," announced one of his new shipmates, a junior lieutenant, teddy barracombe by name. "of course, we are quite in the dark, but there's a strong idea floating around that the ship's off to the near east. just my mark! according to all accounts we'll be pretty busy in the dardanelles."
-"that's all very fine for you," commented oswestry, the torpedo lieutenant, "but where do i come in? we can't use torpedoes against fortifications, you know, and there's precious little floating about for us to go for."
-"don't take on, torps," said barracombe cheerfully. "you never know your luck. wait and see."
-as soon as the "sunderland" was clear of the breakwater the momentous orders were opened. it was not to the near east; the cruiser had to proceed to dover and await further instructions.
-being the first day of the month the ship's company was to be paid, and soon after six bells final preparations for the solemn rite were in progress.
-at a quarter to one two "g's"--the officers' call--sounded, and the first hundred men, mustering by open list, assembled in the port battery. on the quarter-deck tables were placed in position, on each of which were teak trays divided into small compartments by brass strips. in each of these divisions a man's monthly pay and allowance money had already been placed and checked by the paymaster and his staff.
-owing to the conditions of war-time the captain was not present, his duty of superintending the payment being taken by the commander. at the tables stood the staff-paymaster, the r.n.r. assistant-paymaster, and the chief writer.
-the staff-paymaster glanced at the commander, indicating that all was in readiness. the commander gave the word to carry on, and the disbursing of coin began.
-the assistant-paymaster called the men's names from a book. each seaman stepped briskly forward to the chalk line, removed his cap, and, according to instructions, looked the accountant officer squarely in the face and gave his name and rating. then, receiving his money in the crown of his cap, the recipient saluted and moved away to make room for the next man.
-all was proceeding smoothly and with the regularity of clockwork when suddenly a diversion occurred.
-the ship's company had a mascot in the shape of a young african monkey, that had been presented to the "sunderland" by a french cruiser during a visit to an algerian port. although usually good-tempered "mephisto" could and did exhibit fits of sulkiness and outbursts of insubordination that would have earned a lower deck man ninety days' "confined to detention quarters." but the monkey being a sort of chartered libertine, was idolized by the ship's company and mildly tolerated by the officers.
-mephisto was lazily sunning himself under the lee of the quarter-deck 6-in gun shield when his eye caught sight of the chief writer's silver watch, which that petty officer had occasion to consult.
-probably the monkey imagined that it was one of the tins of condensed milk for which he had great partiality.
-getting on his four feet mephisto ambled across the quarter-deck, past the line of men drawn up at attention. before he could cross the chalk line, a symbol for which he had no respect, the chief writer had replaced his timepiece.
-foiled in that direction the monkey made a grab at a pile of brand new copper coins, and before any of the officers and men could prevent, had made a rush for the weather-shrouds.
-"stop him!" yelled the commander.
-a dozen men hastened to comply, jolting against each other in their alacrity to pursue the animal, which with marvellous agility had gained the extremity of the signal yard-arm.
-here he perched, hanging on with his hind paws while he tasted each coin with his teeth--at first with an expression of hopefulness upon his features that rapidly changed into one of profound disgust.
-holding the rest of the coins against his chest mephisto hurled one on to the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck. it landed in one of the compartments of the pay-table, displacing a sovereign, that rolled between the staff-paymaster and the assistant-paymaster.
-both officers simultaneously stooped to recover the errant piece of gold. the result was that their heads met with a thud in spite of the protection afforded by their peaked caps.
-several of the men could not conceal a grin. one broke into a laugh, and meeting the stern glance of the commander tried to side-track into a painful cough.
-fortunately for the culprit the commander was inwardly affected by a similar complaint, for he, too, saw the humour of the business.
-"confound you!" shouted the staff-paymaster, removing his cap and rubbing his bald head. "confound you, you brute! throwing away the money from the public chest!"
-the only reply from mephisto was another penny that, thrown with splendid aim, rebounded from the staff-paymaster's shiny pate.
-"the ship's company will have to make up the loss," he muttered. "they're responsible for their confounded pet."
-"but you're responsible for the money, staggles," remarked the commander drily. "at any rate, mephisto is paying you back by instalments."
-it wanted all the self-control at their command to keep the lookout men's attention from the comic scene to a duty of a serious nature, while the gun's crews temporarily forgot their duties to watch the encounter between the mascot and the staff-paymaster.
-"you're condoning an offence, staggles," said the commander in an undertone, with a humorous gleam in his eye.
-another coin tinkled on the deck. the commander promptly placed his foot on it to check its career towards the side.
-"where did that go?" asked the staff-paymaster, who, curiously enough, had a miserly regard for any money except his own, which he spent liberally.
-the commander shifted his foot and pointed to the retrieved coin; as he did so, another penny, hurtling through the air, hit him smartly on his bent neck and promptly slithered inside his collar and down his back.
-unfortunately the commander was a man of a most ticklish temperament. the contact of the metal disc with his back caused him to writhe like a lost soul in torment. he had recently unflinchingly faced death in a hotly-contested engagement in the north sea, but this rear attack completely unnerved him. his grotesque efforts to capture the elusive coin was too much for the rest of the officers and men. they were unable to conceal their amusement. finally the commander dived down below and divested himself of his uniform.
-just then the ship's steward appeared with the tin of condensed milk, and handed the unopened can to a seaman. away aloft the man made his way till he gained the cross-trees. owing to the "sunderland" altering her course she was swinging considerably to starboard, and the motion made the man advance cautiously, his feet sliding along the foot-ropes while he held on grimly with his free hand to the spar.
-a snarl warned the bluejacket that if he advanced it would be at his peril, and unwilling to risk an encounter with an agile monkey on the swaying yard, he followed the precept of discretion being the better part of valour, and regained the deck, leaving the spoils in the hands of the elated ape.
-presently the monkey had another disappointment. the intact tin baffled him. he tried his teeth upon it--but unavailingly, so he began to batter it upon the metal eye of a band encircling the spar.
-"there'll be an unholy mess, by jove!" ejaculated the commander, who had now reappeared upon the scene, for the tin showed signs of capitulating to the strenuous frontal attacks on the part of mephisto.
-"bring up another tin--and take care to open it this time," ordered the staff-paymaster recklessly, who had now taken the precaution of covering the pay-tables with a green baize cloth.
-"bang, bang, bang!" went the tin under the muscular efforts of mephisto. already large drops of the viscous fluid were descending upon the hallowed quarter-deck, bespattering officers and men indiscriminately, for owing to the ship's speed a strong current of air was drifting aft and spraying the stuff far and wide.
-"clear the quarter-deck," ordered the commander. "up aloft a couple of hands and collar the brute. by jove! if it gives much more trouble, i'll have it shot."
-suddenly, above the scuffling of feet as the men doubled for'ard, came the shout: "submarine on the port quarter."
-sharply the bugle sounded "action," and as the "sunderland" began to circle to starboard in answer to a quick movement of her helm, the quick-firers began to bark at a pole-like object four hundred yards off.
-the unexpected detonation, as a gun was discharged fifty feet under his nose, completed mephisto's brief spell of unalloyed liberty. temporarily stunned by the terrific concussion the monkey relaxed his grip and fell.
-just at that moment the staff-paymaster, who was scurrying below with one of the pay-trays, happened to be passing in the direct line of mephisto's descent. the next instant the portly officer was rolling on the deck in a puddle of condensed milk with the monkey's paws clutching at his scanty crop of hair, while to complete the staff-paymaster's discomfiture most of the money he was carrying rolled overboard.
-regaining his feet staff-paymaster staggles contrived to reach the companion, and with mephisto still firmly attached to him, disappeared below.
-but the men's attention was now directed towards more serious matters. an ever-diverging line that rippled the placid water denoted the approach of a deadly torpedo. now it was heading as if about to hit the bows of the "sunderland," a second later and the arrow-like ripples seemed to be approaching directly abeam; then, as the cruiser swung almost on her heel the wake of the formidable missile was merged into the churning froth astern. it had missed by a bare yard.
-from the fire-control platform telephone bells were clanging and men shouting through the voice-tubes. from their elevated position the watchers could discern a long, dark shadow that marked the position of the submarine.
-completely circling the "sunderland" was steadied on her helm and steered straight for the spot. in vain the submerged craft attempted to dive to a depth greater than that of her enemy's draught.
-terence, who was stationed on the after-bridge, felt a faint shock as the five thousand tons vessel literally cut the luckless submarine in twain. for a brief instant the lieutenant caught sight of the after-portion of the "u" boat, as, rendered buoyant by the trapped air, it drifted past. then amidst a smother of foam and oil the wreckage vanished.
-"the eleventh to my certain knowledge," remarked the commander, as coolly as if he were reckoning up the score at an athletic meeting.
-"any damage for'ard, mr. black?"
-"no, sir; all as tight as a bottle as far as i can see," replied the carpenter, who immediately after the impact had hurried below to see if any plates had been "started."
-a little later in the afternoon several of the ward-room officers were enjoying their cups of tea and biscuits, when the staff-paymaster entered.
-"well, staggles, what's the shortage?" asked the commander facetiously.
-the accountant officer eyed his tormentor reproachfully, as if that officer were responsible for his former discomfiture.
-"one pound three shillings and threepence--and two tins of condensed milk," he announced stiffly. "according to paragraph 445 of the admiralty instructions there will have to be two separate reports on the shortage."
-the staff-paymaster spoke seriously. the man was heart and soul in his work, and his mental horizon was bounded by official forms and other red-tapeism connected with the accountant branch of h.m. service.
-"what for?" inquired the staff-paymaster innocently.
-the commander entrenched himself behind a double number of an illustrated periodical.
-"for bringing mephisto in out of action," he replied with a chuckle.
-the foiled air raid.
-late that evening the "sunderland" brought up in the admiralty harbour at dover, in company with three other light cruisers, two monitors, and a flotilla of destroyers. all night long the men slept at their guns, while the cruiser's searchlights aided those of the forts both ashore and on the breakwater in sweeping the approach to the sheltered harbour.
-"nothing to report," announced barracombe, as aubyn relieved him as officer of the watch. "a jolly fine night. i shouldn't wonder if we were favoured by a visit from a zeppelin or two."
-"a pretty jamb in the harbour," said terence, giving a quick glance at the maze of vessels. "fortunately, i hear, we've several seaplanes at our disposal."
-barracombe wished his relief good-night and descended the ladder to retire to the seclusion of his cabin and sleep the sleep of exhaustion, for he had had a strenuous time before the cruiser left devonport.
-during the first hour nothing unusual occurred. the midshipman of the watch reported "rounds all correct, sir," to which aubyn replied with the stereotyped "very good." across the harbour came the faint hail of the night guard as the picquet boat studiously visited every vessel within the limits of the breakwater.
-the masthead light of the flagship began to blink. a signalman on the "sunderland's" bridge snatched up a slate.
-"general call, sir," he announced.
-deftly the man took down the message, then hurried to the chart-room to decipher the code.
-"submarine e27 reports three hostile aeroplanes passing s.w. by w. position eleven miles n.n.e. of north goodwin."
-the warning was a brief one, for hardly had the ship's company been called to their action stations when a faint buzzing, immediately becoming louder and louder, announced that the raiders were approaching the town and harbour of dover.
-searchlights flashed skywards, while from beneath the old castle on the lofty chalk cliffs half a dozen intrepid british airmen ascended to meet the foe. already the anti-aerial guns were stabbing the darkness with lurid spurts of flame, while their shells, bursting perilously close to the hostile aeroplanes, caused the calculating teutons to think better of the attempt.
-it was an easy matter to steal over an unfortified town or village and drop explosives; but for once the germans were to learn the wisdom of discrimination. higher and higher they banked, until catching a glimpse of the british seaplanes as they passed through the path of one of the searchlights they precipitately turned tail.
-"'sunderland' and destroyer flotilla to proceed in support of seaplanes," came the signal.
-hastily the pins of the mooring shackle were knocked out. steam was already raised, and in a very few minutes the light cruiser and her attendant destroyers were slipping between the heads of the detached breakwater and the admiralty pier.
-but swift as were the light cruisers the seaplanes were quicker. already they were five or six miles out to sea, their position being revealed by the flashes of the light guns as they exchanged shots with the fugitive taubes.
-suddenly with a dazzling flash a bomb exploded hardly twenty feet from the "sunderland's" starboard quarter. five seconds later another struck the water almost under the cruiser's bows, and a waft of evil-smelling gas drifted across the navigation bridge, causing officers and men to cough and gasp for breath.
-the captain tried to give an order, but was unable to utter a sound. mutely he signed for the helm to be put hard over.
-terence understood. literally groping his way through the thick vapour, that even in the darkness showed an unmistakable greenish hue, he found the quartermaster, who was clutching his throat and struggling for breath.
-pushing the man aside aubyn rapidly revolved the steam steering-gear. obediently the cruiser swung round, narrowly escaping a high explosive missile that, had she maintained her course, would have played havoc with her fo'c'sle.
-all around the "sunderland" the destroyers were dodging hither and thither in order to attempt to avoid the hail of bombs that rained from the sky. it was little short of a miracle that collisions did not take place, for owing to the darkness, the suffocating fumes from the missiles, and to the fact that most of the helmsmen were temporarily blinded and choked, all attempt at formation was out of the question.
-from the after-bridge of the cruiser a searchlight flashed skywards. for a few seconds even its powerful rays failed to penetrate the pall of smoke, till an eddying gust freed the "sunderland" from the noxious fumes.
-then the source of the mysterious missiles was revealed. at a height of over two thousand feet were a couple of zeppelins. taking advantage of the fact that the attention of the british seaplanes and destroyers was centred on the fugitive taubes, these giant airships, by reason of their altitude, were able to manoeuvre immediately above the flotilla.
-it was an opportunity too good to be missed, for although the objective of the zeppelins was a raid on london--they having decided upon a circuitous course over kent and sussex borders in order to avoid the air-stations at the isle of grain--the chance of raining a shower of bombs upon the british cruiser and her attendant destroyers was too tempting.
-for once, at least, the german admiralty had not been kept well posted as to the details of armament of the cruisers of the "town class," for the "sunderland" and her consorts had recently been equipped with a couple of 12-pounder anti-aircraft guns. these weapons fired a shell of unique character. somewhat resembling a shrapnel, the missile was packed with short lengths of chain and charged with a high explosive.
-almost as soon as the zeppelins were discovered both guns barked venomously. from the point of view of the observers on the "sunderland's" bridge the shells appeared to burst close to the frail targets. both airships were observed to pitch violently, while one, with her nose tilted downwards, began to descend.
-"she's done for!" exclaimed terence.
-a round of cheering burst from the throats of the crew. it seemed as if nothing could arrest the seaward plunge of one of the kaiser's gas-bags. not only had her bow compartments been holed but the nacelle containing the propelling machinery was completely wrecked.
-both zeppelins began to throw out ballast with frantic haste. they also released the whole of their remaining supply of bombs, which fell with a rapid series of deafening detonations more than half a mile from the nearest destroyer.
-with the release of the ballast the undamaged zeppelin shot skywards until her altitude was not less than ten thousand feet. comparatively safe for the time being from the effect of the anti-aircraft shells, she floated, a mere speck in the concentrated yet diminished glare of a dozen searchlights, and awaited events.
-meanwhile, the damaged zeppelin had checked her plunge, and, in spite of a hot fire, was slowly rising. by dint of strenuous efforts her crew succeeded in shifting aft the travelling weight that served to trim the unwieldy craft. even then her longitudinal axis was sharply inclined to the horizontal.
-everything that could be jettisoned was thrown overboard. guns, ammunition, stores, and the metal framework of the wrecked car were sacrificed, till without being hit by the british guns, she rose to a terrific height.
-"we've lost her!" exclaimed oswestry savagely.
-"one thing, she won't trouble us again," added the commander. "and i'm not so certain that she will get clear. we've wirelessed the seaplanes, and they'll have a chip in. hullo! what's the game now?"
-a searchlight flashed from the undamaged zeppelin and played in ever-widening circles until it picked up her damaged consort. the latter was consequently more plainly discernible to the crew of the "sunderland" than it had hitherto been, since the distance between the two airships was less than a thousand yards and was visibly decreasing.
-"they're going to take her in tow, by jove!" ejaculated aubyn, who had brought his binoculars to play upon the scene.
-oswestry gave a snort that implied disbelief in his brother-officer's assertion, but presently he exclaimed:--
-"well, blest if you aren't right, old man. and a deuced smart move," he added, with a true sailor's admiration for a smart manoeuvre, whether executed by friend or foe.
-"what a chance for our seaplanes!" said the torpedo lieutenant. "they ought to have been on the spot before this."
-"they're on the way all right, torps," declared the commander. "i wouldn't mind betting a month's pay that they've spotted their quarry. by jove, they've established communication!"
-the undamaged zeppelin had circled round her consort and was now forging gently ahead. an upward jerk of the other's bows announced that the strain on the towing hawser was beginning to be felt. gradually the hitherto uncontrollable airship began to gather way, both vessels rolling sluggishly in the light air-currents.
-the aerial searchlight had now been switched off, but by means of the rays directed from the british ships the progress of the two zeppelins could be followed as their huge shapes, showing ghost-like in the silvery light, moved slowly in a north-easterly direction.
-having resumed their respective stations the cruiser and the destroyer flotilla followed. owing to the greatly reduced speed of the hostile aircraft it was an easy matter to maintain a fixed relative distance between them and the british vessels, whose attention was divided between the prospect of an aerial meeting with seaplanes and the risk of being intercepted by the torpedo of a german submarine, to say nothing of floating mines.
-"she's cast off!" shouted a dozen voices.
-such was the case. the two zeppelins had parted company, one flying off at a terrific speed, rising rapidly as she did so, while the other, being without means of propulsion, drifted at the mercy of the winds.
-it was now dawn. the grey light of morning was already overcoming the strength of the searchlights and it was already possible to discern the outlines of the abandoned zeppelin by the natural light of day.
-pelting up from the eastward came the air squadron of seaplanes. half a dozen circled and started off in pursuit of the fugitive airship, which, travelling at high speed, was now but a faint speck against the ruddy sky.
-the rest advanced boldly upon the disabled zeppelin, although ignorant of the fact that she had jettisoned her guns, and, save for a few rifles, was without means of defence.
-the seaplanes' automatic guns spat viciously, and as the range decreased almost every shot began to tell. the huge fabric once more began to drop, as the small projectile ripped through the flimsy aluminium envelope.
-presently the seaplanes ceased firing and circled triumphantly over their vanquished foe. they knew that the zeppelin was doomed, and instincts of humanity forbade them to take undue advantage of the plight of her crew.
-"away, boats!" ordered the "sunderland's" captain.
-instantly there was a rush to man the boats and to stand by the falls. with an alacrity that was part of his nature, jack tar prepared to rescue his enemy, in spite of the fact that that enemy had sallied forth with the deliberate intention of hurling bombs with the utmost indiscrimination upon combatants and non-combatants alike, not excepting helpless women and children.
-before the boats could be lowered a lurid blaze of light rolled out, rivalling the rays of the rising sun. where the zeppelin had been only a cloud of flame-tinged smoke remained, while from the mushroomed pall of vapour that marked a funereal pyre of yet another unit of the kaiser's air-fleet, scorched and twisted girders and other débris streamed seawards.
-whether by accident or design the only remaining petrol tank had exploded, and the flames instantly igniting the huge volume of hydrogen had in the twinkling of an eye completed the work of destruction.
-for ten minutes the destroyers cruised over the spot where the débris had disappeared, but there were no signs of survivors, not even of wreckage. the remains of the zeppelin had been swallowed up by the insatiable sea, and no visible trophy remained in the hands of the men who had baulked an attempted raid on the largest city of the world.
-before the flotilla regained dover harbour the remaining seaplanes came in sight. unfortunately their efforts at pursuit were futile. the zeppelin developing a turn of speed far in excess of which she had been credited by her detractors, had shaken off the british aircraft, and when last seen she was high over the belgian coast.
-nevertheless, her wings had been clipped, although she survived to tell the tale that the hated english were still able vigorously and successfully to dispute the mastery of the air.
-"lieutenant aubyn, r.n., d.s.o."
-on the evening following the return of the "sunderland" to dover, terence obtained leave to go ashore in order to visit a brother-officer who, owing to his ship being under repairs, was temporarily installed in the lord warden hotel.
-aubyn was proceeding along the admiralty pier when his progress was barred by a tall, bronzed young fellow in the uniform of a flight-lieutenant of the naval air service.
-"hullo, aubyn, old man!" exclaimed the latter cordially, as he extended his hand. "forgotten me already?"
-"waynsford, by jove!" ejaculated terence. "bless you, dick, i never expected to see you here and in this rig. what has happened?"
-"oh, i chucked the motor boat reserve," declared waynsford. "it was a bit too dull. they sent me to southampton, and that was the limit. a superannuated postman could have done my job, which was delivering letters to transports. so i applied for the naval air service. it's more in my line."
-"been across yet?" asked terence, indicating the twenty odd mile strip of water that separated great britain from the scene of land hostilities.
-"dunkirk twice," replied waynsford. "was there when the germans started shelling the place. but we're off again early to-morrow morning."
-"yes, i heard," said aubyn. "big operations. we are to engage the zeebrugge and ostend batteries while the allied airmen play with the german lines of communication. so i may see something of you."
-"i hope so--after the fun is over," replied the young airman. "well, i must be moving. early hours and a good night's rest are essential to this sort of work."
-the two friends parted, terence making for the hotel, while waynsford walked off in the direction of the castle, in which the airmen detailed for the great raid were temporarily quartered.
-precisely at one hour before sunrise the first british waterplane rose from the surface of dover harbour. almost simultaneously an army aeroplane "kicked off" from the sloping ground beyond the chalk cliffs. each was followed at regular intervals, until a double row of swift air-craft flying with methodical precision headed towards the flanders shore.
-already the "sunderland" and three other light cruisers, accompanied by a torpedo-boat destroyer flotilla, were shaping a course for the belgian coast.
-off the east goodwins they were joined by two monitors and three pre-dreadnought battleships, and the battle line was formed. away steamed the destroyers to act as screens to the heavier vessels, and to guard them from submarine attack. the monitors led the main division, the cruisers acting as links between them and the battleships, which, owing to their greater draught, could not approach the coast nearer than a distance of from four to seven miles.
-from aubyn's point of view the forthcoming operations were entirely new. for the first time in his experience he was to take part in an action between ships and shore batteries, the latter being both fixed and mobile. it was a comparatively easy matter to plant shells into forts the position of which were known, but the germans had brought up heavy guns mounted on travelling platforms, which could be moved with considerable celerity behind the long, low-lying sand dunes between nieuport and zeebrugge.
-it was partly to locate the latter that the airmen had preceded the bombarding ships, and also to harass the enemy's lines of communication. moreover, hostile submarines were reported to have been brought in sections to zeebrugge, where they were being bolted together ready to take the offensive against the british vessels operating off the belgian coast.
-the "sunderland," like her consorts, was already cleared for action. all the crew were behind the protected portions of the ship, but the captain and seven of the officers elected to fight the ship not from the armoured conning-tower but from the fore-bridge.
-"by jove! they're at it already," exclaimed oswestry, as a series of rapid detonations came from across the dunes.
-by the aid of their glasses the officers could discern the fleecy mushrooms of smoke caused by the bursting of the anti-aerial guns directed against the british airmen. viewed from a distance it seemed impossible that a frail aeroplane could exist amid that tornado of shell.
-"wireless reports mobile battery three hundred yards sou'-sou'-east of clemskercke church, sir," reported a signalman.
-promptly the news was transmitted to the fire-control platform. in his lofty perch a gunnery-lieutenant was busy with a complication of instruments, assisted by a midshipman and three seamen.
-"fire-control to for'ard 6-inch gun: stand by!" came the telephonic order. "fire-control to port battery stand by."
-round swung the guns, "laid" by the master hand of the gunnery-lieutenant on the fire-control platform. docilely obedient to the delicate mechanism they reared their muzzles high in the air.
-then, with a crash that shook the ship, five of the 6-inch guns spoke simultaneously. to the accompaniment of a long-drawn shriek the 100-pound missiles hurtled through space.
-"eighty yards short," came the wireless report of the observing seaplane that, hovering a bare five hundred feet above the german mobile battery, had marked the point of impact of the shells.
-again a salvo was let loose. this time came the encouraging statement that the hostile guns were knocked clean out of action, and that swarms of artillerymen and infantry were scurrying across the dunes.
-the next discharge practically annihilated the fugitives. in one minute and twenty-five seconds the "sunderland's" particular task was accomplished. it was but the beginning, for acting upon orders from the flagship she was ordered to engage a battery at close range.
-meanwhile, the rest of the battleships and cruisers had not been idle. a perfect tornado of shell was being directed upon the belgian shore.
-"hard aport!" shouted the captain of the "sunderland."
-round swung the cruiser, only just avoiding the tell-tale line of bubbles that marked the track of a torpedo. with consummate daring a german submarine had dived under a part of the torpedo-boat destroyer flotilla, and had discharged a weapon at the british cruiser. the torpedo, having missed the "sunderland," was tearing straight for one of the monitors, which, having to go full speed astern to avoid a collision with a couple of damaged destroyers, was now practically stationary.
-owing to the light draught the weapon passed six feet beneath her keel, and finishing its run rose to the surface three hundred yards beyond; for, instead of the torpedo sinking at the end of its course, the germans, in direct contravention of the laws of naval warfare, had closed the sinking valve so that the torpedo virtually became a floating mine.
-in this instance the trick did not avail, for a well-directed shot from one of the monitor's quick-firers exploded the war-head and sent the missile into a thousand fragments.
-"a feeble reply," observed oswestry to terence. "these fellows seem afraid to stand to their guns."
-even as he spoke the air was torn by a terrific salvo of shells from powerful batteries hitherto well concealed in the dunes. the "sunderland," being fairly close, seemed the special mark, for in six seconds she received as many direct hits. one of her funnels showed a jagged gash ten feet in length and was only prevented from toppling overboard by the steel-wire guys. a three-pounder gun, that fortunately was not manned, was blown completely from its mountings, while the rest of the shells passed clean through the unprotected parts of the ship, totally wrecking the ward-room and the stokers' mess-deck.
-terence felt a strong desire to make a hasty rush for the shelter of the conning-tower, for splinters were flying and wafts of pungent smoke from the hostile shells were drifting over the bridge, but the sight of his captain standing cool and collected and without a vestige of protection tended to restore his confidence.
-with unabated fury her guns replied to the german fire. the "sunderland" proved that she could receive as well as give hard knocks.
-it was time to give the almost overheated starboard guns a chance to cool, so orders were given for the helm to be starboarded. seeing the cruiser in the act of turning, a destroyer tore across her bows, purposely throwing out huge volumes of black smoke from her four funnels in order to mask the "sunderland" as she circled.
-terence recognized the destroyer as his old ship the "livingstone," as she darted swiftly round the turning cruiser, then, leaving a thick pall of smoke in her wake, hastened off to assist another destroyer that was evidently in difficulties.
-the "livingstone's" manoeuvre undoubtedly saved the "sunderland" from destruction, for a fifty-two centimetre shell, aimed to hit the exact position where the cruiser would have been had she not altered course, struck the water with a tremendous splash not fifty yards on her beam.
-before the "sunderland" had drawn clear of the friendly cloud of smoke she had increased her distance from shore by nearly five cables' lengths; while, until the german gunners had found the range anew, she was able to enjoy a brief respite.
-"seaplanes returning," announced the gunnery-lieutenant on the fire-control platform, who from his elevated post could command a wide and almost uninterrupted view.
-their task done, the seaplanes, which had been engaged in dropping bombs on the railway stations in the rear of the german batteries, were on their homeward way. anxiously terence counted them. thank heaven! not one was missing.
-apparently the last but one of the aerial procession was in difficulties, for the seaplane was rocking violently, and in spite of a dangerous tilt of the elevating planes was appreciably descending.
-suddenly the frail craft plunged, literally on end, towards the sea, the force of gravity, acting with the pull of the propeller, greatly increasing its velocity.
-"by jove! he'll be drowned for a dead cert," exclaimed terence, for he knew for a fact that the aviator had not been thrown from the chassis when the seaplane "looped the loop," and in consequence must be strapped to his seat.
-"away sea-boat," ordered the captain, at the same time giving directions for both engines to be reversed.
-the "sunderland" was considerably the nearest warship to the descending airman. already the "livingstone" and her two sister-ship destroyers were a mile or so away, and wearing at full speed to investigate a suspicious swirl in the water.
-shells were again dropping unpleasantly near to the cruiser as aubyn hurried towards the boat which was, owing to being cleared for action, secured inboard, abreast the after funnel.
-before he reached this spot the seaplane had struck the surface of the water. falling obliquely and at a sharp angle, the impact had shattered one of the floats. when the cascade of spray had subsided the wrecked craft could be seen still afloat but listing acutely. the aviator had survived the shock and was hurriedly unbuckling the strap that held him to his seat.
-"boat's done for, sir," announced one of the would-be crew. such was the case. the explosion of a shell had wrenched her keel and garboards out of her.
-"then overboard with that!" ordered terence, indicating a carley life-buoy, which, though scorched by the blast of the shells, was still practically intact.
-the carley life-buoy is a "new departure" in life-saving appliances on board ships of the royal navy. it is a glorified edition of an ordinary buoy, but elongated in shape and provided with gratings, and capable of being propelled by oars.
-half a dozen bluejackets seized the huge buoy and slung it overboard. held by means of a line it floated alongside the cruiser until terence and three men clambered into it.
-although the rate of propulsion was not by any means so rapid as that of a boat the progress of the rescuers was far from slow. more than once they were splashed by the spray thrown up by a ricochetting projectile, as the german gunlayers were gradually correcting their aim, yet unscathed the rescue party came alongside the gradually sinking seaplane.
-"hullo, aubyn!" shouted a well-known voice.
-the airman was waynsford. in his pneumatic helmet and huge goggles he was unrecognizable, but his voice proclaimed his identity.
-"hurt, old man?" asked terence.
-"not a bit," replied waynsford coolly. "they clipped a couple of stays just as i was getting out of range. but we did the trick, by jove! blew the railway station to jericho."
-"hurry up," interposed terence. "she's going."
-the young airman methodically gathered together several important instruments, and giving a final look round at the aircraft that had served him so faithfully, stepped into the waiting "carley."
-before the men had pulled five yards the wrecked machine gave a lurch and capsized completely. supported by trapped air in the partially intact float the seaplane sank slowly, and with hardly a ripple disappeared from view.
-with the least possible delay rescuers and rescued were taken on board the cruiser. gathering way the "sunderland" steamed in a westerly direction in order to baffle the range of the shore batteries, using her after guns with terrific speed.
-somewhat unceremoniously leaving his friend terence hastened towards the bridge. just as he was abreast of the wreckage of the shattered funnel a deafening detonation, that completely surpassed the roar of the cruiser's guns, seemed to burst over his head. staggering under the blast of the explosion and temporarily blinded by the pungent smoke, the lieutenant groped his way until his progress was checked by a jagged mass of plating rendered almost red-hot by the impact of a huge shell.
-recoiling, he stood stock still for quite thirty seconds, his senses numbed by the nerve-racking concussion. then, as the smoke drifted away, he could discern the débris of the bridge. charthouse, stanchions, semaphore, signal-lockers--all had vanished, and with them the captain and those of the officers and men who had dared fate by rejecting the shelter afforded by the conning-tower, which, stripped of its surroundings, stood out a gaunt, fire-pitted steel box.
-the shell, a 42-centimetre, had literally cleared the forepart of the ship, from the for'ard 6-inch gun to the second funnel. everything in its path had been literally pulverized, with the exception of the conning-tower. had the projectile burst on or below the main deck the fate of the "sunderland" would have been sealed; as it was, she was still intact under the waterline.
-instinctively aubyn realized that the ship was not under control. steaming rapidly she was heading towards the "bradford"--her sister ship--which was steering in a north-easterly direction at about five cables' distance on her port bow.
-with a tremendous effort of will-power terence cleared at a bound the formidable glowing plate of metal that obstructed his path. making his way across the scorched and splintered planks, some of which gave under his weight, he reached the entrance to the conning-tower.
-the steel citadel was full of acrid-smelling smoke that eddied in the air-currents which drifted in through the observation slits.
-bending, and holding his left hand over his mouth and nostrils, terence entered. as he did so he stumbled over the body of the quartermaster.
-propped against the circular walls were the first lieutenant and two seamen. all the occupants of the conning-tower had been overcome by the noxious fumes from the highly-charged projectile.
-gasping for fresh air terence flung himself upon the steam-steering gear and put the helm hard over. a glimpse through one of the slits revealed the fact that the cruiser was answering to her helm. yet so narrowly had a collision been averted that the "sunderland's" starboard side was within twenty feet of the "bradford's" port quarter as the two vessels swung apart.
-the guns were now silent, for with the destruction of the foremast the fire-control platform and its occupants had been swept out of existence. the cruiser was temporarily out of action.
-terence was beginning to feel dizzy and faint. why, he knew not. perhaps it was the pungent fumes. leaning over the mouthpiece of the speaking tube he ordered a couple of quartermasters to be sent to the conning-tower. he could hardly recognize the sound of his own voice. it seemed miles away.
-again he looked ahead. the cruiser was still drawing further and further out of range. having satisfied himself on that score and that there was no fresh danger of colliding with any of the rest of the fleet, he staggered into the open air and leaned heavily against the outer wall of the conning-tower, he was barely conscious that the metal was still hot.
-up came the quartermasters. at their heels was a sub-lieutenant, his face grimed with smoke and his uniform torn.
-"take over, garboard," ordered the lieutenant brokenly. "report to the flagship and ask instructions. i'm feeling deucedly queer."
-"why, you're wounded!" exclaimed the sub-lieutenant, noticing a dark and increasing patch upon aubyn's coat.
-"am i?" asked terence incredulously.
-turning his head to ascertain the nature of his injury, of which hitherto he was unconscious, his shoulder slipped along the curved steel wall. garboard was only just in time to save him from collapsing inertly upon the deck of the ship he had brought safely out of action.
-"congratulations, old man. you'll have to get your tailor to make some alteration in your uniform."
-"what do you mean?" asked terence.
-two months had elapsed since the day on which lieutenant aubyn had received a dangerous wound in his right side in the fight off ostend.
-he was sitting in the grounds of the royal naval hospital at chatham, having made a fairly rapid recovery.
-the officer who offered his congratulations was oswestry, the torpedo-lieutenant of the "sunderland," who was also a convalescent, having managed to intercept a flying fragment of metal during the momentous engagement.
-"torps" flourished a newspaper with his left hand, for his right arm was in a sling.
-"stop press--latest news and appointments," he read. "the admiralty has approved of the following transfer. from r.n.r. to r.n.: lieutenant terence aubyn, to date 3rd of june, 1915."
-for a moment terence looked incredulously at the torpedo-lieutenant. "torps," he knew, was fond of a practical joke, but if he were playing a prank it was carrying the game a little too far.
-"here you are," continued oswestry, noting the expression on terence's face. "read it for yourself."
-"it's worth getting this," said aubyn, indicating the position of his wound. "all i want now is to be afloat again."
-"young fire-eater!" exclaimed "torps" facetiously. "don't you worry--you'll have a look-in before the day comes. by jove, aubyn, you'll have to ask the surgeon if he'll allow you to hold a fête----"
-the crunching of boots upon the gravel path caused both officers to turn. standing at attention was a marine orderly; behind him a telegraph boy.
-"congratulations pouring in already," remarked "torps."
-terence took the buff envelope and opened it.
-"great scott!" he exclaimed brokenly, and without another word he handed the telegram to his companion.
-"it never rains but it pours," quoted "torps." "you'll attain flag-rank in another fifteen years, mark my words. lieutenant aubyn, d.s.o."
-the "wire" was a private tip from a personal friend at the admiralty, informing terence that his majesty had been graciously pleased to bestow upon him the distinguished service order for gallantry in bringing h.m.s. "sunderland" out of action during operations off the belgian coast.
-"torps" was not far short of the mark, for a d.s.o. almost invariably means a rapid promotion to the fortunate and heroic recipient.
-"flag-rank," echoed terence. "there's plenty of time for that. meanwhile, that's where duty calls," and with a wave of his hand he indicated the distant north sea, on which the supreme contest for the supremacy of the waves will prove that the heritage of nelson is still worthily upheld by britannia's sons.
-aberdeen: the university press
-this book contains a number of misprints. the following misprints have been corrected:
-a few cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are not mentioned here.
-by john galsworthy
-contents: the fugitive the pigeon the mob
-a play in four acts
-persons of the play
-george dedmond, a civilian clare, his wife general sir charles dedmond, k.c.b., his father. lady dedmond, his mother reginald huntingdon, clare's brother edward fullarton, her friend dorothy fullarton, her friend paynter, a manservant burney, a maid twisden, a solicitor haywood, a tobacconist malise, a writer mrs. miler, his caretaker the porter at his lodgings a boy messenger arnaud, a waiter at "the gascony" mr. varley, manager of "the gascony" two ladies with large hats, a lady and gentleman, a languid lord, his companion, a young man, a blond gentleman, a dark gentleman.
-act i. george dedmond's flat. evening.
-act ii. the rooms of malise. morning.
-act iii. scene i. the rooms of malice. late afternoon.
-between acts i and ii three nights elapse.
-between acts ii and act iii, scene i, three months.
-between act iii, scene i, and act iii, scene ii, three months.
-between act iii, scene ii, and act iv, six months.
-"with a hey-ho chivy hark forrard, hark forrard, tantivy!"
-the scene is the pretty drawing-room of a flat. there are two doors, one open into the hall, the other shut and curtained. through a large bay window, the curtains of which are not yet drawn, the towers of westminster can be seen darkening in a summer sunset; a grand piano stands across one corner. the man-servant paynter, clean-shaven and discreet, is arranging two tables for bridge.
-burney, the maid, a girl with one of those flowery botticellian faces only met with in england, comes in through the curtained door, which she leaves open, disclosing the glimpse of a white wall. paynter looks up at her; she shakes her head, with an expression of concern.
-paynter. where's she gone?
-burney. just walks about, i fancy.
-paynter. she and the governor don't hit it! one of these days she'll flit--you'll see. i like her--she's a lady; but these thoroughbred 'uns--it's their skin and their mouths. they'll go till they drop if they like the job, and if they don't, it's nothing but jib--jib--jib. how was it down there before she married him?
-burney. oh! quiet, of course.
-paynter. country homes--i know 'em. what's her father, the old rector, like?
-burney. oh! very steady old man. the mother dead long before i took the place.
-paynter. not a penny, i suppose?
-burney withdraws through the curtained door.
-george dedmond enters from the hall. he is in evening dress, opera hat, and overcoat; his face is broad, comely, glossily shaved, but with neat moustaches. his eyes, clear, small, and blue-grey, have little speculation. his hair is well brushed.
-paynter. i asked the mistress, sir.
-george. in future--see?
-but george has crossed to the curtained door; he opens it and says: "clare!" receiving no answer, he goes in. paynter switches up the electric light. his face, turned towards the curtained door, is apprehensive.
-paynter. i hardly know, sir.
-george. dined in?
-paynter. she had a mere nothing at seven, sir.
-george. has she gone out, since?
-paynter. yes, sir--that is, yes. the--er--mistress was not dressed at all. a little matter of fresh air, i think; sir.
-george. what time did my mother say they'd be here for bridge?
-paynter. sir charles and lady dedmond were coming at half-past nine; and captain huntingdon, too--mr. and mrs. fullarton might be a bit late, sir.
-george. it's that now. your mistress said nothing?
-paynter. not to me, sir.
-george. send burney.
-george stares gloomily at the card tables. burney comes in front the hall.
-george. did your mistress say anything before she went out?
-burney. yes, sir.
-burney. i don't think she meant it, sir.
-george. i don't want to know what you don't think, i want the fact.
-burney. yes, sir. the mistress said: "i hope it'll be a pleasant evening, burney!"
-burney. i've put out the mistress's things, sir.
-he again goes to the curtained door, and passes through. paynter, coming in from the hall, announces: "general sir charles and lady dedmond." sir charles is an upright, well-groomed, grey-moustached, red-faced man of sixty-seven, with a keen eye for molehills, and none at all for mountains. lady dedmond has a firm, thin face, full of capability and decision, not without kindliness; and faintly weathered, as if she had faced many situations in many parts of the world. she is fifty five.
-sir charles. hullo! where are they? h'm!
-as he speaks, george re-enters.
-george. afraid she's late.
-lady dedmond. are we early?
-george. as a matter of fact, she's not in.
-lady dedmond. oh?
-sir charles. h'm! not--not had a rumpus?
-sir charles. gone out on purpose? what!
-lady dedmond. what was the trouble?
-george. i told her this morning you were coming in to bridge. appears she'd asked that fellow malise, for music.
-lady dedmond. without letting you know?
-george. i believe she did tell me.
-lady dedmond. but surely----
-george. i don't want to discuss it. there's never anything in particular. we're all anyhow, as you know.
-sir charles. who's that?
-lady dedmond. that mr. malise.
-sir charles. oh! that chap!
-george. clare isn't that sort.
-lady dedmond. i know. but she catches up notions very easily. i think it's a great pity you ever came across him.
-sir charles. where did you pick him up?
-george. italy--this spring--some place or other where they couldn't speak english.
-sir charles. um! that's the worst of travellin'.
-sir charles. we'll make him play bridge. do him good, if he's that sort of fellow.
-lady dedmond. is anyone else coming?
-george. reggie huntingdon, and the fullartons.
-george. god knows! i try, and i believe she does.
-sir charles. it's distressin'--for us, you know, my dear fellow-- distressin'.
-lady dedmond. i know it's been going on for a long time.
-george. oh! leave it alone, mother.
-lady dedmond. but, george, i'm afraid this man has brought it to a point--put ideas into her head.
-george. you can't dislike him more than i do. but there's nothing one can object to.
-lady dedmond. could reggie huntingdon do anything, now he's home? brothers sometimes----
-george. i can't bear my affairs being messed about----
-lady dedmond. well! it would be better for you and clare to be supposed to be out together, than for her to be out alone. go quietly into the dining-room and wait for her.
-sir charles. good! leave your mother to make up something. she'll do it!
-lady dedmond. that may be he. quick!
-george goes out into the hall, leaving the door open in his haste. lady dedmond, following, calls "paynter!" paynter enters.
-lady dedmond. don't say anything about your master and mistress being out. i'll explain.
-paynter. the master, my lady?
-lady dedmond. yes, i know. but you needn't say so. do you understand?
-sir charles. by jove! that fellow smells a rat!
-lady dedmond. be careful, charles!
-sir charles. i should think so.
-lady dedmond. i shall simply say they're dining out, and that we're not to wait bridge for them.
-paynter, reappearing, announces: "captain huntingdon." sir charles and lady dedmond turn to him with relief.
-lady dedmond. ah! it's you, reginald!
-she charles. what!
-huntingdon. i was going into the dining-room to get rid of my cigar; and he said: "not in there, sir. the master's there, but my instructions are to the effect that he's not."
-she charles. i knew that fellow----
-lady dedmond. the fact is, reginald, clare's out, and george is waiting for her. it's so important people shouldn't----
-they draw together, as people do, discussing the misfortunes of members of their families.
-lady dedmond. it's getting serious, reginald. i don't know what's to become of them. you don't think the rector--you don't think your father would speak to clare?
-huntingdon. afraid the governor's hardly well enough. he takes anything of that sort to heart so--especially clare.
-sir charles. can't you put in a word yourself?
-huntingdon. don't know where the mischief lies.
-sir charles. i'm sure george doesn't gallop her on the road. very steady-goin' fellow, old george.
-huntingdon. oh, yes; george is all right, sir.
-lady dedmond. they ought to have had children.
-huntingdon. expect they're pretty glad now they haven't. i really don't know what to say, ma'am.
-sir charles. saving your presence, you know, reginald, i've often noticed parsons' daughters grow up queer. get too much morality and rice puddin'.
-sir charles. what was she like when you were kids?
-sir charles. i'm fond of her. nothing she wants that she hasn't got, is there?
-huntingdon. never heard her say so.
-lady dedmond. there's a mr. malise coming here to-night. i forget if you know him.
-huntingdon. yes. rather a thorough-bred mongrel.
-huntingdon. i asked greyman, the novelist, about him; seems he's a bit of an ishmaelite, even among those fellows. can't see clare----
-sir charles. what are we goin' to say?
-huntingdon. say they're dining out, and we're not to wait bridge for them.
-sir charles. good!
-the door is opened, and paynter announces "mr. kenneth malise." malise enters. he is a tall man, about thirty-five, with a strongly marked, dark, irregular, ironic face, and eyes which seem to have needles in their pupils. his thick hair is rather untidy, and his dress clothes not too new.
-lady dedmond. how do you do? my son and daughter-in-law are so very sorry. they'll be here directly.
-huntingdon. we've met, i think.
-he gives malise that peculiar smiling stare, which seems to warn the person bowed to of the sort of person he is. malise's eyes sparkle.
-lady dedmond. clare will be so grieved. one of those invitations
-malise. on the spur of the moment.
-sir charles. you play bridge, sir?
-malise. afraid not!
-sir charles. don't mean that? then we shall have to wait for 'em.
-lady dedmond. i forget, mr. malise--you write, don't you?
-malise. such is my weakness.
-lady dedmond. delightful profession.
-sir charles. doesn't tie you! what!
-malise. only by the head.
-sir charles. i'm always thinkin' of writin' my experiences.
-malise. too much.
-sir charles. ah! must smoke when you think a lot.
-malise. or think when you smoke a lot.
-the door is opened. clare dedmond in a cream-coloured evening frock comes in from the hall, followed by george. she is rather pale, of middle height, with a beautiful figure, wavy brown hair, full, smiling lips, and large grey mesmeric eyes, one of those women all vibration, iced over with a trained stoicism of voice and manner.
-lady dedmond. well, my dear!
-sir charles. ah! george. good dinner?
-george. paynter! take that table into the dining room.
-malise. let me give you a hand.
-paynter and malise carry one of the bridge tables out, george making a half-hearted attempt to relieve malise.
-sir charles. very fine sunset!
-quite softly clare begins to laugh. all look at her first with surprise, then with offence, then almost with horror. george is about to go up to her, but huntingdon heads him off.
-huntingdon. bring the tray along, old man.
-george takes up the tray, stops to look at clare, then allows huntingdon to shepherd him out.
-malise. never apologize for being fey. it's much too rare.
-malise. don't spoil it!
-clare. i'd been walking up and down the embankment for about three hours. one does get desperate sometimes.
-malise. thank god for that!
-clare. only makes it worse afterwards. it seems so frightful to them, too.
-malise. mrs. dedmond, there's a whole world outside yours. why don't you spread your wings?
-malise. prison. break out!
-malise. thank god for beauty!
-malise. who are they?
-she goes forward. mrs. fullerton is a rather tall woman, with dark hair and a quick eye. he, one of those clean-shaven naval men of good presence who have retired from the sea, but not from their susceptibility.
-clare. they're playing bridge in the dining-room. mr. malise doesn't play. mr. malise--mrs. fullarton, mr. fullarton.
-fullarton. most awfully jolly dress, mrs. dedmond.
-malise. i'll say good-night.
-he shakes hands with clare, bows to mrs. fullarton, and makes his way out. huntingdon and fullerton foregather in the doorway.
-mrs. fullarton. why not?
-clare. i don't want to torture him. if i strike--i'll go clean. i expect i shall strike.
-mrs. fullarton. my dear! you'll have the whole world against you.
-clare. even you won't back me, dolly?
-mrs. fullarton. of course i'll back you, all that's possible, but i can't invent things.
-clare. you wouldn't let me come to you for a bit, till i could find my feet?
-mrs. fullarton, taken aback, cannot refrain from her glance at fullarton automatically gazing at clare while he talks with huntingdon.
-mrs. fullarton. of course--the only thing is that----
-mrs. fullarton. oh! don't do anything desperate, clare--you are so desperate sometimes. you ought to make terms--not tracks.
-mrs. fullarton. but, clare----
-clare. no, dolly; even you don't understand. all day and every day --just as far apart as we can be--and still--jolly, isn't it? if you've got a soul at all.
-mrs. fullarton. it's awful, really.
-clare. i suppose there are lots of women who feel as i do, and go on with it; only, you see, i happen to have something in me that--comes to an end. can't endure beyond a certain time, ever.
-she has taken a flower from her dress, and suddenly tears it to bits. it is the only sign of emotion she has given.
-huntingdon sees them out. left alone clare clenches her hands, moves swiftly across to the window, and stands looking out.
-clare. well, reggie?
-clare. get married, and find out after a year that she's the wrong person; so wrong that you can't exchange a single real thought; that your blood runs cold when she kisses you--then you'll know.
-huntingdon. my dear old girl, i don't want to be a brute; but it's a bit difficult to believe in that, except in novels.
-clare. yes, incredible, when you haven't tried.
-huntingdon. i mean, you--you chose him yourself. no one forced you to marry him.
-clare. it does seem monstrous, doesn't it?
-huntingdon. my dear child, do give us a reason.
-clare. it's not all--it's nothing. i can't explain, reggie--it's not reason, at all; it's--it's like being underground in a damp cell; it's like knowing you'll never get out. nothing coming--never anything coming again-never anything.
-clare. i know.
-huntingdon. and you've got to think of the girls. any trouble would be very beastly for them. and the poor old governor would feel it awfully.
-clare. if i didn't know all that, reggie, i should have gone home long ago.
-huntingdon. well, what's to be done? if my pay would run to it--but it simply won't.
-clare. thanks, old boy, of course not.
-huntingdon. can't you try to see george's side of it a bit?
-clare. i do. oh! don't let's talk about it.
-huntingdon. well, my child, there's just one thing you won't go sailing near the wind, will you? i mean, there are fellows always on the lookout.
-clare. "that chap, malise, you'd better avoid him!" why?
-huntingdon. well! i don't know him. he may be all right, but he's not our sort. and you're too pretty to go on the tack of the new woman and that kind of thing--haven't been brought up to it.
-huntingdon. don't head for trouble, old girl. take a pull. bless you! good-night.
-clare kisses him, and when he has gone turns away from the door, holding herself in, refusing to give rein to some outburst of emotion. suddenly she sits down at the untouched bridge table, leaning her bare elbows on it and her chin on her hands, quite calm. george is coming in. paynter follows him.
-clare. nothing more wanted, thank you, paynter. you can go home, and the maids can go to bed.
-paynter. we are much obliged, ma'am.
-clare. i ran over a dog, and had to get it seen to.
-paynter. naturally, ma'am!
-paynter. i couldn't get you a little anything, ma'am?
-clare. no, thank you.
-paynter. no, ma'am. good-night, ma'am.
-clare. is it worth while to rag me? i know i've behaved badly, but i couldn't help it, really!
-george. couldn't help behaving like a shop-girl? my god! you were brought up as well as i was.
-george. to let everybody see that we don't get on--there's only one word for it--disgusting!
-clare. i know.
-clare. i'm sorry.
-clare. no--really! only--i must break out sometimes.
-george. there are things one does not do.
-clare. i came in because i was sorry.
-george. and at once began to do it again! it seems to me you delight in rows.
-clare. you'd miss your--reconciliations.
-george. for god's sake, clare, drop cynicism!
-clare. and truth?
-george. you are my wife, i suppose.
-clare. and they twain shall be one--spirit.
-george. don't talk wild nonsense!
-clare. five years, and four of them like this! i'm sure we've served our time. don't you really think we might get on better together--if i went away?
-george. i've told you i won't stand a separation for no real reason, and have your name bandied about all over london. i have some primitive sense of honour.
-clare. you mean your name, don't you?
-george. look here. did that fellow malise put all this into your head?
-clare. no; my own evil nature.
-george. i wish the deuce we'd never met him. comes of picking up people you know nothing of. i distrust him--and his looks--and his infernal satiric way. he can't even 'dress decently. he's not--good form.
-george. why do you let him come? what d'you find interesting in him?
-clare. a mind.
-george. deuced funny one! to have a mind--as you call it--it's not necessary to talk about art and literature.
-clare. we don't.
-clare. you had better ask him.
-george. i tell you plainly, as a man of the world, i don't believe in the guide, philosopher and friend business.
-clare. thank you.
-a silence. clare suddenly clasps her hands behind her head.
-clare. let me go! you'd be much happier with any other woman.
-clare. i believe--i'm sure i could earn my living. quite serious.
-george. are you mad?
-clare. it has been done.
-george. it will never be done by you--understand that!
-clare. it really is time we parted. i'd go clean out of your life. i don't want your support unless i'm giving you something for your money.
-george. once for all, i don't mean to allow you to make fools of us both.
-clare. but if we are already! look at us. we go on, and on. we're a spectacle!
-george. that's not my opinion; nor the opinion of anyone, so long as you behave yourself.
-clare. that is--behave as you think right.
-george. clare, you're pretty riling.
-clare. i don't want to be horrid. but i am in earnest this time.
-george. so am i.
-george. look here! i'm sorry. god knows i don't want to be a brute. i know you're not happy.
-clare. and you--are you happy?
-george. i don't say i am. but why can't we be?
-clare. i see no reason, except that you are you, and i am i.
-george. we can try.
-clare. i have--haven't you?
-george. we used----
-clare. i wonder!
-george. you know we did.
-clare. too long ago--if ever.
-george. we've got to face the facts.
-clare. i thought i was.
-george. the facts are that we're married--for better or worse, and certain things are expected of us. it's suicide for you, and folly for me, in my position, to ignore that. you have all you can reasonably want; and i don't--don't wish for any change. if you could bring anything against me--if i drank, or knocked about town, or expected too much of you. i'm not unreasonable in any way, that i can see.
-clare. well, i think we've talked enough.
-george. look here, clare; you don't mean you're expecting me to put up with the position of a man who's neither married nor unmarried? that's simple purgatory. you ought to know.
-clare. yes. i haven't yet, have i?
-george. don't go like that! do you suppose we're the only couple who've found things aren't what they thought, and have to put up with each other and make the best of it.
-clare. not by thousands.
-george. well, why do you imagine they do it?
-clare. i don't know.
-george. from a common sense of decency.
-clare moves her head from side to side, as if in sight of something she could not avoid. he puts his hand on her arm.
-clare. no, no--no!
-clare. i don't feel very christian.
-she opens the door, passes through, and closes it behind her. george steps quickly towards it, stops, and turns back into the room. he goes to the window and stands looking out; shuts it with a bang, and again contemplates the door. moving forward, he rests his hand on the deserted card table, clutching its edge, and muttering. then he crosses to the door into the hall and switches off the light. he opens the door to go out, then stands again irresolute in the darkness and heaves a heavy sigh. suddenly he mutters: "no!" crosses resolutely back to the curtained door, and opens it. in the gleam of light clare is standing, unhooking a necklet.
-he goes in, shutting the door behind him with a thud.
-the scene is a large, whitewashed, disordered room, whose outer door opens on to a corridor and stairway. doors on either side lead to other rooms. on the walls are unframed reproductions of fine pictures, secured with tintacks. an old wine-coloured armchair of low and comfortable appearance, near the centre of the room, is surrounded by a litter of manuscripts, books, ink, pens and newspapers, as though some one had already been up to his neck in labour, though by a grandfather's clock it is only eleven. on a smallish table close by, are sheets of paper, cigarette ends, and two claret bottles. there are many books on shelves, and on the floor, an overflowing pile, whereon rests a soft hat, and a black knobby stick. malise sits in his armchair, garbed in trousers, dressing-gown, and slippers, unshaved and uncollared, writing. he pauses, smiles, lights a cigarette, and tries the rhythm of the last sentence, holding up a sheet of quarto ms.
-malise. "not a word, not a whisper of liberty from all those excellent frock-coated gentlemen--not a sign, not a grimace. only the monumental silence of their profound deference before triumphant tyranny."
-while he speaks, a substantial woman, a little over middle-age, in old dark clothes and a black straw hat, enters from the corridor. she goes to a cupboard, brings out from it an apron and a bissell broom. her movements are slow and imperturbable, as if she had much time before her. her face is broad and dark, with chinese eyebrows.
-malise. wait, mrs. miller!
-mrs. miler. i'm gettin' be'ind'and, sir.
-she comes and stands before him. malise writes.
-mrs. miler. there's a man 'angin' about below.
-malise looks up; seeing that she has roused his attention, she stops. but as soon as he is about to write again, goes on.
-mrs. miler. i see him first yesterday afternoon. i'd just been out to get meself a pennyworth o' soda, an' as i come in i passed 'im on the second floor, lookin' at me with an air of suspicion. i thought to meself at the time, i thought: you're a'andy sort of 'ang-dog man.
-malise. what's he like, this gentleman?
-mrs. miler. just like the men you see on the front page o' the daily papers. nasty, smooth-lookin' feller, with one o' them billycock hats you can't abide.
-malise. isn't he a dun?
-malise. you can get on now; i'm going to shave.
-he looks at the clock, and passes out into the inner room. mrs. miler, gazes round her, pins up her skirt, sits down in the armchair, takes off her hat and puts it on the table, and slowly rolls up her sleeves; then with her hands on her knees she rests. there is a soft knock on the door. she gets up leisurely and moves flat-footed towards it. the door being opened clare is revealed.
-clare. is mr. malise in?
-mrs. miler. yes. but 'e's dressin'.
-mrs. miler. won't take 'im long. what name?
-clare. would you say--a lady.
-clare. i'm sure you are.
-mrs. miler. he likes 'is 'abits regular.
-making a perfunctory pass with the bissell broom, she runs it to the cupboard, comes back to the table, takes up a bottle and holds it to the light; finding it empty, she turns it upside down and drops it into the wastepaper basket; then, holding up the other bottle, and finding it not empty, she corks it and drops it into the fold of her skirt.
-mrs. miler. he takes his claret fresh-opened--not like these 'ere bawgwars.
-mrs. miler. mr. malise is not in my confidence. we keep each other to ourselves. perhaps you'd like to read the paper; he has it fresh every mornin'--the westminister.
-she lifts a green paper screw of tobacco from the debris round the armchair and taps on the door. it opens. clare moves restlessly across the room.
-clare has stopped before a reproduction of titian's picture "sacred and profane love." mrs. miler stands regarding her with a chinese smile. malise enters, a thread of tobacco still hanging to his cheek.
-malise. jolly of you to come. can i do anything?
-clare. i want advice-badly.
-malise. what! spreading your wings?
-malise. ah! proud to have given you that advice. when?
-clare. the morning after you gave it me . . .
-clare. i went down to my people. i knew it would hurt my dad frightfully, but somehow i thought i could make him see. no good. he was awfully sweet, only--he couldn't.
-clare. it was horrible. there were the children--and my old nurse. i could never live at home now. they'd think i was----. impossible --utterly! i'd made up my mind to go back to my owner--and then-- he came down himself. i couldn't d it. to be hauled back and begin all over again; i simply couldn't. i watched for a chance; and ran to the station, and came up to an hotel.
-clare. i don't know--no pluck this morning! you see, i've got to earn my living--no money; only a few things i can sell. all yesterday i was walking about, looking at the women. how does anyone ever get a chance?
-malise. sooner than you should hurt his dignity by working, your husband would pension you off.
-clare. if i don't go back to him i couldn't take it.
-clare. i've thought of nursing, but it's a long training, and i do so hate watching pain. the fact is, i'm pretty hopeless; can't even do art work. i came to ask you about the stage.
-clare. my brother's got nothing to spare, and he wants to get married; and he's going back to india in september. the only friend i should care to bother is mrs. fullarton, and she's--got a husband.
-malise. i remember the gentleman.
-clare. besides, i should be besieged day and night to go back. i must lie doggo somehow.
-malise. it makes my blood boil to think of women like you. god help all ladies without money.
-clare. i expect i shall have to go back.
-malise. no, no! we shall find something. keep your soul alive at all costs. what! let him hang on to you till you're nothing but-- emptiness and ache, till you lose even the power to ache. sit in his drawing-room, pay calls, play bridge, go out with him to dinners, return to--duty; and feel less and less, and be less and less, and so grow old and--die!
-malise. was there a man on the stairs as you came up?
-clare. yes. why?
-malise. he's begun to haunt them, i'm told.
-clare. oh! but that would mean they thought i--oh! no!
-malise. confidence in me is not excessive.
-malise. will you go in there for a minute? or shall we let them ring--or--what? it may not be anything, of course.
-clare. i'm not going to hide.
-mrs. miler comes out with her hat on, passes enigmatically to the door, and opens it. a man's voice says: "mr. malise? would you give him these cards?"
-twisden enters-a clean-shaved, shrewd-looking man, with a fighting underlip, followed by sir charles and lady dedmond. mrs. miler goes. there are no greetings.
-at a nod from clare, malise passes into the inner room, and shuts the door. a silence.
-lady dedmond. mr. twisden, will you----?
-clare. why did you spy, here?
-sir charles. no, no! nobody's spied on you. what!
-clare. i have nothing against my husband--it was quite unreasonable to leave him.
-twisden. come, that's good.
-clare. unfortunately, there's something stronger than reason.
-twisden. i don't know it, mrs. dedmond.
-clare. nor with it?
-clare. i don't think so, thank you.
-lady dedmond. you must see, clare, that----
-twisden. in your position, mrs. dedmond--a beautiful young woman without money. i'm quite blunt. this is a hard world. should be awfully sorry if anything goes wrong.
-clare. and if i go back?
-twisden. of two evils, if it be so--choose the least!
-clare. i am twenty-six; he is thirty-two. we can't reasonably expect to die for fifty years.
-lady desmond. that's morbid, clare.
-clare. except what i make myself.
-sir charles. good god!
-twisden. yes! mrs. dedmond! there's the bedrock difficulty. as you haven't money, you should never have been pretty. you're up against the world, and you'll get no mercy from it. we lawyers see too much of that. i'm putting it brutally, as a man of the world.
-clare. thank you. do you think you quite grasp the alternative?
-clare. so have i up till now. i shan't ask anything from him-- nothing--do you understand?
-lady dedmond. but, my dear, you must live.
-twisden. have you ever done any sort of work?
-clare. not yet.
-twisden. any conception of the competition nowadays?
-clare. i can try.
-sir charles. but, my dear girl, what the devil's to become of george?
-clare. he can do what he likes--it's nothing to me.
-twisden. mrs. dedmond, i say without hesitation you've no notion of what you're faced with, brought up to a sheltered life as you've been. do realize that you stand at the parting of the ways, and one leads into the wilderness.
-sir charles. by gad! yes!
-clare. i only want to breathe.
-clare. but not where you think. you say i need advice. i came here for it.
-clare. please don't have me followed when i leave here. please!
-lady dedmond. george is outside, clare.
-lady dedmond. mr. malise, i'm sure, will see----
-clare. mr. malise will stay here, please, in his own room.
-sir charles. my dear girl, 'pon my soul, you know, i can't grasp your line of thought at all!
-lady dedmond. george is most willing to take up things just as they were before you left.
-lady dedmond. quite frankly--what is it you want?
-clare. to be left alone. quite frankly, he made a mistake to have me spied on.
-lady dedmond. but, my good girl, if you'd let us know where you were, like a reasonable being. you can't possibly be left to yourself without money or position of any kind. heaven knows what you'd be driven to!
-sir charles. you will be good enough to repeat that out loud, sir.
-lady dedmond. charles! clare, you must know this is all a fit of spleen; your duty and your interest--marriage is sacred, clare.
-clare. marriage! my marriage has become the--the reconciliation--of two animals--one of them unwilling. that's all the sanctity there is about it.
-sir charles. what!
-lady dedmond. you ought to be horribly ashamed. clare. of the fact-i am.
-clare. if you insinuate anything against mr. malise, you lie.
-lady dedmond. if you will do these things--come to a man's rooms----
-clare. i came to mr. malise because he's the only person i know with imagination enough to see what my position is; i came to him a quarter of an hour ago, for the first time, for definite advice, and you instantly suspect him. that is disgusting.
-clare. his woman.
-lady dedmond. will you listen to reginald?
-clare. i have.
-lady dedmond. haven't you any religious sense at all, clare?
-clare. none, if it's religion to live as we do.
-lady dedmond. it's terrible--this state of mind! it's really terrible!
-clare breaks into the soft laugh of the other evening. as if galvanized by the sound, sir charles comes to life out of the transfixed bewilderment with which he has been listening.
-sir charles. for god's sake don't laugh like that!
-lady dedmond. but you are hurting everybody. do--do be reasonable!
-lady dedmond. charles!
-sir charles. let me alone! i can only say that--damme, i don't know that i can say anything!
-he looks at her very grieved, then turns and marches out, followed by lady dedmond, whose voice is heard without, answered by his: "what!" in the doorway, as they pass, george is standing; he comes in.
-george glances at malise, who is leaning against the wall with folded arms.
-george. you try me pretty high, don't you, forcing me to come here, and speak before this fellow? most men would think the worst, finding you like this.
-clare. you need not have come--or thought at all.
-george. did you imagine i was going to let you vanish without an effort----
-clare. to save me?
-george. for god's sake be just! i've come here to say certain things. if you force me to say them before him--on your head be it! will you appoint somewhere else?
-george. why not?
-clare. i know all those "certain things." "you must come back. it is your duty. you have no money. your friends won't help you. you can't earn your living. you are making a scandal." you might even say for the moment: "your room shall be respected."
-george. well, it's true and you've no answer.
-clare. take care.
-but malise, after one convulsive movement of his hands, has again become rigid.
-george. i don't pretend to be subtle or that kind of thing; but i have ordinary common sense. i don't attempt to be superior to plain facts----
-george. oh! for goodness' sake drop that hifalutin' tone. it doesn't suit you. look here! if you like to go abroad with one of your young sisters until the autumn, i'll let the flat and go to the club.
-clare. that is noble.
-george. i will go when you do.
-malise. a man of the world should know better than that.
-george. are you coming?
-malise. that is inconceivable.
-george. i'm not speaking to you, sir.
-malise. you are right. your words and mine will never kiss each other.
-he goes stealthily along the wall, takes up from where it lies on the pile of books the great black knobby stick, and stealthily approaches george, his face quite fiendish.
-malise resigns the stick, and the two men, perfectly still, glare at each other. clare, letting the stick fall, puts her foot on it. then slowly she takes off her hat and lays it on the table.
-turning, he goes out, and slams the door. clare and malise remain face to face. her lips have begun to quiver.
-she turns away, shuddering, and sits down on the edge of the armchair, covering her eyes with the backs of her hands. malise picks up the stick, and fingers it lovingly. then putting it down, he moves so that he can see her face. she is sitting quite still, staring straight before her.
-malise. nothing could be better.
-clare. i don't know what to do! i don't know what to do!
-malise. thank the stars for your good fortune.
-clare. he means to have revenge on you! and it's all my fault.
-malise. let him. let him go for his divorce. get rid of him. have done with him--somehow.
-she gets up and stands with face averted. then swiftly turning to him.
-clare. if i must bring you harm--let me pay you back! i can't bear it otherwise! make some use of me, if you don't mind!
-malise. my god!
-malise. you poor----
-he clasps and kisses her, then, drawing back, looks in her face. she has not moved, her eyes are still closed; but she is shivering; her lips are tightly pressed together; her hands twitching.
-malise. i understand.
-clare. i don't feel. and without--i can't, can't.
-there is a long silence. without looking at him she takes up her hat, and puts it on.
-malise. not going?
-malise. you don't trust me?
-clare. i do! but i can't take when i'm not giving.
-malise. i beg--i beg you! what does it matter? use me! get free somehow.
-clare. mr. malise, i know what i ought to be to you, if i let you in for all this. i know what you want--or will want. of course--why not?
-malise. i give you my solemn word----
-clare. no! if i can't be that to you--it's not real. and i can't. it isn't to be manufactured, is it?
-malise. it is not.
-clare. to make use of you in such a way! no.
-malise. where are you going?
-clare does not answer. she is breathing rapidly. there is a change in her, a sort of excitement beneath her calmness.
-clare. oh! no.
-malise. then what--tell me--come!
-clare. i don't know. women manage somehow.
-malise. but you--poor dainty thing!
-clare. it's all right! don't be unhappy! please!
-clare. well, i'll die running!
-malise. no, no! let me shelter you! let me!
-malise. i can't let you go.
-clare. you must.
-he looks into her face; then, realizing that she means it, suddenly bends down to her fingers, and puts his lips to them.
-malise. good luck, then! good luck!
-he releases her hand. just touching his bent head with her other hand, clare turns and goes. malise remains with bowed head, listening to the sound of her receding footsteps. they die away. he raises himself, and strikes out into the air with his clenched fist.
-malise's sitting-room. an afternoon, three months later. on the table are an open bottle of claret, his hat, and some tea-things. down in the hearth is a kettle on a lighted spirit-stand. near the door stands haywood, a short, round-faced man, with a tobacco-coloured moustache; malise, by the table, is contemplating a piece of blue paper.
-haywood. sorry to press an old customer, sir, but a year and an 'alf without any return on your money----
-malise. your tobacco is too good, mr. haywood. i wish i could see my way to smoking another.
-haywood. well, sir--that's a funny remedy.
-with a knock on the half-opened door, a boy appears.
-malise. yes. what is it?
-boy. your copy for "the watchfire," please, sir.
-the boy withdraws. malise goes up to the pile of books, turns them over, and takes up some volumes.
-malise. this is a very fine unexpurgated translation of boccaccio's "decameron," mr. haywood illustrated. i should say you would get more than the amount of your bill for them.
-malise. it's scarce, and highly improper. will you take them in discharge?
-malise. you could read them first, you know?
-malise. you could both read them.
-malise. very well; i'll sell them myself, and you shall have the result.
-haywood. well, thank you, sir. i'm sure i didn't want to trouble you.
-malise. not at all, mr. haywood. it's for me to apologize.
-haywood. so long as i give satisfaction.
-haywood. good evenin', sir; no offence, i hope.
-malise. on the contrary.
-doubtfully haywood goes. and malise stands scratching his head; then slipping the bill into one of the volumes to remind him, he replaces them at the top of the pile. the boy again advances into the doorway.
-malise. yes, now for you.
-he goes to the table and takes some sheets of ms. from an old portfolio. but the door is again timidly pushed open, and haywood reappears.
-malise. yes, mr. haywood?
-haywood. about that little matter, sir. if--if it's any convenience to you--i've--thought of a place where i could----
-malise. read them? you'll enjoy them thoroughly.
-haywood. no, sir, no! where i can dispose of them.
-haywood. oh, indeed--yes, sir. in the event of there being any----
-haywood, nonplussed, and trying to hide the books in an evening paper, fumbles out. "good evenin', sir!" and departs. malise again takes up the sheets of ms. and cons a sentence over to himself, gazing blankly at the stolid boy.
-malise. who is it?
-the door is pushed open, and reginald huntingdon stands there.
-huntingdon. i apologize, sir; can i come in a minute?
-huntingdon. i don't know if you remember me--clare dedmond's brother.
-malise. i remember you.
-huntingdon. i've come to you, sir, as a gentleman----
-malise. some mistake. there is one, i believe, on the first floor.
-huntingdon. it's about my sister.
-malise. d--n you! don't you know that i've been shadowed these last three months? ask your detectives for any information you want.
-huntingdon. we know that you haven't seen her, or even known where she is.
-malise. indeed! you've found that out? brilliant!
-huntingdon. we know it from my sister.
-malise. oh! so you've tracked her down?
-huntingdon. mrs. fullarton came across her yesterday in one of those big shops--selling gloves.
-malise. mrs. fullarton the lady with the husband. well! you've got her. clap her back into prison.
-huntingdon. we have not got her. she left at once, and we don't know where she's gone.
-huntingdon. we thought----
-huntingdon. my--my father and myself.
-malise. go on.
-huntingdon. perhaps you don't realize how unfit my sister is for rough and tumble. she's not one of this new sort of woman. she's always been looked after, and had things done for her. pluck she's got, but that's all, and she's bound to come to grief.
-malise. very likely--the first birds do. but if she drops half-way it's better than if she'd never flown. your sister, sir, is trying the wings of her spirit, out of the old slave market. for women as for men, there's more than one kind of dishonour, captain huntingdon, and worse things than being dead, as you may know in your profession.
-malise. we each have our own views as to what they are. but they all come to--death of our spirits, for the sake of our carcases. anything more?
-malise. if i have the chance--yes.
-he makes a gesture of salute, to which huntingdon responds. then the latter turns and goes out.
-malise. poor fugitive! where are you running now?
-he stands at the window, through which the evening sunlight is powdering the room with smoky gold. the stolid boy has again come in. malise stares at him, then goes back to the table, takes up the ms., and booms it at him; he receives the charge, breathing hard.
-malise. "man of the world--product of a material age; incapable of perceiving reality in motions of the spirit; having 'no use,' as you would say, for 'sentimental nonsense'; accustomed to believe yourself the national spine--your position is unassailable. you will remain the idol of the country--arbiter of law, parson in mufti, darling of the playwright and the novelist--god bless you!--while waters lap these shores."
-he places the sheets of ms. in an envelope, and hands them to the boy.
-malise. you're going straight back to "the watchfire"?
-boy. no, sir.
-malise. get out, then.
-he lifts the portfolio from the table, and takes it into the inner room. the boy, putting his thumb stolidly to his nose, turns to go. in the doorway he shies violently at the figure of clare, standing there in a dark-coloured dress, skids past her and goes. clare comes into the gleam of sunlight, her white face alive with emotion or excitement. she looks round her, smiles, sighs; goes swiftly to the door, closes it, and comes back to the table. there she stands, fingering the papers on the table, smoothing malise's hat wistfully, eagerly, waiting.
-he goes towards her, and checks himself, then slews the armchair round.
-he places a cushion for her, and prepares tea; she looks up at him softly, but as he finishes and turns to her, she drops that glance.
-malise shakes his head, then draws back from her again, as if afraid to be too close. and again, unseen, she looks at him.
-malise. so you've lost your job?
-clare. how did you----?
-clare. is father ill?
-mali$e. anxious about you.
-she sinks again into the chair, and again he withdraws. and once more she gives him that soft eager look, and once more averts it as he turns to her.
-clare. my nerves have gone funny lately. it's being always on one's guard, and stuffy air, and feeling people look and talk about you, and dislike your being there.
-malise. yes; that wants pluck.
-malise. had a very bad time?
-malise. were they decent to you?
-malise. i know.
-clare. references. i didn't want to tell more lies than i could help; a married woman on strike can't tell the truth, you know. and i can't typewrite or do shorthand yet. and chorus--i thought--you wouldn't like.
-malise. poor devil--it's hard not to wish for the moon.
-at the tone of his voice clare looks up at him; his face is turned away.
-malise. as hard as god will let me.
-malise. i had a catalogue of them somewhere.
-he goes into the inner room. the moment he is gone, clare stands up, her hands pressed to her cheeks as if she felt them flaming. then, with hands clasped, she stands waiting. he comes back with the old portfolio.
-malise. can you typewrite where you are?
-clare. i've thought of you--so much! but only--if you're sure.
-he clasps her and kisses her closed eyes; and so they stand for a moment, till the sound of a latchkey in the door sends them apart.
-malise. it's the housekeeper. give me that ticket; i'll send for your things.
-obediently she gives him the ticket, smiles, and goes quietly into the inner room. mrs. miler has entered; her face, more chinese than ever, shows no sign of having seen.
-malise. that lady will stay here, mrs. miler. kindly go with this ticket to the cloak-room at charing cross station, and bring back her luggage in a cab. have you money?
-the moment she is gone malise makes a gesture of maniacal fury. he steals on tiptoe to the outer door, and listens. then, placing his hand on the knob, he turns it without noise, and wrenches back the door. transfigured in the last sunlight streaming down the corridor are two men, close together, listening and consulting secretly. they start back.
-scene ii--the same, early on a winter afternoon, three months later. the room has now a certain daintiness. there are curtains over the doors, a couch, under the window, all the books are arranged on shelves. in small vases, over the fireplace, are a few violets and chrysanthemums. malise sits huddled in his armchair drawn close to the fore, paper on knee, pen in hand. he looks rather grey and drawn, and round his chair is the usual litter. at the table, now nearer to the window, clare sits working a typewriter. she finishes a line, puts sheets of paper together, makes a note on a card--adds some figures, and marks the total.
-clare. kenneth, when this is paid, i shall have made two pound seventeen in the three months, and saved you about three pounds. one hundred and seventeen shillings at tenpence a thousand is one hundred and forty thousand words at fourteen hundred words an hour. it's only just over an hour a day. can't you get me more?
-malise lifts the hand that holds his pen and lets it fall again. clare puts the cover on the typewriter, and straps it.
-malise. yes, i slept.
-malise heaves himself out of the chair, and begins pacing up and down.
-malise. it is not.
-clare. but you told me yourself
-malise. i lied.
-clare. how much am i valued at?
-clare. will you have to pay?
-malise. stones yield no blood.
-clare. can't you borrow?
-malise. i couldn't even get the costs.
-malise. out of five books i have made the sum of forty pounds.
-clare. what else? tell me.
-malise. fifty to a hundred pounds a year. leave me to gnaw my way out, child.
-clare stands looking at him in distress, then goes quickly into the room behind her. malise takes up his paper and pen. the paper is quite blank.
-he drops paper and pen, and crossing to the room on the left goes in. clare re-enters with a small leather box. she puts it down on her typing table as malise returns followed by mrs. miler, wearing her hat, and carrying his overcoat.
-mrs. miler. put your coat on. it's a bitter wind.
-clare. where are you going?
-malise. to "the watchfire."
-the door closes behind him, and mrs. miler goes up to clare holding out a little blue bottle with a red label, nearly full.
-mrs. miler. in the bathroom chest o' drawers, where 'e keeps 'is odds and ends. i was lookin' for 'is garters.
-clare. give it to me!
-clare. give it to me!
-mrs. miler resigns it, clare takes the cork out, smells, then tastes it from her finger. mrs. miler, twisting her apron in her hands, speaks.
-mils. miler. i've 'ad it on my mind a long time to speak to yer. your comin' 'ere's not done 'im a bit o' good.
-she gives a sadden sniff. then her emotion passes, leaving her as chinese as ever.
-clare. this last business--what do you mean by that?
-mrs. miler. if 'e a'n't told yer, i don't know that i've any call to.
-mrs. miler. it's about your divorce case. this 'ere "watchfire," ye see, belongs to some fellers that won't 'ave their men gettin' into the papers. so this 'ere friend of mr. malise--very nice 'e spoke about it: "if it comes into court," 'e says, "you'll 'ave to go," 'e says. "these beggars, these dogs, these dogs," 'e says, "they'll 'oof you out," 'e says. an' i could tell by the sound of his voice, 'e meant it--proper upset 'e was. so that's that!
-clare. it's inhuman!
-mrs. miler. that's what i thinks; but it don't 'elp, do it? "'tain't the circulation," 'e says, "it's the principle," 'e says; and then 'e starts in swearin' horrible. 'e's a very nice man. and mr. malise, 'e says: "well, that about does for me!" 'e says.
-clare. thank you, mrs. miler--i'm glad to know.
-take this with the note to that address--it's quite close. he'll give you thirty pounds for it. please pay these bills and bring me back the receipts, and what's over.
-clare. yes. it was my mother's.
-mrs. miler. it's a pity to part with it; ain't you got another?
-clare. nothing more, mrs. miler, not even a wedding ring.
-mrs. miler opens the door wide, says "come in," and goes. mrs. fullarton is accompanied not by fullarton, but by the lawyer, twisdon. they come in.
-mrs. fullarton. clare! my dear! how are you after all this time?
-twisden. as you're not defending this case, mrs. dedmond, there is nobody but yourself for me to apply to.
-clare. please tell me quickly, what you've come for.
-clare. i see. will you please thank mr. dedmond, and say that i refuse?
-mrs. fullarton. clare, clare! for god's sake don't be desperate.
-twisden. mrs. dedmond, i am bound to put the position to you in its naked brutality. you know there's a claim for damages?
-clare. i have just learnt it.
-twisden. you realize what the result of this suit must be: you will be left dependent on an undischarged bankrupt. to put it another way, you'll be a stone round the neck of a drowning man.
-clare. you are cowards.
-clare. i do mean it. you ruin him because of me. you get him down, and kick him to intimidate me.
-mrs. fullarton. my dear girl! mr. twisden is not personally concerned. how can you?
-clare. if i were dying, and it would save me, i wouldn't take a penny from my husband.
-twisden. nothing could be more bitter than those words. do you really wish me to take them back to him?
-twisden. mrs. dedmond, i told you once that i wished you well. though you have called me a coward, i still do that. for god's sake, think--before it's too late.
-twisden. never mind that. think!
-with the curious little movement of one who sees something he does not like to see, he goes. clare is leaning her forehead against the mantel-shelf, seemingly unconscious that she is not alone. mrs. fullarton approaches quietly till she can see clare's face.
-clare. please don't, dolly! let me be!
-mrs. fullarton. i must speak, clare! i do think you're hard on george. it's generous of him to offer to withdraw the suit-- considering. you do owe it to us to try and spare your father and your sisters and--and all of us who care for you.
-mrs. fullarton. do you know, clare, i think it's awful about you! you're too fine, and not fine enough, to put up with things; you're too sensitive to take help, and you're not strong enough to do without it. it's simply tragic. at any rate, you might go home to your people.
-clare. after this!
-mrs. fullarton. to us, then?
-clare. "if i could be the falling bee, and kiss thee all the day!" no, dolly!
-mrs. fullarton turns from her ashamed and baffled, but her quick eyes take in the room, trying to seize on some new point of attack.
-mrs. fullarton. you can't be--you aren't-happy, here?
-clare. aren't i?
-mrs. fullarton. oh! clare! save yourself--and all of us!
-mrs. fullarton. you used to say you'd never love; did not want it-- would never want it.
-clare. did i? how funny!
-mrs. fullarton. oh! my dear! don't look like that, or you'll make me cry.
-clare. go away! go away!
-mrs. fullarton. love!--you said!
-mrs. fullarton. can you--can you keep him?
-then goes. clare, almost in a whisper, repeats the words: "love! you said!" at the sound of a latchkey she runs as if to escape into the bedroom, but changes her mind and stands blotted against the curtain of the door. malise enters. for a moment he does not see her standing there against the curtain that is much the same colour as her dress. his face is that of a man in the grip of a rage that he feels to be impotent. then, seeing her, he pulls himself together, walks to his armchair, and sits down there in his hat and coat.
-clare. well? "the watchfire?" you may as well tell me.
-malise. nothing to tell you, child.
-at that touch of tenderness she goes up to his chair and kneels down beside it. mechanically malise takes off his hat.
-malise. sanctimonious dogs!
-malise. thick as blackberries. i just go out and cry, "malise, unsuccessful author, too honest journalist, freethinker, co-respondent, bankrupt," and they tumble!
-malise. now, now! this isn't the time to brood! rouse up and fight.
-malise. blackberrying! our train's not till six.
-he goes into the bedroom. clare gets up and stands by the fire, looking round in a dazed way. she puts her hand up and mechanically gathers together the violets in the little vase. suddenly she twists them to a buttonhole, and sinks down into the armchair, which he must pass. there she sits, the violets in her hand. malise comes out and crosses towards the outer door. she puts the violets up to him. he stares at them, shrugs his shoulders, and passes on. for just a moment clare sits motionless.
-he turns and kisses her. but his lips, after that kiss, have the furtive bitterness one sees on the lips of those who have done what does not suit their mood. he goes out. she is left motionless by the armchair, her throat working. then, feverishly, she goes to the little table, seizes a sheet of paper, and writes. looking up suddenly she sees that mrs. miler has let herself in with her latchkey.
-mrs. miler. i've settled the baker, the milk, the washin' an' the groceries--this 'ere's what's left.
-she counts down a five-pound note, four sovereigns, and two shillings on to the little table. clare folds the letter into an envelope, then takes up the five-pound note and puts it into her dress.
-mrs. miler. without him? when'll you be comin' back?
-clare. it's not you. i can see for myself. don't make it harder; help me. get a cab.
-mrs. miler. the lady wants a cab. wait and carry 'er trunk down.
-clare comes from the bedroom in her hat and coat.
-they go into the bedroom to get the trunk. clare picks up from the floor the bunch of violets, her fingers play with it as if they did not quite know what it was; and she stands by the armchair very still, while mrs. miler and the porter pass her with trunk and bag. and even after the porter has shouldered the trunk outside, and marched away, and mrs. miler has come back into the room, clare still stands there.
-mrs. miler carries it out. then, from the doorway, gazing at clare taking her last look, she sobs, suddenly. at sound of that sob clare throws up her head.
-clare. don't! it's all right. good-bye!
-she walks out and away, not looking back. mrs. miler chokes her sobbing into the black stuff of her thick old jacket.
-supper-time in a small room at "the gascony" on derby day. through the windows of a broad corridor, out of which the door opens, is seen the dark blue of a summer night. the walls are of apricot-gold; the carpets, curtains, lamp-shades, and gilded chairs, of red; the wood-work and screens white; the palms in gilded tubs. a doorway that has no door leads to another small room. one little table behind a screen, and one little table in the open, are set for two persons each. on a service-table, above which hangs a speaking-tube, are some dishes of hors d'ouvres, a basket of peaches, two bottles of champagne in ice-pails, and a small barrel of oysters in a gilded tub. arnaud, the waiter, slim, dark, quick, his face seamed with a quiet, soft irony, is opening oysters and listening to the robust joy of a distant supper-party, where a man is playing the last bars of: "do ye ken john peel" on a horn. as the sound dies away, he murmurs: "tres joli!" and opens another oyster. two ladies with bare shoulders and large hats pass down the corridor. their talk is faintly wafted in: "well, i never like derby night! the boys do get so bobbish!" "that horn--vulgar, i call it!"
-manager. four shillin' apiece to-night, see?
-arnaud. yes, sare.
-from the inner room a young man and his partner have come in. she is dark, almost spanish-looking; he fair, languid, pale, clean-shaved, slackly smiling, with half-closed eyes-one of those who are bred and dissipated to the point of having lost all save the capacity for hiding their emotions. he speaks in a----
-languid voice. awful row they're kickin' up in there, mr. varley. a fellow with a horn.
-arnaud is already at the table, between screen and palm. and, there ensconced, the couple take their seats. seeing them safely landed, the manager, brisk and noiseless, moves away. in the corridor a lady in black, with a cloak falling open, seems uncertain whether to come in. she advances into the doorway. it is clare.
-clare moves to the corner of it. an artist in observation of his clients, arnaud takes in her face--very pale under her wavy, simply-dressed hair; shadowy beneath the eyes; not powdered; her lips not reddened; without a single ornament; takes in her black dress, finely cut, her arms and neck beautifully white, and at her breast three gardenias. and as he nears her, she lifts her eyes. it is very much the look of something lost, appealing for guidance.
-he takes the cloak gently and lays it on the back of the chair fronting the room, that she may put it round her when she wishes. she sits down.
-languid voice. the roederer.
-arnaud. at once, milord.
-clare sits tracing a pattern with her finger on the cloth, her eyes lowered. once she raises them, and follows arnaud's dark rapid figure.
-arnaud. madame will find it veree good 'ere, veree quiet.
-languid voice. waiter!
-the bare-necked ladies with large hats again pass down the corridor outside, and again their voices are wafted in: "tottie! not she! oh! my goodness, she has got a pride on her!" "bobbie'll never stick it!" "look here, dear----" galvanized by those sounds, clare has caught her cloak and half-risen; they die away and she subsides.
-clare. you are very kind.
-a young man, tall, thin, hard, straight, with close-cropped, sandyish hair and moustache, a face tanned very red, and one of those small, long, lean heads that only grow in britain; clad in a thin dark overcoat thrown open, an opera hat pushed back, a white waistcoat round his lean middle, he comes in from the corridor. he looks round, glances at clare, passes her table towards the further room, stops in the doorway, and looks back at her. her eyes have just been lifted, and are at once cast down again. the young man wavers, catches arnaud's eye, jerks his head to summon him, and passes into the further room. arnaud takes up the vase that has been superseded, and follows him out. and clare sits alone in silence, broken by the murmurs of the languid lord and his partner, behind the screen. she is breathing as if she had been running hard. she lifts her eyes. the tall young man, divested of hat and coat, is standing by her table, holding out his hand with a sort of bashful hardiness.
-young man. how d'you do? didn't recognize you at first. so sorry --awfully rude of me.
-clare's eyes seem to fly from him, to appeal to him, to resign herself all at once. something in the young man responds. he drops his hand.
-as he sits down, arnaud returns and stands before them.
-arnaud. the plovers' eggs veree good to-night, sare. veree good, madame. a peach or two, after. veree good peaches. the roederer, sare--not bad at all. madame likes it frappe, but not too cold--yes?
-clare. do they?
-clare. it doesn't matter.
-clare. it's all right, thank you.
-the young man sits down again, uncomfortable, nonplussed. there is silence, broken by the inaudible words of the languid lord, and the distant merriment of the supper-party. arnaud brings the plovers' eggs.
-young man. the wine, quick.
-arnaud. at once, sare.
-young man. i remember awfully well my first day. it was pretty thick--lost every blessed bob, and my watch and chain, playin' three cards on the way home.
-clare. everything has a beginning, hasn't it?
-young man. what! d'you mean it's really the first----?
-clare nods. the champagne has flicked her courage.
-he drains his glass, then sits bolt upright. chivalry and the camaraderie of class have begun to stir in him.
-she drinks. the french words, which he does not too well understand, completing his conviction that she is a lady, he remains quite silent, frowning. as clare held up her glass, two gentlemen have entered. the first is blond, of good height and a comely insolence. his crisp, fair hair, and fair brushed-up moustache are just going grey; an eyeglass is fixed in one of two eyes that lord it over every woman they see; his face is broad, and coloured with air and wine. his companion is a tall, thin, dark bird of the night, with sly, roving eyes, and hollow cheeks. they stand looking round, then pass into the further room; but in passing, they have stared unreservedly at clare.
-clare. no, i don't; really.
-clare. i had the sense to keep them.
-young man. by jove! i don't know-really, i don't--this makes me feel pretty rotten. i mean, it's your being a lady.
-the supper-party is getting still more boisterous, and there comes a long view holloa, and a blast of the horn.
-young man. but i say, what about your people? you must have people of some sort.
-he is fast becoming fascinated, for her cheeks have begun to flush and her eyes to shine.
-she smiles. the two gentlemen have returned. the blond one is again staring fixedly at clare. this time she looks back at him, flaming; and, with a little laugh, he passes with his friend into the corridor.
-clare. who are those two?
-young man. don't know--not been much about town yet. i'm just back from india myself. you said your brother was there; what's his regiment?
-she leans her bare elbows on the table, and her face on her hands.
-clare. first of june! this day last year i broke covert--i've been running ever since.
-young man. i don't understand a bit. you--must have had a--a--some one----
-but there is such a change in her face, such rigidity of her whole body, that he stops and averts his eyes. when he looks again she is drinking. she puts the glass down, and gives a little laugh.
-clare. yes. what's the other side?
-the young man puts out his hand and touches her arm. it is meant for sympathy, but she takes it for attraction.
-young man. not really! how damnable! i say--do have something more substantial.
-clare gives a sudden gasp, as if going off into hysterical laughter, but she stifles it, and shakes her head.
-young man. a peach?
-from the supper-party comes the sound of an abortive chorus: "with a hey ho, chivy, hark forrard, hark forrard, tantivy!" jarring out into a discordant whoop, it sinks.
-clare. "this day a stag must die." jolly old song!
-young man. you must have had awful luck!
-young man. no; simply awfully pretty.
-young man. did you really? d---d sporting!
-young man. by jove, no! it may be caddish, but i'm not.
-clare. thank god for beauty! i hope i shall die pretty! do you think i shall do well?
-young man. i say--don't talk like that!
-clare. i want to know. do you?
-young man. well, then--yes, i do.
-clare. that's splendid. those poor women in the streets would give their eyes, wouldn't they?--that have to go up and down, up and down! do you think i--shall----
-the young man, half-rising, puts his hand on her arm.
-clare. no, thanks.
-young man. well, then, what d'you think? it's awfully hot in here, isn't it? wouldn't it be jollier drivin'? shall we--shall we make a move?
-as he goes out into the corridor, the two gentlemen re-appear. clare is sitting motionless, looking straight before her.
-dark one. a fiver you don't get her to!
-blond one. done!
-the waiter, arnaud, returning from the corridor, passes to his service-table with a tall, beribboned basket of fruit. putting it down, he goes towards the table behind the screen, and sees. he runs up to clare.
-young man. my god! she was a lady. that's all i know about her.
-languid lord. a lady!
-a fantasy in three acts
-persons of the play
-christopher wellwyn, an artist ann, his daughter guinevere megan, a flower-seller rory megan, her husband ferrand, an alien timson, once a cabman edward bertley, a canon alfred calway, a professor sir thomas hoxton, a justice of the peace also a police constable, three humble-men, and some curious persons
-the action passes in wellwyn's studio, and the street outside.
-act i. christmas eve.
-act ii. new year's day.
-act iii. the first of april.
-it is the night of christmas eve, the scene is a studio, flush with the street, having a skylight darkened by a fall of snow. there is no one in the room, the walls of which are whitewashed, above a floor of bare dark boards. a fire is cheerfully burning. on a model's platform stands an easel and canvas. there are busts and pictures; a screen, a little stool, two arm. chairs, and a long old-fashioned settle under the window. a door in one wall leads to the house, a door in the opposite wall to the model's dressing-room, and the street door is in the centre of the wall between. on a low table a russian samovar is hissing, and beside it on a tray stands a teapot, with glasses, lemon, sugar, and a decanter of rum. through a huge uncurtained window close to the street door the snowy lamplit street can be seen, and beyond it the river and a night of stars.
-the sound of a latchkey turned in the lock of the street door, and ann wellwyn enters, a girl of seventeen, with hair tied in a ribbon and covered by a scarf. leaving the door open, she turns up the electric light and goes to the fire. she throws of her scarf and long red cloak. she is dressed in a high evening frock of some soft white material. her movements are quick and substantial. her face, full of no nonsense, is decided and sincere, with deep-set eyes, and a capable, well-shaped forehead. shredding of her gloves she warms her hands.
-in the doorway appear the figures of two men. the first is rather short and slight, with a soft short beard, bright soft eyes, and a crumply face. under his squash hat his hair is rather plentiful and rather grey. he wears an old brown ulster and woollen gloves, and is puffing at a hand-made cigarette. he is ann's father, wellwyn, the artist. his companion is a well-wrapped clergyman of medium height and stoutish build, with a pleasant, rosy face, rather shining eyes, and rather chubby clean-shaped lips; in appearance, indeed, a grown-up boy. he is the vicar of the parish--canon bertley.
-bertley. my dear wellwyn, the whole question of reform is full of difficulty. when you have two men like professor calway and sir thomas hoxton taking diametrically opposite points of view, as we've seen to-night, i confess, i----
-wellwyn. come in, vicar, and have some grog.
-bertley. not to-night, thanks! christmas tomorrow! great temptation, though, this room! goodnight, wellwyn; good-night, ann!
-wellwyn. my dear?
-ann. you say you liked professor calway's lecture. is it going to do you any good, that's the question?
-wellwyn. i--i hope so, ann.
-ann. i took you on purpose. your charity's getting simply awful. those two this morning cleared out all my housekeeping money.
-wellwyn. um! um! i quite understand your feeling.
-ann. they both had your card, so i couldn't refuse--didn't know what you'd said to them. why don't you make it a rule never to give your card to anyone except really decent people, and--picture dealers, of course.
-wellwyn. my dear, i have--often.
-ann. then why don't you keep it? it's a frightful habit. you are naughty, daddy. one of these days you'll get yourself into most fearful complications.
-wellwyn. my dear, when they--when they look at you?
-ann. you know the house wants all sorts of things. why do you speak to them at all?
-wellwyn. i don't--they speak to me.
-ann. they see you coming. anybody can see you coming, daddy. that's why you ought to be so careful. i shall make you wear a hard hat. those squashy hats of yours are hopelessly inefficient.
-ann. as if anyone would beg of professor calway.
-wellwyn. well-perhaps not. you know, ann, i admire that fellow. wonderful power of-of-theory! how a man can be so absolutely tidy in his mind! it's most exciting.
-ann. has any one begged of you to-day?
-wellwyn. just on the embankment.
-ann. of course! daddy, you know the embankment ones are always rotters.
-wellwyn. yes, my dear; but this wasn't.
-ann. did you give him your card?
-ann. did you, daddy?
-wellwyn. i'm rather afraid i may have!
-ann. may have! it's simply immoral.
-wellwyn. well, the old fellow was so awfully human, ann. besides, i didn't give him any money--hadn't got any.
-ann. look here, daddy! did you ever ask anybody for anything? you know you never did, you'd starve first. so would anybody decent. then, why won't you see that people who beg are rotters?
-wellwyn. but, my dear, we're not all the same. they wouldn't do it if it wasn't natural to them. one likes to be friendly. what's the use of being alive if one isn't?
-ann. daddy, you're hopeless.
-wellwyn. am i likely to?
-ann. i shouldn't be a bit surprised if it isn't your only pair. d'you know what i live in terror of?
-wellwyn. oh! ah! h'm!
-ann. i think you ought to.
-wellwyn. i suppose they see i like them--then they tell me things. after that, of course you can't help doing what you can.
-ann. well, if you will love them up!
-wellwyn. my dear, i don't want to. it isn't them especially--why, i feel it even with old calway sometimes. it's only providence that he doesn't want anything of me--except to make me like himself--confound him!
-wellwyn. well, thank god!
-ann. it's so old-fashioned too! i'm going to bed--i just leave you to your conscience.
-wellwyn. bad lot. . . . low type--no backbone, no stability!
-wellwyn. ah dear! tt! tt! tt!
-wellwyn. i can't, you know; it's impossible.
-mrs. megan. you 'ad some vi'lets off of me larst spring. you give me 'arf a crown.
-wellwyn. trouble! have some tea?
-wellwyn. cure for all evils, um?
-wellwyn. beautiful! beautiful! birds singing, and the trees, &c.! we had quite a talk. you had a baby with you.
-mrs. megan. yes. i got married since then.
-wellwyn. oh! poor--- um!
-mrs. megan. they're dead.
-mrs. megan. he plays cards.
-mrs. megan. we was sold up this morning--he's gone off with 'is mates. haven't took enough yet for a night's lodgin'.
-wellwyn. how old are you, my child?
-mrs. megan. nineteen, come candlemas.
-wellwyn. and what's your name?
-mrs. megan. guinevere.
-wellwyn. what? welsh?
-mrs. megan. yes--from battersea.
-wellwyn. and your husband?
-mrs. megan. no. irish, 'e is. notting dale, 'e comes from.
-wellwyn. roman catholic?
-mrs. megan. yes. my 'usband's an atheist as well.
-mrs. megan. 'e'll be twenty soon.
-wellwyn. babes in the wood! does he treat you badly?
-mrs. megan. no.
-wellwyn. nor drink?
-mrs. megan. no. he's not a bad one. only he gets playin' cards then 'e'll fly the kite.
-wellwyn. i see. and when he's not flying it, what does he do?
-mrs. megan. of course, i could get me night's lodging if i like to do--the same as some of them.
-wellwyn. no! no! never, my child! never!
-mrs. megan. it's easy that way.
-wellwyn. heavens! but your husband! um?
-wellwyn. tt! what a pickle!
-mrs. megan. i'll 'ave to walk about the streets.
-wellwyn. you see, the fact is, i mustn't give you anything--because --well, for one thing i haven't got it. there are other reasons, but that's the--real one. but, now, there's a little room where my models dress. i wonder if you could sleep there. come, and see.
-mrs. megan. shall i put them on again?
-wellwyn. um! and so you've come?
-ferrand. it was time that i consolidated my fortunes, monsieur.
-wellwyn. and you--have----
-ferrand. i have not yet changed my opinion. we other vagabonds, we are exploited by the bourgeois. this is always my idea, monsieur.
-wellwyn. quite, quite! have some cake?
-wellwyn. oh! indeed!
-ferrand. you have not enough the pharisee in your character. you do not judge, and you are judged.
-wellwyn. are you in pain?
-ferrand. i 'ave a little the rheumatism.
-vincent, earl of st (see jervis)
-punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.
-simple typographical errors were corrected.
-ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
-index entries were not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references. they were not systematically compared with their spellings on the pages they reference, but when differences were found, the index entries were changed to match the references.
-in the index, ships’ names were printed in italics and all other entries were printed in boldface. to improve readability in this ebook, the boldface entries are shown in normal weight.
-page 27: “walrusses” was printed that way.
-page 33: “haïti” was printed that way; in the index, it is printed as “häiti”.
-page 149: closing quotation mark added after “command in the mediterranean.”
-page 246: “court-martialed” originally was printed as “court-marshalled”.
-too fat to fight
-the winds of chance laughing bill hyde rainbow’s end the crimson gardenia and other tales of adventure heart of the sunset the auction block the iron trail the net the ne’er-do-well the spoilers the barrier the silver horde going some
-too fat to fight
-by rex beach
-author of “the winds of chance” etc.
-with illustrations by t. d. skidmore
-harper & brothers publishers new york and london
-too fat to fight
-too fat to fight
-too fat to fight
-“plattsburg. one way.”
-“plattsburg. one way,” norman dalrymple told the ticket-agent. he named his destination more loudly, more proudly than necessary, and he was gratified when the man next in line eyed him with sudden interest.
-having pocketed his ticket, dalrymple noted, by his smart new wrist-watch with the luminous dial, that there was still twenty minutes before train-time. twenty minutes—and shipp had a vicious habit of catching trains by their coat-tails—a habit doubly nerve-racking to one of dalrymple’s ponderous weight and deliberate disposition. that afforded ample leeway for a farewell rickey at the belmont or the manhattan; it was altogether too long a time to stand around. mr. dalrymple—his friends called him “dimples”—had long since concluded that standing was an unnatural posture for human beings, and with every pound he took on there came a keener appreciation of chairs, benches, couches, divans—anything and everything of that restful pattern except hammocks. hammocks he distrusted and despised, for they had a way of breaking with the sound of gun-shots and causing him much discomfiture.
-next to standing, dimples abhorred walking, for the truth is he shook when he walked. therefore he chose the belmont, that haven of rest being close at hand; but ere he had gained the street his eye was challenged by a sight that never failed to arrest his attention. it was the open door of an eating-place—the station restaurant—with idle waiters and spotless napery within. now, drink was a friend, but food was an intimate companion of whom dimples never tired. why people drank in order to be convivial or to pass an idle quarter of an hour, the while there were sweets and pastries as easily accessible, had always been a mystery to him. like a homing pigeon, he made for this place of refreshment.
-overflowing heavily into a chair, he wiped his full-moon face and ordered a corn-starch pudding, an insatiable fondness for which was his consuming vice.
-as usual, shipp made the train with a three-second factor of safety in his favor, and, recognizing the imposing bulk of his traveling companion, greeted him with a hearty:
-“hello, dimples! i knew you’d come.”
-when they had settled themselves in their compartment dalrymple panted, breathlessly:
-“gee! how i hate people who paw at departing trains.”
-“i made it, didn’t i? you’re getting fat and slow—that’s what ails you. a fine figure of an athlete you are! why, you’re laying on blubber by the day! you’re swelled up like a dead horse.”
-“i know,” dimples nodded mournfully. “i’ve tried to reduce, but i know too many nice people, and they all have good chefs.”
-“boozing some, too, i suppose?”
-“oh, sure! and i love candy.”
-“they’ll take you down at plattsburg. say! it’s great, isn’t it? war! the real thing!” shipp’s eyes were sparkling. “of course it came hard to give up the wife and the baby, but—somebody has to go.”
-“right! and we’re the ones, because we can afford it. i never knew how good it is to be rich and idle—did you? but think of the poor devils who want to go and can’t—dependents, and all that. it’s tough on them.”
-the other agreed silently; then, with a smile, he said:
-“if they’re looking for officer material at plattsburg, as they say they are, why, you’ve got enough for about three. they’ll probably cube your contents and start you off as a colonel.”
-dimples’s round, good-natured face had become serious; there was a suggestion of strength, determination, to the set of his jaw when he spoke.
-“thank god, we’re in at last! i’ve been boiling ever since the huns took belgium. i don’t care much for children, because most of them laugh at me, but—i can’t stand to see them butchered.”
-plattsburg was a revelation to the two men. they were amazed by the grim, business-like character of the place; it looked thoroughly military and efficient, despite the flood of young fellows in civilian clothes arriving by every train; it aroused their pride to note how many of their friends and acquaintances were among the number. but, for that matter, the best blood of the nation had responded. deeply impressed, genuinely thrilled, shipp and dalrymple made ready for their physical examinations.
-dimples was conscious of a jealous twinge at the sight of his former team-mate’s massive bare shoulders and slim waist; shipp looked as fit to-day as when he had made the all-american. as for himself, dimples had never noticed how much he resembled a gigantic georgia watermelon. it was indeed time he put an end to easy living. well, army diet, army exercise would bring him back, for he well knew that there were muscles buried deep beneath his fat.
-“hey! one at a time!” the latter cried. then with a grin he inquired, “who’s with you?” he pretended to look back of dimples as if in search of a companion, after which he added another weight and finally announced, in some awe:
-“two eighty-five—unless i’m seeing double.”
-“‘two eighty-five!’” the chief examiner started, then to dalrymple he said: “step aside, sir. fall out.”
-“what’s the idea?” dimples inquired, with a rose-pink flush of embarrassment.
-“you’re overweight. next!”
-“why, sure i’m overweight; but what’s the difference?”
-“all the difference in the world, sir. we can’t pass you. please don’t argue. we have more work than we can attend to.”
-shipp turned back to explain.
-“this is norman dalrymple, one of the best tackles we ever had at harvard. he’s as sound as a dollar and stronger than a bridge. he’ll come down—”
-“i’m sorry; but there’s nothing we can do. regulations, you know.”
-“sure!” the man at the scales was speaking. “two eighty-five isn’t a weight; it’s a telephone number.”
-dalrymple inquired, blankly:
-“do you mean to say i can’t get in? why, that’s too absurd! i must get in! can’t you fix it somehow?”
-“you’re holding up the others. won’t you please step aside?”
-shipp drew the giant out of line and said, quietly:
-“don’t argue. get into your duds and wait for me. it will be all right. we know everybody; we’ll square it.”
-but it was not all right. nor could it be made all right. weary hours of endeavor failed in any way to square matters, and the two friends were finally forced to acknowledge that here was an instance where wealth, influence, the magic of a famous name, went for naught. they were told politely but firmly that norman dalrymple, in his present state of unpreparedness, could not take the officers’ intensive-training course. dimples was mortified, humiliated; shipp felt the disappointment quite as keenly.
-“that’s the toughest luck i ever heard of,” the latter acknowledged. “you’ll have to reduce, that’s all.”
-but dimples was in despair.
-“it’s healthy fat; it will take longer to run it off than to run the germans out of france. the war will be over before i can do it. i want to get in now. too fat to fight! good lord!” he groaned. “why, i told everybody i was going in, and i cut all my ties. now to be rejected!” after a time he continued: “it knocks a fellow out to reduce so much. if i managed to sweat it off in a hurry, i’d never be able to pass my physical. that sort of thing takes months.”
-shipp silently agreed that there was some truth in this statement.
-“tough? it’s a disgrace. i—i have some pride. i feel the way i did when i lost our big game. you remember i fumbled and let yale through for the winning goal. i went back to the dressing-room, rolled up in a blanket, and cried like a baby. you and the other fellows were mighty decent; you told me to forget it. but i couldn’t. i’ve never forgotten it, and i never shall.”
-“pshaw! you made good later.”
-“i fell down when it was my ball. it’s my ball now, shipp, and i’ve fallen down again. i’ve led a pretty easy, useless life, these late years, but—i feel this thing in europe more than i thought i could feel anything. i’ve contributed here and there, let my man go, and economized generally. i’ve adopted whole litters of french orphans, and equipped ambulance units, and done all the usual things the nice people are doing, but i was out of the game, and i wanted—lord! how i wanted to be in it! when we declared war, i yelled! i went crazy. and then along came your wire to join you in this plattsburg course. good old shipp! i knew you’d get on the job, and it raised a lump in my throat to realize that you were sure of me. i—was never so happy”—the speaker choked briefly—“as while waiting for the day to arrive. now i’ve fumbled the pass. i’m on the sidelines.”
-dimples tries the y. m. c. a.
-norman dalrymple did not return home, nor did he notify his family of his rejection. instead, he went back to new york, took a room at the quietest of his numerous clubs, engaged a trainer, and went on a diet. he minded neither of the latter very greatly for the first few days, but in time he learned to abhor both.
-he shunned his friends; he avoided the club café as he would have avoided a dragon’s cave. the sight of a push-button became a temptation and a trial. every morning he wrapped himself up like a sore thumb and ambled round the park reservoir with his pores streaming; every afternoon he chased his elusive trainer round a gymnasium, striving to pin the man’s hateful features, and never quite succeeding. evenings he spent in a turkish bath, striving to attain the boiling-point and failing by the fraction of a degree. he acquired a terrifying thirst—a monstrous, maniac thirst which gallons of water would not quench.
-ten days of this and he had lost three pounds. he had dwindled away to a mere two hundred and eighty-two, and was faintly cheered.
-but he possessed a sweet tooth—a double row of them—and he dreamed of things fattening to eat. one dream in particular tried the strongest fiber of his being. it was of wallowing through a no man’s land of blanc-mange with shell-craters filled with cream. frozen desserts—ice-cold custards! he trembled weakly when he thought of them, which was almost constantly. occasionally, when the craving became utterly unbearable, he skulked guiltily into a restaurant and ordered his favorite dish, corn-starch pudding.
-at the end of three weeks he was bleached; his face was drawn and miserable; he looked forth from eyes like those of a saint bernard. he had gained a pound!
-human nature could stand no more. listlessly he wandered into the club café and there came under the notice of a friend. it was no more possible for dimples to enter a room unobserved than for the leviathan to slip unobtrusively into port. the friend stared in amazement, then exclaimed:
-“why, norm! you look sick.”
-“i know,” the friend nodded. “i’m too old to go across, but i’m off for washington monday. a dollar a year. i’ve been drawing fifty thousand, by the way.”
-“i’m out of that, too,” dimples sighed. “don’t know enough—never did anything useful. but i could fight, if they’d let me.” he raised his broad face and his eyes were glowing. “i’m fat, but i could fight. i could keep the fellows on their toes and make ’em hit the line. if—if they built ships bigger, i’d stowaway.”
-“see here—” the speaker had a sudden thought. “why don’t you try the y?”
-“‘the y?’ yale?”
-“no, no. the y. m. c. a.”
-“oh, that! i’ve hired a whole gymnasium of my own where i can swear out loud.”
-“the y. m. c. a. is sending men overseas.”
-“i’m not cut out for a chaplain.”
-“they’re sending them over to cheer up the boys, to keep them amused and entertained, to run huts—”
-dalrymple straightened himself slowly.
-“i know; but i thought they were all pulpit-pounders.”
-“nothing of the sort! they’re regular fellows, like us. they manage canteens and sell the things our boys can’t get. they don’t let them grow homesick; they make them play games and take care of themselves and realize that they’re not forgotten. some of them get right up front and carry hot soup and smokes into the trenches.”
-“me for that!” dimples was rising majestically. “i could carry soup—more soup than any man living. the trenches might be a little snug for me round the waist, but i’d be careful not to bulge them. cheer up the boys! make ’em laugh! say—that would help, wouldn’t it?” he hesitated; then, a bit wistfully, he inquired, “the y fellows wear—uniforms, too, don’t they?”
-“well, rather. you can hardly tell them from the army.”
-in dalrymple’s voice, when he spoke, there was an earnestness, a depth of feeling, that his hearer had never suspected.
-“uniforms mean a lot to me lately. every time i see a doughboy i want to stand at attention and throw out my chest and draw in my stomach—as far as i can. there’s something sacred about that olive drab. it’s like your mother’s wedding-dress, only holier, and decenter, if possible. somehow, it seems to stand for everything clean and honorable and unselfish. the other day i saw the old forty-first marching down to entrain, and i yelled and cried and kissed an old lady. those swinging arms, those rifles aslant, those leggings flashing, and that sea of khaki rising, falling—gee! there’s something about it. these are great times for the fellows who aren’t too old or too fat to fight.”
-“those y men fight, in their way, just as hard as the other boys, and they don’t get half as much sleep or half as much attention. nobody makes a fuss over them.”
-dimples waited to hear no more. the y. m. c. a.! he had not realized the sort of work it was doing. but to keep the boys fit to fight! that was almost as good as being one of them. and he could do it—better than anybody. as his taxicab sped across town he leaned back with a sigh of contentment; for the first time in days he smiled. the y. m. c. a. would have no scales! to the boys at the front a fat man might be funnier even than a skinny one. he was mighty glad he had heard of the y in time. and it would be glad he had, for his name was worth a lot to any organization. no more dry bread and spinach—gott strafe spinach! how he hated it! no more exercise, either; he would break training instantly and tell that high-priced reducer what he really thought of him. useful work, work to win the war, was one thing, but this loathsome process of trying out abdominal lard—ugh! he decided to dine like a self-respecting white man that very night, and to deny himself nothing. the club chef made a most wonderful corn-starch pudding, indescribably delicious and frightfully fattening. at the mere thought, an eager, predatory look came into dimples’s eyes. he would go overseas without delay; he would be in france doing his bit while shipp and the others were still rehearsing their little tricks and learning to shout, “forward, ouch!” of course those fellows would win commissions—they were welcome to the glory—but meanwhile he would be right down in the dirt and the slime with the boys in leggings, cheering them up, calling them “bill” and “joe,” sharing their big and their little troubles, and putting the pep into them. that’s what they needed, that’s what the world needed—pep! it would win the war.
-dalrymple was surprised when he entered the y. m. c. a. quarters to find them busy and crowded. he sent in his card, then seated himself at the end of a line of waiting men. he wondered if, by any chance, they could be applicants like himself, and his complacency vanished when he learned that they could be—that, indeed, they were. his surprise deepened when he saw that in no wise did they resemble psalm-shouters and testament-worms such as he had expected, but that, on the contrary, they looked like ordinary, capable business and professional men.
-dimples wondered if this were, after all, a competitive service. he broke into a gentle, apprehensive perspiration.
-his name was called finally; he rose and followed a boy into a room where several men were seated at a table. two of them were elderly, typical; they wore various unbecoming arrangements of white whiskers, and one glance told dimples that they knew a lot about god. one of the others resembled a judge, and he it was who spoke first.
-“you wish to go to france for the y. m. c. a.?” the latter inquired.
-“yes, sir. they wouldn’t let me in at plattsburg. i’m too fat, or the camp is too small. i’d very much like to go overseas.”
-“it is hardly necessary to ask if you have had experience in promoting social entertainments and recreations.”
-the speaker smiled. dimples’s face broke into an answering grin.
-“‘entertainments!’ ‘recreations!’ they are my stock in trade. i’m an authority on all kinds of both; that’s what ails me.”
-another member of the board inquired:
-“are you a temperate man, mr. dalrymple?”
-“oh no!” dimples shook his head. “not at all.”
-“what sort of—er—beverages do you drink?”
-“what have you got?” the young giant blithely asked. noting that his comedy met with no mirthful response, he explained more seriously: “why, i drink practically everything. i have no particular favorites. i dare say it’s against your rules, so i’ll taper off if you say so. i’d take the keeley to get across. of course i make friends easier when i’m moderately lit—anybody does. i’m extraordinarily cheerful when i’m that way. you’ve no idea how—”
-“surely you understand that we tolerate no drinking whatever?”
-“no, sir; i didn’t fully understand. i know several christian young men who drink—more or less. however, that’s all right with me. i’ve never tried to quit drinking, so i’m sure i can.”
-“are you familiar with the character and the aims of the young men’s christian association?” one of the white-bearded gentlemen put this question.
-“in a general way only. i knew you had a gym and a swimming-tank and ran some sort of a sunday-school. it never appealed to me, personally, until i heard about this work you’re doing in france. that’s my size. that fits me like a pair of tights.”
-“do you play cards?”
-“certainly. i’m lucky, too. any game the boys want, from bridge to black jack.”
-“i mean—do you play for money?”
-“is that on the black list, too?” dimples’s enthusiasm was slowly oozing away. noting the falling temperature of the room, he confessed honestly, but with some reluctance: “i suppose i do all of the things that ordinary idle fellows do. i drink and gamble and swear and smoke and overeat and sleep late. but that doesn’t hurt me for carrying soup, does it?”
-no one answered this challenge; instead, he was the recipient of another question that caused him to squirm.
-“would you consider yourself a moral young man?”
-slowly the applicant shook his head.
-“to what church do you belong?”
-“how long since you attended divine service?”
-“a good many years, i’m afraid.”
-there followed a moment of silence; the men at the table exchanged glances, and into dimples’s face there came an apprehensive, hunted look. he wet his lips, then said:
-“anyhow, you can’t accuse me of mendacity. i don’t lie. now that you know the worst about me, i’d like to inventory my good points.” this he proceeded to do, but in all honesty it must be said that his showing was not impressive. never having given serious thought to his virtues, there were few that he could recall at such short notice. he concluded by saying: “i know i can make good if you’ll give me a chance. i—i’ll work like a dog, and i’ll keep the boys laughing. i won’t let them get homesick. i— why, gentlemen, this is my last chance! it will break my heart if you turn me down.”
-not unkindly the “judge” said:
-“we will consider your application and notify you.”
-this very kindliness of tone caused the fat man to pale.
-“we’ll notify you without delay, mr. dalrymple.”
-there was no more to be said. dimples wallowed out of the room with his head down.
-that afternoon he was waddling down fifth avenue when mr. augustus van loan stopped him to exclaim:
-“good heavens, dimples! what has happened to you?”
-van loan was a malefactor of great wealth. his name was a hissing upon the lips of soap-box orators. none of his malefactions, to be sure, had ever yet been uncovered, nor were any of the strident-voiced orators even distantly acquainted with him, but his wealth was an established fact of such enormity that in the public eye he was suspect.
-“i’m all in,” the disconsolate mammoth mumbled, and then made known his sorrow. “too fat to get in the army; too soft morally to get in the y. m. c. a. i didn’t know how rotten i am. i can’t carry a gun for my country; i’m not good enough to lug soup to the boys who do. and, meanwhile, the huns are pressing forward.”
-van loan eyed him shrewdly.
-“do you feel it as badly as all that?”
-“i don’t want to be a hero. who ever heard of a hero with a waistband like mine? no; i’d just like to help our lads grin and bear it, and be a big, cheerful fat brother to them.”
-without a word mr. van loan took a card from his pocket and wrote a few lines thereon.
-“d—d’you know that outfit?”
-“know it?” van loan smiled. “i’m the fellow who’s raising the money for them. they’ve darn near broken me, but—it’s worth it.”
-with a gurgling shout dimples wrung the malefactor’s hand; then he bolted for the nearest taxi-stand and squeezed himself through a cab door.
-ten minutes later he entered the boardroom at the y. m. c. a. and flung van loan’s card upon the table.
-“read that!” he told the astonished occupants.
-the “judge” read and passed the card along.
-“where do i go from here?” dimples demanded, in a voice of triumph.
-“why”—the “judge” cleared his throat—“to your tailor’s for a uniform, i should say.”
-“one man to every ten!”
-late the following afternoon, as the judicial member of the y examiners was leaving the building, his path was barred by a huge, rotund figure in khaki which rose from a bench in the hall. it was dalrymple.
-“i’ve been blocking traffic here for an hour,” the giant explained. “look at me! it’s the biggest uniform in new york, and it was made in the shortest time.” noting the effect his appearance created, he went on, “i suppose i do look funny, but—there’s nothing funny to me about it.”
-the elder man’s face grew serious.
-“i’m beginning to believe you’ll make good, dalrymple. i hope so, for your sake and for the sake of the association. if you don’t, we’ll have to order you back.”
-“i’ll take that chance. you gentlemen think i’m unfit to wear these clothes and—maybe i was yesterday, or even this morning. but when i saw myself in this uniform i took stock and cleaned house. i got all my bad habits together and laid them away in moth-balls for the duration of the war.”
-“that means something for a man like you. what induced you to do it?”
-“this.” dimples stroked his khaki sleeve with reverent, caressing fingers. “it’s almost like the real thing, isn’t it? not quite, but near enough. it’s as near as i can ever get, and i sha’n’t do anything to disgrace it. i can shut my eyes and imagine it is the real thing. i don’t suppose you understand in the least what i’m driving at—”
-“i think i understand thoroughly, sir. but don’t believe for a moment there is anything counterfeit, anything bullet-proof, about what you have on. you will be fighting, dalrymple, just the same as the other boys; every service you perform, every word of cheer, every deed of kindness, will be a bomb dropped back of the german lines. why, man, do you know that the work of the y. m. c. a. adds ten per cent. to our fighting force? it’s a fact; pershing says so. if you make good, you’ll be adding one man to every ten you meet.”
-“‘one man to every ten!’” dimples breathed. “that’s great! that’s more than i could have done the other way. i’m good for something, after all.”
-it seemed impossible that a wealthy, prominent young new york club-man could so quickly, so utterly drop out of sight as did dimples dalrymple. one day he was in his familiar haunts, a rotund, mirth-provoking spectacle in his bulging uniform, with his tiny overseas cap set above his round, red face like the calyx of a huge ripe berry; the next day he was gone, and for several months thereafter his world knew him not.
-hill two eighty-five
-captain shipp, now attached to a famous division awaiting embarkation, was the first to hear from him. he read dimples’s letter twice before passing it on. it ran as follows:
-dear brigadier-general,—you must be all of the above by this time; if not, there is favoritism somewhere and you ought to complain about it. probably you’re wondering where i am. well, that’s your privilege, brig. i’m in a two-by-four village with a name as long as the frisco system, and you’ll instantly recognize it when i tell you it has one white street and a million rats. there are no houses whatever. further information might give aid and comfort to the enemy.
-right here i must make you acquainted with pete. he’s a hundred-pound hymn-weevil, and the best all-round reverend that ever snatched a brand from the burning. he dragged me in under cover all alone, and he used no hooks. pretty good for a guy his size, eh?
-pete and i are partners in crime—and, say, the stuff we pull in this hut! movies, theatricals, concerts, boxing-bees—with the half-portion reverend in every scrimmage. he’s a syncopated baptist, or an episcopalian elk, or something; anyhow, he’s nine parts human and one part divine. that’s the way the y is wearing them over here. he’s got the pep, and the boys swear by him. when the war is over he hopes to get a little church somewhere, and i’m going to see that he does, if i have to buy it, for i want to hear him preach. i never have heard him, but i’ll bet he’s a bear. take it from me, he’ll need a modest cathedral with about six acres of parking-space inside and a nail in the door for the s. r. o. sign.
-we have a piano, and games, and writing-materials, and a stock of candy and tobacco and chocolate and stuff like that. i haven’t tasted a single chocolate. fact! but it has made an old man of me. gee! i’d give that loft building on sixteenth street to be alone with an order of corn-starch pudding. however, barring the fact that i haven’t lost an ounce in weight, i’m having a grand time, for there’s always something to do. details are constantly passing through, to and from the front-line trenches, which (whisper) are so close that we can smell the germans. that’s the reason we wear nose-bags full of chloride of lime or something. pete and i spend our days making millions of gallons of tea and coffee and cocoa, and selling canned goods, and sewing on buttons, and cracking jokes, and playing the piano, and lugging stretchers, and making doughnuts, and getting the boys to write home to mother, and various little odd jobs; then, at night, we take supplies up to the lads in the front row of the orchestra. that’s a pretty game, by the way, for a man of my size. nobody ever undertakes to pass me in a trench; i lie down and let them climb over. it keeps the boys good-natured, and that’s part of my job. “hill two eighty-five”—that’s what they call me.
-we had a caller to-day. one of the krupp family dropped in on us and jazzed up the whole premises. there is bull durham and rice-papers and chocolate and raspberry jam all over this village, and one corner of our hut has gone away from here entirely. we haven’t found the stove, either, although pete retrieved the damper, and the rest of it is probably somewhere near by.
-of course i had nothing hot for the boys when i went up to-night. it was raining, too, and cold. but they didn’t mind. they don’t mind anything—they’re wonderful that way. we all had a good laugh over it, and they pretended they were glad it was the stove and not i that got strafed. i really believe they like me. anyhow, they made me think they do, and i was so pleased i couldn’t resist sitting down and writing you. altogether, it was a great day and a perfect evening.
-yours till the last “down,” dimples.
-dimples takes part in a ceremony
-but bad news was waiting at the base—news that sent the captain hurrying from first one hospital to another.
-“dalrymple? oh yes, he’s here,” an orderly informed the distracted visitor.
-“is he— may i see him?”
-a small, hollow-eyed man with a red triangle upon his sleeve rose from a chair and approached to inquire:
-“are you, by any chance, captain shipp?”
-“dimples has often spoken of you. he has been expecting you for weeks. i’m just going in.”
-“you are doctor peters—pete?” the y secretary nodded. “what ails him? i heard he was wounded—”
-“yes. his leg. it’s very serious. i come every day.”
-the speaker led the way, and shipp followed down a long hall redolent of sickly drug smells, past clean white operating-rooms peopled with silent-moving figures, past doors through which the captain glimpsed dwindling rows of beds and occasional sights that caused his face to set. in that hushed half-whisper assumed by hospital visitors, he inquired:
-“how did it happen?”
-“there was a raid—a heavy barrage and considerable gas—and it caught him while he was up with supplies for the men. he began helping the wounded out, of course. it was a nasty affair—our men were new, you see, and it was pretty trying for green troops. they said, later, that he helped to steady them quite as much as did their officers.”
-“i can believe that. he’s a man to tie to.”
-“yes, yes. we all felt that, the very first day he came. why, he was an inspiration to the men! he was mother, brother, pal, servant to the best and to the worst of them. always laughing, singing—there! listen!”
-the reverend doctor peters paused inside the entrance to a ward, and shipp heard a familiar voice raised in quavering song:
-“by the star-shell’s light, i see you; i see you. if you want to see your father in the fatherland, keep your head down, fritzie boy.”
-“why”—shipp uttered a choking cry—“he’s out of his head!”
-“oh yes; he has been that way ever since they amputated.”
-“‘amp—’ good god!” shipp groped blindly for support; briefly he covered his eyes. then, like a man in a trance, he followed down the aisle until he stood, white-lipped and trembling, at the foot of dalrymple’s bed.
-it was difficult to recognize dimples in this pallid, shrunken person with the dark, roving eyes and babbling tongue. the voice alone was unchanged; it was husky, faint as if from long, long use, but it was brave and confident; it ran on ceaselessly:
-“keep your nerve up, pal; you’re standing it like a hero, and we’ll have you out to the road in no time. smokes! i tell you they must have smokes if you have to bring ’em in on your back—gangway for the soup-man! come and get it, boys. hot soup—like mother used to make. put on the harry lauder record again. now then, all together:
-“i love a lassie, a bonnie, blue-eyed lassie.”
-the little minister had laid a cool hand upon dimples’s burning brow; his head was bowed; his lips were moving.
-“when did you write to your mother last?” the sick man babbled on. “sure i’ll post it for you, and i’ll add a line of my own to comfort her—water! can’t you understand? he wants water, and mine’s gone. too fat to fight! but i’ll make good; i’ll serve. give me a chance—steady, boys! they’re coming. they’re at the wire. now give ’em hell! we’ll say it together, old man: ‘our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name—’”
-there were scalding tears in shipp’s eyes; his throat was aching terribly when doctor peters finally led him out of the ward. the last sound he heard was dalrymple’s voice quavering:
-“over there! over there! and we won’t come back till it’s over, over there.”
-“and he was afraid he wouldn’t make good!” shipp muttered, with a crooked, mirthless smile.
-“yes—imagine it! there was never a day that he didn’t make me ashamed of myself, never a day that he didn’t do two men’s work. no task was too hard, too disagreeable, too lowly. and always a smile, a word of cheer, of hope. our master washed people’s feet and cooked a breakfast for hungry fishermen. well, the spirit of christ lives again in that boy.”
-shipp’s leave had several days to run; such time as he did not spend with doctor peters he put in at dimples’s bedside. he was there when the delirium broke; his face was the first that dimples recognized; his hand was the first that dimples’s groping fingers weakly closed upon.
-they had little to say to each other; they merely murmured a few words and smiled; and while dimples feasted his eyes upon the brown face over him, shipp held his limp, wasted hand tight and stroked it, and vowed profanely that the sick man was looking very fit.
-later in the day the captain said, with something like gruffness in his voice:
-“lucky thing you pulled yourself together, old man, for you’re booked to take part in a ceremony to-morrow. a famous french general is going to kiss you on both cheeks and pin a doodad of some sort on your nightie.”
-dimples was amazed.
-“me? why, the idea!”
-“sure!” shipp nodded vigorously. “ridiculous, isn’t it? and think of me standing at attention while he does it. pretty soft for you y fellows. here you are going home with a decoration before i’ve even smelled powder.”
-“oh, i’m not going home,” the other declared. “not yet, anyhow. a one-legged man can sell cigarettes and sew on buttons and make doughnuts just as well as a centipede.”
-a smiling nurse paused at the bed to say:
-“you’re awfully thin, mr. dalrymple, but we’ll soon have you nice and fat again. the doctor says you’re to have the most nourishing food—anything you want, in fact.”
-“anything within reason.”
-dimples grinned wistfully, yet happily.
-“gee!” said he. “i’d like some cornstarch pudding.”
-cover, full stop inserted after ‘d,’ “t. d. skidmore”
-page 23, ‘pi’ changed to ‘pin,’ “striving to pin the man’s hateful”
-by f. l. wallace
-a galaxy science fiction novel by special arrangement with gnome press
-published in book form by gnome press, copyright 1955 by f. l. wallace.
-galaxy science fiction novels are sturdy, inexpensive editions of choice works in this field, both original and reprint, selected by the editors of galaxy science fiction magazine.
-cover by wallace a. wood
-printed in the u.s.a. by the guinn company new york 14, n. y.
-earth was too perfect for these extraordinary exiles--to belong to it, they had to flee it!
-light flickered. it was uncomfortably bright.
-doctor cameron gazed intently at the top of the desk. it wasn't easy to be diplomatic. "the request was turned over to the medicouncil," he said. "i assure you it was studied thoroughly before it was reported back to the solar committee."
-docchi edged forward, his face alight with anticipation.
-the doctor kept his eyes averted. the man was damnably disconcerting--had no right to be alive. in the depths of the sea there were certain creatures like him and on a warm summer evening there was still another parallel, but never any human with such an infirmity. "i'm afraid you know what the answer is. a flat no for the present."
-"it's not as hopeless as you think. decisions can be changed. it won't be the first time."
-"sure," said docchi. "we'll wait and wait until it's finally changed. we've got centuries, haven't we?" his face was blazing. it had slipped out of control though he wasn't aware of it. beneath the skin certain cells had been modified, there were substances in his body that the ordinary individual didn't have. and when there was an extreme flow of nervous energy the response was--light. his metabolism was akin to that of a firefly.
-cameron meddled with buttons. it was impossible to keep the lighting at a decent level. docchi was a nuisance.
-"why?" questioned docchi. "we're capable, you know that. how could they refuse?"
-that was something he didn't want asked because there was no answer both of them would accept. sometimes a blunt reply was the best evasion. "do you think they'd take you? or nona, jordan, or anti?"
-docchi winced, his arms quivering uselessly. "maybe not. but we told you we're willing to let experts decide. there's nearly a thousand of us. they should be able to get one qualified crew."
-docchi stood up, his face colorless and bright. but the inner illumination was no indication of hope.
-doctor cameron looked at him directly for the first time. it wasn't as bad as he expected. "i suggest you calm down. be patient and wait. you'll be surprised how often you get what you want."
-"you'd be surprised how we get what we want," said docchi. he turned away, lurching toward the door which opened automatically and closed behind him.
-again cameron concentrated on the desk, trying to look through it. he wrote down the sequence he expected to find, lingering over it to make sure he didn't force the pictures that came into his mind. he opened the drawer and compared the rhine cards with what he'd written, frowning in disappointment. no matter how he tried he never got better than average results. perhaps there was something to telepathy but he'd never found it. anyway it was clear he wasn't one of the gifted few.
-he shut the drawer. it was a private game, a method to keep from becoming involved in docchi's problems, to avoid emotional entanglement with people he had nothing in common with. he didn't enjoy depriving weak and helpless men and women of what little hope they had. it was their lack of strength that made them so difficult to handle.
-he reached for the telecom. "get medicouncilor thorton," he told the operator. "direct if you can; indirect if you have to. i'll hold on."
-approximate mean diameter thirty miles, the asteroid was listed on the charts as handicap haven with a mark that indicated except in emergency no one not authorized was to land there. those who were confined to it were willing to admit they were handicapped but they didn't call it haven. they used other terms, none suggesting sanctuary.
-it was a hospital, of course, but even more it was a convalescent home--the permanent kind. healthy and vigorous humanity had reserved the remote planetoid, a whirling bleak rock of no other value, and built large installations there for less fortunate people. it was a noble gesture but like many gestures the reality fell short of the intentions. and not many people outside the haven itself realized wherein it was a failure.
-the robot operator broke into his thoughts. "medicouncilor thorton has been located."
-an older man looked out of the screen, competent, forceful. "i'm on my way to the satellites of jupiter. i'll be in direct range for the next half hour." at such distances transmission and reception were practically instantaneous. cameron was assured of uninterrupted conversation. "it's a good thing you called. have you got the solar committee reply?"
-"dispatch. i like that. get the disagreeable job done with." the medicouncilor searched through the desk in front of him without success. "never mind. i'll find the information later. now. how did docchi react?"
-"he didn't like it. he was mad clear through."
-"that speaks well for his bounce."
-"they all have spirit. nothing to use it on," said dr. cameron. "i confess i didn't look at him often though he was quite presentable, even handsome in a startling sort of way."
-thorton nodded brusquely. "presentable. does that mean he had arms?"
-"today he did. is it important?"
-"i think so. he expected a favorable reply and wanted to look his best, as nearly normal as possible. in view of that i'm surprised he didn't threaten you."
-cameron tried to recall the incident. "i think he did, mildly. he said something to the effect that i'd be surprised how they got what they wanted."
-"so you anticipate trouble. that's why you called?"
-"i don't know. i want your opinion."
-"you're on the scene, doctor. you get the important nuances," said the medicouncilor hastily. "however it's my considered judgment they won't start anything immediately. it takes time to get over the shock of refusal. they can't do anything. individually they're helpless and collectively there aren't parts for a dozen sound bodies on the asteroid."
-"i'll have to agree," said dr. cameron. "but there's something that bothers me. i've looked over the records. no accidental has ever liked being here, and that covers quite a few years."
-"nobody appreciates the hospital until he's sick, doctor."
-"i know. that's partly what's wrong. they're no longer ill and yet they have to stay here. what worries me is that there's never been such open discontent as now."
-"i've found out. there's a self-elected group of four, docchi, nona, anti and jordan. i believe they're supposed to be the local recreation committee."
-the medicouncilor smiled. "an apt camouflage. it keeps them amused."
-"i always welcome new ideas."
-in spite of what he'd said the medicouncilor probably did have an open mind. "start with those it's possible to do the most with. docchi, for instance. with prosthetic arms, he appears normal except for that uncanny fluorescence. granted that the last is repulsive to the average person. we can't correct the condition medically but we can make it into an asset."
-"an asset? very neat, if it can be done." the medicouncilor's expression said it couldn't be.
-"gland opera," said cameron, hurrying on. "the most popular program in the solar system, telepaths, teleports, pyrotics and so forth the heroes. fake of course, makeup and trick camera shots.
-"but docchi can be made into a real star. the death-ray man, say. when his face shines men fall dead or paralyzed. he'd have a tremendous following of kids."
-"children," mused the medicouncilor. "are you serious about exposing them to his influence? do you really want them to see him?"
-"he'd have a chance to return to society in a way that would be acceptable to him," said cameron defensively. he shouldn't have specifically mentioned kids.
-"to him, perhaps," reflected the medicouncilor. "it's an ingenious idea, doctor, one which does credit to your humanitarianism. but i'm afraid of the public's reception. have you gone into docchi's medical history?"
-"i glanced at it before i called him in." the man was unusual, even in a place that specialized in the abnormal. docchi had been an electrochemical engineer with a degree in cold lighting. on his way to a brilliant career, he had been the victim of a particularly messy accident. the details hadn't been described but cameron could supplement them with his imagination. he'd been badly mangled and tossed into a tank of the basic cold lighting fluid.
-there was life left in the body; it flickered but never went entirely out. his arms were gone and his ribs were crushed into his spinal column. regeneration wasn't easy; a partial rib cage could be built up, but no more than that. he had no shoulder muscles and only a minimum in his back and now, much later, that was why he tired easily and why the prosthetic arms with which he'd been fitted were merely ornamental, there was nothing which could move them.
-and then there was the cold lighting fluid. to begin with it was semi-organic which, perhaps, was the reason he had remained alive so long when he should have died. it had preserved him, had in part replaced his blood, permeating every tissue. by the time docchi had been found his body had adapted to the cold lighting substance. and the adaptation couldn't be reversed and it was self-perpetuating. life was hardier than most men realized but occasionally it was also perverse.
-"then you know what he's like," said the medicouncilor, shaking his head. "our profession can't sponsor such a freakish display of his misfortune. no doubt he'd be successful on the program you mention. but there's more to life than financial achievement or the rather peculiar admiration that would be certain to follow him. as an actor he'd have a niche. but can you imagine, doctor, the dead silence that would occur when he walks into a social gathering of normal people?"
-the medicouncilor interrupted. "nona?"
-"yes. i'm not sure she really belongs here."
-"every young doctor thinks the same," said the medicouncilor kindly. "usually they wait until their term is nearly up before they suggest that she'd respond better if she were returned to normal society. i think i know what response they have in mind." thorton smiled in a fatherly fashion. "no offense, doctor, but it happens so often i'm thinking of inserting a note in our briefing program. something to the effect that the new medical director should avoid the beautiful and self-possessed moron."
-"is she stupid?" asked cameron stubbornly. "it's my impression that she's not."
-"clever with her hands," agreed the medicouncilor. "people in her mental classification, which is very low, sometimes are. but don't confuse manual dexterity with intelligence. for one thing she doesn't have the brain structure for the real article.
-"she's definitely not normal. she can't talk or hear, and never will. her larynx is missing and though we could replace it, it wouldn't help if we did. we'd have to change her entire brain structure to accommodate it and we're not that good at the present."
-"i was thinking about the nerve dissimilarities," began cameron.
-"a superior mutation, is that what you were going to say? you can forget that. it's much more of an anomaly, in the nature of cleft palates, which were once common--poor pre-natal nutrition or traumas. these we can correct rather easily but nona is surgically beyond us. there always is something beyond us, you know." the medicouncilor glanced at the chronometer beside him.
-cameron saw the time too but continued. it ought to be settled. it would do no good to bring up helen keller; the medicouncilor would use that evidence against him. the keller techniques had been studied and reinterpreted for nona's benefit. that much was in her medical record. they had been tried on nona, and they hadn't worked. it made no difference that he, cameron, thought there were certain flaws in the way the old techniques had been applied. thorton would not allow that the previous practitioners could have been wrong. "i've been wondering if we haven't tried to force her to conform. she can be intelligent without understanding what we say or knowing how to read and write."
-"how?" demanded the medicouncilor. "the most important tool humans have is language. through this we pass along all knowledge." thorton paused, reflecting. "unless you're referring to this gland opera stuff you mentioned. i believe you are, though personally i prefer to call it rhine opera."
-"i've been thinking of that," admitted cameron. "maybe if there was someone else like her she wouldn't need to talk the way we do. anyway i'd like to make some tests, with your permission. i'll need some new equipment."
-the medicouncilor found the sheet he'd been looking for from time to time. he creased it absently. "go ahead with those tests if it will make you feel better. i'll personally approve the requisition. it doesn't mean you'll get everything you want. others have to sign too. however you ought to know you're not the first to think she's telepathic or something related to that phenomena."
-"i've seen that in the record too. but i think i can be the first one to prove it."
-"i'm glad you're enthusiastic. but don't lose sight of the main objective. even if she is telepathic, and so far as we're concerned she's not, would she be better suited to life outside?"
-he had one answer--but the medicouncilor believed in another. "perhaps you're right. she'll have to stay here no matter what happens."
-"she will. it would solve your problems if you could break up the group, but don't count on it. you'll have to learn to manage them as they are."
-"i'll see that they don't cause any trouble," said cameron.
-"i'm sure you will." the medicouncilor's manner didn't ooze confidence. "if you need help we can send in reinforcements."
-"i don't anticipate that much difficulty," said cameron hastily. "i'll keep them running around in circles."
-"confusion is the best policy," agreed the medicouncilor. he unfolded the sheet and looked down at it. "oh yes, before it's too late i'd better tell you i'm sending details of new treatments for a number of deficients----"
-the picture collapsed into meaningless swirls of color. for an instant the voice was distinguishable again before it too was drowned by noise. "did you understand what i said, doctor? if it isn't clear contact me. deviation can be fatal."
-"i can't keep the ship in focus," said the robot. "if you wish to continue the conversation it will have to be relayed through the nearest main station. at present that's mars."
-it was inconvenient to wait several minutes for each reply. besides the medicouncilor couldn't or wouldn't help him. he wanted the status quo maintained; nothing else would satisfy him. it was the function of the medical director to see that it was. "we're through," said cameron.
-he sat there after the telecom clicked off. what were the deficients the medicouncilor had talked about? a subdivision of the accidentals of course, but it wasn't a medical term he was familiar with. probably a semi-slang description. the medicouncilor had been associated with accidentals so long that he assumed every doctor would know at once what he meant.
-deficients. mentally cameron turned the word over. if it was used accurately it could indicate only one thing. he'd see when the medicouncilor's report came in. he could always ask for more information if it wasn't clear.
-the doctor got heavily to his feet--and he actually was heavier. it wasn't a psychological reaction. he made a mental note of it. he'd have to investigate the gravity surge.
-in a way accidentals were pathetic, patchwork humans, half or quarter men and women, fractional organisms which masqueraded as people. the illusion died hard for them, harder than that which remained of their bodies, and those bodies were unbelievably tough. medicine and surgery were partly to blame. techniques were too good or not good enough, depending on the viewpoint--doctor or patient.
-too good in that the most horribly injured person, if he were found alive, could be kept alive. not good enough because a certain per cent of the injured couldn't be returned to society completely sound and whole. the miracles of healing were incomplete.
-there weren't many humans who were broken beyond repair, but though the details varied in every respect, the results were monotonously the same. for the most part disease had been eliminated. everyone was healthy--except those who'd been hurt in accidents and who couldn't be resurgeried and regenerated into the beautiful mold characteristic of the entire population. and those few were sent to the asteroid.
-they didn't like it. they didn't like being confined to handicap haven. they were sensitive and they didn't want to go back. they knew how conspicuous they'd be, hobbling and crawling among the multitudes of beautiful men and women who inhabited the planets. the accidentals didn't want to return.
-what they did want was ridiculous. they had talked about, hoped, and finally embodied it in a petition. they had requested rockets to make the first long hard journey to alpha and proxima centauri. man was restricted to the solar system and had no way of getting to even the nearest stars. they thought they could break through the barrier. some accidentals would go and some would remain behind, lonelier except for their share in the dangerous enterprise.
-it was a particularly uncontrollable form of self-deception. they were the broken people, without a face they could call their own, who wore their hearts not on their sleeves but in a blood-pumping chamber, those without limbs or organs--or too many. the categories were endless. no accidental was like any other.
-the self-deception was vicious precisely because the accidentals were qualified. of all the billions of solar citizens they alone could make the long journey there and return. but there were other factors that ruled them out. it was never safe to discuss the first reason with them because the second would have to be explained. cameron himself wasn't sadistic and no one else was interested enough to inform them.
-docchi sat beside the pool. it would be pleasant if he could forget where he was. it was pastoral though not quite a scene from earth. the horizon was too near and the sky was shallow and only seemed to be bright. darkness lurked outside.
-a small tree stretched shade overhead. waves lapped and made gurgling sounds against the banks. but there was no plant life of any kind, and no fish swam in the liquid. it looked like water but wasn't--the pool held acid. and floating in it, all but submerged, was a shape. the records in the hospital said it was a woman.
-"anti, they turned us down," said docchi bitterly.
-"what did you expect?" rumbled the creature in the pool. wavelets of acid danced across the surface, stirred by her voice.
-"i didn't expect that."
-"you don't know the medicouncil very well."
-"i guess i don't." he stared sullenly at the fluid. it was faintly blue. "i have the feeling they didn't consider it, that they held the request for a time and then answered no without looking at it."
-"now you're beginning to learn. wait till you've been here as long as i have."
-morosely he kicked an anemic tuft of grass. plants didn't do well here either. they too were exiled, far from the sun, removed from the soil they originated in. the conditions they grew in were artificial. "why did they turn us down?" said docchi.
-"answer it yourself. remember what the medicouncil is like. different things are important to them. the main thing is that we don't have to follow their example. there's no need to be irrational even though they are."
-"i wish i knew what to do," said docchi. "it meant so much to us."
-"we can wait, outlast the attitude," said anti, moving slowly. it was the only way she could move. most of her bulk was beneath the surface.
-"cameron suggested waiting." reflectively docchi added: "it's true we are biocompensators."
-"they always bring in biocompensation," muttered anti restlessly. "i'm getting tired of that excuse. time passes just as slow."
-"but what else is there? shall we draw up another request?"
-"memorandum number ten? let's not be naive. things get lost when we send them to the medicouncil. their filing system is in terrible shape."
-"lost or distorted," grunted docchi angrily. the grass he'd kicked already had begun to wilt. it wasn't hardy in this environment. few things were.
-"maybe we ought to give the medicouncil a rest. i'm sure they don't want to hear from us again."
-docchi moved closer to the pool. "then you think we should go ahead with the plan we discussed before we sent in the petition? good. i'll call the others together and tell them what happened. they'll agree that we have to do it."
-"then why call them? more talk, that's all. besides i don't see why we should warn cameron what we're up to."
-docchi glanced at her worriedly. "do you think someone would report it? i'm certain everyone feels as i do."
-"not everyone. there's bound to be dissent," said anti placidly. "but i wasn't thinking of people."
-"oh that," said docchi. "we can block that source any time we need to." it was a relief to know that he could trust the accidentals. unanimity was important and some of the reasons weren't obvious.
-"maybe you can and maybe you can't," said anti. "but why make it difficult, why waste time?"
-docchi got up awkwardly but he wasn't clumsy once he was on his feet. "i'll get jordan. i know i'll need arms."
-"depends on what you mean," said anti.
-"both," said docchi, smiling. "we're a dangerous weapon."
-she called out as he walked away. "i'll see you when you leave for far centauri."
-"sooner than that, anti. much sooner."
-stars were beginning to wink. twilight brought out the shadows and tracery of the structure that supported the transparent dome overhead. soon controlled slow rotation would bring near darkness to this side of the asteroid. the sun was small at this distance but even so it was a tie to the familiar scenes of earth. before long it would be lost.
-cameron leaned back and looked speculatively at the gravity engineer, vogel. the engineer could give him considerable assistance. there was no reason why he shouldn't but anyone who voluntarily had remained on the asteroid as long as vogel was a doubtful quantity. he didn't distrust him, the man was strange.
-"i've been busy trying to keep the place running smoothly. i hope you don't mind that i haven't been able to discuss your job at length," said the doctor, watching him closely.
-"naw, i don't mind," said vogel. "medical directors come and go. i stay on. it's easier than getting another job."
-"i know. by now you should know the place pretty well. i sometimes think you could do my work with half the trouble."
-"ain't in the least curious about medicine and never bothered to learn," grunted vogel. "i keep my stuff running and that's all. i don't interfere with nobody and they don't come around and get friendly with me."
-cameron believed it. the statement fit the personality. he needn't be concerned about fraternization. "there are a few things that puzzle me," he began. "that's why i called you in. usually we maintain about half earth-normal gravity. is that correct?"
-the engineer nodded and grunted assent.
-"i'm not sure why half gravity is used. perhaps it's easier on the weakened bodies of the accidentals. or there may be economic factors. either way it's not important as long as half gravity is what we get."
-"you want to know why we use that figure?"
-"if you can tell me without getting too technical, yes. i feel i should learn everything i can about the place."
-the engineer warmed up, seeming to enjoy himself. "ain't no reason except the gravity units themselves," vogel said. "theoretically we can get anything we want. practically we take whatever comes out, anything from a quarter to full earth gravity."
-"you have no control over it?" this contradicted what he'd heard. his information was that gravity generators were the product of an awesome bit of scientific development. it seemed inconceivable that they should be so haphazardly directed.
-"sure we got control," answered the engineer, grinning. "we can turn them off or on. if gravity varies, that's too bad. we take the fluctuation or we don't get anything."
-cameron frowned; the man knew what he was doing or he wouldn't be here. his position was of only slightly less importance than that of the medical director--and where it mattered the medicouncil wouldn't tolerate incompetence. and yet----
-the engineer rumbled on. "you were talking how the generators were designed especially for the asteroid. some fancy medical reason why it's easier on the accidentals to have a lesser gravity plus a certain amount of change. me, i dunno. i guess the designers couldn't help what was built and the reason was dug up later."
-cameron concealed his irritation. he wanted information, not a heart to heart confession. back on earth he had been told it was for the benefit of the accidentals. he'd reserved judgment then and saw no reason not to do so now. "all practical sciences try to justify what they can't escape but would like to. medicine, i'm sure, is no exception."
-he paused thoughtfully. "i understand there are three separate generators on the asteroid. one runs for forty-five minutes while two are idle. when the first one stops another one cuts in. the operations are supposed to be synchronized. i don't have to tell you that they're not. not long ago you felt your weight increase suddenly. i know i did. what is wrong?"
-"nothing wrong," said the engineer soothingly. "you get fluctuations while one generator is running. you get a gravity surge when one generator is supposed to drop out but doesn't. the companion machine adds to it, that's all."
-"they're supposed to be that way? overlapping so that for a time we have earth or earth and a half gravity?"
-"better than having none," said vogel with heavy pride. "used to happen quite often, before i came. you can ask any of the old timers. i fixed that though."
-he didn't like the direction his questions were taking him. "what did you do?" he asked suspiciously.
-"nothing," said the engineer uncomfortably. "nothing i can think of. i guess the machines just got used to having me around."
-there were people who tended to anthropomorphize anything they came in contact with and vogel was one of them. it made no difference to him that he was talking about insensate machines. he would continue to endow them with personality. "this is the best you can say, that we'll get a wild variation of gravity, sometimes none?"
-"it's not supposed to work that way but nobody's ever done better with a setup like this," said vogel defensively. "if you want you can check the company that makes these units."
-"i'm not trying to challenge your knowledge and i'm not anxious to make myself look silly. i do want to make sure i don't overlook anything. you see, i think there's a possibility of sabotage."
-the engineer's grin was wider than the remark required.
-cameron swiveled the chair around and leaned on the desk. "all right," he said tiredly, "tell me why the idea of sabotage is so funny."
-"it would have to be someone living here," said the big engineer. "he wouldn't like it if it jumped up to nine g, which it could. i think he'd let it alone. but there are better reasons. do you know how each gravity unit is put together?"
-"not in detail."
-the gravity generating unit was not a unit. it was built in three parts. first there was a power source, which could be anything as long as it supplied ample energy. the basic supply on the asteroid was a nuclear pile, buried deep in the core. handicap haven would have to be taken apart, stone by stone, before it could be reached.
-part two were the gravity coils, which actually originated and directed the gravity. they were simple and very nearly indestructible. they could be destroyed but they couldn't be altered and still produce the field.
-the third part was the control unit, the real heart of the gravity generating system. it calculated the relationship between the power flowing through the coils and the created field in any one microsecond. it used the computed relationship to alter the power flowing in the next microsecond to get the same gravity. if the power didn't change the field died instantly. the control unit was thus actually a computer, one of the best made, accurate and fast beyond belief.
-the engineer rubbed his chin. "now i guess you can see why it doesn't always behave as we want it to."
-he looked questioningly at cameron, expecting a reply. "i'm afraid i can't," said the doctor.
-"if it was one of your patients you'd understand," said vogel. "fatigue. the gravity control unit is an intricate computer and it gets tired. it has to rest an hour and a half to do forty-five minutes work. it can't keep running all the time any more than any delicate machine can. it has to be shut down to clear the circuits.
-"naturally they don't want anyone tinkering with it. it's sealed and non-repairable. crack the case open and it disintegrates. but first you've got to open it. now i know that it can be done, but not without a lot of high-powered equipment that i could detect if it was anywhere on the asteroid."
-in spite of the engineer's attitude it didn't seem completely foolproof. but cameron had to admit that it was probable none of the accidentals could tamper with it. "i'll forget about gravity," he said. "next, what about hand weapons? what's available?"
-"nothing. no knives even. maybe a stray bar or so of metal." vogel scratched his head. "there is something that's dangerous though. i dunno whether you could classify it as a weapon."
-cameron was instantly alert. "if it's dangerous someone can find a way to use it. what is it?"
-"the asteroid itself. nobody can physically touch any part of the gravity system. but i've often wondered if an impulse couldn't be squeezed into the computer. if anybody can do that he can change direction of the field." vogel's voice was grave. "somebody could pick up handicap haven and throw it anywhere he wanted. at earth, say. thirty miles in diameter is a big hunk of rock."
-this was the kind of information cameron had been looking for, though the big engineer seemed to regard the occasion as merely a long overdue social call. "what's the possibility?"
-vogel grinned. "thought i'd scare you. used to wake up sweating myself. got so bad i had to find out about it."
-"can or can't it be done?" demanded the doctor.
-"naw. it's too big to take a chance with. they got monitors set up all over, moons of jupiter, mars, earth, venus. this or any other gravity computer gets dizzy, the monitor overrides it. if that fails they send a jammer impulse and freeze it up tight. it can't get away until the monitor lets loose."
-he watched the engineer depart for the gravity generating chamber below the surface of the asteroid. the day had started badly and wasn't getting better. docchi to thorton to vogel. all the shades of shortsightedness, the convalescent's, authority's, and finally the technician who refused to see beyond his dials. a fine progression, but somewhere the curve ought to turn upward.
-cameron flipped on the telecom. "connect me with the rocket dome. get the pilot."
-when the robot answered it wasn't encouraging. "there's no answer. i'm sorry. i'll notify you when he comes in."
-"trace him," he snapped. "if he's not near the rocket he's somewhere in the main dome. i don't care how you do it, get him."
-a few seconds of silence followed. the answer was puzzling. "there's no record that the pilot has left the rocket dome."
-his heart skipped and his breathing was constricted. he spoke carefully. "scan the whole area. look every place, even if you think he can't be there. i've got to have the pilot."
-"scanning isn't possible. the system is out of operation in that area. i'm trying to check why."
-that was bad. he could feel muscles tighten that he didn't know he had. "all right. send out repair robots." they'd get the job done--they always did. but they were intolerably slow and just now he needed speed.
-"mobile repair units were dispatched as soon as scanning failed to work. is this an emergency? if so i can alert the staff."
-he thought about it. he needed help, plenty of it. but was there any one he could depend on? vogel? he'd probably be ready for action. but to call on him would leave the gravity generating plant unprotected. and if he told the engineer what he suspected, vogel would insist on mixing in with it. he was too vital where he was.
-who else? the sour middle-aged nurse who'd signed up because she wanted quick credits toward retirement? she slept through most of her shift and considering her efficiency perhaps it was just as well she did. or the sweet young trainee--her diploma said she'd completed her training, but you couldn't lie to a doctor--who had bravely volunteered because someone ought to help poor unfortunate men? not a word about women of course. she always walked in when cameron was examining a patient, male, but she had the deplorable habit of swooning when she saw blood. fainting was too vulgar for her and, as cameron had once told her, so was the profession of her choice.
-these were the people the emergency signal would alert. he would do better to rely on robots. they weren't much help but at least they wouldn't get hysterically in his way. oh yes, there was the pilot too, but he couldn't be located.
-the damned place was undermanned and always had been. nobody wanted to be stationed here except those who were mildly psychotic or inefficient and lazy. there was one exception. ambitious young doctors had been known to ask for the position. mentally cameron berated himself. ambition wasn't far from psychosis, or at times it could produce results as bad. if anything serious happened here he'd begin and end his career bandaging scratches at a children's playground.
-"this is not an emergency," he said. "however leave word in gravity with vogel. tell him to put on his electronic guards. i don't want him to let anyone get near the place."
-"is that all?"
-"send out six geepees. i'll pick them up near the entrance to the rocket dome."
-"repair robots are already in the area. will they do as well?"
-"they won't. i want general purpose robots for another reason. send the latest huskiest models we have." they were not bright but they were strong and could move fast. he clicked off the picture. what did he have to be afraid of? for the most part they were a beaten ragged bunch of humans. he would feel sorry for them if he wasn't apprehensive about his future.
-docchi waited near the rocket dome. he wasn't hiding but he did make himself inconspicuous among the carefully nurtured shrubbery. plants failed to give the illusion of an earth landscape--in part because some of them were venusian or martian imports--but at least the greenery added to the oxygen supply of the asteroid.
-"that's a good job," commented docchi. "i thought nona could do it."
-jordan could feel him relax as he watched the event. "a mechanical marvel," he agreed. "but we can gab about that later. i think you ought to get going."
-docchi glanced around and then went boldly into the passageway that connected the main dome with the much smaller rocket dome that was adjacent to it. normally it was never completely dark in the inhabited part of the asteroid, modulated twilight was considered more conducive to the slumber of the grievously infirm. it was the benevolent medicouncil's theory that a little light would keep away bad dreams. but this wasn't twilight as they neared the rocket dome. it was a full scale rehearsal for the darkness of interstellar space.
-docchi stopped at the emergency airlock which loomed formidably solid in front of them. "let's hope," he said. "we can forget about it if nona didn't manage to cut this out of the circuit."
-"she seemed to understand, didn't she? what more do you want?" jordan twisted around docchi and reached out. the great slab moved easily in the grooves. it was open. "the trouble with you is that you lack confidence, in yourself and in genius."
-docchi didn't answer. he was listening intently, trying to interpret the faint sounds ahead of him.
-"okay, i hear it," whispered jordan. "let's get way inside before he comes near us."
-docchi went cautiously into the darkness of the rocket dome, feeling his way. he'd never recover in time if he stumbled and fell. he tried to force the luminescence into his face. occasionally he could control his altered metabolism, and now was the time he needed it.
-he was nervous and that hindered his accuracy. he couldn't be sure the light was right, enough so that he'd be noticed, not so much that the details of his appearance would be plain. he wished he could ask jordan, but jordan was in no position to tell him.
-the footsteps came nearer and so did profanity, rich in volume but rather meager in imaginative symbolism. docchi flashed his face once, as bright as he could manage, and then lowered the intensity immediately.
-the footsteps stopped. "docchi?"
-"no. just a lonely little light bulb out for an evening stroll."
-the rocket pilot's laughter wasn't altogether friendly. "sure it's you. i'd recognize you at the bottom of the sea. what i mean was what are you doing here?"
-docchi ignored the weapon. "what was the cause, a high velocity meteor strike?"
-the pilot grunted. "i'd have heard if it was."
-"and you didn't hear a thing?"
-"nothing." the pilot peered intently at docchi, a barely visible silhouette. "well, i see you're getting smart these days. you should do it all the time. wear your arms. you look better that way even if you can't use them. you look hundred per cent better, almost...." his voice faded.
-"almost human?" asked docchi kindly. "nothing like, say a pair of legs and a very good if slightly used spinal column with a lightning bug face stuck on top? you didn't have this in mind?"
-"i didn't say it. i'm used to you. i can't help it if you're overly sensitive. i don't suppose it's your fault." his voice got higher. "anyway i told you to get going. you don't belong in here."
-"but i don't want to go," said docchi. "i'm not afraid of the dark. are you? i'm looking for some corner to brighten. can i let a little light in your life?"
-"i'm supposed to report psycho talk, docchi, and damned if i won't. personally i always suspected you. get out of here before i take your fake hand and drag you out."
-"now you've hurt my feelings," said docchi reproachfully, stepping nimbly away.
-"don't say you didn't try to make me mad," growled the pilot, lunging after him. what he took hold of wasn't an imitation hand, delicately molded and colored to duplicate skin. the hand he touched was real and the muscles in it were more than a match for his own. it was surprise, at first, that caused him to scream.
-docchi bent double and the dark figure on his back came over his head like a knife from a sheath. the pilot was lifted off his feet and slammed to the floor.
-"jordan," gurgled the pilot.
-"it's me," said jordan. he wrapped one arm around the pilot's throat and clamped tight. with the other he felt for the toaster the pilot still held but hadn't time to use. effortlessly he tore it away and hammered the man unconscious with the butt. he stopped just short of smashing the skull. docchi stood ineffectually by, kicking where he could, but the action was fast and he had no arms.
-jordan balanced himself with his hands. he had a strong head and massive powerful arms and shoulders. his body stopped below his chest, there was no more. a round metal capsule contained his digestive organs. accidentals were indeed the odds and ends of creation, and of jordan one end was missing. but the part that remained made up for the loss.
-"dead?" docchi glanced down at the pilot.
-jordan rocked forward and listened for the heartbeat. "nah," he said. "i was going to clout him again but i remembered we can't afford to kill anybody."
-"see that you don't forget," said docchi. he stifled an exclamation as something coiled around his leg. jumping forward he broke loose from the thing that caught him.
-"repair robot," chuckled jordan, looking around. "the place is lousy with them."
-docchi blinked on and off in confusion and the robot rolled clumsily toward him.
-"friendly creature," commented jordan. "i think it wants to tinker with your lighting system."
-docchi shook off the squat contrivance which, after it touched his flesh, whirred puzzledly to itself. the job was beyond its capacity but it didn't leave. "what'll we do with him?" asked docchi, staring at the pilot.
-"he needs attention," said jordan. "not the kind i gave him." he balanced the toaster in his hand and burned a small hole in the little wheeled monster. extensibles emerged from the side of the machine and carefully explored the damaged area. the extensibles slid back into the machine and presently came out again with a small torch. it began welding the hole.
-meanwhile jordan pulled the unconscious man toward him. he leaned against the machine for leverage and raised the inert pilot over his head and laid him gently on the top flat surface. the reaction from the robot was immediate. another extensible reached out to investigate the body. jordan welded the joints solid. three times he repeated the process until the pilot was securely fastened to the robot.
-docchi bent over to help him and with some trouble the proper sequence was implanted. the robot stood motionless as the newest commands shuttled erratically through damaged but not inoperative circuits. finally it screeched softly and began to roll drunkenly away.
-"get on my back," said docchi doggedly. "you know we've got to hurry."
-docchi listened. "geepees."
-"yeah," said jordan. "i wonder who they're after. you'll have to move fast to get to the rocket."
-"what can i do when i get there? by myself nothing. you'll have to help me."
-"get on your back and neither of us get there?" said jordan. "you can figure out something later. start moving."
-"i'm not leaving you," said docchi.
-a huge paw clamped on the back of his head. "now you listen," said jordan fiercely. "together we were a better man than the pilot--your legs and my arms. now we got to separate but we can still prove we're better than cameron and all his geepees."
-"we're not trying to prove anything," said docchi. "it's a question of urgent principle. right now there are men who can go to the stars and it's up to us to let the rest of mankind know it."
-a brilliant light sliced through the darkness and swept around the rocket dome, revealing beams and columns of the structure. "maybe you're not trying to prove anything personal," said jordan. "i am. the rest of us are. otherwise why shouldn't we let them go on spoon feeding us, rocking us to sleep every night?" impatiently he hitched himself along the ground until he came to a column.
-"you can't hide behind that," said docchi.
-"not behind it. on top i can. with no legs that's where i belong." he grasped the steel member in his great hands and in the light gravity ascended rapidly.
-"careful," called docchi.
-"what have i got to be careful about?" jordan's voice floated down from the lacy structure. and it was no longer directly overhead. jordan was moving away along the beams that stretched from column to column. for those who knew of it there was an unsuspected roadway above. jordan had it to himself and the geepees would never find him.
-it was foolish to become elated over such a trivial thing. jordan wasn't there yet and what he'd do when he arrived was problematical. but it did prove--yes, there was already proof of some sort for him. docchi set out, walking faster and faster until he was running. he wouldn't have thought it possible but he was able to increase the distance between himself and the pursuing robots.
-even so he didn't have much time to look around when he reached the rocket. the first glimpse of the ship was disheartening. passenger and freight locks were still closed. nona either hadn't understood their instructions completely or she hadn't been able to carry them out. probably the first. she'd disrupted the circuits, light and scanning, with no tools except her hands. her skill with machines she couldn't have known about previously was sometimes uncanny. but it was too much to expect that she'd have the rocket ready for them to walk into.
-it was up to docchi to get in by himself. if he was ever going to it would have to be by his own efforts. momentarily he wished for the toaster they'd taken from the pilot, and then dropped the wish before it was fully formed. with the toaster he might have managed to soften the inside catch at the entrance. and the thought itself was an indication of how his mind rebelled at reality--he had no arms and he couldn't have used the toaster. it was right and proper that jordan had kept the weapon. it was of value to him.
-docchi searched frantically, trying to comprehend the complex installation around him in a glance. there had to be some provision made for opening the ship when no one was inside, a device which would send an impulse to actuate the catches. he'd be lucky if he could operate it, but luck had been with him so far.
-but if there was an external control he failed to find it. and the approaching lights warned that his chances were diminishing. that there was any time left was cameron's mistake--he'd ordered the geepees to look too thoroughly as they came along. they were capable of faster pursuit. this mistake was on cameron and he might make more.
-from the sounds that drifted to him docchi surmised that jordan was still at large, perhaps nearby. did the doctor know this? probably not--he'd tend to underestimate the accidentals.
-docchi descended into the shallow landing pit. it was remarkably ill suited for concealment. the walls were smooth, glazed with a faintly green substance, and there were no doors or niches anywhere. yet he had to be somewhere near the ship and this was as close as he could get. it wouldn't do to wander away--cameron would post a robot guard around the ship and he wouldn't be able to get back through. he had to hide at once.
-he leaned against the stern tube cluster, the metal pressing hard into the thin flesh that covered his back. seconds passed before he realized that the tubes were the answer. he turned around to look at them. a small boy could climb inside and crawl out of sight. so could a grown man who had no shoulders or arms to get wedged in the narrow cylinder.
-it was difficult to get into them. he tried a lower tube, bending down and thrusting his head in. he wriggled and shoved with his feet until he was almost entirely in. his feet were still out and so he bent his knees to get better purchase and forced himself further in. he didn't stop until he was certain he couldn't be seen by anyone who didn't specifically peer into the tube.
-he waited there, listening. a geepee came down noisily into the landing pit. the absence of any other sound indicated to docchi that it probably was radio controlled. the robot clambered around, searching. the noise abated soon but it became apparent that the geepee wasn't going to leave. it had been stationed to watch the pit.
-docchi couldn't get out. he was caught in the pit. he fought back the claustrophobia that swirled through his mind. it was nothing to be afraid of; he could assure his rescue, or capture, by shouting. the robot would drag him out instantly.
-but that was not the only way. the tube extended forward as well as back. the inner end of the tube was closed with a combustion chamber which was singed and would swing away. the ship hadn't been used for months and there was a distinct possibility that the tubes were open at the other end. he might get through.
-he stopped to catch his breath. the metal conducted sound well, almost magnifying it. in the interval, over his own breathing, he heard the characteristic sputter, like frying, that the toaster beam made when it struck metal. a great clatter followed.
-"get him," shouted cameron. "he's up there."
-jordan had arrived and succeeded in disabling a geepee. and cameron would find out that he wasn't easily captured. the diversion came when docchi needed it.
-"don't use heat," ordered cameron. "get lights on him. drive him up higher. corner him and go up and get him."
-docchi shoved on less cautiously. the robot in the pit had joined the others and he needn't fear detection. it became harder to advance, though. he had expected it but he didn't know it would be this hard to push through the narrowing tube.
-he gazed longingly at the combustion cap a few feet away. if he had hands he could grasp it and pull himself out. but if he had, he'd never have gotten this far. he closed his eyes to rest for a moment and then continued wriggling, his back arching with the effort. he was nearly through now, only his legs were in the tube. he kicked once, hard, and fell to the floor.
-he lay there until his head cleared and his breath came back. he rolled over, bent his knees, and stood up, staggering forward through the corridor to the control compartment. the rocket was his but he didn't want it for himself, and by himself he couldn't use it.
-he was betting that cameron wouldn't notice it. the doctor ought to be too busy trying to capture jordan. but if cameron did see what was happening, he had thirty seconds in which to stop docchi. it wasn't enough. things looked good for their plan.
-"rocket landing," said docchi when the allotted thirty seconds had passed. "emergency instructions. repeat, emergency instructions. stand by." technically the ship was in flight, though by very little, and the frequency he was using was assurance that the message would be heard, and heeded.
-"all energized geepees lend assistance. this order supersedes any previous command. additional equipment is necessary to prepare for a possible crash landing." after listing what equipment was needed docchi sat down and chuckled.
-he waited for another few minutes and then flicked on the external lights with his knee. he got up and went to the passenger entrance, brushing against the switch on the way. the passenger ramp swung down and he stood boldly at the entrance, looking out. the whole rocket dome was floodlighted by the ship, beams and columns standing out in sharp detail. it was an impressive structure now, even beautiful, though he remembered hating it once, coming in.
-"all right, jordan, it's safe to come down," he called.
-"well, monster," he grinned. "how did you do it?"
-"monster yourself," said docchi. "i crawled through the rocket tube."
-"i saw you start in," said jordan. "i wasn't sure you'd make it. even when the ship rose i wasn't certain until you came out." jordan scratched his cheek. "what i meant was: how did you get rid of cameron?"
-"doctors usually aren't mechanically inclined," said docchi. "cameron was no exception. he forgot an emergency rocket landing cancels any verbal orders. so i took the ship up a few inches. geepees aren't very bright and it wouldn't matter if they were. as long as the ship was in the air and i said i was coming in for a landing they had to obey."
-jordan nodded delightedly. "poor doc," he said. "it wasn't that he was dumb. there was nothing he could do when you outsmarted him."
-"i wouldn't have thought of it," said jordan. "anyway, how did you get the robots to rush off, carrying cameron with them?"
-"i didn't have to do anything. as long as the pilot of the incoming ship declares he may crash, the geepees must remove all humans from the danger zone, willing or not. they'd have taken you too if they could have reached you but they had to abandon that idea when i ordered crash equipment."
-"anti's taken care of. geepees aren't built to question anything and in their mind she's listed as emergency landing material. they'll bring her. and nona is supposed to be waiting with anti." docchi's face showed misgiving. "i think we made it clear she was supposed to stay there."
-"what if she didn't understand?"
-he had little time to dwell on it. the geepees were coming back. he heard them first and saw them seconds later. they came into sight half carrying, half pushing a huge rectangular tank. with ingenuity that was unexpected in robots they had mounted it on four of their smaller brethren, the squat repair robots. this served to support the tremendous weight.
-the tank was filled with blue liquid. twisted pipes dangled from the ends--it had been torn from the pit in the ground, lifted up from the foundation. broken plants still clung to a narrow ledge on top and moist soil adhered to the sides. wracked out of shape and askew, the tank was intact and did not leak. five geepees pushed it rapidly toward the ship, mechanically oblivious to the disheveled man who shouted and struck at them, incoherent with frustrated rage.
-"jordan, open the freight lock."
-docchi remained at the passenger entrance. cameron was an idiot. he should have stayed in the main dome once the geepees had released him. his presence was unwelcome, more than he may have realized. still, they'd gotten rid of him once and it ought to work again.
-it was nona who worried docchi. she hadn't accompanied the robots and she wasn't to be seen. it didn't look as if cameron had found her there and managed to confine her to the hospital. it had happened too fast; the doctor was lucky to have kept up with the geepees. docchi started uncertainly down the ramp and came back. she wasn't around, he could see that, and it was too late to go back to the main dome.
-jordan appeared at the far end of the corridor. "sure. what's wrong?"
-"vogel, the engineer. he must have seen the geepees on scanning when they entered the main dome. he's trying to do what cameron should have thought of but didn't have sense."
-jordan went away and the passenger ramp rose with ponderous slowness, clamping shut with metallic finality. as soon as he saw there was no danger there docchi hurried to the control compartment.
-"now we can't see what to do," complained jordan.
-"maybe," said docchi. "try to get something on the telecom."
-from the angle it was difficult to see anything. the receptor tubes were close to the hull, and the ship curved backward, filling most of the screen. by rotating the view they managed to pick up a corner of the tank. apparently it was resting where docchi had last seen it. he couldn't be sure but he thought it hadn't been moved.
-"i don't know whether we can bring it in," said jordan nervously. "maybe we should leave it. we'll make out by ourselves."
-"leave without the tank? not a chance. vogel hasn't got complete control of the robots yet." it seemed to be true. they were huddled away from the ship, looking alternately at the rocket and the tank, nearly motionless, paralyzed.
-"yeah, but he'll have them soon. look at them."
-"i am, which is why i think he's having trouble. give me full power on the emergency radio."
-"what good will it do? he's got priority."
-"he's got it, but can he push it through to them? it's my idea that he can't, that he's at the wrong angle to put much power in his signal. there's a lot of steel between him and the robots and that's weakening his beam."
-"maybe you've got something," said jordan. "i'll burn the emergency stuff out. if it doesn't work we won't need it again anyway." he flipped the dials until the lights above them were blazing fiercely.
-geepees were not designed to sift contradictory commands at nearly the same level of urgency. their reasoning ability was feeble but the mechanism that enabled them to think at all was complicated. in one respect they resembled humans: borderline decisions were difficult. a ship in distress--an asteroid in danger. both called for the robot to destroy itself if necessary. it seemed as if that was all that would be accomplished.
-"more power," whispered docchi.
-"there ain't more," answered jordan, but somehow he coaxed an extra trickle out of the reserves.
-marionettes. but they were always that, puppets on invisible wires. and now this string led toward one action. another, intrinsically more important but suddenly less powerful, pulled for something else. circuits burned in electronic brains. microrays fluttered under the stress. they didn't know. they just didn't know.
-but there had to be a choice.
-jordan breathed deeply. "that did it. i don't think they can hurt us now."
-"it's not over. get ship-to-station communication, if there's any radio left."
-"i'll be surprised if there is," muttered jordan, but his skepticism was without basis. the radio was still functioning. he made the adjustments.
-docchi was matter of fact. "vogel, we're going out. don't try to stop us. give us clearance and save the dome some damage."
-there was no reply.
-"he's bluffing," said jordan. "he knows the airlocks in the main dome will close automatically if we break through."
-"sure," said docchi. "everyone in the main dome is safe--if everyone is in there. vogel, do you know where cameron is? are you certain a nurse or an accidental hasn't wandered in here to see what's wrong? we'll give you time to think about it."
-again they waited and waited. each second was tangible, the precious duration that lives and events were measured with--and the measure was exceedingly slow. meanwhile jordan flipped on the telecom and searched the rocket dome. they saw nothing; there was not even a geepee in sight. docchi watched the screen impassively; what he thought didn't show on his face.
-and still there was no reply from the engineer in the gravity station.
-"all right. we've given you a chance," said docchi. his voice was brittle. "you know what we're going to do. if anybody gets hurt you can take the credit." he turned away from the screen. "jordan, let's go. hit the shell with the bow."
-jordan grasped the levers. the ship hardly quivered as it tilted upward and leaped away. it roared in the air and then fell silent as it passed into space. and the silence was worse than any sound--it was filled with the imagined hiss of air escaping from a great hole in the transparent covering of the dome.
-jordan sat at the controls. "did he?"
-"he had to. he wouldn't risk killing some innocent person."
-"i don't know," said jordan. "if you'd said he wouldn't want his pretty machinery banged up it would be easier to believe."
-"i didn't hear anything. we would have if we'd hit."
-"it was fast. could we tell? maybe vogel played it safe and had the inner shell out of the way even if he didn't give us the automatic signal. in that event it's all right because it would close as soon as we got out of the way even if we did rip through the outer shell. all the air wouldn't escape." jordan sat there for a moment, silently reviewing his own arguments.
-he twisted the lever and the ship leaped forward. "cameron i don't mind. he had time to get away and he knew what we were going to do. i keep thinking nona might have been there."
-"he opened it," said docchi harshly. "we didn't hit the dome. i didn't hear anything. nona wasn't there." his face was gray, there was no light at all in it. "come on," he said, walking away.
-jordan rocked back and forth. the hemisphere that held what remained of his body was suited for it. he set the auto-controls and reduced the gravity to quarter normal. he bent his arms and shoved himself into the air, deftly catching a guide rail, swinging along it.
-it was pure chance that he glanced toward the back of the ship instead of forward as he entered the corridor after docchi. there was a light blinking at a cabin door.
-it was occupied.
-jordan caught up before docchi reached the cargo hold. in lesser gravity he was more active and could move freely. now his handicap was almost unnoticeable, seemed to have disappeared. the same was not true of docchi. it required less effort to walk but there was also a profound unsettling effect that made him cautious and uncertain.
-docchi heard him coming and waited, bracing himself against the wall in case the gravity should momentarily change. jordan still carried the weapon he'd taken from the pilot. it was clipped to the sacklike garment, dangling from his midsection which, for him, was just below his shoulders. down the passageway he came, swinging from the guide rails with easy grace though the gravity on the ship was as erratic as on the asteroid.
-jordan halted, hanging on with one hand. "we have a passenger. someone we didn't know about."
-docchi stiffened. "who?" he asked. but the answer was already on jordan's face. "nona," he said in relief. he slumped forward. "how did she get on?"
-"a good question," said jordan. "but there isn't any answer and never will be. it's my guess that after she jammed the lights and scanners in the rocket dome she went to the ship and it looked inviting. so she went in. she wouldn't let a little thing like a lock that couldn't be opened stop her."
-"it's a good guess," agreed docchi. "she's exceedingly curious."
-"i can't argue with you. it'll do until a better explanation comes along."
-"what do you want?" said docchi. "she did more than we did. we depend too much on her. next thing we'll expect her to escort us personally to the stars."
-"i wasn't criticizing her," protested jordan.
-the cargo hold was sizable. it had to be to hold the tank, which was now quite battered and twisted. but the tank was sturdily built and looked as if it would hold together for ages to come. there was some doubt as to whether the ship would. the wall opposite the ramp was badly bent where the tank had plowed into it and the storage racks were demolished. odds and ends of equipment lay in scattered heaps on the floor.
-"anti," called docchi.
-"are you hurt?"
-"never felt a thing," came the cheerful reply. it was not surprising; her surplus flesh was adequate protection against deceleration.
-jordan began to scale the side of the tank, reaching the top and peering over. "she seems to be all right," he called down. "part of the acid's gone. otherwise there's no damage."
-"of course not," replied anti. "what did i say?"
-it was perhaps more serious than she realized. she might personally dislike it, but acid was necessary to her life. and some of it had been splashed from the tank. where it had spilled metal was corroding rapidly. by itself this was no cause for alarm. the ship was built for a multitude of strange environments and the scavenging system would handle acid as readily as water, neutralizing it and disposing of it where it would do no harm. but the supply had to be conserved. there was no more.
-"what are you waiting for?" anti rumbled with impatience. "get me out of here. i've stewed in this disgusting soup long enough."
-"we were thinking how we could get you out. we'll figure out a way."
-"you let me do the thinking. you just get busy. after you left i decided there must be some way to live outside the tank and of course when i bent my mind to it there was a way. after all, who knows more about my condition than me?"
-"you're the expert. tell us what to do."
-"oh i will. all i need from you is no gravity and i'll take care of the rest. i've got muscles, more than you think. i can walk as long as my bones don't break from the weight."
-light gravity was bad, none at all was worse for docchi. having no arms he'd be helpless. the prospect of floating free without being able to grasp anything was terrifying. he forced down his fear. anti had to have it and so he could get used to null gravity.
-"we'll get around to it," he promised. "before we do we'll have to drain and store the acid."
-"i don't care what you do with it," said anti. "all i know is that i don't want to be in it."
-jordan was already working. he swung off the tank and was busy expelling water from an auxiliary compartment into space. as soon as the compartment was empty he led a hose from it to the tank. a pump vibrated and the acid level in the tank began to fall.
-docchi felt the ship lurch familiarly. the ship was older than he thought, the gravity generator more out of date. "hurry," he called to jordan.
-in time they'd cut it off. but if gravity went out before they were ready they were in for rough moments. free floating globes of highly corrosive acid, scattered throughout the ship by air currents, could be as destructive as high velocity meteor clusters.
-as soon as she was weightless anti rose out of the tank.
-in all the time docchi had known her he had seen no more than a face framed in blue acid. where it was necessary periodic surgery had trimmed the flesh away. for the rest, she lived submerged in a corrosive fluid that destroyed the wild tissue as fast as it grew. anyway, nearly as fast.
-"well, junkman, look at a real freak," snapped anti.
-he had anticipated--and he was wrong in what he thought. it was true humans weren't meant to grow so large, but jupiter wasn't repulsive merely because it was the bulging giant of planets. it was unbelievable and overwhelming when seen close up but it was not obscene. it took getting used to but he could stand the sight of anti.
-"how long can you live out of the acid?" he stammered.
-"can't live out of it," said anti loftily. "so i take it with me. if you weren't as unobservant as most men you'd see how i do it."
-"it's a robe of some kind," said docchi carefully after studying it.
-"exactly. a surgical robe, the only thing i have to my name. maybe it's the only garment in the solar system that will fit me. anyway, if you've really examined it you'll notice it's made of a spongelike substance. it holds enough acid to last at least thirty-six hours."
-she grasped a rail and propelled herself toward the passageway. for most people it was spacious enough but not for anti. however she could squeeze through. and satellites, one glowing and the other swinging in an eccentric orbit, followed after the jupiter of humans.
-nona was standing in front of the instrument panel when they came back. it was more or less like all panels built since designers first got the hang of what could really be done with seemingly simple components. there was a bewildering array of lights, levers, dials, and indicators in front of her but nona was interested in none of these. there was a single small switch and dial, separate from the rest, that held her complete attention. she seemed disturbed by what she saw or failed to see. disturbed or excited, it was difficult to guess which.
-anti stopped. "look at her. if i didn't know she's as bad as the rest of us, in fact the only one who was born that way, it would be easy to hate her. she's disgustingly normal."
-there was truth in what anti said--and yet there wasn't. surgical techniques that could take bodies apart and put them together with a skill once reserved for machines had made beauty commonplace. there were no more sagging muscles, discolored skin, or wrinkles. even the aged were attractive and youthful seeming until the day they died, and the day after too. there were no more ill-formed limbs, misshapen bodies, unsightly hair. everyone was handsome or beautiful. no exceptions.
-the accidentals didn't belong, of course. in another day most of them would have been employed by a circus--if they had first escaped the formaldehyde of the specimen bottle.
-and nona didn't belong--doubly. she couldn't be called normal, and she wasn't a repair job as the other accidentals were. looked at closely she was an original as far from the average in one direction as anti was in the other.
-"what's she staring at?" asked anti as the others slipped past her into the compartment. "is there something wrong with the little dial?"
-"that dial has a curious history," said docchi. "it's not useless, it just isn't used. actually it's an indicator for the gravity drive which at one time was considered fairly promising. it hasn't been removed because it might come in handy during an extreme emergency."
-"but all that extra weight----"
-"there's no weight, anti. the gravity drive is run from the same generator that supplies passenger gravity. it's very interesting that nona should spot it at once. i'm certain she's never been in a control room before and yet she went straight to it. she may even have some inkling of what it's for."
-anti dismissed the intellectual feat. "well, why are you waiting here? you know she can't hear us. go stand in front of her."
-"a good engineer would have sense to put on magnetics. nona did." anti grasped his jacket. how she was able to move was uncertain. the tissues that surrounded the woman were too vast to permit the perception of individual motions. nevertheless she proceeded to the center of the compartment and with her came docchi.
-nona turned before they reached her. "my poor boy," sighed anti. "if you're trying to conceal your emotions, that's a very bad job. anyway, stop glowing like a rainbow and say something."
-it was one time anti missed. he almost did feel that way and maybe if she weren't so competent in his own specialty he might have. it was irritating to study and work for so many years as he had--and then to be completely outclassed by someone who did neither, to whom certain kinds of knowledge came so easily it seemed to be inborn. she was attractive but for him something was missing. "hello," he said lamely.
-nona smiled at him though it was anti she went to.
-"no, not too close, child. don't touch the surgery robe unless you want your pretty face to peel off when you're not looking."
-nona stopped; she was close but she may as well have been miles away. she said nothing.
-anti shook her head hopelessly. "i wish she'd learn to read lips or at least recognize words. what can you say to her?"
-"she knows facial expressions and actions, i think," said docchi. "she's pretty good at emotions too. she falls down when it comes to words. i don't think she knows there is such a thing."
-"then how does she think?" asked anti, and answered her own question. "maybe she doesn't."
-"let's not be as dogmatic as psychologists have been. we know she does. what concepts she uses is uncertain. not verbal, nor mathematical anyway--she's been tested for that." he frowned puzzledly. "i don't know what concepts she uses in thinking. i wish i did."
-"save some of the worry for our present situation," said anti. "the object of your concern doesn't seem to need it. at least she isn't interested."
-nona had wandered back to the instrument panel and was staring at the gravity drive indicator again. there was really nothing there to hold her attention but her curiosity was insatiable and childlike.
-and in many ways she seemed immature. and that led to an elusive thought: what child was she? not whose child--what child. her actual parents were known, obscure technicians and mechanics, descendants themselves of a long line of mechanics and technicians. not one notable or distinguished person among them, her family was decently unknown to fame or misfortune in every branch--until she'd come along. and what was her place, according to heredity? docchi didn't know but he didn't share the official medical view.
-with an effort docchi stopped thinking about nona. "we appealed to the medicouncilor," he said. "we asked for a ship to go to the nearest star, a rocket, naturally. even allowing for a better design than we now have the journey will take a long time--forty or fifty years going and the same time back. that's entirely too long for a normal crew, but it wouldn't matter to us. you know what the medicouncil did with that request. that's why we're here."
-"why rockets?" interrupted jordan. "why not some form of that gravity drive you were talking about? seems to me for travel over a long distance it would be much better."
-"as an idea it's very good," said docchi. "theoretically there's no upper limit to the gravity drive except the velocity of light and even that's questionable. if it would work the time element could be cut in fractions. but the last twenty years have proved that gravity drives don't work at all outside the solar system. they work very well close to the sun, start acting up at the orbit of venus and are no good at all from earth on out."
-"why don't they?" asked jordan. "you said they used the same generator as passenger gravity. those work away from the sun."
-"sure they do," said docchi impatiently. "like ours is working now? actually ship internal gravity is more erratic than we had on the asteroid, and that's hardly reliable. for some reason the drive is always worse than passenger gravity. don't ask me why. if i knew i wouldn't be on handicap haven. arms or no arms, biocompensator or not, i'd be the most important scientist on earth."
-"with multitudes of women competing for your affections," said anti.
-"i think he'd settle for one," suggested jordan.
-"poor unimaginative man," said anti. "when i was young i was not so narrow in my outlook."
-"we've heard about your youth," said jordan. "i don't believe very much of it."
-"talk about your youth and love affairs privately if you want but spare us the details. especially now, since there are more important things to attend to." docchi glowered at them. "anyway the gravity drive is out," he resumed. "at one time they had hopes for it but no longer. the present function of the generator is to provide gravity inside the ship, for passenger comfort. nothing else.
-"so it is a rocket ship, slow and clumsy but reliable. it'll get us there. the medicouncil refused us and so we'll have to go higher."
-"i'm all for it," said anti. "how do we get higher?"
-"we've discussed it before," answered docchi. "the medicouncil is responsible to the solar government, and in turn solar has been known to yield to devious little pressures."
-"or not so devious great big pressures. fine. i'm in favor," said anti. "i just wanted to be sure."
-"mars is close," continued docchi. "but earth is more influential. therefore i recommend it." his voice trailed off and he stopped and listened, listened.
-anti listened too but the sound was too faint for her hearing. "what's the matter?" she said. "i think you're imagining things."
-jordan leaned forward in his seat and examined the instrument panel carefully before answering. "that's the trouble, anti. you're not supposed to hear it, but you should be able to feel vibrations as long as the rocket's on."
-"i don't feel it either."
-"i know," said jordan, looking at docchi. "i can't understand. there's plenty of fuel."
-"it's mechanical trouble of some sort," he said uneasily. "i don't know where to begin."
-before he could get to it anti was in the passageway that led from the control compartment. "course i'm completely ignorant," she said. "seems to me we ought to start with the rocket tubes and trace the trouble from there."
-"i was going to," said docchi. "you stay here, anti. i'll see what's wrong."
-"but you won't know what to do."
-"i don't have to. you don't have to be a mechanic to see something's broken. i'll find it, and when i do you can come and fix it."
-he knew when it was useless to argue with her. "we'll both go," he said. "jordan will stay at the controls."
-"we'll check the stern tubes," he said, still unable to see around her. "open the door and we'll look in."
-"can't," said anti. "tried to but the handle won't turn. there's a red light too. does it mean anything?"
-he'd expected something like this but nevertheless his heart sank now that he was actually confronted with it. "it does. don't try again. with your strength you might be unlucky enough to open the door."
-"there's a man for you," said anti. "first you tell me to open it and then you don't want me to."
-"there's no air in the rear compartment, anti. the combustion chamber's been retracted--that's why the rockets stopped firing. the air rushed out into space as soon as it happened. that's what the red light means."
-"we'd all die if i opened it now?"
-"then let's get busy and fix it."
-"we will. but we've got to make sure it doesn't happen again. you see, it wasn't accidental. someone, or something, was responsible."
-"are you sure?"
-"very sure. did you see anyone while we were loading your tank in the ship?"
-"nothing. how could i? i heard cameron shouting, other noise. but i couldn't see a thing that wasn't directly overhead, and there wasn't anything."
-"i thought so. a geepee could have got in without anyone seeing him. i didn't count them but i was certain all of them had dropped outside. i was mistaken; one of them didn't."
-"why does it have to be a geepee?"
-"it just does, anti. the combustion chamber was retracted while we were all in the control compartment. we didn't do it and therefore it had to be someone back here.
-"no man is strong enough to retract the cap, but if he somehow exerted superhuman effort, as soon as the chamber cleared the tubes rocket action would cease and the air in the compartment would exhaust into space."
-"so we have a dead geepee in the rocket compartment."
-"a geepee doesn't die or even become inactive. lack of air doesn't hinder it in the least. not only that, a geepee might be able to escape from the compartment. it's strong and fast enough to open the door against the pressure and get out and close it again in less than a second. we wouldn't notice it because the ship would automatically replenish the small amount of air that would escape."
-anti settled down grimly. "then there's a geepee on the loose, intent on wrecking us?"
-"i'm afraid so."
-"then what are we standing around for? all we have to do is go back to the controls and pick up the robot on the radio. we'll make it go in there and repair the damage it's done."
-docchi nodded reluctantly. "it doesn't. robots are never used aboard and so the emergency band is broadcast by the bow antenna. the hull of the ship is a pretty good insulation."
-"ain't that nice?" said anti happily. "we've got a robot hunt ahead of us."
-"and our bare hands to hunt it with."
-"oh come. it's not as hopeless as that. look, the robot was back here when the rockets stopped. it couldn't get by the control compartment without our seeing it."
-"that's what i mean. we came down one and there wasn't any geepee. so it's got to be in the other. if it goes in a cabin a light will shine outside. it can't hide from us."
-"i don't doubt we'll find it. but what'll we do then?"
-"i was thinking," said anti. "can you get past me when i'm standing like this?"
-docchi bit his lip and stared at the back of the huge woman. he knew anti, and when it was useless to argue with her. "all right," he answered. "stay here though. don't try anything until i get a toaster for you."
-the magnetics on his feet were no substitute for gravity. docchi couldn't move fast, no human could. he had time to think as he went along but nothing better suggested itself. a toaster for jordan and another for anti--if there was another.
-and anti would block the passageway. a geepee might go through her but it could never squeeze past. the robot would try to get away. if it came toward anti she might disable it. but she would be firing directly into the control compartment. and if she missed even partially--well, the instruments were delicate.
-but jordan might get the chance to bring down the robot. then anti would be in the line of fire. no matter how he looked at it, docchi was sure the plan was unworkable. they'd have to devise something else.
-"jordan," called docchi as soon as he got there; but jordan wasn't in sight. nona was, still gazing serenely at the gravity indicator. nothing seemed capable of breaking through the shell that surrounded her.
-light was streaming from the opposite corridor. docchi hurried over. jordan was just inside the entrance, the toaster clutched grimly in his hand. he was hitching his truncated body slowly toward the stern.
-coming to meet him was anti--unarmed enormous anti. she hadn't meant to wait for the weapon--she was pretty certain there wasn't any--she had merely wanted to get him out of the way. and she wasn't walking; somehow it seemed more like swimming, a bulbous huge sea animal moving through the air. she waved what resembled fins against the wall, with them propelling herself forward. "melt it down," she cried.
-it was difficult to make out the vaguely human form of the geepee. the powerful shining body blended in with the structure of the ship--unintentional camouflage, though the robot wasn't aware of it. it crouched at the threshold of a cabin, hesitating between approaching dangers.
-jordan raised the weapon and lowered it with the same motion. "get out of the way." he gestured futilely to anti.
-there was no place she could go. she was too big to enter a cabin, too massive to let the robot squeeze by even if she wanted. "never mind. get him," she called.
-the geepee wasn't a genius even by robot standards. but it did know that heat is deadly and that a human body is a fragile thing. and so it ran toward anti. unlike humans it didn't need special magnetics; such a function was built into it and the absence or presence of gravity disturbed it not at all. it moved very fast.
-docchi had to watch though he didn't want to. the robot exploded into action, launching its body at anti. but it was the robot that was thrown back. it had calculated swiftly but incorrectly--relative mass favored the enormous woman.
-the electronic brain obeyed the original instructions, whatever they were. it got up and rushed anti again. metal arms shot out with dazzling speed and crashed against the flesh of the huge woman. docchi could hear the rattle of blows. no ordinary person could take that punishment and live.
-but anti wasn't ordinary. even for an accidental she was strange, living far inside a deep armor of flesh. it was possible she never felt the crushing force of those blows. and she didn't turn away, try to escape. instead she reached out and grasped the robot, drawing it to her. and the geepee lost another advantage, leverage. the bright arms didn't flash so fast nor with such lethal power.
-"gravity," cried anti. "give me all you've got."
-her strategy was obvious; she was leaning against the struggling machine. and here at least docchi could help her. he turned and took two steps before the surge hit him. gravity came in waves, each one greater than that before. the first impulse staggered him, and at the second his knees buckled and he sank to the floor. after that his eardrums hurt and he thought he could feel the ship quiver. he knew dazedly that an artificial gravity field of this magnitude had never been attained--but the knowledge didn't help him move. he was powerless in the force that held him.
-and it vanished as quickly as it had come. painfully his lungs expanded, each muscle aching individually. he rolled over and got up, lurching past jordan.
-anti wasn't the inert broken flesh he expected. already she was moving and was standing up by the time he got to her. "oof," she grunted, gazing with satisfaction at the twisted shape at her feet. it was past repair, the body dented and arms and legs bent, the head smashed, the electronic brain in it completely useless.
-"are you hurt?" asked docchi in awe.
-"i didn't have anything to do with the gravity," said docchi.
-"nona," said docchi. "she was the only one who wasn't doing anything else. she saw what had to be done and got to it before i did. but i can't figure out how she got so much gravity."
-"ask her," said anti.
-docchi grimaced, limping into the control room, followed by anti and jordan. nona was at the gravity panel, her face pleasant and unconcerned.
-the unprecedented power of the gravity field could be accounted for, of course. the ship was old and had seen much use. connections were loose or broken and had somehow crossed, circuiting more power into the gravity generator than it was designed for. miraculously it had held up for a brief time--and that was all there was to it. and yet the explanation failed to be completely satisfactory. "i wonder if you had anything to do with it," he said to her. nona smiled questioningly.
-"had to, didn't she?" said jordan. "she was the only one who could have turned it on."
-"started it, yes. increased the power of the field, i don't know," said docchi. he outlined what he thought had taken place.
-"that sounds logical," agreed jordan. "but it doesn't matter how it was done. gravity engineers would find it interesting. if we had time i'd like to see how the circuits are crossed. we might discover something new."
-"i'm sure it's interesting," said anti irritably. "interesting to everybody but me. and i'm pragmatic. all i want to know is: when do we start the rockets? we've got a long way to go."
-"there's something that comes before that, anti," said jordan. "a retracted combustion cap in flight generally means at least one burned out tube." he made his way to the instruments, checking them glumly. "this time it's three."
-"you forgot something yourself, jordan," said docchi. "i was thinking of the robot."
-"i thought we'd settled that," said anti impatiently.
-"we have. but let's follow it through. where did the robot get instructions? not from vogel via the radio. the ship's hull cuts off that band. and the last we knew it was in our control."
-"voice," said jordan. "we freed it. someone else could take it over."
-"who?" said anti. "none of us."
-"no. but think back to when we were loading the tank. we saw it through the telecom and the angle of vision was bad. you couldn't see anything that wasn't directly overhead. not only the robot but cameron also managed to get inside."
-jordan hefted the weapon. "so we've got another hunt on our hands. only this time it's in our favor. nothing i like better than aiming at a nice normal doctor."
-docchi glanced at the weapon. "take it along. but don't use it. a homicide would ruin us. we could forget what we're going for. anyway, you won't actually need it. the ship's temporarily disabled and he'll consider that damage enough. he'll be ready to surrender."
-the doctor was at ease, confident. "you've got the ship and you've caught me. how long do you think you can keep either of us?"
-docchi regarded him levelly. "i don't expect active cooperation but i'd like to think you'll give us your word not to hinder us hereafter."
-cameron glared at the toaster. "i won't promise anything."
-"we can chain him to anti," suggested jordan. "that will keep him out of trouble."
-"don't wince, cameron," said docchi. "she was a woman once. an attractive one too."
-"we can put him in a spacesuit and lock his hands behind his back," said jordan. "like the old-fashioned straitjacket."
-cameron laughed loudly. "go ahead."
-jordan juggled the toaster. "i can use this to weld with. let's put him in a cabin and close the door, permanently. i'll cut a slot to shove food in--a very narrow slot."
-"excellent. that's the solution. cameron, do you want to reconsider your decision?"
-cameron shrugged blithely. "they'll pick you up in a day or less anyway. i'm not compromising myself if i agree."
-"it's good enough for me," declared anti. "a doctor's word is as good as his oath--hippocratic or hypocritic."
-"don't be cynical, anti. doctors have an economic sense as well as the next person," said docchi. he turned to cameron. "you see, after anti grew too massive for her skeletal structure, doctors reasoned she'd be most comfortable in the absence of gravity. that was in the early days, before successful ship gravity units were developed. they put her on an interplanetary ship and kept transferring her before each landing.
-"but the treatment was troublesome--and expensive. so they devised a new method--the asteroid and the tank of acid. not being aquatic by nature, anti resented the change. she still does."
-"don't blame me for that," said cameron. "i wasn't responsible."
-"it was before your time," agreed docchi. he frowned speculatively at the doctor. "i noticed it at the time but i had other things to think about. tell me, why did you laugh when jordan mentioned spacesuits?"
-cameron grinned broadly. "that was my project while you were busy with the robot."
-"to do what? jordan----"
-but jordan was already on his way. he was gone for some time, minutes that passed slowly.
-"well?" asked docchi on jordan's return. the question was hardly necessary; his face told the story.
-"cut to ribbons."
-"all of them? even the emergency pack?"
-"that too. he knew where everything was. nothing can be repaired."
-"exactly, anti. how do we replace the defective tubes? from the outside, of course. by destroying the spacesuits cameron made sure we can't."
-anti glowered at the doctor. "and i suppose you merely had our welfare at heart. isn't that so, cameron?"
-"you can think anything you want. i did and i do," said cameron imperturbably. "now be reasonable. we're still in the asteroid zone. in itself that's not dangerous. without power to avoid stray rocks it can be very unpleasant. my advice is to contact the medicouncil at once. they'll send a ship to take us in."
-"thanks, no. i don't like handicap haven as well as you," anti said brusquely. she turned to docchi. "maybe i'm stupid for asking but what's so deadly about being in space without a spacesuit?"
-"cold. lack of pressure. lack of oxygen."
-"is that all? nothing else?"
-his voice was too loud; it seemed thunderous to him. "isn't that enough?"
-"maybe not for me. i just wanted to be sure." she beckoned to nona and together they went forward, where the spacesuits were kept. "don't do anything drastic until i get back," she said as she left.
-cameron scowled puzzledly and started to follow until jordan waved the toaster in front of him. "all right, i see it," he growled, stopping and rubbing his chin. "there's nothing she can do. you know it as well as i do."
-"do i? well, for once i'm inclined to agree with you," said docchi. "but you never can tell with anti. sometimes she comes up with surprising things. she's not scientifically trained but she has a good mind, as good as her body once was."
-"and how good was that?" asked cameron ironically.
-"look it up in your records," said jordan shortly. "we don't talk about it ourselves."
-the women didn't come back soon, and when they did cameron wasn't sure that the weird creature that floated into the control compartment with nona was anti. he looked again and saw shudderingly what she had done to herself. "you do need psychotherapy," he said bitingly. "when we get back it's the first thing i'll recommend. can't you understand how fool-hardy you're being?"
-"any kind of pressure will do as far as the outside of the body is concerned," answered anti, flipping back the helmet. "mechanical pressure is as satisfactory as air. i had nona cut the spacesuit in strips and wind them around me, very hard. that will keep me from squishing out. then i found a helmet that would cover my head when the damaged part was cut away. it won't hold much air pressure even taped tight to my skin. it doesn't have to as long as it's pure oxygen."
-"so far it makes sense," admitted docchi. "but what can you do about temperature?"
-"do you think i'm going to worry about cold?" asked anti. "me? way down below all this flesh? mountains and mountains of it?"
-"i've heard enough," said cameron, standing in front of anti. "now listen to me. stop this nonsense and take off that childish rig. i can't permit you to ruin my career by deliberate suicide."
-"i've thought about it," said anti. "on the other hand i've thought about the asteroid. i don't want to go back."
-"we should have viewers outside," said docchi. "one directly in back, one on each side. at least we'll know what's happening."
-anti waddled away. huge, but she wasn't any bigger than her determination.
-once she was gone jordan looked down at his legless body. "i hate to do this but we've got to be realistic about it."
-"it's the only way we've got a chance," answered docchi. "anti's the only one who can do the job. and i think she'll survive."
-jordan adjusted a dial. "cameron had better hope she will," he muttered. "he'll join her if she doesn't."
-docchi glanced hastily at the screen. anti was hanging free in space, wrapped and strapped in strips torn from the supposedly useless spacesuits. and she was also enclosed in more flesh than any human had borne. the helmet was taped jauntily to her head and the oxygen cylinder was fastened to her back. and she lived.
-"how is she?" he asked anxiously, unaware that the microphone was open.
-"fine," came the reply, faint and reedy. "the air's thin but it's pure."
-"don't know. don't feel it yet. anyway it can't be worse than the acid. what do i do?"
-jordan gave her directions while the others watched. it required considerable effort to find the tools and examine the tubes for defectives, to loosen the tubes in the sockets and pull them out, sending them spinning into space. it was still more difficult to replace them, though there was no gravity and anti was held firmly to the hull by magnetics.
-anti had never been a technician of any kind. cameron was sure of it. she was ignorant of the commonest terms, the simplest tool. she shouldn't have been able to do it. and yet she managed nicely, though she didn't know how. the explanation must be that she did know, that somewhere in her remote past, of which he was totally uninformed, she had had training which prepared her for this. such contradiction was ridiculous. but there was rhythm to her motions, this giant shapeless creature whose bones would break with weight if she tried to stand at half gravity.
-the whale plowing through the deeps and waves has the attraction of beauty. it can't be otherwise for any animal in an environment which it is suited to live in. and the human race had produced, haphazardly, one unlikely person to whom interplanetary space was not alien. anti was at last in her element.
-"now," said jordan, keeping tension out of his voice though it was trembling in his hand. "go back to the outside tool compartment. you'll find a lever near it. pull. this will set the combustion cap in place."
-"done," said anti when it was.
-"that's all. come in now."
-she went slowly over the hull to the cargo ramp and while she did jordan reeled in the viewers. the lock was no sooner closed to the outside and the air hissing into the intermediate space than he was there, waiting for the inner lock to open.
-"are you all right?" he asked gruffly.
-she flipped back the helmet. there was frost on her eyebrows and her face was bright and red. "why shouldn't i be? my hands aren't cold." she stripped off the heated gloves and waggled her fingers.
-"i can't believe it," protested cameron with more vehemence than he intended. "you should be frozen through."
-"why?" said anti with gurgling laughter. "it's merely a matter of insulation and i have plenty of that. more than i want."
-shaking his head cameron turned to docchi. "when i was a boy i saw a film of a dancer. she did a ballet. i think it was called: free space-free life. something like that. i can't say why but it came to my mind when anti was out there. i hadn't thought of it in years."
-he rubbed his hand over his forehead. "it fascinated me when i first saw it. i went to it again and again. when i grew older i found out a tragic thing had happened to the dancer. she was on a tour of venus when the ship she was in was forced down. searching parties were sent out but they didn't find anyone except her. and she had been struggling over a fungus plain for a week. you know what that meant. the great ballerina was a living spore culture medium."
-cameron was engrossed in the remembrance and didn't seem to hear. "naturally she died. i can't recall her name but i can't forget the ballet. and that's funny because it reminded me of anti out there----"
-"i told you to shut up!" jordan exploded a fist in the doctor's face. if there had been more behind the blow than shoulders and a fragment of a body cameron's jaw would have been broken. as it was he floated through the air and crashed against the wall.
-angrily he got to his feet. "i gave my word i wouldn't cause trouble. i thought the agreement worked both ways." he glanced significantly at the weapon jordan carried. "better keep that around all the time."
-"i told you," said jordan. "i told you more than once." after that he ignored the doctor, thrusting the weapon securely into his garment. he turned to anti. "very good," he said, his anger gone and his voice courtly. "an excellent performance. one of your best, antoinette."
-"you should have seen me when i was good," said anti. the frost had melted from her eyebrows and was trickling down her cheek. she left with jordan.
-cameron remained behind. it was too bad about his ambition. he knew now he was never going to be the spectacular success he'd once envisioned--not after this escape from handicap haven. he'd done all he could to prevent it but it wouldn't count with the medicouncil that he had good intentions. still, he'd be able to practice somewhere; doctors were always necessary. there were worse fates--suppose he had to abandon medicine altogether?
-think of the ballerina he'd been talking about--she hadn't died as the history tapes indicated. that much was window dressing; people were supposed to believe it because it was preferable to the truth. it would have been better for that woman if she hadn't lived on. by now he had recalled her name: antoinette.
-and now it was anti. he could have found it out by checking the records--if handicap haven kept that particular information on file. he was suddenly willing to bet that it wasn't there. he felt his jaw, which ached throbbingly. he deserved it. he hadn't really been convinced that they were people too.
-"we'll stick to the regular lanes," decided docchi. "i think we'll get closer. they've no reason to suspect we're heading toward earth. mars is more logical, or one of the moons of jupiter, or another asteroid. i'm sure they don't know what we're trying to do."
-jordan shifted uneasily. "i'm against it. they'll pick us up before we have a chance to do anything."
-"you seem worried," said anti as she came in.
-docchi didn't turn around. "yeah."
-"what's the matter, won't it work?"
-"sure. there are too many ships. they can't pick us out among so many. anyway they're not looking for us around earth. they don't really know why we took the rocket and escaped."
-"then why so much concern? once we're near earth we won't need much time."
-his face was taut and tired. "i thought so too, in the beginning. things have changed. the entire solar police force has been alerted for us."
-"so the solar police really want us? but i still don't understand why that changes a thing."
-"look, anti. we planned to bypass the medicouncil and take our case directly to the solar government. but if they want us as badly as the radio indicates they're not going to be sympathetic. not at all.
-"well?" said anti. she seemed trimmer and more vigorous. "we considered it might turn out this way, didn't we? let's take the last step first."
-docchi raised his head. "go to the ultimate authority? the solar government won't like it."
-"they won't, but there's nothing they can do about it."
-"don't be sure. they can shoot us down. when we stole the ship we automatically became criminals."
-"i know, but they'll be careful, especially after we make contact. how would it look if we were blown to bits in front of their eyes, in a billion homes?"
-docchi chuckled grimly. "very shrewd. all right, they'll be careful. but is it worth it to us?"
-"it is to me."
-"then it is to me," said docchi. "i suggest we start getting ready."
-"with fake arms and a cosmetikit? no. they'll have to take us as we are, unpretty, even repulsive."
-"that's a better idea. i hadn't thought of the sympathy angle."
-"not sympathy--reality. it means too much to us. i don't want them to approve of us as handsome unfortunates and then have them change their minds when they discover what we're really like."
-sitting in silence, docchi watched her go. she at least would benefit. dr. cameron apparently hadn't noticed that the exposure to extreme cold had done more to inhibit her unceasing growth than the acid bath. she probably would never get back to her former size but some day, if the cold treatment were properly investigated, she might be able to stand at normal gravity. for her there was hope. the rest of them had to keep on pretending that there was.
-he examined the telecom. they were getting closer. no longer a point of light, earth was a perceptible disc. he could see the outline of oceans, the shapes of land and the shadows of mountains, the flat ripple where prairies and plains were; he could imagine people. this was home--once.
-"has he blipped at us?"
-"when i left he hadn't. he keeps hanging on."
-"is he overtaking us?"
-"he'd like to."
-"don't let him."
-"with this bag of bolts?"
-"shake it apart if you have to," said docchi impatiently. "how soon can you slide into a broadcast orbit?"
-jordan furrowed his forehead. "i didn't think we'd planned on that this time. it was supposed to be our last resort."
-"anti and i have talked it over. we agree that this is our last chance. now's the time to speak up if you've got any objections."
-"i've been listening to the police calls," said jordan thoughtfully. "no, i guess i haven't got any objection. not with a heavy cruiser behind us. none at all."
-they came together in the control compartment. "i don't want a focus exclusively on me," docchi was saving. "nor on nona either, though i know she's most acceptable. to a world of perfect and beautiful people we may look strange but they must see us as we are. we have to avoid the family portrait effect."
-"samples," suggested anti.
-"in a sense we are, yes. a lot depends on whether they accept those samples."
-for the first time cameron began to realize what they were attempting. "wait," he said urgently. "you're making a mistake. you've got to listen to me."
-"we've got to do this and we've got to do that," said jordan. "i'm getting tired of it. can't you understand we're giving orders now?"
-"that's right," said docchi. "jordan, see that cameron stays out of the transmitting angle and doesn't interrupt. we've come too far to let him influence us."
-"sure. if he makes a sound i'll melt the teeth out of his mouth." jordan held the toaster against his side, away from the telecom but aimed at cameron.
-the doctor wanted to break in but the weapon, though small, was very real. and jordan was ready to use it. that was the only justification for his silence, that and the fact they'd learn anyway.
-"ready?" said docchi.
-"flip the switch and we will be. i've hooked everything on. they can't help themselves. they've got to listen."
-the rocket slipped out of the approach lanes. it spun down, stem tubes pulsing brightly, falling toward earth in a tight trajectory. down, down; the familiar planet was very large.
-"citizens of the solar system, everyone on earth," began docchi. "this is an unscheduled broadcast. we're using the emergency bands because for us it is an emergency. i said we, and you want to know who we are. look at us. accidentals--that's all we can be.
-"we're not pretty. we know it. but there are other things more important. accomplishment, contribution to progress. and though it may seem unlikely to you there are contributions we can make--if we're permitted to do so.
-"but shut away on a little asteroid we're denied our rights. all we can do is exist in frustration and boredom, kept alive whether we want to be or not. and yet we can help you as you've helped us--if we're allowed to. you can't go to the stars yet, but we can. and ultimately, through what we learn, you'll be able to.
-"you've listened to experts who say it can't be done, that rockets are too slow and that the crew would die of old age before they got back. they're almost right, but accidentals are the exception. ordinary people would die but we won't. the medicouncil has all the facts--they know what we are--and still they refuse us."
-at the side of the control compartment cameron moved to protest. jordan glanced at him, imperceptibly waggling the weapon. cameron stopped, the words unspoken.
-"biocompensation," continued docchi evenly as if nothing had occurred. "let me explain what it means in case information on it has been suppressed. the principle of biocompensation has long been a matter of conjecture. this is the first age in which medical techniques are advanced enough to explore it. every cell and organism tends to survive as an individual and a species. injure it and it strives for survival according to the extent of damage. if it can it will heal the wound and live on in its present state. otherwise it propagates almost immediately. you can verify this by forgetting to water the lawn and watch how soon it goes to seed.
-"humans aren't plants, you say. and yet the principle applies. accidentals are people who have been maimed and mutilated almost past belief. and our bodies have had the assistance of medical science, real medical science. everyone knows how, after certain illnesses, immunity to that disease can be acquired. and more than blood fractions are involved in the process. for us blood was supplied as long as we needed it, machines did our breathing, kidneys replaced, hearts furnished, glandular products in exact minute quantities, nervous and muscular systems regenerated--and our bodies responded. they had to respond or none of us would be here today. and such was the extremity of the struggle--so close did we come to it that we gained practical immunity to--death."
-sweat ran down docchi's face. he longed for hands to wipe it away.
-"most accidentals are nearly immortal. not quite of course; we may die four or five hundred years from now. meanwhile there is no reason why we can't be explorers for you. rockets are slow. you'd die before you got to alpha centauri and back. we won't. time means nothing to us.
-"perhaps better faster rockets will be devised after we leave. you may get there before we do. we don't mind. we will have tried to repay you the best way we know how and that will satisfy us."
-with an effort docchi smiled. the instant he did so he felt it was a mistake, one he couldn't call back. even to himself it seemed more like a snarl.
-"you know where we're kept--that's more polite than saying imprisoned. we don't call it handicap haven. our name for it is: junkpile. and we're junkmen. do you know how we feel?
-"i don't know how you can persuade the medicouncil to let us man an expedition to the stars. we've appealed and appealed and they've always turned us down. now that we've let you know it's up to you. our future as humans is at stake. settle it with your conscience. when you go to sleep think of us out there on the junkpile."
-he nudged the switch and sat down. his face was gray and his eyes were rimmed and burning.
-"i don't want to bother you," said jordan. "what'll we do about these?"
-docchi glanced at the telecom. the ships were uncomfortably close and considerably more numerous than the last time he had looked. "take evasive action," he said wearily. "swing close to earth and use the planet's gravity to give us a good fast sendoff. we can't let them take us until people have a chance to make their feelings known."
-"now that you've finished i want to discuss it with you," said cameron. there was an odd tone to his voice.
-jordan nodded contemptuously. "i know what he's like. he's got nothing to say to me."
-nona, leaning against the panel, paid no attention to any of them. she seemed to be listening to something nobody else could hear, she, to whom sound had no meaning. docchi's body sagged as he went out. her perpetual air of wondering search for something she could never have was not new but it was no more bearable because of that.
-and while docchi slept the race went on against a slowly changing backdrop of stars and planets. only the darkness remained the same; it was immutable. the little flecks of light that edged nearer hour after hour didn't seem cheerful to jordan. his lips were fixed in a thin hard line. his expression didn't alter. presently, long after earth was far behind, he heard docchi come in again.
-"i've been thinking about it," said cameron. "nice speech."
-"yeah." docchi glanced at the screen. the view didn't inspire comment.
-cameron was standing at the threshold. "i may as well tell you," he said reluctantly. "i tried to stop the broadcast as soon as i found out what was going on. you wouldn't listen."
-he came on into the control compartment. nona was huddled in a seat, her face blankly incurious. anti was absent, replenishing the acid for her robe. "do you know why the medicouncil refused to let you go?"
-"get to the point."
-"damn it, i am," said cameron, sweating. "the centauri group contains several planets, just how many we're not sure. from what we know of cosmology there's a good chance intelligent life exists there, probably not far behind us in technical development. whoever goes there will be our representatives to an alien race. what they look like isn't important; it's their concern. but our ambassadors have to meet certain minimum standards. it's an important occasion, our future relations rest on. damn it--don't you see our ambassadors must at least appear to be human beings?"
-"you're not telling us anything new. we know how you feel." jordan was rigid with disgust.
-"you're wrong," said cameron. "you're so wrong. i'm not speaking for myself. i'm a doctor. the medicouncilors are doctors. we graft on or regenerate legs and arms and eyes. the tools of our trade are blood and bones and intestines. we know very well what people look like from the inside. we're well aware of the thin borderline that separates normal men and women from accidentals.
-"can't you still understand what i'm saying? they're perfect, everybody's perfect. too much so. they can't tolerate small blemishes. more money is spent for research on acne than to support the whole asteroid. they rush to us with wrinkles and dandruff. health, or the appearance of it, has become a fetish. you may think the people you appealed to are sympathetic but what they feel is something else."
-"what are you driving at?" said docchi in a low voice.
-"just this: if it were up to the medicouncil you'd be on your way to the centauris. it isn't. the decision wasn't made by us. actually it came directly from the solar government. and the solar government never acts contrary to public opinion."
-docchi turned away, his face wrinkled in distaste. "i didn't think you had the nerve to stand there and say that."
-"i didn't want to. but you've got to know the truth." cameron twisted his head uncomfortably. "you're not far from earth. you can still pick up the reaction to your broadcast. try it and see."
-jordan looked at docchi who nodded imperceptibly. "we may as well," said docchi. "it's settled now, one way or the other. nothing we can do will change it."
-jordan searched band after band, eagerly at first. his enthusiasm died and still the reaction never varied. private citizen or public figure, man or woman, the indignation was concealed but nevertheless firm and unmistakable. there was no doubt accidentals were unfortunate but they were well taken care of. there was no need to trade on deformity; the era of the freak show had passed and it never would return.
-"turn it off," said docchi at last.
-numbly jordan complied.
-"now what?" he said.
-"why fight it?" said the doctor. "go back to the asteroid. it'll be forgotten."
-"not by us," said docchi dully. "but there doesn't seem to be any choice. it would have been better if we had tried to work through the medicouncil. we misjudged our allies."
-"we knew you had," said cameron. "we thought we'd let you go on thinking as you did. it gave you something to hope for, allowed you to feel you weren't alone. the trouble was that your discontent carried you further than we thought it could."
-anti came into the compartment. cheerfulness faded from her face. "what's the matter?"
-"jordan'll tell you. i want to think."
-docchi closed his eyes and his mind to the whispered consultation of anti and jordan, to the feeble ultimatum to the ships behind them. the rocket lurched slightly though the vibration from the exhaust did not change. there was no cause for alarm, the flight of a ship was never completely steady. minor disturbances no longer affected docchi.
-when he had it straightened out in his mind he looked around. "if we were properly fueled and provisioned i would be in favor of heading for alpha or proxima. maybe even sirius. distance doesn't matter since we don't care whether we come back." it was plain he wasn't expending much hope. "but we can't make it with the small fuel reserve we have. if we can lose the ships behind us we may be able to hide until we can steal fuel and food."
-"what'll we do with doc?" said jordan. he too was infected with defeat.
-"we'll have to raid an unguarded outpost, a small mining asteroid is our best bet. we'll leave him there."
-"yeah," said jordan listlessly. "a good idea, if we can run away from our personal escort. offhand i don't think we can. they hesitated when i told them we had cameron but they didn't drop back. look."
-he looked himself and, unbelievingly, looked again. he blinked rapidly but the screen could report only what there was.
-"they're gone," he said, his voice breaking with excitement.
-almost instantly docchi was at his side. "no, they're still following but they're very far behind." even as he looked the pursuing ships shrank visibly, steadily losing ground.
-"what's the relative speed?" said jordan. he looked at the dials, tapped them, pounded on them, but the speed wouldn't change. if it hadn't been confirmed by the screen he'd have said that the needles were stuck or the instruments were completely unreliable.
-"what did you do with the rockets?" demanded docchi.
-"that's a foolish question. what could i do? we were already at top speed for this piece of junk."
-and there was no way to explain the astonishing thing that had happened. they were all in the control compartment, cameron, anti, jordan and himself. nona was there too, sitting huddled up, head resting in her arms. there was no explanation at all, unless--docchi scanned all the instruments again. that was when he first noticed it.
-power was pouring into the gravity drive. the useless, or at least long unused dial was indicating unheard of consumption. "the gravity drive is working," docchi said.
-"nonsense," said anti. "i don't feel the weight."
-"but i didn't turn on the drive," said jordan in bewilderment. "it wouldn't work for more than a few seconds if i did. that's been proven."
-"i'd agree with you except for one thing. it is working, has been working and shows no sign of stopping." docchi stared speculatively at nona. she was curled up but she wasn't resting. her body was too tense. "get her attention," he said.
-jordan gently touched her shoulder. she opened her eyes but she wasn't looking at them. on the panel the needle of a once useless dial rose and fell.
-"what's the matter with the poor dear?" asked anti. "she's shaking."
-"let her alone," said docchi. "let her alone if you don't want to return to the asteroid." no one moved. no one said anything. minutes passed and the ancient ship creaked and quivered and ran away from the fastest rockets in the system.
-"i think i can explain it," said docchi at last, frowning because he couldn't quite. there were things that still eluded him. "part of the gravity generating plant--in a sense the key component--is an electronic computer, capable of making all the calculations and juggling the proportion of power required to produce directed or undirected gravity continuously. in other words a brain, a complex mechanical intelligence. but it was an ignorant intelligence and it couldn't see why it should perform ad infinitum a complicated and meaningless routine. it couldn't see why and because it couldn't very simply it refused to do so.
-"it was something like nona. she's deaf, can't speak, can't communicate in any way. like it she has a very high potential intelligence and also, in the very same way, she's had difficulty grasping the facts of her environment. differently though, she does have some contact with people and she has learned something. how much she knows is uncertain but it's far beyond what psychologists credit her with. they just can't measure her type of knowledge."
-"yeah," said jordan dubiously. "i'll agree about nona. but what is she doing?"
-"if there were two humans you'd call it telepathy," said docchi. it upset his concepts too. a machine was a machine--a tool to be used. how could there ever be rapport? "one intelligence is electronic, the other organic. you'll have to dream up your own term because the only thing i can think of is extra sensory perception. it's ridiculous but that's what it is."
-jordan smiled and flexed his arms. under the shapeless garment muscles rippled. "to me it makes sense," he said. "the power was always there but they didn't know what to do with it." the smile broadened. "it couldn't have fallen into better hands. we can use the power, or rather nona can."
-"power?" said anti, rising majestically. "if you mean by that what it sounds like, i don't care for it. all i want is just enough to take us to centauri."
-"you'll get there," said docchi. "a lot of things seem clearer now. in the past why did the drive work so poorly the further out it got? i don't think anyone investigated this aspect but if they had i'm sure they'd have found that the efficiency was inversely proportional to the square of the distance from the sun.
-"it's what you'd expect from a deaf, blind, mass sensitive brain, the gravity computer. it wouldn't be aware of the stars. to it the sun would seem the center of the universe and it would no more leave the system than our remote ancestors would think of stepping off the edge of a flat world.
-"and now that it knows differently the drive ought to work anywhere. with nona to direct it, even sirius isn't far."
-"we've got to do some figuring ourselves," said docchi. "there's no use heading where there are no stars. we'd better determine our destination."
-"a good idea," said jordan, hoisting himself up to the charts. he busied himself with interminable calculations. gradually his flying fingers slowed and his head bent lower over the work. finally he stopped, his arms hanging slack.
-"yeah," said jordan. "there." dully he punched the telecom selector and a view took shape on the screen. in the center glimmered a tiny world, a fragment of a long exploded planet. the end of their journey was easily recognizable.
-it was handicap haven.
-"but why are we going there?" asked anti. she looked at docchi in amazement.
-"we're not going voluntarily," he said, his voice flat and spent. "that's where the medicouncil wants us. we forgot about the monitor system. when nona activated the gravity drive it was indicated at some central station. all the medicouncil had to do was take the control away from nona."
-"we thought we were running away from the ships," said anti. "we were, but only to beat them back to the junkpile."
-"yeah," said docchi. "nona doesn't know it yet."
-"well, it's over. we did our best. there's no use crying about it." yet she was. anti passed by the girl, patting her gently. "it's all right, darling. you tried to help us."
-jordan followed her from the compartment. cameron remained, coming over to docchi. "everything isn't lost," he said awkwardly. "the rest of you are back where you started but at least nona isn't."
-"do you think she'll benefit?" asked docchi. "someone will, but it won't be nona."
-"you're wrong. suddenly she's become important."
-"so is a special experimental machine. very valuable but totally without rights or feelings. i don't imagine she'll like her new status."
-silence met silence. it was the doctor who turned away. "you're sick with disappointment," he said thickly. "irrational, you always are when you glow. i thought we could talk over what was best for her but i can see it's no use. i'll come back when you're calmer."
-docchi glared sightlessly after him. cameron was the only normal who was aware that it was nona who controlled the gravity drive. all the outside world realized was that it was in operation--that at last it was working as originally intended. if they should dispose of cameron--
-he shook his head. it wouldn't solve anything. he could fool them for a while, pretend that he was responsible. but in the end they'd find out. nona wasn't capable of deception--and they'd be very insistent with a discovery of this magnitude.
-she looked up and smiled. she had a right to be happy. until now she had been alone as few people ever are. but the first contact had been made and however unsatisfactory--what could the limited electronic mind say?--in other circumstances it might have presaged better days. she didn't know she was no less a captive than the computer.
-abruptly he turned away. at the telecom he stopped and methodically kicked it apart, smashing delicate tubes into powder. before he left he also demolished the emergency radio. the ship was firmly in the grip of the monitor and it would take them back. there was nothing they had to do. all that remained for him was to protect nona as long as he could. the medicouncil would start prying into her mind soon enough. he hoped they'd find what they were after without too much effort. for her sake he hoped they would.
-"cheer up," said cameron jauntily. "you're not prisoners."
-nona alone seemed not to mind. docchi hadn't said anything for hours and the light was gone from his face. anti wasn't with them; she was back floating in the acid tank. the reentry into the gravity field of the asteroid made it necessary.
-the ship scraped gently; they were down. jordan mechanically touched a lever, flicked a switch. passenger and freight locks swung open. "let's go," said cameron. "i imagine there's a reception committee for us."
-even he was surprised at what was waiting. the little rocket dome held more ships than normally came in a year. the precise confusion of military discipline was everywhere. armed guards lined either side of the landing ramp and more platoons were in the distance. it was almost amusing to see how dangerous the medicouncil considered them.
-"a good job, dr. cameron," said the medicouncilor as the procession from the ship halted. "we were quite surprised at the escape of our accidentals and your disappearance which coincided with it. from what we were able to piece together, you followed them deliberately. a splendid example of quick thinking, doctor. you deserve recognition."
-"i thought it was my fault for letting them get so far. i had to try to stop them."
-"no doubt it was. but you atoned, you atoned. i'm sorry i can't be there in person to congratulate you but i'll arrive soon." the medicouncilor paused discreetly. "at first the publicity was bad, very bad. we thought it unwise to try to conceal it. of course the broadcast made it impossible to hide anything. fortunately the discovery of the gravity drive came along at just the right time. when we announced it opinion began swinging in our direction. i don't mind telling you the net effect is now in our favor."
-"i hoped it would be," said cameron. "i don't want them to be hurt. they're all vulnerable, nona especially, because of what she is. i've thought quite a bit about how she should be approached----"
-"i'm sure you have." the medicouncilor smiled faintly. "don't let your emotions run away with you. in due time we'll discuss her. for the present see that she and the other accidentals are returned to their usual places. bring docchi to your office at once. he's to be questioned privately."
-it was a strange request and mentally cameron retreated. "wait. are you sure you want docchi? he's the engineer but----"
-"no objections, doctor," said thorton sternly. "important people are waiting. don't spoil their good opinion of you." the telecom snapped into darkness.
-"i think you heard what he said, dr. cameron." the officer at his side was very polite, perhaps because it emphasized the three big planets on his tunic.
-"i heard," said cameron irritably. "i don't want to argue with authority but since i'm in charge of this place i demand that you furnish a guard for this girl.
-"so you're in charge?" drawled the officer. "you know i've got a funny feeling i'm commander here. my orders said i was to replace you until further notice. i haven't got that notice." he looked around at his men and crooked a finger. "lieutenant, see that the little fella--jordan, i think his name is--gets a lift back to the main dome. and you can walk the pretty lady to her room, or whatever it is she lives in. don't get too personal though unless she encourages it." he smiled condescendingly at cameron. "anything else i can do to oblige a fellow commander?"
-cameron glanced at the guards. they were everywhere he looked, smartly uniformed, alert. there was no indication of amusement in the expressions of those near enough to have heard the conversation. they were well disciplined. "nothing else, general," he said stonily. "keep her in sight. you're responsible."
-"so i am," remarked the officer pleasantly, winking at the lieutenant. "let's go."
-medicouncilor thorton was waiting impatiently on the screen in cameron's office. the attitude suited him well, as if he'd tried many and found slightly concealed discourtesy best for the personality of the busy executive. "we'll arrive in about two hours," he said immediately. "by this i mean a number of top governmental officials, scientists, and some of our leading industrialists. their time is valuable so let's get on with this gravity business."
-he caught sight of the commander. "general judd, this is a technical matter. i don't think you'll be interested."
-"very well, sir. i'll stand guard outside."
-the medicouncilor was silent until the door closed. "sit down, docchi," he said with unexpected solicitude, pausing to note the effect. "i can sympathize with you. everything within your reach--and then to return here. well, i can understand how you feel. but since you did come back i think we can arrange to do things for you."
-the medicouncilor was dulcet, coaxing. "i don't want to mislead you. medically we can't do any more for you than we have. however you'll find yourself the center of a more adequate social life. friends, work, whatever you want. in return for this naturally we'll expect your cooperation."
-"wait," said cameron, walking to the screen and standing squarely in front of it. "i don't think you realize docchi's part----"
-"don't interrupt," glowered thorton. "i want to reach an agreement at once. it will look very good for us if we can show these famous people how well we work with our patients. now, docchi, how much of the drive can you have on paper by the time we land?"
-"he can't have anything," cameron started shouting. "i tried to tell you--he doesn't know----"
-"look out," cried thorton too late.
-"docchi," screeched thorton, but there was no answer.
-docchi crashed through the door. the commander was lounging against the wall, looking around vacantly. head down docchi plunged into him. the toaster fell from his belt to the floor. with scarcely a pause docchi stamped on it and continued running.
-the commander got up, retrieving the weapon. he aimed it at the retreating figure and would have triggered it except that it didn't feel right in his hand. he lowered it and quickly examined the damaged mechanism. sweating, he slipped it gingerly into a tunic pocket.
-muffled shouts were coming from cameron's office, growing in vehemence. the general broke in.
-the medicouncilor glared at him from the screen. "i see that you let him get away."
-the disheveled officer straightened his uniform. "i'm sorry, sir. i didn't think he had that much life in him. i'll alert the guards immediately."
-"never mind now. revive that man."
-the general wasn't accustomed to resuscitation; saving lives was out of his line. nevertheless in a few minutes cameron was conscious, though somewhat dazed.
-"now, doctor, who does know something about the gravity drive if it isn't docchi?"
-cameron shook his head groggily. "it was an easy mistake," he said. "cut off from communication with us the drive began to work. how, why, who did it? mostly who. not me, i'm a doctor, not a physicist. nor jordan; he's at best a mechanic. therefore it had to be docchi because he's an engineer." he stopped to wipe the blood from his cheek.
-"for god's sake tell me," said thorton. "it couldn't be----"
-"no," said cameron with quiet satisfaction. "it wasn't anti either. the last person you'd think of. the little deaf and dumb girl the psychologists wouldn't bother with."
-"nona?" said thorton incredulously.
-"i told you," said cameron and proceeded to tell him more, filling in the details.
-"i see. we overlooked that possibility," said the medicouncilor gravely. "not the mechanical genius of an engineer. instead the strange telepathic sense of a girl. that puts the problem in a different light."
-"it's not so difficult though." cameron rubbed the lump on the back of his head. the hair was bristling, clotted with blood. "she can't tell us how she does it. we'll have to find out by experiment, but it won't involve any danger. the monitor can always control the drive."
-the medicouncilor laughed shakily, teetering backward. "the monitor is worth exactly nothing. we tried it. for a microsecond it seemed to take over as it always has on other units--but this gravity generator slipped away. we thought docchi found a way to disengage the control circuit."
-"but it wasn't docchi who told the computer how to do it."
-"we figured it out when we thought it was docchi," growled the medicouncilor wearily. "he was sensible, that's all. it was the only reasonable thing a man could do, come back and take advantage of his discovery." he shook his head in perplexed disgust. "why the girl returned is beyond me."
-"do you think----" said cameron and then wished he'd left it unsaid.
-"yes, by god, i do think." the medicouncilor's fist crashed down. "docchi knows why. he found out in this room and we told him. as soon as he knew he escaped."
-panic slipped into thorton's face and then was gone, covered over almost at once by long habits of sudden decisions. "she could have taken the ship anywhere she wanted and we couldn't stop her. since she's here voluntarily it's obvious what she wants--the asteroid."
-the medicouncilor tried to shove himself out of the screen. "don't you ever think, general? there's no real difference between gravity generators except size and power. what she did on the ship she can do as easily here."
-"don't worry," said the startled officer. "i'll get her. i'll find the girl and docchi too."
-"never mind him," choked the medicouncilor. "i don't care how you do it. take nona at once, without delay."
-the time had passed for that command. the great dome overhead trembled and creaked in countless joints. but the structure held though unexpected stresses were imposed on it. and the tiny world shivered, groaning and grumbling at the orbit it had lain too long in. already that was changing--the asteroid began to move.
-vague shapes were stirring. they walked if they could, crawled if they couldn't--fantastic and near-fantastic creatures were coming to the assembly. large or tiny, on their own legs or borrowed ones they arrived, with or without arms, faces. the news had spread fast, by voice or written message, sign language, lip reading, all the conceivable ways that humans communicate, not the least of which was the vague intuition that something was going on that the person should know about. the people on handicap haven sensed the emergency.
-"remember it will be hours or perhaps days before we're safe," said docchi. his voice was hoarse but he hadn't noticed it yet. "it's up to us to see that nona has all the time she needs."
-"where is she hiding?" asked someone in the crowd.
-"i don't know. i wouldn't tell you if i did. they might pry it out of you. right now our sole job is to keep them from finding her."
-kennedy shrugged his shoulders.
-“we’ll gain nothing by staying here,” he said. “there is just one possibility in the case, and i can guard against that only by returning to verplanck’s and getting some of that stuff i brought up here with me. let us go.”
-late in the afternoon though it was, after our return, kennedy insisted on hurrying from verplanck’s to the yacht club up the bay. it was a large building, extending out into the water on made land, from which ran a long, substantial dock. he had stopped long enough only to ask verplanck to lend him the services of his best mechanician, a frenchman named armand.
-on the end of the yacht club dock kennedy and armand set up a large affair which looked like a mortar. i watched curiously, dividing my attention between them and the splendid view of the harbor which the end of the dock commanded on all sides.
-“what is this?” i asked finally. “fireworks?”
-“a rocket mortar of light weight,” explained kennedy, then dropped into french as he explained to armand the manipulation of the thing.
-there was a searchlight near by on the dock.
-“you can use that?” queried kennedy.
-“oh, yes. mr. verplanck, he is vice-commodore of the club. oh, yes, i can use that. why, monsieur?”
-kennedy had uncovered a round brass case. it did not seem to amount to much, as compared to some of the complicated apparatus he had used. in it was a four-sided prism of glass—i should have said, cut off the corner of a huge glass cube.
-he handed it to us.
-“look in it,” he said.
-it certainly was about the most curious piece of crystal gazing i had ever done. turn the thing any way i pleased and i could see my face in it, just as in an ordinary mirror.
-“what do you call it?” armand asked, much interested.
-“a triple mirror,” replied kennedy, and again, half in english and half in french, neither of which i could follow, he explained the use of the mirror to the mechanician.
-we were returning up the dock, leaving armand with instructions to be at the club at dusk, when we met mcneill, tired and disgusted.
-“what luck?” asked kennedy.
-“nothing,” he returned. “i had a ‘short’ shadow and a ‘long’ shadow at wickham’s heels all day. you know what i mean. instead of one man, two—the second sleuthing in the other’s tracks. if he escaped number one, number two would take it up, and i was ready to move up into number two’s place. they kept him in sight about all the time. not a fact. but then, of course, we don’t know what he was doing before we took up tailing him. say,” he added, “i have just got word from an agency with which i correspond in new york that it is reported that a yeggman named ‘australia mac,’ a very daring and clever chap, has been attempting to dispose of some of the goods which we know have been stolen through one of the worst ‘fences’ in new york.”
-“is that all?” asked craig, with the mention of australia mac showing the first real interest yet in anything that mcneill had done since we met him the night before.
-“all so far. i wired for more details immediately.”
-“do you know anything about this australia mac?”
-“not much. no one does. he’s a new man, it seems, to the police here.”
-“be here at eight o’clock, mcneill,” said craig, as we left the club for verplanck’s. “if you can find out more about this yeggman, so much the better.”
-“have you made any progress?” asked verplanck as we entered the estate a few minutes later.
-“yes,” returned craig, telling only enough to whet his interest. “there’s a clue, as i half expected, from new york, too. but we are so far away that we’ll have to stick to my original plan. you can trust armand?”
-“then we shall transfer our activity to the yacht club to-night,” was all that kennedy vouchsafed.
-chapter vi the triple mirror
-it was the regular saturday night dance at the club, a brilliant spectacle, faces that radiated pleasure, gowns that for startling combinations of color would have shamed a futurist, music that set the feet tapping irresistibly—a scene which i shall pass over because it really has no part in the story.
-the fascination of the ballroom was utterly lost on craig. “think of all the houses only half guarded about here to-night,” he mused, as we joined armand and mcneill on the end of the dock. i could not help noting that that was the only idea which the gay, variegated, sparkling tango throng conveyed to him.
-in front of the club was strung out a long line of cars, and at the dock several speed boats of national and international reputation, among them the famous streamline ii, at our instant beck and call. in it craig had already placed some rather bulky pieces of apparatus, as well as a brass case containing a second triple mirror like that which he had left with armand.
-with mcneill, i walked back along the pier, leaving kennedy with armand, until we came to the wide porch, where we joined the wallflowers and the rocking-chair fleet. mrs. verplanck, i observed, was a beautiful dancer. i picked her out in the throng immediately, dancing with carter.
-mcneill tugged at my sleeve. without a word i saw what he meant me to see. verplanck and mrs. hollingsworth were dancing together. just then, across the porch i caught sight of kennedy at one of the wide windows. he was trying to attract verplanck’s attention, and as he did so i worked my way through the throng of chatting couples leaving the floor until i reached him. verplanck, oblivious, finished the dance; then, seeming to recollect that he had something to attend to, caught sight of us, and ran off during the intermission from the gay crowd to which he resigned mrs. hollingsworth.
-“what is it?” he asked.
-“there’s that light down the bay,” whispered kennedy.
-instantly verplanck forgot about the dance.
-“where?” he asked.
-“in the same place.”
-i had not noticed, but mrs. verplanck, woman-like, had been able to watch several things at once. she had seen us and had joined us.
-“would you like to run down there in the streamline?” he asked. “it will only take a few minutes.”
-“what is it—that light again?” she asked, as she joined us in walking down the dock.
-“yes,” answered her husband, pausing to look for a moment at the stuff kennedy had left with armand. mrs. verplanck leaned over the streamline, turned as she saw me, and said: “i wish i could go with you. but evening dress is not the thing for a shivery night in a speed boat. i think i know as much about it as mr. verplanck. are you going to leave armand?”
-“yes,” replied kennedy, taking his place beside verplanck, who was seated at the steering wheel. “walter and mcneill, if you two will sit back there, we’re ready. all right.”
-armand had cast us off and mrs. verplanck waved from the end of the float as the streamline quickly shot out into the night, a buzzing, throbbing shape of mahogany and brass, with her exhausts sticking out like funnels and booming like a pipe organ. it took her only seconds to eat into the miles.
-“a little more to port,” said kennedy, as verplanck swung her around.
-just then the steady droning of the engine seemed a bit less rhythmical. verplanck throttled her down, but it had no effect. he shut her off. something was wrong. as he crawled out into the space forward of us where the engine was, it seemed as if the streamline had broken down suddenly and completely.
-here we were floundering around in the middle of the bay.
-“chuck-chuck-chuck,” came in quick staccato out of the night. it was montgomery carter, alone, on his way across the bay from the club, in his own boat.
-“hello—carter,” called verplanck.
-“hello, verplanck. what’s the matter?”
-“don’t know. engine trouble of some kind. can you give us a line?”
-“i’ve got to go down to the house,” he said, ranging up near us. “then i can take you back. perhaps i’d better get you out of the way of any other boats first. you don’t mind going over and then back?”
-verplanck looked at craig. “on the contrary,” muttered craig, as he made fast the welcome line.
-the carter dock was some three miles from the club on the other side of the bay. as we came up to it, carter shut off his engine, bent over it a moment, made fast, and left us with a hurried, “wait here.”
-suddenly, overhead, we heard a peculiar whirring noise that seemed to vibrate through the air. something huge, black, monster-like, slid down a board runway into the water, traveled a few feet, in white suds and spray, rose in the darkness—and was gone!
-as the thing disappeared, i thought i could hear a mocking laugh flung back at us.
-“what is it?” i asked, straining my eyes at what had seemed for an instant like a great flying fish with finny tail and huge fins at the sides and above.
-“‘aquaero,’” quoted kennedy quickly. “don’t you understand—a hydroaeroplane—a flying boat. there are hundreds of privately owned flying boats now wherever there is navigable water. that was the secret of carter’s boathouse, of the light we saw in the air.”
-“but this aquaero—who is he?” persisted mcneill. “carter—wickham—australia mac?”
-we looked at each other blankly. no one said a word. we were captured, just as effectively as if we were ironed in a dungeon. there were the black water, the distant lights, which at any other time i should have said would have been beautiful.
-kennedy had sprung into carter’s boat.
-“the deuce,” he exclaimed. “he’s put her out of business.”
-verplanck, chagrined, had been going over his own engine feverishly. “do you see that?” he asked suddenly, holding up in the light of a lantern a little nut which he had picked out of the complicated machinery. “it never belonged to this engine. some one placed it there, knowing it would work its way into a vital part with the vibration.”
-who was the person, the only one who could have done it? the answer was on my lips, but i repressed it. mrs. verplanck herself had been bending over the engine when last i saw her. all at once it flashed over me that she knew more about the phantom bandit than she had admitted. yet what possible object could she have had in putting the streamline out of commission?
-my mind was working rapidly, piecing together the fragmentary facts. the remark of kennedy, long before, instantly assumed new significance. what were the possibilities of blackmail in the right sort of evidence? the yeggman had been after what was more valuable than jewels—letters! whose? suddenly i saw the situation. carter had not been robbed at all. he was in league with the robber. that much was a blind to divert suspicion. he was a lawyer—some one’s lawyer. i recalled the message about letters and evidence, and as i did so there came to mind a picture of carter and the woman he had been dancing with. in return for his inside information about the jewels of the wealthy homes of bluffwood, the yeggman was to get something of interest and importance to his client.
-the situation called for instant action. yet what could we do, marooned on the other side of the bay?
-from the club dock a long finger of light swept out into the night, plainly enough near the dock, but diffused and disclosing nothing in the distance. armand had trained it down the bay in the direction we had taken, but by the time the beam reached us it was so weak that it was lost.
-craig had leaped up on the carter dock and was capping and uncapping with the brass cover the package which contained the triple mirror.
-still in the distance i could see the wide path of light, aimed toward us, but of no avail.
-“what are you doing?” i asked.
-“using the triple mirror to signal to armand. it is something better than wireless. wireless requires heavy and complicated apparatus. this is portable, heatless, almost weightless, a source of light depending for its power on another source of light at a great distance.”
-i wondered how armand could ever detect its feeble ray.
-“even in the case of a rolling ship,” kennedy continued, alternately covering and uncovering the mirror, “the beam of light which this mirror reflects always goes back, unerring, to its source. it would do so from an aeroplane, so high in the air that it could not be located. the returning beam is invisible to anyone not immediately in the path of the ray, and the ray always goes to the observer. it is simply a matter of pure mathematics practically applied. the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection. there is not a variation of a foot in two miles.”
-“what message are you sending him?” asked verplanck.
-“to tell mrs. hollingsworth to hurry home immediately,” kennedy replied, still flashing the letters according to his code.
-“yes. this hydroaeroplane yeggman is after something besides jewels to-night. were those letters that were stolen from you the only ones you had in the safe?”
-verplanck looked up quickly. “yes, yes. of course.”
-“you had none from a woman—”
-“no,” he almost shouted. of a sudden it seemed to dawn on him what kennedy was driving at—the robbery of his own house with no loss except of a packet of letters on business, followed by the attempt on mrs. hollingsworth. “do you think i’d keep dynamite, even in the safe?”
-to hide his confusion he had turned and was bending again over the engine.
-“how is it?” asked kennedy, his signaling over.
-“able to run on four cylinders and one propeller,” replied verplanck.
-“then let’s try her. watch the engine. i’ll take the wheel.”
-limping along, the engine skipping and missing, the once peerless streamline started back across the bay. instead of heading toward the club, kennedy pointed her bow somewhere between that and verplanck’s.
-“i wish armand would get busy,” he remarked, after glancing now and then in the direction of the club. “what can be the matter?”
-“what do you mean?” i asked.
-there came the boom as if of a gun far away in the direction in which he was looking, then another.
-“oh, there it is. good fellow. i suppose he had to deliver my message to mrs. hollingsworth himself first.”
-from every quarter showed huge balls of fire, rising from the sea, as it were, with a brilliantly luminous flame.
-“what is it?” i asked, somewhat startled.
-“a german invention for use at night against torpedo and aeroplane attacks. from that mortar armand has shot half a dozen bombs of phosphide of calcium which are hurled far into the darkness. they are so constructed that they float after a short plunge and are ignited on contact by the action of the salt water itself.”
-it was a beautiful pyrotechnic display, lighting up the shore and hills of the bay as if by an unearthly flare.
-“there’s that thing now!” exclaimed kennedy.
-in the glow we could see a peculiar, birdlike figure flying through the air over toward the hollingsworth house. it was the hydroaeroplane.
-out from the little stretch of lawn under the accentuated shadow of the trees, she streaked into the air, swaying from side to side as the pilot operated the stabilizers on the ends of the planes to counteract the puffs of wind off the land.
-how could she ever be stopped?
-the streamline, halting and limping, though she was, had almost crossed the bay before the light bombs had been fired by armand. every moment brought the flying boat nearer.
-she swerved. evidently the pilot had seen us at last and realized who we were. i was so engrossed watching the thing that i had not noticed that kennedy had given the wheel to verplanck and was standing in the bow, endeavoring to sight what looked like a huge gun.
-in rapid succession half a dozen shots rang out. i fancied i could almost hear the ripping and tearing of the tough rubber-coated silken wings of the hydroaeroplane as the wind widened the perforation the gun had made.
-she had not been flying high, but now she swooped down almost like a gull, seeking to rest on the water. we were headed toward her now, and as the flying boat sank i saw one of the passengers rise in his seat, swing his arm, and far out something splashed in the bay.
-on the water, with wings helpless, the flying boat was no match for the streamline now. she struck at an acute angle, rebounded in the air for a moment, and with a hiss skittered along over the waves, planing with the help of her exhaust under the step of the boat.
-there she was, a hull, narrow, scow-bowed, like a hydroplane, with a long pointed stern and a cockpit for two men, near the bow. there were two wide, winglike planes, on a light latticework of wood covered with silk, trussed and wired like a kite frame, the upper plane about five feet above the lower, which was level with the boat deck. we could see the eight-cylindered engine which drove a two-bladed wooden propeller, and over the stern were the air rudder and the horizontal planes. there she was, the hobbled steed now of the phantom bandit who had accomplished the seemingly impossible.
-in spite of everything, however, the flying boat reached the shore a trifle ahead of us. as she did so both figures in her jumped, and one disappeared quickly up the bank, leaving the other alone.
-“verplanck, mcneill—get him,” cried kennedy, as our own boat grated on the beach. “come, walter, we’ll take the other one.”
-the man had seen that there was no safety in flight. down the shore he stood, without a hat, his hair blown pompadour by the wind.
-as we approached carter turned superciliously, unbuttoning his bulky khaki life preserver jacket.
-“well?” he asked coolly.
-not for a moment did kennedy allow the assumed coolness to take him back, knowing that carter’s delay did not cover the retreat of the other man.
-“so,” craig exclaimed, “you are the—the air pirate?”
-carter disdained to reply.
-“it was you who suggested the millionaire households, full of jewels, silver and gold, only half guarded; you, who knew the habits of the people; you, who traded that information in return for another piece of thievery by your partner, australia mac—wickham he called himself here in bluffwood. it was you—-”
-a car drove up hastily, and i noted that we were still on the hollingsworth estate. mrs. hollingsworth had seen us and had driven over toward us.
-“montgomery!” she cried, startled.
-“yes,” said kennedy quickly, “air pirate and lawyer for mrs. verplanck in the suit which she contemplated bringing—”
-mrs. hollingsworth grew pale under the ghastly, flickering light from the bay.
-“oh!” she cried, realizing at what kennedy hinted, “the letters!”
-“at the bottom of the harbor, now,” said kennedy. “mr. verplanck tells me he has destroyed his. the past is blotted out as far as that is concerned. the future is—for you three to determine. for the present i’ve caught a yeggman and a blackmailer.”
-chapter vii the wireless wiretappers
-kennedy did not wait at bluffwood longer than was necessary. it was easy enough now to silence montgomery carter, and the reconciliation of the verplancks was assured. in the star i made the case appear at the time to involve merely the capture of australia mac.
-when i dropped into the office the next day as usual, i found that i had another assignment that would take me out on long island. the story looked promising and i was rather pleased to get it.
-“bound for seaville, i’ll wager,” sounded a familiar voice in my ear, as i hurried up to the train entrance at the long island corner of the pennsylvania station.
-i turned quickly, to find kennedy just behind me, breathless and perspiring.
-“er—yes,” i stammered in surprise at seeing him so unexpectedly, “but where did you come from? how did you know?”
-“let me introduce mr. jack waldon,” he went on, as we edged our way toward the gate, “the brother of mrs. tracy edwards, who disappeared so strangely from the houseboat lucie last night at seaville. that is the case you’re going to write up, isn’t it?”
-it was then for the first time that i noticed the excited young man beside kennedy was really his companion.
-i shook hands with waldon, who gave me a grip that was both a greeting and an added impulse in our general direction through the wicket.
-“might have known the star would assign you to this edwards case,” panted kennedy, mopping his forehead, for the heat in the terminal was oppressive and the crowd, though not large, was closely packed. “mr. jameson is my right-hand man,” he explained to waldon, taking us each by the arm and urging us forward. “waldon was afraid we might miss the train or i should have tried to get you, walter, at the office.”
-it was all done so suddenly that they quite took away what remaining breath i had, as we settled ourselves to swelter in the smoker instead of in the concourse. i did not even protest at the matter-of-fact assurance with which craig assumed that his deduction as to my destination was correct.
-waldon, a handsome young fellow in a flannel suit and yachting cap somewhat the worse for his evidently perturbed state of mind, seemed to eye me for the moment doubtfully, in spite of kennedy’s cordial greeting.
-“i’ve had all the first editions of the evening papers,” i hinted as we sped through the tunnel, “but the stories seemed to be quite the same—pretty meager in details.”
-“yes,” returned waldon with a glance at kennedy, “i tried to keep as much out of the papers as i could just now for lucie’s sake.”
-“you needn’t fear jameson,” remarked kennedy.
-he fumbled in his pocket, then paused a moment and shot a glance of inquiry at waldon, who nodded a mute acquiescence to him.
-“there seem to have been a number of very peculiar disappearances lately,” resumed kennedy, “but this case of mrs. edwards is by far the most extraordinary. of course the star hasn’t had that—yet,” he concluded, handing me a sheet of notepaper.
-“mr. waldon didn’t give it out, hoping to avoid scandal.”
-i took the paper and read eagerly, in a woman’s hand:
-“my dear miss fox: i have been down here at seaville on our houseboat, the lucie, for several days for a purpose which now is accomplished.
-“already i had my suspicions of you, from a source which i need not name. therefore, when the kronprinz got into wireless communication with the station at seaville i determined through our own wireless on the lucie to overhear whether there would be any exchange of messages between my husband and yourself.
-“i was able to overhear the whole thing and i want you to know that your secret is no longer a secret from me, and that i have already told mr. edwards that i know it. you ruin his life by your intimacy which you seem to want to keep up, although you know you have no right to do it, but you shall not ruin mine.
-“i am thoroughly disillusioned now. i have not decided on what steps to take, but—”
-only a casual glance was necessary to show me that the writing seemed to grow more and more weak as it progressed, and the note stopped abruptly, as if the writer had been suddenly interrupted or some new idea had occurred to her.
-hastily i tried to figure it out. lucie waldon, as everybody knew, was a famous beauty, a marvel of charm and daintiness, slender, with big, soulful, wistful eyes. her marriage to tracy edwards, the wealthy plunger and stockbroker, had been a great social event the year before, and it was reputed at the time that edwards had showered her with jewels and dresses to the wonder and talk even of society.
-as for valerie fox, i knew she had won quick recognition and even fame as a dancer in new york during the previous winter, and i recalled reading three or four days before that she had just returned on the kronprinz from a trip abroad.
-“i don’t suppose you have had time to see miss fox,” i remarked. “where is she?”
-“at beach park now, i think,” replied waldon, “a resort a few miles nearer the city on the south shore, where there is a large colony of actors.”
-i handed back the letter to kennedy.
-“what do you make of it?” he asked, as he folded it up and put it back into his pocket.
-“i hardly know what to say,” i replied. “of course there have been rumors, i believe, that all was not exactly like a honeymoon still with the tracy edwardses.”
-“yes,” returned waldon slowly, “i know myself that there has been some trouble, but nothing definite until i found this letter last night in my sister’s room. she never said anything about it either to mother or myself. they haven’t been much together during the summer, and last night when she disappeared tracy was in the city. but i hadn’t thought much about it before, for, of course, you know he has large financial interests that make him keep in pretty close touch with new york and this summer hasn’t been a particularly good one on the stock exchange.”
-“and,” i put in, “a plunger doesn’t always make the best of husbands. perhaps there is temperament to be reckoned with here.”
-“there seem to be a good many things to be reckoned with,” craig considered. “for example, here’s a houseboat, the lucie, a palatial affair, cruising about aimlessly, with a beautiful woman on it. she gives a little party, in the absence of her husband, to her brother, his fiancée and her mother, who visit her from his yacht, the nautilus. they break up, those living on the lucie going to their rooms and the rest back to the yacht, which is anchored out further in the deeper water of the bay.
-“some time in the middle of the night her maid, juanita, finds that she is not in her room. her brother is summoned back from his yacht and finds that she has left this pathetic, unfinished letter. but otherwise there is no trace of her. her husband is notified and hurries out there, but he can find no clue. meanwhile, mr. waldon, in despair, hurries down to the city to engage me quietly.”
-“you remember i told you,” suggested waldon, “that my sister hadn’t been feeling well for several days. in fact it seemed that the sea air wasn’t doing her much good, and some one last night suggested that she try the mountains.”
-“had there been anything that would foreshadow the—er—disappearance?” asked kennedy.
-“only as i say, that for two or three days she seemed to be listless, to be sinking by slow and easy stages into a sort of vacant, moody state of ill health.”
-“she had a doctor, i suppose?” i asked.
-“yes, dr. jermyn, tracy’s own personal physician came down from the city several days ago.”
-“what did he say?”
-“he simply said that it was congestion of the lungs. as far as he could see there was no apparent cause for it. i don’t think he was very enthusiastic about the mountain air idea. the fact is he was like a good many doctors under the circumstances, noncommittal—wanted her under observation, and all that sort of thing.”
-“what’s your opinion?” i pressed craig. “do you think she has run away?”
-“naturally, i’d rather not attempt to say yet,” craig replied cautiously. “but there are several possibilities. yes, she might have left the houseboat in some other boat, of course. then there is the possibility of accident. it was a hot night. she might have been leaning from the window and have lost her balance. i have even thought of drugs, that she might have taken something in her despondency and have fallen overboard while under the influence of it. then, of course, there are the two deductions that everyone has made already—either suicide or murder.”
-waldon had evidently been turning something over in his mind.
-“there was a wireless outfit aboard the houseboat,” he ventured at length.
-“what of that?” i asked, wondering why he was changing the subject so abruptly.
-“why, only this,” he replied. “i have been reading about wireless a good deal lately, and if the theories of some scientists are correct, the wireless age is not without its dangers as well as its wonders. i recall reading not long ago of a german professor who says there is no essential difference between wireless waves and the x-rays, and we know the terrible physical effects of x-rays. i believe he estimated that only one three hundred millionth part of the electrical energy generated by sending a message from one station to another near by is actually used up in transmitting the message. the rest is dispersed in the atmosphere. there must be a good deal of such stray electrical energy about seaville. isn’t it possible that it might hit some one somewhere who was susceptible?”
-kennedy said nothing. waldon’s was at least a novel idea, whether it was plausible or not. the only way to test it out, as far as i could determine, was to see whether it fitted with the facts after a careful investigation of the case itself.
-it was still early in the day and the trains were not as crowded as they would be later. consequently our journey was comfortable enough and we found ourselves at last at the little vine-covered station at seaville.
-one could almost feel that the gay summer colony was in a state of subdued excitement. as we left the quaint station and walked down the main street to the town wharf where we expected some one would be waiting for us, it seemed as if the mysterious disappearance of the beautiful mrs. edwards had put a damper on the life of the place. in the hotels there were knots of people evidently discussing the affair, for as we passed we could tell by their faces that they recognized us. one or two bowed and would have joined us, if waldon had given any encouragement. but he did not stop, and we kept on down the street quickly.
-i myself began to feel the spell of mystery about the case as i had not felt it among the distractions of the city. perhaps i imagined it, but there even seemed to be something strange about the houseboat which we could descry at anchor far down the bay as we approached the wharf.
-we were met, as waldon had arranged, by a high-powered runabout, the tender to his own yacht, a slim little craft of mahogany and brass, driven like an automobile, and capable of perhaps twenty-five or thirty miles an hour. we jumped in and were soon skimming over the waters of the bay like a skipping stone.
-it was evident that waldon was much relieved at having been able to bring assistance, in which he had as much confidence as he reposed in kennedy. at any rate it was something to be nearing the scene of action again.
-the lucie was perhaps seventy feet long and a most attractive craft, with a hull yachty in appearance and of a type which could safely make long runs along the coast, a stanch, seaworthy boat, of course without the speed of the regularly designed yacht, but more than making up in comfort for those on board what was lost in that way. waldon pointed out with obvious pride his own trim yacht swinging gracefully at anchor a half mile or so away.
-as we approached the houseboat i looked her over carefully. one of the first things i noticed was that there rose from the roof the primitive inverted v aërial of a wireless telegraph. i thought immediately of the unfinished letter and its contents, and shaded my eyes as i took a good look at the powerful transatlantic station on the spit of sand perhaps three or four miles distant, with its tall steel masts of the latest inverted l type and the cluster of little houses below, in which the operators and the plant were.
-waldon noticed what i was looking at, and remarked, “it’s a wonderful station—and well worth a visit, if you have the time—one of the most powerful on the coast, i understand.”
-“how did the lucie come to be equipped with wireless?” asked craig quickly. “it’s a little unusual for a private boat.”
-“mr. edwards had it done when she was built,” explained waldon. “his idea was to use it to keep in touch with the stock market on trips.”
-“and it has proved effective?” asked craig.
-“oh, yes—that is, it was all right last winter when he went on a short cruise down in florida. this summer he hasn’t been on the boat long enough to use it much.”
-“who operates it?”
-“he used to hire a licensed operator, although i believe the engineer, pedersen, understands the thing pretty well and could use it if necessary.”
-“do you think it was pedersen who used it for mrs. edwards?” asked kennedy.
-“i really don’t know,” confessed waldon. “pedersen denies absolutely that he has touched the thing for weeks. i want you to quiz him. i wasn’t able to get him to admit a thing.”
-chapter viii the houseboat mystery
-we had by this time swung around to the side of the houseboat. i realized as we mounted the ladder that the marine gasoline engine had materially changed the old-time houseboat from a mere scow or barge with a low flat house on it, moored in a bay or river, and only with difficulty and expense towed from one place to another. now the houseboat was really a fair-sized yacht.
-the lucie was built high in order to give plenty of accommodation for the living quarters. the staterooms, dining rooms and saloon were really rooms, with seven or eight feet of head room, and furnished just as one would find in a tasteful and expensive house.
-down in the hull, of course, was the gasoline motor which drove the propeller, so that when the owner wanted a change of scene all that was necessary was to get up anchor, start the motor and navigate the yacht-houseboat to some other harbor.
-edwards himself met us on the deck. he was a tall man, with a red face, a man of action, of outdoor life, apparently a hard worker and a hard player. it was quite evident that he had been waiting for the return of waldon anxiously.
-“you find us considerably upset, professor kennedy,” he greeted craig, as his brother-in-law introduced us.
-edwards turned and led the way toward the saloon. as he entered and bade us be seated in the costly cushioned wicker chairs i noticed how sumptuously it was furnished, and particularly its mechanical piano, its phonograph and the splendid hardwood floor which seemed to invite one to dance in the cool breeze that floated across from one set of open windows to the other. and yet in spite of everything, there was that indefinable air of something lacking, as in a house from which the woman is gone.
-“you were not here last night, i understand,” remarked kennedy, taking in the room at a glance.
-“unfortunately, no,” replied edwards, “business has kept me with my nose pretty close to the grindstone this summer. waldon called me up in the middle of the night, however, and i started down in my car, which enabled me to get here before the first train. i haven’t been able to do a thing since i got here except just wait—wait—wait. i confess that i don’t know what else to do. waldon seemed to think we ought to have some one down here—and i guess he was right. anyhow, i’m glad to see you.”
-i watched edwards keenly. for the first time i realized that i had neglected to ask waldon whether he had seen the unfinished letter. the question was unnecessary. it was evident that he had not.
-“let me see, waldon, if i’ve got this thing straight,” edwards went on, pacing restlessly up and down the saloon. “correct me if i haven’t. last night, as i understand it, there was a sort of little family party here, you and miss verrall and your mother from the nautilus, and mrs. edwards and dr. jermyn.”
-“yes,” replied waldon with, i thought, a touch of defiance at the words “family party.” he paused as if he would have added that the nautilus would have been more congenial, anyhow, then added, “we danced a little bit, all except lucie. she said she wasn’t feeling any too well.”
-edwards had paused by the door. “if you’ll excuse me a minute,” he said, “i’ll call jermyn and mrs. edwards’ maid, juanita. you ought to go over the whole thing immediately, professor kennedy.”
-“why didn’t you say anything about the letter to him?” asked kennedy under his breath.
-“what was the use?” returned waldon. “i didn’t know how he’d take it. besides, i wanted your advice on the whole thing. do you want to show it to him?”
-“perhaps it’s just as well,” ruminated kennedy. “it may be possible to clear the thing up without involving anybody’s name. at any rate, some one is coming down the passage this way.”
-edwards entered with dr. jermyn, a clean-shaven man, youthful in appearance, yet approaching middle age. i had heard of him before. he had studied several years abroad and had gained considerable reputation since his return to america.
-dr. jermyn shook hands with us cordially enough, made some passing comment on the tragedy, and stood evidently waiting for us to disclose our hands.
-“you have been mrs. edwards’ physician for some time, i believe?” queried kennedy, fencing for an opening.
-“only since her marriage,” replied the doctor briefly.
-“she hadn’t been feeling well for several days, had she?” ventured kennedy again.
-“no,” replied dr. jermyn quickly. “i doubt whether i can add much to what you already know. i suppose mr. waldon has told you about her illness. the fact is, i suppose her maid juanita will be able to tell you really more than i can.”
-i could not help feeling that dr. jermyn showed a great deal of reluctance in talking.
-“you have been with her several days, though, haven’t you?”
-“four days, i think. she was complaining of feeling nervous and telegraphed me to come down here. i came prepared to stay over night, but mr. edwards happened to run down that day, too, and he asked me if i wouldn’t remain longer. my practice in the summer is such that i can easily leave it with my assistant in the city, so i agreed. really, that is about all i can say. i don’t know yet what was the matter with mrs. edwards, aside from the nervousness which seemed to be of some time standing.”
-he stood facing us, thoughtfully stroking his chin, as a very pretty and petite maid nervously entered and stood facing us in the doorway.
-“come in, juanita,” encouraged edwards. “i want you to tell these gentlemen just what you told me about discovering that madame had gone—and anything else that you may recall now.”
-“it was juanita who discovered that madame was gone, you know,” put in waldon.
-“how did you discover it?” prompted craig.
-“it was very hot,” replied the maid, “and often on hot nights i would come in and fan madame since she was so wakeful. last night i went to the door and knocked. there was no reply. i called to her, ‘madame, madame.’ still there was no answer. the worst i supposed was that she had fainted. i continued to call.”
-“the door was locked?” inquired kennedy.
-“yes, sir. my call aroused the others on the boat. dr. jermyn came and he broke open the door with his shoulder. but the room was empty. madame was gone.”
-“how about the windows?” asked kennedy.
-“open. they were always open these nights. sometimes madame would sit by the window when there was not much breeze.”
-“i should like to see the room,” remarked craig, with an inquiring glance at edwards.
-“certainly,” he answered, leading the way down a corridor.
-mrs. edwards’ room was on the starboard side, with wide windows instead of portholes. it was furnished magnificently and there was little about it that suggested the nautical, except the view from the window.
-“the bed had not been slept in,” edwards remarked as we looked about curiously.
-kennedy walked over quickly to the wide series of windows before which was a leather-cushioned window seat almost level with the window, several feet above the level of the water. it was by this window, evidently, that juanita meant that mrs. edwards often sat. it was a delightful position, but i could readily see that it would be comparatively easy for anyone accidentally or purposely to fall.
-“i think myself,” waldon remarked to kennedy, “that it must have been from the open window that she made her way to the outside. it seems that all agree that the door was locked, while the window was wide open.”
-“there had been no sound—no cry to alarm you?” shot out kennedy suddenly to juanita.
-“no, sir, nothing. i could not sleep myself, and i thought of madame.”
-“you heard nothing?” he asked of dr. jermyn.
-“nothing until i heard the maid call,” he replied briefly.
-mentally i ran over again kennedy’s first list of possibilities—taken off by another boat, accident, drugs, suicide, murder.
-was there, i asked myself, sufficient reason for suicide? the letter seemed to me to show too proud a spirit for that. in fact the last sentence seemed to show that she was contemplating the surest method of revenge, rather than surrender. as for accident, why should a person fall overboard from a large houseboat into a perfectly calm harbor? then, too, there had been no outcry. somehow, i could not seem to fit any of the theories in with the facts. evidently it was like many another case, one in which we, as yet, had insufficient data for a conclusion.
-suddenly i recalled the theory that waldon himself had advanced regarding the wireless, either from the boat itself or from the wireless station. for the moment, at least, it seemed plausible that she might have been seated at the window, that she might have been affected by escaped wireless, or by electrolysis. i knew that some physicians had described a disease which they attributed to wireless, a sort of anemia with a marked diminution in the number of red corpuscles in the blood, due partly to the over etherization of the air by reason of the alternating currents used to generate the waves.
-“i should like now to inspect the little wireless plant you have here on the lucie,” remarked kennedy. “i noticed the mast as we were approaching a few minutes ago.”
-i had turned at the sound of his voice in time to catch edwards and dr. jermyn eyeing each other furtively. did they know about the letter, after all, i wondered? was each in doubt about just how much the other knew?
-there was no time to pursue these speculations. “certainly,” agreed mr. edwards promptly, leading the way.
-kennedy seemed keenly interested in inspecting the little wireless plant, which was of a curious type and not exactly like any that i had seen before.
-“wireless apparatus,” he remarked, as he looked it over, “is divided into three parts, the source of power whether battery or dynamo, the making and sending of wireless waves, including the key, spark, condenser and tuning coil, and the receiving apparatus, head telephones, antennae, ground and detector.”
-pedersen, the engineer, came in while we were looking the plant over, but seemed uncommunicative to all kennedy’s efforts to engage him in conversation.
-“i see,” remarked kennedy, “that it is a very compact system with facilities for a quick change from one wave length to another.”
-“yes,” grunted pedersen, as averse to talking, evidently, as others on the lucie.
-“spark gap, quenched type,” i heard kennedy mutter almost to himself, with a view to showing pedersen that he knew something about it. “break system relay—operator can overhear any interference while transmitting—transformation by a single throw of a six-point switch which tunes the oscillating and open circuits to resonance. very clever—very efficient. by the way, pedersen, are you the only person aboard who can operate this?”
-“how should i know?” he answered almost surlily.
-“you ought to know, if anybody,” answered kennedy unruffled. “i know that it has been operated within the past few days.”
-pedersen shrugged his shoulders. “you might ask the others aboard,” was all he said. “mr. edwards pays me to operate it only for himself, when he has no other operator.”
-kennedy did not pursue the subject, evidently from fear of saying too much just at present.
-“i wonder if there is anyone else who could have operated it,” said waldon, as we mounted again to the deck.
-waldon shook his head. “never had any particular use for it myself,” he answered.
-“you say that miss verrall and her mother have gone back to the city?” pursued kennedy, taking care that as before the others were out of earshot.
-“i’d like to stay with you tonight, then,” decided kennedy. “might we go over with you now? there doesn’t seem to be anything more i can do here, unless we get some news about mrs. edwards.”
-waldon seemed only too glad to agree, and no one on the lucie insisted on our staying.
-we arrived at the nautilus a few minutes later, and while we were lunching kennedy dispatched the tender to the marconi station with a note.
-it was early in the afternoon when the tender returned with several packages and coils of wire. kennedy immediately set to work on the nautilus stretching out some of the wire.
-“what is it you are planning?” asked waldon, to whom every action of kennedy seemed to be a mystery of the highest interest.
-“improvising my own wireless,” he replied, not averse to talking to the young man to whom he seemed to have taken a fancy. “for short distances, you know, it isn’t necessary to construct an aërial pole or even to use outside wires to receive messages. all that is needed is to use just a few wires stretched inside a room. the rest is just the apparatus.”
-i was quite as much interested as waldon. “in wireless,” he went on, “the signals are not sent in one direction, but in all, so that a person within range of the ethereal disturbance can get them if only he has the necessary receiving apparatus. this apparatus need not be so elaborate and expensive as used to be thought needful if a sensitive detector is employed, and i have sent over to the station for a new piece of apparatus which i knew they had in almost any marconi station. why, i’ve got wireless signals using only twelve feet of number eighteen copper wire stretched across a room and grounded with a water pipe. you might even use a wire mattress on an iron bedstead.”
-“can’t they find out by—er, interference?” i asked, repeating the term i had so often heard.
-kennedy laughed. “no, not for radio apparatus which merely receives radiograms and is not equipped for sending. i am setting up only one side of a wireless outfit here. all i want to do is to hear what is being said. i don’t care about saying anything.”
-it was late in the afternoon when he finished, and we had just time to run up to the dock at seaville and stop off at the lucie to see if anything had happened in the intervening hours before dinner. there was nothing, except that i found time to file a message to the star and meet several fellow newspaper men who had been sent down by other papers on the chance of picking up a good story.
-we had the nautilus to ourselves, and as she was a very comfortable little craft, we really had a very congenial time, a plunge over her side, a good dinner, and then a long talk out on deck under the stars, in which we went over every phase of the case. as we discussed it, waldon followed keenly, and it was quite evident from his remarks that he had come to the conclusion that dr. jermyn at least knew more than he had told about the case.
-still, the day wore away with no solution yet of the mystery.
-chapter ix the radio detective
-it was early the following morning when a launch drew up beside the nautilus. in it were edwards and dr. jermyn, wildly excited.
-“what’s the matter?” called out waldon.
-“they—they have found the body,” edwards blurted out.
-waldon paled and clutched the rail. he had thought the world of his sister, and not until the last moment had he given up hope that perhaps she might be found to have disappeared in some other way than had become increasingly evident.
-“where?” cried kennedy. “who?”
-“over on ten mile beach,” answered edwards. “some fishermen who had been out on a cruise and hadn’t heard the story. they took the body to town, and there it was recognized. they sent word out to us immediately.”
-waldon had already spun the engine of his tender, which was about the fastest thing afloat about seaville, had taken edwards over, and we were off in a cloud of spray, the nose of the boat many inches above the surface of the water.
-in the little undertaking establishment at seaville lay the body of the beautiful young matron about whom so much anxiety had been felt. i could not help thinking what an end was this for the incomparable beauty. at the very height of her brief career the poor little woman’s life had been suddenly snuffed out. but by what? the body had been found, but the mystery had been far from solved.
-as kennedy bent over the body, i heard him murmur to himself, “she had everything—everything except happiness.”
-“was it drowning that caused her death?” asked kennedy of the local doctor, who also happened to be coroner and had already arrived on the scene.
-the doctor shook his head. “i don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “there was congestion of the lungs—but i—i can’t say but what she might have been dead before she fell or was thrown into the water.”
-dr. jermyn stood on one side, now and then putting in a word, but for the most part silent unless spoken to. kennedy, however, was making a most minute examination.
-as he turned the beautiful head, almost reverently, he saw something that evidently attracted his attention. i was standing next to him and, between us, i think we cut off the view of the others. there on the back of the neck, carefully, had been smeared something transparent, almost skin-like, which had easily escaped the attention of the rest.
-kennedy tried to pick it off, but only succeeded in pulling off a very minute piece to which the flesh seemed to adhere.
-“that’s queer,” he whispered to me. “water, naturally, has no effect on it, else it would have been washed off long before. walter,” he added, “just slip across the street quietly to the drug store and get me a piece of gauze soaked with acetone.”
-as quickly and unostentatiously as i could i did so and handed him the wet cloth, contriving at the same time to add waldon to our barrier, for i could see that kennedy was anxious to be observed as little as possible.
-“what is it?” i whispered, as he rubbed the transparent skin-like stuff off, and dropped the gauze into his pocket.
-“a sort of skin varnish,” he remarked under his breath, “waterproof and so adhesive that it resists pulling off even with a knife without taking the cuticle with it.”
-beneath, as the skin varnish slowly dissolved under his gentle rubbing, he had disclosed several very small reddish spots, like little cuts that had been made by means of a very sharp instrument. as he did so, he gave them a hasty glance, turned the now stony beautiful head straight again, stood up, and resumed his talk with the coroner, who was evidently getting more and more bewildered by the case.
-edwards, who had completed the arrangements with the undertaker for the care of the body as soon as the coroner released it, seemed completely unnerved.
-“jermyn,” he said to the doctor, as he turned away and hid his eyes, “i can’t stand this. the undertaker wants some stuff from the—er—boat,” his voice broke over the name which had been hers. “will you get it for me? i’m going up to a hotel here, and i’ll wait for you there. but i can’t go out to the boat—yet.”
-“i think mr. waldon will be glad to take you out in his tender,” suggested kennedy. “besides, i feel that i’d like a little fresh air as a bracer, too, after such a shock.”
-“what were those little cuts?” i asked as waldon and dr. jermyn preceded us through the crowd outside to the pier.
-“some one,” he answered in a low tone, “has severed the pneumogastric nerves.”
-“the pneumogastric nerves?” i repeated.
-“yes, the vagus or wandering nerve, the so-called tenth cranial nerve. unlike the other cranial nerves, which are concerned with the special senses or distributed to the skin and muscles of the head and neck, the vagus, as its name implies, strays downward into the chest and abdomen supplying branches to the throat, lungs, heart and stomach and forms an important connecting link between the brain and the sympathetic nervous system.”
-we had reached the pier, and a nod from kennedy discouraged further conversation on the subject.
-a few minutes later we had reached the lucie and gone up over her side. kennedy waited until jermyn had disappeared into the room of mrs. edwards to get what the undertaker had desired. a moment and he had passed quietly into dr. jermyn’s own room, followed by me. several quick glances about told him what not to waste time over, and at last his eye fell on a little portable case of medicines and surgical instruments. he opened it quickly and took out a bottle of golden yellow liquid.
-kennedy smelled it, then quickly painted some on the back of his hand. it dried quickly, like an artificial skin. he had found a bottle of skin varnish in dr. jermyn’s own medicine chest!
-we hurried back to the deck, and a few minutes later the doctor appeared with a large package.
-“did you ever hear of coating the skin by a substance which is impervious to water, smooth and elastic?” asked kennedy quietly as waldon’s tender sped along back to seaville.
-“why—er, yes,” he said frankly, raising his eyes and looking at craig in surprise. “there have been a dozen or more such substances. the best is one which i use, made of pyroxylin, the soluble cotton of commerce, dissolved in amyl acetate and acetone with some other substances that make it perfectly sterile. why do you ask?”
-“because some one has used a little bit of it to cover a few slight cuts on the back of the neck of mrs. edwards.”
-“indeed?” he said simply, in a tone of mild surprise.
-“yes,” pursued kennedy. “they seem to me to be subcutaneous incisions of the neck with a very fine scalpel dividing the two great pneumogastric nerves. of course you know what that would mean—the victim would pass away naturally by slow and easy stages in three or four days, and all that would appear might be congestion of the lungs. they are delicate little punctures and elusive nerves to locate, but after all it might be done as painlessly, as simply and as safely as a barber might remove some dead hairs. a country coroner might easily pass over such evidence at an autopsy—especially if it was concealed by skin varnish.”
-i was surprised at the frankness with which kennedy spoke, but absolutely amazed at the coolness of jermyn. at first he said absolutely nothing. he seemed to be as set in his reticence as he had been when we first met.
-i watched him narrowly. waldon, who was driving the boat, had not heard what was said, but i had, and i could not conceive how anyone could take it so calmly.
-finally jermyn turned to kennedy and looked him squarely in the eye. “kennedy,” he said slowly, “this is extraordinary—most extraordinary,” then, pausing, added, “if true.”
-“there can be no doubt of the truth,” replied kennedy, eyeing dr. jermyn just as squarely.
-“what do you propose to do about it?” asked the doctor.
-“investigate,” replied kennedy simply. “while waldon takes these things up to the undertaker’s, we may as well wait here in the boat. i want him to stop on the way back for mr. edwards. then we shall go out to the lucie. he must go, whether he likes it or not.”
-it was indeed a most peculiar situation as kennedy and i sat in the tender with dr. jermyn waiting for waldon to return with edwards. not a word was spoken.
-the tenseness of the situation was not relieved by the return of waldon with edwards. waldon seemed to realize without knowing just what it was, that something was about to happen. he drove his boat back to the lucie again in record time. this was kennedy’s turn to be reticent. whatever it was he was revolving in his mind, he answered in scarcely more than monosyllables whatever questions were put to him.
-“you are not coming aboard?” inquired edwards in surprise as he and jermyn mounted the steps of the houseboat ladder, and kennedy remained seated in the tender.
-“not yet,” replied craig coolly.
-“but i thought you had something to show me. waldon told me you had.”
-“i think i shall have in a short time,” returned kennedy. “we shall be back immediately. i’m just going to ask waldon to run over to the nautilus for a few minutes. we’ll tow back your launch, too, in case you need it.”
-waldon had cast off obediently.
-“there’s one thing sure,” i remarked. “jermyn can’t get away from the lucie until we return—unless he swims.”
-kennedy did not seem to pay much attention to the remark, for his only reply was: “i’m taking a chance by this maneuvering, but i think it will work out that i am correct. by the way, waldon, you needn’t put on so much speed. i’m in no great hurry to get back. half an hour will be time enough.”
-“jermyn? what did you mean by jermyn?” asked waldon, as we climbed to the deck of the nautilus.
-he had evidently learned, as i had, that it was little use to try to quiz kennedy until he was ready to be questioned and had decided to try it on me.
-i had nothing to conceal and i told him quite fully all that i knew. actually, i believe if jermyn had been there, it would have taken both kennedy and myself to prevent violence. as it was i had a veritable madman to deal with while kennedy gathered up leisurely the wireless outfit he had installed on the deck of waldon’s yacht. it was only by telling him that i would certainly demand that kennedy leave him behind if he did not control his feelings that i could calm him before craig had finished his work on the yacht.
-waldon relieved himself by driving the tender back at top speed to the lucie, and now it seemed that kennedy had no objection to traveling as fast as the many-cylindered engine was capable of going.
-as we entered the saloon of the houseboat, i kept close watch over waldon.
-kennedy began by slipping a record on the phonograph in the corner of the saloon, then facing us and addressing edwards particularly.
-“you may be interested to know, mr. edwards,” he said, “that your wireless outfit here has been put to a use for which you never intended it.”
-no one said anything, but i am sure that some one in the room then for the first time began to suspect what was coming.
-“as you know, by the use of an aërial pole, messages may be easily received from any number of stations,” continued craig. “laws, rules and regulations may be adopted to shut out interlopers and plug busybody ears, but the greater part of whatever is transmitted by the hertzian waves can be snatched down by other wireless apparatus.
-“down below, in that little room of yours,” went on craig, “might sit an operator with his ear-phone clamped to his head, drinking in the news conveyed surely and swiftly to him through the wireless signals—plucking from the sky secrets of finance and,” he added, leaning forward, “love.”
-in his usual dramatic manner kennedy had swung his little audience completely with him.
-“in other words,” he resumed, “it might be used for eavesdropping by a wireless wiretapper. now,” he concluded, “i thought that if there was any radio detective work being done, i might as well do some, too.”
-he toyed for a moment with the phonograph record. “i have used,” he explained, “marconi’s radiotelephone, because in connection with his receivers marconi uses phonographic recorders and on them has captured wireless telegraph signals over hundreds of miles.
-kennedy started the phonograph, running it along, stopping it, taking up the record at a new point.
-“listen,” he exclaimed at length, “there’s something interesting, the wxy call—seaville station—from some one on the lucie only a few minutes ago, sending a message to be relayed by seaville to the station at beach park. it seems impossible, but buzzing and ticking forth is this message from some one off this very houseboat. it reads: “miss valerie fox, beach park. i am suspected of the murder of mrs. edwards. i appeal to you to help me. you must allow me to tell the truth about the messages i intercepted for mrs. edwards which passed between yourself on the ocean and mr. edwards in new york via seaville. you rejected me and would not let me save you. now you must save me.”
-kennedy paused, then added, “the message is signed by dr. jermyn!”
-at once i saw it all. jermyn had been the unsuccessful suitor for miss fox’s affections. but before i could piece out the rest of the tragic story, kennedy had started the phonograph record at an earlier point which he had skipped for the present.
-“here’s another record—a brief one—also to valerie fox from the houseboat: ‘refuse all interviews. deny everything. will see you as soon as present excitement dies down.’”
-before kennedy could finish, waldon had leaped forward, unable longer to control his feelings. if kennedy had not seized his arm, i verily believe he would have cast dr. jermyn into the bay into which his sister had fallen two nights before in her terribly weakened condition.
-“waldon,” cried kennedy, “for god’s sake, man—wait! don’t you understand? the second message is signed tracy edwards.”
-it came as quite as much a shock of surprise to me as to waldon.
-“don’t you understand?” he repeated. “your sister first learned from dr. jermyn what was going on. she moved the lucie down here near seaville in order to be near the wireless station when the ship bearing her rival, valerie fox, got in touch with land. with the help of dr. jermyn she intercepted the wireless messages from the kronprinz to the shore—between her husband and valerie fox.”
-kennedy was hurrying on now to his irresistible conclusion. “she found that he was infatuated with the famous stage beauty, that he was planning to marry another, her rival. she accused him of it, threatened to defeat his plans. he knew she knew his unfaithfulness. instead of being your sister’s murderer, dr. jermyn was helping her get the evidence that would save both her and perhaps win miss fox back to himself.”
-kennedy had turned sharply on edwards.
-“but,” he added, with a glance that crushed any lingering hope that the truth had been concealed, “the same night that dr. jermyn arrived here, you visited your wife. as she slept you severed the nerves that meant life or death to her. then you covered the cuts with the preparation which you knew dr. jermyn used. you asked him to stay, while you went away, thinking that when death came you would have a perfect alibi—perhaps a scapegoat. edwards, the radio detective convicts you!”
-chapter x the curio shop
-edwards crumpled up as kennedy and i faced him. there was no escape. in fact our greatest difficulty was to protect him from waldon.
-kennedy’s work in the case was over when we had got edwards ashore and in the hands of the authorities. but mine had just begun and it was late when i got my story on the wire for the star.
-i felt pretty tired and determined to make up for it by sleeping the next day. it was no use, however.
-“why, what’s the matter, mrs. northrop?” i heard kennedy ask as he opened our door the next morning, just as i had finished dressing.
-he had admitted a young woman, who greeted us with nervous, wide-staring eyes.
-“it’s—it’s about archer,” she cried, sinking into the nearest chair and staring from one to the other of us.
-i recollected quickly that northrop, according to last reports, had been down in the south of mexico on an archeological expedition. but before i could frame, even in my mind, the natural question in a form that would not alarm his wife further, kennedy had it on his lips.
-“no bad news from mitla, i hope?” he asked gently, recalling one of the main working stations chosen by the expedition and the reported unsettled condition of the country about it. she looked up quickly.
-“didn’t you know—he—came back from vera cruz yesterday?” she asked slowly, then added, speaking in a broken tone, “and—he seems—suddenly—to have disappeared. oh, such a terrible night of worry! no word—and i called up the museum, but doctor bernardo, the curator, had gone, and no one answered. and this morning—i couldn’t stand it any longer—so i came to you.”
-“you have no idea, i suppose, of anything that was weighing on his mind?” suggested kennedy.
-“no,” she answered promptly.
-in default of any further information, kennedy did not pursue this line of questioning. i could not determine from his face or manner whether he thought the matter might involve another than mrs. northrop, or, perhaps, something connected with the unsettled condition of the country from which her husband had just arrived.
-“have you any of the letters that archer wrote home?” asked craig, at length.
-“yes,” she replied eagerly, taking a little packet from her handbag. “i thought you might ask that. i brought them.”
-“you are an ideal client,” commented craig encouragingly, taking the letters. “now, mrs. northrop, be brave. trust me to run this thing down, and if you hear anything let me know immediately.”
-she left us a moment later, visibly relieved.
-scarcely had she gone when craig, stuffing the letters into his pocket unread, seized his hat, and a moment later was striding along toward the museum with his habitual rapid, abstracted step which told me that he sensed a mystery.
-in the museum we met doctor bernardo, a man slightly older than northrop, with whom he had been very intimate. he had just arrived and was already deeply immersed in the study of some new and beautiful colored plates from the national museum of mexico city.
-“do you remember seeing northrop here yesterday afternoon?” greeted craig, without explaining what had happened.
-“yes,” he answered promptly. “i was here with him until very late. at least, he was in his own room, working hard, when i left.”
-“did you see him go?”
-“why—er—no,” replied bernardo, as if that were a new idea. “i left him here—at least, i didn’t see him go out.”
-kennedy tried the door of northrop’s room, which was at the far end, in a corner, and communicated with the hall only through the main floor of the museum. it was locked. a pass-key from the janitor quickly opened it.
-such a sight as greeted us, i shall never forget. there, in his big desk-chair, sat northrop, absolutely rigid, the most horribly contorted look on his features that i have ever seen—half of pain, half of fear, as if of something nameless.
-kennedy bent over. his hands were cold.
-northrop had been dead at least twelve hours, perhaps longer. all night the deserted museum had guarded its terrible secret.
-as craig peered into his face, he saw, in the fleshy part of the neck, just below the left ear, a round red mark, with just a drop or two of now black coagulated blood in the center. all around we could see a vast amount of miscellaneous stuff, partly unpacked, partly just opened, and waiting to be taken out of the wrappings by the now motionless hands.
-“i suppose you are more or less familiar with what northrop brought back?” asked kennedy of bernardo, running his eye over the material in the room.
-“yes, reasonably,” answered bernardo. “before the cases arrived from the wharf, he told me in detail what he had managed to bring up with him.”
-“i wish, then, that you would look it over and see if there is anything missing,” requested craig, already himself busy in going over the room for other evidence.
-doctor bernardo hastily began taking a mental inventory of the stuff. while they worked, i tried vainly to frame some theory which would explain the startling facts we had so suddenly discovered.
-mitla, i knew, was south of the city of oaxaca, and there, in its ruined palaces, was the crowning achievement of the old zapotec kings. no ruins in america were more elaborately ornamented or richer in lore for the archeologist.
-northrop had brought up porphyry blocks with quaint grecques and much hieroglyphic painting. already unpacked were half a dozen copper axes, some of the first of that particular style that had ever been brought to the united states. besides the sculptured stones and the mosaics were jugs, cups, vases, little gods, sacrificial stones—enough, almost, to equip a new alcove in the museum.
-before northrop was an idol, a hideous thing on which frogs and snakes squatted and coiled. it was a fitting piece to accompany the gruesome occupant of the little room in his long, last vigil. in fact, it almost sent a shudder over me, and if i had been inclined to the superstitious, i should certainly have concluded that this was retribution for having disturbed the lares and penates of a dead race.
-doctor bernardo was going over the material a second time. by the look on his face, even i could guess that something was missing.
-“what is it?” asked craig, following the curator closely.
-“why,” he answered slowly, “there was an inscription—we were looking at it earlier in the day—on a small block of porphyry. i don’t see it.”
-he paused and went back to his search before we could ask him further what he thought the inscription was about.
-i thought nothing myself at the time of his reticence, for kennedy had gone over to a window back of northrop and to the left. it was fully twenty feet from the downward slope of the campus there, and, as he craned his neck out, he noted that the copper leader of the rain pipe ran past it a few feet away.
-i, too, looked out. a thick group of trees hid the window from the avenue beyond the campus wall, and below us, at a corner of the building, was a clump of rhododendrons. as craig bent over the sill, he whipped out a pocket lens.
-a moment later he silently handed the glass to me. as nearly as i could make out, there were five marks on the dust of the sill.
-“finger-prints!” i exclaimed. “some one has been clinging to the edge of the ledge.”
-“in that case,” craig observed quietly, “there would have been only four prints.”
-i looked again, puzzled. the prints were flat and well separated.
-“no,” he added, “not finger-prints—toe-prints.”
-“toe-prints?” i echoed.
-before he could reply, craig had dashed out of the room, around, and under the window. there, he was carefully going over the soft earth around the bushes below.
-“what are you looking for?” i asked, joining him.
-“some one—perhaps two—has been here,” he remarked, almost under his breath. “one, at least, has removed his shoes. see those shoe-prints up to this point? the print of a boot-heel in soft earth shows the position and contour of every nail head. bertillon has made a collection of such nails, certain types, sizes, and shapes used in certain boots, showing often what country the shoes came from. even the number and pattern are significant. some factories use a fixed number of nails and arrange them in a particular manner. i have made my own collection of such prints in this country. these were american shoes. perhaps the clue will not lead us anywhere, though, for i doubt whether it was an american foot.”
-kennedy continued to study the marks.
-“he removed his shoes—either to help in climbing or to prevent noise—ah—here’s the foot! strange—see how small it is—and broad, how prehensile the toes—almost like fingers. surely that foot could never have been encased in american shoes all its life. i shall make plaster casts of these, to preserve later.”
-he was still scouting about on hands and knees in the dampness of the rhododendrons. suddenly he reached his long arm in among the shrubs and picked up a little reed stick. on the end of it was a small cylinder of buff brown.
-he looked at it curiously, dug his nail into the soft mass, then rubbed his nail over the tip of his tongue gingerly.
-with a wry face, as if the taste were extremely acrid, he moistened his handkerchief and wiped off his tongue vigorously.
-“even that minute particle that was on my nail makes my tongue tingle and feel numb,” he remarked, still rubbing. “let us go back again. i want to see bernardo.”
-“had he any visitors during the day?” queried kennedy, as he reentered the ghastly little room, while the curator stood outside, completely unnerved by the tragedy which had been so close to him without his apparently knowing it. kennedy was squeezing out from the little wound on northrop’s neck a few drops of liquid on a sterilized piece of glass.
-“no; no one,” bernardo answered, after a moment.
-“did you see anyone in the museum who looked suspicious?” asked kennedy, watching bernardo’s face keenly.
-“no,” he hesitated. “there were several people wandering about among the exhibits, of course. one, i recall, late in the afternoon, was a little dark-skinned woman, rather good-looking.”
-“yes, i should say so. not of spanish descent, though. she was rather of the indian type. she seemed to be much interested in the various exhibits, asked me several questions, very intelligently, too. really, i thought she was trying to—er—flirt with me.”
-he shot a glance at craig, half of confession, half of embarrassment.
-“and—oh, yes—there was another—a man, a little man, as i recall, with shaggy hair. he looked like a russian to me. i remember, because he came to the door, peered around hastily, and went away. i thought he might have got into the wrong part of the building and went to direct him right—but before i could get out into the hall, he was gone. i remember, too, that, as i turned, the woman had followed me and soon was asking other questions—which, i will admit—i was glad to answer.”
-“was northrop in his room while these people were here?”
-“yes; he had locked the door so that none of the students or visitors could disturb him.”
-“evidently the woman was diverting your attention while the man entered northrop’s room by the window,” ruminated craig, as we stood for a moment in the outside doorway.
-he had already telephoned to our old friend doctor leslie, the coroner, to take charge of the case, and now was ready to leave. the news had spread, and the janitor of the building was waiting to lock the campus door to keep back the crowd of students and others.
-“why should anyone want to steal tablets of old mixtec inscriptions?” i asked thoughtfully, as we walked sadly over the campus in the direction of the chemistry building. “have they a sufficient value, even on appreciative fifth avenue, to warrant murder?”
-“well,” he remarked, “it does seem incomprehensible. yet people do just such things. the psychologists tell us that there is a veritable mania for possessing such curios. however, it is possible that there may be some deeper significance in this case,” he added, his face puckered in thought.
-who was the mysterious mexican woman, who the shaggy russian? i asked myself. clearly, at least, if she existed at all, she was one of the millions not of spanish but of indian descent in the country south of us. as i reasoned it out, it seemed to me as if she must have been an accomplice. she could not have got into northrop’s room either before or after doctor bernardo left. then, too, the toe-and shoe-prints were not hers. but, i figured, she certainly had a part in the plot.
-while i was engaged in the vain effort to unravel the tragic affair by pure reason, kennedy was at work with practical science.
-he began by examining the little dark cylinder on the end of the reed. on a piece of the stuff, broken off, he poured a dark liquid from a brown-glass bottle. then he placed it under a microscope.
-“microscopically,” he said slowly, “it consists almost wholly of minute, clear granules which give a blue reaction with iodine. they are starch. mixed with them are some larger starch granules, a few plant cells, fibrous matter, and other foreign particles. and then, there is the substance that gives that acrid, numbing taste.” he appeared to be vacantly studying the floor.
-“what do you think it is?” i asked, unable to restrain myself.
-“aconite,” he answered slowly, “of which the active principle is the deadly poisonous alkaloid, aconitin.”
-he walked over and pulled down a well-thumbed standard work on toxicology, turned the pages, then began to read aloud:
-pure aconitin is probably the most actively poisonous substance with which we are acquainted and, if administered hypodermically, the alkaloid is even more powerfully poisonous than when taken by the mouth.
-as in the case of most of the poisonous alkaloids, aconitin does not produce any decidedly characteristic post-mortem appearances. there is no way to distinguish it from other alkaloids, in fact, no reliable chemical test. the physiological effects before death are all that can be relied on.
-owing to its exceeding toxic nature, the smallness of the dose required to produce death, and the lack of tests for recognition, aconitin possesses rather more interest in legal medicine than most other poisons.
-it is one of the few substances which, in the present state of toxicology, might be criminally administered and leave no positive evidence of the crime. if a small but fatal dose of the poison were to be given, especially if it were administered hypodermically, the chances of its detection in the body after death would be practically none.
-chapter xi the “pillar of death”
-i was looking at him fixedly as the diabolical nature of what must have happened sank into my mind. here was a poison that defied detection. i could see by the look on craig’s face that that problem, alone, was enough to absorb his attention. he seemed fully to realize that we had to deal with a criminal so clever that he might never be brought to justice.
-an idea flashed over me.
-“how about the letters?” i suggested.
-“good, walter!” he exclaimed.
-he untied the package which mrs. northrop had given him and glanced quickly over one after another of the letters.
-“ah!” he exclaimed, fairly devouring one dated at mitla. “listen—it tells about northrop’s work and goes on:
-“‘i have been much interested in a cavern, or subterraneo, here, in the shape of a cross, each arm of which extends for some twelve feet underground. in the center it is guarded by a block of stone popularly called “the pillar of death.” there is a superstition that whoever embraces it will die before the sun goes down.
-“‘from the subterraneo is said to lead a long, underground passage across the court to another subterranean chamber which is full of mixtec treasure. treasure hunters have dug all around it, and it is said that two old indians, only, know of the immense amount of buried gold and silver, but that they will not reveal it.’”
-“there, at least, is the motive,” i blurted out. “that is why bernardo was so reticent. northrop, in his innocence of heart, had showed him that inscription.”
-kennedy said nothing as he finally tied up the little packet of letters and locked it in his safe. he was not given to hasty generalizations; neither was he one who clung doggedly to a preconceived theory.
-it was still early in the afternoon. craig and i decided to drop into the museum again in order to see doctor bernardo. he was not there and we sat down to wait.
-just then the letter box in the door clicked. it was the postman on his rounds. kennedy walked over and picked up the letter.
-the postmark bore the words, “mexico city,” and a date somewhat later than that on which northrop had left vera cruz. in the lower corner, underscored, were the words, “personal—urgent.”
-“i’d like to know what is in that,” remarked craig, turning it over and over.
-he appeared to be considering something, for he rose suddenly and shoved the letter into his pocket.
-i followed, and a few moments later, across the campus in his laboratory, he was working quickly over an x-ray apparatus. he had placed the letter in it.
-“these are what are known as ‘low’ tubes,” he explained. “they give out ‘soft rays.’” he continued to work for a few moments, then handed me the letter.
-“now, walter,” he said, “if you will just hurry back to the museum and replace that letter, i think i will have something that will astonish you—though whether it will have any bearing on the case, remains to be seen.”
-“what is it?” i asked, a few minutes later, when i had rejoined him, after returning the letter. he was poring intently over what looked like a negative.
-“the possibility of reading the contents of documents inclosed in a sealed envelope,” he replied, still studying the shadowgraph closely, “has already been established by the well-known english scientist, doctor hall edwards. he has been experimenting with the method of using x-rays recently discovered by a german scientist, by which radiographs of very thin substances, such as a sheet of paper, a leaf, an insect’s body, may be obtained. these thin substances through which the rays used formerly to pass without leaving an impression, can now be radiographed.”
-i looked carefully as he traced out something on the negative. on it was easily possible, following his guidance, to read the words inscribed on the sheet of paper inside. so admirably defined were all the details that even the gum on the envelope and the edges of the sheet of paper inside the envelope could be distinguished.
-together we managed to trace out the contents of several paragraphs, of which the significant parts were as follows:
-according to the rumors and the statements of the señora, it seems that northrop has taken an unfair advantage of the situation down in oaxaca, and i suppose she and others who know about the inscription feel that it is really the possession of the government.
-you will find that the señora is an accomplished antiquarian and scholar. like many others down here just now, she has a high regard for the japanese. as you know, there exists a natural sympathy between some mexicans and japanese, owing to what is believed to be a common origin of the two races.
-in spite of the assertions of many to the contrary, there is little doubt left in the minds of students that the indian races which have peopled mexico were of mongolian stock. many words in some dialects are easily understood by chinese immigrants. a secretary of the japanese legation here was able recently to decipher old mixtec inscriptions found in the ruins of mitla.
-señora herreria has been much interested in establishing the relationship and, i understand, is acquainted with a japanese curio dealer in new york who recently visited mexico for the same purpose. i believe that she wishes to collaborate with him on a monograph on the subject, which is expected to have a powerful effect on the public opinion both here and at tokyo.
-in regard to the inscription which northrop has taken with him, i rely on you to keep me informed. there seems to be a great deal of mystery connected with it, and i am simply hazarding a guess as to its nature. if it should prove to be something which might interest either the japanese or ourselves, you can see how important it may be, especially in view of the forthcoming mission of general francisco to tokyo.
-very sincerely yours, dr. emilio sanchez, director.
-“bernardo is a mexican,” i exclaimed, as kennedy finished reading, “and there can be no doubt that the woman he mentioned was this señora herreria.”
-kennedy said nothing, but seemed to be weighing the various paragraphs in the letter.
-“still,” i observed, “so far, the only one against whom we have any direct suspicion in the case is the shaggy russian, whoever he is.”
-“a man whom bernardo says looked like a russian,” corrected craig.
-he was pacing the laboratory restlessly.
-“this is becoming quite an international affair,” he remarked finally, pausing before me, his hat on. “would you like to relax your mind by a little excursion among the curio shops of the city? i know something about japanese curios—more, perhaps, than i do of mexican. it may amuse us, even if it doesn’t help in solving the mystery. meanwhile, i shall make arrangements for shadowing bernardo. i want to know just how he acts after he reads that letter.”
-he paused long enough to telephone his instructions to an uptown detective agency which could be depended on for such mere routine work, then joined me with the significant remark: “blood is thicker than water, anyhow, walter. still, even if the mexicans are influenced by sentiment, i hardly think that would account for the interest of our friends from across the water in the matter.”
-i do not know how many of the large and small curio shops of the city we visited that afternoon. at another time, i should have enjoyed the visits immensely, for anyone seeking articles of beauty will find the antique shops of fifth and fourth avenues and the side streets well worth visiting.
-we came, at length, to one, a small, quaint, dusty rookery, down in a basement, entered almost directly from the street. it bore over the door a little gilt sign which read simply, “sato’s.”
-as we entered, i could not help being impressed by the wealth of articles in beautiful cloisonne enamel, in mother-of-pearl, lacquer, and champleve. there were beautiful little koros, or incense burners, vases, and teapots. there were enamels incrusted, translucent, and painted, works of the famous namikawa, of kyoto, and namikawa, of tokyo. satsuma vases, splendid and rare examples of the potter’s art, crowded gorgeously embroidered screens depicting all sorts of brilliant scenes, among others the sacred fujiyama rising in the stately distance. sato himself greeted us with a ready smile and bow.
-“i am just looking for a few things to add to my den,” explained kennedy, adding, “nothing in particular, but merely whatever happens to strike my fancy.”
-“surely, then, you have come to the right shop,” greeted sato. “if there is anything that interests you, i shall be glad to show it.”
-“thank you,” replied craig. “don’t let me trouble you with your other customers. i will call on you if i see anything.”
-for several minutes, craig and i busied ourselves looking about, and we did not have to feign interest, either.
-“often things are not as represented,” he whispered to me, after a while, “but a connoiseur can tell spurious goods. these are the real thing, mostly.”
-“not one in fifty can tell the difference,” put in the voice of sato, at his elbow.
-“well, you see i happen to know,” craig replied, not the least disconcerted. “you can’t always be too sure.”
-a laugh and a shrug was sato’s answer. “it’s well all are not so keen,” he said, with a frank acknowledgment that he was not above sharp practices.
-i glanced now and then at the expressionless face of the curio dealer. was it merely the natural blankness of his countenance that impressed me, or was there, in fact, something deep and dark hidden in it, something of “east is east and west is west” which i did not and could not understand? craig was admiring the bronzes. he had paused before one, a square metal fire-screen of odd design, with the title on a card, “japan gazing at the world.”
-it represented japan as an eagle, with beak and talons of burnished gold, resting on a rocky island about which great waves dashed. the bird had an air of dignity and conscious pride in its strength, as it looked out at the world, a globe revolving in space.
-“do you suppose there is anything significant in that?” i asked, pointing to the continent of north america, also in gold and prominently in view.
-“ah, honorable sir,” answered sato, before kennedy could reply, “the artist intended by that to indicate japan’s friendliness for america and america’s greatness.”
-he was inscrutable. it seemed as if he were watching our every move, and yet it was done with a polite cordiality that could not give offense.
-behind some bronzes of the japanese hercules destroying the demons and other mythical heroes was a large alcove, or tokonoma, decorated with peacock, stork, and crane panels. carvings and lacquer added to the beauty of it. a miniature chrysanthemum garden heightened the illusion. carved hinoki wood framed the panels, and the roof was supported by columns in the old japanese style, the whole being a compromise between the very simple and quiet and the polychromatic. the dark woods, the lanterns, the floor tiles of dark red, and the cushions of rich gold and yellow were most alluring. it had the genuine fascination of the orient.
-“will the gentlemen drink a little sake?” sato asked politely.
-craig thanked him and said that we would.
-“otaka!” sato called.
-a peculiar, almost white-skinned attendant answered, and a moment later produced four cups and poured out the rice brandy, taking his own quietly, apart from us. i watched him drink, curiously. he took the cup; then, with a long piece of carved wood, he dipped into the sake, shaking a few drops on the floor to the four quarters. finally, with a deft sweep, he lifted his heavy mustache with the piece of wood and drank off the draft almost without taking breath.
-he was a peculiar man of middle height, with a shock of dark, tough, woolly hair, well formed and not bad-looking, with a robust general physique, as if his ancestors had been meat eaters. his forehead was narrow and sloped backward; the cheekbones were prominent; nose hooked, broad and wide, with strong nostrils; mouth large, with thick lips, and not very prominent chin. his eyes were perhaps the most noticeable feature. they were dark gray, almost like those of a european.
-craig had been rummaging among some warlike instruments which sato, with the instincts of a true salesman, was now displaying, and had picked up a bow. it was short, very strong, and made of pine wood. he held it horizontally and twanged the string. i looked up in time to catch a pleased expression on the face of otaka.
-“most people would have held it the other way,” commented sato.
-craig said nothing, but was examining an arrow, almost twenty inches long and thick, made of cane, with a point of metal very sharp but badly fastened. he fingered the deep blood groove in the scooplike head of the arrow and looked at it carefully.
-“i’ll take that,” he said, “only i wish it were one with the regular reddish-brown lump in it.”
-“oh, but, honorable sir,” apologized sato, “the japanese law prohibits that, now. there are few of those, and they are very valuable.”
-“i suppose so,” agreed craig. “this will do, though. you have a wonderful shop here, sato. some time, when i feel richer, i mean to come in again. no, thank you, you need not send them; i’ll carry them.”
-we bowed ourselves out, promising to come again when sato received a new consignment from the orient which he was expecting.
-“that other jap is a peculiar fellow,” i observed, as we walked along uptown again.
-“he isn’t a jap,” remarked craig. “he is an ainu, one of the aborigines who have been driven northward into the island of yezo.”
-“an ainu?” i repeated.
-“yes. generally thought, now, to be a white race and nearer of kin to europeans than asiatics. the japanese have pushed them northward and are now trying to civilize them. they are a dirty, hairy race, but when they are brought under civilizing influences they adapt themselves to their environment and make very good servants. still, they are on about the lowest scale of humanity.”
-“i thought otaka was very mild,” i commented.
-“they are a most inoffensive and peaceable people usually,” he answered, “good-natured and amenable to authority. but they become dangerous when driven to despair by cruel treatment. the japanese government is very considerate of them—but not all japanese are.”
-chapter xii the arrow poison
-far into the night craig was engaged in some very delicate and minute microscopic work in the laboratory.
-we were about to leave when there was a gentle tap on the door. kennedy opened it and admitted a young man, the operative of the detective agency who had been shadowing bernardo. his report was very brief, but, to me at least, significant. bernardo, on his return to the museum, had evidently read the letter, which had agitated him very much, for a few moments later he hurriedly left and went downtown to the prince henry hotel. the operative had casually edged up to the desk and overheard whom he asked for. it was señora herreria. once again, later in the evening, he had asked for her, but she was still out.
-it was quite early the next morning, when kennedy had resumed his careful microscopic work, that the telephone bell rang, and he answered it mechanically. but a moment later a look of intense surprise crossed his face.
-“it was from doctor leslie,” he announced, hanging up the receiver quickly. “he has a most peculiar case which he wants me to see—a woman.”
-kennedy called a cab, and, at a furious pace, we dashed across the city and down to the metropolitan hospital, where doctor leslie was waiting. he met us eagerly and conducted us to a little room where, lying motionless on a bed, was a woman.
-“she died in a cab,” explained doctor leslie, “before they could get her to the hospital. at first they suspected the cab driver. but he seems to have proved his innocence. he picked her up last night on fifth avenue, reeling—thought she was intoxicated. and, in fact, he seems to have been right. our tests have shown a great deal of alcohol present, but nothing like enough to have had such a serious effect.”
-“she told nothing of herself?” asked kennedy.
-“no; she was pretty far gone when the cabby answered her signal. all he could get out of her was a word that sounded like ‘curio-curio.’ he says she seemed to complain of something about her mouth and head. her face was drawn and shrunken; her hands were cold and clammy, and then convulsions came on. he called an ambulance, but she was past saving when it arrived. the numbness seemed to have extended over all her body; swallowing was impossible; there was entire loss of her voice as well as sight, and death took place by syncope.”
-“have you any clue to the cause of her death?” asked craig.
-“well, it might have been some trouble with her heart, i suppose,” remarked doctor leslie tentatively.
-“oh, she looks strong that way. no, hardly anything organic.”
-“well, then i thought she looked like a mexican,” went on doctor leslie. “it might be some new tropical disease. i confess i don’t know. the fact is,” he added, lowering his voice, “i had my own theory about it until a few moments ago. that was why i called you.”
-“what do you mean?” asked craig, evidently bent on testing his own theory by the other’s ignorance.
-doctor leslie made no answer immediately, but raised the sheet which covered her body and disclosed, in the fleshy part of the upper arm, a curious little red swollen mark with a couple of drops of darkened blood.
-“i thought at first,” he added, “that we had at last a genuine ‘poisoned needle’ case. you see, that looked like it. but i have made all the tests for curare and strychnin without results.”
-at the mere suggestion, a procession of hypodermic-needle and white-slavery stories flashed before me.
-“but,” objected kennedy, “clearly this was not a case of kidnaping. it is a case of murder. have you tested for the ordinary poisons?”
-doctor leslie shook his head. “there was no poison,” he said, “absolutely none that any of our tests could discover.”
-kennedy bent over and squeezed out a few drops of liquid from the wound on a microscope slide, and covered them.
-half an hour later, kennedy was preparing to continue his studies with the microscope when doctor bernardo entered. he seemed most solicitous to know what progress was being made on the case, and, although kennedy did not tell much, still he did not discourage conversation on the subject.
-when we came in the night before, craig had unwrapped and tossed down the japanese sword and the ainu bow and arrow on a table, and it was not long before they attracted bernardo’s attention.
-“yes,” answered craig, offhand; “i picked them up yesterday at sato’s. you know the place?”
-“oh, yes, i know sato,” answered the curator, seemingly without the slightest hesitation. “he has been in mexico—is quite a student.”
-“and the other man, otaka?”
-“other man—otaka? you mean his wife?”
-i saw kennedy check a motion of surprise and came to the rescue with the natural question: “his wife—with a beard and mustache?”
-“oh,” he exclaimed, “that must have been on account of the immigration laws or something of the sort. otaka is his wife. the ainus are much sought after by the japanese as wives. the women, you know, have a custom of tattooing mustaches on themselves. it is hideous, but they think it is beautiful.”
-“i know,” i pursued, watching kennedy’s interest in our conversation, “but this was not tattooed.”
-“well, then, it must have been false,” insisted bernardo.
-the curator chatted a few moments, during which i expected kennedy to lead the conversation around to señora herreria. but he did not, evidently fearing to show his hand.
-“what did you make of it?” i asked, when he had gone. “is he trying to hide something?”
-“i think he has simplified the case,” remarked craig, leaning back, his hands behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “hello, here’s leslie! what did you find, doctor?” the coroner had entered with a look of awe on his face, as if kennedy had directed him by some sort of necromancy.
-“it was señora herreria!” he exclaimed. “she has been missing from the hotel ever since late yesterday afternoon. what do you think of it?”
-“i think,” replied kennedy, speaking slowly and deliberately, “that it is very much like the northrop case. you haven’t taken that up yet?”
-“only superficially. what do you make of it?” asked the coroner.
-“i had an idea that it might be aconitin poisoning,” he said.
-leslie glanced at him keenly for a moment. “then you’ll never prove anything in the laboratory,” he said.
-“there are more ways of catching a criminal, leslie,” put in craig, “than are set down in the medico-legal text-books. i shall depend on you and jameson to gather together a rather cosmopolitan crowd here to-night.”
-he said it with a quiet confidence which i could not gainsay, although i did not understand. however, mostly with the official aid of doctor leslie, i followed out his instructions, and it was indeed a strange party that assembled that night. there were doctor bernardo; sato, the curio dealer; otaka, the ainu, and ourselves. mrs. northrop, of course, could not come.
-“mexico,” began craig, after he had said a few words explaining why he had brought us together, “is full of historical treasure. to all intents and purposes, the government says, ‘come and dig.’ but when there are finds, then the government swoops down on them for its own national museum. the finder scarcely gets a chance to export them. however, now seemed to be the time to professor northrop to smuggle his finds out of the country.
-“but evidently it could not be done without exciting all kinds of rumors and suspicions. stories seem to have spread far and fast about what he had discovered. he realized the unsettled condition of the country—perhaps wanted to confirm his reading of a certain inscription by consultation with one scholar whom he thought he could trust. at any rate, he came home.”
-kennedy paused, making use of the silence for emphasis. “you have all read of the wealth that cortez found in mexico. where are the gold and silver of the conquistadores? gone to the melting pot, centuries ago. but is there none left? the indians believe so. there are persons who would stop at nothing—even at murder of american professors, murder of their own comrades, to get at the secret.”
-he laid his hand almost lovingly on his powerful little microscope as he resumed on another line of evidence.
-“and while we are on the subject of murders, two very similar deaths have occurred,” he went on. “it is of no use to try to gloss them over. frankly, i suspected that they might have been caused by aconite poisoning. but, in the case of such poisoning, not only is the lethal dose very small but our chemical methods of detection are nil. the dose of the active principle, aconitin nitrate, is about one six-hundredth of a grain. there are no color tests, no reactions, as in the case of the other organic poisons.”
-i wondered what he was driving at. was there, indeed, no test? had the murderer used the safest of poisons—one that left no clue? i looked covertly at sato’s face. it was impassive. doctor bernardo was visibly uneasy as kennedy proceeded. cool enough up to the time of the mention of the treasure, i fancied, now, that he was growing more and more nervous.
-craig laid down on the table the reed stick with the little darkened cylinder on the end.
-“that,” he said, “is a little article which i picked up beneath northrop’s window yesterday. it is a piece of anno-noki, or bushi.” i fancied i saw just a glint of satisfaction in otaka’s eyes.
-“like many barbarians,” continued craig, “the ainus from time immemorial have prepared virulent poisons with which they charged their weapons of the chase and warfare. the formulas for the preparations, as in the case of other arrow poisons of other tribes, are known only to certain members, and the secret is passed down from generation to generation as an heirloom, as it were. but in this case it is no longer a secret. it has now been proved that the active principle of this poison is aconite.”
-“if that is the case,” broke in doctor leslie, “it is hopeless to connect anyone directly in that way with these murders. there is no test for aconitin.”
-i thought sato’s face was more composed and impassive than ever. doctor bernardo, however, was plainly excited.
-“what—no test—none?” asked kennedy, leaning forward eagerly. then, as if he could restrain the answer to his own question no longer, he shot out: “how about the new starch test just discovered by professor reichert, of the university of pennsylvania? doubtless you never dreamed that starch may be a means of detecting the nature of a poison in obscure cases in criminology, especially in cases where the quantity of poison necessary to cause death is so minute that no trace of it can be found in the blood.
-“the starch method is a new and extremely inviting subject to me. the peculiarities of the starch of any plant are quite as distinctive of the plant as are those of the hemoglobin crystals in the blood of an animal. i have analyzed the evidence of my microscope in this case thoroughly. when the arrow poison is introduced subcutaneously—say, by a person shooting a poisoned dart, which he afterward removes in order to destroy the evidence—the lethal constituents are rapidly absorbed.
-“but the starch remains in the wound. it can be recovered and studied microscopically and can be definitely recognized. doctor reichert has published a study of twelve hundred such starches from all sorts of plants. in this case, it not only proves to be aconitin but the starch granules themselves can be recognized. they came from this piece of arrow poison.”
-every eye was fixed on him now.
-“besides,” he rapped out, “in the soft soil beneath the window of professor northrop’s room, i found footprints. i have only to compare the impressions i took there and those of the people in this room, to prove that, while the real murderer stood guard below the window, he sent some one more nimble up the rain pipe to shoot the poisoned dart at professor northrop, and, later, to let down a rope by which he, the instigator, could gain the room, remove the dart, and obtain the key to the treasure he sought.”
-kennedy was looking straight at professor bernardo.
-“a friend of mine in mexico has written me about an inscription,” he burst out. “i received the letter only to-day. as nearly as i can gather, there was an impression that some of northrop’s stuff would be valuable in proving the alleged kinship between mexico and japan, perhaps to arouse hatred of the united states.”
-“yes—that is all very well,” insisted kennedy. “but how about the treasure?”
-“treasure?” repeated bernardo, looking from one of us to another.
-bernardo gave a quick glance from kennedy to me. evidently he saw that the secret was out.
-“yes,” he said huskily, in a low tone, “northrop and i were to follow the directions after we had plotted them out and were to share it together on the next expedition, which i could direct as a mexican without so much suspicion. i should still have shared it with his widow if this unfortunate affair had not exposed the secret.”
-bernardo had risen earnestly.
-“kennedy,” he cried, “before god, if you will get back that stone and keep the secret from going further than this room, i will prove what i have said by dividing the mixtec treasure with mrs. northrop and making her one of the richest widows in the country!”
-“that is what i wanted to be sure of,” nodded craig. “bernardo, señora herreria, of whom your friend wrote to you from mexico, has been murdered in the same way that professor northrop was. otaka was sent by her husband to murder northrop, in order that they might obtain the so-called ‘pillar of death’ and the key to the treasure. then, when the señora was no doubt under the influence of sake in the pretty little oriental bower at the curio shop, a quick jab, and otaka had removed one who shared the secret with them.”
-he had turned and faced the pair.
-sato was on his feet, advancing cautiously toward craig. i knew the dangers, now, of anno-noki, as well as the wonders of jujutsu, and, with a leap, i bounded past bernardo and between sato and kennedy.
-how it happened, i don’t know, but, an instant later, i was sprawling.
-before i could recover myself, before even craig had a chance to pull the hair-trigger of his automatic, sato had seized the ainu arrow poison from the table, had bitten the little cylinder in half, and had crammed the other half into the mouth of otaka.
-chapter xiii the radium robber
-kennedy simply reached for the telephone and called an ambulance. but it was purely perfunctory. dr. leslie himself was the only official who could handle sato’s case now.
-we had planned a little vacation for ourselves, but the planning came to naught. the next night we spent on a sleeper. that in itself is work to me.
-it all came about through a hurried message from murray denison, president of the federal radium corporation. nothing would do but that he should take both kennedy and myself with him post-haste to pittsburgh at the first news of what had immediately been called “the great radium robbery.”
-of course the newspapers were full of it. the very novelty of an ultra-modern cracksman going off with something worth upward of a couple of hundred thousand dollars—and all contained in a few platinum tubes which could be tucked away in a vest pocket—had something about it powerfully appealing to the imagination.
-“most ingenious, but, you see, the trouble with that safe is that it was built to keep radium in—not cracksmen out,” remarked kennedy, when denison had rushed us from the train to take a look at the little safe in the works of the corporation.
-“breaking into such a safe as this,” added kennedy, after a cursory examination, “is simple enough, after all.”
-it was, however, a remarkably ingenious contrivance, about three feet in height and of a weight of perhaps a ton and a half, and all to house something weighing only a few grains.
-“but,” denison hastened to explain, “we had to protect the radium not only against burglars, but, so to speak, against itself. radium emanations pass through steel and experiments have shown that the best metal to contain them is lead. so, the difficulty was solved by making a steel outer case enclosing an inside leaden shell three inches thick.”
-kennedy had been toying thoughtfully with the door.
-“then the door, too, had to be contrived so as to prevent any escape of the emanations through joints. it is lathe turned and circular, a ‘dead fit.’ by means of a special contrivance any slight looseness caused by wear and tear of closing can be adjusted. and another feature. that is the appliance for preventing the loss of emanation when the door is opened. two valves have been inserted into the door and before it is opened tubes with mercury are passed through which collect and store the emanation.”
-“all very nice for the radium,” remarked craig cheerfully. “but the fellow had only to use an electric drill and the gram or more of radium was his.”
-“i know that—now,” ruefully persisted denison. “but the safe was designed for us specially. the fellow got into it and got away, as far as i can see, without leaving a clue.”
-“except one, of course,” interrupted kennedy quickly.
-denison looked at him a moment keenly, then nodded and said, “yes—you are right. you mean one which he must bear on himself?”
-“exactly. you can’t carry a gram or more of radium bromide long with impunity. the man to look for is one who in a few days will have somewhere on his body a radium burn which will take months to heal. the very thing he stole is a veritable frankenstein’s monster bent on the destruction of the thief himself!”
-kennedy had meanwhile picked up one of the corporation’s circulars lying on a desk. he ran his eye down the list of names.
-“so, hartley haughton, the broker, is one of your stockholders,” mused kennedy.
-“not only one but the one,” replied denison with obvious pride.
-haughton was a young man who had come recently into his fortune, and, while no one believed it to be large, he had cut quite a figure in wall street.
-“you know, i suppose,” added denison, “that he is engaged to felicie woods, the daughter of mrs. courtney woods?”
-kennedy did not, but said nothing.
-“a most delightful little girl,” continued denison thoughtfully. “i have known mrs. woods for some time. she wanted to invest, but i told her frankly that this is, after all, a speculation. we may not be able to swing so big a proposition, but, if not, no one can say we have taken a dollar of money from widows and orphans.”
-“i should like to see the works,” nodded kennedy approvingly.
-“by all means.”
-the plant was a row of long low buildings of brick on the outskirts of the city, once devoted to the making of vanadium steel. the ore, as denison explained, was brought to pittsburgh because he had found here already a factory which could readily be turned into a plant for the extraction of radium. huge baths and vats and crucibles for the various acids and alkalis and other processes used in treating the ore stood at various points.
-“this must be like extracting gold from sea water,” remarked kennedy jocosely, impressed by the size of the plant as compared to the product.
-“except that after we get through we have something infinitely more precious than gold,” replied denison, “something which warrants the trouble and outlay. yes, the fact is that the percentage of radium in all such ores is even less than of gold in sea water.”
-“everything seems to be most carefully guarded,” remarked kennedy as we concluded our tour of the well-appointed works.
-he had gone over everything in silence, and now at last we had returned to the safe.
-“yes,” he repeated slowly, as if confirming his original impression, “such an amount of radium as was stolen wouldn’t occasion immediate discomfort to the thief, i suppose, but later no infernal machine could be more dangerous to him.”
-i pictured to myself the series of fearful works of mischief and terror that might follow, a curse on the thief worse than that of the weirdest curses of the orient, the danger to the innocent, and the fact that in the hands of a criminal it was an instrument for committing crimes that might defy detection.
-“there is nothing more to do here now,” he concluded. “i can see nothing for the present except to go back to new york. the telltale burn may not be the only clue, but if the thief is going to profit by his spoils we shall hear about it best in new york or by cable from london, paris, or some other european city.”
-our hurried departure from new york had not given us a chance to visit the offices of the radium corporation for the distribution of the salts themselves. they were in a little old office building on william street, near the drug district and yet scarcely a moment’s walk from the financial district.
-“our head bookkeeper, miss wallace, is ill,” remarked denison when we arrived at the office, “but if there is anything i can do to help you, i shall be glad to do it. we depend on miss wallace a great deal. haughton says she is the brains of the office.”
-kennedy looked about the well-appointed suite curiously.
-“is this another of those radium safes?” he asked, approaching one similar in appearance to that which had been broken open already.
-“yes, only a little larger.”
-“how much is in it?”
-“most of our supply. i should say about two and a half grams. miss wallace has the record.”
-“it is of the same construction, i presume,” pursued kennedy. “i wonder whether the lead lining fits closely to the steel?”
-“i think not,” considered denison. “as i remember there was a sort of insulating air cushion or something of the sort.”
-denison was quite eager to show us about. in fact ever since he had hustled us out to view the scene of the robbery, his high nervous tension had given us scarcely a moment’s rest. for hours he had talked radium, until i felt that he, like his metal, must have an inexhaustible emanation of words. he was one of those nervous, active little men, a born salesman, whether of ribbons or radium.
-“we have just gone into furnishing radium water,” he went on, bustling about and patting a little glass tank.
-i looked closely and could see that the water glowed in the dark with a peculiar phosphorescence.
-“the apparatus for the treatment,” he continued, “consists of two glass and porcelain receptacles. inside the larger receptacle is placed the smaller, which contains a tiny quantity of radium. into the larger receptacle is poured about a gallon of filtered water. the emanation from that little speck of radium is powerful enough to penetrate its porcelain holder and charge the water with its curative properties. from a tap at the bottom of the tank the patient draws the number of glasses of water a day prescribed. for such purposes the emanation within a day or two of being collected is as good as radium itself. why, this water is five thousand times as radioactive as the most radioactive natural spring water.”
-“you must have control of a comparatively large amount of the metal,” suggested kennedy.
-“we are, i believe, the largest holders of radium in the world,” he answered. “i have estimated that all told there are not much more than ten grams, of which madame curie has perhaps three, while sir ernest cassel of london is the holder of perhaps as much. we have nearly four grams, leaving about six or seven for the rest of the world.”
-kennedy nodded and continued to look about.
-“the radium corporation,” went on denison, “has several large deposits of radioactive ore in utah in what is known as the poor little rich valley, a valley so named because from being about the barrenest and most unproductive mineral or agricultural hole in the hills, the sudden discovery of the radioactive deposits has made it almost priceless.”
-he had entered a private office and was looking over some mail that had been left on his desk during his absence.
-“look at this,” he called, picking up a clipping from a newspaper which had been laid there for his attention. “you see, we have them aroused.”
-we read the clipping together hastily:
-plan to corner world’s radium
-london.—plans are being matured to form a large corporation for the monopoly of the existing and future supply of radium throughout the world. the company is to be called universal radium, limited, and the capital of ten million dollars will be offered for public subscription at par simultaneously in london, paris and new york.
-the company’s business will be to acquire mines and deposits of radioactive substances as well as the control of patents and processes connected with the production of radium. the outspoken purpose of the new company is to obtain a world-wide monopoly and maintain the price.
-“ah—a competitor,” commented kennedy, handing back the clipping.
-“yes. you know radium salts used always to come from europe. now we are getting ready to do some exporting ourselves. say,” he added excitedly, “there’s an idea, possibly, in that.”
-“how?” queried craig.
-“why, since we should be the principal competitors to the foreign mines, couldn’t this robbery have been due to the machinations of these schemers? to my mind, the united states, because of its supply of radium-bearing ores, will have to be reckoned with first in cornering the market. this is the point, kennedy. would those people who seem to be trying to extend their new company all over the world stop at anything in order to cripple us at the start?”
-how much longer denison would have rattled on in his effort to explain the robbery, i do not know. the telephone rang and a reporter from the record, who had just read my own story in the star, asked for an interview. i knew that it would be only a question of minutes now before the other men were wearing a path out on the stairs, and we managed to get away before the onrush began.
-“walter,” said kennedy, as soon as we had reached the street. “i want to get in touch with halsey haughton. how can it be done?”
-i could think of nothing better at that moment than to inquire at the star’s wall street office, which happened to be around the corner. i knew the men down there intimately, and a few minutes later we were whisked up in the elevator to the office.
-they were as glad to see me as i was to see them, for the story of the robbery had interested the financial district perhaps more than any other.
-“where can i find halsey haughton at this hour?” i asked.
-“say,” exclaimed one of the men, “what’s the matter? there have been all kinds of rumors in the street about him to-day. did you know he was ill?”
-“no,” i answered. “where is he?”
-“out at the home of his fiancee, who is the daughter of mrs. courtney woods, at glenclair.”
-“what’s the matter?” i persisted.
-“that’s just it. no one seems to know. they say—well—they say he has a cancer.”
-halsey haughton suffering from cancer? it was such an uncommon thing to hear of a young man that i looked up quickly in surprise. then all at once it flashed over me that denison and kennedy had discussed the matter of burns from the stolen radium. might not this be, instead of cancer, a radium burn?
-kennedy, who had been standing a little apart from me while i was talking with the boys, signaled to me with a quick glance not to say too much, and a few minutes later we were on the street again.
-i knew without being told that he was bound by the next train to the pretty little new jersey suburb of glenclair.
-it was late when we arrived, yet kennedy had no hesitation in calling at the quaint home of mrs. courtney woods on woodridge avenue.
-mrs. woods, a well-set-up woman of middle age, who had retained her youth and good looks in a remarkable manner, met us in the foyer. briefly, kennedy explained that we had just come in from pittsburgh with mr. denison and that it was very important that we should see haughton at once.
-we had hardly told her the object of our visit when a young woman of perhaps twenty-two or three, a very pretty girl, with all the good looks of her mother and a freshness which only youth can possess, tiptoed quietly downstairs. her face told plainly that she was deeply worried over the illness of her fiance.
-“who is it, mother?” she whispered from the turn in the stairs. “some gentlemen from the company? hartley’s door was open when the bell rang, and he thought he heard something said about the pittsburgh affair.”
-though she had whispered, it had not been for the purpose of concealing anything from us, but rather that the keen ears of her patient might not catch the words. she cast an inquiring glance at us.
-“yes,” responded kennedy in answer to her look, modulating his tone. “we have just left mr. denison at the office. might we see mr. haughton for a moment? i am sure that nothing we can say or do will be as bad for him as our going away, now that he knows that we are here.”
-the two women appeared to consult for a moment.
-“felicie,” called a rather nervous voice from the second floor, “is it some one from the company?”
-“just a moment, hartley,” she answered, then, lower to her mother, added, “i don’t think it can do any harm, do you, mother?”
-“you remember the doctor’s orders, my dear.”
-again the voice called her.
-“hang the doctor’s orders,” the girl exclaimed, with an air of almost masculinity. “it can’t be half so bad as to have him worry. will you promise not to stay long? we expect dr. bryant in a few moments, anyway.”
-chapter xiv the spinthariscope
-we followed her upstairs and into haughton’s room, where he was lying in bed, propped up by pillows. haughton certainly was ill. there was no mistake about that. he was a tall, gaunt man with an air about him that showed that he found illness very irksome. around his neck was a bandage, and some adhesive tape at the back showed that a plaster of some sort had been placed there.
-as we entered his eyes traveled restlessly from the face of the girl to our own in an inquiring manner. he stretched out a nervous hand to us, while kennedy in a few short sentences explained how we had become associated with the case and what we had seen already.
-“and there is not a clue?” he repeated as craig finished.
-“nothing tangible yet,” reiterated kennedy. “i suppose you have heard of this rumor from london of a trust that is going into the radium field internationally?”
-“yes,” he answered, “that is the thing you read to me in the morning papers, you remember, felicie. denison and i have heard such rumors before. if it is a fight, then we shall give them a fight. they can’t hold us up, if denison is right in thinking that they are at the bottom of this—this robbery.”
-“then you think he may be right?” shot out kennedy quickly.
-haughton glanced nervously from kennedy to me.
-“really,” he answered, “you see how impossible it is for me to have an opinion? you and denison have been over the ground. you know much more about it than i do. i am afraid i shall have to defer to you.”
-again we heard the bell downstairs, and a moment later a cheery voice, as mrs. woods met some one down in the foyer, asked, “how is the patient to-night?”
-we could not catch the reply.
-“dr. bryant, my physician,” put in haughton. “don’t go. i will assume the responsibility for your being here. hello, doctor. why, i’m much the same to-night, thank you. at least no worse since i took your advice and went to bed.”
-dr. bryant was a bluff, hearty man, with the personal magnetism which goes with the making of a successful physician. he had mounted the stairs quietly but rapidly, evidently prepared to see us.
-“would you mind waiting in this little dressing room?” asked the doctor, motioning to another, smaller room adjoining.
-he had taken from his pocket a little instrument with a dial face like a watch, which he attached to haughton’s wrist. “a pocket instrument to measure blood pressure,” whispered craig, as we entered the little room.
-while the others were gathered about haughton, we stood in the next room, out of earshot. kennedy had leaned his elbow on a chiffonier. as he looked about the little room, more from force of habit than because he thought he might discover anything, kennedy’s eye rested on a glass tray on the top in which lay some pins, a collar button or two, which haughton had apparently just taken off, and several other little unimportant articles.
-kennedy bent over to look at the glass tray more closely, a puzzled look crossed his face, and with a glance at the other room he gathered up the tray and its contents.
-“keep up a good courage,” said dr. bryant. “you’ll come out all right, haughton.” then as he left the bedroom he added to us, “gentlemen, i hope you will pardon me, but if you could postpone the remainder of your visit until a later day, i am sure you will find it more satisfactory.”
-there was an air of finality about the doctor, though nothing unpleasant in it. we followed him down the stairs, and as we did so, felicie, who had been waiting in a reception room, appeared before the portieres, her earnest eyes fixed on his kindly face.
-“dr. bryant,” she appealed, “is he—is he, really—so badly?”
-the doctor, who had apparently known her all her life, reached down and took one of her hands, patting it with his own in a fatherly way. “don’t worry, little girl,” he encouraged. “we are going to come out all right—all right.”
-she turned from him to us and, with a bright forced smile which showed the stuff she was made of, bade us good night.
-outside, the doctor, apparently regretting that he had virtually forced us out, paused before his car. “are you going down toward the station? yes? i am going that far. i should be glad to drive you there.”
-kennedy climbed into the front seat, leaving me in the rear where the wind wafted me their brief conversation as we sped down woodbridge avenue.
-“what seems to be the trouble?” asked craig.
-“very high blood pressure, for one thing,” replied the doctor frankly.
-“for which the latest thing is the radium water cure, i suppose?” ventured kennedy.
-“well, radioactive water is one cure for hardening of the arteries. but i didn’t say he had hardening of the arteries. still, he is taking the water, with good results. you are from the company?”
-“it was the radium water that first interested him in it. why, we found a pressure of 230 pounds, which is frightful, and we have brought it down to 150, not far from normal.”
-“still that could have nothing to do with the sore on his neck,” hazarded kennedy.
-the doctor looked at him quickly, then ahead at the path of light which his motor shed on the road.
-he said nothing, but i fancied that even he felt there was something strange in his silence over the new complication. he did not give kennedy a chance to ask whether there were any other such sores.
-“at any rate,” he said, as he throttled down his engine with a flourish before the pretty little glenclair station, “that girl needn’t worry.”
-there was evidently no use in trying to extract anything further from him. he had said all that medical ethics or detective skill could get from him. we thanked him and turned to the ticket window to see how long we should have to wait.
-“either that doctor doesn’t know what he is talking about or he is concealing something,” remarked craig, as we paced up and down the platform. “i am inclined to read the enigma in the latter way.”
-nothing more passed between us during the journey back, and we hurried directly to the laboratory, late as it was. kennedy had evidently been revolving something over and over in his mind, for the moment he had switched on the light, he unlocked one of his air-and dust-proof cabinets and took from it an instrument which he placed on a table before him.
-it was a peculiar-looking instrument, like a round glass electric battery with a cylinder atop, smaller and sticking up like a safety valve. on that were an arm, a dial, and a lens fixed in such a way as to read the dial. i could not see what else the rather complicated little apparatus consisted of, but inside, when kennedy brought near it the pole of a static electric machine two delicate thin leaves of gold seemed to fly wide apart when it was charged.
-kennedy had brought the glass tray near the thing. instantly the leaves collapsed and he made a reading through the lens.
-“what is it?” i asked.
-“a radioscope,” he replied, still observing the scale. “really a very sensitive gold leaf electroscope, devised by one of the students of madame curie. this method of detection is far more sensitive even than the spectroscope.”
-“what does it mean when the leaves collapse?” i asked.
-“radium has been near that tray,” he answered. “it is radioactive. i suspected it first when i saw that violet color. that is what radium does to that kind of glass. you see, if radium exists in a gram of inactive matter only to the extent of one in ten-thousand million parts its presence can be readily detected by this radioscope, and everything that has been rendered radioactive is the same. ordinarily the air between the gold leaves is insulating. bringing something radioactive near them renders the air a good conductor and the leaves fall under the radiation.”
-“wonderful!” i exclaimed, marveling at the delicacy of it.
-“take radium water,” he went on, “sufficiently impregnated with radium emanations to be luminous in the dark, like that water of denison’s. it would do the same. in fact all mineral waters and the so-called curarive muds like fango are slightly radioactive. there seems to be a little radium everywhere on earth that experiments have been made, even in the interiors of buildings. it is ubiquitous. we are surrounded and permeated by radiations—that soil out there on the campus, the air of this room, all. but,” he added contemplatively, “there is something different about that tray. a lot of radium has been near that, and recently.”
-“how about that bandage about haughton’s neck?” i asked suddenly. “do you think radium could have had anything to do with that?” “well, as to burns, there is no particular immediate effect usually, and sometimes even up to two weeks or more, unless the exposure has been long and to a considerable quantity. of course radium keeps itself three or four degrees warmer than other things about it constantly. but that isn’t what does the harm. it is continually emitting little corpuscles, which i’ll explain some other time, traveling all the way from twenty to one hundred and thirty thousand miles a second, and these corpuscles blister and corrode the flesh like quick-moving missiles bombarding it. the gravity of such lesions increases with the purity of the radium. for instance i have known an exposure of half an hour to a comparatively small quantity through a tube, a box and the clothes to produce a blister fifteen days later. curie said he wouldn’t trust himself in a room with a kilogram of it. it would destroy his eyesight, burn off his skin and kill him eventually. why, even after a slight exposure your clothes are radioactive—the electroscope will show that.”
-he was still fumbling with the glass plate and the various articles on it.
-“there’s something very peculiar about all this,” he muttered, almost to himself.
-no answer came to me, and i fell asleep and woke up without a radiation of light on the subject. kennedy spent the greater part of the day still at work at his laboratory, performing some very delicate experiments. finding nothing to do there, i went down to the star office and spent my time reading the reports that came in from the small army of reporters who had been assigned to run down clues in the case which was the sensation of the moment. i have always felt my own lips sealed in such cases, until the time came that the story was complete and kennedy released me from any further need of silence. the weird and impossible stories which came in not only to the star but to the other papers surely did make passable copy in this instance, but with my knowledge of the case i could see that not one of them brought us a step nearer the truth.
-one thing which uniformly puzzled the newspapers was the illness of haughton and his enforced idleness at a time which was of so much importance to the company which he had promoted and indeed very largely financed. then, of course, there was the romantic side of his engagement to felicie woods.
-just what connection felicie woods had with the radium robbery if any, i was myself unable quite to fathom. still, that made no difference to the papers. she was pretty and therefore they published her picture, three columns deep, with haughton and denison, who were intimately concerned with the real loss in little ovals perhaps an inch across and two inches in the opposite dimension.
-the late afternoon news editions had gone to press, and i had given up in despair, determined to go up to the laboratory and sit around idly watching kennedy with his mystifying experiments, in preference to waiting for him to summon me.
-i had scarcely arrived and settled myself to an impatient watch, when an automobile drove up furiously, and denison himself, very excited, jumped out and dashed into the laboratory.
-“what’s the matter?” asked kennedy, looking up from a test tube which he had been examining, with an air for all the world expressive of “why so hot, little man?”
-“i’ve had a threat,” ejaculated denison.
-“i know who did the pittsburgh job. the same party is out to ruin federal radium. remember pittsburgh and be prepared!
-“that can have only one meaning,” asserted denison.
-“what is that?” inquired kennedy coolly, as if to confirm his own interpretation.
-“why, another robbery—here in new york, of course.”
-“but who would do it?” i asked.
-“who?” repeated denison. “some one representing that european combine, of course. that is only part of the trust method—ruin of competitors whom they cannot absorb.”
-“then you have refused to go into the combine? you know who is backing it?”
-“no—no,” admitted denison reluctantly. “we have only signified our intent to go it alone, as often as anyone either with or without authority has offered to buy us out. no, i do not even know who the people are. they never act in the open. the only hints i have ever received were through perfectly reputable brokers acting for others.”
-“does haughton know of this note?” asked kennedy.
-“what did he say?”
-“he said to disregard it. but—you know what condition he is in. i don’t know what to do, whether to surround the office by a squad of detectives or remove the radium to a regular safety deposit vault, even at the loss of the emanation. haughton has left it to me.”
-suddenly the thought flashed across my mind that perhaps haughton could act in this uninterested fashion because he had no fear of ruin either way. might he not be playing a game with the combination in which he had protected himself so that he would win, no matter what happened?
-“what shall i do?” asked denison. “it is getting late.”
-“neither,” decided kennedy.
-denison shook his head. “no,” he said, “i shall have some one watch there, anyhow.”
-chapter xv the asphyxiating safe
-denison had scarcely gone to arrange for some one to watch the office that night, when kennedy, having gathered up his radioscope and packed into a parcel a few other things from various cabinets, announced: “walter, i must see that miss wallace, right away. denison has already given me her address. call a cab while i finish clearing up here. i don’t like the looks of this thing, even if haughton does neglect it.”
-we found miss wallace at a modest boarding-house in an old but still respectable part of the city. she was a very pretty girl, of the slender type, rather a business woman than one given much to amusement. she had been ill and was still ill. that was evident from the solicitous way in which the motherly landlady scrutinized two strange callers.
-kennedy presented a card from denison, and she came down to the parlor to see us.
-“miss wallace,” began kennedy, “i know it is almost cruel to trouble you when you are not feeling like office work, but since the robbery of the safe at pittsburgh, there have been threats of a robbery of the new york office.”
-she started involuntarily, and it was evident, i thought, that she was in a very high-strung state.
-“oh,” she cried, “why, the loss means ruin to mr. denison!”
-there were genuine tears in her eyes as she said it.
-“i thought you would be willing to aid us,” pursued kennedy sympathetically. “now, for one thing, i want to be perfectly sure just how much radium the corporation owns, or rather owned before the first robbery.”
-“the books will show it,” she said simply.
-“they will?” commented kennedy. “then if you will explain to me briefly just the system you used in keeping account of it, perhaps i need not trouble you any more.”
-“i’ll go down there with you,” she answered bravely. “i’m better to-day, anyhow, i think.”
-she had risen, but it was evident that she was not as strong as she wanted us to think.
-“the least i can do is to make it as easy as possible by going in a car,” remarked kennedy, following her into the hall where there was a telephone.
-the hallway was perfectly dark, yet as she preceded us i could see that the diamond pin which held her collar in the back sparkled as if a lighted candle had been brought near it. i had noticed in the parlor that she wore a handsome tortoiseshell comb set with what i thought were other brilliants, but when i looked i saw now that there was not the same sparkle to the comb which held her dark hair in a soft mass. i noticed these little things at the time, not because i thought they had any importance, but merely by chance, wondering at the sparkle of the one diamond which had caught my eye.
-“what do you make of her?” i asked as kennedy finished telephoning.
-“a very charming and capable girl,” he answered noncommittally.
-“did you notice how that diamond in her neck sparkled?” i asked quickly.
-he nodded. evidently it had attracted his attention, too.
-“what makes it?” i pursued.
-“well, you know radium rays will make a diamond fluoresce in the dark.”
-“yes,” i objected, “but how about those in the comb?”
-“paste, probably,” he answered tersely, as we heard her foot on the landing. “the rays won’t affect paste.”
-it was indeed a shame to take advantage of miss wallace’s loyalty to denison, but she was so game about it that i knew only the utmost necessity on kennedy’s part would have prompted him to do it. she had a key to the office so that it was not necessary to wait for denison, if indeed we could have found him.
-together she and kennedy went over the records. it seemed that there were in the safe twenty-five platinum tubes of one hundred milligrams each, and that there had been twelve of the same amount at pittsburgh. little as it seemed in weight it represented a fabulous fortune.
-“you have not the combination?” inquired kennedy.
-“no. only mr. denison has that. what are you going to do to protect the safe to-night?” she asked.
-“nothing especially,” evaded kennedy.
-“nothing?” she repeated in amazement.
-“i have another plan,” he said, watching her intently. “miss wallace, it was too much to ask you to come down here. you are ill.”
-she was indeed quite pale, as if the excitement had been an overexertion.
-“no, indeed,” she persisted. then, feeling her own weakness, she moved toward the door of denison’s office where there was a leather couch. “let me rest here a moment. i do feel queer. i—”
-she would have fallen if he had not sprung forward and caught her as she sank to the floor, overcome by the exertion.
-together we carried her in to the couch, and as we did so the comb from her hair clattered to the floor.
-craig threw open the window, and bathed her face with water until there was a faint flutter of the eyelids.
-“walter,” he said, as she began to revive, “i leave her to you. keep her quiet for a few moments. she has unintentionally given me just the opportunity i want.”
-while she was yet hovering between consciousness and unconsciousness on the couch, he had unwrapped the package which he had brought with him. for a moment he held the comb which she had dropped near the radioscope. with a low exclamation of surprise he shoved it into his pocket.
-then from the package he drew a heavy piece of apparatus which looked as if it might be the motor part of an electric fan, only in place of the fan he fitted a long, slim, vicious-looking steel bit. a flexible wire attached the thing to the electric light circuit and i knew that it was an electric drill. with his coat off he tugged at the little radium safe until he had moved it out, then dropped on his knees behind it and switched the current on in the electric drill.
-it was a tedious process to drill through the steel of the outer casing of the safe and it was getting late. i shut the door to the office so that miss wallace could not see.
-at last by the cessation of the low hum of the boring, i knew that he had struck the inner lead lining. quietly i opened the door and stepped out. he was injecting something from an hermetically sealed lead tube into the opening he had made and allowing it to run between the two linings of lead and steel. then using the tube itself he sealed the opening he had made and dabbed a little black over it.
-quickly he shoved the safe back, then around it concealed several small coils with wires also concealed and leading out through a window to a court.
-“we’ll catch the fellow this time,” he remarked as he worked. “if you ever have any idea, walter, of going into the burglary business, it would be well to ascertain if the safes have any of these little selenium cells as suggested by my friend, mr. hammer, the inventor. for by them an alarm can be given miles away the moment an intruder’s bull’s-eye falls on a hidden cell sensitive to light.”
-while i was delegated to take miss wallace home, kennedy made arrangements with a small shopkeeper on the ground floor of a building that backed up on the court for the use of his back room that night, and had already set up a bell actuated by a system of relays which the weak current from the selenium cells could operate.
-it was not until nearly midnight that he was ready to leave the laboratory again, where he had been busily engaged in studying the tortoiseshell comb which miss wallace in her weakness had forgotten.
-the little shopkeeper let us in sleepily and kennedy deposited a large round package on a chair in the back of the shop, as well as a long piece of rubber tubing. nothing had happened so far.
-as we waited the shopkeeper, now wide awake and not at all unconvinced that we were bent on some criminal operation, hung around. kennedy did not seem to care. he drew from his pocket a little shiny brass instrument in a lead case, which looked like an abbreviated microscope.
-“look through it,” he said, handing it to me.
-i looked and could see thousands of minute sparks.
-“what is it?” i asked.
-“a spinthariscope. in that it is possible to watch the bombardment of the countless little corpuscles thrown off by radium, as they strike on the zinc blende crystal which forms the base. when radium was originally discovered, the interest was merely in its curious properties, its power to emit invisible rays which penetrated solid substances and rendered things fluorescent, of expending energy without apparent loss.
-“then came the discovery,” he went on, “of its curative powers. but the first results were not convincing. still, now that we know the reasons why radium may be dangerous and how to protect ourselves against them we know we possess one of the most wonderful of curative agencies.”
-i was thinking rather of the dangers than of the beneficence of radium just now, but kennedy continued.
-“it has cured many malignant growths that seemed hopeless, brought back destroyed cells, exercised good effects in diseases of the liver and intestines and even the baffling diseases of the arteries. the reason why harm, at first, as well as good came, is now understood. radium emits, as i told you before, three kinds of rays, the alpha, beta, and gamma rays, each with different properties. the emanation is another matter. it does not concern us in this case, as you will see.”
-fascinated as i was by the mystery of the case, i began to see that he was gradually arriving at an explanation which had baffled everyone else.
-“now, the alpha rays are the shortest,” he launched forth, “in length let us say one inch. they exert a very destructive effect on healthy tissue. that is the cause of injury. they are stopped by glass, aluminum and other metals, and are really particles charged with positive electricity. the beta rays come next, say, about an inch and a half. they stimulate cell growth. therefore they are dangerous in cancer, though good in other ways. they can be stopped by lead, and are really particles charged with negative electricity. the gamma rays are the longest, perhaps three inches long, and it is these rays which effect cures, for they check the abnormal and stimulate the normal cells. they penetrate lead. lead seems to filter them out from the other rays. and at three inches the other rays don’t reach, anyhow. the gamma rays are not charged with electricity at all, apparently.”
-he had brought a little magnet near the spinthariscope. i looked into it.
-“a magnet,” he explained, “shows the difference between the alpha, beta, and gamma rays. you see those weak and wobbly rays that seem to fall to one side? those are the alpha rays. they have a strong action, though, on tissues and cells. those falling in the other direction are the beta rays. the gamma rays seem to flow straight.”
-“exactly. that is why, when radium is unprotected or insufficiently protected and comes too near, it is destructive of healthy cells, produces burns, sores, which are most difficult to heal. it is with the explanation of such sores that we must deal.”
-it was growing late. we had waited patiently now for some time. kennedy had evidently reserved this explanation, knowing we should have to wait. still nothing happened.
-added to the mystery of the violet-colored glass plate was now that of the luminescent diamond. i was about to ask kennedy point-blank what he thought of them, when suddenly the little bell before us began to buzz feebly under the influence of a current.
-i gave a start. the faithful little selenium cell burglar alarm had done the trick. i knew that selenium was a good conductor of electricity in the light, poor in the dark. some one had, therefore, flashed a light on one of the cells in the corporation office. it was the moment for which kennedy had prepared.
-seizing the round package and the tubing, he dashed out on the street and around the corner. he tried the door opening into the radium corporation hallway. it was closed, but unlocked. as it yielded and we stumbled in, up the old worn wooden stairs of the building, i knew that there must be some one there.
-a terrific, penetrating, almost stunning odor seemed to permeate the air even in the hall.
-kennedy paused at the door of the office, tried it, found it unlocked, but did not open it.
-“that smell is ethyldichloracetate,” he explained. “that was what i injected into the air cushion of that safe between the two linings. i suppose my man here used an electric drill. he might have used thermit or an oxyacetylene blowpipe for all i would care. these fumes would discourage a cracksman from ‘soup’ to nuts,” he laughed, thoroughly pleased at the protection modern science had enabled him to devise.
-as we stood an instant by the door, i realized what had happened. we had captured our man. he was asphyxiated!
-yet how were we to get to him? would craig leave him in there, perhaps to die? to go in ourselves meant to share his fate, whatever might be the effect of the drug.
-“pump, walter!” he shouted. “this is an oxygen helmet such as is used in entering mines filled with deadly gases.”
-without another word he was gone into the blackness of the noxious stifle which filled the radium corporation office since the cracksman had struck the unexpected pocket of rapidly evaporating stuff.
-i pumped furiously.
-inside i could hear him blundering around. what was he doing?
-he was coming back slowly. was he, too, overcome?
-as he emerged into the darkness of the hallway where i myself was almost sickened, i saw that he was dragging with him a limp form.
-a rush of outside air from the street door seemed to clear things a little. kennedy tore off the oxygen helmet and dropped down on his knees beside the figure, working its arms in the most approved manner of resuscitation.
-“i think we can do it without calling on the pulmotor,” he panted. “walter, the fumes have cleared away enough now in the outside office. open a window—and keep that street door open, too.”
-i did so, found the switch and turned on the lights.
-it was denison himself!
-for many minutes kennedy worked over him. i bent down, loosened his collar and shirt, and looked eagerly at his chest for the tell-tale marks of the radium which i felt sure must be there. there was not even a discoloration.
-not a word was said, as kennedy brought the stupefied little man around.
-denison, pale, shaken, was leaning back now in a big office chair, gasping and holding his head.
-kennedy, before him, reached down into his pocket and handed him the spinthariscope.
-“you see that?” he demanded.
-denison looked through the eyepiece.
-“wh—where did you get so much of it?” he asked, a queer look on his face.
-“i got that bit of radium from the base of the collar button of hartley haughton,” replied kennedy quietly, “a collar button which some one intimate with him had substituted for his own, bringing that deadly radium with only the minutest protection of a thin strip of metal close to the back of his neck, near the spinal cord and the medulla oblongata which controls blood pressure. that collar button was worse than the poisoned rings of the borgias. and there is more radium in the pretty gift of a tortoiseshell comb with its paste diamonds which miss wallace wore in her hair. only a fraction of an inch, not enough to cut off the deadly alpha rays, protected the wearers of those articles.”
-he paused a moment, while surging through my mind came one after another the explanations of the hitherto inexplicable. denison seemed almost to cringe in the chair, weak already from the fumes.
-“besides,” went on kennedy remorselessly, “when i went in there to drag you out, i saw the safe open. i looked. there was nothing in those pretty platinum tubes, as i suspected. european trust—bah! all the cheap devices of a faker with a confederate in london to send a cablegram—and another in new york to send a threatening letter.”
-kennedy extended an accusing forefinger at the man cowering before him.
-“this is nothing but a get-rich-quick scheme, denison. there never was a milligram of radium in the poor little rich valley, not a milligram here in all the carefully kept reports of miss wallace—except what was bought outside by the corporation with the money it collected from its dupes. haughton has been fleeced. miss wallace, blinded by her loyalty to you—you will always find such a faithful girl in such schemes as yours—has been fooled.
-“and how did you repay it? what was cleverer, you said to yourself, than to seem to be robbed of what you never had, to blame it on a bitter rival who never existed? then to make assurance doubly sure, you planned to disable, perhaps get rid of the come-on whom you had trimmed, and the faithful girl whose eyes you had blinded to your gigantic swindle.
-“denison,” concluded kennedy, as the man drew back, his very face convicting him, “denison, you are the radium robber—robber in another sense!”
-chapter xvi the dead line
-maiden lane, no less than wall street, was deeply interested in the radium case. in fact, it seemed that one case in this section of the city led to another.
-naturally, the star and the other papers made much of the capture of denison. still, i was not prepared for the host of maiden lane cases that followed. many of them were essentially trivial. but one proved to be of extreme importance.
-“professor kennedy, i have just heard of your radium case, and i—i feel that i can—trust you.”
-there was a note of appeal in the hesitating voice of the tall, heavily veiled woman whose card had been sent up to us with a nervous “urgent” written across its face.
-it was very early in the morning, but our visitor was evidently completely unnerved by some news which she had just received and which had sent her posting to see craig.
-kennedy met her gaze directly with a look that arrested her involuntary effort to avoid it again. she must have read in his eyes more than in his words that she might trust him.
-“i—i have a confession to make,” she faltered.
-“please sit down, mrs. moulton,” he said simply. “it is my business to receive confidences—and to keep them.”
-she sank into, rather than sat down in, the deep leather rocker beside his desk, and now for the first time raised her veil.
-antoinette moulton was indeed stunning, an exquisite creature with a wonderful charm of slender youth, brightness of eye and brunette radiance.
-i knew that she had been on the musical comedy stage and had had a rapid rise to a star part before her marriage to lynn moulton, the wealthy lawyer, almost twice her age. i knew also that she had given up the stage, apparently without a regret. yet there was something strange about the air of secrecy of her visit. was there a hint in it of a disagreement between the moultons, i wondered, as i waited while kennedy reassured her.
-her distress was so unconcealed that craig, for the moment, laid aside his ordinary inquisitorial manner. “tell me just as much or just as little as you choose, mrs. moulton,” he added tactfully. “i will do my best.”
-a look almost of gratitude crossed her face.
-“when we were married,” she began again, “my husband gave me a beautiful diamond necklace. oh, it must have been worth a hundred thousand dollars easily. it was splendid. everyone has heard of it. you know, lynn—er—mr. moulton, has always been an enthusiastic collector of jewels.”
-she paused again and kennedy nodded reassuringly. i knew the thought in his mind. moulton had collected one gem that was incomparable with all the hundred thousand dollar necklaces in existence.
-“several months ago.” she went on rapidly, still avoiding his eyes and forcing the words from her reluctant lips, “i—oh, i needed money—terribly.”
-she had risen and faced him, pressing her daintily gloved hands together in a little tremble of emotion which was none the less genuine because she had studied the art of emotion.
-“i took the necklace to a jeweler, herman schloss, of maiden lane, a man with whom my husband had often had dealings and whom i thought i could trust. under a promise of secrecy he loaned me fifty thousand dollars on it and had an exact replica in paste made by one of his best workmen. this morning, just now, mr. schloss telephoned me that his safe had been robbed last night. my necklace is gone!”
-she threw out her hands in a wildly appealing gesture.
-“and if lynn finds that the necklace in our wall safe is of paste—as he will find, for he is an expert in diamonds—oh—what shall i do? can’t you—can’t you find my necklace?”
-kennedy was following her now eagerly. “you were blackmailed out of the money?” he queried casually, masking his question.
-there was a sudden, impulsive drooping of her mouth, an evasion and keen wariness in her eyes. “i can’t see that that has anything to do with the robbery,” she answered in a low voice.
-“i beg your pardon,” corrected kennedy quickly. “perhaps not. i’m sorry. force of habit, i suppose. you don’t know anything more about the robbery?”
-“n—no, only that it seems impossible that it could have happened in a place that has the wonderful burglar alarm protection that mr. schloss described to me.”
-“you know him pretty well?”
-“only through this transaction,” she replied hastily. “i wish to heaven i had never heard of him.”
-the telephone rang insistently.
-“mrs. moulton,” said kennedy, as he returned the receiver to the hook, “it may interest you to know that the burglar alarm company has just called me up about the same case. if i had need of an added incentive, which i hope you will believe i have not, that might furnish it. i will do my best,” he repeated.
-“thank you—a thousand times,” she cried fervently, and, had i been craig, i think i should have needed no more thanks than the look she gave him as he accompanied her to the door of our apartment.
-it was still early and the eager crowds were pushing their way to business through the narrow network of downtown streets as kennedy and i entered a large office on lower broadway in the heart of the jewelry trade and financial district.
-“one of the most amazing robberies that has ever been attempted has been reported to us this morning,” announced james mclear, manager of the hale electric protection, adding with a look half of anxiety, half of skepticism, “that is, if it is true.”
-mclear was a stocky man, of powerful build and voice and a general appearance of having been once well connected with the city detective force before an attractive offer had taken him into this position of great responsibility.
-“herman schloss, one of the best known of maiden lane jewelers,” he continued, “has been robbed of goods worth two or three hundred thousand dollars—and in spite of every modern protection. so that you will get it clearly, let me show you what we do here.”
-he ushered us into a large room, on the walls of which were hundreds of little indicators. from the front they looked like rows of little square compartments, tier on tier, about the size of ordinary post office boxes. closer examination showed that each was equipped with a delicate needle arranged to oscillate backward and forward upon the very minutest interference with the electric current. under the boxes, each of which bore a number, was a series of drops and buzzers numbered to correspond with the boxes.
-“in nearly every office in maiden lane where gems and valuable jewelry are stored,” explained mclear, “this electrical system of ours is installed. when the safes are closed at night and the doors swung together, a current of electricity is constantly shooting around the safes, conducted by cleverly concealed wires. these wires are picked up by a cable system which finds its way to this central office. once here, the wires are safeguarded in such manner that foreign currents from other wires or from lightning cannot disturb the system.”
-we looked with intense interest at this huge electrical pulse that felt every change over so vast and rich an area.
-“passing a big dividing board,” he went on, “they are distributed and connected each in its place to the delicate tangent galvanometers and sensitive indicators you see in this room. these instantly announce the most minute change in the working of the current, and each office has a distinct separate metallic circuit. why, even a hole as small as a lead pencil in anything protected would sound the alarm here.”
-kennedy nodded appreciatively.
-“you see,” continued mclear, glad to be able to talk to one who followed him so closely, “it is another evidence of science finding for us greater security in the use of a tiny electric wire than in massive walls of steel and intricate lock devices. but here is a case in which, it seems, every known protection has failed. we can’t afford to pass that by. if we have fallen down we want to know how, as well as to catch the burglar.”
-“how are the signals given?” i asked.
-“well, when the day’s business is over, for instance, schloss would swing the heavy safe doors together and over them place the doors of a wooden cabinet. that signals an alarm to us here. we answer it and if the proper signal is returned, all right. after that no one can tamper with the safe later in the night without sounding an alarm that would bring a quick investigation.”
-“but suppose that it became necessary to open the safe before the next morning. might not some trusted employee return to the office, open it, give the proper signals and loot the safe?”
-“no indeed,” he answered confidently. “the very moment anyone touches the cabinet, the alarm is sounded. even if the proper code signal is returned, it is not sufficient. a couple of our trusted men from the central office hustle around there anyhow and they don’t leave until they are satisfied that everything is right. we have the authorized signatures on hand of those who are supposed to open the safe and a duplicate of one of them must be given or there is an arrest.”
-mclear considered for a moment.
-“for instance, schloss, like all the rest, was assigned a box in which was deposited a sealed envelope containing a key to the office and his own signature, in this case, since he alone knew the combination. now, when an alarm is sounded, as it was last night, and the key removed to gain entrance to the office, a record is made and the key has to be sealed up again by schloss. a report is also submitted showing when the signals are received and anything else that is worth recording. last night our men found nothing wrong, apparently. but this morning we learn of the robbery.”
-“the point is, then,” ruminated kennedy, “what happened in the interval between the ringing of the alarm and the arrival of the special officers? i think i’ll drop around and look schloss’ place over,” he added quietly, evidently eager to begin at the actual scene of the crime.
-on the door of the office to which mclear took us was one of those small blue plates which chance visitors to maiden lane must have seen often. to the initiated—be he crook or jeweler—this simple sign means that the merchant is a member of the jewelers’ security alliance, enough in itself, it would seem, to make the boldest burglar hesitate. for it is the motto of this organization to “get” the thief at any cost and at any time. still, it had not deterred the burglar in this instance.
-“i know people are going to think it is a fake burglary,” exclaimed schloss, a stout, prosperous-looking gem broker, as we introduced ourselves. “but over two hundred thousands dollars’ worth of stones are gone,” he half groaned. “think of it, man,” he added, “one of the greatest robberies since the dead line was established. and if they can get away with it, why, no one down here is protected any more. half a billion dollars in jewels in maiden lane and john street are easy prey for the cracksmen!”
-staggering though the loss must have been to him, he had apparently recovered from the first shock of the discovery and had begun the fight to get back what had been lost.
-it was, as mclear had intimated, a most amazing burglary, too. the door of schloss’ safe was open when kennedy and i arrived and found the excited jeweler nervously pacing the office. surrounding the safe, i noticed a wooden framework constructed in such a way as to be a part of the decorative scheme of the office.
-schloss banged the heavy doors shut.
-“there, that’s just how it was—shut as tight as a drum. there was absolutely no mark of anyone tampering with the combination lock. and yet the safe was looted!”
-“how did you discover it?” asked craig. “i presume you carry burglary insurance?”
-schloss looked up quickly. “that’s what i expected as a first question. no, i carried very little insurance. you see, i thought the safe, one of those new chrome steel affairs, was about impregnable. i never lost a moment’s sleep over it; didn’t think it possible for anyone to get into it. for, as you see, it is completely wired by the hale electric protection—that wooden framework about it. no one could touch that when it was set without jangling a bell at the central office which would send men scurrying here to protect the place.”
-“but they must have got past it,” suggested kennedy.
-“yes—they must have. at least this morning i received the regular hale report. it said that their wires registered last night as though some one was tampering with the safe. but by the time they got around, in less than five minutes, there was no one here, nothing seemed to be disturbed. so they set it down to induction or electrolysis, or something the matter with the wires. i got the report the first thing when i arrived here with my assistant, muller.”
-kennedy was on his knees, going over the safe with a fine brush and some powder, looking now and then through a small magnifying glass.
-“not a finger print,” he muttered. “the cracksman must have worn gloves. but how did he get in? there isn’t a mark of ‘soup’ having been used to blow it up, nor of a ‘can-opener’ to rip it open, if that were possible, nor of an electric or any other kind of drill.”
-“i’ve read of those fellows who burn their way in,” said schloss.
-“but there is no hole,” objected kennedy, “not a trace of the use of thermit to burn the way in or of the oxyacetylene blowpipe to cut a piece out. most extraordinary,” he murmured.
-“you see,” shrugged schloss, “everyone will say it must have been opened by one who knew the combination. but i am the only one. i have never written it down or told anyone, not even muller. you understand what i am up against?”
-“there’s the touch system,” i suggested. “you remember, craig, the old fellow who used to file his finger tips to the quick until they were so sensitive that he could actually feel when he had turned the combination to the right plunger? might not that explain the lack of finger prints also?” i added eagerly.
-“nothing like that in this case, walter,” objected craig positively. “this fellow wore gloves, all right. no, this safe has been opened and looted by no ordinarily known method. it’s the most amazing case i ever saw in that respect—almost as if we had a cracksman in the fourth dimension to whom the inside of a closed cube is as accessible as is the inside of a plane square to us three dimensional creatures. it is almost incomprehensible.”
-i fancied i saw schloss’ face brighten as kennedy took this view. so far, evidently, he had run across only skepticism.
-“the stones were unset?” resumed craig.
-“mostly. not all.”
-“you would recognize some of them if you saw them?”
-“yes indeed. some could be changed only by re-cutting. even some of those that were set were of odd cut and size—some from a diamond necklace which belonged to a—”
-there was something peculiar in both his tone and manner as he cut short the words.
-“to whom?” asked kennedy casually.
-“oh, once to a well-known woman in society,” he said carefully. “it is mine, though, now—at least it was mine. i should prefer to mention no names. i will give a description of the stones.”
-“mrs. lynn moulton, for instance?” suggested craig quietly.
-schloss jumped almost as if a burglar alarm had sounded under his very ears. “how did you know? yes—but it was a secret. i made a large loan on it, and the time has expired.”
-“why did she need money so badly?” asked kennedy.
-“how should i know?” demanded schloss.
-here was a deepening mystery, not to be elucidated by continuing this line of inquiry with schloss, it seemed.
-chapter xvii the paste replica
-carefully craig was going over the office. outside of the safe, there had apparently been nothing of value. the rest of the office was not even wired, and it seemed to have been schloss’ idea that the few thousands of burglary insurance amply protected him against such loss. as for the safe, its own strength and the careful wiring might well have been considered quite sufficient under any hitherto to-be-foreseen circumstances.
-a glass door, around the bend of a partition, opened from the hallway into the office and had apparently been designed with the object of making visible the safe so that anyone passing might see whether an intruder was tampering with it.
-kennedy had examined the door, perhaps in the expectation of finding finger prints there, and was passing on to other things, when a change in his position caused his eye to catch a large oval smudge on the glass, which was visible when the light struck it at the right angle. quickly he dusted it over with the powder, and brought out the detail more clearly. as i examined it, while craig made preparations to cut out the glass to preserve it, it seemed to contain a number of minute points and several more or less broken parallel lines. the edges gradually trailed off into an indistinct faintness.
-business, naturally, was at a standstill, and as we were working near the door, we could see that the news of schloss’ strange robbery had leaked out and was spreading rapidly. scores of acquaintances in the trade stopped at the door to inquire about the rumor.
-to each, it seemed that morris muller, the working jeweler employed by schloss, repeated the same story.
-“oh,” he said, “it is a big loss—yes—but big as it is, it will not break mr. schloss. and,” he would add with the tradesman’s idea of humor, “i guess he has enough to play a game of poker—eh?”
-“poker?” asked kennedy smiling. “is he much of a player?”
-“yes. nearly every night with his friends he plays.”
-kennedy made a mental note of it. evidently schloss trusted muller implicitly. he seemed like a partner, rather than an employee, even though he had not been entrusted with the secret combination.
-outside, we ran into city detective lieutenant winters, the officer who was stationed at the maiden lane post, guarding that famous section of the dead line established by the immortal byrnes at fulton street, below which no crook was supposed to dare even to be seen. winters had been detailed on the case.
-“you have seen the safe in there?” asked kennedy, as he was leaving to carry on his investigation elsewhere.
-winters seemed to be quite as skeptical as schloss had intimated the public would be. “yes,” he replied, “there’s been an epidemic of robbery with the dull times—people who want to collect their burglary insurance, i guess.”
-“but,” objected kennedy, “schloss carried so little.”
-“well, there was the hale protection. how about that?”
-craig looked up quickly, unruffled by the patronizing air of the professional toward the amateur detective.
-“what is your theory?” he asked. “do you think he robbed himself?”
-winters shrugged his shoulders. “i’ve been interested in schloss for some time,” he said enigmatically. “he has had some pretty swell customers. i’ll keep you wised up, if anything happens,” he added in a burst of graciousness, walking off.
-on the way to the subway, we paused again to see mclear.
-“well,” he asked, “what do you think of it, now?”
-“all most extraordinary,” ruminated craig. “and the queerest feature of all is that the chief loss consists of a diamond necklace that belonged once to mrs. antoinette moulton.”
-“mrs. lynn moulton?” repeated mclear.
-“the same,” assured kennedy.
-mclear appeared somewhat puzzled. “her husband is one of our old subscribers,” he pursued. “he is a lawyer on wall street and quite a gem collector. last night his safe was tampered with, but this morning he reports no loss. not half an hour ago he had us on the wire congratulating us on scaring off the burglars, if there had been any.”
-“what is your opinion,” i asked. “is there a gang operating?”
-“my belief is,” he answered, reminiscently of his days on the detective force, “that none of the loot will be recovered until they start to ‘fence’ it. that would be my lay—to look for the fence. why, think of all the big robberies that have been pulled off lately. remember,” he went on, “the spoils of a burglary consist generally of precious stones. they are not currency. they must be turned into currency—or what’s the use of robbery?
-“but merely to offer them for sale at an ordinary jeweler’s would be suspicious. even pawnbrokers are on the watch. you see what i am driving at? i think there is a man or a group of men whose business it is to pay cash for stolen property and who have ways of returning gems into the regular trade channels. in all these robberies we get a glimpse of as dark and mysterious a criminal as has ever been recorded. he may be—anybody. about his legitimacy, i believe, no question has ever been raised. and, i tell you, his arrest is going to create a greater sensation than even the remarkable series of robberies that he has planned or made possible. the question is, to my mind, who is this fence?”
-mclear’s telephone rang and he handed the instrument to craig.
-“yes, this is professor kennedy,” answered craig. “oh, too bad you’ve had to try all over to get me. i’ve been going from one place to another gathering clues and have made good progress, considering i’ve hardly started. why—what’s the matter? really?”
-an interval followed, during which mclear left to answer a personal call on another wire.
-as kennedy hung up the receiver, his face wore a peculiar look. “it was mrs. moulton,” he blurted out. “she thinks that her husband has found out that the necklace is paste.”
-“how?” i asked.
-“the paste replica is gone from her wall safe in the deluxe.”
-i turned, startled at the information. even kennedy himself was perplexed at the sudden succession of events. i had nothing to say.
-evidently, however, his rule was when in doubt play a trump, for, twenty minutes later found us in the office of lynn moulton, the famous corporation lawyer, in wall street.
-moulton was a handsome man of past fifty with a youthful face against his iron gray hair and mustache, well dressed, genial, a man who seemed keenly in love with the good things of life.
-“it is rumored,” began kennedy, “that an attempt was made on your safe here at the office last night.”
-“yes,” he admitted, taking off his glasses and polishing them carefully. “i suppose there is no need of concealment, especially as i hear that a somewhat similar attempt was made on the safe of my friend herman schloss in maiden lane.”
-“you lost nothing?”
-moulton put his glasses on and looked kennedy in the face frankly.
-“nothing, fortunately,” he said, then went on slowly. “you see, in my later years, i have been something of a collector of precious stones myself. i don’t wear them, but i have always taken the keenest pleasure in owning them and when i was married it gave me a great deal more pleasure to have them set in rings, pendants, tiaras, necklaces, and other forms for my wife.”
-he had risen, with the air of a busy man who had given the subject all the consideration he could afford and whose work proceeded almost by schedule. “this morning i found my safe tampered with, but, as i said, fortunately something must have scared off the burglars.”
-he bowed us out politely. what was the explanation, i wondered. it seemed, on the face of things, that antoinette moulton feared her husband. did he know something else already, and did she know he knew? to all appearances he took it very calmly, if he did know. perhaps that was what she feared, his very calmness.
-“i must see mrs. moulton again,” remarked kennedy, as we left.
-the moultons lived, we found, in one of the largest suites of a new apartment hotel, the deluxe, and in spite of the fact that our arrival had been announced some minutes before we saw mrs. moulton, it was evident that she had been crying hysterically over the loss of the paste jewels and what it implied.
-“i missed it this morning, after my return from seeing you,” she replied in answer to craig’s inquiry, then added, wide-eyed with alarm, “what shall i do? he must have opened the wall safe and found the replica. i don’t dare ask him point-blank.”
-“are you sure he did it?” asked kennedy, more, i felt, for its moral effect on her than through any doubt in his own mind.
-“not sure. but then the wall safe shows no marks, and the replica is gone.”
-“might i see your jewel case?” he asked.
-“surely. i’ll get it. the wall safe is in lynn’s room. i shall probably have to fuss a long time with the combination.”
-in fact she could not have been very familiar with it for it took several minutes before she returned. meanwhile, kennedy, who had been drumming absently on the arms of his chair, suddenly rose and walked quietly over to a scrap basket that stood beside an escritoire. it had evidently just been emptied, for the rooms must have been cleaned several hours before. he bent down over it and picked up two scraps of paper adhering to the wicker work. the rest had evidently been thrown away.
-i bent over to read them. one was:
-—rest nettie— —dying to see—
-the other read:
-—cherche to-d —love and ma —rman.
-what did it mean? hastily, i could fill in “dearest nettie,” and “i am dying to see you.” kennedy added, “the recherche to-day,” that being the name of a new apartment uptown, as well as “love and many kisses.” but “—rman”—what did that mean? could it be herman—herman schloss?
-she was returning and we resumed our seats quickly.
-kennedy took the jewel case from her and examined it carefully. there was not a mark on it.
-“mrs. moulton,” he said slowly, rising and handing it back to her, “have you told me all?”
-“why—yes,” she answered.
-kennedy shook his head gravely.
-“i’m afraid not. you must tell me everything.”
-“no—no,” she cried vehemently, “there is nothing more.”
-we left and outside the deluxe he paused, looked about, caught sight of a taxicab and hailed it.
-“where?” asked the driver.
-“across the street,” he said, “and wait. put the window in back of you down so i can talk. i’ll tell you where to go presently. now, walter, sit back as far as you can. this may seem like an underhand thing to do, but we’ve got to get what that woman won’t tell us or give up the case.”
-perhaps half an hour we waited, still puzzling over the scraps of paper. suddenly i felt a nudge from kennedy. antoinette moulton was standing in the doorway across the street. evidently she preferred not to ride in her own car, for a moment later she entered a taxicab.
-“follow that black cab,” said kennedy to our driver.
-sure enough, it stopped in front of the recherche apartments and mrs. moulton stepped out and almost ran in.
-we waited a moment, then kennedy followed. the elevator that had taken her up had just returned to the ground floor.
-“the same floor again,” remarked kennedy, jauntily stepping in and nodding familiarly to the elevator boy.
-then he paused suddenly, looked at his watch, fixed his gaze thoughtfully on me an instant, and exclaimed. “by george—no. i can’t go up yet. i clean forgot that engagement at the hotel. one moment, son. let us out. we’ll be back again.”
-considerably mystified, i followed him to the sidewalk.
-“where?” i asked.
-“that’s what i am going through all this elaborate preparation to find out. i have no more idea than you have.”
-it could not have been more than twenty minutes later when mrs. moulton emerged rather hurriedly, and drove away.
-while we had been waiting i had observed a man on the other side of the street who seemed unduly interested in the recherche, too, for he had walked up and down the block no less than six times. kennedy saw him, and as he made no effort to follow mrs. moulton, kennedy did not do so either. in fact a little quick glance which she had given at our cab had raised a fear that she might have discovered that she was being followed.
-kennedy and i paid off our cabman and sauntered into the recherche in the most debonair manner we could assume.
-“now, son, we’ll go up,” he said to the boy who, remembering us, and now not at all clear in his mind that he might not have seen us before that, whisked us to the tenth floor.
-“let me see,” said kennedy, “it’s number one hundred and—er——”
-“three,” prompted the boy.
-he pressed the buzzer and a neatly dressed colored maid responded.
-“i had an appointment here with mrs. moulton this morning,” remarked kennedy.
-“she has just gone,” replied the maid, off her guard.
-“and was to meet mr. schloss here in half an hour,” he added quickly.
-it was the maid’s turn to look surprised.
-“i didn’t think he was to be here,” she said. “he’s had some—”
-“trouble at the office,” supplied kennedy. “that’s what it was about. perhaps he hasn’t been able to get away yet. but i had the appointment. ah, i see a telephone in the hall. may i?”
-he had stepped politely in, and by dint of cleverly keeping his finger on the hook in the half light, he carried on a one-sided conversation with himself long enough to get a good chance to look about.
-there was an air of quiet and refinement about the apartment in the recherche. it was darkened to give the little glowing electric bulbs in their silken shades a full chance to simulate right. the deep velvety carpets were noiseless to the foot, and the draperies, the pictures, the bronzes, all bespoke taste.
-but the chief objects of interest to craig were the little square green baize-covered tables on one of which lay neatly stacked a pile of gilt-edged cards and a mahogany box full of ivory chips of red, white and blue.
-it was none of the old-time gambling places, like danfield’s, with its steel door which craig had once cut through with an oxyacetylene blowpipe in order to rescue a young spendthrift from himself.
-kennedy seemed perfectly well satisfied merely with a cursory view of the place, as he hung up the receiver and thanked the maid politely for allowing him to use it.
-“this is up-to-date gambling in cleaned-up new york,” he remarked as we waited for the elevator to return for us. “and the worst of it all is that it gets the women as well as the men. once they are caught in the net, they are the most powerful lure to men that the gamblers have yet devised.”
-we rode down in silence, and as we went down the steps to the street, i noticed the man whom we had seen watching the place, lurking down at the lower corner. kennedy quickened his pace and came up behind him.
-“why, winters!” exclaimed craig. “you here?”
-“i might say the same to you,” grinned the detective not displeased evidently that our trail had crossed his. “i suppose you are looking for schloss, too. he’s up in the recherche a great deal, playing poker. i understand he owns an interest in the game up there.”
-kennedy nodded, but said nothing.
-“i just saw one of the cappers for the place go out before you went in.”
-“capper?” repeated kennedy surprised. “antoinette moulton a steerer for a gambling joint? what can a rich society woman have to do with a place like that or a man like schloss?”
-winters smiled sardonically. “society ladies to-day often get into scrapes of which their husbands know nothing,” he remarked. “you didn’t know before that antoinette moulton, like many of her friends in the smart set, was a gambler—and loser—did you?”
-craig shook his head. he had more of human than scientific interest in a case of a woman of her caliber gone wrong.
-“but you must have read of the famous moulton diamonds?”
-“yes,” said craig, blankly, as if it were all news to him.
-“schloss has them—or at least had them. the jewels she wore at the opera this winter were paste, i understand.”
-“does moulton play?” he asked.
-“i think so—but not here, naturally. in a way, i suppose, it is his fault. they all do it. the example of one drives on another.”
-instantly there flashed over my mind a host of possibilities. perhaps, after all, winters had been right. schloss had taken this way to make sure of the jewels so that she could not redeem them. suddenly another explanation crowded that out. had mrs. moulton robbed the safe herself, or hired some one else to do it for her, and had that person gone back on her?
-then a horrid possibility occurred to me. whatever antoinette moulton may have been and done, some one must have her in his power. what a situation for the woman! my sympathy went out to her in her supreme struggle. even if it had been a real robbery, schloss might easily recover from it. but for her every event spelled ruin and seemed only to be bringing that ruin closer.
-we left winters, still watching on the trail of schloss, and went on uptown to the laboratory.
-chapter xviii the burglar’s microphone
-that night i was sitting, brooding over the case, while craig was studying a photograph which he made of the smudge on the glass door down at schloss’. he paused in his scrutiny of the print to answer the telephone.
-“something has happened to schloss,” he exclaimed seizing his hat and coat. “winters has been watching him. he didn’t go to the recherche. winters wants me to meet him at a place several blocks below it come on. he wouldn’t say over the wire what it was. hurry.”
-we met winters in less than ten minutes at the address he had given, a bachelor apartment in the neighborhood of the recherche.
-“schloss kept rooms here,” explained winters, hurrying us quickly upstairs. “i wanted you to see before anyone else.”
-as we entered the large and luxuriously furnished living room of the jeweler’s suite, a gruesome sight greeted us.
-there lay schloss on the floor, face down, in a horribly contorted position. in one hand, clenched under him partly, the torn sleeve of a woman’s dress was grasped convulsively. the room bore unmistakable traces of a violent struggle, but except for the hideous object on the floor was vacant.
-kennedy bent down over him. schloss was dead. in a corner, by the door, stood a pile of grips, stacked up, packed, and undisturbed.
-winters who had been studying the room while we got our bearings picked up a queer-looking revolver from the floor. as he held it up i could see that along the top of the barrel was a long cylinder with a ratchet or catch at the butt end. he turned it over and over carefully.
-“by george,” he muttered, “it has been fired off.”
-“look,” i cried, my eye catching a little hole in the baseboard of the woodwork near it.
-“it must have fallen and exploded on the floor,” remarked kennedy. “let me see it, winters.”
-craig held it at arm’s length and pulled the catch. instead of an explosion, there came a cone of light from the top of the gun. as kennedy moved it over the wall, i saw in the center of the circle of light a dark spot.
-“a new invention,” craig explained. “all you need to do is to move it so that little dark spot falls directly on an object. pull the trigger—the bullet strikes the dark spot. even a nervous and unskilled marksman becomes a good shot in the dark. he can even shoot from behind the protection of something—and hit accurately.”
-it was too much for me. i could only stand and watch kennedy as he deftly bent over schloss again and placed a piece of chemically prepared paper flat on the forehead of the dead man.
-when he withdrew it, i could see that it bore marks of the lines on his head. without a word, kennedy drew from his pocket a print of the photograph of the smudge on schloss’ door.
-“it is possible,” he said, half to himself, “to identify a person by means of the arrangement of the sweat glands or pores. poroscopy, dr. edmond locard, director of the police laboratory at lyons, calls it. the shape, arrangement, number per square centimeter, all vary in different individuals. besides, here we have added the lines of the forehead.”
-he was studying the two impressions intensely. when he looked up from his examination, his face wore a peculiar expression.
-“this is not the head which was placed so close to the glass of the door of schloss’ office, peering through, on the night of the robbery, in order to see before picking the lock whether the office was empty and everything ready for the hasty attack on the safe.”
-“that disposes of my theory that schloss robbed himself,” remarked winters reluctantly. “but the struggle here, the sleeve of the dress, the pistol—could he have been shot?”
-“no, i think not,” considered kennedy. “it looks to me more like a case of apoplexy.”
-“what shall we do?” asked winters. “far from clearing anything up, this complicates it.”
-“where’s muller?” asked kennedy. “does he know? perhaps he can shed some light on it.”
-the clang of an ambulance bell outside told that the aid summoned by winters had arrived.
-we left the body in charge of the surgeon and of a policeman who arrived about the same time, and followed winters.
-muller lived in a cheap boarding house in a shabbily respectable street downtown, and without announcing ourselves we climbed the stairs to his room. he looked up surprised but not disconcerted as we entered.
-“what’s the matter?” he asked.
-“muller,” shot out winters, “we have just found mr. schloss dead!”
-“d-dead!” he stammered.
-the man seemed speechless with horror.
-“yes, and with his grips packed as if to run away.”
-muller looked dazedly from one of us to the other, but shut up like a clam.
-“i think you had better come along with us as a material witness,” burst out winters roughly.
-kennedy said nothing, leaving that sort of third degree work to the detective. but he was not idle, as winters tried to extract more than the monosyllables, “i don’t know,” in answer to every inquiry of muller about his employer’s life and business.
-a low exclamation from craig attracted my attention from winters. in a corner he had discovered a small box and had opened it. inside was a dry battery and a most peculiar instrument, something like a little flat telephone transmitter yet attached by wires to earpieces that fitted over the head after the manner of those of a wireless detector.
-“what’s this?” asked kennedy, dangling it before muller.
-he looked at it phlegmatically. “a deaf instrument i have been working on,” replied the jeweler. “my hearing is getting poor.”
-kennedy looked hastily from the instrument to the man.
-“i think i’ll take it along with us,” he said quietly.
-winters, true to his instincts, had been searching muller in the meantime. besides the various assortment that a man carries in his pockets usually, including pens, pencils, notebooks, a watch, a handkerchief, a bunch of keys, one of which was large enough to open a castle, there was a bunch of blank and unissued pawn-tickets bearing the name, “stein’s one per cent. a month loans,” and an address on the bowery.
-was muller the “fence” we were seeking, or only a tool for the “fence” higher up? who was this stein?
-what it all meant i could only guess. it was a far cry from the wealth of diamond lane to a dingy bowery pawnshop, even though pawnbroking at one per cent. a month—and more, on the side—pays. i knew, too, that diamonds are hoarded on the east side as nowhere else in the world, outside of india. it was no uncommon thing, i had heard, for a pawnbroker whose shop seemed dirty and greasy to the casual visitor to have stored away in his vault gems running into the hundreds of thousands of dollars.
-“mrs. moulton must know of this,” remarked kennedy. “winters, you and jameson bring muller along. i am going up to the deluxe.”
-i must say that i was surprised at finding mrs. moulton there. outside the suite winters and i waited with the unresisting muller, while kennedy entered. but through the door which he left ajar i could hear what passed.
-“mrs. moulton,” he began, “something terrible has happened—”
-he broke off, and i gathered that her pale face and agitated manner told him that she knew already.
-“where is mr. moulton?” he went on, changing his question.
-“mr. moulton is at his office,” she answered tremulously. “he telephoned while i was out that he had to work to-night. oh, mr. kennedy—he knows—he knows. i know it. he has avoided me ever since i missed the replica from-”
-“sh!” cautioned craig. he had risen and gone to the door.
-“winters,” he whispered, “i want you to go down to lynn moulton’s office. meanwhile jameson can take care of muller. i am going over to that place of stein’s presently. bring moulton up there. you will wait here, walter, for the present,” he nodded.
-he returned to the room where i could hear her crying softly.
-“now, mrs. moulton,” he said gently, “i’m afraid i must trouble you to go with me. i am going over to a pawnbroker’s on the bowery.”
-“the bowery?” she repeated, with a genuinely surprised shudder. “oh, no, mr. kennedy. don’t ask me to go anywhere to-night. i am—i am in no condition to go anywhere—to do anything—i—”
-“but you must,” said kennedy in a low voice.
-“i can’t. oh—have mercy on me. i am terribly upset. you—”
-“it is your duty to go, mrs. moulton,” he repeated.
-“i don’t understand.” she murmured. “a pawnbroker’s?”
-“come,” urged kennedy, not harshly but firmly, then, as she held back, added, playing a trump card, “we must work quickly. in his hands we found the fragments of a torn dress. when the police—”
-she uttered a shriek. a glance had told her, if she had deceived herself before, that kennedy knew her secret.
-antoinette moulton was standing before him, talking rapidly.
-“some one has told lynn. i know it. there is nothing now that i can conceal. if you had come half an hour later you would not have found me. he had written to mr. schloss, threatening him that if he did not leave the country he would shoot him at sight. mr. schloss showed me the letter.
-“it had come to this. i must either elope with schloss, or lose his aid. the thought of either was unendurable. i hated him—yet was dependent on him.
-“i carried a new pistol in my muff, one which lynn had just bought. i don’t know how i did it. i was desperate.
-“he told me he loved me, that lynn did not, never had—that lynn had married me only to show off his wealth and diamonds, to give him a social! position—that i was merely a—a piece of property—a dummy.
-“he tried to kiss me. it was revolting. i struggled away from him.
-“and in the struggle, the revolver fell from my muff and exploded on the floor.
-“at once he was aflame with suspicion.
-“‘so—it’s murder you want!’ he shouted. ‘well, murder it shall be!’
-“i saw death in his eye as he seized my arm. i was defenseless now. the old passion came over him. before he killed—he—would have his way with me.
-“i screamed. with a wild effort i twisted away from him.
-“he raised his hand to strike me, i saw his eyes, glassy. then he sank back—fell to the floor—dead of apoplexy—dead of his furious emotions.
-“and now you have found me.”
-she had turned, hastily, to leave the room. kennedy blocked the door.
-“mrs. moulton,” he said firmly, “listen to me. what was the first question you asked me? ‘can i trust you?’ and i told you you could. this is no time for—for suicide.” he shot the word out bluntly. “all may not be lost. i have sent for your husband. muller is outside.”
-“muller?” she cried. “he made the replica.”
-it was all confused to me, the dash in a car to the little pawnbroker’s on the first floor of a five-story tenement, the quick entry into the place by one of muller’s keys.
-over the safe in back was a framework like that which had covered schloss’ safe. kennedy tore it away, regardless of the alarm which it must have sounded. in a moment he was down before it on his knees.
-“this is how schloss’ safe was opened so quickly,” he muttered, working feverishly. “here is some of their own medicine.”
-he had placed the peculiar telephone-like transmitter close to the combination lock and was turning the combination rapidly.
-suddenly he rose, gave the bolts a twist, and the ponderous doors swung open.
-“what is it?” i asked eagerly.
-“a burglar’s microphone,” he answered, hastily looking over the contents of the safe. “the microphone is now used by burglars for picking combination locks. when you turn the lock, a slight sound is made when the proper number comes opposite the working point. it can be heard sometimes by a sensitive ear, although it is imperceptible to most persons. but by using a microphone it is an easy matter to hear the sounds which allow of opening the lock.”
-he had taken a yellow chamois bag out of the safe and opened it.
-inside sparkled the famous moulton diamonds. he held them up—in all their wicked brilliancy. no one spoke.
-then he took another yellow bag, more dirty and worn than the first. as he opened it, mrs. moulton could restrain herself no longer.
-“the replica!” she cried. “the replica!”
-without a word, craig handed the real necklace to her. then he slipped the paste jewels into the newer of the bags and restored both it and the empty one to their places, banged shut the door of the safe, and replaced the wooden screen.
-“quick!” he said to her, “you have still a minute to get away. hurry—anywhere—away—only away!”
-the look of gratitude that came over her face, as she understood the full meaning of it was such as i had never seen before.
-“quick!” he repeated.
-it was too late.
-“for god’s sake, kennedy,” shouted a voice at the street door, “what are you doing here?”
-it was mclear himself. he had come with the hale patrol, on his mettle now to take care of the epidemic of robberies.
-they were winters and moulton.
-without a word, taking advantage of the first shock of surprise, kennedy had clapped a piece of chemical paper on the foreheads of mrs. moulton, then of moulton, and on muller’s. oblivious to the rest of us, he studied the impressions in the full light of the counter.
-“i’ve been told of the paste replica—and i wrote schloss that i’d shoot him down like the dog he is, you—you traitress,” he hissed.
-she drew herself up scornfully.
-“and i have been told why you married me—to show off your wicked jewels and help you in your—”
-“you lie!” he cried fiercely. “muller—some one—open this safe—whosever it is. if what i have been told is true, there is in it one new bag containing the necklace. it was stolen from schloss to whom you sold my jewels. the other old bag, stolen from me, contains the paste replica you had made to deceive me.”
-it was all so confused that i do not know how it happened. i think it was muller who opened the safe.
-“there is the new yellow bag,” cried moulton, “from schloss’ own safe. open it.”
-mclear had taken it. he did so. there sparkled not the real gems, but the replica.
-“the devil!” moulton exclaimed, breaking from winters and seizing the old bag.
-he tore it open and—it was empty.
-“one moment,” interrupted kennedy, looking up quietly from the counter. “seal that safe again, mclear. in it are the schloss jewels and the products of half a dozen other robberies which the dupe muller—or stein, as you please—pulled off, some as a blind to conceal the real criminal. you may have shown him how to leave no finger prints, but you yourself have left what is just as good—your own forehead print. mclear—you were right. there’s your criminal—lynn moulton, professional fence, the brains of the thing.”
-chapter xix the germ letter
-lynn moulton made no fight and kennedy did not pursue the case, for, with the rescue of antoinette moulton, his interest ceased.
-blackmail takes various forms, and the moulton affair was only one phase of it. it was not long before we had to meet a much stranger attempt.
-“read the letter, professor kennedy. then i will tell you the sequel.”
-mrs. hunter blake lay back in the cushions of her invalid chair in the sun parlor of the great blake mansion on riverside drive, facing the hudson with its continuous reel of maritime life framed against the green-hilled background of the jersey shore.
-her nurse, miss dora sears, gently smoothed out the pillows and adjusted them so that the invalid could more easily watch us. mrs. blake, wealthy, known as a philanthropist, was not an old woman, but had been for years a great sufferer from rheumatism.
-i watched miss sears eagerly. full-bosomed, fine of face and figure, she was something more than a nurse; she was a companion. she had bright, sparkling black eyes and an expression about her well-cut mouth which made one want to laugh with her. it seemed to say that the world was a huge joke and she invited you to enjoy the joke with her.
-kennedy took the letter which miss sears proffered him, and as he did so i could not help noticing her full, plump forearm on which gleamed a handsome plain gold bracelet. he spread the letter out on a dainty wicker table in such a way that we both could see it.
-we had been summoned over the telephone to the blake mansion by reginald blake, mrs. blake’s eldest son. reginald had been very reticent over the reason, but had seemed very anxious and insistent that kennedy should come immediately.
-craig read quickly and i followed him, fascinated by the letter from its very opening paragraph.
-“dear madam,” it began. “having received my diploma as doctor of medicine and bacteriology at heidelberg in 1909, i came to the united states to study a most serious disease which is prevalent in several of the western mountain states.”
-so far, i reflected, it looked like an ordinary appeal for aid. the next words, however, were queer: “i have four hundred persons of wealth on my list. your name was—”
-kennedy turned the page. on the next leaf of the letter sheet was pasted a strip of gelatine. the first page had adhered slightly to the gelatine.
-“chosen by fate,” went on the sentence ominously.
-“by opening this letter,” i read, “you have liberated millions of the virulent bacteria of this disease. without a doubt you are infected by this time, for no human body is impervious to them, and up to the present only one in one hundred has fully recovered after going through all its stages.”
-i gasped. the gelatine had evidently been arranged so that when the two sheets were pulled apart, the germs would be thrown into the air about the person opening the letter. it was a very ingenious device.
-the letter continued, “i am happy to say, however, that i have a prophylactic which will destroy any number of these germs if used up to the ninth day. it is necessary only that you should place five thousand dollars in an envelope and leave it for me to be called for at the desk of the prince henry hotel. when the messenger delivers the money to me, the prophylactic will be sent immediately.
-“first of all, take a match and burn this letter to avoid spreading the disease. then change your clothes and burn the old ones. enclosed you will find in a germ-proof envelope an exact copy of this letter. the room should then be thoroughly fumigated. do not come into close contact with anyone near and dear to you until you have used the prophylactic. tell no one. in case you do, the prophylactic will not be sent under any circumstances. very truly yours, dr. hans hopf.”
-“blackmail!” exclaimed kennedy, looking intently again at the gelatine on the second page, as i involuntarily backed away and held my breath.
-“yes, i know,” responded mrs. blake anxiously, “but is it true?”
-there could be no doubt from the tone of her voice that she more than half believed that it was true.
-“i cannot say—yet,” replied craig, still cautiously scanning the apparently innocent piece of gelatine on the original letter which mrs. blake had not destroyed. “i shall have to keep it and examine it.”
-on the gelatine i could see a dark mass which evidently was supposed to contain the germs.
-“i opened the letter here in this room,” she went on. “at first i thought nothing of it. but this morning, when buster, my prize pekinese, who had been with me, sitting on my lap at the time, and closer to the letter even than i was, when buster was taken suddenly ill, i—well, i began to worry.”
-she finished with a little nervous laugh, as people will to hide their real feelings.
-“i should like to see the dog,” remarked kennedy simply.
-“miss sears,” asked her mistress, “will you get buster, please?”
-the nurse left the room. no longer was there the laughing look on her face. this was serious business.
-a few minutes later she reappeared, carrying gingerly a small dog basket. mrs. blake lifted the lid. inside was a beautiful little “peke,” and it was easy to see that buster was indeed ill.
-“who is your doctor?” asked craig, considering.
-“dr. rae wilson, a very well-known woman physician.”
-kennedy nodded recognition of the name. “what does she say?” he asked, observing the dog narrowly.
-“we haven’t told anyone, outside, of it yet,” replied mrs. blake. “in fact until buster fell sick, i thought it was a hoax.”
-“you haven’t told anyone?”
-“only reginald and my daughter betty. betty is frantic—not with fear for herself, but with fear for me. no one can reassure her. in fact it was as much for her sake as anyone’s that i sent for you. reginald has tried to trace the thing down himself, but has not succeeded.”
-she paused. the door opened and reginald blake entered. he was a young fellow, self confident and no doubt very efficient at the new dances, though scarcely fitted to rub elbows with a cold world which, outside of his own immediate circle, knew not the name of blake. he stood for a moment regarding us through the smoke of his cigarette.
-“tell me just what you have done,” asked kennedy of him as his mother introduced him, although he had done the talking for her over the telephone.
-“done?” he drawled. “why, as soon as mother told me of the letter, i left an envelope up at the prince henry, as it directed.”
-“with the money?” put in craig quickly.
-“oh, no—just as a decoy.”
-“yes. what happened?”
-“well, i waited around a long time. it was far along in the day when a woman appeared at the desk. i had instructed the clerk to be on the watch for anyone who asked for mail addressed to a dr. hopf. the clerk slammed the register. that was the signal. i moved up closer.”
-“what did she look like?” asked kennedy keenly.
-“i couldn’t see her face. but she was beautifully dressed, with a long light flowing linen duster, a veil that hid her features and on her hands and arms a long pair of motoring doeskin gloves. by george, she was a winner—in general looks, though. well, something about the clerk, i suppose, must have aroused her suspicions. for, a moment later, she was gone in the crowd. evidently she had thought of the danger and had picked out a time when the lobby would be full and everybody busy. but she did not leave by the front entrance through which she entered. i concluded that she must have left by one of the side street carriage doors.”
-“and she got away?”
-“yes. i found that she asked one of the boys at the door to crank up a car standing at the curb. she slid into the seat, and was off in a minute.”
-kennedy said nothing. but i knew that he was making a mighty effort to restrain comment on the bungling amateur detective work of the son of our client.
-reginald saw the look on his face. “still,” he hastened, “i got the number of the car. it was 200859 new york.”
-“you have looked it up?” queried kennedy quickly.
-“i didn’t need to do it. a few minutes later dr. rae wilson herself came out—storming like mad. her car had been stolen at the very door of the hotel by this woman with the innocent aid of the hotel employees.”
-kennedy was evidently keenly interested. the mention of the stolen car had apparently at once suggested an idea to him.
-“mrs. blake,” he said, as he rose to go, “i shall take this letter with me. will you see that buster is sent up to my laboratory immediately?”
-she nodded. it was evident that buster was a great pet with her and that it was with difficulty she kept from smoothing his silky coat.
-“you—you won’t hurt buster?” she pleaded.
-“no. trust me. more than that, if there is any possible way of untangling this mystery, i shall do it.”
-mrs. blake looked rather than spoke her thanks. as we went downstairs, accompanied by miss sears, we could see in the music room a very interesting couple, chatting earnestly over the piano.
-betty blake, a slip of a girl in her first season, was dividing her attention between her visitor and the door by which we were passing.
-she rose as she heard us, leaving the young man standing alone at the piano. he was of an age perhaps a year or two older than reginald blake. it was evident that, whatever miss betty might think, he had eyes for no one else but the pretty debutante. he even seemed to be regarding kennedy sullenly, as if he were a possible rival.
-“you—you don’t think it is serious?” whispered betty in an undertone, scarcely waiting to be introduced. she had evidently known of our visit, but had been unable to get away to be present upstairs.
-“really, miss blake,” reassured kennedy, “i can’t say. all i can do is to repeat what i have already said to your mother. keep up a good heart and trust me to work it out.”
-“thank you,” she murmured, and then, impulsively extending her small hand to craig, she added, “mr. kennedy, if there is anything i can do to help you, i beg that you will call on me.”
-“i shall not forget,” he answered, relinquishing the hand reluctantly. then, as she thanked him, and turned again to her guest, he added in a low tone to me, “a remarkable girl, walter, a girl that can be depended on.”
-we followed miss sears down the hall.
-“who was that young man in the music room?” asked kennedy, when we were out of earshot.
-“duncan baldwin,” she answered. “a friend and bosom companion of reginald.”
-“he seems to think more of betty than of her brother,” craig remarked dryly.
-miss sears smiled. “sometimes, we think they are secretly engaged,” she returned. we had almost reached the door. “by the way,” she asked anxiously, “do you think there are any precautions that i should take for mrs. blake—and the rest?”
-“hardly,” answered kennedy, after a moment’s consideration, “as long as you have taken none in particular already. still, i suppose it will do no harm to be as antiseptic as possible.”
-“i shall try,” she promised, her face showing that she considered the affair now in a much more serious light than she had before our visit.
-“and keep me informed of anything that turns up,” added kennedy handing her a card with the telephone number of the laboratory.
-as we left the blake mansion, kennedy remarked, “we must trace that car somehow—at least we must get someone working on that.”
-half an hour later we were in a towering office building on liberty street, the home of various kinds of insurance. kennedy stopped before a door which bore the name, “douglas garwood: insurance adjuster.”
-briefly, craig told the story of the stolen car, omitting the account of the dastardly method taken to blackmail mrs. blake. as he proceeded a light seemed to break on the face of garwood, a heavyset man, whose very gaze was inquisitorial.
-“yes, the theft has been reported to us already by dr. wilson herself,” he interrupted. “the car was insured in a company i represent.”
-“i had hoped so,” remarked kennedy, “do you know the woman?” he added, watching the insurance adjuster who had been listening intently as he told about the fair motor car thief.
-“know her?” repeated garwood emphatically. “why, man, we have been so close to that woman that i feel almost intimate with her. the descriptions are those of a lady, well-dressed, and with a voice and manner that would carry her through any of the fashionable hotels, perhaps into society itself.”
-“one of a gang of blackmailers, then,” i hazarded.
-garwood shrugged his shoulders. “perhaps,” he acquiesced. “it is automobile thieving that interests me, though. why,” he went on, rising excitedly, “the gangs of these thieves are getting away with half a million dollars’ worth of high-priced cars every year. the police seem to be powerless to stop it. we appeal to them, but with no result. so, now we have taken things into our own hands.”
-“what are you doing in this case?” asked kennedy.
-“what the insurance companies have to do to recover stolen automobiles,” garwood replied. “for, with all deference to your friend, deputy o’connor, it is the insurance companies rather than the police who get stolen cars back.”
-he had pulled out a postal card from a pigeon hole in his desk, selecting it from several apparently similar. we read:
-we will pay $100.00 for car, $150.00 additional for information which will convict the thief. when last seen, driven by a woman, name not known, who is described as dark-haired, well-dressed, slight, apparently thirty years old. the car is a dixon, 1912, seven-passenger, touring, no. 193,222, license no. 200,859, new york; dark red body, mohair top, brass lamps, has no wind shield; rear axle brake band device has extra nut on turnbuckle not painted. car last seen near prince henry hotel, new york city, friday, the 10th.
-communicate by telegraph or telephone, after notifying nearest police department, with douglas garwood, new york city.
-“the secret of it is,” explained garwood, as we finished reading, “that there are innumerable people who keep their eyes open and like to earn money easily. thus we have several hundreds of amateur and enthusiastic detectives watching all over the city and country for any car that looks suspicious.”
-kennedy thanked him for his courtesy, and we rose to go. “i shall be glad to keep you informed of anything that turns up,” he promised.
-chapter xx the artificial kidney
-in the laboratory, kennedy quietly set to work. he began by tearing from the germ letter the piece of gelatine and first examining it with a pocket lens. then, with a sterile platinum wire, he picked out several minute sections of the black spot on the gelatine and placed them in agar, blood serum, and other media on which they would be likely to grow.
-“i shall have to wait until to-morrow to examine them properly,” he remarked. “there are colonies of something there, all right, but i must have them more fully developed.”
-what to read. this is like giving a loaded gun to a boy and saying, 'shoot away! ... no matter in which direction you point your aim, . . shoot yourself if you like, and others too,--anyhow, you've got the gun!' of course there are a few fellows who have occasionally drawn up a list of books as suitable for everybody's perusal,--but then these lists cannot be taken as true criterions, as they all differ from one another as much as church sects. one would-be instructor in the art of reading says we ought all to study 'tom jones'--now i don't see the necessity of that! and, oddly enough, these lists scarcely ever include the name of a poet,--which is the absurdest mistake ever made. a liberal education in the highest works of poesy is absolutely necessary to the thinking abilities of man. but, alwyn, you need not trouble yourself about what is good for the million and what isn't, . . whatever you write is sure to be read now--you've got the ear of the public,--the 'fair, large ear' of the ass's head which disguises bottom the weaver, who frankly says of himself, 'i am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, i must scratch!'"
-alwyn smiled. he was thinking of what his shadow-self had said on this very subject--"a book or poem, to be great, and keep its greatness hereafter, must be judged by the natural instinct of peoples. this world-wide decision has never yet been, and never will be, hastened by any amount of written criticism,--it is the responsive beat of the enormous pulse of life that thrills through all mankind, high and low, gentle and simple,--its great throbs are slow and solemnly measured, yet if once it answers to a poet's touch, that poet's name is made glorious forever!" he.. in the character of sah-luma.. had seemed to utter these sentiments many ages ago,--and now the words repeated themselves in his thoughts with a new and deep intensity of meaning.
-"of course," added villiers suddenly--"you must expect plenty of adverse criticism now, as it is known beyond all doubt that you are alive and able to read what is written concerning you,--but if you once pay attention to critics, you may as well put aside pen altogether, as it is the business of these worthies never to be entirely satisfied with anything. even shelley and byron, in the critical capacity, abused keats, till the poor, suffering youth, who promised to be greater then either of them, died of a broken heart as much as disease. this sort of injustice will go on to the end of time, or till men become more christianized than paul's version of christianity has ever yet made them."
-here a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. the servant entered, bringing a note gorgeously crested and coroneted in gold. villiers, to whom it was addressed, opened and read it.
-"what shall we do about this?" he asked, when his man had retired. "it is an invitation from the duchess de la santoisie. she asks us to go and dine with her next week,--a party of twenty--reception afterward. i think we'd better accept,--what do you say?"
-alwyn roused himself from his reverie. "anything to please you, my dear boy!" he answered cheerfully--"but i haven't the faintest idea who the duchess de la santoisie is!"
-"no? ... well, she's an englishwoman who has married a french duke. he is a delightful old fellow, the pink of courtesy, and the model of perfect egotism. a true parisian, and of course an atheist,--a very polished atheist, too, with a most charming reliance on his own infallibility. his wife writes novels which have a slight leaning toward zolaism,--she is an extremely witty woman sarcastic, and cold-blooded enough to be a female robespierre, yet, on the whole, amusing as a study of what curious nondescript forms the feminine nature can adopt unto itself, if it chooses. she has an immense respect for genius,--mind, i say genius advisedly, because she really is one of those rare few who cannot endure mediocrity. everything at her house is the best of its kind, and the people she entertains are the best of theirs. her welcome of you will be at any rate a sincerely admiring one,--and as i think, in spite of your desire for quiet, you will have to show yourself somewhere, it may as well be there."
-alwyn looked dubious, and not at all resigned to the prospect of "showing himself."
-"your description of her does not strike me as particularly attractive,"--he said--"i cannot endure that nineteenth-century hermaphroditic production, a mannish woman."
-"oh but she isn't altogether mannish,"--declared villiers, . . "besides, i mustn't forget to add, that she is extremely beautiful."
-alwyn shrugged his shoulders indifferently. his friend noticed the gesture and laughed.
-"still impervious to beauty, old boy?"--he said gayly--"you always were, i remember!"
-alwyn flushed a little, and rose from his chair.
-"not always,"--he answered steadily,--"there have been times in my life when the beauty of women,--mere physical beauty--has exercised great influence over me. but i have lately learned how a fair face may sometimes mask a foul mind,--and unless i can see the substance of soul looking through the semblance of body, then i know that the beauty i seem to behold is mere appearance, and not reality. hence, unless your beautiful duchess be like the 'king's daughter' of david's psalm, 'all glorious within'--her apparent loveliness will have no charm for me!--now"--and he smiled, and spoke in a less serious tone.. "if you have no objection, i am off to my room to scribble for an hour or so. come for me if you want me--you know i don't in the least mind being disturbed."
-but villiers detained him a moment, and looked inquisitively at him full in the eyes.
-"you've got some singular new attraction about you, alwyn,"--he said, with a strange sense of keen inward excitement as he met his friend's calm yet flashing glance,--"something mysterious, . . something that compels! what is it? ... i believe that visit of yours to the ruins of babylon had a more important motive than you will admit, . . moreover.. i believe you are in love!"
-"in love!"--alwyn laughed a little as he repeated the words.. "what a foolish term that is when you come to think of it! for to be in love suggests the possibility of getting out again,--which, if love be true, can never happen. say that i love!--and you will be nearer the mark! now don't look so mystified, and don't ask me any more questions just now--to-night, when we are sitting together in the library, i'll tell you the whole story of my babylonian adventure!"
-and with a light parting wave of the hand he left the room, and villiers heard him humming a tune softly to himself as he ascended the stairs to his own apartments, where, ever since he arrived, he had made it his custom to do two or three hours' steady writing every morning. for a moment or so after he had gone villiers stood lost in thought, with knitted brows and meditative eyes, then, rousing himself, he went on to his study, and sitting down at his desk wrote an answer to the duchess de la santoisie accepting her invitation.
-rewards of fame.
-an habitual resident in london who is gifted with a keen faculty of hearing and observation, will soon learn to know instinctively the various characteristics of the people who call upon him, by the particular manner in which each one handles his door-bell or knocker. he will recognize the timid from the bold, the modest from the arrogant, the meditative thinker from the bustling man of fashion, the familiar friend from the formal acquaintance. every individual's method of announcing his or her arrival to the household is distinctly different,--and villiers, who studied a little of everything, had not failed to take note of the curiously diversified degrees of single and double rapping by means of which his visitors sought admittance to his abode. in fact, he rather prided himself on being able to guess with almost invariable correctness what special type of man or woman was at his door, provided he could hear the whole diapason of their knock from beginning to end. when he was shut in his "den," however, the sounds were muffled by distance, and he could form no just judgment,--sometimes, indeed, he did not hear them at all, especially if he happened to be playing his 'cello at the time. so that this morning he was considerably startled, when, having finished his letter to the duchess de la santoisie, a long and persistent rat-tat-tatting echoed noisily through the house, like the smart, quick blows of a carpenter's hammer--a species of knock that was entirely unfamiliar to him, and that, while so emphatic in character, suggested to his mind neither friend nor foe. he laid down his pen, listened and waited. in a minute or two his servant entered the room.
-"if you please, sir, a lady to see mr. alwyn. shall i show her up?"
-villiers rose slowly out of his chair, and stood eyeing his man in blank bewilderment.
-"a lady! ... to see mr. alwyn!"--he repeated, his thoughts instantly reverting to his friend's vaguely hinted love-affair,--"what name?"
-"she gives no name, sir. she says it isn't needed,--mr. alwyn will know who she is."
-"mr. alwyn will know who she is, will he?" murmured villiers dubiously.--"what is she like? young and pretty?"
-over the man-servant's staid countenance came the glimmer of a demure, respectful smile.
-"oh no, sir,--not young, sir! a person about fifty, i should say."
-this was mystifying. a person about fifty! who could she be? villiers hastily considered,--there must be some mistake, he thought,--at any rate, he would see the unknown intruder himself first, and find out what her business was, before breaking in upon alwyn's peaceful studies upstairs.
-"show the lady in here"--he said--"i can't disturb mr. alwyn just now."
-the servant retired, and soon re-appeared, ushering in a tall, gaunt, black-robed female, who walked with the stride of a dragoon and the demeanor of a police-inspector, and who, merely nodding briskly in response to villiers's amazed bow, selected with one comprehensive glance the most comfortable chair in the room, and seated herself at ease therein. she then put up her veil, displaying a long, narrow face, cold, pale, arrogant eyes, a nose inclined to redness at the tip, and a thin, close-set mouth lined with little sarcastic wrinkles, which came into prominent and unbecoming play as soon as she began to speak, which she did almost immediately.
-"i suppose i had better introduce myself to you, mr. alwyn"--she said with a condescending and confident air--"though really we know each other so well by reputation that there seems scarcely any necessity for it! of course you have heard of 'tiger-lily!'"
-villiers gazed at her helplessly,--he had never felt so uncomfortable in all his life. here was a strange woman, who had actually taken bodily possession of his apartment as though it were her own,--who had settled herself down in his particular pet louis quatorze chair,--who stared at him with the scrutinizing complacency of a professional physiognomist,--and who seemed to think no explanation of her extraordinary conduct was necessary, inasmuch as "of course" he, villiers, had heard of "tiger-lily!" it was very singular! ... almost like madness! ... perhaps she was mad! how could he tell? she had a remarkably high, knobby brow,--a brow with an unpleasantly bald appearance, owing to the uncompromising way in which her hair was brushed well off it--he had seen such brows before in certain "spiritualists" who believed, or pretended to believe, in the suddenly willed dematerialization of matter, and they were mad, he knew, or else very foolishly feigning madness!
-endeavoring to compose his bewildered mind, he fixed glass in eye, and regarded her through it with an inquiring solemnity,--he would have spoken, but before he could utter a word, she went on rapidly:
-"you are not in the least like the person i imagined you to be! ... however, that doesn't matter. literary celebrities are always so different to what we expect!"
-"pardon me, madam,"--began villiers politely.. "you are making a slight error,--my servant probably did not explain. i am not mr. alwyn, . . my name is villiers. mr. alwyn is my guest,--but he is at present very much occupied,--and unless your business is extremely urgent..."
-"certainly it is urgent"--said the lady decisively.. "otherwise i should not have come. and so you are not mr. alwyn! well, i thought you couldn't be! now then, will you have the kindness to tell mr. alwyn i am here?"
-by this time villiers had recovered his customary self-possession, and he met her commanding glance with a somewhat defiant coolness.
-"i am not aware to whom i have the honor of speaking," he said frigidly. "perhaps you will oblige me with your name?"
-"my name doesn't in the least matter," she replied calmly--"though i will tell you afterward if you wish. but you don't seem to understand i...i am 'tiger-lily'!"
-the situation was becoming ludicrous. villiers felt strongly disposed to laugh.
-"i'm afraid i am very ignorant!"--he said, with a humorous sparkle in his blue eyes,--"but really i am quite in the dark as to your meaning. will you explain?"
-the lady's nose grew deeper of tint, and the look she shot at him had quite a killing vindictiveness. with evident difficulty she forced a smile.
-"oh, you must have heard of me!"--she declared, with a ponderous attempt at playfulness--"you read the papers, don't you?"
-"some of them," returned villiers cautiously--"not all. not the sunday ones, for instance."
-"still, you can't possibly have helped seeing my descriptions of famous people 'at home,' you know! i write for ever so many journals. i think"--and she became complacently reflective--"i think i may say with perfect truth that i have interviewed everybody who has ever done anything worth noting, from our biggest provision dealer to our latest sensational novelist! and all my articles are signed 'tiger-lily.' now do you remember? oh, you must remember? ... i am so very well known!"
-there was a touch of genuine anxiety in her voice that was almost pathetic, but villiers made no attempt to soothe her wounded vanity.
-"i have no recollection whatever of the name," he said bluntly--"but that is easily accounted for, as i never read newspaper descriptions of celebrities. so you are an 'interviewer' for the press?"
-"exactly!" and the lady leaned back more comfortably in the louis quatorze fauteuil--"and of course i want to interview mr. alwyn. i want..." here drawing out a business looking note-book from her pocket she opened it and glanced at the different headings therein enumerated,--"i want to describe his personal appearance,--to know when he was born, and where he was educated,--whether his father or mother had literary tastes,--whether he had, or has, brothers or sisters, or both,--whether he is married, or likely to be, and how much money he has made by his book." she paused and gave an upward glance at villiers, who returned it with a blank and stony stare.
-"then,"--she resumed energetically--"i wish to know what are his methods of work;--where he gets his ideas and how he elaborates them,--how many hours he writes at a time, and whether he is an early riser,--also what he usually takes for dinner,--whether he drinks wine or is a total abstainer, and at what hour he retires to rest. all this is so intensely interesting to the public! perhaps he might be inclined to give me a few notes of his recent tour in the east, and of course i should be very glad if he will state his opinions on the climate, customs, and governments of the countries through which he has passed. it's a great pity this is not his own house,--it is a pretty place and a description of it would read well. let me see!"--and she meditated,--" i think i could manage to insert a few lines about this apartment, . . it would be easy to say 'the picturesque library in the house of the honble. francis villiers, where mr. alwyn received me,' etc.,--yes! that would do very well!--very well indeed! i should like to know whether he has a residence of his own anywhere, and if not, whether he intends to take one in london, because in the latter case it would be as well to ascertain by whom he intends to have it furnished. a little discussion on upholstery is so specially fascinating to my readers! then, naturally, i am desirous to learn how the erroneous rumor of his death was first started, . . whether in the course of his travels he met with some serious accident, or illness, which gave rise to the report. now,"--and she shut her note-book and folded her hands,--"i don't mind waiting an hour or more if necessary,--but i am sure if you will tell mr. alwyn who i am, and what i have come for, he will be only too delighted to see me with as little delay as possible."
-she ceased. villiers drew a long breath,--his compressed lips parted in a slightly sarcastic smile. squaring his shoulders with that peculiar pugnacious gesture of his which always indicated to those who knew him well that his mind was made up, and that nothing would induce him to alter it, he said in a tone of stiff civility:
-"i am sorry, madam, . . very sorry! ... but i am compelled to inform you that your visit here is entirely useless! were i to tell my friend of the purpose you have in view concerning him, he would not feel so much flattered as you seem to imagine, but rather insulted! excuse my frankness,--you have spoken plainly,--i must speak plainly too. provision dealers and sensational story writers may find that it serves their purpose to be interviewed, if only as a means of gaining extra advertisement, but a truly great and conscientious author like theos alwyn is quite above all that sort of thing."
-the lady raised her pale eyebrows with an expression of interrogative scorn.
-"above all that sort of thing!" she echoed incredulously--"dear me! how very extraordinary! i have always found all our celebrities so exceedingly pleased to be given a little additional notoriety! ... and i should have thought a poet," this with much depreciative emphasis--"would have been particularly glad of the chance! because, of course you know that unless a very astonishing success is made, as in the case of mr. alwyn's 'nourhalma,' people really take such slight interest in writers of verse, that it is hardly ever worth while interviewing them!"
-"precisely!" agreed villiers ironically,--"the private history of a prize-fighter would naturally be much more thrilling!" he paused,--his temper was fast rising, but, quickly reflecting that, after all, the indignation he felt was not so much against his visitor as against the system she represented, he resumed quietly, "may i ask you, madam, whether you have ever 'interviewed' her majesty the queen?"
-her glance swept slightingly over him.
-"certainly not! such a thing would be impossible!"
-"then you have never thought," went on villiers, with a thrill of earnestness in his manly, vibrating voice--"that it might be quite as impossible to 'interview' a great poet?--who, if great indeed, is in every way as royal as any sovereign that ever adorned a throne! i do not speak of petty verse-writers,--i say a great poet, by which term i imply a great creative genius who is honestly faithful to his high vocation. such an one could no more tell you his methods of work than a rainbow could prattle about the way it shines,--and as for his personal history, i should like to know by what right society is entitled to pry into the sacred matters of a man's private life, simply because he happens to be famous? i consider the modern love of prying and probing into other people's affairs a most degrading and abominable sign of the times,--it is morbid, unwholesome, and utterly contemptible. moreover, i think that writers who consent to be 'interviewed' condemn themselves as literary charlatans, unworthy of the profession they have wrongfully adopted. you see i have the courage of my opinions on this matter,--in fact, i believe, if every one were to speak their honest mind openly, a better state of things might be the result, and 'interviewing' would gradually come to be considered in its true light, namely, as a vulgar and illegitimate method of advertisement. i mean no disrespect to you, madam,"--this, as the lady suddenly put down her veil, thrust her note-book in her pocket, and rose somewhat bouncingly from her chair--"i am only sorry you should find such an occupation as that of the 'interviewer' open to you. i can scarcely imagine such work to be congenial to a lady's feelings, as, in the case of really distinguished personages, she must assuredly meet with many a rebuff! i hope i have not offended you by my bluntness, ... "--here he trailed off into inaudible polite murmurs, while the "tiger-lily" marched steadily toward the door.
-"oh dear, no, i am not in the least offended!" she retorted contemptuously,--"on the contrary, this has been a most amusing experience!--most amusing, i assure you! and quite unique! why--" and suddenly stopping short, she turned smartly round and gesticulated with one hand ... "i have interviewed all the favorite actors and actresses in london! the biggest brewers in great britain have received me at their country mansions, and have given me all the particulars of their lives from earliest childhood! the author of 'hugger mugger's curse' took the greatest pains to explain to me how he first collected the materials for his design. the author of that most popular story, 'darling's twins,' gave me a description of all the houses he has ever lived in,--he even told me where he purchased his writing-paper, pens, and ink! and to think that a poet should be too grand to be interrogated! oh, the idea is really very funny! ... quite too funny for anything! "she gave a short laugh,--then relapsing into severity, she added ... "you will, i hope, tell mr. alwyn i called?"
-villiers bowed. "assuredly!"
-"thank you! because it is possible he may have different opinions to yours,--in that case, if he writes me a line, fixing an appointment, i shall be very pleased to call again. i will leave my card,--and if mr. alwyn is a sensible man, he will certainly hold broader ideas on the subject of 'interviewing' than you appear to entertain. you are quite sure i cannot see him?"
-"quite!"--there was no mistake about the firm emphasis of this reply.
-"oh, very well!"--here she opened the door, rattling the handle with rather an unnecessary violence,--"i'm sorry to have taken up any of your time, mr. villiers. good-morning!"
-"good-morning!" ... returned villiers calmly, touching the bell that his servant might be in readiness to show her out. but the baffled "tiger-lily" was not altogether gone. she looked back, her face wrinkling into one of those strangely unbecoming expressions of grim playfulness.
-"i've half a mind to make an 'at home' out of you!" she said, nodding at him energetically. "only you're not important enough!"
-villiers burst out laughing. he was not proof against this touch of humor, and on a sudden good-natured impulse, sprang to the door and shook hands with her.
-"no, indeed, i am not!" he said, with a charming smile--"think of it!--i haven't even invented a new biscuit! come, let me see you into the hall,--i'm really sorry if i've spoken roughly, but i assure you alwyn's not at all the sort of man you want for interviewing,--he's far too modest and noble-hearted. believe me!--i'm not romancing a bit--i'm in earnest. there are some few fine, manly, gifted fellows left in the world, who do their work for the love of the work alone, and not for the sake of notoriety, and he is one of them. now i'm not certain, if you were quite candid with me, you'd admit that you yourself don't think much of the people who actually like to be interviewed?"
-his amiable glance, his kindly manner, took the gaunt female by surprise, and threw her quite off her guard. she laughed,--a natural, unforced laugh in which there was not a trace of bitterness. he was really a delightful young man, she thought, in spite of his old-fashioned, out-of-the-way notions!
-"well, perhaps i don't!" she replied frankly--"but you see it is not my business to think about them at all. i simply 'interview' them,--and i generally find they are very willing, and often eager, to tell me all about themselves, even to quite trifling and unnecessary details. and, of course, each one thinks himself or herself the only or the chief 'celebrity' in london, or, for that matter, in the world. i have always to tone down the egotistical part of it a little, especially with authors, for if i were to write out exactly what they separately say of their contemporaries, it would be simply frightful! they would be all at daggers drawn in no time! i assure you 'interviewing' is often a most delicate and difficult business!"
-"would it were altogether impossible!" said villiers heartily--"but as long as there is a plethora of little authors, and a scarcity of great ones, so long, i suppose, must it continue--for little men love notoriety, and great ones shrink from it, just in the same way that good women like flattery, while bad ones court it. i hope you don't bear me any grudge because i consider my friend alwyn both good and great, and resent the idea of his being placed, no matter with what excellent intention soever, on the level of the small and mean?"
-the lady surveyed him with a twinkle of latent approval in her pale-colored eyes.
-"not in the least!" she replied in a tone of perfect good-humor. "on the contrary, i rather admire your frankness! still, i think, that as matters stand nowadays, you are very odd,--and i suppose your friend is odd too,--but, of course, there must be exceptions to every rule. at the same time, you should recollect that, in many people's opinion, to be 'interviewed' is one of the chiefest rewards of fame!--" villiers shrugged his shoulders expressively. "oh, yes, it seems a poor reward to you, no doubt,"--she continued smilingly,--"but there are no end of authors who would do anything to secure the notoriety of it! now, suppose that, after all, mr. alwyn does care to submit to the operation, you will let me know, won't you?"
-"certainly i will!"--and villiers, accepting her card, on which was inscribed her own private name and address, shook hands once more, and bowed her courteously out. no sooner had the door closed upon her than he sprang upstairs, three steps at a time, and broke impetuously in upon alwyn, who, seated at a table covered with papers, looked up with a surprised smile at the abrupt fashion of his entrance. in a few minutes he had disburdened himself of the whole story of the "tiger-lily's" visit, telling it in a whimsical way of his own, much to the amusement of his friend, who listened, pen in hand, with a half-laughing, half-perplexed light in his fine, poetic eyes.
-"now did i express the proper opinion?" he demanded in conclusion. "was i not right in thinking you would never consent to be interviewed?"
-"right? why of course you were!"--responded alwyn quickly. "can you imagine me calmly stating the details of my personal life and history to a strange woman, and allowing her to turn it into a half-guinea article for some society journal! but, villiers, what an extraordinary state of things we are coming to, if the press can actually condescend to employ a sort of spy, or literary detective, to inquire into the private experience of each man or woman who comes honorably to the front!"
-"honorably or dishonorably,--it doesn't matter which,"--said villiers, "that is just the worst of it. one day it is an author who is 'interviewed,' the next it is a murderer,--now a statesman,--then a ballet dancer,--the same honor is paid to all who have won any distinct notoriety. and what is so absurd is, that the reading million don't seem able to distinguish between 'notoriety' and 'fame.' the two things are so widely, utterly apart! byron's reputation, for instance, was much more notoriety during his life than fame--while keats had actually laid hold on fame while as yet deeming himself unfamous. it's curious, but true, nevertheless, that very often the writers who thought least of themselves during their lifetime have become the most universally renowned after their deaths. shakespeare, i dare say, had no very exaggerated idea of the beauty of his own plays,--he seems to have written just the best that was in him, without caring what anybody thought of it. and i believe that is the only way to succeed in the end."
-"in the end!" repeated alwyn dreamily--"in the end, no worldly success is worth attaining,--a few thousand years and the greatest are forgotten!"
-"not the greatest,"--said villiers warmly--"the greatest must always be remembered."
-"no, my friend!--not even the greatest! do you not think there must have been great and wise and gifted men in tyre, in sidon, in carthage, in babylon?--there are five men mentioned in scripture, as being 'ready to write swiftly'--sarea, dabria, selemia, ecanus, and ariel--where is the no doubt admirable work done by these? perhaps ... who knows? ... one of them was as great as homer in genius,--we cannot tell!"
-"true,--we cannot tell!" responded villiers meditatively--"but, alwyn, if you persist in viewing things through such tremendous vistas of time, and in measuring the future by the past, then one may ask what is the use of anything?"
-"there is no use in anything, except in the making of a strong, persistent, steady effort after good," said alwyn earnestly ... "we men are cast, as it were, between two swift currents, wrong and right,--self and god,--and it seems more easy to shut our eyes and drift into self and wrong, than to strike out brave arms, and swim, despite all difficulty, toward god and right, yet if we once take the latter course, we shall find it the most natural and the least fatiguing. and with every separate stroke of high endeavor we carry others with us,--we raise our race,--we bear it onward,--upward! and the true reward, or best result of fame, is, that having succeeded in winning brief attention from the multitude, a man may be able to pronounce one of god's lightning messages of inspired truth plainly to them, while they are yet willing to stand and listen. this momentary hearing from the people is, as i take it, the sole reward any writer can dare to hope for,--and when he obtains it, he should remember that his audience remains with him but a very short while,--so that it is his duty to see that he employ his chance well, not to win applause for himself, but to cheer and lift others to noble thought, and still more noble fulfilment."
-villiers regarded him wistfully.
-"alwyn, my dear fellow, do you want to be the sisyphus of this era?--you will find the stone of evil heavy to roll upward,--moreover, it will exhibit the usually painful tendency to slip back and crush you!"
-"how can it crush me?" asked his friend with a serene smile. "my heart cannot be broken, or my spirit dismayed, and as for my body, it can but die,--and death comes to every man! i would rather try to roll up the stone, however fruitless the task, than sit idly looking at it, and doing nothing!"
-"your heart cannot be broken? ah! how do you know" ... and villiers shook his head dubiously--"what man can be certain of his own destiny?"
-"everyman can will his own destiny,"--returned alwyn firmly. "that is just it. but here we are getting into a serious discussion, and i had determined to talk no more on such subjects till to-night."
-"and to-night we are to go in for them thoroughly, i suppose?"--inquired villiers with a quick look. "to-night, my dear boy, you will have to decide whether you consider me mad or sane," said alwyn cheerfully--"i shall tell you truths that seem like romances--and facts that sound like fables,--moreover, i shall have to assure you that miracles do happen whenever god chooses, in spite of all human denial of their possibility. do you remember whately's clever skit--'historical doubts of napoleon i'?--showing how easy it was to logically prove that napoleon never existed?--that ought to enlighten people as to the very precise and convincing manner in which we can, if we choose, argue away what is nevertheless an incontestible fact. thus do skeptics deny miracles--yet we live surrounded by miracles! ... do you think me crazed for saying so?"
-villiers laughed. "crazed! no, indeed!--i wish every man in london were as sane and sound as you are!"
-"ah, but wait till to-night!" and alwyn's eyes sparkled mirthfully--"perhaps you will alter your opinion then!"--here, collecting his scattered manuscripts, he put them by--"i've done work for the present,"--he said--"shall we go for a walk somewhere?"
-villiers assented, and they left the room together.
-one against many.
-the beautiful and socially popular duchess de la santoisie sat her at brilliantly appointed dinner-table, and flashed her bright eyes comprehensively round the board,--her party was complete. she had secured twenty of the best-known men and women of letters in all london, and yet she was not quite satisfied with the result attained. one dark, splendid face on her right hand had taken the lustre out of all the rest,--one quiet, courteous smile on a mouth haughty, yet sweet, had somehow or other made the entertainment of little worth in her own estimation. she was very fair to look upon, very witty, very worldly-wise,--but for once her beauty seemed to herself defective and powerless to charm, while the graceful cloak of social hypocrisy she was always accustomed to wear would not adapt itself to her manner tonight so well as usual. the author of "nourhalma" the successful poet whose acquaintance she had very eagerly sought to make, was not at all the kind of man she had expected,--and now, when he was beside her as her guest, she did not quite know what to do with him.
-she had met plenty of poets, so called, before,--and had, for the most part, found them insignificant looking men with an enormous opinion of themselves, and a suave, condescending contempt for all others of their craft; but this being,--this stately, kingly creature with the noble head, and far-gazing, luminous eyes,--this man, whose every gesture was graceful, whose demeanor was more royal than that of many a crowned monarch,--whose voice had such a singular soft thrill of music in its tone,--he was a personage for whom she had not been prepared,--and in whose presence she felt curiously embarrassed and almost ill at ease. and she was not the only one present who experienced these odd sensations. alwyn's appearance, when, with his friend villiers, he had first entered the duchess's drawing-room that evening, and had there been introduced to his hostess, had been a sort of revelation to the languid, fashionable guests assembled; sudden quick whispers were exchanged--surprised glances,--how unlike he was to the general type of the nervous, fagged, dyspeptic "literary" man!
-and now that every one was seated at dinner, the same impression remained on all,--an impression that was to some disagreeable and humiliating, and that yet could not be got over,--namely, that this "poet," whom, in a way, the duchess and her friends had intended to patronize, was distinctly superior to them all. nature, as though proud of her handiwork, proclaimed him as such,--while he, quite unconscious of the effect he produced, wondered why this bevy of human beings, most of whom were more or less distinguished in the world of art and literature, had so little to say for themselves. their conversation was banal,--tame,--ordinary; they might have been well-behaved, elegantly dressed peasants for aught they said of wise, cheerful, or witty. the weather,--the parks,--the theatres,--the newest actress, and the newest remedies for indigestion,--these sort of subjects were bandied about from one to the other with a vaguely tame persistence that was really irritating,--the question of remedies for indigestion seemed to hold ground longest, owing to the variety of opinions expressed thereon.
-the duchess grew more and more inwardly vexed, and her little foot beat an impatient tattoo under the table, as she replied with careless brevity to a few of the commonplace observations addressed to her, and cast an occasional annoyed glance at her lord, m le duc, a thin, military-looking individual, with a well waxed and pointed mustache, whose countenance suggested an admirably executed mask. it was a face that said absolutely nothing,--yet beneath its cold impassiveness linked the satyr-like, complex, half civilized, half brutish mind of the born and bred parisian,--the goblin-creature with whom pure virtues, whether in man or woman, are no more sacred than nuts to a monkey. the suave charm of a polished civility sat on m le due's smooth brow, and beamed in his urbane smile,--his manners were exquisite, his courtesy irreproachable, his whole demeanor that of a very precise and elegant master of deportment. yet, notwithstanding his calm and perfectly self-possessed exterior, he was, oddly enough, the frequent prey of certain extraordinary and ungovernable passions; there were times when he became impossible to himself,--and when, to escape from his own horrible thoughts, he would plunge headlong into an orgie of wild riot and debauchery, such as might have made the hair of his respectable english acquaintances stand on end, had they known to what an extent he carried his excesses. but at these seasons of moral attack, he "went abroad for his health," as he said, delicately touching his chest in order to suggest some interesting latent weakness there, and in these migratory excursions his wife never accompanied him, nor did she complain of his absence. when he returned, after two or three months, he looked more the "chevalier sans peur et sans reproche" than ever; and neither he, nor the fair partner of his joys and sorrows, even committed such a breach of politeness as to inquire into each other's doings during the time of their separation. so they jogged on together, presenting the most delightful outward show of wedded harmony to the world,--and only a few were found to hazard the remark, that the "racy" novels madame la duchesse wrote to wile away her duller hours were singularly "bitter" in tone, for a woman whose lot in life was so extremely enviable!
-on this particular evening, the duke affected to be utterly unconscious of the meaning looks his beautiful spouse shot at him every now and then,--looks which plainly said--"why don't you start some interesting subject of conversation, and stop these people from talking such every-day twaddle?" he was a clever man in his way, and his present mood was malign and mischievous; therefore he went on eating daintily, and discussing mild platitudes in the most languidly amiable manner imaginable, enjoying to the full the mental confusion and discomfort of his guests,--confusion and discomfort which, as he very well knew, was the psychological result of their having one in their midst whose life and character were totally opposite to, and distinctly separate from, their own. as emerson truly says, "let the world beware when a thinker comes into it!".. and here was this thinker,--this type of the godlike in man,--this uncomfortably sincere personage, whose eyes were clear of falsehood, whose genius was incontestable, whose fame had taken society by assault, and who, therefore, was entitled to receive every attention and consideration.
-everybody had desired to see him, and here he was,--the great man, the new "celebrity"--and now that he was actually present, no one knew what to say to him; moreover, there was a very general tendency in the company to avoid his direct gaze. people fidgeted on their chairs and looked aside or downward, whenever his glance accidentally fell on them,--and to the analytical voltairean mind of m. le duc there was something grimly humorous in the whole situation. he was a great admirer of physical strength and beauty, and alwyn's noble face and fine figure had won his respect, though of the genius of the poet he knew nothing, and cared less. it was enough for all the purposes of social usage that the author of "nourhalma" was considered illustrious,--no matter whether he deserved the appellation or not. and so the duke, satirically amused at the obvious embarrassment of the other "notabilities" assembled, did nothing whatsoever to relieve or to lighten the conversation, which remained so utterly dull and inane that alwyn, who had been compelled, for politeness' sake, to appear interested in the account of a bicycle race detailed to him by a very masculine looking lady-doctor whose seat at table was next his own, began to feel a little weary, and to wonder dismally how long this "feast of reason and flow of soul" was going to last.
-villiers, too, whose easy, good-natured, and clever talk generally gave some sparkle and animation to the dreariest social gathering, was to-night unusually taciturn:--he was bored by his partner, a middle-aged woman with a mania for philology, and, moreover, his thoughts, like those of most of the persons present, were centered on alwyn, whom every now and then he regarded with a certain wistful wonder and reverence. he had heard the whole story of the field of ardath; and he knew not how much to accept of it as true, or how much to set down to his friend's ardent imagination. he had come to a fairly logical explanation of the whole matter,--namely, that as the city of al-kyris had been proved a dream, so surely the visit of the angel-maiden edris must have been a dream likewise,--that the trance at the monastery of dariel, followed by the constant reading of the passages from esdras, and the treatise of algazzali, had produced a vivid impression on alwyn's susceptible brain, which had resolved itself into the visionary result narrated.
-he found in this the most practical and probable view of what must otherwise be deemed by mortal minds incredible; and, being a frank and honest fellow, he had not scrupled to openly tell his friend what he thought. alwyn had received his remarks with the most perfect sweetness and equanimity,--but, all the same, had remained unchanged in his opinion as to the reality of his betrothal to his angel-love in heaven. and one or two points had certainly baffled villiers, and perplexed him in his would-be precise analysis of the circumstances: first, there was the remarkable change in alwyn's own nature. from an embittered, sarcastic, disappointed, violently ambitious man, he had become softened, gracious, kindly,--showing the greatest tenderness and forethought for others, even in small, every-day trifles; while for himself he took no care. he wore his fame as lightly as a child might wear a flower, just plucked and soon to fade,--his intelligence seemed to expand itself into a broad, loving, sympathetic comprehension of the wants and afflictions of human-kind; and he was writing a new poem, of which villiers had seen some lines that had fairly amazed him by their grandeur of conception and clear passion of utterance. thus it was evident there was no morbidness in him,--no obscurity,--nothing eccentric,--nothing that removed him in any way from his fellows, except that royal personality of his,--that strong, beautiful, well-balanced spirit in him, which exercised such a bewildering spell on all who came within its influence, he believed himself loved by an angel! well,--if there were angels, why not? villiers argued the proposition thus:
-"whether we are christians, jews, buddhists, or mahometans, we are supposed to accept angels as forming part of the system of our faith. if we are nothing,--then, of course, we believe in nothing. but granted we are something, then we are bound in honor, if consistent, to acknowledge that angels help to guide our destinies. and if, as we are assured by holy writ, such loftier beings do exist, why should they not communicate with, and even love, human creatures, provided those human creatures are worthy of their tenderness? certainly, viewed by all the chief religions of the world, there is nothing new or outrageous in the idea of an angel descending to the help of man."
-such thoughts as these were in his mind now, as he ever and anon glanced across the glittering table, with its profusion of lights and flowers, to where his poet-friend sat, slightly leaning back in his chair, with a certain half-perplexed, half-disappointed expression on his handsome features, though his eyes brightened into a smile as he caught villiers's look, and he gave the smallest, scarcely perceptible shrug, as who should say, "is this your brilliant duchess?--your witty and cultured society?"
-villiers flashed back an amused, responsive glance, and then conscientiously strove to pay more attention to the irrepressible feminine philologist beside him, determining to take her, as he said to himself, by way of penance for his unremembered sins. after a while there came one of those extraordinary, sudden rushes of gabble that often occur at even the stiffest dinner-party,--a galloping race of tongues, in which nothing really distinct is heard, but in which each talks to the other as though moved by an impulse of sheer desperation. this burst of noise was a relief after the strained murmurs of trite commonplaces that had hitherto been the order of the hour, and the fair duchess, somewhat easier in her mind, turned anew to alwyn, with greater grace and gentleness of manner than she had yet shown.
-"i am afraid," she said smilingly, "you must find us all very stupid after your travels abroad? in england we are dull,--our tristesse cannot be denied. but, really, the climate is responsible,--we want more sunshine. i suppose in the east, where the sun is so warm and bright, the people are always cheerful?"
-"on the contrary, i have found them rather serious and contemplative than otherwise," returned alwyn,--"yet their gravity is certainly of a pleasant, and not of a forbidding type. i don't myself think the sun has much to do with the disposition of man, after all,--i fancy his temperament is chiefly moulded by the life he leads. in the east, for instance, men accept their existence as a sort of divine command, which they obey cheerfully, yet with a consciousness of high responsibility:--on the continent they take it as a bagatelle, lightly won, lightly lost, hence their indifferent, almost childish, gayety;--but in great britain"--and he smiled,--"it looks nowadays as if it were viewed very generally as a personal injury and bore,--a kind of title bestowed without the necessary money to keep it up! and this money people set themselves steadily to obtain, with many a weary grunt and groan, while they are, for the most part, forgetful of anything else life may have to offer."
-"but what is life without plenty of money?" inquired the duchess carelessly--"surely, not worth the trouble of living!"
-alwyn looked at her steadily, and a swift flush colored her smooth cheek. she toyed with the magnificent diamond spray at her breast, and wondered what strange spell was in this man's brilliant gray-black eyes!--did he guess that she--even she--had sold herself to the duc de la santoisie for the sake of his money and title as easily and unresistingly as though she were a mere purchasable animal?
-"that is an argument i would rather not enter into," he said gently--"it would lead us too far. but i am convinced, that whether dire poverty or great riches be our portion, life, considered apart from its worldly appendages, is always worth living, if lived well."
-"pray, how can you separate life from its worldly appendages?"--inquired a satirical-looking gentleman opposite--"life is the world, and the things of the world; when we lose sight of the world, we lose ourselves,--in short, we die,--and the world is at an end, and we with it. that's plain practical philosophy."
-"possibly it may be called philosophy"--returned alwyn--"it is not christianity."
-"oh, christianity!"--and the gentleman gave a portentous sniff of contempt--"that is a system of faith that is rapidly dying out; fast falling into contempt!--in fact, with the scientific and cultured classes, it is already an exploded doctrine."
-"indeed!"--alwyn's glance swept over him with a faint, cold scorn --"and what religion do the scientific and cultured classes propose to invent as a substitute?"
-"nay, i think we must worship something!" retorted alwyn, a fine satire in his rich voice, "if it be only self!--self is an excellent deity!--accommodating, and always ready to excuse sin,--why should we not build temples, raise altars, and institute services to the glory and honor of self?--perhaps the time is ripe for a public proclamation of this creed?--it will be easily propagated, for the beginnings of it are in the heart of every man, and need very little fostering!"
-his thrilling tone, together with the calm, half-ironical persuasiveness of his manner, sent a sudden hush down the table. every one turned eagerly toward him,--some amused, some wondering, some admiring, while villiers felt his heart beating with uncomfortable quickness,--he hated religious discussions, and always avoided them, and now here was alwyn beginning one, and he the centre of a company of persons who were for the most part avowed agnostics, to whose opinions his must necessarily be in direct and absolute opposition! at the same time, he remembered that those who were sure of their faith never lost their temper about it,--and as he glanced at his friend's perfectly serene and coldly smiling countenance, he saw there was no danger of his letting slip, even for a moment, his admirable power of self-command. the duc de la santoisie, meanwhile, settling his mustache, and gracefully waving one hand, on which sparkled a large diamond ring, bent forward a little with a courteous, deprecatory gesture.
-"i think"--he said, in soft, purring accents,--"that my friend, dr. mudley"--here he bowed toward the saturnine looking individual who had entered into conversation with alwyn--"takes a very proper, and indeed a very lofty, view of the whole question. the moral sense"--and he laid a severely weighty emphasis on these words,--"the moral sense of each man, if properly trained, is quite sufficient to guide him through existence, without any such weakness as reliance on a merely supposititious deity."
-the duke's french way of speaking english was charming; he gave an expressive roll to his r's, especially when he said "the moral sense," that of itself almost carried conviction. his wife smiled as she heard him, and her smile was not altogether pleasant. perhaps she wondered by what criterion of excellence he measured his own "moral sense," or whether, despite his education and culture, he had any "moral sense" at all, higher than that of the pig, who eats to be eaten! but alwyn spoke, and she listened intently, finding a singular fascination in the soft and quiet modulation of his voice, which gave a vaguely delicious suggestion of music underlying speech.
-"to guide people by their moral sense alone"--he said--"you must first prove plainly to them that the moral sense exists, together with moral responsibility. you will find this difficult,--as the virtue implied is intangible, unseeable;--one cannot say of it, lo here!--or lo there!--it is as complicated and subtle as any other of the manifestations of pure spirit. then you must decide on one universal standard, or reasonable conception of what 'morality' is. again, you are met by a crowd of perplexities,--as every nation, and every tribe, has a totally different idea of the same thing. in some countries it is 'moral' to have many wives; in others, to drown female children; in others, to solemnly roast one's grandparents for dinner! supposing, however, that you succeed, with the aid of all the philosophers, teachers, and scientists, in drawing up a practical code of morality--do you not think an enormous majority will be found to ask you by whose authority you set forth this code?--and by what right you deem it necessary to enforce it? you may say, 'by the authority of knowledge and by the right of morality'--but since you admit to there being no spiritual or divine inspiration for your law, you will be confronted by a legion of opponents who will assure you, and probably with perfect justice, that their idea of morality is as good as yours, and their knowledge as excellent,--that your code appears to them faulty in many respects, and that, therefore, they purpose making another one, more suited to their liking. thus, out of your one famous moral system would spring thousands of others, formed to gratify the various tastes of different individuals, precisely in the same manner as sects have sprung out of the wholly unnecessary and foolish human arguments on christianity;--only that there would lack the one indestructible, pure selfless example that even the most quarrelsome bigot must inwardly respect,--namely, christ himself. and 'morality' would remain exactly where it is:--neither better nor worse for all the trouble taken concerning it. it needs something more than the 'moral' sense to rightly ennoble man,--it needs the spiritual sense;--the fostering of the instinctive immortal aspiration of the creature, to make him comprehend the responsibility of his present life, as a preparation for his higher and better destiny. the cultured, the scholarly, the ultra-refined, may live well and uprightly by their 'moral sense,'--if they so choose, provided they have some great ideal to measure themselves by,--but even these, without faith in god, may sometimes slip, and fall into deeper depths of ruin than they dreamed of, when self-centred on those heights of virtue where they fancied themselves exempt from danger."
-he paused,--there was a curious stillness in the room,--many eyes were lowered, and m. le duc's composure was evidently not quite so absolute as usual.
-"taken at its best"--he continued--"the world alone is certainly not worth fighting for;--we see the fact exemplified every day in the cases of those who, surrounded by all that a fair fortune can bestow upon them, deliberately hurl themselves out of existence by their own free will and act,--indeed, suicide is a very general accompaniment of agnosticism. and self-slaughter, though it may be called madness, is far more often the result of intellectual misery."
-"of course, too much learning breeds brain disease"--remarked dr. mudley sententiously--"but only in weak subjects,--and in my opinion the weak are better out of the world. we've no room for them nowadays."
-his forcible, incisive manner of speaking, together with his perfect equanimity and concise clearness of argument, had an evident effect on those who listened. here was no rampant fanatic for particular forms of doctrine or pietism,--here was a man who stated his opinions calmly, frankly, and with an absolute setting-forth of facts which could scarcely be denied,--a man, who firmly grounded himself, made no attempt to force any one's belief, but who simply took a large view of the whole, and saw, as it were in a glance, what the world might become without faith in a divine cause and principle of creation. and once grant this divine cause and principle to be actually existent, then all other divine and spiritual things become possible, no matter how impossible they seem to dull mortal comprehension.
-a brief pause followed his words,--a pause of vague embarrassment. the duchess was the first to break it.
-"you have very noble ideas, mr. alwyn,"--she said with a faint, wavering smile--"but i am afraid your conception of things, both human and divine, is too exalted, and poetically imaginative, to be applied to our every-day life. we cannot close our ears to the thunders of science,--we cannot fail to perceive that we mortals are of as small account in the plan of the universe as grains of sand on the seashore. it is very sad that so it should be, and yet so it is! and concerning christianity, the poor system has been so belabored of late with hard blows, that it is almost a wonder it still breathes. there is no end to the books that have been written disproving and denouncing it,--moreover, we have had the subject recently treated in a novel which excites our sympathies in behalf of a clergyman, who, overwhelmed by scholarship, finds he can no longer believe in the religion he is required to teach, and who renounces his living in consequence. the story is in parts pathetic,--it has had a large circulation,--and numbers of people who never doubted their creed before, certainly doubt it now."
-alwyn shrugged his shoulders. "faith uprooted by a novel!" he said--"alas, poor faith! it could never have been well established at any time, to be so easy of destruction! no book in the world, whether of fact or fiction, could persuade me either to or from the consciousness of what my own individual spirit instinctively knows. faith cannot be taught or forced,--neither, if true, can it be really destroyed,--it is a god-born, god-fostered intuition, immortal as god himself. the ephemeral theories set forth in books should not be able to influence it by so much as a hair's breadth."
-"truth is, however, often conveyed through the medium of fiction,"--observed dr. mudley--"and the novel alluded to was calculated to disturb the mind, and arouse trouble in the heart of many an ardent believer. it was written by a woman."
-"nay, then"--said alwyn quickly, with a darkening flash in his eyes,--"if women give up faith, let the world prepare for strange disaster! good, god-loving women,--women who pray,--women who hope,--women who inspire men to do the best that is in them,--these are the safety and glory of nations! when women forget to kneel,--when women cease to teach their children the 'our father,' by whose grandly simple plea humanity claims divinity as its origin,--then shall we learn what is meant by 'men's hearts failing them for fear and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth.' a woman who denies christ repudiates him, who, above all others, made her sex as free and honored as everywhere in christendom it is. he never refused woman's prayer,--he had patience for her weakness,--pardon for her sins,--and any book written by woman's hand that does him the smallest shadow of wrong is to me as gross an act, as that of one who, loaded with benefits, scruples not to murder his benefactor!"
-the duchess de la santoisie moved uneasily,--there was a vibration in alwyn's voice that went to her very heart. strange thoughts swept cloud-like across her mind,--again she saw in fancy a little fair, dead child that she had loved,--her only one, on whom she had spent all the tenderness of which her nature was capable. it had died at the prettiest age of children,--the age of lisping speech and softly tottering feet, when a journey from the protecting background of a wall to outstretched maternal arms seems fraught with dire peril to the tiny adventurer, and is only undertaken with the help of much coaxing, sweet laughter, and still sweeter kisses. she remembered how, in spite of her "free" opinions, she had found it impossible not to teach her little one a prayer;--and a sudden mist of tears blurred her sight, as she recollected the child's last words,--words uttered plaintively in the death grasp of a cruel fever, "suffer me.. to come to thee!"--a quick sigh escaped her lips,--the diamonds on her breast heaved restlessly,--lifting her eyes, grown soft with gentle memory, she encountered those of alwyn, and again she asked herself, could he read her thoughts? his steadfast gaze seemed to encompass her, and absorb in a grave, compassionate earnestness the entire comprehension of her life. her husband's polite, mellifluous accents roused her from this half-reverie.
-"i confess i am surprised, mr. alwyn,"--he was saying--"that you, a man of such genius and ability, should be still in the leading strings of the church!"
-"there is no church"--returned alwyn quietly,--"the world is waiting for one! the alpha beta of christianity has been learned and recited more or less badly by the children of men for nearly two thousand years,--the actual grammar and meaning of the whole language has yet to be deciphered. there have been, and are, what are called churches,--one especially, which, if it would bravely discard mere vulgar superstition, and accept, absorb, and use the discoveries of science instead, might, and possibly will, blossom into the true, universal, and pure christian fabric. meanwhile, in the shaking to and fro of things,--the troublous sifting of the wheat from the chaff,--we must be content to follow by the way of the cross as best we can. christianity has fallen into disrepute, probably because of the self-renunciation it demands,--for, in this age, the primal object of each individual is manifestly to serve self only. it is a wrong road,--a side-lane that leads nowhere,--and we shall inevitably have to turn back upon it and recover the right path--if not now, why then hereafter!"
-his voice had a tremor of pain within it;--he was thinking of the millions of men and women who were voluntarily wandering astray into a darkness they did not dream of,--and his heart, the great, true heart of the poet, became filled with an indescribable passion of yearning.
-"no wonder," he mused--"no wonder that christ came hither for the sake of love! to rescue, to redeem, to save, to bless! ... o divine sympathy for sorrow! if i--a man--can feel such aching pity for the woes of others, how vast, how limitless, how tender, must be the pity of god!"
-and his eyes softened,--he almost forgot his surroundings. he was entirely unaware of the various deep and wistful emotions he had wakened in the hearts of his hearers. there was a great attractiveness in him that he was not conscious of,--and while all present certainly felt that he, though among them, was not of them, they were at the same time curiously moved by an impression that notwithstanding his being, as it were, set apart from their ways of existence, his sympathetic influence surrounded them as resistlessly as a pure atmosphere in which they drew long refreshing breaths of healthier life.
-"i should like,"--suddenly said a bearded individual who was seated half-way down the table, and who had listened attentively to everything--"i should like to tell you a few things about esoteric buddhism!--i am sure it is a faith that would suit you admirably!"
-alwyn smiled, courteously enough. "i shall be happy to hear your views on the subject, sir," he answered gently--"but i must tell you that before i left england for the east, i had studied that theory, together with many others that were offered as substitutes for christianity, and i found it totally inadequate to meet the highest demands of the spiritual intelligence. i may also add, that i have read carefully all the principal works against religion,--from the treatises of the earliest skeptics down to voltaire and others of our own day. moreover, i had, not so very long ago, rejected the christian faith; that i now accept and adhere to it, is not the result of my merit or attainment,--but simply the outcome of an undeserved blessing and singularly happy fortune."
-"pardon me, mr. alwyn"--said madame de la santoisie with a sweet smile--"by all the laws of nature i must contradict you there! your fame and fortune must needs be the reward of merit,--since true happiness never comes to the undeserving."
-alwyn made no reply,--inasmuch as to repudiate the idea of personal merit too warmly is, as such matters are judged nowadays, suggestive of more conceit than modesty. he skilfully changed the conversation, and it glided off by degrees into various other channels,--music, art, science, and the political situation of the hour. the men and women assembled, as though stimulated and inspired by some new interest, now strove to appear at their very best--and the friction of intellect with intellect resulted in more or less brilliancy of talk, which, for once, was totally free from the flippant and mocking spirit which usually pervaded the santoisie social circle. on all the subjects that came up for discussion alwyn proved himself thoroughly at home--and m. le duc, sitting in a silence that was most unwonted with him, became filled with amazement to think that this man, so full of fine qualities and intellectual abilities, should be actually a christian!--the thing was quite incongruous, or seemed so to the ironical wit of the born and bred parisian,--he tried to consider it absurd,--even laughable,--but his efforts merely resulted in a sense of uneasy personal shame. this poet was, at any rate, a man,--he might have posed for a coriolanus or marc antony;--and there was something supreme about him that could not be sneered down.
-the dinner, meanwhile, reached its dessert climax, and the duchess rose, giving the customary departing signal to her lady-guests. alwyn hastened to open the door for her, and she passed out, followed by a train of women in rich and rustling costumes, all of whom, as they swept past the kingly figure that with slightly bent head and courteous mien thus paid silent homage to their sex, were conscious of very unusual emotions of respect and reverence. how would it be, some of them thought, if they were more frequently brought into contact with such royal and gracious manhood? would not love then become indeed a hallowed glory, and marriage a true sacrament! was it not possible for men to be the gods of this world, rather than the devils they so often are? such were a few of the questions that flitted dimly through the minds of the society-fagged fair ones that clustered round the duchess de la santoisie, and eagerly discussed alwyn's personal beauty and extraordinary charm of manner.
-the gentlemen did not absent themselves long, and with their appearance from the dining-room the reception of the evening began. crowds of people arrived and crammed up the stairs, filling every corridor and corner, and alwyn, growing tired of the various introductions and shaking of hands to which he was submitted, managed presently to slip away into a conservatory adjoining the great drawing-room,--a cool, softly lighted place full of flowering azaleas and rare palms. here he sat for a while among the red and white blossoms, listening to the incessant hum of voices, and wondering what enjoyment human beings could find in thus herding together en masse, and chattering all at once as though life depended on chatter, when the rustling of a woman's dress disturbed his brief solitude. he rose directly, as he saw his fair hostess approaching him.
-"ah, you have fled away from us, mr. alwyn!" she said with a slight smile--"i do not wonder at it. these receptions are the bane of one's social existence."
-"then why do you give them?"--asked alwyn, half laughingly.
-"why? oh, because it is the fashion, i suppose!" she answered languidly, leaning against a marble column that supported the towering frondage of a tropical fern, and toying with her fan,--"and i, like others, am a slave to fashion. i have escaped for one moment, but i must go back directly. mr. alwyn ..." she hesitated,--then came straight up to him, and laid her hand upon his arm--"i want to thank you!"
-"to thank me?" he repeated in surprised accents.
-"yes!"--she said steadily--"to thank you for what you have said to-night. we live in a dreary age, when no one has much faith or hope, and still less charity,--death is set before us as the final end of all,--and life as lived by most, people is not only not worth living, but utterly contemptible! your clearly expressed opinions have made me think it is possible to do better,"--her lips quivered a little, and her breath came and went quickly,--"and i shall begin to try and find out how this 'better' can be consummated! pray do not think me foolish--"
-"i think you foolish!" and with gravest courtesy alwyn raised her hand, and touched it gently with his lips, then as gently released it. his action was full of grace,--it implied reverence, trust, honor,--and the duchess looked at him with soft, wet eyes in which a smile still lingered.
-"if there were more men like you,"--she said suddenly--"what a difference it would make to us women! we should be proud to share the burdens of life with those on whose absolute integrity and strength we could rely,--but, in these days, we do not rely, so much as we despise,--we cannot love, so much as we condemn! you are a poet,--and for you the world takes ideal colors,--for you perchance the very heavens have opened;--but remember that the millions, who, in the present era, are ground down under the heels of the grimmest necessity, have no such glimpses of god as are vouchsafed to you! they are truly in the darkness and shadow of death,--they hear no angel music,--they sit in dungeons, howled at by preachers and teachers who make no actual attempt to lead them into light and liberty,--while we, the so-called 'upper' classes, are imprisoned as closely as they, and crushed by intolerable weights of learning, such as many of us are not fitted to bear. those who aspire heavenwards are hurled to earth,--those who of their own choice cling to death, become so fastened to it, that even if they wished, they could not rise. believe me, you will be sorely disheartened in your efforts toward the highest good,--you will find most people callous, careless, ignorant, and forever scoffing at what they do not, and will not, understand,--you had better leave us to our dust and ashes,"--and a little mirthless laugh escaped her lips,--"for to pluck us from thence now will almost need a second visitation of christ, in whom, if he came, we should probably not believe! moreover, you must not forget that we have read darwin,--and we are so charmed with our monkey ancestors, that we are doing our best to imitate them in every possible way,--in the hope that, with time and patience, we may resolve ourselves back into the original species!"
-with which bitter sarcasm, uttered half mockingly, half in good earnest, she left him and returned to her guests. not very long afterward, he having sought and found villiers, and suggested to him that it was time to make a move homeward, approached her in company with his friend, and bade her farewell.
-"i don't think we shall see you often in society, mr. alwyn"--she said, rather wistfully, as she gave him her hand,--"you are too much of a titan among pigmies!"
-he flushed and waved aside the remark with a few playful words; unlike his former self, if there was anything in the world he shrank from, it was flattery, or what seemed like flattery. once outside the house he drew a long breath of relief, and glanced gratefully up at the sky, bright with the glistening multitude of stars. thank god, there were worlds in that glorious expanse of ether peopled with loftier types of being than what is called humanity! villiers looked at him questioningly:
-"tired of your own celebrity, alwyn?" he asked, taking him by the arm,--"are the pleasures of fame already exhausted?"
-alwyn smiled,--he thought of the fame of sah-luma, laureate bard of al-kyris!
-"nay, if the dream that i told you of had any meaning at all"--he replied--"then i enjoyed and exhausted those pleasures long ago! perhaps that is the reason why my 'celebrity' seems such a poor and tame circumstance now. but i was not thinking of myself,--i was wondering whether, after all, the slight power i have attained can be of much use to others. i am only one against many."
-"nevertheless, there is an old maxim which says that one hero makes a thousand"--said villiers quietly--"and it is an undeniable fact that the vastest number ever counted, begins at the very beginning with one!"
-alwyn met his smiling, earnest eyes with a quick, responsive light in his own, and the two friends walked the rest of the way home in silence.
-some few days after the duchess's dinner-party, alwyn was strolling one morning through the park, enjoying to the full the keen, fresh odors of the spring,--odors that even in london cannot altogether lose their sweetness, so long as hyacinths and violets consent to bloom, and almond-trees to flower, beneath the too often unpropitious murkiness of city skies. it had been raining, but now the clouds had rolled off, and the sun shone as brightly as it ever can shine on the english capital, sending sparkles of gold among the still wet foliage, and reviving the little crocuses, that had lately tumbled down in heaps on the grass, like a frightened fairy army put to rout by the onslaught of the recent shower. a blackbird, whose cheery note suggested melodious memories drawn from the heart of the quiet country, was whistling a lively improvisation on the bough of a chestnut-tree, whereof the brown shining buds were just bursting into leaf,--and alwyn, whose every sense was pleasantly attuned to the small, as well as great, harmonies of nature, paused for a moment to listen to the luscious piping of the feathered minstrel, that in its own wild woodland way had as excellent an idea of musical variation as any mozart or chopin. leaning against one of the park benches, with his back turned to the main thoroughfare, he did not observe the approach of a man's tall, stately figure, that, with something of his own light, easy, swinging step, had followed him rapidly along for some little distance, and that now halted abruptly within a pace or two of where he stood,--a man whose fine face and singular distinction of bearing had caused many a passer-by to stare at him in vague admiration, and to wonder who such a regal-looking personage might possibly be. alwyn, however, absorbed in thought, saw no one, and was about to resume his onward walk, when suddenly, as though moved by some instinctive impulse, he turned sharply around, and in so doing confronted the stranger, who straightway advanced, lifting his hat and smiling. one amazed glance,--and then with an ejaculation of wonder, recognition, and delight, alwyn sprang forward and grasped his extended hand.
-"heliobas!" he exclaimed. "is it possible you are in london!--you, of all men in the world!"
-"even so!"--replied heliobas gayly--"and why not? am i incongruous, and out of keeping with the march of modern civilization?"
-alwyn looked at him half-bewildered, half-incredulous,--he could hardly believe his own eyes. it seemed such an altogether amazing thing to meet this devout and grave chaldean philosopher, this mystic monk of the caucasus, here in the very centre, as it were, of the world's business, traffic, and pleasure; one might as well have expected to find a haloed saint in the whirl of a carnival masquerade! incongruous? out of keeping?--yes, certainly he was,--for though clad in the plain, conventional garb to which the men of the present day are doomed by the fiat of commerce and custom, the splendid dignity and picturesqueness of his fine personal appearance was by no means abated, and it was just this that marked him out, and made of him as wonderful a figure in london as though some god or evangelist should suddenly pass through a wilderness of chattering apes and screaming vultures.
-"but how and when did you come?"--asked alwyn presently, recovering from his first glad shock of surprise--"you see how genuine is my astonishment,--why, i thought you were a perpetually vowed recluse,--that you never went into the world at all, ..."
-"neither i do"--rejoined heliobas--"save when strong necessity demands. but our order is not so 'inclosed' that, if duty calls, we cannot advance to its beckoning, and there are certain times when both i and those of my fraternity mingle with men in common, undistinguished from the ordinary inhabitants of cities either by dress, customs, or manners,--as you see!"--and he laughingly touched his overcoat, the dark rough cloth of which was relieved by a broad collar and revers of rich sealskin,--"would you not take me for a highly respectable brewer, par example, conscious that his prowess in the making of beer has entitled him, not only to an immediate seat in parliament, but also to a dukedom in prospective?"
-alwyn, smiled at the droll inapplicability of this comparison,--and heliobas cheerfully continued--"i am on the wing just now,--bound for mexico. i had business in london, and arrived here two days since,--two days more will see me again en voyage. i am glad to have met you thus by chance, for i did not know your address, and though i might have obtained that through your publishers, i hesitated about it, not being quite certain as to whether a letter or visit from me might be welcome."
-"surely,"--began alwyn, and then he paused, a flush rising to his brow as he remembered how obstinately he had doubted and suspected this man's good faith and intention toward him, and how he had even received his farewell benediction at dariel with more resentment than gratitude.
-"everywhere i hear great things of you, mr. alwyn,"--went on heliobas gently, taking no notice of his embarrassment--"your fame is now indeed unquestionable! with all my heart i congratulate you, and wish you long life and health to enjoy the triumph of your genius!"
-alwyn smiled, and turning, fixed his clear, soft eyes full on the speaker.
-"i thank you!" he said simply,--"but, ... you, who have such a quick instinctive comprehension of the minds and characters of men,--judge for yourself whether i attach any value to the poor renown i have won,--renown that i once would have given my very life to possess!"
-as he spoke, he stopped,--they were walking down a quiet side-path under the wavering shadow of newly bourgeoning beeches, and a bright shaft of sunshine struck through the delicate foliage straight on his serene and handsome countenance. heliobas gave him a swift, keen, observant glance,--in a moment he noticed what a marvellous change had been wrought in the man who, but a few months before, had come to him, a wreck of wasted life,--a wreck that was not only ready, but willing, to drift into downward currents and whirlpools of desperate, godless, blank, and hopeless misery. and now, how completely he was transformed!--health colored his cheeks and sparkled in his eyes; health, both of body and mind, gave that quick brilliancy to his smile, and that easy, yet powerful poise to his whole figure,--while the supreme consciousness of the immortal spirit within him surrounded him with the same indescribable fascination and magnetic attractiveness that distinguished heliobas himself, even as it distinguishes all who have in good earnest discovered and accepted the only true explanation of their individual mystery of being. one steady, flashing look,--and then heliobas silently held out his hand. as silently alwyn clasped it,--and the two men understood each other. all constraint was at an end,--and when they resumed their slow sauntering under the glistening green branches, they were mutually aware that they now held an almost equal rank in the hierarchy of spiritual knowledge, strength, and sympathy.
-"evidently your adventure to the ruins of babylon was not altogether without results!" said heliobas softly--"your appearance indicates happiness,--is your life at last complete?"
-"complete?--no!"--and alwyn sighed somewhat impatiently--"it cannot be complete, so long as its best and purest half is elsewhere! my fame is, as you can guess, a mere ephemera,--a small vanishing point, in comparison with the higher ambition i have now in view. listen,--you know nothing of what happened to me on the field of ardath,--i should have written to you perhaps, but it is better to speak--i will tell you all as briefly as i can."
-and talking in an undertone, with his arm linked through that of his companion, he related the whole strange story of the visitation of edris, the dream of al-kyris, his awakening on the prophet's field at sunrise, and his final renunciation of self at the cross of christ. heliobas listened to him in perfect silence, his eyes alone expressing with what eager interest and attention he followed every incident of the narrative.
-"and now," said alwyn in conclusion,--"i always try to remember for my own comfort that i left my dead self in the burning ruin of that dream built city of the past,--or seemed to leave it, . . and yet i feel sometimes as if its shadow presence clung to me still! i look in the mirror and see strange, faint reflections of the actual personal attributes of the slain sah-luma,--occasionally these are so strong and distinctly marked that i turn away in anger from my own image! why, i loved that phantasm of a poet in my dream as i must for ages have loved myself to my own utter undoing!--i admired his work with such extravagant fondness, that, thinking of it, i blush for shame at my own thus manifest conceit!--in truth there is only one thing in that pictured character of his, i can for the present judge myself free from,--namely, the careless rejection of true love for false,--the wanton misprisal of a faithful heart, such as niphrata's, whose fair child-face even now often flits before my remorseful memory,--and the evil, sensual passion for a woman whose wickedness was as evident as her beauty was paramount! i could never understand or explain this wilful, headstrong weakness in my shadow-self--it was the one circumstance in my vision that seemed to have little to do with the positive me in its application,--but now i thoroughly grasp the meaning of the lesson conveyed, which is that no man ever really knows himself, or fathoms the depths of his own possible inconsistencies. and as matters stand with me at the present time, i am hemmed in on all sides by difficulties,--for since the modern success of that very anciently composed poem, 'nourhalma'"--and he smiled--"my friends and acquaintances are doing their best to make me think as much of myself as if i were,--well! all that i am not. do what i will, i believe am still an egoist,--nay, i am sure of it,--for even as regards my heavenly saint, edris, i am selfish!"
-"how so?" asked heliobas, with a grave side-glance of admiration at the thoughtful face and meditative earnest eyes of this poet, this once bitter and blasphemous skeptic, grown up now to a majesty of faith that not all the scorn of men or devils could ever shake again.
-"i want her!"--he replied, and there was a thrill of pathetic yearning in his voice--"i long for her every moment of the day and night! it seems, too, as if everything combined to encourage this craving in me,--this fond, mad desire to draw her down from her own bright sphere of joy,--down to my arms, my heart, my life! see!"--and he stopped by a bed of white hyacinths, nodding softly in the faint breeze--"even those flowers remind me of her! when i look up at the blue sky i think of the radiance of her eyes,--they were the heaven's own color,--when i see light clouds floating together half gray, half tinted by the sun, they seem to me to resemble the soft and noiseless garb she wore,--the birds sing, only to recall to me the lute-like sweetness of her voice,--and at night, when i behold the millions upon millions of stars that are worlds, peopled as they must be with thousands of wonderful living creatures, perhaps as spiritually composed as she, i sometimes find it hard, that out of all the exhaustless types of being that love, serve, and praise god in heaven, this one fair spirit,--only this one angel-maiden should not be spared to help and comfort me! yes!--i am selfish to the heart's core, my friend!"--and his eyes darkened with a vague wistfulness and trouble,--"moreover, i have weakly striven to excuse my selfishness to my own conscience thus:--i have thought that if she were vouchsafed to me for the remainder of my days, i might then indeed do lasting good, and leave lasting consolation to the world,--such work might be performed as would stir the most callous souls to life and energy and aspiration,--with her sweet presence near me, visibly close and constant, there is no task so difficult that i would not essay and conquer in, for her sake, her service, her greater glory! but alone!"--and he gave a slight, hopeless gesture--"nay,--christ knows i will do the utmost best i can, but the solitary ways of life are hard!"
-heliobas regarded him fixedly.
-"you seem to be alone"--he said presently, after a pause,--"but truly you are not so. you think you are set apart to do your work in solitude,--nevertheless, she whom you love may be near you even while you speak! still i understand what you mean,--you long to see her again,--to realize her tangible form and presence,--well!--this cannot be until you pass from this earth and adopt her nature, . . unless,--unless she descends hither, and adopts yours!"
-the last words were uttered slowly and impressively, and alwyn's countenance brightened with a sudden irresistible rapture.
-"that would be impossible!" he said, but his voice trembled, and there was more interrogativeness than assertion in his tone.
-"impossible in most cases,--yes"--agreed heliobas--"but in your specially chosen and privileged estate, i cannot positively say that such a thing might not be."
-for one moment a strange, eager brilliancy shone in alwyn's eyes,--the next, he set his lips hard, and made a firm gesture of denial.
-"do not tempt me, good heliobas," he said, with a faint smile--"or, rather, do not let me tempt myself! i bear in constant mind what she, my edris, told me when she left me,--that we should not meet again till after death, unless the longing of my love compelled. now, if it be true, as i have often thought, that i could compel,--by what right dare i use such power, if power i have upon her? she loves me,--i love her,--and by the force of love, such love as ours, . . who knows!--i might perchance persuade her to adopt a while this mean, uneasy vesture of mere mortal life,--and the very innate perception that i might do so, is the sharpest trial i have to endure. because if i would thoroughly conquer myself, i must resist this feeling;--nay, i will resist it,--for let it cost me what it may, i have sworn that the selfishness of my own personal desire shall never cross or cloud the radiance of her perfect happiness!"
-"but suppose"--suggested heliobas quietly, "suppose she were to find an even more complete happiness in making you happy?"
-alwyn shook his head. "my friend do not let us talk of it!"--he answered--"no joy can be more complete than the joy of heaven,--and that in its full blessedness is hers."
-"that in its full blessedness is not hers,"--declared heliobas with emphasis--"and, moreover, it can never be hers, while you are still an exile and a wanderer! friend poet, do you think that even heaven is wholly happy to one who loves, and whose beloved is absent?"
-a tremor shook alwyn's nerves,--his eyes glowed as though the inward fire of his soul had lightened them, but his face grew very pale.
-"no more of this, for god's sake!" he said passionately. "i must not dream of it,--i dare not! i become the slave of my own imagined rapture,--the coward who falls conquered and trembling before his own desire of delight! rather let me strive to be glad that she, my angel-love, is so far removed from my unworthiness,--let her, if she be near me now, read my thoughts, and see in them how dear, how sacred is her fair and glorious memory,--how i would rather endure an eternity of anguish, than make her sad for one brief hour of mortal-counted time!"
-he was greatly moved,--his voice trembled with the fervor of its own music, and heliobas looked at him with a grave and very tender smile.
-"enough!"--he said gently--"i will speak no further on this subject, which i see affects you deeply. nevertheless, i would have you remember how, when the master whom we serve passed through his agony at gethsemane, and with all the knowledge of his own power and glory strong upon him, still in his vast self-abnegation said, 'not my will, but thine be done!' that then 'there appeared an angel unto him from heaven strengthening him!' think of this,--for every incident in that divine-human life is a hint for ours,--and often it chances that when we reject happiness for the sake of goodness, happiness is suddenly bestowed upon us. god's miracles are endless,--god's blessings exhaustless, . . and the marvels of this wondrous universe are as nothing, compared to the working of his sovereign will for good on the lives of those who serve him faithfully."
-alwyn flashed upon him a quick, half-questioning glance, but was silent,--and they walked on together for some minutes without exchanging a word. a few people passed and repassed them,--some little children were playing hide-and-seek behind the trunks of the largest trees,--the air was fresh and invigorating, and the incessant roar of busy traffic outside the park palings offered a perpetual noisy reminder of the great world that surged around them,--the world of petty aims and transitory pleasures, with which they, filled full of the knowledge of higher and eternal things, had so little in common save sympathy,--sympathy for the wilful wrong-doing of man, and pity for his self-imposed blindness. presently heliobas spoke again in his customary light and cheerful tone:
-"are you writing anything new just now?" he asked. "or are you resting from literary labor?"
-"well, rest and work are with me very nearly one and the same"--replied alwyn,--"i think the most absolutely tiring and exhausting thing in the world would be to have nothing to do. then i can imagine life becoming indeed a weighty burden! yes, i am engaged on a new poem, . . it gives me intense pleasure to write it--but whether it will give any one equal pleasure to read it is quite another question."
-"does 'zabastes' still loom on your horizon?" inquired his companion mirthfully--"or are you still inclined--as in the past--to treat him, whether he comes singly or in numbers, as the poet's court-jester, and paid fool?"
-alwyn laughed lightly. "perhaps!" he answered, with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes,--"but, really, so far as the wind of criticism goes, i don't think any author nowadays particularly cares whether it blows fair weather or foul. you see, we all know how it is done,--we can name the clubs and cliques from whence it emanates, and we are fully aware that if one leading man of a 'set' gives the starting signal of praise or blame, the rest follow like sheep, without either thought or personal discrimination. moreover, some of us have met and talked with certain of these magazine and newspaper oracles, and have tested for ourselves the limited extent of their knowledge and the shallowness of their wit. i assure you it often happens that a great author is tried, judged, and condemned by a little casual press-man who, in his very criticism, proves himself ignorant of grammar. of course, if the public choose to accept such a verdict, why, then, all the worse for the public,--but luckily the majority of men are beginning to learn the ins and outs of the modern critic's business,--they see his or her methods (it is a notable fact that women do a great deal of criticism now, they being willing to scribble oracular commonplaces at a cheaper rate of pay than men), so that if a book is condemned, people are dubious, and straight way read it for themselves to see what is in it that excites aversion,--if it is praised, they are still dubious, and generally decide that the critical eulogist must have some personal interest in its sale. it is difficult for an author to win his public,--but when won, the critics may applaud or deride as suits their humor, it makes no appreciable difference to his popularity. now i consider my own present fame was won by chance, --a misconception that, as i know, had its ancient foundation in truth, but that, as far as everybody else is concerned, remains a misconception,--so that i estimate my success at its right value, or rather, let me say, at its proper worthlessness."
-and in a few words he related how the leaders of english journalism had judged him dead, and had praised his work chiefly because it was posthumous. "i believe"--he added good-humoredly--"that if this mistake had not arisen, i should scarcely have been heard of, since i advocate no particular 'cult' and belong to no mutual admiration alliance, offensive or defensive. but my supposed untimely decease served me better than the browning society serves browning!"
-again he laughed,--heliobas had listened with a keen and sarcastic enjoyment of the whole story.
-"undoubtedly your 'zabastes' was no phantom!"--he observed emphatically--"his was evidently a very real existence, and he must have divided himself from one into several, to sit in judgment again upon you in this present day! history repeats itself,--and unhappily all the injustice, hypocrisy, and inconsistency of man is repeated too,--and out of the multitudes that inhabit the earth, how few will succeed in fulfilling their highest destinies! this is the one bitter drop in the cup of our knowledge,--we can, if we choose, save ourselves,--but we can seldom, if ever, save others!"
-alwyn stopped short, his eyes darkening with a swift intensity of feeling.
-"why not?"--he asked earnestly--"must we look on, and see men rushing toward certain misery, without making an effort to turn them hack?--to warn them of the darkness whither they are bound?--to rescue them before it is too late?"
-"my friend, we can make the effort, certainly,--and we are bound to make it, because it is our duty,--but in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred we shall fail of our persuasion. what can i, or you, or any one, do against the iron force of free-will? god himself will not constrain it,--how then shall we? in the books of esdras, which have already been of such use to you, you will find the following significant words: 'the most high hath made this world for many, but the world to come for few. as when thou askest the earth, it shall say unto thee that it giveth much mold wherein earthen vessels are made, and but little dust that gold cometh of, even so is the course of this present world. there be many created but few shall be saved.'--god elects to be served by choice--and not by compulsion; it is his law that man shall work out his own immortal destiny,--and nothing can alter this overwhelming fact. the sublime example of christ was given us as a means to assist us in forming our own conclusions,--but there is no coercion in it,--only a divine love. you, for instance, were, and are, still perfectly free to reject the whole of your experience on the field of ardath as a delusion,--nothing would be easier, and, from the world's point of view, nothing more natural. faith and doubt are equally voluntary acts,--the one is the instinct of the immortal soul, the other the tendency of the perishable body,--and the will decides which of the two shall conquer in the end. i know that you are firm in your high and true conviction,--i know also what thoughts are at work in your brain,--you are bending all your energies on the task of trying to instil into the minds of your fellow-men some comprehension of the enlightenment and hope you yourself possess. ah, you must prepare for disappointment!--for though the times are tending toward strange upheavals and terrors, when the trumpet-voice of an inspired poet may do enormous good,--still the name of the wilfully ignorant is legion,--the age is one of the grossest mammon worship, and coarsest atheism,--and the noblest teachings of the noblest teacher, were he even another shakespeare, must of necessity be but a casting of pearls before swine. still"--and his rare sweet smile brightened the serene dignity of his features--"fling out the pearls freely all the same,--the swine may grunt at, but cannot rend you,--and a poet's genius should be like the sunlight, that falls on rich and poor, good and bad, with glorious impartiality! if you can comfort one sorrow, check one sin, or rescue one soul from the widening quicksand of the atheist world, you have sufficient reason to be devoutly thankful."
-by this time their walk had led them imperceptibly to one of the gates of egress from the park, and heliobas, pointing to a huge square building opposite, said:
-"there is the hotel at which i am staying--one of the americanized monster fabrics in which tired travellers find much splendid show, and little rest! will you lunch with me?--i am quite alone."
-alwyn gladly assented,--he was most unwilling to part at once from this man, to whom in a measure he felt he owed his present happy and tranquil condition of body and mind; besides, he was curious to find out more about him--to obtain from him, if possible, an entire explanation of the actual tenets and chief characteristics of the system of religious worship he himself practiced and followed. heliobas seemed to guess his thoughts, for suddenly turning upon him with a quick glance, he observed:
-"you want to 'pluck out the heart of my mystery,' as hamlet says, do you not, my friend?"--and he smiled--"well, so you shall, if you can discover aught in me that is not already in yourself! i assure you there is nothing preternatural about me,--my peculiar 'eccentricity' consists in steadily adapting myself to the scientific spiritual, as well as scientific material, laws of the universe. the two sets of laws united make harmony,--hence i find my life harmonious and satisfactory,--this is my 'abnormal' condition of mind,--and you are now fully as 'abnormal' as i am. come, we will discuss our mutual strange non-conformity to the wild world's custom or caprice over a glass of good wine,--observe, please, that i am neither a 'total abstainer' nor a 'vegetarian,' and that i have a curious fashion of being temperate, and of using all the gifts of beneficent nature equally, and without prejudice!' while he spoke, they had crossed the road, and they now entered the vestibule of the hotel, where, declining the hall-porter's offer of the "lift," heliobas ascended the stairs leisurely to the second floor, and ushered his companion into a comfortable private sitting-room.
-"fancy men consenting to be drawn up to their apartments like babes in a basket!" he said laughingly, alluding to the "lift" process--"upon my word, when i think of the strong people of a past age and compare them with the enervated race of to-day, i feel not only pity, but shame, for the visible degeneration of mankind. frail nerves, weak hearts, uncertain limbs,--these are common characteristics of the young, nowadays, instead of being as formerly the natural failings of the old. wear and tear and worry of modern existence?--oh yes, i know!--but why the wear tear and worry at all? what is it for? simply for the over-getting of money. one must live? ... certainly,--but one is not bound to live in foolish luxury for the sake of out-flaunting one's neighbors. better to live simply and preserve health, than gain a fortune and be a moping dyspeptic for life. but unless one toils and moils like a beast of burden, one cannot even live simply, some will say! i don't believe that assertion. the peasants of france live simply, and save,--the peasants of england live wretchedly, and waste! voila la difference! as with nations, so with individuals,--it is all a question of will. 'where there's a will there's a way,' is a dreadfully trite copybook maxim, but it's amazingly true all the same. now let us to the acceptation of these good things,"--this, as a pallid, boyish-looking waiter just then entered the room with the luncheon, and in his bustling to and fro manifested unusual eagerness to make himself agreeable--"i have made excellent friends with this young ganymede,--he has sworn never to palm off raisin-wine upon me for chambertin!"
-the waiter blushed and chuckled as though he were conscious of having gained special new dignity and importance,--and having laid the table, and set the chairs, he departed with a flourishing bow worthy of a prince's maitre-d'hotel.
-"your name must seem a curious one to these fellows"--observed alwyn, when he had gone,--"unusual and even mysterious?"
-"why, yes!"--returned heliobas with a laugh--"it would be judged so, i suppose, if i ever gave it,--but i don't. it was only in england, and by an englishman, that i was once, to my utter amazement, addressed as 'he-ly-oh-bas'--and i was quite alarmed at the sound of it! one would think that most people in these educational days knew the greek word helios,--and one would also imagine it as easy to say heliobas as heliograph. but now to avoid mistakes, whenever i touch british territory and come into contact with british tongues, i give my christian name only, cassimir--the result of which arrangement is, that i am known in this hotel as mr. kasmer! oh, i don't mind in the least--why should i?--neither the english nor the americans ever pronounce foreign names properly. why i met a newly established young publisher yesterday, who assured me that most of his authors, the female ones especially, are so ignorant of foreign literature that he doubts whether any of them know whether cervantes was a writer or an ointment!"
-alwyn laughed. "i dare say the young publisher may be perfectly right,"--he said--"but all the same he has no business to publish the literary emanations of such ignorance."
-"perhaps not!--but what is he to do, if nothing else is offered to him? he has to keep his occupation going somehow,--from bad he must select the best. he cannot create a great genius--he has to wait till nature, in the course of events, evolves one from the elements. and in the present general dearth of high ability the publishers are really more sinned against than sinning. they spend large sums, and incur large risks, in launching new ventures on the fickle sea of popular favor, and often their trouble is taken all in vain. it is really the stupid egotism of authors that is the stumbling-block in the way of true literature,--each little scribbler that produces a shilling sensational thinks his or her own work a marvel of genius, and nothing can shake them from their obstinate conviction. if every man or woman, before putting pen to paper, would be sure they had something new, suggestive, symbolical, or beautiful to say, how greatly art might gain by their labors! authors who take up arms against publishers en masse, and in every transaction expect to be cheated, are doing themselves irreparable injury--they betray the cloven hoof,--namely a greed for money--and when once that passion dominates them, down goes their reputation and they with it. it is the old story over again--'ye cannot serve god and mammon,'--and all art is a portion of god,--a descending of the divine into humanity."
-alwyn sat for a minute silent and thoughtful. "a descending of the divine into humanity!" he repeated slowly--"it seems to me that 'miracle' is forever being enacted--and yet ... we doubt!"
-"we do not doubt--" said heliobas--"we know,--we have touched reality! but see yonder!"--and he pointed through the window to the crowded thoroughfare below--"there are the flying phantoms of life,--the men and women who are god-oblivious, and who are therefore no more actually living than the shadows of al-kyris! they shall pass as a breath and be no more,--and this roaring, trafficking metropolis, this immediate centre of civilization, shall ere long disappear off the surface of the earth, and leave not a stone to mark the spot where once it stood! so have thousands of such cities fallen since this planet was flung into space,--and even so shall thousands still fall. learning, civilization, science, progress,--these things exist merely for the training and education of a chosen few--and out of many earth centuries and generations of men, shall be won only a very small company of angels! be glad that you have fathomed the mystery of your own life's purpose,--for you are now as much a positive identity among vanishing spectres, as you were when, on the field of ardath, you witnessed and took part in the mirage of your past."
-a missing record.
-he spoke the last words with deep feeling and earnestness, and alwyn, meeting his clear, grave, brilliant eyes, was more than ever impressed by the singular dignity and overpowering magnetism of his presence. remembering how insufficiently he had realized this man's true worth, when he had first sought him out in his monastic retreat, he was struck by a sudden sense of remorse, and leaning across the table, gently touched his hand.
-"how greatly i wronged you once, heliobas!" he said penitently, with a tremor of appeal in his voice--"forgive me, will you?--though i shall never forgive myself!"
-heliobas smiled, and cordially pressed the extended hand in his own.
-"nay, there is nothing to forgive, my friend," he answered cheerfully--"and nothing to regret. your doubts of me were very natural,--indeed, viewed by the world's standard of opinion, much more natural than your present faith, for faith is always a super-natural instinct. would you be practically sensible according to modern social theories?--then learn to suspect everybody and everything, even your best friend's good intentions!"
-he laughed, and the luncheon being concluded, he rose from the table, and taking an easy-chair nearer the window, motioned alwyn to do the same.
-"i want to talk to you"--he continued, "we may not meet again for years,--you are entering on a difficult career, and a few hints from one who knows and thoroughly understands your position may possibly be of use to you. in the first place, then, let me ask you, have you told any one, save me, the story of your ardath adventure?"
-"one friend only,--my old school comrade, frank villiers"--replied alwyn.
-"and what does he say about it?"
-"oh, he thinks it was a dream from beginning to end,"--and alwyn smiled a little,--"he believes that i set out on my journey with my brain already heated to an imaginative excess, and that the whole thing, even my angel's presence, was a pure delusion of my own overwrought fancy,--a curious and wonderful delusion, but always a delusion."
-"he is a very excellent fellow to judge you so leniently"--observed heliobas composedly, "most people would call you mad."
-"mad!" exclaimed alwyn hotly--"why, i am as sane as any man in london!"
-"saner, i should say,"--replied heliobas, smiling,--"compared with some of the eminently 'practical' speculating maniacs that howl and struggle among the fluctuating currents of the stock exchange, for instance, you are indeed a marvel of sound and wholesome mental capability! but let us view the matter coolly. you must not expect such an exceptional experience as yours to be believed in by ordinary persons. because the majority of people, being utterly unspiritual and worldly, have no such experiences, and they therefore deem them impossible;--they are the gold-fish born in a bowl, who have no consciousness of the existence of an ocean. moreover, you have no proofs of the truth of your narrative, beyond the change in your own life and disposition,--and that can be easily referred to various other causes. you spoke of having gathered one of the miracle-flowers on the prophet's field,--may i see it?"
-silently alwyn drew from his breast-pocket the velvet case in which he always kept the cherished blossom, and taking it tenderly out, placed it in his companion's hand.
-"an immortelle"--said heliobas softly, while the flower, uncurling its silvery petals in the warmth of his palm, opened star-like and white as snow. "an immortelle, rare and possibly unique!--that is all the world would say of it! it cannot be matched,--it will not fade,--true! but you will get no one to believe that! frown not, good poet!--i want you to consider me for the moment a practical worldling, bent on driving you from the spiritual position yon have taken up,--and you will see how necessary it is for you to keep the secret of your own enlightenment to yourself, or at least only hint at it through the parables of poesy."
-he gave back the ardath blossom to its owner with reverent care,--and when alwyn had as reverently put it by, he resumed:
-"your friend villiers has offered you a perfectly logical and common-sense solution of the mystery of ardath,--one which, if you chose to accept it, would drive you back into skepticism as easily as a strong wind blows a straw. only see how simple the intricate problem is unravelled by this means! you, a man of ardent and imaginative temperament, made more or less unhappy by the doctrines of materialism, come to me, heliobas, a chaldean student of the higher philosophies, an individual whose supposed mysterious power and inexplicably studious way of life entitle him to be considered by the world at large an imposter!--now don't look so indignant!"--and he laughed,--"i am merely discussing the question from the point of view that would be sure to be adopted by 'wise' modern society! thus--i, heliobas, the impostor, take advantage of your state of mind to throw you into a trance, in which, by occult means, you see the vision of an angel, who bids you meet her at a place called ardath,--and you, also, in your hypnotized condition, write a poem which you entitle 'nourhalma.' then i,--always playing my own little underhand game!--read you portions of 'esdras,' and prove to you that 'ardath' exists, while i delicately suggest, if i do not absolutely command, your going thither. you go,--but i, still by magnetic power, retain my influence over you. you visit elzear, a hermit, whom we will, for the sake of the present argument, call my accomplice,--he reads between the lines of the letter you deliver to him from me, and he understands its secret import. he continues, no matter how, your delusion. you broke your fast with him,--and surely it was easy for him to place some potent drug in the wine he gave you, which made you dream the rest;--nay, viewed from this standpoint, it is open to question whether you ever went to the field of ardath at all, but merely dreamed you did! you see how admirably i can, with little trouble, disprove the whole story, and make myself out to be the veriest charlatan and trickster that ever duped his credulous fellow-man! how do you like my practical dissection of your new-found joys?"
-alwyn was gazing at him with puzzled and anxious eyes.
-"i do not like it at all"--he murmured, in a pained tone--"it is an insidious semblance of truth;--but i know it is not the truth itself!"
-"why, how obstinate you are!" said heliobas, good-humoredly, with a quick, flashing glance at him. "you insist on seeing things in a directly reverse way to that in which the world sees them! how can you be so foolish! to the world your ardath adventure is the semblance of truth,--and only man's opinion thereon is worth trusting as the truth itself!"
-over the wistful, brooding thoughtfulness of alwyn's countenance swept a sudden light of magnificent resolution.
-"heliobas, do not jest with me!" he cried passionately--"i know, better perhaps than most men, how divine things can be argued away by the jargon of tongues, till heart and brain grow weary,--i know, god help me!--how the noblest ideals of the soul can be swept down and dispersed into blank ruin, by the specious arguments of cold-blooded casuists,--but i also know, by a supreme inner knowledge beyond all human proving, that god exists, and with his being exist likewise all splendors, great and small, spiritual and material,--splendors vaster than our intelligence can reach,--ideals loftier than imagination can depict! i want no proof of this save those that burn in my own individual consciousness,--i do not need a miserable taper of human reason to help me to discern the sun! i, of my own choice, prayer, and hope, voluntarily believe in god, in christ, in angels, in all things beautiful and pure and grand!--let the world and its ephemeral opinions wither, i will not be shaken down from the first step of the ladder whereon one climbs to heaven!"
-his features were radiant with fervor and feeling,--his eyes brilliant with the kindling inward light of noblest aspiration,--and heliobas, who had watched him intently, now bent toward him with a grave gesture of the gentlest homage.
-"how strong is he whom an angel's love makes glorious!" he said--"we are partners in the same destiny, my friend,--and i have but spoken to you as the world might speak, to prepare you for opposition. the specious arguments of men confront us at every turn, in every book, in every society,--and it is not always that we are ready to meet them. as a rule, silence on all matters of personal faith is best,--let your life bear witness for you;--it shall thunder loud oracles when your mortal limbs are dumb."
-he paused a moment--then went on: "you have desired to know the secret of the active and often miraculous power of the special form of religion i and my brethren follow; well, it is all contained in christ, and christ only. his is the only true spiritualism in the world--there was never any before he came. we obey christ in the simple rules he preached,--christ according to his own enunciated wish and will. moreover, we,--that is, our fraternity,--received our commission from christ himself in person."
-alwyn started,--his eyes dilated with amazement and awe.
-"from christ himself in person?"--he echoed incredulously.
-"even so"--returned heliobas calmly. "what do you suppose our divine master was about during the years between his appearance among the rabbis of the temple and the commencement of his public preaching? do you, can you, imagine with the rest of the purblind world, that he would have left his marvellous gospel in the charge of a few fishermen and common folk only."
-"i never thought,--i never inquired--" began alwyn hurriedly.
-"no!"--and heliobas smiled rather sadly, "few men do think or inquire very far on sacred subjects! listen,--for what i have to say to you will but strengthen you in your faith,--and you will need more than all the strength of the four evangelists to bear you stiffly up against the suicidal negation of this present disastrous epoch. ages ago,--ay, more than six or seven thousand years ago, there were certain communities of men in the east,--scholars, sages, poets, astronomers, and scientists, who, desiring to give themselves up entirely to study and research, withdrew from the world, and formed themselves into fraternities, dividing whatever goods they had in common, and living together under one roof as the brotherhoods of the catholic church do to this day. the primal object of these men's investigations was a search after the divine cause of creation; and as it was undertaken with prayer, penance, humility, and reverence, much enlightenment was vouchsafed to them, and secrets of science, both spiritual and material, were discovered by them,--secrets which the wisest of modern sages know nothing of as yet. out of these fraternities came many of the prophets and preachers of the old testament,--esdras for one,--isaiah for another. they were the chroniclers of many now forgotten events,--they kept the history of the times, as far is it was possible,--and in their ancient records your city of al-kyris is mentioned as a great and populous place, which was suddenly destroyed by the bursting out of a volcano beneath its foundations--yes!"--this as alwyn uttered an eager exclamation,--"your vision was a perfectly faithful reflection of the manner in which it perished. i must tell you, however, that nothing concerning its kings or great men has been preserved,--only a few allusions to one hyspiros, a writer of tragedies, whose genius seems to have corresponded to that of our shakespeare of to-day. the name of sah-luma is nowhere extant."
-a burning wave of color flushed alwyn's face, but he was silent. heliobas went on gently:
-"at a very early period of their formation, these fraternities i tell you of were in possession of most of the material scientific facts of the present day,--such things as the electric wire and battery, the phonograph, the telephone, and other 'new' discoveries, being perfectly familiar to them. the spiritual manifestations of nature were more intricate and difficult to penetrate,--and though they knew that material effects could only be produced by spiritual causes, they worked in the dark, as it were, only groping toward the light. however, the wisdom and purity of the lives they led was not without its effect,--emperors and kings sought their advice, and gave them great stores of wealth, which they divided, according to rule, into equal portions, and used for the benefit of those in need, willing the remainder to their successors; so that, at the present time, the few brotherhoods that are left hold immense treasures accumulated through many centuries,--treasures which are theirs to share with one another in prosecution of discoveries and the carrying on of good works in secret. ages before the coming of christ, one aselzion, a man of austere and strict life, belonging to a fraternity stationed in syria, was engaged in working out a calculation of the average quantity of heat and light provided per minute by the sun's rays, when, glancing upward at the sky, the hour being clear noonday, he beheld a cross of crimson hue suspended in the sky, whereon hung the cloudy semblance of a human figure. believing himself to be the victim of some optical delusion, he hastened to fetch some of his brethren, who at a glance perceived the self-same marvel,--which presently was viewed with reverent wonder by the whole assembled community. for one entire hour the symbol stayed--then vanished suddenly, a noise like thunder accompanying its departure. within a few months of its appearance, messages came from all the other fraternities stationed in egypt, in spain, in greece, in etruria, stating that they also had seen this singular sight, and suggesting that from henceforth the cross should be adopted by the united brotherhoods as a holy sign of some deity unrevealed,--a proposition that was at once agreed to. this happened some five thousand years before christ,--and hence the sign of the cross became known in all, or nearly all, the ancient rites of worship, the multitude considering that because it was the emblem of the philosophical fraternities, it must have some sacred meaning. so it was used in the service of serapis and the adoration of the nile-god,--it has been found carved on egyptian disks and obelisks, and it was included among the numerous symbols of saturn."
-he paused. alwyn was listening with eager, almost breathless, attention.
-"after this"--went on heliobas--"came a long period of prefigurements; types and suggestions, that, running through all the various religions that sprang up swiftly and as swiftly decayed, hinted vaguely at the birth of a child,--offspring of a pure virgin--a miraculously generated god-in-man--an absolutely sinless one, who should be sent to remind humanity of its intended final high destiny, and who should, by precept and example, draw the earth nearer to heaven. i would here ask you to note what most people seem to forget,--namely, that since christ came, all these shadowy types and prefigurements have ceased; a notable fact, even to skeptical minds. the world waited dimly for something, it knew not what,--the various fraternities of the cross waited also, feeling conscious that some great era of hope and happiness was about to dawn for all men. when the star in the east arose announcing the redeemer's birth, there were some forty or fifty of these fraternities existing, three in the ancient province of chaldea, from whence a company of the wisest seers and sages were sent to acknowledge by their immediate homage the divinity born in bethlehem. these were the 'wise men out of the east' mentioned in the gospel. we knew--i say we, because i am descended directly from one of these men, and have always belonged to their brotherhood--we knew it was divinity that had come amongst us,--and in our parchment chronicles there is a long account of how the deserts of arabia rang with music that holy night--what wealth of flowers sprang up in places that had hither to lain waste and dry--how the sky blazed with rings of roseate radiance,--how fair and wondrous shapes were seen flitting across the heavens,--the road of communication between men and angels being opened at a touch by the saviour's advent."
-again he paused,--and after a little silence resumed:
-"then we added the star to our existing symbol, the cross, and became the brotherhood of the cross and star. as such, after the redeemer's birth, we put all other matters from us, and set ourselves to chronicle his life and actions, to pray and wait, unknowing what might be the course of his work or will. one day he came to us,--ah! happy those whom he found watching, and whose privilege it was to receive their divine guest!"
-his voice had a passionate thrill within it, as of tears,--and alwyn's heart beat fast,--what a wonderful new chapter was here revealed of the old, old story of the only perfect life on earth!
-"one of the fraternities," went on heliobas, "had its habitation in the wilderness where, some years later, the master wandered fasting forty days and forty nights. to that solitary abode of prayerful men he came, when he was about twenty-three earthly years of age; the record of his visit has been reverently penned and preserved, and from it we know how fair and strong he was,--how stately and like a king--how gracious and noble in bearing--how far exceeding in beauty all the sons of men! his speech was music that thrilled to the heart,--the wondrous glory of his eyes gave life to those who knelt and worshipped him--his touch was pardon--his smile was peace! from his own lips a store of wisdom was set down,--and prophecies concerning the fate of his own teaching, which then he uttered, are only now, at this very day, being fulfilled. therefore we know the time has come--" he broke off, and sighed deeply.
-"the time has come for what?" demanded alwyn eagerly.
-"for certain secrets to be made known to the world which till now have been kept sacred," returned heliobas,--"you must understand that the chief vow of the fraternity of the cross and star is secrecy,--a promise never to divulge the mysteries of god and nature to those who are unfitted to receive such high instruction. it is christ's own saying--'a faithless and perverse generation asketh for a sign, and no sign shall be given.' you surely are aware how, even in the simplest discoveries of material science, the world's attitude is at first one of jeering incredulity,--how much more so, then, in things which pertain solely to the spiritual side of existence! but god will not be mocked,--and it behooves us to think long, and pray much, before we unveil even one of the lesser mysteries to the eyes of the vulgar. christ knew the immutable condition of free-will,--he knew that faith, humility, and obedience are the hardest of all hard virtues to the self-sufficient arrogance of man; and we learned from him that his gospel, simple though it is, would be denied, disputed, quarrelled over, shamefully distorted, and almost lost sight of in a multitude of 'free' opinions,--that his life-giving truth would be obscured and rendered incomprehensible by the wilful obstinacy of human arguments concerning it. christ has no part whatever in the distinctly human atrocities that have been perpetrated under cover of his name,--such as the inquisition, the wars of the crusades, the slaughter of martyrs, and the degrading bitterness of sects; in all these things christ's teaching is entirely set aside and lost. he knew how the proud of this world would misread his words--that is why he came to men who for thousands of years in succession had steadily practised the qualities he most desired,--namely, faith, humility, and obedience,--and finding them ready to carry out his will, he left with them the mystic secrets of his doctrine, which he forbade them to give to the multitude till men's quarrels and disputations had called his very existence into doubt. then,--through pure channels and by slow degrees--we were to proclaim to the world his last message."
-alwyn's eyes rested on the speaker in reverent yet anxious inquiry.
-"surely"--he said--"you will begin to proclaim it now?"
-"yes, we shall begin," answered heliobas, his brow darkening as with a cloud of troubled thought--"but we are in a certain difficulty,--for we may not speak in public ourselves, nor write for publication,--our ancient vow binds us to this, and may not be broken. moreover, the master gave us a strange command,--namely, that when the hour came for the gradual declaration of the secret of his doctrine, we should intrust it, in the first place, to the hands of one who should be young,--in the world, yet not of it,--simple as a child, yet wise with the wisdom of faith,--of little or no estimation among men,--and who should have the distinctive quality of loving nothing in earth or heaven more dearly than his name and honor. for this unique being we have searched, and are searching still,--we can find many who are young and both wise and innocent, but, alas! one who loves the unseen christ actually more than all things,--this is indeed a perplexity! i have fancied of late that i have discovered in my own circle,--that is, among those who have been drawn to study god and nature according to my views,--one who makes swift and steady progress in the higher sciences, and who, so far as i have been able to trace, really loves our master with singular adoration above all joys on earth and hopes of heaven; but i cannot be sure--and there are many tests and trials to be gone through before we dare bid this little human lamp of love shine forth upon the raging storm."
-he was silent a moment,--then went on in a low tone, as though speaking to himself:
-"when the mechanism of this universe is explained in such wise that no discovery of science can ever disprove, but must rather support it, . . when the essence of the immortal soul in man is described in clear and concise language,--and when the marvellous action of spirit on matter is shown to be actually existent and never idle,--then, if the world still doubts and denies god, it will only have itself to blame!--but to you"--and he resumed his ordinary tone--"all things, through your angel's love, are made more or less plain,--and i have told you the history of our fraternity merely that you may understand how it is we know so much that the outer world is ignorant of. there are very few of us left nowadays,--only a dozen brotherhoods scattered far apart on different portions of the earth,--but, such as we are, we are all united, and have never, through these eighteen hundred years, had a shade of difference in opinion concerning the divinity of christ. through him we have learned true spiritualism, and all the miraculous power which is the result of it; and as there is a great deal of false spiritualism rampant just now, i may as well give you a few hints whereby you may distinguish it at once,--imprimis: if a so-called spiritualist tells you that he can summon spirits who will remove tables and chairs, write letters, play the piano, and rap on the walls, he is a charlatan. for spirits can touch nothing corporeal unless they take corporeal shape for the moment, as in the case of your angelic edris. but in this condition, they are only seen by the one person whom they visit,--never by several persons at once--remember that! nor can they keep their corporeal state long,--except, by their express wish and will, they should seek to enter absolutely into the life of humanity, which, i must tell you, has been done, but so seldom, that in all the history of christian spirituality there are only about four examples. here are six tests for all the 'spiritualists' you may chance to meet:
-"first. do they serve themselves more than others? if so, they are entirely lacking in spiritual attributes.
-"secondly. will they take money for their professed knowledge? if so, they condemn themselves as paid tricksters.
-"thirdly. are they men and women of commonplace and thoroughly material life? then, it is plain they cannot influence others to strive for a higher existence.
-"fourthly. do they love notoriety? if they do, the gates of the unseen world are shut upon them.
-"fifthly. do they disagree among themselves, and speak against one another? if so, they contradict by their own behavior all the laws of spiritual force and harmony.
-"sixthly and lastly.--do they reject christ! if they do, they know nothing whatever about spiritualism, there being none without him. again, when you observe professing psychists living in any eccentric way, so as to cause their trifling every-day actions to be remarked and commented upon, you may be sure the real power is not in them,--as, for instance, people who become vegetarians because they imagine that by so doing they will see spirits--people who adopt a singular mode of dress in order to appear different from their fellow-creatures--people who are lachrymose, dissatisfied, or in any way morbid. never forget that true spiritualism engenders health of body and mind, serenity and brightness of aspect, cheerfulness and perfect contentment,--and that its influence on those who are brought within its radius is distinctly marked and beneficial. the chief characteristic of a true, that is, christian, spiritualist is, that he or she cannot be shaken from faith, or thrown into despair by any earthly misfortune whatsoever. and while on this subject, i will show you where the existing forms of christianity depart from the teachings of christ: first, in lack of self abnegation,--secondly, in lack of unity,--thirdly, in failing to prove to the multitude that death is is not destruction, but simply change. nothing really dies; and the priests should make use of science to illustrate this fact to the people. each of these virtues has its miracle effect: unity is strength; self abnegation attracts the divine influences, and death, viewed as a glorious transformation, which it is, inspires the soul with a sense of larger life. sects are unchristian,--there should be only one vast, united church for all the christian world--a church, whose pure doctrines should include all the hints received from nature and the scientific working of the universe,--the marvels of the stars and the planetary systems,--the wonders of plants and minerals,--the magic of light and color and music; and the true miracles of spirit and matter should be inquired into reverently, prayerfully, and always with the deepest humility;--while the first act of worship performed every holy morn and eve should be gratitude! gratitude--gratitude! ay, even for a sorrow we should be thankful,--it may conceal a blessing we wot not of! for sight, for sense, for touch, for the natural beauty of this present world,--for the smile on a face we love--for the dignity and responsibility of our lives, and the immortality with which we are endowed,--oh my friend! would that every breath we drew could in some way express to the all loving creator our adoring recognition of his countless benefits!"
-carried away by his inward fervor, his eyes flashed with extraordinary brilliancy,--his countenance was grand, inspired, and beautiful, and alwyn gazed at him in wondering, fascinated silence. here was a man who had indeed made the best of his manhood!--what a life was his! how satisfying and serene! master of himself, he was, as it were, master of the world,--all nature ministered to him, and the pageant of passing history was as a mere brilliant picture painted for his instruction,--a picture on which he, looking, learned all that it was needful for him to know. and concerning this mystic brotherhood of the cross and star, what treasures of wisdom they must have secreted in their chronicles through so many thousands of years! what a privilege it would be to explore such world-forgotten tracks of time! yielding to a sudden impulse, alwyn spoke his thought aloud:
-"heliobas," he said, "tell me, could not i, too, become a member of your fraternity?"
-heliobas smiled kindly. "you could, assuredly"--he replied--"if you chose to submit to fifteen years' severe trial and study. but i think a different sphere of duty is designed for you. wait and see! the rules of our order forbid the disclosure of knowledge attained, save through the medium of others not connected with us; and we may not write out our discoveries for open publication. such a vow would be the death-blow to your poetical labors,--and the command your angel gave you points distinctly to a life lived in the world of men,--not out of it."
-"but you yourself are in the world of men at this moment"--argued alwyn--"and you are free; did you not tell me you were bound for mexico?"
-"does going to mexico constitute liberty?" laughed heliobas. "i assure you i am closely constrained by my vows wherever i am,--as closely as though i were shut in our turret among the heights of caucasus! i am going to mexico solely to receive some manuscripts from one of our brethren, who is dying there. he has lived as a recluse, like elzear of melyana, and to him have been confided certain important chronicles, which must be taken into trustworthy hands for preservation. such is the object of my journey. but now, tell me, have you thoroughly understood all i have said to you?"
-"perfectly!" rejoined alwyn. "my way seems very clear before me,--a happy way enough, too, if it were not quite so lonely!" and he sighed a little.
-heliobas rose and laid one hand kindly on his shoulder. "courage!"...he said softly. "bear with the loneliness a while, it may not last long!"
-a slight thrill ran through alwyn's nerves,--he felt as though he were on the giddy verge of some great and unexpected joy,--his heart beat quickly and his eyes grew dim. mastering the strange emotion with an effort, he was reluctantly beginning to think it was time to take his leave, when heliobas, who had been watching him intently, spoke in a cheerful, friendly tone:
-"now that we have had our serious talk out, mr. alwyn, suppose you come with me and hear the ange-demon of music at st. james's hall? will you? he can bestow upon you a perfect benediction of sweet sound,--a benediction not to be despised in this workaday world of clamor,--and out of all the exquisite symbols of heaven offered to us on earth, music, i think, is the grandest and best."
-"i will go with you wherever you please," replied alwyn, glad of any excuse that gave him more of the attractive chaldean's company,--"but what ange-demon are you speaking of?"
-"sarasate,--or 'sarah sayty,' as some of the clear britishers call him--" laughed heliobas, putting on his overcoat as he spoke; "the 'spanish fiddler,' as the crabbed musical critics define him when they want to be contemptuous, which they do pretty often. these, together with the literary 'oracles,' have their special cliques,--their little chalked out circles, in which they, like tranced geese, stand cackling, unable to move beyond the marked narrow limit. as there are fools to be found who have the ignorance, as well as the effrontery, to declare that the obfuscated, ill-expressed, and ephemeral productions of browning are equal, if not superior, to the clear, majestic, matchless, and immortal utterances of shakespeare,--ye gods! the force of asinine braying can no further go than this! ... even so there are similar fools who say that the cold, correct, student-like playing of joachim is superior to that of sarasate. but come and judge for yourself,--if you have never heard him, it will be a sort of musical revelation to you,--he is not so much a violinist, as a human violin played by some invisible sprite of song. london listens to him, but doesn't know quite what to make of him,--he is a riddle that only poets can read. if we start now, we shall be just in time,--i have two stalls. shall we go?"
-alwyn needed no second invitation,--he was passionately fond of music,--his interest was aroused, his curiosity excited,--moreover, whatever the fine taste of heliobas pronounced as good must, he felt sure, be super-excellent. in a few minutes they had left the hotel together, and were walking briskly toward piccadilly, their singularly handsome faces and stately figures causing many a passer-by to glance after them admiringly, and murmur sotto voce, "splendid-looking fellows! ... not english!" for though englishmen are second to none in mere muscular strength and symmetry of form, it is a fact worth noting, that if any one possessing poetic distinction of look, or picturesque and animated grace of bearing, be seen suddenly among the more or less monotonously uniform crowd in the streets of london, he or she is pretty sure to be set down, rightly or wrongly, as "not english." is not this rather a pity?--for england!
-the wizard of the bow.
-when they entered the concert-hall, the orchestra had already begun the programme of the day with mendelssohn's "italian" symphony. the house was crowded to excess; numbers of people were standing, apparently willing to endure a whole afternoon's fatigue, rather than miss hearing the orpheus of andalusia,--the "endymion out of spain," as one of our latest and best poets has aptly called him. only a languidly tolerant interest was shown in the orchestral performance,--the "italian" symphony is not a really great or suggestive work, and this is probably the reason why it so often fails to arouse popular enthusiasm. for, be it understood by the critical elect, that the heart-whole appreciation of the million is by no means so "vulgar" as it is frequently considered,--it is the impulsive response of those who, not being bound hand and foot by any special fetters of thought or prejudice, express what they instinctively feel to be true. you cannot force these "vulgar," by any amount of "societies," to adopt browning as a household god,--but they will appropriate shakespeare, and glory in him, too, without any one's compulsion. if authors, painters, and musicians would probe more earnestly than they do to the core of this instinctive higher aspiration of peoples, it would be all the better for their future fame. for each human unit in a nation has its great, as well as base passions,--and it is the clear duty of all the votaries of art to appeal to and support the noblest side of nature only--moreover, to do so with a simple, unforced, yet graphic eloquence of meaning that can be grasped equally and at once by both the humble and exalted.
-"it is not in the least italian"--said heliobas, alluding to the symphony, when it was concluded, and the buzz of conversation surged through the hall like the noise that might be made by thousands of swarming bees,--"there is not a breath of italian air or a glimpse of italian light about it. the dreamy warmth of the south,--the radiant color that lies all day and all night on the lakes and mountains of dante's land,--the fragrance of flowers--the snatches of peasants' and fishermen's songs--the tunefulness of nightingales in the moonlight,--the tinkle of passing mandolins,--all these things should be hinted at in an 'italian' symphony--and all these are lacking. mendelssohn tried to do what was not in him,--i do not believe the half-phlegmatic, half-philosophical nature of a german could ever understand the impetuously passionate soul of italy."
-as he spoke, a fair girl, with gray eyes that were almost black, glanced round at him inquiringly,--a faint blush flitted over her cheeks, and she seemed about to speak, but, as though restrained by timidity, she looked away again and said nothing. heliobas smiled.
-"that pretty child is italian," he whispered to alwyn. "patriotism sparkled in those bright eyes of hers--love for the land of lilies, from which she is at present one transplanted!"
-alwyn smiled also, assentingly, and thought how gracious, kindly, and gentle were the look and voice of the speaker. he found it difficult to realize that this man, who now sat beside him in the stalls of a fashionable london concert-room, was precisely the same one who, clad in the long flowing white robes of his order, had stood before the altar in the chapel at dariel, a stately embodiment of evangelical authority, intoning the seven glorias! it seemed strange, and yet not strange, for heliobas was a personage who might be imagined anywhere,--by the bedside of a dying child, among the parliaments of the learned, in the most brilliant social assemblies, at the head of a church,--anything he chose to do would equally become him, inasmuch as it was utterly impossible to depict him engaged in otherwise than good and noble deeds. at that moment a tumultuous clamor of applause broke out on all sides,--applause that was joined in by the members of the orchestra as well as the audience,--a figure emerged from a side door on the left and ascended the platform--a slight, agile creature, with rough, dark hair and eager, passionate eyes--no other than the hero of the occasion, sarasate himself. sarasate e il suo violino!--there they were, the two companions; master and servant--king and subject. the one, a lithe, active looking man of handsome, somewhat serious countenance and absorbed expression,--the other, a mere frame of wood with four strings deftly knotted across it, in which cunningly contrived little bit of mechanism was imprisoned the intangible, yet living spirit of sound. a miracle in its way!--that out of such common and even vile materials as wood, catgut, and horsehair, the divinest music can be drawn forth by the hand of the master who knows how to use these rough implements! suggestive, too, is it not, my friends?--for if man can by his own poor skill and limited intelligence so invoke spiritual melody by material means,--shall not god contrive some wondrous tunefulness for himself even out of our common earthly discord? .... hush!--a sound sweet and far as the chime of angelic bells in some vast sky-tower, rang clearly through the hall over the heads of the now hushed and attentive audience--and alwyn, hearing the penetrating silveriness of those first notes that fell from sarasate's bow, gave a quick sigh of amazement and ecstasy,--such marvellous purity of tone was intoxicating to his senses, and set his nerves quivering for sheer delight in sympathetic tune. he glanced at the programme,--"concerto--beethoven"--and swift as a flash there came to his mind some lines he had lately read and learned to love:
-"it was the kaiser of the land of song, the giant singer who did storm the gates of heaven and hell--a man to whom the fates were fierce as furies,--and who suffered wrong, and ached and bore it, and was brave and strong and grand as ocean when its rage abates."
-beethoven! ... musical fullness of divine light! how the glorious nightingale notes of his unworded poesy came dropping through the air like pearls, rolling off the magic wand of the violin wizard, whose delicate dark face, now slightly flushed with the glow of inspiration, seemed to reflect by its very expression the various phases of the mighty composer's thought! alwyn half closed his eyes and listened entranced, allowing his soul to drift like an oarless boat on the sweeping waves of the music's will. he was under the supreme sway of two emperors of art,--beethoven and sarasate,--and he was content to follow such leaders through whatever sweet tangles and tall growths of melody they might devise for his wandering. at one mad passage of dancing semitones he started,--it was as though a sudden wind, dreaming an enraged dream, had leaped up to shake tall trees to and fro,--and the pass of dariel, with its frozen mountain-peaks, its tottering pines, and howling hurricanes, loomed back upon his imagination as he had seen it first on the night he had arrived at the monastery--but soon these wild notes sank and slept again in the dulcet harmony of an adagio softer than a lover's song at midnight. many strange suggestions began to glimmer ghost-like through this same adagio,--the fair, dead face of niphrata flitted past him, as a wandering moonbeam flits athwart a cloud,--then came flashing reflections of light and color,--the bewildering dazzlement of lysia's beauty shone before the eyes of his memory with a blinding lustre as of flame, . . the phantasmagoria of the city of al-kyris seemed to float in the air like a faintly discovered mirage ascending from the sea,--again he saw its picturesque streets, its domes and bell-towers, its courts and gardens.. again he heard the dreamy melody of the dance that had followed the death of nir-jalis, and saw the cruel lysia's wondrous garden lying white in the radiance of the moon; anon he beheld the great square, with its fallen obelisk and the prostrate, lifeless form of the prophet khosrul.. and... oh, most sad and dear remembrance of all! ... the cherished shadow of himself, the brilliant, the joyous sah-luma appeared to beckon him from the other side of some vast gulf of mist and darkness, with a smile that was sorrowful, yet persuasive; a smile that seemed to say--"o friend, why hast thou left me as though i were a dead thing and unworthy of regard?--lo, i have never died, --i am here, an abandoned part of thee, ready to become thine inseparable comrade once more if thou make but the slightest sign!"--then it seemed as though voices whispered in his ear--"sah-luma! beloved sah-luma!"--and "theos! theos, my beloved!"--till, moved by a vague tremor of anxiety, he lifted his drooping eyelids and gazed full in a sort of half-incredulous, half-reproachful amaze at the musical necromancer who had conjured up all these apparitions,--what did this wonderful sarasate know of his past?
-nothing, indeed,--he had ceased, and was gravely bowing to the audience in response to the thunder of applause, that, like a sudden whirlwind, seemed to shake the building. but he had not quite finished his incantations,--the last part of the concerto was yet to come,--and as soon as the hubbub of excitement had calmed down, he dashed into it with the delicious speed and joy of a lark soaring into the springtide air. and now on all sides what clear showers and sparkling coruscations of melody!--what a broad, blue sky above!--what a fair, green earth below!--how warm and odorous this radiating space, made resonant with the ring of sweet bird-harmonies!--wild thrills of ecstasy and lover-like tenderness--snatches of song caught up from the flower-filled meadows and set to float in echoing liberty through the azure dome of heaven!--and in all and above all, the light and heat and lustre of the unclouded sun!--here there was no dreaming possible, . . nothing but glad life, glad youth, glad love! with an ambrosial rush of tune, like the lark descending, the dancing bow cast forth the final chord from the violin as though it were a diamond flung from the hand of a king, a flawless jewel of pure sound,--and the minstrel monarch of andalusia, serenely saluting the now wildly enthusiastic audience, left the platform. but he was not allowed to escape so soon,--again and again, and yet again, the enormous crowd summoned him before them, for the mere satisfaction of looking at his slight figure, his dark, poetic face, and soft, half-passionate, half-melancholy eyes, as though anxious to convince themselves that he was indeed human, and not a supernatural being, as his marvellous genius seemed to indicate. when at last he had retired for a breathing-while, heliobas turned to alwyn with the question:
-"what do you think of him?"
-"think of him!" echoed alwyn--"why, what can one think,--what can one say of such an artist!--he is like a grand sunrise,--baffling all description and all criticism!"
-heliobas smiled,--there was a little touch of satire in his smile.
-"do you see that gentleman?" he said, in a low tone, pointing out by a gesture a pale, flabby-looking young man who was lounging languidly in a stall not very far from where they themselves sat,--"he is the musical critic for one of the leading london daily papers. he has not stirred an inch, or moved an eyelash, during sarasate's performance,--and the violent applause of the audience was manifestly distasteful to him! he has merely written one line down in his note-book,--it is most probably to the effect that the 'spanish fiddler met with his usual success at the hands of the undiscriminating public!'"
-alwyn laughed. "not possible!"--and he eyed the impassive individual in question with a certain compassionate amusement,--"why, if he cannot admire such a magnificent artist as sarasate, what is there in the world that will rouse his admiration!"
-"nothing!" rejoined heliobas, his eyes twinkling humorously as he spoke--"nothing,--unless it is his own perspicuity! nil admirari is the critic's motto. the modern 'zabastes' must always be careful to impress his readers in the first place with his personal superiority to all men and all things,--and the musical oracle yonder will no doubt be clever enough to make his report of sarasate in such a manner as to suggest the idea that he could play the violin much better himself, if he only cared to try!"
-"ass!" said alwyn under his breath--"one would like to shake him out of his absurd self-complacency!"
-heliobas shrugged his shoulders expressively:
-"my dear fellow, he would only bray!--and the braying of an ass is not euphonious! no!--you might as well shake a dry clothes-prop and expect it to blossom into fruit and flower, as argue with a musical critic, and expect him to be enthusiastic! the worst of it is, these men are not really musical,--they perhaps know a little of the grammar and technique of the thing, but they cannot understand its full eloquence. in the presence of a genius like pablo de sarasate they are more or less perplexed,--it is as though you ask them to describe in set, cold terms the counterpoint and thoroughbass of the wind's symphony to the trees,--the great ocean's sonata to the shore, or the delicate madrigals sung almost inaudibly by little bell-blossoms to the tinkling fall of april rain. the man is too great for them--he is a blazing star that dazzles and confounds their sight--and, after the manner of their craft, they abuse what they can't understand. music is distinctly the language of the emotions,--and they have no emotion. they therefore generally prefer joachim,--the good, stolid joachim, who so delights all the dreary old spinsters and dowagers who nod over their knitting-needles at the 'monday popular' concerts, and fancy themselves lovers of the 'classical' in music. sarasate appeals to those who have loved, and thought, and suffered--those who have climbed the heights of passion and wrung out the depths of pain,--and therefore the people, taken en masse, as, for instance, in this crowded hall, instinctively respond to his magic touch. and why?--because the greater majority of human beings are full of the deepest and most passionate feelings, not as yet having been 'educated' out of them!"
-here the orchestra commenced liszt's "preludes"--and all conversation ceased. afterwards sarasate came again to bestow upon his eager admirers another saving grace of sound, in the shape of the famous mendelssohn concerto, which he performed with such fiery ardor, tenderness, purity of tone, and marvellous execution that many listeners held their breath for sheer amazement and delighted awe. anything approaching the beauty of his rendering of the final "allegro" alwyn had never heard,--and indeed it is probable none will ever hear a more poetical, more exquisite singing of thought than this matchless example of sarasate's genius and power. who would not warm to the brightness and delicacy of those delicious rippling tones, that seemed to leap from the strings alive like sparks of fire--the dainty, tripping ease of the arpeggi, that float from the bow with the grace of rainbow bubbles blown forth upon the air,--the brilliant runs, that glide and glitter up and down like chattering brooks sparkling among violets and meadow-sweet,--the lovely softer notes, that here and there sigh between the varied harmonies with the dreamy passion of lovers who part, only to meet again in a rush of eager joy!--alwyn sat absorbed and spellbound; he forgot the passing of time,--he forgot even the presence of heliobas,--he could only listen, and gratefully drink in every drop of sweetness that was so lavishly poured upon him from such a glorious sky of sunlit sound.
-presently, toward the end of the performance, a curious thing happened. sarasate had appeared to play the last piece set down for him,--a composition of his own, entitled "zigeunerweisen." a gypsy song, or medley of gypsy songs, it would be, thought alwyn, glancing at his programme,--then, looking towards the artist, who stood with lifted bow like another prospero, prepared to summon forth the ariel of music at a touch, he saw that the dark spanish eyes of the maestro were fixed full upon him, with, as he then fancied, a strange, penetrating smile in their fiery depths. one instant.. and a weird lament came sobbing from the smitten violin,--a wildly beautiful despair was wordlessly proclaimed, . . a melody that went straight to the heart and made it ache, and burn, and throb with a rising tumult of unlanguaged passion and desire! the solemn, yet unfettered, grace of its rhythmic respiration suggested to alwyn, first darkness,--then twilight--then the gradual far-glimmering of a silvery dawn,--till out of the shuddering notes there seemed to grow up a vague, vast, and cool whiteness, splendid and mystical,--a whiteness that from shapeless, fleecy mist took gradual form and substance, ... the great concert-hall, with its closely packed throng of people, appeared to fade away like vanishing smoke,--and lo!--before the poet's entranced gaze there rose up a wondrous vision of stately architectural grandeur,--a vision of snowy columns and lofty arches, upon which fell a shimmering play of radiant color flung by the beams of the sun through stained glass windows glistening jewel-wise,--a tremulous sound of voices floated aloft, singing, "kyrie eleison!--kyrie eleison!"--and the murmuring undertone of the organ shook the still air with deep vibrations of holy tune. everywhere peace,--everywhere purity! everywhere that spacious whiteness, flecked with side-gleams of royal purple, gold, and ardent crimson,--and in the midst of all,--o dearest tenderness!--o fairest glory!--a face, shining forth like a star in a cloud!--a face dazzlingly beautiful and sweet,--a golden head, above which the pale halo of a light ethereal hovered lovingly in a radiant ring!
-"edris!"--the chaste name breathed itself silently in alwyn's thoughts,--silently and yet with all the passion of a lover's prayer! how was it, he wondered dimly, that he saw her thus distinctly now,--now, when the violin-music wept its wildest tears--now when love, love, love, seemed to clamor in a tempestuous agony of appeal from the low, pulsating melody of the marvellous "zigeunerweisen," a melody which, despite its name, had revealed to one listener, at any rate, nothing concerning the wanderings of gypsies over forest and moorland,--but on the contrary had built up all these sublime cathedral arches, this lustrous light, this exquisite face, whose loveliness was his life! how had he found his way into such a dream sanctuary of frozen snow?--what was his mission there?--and why, when the picture slowly faded, did it still haunt his memory invitingly,--persuasively,--nay, almost commandingly?
-he could not tell,--but his mind was entirely ravished and possessed by an absorbing impression of white, sculptured calm,--and he was as startled as though he had been brusquely awakened from a deep sleep, when the loud plaudits of the people made him aware that sarasate had finished his programme, and was departing from the scene of his triumphs. the frenzied shouts and encores, however brought him once more before the excited public, to play a set of spanish dances, fanciful and delicate as the gamboling of a light breeze over rose-gardens and dashing fountains,--and when this wonder-music ceased, alwyn woke from tranced rapture into enthusiasm, and joined in the thunders of applause with fervent warmth and zeal. eight several times did the wearied, but ever affable, maestro ascend the platform to bow and smile his graceful acknowledgments, till the audience, satisfied with having thoroughly emphasized their hearty appreciation of his genius, permitted him to finally retire. then the people flocked out of the hall in crowds, talking, laughing, and delightedly commenting upon the afternoon's enjoyment, the brief remarks exchanged by two americans who were sauntering on immediately in front of heliobas and alwyn being perhaps the very pith and essence of the universal opinion concerning the great artist they had just heard.
-"i tell you what he is," said one, "he's a demi-god!"
-"oh, don't halve it!" rejoined the other wittily, "he's the whole thing anyway!"
-once outside the hall and in the busy street, now rendered doubly brilliant by the deep saffron light of a gloriously setting sun, heliobas prepared to take leave of his somewhat silent and preoccupied companion.
-"that is unfair," said alwyn quickly. "the expression of the people's appreciation should always be chronicled."
-"of course!--but it never is, unless it suits the immediate taste of the cliques. clique-art, clique-literature, clique-criticism, keep all three things on a low ground that slopes daily more and more toward decadence. and the pity of it is, that the english get judged abroad chiefly by what their own journalists say of them,--thus, if sarasate is coldly criticised, foreigners laugh at the 'unmusical english,' whereas, the fact is that the nation itself is not unmusical, but its musical critics mostly are. they are very often picked out of the rank and file of the dullest academy students and contrapuntists, who are incapable of understanding anything original, and therefore are the persons most unfitted to form a correct estimate of genius. however, it has always been so, and i suppose it always will be so,--don't you remember that when beethoven began his grand innovations, a certain critic-ass-ter wrote of him, 'the absurdity of his effort is only equalled by the hideousness of its result'."
-he laughed lightly, and once more shook hands, while alwyn, looking at him wistfully, said:
-"i wonder when we shall meet again?"
-"oh, very soon, i dare say," he rejoined. "the world is a wonderfully small place, after all, as men find when they jostle up against each other unexpectedly in the most unlikely corners of far countries. you may, if you choose, correspond with me, and that is a privilege i accord to few, i assure you!" he smiled, and then went on in a more serious tone, "you are, of course, welcome at our monastery whenever you wish to come, but, take my advice, do not wilfully step out of the sphere in which you are placed. live in society, it needs men of your stamp and intellectual calibre; show it a high and consistent example--let no eccentricity mar your daily actions--work at your destiny steadily, cheerfully, serenely, and leave the rest to god, and--the angels!"
-there was a slight, tender inflection in his voice as he spoke the last words,--and alwyn gave him a quick, searching glance. but his blue, penetrating eyes were calm and steadfast, full of their usual luminous softness and pathos, and there was nothing expressed in them but the gentlest friendliness.
-"well! i'm glad i may write to you, at any rate," said alwyn at last, reluctantly releasing his hand. "it is possible i may not remain long in london; i want to finish my poem, and it gets on too slowly in the tumult of daily life in town."
-"then will you go abroad again?" inquired heliobas.
-"perhaps. i may. bonn, where i was once a student for a time. it is a peaceful, sleepy little place,--i shall probably complete my work easily there. moreover, it will be like going back to a bit of my youth. i remember i first began to entertain all my dreams of poesy at bonn."
-"inspired by the seven mountains and the drachenfels!" laughed heliobas. "no wonder you recalled the lost 'sah-luma' period in the sight of the entrancing rhine! ah, sir poet, you have had your fill of fame! and i fear the plaudits of london will never be like those of al-kyris! no monarchs will honor you now, but rather despise! for the kings and queens of this age prefer financiers to laureates! now, wherever you wander, let me hear of your well-being and progress in contentment; when you write, address to our dariel retreat, for though on my return from mexico i shall probably visit lemnos, my letters will always be forwarded. adieu!"
-"adieu!" and their eyes met. a grave sweet smile brightened the chaldean's handsome features.
-"god remain with you, my friend!" he said, in a low, thrillingly earnest tone. "believe me, you are elected to a strangely happy fate!--far happier than you at present know!"
-with these words he turned and was gone,--lost to sight in the surging throng of passers-by. alwyn looked eagerly after him, but saw him no more. his tall figure had vanished as utterly as any of the phantom shapes in al-kyris, only that, far from being spectre-like, he had seemed more actually a living personality than any of the people in the streets who were hurrying to and fro on their various errands of business or pleasure.
-that same night when alwyn related his day's adventure to villiers, who heard it with the most absorbed interest, he was describing the effect of sarasate's violin-playing, when all at once he was seized by the same curious, overpowering impression of white, lofty arches, stained windows, and jewel-like glimmerings of color, and he suddenly stopped short in the midst of his narrative.
-"what's the matter?" asked villiers, astonished. "go on!--you were saying,--"
-"that sarasate is one of the divinest of god's wandering melodies," went on alwyn, slowly and with a faint smile. "and that though, as a rule, musicians are forgotten when their music ceases, this andalusian orpheus in thrace will be remembered long after his violin is laid aside, and he himself has journeyed to a sunnier land than spain! but i am not master of my thoughts to-night, villiers; my chaldean friend has perhaps mesmerized me--who knows! and i have an odd fancy upon me. i should like to spend an hour in some great and beautiful cathedral, and see the light of the rising sun flashing through the stained windows across the altar!"
-"poet and dreamer!" laughed villiers. "you can't gratify that whim in london; there's no 'great and beautiful' edifice of the kind here,--only the unfinished oratory, westminster abbey, broken up into ugly pews and vile monuments, and the repellently grimy st. paul's--so go to bed, old boy, and indulge yourself in some more 'visions,' for i assure you you'll never find any reality come up to your ideal of things in general."
-"no?" and alwyn smiled. "strange that i see it in quite the reverse way! it seems to me, no ideal will ever come up to the splendor of reality!"
-"but remember," said villiers quickly, "your reality is heaven,--a 'reality' that is every one else's myth!"
-"true! terribly true!".. and alwyn's eyes darkened sorrowfully. "yet the world's myth is the only eternal real, and for the shadows of this present seeming we barter our immortal substance!"
-by the rhine.
-in the two or three weeks that followed his meeting with heliobas, alwyn made up his mind to leave london for a while. he was tired and restless,--tired of the routine society more or less imposed upon him,--restless because he had come to a standstill in his work--an invisible barrier, over which his creative fancy was unable to take its usual sweeping flight. he had an idea of seeking some quiet spot among mountains, as far remote as possible from the travelling world of men,--a peaceful place, where, with the majestic silence of nature all about him, he might plead in lover-like retirement with his refractory muse, and strive to coax her into a sweeter and more indulgent humor. it was not that thoughts were lacking to him,--what he complained of was the monotony of language and the difficulty of finding new, true, and choice forms of expression. a great thought leaps into the brain like a lightning flash; there it is, an indescribable mystery, warming the soul and pervading the intellect, but the proper expression of that thought is a matter of the deepest anxiety to the true poet, who, if he be worthy of his vocation, is bound not only to proclaim it to the world clearly, but also clad in such a perfection of wording that it shall chime on men's ears with a musical sound as of purest golden bells. there are very few faultless examples of this felicitous utterance in english or in any literature, so few, indeed, that they could almost all be included in one newspaper column of ordinary print. keats's exquisite line:
-"aeea's isle was wondering at the moon"..
-in which the word "wondering" paints a whole landscape of dreamy enchantment, and the couplet in the "ode to a nightingale," that speaks with a delicious vagueness of
-"magic casements opening on the foam of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn,"--
-are absolutely unique and unrivalled, as is the exquisite alliteration taken from a poet of our own day:
-"the holy lark, with fire from heaven and sunlight on his wing, who wakes the world with witcheries of the dark, renewed in rapture in the reddening air!"
-again from the same:
-"the chords of the lute are entranced with the weight of the wonder of things";
-"his skyward notes have drenched the summer with the dews of song! ..."
-this last line being certainly one of the most suggestive and beautiful in all poetical literature. such expressions have the intrinsic quality of completeness,--once said, we feel that they can never be said again;--they belong to the centuries, rather than the seasons, and any imitation of them we immediately and instinctively resent as an outrage.
-and theos alwyn was essentially, and above all things, faithful to the lofty purpose of his calling,--he dealt with his art reverently, and not in rough haste and scrambling carelessness,--if he worked out any idea in rhyme, the idea was distinct and the rhyme was perfect,--he was not content, like browning, to jumble together such hideous and ludicrous combinations as "high;--humph!" and "triumph,"--moreover, he knew that what he had to tell his public must be told comprehensively, yet grandly, with all the authority and persuasiveness of incisive rhetoric, yet also with all the sweetness and fascination of a passioned love-song. occupied with such work as this, london, with its myriad mad noises and vulgar distractions, became impossible to him,--and villiers, his fidus achates, who had read portions of his great poem and was impatient to see it finished, knowing, as he did, what an enormous sensation it would create when published, warmly seconded his own desire to gain a couple of months complete seclusion and tranquillity.
-he left town, therefore, about the middle of may and started across the channel, resolving to make for switzerland by the leisurely and delightful way of the rhine, in order to visit bonn, the scene of his old student days. what days they had been!--days of dreaming, more than action, for he had always regarded learning as a pastime rather than a drudgery, and so had easily distanced his comrades in the race for knowledge. while they were flirting with the lischen or gretchen of the hour, he had willingly absorbed himself in study--thus he had attained the head of his classes with scarce an effort, and, in fact, had often found time hanging heavily on his hands for want of something more to do. he had astonished the university professors--but he had not astonished himself, inasmuch as no special branch of learning presented any difficulties to him, and the more he mastered the more dissatisfied he became. it had seemed such a little thing to win the honors of scholarship! for at that time his ambition was always climbing up the apparently inaccessible heights of fame,--fame, that he then imagined was the greatest glory any human being could aspire to. he smiled as he recollected this, and thought how changed he was since then! what a difference between the former discontented mutability of his nature, and the deep, unswerving calm of patience that characterized it now! learning and scholarship? these were the mere child's alphabet of things,--and fame was a passing breath that ruffled for one brief moment the on-rushing flood of time--a bubble blown in the air to break into nothingness. thus much wisdom he had acquired,--and what more? a great deal more! he had won the difficult comprehension of himself; he had grasped the priceless knowledge that man has no enemy save that which is within him, and that the pride of a rebellious will is the parent sin from which all others are generated. the old scriptural saying is true for all time, that through pride the angels fell; and it is only through humility that they will ever rise again. pride! the proud will that is left free by divine law, to work for itself and answer for itself, and wreak upon its own head the punishment of its own errors,--the will that once voluntarily crushed down, in the dust at the cross of christ, with these words truly drawn from the depths of penitence, "lord, not as i will, but as thou wilt!" is straightway lifted up from its humiliation, a supreme, stately force, resistless, miraculous, world-commanding;--smoothing the way for all greatness and all goodness, and guiding the happy soul from joy to joy, from glory to glory, till heaven itself is reached and the perfection of all love and life begins. for true humility is not slavish, as some people imagine, but rather royal, since, while acknowledging the supremacy of god, it claims close kindred with him, and is at once invested with all the diviner virtues. fame and wealth, the two perishable prizes for which men struggle with one another in ceaseless and cruel combat, bring no absolute satisfaction in the end--they are toys that please for a time and then grow wearisome. but the conquering of self is a battle in which each fresh victory bestows a deeper content, a larger happiness, a more perfect peace,--and neither poverty, sickness, nor misfortune can quench the courage, or abate the ardor, of the warrior who is absorbed in a crusade against his own worser passions. egotism is the vice of this age,--the maxim of modern society is "each man for himself, and no one for his neighbor"--and in such a state of things, when personal interest or advantage is the chief boon desired, we cannot look for honesty in either religion, politics, or commerce. nor can we expect any grand work to be done in art or literature. when pictures are painted and books are written for money only,--when laborers take no pleasure in labor save for the wage it brings,--when no real enthusiasm is shown in anything except the accumulation of wealth,--and when all the finer sentiments and nobler instincts of men are made subject to mammon worship, is any one so mad and blind as to think that good can come of it? nothing but evil upon evil can accrue from such a system,--and those who have prophetic eyes to see through the veil of events can perceive, even now, the not far distant end--namely, the ruin of the country that has permitted itself to degenerate into a mere nation of shopkeepers,--and something worse than ruin,--degradation!
-it was past eight in the evening when alwyn, after having spent a couple of days in bright little brussels, arrived at cologne. most travelers know to their cost how noisy, narrow, and unattractive are the streets of this ancient colonia agrippina of the romans,--how persistent and wearying is the rattle of the vehicles over the rough, cobbly stones--how irritating to the nerves is the incessant shrieking whistle and clank of the rhine steamboats as they glide in, or glide out, from the cheerless and dirty pier. but at night, when these unpleasant sounds have partially subsided, and the lights twinkle in the shop-windows, and the majestic mass of the cathedral casts its broad shadow on the moonlit dom-platz, and a few soldiers, with clanking swords and glittering spurs, come marching out from some dark stone archway, and the green gleam of the river sparkles along in luminous ripples,--then it is that a something weird and mystical creeps over the town, and the glamour of ancient historical memories begins to cling about its irregular buildings,--one thinks of the legendary three kings, and believes in them, too,--of st. ursula and her company of virgins; of marie de medicis dying alone in that tumbled-down house in the stern-gasse,--of rubens, who, it is said, here first saw the light of this world,--of an angry satan flinging his teufelstein from the seven mountains in an impotent attempt to destroy the dom; and gradually, the indestructible romantic spell of the rhine steals into the spirit of common things that were unlovely by day, and makes the old city beautiful under the sacred glory of the stars.
-alwyn dined at his hotel, and then, finding it still too early to retire to rest, strolled slowly across the platz, looking up at the sublime god's temple above him, the stately cathedral, with its wondrously delicate carvings and flying buttresses, on which the moonlight glittered like little points of pale flame. he knew it of old; many and many a time had he taken train from bonn, for the sole pleasure of spending an hour in gazing on that splendid "sermon in stone,"--one of the grandest testimonies in the world of man's instinctive desire to acknowledge and honor, by his noblest design and work, the unseen but felt majesty of the creator. he had a great longing to enter it now, and ascended the steps with that intention; but, much to his vexation, the doors were shut. he walked from the side to the principal entrance; that superb western frontage which is so cruelly blocked in by a dwarfish street of the commonest shops and meanest houses,--and found that also closed against him. disappointed and sorry, he went back again to the side of the colossal structure, and stood on the top of the steps, close to the central barred doors, studying the sculptured saints in the niches, and feeling a sudden, singular impression of extreme loneliness,--a sense of being shut out, as it were, from some high festival in which he would gladly have taken part.
-not a cloud was in the sky, ... the evening was one of the most absolute calm, and a delicious warmth pervaded the air,--the warmth of a fully declared and balmy spring. the platz was almost deserted,--only a few persons crossed it now and then, like flitting shadows,--and somewhere down in one of the opposite streets a long way off, there was a sound of men's voices singing a part-song. presently, however, this distant music ceased, and a deep silence followed. alwyn still remained in the sombre shade of the cathedral archway, arguing with himself against the foolish and unaccountable depression that had seized him, and watching the brilliant may moon soar up higher and higher in the heavens; when,--all at once, the throbbing murmur of the great organ inside the dom startled him from pensive dreaminess into swift attention. he listened,--the rich, round notes thundered through the stillness with forceful and majestic harmony; anon, wierd tones, like the passionate lament of sarasate's "zigeunerweisen" floated around and above him: then, a silvery chorus of young voices broke forth in solemn unison:
-"kyrie eleison! christe eleison! kyrie eleison!"
-a faint cold tremor crept through his veins,--his heart beat violently,--again he vainly strove to open the great door. was there a choir practising inside at this hour of the night? surely not! then,--from whence had this music its origin? stooping, he bent his ear to the crevice of the closed portal,--but, as suddenly as they had begun, the harmonies ceased; and all was once more profoundly still.
-drawing a long, deep breath, he stood for a moment amazed and lost in thought--these sounds, he felt sure, were not of earth but of heaven! they had the same ringing sweetness as those he had heard on the field of ardath! what might they mean to him, here and now? quick as a flash the answer came--death! god had taken pity upon his solitary earth wanderings,--and the prayers of edris had shortened his world-exile and probation! he was to die! and that solemn singing was the warning,--or the promise,--of his approaching end!
-yes! it must be so, he decided, as, with a strange, half-sad peace at his heart, he quietly descended the steps of the dom,-he would perhaps be permitted to finish the work he was at present doing,--and then,--then, the poet-pen would be laid aside forever, chains would be undone, and he would be set at liberty! such was his fixed idea. was he glad of the prospect, he asked himself? yes, and no! for himself he was glad; but in these latter days he had come to understand the thousand wordless wants and aspirations of mankind,--wants and aspirations to which only the poet can give fitting speech; he had begun to see how much can be done to cheer and raise and ennoble the world by even one true, brave, earnest, and unselfish worker,--and he had attained to such a height in sympathetic comprehension of the difficulties and drawbacks of others, that he had ceased to consider himself at all in the question, either with regard to the present or the immortal future,--he was, without knowing it, in the simple, unconsciously perfect attitude of a soul that is absolutely at one with god, and that thus, in involuntary god-likeness, is only happy in the engendering of happiness. he believed that, with the divine help, he could do a lasting good for his fellow-men,--and to this cause he was willing to sacrifice everything that pertained to his own mere personal advantage. but now,--now,--or so he imagined,--he was not to be allowed to pursue his labors of love,--his trial was to end suddenly,--and he, so long banished from his higher heritage, was to be restored to it without delay,--restored and drawn back to the land of perfect loveliness where edris, his angel, waited for him, his saint, his queen, his bride!
-a thrill of ecstatic joy rushed through him,--joy intermingled with an almost supernal pain. for he had not as yet said enough to the world,--the world of many afflictions,--the little sorrowful star covered with toiling, anxious, deluded god-forgetting millions, in every unit of which was a spark of heavenly flame, a germ of the spiritual essence that makes the angel, if only fostered aright.
-lost in a deep reverie, his footsteps had led him unconsciously to the rhine bridge,--paying the customary fee, he walked about half-way across it, and stood for a while listening to the incessant swift rush of the river beneath him. lights twinkled from the boats moored on either side,--the moon poured down a wide shower of white beams on the rapid flood,--the city, dusky and dream-like, crowned with the majestic towers of the dom, looked picturesquely calm and grand--it was a night of perfect beauty and wondrous peace. and he was to die!--to die and leave all this, the present fairness of the world,--he was to depart, with, as he felt, his message half unspoken,--he was to be made eternally happy, while many of the thousands he left behind were, through ignorance, wilfully electing to be eternally miserable! a great, almost divine longing to save one,--only one downward drifting soul, possessed him,--and the comprehension of christ's sacrifice was no longer a mystery! yet he was so certain that death, sudden and speedy closely, awaited him that he seemed to feel it in the very air,--not like a coming chill of dread, but like the soft approach of some holy seraph bringing benediction. it mattered little to him that he was actually in the very plenitude of health and strength,--that perhaps in all his life he had never felt such a keen delight in the physical perfection of his manhood as now,--death, without warning and at a touch, could smite down the most vigorous, and to be so smitten, he believed, was his imminent destiny. and while he lingered on the bridge, fancy-perplexed between grief and joy, a small window opened in a quaint house that bent its bulging gables crookedly over the gleaming water, and a girl, holding a small lamp, looked out for a moment. her face, fresh and smiling, was fair to see against the background of dense shadow,--the light she carried flashed like a star,--and leaning down from the lattice she sang half-timidly, half mischievously, the first two or three bars of the old song.. "du, du, liegst in mein herzen ... !" "ah! gute nacht, liebchen!" said a man's voice below.
-"gute nacht! schlafen sie wohl!"
-a light laugh, and the window closed, "good-night! sleep well!" love's best wish!--and for some sad souls life's last hope,--a "good-night and sleep well!" poor tired world, for whose weary inhabitants oftentimes the greatest blessing is sleep! good-night! sleep well! but the sleep implies waking.--waking to a morning of pleasure or sorrow,--or labor that is only lightened by,--love! love!--love divine,--love human,--and, sweetest love of all for us, as christ has taught when both divine and human are mingled in one!
-alwyn, glancing up at the clustering stars, hanging like pendent fire-jewels above him, thought of this marvel-glory of love,--this celestial visitant who, on noiseless pinions, comes flying divinely into the poorest homes, transfiguring common life with ethereal radiance, making toil easy, giving beauty to the plainest faces and poetry to the dullest brains. love! its tremulous hand-clasp,--its rapturous kiss,--the speechless eloquence it gives to gentle eyes!--the grace it bestows on even the smallest gift from lover to beloved, were such gift but a handful of meadow blossoms tied with some silken threads of hair!
-not for the poet creator of "nourhulma" such love any more,--had he not drained the cup of passion to the dregs in the far past, and tasted its mixed sweetness and bitterness to no purpose save self-indulgence? all that was over;--and yet, as he walked away from the bridge, back to his hotel in the quiet moonlight, he thought what a transcendent thing love might be, even on earth, between two whose spirits were spiritually akin,--whose lives were like two notes played in tuneful concord,--whose hearts beat echoing faith and tenderness to one another,--and who held their love as a sacred bond of union--a gift from god, not to be despoiled by that rough familiarity which surely brings contempt. and then before his fancy appeared to float the radiant visage of edris, half-child, half-angel,--he seemed to see her beautiful eyes, so pure, so clear, so unshadowed by any knowledge of sin,--and the exquisite lines of a poet-contemporary, whose work he specially admired, occurred to him with singular suggestiveness:
-"oh, thou'lt confess that love from man to maid is more than kingdoms,--more than light and shade in sky-built gardens where the minstrels dwell, and more than ransom from the bonds of hell. thou wilt, i say, admit the truth of this, and half relent that, shrinking from a kiss, thou didst consign me to mine own disdain, athwart the raptures of a vision'd bliss.
-"i'll seek no joy that is not linked with thine, no touch of hope, no taste of holy wine, and after death, no home in any star, that is not shared by thee, supreme, afar
-as here thou'rt first and foremost of all things! glory is thine, and gladness, and the wings that wait on thought, when, in thy spirit-sway, thou dost invest a realm unknown to kings!"
-had not she, edris, consigned him to his "own disdain, athwart the raptures of a visioned bliss?" ay! truly and deservedly!--and this disdain of himself had now reached its culminating point,--namely, that he did not consider himself worthy of her love,--or worthy to do aught than sink again into far spaces of darkness and perpetually retrospective memory, there to explore the uttermost depths of anguish, and count up his errors one by one from the very beginning of life, in every separate phase he had passed through, till he had penitently striven his best to atone for them all! christ had atoned! yes,--but was it not almost base on his part to shield himself with that divine light and do nothing further? he could not yet thoroughly grasp the amazing truth that one absolutely pure act of faith in christ, blots out past sin forever,--it seemed too marvellous and great a boon!
-when he retired to rest that night he was fully and firmly prepared to die. with this expectation upon him he was nevertheless happy and tranquil. the line--"glory is thine, and gladness, and the wings" haunted him, and he repeated it over and over again without knowing why. wings! the brilliant shafts of radiance that part angels from mortals,--wings, that, after all, are not really wings, but lambent rays of living lightning, of which neither painter nor poet has any true conception, . . long, dazzling rays such as encircled god's maiden, edris, with an arch of roseate effulgence, so that the very air was sunset-colored in the splendor of her presence! how if she were a wingless angel,--made woman?
-"glory is thine, and gladness, and the wings!" and with the name of his angel-love upon his lips he closed his eyes and sank into a deep and dreamless slumber.
-in the cathedral.
-a booming, thunderous, yet mellow sound! a grand, solemn, sonorous swing of full and weighty rhythm, striking the air with deep, slowly measured resonance like the rolling of close cannon! awake, all ye people!--awake to prayer and praise! for the night is past and sweet morning reddens in the east, ... another day is born,--a day in which to win god's grace and pardon,--another wonder of light, movement, creation, beauty, love! awake, awake! be glad and grateful for the present joy of life,--this life, dear harbinger of life to come! open your eyes, ye drowsy mortals, to the divine blue of the beneficent sky, the golden beams of the sun, the color of flowers, the foliage of trees, the flash of sparkling waters!--open your ears to the singing of birds, the whispering of winds, the gay ripple of children's laughter, the soft murmurs of home affection,--for all these things are freely bestowed upon you with each breaking dawn, and will you offer unto god no thanksgiving?--awake! awake! the voice you have yourselves set in your high cathedral towers reproaches your lack of love with its iron tongue, and summons you all to worship him the ever-glorious, through whose mercy alone you live!
-to and fro,--to and fro,--gravely persistent, sublimely eloquent, the huge, sustained, and heavy monotone went thudding through the stillness,--till, startled from his profound sleep by such loud, lofty, and incessant clangor, alwyn turned on his pillow and listened, half-aroused, half-bewildered,--then, remembering where he was, he understood; it was the great bell of the dom pealing forth its first summons to the earliest mass. he lay quiet for a little while, dreamily counting the number of reverberations each separate stroke sent quivering on the air,--but presently, finding it impossible to sleep again, he got up, and drawing aside the curtain looked out of the window of his room, which fronted on the platz. though it was not yet six o'clock, the city was all astir,--the rhinelanders are an early working people, and to see the sun rise is not with them a mere fiction of poesy, but a daily fact. it was one of the loveliest of lovely spring mornings--the sky was clear as a pale, polished sapphire, and every little bib of delicate carving and sculpture on the dom stood out from its groundwork with microscopically beautiful distinctness. and as his gaze rested on the perfect fairness of the day, a strange and sudden sense of rapturous anticipation possessed his mind,--he felt as one prepared for some high and exquisite happiness,--some great and wondrous celebration or feast of joy! the thoughts of death, on which he had brooded so persistently during the past yester-eve, had fled, leaving no trace behind,--only a keen and vigorous delight in life absorbed him now. it was good to be alive, even on this present earth! it was good to see, to feel, to know! and there was much to be thankful for in the mere capability of easy and healthful breathing!
-full of a singular light-heartedness, he hummed a soft tune to himself as he moved about his room,--his desire to view the interior of the cathedral had not abated with sleep, but had rather augmented,--and he resolved to visit it now, while he had the chance of beholding it in all the impressive splendor of uncrowded tranquillity. for he knew that by the time he was dressed, the first mass would be over,--the priests and people would be gone,--and he would be alone to enjoy the magnificence of the place in full poet-luxury,--the luxury of silence and solitude. he attired himself quickly, and with a vaguely nervous eagerness,--he was in almost as great a hurry to enter the dom as he had been to arrive at the field of ardath! the same feverish impatience was upon him--impatience that he was conscious of, yet could not account for,--his fancy busied itself with a whole host of memories, and fragments of half-forgotten love-songs he had written in his youth, came back to him without his wish or will,--songs that he instinctively felt belonged to his past, when as "sah-luma" he had won golden opinions in al-kyris. and though they were but echoes, they seemed this morning to touch him with half-pleasing, half-tender suggestiveness,--two lines especially from the idyl of roses he had penned so long,--ah! so very long ago,--came floating through his brain like a message sent from some other world,--
-"by the pureness of love shall our glory in loving increase, and the roses of passion for us are the lilies of peace."
-the "lilies of peace" and the flowers of ardath,--the "roses of passion" and the love of edris, these were all mingled almost unconsciously in his thoughts, as with an inexplicable, happy sense of tremulous expectation,--expectation of he knew not what-he went, walking as one in haste, across the broad platz and ascended the steps of the cathedral. but the side-entrance was fast shut, as on the previous night,--he therefore made his rapid way round to the great western door. that stood open,--the bell had long ago ceased,--mass was over,--and all was profoundly still.
-out of the warm sunlit air he stepped into the vast, cool, clear-obscure, white glory of the stately shrine,--with bared head and noiseless, reverent feet, he advanced a little way up the nave, and then stood motionless, every artistic perception in him satisfied, soothed, and entranced anew, as in his student-days, by the tranquil grandeur of the scene. what majestic silence! what hallowed peace! how jewel-like the radiance of the sun pouring through the rich stained glass on those superb carved pillars, that, like petrified stems of forest-trees, bear lightly up the lofty, vaulted roof to that vast height suggestive of a white sky rather than stone!
-moving on slowly further toward the altar, he was suddenly seized by an overpowering impression,--a memory that rushed upon him with a sort of shock, albeit it was only the memory of a tune!--a wild melody, haunting and passionate, rang in his eras,--the melody that sarasate, the orpheus of spain, had evoked from the heart of his speaking violin,--the sobbing love-lament of the "zigeunerweisen"--the weird minor-music that had so forcibly suggested--what? this very place!--these snowy columns,--this sculptured sanctity--this flashing light of rose and blue and amber,--this wondrous hush of consecrated calm! what next? dear god! sweet christ! what next? the face of edris?--would that heavenly countenance shine suddenly though those rainbow-colored beams that struck slantwise down toward him?--and should he presently hear her dulcet voice charming the silence into deeper ecstasy?
-overcome by a sensation that was something like fear, he stopped abruptly, and leaning against one of the quaint old oaken benches, strove to control the quick, excited throbbing of his heart,--then gradually, very gradually he become conscious that he was not alone,--another besides himself was in the church,--another, whom it was necessary for him to see!
-he could not tell how he first grew to be certain of this,--but he was soon so completely possessed by the idea, that for a moment he dared not raise his eyes, or move! some invincible force held him there spell-bound, yet trembling in every limb,--and while he thus waited hesitatingly, the great organ woke up in a glory of tuneful utterance,--wave after wave of richest harmony rolled through the stately aisles and ... "kyrie eleison! kyrie eleison!" rang forth in loud, full, and golden-toned chorus!
-lifting his head, he stared wonderingly around him; not a living creature was visible in all the spacious width and length of the cathedral! his lips parted,--he felt as though he could scarcely breathe,--strong shudders ran through him, and he was penetrated by a pleasing terror that was almost a physical pang,--an agonized entrancement, like death or the desire of love! presently, mastering himself by a determined effort, he advanced steadily with the absorbed air of one who is drawn along by magnetic power ... steadily and slowly up the nave, ... and as he went, the music surged more tumultuously among the vaulted arches,--there was a faint echo afar off, as of tinkling crystal bells; and at each onward step he gained a new access of courage, strength, firmness, and untrammelled ease, till every timorous doubt and fear had fled away, and he stood directly in front of the altar railing, gazing at the enshrined cross, and seeing for the moment nothing save that divine symbol alone. and still the organ played, and still the voices sang,--he knew these sounds were not of earth, and he also knew that they were intended to convey a meaning to him,--but what meaning?
-all at once, moved by a sudden impulse, he turned toward the right hand side of the altar, where the great statue of st. christopher stands, and where one of the loveliest windows in the world gleams like a great carven gem aloft, filtering the light through a myriad marvellous shades of color, and there he beheld, kneeling on the stone pavement, one solitary worshipper,--a girl. her hands were clasped, and her face was bent upon them so that her features were not visible,--but the radiance from the window fell on her uncovered golden hair, encircling it with the glistening splendor of a heavenly nimbus,--and round her slight, devotional figure, rays of azure and rose jasper and emerald, flickered in wide and lustrous patterns, like the glow of the setting sun on a translucent sea. how very still she was! ... how fervently absorbed in prayer!
-vaguely startled, and thrilled by an electric, indefinable instinct, alwyn went toward her with hushed and reverential tread, his eyes dwelling upon the drooping, delicate outline of her form with fascinated and eager attention. she was clad in gray,--a soft, silken, dove-like gray, that clung about her in picturesque, daintily draped folds,--he approached her still more nearly, and then could scarcely refrain from a loud cry of amazement! what flowers were those she wore at her breast!--so white, so star-like, so suggestive of paradise lilies new-gathered? were they not the flowers of ardath? dizzy with the sudden tumult of his own emotions, he dropped on his knees beside her,--she did not stir! was she real?--or a phantom? trembling violently, he touched her garment--it was of tangible, smooth texture, actual enough, if the sense of touch could be relied upon. in an agony of excitement and suspense he lost all remembrance of time, place, or custom,--her bewildering presence must be explained,--he must know who she was,--he must speak to her,--speak, if he died for it!
-"pardon me!" he whispered faintly, scarcely conscious of his own words; "i fancy,--i think,--we have met,--before! may i, . . dare i, . . ask your name?"
-slowly she unclasped her gently folded hands; slowly, very slowly, she lifted her bent head, and smiled at him! oh, the lovely light upon her face! oh, the angel glory of those strange, sweet eyes!
-"my name is edris!"--she said, and as the pure bell-like tone of her voice smote the air with its silvery sound, the mysterious music of the organ and the invisible singers throbbed away,--away,--away,--into softer and softer echoes, that died at last tremulously and with a sigh, as of farewell, into the deepest silence.
-"edris!"--in a trance of passionate awe and rapture he caught her hand,--the warm, delicate hand that yielded to his strong clasp in submissive tenderness,--pulsations of terror, pain, and wild joy, all commingled, rushed through him,--with adoring, wistful gaze he scanned every feature of that love-smiling countenance,--a countenance no longer lustrous with heaven's blinding glory, but only most maiden-like and innocently fair,--dazzled, perplexed, and half afraid, he could not at once grasp the true comprehension of his ineffable delight! he had no doubt of her identity--he knew her well! she was his own heartworshipped angel,--but on what errand had she wandered out of paradise? had she come once more, as on the field of ardath, to comfort him for a brief space with the beauty of her visible existence, or did she bring from heaven the warrant for his death?
-"edris!" he said, as softly as one may murmur a prayer, "edris, my life, my love! speak to me again! make me sure that i am not dreaming! tell me where i have failed in my sworn faith since we parted; teach me how i must still further atone! is this the hour appointed for my spirit's ransom?--has this dear and sacred hand i hold, brought me my quittance of earth?--and have i so soon won the privilege to die?"
-as he spoke, she rose and stood erect, with all the glistening light of the stained window falling royally about her,--and he obeying her mute gesture, rose also and faced her in wondering ecstasy, half expecting to see her vanish suddenly in the sun-rays that poured through the cathedral, even as she had vanished before like a white cloud absorbed in clear space. but no! she remained quiet as a tame bird,--her eyes met his with beautiful trust and tenderness,--and when she answered him, her low, sweet accents thrilled to his heart with a pathetic note of human affection, as well as of angelic sympathy!
-"theos, my beloved, i am all thine!" she said, a holy rapture vibrating through her exquisite voice.--"thine now, in mortal life as in immortal!--one with thee in nature and condition,--pent up in perishable clay, even as thou art,--subject to sorrow, and pain, and weariness,--willing to share with thee thine earthly lot,--ready to take my part in thy grief or joy! by mine own choice have i come hither,--sinless, yet not exempt from sin, but safe in christ! every time thou hast renounced the desire of thine own happiness, so much the nearer hast thou drawn me to thee; every time thou hast prayed god for my peace, rather than thine own, so much the closer has my existence been linked with thine! and now, o my poet, my lord, my king!--we are together forever more,--together in the brief present, as in the eternal future!--the solitary heaven-days of edris are past, and her mission is not death, but love!"
-oh, the transcendent beauty of that warm flush upon her face!--the splendid hope, faith, and triumph of her attitude! what strange miracle was here accomplished!--an angel had become human for the sake of love, even as light substantiates itself in the colors of flowers!--the eden lily had consented to be gathered,--the paradise dove had fluttered down to earth! breathless, bewildered, lifted to a height of transport beyond all words, alwyn gazed upon her in entranced, devout silence,--the vast cathedral seemed to swing round and round in great glittering circles, and nothing was real, nothing steadfast, but that slight, sweet maiden in her soft gray robes, with the ardath-blossoms gleaming white against her breast! angel she was,--angel she ever would be,--and yet--what did she seem? naught but:
-"a child-like woman, wise and very fair, crowned with the garland of her golden hair!"
-this, and no more,--and yet in this was all earth and all heaven comprised!--he gazed and gazed, overwhelmed by the amazement of his own bliss,--he could have gazed upon her so in speechless ravishment for hours, when, with a gesture of infinite grace and appeal, she stretched out her hands toward him:
-"speak to me, dearest one!" she murmured wistfully--"tell me,--am i welcome?"
-"o exquisite humility!--o beautiful maiden-timid hesitation! was she,--even she, god's angel, so far removed from pride, as to be uncertain of her lover's reception of such a gift of love? roused from his half-swooning sense of wonder, he caught those gentle hands, and laid them tenderly against his breast,--tremblingly, and all devoutly, he drew the lovely, yielding form into his arms, close to his heart,--with dazzled sight he gazed down into that pure, perfect face, those clear and holy eyes shining like new-created stars beneath the soft cloud of clustering fair hair!
-"welcome!" he echoed, in a tone that thrilled with passionate awe and ecstasy;--"my edris! my saint! my queen! welcome, more welcome than the first flowers seen after winter snows!--welcome, more welcome than swift rescue to one in dire peril!--welcome, my angel, into the darkness of mortal things, which haply so sweet a presence shall make bright! o sacred innocence that i am not worthy to shield! ... o sinless beauty that i am all unfitted to claim or possess! welcome to my life, my heart, my soul! welcome, sweet trust, sweet hope, sweet love, that as christ lives, i will never wrong, betray, or resign again through all the glory spaces of far eternity!"
-as he spoke, his arms closed more surely about her,--his lips met hers,--and in the mingled human and divine rapture of that moment, there came a rushing noise, as of thousands of wings beating the air, followed by a mighty wave of music that rolled approachingly and then departingly through and through the cathedral arches--and a voice, clear and resonant as a silver clarion, proclaimed aloud:
-"those whom god hath joined together, let no man put asunder!"
-then, with a surging, jubilant sound, like the sea in a storm, the music seemed to tread past in a measured march of stately harmony,--and presently there was silence once more,--the silence and sunshine of the morning pouring through the rose windows of the church and sparkling on the cross above the altar,--the silence of a love made perfect,--of twin souls made one!
-and then edris drew herself gently from her lover's embrace and raised her head,--putting her hand confidingly in his, a lovely smile played on her sweetly parted lips:
-"take me, theos," she said softly, "lead me,--into the world!"
-slowly the great side-doors of the cathedral swung back on their hinges,--and out on the steps in a glorious blaze of sunlight came poet and angel together. the one, a man in the full prime of splendid and vigorous manhood,--the other, a maiden, timid and sweet, robed in gray attire with a posy of white flowers at her throat. a simple girl, and most distinctly human,--the fresh, pure color reddened in her cheeks,--the soft springtide wind fanned her gold hair, and the sunbeams seemed to dance about her in a bright revel of amaze and curiosity. her lustrous eyes dwelt on the busy platz below with a vaguely compassionate wonder--a look that suggested some far foreknowledge of things, that at the same time were strangely unfamiliar. hand in hand with her companion she stood,--while he, holding her fast, drunk in the pureness of her beauty, the love-light of her glance, the holy radiance of her smile, till every sense in him was spiritualized anew by the passionate faith and reverence in his heart, the marvellous glory that had fallen upon his life, the nameless rapture that possessed his soul!--to have knelt at her feet, and bowed his head before her in worshipping silence, would have been to follow the strongest impulse in him,--but she had given him a higher duty than this. he was to "lead her,"--lead her "into the world!"--the dreary, dark world, so unfitted to receive such brightness,--she had come to him clad in all the sacred weakness of womanhood; and it was his proud privilege to guard and shelter her from evil,--from the evil in others, but chiefly from the evil in himself. no taint must touch that spotless life with which god had entrusted him!--sorrow might come--nay, must come, since, so long as humanity errs, so long must angels grieve,--sorrow, but not sin! a grand, awed sense of responsibility filled him,--a responsibility that he accepted with passionate gratitude and joy ... he had attained a vaster dignity than any king on any throne, ... and all the visible universe was transfigured into a golden pageant of loveliness and light, fairer than the fabled valley of avilion!
-yet still he kept her close beside him on the steps of the mighty dom, half-longing, half-hesitating to take her further, and ever and anon assailed by a dreamy doubt as to whether she might not even now pass away from him suddenly and swiftly, as a mist fading into heaven,--when all at once the sound of beating drums and martial trumpets struck loudly on the quiet morning air. a brilliant regiment of mounted uhlans emerged from an opposite street, and cantered sharply across the platz and over the rhine-bridge, with streaming pennons, burnished helmets and accoutrements glistening in a long compact line of silvery white, that vanished as speedily as it had appeared, like a winding flash of meteor flame. alwyn drew a deep, quick breath; the sight of those armed soldiers roused him to the fact that he was actually in the turmoil of present daily events,--that his supernal happiness was no vision, but reality,--that edris, his spirit-love, was with him in tangible human guise of flesh and blood,--though how such a mysterious marvel had been accomplished, he knew no more than scientists know how the lovely life of green leaf and perfect flower can still be existent in seeds that have lain dormant and dry in old tombs for thousands of years! and as he looked at her proudly,--adoringly,--she raised her beautiful, innocent, questioning eyes to his.
-"this is a city?" she asked--"a city of men who labor for good, and serve each other?"
-"alas, not so, my sweet!" he answered, his voice trembling with its own infinite tenderness; "there is no city on the sad earth where men do not labor for mere vanity's sake, and oppose each other!"
-her inquiring gaze softened into a celestial compassion.
-"come,--let us go!" she said gently. "we twain, made one in love and faith, must hasten to begin our work!--darkness gathers and deepens over the sorrowful star,--but we, perchance, with christ's most holy blessing, may help to lift the shadows into light!"
-away in a sheltered mountainous retreat, apart from the louder clamor of the world, the poet and his heavenly companion dwell in peace together. their love, their wondrous happiness, no mortal language can define,--for spiritual love perfected as far exceeds material passion as the steadfast glory of the sun outshines the nickering of an earthly taper. few, very few, there are who recognize, or who attain, such joy,--for men chiefly occupy themselves with the semblances of things, and therefore fail to grasp all high realities. perishable beauty,--perishable fame,--these are mere appearances; imperishable worth is the only positive and lasting good, and in the search for imperishable worth alone, the seeker must needs encounter angels unawares!
-but for those whose pleasure it is to doubt and deny all spiritual life and being, the history of theos alwyn can be disposed of with much languid ease and cold logic, as a foolish chimera scarce worth narrating. practically viewed, there is nothing wonderful in it, since it can all be traced to a powerful exertion of magnetic skill. tranced into a dream bewilderment by the arts of the mystic chaldean, heliobas,--tricked into visiting the field of ardath, what more likely than that a real earth-born maiden, trained to her part, should have met the dreamer there, and, with the secret aid of the hermit elezar, continued his strange delusion? what more fitting as a sequel to the whole, than that the same maiden should have been sent to him again in the great rhine cathedral, to complete the deception and satisfy his imagination by linking her life finally with his?--it is a perfectly simple explanation of what some credulous souls might be inclined to consider a mystery,--and let the dear, wise, oracular people who cannot admit any mystery in anything, and who love to trace all seeming miracles to clever imposture, accept this elucidation by all means,--they will be able to fit every incident of the story into such an hypothesis, with most admirable and consecutive neatness! al-kyris was truly a vision,--the rest was,--what? merely the working of a poetic imagination under mesmeric influence!
-so be it! the poet knows the truth,--but what are poets? only the prophets and seers! only the eyes of time, which clearly behold heaven's fact beyond this world's fable. let them sing if they choose, and we will hear them in our idle hours,--we will give them a little of our gold,--a little of our grudging praise, together with much of our private practical contempt and misprisal! so say the unthinking and foolish--so will they ever say,--and hence it is, that though the fame of theos alwyn widens year by year, and his sweet clarion harp of song rings loud warning, promise, hope, and consolation above the noisy tumult of the whirling age, people listen to him merely in vague wonderment and awe, doubting his prophet utterance, and loth to put away their sin. but he, never weary in well-doing, works on, ... ever regardless of self, caring nothing for fame, but giving all the riches of his thought for love. clear, grand, pure, and musical, his writings fill the time with hope and passionate faith and courage,--his inspiration fails not, and can never fail, since edris is his fount of ecstasy,--his name, made glorious by god's blessing, shall never, as in his perished past, be again forgotten!
-and what of edris? what of the "flower-crowned wonder" of the field of ardath, strayed for a while out of her native heaven? does the world know her marvellous origin? perhaps the mystic heliobas knows,--perhaps even good frank villiers has hazarded a reverent guess at his friend's great secret--but to the uninstructed, what does she seem?
-nothing but a woman, most pure womanly; a woman whose influence on all is strangely sweet and lasting,--whose spirit overflows with tenderest sympathy for the many wants and sorrows of mankind,--whose voice charms away care,--whose smile engenders peace,--whose eyes, lustrous and thoughtful, are unclouded by any shadow of sin,--and on whose serene beauty the passing of years leaves no visible trace. that she is fair and wise, joyous, radiant, and holy is apparent to all,--but only the poet, her lover and lord, her subject and servant, can tell how truly his edris is not so much sweet woman as most perfect angel! a dream of heaven made human! ... let some of us hesitate ere we doubt the miracle; for we are sleepers and dreamers all,--and the hour is close at hand when--we shall wake.
-venus is a man's world
-by william tenn
-illustrated by gene fawcette
-actually, there wouldn't be too much difference if women took over the earth altogether. but not for some men and most boys!
-i've always said that even if sis is seven years older than me--and a girl besides--she don't always know what's best. put me on a spaceship jam-packed with three hundred females just aching to get themselves husbands in the one place they're still to be had--the planet venus--and you know i'll be in trouble.
-bad trouble. with the law, which is the worst a boy can get into.
-twenty minutes after we lifted from the sahara spaceport, i wriggled out of my acceleration hammock and started for the door of our cabin.
-"now you be careful, ferdinand," sis called after me as she opened a book called family problems of the frontier woman. "remember you're a nice boy. don't make me ashamed of you."
-i tore down the corridor. most of the cabins had purple lights on in front of the doors, showing that the girls were still inside their hammocks. that meant only the ship's crew was up and about. ship's crews are men; women are too busy with important things like government to run ships. i felt free all over--and happy. now was my chance to really see the eleanor roosevelt!
-it was hard to believe i was traveling in space at last. ahead and behind me, all the way up to where the companionway curved in out of sight, there was nothing but smooth black wall and smooth white doors--on and on and on. gee, i thought excitedly, this is one big ship!
-of course, every once in a while i would run across a big scene of stars in the void set in the wall; but they were only pictures. nothing that gave the feel of great empty space like i'd read about in the boy rocketeers, no portholes, no visiplates, nothing.
-so when i came to the crossway, i stopped for a second, then turned left. to the right, see, there was deck four, then deck three, leading inward past the engine fo'c'sle to the main jets and the grav helix going purr-purr-purrty-purr in the comforting way big machinery has when it's happy and oiled. but to the left, the crossway led all the way to the outside level which ran just under the hull. there were portholes on the hull.
-i'd studied all that out in our cabin, long before we'd lifted, on the transparent model of the ship hanging like a big cigar from the ceiling. sis had studied it too, but she was looking for places like the dining salon and the library and lifeboat 68 where we should go in case of emergency. i looked for the important things.
-as i trotted along the crossway, i sort of wished that sis hadn't decided to go after a husband on a luxury liner. on a cargo ship, now, i'd be climbing from deck to deck on a ladder instead of having gravity underfoot all the time just like i was home on the bottom of the gulf of mexico. but women always know what's right, and a boy can only make faces and do what they say, same as the men have to do.
-"in the event of disaster affecting the oxygen content of companionway," they had the words etched into the glass, "break glass with hammer upon wall, remove spacesuit and proceed to don it in the following fashion."
-i read the "following fashion" until i knew it by heart. boy, i said to myself, i hope we have that kind of disaster. i'd sure like to get into one of those! bet it would be more fun than those diving suits back in undersea!
-and all the time i was alone. that was the best part.
-then i passed deck twelve and there was a big sign. "notice! passengers not permitted past this point!" a big sign in red.
-i peeked around the corner. i knew it--the next deck was the hull. i could see the portholes. every twelve feet, they were, filled with the velvet of space and the dancing of more stars than i'd ever dreamed existed in the universe.
-there wasn't anyone on the deck, as far as i could see. and this distance from the grav helix, the ship seemed mighty quiet and lonely. if i just took one quick look....
-but i thought of what sis would say and i turned around obediently. then i saw the big red sign again. "passengers not permitted--"
-well! didn't i know from my civics class that only women could be earth citizens these days? sure, ever since the male desuffrage act. and didn't i know that you had to be a citizen of a planet in order to get an interplanetary passport? sis had explained it all to me in the careful, patient way she always talks politics and things like that to men.
-"technically, ferdinand, i'm the only passenger in our family. you can't be one, because, not being a citizen, you can't acquire an earth passport. however, you'll be going to venus on the strength of this clause--'miss evelyn sparling and all dependent male members of family, this number not to exceed the registered quota of sub-regulations pertaining'--and so on. i want you to understand these matters, so that you will grow into a man who takes an active interest in world affairs. no matter what you hear, women really like and appreciate such men."
-of course, i never pay much attention to sis when she says such dumb things. i'm old enough, i guess, to know that it isn't what women like and appreciate that counts when it comes to people getting married. if it were, sis and three hundred other pretty girls like her wouldn't be on their way to venus to hook husbands.
-i was glad i did. the stars were exciting enough, but away off to the left, about five times as big as i'd ever seen it, except in the movies, was the moon, a great blob of gray and white pockmarks holding off the black of space. i was hoping to see the earth, but i figured it must be on the other side of the ship or behind us. i pressed my nose against the port and saw the tiny flicker of a spaceliner taking off, marsbound. i wished i was on that one!
-then i noticed, a little farther down the companionway, a stretch of blank wall where there should have been portholes. high up on the wall in glowing red letters were the words, "lifeboat 47. passengers: thirty-two. crew: eleven. unauthorized personnel keep away!"
-another one of those signs.
-i crept up to the porthole nearest it and could just barely make out the stern jets where it was plastered against the hull. then i walked under the sign and tried to figure the way you were supposed to get into it. there was a very thin line going around in a big circle that i knew must be the door. but i couldn't see any knobs or switches to open it with. not even a button you could press.
-that meant it was a sonic lock like the kind we had on the outer keeps back home in undersea. but knock or voice? i tried the two knock combinations i knew, and nothing happened. i only remembered one voice key--might as well see if that's it, i figured.
-"twenty, twenty-three. open sesame."
-for a second, i thought i'd hit it just right out of all the million possible combinations--the door clicked inward toward a black hole, and a hairy hand as broad as my shoulders shot out of the hole. it closed around my throat and plucked me inside as if i'd been a baby sardine.
-i bounced once on the hard lifeboat floor. before i got my breath and sat up, the door had been shut again. when the light came on, i found myself staring up the muzzle of a highly polished blaster and into the cold blue eyes of the biggest man i'd ever seen.
-he was wearing a one-piece suit made of some scaly green stuff that looked hard and soft at the same time.
-his boots were made of it too, and so was the hood hanging down his back.
-and his face was brown. not just ordinary tan, you understand, but the deep, dark, burned-all-the-way-in brown i'd seen on the lifeguards in new orleans whenever we took a surface vacation--the kind of tan that comes from day after broiling day under a really hot sun. his hair looked as if it had once been blond, but now there were just long combed-out waves with a yellowish tinge that boiled all the way down to his shoulders.
-i hadn't seen hair like that on a man except maybe in history books; every man i'd ever known had his hair cropped in the fashionable soup-bowl style. i was staring at his hair, almost forgetting about the blaster which i knew it was against the law for him to have at all, when i suddenly got scared right through.
-they didn't blink and there seemed to be no expression around them. just coldness. maybe it was the kind of clothes he was wearing that did it, but all of a sudden i was reminded of a crocodile i'd seen in a surface zoo that had stared quietly at me for twenty minutes until it opened two long tooth-studded jaws.
-"green shatas!" he said suddenly. "only a tadpole. i must be getting jumpy enough to splash."
-then he shoved the blaster away in a holster made of the same scaly leather, crossed his arms on his chest and began to study me. i grunted to my feet, feeling a lot better. the coldness had gone out of his eyes.
-i held out my hand the way sis had taught me. "my name is ferdinand sparling. i'm very pleased to meet you, mr.--mr.--"
-"hope for your sake," he said to me, "that you aren't what you seem--tadpole brother to one of them husbandless anura."
-"a 'nuran is a female looking to nest. anura is a herd of same. come from flatfolk ways."
-"flatfolk are the venusian natives, aren't they? are you a venusian? what part of venus do you come from? why did you say you hope--"
-he chuckled and swung me up into one of the bunks that lined the lifeboat. "questions you ask," he said in his soft voice. "venus is a sharp enough place for a dryhorn, let alone a tadpole dryhorn with a boss-minded sister."
-"i'm not a dryleg," i told him proudly. "we're from undersea."
-"dryhorn, i said, not dryleg. and what's undersea?"
-"well, in undersea we called foreigners and newcomers drylegs. just like on venus, i guess, you call them dryhorns." and then i told him how undersea had been built on the bottom of the gulf of mexico, when the mineral resources of the land began to give out and engineers figured that a lot could still be reached from the sea bottoms.
-he nodded. he'd heard about the sea-bottom mining cities that were bubbling under protective domes in every one of the earth's oceans just about the same time settlements were springing up on the planets.
-he looked impressed when i told him about mom and pop being one of the first couples to get married in undersea. he looked thoughtful when i told him how sis and i had been born there and spent half our childhood listening to the pressure pumps. he raised his eyebrows and looked disgusted when i told how mom, as undersea representative on the world council, had been one of the framers of the male desuffrage act after the third atomic war had resulted in the maternal revolution.
-he almost squeezed my arm when i got to the time mom and pop were blown up in a surfacing boat.
-"well, after the funeral, there was a little money, so sis decided we might as well use it to migrate. there was no future for her on earth, she figured. you know, the three-out-of-four."
-"the three-out-of-four. no more than three women out of every four on earth can expect to find husbands. not enough men to go around. way back in the twentieth century, it began to be felt, sis says, what with the wars and all. then the wars went on and a lot more men began to die or get no good from the radioactivity. then the best men went to the planets, sis says, until by now even if a woman can scrounge a personal husband, he's not much to boast about."
-the stranger nodded violently. "not on earth, he isn't. those busybody anura make sure of that. what a place! suffering gridniks, i had a bellyful!"
-he told me about it. women were scarce on venus, and he hadn't been able to find any who were willing to come out to his lonely little islands; he had decided to go to earth where there was supposed to be a surplus. naturally, having been born and brought up on a very primitive planet, he didn't know "it's a woman's world," like the older boys in school used to say.
-the moment he landed on earth he was in trouble. he didn't know he had to register at a government-operated hotel for transient males; he threw a bartender through a thick plastic window for saying something nasty about the length of his hair; and imagine!--he not only resisted arrest, resulting in three hospitalized policemen, but he sassed the judge in open court!
-"told me a man wasn't supposed to say anything except through female attorneys. told her that where i came from, a man spoke his piece when he'd a mind to, and his woman walked by his side."
-"what happened?" i asked breathlessly.
-"oh, guilty of this and contempt of that. that blown-up brinosaur took my last munit for fines, then explained that she was remitting the rest because i was a foreigner and uneducated." his eyes grew dark for a moment. he chuckled again. "but i wasn't going to serve all those fancy little prison sentences. forcible citizenship indoctrination, they call it? shook the dead-dry dust of the misbegotten, god forsaken mother world from my feet forever. the women on it deserve their men. my pockets were folded from the fines, and the paddlefeet were looking for me so close i didn't dare radio for more munit. so i stowed away."
-for a moment, i didn't understand him. when i did, i was almost ill. "y-you mean," i choked, "th-that you're b-breaking the law right now? and i'm with you while you're doing it?"
-he leaned over the edge of the bunk and stared at me very seriously. "what breed of tadpole are they turning out these days? besides, what business do you have this close to the hull?"
-after a moment of sober reflection, i nodded. "you're right. i've also become a male outside the law. we're in this together."
-he guffawed. then he sat up and began cleaning his blaster. i found myself drawn to the bright killer-tube with exactly the fascination sis insists such things have always had for men.
-"ferdinand your label? that's not right for a sprouting tadpole. i'll call you ford. my name's butt. butt lee brown."
-i liked the sound of ford. "is butt a nickname, too?"
-"yeah. short for alberta, but i haven't found a man who can draw a blaster fast enough to call me that. you see, pop came over in the eighties--the big wave of immigrants when they evacuated ontario. named all us boys after canadian provinces. i was the youngest, so i got the name they were saving for a girl."
-"you had a lot of brothers, mr. butt?"
-i walked up close to where i could see the tiny bright copper coils of the blaster above the firing button. "have you killed a lot of men with that, mr. butt?"
-"butt. just plain butt to you, ford." he frowned and sighted at the light globe. "no more'n twelve--not counting five government paddlefeet, of course. i'm a peaceable planter. way i figure it, violence never accomplishes much that's important. my brother sas, now--"
-he had just begun to work into a wonderful anecdote about his brother when the dinner gong rang. butt told me to scat. he said i was a growing tadpole and needed my vitamins. and he mentioned, very off-hand, that he wouldn't at all object if i brought him some fresh fruit. it seemed there was nothing but processed foods in the lifeboat and butt was used to a farmer's diet.
-trouble was, he was a special kind of farmer. ordinary fruit would have been pretty easy to sneak into my pockets at meals. i even found a way to handle the kelp and giant watercress mr. brown liked, but things like seaweed salt and venusian mud-grapes just had too strong a smell. twice, the mechanical hamper refused to accept my jacket for laundering and i had to wash it myself. but i learned so many wonderful things about venus every time i visited that stowaway....
-i learned three wild-wave songs of the flatfolk and what it is that the native venusians hate so much; i learned how you tell the difference between a lousy government paddlefoot from new kalamazoo and the slaptoe slinker who is the planter's friend. after a lot of begging, butt lee brown explained the workings of his blaster, explained it so carefully that i could name every part and tell what it did from the tiny round electrodes to the long spirals of transformer. but no matter what, he would never let me hold it.
-"sorry, ford, old tad," he would drawl, spinning around and around in the control swivel-chair at the nose of the lifeboat. "but way i look at it, a man who lets somebody else handle his blaster is like the giant whose heart was in an egg that an enemy found. when you've grown enough so's your pop feels you ought to have a weapon, why, then's the time to learn it and you might's well learn fast. before then, you're plain too young to be even near it."
-"i don't have a father to give me one when i come of age. i don't even have an older brother as head of my family like your brother labrador. all i have is sis. and she--"
-"she'll marry some fancy dryhorn who's never been farther south than the polar coast. and she'll stay head of the family, if i know her breed of green shata. bossy, opinionated. by the way, fordie," he said, rising and stretching so the fish-leather bounced and rippled off his biceps, "that sister. she ever...."
-and he'd be off again, cross-examining me about evelyn. i sat in the swivel chair he'd vacated and tried to answer his questions. but there was a lot of stuff i didn't know. evelyn was a healthy girl, for instance; how healthy, exactly, i had no way of finding out. yes, i'd tell him, my aunts on both sides of my family each had had more than the average number of children. no, we'd never done any farming to speak of, back in undersea, but--yes, i'd guess evelyn knew about as much as any girl there when it came to diving equipment and pressure pump regulation.
-how would i know that stuff would lead to trouble for me?
-sis had insisted i come along to the geography lecture. most of the other girls who were going to venus for husbands talked to each other during the lecture, but not my sister! she hung on every word, took notes even, and asked enough questions to make the perspiring purser really work in those orientation periods.
-"i am very sorry, miss sparling," he said with pretty heavy sarcasm, "but i cannot remember any of the agricultural products of the macro continent. since the human population is well below one per thousand square miles, it can readily be understood that the quantity of tilled soil, land or sub-surface, is so small that--wait, i remember something. the macro continent exports a fruit though not exactly an edible one. the wild dunging drug is harvested there by criminal speculators. contrary to belief on earth, the traffic has been growing in recent years. in fact--"
-"pardon me, sir," i broke in, "but doesn't dunging come only from leif erickson island off the moscow peninsula of the macro continent? you remember, purser--wang li's third exploration, where he proved the island and the peninsula didn't meet for most of the year?"
-the purser nodded slowly. "i forgot," he admitted. "sorry, ladies, but the boy's right. please make the correction in your notes."
-but sis was the only one who took notes, and she didn't take that one. she stared at me for a moment, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, while i got sicker and sicker. then she shut her pad with the final gesture of the right hand that mom used to use just before challenging the opposition to come right down on the council floor and debate it out with her.
-"ferdinand," sis said, "let's go back to our cabin."
-the moment she sat me down and walked slowly around me, i knew i was in for it. "i've been reading up on venusian geography in the ship's library," i told her in a hurry.
-"no doubt," she said drily. she shook her night-black hair out. "but you aren't going to tell me that you read about dunging in the ship's library. the books there have been censored by a government agent of earth against the possibility that they might be read by susceptible young male minds like yours. she would not have allowed--this terran agent--"
-"paddlefoot," i sneered.
-sis sat down hard in our zoom-air chair. "now that's a term," she said carefully, "that is used only by venusian riffraff."
-"riffraff," i had to answer, knowing i was getting in deeper all the time and not being able to help it. i mustn't give mr. brown away! "they're trappers and farmers, pioneers and explorers, who're building venus. and it takes a real man to build on a hot, hungry hell like venus."
-"does it, now?" she said, looking at me as if i were beginning to grow a second pair of ears. "tell me more."
-"you can't have meek, law-abiding, women-ruled men when you start civilization on a new planet. you've got to have men who aren't afraid to make their own law if necessary--with their own guns. that's where law begins; the books get written up later."
-"you're going to tell, ferdinand, what evil, criminal male is speaking through your mouth!"
-"nobody!" i insisted. "they're my own ideas!"
-"they are remarkably well-organized for a young boy's ideas. a boy who, i might add, has previously shown a ridiculous but nonetheless entirely masculine boredom with political philosophy. i plan to have a government career on that new planet you talk about, ferdinand--after i have found a good, steady husband, of course--and i don't look forward to a masculinist radical in the family. now, who has been filling your head with all this nonsense?"
-i was sweating. sis has that deadly bulldog approach when she feels someone is lying. i pulled my pulpast handkerchief from my pocket to wipe my face. something rattled to the floor.
-"what is this picture of me doing in your pocket, ferdinand?"
-a trap seemed to be hinging noisily into place. "one of the passengers wanted to see how you looked in a bathing suit."
-"the passengers on this ship are all female. i can't imagine any of them that curious about my appearance. ferdinand, it's a man who has been giving you these anti-social ideas, isn't it? a war-mongering masculinist like all the frustrated men who want to engage in government and don't have the vaguest idea how to. except, of course, in their ancient, bloody ways. ferdinand, who has been perverting that sunny and carefree soul of yours?"
-"ferdinand, there's no point in lying! i demand--"
-"i told you, sis. i told you! and don't call me ferdinand. call me ford."
-"ford? ford? now, you listen to me, ferdinand...."
-after that it was all over but the confession. that came in a few moments. i couldn't fool sis. she just knew me too well, i decided miserably. besides, she was a girl.
-all the same, i wouldn't get mr. butt lee brown into trouble if i could help it. i made sis promise she wouldn't turn him in if i took her to him. and the quick, nodding way she said she would made me feel just a little better.
-the door opened on the signal, "sesame." when butt saw somebody was with me, he jumped and the ten-inch blaster barrel grew out of his fingers. then he recognized sis from the pictures.
-he stepped to one side and, with the same sweeping gesture, holstered his blaster and pushed his green hood off. it was sis's turn to jump when she saw the wild mass of hair rolling down his back.
-"an honor, miss sparling," he said in that rumbly voice. "please come right in. there's a hurry-up draft."
-so sis went in and i followed right after her. mr. brown closed the door. i tried to catch his eye so i could give him some kind of hint or explanation, but he had taken a couple of his big strides and was in the control section with sis. she didn't give ground, though; i'll say that for her. she only came to his chest, but she had her arms crossed sternly.
-"first, mr. brown," she began, like talking to a cluck of a kid in class, "you realize that you are not only committing the political crime of traveling without a visa, and the criminal one of stowing away without paying your fare, but the moral delinquency of consuming stores intended for the personnel of this ship solely in emergency?"
-he opened his mouth to its maximum width and raised an enormous hand. then he let the air out and dropped his arm.
-"i take it you either have no defense or care to make none," sis added caustically.
-butt laughed slowly and carefully as if he were going over each word. "wonder if all the anura talk like that. and you want to foul up venus."
-"we haven't done so badly on earth, after the mess you men made of politics. it needed a revolution of the mothers before--"
-"needed nothing. everyone wanted peace. earth is a weary old world."
-"it's a world of strong moral fiber compared to yours, mr. alberta lee brown." hearing his rightful name made him move suddenly and tower over her. sis said with a certain amount of hurry and change of tone, "what do you have to say about stowing away and using up lifeboat stores?"
-"yes," she said bitterly. "you had this boy steal fresh fruit for you. i suppose you didn't know that under space regulations that makes him equally guilty?"
-"no, sis, he didn't," i was beginning to argue. "all he wanted--"
-"sure i knew. also know that if i'm picked up as a stowaway, i'll be sent back to earth to serve out those fancy little sentences."
-"well, you're guilty of them, aren't you?"
-he waved his hands at her impatiently. "i'm not talking law, female; i'm talking sense. listen! i'm in trouble because i went to earth to look for a wife. you're standing here right now because you're on your way to venus for a husband. so let's."
-sis actually staggered back. "let's? let's what? are--are you daring to suggest that--that--"
-"now, miss sparling, no hoopla. i'm saying let's get married, and you know it. you figured out from what the boy told you that i was chewing on you for a wife. you're healthy and strong, got good heredity, you know how to operate sub-surface machinery, you've lived underwater, and your disposition's no worse than most of the anura i've seen. prolific stock, too."
-i was so excited i just had to yell: "gee, sis, say yes!"
-my sister's voice was steaming with scorn. "and what makes you think that i'd consider you a desirable husband?"
-he spread his hands genially. "figure if you wanted a poodle, you're pretty enough to pick one up on earth. figure if you charge off to venus, you don't want a poodle, you want a man. i'm one. i own three islands in the galertan archipelago that'll be good oozing mudgrape land when they're cleared. not to mention the rich berzeliot beds offshore. i got no bad habits outside of having my own way. i'm also passable good-looking for a slaptoe planter. besides, if you marry me you'll be the first mated on this ship--and that's a splash most nesting females like to make."
-there was a longish stretch of quiet. sis stepped back and measured him slowly with her eyes; there was a lot to look at. he waited patiently while she covered the distance from his peculiar green boots to that head of hair. i was so excited i was gulping instead of breathing. imagine having butt for a brother-in-law and living on a wet-plantation in flatfolk country!
-but then i remembered sis's level head and i didn't have much hope any more.
-"you know," she began, "there's more to marriage than just--"
-"so there is," he cut in. "well, we can try each other for taste." and he pulled her in, both of his great hands practically covering her slim, straight back.
-neither of them said anything for a bit after he let go. butt spoke up first.
-"now, me," he said, "i'd vote yes."
-sis ran the tip of her tongue kind of delicately from side to side of her mouth. then she stepped back slowly and looked at him as if she were figuring out how many feet high he was. she kept on moving backward, tapping her chin, while butt and i got more and more impatient. when she touched the lifeboat door, she pushed it open and jumped out.
-butt ran over and looked down the crossway. after a while, he shut the door and came back beside me. "well," he said, swinging to a bunk, "that's sort of it."
-"you're better off, butt," i burst out. "you shouldn't have a woman like sis for a wife. she looks small and helpless, but don't forget she was trained to run an underwater city!"
-"wasn't worrying about that," he grinned. "i grew up in the fifteen long years of the blue chicago rising. nope." he turned over on his back and clicked his teeth at the ceiling. "think we'd have nested out nicely."
-i hitched myself up to him and we sat on the bunk, glooming away at each other. then we heard the tramp of feet in the crossway.
-butt swung down and headed for the control compartment in the nose of the lifeboat. he had his blaster out and was cursing very interestingly. i started after him, but he picked me up by the seat of my jumper and tossed me toward the door. the captain came in and tripped over me.
-i got all tangled up in his gold braid and million-mile space buttons. when we finally got to our feet and sorted out right, he was breathing very hard. the captain was a round little man with a plump, golden face and a very scared look on it. he humphed at me, just the way sis does, and lifted me by the scruff of my neck. the chief mate picked me up and passed me to the second assistant engineer.
-sis was there, being held by the purser on one side and the chief computer's mate on the other. behind them, i could see a flock of wide-eyed female passengers.
-"you cowards!" sis was raging. "letting your captain face a dangerous outlaw all by himself!"
-"i dunno, miss sparling," the computer's mate said, scratching the miniature slide-rule insignia on his visor with his free hand. "the old man would've been willing to let it go with a log entry, figuring the spaceport paddlefeet could pry out the stowaway when we landed. but you had to quote the mother anita law at him, and he's in there doing his duty. he figures the rest of us are family men, too, and there's no sense making orphans."
-"you promised, sis," i told her through my teeth. "you promised you wouldn't get butt into trouble!"
-"shush, ferdinand, this is serious!"
-it was. i heard the captain say, "i'm not carrying a weapon, brown."
-"then get one," butt's low, lazy voice floated out.
-"no, thanks. you're as handy with that thing as i am with a rocketboard." the captain's words got a little fainter as he walked forward. butt growled like a gusher about to blow.
-"i'm counting on your being a good guy, brown." the captain's voice quavered just a bit. "i'm banking on what i heard about the blast-happy browns every time i lifted gravs in new kalamazoo; they have a code, they don't burn unarmed men."
-"what's happening?" sis gritted, straining toward the lock.
-"butt's trying to decide whether he wants him fried or scrambled," the computer's mate said, pulling her back. "hey, purse, remember when the whole family with their pop at the head went into heatwave to argue with colonel leclerc?"
-"eleven dead, sixty-four injured," the purser answered mechanically. "and no more army stationed south of icebox." his right ear twitched irritably. "but what're they saying?"
-suddenly we heard. "by authority vested in me under the pomona college treaty," the captain was saying very loudly, "i arrest you for violation of articles sixteen to twenty-one inclusive of the space transport code, and order your person and belongings impounded for the duration of this voyage as set forth in sections forty-one and forty-five--"
-"forty-three and forty-five," sis groaned. "sections forty-three and forty-five, i told him. i even made him repeat it after me!"
-"--of the mother anita law, sc 2136, emergency interplanetary directives."
-we all waited breathlessly for butt's reply. the seconds ambled on and there was no clatter of electrostatic discharge, no smell of burning flesh.
-then we heard some feet walking. a big man in a green suit swung out into the crossway. that was butt. behind him came the captain, holding the blaster gingerly with both hands. butt had a funny, thoughtful look on his face.
-the girls surged forward when they saw him, scattering the crew to one side. they were like a school of sharks that had just caught sight of a dying whale.
-"m-m-m-m! are all venusians built like that?"
-"men like that are worth the mileage!"
-"i want him!" "i want him!" "i want him!"
-sis had been let go. she grabbed my free hand and pulled me away. she was trying to look only annoyed, but her eyes had bright little bubbles of fury popping in them.
-"the cheap extroverts! and they call themselves responsible women!"
-i was angry, too. and i let her know, once we were in our cabin. "what about that promise, sis? you said you wouldn't turn him in. you promised!"
-she stopped walking around the room as if she had been expecting to get to venus on foot. "i know i did, ferdinand, but he forced me."
-"my name is ford and i don't understand."
-she pressed her fingernails into her palms and let out a long, glaring sigh at the door. "then he kissed me! oh, it was a good enough kiss--mr. brown has evidently had a varied and colorful background--but the galling idiocy of the man, trying that! i was just getting over the colossal impudence involved in his proposing marriage--as if he had to bear the children!--and was considering the offer seriously, on its merits, as one should consider all suggestions, when he deliberately dropped the pretense of reason. he appealed to me as most of the savage ancients appealed to their women, as an emotional machine. throw the correct sexual switches, says this theory, and the female surrenders herself ecstatically to the doubtful and bloody murk of masculine plans."
-there was a double knock on the door and the captain walked in without waiting for an invitation. he was still holding butt's blaster. he pointed it at me. "get your hands up, ferdinand sparling," he said.
-"i hereby order your detention for the duration of this voyage, for aiding and abetting a stowaway, as set forth in sections forty-one and forty-five--"
-"forty-three and forty-five," sis interrupted him, her eyes getting larger and rounder. "but you gave me your word of honor that no charges would be lodged against the boy!"
-"but i used all of our money to buy passage," sis wailed.
-"and now you'll have to return with the boy. i'm sorry, miss sparling. but as you explained to me, a man who has been honored with an important official position should stay close to the letter of the law for the sake of other men who are trying to break down terrestrial anti-male prejudice. of course, there's a way out."
-"there is? tell me, please!"
-"can i lower my hands a minute?" i asked.
-"--are married to an uncombed desperado who doesn't know enough to sit back and let a woman run things. oh, you should be ashamed!"
-the captain shrugged and spread his arms wide.
-"perhaps i should be, but that's what comes of putting men into responsible positions, as you would say. see here, miss sparling, i didn't want to arrest brown, and, if it's at all possible, i'd still prefer not to. the crew, officers and men, all go along with me. we may be legal residents of earth, but our work requires us to be on venus several times a year. we don't want to be disliked by any members of the highly irritable brown clan or its collateral branches. butt lee brown himself, for all of his savage appearance in your civilized eyes, is a man of much influence on the polar continent. in his own bailiwick, the galertan archipelago, he makes, breaks and occasionally readjusts officials. then there's his brother saskatchewan who considers butt a helpless, put-upon youngster--"
-"much influence, you say? mr. brown has?" sis was suddenly thoughtful.
-"power, actually. the kind a strong man usually wields in a newly settled community. besides, miss sparling, you're going to venus for a husband because the male-female ratio on earth is reversed. well, not only is butt lee brown a first class catch, but you can't afford to be too particular in any case. while you're fairly pretty, you won't bring any wealth into a marriage and your high degree of opinionation is not likely to be well-received on a backward, masculinist world. then, too, the woman-hunger is not so great any more, what with the marie curie and the fatima having already deposited their cargoes, the mme. sun yat sen due to arrive next month...."
-sis nodded to herself, waved the door open, and walked out.
-"let's hope," the captain said. "like any father used to say, a man who knows how to handle women, how to get around them without their knowing it, doesn't need to know anything else in this life. i'm plain wasted in space. you can lower your hands now, son."
-we sat down and i explained the blaster to him. he was very interested. he said all butt had told him--in the lifeboat when they decided to use my arrest as a club over sis--was to keep the safety catch all the way up against his thumb. i could see he really had been excited about carrying a lethal weapon around. he told me that back in the old days, captains--sea captains, that is--actually had the right to keep guns in their cabins all the time to put down mutinies and other things our ancestors did.
-the telewall flickered, and we turned it on. sis smiled down. "everything's all right, captain. come up and marry us, please."
-"what did you stick him for?" he asked. "what was the price?"
-sis's full lips went thin and hard, the way mom's used to. then she thought better of it and laughed. "mr. brown is going to see that i'm elected sheriff of the galertan archipelago."
-"and i thought she'd settle for a county clerkship!" the captain muttered as we spun up to the brig.
-the doors were open and girls were chattering in every corner. sis came up to the captain to discuss arrangements. i slipped away and found butt sitting with folded arms in a corner of the brig. he grinned at me. "hi, tadpole. like the splash?"
-i shook my head unhappily. "butt, why did you do it? i'd sure love to be your brother-in-law, but, gosh, you didn't have to marry sis." i pointed at some of the bustling females. sis was going to have three hundred bridesmaids. "any one of them would have jumped at the chance to be your wife. and once on any woman's passport, you'd be free. why sis?"
-"that's what the captain said in the lifeboat. told him same thing i'm telling you. i'm stubborn. what i like at first, i keep on liking. what i want at first, i keep on wanting until i get."
-"yes, but making sis sheriff! and you'll have to back her up with your blaster. what'll happen to that man's world?"
-"wait'll after we nest and go out to my islands." he produced a hard-lipped, smug grin, sighting it at sis's slender back. "she'll find herself sheriff over a bunch of natives and exactly two earth males--you and me. i got a hunch that'll keep her pretty busy, though."
-appointment in tomorrow
-by fritz leiber
-illustrated by ed alexander
-is it possible to have a world without moral values? or does lack of morality become a moral value, also?
-the first angry rays of the sun--which, startlingly enough, still rose in the east at 24 hour intervals--pierced the lacy tops of atlantic combers and touched thousands of sleeping americans with unconscious fear, because of their unpleasant similarity to the rays from world war iii's atomic bombs.
-they turned to blood the witch-circle of rusty steel skeletons around inferno in manhattan. without comment, they pointed a cosmic finger at the tarnished brass plaque commemorating the martyrdom of the three physicists after the dropping of the hell bomb. they tenderly touched the rosy skin and strawberry bruises on the naked shoulders of a girl sleeping off a drunk on the furry and radiantly heated floor of a nearby roof garden. they struck green magic from the glassy blot that was old washington. twelve hours before, they had revealed things as eerily beautiful, and as ravaged, in asia and russia. they pinked the white walls of the colonial dwelling of morton opperly near the institute for advanced studies; upstairs they slanted impartially across the pharoahlike and open-eyed face of the elderly physicist and the ugly, sleep-surly one of young willard farquar in the next room. and in nearby new washington they made of the spire of the thinkers' foundation a blue and optimistic glory that outshone white house, jr.
-it was america approaching the end of the twentieth century. america of juke-box burlesque and your local radiation hospital. america of the mask-fad for women and mystic christianity. america of the off-the-bosom dress and the new blue laws. america of the endless war and the loyalty detector. america of marvelous maizie and the monthly rocket to mars. america of the thinkers and (a few remembered) the institute. "knock on titanium," "whadya do for black-outs," "please, lover, don't think when i'm around," america, as combat-shocked and crippled as the rest of the bomb-shattered planet.
-not one impudent photon of the sunlight penetrated the triple-paned, polarizing windows of jorj helmuth's bedroom in the thinker's foundation, yet the clock in his brain awakened him to the minute, or almost. switching off the educational sandman in the midst of the phrase, "... applying tensor calculus to the nucleus," he took a deep, even breath and cast his mind to the limits of the world and his knowledge. it was a somewhat shadowy vision, but, he noted with impartial approval, definitely less shadowy than yesterday morning.
-remembering last night, he felt a pang of exasperation, which he instantly quelled by taking his mind to a higher and dispassionate level from which he could look down on the girl and even himself as quaint, clumsy animals. still, he grumbled silently, caddy might have had enough consideration to clear out before he awoke. he wondered if he shouldn't have used his hypnotic control of the girl to smooth their relationship last night, and for a moment the word that would send her into deep trance trembled on the tip of his tongue. but no, that special power of his over her was reserved for far more important purposes.
-pumping dynamic tension into his 20-year-old muscles and confidence into his 60-year-old mind, the 40-year-old thinker rose from bed. no covers had to be thrown off; the nuclear heating unit made them unnecessary. he stepped into his clothing--the severe tunic, tights and sockassins of the modern business man. next he glanced at the message tape beside his phone, washed down with ginger ale a vita-amino-enzyme tablet, and walked to the window. there, gazing along the rows of newly planted mutant oaks lining decontamination avenue, his smooth face broke into a smile.
-it had come to him, the next big move in the intricate game making up his life--and mankind's. come to him during sleep, as so many of his best decisions did, because he regularly employed the time-saving technique of somno-thought, which could function at the same time as somno-learning.
-he set his who?-where? robot for "rocket physicist" and "genius class." while it worked, he dictated to his steno-robot the following brief message:
-dear fellow scientist:
-a project is contemplated that will have a crucial bearing on man's future in deep space. ample non-military government funds are available. there was a time when professional men scoffed at the thinkers. then there was a time when the thinkers perforce neglected the professional men. now both times are past. may they never return! i would like to consult you this afternoon, three o'clock sharp, thinkers' foundation i.
-meanwhile the who?-where? had tossed out a dozen cards. he glanced through them, hesitated at the name "willard farquar," looked at the sleeping girl, then quickly tossed them all into the addresso-robot and plugged in the steno-robot.
-the buzz-light blinked green and he switched the phone to audio.
-"the president is waiting to see maizie, sir," a clear feminine voice announced. "he has the general staff with him."
-"martian peace to him," jorj helmuth said. "tell him i'll be down in a few minutes."
-huge as a primitive nuclear reactor, the great electronic brain loomed above the knot of hush-voiced men. it almost filled a two-story room in the thinkers' foundation. its front was an orderly expanse of controls, indicators, telltales, and terminals, the upper ones reached by a chair on a boom.
-although, as far as anyone knew, it could sense only the information and questions fed into it on a tape, the human visitors could not resist the impulse to talk in whispers and glance uneasily at the great cryptic cube. after all, it had lately taken to moving some of its own controls--the permissible ones--and could doubtless improvise a hearing apparatus if it wanted to.
-for this was the thinking machine beside which the marks and eniacs and maniacs and maddidas and minervas and mimirs were less than morons. this was the machine with a million times as many synapses as the human brain, the machine that remembered by cutting delicate notches in the rims of molecules (instead of kindergarten paper-punching or the coney island shimmying of columns of mercury). this was the machine that had given instructions on building the last three-quarters of itself. this was the goal, perhaps, toward which fallible human reasoning and biased human judgment and feeble human ambition had evolved.
-this was the machine that really thought--a million-plus!
-this was the machine that the timid cyberneticists and stuffy professional scientists had said could not be built. yet this was the machine that the thinkers, with characteristic yankee push, had built. and nicknamed, with characteristic yankee irreverence and girl-fondness, "maizie."
-gazing up at it, the president of the united states felt a chord plucked within him that hadn't been sounded for decades, the dark and shivery organ chord of his baptist childhood. here, in a strange sense, although his reason rejected it, he felt he stood face to face with the living god: infinitely stern with the sternness of reality, yet infinitely just. no tiniest error or wilful misstep could ever escape the scrutiny of this vast mentality. he shivered.
-the grizzled general--there was also one who was gray--was thinking that this was a very odd link in the chain of command. some shadowy and usually well-controlled memories from world war ii faintly stirred his ire. here he was giving orders to a being immeasurably more intelligent than himself. and always orders of the "tell me how to kill that man" rather than the "kill that man" sort. the distinction bothered him obscurely. it relieved him to know that maizie had built-in controls which made her always the servant of humanity, or of humanity's right-minded leaders--even the thinkers weren't certain which.
-the gray general was thinking uneasily, and, like the president, at a more turbid level, of the resemblance between papal infallibility and the dictates of the machine. suddenly his bony wrists began to tremble. he asked himself: was this the second coming? mightn't an incarnation be in metal rather than flesh?
-the austere secretary of state was remembering what he'd taken such pains to make everyone forget: his youthful flirtation at lake success with buddhism. sitting before his guru, his teacher, feeling the occidental's awe at the wisdom of the east, or its pretense, he had felt a little like this.
-the burly secretary of space, who had come up through united rockets, was thanking his stars that at any rate the professional scientists weren't responsible for this job. like the grizzled general, he'd always felt suspicious of men who kept telling you how to do things, rather than doing them themselves. in world war iii he'd had his fill of the professional physicists, with their eternal taint of a misty sort of radicalism and free-thinking. the thinkers were better--more disciplined, more human. they'd called their brain-machine maizie, which helped take the curse off her. somewhat.
-the president's secretary, a paunchy veteran of party caucuses, was also glad that it was the thinkers who had created the machine, though he trembled at the power that it gave them over the administration. still, you could do business with the thinkers. and nobody (not even the thinkers) could do business (that sort of business) with maizie!
-before that great square face with its thousands of tiny metal features, only jorj helmuth seemed at ease, busily entering on the tape the complex questions of the day that the high officials had handed him: logistics for the endless war in pakistan, optimum size for next year's sugar-corn crop, current thought trends in average soviet minds--profound questions, yet many of them phrased with surprising simplicity. for figures, technical jargon, and layman's language were alike to maizie; there was no need to translate into mathematical shorthand, as with the lesser brain-machines.
-the click of the taper went on until the secretary of state had twice nervously fired a cigaret with his ultrasonic lighter and twice quickly put it away. no one spoke.
-jorj looked up at the secretary of space. "section five, question four--whom would that come from?"
-jorj did not answer. a bit later he quit taping and began to adjust controls, going up on the boom-chair to reach some of them. eventually he came down and touched a few more, then stood waiting.
-from the great cube came a profound, steady purring. involuntarily the six officials backed off a bit. somehow it was impossible for a man to get used to the sound of maizie starting to think.
-jorj turned, smiling. "and now, gentlemen, while we wait for maizie council-board. the others applauded this decision, but, happily, praslin joined them, and, on learning of what was intended, pointed out that the wisest course would be to request the queen-mother to order the comte d’auvergne not to attend the council or to suspend its sessions, whereby they would escape the “inconvenience” which might arise were a marshal of france to kill a prince of the blood at the council-board.
-it was decided to follow his advice, and to delegate to him the duty of informing the queen-mother that they would not permit the count to preside over the council or even attend it. marie de’ medici, we are told, took their remonstrances in very good part, and, since she did not care to offend auvergne by excluding him from the council, decided that that body should not meet again.
-on september 25, guise and his brother joinville, who had followed the other princes to soissons, with the apparent intention of throwing in their lot with them, returned to paris and came to the louvre to pay their respects to the queen-mother and assure her of their unalterable fidelity. her majesty received them very graciously; nevertheless, she appears to have entertained a strong suspicion that they had other motives in returning to the capital. for that evening, when the courtiers were retiring from her apartments, she desired bassompierre to remain, as she wished to speak to him, and said: “bassompierre, i have resolved to transfer monsieur le prince from here, and intend to entrust his removal to you. here is the maréchal de thémines, who arrested him, and who has guarded him in the louvre with difficulty. but it is to be feared that, if i keep him here any longer, some attempt may be made to rescue him, which could easily be done.... besides, if he remains here, the king and i are prevented from leaving, should we desire to go to saint-germain or some other place, since, in that event, he would no longer be in security. in consequence, i have resolved to place him in the bastille, and desire that you should take charge of his removal.”
-“she then told me,” says bassompierre, “that it was the king’s intention that i should not wait for li honori, li bieni, li carichi. these were her words.”
-bassompierre replied that the honour of her majesty’s confidence was in itself sufficient recompense for the slight service which she was demanding of him, and that he would readily undertake to conduct the prince safely to the bastille. about this she need have no fear, since, even if condé’s adherents were to get wind of what was intended, long before they had had time to gather in sufficient numbers to attempt a rescue, he would have the prisoner under lock and key again.
-he then inquired if the queen-mother had any orders to give as to the manner of the prince’s removal, and, on being told that she left all the arrangements entirely to his discretion, proceeded to form the escort, which was composed of 200 of the french guards and 100 swiss, chosen from those who were posted before and behind the louvre--for the palace was guarded night and day, like a beleaguered fortress upon which an assault might at any moment be delivered--another body of 50 swiss, whom he summoned from their quarters in the faubourg saint-honoré, a few of his own and the queen’s gentlemen, on horseback, a dozen men of the gardes du corps, and six of the swiss of the guard (the cent-suisses). the french guards were posted opposite the gate of the louvre; the rest were drawn up in the courtyard, where a coach was in waiting to convey the prisoner and thémines, who was to ride with him, to the bastille.
-his preparations completed, bassompierre, accompanied by thémines, ascended to the room where condé was confined, and awakened the prince, “who was in great apprehension,” being evidently under the impression that they had come to conduct him to execution. thémines having reassured him on this score, he went with the marshal down to the courtyard and entered the coach; bassompierre mounted his horse, and the cortège moved off. bassompierre, with the mounted gentlemen and fifty of the swiss, led the way; then came the coach, guarded on either side by the gardes du corps and the swiss of the guard, with their partizans and halberds; while the french guards and the rest of the swiss brought up the rear. thus they wended their way through the dark, silent streets towards the faubourg saint-antoine, no one being encountered on their march save a few belated pedestrians, and, in less than an hour after they left the louvre, the gates of the bastille had closed upon the first prince of the blood.
-serious illness of the young king, who, however, recovers--bassompierre and mlle. d’urfé--gay winter in paris--richelieu enters the ministry as secretary of state for war--his foreign policy--his energetic measures to put down the rebellion of the princes--return of concini--his arrogance and presumption--singular conversation between bassompierre and concini, after the death of the latter’s daughter--policy pursued by marie de’ medici and concini towards louis xiii--humiliating position of the young king--his favourite, charles d’albert, seigneur de luynes--bassompierre warns the queen-mother that the king may be persuaded to revolt against her authority.
-at the end of october, louis xiii fell ill, and on all-hallows’ eve “had a convulsion, which it was apprehended would develop into apoplexy.” his physicians were of opinion that if he had a second attack it would probably prove fatal; and marie de’ medici, on learning of this, sent for bassompierre and kept him at the louvre all night, so as to be in readiness to summon the swiss to her support, in the event of the king’s death. however, the young monarch passed a good night, and by the morning all danger was over.
-on the following day, bassompierre set out for burgundy, at the head of 300 cavalry, to meet and take command of a new levy of two regiments of swiss, raised to assist the government in dealing with the rebellious princes. he left paris with no little reluctance, since he had just embarked in a new love-affair with mlle. d’urfé, who is described by tallemant des réaux as the flower of the queen’s maids-of-honour; and it was naturally most provoking to have to go campaigning at such a moment. however, love had to give place to duty.
-bassompierre’s orders were to hold the swiss and his little force of cavalry at the disposal of bellegarde, governor of burgundy, who had been sent into the bresse to the assistance of charles emmanuel’s heir, the prince of piedmont, who was defending savoy against an army commanded by his kinsman, the duc de nemours. this army had originally been raised by nemours to co-operate with the forces of charles emmanuel in the war which had broken out between him and spain; but the duke had been persuaded, by the specious promises of the governor of milan, to turn it against his relatives. however, on reaching provins, bassompierre learned that, through the intervention of bellegarde, a treaty had been signed between the prince of piedmont and nemours, and that the latter had disbanded his army.
-at saint-jean de losne, near beaune, he met the swiss, and, having administered to them the usual oath of fidelity, led them to châtillon-sur-seine, where he received orders to send one regiment into the nivernais and the other into champagne, to be distributed amongst different garrisons in those provinces.
-dissimulating his mortification, bassompierre accepted this commission; but, as he is not ashamed to confess, with the intention of preventing the marriage, if by any means that could be effected. however, “his efforts were in vain, for the duke surmounted all the difficulties that he put in his way,” and at the beginning of 1617 mlle. d’urfé became duchesse de cröy.
-bassompierre did not, as we may suppose, waste much time in regrets for the loss of his inamorata, since, notwithstanding that a civil war was in progress and that almost every day brought such cheerful intelligence as that one gentleman’s château had been sacked or another’s unfortunate tenants rendered homeless, the winter of 1617 in paris was a very gay one, and what with dancing, gambling and love-making, his days and nights must have been pretty well occupied:--
-“i won that year at the game of trictrac, from m. de guise, m. de joinville and the maréchal d’ancre, 100,000 crowns. i was not out of favour at the court, nor with the ladies, and had a number of beautiful mistresses.”
-to turn, however, from trivial to important matters.
-at the end of 1616 bassompierre writes in his journal:
-“during my journey to burgundy, the seals had been taken away from m. du vair and given to mangot, and mangot’s charge of secretary of state to m. de lusson.”
-now, the “m. de lusson” of whom bassompierre speaks was none other than armand jean du plessis de richelieu, bishop of luçon, afterwards cardinal de richelieu, who on november 30, 1616, had entered the ministry as secretary of state for war.
-scarcely had this great man touched public affairs than it was recognised that a firmer and surer hand was guiding the helm; a new spirit seemed to be infused into the government. the tone of henri iv suddenly reappeared in french diplomacy, and the ambassadors at courts opposed to the pretensions of the house of austria, justly alarmed by the spanish marriages, were instructed to inform the sovereigns to whom they were accredited that these marriages were by no means to be regarded as portending any intention on the part of the very christian king to embrace the interests of spain or the holy see, to the detriment of the old alliances of france or to the principle of religious toleration in his realm.
-and, at the same time as he reassured the old allies of france, richelieu took energetic measures to put down rebellion at home. he appealed to public opinion by the issue of pamphlets and proclamations, in which he effectively combated the arguments advanced by the princes to justify their revolt, and pointed out that these same men who complained of the disorder of the finances had themselves bled the state to the tune of over fourteen million livres--he gave a schedule showing the sums paid to each of them--not counting the emoluments of the charges bestowed upon them and the pensions and gratifications accorded to their friends and servants.
-nor did he confine himself to words. this time, the government, inspired by him, showed none of its accustomed pusillanimity. a royal declaration was launched against nevers, who, now that condé was in prison, had assumed the leadership of his party; a second against mayenne, vendôme, and bouillon; three armies were raised to take the field against them, which one by one reduced their strongholds to submission; the estates of many of their supporters were sequestrated; soldiers who had taken up arms to join them were, if captured, hanged without mercy; and, finally, a decree, duly registered by the parlement, notwithstanding that it struck at at least one of that body, provided for the confiscation of the property of all the rebels.
-it was the misfortune of richelieu and his colleagues that they passed for the creatures of a foreign favourite detested by everyone. at the beginning of december, 1616, concini, who had remained in normandy since the scene at the hôtel de condé which had led to his compulsory withdrawal from the capital, returned to paris, more arrogant and more presumptuous than ever, and burning to avenge the humiliations he had suffered. to strike terror into the partisans of the princes, he caused gibbets to be erected in different parts of the town; he “caused everyone to be watched and spied upon, even in the houses, to see who entered or left paris,” and “imprisoned those who gave him the smallest umbrage, without any form of trial.” already in possession of the citadel of caen, he occupied the pont-de-l’arche, the strongest fortress in normandy; proposed to rebuild the fort of sainte-catherine, above rouen, which had been destroyed during the wars of religion; acquired by purchase the governments of meulan, pontoise, and corbeil; offered bassompierre 600,000 livres for his post of colonel-general of the swiss, and was credited with the intention of getting himself named constable of france. it was evident that he contemplated making himself a sort of king in normandy, and that, when the princes were crushed, there would be no limits to his ambition. he had, however, at the beginning of 1617, a moment of alarm and despondency. the death of his only daughter, marie concini, to whom he was tenderly attached and for whom he had dreamed of some alliance which would unite his fortunes to those of one of the great families of france, struck him with a superstitious fear, as the precursor of the ruin of himself and his wife.
-“the marshal’s daughter fell ill and died,” writes bassompierre, “at which both he and his wife were cruelly afflicted. i shall relate a conversation which passed between him and myself on the day of her death, by which one may see that he had a prevision of what afterwards happened to him.
-“i went to visit him on the morning of that day, and again after dinner, at that little house on the quai du louvre to which he and his wife had retired. but he had given orders that i was to be requested to defer our interview until some other time, and afterwards he sent to ask me to come to see him at his house in the evening. finding him in sore distress, i endeavoured sometimes to console, sometimes to divert, him; but his grief augmented the more i spoke to him, and he answered nothing to all i said, save: ‘signor, i am undone! signor, i am ruined! signor, i am miserable!’ at last, i bade him consider the character of a marshal of france, which he represented, and which did not permit of him indulging in lamentations, pardonable in his wife, but unworthy of him. and i went on to say that assuredly he had lost a very amiable daughter and one who would have been very useful to advance his fortunes, but that he had four nieces to take his daughter’s place, who might afford him as much consolation, if he brought them to live with him, and much support to his fortunes, by means of alliances with four of the great families of france, of which he would have the choice. and i said several other things which god inspired me to tell him. at length, after weeping for some time, he said to me:--
-“i said what i could to console him and divert him from these thoughts,” concludes bassompierre, “and withdrew. i wish to show from this discourse how men, especially those whom fortune has elevated, have inspirations and forebodings of disaster, without possessing the resolution to prevent or escape it.”
-concini’s despondency passed as quickly as it had come, and scarcely was his daughter in her grave, than he was once more flaunting his wealth and his power in the faces of court and town. no prince of the blood had ever gone abroad attended by a more numerous or more gorgeous retinue; his pride was so great that he scarcely deigned to notice the existence of any but the great nobles; while, as for the ministers, he regarded them as his servants, and not finding them sufficiently docile, planned to replace them by creatures of his own. marie de’ medici herself began to grow weary of the presumption of the husband and the ill-humour of the wife, who appears to have been a martyr to neuralgia, and often treated her mistress in a manner against which even the queen-mother’s sluggish nature rebelled. at length, she suggested the advisability of the precious pair returning to florence with the spoil which they had amassed; but concini wished to tempt fortune to the end.
-fortune, however, might have smiled on him for some time longer, if only he had possessed sufficient foresight to assure himself of the affection of the young king. unhappily for him, he had done just the contrary. on his advice, the queen-mother had pursued towards louis xiii much the same policy which catherine de’ medici had adopted in the case of charles ix, and carefully kept at a distance from her son all those whom she considered might attempt to inspire him with a thought of ambition. but, less astute than catherine, marie had seen no reason to distrust a provençal gentleman, charles albert, seigneur de luynes, twenty-three years older than the king, who excelled in the training of hawks and falcons. falconry was a sport in which louis xiii delighted above all others, and he soon became so much attached to luynes that his gouverneur souvré grew jealous and forbade the latter to enter the king’s chamber. héroard, louis xiii’s first physician, relates in his curious journal that the lad was overcome by grief and indignation on learning of this; begged his mother to dismiss souvré, and “from excess of anger, had five days of fever.” from “master of the birds of the cabinet” the young king made his favourite chief of his gentlemen-in-ordinary, and in 1615 gave him the government of amboise.
-notwithstanding that her son had now, according to the laws of france, attained his majority, marie de’ medici excluded him from councils and all discussion of state affairs, and forbade the ministers and counsellors of state even to speak to him, on the ground that his majesty’s health was too delicate for him to be troubled with the cares of his realm. as he grew older, the queen-mother and concini watched him more closely, and, fearing lest he might escape from them, no longer allowed him to visit saint-germain or fontainebleau, on the pretext that, in the disturbed condition of the country, it was unsafe for the king to leave paris. for some months past, therefore, the unfortunate youth, who was passionately fond of hunting, had been deprived of his favourite amusement, and had found himself reduced to a walk in the tuileries, where he might often be seen watching the gardeners at their work and sometimes helping them.
-it seems strange that marie de’ medici and concini, so careful to keep away from the king everyone whom they considered might encourage him to assert his independence of his mother’s tutelage, should have for so long entertained no suspicion of luynes. at length, however, their eyes began to be opened, and one day towards the end of january, 1617, luynes sent one of his servants to bassompierre to inform him that the queen-mother purposed to exile him (luynes) from the court, on the ground that “he wished to carry off the king and take him out of paris,” and to ask for his good offices to disabuse her majesty’s mind. these were unnecessary, as it proved to be merely a rumour; but “luynes made the king believe that it was the maréchal d’ancre who had spread this report, to see how the king would take it; whereby the king became more and more incensed against the maréchal d’ancre, and high words passed between luynes and the said marshal.”
-“the same evening,” continues bassompierre, “as the queen was speaking to me about this matter, i said to her: ‘madame, it seems to me that you do not think enough of yourself, and that, one of these days, they will take away the king from under your wing. they are inciting him against your creatures first, and afterwards they will incite him against you. your authority is only precarious, which will cease from the moment that the king no longer desires it, and they will harden him little by little until he does not desire it any more. and it is easy to persuade young people to emancipate themselves. if the king were to go, one of these days, to saint-germain, and were to order m. d’épernon and myself to come there to him, and then told us that we were no longer to recognise your authority, we are your very obliged servants, but we should be unable to do any other thing than to come and bid you farewell, and to beg you very humbly to excuse us, if, during your administration of the state, we had not served you as well as we ought to have done. judge, madame,” i continued, “whether the other officers would be able to act otherwise, and whether you would not be left with empty hands after such an administration.”
-bassompierre joins the royal army in champagne as grand master of the artillery by commission--surrender of château-porcien--bassompierre is wounded before rethel--he sets out for paris in order to negotiate the sale of his office of colonel-general of the swiss to concini--he visits the royal army which is besieging soissons--a foolhardy act--singular conduct of the garrison--the président chevret arrives in the royal camp with the news that concini has been assassinated--details of this affair--bassompierre continues his journey to paris--his adventure with the liégeois cavalry of concini.
-about the middle of march, bassompierre was sent as grand master of the artillery by commission to join the army of champagne, commanded by the duc de guise, who had as his second in command the maréchal de thémines, while praslin was also serving under him. he found the army laying siege to château-porcien, situated on the right bank of the aisne, two leagues from rethel. nevers, who was governor of champagne and brie and duc de rethelois, occupied, in virtue of this double title, several places in that part of the country, and their reduction was the chief object of the campaign.
-guise bombarded the citadel of château-porcien for some days with little effect; but when he turned his guns on the town, it speedily surrendered; and bassompierre, with four companies of the french guards and as many of the swiss, marched in and took possession. in the course of the day the commandant of the citadel sent to ask for a parley, and was conducted by bassompierre to guise’s quarters, where, after a lively discussion as to whether or not the garrison were to be permitted to march out with the honours of war, terms were arranged, and next morning the citadel capitulated.
-after guise, with a part of his cavalry, had made an unsuccessful attempt to surprise an infantry regiment of the enemy quartered in a village near laon, and the château of wassigny had been taken, thémines was despatched to rocroi to dismantle and bring up six of the guns from that fortress; and on april 8 the army advanced to rethel and laid siege to it.
-here bassompierre’s troubles began; and artillery officers who served during the late war in that part of france under similar climatic conditions will appreciate the difficulties with which he had to contend.
-however, bassompierre had his redoubtable mountaineers to fall back on.
-“then,” he continues, “i took fifty swiss, to whom i promised fifty crowns, to bring those two pieces into position for me; and they harnessed themselves to them in place of the horses, having first dug a trench beneath the wheels of each piece and lined it with stout planks, so as to prevent it from sinking deeper in the mud. we drew the first into position without being fired upon from the town; but, as we were occupying ourselves with the more distant one, and had drawn it close to the battery, and i was lending them a hand, the enemy fired a salvo at us, by which two swiss were killed and three wounded, and i myself hit by a musket-ball in the right side of the abdomen. i thought that i was wounded to the death, and the maréchal de thémines, who was in the battery, thought so too. however, god willed that the quantity of clothes which the ball encountered (for it pierced five folds of my cloak and two folds of my furred hongroline, my sword-belt, and my coat-skirt) caused it to stop on the peritoneum without penetrating it, so that when the wound was probed the ball was found in the thick flesh of the belly, where they made an incision, and out it fell. i only kept my bed for one day, although my wound was a month in healing, by reason of the cloth which was within.”
-the following day, praslin, who had replaced bassompierre in command of the artillery, was also wounded by a musket-ball in the thigh, while directing the fire of the battery. but the ball did not injure the bone, and he was cured as quickly as his friend.
-rethel surrendered a few days later, and guise, after placing a garrison there, resolved to lay siege to mézières, where nevers himself commanded. but, before doing this, he decided to send for additional siege-guns, and, as it would be at least ten days before they could arrive, bassompierre asked for leave to go to paris, in order to negotiate the sale of his office of colonel-general of the swiss to concini. the marshal, as we have mentioned, had offered him 600,000 crowns for the post; but bassompierre had asked for another 50,000, which the other was not at the time inclined to give. however, he was evidently so anxious to secure it that it was very probable that he would be willing to reconsider his offer.
-the same evening he received very gracious letters from the king and queen-mother, who appear to have been under the impression that he was far more severely wounded than was the case, and another from the maréchal d’ancre, “who wrote me,” says he, “that, if i were trying to get myself killed, he would like to be my heir; and that, if i were well enough to come to paris to conclude the matter of the swiss, he would give me, instead of the 50,000 francs in dispute, 10,000 crowns’ worth of jewels at a goldsmith’s valuation.”
-on april 21 he left rethel, accompanied by the marquis de thémines, eldest son of the marshal, the comte de fiesque, zamet, and more than fifty officers, who had also obtained leave, which appears to have been granted with amazing liberality in those days. but, instead of making straight for paris, they decided to take a busman’s holiday by breaking their journey at soissons, to see what progress the comte d’auvergne--now formally rehabilitated and therefore once more fit for the society of gentlemen--was making with the siege of that town, in which mayenne commanded for the princes. on the 23rd they arrived in the royal camp, where they were met by the duc de rohan, la rochefoucauld, saint-géran and saint-luc, who conducted them to the general’s quarters.
-the next day, after making the round of the camp, under the guidance of an officer, who pointed out to him the parts of the town which it was proposed to bombard, bassompierre agreed with la rochefoucauld, who, like himself, was a visitor to auvergne’s army, to show their hosts what fine fellows they were, and to do what at this epoch, when rashness so often passed for valour, appears to have been regarded as a proof of the highest courage.
-“as we were of a different army,” says he, “and wished to let them see that we had no fear of musket-shots, we went out to draw the enemy’s fire upon us. they, however, allowed us to approach without firing, and, since we did not wish to return without seeing them shoot, we walked right up to the edge of the moat. still they did not fire. when we noticed their silence, we broke ours and shouted insults at them, which they returned, but never fired a shot. at length, after talking together for rather a long time, just as if we belonged to the same side, we retired; and they let us depart without once firing at us.”
-the explanation of this singular conduct on the part of the besieged was not long in coming. that evening, bassompierre, with auvergne and rohan, were supping with the président chevret, of the chambre des comptes, who had come to visit the army in connection with some legal business, when one of the president’s clerks arrived in all haste from paris and whispered something to his master, who appeared very astonished. then chevret turned and spoke in a low voice to auvergne, who sat next him, and bassompierre remarked that the prince seemed no less astonished than the president. he begged them to let him know what news they had received, upon which they told him that, at eleven o’clock that morning, the maréchal d’ancre had been killed by the marquis de vitry, one of the captains of the guards, and that it had been done by the king’s orders! then bassompierre remembered that when, a few hours before, he and la rochefoucauld were standing on the edge of the moat of soissons, one of the garrison had shouted to them: “your master is dead, and ours has killed him!”--words to which he had attached no importance at the time--and marvelled that the enemy should have received so much earlier information of the event than the royal army.
-but let us see what had been happening in paris since bassompierre’s departure for the army in the middle of march, which had culminated in the tragedy of that morning.
-we have related, in the last chapter, how marie de’ medici and concini had begun to grow suspicious of the influence that louis xiii’s favourite, luynes, had acquired over the mind of the young king, and how a rumour had spread that he was about to be banished from the court. no action, however, had been taken against him; nevertheless, luynes felt quite certain that his disgrace was only a question of time, and he resolved to anticipate his enemies. clever and crafty, greedy and ambitious, and entirely without scruple, this provençal was a dangerous man, and, while seeking by a show of subservience to the queen-mother and the marshal to disarm the suspicions they had formed of him and so secure a respite to enable him to execute his projects, he worked unceasingly to embitter the young king’s mind against them. he succeeded so well that at length louis was fully persuaded that his crown and even his life were in peril, and that his mother and concini contemplated setting his younger brother on the throne, in order to have a new minority to exploit.
-the marquis de montpouillan, one of the sons of the maréchal de la force, and a playmate of louis xiii in his boyhood, was admitted to their confidence; and montpouillan, a young man of a bold and violent disposition, offered to poniard concini in the king’s cabinet, if his majesty would but get him there. the marshal came; but, at the last moment, luynes’s courage failed him, and he would not allow the design to be executed.
-the conspirators then addressed themselves to the marquis de vitry, one of the captains of the guards, who entered on his term of service at the beginning of april. he was a son of that vitry who had arrested biron at fontainebleau fifteen years earlier, and one of the few men at the court who had refused to bow before the power of the favourite. assured that vitry would be prepared to execute any orders that he might receive, louis xiii sent for him and directed him to arrest the maréchal d’ancre as he was entering the louvre to visit the queen-mother, which he did every morning when he was in paris. the bâton of a marshal of france was to be his reward, if he succeeded. “but, if he defends himself?” said vitry. “then,” cried montpouillan, “the king intends you to kill him!” “sire, do you command me?” asked the officer, turning to the king. “yes, i command you to do it,” was the reply.
-about ten o’clock on april 24, concini entered the louvre by the great gate on the side of saint-germain l’auxerrois, accompanied by some fifty gentlemen. the moment he passed the gate, a signal was given and it was closed; and vitry, followed by several of his men with pistols hidden beneath their cloaks, advanced to meet him. he joined the marshal between the drawbridge and the bridge which led to the inner court of the palace, and laying his hand on his right arm, said: “the king commands me to seize your person.” “à moi!” cried concini; but scarcely had he spoken, than several pistol-shots rang out, and he fell dead on the parapet of the bridge. “it is by order of the king,” cried vitry, and the murdered favourite’s followers, who had laid their hands on their swords, dispersed without attempting to avenge him.
-louis xiii and luynes were waiting anxiously in the king’s cabinet des armes, prepared to fly if the blow miscarried, for which purpose a coach was in readiness near the tuileries. the cries of “vive le roi!” told them that it had succeeded, and a moment later d’ornano, the colonel of the corsicans, son of the marshal of that name, came knocking at the door of the cabinet. “sire,” cried he, “now you are king! the maréchal d’ancre is dead!” louis xiii hurried to the window, and d’ornano, seizing his young sovereign round the body, lifted him up to show him to the cheering crowd of gentlemen and soldiers of the guard who had gathered in the courtyard below. “merci! merci à vous!” cried louis, and then repeated the words of d’ornano: “now i am king!”
-the king gave orders that the parlement and the municipal authorities should be informed of what had occurred, and announced his intention of recalling “the old servants of his father.” villeroy, jeannin, and the oldest of the counsellors of state at once hurried to the louvre, and couriers were despatched to summon the sillerys and the ex-keeper of the seals, du vair, who had been banished from paris.
-meantime, tidings of the tragedy had been carried to the queen-mother. marie understood at once that it was the end of her power. “povretta de mi!” she exclaimed. “i have reigned for seven years; i have nothing more to expect but a crown in heaven!” one of her attendants remarked that they did not know how to break the terrible news to the maréchale d’ancre, who was in her own apartments. but at such a moment the queen had no thought for anyone but herself. “i have many other things to think about,” she exclaimed impatiently. “do not speak to me any more about those people.” and she refused to see her hapless favourite, who, a few minutes later, was arrested and conducted to the bastille. marie then sent one of her gentlemen to her son to request an interview. it was curtly refused, and shortly afterwards her guards were removed from the ante-chamber and replaced by soldiers of the gardes du corps, every exit from her apartments, save one, blocked up, and she found herself a prisoner.
-marie’s ministers fell with her. mangot, the keeper of the seals, was at the louvre; luynes took the seals from his hands and bade him begone. barbin was arrested and sent to join the widow of concini in the bastille. richelieu attempted to make head against the storm and repaired to the king’s apartments, where he found his majesty receiving the felicitations of a crowd of courtiers with the air of one who had just gained a great battle. the king received him graciously enough, and told him that he knew him to be a stranger to the evil designs of the maréchal d’ancre and that “it was his intention to treat him well”; while luynes advised him to go to the council, which was assembling. he went and found villeroy, jeannin and du vair seated at the council-table. villeroy, with a triumphant air, demanded in what quality m. de luçon presented himself there; the others “continued to expedite affairs without occupying themselves with him.” “and so,” he writes, “after having been in that place long enough to say that i had entered there, i softly withdrew.”
-while this revolution of the palace was proceeding, paris resounded with acclamations, and when evening fell, bonfires blazed at all the crossways. the people went almost frantic with joy at their deliverance from the arrogant foreign favourite whom they had come to regard as a public enemy. the parlement, which hastened to declare that “the king was not bound to justify his action,” the municipality, all the public bodies of the town, sent deputations to felicitate his majesty, and everyone applauded his coup de main as if he had committed the finest action in the world. “they gave him the name of ‘just,’ for having caused a man to be killed without trial!” observes henri martin.
-this explosion of public joy was followed by atrocious scenes. the following morning some noblemen’s lackeys, followed by a rabble drawn from the dregs of the populace, entered the church of saint-germain l’auxerrois, where the body of concini, “naked, in a wretched sheet,” had been secretly buried the previous night, disinterred it, dragged it through the streets with obscene cries, in which the name of the queen-mother was mingled with that of the murdered marshal, and finished by tearing it to pieces and burning the remains before the statue of henri iv on the pont-neuf.
-at three o’clock in the morning of the 25th, the comte de tavannes, grandson of the celebrated marshal of that name, arrived in auvergne’s camp with orders from the king to suspend hostilities against soissons; and, a few hours later, bassompierre and his party set out for paris. scarcely had they crossed the aisne, than they encountered a regiment of liégeois cavalry, part of the force which had been raised by concini for service against the princes. the liégeois, who had just learned of the marshal’s assassination, called upon them to halt, and their officers held a sort of informal council of war. bassompierre suspected that it was their intention to take him and his friends along with them as hostages for their safe return to their own country; and when presently an officer detached himself from the rest and came towards them, he assumed the air of a hunted fugitive and, before the other had time to open his mouth, inquired anxiously whether, if his party joined them, they would undertake not to surrender them if called upon to do so. the officer, thinking from this that they must be some of the maréchal d’ancre’s personal following, who were perhaps pursued, told him bluntly the liégeois had quite enough to do to provide for their own safety, and that everyone must look to himself. upon which he turned on his heel and rejoined his comrades, and the whole regiment mounted their horses and rode away. bassompierre and his friends waited until they were out of sight, and then resumed their journey to paris.
-bassompierre arrives in paris--marie de’ medici is exiled to blois--bassompierre’s account of the parting between louis xiii and his mother--the rebellious princes return to court and are pardoned, but condé remains in the bastille--his wife solicits and receives permission to join him there--arrest of the governor and lieutenant of the bastille, on a charge of conniving at a secret correspondence between barbin and the queen-mother--bassompierre is placed temporarily in charge of the fortress--the prince and princesse de condé are transferred to the château of vincennes--bassompierre goes to rouen to attend the assembly of the notables--a rapid journey.
-on the following day--april 26--bassompierre reached paris and lost no time in waiting upon louis xiii, who received him very graciously and “commanded him to love m. de luynes, who was a good servant.” he inquired if he might be permitted to pay his respects to the queen-mother, who since the 24th had been kept a close prisoner in her apartments. the king replied that he would consider the matter, which meant that the request did not meet with his approval. bassompierre, however, was anxious not to appear to fail in respect to a princess who had been so good a friend to him, and whose disgrace, besides, might very well prove to be but a temporary one. and so, in default of being able to convey them himself, he sent his compliments to her majesty every evening, through the medium of her dressmaker, the only person, with the exception of her servants, who was permitted to enter her apartments.
-meanwhile, negotiations were in progress for the queen-mother’s retirement from paris and the court, upon which luynes had persuaded the king to insist. it was richelieu who negotiated the conditions on marie’s behalf. that astute personage, recognising that the victorious party was not inclined to pardon him, had attached himself to marie de’ medici, who had appointed him chief of her counsellors, hoping ere long to succeed in reconciling her with luynes and louis xiii, or with louis xiii against luynes, and, in either event, to recover the position he had lost. he obtained, after considerable difficulty, permission for her to reside no further off than blois, for which she set out on may 3.
-bassompierre has left us an interesting account of the parting between louis xiii and his mother, of which he was an eye-witness:
-“upon that the king placed himself on the balcony before the chamber of the queen, his wife, to see the departure of the queen, and, after she had left the louvre, he hastened into his gallery to see her again as she passed over the pont-neuf. then he entered his coach and went to the bois de vincennes.”
-on may 5, the rebellious princes vendôme, mayenne and bouillon, who, on learning of concini’s death, had hastened to lay down their arms, open the gates of their fortresses and disband their soldiers, as though they had been fighting only against the favourite, came to vincennes, accompanied by a number of their principal followers, to salute the king and assure him of their allegiance. although louis xiii must have known very well that no reliance whatever could be placed in their professions of loyalty, and that, unless he made it worth their while to keep the peace, they would rise again on the first plausible pretext, they were received as though they had taken up arms for, and not against, the royal authority. on may 12 a declaration of the king reinstated them in all their property, honours, and offices, and excused them having taken up arms, “although unlawfully,” on the ground that they had done so in order to defend themselves against the tyranny of the maréchal d’ancre.
-logic would have demanded that the reconciliation should have gone further, and that condé, whose arrest had been the pretext for the revolt, should have been released from the bastille and reinstated as chief of the council. nothing of the kind happened, however. louis xiii entertained a strong antipathy to his turbulent kinsman, which need occasion no surprise; luynes feared that he might attempt to dispute his ascendancy over the young king; while the other princes, who were bound to their chief neither by affection nor even by party-loyalty, did not press for his liberation. and so he remained a prisoner.
-the king stayed at vincennes for some days and then returned to paris; but, shortly afterwards, removed to saint-germain. after having been so long confined to the capital and a sedentary life, he was revelling in his new-found liberty, and the opportunity it afforded him of indulging in his favourite sports of hawking and hunting.
-while the court was at saint-germain, the princess de condé arrived there to ask the king’s permission to share her husband’s captivity. although, for some time before condé’s arrest, the relations between him and his wife had been very cool, the princess, on learning of the misfortune that had befallen him, had shown real magnanimity. without a moment’s delay, she set out for paris--she was at valery at the time--sent the prince messages assuring him of her sympathy and devotion, and begged the queen-mother to allow her to join him. her request, however, was refused, and she received orders to leave paris at once and return to valery.
-in december bassompierre went to normandy to attend the assembly of the notables which louis xiii was holding at rouen. while he was there, news arrived that the princesse de condé had given birth to a still-born child and was in a critical condition; and the king being desirous of sending some important personages to make inquiries on her behalf, or, in the event of the princess being dead, to offer his condolences to condé, bassompierre and the duc de guise offered to go. they set out in a coach, a kind of conveyance which did not usually lend itself to rapid travelling; but, by arranging for an unusual number of relays, reached paris the same day, and made the return journey with similar expedition. bassompierre assures us that never before had a journey by coach been made in so short a time at that season of the year.
-luynes succeeds to the power and wealth of concini--trial and execution of concini’s widow, leonora galigaï--luynes begins to direct affairs of state--his marriage to marie de rohan--conduct of the duc d’epernon--his quarrel with du vair, the keeper of the seals--his disgrace--he begins to intrigue with the queen-mother--escape of the latter from blois--treaty of angoulême--the court at tours--arnauld d’andilly’s account of bassompierre’s lavish hospitality--favours bestowed by the king on bassompierre--meeting between louis xiii and the queen-mother--liberation of condé--bassompierre entertains the king at monceaux--he is admitted to the ordre du saint-esprit.
-the heir of the power of concini was luynes. he was, as we have mentioned, a gentleman of provence--a very unimportant gentleman the court had thought him before he had contrived to insinuate himself into the good graces of the young king. his father, an officer of fortune, the fruit, if we are to believe richelieu, of a liaison between one d’albert, a canon of marseilles, and a chambermaid, was the owner of the château of luynes, near aix, the vineyard of brantes, and the islet of cadenet in the middle of the rhone, seigneuries, says bassompierre, which a hare could jump over, but which, in default of revenues, furnished titles for his three sons. charles albert, the eldest, had begun life as page to the comte du lude, and was afterwards placed by henri iv with the dauphin. both he and his younger brothers, brantes and cadenet, were exceedingly good-looking men, skilled in all bodily exercises, well-educated and possessed of ingratiating manners; but there were no limits to their ambition or their greed, and they did not intend to allow any little scruples to stand in the way of their advancement.
-despite the adage:
-“devrait-on hériter de ceux qu’on assassine,”
-luynes inherited, not only the power of concini, but also the greater part of his charges and possessions: lieutenancy-general of normandy, government of the pont-de-l’arche, domain of ancre (the name of which was changed to albert), his post of first gentleman of the chamber, his hôtel in paris, his estate of lesigny, and so forth. when people saw the confiscated property of the concini pass straight from the royal demesne into the greedy hands of the new favourite, they began to ask themselves whether the country was after all likely to gain much by the change that had taken place.
-it was with great difficulty, however, that luynes succeeded in obtaining this verdict. the advocate-general, lebret, at first refused to demand the death penalty, and it was only on luynes giving him his word that the prisoner would be pardoned after the decree that he consented to do so. but the only clemency that the unfortunate woman was able to obtain was that her head should be cut off before her body was committed to the flames. she died with great courage and resignation.
-the death of villeroy, in november, 1617, enfeebled the group of old counsellors who had been recalled to office after the assassination of concini; and luynes, whose favour with the king was constantly increasing, began to direct the state, although he was totally ignorant of public affairs. his government benefited for some time by the unpopularity of the maréchal d’ancre; the grandees remained tranquil, and luynes, by his marriage with the beautiful marie de rohan, daughter of the duc de montbazon, destined one day to become so celebrated under the name of the duchesse de chevreuse, assured himself of the support of the house of rohan.
-alone amongst the great nobles, d’épernon did not hurry himself to come and compliment the king on his assumption of the government of his realm and to salute the man to whom he had delegated the royal authority. as colonel-general of the french infantry, d’épernon was a power in the land, and when at last, towards the end of march, 1618, he condescended to visit the court, the colonels of all the regiments stationed in and around paris and in picardy and champagne went so far as étampes to meet him and escort him to the capital. haughty and choleric and excessively touchy on the question of his rights, this former mignon of henri iii was not long in mortally offending the king, already incensed against him by his long delay in presenting himself at court, which luynes had not failed to represent as a gross want of the respect due to his sovereign.
-finding that du vair, to whom the seals had been restored after the dismissal of mangot, was in the habit of taking his seat at the council above all the nobles, even when the chancellor was present, although the keeper of the seals was not an officer of the crown, his gorge rose at once, and he went to the king to protest against so intolerable an affront to his own dignity and that of his order. du vair happened to be with the king, and, says bassompierre, “as m. d’épernon was a little violent, he attacked the keeper of the seals, who answered him more sharply than he should have done.” three days later, louis xiii summoned the duke and du vair to his cabinet, and, in the presence of bassompierre and several other courtiers, ordered them to be reconciled. by way of answer, d’épernon shrugged his shoulders, upon which the young monarch, who was seated, rose in great indignation, and severely reprimanded him. then, observing that he had affairs of importance to attend to, he abruptly quitted the room.
-d’épernon retired, followed by bassompierre, but, to their astonishment, they found all the doors of the ante-chamber closed and locked. it looked “as though the king intended to have the duke arrested, and had given orders for the doors to be secured, in order to allow time for an officer of the guards to be summoned.” however, it occurred to bassompierre that perhaps the door leading to the king’s private staircase, which was opposite that of his chamber, might not be locked, and, finding it unfastened, he fetched d’épernon, and they descended the stairs and made their way to the salle haute, where the old noble’s attendants were awaiting him.
-as d’épernon was leaving the louvre, he asked his friend “to send him warning if anything had been resolved against him.” bassompierre accordingly spoke to luynes on the subject, and was informed that, as m. d’épernon intended going to his government of metz, he would be well advised to hasten his departure, since there were persons who might incite the king against him. bassompierre, of course, understood very well who it was who was likely to incite the king.
-on being assured that his majesty was prepared to treat him as though nothing had happened when he went to ask permission to retire to metz, d’épernon proceeded to the louvre, where the king received him “with a very good countenance,” and granted his request. louis xiii was under the impression that the duke intended to leave paris the following day; but, five days later, while the king was at vanves, a village in the environs of the capital, he learned that d’épernon was still there and that a great number of people were visiting him. his majesty angrily told bassompierre that if, when he returned to paris on the morrow, he found m. d’épernon there, it would be the worse for him; and luynes advised bassompierre to go and tell him that “he would not remain much longer, if he were wise.” this he did, and d’épernon requested him to inform the king that he would leave paris before noon on the morrow. he took his departure within the time specified, but, instead of proceeding to metz, he only went so far as fontenay-en-brie, near coulommiers, where he had a country-seat. louis xiii was furious, and proposed to send a detachment of the guards to arrest him; but the chancellor, sillery, who was a friend of d’épernon, sent a messenger in all haste to the duke to warn him of what was intended, and d’épernon, recognising that he had presumed too far on the young monarch’s forbearance, lost no time in resuming his journey to metz.
-although d’épernon had only himself to blame for his disgrace, he was none the less bitterly incensed against the king and his favourite; and, to avenge his outraged dignity, forthwith proceeded to establish a secret correspondence with the queen-mother, whom he urged to protest by force of arms against the treatment she was receiving, and promised to support by every means in his power.
-marie required little prompting: she had already resolved to make her escape. thanks to the enmity of luynes, she found herself little better than a prisoner in the château of blois; all correspondence with persons at the court was forbidden her; richelieu, who had aroused the suspicions of the favourite, had been banished to avignon, and other members of her entourage had also been removed. nevertheless, she dissimulated her resentment, and in april, 1619, consented, at the instance of a jesuit, père arnoux, whom luynes sent to her, to sign a declaration, in which she swore “before god and his angels,” to submit in all things to the wishes of the king, and to warn him immediately of “all communications and overtures contrary to his service.”
-luynes, however, continued to offend her. at the end of 1618, an embassy from savoy came to paris to demand the hand of her younger daughter, christine, for the prince of piedmont, eldest son of charles emmanuel. marie was not consulted, the king confining himself to informing her of the betrothal; and on february 10, 1619, the marriage was celebrated without her being invited. it was the last straw; she resolved to fly at the first favourable opportunity. d’épernon, anticipating her intention, had left metz, towards the end of january, without permission of the king, and gone to await her in the angoumois; and, in the night of february 21-22, marie made her escape to blois and went to angoulême, whence she wrote to her son, demanding the redress of her grievances.
-luynes was at first greatly alarmed, fearing that the princes, already beginning to show signs of irritation at the increasing power of the favourite, might join the queen-mother; but they remained quiet. in these circumstances, he might easily have crushed d’épernon; but he wished to avoid war, and accordingly sent the cardinal de la rochefoucauld and père bérulle, the famous preacher of the oratoire, to propose peace to marie, and recalled richelieu from avignon “to pacify her mind.” in this task the prelate succeeded, and on april 30, 1619, he signed with the cardinal de la rochefoucauld a treaty at angoulême which authorised the queen-mother to dispose of the offices of her household and to reside where she pleased, and gave her, in exchange for the government of normandy, that of anjou, with the château of angers, the ponts-de-cé and chinon. d’épernon, against whom the usual royal declaration had been launched, recovered his charges and appointments, and richelieu was given to understand that he might hope for a cardinal’s hat at no very distant date.
-however, louis xiii, who had been on the point of setting out with the court for the loire when the news that peace had been signed reached him, determined to carry out his intention, luynes no doubt thinking that, in view of the possibility of further trouble with the queen-mother, a visit of the young king to that part of his realm might be productive of good results. after a short stay at different towns, including amboise, from which letters announcing the peace were sent to the parlement of paris for registration, at the end of may the court arrived at tours, where, says bassompierre, “we remained three months and passed our time very pleasantly.”
-arnauld d’andilly, in his mémoires, has left us an interesting picture of life at tours and, more particularly, of the lavish hospitality dispensed by bassompierre:--
-“while at tours, i happened to be lodged near m. de bassompierre, who kept a table which you might say was worthy of one of the greatest nobles of the court, since it was always full. he did me the honour to invite me to come every day and pressed me in such fashion that, not being acquainted with any of these grandees so intimately that i believed myself competent to say that there was no one in france of my condition who lived so habitually or on such familiar terms with them, i was unable to refuse a civility so obliging. those whom i met there were, apart from their rank, persons of a merit so great, that some had filled already, and others have filled since, the most important offices of state, and commanded armies. thus, there was much to learn from their conversation, and nothing was more agreeable than the pleasant familiarity with which they lived together. ceremony, the constraint of which is insupportable to those who are nourished in the air of the great world, was unknown there. each one seated himself where he pleased. those who came the latest never failed to find a place at the table, although the others may already have been there a long while. however great was the good cheer provided, no one ever spoke about eating. people came without saying good-day, and went away without saying adieu. and the conversation ranged over all kinds of topics, and was, not only agreeable, but instructive.”
-on leaving tours, the court paid short visits to le lude, in the maine, where the king was the guest of the comte du lude, whose page luynes had once been, la flèche, and durtal, where he was entertained by the comte de schomberg. his majesty was exceedingly gracious to bassompierre about this time. on the death of the old swiss colonel galatty he offered him the choice of that veteran’s appointments; gave him the abbey of honnecourt, in the diocese of cambrai, for one of his ecclesiastical friends, who appears to have contented himself with drawing the revenues of the benefice and did not even take the trouble to get instituted until twenty-five years later; and bestowed other favours upon him.
-at the beginning of september, the court returned to tours, the king having decided that it would be advisable to placate his mother, who was complaining that the terms of the treaty signed at angoulême had not been properly executed, by a personal interview. on september 4 marie de’ medici arrived at couzières, a country-house belonging to luynes’s father-in-law, the duc de montbazon, where she was received by the favourite, who was accompanied by all the princes and great nobles. on the following day she arrived at tours, being met at some little distance from the town by anne of austria and all the princesses.
-marie remained with the king until the 19th, and then left for chinon en route for angers, while the court proceeded to amboise.
-bassompierre does not give us any information about louis xiii’s attitude to his mother during these two weeks, but, if we are to believe richelieu, he showed towards her “an incredible tenderness.” anyway, luynes appears to have become very uneasy, fearing lest the meeting at tours might lead to a more or less complete reconciliation between mother and son; and one of his first acts when the court returned to paris was to persuade the king to set condé at liberty and restore him to all his offices and dignities (october 20, 1619). he judged--and rightly, as it proved--that the harsh treatment to which the first prince of the blood had been subjected during the early months of his imprisonment in the bastille would have so embittered him against the queen-mother, that he could be trusted to use all his influence to prevent the rapprochement which the favourite had so much cause to dread. and, to nullify the effects of the “incredible tenderness” of which richelieu speaks, he caused to be inserted in the declaration of condé’s innocence, which was registered by the parlement on november 26, words which could not fail to be most offensive to marie de’ medici: “being informed,” said the king, “of the reasons by which his detention has been excused, i have found that there was no cause, save the machinations and evil designs of his enemies, who desired to join the ruin of my state to that of my cousin.”
-in november, the king spent a fortnight at monceaux, and bassompierre, who was captain of the château, entertained him most magnificently. at the close of the year there was a large promotion to the ordre du saint-esprit, five prelates and fifty-nine nobles being admitted. bassompierre was amongst the latter, his name figuring twenty-fourth on the list of the new knights.
-the promotions to the ordre du saint-esprit furnished marie de’ medici with yet another grievance, and she complained bitterly that they comprised all her chief enemies, to the exclusion of the friends whom she had recommended. luynes seemed bent on exasperating her beyond endurance, and on making her little court at angers, where she had now established herself, a centre of disaffection.
-the grandees, irritated by the increasing power and favour of luynes, decide to make common cause with the queen-mother against him--departure of mayenne from the court--he is followed by longueville, nemours, mayenne and retz--formidable character of the insurrection--bassompierre receives orders to mobilise a royal army in champagne--he informs the king that the comte de soissons, his mother, the grand prieur de vendôme and the comte de saint-aignan intend to leave paris to join the rebels--alarm and indecision of luynes--advice of bassompierre--it is finally decided to allow them to go--success of bassompierre in mobilising troops in champagne despite great difficulties--the duc de bouillon sends a gentleman to him to endeavour to corrupt his loyalty--reply of bassompierre--the town and château of dreux surrender to him--he joins the king near la flèche with an army of 8,600 men--combat of the ponts-des-cé--peace of angers.
-luynes had contrived to exasperate many other important personages besides marie de’ medici. the irritation of the grandees against him was increasing, in proportion as they beheld the king accumulating new favours on the head of his parvenu favourite. luynes and his two brothers, cadenet and brantès, “devoured everything.” between them they had acquired eighteen of the most important governments in the kingdom, and had all three blossomed into dukes, the eldest brother having been created duc de luynes, the second duc de chaulnes, while the youngest had married the heiress of the duchy of piney-luxembourg, and had secured the revival of that title in his favour. cadenet had also been provided with the hand of a wealthy heiress of an illustrious house, and had become, not only a duke and peer, but a marshal of france. as for luynes, he appeared to consider the bâton of marshal unworthy of his grandeur, and awaited a favourable opportunity of girding on the sword of constable. nor, while the three brothers were thus enriched and aggrandized, were their poor relations forgotten; they arrived “by battalions” from provence and had their share of the spoils.
-by family alliances luynes had assured himself of the support of condé, lesdiguières and of all the guises, with the exception of the cardinal, and he governed both the king and the state. the ministers were only consulted as a matter of form. the engagements to the queen-mother were not kept; and, as the finances were in a state of indescribable confusion, the pensions of the grandees, with the exception of those who had the good fortune to be related by marriage to the favourite or his brothers, remained unpaid.
-mayenne’s unceremonious departure sounded the first note of warning. others were not long in coming. at short intervals during the spring, vendôme, longueville, nemours and retz followed the example of the lorraine prince, and when it became known that vendôme, after going to his country-seat in normandy, had proceeded to join the queen-mother at angers, the court could no longer doubt what was in the wind. the king and luynes, much alarmed, pressed marie to return to court; but she did not wish to reappear there, “save with honour and safety,” and did not consider the guarantees which were offered her sufficient. richelieu counselled her to take the risk, but the grandees who surrounded the queen-mother opposed it, and civil war was decided upon.
-in appearance, this insurrection was the most formidable that had been seen since the accession of louis xiii. the malcontents believed themselves to be masters of france from dieppe to bayonne, and possessed, besides, in the east of france, the important position of metz, of which d’épernon was governor, which would permit them to introduce into the kingdom foreign mercenaries. luynes was at first greatly perturbed; but condé, eager to be avenged on the queen-mother, reassured him, and urged him to take vigorous measures to meet the danger. the plan of campaign they decided upon was well conceived. they, with the king, would march into normandy with what troops could be spared from the defence of the capital, while bassompierre, who had been appointed maréchal de camp--a rank corresponding to brigadier-general--of the troops in garrison in champagne and on the frontier of lorraine, went there to mobilise as large a force as possible. then, when the safety of normandy had been assured, they would turn southwards; bassompierre would join them at some point north of the loire, and their united forces would march on angers.
-bassompierre found the king in his cabinet with luynes, and informed them of what was intended. they both appeared very much disturbed at his news, and the king, who was going that afternoon to the château of madrid, in the bois de boulogne, said that he should remain in paris, and announced his intention of sending for the comte de soissons and having him arrested. luynes and bassompierre, however, pointed out that “to arrest so great a personage without certain proofs did not seem to them to be expedient, and that the affair merited to be weighed and debated before any resolution was arrived at.” and luynes advised the king not to postpone his journey, “for fear of frightening the game,” and said that he himself would remain in paris and keep bassompierre there that day, and that, so soon as they had come to a decision, they would acquaint his majesty with it. he also asked that the light cavalry of the guard, which his youngest brother now commanded, should be placed at his disposal, in order that he might effect the arrest of the prince and his friends, if that course were deemed advisable.
-louis xiii accordingly set off for madrid, and bassompierre, luynes, his two brothers, and several of their friends met in solemn conclave at the favourite’s hôtel in the rue saint-thomas du louvre to weigh and debate this important matter. luynes seemed in great perplexity, nor did his relatives and friends appear able to help him to come to any definite decision. at length, he turned to bassompierre, who had hitherto remained silent, and begged him to give them the benefit of his counsel.
-bassompierre modestly disclaimed any desire to express an opinion upon affairs of state, particularly upon a matter so intricate and delicate as the one under discussion. however, said he, as m. de luynes had done him the honour to seek his counsel, he would give it for what it was worth.
-he then said that, in this affair, he must speak like a
-shopkeeper, and say that there were only two alternatives: to take him or to leave him. if they decided to let monsieur le comte depart in peace, they might either say nothing to him at all, or inform him that his design was known, but that it was a matter of indifference to the king whether he executed it or not. if, on the contrary, they decided to arrest him, there were several ways in which it might be effected: they might advise the king to summon him to madrid, warn him that he was informed of his design, and that, in the circumstances, he felt obliged “to assure himself of his person”; or they might send the light cavalry to invest his hôtel and arrest him there; or as he was leaving his house, or at the gates of the town; or, finally, at villapreux (three leagues from versailles), the rendezvous where saint-aignan and d’épinay were to join him.
-“it is now for you, monsieur,” he concluded solemnly “to deliberate upon and decide whether it be advisable to arrest him or let him go; and, should you judge it necessary to arrest him, to make choice also of one of the ways which i have proposed to you, and to execute it promptly and surely.”
-“upon that,” observes bassompierre, “m. de luynes was in greater uncertainty than ever”--we can well believe it--“and i was astonished to see the little aid and comfort which he received from the other gentlemen present, who showed themselves as irresolute as he was.”
-they continued their deliberations all the afternoon, and when evening came they were as far off a decision as ever. then bassompierre, whose patience was exhausted, said to luynes: “monsieur, you are wasting time in resolving what course ought to be pursued. it grows late; the king must be growing anxious at not hearing anything from you. come to some decision.”
-“it is very easy for you to talk,” answered the favourite petulantly; “but if you held the handle of the frying-pan, as i do, you would be in a like difficulty.”
-bassompierre then suggested that perhaps, in the circumstances, it might be as well to take the ministers into his confidence. now, as we have mentioned already, m. de luynes never condescended to consult these unfortunate old gentlemen--“the dotards” as they were irreverently called--except as a matter of form. nevertheless, such was his perplexity on this occasion, that he caught at the proposal as a drowning man catches at a straw, and despatched a messenger in all haste to summon the ministers to assemble at the chancellor’s house. thither the conference adjourned, and, after a good deal of further discussion, it was resolved to let soissons and his mother take their departure and to say nothing to them about it. this decision was arrived at on the advice of jeannin, who pointed out that such vain and meddlesome persons as these two were more likely to cause dissensions in the queen-mother’s party than to strengthen it; that, when hostilities began, it would be better to have them outside paris than hatching mischief within its walls; and, further, that it would be easy at any time to draw monsieur le comte away from his confederates by pecuniary inducements, in which event he would very probably be followed by the other princes, since these exalted personages were like a flock of sheep: when one took the leap, the others followed him.
-and so, at eleven o’clock that night, the soissons and their friends left paris by the porte saint-jacques, and went off to join the queen-mother at angers, no man hindering them; and on the following morning bassompierre set out for champagne.
-a promise, in the king’s name, of the command of the troop in which he was now only a lieutenant sufficed to draw the most fervid expressions of loyalty from m. de loppes; and he volunteered to escort bassompierre with thirty of his men to vitry, where two companies of the regiment of champagne were in garrison.
-on the following morning, bassompierre reviewed the garrison, which he found pretty well up to strength, and sounded the officers, who appeared loyal enough, though the lieutenant-colonel was under suspicion. however, as he was away on furlough, and not likely to return for some time, there was nothing to be feared from him.
-from vitry bassompierre proceeded to verdun, where he arrived on july 6. here there was a different tale to tell.
-the following day, bassompierre received a letter from louis xiii, informing him that he was proceeding at once into normandy to save rouen, which longueville was endeavouring to raise against him, and ordering him to assemble all the forces he could muster at saint-menehould, leaving vaubecourt’s regiment to garrison what places in champagne he considered necessary, and then to march with all possible speed to montereau, where he would receive further orders.
-at verdun bassompierre received a visit from m. de fresnel, governor of clermont-en-argonne, who was intimately acquainted with the military resources of that part of france. fresnel warned him that he would find in every garrison-town the same condition of things as at verdun, and that, apart from vaubecourt’s regiment, he doubted whether he would be able to muster 2,000 men. the magazines, however, were full and capable of equipping any number of men; and, if he were prepared to offer a bounty to everyone who enlisted, he believed that plenty of recruits would be forthcoming.
-bassompierre readily agreed to give the bounty which fresnel advised, though he had to find the money out of his own pocket, and in a few days fresnel had raised 800 men on his estates in the argonne, with whom and another 120 furnished by the town of verdun, he filled the ranks of the regiment of picardy. the bailiff of bar, a personal friend of his, sent him 300, whom he drafted into the regiment of champagne; another 300 came from the valley of aillant, in the yonne. the drum was beaten vigorously at vitry, saint-dizier, châlons, rheims, sens and other towns, and each of them furnished its contingent, with the result that he soon found himself at the head of what, for those times, was quite a formidable force, though, as the great majority of the men thus obtained were raw recruits who had never been under fire, their fighting value was not very great. however, he had the consolation of knowing that the rebel forces would undoubtedly be at the same disadvantage.
-bassompierre had the good fortune to have at his disposal a number of experienced commissariat-officers, and the arrangements he was thus enabled to make for the rapid march of his army westwards, notwithstanding that it was then the height of a very hot summer, appear to have left little to be desired, and to have shown a solicitude for the soldier’s comfort and well-being most unusual at this epoch.
-“after deciding,” he says, “upon the routes which my troops were to follow, i decided upon my marches, which i made longer than was customary, to wit, nine or ten leagues per day. i gave orders that each regiment should start at three or four in the morning and march until nine o’clock, by which time it should have covered five leagues. and i arranged that the halting-place should be near some river or brook, where it would find a cart containing wine and another filled with bread awaiting it, to refresh the soldiers. here they would rest until three of the afternoon, in order to avoid marching during the heat of the day, and then take the road again. and i further arranged that when they reached the village where they were to pass the night, they should find the beasts that were to provide their meal already slaughtered, for which i paid one half of the cost, and the village the other. by this means, the soldier, perceiving the care that i took that he should want for nothing, performed without a murmur these long marches so far as montereau.”
-on july 13, towards evening, bassompierre arrived at poivre, where he had arranged to pass the night. shortly afterwards, he received a visit from a huguenot gentleman named despence, with whom he had some slight acquaintance, and whom he invited to sup with him. when they rose from table, m. despence led him into the garden adjoining the house, and there inquired if he might speak to him frankly and “in all security”; by which he meant that whatever the nature of the communication he wished to make might be, bassompierre would afterwards suffer him to depart in peace.
-after this long-winded preamble, m. despence came to the point. the duke, he said, had no intention of suggesting to m. de bassompierre that he should do anything contrary to his honour and duty; nothing was further from his thoughts. but, if he could see his way to delay for three weeks the junction of the army under his command with that of the king, which might be done without disobeying the orders he had received from his majesty, who did not anticipate that he would be able to join him before then; if he would rest content with such troops as he found in garrison, and cease to amuse himself by levying everywhere at his own expense men to reinforce them, and, in short, abate a little of his ardour and animosity towards the party of the queen-mother, m. de bouillon would without delay deposit the sum of 100,000 crowns in the hands of any banker whom he might be pleased to name, and no one but themselves would be the wiser.
-bassompierre, with growing indignation, heard him to the end, and then told him that he was astonished that he should have taken advantage of the promise of safety he had received to make him so disgraceful a proposition. “i did not think,” said he, “that m. de bouillon knew me so little as to imagine that money or any other advantage would make me fail in my duty or honour. it is not animosity, but ardour and desire to serve the king which has spurred me to these extraordinary exertions. next to his i am the most devoted servant of the queen in the world; but, when it is a question of the service of the king, i do not recognise the queen. i would that i could run or fly to whatever place his service called me, and, as for my money, i would dispense that right willingly to the last sol, provided that his affairs might be placed in a good state. if you had not obtained an assurance of safety from me, i should have had you arrested, and sent you to châlons; but the promise i have given you prevents me from doing that.”
-with which he turned on his heel and left m. despence to return whence he came, marvelling greatly that so shrewd a judge of men as the lord of sedan professed to be should have sent him on so bootless an errand.
-on the 18th, the army reached montereau, and bassompierre brought his troops across the seine and quartered them in and around étampes. the evening before he had received a letter from the king announcing that caen and rouen had opened their gates to him; that longueville had retired to dieppe and shut himself up there; while the grand prior, who had been assisting him to stir up trouble, had fled to angers, and that his majesty was about to begin his march to the loire.
-on the 19th, bassompierre went to paris to make arrangements for the provisioning of his army. on going to salute anne of austria, her majesty told him that “she did not know whether to receive him as general of an army or as a courier, seeing the extreme activity he had displayed,” while the council “could not believe that the army was at étampes and in such strength as he assured them was the case.”
-as bassompierre was so much ahead of his time, and there was no need for him to begin his march to join the army of the king for some days, he received orders to make an attempt to reduce dreux, one of the few places in normandy still occupied by the rebels. he accordingly returned to étampes, and was about to set out for dreux at the head of the regiments of champagne and picardy and a detachment of cavalry, when he received a letter from anne of austria informing him that she had received intelligence that the comte de rochefort, husband of a lady to whom bassompierre had “offered his service” at the end of the previous year, and who, we may presume, had been graciously pleased to accept it, was in dire peril of his life. it appeared that rochefort, who was governor of the château of nantes, had been arrested at angers by orders of marie de’ medici, and that “m. de vendôme intended to bring him before the château of nantes, to force it to surrender; threatening, in case of refusal, to cut off his head.” the only way to save m. de rochefort, wrote the queen, was to seize vendôme’s mother-in-law, madame de mercœur, and his children, who were at the château of anet, near dreux, the palatial country-seat which henri ii had built for his middle-aged inamorata diane de poitiers, and bring them as hostages to paris. “and she recommended to me this affair, which was very important to the service of the king and which would afford infinite satisfaction to madame de rochefort, of whom i was so much the servant.”
-bassompierre accordingly detached the greater part of his cavalry and sent them to anet to secure madame de mercœur and the little vendômes, and with the rest of his force presented himself before the gates of dreux. they were opened to him at once, and the citizens shouted, “vive le roi!” with all the strength of their lungs; but bassompierre informed them that, although he was very gratified to hear such cries, he would prefer to have some practical proof of their loyalty. and he ordered them to assist him in bringing m. d’escluzelles, the governor of the château, to reason.
-m. d’escluzelles, however, refused to surrender, and, though bassompierre’s troops, with the assistance of the citizens, built a formidable barricade which cut off all communication between the château and the town, he appeared to regard their proceedings with indifference. when, however, on the following day, bassompierre caused him to be informed that, unless he capitulated forthwith, he proposed to burn his country-seat, which lay a few miles from dreux, to the ground, cut down every tree on his estate, and carry off his wife and children to paris, he “had pity upon his property and his family,” and sent to demand a parley. next morning (july 25), the château surrendered, and bassompierre having placed a garrison there and seen madame de mercœur and her grandchildren, whom the cavalry had brought from anet, off to paris, returned to étampes and began his march towards the loire. on august 2 his army arrived at connerré, not far from le mans, where louis xiii’s headquarters were, and bassompierre went to pay his respects to his majesty, who gave him a most flattering reception and “expressed himself very satisfied with the care and expedition which he had shown.”
-two days later, the king reviewed bassompierre’s army in the plain of gros chataigneraie, near la flèche. it now consisted of 8,000 infantry and 600 cavalry, and his majesty pronounced it “very fine and very complete, and beyond what he had expected to find.” the two armies were then joined into one corps, and the king having given the command to condé, with praslin as his second in command, and appointed four brigadier-generals, of whom bassompierre was one, the royal forces advanced on angers.
-the rapid submission of normandy had deceived all the expectations of marie de’ medici, for d’épernon was not yet ready to join her, nor had mayenne completed the formidable levies of troops which he was making in guienne. towards the end of july, her troops had advanced so far as la flèche, but, on the news of the approach of the royal army, had fallen back rapidly on angers. richelieu endeavoured to stop the king by opening negotiations, but louis xiii, whose military instincts had been awakened by the life of the camp, continued to advance. on august 6 the queen-mother made new proposals, and, though condé urged the king to reject them, luynes, who was still doubtful about the issue of the war, persuaded louis to return a favourable answer and to grant his mother an armistice until the following morning. deputies were then despatched to angers, but, owing to some misunderstanding, they had to wait several hours before being admitted to the town. this delay was attended with disastrous results to the insurgent forces.
-the troops of the queen-mother, which did not exceed 8,000 men, were spread out along a front of about four miles from angers to the ponts-des-cé, an important position which assured to them the passage of the loire. vendôme, who commanded under the youthful comte de soissons, the nominal chief of the army, had conceived the fantastic idea of connecting these two towns by a long line of entrenchments, which, however, were not yet half-finished, and which, even if they had been completed, would have required a much larger force than the one at his disposal to defend effectively. the royal army was encamped in the plain of trélazé, about a league from the ponts-des-cé.
-on the morning of the 7th, just about the time when the king’s commissioners were entering angers to conclude peace, louis xiii was persuaded by condé, who was determined to do everything in his power to prevent the termination of hostilities before a decisive defeat had been inflicted on the queen-mother’s party, to consent to a reconnaissance in force of the rebels’ position; and the royal army accordingly advanced to within sight of the unfinished entrenchments. whether from cowardice or from irritation at the neglect of his interests which marie de’ medici had shown in the treaty which was about to be signed, the duc de retz chose this moment to withdraw from the position assigned to him with his own regiment and another which had been placed under his command, and to retire across the loire. the disorder consequent on this movement, which was entirely unexpected, was taken by the royal captains for the beginning of a general retreat, and on their advice the king ordered the bugles to sound the attack.
-bassompierre’s troops, with those of the marquis de nerestang, formed the left wing of the royal army. between them and the entrenchments lay some fields, the hedges of which were lined with musketeers; but they were speedily dislodged, and took refuge behind a body of cavalry, who retreated, in their turn, without making any attempt to charge, so soon as fire was opened upon them, and retired to what shelter the entrenchments afforded. the cannon of the citadel now came into play, but the gunners were quite unable to find the range, and not a man was hit. as they neared the entrenchments, bassompierre dismounted and, taking a halberd from a sergeant, placed himself at the head of one of the battalions of the regiment of champagne. on seeing this, nerestang rode up, exclaiming: “monsieur, that is not the place for a brigadier-general; you will be unable to make the other battalions fight if you remain at the head of this one.”
-“i answered,” says bassompierre, “that he was right; but that these regiments, which were largely composed of new recruits, would fight well if they saw me at their head, and badly if i remained behind; and since i had raised and brought them to this army, i had an interest in their conducting themselves well. then he said: ‘i shall not remain on horseback if you are on foot,�� and, dismounting, placed himself on my left.”
-the entrenchments were carried with but little resistance, for the defenders appear to have been demoralised by the desertion of retz and his troops and the suddenness of the attack, and fled in disorder towards the town. a flanking-fire, however, from the roofs and windows of some of the houses in the faubourgs caused a few casualties amongst bassompierre’s men; and, as they were crossing some open ground between the trenches and the town, a squadron of cavalry emerged from a field, deployed and seemed about to charge.
-“and now,” says bassompierre, “i shall relate a strange thing. a man from one of our storming-companies who had remained behind--i never learned his name--and who was carrying a pike, addressed himself to a chief who was riding some twenty paces in front of the others and gave his horse a thrust in the stomach with his pike. the horse reared, upon which the soldier gave him another thrust; and the rider, fearing to be thrown, wheeled to the left and galloped off. and, at the same moment, the squadron wheeled in the same direction and passed under the arch of the bridge, where the water was very shallow.”
-the comte de saint-aignan, who, it will be remembered, had accompanied the comte de soissons when he left paris to join the queen-mother, was with this squadron, having ridden up to order it to charge. he was on its left flank and tried to rally the fugitives, but without success, and was carried away with them for some little distance. now, m. de saint-aignan was a great dandy, and was wearing gilded armour and a hat that was the dernier cri in sumptuous headgear--a hat to marvel at, adorned with great ostrich plumes fastened by diamond-buckles--and when he at last succeeded in getting out of the press and pulling up his horse, he found that his hat had been knocked off. he could not bring himself to abandon it, and accordingly rode back to where it lay and attempted to recover it with the point of his sword. bassompierre, passing near him, on his way into the town, did not attempt to make him prisoner, and merely shouted: “adieu, saint-aignan!” “adieu, adieu!” replied the count, without desisting from his efforts to recover his hat. this was no easy matter, as his horse was very restive, but eventually he succeeded and had just replaced it triumphantly on his head, and was about to ride away, when he was stopped and taken prisoner by two carabiniers.
-bassompierre was then sent to report the result of the action to the king and to take him the nobles who had been made prisoners. his majesty, whom he found in company with condé, luynes and bellegarde, “received him with extraordinary cordiality, and m. de luynes spoke in praise of him to monsieur le grand.” but when louis xiii heard that saint-aignan was amongst the prisoners, he looked very grave indeed, as did the others, and they consulted together as to what was to be done with him. then the king informed bassompierre that, as m. de saint-aignan was, not only an officer of the regular army, but colonel-general of the light cavalry, and had been taken in arms against his sovereign, it had been decided that he was to be tried at once by the keeper of the seals, who was, with the army, and, in the event of conviction, to be decapitated that very day. and so it seemed as though poor saint-aignan had only succeeded in saving his hat at the cost of his head.
-happily for him, bassompierre was determined to save him.
-the engagement of the ponts-des-cé was a terrible blow to the queen-mother’s party; nevertheless, marie was far from reduced to extremities. if no longer able to make peace on favourable terms, two courses were open to her. she might shut herself up in angers with what was left of her army, and hold out until mayenne and d’épernon were able to come to her assistance, or she might ford the loire with her cavalry, only a part of which had been engaged at the ponts-des-cé, and make her way to angoulême, where d’épernon’s headquarters were. thus, although no hope of success now remained, she might succeed in prolonging the war for months.
-luynes was aware of this, and aware too that a continuance of hostilities could not fail to add to his unpopularity; while he was beginning to fear condé, with whom louis xiii was now on quite alarmingly friendly terms, almost as much as he feared the queen-mother. the high catholic party, too, were eager for peace, in order that the king might have his hands free to deal with the protestants of béarn; and their representations, joined to that of luynes, decided louis to abandon any idea of imposing on his mother and her adherents the stringent terms which their recent defeat would otherwise have justified. the treaty, which was signed at angers on august 10, was, to all intents and purposes, a confirmation of that of the previous year, save for a stipulation that the partisans of the queen-mother were not to be restored to the offices and charges of which the king had disposed during the rebellion. three days later, marie and her son met at brissac, and were, to all appearances, on the best of terms; and on the 16th a royal declaration proclaimed the innocence of the intentions of the queen-mother and her adherents “during the late disturbances.” mayenne and d’épernon thereupon laid down their arms, and the powerful faction which for a moment had threatened to subvert the state melted away.
-refusal of the protestants of béarn to restore the property of the catholic church--louis xiii and luynes resolve on rigorous measures and set out for the south--visit of bassompierre to la rochelle--he joins the king at bordeaux--arrest and execution of d’arsilemont--the parlement of pau declines to register the royal edict and louis xiii determines to march into béarn--bassompierre charged with the transport of the army across the garonne, which is accomplished in twenty-four hours--béarn and lower navarre are united to the crown of france--coldness of the king towards bassompierre--bassompierre learns that this is due to the ill offices of luynes, who regards him as a rival in the royal favour--he is informed that luynes is “unable to suffer him to remain at court”--bassompierre decides to come to terms with the favourite, and it is arranged that he shall quit the court so soon as some honourable office can be found for him--the valtellina question--bassompierre appointed ambassador extraordinary to the court of spain--birth of a son to luynes.
-no sooner had peace been signed than louis xiii, urged on by luynes, who was above all things anxious to conciliate the high catholic party, determined to deal with the recalcitrant protestants of béarn.
-the protestants of languedoc and guienne embraced the cause of the béarnais, and the parlement of pau, in which the reformers were in a great majority, refused to register the edict. the troubles with the queen-mother prevented louis xiii and luynes from taking any rigorous measures, but now that their hands were free, they were resolved to lose no more time.
-before louis xiii began his march to the south, bassompierre obtained permission to pay a visit to his brother-in-law saint-luc at brouage, of which town the latter was governor, and to travel by way of la rochelle. he set out on september 13, accompanied by créquy, la rochefoucauld and a great number of other gentlemen, who, in view of the possibility of a renewal of the wars of religion in the near future, had gladly embraced the opportunity of visiting the great huguenot stronghold.
-the party stopped to dine at surgères, a château belonging to la rochefoucauld, from which the count sent a letter to the mayor of la rochelle, “to warn him of the good company who were coming to see him, in order that he might not be alarmed at the sudden arrival of so many people.” he received a most cordial response, for the authorities of la rochelle were probably far from displeased to learn that the colonel of the french guards and the colonel-general of the swiss were on their way to visit their famous town, before whose stubborn walls, forty-six years earlier, nearly 20,000 catholics had laid down their lives, and all to no purpose. certainly, m. de créquy, m. de bassompierre and their friends should be afforded every facility for seeing all that was worth seeing, and particularly the defences; and when the king questioned them about their visit, as, of course, he would do, they would probably tell his majesty that if, as seemed only too probable, he were determined to drive his protestant subjects to take up arms once more in defence of their faith, he would do well to let la rochelle severely alone.
-and so m. le maire came to meet them at the gates of the town, and bade them right welcome to la rochelle, and took them to see the harbour, in which, if the rochellois were obliged to summon foreign aid, an english fleet might one day be seen riding at anchor.
-and then, as the hour was late, he escorted them to the best inn in the town, which for some hours past had been in a state of ferment, since it was not often that preparations for the reception of so many distinguished guests had to be made at such short notice, where, having invited them, in the name of the président, jean pascaut, to dine at the présidial next day, he took leave of them.
-early on the morrow, the mayor returned and conducted the party round the fortifications; after which he took them to visit the tour de la chaîne, one of the two towers which defended the entrance to the harbour. then they all repaired to the présidial, where, with appetites sharpened by the sea air, they did full justice to “a magnificent banquet, at which sixty covers were laid.”
-in the afternoon, bassompierre and his friends left la rochelle, little imagining in what tragic circumstances they were to tread its streets again, and proceeded to brouage, where they were very hospitably entertained by saint-luc. during their stay at brouage they paid a visit to the neighbouring château of marennes, ostensibly to pay their respects to the count of that name, but really to see his three daughters, “who were very beautiful.” but, unfortunately, bassompierre does not give us any further information about these ladies.
-on leaving brouage, they spent a night at the château of the baron de pons, whose family claimed to be descended from the house of albret, a claim which was to cause an infinity of trouble at the court during the regency of anne of austria, and to lead to the affair known as “la guerre des tabourets.” next day, they dined with d’épernon at plassac, a country-seat of his near jonzac, and then set out for bordeaux.
-on september 19, louis xiii arrived at bordeaux, where he met with a great reception, and on the following day was entertained by mayenne to a great banquet at the château-trompette. an unpleasant incident, however, cast a shadow over the rejoicings.
-a gentleman named d’arsilemont, who commanded the châteaux of fronsac and caumont on behalf of the comte de saint-paul, brother of longueville, and had taken advantage of his position to levy unauthorised taxes on the people living along the dordogne, and committed other illegal acts in defiance of the decrees of the parlement of bordeaux, had the imprudence to come and salute the king. the parlement, learning of d’arsilemont’s arrival, sent to complain of him to his majesty, who caused him to be arrested forthwith; and within forty-eight hours he was condemned to death and executed, “notwithstanding the entreaties of mm. de mayenne and de saint-paul.”
-on october 4, la force, governor of béarn, and cazaux, first president of the parlement of pau, came to bordeaux, bringing with them, not the ratification of the edict re-establishing the catholic clergy in possession of their property, but a fresh remonstrance against it. the king was extremely angry, but on la force and cazaux assuring him that this remonstrance was intended to be the last one, and that, on their return to béarn, they would use every endeavour to persuade the parlement to ratify the edict without further delay, he decided to postpone military action for the present, and sent them away, accompanied by la chesnaye, one of his gentlemen-in-ordinary and a huguenot himself, who was instructed to keep his majesty informed of the progress of the affair. at the same time, in order to show the parlement that he was determined that they should submit to his will, he left bordeaux with his army, and advanced to preignac, on the left bank of the garonne.
-some days later la chesnaye returned, and informed the king that, notwithstanding the efforts of la force and cazaux, the parlement still persisted in their refusal to ratify the edict, an action which bassompierre ascribes to their belief that louis xiii would not care to venture into so barren and difficult a country at that advanced season of the year, and to a rumour which had reached them that a great part of the baggage of the court was already on its way back to paris.
-the king, however, was determined to be obeyed, and, on this occasion at any rate, showed none of the weakness and irresolution so conspicuous in later years. “since my parlement,” said he, “wishes to give me the trouble of going in person to ratify the decree, i will do it, and more fully than they expect.” and he summoned the ministers who were with him and his chief officers to a council of war, for, says bassompierre, “though he was resolved to go, he, nevertheless, wished to ascertain everyone’s opinion on the matter.”
-mayenne sought to dissuade the king from advancing into béarn, representing that while his majesty was engaged in imposing his will on the huguenots at one extremity of his realm, their co-religionists in other parts of the country might seize the opportunity to rise in arms; that twelve days would probably be required to transport the army across the garonne; that the difficulty of provisioning the troops in the inhospitable landes at that season of the year would be very great, and so forth. the other members of the council, however, aware that the king had made up his mind on the matter--or that luynes, who was anxious to secure the support of the high catholic party, had made it up for him--and that nothing was to be gained by opposing his resolution, urged him to undertake the expedition, upon which he tinned to mayenne and said:--
-“i do not trouble myself about the weather or the roads; i am not afraid of those of the religion, and, as for the passage of the river, which, you say, will take my army twelve days, i have a means of having it accomplished in eight. for i shall send bassompierre here to conduct it, who has already raised me an army, with which i have just defeated a powerful party, in half the time that i had expected.”
-“i confess,” observes bassompierre, “that i felt my heart elated by such praise and by the good opinion that the king entertained of me; and i replied that he might rest assured that the hope that he had conceived of my diligence would not be vain, and that he would shortly have news that would gratify him.”
-in those days, when the engineers were not yet organised as a distinct branch of the army, and the difficulties of transport were very great, pontoons were seldom carried, unless before the campaign opened it was certain that they would be required; and the army which bassompierre had undertaken to pass across the garonne was unprovided with any. consequently, he had either to wait until a sufficient number could be constructed, which would, of course, entail a considerable delay, or to obtain the best substitutes he could in the towns and villages along the garonne, and trust that his fortunate star would be in the ascendant during the passage of the river to avert any disaster. he chose the latter alternative, and having established himself at langon, on the left bank of the garonne, sent parties of soldiers along both banks to collect every boat of suitable size which they could find.
-“i caused two boats to be joined into one,” he says, “and laid platforms over them, on which, on october 10, i placed two pieces of artillery, and had two others joined together without platforms, on which i placed the gun-carriages; and in four journeys i passed all the artillery across. and, by the expenditure of a great deal of money, i so contrived matters that in the course of the following day the munitions and provisions were passed across, and the whole army likewise; and we advanced to a town a league beyond the river, where we halted for the night.”
-a two days’ march brought the army to saint-justin d’armagnac, on the borders of the grandes landes and armagnac. here bassompierre received a despatch from louis xiii, who had left preignac on the 10th and was now at roquefort, in which the king expressed himself “extremely pleased with his diligence, by which he had reduced the twelve days allowed by m. de mayenne for the passage of the garonne to twenty-four hours.” his majesty ordered him to send him the regiment of champagne and some other troops, which he intended to place in garrison in béarn, but not to enter the country with the rest of the army, since he feared it would be impossible to provision it.
-with the force which bassompierre had sent him, louis xiii marched rapidly on pau. at the news of his approach, the parlement hastened to ratify the edict; but it was too late. the king continued his march and entered the town on the 15th. he re-established the catholic bishops and clergy in possession of their churches and property, disbanded the national militia, and replaced the governor of navarreins, the strongest fortress in the country, by a catholic. finally, by letters-patent of october 18, he united béarn and lower navarre to the crown of france, and fused the sovereign courts of these two countries into one single parlement, sitting at pau. then, having sent the maréchal de praslin to bassompierre, with orders to distribute the troops under his command amongst various garrisons and to rejoin him at bordeaux, he took his departure, to the profound relief of the béarnais.
-bassompierre reached bordeaux on the 24th. the king arrived the following day, and bassompierre went at once to pay his respects and compliment him on his victory over the parlement of pau.
-“i expected a good reception,” he says, “but, on the contrary, he did not even look at me, at which i was a little astonished. however, i approached him and said: ‘sire, are you displeased with me in good earnest, or are you making game of me?’ ‘i am not looking at you,’ he answered coldly, and with that turned away.
-“i was unable to imagine what could be the reason for this coldness, after the complimentary letters i had received from him. i went to salute m. de luynes, and was received so coldly by him, that i saw plainly that my situation had undergone some great change. i returned to the gallery of the archbishop’s palace, where i found the cardinal de retz and mm. de schomberg and de roucelaï, who drew me aside and told me that m. de luynes complained infinitely of me, saying that i had neglected his friendship and believed that without it i could maintain myself in the good graces of the king; and that he had declared that people should see which of us two had the power to overthrow the other; that the favour of the king could not be shared, and that, since i had offended him, he could no longer suffer me at the court.”
-in the first place, when, at the ponts-des-cé, the king had shown m. de bassompierre the draft of the articles of peace which had been drawn up by m. de luynes, who was himself present, m. de bassompierre had expressed the opinion that they were far too lenient as regards the rebels, and that it would be as well to make an example of one of these gentlemen, in order to strike terror into the others and make them a little less ready to take up arms against their sovereign in the future. this was to cast a serious reflection upon m. de luynes, and to suggest that he had been negligent of his majesty’s interests in drafting the treaty.
-secondly, when the king was at poitiers, awaiting a visit from the queen-mother, whose coming was unavoidably delayed, m. de bassompierre had suggested that this delay was “an artifice of her partisans to prevent his majesty’s journey to guienne”; and this most uncalled for observation had made so great an impression upon the king’s mind, that m. de luynes had experienced a thousand difficulties in persuading him to remain at poitiers until the queen-mother’s arrival.
-thirdly, although, while the court was at bordeaux, m. de luynes had on several occasions invited m. de bassompierre to dine with him, that gentleman had always declined, thereby showing that he held his friendship of but little account.
-fourthly, when the king was at preignac, awaiting the ratification of his edict by the parlement of pau, m. de bassompierre had remarked to his majesty that, if these gentlemen gave him the trouble of going to béarn, he counselled him to make them pay dearly for his journey. this was to incite the king to cruelty, and was most reprehensible.
-and, finally, m. de bassompierre had so preoccupied the mind of the king, that his majesty did not believe that anything could be done well unless it were done by him, as was proved by the fact that, without even troubling to consult his council, he had “dethroned” the other brigadier-generals and placed m. de bassompierre in command of his army. this m. de luynes was unable to suffer, being aware that he had still sufficient influence to put a stop to the progress which the other was making daily, to his prejudice, in the good graces of the king.
-when bassompierre heard this, he “judged well that m. de luynes was seeking pretexts to ruin him, and, since he could not find any legitimate ones in his actions, he had maliciously perverted the sense of his words.” his friends, on their side, “did not disguise from him that it was nothing but pure jealousy of his favour which possessed that gentleman, and that, being in the position he was, he kept always a watchful eye on those who might divert from him the affection of the king, and that, observing the great inclination of the king for him (bassompierre), he looked upon him as the dog who intended to bite him.” they then begged bassompierre to furnish them with his reply to the charges brought against him by the jealous favourite, which they promised to report faithfully to the latter, and endeavour by every means in their power to bring about an amicable settlement.
-next day, the cardinal de retz and his fellow-mediators came to bassompierre and told him that they had duly carried his answer to luynes, who had informed them that m. de bassompierre had so deeply offended him, that he could only repeat what he had said to them before, namely, that he was unable to suffer him at the court. if, however, m. de bassompierre were willing to withdraw with as little delay as possible, he would see that the salaries of his various appointments were promptly paid him during his absence, and that within a certain period--which, however, he had refused to define--he would cause him to be recalled with honour, when he would do all in his power to advance his interests.
-on receiving this proposal, bassompierre could not contain his indignation, and requested his friends to return at once to luynes and inform him that “he (bassompierre) was not the kind of man who could be treated as a scoundrel and driven ignominiously away in this fashion”; that, if his honesty or his loyalty were suspected, he could be imprisoned and punished, if found guilty; but that to drive him from the court merely to gratify a caprice was outrageous, and he defied him to do it.
-his friends, however, deprecated such strong language and begged him to seek to compose, rather than to embitter, this most unfortunate affair. they then suggested, if he were willing, that they should inform the favourite that m. de bassompierre desired them to say that he was indeed astonished that m. de luynes had treated his enemies with such magnanimity after the action at the ponts-des-cé, when it was in his power to punish them as they deserved and avenge himself upon them; while for m. de bassompierre, who had hazarded his life in his service--since there could be no question that the object of the recent rebellion was not to dispossess the king of his crown, but to separate him from m. de luynes--and, by his own admission, had acted so worthily in these disturbances--he had nothing but ingratitude. he felt assured, however, that if m. de luynes would but reflect upon the obligations under which he had placed him, he would decide that he was deserving of reward, and not at all of such a punishment as to be driven with infamy from the court, to which m. de bassompierre could never bring himself to submit.
-bassompierre, aware that he could trust his friends to do their best for him in the very awkward predicament in which he was placed, told them that he left the matter entirely to their discretion, and they went away.
-from bordeaux the court proceeded to blaye, where the king remained three days, and was magnificently entertained by the new duke of luxembourg-piney, who was governor of that place. at table, louis xiii, who, before this trouble arose, had been in the habit of talking and jesting incessantly with bassompierre, did not speak a single word to him, “which gave him pain.” however, on the evening before the king’s departure for saintes, where he was to pass the following night, he ordered bassompierre to precede him with the swiss, who were to furnish the guard at saintes; and when the latter approached him to receive the password, which was, of course, always given in a very low voice, his majesty said: “bassompierre, my friend, do not worry, and do not appear to notice anything.” “i made no reply,” writes bassompierre, “from fear lest someone might perceive something, but i was not sorry that the source of the king’s kindness had not dried up, so far as i was concerned.”
-after supper that night, he received a visit from roucelaï, who said that the cardinal de retz and schomberg, who were then with luynes, had sent him to say that the favourite had pronounced his final decision, which was that bassompierre must leave the court so soon as possible after the king returned to paris. at the same time, he desired to deal honourably with him and that his departure should be free from any appearance of disgrace, and if bassompierre would suggest some way by which this could be contrived, he would be prepared to give it his favourable consideration.
-bassompierre, recognising that the all-powerful favourite was determined to drive him from the court, and that the only course open to him was to make the best terms he could, replied that if luynes were willing to procure for him a government, an important military post, or an embassy extraordinary, which would enable him to quit the court with honour, and to render the king more useful service than he could by remaining there, he would take his departure so soon as he pleased. roucelaï then returned to his friends with bassompierre’s answer, which was duly communicated to luynes. the latter expressed his approval of it, and told them that in the course of the next day’s journey he would come to an arrangement with him on these conditions.
-“this he did with a good grace,” says bassompierre, “and told me frankly that the esteem which he perceived that the king entertained for me gave him umbrage, and that he was like a man who feared to be deceived by his wife, and who did not like to see even a very honest man paying attention to her; that, apart from that, he had a strong inclination for me, as he intended to show me, provided that i did not cast loving glances at his mistress. and that same evening he took me to speak to the king, who received me very cordially and told me to make ready to travel post on the morrow.”
-the king journeyed in this fashion from saintes to paris, accompanied only by thirty or forty attendants. as they were nearing châtellerault, bassompierre, learning that it was proposed to spend the night there, warned luynes that the town contained a large proportion of huguenots, and that if these, incensed by the king’s forcible re-establishment of the catholic faith in béarn, were to summon their co-religionists from la rochelle to their aid, which they could easily do, and make an attempt upon his majesty’s person, he would be in great danger. on hearing this, luynes was much alarmed and begged the king not to stop at châtellerault; but louis xiii, whose physical courage presented a striking contrast to his moral flabbiness, refused to alter his arrangements, and told him that he would answer for his own safety and that of his attendants.
-on november 6, the king reached paris, and his first act was to visit the queen-mother, who had now been permitted to return to the capital. on the following day he went to saint-germain, and subsequently visited luynes at lesigny, returning to paris towards the end of the month. bassompierre does not appear to have been in attendance on the king during these visits, nor was he commanded to accompany him when, early in december, he set out with luynes to inspect the fortresses of picardy. it was evidently the favourite’s policy to keep his rival as much as possible at a distance from the king, until some post away from the court could be found for him.
-an act of aggression on the part of spain furnished luynes with what he was seeking.
-the spaniards, masters of the milanese, had long coveted the valtellina, or upper valley of the adda, which had been ceded to the grisons by the last of the sforza. the possession of this valley would be of immense strategic importance to them, since it would link the milanese with the tyrol and austria, and, at the same time, intercept the communications of the venetians with the grisons, the swiss and france. since france had an exclusive treaty with the grisons, the valtellina was an open door for her into italy, and spain desired to close this door at any cost. successive governors of milan had industriously fomented the religious quarrel between the protestant grisons and the catholics of the valtellina, and these intrigues at length bore fruit. one sunday in july, 1620, the valtellina catholics rose, massacred all the protestants of their country, to the number of several hundred, and then appealed to the spaniards to defend them from the vengeance of the grisons. the response, as may be supposed, was prompt and effective; the spaniards immediately entered the valley and took possession of all the strong places, and, though the cantons of berne and zurich came to the assistance of the grisons, their united efforts proved powerless to dislodge them.
-this bold stroke of the spaniards was a direct menace to venice and savoy, and an indirect act of aggression against france; and the french government resolved to send an ambassador extraordinary to madrid to demand the evacuation of the valtellina by spain. luynes had no difficulty in deciding who that ambassador extraordinary ought to be, and one day, towards the end of december, a courier from picardy drew rein before bassompierre’s door and handed him a letter from the king, informing him of his appointment, and directing him to be in readiness to start for madrid immediately after his majesty returned to paris.
-no sooner was the news of this great event noised abroad than the bells of every church in paris rang out a joyous peal, and several couriers started to carry the glad tidings to calais, where the king and luynes had arrived a day or two before to inspect the fortifications of the harbour, which had been greatly damaged by a recent gale. louis xiii was the first to receive the news, and so delighted was he that he gave the bearer a present of 4,000 crowns and undertook to announce it himself to his favourite. before doing so, however, he ordered all the guns of the citadel to be discharged, and when luynes inquired the meaning of this, embraced him and exclaimed: “my cousin, i am come to rejoice with you, because you have a son!”
-truly, as contarini, the venetian ambassador, observed, in announcing the event to his government, “the duc de luynes seemed to have enchained fortune.”
-an alliance with luynes’s niece, mlle. de combalet, proposed to bassompierre--his journey to spain--his entry into madrid--he is visited by the princess of the asturias, the grandees and other distinguished persons--his meeting with the duke of ossuña--his audience of philip iii postponed owing to the king’s illness--commissioners are appointed to treat with bassompierre over the valtellina question--death of philip iii--his funeral procession--an indiscreet observation of the duke of ossuña to one of bassompierre’s suite is overheard and leads to the arrest of that nobleman.
-louis xiii and luynes returned to paris on january 12, 1621, and bassompierre was “extremely pressed to take his departure.” but, as may be supposed, he was in no hurry to go, and, by raising all kinds of difficulties in regard to his instructions, succeeded in gaining a respite of three weeks; and it was not until the beginning of february that his despatches were handed to him. even then, on one pretext or another, he contrived to postpone his departure for another week, though his suite, which numbered no less than 140 persons, including forty gentlemen whose expenses he had undertaken to defray himself, were sent on ahead in batches to await him at bordeaux.
-just before he left paris, what was regarded at the time as a most advantageous marriage was proposed to him.
-on february 9--the day before he left paris--bassompierre attended a grand ball given by luynes, to which he had apparently gone with the intention of taking leave of the comtesse de rochefort, of whom he was still the very devoted servant.
-“as i was ascending the stairs,” he says, “madame la princesse and the princesse de conti, who were laughing very much, drew me into a window, but, instead of speaking, came nigh to splitting their sides with laughter. at last they told me that formerly i had spoken of love to many fair ladies, but that never had ladies of good family spoken to me of marriage, which now they were going to require of me. i was a long time in deciphering the meaning of what they said, but, finally, they told me that the husband of one and the brother of the other had charged them to seduce me, but that it was to enter into an honourable marriage; and that i must empower monsieur le prince and m. de guise to negotiate and conclude the affair of mlle. de combalet while i was ambassador extraordinary in spain.”
-to this proposal bassompierre gave a not very cordial consent. since a man must marry some time or other, as well the niece of the favourite as any other lady, and he did not quite see how otherwise he was to disarm the jealousy of luynes.
-on the following day bassompierre set out on his long journey to madrid, and on the 17th arrived at bordeaux, where he remained a couple of days “for love of mm. d’épernon and de roquelaure.” on reaching belin, nine leagues from bordeaux, on the evening of the 19th he found a courier awaiting him with a letter from du fargis d’angennes, the ordinary french ambassador at madrid, begging him to delay his arrival there until he heard from him again, as a most unpleasant incident had occurred, in consequence of which the greater part of his staff and servants were now in prison, while he himself had been obliged to leave the city, as his life was no longer safe there.
-it appears that du fargis, whom tallemant des réaux describes as “a man of courage, intelligence, and learning, but of a singular levity,” not finding the french embassy a sufficiently-commodious residence, desired to remove to a larger one, and had cast his eye upon a very fine house near by, which appeared in every way suited to his requirements. now, in those days, there were at madrid certain state officials called aposentadores, part of whose duty it was to find suitable accommodation for ambassadors and other distinguished foreigners, and who were empowered to requisition any house which these important personages might desire to have. du fargis accordingly went to the aposentadores and informed them that he wished to remove to this house, and the aposentadores immediately assigned it to him. but just as he was on the point of taking possession, the owner of the house appeared upon the scene, and produced a document bearing the king’s signature which expressly exempted his property from being requisitioned for state purposes. the ambassador angrily replied that the house had been assigned to him by the aposentadores and that he should insist on having it, upon which the owner told him that he should appeal to the council of castile. this he did, and the council at once decided in his favour.
-meantime, however, du fargis, with the idea of stealing a march upon his adversary, had sent two of his valets to the house with part of the ambassadorial wardrobe, and when the decision of the council was communicated to him, he replied that, as some of his property was already in the house, he was in possession, and could not be turned out. and so resolved was he to have his way that he forthwith sent all his staff and servants there, together with some of the people of the venetian ambassador, who was a particular friend of his, with instructions to resist by force any attempt to dislodge them.
-the exasperated owner went to complain to the council, who sent orders to the invaders to leave the house and take their master’s clothes with them, and two alguazils to see that they did so; because, never dreaming that the ambassador intended to resist the law--“a thing unheard of in that country”--they did not think it necessary to send any more. but the french and their venetian allies fell upon the unfortunate officers and killed them, after which, in derision, they hung their vares, or wands of office, from the balcony of the house.
-the townsfolk, on learning of this outrage, were infuriated, and soon an armed mob more than two thousand strong besieged the house and the ambassador, “who had gone in by a back door.” the garrison, on their side, prepared for a desperate resistance, and a sanguinary affray seemed inevitable, when, happily, an alcalde, don sebastian de carvajal, arrived on the scene, persuaded the mob to disperse and the ambassador and his people to evacuate their fortress, and carried off du fargis in his carriage to the french embassy.
-although du fargis had only himself to blame for this affair, he had the presumption to seek an audience of philip iii and “demand justice for the outrage which had been committed against him, contrary to the law of nations.” the king promised to give him every satisfaction and appointed a commission to inquire into the matter. but when he was informed of what had actually occurred, he was very angry, and gave orders that, while the sacred persons of the ambassadors of france and venice were to be scrupulously respected, every one of their people who could be found outside the embassies, unless he happened to be in attendance on his master at the time, and therefore covered by the ægis of his presence, was to be promptly arrested and hauled off to prison. the alguazils, burning to avenge their murdered comrades, went to work with right good will, and rounded up secretaries of legation, attachés, lackeys, and chefs so effectively, that in a day or two their excellencies could hardly find anyone to copy their despatches or prepare their meals. “the ambassador himself,” says bassompierre, “not feeling himself safe from the fury of the people, withdrew from the town, and wrote to the king to warn him of the situation to which he was reduced, and to me to delay my arrival.”
-bassompierre, however, had no desire to kick his heels about dirty spanish inns until du fargis could persuade philip iii to set his people at liberty; besides which he knew that the affair of the valtellina was a pressing one and that he had already wasted a good deal of time. he therefore decided to continue his journey, but wrote to the duke of monteleone and don fernando giron, two grandees of his acquaintance, begging them to endeavour to accommodate the affair. these noblemen spoke to the king and informed bassompierre that his majesty desired to see him as soon as possible, and had promised that, on his arrival, he would find everything settled to his satisfaction.
-on february 21 bassompierre reached bayonne, where he remained for four days as the guest of the comte de gramont, who was governor and hereditary mayor of the town, and then set out for saint-jean-de-luz, accompanied by the count. on the way he had the unusual experience for a landsman of witnessing a whale-hunt:--
-“as we were coming from bayonne to saint-jean-de-luz, we saw out at sea more than fifty little sailing-boats giving chase to a whale, which had been sighted going along the coast, accompanied by a little whale. and at eleven o’clock that evening we had news that the little whale had been captured, which we saw the next morning lying on the beach, where it had been stranded during the high tide.”
-gramont accompanied his friend so far as the bidassoa, which divided france from spain, and then took leave of him; and bassompierre and his suite crossed the little river and entered spain, under the guidance of the coreo mayor, or post-master, of the province of guipuzcoa, who escorted the party to a venta near irun, where they passed the night. the next day’s journey brought them to segura, and on the 28th they crossed the barren limestone heights of the sierra de san adrian, and proceeded, by way of vittoria and miranda de ebro, to burgos, where they arrived on march 3.
-at burgos bassompierre went to visit the cathedral, one of the marvels of gothic architecture in spain, which he pronounces “bien belle,” and saw “el santo crucifisso,” by which presumably he means the much-revered image of our saviour known as the “christo de burgos.”
-the following day he arrived at lerma, and went to see the magnificent mansion which that old rascal the cardinal duke de lerma had recently built for himself with a portion of the immense sums of which he had robbed his unfortunate country. he afterwards went to hear mass at a convent which had also been built by lerma, where the music, he tells us, was excellent.
-on the 8th, bassompierre reached alcovendas, a few miles to the north of madrid. here he received a visit from du fargis, who came to inform him of the arrangements for his entry into madrid. du fargis’s staff and servants, and those of his friend the venetian ambassador, were still in prison, but they were to be set at liberty next day, in time to assist at bassompierre’s reception.
-on the following afternoon, bassompierre made his entry into the capital of spain, and had no cause to complain of the way in which he was received:--
-bassompierre spent the following day in receiving the visits of a great number of distinguished persons. an early arrival was the wife of the heir to the throne (élisabeth of france) who was accompanied by a large party of ladies of the palace, “both old and young.” she was followed by grandees and their wives, dignitaries of church and state, members of the corps diplomatique, and so forth, whom we need not particularise, though bassompierre’s account of the arrival of one of the chief grandees in spain at that time cannot be omitted:--
-next day came more grandees, more ladies, more prelates, and more ambassadors, including those of england and the emperor; and no sooner had the unfortunate bassompierre got rid of one batch, than another appeared upon the scene, until by the time the last of his visitors had taken his departure he was quite worn out. however, he was not to be allowed much rest, for in the evening he received a visit from the auditor of the nuncio, who was conducting the affairs of the holy see at madrid during the absence of his chief, who had gone to rome to receive a cardinal’s hat. this ecclesiastic came to talk politics, and showed bassompierre the copy of a brief which he had received from gregory xv on the subject of the valtellina, in which his holiness demanded the restitution of the country, “for the sake of the freedom of italy,” and threatened his catholic majesty with the employment of both spiritual and temporal weapons if the latter’s troops were not promptly withdrawn. altogether, it was quite a courageous letter for a new pope to write to a king of spain, and pleased bassompierre mightily; and he was still more gratified to learn that the demands of france and the vatican were to be supported by the representatives of england, venice, and savoy. however, when once the spaniard of those days got his claws into anything he coveted, it was no easy matter to induce him to release his prey; and, though very ready to promise, he was exceedingly slow to perform.
-the papal representative was followed by don juan de serica, one of the secretaries of state, who came to visit bassompierre on behalf of philip iii, and who informed him, “after several flattering observations, touching the satisfaction that the king felt at his arrival and the good opinion that he entertained of him,” that he would be accorded an audience so soon as his majesty’s health would permit.
-“he was indeed ill,” says bassompierre, “though everyone believed that he feigned to be so, in order to delay my audience and my despatches.”
-and then he goes on to relate how the unfortunate monarch had fallen a victim to those inexorable rules of spanish court etiquette, of which he was the central object:
-if poor philip iii was too unwell to grant bassompierre an audience, he seemed anxious to make his stay in his capital as agreeable as possible. for, not only did he obtain from the patriarch of the indies, “who was like a legate at the court,” a bull permitting him and one hundred members of his suite to eat meat in lent, but authorised him to have plays performed at his house by the two companies of royal players, which were amalgamated, in order to secure a stronger cast. the king paid the actors 300 reals for each performance, to which the munificent frenchman added 1,000 out of his own pocket.
-theatrical representations in lent had never been seen before in spain, and, though the more bigoted were doubtless very scandalised, and thought that his catholic majesty’s illness must be of the brain rather than of the body, the majority of people were delighted at the innovation, and invitations were eagerly sought for.
-“the first performance,” says bassompierre, “took place on march 14, in a great gallery in my house, which was beautifully decorated and illuminated, and a great number of ladies and nobles were present. during the play i had sweetmeats and aloja brought in for the ladies who had come. the ladies were of two kinds: those who had been invited by the countess of barajas, who remained on the high dais and had their faces veiled; and those who sat on the steps of the dais or in the salle. these last were covered by their mantillas. the men also came, some covered and some not. all the ambassadors were invited. after the play was over, i gave a supper in private, prepared à la française by my people, at which seven or eight of the grandees, or chief nobles, of spain were my guests.”
-after this, plays were performed almost every evening up to the time of the king’s death.
-on the 15th, don juan de serica was sent by philip iii to inform bassompierre that he feared that his illness would prevent him from giving him audience for some days longer. since, however, he had learned that there was a rumour afloat to the effect that he was feigning illness with the object of retarding the important affairs upon which his excellency had come to see him, he had decided, in order to give the lie to this rumour, to nominate forthwith commissioners to treat with his excellency. bassompierre begged don juan to convey his very humble thanks to his majesty for the favour which he was doing him; and next day the king nominated four commissioners, one of whom was don balthazar de zuniga, who was to play a prominent part at the beginning of the next reign. at don balthazar’s suggestion, bassompierre consented to giulio de medici, archbishop of pisa, the ambassador of tuscany, being associated with them as mediator, “to make us agree and to readjust matters, if there were any hitch or rupture in the negotiations.”
-a day or two later, serica came to see bassompierre and informed him that the king was better, and had decided to give him audience on the following sunday (march 21). on the sunday, however, while bassompierre was awaiting the arrival of the duke of gandia, who had been charged to conduct him to the palace and present him to the king, he learned that, as philip iii was dressing in order to receive him, he had been suddenly taken ill and had been obliged to return to bed, and that the audience must therefore be postponed to another day.
-in point of fact, it never took place at all, for the king grew rapidly worse. bassompierre has left us some details about his last days:--
-“on the 23rd, the king had a great increase of fever, and they began to fear the result. he was very melancholy from the persuasion that he was going to die.
-“on the 27th, he told his physicians that they understood nothing about his complaint, and that he felt he was dying. he commanded processions and that public prayers should be offered for him.
-“on tuesday, the 30th, at two o’clock in the morning, extreme unction was administered to the king. he then signed a great number of papers. about noon he had the body of st. isidore brought and placed against his bed, and he vowed to build a chapel to the saint. he then sent to summon the duke of lerma, who was at valladolid.
-“on wednesday, the 31st and last day of march, he yielded up his soul.
-“the king’s death was officially communicated to the ambassadors at noon, and we, at the same time, received permission to despatch couriers at five o’clock to carry the news to our masters.
-“this was thought a very good omen at madrid.”
-on april 1 the body of philip iii lay in state at the palace, the face being uncovered, and bassompierre went with the other ambassadors to sprinkle it with holy water. on the following day it was removed to the escurial for burial.
-“at five o’clock in the afternoon,” says bassompierre, “they removed the body of the late king from the palace to carry it to the tomb of his fathers in the escurial. i went to see it pass over the puente segoviana, with nearly all the grandees and ladies of madrid. in my opinion, it was a rather sorry funeral procession for so great a king. first came a hundred or a hundred and twenty hieronymite monks, wearing their surplices and mounted on fine mules. they rode two and two, following their leader, who carried the cross. then came thirty guards, led by the marquises de povar and de falsas; and following them the king’s household, the mayor-domos last, with the duke del infantado, mayor-domo mayor, preceding the body of the king, which was borne on a litter drawn by two mules, which were covered, as was the litter, with cloth-of-gold. the gentlemen of the chamber walked behind the litter, and twenty archers of the burgundian guard brought up the rear. they halted for the night at pinto, and rather early on the morrow arrived at the escurial, where the funeral service was celebrated, after which the company returned to madrid.”
-bassompierre’s “father,” the duke of ossuña, was one of the grandees who witnessed the procession from the puente segoviana; and he ascribes to some injudicious remarks made by the duke on this occasion to two gentlemen of his suite the fact that he was shortly afterwards arrested and imprisoned:--
-bassompierre’s audience of the new king, philip iv--the procession of the crosses--an old flame--good friday at madrid--anxiety of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting to see bassompierre--his visit to them--he is commissioned by louis xiii to present his condolences to philip iv--he is informed that etiquette requires him to leave madrid as though to return to france and then to make another formal entry--revolution of the palace at madrid: fall of the late king’s ministers--the count of saldagna ordered by philip iv to marry doña mariana de cordoba, on pain of his severe displeasure--bassompierre offers to facilitate the escape of saldagna to france, but the latter’s courage fails him at the last moment--negotiations over the valtellina--treaty of madrid--bassompierre’s pretended departure for france--he visits the escurial, returns to madrid and makes a second ceremonious entry--the audience of condolence--state entry of philip iv into madrid--termination of bassompierre’s embassy--he returns to france.
-on palm sunday, april 4, bassompierre had an audience of the new king at the convent of san geronimo.
-on the wednesday in holy week, bassompierre and du fargis witnessed the procession of the crosses from the balcony of a house in the calle mayor, which had been reserved for them:
-“there were,” says bassompierre, “more than five hundred penitents, who walked barefooted, drawing large crosses, like that of our lord, and, at intervals, were movable theatres, on which divers representations of the passion were exhibited in a very lifelike manner.”
-bassompierre pronounces this spectacle “très belle”; nevertheless, he soon appears to have had enough of it, and on being joined by the ambassador of lucca and two spanish nobles, he rose, protesting that he could not remain seated and leave three such distinguished persons standing--for there were only two chairs on the balcony--but would resign his seat to one of them, leave m. du fargis to represent france, and go and beg of a party of ladies whom he perceived below the favour of occupying one of their footstools. this he did, and the ladies were most kind and did him the honour to allow him to sit at their feet, and, we fear, paid more attention to his excellency than to the procession. nor was this all; for fortune willed it that he should discover amongst them a flame of the days of his youth, a certain doña aña de sanasara, whom he had known twenty-five years before at naples, and who was now the wife of the secretary of the council of finance. “they recognised each other with joy,” and doña aña, who was very rich, sent her old admirer handsome presents and invited him to her house, where she entertained him most sumptuously.
-on the following day--maundy thursday--bassompierre witnessed another procession, that of the penitents, “in which there were more than two thousand men who belaboured themselves with whips.” afterwards he went to hear the tenebræ at nuestra señora de constantinopoli and spent the night in visiting different churches.
-on maundy thursday and good friday madrid was a city of mourning:
-“the bells of the churches were silent; the carriages ceased to pass through the town; no one rode on horseback; no one carried a sword; no one was accompanied by his servants; and all the women were veiled.”
-a few days later, bassompierre was informed that the king had been graciously pleased to consent that the rules of etiquette should be waived in his excellency’s favour, for which his excellency “rendered very humble thanks to the king.” then he wrote to demand audience of all the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and, this having been accorded, proceeded to the alcazar and was conducted to her majesty’s ante-chamber, where he was presently joined by a bevy of fair and intensely curious ladies, in charge of a duenna, all eager to behold this redoubtable vainqueur de dames. and when they found that, in addition to his good looks and fascinating manners, he was able to pay them the most charming compliments in irreproachable castilian, their delight knew no bounds, and it was more than two hours before they would allow him to depart.
-on april 16, bassompierre received a despatch from louis xiii commissioning him to present his condolences to the new king on the death of his father. when, however, he informed zuniga of this and inquired when philip iv could give him audience to enable him to acquit himself of his new duty, that old gentleman shook his head and declared that it was quite contrary to the etiquette of the spanish court for an ambassador extraordinary charged with the duty of concluding a treaty to represent his sovereign in a different matter, unless he were to absent himself from the capital for some days and then make a second public entry. he therefore advised his excellency to say nothing about the matter at present, but, on the conclusion of the treaty which he was then negotiating, to take leave of the king as though he were returning to france, and to go so far as burgos on his homeward journey. from that town he would send a courier to madrid to announce that, having on the way received a new commission from his sovereign, he was returning to discharge it; and, on his arrival, he would, of course, be received with the same ceremony as on the previous occasion.
-bassompierre, though greatly annoyed at these exasperating formalities, which would not only delay his return to france, but involve him in a great deal of unnecessary expense and inconvenience, had no alternative but to promise compliance. he succeeded, however, in obtaining the concession that his fictitious departure for france need not be preceded by fictitious farewells of anyone besides the king and the royal family, and that, so long as he left the capital with his whole suite and remained away for two or three days, the escorial might be the limit of his journey.
-the death of philip iii was followed by a revolution of the palace almost as sweeping as that which had succeeded the assassination of concini in france. the new king’s favourite, olivares, who, with his uncle don balthazar de zuniga, now assumed the direction of affairs, bore a bitter grudge against the sandoval family, who, on more than one occasion, had endeavoured to get rid of him by assassination, and he proceeded to take vengeance both upon them and their creatures. the duke of uceda was arrested and thrown into prison, where, like the duke of ossuña, he ended his days. his father, the duke of lerma, who, in obedience to the dying summons of philip iii, was hastening to madrid, was met on the road by an officer of the guards and informed that he was to return to valladolid, on pain of immediate arrest; while, shortly afterwards, the greater part of his ill-gotten wealth
-was confiscated, under a clause in the late king’s will by which he revoked the immense gifts he had made during his lifetime. the confessor alliaga was deprived of his post of grand inquisitor and relegated to the obscurity of the monastery from which he had emerged; and several other highly-placed personages lost their charges and were banished from court.
-the royal command appears to have been accompanied by an intimation that, in the event of the count’s refusal to do the lady justice, most unpleasant things would happen to him. anyway, saldagna appears to have been greatly alarmed, and promised the king to lead doña mariana to the altar “on the first day after the octave of easter” (april 21).
-“he answered that he must perforce obey the master, who commanded him to execute what he had promised the mistress; and that, although it was a hard condition which he was placing on his shoulders, it was an ill for which there was no remedy.
-“it appeared to me, from his discourse, that the pack-saddle galled him, and that he would be very willing to find some alleviation. and this encouraged me to tell him that there were more remedies than he thought of, if he desired to be cured, and that the express command which i had received from the infanta-queen to assist in every way i could the duke-cardinal his father, as her own person, obliged me, when i perceived the palpable displeasure with which he and all his family regarded this forced marriage, to offer him, on this occasion, my aid and assistance to extricate him from it, if he so desired.
-“‘and what aid and assistance can you bring me,’ said he, ‘when neither i myself nor my relatives are capable of doing anything?’
-“he assured me that he was deeply grateful both to the queen and to myself, and then said: ‘but what means have i of leaving spain without being stopped? and, if i were stopped, they would undoubtedly have my head struck off.’
-“he told me that he was resolved to do as i proposed, and would be all his life under a profound obligation to me; that he wished to speak first to two of his friends; and that he begged me to have everything in readiness at the hour i had named.”
-not a little elated with his success, bassompierre left him and returned to madrid to finish the despatch which saldagna’s supposed master was to carry that night to france. this task accomplished, he placed the thousand pistoles he had promised the count in two purses, summoned his equerry le manny, whom he had decided to send, told him of the distinguished personage who was to accompany him and gave him his instructions what to do in the event of their being stopped, though of that there was little or no danger, as he would indeed be a bold man who, without authorisation, would venture to detain the couriers of an ambassador extraordinary.
-the fateful hour arrived, but no saldagna. instead, there came a message from that nobleman informing bassompierre that, to his profound regret, he found himself unable to carry out what they had decided upon together, “for reasons which he would tell him when he had the happiness of seeing him.”
-“i know not,” says bassompierre, “whether the friends to whom he had spoken had dissuaded him, if he lacked the resolution to undertake it, or if the love which he bore this girl had decided him to espouse her.”
-anyway, espouse her he did on the day which he had promised the king. the marriage took place in the church of the carmelite convent, where the queen was still in retreat. the king led the bridegroom, and the queen the bride, to the nuptial mass, and then brought them with the same ceremony to the door of her majesty’s ante-chamber. here certain officers of the court appeared upon the scene, took charge of bride and bridegroom, conducted them, “without even giving them time to dine,” to the gates of the town, where a travelling-carriage was in waiting, told them to step in and informed them that they were banished from madrid.
-meantime, the negotiations on the valtellina question, which had been interrupted by the death of philip iii, had been resumed. at first, the spaniards suggested that if france would guarantee the protection of religion in the valtellina, refuse to venice the right of passage for her troops, and compensate spain for the expense to which she had been put in occupying the country, she would withdraw. bassompierre promptly declined. they then offered to waive the question of compensation, in return for the right of transit for spanish troops, the very privilege which they had just endeavoured to deny to france’s old ally venice. this proposition, as may be supposed, was likewise declined. it was impossible for the spanish commissioners to persist in such demands, as the influence of gregory xv, greatly alarmed by visions of spain’s supremacy throughout italy, had been thrown into the french scale. and so zuniga proposed that the grisons should receive compensation for the valtellina, and the district be ceded to the pope. bassompierre curtly replied that he had been sent to madrid to recover, not to sell, the valtellina. zuniga and his colleagues brought forward other schemes: that the valtellina should be erected into a fourth league; that it should be constituted into a fourteenth canton of the swiss confederation, and so forth. but, finding that bassompierre stood firmly by his instructions, they at length gave way, and on april 26, 1621, the treaty of madrid was signed.
-this treaty stipulated that spain should withdraw her troops from the valtellina; that the grisons should grant a general amnesty to the valtellinas; that “the novelties prejudicial to the catholic religion should be removed,” and that the grisons should ratify the treaty, which was to be guaranteed by the king of france and the swiss cantons.
-the cabinet of madrid hoped that, in the interval between the conclusion and the execution of the treaty, some incident might arise which would furnish them with a pretext for not keeping their word; and in this, as we shall see, they were not disappointed.
-on april 28, bassompierre, having taken leave of philip iv, left madrid, accompanied by his whole suite, as though he were returning to france. he spent the night at torreladones, and on the following morning reached the escorial, “where he saw everything in this wonderful building and all the rare things which it contained.” early on the 30th, he left the escorial and proceeded to el pardo, a pleasure-house belonging to the king, where he dined, and then went on to alcovendas. here he passed the night, and on may 1, dressed in deep mourning, as became one who had been charged with an embassy of condolence, made his second ceremonious entry into madrid.
-on the following day bassompierre began to pay his farewell visits to the grandees and other important persons whose acquaintance he had made at madrid, a task which was to occupy him several days, as there were so many to visit and so many formalities to be observed. his adieux were interrupted on may 9 by philip iv’s solemn entry into madrid, which he witnessed from a balcony at the puerta guadalaxara, which the king had ordered to be prepared for him:
-in a despatch to louis xiii, dated the following day, bassompierre describes the entry as “very magnificent for madrid, but not equal to the least of those which take place in france.”
-on the 12th, bassompierre had his farewell audience of the king, who gave him a letter in his own hand for louis xiii and another for anne of austria. he then took leave of don carlos, and, on leaving the alcazar, went to bid adieu to olivares and zuniga.
-in the afternoon “the executors of the late king’s will placed in his hands a great reliquary, which must have been worth 500,000 crowns,” and charged him to present it to the queen of france, to whom philip iv had bequeathed it.
-in the afternoon he left madrid, “the king ordering him to be escorted on his departure in the same fashion as when he had made his entry,” and was accompanied so far as alcovendas, where he was to pass the night, by du fargis, the prince of eboli and a number of spanish nobles. his journey to the frontier was uneventful, and on may 24 he reached bayonne.
-a new war of religion breaks out in france--luynes created constable--louis xiii and duplessis-mornay--bassompierre joins the royal army before saint-jean d’angély--capitulation of the town--bassompierre returns with créquy to paris--he is “in great consideration” amongst the ladies--apparent anxiety of luynes for the marriage of his niece to bassompierre--the king and the constable resolve to lay siege to montauban--bassompierre decides to rejoin the army without waiting for orders from the latter--he arrives at the king’s quarters at the château of picqueos--dispositions of the besieging army--narrow escape of bassompierre while reconnoitring the advanced-works of the town--a gallant swiss--death of the comte de fiesque--heavy casualties amongst the besiegers--the seigneur de tréville--bassompierre and the women of montauban--death of mayenne--the spanish monk--an amateur general--disastrous results of carrying out his orders--furious sortie of the garrison--bassompierre is wounded in the face--an amusing incident--the cévennes mountaineers endeavour to throw reinforcements into montauban--a midnight mêlée.
-bassompierre would probably have found the spaniards more difficult to deal with, had it not been that they were anxious to free louis xiii, for the moment, from foreign embarrassments in order that he might commit himself fully to a war with his protestant subjects, which could not fail to weaken france and render it unlikely that she would be willing to engage in hostilities beyond her borders.
-the drastic measures adopted by louis xiii towards the protestants of béarn had aroused bitter resentment amongst their co-religionists throughout france; and towards the end of december, 1620, a general assembly of the party was held at la rochelle to decide upon the policy to be adopted in view of this menace to their faith. of the great huguenot chiefs, bouillon, sully, and lesdiguières did not respond to the summons or send anyone to represent them; but la force, châtillon, la trémoille and rohan sent delegates.
-the assembly authorised the raising of troops and a general levy on the funds of the party; and then proceeded to divide france into eight departments--veritable military districts on the model of the german “circles”--each being placed under the command of a general-in-chief. although these measures were intended to be purely defensive, nothing more calculated to provoke hostilities could have been devised; the protestants were at once accused by the government of having established a republic within the state, and in april a new war of religion began.
-it differed from the old wars, however, inasmuch as neither the chiefs nor the rank and file of the huguenots were unanimous in supporting it. lesdiguières, who had been won over by the court, deserted the common cause, as did most of the protestant nobles; rohan, his younger brother soubise and la force alone remained faithful. outside the nobility, the same division of opinion manifested itself; the great majority of the warlike calvinists of the south took up arms; but the rest of protestant france did not move.
-at the moment of entering upon the campaign against the protestants, luynes demanded the sword of constable of france, which louis xiii bestowed upon him with the utmost pomp, although he had already promised it to lesdiguières, on condition that he should abjure the protestant faith, which the marshal had engaged to do. that the sword which had been borne by such warriors as du guesclin, clisson, buchan, saint-pol, the duc de bourbon, and anne de montmorency should be conferred upon the hero of an assassination, who could not drill a company of infantry, aroused universal astonishment and disgust; and luynes��s exchange of the rôle of statesman for that of general was, as one might anticipate, attended with disastrous results for the forces under his command.
-at the end of may, the royal army laid siege to saint-jean-d’angély, called the “bulwark of la rochelle,” to the possession of which great importance was attached; and it was here that bassompierre, who, after remaining a day at bayonne, had hastened northwards, joined it. the town, which was defended by soubise, held out for nearly a month, and at times there was some pretty sharp fighting in the faubourgs, in which bassompierre appears to have distinguished himself. but on june 23 it capitulated, and d’épernon and bassompierre marched in with the french and swiss guards.
-on the 26th, bassompierre accompanied the king to cognac, from which town he was despatched to paris, to ratify with the chancellor and the spanish ambassador mirabello the treaty which he had made at madrid. he was accompanied by créquy, who had received a musket-ball through the cheek at the siege of saint-jean-d’angély, and to whom luynes had suggested the advisability of a short sojourn in the capital for the benefit of his health. about the same time, another brigadier-general, saint-luc, was appointed lieutenant-general of the western seaboard of france, and sent by luynes to brouage, “to make the king powerful at sea.” the reason, however, why the new constable felt able to dispense simultaneously with the services of three of the most distinguished officers in the army was not made apparent until some weeks later, as, on taking leave of him, each was assured that he would be recalled so soon as any important operations were contemplated.
-bassompierre’s reception by his friends of both sexes in paris left nothing to be desired:
-“it is impossible to say,” he writes, “how i passed my time during this visit. everyone entertained us in turn. the ladies congregated or came to the tuileries. there were few gallants in paris, and i was in great consideration there, and in love in divers directions. i had brought back from spain rarities to the value of 20,000 crowns, and these i distributed amongst the ladies, who gave me a most cordial reception.”
-bassompierre had not been long in paris when he received a visit from his friend roucelaï, who came on behalf of luynes to interview him on the question of his marriage with the constable’s niece, mlle. de combalet, which had been proposed to the favourite by condé and guise during bassompierre’s absence in spain. luynes was anxious to conciliate these two princes, who had been far from pleased at his assumption of the office of constable, and, aware that bassompierre had strengthened his position at court by the success of his embassy to madrid and his services at saint-jean-d’angély, he appears to have been anxious to remove all difficulties in the way of the match.
-all this was no doubt very gratifying, but, at the same time, the constable, notwithstanding that active operations had long since been resumed, showed no inclination to recall either bassompierre, créquy, or saint-luc to the army; and presently they learned that he had appointed three other brigadier-generals--creatures of his own--in their places, having persuaded the king that, though they were very capable officers, “they were not persons who would stick to their work or give the necessary attention to it.” the real reason seems to have been the favourite’s fear that “they might eclipse his glory and that of his brothers,” and that they might be disinclined to carry out the orders of one whom they knew to be entirely ignorant of military matters.
-notwithstanding the formal reconciliation, marie still hated the man who had taken her son from her, and subjected her to so many humiliations, as bitterly as ever; and her object in writing was, of course, to animate bassompierre against the constable and put an end to the good understanding at which they now seemed to have arrived. by this means she would, so to speak, kill two birds with one stone, since she had probably not forgiven bassompierre for the activity which he had displayed in the king’s cause during the last war, which had contributed materially to the defeat of her party. bassompierre, however, had no intention of quarrelling with his prospective uncle to gratify the queen-mother or anyone else. at the same time, he was deeply mortified to learn that a mediocre officer like marillac, who had nothing to recommend him but his subservience to the favourite, was to be appointed to a high command, while he himself was left unemployed; and he felt that to remain inactive while such important operations were in progress was impossible. he therefore decided to rejoin the army without waiting for orders from the constable, trusting, by the exercise of a little tact, to succeed in disarming the annoyance which his return might occasion that personage.
-the royal army had encamped before montauban on august 18. if the town fell, all the south would fall with it; and luynes, elated by recent successes, believed that victory was assured. the most prudent officers did not share the optimism of the favourite; to them the siege of montauban seemed a very difficult undertaking. la force had retired into the place with three of his sons, the comte d’orval, younger son of sully, and a number of huguenot gentlemen; from 3,000 to 4,000 picked soldiers, supported by more than 2,000 armed citizens, formed a truly formidable garrison; the duc de rohan, still master of a great part of the albigeois and rouergue, would, they knew, make every effort to revictual the place and harass the siege operations; and he could command the services of the protestant mountaineers of the cévennes. several generals and members of the council had expressed the opinion that they should begin by clearing upper guienne and upper languedoc of the rebels, and postpone operations against montauban until the spring. but the king and luynes had refused to listen to them.
-bassompierre arrived in the royal camp on the 21st, just as the trenches were about to be opened, and at once proceeded to the château of piquecos, to the north of the town, on the right bank of the aveyron, where louis xiii had taken up his quarters. having excused his return without orders on the ground of his zeal for the service of the king, he hastened to disclaim any desire to serve as brigadier-general and declared that “he should content himself with being in this siege colonel-general of the swiss.” luynes thereupon became quite cordial, and the king told bassompierre that, when the siege was over, and he and the constable had returned to paris, he would give him the command of the army.
-lesdiguières had advised luynes to employ against montauban all the resources of the military art, and to enclose the town in lines of circumvallation protected by forts. but the presumptuous constable was unwilling to waste time in what he was pleased to regard as superfluous precautions; and the siege of this formidable stronghold, defended by several thousand resolute men, prepared to die sword in hand in defence of their religion rather than surrender, and with strong reinforcements under an able general hovering in the background, was embarked upon as lightly as if its reduction had presented no more than ordinary difficulty.
-on leaving the king, bassompierre returned to the camp, and he and praslin crossed the river to visit mayenne. the lorraine prince offered to show them the fortifications of ville-bourbon, and took them as close to the walls as he could persuade them to go, “with the intention of drawing upon us some musket-shots.” this kind of bravado appears to have been a favourite amusement of mayenne, but, as we shall presently see, he was to indulge in it once too often.
-on their return to the guards’ camp, they began preparations for opening the trenches, and bassompierre, accompanied by an italian engineer named gamorini, who had been sent to the army by marie de’ medici, in whose service he was, went out to reconnoitre the advance-works of the town. they succeeded in getting quite close to them without being observed; but, as they were returning, they lost their way and were suddenly confronted by an advanced guard-house of the enemy. the sentries fired upon them point-blank, and one ball went through bassompierre’s coat; but both he and gamorini succeeded in effecting their escape unharmed. they brought back with them some useful information, and that evening the first trench was opened, the work being entrusted to the regiment of piedmont.
-on the following day, luynes came to their camp and summoned bassompierre and the other leaders to a council of war. while this was proceeding, the enemy brought one of their cannon to bear upon the men working on the trench, the first shot blowing a captain of the regiment of piedmont to pieces and mortally wounding two other officers, one of whom, a lieutenant named castiras, was in bassompierre’s service. the bombardment was followed by a furious sortie, and the piedmonts were obliged to abandon the unfinished trench and fall back. bassompierre, leaving the council, hurriedly collected reinforcements, and drove the enemy back into the town; but the piedmonts had suffered severely.
-work proceeded without interruption during the next three days, and considerable progress was made; but, during the night of august 26-27, the enemy sallied out again, their attack on this occasion being directed against a sunken road, which the royal troops were fortifying, with the intention of placing a battery there. they were again repulsed, but not before they had succeeded in over-turning the gabions which had been placed there. some of these they carried off with them, but abandoned between the road and the fortifications, well within musket-shot of the latter.
-“the following night,” writes bassompierre, “one of the swiss named jacques told us that, if i were willing to give him a crown, he would bring back the gabions which the enemy had removed from the road; and what astonished us the more, was that this man brought back the gabions on his back, so strong and robust was he. the enemy fired two hundred arquebus-shots at him, without wounding him. after he had brought back six, the captains of the guards begged me not to permit so brave a man to risk his life again for the one that still remained. but he told them that he wished to bring it back to complete his bargain; and this he did.”
-on the 27th, lesdiguières and saint-géran attacked the counterscarp of the bastion of le moustier, and carried it after a desperate struggle of more than three hours. this success, which cost the besiegers some 600 casualties, was not followed up, chiefly owing to the opposition of marillac, who was of opinion that, if they descended into the fosse to attack the bastion, they would find themselves exposed to a murderous flanking-fire from masked batteries.
-on the 29th, the guards’ trenches had been sufficiently advanced to allow of a battery of eight guns being established, and schomberg, who was acting as grand master of the artillery, came to inspect it. bassompierre warned him that the park of powder was too near the battery for safety, and that, with a high wind blowing in its direction, the sparks from the cannon might be carried to the powder. the sieur de lesine, the officer in charge of the munitions, however, protested that there was no danger, and schomberg did not order their removal.
-they continued to push forward their trenches, and on the 31st bassompierre, “to reconnoitre how far they had advanced, came to the head of the trench and advanced eight or ten paces from it.” he got back again in safety, the enemy not having had time to train their muskets upon him. but when, shortly afterwards, his friend, the comte de fiesque, attempted to do the same, they were ready for him, and he received a musket-ball in the abdomen, from which he died two days later. “he was a great loss to us,” writes bassompierre, “and more particularly to me, for he was greatly attached to me. he was a brave noble, an honourable man and an excellent friend.”
-by the evening of that day they had got another battery of four guns into position, and on the following morning a furious bombardment of the enemy’s advanced works began, schomberg and praslin superintending the work of the larger battery and bassompierre of the smaller.
-“they both made a fine noise,” writes bassompierre; “but, after firing for an hour or more, what i had predicted two days before happened: the sparks from the cannon were carried into the park of powder and fired five tons of it, with the loss of lesine and forty men.”
-in the course of the afternoon, a similar disaster occurred in mayenne’s camp before ville-bourbon, amongst the killed being that prince’s uncle the marquis de villars and a son of the comte de riberac, a young man of great promise. worse misfortunes, however, were in store for mayenne’s division.
-in the night of september 2-3, the lorraine prince advanced to the assault of a crescent-shaped outwork which had been constructed by la force, and was defended by his sons and other huguenot nobles and some of the best soldiers in the garrison. the attack failed; but on the following afternoon the attempt was renewed. after a furious hand-to-hand conflict, mayenne was again repulsed, with heavy loss. on that day died the gallant marquis de thémines, eldest son of the marshal, la frette, the governor of chartres, “who yielded to no man of his time in courage and ambition,” and more than fifty catholic gentlemen. the siege of montauban, so lightly undertaken by luynes, seemed likely to cost france dear.
-on september 4, the king and the constable called a council of war to discuss the advisability of endeavouring to carry the bastion of le moustier by assault. bassompierre strongly urged that the attempt should be made, and was supported by lesdiguières; but the other generals opposed it, and marillac declared that to descend into the fosse meant certain death. luynes asked bassompierre to step into his cabinet, where the king presently joined them. louis xiii informed them that marillac and the others had said to him that it was easy for m. de bassompierre to advocate this hazardous undertaking, as all the danger would be left to them, and he would have no share in it; and had accused him of wishing to expose them to butchery. bassompierre, in high indignation, thereupon declared that, if the king would give him leave, he himself would lead the assault on the bastion, and pledged his word that, if he did not fall, “in three weeks he would have three cannon in position there against the town.”
-“the king, who always had a rather good opinion of me, said to the constable: ‘take bassompierre at his word and let him go; i will answer for him. send the three brigadier-generals from le moustier to the camp of the guards, and place him at le moustier. i am sure that he will do as he promises us, and we shall be the gainers.”
-the constable objected that the change would not be agreeable to either division, and declared that the guards would not obey the orders of the brigadier-generals from le moustier. finally, luynes asked bassompierre to go and reconnoitre the bastion. this he did, in company with the italian engineer gamorini and two other officers from his division, and reported that an attack would not present more than ordinary difficulty. luynes thereupon proposed that it should be undertaken; but marillac and his colleagues persisted in their objections, and assured him that montauban would soon be theirs, without any need for such sacrifice of life as this attack must entail. and they succeeded in bringing him round to their opinion.
-on the 9th, the guards, after some fierce fighting, succeeded in getting a footing in the advanced-works of ville-nouvelle. in this attack a poor gentleman of béarn, henri de peyrac, seigneur de tréville, who had served for four years as a private soldier, greatly distinguished himself; and bassompierre brought his gallantry to the notice of the king, and recommended him for an ensigncy in the regiment of navarre. this louis xiii granted him, and bassompierre told tréville that he must accompany him to piquecos to thank his majesty. tréville, however, refused the commission offered him, saying that he did not wish to leave his regiment, and that he “intended to conduct himself so well in future that the king would feel obliged to give him one in the guards.” this he not long afterwards obtained, and eventually rose to be captain of the company of musketeers of the guard and to be governor of the district of foix.
-a few days later, 1,200 of the cévennes mountaineers succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the covering force and throwing themselves into saint-antonin, a town eight leagues north-east of montauban, obviously with the intention of marching through the forest of gréseigne and reinforcing the beleaguered garrison. the folly of luynes in refusing to listen to the advice of lesdiguières to enclose the town within lines of circumvallation was now apparent to all. the constable’s ineptitude, however, was already a by-word in the army; and “both he and his brother the maréchal de chaulnes showed such ignorance of the military art, that the king, who, at any rate, understood the rudiments, perceived it and made game of them.”
-in consequence of this disconcerting move on the part of the enemy, it was necessary to send out a strong force of cavalry every night to guard the roads between the forest and montauban, which bassompierre and the other generals commanded in turn.
-on the 13th, mayenne delivered another assault on the outworks of ville-bourbon, with the same result as had attended his previous efforts. “this,” says bassompierre, “put great heart into the enemy and disheartened his troops. as for him, he was beside himself with rage.”
-a day or two later, there was a comic interlude in the siege, of which bassompierre was the hero. we shall allow him to describe it in his own words:--
-all this was very charming, but, a few days later, bassompierre was to meet the women of montauban in much less agreeable circumstances.
-on the 17th, guise, who had arrived in the camp some days earlier, accompanied by a great number of gentlemen from his government of provence, came to see bassompierre and persuade him to go and dine with mayenne. bassompierre, however, who had to attend a council of war which praslin had summoned, excused himself and, at the same time, warned the duke to be on his guard against mayenne, “who had no greater pleasure than to make the enemy fire on him or on those whom he took to view his works, and was burning his fingers in order to burn others.”
-mayenne had possessed amiable qualities, and had enjoyed in paris a popularity which recalled that of the great guises. the news of his death caused a riot in the capital, where an infuriated mob fell upon the huguenots one day when they were returning from their temple at charenton. the huguenots were armed, and several persons were killed on both sides, while the temple was burned.
-the king and the constable had recourse to a singular expedient to avenge mayenne and take the town. the famous spanish carmelite monk domingo de jesu maria, who had marched at the head of the imperial army on the day of the battle of prague, and to whom the devout attributed the victory, was passing through france on his way from germany. luynes sent for him to come to the camp, and asked him what he ought to do to reduce this heretic stronghold, upon which the monk assured him that if he caused four hundred cannon-shots to be fired into the town, the terrified inhabitants would undoubtedly surrender. the king thereupon sent for bassompierre and ordered him to fire the four hundred shots, which were to deliver montauban into his hands. “this i did,” says bassompierre; “but the enemy did not surrender for all that.”
-matters continued to go badly with the besiegers, which is scarcely surprising, having regard to the gross ineptitude of the amateur warriors who commanded them. at ville-nouvelle, where alone any real progress had been made, a mine had been prepared which was intended to demolish the inner face of the advanced-work of which the guards had carried the outer. on the day before it was to be fired, ramsay, the officer in charge of the mine, came to the maréchal de chaulnes to inquire how he wished it to be charged. chaulnes, who was entirely ignorant of such matters, turned to the officers about him for information; but he misunderstood what they said and ordered the charge to be made four times as large as that which they had suggested. the astonished engineer remonstrated, but was curtly told to carry out his orders. on the following day, however, chaulnes appears to have discovered his mistake, and told bassompierre to go and have the mine charged as he judged best. it was too late; for, just as he reached the entrance to the gallery, ramsay came rushing out and shouted to him to run for his life, as he had ignited the fuse and feared that the explosion would be terrible.
-“i needed no second bidding,” writes bassompierre, “and ran back forty paces as fast as i could to get away. the mine exploded with a greater violence than i have ever seen, and all the entrenchment under which it was laid was carried into the air. it was a long time in descending, when it came pouring down into the trench upon us.”
-bassompierre, who had had the presence of mind to thrust his head and the upper portion of his body into an empty barrel which happened to be lying near him, was fortunate enough to escape injury, though he had considerable difficulty in extricating himself, as there were “more than a thousand pounds of earth upon his loins, his thighs and his feet.” when he at last succeeded, he found that the effect of the explosion had been most disastrous, more than thirty men having been killed by the falling débris, amongst them being the unfortunate engineer ramsay. the mine had also demolished a great part of their own defences, and placed them in a most dangerous position.
-the enemy did not fail to seize their advantage, and, having discharged a storm of grenades and fire-balls at them, sallied out and fell upon two companies of the guards on the left of the line. bassompierre, with a body of gentlemen-volunteers, hurried to their assistance, and the assailants were repulsed. but, as he was returning, he met praslin, who begged him to go at once to their four-gun battery, which was being heavily attacked. as he approached the battery, he saw that it was on fire, and that while some of the fifty swiss who guarded it were engaged in extinguishing the flames, the rest were defending themselves with their pikes and halberds against a large force of the enemy, who were evidently determined to capture the battery at all costs.
-“i saw, for the first time in my life,” he says, “women in a fight, throwing stones against us with far more strength and animosity than i should have conceived possible, or handing them to the soldiers to throw.”
-he arrived only just in time, for the swiss, many of whom had already been killed or wounded, were being desperately hard-pressed, and in a few minutes the battery must have been taken. but he placed himself at their head with his volunteers, and led a charge which drove the enemy back a little distance. they continued, however, to assail them with missiles of every description, and a large stone striking bassompierre in the face--let us hope it was not thrown by one of the ladies with whom he had been conversing so amiably a few days before!--brought him to the ground insensible. some of the swiss raised him up, and carried him out of the mêlée, when he soon came to himself and returned to the fight. finally, praslin came up with two companies and forced the enemy to retire.
-bassompierre was certainly a person of extraordinary energy, for after this strenuous day he volunteered to take command of the force which was detached each evening to watch for the approach of the enemy’s reinforcements from saint-antonin, in place of praslin, who was suffering from the effects of a slight wound, and spent the whole night in the saddle.
-the alarm proved to be a false one; but in the night of september 26-27, just as bassompierre was looking forward to the enjoyment of the first night’s rest he had had for more than a week, his equerry le manny came in with the news that the reinforcements from saint-antonin were approaching. there could be no doubt about the matter this time; the officer who had arrived with the news had seen them marching through the forest.
-bassompierre awoke the duc de retz and créquy’s son canaples, who slept in his room, and told them that the enemy were at hand; “but they thought he was playing a jest on them, as they had been up ten successive nights watching and waiting.” and they positively refused to accompany him. leaving them, he went into a gallery near his room, where some thirty gentlemen slept, but could only persuade two of them to go with him. “the cry of ‘wolf!’ had been raised so often without any justification that they vowed they would answer it no more.” but the wolf from the cévennes was really coming this time, and a very fierce wolf he proved to be.
-hurriedly getting together some 1,200 men, of whom 200 were swiss, bassompierre marched away and took up his position in a sunken road intersecting the plain of ramiers, which lies between the forest of gréseigne and montauban, where it had been decided to await the enemy. learning that they were approaching in three bodies, he detached the baron d’estissac with 400 men to his right; the comte d’ayen, who was in command of the cavalry that night, was already in position on his left.
-it was a very dark night, and when presently the forms of men began to loom out of the blackness ahead, he was uncertain whether they were the enemy or a party of the royal troops. but he shouted, “vive le roi!” and the answering cry of “vive rohan!” settled the question.
-his position was protected by a barricade, but the agile mountaineers quickly swarmed over it and jumped down into the road, where a furious struggle began. so intense was the darkness there that it was often impossible to tell friend from foe, and not a few must have died by the weapons of their comrades. bassompierre, lunging with a halberd at one of the enemy, stumbled and fell; the huguenot, killed by the swiss, fell on top of him, as did two other men who had shared his fate; and he was pinned down and unable to rise. at length, le manny and one of his servants, hearing his cries for help, came and extricated him; but scarcely was he on his feet again, than he narrowly escaped being run through the body by a swiss, who mistook him for an enemy. the mêlée continued for some time, but at length numbers prevailed, and practically all the brave mountaineers were either killed or made prisoners. the dead had not died in vain, however, for, though their comrades on the right had been routed by d’ayen, those on the left, to the number of some 600 men, had contrived in the darkness to elude d’estissac, and throw themselves into montauban.
-end of vol. i.
-printed by the anchor press, ltd., tiptree, essex, england.
-“we, henri, by the grace of god, king of france and navarre, promise and swear by our faith and kingly word to monsieur françois de balsac, sieur d’entragues, etc., that he, giving us to be our consort (pour compagne) demoiselle henriette catherine de balsac, his daughter, provided that within six months from the present date she becomes pregnant and bear us a son, that forthwith we will take her to wife and publicly espouse her in the face of holy church, in accordance with the solemnities required in such cases.”
-once more, however, the unexpected came to save the situation. one night, the room in which the sultana--now become marquise de verneuil--lay, was struck by lightning. the shock caused a miscarriage, and the king, whose marriage with marguerite de valois had been solemnly annulled, on december 29, 1599, by the commission appointed by the pope, holding himself released from his promise, thereupon decided to send a formal demand to the court of tuscany for the hand of marie de’ medici.
-“what a fine story, that story of bassompierre!” he writes. “one of the reasons which caused him to be so passionately loved ought to be understood. at that time, france was divided into two classes, one dominant, the other semi-servile. the sempstress clasped bassompierre in her arms as though he were a demi-god who had descended to the bosom of a slave: he gave her the illusion of glory, and frenchwomen alone amongst women are capable of intoxicating themselves with that illusion. but who will reveal to us the unknown causes of the catastrophe? was the body which lay upon the table by the side of another body that of the pretty wench of the two angels? whose was the other body? was it the husband or the man whose voice bassompierre had heard? had the plague (for the plague was raging in paris) or jealousy reached the rue bourg-l’abbé before love? the imagination can easily find matter for exercise in such a subject as this. mingle with the poet’s inventions, the chorus of the populace, the approaching grave-diggers, the ‘crows’ and bassompierre’s sword, and a magnificent melodrama springs from the adventure.”--mémoires d’outre tombe, vol. i.
-“at that time, the king, who was very young, amused himself with many little occupations of his age, making little fountains in imitation of those of saint-germain, with pipes of quill, and little inventions for hunting, and playing on the drum, in which he succeeded very well. one day i told him that he was clever at everything which he undertook, and that, although he had never been taught, he played the drum better than the master of that instrument. ‘i must begin to blow the hunting-horn again,’ said he, ‘which i do very well, and will blow it for a whole day.’ ‘sire,’ said i, ‘i do not advise your majesty to blow it too often, for it causes ruptures, and is very injurious for the lungs; and i have heard that, through blowing the horn, the late king charles broke a blood-vessel in his lungs, and that caused his death.’ ‘you are mistaken,’ he rejoined; ‘it was not blowing the horn that killed him; it was because he quarrelled with the queen catherine, his mother at monceaux, and left her and went to meaux. but, if he had not been persuaded by the maréchal de retz to return to the queen-mother at monceaux, he would not have died so soon.’ as i answered nothing to this, montpouillan, who was present, said to me: ‘you did not think, monsieur, that the king knew so much about these matters, but he does, and about many others besides.’ this convinced me that he had been inspired with great apprehension of the queen, his mother, whom i took care never to mention to him in future, not even in common discourse.”
-“the king went to visit m. de nerestang, who, seeing how severely he had been wounded, was not doing badly, and would have been cured if they had left him in the hands of the surgeon lion. but the other executioners of surgeons importuned the king so much, when he was at brissac, that seven days after he was wounded, when he was going on well, they took him out of lion’s hands to place him in those of the king’s surgeons; and he only lived two days longer.”
-confidence that vermont and maine have penciled a bright prophecy of hope in the eastern sky.
-confidence that the dragon head monster of state rights is not to be resurrected in this country. (applause.)
-confidence that sound money and protection are the pillars of jackin and boaz in the temple of american honor and prosperity.
-confidence that the supreme court of the united states is to remain our bulwark of justice and all the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. (applause.)
-proud of being a republican.
-fellow citizens, i am a republican and proud of my party's history. the history of the united states has been made rich and resplendent with victories and achievements of our party. we are proud of our nation's history from its earliest dawn down to the present, and for the valuable lessons it has taught. we would not expunge or obliterate a single line. we accept it as a whole, from plymouth rock to bunker hill, from bunker hill to fort sumter, from fort sumter to appomattox, and from appomattox down to the campaign of 1896. we dedicate crowns of laurel for the giants who have evolved the mighty principles and tenets of the republican party--washington and grant, blaine and logan, sherman and garfield, harrison and mckinley, and most of all, that gentle soul, that man of equal poise, whose peer has never lived since the days of blessed galilean--abraham lincoln! (applause.) our history is one of greatness and sublimity. its pages are rich with the names of orators more eloquent than a burke, with the names of statesmen more acute than the "iron chancellor" and the names of warriors greater and mightier than napoleon.
-in the dark and turbulent days of the rebellion, the republican party, with the assistance of democratic patriots, saved this nation, while now in the closing days of the nineteenth century, by the living god, patriots will save and protect our nation's honor.
-ours is the greatest nation on earth, and the possibilities of the future are almost limitless; if we make no mistake in the great principles of protection, reciprocity and a sound currency, which have for their immediate object the betterment of the conditions of the wage-earners of this land.
-marching to greatest victory.
-following the leadership of our gallant standard bearer, that brave civilian soldier on the field of battle, that statesman without a peer, that friend of the toiling millions, that companion of every old soldier, that invincible leader of men, major mckinley, we are advancing proudly on to the greatest political victory of modern times. in the life of major william mckinley, we find nothing but purity and ability, bravery and compassion, and i promise you that on the fourth day of next march he will be inaugurated president of this republic; a republic whose flag, "old glory," the stars and stripes, floats over seas and land, peerless and without price, the emblem of power and protection to all. my friends, we must restore our protective system. already it has accomplished wonders for the laborers of america, and its mission in behalf of prosperity and posterity has only commenced. it has enabled us to perfect a system of finance that is a marvel to all nations, and has raised our credit to a place among the first countries of the earth. it has elevated the manhood of every american citizen, dignified labor, and instilled a more universal education throughout our land than can be found in any other civilized country on the face of the globe. it has made the flag of our nation emblematical of love, liberty, protection, reciprocity, honor and all that is great and grand of human thought. major william mckinley is our bruce at bannockburn in this struggle for national honor, unlimited labor and higher wages. in the golden casket of his great soul rests the immortal principles which we advocate, and in his heart burns the undying fire of love for america and american institutions. the righteousness of our cause is our strength, while he is our hope and will lead us triumphantly on to certain and splendid victory. (applause.) but what about william jennings bryan?
-"like a comet he rose to our vision,
-like a comet he soon will depart;
-and 'tis certain his untimely going
-will chill every popocrat's heart,
-in the coming cyclone of november
-we know his race will be run,
-and forever and aye, oh, let him remember,
-how our leader, mckinley has won."
-the treasure of hidden valley
-by willis george emerson
-chicago: forbes & company
-sons of the rugged, rock-ribbed hills,
-far from the gaudy show
-of fashion’s world-its shams and frills
-brothers of rain and snow:
-kith of the crags and the forest pines,
-kin of the herd and flock;
-wise in the lore of nature signs
-writ in the grass and rock.
-beings of lithe and lusty limb,
-breathing the broad, new life,
-chanting the forest’s primal hymn
-free from the world’s crude strife.
-your witching lure my being thrills,
-o rugged sons! o rugged hills!
-dedicated to the memory of my father reverend stephen lafayette emerson (the flockmaster of this story)
-the treasure of hidden valley
-chapter i—at the parting of the ways
-chapter ii—a message from the grave
-chapter iii—financial wolves
-chapter vi.—roderick meets jim rankin
-chapter vii—getting acquainted
-chapter viii.—a philosopher among the mountains
-chapter ix—the hidden valley
-chapter x.—the fair rider of the range
-chapter xi.—winter passes
-chapter xii—the major’s find
-chapter xvi.—the mysterious toilers of the night
-chapter xvii—a trout fishing episode
-chapter xviii.—a country fair on the frontier
-chapter xix.—a letter from the college widow
-chapter xx.—the store of gold
-chapter xxi.—a warning
-chapter xxii.—the tragedy at jack creek
-chapter xxiii.—the fight on the road
-chapter xxiv—summer days
-chapter xxvi.—unexpected political harmony
-chapter xxvii.—the uplifting of humanity
-chapter xxviii.—justice for the workers
-chapter xxix.—sleigh bells
-chapter xxx.—whitley adams blows in
-chapter xxxi.—roderick’s discovery
-chapter xxxii.—staking the claims
-chapter xxxiii—the snow slide
-chapter xxxiv—the passing of grant jones
-chapter xxxvi—in the city that never sleeps
-chapter xxxvii—roderick rescues gail
-chapter xxxviii—the search for roderick
-chapter xl—buell hampton’s good-by
-chapter xli.—-under the big pine
-the treasure of hidden valley
-chapter i—at the parting of the ways
-it was a dear, crisp october morning. there was a shrill whistle of a locomotive, and then a westbound passenger train dashed into the depot of an iowa town. a young man descended the car steps with an armful of luggage. he deposited his parcels on the platform, and half expectantly looked about him.
-just then there was a “honk! honk!” from a huge automobile as it came to a palpitating halt, and a familiar voice called out: “hello, roderick, old man!” and a moment later roderick warfield was shaking hands with his boon friend of former college days, whitley adams. both were in their early twenties, stalwart, well set up, clean-cut young fellows.
-whitley’s face was all aglow in the happiness of reunion. but roderick, after the first cordial greeting, wore a graver look. he listened quietly while his comrade rambled on.
-“mighty glad to receive your wire last night at the club. but what brings you home so unexpectedly? we’ve been hearing all sorts of glowing stories—about your being in the thick of affairs in little old new york and rolling in the shekels to beat the band.”
-“fairy tales,” was the laconic reply, accompanied by a look that was compounded of a sigh and a wistful smile.
-“how’s that?” asked young adams, glancing up into the other’s face and for the first time noticing its serious expression. “don’t tell me you’ve struck a financial snag thus early in your stock exchange career.”
-“several financial snags—and struck ‘em pretty badly too, i’m afraid.”
-“whew!” exclaimed adams.
-“oh, i’m not down and out,” laughed roderick, half amused at the look of utter discomfiture on his companion’s countenance. “not by a long chalk! i’m in on several good deals, and six months from date will be standing on velvet. that is to say,” he added, somewhat dubiously, “if uncle allen opens up his money bags to tide me over meanwhile.”
-“a pretty big ‘if,’ eh?” for the moment there was sympathetic sobriety in the youth’s tone, but he quickly regained his cheerfulness. “however, he’ll come through probably all right, rod, dear boy. it’s the older fellows’ privilege, isn’t it? my good dad has had the same experience, as you will no doubt have guessed. there, let me see; how long have you been away? eight months! gee! however, i have just gotten home myself. my old man was a bit furious at my tardiness in coming and the geometrical increase of my expense account. to do los angeles and san francisco thoroughly, you know, runs into a pot of money. but now everything is fixed up after a fashion with no evidence in sight of further squalls.” he laughed the laugh of an overgrown boy laboring under the delusion that because he has finished a collegiate course he is a “man.”
-“of course,” he continued with a swagger, “we chaps who put in four long years at college should not be expected to settle down without having some sort of a valedictory fling.”
-“there has not been much of a fling in my case,” protested warfield. “i tackled life seriously in new york from the start.”
-“but got a tumble all the same,” grinned adams. “however, there’s no use in pulling a long face—at least not until your uncle allen has been interviewed and judiciously put through his paces. come now, let us get your things aboard.”
-“not this morning!” exclaimed roderick, shaking his head as he looked frankly and a bit nervously into the eyes of whitley adams. “no club for me until i have squared things up on the hill.”
-“oh, well, just as you say; if it’s as bad as that, why of course—” he broke off and did not finish the sentence, but directed the chauffeur to the residence of allen miller, the banker.
-they rode a little way in silence and then whitley adams observed: “you’ve made a muddle of things, no doubt,” and he turned with a knowing look and a smile toward roderick, who in turn flushed, as though hit.
-“no doubt,” he concurred curtly.
-“then when shall i see you?” asked whitley as the auto slowed down at the approach to the stately miller home.
-“i’ll ‘phone you,” replied roderick. “think i can arrange to be at the club this evening.”
-“very well,” said his friend, and a minute later he had whirled away leaving a cloud of dust in the trail of the machine.
-roderick warfield met with a motherly reception at the hands of his aunt lois, mrs. allen miller. the greetings over and a score of solicitous questions by his aunt lois answered, he went to his room for a bath and a change of clothes. then without further delay he presented himself at the bank, and in a few moments was closeted in the president’s private room with his uncle and guardian, allen miller.
-the first friendly greetings were soon followed by the banker skidding from social to business considerations. “yes,” said allen miller, “i am glad to see you, roderick, mighty glad. but what do you mean by writing a day ahead that a good big sum is required immediately, this without mention of securities or explanation of any kind?” he held up in his hand a letter that ran to just a few niggardly lines. “this apology for a business communication only reached me by last night’s mail.”
-the kindly look of greeting had changed to one that was fairly flinty in its hardness. “what am i to expect from such a demand? a bunch of unpaid accounts, i suppose.” as he uttered this last sentence, there was a wicked twang in his voice—a suggestion of the snarl of an angry wolf ready for a fierce encounter. it at least proved him a financier.
-a flush of resentment stole over roderick’s brow. his look was more than half-defiant. on his side it showed at once that there would be no cringing for the favor he had come to ask.
-but he controlled himself, and spoke with perfect calm.
-“my obligations are not necessarily disgraceful ones, as your manner and tone, uncle, might imply. as for any detailed explanation by letter, i thought it best to come and put the whole business before you personally.”
-“and the nature of the business?” asked the banker in a dry harsh voice.
-“i am in a big deal and have to find my pro ratâ contribution immediately.”
-“a speculative deal?” rasped the old man.
-“yes; i suppose it would be called speculative, but it is gilt-edged all the same. i have all the papers here, and will show them to you.” he plunged a hand into the breast pocket of his coat and produced a neatly folded little bundle of documents.
-“stop,” exclaimed the banker. “you need not even undo that piece of tape until you have answered my questions. a speculative deal, you admit.”
-“be it so.”
-“a mining deal, may i ask?”
-roderick’s face showed some confusion. but he faced the issue promptly and squarely.
-“yes, sir, a mining deal.”
-the banker’s eyes fairly glittered with steely wrathfulness.
-“as i expected. by gad, it seems to run in the blood! did i not warn you, when you insisted on risking your meagre capital of two thousand dollars in new york instead of settling down with what would have been a comfortable nest egg here, that if you ever touched mining it would be your ruin? did i not tell you your father’s story, how the lure of prospecting possessed him, how he could never throw it off, how it doomed him to a life of hardship and poverty, and how it would have left you, his child, a pauper but for an insurance policy which it was his one redeeming act of prudence in carrying?”
-“please do not speak like that of my father,” protested roderick, drawing himself up with proud
-the banker’s manner softened; a kindlier glow came into his eyes.
-“well, boy, you know i loved your father. if your father had only followed my path he would have shared my prosperity. but it was not to be. he lost all he ever made in mining, and now you are flinging the little provision his death secured for you into the same bottomless pool. and this despite all my warnings, despite my stern injunctions so long as it was my right as your guardian to enjoin. the whole thing disgusts me more than words can tell.”
-into the banker’s voice the old bitterness, if not the anger, had returned. he rose and restlessly paced the room. a silence followed that was oppressive. roderick warfield’s mind was in the future; he was wondering what would happen should his uncle remain obdurate. the older man’s mind was in the past; he was recalling events of the long ago.
-roderick warfield’s father and allen miller had as young men braved perils together in an unsuccessful overland trip when the great california gold rush in the early fifties occurred. at that time they were only boys in their ‘teens. years afterward they married sisters and settled down in their iowa homes—or tried to settle down in warfield’s case, for in his wanderings he had been smitten with the gold fever and he remained a mining nomad to the end of his days. allen miller had never been blessed with a child, and it was not until late in their married life that any addition came to the warfield family. this was the beginning of roderick warfield’s career, but cost the mother’s life. ten years later john warfield died and his young son roderick was given a home with mr. and mrs. allen miller, the banker accepting the guardianship of his old friend’s only child.
-the boy’s inheritance was limited to a few thousand dollars of life insurance, which in the hands of anyone but allen miller would have fallen far short of putting him through college. however, that was not only accomplished, but at the close of a fairly brilliant college career the young man had found himself possessed of a round couple of thousand dollars. among his college friends had been the son of a well-to-do new york broker, and it was on this friend’s advice that roderick had at the outset of his business life adventured the maelstrom of gotham instead of accepting the placid backwaters of his iowan home town. hence the young man’s present difficulties and precarious future, and his uncle’s bitterness of spirit because all his past efforts on roderick’s account had proved of such little avail.
-at last the banker resumed his chair. the tightly closed lips showed that his mind was made up to a definite line of action. roderick awaited the decision in silence—it was not in his nature to plead a cause at the cost of losing his own self-respect he had already returned the unopened bundle of mining papers to the inner pocket of his coat.
-“as for any advance to meet speculative mining commitments,” began the man of finance, “i do not even desire to know the amount you have had in mind. that is a proposition i cannot even entertain—on principle and for your own ultimate good, young man.”
-“then i lose all the money i have put in to date.”
-“better a present loss than hopeless future entanglements. your personal obligations? as you have been using all available funds for speculation, i presume you are not free from some debts.”
-“less than a thousand dollars all told.”
-“well, you have, i believe, $285.75 standing to your personal credit in this bank—the remnant of your patrimony.”
-“i did not know i had so much,” remarked roderick with a faint smile.
-“all the better, perhaps,” replied the banker, also smiling grimly. “the amount would have doubtless been swallowed up with the rest of your money. as matters stand, some payment can be made to account of your obligations and arrangements entered into for the gradual liquidation of the outstanding balance.” young warfield winced. the banker continued: “this may involve some personal humiliation for you. but again it is against my principles to pay any man’s debts. anyone who deliberately incurs a liability should have the highly beneficial experience of earning the money to liquidate it i propose to give you the chance to do so.”
-roderick raised his eyebrows in some surprise. “in new york?” he enquired.
-“no, sir,” replied allen miller rather brusquely and evidently nettled at the very audacity of the question. “not in new york, but right here—in keokuk. calm your impatience, please. just listen to the proposals i have to make—they have been carefully thought out by me and by your aunt lois as well. in the first place, despite your rather reckless and improvident start in life, i am prepared to make you assistant cashier of this bank at a good salary.” again roderick evinced amazement. he was quite nonplussed at his uncle’s changed demeanor. the conciliatory manner and kindly tone disarmed him. but could he ever come to renounce his new york ambitions for humdrum existence in the old river town of keokuk? he knew the answer in his heart. the thing was impossible.
-“and if you are diligent,” continued the banker, “prove capable and make good, you may expect in time to be rewarded with a liberal block of stock in the bank. come now, what do you say to this part of my programme?” urged the speaker as roderick hesitated.
-“well,” said the banker, with a rising inflection, “does it require any time to consider the generous offer i make?”
-roderick pulled a long breath at his cigar and blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling, and said: “your offer, uncle, is princely, but i hardly feel that i should accept until i have thought it all over from different points of view and have the whole question of my future plans fully considered. what are the other items on your programme?”
-“they should be rather counted as conditions,” replied the banker drily. “the conditions on which the offer i have just made are based.”
-“and they are what?”
-“you must quit speculation, give up all expensive habits, marry and settle down.” the words were spoken with all the definiteness of an ultimatum.
-again roderick winced. he might have been led to all or at least some of these things. but to be driven, and by such rough horse-breaking methods—. never! no, never. he managed to restrain himself, however, and replied quietly: “my dear uncle, the idea of marrying for some years yet, to tell you the truth, has never entered my head. of course,” he went on lightly, “there is a young lady over at galesburg, stella rain, where my knox college days were spent, the ‘college widow,’ in a way a very lovely sort and in whom i have been rather interested for some two years, but—”
-“that will do, young man,” interrupted allen miller, sharply and severely. “never mind your society flyers—these lady friends of yours in galesburg. your aunt lois and myself have already selected your future wife.”
-he laughed hoarsely, and the laugh sounded brutal even to his own ears. allen miller realized uncomfortably that he had been premature and scored against himself.
-“oh, is that so?” ejaculated roderick in delicate irony. a pink flush had stolen into his cheeks.
-the old banker hesitated in making reply. he grew hot and red and wondered if he had begun his match-making too abruptly—the very thing about which his good wife lois had cautioned him. in truth, despite the harsh methods often imposed on him by his profession as a banker, a kinder heart than allen miller’s never beat. but in this new rôle he was out of his element and readily confused. finally after clearing his throat several times, he replied: “yes, roderick, in a way, your aunt lois and i have picked out the girl we want you to marry. her father’s wealth is equal to mine and some day perhaps—well, you can’t tell—i’ll not live always and, provided you don’t disobey me, you may inherit under my will a control of the stock of this banking house, and so be at the head of an important and growing financial institution.”
-roderick instead of being fifty-four and calculating, was only twenty-four and indifferent to wealth, and the red blood of his generous youth revolted at the mercenary methods suggested by his uncle regarding this unknown girl’s financial prospects. and then, too, the inducement thrown out that under conditions of obedience he might inherit the fortune of his uncle, was, he interpreted, nothing short of an attempt to bribe and deprive him of his liberty. he flushed with indignation and anger. yet with a strong effort he still controlled his feelings, and presently asked: “who is the fair lady?”
-“the daughter of an old friend of mine. they live only a short distance down the river. their home is at quincy, illinois. mighty fine old family, i can tell you. am sure you’ll like her immensely.”
-“am i to understand,” asked roderick rather caustically, “that the young lady acquiesces and enters graciously into your plans?”
-“well, i can’t say that!” replied allen miller, rubbing his chin. “but your aunt lois and i have talked over the possible alliance in all its lights.”
-“with the young lady’s family, i presume?”
-“no, not even that. but we are perfectly certain that we have only to speak the word to put the business through all right.”
-“business!”—roderick repeated the word with bitter emphasis.
-“yes, sir, business,” retorted allen miller, with some warmth. “to my mind matrimony is one of the most important deals in life—perhaps the most important.”
-“if the money is right,” laughed the young man contemptuously. “but don’t you think that before another word is said about such a matter i should have the chance of seeing the young lady and the young lady a chance of seeing me?”
-the humor of the situation had brought a pleasant smile to his face. the banker looked relieved.
-“wait now, my boy,” he replied musingly. “do you remember when you were a little chap, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, going with your aunt lois and myself to st. louis on the diamond joe boat line?”
-“yes, i remember it perfectly.”
-“well, then,” continued allen miller, “you perhaps haven’t forgotten a lady and gentleman with a little tot of a girl only five or six years old, who joined us at quincy. you engaged in a regular boyish love affair at first sight with that little girl. well, she is the one—a mighty fine young lady now—just passed eighteen and her father is rated away up in the financial world.”
-for the moment roderick’s indignation over the cold-blooded, cut-and-dried, matrimonial proposition was arrested, and he did not even notice the renewed reference to finance. he had become pensive and retrospective.
-“how very long ago,” he mused more to himself than to his uncle allen—“how very long ago since that trip down the river. yes, i remember well the little blue-eyed, black-curly-headed chick of a girl. it was my first steamboat ride and of course it was a holiday and a fairyland affair to my boyish fancy.”
-allen miller chuckled to himself. at last his scheme was working. all his life he had been a success with men and affairs, and his self-confidence was great. he rubbed his hands together and smiled, while he humored roderick’s silence. he would tell his wife lois of his progress. presently he said: “she is an only child, roderick, and i think her father could qualify for better than a quarter of a million.”
-this time the reiterated money recommendation jarred unpleasantly on roderick’s nerves and revived his antagonism. he hastily arose from his chair and walked back and forth across the room. presently he halted before his uncle and with forced deliberation—for his anger was keyed to a high tension—said: “i am pleased, uncle, to know the young lady is not a party to this shameful piece of attempted barter and sale business. when i marry, if ever, it shall be someone as regards whom wealth will count as of least importance. true love loathes avarice and greed. i require no further time to consider your proposals. i flatly reject your offer of a position in the bank, and shall leave keokuk tomorrow. i prefer hewing out my own destiny and while doing so retaining my freedom and my self-respect. this is my decision, and it is an irrevocable one.”
-the ebullition of pent-up feelings had come so suddenly and unexpectedly that allen miller was momentarily overwhelmed. he had arisen and was noticeably agitated. his face was very white, and there was a look in his eyes that roderick warfield had never seen before.
-“young man,” he said, and his voice was husky and trembling with suppressed rage—“you shall never have a dollar of my fortune unless you marry as i direct i will give you until tomorrow to agree to my plans. if you do not desire to accept my offer without change or modification in any shape, then take the balance of your money in the bank and go your way. i wash my hands of you and your affairs. go and play football with the world or let the world play football with you, and see how it feels to be the ‘pigskin’ in life’s game.”
-with these words the old man swung a chair round to the fireplace, dropped into it, and began vigorously and viciously pounding at a lump of coal. there was an interval of silence. at last roderick spoke; his voice was firm and low.
-“there will not be the slightest use, uncle, in reopening this question tomorrow. my mind, as i have said, is already made up—unalterably.” the last word was uttered with an emphasis that rang finality.
-the banker flung down the poker, and rose to his feet. his look was equally determined, equally final, equally unalterable.
-“all right,” he snapped. “then we’ll get through the banking business now.”
-he touched a push-button by the side of the mantel. during the brief interval before a clerk responded to the summons, not another word was spoken.
-“bring me the exact figure of mr. warfield’s credit balance,” he said to his subordinate, “and cash for the amount. he will sign a check to close the account.”
-five minutes later roderick had the little wad of bills in his pocket, and was ready to depart uncle and nephew were again alone.
-“there is one other matter,” said the banker with cold formality. “there is a paper in my possession which was entrusted to my keeping by your father just before he died. i was to deliver it to you at my discretion after you had attained your majority, but in any case on your reaching the age of twenty-five. i will exercise my discretion, and hand over the paper to you now.”
-he advanced to a safe that stood open at one side of the room, unlocked a little drawer, and returned to the fireplace with a long linen envelope in his hand. a big red splash of wax showed that it had been carefully sealed.
-“this is yours,” said the banker shortly, handing it over to the young man.
-the latter was greatly agitated. a message from his dead father! what could it mean? but he mastered his emotions and quietly bestowed the packet in his breast pocket—beside the papers connected with the mining deal.
-“i’ll read this later,” he said. and then he extended his hand. there was yearning affection in his eyes, in the tremor of his voice: “uncle, we surely will part as friends.”
-“you can regain my friendship only by doing my will. i have nothing more to say. good-by.”
-and without taking the proffered hand, allen miller turned away, leaning an elbow on the mantelshelf. his attitude showed that the interview was at an end.
-without another word roderick warfield left the room. outside the soft snow was falling in feathery silence. at a street corner the young man hesitated. he glanced up the road that led to his old home—allen miller’s stately mansion on the hill. then he took the other turning.
-“i guess i’ll sleep at the club to-night,” he murmured to himself. “i can bid aunt lois good-by in the morning.”
-chapter ii—a message from the grave
-allen miller, the rich banker, was alone—alone in the president’s room at his bank, and feeling alone in the fullest sense of the word now that roderick warfield had gone, the youth he had reared and loved and cherished as his own child, now turned out of doors by the old man’s deliberate act.
-looking deep into the fire his thoughts went back to his boyhood days and he saw john warfield, his chum of many years. he thought of their experience in the terrible massacre in the sierra madre mountains in the region of bridger peak, of a lost trail, of hunger and thirst and weary tramps over mountain and down precipitous canyons, of abrupt gashes that cut the rocky gorges, of great bubbling springs and torrents of mountain streams, of a narrow valley between high mountains—a valley without a discoverable outlet—of a beautiful waterway that traversed this valley and lost itself in the sides of an abrupt mountain, and of the exhausting hardships in getting back to civilization.
-then allen miller, the flint-hearted financier, the stoic, the man of taciturn habits, did a strange thing. standing there before the blazing fire, leaning against the mantel, he put his handkerchief to his eyes and his frame was convulsed with a sob. presently he turned away from the open grate and muttered aloud: “yes, john warfield, i loved you and i love your boy, roderick. some day he shall have all i’ve got. but he is self-willed—a regular outlaw—and i must wake him up to the demands of a bread-winner, put the bits into his mouth and make him bridle-wise. gad! he’s a dynamo, but i love him;” and he half smiled, while his eyes were yet red and his voice husky.
-“ah, john,” he mused as he looked again into the fire, “you might have been alive today to help me break this young colt to the plough, if you had only taken my advice and given up the search for that gold mine in the mountains. thank god for the compact of secrecy between us—the secret shall die with me. the years, john, you spent in trying to re-dis-cover the vault of wealth—and what a will-o’-the-wisp it proved to be—and then the accident. but now i shall be firm—firm as a rock—and roderick, the reckless would-be plunger, shall at last feel the iron hand of his old guardian beneath the silken glove of my foolish kindness. he’s got to be subdued and broken, even if i have to let him live on husks for a while. firm, firm—that’s the only thing to be.”
-as he muttered the last words, allen miller shut his square jaws together with an ugly snap that plainly told the stern policy he had resolved on and would henceforth determinedly pursue. he put on his great fur-lined cloak, and silently went out into the evening shadows and thick maze of descending snow-flakes.
-meanwhile roderick warfield had reached his club, engaged a bedroom, and got a cheerful fire alight for companionship as well as comfort. he had telephoned to whitley adams to dine with him, but for two hours he would be by himself and undisturbed. he wanted a little time to think. and then there was the letter from his father. he had settled himself in an easy chair before the fire, the sealed envelope was in his hand, and the strange solemn feeling had descended upon him that he was going to hear his dead father speak to him again.
-there was in the silence that enveloped him the pulsing sensation of a mysterious presence. the ordeal now to be faced came as a climax to the stormy interview he had just passed through. he had reached a parting of the ways, and dimly realized that something was going to happen that would guide him as to the path he should follow. the letter seemed a message from another world. unknown to himself the supreme moment that had now arrived was a moment of transfiguration—the youth became a man—old things passed away.
-with grave deliberation he broke the seal. inside the folds of a long and closely written letter was a second cover with somewhat bulky contents. this he laid for the meantime on a little table by his side. then he set himself to a perusal of the letter. it ran as follows:
-“my dear son:—
-“this is for you to read when you have come to man’s estate—when you are no longer a thoughtless boy, but a thoughtful man. with this letter you will find your mother’s picture and a ring of pure gold which i placed upon her finger the day i married her—gold with a special sentiment attached to it, for i took it from the earth myself—also a few letters—love letters written by her to me and a tress of her hair. i am sure you will honor her memory by noble deeds. i loved her dearly.
-“i was younger at the time than you are now, roderick, my son. your uncle allen miller—about my own age—and myself planned a trip to california. it was at the time of the great gold excitement in that far off land.
-“the overland train of some two score of ox teams that we were with traveled but slowly; frequently not more than eight or ten miles a day. i remembered we had crossed the south fork of the platte river and had traveled some two days on westward into the mountains and were near a place called bridger peak. it must have been about midnight when our camp was startled with the most terrific and unearthly yells ever heard by mortals. it was a band of murderous indians, and in less time than it takes to describe the scene of devastation, all of our stock was stampeded; our wagons looted and then set on fire. following this a general massacre began. your uncle allen and myself, both of us mere boys in our ‘teens, alert and active, managed to make our escape in the darkness. being fleet of foot we ran along the mountain side, following an opening but keeping close to a dense forest of pine trees. in this way we saved our lives. i afterwards learned that every other member of the party was killed.
-“we were each equipped with two revolvers and a bowie knife and perhaps jointly had one hundred rounds of cartridges. a couple of pounds of jerked beef and a half a loaf of bread constituted our provisions. fortunately, allen miller carried with him a flint and steel, so that we were enabled to sustain ourselves with cooked food of game we killed during the weary days that followed.
-“with this letter i enclose a map, roughly drawn, but i am sure it will help you find the lost canyon where flows a beautiful stream of water, and where your uncle allen and myself discovered an amazing quantity of gold—placer gold. it is in a valley, and the sandbar of gold is about a mile up stream from where the torrent of rapid water loses itself at the lower end of the valley—seemingly flowing into the abrupt side of a mountain. at the place where we found the gold, i remember, there was a sandbar next to the mountain brook, then a gorge or pocket like an old channel of a creek bed, and it was here in this old sandbar of a channel that the nuggets of gold were found—so plentiful indeed, that notwithstanding we loaded ourselves with them to the limit of our strength, yet our ‘takings’ could scarcely be missed from this phenomenal sandbar of riches. we brought all we could possibly carry away with us in two bags which we made from extra clothing. unfortunately we lost our way and could not find an opening from the valley, because the waters of the stream disappeared, as i have described, and we were compelled, after many unsuccessful attempts to find a water grade opening, to retrace our steps and climb out by the same precipitous trail that we had followed in going down into this strange valley.
-“we wandered in the mountains as far south as a place now known as hahn’s peak, and then eastward, circling in every direction for many miles in extent. after tramping in an unknown wilderness for forty-seven days we finally came to the hut of a mountaineer, and were overjoyed to learn it was on a branch of the overland trail not long after this we fell in with a returning caravan of ox team freighters and after many weeks of tedious travel arrived at st. joseph, mo., footsore and weary, but still in possession of our gold. a little later we reached our home near keokuk, iowa, and to our great joy learned that our treasure was worth many thousands of dollars. your uncle allen miller’s half was the beginning of his fortune. an oath of secrecy exists between your uncle allen miller and myself that neither shall divulge during our lifetime that which i am now writing to you, but in thus communicating my story to you, my own flesh and blood, i do not feel that i am violating my promise, because the information will not come to you until years after my death.
-“since your mother’s death, i have made seven trips into the rocky mountain region hunting most diligently for an odd-shaped valley where abrupt mountains wall it in, seemingly on every side, and where we found the fabulously rich sandbar of gold.
-“i have communicated to no one, not even your good uncle allen miller, that i have decided on leaving this letter, and the information which it contains is for your eyes alone to peruse long after my mortal body has crumbled to dust in imparting this information i do so feeling sure that your uncle allen will never make any effort to relocate the treasure, so that it is quite right and proper the secret should descend to you.
-“my pen drags a little—i am weary and quite exhausted with the effort of writing. i now find myself wondering whether this legacy—a legacy telling you of a lost gold mine that may be found somewhere in the fastnesses of the mountains of wyoming—will prove a blessing to you or a disquieting evil. i shall die hoping that it will prove to your good and that your efforts in seeking this lost mine will be rewarded.
-“with tenderest love and affection,
-when roderick reached the end of the letter, he remained for a long time still holding it in his hands and gazing fixedly into the glowing embers. he was seeing visions—visions of a wyoming gold mine that would bring him unbounded wealth. at last he broke from his reveries, and examined the other package. it was unsealed. the first paper to come forth proved to be the map to which his father had referred—it was a pencil drawing with numerous marginal notes that would require close examination. for the present he laid the document on the table. then reverently and tenderly he examined the little bunch of love letters tied together by a ribbon, the tress of hair placed between two protecting pieces of cardboard, and the plain hoop of gold wrapped carefully in several folds of tissue paper. lastly he gazed upon the photograph of his mother—the mother he had never seen, the mother who had given her life so that he might live. there were tears in his eyes as he gently kissed the sweet girlish countenance.
-with thought of her and memories of the old boyhood days again he fell into a musing mood. time sped unnoticed, and it was only the chiming of a church clock outside that aroused him to the fact that the dinner hour had arrived and that whitley adams would be waiting for him downstairs. he carefully placed all the papers in a writing desk that stood in a corner of the room, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. then he descended to meet his friend.
-“nothing doing, i can see,” exclaimed whitley the moment he saw roderick’s grave face.
-“you’ve got it right,” he answered quietly. “the big ‘if’ you feared this morning turned out to be an uncompromising ‘no.’ uncle allen and i have said good-by.”
-“no wonder you are looking so glum.”
-“not glum, old fellow. i never felt more tranquilly happy in my life. but naturally i may seem a bit serious. i have to cut out old things in my life, take up new lines.”
-“i suppose it’s back to new york for you.”
-“no. everything goes by the board there. i have to cut my losses and quit.”
-“what a cruel sacrifice!”
-“or what a happy release,” smiled roderick. “there is something calling me elsewhere—a call i cannot resist—a call i believe that beckons me to success.”
-“well, we won’t say anything about that at present i’ll write you later on when the outlook becomes clearer. meanwhile we’ll dine, and i’m going to put up a little business proposition to you. i want you to buy my half share in the black swan.”
-“guess that can be fixed up all right,” replied whitley, as they moved toward the dining room. and, dull care laid aside, the two old college chums gave themselves up to a pleasant evening—the last they would spend together for many a long day, as both realized.
-by eleven o’clock next morning roderick warfield had adjusted his financial affairs. he had received cash for his half interest in the black swan, a river pleasure launch which he and whitley adams had owned in common for several years. he had written one letter, to new york surrendering his holding in the mining syndicate, and other letters to his three or four creditors enclosing bank drafts for one-half of his indebtedness and requesting six months’ time for the payment of the balance. with less than a hundred dollars left he was cheerfully prepared to face the world.
-then had come the most painful episode of the whole visit—the parting from aunt lois, the woman of gentle ways and kindly heart who had always loved him like a mother, who loved him still, and who tearfully pleaded with him to submit even at this eleventh hour to his uncle’s will and come back to his room in the old home. but the adieus had been spoken, resolutely though tenderly, and now whitley adams in his big motor car had whisked roderick and his belongings back to the railway depot.
-he had barely time to check his trunk to burlington and swing onto the moving train. “so long,” he shouted to his friend. “good luck,” responded whitley as he waved farewell. and roderick warfield was being borne out into the big new world of venture and endeavor.
-would he succeed in cuffing the ears of chance and conquer, or would heartless fate play football with him and make him indeed the “pig-skin” as his uncle had prophesied in the coming events of his destiny—a destiny that was carrying him away among strangers and to unfamiliar scenes? as the train rushed along his mind was full of his father��s letter and his blood tingled with excitement over the secret that had come to him from the darkness of the very grave. the primal man within him was crying out with mad impatience to be in the thick of the fierce struggle for the golden spoil.
-a witchery was thrumming in his heart—the witchery of the west; and instead of struggling against the impulse, he was actually encouraging it to lead him blindly on toward an unsolved mystery of the hills. he was lifted up into the heights, his soul filled with exalted thoughts and hopes.
-then came whisperings in a softer strain—gentle whisperings that brought with them memories of happy college days and the name of stella rain. it was perhaps nothing more nor less than the crude brutality with which his uncle had pressed his meretricious matrimonial scheme that caused roderick now to think so longingly and so fondly of the charming little “college widow” who had been the object of his youthful aspirations.
-all at once he came to a resolution. yes; he would spend at least one day on the old campus grounds at knox college. the call of the hills was singing in his heart, the luring irresistible call. but before responding to it he would once again press the hand and peep into the eyes of stella rain.
-chapter iii—financial wolves
-on the very day following roderick warfield’s departure from keokuk there appeared in one of the morning newspapers an item of intelligence that greatly surprised and shocked the banker, allen miller. it announced the death of the wife of his old friend general john holden, of quincy, illinois, and with the ghoulish instincts of latter-day journalism laid bare a story of financial disaster that had, at least indirectly, led to the lady’s lamented demise. it set forth how some years before the general had invested practically the whole of his fortune in a western smelter company, how the minority stockholders had been frozen out by a gang of financial sharps in pennsylvania, and how mrs. holden’s already enfeebled health had been unable to withstand the blow of swift and sudden family ruin. the general, however, was bearing his sad bereavement and his monetary losses with the courage and fortitude that had characterized his military career, and had announced his intention of retiring to a lonely spot among the mountains of wyoming where his daughter, the beautiful and accomplished gail holden, owned a half section of land which had been gifted to her in early infancy by an unde, a prominent business man in san francisco. allen miller was sincerely grieved over the misfortunes that had so cruelly smitten a life-long friend. but what momentarily stunned him was the thought that gail holden was the very girl designated, in mind at least, by himself and his wife as a desirable match for roderick. and because the latter had not at once fallen in with these matrimonial plans, there had been the bitter quarrel, the stinging words of rebuke that could never be recalled, and the departure of the young man, as he had told his aunt, to places where they would never hear of him unless and until he had made his own fortune in the world.
-as the newspaper dropped from his hands, the old banker uttered a great groan—he had sacrificed the boy, whom in his heart he had cherished, and still cherished, as a son, for a visionary scheme that had already vanished into nothingness like a fragile iridescent soap-bubble. for obviously gail holden, her only possessions an impoverished father and a few acres of rocky soil, was no longer eligible as the bride of a future bank president and leader in the financial world. the one crumb of consolation for allen miller was that he had never mentioned her name to roderick—that when the sponge of time came to efface the quarrel the whole incident could be consigned to oblivion without any humiliating admission on his side. for financial foresight was the very essence of his faith in himself, his hold over roderick, and his reputation in the business world.
-the afternoon mail brought detailed news of general holden’s speculative venture and downfall. allen miller’s correspondent was a lawyer friend in quincy, who wrote in strict confidence but with a free and sharply pointed pen. it appeared that holden’s initial investment had been on a sound basis. he had held bonds that were underlying securities on a big smelting plant in wyoming, in the very district where his daughter’s patch of range lands was situated. it was during a visit to the little ranch that the general’s attention had been drawn to the great possibilities of a local smelter, and he had been the main one to finance the proposition and render the erection of the plant possible. at this stage a group of eastern capitalists had been attracted to the region, and there had come to be mooted a big consolidation of several companies, an electric lighting plant, an aerial tramway, a valuable producing copper mine and several other different concerns that were closely associated with the smelting enterprise.
-in the days that followed a pennsylvanian financier with a lightning rod education, by the name of w. b. grady had visited holden at his quincy home, partaken of his hospitality, and persuaded him to exchange his underlying bonds for stock in a re-organized and consolidated company.
-by reputation this man grady was already well known to allen miller as one belonging to the new school of unscrupulous stock manipulators that has grown up, developed, flourished and waxed fat under the blighting influence and domination of the well known oil crowd. this new school of financiers is composed of financial degenerates, where the words “honor,” “fair dealing” or the “square deal” have all been effectually expunged—marked off from their business vocabulary and by them regarded as obsolete terms. grady was still a comparatively young man, of attractive manners and commanding presence, with the rapacity, however, of a wolf and the cunning of a fox. he stood fully six feet, and his hair, once black as a raven’s, was now streaked with premature gray which was in no way traceable to early piety. but to have mentioned his name even in a remote comparison to such a respectable bird as the raven rendered an apology due to the raven. it was more consistent with the eternal truth and fitness of things to substitute the term “vulture”—to designate him “a financial vulture,” that detestable bird of prey whose chief occupation is feasting on carrion and all things where the life has been squeezed out by the financial octopus, known as “the system.”
-it developed, according to banker miller’s correspondent, that no sooner had general holden given up his underlying bonds of the smelter company and accepted stock, than foreclosure proceedings were instituted in the u. s. district court, and the whole business closed out and sold and grabbed by grady and a small coterie of financial pirates no better than himself. and all this was done many hundreds of miles away from the home of the unsuspecting old general, who until it was too late remained wholly ignorant and unadvised of the true character of the suave and pleasant appearing mr. grady whose promises were innumerable, yet whose every promise was based upon a despicable prevarication.
-and thus it was when the affairs of general holden were fairly threshed out, that allen miller discovered his old friend had been the prey of a financial vampire, one skilled in sharp practice and whose artful cunning technically protected him from being arrested and convicted of looting the victim of his fortune. holden had fallen into the hands of a highwayman as vicious as any stage robber that ever infested the highways of the frontier. the evidence of the fellow’s rascality was most apparent; indeed, he was in a way caught redhanded with the goods as surely as ever a sheep-killing dog was found with wool on its teeth.
-to the credit of allen miller, he never hesitated or wavered in his generosity to anyone he counted as a true and worthy friend. that very evening mrs. miller departed for quincy, to offer in person more discreetly than a letter could offer any financial assistance that might be required to meet present emergencies, and at the same time convey sympathy to the husband and daughter in their sad bereavement.
-“lois, my dear,” the banker had said to his wife, “remain a few days with them if necessary. make them comfortable, no matter what the expense. if they had means they wouldn’t need us, but now—well, no difference about the why and wherefore—you just go and comfort and help them materially and substantially.”
-it was in such a deed as this that the true nobility of allen miller’s character shone forth like a star of the brightest magnitude—a star guaranteeing forgiveness of all his blunders and stupid attempts to curb the impulsive and proud spirit of roderick war-field yet sympathy for gail and her father in no way condoned their poverty to his judgment as a man of finance or reinstated the girl as an eligible match for the young man. he would have been glad of tidings of roderick—to have him home again and the offensive matrimonial condition he had attached to his offer of an appointment in the bank finally eliminated.
-but there was no news, and meanwhile his wife had returned from her mission, to report that the holdens, while sincerely grateful, had declined all offers of assistance. as mrs. miller described, it was the girl herself who had declared, with the light of quiet self-reliance in her eyes, that by working the ranch in wyoming as she proposed to work it there would be ample provision for her father’s little luxuries and her own simple needs.
-so allen miller put gail holden out of mind. but he had many secret heartaches over his rupture with roderick, and every little stack of mail matter laid upon his desk was eagerly turned over in the hope that at last the wanderer’s whereabouts would be disclosed.
-stella rain belonged to one of the first families of galesburg. their beautiful home, an old style southern mansion, painted white with green shutters, was just across from the college campus ground. it was the usual fate of seniors about to pass out of knox college to be in love, avowedly or secretly, with this fair “college widow.” she was petite of form and face, and had a beautiful smile that radiated cheerfulness to the scores of college boys. there was a merry-come-on twinkle in her eyes that set the hearts of the young farmer lad students and the city chaps as well, in tumultuous riot. beneath it all she was kind of heart, and it was this innate consideration for others that caused her to introduce all the new boys and the old ones too, as they came to college year after year, to galesburg’s fairest girls. she was ready to fit in anywhere—a true “college widow” in the broadest sense of the term. her parents were wealthy and she had no greater ambition than to be a queen among the college boys. those who knew her best said that she would live and die a spinster because of her inability to select someone from among the hundreds of her admirers. others said she had had a serious affair of the heart when quite young. but that was several years before roderick warfield had come upon the scene and been in due course smitten by her charms. how badly smitten he only now fully realized when, after nearly a year of absence, he found himself once again tête-à-tête with her in the old familiar drawing-room of her home.
-there had been an hour of pleasant desultory conversation, the exchange of reminiscences and of little sympathetic confidences, a subtly growing tension in the situation which she had somewhat abruptly broken by going to the piano and dashing off a brilliant hungarian rhapsody.
-“and so you are determined to go west?” she inquired as she rose to select from the cabinet another sheet of music.
-“yes,” replied roderick, “i’m going far west. i am going after a fortune.”
-“how courageous you are,” she replied, glancing at him over her shoulder with merry, twinkling eyes, as if she were proud of his ambition.
-“stella,” said roderick, as she returned to the piano, where he was now standing.
-“yes?” said she, looking up encouragingly.
-“why; you see, stella—you don’t mind me telling you—well, stella, if i find the lost gold mine—”
-“if you find what?” she exclaimed.
-“oh, i mean,” said roderick in confusion, “i mean if i find a fortune. don’t you know, if i get rich out in that western country—”
-“and i hope and believe you will,” broke in stella, vivaciously.
-“yes—i say, if i do succeed, may i come back for you—yes, marry you, and will you go out there with me to live?”
-“oh, roderick, are you jesting now? you are just one of these mischievous college boys trying to touch the heart of the little college widow.” she laughed gaily at him, as if full of disbelief.
-“no,” protested roderick, “i am sincere.”
-stella rain looked at him a moment in admiration. he was tall and strong—a veritable athlete. his face was oval and yet there was a square-jawed effect in its moulding. his eyes were dark and luminous and frank, and wore a look of matureness, of determined purpose, she had never seen there before. finally she asked: “do you know, roderick, how old i am?”
-as roderick looked at her he saw there was plaintive regret in her dark sincere eyes. there was no merry-come-on in them now; at last she was serious.
-“why, no,” said roderick, “i don’t know how old you are and i don’t care. i only know that you appeal to me more than any other woman i have ever met, and all the boys like, you, and i love you, and i want you for my wife.”
-“sit down here by my side,” said stella. “let me talk to you in great frankness.”
-roderick seated himself by her side and reaching over took one of her hands in his. he fondled it with appreciation—it was small, delicate and tapering.
-“roderick,” she said, “my heart was given to a college boy when i was only eighteen years old. he went away to his home in an eastern state, and then he forgot me and married the girl he had gone to school with as a little boy—during the red apple period of their lives. it pleased his family better and perhaps it was better; and it will not please your family, roderick, if you marry me.”
-“my family be hanged,” said roderick with emphasis. “i have just had a quarrel with my uncle, allen miller, and i am alone in the world. i have no family. if you become my wife, why, we’ll—. we’ll be a family to ourselves.”
-stella smiled sadly and said: “you enthusiastic boy. how old are you, roderick?”
-“i am twenty-four and getting older every day.” they both laughed and stella sighed and said: “oh, dear, how the years are running against us—i mean running against me. no, no,” she said, half to herself, “it never can be—it is impossible.”
-“what,” said roderick, rising to his feet, and at the same moment she also stood before him—“what’s impossible? is it impossible for you to love me?”
-“no, not that,” said stella, and he noticed tears in her eyes. “no, roderick,” and she stood before him holding both his hands in hers—“listen,” she said, “listen!”
-“i am all attention,” said roderick.
-“i will tell you how it will all end—we will never marry.”
-“well, i say we shall marry,” said roderick. “if you will have me—if you love me—for i love you better than all else on earth.” he started to take her in his arms and she raised her hand remonstratingly, and said: “wait! here is what i mean,” and she looked up at him helplessly. “i mean,”—she was speaking slowly—“i mean that you believe today, this hour, this minute that you want me for your wife.”
-“i certainly do,” insisted roderick, emphatically.
-“yes, but wait—wait until i finish. i will promise to be your wife, roderick—yes, i will promise—if you come for me i will marry you. but, oh, roderick,”—and there were tears this time in her voice as well as in her eyes—“you will never come back—you will meet others not so old as i am, for i am very, very old, and tonight i feel that i would give worlds and worlds if they were mine to give, were i young once again. of course, in your youthful generosity you don’t know what the disparagement of age means between husband and wife, when the husband is younger. a man may be a score of years older than a woman and all will be well—if they grow old together. it is god’s way. but if a woman is eight or ten years older than her husband, it is all different. no, roderick, don’t take me in your arms, don’t even kiss me until i bid you good-by when you start for that gold’ mine of yours”—and as she said this she tried to laugh in her old way.
-“you seem to think,” said roderick in a half-vexed, determined tone, “that i don’t know my own mind—that i do not know my own heart. why, do you know, stella, i have never loved any other girl nor ever had even a love affair?”
-she looked at him quickly and said: “roderick, that’s just the trouble—you do not know—you cannot make a comparison, nor you won’t know until the other girl comes along. and then, then,” she said wearily, “i shall be weighed in the balance and found wanting, because—oh, roderick, i am so old, and i am so sorry—” and she turned away and hid her face in her hands. “i believe in you and i could love you with all my strength and soul. i am willing—listen roderick,” she put up her hands protectingly, “don’t be impatient—i am willing to believe that you will be constant—that you will come back—i am willing to promise to be your wife.”
-“you make me the happiest man in the world,” exclaimed roderick, crushing her to him with a sense of possession.
-“but there is one promise i am going to ask you to make,” she said.
-“yes, yes,” said he, “i will promise anything.”
-“well, it is this: if the other girl should come along, don’t fail to follow the inclination of your heart, for i could not be your wife and believe that the image of another woman was kept sacredly hidden away in the deep recesses of your soul. do you understand?” there was something in her words—something in the way she spoke them—something in the thought, that struck roderick as love itself, and it pleased him, because love is unselfish. then he remembered that as yet he was penniless—it stung him. however, the world was before him and he must carve out a future and a fortune. it might take years, and in the meantime what of stella rain, who was even now deploring her many years? she would be getting older, and her chances, perhaps, for finding a home and settling down with a husband would be less and less.
-but he knew there was no such thought of selfishness on her part—her very unselfishness appealed to him strongly and added a touch of chivalry to his determination.
-stella rain sank into a cushioned chair and rested her chin upon one hand while, reaching to the piano keys with the other, she thrummed them softly. roderick walked back and forth slowly before her in deep meditation. at last he paused and said: “i love you, i will prove i am worthy. there is no time to lose. the hour grows late. i have but an hour to reach my hotel, get my luggage and go to the depot i am going west tonight i will come for you within one year, provided i make my fortune; and i firmly believe in my destiny. if not—if i do not come—i will release you from your betrothal, if it is your wish that i do so.”
-stella rain laughed more naturally, and the old “come-on” twinkling was in her eyes again as she said: “roderick, i don’t want to be released, because i love you very, very much. it is not that—it’s because—well, no difference—if you come, roderick,” and she raised her hand to him from the piano—“if you come, and still want me to be your wife, i will go with you and live in the mountains or the remotest corner of the earth.”
-he took her hand in both his own and kissed it tenderly. “very well, stella,—you make it plain to me. but you shall see—you shall see,” and he looked squarely into her beautiful eyes.
-“yes,” she said, rising to her feet, “we shall see, roderick, we shall see. and do you know,” the twinkling was now gone from her eyes once more and she became serious again—“do you know, roderick, it is the dearest hope of my life that you will come? but i shall love you just as much as i do now, roderick, if for any cause—for whatever reason—you do not come. do you understand?”
-“but,” interposed roderick, “we are betrothed, are we not?”
-she looked at him and said, smiling half sadly: “surely, roderick, we are betrothed.”
-he put his big strong hands up to her cheeks, lifted her face to his and kissed her reverently. then with a hasty good-by he turned and was gone.
-as roderick hurried across the old campus he felt the elation of a gladiator. of course, he would win in life’s battle, and would return for stella rain, the dearest girl in all the world. the stars were twinkling bright, the moon in the heavens was in the last quarter—bright moon and stars, fit companions for him in his all-conquering spirit of optimism.
-as the train rumbled along carrying roderick back to burlington, he was lost in reverie and exultation. he was making plans for a mighty future, into which now a romance of love was interwoven as well as the romance of a mysterious gold mine awaiting rediscovery in some hidden valley among rugged mountains. yes; he would lose no further time in starting out for wyoming. the winning of the one treasure meant the winning of the other—the making of both his own. as he dreamed of wealth unbounded, there was always singing in his heart the name of stella rain.
-next day he was aboard a westbound train, booked for rawlins, wyoming, where, as his father’s letter had directed, he was likely to find the old frontiersman, jim rankin; perhaps also the other “cronies” referred to by name, tom sun and boney earnest at omaha a young westerner boarded the train, and took a seat in the pullman car opposite to roderick. in easy western style the two fell into conversation, and roderick soon learned that the newcomer’s name was grant jones, that he was a newspaper man by calling and resided in dillon, wyoming, right in the midst of the rich copper mines.
-“we are just over the mountain,” explained jones, “from the town of encampment, where the big smelter is located.”
-as the train sped along and they became better acquainted, grant jones pointed out to roderick a dignified gentleman with glasses and a gray mustache occupying a seat well to the front of the car, and told him that this particular individual was no other than the “boss of montana”—senator “fence everything” greed. jones laughed heartily at the name.
-“of course, he is the u. s. senator from montana,” continued jones, soberly, “and his name is f. e. greed. his enemies out in montana will be highly pleased at the new name i have given him—’fence everything,’ because he has fenced in over 150,000 acres of government land, it is claimed, and run the actual home-settlers out of his fenced enclosures while his immense herds of cattle trampled under foot and ate up the poor evicted people’s crops. oh, he’s some ‘boss,’ all right, all right.”
-“why,” exclaimed roderick, “that’s lawlessness.”
-grant jones turned and looked at roderick and said: “the rich are never lawless, especially united states senators—not out in montana. why, bless your heart, they say the superintendent of his ranch is on the payroll down at washington at $1800 a year.
-“likewise the superintendent of the electric lighting plant which senator greed owns, as well as the superintendent of his big general store, are said to be on the government payroll.
-“it has also been charged that his son was on the public payroll while at college. oh, no, it is not lawless; it is just a dignified form of graft. of course,” jones went on with arched eyebrows, “i remember one case where a homesteader shot one of the senator’s fatted cattle—fine stock, blooded, you know. it was perhaps worth $100. of course the man was arrested, had a ‘fair trial’ and is now doing time in the penitentiary. in the meantime, his wife and little children have been sent back east to her people. you see,” said jones, smiling, “this small rancher, both poor in purse and without influence, was foolish enough to lose his temper because five or six hundred head of senator greed’s cattle were driven by his cowboys over the rancher’s land and the cattle incidentally, as they went along, ate up his crops. little thing to get angry about, wasn’t it?” and jones laughed sarcastically.
-“well, don’t the state conventions pass resolutions denouncing their u. s. senator for such cold-blooded tyrannizing methods?”
-“if the state of montana,” replied grant jones, “should ever hold a state convention of its representative people—the bone and sinew of its sovereign citizens, why, they would not only retire senator greed to private life, but they would consign him to the warmer regions.”
-“you surprise me,” replied roderick. “i supposed that every state held conventions—delegates you know, from each county.”
-“they think they do,” said jones, winking one eye, “but they are only ratification meetings. the ‘boss,’”he continued, nodding his head towards senator greed, “has his faithful lieutenants in each precinct of every county. his henchmen select the alleged delegates and when they all get together in a so-called state convention they are by pre-arrangement program men. the slate is fixed up by the ‘boss’ and is duly ratified without a hitch. therefore instead of being a convention representing the people it is a great big farce—a ratification picnic where ‘plums’ are dealt out and the ears of any who become fractious duly cuffed.”
-at grand island in the afternoon, during a stop while engines were changed, roderick left the train and stretched his legs by walking up and down the depot platform. here he saw grant jones in a new rôle. notwithstanding jones was in rough western garb—khaki norfolk coat, trousers to match, and leather leggings—yet he was the center of attraction for a bevy of young ladies. two of these in particular were remarkable for their beauty; both had the same burnished golden hair and large brown eyes; they were almost identical in height and figure, petite and graceful, dressed alike, so that anyone at a first glance would have recognized them to be not only sisters but doubtless twins.
-when the train was about ready to start, these two girls bade adieu to their numerous friends and permitted grant jones with all the gallantry of a beau brummel to assist them onto the car.
-later grant jones took great pains to assure roderick that it was a pleasure to introduce him to the misses barbara and dorothy shields—“two of our’ mountain wild flowers,” grant said, laughing pleasantly, “who reside with their people way over south in the wyoming hills, not far from encampment, on one of the biggest cattle ranges in the state.”
-at an early hour next morning grant jones, the shields girls and a dozen other people left the train at the little town of walcott. they extended hearty invitations for roderick to come over to southern wyoming to see the country, its great mines and the big smelter. “if you pay us a visit,” said grant jones, laughing, “i’ll promise you a fine big personal in the dillon doublejack, of which mighty organ of public opinion i have the honor to be editor.”
-roderick, with a bow of due reverence for his editorial majesty and a bright smile for the sisters, promised that he likely would make the trip before very long. then he swung himself onto the already moving train and continued his westward journey to rawlins.
-chapter vi.—roderick meets jim rankin
-it was seven o’clock the same morning when roderick left the train at rawlins.
-the raw, cold wind was blowing a terrific gale, the streets were deserted save for a few half drunken stragglers who had been making a night of it, going the rounds of saloons and gambling dens.
-a bright-faced lad took charge of the mail bags, threw them into a push cart and started rumbling away up the street. warfield followed and coming up with him inquired for a hotel.
-“right over there is the ferris house,” said the young fellow, nodding his head in the direction indicated.
-as roderick approached the hotel he met a grizzled keen-eyed frontiersman who saluted him with a friendly “hello, partner, you be a stranger in these yere parts, i’m assoomin’.”
-“yes, i just arrived on this morning’s train.”
-“waal, my handle is jim rankin. been prospectin’ the range hereabouts nigh thirty years; uster be sheriff of this yere county when people wuz hostile a plenty—have the best livery stable today in wyomin’, and always glad to see strangers loiterin’ ‘round and help ‘em to git their bearin’s if i can be of service—you bet i am.”
-thus early had roderick encountered his father’s old friend. he was delighted, but for the present kept his own counsel. a more fitting time and place must be found to tell the reason of his coming.
-“thank you,” he contented himself with saying as he accepted the frontiersman’s hand of welcome; “glad to meet you, mr. rankin.”
-“here, boy,” shouted the latter to an attache of the hotel, “take care of this yere baggage; it belongs to this yere gentleman, a dangnation good friend uv mine. he’ll be back soon fur breakfast. come on, stranger, let’s go over to wren’s. i’m as dry as a fish.”
-roderick smiled and turning about, accompanied his new discovery down the street to wren’s. as they walked along rankin said: “here’s my barn and here’s the alley. we’ll turn in here and get into wren’s by the back door. i never pester the front door. lots uv fellers git a heap careless with their artillery on front steps that are docile ‘nuff inside.” as they passed through a back gate, jim rankin, the typical old-time westerner, pushed his hat well back on his head, fished out of his pocket a pouch of “fine cut” tobacco, and stowing away a large wad in his mouth began masticating rapidly, like an automobile on the low gear. between vigorous “chaws” he observed that the sun would be up in a “minute” and then the wind would go down. “strange but true as gospel,” he chuckled—perhaps at his superior knowledge of the west—“when the sun comes up the wind goes down.”
-he expectorated a huge pit-tew of tobacco juice at an old ash barrel, wiped his iron gray mustache with the back of his hand, pushed open the back door of the saloon and invited roderick to enter.
-a fire was burning briskly in a round sheet iron stove, and a half dozen wooden-backed chairs were distributed about a round-topped table covered with a green cloth.
-rankin touched a press button, and when a white-aproned waiter responded and stood with a silent look of inquiry on his face the frontiersman cleared his throat and said: “a dry martini fur me; what pizen do you nominate, partner?”
-“same,” was roderick’s rather abbreviated reply as he took in the surroundings with a furtive glance.
-as soon as the waiter retired to fill the orders, roderick’s new found friend pulled a coal scuttle close to his chair to serve as a receptacle for his tobacco expectorations, and began: “you see, speakin’ wide open like, i know all these yere fellers—know ‘em like a book. out at the bar in front is a lot uv booze-fightin’ sheep herders makin’ things gay and genial, mixin’ up with a lot uv discharged railroad men. been makin’ some big shipments uv sheep east, lately, and when they get tumultuous like with a whole night’s jag of red liquor under their belt, they forgit about the true artickle uv manhood and i cut ‘em out. hope they’ll get away afore the cattle men come in from over north, otherwise there’ll be plenty uv ugly shootin’. last year we made seven new graves back there,” and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, “seven graves as a result uv a lot uv sheep herders and cow punchers tryin’ to do the perlite thing here at wren’s parlors the same night they got to shootin’ in a onrestrained fashion and a heap careless. you bet if i wuz sheriff uv this yere county agin i’d see to it that law and order had the long end uv the stick—though i must allow they did git hostile and hang big nose george when i wuz in office,” he added after a pause. then he chuckled quietly to himself, for the moment lost in retrospection.
-presently the waiter brought in the drinks and when he retired rankin got up very cautiously, tried the door to see if it was tightly shut. coming back to the table and seating himself he lifted his glass, but before drinking said: “say, pard, i don’t want to be too presumin’, but what’s your handle?”
-roderick felt that the proper moment had arrived, and went straight to his story.
-“my name is roderick warfield. i am the son of john warfield with whom i believe you had some acquaintance a number of years ago. my father is dead, as you doubtless may have heard—died some fourteen years since. he left a letter for me which only recently came into my possession, and in the letter he spoke of three men—jim rankin, tom sun and boney earnest.”
-as roderick was speaking, the frontiersman reverently returned his cocktail to the table.
-“geewhillikins!” he exclaimed, “you the son uv john warfield! well, i’ll be jiggered. this just nachurly gits on my wind. shake, young man.” and jim rankin gave roderick’s hand the clinch of a vise; “i’m a mighty sight more than delighted to see you, and you can count on my advice and help, every day in the week and sundays thrown in. as you’re a stranger in these parts, i’m assoomin’ you’ll need it a plenty, you bet. gee, but i’m as glad to see you as i’d be to see a brother. let’s drink to the memory uv your good father.”
-he again lifted his cocktail and roderick joined him by picking up a side glass of water.
-“what?” asked rankin, “not drinkin’ yer cocktail? what’s squirmin’ in yer vitals?”
-“i drink nothing stronger than water,” replied roderick, looking his father’s old friend squarely in the eyes. thus early in their association he was glad to settle this issue once and for all time.
-“shake again,” said rankin, after tossing off his drink at a single swallow and setting down his empty glass, “you sure ‘nuff are the son uv john warfield. wuz with him off and on fur many a year and he never drank spirits under no circumstances. you bet i wuz just nachurly so dangnation flabbergasted at meetin’ yer i got plumb locoed and sure did fergit. boney and tom and me often speak uv him to this day, and they’ll be dangnation glad to see you.”
-“so you’re all three still in the ring?” queried roderick with a smile.
-“bet yer life,” replied rankin sturdily. “why, tom sun and boney earnest and me have been chums fur nigh on to thirty years. they’re the best scouts that ever hunted in the hills. they’re the chaps who put up my name at the convenshun, got me nominated and then elected me sheriff of this yere county over twenty-five years ago. gosh but i’m certainly glad to see yer and that’s my attitood.” he smiled broadly.
-“now, warfield,” he continued, “what yer out here fur? but first, hold on a minute afore yer prognosticate yer answer. just shove that ‘tother cocktail over this way—dangnation afeerd you’ll spill it; no use letting it go to waste.”
-“i’ve come,” replied roderick, smiling and pushing the cocktail across to jim rankin, “to grow up with the country. a young fellow when he gets through college days has got to get out and do something, and some way i’ve drifted out to wyoming to try and make a start. i have lots of good health, but precious little money.”
-jim rankin drank the remaining cocktail, pulled his chair a little closer to roderick’s and spoke in a stage whisper: “you know, i’m assoomin’, what yer father was huntin’ fur when he got hurt?”
-roderick flushed slightly and remained silent for a moment. was it possible that his father’s old friend, jim rankin, knew of the lost mine? finally he replied: “well, yes, i know in a general way.”
-“don’t speak too dangnation loud,” enjoined rankin. “come on and we’ll hike out uv this and go into one uv the back stalls uv my livery stable. this’s no place to talk about sich things—even walls have ears.”
-as they went out again by the back door the morning sun was looking at them from the rim of the eastern hills. side by side and in silence they walked along the alley to the street, then turned and went into a big barn-like building bearing a sign-board inscribed: “rankin’s livery, feed and sale stable.”
-although there was not a soul in sight, rankin led his new acquaintance far back to the rear of the building. as they passed, a dozen or more horses whinnied, impatient for their morning feed.
-cautiously and without a word being spoken they went into an empty stall in a far corner, and there in a deep whisper, rankin said: “i know the hull shootin’ match about that ‘ere lost gold mine, but tom and boney don’t—they’ve been peevish, good and plenty, two or three different times thinkin’ i know’d suthin’ they didn’t. not a blamed thing does anybody know but me, you bet i went with your father on three different trips, but we didn’t quite locate the place. i believe it’s on jack creek or cow creek—maybe furder over—don’t know which, somewhere this side or t’other side of encampment river. you kin bet big money i kin help a heap—a mighty lot but say nothin’ to nobody—specially to these soopercilious high-steppin’ chaps ‘round here—not a dangnation word—keep it mum. this is a razzle-dazzle just ‘tween you an’ me, young man.”
-a silence followed, and the two stood there looking at each other. presently roderick said: “i believe i’ll go over to the hotel and get some breakfast; this western air gives one a ravenous appetite.”
-then they both laughed a little as if anxious to relieve an embarrassing situation, and went out to the street together. jim knew in his heart he had been outclassed; he had shown his whole hand, the other not one single card.
-“all right,” rankin finally said, as if an invitation had been extended to him. “all right, i’ll jist loiter along with yer over to’rd the hotel.”
-“at another time,” observed roderick, “we will talk further about my father’s errand into this western country.”
-“that’s the dope that sure ‘nuff suits me, mr. war-field,” replied rankin. “whatever you say goes. yer can unbosom yerself to me any time to the limit. i’ve got a dozen good mining deals to talk to you about; they’re dandies—a fortune in every one uv ‘em—’a bird in every shell,’ i might say,” and rankin laughed heartily at his happy comparison. “remember one thing, warfield,”—he stopped and took hold of the lapel of roderick’s coat, and again spoke in a whisper—“this yere town is full uv ‘hot air’ merchants. don’t have nuthin’ to do with ‘em—stand pat with me and i’ll see by the great horn spoon the worst you get will be the best uv everythin’ we tackle. well, so long until after breakfast; i’ll see you later.” and with this rankin turned and walked briskly back to his stables, whistling a melody from the “irish washerwoman” as he went along.
-arriving at his stables he lighted a fire in a drumshaped stove, threw his cud of tobacco away and said: “hell, i wish this young warfield had money. i’ve got a copper prospect within three mile uv this here town that’ll knock the spots out uv the ferris-haggerty mine all holler. geewhillikins, it’ll jist nachur-ally make all the best mines in wyomin’ look like small-sized shetland ponies at a perch’ron draft horse show. you bet that’s what i’ve got.”
-thrusting his hand into his pocket rankin produced a native nugget of gold, worn smooth and shiny, and looked at it long in silent meditation. it was a fine specimen of almost pure gold, and was worth perhaps five and twenty dollars.
-presently the old frontiersman brought his fist down with a startling thump on his knee and said aloud: “i’ll be blankety-blanked if i don’t believe in that dangnation fairy story yet. you bet i do, and i’ll help john warfield’s boy find it, by the great horn spoon i will, if it takes every horse in the stable.”
-jim rankin relit his pipe, smoked vigorously and thought. the power of silence was strong upon him. the restless spirit of the fortune hunter was again surging in his blood and awaking slumbering half-forgotten hopes—yes, tugging at his heart-strings and calling to him to forsake all else and flee to the hills.
-rankin was a character, a representative of the advance band of sturdy trail-blazers of the west—tender-hearted as a child, generous to a fault, ready to divide his last crust with a friend, yet quick to resent an injury, and stubborn as a bullock when roused to self-defense. there was nothing cunning about him, nothing of greed and avarice, no spirit of envy for the possession of things for the things’ sake. but for him there was real joy in the mad pursuit of things unattainable—a joy that enthralled and enthused him with the fervor of eternal youth. his was the simple life of the hills, loving his few chums and turning his back on all whom he disliked or mistrusted.
-other men and greater men there may be, but it was men of jim rankin’s type that could build, and did build, monuments among the wild western waste of heat-blistered plains and gaunt rock-ribbed mountains, men who braved the wilderness and there laid the first foundation stones of a splendid civilization—splendid, yet even now only in its first beginnings, a civilization that means happy homes and smiling fields where before all was barrenness and desolation.
-chapter vii—getting acquainted
-roderick spent a few days in rawlins, improving his acquaintance with jim rankin and making a general survey of the situation. the ex-sheriff proved to be a veritable repository of local information, and roderick soon knew a little about everyone and everything in the district. he learned that tom sun, one of his father’s old associates, had from small beginnings come to be the largest sheep owner in the state; he was rich and prosperous. with boney earnest, however, the other friend mentioned in the letter, the case was different. boney had stuck for years to prospecting and desultory mining without achieving any substantial success, but had eventually become a blast furnace man in the big smelting plant at encampment. there he had worked his way up to a foreman’s position, and with his practical knowledge of all the ores in the region was the real brains of the establishment, as jim rankin forcibly declared. he had a large family which absorbed all his earnings and always kept him on the ragged edge of necessity.
-rankin himself was not too well fixed—just making a more or less precarious subsistence out of his stage line and livery stable business. but he had several big mining deals in hand or at least in prospect, one or other of which was “dead sure to turn up trumps some day.” the “some day” appeared to be indefinitely postponed, but meanwhile jim had the happiness of living in the genial sunshiny atmosphere of hope. and the coming of roderick had changed this mellowed sunshine into positive radiance, rekindling all the old fires of enthusiasm in the heart of the old-time prospector. with roderick the first surge of eager impetuosity had now settled down into quiet determination. but old jim rankin’s blood was at fever-heat in his eagerness to find the hidden valley. when alone with roderick he could talk of nothing else.
-roderick, however, had shrewdly and cautiously summed up the measure of his usefulness. jim rankin had not the necessary capital to finance a systematic search among the mountain fastnesses where nature so jealously guarded her secret. nor could he leave his horses and his livery business for any long period, however glibly he might talk about “going out and finding the blamed place.” as for any precise knowledge of where the quest should be commenced, he had none. he had shared in the frequent attempts and failures of roderick’s father, and after a lapse of some fifteen or sixteen years had even a slimmer chance now than then of hitting the spot. so, all things duly considered, roderick had adhered to his original resolution of playing a lone hand. not even to rankin did he show his father’s letter and map; their relations were simply an understanding that the old frontiersman would help roderick out to the best of his power whenever opportunity offered and in all possible ways, and that for services rendered there would be liberal recompense should golden dreams come to be realized.
-another reason weighed with roderick in holding to a policy of reticence. despite jim’s own frequent cautions to “keep mum—say nothing to nobody,” he himself was not the best hand at keeping a secret, especially after a few cocktails had lubricated his natural loquacity. at such moments, under the mildly stimulating influence, jim dearly loved to hint at mysterious knowledge locked up in his breast. and in a mining camp vague hints are liable to become finger posts and signboards—the very rocks and trees seem to be possessed of ears. so young warfield was at least erring on the safe side in keeping his own counsel and giving no unnecessary confidences anywhere.
-there was nothing to be gained by remaining longer at rawlins. roderick’s slender finances rendered it imperative that he should find work of some kind—work that would enable him to save a sufficient stake for the prospecting venture, or give him the chance to search out the proper moneyed partner who would be ready to share in the undertaking. and since he had to work it would be well that his work should, if possible, be on the range, where while earning his maintenance and husbanding his resources, he could at the same time be spying out the land and gaining invaluable experience. so he had on several occasions discussed with jim rankin the chances of finding a temporary job on one of the big cattle ranches, and after one of these conversations had come his decision to move at once from rawlins. his first “voyage of discovery” would be to encampment, the busy smelter town. he remembered the cordial invitation extended to him by grant jones, the newspaper man, and felt sure he would run across him there. from the first he had felt strongly drawn to this buoyant young spirit of the west, and mingled with his desire for such comradeship was just a little longing, maybe, to glimpse again the fair smiling faces of the twin sisters—“mountain wild flowers” as grant jones had so happily described barbara and dorothy shields.
-so one fine morning roderick found himself seated beside jim rankin on the driver’s seat of an old-fashioned concord stage coach. with a crack of jim’s whip, the six frisky horses, as was their wont at the beginning of a journey, started off at a gallop down the street. five or six passengers were stowed away in the coach. but these were nothing to jim rankin and roderick warfield. they could converse on their own affairs during the long day’s drive. the old frontiersman was, as usual, in talkative mood.
-“by gunnies,” he exclaimed sotto-voce, as they wheeled along, “we’ll find that pesky lost gold mine, don’t you forget it. i know pretty dangnation near its location now. you bet i do and i’ll unbosom myself and take you to it—jist you and me. i’m thinkin’ a heap these yere days, you bet i am.”
-along in the afternoon they crossed over jack creek, an important stream of water flowing from the west into the north platte river. jim rankin stopped the stage coach and pointed out to our hero the “deadline” between the cattle and sheep range. “all this yere territory,” said jim, “lying north uv jack creek is nachure’s sheep pasture and all lyin’ south uv jack is cattle range.”
-“it’s well known,” he went on, “where them blamed pesky sheep feed and graze, by gunnies, vegetation don’t grow agin successful for several years. the sheep not only nachurlly eat the grass down to its roots, but their sharp hoofs cut the earth into fine pulp fields uv dust. jack creek is the dividin’ line—the ‘dead line.’”
-“what do you mean by the ‘dead line’.” asked roderick.
-“the ‘dead line,’”replied old jim as he clucked to his horses and swung his long whip at the off-leader—“the ‘dead line’ is where by the great horn spoon the sheep can’t go any furder south and the cattle darsn’t come any furder north, or when they do, hell’s a-pop-pin.’”
-“what happens?” repeated the frontiersman as he expectorated a huge pit-tew of tobacco juice at a cactus that stood near the roadway. “why, by gunnies, hundreds uv ondefensible sheep have been actooally clubbed to death in a single night by raidin’ cowboys and the sheep-herders shot to death while sleepin’ in their camp wagons: and their cookin’ outfit, which is usually in one end uv the wagon, as well as the camp wagons, burned to conceal evidence of these dastardly murders. oh, they sure do make things gay and genial like.”
-“astonishing! the cowboys must be a pretty wicked lot,” interrogated roderick.
-“well, it’s about six uv one and half a dozen uv the other. you see these pesky sheep herders and the cowboys are all torn off the same piece uv cloth. many a range rider has been picked from his hoss by these sheep men hidden away in these here rocky cliffs which overlook the valley. they sure ‘nuff get tumultuous.”
-“but what about the law?” inquired roderick. “does it afford no protection?”
-“i clearly perceive,” said roderick, “that your sympathies are with the cattle men.”
-jim rankin turned quickly and with his piercing black eyes glared at roderick as if he would rebuke him for his presumption.
-“young man, don’t be assoomin’. i ain’t got no sympathy fur neither one uv ‘em. i don’t believe in murder and i don’t believe very much in the pen’tentiary. ‘course when i was sheriff, i had to do some shootin’ but my shootin’ wuz all within the law. no, i don’t care a cuss one way or ‘tother. there are lots uv good fellers ridin’ range. expect yer will be ridin’ before long. think i can help yer get a job on the shields ranch; if i can’t grant jones can. and ther’s lots uv mighty good sheep-herders too. my old pal, tom sun, is the biggest sheep-man in this whole dang-nation country and he’s square, he is. so you see i ain’t got no preference, ‘tho’ i do say the hull kit and bilin’ uv ‘em could be improved. yes, i’m nootral. put that in yer pipe and smoke it, fur it goes dangnation long ways in this man’s country to be nootral, and don’t git to furgit’n it.”
-it was late in the afternoon when they neared the little town of encampment. old jim rankin began to cluck to his horses and swing his whip gently and finally more pronouncedly.
-if it is the invariable habit of stage drivers at the point of departure to start off their horses in a full swinging gallop, it is an equally inviolable rule, when they approach the point of arrival, that they come in with a whoop and a hooray. these laws are just as immutable as ringing the bell or blowing the locomotive whistle when leaving or nearing a station. so when jim rankin cracked his whip, all six horses leaned forward in their collars, wheeled up the main street in a swinging gallop, and stopped abruptly in front of the little hotel.
-as roderick climbed down from the driver’s seat he was greeted with a hearty “hello, warfield, welcome to our city.” the speaker was none other than grant jones himself, for his newspaper instincts always brought him, when in town, to meet the stage.
-the two young men shook hands with all the cordiality of old friends.
-“if you cannot get a room here at the hotel, you can bunk with me,” continued grant. “i have a little shack down towards the smelter.”
-roderick laughed and said: “suppose, then, we don’t look for a room. i’ll be mighty pleased to carry my baggage to your shack now.”
-“all right, that’s a go,” said grant; and together they started down the street.
-grant jones’ bachelor home consisted of a single room—a hastily improvised shack, as he had correctly called it, that had cost no very large sum to build. it was decorated with many trophies of college life and of the chase. various college pennants were on the walls, innumerable pipes, some rusty antiquated firearms, besides a brace of pistols which jim rankin had given to grant, supposed to be the identical flint-locks carried by big nose george, a desperado of the early days.
-“you see,” explained grant as he welcomed his guest, “this is my encampment residence. i have another shack over at dillon where i edit my paper, the dillon doublejack. i spend part of my time in one place and part in the other. my business is in dillon but social attractions—dorothy shields, you may have already guessed—are over this way.” and he blushed red as he laughingly made the confession.
-“and talking of the shields, by the way,” resumed grant. “i want to tell you i took the liberty of mentioning your name to the old man. he is badly in need of some more hands on the ranch—young fellows who can ride and are reliable.”
-roderick was all alert.
-“the very thing i’m looking for,” he said eagerly. “would he give me a place, do you think?”
-“i’m certain of it. in fact i promised to bring you over to the ranch as soon as you turned up at encampment.”
-“mighty kind of you, old fellow,” remarked roderick, gratefully and with growing familiarity.
-“well, you can take that bed over there,” said the host. “this one is mine. you’ll excuse the humble stretchers, i know. then after you have opened your grip and made yourself a little at home, we’ll take a stroll. i fancy that a good big porterhouse won’t come amiss after your long day’s drive. we’ve got some pretty good restaurants in the town. i suppose you’ve already discovered that a properly cooked juicy wyoming steak is hard to beat, eh, you pampered new yorker?”
-roderick laughed as he threw open his valise and arranged his brushes and other toilet appurtenances on the small table that stood at the head of the narrow iron stretcher.
-a little later, when night had fallen, the young men went out into the main street to dine and look over the town. it was right at the edge of the valley with mountains rising in a semi-circle to south and west, a typical mountain settlement.
-“you see everything is wide open,” said grant, as he escorted roderick along the streets, arm linked in arm. for they had just discovered that they belonged to the same college fraternity—kappa gamma delta, so the bonds of friendship had been drawn tighter still.
-“you have a great town here,” observed roderick.
-“we have about 1200 to 1500 people and 18 saloons!” laughed the other. “and every saloon has a gambling lay-out—anything from roulette to stud-poker. over yonder is brig young’s place. here is southpaw’s bazaar. the red dog is a little farther along; the golden eagle is one of the largest gambling houses in the town. we’ll have our supper first, and then i’ll take you over to brig young’s and introduce you.”
-as they turned across the street they met a man coming toward them. he was straight and tall, rather handsome, but a gray mustache made him seem older than his years.
-“hello, here is mr. grady. mr. grady, i want to introduce you to a newcomer. this is mr. roderick warfield.”
-“glad to meet you, mr. warfield,” said grady in a smooth voice and with an oleaginous smile. to roderick the face seemed a sinister one; instinctively he felt a dislike for the man.
-“your town is quite up-to-date, with all its brilliant electric lights,” he observed with a polite effort at conversation.
-“yes,” replied grady, “but it is the monthly pay roll of my big smelting company that supports the whole place.”
-there was a pomposity in the remark and the look that accompanied it which added to roderick’s feelings of repulsion.
-“oh, i don’t know,” interposed grant jones, in a laughing way. “we have about five hundred prospectors up in the hills who may not yet be producers, but their monthly expenditures run up into pretty big figures.”
-“of course, that amounts to something; but think of my pay roll,” replied grady, boastingly. “almost a thousand men on my pay roll. we have the biggest copper mine in the rocky mountain region, mr. war-field. come down some day and see the smelter,” he added as he extended his hand in farewell greeting, with a leer rather than a smile on his face. “i’ll give you a pass.”
-“thank you,” said roderick coldly. and the two friends resumed their walk toward brig young’s saloon.
-“he looks the part,” replied roderick, and they both laughed.
-a minute later they were seated in a cosy little restaurant. ample justice was done to the succulent wyoming porterhouse, and cigars were lighted over the cups of fragrant coffee that completed the meal. then the young men resumed their peregrinations pursuant to the programme of visiting brig young’s place, certified by grant jones to be one of the sights of the town.
-the saloon proved to be an immense room with a bar in the corner near the entrance. roulette tables, faro lay-outs and a dozen poker tables surrounded with feverish players were all running full blast, while half a hundred men were standing around waiting to take the place of any player who went broke or for any reason dropped out of the game.
-“i guess nearly all the gambling is done here, isn’t it?” asked roderick.
-“not by a big sight. there are eighteen joints of this kind, and they are all running wide open and doing business all the time.”
-“when do they close?” inquired roderick.
-“they never close,” replied grant. “brig young boasts that he threw the key away when this place opened, and the door has never been locked since.”
-as they spoke their attention was attracted to one corner of the gaming room. seven players were grouped around a table, in the centre of which was stacked a pile of several thousand dollars in gold pieces. grant and roderick strolled over.
-a score of miners and cowboys were standing around watching the game. one of them said to grant jones: “it’s a jack pot and they’re dealing for openers.”
-finally someone opened the pot for $500. “it’s an all-fired juicy pot and i wouldn’t think of openin’ it for less.” tom lester was the player’s name, as grant whispered to roderick.
-“i’ll stay,” said one-eyed joe.
-“so will i,” said another.
-the players were quickly assisted with cards—four refused to come in, and the other three, having thrown their discards into the deck, sat facing each other ready for the final struggle in determining the ownership of the big pot before them. it was a neck and neck proposition. first one would see and raise and then another would see and go better. finally, the showdown came, and it created consternation when it was discovered that there were five aces in sight.
-instantly tom lester jerked his colt’s revolver from his belt and laid it carefully down on top of his three aces and said: “steady, boys, don’t move a muscle or a hand until i talk.” the onlookers pushed back and quickly enlarged the circle.
-“sit perfectly still, gentlemen,” said tom lester, quietly and in a low tone of voice, with his cocked revolver in front of him. “i’m not makin’ any accusations or loud talk—i’m not accusin’ anybody in particular of anything. keep perfectly cool an’ hear a cool determined man talk. far be it from me to accuse anyone of crooked dealin’ or holdin’ high cards up their sleeves.”
-as he spoke he looked at one-eyed joe who had both a reputation at card skin games and a record of several notches on his gun handle.
-“i want to say,” lester continued, “that i recognize in the game we’re playin’ every man is a perfect gentleman and it’s not tom lester who suspicions any impure motives or crooked work.
-“we will now order a new deck of cards,” said tom while fire was flashing out of his steel gray eyes. “we will play this game to a finish, by god, and the honest winner will take the stakes. but i will say here and now so there may be no misunderstandin’ and without further notice, that if a fifth ace shows up again around this table, i’ll shoot his other eye out.” and he looked straight at one-eyed joe, who never quivered or moved a muscle.
-“this ends my remarks concernin’ the rules. how d’ye like ‘em, joe?”
-“me?” said joe, looking up in a surprised way with his one eye. “i’m ‘lowin’ you have made yer position plain—so dangnation plain that even a blind man kin see the pint.”
-the new deck was brought and the game went on in silence. after a few deals the pot was again opened, and was in due course won by a player who had taken no part in the previous mix-up, without a word falling from the lips of either tom lester or one-eyed joe.
-roderick and grant moved away.
-“great guns,” exclaimed the former. “but that’s a rare glimpse of western life.”
-“oh, there are incidents like that every night,” replied grant, “and shooting too at times. have a drink?” he added as they approached the bar.
-“yes, i will have a great big lemonade.”
-“well,” laughed grant, “i’ll surprise both you and my stomach by taking the same.”
-as they sipped their drinks, grant’s face became a little serious as he said: “i’m mighty glad you have come. you seem to be of my own kind. lots of good boys out here, but they are a little rough and many of them are rather careless. guess i am getting a little careless myself. there are just two men in these mountains who have a good influence over the boys. one is major buell hampton. everybody trusts him. by the way, i must introduce you to him. he is one of the grandest men i have ever met” as grant said this he brought his fist down decisively on the bar.
-for a moment grant was serious. then looking up at roderick, he laughed and said: “we all have to think of those old days once in a while, don’t we?”
-roderick nodded gravely.
-“now i come to think of it,” said grant, “the present moment’s a very good time. we’ll go down and call on one of nature’s noblemen. he is somewhat of an enigma. you cannot tell how old he is by looking at him. he may have seen fifty years or a hundred and fifty—the lord only knows, for nobody in this camp has any idea. but you will meet a magnificent character. come along. i’m going to present you to my friend, major buell hampton, about whom i’ve just been speaking. i guess we’ll catch him at home.”
-chapter viii.—a philosopher among the mountains
-as the two young men walked down the brilliantly lighted main street of encampment, grant jones explained that the water had been dammed several miles up the south fork of the encampment river and conducted in a california red-wood pipe down to the smelter plant for power purposes; and that the town of encampment was lighted at a less cost per capita than any other town in the world. it simply cost nothing, so to speak.
-grant had pointed out several residences of local celebrities, but at last a familiar name drew roderick’s special attention—the name of one of his father’s old friends.
-“this is boney earnest’s home,” grant was remarking. “he is the fellow who stands in front of the furnaces at the smelter in a sleeveless shirt and with a red bandana around his neck. they have a family of ten children, every one of them as bright as a new silver dollar. oh, we have lots of children here and by the way a good public school. you see that log house just beyond? that is where boney earnest used to live when he first came into camp—before his brood was quite so numerous. it now belongs to major buell hampton. it is not much to look at, but just wait until you get inside.”
-“then this major hampton, i presume, has furnished it up in great shape?”
-“no, nothing but rough benches, a table, some chairs and a few shelves full of books. what i mean is that major hampton’s personality is there and that beats all the rich furniture and all the bric-à-brac on earth. as a college man you will appreciate him.”
-without ceremony grant rapped vigorously at the door and received a loud response to “come in.” at the far end of a room that was perhaps 40 feet long by 20 feet in width was an open fireplace in which huge logs of wood were burning. here major hampton was standing with his back to the fire and his hands crossed behind him.
-as his visitors entered, the major said in courtly welcome: “mr. grant jones, i am glad to see you.” and he advanced with hand extended.
-“major, let me introduce you to a newcomer, roderick warfield. we belong to the same ‘frat.’”
-“mr. warfield,” responded the major, shaking the visitor’s hand, “i welcome you not only to the camp but to my humble dwelling.”
-he led them forward and provided chairs in front of the open fire. on the center table was a humidor filled with tobacco and beside it lay several pipes.
-“mr. warfield,” observed the major, speaking with a marked southern accent, “i am indeed pleased, suh, to meet anyone who is a friend of mr. jones. i have found him a most delightful companion and i hope you will make free to call on me often. interested in mining, i presume?”
-“well,” replied roderick, “interested, yes, in a way. but tentative arrangements have been made for me to join the cowboy brigade. i am to ride the range if mr. shields is pleased with me, as our friend here seems to think he will be. he is looking for some more cowboys and my name has been mentioned to him.”
-“yes,” concurred grant, “mr. shields needs some more cowboys very badly, and as warfield is accustomed to riding, i’m quite sure he’ll fill the bill.”
-“personally,” observed the major, “i am very much interested in mining. it has a great charm for me. the taking out of wealth from the bosom of the earth—wealth that has never been tainted by commercialism—appeals to me very much.”
-“then i presume you are doing some mining yourself.”
-“no,” replied the major. “if i had capital, doubtless i would be in the mining business. but my profession, if i may term it so, is that of a hunter. these hills and mountains are pretty full of game, and i manage to find two or three deer a week. my friend and next door neighbor, mr. boney earnest, and his family consisting of a wife and ten children, have been very considerate of me and i have undertaken the responsibility of furnishing the meat for their table. are you fond of venison, mr. warfield?”
-“i must confess,” said roderick, “i have never tasted venison.”
-“finest meat in the world,” responded the major. “of course,” he went on, “i aim to sell about one deer a week, which brings me a fair compensation. it enables me to buy tobacco and ammunition,” and he laughed good naturedly at his limited wants.
-“one would suppose,” interjected grant jones, “that the boney earnest family must be provided with phenomenal appetites if they eat the meat of two deer each week. but if you knew the major’s practice of supplying not less than a dozen poor families with venison because they are needy, you would understand why he does not have a greater income from the sale of these antlered trophies of the hills.”
-the major waved the compliment aside and lit his pipe. as he threw his head well back after the pipe was going, roderick was impressed that major buell hampton most certainly was an exceptional specimen of manhood. he was over six feet tall, splendidly proportioned, and perhaps weighed considerably more than two hundred pounds.
-there were little things here and there that gave an insight into the character of the man. hanging on the wall was a broad-brimmed slouch hat of the southern planter style. around his neck the major wore a heavy gold watch guard with many a link. to those who knew him best, as roderick came subsequently to learn, this chain was symbolical of his endless kindnesses to the poor—notwithstanding his own poverty, of such as he had he freely gave; like the chain his charities seemed linked together without a beginning—without an end. his well-brushed shoes and puttees, his neatly arranged windsor tie, denoted the old school of refinement and good breeding.
-his long dark hair and flowing mustaches were well streaked with gray. his forehead was knotted, his nose was large but well formed, while the tangled lines of his face were deep cut and noticeable. from under heavily thatched eyebrows the eyes beamed forth the rare tenderness and gentle consideration for others which his conversation suggested. long before the evening’s visit was over, a conviction was fixed in roderick’s heart that here indeed was a king among men—one on whom god had set his seal of greatness.
-in later days, when both had become well acquainted, roderick sometimes discovered moments when this strange man was in deep meditation—when his eyes seemed resting far away on some mysterious past or inscrutable future. and roderick would wonder whether it was a dark cloud of memory or anxiety for what was to come that obscured and momentarily dimmed the radiance of this great soul. it was in such moments that major buell hampton became patriarchal in appearance; and an observer might well have exclaimed: “here is one over whom a hundred winters or even countless centuries have blown their fiercest chilling winds.” but when buell hampton had turned again to things of the present, his face was lit up with his usual inspiring smile of preparedness to consider the simplest questions of the poorest among the poor of his acquaintances—a transfiguration indescribable, as if the magic work of some ancient alchemist had pushed the years away, transforming the centenarian into a comparatively young man who had seen, perhaps, not more than half a century. he was, indeed, changeable as a chameleon. but in all phases he looked, in the broadest sense of the word, the humanitarian.
-as the three men sat that night around the fire and gazed into the leaping flames and glowing embers, there had been a momentary lull in the conversation, broken at last by the major.
-“i hope we shall become great friends, mr. war-field,” he said. “but to be friends we must be acquainted, and in order to be really acquainted with a man i must know his views on politics, religion, social questions, and the economic problems of the age in which we live.”
-he waved his hand at the bookshelves well filled with volumes whose worn bindings showed that they were there for reading and not for show. long rows of periodicals, even stacks of newspapers, indicated close attention to the current questions of the day.
-“rather a large order,” replied roderick, smiling. “it would take a long time to test out a man in such a thorough way.”
-the major paid no heed to the comment. still fixedly regarding the bookshelves, he continued: “you see my library, while not extensive, represents my possessions. each day is a link in life’s chain, and i endeavor to keep pace with the latest thought and the latest steps in the world’s progress.”
-then he turned round suddenly and asked the direct question: “by the way, mr. warfield, are you a married man?”
-roderick blushed the blush of a young bachelor and confessed that he was not.
-“whom god hath joined let no man put asunder,” laughed grant jones. “the good lord has not joined me to anyone yet, but i am hoping he will.”
-“grant, you are a boy,” laughed the major. “you always will be a boy. you are quick to discover the ridiculous; and yet,” went on the major reflectively, “i have seen my friend jones in serious mood at times. but i like him whether he is frivolous or serious. when you boys speak of marriage as something that is arranged by a divine power, you are certainly laboring under one of the many delusions of this world.”
-roderick remembered his compact with stella rain, the pretty little college widow. for a moment his mind was back at the campus grounds in old galesburg. presently he said: “i beg your pardon, major, but would you mind giving me your ideas of an ideal marriage?”
-“an ideal marriage,” repeated the major, smiling, as he knocked the ashes from his meerschaum. “well, an ideal marriage is a something the young girl dreams about, a something the engaged girl believes she has found, and a something the married woman knows never existed.”
-the speaker paused. his listeners, deeply interested, were reluctant by any interruption to break the flow of thought. they waited patiently, and presently the major resumed: “since the laws of all civilized nations recognize the validity of a partnership contract, they should also furnish an honorable method of nullifying and cancelling it when either party willfully breaks the marriage agreement of partnership by act of omission or commission. individuals belonging to those isolated cases ‘whom god hath joined’—if perchance there are any—of course have no objections to complying with the formalities of the institutions of marriage; they are really mated and so the divorce court has no terrors for them. it is only from among the great rank and file of the other class whom ‘god hath not joined’ that the unhappy victims are found hovering around the divorce courts, claiming that the partnership contract has been violated and broken and the erring one has proven a false and faithless partner.
-“in most instances, i believe, and it is the saddest part of it all, the complainant is usually justified. and it is certainly a most wise, necessary, and humane law that enables an injured wife or husband to terminate a distasteful or repulsive union. only in this way can the standard of humanity be raised by peopling the earth with natural love-begotten children, free from the effects of unfavorable pre-natal influences which not infrequently warp and twist the unborn into embryonic imbeciles or moral perverts with degenerate tendencies.
-“society as well as posterity is indebted fully as much to the civil institution of divorce as it is to the civil institution of marriage. oh, yes, i well know, pious-faced church folks walk about throughout the land with dubs to bludgeon those of my belief without going to the trouble of submitting these vital questions to an unprejudiced court of inquiry.”
-the major smiled, and said: “i see you young men are interested in my diatribe, or my sermon—call it which you will—so i’ll go on. well, the churches that are nearest to the crudeness of antiquity, superstition, and ignorance are the ones most unyielding and denunciatory to the institution of divorce. the more progressive the church or the community and the more enlightened the human race becomes, the less objectionable and the more desirable is an adequate system of divorce laws—laws that enable an injured wife or husband to refuse to stultify their conscience and every instinct of decency by bringing children into the world that are not welcome. a womanly woman covets motherhood—desires children—love offerings with which to people the earth—babes that are not handicapped with parental hatreds, regrets, or disgust. marriage is not a flippant holiday affair but a most serious one, freighted not alone with grave responsibilities to the mutual happiness of both parties to the civil contract, but doubly so to the offspring resultant from the union. but i guess that is about enough of my philosophy for one evening, isn’t it?” he concluded, with a little laugh that was not devoid of bitterness—it might have been the bitterness of personal reminiscence, or bitterness toward a blind and misguided world in general, or perhaps both combined.
-grant jones turning to roderick said: “well, what do you think of the major’s theory?”
-“i fear,” said roderick in a serious tone, “that it is not a theory but an actual condition.”
-“bravo,” said the major as he arose from his chair and advanced to roderick, extending his hand. “all truth,” said he, “in time will be uncovered, truth that today is hidden beneath the débris of formalities, ignorance, and superstition.”
-“but why, major,” asked grant, “are there so many divorces? do not contracting parties know their own minds? now it seems impossible to conceive of my ever wanting a divorce from a certain little lady i know,” he added with a pleasant laugh—the care-free, confiding laugh of a boy.
-“my dear jones,” said the major, “the supposed reasons for divorce are legion—the actual reasons are perhaps few. however it is not for me to say that all the alleged reasons are not potent and sufficient. when we hear two people maligning each other in or out of the court we are prone to believe both are telling the truth. truth is the underlying foundation of respect, respect begets friendship, and friendship sometimes is followed by the more tender passion we call love. a man meets a woman,” the major went on, thoughtfully, “whom he knows is not what the world calls virtuous. he may fall in love with her and may marry her and be happy with her. but if a man loves a woman he believes to be virtuous and then finds she is not—it is secretly regarded by him as the unforgivable sin and is doubtless the unspoken and unwritten allegation in many a divorce paper.”
-he mused for a moment, then went on: “sometime there will be a single standard of morals for the sexes, but as yet we are not far enough away from the brutality of our ancestors. yes, it is infinitely better,” he added, rising from his chair, “that a home should be broken into a thousand fragments through the kindly assistance of a divorce court rather than it should only exist as a family battle ground.” the tone of his voice showed that the talk was at an end, and he bade his visitors a courteous good-night, with the cordial addition: “come again.”
-“it was great,” remarked roderick, as the young men wended their homeward way. “what a wealth of new thought a fellow can bring away from such a conversation!”
-“just as i told you,” replied grant “but the major opens his inmost heart like that only to his chosen friends.”
-“then i’m mighty glad to be enrolled among the number,” said roderick. “makes a chap feel rather shy of matrimony though, doesn’t it?”
-“not on your life. true love can never change—can never wrong itself. when you feel that way toward a girl, warfield, and know that the girl is of the same mind, go and get the license—no possible mistake can be made.”
-grant jones was thinking of dorothy shields, and his face was aglow. to roderick had come thought of stella rain, and he felt depressed. was there no mistake in his love affair?—this was the uneasy question that was beginning to call for an answer. and yet he had never met a girl whom he would prefer to the dainty, sweet, unselfish, brave little “college widow” of galesburg.
-chapter ix—the hidden valley
-within a few days of roderick’s advent into the camp he was duly added to the cowboy list on the ranch of the wealthy cattleman, mr. shields, whose property was located a few miles east from the little mining town and near the banks of the platte river. a commodious and handsome home stood apart from the cattle corral and bunk house lodgings for the cowboy helpers. there were perhaps twenty cowboys in mr. shields’ employment. his vast herds of cattle ranged in the adjoining hills and mountain canyons that rimmed the eastern edge of the valley.
-grant jones had proved his friendship in the strongest sort of an introduction, and was really responsible for roderick securing a job so quickly. but it was not many days before roderick discovered that doro-try shields was perhaps the principal reason why grant rode over to the ranch so often, ostensibly to visit him.
-during the first month roderick did not leave the ranch but daily familiarized himself with horse and saddle. he had always been a good rider, but here he learned the difference between a trained steed and an unbroken mustang. many were his falls and many his bruises, but finally he came to be quite at home on the back of the fiercest bucking broncho.
-one saturday evening he concluded to look up grant jones and perhaps have another evening with major buell hampton. so he saddled a pony and started. but at the edge of town he met his friend riding toward the country. they drew rein, and grant announced, as roderick had already divined, that he was just starting for the shields home. they finally agreed to call on major buell hampton for half an hour and then ride out to the ranch together.
-as they approached major hampton’s place they found him mounting his horse, having made ready for the hills.
-“how is this, major?” asked grant jones. “is it not rather late in the afternoon for you to be starting away with your trusty rifle?”
-“well,” replied the major, after saluting his callers most cordially, “yes, it is late. but i know where there is a deer lick, and as i am liable to lose my reputation as a hunter if i do not bring in a couple more venisons before long, why i propose to be on the ground with the first streak of daylight tomorrow morning.”
-he glanced at the afternoon sun and said: “i think i can reach the deer lick soon after sun-down. i shall remain over night and be ready for the deer when they first begin stirring. they usually frequent the lick i intend visiting.”
-the major seemed impatient to be gone and soon his horse was cantering along carrying him into the hills, while roderick and grant were riding leisurely through the lowlands of the valley road toward the shields ranch.
-all through the afternoon buell hampton skirted numerous rocky banks and crags and climbed far up into the mountain country, then down abrupt hill-sides only to mount again to still higher elevations. he was following a dim trail with which he showed himself familiar and that led several miles away to spirit river falls.
-near these falls was the deer lick. for three consecutive trips the hunter had been unsuccessful. he had witnessed fully a dozen deer disappear along the trail that led down to the river’s bank, but none of them had returned. it was a mystery. he did not understand where the deer could have gone. there was no ford or riffle in the river and the waters were too deep to admit belief of the deer finding a crossing. he wondered what was the solution.
-this was the real reason why he had left home late that afternoon, determined, when night came on, to tether his horse in the woods far away from the deer lick, make camp and be ready the following morning for the first appearance of some fine buck as he came to slake his thirst. if he did not get that buck he would at least find the trail—indeed on the present occasion it was less the venison he was after than the solving of the mystery.
-arriving at his destination, the improvised camp was leisurely made and his horse given a generous feed of oats. after this he lighted a fire, and soon a steaming cup of coffee helped him to relish the bread and cold meat with which he had come provided.
-after smoking several pipes of tobacco and building a big log fire for the night—for the season was far advanced and there was plenty of snow around—buell hampton lay down in his blankets and was soon fast asleep, indifferent to the blinking stars or to the rhythmic stirring of clashing leafless limbs fanned into motion by the night winds.
-with the first breaking of dawn the major was stirring. after refreshing himself with hot coffee and glancing at the cartridges in his rifle, he stole silently along under the overhanging foliage toward the deer lick.
-the watcher had hardly taken a position near an old fallen tree when five deer came timidly along the trail, sniffing the air in a half suspicious fashion.
-lifting his rifle to his shoulder the hunter took deliberate aim and fired. a young buck leaped high in the air, wheeled about from the trail and plunged madly toward his enemy. but it was the stimulated madness of death. the noble animal fell to its knees—then partially raised itself with one last mighty effort only to fall back again full length, vanquished in the uneven battle with man. the major’s hunting knife quickly severed the jugular vein and the animal was thoroughly bled. a little later this first trophy of the chase had been dressed and gambreled with the dexterity of a stock yard butcher and hung high on the limb of a near by tree.
-the four remaining deer, when the major fired, had rushed frantically down the trail bordered with dense underbrush and young trees that led over the brow of the embankment and on down to the river. the hunter now started in pursuit, following the trail to the water’s edge. but there were no deer to be seen.
-looking closely he noted that the tracks turned directly to the left toward the waterfall.
-the bank was very abrupt, but by hugging it closely and stepping sometimes on stones in the water, while pushing the overhanging and tangled brushwood aside, he succeeded in making some headway. to his surprise the narrow trail gave evidence of much use, as the tracks were indeed numerous. but where, he asked himself, could it possibly lead? however, he was determined to persevere and solve the mystery of where the deer had gone and thus escaped him on the previous occasions.
-presently he had traversed the short distance to the great cataract tumbling over the shelf of rock almost two hundred feet above. here he found himself under the drooping limbs of a mammoth tree that grew so close to the waterfall that the splashing spray enveloped him like a cold shower. following on, to his astonishment he reached a point behind the waterfall where he discovered a large cavern with lofty arched roof, like an immense hall in some ancient ruined castle.
-while the light was imperfect yet the morning sun, which at that hour shone directly on the cascade, illuminated up the cavern sufficiently for the major to see into it for quite a little distance. it seemed to recede directly into the mountain. the explorer cautiously advanced, and soon was interested at another discovery. a stream fully fifteen feet wide and perhaps two feet deep flowed directly out of the heart of the mountain along the center of the grotto, to mingle its waters with those of spirit river at the falls.
-major hampton paused to consider this remarkable discovery. he now remembered that the volume of spirit river had always impressed him as being larger below the noted spirit river falls than above, and here was the solution. the falls marked the junction of two bodies of water. where this hidden river came from he had no idea. apparently its source was some great spring situated far back in the mountain’s interior.
-the major was tensioned to a high key, and determined to investigate further. making his way slowly and carefully along the low stone shelf above the river, he found that the light did not penetrate more than about three hundred feet. looking closely he found there was an abundance of deer sign, which greatly mystified him.
-retracing his steps to the waterfall, the major once more crept along the path next to the abrupt river bank, and, climbing up the embankment, regained the deer trail where he had shot the young buck. he seated himself on an old fallen tree. here on former occasions major hampton had waited many an hour for the coming of deer and indulged in day-dreaming how to relieve the ills of humanity, how to lighten the burdens of the poor and oppressed. now, however, he was roused to action, and was no longer wrapped in the power of silence and the contemplation of abstract subjects. his brain and his heart were throbbing with the excitement of adventure and discovery.
-after full an hour’s thought his decision was reached and a course of action planned. first of all he proceeded to gather a supply of dry brush and branches, tying them into three torch-like bundles with stout cord, a supply of which he invariably carried in his pockets. then he inspected his match box to make sure the matches were in good condition. finally picking up his gun, pulling his hunting belt a little tighter, examining his hatchet and knife to see if they were safe in his belt scabbard, he again set forth along the deer trail, down to the river. overcoming the same obstacles as before, he soon found himself in the grotto behind the waterfall.
-lighting one of his torches the major started on a tour of further discovery. his course again led him over the comparatively smooth ledge of rock that served as a low bank for the waters of the hidden stream. but now he was able to advance beyond the point previously gained. after a while his torch burned low and he lighted another. the subterranean passage he was traversing narrowed at times until there was scarcely more than room to walk along the brink of the noisy waters, and again it would widen out like some great colosseum. the walls and high ceilings were fantastically enchanting, while the light from his torch made strange shadows, played many tricks on his nerves, and startled him with optical illusions. figures of stalactites and rows of basaltic columns reflected the flare of the brand held aloft, and sometimes the explorer fancied himself in a vault hung with tapestries of brilliant sparkling crystals.
-finally the third and last torch was almost burned down to the hand hold and the major began to awaken to a keen sense of his difficult position, and its possible dangers. when attempting to change the stub of burning brushwood from one hand to the other and at the same time not drop his rifle, the remnants of the torch fell from his grasp into the rapid flowing waters and he was left in utter darkness. apprehension came upon him—an eerie feeling of helplessness. true, there was a box of matches in the pocket of his hunting coat, but these would afford but feeble guidance in a place where at any step there might be a pitfall.
-major hampton was a philosopher, but this was a new experience, startling and unique. everything around was pitch dark. he seemed to be enveloped in a smothering black robe. presently above the murmur and swish of running water he could hear his heart beating. he mentally figured that he must have reached a distance of not less than three miles from spirit river falls. the pathway had proved fairly smooth walking, but unknown dangers were ahead, while a return trip in stygian darkness would be an ordeal fraught with much risk.
-stooping over the low bank he thrust his hand into the current to make sure of its course. the water was only a little below the flat ledge of rock on which he was standing, and was cold as the waters of a mountain spring. it occurred to him that he had been thirsty for a long time although in his excitement he had not been conscious of this. so he lay down flat and thrust his face into the cool grateful water.
-rising again to his feet he felt greatly refreshed, his nerve restored, and he had just about concluded to retrace his steps when his eyes, by this time somewhat accustomed to the darkness, discovered in an upstream direction, a tiny speck of light he blinked and then questioningly rubbed his eyes. but still the speck did not disappear. it seemed no larger than a silver half dollar. it might be a ray of light filtering through some crevice, indicating a tunnel perhaps that would afford means of escape.
-using his gun as a staff wherewith to feel his way and keeping as far as possible from the water’s edge, major hampton moved slowly upstream toward the guiding spot of radiance. in a little while he became convinced it was the light of day shining in through an opening. the speck grew larger and larger as he slowly moved forward.
-every once in a while he would stop and turn his face in the opposite direction, remaining in this position for a few moments and then quickly turning round again to satisfy himself that he was under no illusion. but the luminous disc was really growing larger—it appeared now to be as big as a saucer. his heart throbbed with hope and his judgment approved that the advance should be continued.
-yes, the light was increasing, and looking down he fancied he could almost see the butt of his gun which was being used as a walking stick. presently his feet could indistinctly be seen, and then the rocky pavement over which he was so cautiously shuffling his way.
-ten minutes later the mouth of a tunnel was reached, and he was safe once more, bathed in god’s own sunshine, his eyes still dazzled after the cimmerian blackness from which he had emerged. he had traversed the entire length of the subterranean cave or river channel, and had reached the opposite side of a high mountain. perhaps the distance through was only about three and a half miles. trees and underbrush grew in profusion about the mouth of the tunnel into which the hidden river flowed. there was less snow than on the other side of the barrier. deer sign were everywhere, and he followed a zig-zag deer path out into an open narrow valley.
-the major’s heart now leaped with the exultation of accomplishment. brushing the light covering of snow away, he seated himself on the bank of the stream which could not, now that he looked upon it in the open day, be dignified by calling it a river. along the edges of the watercourse were fringes of ice but in the center the rapid flow was unobstructed.
-it was only a big mountain brook, but one perhaps that had never been seen before by the eyes of man. the exploration and the excitement together had greatly fatigued buell hampton, and he was beginning to be conscious of physical exhaustion and the need of food notwithstanding the sustaining stimulus of being a discoverer in one of nature’s jealously guarded wonderlands.
-after resting a short time he started to walk farther into the valley and forage along the stream. the hunter was on the lookout for grouse but succeeded in shooting only a young sage hen. this was quickly dressed and broiled, the forked stick that served as a spit being skilfully turned in the blaze of a fire of twigs and brushwood. the repast was a modest one, but the wayfarer felt greatly refreshed, and now stepped briskly on, following the water channel toward its fountain head.
-but an hour later he had retraced his steps and was again seated on the bench-like dyke of porphyry. he had made a complete circuit of this strange “nest” or gash in the vastness of the rocky mountain range and was convinced there was no opening. the brook had its rise in a number of mammoth springs high up on the mountain foothills at the upper end of the valley, where it was also fed by several waterfalls that dropped from the dizzy cliffs far above.
-the valley was perhaps three miles long east and west and not over one-half mile wide north and south. the contour of the mountain sides to the south conformed to the contour on the north, justifying the reasonable conjecture that an earthquake or violent volcanic upheaval must have tom the mountains apart in prehistoric times. it was evidently in all truth a hidden valley—not on the map of the u. s. survey—a veritable new land.
-“to think,” mused the major, aloud, “that i have discovered a new possession. what an asylum for the weary! surely the day has been full of startling surprises.”
-he was seated on the dyke almost at the very edge of the brock where the waters were singing their song of peaceful content. he let his glance again sweep the valley with the satisfied look of one conscious of some unanalyzed good fortune.
-there was no snow on the porphyry dyke where he rested. it was moss-covered in many places with the coating of countless centuries. most likely no human foot but his had ever pressed the sod of this sequestered nook among the mighty mountains. the very thought was uplifting—inspiring. pulling his hunter’s hatchet from its sheath he said aloud: “i christen thee ‘hidden valley,’”and struck the porphyry rock a vigorous blow, so vigorous indeed that it chipped off a goodly piece.
-major buell hampton paused, astonished. he looked and then he looked again. he picked up the chipped off piece of rock and gazed long and earnestly at it, then rubbed his eyes in amazement. it was literally gleaming with pure gold.
-immediately the hatchet again came into play. piece after piece was broken open and all proved to be alike—rich specimens fit for the cabinet of a collector. the drab moss-covered dyke really contained the wealth of a king solomon’s mine. it was true—true, though almost unbelievable. yet in this moment of overwhelming triumph buell hampton saw not with the eyes of avarice and greed for personal gain, but rather with the vision of the humanitarian. unlimited wealth had always been for him a ravishing dream, but he had longed for it, passionately, yearningly, not as a means to supply pleasures for himself but to assuage the miseries of a suffering world.
-early the following morning buell hampton visited an assay office, carrying with him an ore sack containing nine pounds and a half of ore. the major felt certain it was ore—gold ore, almost pure gold—but was almost afraid of his own convictions. the discovery was really too good to be true.
-the assayer tossed the sack of gold onto a table where other samples were awaiting his skill and said: “all right, major, come in sometime tomorrow.”
-“it’s important,” replied the major, “that you assay it at once. it is high grade; i wish to sell.”
-“oh, ho!” replied the assayer with elevated eyebrows. possibly he was like many another who encouraged the “high-graders” in their nefarious thefts from their employers when they were trusted to work on a rich property.
-“why, major hampton, i didn’t know you were one of ‘em—one of us,” and he finished with a leer and a laugh. “bet i can tell what mine it came from,” he went on as he leisurely untied the ore sacks.
-“i will remain right here,” replied major hampton firmly, without yielding to the assayer’s offensive hilarity, “until you have my samples assayed and make me an offer.”
-by this time the sack of rock had been emptied into an ore pan and the astonishment depicted on the assayer’s countenance would have beggared description. the sight of the ore staggered him into silence. other work was pushed hurriedly aside and before very long the fire test was in process of being made. when finally finished the “button” weighed at the rate of $114.67 per pound, and the assayer, still half bewildered, handed over a check for almost eleven hundred dollars.
-“i say,” he almost shouted, “i say, major hampton, where in hell did that ore come from? surely not from any of the producing mines about here?”
-“it seems to be a producer, all right,” replied the major, as he folded the check and placed it in his pocketbook.
-chapter x.—the fair rider of the range
-when buell hampton left the assayer’s office he felt a chilliness in the air that caused him to cast his eyes upwards. there had been bright sunshine early that morning, but now the whole sky was overcast with a dull monotonous gray pall. not a breath of wind was stirring; there was just a cold stillness in the air that told its own tale to those experienced in the weather signs of the mountains.
-“snow,” muttered the major, emphatically. “it has been long in coming this winter, but we’ll have a big fall by night.”
-the season indeed had been exceptionally mild. there had been one or two flurries of snow, but each had been followed by warm days and the light fall had speedily melted, at least in the open valley. high up, the mountains had their white garb of winter, but even at these elevations there had been no violent storms.
-buell hampton faced the situation with characteristic philosophy. all through the afternoon he mused on his good fortune. he was glad to have brought down even only a thousand dollars from the golden storehouse, for this money would ensure comfort during the inclement season for a good few humble homes. meanwhile, like a banker with reserves of bullion safely locked up in his vault, he could plan out the future and see how the treasure was to be placed to best advantage. in buell hampton’s case the field of investment was among the poor and struggling, and the only dividends he cared for were increased percentages of human happiness. the coming of winter only delayed the good work he had in mind, but even now the consciousness of power to perform brought great joy to his heart. alone in his home he paced the big room, only pausing at times to throw another log on the fire or gaze awhile into the glowing embers, day-dreaming, unspeakably happy in his day-dreams.
-meanwhile, in anticipation of the coming snowstorm, young warfield was riding the range and gathering cattle and yearlings that had strayed away from the herd. as he was surmounting a rather steep foothill across the valleys to the westward between the two encampment rivers, he was startled at hearing the patter of a horse’s hoofs. quickly looking up he saw a young woman on horseback dashing swiftly along and swinging a lariat. she wore a divided brown skirt, wide sombrero, fringed gauntlets, and sat her horse with graceful ease and confidence. she was coming down the mountainside at right angles to his course.
-bringing his pony quickly to a standstill roderick watched the spirited horse-woman as she let go her lariat at an escaping yearling that evidently had broken out of some corral the lariat went straight to its mark, and almost at the same moment he heard her voice as she spoke to her steed, quickly but in soft melodious tones: “that will do, fleetfoot. whoa!” instantly the well-trained horse threw himself well back on his haunches and veered to the left. the fleeing yearling was caught around one of its front feet and thrown as neatly as the most expert cowboy on the range could have done it.
-“by george,” said roderick to himself, “what a fine piece of work.” he watched with admiring eyes as the young lady sat her horse in an attitude of waiting. presently a cowboy rode up, and relieving her of the catch started the yearling back, evidently toward the corral. turning about, the horsewoman started her horse at a canter directly toward him, and roderick fell to wondering what sort of a discovery he had made.
-a moment later she brought her horse to a standstill and acknowledged his salutation as he lifted his sombrero. he saw the red blood glowing under the soft tan of her cheeks, and as their eyes met he was fairly dazzled by her beauty. he recognized at a glance the western type of girl, frank and fearless, accustomed to the full and health-giving freedom of life in the open, yet accomplished and domesticated, equally at home in the most tastefully adorned drawing room as here on horseback among the mountains.
-“i beg pardon,” he said in a stammering way, “but can i be of any service?”
-at his words she pulled her pony to a standstill and said: “in what way, pray?”—and there was a mischievous smile at roderick’s obvious embarrassment.
-“why, i saw you lariating a yearling.”
-“oh,” she said, throwing back her head and laughing softly, “that was a long time ago. it is doubtless in the corral by now.”
-as she spoke, roderick dismounted. he was capable now of assimilating details, and noted the silken dark egyptian locks that fell in fluffy waves over her temples in a most bewitching manner, and the eyes that shone with the deep dark blue of the sapphire. his gaze must have betrayed his admiration, for, courteously waving her hand, she touched with her spurs the flanks of her mount and bounded away across the hills. roderick was left standing in wonderment.
-“who the dickens can she be?” he soliloquized. “i’ve been riding the range for a good many weeks, but this is the first time i’ve spotted this mountain beauty.”
-throwing himself onto his horse, he started down toward the south fork of the encampment river and on to the westward the shields ranch, wondering as he rode along who this strange girl of the hills could be. once or twice he thought of stella rain and he manfully endeavored to keep his mind concentrated on the one to whom he was betrothed, running over in memory her last letter, reckoning the time that must elapse before the next one would arrive, recalling the tender incidents of their parting now two months ago. but his efforts were in vain. always there kept recurring the vision of loveliness he had encountered on the range, and the mystery that surrounded the fair rider’s identity. once again since major buell hampton’s long diatribe on love and matrimony, he was vaguely conscious that his impetuous love-making on that memorable evening at galesburg might have been a mistake, and that the little “college widow” in her unselfishness had spoken words of wisdom when she had counselled him to wait awhile—until he really did know his own mind—until he had really tried out his own heart, yes, until—great heavens, he found himself recalling her very words, spoken with tears in her soft pretty eyes: “that’s just the trouble, roderick. you do not know—you cannot make a comparison, nor you won’t know until the other girl comes along.”
-had the other girl at last come? but at the disloyal thought he spurred his horse to a gallop, and as he did so the first snowflakes of the coming storm fluttered cold and damp against his flushed cheeks. at last he thought of other things; he was wondering now, as he glanced around into the thickening atmosphere, whether all the stray mavericks were at last safe in the winter pastures and corrals.
-chapter xi.—winter passes
-that night the big snow storm did indeed come, and when roderick woke up next morning it was to find mountain and valley covered with a vast bedspread of immaculate white and the soft snowflakes still descending like a feathery down. the storm did not catch mr. shields unprepared; his vast herds were safe and snug in their winter quarters.
-the break in the weather marked the end of roderick’s range riding for the season. he was now a stock feeder and engaged in patching up the corrals and otherwise playing his part of a ranch hand. and with this stay-at-home life he found himself thinking more and more of the real mission that had brought him into this land of mountains. nearly every night when his work was finished, he studied a certain map of the hills—the inheritance left him by his father. on this map were noted “sheep mountain,” “bennet peak,” “hahn’s peak” and several other prominent landmarks. from his own acquaintance with the country roderick now knew that the lost valley was quite a distance to the south and west from the shields ranch.
-thus the wintry days wore on, and with their passing roderick became more and more firm in his determination to be ready, when the snow was gone in the spring, to take up his father’s unfinished task of finding again the sandbar abounding with nuggets of gold. indeed in his life of isolation it gradually came about that he thought of little else by day and dreamed of nothing else at night. sometimes in the solitude of his room he smiled at his loneliness. what a change from the old college days—from the stir and excitement of new york. during the winter he had been invited to a score of gatherings, dances, and parties, but somehow he had become taciturn and had declined all invitations.
-then, with stern self-control he had succeeded in putting out of mind the mysterious beauty of the range. love at first sight!—he had laughed down such silliness, and rooted out of his heart the base treason that had even for a fleeting moment permitted such a thought. yes, there was nothing but firmest loyalty in his mind for stella rain, who was waiting for him so faithfully and patiently, and whose letters cheered him and filled him with greater determination than ever to find the lost mine.
-his labors on the ranch were arduous but his health was excellent. at college he had been an athlete—now he was a rugged, bronzed-faced son of the hills. his only recreations were laying plans for the future and writing letters to stella.
-not infrequently his mind wandered back to keokuk, the old river town, and his heart grew regretful that he had quarreled with his unde allen miller, and his thoughts were tender of his aunt lois. once he wrote a letter to whitley adams, then tore it up in a dissatisfied way, returning to the determination to make his fortune before communicating with his old friends.
-and so the winter passed, and spring had come again.
-it was one morning in early may, just after he had finished his chores, when to his surprise grant jones shouted to him through the corral fence: “hello, old man, how is ranching agreeing with you, anyway?”
-“fine,” responded roderick, “fine and dandy.” he let himself through the gate of the corral and shook hands with grant. “come up to the bunk house; seems mighty good to see you.”
-“terrible to think about,” said roderick.
-“oh, that’s not all,” said grant with his old exuberant laugh. “it would have been so devilish long from a fellow’s passing until his obituary came to be written. that is what gets on my nerves when i’m out on snowshoes. of course the columns of the doublejack are always open to write-ups on dead unfortunates, but it likes to have ‘em as near as possible to the actual date of demise. then it’s live news.”
-“sounds rather grewsome,” said roderick, smiling at grant’s oddity of expression.
-arriving at the bunk house, they were soon seated around a big stove where a brisk fire was burning, for the air without was still sharp and the wind cutting and cold.
-“i can offer you a pipe and some mighty fine tobacco,” said roderick, pushing a tray toward him carrying a jar of tobacco and half-a-dozen cob pipes.
-“smells good,” commented grant, as he accepted and began to fill one of the pipes.
-“well, tell me something about yourself, grant. i supposed the attraction over here at the ranch was quite enough to make you brave snowstorms and snow-slides and thirty-foot snowdrifts.”
-“warfield,” said grant, half seriously, between puffs at his pipe, “that is what i want to talk with you about. the inducement is sufficient for all you suggest. she is a wonder. without any question, dorothy shields is the sweetest girl that ever lived.”
-“hold on,” smiled roderick. “there may be others in the different parts of the world.”
-“is that so?” ejaculated grant with a rising inflection, while his countenance suggested an interrogation point.
-“no, i have no confessions to make,” rejoined roderick, as he struck a match to light his pipe.
-“well, that’s just what is troubling me,” said grant, still serious. “i was just wondering if anyone else had been browsing on my range over here at the shields ranch while i have been penned up like a groundhog, getting out my weekly edition of the dillon doublejock, sometimes only fifty papers at an issue. think of it!” and they both laughed at the ludicrous meagerness of such a circulation.
-“but never mind,” continued grant, reflectively, “i will run my subscriptions up to three or four hundred in sixty days when the snow is off the ground.”
-“yes, that is all very well, old man. but when will the snow be off? i am considerably interested myself, for i want to do some prospecting.”
-“hang your prospecting,” said grant, “or when the snow will go either. you haven’t answered my question.”
-“oh, as to whether anyone has been browsing on your range?” exclaimed roderick. “i must confess i do not know. they have had dances and parties and all that sort of thing but—i really don’t know, i have not felt in the mood and declined to attend. how do you find the little queen of your heart? has she forgotten you?”
-“no-o,” responded grant, slowly. “but dam it all, i can’t talk very well before the whole family. i am an out-door man. you give me the hills as a background and those millions of wild flowers that color our valleys along in july like joseph’s coat, and it makes me bubble over with poetry and i can talk to beat a phonograph monologist.” this was said in a jovial, joking tone, but beneath it all roderick knew there was much serious truth.
-“how is it, grant? are you pretty badly hit?”
-“right square between the eyes, old man. why, do you know, sitting over in that rocky gorge of dillon canyon in the little town of dillon, writing editorials for the double jack month after month and no one to read my paper, i have had time to think it all over, and i have made up my mind to come here to the shields ranch and tell dorothy it is my firm conviction that she is the greatest woman on top of the earth, and that life to me without her is simply—well, i don’t have words to describe the pitiful loneliness of it all without her.”
-roderick leaned back in his chair and laughed hilariously at his friend.
-“this is no joking matter,” said grant. “i’m a goner.”
-just then there came a knock at the door and roderick hastily arose to bid welcome to the caller. to the surprise of both the visitor proved to be major buell hampton.
-major hampton exchanged cordial greetings and expressed his great pleasure at finding his two young friends together. accepting the invitation to be seated, he drew his meerschaum from his pocket and proceeded to fill from a tobacco pouch made of deer skin.
-“my dear mr. jones and’ mr. warfield,” he began, “where have you been all through the winter?”
-“for myself, right here doing chores about twelve hours per day,” answered roderick.
-“as for me,” said grant, “i have been way over ‘yonder’ editing the dillon doublejack. i have fully a score of subscribers who would have been heartbroken if i had missed a single issue. i snow-shoed in to encampment once, but your castle was locked and nobody seemed to know where you had gone, major.”
-jones had again laughed good-naturedly over the limited circulation of his paper. major hampton smiled, while roderick observed that there was nothing like living in a literary atmosphere.
-“if your circulation is small your persistence is certainly commendable,” observed the major, looking benignly at jones but not offering to explain his absence from encampment when jones had called. “i have just paid my respects,” he went on, “to mr. and mrs. shields and their lovely daughters, and learned that you were also visiting these hospitable people. my errand contemplated calling upon mr. warfield as well. i almost feel i have been neglected. the latchstring hangs on the outside of my door for mr. war-field as well as for you, mr. jones.”
-“many thanks,” observed roderick.
-“your compliment is not unappreciated,” said grant. “when do you return to encampment?”
-“immediately after luncheon,” replied the major.
-“very well, i will go along with you,” said grant. “i came over on my skis.”
-“it will be a pleasure for me to extend the hospitality of the comfortable riding sled that brought me over,” responded the major with chesterfieldian politeness. “jim rankin is one of the safest drivers in the country and he has a fine spirited team, while the sledding is simply magnificent.”
-“although the jingle of sleigh-bells always makes me homesick,” remarked roderick, “i’d feel mighty pleased to return with you.”
-“it will be your own fault, mr. warfield, if you do not accompany us. i have just been talking to mr. shields, and he says you are the most remarkable individual he has ever had on his ranch—a regular hermit they never see you up at the house, and you have not been away from the ranch for months, while the young ladies, miss barbara and miss dorothy, think it perfectly horrid—to use their own expression—that you never leave your quarters here or spend an evening with the family.”
-“roderick,” observed grant, “i never thought you were a stuck-up prig before, but now i know you for what you are. but there must be an end to such exclusiveness. let someone else do the chores. get ready and come on back to encampment with us, and we’ll have a royal evening together at the major’s home.”
-“excellent idea,” responded the major. “i have some great secrets to impart—but i am not sure i will tell you one of them,” he added with a good-natured smile. the others laughed at his excess of caution.
-“very well,” said roderick, “if mr. shields can spare me for a few days i’ll accept your invitation.”
-at this moment the door was opened unceremoniously and in walked the two miss shields. the men hastily arose and laid aside their pipes.
-“we are here as messengers,” said miss dorothy, smiling. “you, mr. warfield, are to come up to the house and have dinner with us as well as the major and grant.”
-“glorious,” said grant, smiling broadly. “roderick, did you hear that? she calls you mr. warfield and she calls me grant. splendid, splendid!”
-“i know somebody that will have their ears cuffed in a moment,” observed miss dorothy.
-“again i ejaculate splendid!” said grant in great hilarity, as if daring her.
-“it is a mystery to me,” observed the major, “how two such charming young ladies can remain so unappreciated.”
-“why, major,” protested barbara, “we are not unappreciated. everybody thinks we are just fine.”
-“major,” observed grant with great solemnity, “this is an opportunity i have long wanted.” he cleared his throat, winked at roderick, made a sweeping glance at the young ladies and observed: “i wanted to express my admiration, yes, i might say my affection for—”
-dorothy’s face was growing pink. she divined grant’s ardent feelings although he had spoken not one word of love to her. lightly springing to his side, she playfully but firmly placed her hands over his mouth and turned whatever else he had to say into incoherency.
-this ended grant’s declaration. even major buell hampton smiled and roderick inquired: “grant, what are you mumbling about?”
-dorothy dropped her hand.
-“oh, just trying to tell her to keep me muzzled forever,” grant smiled, and dorothy’s cheeks were red with blushes.
-with this final sally all started for the big ranch house where they found that a sumptuous meal had been prepared.
-during the repast barbara learned of the proposed reunion of the three friends at encampment, and insisted that her father should give a few days’ vacation to mr. warfield. the favor was quickly granted, and an hour later jim rankin brought up his bob-sled and prancing team, and to the merry sound of the sleigh-bells major buell hampton and the two young men sped away for encampment.
-it was arranged that roderick and grant should have an hour or two to themselves and then call later in the evening on the major.
-roderick was half irritated to find no letter at the post office from stella rain. in point of fact, during the past two months, he had been noticing longer and longer gaps in her correspondence. sometimes he felt his vanity touched and was inclined to be either angry or humiliated. but at other times he just vaguely wondered whether his loved one was drifting away from him.
-chapter xii—the major’s find
-when grant jones and roderick arrived at the major’s home that evening they found other visitors already installed before the cheerful blaze of the open hearth. these were tom sun, owner of more sheep than any other man in the state; boney earnest, the blast furnace man in the big smelting plant; and jim rankin, who had joined his two old cronies after unharnessing the horses from the sleigh.
-cordial introductions and greetings were exchanged. although roderick had shaken hands before with boney earnest, this was their first meeting in a social way. and it was the very first time he had encountered tom sun. therefore the fortuitous gathering of his father’s three old friends came to him as a pleasant surprise. he was glad of the chance to get better acquainted.
-while the company were settling themselves in chairs around the fireplace, jim rankin seized the moment for a private confabulation with roderick. he drew the young man into a corner and addressed him in a mysterious whisper: “by gunnies, mr. war-field, it sure is powerful good to have yer back agin. it’s seemed a tarnation long winter. but you bet i’ve been keepin’ my mind on things—our big secret—you know.”
-roderick nodded and rankin went on: “i’ve been prognosticatin’ out this here way and then that way on a dozen trips after our onderstandin’, searchin’ like fur that business; but dang my buttons it’s pesterin’ hard to locate and don’t you forgit it. excuse us, gentlemen, we are talkin’ about certain private matters but we don’t mean ter be impolite. i’m ‘lowin’ it’s the biggest secret in these diggin’s—ain’t that right, roderick?”
-rankin laughed good-humoredly at his own remarks as he took out his tobacco pouch of fine cut and stowed away a huge cud. “you bet yer life,” he continued between vigorous chews, “somebody is nachurlly going to be a heap flustrated ‘round here one of these days, leastways that’s what we’re assoomin’.”
-“say, jim,” observed tom sun, “what are you talkin’ about anyway? boney, i think jim is just as crazy as ever.”
-“i reckon that’s no lie,” responded boney, good-naturedly. “always was as crazy as a march hare with a bone in its throat.”
-“say, look here you fellows, yer gittin’ tumultuous,” exclaimed rankin, “you’re interferin’. say, major hampton, i’m not a dangnation bit peevish or nuthin’ like that, but do you know who are the four biggest and most ponderous liars in the state of wyoming?” the major looked up in surprise but did not reply. “waal,” said rankin, expectorating toward the burning logs in the open hearth and proceeding to answer his own question, “boney earnest is sure one uv ‘em, i am one uv ‘em, and tom sun is ‘tother two.” rankin guffawed loudly. this brought forth quite an expression of merriment the only reply from tom sun was that his thirty odd years of association with jim rankin and boney earnest was quite enough to make a prince of liars of anyone.
-presently the major said: “gentlemen, after taking a strict inventory i find there are six men in the world for whom i entertain an especial interest. of course, my mission in life in a general way is in behalf of humanity, but there are six who have come to be closer to me than all the rest five of them are before me. of the other i will not speak at this time. i invited you here this evening because you represent in a large measure the things that i stand for. the snow will soon be going, spring is approaching and great things will happen during the next year—far greater than you dream of. you are friends of mine and i have decided under certain restrictions to share with you an important secret.”
-thereupon he pointed to some little sacks, until now unnoticed, that lay on the center table. “untie these sacks and empty the contents onto the table if you will, mr. warfield.” roderick complied.
-each sack held about a hatful of broken rock, and to the amazement of the major’s guests roderick emptied out on the table the richest gold ores that any of them had ever beheld. they were porphyry and white quartz, shot full of pure gold and stringers of gold. indeed the pieces of quartz were seemingly held together with purest wire gold.
-the natural query that was in the heart of everyone was soon given voice by jim rankin. after scanning the remarkable exhibit he turned to major buell hampton and exclaimed: “gosh ‘lmighty, major, where did this here come from?”
-“a most natural question but one which i am not inclined to answer at this time,” said the major, smiling benignly. “gentlemen, it is my intention that everyone present shall share with me in a substantial way in the remarkable discovery, the evidence of which is lying before you. there are five of you and i enjoin upon each the most solemn pledge of secrecy, even as regards the little you have yet learned of the great secret which i possess.”
-they all gave their pledges, and the major went on: “there is enough of these remarkably rich ores for everyone. but should the slightest evidence come to me that anyone of you gentlemen has been so thoughtless, or held the pledge you have just made so lightly, that you have shared with any outsider the information so far given, his name will assuredly be eliminated from this pact. therefore, it is not only a question of honor but a question of self-interest, and i feel sure the former carries with it more potency with each of you than the latter.”
-but roderick shook his head reassuringly. he remembered that his father’s find was placer gold—water-worn nuggets taken from a sandbar in some old channel, as the sample in jim rankin’s own possession showed. the ores he was now holding were of quite a different class—they had been broken from the living rock.
-after the specimens had been returned to the sample sacks and the excitement had quieted a little, major hampton threw his head back in his own princely way, as he sat in his easy chair before the fire and observed: “money may be a blessing or it may be a curse. personally i shall regret the discovery if a single dollar of this wealth, which it is in my power to bring to the light of day, should ever bring sorrow to humanity. it is my opinion that the richest man in the world should not possess more than a quarter of a million dollars at most, and even that amount is liable to make a very poor citizen out of an otherwise good man. unnecessary wealth merely stimulates to abnormal or wicked extravagance. it is also self-evident that a more equal distribution of wealth would obtain if millionaires were unknown, and greater happiness would naturally follow.”
-“yes, but the world requires ‘spenders’ as well as getters,’”laughed tom sun. “otherwise we would all be dying of sheer weariness of each other.”
-“surely, there are arguments on both sides,” assented the major. “it is a difficult problem. i was merely contending that a community of comparatively poor people who earn their bread by the sweat of their brow—tilling the soil and possessed of high ideals of good citizenship—such people beyond question afford the greatest example of contentment, morality and happiness. great wealth is the cause of some of our worst types of degeneracy. however,” he concluded, knocking the ashes from his pipe, “it is not my purpose this evening to sermonize. nor do i intend at present to say anything more about the rich gold discovery i have made except to reiterate my assurance that at the proper time all you gentlemen will be called on to share in the enterprise and in its profits. now i believe some of you”—and he looked at jim rankin, tom sun and boney earnest as he spoke—“have another engagement tonight. it was only at my special request, mr. warfield, that they remained to meet you and mr. jones.”
-“and we’re much obliged to you, major,” said boney earnest, arising and glancing at his watch. “hope old john warfield’s boy and i will get still better acquainted. but i’ve got to be going now. you see my wife insisted that i bring the folks back early so that she might have a visit with mr. rankin and mr. sun.”
-tom sun shook hands cordially.
-“glad to have met you, mr. warfield,” he said, “for your father’s sake as well as your own. i trust we’ll meet often. good-night, mr. jones.”
-rankin whispered something to roderick, but roderick did not catch the words, and when he attempted to inquire the old fellow merely nodded his head and said aloud: “you bet your life; i’m assoomin’ this is jist ‘tween me and you.” roderick smiled at this oddity, as the man of mystery followed his friends from the room.
-presently buell hampton arose and laid his pipe aside, and going to a curtained corner of the room returned with his violin. and long into the night, with only a fitful light from the burning logs in the open fireplace, the major played for his young friends. it seemed his repertoire was without beginning and without end. as he played his moods underwent many changes. now he was gay and happy, at another moment sad and wistful. he passed from sweet low measures into wild, thrilling abandonment. now he was drawing divine harmony from the strings by dainty caresses, again he was almost brutally compelling them to render forth the fierce passion of music that was surging in his own soul. the performance held the listeners spellbound—left them for the moment speechless when at last the player dropped into a chair. the instrument was laid across his knees; he was still fondling it with gentle touches and taps from his long slender fingers.
-“you love your violin, major,” roderick at last managed to articulate.
-“yes,” came the low-spoken fervent reply, “every crease, crevice and string of the dear old cremona that was given me more than half a century ago.”
-“i wish,” said grant, “that i could express my appreciation of the wonderful entertainment you have given us tonight.”
-“you are very complimentary,” replied the major, bestirring himself. he rose, laid the violin on the table, and brightened up the fire with additional fuel.
-“but i’m afraid we must be going,” added grant. “it is getting late.”
-“well, i have a message for you young gentlemen,” said the major. “you are invited to attend one of the most distinguished soirees ever given in the platte river valley. mr. and mrs. shields mentioned this today, and made me the special messenger to extend the invitation to you both.”
-“splendid,” exclaimed grant. “when does this come off?”
-“two weeks from this evening,” replied the major. “and we will have a comparative newcomer to the valley to grace the occasion. she has been here through the late fall and winter, but has been too busy nursing her sick and bereaved old father to go out into society.”
-“general holden’s daughter?” queried grant.
-“the same. and gail holden is certainly a most beautiful young lady. have you seen her, mr. war-field?”
-“not that i’m aware of,” replied roderick.
-“a most noble young woman, too,” continued the major. “they are illinois people. the mother died last year under sad circumstances—all the family fortune swept away. but the girl chanced to own these wyoming acres in her own right, so she brought her father here, and has started a little cattle ranch, going in for pedigreed dairy stock and likely to do well too, make no mistake. you should just see her swing a lariat,” the speaker added with a ring of admiration in his tone.
-roderick started. great scott! could this be the fair horsewoman he had encountered on the mountain side just before the coming of the big snow. but a vigorous slap on his shoulder administered by grant broke him from reverie.
-“why don’t you say something, old fellow? isn’t this glorious news? are you not delighted at the opportunity of tripping the light fantastic toe with a beauty from illinois as well as our own home-grown wyoming belles?”
-“well,” replied roderick slowly, “i have not been attending any of these affairs, although i may do so in this instance.”
-“miss barbara shields,” said the major, “especially requested me to tell you, mr. warfield, that she positively insists on your being present.”
-“ho, ho!” laughed grant. “so you’ve made a hit in that quarter, eh, roderick? well, better a prospective brother-in-law than a dangerous rival. dorothy’s mine, and don’t you forget it.”
-grant’s boyish hilarity was contagious, his gay audacity amusing. even the major laughed heartily. but roderick was blushing furiously. a moment before he had been thinking of one fair charmer. and now here was another being thrown at him, so to speak, although in jest and not in earnest. barbara shields—he had never dared to think of her as within his reach even had not loyalty bound his affections elsewhere. but the complications seemed certainly to be thickening.
-“come along, old chap,” said grant, as they gained the roadway. “we’ll have a look through the town, just to see if there’s any news about.”
-when roderick and grant entered the saloon they found a motley crowd at the bar and in the gaming room, fully twenty cowboys with their broad-rimmed sombreros, wearing hairy chaps, decorated with fancy belts and red handkerchiefs carelessly tied about their necks. evidently one of them had just won at the wheel and they were celebrating.
-the brilliant lights and the commingling of half a hundred miners and many cowboys presented a spectacular appearance that was both novel and interesting. just behind them came shuffling into the room a short, stout, heavily-built man with a scowling face covered with a short growth of black whiskers. his eyes were small and squinty, his forehead low and his chin protruding.
-roderick and grant were standing at the end of the bar, waiting for lemonades they had ordered. roderick’s attention was attracted by the uncouth newcomer.
-“grant, who is that gorilla-looking chap?” he asked.
-grant half turned with a sweeping glance and then looking back at roderick, replied: “that is bud bledsoe. he is a sort of sleuth for grady, the manager of the smelting plant, the man i introduced you to, remember, the first day you came to encampment.”
-“i remember grady all right,” nodded roderick.
-“well, many people believe he keeps bledsoe around him to do his dirty work. a while ago there was a grave suspicion that this chap committed a terrible crime, doubtless inspired by grady, but it is not known positively and of course grady is all-powerful and nothing was said about it outright.”
-in the meantime bud bledsoe walked into the back part of the room, and finding a vacant seat at a gaming table bought a stack of chips and was soon busy over his cards. presently the two friends, having lighted fresh cigars, left the saloon.
-grant looked into two or three other places, but finding there was “nothing doing,” no news of any kind stirring, at last turned for home. entering the familiar old bachelor shack, roderick too felt at home, and it was not long before a cheerful fire was kindled and going. grant was leaning an elbow on the mantel above and talking to roderick of the pleasure he anticipated at the coming dance over at the shields place.
-“i wonder what miss barbara meant when she sent that special message to you, roderick? have you a ground wire of some kind with the young lady and are you on more intimate relations than i have been led to believe?”
-grant smiled broadly at roderick as he asked the question.
-“search me,” replied roderick. “i have never spoken to her excepting in the presence of other people.”
-“i presume you know,” grant went on, “that she is the object of carlisle’s affections and he gets awfully jealous if anyone pays court to her?”
-“and who’s carlisle?” asked roderick, looking up quickly.
-“oh, he is the great lawyer,” replied grant “w. henry carlisle. have you never heard of the feud between carlisle and attorney bragdon?”
-“no,” said roderick. “both names are new to me.”
-“oh, i supposed everybody knew about their forensic battles. you see, w. henry carlisle is the attorney for the smelter and ben bragdon is without doubt the most eloquent young lawyer that ever stood before a jury in southern wyoming. these two fellows are usually against each other in all big lawsuits in these parts of the country, and you should see the courthouse fill up when there is a jury trial.”
-roderick did not seem especially interested, and throwing his cigar stub into the open fire, he filled his pipe. “now, i’ll have a real smoke,” he observed as he pressed a glowing firestick from the hearth down on the tobacco.
-“grady and carlisle are together in all financial ventures,” grant continued.
-“don’t look as if you are very fond of this man grady,” commented roderick.
-“all right,” said roderick, jovially looking up; “let us talk about the dance and especially miss dorothy.”
-“that’s the text,” said grant, “dorothy—dorothy shields-jones. won’t that make a corker of a name though? if i tell you a secret will you promise it shall be sacred?”
-“certainly,” replied roderick.
-“well,” said grant, reddening, “while i was over there at the dillon doublejack office, isolated from the world, surrounded with mountains and snow—nothing but snow and snowbanks and high mountains in every direction, why, i played job printer and set up some cards with a name thereon—can’t you guess?”
-“impossible,” said roderick, smiling broadly.
-“well, mrs. dorothy shields-jones,” he repeated slowly, then laughed uproariously at the confession.
-“let me see one of the cards,” asked roderick.
-“hope you’ve convinced her of that, old man?”
-“convinced her! why i haven’t had the courage yet to say a word,” replied grant, somewhat shamefacedly. “i’m going to rely on you to speak up for me when the critical moment arrives.”
-“and about you and barbara?” ventured grant, tentatively. “i’ve heard your name mentioned in connection with hers several times.”
-“oh, forget all that rot,” responded roderick, flushing slightly. he had never mentioned the “college widow” to his friend, and felt that he was sailing under false colors. “it will be a long time before i can think of such matters,” he went on, turning toward his accustomed stretcher. “let’s get to bed. it has been a long day, and i for one am tired.”
-a few minutes later lights were out.
-when they got up next morning, they found that a letter had been pushed under the door. warfield picked it up and read the scrawled inscription. it was addressed to grant.
-“gee,” said grant as he took the letter from roderick, “this town is forging ahead mighty fast. free delivery. who in the demnition bowwows do you suppose could have done this?”
-opening the envelope he spread the letter on the table, and both bent above it to read its contents. there was just a couple of lines, in printed characters.
-words had been cut out of a newspaper apparently, and stuck on the white sheet of paper. they read as follows: “tell your friend to let barbara alone or his hide will be shot full of holes.”
-grant and roderick stood looking at each other, speechless with amazement. barbara was the only written word.
-“what can be the meaning of this?” inquired roderick.
-“beyond me,” replied grant. “evidently others besides myself have come to think you are interested in barbara shields. possibly the young lady has been saying nice things about you, and somebody is jealous.”
-they walked up the street to a restaurant and breakfasted.
-“it might be,” remarked grant, referring back to the strange letter, “that attorney carlisle, who they say is daffy over barbara shields, has had that sleuth of grady’s, bud bledsoe, fix up this letter to sort of scare you off.”
-grant laughed good-humoredly as he said this.
-“scare me off like hell,” said roderick in disgust. “i am not easily scared with anonymous letters. only cowards write that sort of stuff.”
-they arose from the table and turned down the street towards the smelting plant it was necessary to keep well on the sidewalks and away from the mud in the roadway, for the weather was turning warm and snow was melting very fast.
-“there will be no sleighs and sleigh-bells at the shields’ entertainment,” observed grant. “this snow in the lowlands will all be gone in a day or two.”
-they paused on a street corner and noticed five logging outfits swinging slowly down the street, then turn into the back yard of buell hampton’s home and begin unloading.
-“what do you suppose major hampton can want with all those logs?” asked grant.
-“let us make a morning call on the major,” suggested roderick.
-“right you are,” assented grant.
-the major extended his usual hearty welcome. he had evidently been busy at his writing table.
-“we came down,” said grant, “to get a job cutting wood.”
-the major looked out of the window at the great stack of logs and smiled. “no, young gentlemen,” he said, “those logs are not for firewood but to build an addition to my humble home. you see, i have a small kitchen curtained off in the rear, and back of that i intend putting in an extra room. i expect to have ample use for this additional accommodation, but just at this time perhaps will not explain its purposes. won’t you be seated?”
-they pulled up chairs before the fire, which was smouldering low, for in the moderated condition of the weather a larger fire was not needed.
-“only for a moment, major. we do not wish to take you from your work, whatever it may be. i will confess,” grant went on, smiling, “that we were curious to know about the logs, and decided we would look in on you and satisfy our curiosity; and then, too, we have the pleasure of saying hello.”
-“very kind of you, very kind, i am sure,” responded the major; and turning to roderick he inquired when he expected to return to the shields ranch.
-“i am going out this afternoon,” replied roderick. “by the way, major, do you expect to be at the shields’ entertainment?”
-“no, it is hardly probable. i am very busy and then, too, i am far past the years when such functions interest. nevertheless, i can well understand how two young gentlemen like yourselves will thoroughly enjoy an entertainment given by such hospitable people as the shields.”
-soon after they took their leave and walked up the street. grant made arrangements to start directly after luncheon for dillon, where copy had to be got ready for the next issue of his paper.
-as roderick rode slowly across the valley that afternoon, his mind dwelt on the rich gold discovery made by buell hampton, and he evolved plans for getting promptly to serious prospecting work on his own account. sometimes too he caught himself thinking of the strange girl of the hills who could throw a lasso so cleanly and cleverly; he wondered if their paths would ever cross again.
-the night of the big fiesta at the shields ranch had arrived, and the invited guests had gathered from far and near. and what a bevy of pretty girls and gay young fellows they were! even the cowboys on this occasion were faultless beau brummels; chaps, belts, and other frontier regalia were laid aside in favor of the starched shirtfront and dress clothes of the fashionable east. the entertainment was to consist of dancing and song, with a sumptuous supper about the midnight hour.
-roderick of course was there—“by command” of the fair daughter of the house, barbara shields. at the entrance to the reception hall the twin sisters gave him cordial welcome, and gaily rallied him on having at last emerged from his anchorite cell. on passing into the crowded room, young warfield had one of the greatest surprises of his life.
-“hello, roderick, old scout, how are you anyway?”
-someone had slapped him on the shoulder, and on turning round he found himself face to face with whitley adams.
-“whitley, old man!” he gasped in sheer astonishment.
-then followed hand-shaking such as only two old college chums can engage in after a long separation.
-“how did it all happen?” inquired roderick, when the first flush of meeting was over.
-“tell you later,” said whitley. “gee, old man, i ought to beat you up for not letting me know all this time where you were.”
-“well, i have been so confoundedly busy,” was the half-apologetic reply.
-“and so have i myself. i am taking a post-graduate course just now in being busy. you would never guess what a man of affairs i’ve come to be.”
-“you certainly surprise me,” laughed roderick drily.
-“oh, but i’m going to take your breath away. since you’ve gone, i’ve become quite chummy with your uncle allen.”
-“you don’t say?”
-“yes, siree. i think he took to me first of all in the hope that through me he would get news of the lost prodigal—the son of his adoption whose absence he is never tired of deploring.”
-“poor old uncle,” murmured roderick, affectionately and regretfully.
-“oh, he takes all the blame to himself for having driven you away from home. but here—let’s get into this quiet corner, man. you haven’t yet heard half my news.”
-the two chums were soon installed on a seat conveniently masked—for other purposes, no doubt—by pot plants and flowers.
-“and how’s dear aunt lois?” asked roderick, as they settled themselves.
-“oh, dear aunt lois can wait,” replied whitley.
-“she’s all right—don’t look a day older since i remember her. it is i who am the topic of importance—i”—and he tapped his chest in the fervency of his egoism.
-“well, fire away,” laughed roderick.
-whitley rambled on: “well, i was just going to tell you how your uncle and i have been pulling along together fine. after stopping me in the street two or three times to ask me whether i had yet got news of you, he ended in offering me a position in the bank.”
-“oh, don’t look so demed superior. why, man alive. i’m a born banker—a born man of affairs! so at least your uncle tells me in the intervals of asking after you.”
-“yes, you’ve certainly taken my breath away. but how come you to be in encampment, whitley?”
-“on business, of course—important business, you bet, or i wouldn’t have been spared from the office. oh, i’ll tell you—you’re a member of the firm, or will be some day, which is all the same thing. there’s a fellow here, w. b. grady, wanting a big loan on some smelter bonds.”
-“i know the man. but i thought he was rolling in money.”
-“oh, it’s just the fellows who are rolling in money who need ready money worst,” smiled the embryonic banker with a shrewd twinkle in his eyes. “he’s a big speculator on the outside, make no mistake, even though he may be a staid and stolid business man here. well, he needs hard cash just at present, and the proposed loan came the way of our bank. your uncle jumped at it.”
-“security must be pretty good,” laughed roderick.
-“no doubt. but there’s another reason this time for your uncle’s financial alacrity. seems an old friend of his was swindled out of the identical block of bonds offered by this same grady, and your uncle sees a possible chance some day of getting them out of his clutches and restoring them to where they properly belong.”
-“but all that’s contrary to one of uncle allen’s most cherished principles—that friendship and business don’t mix. i’ve heard him utter that formula a score of times.”
-“well, cherished principles or no cherished principles, he seems downright determined this time to let friendship play a hand. he tells me—oh, i’m quite in his confidence, you see—that it’s a matter of personal pride for him to try and win back his fortune for this old friend, general holden—that’s the name.”
-“holden?—holden?” murmured roderick. he seemed to have heard the name before, but could not for the moment locate its owner.
-“yes, general holden. he’s ranching up here for the present—or rather his daughter is. they say she’s a stunning girl, and my lawyer friend ben bragdon has promised to introduce me. oh, though i’m a man of affairs, old chap, i’ve an eye for a pretty girl too, all the time. and i’m told she’s a top-notcher in the beauty line, this gail holden.”
-“gail holden!” roderick repeated the name out loud, as he started erect in his seat. he knew who the father was now—the daughter was no other than the mysterious rider of the range.
-whitley’s face wore a quizzical look.
-“hello! you know her then, old chap?”
-“i never met her—at least i have never been introduced to her.”
-“that’s good hearing. then we’ll start level tonight. of course i’ll cut you out in the long run if she proves to be just my style.”
-“go ahead,” smiled roderick. he had already recovered his self-possession. “but you haven’t informed me yet how you come to know ben bragdon, our cleverest young lawyer here, i’ve been told, and likely enough to get the republican nomination for state senator.”
-“oh, simple enough. i’ve come up to investigate one technical point in regard to those smelter bonds. well, ben bragdon, your political big gun, happens to be your uncle’s legal adviser in wyoming.”
-“which reminds me,” interposed roderick earnestly, “that you are not to give away my whereabout, whitley—just yet.”
-“a bit rough on the old uncle not to tell him where you are—or at least let him know that you are safe and well. he loves you dearly, rod, my boy.”
-“and i love him—yes, i’ll admit it, i love him dearly, and aunt lois too. but this is a matter of personal pride, whitley. you spoke a moment ago of uncle allen’s personal pride. well, i’ve got mine too, and that day of my last visit to keokuk, when he told me that not one dollar of his fortune would ever be mine unless i agreed to certain abominable conditions he chose to lay down, i on my side resolved that i would show him i could win a fortune from the world by my own unaided efforts. and that’s what i’m going to do, whitley; make no mistake. i don’t want him to butt in and interfere in any way. i am going to play this game absolutely alone, and luckily my name gives no clue to the lawyer ben bragdon or anyone else here of my relationship with the rich banker of keokuk, allen miller.”
-“of course, rod, whatever you say goes. but all the same there can be no harm in my relieving your uncle’s mind by at least telling him that i’ve heard from you—that you are in good health, and all that sort of thing. but you bet i won’t let out where you are or what you are doing. oh, i’ll go up in the old chap’s estimation by holding on tight to such a secret. to be absolutely immovable when it would be a breach of confidence to be otherwise is part of a successful young banker’s moral make-up, you understand.”
-roderick laughed, his obduracy broken down by the other’s gay insistence.
-“all right, old fellow, we’ll let it go at that but as to my being in wyoming, remember dead secrecy’s the word. shake hands on that; my faith in such a talented and discreet young banker is implicit. but now we must join the others or they’ll be thinking us rather rude.”
-“that—or the dear girls may be fretting out their hearts on my account. a rich young banker from iowa doesn’t blow into encampment every day, you know.” and whitley adams laughed with all the buoyant pride of youth, good looks, good health, and good spirits. “come along, dear boy,” he went on, linking his hand in roderick’s arm. “we’ll find lawyer bragdon, get our introductions, and start fair with the beauteous chatelaine of the cattle range.”
-roderick had heard about ben bragdon from grant jones, but had not as yet happened to meet the brilliant young attorney who was fast becoming a political factor in the state of wyoming. so it fell to the chance visitor to the town, whitley adams, to make these two townsmen acquainted. bragdon shook roderick’s hand with all the cordiality and geniality of a born “mixer” and far-seeing politician. but whitley cut out all talk and unblushingly demanded that he and his friend should be presented without further delay to general holden’s daughter.
-they found her in company with barbara shields who, her duties of receiving over, was now mingling with her guests.
-“miss holden, let me present you to mr. roderick warfield.” the introducer was ben bragdon.
-“one of papa’s favorite boys,” added barbara kindly, “and one of our best riders on the range.”
-“as i happen to know,” said gail holden; and with a frank smile of recognition she extended her hand. “we have already met in the hills.”
-roderick was blushing. “yes,” he laughed nervously. “i was stupid enough to offer to help you with a young steer. but i didn’t know then i was addressing such a famous horsewoman and expert with the lariat.”
-gail holden smiled, pleasedly but composedly. she possessed that peculiar modesty of dignified reserve which challenges the respect of men.
-“oh, you would have no doubt done a great deal better than i did,” she replied graciously.
-but whitley adams had administered a kick to roderick’s heel, and was now pushing him aside with a muttered: “you never told me you had this flying start, you cunning dog. but it’s my turn now.” and he placed himself before miss holden, and was duly presented by bragdon.
-a moment later whitley was engaging gail in a sprightly conversation. roderick turned to barbara, only to find her appropriated by ben bragdon. and barbara seemed mightily pleased with the young lawyer’s attentions—she was smiling, and her eyes were sparkling, as she listened to some anecdote he was telling. roderick began to feel kind of lonesome. if there was going to be anyone “shot full of holes” because of attentions to the fair miss barbara, he was evidently not the man. he had said to grant jones that any association of his name with hers was “rank foolishness,” and humbly felt now the absolute truthfulness of the remark. he began to look around for grant—he felt he was no ladies’ man, that he was out of his element in such a gathering. there were many strange faces; he knew only a few of those present.
-but his roving glance again lighted and lingered on gail holden. yes, she was beautiful, indeed, both in features and in figure. tall, willowy, stately, obviously an athlete, with a north of ireland suggestion in her dark fluffy hair and sapphire blue eyes and pink-rose cheeks. he had seen her riding the range, a study in brown serge with a big sombrero on her head, and he saw her now in the daintiest of evening costumes, a deep collar of old lace around her fair rounded neck, a few sprigs of lily of the valley in her corsage, a filigree silver buckle at the belt that embraced her lissom form. and as he gazed on this beauty of the hills, this splendid type of womanhood, there came back to him in memory the wistful little face—yes, by comparison the somewhat worn and faded face—of the “college widow” to whom his troth was plighted, for whom he had been fighting and was fighting now the battle of life, the prize of true love he was going to take back proudly to uncle allen miller along with the fortune he was to win with his own brain and hands.
-“by gad, it’s more than three weeks since stella wrote to me,” he said to himself, angrily. somehow he was glad to feel angry—relieved in mind to find even a meagre pitiful excuse for the disloyal comparison that had forced itself upon his mind.
-but at this moment the music struck up, there was a general movement, and he found himself next to dorothy shields. whitley had already sailed away with miss holden.
-“where is grant?” asked roderick.
-“not yet arrived,” replied dorothy. “he warned me that he would be late.”
-“then perhaps i may have the privilege of the first waltz, as his best friend.”
-“or for your own sake,” she laughed, as she placed her hand on his shoulder.
-soon they were in the mazy whirl. when the dance was ended dorothy, taking his arm, indicated that she wished him to meet some people in another part of the room. after one or two introductions to young ladies, she turned to a rather heavy set, affable-looking gentleman and said: “mr. warfield, permit me to introduce you to mr. carlisle—mr. carlisle, mr. warfield.”
-the men shook hands and looked into each other’s eyes. roderick remembered this was the attorney of the smelting plant, and carlisle remembered this was the young gentleman of whom the shields sisters had so often spoken in complimentary terms. w. henry carlisle was a man perhaps forty years old. he was not only learned in the law, but one could not talk with him long without knowing he was purposeful and determined and in any sort of a contest worthy of his foeman’s steel.
-later roderick danced with barbara, and when he had handed her over to the next claimant on her card was again accosted by ben bragdon. he had liked the young attorney from the first, and together they retired for a cigarette in the smoking room.
-“i saw you were introduced to that fellow carlisle,” began bragdon.
-“yes,” replied roderick, smiling, for he already knew of the professional feud between the two men.
-“well, let me say something to you,” bragdon continued. “you look to me like a man that is worth while, and i take the opportunity of telling you to let him alone. carlisle is no good. outside of law business and the law courts i would not speak to him if he were the last man on earth.”
-“why,” said roderick, “you are pronounced in your views to say the least.”
-bragdon turned to roderick and for a moment was silent. then he asked: “what are you, a republican or a democrat?”
-“why, i am a republican.”
-“shake,” said bragdon, and they clasped hands without roderick hardly understanding why. “let me tell you something else,” bragdon went on. “carlisle claims to be a republican but i believe he is a democrat. he don’t look like a republican to me. he looks like a regular secessionist democrat and there is going to be a contest this fall for the nomination for state senator. w b. grady and the whole smelting outfit are going to back this man carlisle and i am going to beat him. and say—old man—” he smiled at roderick when he said this and slapped him on the shoulder familiarly—“i want you on my side.”
-“well,” said roderick, half embarrassed and hesitatingly, “i guess i am getting into politics pretty lively among other things. i don’t see at this moment why i should not be on your side.”
-“well, come and see me at my office over at encampment and we will talk this matter over.” and so it was agreed.
-just then they heard singing, so they threw their cigarettes away and went back to the ballroom. a quartet of voices accompanied on the piano by gail holden were giving a selection from the bohemian girl. whitley adams was hovering near miss holden, and insisted on turning the music at the close of the number whitley requested that mr. warfield should sing. everyone joined in the invitation; it was a surprise to his western friends that he was musical. reluctantly roderick complied, and proving himself possessed of a splendid baritone voice, delighted everyone by singing “forgotten” and one or two other old-time melodies. among many others, dorothy, barbara, and grant jones, who had now put in an appearance, overwhelmed him with congratulations. gail holden, too, who had been his accompanist, quietly but none the less warmly, complimented him.
-then gail herself was prevailed upon to sing. as she resumed her seat at the piano, she glanced at roderick.
-“do you know ‘the rosary’.” she asked in a low voice unheard by the others.
-“one of my favorites,” he answered.
-“then will you help me with a second?” she added, as she spread open the sheet of music.
-“i’ll be honored,” he responded, taking his place by her side.
-her rich contralto voice swelled forth like the sweeping fullness of a distant church organ, and roderick softly and sweetly blended his tones with hers. under the player’s magic touch the piano with its deep resonant chords added to the perfect harmony of the two voices. the interpretation was wonderful; the listeners were spellbound, and there followed an interval of tense stillness after the last whispered notes had died away.
-as gail rose and stood before him, she looked into roderick’s eyes. her cheeks were flushed, she was enveloped in the mystery of song, carried away by music’s subtle power. roderick too was exalted.
-“superb,” he murmured ecstatically.
-“thanks to you,” she replied in a low voice and with a little bow.
-then the buzz of congratulations was all around them. during that brief moment, even in the crowded ballroom they had been alone—soul had spoken to soul. but now the tension was relaxed. gail was laughing merrily. whitley adams was punching roderick in the ribs.
-“say, old man, that’s taking another mean advantage.”
-“what do you mean?” asked roderick, recovering his composure.
-“singing duets like that isn’t toeing the line. the start was to be a fair one, but you’re laps ahead already.” whitley was looking with comical dolefulness in the direction of gail holden.
-“oh, i catch your drift,” laughed roderick. “well, you brought the trouble on yourself, my boy. it was you who gave me away by declaring i could sing.”
-“which shows the folly of paying a false compliment,” retorted whitley. “however, i’m going to get another dance anyhow.”
-he made a step toward gail, but roderick laid a detaining hand on his shoulder.
-“not just yet; the next is mine.” and with audacity that amazed himself roderick advanced to gail, bowed, and offered his arm. the soft strains of a dreamy waltz had just begun.
-without a word she accepted his invitation, and together they floated away among the maze of dancers.
-“well, that’s going some,” murmured whitley, as he glanced around in quest of consolation. dorothy shields appeared to be monopolized by grant jones, but the two lawyers, eragdon and carlisle, were glowering at each other, as if in defiance as to which should carry off barbara. so whitley solved the problem by sailing in and appropriating her for himself. he was happy, she seemed pleased, and the rivals, turning away from each other, had the cold consolation that neither had profited by the other’s momentary hesitation.
-after the first few rounds roderick opened a conversation with his partner. he felicitated her upon her playing and singing. she thanked him and said: “most heartily can i return the compliment.” he bowed his acknowledgment.
-“you must come to conchshell ranch and call on my father. he will be glad to meet you—has been an invalid all the winter, but i’m thankful he is better now.”
-“i’ll be honored and delighted to make his acquaintance,” replied roderick.
-“then perhaps we can have some more singing together,” she went on.
-“which will be a great pleasure to me,” he interjected fervently.
-“and to me,” she said, smiling.
-whether listening or speaking there was something infinitely charming about gail holden. when conversing her beautiful teeth reminded one of a cupid’s mouth full of pearls.
-“it has been some time,” explained roderick, “since i was over your way.”
-for a moment their eyes met and she mischievously replied;
-“oh, yes. next time, i’ll not only sing for you, but if you wish i will teach you how to throw the lariat.”
-“i don’t presume,” replied roderick banteringly, “you will guarantee what i might catch even if i turned out to be an expert?”
-“that,” gail quickly rejoined, “rests entirely with your own cleverness.”
-just then it was announced from the dining room that the tables with the evening collation were spread, and as roderick was about to offer his arm to miss holden, barbara came hurriedly up, flushed and saying: “oh, gail, here is mr. carlisle who wants to take you to supper. and mr. warfield, you are to escort me.” she smiled triumphantly up into his face as she took his arm.
-as they walked away together and barbara was vivaciously talking to him, he wondered what it all meant everybody seemed to be playing at cross purposes. again he thought of the letter of warning pushed under grant jones’ door and mentally speculated how it would all end.
-it was the morning following the big entertainment at the shields ranch when roderick and two other cowboy companions began the work of breaking some outlaw horses to the saddle. the corral where they were confined was a quarter of a mile away from the bunk house.
-grant jones had remained overnight, ostensibly to pay roderick a visit during the succeeding day. he was still sound asleep when roderick arose at an early hour and started for the corral. whitley adams had also been detained at the ranch house as a guest. he had invited himself to the broncho-busting spectacle, and was waiting on the veranda for roderick as the latter strolled by.
-an unbroken horse may or may not be an outlaw. if he takes kindly to the bridle and saddle and, after the first flush of scared excitement is over with, settles down and becomes bridle-wise then he is not an outlaw. on the other hand when put to the test if he begins to rear up—thump down on his forefeet—buck and twist like a corkscrew and continues jumping sideways and up and down, bucking and rearing until possibly he falls over backward, endangering the life of his rider and continues in this ungovernable fashion until finally he is given up as unbreakable, why, then the horse is an outlaw. he feels that he has conquered man, and the next attempt to break him to the saddle will be fraught with still greater viciousness.
-bull-dogging a wild texas steer is nothing compared with the skill necessary to conquer an outlaw pony.
-nearly all cowboy riders, take to broncho-busting naturally and good-naturedly, and they usually find an especial delight in assuring the easterner that they have never found anything that wears hair they cannot ride. of course, this is more or less of a cowboy expression and possibly borders on vanity. however, as a class, they are not usually inclined to boast.
-very excellent progress had been made in the work of breaking the bronchos to the saddle. it was along about eleven o’clock when roderick had just made his last mount upon what seemed to be one of the most docile ponies in the corral. he was a three-year-old and had been given the name of firefly. the wranglers or helpers had no sooner loosened the blindfold than roderick realized he was on the hurricane deck of a pony that would probably give him trouble. when firefly felt the weight of roderick upon his back, apparently he was stunned to such an extent that he was filled with indecision as to what he should do and began trembling and settling as if he might go to his knees. roderick touched his flank with a sharp spur and then, with all the suddenness of a flash of lightning from a clear sky, rider and horse became the agitated center of a whirling cloud of dust. the horse seemingly would stop just long enough in his corkscrew whirls to jump high in the air and light on his forefeet with his head nearly on the ground and then with instantaneous quickness rear almost upright whitley adams was terribly scared at the scene. the struggle lasted perhaps a couple of minutes, and then roderick was whirled over the head of the pony and with a shrill neigh firefly dashed across the corral and leaping broke through a six foot fence and galloped away over the open prairie. the two wranglers and whitley hastened to roderick’s side. he had been stunned but only temporarily and not seriously injured, as it proved.
-“oh, that’s all right,” he said presently as he rubbed his eyes.
-“are you hurt?” whitley inquired. roderick slowly rose to his feet with whitley’s assistance and stretching himself looked about as if a bit dazed. “no, no,” he replied, “i am not hurt but that infernal horse has my riding saddle.”
-“you had better learn to ride a rocking horse before trying to ride an outlaw, warfield,” said scotty meisch, one of the new cowpunchers, sneeringly.
-roderick whirled on him. “i’ll take you on for a contest most any day, if you think you are so good and i am so poor as all that,” he said. “come on, what do you say?”
-“well, i ride in the frontier day’s celebration that comes on in july at our local fair,” the cowboy said. “guess if you want to ride in a real contest with me you’d better enter your name and we’ll see how long you last.”
-“very well, i’ll just do that for once and show you a little something about real roughriding,” said roderick; “and firefly will be one of the outlaws.”
-turning he limped off towards the bunk house with whitley.
-whitley was greatly relieved that roderick, although he had wrenched the tendons of his leg, had no broken bones. a couple of other cowboys mounted their ponies, and with lariats started off across the prairie to capture the outlaw and bring back the saddle. whitley was assured that they were breaking horses all the time and now and then the boys got hold of an outlaw but no one was ever very seriously injured.
-reaching the lounging room of the bunk house, they learned that grant was up and dressed. he had evidently gone up to the ranch house and at that very moment was doubtless basking in the smiles of miss dorothy.
-the college chums, pipes alight, soon got to talking of old times.
-“by the way,” remarked whitley between puffs, “last month i was back at the class reunion at galesburg and called on stella rain.”
-roderick reddened and whitley went blandly on: “mighty fine girl—i mean stella. finest college widow ever. i did not know you were the lucky dog, though?”
-“what do you mean by my being the lucky dog?”
-“oh, you were always smitten in that quarter—everyone knew that. and now those tell-tale flushes on your face, together with what stella said, makes it all clear. congratulations, old man,” said whitley, laughing good-naturedly at roderick’s discomfiture.
-as their hands met, roderick said: “i don’t know, old chap, whether congratulations are in order or not. she don’t write as often as she used to. it don’t argue very well for me.”
-“man alive,” said whitley, “what do you want with a college widow or a battalion of college widows when you are among such girls as you have out here? great scott, don’t you realize that these girls are the greatest ever? grant jones shows his good sense; he seems to have roped miss dorothy for sure. at first i thought i had your measure last night, when you were talking to miss barbara shields—for the moment i had forgotten about stella. then you switched off and cut me out with the fair singer. say, if somebody don’t capture miss gail holden—”
-he paused, puffed awhile, then resumed meditatively: “why, old man, down in keokuk gail holden wouldn’t last a month. someone would pick her up in a jiffy.”
-“provided,” said roderick, and looked steadily at whitley.
-“oh, yes, of course, provided he could win her.”
-“these western girls, i judge,” said roderick slowly—“understand i am not speaking from experience—are pretty hard to win. there is a freedom in the very atmosphere of the west that thrills a fellow’s nerves and suggests the widest sort of independence. and our range girls are pronouncedly independent, unless i have them sized up wrong. tell me,” he continued, “how you feel about miss holden?”
-he laughed somewhat wistfully, as he rose and knocked the ashes from the bowl of his pipe.
-roderick had not interrupted; he was becoming accustomed to others deciding for him his matrimonial affairs. he was musing over the complications that seemed to be crowding into his life.
-“you see i retire from the contest,” whitley went on, his smile broadening, “and i hope you’ll recognize the devoted loyalty of a friend. but now those shields girls—one or other of them—both are equally charming.”
-“you can’t cut grant jones out,” interrupted roderick firmly. “remember, next to yourself, he’s my dearest friend.”
-“oh, well, there’s miss barbara left. now don’t you think i would be quite irresistible as compared with either of those lawyer fellows?” he drew himself up admiringly.
-“you might be liable to get your hide shot full of holes,” replied roderick.
-“what do you mean?”
-but roderick did not explain his enigmatic utterance.
-“i think i’ll have a lay-down,” he said, “and rest my stiff bones.” he got up; he said nothing to whitley, but the bruised leg pained him considerably.
-“all right,” replied whitley gaily. “then i’ll do a little further reconnoitering up at the ranch house. so long.”
-warfield was glad to be alone. apart from the pain he was suffering, he wanted to think things over. he was not blind to the truth that gail holden had brought a new interest into his life. yet he was half saddened by the thought that almost a month had gone by without a letter from stella rain. then whitley’s coming had brought back memories of uncle allen, aunt lois, and the old days at keokuk. he was feeling very homesick—utterly tired of the rough cow-punching existence he had been leading for over six months.
-chapter xvi.—the mysterious toilers of the night
-in a day or two the excitement over the great evening party at the shields ranch had passed and the humdrum duties of everyday life had been resumed. whitley adams had completed his business at encampment and taken his departure with the solemnly renewed promise to roderick that for the present the latter’s whereabouts would not be disclosed to the good folks at keokuk although their anxiety as to his safety and good health would be relieved. grant jones had torn himself away from his beloved to resume his eternal—and as he felt at the moment infernal—task of getting out the next issue of his weekly newspaper. gail holden had ridden off over the foothills, the shields sisters had returned to their domestic duties, and all the other beauties of the ballroom had scattered far and wide like thistledown in a breeze. the cowboys had reverted to chaps and sombreros, dress clothes had been stowed away with moth balls to keep them company, and the language of superlative politeness had lapsed back into the terser vernacular of the stock corral. roderick was pretty well alone all day in the bunk house, nursing the stiff leg that had resulted from the broncho-busting episode.
-between embrocations he was doing a little figuring and stock-taking of ways and means. during his six months on the ranch most of his salary had been saved. the accumulated amount would enable him to clear off one-half of his remaining indebtedness in new york and leave him a matter of a hundred dollars for some prospecting on his own account during the summer months among the hills. but he would stay by his job for yet another month or two, because, although the words had been spoken in the heat of the moment, he had pledged himself to meet the cowboy scotty meisch in the riding contest at the frontier day’s celebration. yes, he would stick to that promise, he mused as he rubbed in the liniment gail holden, when she had come to bid him good-by and express her condolence over his accident, had announced her own intention of entering for the lariat throwing competition, but he would never have admitted to himself that the chance of meeting her again in such circumstances, the chance of restoring his prestige as a broncho-buster before her very eyes, had the slightest thing to do with his resolve to delay his start in systematic quest of the lost mine.
-meanwhile buell hampton seemed to have withdrawn himself from the world. during the two weeks that had intervened between the invitation and the dance, he had not called at the ranch. nor did he come now during the weeks that followed, and one evening when grant jones paid a visit to the major’s home he found the door locked. grant surveyed with both surprise and curiosity the addition that had been made to the building. it was a solid structure of logs, showing neither door nor window to the outside, and evidently was only reached through the big living room.
-he reported the matter to roderick, but the latter, his stiff leg now all right again, was too busy among the cattle on the ranges to bother about other things.
-but buell hampton all this time had been very active indeed. during the winter months he had thought out his plans. somehow he had come to look upon the hidden valley with its storehouse of golden wealth as a sacred place not to be trespassed on by the common human drove. just so soon as the melting snows rendered the journey practicable, he had returned all alone to the sequestered nook nested in the mountains. he had discovered that quite a little herd of deer had found shelter and subsistence there during the months of winter. as he came among them, they had shown, themselves quite tame and fearless; three or four does had nibbled the fresh spring grass almost at his very feet as he had sat on the porphyry dyke, enjoying the beautiful scene, alone in his little kingdom, with only these gentle creatures and the twittering birds for companions.
-and there and then buell hampton had resolved that he would not desecrate this sanctuary of nature—that he would not bring in the brutal eager throng of gold seekers, changing the lovely little valley into a scene of sordid greed and ugliness, its wild flowers crushed underfoot, its pellucid stream turned to sludge, its rightful inhabitants, the gentle-eyed deer, butchered for riotous gluttony. no, never! he would take the rich god-given gift of gold that was his, gratefully and for the ulterior purpose of spreading human happiness. but all else he would leave undisturbed.
-the gold-bearing porphyry dyke stretching across the narrow valley was decomposed; it required no drilling nor blasting; its bulk could easily be broken by aid of sledge hammer and crowbar. two or three men working steadily for two or three months could remove the entire dyke as it lay visible between mountain rock wall and mountain rock wall, and taking the assay value of the ore as already ascertained, from this operation alone there was wealth for all interested beyond the dreams of avarice. buell hampton debated the issues all through that afternoon of solitude spent in the little canyon. and when he regained his home he had arrived at a fixed resolution. he would win the treasure but he would save the valley—he would keep it a hidden valley still.
-next evening he had tom sun, boney earnest and jim rankin all assembled in secret conclave. while the aid of grant jones and roderick warfield would be called in later on, for the present their services would not be required. so for the present likewise there would be nothing more said to them—the fewer in the “know” the safer for all concerned.
-it was agreed that tom sun, jim rankin and the major would bring out the ore. jim was to hire a substitute to drive his stage, while tom sun would temporarily hand over the care of his flocks to his manager and herders. boney earnest could not leave his work at the smelter—his duties there were so responsible that any sudden withdrawal might have stopped operations entirely and so caused the publicity all were anxious to avoid. but as he did not go to the plant on sundays, his active help would be available each saturday night. thus the plans were laid.
-but although buell hampton had allied himself with these helpers in his work and participants in the spoil, he yet guarded from them the exact locality of his find. all this was strictly in accordance with goldmining usage among the mountains of wyoming, so the major offered no apology for his precautions, his associates asked for or expected none. each man agreed that he would go blindfolded to the spot where the rich ore was to be broken and packed for removal.
-thus had it come about that, while buell hampton seemed to have disappeared from the world, all the while he was very busy indeed, and great things were in progress. actual work had commenced some days before the dance at the shields’ home, and it continued steadily in the following routine.
-the major, tom sun and jim rankin passed most of the day sleeping. at night after dark, they would sally forth into the hills, mounted on three horses with three pack burros. a few miles away from encampment the major would blindfold his two assistants, and then they would proceed in silence. when they arrived near spirit falls the horses and burros would be tethered and major hampton would lead the way down the embankment to the river’s bank, then turn to the left, while tom sun, blindfolded, extended one hand on buell hampton’s shoulder and still behind was jim rankin with his hand extended on tom sun’s shoulder. thus they would make their way to a point back of the waterfall, and then some considerable distance into the mountain cavern where the blindfolds were removed. with an electric torch the major lighted the way through the grotto into the open valley.
-a little farther on was the dyke of porphyry, quartz and gold. here the sacks would be filled with the rich ore—their loads all that each man could carry. footsteps were then retraced with the same precautions as before.
-placing the ore sacks on the backs of their burros, the night riders would climb into their saddles and slowly start out on the return journey, the major driving the burros ahead along a mountain path, while tom sun and jim rankin’s horses followed. after they had gone on for a few miles major hampton would shout back to his assistants to remove the blindfolds, and thus they would return to the town of encampment in the gray dawn of morning, unloading their burros at the door of major hampton’s house. jim rankin would take charge of the stock and put them in a stable and corral he had prepared down near the banks of the platte river just over the hill. tom sun would show his early training by preparing a breakfast of ham and eggs and steaming coffee while the major was placing the ore in one hundred pound sacks and carrying them back into the blockade addition he had built to his home. he would then lock the heavy door connecting the storehouse with the living room.
-usually the breakfast was ready by the time the major had finished his part of the work and jim rankin had returned. after the morning meal and a smoke, these three mysterious workers of the night would lie down to sleep, only to repeat the trip the following evening. each saturday night, as has been explained, boney earnest was added to the party, as well as an extra horse and burro.
-buell hampton estimated that each burro was bringing out one hundred pounds nightly, or about three hundred pounds every trip for the three burros, with an extra hundred pounds on saturday night. if this ore yielded $114.00 per pound, the assay value already paid him, or call it $100.00, it meant that he was adding to his storehouse of treasure about $220,000.00 as the result of each week’s labors. thus in three months’ time there would be not far short of $3,000,-000.00 worth of high grade gold ores accumulated. if reduced to tons this would make nearly a full carload when the time came for moving the vast wealth to the railroad.
-one night in the midst of these operations, when jim rankin and tom sun supposed they were on the point of starting on the usual trip into the hidden valley, buell hampton filled his pipe for an extra smoke and invited his two faithful friends to do likewise. “we are not going tonight,” said he. “we will have a rest and hold a conference.”
-“good,” said jim rankin. “speakin’ wide open like, by gunnies, my old bones are gettin’ to be pretty dangnation sore.”
-“too bad about you,” said tom sun. “too bad that you aren’t as young as i am, jim.”
-“young, the devil,” returned jim. “i’m prognosticatin’ i have pints about me that’d loco you any time good and plenty. ‘sides you know you are seven years older than me. gosh ‘lmighty, tom, you an’ me have been together ever since we struck this here country mor’n forty years ago.”
-tom laughed and the major laughed.
-it was arranged that when the carload was ready jim rankin was to rig up three four-horse teams and grant jones and roderick warfield would be called on to accompany the whole outfit to walcott, the nearest town on the union pacific, where a car would be engaged in advance for the shipment of the ore to one of the big smelters at denver. the strictest secrecy would be kept even then, for reasons of safety as well as to preserve the privacy desired by buell hampton. so they would load up the wagons at night and start for the railroad about three o’clock in the morning.
-thus as they smoked and yawned during their night of rest the three men discussed and decided every detail of these future plans.
-chapter xvii—a trout fishing episode
-for a time roderick had hung back from accepting the invitation to call at the conchshell ranch, as the holden place was called. in pursuing the acquaintanceship with gail he knew that he was playing with fire—a delightful game but one that might work sad havoc with his future peace of mind. however, one day when he had an afternoon off and had ridden into encampment again to be disappointed in finding no letter from stella, he had felt just the necessary touch of irritation toward his fiancée that spurred him on to seek some diversion from his thoughts of being badly treated and neglected. certainly, he would call on general holden—he did not say to himself that he was bent on seeing gail again, looking into her beautiful eyes, hearing her sing, perhaps joining in a song.
-he was mounted on his favorite riding horse badger, a fine bay pony, and had followed the road up the north fork of the encampment river a number of miles. taking a turn to the left through the timbered country with rocky crags towering on either side in loftiest grandeur, he soon reached the beautiful plateau where gail holden’s home was located. the little ranch contained some three hundred acres, and cupped inward like a saucer, with a mountain stream traversing from the southerly to the northerly edge, where the conchshell canyon gashed through the rim of the plateau and permitted the waters to escape and flow onward and away into the north fork.
-as roderick approached the house, which was on a knoll planted with splendid firs and pines, he heard gail singing “robert adair.” he dismounted and hitched his horse under the shelter of a wide spreading oak. just as he came up the steps to the broad porch gail happened to see him through one of the windows. she ceased her singing and hastened to meet him with friendly greeting.
-“welcome, mr. warfield, thrice welcome, as papa sometimes says,” said gail, smiling.
-“thank you,” said roderick, gallantly. “i was riding in this direction and concluded to stop in and accept your kind invitation to meet the general.”
-“he will be delighted to see you, mr. warfield, i have told him about your singing.”
-“oh, that was making too much of my poor efforts.”
-“not at all. you see my father is very fond of music—never played nor sang in his life, but has always taken keen delight in hearing good music. and i tell you he is quite a judge.”
-“which makes me quite determined then not to sing in his presence,” laughed roderick.
-“well, you can’t get out of it now you’re here. he won’t allow it. nor will i. you won’t refuse to sing for me, will you? or with me?” she added with a winning smile.
-“that would be hard indeed to refuse,” he replied, happy yet half-reproaching himself for his very happiness.
-“daddie is walking around the grounds somewhere at present,” continued gail. “won’t you step inside and rest, mr. warfield? he’ll turn up presently.”
-“oh, this old rustic seat here on the porch looks exceedingly comfortable. and i fancy that is your accustomed rocker,” he added, pointing to a piece of embroidery, with silk and needles, slung over the arm of a chair.
-“you are a regular sherlock holmes,” she laughed. “well, i have been stitching all the afternoon, and just broke off my work for a song.”
-“i heard you. can’t you be persuaded to continue?”
-“not at present. we’ll wait till papa comes. and the weather is so delightfully warm that i will take my accustomed rocker—and the hint implied as well.”
-again she laughed gaily as she dropped into the commodious chair and picked up the little square of linen with its half-completed embroidery.
-roderick took the rustic seat and gazed admiringly over the cup-shaped lands that spread out before him like a scroll, with their background of lofty mountains.
-“you have a delightful view from here,” he said.
-“yes,” replied gail, as she threaded one of her needles with a strand of crimson. “i know of no other half so beautiful. and it has come to be a very haven of peace and happiness. perhaps you know that my father last year lost everything he possessed in the world through an unfortunate speculation. but that was nothing—we lost my dear mother then as well. this little ranch of conchshell was the one thing left that we could call our own, and here we found our refuge and our consolation.”
-she was speaking very softly, her hands had dropped on her lap, there was the glisten of tears in her eyes. roderick was seeing the daring rider of the hills, the acknowledged belle of the ballroom in yet another light, and was lost in admiration.
-“very sad,” he murmured, in conventional commiseration.
-“oh, no, not sad,” she replied brightly, looking up, sunshine showing through her tears. “dear mother is at rest after her long illness, father has recovered his health in this glorious mountain air, and i have gained a serious occupation in life. oh, i just love this miniature cattle range,” she went on enthusiastically. “look at it”—she swept the landscape with an upraised hand. “don’t all my sweet jerseys and hainaults dotted over those meadows look like the little animals in a noah’s ark we used to play with when children?”
-“they do indeed,” concurred roderick, with heartily responsive enthusiasm.
-“and i’m going to make this dairy stock business pay to beat the band,” she added, her face fairly aglow. “just give me another year or two.” constance, excellent kind heart, tried to imitate her mother's tactics as the girls undressed in their room. she thought she could not do better than ignore sophia's deplorable state.
-"mother's new dress is quite finished, and she's going to wear it on sunday," said she, blandly.
-"if you say another word i'll scratch your eyes out!" sophia turned on her viciously, with a catch in her voice, and then began to sob at intervals. she did not mean this threat, but its utterance gave her relief. constance, faced with the fact that her mother's shoes were too big for her, decided to preserve her eyesight.
-long after the gas was out, rare sobs from sophia shook the bed, and they both lay awake in silence.
-"i suppose you and mother have been talking me over finely to-day?" sophia burst forth, to constance's surprise, in a wet voice.
-"no," said constance soothingly. "mother only told me."
-"told you what?"
-"that you wanted to be a teacher."
-"and i will be, too!" said sophia, bitterly.
-"you don't know mother," thought constance; but she made no audible comment.
-the next morning, early, sophia stood gazing out of the window at the square. it was saturday, and all over the square little stalls, with yellow linen roofs, were being erected for the principal market of the week. in those barbaric days bursley had a majestic edifice, black as basalt, for the sale of dead animals by the limb and rib--it was entitled 'the shambles'--but vegetables, fruit, cheese, eggs, and pikelets were still sold under canvas. eggs are now offered at five farthings apiece in a palace that cost twenty-five thousand pounds. yet you will find people in bursley ready to assert that things generally are not what they were, and that in particular the romance of life has gone. but until it has gone it is never romance. to sophia, though she was in a mood which usually stimulates the sense of the romantic, there was nothing of romance in this picturesque tented field. it was just the market. holl's, the leading grocer's, was already open, at the extremity of the square, and a boy apprentice was sweeping the pavement in front of it. the public-houses were open, several of them specializing in hot rum at 5.30 a.m. the town-crier, in his blue coat with red facings, crossed the square, carrying his big bell by the tongue. there was the same shocking hole in one of mrs. povey's (confectioner's) window-curtains--a hole which even her recent travail could scarcely excuse. such matters it was that sophia noticed with dull, smarting eyes.
-"sophia, you'll take your death of cold standing there like that!"
-she jumped. the voice was her mother's. that vigorous woman, after a calm night by the side of the paralytic, was already up and neatly dressed. she carried a bottle and an egg-cup, and a small quantity of jam in a table-spoon.
-"get into bed again, do! there's a dear! you're shivering."
-white sophia obeyed. it was true; she was shivering. constance awoke. mrs. baines went to the dressing-table and filled the egg-cup out of the bottle.
-"who's that for, mother?" constance asked sleepily.
-"it's for sophia," said mrs. baines, with good cheer. "now, sophia!" and she advanced with the egg-cup in one hand and the table-spoon in the other.
-"what is it, mother?" asked sophia, who well knew what it was.
-"castor-oil, my dear," said mrs. baines, winningly.
-the ludicrousness of attempting to cure obstinacy and yearnings for a freer life by means of castor-oil is perhaps less real than apparent. the strange interdependence of spirit and body, though only understood intelligently in these intelligent days, was guessed at by sensible mediaeval mothers. and certainly, at the period when mrs. baines represented modernity, castor-oil was still the remedy of remedies. it had supplanted cupping. and, if part of its vogue was due to its extreme unpleasantness, it had at least proved its qualities in many a contest with disease. less than two years previously old dr. harrop (father of him who told mrs. baines about mrs. povey), being then aged eighty-six, had fallen from top to bottom of his staircase. he had scrambled up, taken a dose of castor-oil at once, and on the morrow was as well as if he had never seen a staircase. this episode was town property and had sunk deep into all hearts.
-"i don't want any, mother," said sophia, in dejection. "i'm quite well."
-"you simply ate nothing all day yesterday," said mrs. baines. and she added, "come!" as if to say, "there's always this silly fuss with castor-oil. don't keep me waiting."
-"i don't want any," said sophia, irritated and captious.
-the two girls lay side by side, on their backs. they seemed very thin and fragile in comparison with the solidity of their mother. constance wisely held her peace.
-mrs. baines put her lips together, meaning: "this is becoming tedious. i shall have to be angry in another moment!"
-"come!" said she again.
-the girls could hear her foot tapping on the floor.
-"i really don't want it, mamma," sophia fought. "i suppose i ought to know whether i need it or not!" this was insolence.
-"sophia, will you take this medicine, or won't you?"
-in conflicts with her children, the mother's ultimatum always took the formula in which this phrase was cast. the girls knew, when things had arrived at the pitch of 'or won't you' spoken in mrs. baines's firmest tone, that the end was upon them. never had the ultimatum failed.
-there was a silence.
-"and i'll thank you to mind your manners," mrs. baines added.
-"i won't take it," said sophia, sullenly and flatly; and she hid her face in the pillow.
-it was a historic moment in the family life. mrs. baines thought the last day had come. but still she held herself in dignity while the apocalypse roared in her ears.
-"of course i can't force you to take it," she said with superb evenness, masking anger by compassionate grief. "you're a big girl and a naughty girl. and if you will be ill you must."
-upon this immense admission, mrs. baines departed.
-nor was that all. in the middle of the morning, when mrs. baines was pricing new potatoes at a stall at the top end of the square, and constance choosing threepennyworth of flowers at the same stall, whom should they both see, walking all alone across the empty corner by the bank, but sophia baines! the square was busy and populous, and sophia was only visible behind a foreground of restless, chattering figures. but she was unmistakably seen. she had been beyond the square and was returning. constance could scarcely believe her eyes. mrs. baines's heart jumped. for let it be said that the girls never under any circumstances went forth without permission, and scarcely ever alone. that sophia should be at large in the town, without leave, without notice, exactly as if she were her own mistress, was a proposition which a day earlier had been inconceivable. yet there she was, and moving with a leisureliness that must be described as effrontery!
-red with apprehension, constance wondered what would happen. mrs. baines said nought of her feelings, did not even indicate that she had seen the scandalous, the breath-taking sight. and they descended the square laden with the lighter portions of what they had bought during an hour of buying. they went into the house by the king street door; and the first thing they heard was the sound of the piano upstairs. nothing happened. mr. povey had his dinner alone; then the table was laid for them, and the bell rung, and sophia came insolently downstairs to join her mother and sister. and nothing happened. the dinner was silently eaten, and constance having rendered thanks to god, sophia rose abruptly to go.
-"constance, stay where you are," said mrs. baines suddenly to constance, who had meant to flee. constance was therefore destined to be present at the happening, doubtless in order to emphasize its importance and seriousness.
-"sophia," mrs. baines resumed to her younger daughter in an ominous voice. "no, please shut the door. there is no reason why everybody in the house should hear. come right into the room--right in! that's it. now, what were you doing out in the town this morning?"
-sophia was fidgeting nervously with the edge of her little black apron, and worrying a seam of the carpet with her toes. she bent her head towards her left shoulder, at first smiling vaguely. she said nothing, but every limb, every glance, every curve, was speaking. mrs. baines sat firmly in her own rocking-chair, full of the sensation that she had sophia, as it were, writhing on the end of a skewer. constance was braced into a moveless anguish.
-"i will have an answer," pursued mrs. baines. "what were you doing out in the town this morning?"
-"i just went out," answered sophia at length, still with eyes downcast, and in a rather simpering tone.
-"why did you go out? you said nothing to me about going out. i heard constance ask you if you were coming with us to the market, and you said, very rudely, that you weren't."
-"i didn't say it rudely," sophia objected.
-"yes you did. and i'll thank you not to answer back."
-"i didn't mean to say it rudely, did i, constance?" sophia's head turned sharply to her sister. constance knew not where to look.
-"don't answer back," mrs. baines repeated sternly. "and don't try to drag constance into this, for i won't have it."
-"oh, of course constance is always right!" observed sophia, with an irony whose unparalleled impudence shook mrs. baines to her massive foundations.
-"do you want me to have to smack you, child?"
-her temper flashed out and you could see ringlets vibrating under the provocation of sophia's sauciness. then sophia's lower lip began to fall and to bulge outwards, and all the muscles of her face seemed to slacken.
-"you are a very naughty girl," said mrs. baines, with restraint. ("i've got her," said mrs. baines to herself. "i may just as well keep my temper.")
-and a sob broke out of sophia. she was behaving like a little child. she bore no trace of the young maiden sedately crossing the square without leave and without an escort.
-"i'm waiting," said mrs. baines aloud.
-a second sob. mrs. baines manufactured patience to meet the demand.
-"you tell me not to answer back, and then you say you're waiting," sophia blubbered thickly.
-"what's that you say? how can i tell what you say if you talk like that?" (but mrs. baines failed to hear out of discretion, which is better than valour.)
-"it's of no consequence," sophia blurted forth in a sob. she was weeping now, and tears were ricocheting off her lovely crimson cheeks on to the carpet; her whole body was trembling.
-"don't be a great baby," mrs. baines enjoined, with a touch of rough persuasiveness in her voice.
-"it's you who make me cry," said sophia, bitterly. "you make me cry and then you call me a great baby!" and sobs ran through her frame like waves one after another. she spoke so indistinctly that her mother now really had some difficulty in catching her words.
-"sophia," said mrs. baines, with god-like calm, "it is not i who make you cry. it is your guilty conscience makes you cry. i have merely asked you a question, and i intend to have an answer."
-"i've told you." here sophia checked the sobs with an immense effort.
-"what have you told me?"
-"i just went out."
-"i will have no trifling," said mrs. baines. "what did you go out for, and without telling me? if you had told me afterwards, when i came in, of your own accord, it might have been different. but no, not a word! it is i who have to ask! now, quick! i can't wait any longer."
-"i don't know," sophia murmured.
-"what do you mean--you don't know?"
-the sobbing recommenced tempestuously. "i mean i don't know. i just went out." her voice rose; it was noisy, but scarcely articulate. "what if i did go out?"
-"sophia, i am not going to be talked to like this. if you think because you're leaving school you can do exactly as you like--"
-"do i want to leave school?" yelled sophia, stamping. in a moment a hurricane of emotion overwhelmed her, as though that stamping of the foot had released the demons of the storm. her face was transfigured by uncontrollable passion. "you all want to make me miserable!" she shrieked with terrible violence. "and now i can't even go out! you are a horrid, cruel woman, and i hate you! and you can do what you like! put me in prison if you like! i know you'd be glad if i was dead!"
-she dashed from the room, banging the door with a shock that made the house rattle. and she had shouted so loud that she might have been heard in the shop, and even in the kitchen. it was a startling experience for mrs. baines. mrs. baines, why did you saddle yourself with a witness? why did you so positively say that you intended to have an answer?
-"really," she stammered, pulling her dignity about her shoulders like a garment that the wind has snatched off. "i never dreamed that poor girl had such a dreadful temper! what a pity it is, for her own sake!" it was the best she could do.
-constance, who could not bear to witness her mother's humiliation, vanished very quietly from the room. she got halfway upstairs to the second floor, and then, hearing the loud, rapid, painful, regular intake of sobbing breaths, she hesitated and crept down again.
-this was mrs. baines's first costly experience of the child thankless for having been brought into the world. it robbed her of her profound, absolute belief in herself. she had thought she knew everything in her house and could do everything there. and lo! she had suddenly stumbled against an unsuspected personality at large in her house, a sort of hard marble affair that informed her by means of bumps that if she did not want to be hurt she must keep out of the way.
-on the sunday afternoon mrs. baines was trying to repose a little in the drawing-room, where she had caused a fire to be lighted. constance was in the adjacent bedroom with her father. sophia lay between blankets in the room overhead with a feverish cold. this cold and her new dress were mrs. baines's sole consolation at the moment. she had prophesied a cold for sophia, refuser of castor-oil, and it had come. sophia had received, for standing in her nightdress at a draughty window of a may morning, what mrs. baines called 'nature's slap in the face.' as for the dress, she had worshipped god in it, and prayed for sophia in it, before dinner; and its four double rows of gimp on the skirt had been accounted a great success. with her lace-bordered mantle and her low, stringed bonnet she had assuredly given a unique lustre to the congregation at chapel. she was stout; but the fashions, prescribing vague outlines, broad downward slopes, and vast amplitudes, were favourable to her shape. it must not be supposed that stout women of a certain age never seek to seduce the eye and trouble the meditations of man by other than moral charms. mrs. baines knew that she was comely, natty, imposing, and elegant; and the knowledge gave her real pleasure. she would look over her shoulder in the glass as anxious as a girl: make no mistake.
-she did not repose; she could not. she sat thinking, in exactly the same posture as sophia's two afternoons previously. she would have been surprised to hear that her attitude, bearing, and expression powerfully recalled those of her reprehensible daughter. but it was so. a good angel made her restless, and she went idly to the window and glanced upon the empty, shuttered square. she too, majestic matron, had strange, brief yearnings for an existence more romantic than this; shootings across her spirit's firmament of tailed comets; soft, inexplicable melancholies. the good angel, withdrawing her from such a mood, directed her gaze to a particular spot at the top of the square.
-she passed at once out of the room--not precisely in a hurry, yet without wasting time. in a recess under the stairs, immediately outside the door, was a box about a foot square and eighteen inches deep covered with black american cloth. she bent down and unlocked this box, which was padded within and contained the baines silver tea-service. she drew from the box teapot, sugar-bowl, milk-jug, sugar-tongs, hot-water jug, and cake-stand (a flattish dish with an arching semicircular handle)--chased vessels, silver without and silver-gilt within; glittering heirlooms that shone in the dark corner like the secret pride of respectable families. these she put on a tray that always stood on end in the recess. then she looked upwards through the banisters to the second floor.
-"maggie!" she piercingly whispered.
-"yes, mum," came a voice.
-"are you dressed?"
-"yes, mum. i'm just coming."
-"well, put on your muslin." "apron," mrs. baines implied.
-"take these for tea," said mrs. baines when maggie descended. "better rub them over. you know where the cake is--that new one. the best cups. and the silver spoons."
-they both heard a knock at the side-door, far off, below.
-"there!" exclaimed mrs. baines. "now take these right down into the kitchen before you open."
-"yes, mum," said maggie, departing.
-mrs. baines was wearing a black alpaca apron. she removed it and put on another one of black satin embroidered with yellow flowers, which, by merely inserting her arm into the chamber, she had taken from off the chest of drawers in her bedroom. then she fixed herself in the drawing-room.
-maggie returned, rather short of breath, convoying the visitor.
-"ah! miss chetwynd," said mrs. baines, rising to welcome. "i'm sure i'm delighted to see you. i saw you coming down the square, and i said to myself, 'now, i do hope miss chetwynd isn't going to forget us.'"
-miss chetwynd, simpering momentarily, came forward with that self-conscious, slightly histrionic air, which is one of the penalties of pedagogy. she lived under the eyes of her pupils. her life was one ceaseless effort to avoid doing anything which might influence her charges for evil or shock the natural sensitiveness of their parents. she had to wind her earthly way through a forest of the most delicate susceptibilities--fern-fronds that stretched across the path, and that she must not even accidentally disturb with her skirt as she passed. no wonder she walked mincingly! no wonder she had a habit of keeping her elbows close to her sides, and drawing her mantle tight in the streets! her prospectus talked about 'a sound and religious course of training,' 'study embracing the usual branches of english, with music by a talented master, drawing, dancing, and calisthenics.' also 'needlework plain and ornamental;' also 'moral influence;' and finally about terms, 'which are very moderate, and every particular, with references to parents and others, furnished on application.' (sometimes, too, without application.) as an illustration of the delicacy of fern-fronds, that single word 'dancing' had nearly lost her constance and sophia seven years before!
-she was a pinched virgin, aged forty, and not 'well off;' in her family the gift of success had been monopolized by her elder sister. for these characteristics mrs. baines, as a matron in easy circumstances, pitied miss chetwynd. on the other hand, miss chetwynd could choose ground from which to look down upon mrs. baines, who after all was in trade. miss chetwynd had no trace of the local accent; she spoke with a southern refinement which the five towns, while making fun of it, envied. all her o's had a genteel leaning towards 'ow,' as ritualism leans towards romanism. and she was the fount of etiquette, a wonder of correctness; in the eyes of her pupils' parents not so much 'a perfect lady' as 'a perfect lady.' so that it was an extremely nice question whether, upon the whole, mrs. baines secretly condescended to miss chetwynd or miss chetwynd to mrs. baines. perhaps mrs. baines, by virtue of her wifehood, carried the day.
-miss chetwynd, carefully and precisely seated, opened the conversation by explaining that even if mrs. baines had not written she should have called in any case, as she made a practice of calling at the home of her pupils in vacation time: which was true. mrs. baines, it should be stated, had on friday afternoon sent to miss chetwynd one of her most luxurious notes--lavender-coloured paper with scalloped edges, the selectest mode of the day--to announce, in her italian hand, that constance and sophia would both leave school at the end of the next term, and giving reasons in regard to sophia.
-before the visitor had got very far, maggie came in with a lacquered tea-caddy and the silver teapot and a silver spoon on a lacquered tray. mrs. baines, while continuing to talk, chose a key from her bunch, unlocked the tea-caddy, and transferred four teaspoonfuls of tea from it to the teapot and relocked the caddy.
-"strawberry," she mysteriously whispered to maggie; and maggie disappeared, bearing the tray and its contents.
-"and how is your sister? it is quite a long time since she was down here," mrs. baines went on to miss chetwynd, after whispering "strawberry."
-the remark was merely in the way of small-talk--for the hostess felt a certain unwilling hesitation to approach the topic of daughters--but it happened to suit the social purpose of miss chetwynd to a nicety. miss chetwynd was a vessel brimming with great tidings.
-"she is very well, thank you," said miss chetwynd, and her expression grew exceedingly vivacious. her face glowed with pride as she added, "of course everything is changed now."
-"indeed?" murmured mrs. baines, with polite curiosity.
-"yes," said miss chetwynd. "you've not heard?"
-"no," said mrs. baines. miss chetwynd knew that she had not heard.
-"about elizabeth's engagement? to the reverend archibald jones?"
-it is the fact that mrs. baines was taken aback. she did nothing indiscreet; she did not give vent to her excusable amazement that the elder miss chetwynd should be engaged to any one at all, as some women would have done in the stress of the moment. she kept her presence of mind.
-"this is really most interesting!" said she.
-it was. for archibald jones was one of the idols of the wesleyan methodist connexion, a special preacher famous throughout england. at 'anniversaries' and 'trust sermons,' archibald jones had probably no rival. his christian name helped him; it was a luscious, resounding mouthful for admirers. he was not an itinerant minister, migrating every three years. his function was to direct the affairs of the 'book room,' the publishing department of the connexion. he lived in london, and shot out into the provinces at week-ends, preaching on sundays and giving a lecture, tinctured with bookishness, 'in the chapel' on monday evenings. in every town he visited there was competition for the privilege of entertaining him. he had zeal, indefatigable energy, and a breezy wit. he was a widower of fifty, and his wife had been dead for twenty years. it had seemed as if women were not for this bright star. and here elizabeth chetwynd, who had left the five towns a quarter of a century before at the age of twenty, had caught him! austere, moustached, formidable, desiccated, she must have done it with her powerful intellect! it must be a union of intellects! he had been impressed by hers, and she by his, and then their intellects had kissed. within a week fifty thousand women in forty counties had pictured to themselves this osculation of intellects, and shrugged their shoulders, and decided once more that men were incomprehensible. these great ones in london, falling in love like the rest! but no! love was a ribald and voluptuous word to use in such a matter as this. it was generally felt that the reverend archibald jones and miss chetwynd the elder would lift marriage to what would now be termed an astral plane.
-after tea had been served, mrs. baines gradually recovered her position, both in her own private esteem and in the deference of miss aline chetwynd.
-"yes," said she. "you can talk about your sister, and you can call him archibald, and you can mince up your words. but have you got a tea-service like this? can you conceive more perfect strawberry jam than this? did not my dress cost more than you spend on your clothes in a year? has a man ever looked at you? after all, is there not something about my situation ... in short, something...?"
-"i suppose you weren't surprised by my letter?" said mrs. baines.
-"i was and i wasn't," answered miss chetwynd, in her professional manner and not her manner of a prospective sister-in-law. "of course i am naturally sorry to lose two such good pupils, but we can't keep our pupils for ever." she smiled; she was not without fortitude--it is easier to lose pupils than to replace them. "still"--a pause--"what you say of sophia is perfectly true, perfectly. she is quite as advanced as constance. still"--another pause and a more rapid enunciation--"sophia is by no means an ordinary girl."
-"i hope she hasn't been a very great trouble to you?"
-"oh no!" exclaimed miss chetwynd. "sophia and i have got on very well together. i have always tried to appeal to her reason. i have never forced her ... now, with some girls ... in some ways i look on sophia as the most remarkable girl--not pupil--but the most remarkable--what shall i say?--individuality, that i have ever met with." and her demeanour added, "and, mind you, this is something--from me!"
-"indeed!" said mrs. baines. she told herself, "i am not your common foolish parent. i see my children impartially. i am incapable of being flattered concerning them."
-nevertheless she was flattered, and the thought shaped itself that really sophia was no ordinary girl.
-"i suppose she has talked to you about becoming a teacher?" asked miss chetwynd, taking a morsel of the unparalleled jam.
-she held the spoon with her thumb and three fingers. her fourth finger, in matters of honest labour, would never associate with the other three; delicately curved, it always drew proudly away from them.
-"has she mentioned that to you?" mrs. baines demanded, startled.
-"oh yes!" said miss chetwynd. "several times. sophia is a very secretive girl, very--but i think i may say i have always had her confidence. there have been times when sophia and i have been very near each other. elizabeth was much struck with her. indeed, i may tell you that in one of her last letters to me she spoke of sophia and said she had mentioned her to mr. jones, and mr. jones remembered her quite well."
-impossible for even a wise, uncommon parent not to be affected by such an announcement!
-"i dare say your sister will give up her school now," observed mrs. baines, to divert attention from her self-consciousness.
-"oh no!" and this time mrs. baines had genuinely shocked miss chetwynd. "nothing would induce elizabeth to give up the cause of education. archibald takes the keenest interest in the school. oh no! not for worlds!"
-"then you think sophia would make a good teacher?" asked mrs. baines with apparent inconsequence, and with a smile. but the words marked an epoch in her mind. all was over.
-"i think she is very much set on it and--"
-"that wouldn't affect her father--or me," said mrs. baines quickly.
-"certainly not! i merely say that she is very much set on it. yes, she would, at any rate, make a teacher far superior to the average." ("that girl has got the better of her mother without me!" she reflected.) "ah! here is dear constance!"
-constance, tempted beyond her strength by the sounds of the visit and the colloquy, had slipped into the room.
-"i've left both doors open, mother," she excused herself for quitting her father, and kissed miss chetwynd.
-she blushed, but she blushed happily, and really made a most creditable debut as a young lady. her mother rewarded her by taking her into the conversation. and history was soon made.
-so sophia was apprenticed to miss aline chetwynd. mrs. baines bore herself greatly. it was miss chetwynd who had urged, and her respect for miss chetwynd ... also somehow the reverend archibald jones came into the cause.
-of course the idea of sophia ever going to london was ridiculous, ridiculous! (mrs. baines secretly feared that the ridiculous might happen; but, with the reverend archibald jones on the spot, the worst could be faced.) sophia must understand that even the apprenticeship in bursley was merely a trial. they would see how things went on. she had to thank miss chetwynd.
-"i made miss chetwynd come and talk to mother," said sophia magnificently one night to simple constance, as if to imply, 'your miss chetwynd is my washpot.'
-to constance, sophia's mere enterprise was just as staggering as her success. fancy her deliberately going out that saturday morning, after her mother's definite decision, to enlist miss chetwynd in her aid!
-there is no need to insist on the tragic grandeur of mrs. baines's renunciation--a renunciation which implied her acceptance of a change in the balance of power in her realm. part of its tragedy was that none, not even constance, could divine the intensity of mrs. baines's suffering. she had no confidant; she was incapable of showing a wound. but when she lay awake at night by the organism which had once been her husband, she dwelt long and deeply on the martyrdom of her life. what had she done to deserve it? always had she conscientiously endeavoured to be kind, just, patient. and she knew herself to be sagacious and prudent. in the frightful and unguessed trials of her existence as a wife, surely she might have been granted consolations as a mother! yet no; it had not been! and she felt all the bitterness of age against youth--youth egotistic, harsh, cruel, uncompromising; youth that is so crude, so ignorant of life, so slow to understand! she had constance. yes, but it would be twenty years before constance could appreciate the sacrifice of judgment and of pride which her mother had made, in a sudden decision, during that rambling, starched, simpering interview with miss aline chetwynd. probably constance thought that she had yielded to sophia's passionate temper! impossible to explain to constance that she had yielded to nothing but a perception of sophia's complete inability to hear reason and wisdom. ah! sometimes as she lay in the dark, she would, in fancy, snatch her heart from her bosom and fling it down before sophia, bleeding, and cry: "see what i carry about with me, on your account!" then she would take it back and hide it again, and sweeten her bitterness with wise admonitions to herself.
-all this because sophia, aware that if she stayed in the house she would be compelled to help in the shop, chose an honourable activity which freed her from the danger. heart, how absurd of you to bleed!
-"sophia, will you come and see the elephant? do come!" constance entered the drawing-room with this request on her eager lips.
-"no," said sophia, with a touch of condescension. "i'm far too busy for elephants."
-"well," said constance, "if you won't, i do believe i shall ask mother if she will."
-sophia, bending over her books, made no answer. but the top of her head said: "this has no interest for me whatever."
-constance left the room, and in a moment returned with her mother.
-"oh, very, well!" sophia agreed haughtily. "whatever is all this fuss about an elephant? anyhow, it'll be quieter in your room. the noise here is splitting." she gave a supercilious glance into the square as she languidly rose.
-it was the morning of the third day of bursley wakes; not the modern finicking and respectable, but an orgiastic carnival, gross in all its manifestations of joy. the whole centre of the town was given over to the furious pleasures of the people. most of the square was occupied by wombwell's menagerie, in a vast oblong tent, whose raging beasts roared and growled day and night. and spreading away from this supreme attraction, right up through the market-place past the town hall to duck bank, duck square and the waste land called the 'playground' were hundreds of booths with banners displaying all the delights of the horrible. you could see the atrocities of the french revolution, and of the fiji islands, and the ravages of unspeakable diseases, and the living flesh of a nearly nude human female guaranteed to turn the scale at twenty-two stone, and the skeletons of the mysterious phantoscope, and the bloody contests of champions naked to the waist (with the chance of picking up a red tooth as a relic). you could try your strength by hitting an image of a fellow-creature in the stomach, and test your aim by knocking off the heads of other images with a wooden ball. you could also shoot with rifles at various targets. all the streets were lined with stalls loaded with food in heaps, chiefly dried fish, the entrails of animals, and gingerbread. all the public-houses were crammed, and frenzied jolly drunkards, men and women, lunged along the pavements everywhere, their shouts vying with the trumpets, horns, and drums of the booths, and the shrieking, rattling toys that the children carried.
-it was a glorious spectacle, but not a spectacle for the leading families. miss chetwynd's school was closed, so that the daughters of leading families might remain in seclusion till the worst was over. the baineses ignored the wakes in every possible way, choosing that week to have a show of mourning goods in the left-hand window, and refusing to let maggie outside on any pretext. therefore the dazzling social success of the elephant, which was quite easily drawing mrs. baines into the vortex, cannot imaginably be over-estimated.
-on the previous night one of the three wombwell elephants had suddenly knelt on a man in the tent; he had then walked out of the tent and picked up another man at haphazard from the crowd which was staring at the great pictures in front, and tried to put this second man into his mouth. being stopped by his indian attendant with a pitchfork, he placed the man on the ground and stuck his tusk through an artery of the victim's arm. he then, amid unexampled excitement, suffered himself to be led away. he was conducted to the rear of the tent, just in front of baines's shuttered windows, and by means of stakes, pulleys, and ropes forced to his knees. his head was whitewashed, and six men of the rifle corps were engaged to shoot at him at a distance of five yards, while constables kept the crowd off with truncheons. he died instantly, rolling over with a soft thud. the crowd cheered, and, intoxicated by their importance, the volunteers fired three more volleys into the carcase, and were then borne off as heroes to different inns. the elephant, by the help of his two companions, was got on to a railway lorry and disappeared into the night. such was the greatest sensation that has ever occurred, or perhaps will ever occur, in bursley. the excitement about the repeal of the corn laws, or about inkerman, was feeble compared to that excitement. mr. critchlow, who had been called on to put a hasty tourniquet round the arm of the second victim, had popped in afterwards to tell john baines all about it. mr. baines's interest, however, had been slight. mr. critchlow succeeded better with the ladies, who, though they had witnessed the shooting from the drawing-room, were thirsty for the most trifling details.
-the next day it was known that the elephant lay near the playground, pending the decision of the chief bailiff and the medical officer as to his burial. and everybody had to visit the corpse. no social exclusiveness could withstand the seduction of that dead elephant. pilgrims travelled from all the five towns to see him.
-"we're going now," said mrs. baines, after she had assumed her bonnet and shawl.
-"all right," said sophia, pretending to be absorbed in study, as she sat on the sofa at the foot of her father's bed.
-and constance, having put her head in at the door, drew her mother after her like a magnet.
-then sophia heard a remarkable conversation in the passage.
-"are you going up to see the elephant, mrs. baines?" asked the voice of mr. povey.
-"i think i had better come with you. the crowd is sure to be very rough." mr. povey's tone was firm; he had a position.
-"but the shop?"
-"we shall not be long," said mr. povey.
-"oh yes, mother," constance added appealingly.
-sophia felt the house thrill as the side-door banged. she sprang up and watched the three cross king street diagonally, and so plunge into the wakes. this triple departure was surely the crowning tribute to the dead elephant! it was simply astonishing. it caused sophia to perceive that she had miscalculated the importance of the elephant. it made her regret her scorn of the elephant as an attraction. she was left behind; and the joy of life was calling her. she could see down into the vaults on the opposite side of the street, where working men--potters and colliers--in their best clothes, some with high hats, were drinking, gesticulating, and laughing in a row at a long counter.
-"i suppose you don't know when mr. povey or your mother are likely to be back, miss sophia? here's--"
-it was a divine release for sophia.
-"they're--i--" she stammered, turning round abruptly. luckily she was still sheltered behind the counter.
-the young man whom she had seen in the street came boldly forward.
-"good morning, miss sophia," said he, hat in hand. "it is a long time since i had the pleasure of seeing you."
-never had she blushed as she blushed then. she scarcely knew what she was doing as she moved slowly towards her sister's corner again, the young man following her on the customer's side of the counter.
-she knew that he was a traveller for the most renowned and gigantic of all manchester wholesale firms--birkinshaws. but she did not know his name, which was gerald scales. he was a rather short but extremely well-proportioned man of thirty, with fair hair, and a distinguished appearance, as became a representative of birkinshaws. his broad, tight necktie, with an edge of white collar showing above it, was particularly elegant. he had been on the road for birkinshaws for several years; but sophia had only seen him once before in her life, when she was a little girl, three years ago. the relations between the travellers of the great firms and their solid, sure clients in small towns were in those days often cordially intimate. the traveller came with the lustre of a historic reputation around him; there was no need to fawn for orders; and the client's immense and immaculate respectability made him the equal of no matter what ambassador. it was a case of mutual esteem, and of that confidence-generating phenomenon, "an old account." the tone in which a commercial traveller of middle age would utter the phrase "an old account" revealed in a flash all that was romantic, prim, and stately in mid-victorian commerce. in the days of baines, after one of the elaborately engraved advice-circulars had arrived ('our mr. ---- will have the pleasure of waiting upon you on ----day next, the ---- inst.') john might in certain cases be expected to say, on the morning of ----day, 'missis, what have ye gotten for supper to-night?'
-mr. gerald scales had never been asked to supper; he had never even seen john baines; but, as the youthful successor of an aged traveller who had had the pleasure of st. luke's square, on behalf of birkinshaws, since before railways, mrs. baines had treated him with a faint agreeable touch of maternal familiarity; and, both her daughters being once in the shop during his visit, she had on that occasion commanded the gawky girls to shake hands with him.
-sophia had never forgotten that glimpse. the young man without a name had lived in her mind, brightly glowing, as the very symbol and incarnation of the masculine and the elegant.
-"i see it's your wakes here," said he.
-he was polite to the wakes; but now, with the least inflection in the world, he put the wakes at its proper level in the scheme of things as a local unimportance! she adored him for this; she was athirst for sympathy in the task of scorning everything local.
-"i expect you didn't know," she said, implying that there was every reason why a man of his mundane interests should not know.
-"i should have remembered if i had thought," said he. "but i didn't think. what's this about an elephant?"
-"oh!" she exclaimed. "have you heard of that?"
-"my porter was full of it."
-"well," she said, "of course it's a very big thing in bursley."
-as she smiled in gentle pity of poor bursley, he naturally did the same. and he thought how much more advanced and broad the younger generation was than the old! he would never have dared to express his real feelings about bursley to mrs. baines, or even to mr. povey (who was, however, of no generation); yet here was a young woman actually sharing them.
-she told him all the history of the elephant.
-"must have been very exciting," he commented, despite himself.
-"do you know," she replied, "it was."
-after all, bursley was climbing in their opinion.
-"and mother and my sister and mr. povey have all gone to see it. that's why they're not here."
-that the elephant should have caused both mr. povey and mrs. baines to forget that the representative of birkinshaws was due to call was indeed a final victory for the elephant.
-"but not you!" he exclaimed.
-"no," she said. "not me."
-"why didn't you go too?" he continued his flattering investigations with a generous smile.
-"i simply didn't care to," said she, proudly nonchalant.
-"and i suppose you are in charge here?"
-"no," she answered. "i just happened to have run down here for these scissors. that's all."
-"i often see your sister," said he. "'often' do i say?--that is, generally, when i come; but never you."
-"i'm never in the shop," she said. "it's just an accident to-day."
-"oh! so you leave the shop to your sister?"
-"yes." she said nothing of her teaching.
-"yes," she breathed. somebody had to say something. if the shop missed the murmur of their voices the shop would wonder what had happened to them.
-mr. scales looked at his watch. '"i dare say if i come in again about two--" he began.
-"oh yes, they're sure to be in then," she burst out before he could finish his sentence.
-and as she flitted upstairs to resume watch over her father she sought to devise an innocent-looking method by which she might see mr. scales when he next called. and she speculated as to what his name was.
-when sophia arrived in the bedroom, she was startled because her father's head and beard were not in their accustomed place on the pillow. she could only make out something vaguely unusual sloping off the side of the bed. a few seconds passed--not to be measured in time--and she saw that the upper part of his body had slipped down, and his head was hanging, inverted, near the floor between the bed and the ottoman. his face, neck, and hands were dark and congested; his mouth was open, and the tongue protruded between the black, swollen, mucous lips; his eyes were prominent and coldly staring. the fact was that mr. baines had wakened up, and, being restless, had slid out partially from his bed and died of asphyxia. after having been unceasingly watched for fourteen years, he had, with an invalid's natural perverseness, taken advantage of sophia's brief dereliction to expire. say what you will, amid sophia's horror, and her terrible grief and shame, she had visitings of the idea: he did it on purpose!
-she ran out of the room, knowing by intuition that he was dead, and shrieked out, "maggie," at the top of her voice; the house echoed.
-"yes, miss," said maggie, quite close, coming out of mr. povey's chamber with a slop-pail.
-"fetch mr. critchlow at once. be quick. just as you are. it's father--"
-maggie, perceiving darkly that disaster was in the air, and instantly filled with importance and a sort of black joy, dropped her pail in the exact middle of the passage, and almost fell down the crooked stairs. one of maggie's deepest instincts, always held in check by the stern dominance of mrs. baines, was to leave pails prominent on the main routes of the house; and now, divining what was at hand, it flamed into insurrection.
-no sleepless night had ever been so long to sophia as the three minutes which elapsed before mr. critchlow came. as she stood on the mat outside the bedroom door she tried to draw her mother and constance and mr. povey by magnetic force out of the wakes into the house, and her muscles were contracted in this strange effort. she felt that it was impossible to continue living if the secret of the bedroom remained unknown one instant longer, so intense was her torture, and yet that the torture which could not be borne must be borne. not a sound in the house! not a sound from the shop! only the distant murmur of the wakes!
-"why did i forget father?" she asked herself with awe. "i only meant to tell him that they were all out, and run back. why did i forget father?" she would never be able to persuade anybody that she had literally forgotten her father's existence for quite ten minutes; but it was true, though shocking.
-then there were noises downstairs.
-"bless us! bless us!" came the unpleasant voice of mr. critchlow as he bounded up the stairs on his long legs; he strode over the pail. "what's amiss?" he was wearing his white apron, and he carried his spectacles in his bony hand.
-"it's father--he's--" sophia faltered.
-she stood away so that he should enter the room first. he glanced at her keenly, and as it were resentfully, and went in. she followed, timidly, remaining near the door while mr. critchlow inspected her handiwork. he put on his spectacles with strange deliberation, and then, bending his knees outwards, thus lowered his body so that he could examine john baines point-blank. he remained staring like this, his hands on his sharp apron-covered knees, for a little space; and then he seized the inert mass and restored it to the bed, and wiped those clotted lips with his apron.
-sophia heard loud breathing behind her. it was maggie. she heard a huge, snorting sob; maggie was showing her emotion.
-"go fetch doctor!" mr. critchlow rasped. "and don't stand gaping there!"
-"run for the doctor, maggie," said sophia.
-"how came ye to let him fall?" mr. critchlow demanded.
-"i was out of the room. i just ran down into the shop--"
-"gallivanting with that young scales!" said mr. critchlow, with devilish ferocity. "well, you've killed yer father; that's all!"
-he must have been at his shop door and seen the entry of the traveller! and it was precisely characteristic of mr. critchlow to jump in the dark at a horrible conclusion, and to be right after all. for sophia mr. critchlow had always been the personification of malignity and malevolence, and now these qualities in him made him, to her, almost obscene. her pride brought up tremendous reinforcements, and she approached the bed.
-"is he dead?" she asked in a quiet tone. (somewhere within a voice was whispering, "so his name is scales.")
-"don't i tell you he's dead?"
-"pail on the stairs!"
-this mild exclamation came from the passage. mrs. baines, misliking the crowds abroad, had returned alone; she had left constance in charge of mr. povey. coming into her house by the shop and showroom, she had first noted the phenomenon of the pail--proof of her theory of maggie's incurable untidiness.
-"been to see the elephant, i reckon!" said mr. critchlow, in fierce sarcasm, as he recognized mrs. baines's voice.
-sophia leaped towards the door, as though to bar her mother's entrance. but mrs. baines was already opening the door.
-"well, my pet--" she was beginning cheerfully.
-mr. critchlow confronted her. and he had no more pity for the wife than for the daughter. he was furiously angry because his precious property had been irretrievably damaged by the momentary carelessness of a silly girl. yes, john baines was his property, his dearest toy! he was convinced that he alone had kept john baines alive for fourteen years, that he alone had fully understood the case and sympathized with the sufferer, that none but he had been capable of displaying ordinary common sense in the sick-room. he had learned to regard john baines as, in some sort, his creation. and now, with their stupidity, their neglect, their elephants, between them they had done for john baines. he had always known it would come to that, and it had come to that.
-"she let him fall out o' bed, and ye're a widow now, missis!" he announced with a virulence hardly conceivable. his angular features and dark eyes expressed a murderous hate for every woman named baines.
-"mother!" cried sophia, "i only ran down into the shop to--to--"
-she seized her mother's arm in frenzied agony.
-"my child!" said mrs. baines, rising miraculously to the situation with a calm benevolence of tone and gesture that remained for ever sublime in the stormy heart of sophia, "do not hold me." with infinite gentleness she loosed herself from those clasping hands. "have you sent for the doctor?" she questioned mr. critchlow.
-mr. critchlow and the widow gazed, helplessly waiting, at the pitiable corpse, of which the salient part was the white beard. they knew not that they were gazing at a vanished era. john baines had belonged to the past, to the age when men really did think of their souls, when orators by phrases could move crowds to fury or to pity, when no one had learnt to hurry, when demos was only turning in his sleep, when the sole beauty of life resided in its inflexible and slow dignity, when hell really had no bottom, and a gilt-clasped bible really was the secret of england's greatness. mid-victorian england lay on that mahogany bed. ideals had passed away with john baines. it is thus that ideals die; not in the conventional pageantry of honoured death, but sorrily, ignobly, while one's head is turned--
-and mr. povey and constance, very self-conscious, went and saw the dead elephant, and came back; and at the corner of king street, constance exclaimed brightly--
-"why! who's gone out and left the side-door open?"
-for the doctor had at length arrived, and maggie, in showing him upstairs with pious haste, had forgotten to shut the door.
-the real murderer was having his dinner in the commercial room up at the tiger, opposite the town hall.
-the chief constable was not the only individual enlisted by mr. critchlow in the service of his friend's fame. mr. critchlow spent hours in recalling the principal citizens to a due sense of john baines's past greatness. he was determined that his treasured toy should vanish underground with due pomp, and he left nothing undone to that end. he went over to hanbridge on the still wonderful horse-car, and saw the editor-proprietor of the staffordshire signal (then a two-penny weekly with no thought of football editions), and on the very day of the funeral the signal came out with a long and eloquent biography of john baines. this biography, giving details of his public life, definitely restored him to his legitimate position in the civic memory as an ex-chief bailiff, an ex-chairman of the burial board, and of the five towns association for the advancement of useful knowledge, and also as a "prime mover" in the local turnpike act, in the negotiations for the new town hall, and in the corinthian facade of the wesleyan chapel; it narrated the anecdote of his courageous speech from the portico of the shambles during the riots of 1848, and it did not omit a eulogy of his steady adherence to the wise old english maxims of commerce and his avoidance of dangerous modern methods. even in the sixties the modern had reared its shameless head. the panegyric closed with an appreciation of the dead man's fortitude in the terrible affliction with which a divine providence had seen fit to try him; and finally the signal uttered its absolute conviction that his native town would raise a cenotaph to his honour. mr. critchlow, being unfamiliar with the word "cenotaph," consulted worcester's dictionary, and when he found that it meant "a sepulchral monument to one who is buried elsewhere," he was as pleased with the signal's language as with the idea, and decided that a cenotaph should come to pass.
-the house and shop were transformed into a hive of preparation for the funeral. all was changed. mr. povey kindly slept for three nights on the parlour sofa, in order that mrs. baines might have his room. the funeral grew into an obsession, for multitudinous things had to be performed and done sumptuously and in strict accordance with precedent. there were the family mourning, the funeral repast, the choice of the text on the memorial card, the composition of the legend on the coffin, the legal arrangements, the letters to relations, the selection of guests, and the questions of bell-ringing, hearse, plumes, number of horses, and grave-digging. nobody had leisure for the indulgence of grief except aunt maria, who, after she had helped in the laying-out, simply sat down and bemoaned unceasingly for hours her absence on the fatal morning. "if i hadn't been so fixed on polishing my candle-sticks," she weepingly repeated, "he mit ha' been alive and well now." not that aunt maria had been informed of the precise circumstances of the death; she was not clearly aware that mr. baines had died through a piece of neglect. but, like mr. critchlow, she was convinced that there had been only one person in the world truly capable of nursing mr. baines. beyond the family, no one save mr. critchlow and dr. harrop knew just how the martyr had finished his career. dr. harrop, having been asked bluntly if an inquest would be necessary, had reflected a moment and had then replied: "no." and he added, "least said soonest mended--mark me!" they had marked him. he was commonsense in breeches.
-as for aunt maria, she was sent about her snivelling business by aunt harriet. the arrival in the house of this genuine aunt from axe, of this majestic and enormous widow whom even the imperial mrs. baines regarded with a certain awe, set a seal of ultimate solemnity on the whole event. in mr. povey's bedroom mrs. baines fell like a child into aunt harriet's arms and sobbed:
-"if it had been anything else but that elephant!"
-such was mrs. baines's sole weakness from first to last.
-aunt harriet was an exhaustless fountain of authority upon every detail concerning interments. and, to a series of questions ending with the word "sister," and answers ending with the word "sister," the prodigious travail incident to the funeral was gradually and successfully accomplished. dress and the repast exceeded all other matters in complexity and difficulty. but on the morning of the funeral aunt harriet had the satisfaction of beholding her younger sister the centre of a tremendous cocoon of crape, whose slightest pleat was perfect. aunt harriet seemed to welcome her then, like a veteran, formally into the august army of relicts. as they stood side by side surveying the special table which was being laid in the showroom for the repast, it appeared inconceivable that they had reposed together in mr. povey's limited bed. they descended from the showroom to the kitchen, where the last delicate dishes were inspected. the shop was, of course, closed for the day, but mr. povey was busy there, and in aunt harriet's all-seeing glance he came next after the dishes. she rose from the kitchen to speak with him.
-"you've got your boxes of gloves all ready?" she questioned him.
-"yes, mrs. maddack."
-"you'll not forget to have a measure handy?"
-"no, mrs. maddack."
-"you'll find you'll want more of seven-and-three-quarters and eights than anything."
-"yes. i have allowed for that."
-"if you place yourself behind the side-door and put your boxes on the harmonium, you'll be able to catch every one as they come in."
-"that is what i had thought of, mrs. maddack."
-she went upstairs. mrs. baines had reached the showroom again, and was smoothing out creases in the white damask cloth and arranging glass dishes of jam at equal distances from each other.
-"come, sister," said mrs. maddack. "a last look."
-and they passed into the mortuary bedroom to gaze at mr. baines before he should be everlastingly nailed down. in death he had recovered some of his earlier dignity; but even so he was a startling sight. the two widows bent over him, one on either side, and gravely stared at that twisted, worn white face all neatly tucked up in linen.
-"i shall fetch constance and sophia," said mrs. maddack, with tears in her voice. "do you go into the drawing-room, sister."
-but mrs. maddack only succeeded in fetching constance.
-then there was the sound of wheels in king street. the long rite of the funeral was about to begin. every guest, after having been measured and presented with a pair of the finest black kid gloves by mr. povey, had to mount the crooked stairs and gaze upon the carcase of john baines, going afterwards to the drawing-room to condole briefly with the widow. and every guest, while conscious of the enormity of so thinking, thought what an excellent thing it was that john baines should be at last dead and gone. the tramping on the stairs was continual, and finally mr. baines himself went downstairs, bumping against corners, and led a cortege of twenty vehicles.
-the funeral tea was not over at seven o'clock, five hours after the commencement of the rite. it was a gigantic and faultless meal, worthy of john baines's distant past. only two persons were absent from it--john baines and sophia. the emptiness of sophia's chair was much noticed; mrs. maddack explained that sophia was very high-strung and could not trust herself. great efforts were put forth by the company to be lugubrious and inconsolable, but the secret relief resulting from the death would not be entirely hidden. the vast pretence of acute sorrow could not stand intact against that secret relief and the lavish richness of the food.
-to the offending of sundry important relatives from a distance, mr. critchlow informally presided over that assemblage of grave men in high stocks and crinolined women. he had closed his shop, which had never before been closed on a weekday, and he had a great deal to say about this extraordinary closure. it was due as much to the elephant as to the funeral. the elephant had become a victim to the craze for souvenirs. already in the night his tusks had been stolen; then his feet disappeared for umbrella-stands, and most of his flesh had departed in little hunks. everybody in bursley had resolved to participate in the elephant. one consequence was that all the chemists' shops in the town were assaulted by strings of boys. 'please a pennorth o' alum to tak' smell out o' a bit o' elephant.' mr. critchlow hated boys.
-the elephant fed the conversation until after the second relay of hot muffins. when mr. critchlow had eaten to his capacity, he took the signal importantly from his pocket, posed his spectacles, and read the obituary all through in slow, impressive accents. before he reached the end mrs. baines began to perceive that familiarity had blinded her to the heroic qualities of her late husband. the fourteen years of ceaseless care were quite genuinely forgotten, and she saw him in his strength and in his glory. when mr. critchlow arrived at the eulogy of the husband and father, mrs. baines rose and left the showroom. the guests looked at each other in sympathy for her. mr. critchlow shot a glance at her over his spectacles and continued steadily reading. after he had finished he approached the question of the cenotaph.
-mrs. baines, driven from the banquet by her feelings, went into the drawing-room. sophia was there, and sophia, seeing tears in her mother's eyes, gave a sob, and flung herself bodily against her mother, clutching her, and hiding her face in that broad crape, which abraded her soft skin.
-"mother," she wept passionately, "i want to leave the school now. i want to please you. i'll do anything in the world to please you. i'll go into the shop if you'd like me to!" her voice lost itself in tears.
-"calm yourself, my pet," said mrs. baines, tenderly, caressing her. it was a triumph for the mother in the very hour when she needed a triumph.
-'equisite, 1s. 11d.'
-these singular signs were being painted in shiny black on an unrectangular parallelogram of white cardboard by constance one evening in the parlour. she was seated, with her left side to the fire and to the fizzing gas, at the dining-table, which was covered with a checked cloth in red and white. her dress was of dark crimson; she wore a cameo brooch and a gold chain round her neck; over her shoulders was thrown a white knitted shawl, for the weather was extremely cold, the english climate being much more serious and downright at that day than it is now. she bent low to the task, holding her head slightly askew, putting the tip of her tongue between her lips, and expending all the energy of her soul and body in an intense effort to do what she was doing as well as it could be done.
-"splendid!" said mr. povey.
-mr. povey was fronting her at the table; he had his elbows on the table, and watched her carefully, with the breathless and divine anxiety of a dreamer who is witnessing the realization of his dream. and constance, without moving any part of her frame except her head, looked up at him and smiled for a moment, and he could see her delicious little nostrils at the end of her snub nose.
-those two, without knowing or guessing it, were making history--the history of commerce. they had no suspicion that they were the forces of the future insidiously at work to destroy what the forces of the past had created, but such was the case. they were conscious merely of a desire to do their duty in the shop and to the shop; probably it had not even occurred to them that this desire, which each stimulated in the breast of the other, had assumed the dimensions of a passion. it was ageing mr. povey, and it had made of constance a young lady tremendously industrious and preoccupied.
-mr. povey had recently been giving attention to the question of tickets. it is not too much to say that mr. povey, to whom heaven had granted a minimum share of imagination, had nevertheless discovered his little parcel of imagination in the recesses of being, and brought it effectively to bear on tickets. tickets ran in conventional grooves. there were heavy oblong tickets for flannels, shirting, and other stuffs in the piece; there were smaller and lighter tickets for intermediate goods; and there were diamond-shaped tickets (containing nothing but the price) for bonnets, gloves, and flimflams generally. the legends on the tickets gave no sort of original invention. the words 'lasting,' 'durable,' 'unshrinkable,' 'latest,' 'cheap,' 'stylish,' 'novelty,' 'choice' (as an adjective), 'new,' and 'tasteful,' exhausted the entire vocabulary of tickets. now mr. povey attached importance to tickets, and since he was acknowledged to be the best window-dresser in bursley, his views were entitled to respect. he dreamed of other tickets, in original shapes, with original legends. in brief, he achieved, in regard to tickets, the rare feat of ridding himself of preconceived notions, and of approaching a subject with fresh, virginal eyes. when he indicated the nature of his wishes to mr. chawner, the wholesale stationer who supplied all the five towns with shop-tickets, mr. chawner grew uneasy and worried; mr. chawner was indeed shocked. for mr. chawner there had always been certain well-defined genera of tickets, and he could not conceive the existence of other genera. when mr. povey suggested circular tickets--tickets with a blue and a red line round them, tickets with legends such as 'unsurpassable,' 'very dainty,' or 'please note,' mr. chawner hummed and hawed, and finally stated that it would be impossible to manufacture these preposterous tickets, these tickets which would outrage the decency of trade.
-if mr. povey had not happened to be an exceedingly obstinate man, he might have been defeated by the crass toryism of mr. chawner. but mr. povey was obstinate, and he had resources of ingenuity which mr. chawner little suspected. the great, tramping march of progress was not to be impeded by mr. chawner. mr. povey began to make his own tickets. at first he suffered as all reformers and inventors suffer. he used the internal surface of collar-boxes and ordinary ink and pens, and the result was such as to give customers the idea that baineses were too poor or too mean to buy tickets like other shops. for bought tickets had an ivory-tinted gloss, and the ink was black and glossy, and the edges were very straight and did not show yellow between two layers of white. whereas mr. povey's tickets were of a bluish-white, without gloss; the ink was neither black nor shiny, and the edges were amateurishly rough: the tickets had an unmistakable air of having been 'made out of something else'; moreover, the lettering had not the free, dashing style of mr. chawner's tickets.
-and did mrs. baines encourage him in his single-minded enterprise on behalf of her business? not a bit! mrs. baines's attitude, when not disdainful, was inimical! so curious is human nature, so blind is man to his own advantage! life was very complex for mr. povey. it might have been less complex had bristol board and chinese ink been less expensive; with these materials he could have achieved marvels to silence all prejudice and stupidity; but they were too costly. still, he persevered, and constance morally supported him; he drew his inspiration and his courage from constance. instead of the internal surface of collar-boxes, he tried the external surface, which was at any rate shiny. but the ink would not 'take' on it. he made as many experiments as edison was to make, and as many failures. then constance was visited by a notion for mixing sugar with ink. simple, innocent creature--why should providence have chosen her to be the vessel of such a sublime notion? puzzling enigma, which, however, did not exercise mr. povey! he found it quite natural that she should save him. save him she did. sugar and ink would 'take' on anything, and it shone like a 'patent leather' boot. further, constance developed a 'hand' for lettering which outdid mr. povey's. between them they manufactured tickets by the dozen and by the score--tickets which, while possessing nearly all the smartness and finish of mr. chawner's tickets, were much superior to these in originality and strikingness. constance and mr. povey were delighted and fascinated by them. as for mrs. baines, she said little, but the modern spirit was too elated by its success to care whether she said little or much. and every few days mr. povey thought of some new and wonderful word to put on a ticket.
-his last miracle was the word 'exquisite.' 'exquisite,' pinned on a piece of broad tartan ribbon, appeared to constance and mr. povey as the finality of appropriateness. a climax worthy to close the year! mr. povey had cut the card and sketched the word and figures in pencil, and constance was doing her executive portion of the undertaking. they were very happy, very absorbed, in this strictly business matter. the clock showed five minutes past ten. stern duty, a pure desire for the prosperity of the shop, had kept them at hard labour since before eight o'clock that morning!
-the stairs-door opened, and mrs. baines appeared, in bonnet and furs and gloves, all clad for going out. she had abandoned the cocoon of crape, but still wore weeds. she was stouter than ever.
-"what!" she cried. "not ready! now really!"
-"oh, mother! how you made me jump!" constance protested. "what time is it? it surely isn't time to go yet!"
-"look at the clock!" said mrs. baines, drily.
-"well, i never!" constance murmured, confused.
-"come, put your things together, and don't keep me waiting," said mrs. baines, going past the table to the window, and lifting the blind to peep out. "still snowing," she observed. "oh, the band's going away at last! i wonder how they can play at all in this weather. by the way, what was that tune they gave us just now? i couldn't make out whether it was 'redhead,' or--"
-"band?" questioned constance--the simpleton!
-neither she nor mr. povey had heard the strains of the bursley town silver prize band which had been enlivening the season according to its usual custom. these two practical, duteous, commonsense young and youngish persons had been so absorbed in their efforts for the welfare of the shop that they had positively not only forgotten the time, but had also failed to notice the band! but if constance had had her wits about her she would at least have pretended that she had heard it.
-"what's this?" asked mrs. baines, bringing her vast form to the table and picking up a ticket.
-mr. povey said nothing. constance said: "mr. povey thought of it to-day. don't you think it's very good, mother?"
-"i'm afraid i don't," mrs. baines coldly replied.
-"'exquisite!'" she repeated the word with a sarcastic inflection, putting the accent, as every one put it, on the second syllable. "i don't think that will quite do."
-"but why not, mother?"
-"it's not suitable, my dear."
-she dropped the ticket from her gloved hand. mr. povey had darkly flashed. though he spoke little, he was as sensitive as he was obstinate. on this occasion he said nothing. he expressed his feelings by seizing the ticket and throwing it into the fire.
-the situation was extremely delicate. priceless employes like mr. povey cannot be treated as machines, and mrs. baines of course instantly saw that tact was needed.
-"go along to my bedroom and get ready, my pet," said she to constance. "sophia is there. there's a good fire. i must just speak to maggie." she tactfully left the room.
-mr. povey glanced at the fire and the curling red remains of the ticket. trade was bad; owing to weather and war, destitution was abroad; and he had been doing his utmost for the welfare of the shop; and here was the reward!
-constance's eyes were full of tears. "never mind!" she murmured, and went upstairs.
-it was all over in a moment.
-in the wesleyan methodist chapel on duck bank there was a full and influential congregation. for in those days influential people were not merely content to live in the town where their fathers had lived, without dreaming of country residences and smokeless air--they were content also to believe what their fathers had believed about the beginning and the end of all. there was no such thing as the unknowable in those days. the eternal mysteries were as simple as an addition sum; a child could tell you with absolute certainty where you would be and what you would be doing a million years hence, and exactly what god thought of you. accordingly, every one being of the same mind, every one met on certain occasions in certain places in order to express the universal mind. and in the wesleyan methodist chapel, for example, instead of a sparse handful of persons disturbingly conscious of being in a minority, as now, a magnificent and proud majority had collected, deeply aware of its rightness and its correctness.
-and the minister, backed by minor ministers, knelt and covered his face in the superb mahogany rostrum; and behind him, in what was then still called the 'orchestra' (though no musical instruments except the grand organ had sounded in it for decades), the choir knelt and covered their faces; and all around in the richly painted gallery and on the ground-floor, multitudinous rows of people, in easy circumstances of body and soul, knelt in high pews and covered their faces. and there floated before them, in the intense and prolonged silence, the clear vision of jehovah on a throne, a god of sixty or so with a moustache and a beard, and a non-committal expression which declined to say whether or not he would require more bloodshed; and this god, destitute of pinions, was surrounded by white-winged creatures that wafted themselves to and fro while chanting; and afar off was an obscene monstrosity, with cloven hoofs and a tail very dangerous and rude and interfering, who could exist comfortably in the middle of a coal-fire, and who took a malignant and exhaustless pleasure in coaxing you by false pretences into the same fire; but of course you had too much sense to swallow his wicked absurdities. once a year, for ten minutes by the clock, you knelt thus, in mass, and by meditation convinced yourself that you had too much sense to swallow his wicked absurdities. and the hour was very solemn, the most solemn of all the hours.
-strange that immortal souls should be found with the temerity to reflect upon mundane affairs in that hour! yet there were undoubtedly such in the congregation; there were perhaps many to whom the vision, if clear, was spasmodic and fleeting. and among them the inhabitants of the baines family pew! who would have supposed that mr. povey, a recent convert from primitive methodism in king street to wesleyan methodism on duck bank, was dwelling upon window-tickets and the injustice of women, instead of upon his relations with jehovah and the tailed one? who would have supposed that the gentle-eyed constance, pattern of daughters, was risking her eternal welfare by smiling at the tailed one, who, concealing his tail, had assumed the image of mr. povey? who would have supposed that mrs. baines, instead of resolving that jehovah and not the tailed one should have ultimate rule over her, was resolving that she and not mr. povey should have ultimate rule over her house and shop? it was a pew-ful that belied its highly satisfactory appearance. (and possibly there were other pew-fuls equally deceptive.)
-sophia alone, in the corner next to the wall, with her beautiful stern face pressed convulsively against her hands, was truly busy with immortal things. turbulent heart, the violence of her spiritual life had made her older! never was a passionate, proud girl in a harder case than sophia! in the splendour of her remorse for a fatal forgetfulness, she had renounced that which she loved and thrown herself into that which she loathed. it was her nature so to do. she had done it haughtily, and not with kindness, but she had done it with the whole force of her will. constance had been compelled to yield up to her the millinery department, for sophia's fingers had a gift of manipulating ribbons and feathers that was beyond constance. sophia had accomplished miracles in the millinery. yes, and she would be utterly polite to customers; but afterwards, when the customers were gone, let mothers, sisters, and mr. poveys beware of her fiery darts!
-but why, when nearly three months had elapsed after her father's death, had she spent more and more time in the shop, secretly aflame with expectancy? why, when one day a strange traveller entered the shop and announced himself the new representative of birkinshaws--why had her very soul died away within her and an awful sickness seized her? she knew then that she had been her own deceiver. she recognized and admitted, abasing herself lower than the lowest, that her motive in leaving miss chetwynd's and joining the shop had been, at the best, very mixed, very impure. engaged at miss chetwynd's, she might easily have never set eyes on gerald scales again. employed in the shop, she could not fail to meet him. in this light was to be seen the true complexion of the splendour of her remorse. a terrible thought for her! and she could not dismiss it. it contaminated her existence, this thought! and she could confide in no one. she was incapable of showing a wound. quarter had succeeded quarter, and gerald scales was no more heard of. she had sacrificed her life for worse than nothing. she had made her own tragedy. she had killed her father, cheated and shamed herself with a remorse horribly spurious, exchanged content for misery and pride for humiliation--and with it all, gerald scales had vanished! she was ruined.
-she took to religion, and her conscientious christian virtues, practised with stern inclemency, were the canker of the family. thus a year and a half had passed.
-and then, on this last day of the year, the second year of her shame and of her heart's widowhood, mr. scales had reappeared. she had gone casually into the shop and found him talking to her mother and mr. povey. he had come back to the provincial round and to her. she shook his hand and fled, because she could not have stayed. none had noticed her agitation, for she had held her body as in a vice. she knew the reason neither of his absence nor of his return. she knew nothing. and not a word had been said at meals. and the day had gone and the night come; and now she was in chapel, with constance by her side and gerald scales in her soul! happy beyond previous conception of happiness! wretched beyond an unutterable woe! and none knew! what was she to pray for? to what purpose and end ought she to steel herself? ought she to hope, or ought she to despair? "o god, help me!" she kept whispering to jehovah whenever the heavenly vision shone through the wrack of her meditation. "o god, help me!" she had a conscience that, when it was in the mood for severity, could be unspeakably cruel to her.
-and whenever she looked, with dry, hot eyes, through her gloved fingers, she saw in front of her on the wall a marble tablet inscribed in gilt letters, the cenotaph! she knew all the lines by heart, in their spacious grandiloquence; lines such as:
-ever ready with his tongue his pen and his purse to help the church of his fathers in her he lived and in her he died cherishing a deep and ardent affection for his beloved faith and creed.
-his sympathies extended beyond his own community he was always to the fore in good works and he served the circuit the town and the district with great acceptance and usefulness.
-thus had mr. critchlow's vanity been duly appeased.
-as the minutes sped in the breathing silence of the chapel the emotional tension grew tighter; worshippers sighed heavily, or called upon jehovah for a sign, or merely coughed an invocation. and then at last the clock in the middle of the balcony gave forth the single stroke to which it was limited; the ministers rose, and the congregation after them; and everybody smiled as though it was the millennium, and not simply the new year, that had set in. then, faintly, through walls and shut windows, came the sound of bells and of steam syrens and whistles. the superintendent minister opened his hymn-book, and the hymn was sung which had been sung in wesleyan chapels on new year's morn since the era of john wesley himself. the organ finished with a clanguor of all its pipes; the minister had a few last words with jehovah, and nothing was left to do except to persevere in well-doing. the people leaned towards each other across the high backs of the pews.
-"a happy new year!"
-"eh, thank ye! the same to you!"
-"another watch night service over!"
-"eh, yes!" and a sigh.
-then the aisles were suddenly crowded, and there was a good-humoured, optimistic pushing towards the door. in the corinthian porch occurred a great putting-on of cloaks, ulsters, goloshes, and even pattens, and a great putting-up of umbrellas. and the congregation went out into the whirling snow, dividing into several black, silent-footed processions, down trafalgar road, up towards the playground, along the market-place, and across duck square in the direction of st. luke's square.
-mr. povey was between mrs. baines and constance.
-"you must take my arm, my pet," said mrs. baines to sophia.
-then mr. povey and constance waded on in front through the drifts. sophia balanced that enormous swaying mass, her mother. owing to their hoops, she had much difficulty in keeping close to her. mrs. baines laughed with the complacent ease of obesity, yet a fall would have been almost irremediable for her; and so sophia had to laugh too. but, though she laughed, god had not helped her. she did not know where she was going, nor what might happen to her next.
-"why, bless us!" exclaimed mrs. baines, as they turned the corner into king street. "there's some one sitting on our door-step!"
-there was: a figure swathed in an ulster, a maud over the ulster, and a high hat on the top of all. it could not have been there very long, because it was only speckled with snow. mr. povey plunged forward.
-"it's mr. scales, of all people!" said mr. povey.
-"mr. scales!" cried mrs. baines.
-and, "mr. scales!" murmured sophia, terribly afraid.
-perhaps she was afraid of miracles. mr. scales sitting on her mother's doorstep in the middle of the snowy night had assuredly the air of a miracle, of something dreamed in a dream, of something pathetically and impossibly appropriate--'pat,' as they say in the five towns. but he was a tangible fact there. and years afterwards, in the light of further knowledge of mr. scales, sophia came to regard his being on the doorstep as the most natural and characteristic thing in the world. real miracles never seem to be miracles, and that which at the first blush resembles one usually proves to be an instance of the extremely prosaic.
-"but whatever is the matter, mr. scales?" mrs. baines demanded in an anxious tone. "are you ill? have you been suddenly--"
-"oh no," said the young man lightly. "it's nothing. only i was set on just now, down there,"--he pointed to the depths of king street.
-"set on!" mrs. baines repeated, alarmed.
-"that makes the fourth case in a week, that we know of!" said mr. povey. "it really is becoming a scandal."
-the fact was that, owing to depression of trade, lack of employment, and rigorous weather, public security in the five towns was at that period not as perfect as it ought to have been. in the stress of hunger the lower classes were forgetting their manners--and this in spite of the altruistic and noble efforts of their social superiors to relieve the destitution due, of course, to short-sighted improvidence. when (the social superiors were asking in despair) will the lower classes learn to put by for a rainy day? (they might have said a snowy and a frosty day.) it was 'really too bad' of the lower classes, when everything that could be done was being done for them, to kill, or even attempt to kill, the goose that lays the golden eggs! and especially in a respectable town! what, indeed, were things coming to? well, here was mr. gerald scales, gentleman from manchester, a witness and victim to the deplorable moral condition of the five towns. what would he think of the five towns? the evil and the danger had been a topic of discussion in the shop for a week past, and now it was brought home to them.
-"i hope you weren't--" said mrs. baines, apologetically and sympathetically.
-"oh no!" mr. scales interrupted her quite gaily. "i managed to beat them off. only my elbow--"
-meanwhile it was continuing to snow.
-"do come in!" said mrs. baines.
-"i couldn't think of troubling you," said mr. scales. "i'm all right now, and i can find my way to the tiger."
-"you must come in, if it's only for a minute," said mrs. baines, with decision. she had to think of the honour of the town.
-"you're very kind," said mr. scales.
-the door was suddenly opened from within, and maggie surveyed them from the height of the two steps.
-"a happy new year, mum, to all of you."
-"thank you, maggie," said mrs. baines, and primly added:
-"the same to you!" and in her own mind she said that maggie could best prove her desire for a happy new year by contriving in future not to 'scamp her corners,' and not to break so much crockery.
-sophia, scarce knowing what she did, mounted the steps.
-"mr. scales ought to let our new year in, my pet," mrs. baines stopped her.
-"oh, of course, mother!" sophia concurred with, a gasp, springing back nervously.
-mr. scales raised his hat, and duly let the new year, and much snow, into the baines parlour. and there was a vast deal of stamping of feet, agitating of umbrellas, and shaking of cloaks and ulsters on the doormat in the corner by the harmonium. and maggie took away an armful of everything snowy, including goloshes, and received instructions to boil milk and to bring 'mince.' mr. povey said "b-r-r-r!" and shut the door (which was bordered with felt to stop ventilation); mrs. baines turned up the gas till it sang, and told sophia to poke the fire, and actually told constance to light the second gas.
-the placidity of existence had been agreeably disturbed (yes, agreeably, in spite of horror at the attack on mr. scales's elbow) by an adventure. moreover, mr. scales proved to be in evening-dress. and nobody had ever worn evening-dress in that house before.
-sophia's blood was in her face, and it remained there, enhancing the vivid richness of her beauty. she was dizzy with a strange and disconcerting intoxication. she seemed to be in a world of unrealities and incredibilities. her ears heard with indistinctness, and the edges of things and people had a prismatic colouring. she was in a state of ecstatic, unreasonable, inexplicable happiness. all her misery, doubts, despair, rancour, churlishness, had disappeared. she was as softly gentle as constance. her eyes were the eyes of a fawn, and her gestures delicious in their modest and sensitive grace. constance was sitting on the sofa, and, after glancing about as if for shelter, she sat down on the sofa by constance's side. she tried not to stare at mr. scales, but her gaze would not leave him. she was sure that he was the most perfect man in the world. a shortish man, perhaps, but a perfect. that such perfection could be was almost past her belief. he excelled all her dreams of the ideal man. his smile, his voice, his hand, his hair--never were such! why, when he spoke--it was positively music! when he smiled--it was heaven! his smile, to sophia, was one of those natural phenomena which are so lovely that they make you want to shed tears. there is no hyperbole in this description of sophia's sensations, but rather an under-statement of them. she was utterly obsessed by the unique qualities of mr. scales. nothing would have persuaded her that the peer of mr. scales existed among men, or could possibly exist. and it was her intense and profound conviction of his complete pre-eminence that gave him, as he sat there in the rocking-chair in her mother's parlour, that air of the unreal and the incredible.
-"i stayed in the town on purpose to go to a new year's party at mr. lawton's," mr. scales was saying.
-"ah! so you know lawyer lawton!" observed mrs. baines, impressed, for lawyer lawton did not consort with tradespeople. he was jolly with them, and he did their legal business for them, but he was not of them. his friends came from afar.
-"my people are old acquaintances of his," said mr. scales, sipping the milk which maggie had brought.
-"now, mr. scales, you must taste my mince. a happy month for every tart you eat, you know," mrs. baines reminded him.
-he bowed. "and it was as i was coming away from there that i got into difficulties." he laughed.
-then he recounted the struggle, which had, however, been brief, as the assailants lacked pluck. he had slipped and fallen on his elbow on the kerb, and his elbow might have been broken, had not the snow been so thick. no, it did not hurt him now; doubtless a mere bruise. it was fortunate that the miscreants had not got the better of him, for he had in his pocket-book a considerable sum of money in notes--accounts paid! he had often thought what an excellent thing it would be if commercials could travel with dogs, particularly in winter. there was nothing like a dog.
-"you are fond of dogs?" asked mr. povey, who had always had a secret but impracticable ambition to keep a dog.
-"yes," said mr. scales, turning now to mr. povey.
-"keep one?" asked mr. povey, in a sporting tone.
-"i have a fox-terrier bitch," said mr. scales, "that took a first at knutsford; but she's getting old now."
-the sexual epithet fell queerly on the room. mr. povey, being a man of the world, behaved as if nothing had happened; but mrs. baines's curls protested against this unnecessary coarseness. constance pretended not to hear. sophia did not understandingly hear. mr. scales had no suspicion that he was transgressing a convention by virtue of which dogs have no sex. further, he had no suspicion of the local fame of mrs. baines's mince-tarts. he had already eaten more mince-tarts than he could enjoy, before beginning upon hers, and mrs. baines missed the enthusiasm to which she was habituated from consumers of her pastry.
-mr. povey, fascinated, proceeded in the direction of dogs, and it grew more and more evident that mr. scales, who went out to parties in evening dress, instead of going in respectable broad-cloth to watch night-services, who knew the great ones of the land, and who kept dogs of an inconvenient sex, was neither an ordinary commercial traveller nor the kind of man to which the square was accustomed. he came from a different world.
-"lawyer lawton's party broke up early--at least i mean, considering--" mrs. baines hesitated.
-after a pause mr. scales replied, "yes, i left immediately the clock struck twelve. i've a heavy day to-morrow--i mean to-day."
-he took his leave with distinguished courtliness.
-"if i have a moment i shall run in to-morrow morning just to let you know i'm all right," said he, in the white street.
-"oh, do!" said constance. constance's perfect innocence made her strangely forward at times.
-"a happy new year and many of them!"
-"thanks! same to you! don't get lost."
-"straight up the square and first on the right," called the commonsense of mr. povey.
-nothing else remained to say, and the visitor disappeared silently in the whirling snow. "brrr!" murmured mr. povey, shutting the door. everybody felt: "what a funny ending of the old year!"
-"sophia, my pet," mrs. baines began.
-but sophia had vanished to bed.
-"tell her about her new night-dress," said mrs. baines to constance.
-"i don't know that i'm so set up with that young man, after all," mrs. baines reflected aloud.
-"oh, mother!" constance protested. "i think he's just lovely."
-"he never looks you straight in the face," said mrs. baines.
-"don't tell me!" laughed constance, kissing her mother good night. "you're only on your high horse because he didn't praise your mince. i noticed it."
-"if anybody thinks i'm going to stand the cold in this showroom any longer, they're mistaken," said sophia the next morning loudly, and in her mother's hearing. and she went down into the shop carrying bonnets.
-she pretended to be angry, but she was not. she felt, on the contrary, extremely joyous, and charitable to all the world. usually she would take pains to keep out of the shop; usually she was preoccupied and stern. hence her presence on the ground-floor, and her demeanour, excited interest among the three young lady assistants who sat sewing round the stove in the middle of the shop, sheltered by the great pile of shirtings and linseys that fronted the entrance.
-sophia shared constance's corner. they had hot bricks under their feet, and fine-knitted wraps on their shoulders. they would have been more comfortable near the stove, but greatness has its penalties. the weather was exceptionally severe. the windows were thickly frosted over, so that mr. povey's art in dressing them was quite wasted. and--rare phenomenon!--the doors of the shop were shut. in the ordinary way they were not merely open, but hidden by a display of 'cheap lines.' mr. povey, after consulting mrs. baines, had decided to close them, foregoing the customary display. mr. povey had also, in order to get a little warmth into his limbs, personally assisted two casual labourers to scrape the thick frozen snow off the pavement; and he wore his kid mittens. all these things together proved better than the evidence of barometers how the weather nipped.
-mr. scales came about ten o'clock. instead of going to mr. povey's counter, he walked boldly to constance's corner, and looked over the boxes, smiling and saluting. both the girls candidly delighted in his visit. both blushed; both laughed--without knowing why they laughed. mr. scales said he was just departing and had slipped in for a moment to thank all of them for their kindness of last night--'or rather this morning.' the girls laughed again at this witticism. nothing could have been more simple than his speech. yet it appeared to them magically attractive. a customer entered, a lady; one of the assistants rose from the neighbourhood of the stove, but the daughters of the house ignored the customer; it was part of the etiquette of the shop that customers, at any rate chance customers, should not exist for the daughters of the house, until an assistant had formally drawn attention to them. otherwise every one who wanted a pennyworth of tape would be expecting to be served by miss baines, or miss sophia, if miss sophia were there. which would have been ridiculous.
-sophia, glancing sidelong, saw the assistant parleying with the customer; and then the assistant came softly behind the counter and approached the corner.
-"miss constance, can you spare a minute?" the assistant whispered discreetly.
-constance extinguished her smile for mr. scales, and, turning away, lighted an entirely different and inferior smile for the customer.
-"good morning, miss baines. very cold, isn't it?"
-"good morning, mrs. chatterley. yes, it is. i suppose you're getting anxious about those--" constance stopped.
-sophia was now alone with mr. scales, for in order to discuss the unnameable freely with mrs. chatterley her sister was edging up the counter. sophia had dreamed of a private conversation as something delicious and impossible. but chance had favoured her. she was alone with him. and his neat fair hair and his blue eyes and his delicate mouth were as wonderful to her as ever. he was gentlemanly to a degree that impressed her more than anything had impressed her in her life. and all the proud and aristocratic instinct that was at the base of her character sprang up and seized on his gentlemanliness like a famished animal seizing on food.
-"what? yesterday? did i?"
-"no, i mean the last time i saw you alone," said he.
-"oh!" she exclaimed. "it's just an accident."
-"that's exactly what you said last time."
-was it his manner, or what he said, that flattered her, that intensified her beautiful vivacity?
-"i suppose you don't often go out?" he went on.
-"what? in this weather?"
-"i go to chapel," said she, "and marketing with mother." there was a little pause. "and to the free library."
-"oh yes. you've got a free library here now, haven't you?"
-"yes. we've had it over a year."
-"and you belong to it? what do you read?"
-"oh, stories, you know. i get a fresh book out once a week."
-"saturdays, i suppose?"
-"no," she said. "wednesdays." and she smiled. "usually."
-"it's wednesday to-day," said he. "not been already?"
-she shook her head. "i don't think i shall go to-day. it's too cold. i don't think i shall venture out to-day."
-"you must be very fond of reading," said he.
-then mr. povey appeared, rubbing his mittened hands. and mrs. chatterley went.
-"i'll run and fetch mother," said constance.
-mrs. baines was very polite to the young man. he related his interview with the police, whose opinion was that he had been attacked by stray members of a gang from hanbridge. the young lady assistants, with ears cocked, gathered the nature of mr. scales's adventure, and were thrilled to the point of questioning mr. povey about it after mr. scales had gone. his farewell was marked by much handshaking, and finally mr. povey ran after him into the square to mention something about dogs.
-sophia nonchalantly passed her and hurried into the parlour where she threw down her muff and a book and knelt before the fire to warm herself.
-mrs. baines followed her. "been to the library?" questioned mrs. baines.
-"yes, mother. and it's simply perishing."
-"i wonder at your going on a day like to-day. i thought you always went on thursdays?"
-"so i do. but i'd finished my book."
-"what is this?" mrs. baines picked up the volume, which was covered with black oil-cloth.
-she picked it up with a hostile air. for her attitude towards the free library was obscurely inimical. she never read anything herself except the sunday at home, and constance never read anything except the sunday at home. there were scriptural commentaries, dugdale's gazetteer, culpepper's herbal, and works by bunyan and flavius josephus in the drawing-room bookcase; also uncle tom's cabin. and mrs. baines, in considering the welfare of her daughters, looked askance at the whole remainder of printed literature. if the free library had not formed part of the famous wedgwood institution, which had been opened with immense eclat by the semi-divine gladstone; if the first book had not been ceremoniously 'taken out' of the free library by the chief bailiff in person--a grandfather of stainless renown--mrs. baines would probably have risked her authority in forbidding the free library.
-"you needn't be afraid," said sophia, laughing. "it's miss sewell's experience of life."
-"a novel, i see," observed mrs. baines, dropping the book.
-gold and jewels would probably not tempt a sophia of these days to read experience of life; but to sophia baines the bland story had the piquancy of the disapproved.
-the next day mrs. baines summoned sophia into her bedroom.
-"sophia," said she, trembling, "i shall be glad if you will not walk about the streets with young men until you have my permission."
-the girl blushed violently. "i--i--"
-"you were seen in wedgwood street," said mrs. baines.
-"who's been gossiping--mr. critchlow, i suppose?" sophia exclaimed scornfully.
-"no one has been 'gossiping,'" said mrs. baines. "well, if i meet some one by accident in the street i can't help it, can i?" sophia's voice shook.
-"you know what i mean, my child," said mrs. baines, with careful calm.
-sophia dashed angrily from the room.
-"i like the idea of him having 'a heavy day'!" mrs. baines reflected ironically, recalling a phrase which had lodged in her mind. and very vaguely, with an uneasiness scarcely perceptible, she remembered that 'he,' and no other, had been in the shop on the day her husband died.
-the uneasiness of mrs. baines flowed and ebbed, during the next three months, influenced by sophia's moods. there were days when sophia was the old sophia--the forbidding, difficult, waspish, and even hedgehog sophia. but there were other days on which sophia seemed to be drawing joy and gaiety and goodwill from some secret source, from some fount whose nature and origin none could divine. it was on these days that the uneasiness of mrs. baines waxed. she had the wildest suspicions; she was almost capable of accusing sophia of carrying on a clandestine correspondence; she saw sophia and gerald scales deeply and wickedly in love; she saw them with their arms round each other's necks.... and then she called herself a middle-aged fool, to base such a structure of suspicion on a brief encounter in the street and on an idea, a fancy, a curious and irrational notion! sophia had a certain streak of pure nobility in that exceedingly heterogeneous thing, her character. moreover, mrs. baines watched the posts, and she also watched sophia--she was not the woman to trust to a streak of pure nobility--and she came to be sure that sophia's sinfulness, if any, was not such as could be weighed in a balance, or collected together by stealth and then suddenly placed before the girl on a charger.
-still, she would have given much to see inside sophia's lovely head. ah! could she have done so, what sleep-destroying wonders she would have witnessed! by what bright lamps burning in what mysterious grottoes and caverns of the brain would her mature eyes have been dazzled! sophia was living for months on the exhaustless ardent vitality absorbed during a magical two minutes in wedgwood street. she was living chiefly on the flaming fire struck in her soul by the shock of seeing gerald scales in the porch of the wedgwood institution as she came out of the free library with experience of life tucked into her large astrakhan muff. he had stayed to meet her, then: she knew it! "after all," her heart said, "i must be very beautiful, for i have attracted the pearl of men!" and she remembered her face in the glass. the value and the power of beauty were tremendously proved to her. he, the great man of the world, the handsome and elegant man with a thousand strange friends and a thousand interests far remote from her, had remained in bursley on the mere chance of meeting her! she was proud, but her pride was drowned in bliss. "i was just looking at this inscription about mr. gladstone." "so you decided to come out as usual!" "and may i ask what book you have chosen?" these were the phrases she heard, and to which she responded with similar phrases. and meanwhile a miracle of ecstasy had opened--opened like a flower. she was walking along wedgwood street by his side, slowly, on the scraped pavements, where marble bulbs of snow had defied the spade and remained. she and he were exactly of the same height, and she kept looking into his face and he into hers. this was all the miracle. except that she was not walking on the pavement--she was walking on the intangible sward of paradise! except that the houses had receded and faded, and the passers-by were subtilized into unnoticeable ghosts! except that her mother and constance had become phantasmal beings existing at an immense distance!
-what had happened? nothing! the most commonplace occurrence! the eternal cause had picked up a commercial traveller (it might have been a clerk or curate, but it in fact was a commercial traveller), and endowed him with all the glorious, unique, incredible attributes of a god, and planted him down before sophia in order to produce the eternal effect. a miracle performed specially for sophia's benefit! no one else in wedgwood street saw the god walking along by her side. no one else saw anything but a simple commercial traveller. yes, the most commonplace occurrence!
-of course at the corner of the street he had to go. "till next time!" he murmured. and fire came out of his eyes and lighted in sophia's lovely head those lamps which mrs. baines was mercifully spared from seeing. and he had shaken hands and raised his hat. imagine a god raising his hat! and he went off on two legs, precisely like a dashing little commercial traveller.
-and, escorted by the equivocal angel of eclipses, she had turned into king street, and arranged her face, and courageously met her mother. her mother had not at first perceived the unusual; for mothers, despite their reputation to the contrary, really are the blindest creatures. sophia, the naive ninny, had actually supposed that her walking along a hundred yards of pavement with a god by her side was not going to excite remark! what a delusion! it is true, certainly, that no one saw the god by direct vision. but sophia's cheeks, sophia's eyes, the curve of sophia's neck as her soul yearned towards the soul of the god--these phenomena were immeasurably more notable than sophia guessed. an account of them, in a modified form to respect mrs. baines's notorious dignity, had healed the mother of her blindness and led to that characteristic protest from her, "i shall be glad if you will not walk about the streets with young men," etc.
-when the period came for the reappearance of mr. scales, mrs. baines outlined a plan, and when the circular announcing the exact time of his arrival was dropped into the letter-box, she formulated the plan in detail. in the first place, she was determined to be indisposed and invisible herself, so that mr. scales might be foiled in any possible design to renew social relations in the parlour. in the second place, she flattered constance with a single hint--oh, the vaguest and briefest!--and constance understood that she was not to quit the shop on the appointed morning. in the third place, she invented a way of explaining to mr. povey that the approaching advent of gerald scales must not be mentioned. and in the fourth place, she deliberately made appointments for sophia with two millinery customers in the showroom, so that sophia might be imprisoned in the showroom.
-having thus left nothing to chance, she told herself that she was a foolish woman full of nonsense. but this did not prevent her from putting her lips together firmly and resolving that mr. scales should have no finger in the pie of her family. she had acquired information concerning mr. scales, at secondhand, from lawyer pratt. more than this, she posed the question in a broader form--why should a young girl be permitted any interest in any young man whatsoever? the everlasting purpose had made use of mrs. baines and cast her off, and, like most persons in a similar situation, she was, unconsciously and quite honestly, at odds with the everlasting purpose.
-on the day of mr. scales's visit to the shop to obtain orders and money on behalf of birkinshaws, a singular success seemed to attend the machinations of mrs. baines. with mr. scales punctuality was not an inveterate habit, and he had rarely been known, in the past, to fulfil exactly the prophecy of the letter of advice concerning his arrival. but that morning his promptitude was unexampled. he entered the shop, and by chance mr. povey was arranging unshrinkable flannels in the doorway. the two youngish little men talked amiably about flannels, dogs, and quarter-day (which was just past), and then mr. povey led mr. scales to his desk in the dark corner behind the high pile of twills, and paid the quarterly bill, in notes and gold--as always; and then mr. scales offered for the august inspection of mr. povey all that manchester had recently invented for the temptation of drapers, and mr. povey gave him an order which, if not reckless, was nearer 'handsome' than 'good.' during the process mr. scales had to go out of the shop twice or three times in order to bring in from his barrow at the kerb-stone certain small black boxes edged with brass. on none of these excursions did mr. scales glance wantonly about him in satisfaction of the lust of the eye. even if he had permitted himself this freedom he would have seen nothing more interesting than three young lady assistants seated round the stove and sewing with pricked fingers from which the chilblains were at last deciding to depart. when mr. scales had finished writing down the details of the order with his ivory-handled stylo, and repacked his boxes, he drew the interview to a conclusion after the manner of a capable commercial traveller; that is to say, he implanted in mr. povey his opinion that mr. povey was a wise, a shrewd and an upright man, and that the world would be all the better for a few more like him. he inquired for mrs. baines, and was deeply pained to hear of her indisposition while finding consolation in the assurance that the misses baines were well. mr. povey was on the point of accompanying the pattern of commercial travellers to the door, when two customers simultaneously came in--ladies. one made straight for mr. povey, whereupon mr. scales parted from him at once, it being a universal maxim in shops that even the most distinguished commercial shall not hinder the business of even the least distinguished customer. the other customer had the effect of causing constance to pop up from her cloistral corner. constance had been there all the time, but of course, though she heard the remembered voice, her maidenliness had not permitted that she should show herself to mr. scales.
-now, as he was leaving, mr. scales saw her, with her agreeable snub nose and her kind, simple eyes. she was requesting the second customer to mount to the showroom, where was miss sophia. mr. scales hesitated a moment, and in that moment constance, catching his eye, smiled upon him, and nodded. what else could she do? vaguely aware though she was that her mother was not 'set up' with mr. scales, and even feared the possible influence of the young man on sophia, she could not exclude him from her general benevolence towards the universe. moreover, she liked him; she liked him very much and thought him a very fine specimen of a man.
-he left the door and went across to her. they shook hands and opened a conversation instantly; for constance, while retaining all her modesty, had lost all her shyness in the shop, and could chatter with anybody. she sidled towards her corner, precisely as sophia had done on another occasion, and mr. scales put his chin over the screening boxes, and eagerly prosecuted the conversation.
-there was absolutely nothing in the fact of the interview itself to cause alarm to a mother, nothing to render futile the precautions of mrs. baines on behalf of the flower of sophia's innocence. and yet it held danger for mrs. baines, all unconscious in her parlour. mrs. baines could rely utterly on constance not to be led away by the dandiacal charms of mr. scales (she knew in what quarter sat the wind for constance); in her plan she had forgotten nothing, except mr. povey; and it must be said that she could not possibly have foreseen the effect on the situation of mr. povey's character.
-mr. povey, attending to his customer, had noticed the bright smile of constance on the traveller, and his heart did not like it. and when he saw the lively gestures of a mr. scales in apparently intimate talk with a constance hidden behind boxes, his uneasiness grew into fury. he was a man capable of black and terrible furies. outwardly insignificant, possessing a mind as little as his body, easily abashed, he was none the less a very susceptible young man, soon offended, proud, vain, and obscurely passionate. you might offend mr. povey without guessing it, and only discover your sin when mr. povey had done something too decisive as a result of it.
-the reason of his fury was jealousy. mr. povey had made great advances since the death of john baines. he had consolidated his position, and he was in every way a personage of the first importance. his misfortune was that he could never translate his importance, or his sense of his importance, into terms of outward demeanour. most people, had they been told that mr. povey was seriously aspiring to enter the baines family, would have laughed. but they would have been wrong. to laugh at mr. povey was invariably wrong. only constance knew what inroads he had effected upon her.
-the customer went, but mr. scales did not go. mr. povey, free to reconnoitre, did so. from the shadow of the till he could catch glimpses of constance's blushing, vivacious face. she was obviously absorbed in mr. scales. she and he had a tremendous air of intimacy. and the murmur of their chatter continued. their chatter was nothing, and about nothing, but mr. povey imagined that they were exchanging eternal vows. he endured mr. scales's odious freedom until it became insufferable, until it deprived him of all his self-control; and then he retired into his cutting-out room. he meditated there in a condition of insanity for perhaps a minute, and excogitated a device. dashing back into the shop, he spoke up, half across the shop, in a loud, curt tone:
-"miss baines, your mother wants you at once."
-he was launched on the phrase before he noticed that, during his absence, sophia had descended from the showroom and joined her sister and mr. scales. the danger and scandal were now less, he perceived, but he was glad he had summoned constance away, and he was in a state to despise consequences.
-the three chatterers, startled, looked at mr. povey, who left the shop abruptly. constance could do nothing but obey the call.
-she met him at the door of the cutting-out room in the passage leading to the parlour.
-"where is mother? in the parlour?" constance inquired innocently.
-there was a dark flush on mr. povey's face. "if you wish to know," said he in a hard voice, "she hasn't asked for you and she doesn't want you."
-he turned his back on her, and retreated into his lair.
-"then what--?" she began, puzzled.
-he fronted her. "haven't you been gabbling long enough with that jackanapes?" he spit at her. there were tears in his eyes.
-constance, though without experience in these matters, comprehended. she comprehended perfectly and immediately. she ought to have put mr. povey into his place. she ought to have protested with firm, dignified finality against such a ridiculous and monstrous outrage as that which mr. povey had committed. mr. povey ought to have been ruined for ever in her esteem and in her heart. but she hesitated.
-"and only last sunday--afternoon," mr. povey blubbered.
-tears now fell suddenly from constance's eyes. "you ought to be ashamed--" she stammered.
-still, the tears were in her eyes, and in his too. what he or she merely said, therefore, was of secondary importance.
-that afternoon sophia, too busy with her own affairs to notice anything abnormal in the relations between her mother and constance, and quite ignorant that there had been an unsuccessful plot against her, went forth to call upon miss chetwynd, with whom she had remained very friendly: she considered that she and miss chetwynd formed an aristocracy of intellect, and the family indeed tacitly admitted this. she practised no secrecy in her departure from the shop; she merely dressed, in her second-best hoop, and went, having been ready at any moment to tell her mother, if her mother caught her and inquired, that she was going to see miss chetwynd. and she did go to see miss chetwynd, arriving at the house-school, which lay amid trees on the road to turnhill, just beyond the turnpike, at precisely a quarter-past four. as miss chetwynd's pupils left at four o'clock, and as miss chetwynd invariably took a walk immediately afterwards, sophia was able to contain her surprise upon being informed that miss chetwynd was not in. she had not intended that miss chetwynd should be in.
-she turned off to the right, up the side road which, starting from the turnpike, led in the direction of moorthorne and red cow, two mining villages. her heart beat with fear as she began to follow that road, for she was upon a terrific adventure. what most frightened her, perhaps, was her own astounding audacity. she was alarmed by something within herself which seemed to be no part of herself and which produced in her curious, disconcerting, fleeting impressions of unreality.
-in the morning she had heard the voice of mr. scales from the showroom--that voice whose even distant murmur caused creepings of the skin in her back. and she had actually stood on the counter in front of the window in order to see down perpendicularly into the square; by so doing she had had a glimpse of the top of his luggage on a barrow, and of the crown of his hat occasionally when he went outside to tempt mr. povey. she might have gone down into the shop--there was no slightest reason why she should not; three months had elapsed since the name of mr. scales had been mentioned, and her mother had evidently forgotten the trifling incident of new year's day--but she was incapable of descending the stairs! she went to the head of the stairs and peeped through the balustrade--and she could not get further. for nearly a hundred days those extraordinary lamps had been brightly burning in her head; and now the light-giver had come again, and her feet would not move to the meeting; now the moment had arrived for which alone she had lived, and she could not seize it as it passed! "why don't i go downstairs?" she asked herself. "am i afraid to meet him?"
-"i am a wicked girl!" she said quite frankly, on the road to the rendezvous. "it is a dream that i am going to meet him. it cannot be true. there is time to go back. if i go back i am safe. i have simply called at miss chetwynd's and she wasn't in, and no one can say a word. but if i go on--if i'm seen! what a fool i am to go on!"
-and she went on, impelled by, amongst other things, an immense, naive curiosity, and the vanity which the bare fact of his note had excited. the loop railway was being constructed at that period, and hundreds of navvies were at work on it between bursley and turnhill. when she came to the new bridge over the cutting, he was there, as he had written that he would be.
-they were very nervous, they greeted each other stiffly and as though they had met then for the first time that day. nothing was said about his note, nor about her response to it. her presence was treated by both of them as a basic fact of the situation which it would be well not to disturb by comment. sophia could not hide her shame, but her shame only aggravated the stinging charm of her beauty. she was wearing a hard amazonian hat, with a lifted veil, the final word of fashion that spring in the five towns; her face, beaten by the fresh breeze, shone rosily; her eyes glittered under the dark hat, and the violent colours of her victorian frock--green and crimson--could not spoil those cheeks. if she looked earthwards, frowning, she was the more adorable so. he had come down the clayey incline from the unfinished red bridge to welcome her, and when the salutations were over they stood still, he gazing apparently at the horizon and she at the yellow marl round the edges of his boots. the encounter was as far away from sophia's ideal conception as manchester from venice.
-"so this is the new railway!" said she.
-"yes," said he. "this is your new railway. you can see it better from the bridge."
-"but it's very sludgy up there," she objected with a pout.
-"further on it's quite dry," he reassured her.
-from the bridge they had a sudden view of a raw gash in the earth; and hundreds of men were crawling about in it, busy with minute operations, like flies in a great wound. there was a continuous rattle of picks, resembling a muffled shower of hail, and in the distance a tiny locomotive was leading a procession of tiny waggons.
-"and those are the navvies!" she murmured.
-the unspeakable doings of the navvies in the five towns had reached even her: how they drank and swore all day on sundays, how their huts and houses were dens of the most appalling infamy, how they were the curse of a god-fearing and respectable district! she and gerald scales glanced down at these dangerous beasts of prey in their yellow corduroys and their open shirts revealing hairy chests. no doubt they both thought how inconvenient it was that railways could not be brought into existence without the aid of such revolting and swinish animals. they glanced down from the height of their nice decorum and felt the powerful attraction of similar superior manners. the manners of the navvies were such that sophia could not even regard them, nor gerald scales permit her to regard them, without blushing.
-in a united blush they turned away, up the gradual slope. sophia knew no longer what she was doing. for some minutes she was as helpless as though she had been in a balloon with him.
-"i got my work done early," he said; and added complacently, "as a matter of fact i've had a pretty good day."
-she was reassured to learn that he was not neglecting his duties. to be philandering with a commercial traveller who has finished a good day's work seemed less shocking than dalliance with a neglecter of business; it seemed indeed, by comparison, respectable.
-"it must be very interesting," she said primly.
-"what, my trade?"
-"yes. always seeing new places and so on."
-"in a way it is," he admitted judicially. "but i can tell you it was much more agreeable being in paris."
-"oh! have you been to paris?"
-"lived there for nearly two years," he said carelessly. then, looking at her, "didn't you notice i never came for a long time?"
-"i didn't know you were in paris," she evaded him.
-"i went to start a sort of agency for birkinshaws," he said.
-"i suppose you talk french like anything."
-"of course one has to talk french," said he. "i learnt french when i was a child from a governess--my uncle made me--but i forgot most of it at school, and at the varsity you never learn anything--precious little, anyhow! certainly not french!"
-she was deeply impressed. he was a much greater personage than she had guessed. it had never occurred to her that commercial travellers had to go to a university to finish their complex education. and then, paris! paris meant absolutely nothing to her but pure, impossible, unattainable romance. and he had been there! the clouds of glory were around him. he was a hero, dazzling. he had come to her out of another world. he was her miracle. he was almost too miraculous to be true.
-she, living her humdrum life at the shop! and he, elegant, brilliant, coming from far cities! they together, side by side, strolling up the road towards the moorthorne ridge! there was nothing quite like this in the stories of miss sewell.
-"your uncle...?" she questioned vaguely.
-"yes, mr. boldero. he's a partner in birkinshaws."
-"you've heard of him? he's a great wesleyan."
-"oh yes," she said. "when we had the wesleyan conference here, he--"
-"he's always very great at conferences," said gerald scales.
-"i didn't know he had anything to do with birkinshaws."
-"he isn't a working partner of course," mr. scales explained. "but he means me to be one. i have to learn the business from the bottom. so now you understand why i'm a traveller."
-"i see," she said, still more deeply impressed.
-"i'm an orphan," said gerald. "and uncle boldero took me in hand when i was three."
-"i see!" she repeated.
-it seemed strange to her that mr. scales should be a wesleyan--just like herself. she would have been sure that he was 'church.' her notions of wesleyanism, with her notions of various other things, were sharply modified.
-"now tell me about you," mr. scales suggested.
-"oh! i'm nothing!" she burst out.
-the exclamation was perfectly sincere. mr. scales's disclosures concerning himself, while they excited her, discouraged her.
-"you're the finest girl i've ever met, anyhow," said mr. scales with gallant emphasis, and he dug his stick into the soft ground.
-she blushed and made no answer.
-they walked on in silence, each wondering apprehensively what might happen next.
-suddenly mr. scales stopped at a dilapidated low brick wall, built in a circle, close to the side of the road.
-"i expect that's an old pit-shaft," said he.
-"yes, i expect it is."
-he picked up a rather large stone and approached the wall.
-"be careful!" she enjoined him.
-"oh! it's all right," he said lightly. "let's listen. come near and listen."
-she reluctantly obeyed, and he threw the stone over the dirty ruined wall, the top of which was about level with his hat. for two or three seconds there was no sound. then a faint reverberation echoed from the depths of the shaft. and on sophia's brain arose dreadful images of the ghosts of miners wandering for ever in subterranean passages, far, far beneath. the noise of the falling stone had awakened for her the secret terrors of the earth. she could scarcely even look at the wall without a spasm of fear.
-"some of them are," she trembled.
-"i must just have a look," he said, and put his hands on the top of the wall.
-"come away!" she cried.
-"oh! it's all right!" he said again, soothingly. "the wall's as firm as a rock." and he took a slight spring and looked over.
-she shrieked loudly. she saw him at the distant bottom of the shaft, mangled, drowning. the ground seemed to quake under her feet. a horrible sickness seized her. and she shrieked again. never had she guessed that existence could be such pain.
-he slid down from the wall, and turned to her. "no bottom to be seen!" he said. then, observing her transformed face, he came close to her, with a superior masculine smile. "silly little thing!" he said coaxingly, endearingly, putting forth all his power to charm.
-he perceived at once that he had miscalculated the effects of his action. her alarm changed swiftly to angry offence. she drew back with a haughty gesture, as if he had intended actually to touch her. did he suppose, because she chanced to be walking with him, that he had the right to address her familiarly, to tease her, to call her 'silly little thing' and to put his face against hers? she resented his freedom with quick and passionate indignation.
-she showed him her proud back and nodding head and wrathful skirts; and hurried off without a word, almost running. as for him, he was so startled by unexpected phenomena that he did nothing for a moment--merely stood looking and feeling foolish.
-then she heard him in pursuit. she was too proud to stop or even to reduce her speed.
-"i didn't mean to--" he muttered behind her.
-no recognition from her.
-"i suppose i ought to apologize," he said.
-"i should just think you ought," she answered, furious.
-"well, i do!" said he. "do stop a minute."
-"i'll thank you not to follow me, mr. scales." she paused, and scorched him with her displeasure. then she went forward. and her heart was in torture because it could not persuade her to remain with him, and smile and forgive, and win his smile.
-"i shall write to you," he shouted down the slope.
-she kept on, the ridiculous child. but the agony she had suffered as he clung to the frail wall was not ridiculous, nor her dark vision of the mine, nor her tremendous indignation when, after disobeying her, he forgot that she was a queen. to her the scene was sublimely tragic. soon she had recrossed the bridge, but not the same she! so this was the end of the incredible adventure!
-when she reached the turnpike she thought of her mother and of constance. she had completely forgotten them; for a space they had utterly ceased to exist for her.
-"you've been out, sophia?" said mrs. baines in the parlour, questioningly. sophia had taken off her hat and mantle hurriedly in the cutting-out room, for she was in danger of being late for tea; but her hair and face showed traces of the march breeze. mrs. baines, whose stoutness seemed to increase, sat in the rocking-chair with a number of the sunday at home in her hand. tea was set.
-"yes, mother. i called to see miss chetwynd."
-"i wish you'd tell me when you are going out."
-"i looked all over for you before i started."
-"no, you didn't, for i haven't stirred from this room since four o'clock.... you should not say things like that," mrs. baines added in a gentler tone.
-mrs. baines had suffered much that day. she knew that she was in an irritable, nervous state, and therefore she said to herself, in her quality of wise woman, "i must watch myself. i mustn't let myself go." and she thought how reasonable she was. she did not guess that all her gestures betrayed her; nor did it occur to her that few things are more galling than the spectacle of a person, actuated by lofty motives, obviously trying to be kind and patient under what he considers to be extreme provocation.
-maggie blundered up the kitchen stairs with the teapot and hot toast; and so sophia had an excuse for silence. sophia too had suffered much, suffered excruciatingly; she carried at that moment a whole tragedy in her young soul, unaccustomed to such burdens. her attitude towards her mother was half fearful and half defiant; it might be summed up in the phrase which she had repeated again and again under her breath on the way home, "well, mother can't kill me!"
-mrs. baines put down the blue-covered magazine and twisted her rocking-chair towards the table.
-"you can pour out the tea," said mrs. baines.
-"she's not very well. she's lying down."
-"anything the matter with her?"
-this was inaccurate. nearly everything was the matter with constance, who had never been less constance than during that afternoon. but mrs. baines had no intention of discussing constance's love-affairs with sophia. the less said to sophia about love, the better! sophia was excitable enough already!
-they sat opposite to each other, on either side of the fire--the monumental matron whose black bodice heavily overhung the table, whose large rounded face was creased and wrinkled by what seemed countless years of joy and disillusion; and the young, slim girl, so fresh, so virginal, so ignorant, with all the pathos of an unsuspecting victim about to be sacrificed to the minotaur of time! they both ate hot toast, with careless haste, in silence, preoccupied, worried, and outwardly nonchalant.
-"and what has miss chetwynd got to say?" mrs. baines inquired.
-"she wasn't in."
-here was a blow for mrs. baines, whose suspicions about sophia, driven off by her certainties regarding constance, suddenly sprang forward in her mind, and prowled to and fro like a band of tigers.
-still, mrs. baines was determined to be calm and careful. "oh! what time did you call?"
-"i don't know. about half-past four." sophia finished her tea quickly, and rose. "shall i tell mr. povey he can come?"
-"yes, if you will stay in the shop till i come. light me the gas before you go."
-sophia took a wax taper from a vase on the mantelpiece, stuck it in the fire and lit the gas, which exploded in its crystal cloister with a mild report.
-"what's all that clay on your boots, child?" asked mrs. baines.
-"clay?" repeated sophia, staring foolishly at her boots.
-"yes," said mrs. baines. "it looks like marl. where on earth have you been?"
-she interrogated her daughter with an upward gaze, frigid and unconsciously hostile, through her gold-rimmed glasses.
-"i must have picked it up on the roads," said sophia, and hastened to the door.
-"shut the door."
-sophia unwillingly shut the door which she had half opened.
-"you are deceiving me, sophia," said mrs. baines, with fierce solemnity. "where have you been this afternoon?"
-sophia's foot was restless on the carpet behind the table. "i haven't been anywhere," she murmured glumly.
-"have you seen young scales?"
-"yes," said sophia with grimness, glancing audaciously for an instant at her mother. ("she can't kill me: she can't kill me," her heart muttered. and she had youth and beauty in her favour, while her mother was only a fat middle-aged woman. "she can't kill me," said her heart, with the trembling, cruel insolence of the mirror-flattered child.)
-"how came you to meet him?"
-"sophia, you heard what i said!"
-still no answer. sophia looked down at the table. ("she can't kill me.")
-"if you are going to be sullen, i shall have to suppose the worst," said mrs. baines.
-sophia kept her silence.
-"of course," mrs. baines resumed, "if you choose to be wicked, neither your mother nor any one else can stop you. there are certain things i can do, and these i shall do ... let me warn you that young scales is a thoroughly bad lot. i know all about him. he has been living a wild life abroad, and if it hadn't been that his uncle is a partner in birkinshaws, they would never have taken him on again." a pause. "i hope that one day you will be a happy wife, but you are much too young yet to be meeting young men, and nothing would ever induce me to let you have anything to do with this scales. i won't have it. in future you are not to go out alone. you understand me?"
-sophia kept silence.
-"i hope you will be in a better frame of mind to-morrow. i can only hope so. but if you aren't, i shall take very severe measures. you think you can defy me. but you never were more mistaken in your life. i don't want to see any more of you now. go and tell mr. povey; and call maggie for the fresh tea. you make me almost glad that your father died even as he did. he has, at any rate, been spared this."
-those words 'died even as he did' achieved the intimidation of sophia. they seemed to indicate that mrs. baines, though she had magnanimously never mentioned the subject to sophia, knew exactly how the old man had died. sophia escaped from the room in fear, cowed. nevertheless, her thought was, "she hasn't killed me. i made up my mind i wouldn't talk, and i didn't."
-in the evening, as she sat in the shop primly and sternly sewing at hats--while her mother wept in secret on the first floor, and constance remained hidden on the second--sophia lived over again the scene at the old shaft; but she lived it differently, admitting that she had been wrong, guessing by instinct that she had shown a foolish mistrust of love. as she sat in the shop, she adopted just the right attitude and said just the right things. instead of being a silly baby she was an accomplished and dazzling woman, then. when customers came in, and the young lady assistants unobtrusively turned higher the central gas, according to the regime of the shop, it was really extraordinary that they could not read in the heart of the beautiful miss baines the words which blazed there; "you're the finest girl i ever met," and "i shall write to you." the young lady assistants had their notions as to both constance and sophia, but the truth, at least as regarded sophia, was beyond the flight of their imaginations. when eight o'clock struck and she gave the formal order for dust-sheets, the shop being empty, they never supposed that she was dreaming about posts and plotting how to get hold of the morning's letters before mr. povey.
-it was during the month of june that aunt harriet came over from axe to spend a few days with her little sister, mrs. baines. the railway between axe and the five towns had not yet been opened; but even if it had been opened aunt harriet would probably not have used it. she had always travelled from axe to bursley in the same vehicle, a small waggonette which she hired from bratt's livery stables at axe, driven by a coachman who thoroughly understood the importance, and the peculiarities, of aunt harriet.
-mrs. baines had increased in stoutness, so that now aunt harriet had very little advantage over her, physically. but the moral ascendency of the elder still persisted. the two vast widows shared mrs. baines's bedroom, spending much of their time there in long, hushed conversations--interviews from which mrs. baines emerged with the air of one who has received enlightenment and aunt harriet with the air of one who has rendered it. the pair went about together, in the shop, the showroom, the parlour, the kitchen, and also into the town, addressing each other as 'sister,' 'sister.' everywhere it was 'sister,' 'sister,' 'my sister,' 'your dear mother,' 'your aunt harriet.' they referred to each other as oracular sources of wisdom and good taste. respectability stalked abroad when they were afoot. the whole square wriggled uneasily as though god's eye were peculiarly upon it. the meals in the parlour became solemn collations, at which shone the best silver and the finest diaper, but from which gaiety and naturalness seemed to be banished. (i say 'seemed' because it cannot be doubted that aunt harriet was natural, and there were moments when she possibly considered herself to be practising gaiety--a gaiety more desolating than her severity.) the younger generation was extinguished, pressed flat and lifeless under the ponderosity of the widows.
-mr. povey was not the man to be easily flattened by ponderosity of any kind, and his suppression was a striking proof of the prowess of the widows; who, indeed, went over mr. povey like traction-engines, with the sublime unconsciousness of traction-engines, leaving an inanimate object in the road behind them, and scarce aware even of the jolt. mr. povey hated aunt harriet, but, lying crushed there in the road, how could he rebel? he felt all the time that aunt harriet was adding him up, and reporting the result at frequent intervals to mrs. baines in the bedroom. he felt that she knew everything about him--even to those tears which had been in his eyes. he felt that he could hope to do nothing right for aunt harriet, that absolute perfection in the performance of duty would make no more impression on her than a caress on the fly-wheel of a traction-engine. constance, the dear constance, was also looked at askance. there was nothing in aunt harriet's demeanour to her that you could take hold of, but there was emphatically something that you could not take hold of--a hint, an inkling, that insinuated to constance, "have a care, lest peradventure you become the second cousin of the scarlet woman."
-sophia was petted. sophia was liable to be playfully tapped by aunt harriet's thimble when aunt harriet was hemming dusters (for the elderly lady could lift a duster to her own dignity). sophia was called on two separate occasions, 'my little butterfly.' and sophia was entrusted with the trimming of aunt harriet's new summer bonnet. aunt harriet deemed that sophia was looking pale. as the days passed, sophia's pallor was emphasized by aunt harriet until it developed into an article of faith, to which you were compelled to subscribe on pain of excommunication. then dawned the day when aunt harriet said, staring at sophia as an affectionate aunt may: "that child would do with a change." and then there dawned another day when aunt harriet, staring at sophia compassionately, as a devoted aunt may, said: "it's a pity that child can't have a change." and mrs. baines also stared--and said: "it is."
-and on another day aunt harriet said: "i've been wondering whether my little sophia would care to come and keep her old aunt company a while."
-there were few things for which sophia would have cared less. the girl swore to herself angrily that she would not go, that no allurement would induce her to go. but she was in a net; she was in the meshes of family correctness. do what she would, she could not invent a reason for not going. certainly she could not tell her aunt that she merely did not want to go. she was capable of enormities, but not of that. and then began aunt harriet's intricate preparations for going. aunt harriet never did anything simply. and she could not be hurried. seventy-two hours before leaving she had to commence upon her trunk; but first the trunk had to be wiped by maggie with a damp cloth under the eye and direction of aunt harriet. and the liveryman at axe had to be written to, and the servants at axe written to, and the weather prospects weighed and considered. and somehow, by the time these matters were accomplished, it was tacitly understood that sophia should accompany her kind aunt into the bracing moorland air of axe. no smoke at axe! no stuffiness at axe! the spacious existence of a wealthy widow in a residential town with a low death-rate and famous scenery! "have you packed your box, sophia?" no, she had not. "well, i will come and help you."
-impossible to bear up against the momentum of a massive body like aunt harriet's! it was irresistible.
-the day of departure came, throwing the entire household into a commotion. dinner was put a quarter of an hour earlier than usual so that aunt harriet might achieve axe at her accustomed hour of tea. after dinner maggie was the recipient of three amazing muslin aprons, given with a regal gesture. and the trunk and the box were brought down, and there was a slight odour of black kid gloves in the parlour. the waggonette was due and the waggonette appeared ("i can always rely upon bladen!" said aunt harriet), and the door was opened, and bladen, stiff on his legs, descended from the box and touched his hat to aunt harriet as she filled up the doorway.
-"have you baited, bladen?" asked she.
-"yes'm," said he, assuringly.
-bladen and mr. povey carried out the trunk and the box, and constance charged herself with parcels which she bestowed in the corners of the vehicle according to her aunt's prescription; it was like stowing the cargo of a vessel.
-"now, sophia, my chuck!" mrs. baines called up the stairs. and sophia came slowly downstairs. mrs. baines offered her mouth. sophia glanced at her.
-"you needn't think i don't see why you're sending me away!" exclaimed sophia in a hard, furious voice, with glistening eyes. "i'm not so blind as all that!" she kissed her mother--nothing but a contemptuous peck. then, as she turned away she added: "but you let constance do just as she likes!"
-this was her sole bitter comment on the episode, but into it she put all the profound bitterness accumulated during many mutinous nights.
-mrs. baines concealed a sigh. the explosion certainly disturbed her. she had hoped that the smooth surface of things would not be ruffled.
-sophia bounced out. and the assembly, including several urchins, watched with held breath while aunt harriet, after having bid majestic good-byes, got on to the step and introduced herself through the doorway of the waggonette into the interior of the vehicle; it was an operation like threading a needle with cotton too thick. once within, her hoops distended in sudden release, filling the waggonette. sophia followed, agilely.
-as, with due formalities, the equipage drove off, mrs. baines gave another sigh, one of relief. the sisters had won. she could now await the imminent next advent of mr. gerald scales with tranquillity.
-those singular words of sophia's, 'but you let constance do just as she likes,' had disturbed mrs. baines more than was at first apparent. they worried her like a late fly in autumn. for she had said nothing to any one about constance's case, mrs. maddack of course excepted. she had instinctively felt that she could not show the slightest leniency towards the romantic impulses of her elder daughter without seeming unjust to the younger, and she had acted accordingly. on the memorable morn of mr. povey's acute jealousy, she had, temporarily at any rate, slaked the fire, banked it down, and hidden it; and since then no word had passed as to the state of constance's heart. in the great peril to be feared from mr. scales, constance's heart had been put aside as a thing that could wait; so one puts aside the mending of linen when earthquake shocks are about. mrs. baines was sure that constance had not chattered to sophia concerning mr. povey. constance, who understood her mother, had too much commonsense and too nice a sense of propriety to do that--and yet here was sophia exclaiming, 'but you let constance do just as she likes.' were the relations between constance and mr. povey, then, common property? did the young lady assistants discuss them?
-as a fact, the young lady assistants did discuss them; not in the shop--for either one of the principal parties, or mrs. baines herself, was always in the shop, but elsewhere. they discussed little else, when they were free; how she had looked at him to-day, and how he had blushed, and so forth interminably. yet mrs. baines really thought that she alone knew. such is the power of the ineradicable delusion that one's own affairs, and especially one's own children, are mysteriously different from those of others.
-after sophia's departure mrs. baines surveyed her daughter and her manager at supper-time with a curious and a diffident eye. they worked, talked, and ate just as though mrs. baines had never caught them weeping together in the cutting-out room. they had the most matter-of-fact air. they might never have heard whispered the name of love. and there could be no deceit beneath that decorum; for constance would not deceive. still, mrs. baines's conscience was unruly. order reigned, but nevertheless she knew that she ought to do something, find out something, decide something; she ought, if she did her duty, to take constance aside and say: "now, constance, my mind is freer now. tell me frankly what has been going on between you and mr. povey. i have never understood the meaning of that scene in the cutting-out room. tell me." she ought to have talked in this strain. but she could not. that energetic woman had not sufficient energy left. she wanted rest, rest--even though it were a coward's rest, an ostrich's tranquillity--after the turmoil of apprehensions caused by sophia. her soul cried out for peace. she was not, however, to have peace.
-on the very first sunday after sophia's departure, mr. povey did not go to chapel in the morning, and he offered no reason for his unusual conduct. he ate his breakfast with appetite, but there was something peculiar in his glance that made mrs. baines a little uneasy; this something she could not seize upon and define. when she and constance returned from chapel mr. povey was playing "rock of ages" on the harmonium--again unusual! the serious part of the dinner comprised roast beef and yorkshire pudding--the pudding being served as a sweet course before the meat. mrs. baines ate freely of these things, for she loved them, and she was always hungry after a sermon. she also did well with the cheshire cheese. her intention was to sleep in the drawing-room after the repast. on sunday afternoons she invariably tried to sleep in the drawing-room, and she did not often fail. as a rule the girls accompanied her thither from the table, and either 'settled down' likewise or crept out of the room when they perceived the gradual sinking of the majestic form into the deep hollows of the easy-chair. mrs. baines was anticipating with pleasure her somnolent sunday afternoon.
-constance said grace after meat, and the formula on this particular occasion ran thus--
-"thank god for our good dinner, amen.--mother, i must just run upstairs to my room." ('my room'-sophia being far away.)
-and off she ran, strangely girlish.
-"well, child, you needn't be in such a hurry," said mrs. baines, ringing the bell and rising.
-"i should like to have a word with you, if it's all the same to you, mrs. baines," said mr. povey suddenly, with obvious nervousness. and his tone struck a rude unexpected blow at mrs. baines's peace of mind. it was a portentous tone.
-"what about?" asked she, with an inflection subtly to remind mr. povey what day it was.
-"about constance," said the astonishing man.
-"constance!" exclaimed mrs. baines with a histrionic air of bewilderment.
-maggie entered the room, solely in response to the bell, yet a thought jumped up in mrs. baines's brain, "how prying servants are, to be sure!" for quite five seconds she had a grievance against maggie. she was compelled to sit down again and wait while maggie cleared the table. mr. povey put both his hands in his pockets, got up, went to the window, whistled, and generally behaved in a manner which foretold the worst.
-at last maggie vanished, shutting the door.
-"what is it, mr. povey?"
-"oh!" said mr. povey, facing her with absurd nervous brusqueness, as though pretending: "ah, yes! we have something to say--i was forgetting!" then he began: "it's about constance and me."
-yes, they had evidently plotted this interview. constance had evidently taken herself off on purpose to leave mr. povey unhampered. they were in league. the inevitable had come. no sleep! no repose! nothing but worry once more!
-"i'm not at all satisfied with the present situation," said mr. povey, in a tone that corresponded to his words.
-"i don't know what you mean, mr. povey," said mrs. baines stiffly. this was a simple lie.
-"well, really, mrs. baines!" mr. povey protested, "i suppose you won't deny that you know there is something between me and constance? i suppose you won't deny that?"
-"what is there between you and constance? i can assure you i--"
-"that depends on you," mr. povey interrupted her. when he was nervous his manners deteriorated into a behaviour that resembled rudeness. "that depends on you!" he repeated grimly.
-"are we to be engaged or are we not?" pursued mr. povey, as though mrs. baines had been guilty of some grave lapse and he was determined not to spare her. "that's what i think ought to be settled, one way or the other. i wish to be perfectly open and aboveboard--in the future, as i have been in the past."
-"but you have said nothing to me at all!" mrs. baines remonstrated, lifting her eyebrows. the way in which the man had sprung this matter upon her was truly too audacious.
-mr. povey approached her as she sat at the table, shaking her ringlets and looking at her hands.
-"you know there's something between us!" he insisted.
-"how should i know there is something between you? constance has never said a word to me. and have you?"
-"well," said he. "we've hidden nothing."
-"what is there between you and constance? if i may ask!"
-"that depends on you," said he again.
-"have you asked her to be your wife?"
-"no. i haven't exactly asked her to be my wife." he hesitated. "you see--"
-mrs. baines collected her forces. "have you kissed her?" this in a cold voice.
-mr. povey now blushed. "i haven't exactly kissed her," he stammered, apparently shocked by the inquisition. "no, i should not say that i had kissed her."
-it might have been that before committing himself he felt a desire for mrs. baines's definition of a kiss.
-"you are very extraordinary," she said loftily. it was no less than the truth.
-"all i want to know is--have you got anything against me?" he demanded roughly. "because if so--"
-"anything against you, mr. povey? why should i have anything against you?"
-"then why can't we be engaged?"
-she considered that he was bullying her. "that's another question," said she.
-"why can't we be engaged? ain't i good enough?"
-the fact was that he was not regarded as good enough. mrs. maddack had certainly deemed that he was not good enough. he was a solid mass of excellent qualities; but he lacked brilliance, importance, dignity. he could not impose himself. such had been the verdict.
-and now, while mrs. baines was secretly reproaching mr. povey for his inability to impose himself, he was most patently imposing himself on her--and the phenomenon escaped her! she felt that he was bullying her, but somehow she could not perceive his power. yet the man who could bully mrs. baines was surely no common soul!
-"you know my very high opinion of you," she said.
-mr. povey pursued in a mollified tone. "assuming that constance is willing to be engaged, do i understand you consent?"
-"but constance is too young."
-"constance is twenty. she is more than twenty."
-"in any case you won't expect me to give you an answer now."
-"why not? you know my position."
-she did. from a practical point of view the match would be ideal: no fault could be found with it on that side. but mrs. baines could not extinguish the idea that it would be a 'come-down' for her daughter. who, after all, was mr. povey? mr. povey was nobody.
-"i must think things over," she said firmly, putting her lips together. "i can't reply like this. it is a serious matter."
-"when can i have your answer? to-morrow?"
-"in a week, then?"
-"i cannot bind myself to a date," said mrs. baines, haughtily. she felt that she was gaining ground.
-"because i can't stay on here indefinitely as things are," mr. povey burst out, and there was a touch of hysteria in his tone.
-"now, mr. povey, please do be reasonable."
-"that's all very well," he went on. "that's all very well. but what i say is that employers have no right to have male assistants in their houses unless they are prepared to let their daughters marry! that's what i say! no right!"
-mrs. baines did not know what to answer.
-the aspirant wound up: "i must leave if that's the case."
-"if what's the case?" she asked herself. "what has come over him?" and aloud: "you know you would place me in a very awkward position by leaving, and i hope you don't want to mix up two quite different things. i hope you aren't trying to threaten me."
-"threaten you!" he cried. "do you suppose i should leave here for fun? if i leave it will be because i can't stand it. that's all. i can't stand it. i want constance, and if i can't have her, then i can't stand it. what do you think i'm made of?"
-"i'm sure--" she began.
-"that's all very well!" he almost shouted.
-"but please let me speak,' she said quietly.
-"all i say is i can't stand it. that's all.... employers have no right.... we have our feelings like other men."
-he was deeply moved. he might have appeared somewhat grotesque to the strictly impartial observer of human nature. nevertheless he was deeply and genuinely moved, and possibly human nature could have shown nothing more human than mr. povey at the moment when, unable any longer to restrain the paroxysm which had so surprisingly overtaken him, he fled from the parlour, passionately, to the retreat of his bedroom.
-"that's the worst of those quiet calm ones," said mrs. baines to herself. "you never know if they won't give way. and when they do, it's awful--awful.... what did i do, what did i say, to bring it on? nothing! nothing!"
-and where was her afternoon sleep? what was going to happen to her daughter? what could she say to constance? how next could she meet mr. povey? ah! it needed a brave, indomitable woman not to cry out brokenly: "i've suffered too much. do anything you like; only let me die in peace!" and so saying, to let everything indifferently slide!
-neither mr. povey nor constance introduced the delicate subject to her again, and she was determined not to be the first to speak of it. she considered that mr. povey had taken advantage of his position, and that he had also been infantile and impolite. and somehow she privately blamed constance for his behaviour. so the matter hung, as it were, suspended in the ether between the opposing forces of pride and passion.
-shortly afterwards events occurred compared to which the vicissitudes of mr. povey's heart were of no more account than a shower of rain in april. and fate gave no warning of them; it rather indicated a complete absence of events. when the customary advice circular arrived from birkinshaws, the name of 'our mr. gerald scales' was replaced on it by another and an unfamiliar name. mrs. baines, seeing the circular by accident, experienced a sense of relief, mingled with the professional disappointment of a diplomatist who has elaborately provided for contingencies which have failed to happen. she had sent sophia away for nothing; and no doubt her maternal affection had exaggerated a molehill into a mountain. really, when she reflected on the past, she could not recall a single fact that would justify her theory of an attachment secretly budding between sophia and the young man scales! not a single little fact! all she could bring forward was that sophia had twice encountered scales in the street.
-she felt a curious interest in the fate of scales, for whom in her own mind she had long prophesied evil, and when birkinshaws' representative came she took care to be in the shop; her intention was to converse with him, and ascertain as much as was ascertainable, after mr. povey had transacted business. for this purpose, at a suitable moment, she traversed the shop to mr. povey's side, and in so doing she had a fleeting view of king street, and in king street of a familiar vehicle. she stopped, and seemed to catch the distant sound of knocking. abandoning the traveller, she hurried towards the parlour, in the passage she assuredly did hear knocking, angry and impatient knocking, the knocking of someone who thinks he has knocked too long.
-"of course maggie is at the top of the house!" she muttered sarcastically.
-she unchained, unbolted, and unlocked the side-door.
-the two majestic and imposing creatures met on the mat, craning forward so that their lips might meet above their terrific bosoms.
-"what's the matter?" mrs. baines asked, fearfully.
-"well, i do declare!" said mrs. maddack. "and i've driven specially over to ask you!"
-"where's sophia?" demanded mrs. baines.
-"you don't mean to say she's not come, sister?" mrs. maddack sank down on to the sofa.
-"come?" mrs. baines repeated. "of course she's not come! what do you mean, sister?"
-"the very moment she got constance's letter yesterday, saying you were ill in bed and she'd better come over to help in the shop, she started. i got bratt's dog-cart for her."
-mrs. baines in her turn also sank down on to the sofa.
-"i've not been ill," she said. "and constance hasn't written for a week! only yesterday i was telling her--"
-"sister--it can't be! sophia had letters from constance every morning. at least she said they were from constance. i told her to be sure and write me how you were last night, and she promised faithfully she would. and it was because i got nothing by this morning's post that i decided to come over myself, to see if it was anything serious."
-"serious it is!" murmured mrs. baines.
-"sophia's run off. that's the plain english of it!" said mrs. baines with frigid calm.
-"nay! that i'll never believe. i've looked after sophia night and day as if she was my own, and--"
-"if she hasn't run off, where is she?"
-mrs. maddack opened the door with a tragic gesture.
-"bladen," she called in a loud voice to the driver of the waggonette, who was standing on the pavement.
-"it was pember drove miss sophia yesterday, wasn't it?"
-she hesitated. a clumsy question might enlighten a member of the class which ought never to be enlightened about one's private affairs.
-"he didn't come all the way here?"
-"no'm. he happened to say last night when he got back as miss sophia had told him to set her down at knype station."
-"i thought so!" said mrs. maddack, courageously.
-"sister!" she moaned, after carefully shutting the door.
-they clung to each other.
-the horror of what had occurred did not instantly take full possession of them, because the power of credence, of imaginatively realizing a supreme event, whether of great grief or of great happiness, is ridiculously finite. but every minute the horror grew more clear, more intense, more tragically dominant over them. there were many things that they could not say to each other,--from pride, from shame, from the inadequacy of words. neither could utter the name of gerald scales. and aunt harriet could not stoop to defend herself from a possible charge of neglect; nor could mrs. baines stoop to assure her sister that she was incapable of preferring such a charge. and the sheer, immense criminal folly of sophia could not even be referred to: it was unspeakable. so the interview proceeded, lamely, clumsily, inconsequently, leading to naught.
-sophia was gone. she was gone with gerald scales.
-that beautiful child, that incalculable, untamable, impossible creature, had committed the final folly; without pretext or excuse, and with what elaborate deceit! yes, without excuse! she had not been treated harshly; she had had a degree of liberty which would have astounded and shocked her grandmothers; she had been petted, humoured, spoilt. and her answer was to disgrace the family by an act as irrevocable as it was utterly vicious. if among her desires was the desire to humiliate those majesties, her mother and aunt harriet, she would have been content could she have seen them on the sofa there, humbled, shamed, mortally wounded! ah, the monstrous chinese cruelty of youth!
-what was to be done? tell dear constance? no, this was not, at the moment, an affair for the younger generation. it was too new and raw for the younger generation. moreover, capable, proud, and experienced as they were, they felt the need of a man's voice, and a man's hard, callous ideas. it was a case for mr. critchlow. maggie was sent to fetch him, with a particular request that he should come to the side-door. he came expectant, with the pleasurable anticipation of disaster, and he was not disappointed. he passed with the sisters the happiest hour that had fallen to him for years. quickly he arranged the alternatives for them. would they tell the police, or would they take the risks of waiting? they shied away, but with fierce brutality he brought them again and again to the immediate point of decision.... well, they could not tell the police! they simply could not. then they must face another danger.... he had no mercy for them. and while he was torturing them there arrived a telegram, despatched from charing cross, "i am all right, sophia." that proved, at any rate, that the child was not heartless, not merely careless.
-only yesterday, it seemed to mrs. baines, she had borne sophia; only yesterday she was a baby, a schoolgirl to be smacked. the years rolled up in a few hours. and now she was sending telegrams from a place called charing cross! how unlike was the hand of the telegram to sophia's hand! how mysteriously curt and inhuman was that official hand, as mrs. baines stared at it through red, wet eyes!
-mr. critchlow said some one should go to manchester, to ascertain about scales. he went himself, that afternoon, and returned with the news that an aunt of scales had recently died, leaving him twelve thousand pounds, and that he had, after quarrelling with his uncle boldero, abandoned birkinshaws at an hour's notice and vanished with his inheritance.
-"it's as plain as a pikestaff," said mr. critchlow. "i could ha' warned ye o' all this years ago, even since she killed her father!"
-mr. critchlow left nothing unsaid.
-during the night mrs. baines lived through all sophia's life, lived through it more intensely than ever sophia had done.
-the next day people began to know. a whisper almost inaudible went across the square, and into the town: and in the stillness every one heard it. "sophia baines run off with a commercial!"
-in another fortnight a note came, also dated from london.
-"dear mother, i am married to gerald scales. please don't worry about me. we are going abroad. your affectionate sophia. love to constance." no tear-stains on that pale blue sheet! no sign of agitation!
-and mrs. baines said: "my life is over." it was, though she was scarcely fifty. she felt old, old and beaten. she had fought and been vanquished. the everlasting purpose had been too much for her. virtue had gone out of her--the virtue to hold up her head and look the square in the face. she, the wife of john baines! she, a syme of axe!
-old houses, in the course of their history, see sad sights, and never forget them! and ever since, in the solemn physiognomy of the triple house of john baines at the corner of st. luke's square and king street, have remained the traces of the sight it saw on the morning of the afternoon when mr. and mrs. povey returned from their honeymoon--the sight of mrs. baines getting into the waggonette for axe; mrs. baines, encumbered with trunks and parcels, leaving the scene of her struggles and her defeat, whither she had once come as slim as a wand, to return stout and heavy, and heavy-hearted, to her childhood; content to live with her grandiose sister until such time as she should be ready for burial! the grimy and impassive old house perhaps heard her heart saying: "only yesterday they were little girls, ever so tiny, and now--" the driving-off of a waggonette can be a dreadful thing.
-"well," said mr. povey, rising from the rocking-chair that in a previous age had been john baines's, "i've got to make a start some time, so i may as well begin now!"
-it was on the morning of this day that mrs. baines, relinquishing the sovereignty of st. luke's square, had gone to live as a younger sister in the house of harriet maddack at axe. constance guessed little of the secret anguish of that departure. she only knew that it was just like her mother, having perfectly arranged the entire house for the arrival of the honeymoon couple from buxton, to flit early away so as to spare the natural blushing diffidence of the said couple. it was like her mother's commonsense and her mother's sympathetic comprehension. further, constance did not pursue her mother's feelings, being far too busy with her own. she sat there full of new knowledge and new importance, brimming with experience and strange, unexpected aspirations, purposes, yes--and cunnings! and yet, though the very curves of her cheeks seemed to be mysteriously altering, the old constance still lingered in that frame, an innocent soul hesitating to spread its wings and quit for ever the body which had been its home; you could see the timid thing peeping wistfully out of the eyes of the married woman.
-constance rang the bell for maggie to clear the table; and as she did so she had the illusion that she was not really a married woman and a house-mistress, but only a kind of counterfeit. she did most fervently hope that all would go right in the house--at any rate until she had grown more accustomed to her situation.
-the hope was to be disappointed. maggie's rather silly, obsequious smile concealed but for a moment the ineffable tragedy that had lain in wait for unarmed constance.
-"if you please, mrs. povey," said maggie, as she crushed cups together on the tin tray with her great, red hands, which always looked like something out of a butcher's shop; then a pause, "will you please accept of this?"
-now, before the wedding maggie had already, with tears of affection, given constance a pair of blue glass vases (in order to purchase which she had been obliged to ask for special permission to go out), and constance wondered what was coming now from maggie's pocket. a small piece of folded paper came from maggie's pocket. constance accepted of it, and read: "i begs to give one month's notice to leave. signed maggie. june 10, 1867."
-"maggie!" exclaimed the old constance, terrified by this incredible occurrence, ere the married woman could strangle her.
-"i never give notice before, mrs. povey," said maggie, "so i don't know as i know how it ought for be done--not rightly. but i hope as you'll accept of it, mrs. povey."
-"oh! of course," said mrs. povey, primly, just as if maggie was not the central supporting pillar of the house, just as if maggie had not assisted at her birth, just as if the end of the world had not abruptly been announced, just as if st. luke's square were not inconceivable without maggie. "but why--"
-"well, mrs. povey, i've been a-thinking it over in my kitchen, and i said to myself: 'if there's going to be one change there'd better be two,' i says. not but what i wouldn't work my fingers to the bone for ye, miss constance."
-here maggie began to cry into the tray.
-constance looked at her. despite the special muslin of that day she had traces of the slatternliness of which mrs. baines had never been able to cure her. she was over forty, big, gawky. she had no figure, no charms of any kind. she was what was left of a woman after twenty-two years in the cave of a philanthropic family. and in her cave she had actually been thinking things over! constance detected for the first time, beneath the dehumanized drudge, the stirrings of a separate and perhaps capricious individuality. maggie's engagements had never been real to her employers. within the house she had never been, in practice, anything but 'maggie'--an organism. and now she was permitting herself ideas about changes!
-"you'll soon be suited with another, mrs. povey," said maggie. "there's many a--many a--" she burst into sobs.
-"but if you really want to leave, what are you crying for, maggie?" asked mrs. povey, at her wisest. "have you told mother?"
-"no, miss," maggie whimpered, absently wiping her wrinkled cheeks with ineffectual muslin. "i couldn't seem to fancy telling your mother. and as you're the mistress now, i thought as i'd save it for you when you come home. i hope you'll excuse me, mrs. povey."
-"of course i'm very sorry. you've been a very good servant. and in these days--"
-the child had acquired this turn of speech from her mother. it did not appear to occur to either of them that they were living in the sixties.
-"thank ye, miss."
-"and what are you thinking of doing, maggie? you know you won't get many places like this."
-"to tell ye the truth, mrs. povey, i'm going to get married mysen."
-"indeed!" murmured constance, with the perfunctoriness of habit in replying to these tidings.
-"oh! but i am, mum," maggie insisted. "it's all settled. mr. hollins, mum."
-"not hollins, the fish-hawker!"
-"yes, mum. i seem to fancy him. you don't remember as him and me was engaged in '48. he was my first, like. i broke it off because he was in that chartist lot, and i knew as mr. baines would never stand that. now he's asked me again. he's been a widower this long time."
-"i'm sure i hope you'll be happy, maggie. but what about his habits?"
-"he won't have no habits with me, mrs. povey."
-a woman was definitely emerging from the drudge.
-when maggie, having entirely ceased sobbing, had put the folded cloth in the table-drawer and departed with the tray, her mistress became frankly the girl again. no primness about her as she stood alone there in the parlour; no pretence that maggie's notice to leave was an everyday document, to be casually glanced at--as one glances at an unpaid bill! she would be compelled to find a new servant, making solemn inquiries into character, and to train the new servant, and to talk to her from heights from which she had never addressed maggie. at that moment she had an illusion that there were no other available, suitable servants in the whole world. and the arranged marriage? she felt that this time--the thirteenth or fourteenth time--the engagement was serious and would only end at the altar. the vision of maggie and hollins at the altar shocked her. marriage was a series of phenomena, and a general state, very holy and wonderful--too sacred, somehow, for such creatures as maggie and hollins. her vague, instinctive revolt against such a usage of matrimony centred round the idea of a strong, eternal smell of fish. however, the projected outrage on a hallowed institution troubled her much less than the imminent problem of domestic service.
-she ran into the shop--or she would have run if she had not checked her girlishness betimes--and on her lips, ready to be whispered importantly into a husband's astounded ear, were the words, "maggie has given notice! yes! truly!" but samuel povey was engaged. he was leaning over the counter and staring at an outspread paper upon which a certain mr. yardley was making strokes with a thick pencil. mr. yardley, who had a long red beard, painted houses and rooms. she knew him only by sight. in her mind she always associated him with the sign over his premises in trafalgar road, "yardley bros., authorised plumbers. painters. decorators. paper-hangers. facia writers." for years, in childhood, she had passed that sign without knowing what sort of things 'bros,' and 'facia' were, and what was the mysterious similarity between a plumber and a version of the bible. she could not interrupt her husband, he was wholly absorbed; nor could she stay in the shop (which appeared just a little smaller than usual), for that would have meant an unsuccessful endeavour to front the young lady-assistants as though nothing in particular had happened to her. so she went sedately up the showroom stairs and thus to the bedroom floors of the house--her house! mrs. povey's house! she even climbed to constance's old bedroom; her mother had stripped the bed--that was all, except a slight diminution of this room, corresponding to that of the shop! then to the drawing-room. in the recess outside the drawing-room door the black box of silver plate still lay. she had expected her mother to take it; but no! assuredly her mother was one to do things handsomely--when she did them. in the drawing-room, not a tassel of an antimacassar touched! yes, the fire-screen, the luscious bunch of roses on an expanse of mustard, which constance had worked for her mother years ago, was gone! that her mother should have clung to just that one souvenir, out of all the heavy opulence of the drawing-room, touched constance intimately. she perceived that if she could not talk to her husband she must write to her mother. and she sat down at the oval table and wrote, "darling mother, i am sure you will be very surprised to hear.... she means it.... i think she is making a serious mistake. ought i to put an advertisement in the signal, or will it do if.... please write by return. we are back and have enjoyed ourselves very much. sam says he enjoys getting up late...." and so on to the last inch of the fourth scolloped page.
-she was obliged to revisit the shop for a stamp, stamps being kept in mr. povey's desk in the corner--a high desk, at which you stood. mr. povey was now in earnest converse with mr. yardley at the door, and twilight, which began a full hour earlier in the shop than in the square, had cast faint shadows in corners behind counters.
-"will you just run out with this to the pillar, miss dadd?"
-"with pleasure, mrs. povey."
-"where are you going to?" mr. povey interrupted his conversation to stop the flying girl.
-"she's just going to the post for me," constance called out from the region of the till.
-"oh! all right!"
-a trifle! a nothing! yet somehow, in the quiet customerless shop, the episode, with the scarce perceptible difference in samuel's tone at his second remark, was delicious to constance. somehow it was the real beginning of her wifehood. (there had been about nine other real beginnings in the past fortnight.)
-mr. povey came in to supper, laden with ledgers and similar works which constance had never even pretended to understand. it was a sign from him that the honeymoon was over. he was proprietor now, and his ardour for ledgers most justifiable. still, there was the question of her servant.
-"never!" he exclaimed, when she told him all about the end of the world. a 'never' which expressed extreme astonishment and the liveliest concern!
-but constance had anticipated that he would have been just a little more knocked down, bowled over, staggered, stunned, flabbergasted. in a swift gleam of insight she saw that she had been in danger of forgetting her role of experienced, capable married woman.
-"i shall have to set about getting a fresh one," she said hastily, with an admirable assumption of light and easy casualness.
-mr. povey seemed to think that hollins would suit maggie pretty well. he made no remark to the betrothed when she answered the final bell of the night.
-he opened his ledgers, whistling.
-"i think i shall go up, dear," said constance. "i've a lot of things to put away."
-"do," said he. "call out when you've done."
-"sam!" she cried from the top of the crooked stairs.
-no answer. the door at the foot was closed.
-"hello?" distantly, faintly.
-"i've done all i'm going to do to-night."
-and she ran back along the corridor, a white figure in the deep gloom, and hurried into bed, and drew the clothes up to her chin.
-in the life of a bride there are some dramatic moments. if she has married the industrious apprentice, one of those moments occurs when she first occupies the sacred bed-chamber of her ancestors, and the bed on which she was born. her parents' room had always been to constance, if not sacred, at least invested with a certain moral solemnity. she could not enter it as she would enter another room. the course of nature, with its succession of deaths, conceptions, and births, slowly makes such a room august with a mysterious quality which interprets the grandeur of mere existence and imposes itself on all. constance had the strangest sensations in that bed, whose heavy dignity of ornament symbolized a past age; sensations of sacrilege and trespass, of being a naughty girl to whom punishment would accrue for this shocking freak. not since she was quite tiny had she slept in that bed--one night with her mother, before her father's seizure, when he had been away. what a limitless, unfathomable bed it was then! now it was just a bed--so she had to tell herself--like any other bed. the tiny child that, safely touching its mother, had slept in the vast expanse, seemed to her now a pathetic little thing; its image made her feel melancholy. and her mind dwelt on sad events: the death of her father, the flight of darling sophia; the immense grief, and the exile, of her mother. she esteemed that she knew what life was, and that it was grim. and she sighed. but the sigh was an affectation, meant partly to convince herself that she was grown-up, and partly to keep her in countenance in the intimidating bed. this melancholy was factitious, was less than transient foam on the deep sea of her joy. death and sorrow and sin were dim shapes to her; the ruthless egoism of happiness blew them away with a puff, and their wistful faces vanished. to see her there in the bed, framed in mahogany and tassels, lying on her side, with her young glowing cheeks, and honest but not artless gaze, and the rich curve of her hip lifting the counterpane, one would have said that she had never heard of aught but love.
-mr. povey entered, the bridegroom, quickly, firmly, carrying it off rather well, but still self-conscious. "after all," his shoulders were trying to say, "what's the difference between this bedroom and the bedroom of a boarding-house? indeed, ought we not to feel more at home here? besides, confound it, we've been married a fortnight!"
-"doesn't it give you a funny feeling, sleeping in this room? it does me," said constance. women, even experienced women, are so foolishly frank. they have no decency, no self-respect.
-"really?" replied mr. povey, with loftiness, as who should say: "what an extraordinary thing that a reasonable creature can have such fancies! now to me this room is exactly like any other room." and he added aloud, glancing away from the glass, where he was unfastening his necktie: "it's not a bad room at all." this, with the judicial air of an auctioneer.
-not for an instant did he deceive constance, who read his real sensations with accuracy. but his futile poses did not in the slightest degree lessen her respect for him. on the contrary, she admired him the more for them; they were a sort of embroidery on the solid stuff of his character. at that period he could not do wrong for her. the basis of her regard for him was, she often thought, his honesty, his industry, his genuine kindliness of act, his grasp of the business, his perseverance, his passion for doing at once that which had to be done. she had the greatest admiration for his qualities, and he was in her eyes an indivisible whole; she could not admire one part of him and frown upon another. whatever he did was good because he did it. she knew that some people were apt to smile at certain phases of his individuality; she knew that far down in her mother's heart was a suspicion that she had married ever so little beneath her. but this knowledge did not disturb her. she had no doubt as to the correctness of her own estimate.
-mr. povey was an exceedingly methodical person, and he was also one of those persons who must always be 'beforehand' with time. thus at night he would arrange his raiment so that in the morning it might be reassumed in the minimum of minutes. he was not a man, for example, to leave the changing of studs from one shirt to another till the morrow. had it been practicable, he would have brushed his hair the night before. constance already loved to watch his meticulous preparations. she saw him now go into his old bedroom and return with a paper collar, which he put on the dressing-table next to a black necktie. his shop-suit was laid out on a chair.
-"oh, sam!" she exclaimed impulsively, "you surely aren't going to begin wearing those horrid paper collars again!" during the honeymoon he had worn linen collars.
-her tone was perfectly gentle, but the remark, nevertheless, showed a lack of tact. it implied that all his life mr. povey had been enveloping his neck in something which was horrid. like all persons with a tendency to fall into the ridiculous, mr. povey was exceedingly sensitive to personal criticisms. he flushed darkly.
-"i didn't know they were 'horrid,'" he snapped. he was hurt and angry. anger had surprised him unawares.
-both of them suddenly saw that they were standing on the edge of a chasm, and drew back. they had imagined themselves to be wandering safely in a flowered meadow, and here was this bottomless chasm! it was most disconcerting.
-mr. povey's hand hovered undecided over the collar. "however--" he muttered.
-she could feel that he was trying with all his might to be gentle and pacific. and she was aghast at her own stupid clumsiness, she so experienced!
-"just as you like, dear," she said quickly. "please!"
-"oh no!" and he did his best to smile, and went off gawkily with the collar and came back with a linen one.
-her passion for him burned stronger than ever. she knew then that she did not love him for his good qualities, but for something boyish and naive that there was about him, an indescribable something that occasionally, when his face was close to hers, made her dizzy.
-the chasm had disappeared. in such moments, when each must pretend not to have seen or even suspected the chasm, small-talk is essential.
-"wasn't that mr. yardley in the shop to-night?" began constance.
-"what did he want?"
-"i'd sent for him. he's going to paint us a signboard."
-useless for samuel to make-believe that nothing in this world is more ordinary than a signboard.
-"oh!" murmured constance. she said no more, the episode of the paper collar having weakened her self-confidence.
-but a signboard!
-what with servants, chasms, and signboards, constance considered that her life as a married woman would not be deficient in excitement. long afterwards, she fell asleep, thinking of sophia.
-a few days later constance was arranging the more precious of her wedding presents in the parlour; some had to be wrapped in tissue and in brown paper and then tied with string and labelled; others had special cases of their own, leather without and velvet within. among the latter was the resplendent egg-stand holding twelve silver-gilt egg-cups and twelve chased spoons to match, presented by aunt harriet. in the five towns' phrase, 'it must have cost money.' even if mr. and mrs. povey had ten guests or ten children, and all the twelve of them were simultaneously gripped by a desire to eat eggs at breakfast or tea--even in this remote contingency aunt harriet would have been pained to see the egg-stand in use; such treasures are not designed for use. the presents, few in number, were mainly of this character, because, owing to her mother's heroic cession of the entire interior, constance already possessed every necessary. the fewness of the presents was accounted for by the fact that the wedding had been strictly private and had taken place at axe. there is nothing like secrecy in marriage for discouraging the generous impulses of one's friends. it was mrs. baines, abetted by both the chief parties, who had decided that the wedding should be private and secluded. sophia's wedding had been altogether too private and secluded; but the casting of a veil over constance's (whose union was irreproachable) somehow justified, after the event, the circumstances of sophia's, indicating as it did that mrs. baines believed in secret weddings on principle. in such matters mrs. baines was capable of extraordinary subtlety.
-and while constance was thus taking her wedding presents with due seriousness, maggie was cleaning the steps that led from the pavement of king street to the side-door, and the door was ajar. it was a fine june morning.
-suddenly, over the sound of scouring, constance heard a dog's low growl and then the hoarse voice of a man:
-"mester in, wench?"
-"happen he is, happen he isn't," came maggie's answer. she had no fancy for being called wench.
-constance went to the door, not merely from curiosity, but from a feeling that her authority and her responsibilities as house-mistress extended to the pavement surrounding the house.
-the famous james boon, of buck row, the greatest dog-fancier in the five towns, stood at the bottom of the steps: a tall, fat man, clad in stiff, stained brown and smoking a black clay pipe less than three inches long. behind him attended two bull-dogs.
-"morning, missis!" cried boon, cheerfully. "i've heerd tell as th' mister is looking out for a dog, as you might say."
-"is he?" constance hesitated. she knew that samuel had vaguely referred to dogs; she had not, however, imagined that he regarded a dog as aught but a beautiful dream. no dog had ever put paw into that house, and it seemed impossible that one should ever do so. as for those beasts of prey on the pavement...!
-"ay!" said james boon, calmly.
-"i'll tell him you're here," said constance. "but i don't know if he's at liberty. he seldom is at this time of day. maggie, you'd better come in."
-she went slowly to the shop, full of fear for the future.
-"sam," she whispered to her husband, who was writing at his desk, "here's a man come to see you about a dog."
-assuredly he was taken aback. still, he behaved with much presence of mind.
-"oh, about a dog! who is it?"
-"it's that jim boon. he says he's heard you want one."
-the renowned name of jim boon gave him pause; but he had to go through with the affair, and he went through with it, though nervously. constance followed his agitated footsteps to the side-door.
-they began to talk dogs, mr. povey, for his part, with due caution.
-"now, there's a dog!" said boon, pointing to one of the bull-dogs, a miracle of splendid ugliness.
-"yes," responded mr. povey, insincerely. "he is a beauty. what's it worth now, at a venture?"
-"i'll tak' a hundred and twenty sovereigns for her," said boon. "th' other's a bit cheaper--a hundred."
-"oh, sam!" gasped constance.
-and even mr. povey nearly lost his nerve. "that's more than i want to give," said he timidly.
-"but look at her!" boon persisted, roughly snatching up the more expensive animal, and displaying her cannibal teeth.
-mr. povey shook his head. constance glanced away.
-"that's not quite the sort of dog i want," said mr. povey.
-"yes, that's more like," mr. povey agreed eagerly.
-"what'll ye run to?"
-"oh," said mr. povey, largely, "i don't know."
-"will ye run to a tenner?"
-"i thought of something cheaper."
-"well, hoo much? out wi' it, mester."
-"not more than two pounds," said mr. povey. he would have said one pound had he dared. the prices of dogs amazed him.
-"i thowt it was a dog as ye wanted!" said boon. "look 'ere, mester. come up to my yard and see what i've got."
-"i will," said mr. povey.
-"and bring missis along too. now, what about a cat for th' missis? or a gold-fish?"
-the dog was not all.
-on another day constance, prying into the least details of the parlour, discovered a box of cigars inside the lid of the harmonium, on the keyboard. she was so unaccustomed to cigars that at first she did not realize what the object was. her father had never smoked, nor drunk intoxicants; nor had mr. critchlow. nobody had ever smoked in that house, where tobacco had always been regarded as equally licentious with cards, 'the devil's playthings.' certainly samuel had never smoked in the house, though the sight of the cigar-box reminded constance of an occasion when her mother had announced an incredulous suspicion that mr. povey, fresh from an excursion into the world on a thursday evening, 'smelt of smoke.'
-she closed the harmonium and kept silence.
-that very night, coming suddenly into the parlour, she caught samuel at the harmonium. the lid went down with a resonant bang that awoke sympathetic vibrations in every corner of the room.
-"what is it?" constance inquired, jumping.
-"oh, nothing!" replied mr. povey, carelessly. each was deceiving the other: mr. povey hid his crime, and constance hid her knowledge of his crime. false, false! but this is what marriage is.
-and the next day constance had a visit in the shop from a possible new servant, recommended to her by mr. holl, the grocer.
-"will you please step this way?" said constance, with affable primness, steeped in the novel sense of what it is to be the sole responsible mistress of a vast household. she preceded the girl to the parlour, and as they passed the open door of mr. povey's cutting-out room, constance had the clear vision and titillating odour of her husband smoking a cigar. he was in his shirt-sleeves, calmly cutting out, and fan (the lady companion), at watch on the bench, yapped at the possible new servant.
-"i think i shall try that girl," said she to samuel at tea. she said nothing as to the cigar; nor did he.
-on the following evening, after supper, mr. povey burst out:
-"i think i'll have a weed! you didn't know i smoked, did you?"
-thus mr. povey came out in his true colours as a blood, a blade, and a gay spark.
-but dogs and cigars, disconcerting enough in their degree, were to the signboard, when the signboard at last came, as skim milk is to hot brandy. it was the signboard that, more startlingly than anything else, marked the dawn of a new era in st. luke's square. four men spent a day and a half in fixing it; they had ladders, ropes, and pulleys, and two of them dined on the flat lead roof of the projecting shop-windows. the signboard was thirty-five feet long and two feet in depth; over its centre was a semicircle about three feet in radius; this semicircle bore the legend, judiciously disposed, "s. povey. late." all the sign-board proper was devoted to the words, "john baines," in gold letters a foot and a half high, on a green ground.
-the square watched and wondered; and murmured: "well, bless us! what next?"
-it was agreed that in giving paramount importance to the name of his late father-in-law, mr. povey had displayed a very nice feeling.
-some asked with glee: "what'll the old lady have to say?"
-constance asked herself this, but not with glee. when constance walked down the square homewards, she could scarcely bear to look at the sign; the thought of what her mother might say frightened her. her mother's first visit of state was imminent, and aunt harriet was to accompany her. constance felt almost sick as the day approached. when she faintly hinted her apprehensions to samuel, he demanded, as if surprised--
-"haven't you mentioned it in one of your letters?"
-"if that's all," said he, with bravado, "i'll write and tell her myself."
-so that mrs. baines was duly apprised of the signboard before her arrival. the letter written by her to constance after receiving samuel's letter, which was merely the amiable epistle of a son-in-law anxious to be a little more than correct, contained no reference to the signboard. this silence, however, did not in the least allay constance's apprehensions as to what might occur when her mother and samuel met beneath the signboard itself. it was therefore with a fearful as well as an eager, loving heart that constance opened her side-door and ran down the steps when the waggonette stopped in king street on the thursday morning of the great visit of the sisters. but a surprise awaited her. aunt harriet had not come. mrs. baines explained, as she soundly kissed her daughter, that at the last moment aunt harriet had not felt well enough to undertake the journey. she sent her fondest love, and cake. her pains had recurred. it was these mysterious pains which had prevented the sisters from coming to bursley earlier. the word "cancer"--the continual terror of stout women--had been on their lips, without having been actually uttered; then there was a surcease, and each was glad that she had refrained from the dread syllables. in view of the recurrence, it was not unnatural that mrs. baines's vigorous cheerfulness should be somewhat forced.
-"what is it, do you think?" constance inquired.
-mrs. baines pushed her lips out and raised her eyebrows--a gesture which meant that the pains might mean god knew what.
-"i hope she'll be all right alone," observed constance. "of course," said mrs. baines, quickly. "but you don't suppose i was going to disappoint you, do you?" she added, looking round as if to defy the fates in general.
-this speech, and its tone, gave intense pleasure to constance; and, laden with parcels, they mounted the stairs together, very content with each other, very happy in the discovery that they were still mother and daughter, very intimate in an inarticulate way.
-constance had imagined long, detailed, absorbing, and highly novel conversations between herself and her mother upon this their first meeting after her marriage. but alone in the bedroom, and with a clear half-hour to dinner, they neither of them seemed to have a great deal to impart.
-mrs. baines slowly removed her light mantle and laid it with precautions on the white damask counterpane. then, fingering her weeds, she glanced about the chamber. nothing was changed. though constance had, previous to her marriage, envisaged certain alterations, she had determined to postpone them, feeling that one revolutionist in a house was enough.
-"well, my chuck, you all right?" said mrs. baines, with hearty and direct energy, gazing straight into her daughter's eyes.
-constance perceived that the question was universal in its comprehensiveness, the one unique expression that the mother would give to her maternal concern and curiosity, and that it condensed into six words as much interest as would have overflowed into a whole day of the chatter of some mothers. she met the candid glance, flushing.
-"oh yes!" she answered with ecstatic fervour. "perfectly!"
-and mrs. baines nodded, as if dismissing that. "you're stouter," said she, curtly. "if you aren't careful you'll be as big as any of us."
-the interview fell to a lower plane of emotion. it even fell as far as maggie. what chiefly preoccupied constance was a subtle change in her mother. she found her mother fussy in trifles. her manner of laying down her mantle, of smoothing out her gloves, and her anxiety that her bonnet should not come to harm, were rather trying, were perhaps, in the very slightest degree, pitiable. it was nothing; it was barely perceptible, and yet it was enough to alter constance's mental attitude to her mother. "poor dear!" thought constance. "i'm afraid she's not what she was." incredible that her mother could have aged in less than six weeks! constance did not allow for the chemistry that had been going on in herself.
-the encounter between mrs. baines and her son-in-law was of the most satisfactory nature. he was waiting in the parlour for her to descend. he made himself exceedingly agreeable, kissing her, and flattering her by his evidently sincere desire to please. he explained that he had kept an eye open for the waggonette, but had been called away. his "dear me!" on learning about aunt harriet lacked nothing in conviction, though both women knew that his affection for aunt harriet would never get the better of his reason. to constance, her husband's behaviour was marvellously perfect. she had not suspected him to be such a man of the world. and her eyes said to her mother, quite unconsciously: "you see, after all, you didn't rate sam as high as you ought to have done. now you see your mistake."
-as they sat waiting for dinner, constance and mrs. baines on the sofa, and samuel on the edge of the nearest rocking-chair, a small scuffling noise was heard outside the door which gave on the kitchen steps, the door yielded to pressure, and fan rushed importantly in, deranging mats. fan's nose had been hinting to her that she was behind the times, not up-to-date in the affairs of the household, and she had hurried from the kitchen to make inquiries. it occurred to her en route that she had been washed that morning. the spectacle of mrs. baines stopped her. she stood, with her legs slightly out-stretched, her nose lifted, her ears raking forward, her bright eyes blinking, and her tail undecided. "i was sure i'd never smelt anything like that before," she was saying to herself, as she stared at mrs. baines.
-and mrs. baines, staring at fan, had a similar though not the same sentiment. the silence was terrible. constance took on the mien of a culprit, and sam had obviously lost his easy bearing of a man of the world. mrs. baines was merely thunderstruck.
-"so your name's fan!" murmured mrs. baines, stroking the animal. "you are a dear!"
-"yes, isn't she?" said constance, with inconceivable rapidity.
-the danger was past. thus, without any explanation, fan became an accepted fact.
-the next moment maggie served the yorkshire pudding.
-"well, maggie," said mrs. baines. "so you are going to get married this time? when is it?"
-"and you leave here on saturday?"
-"well, i must have a talk with you before i go."
-during the dinner, not a word as to the signboard! several times the conversation curved towards that signboard in the most alarming fashion, but invariably it curved away again, like a train from another train when two trains are simultaneously leaving a station. constance had frights, so serious as to destroy her anxiety about the cookery. in the end she comprehended that her mother had adopted a silently disapproving attitude. fan was socially very useful throughout the repast.
-after dinner constance was on pins lest samuel should light a cigar. she had not requested him not to do so, for though she was entirely sure of his affection, she had already learned that a husband is possessed by a demon of contrariety which often forces him to violate his higher feelings. however, samuel did not light a cigar. he went off to superintend the shutting-up of the shop, while mrs. baines chatted with maggie and gave her l5 for a wedding present. then mr. critchlow called to offer his salutations.
-a little before tea mrs. baines announced that she would go out for a short walk by herself.
-"where has she gone to?" smiled samuel, superiorly, as with constance at the window he watched her turn down king street towards the church.
-"i expect she has gone to look at father's grave," said constance.
-"oh!" muttered samuel, apologetically.
-constance was mistaken. before reaching the church, mrs. baines deviated to the right, got into brougham street and thence, by acre lane, into oldcastle street, whose steep she climbed. now, oldcastle street ends at the top of st. luke's square, and from the corner mrs. baines had an excellent view of the signboard. it being thursday afternoon, scarce a soul was about. she returned to her daughter's by the same extraordinary route, and said not a word on entering. but she was markedly cheerful.
-the waggonette came after tea, and mrs. baines made her final preparations to depart. the visit had proved a wonderful success; it would have been utterly perfect if samuel had not marred it at the very door of the waggonette. somehow, he contrived to be talking of christmas. only a person of samuel's native clumsiness would have mentioned christmas in july.
-"you know you'll spend christmas with us!" said he into the waggonette.
-"indeed i shan't!" replied mrs. baines. "aunt harriet and i will expect you at axe. we've already settled that."
-mr. povey bridled. "oh no!" he protested, hurt by this summariness.
-having had no relatives, except his cousin the confectioner, for many years, he had dreamt of at last establishing a family christmas under his own roof, and the dream was dear to him.
-mrs. baines said nothing. "we couldn't possibly leave the shop," said mr. povey.
-"nonsense!" mrs. baines retorted, putting her lips together. "christmas day is on a monday."
-the waggonette in starting jerked her head towards the door and set all her curls shaking. no white in those curls yet, scarcely a touch of grey!
-"i shall take good care we don't go there anyway," mr. povey mumbled, in his heat, half to himself and half to constance.
-he had stained the brightness of the day.
-christmas and the future
-mr. povey was playing a hymn tune on the harmonium, it having been decided that no one should go to chapel. constance, in mourning, with a white apron over her dress, sat on a hassock in front of the fire; and near her, in a rocking-chair, mrs. baines swayed very gently to and fro. the weather was extremely cold. mr. povey's mittened hands were blue and red; but, like many shopkeepers, he had apparently grown almost insensible to vagaries of temperature. although the fire was immense and furious, its influence, owing to the fact that the mediaeval grate was designed to heat the flue rather than the room, seemed to die away at the borders of the fender. constance could not have been much closer to it without being a salamander. the era of good old-fashioned christmases, so agreeably picturesque for the poor, was not yet at an end.
-yes, samuel povey had won the battle concerning the locus of the family christmas. but he had received the help of a formidable ally, death. mrs. harriet maddack had passed away, after an operation, leaving her house and her money to her sister. the solemn rite of her interment had deeply affected all the respectability of the town of axe, where the late mr. maddack had been a figure of consequence; it had even shut up the shop in st. luke's square for a whole day. it was such a funeral as aunt harriet herself would have approved, a tremendous ceremonial which left on the crushed mind an ineffaceable, intricate impression of shiny cloth, crape, horses with arching necks and long manes, the drawl of parsons, cake, port, sighs, and christian submission to the inscrutable decrees of providence. mrs. baines had borne herself with unnatural calmness until the funeral was over: and then constance perceived that the remembered mother of her girlhood existed no longer. for the majority of human souls it would have been easier to love a virtuous principle, or a mountain, than to love aunt harriet, who was assuredly less a woman than an institution. but mrs. baines had loved her, and she had been the one person to whom mrs. baines looked for support and guidance. when she died, mrs. baines paid the tribute of respect with the last hoarded remains of her proud fortitude, and weepingly confessed that the unconquerable had been conquered, the inexhaustible exhausted; and became old with whitening hair.
-she had persisted in her refusal to spend christmas in bursley, but both constance and samuel knew that the resistance was only formal. she soon yielded. when constance's second new servant took it into her head to leave a week before christmas, mrs. baines might have pointed out the finger of providence at work again, and this time in her favour. but no! with amazing pliancy she suggested that she should bring one of her own servants to 'tide constance over' christmas. she was met with all the forms of loving solicitude, and she found that her daughter and son-in-law had 'turned out of' the state bedroom in her favour. intensely flattered by this attention (which was mr. povey's magnanimous idea), she nevertheless protested strongly. indeed she 'would not hear of it.'
-"now, mother, don't be silly," constance had said firmly. "you don't expect us to be at all the trouble of moving back again, do you?" and mrs. baines had surrendered in tears.
-thus had come christmas. perhaps it was fortunate that, the axe servant being not quite the ordinary servant, but a benefactor where a benefactor was needed, both constance and her mother thought it well to occupy themselves in household work, 'sparing' the benefactor as much as possible. hence constance's white apron.
-"there he is!" said mr. povey, still playing, but with his eye on the street.
-constance sprang up eagerly. then there was a knock on the door. constance opened, and an icy blast swept into the room. the postman stood on the steps, his instrument for knocking (like a drumstick) in one hand, a large bundle of letters in the other, and a yawning bag across the pit of his stomach.
-"merry christmas, ma'am!" cried the postman, trying to keep warm by cheerfulness.
-constance, taking the letters, responded, while mr. povey, playing the harmonium with his right hand, drew half a crown from his pocket with the left.
-"here you are!" he said, giving it to constance, who gave it to the postman.
-fan, who had been keeping her muzzle warm with the extremity of her tail on the sofa, jumped down to superintend the transaction.
-"brrr!" vibrated mr. povey as constance shut the door.
-"what lots!" constance exclaimed, rushing to the fire. "here, mother! here, sam!"
-the girl had resumed possession of the woman's body.
-though the baines family had few friends (sustained hospitality being little practised in those days) they had, of course, many acquaintances, and, like other families, they counted their christmas cards as an indian counts scalps. the tale was satisfactory. there were between thirty and forty envelopes. constance extracted christmas cards rapidly, reading their contents aloud, and then propping them up on the mantelpiece. mrs. baines assisted. fan dealt with the envelopes on the floor. mr. povey, to prove that his soul was above toys and gewgaws, continued to play the harmonium.
-"oh, mother!" constance murmured in a startled, hesitant voice, holding an envelope.
-"what is it, my chuck?"
-the envelope was addressed to "mrs. and miss baines" in large, perpendicular, dashing characters which constance instantly recognised as sophia's. the stamps were strange, the postmark 'paris.' mrs. baines leaned forward and looked.
-"open it, child," she said.
-the envelope contained an english christmas card of a common type, a spray of holly with greetings, and on it was written, "i do hope this will reach you on christmas morning. fondest love." no signature, nor address.
-mrs. baines took it with a trembling hand, and adjusted her spectacles. she gazed at it a long time.
-"and it has done!" she said, and wept.
-she tried to speak again, but not being able to command herself, held forth the card to constance and jerked her head in the direction of mr. povey. constance rose and put the card on the keyboard of the harmonium.
-"sophia!" she whispered.
-mr. povey stopped playing. "dear, dear!" he muttered.
-fan, perceiving that nobody was interested in her feats, suddenly stood still.
-mrs. baines tried once more to speak, but could not. then, her ringlets shaking beneath the band of her weeds, she found her feet, stepped to the harmonium, and, with a movement almost convulsive, snatched the card from mr. povey, and returned to her chair.
-mr. povey abruptly left the room, followed by fan. both the women were in tears, and he was tremendously surprised to discover a dangerous lump in his own throat. the beautiful and imperious vision of sophia, sophia as she had left them, innocent, wayward, had swiftly risen up before him and made even him a woman too! yet he had never liked sophia. the awful secret wound in the family pride revealed itself to him as never before, and he felt intensely the mother's tragedy, which she carried in her breast as aunt harriet had carried a cancer.
-at dinner he said suddenly to mrs. baines, who still wept: "now, mother, you must cheer up, you know."
-"yes, i must," she said quickly. and she did do.
-neither samuel nor constance saw the card again. little was said. there was nothing to say. as sophia had given no address she must be still ashamed of her situation. but she had thought of her mother and sister. she ... she did not even know that constance was married ... what sort of a place was paris? to bursley, paris was nothing but the site of a great exhibition which had recently closed.
-through the influence of mrs. baines a new servant was found for constance in a village near axe, a raw, comely girl who had never been in a 'place.' and through the post it was arranged that this innocent should come to the cave on the thirty-first of december. in obedience to the safe rule that servants should never be allowed to meet for the interchange of opinions, mrs. baines decided to leave with her own servant on the thirtieth. she would not be persuaded to spend the new year in the square. on the twenty-ninth poor aunt maria died all of a sudden in her cottage in brougham street. everybody was duly distressed, and in particular mrs. baines's demeanour under this affliction showed the perfection of correctness. but she caused it to be understood that she should not remain for the funeral. her nerves would be unequal to the ordeal; and, moreover, her servant must not stay to corrupt the new girl, nor could mrs. baines think of sending her servant to axe in advance, to spend several days in idle gossip with her colleague.
-this decision took the backbone out of aunt maria's funeral, which touched the extreme of modesty: a hearse and a one-horse coach. mr. povey was glad, because he happened to be very busy. an hour before his mother-in-law's departure he came into the parlour with the proof of a poster.
-"what is that, samuel?" asked mrs. baines, not dreaming of the blow that awaited her.
-"it's for my first annual sale," replied mr. povey with false tranquillity.
-mrs. baines merely tossed her head. constance, happily for constance, was not present at this final defeat of the old order. had she been there, she would certainly not have known where to look.
-"forty next birthday!" mr. povey exclaimed one day, with an expression and in a tone that were at once mock-serious and serious. this was on his thirty-ninth birthday.
-constance was startled. she had, of course, been aware that they were getting older, but she had never realized the phenomenon. though customers occasionally remarked that mr. povey was stouter, and though when she helped him to measure himself for a new suit of clothes the tape proved the fact, he had not changed for her. she knew that she too had become somewhat stouter; but for herself, she remained exactly the same constance. only by recalling dates and by calculations could she really grasp that she had been married a little over six years and not a little over six months. she had to admit that, if samuel would be forty next birthday, she would be twenty-seven next birthday. but it would not be a real twenty-seven; nor would sam's forty be a real forty, like other people's twenty-sevens and forties. not long since she had been in the habit of regarding a man of forty as senile, as practically in his grave.
-she reflected, and the more she reflected the more clearly she saw that after all the almanacs had not lied. look at fan! yes, it must be five years since the memorable morning when doubt first crossed the minds of samuel and constance as to fan's moral principles. samuel's enthusiasm for dogs was equalled by his ignorance of the dangers to which a young female of temperament may be exposed, and he was much disturbed as doubt developed into certainty. fan, indeed, was the one being who did not suffer from shock and who had no fears as to the results. the animal, having a pure mind, was bereft of modesty. sundry enormities had she committed, but none to rank with this one! the result was four quadrupeds recognizable as fox-terriers. mr. povey breathed again. fan had had more luck than she deserved, for the result might have been simply anything. her owners forgave her and disposed of these fruits of iniquity, and then married her lawfully to a husband who was so high up in the world that he could demand a dowry. and now fan was a grandmother, with fixed ideas and habits, and a son in the house, and various grandchildren scattered over the town. fan was a sedate and disillusioned dog. she knew the world as it was, and in learning it she had taught her owners above a bit.
-then there was maggie hollins. constance could still vividly recall the self-consciousness with which she had one day received maggie and the heir of the hollinses; but it was a long time ago. after staggering half the town by the production of this infant (of which she nearly died) maggie allowed the angels to waft it away to heaven, and everybody said that she ought to be very thankful--at her age. old women dug up out of their minds forgotten histories of the eccentricities of the goddess lucina. mrs. baines was most curiously interested; she talked freely to constance, and constance began to see what an incredible town bursley had always been--and she never suspected it! maggie was now mother of other children, and the draggled, lame mistress of a drunken home, and looked sixty. despite her prophecy, her husband had conserved his 'habits.' the poveys ate all the fish they could, and sometimes more than they enjoyed, because on his sober days hollins invariably started his round at the shop, and constance had to buy for maggie's sake. the worst of the worthless husband was that he seldom failed to be cheery and polite. he never missed asking after the health of mrs. baines. and when constance replied that her mother was 'pretty well considering,' but that she would not come over to bursley again until the axe railway was opened, as she could not stand the drive, he would shake his grey head and be sympathetically gloomy for an instant.
-all these changes in six years! the almanacs were in the right of it.
-but nothing had happened to her. gradually she had obtained a sure ascendency over her mother, yet without seeking it, merely as the outcome of time's influences on her and on her mother respectively. gradually she had gained skill and use in the management of her household and of her share of the shop, so that these machines ran smoothly and effectively and a sudden contretemps no longer frightened her. gradually she had constructed a chart of samuel's individuality, with the submerged rocks and perilous currents all carefully marked, so that she could now voyage unalarmed in those seas. but nothing happened. unless their visits to buxton could be called happenings! decidedly the visit to buxton was the one little hill that rose out of the level plain of the year. they had formed the annual habit of going to buxton for ten days. they had a way of saying: "yes, we always go to buxton. we went there for our honeymoon, you know." they had become confirmed buxtonites, with views concerning st. anne's terrace, the broad walk and peel's cavern. they could not dream of deserting their buxton. it was the sole possible resort. was it not the highest town in england? well, then! they always stayed at the same lodgings, and grew to be special favourites of the landlady, who whispered of them to all her other guests as having come to her house for their honeymoon, and as never missing a year, and as being most respectable, superior people in quite a large way of business. each year they walked out of buxton station behind their luggage on a truck, full of joy and pride because they knew all the landmarks, and the lie of all the streets, and which were the best shops.
-at the beginning, the notion of leaving the shop to hired custody had seemed almost fantastic, and the preparations for absence had been very complicated. then it was that miss insull had detached herself from the other young lady assistants as a creature who could be absolutely trusted. miss insull was older than constance; she had a bad complexion, and she was not clever, but she was one of your reliable ones. the six years had witnessed the slow, steady rise of miss insull. her employers said 'miss insull' in a tone quite different from that in which they said 'miss hawkins,' or 'miss dadd.' 'miss insull' meant the end of a discussion. 'better tell miss insull.' 'miss insull will see to that.' 'i shall ask miss insull.' miss insull slept in the house ten nights every year. miss insull had been called into consultation when it was decided to engage a fourth hand in the shape of an apprentice.
-trade had improved into positive excellence. it was now admitted to be good--a rare honour for trade! the coal-mining boom was at its height, and colliers, in addition to getting drunk, were buying american organs and expensive bull-terriers. often they would come to the shop to purchase cloth for coats for their dogs. and they would have good cloth. mr. povey did not like this. one day a butty chose for his dog the best cloth of mr. povey's shop--at 12s. a yard. "will ye make it up? i've gotten th' measurements," asked the collier. "no, i won't!" said mr. povey, hotly. "and what's more, i won't sell you the cloth either! cloth at 12s. a yard on a dog's back indeed! i'll thank you to get out of my shop!" the incident became historic, in the square. it finally established that mr. povey was a worthy son-in-law and a solid and successful man. it vindicated the old pre-eminence of "baines's." some surprise was expressed that mr. povey showed no desire nor tendency towards entering the public life of the town. but he never would, though a keen satirical critic of the local board in private. and at the chapel he remained a simple private worshipper, refusing stewardships and trusteeships.
-was constance happy? of course there was always something on her mind, something that had to be dealt with, either in the shop or in the house, something to employ all the skill and experience which she had acquired. her life had much in it of laborious tedium--tedium never-ending and monotonous. and both she and samuel worked consistently hard, rising early, 'pushing forward,' as the phrase ran, and going to bed early from sheer fatigue; week after week and month after month as season changed imperceptibly into season. in june and july it would happen to them occasionally to retire before the last silver of dusk was out of the sky. they would lie in bed and talk placidly of their daily affairs. there would be a noise in the street below. "vaults closing!" samuel would say, and yawn. "yes, it's quite late," constance would say. and the swiss clock would rapidly strike eleven on its coil of resonant wire. and then, just before she went to sleep, constance might reflect upon her destiny, as even the busiest and smoothest women do, and she would decide that it was kind. her mother's gradual decline and lonely life at axe saddened her. the cards which came now and then at extremely long intervals from sophia had been the cause of more sorrow than joy. the naive ecstasies of her girlhood had long since departed--the price paid for experience and self-possession and a true vision of things. the vast inherent melancholy of the universe did not exempt her. but as she went to sleep she would be conscious of a vague contentment. the basis of this contentment was the fact that she and samuel comprehended and esteemed each other, and made allowances for each other. their characters had been tested and had stood the test. affection, love, was not to them a salient phenomenon in their relations. habit had inevitably dulled its glitter. it was like a flavouring, scarce remarked; but had it been absent, how they would have turned from that dish!
-samuel never, or hardly ever, set himself to meditate upon the problem whether or not life had come up to his expectations. but he had, at times, strange sensations which he did not analyze, and which approached nearer to ecstasy than any feeling of constance's. thus, when he was in one of his dark furies, molten within and black without, the sudden thought of his wife's unalterable benignant calm, which nothing could overthrow, might strike him into a wondering cold. for him she was astoundingly feminine. she would put flowers on the mantelpiece, and then, hours afterwards, in the middle of a meal, ask him unexpectedly what he thought of her 'garden;' and he gradually divined that a perfunctory reply left her unsatisfied; she wanted a genuine opinion; a genuine opinion mattered to her. fancy calling flowers on a mantelpiece a 'garden'! how charming, how childlike! then she had a way, on sunday mornings, when she descended to the parlour all ready for chapel, of shutting the door at the foot of the stairs with a little bang, shaking herself, and turning round swiftly as if for his inspection, as if saying: "well, what about this? will this do?" a phenomenon always associated in his mind with the smell of kid gloves! invariably she asked him about the colours and cut of her dresses. would he prefer this, or that? he could not take such questions seriously until one day he happened to hint, merely hint, that he was not a thorough-going admirer of a certain new dress--it was her first new dress after the definite abandonment of crinolines. she never wore it again. he thought she was not serious at first, and remonstrated against a joke being carried too far. she said: "it's not a bit of use you talking, i shan't wear it again." and then he so far appreciated her seriousness as to refrain, by discretion, from any comment. the incident affected him for days. it flattered him; it thrilled him; but it baffled him. strange that a woman subject to such caprices should be so sagacious, capable, and utterly reliable as constance was! for the practical and commonsense side of her eternally compelled his admiration. the very first example of it--her insistence that the simultaneous absence of both of them from the shop for half an hour or an hour twice a day would not mean the immediate downfall of the business--had remained in his mind ever since. had she not been obstinate--in her benevolent way--against the old superstition which he had acquired from his employers, they might have been eating separately to that day. then her handling of her mother during the months of the siege of paris, when mrs. baines was convinced that her sinful daughter was in hourly danger of death, had been extraordinarily fine, he considered. and the sequel, a card for constance's birthday, had completely justified her attitude.
-sometimes some blundering fool would jovially exclaim to them:
-"what about that baby?"
-or a woman would remark quietly: "i often feel sorry you've no children."
-and they would answer that really they did not know what they would do if there was a baby. what with the shop and one thing or another...! and they were quite sincere.
-it is remarkable what a little thing will draw even the most regular and serious people from the deep groove of their habits. one morning in march, a boneshaker, an affair on two equal wooden wheels joined by a bar of iron, in the middle of which was a wooden saddle, disturbed the gravity of st. luke's square. true, it was probably the first boneshaker that had ever attacked the gravity of st. luke's square. it came out of the shop of daniel povey, the confectioner and baker, and samuel povey's celebrated cousin, in boulton terrace. boulton terrace formed nearly a right angle with the baines premises, and at the corner of the angle wedgwood street and king street left the square. the boneshaker was brought forth by dick povey, the only son of daniel, now aged eleven years, under the superintendence of his father, and the square soon perceived that dick had a natural talent for breaking-in an untrained boneshaker. after a few attempts he could remain on the back of the machine for at least ten yards, and his feats had the effect of endowing st. luke's square with the attractiveness of a circus. samuel povey watched with candid interest from the ambush of his door, while the unfortunate young lady assistants, though aware of the performance that was going on, dared not stir from the stove. samuel was tremendously tempted to sally out boldly, and chat with his cousin about the toy; he had surely a better right to do so than any other tradesman in the square, since he was of the family; but his diffidence prevented him from moving. presently daniel povey and dick went to the top of the square with the machine, opposite holl's, and dick, being carefully installed in the saddle, essayed to descend the gentle paven slopes of the square. he failed time after time; the machine had an astonishing way of turning round, running uphill, and then lying calmly on its side. at this point of dick's life-history every shop-door in the square was occupied by an audience. at last the boneshaker displayed less unwillingness to obey, and lo! in a moment dick was riding down the square, and the spectators held their breath as if he had been blondin crossing niagara. every second he ought to have fallen off, but he contrived to keep upright. already he had accomplished twenty yards--thirty yards! it was a miracle that he was performing! the transit continued, and seemed to occupy hours. and then a faint hope rose in the breast of the watchers that the prodigy might arrive at the bottom of the square. his speed was increasing with his 'nack.' but the square was enormous, boundless. samuel povey gazed at the approaching phenomenon, as a bird at a serpent, with bulging, beady eyes. the child's speed went on increasing and his path grew straighter. yes, he would arrive; he would do it! samuel povey involuntarily lifted one leg in his nervous tension. and now the hope that dick would arrive became a fear, as his pace grew still more rapid. everybody lifted one leg, and gaped. and the intrepid child surged on, and, finally victorious, crashed into the pavement in front of samuel at the rate of quite six miles an hour.
-samuel picked him up, unscathed. and somehow this picking up of dick invested samuel with importance, gave him a share in the glory of the feat itself.
-daniel povey same running and joyous. "not so bad for a start, eh?" exclaimed the great daniel. though by no means a simple man, his pride in his offspring sometimes made him a little naive.
-this incident led to a friendship between the cousins. they formed a habit of meeting in the square for a chat. the meetings were the subject of comment, for samuel's relations with the greater daniel had always been of the most distant. it was understood that samuel disapproved of mrs. daniel povey even, more than the majority of people disapproved of her. mrs. daniel povey, however, was away from home; probably, had she not been, samuel would not even have gone to the length of joining daniel on the neutral ground of the open square. but having once broken the ice, samuel was glad to be on terms of growing intimacy with his cousin. the friendship flattered him, for daniel, despite his wife, was a figure in a world larger than samuel's; moreover, it consecrated his position as the equal of no matter what tradesman (apprentice though he had been), and also he genuinely liked and admired daniel, rather to his own astonishment.
-every one liked daniel povey; he was a favourite among all ranks. the leading confectioner, a member of the local board, and a sidesman at st. luke's, he was, and had been for twenty-five years, very prominent in the town. he was a tall, handsome man, with a trimmed, greying beard, a jolly smile, and a flashing, dark eye. his good humour seemed a memory lingers in their leaves of songs you sing.
-you must have rested here sometime, when thought was high and words in chime, your seed thoughts left for sun and showers have blossomed into pleasant flowers, instead of rhyme.
-and so i bring them back to you, these pensile buds of tender hue, of crimson, pink and purple sheen, of yellow deep, and delicate green, of white and blue.
-off rivière du loup
-o ship incoming from the sea with all your cloudy tower of sail, dashing the water to the lee, and leaning grandly to the gale;
-the sunset pageant in the west has filled your canvas curves with rose, and jewelled every toppling crest that crashes into silver snows!
-you know the joy of coming home, after long leagues to france or spain; you feel the clear canadian foam and the gulf water heave again.
-between these sombre purple hills that cool the sunset’s molten bars, you will go on as the wind wills, beneath the river’s roof of stars.
-you will toss onward toward the lights that spangle over the lonely pier, by hamlets glimmering on the heights, by level islands black and clear.
-you will go on beyond the tide, through brimming plains of olive sedge, through paler shallows light and wide, the rapids piled along the ledge.
-at evening off some reedy bay you will swing slowly on your chain, and catch the scent of dewy hay, soft blowing from the pleasant plain.
-at the cedars
-to w. w. c.
-you had two girls--baptiste-- one is virginie-- hold hard--baptiste! listen to me.
-the whole drive was jammed in that bend at the cedars, the rapids were dammed with the logs tight rammed and crammed; you might know the devil had clinched them below.
-we worked three days--not a budge, ‘she’s as tight as a wedge, on the ledge,’ says our foreman; ‘mon dieu! boys, look here, we must get this thing clear.’
-he cursed at the men and we went for it then; with our cant-dogs arow, we just gave he-yo-ho; when she gave a big shove from above.
-the gang yelled and tore for the shore, the logs gave a grind like a wolf’s jaws behind, and as quick as a flash, with a shove and a crash, they were down in a mash, but i and ten more, all but isaac dufour, were ashore.
-he leaped on a log in the front of the rush, and shot out from the bind while the jam roared behind; as he floated along he balanced his pole and tossed us a song. but just as we cheered, up darted a log from the bottom, leaped thirty feet square and fair, and came down on his own.
-he went up like a block with the shock, and when he was there in the air, kissed his hand to the land; when he dropped my heart stopped, for the first logs had caught him and crushed him; when he rose in his place there was blood on his face.
-there were some girls, baptiste, picking berries on the hillside, where the river curls, baptiste, you know--on the still side one was down by the water, she saw isaac fall back.
-she did not scream, baptiste, she launched her canoe; it did seem, baptiste, that she wanted to die too, for before you could think the birch cracked like a shell in that rush of hell, and i saw them both sink--
-baptiste!-- he had two girls, one is virginie, what god calls the other is not known to me.
-the end of the day
-i hear the bells at eventide peal slowly one by one, near and far off they break and glide, across the stream float faintly beautiful the antiphonal bells of hull; the day is done, done, done, the day is done.
-the hermit thrush begins again,-- timorous eremite-- that song of risen tears and pain, as if the one he loved was far away: ‘alas! another day--’ ‘and now good night, good night,’ ‘good night.’
-to b. c.
-by a dim shore where water darkening took the last light of spring, i went beyond the tumult, hearkening for some diviner thing.
-where the bats flew from the black elms like leaves, over the ebon pool brooded the bittern’s cry, as one that grieves lands ancient, bountiful.
-i saw the fireflies shine below the wood, above the shallows dank, as uriel from some great altitude, the planets rank on rank.
-and now unseen along the shrouded mead one went under the hill; he blew a cadence on his mellow reed, that trembled and was still.
-it seemed as if a line of amber fire had shot the gathered dusk, as if had blown a wind from ancient tyre laden with myrrh and musk.
-he gave his luring note amid the fern; its enigmatic fall haunted the hollow dusk with golden turn and argent interval.
-i could not know the message that he bore, the springs of life from me hidden; his incommunicable lore as much a mystery.
-and as i followed far the magic player he passed the maple wood, and when i passed the stars had risen there, and there was solitude.
-a flock of sheep
-to c. g. d. r.
-over the field the bright air clings and tingles, in the gold sunset while the red wind swoops; upon the nibbled knolls and from the dingles, the sheep are gathering in frightened groups.
-from the wide field the laggards bleat and follow, a drover hurls his cry and hooting laugh; and one young swain, too glad to whoop or hollo, is singing wildly as he whirls his staff.
-now crowding into little groups and eddies they swirl about and charge and try to pass; the sheep-dog yelps and heads them off and steadies and rounds and moulds them in a seething mass.
-they stand a moment with their heads uplifted till the wise dog barks loudly on the flank, they all at once roll over and are drifted down the small hill toward the river bank.
-now down the road the nimble sound decreases, the drovers cry, the dog delays and whines, and now with twinkling feet and glimmering fleeces they round and vanish past the dusky pines.
-the drove is gone, the ruddy wind grows colder, the singing youth puts up the heavy bars, beyond the pines he sees the crimson smoulder, and catches in his eyes the early stars.
-all her hair is softly set, like a misty coronet, massing darkly on her brow, like the pines above the snow; and her eyebrows lightly drawn, slender clouds above the dawn, or like ferns above her eyes, ferns and pools in paradise.
-her sweet mouth is like a flower, like a poppy full of power, shaken light and crimson stain, pressed together by the rain, glowing liquid in the sun, when the rain is done.
-when she moves, her motionings seem to shadow hidden wings; so the cuckoo going to light takes a little further flight, fluttering onward, poised there, half in grass and half in air.
-when she speaks, her girlish voice makes a very pleasant noise, like a brook that hums along under leaves an undersong: when she sings, her voice is clear, like the waters swerving sheer, in the sunlight magical, down a ringing fall.
-here her spirit came to dwell from the passionate israfel; one of those great songs of his rounded to a soul like this; and when she seems so strange at even, he must be singing in the heaven; when she wears that charméd smile, listening, listening all the while, she is stirred with kindred things, starry fire and sweeping wings, and the seraph’s sobbing strings.
-at the lattice
-good-night, marie, i kiss thine eyes, a tender touch on either lid; they cover, as a cloud, the skies where like a star your soul lies hid.
-my love is like a fire that flows, this touch will leave a tiny scar, i’ll claim you by it for my rose, my rose, my own, where’er you are.
-and when you bind your hair, and when you lie within your silken nest, this kiss will visit you again, you will not rest, my love, you will not rest.
-the first snow
-the field pools gathered into frosted lace; an icy glitter lined the iron ruts, and bound the circle of the musk-rat huts; a junco flashed about a sunny space where rose stems made a golden amber grace; between the dusky alders’ woven ranks, a stream thought yet about his summer banks, and made an august music in the place.
-along the horizon’s faded shrunken lines, veiling the gloomy borders of the night, hung the great snow clouds washed with pallid gold; and stealing from his covert in the pines, the wind, encouraged to a stinging flight, dropped in the hollow conquered by the cold.
-then a light cloud rose up for hardihood, trailing a veil of snow that whirled and broke, blown softly like a shroud of steam or smoke, sallied across a knoll where maples stood, charged over broken country for a rood, then seeing the night withdrew his force and fled, leaving the ground with snow-flakes thinly spread, and traces of the skirmish in the wood.
-the stars sprang out and flashed serenely near, the solid frost came down with might and main, it set the rivers under bolt and bar; bang! went the starting eaves beneath the strain, and e’er orion saw the morning-star the winter was the master of the year.
-to j. a. r.
-the ruddy sunset lies banked along the west; in flocks with sweep and rise the birds are going to rest.
-the air clings and cools, and the reeds look cold, standing above the pools, like rods of beaten gold.
-the flaunting golden-rod has lost her worldly mood, she’s given herself to god, and taken a nun’s hood.
-the wild and wanton horde, that kept the summer revel, have taken the serge and cord, and given the slip to the devil.
-the winter’s loose somewhere, gathering snow for a fight; from the feel of the air i think it will freeze to-night.
-dewy are her rosy palms, in her cheek the flushes flit, and a dream her spirit calms with the pleasant thought of it.
-all the rounded heavens show like the concave of a pearl, stars amid the opal glow little fronds of flame unfurl.
-then upfloats a planet strange, not the moon that mortals know, with a magic mountain range, cones and craters white as snow;
-something different yet the same-- rain by rainbows glorified, roses lit with lambent flame-- ’tis the maid moon’s other side.
-when the sleeper floats from sleep, she will smile the vision o’er, see the veinéd valleys deep, no one ever saw before.
-yet the moon is not betrayed, (ah! the subtle isabelle!) she’s a maiden, and a maid maiden secrets will not tell.
-a night in june
-the world is heated seven times, the sky is close above the lawn, an oven when the coals are drawn.
-there is no stir of air at all, only at times an inward breeze turns back a pale leaf in the trees.
-here the syringa’s rich perfume covers the tulip’s red retreat, a burning pool of scent and heat.
-the pallid lightning wavers dim between the trees, then deep and dense the darkness settles more intense.
-a hawk lies panting in the grass, or plunges upward through the air, the lightning shows him whirling there.
-a bird calls madly from the eaves. then stops, the silence all at once disturbed, falls dead again and stuns.
-a redder lightning flits about, but in the north a storm is rolled that splits the gloom with vivid gold;
-dead silence, then a little sound, the distance chokes the thunder down, it shudders faintly in the town.
-a fountain plashing in the dark keeps up a mimic dropping strain; ah! god, if it were really rain!
-i see a schooner in the bay cutting the current into foam; one day she flies and then one day comes like a swallow veering home.
-i hear a water miles away go sobbing down the wooded glen; one day it lulls and then one day comes sobbing on the wind again.
-remembrance goes but will not stay; that cry of unpermitted pain one day departs and then one day comes sobbing to my heart again.
-youth and time
-move not so lightly, time, away, grant us a breathing-space of tender ruth; deal not so harshly with the flying day, leave us the charm of spring, the touch of youth.
-leave us the lilacs wet with dew, leave us the balsams odorous with rain, leave us of frail hepaticas a few, let the red osier sprout for us again.
-leave us the hazel thickets set along the hills, leave us a month that yields the fragile bloodroot and the violet, leave us the sorrage shimmering on the fields.
-you offer us largess of power, you offer fame, we ask not these in sooth, these comfort age upon his failing hour, but oh, the charm of spring, the touch of youth!
-a memory of the ‘inferno’
-an hour before the dawn i dreamed of you; your spirit made a smile upon your face, as fleeting as the visionary grace that music lends to words; and when it flew, i thought of how the maid francesca grew, so lovely at ravenna, until time ripened the fruit of her immortal crime. as pure as light my vision took this hue to paint our sorrow: so your lips made moan; ‘upon that day we read no more therein’: i wept, such tears paolo might have known; and all the love, the immemorial pain, swept down upon me as i felt begin, that furious circle rage and reel again.
-la belle feronière
-i never trod where leonardo was, then why art thou within this house of dreams, strange lady? from thy face a memory streams, of things, forgotten now, that came to pass; the flower of milan floated in thy glass: thy dreaming smile; thy subtle loveliness! ah! laughter airier far than ours, i guess, lighted thy brow, fleeter than fire in grass.
-yet, there is something fateful in thy face: say, when the master caught it, didst thou know, almost thy name would perish with thy grace, thine artifices melt away like snow, and all the power within this painted space, be his alone to hold and haunt us so?
-a november day
-there are no clouds above the world, but just a round of limpid grey, barred here with nacreous lines unfurled, that seem to crown the autumnal day, with rings of silver chased and pearled.
-the moistened leaves along the ground, lie heavy in an aureate floor; the air is lingering in a swound; afar from some enchanted shore, silence has blown instead of sound.
-the trees all flushed with tender pink are floating in the liquid air, each twig appears a shadowy link, to keep the branches mooréd there, lest all might drift or sway and sink.
-this world might be a valley low, in some lost ocean grey and old, where sea-plants film the silver flow, where waters swing above the gold of galleons sunken long ago.
-city about whose brow the north winds blow, girdled with woods and shod with river foam, called by a name as old as troy or rome, be great as they, but pure as thine own snow; rather flash up amid the auroral glow, the lamia city of the northern star, than be so hard with craft or wild with war, peopled with deeds remembered for their woe.
-thou art too bright for guile, too young for tears, and thou wilt live to be too strong for time; for he may mock thee with his furrowed frowns, but thou wilt grow in calm throughout the years, cinctured with peace and crowned with power sublime, the maiden queen of all the towered towns.
-here’s the last rose, and the end of june, with the tulips gone and the lilacs strewn; a light wind blows from the golden west, the bird is charmed to her secret nest: here’s the last rose-- in the violet sky a great star shines, the gnats are drawn to the purple pines; on the magic lawn a shadow flows from the summer moon: here’s the last rose, and the end of the tune.
-night and the pines
-here in the pine shade is the nest of night, lined deep with shadows, odorous and dim, and here he stays his sweeping flight, here where the strongest wind is lulled for him, he lingers brooding until dawn, while all the trembling stars move on and on.
-under the cliff there drops a lonely fall, deep and half heard its thunder lifts and booms; afar the loons with eerie call haunt all the bays, and breaking through the glooms upfloats that cry of light despair, as if a demon laughed upon the air.
-a raven croaks from out his ebon sleep, when a brown cone falls near him through the dark; and when the radiant meteors sweep afar within the larches wakes the lark; the wind moves on the cedar hill, tossing the weird cry of the whip-poor-will.
-sometimes a titan wind, slumbrous and hushed, takes the dark grove within his swinging power; and like a cradle softly pushed, the shade sways slowly for a lulling hour; while through the cavern sweeps a cry, a sibyl with her secret prophecy.
-and so we cannot come within this grove, but all the quiet dusk remembrance brings of ancient sorrow and of hapless love, fate, and the dream of power, and piercing things traces of mystery and might, the passion-sadness of the soul of night.
-a night in march
-at eve the fiery sun went forth flooding the clouds with ruby blood, up roared a war-wind from the north and crashed at midnight through the wood.
-the demons danced about the trees, the snow slipped singing over the wold, and ever when the wind would cease a lynx cried out within the cold.
-a spirit walked the ringing rooms, passing the locked and secret door, heavy with divers ancient dooms, with dreams dead laden to the core.
-‘spirit, thou art too deep with woe, i have no harbour place for thee, leave me to lesser griefs, and go, go with the great wind to the sea.’
-i faltered like a frightened child, that fears its nurse’s fairy brood, and as i spoke, i heard the wild wind plunging through the shattered wood.
-‘hast thou betrayed the rest of kings, with tragic fears and spectres wan, my dreams are lit with purer things, with humbler ghosts, begone, begone.’
-the noisy dark was deaf and blind, still the strange spirit strayed or stood, and i could only hear the wind go roaring through the riven wood.
-‘art thou the fate for some wild heart, that scorned his cavern’s curve and bars, that leaped the bounds of time and art, and lost thee lingering near the stars?’
-it was so still i heard my thought, even the wind was very still, the desolate deeper silence brought the lynx-moan from the lonely hill.
-‘art thou the thing i might have been, if all the dead had known control, risen through the ages’ trembling sheen, a mirage of my desert soul?’
-the wind rushed down the roof in wrath, then shrieked and held its breath and stood, like one who finds beside his path, a dead girl in the marish wood.
-‘or have i ceased, as those who die and leave the broken word unsaid, art thou the spirit ministry that hovers round the newly dead?’
-the auroras rose in solitude, and wanly paled within the room, the window showed an ebon rood, upon the blanched and ashen gloom.
-i heard a voice within the dark, that answered not my idle word, i could not choose but pause and hark, it was so magically stirred.
-it grew within the quiet hour, with the rose shadows on the wall, it had a touch of ancient power, a wild and elemental fall;
-its rapture had a dreaming close: the dawn grew slowly on the wold, spreading in fragile veils of rose, in tender lines of lemon-gold.
-the world was turning into light, was sweeping into life and peace, and folded in the fading night, i felt the dawning sink and cease.
-the morns are grey with haze and faintly cold, the early sunsets arc the west with red; the stars are misty silver overhead, above the dawn orion lies outrolled. now all the slopes are slowly growing gold, and in the dales a deeper silence dwells; the crickets mourn with funeral flutes and bells, for days before the summer had grown old.
-now the night-gloom with hurrying wings is stirred, strangely the comrade pipings rise and sink, the birds are following in the pathless dark the footsteps of the pilgrim summer. hark! was that the redstart or the bobolink? that lonely cry the summer-hearted bird?
-by the willow spring
-to e. w.
-come hither, care, and look on this fair place, but leave your gossip and your puckered face beyond that flowering carrot in the glow, where the red poppies in the orchard blow, and come with gentle feet; the last thing there was a white butterfly upon the air, and even now a thrush was in the grass, to feel the sovereign water slowly pass. this pool is quiet as oblivion, hidden securely from the flooding sun; its crystal placid surface here receives the wan grey under light of the willow leaves; and shy things brood about the grass unheard; only in sunny distance sings the bird. o time long dead, o days reclaimed and done, thou broughtest joy and tears to every one, and here by this deep pool thou wast not slow, to deal a maiden all her tender woe; be kindlier to her now that she is dead, let her charmed spirit visit this well-head more often, for at eve in honey-time, drifting in silence from her ghostly clime, she haunts the pool about the willows pale: be gentle, for my feeling art may fail, i’ll freshen sorrow and retell her tale.
-she was a fragile daughter of the earth, and touched with faery from her fatal birth; for many summers she was hardly shy, not clouded with her hovering destiny, but only wild as any woodland thing, that comes at even to a trodden spring; and scarce she seemed of any settled mood, that lights the peaceful hills of maidenhood, but shifted strangely on the whimsy air, not quiet nor contented anywhere. she gathered sunshine in an earthen cruse, and thought to keep it for her own sweet use; or fluttered flowers from her window high, and wept upon them when they would not fly; and when she found the brownish mignonette had blossomed where a little seed was set, she planted her rag playmate in the sun, because she wanted yet another one; and when she heard the enraptured sparrow sing, she clamoured for a song from everything. for many years she was as strange and free, as a pine linnet in a cedar tree. her folk thought: she is very wild and odd, but she is good, we’ll wait and trust in god. o love, that watched the weird and charméd child, change from her airy fancies sweet and mild, like a blue brook that clears a meadow spring, and threads the barley where the bobolinks sing, then wimples by the roots of dusky firs, and gathers darkness in those deeps of hers, then makes an arrowy movement through a pass, where rocks are crannied with the clinging grass, then falls, almost dissolved in silver rain, she gathers deeply to a pool again; but something wild in her new spirit lies, she never can regain her limpid eyes: o love, alas! ’twas ever so to be, when streams set out to reach the bitter sea. it was a time within the early spring, before the orchards had done blossoming, before the kinglet on his northern search, had ceased his timorous piping in the birch, when streams were bright before the coming leaves and gurgled like the swallows in the eaves, she wandered led by fancy to this place, and looked upon the water’s crystal face; she saw--what thing of beauty or of awe i know not, no one knoweth what she saw. but ever after she was constant here, as silent as her shadow in the mere, sitting upon a stone which many feet had grooved and trodden for the water sweet, and leaning gravely on her slanted arm, her fingers buried in the gravel warm, she gazed and gazed and did not speak or sigh, as if this gazing was her destiny. they led her nightly from the magic pool, before the shadows grew too deep and cool; they thought to win her from the liquid spell, and tried to tease the elfin maid to tell, what was the charm that led her to the spring; but all their words availed not anything. then gazed they on the surface of the pool to read the reason of such subtle rule; their eyes were overclouded, they could see (who had drawn water there perpetually) nothing but water in a depth serene, with a few moony stones of palish green. they thought perchance it was her face she saw and answered, beauty unto beauty’s law, but when they showed her image in a glass, she was not cured and nothing came to pass; so then they left her to her own strange will, and here she stayed when the fair pool was still. but when the wind would hurl the heavy rain, she peered out sadly from her window-pane; and when the night set wildly close and deep, she took her trouble down the dale of sleep: but when the night was warm and no dew fell, she waked and dreamed beside the starlit well.
-then came a change, each day some offering she laid beside the clear soft flowing spring; and there she found them at the break of morn, and everything would take away forlorn; until beside the unconscious spring was laid each treasure held most precious by a maid. after, she offered flowers and often set a bowlful of the pleasant mignonette, and starred the stones with the narcissus white, and pansies left athinking all the night, then ruffled dewy dahlias, and at last, when sundown told the summer-time had passed, the stainéd asters; but from day to day, sadly she took the untouched flowers away. with autumn and the sounding harvest flute, she brought her timid god the heavy fruit; but found it still and cool at early dawn, beaded with dew upon the crispy lawn. at last one eve she placed an apple here, smooth as a topaz and as golden clear, scented like almonds, with a flesh like dew and luscious-sweet as honey through and through. she left it sadly on the sleepy lawn, but when she came again her apple gold was gone.
-day after day for days she mutely strove, not to be separate from her placid love; perchance she thought that, breaking through the spell, her shadow-god, deep in the tranquil well, had taken her last gift;--no man may know; her fancies merged with all mute things that go the poppied path, dreams and desires foredone, the unplucked roses of oblivion. but now she searched for words that would express something of all her spirit’s loneliness; and formed a liquid jargon, full of falls as weird and wild as ariel madrigals; our human tongue was far too harsh for this, or her slight spirit bore too great a bliss; but always grew she very faint and pale, day after day her beauty grew more frail, more mute, more eerie, more ethereal; her soul burned whitely in its waning shell.
-then came the winter with his frosty breath and made the world an image of white death, and like to death he found the charméd child; yet could not kill her with his bluster wild. only in his first days she went about, and sadly hearkened to his hearty shout; from windows where the wizard frost had traced moth-wings of rime with silver ferns inlaced, she saw her pool set coldly in the drift, where in the autumn she had left her gift, capped with a cloud of silver steam or smoke, that hovered there whether she dreamed or woke; and often stealing from her early sleep, she watched the light cloud in the midnight deep, waver and blow beneath the moon’s white globe, shivering and whispering in her chilly robe. at last she would not look or speak at all, and turned her large eyes to the shaded wall. now she is dead, they thought; but never so, she died not when the winter winds did blow; she was a spirit of the summer air, she would not vanish at the year’s despair.
-at length the merry sun grew warm and high, and changed the wildwood with his alchemy; the violet reared her bell of drooping gold, and over her the robin chimed and trolled. when the first slender moon of may had come, that finds the blithe bird busy at his home, they missed the spirit maiden from the room, that now was sweet with light and spring perfume, and called her all the echoing afternoon; she answered not, but when the growing moon went down the west with the last bird awing, they found her dead beside her darling spring.
-this is her tale, her murmurous monument flows softly where her fragile life was spent, not grooved in brass nor trenched in pallid stone, but told by water to the reeds alone.
-she cometh here sometimes on summer eves, her quiet spirit lingers in the leaves, and while this spring flows on, and while the wands sway in the moonlight, while in drifting bands, the thistledown blows gleaming in the air, and dappled thrushes haunt the precinct fair; she will return, she will return and lean above the crystal in the covert green, and dream of beauty on the shadow flung of irised distance when the world was young.
-let us be gone; this is no place for tears, let us go slowly with the guardian years; let us be brave, the day is almost done, another setting of the pleasant sun.
-printed by t. and a. constable, printers to her majesty, at the edinburgh university press.
-list of books
-messrs. methuen beg to announce that they are about to issue, in ten volumes 8vo, an authorised collection of mr. gladstone’s speeches, the work being undertaken with his sanction and under his superintendence. notes and introductions will be added.
-in view of the interest in the home rule question, it is proposed to issue vols. ix. and x., which will include the speeches of the last seven or eight years, immediately, and then to proceed with the earlier volumes. volume x. is already published.
-also small limited editions on dutch and japanese paper. 21s. and 42s. net.
-a companion book to mr. henley’s well-known lyra heroica. it is believed that no such collection of splendid prose has ever been brought within the compass of one volume. each piece, whether containing a character-sketch or incident, is complete in itself. the book will be finely printed and bound.
-a limited issue on hand-made paper. large crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.
-a small issue on finest large japanese paper. demy 8vo. 42s. net.
-the announcement of this important collection of english lyrics will excite wide interest. it will be finely printed by messrs. constable & co., and issued in limited editions.
-this important book is a historical sketch of o.t. criticism in the form of biographical studies from the days of eichhorn to those of driver and robertson smith. it is the only book of its kind in english.
-a volume of sermons preached before the university of cambridge by various preachers, including the archbishop of canterbury and bishop westcott.
-also a limited edition on hand-made paper, with the illustrations on india paper. £3, 3s. net.
-also a small edition on japanese paper. £5, 5s. net.
-this important work is written by mr. collingwood, who has been for some years mr. ruskin’s private secretary, and who has had unique advantages in obtaining materials for this book from mr. ruskin himself and from his friends. it contains a large amount of new matter, and of letters which have never been published, and is, in fact, as near as is possible at present, a full and authoritative biography of mr. ruskin. the book contains numerous portraits of mr. ruskin, including a coloured one from a water-colour portrait by himself, and also 13 sketches, never before published, by mr. ruskin and mr. arthur severn. a bibliography is added.
-the first edition having been at once exhausted, a second is now ready.
-‘no more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time than “the life and work of john ruskin.” in binding, paper, printing, and illustrations they will satisfy the most fastidious. they will be prized not only by the band of devotees who look up to mr. ruskin as the teacher of the age, but by the many whom no eccentricities can blind to his genius....’--times.
-‘it is just because there are so many books about mr. ruskin that these extra ones are needed. they survey all the others, and supersede most of them, and they give us the great writer as a whole.... he has given us everything needful--a biography, a systematic account of his writings, and a bibliography.... this most lovingly written and most profoundly interesting book.’--daily news.
-‘the record is one which is well worth telling; the more so as mr. collingwood knows more about his subject than the rest of the world.... his two volumes are fitted with elaborate indices and tables, which will one day be of immense use to the students of ruskin’s work.... it is a book which will be very widely and deservedly read.’--st. james’s gazette.
-‘to a large number of people these volumes will be more pre-eminently the book of the year than any other that has been, or is likely to be, published.... it is long since we have had a biography with such varied delights of substance and of form. such a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.’--daily chronicle.
-‘it is not likely that much will require to be added to this record of his career which has come from the pen of mr. w. g. collingwood. mr. ruskin could not well have been more fortunate in his biographer.’--globe.
-‘a noble monument of a noble subject. one of the most beautiful books about one of the noblest lives of our century. the volumes are exceedingly handsome, and the illustrations very beautiful.’--glasgow herald.
-‘it is indeed an excellent biography of ruskin.’--scotsman.
-also a small edition on large paper. 10s. 6d. net.
-a little book on fly-fishing by an old friend of mr. ruskin. it has been out of print for some time, and being still much in request, is now issued with a memoir of the author by w. g. collingwood.
-also a small edition on large dutch hand-made paper. price 12s. 6d. net.
-a volume of lyrics and sonnets by j. d. hosken, the postman poet, of helston, cornwall, whose interesting career is now more or less well known to the literary public. q, the author of ‘the splendid spur,’ etc., will write a critical and biographical introduction.
-a life of the celebrated scottish divine from the capable and sympathetic pen of mrs. oliphant, which will be welcome to a large circle of readers. it is issued uniform with mr. lock’s ‘life of john keble.’
-a bright story by mr. hope, who has, the athenum says, ‘a decided outlook and individuality of his own.’
-a powerful and characteristic story of devon life by the author of ‘mehalah.’
-a story of society by a new writer, full of interest and power, which will attract considerable notice.
-a new story by a writer whose previous work, ‘pierre and his people,’ was received with unanimous favour, and placed him at once in the front rank.
-‘there is strength and genius in mr. parker’s style.’--daily telegraph.
-‘his style of portraiture is always effectively picturesque, and sometimes finely imaginative--the fine art which is only achieved by the combination of perfect vision and beautifully adequate rendering.’--daily chronicle.
-‘he has the right stuff in him. he has the story-teller’s gift.--st. james’s gazette.
-a tragic story of cornish life by a writer of remarkable power, whose first novel has been highly praised by mr. gladstone.
-an edition in one volume of a novel which in its two volume form quickly ran through two editions.
-mr. pryce’s work recalls the style of octave feuillet, by its clearness, conciseness, its literary reserve.’--athenæum.
-a cheap edition of a novel whose style and beauty of thought attracted much attention.
-a stirring story of norway, written for boys by the author of ‘in the roar of the sea.’
-another story, with a dog hero, by the author of the very popular ‘only a guard-room dog.’
-a story of military life for children.
-new two-shilling editions
-crown 8vo, picture boards.
-a double knot. by g. manville fenn. a reverend gentleman. by j. maclaren cobban. mr. butler’s ward. by mabel robinson.
-university extension series
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-gandhi and anarchy
-by sir c. sankaran nair
-published by tagore & co., madras
-all rights reserved right of translation not reserved
-the tata printing works : : madras
-the struggle for indian home rule which was started with the inauguration of the indian national congress has many difficulties to encounter, has strong and powerful opponents and has received many checks. but its strongest opponent is mr. gandhi and perhaps the most severe check it has received is the adoption by the national congress at his instance in calcutta and nagpur of the so-called-non-violent non-co-operation. non-co-operation as advocated by mr. gandhi may be a weapon to be used when constitutional methods have failed to achieve our purpose. non-violence and passive suffering will lead to bloodshed or be unfruitful of any satisfactory results. moreover, nothing shows the lack of statesmanship more than practically basing the claim for swaraj upon the punjab and the khilafat grievances. as representing asia against europe, the fair against the white race, the hindus regarded the turkish empire with sympathy and were disposed to support the mahomadens as asiatic representatives. but when by gandhi and khilafatist that claim was abandoned; when the arabs perhaps the noblest of the mahomadan races who fought as our allies and helped us to defeat turkey were sought to be brought under turkish dominion, when other asiatic races freed by the war were asked to accept turkish sovereignty on grounds based on the mahomaden religion which had already produced such baneful result in india, the situation became entirely different. it was rightly realised by many, and the sequel has proved that they were right, that the path of the progress of the gandhi movement fused with the khilafat element will be bloody. the claim for indian home rule rests upon very different grounds. the hindus have nothing to do with the khilafat agitation. the mahomadans themselves are not agreed as to the claims advanced on behalf of the calif. it is even questionable, to put it mildly, whether that claim has the support of the majority of the mahomadans. while the claim itself rested on such slender grounds, the means first adopted to enforce the claim were grotesque. the methods advocated by mr. gandhi and the congress are directed against western civilization; against the class which fought for and won the reforms; and the montague reforms scheme of constitutional progress. they have failed miserably and as was natural more violent methods leading to direct conflict with the forces of government have been advocated which would in all probability have been carried out but for the arrest and imprisonment of mr. gandhi. he belongs to a class of thought which has attracted some of the noblest minds in this world, but in applying his the gospel of life to politics, he has shown himself a babe and his interference has been generally mischievous. in south africa he is responsible for creating a situation which makes a peaceful and satisfactory solution practically impossible. his factious policy in india stands in the way of further reforms. the opposition to gandhi was however not strenuous. the so-called moderates only whispered their protests against his policy so as not to be heard beyond a few feet. they are loud however, in their denunciation of government action to check the illegal activities of mr. gandhi and his followers. it can hardly be doubted that their cautious attitude has contributed to the growth of the gandhi movement. but the inexplicable conduct of a certain--i won't say class--body of gentlemen has still more contributed to that result.
-there is scarcely any item in the gandhi programme which is not a complete violation of everything preached by the foremost sons of india till 1919; which has not been strongly even vehemently denounced by those old respected members of the congress who now follow mr. gandhi, pandit malaviya, messrs. vijayaragavachari, lajapat rai, natarajam, s. kasturiranga iyengar, the editor of the 'hindu.' mr. gandhi's emotional outbursts, fastings, penances, sanyasi waist cloth, may carry away the emotional masses, women and students. but whether this wave of emotionalism submerged the men abovenamed i would not care to guess. no one of course has any right to find fault with his genuine followers like mr. prakasam, editor, 'swaraj' whose motives, however much we might differ from his politics, no one will question. he is one of those genuine patriots who believes in the efficacy of mr. gandhi's methods to obtain home rule. by far the great majority however, follow him for other reasons.
-the severe simplicity and austerity of mr. gandhi's life combined with his appeal to the principle of 'ahimsa' non-injury inherited from buddists and now ingrained in hindu life, has secured him the support of the hindu masses and particularly vegetarians. his support of the caste system has won over the higher classes and the reactionary elements of hindu society to his side. the caste system is entirely opposed to the 'ahimsa' (non-injury) principle. the former has dedicated one of the main castes to death. its function is to kill and be killed. it is also the function of some of the sub-castes of the lowest caste or class to slaughter animals. his indiscriminating support of the extreme khilafat demands has ensured the mahomedan support. islam is more opposed than the caste system to "ahimsa." the trouble with the hindus over the slaughter of cows is due to this difficulty. some politicians who naturally desire to use him and the influence he has acquired for putting pressure on the government to concede further reform, also have joined him. but i am satisfied he is using them all to further his own ends. an attempt in which he is bound to fail. his success i.e. the success of the reactionary forces in india to obtain what they call dominion status or home rule, but, which really means their rule, will not only lead to bloodshed and anarchy and the dismemberment of the empire; but to the triumph of a reactionary policy, social, moral and economic, against which the democratic policy of the recent reforms and the legislative councils is an emphatic protest. i have attempted in the following pages to give my reasons for these conclusions.
-far more important than my narrative are the extracts published in the appendix. they consist of speeches made by the viceroy, and members of government in the legislative councils. i have on account of considerations of space omitted speeches in many provinces. i have not given any speech in full for the same reason. i have also given a list of riots or disturbances. these give a fair idea of the activities of mr. gandhi.
-c. sankaran nair
-gandhi and anarchy
-all of us are now striving for "swaraj" or home rule. we wish to be masters of our own destiny. we want sooner or later the representatives of the people of the country to govern it. there are some amongst us who consider that home rule, is an immediate necessity. others believe that home rule, at present without the fulfilment of certain preliminary conditions would be attended with disastrous results. but all are agreed that we should work for it. the practical difficulties in the way of its attainment due, partly to the relations between the various communities in india, partly to the opposition of powerful interests and the period that must therefore elapse before we overcome them render the discussion of time, ignoring or brushing aside those difficulties, only of academic interest. mr. gandhi's great influence is due to the popular belief in the efficacy of his leadership to attain immediate home rule. to me his non-co-operation campaign appears to be an egregious blunder for which we are already paying dearly. a long line of illustrious statesmen, indian and english have just succeeded in leading us out of the house of bondage. how long we shall have to wander in the deserts we do not know. but it is certain that mr. gandhi is not leading his followers in the direction of the promised land. he is not only going in the opposite direction but instead of toughening our fibre by a life of toil and struggle is endeavouring to entirely emasculate us and render us altogether unfit for the glorious destiny that, but for him and others like him, is awaiting us.
-this will be clear once the nature of his agitation is realised. for that purpose, it is necessary to understand his mentality and his real views on the problems of life and the various questions now in debate.
-these are given in various books which have been published and in his paper "young india", edited by him. his "indian home rule", was first published in 1908. in a publication of 1921, he says "i withdraw nothing except one word of it and that in deference to a lady friend." the reason is the indelicacy of the expression....
-the book is in the form of a dialogue between a reader and the "editor" the latter being gandhi himself.
-mr. gandhi wishes to know the necessity of driving away the english,
-reader:--"because india has become impoverished by their government. they take away our money from year to year. the most important posts are reserved for themselves. we are kept in a state of slavery. they behave insolently towards us, and disregard our feelings."
-gandhi:--"supposing we get self-government similar to what the canadians and south africans have, will it be good enough?"
-reader:--"that question also is useless. we may get it when we have the same powers. we shall then hoist our own flag. as is japan so must india be. we must own our navy, our army, and we must have our own splendour. then will india's voice ring throughout the world."
-gandhi:--"you have well drawn the picture. in effect it means this: that we want english rule without the englishman. you want the tiger's nature but not the tiger; that is to say you would make india english and when it becomes english, it will be called not hindustan but englistan. this is not the swaraj that i want."
-nothing can be clearer. he does not want the dominion status of canada or south africa for india. he does not claim the independence of japan for india as he points out a few lines below, "what you call swaraj is not truly swaraj."
-what is then the real "swaraj" according to mr. gandhi? he proceeds to develop his views by illustrations.
-he gives his views on the poverty of india. he says railways, lawyers and doctors have impoverished the country, so much so that, if we do not wake up in time, we shall be ruined.
-about railways he says as follows:--
-"man is so made by nature as to require him to restrict his movements as far as his hands and feet will take him. if we did not rush about from place to place by means of railways and such other maddening conveniences, much of the confusion that arises, would be obviated. our difficulties are of our own creation. god set a limit to a man's locomotive ambition in the construction of his body. man immediately proceeded to discover means of overriding the limit. god gifted man with intellect that he might know his maker. man abused it so that he might forget his maker. i am so constructed that i can only serve my immediate neighbours, but in my conceit, i pretend to have discovered that i must with my body serve every individual in the universe. in thus attempting the impossible, man comes in contact with different religions and is utterly confounded. according to this reasoning, it must be apparent to you that railways are a most dangerous institution. man has gone further away from his maker".
-and he advises all his friends to go into the interior of the country that has yet not been polluted by the railways and live there in order to be patriotic.
-i shall not insult the intelligence of my reader by attempting a defence of the railways which have knit india together. i will only observe that according to mr. gandhi, the construction and use of railways for locomotion not possible for man in his natural condition, is an abuse of god's gift. and why? because if he comes into contact with different natures, with different religions he might try to serve others than his neighbour whom alone god intended him to serve!!!
-as to lawyers, he will have none of them; without lawyers, courts could not have been established or conducted and without them the british could not hold india. he has yet to learn that there were courts both in pre-british india and british india before lawyers. he thinks the hindu-mahomedan quarrels have often been due to the intervention of lawyers. he wants all people to settle their own quarrels; "men were less unmanly if they settled their disputes either by fighting or by asking their relatives to decide them. they became more unmanly and cowardly when they resorted to the courts of law. it is a sign of savagery to settle disputes by fighting. it is not the less so by asking a third party to decide between you and me. the parties alone know who is right and therefore they ought to settle it". such is his opinion of lawyers and of courts.
-he is even more harsh on doctors. his opinion is quoted below as any statement of it in my own words might be regarded as travesty:--
-"let us consider; the business of a doctor is to take care of the body, or, properly speaking, not even that. their business is really to rid the body of diseases that may afflict. how do these diseases arise? surely by our negligence or indulgence. i overeat, i have indigestion, i go to a doctor, he gives me medicine. i am cured, i overeat again, and i take his pills again. had i not taken the pills in the first instance, i would have suffered the punishment deserved by me, and i would not have over-eaten again. the doctor intervened and helped me to indulge myself. my body thereby certainly felt more at ease, but my mind became weakened. a continuance of a course of medicine must, therefore, result in loss of a control over the mind.
-"i have indulged in vice, i contract a disease, a doctor cures me, the odds are that i shall repeat the vice. had the doctor not intervened, nature would have done its work, and i would have acquired mastery over myself, would have been freed from vice, and would have become happy.
-"hospitals are institutions for propagating sin. men take less care of their bodies, and immorality increases".
-he says therefore that a doctor should "give up medicine, and understand that rather than mending bodies, he should mend souls", and he must also understand that "if, by not taking drugs, perchance the patient dies, the world will not come to grief and he will have been really useful to him".
-there is no use in arguing with him and his dupes on this subject after this. but his views must be borne in mind when we come to deal with the present agitation.
-about education, his views are equally remarkable. if, he says, education simply means knowledge of letters it is merely an instrument and an instrument may be well used or abused. he adds:--
-"we daily observe that many men abuse it and very few make good use of it".
-he will not give any education to a raiyat or poor peasant:--
-"the ordinary meaning of education is a knowledge of letters. to teach boys reading, writing and arithmetic is called primary education".
-"what do you propose to do by giving him a knowledge of letters? will you add an inch to his happiness? do you wish to make him discontented with his cottage or his lot?"
-so much for primary education. as to higher education he says he has learnt geography, astronomy, algebra, geometry etc., but neither has that learning benefited him nor any body about him. as to knowledge of english, it is only useful to enslave people:--
-"the foundation that macaulay laid of education", he says: "has enslaved us. it is worth noting that by receiving english education, we have enslaved the nation. hypocrisy, tyranny etc. have increased; english-knowing indians have not hesitated to cheat and strike terror into the people. now, if we are doing anything for the people at all, we are paying only a portion of the debt due to them".
-i shall have to deal with this question of education later in connection with this appeal to the boys to leave the schools and colleges.
-after all this, it will not surprise any one to be told that we must have nothing to do with machinery:--
-"it was not that we did not know how to invent machinery, but our forefathers knew that, if we set our hearts after such things, we would become slaves and lose our moral fibre. they, therefore, after due deliberation, decided that we should only do what we could with our hands and feet. they saw that our real happiness and health consisted in a proper use of our hands and feet."
-he would not therefore have mills for the reason that machinery is the chief symbol of modern civilisation and it has already begun to desolate europe. in his opinion it were better for us to send money to manchester and to use flimsy manchester cloth than to multiply mills in india. i wonder why he does not ask lancashire to pay him his crore of rupees. lancashire would no doubt do so in consideration of the monopoly of supplying india with manufactured goods and india would, according to mr. gandhi, get swaraj. india does not want manufactured goods; he asks:--
-"what did india do before these articles were introduced? precisely the same should be done to-day. as long as we cannot make pins without machinery, so long will we do without them. the tinsel splendour of glassware we will have nothing to do with, and we will make wick, as of old, with home grown cotton, and use hand-made earthen saucers for lamps". he finally adds: "i cannot recall a single good point in connection with machinery."
-mr. gandhi wrote his book in 1908 after a visit to england when the liberal and the labour parties were carrying on their great campaign in favour of the working men and against the capitalists and lloyd george was about to launch his great land campaign. he seems to have been impressed with the horrors of the condition of the wage earners which was then portrayed in dark colours in order to support that campaign. his mind, emotional and ill balanced, seems to have been entirely upset by the descriptions that he had then read. he is on the fringe of a large question about which he seems to have been singularly ill informed. in england there is not at this time and there was not when he wrote, any question of the destruction of machinery which is a necessary adjunct to the industrial system. the questions under debate are the conditions of labour and the distribution of the wealth created by machinery between capitalists and labour. these questions have been under consideration now for some years; the condition of the labourers is being slowly improved, a minimum wage has been introduced and there is a prospect of a still more equitable distribution of the proceeds between capital and labour. mr. gandhi says that he has read dutt's book on the decline of indian industries but he does not seem to have learnt the lesson inculcated therein--that it is necessary to improve our industries not only to meet the needs of the people of the country, find employment for our labouring population, but also not to force them to compete with the cultivating classes. in india the same problem as in england awaits us. we have to see that the condition of the labourers in the mills and in the other industries is improved. in asking for the ruin of all our manufacturing industries mr. gandhi is only playing into the hands of our opponents. he will find strong support in this respect from lancashire who will, according to some indian publicists, only be too willing to take any steps to effect the destruction of our competing industries. if he had directed half the energy of his non-co-operation campaign to improving the conditions of the workmen in all our industries he might possibly have succeeded in getting rid of many of those evils which in his opinion require elimination of all machinery and of all industrial undertakings. the other reason for the deplorable condition of the industrial workmen in england is the congestion and overcrowding, in the industrial centres. this is due to a great extent to the action of the landlords who will not allow any expansion of those industrial centres in order to increase the value of their land and thus to exploit the community. in india we have not got that trouble. there is ample room for extension except in bombay, in all the industrial centres and even in bombay the difficulty is not due, so far as i am informed to the action of landlords but to natural conditions arising out of the geography of bombay. machinery is essential to the creation of wealth by manufacturing industries. the evils that have been portrayed by mr. gandhi can be and are being removed by patient effort. his tirade against machinery and mill industries on account of the evils he has witnessed in the west, is due to his ignorance; a little knowledge in his case has proved a dangerous thing. it is this feeling which has led him to advocate the universal use of spinning wheel in india. this might be useful as a cottage or home industry. it might find work for some who would otherwise be idle. but he is living in a fool's paradise if he considers it a substitute for or will supplant, machinery.
-it is unnecessary to say that he hates parliaments:--
-"the condition of england at present is pitiable. i pray to god that india may never be in that plight. that which you consider to be mother of parliaments is like a sterile woman and a prostitute. both these are harsh terms, but exactly fit the case. that parliament has not yet of its own accord done a single good thing; hence i have compared it to a sterile woman. the natural condition of that parliament is such that without out-side pressure it can do nothing. it is like a prostitute because it is under the control of ministers who change from time to time. to-day it is under mr. asquith; tomorrow it may be under mr. balfour."
-"if the money and the time wasted by parliament were entrusted to a few good men, the english nation would be occupying to-day a much higher platform. the parliament is simply a costly toy of the nation. these views are by no means peculiar to me. some great english thinkers have expressed them.
-"that you cannot accept my views at once is only right. if you will read the literature on this subject, you will have some idea of it. the parliament is without a real master, under the prime minister, its movement is not steady, but it is buffeted about like a prostitute. the prime minister is more concerned about his power than about the welfare of the parliament. his energy is concentrated upon securing the success of his party. his care is not always that the parliament shall do right. prime ministers are known to have made the parliament do things merely for party advantage. all this is worth thinking over."
-it is no wonder that he called upon all his followers to boycott the indian councils. i shall deal with this when dealing with the boycott question.
-after all this one would naturally think that if we expel the english from india we would be happy. not a bit, says mr. gandhi whose views about independence are peculiar. look, he says, at italy. he thinks that italy has not gained anything by independence of austrian domination. he adds:--
-"if you believe that because italians hold italy, the italian nation is happy, you are groping in darkness. what substantial gain did italy obtain after the withdrawal of the austrian troops? the gain is only nominal. you do not want therefore to reproduce the same conditions in india. india to gain her independence can fight like italy only when she has arms and in order to gain her independence india has to be armed and to arm india on a large scale is to europeanise it. then her condition will be just as pitiable as that of europe. this means in short, that india must accept european civilisation ... but the fact is that the indian nation will not adopt arms and it is well that she does not."
-she must not therefore use force to fight the english.
-but what is it she has to do. she must obtain swaraj or home rule by 'soul force'. what is it?:--
-"when we are slaves we think that the whole universe is enslaved. because we are in an abject condition, we think that the whole of india is in that condition. as a matter of fact, it is not so, but it is as well to impute our slavery to the whole of india. but if we bear in mind the above fact we can see that if we become free, india is free. and in this thought you have definition of 'swaraj.' it is 'swaraj' when we earn to rule ourselves. it is therefore in the palm of our hands. do not consider this 'swaraj' to be like a dream. hence there is no idea of sitting still. the 'swaraj' that i wish to picture before you and me is such that, after we have once realised it, we will endeavour to the end of our lifetime to persuade others to do likewise. but such 'swaraj' has to be experienced by each one for himself."
-the assumption made by a few persons that mr. gandhi is only condemning parliamentary government for its inutility is unfounded. the extracts already given might lend some colour to that view. but such is not the fact. in england parliamentary government is denounced by certain persons on the ground that it will always be under the influence of a capitalist press and therefore unable to redress the evils from which the people of the country other than the capitalists are suffering. mr. gandhi's objection is not based on any such ground; he is against not only parliamentary government but practically against any government in any form as is apparent from the extracts given above. the doctrine that governments have very little to do with our happiness which depends upon self-control or 'soul force' has many advocates, but to deduce it as a doctrine from the alleged failure of parliamentary government in england is ludicrous. i shall not stop here to justify parliamentary government which has justified itself by its results; it is only ignorance of the work that has been done which is responsible for opinions like those to which mr. gandhi has given expression.
-towards the end of the book he says:--
-before i leave you, i will take the liberty of repeating:--
-1. real home rule is self rule or control;
-2. the way to it is passive resistance; that is soul force or love force.
-in my opinion, we have used the term "swaraj" without understanding its real significance. i have endeavoured to explain it as i understand it, and my conscience testifies that my life henceforth is dedicated to its attainment.
-such is the real gandhi. railways, lawyers, courts, doctors, education on western lines, machinery of every kind or manufacturing industries, parliamentary government should disappear. he is singularly ill informed on every one of the questions he has discussed. 'soul force' alone should be relied upon. no resistance should be offered to violence. no resistance should be offered to robbery and the robbers are to be left to cut one another's throats. no resistance to be offered to murderers or to those who might want to enslave you. briefly, no protection is to be given by laws and their administrators to person and property.
-there is no harm perhaps as long as such fantastic visionaries restrict the application of these principles to themselves, to their own persons or properties. but it becomes a serious matter when their general application is sought for.
-these are the sentiments he expressed in 1908, and it was with these sentiments that he came to india. as it is well to be definite and clear, i will quote from a letter addressed by him in 1909 to a friend in india:--
-"bombay, calcutta and the other chief cities of india are the real plague spots".
-"if british rule were replaced tomorrow by indian rule based on modern methods, india would be no better, except that she would be able then to retain some of the money that is drained away to england; but then india would only become a second or fifth nation of europe or america".
-"medical science is the concentrated essence of black magic. quackery is infinitely preferable to what passes for high medical skill".
-"hospitals are the instruments that the devil has been using for his own purpose, in order to keep his hold on his kingdom. they perpetuate vice, misery and degradation and real slavery".
-"india's salvation consists in unlearning what she has learnt during the past fifty years. the railways, telegraphs, hospitals, lawyers, doctors, and such like have all to go, and so called upper classes have to learn to live consciously and religiously and deliberately the simple peasant life, knowing it to be a life giving true happiness".
-but he soon found that it was hopeless to carry out his theories in the face of the determination of the people of india to attain home rule preached by the indian national congress and the indian politicians. he had accordingly to put on a new garb. therefore, in 1917, the year of the famous declaration made by the british government about the progressive realisation of self government, he found it necessary, to obtain a hearing, to accept the home rule programme. in his presidential address at the first gujarat political conference in 1917 he said that without going into the merits of the scheme of reforms approved by the congress and the muslim league he will do all that is necessary to get it accepted and enforced. though the scheme itself is not 'swaraj', he admitted it was a great step towards 'swaraj'. at the same time he said that though he is acting on the propriety of the current trend of thought it does not appear to him to be tending altogether in the right direction as the 'swaraj' put forward is one of western type. nevertheless as india is being governed in accordance with the western system and without parliament we should be nowhere, he does not hesitate to take part in the parliamentary swaraj movement and the programme that he sketched out for himself may be described thus in his own words written in 1921:--
-"but i would warn the reader against thinking that i am to-day aiming at the swaraj therein (spiritual swaraj as described in his 'indian home rule'), i know that india is not ripe for it. it may seem an impertinence to say so. but such is my conviction. i am individually working for the self-rule pictured therein. but to-day my corporate activity is undoubtedly devoted to the attainment of parliamentary swaraj in accordance with the wishes of the people of india. i am not aiming at destroying railways or hospitals, though i would certainly welcome their natural destruction. neither railways nor hospitals are a test of a high and pure civilisation. at best they are a necessary evil. neither adds one inch to the moral stature of a nation. nor am i aiming at a permanent destruction of law courts, much as i regard it as 'a consummation devoutly to be wished for,' still less am i trying to destroy all machinery and mills. it requires a higher simplicity and renunciation than the people are to-day prepared for".
-he also admitted that his acceptance of parliamentary swaraj required some modification of his theory of using violence or force. he admitted that though there is no scope for violence or force in spiritual swaraj, and military training is intended only for those who do not believe in it, he was prepared to accept the view that the whole of india will never accept satyagraha. he added:--
-"not to defend the weak is an entirely effeminate idea, everywhere to be rejected. in order to protect our innocent sister from the brutal designs of a man we ought to offer ourselves a willing sacrifice and by the force of love conquer the brute in the man. but if we have not attained that power, we would certainly use up all our bodily strength in order to frustrate those designs. the votaries of soul force and brute force are both soldiers. the latter, bereft of his arms, acknowledges defeat, the former does not know what defeat is".
-it was a consequence of this acceptance of parliamentary swaraj that he should try to work the montagu chelmsford council reforms. though these reforms may be inadequate yet for one who accepts the goal of parliamentary government it was his bounden duty to avail himself of the available parliamentary scheme to carry out those reforms which were then possible and to take the necessary steps to enlarge the scope of the scheme to carry out the further reforms that might be needed. accordingly at the amritsar congress in december 1919, he resolved to co-operate with the country in working the reform scheme.
-i have already pointed out that he entirely disagreed with the system of parliamentary government and his acceptance was one of necessity. at the earliest opportunity at the special sessions of the indian national congress held at calcutta in september 1920 and at the national congress held at nagpur in december 1920 he took steps to destroy the montagu reform scheme of parliamentary swaraj and everything else to which he had given a reluctant assent and to bring the country to adopt his wild theories already stated by me and in order to do so, he brought into prominence forces entirely opposed to his own principles which he proved himself unable to control with disastrous consequences and had to resort willingly or unwillingly to dishonest methods.
-what was the reason for his throwing overboard the montagu reform scheme? the following resolution which at his insistence was passed by the national congress at calcutta and practically re-affirmed at nagpur will explain the situation as then developed.
-the non-co-operation resolution
-"in view of the fact that on the khilafat question both the indian and imperial governments have signally failed in their duty towards the musalmans of india, and the prime minister has deliberately broken his pledged word given to them, and that it is the duty of every non-moslem indian in every legitimate manner to assist his musalman brother in his attempt to remove the religious calamity that has over taken him:--
-"and in view of the fact that in the matter of the events of the april 1919 both the said governments have grossly neglected or failed to protect the innocent people of the punjab and punish officers guilty of unsoldierly and barbarous behaviour towards them and have exonerated sir michael o'dwyer who proved himself directly or indirectly responsible for the most official crimes and callous to the sufferings of the people placed under his administration, and that the debate in the house of lords betrayed a woeful lack of sympathy with the people of india and showed virtual support of the systematic terrorism and frightfulness adopted in the punjab and that the latest viceregal pronouncement is proof of entire absence of repentance in the matters of the khilafat and the punjab.
-"this congress is of opinion that there can be no contentment in india without redress of the two afore-mentioned wrongs, and that the only effectual means to vindicate national honour and to prevent a repetition of similar wrongs in future is the establishment of swarajya. this congress is further of opinion that there is no course left open for the people of india but to approve of and adopt the policy of progressive non-violent non-co-operation until the said wrongs are righted and swarajya is established.
-"and inasmuch as a beginning should be made by the classes who have hitherto moulded and represented opinion and inasmuch as government consolidates its power through titles and honours bestowed on the people, through schools controlled by it, its law courts and its legislative councils, and inasmuch as it is desirable in the prosecution of the movement to take the minimum risk and to call for the least sacrifice compatible with the attainment of the desired object, this congress earnestly advises:--
-"and inasmuch as non-co-operation has been conceived of as a measure of discipline and self-sacrifice without which no nation can make real progress, and inasmuch as an opportunity should be given in the very first stage of non-co-operation to every man, woman and child, for such discipline and self-sacrifice, this congress advises adoption of swadeshi in piece goods on a vast scale, and inasmuch as the existing mills of india with indigenous capital and control do not manufacture sufficient yarn and sufficient cloth for the requirements of the nation, and are not likely to do so for a long time to come this congress advises immediate stimulation of further manufacture on a large scale by means of reviving hand-spinning in every home and hand weaving on the part of the millions of weavers who have abandoned their ancient and honourable calling for want of encouragement."
-the khilafat question first, the punjab wrongs next are given as the two grounds for discarding the reform scheme and demanding swarajya or immediate home rule for the prevention of similar wrongs in future. for the attainment of such swarajya or immediate home rule a policy of what is called non-violent non-co-operation is advocated and as a beginning the people are advised to take certain steps which are therein referred to. though discarding the montagu chelmsford reform scheme of home rule by certain stages, mr. gandhi says he is working for immediate home rule in accordance with the resolution, to me it seems clear what he is really aiming at is not home rule of any kind or form i.e. parliamentary government with absolute powers, but swarajya or home rule, as he himself has outlined it in his indian home rule, the purport of which i have briefly given above, i.e. anarchy and soul force. i shall now attempt to show that there were no adequate reasons to discard the reform scheme of home rule for a scheme of immediate home rule and that the steps proposed to be taken are not calculated to attain home rule of any kind or form but are steps intended for gandhi swarajya which means anarchy or soul force.
-in considering these questions the object of this movement must not be lost sight of. in mr. gandhi's own words "non-co-operation though a religious and strictly moral movement deliberately aims at the overthrow of the government." prima facie therefore all steps taken in pursuance of this resolution are intended for this purpose.
-i propose first of all to take up the khilafat question which stands first in the resolution.
-the khilafat question
-with reference to this khilafat agitation it is important to bear this in mind. after the armistice of 1918, there were two memorials presented on behalf of turkey by the muslim residents in england, one in january 1919 soon after the armistice, which included the names of his highness the aga khan, abbas ali baig, rt. hon. ameer ali, messrs: yusaf ali, h. k. kidwai etc.; and one at the end of the year in december 1919, the signatories thereof included such mahomedans as the following: h. h. aga khan, rt. hon. ameer ali, hon. mr. bhurgi, mr. m. h. kidwai. both included many non-mahomedans, some of them of great influence and position. they claimed for turkey, constantinople, thrace, anatolia including smyrna. there was no claim for the countries occupied by those who were not turks.
-the indian mahomedan claim went much further. by the deputation to the viceroy towards the end of that year and by the subsequent deputation to the prime minister and others the claim was advanced for the restoration of turkey to the pre-war state, giving home rule if necessary to the armenians or the arabs etc. under turkish sovereignty. this of course was an impossible demand. the arabs are entitled to as much consideration as the turks. mahomad ali and shaukat ali are really responsible for this claim.
-another claim advocated in the council of state in india was to let turkey have anatolia and thrace; full independence be given to the arabs and the countries inhabited by them without any control by any non-muslim power. whether the evacuation of aden is included in this, i am unable to say.
-the indian mahomedan agitation has become a danger to the state on account of the failure of the secretary of state and government of india to tell the indian mahomedans that they, the government have nothing to do with the khilafat question; that their responsibility is confined to representing to the british cabinet the feelings of the indian mahomedans, and the ultimate decision will depend upon what is good for the empire as a whole.
-"we do not embark on this step without fully realising what it means. it means a movement for absolute independence."
-in fact, to those who know them or who have read the proceedings of their trial no evidence of this kind is required.
-at the khilafat conference in karachi--of which they were the guiding spirits--held on the 9th of july 1921 the following resolution calling upon the mohomedan sepoys to desert in the name of religion was passed:
-"the meeting clearly proclaims that it is in every way religiously unlawful for a mussalman at the present movement to continue in the british army or to induce others to join the army, and it is the duty of all the mussalmans in general and ulemas in particular to see that these religious commandments are brought home to every mussalman in the army and that if no settlement is arrived at before christmas regarding our campaign an indian republic will be declared at the ahmedabad sessions of the congress."
-the two brothers were tried and convicted by the ordinary civil courts, and the judge pointed out that however lawful and constitutional the khilafat committee may have been in its origin, however permissible the agitation carried on in its earlier stages, those who were controlling it soon began to rely on dangerous religious propaganda. about them he said: "they had seen them in court, heard their statements in the lower court and their speeches here, and they could have no doubt that with the exception of accused no. six (a hindu) they openly gloried in their hatred of the government of india and the british name. they justified the above resolution by the religious law of the koran which they said the mussalmans are bound to follow even when opposed to the law of the land. all the mohamedans in this case including mohamad ali and shaukat ali maintained, 'first, that their religion compels them to do certain acts, secondly, that no law which restrains them from doing those acts which their religion compels them to do has any validity, and thirdly, that in answer to a charge of breaking the law of the land it is sufficient to raise and prove the plea that the act which is alleged to be an offence is one which is enjoyed by their religion.'"
-it is impossible to believe that gandhi and his adherents are not aware that this claim of the mahomedans to be judged only by the law of the koran, is a claim which is the fons et origo of all khilafat claims of whatever kind. it is as well to be clear about this, for not only does the acceptance of the claim mean the death knell of the british empire or indo-british commonwealth, whatever name we may care to give to the great fraternity of nations to which we belong, but specifically as regards india it means a real denial of swaraj. for it involves mahomedan rule and hindu subjection or hindu rule and mahomedan subjection. let there be no mistake about this, no camouflage. whatever the hindus may mean by the hindu muslim entente, and i believe they mean a true equality, and whatever the more enlightened mussalmans may mean, mohamad ali, shaukat ali, and those of their persuasion, mean a mussalman dominion pure and simple, though they are of course clever enough to keep the cat in the bag so long as the time for its emergence is yet unripe. they protest, it need hardly be said, that they are animated by no arriere pensee, no sectarian spirit, only by the most loving goodwill towards the hindu brethren. but there are some of us who are too experienced to be caught by this mischievous and pernicious chaff and must sound the warning to those less experienced and more gullible. considering the high character of some of the men who follow gandhi, i can only believe that this realization came to them so late that it was difficult for them to withdraw.
-as pointed out in the karachi trial, these movements at first appear innocuous, then grow dangerous.
-a political movement began in malegaon on the 15th march 1920, when a "khilafat committee" and a body of "volunteers" were formed. the committee's activities took the shape of lectures and "wazas". the lectures were political and the "wazas" are said to have been religious sermons. in january, 1921, shaukat ali visited the town and lectured on the khilafat movement. it was shortly after this visit that political activity became intensified.
-the two mahomedan schools, the beitulullum and the anjuman school, used to receive grants-in-aid from government. money was raised to enable the two state-aided schools to refuse the government grant-in-aid in pursuance of the non-co-operation movement, and a few hindus were members of the party. the collections were to be made by means of a "paisa" fund, an old idea. every person selling a "sari", that is all the weavers in malegaon, were required to pay a "paisa" or quarter of an anna to the fund.
-the system left practically no option to the weavers who objected to pay the "paisa". objecting buyers were encountered by persecution. the fund committee called a public meeting on the 27th february, at which it was resolved that the buyers refusing to make the collections as directed should be commercially boycotted. the commercial boycott of the recalcitrant buyers was enforced by picketing their shops with volunteers and their business was stopped. the former had appealed for protection to the authorities by applications and petitions, but so long as nothing actually illegal was done these were powerless actively to interfere.
-meanwhile lectures and "wazas" were being continually held in the open spaces in the town and excitement was running high. on the reports made to him the district magistrate came to the conclusion that in a place like malegaon which is ill-lighted the carrying of swords and cudgels at public meetings at night by volunteers was likely to lead to a breach of the peace. he therefore issued a proclamation on the 30th march prohibiting the practice. it was a breach of the terms of this proclamation and its enforcement by prosecutions which was the immediate excuse for the riot.
-but the local authorities had also tried to allay the friction and excitement in other ways. the sub-divisional officer, had called a meeting on the 13th march with a view to find a method of collection of the fund which might put an end to the trouble about it and stop enforced contributions. collection boxes were recommended, but nothing definite was agreed to by the other side.
-some of the leaders were persuaded to issue a manifesto which was signed by eleven persons. this manifesto quotes mr. gandhi's dictates to non-violence and exhorts the volunteers not to carry cudgels and recommends that only peaceful methods should be used in collecting the funds.
-it clearly had little effect. one of the men who signed it, on the 4th april (it had been issued on the 1st april) at a public meeting apologized for it on his own and the other signatories' behalf and they were pardoned for having signed it. meanwhile the boycotting and picketing of the shops of the anti-fund people was continued. on the 15th prosecutions were instituted against 24 volunteers for a breach of the district magistrate's proclamation of the 30th march. on the 24th april, the day before the hearing of these cases, a meeting was again called at night at which a leading mahomedan is reported to have used the following words:--
-"they must not be afraid of government or of the police and that the volunteers would see about the cases brought against them and may god give the volunteers strength to promote their religion." the next day april 25th twelve of these cases came on for hearing before mr. thakar the resident magistrate. they ended in the conviction of the 6 volunteers and their being fined rs. 50 each with the alternative of 4 weeks' simple imprisonment. the fines were not paid.
-on the result being known the mob that had collected gave vent to their feelings by loud cries of "alla-ho-akbar," the war cry used by the mob throughout the riot, assaulted all the police to be found in the town of malegoan, burned a temple, killed the sub-inspector of police, not the only one killed and threw his body into the fire and looted the houses of all who were opposed to the khilafat movement, the owners themselves having fled in the meantime.
-"what will the imperial government do if france were to attempt to deprive england of dover and india were secretly to help france or openly to show indifference or hostility to england's struggle to retain dover? can indians be expected to sit idle when the khilafat is vivisected?"
-it is one thing to ask the empire or india to go to war in favour of an oppressed class--but to ask her to do it in the interests of co-religionists of a community living outside the empire is very different.
-what is the present position? i shall describe it in the words of one of mr. gandhi's dupes, a secretary of a district congress committee, mr. k. madhavan nair of calicut, who writes on january 4th as follows:--
-now the position is this:--
-the hindus and mohamedans have been waging a common war with non-violence as the fundamental creed. it has to be noted however, that there is a party led by the maulana that advocates violence for the achievement of their object. suppose to-morrow that party takes to violence and the other remains non-violent, what will be the fate of the non-violent party if maulana's views are pushed to their logical conclusion? is freedom worth having if in the attainment of it you have to loot, murder and outrage your innocent neighbour who does not agree with you or approve of your methods and is swaraj possible of achievement and the khilafat likely to be righted by such means? maulana's views make those who have absolutely no faith in violence to think over these facts deeply and anxiously.
-the indian non-mahomedans, did not trouble themselves about the khilafat claims. mr. gandhi and his followers took it up as an anti-british movement to secure mahomedan support to his non-co-operation movement. even that non-mahomedan sympathy with the khilafat movement, has vanished. that movement acquired its strength on account of such unfortunate statements that the secretary of state and the government of india are in hearty sympathy with the moslim demands; statements like those reported to have been made by his highness aga khan that mr. montagu is doing as much as it is possible to support the mahomedan claim and gandhi himself could not have done more. i doubt whether any influential newspaper or any publicist in america, england or the continent support the khilafat claim as advanced by indian mahomedans or by gandhi. however, the reputed sentiments of mr. montagu and the government of india have influenced even moderate mahomedans and hindus to support them against the cabinet in starting and supporting an agitation, which has now assumed dangerous proportions.
-the khilafat movement does not want, and mr. gandhi is not for, any reasonable settlement of the mahomedan grievance or for home rule. they wish to get rid of the british government. such being the objective naturally the khilafat indian agitators have put forward demands which the turks themselves recognise as outside practical politics. they have hampered the efforts of their friends for a revision of the treaty of sevres. everybody now realises that this attitude of the khilafat movement under the guidance of gandhi and mahomed ali stood in the way of any reasonable settlement. it is a futile endeavour of the indian and british governments to satisfy mr. gandhi or the khilafat agitators led by the ali brothers. gandhi and his followers have greatly encouraged the growth of indian pan islamism which will in future be always opposed to other religions and civilizations. i can well understand the adherent of large numbers of mussulmans to the idea of pan-islamism. it must naturally have a fascination for devotees of islam by reason of the splendour of its promise that mussulmans the world over shall one day be united under one flag, but we have to take the world as it is and to take into the consideration the forces actually at work in reconstruction. the world has passed the stage of religious empires. it has gone beyond the stage of religious crusades. we are on the threshold of an era of a brotherhood transcending religious differences, transcending even national differences and of which one of the dominant notes is a unity of purpose in which religious differences of race and customs are to be merged and harmonised. pan-islamism or pan-christianity or pan-budhism--one can hardly speak of pan-hinduism--belong to the world that is dead and not to the world that is living. they mean destruction, proselytisation, the assertion of superiority the world war was waged to destroy. this also shows the dangerous foundation on which the gandhi movement rests. home rule or swaraj is claimed not as an end in itself but for the purpose of righting the alleged wrongs sustained by foreigners. we know gandhi's principles which i have set forth above. swaraj or political independence is not what he really wants. it is not the caliph grievances that have led him to claim political independence. he wants to destroy the british government, as a hater of all governments.
-the attitude of the government towards the people of the punjab and the punjab officials is stated in the congress resolution as the second and the only other reason for this non-co-operation campaign against the government.
-the punjab atrocities
-no one feels for the punjab more than i do. i doubt whether anybody was in a position to know more of it than i was. even now with all the enquiries made by the hunter commission and by the congress sub-committee many deplorable incidents as bad as any, worse perhaps, than any reported have not been disclosed. at this distance of time it is best that they should remain so. it is with a full knowledge of this that i make the following remarks.
-the conditions now have entirely changed. before the reforms under a lieutenant-governor, a single individual, the atrocities in the punjab which we know only too well, could be committed almost with impunity. now instead of one man the government of the punjab consist not only of a governor who no doubt is an englishman, but of an executive council consisting of an englishman and an indian, who was a non official before appointment to his seat in the council and for all practical purposes two indian ministers who are also consulted in all important matters. though, therefore, a repetition of the old incidents may be possible, it is unlikely. the government of india again, which then consisted of only one indian, now includes three indian members, a powerful contingent. above all, it will be remembered that it was necessary to pass an act of indemnity to save the delinquents from proceedings in civil and criminal courts. such an act of indemnity would scarcely be possible now, with a legislative assembly consisting of a majority of elected members under the new constitution. the trouble in the punjab arose out of the rowlat act which is repealed. many high handed proceedings were taken under the regulations of 1818 the provisions of which were applied for purposes for which they were never intended. the regulations are now repealed so far as the matters are concerned. many of these proceedings were taken under the defence of india act and they also have gone so that for the future at any rate our position is very different from what it was in the past. in such circumstances what is it that one would expect? if it is an honest endeavour that is being made to solve the difficulties which arose out of the punjab, one would expect a demand for any further guarantees that may be necessary against a repetition of such occurrences and the punishment of those who have acted not under an error of judgment and not in good faith. but the demands now made are of a very different kind. they do not seek for further guarantees, at least none are formulated.
-i realise that the eulogium passed by the english cabinet on lord chemsford and sir michael o'dwyer was an outrage on indian public opinion. i believe also that the government of india committed a great political blunder in not publishing their proceedings, punishing the subordinate officials in accordance with the orders of the cabinet. i agree further that it was an egregious mistake to pass the indemnity act when india was so excited. the government should have waited for the result of the proceedings in civil or criminal courts, when they might have pardoned those who acted in good faith reimbursing their expenses. but that is not the question now. mr. gandhi and his party want certain persons to be punished on the strength of the report submitted by the congress committee who made an ex parte enquiry of their own without hearing the other side. this is not right. moreover every where it is recognised that the security of the subject, person and property, requires that the punishment of the guilty should be in the hands of the courts and not within the discretion of an executive council. if these officers whose punishment is called for are guilty it is the courts that ought to punish them, and i speak with knowledge when i say that no steps open to them have yet been taken by those who carry on the agitation to vindicate justice. is it possible, then, to maintain that the punjab question in any way justifies the tremendous agitation that is being carried on for the dismemberment of the empire. besides how is it possible for any reasonable man to say that this affords any justification for not utilizing the legislative councils to help the punjab and to carry out the reforms of which the country is urgently in need. besides it must be remembered that some of the punjab political leaders have failed in their duty. during the crisis they refused to come forward to substantiate their complaints of maladministration of martial law, even of those matters within their personal knowledge. they did not give a chance to the government of india to control the government of the punjab or the administration of martial law. the real truth, of course, is that the punjab grievances are only a pretext for this agitation, by the violent section headed by mr. gandhi. it is really not the redress of the punjab grievances or prevention of the repetition of atrocities that is sought for, so much as the expulsion of the british government from india.
-swaraj or home rule
-the resolution says that on account of the failure of government to redress these grievances we must have 'swaraj.' it is important to remember that long before these occurrences mr. gandhi had come to the conclusion that we must have independence. it would accordingly seem dishonest on his part to say that these events led him to the demand for swaraj or home rule.
-in his scheme of "home rule for india" mr. gandhi said:--
-"now you will have seen that it is not necessary for us to have as our goal the expulsion of the english. if the english became indianised we can accommodate them. if they wish to remain in india along with their civilisation, there is no room for them. it lies with us to bring about such a state of things."
-then in reply to the question that it is impossible that englishmen should ever become indianised, he says:--
-"to say that is equivalent to saying that the english have no humanity in them. and it is really beside the point whether they become so or not. if we keep our own house in order only those who are fit to live in it will remain. others will leave of their own accord."
-it is something that he gives a loophole to the englishman to remain in india. to the question that there may be chaos and anarchy on account of the hindu mahomedan position he states:--
-"i would prefer any day anarchy and chaos in india to an armed peace brought about by the bayonet between the hindus and musalmans."
-when it was pointed out to him that the dissensions amongst the hindus themselves may cause the same result he is not dismayed. he says:--
-"we are not to assume that the english have changed the nature of the pindarries and the bhils. it is therefore better to suffer the pindarri peril than that some one else should protect us from it and thus render us effeminate. i should prefer to be killed by the arrow of the bhil than to seek nominal protection."
-when it was pointed out to him that for home rule at this stage we have not got an army for our own protection he said the other day:--
-"i am here to confess that we are fully able to take charge of all military dispositions in the country and that we feel able to deal with all foreign complications." the worst that may happen is he continued that we may be blotted out from the face of the earth for which he was prepared so long as he can breathe the free atmosphere of india.
-the following report is interesting; we give it below from the "daily express."
-q:--are you anxious to take over the whole control of the army at once or would you make an exception of that object?
-a:--i think we are entirely ready to take up the whole control of the army which means practically disbanding three fourths of it. i would keep just enough to police india.
-q:--if the army were reduced to that extent, do you not apprehend anything aggressive from the frontier territories?
-q:--my information, derived from military sources, is that there are over half-a-million armed men on the frontier.
-a:--you are right, i agree.
-q:--these tribes have frequently attacked india hitherto. why do you think they will refrain from doing so when india possesses home rule?
-a:--in the first instance, the world's views have changed and secondly the preparations that are now made in afghanistan are really in support of the khilafat. but when the khilafat question is out of the way, then the afghan people will not have any design on india. the warrior tribes who live on loot and plunder are given lakhs of rupees as subsidy. i would also give them a little subsidy. when the charka comes into force in india, i would introduce the spinning wheel among the afghan tribes also and thus prevent them from attacking the indian territories. i feel that the tribesmen are in their own way god-fearing people.
-but for the fact that he is well known to be a saint and mahatma, i would have had no hesitation in saying that his last observations about meeting the afghans show him to be either a fool or a knave.
-he said on the 16th february 1921:--
-"there must be complete independence, if england's policy is in conflict with the moslim sentiment on the khilafat question or with the indian sentiment in the punjab."
-and in his recent speech at the congress opposing the resolution for independence it was said that if the punjab and khilafat demands are complied with, independence is not necessary. well, he knows or ought to know they are impossible demands. the implication is plain and taken in conjunction with what has been said above as to the western civilisation and the indianisation of the english people, the conclusion that he is really aiming at independence is inevitable. to certain boy scouts on the 23rd march he was quite plain. he said:--
-"no indian could remain loyal in the accepted sense to the empire as it was at present represented and be loyal to god at the same time. an empire that could be responsible for the terrorism of the martial law regime, that would not repent of the wrong, that could enter into secret treaties in breach of solemn obligations could only be reckoned as a godless empire. loyalty to such an empire was disloyalty to god".
-these have to be borne in mind when we consider the question of the swaraj that he has put forward. the swaraj that he works for is thus described:--
-"swaraj means full dominion status. the scheme of such swaraj shall be framed by representatives duly elected in terms of the congress constitution. that means four anna franchise. every indian adult, male or female, paying four annas and signing the congress creed will be entitled to be placed on the electoral list. these would elect delegates who would frame swaraj constitution. this shall be given effect to without any change by the british parliament".
-a more preposterous demand cannot be imagined. he excludes all those who do not belong to his congress. those who do not pay annas four and sign the congress creed form the majority of the population. again to ask the british parliament to accept the scheme framed by his party however absurd, without examination of the same is absolute nonsense. if mr. gandhi and his party can frame a scheme of swaraj for the consideration of the rest of india, have it discussed with others modified if necessary after such discussion, it may be, and it ought to be placed before the government and parliament. but this is the last thing he will do, for various reasons. mr. gandhi himself will never do it because i doubt whether he has any correct idea of the dominion status and all that it involves. mr. gandhi is not a student but an impulsive fanatic indifferent to facts but obsessed by phantasmagoria. he jumps to what he calls conclusions but which have in fact no premises. again he will not see it done because what he really desires is not an honest settlement which will give india a further instalment of swaraj but as the preceding extracts show what he wants is really absolute independence according to his professions but really anarchy or soul force. if he were honest in his desire to secure swaraj he and his followers would not have boycotted the councils but would have entered them to take further steps towards its attainment.
-i am therefore satisfied that mr. gandhi does not aim at a fair settlement of the punjab difficulties. he does not want an equitable peace satisfying the just claims of the mahomedans. he does not want parliamentary swaraj or home rule. but for tactical purposes he is putting them forward to destroy the english government, in order to attain his object of a society outlined in his "indian home rule," some features of it i have set forth above.--a society without government, railways, hospitals, schools, courts, etc. his programme is therefore put forward to clear the way to obtain his object. this swaraj is to be attained by, in the words of the resolution, non-violent non-co-operation with government. and among others the following steps were recommended for adoption: (1) boycott of government aided schools and colleges and establishment of national schools and colleges, (2) boycott of british courts by lawyers and litigants (3) boycott of reformed councils (4) boycott of foreign goods and use of spinning wheels. out of these i shall naturally take up the question of the boycott of government and aided institutions and the nature of education sought to be imparted by mr. gandhi.
-mr. gandhi asked all the boys to withdraw now from the schools on the pretence that until the government punishes the punjab offenders in the manner advocated by him and satisfies the claims of the khilafatists we should no longer associate with the government, and we can there-by hasten the advent of swaraj. this is a mere pretext. he advocated the substitution of the national kind of education as outlined by him in favour of the present system of education long before there was any punjab or khilafat questions. he advocated them in 1908 in his book "the indian home rule." to say now that he advocated them on account of those reasons is sheer hypocrisy. the step will not hasten but might retard swaraj. even if the punjab wrongs are redressed in the manner suggested and even if the khilafatists are satisfied and parliamentary swaraj obtained, he will still be an advocate of the abstention from english schools in favour of the system of national education as above set forth.
-vakils and courts
-boycott of councils
-boycott of foreign goods
-there is not only no objection to the charka but it is very much to be commended. it is very useful as a cottage or home industry and will find an occupation to many who might otherwise be idle. but it will not displace foreign goods at least without the aid of mills by foreign machinery.
-all these with other minor ones are only steps to be taken to carry out the policy of non-violent non-co-operation for the attainment of swaraj and mr. gandhi asks every body, in fact the people of india, to carry on non-violent non-co-operation with the government so as ostensibly to attain swaraj but really i have no doubt as an end in itself.
-i have already pointed out that non-violent submission to suffering and the consequent attainment of self-control over oneself which he called swaraj was the end which he had in view. he found that there was no use in directly advocating it. he therefore puts it forward as the chief instrument for obtaining the parliamentary swaraj which the people of india wanted. he based his appeal to the hindus on the well known doctrine of "ahimsa". i will not stop here to discuss how far suffering for the purpose of inducing another to follow a particular line of conduct is included in the scope of ahimsa. i myself believe it is not only not so included but is totally inconsistent with it. i will merely point out that this principle has already been condemned by the penal code which makes it a crime for a creditor to realise his debt by dharna. for my purpose it is only necessary to say that this principle of non-violence if accepted in practice generally will lead to chaos and anarchy. if applied to government alone by refusal to recognise the jurisdiction of the courts it will lead to the same results. how it will lead to 'parliamentary swaraj' it is impossible to see. mr. gandhi says if all the people of india adopted it the machinery of government is bound to come to a standstill. but that all will adopt it without leaving sufficient men with the aid of those who will be imported from england and elsewhere to carry out the administration is only the fantasy of a diseased imagination. non-violence is a guarantee on the part of those who carry it out that the government has nothing to fear from physical force. if they use force then they abandon the weapon of non-violence. mr. gandhi and his followers, are agreed that physical force is now out of the question on ground, according to mr. gandhi, that we will be crushed. i cannot help thinking that when we take this aspect of the matter along with others already mentioned that mr. gandhi himself does not consider this as any effective step towards the attainment of the 'parliamentary swaraj,' but only to attain his "spiritual swaraj." this explains what he is so fond of reiterating that when lajpatrai, motilal nehru, and c. r. das and others were arrested and went to jail without complaint, or resistance denying the jurisdiction of the courts, in pursuance of the policy of non-violent non-co-operation, though parliamentary swaraj was not attained, the spiritual 'swaraj' of which he was in search has been attained to his intense satisfaction. if he had advocated abstention from schools, boycott of councils and courts, non-violence as a means of attaining his (spiritual) swaraj, giving up punjab khilafat and parliamentary home rule, no one would perhaps have any right to complain, and it would have been a straightforward and honest course. but he has adopted underhand methods which appear to me, unless a satisfactory explanation is given, little short of dishonest and fraudulent.
-but it may be asked whether anybody would have accepted a policy of non-violent non-co-operation in the circumstances of the case unless there was some reasonable prospect of success within any measurable time. here we come to the most sinister aspect of the matter. in moving his resolution on non-co-operation in the national congress held at calcutta in september 1920, he said, "if there is sufficient response to my scheme i make bold to reiterate my statement that you can gain swarajya in the course of an year" and he laid down certain conditions, the more important of which have been mentioned. that period has been extended subsequently by a few months. even that extended period has elapsed. when charged with his failure to attain parliamentary swaraj within the period asked for by him he had effrontery to state that the conditions mentioned by him have not been complied with. a political leader has no right to put forward before the country any scheme under conditions which he has no reasonable belief of being likely to be complied with. did he honestly believe that those conditions named by him would be complied with and parliamentary swaraj obtained within the time mentioned by him? looking to the nature of the conditions i do not think he believed that they would be complied with, not only in one year but at any time; and even if complied with i have no doubt he did not believe that swaraj would come though he might assert the contrary. he put the lure forward simply for the purpose of persuading the congress to make an important change in the policy which the country had hitherto adopted. the national congress, carried away by its hostility towards government, accepted his programme. some of the younger men may have believed in it. the older and the most experienced i have no doubt never believed in its possibility but considered it a means, of rousing the people of the country from their political lethargy, to put pressure on the government for further and more extensive reforms. they may also have felt that this might be a means of mahomedan co-operation for their policy. i do not deny that according to english political life this is a perfectly legitimate manoeuvre though none of those leaders believed in the soundness of the policy put forward by mr. gandhi and many of them said so.
-having attained his purpose by a representation, the truth of which i cannot help thinking he did not believe, and could not have believed, and having committed the congress to a certain course of action, he is now able to carry the congress with him for revolutionary action, as it finds it has gone too far on this course to revert to its own natural methods of progress. but as a matter of fact he went further than this.
-on 29th december, 1920, i.e. three months after the change of programme, he said, "my experience during the last months fills me with the hope that within the nine months that remain of the year in which i have expected swaraj for india we shall redress the two wrongs and we shall see swaraj (parliamentary) established in accordance with the wishes of the people of india." but i do not think for a moment he believed what he said. he used these words to dupe the people of india to follow him yet a step further and to pay him money. after about a month on the 21st of january 1921--he again confirmed his previous statement. he said: "four months of this one year have already gone by and my faith has never burnt as brightly as it burns tonight as i am talking to the young men of bengal." and he added "that in case of his death before the expiry of eight months he is satisfied that the people of india will secure swaraj before the year is out." is this not a definite statement that the indian people are going to get swaraj? a few days later the purpose comes out. in a public address to the merchants of calcutta on the 30th january, 1921, he said:--
-"what i purposed to do i can accomplish in a certain line. i must attain swaraj. if thirty crores of people say that they are not with me yet i shall do my work and win swaraj.... if you wish to accomplish work of thirty crores of men then come out with your money. try to have money and ask me to give an account of the same. i appoint some one treasurer.... if you know that you yourself can not attain swaraj +then help one with money+. if you do not help with money swaraj will be difficult but not impossible to attain. if the students of india do not help, me it does not matter. if the pleaders do not help, it does not matter."
-the old conditions of the boycott of schools and of the courts as conditions indispensable for the attainment of swaraj are dropped. and he promises swaraj and asks for money for getting it in nine months. he collected money on the faith of that representation. earlier on the same day he got ten thousand rupees, and on the spot a large sum is said to have been collected. on the same date in addressing the students he said: "if the response continues as it has begun there is no doubt of swaraj coming within the time prescribed". on the 23rd february 1921 he again said: "last five months experience has confirmed me in the opinion. i am convinced that the country has never been so ready for establishing swaraj as now." to me only one conclusion is possible that he was collecting the money from the people who understood him to say that swaraj will be attained within the period mentioned by him. in march he said:--
-"the last congress has given a constitution whose working in itself calculated to lead to swaraj. it is intended to secure in every part of india representative committees working in conjunction with, and under willing and voluntary submission to a central organisation--the all india congress committee. it establishes an adult suffrage open to men and women subject only to two qualifications signing of the creed and a nominal payment of four annas. it is intended to secure due representation of the parties and communities, if then, it is honestly worked, and commands confidence and respect, it can oust the present government without the slightest difficulty. for, the latter has no power except through the co-operation willing or forced, of the people. the force it exercises is almost through our own people. one lac of europeans, without our help, can only hold less than one seventh of our villages each and it would be difficult for a man even when physically present, to impose his will on, say four hundred men and women--the average population of indian village."
-he said that we have therefore to concentrate our attention up to the 30th of june on getting:--
-he added, however:--
-"this programme does not mean cessation of the other activities of non-co-operation. they go on. drink and untouchability must vanish. the education movement is steadily going forward. the national institutions that have sprung up will, if they are efficiently managed make headway and attract students who are still hesitating. the pleaders, always a cautious and calculating class by training, will, as they see the movement progressing more and more, fall in line with the rest of the country. boycott of law courts by the public is making fair progress. these things do not now require concentration of universal effort. they apply to special classes. but the three things mentioned by me are the most essential: they must be done now and without them the movement, as a mass movement must be pronounced a failure." "young india" 30th march.
-after this it is impossible to rely upon boycott of schools &c. as conditions for swaraj within a year. it is now admitted and the secretaries report that the money demanded has been collected. such money was paid on the fraudulent representation of swaraj within the year. judged by ordinary standards mr. gandhi's whole procedure with the promises, the persuasions, the evasions, the subterfuges and all the other manoeuvres, would be characterised by men of the world and of sane judgment in language, i hesitate to reproduce, for the simple reason that i believe that mr. gandhi is honest in his self hypnotisation. i believe he does not really know what he is doing. at least this is the only possible charitable assumption when we watch his feats of political acrobatics which have the power of deluding such vast numbers of people making them passionately intolerant, violently intolerant often, of the slightest criticism of their hero.
-when the congress was asked in september to change its policy, mr. gandhi's idea to start an organisation to supercede the existing government was not brought before them. it is the first direct step in the path of revolution. his followers have been by this time brought to a proper frame of mind. the use of the money to be collected was, as stated on the 13th april, to be as follows; "the only activity involving financial obligations is that of spinning, organising national service, in some cases supporting lawyers, who might have suspended practice and cannot be included in the national service as for supporting national educational institutions." it will now be understood why some lawyers were willing to suspend practice. before the expiry of one year period however other conditions were imposed which would put off swaraj practically for a very long time to come, the removal of untouchability of the lower classes in india without which it was said swaraj would be a meaningless term. this means, as i have no doubt, mr. gandhi knew, he was putting off swaraj indefinitely. if this had been mentioned as condition when the congress was asked to change its policy it is very doubtful whether he would have got the congress to agree with him. as to these two conditions themselves they are admirable. with a little tact the government might turn the tables on mr. gandhi. if proof of untouchability consists only in the admission of the boys of these classes to schools of higher classes, it does not mean much, though it is a notable advance. if a contact with a low class person is placed on the same footing as contact with caste man it may be said that we have got rid of untouchability. but this will not come throughout the greater portion of india for years. on these questions the education of mr. gandhi has only commenced. he will find that without abrogating the ceremonial law on which the caste system rests there will be no practical reform. he is apparently not aware of the far more heinous custom of distance pollution, i.e. not only pollution by touch but by approach within a certain distance. this far from being a move against government would support the government contention against reform.
-about temperance also the move is salutary. if the system of picketing adopted by the volunteers is abandoned and peaceful persuasion alone is attempted no one has any right to complain. what all this has to do with parliamentary swaraj or home rule one finds it difficult to understand. but they are necessary for the 'gandhi swaraj' advocated in his 'indian home rule', and i have little doubt that like his other proposals they were intended to attain that object.
-it is admitted in the report of the secretaries that the crore of rupees which was required to be collected, as stated above, has been realised. about the middle of july he said he still looked forward before the next meeting of the congress for the satisfaction of his demands about the punjab and the khilafat and full immediate swaraj in accordance with the wishes of her chosen representatives. august and september were devoted to the campaign of burning foreign cloth which in his view was an act of non-violent non-co-operation with the government. this step appeared unintelligible and inaccurate to his followers who believed bona fide that he was striving for political control. but it is quite consistent with and in pursuance of his scheme of spiritual swaraj of sacrifice and self-control. on the 27th of october mr. gandhi speaks of his "threat to seek the shelter of the himalayas should violence become universal in india, and should it not have engulfed me."
-as new india points out: "that would be interesting to know when this threat was made. we all know that mr. gandhi said that if there was violence he would go to the himalayas. there was a riot, but he did not go, but excused himself by saying that if it occurred a second time, he would go. a second riot occurred; he said nothing but did not go. now we hear that he had made a threat to go, should it become universal in india. when and where was this said?"
-towards the end of the month the times of india observed:--
-"writing in the latest issue of navajivan, his gujarati newspaper, mr. gandhi makes the interesting announcement that if swaraj is not obtained by december, he will either die of a broken heart or retire from public life, leaving the heedless people of india to their resources. were so clear a pronouncement by any other politician, we could say definitely that when the new year dawns mr. gandhi will no longer be actively engaged in politics!"
-the resolution passed in september, 1920, was seditious. the resolution passed in december, 1921, is openly revolutionary, and in fact gandhi made no secret of it. he says: "lord reading must clearly understand that the non-co-operators are at war with the government. they have declared rebellion against it in as much as it has committed a breach of faith with the mussalmans. it has humiliated the punjab and insists upon imposing its will upon the people and refuses to repair the breach and repent for the wrong done in the punjab" (young india). mr. gandhi also said: "the government want to goad us into violence or abject surrender. we must do neither. we must retort by such civil disobedience as would compel shooting." the volunteer organizations were pledged to act accordingly. yet when the government notified those illegal associations and punished those who defied them, the rebels indignantly remonstrate against what they call coercion and interference with the liberty of person and security of property. they want to be in the limelight to evoke the admiration of america and europe for their patriotism in rebelling against a satanic government. but they are wanting in the redeeming features of these rebels elsewhere--their contempt of danger and death. that is left here to the ignorant masses--the dupes of these men who seek to protect themselves from danger by their doctrine of non-violence.
-how on earth is it possible to imagine that all activities would be non-violent when those who are carrying them on proclaim themselves rebels against constitutional authority and are bent upon destroying it; when they say that they must commit civil disobedience of a character that would compel the officials to shoot them! when we know that one large section of it, the mahomedans, follow a militant religion which not only sanctions but requires them to use force to vindicate what they consider to be their religious law. when we consider further the nature of the activities of those who carry on the non-co-operation movement there can be still less room to doubt that riots ending in bloodshed are bound to follow. in order to carry out the non-co-operation campaign india is divided into various congress provinces. congress committees are formed consisting of members who are also pledged to carry out the congress principles: there are also volunteer organizations formed. the function of these bodies is to impress upon the people of the country the enormity of government's crime with reference to the punjab and the khilafat and the consequent necessity of home rule or swaraj. for attaining such swaraj they advocate progressive non-co-operation by "peaceful" methods. such methods consist of various steps which are described in the speech of mr. macpherson, extracted below. starting, perhaps, peacefully they soon exhibit a tendency to violence and when mahomedan sentiments are involved, when appeals are made to mahomedan religious feelings, that tendency becomes almost irresistible in their case. opposition to constituted authority inflames them into violence and instead of submitting to violence at the hands of authorities according to the dictates of gandhi--a counsel of perfection--they retort--and murder is the result. the process is so well put by mr. macpherson in the behar legislative council that i take the liberty of quoting the following extract from his speech:--
-"it is necessary to consider what is the essence of the non-co-operation movement, what are its ultimate objects and what are its methods. from the moment mr. gandhi first unfolded his plan of campaign--that was, i think, at a benares or allahabad conference in 1920--there has never been any doubt in my mind that the objects of the movement were entirely unconstitutional, that its methods were illegal and that its prosecution to the bitter end is bound to result in violence, disorder and anarchy, however much non-violence may be proclaimed as the watchword of its leaders. the movement cannot be judged by its earlier and comparatively innocuous stages, as if these stood by themselves. i refer to the resignation of titles, the boycott of government schools and colleges, the abandonment of their profession by legal practitioners and other such manifestations of non-co-operation, although all these items in the programme have done an infinite amount of harm, especially to the youth of the country, and even these earlier stages have been marked by repeated outbursts of violence, by a concerted system of intimidation and social boycott, and by the excitement of racial hatred which has had deplorable results in individual cases. no, the plan of campaign must be taken as a whole, and judged by its closing stages, the enforcement of civil disobedience towards the laws of the country, interference with the police and the judicial administration, the invasion of police stations, picketing of courts, the seduction of the troops from their allegiance, and the refusal to pay taxes or rent or revenue. the movement must indeed be judged by its ultimate object, which is the paralysis and subversion of the existing government and by its inevitable result, general disorder and bloodshed and widespread misery amongst all classes and communities. if pursued to the bitter end, it will assuredly have this result, whether it succeeds or fails, and should it (which god forbid) succeed, the end can only be a state of chaos which will make india the prey of the violent tribes that dwell around her borders or the hungry hordes of central asia who, in the course of history, have more than once invaded india. the object of the movement being what it is, the overthrow of the existing government in india, what is the use of telling us that either its leaders or its followers have signed a pledge of non-violence? the pledge is a farce, it has already been broken a hundred times over, and the longer the movement continues and the further it advances, the more it will be broken."
-that this has been the case is illustrated by almost all the riots which have taken place. malabar stands first in its unenviable notoriety. there the congress committees were formed; the khilafat committees also were formed; gandhi and shaukat ali visited malabar, preached their sermons and the usual result followed. with mahomedans swaraj was only their secondary aim, their principal object being the redress of the khalif's wrongs and the establishment of a khilafat kingdom in the country. when, therefore, the british government interfered with the activities of some of the khilafat leaders the mohomedan population as a whole rose in rebellion and invited the hindus to join them. the hindus as a body remained loyal; and the results were disastrous both to the mahomedans and to the hindus, more than two thousand mahomedans killed by troops according to official estimates, thousands more in other ways; far larger numbers wounded; the number of hindus butchered in circumstances of barbarity, flayed alive, made to dig their own graves before slaughter, running into thousands; women and purdah women too, raped, not in a fit of passion but systematically for months passed from hand to hand and with calculated revolting and horrible cruelty for which i have not been able to find a parallel in history. thousands were forcibly converted. all this done in the name of, and to enforce, the khilafat movement: all this due directly to the visit of gandhi and shaukat ali and to the organization of khilafat associations. they carried on their activities openly without any obstruction by the authorities; the government of madras was prevented from interfering with khilafat agitators by the government of india who are therefore as responsible as if they had directly ordered all this frightfulness.
-i take the united provinces next and will refer not only to the activities of the volunteers but to the entire situation as it developed itself from the commencement of the year 1921. that will also show the earnest efforts which were made by the government to co-operate with the constitutional party to work the reform scheme in a sympathetic spirit.
-this completes my review of the situation. considerations of space have compelled me to exclude many speeches which would throw further light on the situation.
-this attitude no doubt surprised him. the government he thought was on the run, when they had submitted meekly to his contemptuous refusal for a conference at calcutta and he had apparently therefore expected them to beg for an armistice. there was a remarkable change. he or rather the working committee of the congress suspended mass civil disobedience having found a pretext in the occurrence of a riot about this time at gorakhpur. so far as the campaign against the government is concerned the following are the important resolutions:--
-"the working committee of the congress resolves that mass civil disobedience contemplated at bardoli and elsewhere be suspended and instructs the local congress committees forthwith to advise the cultivators to pay the land revenue and other taxes due to the government and whose payment might have been suspended in anticipation of mass civil disobedience and instructs them to suspend every other preparatory activity of an offensive nature." "the suspension of mass civil disobedience shall be continued till the atmosphere is so non-violent as to ensure the non-repetition of popular atrocities such as at gorakhpur, or hooliganism such as at bombay and madras respectively on the 17th november, 1921 and 13th january last. in order to promote a peaceful atmosphere the working committee advises till further instruction, all congress organisations to stop activities specially designed to court arrest and imprisonment, save normal congress activities including voluntary hartals wherever an absolutely peaceful atmosphere can be assured, and for that end all picketing shall be stopped save for the bona fide and peaceful purpose of warning the visitors to liquor shops against the evils of drinking. such picketing to be controlled by persons of known good character and specially selected by the congress committee concerned."
-"the working committee advises, till further instructions, the stoppage of all volunteer processions and public meetings merely for the purpose of defiance of the notification regarding such meetings. this, however, shall not interfere with the private meetings of the congress and other committees or public meetings which are required for the conduct of the normal activities of the congress".
-the working committee advised all congress organisations to be engaged in the following activities:--
-"to enlist at least one crore of members of the congress. the workers should note that no one who does not pay the annual subscription can be regarded as a qualified congressman."
-"to continue the swaraj fund and to call upon every congressman or congress-sympathiser to pay at least one hundredth part of his annual income for the year 1921. every province to send every month 25 per cent of its income from the tilak memorial swaraj fund to the all-india congress committee."
-the above resolutions were directed to be placed before the all-india congress committee for revision if necessary. they were accordingly brought before the all-india congress committee whose resolution runs thus.
-"the all-india congress committee have carefully considered the resolutions passed by the working committee at its meeting held at bardoli on the 11th and 12th instant, confirms the said resolutions with the modifications noted herein and further resolves that individual civil disobedience whether of a defensive or aggressive character, may be commenced in respect of particular places or particular laws, at the instance of, and upon permission being granted therefore, by the respective provincial committee.
-"provided that such civil disobedience shall not be permitted unless all the conditions laid down by the congress or the all-india congress committee or the working committee are strictly fulfilled.
-"reports having been received from various quarters that picketing regarding foreign cloth is as necessary as liquor picketing, the all-india congress committee authorises such picketing of a bona fide character on the same terms as liquor picketing mentioned in the bardoli resolutions.
-"the all-india congress committee wishes it to be understood that the resolutions of the working committee do not mean an abandonment of the original congress programme of non-co-operation or the permanent abandonment of mass civil disobedience, but considers that an atmosphere of necessary mass non-violence can be established by the workers concentrating upon the constructive programme framed by the working committee at bardoli. the all-india congress committee holds civil disobedience to be the right and duty of the people to be exercised and performed whenever the state opposed the declared will of the people."
-individual civil disobedience
-note.--individual civil disobedience is disobedience of orders or laws by a single individual or an ascertained number or group of individuals. therefore, a prohibited public meeting where admission is regulated by tickets and to which no unauthorised admission is allowed, is an instance of individual civil disobedience whereas a prohibited meeting to which the general public is admitted without any restriction, is an instance of mass civil disobedience.
-such civil disobedience is defensive, when a prohibited public meeting is held for conducting a normal activity although it may result in arrest. it would be aggressive, if it is held, not for any activity, but merely for the purpose of courting arrest and imprisonment.
-for more than thirty years the constitutional reform party have been fighting for various indispensable reforms in the administration of the country with but moderate success. at last however, in 1919 they obtained a reform scheme which brought india directly on to the path leading to home rule. in fact the reform act made home rule inevitable within a comparatively short time, and indicated the nature of the constitutional methods of its early attainment. mr. gandhi was in india for some years before that date. he scarcely lent any assistance to the reform party. considering his principles he could not. after having obtained the act, the reform party proceeded to work it, to carry out the administrative reforms needed, to educate the masses to enable them to claim and exercise larger political powers, in order to claim at as early a date as possible that further instalment of reform provided for and contemplated in the act itself. mr. gandhi is standing right athwart their path, thus preventing or at least retarding and dangerously imperilling the indispensable reforms, regardless of the sufferings of the people entailed thereby, in order to carry out his own wild principles which have not the slightest chance of acceptance provided they are understood by the people of the country for what they are, emotional speculations without any considered relation to existing conditions. mr. gandhi, to take him at his best is indifferent to facts. facts must submit to the dictates of his theories. the only difficulty in his way is that they don't. will o'the wisp politics are not of use to a people who have to live in a world which, from long and bitter experience, has at last come to realise that dreams of distorted brains are not the stuff of which contented nations are made. gandhi in fact is seeking not only to destroy the fruits of the long endeavour of the constitutional reformers, but blast for ever any hopes of indian regeneration.
-to push forward the working of the act has been the work before the reform party which he is thus so perniciously thwarting. they had to take up in the legislative councils the question of the redress of the grievances under which the people suffered, not only to agitate for their removal, but to show the people that by constitutional agitation sooner or later they can get what they want. the most important question with which the constitutional reformers had to deal was one concerning the great poverty of the country. for this it is necessary to consider the question of the land tax--its nature, incidents, relation to other taxes, its necessity, the distribution of the land produce between the government and the classes that own the land. this is a question in which the landholding classes are very much interested. they would have understood the arguments addressed to them and therefore it would have served as a means of political and social education. the councils have already been dealing with it, and, considering the conditions, satisfactorily. the government have been meeting them in a sympathetic spirit and are trying to give effect to their proposals as much as possible. what is mr. gandhi's advice? he does not seek to co-operate to make the tax less oppressive. he would have the people pay no land tax to government. only the dreadful consequences that would ensue prevent him in this case, from giving full effect to his intentions. in any case, it is not the oppressive nature of the tax that he relies on, nor is it alleged that it is an innovation of the british government, which of course it is not. he objects to the tax, not for itself, but because it is another weapon with which to destroy the government.
-a cognate question is that which arises between the landlords and tenants. in this also all the landholding classes are deeply interested, and a discussion of the nature of the distribution of the produce between the landlord, farmer and agricultural labourer would have been of great educative value. the legislative councils are dealing with the question. government in this matter also are showing the greatest possible consideration for the feelings of the people of the country. yet mr. gandhi and his friends would not only take no part in the deliberations of the council but would prevent an amicable settlement by steps which have produced riots between the classes interested in the land, with the object of discrediting the reform scheme and paralysing the government of the country.
-closely connected with this is the question of indian manufactures, industries and the development of mineral resources, which, besides, conferring other benefits, will relieve undue pressure on the land. our industries have been destroyed by english competition and constitutional reformers are determined to take all the steps necessary to enter into healthy competition with english industries in indian interests and to develop their own mineral and other resources. in so doing they have to take care that the conditions which accompanied the rise of industrial prosperity in the west are not reproduced in india. they have to see that wage earners received adequate protection. what are the tactics of mr. gandhi and his friends? all these industries are to him the devil's-own agency to destroy the soul. he says they cannot add an inch to india's moral stature. starvation due to the absence of industries may destroy the body and certainly hinders the development of the soul. but to him this does not matter. he and his followers would taboo machinery, without which competition or development is hopeless. without attempting to promote an amicable settlement between english capitalists and indian labourers they have on the contrary been responsible for a deliberate widening of the chasm between the races.
-the administration of justice is another matter in which all are interested; and already the legislative councils are dealing with the question of the separation of judicial and executive functions. the government again are not only not standing in their way but are rendering every assistance towards the solution of the problem. this is also the case with reference to the removal of discriminations between europeans and indians in the administration of justice. the people of the country understand this question well as they are deeply interested in it. mr. gandhi is asking the people of the country to avoid all courts and thus not to interest themselves in the improvement of judicial administration.
-i might take many other questions relating to finances, army, etc., and show the baneful influence of his propaganda. in all these mr. gandhi's campaign against government has hampered the reformers who would otherwise have made the redress of these grievances a more effective plank in their platform; these questions would have been more widely discussed throughout the country. but such discussion is now almost impossible with the result that these questions are not settled as satisfactorily as they might otherwise be. but it is as regards education that the reformers have most felt the want of that popular support necessary to carry out the reforms needed.
-mr. gandhi will never be forgiven by all true lovers of sound national education for india for the campaign he has carried on against real education. the education that has been hitherto imparted had been as everybody, including mr. gandhi also recognised, lamentably defective. the reformers had to insist on the imparting of suitable primary education to the masses, to the workers, to the labouring men and others, to enable them to improve their condition, because no class can generally rise except under the ultimate stress of its own will and ability. they had to demand suitable higher education, which was required not only in the interests of the culture but also for the industrial regeneration of the country and for the development of india's natural resources. in the laboratories of europe, america and japan students are devoting themselves to discover means for the alleviation of misery and pain. nay, higher claims are advanced, for it has been declared by scientists that we are on the eve of discovery of means for a practically indefinite prolongation of life under certain conditions which make us intensely expectant to know whether they are the same as described in our ancient books as efficacious for that purpose, descriptions which have hitherto been contemptuously discarded as worthless. archaeologists are almost every day unveiling to us ancient remains and writings which give us a different and a startling conception of ancient history and civilisation. indian history is being rewritten. when we hear of the marconi wireless, our young men turn to our own ancient descriptions of the training of human body and mind which make these fit to receive and convey messages regardless of space and distance and they show eagerness to take part in experiment and research. when we find rays penetrating solid matter, our young scientists wonder whether after all the stories of great seers whose vision, not of the material eye, is not bounded by time or space or distance, may not be true and wonder whether we should not now take up the training prescribed to attain those results. researches are made in the laboratories to control the forces of nature, to increase human comforts and happiness, to increase productivity in all directions. researches have already attained brilliant results. the lessons of the survey of the regions above by the telescope, of all below by the microscope, and generally speaking all these marvels of science which lend fresh light and new significance to the lesson of ancients as to the all pervading of the universe are all anathema to mr. gandhi.
-he wants to hold back our boys from the universities and post-graduate studies and research that they may go back to their ploughs while the universities of the western world are sending their delegates all over the world to take stock of what has been done and to devise means for the intellectual and moral uplift of the nations.
-the constitutional reformers and the councils have the great task before them of reconciling the hindus and mahomedans on a basis for their unity other than the one which arose out of the mahomedan fury against the british government for its failure to support mahomedan interests in the west. they have also to promote goodwill between the hindus and the mahomedans on the one side and the europeans on the other, both in india and in the colonies. they have to face the rising antagonism between the dark, the fair and the white--an antagonism which threatens in course of time to engulf the whites with all that modern civilisation, whatever be its faults, is standing for. the reform party want india to take her rightful place in the indo-british commonwealth, the first place, in fact, to which her natural genius and her resources entitle her, with all its responsibilities. the conditions are all favourable to india. governorships of provinces are thrown open to indians. there are indians in the viceroy's and other councils. but mr. gandhi and his friends will not only do practically nothing in that direction but they have created what threatens to be a permanent gulf between the mahomedans and non-mahomedans, and they are dangerously widening the gulf between the indians and europeans. the reformers have to improve the conditions of women both amongst the mahomedans and the hindus, as without such improvement india is not entitled to take her place among civilised nations. they have practically to get rid of the caste system as with such a cancer political progress is impossible. mr. gandhi, on the other hand, panders to mahomedan vanity and justifies the racial differences as between different classes of hindus. he insists upon the necessity of our going back to our own caste system, which is responsible for the condition of our women and of the lower classes. he has given a handle to those who want to maintain the repressive laws, and is really responsible for the retention of them. he has not only thrown doubts as to our fitness for self-government but has rendered it possible for our opponents to urge with plausibility that danger would accrue to the empire and to india itself by granting home rule to india. he has thus to the best of his sinister ability attempted to prevent all reforms and has tried to paralyse all the efforts of the reformers in every direction, fomenting racial and class differences, as i have already explained.
-everywhere we see a class of narrow thought in the white world raising the colour sentiment against the asiatics, and against indians in particular, proclaiming that there is no place for indians in british empire on terms of equality. these are not the intellectual leaders of the white races, nor are they those who set the best standards of morality. on the other hand, we see the noblest of them proclaiming and striving with all their might, with varying degrees of success, to enforce the opposite ideal. we know also that in india the question is only one of time and within a short period absolute equality in every respect will be carried out. we see further that our countrymen elsewhere are weak and comparatively helpless, and till we in india attain our manhood they must continue at the mercy of the white races. what is it, then, that not only religion, universal morality, or good, but also policy and prudence, dictate? there can be only one answer. we must strengthen the hands of those who are fighting for race equality and give no opportunity to those who maintain that the indians are a peril to the white race. what is mr. gandhi doing? he is doing everything possible to increase racial and class hatred.
-we see the wonderful phenomenon of australian ladies begging pardon for the atrocious treatment of their indian sisters by a few englishmen in fiji and elsewhere. we see the universities and professors, ashamed of themselves for their aberration during the great war, hastening to make amends by trying to bring together all classes and races of men. we see white women trying to band themselves and other women of whatever colour and creed into one sisterhood, without any difference, to throw themselves into all social and political movements for sex enfranchisement and uplift; to work for the good not only of themselves but of children in particular, and generally to devote themselves to all activities of mercy. we find various nations calling to one another across seas, deserts and mountains to join in a common fellowship, not to work in opposition to one another. every where, after the fearful cataclysm through which we have passed, there is wistful yearning for fellowship and brother-hood to carry out in practice the teachings of the ancient prophets and seers, buddha, confucius, zoroaster, the seers of the upanishads, christ, mahomed, in opposition to the churches and the dogmatic religions identified with their names. and is it not extraordinary, we see this man, uninfluenced by this tremendous intellectual and moral up-heaval, waging a bloody and racial struggle for what? that if successful indians may not take part in any of these movements, shun them all, since god has not created man with his limited means of natural locomotion to labour for general good, and may therefore, retire to their village to lead a solitary life.
-if he had followed this advice for himself, or had retired to the himalayas to live a mahatmaic life he would have saved the lives literally of thousands, prevented horrible outrages worse than death, saved thousands from incalculable misery. instead of paying the penalty themselves, he and his lieutenants stalk about the country dripping with the blood of the victims of their policy.
-as i left the government of india long before the campaign of non-co-operation was launched, perhaps there is nothing inappropriate in the few observations which i propose to make regarding the delay in taking action against mr. gandhi and his followers. in september 1920 the congress adopted the non-co-operation resolution. the government might then have taken action with the support of a large majority of indian politicians. after the final adoption of a non-co-operation programme by the nagpur congress it was felt that the government should have stopped the activities of the party which from that moment had openly declared their disloyalty. they maintained their silence however even after gandhi and the congress party resolved on the recruitment of volunteers and the organisation of a parallel government. on the arrest and trial of the ali brothers mr. gandhi challenged the government to arrest him as he maintained that the conduct of the ali brothers in tampering with the loyalty of the sepoys and uttering sedition was only in pursuance of the policy adopted by himself and the congress. his words are remarkable. "the national congress began to tamper with the loyalty of the sepoys in september last year, i.e. 1920 the central khilafat committee began it earlier and i began it earlier still, for i must be permitted to take the credit or the odium of suggesting, that india had a right openly to tell the sepoy and everyone who served the government in any capacity whatsoever that he participated in the wrongs done by the government."--"every non-co-operator is pledged to preach disaffection towards the government established by law. non-co-operation, though, a religious and strictly moral movement, deliberately aims at the overthrow of the government, and is therefore legally seditious in terms of the indian penal code. but this is no new discovery. lord chelmsford knew it. lord reading knows it" ... "we must reiterate from a thousand platforms the formula of the ali brothers regarding the sepoys, and we must spread disaffection openly and systematically till it pleases the government to arrest us." it will hardly be believed that even after this no steps were taken against him. towards the end of the year he said "lord reading must clearly understand that the non-co-operators are at war with the government. they have declared rebellion against it." it was after this that there was an attempt to bring about a conference between him and the government which was contemptuously brushed aside by him. one of the mopla leaders when tried for rebellion pleaded that he was under the impression that the british government no longer ruled the country and had abdicated. there is very little doubt of the unfortunate fact that there was a general belief that the government was powerless and could be safely defied by gandhi and his congress.
-"a few europeans and many hindus, have been murdered, communications have been obstructed, government offices burnt and looted and records have been destroyed, hindu temples sacked, houses of europeans and hindus burnt, according to reports hindus were forcibly converted to islam and one of the most fertile tracts of south india is faced with certain famine. the result has been the temporary collapse of the civil government, the offices and courts have ceased to function and ordinary business has been brought to a standstill. european and hindu refugees of all classes are concentrated at calicut and it is satisfactory to note that they are safe there. one trembles to think of the consequences if the forces of order had not prevailed for the protection of calicut. the non muslim in these parts was fortunate indeed that either he or his family or his house or property came under the protection of the soldiers and the police. those who are responsible for causing this grave outbreak of violence and crime must be brought to justice and made to suffer the punishment of the guilty.
-effect of violent preaching
-"but apart from direct responsibility, can it be doubted that when poor unfortunate and deluded people are led to believe that they should disregard the law and defy authority, violence and crime must follow? this outbreak is but another instance on a much more serious scale and among a more turbulent and fanatical people, of the conditions that have manifested themselves at times in various parts of the country and, gentlemen, i ask myself and you and the country generally what else can be the result from instilling such doctrines into the minds of the masses of the people? how can there be peace and tranquility when ignorant people, who have no means of testing the truth of the inflamatory and too often deliberately false statements made to them, are thus misled by those whose design is to provoke violence and disorder. passions are thus easily excited to unreasoning fury.
-the leader of the movement
-"although, i freely acknowledge that the leader of the movement to paralyse authority, persistently, and, as i believe, in all earnestness and sincerity, preaches the doctrine of non-violence and has even reproved his followers for resorting to it, yet again and again it has been showed that his doctrine is completely forgotten and his exhortations absolutely disregarded when passions are excited as must inevitably be the consequence among emotional people.
-its inevitable result
-"to those who are responsible for the peace and good government of this great empire and i trust that to all men of sanity and common sense in all classes of society, it must be clear that the defiance of the government and constituted authority can only result in widespread disorder, in political chaos, in anarchy and in ruin."
-calicut, sept. 7--in my first article i dealt with the prime causes of the present outbreak, the dangerous game played by the leaders of the khilafat and non-co-operation movements in malabar which set the whole of ernad and walluvanad ablaze, and the extent of plunders, murders and forcible conversions committed by the mopla rebels. in this article i intend to confine myself to the nature of the atrocities committed by them and other details.
-the experiences i am about to relate will satisfy every hindu endowed with ordinary common sense that the moplas resorted to most repugnant fanaticism, which may be ascribed to nothing but selfishness, love of money and love of power, which are the prominent features of the present outbreak. refugees narrate that, after forcibly removing young and fair nair and other high caste girls from their parents and husbands, the mopla rebels stripped them of their clothing and made them march in their presence naked, and finally they committed rape upon them. in certain instances, devoid of human feelings and blinded by animal passion, the moplas are alleged to have utilised a single woman for the gratification of the carnal pleasures of a dozen or more men. the rebels also seem to have captured beautiful hindu women, forcibly converted them, pierced holes in their ears in the typical mopla fashion, dressed them as mopla women and utilised them as their temporary partners in life. hindu women were threatened, molested and compelled to run half-naked for shelter to forests abounding in wild animals. respectable hindu gentlemen were forcibly converted and the circumcision ceremony performed with the help of certain musaliars and thangals. hindu houses were looted and set fire to, will not all these atrocities remain as a shameful image of the hindu muslim "unity", of which we have heard much from the non-co-operation party and khilafat-wallahs? the ghastly spectacle of a number of hindu damsels being forced to march naked in the midst of a number of licentious moplas cannot be forgotten by any self respecting hindu, nor can it be erased from their minds. on the other hand, i have never heard of the modesty of a mopla woman being outraged by a mopla rebel. "times of india."
-by annie besant
-it would be well if mr. gandhi could be taken into malabar to see with his own eyes the ghastly horrors which have been created by the preaching of himself and his "loved brothers," muhommad and shaukat ali. the khilafat raj is established there; on august 1, 1921, sharp to the date first announced by mr. gandhi for the beginning of swaraj and the vanishing of british rule, a police inspector was surrounded by moplas, revolting against that rule. from that date onwards thousands of the forbidden war-knives ware secretly made and hidden away, and on august 20, the rebellion broke out, khilafat flags were hoisted on police stations and government offices. strangely enough it was on august 25th 825 a.d. that cherman perumal ascended the throne of malabar, the first zamorin, and from that day the malayalam era is dated that is still in use; thus for 1096 years a zamorin has ruled in calicut, and the rajas are mostly chiefs who for long centuries have looked to a zamorin as their feudatory head. these are the men on whom the true pacification of malabar must ultimately depend. the crowded refugees will only return to their devastated homes when they see those once more in safety in their ancestral places. their lands, which they keep under their own control, are largely cultivated by moplas, who are normally hardy, industrious agricultural labourers.
-our correspondent has sent accounts of the public functions connected with my hurried visit to calicut and palghat, and that which i wish to put on record here is the ghastly misery which prevails, the heart-breaking wretchedness which has been caused by the mopla outbreak, directly due to the violent and unscrupulous attacks on the government made by the non-co-operators and the khilafatists and the statements scattered broadcast, predicting the speedy disappearance of british rule, and the establishment of swaraj, as proclaimed by the n.c.o. and khilafat raj as understood by the moplas from the declarations of the khilafatists. on that, there is no doubt whatever, so far as malabar is concerned. the message of the khilafats, of england as the enemy of islam, of her coming downfall, and the triumph of the muslims, had spread, to every mopla home. the harangues in the mosques spread it everywhere, and muslim hearts were glad. they saw the n.c.o. preachers appealing for help to their religious leaders, naturally identified the two. the government was satanic, and eblis, to the good muslim, is to be fought to the death. mr. gandhi may talk as he pleases about n.c.o.s accepting no responsibility. it is not what they accept; it is what facts demonstrate. he accepted responsibility for the trifling bloodshed of bombay. the slaughter in malabar cries out his responsibility. n.c.o. is dead in malabar. but bitter hatred has arisen there, as fighting men from the dragon's teeth of theseus. that is the ghastly result of the preaching of gandhism, of n.c.o. of khilafatism. every one speaks of the khilafat raj, and the one hope of the masses is in its crushing by the strong arm of the government. mr. gandhi asks the moderates to compel the government to suspend hostilities, i.e., to let loose the wolves to destroy what lives are left. the sympathy of the moderates is not, i make bold to say, with the murderers, the looters, the ravishers, who have put into practice the teachings of paralysing the government of the “i’m to venture it,” hugh answered. “how left you matters there, cowper?”
-“the captain has the church and the graveyard, sir. the rebels hold the village and the bridge over the arrow. i got across two mile up at the blackwater ford. the river ran high, and they had set no guard. ’twas breaking through the village they shot at me.”
-“go tend your hurt now,” hugh found thought to urge. “i’ll remember the ford, be sure. are you done now, dick?”
-“done with that,” replied strangwayes. “are your pistols in order? and the word for the night is ‘gloucester’; you’ll need it at the gates.”
-“yes, yes,” hugh cried, and made a dash for the jade, who, dragging her groom at her head, had fretted herself a good ten feet away. a trooper jumped forward and caught her bit to stay her; but it was dick, hugh remembered, who held the stirrup so he could swing himself easily into the saddle. “god speed!” he heard strangwayes say in the instant that followed. “we’ll be at your heels soon. god speed!”
-that was all the farewell between them; for the men stood back from the jade’s head, and, with a shrill squeal, she darted forward across the court. hugh heard the click of her hoofs on the cobblestones, then lost the sound in the cheer upon cheer that broke from those about him. his arms ached with the tense grip he was holding on the bridle, and then he found the mare had the bit in her teeth. “go, if you will,” he cried, letting the reins looser. the shadow of the gateway fell upon him; he saw the flicker of the torch beneath it and the white faces of the men on guard. then he had jammed his hat on hard, and, bending his head, was striving to hold the jade straight as she tore down the slope and sped through the town.
-houses and shops rushed by; he heard a woman shriek abuse after him for his mad riding; the crash of opening casements, as the townsfolk leaned out to see him pass; once, too, his heart gave a jump as a boy, like a black streak, shot across the road just clear of the jade’s nose. then the bulk of the town gate blocked his way; he saw the sentinels spring forth to stay him, and, contriving to check the mare an instant, he leaned from the saddle to say “gloucester” to the corporal in charge.
-“pass free,” came the word; the men stood from his path, and, giving loose rein to the jade, he flew by them out into the twilight stretch of open country road.
-for a time it was just breathless riding, with his full weight on the reins to slacken the mare’s speed; for the road was all ruts, and he feared for her slender legs. the mud spattered up even into his eyes, and once, at a dip in the road, he felt his mount make a half-slip in the mire, which sobered her somewhat, so he could ease her down to a slow, careful trot that promised to carry him well through the night. now he was first able to look about at the broad, dusky fields and back over his shoulder, where tamworth town and castle were merged into the night. the first exhilaration of the setting forth went from him in the stillness and dark; it was steady, grim work he had before him, yet he felt assured he would come safely into kingsford, and, spite of the gravity of it all, he found himself smiling a little at the way in which, at last, he was going to his father. he wondered perplexedly how he should greet captain gwyeth, and how phrase his message; a formal tone would perhaps be best till he was sure of his welcome. but sir william had said his father would be glad at his coming; at that thought hugh pricked on the jade a little faster.
-once clear of the first village beyond tamworth he entered a stretch of woodland, where the black tips of the trees showed vivid against the starless gray sky. below, the undergrowth was all dense darkness and hugh thought it well to keep a hand on his pistol, for he was drawing into puritan country where a cavalier was fair game for an ambuscade. out beyond he trotted again through fields, only blacker and lonelier now than those by tamworth. such cottages as he passed were silent and dark; at one farmstead he heard a dog howl, and once, in a tangled hollow, a bat whizzed by his head, but he saw or heard no other living thing. though once, as he gazed across the fields on his left, he made out in the distance a gleam of light; a farm must lie yonder, and he pictured to himself the low cottage chamber, where the goodwife would be watching with a restless child. such shelter and companionship was betokened by the light that he turned in the saddle to gaze at it till a clump of trees shut it from him.
-it must have been something after midnight, though under that starless sky he could not tell the time surely, when he clattered into a considerable town. an officious watchman with a bobbing torch ran from a byway, calling on him to stand, so hugh clapped spurs to the jade and shot through the street at such a pace that the next watchman could only get out of his course without trying to stay him. but after that he grew wary and, when the outlying houses of the next town came out of the black, turned off into the fields and picked his way about it. the round-about course saved him from interference, but it took much time; by a dull, unbraced feeling, that was not sleepiness nor yet quite weariness alone, he knew he had been many hours in the saddle, and he began to look to the east, in dread lest he catch the first signs of daybreak.
-presently he must give his whole attention to the jade, for they spattered into a ford where the going was treacherous. while she halted to drink he gazed about at the bushes and the field before him, and, spite of the dark, knew the place. it was home country he was drawing toward now, so he trotted on slowly, with his senses alert and his eyes peering into the dusk for the landmarks that should guide him. so it was that at last on his right hand he caught sight of a big leafless oak, beneath which he pulled up short. true enough, he remembered the way in which the tree stood up bare and alone with scragged common at its back; he could not see well for the dark, but he knew that at the farther edge of the open land was a belt of young oaks that hid the ford of blackwater.
-he lingered beneath the blasted oak, time enough to look to his pistols, and time enough, too, for him to recall the ghostly reputation of the lonely tree, so his nerves were crisping as he rode by it into the common. but he quieted the jade’s fretty step, and, in the action and the thought of what might be before him, steadied himself till, though his body was trembling with eagerness, his head was cool. he took the precaution of making the mare keep a slow trot that was half muffled in the turf, though he urged her as much as he dared on the uneven ground; for to the east, as he looked over his shoulder, the dark was beginning to pale. the early summer morning must be near at hand, for when he had crossed the open there was light enough for him to make out the break in the trees where the bridle path wound down to the ford.
-hugh went in cautiously, with the reins taut in his left hand and his right on his pistol; but for all that the jade’s feet splashed in the sloughs of the pathway with a loudness that startled him. he pulled up a moment and listened; ahead he could hear the lap, lap of swift water, but for the rest the wood was silent. he was about to press the mare forward with a touch of the spur, when, flinging up her head, she whickered shrilly. right upon that, somewhere to the front by the water’s edge, a horse neighed.
-next moment hugh felt the lash of low boughs across his neck, as he pulled the jade round with her haunches in among the bushes by the path. spite of the crash of the branches, and the pounding of the blood in his temples that near deafened him, he caught the sound of hoof-beats on his left, coming down on him from the common as well as up from the river. at that he urged the jade forward, straight into the bushes at the other side of the path, where the limbs grew so low that he bent down with his bare head pressed against her mane. for all the hurry and tumult, his ears were alert, and presently he heard their horses crashing behind him among the trees at the right. then, cautiously as he could pick his way in the gray dimness, he turned the jade’s head to the common. brushing out through the last of the oaks he faced southward, and, as he did so, cast a glance behind him. out of the shadows of the trees in his rear he saw the dim form of a horseman take shape, and a command, loud in the hush of morning, reached him: “halt, there!”
-hugh laid the spurs to the jade’s sides and, as she ran, instinctively bent himself forward. behind him he heard a shot, then the patter of many hoofs upon the turf, and a second shot. right upon it he felt a dull shock above the shoulder blade; the ball must have rebounded from his cuirass. after that he was in among the trees once more; through the wood behind him men were crashing and shouting; and even such scant shelter as the oaks gave was ending, as they grew sparser and sparser, till he dashed into an open stretch that sloped to the arrow. to the front he had a dizzy sight of more horsemen straggling from cover; there were two patrols closing in on him, he realized, and with that, jerking the mare to the right, he headed for the river.
-as he spoke he made a cut at the horse’s flank; then peregrine, crying out his name, sprang down and faced him. they were blade to blade at last, and at the first blow the older lad flinched, stumbling back in the long grass of the field, and hugh, with eyes on his set, angry face, pressed after him. horses were galloping nearer and nearer, men calling louder, but hugh did not heed; for peregrine, mistaking a feint he made, laid himself open, and he lunged forward at him.
-then his sword-arm was caught and held fast, and he was flung backward into the grasp of a couple of troopers. the man who had first seized him, a grim corporal in a yellow sash, wrenched the sword out of his hand, and he heard him speak to peregrine: “has the knave done you hurt, sir?”
-hugh pulled himself together, though his whole body was still a-quiver with the action of the last moments, and looked about him. yellow-sashed troopers surrounded him, six or seven, he judged, and a few paces distant stood peregrine, with his hand pressed to his right forearm. “he slashed me in the wrist,” young oldesworth broke out; “i tripped, else he had not done it.”
-“you had not tripped if you had stood your ground,” hugh flung back, with an involuntary effort to loosen his arms from the grasp of those who had seized him.
-“hold your tongue, you cur!” snapped peregrine, and might have said more, had there not come from across the river a prolonged hail. one ran down to the brink to catch the words; but hugh had no chance to listen, for at peregrine’s curt order he was hustled upon one of the troop horses. they tied his hands behind him, too; whereat hugh set his teeth and scowled in silence. what would peregrine do with him before he were done, he was wondering dumbly, when the man from the river came up with the report that the captain bade to convey the prisoner to everscombe, and see to it that he did not escape. “i’ll see to it,” peregrine said grimly, and got to his saddle, awkwardly, because of his wounded arm, that was already staining a rough bandage red.
-the morning was breaking grayly as the little squad turned westward through the fields, and by a hollow to the kingsford road. as they descended into the highway, hugh faced a little about in his saddle, and gazed down it toward the village; a rise in the land shut the spot from sight, but he knew that yonder captain gwyeth lay, awaiting the message that he was not to bring. the trooper who rode at his stirrup took him roughly by the shoulder then, and made him face round to the front. “you don’t go to kingsford to-day, sir,” he jeered.
-hugh had not spirit even to look at the fellow, but fixed his eyes on the pommel of the saddle. trees and road he had known slipped by, he was aware; he heard the horses stamp upon the roadway; and he felt his wet clothes press against his body, and felt the strap about his wrists cut into the flesh. but nothing of all that mattered as his numbed wits came to the full realization that this was the end of the boasting confidence with which he had set forth, and the end of his hope of meeting with his father. the last fight would be fought without him, or even now captain gwyeth, ignorant of the aid that should hurry to him, might be putting himself into his enemies’ hands. at that, hugh tugged hopelessly at the strap, and found a certain relief in the fierce smarting of his chafed wrists.
-like an echo of his thoughts peregrine’s voice came at his elbow: “so you were thinking to reach kingsford, were you?”
-“i should not be riding here just for my pleasure,” hugh replied, with a piteous effort to force a light tone.
-“’twould be as well for you if you were less saucy,” his cousin said sternly. ���you know me.”
-“i know you carry one mark of my sword on you,” hugh answered, looking his tormentor in the face, “and if you’d not let your troop come aid you, you’d carry more.”
-for a moment he expected peregrine to strike him; then the elder lad merely laughed exasperatingly. “you’ll not talk so high by to-night,” he said, “when you’re fetched out to see that dog gwyeth hanged up in everscombe park.”
-“you’d best catch him before you hang him,” hugh answered stoutly, though the heart within him was heavy almost beyond endurance. what might the oldesworths not do if once they laid hands on captain gwyeth? a prisoner of war had no rights, hugh was well aware, and so many accidents could befall. he felt his face must show something of his fear, and he dreaded lest peregrine goad him into farther speech, and his words betray his wretchedness.
-but happily just there they turned in between the stone pillars of everscombe park, and peregrine paced to the front of his squad. hugh listlessly watched the well-remembered trees and turnings of the avenue, which were clear to see now in the breaking dawn. the roofs of the manor house showed in even outlines against the dull sky, all as he remembered it, only now the lawn beneath the terrace was scarred with hoof-prints, and over in the old west wing the door was open, and a musketeer paced up and down the flagstones before it. heading thither, the squad drew up before the entrance, and hugh, haled unceremoniously from the horse’s back, was jostled into the large old hall of the west wing, that seemed now a guardroom.
-“how do you like this for a home-coming, cousin?” peregrine asked, and hugh looked him in the eyes but answered nothing. his captor laughed and turned to his troopers. “search him thoroughly now,” he ordered; “then hold him securely till captain oldesworth comes.—and i can tell you, sirrah,” he addressed hugh once more, “you’ll relish his conversation even less than you relish mine.”
-chapter xx beneath the roof of everscombe
-they had searched hugh, thoroughly and with more than necessary roughness, and now he was permitted to drag on his dripping clothes again. it was in a long, narrow room at the end of the old hall, where the ceiling was high and dark and the three tall windows set well up from the floor. a year ago it had been a closed and disused apartment, but now a couple of tables and some stools were placed there; hugh noted the furniture in listless outer fashion as he sat wrestling on his sodden boots. for once his captors had taken their hands off him; one trooper was guarding the door and another was pacing up and down beneath the windows, but the corporal and the third man stood within arm’s reach of him. when hugh rose to his feet the corporal made a little movement, and he realized they were all alert for his least suspicious action. “my faith, i’m not like to get away from the four of you,” hugh broke out in a despairing sort of sullenness. “’tis only that i’d fain put on my coat, unless you claim that along with my cuirass and buff jacket.”
-one bade him put on and be hanged, and hugh, having drawn on the wet garment, sat down again on the stool by the table, too utterly weary and hopeless to note more than that the room was damp and the chill of his soaked clothes was striking to his marrow. with a thought of tramping some warmth into his body he rose again, but the corporal sharply bade him sit down quietly or be tied down. hugh resumed his place on the stool with his shoulders against the edge of the table and one ankle resting on the other knee; he would gladly have swung round and rested his head upon the table, so worn-out and faint he felt, only he knew if he did his captors would think him childish and frightened.
-of a sudden he heard the sentinel at the door advance a step and announce to the corporal: “captain oldesworth has just come into the guardroom, sir.”
-a queer tingling went through hugh’s veins, and upon it followed a sickening faintness. bringing both feet down to the ground, he faced about with his clinched hand on the table and his eyes fastened upon the door. he knew now why he had not been able to think, those last moments, why every humiliation had been scarcely heeded, in the expectation of this that was before him. he saw the corporal draw up stiff in salute, the sentinel stand back from the door, and then, clean-shaven, set-mouthed as ever, he saw tom oldesworth stride in.
-it had been in hugh’s mind to stand up to meet his uncle, but at the last he dared not trust his knees to such a test. for the moment the old boyish fear of the elder man, whose raillery had cut him, whose blows had made him flinch, came back on him, and he could only stare at him dumbly.
-“’tis not the place i had looked to find you, nephew,” oldesworth greeted him, in a tone that though brusque was kindly enough. only in the hurriedness of his bearing and the eagerness in his eyes hugh read no friendly presage, so he let his gaze fall to the table and studied the grain of the wood, while he listened to the beating of his heart that vibrated through all his body.
-oldesworth spoke a word aside to the corporal, and as the troopers drew to the farther end of the room came and set himself down opposite hugh. “now attend me, sir,” he began rapidly. “by your trappings you seem to have learned something of war; then you know how the case stands with you now we have you fast. so i trust you will not suffer any childish stubbornness to vex me or harm you.”
-hugh watched the man’s hard face with fascinated eyes and lips half-opened, but found no tongue to reply.
-“you were riding to kingsford,” oldesworth continued, gazing at him fixedly. “you came from tamworth, whither a messenger was posted yesterday. you brought an answering message. what was it?”
-hugh flung back his head. “if there be a message, think you i’d be such a fool as to tell it?” he cried, in a voice that was so firm it made him glad. after all, he had no need to fear, for this was only a man like the rest, and he was now a man, too.
-“you brought a message from sir william pleydall,” oldesworth repeated, unmoved. “he is going to send aid to this man, is he not? why, i can read that in your face, hugh. aid is coming, then. is it to-day? to-morrow? answer me.”
-hugh met his uncle’s gaze fairly, with his head held a little upward and his lips tight-set now. there was nothing for him to say, but he knew they fought the battle out betwixt them while their glances met.
-“so you’re stubborn, are you?” oldesworth said, rising to his feet. “you young fool! do you think you can set your will against mine?”
-“i think i will not tell what you ask,” hugh replied without a tremor.
-oldesworth leaned a little forward with his fist upon the table. “i have been waiting all my manhood to take satisfaction from alan gwyeth,” he said slowly. “now the opportunity is given me do you think i shall suffer a boy’s obstinacy to hinder me? i will have that message. if you’ll not yield it for the asking, why—come, come, speak. i’d be loath to hurt you, hugh.”
-“i’d be loath to have you, sir,” hugh replied soberly, though his whole inclination was to laugh; for now the worst had come he was braced to meet it, and quite unafraid.
-captain oldesworth’s jaws were set ominously at that. “corporal,” he ordered sharply, “send a man to fetch rope and a piece of match.”
-with an involuntary start hugh came to his feet, for his mind had jumped back to something butler had once hinted,—that a length of burning match tied between the fingers was the surest way to make a dumb knave find his tongue.
-“’tis no laughing matter, you’ll perceive,” the captain said, with a trace of satisfaction. “now you’ll tell?”
-hugh shook his head, not looking at his uncle but with eyes upon the door. he saw it pushed open, and then came in the trooper with a length of rope in his hand, but hugh scarcely heeded, for behind him, with an eager step, walked peregrine oldesworth. after that it did not need the tramp of the men crossing from the other end of the room to set every fibre of hugh’s body tense for the coming struggle. with a quick movement he swung about to catch up the stool he had just quitted; oldesworth must have stepped round the table behind him, for he blocked his way now, and catching him by the shoulders made him stand, for all hugh’s effort to wrench clear. “’twill be no use fighting, my lad,” he said, with something oddly like pity in his face. “do as i ask straightway. you’ve done all a gentleman need do. tell me now when pleydall is coming. else you go into the hands of cornet oldesworth and his squad here. and peregrine is keen for this work. but tell, and no one shall lay hand on you, nor—”
-“i care not if you kill me!” hugh cried hoarsely.
-“have it your way, then!” oldesworth retorted, and, flinging him off, turned his back. “tie him up, lads,” he ordered.
-some one griped his collar, hugh felt; there was a rip of cloth, and for a moment he had torn himself free and struck out blindly at the mass of them. they must have tripped him, for he felt the floor beneath his shoulders; but he still had hold on one of them, and he heard a shirt tear beneath his hands. there came a dull pain between his eyes, as if the bones of the forehead were bursting outward, and he made a feeble effort to strike up as he lay. then the struggling was over; he could not even kick, for one that sat upon his legs; a man’s knee was grinding down on his back, and his arms were forced behind him. his face was pressed to the floor, and he could see nothing for a blackness before his eyes, but he heard peregrines voice, cool and well-satisfied: “he’ll be quiet enough now. here’s the rope.”
-some one else had entered the room, hugh realized; a slow step, a pause, and then a stern voice that rang loud: “thomas oldesworth! bid your ruffians take their hands from your sister’s son.”
-“father!” the captain’s voice spoke, then after an instant’s blank pause ran on: “you do not understand, good sir. he—”
-“will you stand arguing?” there came a noise as of a staff’s being struck upon the floor. “do i command in this house, son thomas, or do you? you ruffianly knaves, up with you all!”
-they had left him free, hugh found, and dragging one arm up to his head he lay panting desperately, without strength or heart to move. “help him to his feet,” the stern voice spoke again. “or have you done him serious hurt?”
-they lifted him up, with gentler handling than they had yet given him, and staggering a pace to the table he leaned against it. he drew his hand across his eyes unsteadily to rub away the black spots that danced before them; he had a blurry sight, then, of the troopers drawn back to the windows, and of the captain and peregrine, who stood together with half-abashed faces, for in the doorway, leaning on his staff, was master gilbert oldesworth. “get you back to kingsford and fight out your fight with the scoundrel who wronged your sister,” he spoke again. “at such a time can you find no better task than to maltreat a boy?”
-“if you would only pause to hear how matters stand, sir,” the captain urged, with a visible effort to maintain a respectful tone. “the lad holds the information that shall make us masters of that villain gwyeth. if he will not speak, though he were twenty times my nephew, i’ll—”
-“if he were twenty times the meanest horseboy in the king’s camp, he should not be put to torture beneath my roof,” master oldesworth answered grimly. “come here to me, hugh gwyeth.”
-wondering dully why all the strength had gone out of his body, hugh stumbled across the room and pitched up against the wall beside his grandfather. he noted now that his shirt was torn open, and drawing his coat together he tried to fasten it; his fingers shook unsteadily, and the buttons were hard to find. he felt his grandfather’s hand placed firmly on his shoulder. “i think you have mishandled this gentleman enough to satisfy you,” the old man spoke contemptuously. “henceforth you will merely hold him as a prisoner taken in honorable war. and i shall myself be responsible for his custody.”
-“my good father,” captain oldesworth broke out, “i cannot suffer him to pass from my keeping. my responsibility to the state—”
-“will you school me, thomas?” master oldesworth cut him short. “i am neither bed-ridden nor brain-sick that you should try to dictate to me now. but i will advise you, sir, that there are decencies to be observed even in war, and there are those in authority would make you to smart if ever they got knowledge of this you purposed. lift your hand against my grandson, and this day’s work comes to their ears.”
-“no need,” master oldesworth spoke curtly, and then addressed hugh: “you will give me your parole not to attempt an escape.”
-hugh looked up helplessly into his grandfather’s stern face, and felt the grasp of the corporal press upon his arm. his breath came hard like a sob, but he managed to force out his answer: “i cannot, sir, i cannot. you’d better thrust me back into my uncle’s hands. i cannot promise.”
-he was trying to nerve himself to be dragged back to the chamber behind the guardroom, but though master oldesworth’s face grew harder, he only said, “bring him along after me,” and led the way down the passage.
-hugh followed unsteadily, glad of the grasp on his arm that helped to keep him erect. they had entered the east wing, he noted listlessly; then he was trudging up the long staircase and stumbling down the corridor. at the first window recess he saw master oldesworth halt and heard him speak less curtly: “i have indeed to thank you, mistress.” raising his eyes as he passed, hugh saw that by the window, with hands wrung tight together, lois campion was standing.
-instinctively he tried to halt, but the grip on his arm never relaxed, and he must come on at his captor’s side, down to the end of the corridor. there master oldesworth had flung open a door into a tiny chamber, with one high, narrow slit of a window, bare of furniture save for a couple of chests and a broken chair, over which the dust lay thick. “since you will have no better lodging, you shall stay here,” he said coldly.
-dragging his way in, hugh flung himself down on a chest with his head in his hands. “could you let me have a drink of water, sir?” he asked faintly.
-“go to my chamber and fetch the flask of spanish wine, lois,” master oldesworth bade, and hugh heard the girl’s footsteps die away in the corridor, then heard or heeded nothing, just sat with his face hidden.
-a touch on the shoulder roused him at last; he took the glass of wine his grandfather offered him and slowly drank it down. they were alone in the room now, he noted as he drank, the door was drawn to, and lois was gone. he set down the empty glass and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “i thank you, sir, for this, for all you have saved me from,” he said slowly.
-“you might thank me for more, if you were less self-willed.”
-“’tis not from self-will, sir, i did as i have done, that i refused my parole,” hugh broke out, “’tis for my father. i cannot bind myself. i must go to him. i—”
-“no more words of that man,” master oldesworth silenced him. “you shall never go to him again. a year ago i dealt not wisely with you. i gave you choice where you were too young to choose. for all your folly there are parts in you too good for me to suffer you destroy yourself. now where i let you walk at your will i shall see to it that you keep the right path, by force, if you drive me to it. for the present i shall hold you in safe custody at everscombe. later, as you conduct yourself, i shall determine what course to take.”
-“but my father!” hugh cried.
-“captain oldesworth will deal with alan gwyeth,” master oldesworth replied. “do you forget him.”
-“i can never forget him, sir. sure, i’d liefer be hanged with him than be saved apart from him thus. i—”
-the door closed jarringly behind master oldesworth, the key grated in the lock, and the bolt was shot creakingly.
-for a time hugh sat staring stupidly at the door of his prison, then, getting slowly to his feet, he began dragging and shoving the chest beneath the window. his hands were still unsteady and he felt limp and weak, so again and again he must pause to sit down. the little room was close and hot; the perspiration prickled on the back of his neck, and stung above his eyebrows. the movement of the chest cleared a white space on the gray floor, and the dust that rose thick sifted into his mouth and nostrils till he was coughing painfully with a miserable feeling that it needed but little for the coughing to end in sobbing. he hated himself for his weakness, and, gritting his teeth, shoved the chest the more vigorously till at last it was in position beneath the window. lifting the one chair upon it, he mounted up precariously; the sill of the window came level with his collar bone while the top grazed his forehead. he stretched up his arms and measured the length and breadth of the opening twice over, but he knew it was quite hopeless; there was no getting through that narrow window, and, had it been possible, he must risk a sheer fall of two stories to the flagged walk below. for a moment he stood blinking out at the green branches of the elms that swayed before his window, then he dropped to the floor again and sat down on the chest with his face in his hands.
-so he was still sitting, when the door was unlocked and one of the serving men of the household came in to fetch him dinner. hugh looked up, and, recognizing the fellow, would have spoken, but the man only shook his head and backed out hastily. hugh noted that it was no trooper’s rations they had sent him, but food from his grandfathers table; still he had no heart to eat, though he drank eagerly, till presently he reasoned this was weak conduct, for he must keep up strength if he were ever to come out of his captors’ hands, so, drawing the plate to him, he resolutely swallowed down a tolerable meal.
-then he set himself to watch the motes dance in a sunbeam that ran well up toward the ceiling, but presently it went out altogether. he leaned back then on the chest where he sat, and perhaps had lost himself a time in a numb, half-waking sleep, when of a sudden he caught a distant sound that brought him to his feet. he could not mistake it; off to the east where kingsford lay he could hear the faint crack of musketry fired in volleys. hugh cried out something in a hoarse voice he did not recognize; then he was wrenching at the latch and hammering on the door with his clinched hands, while he shrieked to them to let him go. he saw the blood smearing out from his knuckles, but he beat on against the unshaken panels till the strength left him and he dropped down on the floor. still, as he lay, he could hear the distant firing, and then he ground his face down between his hands and cried as he had never cried before with great sobs that seemed to tear him.
-afterward there came a long time when he had not strength even to sob, when the slackening fire meant nothing to him, and, lying motionless and stupid, he realized only that the light was paling in the chamber. the door was pushed open, and mechanically he rolled a little out of the way of it. the serving man he remembered came in with supper, and at sight of him hugh lifted up his head and entreated brokenly: “tell me, what has happened? have they taken my father? for the love of heaven, tell me.”
-the man hesitated, then, as he passed to the doorway, bent down and whispered: “they’ve beat the cavaliers into the church, sir, but they’ve not taken the captain yet. lord bless you, don’t cry so, sir.”
-he awoke in darkness, his blood tingling and his pulses a-jump in a childish momentary fear at the strangeness of the place and a something else he could not define. he had recollected his position and laid down his head again, with a little effort to place himself more comfortably upon the floor, when there came a second time the noise that must have wakened him,—a stealthy faint click of the latch, as if the door were being softly opened. hugh sprang to his feet and set his back to the wall, in the best position for defence, if it were some enemy, if it were captain oldesworth came seeking him. the door was opening, he perceived, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. “who is it?” he asked in a guarded tone.
-“hush! ’tis i, lois.”
-hugh caught his breath in a gasp of relief. “lois, you’ve come to free me?” he whispered, and, stepping softly to her, fumbled in the dark and found her hand.
-“yes, yes. i was afraid for you. i told master oldesworth that peregrine was bragging how the captain would serve you. he saved you that time. but ’tis possible the captain will lay hands on you again. i slipped into master oldesworth’s chamber and took the key. i know ’tis wicked; i care not. pull off your boots and come away, quick.”
-noiselessly as he could, hugh got his boots in his hand and in his stockinged feet stole out of the chamber. in the corridor it was all black and still, just as it had been that other time when he ran from everscombe, only now lois was with him, and when the stairs creaked they pressed close together. then she went forward boldly, and he, still half-blinded with sleep, was content to follow the guidance of her hand. “in here,” she whispered at length, and so led him into the east parlor, where the great clock still ticked, solemn and unperturbed. “go out at the window,” lois spoke softly; “i dare not open the door. there are a few men in the house, but they lie in the west wing and the stables. the bulk are at kingsford. northward you will find the way clear.”
-“i am not going northward,” hugh answered, as he warily pushed open the casement. “i go to my father now.”
-leaning from the casement hugh dropped his boots carefully where the dark showed an edge of grass bordered the flagged walk; as he set himself astride the window ledge he spoke: “’tis just the thing i shall do, lois, and the only thing. if you be sorry for what you did, call, if you will, but i shall jump and run for it.”
-“i shall not call,” she answered. “oh, i care not who has the right and wrong of the war. i cannot bear they should hurt you.”
-she was kneeling on the window-bench with her face close to his; he suddenly bent forward and kissed her. “god bless you for this, lois,” he said.
-then he swung himself over the window ledge, and letting his weight come on his hands dropped noiselessly to the walk below. he dragged on his boots, and taking a cautious step across the flagstones slid down the terrace to the lawn. once more he glanced back, not at everscombe manor house, but at the opened window of the east parlor. it was too dark more than to distinguish the outline of the casement, but he knew that at the lattice lois was still standing to wish him god speed to his father.
-chapter xxi the fatherhood of alan gwyeth
-the sky was bluish black with heavy masses of clouds, but through a rift in the west showed a bright star, by which hugh guessed roughly it must be within two hours of dawn. quickening his pace to a run at that, he came into the shelter of the park, where it was all black, and he went forward blindly, with one arm thrust up to guard his face. now and again he had through the tree-tops a distant sight of the sky, and by it took his directions; but for the most part he stumbled on haphazard, though at a brisk pace, for the night was passing rapidly. when at length he crushed his way through a thicket to the edge of the brook that marked the bounds of the park, the bright western star had sunk out of sight behind the trees.
-beyond the brook he hurried through a tract of woodland, where he bore to the southward to keep clear of the kingsford highway and a farmstead that lay back from it. he came out in a cornfield, where the blades felt damp against his face as he forced a rustling passage through, and after that climbed over a wall into the open fields. there were no more houses to avoid before he reached the village, so with less caution he pressed on at a good jog-trot. for the night was waning, and kingsford was still to come.
-an ominous pale streak showed in the east before him as he climbed the swell of land that cut off sight of the village. fearing lest his figure show up too distinctly against the sky line, he made for a clump of bushes at the summit, and had just got within their shadow when he caught the sound of hoof-beats. dropping flat he dragged himself in under the bushes, where, peering out between the leaves, he saw the black bulk of a horseman ride along the slope below him. a little to hugh’s left he pulled up and called to another rider a challenge that reached the boy’s ears quite clearly, then turned and came pacing back.
-they had set a mounted guard about the town, then; and with that hugh told himself he must slip past it and quickly, too, or the dawn would be upon him. but first he waited for the horseman’s return, to know what was the time between his passing and repassing, and while he waited he strained his eyes into the dark to get the lay of the land. at the foot of the rising ground was a hollow, he remembered, and across it, on the higher land, stood an irregular line of three cottages, beyond which ran a lane that led by the side wall of the churchyard. very likely troops were lodged about the cottages now, perhaps even more patrols in the hollow, but all he could see was the black depths beneath him and the outline of the nearest cottage. then he heard the sound of hoofs loud again, as once more the horseman on guard rode by below. hugh could make out his form far too clearly; dawn was coming, and he durst stay no longer.
-so soon as the man had turned and paced a rod on his journey back, hugh crawled from beneath the bushes and, rolling noiselessly, creeping on hands and knees, made his way down the hillside. he remembered afterward the feel of the moist grass in his hands, the look of the mottled dark sky and the faint stars, and how at a distant hail in the village he pressed flat on the cold ground. but at last he crawled across a more level space he judged the bridle path, and scrambled down into the depth of the hollow, where a chilly mist set him shivering. as he lay outstretched, resting his weary arms a moment, he heard up above him the horseman ride by.
-now that he was within the lines of the patrol only caution and quickness were necessary. still on hands and knees, he dragged himself slowly up the hillside, bearing ever to the south to get behind the cottages, yet not daring to venture too far, lest he come upon another line of guards. as he approached the first cottage he rose half erect and tried a short run, but the bark of a dog made him drop flat in the grass, where he lay trembling. next instant, realizing that it was better to push on, whatever befell, he sprang up and made a dash to the cover of a hedge behind the second cottage. for now the protection of the night had nearly left him; he could see clearly the lattices of the cottage, the whitish line of highway beyond it, and others might see him as well. but as he crept forward, keeping to the shelter of the hedge, he looked up, and against the gray sky saw what gave him courage. above the farther cottage rose the church tower, and from it stood up a staff on which fluttered a red flag with a splotch of gold upon it; captain gwyeth and his men still were holding out.
-with renewed hope hugh worked his way past the hedge to the shelter of an outbuilding, not a rod from the lane that ran white beneath the lich wall. he could see the church clearly now, the scowling small windows, the close side door, and the gravestones on the slope below. there was little prospect of welcome, he was reckoning anxiously, as he lay crouched against the outbuilding, when suddenly he heard a cry: “stand, there!” off to his right in the lane he beheld a roundhead sentinel halted with his piece levelled.
-springing to his feet hugh dashed across the grass plot to the lane. on the left he heard hoof-beats, then a cry: “shoot him down!” a bullet struck the sand at his feet; he heard men running, and another shot. he heard, too, the crunch of crisp weeds beneath his boots as he crashed into the overgrown tangle beyond the lane. he felt the rough stones on the top of the wall, then he had flung himself clear across it, and was struggling up the slope among the graves. his boots were heavy and hampered him, and his breath seemed gone. he looked up to the dead windows of the church and tried to cry: “king’s men! to the rescue!” but what sound he could make was lost in the din behind him. a bullet struck on a headstone just to one side; then of a sudden came a numbing pain in his left arm. he staggered, stumbled blindly a pace; then the sky was rolled up like a gray scroll, the stars were dancing before his eyes, and he was down flat upon the ground. lifting his head dizzily he had a dim sight of the lane below, men swarming from the cottages, and one he saw leap the wall and come running toward him. hugh’s head dropped back on the ground; he saw the sky pale above and waited for the butt of his pursuer’s musket to crash down upon him, and prayed it might not be long to wait.
-they were still firing, he heard; and he heard, too, quick footsteps behind him and a man breathing fast. he was swung up bodily from the ground, and there came a voice he knew: “your arm round my neck, so. have no fear, hugh; i’ve got you safe.”
-there was firing still and faint cheering; the rest darkness; but before it closed in on him hugh had one blurred glimpse of a strong, blue-eyed face above him, and he knew it was his father who held him.
-the light returned to hugh in a dim and unfamiliar place; high above him, as he lay on his back, he had sight of a vaulted roof full of shadows. his head felt heavy and dazed, so he did not care to stir or speak, just closed his eyes again. there had been faces about him, he remembered vaguely, and he felt no surprise when he heard a voice that was unmistakably ridydale’s: “he’s coming round, sir.”
-they were pressing a wet cloth to his forehead, hugh judged, and his head was aching so he tried to thrust up his arm to stop them. “let—me—alone,” he forced the words out faintly, and opened his eyes. it was his father who was bathing his head, he saw, and remembering what brought him thither his mind went back to the formal message he had framed on the way from tamworth. “captain gwyeth, sir william pleydall bade me deliver word, he will send you relief; it shall come to-morrow.”
-“saxon, take that word to lieutenant von holzberg,” captain gwyeth’s voice came curtly. “spread it through the troop that help is coming.—spare farther speaking now, hugh; i understand.”
-hugh closed his eyes heavily and lay quiet. he felt a wet cloth tied round his head, and then he winced through all his body as a knife ripped halfway up his sleeve. “thank heaven, ’tis only a clean flesh wound,” he heard the captain say. “nay, jack, i’ll hold him. do you bandage it.”
-hugh felt himself lifted up till his head rested against the captain’s shoulder. half opening his eyes he had a confused sight down the nave of the church, only now it seemed unfamiliar, for the pews were torn from their places and piled up against the great entrance door. up and down by the walls men were pacing, and some lay silent on the floor of the choir, and some he heard groaning as they lay. then he closed his eyes and clinched his teeth, for his arm was aching rarely, so the lightest touch made him shrink. he wondered if the bandages they were putting on would never end, and if he could keep on biting down all sign of pain, when at last ridydale spoke: “there, sir, ’tis done the best i could. if we only had water to wash the hurt properly!”
-that suggested to hugh that his mouth was dry, so he said under his breath: “i am thirsty.”
-“if there be a drop of water in the place, fetch it,” captain gwyeth bade; and a moment later hugh’s head was lifted up and a cup set to his lips. it was brackish water, and very little at that; he swallowed it with one gulp, and opened his eyes to look for more. “nay, that’s the last,” the captain spoke out. “’tis an ill lodging you have taken with us. i would to god you were elsewhere!”
-with the scant power of his returning strength, hugh tried to move clear of the arm that was about him. “i had hoped, this time, you would not be sorry to see me,” he broke out, in a voice that quavered in spite of himself.
-he heard the captain give a sharp order to ridydale to be off, and he felt it was to save the dignity which had almost slipped from him. he put his head down on the captain’s shoulder again. “father, you are glad to have me, after all,” he said softly.
-he felt the sudden tension of the arm that drew him closer, though when captain gwyeth spoke, his tone was of the driest: “after the trouble i’ve had to get hold of you, do you not think ’tis reasonable i should be glad?” then he cut short all response with a hasty: “lie you down here now and be quiet. you’ve been knocked just enough for you to make a fool of yourself if you try to talk.”
-hugh grinned weakly, and suffered his father to put him down with his head upon a folded cloak. “i’ll send ridydale to have an eye to you,” the captain said in a low tone, “and if anything happens, i’ll be near.” then he rose and tramped away down the nave of the church, but hugh, watching him through half-shut eyes, saw him halt to glance back.
-after that hugh lay a long time in a heavy, half-waking state, where he listened to the slow pacing up and down of those about him who kept guard, and to the quicker step of men who, on other errands, hastened across the reëchoing church; he heard men shout orders across the aisles or nearer to him speak in curt monosyllables; and he heard, too, all the time, the labored groaning of one who must lie somewhere near. then there were moments when, losing all sounds, he drifted off into an unknown world, where he lived over again the happenings of the last hours, and struggled in the water of the arrow, and fought oldesworth’s troopers, and made the last run through the churchyard under the roundhead fire.
-it was a relief to come back to consciousness and find himself lying comfortably on the floor of the choir with the dark roof far above him. a glint of purple sunlight from a broken window wavered on the ground beside him, and, forcing his mind to follow one train of thought, he contrived at last to reason out that it must be past noon. pulling himself up on his sound arm, he tried to look about the church, but the effort made his head ache so he was glad to lie down. but he had got sight of ridydale, who stood on a bench beneath one of the tall windows in speech with a trooper, and after a moment’s rest he called the corporal by name.
-ridydale stepped down, carabine in hand, and came to hugh’s side. “is there anything you’ll be wanting, sir?” he began.
-“yes,” hugh replied, “i’d take it kindly of you if you’d just tell me what hit me that time.”
-ridydale grinned and settled himself close by on the steps of the altar with his carabine across his knees. “’tis all very simple, master hugh,” he explained. “they wasted a deal of lead trying to wing you,—they’re clumsy marksmen, those roundhead cowherds. somehow, by good luck, they contrived to shoot you in the arm. i take it you stumbled on one of those sunken stones, then, for you went down and broke your head against another gravestone.”
-“was that it?” hugh asked, in some mortification.
-“and then the colonel stepped out and fetched you in. we had sight of you, those that were keeping the west windows, as you came down to the lane. ‘it’s hugh,’ says the colonel, sharplike; ‘unbar the door.’ soon as we had the barrier tore down, and we made short work of it, he out after you. ’twas a most improper thing, too,” ridydale grumbled; “captain of a troop to risk himself under a fire like that for a mere volunteer. when there were others ready enough to go out. maybe you were too flustered, sir, to note what a pretty shot i had at the knave who followed you over the wall?”
-hugh confessed he had missed that sight.
-“ay, ’twas not a shot to be ashamed of,” the corporal resumed, pulling his mustache with much satisfaction. “’twas brisk give and take we were having then, sir. the colonel had a bullet through the skirts of his coat ere he got you within the church. ay, ’twas improper conduct of him. what would have become of us all, tell me now, had he been hurt?”
-“perhaps it does not matter to him whether it gets here at sunrise or sunset,” the captain remarked dispassionately. “it makes a mighty deal of difference to us, though.” he stuck his hands in his pockets and stood staring up at the broken window where the sun came through. in the strong light hugh noted how haggard his face looked about the eyes, and how three days of neglect showed in the red-gold beard. but when the captain turned from the window there was a laugh in his eyes. “jack,” he addressed ridydale, who was standing at attention, “what devilry do you suppose tommy oldesworth is at now that he keeps so quiet?”
-“shall i try a shot to stir him up, sir?” the corporal proffered.
-“not for your life, jack. go rest you, while they let us.”
-as ridydale strode off, captain gwyeth, with a soberer look, set himself down in his place. “you ought to know, hugh, that we’re in a bad way,” he spoke out in a brusque, low tone.
-“there’s help coming,” hugh answered stoutly, and dragged himself up on one elbow so he could rest against the steps beside his father.
-“ay, but it must be quick,” the captain replied, “for oldesworth is hot upon us. he came hither this morning under the white flag to advise us surrender to his mercy ere he batter down our walls.”
-“ordnance?” hugh asked blankly.
-“he may bring it from warwick. our only hope is that he may be so long in the bringing it— well, he’s bravely worried that you got in to us, else he’d not have offered us terms. he’s troubled about that relief; and, faith, i’m troubled, too. the men will hold out another twenty-four hours in the hope, but we’ve had neither food nor drink since yesterday afternoon. and we are scant thirty men now, and there are six with disabling wounds besides.”
-“couldn’t i make one in the fighting?” hugh ventured hesitatingly. “i might not be able to steady a carabine with one hand, but i could load—”
-“then we could not use you long,” the captain said, with a dry laugh. “that’s the crowning curse of it all, hugh; there’s not above three bullets left to a man.”
-hugh gazed down the dismantled church, where the pews were all turned to sorry defences and the windows were shattered with the rebel balls. he noted, too, the set, weary faces of the nearest men on guard, and something of the hopelessness of the whole position came home to him. his face must have shown his thought, for the captain suddenly put a hand on his shoulder. “that’s why i’m sorry you are here,” he said briefly.
-“i care not for that,” hugh choked, “but if they do not bring aid in time,—peregrine said they would hang you.”
-“peregrine?” the captain queried. “tut, tut! he should be old enough by now to know a gentleman does not let himself be taken and hanged while he has weapons in his hands. though i knew from the start ’twould be a fight to the death if ever i came sword to sword with the oldesworths.” there was a space of silence, then he broke out: “i suppose they taught you i was a scoundrel, did they not?”
-“at the last, yes, my grandfather said it,” hugh admitted, “but while my mother lived she told me only good of you.”
-“then, she had forgiven me?” the captain asked in a low tone.
-hugh’s eyes were not on him, but straying across the church to where the great oldesworth pew had stood; even at that distance he seemed to read on the tablet set in the wall the name, “ruth gwyeth.” “she did not hold there was anything to forgive; she said the wrong had all been hers,” he broke out; “she said you were the best and noblest gentleman that ever lived, and far too good for her.”
-“poor lass, poor lass!” the captain said under his breath; he was sitting with one hand shielding his eyes, hugh noted, but of a sudden he looked down at the boy and spoke curtly: “so you came seeking me, believing all that, and then i thrust you out of doors?”
-hugh nodded without looking at his father; he was conscious of a queer, shamed feeling, as if he had been himself at fault.
-“yet you stood up before that hound bellasis and took that hack in the face for me. i used you like a villain, hugh,” the captain blurted out; “even ruth could not forgive me for it. but, lad, if we come alive from this, i’ll strive to make you forget it.”
-“i am forgetting now,” hugh said honestly. “and if you’d looked as if you wanted me, i’d ha’ come to you before.”
-“i did want you. and you waited for me to look it, did you? i’m thinking we’re something alike, lad.” he put his arm about the boy’s neck with a sudden, half rough caress. “turner said you had as decent a courage as most lads and a bit more sense,” he broke out. “faith, i believe him. and if we come through here you shall have a chance to show it to every man in the troop, yes, to the same fellows that flogged you.”
-hugh edged a little nearer his father. “i’d do my best to show them; i’d like the chance,” he answered; then added thoughtfully, “though, after all, i am not sorry for that flogging. if i’d not known some hard knocks already, they might have been able to frighten me yesterday.”
-there he stopped, unavailingly, for the captain pounced down on him and did not rest till he got the whole history of the last hours. hugh put all the emphasis he could on master oldesworth and on lois, but peregrine and thomas oldesworth were dragged in at the captain’s urgence, and the captain’s face grew ominous. “’twas not clean dealings on tom oldesworth’s part,” he said betwixt his teeth. “well, when it comes to the last we’ll remember it against him.”
-with that he got up to go about his business, but presently strode back with a cushion. “put that under your head, hugh,” he bade, and taking up the cloak helped the boy wrap it round him. “you’ll find it cold here in the church as soon as the sun goes down,” he explained. “try to sleep, though; get what strength you can against to-morrow.”
-after he had gone, hugh settled himself to sleep, but it took a time, for his arm ached relentlessly, and his head was hot and his mouth dry. moment after moment he lay staring down the dusky church, where the twilight was filling in, and harked to the slow step of those on guard. the shades had gathered dark, and his eyes were closing, when he realized that the man who had been groaning in the transept was quiet now. he guessed what that meant, and something of the ugliness of death came home to him. he sat up eagerly to look for some companionship, then felt ashamed and lay down again to listen and listen once more, and think on peregrine’s threats and thomas oldesworth’s set, implacable face. when he went to sleep at last his kinsmen followed him, even through his dreams.
-dreams, recollections, of a sudden all were blotted out. he was sitting up, he knew, in a place that save for two feeble flickers of light was pitchy black, he heard men running and shouting, and, over all and subduing all, he heard a crash, crash which he judged bewilderedly to be of cannonading. the roof must fall soon, he feared, and scrambling to his feet he ran forward into the darkness and tumult. above the uproar he caught captain gwyeth’s voice, steady and distinct: “lieutenant von holzberg, your squadron to their stations at the windows. corporal ridydale, take six men and bear the wounded down into the crypt.”
-following the voice, hugh stumbled into the transept and, getting used to the dark, had a vague sight of his father, who, with his hands behind him, stood giving orders to right and left. hugh leaned against the wall close by and kept his hand to his head that throbbed and beat with each stroke of the cannon and shake of the building. during a lull in the firing he caught the captain’s voice in a lower key: “you here, hugh?”
-“i—i take it i was frightened up,” he stammered. “you’ll help me to a sword before the end?”
-“no need for that yet,” captain gwyeth answered. “they’ll not be able to batter in these walls for hours. and by then—” his voice took a curious change of tone: “you are sure, hugh, they made no mention of what time saturday the aid would come?”
-“no, none,” hugh replied; “but ’twill surely come, sir. dick promised.”
-“well, well, we’ve much to hope,” said the captain, “and, faith, that’s all we can do now. sit down here, hugh,” he went on, leading him over to the pulpit stairs. “i’ve a notion ’twould be pleasing if i could lay hands on you when i want you.”
-then he went back into the din and confusion of the nave, and hugh, leaning his head against the balustrade, harked dazedly to the successive boom of cannon. through it all he found space in his heart to be glad that his father had not suggested sending him down into the crypt with the other wounded.
-out through a shattered window to the east he had sight of a strip of sky, uneven with clouds, and some small stars. little by little they paled while he sat there, and still the guns kept up their clamor. once, after the shot, came a great rattling, and a piece of stone crashed down from the western wall; hugh heard a confused running in that direction, and the captains voice that checked it. once again, when oddly he had fallen into a numb sort of doze, came another shattering crash, and right upon it a man screamed out in a way that made hugh shudder and choke. after that he dozed no more, but rigid and upright sat listening.
-it was light enough to distinguish faces when at length captain gwyeth, with his brows drawn and his teeth tugging at one end of his mustache, came up to him. “i’ve a sling here for that arm of yours,” he said brusquely, beginning to fasten the bandage. “’twould be in your way for any fighting purposes. and here’s a sword. you may have to use it, unless our friends come quickly.” then he paused a time by hugh, not speaking, but scowling upon the floor, and at last strode moodily away.
-the light broadened and brightened within the church; a patch of sunshine gleamed upon the floor, and through an east window hugh could catch the rays of yellow light glinting across the sombre leaves of the yew tree. it was a rare, warm, august day, a strange time for a life and death struggle, he told himself, as he drew the sword clumsily from its scabbard. then he looked to the western wall of the church, where the light was smiting in now at a great gap and the crumbled stones lay scattered across the floor. up above he saw a broken fragment of the roof that hung and swayed so its motion fascinated him. of a sudden, as he gazed stupidly, he became aware the cannonading had ceased, and he wondered that he had not marked it before. then he heard again his father’s curt, quick tones, and saw the troopers quit their stations to gather opposite the gap in the wall.
-getting to his feet, hugh went down to join the others. at the west door he perceived von holzberg standing with six men, but he passed on into the nave of the church. there at the gap the men had fallen into double line, a battered, haggard little company, some in their breastpieces, some in their shirt-sleeves. there were bandaged arms and bandaged heads among them, hugh noted, but the carabines were all in hand, and each had his sword, too, ready at his side. captain gwyeth was with ridydale, peering out at the gap in the wall, but now he turned to his men. “as you see, they have made a practicable breach in our walls,” he began. “now they have it in mind to storm us, and afterward knock us o’ the head. so it behooves you fight for your worthless skins. and in any case, if they destroy us, see to it a good crew of these cursed rebels go to hell before us.”
-just there ridydale, standing by the breach in the wall, spoke: “captain gwyeth, the rebels are advancing up the hill.”
-chapter xxii after the victory
-in the moments while the besieged held their fire, a hush came upon the church. hugh could hear the footfalls startlingly loud as he led his squadron briskly to the main door, but it did not seem it was himself who went forward. he saw the floor slip by him and heard his own tread, but it was in an impersonal way, as if it were another man who was to fight that last fight, while he stood by, unmoved and unaffected, and watched and passed judgment. before him now he saw the entrance door, with the broken pews heaped in a stiff barricade; to the right, beneath the window, the ends of the barrier furnished some foothold, so he started to scramble up and reconnoitre. his injured arm made him awkward; at the first step he tottered, and was glad that one of his followers caught him about the body to steady him. glancing down he saw that it was hardwyn, but he felt no surprise; everything now was beyond wonder. “keep hold on me, corporal,” he said, as if hardwyn had never been any but his obedient underling, and made a move to step to the next projection.
-just there the heavy stillness of the church was broken by a jarring rattle of carabine fire that sent a cracking echo through the high roof. looking over his shoulder hugh saw gray smoke belch across the nave, and saw the ordered movement of the men as the second line, with their carabines raised, stepped forward to the breach. right as he looked the second volley rolled out, and there came a cracked and dry-throated cheering from the men. “four volleys left,” he heard hardwyn beside him mutter. “best cheer while we can.”
-once more there was a lull, and hugh, getting his sound hand on the window ledge, pulled himself up, balancing precariously upon the broken boards, and peered out. he could see the white walk that ran up to the porch, and on either hand the untroubled graves, but he beheld no enemy astir. venturing to lean a little from the window, he saw the roadway beyond the church wall, the arch of the bridge, the water beneath, bright in the sun, and across it the slope of hillside road. there hugh’s eyes rested, and then his voice came high and shrill so he scarcely knew it: “hardwyn, look, look you there! what is coming?”
-hardwyn was elbowing him at the window; through the crash of the fourth volley he heard the barrier creak under the weight of the rest of the little squadron as they pressed up about him. but he did not take his eyes from the hilltop till, black and clear against the sky, a moving line of horse swung into view.
-“cavalry, sir,” spoke hardwyn, imperturbably, but hugh had already turned from the window. “run to the captain, saxon,” he cried. “tell him they are coming. relief, relief!” his voice rose to a shout that carried through the church, and his squadron took up the cry, and ended with a cheer that spread even to the fighters at the breach.
-through the uproar sounded captain gwyeth’s voice: “if they will have it, out at them!”
-the besieged swarmed forth at the breach, and hugh, plunging headlong down off the barrier, ran to join them. the stones slipped noisily beneath his feet, and as he stumbled over the crest of the debris he turned his ankle. outside the hot blur of sunshine dazzled him; he was conscious of light, light all around him, and men, grappling, clubbing, stabbing, in a tumult that bewildered his brain. loud amidst the shrieks and oaths and cries for quarter rattled the crack, crack of carabines and small arms, but through it all he could hear the hollow thud, thud of horses thundering across the bridge. some one struck at him, and instinctively he defended himself, though it was hard to swing a sword in the press. then, getting sight of his father’s red head, clear from the breach in the thick of the fight, he forced his way down to his side. at the foot of the fallen stones he stumbled over a man and, as he recovered himself, came one who tried to strike him with a clubbed musket. hugh ducked, and, as he bent, saw the trampled grass beneath his feet, then, thrusting low, came away unscathed. still he heard the thud, thud of coming horses, and now, too, he caught clearly from the undistinguishable shouts and yells the cry: “for a king! god and the king!”
-hugh had one glimpse of horsemen leaping the low wall; then he was guarding himself from the slashes of a roundhead trooper, and only just saved his head. he gave the man back an undercut, when suddenly the fellow cast the sword from his hand. “i yield me, sir. quarter!” he cried.
-hugh paused, and, glancing about him now, saw the battle was indeed over. down in the road troopers in red sashes were guarding the way, and men of the same color were swarming up through the churchyard, but there was no resistance, save here and there where single conflicts were still contested to the end. then hugh spied alan gwyeth, picking himself up from the grass at the foot of the shattered wall, and he ran thither, just as the captain dragged to his feet the man with whom he had been grappling. it was thomas oldesworth, hugh saw, with the dirt grimed into his coat and his face streaming blood; he stood unsteadily with one hand pressed to his side, but his lips were hard set as ever. “take him within the church and look to him,” the captain bade ridydale, and then there was no room for thought of the vanquished, for captain turner came riding comfortably up the slope and hailed them: “good day to you, captain gwyeth. is there enough of the troop left to pay us for posting hither to rescue you?”
-“rescue be hanged!” said the captain, ungraciously, as he stood wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “we could a held out three hours longer.”
-“vour hours und more,” put in the stolid von holzberg, and such of the troop as had gathered thither murmured a resentful assent.
-“well, well, i crave all your pardons for coming so inopportunely,” turner answered dryly, and then: “so that lad of yours got through in safety? better go look for lieutenant strangwayes, master gwyeth; i think he’s troubled about you. he has ridden on the trail of the rebels a piece.”
-hugh started down the slope, but, chancing to glance back, saw michael turner had dismounted, and he and captain gwyeth were embracing each other amicably. then he went on down the sunny hillside, and across one mound saw a man lying motionless on his back, and down by the wall one who, pulling himself up on his elbow, called for water. but hugh could give him no heed, for up the white, hot roadway he saw a squadron coming, and at its head a black horse that he knew. he scrambled up on the low wall and stood staring and meaning to call, but could not find voice till the black horse had shot out from the bulk of the squadron, and dick strangwayes had reined up by the wall. “hugh! and safe?” he asked in a low tone.
-hugh came down off the wall and reached up to grasp dick’s hand. “safe, i think; i’m not sure yet. and, dick, ’tis all well now between my father and me.” then he stood a moment with his head leaning against black boy’s neck, and gazed up into dick’s face and the dazzle of blue sky beyond, but found nothing he could say.
-“so you’re alive, old hugh?” came frank’s voice behind him. “faith, you’re a lucky lad. here’s your bay horse i borrowed, turn and turn about. you can ride him back, for we’ll have enough and to spare.”
-there they must break off speech, for turner, leading his horse carefully, came down from the church and with him captain gwyeth. “call the troop to saddle again, lieutenant,” turner ordered; “we’ll ride for everscombe and entreat these people give the captain back his horses.”
-“i’ll ride with you,” spoke alan gwyeth; “i want to see the house again.” then he turned to hugh and asked in a low tone: “you say ’twas your grandfather took you out of captain oldesworth’s hands?”
-“yes, sir. he sent me dinner, too, though i was not feeling hungry then.”
-as he was clambering back over the wall into the graveyard, frank came panting in his trail. “captain turner bade me stay with you,” he announced; “sure, he has less liking to me as a volunteer than as an officer.”
-“nonsense! ’tis only that he does not wish to take you home wounded. and if they find the jade at everscombe they’ll bring her—”
-up in the church, whither the wounded and prisoners were being brought, hugh reported himself to von holzberg, who despatched him with a squad to forage out food in the village. the roundheads had already stripped it pretty clean, but in an hour’s time hugh secured enough for his father’s hungry troop, and, leaving frank idling in the village street, led his men back to the church. in the shade outside several of gwyeth’s troop, battered and weary, were easing themselves with grumbling that they had not been suffered to come share in the plunder of everscombe. the word put it in hugh’s head that now he had eaten and felt a bit like himself he would gladly ride to the manor house and, if he could, thank his grandfather for the kindness he had thought to show him. with that intention he passed into the church to seek von holzberg and get his permission for the journey.
-at first, as he came from the bright sunlight, the shadows within the church blinded him, but he could hear the sorry groaning of injured men, and presently made out that the wounded were laid in the transept before him. it was an ugly, pitiful sight, and knowing his helplessness to aid he passed on quickly into the choir, where he had caught sight of ridydale. once more the corporal was seated with his carabine on the altar stairs, but he now had on his grimmest look, for down in hugh’s old place lay captain oldesworth. they must have looked to his hurts somewhat, for the blood had been washed from his face, and his coat was flung open as if his side had been bandaged; he lay quiet now, with his eyes closed and his lips white, but hugh, remembering how mercilessly the man had dealt by him, told himself he did not pity him. without heeding the captain he stepped over to ridydale and asked him where lieutenant von holzberg might be found. “he has just passed down into the nave, master hugh,” said ridydale relaxing his grimness a trifle. “crave your pardon, sir, i should have called you cornet gwyeth now.”
-“perhaps not yet,” hugh answered discreetly; “sir william pleydall will have a word to say in the matter.”
-“humph!” ridydale retorted conclusively. “hasn’t colonel gwyeth said you were his cornet? what more would you have?”
-hugh laughed, and was turning away, when he perceived that captain oldesworth had opened his eyes and was watching him; he halted short and waited, for he would not be the first to speak. “so it’s your day now,” oldesworth began, in an even tone that might be construed a dozen ways.
-“fortune of war, sir,” hugh answered coldly.
-“you got in, after all,” the captain pursued, with something like a groan. “that comes of letting a civilian meddle with military matters. if you had remained in my hands—” there he broke off. “i crave your forgiveness, sir,” he finished, with a bitterness that angered hugh, yet moved him to something faintly like compassion, “i had forgot; a prisoner should be circumspect in speech.”
-it was on hugh’s tongue to retort that cavalier gentlemen were not wont to mishandle their prisoners, but he thought on dennis butler, and that speech was silenced. he merely said: “my father will not abuse you, sir,” and had half a mind to pass on, when oldesworth struggled up on his elbow. “tell me one thing, hugh,” he broke out as if against his will, “has peregrine been taken?”
-“no, sir, not here at kingsford.”
-oldesworth sank down again with his head on his arm. “he ran away, then,” he said in a constrained voice. “he should have come in with the other squadron. we need not have been so cut to pieces had the whole troop been there. lieutenant ingram came in with me; he was killed at the breach. and peregrine ran away.” he paused a moment, then spoke half to himself, “if i come free again i’ll strip him out of his commission for this.”
-hugh dropped on one knee beside his uncle. “i pray you, sir, take it not so to heart,” he urged, “mayhap ’twas not that he ran away—”
-“nay, i know peregrine,” captain oldesworth answered. “i would ’twere he had turned cavalier and you had stayed roundhead; you’d not have slunk off to save your skin.” but next moment he spoke in his bitterest tone: “nay, get you hence, lad. i don’t want your pity; i’d liefer have your hate.” then he turned his face to the wall, still with his mouth hard set, and closed his eyes.
-there was nothing more to be said, hugh saw, so he came to his feet slowly, with a feeling that after all he was sorry for oldesworth, in his pain and bitter humiliation, much though he had deserved it. he turned again to ridydale and said under his breath: “corporal, if you love me put on a less appalling face and use the gentleman more civilly. after all, he is my kinsman.”
-hugh promised soberly, then, as they trotted along the highway, relapsed into heavy silence. but frank still chattered on gayly, insisting on a rejoinder: “how does it seem to come home thus? sure, you’re a dutiful lad to ride this distance to see your grandfather.”
-hugh blinked at bayard’s erect ears, and told himself in dull fashion that while he was at everscombe he would see lois again and thank her, but he did not hold it necessary to speak it all to frank.
-a little patrol of horse guarded the park gate, but knowing hugh they suffered him pass through with his companions. for all the roadway was cut with horse hoofs they ventured a brisk trot, and so came speedily out into the open, and following the track across the lawn drew up by the west wing. the rest of the house was silent, but here were stationed two sentinels of turner’s troop, a wagon had just been brought lumbering to the door, and from within the long guardroom strangwayes himself hailed them: “get off your horse, and come in, master cornet. i’ve recovered my cuirass from the plunder of these crop-eared thieves, and i’m thinking i’ve lighted on your buff coat and sword.”
-sliding off his horse, hugh strode briskly into the big room. at one side a long table had been hastily set forth, at which a squad of turner’s men were making a nondescript meal, but the rest of the hall was littered with arms and accoutrements that the troopers were still fetching in noisily; they must have stripped the manor house of every warlike furnishing. “yes, the work is near done, and we can be off,” strangwayes said low to hugh. “sure, i’m not the man will be sorry. did you know, my lad, there’s a harder thing than storming a town, and that’s to keep your troop from stealing the town after you’ve taken it? as ’tis a sort of family matter captain gwyeth is loath to have this house plundered, so we’ve done our best. but it’s well leveson’s thieves have been used in clearing the stable; our own men have held the house, and they are the best and most obedient in the regiment. i’ve knocked down one or two of them, and put three under arrest, and promised a few floggings, but barring that they’ve been good as lambs and not stole from the house more than each man can hide in his pockets. trust them? i’d trust my troop anywhere, that i had my eyes on it,” he concluded lugubriously. “but now i’m going to risk taking one eye off them and leave griffith to see the spoils loaded in the wagons, while i tie up your hurts again.”
-accordingly, strangwayes sent men running for water and bandages, and, putting hugh on a bench against the wall, was dressing his head and arm, when captain gwyeth came in. hugh caught sight of him as he paused an instant in the doorway, and at the changed expression of the man’s face a sudden fear struck him, for it came home to him that, though the captain forgave the son who had defied him, he might never forgive the son’s friend who had threatened to bar the door upon him. it was a new thought, and it checked hugh’s first impulsive movement to rise to meet his father; instead he moved a bit nearer dick. there was an instant’s dangerous silence, then master frank, nodding half-asleep at hugh’s side, perceived captain gwyeth and ran to him. “why, this is a lucky meeting,” he cried, leading the captain over to the bench. “and did i not tell you, sir, when once you were acquainted with hugh, he was a right friendly, generous fellow for all his stubborn face?”
-that made dick turn and come to his feet, stiff and respectful. “maybe ’twill please you look to hugh’s hurt now, sir,” he said, with a slight bow.
-“nay, you’ve looked to his hurts before this, lieutenant,” the captain said slowly. “you’ve the right to do so now.” he hesitated, then held out his hand, and strangwayes took it.
-then as strangwayes, ending his surgery, jumped to his feet to aid griffith in superintending the loading, the captain turned to hugh: “i bade you stay rest at the church, but since you’ve taken your way and come hither you can do me service.” he dropped his voice a little, though they were screened well enough under the racket of the men who were carrying forth the captured arms: “get you to the east wing of the house, where the family have withdrawn, and, if you can, procure access to master oldesworth. he denied it unto me. tell him from me that it is for the sake of his daughter and his daughter’s son that i have saved his house from utter spoil to-day. and tell him that i will use tom oldesworth better than he deserves, and exert my influence to have him speedily exchanged. that’s all.”
-hugh passed out through the confusion to the front of the house, where the carts were loading, and with a rather dubious foreboding crossed the terrace to the east wing. within, the hall was cool and dark with long afternoon shadows; the din of the western quarter drifted hither only faintly, so his mind went back with a vaguely homesick feeling to the peaceful, humdrum days at everscombe a year ago. it seemed like a bit of the old life to go to the door of the east parlor and knock and hear his grandfather’s voice bidding him enter.
-but once inside, hugh knew a year had passed since last he faced master oldesworth there. not only did a glance at his own buff coat and high boots, his sword and bandaged arm recall the change, but he could see his grandfather bent a little in his chair, and his head looked whiter even than it had looked two days before. the old man was sitting by the window, but at hugh’s step he turned toward him with a cold, angry face that made the boy hesitate at first; then taking courage he repeated his father’s message respectfully. master oldesworth’s face relaxed a little at the word of captain oldesworth, and at that hugh ventured to add in his own behalf: “and, aside from my father’s message, sir, i wished to come hither and thank you that you used me so kindly the other day.”
-“i would use you still better if your stiff-necked childishness did not prevent,” the old man answered sternly. “so you will yet refuse what i would offer and follow this man because he is your father?”
-“nay, ’tis not for that now, sir,” hugh replied happily, “’tis because he saved my life yesterday, and he has made me his officer. ’tis because i know him to be a valiant and a kindly gentleman, though his temper is hot. and i must go, too, because my friends all fight for the same cause as he.”
-“so you will play your mother’s part over again,” master oldesworth said sharply, and gazed out at the window so long that hugh made a motion to go, when the old man rose and bade him come to him. “you are set to go your own way, and ’tis a foolish way,” he began, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “’twas her way, too. yet spite of all i loved her best of all my daughters or yet of my sons. well, well, hugh, i would not say it the first time you went, but now if god can look on a man who fights in so unjust a cause i pray he may keep you uncorrupted and turn your heart aright while there is time. now go your way.”
-he turned to the window, and hugh murmured that he thanked him from his heart and would strive never to shame him by his conduct.
-then he passed out into the hall again, and, with his mind on what had just been said, was stepping slowly to the door, when from the stairway he heard his name called. before he faced about he knew it was his sharp-tongued aunt delia, but the sensitive boyish dread of her was all gone now. he turned back briskly to learn her bidding, and as he turned he perceived lois campion standing by her at the foot of the stairs. “’tis well you have come back, hugh gwyeth,” mistress oldesworth began in a cutting voice that might have made hugh wince, only he told himself that she was peregrine’s mother, and peregrine was a coward and a runaway; she had need of words to vent her bitter sorrow. “there is one here maybe has claim on you, if you still hold in remembrance this gentlewoman,” she went on, leading lois forward. “she has remembered you so well that she has forgotten her duty to her kindred and to—”
-“let me go, aunt!” lois cried in a smothered tone. she had brushed by hugh and run out at the open door before he fully comprehended, and without a glance at mistress oldesworth he ran after.
-out under the elms of the east terrace he overtook lois, and catching her hand made her stay. “what is it? what does it mean?” he urged.
-“nothing,” she answered, with her head erect and her cheeks blazing. “only, i can never go under that woman’s roof again. some things even a poor weak-spirited creature like a girl will not endure.”
-“but if you cannot stay at everscombe,” hugh repeated blankly, but next moment he was half laughing. “faith, lois, the time has come now; you shall run away with me. come, we’ll be off at once.”
-the most of the troop had already ridden for kingsford, hugh perceived, as they came to the front of the house, but by the west door dick and frank, with saxon and a trooper or two, still stayed for him. hugh led lois up to his two friends, a bit slowly, for the girl’s steps faltered shyly. “dick,” he began, “this is mistress campion of whom i have told you. they have cast her out from everscombe because she set me free from them yesterday, so ’tis in my mind to take her unto tamworth.”
-dick’s expressive eyebrows went up, but before hugh had time for resentment, or even comprehension, he had swung round on the trooper who waited at black boy’s head: “off to the stable with you and fetch a pillion. frank, use your impudence well and bring out a cloak for mistress campion from the house. ’tis well thought on, hugh, for surely all the regiment is indebted to the gentlewoman who aided you to bear that message. say, by mistress campion’s leave, we convey her to my cousin, mistress cresswell, in worcestershire?”
-“did i not tell you, lois, that dick was the best good fellow ever lived?” hugh broke out.
-“pshaw!” said strangwayes. “get to your saddle, you one-armed warrior. you’ll have all you can do to manage bayard, so i shall entreat mistress campion to ride behind me.”
-in such order they went from everscombe in the late afternoon, and, urging the horses a trifle, for captain turner and captain gwyeth had long since ridden forth, came into kingsford as the sun was setting. already the troops were falling into marching order in the road, and strangwayes, only pausing to bid hugh look that he did not go to sleep and pitch over his saddle-bow ere he reached tamworth, trotted ahead to take his place in the rear of turners men. at a word from him frank followed at his side, but lois, seated behind dick, kept her face turned back to hugh.
-he watched till they passed in the rear of the troop down to the bridge of the arrow, then drew bayard back to the little band that represented gwyeth’s men; the troopers were all in the saddle; behind them leveson’s squads were getting to horse, and the graveyard was deserted. the slope of the hill and the church were red in the sunset but very peaceful now; hugh looked to the church tower and saw no flag was flying. then he heard a voice at his elbow: “the colors, sir.”
-“can you manage the flag, hugh?” spoke captain gwyeth, getting leisurely to horse beside him. “leave it to the corporal if your arm—”
-“sure, sir, i can manage it very well indeed,” hugh broke in, much alarmed; he braced the staff against his stirrup and, resting it in the crook of his elbow, gathered the reins into his sound hand.
-“nay, none shall take it from you, cornet gwyeth,” the captain laughed, and turned to the trumpeter to sound the order to march forward.
-they rode slowly down the slope to the bridge. the water splashed beneath the archway, and the horses’ hoofs sounded hollow on the road; hugh listened happily, while his thoughts sped back to the last time he had crossed the bridge, a friendless little runaway. on the thought he turned in his saddle and gazed back at the church that now showed black against the sunset sky. did the mother who lay buried there, he wondered, know that at last he had found alan gwyeth? he faced slowly to the front again, and as he faced he met the captain’s eyes; there were no words between them, but each guessed something of the other’s thoughts. hugh tightened his hold on bayard’s bridle and drew close, so he rode knee to knee with his father.
-“another bewitching romance” —the times, new york
-the pride of jennico
-being a memoir of captain basil jennico
-agnes and egerton castle
-“picturesque in literary style, rich in local color, rising at times almost to tragic intentness, and bristling throughout with dramatic interest.”—the record, philadelphia.
-"there is a wealth of historic detail which lends an interest to the story apart from the romantic love affair between captain jennico and the princess marie ottilie of lausitz. the hero’s great-uncle had been one of those lucky english adventurers whose catholic religion and jacobite leanings had debarred him from promotion at home, and who had found advancement in the service of austria, and wealth with the hand of a bohemian heiress. such chances were not uncommon with ‘soldiers of fortune’ in the times of queen anne and the early georges. at his uncle’s death, captain basil jennico became the possessor of many millions (reckoned by the florins of that land), besides the great property of tollendahl—fertile plains as well as wild forests, and of the isolated frowning castle of tollendahl with its fathom-thick walls, its odd pictures of half-savage dead and gone woschutzkis, its antique clumsy furniture, tapestries, trophies of chase and war. he became master, moreover, of endless tribes of dependents, heiducks and foresters; females of all ages whose bare feet in summer pattered oddly on the floors like the tread of animals, whose high boots in winter clattered perpetually on the stone flags of stairs and corridors; serf peasants, factors, overseers, the strangest mixture of races that can be imagined; slovacks, bohemians, poles, to labor on the glebe; saxons or austrians to rule over them and cipher out rosters and returns; magyars who condescended to manage his horse-flesh and watch over his safety if nothing else; the travelling bands of gypsies, ever changing, but never failing with the dance, the song and the music, which was as indispensable as salt to the life of that motley population.
-“the story is largely historical, both german and english elements entering into it. the scene changes from the old castle of tollendahl to an english country house and london club, always maintaining its old world flavor.”
-“the tale is gracefully told, and owing partly to this fact and to the novelty of the setting given to basil jennico’s amazing experience, it gains for itself a place apart.... it is an artistic production and it is original.”—the york tribune.
-“one of the newest and best novels of the decade.”—the budget (boston).
-“no such piece of inimitable comedy, in a literary way, has appeared for years.”—the inter-ocean (chicago).
-the forest lovers
-by maurice hewlett
-author of “earth works out of tuscany,” “pan and the young shepherd,” etc.
-james lane allen says:
-“this work, for any one of several solid reasons, must be regarded as of very unusual interest. in the matter of style alone, it is an achievement, an extraordinary achievement ...; in the matter of interpreting nature there are passages in this book that i have never seen surpassed in prose fiction.”
-hamilton w. mabie says:
-“the plot is boldly conceived and strongly sustained; the characters are vigorously drawn and are thrown into striking contrast.... it leads the reader far from the dusty highway; it is touched with the penetrating power of the imagination; it has human interest and idyllic loveliness.”—book reviews.
-the new york tribune says:
-“a series of adventures as original as they are romantic.... ‘the forest lovers’ is a piece of ancient arras; a thing mysteriously beautiful, a book that is real and at the same time radiant with poetry and art. ‘the forest lovers’ will be read with admiration and preserved with something more than respect.”
-the outlook calls it:
-“a story compounded of many kinds of beauty. it has, to begin with, enchanting beauty of background; or rather, it moves through a beautiful world, the play of whose light upon it is subtle, beguiling, and magical.”
-the macmillan company 66 fifth avenue, new york
-generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org)
-note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 52963-h.htm or 52963-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52963/52963-h/52963-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52963/52963-h.zip)
-images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/cuchulainhoundo0hull
-text enclosed by underscores is in italics (italics).
-more detail can be found at the end of the book.
-cuchulain the hound of ulster
-cuchulain the hound of ulster
-author of “the cuchullin saga in irish literature” “pagan ireland” “early christian ireland” etc.
-with eight illustrations by stephen reid
-“bec a brig liomsa sin,” ar cuchulaind, “gen go rabar acht aonla no aonoidchi ar bith acht go mairit m’airdsgeula dom és.” stowe ms., c. 6, 3. r. irish academy.
-“though the span of my life were but for a day,” cuchulain said, “little should i reck of that, if but my noble deeds might be remembered among men.”
-new york thomas y. crowell company publishers
-printed in great britain by turnbull & spears, edinburgh
-the events that circle round king conor mac nessa and cuchulain as their principal figures are supposed to have occurred, as we gather from the legends themselves, about the first century of our era. according to one of the stories, king conor is said to have died in a paroxysm of wrath and horror, brought on by hearing the news of the crucifixion of our lord by the jews. though this story is evidently one of the few interpolations having their origin in christian times (the main body of the legends being purely pagan), the probability that they took shape about this period is increased almost to certainty by the remarkable agreement we find in them with the accounts derived from classical writers who lived and wrote about this same period, and who comment on the habits of the gauls of france, the danube valley and asia minor, and the belgic tribes who inhabited south-eastern britain, with whom the roman armies came into contact in the course of their wars of aggression and expansion. the descriptions given by poseidonius, a century before christ, or diodorus, cæsar and livy half a century later, agree remarkably with the notices found in these irish stories of social conditions, weapons, dress, and appearance. the large wicker shields, the huge double-bladed swords lifted above the head to strike, the courage amounting to rashness of the celt in attack, the furious onset of the scythed war-chariots, the disregard of death, the habit of rushing into battle without waiting to don their clothes, the single combats, the great feasts, the “champion’s bit” reserved as a mark of distinction for the bravest warrior; these, and many other characteristics found in our tales, are commented upon in the pages of the roman historians. the culture represented in them is that known to archæologists as “late celtic,” called on the continent the la tène period, i.e. the period extending from about 400 b.c. to the first century of the christian era; and the actual remains of weapons, ornaments, and dress found in ireland confirm the supposition that we are dealing with this stage of culture.
-we may, then, take it that these tales were formed about the beginning of our era, although the earliest written documents that we have of them are not earlier than the eleventh and twelfth century. between the time of their invention for the entertainment of the chiefs and kings of ireland to the time of their incorporation in the great books which contain the bulk of the tales, they were handed down by word of mouth, every bard and professional story-teller (of whom there was at least one in every great man’s house) being obliged to know by heart a great number of these romances, and prepared at any moment to recite those which he might be called upon to give. in the course of centuries of recitation certain changes crept in, but in the main they come to us much as they were originally recited. in some tales, of which we have a number of copies of different ages, we can trace these changes and notice the additions and modifications that have been made.
-over a hundred distinct tales belonging to this one cycle alone are known to have existed, and of a great number of them one or more copies have come down to us, differing more or less from each other.
-it is, after all, the human interest of these old stories, and not primarily their importance as folklore and the history of manners, that appeals to most of us to-day. as the arthurian legend all through the middle ages set before men’s minds an ideal of high purpose, purity of life, and chivalrous behaviour in an age that was not over-inclined to practise these virtues, so these old irish romances, so late rescued from oblivion, come to recall the minds of men in our own day to some noble ideals.
-for, rude as are the social conditions depicted in these tales, and exaggerated and barbaric as is the flavour of some of them, they nevertheless present to us a high and often romantic code of natural chivalry. there is no more pathetic story in literature than that of the fight between the two old and loving friends, cuchulain and ferdia; there is no more touching act of chivalry to a woman than cuchulain’s offer of aid to his enemy queen meave, in the moment of her exhaustion; there is no more delightful passage of playful affection than that between the hero and his lady in the wooing of emer. these tales have a sprightliness and buoyancy not possessed by the arthurian tales, they are fresher, more humorous, more diversified; and the characters, more especially those of the women, are more firmly and variously drawn. for wales and for england arthur has been for centuries the representative “very gentle perfect knight”; for ireland cuchulain represented the highest ideal of which the irish gael was capable. in these stories, as in malory’s “morte d’arthur,” we find “many joyous and pleasant histories, and noble and renowned acts of humanity, gentleness and chivalry”; and we may add, with malory, “do after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and renommée.”
-how conor became king of ulster
-there was a great war between connaught and ulster, that is, between conor, king of ulster, and meave, the proud and mighty queen of connaught. this was the cause of the war between them. when conor was but a lad, his mother was a widow, and there was no thought that conor would be king. for the king of ulster at that time was fergus mac roy, a powerful and noble king, whom his people loved; and though conor was of high rank and dignity, he stood not near the throne. but his mother, ness, was ambitious for him, and she used all her arts to bring it about that he should be called to the throne of ulster. ness was a handsome woman, and a woman of spirit, and in her youth she had been a warrior; and fergus admired her, and she wrought upon him so that in the end he asked her to be his wife. she made it a condition that for one year fergus would leave the sovereignty, and that conor should take his place; “for,” said she, “i should like to have it said that my son had been a king, and that his children should be called the descendants of a king.” fergus and the people of ulster liked not her request, but she was firm, and fergus all the more desired to marry her, because he found it not easy to get her; so, at the last, he gave way to her, and he resigned the kingdom for one year into the hands of conor.
-but, as soon as conor was king, ness set about to win away the hearts of the people of ulster from fergus, and to transfer them in their allegiance to conor. she supplied her son with wealth, which he distributed secretly among the people, buying them over to his side; and she taught him how to act, so that he won over the nobles and the great men of the province. and when, the year being out, fergus demanded back the sovereignty, he found that the league formed against him was so strong that he could do nothing. the chiefs said that they liked conor well, and that he was their friend, and they were not disposed to part with him; they said, too, that fergus having abandoned the kingdom for a year, only to gain a wife, cared little for it, and had, in fact, resigned it. and they agreed that fergus should keep his wife, if he wished, but that the kingdom should pass to conor. and fergus was so wrath at this, that he forsook his wife, and went with a great host of his own followers into connaught, to take refuge with queen meave and with ailill, her spouse. but he swore to be revenged upon conor, and he waited only an opportunity to incite meave to gather her army together that he might try to win back the sovereignty, or at least to revenge the insult put upon him by conor and by ness.
-now fergus mac roy was of great stature, a mighty man and a famous warrior, and his strength was that of a hundred heroes. and all men spoke of the sword of fergus, which was so great and long that men said that it stretched like a rainbow or like a weaver’s beam. and at the head of his hosts was cormac, the champion of the white cairn of watching, a son of conor, who liked not the deed of his father; for he was young, and he had been one of the bodyguard of fergus, and went with fergus into exile to connaught. and that was called the black exile of fergus mac roy.
-queen meave and the woman-seer
-craftily fergus wrought upon queen meave that she should espouse his cause and lead an army into ulster’s coasts, to win the kingdom back for him again. and meave was no way sorry to make war, for connaught and the north at all times were at strife, and frays and battle-raids were common between them. so with light heart queen meave sent heralds out and messengers through connaught to collect her armed bands, bidding them meet her within three months’ space before her palace-fort of cruachan. and in three months a goodly host was gathered there, and tents were pitched, and for awhile they tarried round the palace-courts, eating and drinking, so that with good heart and strength they might set forth to march towards ulster’s borders.
-now, in the dark and dead of night before the break of day when all the host should start their forward march, meave could not sleep; and stealthily she rose and bid them make her chariot ready, that she might seek a druid whom she knew, and learn from him the prospects of the expedition and what should be the fate before her hosts.
-far in the depths of a wide-spreading wood the druid dwelt. an old and reverend man was he, and far and wide men knew him for a prophet and a seer. the “knowledge that enlightens” he possessed, which opened to his eyes the coming days and all the secret things the future held. gravely he came out to meet the troubled queen, and he from her chariot handed her, as proudly she drew up before his door.
-“we have come to thee, o druid and magician,” said the queen, “to ask of thee the fate and fortune of this expedition against ulster which we have now in hand, whether we shall return victorious or not.”
-“wait but awhile in patience,” said the aged man, “and i will read the future, if the gods allow.”
-for two long hours meave waited in the hut, while on the hearth the fire of peat burned low, and a strange dimness spread about the house as though a mist had risen between herself and the magician, who, on his palms performed his curious rites, and in a slow and solemn chant sang charms and incantations; by strange and magic arts known to his craft seeking the “knowledge that enlightens.” and, at the last, when all was still, he rose to his full height, stretched out his arms, and called upon the gods of fire, and air, and wind, and light, to open up and lay before his gaze the future things that were in store for meave and for her hosts.
-then he made total darkness in his hut, and ate a curious food, concocted by magicians; and when he had eaten, he fell into a sleep, his servant watching over him, his two palms laid upon his cheeks. then in a minute, or two minutes, he uttered sounds, but like one talking in his sleep, and the servant bade meave question him, for his sleep of inspiration was upon him. so meave said: “in mine host this day are many who do part from their own people and their friends, from their country and their lands, from father and from mother. now, if these all return not safe and sound, upon me will be the anger of their friends, and me they will upbraid. tell me, then, will these return alive?”
-and the magician said: “these might return; but yet i see a little boy who stands upon the way to hinder them. fair he is and young and but a boy; and yet on every path i see him, holding back thy hosts, slaughtering and pursuing, as though the strength of the gods were in his arms. on every path they fall, in every battlefield the ground is strewn with dead, and in the homes of connaught men and women weep the sons and husbands who return no more. who this youth may be i know not, but i see that he will bring trouble on thy hosts.”
-then meave trembled at the saying of the druid; but she asked again, “among all those who will remain behind and those who go, there is none dearer to us than we are to ourselves; inquire therefore of thy gods if we ourselves shall come alive out of this hosting?”
-the wizard answered: “whoever comes or comes not, thou thyself shalt come.”
-then meave mounted her chariot again, and turned her horses’ heads towards cruachan. but heaviness was at her heart, and deep dejection lay upon her mind, and moodily she thought of what the druid prophesied to her.
-they had not driven far when suddenly the horses swerved aside and reared and snorted with affright. meave started up, and shaking off her reverie, in the dim twilight of the breaking dawn, close up beside her chariot-shaft, she saw a woman stand. red as a foxglove were her cheeks and blue as the spring hyacinth beneath the forest trees her sparkling eyes. like pearls her teeth shone white between her lips, and all her skin was fair as the white foam that dances on the wave. around her fell, in waving folds of green, a cloak such as the fairy women wear, which hides them from the eyes of mortal men.
-but while she looked in wonder on the maid, astonished at her lovely face and mien, meave saw her garment change to dusky red. and in the dimness, she perceived the maiden held a sword, point upward, in her hand, a massive sword, such as a mighty man-of-war might wield. and from the point blood dripped, and one by one the drops fell on the queen, till all her cloak, and garments, and the chariot-floor ran red with streams of blood.
-and terror came on meave, and all in vain she sought to force her horses forward, but still they reared and curvetted, but would not advance. “girl,” cried the queen at last, “what doest thou here, and who and what art thou?”
-“i am a woman of the fairy race,” the maid replied; “i come to-night to tell thee of thy fortunes, and the chance that shall befall thee and thy hosts upon this raid that thou dost make on ulster.”
-“what is thy name, and wherefore thus, without my will, hast thou presumed to come and speak with me?” replied the angry queen.
-“great cause have i to come; for from the fairy-rath of thine own people, near to cruachan, am i here; and feidelm the prophetess my name.”
-“well, then, o prophetess feidelm,” said queen meave, “how seest thou our host?” but yet she trembled as she spoke. and feidelm said, “i see thy hosts all red, i see them all becrimsoned.”
-“thou seest ill, o prophetess,” said meave; “for in the courts of emain now the king lies sick and ill; my messengers have been to him, and nought there is that we need fear from ulster. therefore, o feidelm, woman-prophet feidelm, tell us now but the truth; how seest thou our hosts?”
-“i see them all dyed red, i see them all becrimsoned,” said the girl again.
-“it cannot be,” said meave. “for many months my spies have been in ulster, and this well i know; that in ulster they dream not of the coming of a host. now tell us this time true, o feidelm, o woman-prophet feidelm, how seest thou our host?”
-but again the maiden answered as before: “i see all red on them, i see them all becrimsoned.”
-then meave grew angry, and fury came upon her, and she called on her charioteer to slay the fairy maid. but the man was afraid to touch her, so strange and formidable did she stand there, holding the dripping sword upright.
-then once again meave answered her: “girl, i care not for thy threats, for well i know, that when the men of ulster come together, frays and quarrels will arise among themselves, either as regards the troop which shall precede the host, or that one which shall follow; or about precedence among the leaders, or about forays for cattle and for food. therefore, i conclude that they will fall upon each other, and that it will be but a little matter for me to disperse them, and return again with spoils to cruachan.”
-then the maiden’s face grew grave, and she spoke as though she saw a vision, and meave trembled as she listened to her words. “i see thy host,” she said, “crimson and red, fall back before the men of ulster. yet the host of ulster seems not a mighty host, but faint and weak through sickness, and the king of ulster lies on his bed. through all my dreams there comes a lad, not old in years, but great in weapon-feats. young though he is, the marks of many wounds are on his skin, and round his head there shines the ‘hero’s light.’ a face he has the noblest and the best, and in his eyes sparkle the champion’s gleams; a stripling, fair and modest in his home, but in the battle fierce and tough and strong, as though he wore a mighty dragon’s form. in either of his hands four darts he holds, and with a skill before unknown, he plies them on your host. a formidable sword hangs by his side, and close beside him stands his charioteer, holding his pointed spear. a madness seems to seize him in the fight; by him your hosts are all hewn down, and on the battle-field the slain, foot laid to foot and hand to hand, do thickly lie. before the hosts of ulster all unmoved he stands as if to guard them from the fight; all on himself the burden of the uneven contest falls. strong heroes cannot stand before his blows, and in the homes of connaught women weep the slain who come not back. this is the vision that i see, and this the prophecy of feidelm, cruachan’s woman-seer.”
-then all her pride and courage fled from meave, and fearfully she asked the woman-seer, “what is the name by which this youth is known?”
-and feidelm said: “to all the world the youth’s name will be known, cuchulain son of sualtach, of the feats; but in the north, because he guards their homes as a good watch-dog guards the scattered flocks upon the mountain-side, men call him lovingly, ‘the hound of ulster.’”
-then to her fairy-dwelling feidelm returned, and meave went to her tent again.
-the boy-corps of king conor
-now all that she had heard that night so troubled meave that she thought not well to proceed upon her hosting at that time. she lay upon her bed and pondered long upon the fairy woman’s words, and more and more she wondered who this youth might be, the lad of mighty feats whom all men called “the hound of ulster.” when daylight came, she sent a message to the captains of her host, commanding them to tarry yet a day, till she should learn further about the youth who stood upon her path and seemed a threatening terror to her hosts. then like a king and queen they robed themselves and sat within their tents, ailill and she, and sent a herald forth commanding fergus and the chief of ulster’s exiles to appear before them, to tell them of cuchulain.
-when they were gathered, fergus, cormac son of conor and the rest, ailill addressed them. “we hear strange tales of one of ulster’s chiefs, a youthful hero whom men call the “hound.” from you, o chiefs of ulster, we would learn all you can tell about this famous lad. what age hath he? and wherefore hath he gained this name? and have his deeds become known to you?”
-“his deeds are known to us, indeed,” fergus replied, “for all the land of ulster rings with this young hero’s renown.”
-“shall we find him hard to deal with?” then said meave. “last night i met a fairy-maid, who told me to beware, for among the warriors of the north, this lad would trouble us the most.”
-“he will trouble you the most, indeed,” said cormac and fergus with one voice. “you will not find a warrior in your path that is so hard to deal with, not a hero that is fiercer, nor a raven more greedy of prey, nor a lion that is more dangerous than he. you will not find another man to equal him, whether of his age or of a greater age, so strong and terrible and brave is he, nor is his match in erin either for his beauty or his prowess or in all deeds and feats of skill.”
-“i care not for all this,” said haughty meave; “not these the things i fear; for, after all, whatever you may say, cuchulain, like another, is but one; he can be wounded like a common man, he will die like any other, he can be captured like any warrior. besides, his age is but that of a grown-up girl; his deeds of manhood come not yet.”
-“not so indeed,” said fergus and they all. “it would be strange if he to-day were not the equal of any grown-up man or many men; for even when he was in his fifth year, he surpassed all the chieftain’s sons of emain macha at their play; when he was but seven he took arms, and slew his man; when he was a stripling he went to perfect himself in feats of championship with scáth, the woman-warrior of alba; and now to-day when he is nearly seventeen years old, his strength must be equal to the strength of many men.”
-“tell us,” said meave, “who is this warrior-lad; tell us also of his boyish feats and how the name of ‘ulster’s hound’ came to be his.”
-“i will tell you,” said fergus; “for cuchulain is my own foster-son and conor’s; though they say, and i myself believe it, that he is of the offspring of the gods, and that lugh of the long arms, god of light, is guardian to the boy. but sualtach is his father, a warrior of ulster, and the child was reared by the seaside northward on murthemne’s plain, which is his own possession. at my knees he was brought up, and amergin the poet was his tutor; the sister of king conor nourished him with conall the victorious in her home. for at his birth morann the judge prophesied of his future renown. ‘his praise,’ he said, ‘will be in all men’s mouths, his deeds will be recounted by kings and great men, warriors and charioteers, poets and sages. all men will love him; he will give combat for ulster against her enemies; he will decide your quarrels; he will avenge your wrongs. welcome the little stranger who is here.’”
-and meave and ailill said, “that is a brave account to give of a young child; no wonder is it that ulster prides herself in him; but tell us now, fergus, for eager are we all to hear, the feats of cuchulain as a little boy.”
-“i will tell you that,” said fergus. “when he was yet a tiny boy, not much past four years old, some one in passing by murthemne told him a long tale of the boy-corps of king conor in emain macha; that the king had established it for all the sons of nobles and of chiefs, to train them up in strength and bravery. he told him that the king had set apart a playing-ground for the boys, close to his own fort, and there every day they practised games of skill, and feats of arms, and wrestled and threw each other. he told him, too, that the king took so much interest in the boy-corps, that scarce a day passed by that he did not spend some time in watching the pastimes of the lads, for he looked to them to be his future men-of-war and leaders of his hosts. he told the little boy that when they had proved themselves fit by skill and aptness for a higher grade, the king bestowed on them a set of war-gear suited to their age, small spears and javelins, a slender sword, and all equipment like a champion. now when the boy heard this, a great longing arose within his little mind to see the boy-corps and join in their sports and practising for war. ‘i would wrestle, too,’ he said, ‘and i am sure that i could throw my fellow.’ but i and his guardians,” said fergus, “objected that he was yet too young, and that when he was ten years old it would be soon enough to test his strength against the older boys. for to send a boy of four years old or five to take his part among lads of ten or twelve we thought not well, for we feared that harm would come to him, knowing that he must ever, since his babyhood, be in the midst of all that was going on. therefore, we said, ‘wait, my child, until some grown warrior can go with thee, to protect thee from the rough practice of the elder boys and bid them have a care for thee, or else till conor the king, thy fosterer, himself calls thee hither under his proper charge.’ but the lad said to his mother, that it was too long to wait, and that even on this instant he would set off; ‘and all you have to do, mother, is to set me on my way, for i know not which way emain lies.’ ‘a long and weary way for a young boy it is to emain,’ said his mother, ‘for the range of the slieve fuad mountains must be crossed.’ ‘point me but out the general direction,’ he replied. ‘over there, to the north-west, lies the palace of the king.’ ‘let me but get my things, and i am off,’ he said.
-“these were the things that the child took in his hand. his hurley of brass and his ball of silver in one hand, his throwing javelin and his toy spear in the other. away he went then, and as he went, this would he do to make the way seem short. he would place his ball on the ground and strike it with his hurley, driving it before him ever so far; then he flung the hurley after it, driving that as far again; then, always running on, he threw his javelin, and last of all his spear. then he would make a playful rush after them, pick up the hurley, ball, and javelin as he ran, while, before ever the spear’s tip touched the earth, he had caught it by the other end. thus on he ran, scarce feeling tired, so engrossed was he in the game.
-“at last cuchulain reached emain, and sought out the palace of the king and the playing-field where the boys were practising, three times fifty in number, under the charge of follaman, one of conor’s younger sons; the king himself being present, watching the game.
-“the youths had been practising martial exercises, but when cuchulain came up they were hurling on the green. without waiting for anyone, the little fellow dived in amongst them and took a hand in the game. he got the ball between his legs and held it there; not suffering it to travel higher up than his knees or lower than his ankle-joints, so making it impossible for any of them to get a stroke at it, or in any way to touch it. in this way he got it gradually nearer and nearer the end of the field; then with one effort he lifted it up and sent it home over the goal. in utter amazement the whole corps looked on. but follaman their captain cried--‘good now, boys, all together meet this youngster who has come in we know not whence, and kill him on the spot as he deserves. the boy insults us that he comes amongst us without placing himself under the protection of some chief’s son in order that his life should be preserved; for it is not allowed to the son of any private person or common warrior to intrude upon your game, without first having asked permission and taken a pledge of the chiefs’ sons that his life shall be respected; we admit not common men to the boy-corps save under the protection of some youth of higher rank.’ for they did not know cuchulain, neither did he know the rules of the boy-corps. ‘have at him, all of you,’ cried follaman, ‘and give him what he deserves; no doubt he is the son of some private man, who has no right to intrude into your play without safe conduct. defend your honour and the honour of the corps.’ then the whole of the lads gathered round cuchulain and began to threaten him, and together with one throw they hurled at him their toy spears, on every side at once. but cuchulain stood firm, and one and all he parried them and caught them on his little shield. then all together they threw at him their hurley-sticks, three fifties at a time; but all of them he parried, catching a bundle of them on his back. then they tried their balls, throwing them all together, but he fended them off with arms and fists and the palms of his hands, catching them into his bosom as they fell. after a long while of this his ‘hero-fury’ seized cuchulain. his hair rose upright on his head, and in his wrath and fierceness it seemed as though a light poured forth from each single hair, crowning him with a crown of fire. a strong contortion shook him, and he grew larger and taller as he stood before the lads, so that they shrank terrified before him. he made for them like a young lion springing on his prey, and before they could reach the door of the fort fleeing from him for safety, he had stretched fifty of them on the ground.
-“now it happened that the king and i,” said fergus, “were playing chess together at a table in the open air, on the borders of the playing field, amusing ourselves while the boys’ games were going on. five of the boys, not seeing in their haste where they were running, rushed past the place where conor and i were sitting, and nearly overturned the table with the chess. cuchulain was in full pursuit, and he seemed about to leap the table to make after them, when the king caught him by the arm.
-“‘hold, my little fellow,’ said the king, restraining him, ‘i see this is no gentle game thou playest with the boy-corps.’
-“‘what could i do?’ replied the lad. ‘i came to-day, o king, from a far land to join myself with them, and they have not been good to me; i have not had the reception of a welcome guest.’
-“‘what is your name, little one?’ said the king. ‘setanta, son of sualtach, is my name; your own foster-son am i, and the foster-son of fergus,’ said the boy. ‘it was not fitting that i should have had this rough reception.’ ‘but knewest thou not the rules of the boy-corps, that a new-comer must go under their protection, so that they will respect his life?’ said the king. ‘that i knew not,’ said the boy, ‘otherwise i should have conformed to their rules; do thou thyself undertake my protection, i pray thee, o king.’ the king liked the fine spirit of the lad, and his open face and bravery in his self-defence, and he said, ‘i will do that, my boy.’ then he called the boy-corps together, and said, ‘i, myself, have taken upon me the protection of this little boy; promise me now that he shall play amongst you safely.’ ‘we promise it,’ they said. then all made off to play again; but setanta does just what he will with them, wrestling and throwing them, and soon fifty of them are stretched upon the ground. their fathers think that they are dead, and raise a cry against setanta. but no such thing; merely had he with his charges, pulls, and pushes so frightened them, that they fell down at last through terror on the grass.
-“‘what on earth is the lad at with them now?’ asks conor.
-“‘you bound them over to protect me,’ said the boy, ‘but you never bound me over to protect them; and i avow that until they place themselves under my protection, as i am placed under theirs, i will not lighten my hand from them.’ ‘i place them under thy protection then,’ said conor. ‘and i grant it,’ said the lad.
-“and now,” said fergus to queen meave and ailill, “i submit that a youngster who, at the age of four or five years did all this, need not excite your wonder, because now being turned seventeen years, he prove a formidable foe to connaught in time of war.”
-“i think not indeed,” said ailill; and sulkily meave said, “perhaps, indeed, he may.”
-how cuchulain got his name
-that evening at supper, meave sat silent, as though she were revolving matters in her mind. when supper was ended and she and her husband and fergus, with one or two others of her chief captains, sat in the tent-door around the fire, looking out on the hosts who rested at close of day by the forest fires, singing and telling tales, as was their wont after the evening meal, meave said to fergus, “just now you spoke of that little boy as setanta, but i have heard him called cuchulain, or culain’s hound; how did he get that name?”
-and cormac, conor’s son, answered eagerly, “i will tell you that story myself, for i was present, and i know the way of it.”
-“well, tell us now,” said meave and ailill both at once. and cormac said--“in ulster, near cuchulain’s country, was a mighty artificer and smith, whose name was culain. now the custom is, that every man of means and every owner of land in ulster, should, once in a year or so, invite the king and his chiefs to spend a few days, it may be a week or a fortnight, at his house, that he may give them entertainment. but culain owned no lands, nor was he rich, for only the fruit of his hammer, of his anvil and his tongs, had he. nevertheless he desired to entertain the king at a banquet, and he went to emain to invite his chief. but he said, ‘i have no lands or store of wealth; i pray thee, therefore, to bring with thee but a few of thy prime warriors, because my house cannot contain a great company of guests.’ so the king said he would go, bringing but a small retinue with him.
-“culain returned home to prepare his banquet, and when the day was come, towards evening the king set forth to reach the fort of culain. he assumed his light, convenient travelling garb, and before starting he went down to the green to bid the boy-corps farewell.
-“there he saw a sight so curious that he could not tear himself away. at one end of the green stood a group of a hundred and fifty youths, guarding one goal, all striving to prevent the ball of a single little boy, who was playing against the whole of them, from getting in; but for all that they could do, he won the game, and drove his ball home to the goal.
-“then they changed sides, and the little lad defended his one goal against the hundred and fifty balls of the other youths, all sent at once across the ground. but though the youths played well, following up their balls, not one of them went into the hole, for the little boy caught them one after another just outside, driving them hither and thither, so that they could not make the goal. but when his turn came round to make the counter-stroke, he was as successful as before; nay, he would get the entire set of a hundred and fifty balls into their hole, for all that they could do.
-“then they played a game of getting each other’s cloaks off without tearing them, and he would have their mantles off, one after the other, before they could, on their part, even unfasten the brooch that held his cloak. when they wrestled with each other, it was the same thing: he would have them on the ground before all of them together could upset him, or make him budge a foot.
-“as the king stood and watched all this, he said: ‘’tis well for the country into which this boy has come! a clever child indeed is he; were but his acts as a grown man to come up to the promise of his youth, he might be of some solid use to us; but this is not to be counted upon.’”
-“then,” fergus said, breaking in upon the tale, “i was vexed because the king seemed to doubt the child, whether his after deeds would equal the promise of his youth; and i spoke up and said, ‘that, o king, i think not wisely said; have no fear for this boy, for as his childish deeds outstrip the acts of childhood, so will his manly feats outshine the deeds of heroes and great men.’ then the king said to me, ‘have the child called, that we may take him with us to the banquet.’
-“so when setanta came, the king invited him; but the boy said, ‘excuse me now awhile; i cannot go just now.’ ‘how so?’ said the king, surprised. ‘because the boy-corps have not yet had enough of play.’ ‘i cannot wait until they have,’ replied the king: ‘the night is growing late.’ ‘wait not at all,’ replied the child; ‘i will even finish this one game, and will run after you.’ ‘but, young one, knowest thou the way?’ asked the king. ‘i will follow the trail made by your company, the wheels of their chariots and hoofs of the horses on the road,’ he replied.”
-“thereupon,”--continued cormac,--“conor starts; and in time for the banquet he reaches culain’s house, where, with due honour, he is received. fresh rushes had been strewn upon the floor, the tables all decked out, the fires burning in the middle of the room. a great vat full of ale stood in the hall, a lofty candlestick gave light, and round the fires stood servants cooking savoury viands, holding them on forks or spits of wood. each man of the king’s guests entered in order of his rank, and sat at the feast in his own allotted place, hanging his weapons up above his head. the king occupied the central seat, his poets, counsellors, and chiefs sitting on either hand according to their state and dignity. as they were sitting down, the smith culain came to conor and asked him, ‘good now, o king, before we sit at meat i would even know whether anyone at all will follow thee this night to my dwelling, or is thy whole company gathered now within?’ ��all are now here,’ said the king, quite forgetting the wee boy; ‘but wherefore askest thou?’
-“‘it is only that i have an excellent watch-dog, fierce and strong; and when his chain is taken off, and he is set free to guard the house, no one dare come anywhere within the same district with him; he is furious with all but me, and he has the strength and savage force of a hundred ordinary watch-dogs. this dog was brought to me from spain, and no dog in the country can equal him.’ ‘let him be set loose, for all are here,’ said conor; ‘well will he guard this place for us.’
-“so culain loosed the dog, and with one spring it bounded forth out of the court of the house and over the wall of the rath, making a circuit of the entire district; and when it came back panting, with its tongue hanging from its jaws, it took up its usual position in front of the house, and there crouched with its head upon its paws, watching the high road to emain. surely an extraordinarily cruel and fierce and savage dog was he.
-“when the boy-corps broke up that night, each of the lads returning to the house of his parent or his fosterer or guardian, setanta, trusting to the trail of the company that went with conor, struck out for culain’s house. with his club and ball he ran forward, and the distance seemed short on account of his interest in the game. as soon as he arrived on the green of culain’s fort, the mastiff noticed him, and set up such a howling as echoed loud through all the country-side. inside the house the king and his followers heard, but were struck dumb with fear, nor dared to move, thinking surely to find the little lad dead at the door of the fort. as for the hound himself, he thought with but one gulp to swallow setanta whole. now the little lad was without any means of defence beyond his ball and hurley-stick. he never left his play till he came near. then, as the hound charged open-jawed, with all his strength he threw the ball right into the creature’s mouth; and as for a moment the hound stopped short, choking as the ball passed down its throat, the lad seized hold of the mastiff’s open jaws, grasping its throat with one hand and the back of its head with the other, and so violently did he strike its head against the pillars of the door, that it was no long time until the creature lay dead upon the ground.
-“quick they were,” said fergus, interrupting, “yet did i outstrip them, and at the rampart’s outer door i found the child, and the great hound dead beside him. without a pause i picked up the boy and hoisted him on my shoulder, and thus, with all the heroes following, we came to conor, and i placed him between the monarch’s knees.”
-“yes, so it was,” said cormac, taking up the story again where he had left it; “but let me tell of culain. the smith went out to find his dog, and when he saw him lying there, knocked almost to pieces and quite dead, his heart was vexed within him. he went back to the house, and said, ‘’twas no good luck that urged me to make this feast for thee, o king; would i had not prepared a banquet. my life is a life lost, and my substance is but substance wasted without my dog. he was a defence and protection to our property and our cattle, to every beast we had and to our house. little boy,’ said he, ‘you are welcome for your people’s sake, you are not welcome for your own; that was a good member of my family thou didst take from me, a safeguard of raiment, of flocks and herds.’ ‘be not vexed thereat,’ replied the child, ‘for i myself will fix on my own punishment. this shall it be. if in all ireland a whelp of that dog’s breed is to be found, ’tis i myself will rear him up for thee till he be fit to take the watch-dog’s place. in the meantime, o culain, i myself will be your hound for defence of your cattle and for your own defence, until the dog be grown and capable of action; i will defend the territory, and no cattle or beast or store of thine shall be taken from thee, without my knowing it.’
-“‘well hast thou made the award,’ said they all, ‘and henceforward shall your name be changed; you shall no longer be called setanta; cu-chulain, or the “hound of culain,” shall your name be.’
-“‘i like my own name best,’ the child objected. ‘ah, say not so,’ replied the magician, ‘for one day will the name of cuchulain ring in all men’s mouths; among the brave ones of the whole wide world cuchulain’s name shall find a place. renowned and famous shall he be, beloved and feared by all.’ ‘if that is so, then am i well content,’ replied the boy.
-“so from that day forth the name cuchulain clung to him, until the time came when he was no longer remembered as the hound of culain’s fort, but as the guardian and watch-dog of defence to the province against her foes; and then men loved best to call him ‘the hound of ulster.’
-“now,” continued cormac, “it would be reasonable to expect that the little boy, who, at the age of six or seven years slew a dog whom a whole company would not dare to touch when he was at large, would, at the age of a grown youth, be formidable to ulster’s foes.”
-and meave was forced to admit that it was likely that he would.
-how cuchulain took arms
-when meave had thought awhile, she said, “are there yet other stories of this wondrous boy?” “indeed,” cried fiacra, one of the companions of cormac, who came with him when he went from ulster into exile, “the story of his taking arms is not told yet, and i think it more than all the other stories you have heard.” “how so?” said meave; “tell it to us now.”
-then fiacra said, “the very year after cuchulain got his name, he was playing outside the place where caffa the magician sat with eight of his pupils teaching them his lore. it chanced that he was telling them, as the magicians and druids are wont to believe, that certain days were lucky for special acts and other days unlucky. ‘and for what,’ asked one of the boys, ‘would this day at which we now are be counted lucky?’”
-“this is the day,” said caffa, “on which any youth who should assume arms, as became a champion of war, should attain eternal fame; beside him, no warrior’s name in ireland should ever more be named, or spoken in the same breath with it, for his glory would transcend them all. for such a youth, however, no happy thing were this, for he should die at an early age, no long-lived warrior he; his life shall be but fleeting, quickly o’er.”
-outside the house cuchulain overheard the conversation of the teacher with his boys. instantly and without a moment’s pause he laid aside his hurley and his ball, and put off his playing-suit. then, donning his ordinary apparel, he entered the sleeping-house of the king. “all good be thine, o king,” said he. “boy, what hast thou now come to ask of me?” replied the king. “i desire,” said he, “to take arms as a warrior and champion to-day.” “who told thee to ask for this?” said the king, surprised. “my master caffa, the magician,” answered he. “if that is so, thou shalt not be denied,” replied the king, and he called on those who were about him to give the lad two spears and sword and shield: for in emain the king had always ready seventeen complete equipments of weapons and armature; for he himself bestowed weapons on a youth of the boy-corps when he was ready to bear arms, to bring him luck in using them. cuchulain began to try those weapons, brandishing and bending them to try their strength and fitness to his hand; but one after another they all gave way, and were broken into pieces and little fragments. “these weapons are not good,” said he; “they are but the equipment of a common warrior, they suffice me not.” then when he had tried them all, and put them from him, the king said: “here, my lad, are my own two spears, my own sword and shield.” then cuchulain took these weapons, and in every way, by bending them from point to hilt, by brandishing them, by thrusting with them, he proved their strength and mettle. “these arms are good,” said he, “they break not in my hand. fair fall the land and country whose king can wield armour and weapons such as these!”
-just at the moment caffa came into the tent. wondering, he asked: “is the little boy so soon assuming arms?” “ay, so it is,” said the king. “unhappy is the mother whose son assumes arms to-day,” said the magician. “how now?” cried the king; “was it not yourself who prompted him?” “not so, indeed,” said caffa. “mad boy, what made you then deceive me, telling me that caffa it was who prompted you to ask for arms?” “o king of heroes, be not wrath,” replied the lad. “no thought, indeed, had i to deceive. when caffa was instructing his pupils in the house to-day, i overheard, as i was playing with my ball outside, one of the lads asking him what special virtue lay in this day, and for what it was a lucky day. and he told them that for him who should assume arms this day, his luck should be so great that his fame would outstrip the fame of all ireland’s heroes, and he would be the first of ireland’s men. and for this great reward no compensating disadvantage would accrue to him, save that his life should be but fleeting.”
-“true is that, indeed,” said caffa, “noble and famous thou shalt be, but short and brief thy life.” “little care i for that,” replied the lad, “nor though my life endured but for one day and night, so only that the story of myself and of my deeds shall last.”
-“then get thee into a chariot, as a warrior should, and let us test thy title to a future fame.”
-so a chariot of two horses was brought to cuchulain, and every way he tried its strength, driving it furiously round and round the green, goading the horses and turning suddenly. but for this usage the chariot was not fit, and it broke beneath him. twelve chariots were brought to him, and he tested them all in this manner, but all of them he reduced to fragments. “these chariots of thine, o conor, are no good at all, they serve me not, nor are they worthy of me, thy own foster-son.”
-then the king cried: “fetch me here ivar, my own charioteer, and let him harness my steeds into the kingly chariot, and bring it here to serve cuchulain.” then the kingly chariot of war was brought and cuchulain mounted, testing it every way; and well it served him at every test. “the chariot is good, and the steeds are good, they are worthy of me,” said the boy; “it is my worthy match.”
-“well, boy, it is time that thou wert satisfied at last; now i will take the horses home and put them out to graze,” said ivar.
-“not yet awhile,” said cuchulain. “drive but the horses round the kingly fort.” ivar did so, and then he said again: “be satisfied now, my lad; i go to turn the horses out to grass.” for it was but seldom that king conor went forth in his war-chariot, because the men of ulster willed not that the king should expose his person in battle; so ivar was grown idle, and fat through his idleness, and he liked not at all the unwonted exertion that the wee boy asked of him.
-“not yet awhile,” said cuchulain again; “too early is it to turn in; drive now towards the playing-fields that the boy-corps may salute me on this the first day of my taking arms.” they did so, and the boy-corps gathered round. “these are a warrior’s arms that thou hast taken!” cried they all, surprised to see him thus equipped in the king’s own warrior-gear, and driving in the chariot of the king. “just so, indeed,” replied the boy. then they wished him well in his warrior-career. “may success in winning of spoils, and in blood-drawing, be thine,” they cried. “but all too soon it is thou leavest us and our boyish sports for deeds of war.” “in no way do i wish to part with the beloved boy-corps,” replied the lad; “but it was a sign of luck and good fortune that i should take arms to-day; therefore i thought not well to miss my luck.”
-then ivar urged the child again, for he was growing tired of the thing, to let him take the horses out to graze. “’tis early yet, o ivar,” said the boy; “whither then goes this great high-road i see?” “that is the high-road to the borders of the province, and to the ford of watching or the look-out ford,” replied the charioteer. “why is it called the look-out ford?” asked then the boy. “because there, on the extreme limits of the province, a watcher who is a prime warrior of ulster always stands, prepared to challenge any stranger, before he pass the ford, of his business in the province: if he who comes be a bard or peaceful man, to grant him protection and entertainment; but if he be a foe, to challenge him to combat at the ford. and seldom,” said the charioteer, “does a day pass, but at the ford some enemy is slain. as to the bards who pass in peace, no doubt it is the kindness of that warrior they will praise when once they come to emain, and stand before the king.” “who guards the ford this day, if thou dost know?” inquired cuchulain. “conall the victorious, ulster’s foremost man of war, it is who holds the ford this day.” “away then,” cried the lad, “goad on thy steeds, for we will seek the ford and conall.”
-“the horses are already tired, we have done enough for this one day,” quoth ivar. “the day is early yet, and our day’s labours hardly yet begun,” replied the youth; “away with you along this road.”
-they come at last to the ford’s brink, and there beside the ford of watching stood young conall, at that time ulster’s foremost man of war.
-when he saw the lad driving fully equipped for war in the chariot of the king, he felt surprise. “are you taking arms to-day, small boy?” he said. “he is indeed,” said ivar. “may triumph and victory and drawing of first blood come with them,” answered conall, for he loved the little lad, and many a time he had said to his fellows: “the day will come when this young boy will dispute the championship of ireland with me.” “nevertheless,” said he to cuchulain, “it seems to me that oversoon thou hast assumed these arms, seeing that thou art not yet fit for exploits or for war.” the boy heeded not this, but eagerly asked, “what is it thou doest at the ford of watching, conall?” “on behalf of the province i keep watch and ward, lest enemies creep in.”
-“give up thy place to me, for this one day let me take duty,” said cuchulain. “say not so,” replied the champion, “for as yet thou art not fit to cope with a right fighting-man.”
-“then on my own account must i go down into the shallows of yon lake, to see whether there i may draw blood on either friend or foe.” “i will go with thee, then, to protect thee, to the end that on the border-marshes thou run not into danger.” “nay, come not with me, let me go alone to-day,” urged the lad. “that i will not,” said conall, “for, were i to allow thee all alone to frequent these dangerous fighting grounds, on me would ulster avenge it, if harm should come to thee.”
-then conall had his chariot made ready and his horses harnessed; soon he overtook cuchulain, who, to cut short the matter, had gone on before. he came up abreast with him, and cuchulain, seeing this, felt sure that, conall being there, no chance for deed of prowess would come his way; for, if some deed of mortal daring were to be done, conall himself would undertake the same. therefore he took up from the road a smooth round stone that filled his fist, and with it he made a very careful shot at conall’s chariot-yoke. it broke in two, and the chariot came down, conall being thrown forward over his horses’ heads.
-“what’s this, ill-mannered boy?” said he.
-“i did it in order to see whether my marksmanship were good, and whether there were the makings of a man-at-arms in me.” “poison take both thy shot and thyself as well; and though thy head should now fall a prize to some enemy of thine, yet never a foot farther will i budge to keep thee.”
-“the very thing i asked of thee,” replied the boy, “and i do so in this strange manner, because i know it is a custom among the men of ulster to turn back when any violence is done to them. thus have i made the matter sure.” on that, conall turned back to his post beside the look-out ford, and the little boy went forward southward to the shallows of the marshy loch, and he rested there till evening-tide.
-of cuchulain’s first feats of championship
-then ivar said, “if one might venture to make a suggestion to such a little one, i should rejoice if we might now turn back and find our way home to emain again. for at this moment in the hall supper is being carved and the feast has just begun; and though for you your appointed place is kept at conor’s side until you come, i, on the contrary, if i come late must fit in where i may among the grooms and jesters of the house. for this reason i judge it now high time that i were back to scramble for my place.”
-“harness the horses and prepare the chariot,” cuchulain said, and thinking that they now were going home, the charioteer most gladly hastened to obey. “what mountain is that over there?” inquired the boy. “slieve mourn,” replied the driver. “let us go thither,” said the lad. they reach the mountain’s foot, and, “what is that cairn i see upon the top?” said he again. “the white cairn is its name,” quoth ivar sulkily. “i would like to visit the white cairn,” said the boy. “the hill is high, and it is getting late,” replied the charioteer. “thou art a lazy loon,” cuchulain says, “and the more so that this is my first day’s adventure-quest, and thy first day’s trip abroad with me.” “and if it is,” cried ivar, “and if ever we get home again, for ever and for ever may it be my last!”
-they gained the topmost peak, and far away descried a stretch of level country. “come now, driver,” said the lad, “describe to me from here the whole of ulster’s wide domain; its forts and dwellings, fords and meadow-lands, its hills and open spaces. name every place in order, that thus i may the better know my way about.
-“what is yon well-defined plain with hollow glens and running streams before us to the south?” “moy bray,” replied the charioteer. “the names, again, of all the forts and palaces scattered over it?” then ivar pointed out the kingly dwelling-places of tara and taillte, and the summer palace of cletty on the river boyne; the fairy mound of angus og, the god of youth and beauty, and the burial-tomb of the great god or dagda mór. and at the last he showed beneath the hill where lay the fort of the three fierce and warlike sons of nechtan the mighty.
-“are those the sons of nechtan of whom i heard it said that the ulstermen who are yet alive are not so many as have fallen by their hands?” “the same,” said ivar. “away then, with us straight to nechtan’s fort,” cuchulain cried. “woe waits on him who goes to nechtan’s fort,” replied the charioteer; “whoever goes or goes not, i for one will never go.” “alive or dead thou goest there, however,” said the boy. “alive i go then, but sure it is that dead i shall be left there,” replied the charioteer.
-“in my poor opinion,” said the charioteer, “the collar was much safer where it was, and well i know that this time, at all events, thou wilt find the object of thy careful search, a quick and violent death.” “good, good, o driver, talk not over much, but spread for me the chariot coverings on the ground, that i may sleep a while.”
-now the charioteer was frightened, for he knew the fierceness and ill-fame of the sons of nechtan, and he grumbled that cuchulain should be so rash and foolhardy in a land of foemen as to sleep before their very door; but for all that he dared not disobey, and he took the cushions out of the chariot and spread them on the ground, and covered cuchulain with the skins; and in a moment the little fellow was asleep, his head resting peacefully on his hand. just then foll, son of nechtan, issued from the fort. ivar would well have liked to waken up cuchulain, but he did not dare, for the child had said before he fell asleep: “waken me up if many come, but waken me not for a few;” and foll mac nechtan came alone. at sight of the chariot standing on his lands, the warrior thundered forth, “driver, be off at once with those horses; let them not graze upon our ground; unyoke them not.” “i have not unyoked them,” said the charioteer. “i hold the reins yet in my hands, ready for the road.” “whose steeds and chariot are they?” enquired the man. “the steeds of conor, king of ulster,” said ivar. “just as i thought,” said foll; “and who has brought them to these borders?” “a young bit of a little boy,” said ivar, hoping to hinder foll from fighting him. “a high-headed wee fellow, who, for luck, has taken arms to-day, and come into the marshes to show off his form and skill as though he were a grown champion.” “ill-luck to him, whoever he is,” said foll; “were he a man capable of fight, i would send him back to the king dead instead of alive.” “capable of fight he is not, indeed, nor a man at all,” said ivar, “but only a small child of seven years, playing at being a man.”
-cuchulain in his sleep heard the affront that the charioteer put upon him, and from head to foot he blushed a rosy red. his face he lifted from the ground and said: “i am not a child at all, but ripe and fit for action, as you will see; this ‘small child’ here has come to seek for battle with a man.” “i rather hold that fit for action thou art not,” replied foll, surprised to find the little fellow rising from his sleep and speaking with such boldness. “that we shall know presently,” replied the boy; “come down only to the ford, where it is customary in ireland that combats should take place. but first go home and fetch your arms, for in cowardly guise come you hither, and never will i fight with men unarmed, or messengers, or drivers in their cloaks, but only with full-weaponed men-of-war.”
-“that suits me well,” said foll, and he rushed headlong for his arms. “it will suit you even better when we come to the ford,” said cuchulain. then ivar warned cuchulain that this foll was no ordinary foe; “he bears a charmed life,” said he, “and only he who slays him with one stroke has any chance of killing him at all. no sword-edge can bite or wound him, he can only be slain by the first thrust of a spear, or blow of a weapon from a distance.” “then i will play a special feat on him,” returned the boy; “surely it is to humble me you warn me thus.” with that he took in his hand his hard-tempered iron ball, and with a strong and exact throw just as foll was coming forth, full-armoured from the fort, he launched the ball, which pierced the warrior’s forehead, so that he fell headlong on the ground, uttering his last cry of pain, and with that he died.
-within the fort his brothers heard that cry, and the second brother rushes out. “no doubt you think this is a great feat you have done, and one to boast of,” he cried. “i think not the slaying of any single man a cause to boast at all,” replied the boy; “but hasten now and fetch your weapons, for in the guise of an unweaponed messenger or chariot-boy come you hither.” “beware of this man,” said ivar; “tuacall, or ‘cunning’ is his name, for so swift and dexterous is he, that no man has ever been able to pierce him with any weapon at all.”
-“it is not fitting that you speak like this to me,” said cuchulain. “i will take the great spear of conor, and with it i will pierce his shield and heart, before ever he comes near me.”
-and so he did, for hardly was the cunning one come forth out of the fort, than cuchulain threw the heavy spear; it entered his heart and went out behind him. as he fell dead, cuchulain leaped on him, and cut off his head.
-then the third son of nechtan came out, and scoffed at the lad. “those were but simpletons and fools with whom thou hast fought hitherto,” he said; “i challenge thee to come down to the ford, and out upon the middle of the stream, and we will see thy bravery there.” cuchulain asks him what he means by this, and ivar breaks in: “do you not know that this is fandall, son of nechtan, and fainle or fandall, a ‘swallow,’ is his name, because he travels over the water with the swiftness of a swallow, nor can the swimmers of the whole world attempt to cope with him. beware of him and go not to the ford.”
-“not fitting are such words to be spoken to me,” replied the lad, “for do you not remember the river we have in emain, called the callan? when the boy-corps break off their sports and plunge into the stream to swim, do you not know that i can take one of them on either shoulder or even on my palms, and carry them across the water without wetting so much as their ankles? for another man, your words are good; they are not good for me.”
-then came fainle forth, and he and the lad entered the stream together, and swam out and wrestled in deep water. but suddenly, by a swift turn, the youngster clasped his arms about him, laid him even with the top of the water, and with one stroke of conor’s sword cut off his head, carrying it shoreward in his hand, while the body floated down the current. behind him he heard the cry of their mother, the wife of nechtan, when she saw her three sons slain. then cuchulain sent her out of the fort, and he and his charioteer went up and harried it, and set it all in flames; for an evil and a pirate fort had that fort been to ulster, bringing many of their warriors to death, and spoiling all their lands. then cuchulain and ivar turned to retrace their steps, carrying in their hands the heads of nechtan’s sons. they put their spoils and the three heads into the chariot, sticking the dripping heads upon the chariot-pole that passed out behind, and set out in triumph towards emain and the palace of the king.
-“you promised us a good run to-day,” said cuchulain to the charioteer, “and we need it now after the contest we have made; away with us across moy bray, and round the mountain of slieve fuad.” then ivar spurred the horses forward with his goad, and so fast did they race onward that they outstripped the wind in speed, and left the flying birds behind them. to while away the time, cuchulain sent stones speeding before him from his sling; before the stone could reach the ground, the chariot had caught it up and it fell again into the chariot floor.
-at the foot of slieve fuad a herd of antlered deer were feeding beside a wood. never before had cuchulain seen a herd of deer; he marvelled at their branching antlers, and at the speed and lightness with which they moved from place to place. “what is that great flock of active cattle yonder?” enquired the boy. “those are not cattle, but a herd of wild deer that wander in the dark recesses of the hills,” replied the charioteer. “which would the men of ulster think the greatest feat, to capture one dead or to bring one home alive?” “assuredly to capture one alive,” said ivar. “dead everyone could bring one down, but seldom indeed can one be captured alive.” “goad on the horses,” said the lad; and this the driver did, but the fat horses of the king, unused to such a drive and rate of motion as they had had that day, turned restive and plunged into the bog, where they stuck fast. eagerly cuchulain sprang down, and leaving the charioteer to struggle with the horses, he set off after the flying deer, and by sheer running came up to them, caught two of the largest stags by the horns, and with thongs and ropes bound them behind the chariot between the poles.
-again, on their way to emain, a flock of swans passed overhead, flying before them. “what birds are those?” enquired the boy. “are they tame birds or wild?” “those are wild swans,” said ivar, “that fly inland from the rocks and islands of the sea to feed.” “would the ulstermen think better of me if i brought them in dead or if i captured them alive?” again enquired the boy. “assuredly to bring them down alive.”
-then cuchulain took his sling and with a well-aimed shot he brought down one or two of the swans. again and again he aimed until several of the birds were lying on the path before them. “ivar, go you and fetch the birds alive,” said the boy.
-“it is not easy for me to do that,” he said. “the horses are become wild and i cannot leave them or leap out in front of them. if then i try to get out at the side, i shall be cut to pieces with the sharp rims of the chariot-wheels; if i get out behind, the stags will gore me with their horns.” “that is not a warrior’s speech, but the speech fit a coward,” said the lad. “but come now, step out fearlessly upon the antler of the deer, for i will bend my eye on him, so that he will not stir or harm you, nor will the horses move when i have overlooked them.” this then was done. cuchulain held the reins, while ivar got out and collected the fallen birds. with long cords the birds were fastened to the chariot, and thus they went on to emain, with the wild stags running behind the chariot, and the flock of birds flying over it, and on the poles the bleeding heads of the three sons of nechtan the mighty.
-on the walls of emain a watchman was at the look-out post. “a solitary warrior draws near to thee, o conor, and terribly he comes! upon the chariot pole are bleeding heads; white birds are flying round the car, and wild unbroken stags are tethered fast behind. wildly and with fury he draws near, and unless some means be taken to abate his rage, the young men of emain’s fort will perish by his hand.”
-“warriors will not stay his hand. i know that little boy; it is my foster-son, who on this day has taken arms and made his first champion-raid. but before women he is ever courteous and modest; let then the women-folk of emain’s fort, and our noble wives, go forth to meet him, for that will tame his rage.” so the champion’s wives and the women of emain went out in a troop to meet him, and when he saw them come, the fury of war passed from cuchulain, and he leaned his head upon the chariot-rail, that they might not see the battle rage that was upon his face. for in the presence of women cuchulain was ever calm and gentle-mannered.
-yet so warm and ardent was he from his warrior-raid, that the champions of ulster bathed him in three baths of cold water before his heat and travel-stains were passed away from him. and the water of the baths was heated fiery-hot by his plunge into it. but when he was washed, and arrayed in his hooded tunic and mantle of bright blue, fastened with its silver brooch, the little man’s fury had all gone from him; he blushed a beautiful ruddy hue all over, and with eyes sparkling, and his golden hair combed back, he came to take his place beside the king. and conor was proud of the boy, and drew him between his knees and stroked his hair; and his place was ever beside the king after that.
-now a little boy that at the age of seven years--continued fiacra, who told the tale--could kill a man, yea, two or three men, whom all the champions of ulster feared, and who could do such deeds, it were not wonderful if, in your war with ulster, o queen meave, he should prove a formidable foe.
-and meave said thoughtfully, “it were not wonderful indeed.”
-then the company broke up, preparing for the march upon the morrow. but that night meave said to her spouse: “i think, o ailill, that this young champion of ulster is not of the make of mortal men, nor is he quite as other champions. and though our host is good and sufficient for ordinary war, to meet a foe like this, it seems to me that a great and mighty force is needed; for i am of opinion that the war on which we are now come will not be a battle of a night or a day, but that it will be a campaign of many days and weeks and months against that lad. therefore, at this time, let us return home again, and when a year or two is out, i shall have gathered such a host that the gods themselves could not withstand it.” thus meave spoke boastfully, and ailill was well content, for he liked not the war. so for that time, they all turned home again.
-cuchulain’s adventures in shadow-land
-while cuchulain was still a little lad, but strong and brave and full of spirit, it came into his mind that he would like to go out into the world to perfect himself in every kind of soldierly art, so that he might not be behind any warrior in feats of strength and skill. he went first to the glen of solitude in munster, but he did not long remain there, but returned to ulster, to invite his companions to go with him to visit the woman-warrior scáth who dwelt in “shadow-land.” where the land was, cuchulain knew not, but he thought it was in alba, or mayhap in the eastern world.
-three of the chiefs of ulster consented to go with him, conall, whom men in after days called the victorious, because of his many combats, and laery the triumphant, and conor, ulster’s king. conall was close friend to cuchulain, and they had vowed to each other while yet they were but boys, that whichever of the two of them should first fall in battle or single combat, the other would avenge his death, whether he were at that time near at hand or far across the world in distant climes. and though cuchulain was the younger, he it was who first fell, and conall avenged his death in the red rout, as we shall hear. he was a great wanderer, and he was far away across the seas when cuchulain fell, but for all that his promise held him, and his love for his friend, and amply and fully he avenged him on his foes.
-then these three friends set out together in conall’s boat the “bird-like,” which needed not to be guided or rowed, but which sped at its own will across the deep-green, strong-waved ocean, like the winging flight of a swift bird. it took its own way to strange lands, where none of those who travelled in the boat had ever been before, and they came at last to a dark gloomy shore where dwelt a fierce woman-warrior, donnell the soldierly, and her daughter, big-fist.
-huge and ugly and gruesome were they both, with big grey eyes, and black faces and rough bright-red hair, and so cruel and vengeful were they that it was dangerous to quarrel with either of them. yet they knew many feats of arms, so that the three warriors stayed with them a year and a day, learning all they knew. but cuchulain was fain to go away from them, for the darkness and the gloom of the place and the ugly deeds of big-fist troubled him, and he liked not at all to remain with her.
-the year and the day being past, cuchulain was walking by the brink of the sea revolving these things in his mind, when he saw close beside him, sitting on the shore, a man of enormous size, every inch of him from top to toe as black as coal. “what are you doing here?” said the big black man to cuchulain. “i have been here a year and a day learning feats of prowess and heroism from donnell,” said the little lad. “how so?” said the big black man. “if you want to learn true knightly skill and feats of valour, it is not here that you will learn them.” “is that true?” said cuchulain. “it is true, indeed,” said the big black man. “is there any woman-champion in the world who is better than the woman-champion that is here?” said cuchulain. “there is indeed,” said the big black man; “far better than she is scáth, daughter of ages, king of shadow-land, who dwells in the eastern world.” “we have heard of her before,” said cuchulain. “i am sure you have,” said the big black man; “but great and distant is the region of shadow-land, little man.” “will you tell me all about it, and where it is, and how to find it?” said cuchulain, eagerly. “never will i tell you a word about it to the end of time,” said the black man surlily. “o hateful, withered spectre, now may knowledge and help fail you yourself, when most you stand in need of them,” cried the boy, and with that the phantom disappeared.
-cuchulain did not sleep a wink that night thinking of the great far-distant country of which the big black man had told him; and at break of day on the morrow he sprang from his bed and sought his companions, conor and conall and laery. “will you come with me to seek for shadow-land?” he asked, when he had told them the tale of the big black man. “we will not come,” said they, “for last night a vision appeared to each of us, and we could not put it away from us. we saw before us our own homes, and the kingly courts of emain macha standing right before us in the way, and we heard the voices of our wives weeping for our absence, and the call of our clans and warriors for their chiefs; therefore to-day we bid you farewell, for we return together to our homes. but go you on to shadow-land and perfect yourself in feats with scáth, daughter of ages, and then return to us.” it seemed to cuchulain that it was the big black man who had raised this vision before the chiefs, that they might separate themselves from him, so that he might find his death travelling to shadow-land alone. so he bid the chiefs farewell with a heavy heart, and they set off for erin in conall’s boat, the “bird-like;” and as soon as it was out of sight, speeding over the waves of the blue, surging ocean, cuchulain set out alone along the unknown road. for he was determined to reach shadow-land, or to die in the attempt. he went on for many days over great mountains and through deep impenetrable forests, and dark, lonely glens, until he came to a wide-spreading desert and a lightless land. black and scorched and bare was that desert, and there was no path or road across it, and no human habitation was in sight. cuchulain stood wondering and fearing to adventure forth alone across that terrible stony trackless waste, for he knew not whither to turn, or how to go. just then he saw a great beast like a lion coming out of the forest on the border of the desert, and advancing towards him, watching him all the time. now cuchulain was but a little lad, and he had no weapons with him, and he was afraid of the mighty beast and tried to escape from him; but whichever way he turned, the beast was there before him, and it seemed to cuchulain that it was a friendly beast, for it made no attempt to injure him, but kept turning its side to cuchulain, inviting him to mount. so cuchulain plucked up his courage and took a leap and was on its back. he did not try to guide it, for of its own accord the lion made off across the plain, and for four days and nights they travelled thus through the dim, lightless land until cuchulain thought they must have come to the uttermost bounds of men. but they saw a small loch and a boat on it, and boys rowing the boat backward and forward amongst the reeds of the shore, and the boys laughed at the sight of the hurtful beast doing service to a human being. then cuchulain jumped off the back of the lion and he bade it farewell and it departed from him.
-the boys rowed him across the loch to a house where he got meat and drink, and a young man with a face bright like the sun conducted him on his way until he came to the plain of ill-luck, and there he left him. difficult and toilsome was the journey across the plain of ill-luck; on one half of the plain the feet of the wayfarer would stick fast in the miry clay, so that he could not move on, but thought he would sink into the earth at every step; and on the other half of the plain the grass would rise up beneath his feet and lift him up far above the ground upon its blades, so that he seemed to be walking in the air.
-no road or comfortable way ran across that plain, and cuchulain could not have made his way across, but that the young man with the face like the sun had given him a wheel to roll before him, and told him to follow wherever the wheel led. so he rolled the wheel, and bright shining rays darted out of the wheel and lighted up all the land. the heat that came out of the wheel dried up the clay, so that it became hard and firm to walk upon, and it burned up the grass, so that it made a clear path before cuchulain all the way. and the noisome evil airs of the plain were sucked up by the heat and sunshine of the wheel, so that cuchulain went on gladly and cheerfully until he came to the perilous glen. then cuchulain was afraid again, for he saw before him a narrow glen between high rocky mountain fastnesses, and only one road through it, and that as narrow as a hair. and on either side of the road and among the rocks were cruel savage monsters waiting to devour him. but the youth with the shining face had given him an apple, and he rolled the apple before him as he went along, and when the monsters saw the apple, they ceased watching cuchulain and sprang after the apple. but the apple ran on and on, so that they could not come up with it, and as it ran the narrow path grew wider, so that cuchulain could follow it with ease. by that means he passed the perilous glen, and he took the road that led across the terrible high mountains, until he came to the bridge of the leaps. and on the other side of the bridge was the isle where scáth or shadow, daughter of ages, lived.
-now this is how the bridge of the leaps was made. it was low at the two ends, but high in the middle, and it passed over a deep and precipitous gorge, up which came foaming the waters of the wild tempestuous ocean. and fearful strange beasts and fishes were moving about in the waters below, which made a man’s heart quail with fear to look upon, for it was certain that if he should fall, they would seize him in their jaws and devour him.
-on the near side of the bridge were many youths playing hurley on the green, and cuchulain saw amongst them champions from ulster, ferdia, son of daman, and the sons of naisi, and many others. they greeted him kindly and gladly, and they asked news of ulster and of their friends and companions in erin; and cuchulain was glad to see the faces of his friends, for he was weary and fatigued after his journey and after the terrors of the way across the plain of ill-luck and the perilous glen. then cuchulain asked ferdia, for he was older than he, “how shall i get across the bridge of the leaps, to reach the fort of scáth?” “you cannot cross it,” said he; “for this is the manner of that bridge; when anyone steps on one end of the bridge the other end leaps up, and flings the passenger off again upon his back. not one of us has crossed the bridge as yet, for there are two feats that scáth teaches last of all, the leap of the bridge, and the thrust of the spear that is called the body spear, which moves along the water. when we have achieved valour, she will teach us the leap of the bridge, but the thrust of the body spear she will not teach to any man of us at all, for she reserves that feat for the champion who excels in all other feats, and who is, out of all her pupils, the one whom she likes best.”
-“truly,” said scáth, “this must be someone who has achieved valour somewhere else,” and she sent uthach the fearful, her daughter, to bring him in, and welcome him to the fort.
-for a year and a day he remained with scáth, and learned all that she could teach him, and he became the most renowned warrior of his time, or of any other time; and because shadow loved his skill and his strength and comeliness, she taught him the feat of the body spear, which she had never taught to any before. and she gave the spear into his own keeping. when ferdia saw the spear, he said, “o scáth, teach me also this feat, for the day will come when i shall have need of it.” but she would not, for she wished to make cuchulain invincible, and that he should have one feat that was not known to any but himself. and she gave him the helmet of invisibility, which manannan mac lir, the ocean god, brought out of fairy-land; and the mantle of invisibility made of the precious fleeces from the land of the immortals, even from the kingdom of clear shining; and she gave him his glorious shield, with knobs of gold, and chased all round with carvings of animals, and the combats of fighting men, and the sea-wars of the gods. and he became companion and arms-bearer to ferdia, because he was the younger and because they loved each other, and all the time he was with scáth they went together into every danger, and every peril, and they took journeys together, and saw strange sights. and because the twain loved each other, they swore that never in life would either hurt or wound the other, or do combat or quarrel with the other, but that for ever and for ever they twain would aid and support each other in war and in combat, and in all the pleasant loving ways of peace. but scáth knew that other days were coming, for she was a seer, and when cuchulain bade her farewell, to return to ireland, she spoke to him these words out of her prophet’s shining ken: “blessing and health go with thee! victorious hero, champion of the kine of bray! chariot chief of the two-horsed chariot! beloved hero of the gods! perils await thee; alone before the foe i see thee stand, fighting against a multitude, fighting thy own companion and friend. red from many conflicts are thy warrior weapons; by thee men and champions will fall; the warriors of connaught and of meave, the hosts of ailill and of fergus scatter before thy sword. the hound of ulster will be renowned. at his death will the glory of ulster fail, the glory of erin will depart from her.... farewell, farewell, cuchulain.”
-then cuchulain parted from her, and turned to go back to erin, and a magic mist overtook him so that he knew not how he went, or by what road he came to the borders of the white-flecked, green-waved ocean, but he found manannan’s horses of the white sea-foam awaiting him near the shore upon the surface of the mighty main, and he caught their tossing white-tipped manes and they bore him out across the waves, and so he came to ireland again. it was on the night of his return that he found and caught his two chariot horses, the grey of macha, and the black steed of the glen, and this is how he caught them. he was passing along the borders of the grey lake that is near the mountain of slieve fuad, pondering on the fate that was before him, and the work that he would do. slowly he walked along the reedy, marshy ground that lay along the lake, till he saw a mist rise slowly from the mere and cover all the plain. then, as he stood to watch, he saw the form of a mighty steed, grey and weird and phantom-like, rise slowly from the centre of the lake, and draw near to the shore, until it stood with its back to him among the rushes of the water’s edge. softly cuchulain crept down behind the steed; but it seemed not to hear him come, for it was looking out towards the centre of the lake. then with a sudden leap, cuchulain was on its neck, his two arms clasped upon its mane. when it felt the rider on its back, the noble animal shuddered from head to foot, and started back and tried to throw cuchulain, but with all his might he clung and would not be thrown. then began a struggle of champions between those two heroes, the king of the heroes of erin and the king of erin’s steeds. all night they wrestled, and the prancing of the steed was heard at emain macha, so that the warriors said it thundered, and that a great storm of wind had arisen without. but when it could by no means throw cuchulain from its back, the horse began to career and course round the island, and that night they fled with the swiftness of the wind three times round all the provinces of ireland. with a bound the wild steed leaped the mountains, and the sound of its coursing over the plains was as the break of the tempestuous surf upon the shore. once only did they halt in their career, and that was in the wild and lonely glen in donegal that is called the black glen, where the ocean waves roll inward to the land. from out the waters arose another steed, as black as night, and it whinneyed to the grey of macha, so that the grey of macha stopped, and the black steed of the glen came up beside it, and trotted by its side. then the fury of the grey of macha ceased, and cuchulain could feel beneath his hand that the two horses were obedient to his will. and he brought them home to emain and harnessed them to his chariot, and all the men of ulster marvelled at the splendour of those steeds, which were like night and day, the dark steed and the light, and one of them they called the grey of macha, because macha was the goddess of war and combat, and the other they called the black steed of the glen.
-how cuchulain wooed his wife
-it was on a day of the days of summer that emer, daughter of forgall the wily, sat on a bench before her father’s door, at his fort that is called lusk to-day, but which in olden days men spoke of as the gardens of the sun-god lugh, so sunny and so fair and fertile was that plain, with waving meadow-grass and buttercups, and the sweet may-blossom girdling the fields. close all about the fort the gardens lay, with apple-trees shedding their pink and white upon the playing fields of brilliant green; and all the air was noisy with the buzz of bees, and with the happy piping of the thrush and soft low cooing of the doves. and emer sat, a fair and noble maid, among her young companions, foster-sisters of her own, who came from all the farms and forts around to grow up with the daughters of the house, and learn from them high-bred and gentle ways, to fashion rich embroideries such as irish women used to practise as an art, and weaving, and fine needlework, and all the ways of managing a house. and as they sat round emer, a bright comely group of busy girls, they sang in undertones the crooning tender melodies of ancient erin; or one would tell a tale of early wars, and warrior feasts or happenings of the gods, and one would tell a tale of lover’s joys or of the sorrows of a blighted love, and they would sigh and laugh and dream that they too loved, were wooed, and lost their loves.
-and emer moved about among the girls, directing them; and of all maids in erin, emer was the best, for hers were the six gifts of womanhood, the gift of loveliness, the gift of song, the gift of sweet and pleasant speech, the gift of handiwork, the gifts of wisdom and of modesty. and in his distant home in ulster, cuchulain heard of her. for he was young and brave, and women loved him for his nobleness, and all men wished that he should take a wife. but for awhile he would not, for among the women whom he saw, not one of them came up to his desires. and when they urged him, wilfully he said: “well, find for me a woman i could love, and i will marry her.” then sent the king his heralds out through every part of ulster and the south to seek a wife whom cuchulain would care to woo. but still he said the same, “this one, and this, has some bad temper or some want of grace, or she is vain or she is weak, not fitted as a mate to such as i. she must be brave, for she must suffer much; she must be gentle, lest i anger her; she must be fair and noble, not alone to give me pleasure as her spouse, but that all men may think of her with pride, saying, ‘as cuchulain is the first of ulster’s braves, the hero of her many fighting-fields, so is his wife the noblest and the first of erin’s women, a worthy mate for him.’”
-so when the princely messengers returned, their search was vain; among the daughters of the chiefs and noble lords not one was found whom cuchulain cared to woo. but one who loved him told him of a night he spent in forgall’s fort, and of the loveliness and noble spirit of forgall’s second girl emer, the maiden of the waving hair, but just grown up to womanhood. he told him of her noble mien and stately step, the soft and liquid brightness of her eyes, the colour of her hair, that like to ruddy gold fresh from the burnishing, was rolled around her head. her graceful form he praised, her skilfulness in song and handiwork, her courage with her father, a harsh and wily man, whom all within the house hated and feared but she. he told him also that for any man to win the maiden for his wife would be a troublesome and dangerous thing, for out of all the world, her father forgall loved and prized but her, and he had made it known that none beneath a king or ruling prince should marry her, and any man who dared to win her love, but such as these, should meet a cruel death; and this he laid upon his sons and made them swear to him upon their swords, that any who should come to woo the girl should never leave the fort alive again.
-all that they said but made cuchulain yet the more desire to see the maid and talk with her. “this girl, so brave, so wise, so fair of face and form,” he pondered with himself, “would be a fitting mate for any chief. i think she is the fitting mate for me.”
-so on the very day when emer sat upon her playing-fields, cuchulain in the early morn set forth in all his festal garb in his chariot with his prancing steeds, with laeg before him as his charioteer, and took the shortest route towards the plain of bray, where lie the gardens of the sun-god lugh. the way they went from emain lay between the mountains of the wood, and thence along the high-road of the plain, where once the sea had passed; across the marsh that bore the name the whisper of the secret of the gods. then driving on towards the river boyne they passed the ridge of the great sow, where not far off is seen the fairy haunt of angus, god of beauty and of youth; and so they reached the ford of washing of the horses of the gods, and the fair, flowering plains of lugh, called lusk to-day.
-now all the girls were busied with their work, when on the high-road leading to the fort they heard a sound like thunder from the north, that made them pause and listen in surprise.
-nearer and nearer yet it came as though at furious pace a band of warriors bore down towards the house. “let one of you see from the ramparts of the fort,” said emer, “what is the sound that we hear coming towards us.” fiall, her sister, forgall’s eldest girl, ran to the top of the rath or earthen mound that circled round the playing-fields, and looked out towards the north, shading her eyes against the brilliant sun. “what do you see there?” asked they all, and eagerly she cried: “i see a splendid chariot-chief coming at furious pace along the road. two steeds, like day and night, of equal size and beauty, come thundering beneath that chariot on the plain. curling their manes and long, and as they come, one would think fire darted from their curbed jaws, so strain and bound they forward; high in the air the turf beneath their feet is thrown around them, as though a flock of birds were following as they go. on the right side the horse is grey, broad in the haunches, active, swift and wild; with head erect and breast expanded, madly he moves along the plain, bounding and prancing as he goes. the other horse jet-black, head firmly knit, feet broad-hoofed, firm, and slender; in all this land never had chariot-chief such steeds as these.”
-“heed not the steeds,” the girls replied, “tell us, for this concerns us most, who is the chariot-chief who rides within?”
-“worthy of the chariot in which he rides is he who sits within. youthful he seems, as standing on the very borders of a noble manhood, and yet i think his face and form are older than his years. gravely he looks, as though his mind revolved some serious thought, and yet a radiance as of the summer’s day enfolds him round. about his shoulders a rich five-folded mantle hangs, caught by a brooch across the chest sparkling with precious gems, above his white and gold-embroidered shirt. his massive sword rests on his thigh, and yet i think he comes not here to fight. before him stands his charioteer, the reins held firmly in his hand, urging the horses onward with a goad.”
-“what like is he, the charioteer?” demand the girls again.
-“a ruddy man and freckled,” answered fiall; “his hair is very curly and bright-red, held by a bronze fillet across his brow, and caught at either side his head in little cups of gold, to keep the locks from falling on his face. a light cloak on his shoulders, made with open sleeves, flies back in the wind, as rapidly they course along the plain.” but emer heard not what the maiden said, for to her mind there came the memory of a wondrous youth whom ulster loved and yet of whom all erin stood in awe. great warriors spoke of him in whispers and with shaking of the head. they told how when he was a little child, he fought with full-grown warriors and mastered them; of a huge hound that he had slain and many feats of courage he had done. into her mind there came a memory, that she had heard of prophets who foretold for him a strange and perilous career; a life of danger, and an early death. full many a time she longed to see this youth, foredoomed to peril, yet whose praise should ring from age to age through erin; and in her mind, when all alone she pondered on these things, she still would end: “this were a worthy mate! this were a man to win a woman’s love!” and half aloud she uttered the old words: “this were a man to win a woman’s love!”
-now hardly had the words sprung to her lips, when the chariot stood before the door, close to the place where all the girls were gathered. and when she saw him emer knew it was the man of whom she dreamed. he wished a blessing to them, and her lovely face she lifted in reply. “may god make smooth the path before thy feet,” she gently said. “and thou, mayest thou be safe from every harm,” was his reply. “whence comest thou?” she asked; for he had alighted from his seat and stood beside her, gazing on her face. “from conor’s court we come,” he answered then; “from emain, kingliest of ulster’s forts, and this the way we took. we drove between the mountains of the wood, along the high-road of the plain, where once the sea had been; across the marsh they call the secret of the gods, and to the boyne’s ford named of old the washing of the horses of the gods. and now at last, o maiden, we have come to the bright flowery garden-grounds of lugh. this is the story of myself, o maid; let me now hear of thee.” then emer said: “daughter am i to forgall, whom men call the wily chief. cunning his mind and strange his powers; for he is stronger than any labouring man, more learned than any druid, more sharp and clever than any man of verse. men say that thou art skilled in feats of war, but it will be more than all thy games to fight against forgall himself; therefore be cautious what thou doest, for men cannot number the multitude of his warlike deeds nor the cunning and craft with which he works. he has given me as a bodyguard twenty valiant men, their captain con, son of forgall, and my brother; therefore i am well protected, and no man can come near me, but that forgall knows of it. to-day he is gone from home on a warrior expedition, and those men are gone with him; else, had he been within, i trow he would have asked thee of thy business here.”
-“why, o maiden, dost thou talk thus to me? dost thou not reckon me among the strong men, who know not fear?” “if thy deeds were known to me,” she said, “i then might reckon them; but hitherto i have not heard of all thy exploits.” “truly, i swear, o maiden,” said cuchulain, “that i will make my deeds to be recounted among the glories of the warrior-feats of heroes.” “how do men reckon thee?” she said again. “what then is thy strength?” “this is my strength,” he said. “when my might in fight is weakest, i can defend myself alone against twenty. i fear not by my own might to fight with forty. under my protection a hundred are secure. from dread of me, strong warriors avoid my path, and come not against me in the battle-field. hosts and multitudes and armed men fly before my name.”
-“thou seemest to boast,” said emer, “and truly for a tender boy those feats are very good; but they rank not with the deeds of chariot-chiefs. who then were they who brought thee up in these deeds of which thou boastest?”
-“truly, o maiden, king conor is himself my foster-father, and not as a churl or common man was i brought up by him. among chariot-chiefs and champions, among poets and learned men, among the lords and nobles of ulster, have i been reared, and they have taught me courage and skill and manly gifts. in birth and bravery i am a match for any chariot-chief; i direct the counsels of ulster, and at my own fort at dun dalgan they come to me for entertainment. not as one of the common herd do i stand before thee here to-day, but as the favourite of the king and the darling of all the warriors of ulster. moreover, the god lugh the long-handed is my protector, for i am of the race of the great gods, and his especial foster-child. and now, o maiden, tell me of thyself; how in the sunny plains of lugh hast thou been reared within thy father’s fort?” “that i will tell thee,” said the girl. “i was brought up in noble behaviour as every queen is reared; in stateliness of form, in wise, calm speech, in comeliness of manner, so that to me is imputed every noble grace among the hosts of the women of erin.”
-“good, indeed, are those virtues,” said the youth; “and yet i see one excellence thou hast not noted in thy speech. never before, until this day, among all women with whom i have at times conversed, have i found one but thee to speak the mystic ancient language of the bards, which we are talking now for secrecy one with the other. and all these things are good, but one is best of all, and that is, that i love thee, and i think thou lovest me. what hinders, then, that we should be betrothed?” but emer would not hasten, but teasing him, she said, “perhaps thou hast already found a wife?” “not so,” said he, “and by my right-hand’s valour here i vow, none but thyself shall ever be my wife.” “a pity it were, indeed, thou shouldst not have a wife,” said emer, playing with him still; “see, here is fiall, my elder sister, a clever girl and excellent in needlework. make her thy wife, for well is it known to thee, a younger sister in ireland may not marry before an elder. take her! i’ll call her hither.” then cuchulain was vexed because she seemed to play with him. “verily and indeed,” he said, “not fiall, but thee, it is with whom i am in love; and if thou weddest me not, never will i, cuchulain, wed at all.”
-then emer saw that cuchulain loved her, but she was not satisfied, because he had not yet done the deeds of prime heroes, and she desired that he should prove himself by champion feats and deeds of valour before he won her as his bride.
-so she bade him go away and prove himself for a year by deeds of prowess to be indeed a worthy mate and spouse for her, and then, if he would come again she would go with him as his one and only wife. but she bade him beware of her father, for she knew that he would try to kill him, in order that he might not come again. and this was true, for every way he sought to kill cuchulain, or to have him killed by his enemies, but he did not prevail.
-when cuchulain had taken farewell of emer and gained her promise, he returned to emain macha. and that night the maidens of the fort told forgall that cuchulain had been there and that they thought that he had come to woo emer; but of this they were not sure, because he and emer had talked together in the poet’s mystic tongue, that was not known to them. for emer and cuchulain talked on this wise, that no one might repeat what they had said to forgall.
-and for a whole year cuchulain was away, and forgall guarded the fort so well that he could not come near emer to speak with her; but at last, when the year was out, he would wait no longer, and he wrote a message to emer on a piece of stick, telling her to be ready. and he came in his war-chariot, with scythes upon its wheels, and he brought a band of hardy men with him, who entered the outer rampart of the fort and carried off emer, striking down men on every side. and forgall followed them to the earthen out-works, but he fell over the rath, and was taken up lifeless. and cuchulain placed emer and her foster-sister in his chariot, carrying with them their garments and ornaments of gold and silver, and they drove northward to cuchulain’s fort at dun dalgan, which is dundalk to-day.
-and they were pursued to the boyne, and there cuchulain placed emer in a house of safety, and he turned and drove off his enemies who followed him, pursuing them along the banks and destroying them, so that the place, which had before been called the white field, was called the turf of blood from that day. then he and emer reached their home in safety, nor were they henceforth parted until death.
-meave demands the brown bull of cooley and is refused
-for many years meave had been making preparations for her war with ulster. to the east and south and west she had sent her messengers, stirring up the chiefs and calling them to aid her in her attack on conor’s land. from every quarter she asked for supplies of men and food, and if these were refused, she sent her fighting-bands into the district to waste and destroy it, and to carry off the cattle and produce by force. all the princes of ireland stood in awe of meave, so ruthless and proud was she, and so quick in her descent upon the lands of those who would not do her will. for had they not regarded her request, all ireland would have been set in flames; for she would plunder and destroy without pity or remorse. so in their own defence, the princes of the provinces promised her fighting-men and provender whenever she should call upon them, and month by month she gathered round her fort at cruachan herds of cattle and swine and sheep, ready for the war.
-now meave was looking about for a cause of contest between herself and ulster; for she knew that cuchulain was yet young, and she desired to begin the war before he came to his full strength; moreover, she had heard that upon ulster at that time there lay a heavy sickness, which had prostrated its fighting-men and warriors, its princes and captains, and that even conor, the king, himself lay ill.
-when then macha saw meave gathering her hosts together to war against ulster, she brought upon them this sickness, as she had prophesied. and meave, hearing of this, hastened her preparations for the war, for she was determined that, come what might, she would march into ulster at that time and smite it in its weakness, so that once and for ever ulster would be subdued to connaught by her hand. and her pride waxed greater at the thought.
-there were in ireland at that time two famous bulls, unlike to any kine that ever have been in ireland from that time until now. for these bulls were cattle of the gods, and they had come to abide among men for this purpose only, to incite and bring about a war between connaught and ulster. for macha watched o’er men, and she awaited the day when her revenge upon ulster should fall. now these cattle were born, one in the province of connaught among the cattle of meave, and the other in ulster among the cattle of daire of cooley, in cuchulain’s country. meave knew not that these were immortal beasts, for that was in the secrets of the gods, but she knew well that among her cattle was one bull of extraordinary size, and fierceness, and strength, so that no other member of her herds dared to come near it; moreover, fifty men were required to keep it. and of all her stock, there was not one that meave counted worth a metal ring beside this bull. she named him the finn-bennach or “white-horned,” and she believed that not in ireland nor in the whole world beside, was the equal and the fellow of this bull. one day, before the war began, while meave was meditating in her mind what challenge she should send to ulster, she caused all her cattle to be arrayed before her.
-from pastures and meadow-lands, from hills and vales, she called in all her stock, her sheep and swine, her cattle and her steeds. ailill also, her husband, caused his flocks and herds to be brought in, and reckoned alongside of hers. for meave had boasted to her spouse that in all possessions of kine and live stock, as also in household goods and utensils, in jewels and ornaments, in garments and in stuffs, her share was greater far than his, so that, in fact, she was the better of the two, the real ruler and prince of connaught.
-ailill liked not this boasting of his wife; so when their flocks were driven in, their vessels and vats and mugs collected, their clasped ornaments and rings, as well arm-rings as thumb-rings, brooches and collars of carven metal-work, with their apparel and stuffs, it pleased the king to find that the share of meave and of himself was exactly equal and alike. among meave’s horses was a special mare, and she thought there was no mare in ireland to equal it, but ailill had one just its match. among the sheep meave owned one mighty ram, and among the swine one eminent boar, but ailill proved that amongst his flocks and herds he had the same. then meave said: “among the cattle, however, certain it is, that there is no bull to be named in the same breath with the white-horned.” “ay, no, indeed,” said the herdsman, “the white-horned surpasseth all beasts; but, a week ago, he left the company of thy cattle, o queen, and went over to the cattle of the king. ’tis my opinion that he heard the keepers say that it was strange that so powerful a bull should be under the dominion of a woman; for no sooner were the words out of their mouths, than he broke loose from his stall, and, head in air and bellowing loudly, he passed over to the herds of ailill. nought could stay him or bring him back; and all that stood in his path were trampled and gored to death.”
-now when meave heard that the white-horned was no longer in her keeping, not one of her possessions had any value in her eyes; for, because she had not that especial bull, it was in her esteem as though she owned not so much as a penny’s worth of stock.
-when mac roth, her herald, who stood at her right hand, saw the queen’s vexation, he said, “i know, o queen, where a better bull than the white-horned is to be found, even with daire of cooley, in cuchulain’s country, and the dun or “brown bull” of cooley is its name; a match it is to the white-horned; nay, i think that it is yet more powerful than he.”
-“whence came these bulls?” said meave; “and what is their strength and their history? tell me, mac roth, yet further of this bull.”
-then mac roth said: “this is the description of the dun. brown he is, and dark as night, terrific in strength and size. upon his back, at evening-tide, full fifty little boys can play their games. he moves about with fifty heifers at his side, and if his keepers trouble him, he tramples them into the earth in his rage. throughout the land his bellowings can be heard, and on his horns are gold and silver tips. before the cows he marches as a king, with bull-like front, and with the resistless pace of the long billow rolling on the shore. like to the fury of a dragon, or like a lion’s fierceness is his rage. only the finn-bennach, the white-horned bull, is his mate and match; his pair in strength, in splendour, and in pride.”
-and meave said: “what and whence are these kine, and wherefore did they come to ireland?”
-mac roth replied: “these are the cattle of the gods; out of the fairy palaces they came to erin, and into the fairy palaces they will return again. for the disturbance and downfall of erin are they come, to awaken wars and tumults among her people. before they became cattle, they have lived many lives in many forms, but in whatever form they come to earth destruction and warfare haunt their steps. at the first they were two swineherds of the gods, dwelling in the underworld, and they kept the herds of the fairy gods of munster and of connaught. but a mighty war was fought between them, so that all erin was disturbed and troubled by that war; and each of them tore the other in pieces, so that they died. but they were born again as two ravens, dwelling upon earth, and for three hundred years they lived as birds, but in the end they pecked each other till they died.
-“then they became two monsters of the sea, and after that two warriors and two demon-men. but in each of all these forms they met together in terrific contest, so that the world of men and even the dwellings of the gentle gods were stirred and agitated by their wrath. for when men hear the sighing of the wind, or the wild turmoil of the billows on the shore, then, indeed, it is the bulls in fight wherever they may be, or in whatever form. and now that they are come to earth again, no doubt some mighty contest is at hand; for surely they are come to stir up strife and deadly warfare between man and man, and connaught and ulster will be concerned in this.”
-“that likes us well,” said meave, “and for this contest we will well prepare. so, since the fellow of the white-horned dwells in cooley, take thou with thee a company, mac roth, and go and beg this excellent bull from daire, that henceforth my cattle may compare with ailill’s kine, or that they may surpass them. give all conditions he demands and promise what thou wilt, so only daire give up the bull. and if he give it not up willingly, then will we come and seize the bull by force.”
-for to herself she said: “the taking of this bull will be a thing not easy to accomplish; if daire, as is likely, refuse it to me, war will arise between connaught and ulster, and this, seeing that the warriors of ulster are now lying in their pains, we much could wish. for our hosts are gathered and our provisions ready, while on ulster’s side there are but women and little children and cuchulain ready and fit to meet us; quickly in that case we shall march into ulster’s borders and raid the country up to emain’s palace gates, carrying off the spoils; the brown bull also we will bring with us, and henceforth not ailill, nor the king of ulster, nor all ireland besides, will hold up their heads against ourselves or boast themselves our equal.”
-so mac roth with nine of his company travelled to the house of daire in cooley, and welcome was made for them, and fresh rushes strewn upon the floor and viands of the best were set before them, as became the chief of ireland’s heralds. but before they sat down to meat, daire inquired of them: “what is the cause of your journey here to-day?” and mac roth replied: “a quarrel that has arisen between ailill and meave, the king and queen of connaught, about the possession of the white-horned, for meave is sorrowful and vexed because the king hath a better bull than she. she craves therefore, that a loan of the dun or brown bull of cooley be made to her, that she may say that she hath the finer kine. and if thou thyself wilt bring the bull to cruachan, good payment shall be given thee: that is, due payment for the loan of the bull, and fifty heifers into the bargain, besides a stretch of country of the best in connaught, and meave’s close friendship along with this.”
-this pleased daire so well, that he threw himself upon his couch, and he laughed loud and long, so that the seams of the couch burst asunder under him. “by our good faith,” he said, “the offer is a good one, and whatever the men of ulster may say to my lending away their precious bull, lend it i will with all my heart.”
-then supper was served, and the messengers of meave ate and drank, and daire plied them with strong wines, so that they began to talk at random to each other. “a good house is this to which we have come, and a wealthy man is daire,” said one to his fellow. “wealthy he is indeed,” said the other. “would you say that he was the best man in all ulster, and the richest?” pursued the first who had spoken. “surely not,” replied the other, “for conor the king, at least, is better in every way than he.” “well, lucky it is, i say,” pursued the first, “that without bloodshed or any difficulty raised, he yields the bull to us nine messengers; for had he refused it, i trow that the warriors of all ireland’s provinces could not have carried it off from ulster.” “say not so,” cried another, “for in truth, little matter to us had it been if daire had refused it, for had we not got the bull by fair means, we would have carried it off by foul.”
-now just at that moment in came the steward, with fresh viands to set before the guests, but when he overheard their conversation, and the slighting way in which his master was spoken of by the heralds of connaught, he set down the meat without a word and without inviting them to partake, and out he went at once and told his master what the heralds had said. then daire was very angry, and he exclaimed, “by the gods, i declare, that never will i lend the bull; and that now, unless by foul means they carry him off from me, he never shall be theirs.”
-the next morning, the messengers arose, having slept off their carouse, and they went to daire’s house, and courteously said: “show us now, noble sir, the way to the place where the brown bull is, that we may proceed with him on our journey back to cruachan.”
-“not so, indeed,” said daire, “for were it my habit to deal treacherously with those that come in embassage, not one of you would have seen the light of the sun to-day.” “why, how now, what is this?” they asked, surprised, for they had forgotten what they had said over their cups the night before. “’tis plain enough, i think,” said daire; “your people said last night that if i gave the bull not up of mine own will, yet meave and ailill would make me give it up by force. let meave and ailill come and take it if they can. all ulster will prepare to hold the bull.”
-“come, come,” said mac roth, “heed not what foolish men said after food and drink; ailill and meave had no ill intent in sending us to ask the bull of you. it were not right to hold them responsible for the loose words of their messengers.” “nevertheless, mac roth, and however this may be, at this time you do not get my bull.”
-the plucking out of the four-pronged pole
-then meave gathered her hosts together and set out from cruachan, each party under its own leader, marching in order of rank, with fergus mac roy guiding the entire army, and meave bringing up the rear, in order that she might keep all her troops under her own eye. meave’s way of travelling when she went into battle was in a chariot, with her bodyguard of chosen warriors around her, who, in any time of danger, interlocked their shields to form a rampart and protection on every side as she moved along.
-gaily her troops marched in their many-coloured garb, their short kilts falling to the knee, their long cloaks over that. and the colour of the kilts of each troop was different, so that each man knew his own comrades by the pattern of his kilt. in their hands they carried shields and spears upon long shafts, while others had five-pronged spears, or mighty swords, or javelins.
-it was in the beginning of winter that they set out, and already snow lay heavy on the ground; on the very first night it fell so thickly, that it reached to the chariot-wheels and almost to their very shoulders, nor could they find any track or way.
-meave called fergus, and said to him: “go on before the hosts, o fergus, and find us out the shortest road into ulster, for in such weather as this, it is not well that we lose time by wandering out of the right way.” so with a few companions fergus went on ahead; but as he drove along, the memory of old friends and of his home and country came upon him, and an overwhelming affection for ulster took hold on him, and in his mind there arose shame and bitter self-reproach that he, the former king of ulster, should be leading ulster’s foes against her. for he liked meave and he liked her not; her kindness to himself and the exiles of ulster had prevailed with him to aid her in her war upon the province; but her wiles and cunning and manlike ways he cared not for, and in his heart he had no wish to see the province subdued to her. so to the north and the south he misled the host, making them walk all day by difficult paths far out of their way, while in the meantime he sent swift messengers to conor and the ulster chiefs, but especially to his own foster-son cuchulain, whom he loved, to call their men at arms together, because meave and a host of warriors from all the provinces of ireland were on their borders. at night, after a long day’s march, the army found itself back in the very spot from which it had set out, not far beyond the banks of the river shannon. then meave called fergus, and angrily she spoke to him: “a good guide to an army art thou, o fergus, bringing it back at night to the very place from which in the morning it set out. a good enemy of ulster this. a good friend to connaught and its queen!” “seek out some other leader for your troops, o meave,” said fergus, “for never will i lead them against the province of ulster and against my own people and my foster-son! but this i tell you, beware and look out well for your troops to-night and every night from this; for it may be that cuchulain will stand between you and ulster, and the standing of cuchulain will be as the crouching of the hounds of war upon your path; therefore beware and guard yourselves well before him!”
-now that very night cuchulain got the message of fergus, for he was with his father, sualtach, not far from this place. together in their chariot they drove to the borders of the country where the army was encamped to seek for the trail of the hosts; but they found it not easy to discover the trail, because of the snow and because of the wandering path that fergus had taken the troops. they unyoked the chariots, and turned the horses out to graze at a certain pillar-stone beside a ford; and on one side of the pillar-stone the horses of sualtach cropped the grass down to the very ground, and on the other the horses of cuchulain did the same. then cuchulain said: “to-night, o father, i have a shrewd suspicion that the host is near; depart thou therefore to warn ulster, and to bid them arise and come by secret ways to meet the men of erin.”
-now in his heart was sualtach glad and pleased to be gone, because he was not a man who loved to stand in the gap of danger, nor to risk his life before an enemy stronger than himself; but yet he was loth to leave his son alone. so he said, “and thou, beloved, what wilt thou do?”
-“i will stand between the men of ireland and the province of ulster,” said the boy, “so that no harm or hurt befall the province until ulster be ready for battle; here on the borders do i take my stand, and i will so harry and trouble the hosts of meave that they will wish the expedition had never been undertaken.”
-so cuchulain hastened his father, and sualtach bade him farewell, and slipped away to emain macha. but when he found the warriors were asleep, his old lethargy came over sualtach, and he forgot the message of cuchulain, and under emain’s ramparts he took up his abode. “here will i wait in safety,” he thought; “and when the king and chiefs awake, i, with the first of them, will march to war with meave. i will not be behind, but all alone i have not the heart to fight.”
-no sooner had sualtach gone his way than cuchulain entered a forest close at hand and out of an oak sapling cut a four-pronged pole, which with one sweep of his swift sword he cleared of all its twigs and leaves and small branches. with the finger-tips of his right hand he hurled it out behind his chariot, going at full pace, so that it sank into the ground in the middle of the stream, and stood up just above the water. upon the pole he flung a ring or twisted collar of young birch, and on the ring he carved his name and a message in secret runes. just at that moment two young men of the host of meave, gone out before the troops to scout, came near and watched him. no time had they to turn and flee, for with one leap cuchulain was upon them, and both their heads struck off. these and the two heads of their charioteers were soon impaled on the four points of the forked pole; but the chariots he turned back, driving them towards the host of meave. when the warriors saw the chariots return with headless men, they thought the army of ulster must be close before them, waiting their coming at the ford. therefore a great company of them marched forward to the stream, ready and armed for battle, but nothing did they see but a tall pole that stood upright in the swirling waters of the stream, bearing a rude carved collar on its top, and on the point of every branching prong a bleeding new-slain head.
-“go now,” said ailill to his man, “fetch me the collar here.” but all in vain he tried to read the words engraven on the ring. “what, fergus, are the words inscribed upon this ring?” said he. “who could have written them? a strange thing, verily, it seems to me, that two brave scouts could have been slain like this, well-nigh within the sight of all our men. a marvel, i confess, this thing to me.”
-“not that it is at which i marvel,” fergus said; “i marvel rather that with one sweep of the sword this tree was felled and cleaned of all its twigs. see, it is written on the ring that with one hand this pole was thrown, and fixed firmly in its bed; it is written here, moreover, that the men of erin are forbidden to pass this ford, until in exactly the same manner it is plucked up again.”
-“one man only in the army can do that, namely, you yourself, o fergus!” answered meave. “now help us in this strait and pluck the pole out of the river’s bed for us.”
-“bring me a chariot, then, and i will see what i can do.”
-a chariot was brought and fergus mounted into it. with all his force he dashed down into the water, and with his finger-tips in passing by he tried to draw the pole out of its place. but all in vain; the pole stood fast, and though he tugged and strained, so that the chariot flew into little bits and fragments, he could not stir or move the pole an inch. one chariot after another he essayed, and all of them went into splinters, but not one whit the looser was the pole. at last meave said: “give over, fergus; enough of my people’s chariots are broken with this game. get your own chariot and pull out the pole. right well i guess your purpose; for you have in mind to hamper and delay the progress of our host till ulster be aroused and come to meet us; but that your guidance led us all astray, we might be even now in ulster’s border-lands.”
-then fergus’s own mighty chariot was brought, all made of iron, studded o’er with nails, heavy and massive in its make. upright he stood in it, and with a powerful, superhuman pull he wrenched with one hand’s finger-tips the pole from out its bed, and handed it to ailill.
-attentively and long the king considered it, and then he asked, “whom thinkest thou, o fergus, it might be who threw this pole into the river-bed and slaughtered our two scouts? was it conall the victorious, or celtchar, or even conor himself? surely it was some brave, well-seasoned man, some warrior of old renown, who did a deed like this!” “i think,” said fergus, “that not one of these three heroes would have come alone from ulster, unattended by their bodyguard and troops.” “whom, then, thinkest thou was here?” persisted ailill; “who could have done this deed?” “i think,” said fergus, “that it was cuchulain, ulster’s hound.”
-the deer of ill-luck
-when meave heard that already the hound of ulster stood upon her path, the words spoken by the fairy feidelm and the druid came back into her mind, and she resolved that not a moment would she linger by the way, but now at once, before the men of ulster were risen from their weakness, she would push on direct to emain macha. “if one man alone and single-handed be formidable to us,” she said to ailill, “still more formidable will he be with the gathered hosts of ulster at his back, fighting for their country and their fatherland.”
-so that very night she gave command that the army should move on, taking the direct way into ulster; and when the men complained there was no road, she bid her soldiers take their swords and hew for the chariots a path straight through the forests. haughtily she cried, “though mountains and high hills stood in my way, yet should they be hewn down before me and smoothed to level lands. so by new paths mayhap we shall slip by cuchulain unperceived, and fall on ulster sleeping; thus shall we take cuchulain in the rear.”
-but whichever way the army turned, from that night forward cuchulain was on the path before it, and though the warriors could not catch sight of him, at every point he cut off twos and threes, whenever scouts were sent before the host. at length they could not get the scouts to go, and whole bands went out together, but even so but few returned alive. and strange things happened, which alarmed the men, and meave herself at last grew sore afraid. one evening, thinking that all was safe, meave and her women walked to take the air, she carrying on her shoulders her pet bird and squirrel. they talked together of the wonders that cuchulain wrought, and how that very day he had fallen alone upon a troop of men who cut a path through woods some miles away beyond the camp to eastward, and how but one of them escaped to tell the tale. just as they spoke, a short sharp sound was heard, as of a sling-stone passing near their heads, and at meave’s feet the squirrel dropped, struck through the heart. startled, she turned to see whose hand had killed her pet, but as she turned, down from the other shoulder dropped the bird, slain also by a stone. “cuchulain must be near,” the women cried; “no other hand but his so surely and so straight can sling a stone,” and hastily they turned and sought the shelter of the camp again. meave sat down beside the king to tell him what had happened. “it could not be cuchulain,” said the king; “he was far off on the other side of the host to-day.” even as the words passed from his lips, close to them whizzed a hand-sling stone, carrying off the coronet or golden ‘mind’ that bound meave’s hair, but hurting not so much as a lock upon her head. “a bad stroke that,” laughed out the fool that gambolled round the king, joking to make him merry; “had i been he who shot that stone, the head i would have taken off and left the ‘mind’ behind.”
-so day and night the camp moved on, but not thus could they outstrip cuchulain; march as they would, he still was there before them. yet, though they chased and sought him day and night, they caught no sight of him; only he cut off their men.
-one day a charioteer of orlam, ailill’s son, was sent into a wood to cut down poles to mend the chariots broken by the way. it happened that cuchulain was in this wood, and he took the charioteer to be a man of ulster come out before their host to scout for them.
-“the youth is foolhardy who comes so near the army of queen meave,” cuchulain thought; “i will e’en go and warn him of his danger.”
-so he went forwards, and said, “and what, my lad, art thou doing here?” not knowing who it was who spoke to him, the lad replied, “i am come out to polish chariot-poles, because our chariots have been sorely damaged in our chase of that famous wild deer, cuchulain; and indeed, good warrior, i am making all the haste i can, for fear this same cuchulain may pounce down on me. certainly he would make short work of me; therefore, o youth, if thou hast time, lend me a hand and help me with my task.” “willingly,” said cuchulain, “will i help thee. take thou thy choice; shall i cut down the holly-poles? or shall i smooth them for thee?” “to trim them is the slowest work; therefore while i hew down the trees do thou smooth off the branches and the twigs.”
-cuchulain set to work to trim the holly-poles, and quickly were they done. simply by drawing them between his fingers and his toes, he finished them to perfect smoothness, and threw them down without a twig or bit of bark or any rough excrescence on the ground. closely and with surprise the young man watched this feat. at last he said: “i am inclined to think that thou art accustomed to some higher work than cutting chariot-poles. who art thou then at all?”
-“i am that notable cuchulain of whom just now thou spakest,” the hero said. “art thou indeed? then am i but a dead man,” the youth cried, trembling as he spoke; “no one escapes cuchulain’s hands alive.”
-“fear nothing,” replied cuchulain, “for i never slay a man unarmed or charioteer. whose man art thou, and where is thy master to be found?” “a servant i of orlam, son of meave, who awaits my coming near at hand,” replied the charioteer. “take him this message then,” cuchulain said. “tell him the hound of ulster is at hand, and bid him guard his head, for if we meet, his head will surely fall.”
-then the charioteer, right glad to get away, sought out his master with all haste; but before he could reach him, cuchulain had outstripped him, and struck off the head of orlam, holding it aloft and shaking it before the men of erin.
-from that time forward cuchulain took up his position nearer to the host, cutting off and destroying them, and at evening he would brandish and shake his weapons before the army, so that men died of pure fear of him.
-“our army will be destroyed before ever we reach emain macha,” said meave at length. “if i could but see this hero who troubles our armies, and speak to him myself, i would offer him terms; for if we could persuade him to forsake ulster, and come over to our side, it would go hard with us, if all ulster would not be subdued before us, and ourselves return from this expedition the greatest monarch in ireland.” calling mac roth, her herald, she said to him, “prepare your chariot, mac roth, and seek out for us this deer of ill-luck who is pursuing our army and bringing misfortune upon us. offer him terms to forsake the service of conor and to enter our own service. give him whatever terms he asks, and bid him come himself to-morrow to confer with me, but not to cross the glen. well should i like to see this mighty man, but i would not have him come too near.”
-“i care not to go on this embassy,” quoth mac roth; “besides, i know not where to find cuchulain.” “fergus will know,” said meave, for she believed that fergus was in league with his foster-son, and she forgave him not that he loved ulster still, in spite of all that she had done for him; so she said, “fergus will surely know.”
-“i know not,” said fergus, “but this i know, that after any feat of war or combat with an enemy it is not by sleep or lazy loitering cuchulain rests himself, but by exercising in the open air and sun, letting the cool breezes blow upon his wearied body. likely it is, that somewhere ’twixt the mountains and the sea he will be found.”
-mac roth set off. now all the land was covered with a mantle of fresh snow, and, true enough, cuchulain warmed himself by practising javelin feats out on the mountain-side, in the full air and sun.
-his charioteer looked forth and saw a man approach. “a warrior comes, o little cu,” he said. “what sort of warrior is he who comes?” cuchulain asked, but did not cease to fling his javelins in the air. “a massive, goodly, dark-faced man, clad in an ample mantle of dark brown, that fastens at his throat with a delicate, richly ornamented pin of bronze. beneath the mantle a strong coat of skins, and sandals bound with leather thongs are on his feet. a sharp-edged sword he carries in one hand, and in the other holds a hazel-switch, to keep in order two great noble hounds that play around his steps.”
-“these are the trappings of a herald,” said cuchulain; “no doubt he comes from meave and ailill to propose terms to us.”
-mac roth came to the place where laeg was awaiting him. “who is your master, man?” said he. “my master is the young man over there; i am his charioteer,” replied laeg. mac roth turned half round and saw cuchulain. “and who may you serve, my young man?” quoth he. “i serve king conor,” said the hero. “cannot you tell me something more precise than that?” inquired mac roth again. “that much will serve your turn,” replied the youth. “can you then tell me where i could find this renowned cuchulain, who is so frightening the men of erin now?” pursued mac roth. “what do you want to say to him that cannot be said as well to me?” “i come in embassage from ailill and from meave, with power to propose terms of truce, and with an invitation from the queen that cuchulain should meet and confer with her.” “what terms do you propose?” he asked again. “with bounteous offers i am come from meave, promise of wealth in cattle and in flocks, and welcome of an honoured guest to cruachan and a place near meave’s own side; all this and more, if he will quit the petty chieftain conor, and will enter her service, and if, moreover, he will hold his hand from smiting down our hosts; for, in good sooth, the nightly thunder-feats he plays upon the warriors please not the host at all.”
-anger came upon cuchulain to hear king conor styled a petty chief by this contemptuous messenger of meave. “go back to those who sent you,” he replied, “for if in truth cuchulain heard your terms, he would reject and fling them back with scorn. to-morrow i engage that the hero will confer with meave herself, but only if she come under the escort and the charge of fergus.”
-mac roth returned with haste, and in the camp he sought out connaught’s queen. eagerly she asked, “well, did you find the champion, mac roth?” “all that i found was a terrible, angry, surly fellow airing himself between the mountains and the sea; but whether it were the formidable hero of whom men speak or no, indeed, i know not.”
-“did he accept our terms?” pursued the queen. “the man i saw rejected them outright, flinging them back at us with angry scorn. only he promised that to-morrow, in the glen, cuchulain would be found to talk of terms, but that you needs must go in company with fergus.”
-“to-morrow i myself will offer terms,” said meave, “and he will not refuse.” so on the morrow meave and fergus sought the glen, the queen keeping carefully to the far side of the valley, with the wooded dell between themselves and the place where she believed cuchulain would be found. eagerly she scanned the glen on every side, expecting on the opposite ridge to see a mighty, ugly warrior, fully armed, who waited for her coming. “why comes he not, fergus?” she said at last. but fergus answered not, for he was standing all engrossed in watching a young stripling, lithe and radiant, who on the other side the glen was practising sling-feats, shooting at the passing birds that flew above his head, and bringing them down alive.
-“cuchulain is there before you,” fergus said. “i see no one at all save one young lad, who seems expert in feats,” replied the queen; “i cannot see a warrior near or far.”
-“that young lad it is who has done damage to your hosts, however,” was the reply. “is that boy, the young boy yonder, the famous hero of whom all men speak?” meave cried astonished. “small need, methinks, to be afraid of him, myself will speak to him and offer him my terms.” then in a high and haughty voice, as when a queen speaks to an underling, meave called across the valley to cuchulain. she set before him honourable terms if he would leave the service of king conor and enter hers. promptly, without an instant’s thought, he set them all aside. then as he seemed about to turn away to practise feats again, in despair the queen called out, “are there no terms whatever that you will accept? it is not pleasant to our people, nor likes it them at all, to be cut off and slaughtered night by night and harassed by your precious thunder-feats.”
-“i tell you not my terms,” replied the youth; “it is for you to find them out yourself.”
-as meave and fergus drove back to the camp, the queen asked fergus if he knew the terms cuchulain would accept.
-“i do not know,” said fergus, “but just now there came into my mind a conversation that i had when cuchulain was yet a child and in my house as foster-son. we spoke together of a champion who had accepted conditions of his country’s foes, and i remember that cuchulain thought not well of him for doing so. he coloured up and said, ‘if i were offered conditions by my country’s enemies, these are the sort of terms i would accept. i would demand of them each day one of their foremost warriors to meet me at the ford in single combat; and for the space of time while i am hewing down that man, i would permit them to march onwards with their host, and short would be that space of time, i ween! but when the man was dead, until the sunrise on the morrow’s morn, i would not have them move. thus i would keep them well in sight, and would pluck off their warriors one by one. also,’ he said, and laughed, ‘i would require my enemies to keep me well supplied with food and raiment while i fought with them; so would there be much trouble saved, and with their food i would grow strong to fight against themselves. these are the terms that i would ask, o foster-father fergus, of my foes.’ those were his words, o queen, when he was but a child; i trow he will not be contented now with less.”
-then meave said thoughtfully: “it seems not worse that one man should be slain each day than that a hundred men should fall at night, even were that one man a champion of our host. i think it better to accept his terms. go back to him, o fergus, and if he is agreed, say we accept and will abide by those conditions. so we may find at length a little peace.”
-etarcomal’s well-deserved fate
-“whither away, etarcomal?” said fergus, for that was the youth’s name. “i wish to go with you,” replied the lad; “i hear that you are on your way to seek this wonderful cuchulain, of whom all men talk. i feel inclined myself to have a look at him.”
-“i give you sound advice,” said fergus, “and best it were for you to heed my words. turn round your chariot, and go home again.”
-“why so?” etarcomal asked. “because i know full well that if you, with your light-minded insolence, come into contact with this great hound of war, in all his fierceness and his terrible strength, trouble will befall. you will provoke him with your childishness, and ill will come, before i can prevent it. go home again, i will not have you come.” “if we fell out, could you not rescue me?” etarcomal said. “no doubt i should endeavour to succour you; but if you seek a quarrel, or with your foolish words provoke cuchulain, i make no promises; you must defend yourself, and take your chance.”
-“truly i seek no quarrel with this valiant mighty chief; i will but look upon his powerful form and note his face, and then return with you.” “so be it, then,” said fergus, “let us on.”
-afar off, laeg espied them as they came. he and his master sat beneath the trees close on the borders of a little wood, playing a game of chess; but none the less he kept a sharp lookout, watching where lay the distant camp of meave. a single chariot approaches from the camp, and furiously it drives across the plain: “i think he comes to seek us, cucuc,” said the man. “what sort is the rider in that chariot?” questioned cu. “i know him well, and short the time since he was here before. like to the side of a massive mountain, standing sheer from out the plain, the chariot in which that warrior rides. mighty as the leafy branching crown of a kingly tree which grows before a chieftain’s door, the bushy, loose, dark-ruddy locks upon that warrior’s head. around him is a mantle of a noble purple hue, with fringes of bright gold, clasped with a pin of gleaming gold and set with sparkling stones. in his left hand he bears his bossy shield and in his right a polished spear, with rings of metal bound from point to haft. upon his thigh a sword so long and great, i took it for the rudder of a boat, or for a rainbow arched across the skies. far-travelled and a man of might, meseems, the guest who cometh here.” “welcome to me the coming of this hero and old friend,” cuchulain cried, “my master fergus, who approaches us.”
-“i see behind a second smaller chariot, which seems to accompany the massive chariot of fergus. spritely and full of life are the two prancing chariot-steeds, and young and bright the man who sits within.”
-up dashed the steeds of fergus’ chariot, and in an instant he had sprung to earth and stood beside cuchulain. “welcome, o fergus, old familiar friend. welcome, my foster-master and my guardian,” cuchulain cried, and warmly he embraced him. “upon this lonely watch that i am forced to keep all solitary and unaided day by day against the men of erin, most welcome the dear face of an old friend.”
-“then thou art glad indeed?” fergus exclaimed, surprised.
-“certainly and indeed, i am right glad! not much have i to offer in this wild desert place, but all i have is fully at your service. when o’er the plain a flock of wild-duck wings its way, one of them you shall have, with, in good times, the full half of another; if fish come up the estuary, a whole one shall be yours, with all that appertains to it; a handful of fresh cress straight from the brook, a spray of marshwort or of green sorrel shall be yours; ’tis all i have to give. when you are thirsty, from the running stream that trickles through the sand, you’ll get a drink; and if, some fall of day, a hero calls you to come down and wage a single combat at the ford, you shall take rest and sleep, while i will fight your enemy or keep watch.”
-“truly i well believe it,” fergus said. “too well i know what straits for food and drink have fallen on thee in this raid, and well i know thy hospitable mind. but at this time we seek not food and drink, nor can we stay for combats or for rest; i come at ailill’s and at meave’s command, to tell thee what we think are thy conditions, and that we will hold and keep to them.”
-“i too will keep the compact brought by fergus’ hand, and to the letter i will carry it out,” the hero said; “only abide awhile with me, and let us waste a little time in talk of olden days.”
-“i dare not stay to talk at this time, o beloved foster-son,” fergus replied; “the men of erin doubt me, and will think that i am proving traitor to their cause, and betraying them to thee; for well they know i love thee, though, alas! at this time i am fighting with my country’s foes and thine. one thing i ask of thee for old affection’s sake, because thou art my pupil and my friend, that if at any moment in this war, thou and myself art found opposing each the other face to face, thou then wilt turn and flee before me, that upon my pupil and my foster-son i be not forced to redden my sword in fight. promise me this.”
-“though i be indeed thy pupil and thy foster-son,” replied the youth, “yet loth am i to promise this; never have i turned my back on any friend or foe, and to flee even before thee, o fergus, likes me not. ask me not this, but any other thing gladly and joyfully i grant to thee.” “no need for thee to feel like this,” fergus replied; “no shame to thee is what i contemplate, but only that our ancient love and friendship be not marred. do in this thing but what i ask, and i in my turn, in the final battle of the raid, when thou art wounded sore and drenched with blood, will turn and flee from thee. and surely if the men of erin see fergus in flight, they too will fly, and all the host of meave will scatter and disperse, like clouds before the sun.”
-but the lad etarcomal sat on still, looking at cuchulain, and for the first time the hero noticed him.
-“who are you, and what are you staring at, fellow?” he asked. “i look at you,” he said. “you can see me easily enough, i am not very big. but if you knew it, little animals can be dangerous sometimes, and so can i. but now that you have had a good look at me, tell me what you think of me.”
-“i do not think much of you,” etarcomal said. “you seem to me a very nice, wonderfully pretty youth and clever at playing sports and feats; but that anyone should think of you as a good warrior or a brave man, or should call you the ‘hero of valour’ or the ‘hammer of destruction,’ that i cannot understand. i do not know, indeed, why anyone should be afraid of you. i am not afraid of you at all.”
-“i am aware,” said cuchulain, “that you came hither under the protection of my master fergus, and that he is surety for your safe return; but by the gods whom i adore, i swear that if it were not for the honour of fergus, only your broken bones and disjointed members should have been sent back to meave after those insolent words.”
-“no need to threaten me,” said etarcomal; “i was here when you made an agreement with fergus to fight every day one of the men of ireland. by that wonderful agreement that he made with you, none other of the men of erin shall come to-morrow to meet you but only i myself. to-day i do not touch you, but let you live a little longer.”
-“however early you may choose to come to the ford,” said cuchulain, “you will find me there before you. i promise you i will not run away.”
-“i should say,” replied the charioteer, “that if you mean to fight cuchulain at all, ’twere better to get it over while he is close at hand.” “turn the chariot, and drive it left-handwise towards cuchulain, for by that sign we challenge him. i swear by all my gods, i never will go back until i take the head of this wild youth, and stick it up on high before the host.”
-laeg saw the chariot returning over the plain. “the last chariot-rider who went from us is coming back again, cucuc!” said he. “what does he want?” said cu. “he is challenging us by driving with the left side of the chariot towards us,” answered laeg.
-“i do not want to fight the boy,” cuchulain said. “shamed should i be were i to slay a lad who came hither under the guardianship of fergus. get me my sword out of its sheath, however, laeg; i’ll give him a good fright and send him home.”
-then cuchulain took his sword, and with one stroke he sliced away the sod beneath etarcomal’s feet, laying him flat upon the ground, his face turned upwards. “now go,” cuchulain said, “i wash my hands of you. had you not come under the care of my good master fergus, i would have cut you into little bits a while ago. beware, for i have given you a warning.” slowly etarcomal rose from the ground. “i will not budge a step until i have your head,” he said doggedly, though in his heart he began to be afraid. then cuchulain played on him another sword-feat; with one clean stroke he shore off all his hair, from back to front, from ear to ear, till not a hair remained; but not a single drop of blood he drew or even scratched his skin. “now off with you,” he said a second time, “you look absurd enough, i promise you. the men of erin and the chiefs will laugh when you go back, and cool your pride a bit.”
-“i will not stir until i have your head; either you gain the victory over me, and win renown, or i take off your head from you, and get the glory and the praise of it,” he sullenly replied.
-“o come, my wild young fosterling,” thought fergus to himself, “this is too bad indeed, to slay a lad who came under my protection. turn back the chariot,” said he aloud, “we go back to cuchulain at the ford.”
-no sooner had they come where cuchulain stood brooding above the body of etarcomal, and wiping down his bloody sword, than fergus called aloud, “what came to you, you hasty sprite, you hot-headed young fury; could you not keep your hands from slaying even a lad who came merely to look at you and under my protection? this act of yours i do not understand at all. it is not like the deed or custom of my foster-son.”
-“be not so angry, o my friend and master,” gently cuchulain replied; “all that i could i did to send him safely home. ask his own charioteer all that has taken place. he would not take a warning, and in the end i must have stood and had my head chopped off without defence, or, as i did, taken his head from him. would it have pleased you better had i let the lad take off my head from me?”
-“why, how is this?” she cried. “is this, o fergus of the mighty deeds, the fashion in which you bring back the tender whelp who went out from us but some hours ago, brilliant in life and gaiety and youth? the whelp we sent out safely, as we thought, in fergus’ guardianship? of wondrous value is the guardianship of fergus; and safe is he who trusts himself to it!”
-“it is not well, o queen, that whelps so brazen and untried as this should face the hound of war; let them remain henceforth in safety in their kennels, gnawing their bones. the lad etarcomal was bold and insolent; full well he reaped the fate he brought upon himself!”
-sadly, but with all honour, they buried etarcomal, heaping his grave, and rearing a stone above it with his name engraven thereupon in ogam lines. that night cuchulain did not molest the men of erin because they were occupied with funeral rites; but provisions and apparel were sent to him, according to the treaty made between them.
-the fight with spits of holly-wood
-thenceforward day by day some warrior of the camp of meave and ailill went forth to fight cuchulain, and day by day they fell before him. but at first, because he was young, the prime warriors of connaught despised him, and refused to fight with him, and meave offered them great gifts and made large promises to persuade them to contend with him. among the chiefs was a rough burly man and a good fighter, whose name was nacrantal, whom meave used all her arts to force to challenge cuchulain. and in the end, when she had promised him large gifts of land and even finnabar, her daughter, to be his wife, he was induced to go. but even so he went not out as though to fight an equal. no arms or armour would he take, but for his sole protection nine spits of holly-wood, sharp at the points and hardened in the fire.
-with these small weapons in his hand, one morning early he set forth to seek cuchulain. he found the hero busied in pursuing wild-fowl that were flying overhead; for from the birds of the air and fish of the streams, and from the berries of the hedge and cresses of the brook, long had he been obliged to get his daily meal. and even now, although at times meave kept her word and sent provision over to her foe, yet often she forgot or failed to keep her promise, so angry was she when from day to day her strong men were cut down before his sword. every man of them sported a steel cap upon his head; every man of them felt his heart pulsing with rare emotions and his brain busy with strange thoughts. rené de montigny spoke first the thing that filled his mind.
-"it must be a devil of a business," he reflected, "to be bullied like that by a beauty. blood, but she is beautiful, and blood, but she can bellow."
-guy tabarie chuckled fatly. "i have been bullied so many times by grey-faced drabs that i would take my trouncing patiently from such a pair of lips. it was meat and drink to look at her and think thoughts."
-jehan le loup frowned sourly. "had i been master françois and black louis not been by i should have tried to mend my luck with a cudgel. at best and worst she would have had something to curse for after a lusty thumping."
-casin cholet licked his lips. "i shall think of her," he said, "when next i meet with a sweetheart. with a little wit your honest rascal can be as happy as a king. in the dark all fur is of the same colour."
-oolin de cayeulx yawned. "what are we going a-riding for?" he questioned. "i would sooner have stayed in the king's rose garden and filled my belly as we did last week when the great lord in gold tissue pitied us. and to think that it was no more than françois after all! i could jam my dagger between his shoulder-blades for making such a ninny of me."
-"i knew him all the time," guy tabarie was beginning when rené de montigny silenced him with a ringing clip on the nearest ear which nearly unsaddled the fat rogue. "you lie, mountain, you lie," he whispered. "do you think that if he cheated me your pig's eyes could read the riddle? no, no, he fooled us fairly and he fooled us well, but he treated us kindly and we can afford to cry quits."
-"a strange thing," mused colin, "that a trifle of hair less on a man's chin and a trifle of dirt less on a man's cheek, with some matter of clean linen and a smooth jerkin, can make such a difference."
-"not at all," said rené de montigny," we are all the same at the core, every man-jack and woman-jill of us, hungering, thirsting, lusting, just after the same fashion. 'tis only the coat that counts."
-"'tis you who lie now," grunted tabarie. "there's no gold tissue in the world that would make you as cunning as françois. you would never have done as he did if the king had made you the pick of the litter."
-rend whistled through his teeth. "may be so, may be not," he said. "no man can tell what he may do till he is given his chance to test his mettle. oh opportunity, golden opportunity! if i were françois villon i would shape an image of gold in your name and praise you for a saint."
-"i wonder what that girl will say," mused tabarie, "if our françois comes back with the duke of burgundy in his pocket!"
-"i wonder what she will say," sneered jehan le loup, "if he trundles back feet foremost with a hole in his body and half a head."
-"whatever happens is sure to vex her," said casin cholet. "women are made that way."
-"our poor minions will be lonely to-night," said colin.
-"i doubt it," said rené de montigny drily, and then he sighed a little. "poor abbess!"
-sudden tears smeared tabarie's fat cheeks.
-"she was a brave wench if ever," he snivelled. "through wellfare or illfare she was always the same, and would share board and blanket with a friend though his pouch were as barren as sarah's body."
-"it was ten thousand pities," said eene, "that she fell so love-sick for françois. did he give her some philtre, some elixir, do you think? françois is a fine fellow though, i'll not deny it, but he's had the devil's own luck, and by our patron st. nicholas there be others as fine as he."
-as he spoke the great gate of the city yawned noiselessly, and stealthy and silent the hope of paris glided into the darkness and was swallowed up by the night.
-the banners of burgundy
-the yellow dawn, rippling over paris, found her streets strangely silent, strangely quiet. a few good citizens were abed, but most good citizens were abroad on that kindly june morning, for there was business doing outside the walls of paris which tempted every man inside the walls to those walls, and that business was the battle that was raging, and had raged since nightfall, between the troops of king louis on one side under the grand constable of france, and the troops of the duke of burgundy and his allies on the other. paris might have been that strange city of slumber told of by the wanderer in the arabian tale, or that poppied palace where the sleeping beauty and her court lay waiting the coming of the hero. if asmodeus whisking his way on the wings of the wind with any astonished travelling companion in tow had paused over paris and unroofed it for the benefit of his fellow-voyager, most of the rooms would have been found as empty as the streets.
-but there was one spot in the city--an open place by the river, between an ancient gate and the church of the celestins--which was alive and busy with a strange activity of its own. it was empty enough and the windows of its houses stared vacantly upon its emptiness, but there were two men in possession of its tranquillity who had been toiling hard at a singular piece of work. they were putting the finishing touches to the erection of a tall, gaunt gallows with its steps and platform, which occupied a space midway between the gateway and the grey old gothic church. in curious contrast to the sinister grimness of the gibbet, there rose opposite to it on the side of the church a dais, richly draped with royal velvet, splendidly spangled with fleur-de-lis and brave with armourial bearings.
-the two men who were working at the gallows having finished their job, came out into the open space and stretched themselves. one was a tall, thin, grave, poplar-tree of a man, clad in sad-coloured clothes and conspicuous for a long rosary of enormous beads which he carried around his neck and which from time to time he handled with ostentatious sanctimony. the other was as complete a contrast to his companion as could be desired by the humorous painter. he was a plump, spry little fellow, brightly dressed and bubbling over with merry, roguish spirits, which formed the most fantastic foil to the lugubriousness of his fellow-worker. any good citizen of paris, arising belated, if any such there may have been, and hurrying to the walls to know how things went for the king's cause, would have recognized readily enough in these two strange opposites two of the most dreaded of the myrmidons of tristan l'hermite, no less than his two chief hangmen, trois-echelles and petit-jean. trois-echelles was the long, cadaverous hangman; petit-jean was the stout, droll hangman, but when it came to a push and a pinch, both were hangmen and hung in the same manner, if not with the same manners. petit-jean pulled a flagon of wine from under the platform of the gallows, lifted it to his lips, drained a mighty draught, sighed with satisfaction, and held out the bottle to his brother craftsman.
-"drink and be merry."
-trois-echelles, making gestures of protestation with his head but taking the bottle with his hand none the less, drew a deep draught from its throttle and sighed as sadly as his friend sighed gladly.
-"i will drink but i cannot be merry. what's the good of building a noble gallows if nobody looks at it? one might as well be building a church."
-petit-jean laughed good-naturedly.
-"all paris is on the walls watching the battle. lucky paris!"
-trois-echelles laughed ill-humoredly.
-"not so lucky if we don't win the battle."
-petit-jean was complacent.
-"whichever wins will need us to hang the losers. look at the bright side, man."
-trois-echelles fumbled his beads furtively.
-"i've lost heart, i tell you. i haven't hanged a man for a week."
-as he mourned over this melancholy retrospect, the door of a little house hard by the church opened and an old woman, propping herself on a crutch stick, came hobbling slowly across the open space towards the church. petit-jean knew her well enough, for they both lodged in the same house and both on the same floor of attics. he knew she was the mother of the greatest scapegrace in all paris, a rascal named françois villon, who had disappeared, heaven alone knew where, to the old lady's great despair. he saluted her good humoredly.
-"good morrow to your nightcap, mother. have you found your lost sheep?"
-mother villon shook her head wistfully.
-"they say he is banished, but he has sent me money, bless him! though i touch none of it, lest it be badly come by."
-trois-echelles stopped fumbling his beads and advanced towards her, extending his hand.
-"give it to me to spend on masses?" he asked sanctimoniously.
-petit-jean danced between them.
-"lend it to me for drink money," he urged.
-the old woman paid no heed to their proposals. her tired eyes had caught sight of the grim structure in wood which usurped a place in a familiar scene. she shaded her eyes and peered at it, asking:
-"for whom do you build this gallows?"
-the glum hangman answered gloomily:
-"oddly enough, we don't know. 'make me a gallows here,' says the constable, 'in the open place, and sieges for the king and his courtiers.'"
-mother villon, her simple curiosity easily satisfied, dropped her informant a curtsey and hobbled slowly up the steps into the church.
-petit-jean stretched himself again and yawned.
-"i'll to sleep and dream of hanging a king."
-trois-echelles put a lean finger to his lean chin.
-"treason, friend, if tristan heard you."
-petit-jean's eyes twinkled.
-"well, let's say an archbishop," he said.
-trois-echelles nodded approvingly.
-"an archbishop ought to make a good end."
-his mind pleased itself with the picture of so high a dignitary of the church in his full canonicals coming under his tender care and being exhorted by his pious counsels.
-the two hangmen climbed on the platform of the grisly erection, and, calmly indifferent to the nature of their bed, were in a few moments fast asleep and snoring as merrily as if every man in the world had been hung and there was nothing else for them to do but to take it easy for the rest of their days.
-the hard weariness of work and the easy weariness of wine had made them so heavy-headed that their slumbers were not disturbed by the sound of footfalls, though the footfalls echoed strangely loud in the lonely deserted place-the footfalls of a woman, swift and impatient, the footfalls of a man swiftly pursuing. in another moment the woman and the man came into the open space, now bright and shining with the risen sun. the woman was katherine de vaucelles; the man was noel le jolys.
-as katherine entered the silent square, she paused for a moment a few paces from the church, and turning, looked at her silent follower.
-"why do you follow me?" she asked, and noel le jolys, who had dogged her footsteps from the palace, answered her briskly:
-"you should not walk unguarded. therefore i shadow you."
-katherine scorned him.
-"you may well play the shadow, for you cast no shadow of your own. the streets are very idle--the streets are very quiet. i would sooner have my loneliness than your company. let me pass to my prayers." for noel had glided between her and the church, and stood barring her passage deferentially.
-"for your lover?" he asked, and katherine flashed at him:
-"you have a small mind to ask, yet i have a great mind to answer. my prayers are for a brave gentleman whom i shall never see again."
-as she spoke, the cup of her heart seemed to run over with red tears, and the bitter waters trembled in her eyes. her thoughts wandered over the long white night and her sleepless sorrow, and her vigil by the window, looking out into the rose garden, and her tired eyes straining in vain through the dark for any sight, and her tired ears straining in vain for any sound of the battle in which the lord of her heart was risking his life. for she knew it now; she had learned it through those age-long hours of agony, that he whom she called her enemy was the lord of her heart, that in spite of all her rage at the cheat that had been put upon her, she loved, not the great noble who had done so much to save france--no, nor the ragged poet who had lent her his sword-arm and his sword, but just the man, by whatever name he might be called and in whatever way of life his wheel of fortune might spin, whose hand had proved to be of the right size to hold her heart in its hollow. the katherine of yesterday seemed to be dead and buried, to have died a fiery death of fierce thoughts, fierce agonies, fierce exultations, and from that travail a new katherine had come into being with cleansed eyes to see the world truly and with a cleansed soul to know a great soul's truth.
-noel watched her silence but it meant nothing to him, and he tripped into her high thoughts cheerfully.
-"i am a brave gentleman," he said, patting himself approvingly upon the breast. "i slew thibaut d'aussigny last night. the king has taken me back into favour. if i played the fool's part yesterday, i can play the wise man's part to-morrow. i was a bubble and a gull and a dunce, if you like, but i meant no harm to the king, and the king smiles on me. cannot you do the like?"
-katherine came out of her dream and stood upon the earth again, and disdained him.
-"no, for you envy a great spirit and your envy makes you a base thing."
-noel protested pettishly:
-"he is no man-angel. he is made of adam's clay like the rest of us."
-katherine's thoughts had wandered away from her escort; her mind's eyes were busy with waving banners, the shock of meeting lances, the glitter of steel coats and the beating of steel upon steel. through all the melley, her fancy spied one shining figure in bright armour like, so it seemed to her, archangel michael or archangel gabriel, riding in the pride of the fight with a smile on his lips, sorrow in his heart, and a token of white ribbon between his breast-plate and his breast.
-she answered, not noel's words, but her thoughts:
-"my pride has the right to hate him, but i think he is still my soul's man."
-noel was about to speak again, when he suddenly fell back and doffed his bonnet. perched on the steps of the church stood the stooped sable figure of the king, just coming from his matinal devotions. in the shadow behind him stood his shadows--tristan and olivier.
-katherine, her attention swerved by noel's glance, turned and swayed a reverence to louis as he slowly descended the steps. the king surveyed them sardonically.
-"good morning, friends," he said. then turning to noel, he ordered, "take the top of your speed to st. anthony's gate and bring hot news of the battle."
-noel bowed and sped on his errand. katherine requested:
-"have i your majesty's leave?"
-tristan and olivier withdrew themselves discreetly apart, under the shadow of the gallows, that building of all human buildings which was most dear to their hearts and most sacred in their eyes.
-louis came very close to the pale girl and whispered:
-"are you so hungry for your devotions that you cannot waste some worldly words on me? are you still angry with me for the trick i played on you?"
-katherine's pale face flushed a little as she answered:
-"it is wasted spirit to be angry with a king."
-"you are as pat with your answers as a clerk at matins. could you give me your heart now if i bent my knee?"
-katherine stifled a great sigh.
-"i lost my heart last night; i have not found it again."
-louis flung up his hands in contemptuous amusement.
-"the fellow was a fool to blab so glibly. i would have carried the jest farther. but he stood on the punctilio and would not win you without confession."
-the girl's heart swelled.
-"i am glad he had so much honour," she said, and the shining figure in the bright armour seemed more archangel-like than ever.
-louis looked at her intently, tickling his chin with his forefinger.
-"if you wait in the church for his homecoming, you will see how the jest ends," he said.
-katherine made the king a profound reverence and slowly entered the church, every pulse of her body pleading in prayer for her lost lover. she scarcely heeded an old, bowed woman who tottered out, propped on a crutch stick, and who dropped the great lady a respectful curtsey as she passed and went her ways into the silent streets. so the two women in the world whom villon loved met for the firsf time.
-louis, left alone, beckoned to tristan and olivier, who hurried down to him.
-"there goes a brave lady, gossips, a fair lady, a chaste lady. she sails in the high latitudes of lore and deserves to find the fortunate islands. are there not better things to do with master villon than to hang him?"
-"this villon is such a damnable double dealer that the ass-headed populace loves him better than you."
-the king's visage soured.
-"that is enough to hang him. yet i have a kind of liking for the fellow, and my dream troubles me--the star that fell from heaven."
-tristan commented bluffly:
-"hang the rascal while you can and thank heaven you are well rid of him."
-even as he spoke the world seemed suddenly to be full of many noises and many voices. from beyond the gate on the ways that led to the city walls came the clamour of hoarse shouts and cries and the thudding din of running feet. from the other side, from the street that led to the louvre, came the ordered tramp of soldiers.
-olivier interpreting one interruption, said:
-"the people are coming from the walls."
-and tristan interpreted the other.
-"the queen, sire," he announced.
-through the narrow space that led into the open square there came a line of soldiers escorting a number of splendidly caparisoned litters--the carriages of the queen and the queen's chief ladies. louis advanced to the first litter, and extending his hand, assisted the queen to descend and conducted her with an elaborate display of polite affection to the gorgeous dais by the side of the church, where they sat side by side on the small thrones that had been prepared for them. the ladies and gentlemen of the court ranged themselves in their places behind the royal pair and the scottish archers formed a solid force in front. through the open gateway came a few running, shouting enthusiasts, outstrippers of the mass of citizens who were returning from the walls. even the heavy sleep of trois-echelles and petit-jean was not proof against all this tumult. they awoke, rubbed their eyes, then climbing briskly to their feet, leaned over the platform on the handrails of the gallows and surveyed the scene with interest.
-noel le jolys pushed his way through the crowd aboat the gateway and advanced to the king.
-"sire," he said, "the latest message from the battle: the day is wholly ours. the grand constable returns in triumph. you can hear his music now."
-"it is very well," he affirmed gravely.
-through the gateway the crowd of people was pouring thick and fast, shouting and cheering and filling the square in front of the dais with a throng of enthusiastic men, women and children, all waving their arms, flinging flowers and yelling welcomes at the topmost pitch of their lungs. the sound of military music and the tramp of marching men could be heard approaching louder and louder.
-five girls had forced their way to the very front row of the throne and were applauding and shouting with the rest. these were the light ladies of the fircone, isabeau, jehanneton, denise, and blanche with guillemette, fat robin turgis' fat daughter. they were all in a state of great excitement, for their lovers had vanished over night and their abbess had disappeared like a dream, and they knew not what had become of them. they had little fear for their lovers, for the good gentlemen of the fellowship of the cockleshell had a way of diving into the deep waters of existence at intervals in order to escape the too attentive eye and the too particular finger of the law, and the girls had a vague idea of some great scheme on hand which might easily result in trouble for the brotherhood. as for their abbess, they were none too sorry to be free from her somewhat decisive authority, and they chattered and babbled like birds escaped from a cage.
-by this time the advance guard of the army began to pour in through the narrow mouth of the gateway and to form a line in front of the populace, thus leaving a wide open space between the assembled people and the seated king. from every window heads were thrust and hands extended waving scarfs of silk or scattering flowers. the blare of the soldiers' music grew louder and louder, the tramp of horse and men came nearer and nearer, and then, when the cheering was at its shrillest and the rain of flowers thickest, villon rode in through the gateway on his great warhorse with his five ruffians close at his heels. villon's lifted hand gave the signal for a halt and he leaped lightly off his horse and advanced towards the king, a glorious figure to the eyes of the crowd in his shining armour with a scarlet coif upon his helmet. if for a moment his glance rested on the gaunt skeleton of the gallows there came no change in the proud composure of his face. immediately behind him followed the faithful ragamuffins, each of whom bore vivid signs in slung arm, swathed leg or bandaged forehead of the lusty work he had done in the king's name upon the king's enemies. but the slings and swathes and bandages were of no common sort, but splendid bits of silk of many colours, bearing fantastic devices and rich in threads of gold and silver.
-as villon and his fantastic escort strode towards the presence, noel interposed indignantly. he stretched a pair of protecting arms wide out to ward off from the king the approach of so singular a deputation, while he demanded angrily:
-"in heaven's name, sir, who are these scarecrows who flaunt their tatters in the presence of the king?"
-the king nursed his chin with an amused smile as villon answered:
-"the scarecrows are rogues who have fought like gentlefolk and these rags are the banners of the enemy."
-even as he spoke the rapscallions stripped the pieces of silk from arm and leg and forehead, shook them out into such semblance of their original shape as battle had left to them and flung them with a gesture of imperial pride on the ground at the foot of the dais.
-"well answered," said louis regally, while two pursuivants pounced swiftly upon the bits of silk, and gathering them up with reverential fingers, laid them upon the railing in front of the king's chair to be examined with loving care by the queen. standing erect, villon addressed the king: "louis of france, we bring you these silks for your carpet. an hour ago they wooed the wind from burgundian staves and floated over burgundian helmets. i will make no vain glory of their winning. burgundy fought well, but france fought better, and these trophies trail in our triumph. to a mercer's eyes these bits of tissue are but so many squares of damaged web. to a soldier's eye, they cover crowded graves with honour. to a king's eye, they deck one throne with lonely splendour. when we here, who breathe hard from fighting, and ye, who stand there and marvel, are dust, when the king's name is but a golden space in chronicles grey with age, these banners shall hang from cathedral arches and your children's children's children, lifted in reverent arms, shall peep through the dim air at the faded colours, and baby lips shall whisper an echo of our battle."
-the shadow of the gallows
-as villon ended a great peal of music came from the church, the magnificent music of a te deum laudamus; while from the soldiers who choked the archway, a glowing sea of steel, there rose one common cry of "god save the grand constable!"
-olivier leaned over and whispered to the king;
-"they cheer him, sire."
-louis waved him impatiently aside, and leaning over the railing, spoke:
-"my lord constable, and you, brave soldiers, the king of france thanks you for your gift. victory was indeed assured you by the justice of our cause. my lord of montcorbier, you may promise these brave fellows that their sovereign will remember them."
-swiftly villon turned and addressed the motley throng behind him:
-"in the king's name, a gold coin to every man who fought and a cup of wine to every man, woman and child who wishes to drink the king's health."
-the king smiled wryly.
-"ever generous," he said.
-"to the end, sire," villon answered, with an ironic salutation, which louis answered by an ironic question.
-"what have you now to do?"
-villon saluted the king again.
-"my latest duty, sire," he answered, and once again he turned to address the multitude:
-"soldiers who have served under me, friends who have fought with me, and you, people, whom i have striven to succour, listen to my amazing swan song. you know me a little as count of montcorbier, grand constable of france. i know myself indifferently well as françois villon, master of arts, broker of ballads and somewhile bibber and brawler. it is now my task as grand constable of france to declare that the life of master françois villon is forfeit and to pronounce on him this sentence, that he be straightway hanged upon yonder gibbet."
-his words fell like the beat of a passing bell upon the ears of an absolutely silent crowd and for some few year-long seconds the silence brooded over the place. the five wantons on the fringe of the crowd caught at each others' fingers and gasped. was that splendid gentleman their old friend, françois villon? as for the five rogues who knew the secret, they had begun to laugh at villon's first words, but the laughter dried upon their lips as he ended.
-from the church suddenly the exultant music of the te deum ceased to swell and in its place crept forth upon the silent air the awful notes of a miserere. the king had been at the ear of the organist that morning and had planned his effects well. the melancholy music stirred the people to murmurs of surprise and protest.
-guy tabarie, flourishing his notched and bloody sword, thrust his round body forward.
-"what jest is this?" he asked.
-and villon answered him:
-"such a jest as i would rather weep over to-morrow than laugh at to-day. for the pitcher breaks at the well's mouth this very morning. messire noel, to you i surrender my sword. i like to believe that it has scraped a little shame from its master's coat."
-he drew his great war-sword and handed it to noel le jolys, who, for one of the few times in his life, astonished into forgetfulness of courtly etiquette, had been staring, open-mouthed, at the astonishing revelation that had just been made to him. the gleam of the war-worn weapon recalled him to himself and he took it from the hands of the doomed man with a grave courtesy which meant something more than the official fulfillment of a formal duty. noel le jolys was a soldier and his eyes paid homage to a brave man.
-villon turned to tristan.
-"master tristan, perform your office upon this self-doomed felon."
-with great alacrity, tristan moved towards villon, but his motion was met by such angry murmurs from the crowd, and not from the crowd alone, but from the soldiers who had followed villon to victory, that even he shrank back instinctively before its menace. there came cries from a thousand throats, calling on the king to pardon the grand constable, calling upon those who loved him to rescue him.
-"king, is this justice?" rené de montigny, shouted, and his question evoked a roar of approval from the multitude.
-the king's keen glance surveyed the scene with no sign of fear and no sign of annoyance. leaning easily upon the railing, as a man might lean who surveyed an amusing farce or interlude, he addressed the crowd:
-"good people of paris, you have heard your grand constable pronounce sentence upon a criminal. has master françois villon any reason to urge, any plea to offer, why the sentence should not be carried out?"
-villon waved his hand disdainfully.
-"i have nothing whatever to say, sire. françois villon must die. it's bad luck for him, but he has worse luck and so--to business."
-as he spoke he drew near to the line of scottish archers and two of their number laid hands on him, one at either side. the sight of their hero thus in the very clutch of justice spurred the multitude to renéwed exasperation. angry demands for justice, for mercy, for rescue, shook the summer air. unarmed citizens broke into an armourer's shop hard by, and, seizing whatever weapons they could lay their hands upon, flourished them aloft in significant assertion that their words were but the prefaces to deeds. again tabarie's bull voice bellowed to those about him:
-"kings must listen to the voice of the people. shall the man who led us to victory die a rogue's death?"
-and again his thunder heralded a storm. soldiers and citizens alike seemed prepared to rescue villon by force from the hands of his enemies. the scottish archers with levelled arquebusses formed a line in front of the dais and every courtier drew his sword. only the king seemed unmoved, only the king seemed entertained by the wind he had sowed, the whirlwind he had reaped. he asked quite quietly:
-"does master françois villon ask his life?"
-villon shook his head.
-"no, sire. master françois villon played and master françois villon pays."
-as he spoke the angry people, swaying like a sea, shouted new shouts of rescue, clamoured new cries for pardon. olivier, green-pale, whispered eagerly to the king:
-"sire, the rogues are in a damnable temper. can you not gain time, postpone, promise?"
-louis answered imperturbably:
-"are the fools so fond of the fellow? i know a way to stop their shouting."
-as he spoke, for the first time he rose from his seat, a frail, small, black figure, to dominate those raging waves of humanity, while olivier, holding up his hand to order silence, shouted:
-"peace, peace! the king would speak with his good people of paris."
-the noisy voices dropped slowly into silence to hear what the king said.
-"good people of paris, i am no tyrant. but a king is the father of his people, and his ears can never be shut against the cries of his children. you all love this man? hear, then, my judgment! this man's life is forfeit. which of you will redeem it? if there be one among you ready to take master françois villon's place on yonder gibbet, let that one speak now."
-there was a brief silence as the mob began to realize the meaning of the king's words, a silence broken by angry cries.
-"what does he mean? take his place on the gallows! a trick--a trick!"
-louis grinned complacently.
-"no trick, friends, but a simple bargain. here is a man condemned to death; here is an idle gibbet. if ye prize him so highly, let one among you die for him. it has been said by the wise apostle: 'greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' on my word as a king, when such a splendid volunteer is swinging at the end of yonder rope that moment master françois villon shall go free. come, who will slip neck in noose for the sake of a hero?"
-villon protested haughtily:
-"no man shall die for me."
-but, indeed, his protest was premature. the anger of the crowd dwindled into sullen clamours.
-"the king laughs at us! 'tis too much to ask."
-a faint, exultant smile flickered over the king's face as he asked:
-"now, friends, where is your idol's supplement? who will be his lieutenant, who will be heir to his heritage of a cross bar and a rope? you are not so brisk as you were. does your devotion falter? were you mocking me and him?"
-villon looked at the king with a kind of disdainful admiration.
-"king of foxes!" he applauded, and the king heard him and smiled again.
-"tristan," he said, "go into yonder church and bring me an inch of candle."
-tristan bowed and entered the church. the king went on:
-"our royal mercy is mild, our royal mercy is patient. as it is our hope and our belief to live in history as a good and gracious sovereign, we would not have it said of us that we denied even a felon all due and reasonable opportunity."
-even while he spoke, tristan came out of the church carrying in his hand a great gold candlestick in whose socket a little piece of candle, scarce an inch high, still was burning. he gave it into the hands of one of the soldiers of the scottish guard, who held it in his strong grasp and stood as immovable as a statue, while the thin faint flame pointed spear-like towards heaven in the warm and windless air.
-louis stopped and whispered to a page behind him who bowed and entered the church. then the king spoke again to the silent, wondering crowd:
-"so long as this candle burns, so long françois villon lives. if while it burns, one of you is moved to take master villon's place on the gallows, so much the better for master villon, and so much the worse for his substitute. herald, proclaim our pleasure."
-at a sign from montjoye, the royal herald, two pursuivants stirred the air with the blast of golden trumpets. then montjoye spoke:
-"the king's grace and the king's justice is ready to grant life and liberty to françois villon if anyone be found willing to take his place on the gallows and die his death that he may live his life!"
-as montjoye's words died away a great silence fell upon the assembled people, a silence so still and cruel that men's hearts grew cold and the warm june air seemed to be sighing over fields of ice. the king leaned over and addressed his prisoner confidentially:
-"master villon, master villon, you see what human friendship means and the sweet voices of the multitude."
-villon answered boldly:
-"sire, it is no news to me that men love the dear habit of living."
-louis signalled to montjoye.
-"proclaim again," he said; and once more the pair of pursuivants blew their trumpets and once again montjoye made his singular proposition of pardon to the assemblage.
-"we speak to men"
-it fell this time upon fresh ears, the ears of an old woman who was patiently pushing her way through the crowd in her effort to reach her humble lodging. she had succeeded in making her way to the open space as the last words of the herald's offer were being spoken, and suddenly her dulled brain caught the full significance of montjoye's speech. looking wildly around her, she saw where villon stood, an armoured figure held captive, and without attempting to realize the meaning of what she beheld, she dropped her stick and tottered forward to the dais, where she fell on her knees with clasped, entreating hands.
-"sire, sire, i will die for him!"
-villon's heart leaped to his throat when he saw her.
-"mammy, mammy, go away!" he cried, and he made a vain attempt to move towards his mother, a movement instantly restrained by the crossed weapons of his captors. at the same moment katherine de vaucelles came out of the church door in obedience to the summons of a royal page, who had found her at her prayers, and who told her that the king desired her presence. she paused at the head of the steps in amazed survey of the crowded place and a scene that at first she could not understand.
-"who is this woman?" louis asked, looking down at the poor old dame, who knelt before him and besought him. olivier answered in his ear:
-"the fellow's mother, sire."
-a very little tenderness came into louis' eyes, a very little tenderness trembled on his lips.
-"woman, we cannot hear you," he said. "by god's law you have given him life once and by my law you may not give him life again."
-"sire, i beseech you," mother villon entreated; but the king's pity was not to be purchased so.
-"take her away and use her gently," he said.
-noel le jolys stooped to obey the king's command, but the old woman, rising to her feet, repulsed him fiercely.
-"no! no!" she said. "i will not leave my son," and she flung her old body passionately upon the prisoner's neck and clasped with her lean arms his mailed shoulders.
-louis bade montjoye proclaim for the last time, and once again the trumpets thundered and once again the cold, calm voice of montjoye propounded the grim terms of the king's clemency.
-the silence that followed was swiftly broken by; the sweet, clear voice of a girl.
-"i will," said katherine de vaucelles from her stand on the church steps, and on the instant all eyes were turned to the spot where the maiden stood with face as white as pear-blossom and her hands tightly clenched by her sides. she moved slowly down the steps in the dead silence and paused before the king's throne.
-"i will die for him, sire," she said quietly.
-from villon's lips there came a mighty cry of "katherine!" and a fain spot of colour rose on the king's cheeks.
-"mistress, we speak to men," he said.
-tristan pressed his great hands together.
-"by st. denis, our women seem to make the best men," he grunted.
-katherine stood, tall and proud, facing the king. mother villon, stirred by this heavenly interference, left her son to fall at the feet of the angel lady and kiss the hem of her garment.
-katherine spoke bravely:
-"sire, i love this man and would be proud to die for him. it may chime with your pleasure to slay him; it cannot chime with your honour to deny me. your word is given and a king must keep his word."
-the king made an impatient gesture.
-"we speak to men."
-villon caught at his words.
-"i speak to a woman," he cried, and gazirig passionately at his love, he called to her: "katherine, my katherine, death is a little thing. for love is deathless and you give me a better thing than life."
-with unmoved voice, with unchanged face, katherine persisted:
-"sire, i claim your promise."
-louis again denied her.
-"we speak to men. tristan, do your office."
-at this moment the situation suddenly changed. villon unexpectedly wrenched himself free from the control of the two soldiers beside him, whose hold had relaxed in their wonder at what was passing, and sprang towards katherine. his act instantly inspired the hearts and hands of his sympathisers, and in a second he was caught up and encircled by a crowd of armed and determined men, who drove back the scottish archers. villon snatched a drawn sword from the hand of rené de montigny and held it high in the air while he shouted:
-"no, by god's rood, the candle of my grace has not yet burnt to the socket! people of paris, shall i not speak to my lover before i die?"
-the place was a raving bedlam of noise and menace. the scottish archers did not dare to make any attempt to recapture their escaped prisoner, but kept their line in front of the royal dais, while villon stood by the side of katherine with drawn sword, an archangel of insurrection, ready at any moment to fling the forces behind him upon his adversaries. yet the king remained as unmoved as if he had been witnessing a puppet show. in his thin, even voice, he commanded:
-"speak to her while the candle burns, not a second longer."
-with one accord, villon's adherents drew back and villon was left with katherine alone in the open space.
-katherine whispered to him:
-"françois, will you not take life at my hands?"
-villon answered her tenderly:
-"dear child, if that crowned judas there had taken you at your word, do you think i would have outlived you by the space of a second?"
-she looked fixedly into his eyes.
-"you are resolved?"
-he smiled back at her.
-"i am as stubborn as a mule and no pleadings will move me."
-she looked over her shoulder with a shudder.
-"dearest, the candle flickers in the wind. there is a dagger in your girdle. slay me and yourself."
-"you mean it?" he gasped, and she answered firmly:
-"by god's mother and god's son."
-a sudden, wonderful thought flashed through villon's mind. he had won love, he could not hope to win life, but at least he might so manage as to die a soldier's death and not a knave's. he whispered to her eagerly:
-"then we will spoil old louis' pleasure yet. lore, will you marry me here at the foot of the gallows?"
-she answered him:
-"with all my heart."
-instantly he turned and left her and strode towards the throne.
-"king, i crave your patience, but your sentence must tarry and turn, for i claim to marry this lady."
-louis smiled derisively.
-"it is too late. sing your neck-rhyme and have done, for your noose is too large for a wedding ring."
-villon gave him back smile for smile.
-"sire," he said, "i am a master of arts of the university of paris and as such have the right in extremis to any sacrament of the church. i have lived a confirmed bachelor, but now i have a mind to change my state. find me a priest, king louis."
-olivier stooped to the king.
-"he speaks the truth, sire. he can claim this right"
-louis leaned forward interested.
-"what do you hope to gain by this?"
-villon answered calmly:
-"the right to die like a soldier by the sword, not like a rogue by the rope."
-a murmur of approval stirred the silent crowd, but it died away as katherine suddenly advanced and stood, a white figure like a fair lily, between the king and villon.
-"nay, you gain more than this. i am the lady katherine de vaucelles, kinswoman of the royal house, mistress of a hundred lands, grand seneschale of gascony, warden of the marches of poitou. in my own domains i exercise the high justice and the low. this man is of humble birth, and when i marry him he becomes my vassal. over my vassals i hold the law of life and death."
-villon dropped on his knees beside his lady.
-louis clapped his thin hands together as a man might applaud a play.
-"you are a bold minion and you have a quick wit. but if you marry this gaol bird you decline to his condition. your high titles fall from you, your great estates are forfeit to the crown and you and he must go out into exile together; the beggar woman with the beggar man."
-katherine turned to villon where he knelt beside her.
-"'tis a little price to pay for my lover."
-villon looking up into her eyes, questioned her:
-"do you think i'm worth it, kate? 'tis a big price to pay for this poor anatomy."
-she repeated her words.
-"'tis a little price to pay for my lover. do you doubt me?"
-unheeded a man-at-arms pushed his way through the crowd to the king's dais and whispered some words in the ear of noel le jolys, who in turn whispered in the ear of olivier and olivier hearing, grew paler than before. villon caught katherine by the hand.
-"no, kate, no! the world is wide, our hearts are light. for a star has fallen to me from heaven and it fills the earth with glory."
-his words fell on the king's ears like the voice of an oracle. standing in his place with staring eyes and trembling fingers, he repeated falteringly the mystic words.
-"a star has fallen from heaven. my dream, my dream!"
-olivier plucked at his mantle, whispering with twitching lips:
-"my liege, this story spreads like the plague in the city and every alley vomits mutiny."
-louis pushed him aside.
-"rub your pale cheeks," he said; "for all is well. destiny has spoken."
-then leaning over and stretching his thin hand towards the crowd, he cried:
-"people of paris, that man shall have his life; this woman her lover. i have tried a man's heart and found it pure gold; a woman's soul and found it all angel. true man and true woman, to each other's arms!"
-and katherine and villon obeyed the king.
-at about this point in his narrative, dom gregory, as those happy few who are familiar with his manuscript in the abbey of bonne aventure are aware, diverges from the full current of his story to indulge in some philosophical reflections upon the character of louis xi.
-what, dom gregory asks in cautious interrogation, were the real intentions of the monarch with regard to françois villon and the lady katherine de vaucelles? his enemies no doubt assert that he played with their destinies for a purely malignant purpose and was only prevented from carrying his evil intentions into effect by the storm of popular indignation that threatened him. others, again, who pretend to a more intimate acquaintance with the shifty character of the king, insist that he did indeed purpose to send master villon to the gallows, or at least and worse, into a beggar's exile, but that lie was stayed by master villon's happy use of the phrase concerning a star fallen from heaven, which words, harping upon the superstitious wits of his majesty, made him believe that the dream which had puzzled him was interpreted and fulfilled. in this regard dom gregory records with a sly gravity how many suggest that master françois used those words of set purpose with the very intention of playing upon the strained strings of the king's mind. but there be those, too, dom gregory adds, and we gather from his manner that he is inclined to include himself in their number, there be those partisans of the king who maintain that the king's cruelty was from the start a mere mask for clemency, that he only intended a little malicious sport with the too outspoken lover and the too disdainful lass, and that it had never been in the scope of his thoughts seriously to punish either the broker of ballads or the valiant maid of vaucelles.
-starting from this point, dom gregory indulges in a great many reflections upon kings and kingship and the consequences of kingly acts, all of which seemed perhaps more momentous at the time when they were written and in the sleepy abbey where they lie enshrined, than in busier and more bustling times. one could have wished that dom gregory had let such philosophies go by the board and had given us instead some greater knowledge of what happened to françois villon and katherine de vaucelles after they fell upon each other's necks in that open place in paris, with the mob huzzahing, the king staring and tristan's strange satellites busily dismantling the useless gibbet. but here dom gregory is little less than dumb. losses in the manuscript account for much of his silence; perhaps his ecclesiastical indifference to the wedded state may account for more. if we can gather vaguely from other sources that the poet and his mistress settled down on a small and quiet estate in poitou, lived a peaceful country life for many years and died a peaceful country death at the end, it is the most we can hope to gain with surety. we are glad to believe in their happiness, for he was a true lover and she was a fair woman.
-a list of the changes made can be found at the end of the book. formatting and special characters are indicated as follows:
-the author's desk book
-other books by mr. orcutt
-good old dorchester. a narrative history
-princess kallisto, and other tales of the fairies
-robert cavelier. a novel
-the flower of destiny. a novel
-the spell. a novel
-the lever. a novel
-the moth. a novel
-the madonna of sacrifice. a story of florence
-the writer's desk book. a companion volume to "the author's desk book"
-the author's desk book
-being a reference volume upon questions of the relations of the author to the publisher · copyright · the relation of the contributor to the magazine · mechanics of the book · arrangement of the book · making of the index · etc
-by william dana orcutt for many years head of the university press · cambridge · now associated with the plimpton press · norwood mass
-new york · frederick a stokes company · publishers · mcmxiv
-copyright, 1914, by frederick a. stokes co.
-the author's desk book
-relations of the author to the publisher
-there is much which is intangible in the relations between an author and his publisher. while it is true that modern commercialism has invaded this field as it has all others, there are probably no actual business relations more dependent upon mutual confidence than those which exist between the writer who produces a manuscript which he wishes to have published, and a publisher who wishes to secure for the purpose of publication a manuscript which he believes to contain elements of probable success. this is due to many reasons, the first and most important of all being that each is in a position to add to his reputation and success by the efforts of the other. many a publisher has by legitimate and judicious business sagacity established the reputation of a previously-unknown author; many an author has placed a small publishing-house in a position of importance, or added to the fame of a house already established.
-another reason for these closely-identified interests is the fact that the average writer is not experienced in business matters, but relies largely upon the integrity of the publisher to whom he intrusts himself. for the same reason, the publisher feels an added responsibility to protect the interests of the author, realizing the fact that he has been placed in the position of agent, to conduct affairs in the joint interests of both. even if there have been cases where this confidence has been misplaced, they are exceptions which do not affect the general statement.
-take, for example, the question of advertising. if a publisher issues a volume written by an author whose later work is likely to be given to another house, he realizes that whatever investment he makes must be charged off against this particular book. on the other hand, if he feels that the author's relations are such as to make it probable that the present publisher will have an opportunity to share in his later success, then it is good business for him to invest a larger sum in advertising the author than he could possibly afford to expend upon any single book. here again is the mutual interest. the author's reputation rests in a large measure in the hands of his publisher, and he shares equally in any advantage which accrues to the publisher from the publicity which comes to both.
-from still another standpoint, the author can secure material assistance from intimate relations with his publisher. many a novel owes its success to the advice given by the editorial staff of the publishing-house. many a strong story would never have reached its audience because of mechanical or structural defects, which the publisher helped to overcome. there have been instances of unwise editorial advice, and of undue pressure brought to bear upon the author to the detriment of his literary production, but these cases are rare compared with those of helpful assistance, which every successful writer will gratefully acknowledge he has received from his publisher. in general, the publisher is a wise person in his own field, and as the ultimate success of a book depends upon its sale, his advice is usually based upon a knowledge and an experience which the author cannot possess. to make his business a success, the publisher, as well as the author, must interject his own personality, this expression taking the form of personal suggestions, of determining the physical aspect of the volume, of selecting the artist, of arranging methods of publicity, and of making plans for interesting the retail booksellers.
-few publishers depend upon the judgment of their "readers" to the extent of accepting or declining manuscripts wholly upon their opinions. it is inevitable that a large proportion of the manuscripts submitted should be culled out and discarded by the professional reader without ever reaching the final court of appeal. these readers consider each story from two distinct standpoints: (1) has the author a real story to tell? and (2) how well has the story been told? if the manuscript fails to stand the test of the first question, its doom is sealed at that point; if it passes through this test, even though it fails in the second, it will be referred to the publisher for a final reading, with the critic's comments affixed to it.
-it is remarkable how many manuscripts in this state are actually read by the publisher himself, in view of the countless other details which naturally devolve upon him; but here is where he recognizes the first claim upon his personality. his viewpoint differs from that of his reader only in that it has narrowed down to three main questions which he demands of each manuscript: (1) does it conform to the standards of the house? (2) to what and how large an audience will it appeal? (3) will the probable returns warrant the initial investment?
-having settled these points in his mind, the publisher will further consider the literary value of the story. if the plot is strong and original but clumsily constructed, he will discuss the situation frankly with the author, and will advise him to rewrite such portions as demand revision. many a successful author has learned how to tell his story through his publisher's assistance, and owes his present reputation to the fact that some publisher discovered in his early, amateurish efforts the germs of strength and originality, almost smothered by structural faults.
-after the manuscript is ready for the printer, it is the publisher's function to decide upon its physical aspect, combining business judgment and personal taste in producing a volume in keeping with its content, and in such a dress as to attract to it that class of bookbuyers who are influenced by its attractiveness. nowhere, perhaps, is the fickleness of the public shown more than in the taste displayed by this class of buyers, and styles obtain in this as much as in millinery or in dress.
-with the plan of the building of the book determined, the publisher undertakes to create a demand, first from the booksellers and later from the public. the traveling salesman is the usual means to accomplish the first end. he makes his regular trips at stated seasons, covering the entire country, carrying with him "traveler's dummies," which usually consist of a stamped cover of each book, inside of which are fastened representative pages and proofs of illustrations. from these samples, the salesmen take their "advance orders," and the publisher usually awaits the tabulation of these before deciding upon the size of his first edition.
-other methods are employed in addition to these, varying with the ingenuity of each publisher: such as the sending out to the booksellers of advance copies or sheets, writing special letters, giving synopses of the stories, etc., all of which advance preparation requires time and thought. authors sometimes become impatient over what seems to them to be unwarranted delays, when in reality the publisher is serving their interests as well as his own by creating a market before actually placing the book on sale.
-to create a demand on the part of the public is as difficult in marketing books as any other commodity. advertising helps, of course, but as to the amount, nature, and method of advertising, each publisher has his own ideas. each author naturally regards his own work as deserving of the maximum publicity, but the publisher is obliged to consider his list as a whole. if he thinks it wise to invest a large sum in advertising a particular story, it is because he believes that story to possess an appeal to the public sufficient to warrant this investment. his judgment may be wrong, and often is. the book he depends upon does not respond as he expects, and some other book, in which he did not have as much confidence, for some unknown reason suddenly shows unexpected strength. but the publisher has been honest in his attempt, even though faulty in his judgment, and the author who recognizes this in his attitude to his publisher will go far toward cementing the bonds of co-operation which inevitably bring success to those writers who actually possess, the genius to demand it.
-the fact that one author's contract differs from another's cannot be taken as evidence that the publisher has not fulfilled his entire responsibility to both. an author without an established reputation has no right to expect as attractive a contract as one whose name is of known value to the publisher's list.
-submitting the manuscript
-the enormous number of manuscripts with which the publisher is deluged makes it absolutely necessary, for self-interest, to submit typewritten copy. some houses make it a rule to return handwritten manuscripts unread.
-the manuscript should not be bound together in any way, but the pages should be carefully numbered consecutively.
-the best size of paper is the standard 8½ by 11, and the sheets should be uniform in size.
-the paper should not be shiny or slippery, as this affects the eyes of the reader unpleasantly.
-always retain a duplicate copy of a manuscript, to prevent loss by fire, theft or other accident. it is an undue responsibility for an author to place upon a publisher to submit to him the only copy of a manuscript in existence. if the manuscript be accepted, it is also an advantage to have a copy for the use of the artist, etc.
-write on one side of the paper only.
-deliver the manuscript to the publisher flat rather than rolled or folded.
-manuscript copy costs two cents an ounce for mailing; when mailed with proof it costs one-half cent an ounce.
-in fastening one piece of paper to another, or in fastening addenda upon pages already written, use mucilage rather than pins or clips.
-be sure that the author's name and address are plainly marked upon the manuscript. the usual location for this is the upper left-hand corner of the first page.
-publishing at the author's expense
-it may be taken as a general statement that if a book possesses sufficient merit to warrant its publication at all, a publisher can be found who is willing to assume the entire risk of the expense of publication. this statement does not apply to scientific, technical, or special works which publishers are glad to have upon their lists, but which must be subsidized from some source in order to make publication financially possible. in the case of a novel, the statement has no exceptions. no first-class publishing-house will issue with its imprint, at the author's expense, a novel in which it cannot have sufficient confidence to warrant it in assuming the entire expense.
-frequently the unknown author, eager to secure the publication of his work, is willing to make any sacrifice, or any terms, with almost any house which is willing to assist him in accomplishing the desired result. in fact, there are publishing firms who confine their operations to the publication of manuscripts to be paid for entirely by the writer. the general proposition is that the author assumes the cost of publication, the publisher places against this his expense of doing business, and the value--such as it is--of his imprint; and then author and publisher divide the profits.
-unfortunately, it is the rarest thing that there are any profits to divide; and the part of the whole transaction which is deplorable is that the publisher must know in advance that he has, to a certain extent, played upon the vanity of the author,--not so much, perhaps, in what he has actually said to him, as in the fact that he has shown an enthusiasm which leads the author to think that he has really produced a "best seller." there is a legitimate fee for privately-printed books if the author goes into the transaction with his eyes open, and accepts the services of the publisher as an agent, allowing the publisher's profit to stand as a return for services rendered.
-authors should be particularly wary of heeding solicitations from publishing-houses for manuscripts to be published in this way.
-making the contract
-there have been several new elements, in recent years, entering into the contract between author and publisher, which have made it a more complicated business-partnership than in the past. it was not so long ago, for instance, that neither author nor publisher would spend much time discussing the clause relating to dramatization; for few novels were then dramatized, and the chance of having this clause become of importance was remote. to-day, however, nearly every author considers his work teeming with potential dramatic probabilities, and the fact that so many plays have been produced, based upon successful novels, naturally leads the publisher to wish, if possible, a share in this supplementary reward. in considering this clause, therefore, the author must take into account the part which his publisher is likely to play in advancing the interests of both along these lines.
-the "second serial rights" represent still another phase. it is the custom for publishers to sell these rights to newspapers, and to receive their pay not in cash but in advertising space, since by so doing they receive more than they could get for a fair equivalent in cash. this second serialization does not ordinarily take place until a story has had its sale, and its appearance in this cheaper form is not supposed to affect the author's royalties one way or the other. the advertising space thus secured is used not to advertise the story so serialized, but other, later books issued by the same house. the publisher usually credits the author's royalty account with an arbitrary sum, equivalent in his estimation to the value of the transaction. few contracts contain any clause covering this point. the publisher argues that the author, in all probability, could not have disposed of these rights at any price, and that whatever amount he receives is clear gain.
-on fiction, the rate goes up from 10% to 33⅓%, but at this latter rate the publisher is giving the author more than he can afford, hoping to make up for his plunge by the impetus which this fortunate author's name will give to the balance of the list. broadly speaking, 20% is the maximum a publisher can afford to pay, and then only on a book which is practically certain to win a place among the best sellers. a method which seems fair to all concerned is what is called the "progressive royalty." this gives the author say 10% on the first ten thousand copies, 15% upon the next ten thousand, and 20% upon all copies sold over twenty thousand. an arrangement such as this gives the publisher an opportunity to charge off all his initial expenses of manufacture, and to be liberal in his advertising appropriations in extending and continuing the sale of the book.
-the royalty upon common-and high-school textbooks is normally 7½% to 10%, but as the publisher frequently makes special prices to secure large adoptions, the rate may be less. special clauses are usually inserted into contracts made with authors of books of this nature, to cover these contingencies. college textbooks command 10% to 15%.
-the present writer is a strong believer in the advantage to the author of remaining on a single publisher's list, provided the publisher has shown himself to be enterprising, and inclined to advance the author's interests simultaneously with his own. there are unquestionably many instances where an author can secure larger royalties by "shopping around," but in the long run better results will come from a consideration of the bonds between author and publisher in the light of a business partnership, not to be broken while relations remain amicable.
-at present there is no uniform book contract used by all publishers. the blank contract form here given is that used by a reputable publishing-house. as a matter of fact, no present contract of any publisher is wholly satisfactory, and it is interesting to note that the subject of contract is one which the leading houses are taking up seriously with a view to standardization and improvement.
-memorandum of agreement made this ... day of ..., 19..., between ..., party of the first part (hereinafter called the author), and ... of ..., party of the second part (hereinafter called the publishers), witnesseth: that
-whereas the said ... is the author and proprietor of a work entitled ... (hereinafter called "the work"), and desires that the same be published and put on the market by the said ...,
-now, therefore, in consideration of the premises and of one dollar to each in hand paid by other, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged, the parties hereto do covenant and agree as follows:--
-second: the author hereby guarantees
-i. that he is the legal author and sole proprietor of the said work hereinabove mentioned, and that he has the sole and exclusive right to dispose of the same.
-ii. that the said work has not heretofore been published, and that it is in no way a violation of any existing copyright, either in whole or in part, and that it contains nothing of a scandalous, an immoral or libelous nature.
-third: the author covenants and agrees
-fourth: the publishers hereby covenant and agree
-ii. to publish said work and put the same on the market at their own expense, in such style and manner as they shall deem expedient, and at such time or times as they shall see fit, it being understood that the advertising, the number and destination of free copies, and each and every detail as to manufacture and publication shall be in the exclusive control of the publishers.
-vi. to pay to the author the sum of ... on the ... day of ... in advance and on account of the royalty or percentage to accrue to the author as hereinbefore specified.
-viii. no payment shall be made by the publishers for permission gratuitously given to publish extracts from said work to benefit the sale thereof; but if the publishers receive any compensation for the publication of extracts therefrom, or for serial use after publication in book form, or for translations, or abridgments, such compensation shall be equally divided between the parties hereto.
-fifth: it is further covenanted and agreed by and between the parties hereto as follows:
-a. if at any time during the continuance of this agreement the publishers wish permanently to discontinue the publication of said work, they shall notify the author in writing, mailed to his latest-known address, and for thirty days thereafter he shall have the option or right to buy from the publishers all copies on hand at the cost of manufacture, and (should these not have been destroyed by fire or otherwise) stamps and electrotype plates if any, at one-third their cost to the publishers, paying in addition for engravings of the illustrations, if any, twenty-five cents per square inch of each plate, and upon the failure of said author to exercise this right or option, by paying for the same in cash within said time, said publishers shall dispose of the same as they may see fit without any commission or percentage whatsoever, and this contract shall forthwith cease and determine.
-b. if, after the publication of any edition of said work, the plates be rendered useless by fire or otherwise, the publishers shall have the option of reproducing them or not; and if they shall decline to reproduce them, then, after the sale of all copies remaining on hand, they shall, upon written request, reconvey to the author the copyright and all rights herein granted, and this contract shall terminate. no insurance shall be effected by the publishers for the author.
-c. the parties hereto hereby agree to settle all disputes and differences under this contract by arbitration. one arbitrator shall be chosen by each party to this agreement, and these two arbitrators shall select a third, and the decision of a majority of the arbitrators shall be final and shall be binding upon the parties hereto.
-d. it is understood and agreed that the publishers are not insurers of manuscripts or drawings placed in their possession, and that they shall be liable for gross negligence only in the care of the same.
-it is understood and agreed that this instrument shall bind the parties hereto, their heirs, executors, administrators, successor, successors or assigns.
-in witness whereof the parties hereto have hereunto interchangedly set their hands and seals the day and year first above written.
-in the presence of
-as to the author
-as to ...
-the tremendous development in the moving-picture business has created a demand for dramatic films taken from long stories, or for a reproduction entire of short stories, which offers an entirely new and unexpected revenue to both publisher and author. moving-pictures have passed from the experimental period into an institution. the reproduction entire of certain famous stories has given to the enterprise a dignity which no one could have predicted, and the outlet they offer for a by-product is considered perfectly legitimate.
-all this produces new conditions in the relations between author and publisher, and many new questions have arisen which neither one may have anticipated at the time the contract was drawn. it is still necessary to have interpretations of the laws governing dramatic regulations, and of the rights involved.
-it has been the practice of the moving-picture producer to buy his plots outright, but with the new knowledge which has come to the writers of scenarios and plots of the real value of these when once assured of success, has also come a realization of the advantages of making royalty arrangements instead of selling outright.
-as far as the future is concerned, authors should familiarize themselves with the various intricacies of this particular field before signing contracts, making sure that the contract clearly defines the exact basis of what they part with and what they retain, or the percentage of ownership which the author holds in any one of the various rights.
-the following excellent summary is supplied by the "authors' league" to its members:
-"while the business of motion photography is by no means new, it is only within comparatively recent times that there has been a general demand for scenarios and plots. within the last two or three years authors have found a new and unsuspected source of revenue in the sale of 'cinema' rights to their short stories, and, although the returns were usually small, they formed a welcome addition to the writer's income. prices frequently depended more upon the advertising value of the author's name than upon the character of the material, and ranged from $15 to $150; nevertheless, many persons not engaged in the usual forms of literary work have reaped a substantial harvest from that source. until recently, subjects have been commonly confined to one reel of 1000 feet in length, but owing to the rapid development of the motion-picture business there has arisen a demand for more pretentious photoplays, for 'feature films' of multiple reel length, and, in consequence, many famous books and dramas have been, and are being, photographed.
-the demand is logical and promises to be permanent, hence the producer finds himself in need of good subjects, and the author is beginning to recognize his photoplay rights as something more than an insignificant by-product of his labor.
-it has been the picture-producer's practice to pay cash for his plots, but royalty arrangements covering 'feature films' are now being made. the latter method has its drawbacks, for, owing to the existence of a middle-man, it is more difficult for the photo-playwright to share in the full returns of his work than it is for the author of a book or play. the book-publisher or theatrical-producer distributes his goods directly to the public, and the author receives a royalty on the retail price of the book in the one instance, and on the box-office receipts in the other. the motion-picture manufacturer, on the contrary, does not sell his films to the theater or to the public, except in certain cases noted later, but to an 'exchange' or series of exchanges, which in turn leases to the exhibitor. under this practice, therefore, the author receives a percentage only upon the rental or purchase price paid by the exchange to the manufacturer.
-the exceptions above referred to, under which the author may more nearly share in the full returns from his photoplay, is when state rights, foreign rights, etc., to 'feature films' are sold or leased for cash, without passing through the hands of the exchanges, or when the producer elects to exhibit his films in his own or leased theaters. it may be seen, therefore, that while a sale on a royalty basis is in some ways unsatisfactory from the author's standpoint, it is on the whole preferable to a cash sale.
-the exchanges are, in effect, circulating libraries, which distribute reels of film instead of books. the results are similar to those arising from the english library system, under which large book sales are almost impossible, and under which neither author nor publisher profits greatly from a book's popularity. there is this difference, however: the publishers of great britain do not own the libraries, while in this country the exchanges--at least to a great extent--are owned by the manufacturers.
-since many writers are totally unfamiliar with the conditions of the trade, a word of explanation may be of value and avoid bewilderment. broadly speaking, the motion-picture field is occupied by two factions--the 'licensed' manufacturers, with their own exchanges and exhibitors, and the 'independents.' the former are composed of ten producing firms, the patents and rights under which they operate being vested in a holding company--the general film company--which is the sales-agent for all regularly released films of the coalition, and has about fifty branches. these manufacturers make only 'licensed' films, and distribute their regular releases only through the general film company, which in turn leases exclusively to licensed theaters, of which there are about 10,000 in this country.
-the remaining producers, exchanges and exhibitors comprise the independents.
-when an ordinary film of 1000 feet is made, it is released for exhibition on a given date, and is then termed a 'first-run picture.' as it gradually wears out, this rental grows less, and in about six months it is called in and destroyed. if the subject is popular, reprints are made, and distributed as before. 'feature films' comprising several reels are sometimes handled as previously noted. foreign rights are most frequently sold outright."
-"don't give away your photoplay rights in selling a story for magazine or book publication.
-don't include them in a dramatic contract without some clause similar to that governing stock rights.
-don't sell them to the first bidder.
-don't sell them for cash if you can secure a continuing interest in the film. it may be of value ten years hence.
-don't decide that your story will not make a motion-picture. it may contain values which you do not see.
-don't decide that your story will make a good photoplay until you understand something about the requirements and limitations of the business. remember, every film must be passed by the national board of censors.
-don't forget that your story must be told in pantomime.
-don't turn your photoplay rights over to the stranger who offers to adapt and handle your stories for one-half the proceeds.
-don't forget that you probably sold 'all rights' to your story when you signed that receipt.
-don't sell the producer a right which you don't own, and make him buy it over again from the present owner. he won't like it."
-reports on royalties
-the methods employed by the various publishing-houses in keeping and rendering their accounts with authors vary with each house, but all publishers are alike to the extent of realizing that this end of the business must be absolutely above suspicion. an unwarranted rumor, or a clerical error, would raise a question which might affect the standing of the house more than any other one thing. for this reason, the royalty records of all reputable publishing firms are so kept that they may be easily inspected if any question arises, and no objection would ever be made to a request from an author to make an examination should he feel that circumstances justified it.
-the publisher recognizes that each author is, in a sense, his partner in the production of a book, and as such is entitled to intimate information regarding the progress of their joint enterprise. semi-annual statements are rendered, which are often verified by certified reports from the publisher's printers and binders, covering the number of copies manufactured and sold during each period. some publishers include a report of the number of copies distributed for review or other advertising purposes; some do not. some have these reports checked by public accountants, who compare the statements of sales with the bills for printing and binding and the inventories for paper. but all these varying methods are based upon accurate, detailed records, which are carried forward regularly to the author's account.
-payments upon these semi-annual statements are usually made four months after they are rendered, making an average date of seven months which the publisher takes upon his royalty account. on the face of it, this seems too long a time, but those authors who are familiar with the customs of the trade realize that the publisher is obliged to sell to the jobbers and retailers on time, so that in this, as in other portions of the undertaking, they are simply sharing the financial necessities.
-the matter of copyright is one which admittedly requires thorough revision. no one seems able to explain why it is that in spite of conferences and delegations, congresses and discussions, the product of a man's brain is still at the mercy of regulations which even those in authority are unable to define. as a matter of fact, the copyright itself is merely a registration, which protects only in case the claimant of the copyright possesses the rights he claims. the copyright office does not undertake to pass upon his rights, leaving the question to the courts in case of dispute. it simply records his claims, and by this recording gives him certain rights provided his claims can be substantiated. the statements here made, therefore, cannot be taken as definitive, but are based upon information given out by the copyright office, and upon the usage of the best publishing-houses.
-for those who find it necessary to take out their own copyrights, the following information is of value:
-the copyright law provides that the application for registration of any work "shall specify to which of the following classes the work in which copyright is claimed belongs":
-the amendatory act, approved august 24, 1912, added the following two new classes of works as subject to copyright:
-a work is not entitled to registration unless it is reasonably possible to classify it under one or the other of the above designations named in the statute.
-¶compilations, abridgments, adaptations, dramatizations, translations or other versions of works produced with the consent of the proprietor of such works, or works republished with new matter, are regarded as new works subject to copyright.
-an alien author or proprietor can be protected by our law only in case he be domiciled within the united states at the time of the first publication of his work; or when the foreign state or nation of which he is a citizen or subject grants to citizens of the united states the benefit of copyright on substantially the same basis as to its own citizens; or when such foreign state or nation is a party to an international agreement which provides for reciprocity in the granting of copyright by the terms of which the united states may become a party thereto.
-¶copyright protection is at present granted in the united states to works of authors who are citizens or subjects of the following countries: belgium, france, great britain and her possessions, switzerland, germany, italy, denmark, portugal, spain, mexico, chile, costa rica, netherlands and her possessions, cuba, china, norway, japan (and korea), austria, guatemala, salvador, honduras, nicaragua, luxemburg, sweden, tunis and hungary.
-how to secure copyright registration in the united states
-2. promptly after publication, send to the copyright office two copies of the best edition of the work, with an application for registration and a money-order payable to the register of copyrights for the statutory registration fee of $1.00. (as to special fee for registration of photographs, see below.) the law provides "that of the printed book or periodical the text shall be printed from type set within the limits of the united states, either by hand or by the aid of any kind of typesetting machine, or from plates made within the limits of the united states from type set therein, or, if the text be produced by lithographic process, or photo-engraving process, then by a process wholly performed within the limits of the united states."
-the law requires also that the postmaster to whom are delivered the articles to be deposited in the copyright office shall, if requested, give a receipt therefor, and shall mail them to their destination without cost to the copyright claimant.
-in the case of books, the copies deposited must be accompanied by an affidavit, under the official seal of an officer authorized to administer oaths, stating that the type-setting, printing, and binding of the book have been performed within the united states. affidavit and application forms are supplied by the copyright office on request. this affidavit is not required in the case of works in raised characters for the use of the blind, or in the case of a book of foreign origin in a language or languages other than english, or in the case of a printed play in any language; as such works are not required to be manufactured in the united states.
-copyright may also be had of certain classes of works (see a--e below) of which copies are not reproduced for sale, by filing in the copyright office an application for registration with the statutory fee of $1.00, sending therewith:
-in the case of each of the works above noted, not reproduced in copies for sale, the law expressly requires that a second deposit of printed copies for registration and the payment of a second fee must be made upon publication.
-the statutory fee for registration of any work, except a photograph, is $1.00, including a certificate of registration under seal. in the case of a photograph, if a certificate is not demanded, the fee is fifty cents. in the case of several volumes of the same book deposited at the same time, only one registration and one fee is required.
-how to secure copyright registration of periodicals
-1. publish the issue upon which copyright protection is desired, printing therein the required copyright notice, before making any application to the copyright office for registration. (as to the form and position of the notice, see page 34.)
-2. promptly after the publication of each issue, send two copies thereof to the copyright office, washington, d.c., with an application for registration (upon form "b 1") and a remittance for the statutory fee of $1.00, which sum includes the cost of a certificate under seal. such certificate "shall be admitted in any court as prima facie evidence of the facts stated therein."
-¶publishers who desire to avoid the trouble of filling out a separate application form, and of making a separate remittance for each issue, may send in advance a sum to be placed to their credit, accompanied by a general application (upon form "b 2"), requesting registrations to be made thereafter upon the prompt deposit in the copyright office of the copies of the successive issues, from time to time, as they are published. after this has been done, two copies of each issue should be mailed to the copyright office promptly after publication, with a slip (supplied in blank by the copyright office) giving the exact date of publication of the issue (i.e. "the earliest date when copies of the first authorized edition were placed on sale, or sold, or publicly distributed by the proprietor of the copyright or under his authority").
-the statutory fee for the registration of any one issue of a periodical is one dollar, including a certificate under seal as already explained. non-certificate, fifty-cent, entries are not permissible under the present law. each issue of a copyright periodical requires the payment of its own registration fee of one dollar.
-section 3 of the new law provides "that the copyright provided by this act shall protect all the copyrightable component parts of the work copyrighted, and all matter therein in which copyright is already subsisting, but without extending the duration or scope of such copyright. the copyright upon composite works or periodicals shall give to the proprietor thereof all the rights in respect thereto which he would have if each part were individually copyrighted under this act." for regulations regarding contributions to periodicals see page 36.
-the general title of a newspaper, magazine, or other periodical cannot be recorded under the copyright law. the requirement of the former law, that a printed title be deposited on or before the day of publication, has been abrogated, and the deposit of the title in advance of publication is no longer authorized. what the law now requires is that there be deposited two complete copies of each issue, promptly after publication.
-all remittances to the copyright office should be made by money-order, payable to the register of copyrights. no money (currency or coin) should be placed in any letter or other matter sent to the copyright office. postage stamps should not be sent as fees. private checks will not be accepted unless certified.
-how to secure copyright registration of motion-pictures
-in order to secure registration of claims to copyright for such works the following steps should be taken:
-i. motion-picture photoplays not reproduced in copies for sale: deposit in the copyright office, washington, d.c., (1) the title of the motion-picture photoplay; (2) a description of the work, preferably either printed or typewritten; (3) a photograph taken from each scene of every act. these deposits should be accompanied by an application for recording the claim to copyright. for this purpose use application form "l 2," which is furnished by the copyright office upon request. also send with the application the statutory registration fee of $1.00.
-ii. motion-picture photoplays reproduced in copies for sale: when the motion-picture photoplay has been published (i.e., placed on sale, sold, or publicly distributed) with the required notice of copyright upon each copy, promptly after such publication deposit in the copyright office two complete copies of the work, accompanied by an application for recording the claim to copyright in the published work. for this purpose use application form "l 1," which is furnished by the copyright office upon request. also send with the application the statutory registration fee of $1.00.
-i. motion-pictures other than photoplays not reproduced in copies for sale: deposit in the copyright office, washington, d.c., (1) the title of the motion-picture; (2) a description of the work, preferably either printed or typewritten; (3) two or more photographs taken from different sections of the complete motion-picture. these deposits should be accompanied by an application for recording the claim to copyright. for this purpose use application form "m 2," which is furnished by the copyright office upon request. also send with the application the statutory fee of $1.00.
-ii. motion-pictures other than photoplays reproduced in copies for sale: when the work has been published (i.e., placed on sale, sold, or publicly distributed) with the required notice of copyright upon each copy, promptly after such publication deposit in the copyright office two complete copies of the work, accompanied by an application for recording the claim to copyright in the published work. for this purpose use application form "m 1," which is furnished by the copyright office upon request. also send with the application the statutory fee of $1.00.
-in all cases, the money order remitting the registration fee should be made payable to the "register of copyrights." send the title, description, prints, copies, application and fee in one parcel, addressed to the register of copyrights, washington, d.c.
-if any motion-picture has been registered as a work "not reproduced in copies for sale," it must nevertheless be registered a second time if it has been afterward published.
-ad interim protection
-in the case of a book published abroad in the english language before publication in the united states, the deposit in the copyright office at washington, not later than thirty days after its publication abroad, of one complete copy of the foreign edition, with a request for the reservation of the copyright, and a statement of the name and nationality of the author and of the copyright proprietor, and of the date of the publication of the book, secures to the author or proprietor an ad interim copyright, which has all the force and effect given by copyright, and extends until the expiration of thirty days after such deposit in the copyright office. whenever, within the period of this ad interim publication, an authorized edition of the book is published within the united states in accordance with the manufacturing provisions specified in the american copyright law, and when the provisions of the american law as to deposit of copies, registration, filing of affidavit, and the printing of the copyright notice have been duly complied with, the protection is then extended over the full term.
-assignment of copyright
-a copyright may be assigned, granted, or mortgaged by an instrument in writing signed by the proprietor of the copyright. no special blank form for assignment is issued by the copyright office.
-every assignment of copyright should be recorded in the copyright office within three calendar months after its execution in the united states, or within six calendar months after its execution without the limits of the united states, "in default of which it shall be void as against any subsequent purchaser or mortgagee for a valuable consideration, without notice, whose assignment has been duly recorded."
-the original instrument of assignment should be sent to the copyright office to be placed on record. a valuable document of this kind should be forwarded by registered post.
-after having been recorded, a certificate of record under seal of the copyright office is attached, and it is then returned by post. if the sender desires to have it returned by registered post, ten cents postage for the post-office registry fee should be sent in addition to the recording fees as stated below.
-when an assignment of the copyright in a specified book or other work has been recorded, the assignee may substitute his name for that of the assignor in the copyright notice. in order that this transfer of proprietorship may properly appear upon the index of the copyright office, a fee of ten cents (prescribed by law) for each title of a book or other article transferred is required for indexing, and this fee should be remitted in addition to the fee prescribed for recording the instrument as explained below.
-every assignment of copyright executed in a foreign country must be acknowledged by the assignor before a consular officer or secretary of legation of the united states, authorized by law to administer oaths or perform notarial acts. the certificate of such acknowledgment under the hand and official seal of such consular officer or secretary of legation is prima facie evidence of the execution of the instrument.
-the following schedule of fees, in addition to those already given, is fixed by the statute:
-1. for recording and certifying any instrument in writing for the assignment of copyright, or any license to make use of copyright material, or for any copy of such assignment or license, duly certified, if not over three hundred words in length, one dollar; if more than three hundred and less than one thousand words in length, two dollars; if more than one thousand words in length, one dollar additional for each additional one thousand words or fraction thereof over three hundred words.
-2. for comparing any copy of an assignment with the record of such document in the copyright office and certifying the same under seal, one dollar.
-3. for recording the transfer of the proprietorship of copyrighted articles, ten cents for each title of a book or other article, in addition to the fee prescribed for recording the instrument of assignment.
-the duration of copyright
-the duration of the term of copyright is twenty-eight years. this term may be extended for a further term of twenty-eight years by the author of the work, if living, or by the widow, widower, or children, or, if they be not living, then by the author's executors, or in absence of a will, by his next of kin.
-¶application for this extension must be made to the copyright office and duly registered there within one year prior to the expiration of the original term.
-the protection of titles
-the cases which have thus far been settled in litigation indicate that there is nothing at present in the copyright law which gives to the author the exclusive right to the title of his particular work. there may be any number of books or stories brought out by different authors bearing the same title so long as each one is distinct and original.
-applicants for copyright registration should use the application forms furnished on request by the copyright office. a separate form should be used for each work to be entered.
-books: for any new book printed and published for the first time in the united states, use application form and affidavit form "a 1" if the book is to be printed from type or plates made from type; if it is to be produced by lithographic or photo-engraving process use application form and affidavit form "a 2."
-for a book reprinted in the united states, with new copyright matter, use application form "a 2."
-for a book of foreign origin in a language or languages other than english, use application form "a 3."
-for ad interim copyright in a book published abroad in the english language, use application form "a 4."
-for the american edition of a book in the english language on which ad interim copyright has been previously secured, use application form and affidavit form "a 1."
-for a contribution to a newspaper or periodical, use application form "a 5."
-periodicals: for a periodical, if it is desired to make a separate application and remittance as each issue appears, use application form "b 1." if it is desired to file a general application in advance, and to deposit therewith a sum to cover the fees for several issues, use application form "b 2."
-oral works: for a lecture, sermon, or address for oral delivery, use application form "c."
-dramas: for a published dramatic composition, use application form "d 1."
-for a dramatic composition of which copies are not reproduced for sale, use application form "d 2."
-for a published dramatico-musical composition, use application form "d 3."
-music: for a musical composition published for the first time, use application form "e."
-for a musical composition, republished with new copyright matter, use application form "e 1."
-for a musical composition of which copies are not reproduced for sale, use application form "e 2."
-maps: for a published map, use application form "f."
-works of art: for a work of art (painting, drawing, or sculpture); or for model or design for a work of art, use application form "g."
-drawing or plastic work: for a published drawing or plastic work of a scientific or technical character, use application form "i 1."
-for an unpublished drawing or plastic work of a scientific or technical character, use application form "i 2."
-photographs: for a photograph published for sale, use application form "j 1."
-for a photograph of which copies are not reproduced for sale, use application form "j 2."
-prints or pictorial illustrations: for the registration of any "print" or "pictorial illustration," which is a printed picture, complete in itself and having artistic quality, use application form "k."
-motion-pictures: for the registration of a motion-picture photoplay reproduced in copies for sale, use application form "l 1."
-for a motion-picture photoplay of which copies are not reproduced for sale, use application form "l 2."
-for a motion-picture, not a photoplay, reproduced in copies for sale, use application form "m 1."
-for a motion-picture, not a photoplay, not reproduced in copies for sale, use application form "m 2."
-for the renewal of copyright subsisting in any work for the new renewal term of twenty-eight years as provided by the present law, use renewal form "r 1."
-for the extension of an existing renewal term from fourteen years as provided under the old law, to twenty-eight years granted by the present law, use extension form "r 2."
-¶these renewal forms can only be used within a period of one year prior to the expiration of the existing term.
-no forms are issued by the copyright office for assignments, or licenses, nor for postmaster's receipts for articles deposited.
-the methods of each publisher in the various steps toward registration of copyright may vary in details, but the following method may be taken as typical and sufficient for the average american book copyrighted in the united states:
-1. the type must be set up in the united states, and, if the book is printed from plates, the plates be made therefrom;
-2. the book must be printed and bound in the united states;
-3. the book must bear the copyright notice.
-4. on the date set for publication, copies are for the first time offered to the public, sold or publicly distributed by the publisher or his authorized agents. this constitutes the "act of publication," on which the registration of copyright depends. the sale of these copies is recorded on the publisher's books in the same manner as the sale of any of his books, and this dating of the sale on his books is often deemed sufficient record of the first publication. in case books are to be distributed for sale by various booksellers as well as by the publisher himself, the booksellers must be notified in advance in order that no copies may be sold previous to the date set for first publication.
-6. after a few days a receipt under seal will come from the copyright office, certifying that the books have been received, with the remittance and application, and that the copyright has been duly recorded.
-after twenty-seven years have passed, and within one year of the expiration of the copyright, the owner may renew it for twenty-eight years more upon application to the copyright office.
-recent copyright legislation in england has been pointed in the direction of more strict regulations regarding bona fide publication in england of american books on which english copyright is desired. this is a step in the right direction, and defines the issue somewhat more clearly, but even now conditions are not as well defined as they should be, or as they must ultimately be. the following statements may be made:
-¶great care should be taken that the date selected for publication is not saturday, sunday or a public holiday in england. these public holidays are: easter monday, monday in whitsun-week, first monday in august, december 26 (or, if sunday, december 27), good friday and christmas day.
-in canada the public holidays are: new year's, good friday, easter monday, empire day (may 24), dominion day (july 1), first mondays in august and september (labor day), thanksgiving and christmas day.
-the publication is accepted in england as being simultaneous if the time between publication in england and in america does not exceed fourteen days. it is important to note that when the case is reversed the "simultaneous" publication of an american book in england must be made on the exact day of its publication in america.
-british museum bodleian library, oxford university library, cambridge library of the faculty of advocates, edinburgh library of trinity college, dublin national library of wales
-¶it is not obligatory that five of these six copies be delivered unless demand is formally made within twelve months after publication, but if the books are not in stock for delivery then the agent may be fined £5 plus the cost of the volume. the copy for the british museum must be delivered within one month after publication.
-if an edition de luxe is issued, the copy sent to the british museum must be of this edition.
-points which are still to be settled in the new english copyright law are, whether or not, in order to make a bona fide publication, copies should be sent out for review, and advertised or offered for sale by the traveling salesmen of the english publisher. it is probable that these points will be definitely determined within the next few months. the english act requires a genuine publication to satisfy public demand, and not merely a "colourable" formality. what "public demand" may be has not yet been defined.
-there is no necessity for printing any notice of english copyright, as the english law does not require it; but it is customary, on american books copyrighted in england, to use the words, "copyright in england," to give warning that copyright is claimed on the book. it is not considered necessary to have the english publisher's imprint on the title-page of such books.
-the expression sometimes seen on the copyright page, "all rights reserved including that of translation into foreign languages including the scandinavian," is now valueless. the american and english copyrights protect the book in all countries with which the united states has copyright relations, and the notice would not prevent appropriation in any country with which the united states has no copyright relations. the expression came into use during the years preceding our present reciprocal copyright arrangements, and is now discontinued by those familiar with its original significance.
-relations of the short-story writer to the magazines
-the contributor to the magazines stands in a relation entirely different from that of the novelist to his publisher. in this case, the author has no joint interest with the publisher, being but one of many contributors to the magazine as a whole. in an article in their "bulletin," the authors' league refers to these dealings as follows:
-"in his relations with the magazine publisher, the short-story writer may be considered either as an independent merchant, peddling his wares, or as an employee,--on the same plane with the ink-dealer and the paper-house, say, or on the same plane with the sub-editor and the cashier. the magazine publisher, for selfish reasons, generally prefers to consider him as a merchant. your committee, for reasons equally selfish but perhaps better founded, considers him rather in the light of an employee. first, and most importantly, the ink-dealer and the paper-house have capital; the magazine writer brings nothing to his business but his brain and his two hands. in the second place, a great deal of the writing for our periodicals is done by men and women employed on salary, and economically in the same category as the cashier or the sub-editor. the man or woman who writes 'on the outside,' either on speculation or on order, it seems to us, is no less a temporary employee of the magazine.
-this consideration enters into the first grievance which has been urged by many of our members against certain of our magazines,--the deferring of payments after the acceptance of the article or story. as every one knows, the custom of our leading periodicals varies greatly in this regard. some pay upon acceptance, not nominally but really. certain others pay within the month. still others pay just about when the author can get it. the staff writer receives his regular salary every week; the free-lance writer, working on order, temporarily just as much a part of the magazine staff as any regular employee, often has to wait for weeks and months. certain of the magazine publishers interviewed by your committee have their ready-made answer to this: 'the ink maker and the paper manufacturer give us time: they wait one, two, or three months for their money; why should we be any more prompt with the author?' this position, on the theory that the magazine writer is only an outside employee, is of course untenable."
-"so long as this and similar matters remain in doubt, both authors and publishers should, for their own protection, agree on some system whereby the dramatic and all other rights are thoroughly safeguarded. this can be accomplished in either of two ways:
-'copyright, 1913, by john doe'
-the author should then, immediately on publication, mail one copy of the magazine to the register of copyrights in washington, in conformity with the requirements of the present act, enclosing the fee of one dollar. this is perhaps the simplest way, although it involves a separate registration of the magazine for each story or article so copyrighted.
-'this manuscript is submitted with the understanding that, if accepted for publication, the same shall be copyrighted by the publishers, and all rights under said copyright (except that of magazine publication) shall be held in trust for the benefit of the writer or his assigns, and will be reassigned to him upon demand.'"
-use double space in typewriting.
-be sure that your typewriting machine is in good order. typewritten manuscript possesses an individuality as well as hand-script, and inaccurate or slovenly pages prejudice the reader.
-always enclose a stamped, addressed envelope, and be sure that the postage is not underpaid. manuscript copy costs two cents an ounce; when mailed with proof, it costs one-half cent an ounce.
-a short story is usually supposed to contain from 3000 to 6000 words.
-number your pages consecutively.
-the manuscript may be folded, not more than twice, but should never be rolled.
-dealings with the editor
-the letter accompanying the manuscript should be brief, business-like, and to the point. the editor is too busy to concern himself with anything in connection with the writer or the story except the story itself.
-don't call upon the editor, or send him a letter of introduction; let the merit of your story be your only sponsor.
-don't ask the editor to criticize your work; place the manuscript in the hands of a professional reader if that is what you desire.
-be patient. it is reasonable to expect a decision upon your manuscript within three months' time, but not sooner.
-accept the editor's judgment cheerfully. nothing is ever gained, and much is usually lost, by personal pique.
-study the spirit and policy which lie behind each publication. just as a merchant offers his wares only in the market where the demand exists, make sure in your own mind that your story fits the magazine to which you send it.
-look upon the return of a manuscript as an opportunity for revision and improvement before sending it out again. study it, and try yourself to discover why it did not succeed.
-keep a careful record of the peregrinations of your various manuscripts.
-be timely, remembering that "seasonable" stories should be received by the magazines four to six months before the season arrives.
-the best magazines have a regular rate of payment, so it is needless to discuss terms in submitting your manuscript.
-never give a story away. if it is worth publishing it is worth being paid for, and to part with it for nothing injures the literary market for your fellow-writers as well as for yourself.
-there is much difference of opinion regarding the ethics of submitting the same manuscript to more than one magazine at a time. in this matter each writer must settle the question for himself. there is no general custom, but good taste would seem to argue against the practice.
-it is seldom wise to submit more than one story at a time to the same magazine.
-the literary agent
-in placing oneself in the hands of a literary agent, great care should be exercised to select one with a reputation for the successful placing of manuscripts and for prompt financial dealings.
-the ordinary commission of the literary agent is 10 per cent. upon all sums received on account of the author, and it is customary for him to handle the financial as well as the literary relations between the writer and the magazines.
-the mechanics of the book
-some authors have a general idea of how a book is manufactured, but more have none. even in the case of experienced writers, every printing-office could tell surprising stories to illustrate the unreasonableness born of a lack of knowledge of the ordinary mechanics of manufacture, or of a confidence born of too little knowledge. and unreasonableness on the part of the author means extra and unnecessary expense either to the printer or to the publisher. one of the most unfortunate features of the publishing business is that the exact cost of manufacturing a book can rarely be estimated in advance: typography, electrotyping, engraving, designing, presswork, paper, and binding can be figured closely, but the "extras," resulting from the author's carelessness, lack of knowledge of the book's mechanics, or change of heart as the manuscript goes into type, in many cases so increase the cost beyond the publisher's expectations that the publication can only show a loss instead of a profit.
-these "extras" result from different causes: the manuscript may be carelessly prepared, with poor punctuation and clumsy expressions, which the author corrects in the proof. the author frequently boasts, "i know nothing about punctuation," but would an artist admit that he was ignorant of how to mix his colors? there is no question that authors sometimes take advantage of their "temperament," and lie down upon it in a manner most unfair to their co-partners in the enterprise.
-changes in the manuscript cost nothing, changes in the type cost one dollar per hour. to correct vital points after the book is in type is warranted; to correct blunders in punctuation or expression is needless expense, and is a reflection upon the intelligence of the author. genius may be erratic, but it is more respected when it is not made to carry the responsibility of ordinary carelessness or ignorance. the writer recalls a case where the author of a story changed the name of one of the characters after the book was in type; it cost the publishers over eighty dollars. frequently an author changes the name of his story, necessitating resetting the running-heads, the title-page, and recutting the brass dies, all of which adds expense beyond the publisher's original estimate. countless other examples might be cited, but the main point is that all vital details should be discussed and settled while the story is still in manuscript, and after it has been placed in the printer's hands further changes should be only those which are of serious moment.
-other "extra" expenses include the cost of proofs. the publisher usually receives from the printer two sets of galley-proof, two sets of page-proof, and two sets of foundry-proof. all proofs beyond these six sets are charged for as "extra," the usual rate being one cent per page.
-if the author retains his proof longer than is necessary to read and correct it, this delay frequently forces the printer to work over-time to meet publication-day; this over-time work is charged for at double price.
-an author would never have any difficulty in securing a letter of introduction from his publisher to some large printing-house, and the printer would gladly give him every opportunity to familiarize himself with the mechanical processes. this knowledge, together with a study of those elements which go into the manufacture of a book, would enable the author to avoid needless cost, or to incur intelligently such extra expense as became vitally necessary.
-the following suggestions are important regarding the relations between the author and the printer:
-it is always wiser to leave all questions of typography for the publisher to settle with the printer, unless there is some specific reason why the author wishes to accomplish a particular result by using certain type effects.
-copy should be typewritten, and revised carefully by the author, before sending it to the printer, to correct typewriter's errors. interlineations and erasures which make the reading difficult should be avoided. it is always a simple matter to rewrite such portions without rewriting the entire chapter.
-if the author has decided preferences regarding spelling or punctuation, this fact should be clearly stated on the manuscript; otherwise the printer follows his office style, which may or may not conform with the author's ideas.
-in the preparation of copy, consistency of spelling and punctuation is strongly urged, as it not only simplifies the problem for the printer, but also prevents possible misunderstanding of copy and consequent necessity for resetting.
-all paragraphs should be clearly indicated in the copy.
-all directions written upon the manuscript, which are not intended as "copy," should be enclosed in a circle.
-the author should punctuate each sentence as he writes it, for in this way the marks are indicative of the natural pauses, and better express his meaning.
-foot-notes should always be clearly indicated.
-unusual words, proper names, and figures should be written out with the greatest care and distinctness by the author.
-it is for the common advantage of the author, the publisher, and the printer that the author or the editor read all proofs promptly.
-estimating the manuscript
-various short-cuts have been suggested for estimating the number of words in a printed page, but the old-fashioned method of counting is the safest. here is a table which is as accurate as any short-cut can be:
-words in sq. in.
-in cases where the number of lines to the inch of certain sizes of type is desired, the following table may be employed up to 18-point body:
-the sample page
-for his sample page for the given novel, the printer would select from these standard faces:
-type sizes in the present day are determined by the point system, the fundamental unit of which is the point. this is obtained by dividing a length of 13⅘ inches into 996 equal parts, each one being called a point. one point is therefore .0138 of an inch or 72.46 points are equal to 1 inch.
-for purposes of convenience, a point is expressed as being 1/72 of an inch. thus 6-point type occupies 6/72 of an inch of space, 12-point 12/72 and so on. this does not mean, however, that the actual printed face occupies six points on the paper, but that it is six points from the base to the top of the body carrying the face.
-in other words, one may say that it is 12 points from the bottom of one line of 12-point type to the bottom of the next line of 12-point type, etc.
-the pica is the standard of measurement of the old system, and is equal to 12 points of the new system; thus six picas are equal to 1 inch or 72 points. printers still estimate the length and width of a page or a column by the pica; thus a page 4 inches wide is 24 picas.
-the "em" is the square of a type body. thus a "12-point em" is 12 points wide and 12 points long, or 1 pica long and 1 pica wide. a "10-point em" is a 10 point square, etc. the em used in measuring newspaper column widths, magazine columns, etc., is known as the em pica, which is 12 points square.
-in using larger faces for headings and display, or smaller faces for footnotes or quoted matter, the printer will select from the same family to which the type belongs, or from some family which combines with it harmoniously. old-style faces should not be used with modern faces, but the scotch face, which is a cross between old-style and modern, combines well with either.
-as to leading, this volume is leaded with a 1-point lead; between the first and second lines of the preceding paragraph there is no leading (technically, "set solid"); between the second and third, a 2-point lead, and between the third and fourth, a 3-point lead.
-in technical volumes and schoolbooks the old style antique type is largely used for subject-headings and side-notes:
-competent proofreaders in the best offices frequently call the attention of the author to errors in dates, figures, or proper names, but this should always be regarded by the author as a courtesy rather than as something which the printer is expected to do. the proofreader, on the other hand, is supposed to have corrected every typographical error, and for the author to mark corrections which have been overlooked is a courtesy on the part of the author. the fact that the author or editor has passed over typographical errors in no way relieves the proofreader of his responsibility.
-the proofreader is expected to correct any obvious error without hesitation, but to make no other changes. if he thinks a change should be made, it will take the form of a query in the margin to the author. the author should carefully note all such queries, and answer them or strike them out, bearing in mind that if he accepts the query the change necessitated in the type becomes an author's correction, the expense of which falls upon the publisher.
-any marks on the proofs for correction should be made distinct by drawing a short line through the letter to be changed, etc., placing in the margin the recognized sign indicating the change, exactly opposite the line in which the change is to be made, and in the order in which the necessary alterations occur. in doing this be sure to write legibly, and do not cover the proof with lines and counter-lines.
-the author should familiarize himself with the standard proofreading marks, and employ these in marking all corrections upon the proofs which are sent him. these marks are as follows:
-the above marks are the ones most generally used in proofreading. there are many others that are required in different classes of work, but these are in the main self-explanatory. this display of proof marks and their meanings has been prepared for the graphic arts and endorsed by the boston proofreaders association.
-cover design and illustrations
-while the printer has been engaged in putting the manuscript into type, the publisher has had a designer at work upon a cover sketch, and an artist upon such illustrations as the book requires. all this has to fall in with the publisher's general scheme for the book as a whole. the designer must know what limits are placed upon him as to the number of inks or foils, or the amount of gold-leaf which he may employ. the artist must know whether his pictures are to be drawn for full color, two-color or one-color plates. in deciding these questions, the publisher is influenced by what he believes the book to require in its appeal to the public, and how great an expense is warranted by the probability of its success.
-the illustrations in all except the most pretentious volumes are either halftone or lineplate photo-engravings. in making a halftone plate, the picture or object to be reproduced is photographed through a screen consisting of a glass plate, diagonally ruled at right angles in two directions with lines numbering from fifty to four hundred to the inch. this screen is placed inside of the camera and in front of, and very near, the chemically sensitized plate. the light reflected from the object to be photographed, varying in intensity according to the lights and shadows of the object, is focused on the sensitized plate through the intervening line screen, and affects the sensitized film more or less according to its intensity. this causes a chemical change of such nature that the next following operations, the development and the intensification of the picture, result in producing it in the form of dots and stipples varying in size, and consequently in the respective light and shade effects, according to the varying lights and shadows of the original. inasmuch as the lights show dark and the darks light, the picture on the glass makes a negative of the subject. this negative is placed in a printing frame, in close contact with a polished copper plate prepared with a film sensitive to the light. a few minutes' exposure to the light renders insoluble in water those parts of the film which the light has reached through the negative, and when the other parts of the film, which remain soluble in water, are washed away, the picture appears clear on the surface of the plate. the dots and the stipples forming the picture are then further treated to enable them to resist the action of the solution of iron perchloride to which the plate is next subjected, which etches out the spaces between the dots, and leaves the latter in relief. as the etching on the copper must be in reverse as regards right and left, in order that it may appear in proper relation when printed on the paper, the negative must be produced through a reflecting prism, or the finished negative, properly toughened, must be stripped from the glass on which it has been produced, and turned over. in ordinary practice, a number of such turned negatives are placed together on a single large glass, and exposed together on a large copper plate, to be cut apart afterwards and mounted separately. the primary etching is usually supplemented by further processes, such as re-etching, vignetting, hand-tooling and routing. the finished plate is finally mounted on a wooden block to the height of type.
-it is of particular importance that the engraver who is to make the halftone plates should be informed as to the kind of paper they are to be printed on. a 50-line halftone plate will print on almost anything, but is too coarse to render the details of the picture, and is usually applied only for newspaper use. it would be entirely too coarse for the purpose of book illustration. on the other hand, a halftone plate made through a screen of 400 lines to the inch can be printed satisfactorily only upon paper of the highest surface, and with correspondingly careful presswork. for super-calendered or english-finish paper, plates made through a 133-line screen are most advisable, while the average coated or enameled paper will take 150-line halftones to best advantage.
-lineplates are etchings in relief on plates of zinc or copper, reproduced from pen-and-ink-drawings, or diagrams, by photo-mechanical process. the method in general is the same as that for halftone work, but without the intervention of the screen. in lineplates, the light and shade effects are produced by gradations of thick and thin lines, in distinction from the effects of wash-drawings and photographs, which are produced by gradations of tone. the latter require the intervention of the screen to convert the full tone gradations into the halftone of the dots and stipples, while the former may, as already noted, be reproduced directly.
-the arrangement of the book
-the proper layout for an ordinary volume, arranged in accord with the best usage, is as follows:
-bastard-title (right hand). blank page or advertising card (left hand). title-page (right hand). copyright page and the printer's imprint (left hand). dedication (right hand). blank page (left hand). preface (begins on right hand). table of contents (begins on right hand). list of illustrations (begins on right hand). introduction (begins on right hand). half-title (right hand). blank page (left hand). first page of text (begins on right hand).
-in limited editions, the limit notice is placed upon the reverse of the bastard-title, or on a left-hand page facing the bastard-title.
-following the text may be:
-appendix (begins on right hand). glossary (begins on right hand). bibliography (begins on right hand). index (begins on right hand).
-considering these various divisions more at length:
-the bastard-title, which is often wrongly called the half-title, is a modern evolution in its present application. originally, this single-line title was the only title which existed, but as time went on the demand of the public, on the one hand, for a decorated page at the beginning of the book, together with the printer's desire, on the other hand, to advertise himself, developed the bastard-title into the dimensions of the title-page which we now know, containing the name of the book, the name of the author, the publisher's device, and the publisher's name and address. at the present time the bastard-title is used more to add elegance to the appearance of the volume than for any practical purpose, it being pleasanter for the eye to rest first upon this page rather than at once upon the title-page, which extends over the full dimensions of the type area.
-if an advertising card or limit notice is required, this page of display should be set up with careful consideration of the page it is to face, and of the typography of the book of which it is to be a part. too frequently advertising cards are looked upon as separate jobs, and are set in types which do not harmonize with the typography of the rest of the book.
-the title-page offers the printer and the publisher a tempting opportunity for display and for artistic typography, and too few realize the value of restraint. cobden-sanderson once remarked, as explaining the high prices which he secures for his work, that he always charges more for what he leaves out than for what he puts in.
-the first definite step in the direction of the title-page is marked by bibliographers in a little volume printed by arnold ther hoernen, of cologne, in 1470. it consisted of an introduction at the head of a page, the major part of which was left blank. whether the printer forgot to place the usual introduction at the head of the first page, and took this way to remedy his error, is not known.
-in general, different faces of type should never be combined upon the title-page, the variations being secured by using smaller sizes of the same face, or harmonizing fonts. capitals and lower-case letters can be successfully combined on the title-page only as a result of care and thought, the best title-pages usually being all in lower-case or all in caps and small caps. a two-color title-page is rarely a success unless it was originally composed with two colors in mind, instead of being set up in black and arbitrarily split up for colors.
-the decoration should never overbalance the type, and this applies as well to the question of borders on decorated books. no matter how beautiful, if the decoration overbalances the type, the volume or the title-page ceases to be an example of typography and becomes something answerable only to itself.
-the dedication is a page set in the monumental style, generally in small capitals. this must always be a right-hand page, and the reverse must always be blank.
-ordinarily the preface is set in the same size of type as the body. if it is written by some one other than the author, it is frequently set in italic to mark the distinction. this is particularly true in case the book contains an introduction as well. if the preface is of unusual importance, it is sometimes customary to have it set in type one size larger than the body, or double-leaded.
-table of contents
-after the preface and before the list of illustrations comes the contents, occupying whatever number of pages may be necessary. the style of its composition is dependent entirely upon the subject-matter and the typographical arrangement of the volume.
-list of illustrations
-this follows the contents, and is always set in a style conforming to the contents page or pages.
-see remarks under "preface."
-the half-title ordinarily consists of a single line, standing by itself on the first page of the leaf immediately preceding the first page of the text, and carries the title of the book as at the top of the first page of text. it is frequently confused with the bastard or false-title, which always precedes the title-page. half-titles may also run through the book before various divisions, but the bastard-title never moves from its one position at the beginning of the volume.
-if an edition be limited in number, the notice of such limit should be placed either on the page facing the bastard-title or on the reverse of the bastard-title.
-the front matter is often put into type after the composition of the body has been completed, so that the number of pages is rarely definitely determined at the beginning of the work. for this reason, publishers have favored the expedient of numbering the preliminary pages with roman folios, using the arabic folios for the text itself. the front matter and the chapter pages running through the book offer opportunities for embellishment and distinctive typographical treatment, and therefore should be kept in exact accord, whether elaborate decorations are used or the severest form of typographical simplicity.
-basic sizes of books
-the following list gives the size of leaf to which the various standard names and proportions naturally fold:
-english paper sizes
-a feature not to be overlooked in the appearance of a well-printed book is that of the margins. the perfect type-page is supposed to be proportioned in such a way that its diagonal is twice its width. with this page as a basis, the location of the type upon the paper leaf is to be studied carefully. in general, the two pages, right and left, should be considered as a unit, and the top margin and the inside margin of each page should be approximately the same. doing this, the total blank between the two pages is supposed approximately to equal the outside and the bottom margins.
-the proportion of margin is, to a certain extent, dependent upon the size of the book, the margins becoming greater as the volume increases from the thirty-two mo size up to the folio. a student of typography has ingeniously estimated that, taking the height of the paper leaf as 100 units, the height of the type page of the ordinary trade book should be from 72% to 75%; that of a library edition, from 66% to 71%; that of a de luxe volume, from 60% to 65%.
-making the index
-every book of a permanent nature, or intended as a work of reference, requires an index. the length of the index, or its minuteness, depends upon the nature of the subject treated, and the importance of making it easily available to the reader. the index belongs to the same family as the table of contents, and the topical analyses often placed at the beginning of each chapter: the contents gives a general idea of the divisions into which the author has separated his subject; the topical analyses still further divide each chapter; and the index is ordinarily still more minute, with the further advantage of having its references arranged in alphabetical order.
-the proper person to make an index is, first of all, the author of the book, provided that he possesses the natural characteristics. it does not at all naturally follow, however, that all authors are competent to do this, for the art of indexing is not as simple as many superficially suppose. the author should be the one best fitted, because he knows better than any reader the exact meaning each of his sentences is intended to convey,--and this meaning should be expressed in the index. the ideal index is that which gives every topic, thought, or reference contained in the book itself, without a single superfluous word, and with no description or comment.
-to make an index requires a quick grasp of the idea contained in each sentence or paragraph, an immediate discernment of the main thought, an instinctive classification, absolute accuracy in translating this thought into its briefest expression, ability to condense, and a sensing of the reader's needs in adequate cross-references. all this demands a mind more logical and more sensitive to codified detail than is possessed by many able writers. under these circumstances, it is desirable to place the making of the index in the hands of one possessing these qualifications, either instinctively or as a result of experience.
-every publishing-house and most printing establishments of any consequence are in a position to have indexes prepared when required, but the danger is always present that the indexer, approaching his subject from the outside, will fail to place himself sufficiently in the author's attitude, and thus lessen the value of his work. it is most desirable, in order to prevent this, that the author carefully inspect the index while in manuscript. he can thus detect possible departures in the indexer's condensed expression of his own thought.
-the following rules and suggestions are given with a twofold object in mind: first, to prevent those authors who possess the necessary qualifications from avoiding the preparation of their own indexes because of unfamiliarity with the technical details; second, to enable authors intelligently to criticize the form as well as the matter of those indexes which are prepared for their volumes by other hands.
-what to index
-the closeness with which a book is to be indexed depends partly upon the nature of its contents and partly upon the ideas of the author or publisher. some indexes contain only the page references; some are so analytical that a reader can gain an excellent idea of the subject-matter itself. these, however, represent the two extremes. the ordinary index aims to give every reference necessary to enable the reader to locate easily the subject-matter for which he searches, but not a synopsis of that subject-matter. the entries should cover, then, with more or less minuteness, as desired, the following:
-the indexer should decide definitely in his mind just what his procedure is to be before actually beginning work. at first, it is well to make the index too full rather than the reverse, as it is easier to cut out than to fill in. most important of all, he must be sure that the matter to be indexed is clearly understood before he attempts to transcribe the idea. the character of the book to be indexed must be carefully considered, taking into account the class of people who will probably consult it, and the lines on which they will probably seek information.
-judgment is required in deciding whether it is wise to choose the exact words of the author or to condense the idea into other words. in technical books, the exact wording is sometimes essential, but otherwise it is more important to express the idea than the exact terms in which it is expressed.
-always prefer simple words and expressions to those which are unusual and cumbersome.
-omit every unessential word.
-when the book being indexed is one written upon a specific subject, this main subject should not be indexed unless necessary to indicate some reference for which a searcher would look. ordinarily, the contents covers this point rather than the index.
-bear in mind particularly the two extremes: the importance of including every reference necessary to enable the searcher to find what he wishes without delay or confusion, the mistake of overloading the index with useless entries.
-use ink, as pencil entries often become illegible.
-write plainly, and do not try to economize space in preparing the copy.
-definition of terms
-here are sample slips, showing a heading which requires full entries and one to which the text contains fewer references. the first shows a slip on which the various entries have been combined:
-this slip shows the method of indexing a work in more than one volume:
-when, under a single entry, there are both subject-references and references by folios only, place the folio-references together at the end of the entry, following the subject-references.
-arrange entries according to the english alphabet, whatever the order of the alphabet in which a foreign name might have been entered in its original language.
-arrange german names spelled with the vowels ä, ö, ü as if spelled ae, oe, ue, but retain the form employed by the author.
-when the same word serves for several kinds of entries, the order should be as follows: person, place, subject, title: e.g., (1) brown, g. f. (person). (2) brown village (place). (3) brown-tail moth (subject). (4) brown family, the (title).
-forenames precede surnames: e.g., francis i precedes francis, charles.
-in general, a noun or a substantive phrase should be selected for the heading, but when an adjective forms part of a name or well-known term, the entry should include it: e.g., alimentary canal, hereditary genius, perpetual motion, etc.
-it is not possible to formulate rules for indexing subject-matter as definitely as has already been done with names, places, etc. the judgment of the indexer and his analytical skill will be called fully into play. the effort should be to express in the index, in the clearest yet briefest form, the idea which the author has amplified in his text. as an aid to the nature and form of the entries, a page of text is shown on the opposite page, and the entries which would appear in the index from this page, are given below. this is what would be considered as a medium full index:
-bressani, joseph, tortured by iroquois, 73; life spared by iroquois, 73; sent to fort orange, 73; ransomed by dutch, 73; sent to rochelle, 73.
-dutch, the, ransom bressani, 73.
-indian torture, see torture, indian.
-iroquois indians, the, torture bressani, 73; spare bressani's life, 73.
-jogues, isaac, referred to, 73.
-orange, fort, bressani sent to, 73.
-rochelle, bressani sent to, 73.
-torture, indian, bressani by the iroquois, 73.
-march of several days,--during which bressani, in wading a rocky stream, fell from exhaustion and was nearly drowned,--they reached an iroquois town. it is needless to follow the revolting details of the new torments that succeeded. they hung him by the feet with chains; placed food for their dogs on his naked body, that they might lacerate him as they ate; and at last had reduced his emaciated frame to such a condition that even they themselves stood in horror of him. "i could not have believed," he writes to his superior, "that a man was so hard to kill." he found among them those who, from compassion or from a refinement of cruelty, fed him, for he could not feed himself. they told him jestingly that they wished to fatten him before putting him to death.
-the council that was to decide his fate met on the nineteenth of june, when to the prisoner's amazement, and, as it seemed, to their own surprise, they resolved to spare his life. he was given, with due ceremony, to an old woman, to take the place of a deceased relative; but since he was as repulsive, in his mangled condition as, by the indian standard, he was useless, she sent her son with him to fort orange, to sell him to the dutch. with the same humanity which they had shown in the case of jogues, they gave a generous ransom for him, supplied him with clothing, kept him until his strength was in some degree recruited, and then placed him on board a vessel bound for rochelle. here he
-page from parkman's works. by permission little, brown, & co.
-rules and examples
-index under the christian name or forename:
-also make cross-reference: e.g., becket, thomas a. see thomas a becket.
-cross-reference under family name is optional, dependent upon closeness of indexing.
-this rule has many exceptions. some oriental writers are known and should be entered under other parts of their name than the first, as "abu-l-kasim, khalaf ibn abbas," firdusi, abul kasim, etc., known as, or under some appellation as "al-masudi," "at-tabari."
-in arabic names, the words of relationship abu (father), umm (mother), ibn, bin (son), ahu (brother), though not to be treated as names by themselves, are yet not to be disregarded. they form a name in conjunction with the word following (e.g., abu bakr), and determine the alphabetical place of the entry. but the article al (changed by assonance to ad-, ar-, as-, at-, az-, according to the letter it precedes) is neglected (al- masudi).
-in all oriental names, the indexer must be careful not to take titles, as emir, bey, pasha, sri, babu, pundit, for names.
-in regard to east indian names, dr. feigl gives the rule: if there are two names, enter under the first, which is the individual name, with a cross-reference from the second; if there are three or more, enter under the third, which is the family name, with a cross-reference under the first or individual name; the second may be neglected.
-index under the surname:
-bishops usually omit their family name, canons their forename: e.g., canon liddon, bishop of ripon, henry edward, archbishop of westminster, i.e., h. e. manning. care must be taken not to treat canon as a forename or edward as a family name.
-wives often continue writing, and are known in literature only under their maiden names (as miss freer or fanny lewald), or after a second marriage retain for literary purposes the first husband's name. enclose the maiden name in parenthesis: e.g., ward, mrs. elizabeth (phelps). use the form white, mrs. julia charlotte, wife of j. c., when the husband's name is used: e.g., hopkins, mrs sarah (drake) garretson. stowe, mrs. emily howard (jennings). soyaux, frau frieda (schanz). gasparin, valérie (boissier) comtesse de.
-women known under their husbands' names are to be entered as follows: hinkson, mrs. katherine (tynan), mrs. h. a. hinkson. cross-reference to be made from the latter form.
-index under the highest title:
-british and foreign noblemen, with cross-reference from earlier titles by which they have been known, and, in the case of british noblemen, from the family name: e.g., chesterfield, 4th earl of (philip dormer stanhope). chesterfield, 5th earl of (philip stanhope). cross-reference from stanhope. saint-simon, louis de rouvroi, duc de.
-authors should be put under their names. the definition of a name is "that by which a person or thing is known." noblemen are known by their titles, not by their family names.
-englishwomen's titles-of-honor are to be treated by the following rules. in the matter of titles an englishwoman in marrying has everything to gain and nothing to lose. if she marries above her own rank she takes her husband's title in exchange for her own, if below her own rank she keeps her own title.
-that is, she is baroness, viscountess, marchioness, etc. in indexing, say brassey, annie (allnutt), baroness; not brassey, annie (allnutt), lady.
-that is, if lady mary smith marries sir john brown (either knight or baronet), she is lady mary brown, also if hon. mary smith marries sir john brown (knight or baronet) she is lady mary brown; but if miss mary smith marries sir john brown (knight or baronet), she becomes mary, lady brown.
-thus, if she marries a baronet she is the honᵇˡᵉ lady brown; if a peer, the lady so and so. in either case as though she had been a peer's daughter.
-none of these courtesy titles is inherited by the children of those who bear them, the third generation of even the highest peer being simply commoners unless raised in rank by marriage or merit.
-index compound names according to the usage of the author's fatherland, though if it is known that his practice differs from this usage, his preference should be followed. compound names then go:
-both such compound names as gentil-bernard and such as gentil de chavagnac. there are various exceptions, when a name has been more known under the last part, as fénelon, not salignac de lamothe fénelon; voltaire, not arouet de voltaire; sternberg, not ungern-sternberg. moreover, it is not always easy to determine what is a compound surname in french. cross-references are necessary whichever way one decides each case, especially when the second part of a foreign compound name has been used alone, as merle d'aubigné (index under merle with a cross-reference from aubigné).
-in french, a forename is sometimes joined to a surname by a hyphen. in such cases make the entry under the family name, with a cross-reference from the forename: e.g., entry, rochette, désiré raoul; cross-reference, raoul-rochette, désiré. see rochette.
-index surnames preceded by prefixes:
-la and le are often, des is usually, and les is almost without exception printed as one word with the name following, as lafontaine, lesage, lesdiguières; de and d' are sometimes so printed; when they are, enter under the d: e.g., debucourt, decamps, delisle; but bucourt, a. de, camps, c. de, lisle, j. de.
-but when the name is printed as one word, entry is made under the prefix, as vanderhaeghen.
-thus german names preceded by von, when belonging to russians, are to be entered under von, as this is the russian custom. so when dutch names compounded with van are adopted into french or english (as van laun) the van is treated as part of the family name.
-prefixes are d', de, de la (the name goes under la not de), des, du, l', la, le, les, st, ste (to be arranged as if written saint, sainte), da, dal, dalla, dalle, dai, dagli, del, della, delle, dei (dé or de), degli, da, dos, das, ten, ter, thor, van, vander, van't, ver, am, auf, auf'm, aus, aus'm, in, im, von, vom, zu, zum, zur, a', ap, o', fitz, mac (which is to be printed as it is in the title, whether m', or mc, or mac, but to be arranged as if written mac).
-index names of capes, lakes, mountains, rivers, forts, etc., beginning with cape, lake, mt., etc., under the word following the prefix, but when the name is itself used as a prefix, do not transpose cape, etc., nor in such names as isle of the woods, isles of shoals; but there is more reason for writing france, isle de; man, isle of; wight, isle of: e.g., cod, cape; george, lake; washington, mt.; moultrie, fort; but cape breton island. when the name of a fort becomes the name of a city, of course the inversion must be abandoned, as fort wayne.
-forenames are to be used in the form employed by their owners, however unusual, as will carleton, sally (pratt) mclean, hans droysen, fritz reuter.
-give names of places in the english form. (cross-reference from the vernacular, if necessary): e.g., munich not muenchen or münchen, vienna not wien, austria not oesterreich.
-but if both the english and the foreign forms are used by english writers, prefer the foreign form: e.g., dauphiné rather than dauphiny.
-use the modern name of a city and cross-reference to it from the ancient, provided its existence has been continuous and there is no doubt as to the identity.
-distinctive epithets are to be in the same language as the name: e.g.,
-kniaz, fürst von, freiherr zu, duc de magenta, bishop of lincoln, évêque de meaux; but emperor of germany, king of france, not kaiser and roi, when names of sovereign princes are given in english. treat in the same way patronymics habitually joined with a person's name; as, clemens alexandrinus.
-hereditary titles generally follow the christian name, as derby, thomas stanley, 1st earl of; but british courtesy titles (i.e., those given to the younger sons of dukes and marquesses) precede, as wellesley, lord charles (2d son of the duke of wellington). in other languages than english, french, and german the title usually precedes the forename; as, alfieri, conte vittorio. occasionally a french nobleman uniformly places his title before his forenames; as, gasparin, comte agénor de.
-lord should be replaced by the exact title in the names of english noblemen: e.g., lord macaulay should be entered as macaulay, 1st baron. lord in the title of scotch judges follows the family name; as, kames, h. home, afterwards lord.
-the title baronet is given in the form scott, sir walter, bart.
-patronymic phrases, as of dedham, follow all the names; but they must immediately follow the family name when they are always used in close connection with it, as girault de st. farjeau, eusèbe; similarly aîné, fils, jeune, as dumas fils, alexandre; didot fils, ambroise. latin appellatives should not in general be separated from their nouns by a comma; as, caesar heisterbacensis.
-the name of a king's wife should be written thus: charlotte, queen, consort of george iii of england. anne boleyn queen, 2d consort of henry viii of england.
-index under countries or places important events relating to them: e.g., montreal, cartier's description of houses at. also make reference under name: e.g., cartier, description of houses at montreal.
-enter congresses of several nations under the name of the place of meeting (as that usually gives them their name), with cross-references from the nations taking part in them, and from any name by which they are popularly known: e.g., the congress of london, of paris, of verona, international peace congress at the hague.
-enter treaties under the name of each of the contracting parties, with a cross-reference from the name of the place of negotiation, when the treaty is commonly called by that name, and from any other usual appellation: e.g., treaty of versailles, barrier treaty, jay's treaty.
-enter the official publications of any political party or religious denomination or order, under the name of the party, or denomination, or order: e.g.,
-platforms, manifestoes, addresses, etc., go under democratic party, republican party, etc.
-confessions of faith, creeds, catechisms, liturgies, breviaries, missals, hours, offices, prayer books, etc., go under baptists, benedictines, catholic church, church of england, friends, etc.
-that part of a body which belongs to any place should be entered under the name of the body, not the place: e.g., congregationalists in new england, congregationalists in massachusetts, not new england congregationalists, massachusetts congregationalists. but cross-references must be made from the place (indeed in cases like massachusetts convention, essex conference, it may be doubted whether those well-known names should not be the headings).
-enter corporations and quasi corporations, both english and foreign, under their names as they read, neglecting an initial article or serial number when there is one.
-enter orders of knighthood, both those of medieval times and their honorary modern equivalents, under the significant word of the english title: e.g., garter, order of the; malta, knights of; templars, knights; teutonic order; freemasons. but the american knights templars, being merely a division of the freemasons, belong under freemasons; so of other regular masonic bodies.
-the colleges of an english university and the unnamed professional schools of an american university go under the university's name. such professional schools, if they have a distinctive name, particularly if at a distance from the university, or for any other reason less closely connected with it, go under their own name: e.g., oxford university, magdalen college; harvard university, veterinary school; but barnard college, columbia university; radcliffe college, harvard university; sheffield scientific school of yale university.
-college libraries go under the name of the college: e.g., harvard college, university library. but the bodleian library may be put under bodleian.
-local college societies go under the name of the college; intercollegiate societies and greek letter fraternities under their own names: e.g., φ b k a, of harvard.
-alumni and alumnæ associations go under the name of the school or college: e.g., harvard alumni association of new york.
-schools supported by public taxation go under the name of the city or town maintaining them, whether they have an individual name or not.
-when a corporation is much less known by the first words of its name than by a later part, enter under the later part: e.g., christian endeavor, young people's society of.
-enter guilds under the name of the trade: e.g., stationers company, not master and keepers or wardens and commonality of the mystery and art of stationers of the city of london, which is the corporate title.
-enter bodies whose legal name begins with such words as board, corporation, trustees under that part of the name by which they are usually known: e.g., trustees of the eastern dispensary; president and fellows of harvard college; proprietors of the boston athenæum; contributors to the asylum for the relief of persons deprived of their reason. cross-reference from the first word of the legal name.
-enter the name of a firm under the family name rather than the forename, and do not fill out the forenames: e.g., friedlander und sohn, raphael, not under raphael; stokes, f. a. co., not stokes, frederick a. co.
-the consulter is much more likely to remember the family than the christian name. whether the christian name is written at the end or thus, town (john) and bowers (henry), all firms should be arranged after all the other entries of the first family name, i.e., friedlander und sohn after all the friedlanders.
-this rule might be extended to include corporations, colleges, libraries, etc., whose legal names include forenames. entry under a forename, as silas bronson library, and especially under initials, as t. b. scott public library, is awkward. but the public habit is not yet sufficiently settled to justify an exception.
-enter the universities of the european continent and of central and south america under the name of the place; all other societies under königliche, herzogliche, etc.
-cross-reference from the first word in the university names and from the place of societies.
-a few learned academies, commonly called by the names of the cities where they are established, may be entered under the place with a cross-reference from the name. these are berlin, göttingen, leipzig, lisbon, madrid, munich, st. petersburg, vienna.
-enter national libraries, museums, and galleries, as well as libraries, museums, and galleries instituted or supported by a city, under the place, provided they have not a distinctive name.
-example of place: paris bibliothèque nationale. boston public library.
-example of name: berkshire athenæum; boston athenæum; british museum; forbes library; marucceliana, biblioteca; reuben hoar public library.
-enter observatories under the name of the place: e.g., greenwich, observatory. pulkowa, sternwarte; except that:
-enter expositions under the place where they were held: e.g.,
-buffalo, pan-american exposition, 1901; chicago, world's columbian exposition, 1893; new orleans, world's industrial and cotton centennial exhibition, 1884-85; philadelphia, centennial exhibition, 1876.
-cross-reference from an individual name.
-enter american state universities and state historical, agricultural and medical societies, whether supported by the state or not, under the name of the state, unless they are better known by a distinctive name. the state's name usually enters into the name of these societies and they are known outside of the state by its name. cross-reference when necessary.
-enter churches under the name of the place.
-single churches have usually been entered under the place, a practice which arose in american indexes from our way of naming churches "the first church in----," "the second church of----," etc., and applies very well to a majority of english churches, whose name generally includes the name of the parish. it is more in accordance with indexing principles to limit the local entry of churches to first church, etc., and those which have only the name of the town or parish, and to put all others (as st. sepulchre's, st. mary aldermansbury) under their names, as they read, and to treat convents and monasteries in the same way; but the convenience of having a single definite rule has been held to outweigh in this case the claims of consistency.
-the parishes of london (as kensington, marylebone, southwark), like the parts of boston (dorchester, roxbury, etc.), or of any other composite city, would be put under their own names, not under the name of the city.
-a few cathedrals generally known by some other name may be entered under it: e.g., st. paul's, london; notre dame, paris; st. peter's, rome; st. sophia, constantinople.
-put monasteries and convents, like churches, under the place, unless better known by the name.
-national banks designated merely by number (as first national bank of boston) go under the name of the place.
-young men's christian associations, mercantile library associations, and the like, should have local entry.
-private schools having no distinctive name go under the name of the proprietor.
-private libraries, galleries and museums go under the name of the proprietor.
-buildings are for the most part provided for in the above rules, as museums, galleries, libraries, churches, etc. any others should be entered under their names, with a cross-reference from the city.
-peter, saint. peter, pope. peter, the great, emperor of russia. peter ii, of aragon. peter iii, of aragon. peter i, of portugal. peter, duke of newcastle. peter, of groningen, enthusiast. see pieter. peter, john henry. peter, lake. peter, mt. peter-hansen, erik. peter lewis, a true tale.
-when there are two appellatives coming in different parts of the alphabet, cross-reference from the rejected one, as thomas cantuariensis. see thomas becket.
-arrange in two alphabets names that differ slightly in spelling and come close together in the alphabet: e.g.,
-brown and browne, and the french names beginning with saint and sainte. as readers may not always know the spelling of the author's name, cross-references should be made: e.g., brown. see also browne.
-arrange by the forename headings in which the family name is the same.
-when the forenames are the same, arrange chronologically.
-no attention is to be paid to the titles sir, etc.: e.g., bart, t. l., comes before bart, thomas, for the same reason that bart comes before barta.
-forenames not generally used should be neglected in the arrangement.
-when an author is generally known by one of several forenames he will be looked for by that alone, and that alone should determine the arrangement. the form should be harte, bret (in full francis bret), or harte, bret (i.e., francis bret).
-make cross-references whenever the omission of a name will change the alphabetical arrangement, as from müller, f. max, to müller, max.
-when there are two names exactly the same, add dates if available: e.g., franklin, john (d. 1759); franklin, john (d. 1863).
-if an author uses both the shorter and the longer forms in different works, and yet is decidedly better known by the shorter, arrange by that.
-arrange a nobleman's title, under which entry is made, and the name of a bishop's see, from which reference is made to the family name, among the personal names, not with the places: e.g.,
-danby, john. danby, thomas osborne, earl of. danby, wm. danby, eng. holland, c. holland, 3d baron (h: r. vassal fox). holland, 4th baron (h: e. vassal fox). holland (the country).
-the possessive case singular should be arranged with the plural: e.g.,
-bride of lammermoor. brides and bridals. bride's choice. boys' and girls' book. boy's king arthur. boys of '76.
-arrange greek and latin personal names by their patronymics or other appellatives: e.g.,
-dionysius. dionysius areopagita. dionysius chalcidensis. dionysius genuensis.
-arrange english personal and place names compounded with prefixes as single words; also those foreign names in which the prefix is not transposed: e.g.,
-demonstration. de montfort. demophilus. de morgan. demosthenes.
-other such names are ap thomas, des barres, du chaillu, fitz allen, la motte fouqué, le sage, mac fingal, o'neal, saint-réal, sainte-beuve, van buren.
-this is the universal custom, founded on the fact that the prefixes are often not separated in printing from the following part of the name. it would, of course, be wrong to have demorgan in one place and de morgan in another.
-arrange proper names beginning with m', mc, st., ste. as if spelled mac, saint, sainte.
-because they are so pronounced. but l' is not arranged as la or le, nor o' as if it stood for of, because they are not so pronounced.
-arrange compound names of places as separate words, except those beginning with prefixes: e.g.,
-new, john. new hampshire. new legion of satan. new sydenham society. new york. newark. newfoundland. newspapers. not new, john. new legion of satan. newark. newfoundland. new hampshire. newspapers. new sydenham society. new york.
-arrange personal names compounded of two names with or without a hyphen after the first name, but before the next longer word: e.g.,
-fonte, bart. de. fonte resbecq, auguste. fontenay, louis. fontenay mareuil, françois.
-arrange names of societies as separate words.
-see new sydenham society in the list above.
-arrange hyphened words as if separate: e.g.,
-happy home. happy-thought hall. happy thoughts. home and hearth. home rule. homely traits. homer. sing, pseud. sing, james. sing, james, pseud. sing-sing prison. singapore. singing. grave and reverend club. grave county. grave creek. grave-digger. grave-mounds. grave objections. grave de mézeray, antoine. gravel. gravestone. graveyard. out and about. out in the cold, a song. out-of-door parliament. outer darkness, the.
-arrange pseudonyms after the corresponding real name: e.g.,
-andrew, pseud. andrew, st. andrew, st., pseud. andrew, john. andrew, john, pseud. andrew, john albion.
-arrange incomplete names by the letters. when the same letters are followed by different signs, if there are no forenames, arrange in the order of the complexity of signs; but if there are forenames, arrange by them: i.e., put a dot before a line, a line before a star (three lines crossing), etc.: e.g.,
-the arrangement of title-entries is first by the heading words; if they are the same, then by the next word; if that is the same, by the next; and so on. every word, articles and prepositions included, is to be regarded, but not a transposed article: e.g.,
-it makes no difference whether the words are connected with one another in sense or not; the searcher should not be compelled to think of that. let the arrangement be by words as ordinarily printed. thus home rule is one idea but it is two words, and its place must be determined primarily by its first word home, which brings it before homeless. if it were printed homerule it would come after homeless. similarly art amateur is one phrase, but as the first word art is followed by a word beginning with am, it must come before art and artists, although its parts are more closely connected than the parts of the latter phrase.
-the french d' and l' are not to be treated as part of the following word: e.g.,
-art d'économiser. art d'être grandpère. art d'instruire. art de faire. art de l'instruction. art de linguistique. art des mines. art digne. not art de faire. art de linguistique. art de l'instruction. art d'économiser. art des mines. art d'être grandpère. art digne. art d'instruire.
-arrange titles beginning with numeral figures as if the figures were written out in the language of the rest of the title: e.g.,
-100 deutscher männer--ein hundert deutsche männer; 1812--mil huit cent douze.
-arrange abbreviations as if spelled in full, but elisions as they are printed: e.g.,
-dr., m., mlle., mme., mr., mrs., st., as doctor, monsieur, mademoiselle, madame, mister, mistress, saint.
-but who'd be a king? who killed cock robin? who's to blame?
-care must be taken not to mix two subjects together because their names are spelled in the same way.
-thus grace before meals, grace of body, grace the musical term, and grace the theological term, must be four distinct headings.
-glossary of terms
-note.--(b) signifies terms used in connection with binding only. (c) terms usually employed in connection with the composing-room. (e) terms used in engraving. (el) terms used in electrotyping. (g) terms used with general significance. (p) terms used in connection with presswork.
-“we go down to southcliff together.”
-risca drew a deep breath.
-“let us go this evening,” said he.
-a few hours afterward when the open cab taking them from the station to the channel house came by the sharp turn of the road abruptly to the foot of the cliff, and the gusty southwest wind brought the haunting smell of the seaweed into his nostrils, and he saw the beacon-light in the high west window shining like a star, a gossamer feather from the wings of peace fell upon the man's tortured soul.
-it will be remembered that stellamaris was a young person of bountiful fortune. she had stocks and shares and mortgages and landed property faithfully administered under a deed of trust. the channel house and all that therein was, except sir oliver and lady blount's grievances, belonged to her. she knew it; she had known it almost since infancy. the sense of ownership in which she had grown up had its effect on her character, giving her the equipoise of a young reigning princess, calm and serene in her undisputed position. in her childish days her material kingdom was limited to the walls of her sea-chamber but as the child expanded into the young girl, so expanded her conception of the limits of her kingdom. and with this widening view came gradually and curiously the consciousness that though her uncle and aunt were exquisitely honoured and beloved agents who looked to the welfare of her realm, yet they could not relieve her of certain gracious responsibilities. instinctively, and with imperceptible gradations, she began to make her influence felt in the house itself. but it was an influence in the spiritual and not material sense of the word; the hovering presence and not the controlling hand.
-when, shortly after the arrival of the two men, walter herold went up to his room, he found a great vase of daffodils on his dressing-table and a pencilled note from stella in her unformed handwriting, for one cannot learn to write copper-plate when one lies forever on the flat of one's back.
-great high favourite: here are some daffodils, because they laugh and dance like you. stellamaris.
-and on his dressing-table john risca found a mass of snowdrops and a note:
-great high belovedest: a beautiful white silver cloud came to my window to-day, and i wished i could tear it in half and save you a bit for the palace. but snowdrops are the nearest things i could think of instead. your telegram was a joy. love. s.
-beside the bowl of flowers was another note:
-risca looked round the dainty room, his whenever he chose to occupy it, and knew how much, especially of late, it held of stellamaris. it had been redecorated a short while before, and the colours and the patterns and all had been her choice and specification.
-the castle architect, a young and fervent soul called wratislaw, a member of the art workers' guild, and a friend of herold's, who had settled in southcliff-on-sea, and was building, for the sake of a precarious livelihood, hideous bungalows which made his own heart sick, but his clients' hearts rejoice, had been called in to advise. with stellamaris, sovereign lady of the house, aged fifteen, he had spent hours of stupefied and aesthetic delight. he had brought her armfuls of designs, cartloads of illustrated books; and the result of it all was that, with certain other redecorations in the house with which for the moment we have no concern, risca's room was transformed from late-victorian solidity into early-georgian elegance. the adam brothers reigned in ceiling and cornice, and the authentic spirit of sheraton, thanks to the infatuated enterprise of wratislaw, pervaded the furniture. yet, despite wratislaw, although through him she had spoken, the presence of stellamaris pervaded the room. on the writing-table lay a leather-covered blotter, with his initials, j. r., stamped in gold. in desperate answer to a childish question long ago, he had described the bedspread on his parian marble bed in the palace as a thing of rosebuds and crinkly ribbons tied up in true-lovers' knots. on his bed in stella's house lay a spread exquisitely louis xv in design.
-risca looked about the room. yes, everything was stella. and behold there was one new thing, essentially stella, which he had not noticed before. surely it had been put there since his last visit.
-in her own bedroom had hung since her imprisonment a fine reproduction of watt's “hope,” and, child though she was, she had divined, in a child's unformulative way, the simple yet poignant symbolism of the blindfold figure seated on this orb of land and sea, with meek head bowed over a broken lyre, and with ear strained to the vibration of the one remaining string. she loved the picture, and with unconscious intuition and without consultation with wratislaw, who would have been horrified at its domination of his adam room, had ordained that a similar copy should be hung on the wall facing the pillow of her great high belovedest's bed.
-the application of the allegory to his present state of being was startlingly obvious. risca knitted a puzzled brow. the new thing was essentially stella, yet why had she caused it to be put in his room this day of all disastrous days? was it not rather his cousin julia's doing? but such delicate conveyance of sympathy was scarcely julia's way. a sudden dread stabbed him. had stella herself heard rumours of the tragedy? he summoned herold, who had a prescriptive right to the adjoining room.
-“if any senseless fools have told her, i 'll murder them,” he cried.
-“the creatures of the sunset told her--at least as much as it was good for her to know,” said herold.
-“do you mean that she did it in pure ignorance?”
-“in the vulgar acceptance of the word, yes,” smiled herold. “do you think that the human brain is always aware of the working of the divine spirit?”
-“if it's as you say, it's uncanny,” said risca, unconvinced.
-yet when sir oliver and julia both assured him that stella never doubted his luxurious happiness, and that the ordering of the picture was due to no subtle suggestion, he had to believe them.
-“you always make the mistake, john, of thinking stellamaris mortal,” said herold, at the supper-table, for, on receipt of the young men's telegram, the blounts had deferred their dinner to the later hour of supper. “you are utterly wrong,” said he. “how can she be mortal when she talks all day to winds and clouds and the sea-children in their cups of foam? she's as elemental as ariel. when she sleeps, she's really away on a sea-gull's back to the isles of magic. that's why she laughs at the dull, clumsy old world from which she is cut off in her mortal guise. what are railway-trains and omnibuses to her? what would they be to you, john, if you could have a sea-gull's back whenever you wanted to go anywhere? and she goes to places worth going to, by george! what could she want with charing cross or the boulevard des italians? fancy the nymph syrinx at a woman writers' dinner!”
-“i don't know what you 're talking about, walter,” said lady blount, whose mind was practical.
-“syrinx,” said sir oliver, oracularly (he was a little, shrivelled man, to whose weak face a white moustache and an imperial gave a false air of distinction)--“syrinx,” said he, “was a nymph beloved of pan,--it's a common legend in greek mythology,--and pan turned her into a reed.”
-“and then cut the reed up into pan-pipes,” cried herold, eagerly, “and made immortal music out of them--just as he makes immortal music out of stellamaris. you see, john, it all comes to the same thing. whether you call her ariel, or syrinx, or a sprite of the sea, or a wunderkind whose original trail of glory-cloud has not faded into the light of common day, she belongs to the other people. you must believe in the other people, julia; you can't help it.”
-lady blount turned to him severely. despite her affection for him, she more than suspected him of a pagan pantheism, which she termed atheistical. his talk about belief in spirits and hobgoblins irritated her. she kept a limited intelligence together by means of formulas, as she kept her scanty reddish-gray hair together by means of a rigid false front.
-“i believe in god the father, god the son, and god the holy ghost,” she said, with an air of cutting reproof.
-sir oliver pushed his plate from him, but not the fraction of a millimetre beyond that caused by the impatient push sanctioned by good manners.
-“don't be a fool, julia!”
-“there are times and seasons for everything,” said sir oliver. “if you were having a political argument, and any one asked you whether you believed in tariff reform, and you glared at him and said, i believe in pontius pilate,' you'd be professing christianity, but showing yourself an idiot.”
-“but i don't believe in pontius pilate,” retorted lady blount.
-“oh, don't you?” cried sir oliver, in sinister exultation. “then your whole historical fabric of the crucifixion must fall to the ground.”
-“i don't see why you need be irreverent and blasphemous,” said lady blount.
-herold laid his hand on lady blount's and looked at her, with his head on one side.
-“but do you believe in stellamaris, julia.”
-his smile was so winning, with its touch of mockery, that she grew mollified.
-“i believe she has bewitched all of us,” she said.
-which shows how any woman may be made to eat her words just by a little kindness.
-so the talk went back to stella and her ways and her oddities, and the question of faith in pontius pilate being necessary for salvation was forgotten. a maid, stella's own maid, came in with a message. miss stella's compliments, and were mr. risca and mr. herold having a good supper? she herself was about to drink her egg beaten up in sherry, and would be glad if the gentlemen would take a glass of wine with her. the young men, accordingly, raised their glasses toward the ceiling and drank to stella, in the presence of the maid, and gave her appropriate messages to take back to her mistress.
-he broke the news later, in the drawing-room, abruptly and apropos of nothing, as was his manner, firing his bombshell with the defiant air of one who says, “there, what do you think of it?”
-“i'm going to australia next week, never to come back again,” said he.
-there was a discussion. sir oliver commended him. the great dependencies of the empire were the finest field in the world for a young man, provided he kept himself outside the radius of the venomous blight of the colonial office. to that atrophied branch of the imperial service the white administrator was merely a pigeon-holed automaton; the native, black or bronze or yellow, a lion-hearted human creature. all the murder, riot, rapine, arson, and other heterogeneous devilry that the latter cared to indulge in proceeded naturally from the noble indignation of his generous nature. if the sensible man who was appointed by the government to rule over this scum of the planet called out the military and wiped out a few dozen of them for the greater glory and safety of the empire, the pusillanimous ineptitudes in second-rate purple and cheap linen of the colonial office, for the sake of currying favour with labour members and socialists and radicals and methodists and anti-vivisectionists and vegetarians and other miserable little-englanders, denounced him as a turk, an assassin, a seventeenth-century spanish conquistador of the bloodiest type, and held him up to popular execration, and recalled him, and put him on a beggarly pension years before he had reached his age limit. he could tell them stories which seemed (and in truth deserved to be) incredible.
-“john,” said lady blount, “has heard all this a thousand times,”--as indeed he had,--“and must be sick to death of it. he is not going out to australia as governor-general.”
-“who said he was, my dear?” said sir oliver.
-“if you did n't imply it, you were talking nonsense, oliver,” lady blount retorted.
-“anyhow, oliver, do you think john is taking a wise step?” herold hastily interposed.
-“i don't agree with you at all,” said lady blount, with a snap of finality.
-“your remark, my dear,” replied sir oliver, “does not impress me in the least. when did you ever agree with me?”
-“never, my dear oliver,” said lady blount, with the facial smile of the secretly hostile fencer. “and i thank heaven for it. i may not be a brilliant woman, but i am endowed with common sense.”
-sir oliver looked at her for a moment, with lips parted, as if to speak; but finding nothing epigrammatic enough to say--and an epigram alone would have saved the situation--he planted a carefully cut cigar between the parted lips aforesaid, and deliberately struck a match.
-“your idea, john,” said lady blount, aware of victory, “is preposterous. what would stella do without you?”
-“yes,” said sir oliver, after lighting his cigar; “stella has to be considered before everything.”
-risca frowned on the unblushing turncoat. stella! stella! everything was stella. here were three ordinary, sane, grown-up people seriously putting forward the proposition that he had no right to go and mend his own broken life in his own fashion because he happened to be the favored playmate of a little invalid girl!
-on the one side was the driving force of furies of a myriad hell-power, and on the other the disappointment of stella blount. it was ludicrous. even walter herold, who had a sense of humour, did not see the grotesque incongruity. risca frowned upon each in turn--upon three serene faces smilingly aware of the absurd. was it worth while trying to convince them?
-“our dear friends are quite right, john,” said herold. “what would become of stella if you went away?”
-“none of you seems to consider what would happen to me if i stayed,” said john, in the quiet tone of a man who is talking to charming but unreasonable children. “it will go to my heart to leave stella, more than any of you can realize; but to australia i go, and there's an end of it.”
-lady blount sighed. what with imperial governments that wrecked the career of men for shooting a few murderous and fire-raising blacks, and with lowborn vixens of women who ruined men's careers in other ways, life was a desperate puzzle. she was fond of her cousin john risca. she, too, before she married sir oliver, had borne the name, and the disgrace that had fallen upon it affected her deeply. it was horrible to think of john's wife, locked up that night in the stone cell of a gaol. she leaned back in her chair in silence while the men talked--sir oliver, by way of giving risca hints on the conduct of life in melbourne, was narrating his experiences of forty years ago in the west indies--and stared into the fire. her face, beneath the front of red hair that accused so pitifully the reddish gray that was her own, looked very old and faded. what was a prison like? she shuddered. as governor's wife, she had once or twice had occasion to visit a colonial prison. but the captives were black, and they grinned cheerily; their raiment, save for the unæsthetic decoration of the black arrow, was not so very different from that which they wore in a state of freedom; neither were food, bedding, and surroundings so very different; and the place was flooded with air and blazing sunshine. she could never realize that it was a real prison. it might have been a prison of musical comedy. but an english prison was the real, unimaginable abode of grim, gray horror. she had heard of the prison taint. she conceived it as a smell--that of mingled quicklime and the corruption it was to destroy--which lingered physically forever after about the persons of those who had been confined within prison-walls. a gaol was a place of eternal twilight, eternal chill, eternal degradation for the white man or woman; and a white woman, the wife of one of her own race, was there. it was almost as if the taint hung about her own lavender-scented self. she shivered, and drew her chair a few inches nearer the fire.
-“julia, what was the name of the chap we met in st. kitts who had been sheep-farming in queensland?”
-they had sailed away from st. kitts in 1878. lady blount reminded him tartly of the fact while professing her oblivion of the man from queensland. they sparred for a few moments. then she rose wearily and said she was going to bed. sir oliver looked at his watch.
-“nearly twelve. time for us all to go.”
-“as soon as i' ve written my morning letter to stellamaris,” said herold.
-“i must write, too,” said risca.
-for it was a rule of the house that every visitor should write stellamaris a note overnight, to be delivered into her hands the first thing in the morning. the origin of the rule was wrapped in the mists of history.
-so john risca sat down at sir oliver's study-table in order to indite his letter to stellamaris. but for a long time he stared at the white paper. he, the practised journalist, who could dash off his thousand words on any subject as fast as pen could travel, no matter what torture burned his brain, could not find a foolish message for a sick child. at last he wrote like a school-boy:
-darling: the flowers were beautiful, and so is the new picture, and i want to see you early in the morning. i hope you are well. john risca.
-and he had to tear the letter out of its envelope and put it into a fresh one because he had omitted to add the magic initials “g. h. b.” to his name. compared with his usual imaginative feats of correspondence, this was a poverty-stricken epistle. she would wonder at the change. perhaps his demand for an immediate interview would startle her, and shocks were dangerous. he tore up the letter and envelope, and went to his own room. it was past two o'clock when he crept downstairs again to lay his letter on the hall table.
-at the sight of him the next morning the color deepened in the delicate cheeks of stellamaris, and her dark eyes grew bright. she held out a welcoming hand.
-“ah, belovedest, i 've been longing to see you ever since dawn. i woke up then and could n't go to sleep again because i was so excited.”
-he took the chair by her bedside, and her fingers tapped affectionately on the back of the great hand that lay on the coverlid.
-“i suppose i was excited, too,” said he, “for i was awake at dawn.”
-“did you look out of window?”
-“yes,” said john.
-“then we both saw the light creeping over the sea like a monstrous ghost. and it all lay so pallid and still,--did n't it?--as if it were a sea in a land of death. and then a cheeky little thrush began to twitter.”
-“i heard the thrush,” replied john. “he said, 'any old thing! any old thing!' ”
-he mimicked the bird's note. stella laughed. “that's just what he said--as though a sea in a land of death or the english channel was all the same to him. i suppose it was.”
-“it must be good to be a thrush,” said risca. “there 's a je m'en fich'isme about his philosophy which must be very consoling.”
-“i know what that is in english,” cried stellamaris. “it is 'don't-care-a-damativeness.' “ her lips rounded roguishly over the naughty syllable.
-“where did you learn that?”
-“walter told me.”
-“walter must be clapped into irons, and fed on bread and water, and seriously spoken to.”
-unconsciously he had drifted into his usual manner of speech with her. she laughed with a child's easy gaiety.
-“it's delightful to be wicked, is n't it?”
-“why?” he asked.
-“it must be such an adventure. it must make you hold your breath and your heart beat.”
-john wondered grimly whether a certain doer of wickedness had felt this ecstatic rapture. she, too, must have seen the gray dawn, but creeping through prison-bars into her cell. god of inscrutability! was it possible that these two co-watchers of the dawn, both so dominant in his life, were of the same race of beings? if the one was a woman born of woman, what in the name of mystery was stellamaris?
-“don't look so grave, great high belovedest,” she said, squeezing a finger. “i only spoke in fun. it must really be horrid to be wicked. when i was little i had a book about cruel frederick--i think it belonged to grandmama. it had awful pictures, and there were rhymes--
-he tore the wings off little flies,
-and then poked out their little eyes.
-and there was a picture of his doing so. i used to think him a detestable boy. it made me unhappy and kept me awake when i was quite small, but now i know it's all nonsense. people don't do such things, do they?”
-risca twisted his glum face into a smile, remembering the unwritten law. “of course not, stellamaris,” said he. “cruel frederick is just as much of a mythical personage as the giant fee-fo-fum, who said:
-i smell the blood of an englishman,
-and be he alive or be he dead,
-i 'll grind his bones to make my bread.”
-“why do people frighten children with stories of ogres and wicked fairies and all the rest of it, when the real world they live in is so beautiful?”
-“pure cussedness,” answered john, unable otherwise to give a satisfactory explanation.
-“cussedness is silly,” said stellamaris.
-there was a little pause. then she put both her hands on his and pressed it.
-“oh, it's lovely to have you here again, great high belovedest; and i have n't thanked you for your letter. it's the most heavenly one you've ever written to me.”
-it might well have been. he had taken two hours to write it.
-the most heavenly of all letters,” stellamaris repeated, as risca made no reply. “i loved it because it showed me you were very happy.”
-“have you ever doubted it?” he asked.
-the great dane, the lord high constable, who was stretched out on his side, with relaxed, enormous limbs, on the hearth-rug, lifted his massive head for a second and glanced at john. then with a half-grunt, half-sigh, he dropped his head, and twitched his limbs and went to sleep again.
-“now and then when you 're not looking at me,” said stellamaris, “there is a strange look in your eyes: it is when you 're not speaking and you stare out of window without seeming to see anything.”
-for a moment risca was assailed by a temptation to break the unwritten law and tell her something of his misery. she, with her superfine intelligence, would understand, and her sympathy would be sweet. but he put the temptation roughly from him.
-“i am the happiest fellow in the world, stellamaris,” said he.
-“it would be difficult not to be happy in such a world.”
-she pointed out to sea. the blustering wind of the day before had fallen, and a light breeze shook the tips of the waves to the morning sunshine, which turned them into diamonds. the sails of the fishing-fleet of the tiny port flashed merrily against the kindly blue. on the horizon a great steamer was visible steaming up channel. the salt air came in through the open windows. the laughter of fishermen's children rose faintly from the beach far below.
-“and there's spring, too, dancing over everything,” she said. “don't you feel it?”
-he acknowledged the vernal influence, and, careful lest his eyes should betray him, talked of the many things she loved. he had not seen her for a fortnight, so there were the apocryphal doings of lilias and niphetos to record,--cleopatras of cats, whom age could not wither, and whose infinite variety custom could not stale,--and there was the approaching marriage of arachne with a duke to report. and he told her of his gay, bright life in london and of the beautiful belinda molyneux, an imaginary egeria, who sometimes lunched with the queen. the effort of artistic creation absorbed him, as it always had done, under the spell of stellamaris's shining eyes. the foolish world of his imagination became real, and for the moment hung like a veil before his actual world of tragedy. it was in the nature of a shock to him when stella's maid entered and asked him if he could speak to mr. herold outside the door..
-“tell him to come in,” said stellamaris.
-“he says he will, miss, after he has seen mr. risca.”
-risca found herold on the landing.
-“well?” said john.
-“what has happened? how did she take it?”
-john looked away, and thrust his hands into his pockets.
-“i 've not told her yet.”
-walter drew a breath. “but you 're going to?”
-“of course,” said john. “do you think it 's so damned easy?”
-“you had better be quick, if you 're coming back to town with me. i'm due at rehearsal at twelve.”
-“i'll go and tell her now,” said john.
-“let me just say how d' ye do to her first. i won't stay a minute.”
-the two men entered the sea-chamber together. stella welcomed her great high favourite and chatted gaily for a while. then she commanded him to sit down.
-“i 'm afraid i can't stay, stellamaris. i have to go back to london.”
-stella glanced at the clock. “your train does n't go for an hour.” she was jealously learned in trains.
-“i think john wants to talk to you.”
-“he has been talking to me quite beautifully for a long time,” said stella, “and i want to talk to you.”
-“he has something very particular to say, stellamaris.”
-“what is it, belovedest?” her eyes sparkled, and she clasped her hands over her childish bosom. “you are not going to marry belinda molyneux?”
-“no, dear,” said john; “i'm not going to marry anybody.”
-“i'm so glad.” she turned to herold. “are you going to get married?”
-“no,” smiled herold.
-stella laughed. “what a relief! people do get married, you know, and i suppose both of you will have to one of these days, when you get older; but i don't like to think of it.”
-“i don't believe i shall ever marry, stellamaris,” said herold.
-herold looked out to sea for a wistful instant. “because one can't marry a dream, my dear.”
-“i've married hundreds,” said stella, softly.
-if they had been alone together, they would have talked dreams and visions and starshine and moonshine, and their conversation would have been about as sensible and as satisfactory to each other and as intelligible to a third party as that of a couple of elves sitting on adjacent toadstools; but elves don't talk in the presence of a third party, even though he be john risca and great high belovedest. and stellamaris, recognizing this instinctively, turned her eyes quickly to risca.
-“and you, dear--will you ever marry?”
-“never, by heaven!” cried john, with startling fervency.
-stella reached out both her hands to the two men who incorporated the all in all of her little life, and each man took a hand and kissed it.
-“i don't want to be horrid and selfish,” she said; “but if i lost either of you, i think it would break my heart.”
-the men exchanged glances. john repeated his query: “do you think it's so damned easy?”
-“tell us why you say that, stellamaris,” said herold.
-john rose suddenly and stood by the west window, which was closed. stella's high bed had been drawn next to the window open to the south. the room was warm, for a great fire blazed in the tall chimneypiece. he rose to hide his eyes from stella, confounding herold for a marplot. was this the way to make his task easier? he heard stella say in her sweet contralto:
-“do you imagine it 's just for silly foolishness i call you great high belovedest and great high favourite? you see, walter dear, i gave john his title before i knew you, so i had to make some difference in yours. but they mean everything to me. i live in the sky such a lot, and it's a beautiful life; but i know there 's another life in the great world--a beautiful life, too.” she wrinkled her forehead. “oh, it 's so difficult to explain! it's so hard to talk about feelings, because the moment you begin to talk about them, the feelings become so vague. it's like trying to tell any one the shape of a sunset.” she paused for a moment or two; herold smiled at her and nodded encouragingly. presently she went on: “i 'll try to put it this way. often a gull, you see, comes hovering outside here and looks in at me, oh, for a long time, with his round, yellow eyes; and my heart beats, and i love him, for he tells me all about the sea and sky and clouds, where i'll never go,--not really,--and i live the sky life through him, and more than ever since you sent me that poem--i know it by heart--about the sea-gull. who wrote it?”
-“swinburne,” said herold.
-“did he write anything else?”
-“one or two other little things,” replied herold, judiciously. “i 'll copy them out and bring them to you. but go on.”
-“well,” she said, “yesterday afternoon a little bird--i don't know what kind of bird it was--came and sat on the window-sill, and turned his head this way and looked at me, and turned his head that way and looked at me, and i did n't move hand or foot, and i said, 'cheep, cheep!' and he hopped on the bed and stayed there such a long time. and i talked to him, and he hopped about and looked at me and seemed to tell me all sorts of wonderful things. but he did n't somehow, although he came from the sky, and was a perfect dear. he must have known all about it, but he did n't know how to tell me. now, you and john come from the beautiful world and tell me wonderful things about it; and i shall never go there really, but i can live in it through you.”
-constable, the great dane, known by this abbreviated title in familiar life, rose, stretched himself, and went and snuggled his head beneath john's arm. john turned, his arm round the hound's neck.
-“but you can live in it through anybody, dear,” said he--“your uncle oliver, your aunt julia, or anybody who comes to see you.”
-stellamaris looked at herold for a characteristically sympathetic moment, and then at john. she sighed.
-“i told you it was hard to explain. but don't you see, belovedest? you and walter are like my gull. everybody else is like the little bird. you know how to tell me and make me live. the others are darlings, but they don't seem to know how to do it.”
-john scratched his head.
-“i see what you mean,” said he.
-“i should hope so,” said herold.
-he looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. “star of the sea,” said he, “to talk with you is the most fascinating occupation on earth; but managers are desperate fellows, and i 'll get into boiling water if i miss my rehearsal.” he turned to john. “i don't see how you are going to catch this train.”
-“neither do i,” said john. “i shall go by the one after.”
-herold took his leave, promising to run down for the week-end. constable accompanied him to the door in a dignified way, and this ceremony of politeness accomplished, stalked back to the hearth-rug, where he threw himself down, his head on his paws, and his faithful eyes fixed on his mistress. john sat down again by the bedside. there was a short silence during which stellamaris smiled at him and he smiled at stellamaris.
-“does n't the great high belovedest want to smoke?”
-“badly,” said john.
-she held out her hand for the pipe and tobacco-pouch. he gave them to her, and she filled the pipe. for a while he smoked peacefully. from where he sat all he could see of the outside world was the waste of sun-kissed waters stretching away and melting into a band of pearly cloud on the horizon. he might have been out at sea. possibly this time next week he would be, and the salt air would be playing, as now, about his head. but on board that ship would be no spacious sea-chamber like this, so gracious in its appointments--its old oak and silver, its bright chintzes, its quiet old engravings, its dainty dressing-table covered with fairy-like toilet-articles, its blue delft bowls full of flowers, its atmosphere so dearly english, yet english of the days when sir bedivere threw excalibur into the mere. in no other spot on the globe could be found such a sea-chamber, with its high bed, on which lay the sweet, elfin face, half child's, half woman's, framed in the soft, brown hair.
-risca smoked on, and stellamaris, seeing him disinclined to talk, gazed happily out to her beloved channel, and dreamed her dreams. they had often sat like this for an hour together, both feeling that they were talking to each other all the time; and often stella would break the silence by telling him to listen. at such times, so people said, an angel was passing. and he would listen, but could not hear. he remembered walter herold once agreeing with her, and saying:
-“there's a special little angel told off to come here every day and beat his wings about the room so as to clear the air of all troubling things.”
-in no other spot on the globe could be found such a sea-chamber, wing-swept, spirit-haunted, where pain ceased magically and the burden of intolerable suffering grew light. no other haven along all the coasts of the earth was a haven of rest such as this.
-and the furies were driving him from it! but here the furies ceased from driving. here he had delicious ease. here a pair of ridiculously frail hands held him a lotus-fed prisoner. he smoked on. at last he resisted the spell. the whole thing was nonsensical. his pipe, only lightly packed by the frail hands, went out. he stuffed it in his pocket, and cleared his throat. he would say then and there what he had come to say.
-stellamaris turned her head and laughed; and when stellamaris laughed, the sea outside and the flowers in the delft bowl laughed, too.
-“the angel has been having a good time.”
-john cleared his throat again.
-“my dear,” said he, and then he stopped short. all the carefully prepared exordiums went out of his head. how now to break the news to her he did not know.
-“are you very tired?” she asked.
-“not a bit,” said john.
-“then be a dear, and read me something. read me 'elaine.' ”
-the elevated and sophisticated and very highly educated may learn with surprise that “the idylls of the king” still appeal to ingenuous fifteen. thank god there are yet remaining also some sentimentalists of fifty who can read them with pleasure and profit!
-“but that is so sad, stellamaris,” said john. “you don't want to be sad this beautiful spring morning.”
-which was a very inconsistent remark to make, seeing that he was about to dash the young sun from her sky altogether.
-“i like being sad sometimes, especially when the world is bright. and lancelot was such a dear,”--here spoke ingenuous fifteen,--“and elaine--oh, do read it!”
-so john, secretly glad of a respite, drew from the bookcase which held her scrupulously selected and daintily bound library the volume of tennyson and read aloud the idyll of lancelot and elaine. and the sea-wind blew about his head and fluttered the brown hair on the pillow, and the log-fire blazed in the chimney, and the great dog slept, and a noontide hush was over all things. and risca read the simple poem with the heart of the girl of fifteen, and forgot everything else in the world.
-when he had finished, the foolish eyes of both were moist. “the dead oar'd by the dumb,” with the lily in her hand,--dead for the love of lancelot,--affected them both profoundly.
-“i think i should die, too, like that, great high; belovedest,” said stellamaris, “if any one i loved left me.”
-“but what lancelot is going to leave you, dear?” said john.
-she shook the thistledown of sadness from her brow and laughed.
-“you and walter are the only lancelots i've got.”
-“the devil 's in the child to-day,” said risca to himself.
-there was a short pause. then stella said:
-“belovedest dear, what was the particular thing that walter said you had to tell me?”
-“it 's of no consequence,” said john. “it will do to-morrow or the day after.”
-stella started joyously,--as much as the rigid discipline of years would allow her,--and great gladness lit her face.
-“darling! are you going to stay here to-day and to-morrow and the next day?”
-“my dear,” said john, “i've got to get up to town this morning.”
-“you won't do that,” said stella. “look at the clock.”
-it was a quarter to one. he had spent the whole morning with her, and the hours had flown by like minutes.
-“why did n't you tell me that i ought to be catching my train?”
-she regarded him in demure mischief.
-“i had no object in making you catch your train.”
-and then her serene high-and-mightiness, the nurse (who had been called in for stella when first she was put to bed in the sea-chamber, and, falling under her spell, had stayed on until she had grown as much involved in the web of her life as sir oliver and lady julia and constable and herold and risca), came into the room and decreed the end of the morning interview.
-risca went down-stairs, his purpose unaccomplished. he walked about the garden and argued with himself. now, when a man argues with himself, he, being only the extraneous eidolon of himself, invariably gets the worst of the argument, and this makes him angry. john was angry; to such a point that, coming across sir oliver, who had just returned from an inexplicably disastrous game of golf and began to pour a story of bunkered gloom into his ear, he gnashed his teeth and tore his hair and told sir oliver to go to the devil with his lugubrious and rotten game, and dashed away to the solitude of the beach until the luncheon-bell summoned him back.
-“i'm going by the 3:50,” said he at the luncheon-table.
-at three o'clock stella was free to see him again. he went up to her room distinctly determined to shut his heart against folly. the sun had crept round toward the west and flooded the head and shoulders of stellamaris and the dainty bedspread with pale gold, just as it flooded the now still and smiling sea. again paralysis fell upon john. the words he was to speak were to him, as well as to her, the words of doom, and he could not utter them. they talked of vain, childish things. then stellamaris's clock chimed the three-quarters. there are some chimes that are brutal, others ironic; but stellamaris's chimes (the clock was a gift from john himself) were soft, and pealed a soothing mystery, like a bell swung in a deep sea-cave.
-it was a quarter to four, and he had missed his train once more. well, the train could go to--to london, as good a synonym for tophet as any other. so he stayed, recklessly surrendering himself to the pale, sunlit peace of the sea-chamber, till he was dislodged by lady blount.
-an attempt to catch a six o'clock train was equally unsuccessful. he did not return to town that night. why should a sorely bruised man reject the balm that healed? to-morrow he would be stronger and more serene, abler to control the driving force of the furies, and therefore fitted to announce in gentler wise the decrees of destiny. so risca went to bed and slept easier, and the room which stellamaris had made for him became the enchanted bower of a fair lady of all mercy.
-in their simple human way sir oliver and lady blount besought him to stay for his health's sake in the fresh sea-air; and when he yielded, they prided themselves, after the manner of humans, on their own powers of persuasion. one morning sir oliver asked him point-blank:
-“when are you going to australia?”
-“i don't know,” said john. “there 's no immediate hurry.”
-“i hope, dear,” said julia, “you 'll give up the idea altogether.”
-“have n't i told you that i've made up my mind?” said john, in his gruff tone of finality.
-“when are you going to break the news to stella?” asked sir oliver.
-“now,” said john, who had begun to loathe the mention of the doomful subject; and he stalked away--the three were strolling in the garden after breakfast--and went to stella's room, and of course made no mention of it whatsoever.
-then herold came down for the week-end, and when he heard of risca's pusillanimity he threw back his head and laughed for joy; for he knew that john would never go to australia without telling stellamaris, and also that if he could not tell stellamaris in the first madness of his agony, he would never be able to tell her at all.
-and so, in fact, the fantastically absurd prevailed. before the unwritten law, mainly promulgated and enforced by risca himself, which guarded the sea-chamber against pain and sorrow, the driving furies slunk with limp wing and nerveless claw. and one day risca was surprised at finding himself undriven. indeed, he was somewhat disconcerted. he fell into a bad temper. the furies are highly aristocratic divinities who don't worry about tom, dick, or harry, but choose an orestes at least for their tormenting; so that, when they give up their pursuit of a risca, he may excusably regard it as a personal slight. it was the morose and gloomy nature of the man.
-“i know i 'm a fool,” he said to herold, when every one had gone to bed, “but i can't help it. any normal person would regard me as insane if i told him i was stopped from saving the wreck of my career by consideration for the temporary comfort of a bedridden chit of a girl half my age, who is absolutely nothing to me in the world (her uncle married my first cousin. if that is anything of a family tie, i'm weak on family feeling); but that's god's truth. i'm tied by her to this accursed country. she just holds me down in the hell of london, and i can't wriggle away. it's senseless, i know it is. sometimes when i 'm away from her, walking on the beach, i feel i 'd like to throw the whole of this confounded house into the sea; and then i look up and see the light in her room, and--i--i just begin to wonder whether she 's asleep and what she's dreaming of. there 's some infernal witchcraft about the child.”
-“there is,” said herold.
-“rot!” said risca, his pugnacious instincts awakened by the check on his dithyrambics. “the whole truth of the matter is that i'm simply a sentimental fool.”
-“all honour to you, john,” said herold.
-“if you talk like that, i 'll wring your neck,” said risca, pausing for à second in his walk up and down sir oliver's library, and glaring down at his friend, who reclined on the sofa and regarded him with a smile exasperatingly wise. “you know i'm a fool, and why can't you say it? a man at my time of life! do you realize that i am twice her age?”
-and he went on, inveighing now against the pitifully human conventions that restrained him from hurting the chit of a child, and now against the sorcery with which she contrived to invest the chamber wherein she dwelt.
-“and at my age, too, when i 've run the whole gamut of human misery, the whole discordant thing--toute la lyre--when i've finished with the blighting illusion that men call life; when, confound it! i 'm thirty.”
-sir oliver, unable to sleep, came into the room in dressing-gown and slippers. he looked very fragile and broken.
-“here 's john,” laughed herold, “saying that he 's thirty, and an old, withered man, and he 's not thirty. he 's nine-and-twenty.”
-sir oliver looked at john, as only age, with awful wistfulness, can look at youth, and came and laid his hand upon the young man's broad shoulders.
-“my lad,” said he, “you've had a bad time; but you 're young. you've the whole of your life before you. time, my dear boy, is a marvellous solvent of human perplexity. once in a new world, once in that astonishing continent of australia--”
-john threw a half-finished cigar angrily into the fire.
-“i'm not going to the damned continent,” said he.
-thus it came to pass that, for the sake of stellamaris, risca remained in london and fought with beasts in fenton square. sometimes he got the better of the beasts, and sometimes the beasts got the better of him. on the former occasions he celebrated the victory by doing an extra turn of work; on the latter he sat idly growling at defeat.
-at this period of his career he was assistant-editor of a weekly review, in charge of the book-column of an evening newspaper, the contributor of a signed weekly article on general subjects to the “daily herald,” and of a weekly london letter to an american syndicate. from this it will be seen that for a man not yet thirty he had achieved a position in journalism envied by many who had grown gray-headed in the game. but as risca had written three or four novels which had all been rejected by all the publishers in london, he chose to regard himself as a man foiled in his ambitions. he saw himself doomed to failure. for him was the eternal toil of ploughing the sand; the garden of delight cultivated by the happy blest--such as fawcus of the club, who boasted of making over a thousand pounds for every novel he wrote, and of being able to take as much holiday as he chose--had its gilded gates closed against him forever. that the man of nine-and-twenty should grow embittered because he was not accepted by the world as a brilliant novelist is a matter for the derision of the middle-aged and for the pitying smile of the hoary; but it is a matter of woeful concern to twenty-nine, especially if twenty-nine be a young man of a saturnine temperament whom fate has driven to take himself seriously. in risca's life there were misfortunes the reality of the pain of which was independent of age; others which were relative, as inseparable from youth as the tears for a bumped head are inseparable from childhood. yet to the man they were all equally absolute. it is only in after-years, when one looks back down the vista, that one can differentiate.
-for all that he ought to have given himself another decade before crying himself a failure, yet a brilliant young journalist who has not found a publisher for one of four novels has reasonable excuse for serious cogitation. there are scores of brilliant young journalists who have published masterpieces of fiction before they are thirty, and at forty have gone on their knees and thanked kind, gentle time for his effacing fingers; yet the novels have had some quality of the novel warranting their publication. at any rate, the brilliant young journalists have believed in them. they have looked upon their creation and found that it was good. but risca, looking on his creation, found that it was wood. his people were as wooden as mr. and mrs. ham in a noah's ark; his scenery was as wooden as the trees and mountain in a toy swiss village; his dialogue as wooden as the conversation-blocks used by the philosophers of laputa. he had said, in an outburst of wrathful resentment, that he found his one artistic outlet in aiding to create stella's land of illusion; and he was right. he was despairingly aware of the lack of the quick fancy; the power of visualization; the sublimated faculty of the child's make-believe, creating out of trumpery bits and pieces a glowing world of romance; the keen, instinctive knowledge of the general motives of human action; the uncanny insight into the hearts and feelings of beings of a sex, class, or type different from his own; the gift of evolving from a tiny broken bone of fact a perfect creature indisputably real, colouring it with the hues of actuality and breathing into it the breath of life--the lack, indeed, of all the essential qualities, artistic and therefore usually instinctive, that go to the making of a novelist. yet risca was doggedly determined to be a novelist and a poet. it was pathetic. how can a man who cannot distinguish between “god save the king” and “yankee doodle” hope to write a world-shaking sonata? risca knew that he was crying for the moon, and it is only because he cried so hard for it that he deserved any serious commiseration.
-when he did come to death-grapple with the absolute, the beasts above mentioned, he stood out a tragic young figure, fiercely alone in the arena, save for herold.
-his name, uncommon and arresting, had one connotation in london--the case, the appalling and abominable case. even ferguson of the “daily herald,” who had evinced such sympathy for him at first, shrank from the name at the head of the weekly column and suggested the temporary use of a pseudonym. had it not been for herold's intervention, risca would have told ferguson to go to the devil and would have refused to work for his philistine paper. he swallowed the insult, which did him no good. he refused to carry the accursed name into the haunts of men.
-“come to the club, at any rate,” herold urged. “every man there is loyal to you.”
-“and every man as he looks at me will have on his retina not a picture of me, but a picture of what went on in that house in smith street.”
-“oh, go and buy a serviceable epidermis,” cried herold. argument was useless.
-so risca worked like a mole at anonymous journalism in his shabby lodgings where lilias and niphetos were suggested only by a mangy tabby who occasionally prowled into his sitting-room, and arachne presided, indeed, but in the cobwebs about the ceiling in the guise which she had been compelled to take by the angry god when the world was young. only when his attendance at the office of the weekly review was necessary, such as on the day when it went to press, did he mingle with the busy world.
-“if you go on in this way,” said herold, “you 'll soon have as much idea of what's going on in london as a lonely dog tied up in a kennel.”
-“what does it matter,” growled john, “to any of the besotted fools who read newspapers, provided i bark loud enough?”
-there was one thing going on in london, however, in which he took a grim interest, and that was the convalescence of the little maid-of-all-work who had been taken back, a maimed lamb, to the cheerless fold where she had been reared. thither he went to make inquiries as soon as he returned from southcliff-on-sea. he found the orphanage of st. martha at willesden, a poverty-stricken building, a hopeless parallelogram of dingy, yellow brick, standing within a walled inclosure. there were no trees or flowers, for the yard was paved. his ring at the front door was answered by an orphan in a light print dress, her meagre hair clutched up tight in a knob at the back. he asked for the superintendent and handed his card. the orphan conducted him to a depressing parlour, and vanished. presently appeared a thin, weary woman, dressed in the black robes of a sister of mercy, who, holding the card tight in nervous fingers, regarded him with an air of mingled fright and defiance.
-“your business?” she asked.
-despite the torture of it all, john could not help smiling. if he had been armed with a knout, his reception could not have been more hostile.
-“i must beg of you to believe,” said he, “that i come as a friend and not as an enemy.”
-she pointed to a straight-backed chair.
-“will you be seated?”
-“it is only human,” said he, “to call and see you, and ask after that unhappy child.”
-“she is getting on,” said the sister superintendent, frostily, “as well as can be expected.”
-“which means? please tell me. i am here to know.”
-“she will take some time to recover from her injuries, and of course her nerve is broken.”
-“i'm afraid,” said john, “your institution can't afford many invalid's luxuries.”
-“none at all,” replied the weary-faced woman. “she gets proper care and attention, however.”
-john drew out a five-pound note. “can you buy her any little things with this? when you have spent it, if you will tell me, i 'll send you another.”
-“it's against our rules,” said the sister, eying the money. “if you like to give it as a subscription to the general funds, i will accept it.”
-“are you badly off?” asked john.
-“we are very slenderly endowed.”
-john pushed the note across the small table near which they were sitting.
-“in return,” said he, “i hope you will allow me to send in some jellies and fruits, or appliances, or whatever may be of pleasure or comfort to the child.”
-“whatever you send her that is practical shall be applied to her use,” said the sister superintendent.
-she was cold, unemotional; no smile, no ghost even of departed smiles, seemed ever to visit the tired, gray eyes or the corners of the rigid mouth; coif and face and thin hands were spotless. she did not even thank him for his forced gift to the orphanage.
-“i should like to know,” said john, regarding her beneath frowning brows, “whether any one here loves the unhappy little wretch.”
-“these children,” replied the sister superintendent, “have naturally a hard battle to fight when they go from here into the world. they come mostly from vicious classes. their training is uniformly kind, but it has to be austere.”
-john rose. “i will bring what things i can think of to-morrow.”
-the sister superintendent rose, too, and bowed icily. “you are at liberty to do so, mr. risca; but i assure you there is no reason for your putting yourself to the trouble. in the circumstances i can readily understand your solicitude; but again i say you have no cause for it.”
-“madam,” said he, “i see that i have more cause than ever.”
-the next day he drove to the orphanage in a cab, with a hamper of delicacies and a down pillow. the latter the sister superintendent rejected. generally, it was against the regulations and, particularly, it was injudicious. down pillows would not be a factor in unity blake's after-life.
-“besides,” she remarked, “she is not the only orphan in the infirmary.”
-“why not call it a sick-room or sick-ward instead of that prison term?” asked john.
-“it's the name given to it by the governing body,” she replied.
-after this john became a regular visitor. every time he kicked his heels for ten minutes in the shabby and depressing parlour and every time he was received with glacial politeness by the sister superintendent. by blunt questioning he learned the history of the institution. the sisterhood of saint martha was an angelican body with headquarters in kent, which existed for meditation and not for philanthropic purposes. the creation and conduct of the orphanage had been thrust upon the sisterhood by the will of a member long since deceased. it was unpopular with the sisterhood, who resented it as an excrescence, but bore it as an affliction decreed by divine providence. among the cloistered inmates of the kentish manor-house there was no fanatical impulse towards willesden.
-they were good, religious women; but they craved retirement, and not action, for the satisfying of their spiritual needs. otherwise they would have joined some other sisterhood in which noble lives are spent in deeds of charity and love. but there are angels of wrath, angels of mercy, and mere angels. these were mere angels. the possibility of being chosen by the mother superior to go out into the world again and take charge of the education, health, and morals of twenty sturdy and squalid little female orphans lived an abiding terror in their gentle breasts. a shipwrecked crew casting lots for the next occupant of the kettle could suffer no greater pangs of apprehension than did the sisters of saint martha on the imminence of an appointment to the orphanage. they had taken vows of obedience. the mother superior's selection was final. the unfortunate nominee had to pack up her slender belongings and go to willesden. being a faulty human being (and none but a faulty, unpractical, unsympathetic human being can want, in these days of enlightenment, to shut herself up in a nunnery for the rest of her life, with the avowed intention of never doing a hand's turn for any one of god's creatures until the day of her death), she invariably regarded herself as a holy martyr and ruled the poor little devils of orphans for the greater glory of god (magnified entirely, be it understood, by her own martyrdom) than for the greater happiness of the poor little devils.
-sister theophila--in entering into religion the protestant sisters changed the names by which they were known in the world, according to the time-honoured tradition of an alien church--sister theophila, with the temperament of the recluse, had been thrust into this position of responsibility against her will. she performed her duties with scrupulous exactitude and pious resignation. her ideal of life was the ascetic, and to this ideal the twenty orphans had to conform. she did not love the orphans.
-her staff consisted of one matron, a married woman of a much humbler class than her own. possibly she might have loved the orphans had she not seen such a succession of them, and her own work been less harassing. twenty female london orphans from disreputable homes are a tough handful. when you insist on their conformity with the ascetic ideal, they become tougher. they will not allow themselves to be loved.
-“and ungrateful!” exclaimed the matron, one day when she was taking risca round the institution. he had expressed to sister theophila his desire to visit it, and she, finding him entirely unsympathetic, had handed him over to her subordinate. “none of them know what gratitude is. as soon as they get out of here, they forget everything that has been done for them; and as for coming back to pay their respects, or writing a letter even, they never think of it.”
-kitchen, utensils, floors, walls, dormitory, orphans--all were spotlessly clean, the orphans sluiced and scrubbed from morning to night; but of things that might give a little hint of the joy of life there was no sign.
-“this is the infirmary,” said the matron, with her hand on the door-knob.
-“i should like to see it,” said john.
-they entered. an almost full-grown orphan, doing duty as nurse, rose from her task of plain sewing and bobbed a curtsy. the room was clean, comfortless, dark, and cold. two pictures, prints of the crucifixion and the martyrdom of st. stephen, hung on the walls. there were three narrow, hard beds, two of which were occupied. some grapes on a chair beside one of them marked the patient in whom he was interested. john noticed angrily that some flowers which he had sent the day before had been confiscated.
-“this is the gentleman who has been so kind to you,” said the matron.
-unity blake looked wonderingly into the dark, rugged face of the man who stood over her and regarded her with mingled pain and pity. they had not told her his name. this, then, was the unknown benefactor whose image, like that of some elusive apollo, giver of things beautiful, had haunted her poor dreams.
-“can't you say, 'thank you?' “ said the matron.
-“thank you, sir,” said unity blake.
-even in those three words her accent was unmistakably cockney--as unmistakably cockney as the coarse-featured, snub-nosed, common little face. in happier, freer conditions she would have done her skimpy hair up in patent curlers and worn a hat with a purple feather, and joined heartily in the raucous merriment of her comrades at the pickle-factory. here, however, she was lying, poor little devil, thought risca, warped from childhood by the ascetic ideal, and wrecked body and spirit by unutterable cruelty. in her eyes flickered the patient apprehension of the ill-treated dog.
-“i hope you will soon get better,” he said, with sickening knowledge of that which lay hidden beneath the rough bedclothes.
-“yes, sir,” said unity.
-“it 's chiefly her nerves now,” said the matron. “she hollers out of nights, so she can't be put into the dormitory.”
-“do you like the things i send you?” asked john.
-“is there anything special you'd like to have?”
-but he caught a certain wistfulness in her glance.
-“she does n't want anything at all,” said the matron, and the girl's eyelids fluttered. “she's being spoiled too much as it is already.”
-john bent his heavy brows on the woman. she spoke not shrewishly, not unkindly, merely with lack of love and understanding. he repressed the bitter retort that rose to his lips. but at the same time a picture rose before him of another sick-room, a dainty sea-chamber open to sun and sky, where pillows of down were not forbidden, where flowers and exquisite colours and shapes gladdened the eye, where love, great and warm and fulfilling, hovered over the bed. no gulls with round, yellow eyes came to the windows of this whitewashed prison with messages from the world of air and sea; no exquisite auntship, no great high favourite, no lord high constable, executed their high appointed functions; no clock with chimes like a bell swung in a sea-cave told the hours to this orphan child of misery. he realized in an odd way that stellamaris, too, was an orphan. and he remembered, from the awful evidence, that this child was just over fifteen--stella's age. again rose the picture of the cherished one in her daintily ribboned dressing-jacket, as filmy and unsubstantial as if made of sea-foam, with her pure, happy face, her mysterious, brown pools of eyes, her hair lovingly brushed to caressing softness; and he looked down on unity blake. man though he was, the bit of clean sail-cloth that did duty as a nightgown moved his compassion.
-he did his best to talk with her awhile; but it was a one-sided conversation, as the child could reply only in monosyllables. the matron fidgeted impatiently, and he said good-bye. her wistful glance followed him to the door. outside he turned.
-“there is just one thing i want to say to her.”
-he left the matron and darted back into the room.
-“i'm sure there must be something you would like me to bring you,” he whispered. “don't be afraid. any mortal thing.”
-the child's lips twitched and she looked nervously from side to side.
-“what is it? tell me.”
-“oh, sir,” she pleaded breathlessly, “might i have some peppermint bull's-eyes.”
-when herold returned to his dressing-room after the first act,--the piece for which he had been rehearsing had started a successful career,--he found risca sitting in a straight-backed chair and smoking a pipe.
-“hallo, john! i did n't know you were in front. why did n't you tell me? it's going splendidly, is n't it?”
-he glowed with the actor's excited delight in an audience's enthusiastic reception of a new play. his glow sat rather oddly upon him, for he was made up as a decrepit old man, with bald wig, and heavy, blue patches beneath his eyes.
-“no, i'm not in front,” said john.
-“i see now,” smiled herold, glancing at his friend's loose tweed suit. no clothes morning or evening ever fitted risca. herold called him “the tailors' terror.”
-“i want to talk to you, wallie,” said he.
-“have a drink? no? i sha' n't want anything, perkins,” said he to the waiting dresser. “call me when i 'm on in the second act. i don't change,” he explained.
-“i know,” said john. “that 's why i 've come now.”
-“what's the matter?” herold asked, sitting in the chair before the dressing-table, bright with mirrors and electric lights and sticks of grease paint and silver-topped pots and other paraphernalia.
-“nothing particular. only hell, just as usual. i saw that child to-day.”
-herold lit a cigarette.
-“have you ever speculated on what becomes of the victims in cases of this kind?” asked john.
-“not particularly,” said herold, seeing that john wanted to talk.
-“what do you think can become of a human creature in the circumstances of this poor little wretch? her childhood is one vista of bleak ugliness. never a toy, never a kiss, not even the freedom of the gutter. unless you 've been there, you can't conceive the soul-crushing despair of that infernal orphanage. she leaves it and goes into the world. she goes out of a kind of dreary greek hades into a christian hell. it lasted for months. she was too ignorant and spiritless to complain, and to whom was she to complain? now she's sent back again, just like a sick animal, to hades. fancy, they would n't let her have a few flowers in' the room! it makes me mad to think of it. and when she gets well again, she 'll have to earn her living as a little slave in some squalid household. but what's going to become of that human creature morally and spiritually? that's what i want to know.”
-“it's an interesting problem,” said herold. “she may be either a benumbed half-idiot or a vicious, vindictive she-brute.”
-“just so,” said john. “that is, if she goes to slave in some squalid household. but suppose she were transferred to different surroundings altogether? suppose she had ease of life, loving care, and all the rest of it?”
-the senile travesty of herold laughed.
-“you want me to say that she may develop into some sort of flower of womanhood.”
-“do you think she might?” john asked seriously. “my dear fellow,” said herold, “there are heaven knows how many hundred million human beings on the face of the earth, and every one of them is different from the others. how can one tell what any particular young woman whom one does n't know might or might not do in given circumstances? but if you want me to say whether i think it right for you to step in and look after the poor little devil's future, then i do say it's right. it 's stunning of you. it's the very best thing you can do. it will give the poor little wretch a chance, at any rate, and will give you something outside yourself to think of.”
-“i was going to do it whether you thought it right or not,” said risca.
-herold laughed again. “for a great, hulking bull of a man you 're sometimes very feminine, john.”
-“i wanted to tell you about it, that 's all,” said risca. “i made up my mind this afternoon. the only thing is what the deuce am i to do with a child of fifteen in fenton square?”
-“is she pretty?”
-“lord, no. coarse, undersized little cockney, ugly as sin.”
-“anyhow,” said herold, extinguishing his cigarette in the ash-tray, “it's out of the question.” he rose from his chair. “look here,” he cried with an air of inspiration, “why not send her down to the channel house?”
-“i'm not going to shift responsibilities on to other people's shoulders,” john growled in his obstinate way. “this child 's my responsibility. i 'm going to see her through somehow. as to southcliff, you must be crazy to suggest it. what's to prevent her, one fine day, from getting into stella's room and talking? my god! it would be appalling!”
-herold agreed. he had spoken thoughtlessly.
-“i should just think so,” said risca. “the idea of such a tale of horror being told in that room--”
-the dresser entered. “miss mercier has just gone on, sir.”
-“well, just think out something else till i come back,” said herold. “at any rate, fenton square won't do.”
-he left john to smoke and meditate among the clothes hanging up on pegs and the framed photographs on the walls and the array of grease paints on the dressing-table. john walked up and down the narrow space in great perplexity of mind. herold was right. he could not introduce unity blake into lodgings, saying that he had adopted her. landladies would not stand it. even if they would, what in the world could he do with her? could he move into a house or a flat and persuade a registry-office to provide him with a paragon of a housekeeper? that would be more practicable. but, even then, what did he know of the training, moral and spiritual, necessary for a girl of fifteen? he was not going to employ her as a servant. on that he was decided. what sort of a position she should have he did not know; but her floor-scrubbing, dish-scraping days were over. she should have ease of life and loving care--his own phrase stuck in his head--especially loving care; and he was the only person in the world who could see that she got it. she must live under his roof. that was indisputable. but how? in lodgings or a flat? he went angrily round and round the vicious circle.
-“and you have n't a single suggestion to make?” he asked.
-“i have one,” said herold, fastening his shirt-studs while perkins was buttoning his boots. “but it's so commonplace and unromantic that you 'd wreck the dressing-room if i made it.”
-“well, what is it?” he stood, his hand on the door-knob.
-“you 've got a maiden aunt somewhere, have n't you?”
-“oh, don't talk rot!” said john. “i'm dead serious.”
-and he went out and banged the door behind him. he walked the streets furiously angry with herold. he had gone to consult him on a baffling problem. herold had suggested a maiden aunt as a solution. he had but one, his mother's sister. her name was gladys. what was a woman of over fifty doing with such an idiot name? his aunt gladys lived at croydon and spent her time solving puzzles and following the newspaper accounts of the doings of the royal family. she knew nothing. he remembered when he was a boy at school coming home for the holidays cock-a-whoop at having won the high jump in the school athletics sports. his aunt gladys, while professing great interest, had said, “but what i don't understand, dear, is--what do you get on to jump down from?” he had smiled and explained, but he had felt cold in the pit of his stomach. a futile lady. his opinion of her had not changed. in these days john was rather an intolerant fellow.
-chance willed it, however, that when he reached fenton square he found a letter which began “my dearest john” and ended “your loving aunt gladys.” and it was the letter of a very sweet-natured gentlewoman.
-john sat down at his desk to work, but ideas would not come. at last he lit his pipe, threw himself into a chair in front of the fire, and smoked till past midnight, with his heavy brows knitted in a tremendous frown.
-the same frown darkened risca's brow the next day as he waited for admittance at his aunt gladys's door. it was such a futile little door to such a futile little house; he could have smashed in the former with a blow of his fist, and he could have jumped into the latter through the first-floor windows. with his great bulk he felt himself absurdly out of scale. the tragedy looming huge in his mind was also absurdly out of scale with his errand. the house was one of a row of twenty perky, gabled, two-storied little villas, each coyly shrinking to the farthermost limit of its tiny front garden, and each guarding the privacy of its interior by means of muslin curtains at the windows, tied back by ribbons, the resultant triangle of transparency being obscured by a fat-leafed plant. the terrace bore the name of “tregarthion villas,” and the one inhabited by miss lindon was called “the oaks.” it was a sham little terrace full of sham little gentilities. john hated it. what could have induced his mother's sister to inhabit such a sphere of flimsiness?
-flimsiness, also, met him inside, when he was shown through a bamboo-furnished passage into a gimcrack little drawing-room. he tried several chairs dubiously with his hand, shook his head, and seated himself on a couch. everything in the room seemed flimsy and futile. he had the impression that everything save a sham spinning-wheel and a half-solved jig-saw puzzle on the little table was draped in muslin and tied up with pink ribbons. a decrepit black-and-tan terrier, disturbed in his slumbers in front of the fire, barked violently. a canary in a cage by the window sang in discordant emulation. john poised his hat and stick on the curved and slippery satin-covered couch, and they fell with a clatter to the floor. the frown deepened on his brow. why had he come to this distracting abode of mindlessness? he wished he had brought herold gyved and manacled. what with the dog and the canary and the doll's-house furniture, the sensitive and fastidious one would have gone mad. he would have gloated over his ravings. it would have served him right.
-the door opened suddenly, the draught blowing down a fan and a photograph-frame, and miss lindon entered.
-“my dear john, how good of you to come and see me!”
-she was a fat, dumpy woman of fifty, lymphatic and, at first sight, characterless. she lacked colour. her eyes were light, but neither blue nor green nor hazel; her straight hair was of the nondescript hue of light-brown hair turning gray. her face was fleshy and sallow, marked by singularly few lines. she had lived a contented life, unscarred by care and unruffled by desire. her dreams of the possibilities of existence did not pierce beyond the gimcrackeries of tregarthion villas. as for the doings of the great world,--wars, politics, art, social upheavals,--she bestowed on them, when they were obtruded on her notice, the same polite and unintelligent interest as she had bestowed on her nephew's athletic feats in the days gone by.
-however, she smiled very amiably at john, and reached up to kiss him on both cheeks, her flabby, white hands lightly resting on each coat-sleeve. having done this, she caught up the barking dog, who continued to growl from the soft shelter of arm and bosom with the vindictiveness of pampered old age.
-“naughty dandy! i hope you were n't frightened at him, john. he never really does bite.”
-“what does he do then? sting?” john asked with gruff sarcasm.
-“oh, no,” said miss lindon, round-eyed; “he 's quite harmless, i assure you. don't you remember dandy? but it's a long time since you 've been to see me, john. it must be three or four years. what have you been doing all this time?”
-her complacency irritated him. the canary never ceased his ear-splitting noise. the canary is a beautiful, gentle bird--stuffed; alive, he is pestilence made vocal. risca lost his temper.
-“surely you must know, aunt gladys. i 've been wandering through hell with a pack of little devils at my heels.”
-startled, she lifted up her arms and dropped dandy, who slithered down her dress and sought a morose shelter under the table.
-“my dear john!” she exclaimed.
-“i'm very sorry; i did n't mean to use strong language,” said he, putting his hands to his ears. “it's all that infernal canary.”
-john resumed his seat on the slippery couch, and miss lindon, having snatched dandy from his lair, sat by his side, depositing the dog between them.
-“you asked me what i had been doing for the last few years,” said he.
-“ah, yes. that 's why i wrote to you yesterday, dear.”
-she had written to him, in fact, every month for many years, long, foolish letters in which everything was futile save the genuine affection underlying them, and more often than not john had taken them as read and pitched them into the waste-paper basket. his few perfunctory replies, however, had been treasured and neatly docketed and pigeon-holed in the bureau in her bedroom, together with the rest of her family archives and other precious documents. among them was a famous recipe for taking mulberry stains out of satin. that she prized inordinately.
-“i should n't like to drift apart from dear ellen's boy,” she said with a smile.
-“and i should n't like to lose touch with you, my dear aunt,” said john, with more graciousness. “and that is why i've come to see you to-day. i've had rather a bad time lately.”
-“i know--that awful case in the papers.” she shivered. “don't let us talk of it. you must try to forget it. i wrote to you how shocked i was. i asked you to come and stay with me, and said i would do what i could to comfort you. i believe in the ties of kinship, my dear, and i did n't like to think of you bearing your trouble alone.”
-“that was very kind indeed of you,” said john, who had missed the invitation hidden away in the wilderness of the hastily scanned sixteen-page letter. he flushed beneath his dark skin, aware of rudeness. after all, when a lady invites you to her house, it is boorish to ignore the offered hospitality. it is a slight for which one can scarcely apologize. but she evidently bore him no malice.
-“it was only natural on my part,” she said amiably. “i shall never forget when poor flossie died. you remember flossie, don't you? she used to look so pretty, with her blue bow in her hair, and no one will ever persuade me that she was n't poisoned by the people next door; they were dreadful people. i wish i could remember their name; it was something like blunks. anyhow, i was inconsolable, and mrs. tawley asked me to stay with her to get over it. i shall never forget how grateful i was. i'm sure you 're looking quite poorly, john,” she added in her inconsequent way. “let me get you a cup of tea. it will do you good.”
-“did you ever hear of a child called unity blake?”
-“was that the girl--”
-“what an outlandish name! i often wonder how people come to give such names to children.”
-“never mind her name, my dear aunt,” said john, gruffly. “i want to tell you about her.”
-he told her--he told her all he knew. she listened, horror-stricken, regarding him with open mouth and streaming eyes.
-“and what do you think is my duty?” asked john, abruptly.
-miss lindon shook her head. “i 'm sure i don't know what to advise you, dear. i 'll try to find out some kind christian people who want a servant.”
-“i don't want any kind christian people at all,” said john. “i'm going to make up in ease and happiness for all the wrongs that humanity has inflicted on her. i am going to adopt her, educate her, fill her up with the good things of life.”
-“that's very fine of you, john,” said miss lindon. “some people are as fond of their adopted children as of their own. i remember miss engleshaw adopted a little child. she was four, if i remember right, and she used to dress her so prettily. i used to go and help her choose frocks. really they were quite expensive. now i come to think of it, john, i could help you that way with little unity. i don't think gentlemen have much experience in choosing little girls' frocks. how old is she?”
-“nearly sixteen,” said john.
-“that's rather old,” said miss lindon, from whose mind this new interest seemed to have driven the tragic side of the question. “it's a pity you could n't have begun when she was four.”
-“it is,” said john.
-“only if you had begun with her at four, you would n't be wanting to adopt her now,” said miss lindon, with an illuminating flash of logic.
-“quite so,” replied john.
-there was a span of silence. john mechanically drew his pipe from his pocket, eyed it with longing, and replaced it. miss lindon took the aged black-and-tan terrier in her arms and whispered to it in baby language. she was a million leagues from divining the object of her nephew's visit. john looked at her despairingly. had she not a single grain of common sense? at last he strode across the room, a gulliver in a new lilliput, and sat down again by her side.
-“look here, 'aunt gladys,” he said desperately, “if i adopt a young woman of sixteen, i must have another woman in the house--a lady, one of my own family. i could n't have people saying horrid things about her and me.”
-miss lindon assented to the proposition. john was far too young and good-looking (“oh, lord!” cried john)--yes, he was--to pose as the father of a pretty, grown-up young woman.
-“the poor child is n't pretty,” said he.
-“it does n't matter,” replied miss lindon. “beauty is only skin deep, and i 've known plain people who are quite fascinating. there was captain brownlow's wife--do you remember the brownlows? your poor mother was so fond of them--”
-“yes, yes,” said john, impatiently. “he had wet hands, and used to mess my face about when i was a kid. i hated it. the question is, however, whom am i going to get to help me with unity blake?”
-“ah, yes, to be sure. poor little unity! you must bring her to see me sometimes. give me notice, and i 'll make her some of my cream-puffs. children are always so fond of them. you ought to remember my cream-puffs.”
-“good heavens!” he cried, with a gesture that set the dog barking. “there 's no question of cream-puffs. can't you see what i'm driving at? i want you to come and keep house for me and help me to look after the child.”
-he rose, and his great form towered so threateningly over her that dandy barked at him with a toy terrier's furious and impotent rage.
-“i come and live with you?” gasped miss lindon.
-“yes,” said john, turning away and lumbering back to the fireplace. the dog, perceiving that he had struck terror into the heart of his enemy, dismissed him with a scornful snarl, and curled himself up by the side of his stupefied mistress.
-it was done; the proposal had been made, according to the demands of his pig-headedness. now that he had made it, he realized its insanity. he contrasted this home of flim-flammeries and its lap-dogs and canaries and old-maidish futilities with his own tobacco-saturated and paper-littered den; this life of trivialities with his own fighting career; this incapacity to grasp essentials with his own realization of the conflict of world-forces. the ludicrous incongruity of a partnership between the two of them in so fateful a business as the healing of a human soul appealed to his somewhat dull sense of humour. the whole idea was preposterous. in his saturnine way he laughed.
-“it's rather a mad notion, is n't it?”
-“i don't think so at all,” replied miss lindon in a most disconcertingly matter-of-fact tone. “the only thing is that since poor papa died i've had so little to do with gentlemen, and have forgotten their ways. you see, dear, you have put me quite in a flutter. how do i know, for instance, what you would like to have for breakfast? your dear grandpapa used to have only one egg boiled for two minutes--he was most particular--and a piece of dry toast; whereas i well remember mrs. brownlow telling me that her husband used to eat a hearty meal of porridge and eggs and bacon, with an underdone beefsteak to follow. so you see, dear, i have no rule which i could follow; you would have to tell me.”
-“that's quite a detail,” said john, rather touched by her unselfish, if tangential, dealing with the proposal. “the main point is,” said he, moving a step or two forward, “would you care to come and play propriety for me and this daughter of misery?”
-“do you really want me to?”
-“naturally, since i 've asked you.”
-she rose and came up to him. “my dear boy,” she said with wet eyes, “i know i'm not a clever woman, and often when clever people like you talk, i don't in the least understand what they 're talking about; but i did love your dear mother with all my heart, and i would do anything in the wide world for her son.”
-john took her hand and looked down into her foolish, kind face, which wore for the moment the dignity of love. “i'm afraid it will mean an uprooting of all your habits,” said he, in a softened voice.
-she smiled. “i can bring them with me,” she said cheerfully. “you won't mind dandy, will you? he'll soon get used to you. and as for dickie,” she added, with a touch of wistfulness, “i 'm sure i can find a nice home for him.”
-john put his arm round her shoulder and gave her the kiss of a shy bear.
-“my good soul,” he cried, “bring fifty million dickies if you like.” he laughed. “there's nothing like the song of birds for the humanizing of the cockney child.”
-he looked around and beheld the little, gimcrack room with a new vision. after all, it was as much an expression of her individuality, and as genuine in the eyes of the high gods, as herold's exquisitely furnished abode was of herold's, or the untidy jumble of the room in fenton square was of his own. and all she had to live upon was a hundred and fifty pounds a year, and no artistic instincts or antecedents whatsoever.
-“i feel a brute in asking you to give up this little place now that you've made it so pretty,” he said.
-her face brightened at the praise. “it is pretty, is n't it?” then she sighed as her eyes rested fondly on her possessions. “i suppose it would be too tiny for us all to live here.”
-“i'm afraid it would,” said john. “besides, we must live in london, on account of my work.”
-but though her face pictured her dismay, she was too generous to translate it into words. john never guessed her sacrifice.
-“we 'll go somewhere quiet,” said he, after a while.
-“we 'll go wherever you like, dear,” replied miss lindon, meekly, and she rang the bell for tea.
-the main point decided, they proceeded to discuss the details of the scheme, the minds of each suffused in a misty wonder. if john had told the simple lady that she could serve him by taking command of a cavalry regiment, she would have agreed in her unselfish fashion, but she would have been not a whit more perplexed at the prospect. as for john he had the sensation of living in a fantastic dream. a child of six would have been a more practical ally. in the course of befogged conversation, however, it was arranged that miss lindon should transfer to the new house her worldly belongings, of which she was to give him an inventory, including dandy and dickie and her maid phoebe, a most respectable girl of baptist upbringing, who had been cruelly jilted by a prosperous undertaker in the neighborhood, whom, if you had seen him conducting a funeral, you would have thought as serious and god-fearing a man as the clergyman himself; which showed how hypocritical men could be, and how you ought never to trust to appearances. it was also settled that, as soon as unity could be rescued from the guardianship of the orphanage authorities and comfortably installed in a convalescent home by the seaside, miss lindon would journey thither in order to make her ward's acquaintance. in the meanwhile john would go house-hunting.
-“walter herold will help me,” said john.
-“that's your friend who acts, is n't it?” said miss lindon. “i have n't any objection to theatres myself. in fact, i often used to go to see irving when i was young. you meet quite a nice class of people in the dress-circle. but i don't think ladies ought to go on the stage. i hope mr. herold won't put such an idea into unity's head.”
-“i don't think he will,” said john.
-“young girls are sometimes so flighty. my old friend mrs. willcox had a daughter who went on the stage, and she married an actor, and now has twelve children, and lives in cheshire. i was hearing about her only the other day. i suppose unity will have to be taught music and drawing and french like any other young lady.”
-“we might begin,” replied john, “with more elementary accomplishments.”
-“i'm afraid, my dear,” said john, “you 'll first have to teach her to eat and drink like a christian, and blow her nose, and keep her face clean.”
-“ah, that reminds me. my head's in a maze, and i can't think of everything at once, like some clever people. what kind of soap do gentlemen use? i 'll have to know, so as to supply you with what you like.”
-“any old stuff that will make a lather,” said john, rising.
-“but some soaps are so bad for the skin,” she objected anxiously.
-“vitriol would n't hurt my rhinoceros hide.”
-he laughed, and held out his hand. further discussion was useless.
-miss lindon accompanied him to the front gate and watched him stride down the perky terrace until he disappeared round the corner. then she went slowly into the house and uncovered the canary, who blinked at her in oblique sullenness, and did not respond to her friendly “cheep” and the scratching of her finger against the rails of his cage. she turned to dandy, who, snoring loud, was equally unresponsive. feeling lonely and upset, she rang the bell.
-“phoebe,” she said, when the angular and jilted maid appeared, “we are going to keep house for my nephew, mr. risca, and a young lady whom he has adopted. will you tell me one thing? is the lady of the house supposed to clean the gentlemen's pipes?”
-“my father is a non-smoker, as well as a teetotaler, miss,” replied phoebe.
-“dear me!” murmured miss lindon. “it's going to be a great puzzle.”
-it was a puzzle to john as much as to the palpitating lady, and in the maze of his puzzledom the gleam of humour that visited him during their interview lost its way. walter herold's eyes, however, twinkled maliciously when he heard john's account at once rueful and pig-headed. then he grew serious.
-“it will be comic opera all the time. it can't be done.”
-“it 's going to be done,” said john, obstinately. “there's nothing else to do. if i were a rich man, i could work wonders with a scratch in my cheque-book. i could hire an unexceptionable colonel's or clergyman's widow to do the business. but i'm not. how i'm going to get the house together, as it is, i don't know. besides,” he added, turning with some savageness on his friend, “if you think it a comic-opera idea, kindly remember it was you who started it.”
-though herold was silenced for the moment, to the back of his mind still clung the first suggestion he had made. it was the common-sense idea that, given a knowledge of john's relations with the southcliff household, would have occurred to anybody. john had it in his power to befriend the unhappy child without trying the rash experiment of raising her social status. wherein lay the advantage of bringing her up as a lady? a pampered maid in a luxurious home does not drag out the existence of a downtrodden slave. such have been known to smile and sing, even to bless their stars, and finally to marry a prince in grocer's disguise, and to live happy ever afterwards. with john's description of the girl's dog-like eyes in his memory, herold pictured her as a devoted handmaiden to stellamaris, a romantic, mediaeval appanage of the sea-chamber. what more amazingly exquisite destiny could await not only one bred in the gutter, but any damsel far more highly born? her silence as to the past could be insured under ghastly penalties which would have no need of imagination for their appeal. that of course would be an ultimate measure. he felt certain that a couple of months' probation in the atmosphere of the channel house would compel any human being not a devil incarnate to unthinking obedience to the unwritten law. by following this scheme, unity would achieve salvation, stellamaris acquire a new interest in life, and john himself be saved not only from financial worries, but from grotesquely figuring in comic opera. as for miss lindon, he felt certain that she would fall down on her knees and offer up thanksgivings to the god of her grandmothers.
-but of this scheme john would hear no word. he bellowed his disapproval like an angry bull, rushed out, as it were, with lowered head, into the thick of house-agents, and before herold could catch him in a milder humour he had signed the lease of a little house in kilburn, overlooking the paddington recreation ground. by the time it was put in order and decorated, he declared, unity would be in a fit condition to take up her abode there with miss lindon and himself.
-“where is this convalescent home you 're going to send her to?” asked herold.
-john did not know. a man could not attend to everything at once. but there were thousands. he would find one. then, it being the end of the week, he went down to the channel house, where, by the midnight train on saturday, herold joined him.
-it was herold who laid john's rash project before sir oliver and lady blount.
-“why in the world,” cried the latter, checking the hospitable flow of tea from the teapot and poising it in mid air--they were at breakfast--“why in the world does n't he send the child to us?”
-john, in desperation, went over his arguments. the discussion grew heated. sir oliver, with a twirl of his white moustache, gave him to understand that to take folks out of the station to which it had pleased god to call them was an act of impiety to which he, sir oliver, would not be a party. his wife, irritated by her husband's dictatorial manner, demurred to the proposition. john had every right to do as he liked. if you adopted a child, you brought it up as a matter of course in your own rank in life. why adopt it? why not? they bickered as usual. at last john got up in a fume and went to cool his head in the garden. it was outrageous that he should never be allowed to mismanage his own affairs. there was the same quarreling interference when he proposed to go to australia. he lit his pipe and puffed at it furiously. after a while lady blount joined him. she declared herself to be on his side; but, as in most sublunary things, there was a compromise.
-“at any rate, my dear john, give your friends a little chance of helping you,�� she said. “if you set your face against walter's plan, at least you can send the child down here to recuperate. nurse holroyd will keep a trained eye on her, and she can play about the garden and on the beach as much as she likes. i do understand what you 're afraid of with regard to stella--”
-“oliver and walter are wooden-headed dolts,” cried john.
-she smiled wifely agreement. “there need be no danger, i assure you. we can give the child a room in the other wing, and forbid her the use of stella's side of the house. stella's room will be guarded. you may trust me. have i ever failed yet? and stella need never know of her presence in the place. after all,” she continued, touching his coat-sleeve, “i think i am a bit nearer to your life than your aunt gladys.”
-john laughed at the flash of jealousy.
-“if you put it that way, it's very hard to refuse.”
-“then you 'll send her?”
-he knocked the ashes out of his pipe against the heel of his boot, thus hiding the annoyance on his face, but he yielded. “for her convalescence only.”
-the touch on his arm deepened into a squeeze.
-“if you had said no, i should have been so hurt, dear.”
-“i only want to do what's decently right,” said he.
-“i think you 're acting nobly,” she said.
-“my dear julia,” said he, “i'm not going to listen to infatuated rubbish.”
-he cast off her hand somewhat roughly, but continued to walk with her up and down the terrace, talking intimately of his plans concerning the adopted child and the psychological problem she presented. no man, in his vain heart of hearts, really resents a woman calling him a noble fellow, be she ten years old or his great-great-grandmother. they parted soon afterward, lady blount to prepare herself for church, which sir oliver and she attended with official regularity, and john to worship in his own way--one equally acceptable, i should imagine, to the almighty--in the sea-chamber of stellamaris.
-he found herold there, in the midst of a dramatic entertainment, with stellamaris and constable for audience. how familiar and unchanging was the scene! the great, bright room, the wood fire blazing merrily up the chimney, the huge dog lifting his eyes and stirring his tail in welcome, and against the background of sea and sky the fairy head on its low pillow. stella smiled, put a finger to her lips, and pointed to a chair.
-“go on,” she said to herold.
-“we 're in the middle of the first act, just before my exit,” said the latter.
-john became aware, as he listened, that herold was sketching the piece in which he was playing, a fragrant comedy full of delicate sentiment and humour. his own scenes he acted in full, taking all the parts. stella lay entranced, and fixed on him glorious eyes of wonder. how could he do it? at one astonishing moment he was a young girl, at another her sailor sweetheart, at another a palsied, mumbling old man. and when, as the old man, he took the weeping girl under his arm and hobbled away on his stick, leaving the young fellow baffled and disappointed, it seemed an optical illusion, so vivid was the picture. he recrossed the room, smiling, the real walter herold again; stella clapped her hands.
-“is n't he perfectly lovely!”
-“stunning,” said john, who had often witnessed similar histrionic exhibitions in that room, and had always been impressed with their exquisite art. “i wish you could see the real thing, dear.”
-stella glanced out to sea for a moment and glanced back at him.
-“i don't think i do,” she said. “it would be too real.”
-“what do you mean by that?”
-herold clapped john on the shoulder. “can't you see what a subtle little artistic soul she has?” he cried enthusiastically. “she has evolved for herself the fundamental truth, the vital essence of all art--suggestion. she means that, in order that the proper harmony should be established between the artist and the person to whom he is making his appeal, the latter must go a certain way to meet him. he must exercise his imagination, too, on the same lines. the measure of your appreciation, say, of turner, is the length of the imaginative journey you make toward him. when a thing needs no imaginative effort to get hold of it, it's not a work of art. you have n't got to go half way to the housemaid to realize a slice of bread and butter. that's where so-called realism fails. stella 's' afraid that if she saw us all in flesh and blood on the stage, nothing would be left to her imagination. she's right in essence.”
-stella smiled on him gratefully. “that 's exactly how i feel, but i could n't have expressed it. how do you manage to know all these funny things that go on inside me?”
-“i wish i did,” said herold, with a touch of wistfulness.
-“but you do.” she turned to john. “does n't he, belovedest?”
-herold glanced at the clock. “i must run. i promised sir oliver to go to church. we 'll have the rest of the play this afternoon.”
-“why don't you go to church, too?” stella asked when herold had gone.
-“i 'm not so good as walter,” he replied.
-“you are,” she cried warmly.
-he shook his head. he knew that herold's churchgoing was not an act of great spiritual devotion; for the southcliff service was dull, and the vicar, good, limited man, immeasurably duller. it was an act of characteristic unselfishness: he went so as to be a buffer between sir oliver and his wife, who invariably quarreled during their sedate, official walk to and from morning service, and on this particular occasion, with fresh contentious matter imported from the outside, were likely to hold discourse with each other more than usually acrimonious.
-“walter's a sort of saint,” said he, “who can hear the music of the spheres. i can't. i just jog along the ground and listen to barrel-organs.”,
-they argued the point for a while, then drifted back to herold's acting, thence to the story of the play.
-“i wonder what 's going to happen,” said stellamaris. “if dorothy does n't marry her sailor, i shall never get over it.”
-john laughed. “suppose the sailor turns out to be a dark, double-dyed, awful villain?”
-“oh, he can't; he's young and beautiful.”
-“don't you believe that beautiful people can be villains?”
-“no,” said stella; “it 's silly.” she looked for a while out to her familiar sea, the source of all her inspiration, and her brows were delicately knitted. “i may as well tell you,” she said at last with great solemnity, “a conclusion i've come to after lots of thought--yes, dear belovedest, i lie here and think lots and lots--i don't believe the bible is true.”
-“my dear stella!” he cried, scandalized. he himself did not believe in the jonah and whale story or in many other things contained in holy writ, and did not go to church, and was sceptical as to existence of anthropomorphous angels; but he held the truly british conviction of the necessity of faith in the young and innocent. stella having been bred in the unquestioning calm of anglican orthodoxy, her atheistical pronouncement was staggering. “my dear stella!” he cried. “the bible not true?”
-she flushed. “oh, i believe it's all true as far as it goes,” she exclaimed quickly. “but it 's not true about people to-day. all those dreadful things that are told in it--the cruelty of joseph's brethren, for instance--did happen; but they happened so long, long ago. people have had lots and lots of time to grow better. have n't they?”
-“they certainly have, my dear,” said john.
-“and then christ came to wash away everybody's sins.”
-“he did,” said john.
-“so it seems to me we can disregard a great deal of religion. it does n't affect us. we are n't good like the angels, i know,” she remarked with the seriousness of a young disputant in the school of duns scotus; “but men don't kill each other, or rob each other, or be cruel to the weak, and nobody tells horrible lies, do they?”
-“i think we 've improved during the last few thousand years,” said john.
-“so,” said stellamaris, continuing her argument, “as the fathers have no particular sins, they can't be visited much on the children. and if there are no wicked people to go to hell, hell must be empty, and therefore useless. so it's no good believing in it.”
-“not the slightest good in the world,” said john, fervently.
-“and now that everybody loves god,” she went on, “i don't see what's the good of religion. i love you, great high belovedest, but there's no need for me to get a form of words to say 'i love you,' 'i love you,' all day long. one's heart says it.”
-“what 's your idea of god, stella dear?” he asked in a curiously husky voice.
-she beckoned to him. he drew his chair nearer and bent toward her. she waved her fragile arms bare to the elbow.
-“i think we breathe god,” she said.
-john risca went back to fenton square and breathed the ghosts of the night-before-last's sprats, and he journeyed to the orphanage of saint martha at willesden and breathed the prison taint of that abode of hopelessness, and he wrote hard at night in a tiny room breathing the hot, electric atmosphere of a newspaper-office; and ever horribly dominant in his mind was the woman whom once he had held in his arms, who now performed degrading tasks in shameful outward investiture, and inwardly lashed at him with malignant hatred through the distorted prism of her soul, and he breathed the clammy dungeon atmosphere of his own despair; and sitting at his writing-table one night, after having spent the day in court listening to the loathsome details of a sickening murder, a crime passionnel, with the shock of which the wide world was ringing,--his american syndicate insisted on a vivid story, and he had to earn the journalist's daily bread,--the ignorant, fanciful words of stellamaris flashed through his mind--“i think we breathe god.” he threw back his head and laughed aloud, and then let it drop upon his arms, folded over his wet page of copy, and sobbed in a man's dry-eyed agony of spirit.
-and as the prophet elijah, when sore beset, found the lord neither in the wind nor in the earthquake nor in the fire, so did john risca find him not in all these daily things through which he had passed. life was fierce, inhuman, a devastating medley of blind forces, making human effort a vain thing, human aspiration a derision, faith in mankind a grotesque savage ju-ju superstition. there was no god, no beneficent influence making order out of chaos; for it was all chaos. jezebel and her lusts and cruelties ruled the world--this cloaca of a world. man argues ever from particular to general, instinctively flying to the illogic on which the acceptance of human life is based. to risca, at nine and twenty, his pain translated itself into terms of the world-pain; and so will it happen to all generations of all the sons and daughters of men.
-after a while, as he sat there motionless, he grew aware of something delicately soft touching his ear and hair. for a moment he had the absurd fancy that stellamaris stood beside him with caressing fingers. it became so insistent that he dallied with it, persuaded himself that she was there; he would have only to turn to see her in her childish grace. he heard a sound as of murmured speech. she seemed to whisper of quiet, far-off things. and then he seemed to hear the words: “the door is open. go out into the wide spaces under heaven.” he roused himself with a start, and, looking about him, perceived that the door of his sitting-room was indeed ajar, the ill-fitting old lock having slipped, thus causing a draught, which poured over his head and shoulders. he rose and clapped on his hat and went down-stairs. a ten-minutes' trudge on the pavements would clear his head for the work that had to be accomplished. but on his doorstep he halted. away above the housetops on the other side of the dingy square sailed the full moon, casting a wake of splendour along the edge of a rack of cloud. and below it swam a single star.
-he caught himself repeating stupidly, “stella maris, star of the sea.” with an impatient shake of the shoulders he went his way through the narrow streets and emerged upon the broad and quiet thoroughfares about the abbey and the houses of parliament. on westminster bridge the startling silver of the moonlit river brought him to a stand. the same glory was overspreading the mild sea below the windows of the channel house. perhaps stella even then lay awake, as she often did of nights, and was watching it and was “breathing god.” a great longing arose within him to stand on the beach beneath her window in the wide spaces under heaven. so he walked on, thinking vaguely of stellamaris and her ways and mysteries, and reached his home again in a chastened mood. like elijah, he had found god neither in the wind nor in the earthquake nor in the fire; but who can tell whether he had not been brought into touch with something of the divine by the still, small voice that came through the draught of the crazy door?
-things happened as john and lady blount had planned them. sister theophila, having satisfied herself that unity blake was not a second time being thrown to the wolves--lady blount herself undertook the negotiations--surrendered her without many regretful pangs. unity blake, fatalistic child of circumstance, surrendered herself without coherent thought. world authorities, vague in their nature, but irresistibly compelling in their force, had governed her life from her earliest years. the possibility of revolt, of assertion of her own individuality, was undreamed of in her narrow philosophy. she had the outlook on life of the slave; not the slave of the mettlesome temperament depicted by the late mrs. harriet beecher stowe and the late mr. longfellow, but the unaspiring deaf-mute of a barbaric harem. it is true that lady blount asked her whether she would like to go away to a nice house by the seaside, and afterward live for ever and ever with the kind gentleman who gave her peppermint bull's-eyes and the kind lady who had visited her one day, bringing her a pair of woollen mittens, and that unity, after the manner of her class, had said, “yes, ma'am”; but the consultation of unity's wishes had been a pure formality. she had no idea of what the seaside meant, having never seen the sea or speculated on its nature. she could form no notion of her future life with the kind lady and gentleman, save perhaps that the pokers of the establishment might have other uses than as instruments of chastisement and that, at any rate, they might be applied cold and not red-hot. if they had taken her up without a word, and put her in an open coffin, and lowered her into an open grave, and left her there, unity would have made no complaint, having at once no standard whereby to assess the right and wrong done to her, and no tribunal to which she could appeal higher than the vague world authorities above mentioned. the instinctive animal might have clambered out of the pit and wandered about the country-side in search of food and shelter, but that would have been all. the fervent human soul would have played but a small part.
-so one day the matron came and dressed her in the parody of attire which she had worn during her lamentable excursion into the world, and men carried her, a creature of no volition, down-stairs, and put her into a cab with lady blount, and the two journeyed in a train for an hour or so, unity lying flat on her back along one side of the carriage, and the lady sitting opposite, reading a magazine. the jolting of the train hurt her, but that was not the lady's fault. sometimes the lady spoke to her, and she said, “yes, ma'am,” and, “no, ma'am,” as she had been taught to do at the orphanage; but what the lady was saying she did not very well understand. she grasped, however, the lady's kindness of intention; and now and then the lady, looking up from her magazine, smiled and nodded encouragingly, an unfathomably mysterious proceeding, but curiously comforting. on the opposite side of the compartment was the most beautiful picture she had ever seen--lovely ladies in gorgeous raiment and handsome gentlemen sitting at little lamp-lit tables, eating a meal which chiefly consisted of scarlet birds; and there were other gentlemen, not quite so handsome, hovering about with dishes and bottles of wine; and the pillars of the hall were of pure marble, and the tops of them gold, and the ceiling was golden, too. in the foreground sat a peculiarly lovely lady in a red, low-cut frock, and an entrancingly handsome gentleman, and they were bending over the table and he held a wine-glass in his hand. below she read the legend, “supper at the coliseum hotel.” she could scarcely keep her eyes off the picture. lady blount, noticing her rapt gaze, questioned her, and from her answers it was obvious that it was only the details that attracted her--the lovely ladies, the handsome men, the glitter and colour of the preposterously gaudy scene. the essence of it she did not grasp; her spirit was not transported into the shoddy fairy-land; her imagination was untouched by the potentialities of life which to a mind a little, a very little, more awakened it might, with all its vulgar crudity, have suggested.
-after the railway journey she was lifted into another cab, and taken into a big house with wonderfully soft carpets and pictures on the walls. they carried her into a pretty room that looked like a bower of roses,--it had a rose-pattern wall-paper,--and from the window she could see trees and a great rolling expanse of country. she wondered why the place had no streets. they undressed her. a maid-servant, so trim and spruce that she addressed her as “ma'am,” pointed to the heap of poor garments and asked:
-“what are we to do with these, my lady?”
-“bury them,” said lady blount.
-“ain't i never going out again, ma'am?” unity inquired humbly.
-“of course, child. but we'll give you some decent clothes,” said lady blount.
-they put her in a bath and washed her. the soap smelled so good that surreptitiously she got hold of the cake and nosed it like a young dog. they dried her in warm towels, and slipped a night-dress over her meagre shoulders. it was then, perhaps, that fingering the gossamer thing, taking up a bunch of stuff in her fist and slowly letting it go, in a dreamy wonder, she first began to realize that she was on the threshold of a new life. not even the soft bed or the delicious chicken-broth that was brought later eclipsed the effect produced by the night-dress. it had embroidery and all sorts of blue ribbons--an epoch-making garment.
-some time later, the maid, having drawn the curtains and smoothed her pillow and tucked her in, said:
-“if you want anything in the night, just touch that bell, and i 'll come to you.”
-unity looked at her half comprehendingly. “ring a bell? i should n't dare.”
-“it's only missuses that ring bells.”
-“those are lady blount's orders, anyway,” laughed the maid. “'ere,” said unity, with a beckoning finger. “what are they treating me like this for?”
-so might a succulently fed sailor have suspiciously interrogated one of a cannibal tribe.
-“how else would you want them to treat you?” asked the unpercipient maid. “you 've come down here to get well, have n't you?” she bent down and tied a loosened ribbon in a bow. “i declare if you have n't got on one of miss stella's nighties!”
-“who is miss stella?” asked unity.
-“miss stella?” the maid stared. to be in the channel house and not know who miss stella was! “miss stella?” she repeated blankly. “why, miss stella, of course.”
-the days passed quickly, and in the pure, strong air and under the generous treatment unity began to mend. she also began to form a dim conception of miss stella. it was gradually borne in upon her mind that not only the household, but the whole cosmic scheme, revolved round miss stella. sometimes they called her by another name, stellamaris, which sounded queer, like the names of princesses in the fairy-tales they had given her to read. perhaps this miss stella was a fairy-princess. why not? thus it came to pass that even in the darkened mind of this child of wretchedness stellamaris began to shine with a lambent glow of mystery.
-now and then the kind gentleman came to visit her, with gifts of chocolates (as became her new estate), which she accepted meekly, though in her heart she regretted the peppermint bull's-eyes of fuller and more satisfying flavour. she learned in course of time that he was the husband of the woman whose image still brought sweating fright into her dreams. to save her from waking terror, lady blount spent much time and tact, enlisting her sympathy for john by convincing her that he himself had received barbarous usage from the same abhorred hands. unity, whose habit of mind was to translate conceptions into terms of the objective, wondered what form of physical torture was applied to john. she pitied him immensely, but consoled herself by the reflection that as he was very big and strong, his probable sufferings were not inordinate. that so big and strong a man, however, should have suffered unresistingly she could not understand.
-“why did n't he wipe her over the 'ed, m' lady?” she asked simply. the “m' lady” was the result of the maid's instructions.
-lady blount administered the necessary linguistic corrections, and, proceeding to the sociological side, informed her that gentlemen never struck women, no matter how great the provocation. unity was quick to apply the proposition personally.
-“then mr. risca will never beat me, even if i do wrong?”
-“good heavens! no, child,” cried lady blount, horrified. “mr. risca is as gentle as a kitten. you should see him with miss stella.”
-“miss stella loves him very much, m' lady?”
-“of course she does.”
-“and he loves her, too?”
-“everybody loves her,” said lady blount, tenderly. the next time that john came to southcliff he found a convalescent unity. dressmakers and other fabricators of feminine raiment had been at work, and she was clad in blouse and short serge skirt and her scanty, brown hair, instead of being screwed up in a diminutive bun at the back of her head, was combed and brushed and secured, after the manner of hair of young persons of sixteen, with bows of ribbon. she stood gawkily before him, confused in her own metamorphosis. at the orphanage she had worn the same uniform from early childhood. during her excursion into the world she had masqueraded as the grown woman. in the conventional attire of the english school-girl she did not recognize herself. her coarse hands, scarcely refined by illness, hung awkwardly by her side. an appeal for mercy hovered at the back of her dull and patient eyes. despite the trim dress and hair, she looked hopelessly unprepossessing, with her snub nose, wide mouth, weak chin, and bulgy and shiny forehead. scragginess, too, had marked her for its own.
-“well, unity,” said john, “so you 're up at last. have you been in the garden?”
-she made the bob taught at the orphanage.
-“and you 're feeling well and strong?”
-“and don't you think it's a very lovely place?”
-“yes, sir,” said unity.
-they were always shy in each other's company, question and answer being the form of their conversation. john, who could talk all day long to stella, felt curiously constrained in the presence of this unfamiliar type of humanity; and unity, regarding him at the same time as a god who had delivered her out of the house of bondage and as a fellow-victim at the hands of the unspeakable, scarcely found breath for the utterance of her monosyllables.
-“sit down and go on with your work,” said he. he had come upon her as she sat by the window of her room sewing some household linen. she obeyed meekly. he watched her busy, skilful fingers for some time.
-“do you like sewing?”
-“yes, sir; can sew beautiful.”
-john lounged about the rose-covered room. what could he say next. on previous visits he had discoursed on their proposed life together, and she had been singularly unresponsive. he had also plugged her mind full, as he hoped, of moral precepts which should be of great value hereafter. but being no original aphorist, he had exhausted his ready-made stock. he thrust his hands into his pockets and looked out of the window. the little town of southcliff lay hidden below the bluff, and all that he saw was the sussex weald lit by the may sunshine and rolling lazily in pasture and woodland into the hazy distance. within, the monotonous scrabble of the needle going in and out of stiff material alone broke the silence.
-presently the maid came in.
-“miss stella's compliments, sir, and if you 're disengaged, she would like to speak to you for a minute.”
-she had a habit of summoning thus politely, but autocratically, her high ministers of state.
-“i will come to miss stella immediately,” said john. he turned to unity. “now that you can get about again, i suppose lady blount has told you not to go to the other side of the house.”
-“do you understand why?”
-she raised her eyebrows. having lived under the despotism of the world authorities, she had never dreamed of questioning the why and wherefore of any ordinance.
-“it 's forbidden, sir.”
-“no one goes there without express invitation from miss stella,” said john, indiscreetly. “if any one did, i don't know what would happen to him.”
-he left her with a new idea in her confused little brain. mr. risca was obviously speaking the truth, as he himself had just been summoned by the mysterious princess. unity knew that she was very beautiful and lay all her life on a bed looking out to sea; that she was an angel of goodness; that she was worshipped by the whole household, even by the humbler members of the servants' hall, who had never seen her. a kitchen-maid summoned into the presence for the first time--it was a question of the carriage of coal--decked herself out in her trimmest and cleanest and departed on her errand with the beating heart of one who approaches royalty. there was a tradition, too, that miss stella was magically endowed with a knowledge of everything that went on in the house and that nothing was done without her bidding and guidance. special flowers in the garden were grown for miss stella. special fowls in the poultry-yard laid eggs exclusively for miss stella. a day was bright because miss stella had requested the sun to shine. unity knew all this, and when john went out, her heart began to flutter with a wild hope. she laid her sewing in her lap and pictured the scene: the maid would open the door. “unity, miss stella desires to see you.” the fairy-books said that you kissed a princess's hand. i think this must have been unity blake's first day-dream. it was a sign of a spirit's emancipation.
-the days passed, however, without the dream coming true. but she was very humble. why should miss stella want to see any one so ugly and unimportant? besides, the garden, with its walks and lawns and shrubberies and great, green trees; the unimagined sea rolling from, the purple rim far away, to dash itself in spray upon the shingle of the beach; the almost terrifying freedom; the young animal's unconscious exultation in returning health; the feminine, instinctive delight in tasteful dress; the singular absence of harsh, cold speech; the curious privilege of satiating her young hunger at every meal--all these new joys combined to protect her from disappointment. there was constable, too. at her first meeting with the great dog in the garden, she was paralyzed with fright. he stood some way off, watching her with pricked-up ears; then he walked slowly up to her, and smelled her all over with awful gravity. she felt his cold nose touch her cheek. she could not run. every instant she expected him to open his huge mouth and devour her. but after an eternity he turned away with a sniff, and suddenly began to roll on his back, writhing his neck and body in odd contortions and throwing up his great feet in the air. a gardener appeared from a shrubbery close by, and unity made a wild rush for his protection. the man saw that she was frightened and reassured her. constable had only wanted to make certain that she was not a wicked person come with intent to harm miss stella. he was miss stella's own dog, her bodyguard, who saw to it that no unauthorized person came into her presence.
-“he would be fierce then?” she asked.
-the gardener was amused. “he 'd gobble you up like winking.” he called the dog, who rose in a dignified way from his gambol.
-“just pat him on the head, and don't look afraid,” counselled the gardener.
-“what does she talk to you about? why don't you tell me?” and she would whisper messages in his ear. once she stuck a dandelion in his collar, and bade him give it to his mistress with her love. then frightened at her own temerity, she took it back. the dream did not come true, but constable became a very substantial and comforting part of its fabric.
-then there was walter herold. he had the faculty of getting through the deep-encrusted shell of apathy which baffled her other friends. his quick, laughing eyes and sensitive face compelled confidence. he did not wrap himself in the gloomy majesty of her protector, nor was he abrupt and disconcerting like sir oliver. the iron repression of her life had kept her dumb. even now, when she took the initiative in conversation, making a statement or asking a question instead of answering one, instinct jerked her eyes from her interlocutor to space around, as though in apprehension of the fall of an audacity-avenging thunderbolt. ignorant and inarticulate, she now had unjustly a reputation for sullenness in the household. keen and sympathetic as were lady blount and the nurse, who had undertaken to give her elementary instruction in personal and table manners, they could elicit nothing but commonplaces from the chaotic mind. to herold alone could the child that she was chatter freely. she told him of her life at the orphanage, the daily routine, the squabbles with school-mates. she spoke of her five-months' inferno.
-“but why did n't you run out into the street and tell the first policeman you met?”
-“i was always 'fraid of p'licemen. and 'ow was i to know that was n't the regular thing in service? where i came from, before i went to the orphanage, everybody used to knock each other about. and sometimes they used to beat us at the orphanage, but more often they put us in the cell on bread and water. most of the girls 'drather to be licked. when i was at smith street, i thought the cell heaven.” she paused for a moment, and her eyes hardened evilly. “i'm jolly glad she's in quod, though. will they beat her there?”
-“no, my dear,” said herold; “they 're trying to make her good.”
-she laughed scornfully. “'er good? if i 'd known then what i know now, i 'd 'ave poured scaldin' water over her. s'welp me!”
-“i'm very glad you did n't, for you and i would n't be sitting here now by this beautiful sea.” he put his hand gently on her head. “do you know how you can repay all these people who are so kind to you?”
-“no,” said unity.
-“by trying to forget everything that happened to you in the past. don't think of it.”
-“i must,” she replied in a dull, concentrated tone. “i should like to have her 'ere now and cut her throat.” herold remonstrated, and talked perhaps more platitudinously than was his wont. when he reported this interview to john, for it was from herold that he learned most of the psychology of unity blake, john frowned.
-“that's a bad trait.”
-“it will pass,” said herold. “she has come from the dungeons into the garden of life. she is for the first time just beginning to realize herself as a human being. naturally the savage peeps out. that will be tamed. she has wonderful latent capacities for good. already she has invented a kind of religion with stellamaris as divinity.”
-“what does she know about stella?” john asked roughly.
-“virtually everything,” laughed herold. “we talk stella interminably. when she spoke of throat-cutting, i brought in stella with great effect. i made her go down on her knees on the big rock and look up at the window and say, 'princess stellamaris, i am a bad and wicked girl, and i am very sorry.' she looked so penitent, poor little kid, that i kissed her.”
-john laughed half contemptuously and then looked glum. “i can never get a word out of her.”
-“that's not her fault,” said herold. “she confuses you, in some way, with god. and if you stand over her like an early hebrew jah in his most direful aspect, you can't expect the poor child to chirrup like a grasshopper.”
-“i 'll be glad when i get her under my own control,” said john.
-and all this time, while she was being deified, stellamaris remained tranquilly unaware of the existence of her new devotee. the discipline of the house was so rigid that not a hint or whisper reached the sea-chamber. perhaps constable in his wistful, doggy way may have tried to convey unity's messages, but how can a whine and a shake of the head and a touch of the paw express such a terribly complicated thing as the love of one human being for another? if only unity had let the dandelion remain, or had slipped a note under his collar, constable would have done his best to please. at any rate, as the days went on, he showed himself more and more gracious to unity.
-now it happened one saturday morning that stellamaris was wearing a brand-new dressing-jacket. it was a wondrous affair of pale, shot silk that shimmered like mother-of-pearl, and it had frills and sleeves of filmy old buckingham lace. more than ever did she look like some rare and sweet sea-creature. the jacket had come home during the week, but though it had been the object of her feminine delight, she had reserved the great first wearing for saturday and the eyes of her great high belovedest. her chances for coquetry were few. she surveyed herself in a hand-mirror, and saw that she was fair.
-“constable,” she said, “if he does n't think it perfectly ravishingly beautiful, i shall die. you think it beautiful, don't you?”
-“down, constable!” she cried.
-he obeyed; but his claw caught in the lace, and away it ripped from the shoulder.
-“oh, darling, you 've ruined my beautiful jacket!”
-constable wagged his tail, and came up to be petted. a man would have confounded himself in apologies, and made matters worse. in such a circumstance the way of the dog may be recommended.
-stella rang the bell. the maid entered. her serene high-and-mightiness the nurse was summoned. dismay reigned in the sea-chamber. the dressing and undressing of stellamaris was a tragic matter.
-“if it 's not mended before mr. risca comes, my heart will break,” she said.
-the maid took the dressing-jacket and the torn lace down-stairs. inspecting them, she found the damage not irreparable. the rents might be temporarily concealed from the unseeing eyes of man. but it would take time. she was busy, in the midst of some work for her mistress. human nature asserting itself, she dratted constable. on her way to her room she glanced out of a window that overlooked the lawn. there, in the may sunshine, sat unity, hemming dusters. now, unity was made for higher things of the needle than dusters. she had a genius for needlework. the maid knew it. in a few moments, therefore, unity had exchanged the dull duster for the exquisite and thrilling garment, warm from the sweet body of the lady of mystery herself. the maid brought the necessary battery of implements with which such delicate repairs are executed, and left an enraptured orphan on a rustic bench.
-unity set to work. the mending of torn lace is a ticklish affair under the most prosaic of conditions: when goddesses and fairy-princesses and stellamarises are mixed up in it, the occupation absorbs mind and soul. unity's first awakening to the fact of an outside world was effected by a huge, grayish blue head thrust between her face and her needle. it was constable, who had been let loose for his morning frisk. she pushed him away. even the most majestic of great danes is moist about the jowl. suppose he dribbled on the sacred vesture! marrow-freezing possibility! she held his head at arm's length, and bade him begone. but constable broke through her puny restraint and sniffed at the dressing-jacket. he sniffed at it in so insistent and truculent a manner that unity grew frightened. she held the dressing-jacket high in the air.
-at last he butted a door open with his head, and vanished. unity followed blindly, and stood transfixed a yard or two beyond the threshold of the room.
-it was a vast chamber, apparently all window and blue sky, and on a bed by a window was a face framed in a mass of brown hair--the face of a girl with beautiful eyes that looked at you like stars. to unity it seemed two or three miles from where she stood to the bedside. constable was there already, and he had surrendered the jacket. his tail wagged slowly, and his head, with cocked ears, was on one side.
-“oh, constable, it 's very good of you, but now you've done for my jacket altogether! why will you try to be a lady's maid?”
-it was the most exquisite voice in the world. unity stood spellbound. she realized that she had unwittingly penetrated into the holy of holies. it was the princess herself.
-“who are you, my dear?” asked stellamaris.
-unity's heart was beating. her lips were dry; she licked them. she made the orphan's bob. something stuck in her throat. her head was in a whirl.
-“unity, m' lady,” she gasped.
-a peal of little golden bells seemed to dance from corner to corner of the vast room: it was stellamaris laughing.
-“i'm not 'my lady.' only aunt julia is 'my lady.' but i've never seen you before, dear. where do you come from?”
-unity pointed. “constable--the jacket--i was mending of it.”
-stellamaris at once appreciated the theatrical side of the situation. she gripped the great dane by the dewlap in her fragile fingers.
-“oh, you silly dear lord high constable! it 's his scent,” she explained. “anything he finds in the house that i've worn, he always brings me. susan has to lock her door against him. you were mending my lace?”
-“in the garden.”
-stella laughed again. “foolish constable, i can see it all. what did you say your name was, my dear?”
-“unity, m' lady.”
-“then come here, unity, and let us see whether constable has utterly ruined the jacket. i did so want to wear it this afternoon.”
-unity walked the two or three miles to the bedside, and took the jacket, and held it up for the inspection of four rueful eyes. there were great wet marks on it, of course, but these would dry. otherwise no damage was done, constable having carried it as tenderly as a retriever does a partridge.
-“how old are you, unity?” asked stella.
-“nearly sixteen, m' lady.”
-“so am i. but how clever you must be to mend this! now, when i try to sew, i make great big stitches that every one laughs at.” she examined the repairs that unity had already executed. “i don't know when i've seen such beautiful work.”
-unity's cheeks burned. her heart was full. she could utter no word of reply to such graciousness. tears started into her eyes. her nose began to water; she wiped it with the back of her hand.
-there was a swish of stiff skirts at the door. unity turned guiltily and beheld the nurse. then, losing her head, she grabbed the dressing-jacket and bolted like a frightened hare.
-“what was that child doing in your room, darling?”
-stellamaris explained more or less to the nurse's satisfaction.
-“but who is she?”
-faithful to the unwritten law, the nurse lied.
-“just a little girl from the village who has come in for the day to help with the sewing.”
-“i should like to see her again,” said stella.
-“i'm sorry you can't, darling.”
-“she is going to london for good this afternoon.”
-“i'm sorry,” said stella.
-and the word of the lie went forth, and to it were bound the entire household from sir oliver to the kitchen-maid and john and herold, when they arrived for the week-end. herold had no choice but the bondage, but he sighed. it would have been better, he said, to bind unity herself to silence. any fabric built of lies offended his fine sense. beauty was beauty, the highest good; but it must have truth as its foundation. beauty reared in falsehood was doomed to perish. the exquisiteness of the trianon ended in the tumbrils. the tuileries fell in the cataclysm of sedan. sometimes herold played cassandra, and on such occasions no one paid any attention to his prophecies. he was disregarded now. for the rest of her stay at the channel house, unity, as far as stella was concerned, had vanished into the unknown. no summons came to her from the sea-chamber; but she had met her goddess face to face for a few throbbing moments, and she fed on the blissful memory for many a long day afterwards.
-miss lindon moved her goods and chattels, together with dandy, dickie, and phoebe, into the little house at kilburn. john and unity followed with the furniture he had procured on the hire-purchase system for their respective rooms, and the curtain was rung up on the comic opera.
-herold had vainly tried to guide his friend in the matter of furnishing; but their ideas being in hopeless conflict, he had given up in despair. john, by way of proving how far superior his methods were to herold's, rushed into a vast emporium, selected the insides of two bedrooms and a library complete (as per advertisement), and the thing was done in a couple of minutes. he girded triumphantly at herold, who would have taken two years. miss lindon approved his choice, everything was so clean and shiny. she especially admired the library carpet (advertised as axminster), a square of amazing hues, mustard and green and magenta predominant, the ruins of an earthquake struck by lightning. it gave, she said, such brightness and colour to the room. to the bedrooms she herself added the finishing touch and proudly led john up-stairs to inspect them. he found his bed, wash-stand, toilet-table, and chairs swathed in muslin and pink ribbon. his heart sank. this was a mania. if she had owned a dromedary, she would have fitted it out with muslin and ribbon. he glanced apprehensively at the water-jug; that alone stood in its modest nudity. miss lindon beamed. was n't the room more homelike? he had not the heart to do otherwise than assent.
-“there 's one thing, my dear miss lindon, that john 's very particular about,” said herold, gravely, when he, in his turn, was shown over the premises, with pomp and circumstance; “you must n't put ribbons in his pyjamas.”
-unity, whose early-discovered gift of the needle was requisitioned for this household millinery, thought it all mighty fine. it had been impressed upon her that she was no longer a guest, as at southcliff, but an inmate of the house, with a definite position. she had passed from the legal guardianship of the sisters of saint martha to that of mr. risca. the house was her home, which she shared on equal terms with him and miss lindon. she was no longer to call them “sir” and “ma'am.” miss lindon took the child to her warm heart and became “aunt gladys.” she suggested the analogous title for her nephew; but he put his foot down firmly and declined to be called “uncle john.” he said it was farcical, subversive of the tragic dignity of the situation. she yielded complacently without in the least understanding what he meant.
-“but you must have some name, dear,” she pleaded. “suppose she found that the house was on fire: it might be burned to the ground before she could settle how to call you.”
-“oh, let her call me demosthenes,” he cried in desperation, taking up his pen,--he had been interrupted in the middle of an article,--“and also tell her, my dear aunt, that, fire or no fire, if she comes into this room while i 'm writing, i 'll make her drink the ink-pot.”
-it was eventually decided that to unity he should be “guardian.” the sacrosanctity of his library was also theoretically established. unity, accustomed to discipline, paid scrupulous observance to the taboo; but miss lindon could never understand it. she would tap very gently at john's door, sometimes three or four times before he heard. at his “come in,” she would enter, manipulating the door-knob so as to make no noise, and would creep on tiptoe across the resplendent carpet.
-“now, i'm not going to disturb you, dear. please go on writing. i only want to say that i'm ordering some tooth-stuff for unity, and i don't know whether to buy paste or powder.”
-“give her what you use yourself, my dear aunt.”
-then would follow a history of her dentist. such a gentlemanly man; in great trouble, too; he had just lost his fourth wife. john glared at his copy. “careless fellow!” he growled. many of his witticisms were at second hand.
-“indeed he's not. he's most careful, i assure you. i would recommend him to anybody.”
-and so forth and so forth, until john would rise and, taking her by her plump shoulders and luring her across the threshold, lock the door against her.
-“she will drive me into a mad-house,” he complained to herold. “i want to murder her and hug her at the same instant.”
-in its primitive essentials, however, the comic-opera life was not impossible to the man of few material demands: he slept in a comfortable bed, his bath was filled in the mornings, wholesome food, not too fantastic, was set before him. the austere and practical phoebe saw to these important matters. it was in the embroidery of life that the irresponsible grotesque entered. it took many weeks to persuade miss lindon that it was not her duty, if he was out of an evening, to wait up until his return. it was for her to look after his well-being. before going to bed he might want hot cocoa, or bread and milk, or a cheery chat. how could he, in loneliness, procure these comforts at three o'clock in the morning? it was no trouble at all to her to sit up, she pleaded. when dandy was ill, she had sat up whole nights together. john prayed to heaven to deliver him from illness. another feature of the masculine existence that passed her understanding was the systematic untidiness of the library. books, papers, pipes, pens, paper-clips, and what not seemed to have been poured out of a sack, and then kicked in detail to any chance part of the room. when she restored order out of chaos, and sat with a complacent smile amid her prim gimcrackeries, john would be dancing about in a foaming frenzy. where were his long envelopes? where had that dear magpie of a woman secreted them? her ingenuity in finding hiding-places amounted to genius. then in impatient wrath he would take out drawers and empty their contents on the floor until the missing objects came to light. miss lindon sighed when she tidied up after him, not at the work to do all over again, but at the baffling mystery of man.
-for a long time unity regarded the feckless lady with some suspicion, sniffed at her, so to speak, like a dog confronted with a strange order of being. for the first time in her young life she had met an elder in only nominal authority over her. of phoebe, stern and calvinistic, with soul-searching eye, who by some social topsyturvydom was put into subjection under her, she lived in mortal terror; but for “aunt gladys” she had a wondering contempt.
-“unity,” said miss lindon one morning, in the early days, “when you've finished writing your copy for your guardian, you had better learn a chapter. bring me your bible, and i 'll find one. in my time all young ladies learned chapters,”--so do orphans still in convents, until orphans hate chapters with bitter hatred; but this the good lady did not know,--“and then you might, like a dear girl, run off the hems of the new sheets on the sewing-machine.”
-“i dunno 'ow to work a sewing-machine.”
-“then tell phoebe to give you a lesson at once. it's a most useful accomplishment. you have such a tremendous lot to learn, my dear. there's the piano and french, and embroidery and drawing, and nowadays i suppose young ladies must learn politics. perhaps you had better begin. there 's a leading article on free trade--or the young turks, i forget which--in the 'daily telegraph.' i'm sure it must be very clever. you had better take away the paper and read it carefully,”--she handed the paper to the bewildered child,--“and when you 've read it, come and tell me all about it. it will save me the trouble of going through it, and so both of us will be benefited. and, unity dear,” she added as the girl was leaving the drawing-room, “it's such a beautiful day, so in an hour's time be ready to come out with me. we 'll take the omnibus to the marble arch and walk in the park.”
-unity went into the dining-room, where in working-hours she was supposed to have her being, and stared at her avalanche of duties: her copy and the one or two easy lessons set by john; the chapter of the bible; the instruction on the sewing-machine, involving the tackling of a busy and irritable phoebe; the long column of print in the newspaper; and the preparation of herself for walking abroad--all to be accomplished within the space of one hour. for the first time in her life she encountered orders which had not the doomful backing of the world authorities.
-the copy and the lessons for her guardian were, however, matters of high import. they filled her hour. at the end of it she put on her hat. a ride in an omnibus was still novelty enough to be a high adventure. on the way to the marble arch, miss lindon in her amiable way asked how she had spent her morning, and hoped that she had not been getting into mischief. of bible chapter, sewing-machine, or leader on free trade (or young turks) she appeared to have remembered nothing. the result of this flabbiness of command was lamentable. the next time miss lindon dismissed her to the execution of certain behests, unity, after closing the door behind her, stuck out her tongue. it was ungenteel, it was ungrateful, it was un-anything-you-like, but the act gave her a thrill of joy, a new sensation. it was the first definite assertion of her individuality. the red tongue thus vulgarly flaunted was a banner of revolt against the world authorities.
-it was a long time before she could accustom herself to taking her meals at the table with miss lindon and her guardian. such table manners as had been inculcated at the orphanage had been lost in smith street, and the chief point of orphanage etiquette was not to throw food about, a useless injunction, for obvious reasons. accordingly, despite her probationary period at the channel house, unity regarded the shining knives and forks and china and glass with malevolent dislike. the restrictions on so simple a matter as filling herself with nourishment were maddening in their complexity. why could n't she bite into her hunk of bread instead of breaking off a mouthful? why could n't she take up her fish in her fingers? why could n't she spit out bones without the futile intermediary of the fork? why could n't she wipe the gravy from her plate with soft crumb? why could n't she use her knife for the consumption of apple tart? and how difficult the art of mastication with closed lips! she did not revolt. she humbly tried to follow the never-ending instructions; but their multiplicity confused her, making her shy and painfully nervous. drink had a devilish habit of going the wrong way. it never went the wrong way with her two companions. unity wondered why.
-then at the table sat her guardian, gloomy, preoccupied, olympian in the eyes of the child; and aunt gladys, weaving corrections, polite instructions, reminiscences, and irrelevant information into an inextricable tangle of verbiage; while phoebe hovered about, fixing her always, no matter what she was doing, with a relentless, glassy eye which no solecism escaped.
-there were also a myriad other external matters which caused her great perplexity--the correct use of a handkerchief (one's sleeve was so much handier when one's nose watered), a tooth-brush, nail-scissors. the last she could not understand. why, then, did god give people teeth to bite with? the question of speech presented extraordinary difficulties. it was months before her ear could even distinguish between o and aow, between a and i, between ou and ah; and the mysteries of the aspirate became a terror. she grew afraid to speak. thus her progress in the graces of polite society was but slow.
-john, not fired by enthusiasm, but intent on working out his scheme of indemnification, gave up an hour or so a day to her mental culture. he was not an unskilful teacher, but her undeveloped mind had to begin at the beginning of things. she learned painfully. the great world had revealed itself to her with blinding suddenness. for months she was simply stupid.
-“how are things shaping?” asked herold one day. he had been lunching at kilburn, and unity, feeling, that she was expected to be on her very best behaviour before him, had been more than usually awkward and ungenteel. this time a fish-bone had stuck in her throat.
-john frowned. “you saw. shapelessly. it's hopeless.”
-“you 're absolutely wrong,” said herold. “there are vast possibilities in unity.”
-“not one,” said john.
-“are you trying the right way? do you remember what the old don said when he came across two undergraduates vainly persuading the college tortoise to eat lettuce: 'gentlemen, are you quite sure you are trying at the right end?' ”
-“what do you mean?”
-“can't you try by the way of the heart?”
-“quite so,” said herold. “but all that's negative. why can't you try something positive? give unity love, and you 'll be astonished at the result.”
-“love,” said john, impatiently. “you 're a sentimentalist.”
-john, who had bent heavy brows upon him during this harangue, took his pipe from his mouth.
-“it's you who are feeding the tortoise at the wrong end,” he said unhumorously. “this is not a matter of sentiment, but of duty. i do my best to be good to the child. i 'll do the utmost i can to make reparation for what she has suffered. but as for loving her--i suppose you know what love means? as for loving this poor little slut, with her arrested development and with the torture the sight of her means to me, why, my good man, you 're talking monkey gibberish!”
-herold lit a cigarette with nervous fingers. the animation in his thin, sensitive face had not yet died away.
-“i'm not talking gibberish,” he replied; “i'm talking sense.”
-“pooh!”--or something like it--said john.
-“well, super-sense, then,” cried herold, who did not quite know what he meant, but felt certain that for the instant the term would floor his adversary. “and you 're as blind as an owl. deep down in that poor little slut is a spark of the divine fire--love in its purest, the transcendental flame. i know it 's there. i know it as a water-finder knows there's water when the twig bends in his hands. get at it. find it. fan it into a blaze. you 'll never regret it all your life long.”
-john's frown deepened. “if you 're suggesting the usual asinine romance, walter, between ward and guardian--”
-herold caught up his hat.
-“of all the dunderheaded asses! you ought to be ashamed of yourself. i can't talk to you.”
-and in a very rare fury he sped from the house, slamming doors after him, leaving john foolishly frowning in the middle of the violent axminster carpet.
-unity, for all her fingers' nimbleness with needle and thread, was clumsy with her hands. glasses, bowls, vases, whatever she touched, seemed to be possessed by an imp of spontaneous disruption. hitherto her code of morals with regard to breakage had been, first, to hide the pieces; secondly, to deny guilt if questioned; thirdly, if found out, to accept punishment with sullen apathy: for chastisement had followed discovered breakage as inevitably as the night the day. accordingly when she broke a bowl of gold-fish in the drawing-room, she obeyed ingrained tradition. she threw the fish out of the window, mopped up the water, put a hassock on the wet patch on the carpet, and threw the shards of the bowl into the dust-bin. miss lindon, entering soon afterward, missed her gold-fish, bought only a few days before from an itinerant vendor. unity disclaimed knowledge of their whereabouts. phoebe, being summoned, took the parts of principal witness, counsel for the prosecution, judge, and jury all in one. unity stood convicted. the maid was sent back to her work. “now,” thought unity, “i'm going to catch it,” and she stood with her eyes on the floor, stubbornly awaiting the decree of doom. an unaccustomed sound met her ear, and looking up, she beheld the gentle lady weeping bitterly.
-“i should n't have minded your breaking the bowl, though i should like to know what has become of the poor little fishes,--they must be real fish out of water, poor dears! and one of them i called jacky was just beginning to know me,--but why did you tell me a story about it?”
-unity, not having the wit to retort truthfully that it seemed the natural thing to do, maintained a stolid silence.
-miss lindon, profoundly upset by this depravity, read her a moral lecture on the sin of lying, in which she quoted the book of revelation, related the story of george washington and an irrelevant episode in her far-away childhood, and finally asserting that john would be furiously angry if he heard of her naughtiness, bade her go and find the gold-fish, which must be panting their little hearts out. and that was the last unity heard of the matter. she thought aunt gladys a fool. thenceforward she felt cynically indifferent toward accidental breakages of aunt gladys's property.
-but one day during john's absence she upset a dresden china shepherd,--such a brave, saucy shepherd,--that stood on his writing-desk, and, to her dismay, the head rolled apart from the body. it was one of his few dainty possessions. she knew that he set an incomprehensible value on the thing. even aunt gladys touched it with extraordinary reverence. she turned white with fear. her guardian was a far different being from aunt gladys. his wrath would be terrible. herold was not far wrong in likening john risca, as conceived by the child, to a hebraic jehovah. his dread majesty overwhelmed her, and she had not the courage to face his anger. with trembling fingers she stood the poor decapitated shepherd on his feet and delicately poised the head on the broken neck. she gazed at him for a moment, his sauciness and bravery apparently unaffected by the accident, and then she fled, and endured hours of misery.
-the inevitable came to pass, john discovered the breakage, instituted an elementary court of inquiry, and summoned the delinquent into his presence.
-“did you break this, unity?”
-“no,” said unity.
-the lie irritated him. he raised his fist in a denunciatory gesture. with a cry of terror, like a snared rabbit's, she clapped her hands to her face and shrank, cowering, to the farther corner of the room.
-“my god!” cried john, aghast at the realization of what had happened. “did you think i was going to hit you?”
-he stood staring at the little, undeveloped, rawboned, quivering creature. her assumption of his right to strike her, of his capability of striking her, of the certainty that he would strike her, held him in amazed horror. the phantasmagorical to him was the normal to her. he had to wait a few moments before recovering command of his faculties. then he went up to her.
-“unity, my dear--”
-he put his arm about her, led her to his writing-chair, and kept his arm round her when he sat down.
-“there, there, my child,” said he, clutching at her side nervously in his great grasp, “you misunderstood entirely.” in his own horrified dismay he had forgotten for the moment her wickedness. he could find no words save incoherences of reassurance. she made no response, but kept her hands before her face, her finger-tips pressed with little livid edges of flesh into her forehead. and thus for a long while they remained.
-“i was n't going to punish you for breaking the figure,” he explained at last. “you did n't do it on purpose, did you?”
-she shook her head.
-“what made me angry was your telling me a lie; but i never dreamed of hurting you. i would sooner kill myself than hurt you,” he said, with a shudder. then, with an intuition that came from the high gods, he added, “i would just as soon think of hurting miss stella, who gave me the little shepherd you broke.”
-to john's amazement,--for what does a man know of female orphans, or of female anything, for the matter of that?--unity tore herself away from him and, falling in a poor little lump on the floor, burst into a wild passion of tears and sobs. john, not knowing what else to do, stooped down and patted her shoulders in an aimless way. then with a vague consciousness that she were best alone, he went softly out of the room.
-it was thus that, in the unwonted guise of ministering spirits, shame and remorse came to unity blake.
-she had broken a sacred idol. he had not been angry. she had told a lie, and instead of punishing her,--of his horror-stricken motives she had no idea,--he had held her tight in kind arms and spoken softly. he had not actually wept, but he had been sorry at her lie, even as aunt gladys had been. now he, being what to her mind was a kind of fusion of jah and zeus and odin,--three single deities rolled into one,--was not a fool. dimly through the mists of her soul dawned the logical conclusion: perhaps aunt gladys, in her sorrowful and non-avenging attitude towards her mendacities and other turpitudes, was not a fool either.
-the bewildering truth also presented itself that lies, being unnecessary as a means of self-protection, were contemptible. in the same way she realized that if folks had no intention of punishing her for destroying their valuable property, even sacred gifts of fairy-princesses, but, instead, smiled on her their sweet forgiveness, they must have in them something of the divine which had hitherto been obscured from her vision. she had proved to herself that they could not be fools; rather, then, they were angels. they certainly could not enjoy the destruction of their belongings; therefore her clumsiness must cause them pain. now, why should she inflict pain on people who were doing their utmost to make her happy? why?
-she began to ask herself questions; and when once an awakening human soul begins to do that, it goes on indefinitely. some of the simplest ones she propounded to miss lindon, who returned answers simple in essence, though perhaps complex in expression; some her growing experience of life enabled her to answer for herself; some of the more difficult she reserved for her rare talks with herold. but although the awfulness of john's majesty was mitigated by the investiture of an archangel's iridescent and merciful wings, she could never go to him with her problems. never again since that memorable occasion did he put his arm around her; he held her gently aloof as before. but he had put his arm around her once, and the child's humility dared not hope for more.
-thus in a series of shocks, bewildering flashes of truth, followed by dark spaces of ignorance, was unity's development initiated, and, indeed, continued. her nature, deadened by the chill years, was not responsive to the little daily influences by which character is generally moulded. only the great things, trivial in themselves, but great in her little life--for to an ant-hill the probing of a child's stick means earthquake, convulsion, and judgment-day cataclysm--only the great things, definite and arresting, produced perceptible change. but they left their mark. she was too dull to learn much in the ordinary routine of lessons; but once a fact or an idea could be made to appeal to her emotions or her imagination, it was there for all time. not all the pains and teaching of her two protectors, for instance, could alter one inflection of her harsh cockney twang.
-but one day after luncheon, herold being present, miss lindon ordered her to recite “the wreck of the hesperus,” which artless poem she had learned unintelligently by heart, at miss lindon's suggestion, in order to give pleasure to her guardian. to give him pleasure she would have learned pages of the army list or worn tin tacks in her boots. after a month's vast labour she had accomplished the prodigious task.
-very shy, she repeated the poem in the child's singsong, and ended up on the “reef of norman's waow”.
-john, not having been made a party to the “surprise” eagerly contrived by miss lindon, nodded, said it was very good, and commended unity for a good girl. herold kicked him surreptitiously, and applauded with much vigour.
-“by jove!” said he, impelled by queer instinct, “i used to know that. i wonder if i could recite it, too.”
-he rose and began; and as he continued, his wonderful art held the child spell-bound. the meaningless words resolved themselves into symbols of vast significance. she saw the little daughter, her cheeks like the dawn of day, a vision of stellamaris, and felt the moonless dark of the stormy night and the hissing snow and the stinging blast, and she shivered at the awful sight of the skipper frozen at the wheel, and a hush fell upon her soul as the maiden prayed, and the tears fell fast from her eyes as the picture of the fisherman finding the maiden fair lashed to the drifting mast was flashed before her by the actor's magic.
-“now, unity dear, don't you wish you could say it like that?” aunt gladys remarked.
-unity, scarcely hearing, made perfunctory answer; but as soon as she could, she fled to her bedroom, her ears reverberating with the echoes of the beautiful voice, and her soul shaken with the poignant drama, and crudely copying herold's gestures and intonations, recited the poem over and over again.
-the result of this was not a sudden passion for romance or histrionics, but it was remarkable enough. it awoke her sense of vowel sounds and aspirates. henceforward she discriminated between “lady” and “lidy,” between “no” and “naow,” and although she never acquired a pure accent, her organs of speech refusing to obey her will, she was acutely aware of the wrong sounds that escaped from her lips.
-as with this, so with other stages of development, both in things external and things spiritual. scales had to be torn from her eyes before she saw; then she saw with piercing vision. plugs had to be wrenched from her ears before she heard; then she heard the horns of elfland. her heart had to be plucked from her bosom before she felt; then her whole being quivered with an undying emotion.
-so the weeks and the months passed and grew into years, and miss lindon said that she was a well-behaved and christian child, and that it was a pity she was so plain; and risca, forgetful, after a while, of her agony of tears and of herold's angry diagnosis, retained his opinion that she was just dull and stupid, though well-meaning, and, having his head full of other things, took her at last for granted, together with his aunt gladys, as a normal feature in his sometimes irritating, though on the whole exceedingly comfortable, comic-opera household.
-one evening by the last post john received a letter bearing the prison stamp and addressed to him under the care of the firm of solicitors who had defended his wife. it ran:
-i am coming out on wednesday, the thirteenth. i suppose i shall have somewhere to go to and not be expected to walk the streets. louisa anne risca.
-that was all--neither ave nor vale. it was the only letter she had written. she knew well enough that the house in smith street was being maintained and that her allowance would be resumed as soon as she regained her freedom, having been so informed by the solicitors, on john's instructions; but a reference to this explicit statement would have discounted the snarl. prison had not chastened her.
-john sat back in his writing-chair, the ignoble letter in front of him. he made a rapid calculation of dates. it was two years and three months since the trial. she had worked out three fourths of her sentence, the remaining fourth evidently having been remitted on account of good conduct, in the ordinary course. two years and three months! he had scarcely realized the swift flight of time. of late his life had been easier. distracted london had forgotten the past. he had sought and found, at his club, the society of his fellow-men. his printed name no longer struck horror into a reader's soul. at times he himself almost forgot. the woman had faded into a shadow in some land beyond the tomb. but now, a new and grim alcestis, she had come back to upper earth. there was nothing trans-stygian about the two or three cutting lines. she was alive, luridly alive, and on wednesday, the thirteenth, she would be free, a force let loose, for good or evil, in the pleasant places of the world. at the prospect of the prison doors closing behind her, however, he felt great relief. at any rate, that horror would soon be over and done with. the future must take care of itself.
-presently he wrote:
-i am unfeignedly thankful to hear your news. i shall be waiting for you at the gate on the morning of the thirteenth and shall take you to smith street, which you will find quite ready to receive you.
-then he went out and posted the letter.
-“i 'm glad you 're going to meet her yourself instead of sending a solicitor's clerk,” said herold, when they discussed the matter next day.
-“i'm not one to shirk disagreeable things,” replied john.
-“it may touch some human chord in her.”
-“i never thought of that,” said john.
-“well, think of it. think of it as much as you can.”
-“'you may as well use question with the wolf,'” growled john.
-“i don't believe it,” said herold. “anyhow, try kindness.”
-“of course i 'm going to do so,” said john, with the impatience he usually manifested when accepting a new point of view from herold. “you don't suppose i'm going to stand outside with a club!”
-on the appointed day he waited, with a four-wheeled cab, by the prison gate. the early morning sunshine of midsummer flooded the world with pale glory, its magic even softening the grim, forbidding walls. a light southwest wind brought the pure scents of the down from many a sleeping garden and woodland far away. the quiet earth sang its innocence, for wickedness was not yet abroad to scream down the song. even john risca, anti-sentimentalist, was stirred. what sweeter welcome, what gladder message of hope, could greet one issuing into the upper air from the gloomy depths of hades? how could such a one help catching at her breath for joy?
-the gate swung open, casting a shadow in the small yard beyond, and in the middle of the shadow a black, unjoyous figure stood for a moment irresolute. then she slowly came out into sunshine and freedom. she was ashen-coloured, thin-lipped, and not a gleam of pleasure lit her eyes as they rested with hard remorselessness on the man who advanced with outstretched hand to meet her. of the hand she took no notice.
-“is this my cab?”
-“yes,” said john.
-she entered. he followed, giving the address to the driver. she sat looking neither to left nor right, staring stubbornly in front of her. the sunshine and the scent of summer gardens far away failed to bring their message. though it was high summer, she wore the heavy coat which she had worn in the wintry weather at the time of her trial.
-“i am very glad indeed to see you, louisa,” said john. “'unfeignedly thankful!'” she chewed the literary phrase and spat it out venomously. “you--liar!”
-john winced at the abominable word; but he spoke softly.
-“you can't suppose it has been happiness for me to think of you in there.”
-“what does it matter to me? what the hell are you to me, anyhow?”
-“i 'm your husband in the eyes of the law,” said john, “and i once cared for you.”
-“oh, stow that!”
-“i will. but i want you to believe that i am utterly thankful that this--this unhappy chapter is closed--”
-she interrupted him with a swift and vicious glance.
-“'unhappy chapter!' get off it! you make me sick. talk english, if you must talk.”
-“very well,” said he. “i 'm glad my legal wife is not in gaol. i want her to believe that i 'll do my best to forget it; also, that, as far as my means allow, she will have comfort and opportunity to try to forget it, too.”
-not a muscle of her drawn face relaxed.
-“i'm not going to have you or any one else fooling round where i live,” she said. “i'm not going to be preached to or converted. i 've had enough of it where i've come from. as for you, i hate you. i've always hated you, and if you have any decency, you 'll never let me see your face again.”
-“i won't,” said john, shortly, and with this the edifying conversation came to an end.
-the cab lumbered through the sunny thoroughfares of the great city, now busy with folks afoot, in trams and omnibuses, going forth to their labour; and john, looking out of the window, fancied they were all touched by the glamour of the summer morning. every human soul save the woman beside him seemed glad to be alive. she sat rigid, apart from him--as physically apart as the seat would allow, and apart from the whole smiling world. she had her being in terrible isolation, hate incarnate. when by any chance their eyes happened to meet, he turned his aside swiftly and shivered with unconquerable repulsion.
-when the cab drew up at the house in smith street, the door was opened, and a pleasant-faced woman and a man stood smiling in the passage. mrs. risca brushed past them into the dining-room, bright with daintily laid breakfast table and many flowers. the latter, john, at herold's suggestion, had sent in the evening before.
-“you see,” said john, entering, “we 've tried to prepare for you.”
-she deigned no glance, but slammed the door.
-“who are those people?”
-“a married couple whom i have engaged to live here. the woman, mrs. bence, will do for you. the man goes out to his work during the day.”
-“warder and wardress, eh? they can jolly well clear out. i'm not going to have 'em.”
-then john's patience broke. he brought his fist down on the table with a crash.
-“by heavens,” he cried, “you shall have whomever i put here. you 've behaved yourself for two years, and you 're going on behaving yourself.” he flung open the door. “mrs. bence, help mrs. risca off with her coat and bring in her breakfast.”
-cowed, she submitted with malevolent meekness. prison discipline does not foster the heroic qualities. mrs. bence took hat and coat and disappeared.
-“sit down at the table.”
-she obeyed. he laid some money beside her.
-“this is your allowance. on the thirteenth of every month you will receive the same amount from my bankers. if you prefer, after a time, to live in the country, we may be able to arrange it. in the meanwhile you must stay here.”
-she neither touched the coins nor thanked him. there was a silence hard and deadly. john stood in the sunshine of the window, bending on her his heavy brows. now and then she glanced at him furtively from beneath lowered eyelids, like a beast subdued, but not tamed. a dominant will was all that could control her now. he thanked an unusually helpful providence that had sent him the bences in the very nick of his emergency. before marriage, mrs. bence had been under-attendant at a county lunatic asylum, and john had heard of her through wybrow, the medical superintendent, a club friend, who had helped him before when the defense had set up the plea of insanity, and whom, with an idea of trained service in his head, he had again consulted. no more torturing of unitys, if he could help it. wybrow spoke highly of mrs. bence and deplored the ruin of a great career as a controller of she-devils; but as a cat will after kind, so must she after an honest but impecunious plumber. john had sought her and come to terms at once. for once in their courses, he thought grimly, the stars were not fighting against him. he had not told herold of this arrangement. herold had counselled kindness. the flowers, for instance, would be sure to make their innocent appeal. tears could not fail to fill her eyes. tears of sentiment in those eyes! little herold knew of the world of realities with which he was at death-grips.
-presently mrs. bence came in with coffee, hot rolls, a dish of bacon and eggs. the fragrant smell awakened the animal instinct of the woman at the table. she raised her head and followed the descent of dish and plate. then a queer noise broke from her throat, and she fell upon the food. john left her.
-mrs. bence followed him into the passage and opened the front door.
-“i've been used to it, sir.”
-“she must never guess that,” said he.
-he walked homeward through the parks, breathing in great gulps of the sweet morning air. he felt that he had been in contact with something unclean. not only his soul, but his very body, craved purification. in the woman he had left he had found no remorse, no repentance, no sensibility to any human touch. prison had broken her courage; but in its sunless atmosphere of the underground, all the fungoid growths of her nature had flourished in mildewed exuberance. he shuddered at the thought of her, a poisonous thing, loathsome in its abnormality. as some women dwell in an aura of sweet graciousness, so dwelt she in mephitic fumes of devildom. implacable hatred, deadly venom, relentless vengeance, were the constituents of her soul. relentless vengeance--he sat for a moment on a bench in hyde park, feeling chilled to the bone, although the perspiration beaded on his forehead. she would not strike him, of that he was oddly assured. her way would be to strike at him through those near and dear to him. in the full sunshine of gay midsummer, with the trees waving their green and lusty bravery over his head, and the flower-beds rioting in the joy of the morning, he was shaken by an unreasoning nightmare terror. he saw the woman creep with snaky movements into the sea-chamber at southcliff, and a pair of starry eyes become wells of awful horror as the murderous thing approached the bed. and he was held rigid by dream paralysis.
-after a second or two--it had seemed many minutes of agony--he sprang to his feet with what he thought was a great cry, and looked dazedly about him. a nurse-maid, undistracted from her novelette, and wheeling a perambulator in which reposed an indifferent infant, passed him by. he shook himself like a great, rough dog, and went his way, ashamed of his fears. it was a practical world, he told himself, and he was a match for any mad-woman.
-unity was watering flowers in the tiny patch of front garden where he swung through the iron gate. she had grown a little during the last two years, but still was undeveloped; a healthier colour had come into her cheeks and a more confident expression into her common, snub-nosed face. her movements were less awkward, and as she was eighteen, she wore her hair done up with a comb and the long skirts appropriate to her age.
-she set down her watering-pot and stood at a kind of absurd attention, her usual attitude in the presence of john.
-“please, guardian,” she said,--she could never rid herself of the school-child's exordium,--“have you had your breakfast?”
-“no,” said john, realizing for the first time that emptiness of stomach may have had something to do with his momentary faintness in the park.
-“aunt gladys has been in such a state,” said unity. “she has made phoebe cook three breakfasts already, and each has been spoiled by being kept in the oven, and i think now she is cooking the fourth.”
-in this announcement rang none of the mischievous mirth of eighteen over an elder's harmless foibles. humour, which had undoubtedly presided at her birth, for like many another glory-trailing babe, she had crowed with glee at the haphazard coupling of which she was the result, had fled for good from her environment ever since the day when, at a very tender age, she had seen her mother knocked insensible by a drunken husband and had screamed single-mindedly for unobtainable nourishment. she had no sense of glorious futility, of the incongruous relativity of facts. each fact was absolute. three breakfasts had been cooked and spoiled. the fourth was in the cooking. she narrated simply what had taken place.
-“run and tell phoebe i'm hungry enough to eat all four,” said john.
-they entered the house. unity hurried off on her errand. the meal was soon served. miss lindon, with many inquiries as to the reason for his early start, which he answered with gruff evasiveness, hovered about him as he ate, watching him in loving wonder. his big frame needed much nourishment, and now sheer hunger was being satisfied. to her acquaintance she spoke of his appetite with as much pride as of his literary achievements. it was unity, however, who took charge of the practical service, removed his plates and poured out his tea, silent, submissive, and yet with a subtle air of protection. there were certain offices she would not allow aunt gladys or even phoebe to perform for her guardian. she was jealous, for instance, like a dog, of any one touching the master's clothes. this morning, when miss lindon absent-mindedly grasped the handle of the teapot, the faintest gleam of anger appeared in her eyes, and her lips grew instinctively tense, and with a quick, authoritative gesture she unloosed the fat, helpless fingers and took possession of the sacred vessel. john liked her to wait upon him. she was deft and noiseless; she anticipated his wants in an odd, instinctive way and seldom made suggestions. now, of suggestions his aunt was a living fount. they poured from her all day long. he had a vague consciousness that unity, by tactful interposition, dammed the flood, so that he could go on his way undrenched. for this he felt grateful, especially this morning when his nerves were on edge. yet this morning he felt grateful also to miss lindon, and suffered her disconnected ministrations kindly. to-day the queer home that he had made assumed a new significance.
-when miss lindon fluttered out of the room, bound on a suddenly remembered duty--fresh groundsel for dickie--john looked up from the newspaper which unity had silently folded and laid beside him.
-“come here, my child,” he said, after a few moments' thought.
-she approached and stood dutifully by his chair.
-“unity, i don't think it right for you to remain in ignorance of something that has happened. i don't see how it can really affect you, but it 's better that you should learn it from me than from anybody else. do you remember--” he paused--“that woman?”
-it was the first reference he had ever made to her. unity drew a quick, sharp breath.
-“she was let out of prison this morning.”
-she kept her eyes full on him, and for a while neither spoke.
-“i don't care,” she said at last.
-“i thought it might cause you some anxiety.”
-“what have i to be afraid of when i've got you?” she asked simply.
-john twisted round in his chair and reached out his hand--a rare demonstration of affection--and took hers.
-“it's to assure you, my dear, that you've nothing to fear that i 've told you.”
-“she can't hurt me,” said unity.
-“by heaven, she sha'n't!” he cried, unconsciously wrenching her arm so that he caused her considerable pain, which she bore without the flicker of an eyelid. “you 're a fine, brave girl, unity, and i'm proud of you. and you 're a good girl, too. i hope you 're happy here; are you?”
-“happy?” her voice quavered on the word. her mouth twitched, and the tears started from her eyes. he smiled on her, one of his rare smiles, known to few besides stellamaris, which lit up his heavy features, and revealed a guardian far different from the inaccessible olympian.
-“yes, my dear, i hope so. i want you to be happy all your life long.”
-she uttered a little sobbing laugh and fell crouching to his feet, still clinging to his hand, which she rubbed against her cheek. how could she tell him otherwise?
-“i think you are,” said john.
-“i 've just remembered i put the groundsel--” began miss lindon, coming into the room. then she stopped, petrified at the unusual spectacle.
-john laughed rather foolishly, and unity, flushing scarlet, rushed out.
-“i was only asking her whether we were treating her nicely,” said john, rising and stretching his loose limbs.
-“what a question to ask the child!”
-“well, she answered it like that, you see,” said john.
-“but what a way to answer a simple question! she forgets sometimes that she is a young lady of eighteen, an age when manners ought to be formed. but manners,” she continued, hunting about the room, “are not what they were when i was young. i declare, i sometimes see young women in the streets with woollen caps and hockey-sticks--”
-john took a salad-bowl from the mantelpiece. “is that dickie's groundsel?”
-“oh, how clever of you! where did you find it? dickie has been so angry. he's just like a man when his dinner's late. i don't mean you. you 're a perfect saint, dear.”
-“which reminds me,” said john, with a laugh, “that i've mislaid my halo and i must go and find it.”
-with an exultant sense of comfort he went into his library. the women-folk of his household had never before seemed so near to him, so dependent on him, such organic factors of his life. he stood for a long time on his hearth-rug, scowling terribly, with the air of a wild beast standing at the entrance to its lair in defiant defence of the female and whelps within.
-john risca, at thirty-four, with a ward of twenty, and with the normal hope of a man's life withered at the root, regarded himself as an elderly man. he looked older than his years. ragged streaks of gray appeared in his black hair, and the lines deepened on his heavy brow. there are some men who, no matter what their circumstances may be, never take themselves happily. to do so is a gift; and it was denied to john risca.
-two years had passed since his wife's release. during the years of their separation before her imprisonment, she had counted for little in his thoughts save as a gate barring the way to happiness. she had never molested him, never stood in the way of his ordinary life. in her prison she had begun by being a horror haunting his dreams; gradually she had dwindled into a kind of paralyzed force, had faded into a shadow incapable of action. but since her return to the living world he had felt her hatred as an influence, vague, but active, let loose upon the earth. he dreaded contact with her, however indirect, and through whatever agency; but contact was inevitable. whereas formerly she had been content to live according to the terms of their agreement on separation, now she made demands. one of them, however, he considered reasonable. in smith street, the scene of her misdeeds, she led the life of a pariah dog. she was friendless. her own relatives had cast her off.
-the tradespeople round about supplied her reluctantly with necessaries and refused to exchange words with her when she entered their shops. children hooted her in the streets. john, foreseeing unpleasantness, had offered to find her a home in the country. but this, being town-bred, she had declined. let her change her name, she urged, and seek other london quarters. he agreed. she adopted the name of rawlings and moved to a flat off the fulham road. to the suggestion of a different part of london altogether she turned a deaf ear. she had lived in that neighbourhood all her days and would feel lost elsewhere. the common londoner has almost the local instinct of a villager. she would also, she said, be near her mother, who still let lodgings in brompton.
-“if your mother refuses to see you,” said john, when they were discussing the matter, “i see no reason for your being near her.”
-she counselled him, in her vernacular, to mind his own business.
-“so long as i don't come and live next to you, what have you got to do with it?”
-“i certainly am not called upon to protect your mother,” said he. he smiled grimly, remembering the hard-bitten veteran of a thousand fights with impecunious and recalcitrant lodgers. she could very well look after herself.
-the bences, much against her will, though she dared not openly rebel, accompanied her to the flat. her installation was expensive. he paid readily enough. but then came demands for money, insidious enough at first for his compliance, then monstrous, vindictive. she incurred reckless debts; not those of a woman who desires to make a show in the world by covering herself with costly dresses and furs and jewels or by dashing about in expensive equipages.
-that side of life was unfamiliar to her, and class instinct quenched the imagination to crave it. she had been bred to regard cabs as luxuries of the idle rich, and it never occurred to her to travel in london otherwise than by omnibus or rail. her wilful extravagance was of a different nature. she ran up bills with the petty tradesmen of the neighbourhood for articles for which she had no use; for flowers which she deliberately threw into the dust-bin; for ready-made raiment which she never wore,--jackets at three pounds, ten and six, and hats at ten shillings,--cheap jewelry, watches, and trinkets which she stored away in boxes. there was a gaudy set of furniture with which she bought a kind of reconciliation with her mother. when county-court summonses came in, she demanded money from john. when he refused, she posted him the summonses.
-meanwhile he found that she had struck up acquaintance with some helter-skelter, though respectable, folks in the flat below. the discovery pleased him. it is good for no human being, virtuous or depraved, to sit from month's end to month's end in stark loneliness. she forced him to the threat of revealing her identity to her new friends if she did not mend her ways. she mended them; but he felt his hands soiled by the ignoble weapons with which he had to fight.
-after that she was quiet for months. then one rainy afternoon, as he was walking downward with bent head, he ran into her in maida vale, the broad thoroughfare that merges into kilburn. she started back with a quick gasp of fear.
-“what are you doing in this part of london?” he asked angrily.
-she plucked up courage. “i'm free to walk where i like, and just you jolly well don't try to stop me.”'
-“you were going to my house.”
-“i was n't. but supposing i was. what have you got to hide from me? my successor? some little tuppenny-ha'penny piece of damaged goods you 've picked up cheap? think i want to see her? what do you suppose i care? just let me pass.”
-he thrust aside the wet umbrella which she pushed rudely into his face.
-“first tell me what you are doing here. fulham people don't come to maida vale just to take a walk in the rain.”
-“i was going to see some friends,” she replied sulkily.
-a motor-omnibus came surging down toward them. at his hail it stopped.
-“get into that at once, or it will be the worse for you.”
-he took her arm in his powerful grip and dragged her to the curb.
-“you bullying brute!” she hissed through her thin lips.
-but she entered the 'bus. john watched it until it whizzed into space, and then retracing his steps, he went home and mounted guard by the window of his aunt's gimcrack drawing-room, to the huge delight of its unsuspecting mistress. but his wife did not double back, as he anticipated; nor did he see her again in the neighbourhood.
-thenceforward, save for irritating pin-pricks reminding him of her existence, such as futile revolts against the supervision of the bences and occasional demands for money, she ceased to worry him. but since the day when he caught her about to spy on his home-life, her shadow, like that of some obscene bird, hovered over him perpetually. what she had tried to do then she might have already done, she might do in the future. the horrible sense of insecurity oppressed him: it is that which ages a man who cannot take himself happily.
-otherwise the two years had passed with no great stir. the recurrence of seasons alone surprised him now and then into a realization of the flight of time. he had succeeded to the editorship of the weekly review of which he had been assistant editor; he had published a little book on the “casual ward of workhouses,” a despised hash of journalistic articles which had brought him considerable recognition; leader writers had quoted him flatteringly, and his publishers clamoured for another book on a cognate subject; the president of the local government board had invited him to a discussion of the matter, with a view to possible legislation; honours fell thick upon him; but, if it had been a shower of frogs, his disgust could not have been greater. for about the same time he had published a chunky, doughy novel destined to set the world aflame, which sold about a couple of hundred copies. he had cursed all things cursable and uncursable without in any way affecting the heartless rhythm of life. the world went on serenely, and in his glum fashion he found himself going on with the world.
-unity mended his socks and poured out his tea day after day, unchanging in her dull and common scragginess. neither fine clothes, nor jewels, nor aunt gladys's maxims could turn her into a young lady. miss lindon sighed, unity's inability to purr genteelly at tea-parties, the breath of female autumn's being, was the main sorrow in the mild lady's heart. she used to dream of the swelling pride with which she might have listened to unity playing the “liederohne worte” or stephen heller or “the brook” (such a pretty piece!), before the ladies purring on the gim-crack chairs. but the dream was poignantly vain. she had striven with vast goodness to teach unity to play the piano, and the girl had honestly tried to learn; but as her brain could not master the mystery of the various keys, and as her ear was not acute enough to enable her to sing “sun of my soul, thou saviour dear,” in tune, the study of music had to be struck out of her curriculum. and she could not talk to the faded gentlewomen who came to the house, and to whose houses miss lindon took her. the ordeal always made her perspire, and little beads settled on her snub nose, and she knew it was not ladylike. such a thing, said miss lindon, ought never to happen. but it did, in defiance of all the laws of gentility. so miss lindon sighed. but none of these things wrecked the peace of the home. uneventful serenity reigned in the little house at kilburn.
-walter herold went on playing his exquisite miniatures of parts, and, in theatrical terminology, he became very expensive, and prospered exceedingly in his profession; his relations with john remained unaltered; miss lindon loved him, first because he was john's intimate, secondly (and here was a reason which she did not avow) because he had the gift of making her feel that, despite seven and fifty years of spinsterhood, she was still the most fascinating of her sex, and thirdly because he reminded her of poor captain featherstone, killed in the zulu war, who was such a very clever amateur conjurer, and could act charades in a way that would make you die of laughing. and unity came to him with her problems; and, as they both loved john risca and stellamaris, of whom (a thing undreamed of by john, for he rarely mentioned the fairy princess's name to unity) they talked inordinately, the bond between them was strengthened by links ever freshly forged. and finally, in the sea-chamber at southcliff, herold maintained his rank of great high favourite, and companioned his august mistress on her fairy vagabondage along the roads that led no whither in the land that never was.
-and stellamaris herself? she was twenty. john, still great high belovedest, still finding his perfect rest from care, his enchanted haven, in the great, wide-windowed room looking out to sea, wondered at the commonplace fact. not long ago, it seemed to him, she had been but the fragile wraith of a child, with arms that you might pass through a signet-ring, and hands no bigger than an acacia-leaf. he had sat but yesterday full on the bed, without danger to the tiny feet which were far away from him. and now the little child had passed into the woman. thanks to devotion, the world's learning, the resources of the civilized earth, the life-giving air of the sea, her malady had scarcely interfered with bodily growth. and the child's beauty had not been fleeting. it had remained, and matured into that of the woman. unconsciously john had drifted away from childish things in his long and precious talks with her.
-one day she rebuked him.
-“great high belovedest,” she said, “you have n't told me of the palace and lilias and niphetos for months and months. or is it years?”
-“so every one says. i often wonder what it really means.”
-“you 've developed,” said he.
-“how?” she persisted.
-“you've got longer and broader and--”
-she laughed to hide a swift, pink confusion. “i know that, you silly dear. the doctor's always taking measurements of me and making funny calculations--cubing out the contents, as mr. wratislaw used to say. i know i'm enormous. that's an external matter of yards and feet,”--she spoke as if her proportions were brobdingnagian,--“but i 'm referring to inner things. how am i different, in myself, from what i was four years ago?”
-“are you not aware of any change in yourself?” he asked.
-she reflected for a moment. “no,” she replied seriously. “of course i know more. i can speak french and italian--” professors of these tongues, duly hedged about with ceremonial, had for a long time past attended in the sea-chamber--“and i know lots more of history and geography and geology and astronomy and zoology--oh, belovedest dear, i 'm dying to see a giraffe! do you think if he stood on the beach he could stick his head through the window and look at me? and a hippopotamus--can't you bring one in on a string? or do you think constable would bite him?”
-john expounded the cases of the giraffe and the hippopotamus with great gravity. her eyebrows contracted ever so little, and a spark danced in her eyes as she waited for the end of the lecture.
-“oh, dear, can't you see a joke?”
-“why, yes. don't you think i know all about hippopotamuses?”
-“i see,” said stellamaris.
-but she did n't; for she turned the conversation back to the palace.
-“i'm afraid, dear,” said he, “that the cats are dead and arachne has married a stock-broker, and i 've been so busy that the palace has run to seed.”
-“i thought she was going to marry a duke,” said stella, whose memory for unimportant detail was femininely tenacious.
-“what a funny name,” said stella.
-“it's the kind of name,” he replied, “always given in english fiction to the heiresses of the middle west of america.”
-“was she an heiress?”
-“worth billions. after they were married they do say she would n't let the duke wipe his razor on anything less valuable than a thousand-dollar bill.”
-“i don't think that's quite true,” laughed stella.
-“i don't know,” said john. “anyhow, arachne fell back on a stock-broker named maclsaac, and now there's no one to look after the palace.”
-“no one at all?” her voice was full of pity.
-“not a soul,” said he.
-a tragic pause followed this forlorn declaration. “dear belovedest,” said stella, very seriously, “i do wish i could come and set it right for you.”
-their eyes met. john sighed.
-“i wish you could,” said he. “there 's a fairy wand standing in the corner which no one but you can touch. it gives every one else an electric shock that sends them head over heels. but if you could get it and wave it about the place, you would make all sorts of dead things come to glorious life, and fill all the garden walks with flowers, and make the waters live again in the fountains.”
-it was the john risca whom she had always known that spoke, the john risca of whom herold had occasional flashes, so that he could discount his usual gloomy petulance and love the essential man, the john risca whose hand poor dumb, little unity blake had laid against her cheek--the best and purest john risca, a will-o'-the-wisp gleam to all his nearest save stellamaris; but to stellamaris just the ordinary, commonplace, unaltering, and unalterable john risca, the great high belovedest of her earliest memories. he had said things like this a hundred thousand times before. yet now the colour rose once more into her cheeks, and a mist such as might surround a dewdrop veiled her eyes.
-“what makes you think i could do all that for you?” she asked.
-“i don't know, my dear,” said john. “you seem to belong to another world.” he stumbled. “you 're just a fairy sort of creature.”
-the answer did not satisfy the instinctive innermost whence sprang the question; but it served. woman since the beginning of things has had to content herself with half-answers from man, seeing that she vouchsafes him scarcely any answers at all. she smiled and stretched out her hand. john took it in his clumsy fingers. it was whiter than any hand in the world, veined with the faintest of faint blue.
-“anyhow,” she said, “you ought n't to have neglected the palace.”
-“what was i to do?” he asked whimsically. “you 've been so busy growing up that you've had no time to help me to run it.”
-“oh!” she said. she withdrew her hand. “oh, belovedest, how can you say such a thing!”
-“you yourself,” laughed john, “asked whether it was months or years since we talked of it.”
-“i 've never stopped thinking about it,” she protested, and she went on protesting. but, like the shakspearian lady, she protested too much.
-“you've grown up, stellamaris,” said john.
-but how much of the old fairy-tale she still believed in he could not gauge. he went away, man with the muck-rake that he was, with the uncomfortable conviction that the roots of her child's faith survived.
-another year passed. stella was twenty-one. the routine of the channel house, of the house at kilburn, of the fulham flat, went on unchanged and unchanging. time seems unimportant as a positive agent in human affairs. it is the solvent of sorrow, but it cannot create joy. from its benumbing influence no drama seems to spring. it is events--and events, too, no matter how trivial--that have their roots mysteriously deep in time that shake the world and make the drama which we call history. and it was an event, apparently trivial, but sudden, unlooked for, amazing, that shook the lives whose history is here recorded.
-one morning, in obedience to a peremptory telegram from sir oliver blount, john risca met him at the imperial club. the old man rose from his seat near the entrance of the smoking-room into which john was shown, and excitedly wrung both his hands. “my dear boy, you must come to southcliff at once.” two or three times before he had been brought down post-haste by sir oliver, only to find himself needed as a mediator between husband and wife. he shook himself free.
-“out of the question, oliver. i 'm overwhelmed with work. i 've got my syndicate article to do, and the review goes to press to-night.”
-“you don't understand. it 's our darling stella. this morning she lifted her head from the pillow.”
-“but that's her death-warrant,” cried john, quickly. “it's her life-warrant. the fatal thing we've been warned against all these years is no longer fatal. she can move her head easily, painlessly. don't you see?” the weak old eyes were wet.
-“my god!” said john. his breath came fast, and he clapped his great hand on the other's lean shoulders. “but that means--great god in heaven!”.--his voice shook--“what may it not mean?”
-“it may mean everything,” said sir oliver.
-from time to time throughout stella's life the great magicians of science had entered the sea-chamber and departed thence, shaking sad and certain heads. with proper care, they said, stellamaris might live--might live, indeed, until her hair turned white and her young cheeks shrivelled with age; but of leaving that bed by the window and going forth into the outer world there was no hope or question. still, nature, the inscrutable, the whimsical, might be cozened by treatment into working a miracle. at any rate, no harm would be done by trying, and her guardians would have the consoling assurance that nothing had been left undone. they prescribed after their high knowledge, and pocketed their high fees, and went their way. dr. ransome, stella's lifelong doctor and worshipper, carried out each great magician's orders, and, as prophesied, nothing ever happened either for good or harm.
-but, six months ago, a greater magician than all, one wilhelm von pfeiler of vienna, who by working miracles on his own account with newly discovered and stupendous forces had begun to startle scientific europe, happened to be in england, and was summoned to the sea-chamber. he was a dark, silky-bearded man in whose eyes brooded perpetual melancholy. he, too, shook his head and said “perhaps.” ransome, who had seized with high hopes on the wandering magician, found him vastly depressing. his “perhaps” was more mournfully hopeless than the others' “no.” he spoke little, for he knew no english, and ransome's german, like that of stella's household, was scanty; but ransome understood him to croak platitudes about time and youth and growth and nature being factors in the case. as to his newly discovered treatment, well, it might have some effect; he was certain of nothing; as yet no sure deductions could be drawn from his experiments; everything concerning the application of these new forces was at the empirical stage. so profound a melancholy rang in his utterances that he left lady blount weeping bitterly, and convinced that he had passed death-sentence on their beloved being. then a near-sighted, taciturn young man, a budding magician who had sat at von pfeiler's feet in vienna, came down from london with apparatus worth a hundred times its weight in gold. and nothing happened or seemed about to happen. stella called him the gnome.
-all this john knew. like the rest of stella's satellites, accustomed for years to the unhesitating pronouncements of the great specialists and to their unhealing remedies, he had little faith in von pfeiler. the taciturn young surgeon who had been administering the treatment kept his own counsel and gave no encouragement to questioners. john had agreed with sir oliver that it was a waste of time and money--a fabulous amount of money; but the treatment amused stella, and she liked the gnome, whom every one else detested, because he loved dogs, and cured constable, now growing old and rheumatic, of a stiff leg. so every one suffered the gnome patiently.
-and now the miracle had been worked. stella had lifted her head from the pillow. the two men sat tremulous with hope.
-“i 've been so upset,” said sir oliver, “and so has julia. we had words. why, i don't know. i love our darling quite as much as she does; but julia is trying. waiter! get me a brandy and soda. what will you have? nothing? i don't usually drink spirits in the morning, john; but i feel i need it. i'm getting old and can't stand shocks.”
-“what does ransome say?”
-“he 's off his head. every one 's off his head. the very dog is rushing about like a lunatic. nearly knocked me down in the garden.”
-cassilis was the gnome.
-“ransome has telegraphed him to come down at once. but i thought i'd run up and tell you. we might go together to see him and fetch him back with us. you 'll come, won't you?”
-“come? why, of course i'll come. what do you think i 'll do? stay in london at such a time and send her a post-card to say i'm glad?”
-“you said something about seeing your review through the press.”
-“oh, confound the review! it can go to the devil!” cried john.
-london ablaze with revolution would have been a small matter compared with this world-shaking event, the lifting of a girl's head.
-“it will be such a comfort to me,” said the old man. “i don't know what to do. i can't rest. my mind's in a maze. it's like the raising of jairus's daughter.”
-“let us do some telephoning,” said john.
-“and stella herself? what does she make of it?”
-“the only one not upset in the house. that little girl 's an angel, john.” he blew his nose violently. “it appears she was stretching out her arm to pat the old dog's chaps, overreached herself a bit, and mechanically her head came away from the pillow. she called out to nurse, 'nurse, i 've lifted my head.' nurse flew up to her. 'what do you mean, darling?' she showed her. she showed her, by god! nurse forbade her to do it any more, and flew down-stairs like a wildcat to tell us. then we telephoned to ransome. he saw her; she did it for him; then he came to us white and shaking all over. naturally i wanted to see the darling child do it, too. julia interfered. stella must n't do it again till cassilis came. then we had the words. she said i was eaten through with egotism--i! now, am i, john?”
-presently herold dashed, in, aflame with excitement. the story, such as it was, had to be told anew.
-“i 'll come with you to cassilis, and then on to southcliff.”
-“but your rehearsal?” said john.
-herold confounded the rehearsal, even as john had confounded his review. in the presence of this thrilling wonder, trivialities had no place.
-cassilis received this agitated and unusual deputation without a flicker of surprise. he was a baldheaded, prematurely old young man, with great, round spectacles. he gave one the air of an inhuman custodian of awful secrets.
-“i presume you have called with reference to this,” said he, indicating a telegram which he held in his hand. “i've just opened it.”
-“yes,” said sir oliver. “is n't it wonderful? you must come down with us at once.”
-“it's very inconvenient for me to leave london.”
-“my dear sir, you must throw over every engagement.”
-the shadow of a smile passed over the young man's features.
-“if you press the point, i'll come.”
-“but are n't you astounded at what has occurred? don't you understand ransome's message?”
-“perfectly,” said cassilis. “i 've already written to dr. von pfeiler--a week: ago--detailing the progress and full success of the case.”
-“then you know all about it?” asked john. “naturally. i've been practising her at it for the last fortnight, though she did n't realize what i was doing.”
-“then why on earth did n't you tell us?”
-“i had arranged to tell you to-morrow,” said cassilis.
-“i don't think you've acted rightly, sir,” cried sir oliver.
-“never mind that,” said herold. “mr. cassilis doubtless has his excellent reasons. the main thing is, will her cure go beyond this? will she get well and strong? will she be able to walk about god's earth like anybody else?”
-the little gnome-like man straightened with his toe a rucked corner of the hearth-rug. he paused deliberately before replying, apparently unmoved by the anxious eyes bent on him. there was a span of agonized silence. then he spoke:
-“this time next year she will be leading a woman's normal life.”
-the words fell clear-cut on the quiet of the room. the three men uttered not a word. cassilis, asking their leave to make some small preparations for his journey, left them. then, relieved of his presence, they drew together and pressed one another's hands and stood speechless, like children suddenly brought to the brink of some new wonderland.
-thenceforward a humming confusion reigned in the channel house. the story of the miraculous recovery spread through southcliff. sir oliver and lady blount held a little court every day to receive congratulations. a few privileged well-wishers were admitted to the sea-chamber, where stella still lay enthroned by the window. she had not realized the extent of her fame among the inhabitants until a garrulous visitor told her that she was one of the pet traditions of the place and that her great-windowed room at the top of the house on the cliff was always pointed out with pride to the tourist.
-in her mysterious seclusion she had become a local celebrity. this interest of the little world grouped about the channel house added a joy to her anticipation of mingling with it. the affection in which she was held by butcher and baker, to say nothing of the mayor and corporation, cemented her faith (in which she had been so jealously bred) in the delightful perfection of mankind.
-meanwhile she progressed daily towards recovery, very slowly, but with magical sureness. cassilis continued his treatment. queer apparatuses were fitted to her so that she could go through queer muscular exercises. she was being put into training, as it were, for life. every new stage in her progress was marked by fêtes and rejoicings. the first time that her bed could be wheeled into a room on the other side of the house was a solemn occasion. it was july, and the rolling hills, rich in corn-fields and forest greenery, were flooded with sunlight. the earth proclaimed its fruitful plenty, and laughed in the joy of its loveliness.
-that which to those with her was a commonplace of beauty stretched before stellamaris's vision as a new and soul-arresting wonder. she had only elusive, childish memories of the actual earth; for before she had been laid upon her back never to rise again, she had been a delicate, invalid child. she had seen thousands of pictures, so that she was at no intellectual loss to account for the spectacle; but, for all her life that counted, sea and sky in their myriad changes had been her intimate conception of the world. and it had been her world--the only world that her eyes would ever rest upon; and as it had never entered her head to hope for another, it had sufficed her soul's needs. indeed, it had overwhelmed them with its largess, until, as herold declared, she herself had become a creature of cloud and wave. this sudden presentation of a new and unrealized glory set her heart beating madly; her cheeks grew white, and tears rolled down them.
-“now, is n't that a beautiful view?” said lady blount.
-“soon we 'll hire a motor, until you can buy one for yourself, and go and explore it all, my dear,” said sir oliver.
-“southcliff lies just below there on the left,” said the nurse.
-“see that red roof there between the trees? that's where our old friend colonel dukes lives. devilish good house; though, if he had taken my advice when he was building it, it would have been much better.”
-“and just over there,” said lady blount, pointing-, “is the railway that takes you to london.”
-“you 're quite wrong, julia,” said sir oliver; “that's a bit of the south coast line. is n't it, john?”
-“oliver is right. you can't see the london line from here,” said john.
-they went on talking, but stella, in a rapture of vision, heeded them not. herold, who stood quite close to her, was silent. she held his hand, and gripped it almost convulsively. john, with rare observation, noticed that her knuckles were white. her face was set in an agony of adoration too poignant for speech. john, curiously sensitive where stella was concerned, realized that these two hand in hand were close together on a plane of feeling too high for the profane. with a little movement of deprecation which neither herold nor stella perceived, he pushed the others toward the door and, following them out of the room, closed it behind them.
-“better leave her alone with walter,” said he.
-“quite so,” said sir oliver. “just what i told you, julia. we must let her go slow for a bit and not excite her.”
-“i don't remember you ever saying anything of the kind,” retorted lady blount. “it was walter.”
-“well, oliver agreed with him, which comes to the same thing,” said john, acting peacemaker.
-but they wrangled all down the corridor, and when the two men were left alone, sir oliver shook his head.
-“a trying woman, john; very trying.”
-meanwhile stella and herold remained for a long time in the quiet room without the utterance of a word. as soon as the others went, her grasp relaxed. herold drew a chair gently to her side and waited patiently for her to speak; for he saw that her soul was at grips with the new glory of the earth. at last a quivering sigh shook her, and she turned her wet eyes away from the window and looked at him with a smile.
-“well?” said he.
-“i feel that it is all too beautiful.”
-“it makes you sad.”
-“yes; vaguely, but exquisitely. how did you guess?”
-“your eyes have been streaming, stellamaris.”
-“foolish, is n't it?”
-“i suppose it 's the finite realizing itself unconsciously before the infinite. is it too much for you?”
-she shook her head. “i should like to stay here and gaze at this forever till i drank it all, all in.”
-“have you ever read the life of st. brigit?” he asked. “there's one little episode in it which comes to my mind.”
-“tell me,” said stella.
-“she founded convents, you know, in ireland. now, there was one nun dearly loved by st. brigit, and she had been blind from birth; and one evening they were sitting on one of the wicklow hills, and st. brigit described to her all the beauties of the green valleys below, and the silver streams and the purple mountains beyond, melting into the happy sky. and the nun said, 'sister, pray to god to work a miracle and give me sight so that i can see it and glorify him.' so st. brigit prayed, and god heard her prayer, and the eyes of the nun were opened, and she looked upon the world, and her senses were ravished by its glory. and then she fell to weeping and trembling and she sank on her knees before st. brigit and said, i have seen, but i beseech thee pray that my sight be taken again from me, for i fear that in the beauty of the world i may forget god.' and st. brigit prayed again, and god heard her, and the nun's sight was taken from her. and they both lifted their voices to heaven and glorified the lord.”
-stella sighed when he had ended, and quiet fell upon them. she looked dreamily out of the window. herold watched her face, with a pang at his heart. it was as pure as a little child's.
-“it's a lovely legend,” she said at last. “but the nun was wrong. the beauty of this world ought to bring one nearer to god instead of making one forget him.”
-herold smiled. “certainly it ought to,” said he.
-“why did you tell me the story?”
-“because it came into my head.”
-“there was some other reason.”
-he could not deny, for in her candid eyes he saw assurance; yet he dared not tell her that which dimmed the crystal of his gladness. he saw the creature of cloud and foam gasping in the tainted atmosphere of the world of men; the dewdrop on the star exposed to the blazing sun. what would happen?
-“i am going to get well,” she continued, seeing that he did not answer, “and walk out soon into the gardens and the streets and see all the wonderful, wonderful things you and belovedest have told me of. and”--she pressed her hands to her bosom--“i can't contain myself for joy. and yet, walter dear, you seem to think i should be better off if i remained as i am--or was. i can't understand it.”
-“my dear,” said herold reluctantly, wishing he had never heard of st. brigit, “so long as you see god through the beauties and vanities of the world, as you've seen him through the sea-mists and the dawn and the sunset, all will be well. but that takes a brave spirit--braver than st. brigit's nun. she feared lest she might see the world, and nothing but the world, and nothing divine shining through. people who do that lose their souls.”
-“then you think,” said stellamaris, wrinkling her smooth brow--“you think that the blind have the truer vision.”
-“truer than that of the weak, perhaps, but not as true as the strong spirits who dare see fearlessly.”
-“do you think i am weak or strong?” she asked, with a woman's relentless grip on the personal.
-“what else but a strong spirit,” he replied half disingenuously, “could have triumphed, as you have done, over a lifelong death?”
-“death?” she opened her eyes wide. “death? but i've lived every hour of my life, and it has been utterly happy.”
-“the strong spirit, dear,” said herold.
-“great high favourite dear, what else could you say?”
-she laughed, but the tenderness in her eyes absolved the laugh and the feminine speech from coquetry.
-“i might talk to you as john knox did to mary, queen of scots.”
-just as life had been translated to the hapless miss kilmansegg of the golden leg into terms of gold, so had it been translated to stella into terms of beauty. history had been translated, accordingly, into terms of romance. she had heard, indeed, of mary stuart, but as a being of legendary and unnaughty loveliness. at the stem image of the grave calvinist she shrank.
-“john knox was a horrid, croaking raven,” she emphatically declared, “and nobody could possibly talk like that nowadays.”
-herold laughed and turned the conversation into lighter channels. the unwritten law prevailed over his instinctive impulse to warn her against the deceptive glamour of the world. then the hour struck for an item in the invalid's routine, and the nurse came in, and stella was wheeled back to her high chamber.
-many days of her convalescence after this were marked with red stones. there was the first day when, carried down-stairs, she presided from her high couch at a dinner-party given in her honour, the guests being john risca and walter herold, wratislaw and the nurse, dr. ransome and his wife, and the gnomeheaded and spectacled cassilis.
-it was a merry party, and towards the end of dinner, when the port went round, stella's own maid coached for the part, at a sign from sir oliver who commanded silence, spoke in a falsetto voice sticking in a nervous throat the familiar words: “miss stella's compliments, and would the gentlemen take a glass of wine with her.” and they all rose and drank and made a great noise, and the tears rolled down john risca's cheeks and fell upon his bulging shirt-front, and sir oliver blew his nose loudly and made a speech.
-a great day, too, was her first progress in her wheel-chair about the grounds of the channel house. all was wonder and wild delight to the girl who had never seen, or had seen so long ago that she had forgotten, the velvet of smooth turf; the glory of roses growing in their heyday insolence; the alluring shade of leafy chestnuts; the pansies clinging to dear mother earth; the fairy spray of water from a hose-pipe over thirsty beds; the crisp motion, explaining the mysterious echo of years, of the grass-mower driven over the lawn; the ivy tapestry of walls; the bewildering masses of sweet-peas; the apples, small and green though they were, actually hanging from boughs; the real live fowls, jaunty in prosperous plumage, so different from the apologetic naked shapes--fowls hitherto to her, which morris, the maid, had carved for her meals at a side table in the sea-chamber, the cabbages brave in crinkled leaf, unaware of their doom of ultimate hot agglutination, the tender green bunches of grapes in glass-houses drinking wine from the mother founts of the sun, the quiet cows on the gently sloping pasture-land.
-at last she put her hands over her eyes, and herold made a sign, and they wheeled the chair back to the house; and only when they halted in the wide, cool drawing-room, with windows opening to the south, did she look at outer things; and then, while all stood by in a hush, she drew a few convulsive breaths and rested her overwrought spirit on the calm, familiar sea.
-a day of days, too, when, still in glorious summer weather, they hired an enormous limousine from the great watering-place a few miles off, and took her all but prone, and incased in the appliances of science, through the gates of the channel house into the big world. they drove over the sussex downs, along chalk roads, between crisp grass-lands dotted with sheep, through villages,--gleams of paradises compact of thatched roof, rambler roses, blue and white garments hung out on lines to laugh in the sunshine, flashing new stucco cottages, labelled “county police” (a puzzle to stellamaris), ramshackle shops, with odd wares, chiefly sweets, exposed in tiny casement windows, old inns flaunting brave signs, “the five alls,” “the leather bottell,” away from the road, with a forecourt containing rude bench and table and trough for horses, young women, with the cheeks of the fresh, and old women, with the cheeks of the withered apple, and sun-tanned men, and children of undreamed-of chubbiness. and to stellamaris all was a wonderland of joy.
-during most of the month of august the rain fell heavily and outdoor excursions became rare events, and the world as seen from windows was a gray and dripping spectacle. but stella, accustomed to the vast dreariness of wintry seas, found fresh beauties in the rain-swept earth. the patter of drops on leaves played new and thrilling melodies; a slant of sunshine across wet grass offered magical harmonies of colour; the unfamiliar smell of the reeking soil was grateful to her nostrils. and had she not the captivating indoor life among pleasant rooms in which she had hitherto dwelt only in fancy? hopes in the process of fulfilment gilded the glad days.
-she talked unceasingly to those about her of the happy things to come.
-“soon we 'll be teaching you to walk,” said john.
-she glowed. “that's going to be the most glorious adventure of my life.”
-“i 've never regarded putting one foot before another in that light,” he said with a laugh. then suddenly realizing what he had said, he felt a wave of pity and love surge through his heart. what child of man assured of a bird's power of flight would not be thrilled at the prospect of winging his way through space? it would be indeed a glorious adventure.
-“my poor darling!” said he, very tenderly.
-as usual, she disclaimed the pity. there was no one happier than herself in the wide universe.
-“but i often have wondered what it would feel like.”
-“yes. to have the power of moving yourself from one place to another. it seems so funny. of course i did walk once, but i've forgotten all about it. they tell me i shall have to learn from the beginning, just like a little baby.”
-“you 'll have to learn lots of things from the beginning,” said john, rather sadly.
-“what kind of things?”
-“tell me,” she insisted, for ever so small a cloud passed over his face.
-“taking your place as a woman in the whirl of life,” said he.
-she turned on him the look of untroubled sapience that proceeds from the eyes of child saints in early italian paintings.
-“i don't think that will be very difficult, belovedest. i'm not quite a little ignoramus, and aunt julia has taught me manners. i have always been able to talk to people when sick, and i don't see why i should be afraid of them when i'm well. i 've thought quite a lot about it, and talked to aunt julia.”
-“and what does she say?”
-“she assures me,” she cried gaily, “that i am bound to make a sensation in society.”
-“you 'll have all mankind at your feet, dear,” said john. “but,” he added in a change of tone, “i was referring to more vital things than success in drawing-rooms.”
-she laid her hand lightly on his..
-“do you know, belovedest, what walter said some time ago? he said that if i looked at the world and saw god through it, all would be well.”
-“i can add nothing more to that,” said john, and, thinking that herold had been warning her of dangers, held his peace for the occasion.
-then there came a day, not long afterward, when she made the speech which in some form or other he had been expecting and dreading.
-“the next glorious adventure will be when you take me over the palace.”
-he laughed awkwardly. “i remember telling you that the palace has run to seed.”
-“but you still live in it.”
-“no, dear,” said he.
-“oh!” said stellamaris in a tone of deep disappointment. “oh, why, why?”
-john felt ridiculously unhappy. she believed, after all, in the incredible fairy-tale.
-“perhaps it was n't such a gorgeous palace as i made out,” he confessed lamely. “as the cooks say, my hand was rather heavy with the gold and marble.” she laughed, to his intense relief. “i have felt since that there was a little poetic exaggeration somewhere. but it must be a beautiful place, all the same.” his spirits sank again. “i could walk about it blindfold, although we have n't talked of it for so long. who is living there now?”
-“i 've sold it, dear, to some king of the cannibal islands,” he declared in desperate and ponderous jest.
-“so there's no more palace?”
-“no more,” said he.
-“i 'm sorry,” said stellamaris--“so sorry.” she smiled at him, but the tears came into her eyes. “i was looking forward so to seeing it. you see, dear, i've lived in it for such a long, long time!”
-“there are hundreds of wonder-houses for you to see when you get strong,” said john, by way of consolation, yet hating himself.
-“westminster abbey and windsor castle, and so on. yes,” said stella, “but they 've none of them been part of me.”
-so he discovered that, at one-and-twenty, on the eve of her entrance into the world of reality, the being most sacred to him still dwelt in her land of illusion. two or three frank words would have been enough to bring down to nothingness the baseless fabric of his castle in the air, his palace of dreams; but he dreaded the shock of such seismic convulsion. he had lied for years, putting all that was godlike of his imperfect humanity into his lies, so as to bring a few hours' delight into the life of this fragile creature whom he worshiped, secure in the conviction that the lies would live for ever and ever as vital truths, without chance of detection. and now that chance, almost the certainty, had come.
-john risca was a strong man, as men count strength. he faced the grim issues of life undaunted, and made his own terms. he growled when wounded, but he bared his teeth and snarled with defiance at his foes. in a bygone age he would have stood like his celtic ancestors, doggedly hacking amid a ring of slain until the curtain of death was drawn before his blood-shot eyes and he fell, idly smiting the air. in the modern conflict in which, fortunately, human butchery does not come within the sphere of the ordinary man's activities, he could stand with the same moral constancy. but here, when it was a mere question of tearing a gossamer veil from before a girl's eyes, his courage failed him. such brute dealing, he argued, might be salutary for common clay; but for stellamaris it would be dangerous. let knowledge of the fact that there had never been a palace come to her gradually. already he had prepared the way. thus he consoled himself, and, in so doing, felt a mean and miserable dog.
-stella loved the garden, even when autumn came and flowers were rare; for still there was the gold and russet glory of the trees. also the garden was a bit of her promised land; the road beyond the gate ran into the heart of the world. and the open air brought strength. on sunny days her wheel-chair was brought down and set on a gravel path, and there, wrapped in furs, she sat, generally alone save for the old hound always on guard beside her. she read, and dreamed her innocent dreams, and looked up at the ever-novel canopy of the sky, exulting quietly in her freedom. those around her knew her needs and gave her at such times the familiar solitude which she craved.
-“don't be left alone, darling, a moment longer than you want,” said lady blount. “too much of that sort of thing is n't good for you.”
-and stella, trying to interpret herself, would reply, “i just want to make friends with nature.”
-“i wish i could understand you, dear, like walter,” said lady blount. “what exactly do you mean?”
-stella laughed, and said truthfully that she did not know. perhaps, it was that, the sea having taken her to its heart, she feared lest earth might not be so kindly, and she sought conciliation. but such flutterings of the spirit are not to be translated into words. a day or two before she had driven through a glade of blazing beech, carpeted deep brown, and the shadows twisted themselves into dim shapes, stealing through the mystery of the slender trunks, and the longing to be left alone among them and hear the message of the woodland had smitten her like pain.
-one morning she sat warmly wrapped up, a fur toque on her head, in the pale autumn sunshine, with constable by her side, when a draggled-tailed woman, carrying a draggled-bodied infant, paused by the front gate, taking stock of the place in the tramp's furtive way; and, spying the gracious figure of the girl at a turn of the gravel path, walked boldly in. before she had advanced half-way, constable, hidden by stella's chair, rose to his feet, his ears cocked, and growled threateningly. the woman came to a scared halt. stella looked up and saw her. quickly she laid her hand on the dog's head, and rated him for a silly fellow and bade him lie down and not move till she gave the order. constable, like an old dog who knew his place, but felt bound to protest, grumblingly obeyed. he had lived for eleven years under the fixed conviction that though female tramps with babies were permitted by some grotesque authority to wander on sufferance along the road, they could enter the gates of the channel house only under penalty of instant annihilation. his goddess, however, through some extraordinary caprice ordaining them to live, the matter was taken out of his hands. let them live, then, and see what came of it. it was beyond his comprehension.
-“don't be afraid,” cried stella in her clear voice. “the dog won't hurt you.”
-“quite sure.” she smiled bountiful assurance. the draggled-tailed woman approached. “what do you want?”
-the woman, battered, dirty, and voluble, began the tramp's tale. she had started from dover and was bound for plymouth, where she was to meet her husband, a sailor, whose ship would arrive to-morrow. what she had been doing in dover, except that she had been in 'orspital (which did not account for the child's movements), she did not state. but she had slept under hedges since she had started, and had no money, and a kind gentleman, gawd bless him! had given her a hunk of bread and cheese the day before, and that was all the food they had had for twenty-four hours.
-as she talked, stella's unaccustomed eyes gradually took in the scarecrow details of her person: the blowzy hat, with its broken feathers; the greasy ropes of hair; the unclean rags of raiment; the broken and shapeless boots; the huddled defilement of the staring, unwholesome child; and she began to tremble through all her body. for a while the sense of sight was so overwhelming in its demands that she lost the sense of hearing. what was this creature of loathsome ugliness doing in her world of beauty? to what race did she belong? from what planet had she fallen? for what eccentric reason did she choose to present this repulsive aspect to mankind?
-at last, when her sight was more or less familiarized with the spectacle of squalor, the significance of the woman's words came to her as to one awaking from a dream.
-“not a bit of food has passed my lips since yesterday at twelve o'clock, miss, and gawd strike me dead, miss, if i ain't telling the blessed truth.”
-“but why have n't you bought food?” asked stella.
-the woman stared at her. how could she understand stellamaris?
-“i have n't a penny in the world, miss. the day afore yesterday a lady give me twopence, and i spent it in milk for the child. s'welp me, i did, miss.”
-“do you mean to tell me,” said stella, whose face had grown tense and white, “that it's impossible for you to get food for yourself and your baby?”
-“indeed i do, miss.”
-strongly-moulded throat, whose smooth skin showed so dazzlingly white against the dark purple velvet of the collar of her dress.
-it was a beauty to enslave and command rather than to woo and win; the fatal loveliness of a cleopatra, a lucrezia, or a messalina; a charm to be used for evil rather than for good. in a few years she would be such a woman as would drive men mad for the love of her, and, giving no love in return, use them for her own ends, and cast them aside with a smile when they could serve her no longer.
-the old man was lying on a low couch of magnificent furs, against whose dark lustre the grey pallor of his skin and the pure, silvery whiteness of his still thick hair and beard showed up in strong contrast. he had been asleep for the last four hours, resting after the exertion of going to the cathedral, and the girl was sitting watching him with anxious eyes, every now and then leaning forward to catch the faint sound of his slow and even breathing, and make sure that he was still alive.
-a clock in one of the corners of the room chimed a quarter to nine, as the old man raised his hand to his brow and opened his eyes. they rested for a moment on the girl’s face, and then wandered inquiringly about the room, as though he expected someone else to be present. then he said in a low, weak voice--
-“what time is it? has serge come yet?”
-“no,” said the girl, glancing up at the clock; “that was only a quarter to nine, and he is not due until the hour.”
-“no; i remember. i don’t suppose he can be here much before. meanwhile get me the draught ready, so that i shall have strength to do what has to be done before”--
-“are you sure it is necessary for you to take that terrible drug? why should you sacrifice what may be months or even years of life, to gain a few hours’ renewed youth?”
-the girl’s voice trembled as she spoke, and her eyes melted in a sudden rush of tears. the one being that she loved in all the world was this old man, and he had just told her to prepare his death-draught.
-“do as i bid you, child,” he said, raising his voice to a querulous cry, “and do it quickly, while there is yet time. why do you talk to me of a few more months of life--to me, whose eyes have seen the snows of a hundred winters whitening the earth? i tell you that, drug or no drug, i shall not see the setting of to-morrow’s sun. as i slept, i heard the rush of the death-angel’s wings through the night, and the wind of them was cold upon my brow. do as i bid you, quick--there is the door-telephone. serge is here!”
-as he spoke, a ring sounded in the lower part of the house. accustomed to blind obedience from her infancy, the girl choked back her rising tears and went to a little cupboard let into the wall, out of which she took two small vials, each containing about a fluid ounce of colourless liquid. she placed a tumbler in the old man’s hand, and emptied the vials into it simultaneously.
-“serge nicholaivitch is here to command.”
-“serge nicholaivitch is welcome. let him ascend!” said the girl, walking towards the transmitter, and replacing the disc as she ceased speaking.
-a few moments later there was a tap on the door. the girl opened it and admitted a tall, splendidly-built young fellow of about twenty-two, dressed, according to the winter costume of the time, in a close-fitting suit of dark-blue velvet, long boots of soft, brown leather that came a little higher than the knee, and a long, fur-lined, hooded cloak, which was now thrown back, and hung in graceful folds from his broad shoulders.
-as he entered, the girl held out her hand to him in silence. a bright flush rose to her clear, pale cheeks as he instantly dropped on one knee and kissed it, as in the old days a favoured subject would have kissed the hand of a queen.
-“welcome, serge nicholaivitch, prince of the house of romanoff! your bride and your crown are waiting for you!”
-the words came clear and strong from the lips which, but a few minutes before, had barely been able to frame a coherent sentence. the strange drug had wrought a miracle of restoration. fifty years seemed to have been lifted from the shoulders of the man who would never see another sunrise.
-the light of youth shone in his eyes, and the flush of health on his cheeks. the deep furrows of age and care had vanished from his face, and, saving only for his long, white hair, if one who had seen alexander romanoff, the last of the tsars of russia, on the battlefield of muswell hill could have come back to earth, he would have believed that he saw him once more in the flesh.
-without any assistance he rose from the couch, and drew himself up to the full of his majestic height. as he did so the young man dropped on his knee before him, as he had done before the girl, and said in russian--
-“the honour is too great for my unworthiness. may heaven make me worthy of it!”
-“worthy you are now, and shall remain so long as you shall keep undefiled the faith and honour of the imperial house from which you are sprung,” replied the old man in the same language, raising him from his knee as he spoke. then he laid his hands on the young man’s shoulders, and, looking him straight in the eyes, went on--
-“serge nicholaivitch, you know why i have bidden you come here to-night. speak now, without fear or falsehood, and tell me whether you come prepared to take that which i have to give you, and to do that which i shall ask of you. if there is any doubt in your soul, speak it now and go in peace; for the task that i shall lay upon you is no light one, nor may it be undertaken without a whole heart and a soul that is undivided by doubt.”
-the young man returned his burning gaze with a glance as clear and steady as his own, and replied--
-“it is for your majesty to give and for me to take--for you to command and for me to obey. tell me your will, and i will do it to the death. in the hour that i fail, may heaven’s mercy fail me too, and may i die as one who is not fit to live!”
-“spoken like a true son of russia!” said the old man, taking his hands from his shoulders and beckoning the girl to his side. then he placed them side by side before an ikon fastened to the eastern wall, with an ever-burning lamp in front of it. he bade them kneel down and join hands, and as they did so he took his place behind them and, raising his hands as though in invocation above their heads, he said in slow, solemn tones--
-“now, serge nicholaivitch and olga romanoff, sole heirs on earth of those who once were tsars of russia, swear before heaven and all its holy saints that, when this body of mine shall have been committed to the flames, you will take my ashes to petersburg and lay them in the church of peter and paul, and that when that is done, you will go to the lossenskis at moscow, and there, in the uspènski sobōr, where your ancestors were crowned, take each other for wedded wife and husband, according to the ancient laws of russia and the rites of the orthodox church.”
-the oath was taken by each of the now betrothed pair in turn, and then paul romanoff, great-grandson of alexander, the last of the tsars, raised them from their knees and kissed each of them on the forehead. then, taking from his neck a gold chain with a small key attached to it, he went to one of the oak panels, from which the walls of the room were lined, and pushed aside a portion of the apparently solid beading, disclosing a keyhole into which he inserted the key.
-he turned the key and pulled, and the panel swung slowly out like a door. it was lined with three inches of solid steel, and behind it was a cavity in the wall, from which came the sheen of gold and the gleam of jewels. a cry of amazement broke at the same moment from the lips of both olga and serge, as they saw what the glittering object was.
-paul romanoff took it out of the steel-lined cavity, and laid it reverently on the table, saying, as he did so--
-“to-morrow i shall be dead, and this house and all that is in it will be yours. there is my most precious possession, the imperial crown of russia, stolen when the kremlin was plundered in the days of the terror, and restored secretly to my father by the faith and devotion of one of the few who remained loyal after the fall of the empire.
-“in a few hours it will be yours. i leave it to you as a sacred heritage from the past for you to hand on to the future, and with it you shall receive and hand on a heritage of hate and vengeance, which you shall keep hot in your hearts and in the hearts of your children against the day of reckoning when it comes.
-“now sit down on the divan yonder, and listen with your ears and your hearts as well, for these are the last words that i shall speak with the lips of flesh, and you must remember them, that you may tell them to your children, and perchance to their children after them, as i now tell them to you; for the hour of vengeance may not come in your day nor yet in theirs, though in the fulness of time it shall surely come, and therefore the story must never be forgotten while a romanoff remains to remember it.”
-the old man, on whom the strange drug that he had taken was still exercising its wonderful effects, threw himself into an easy-chair as he spoke, and motioned them with his hand towards a second low couch against one of the walls, covered with cushions and draped with neutral-tinted, silken hangings.
-olga, moving, as it seemed, with the unconscious motion of a somnambulist, allowed her form to sink back upon the cushions until she half sat and half reclined on them; and serge, laying one of the cushions on the floor, sat at her feet, and drew one of her hands unresistingly over his shoulder, and kept it there as though she were caressing him. thus they waited for paul romanoff to teach them the lesson that they had sworn to teach in turn to the generations that were to come.
-the old man regarded them in silence for a moment or two, and as he did so the angry fire died out of his eyes, and his lips parted in a faint smile as he said, rather in soliloquy to himself than to them--
-“as it was in the beginning, it is now and for ever shall be until the end! empires wax and wane, and dynasties rise and fall! revolutions come and go, and the face of the world is changed, but the mystery of the sex, the beauty of woman, and the love of man, endure changeless as destiny, for they are destiny itself!”
-as he spoke, the fixed, rigid look melted from olga’s face. the bright flush rose again to her cheeks, and she bowed her royal head, and looked almost tenderly at the blond, ruddy, young giant at her feet. after all, he was her fate, and she might well have had a worse one.
-then after a brief pause, paul romanoff began to speak again, slowly and quietly, with his eyes fixed on the glittering symbol of the vanished sovereignty of his house, as though he were addressing it, and communing with the mournful memories that it recalled from the past.
-“it is a hundred and twenty-five years since the hand of natas, the jew, came forth out of the unknown, and struck you from the brow of the last of the tsars. on the day that natas died, i was born, a hundred years ago. there are barely a score of men left on earth who have seen and spoken with the men who saw the great revolt and the beginning of the terror, and i alone, of the elder line of romanoff, remain to pass the story of our house’s shame and ruin on, so that it may not be forgotten against the day of vengeance, that i have waited for in vain.
-“but i have no time left for dreams or vain regrets. listen, children of the present, and take my words with you into the future that it is not given to me to see.”
-he passed his hands upwards over his eyes and brow, and then went on, speaking now directly to olga and serge, in a quick, earnest tone, as though he feared that his fictitious strength would fail him before he could say what he had to say--
-“when alexander, the last of the crowned emperors of russia, fell down dead on the morning after he reached the mines of kara, to which the terrorists had exiled him as a convict for life, those who remained of his family, and who had taken no part in the war, were allowed to return to europe, on condition that they lived the lives of private citizens and sought no share in the government of any country to which they were allied by marriage or otherwise.
-“only two of those who had survived the march to siberia were able to avail themselves of this permission, and these were olga, the daughter of alexander, and serge nicholaivitch, the youngest son of his nephew nicholas. these two settled at the court of denmark, and there, two years later, olga married prince ingeborg. her first-born son, the only one of her children who lived beyond infancy, was my father, as my own first-born son was yours, olga romanoff.
-“serge married dagmar, the youngest daughter of the house of denmark, three years later, and from him you, serge nicholaivitch, are descended in the fourth generation. thus in you will be united the only two remaining branches of the once mighty house of romanoff. may the day come when, in you or your children, its ancient glories shall be restored!”
-“amen!” said olga and serge in a single breath, and as she uttered the words, olga’s eyes fell on the lost crown upon the table, and for the moment they seemed to flame with the inner fires of a quenchless rage. paul romanoff’s eyes answered hers flash for flash, for the same hatred and longing for revenge possessed them both--the old man who had carried the weight of a hundred years to the brink of the grave, and the young girl whose feet were still lingering on the dividing line between girlhood and womanhood.
-then he went on, speaking with an added tone of fierceness in his voice--
-“from the day of my birth until this, the night of my death, it has been impossible to do anything to recover that which was lost in the great revolt. not that stout hearts and keen brains and willing hands have been wanting for the work; but because the strong arm of the terror has encircled the earth with unbreakable bonds; because its eye has never slept; and because its hand has hurled infallible destruction upon all who have dared to take the first step towards freedom.
-“natas spoke truly when he said that the terrorists had ruled the world by force, and alan arnold to-day spoke truly after him when he said that the supremacy of the aerians was based upon the force that they could bring to bear upon any who revolted against them, through their possession of the empire of the air.
-“it is this priceless possession that gives them the command of the world, and for a hundred years they have guarded it so jealously, that they have slain without mercy all who have ventured to take even the first step towards an independent solution of the mighty problem which richard arnold solved a hundred and twenty-six years ago.
-“the last man who died in this cause was my only son, and your father, olga. remember that, for it is not the least item in the legacy of revenge that i bequeath to you to-night. he had devoted his life, as many others had done before him, to the task of discovering the secret of the motive power of the terrorists’ air-ships.
-“the year you were born, success had crowned the efforts of ten years of tireless labour. working with the utmost secrecy in a lonely hut buried in the forests of norway, he and six others, who were, as he thought, devoted to him and the glorious cause of wresting the empire of the world from the grasp of the terrorists, had built an air-ship that would have been swifter and more powerful than any of their aerial fleet.
-“two days before she was ready to take the air, one of his men deserted. the traitor was never seen again, but the next night a terrorist vessel descended from the clouds, and in a few minutes not a vestige of our air-ship or her creators remained. only a blackened waste in the midst of the forest was left to show the scene of their labours. within forty-eight hours, it was known all over the civilised world that vladimir romanoff and his associates had been killed by order of the supreme council, for endeavouring to build an air-ship in defiance of its commands.
-“such are the enemies against whom you will have to contend. they are still virtually the masters of the world, and the task before you is to wrest that mastery from them. it is no light task, but it is not impossible; for these aerians are, after all, but men and women as you are, and what they have done, other men and women can surely do.
-“the great secret cannot always remain theirs alone. while they actively controlled the nations, nothing could be done against them, for their hand was everywhere and their eyes saw everything. but now they have abdicated the throne of the world, and left the nations to rule themselves as they can. for a time things will go on in their present grooves, but that will not be for long.
-“i, who am their bitterest enemy on earth, am forced to confess that the terrorists have proved themselves to be the wisest as well as the strongest of despots. under their rule the world has become a paradise--for the canaille and the multitude. but they have curbed the mob as well as the king, and abolished the demagogue as well as the despot. now the strong hand is lifted and the bridle loosed; and before many years have passed, the brute strength of the multitude will have begun to assert itself.
-“the so-called kings of the earth, who rule now in a mockery of royalty, will speedily find that the real kings of the old days ruled because, in the last resource, they had armies and navies at their command and could enforce obedience. these are but the puppets of the popular will, and now that the moral and physical support of the supreme council and its aerial fleet is taken from them, they will see democracy run rampant, and, having no strength to stem the tide, they will have to float with it or be submerged by it.
-“in another generation the voice of the majority, the blind, brute force of numbers, will rule everything on earth. what government there may be, will be a mere matter of counting heads. individual freedom will by swift degrees vanish from the earth, and human society will become a huge machine, grinding all men down to the same level until the monotony of life becomes unendurable.
-“hitherto all democracies in the history of the world have been ended by military despotisms, but now military despotism has been made impossible, and so democracy will run riot, until it plunges the world into social chaos.
-“this may come in your time or in your children’s, but it is the opportunity for which you must work and wait. even now you will find in every nation, thousands of men and women who are chafing against the limitations imposed on individual aspirations and ambition; and as the rule of democracy spreads and becomes heavier, the number of these will increase, until at last revolt will become possible, nay, inevitable.
-“of this revolt you must make yourselves the guiding-spirits. the work will be long and arduous, but you have all your lives before you, and the reward of success will be glorious beyond all description.
-“not only will you restore the house of romanoff to its ancient glories in yourselves and your children, but you will enthrone it in an even higher place than that which your ancestor had almost won for it, when these thrice-accursed terrorists turned the tide of battle against him on the threshold of the conquest of the world.
-“do not shrink from the task, or despair because you are now only two against the world. think of natas and the mighty work that he did, and remember that he was once only one against the world which in the day of battle he fought and conquered.
-“above all things, never let your eyes wander from the land of the aerians. that once conquered and the world is yours to do with as you will. to do that, you must first conquer the air as they have done. aeria itself, by all reports, is such a paradise as the sun nowhere else shines upon. some day, whether by force or cunning, it may be yours; and when it is, the world also will be yours to be your footstool and your plaything, and all the peoples of the earth shall be your servants to do your bidding.
-“yes, i can see, through the mists of the coming years and beyond the grave that opens at my feet, aerial navies, flying the eagle of russia and scaling the mighty battlements of aeria, hurling their lightnings far and wide in the work of vengeance long delayed! behind the battle, i see darkness that my weak eyes cannot pierce, but yours shall see clearly where mine are clouded with the falling mists of death.
-“the shadows are closing round me, and the sands in the glass are almost run out. yet one thing remains to be done. since alexander romanoff died at the mines of kara, no tsar of russia has been crowned. now i, paul romanoff, his rightful heir, will crown myself after the fashion of my ancestors, and then i will crown you, the daughter of my murdered son, and you will place the diadem on your husband’s brow when god has made you one!”
-so saying, the old man rose from his seat, with his face flushed and his eyes aglow with the light of ecstasy. olga and serge rose to their feet, half in fear and half in wonder, as they looked upon his transfigured countenance.
-he lifted the imperial crown from the table, and then, drawing himself up to the full height of his majestic stature, raised it high above his head, and lowered it slowly down towards his brow.
-the jewelled circlet of gold had almost touched the silver of his snowy hair when the light suddenly died out of his eyes, leaving the glaze of death behind it. he gasped once for breath, and then his mighty form shrank together and pitched forward in a huddled heap at their feet, flinging the crown with a dull crash to the floor, and sending it rolling away into a corner of the room.
-“god grant that may not be an omen, olga!” said serge, covering his eyes with his hands to shut out the sudden horror of the sight.
-chapter iii. tsarina olga.
-three days after his death, the body of paul romanoff was reduced to ashes in the highgate crematorium, a magnificent building, in the sombre yet splendid architecture of ancient egypt, which stood in the midst of what had once been highgate cemetery, and what was now a beautiful garden, shaded by noble trees, and in summer ablaze with myriads of flowers.
-not a grave or a headstone was to be seen, for burial in the earth had been abolished throughout the civilised world for nearly a century. in the vast galleries of the central building, thousands of urns, containing the ashes of the dead, reposed in niches inscribed with the name and date of death, but these mostly belonged to the poorer classes, for the wealthy as a rule devoted a chamber in their own houses to this purpose.
-the body was registered in the great book of the dead at the crematorium as that of paul ivanitch, and the only two mourners signed their names, “serge ivanitch and olga ivanitch, grand-children of the deceased.” the reason for this was, that for more than a century the name of romanoff had been proscribed in all the nations of europe. it was believed that the vladimir romanoff who had been executed by the supreme council, for attempting to solve the forbidden problem, was the last of his race, and paul had taken great pains not to disturb this belief.
-long before his son had met with his end, he had called himself paul ivanitch, and settled in london and practised his profession as a sculptor, in which he had won both fame and fortune. olga had lived with him since her father’s death, and serge, who at the time the narrative opens had just completed his studies at the art university of rome, had passed as her brother.
-they took the urn containing the ashes of the old man back with them to the house, which now belonged, with all its contents, to olga and serge. on the morning after his death, a notice, accompanied by an abstract of his will, had been inserted in the official gazette, the journal devoted exclusively to matters of law and government.
-paul romanoff had, however, left two wills behind him, one which had to be made public in compliance with the law, and one which was intended only for the eyes of olga and serge. this second will reposed, with the crown of russia, in the secret recess in the wall of the octagonal chamber; and the instructions endorsed upon it stated that it was to be opened by serge in the presence of olga, after they had brought his ashes back to the house and had been legally confirmed in their possession of his property.
-consequently, on the evening of the 11th, the two shut themselves into the room, and olga, who since her grandfather’s death had worn the key of the recess on a chain round her neck, unlocked the secret door and gave the will to serge. as she did so, a sudden fancy seized her. she took the crown from its resting-place, and, standing in front of a long mirror which occupied one of the eight sides of the room from roof to floor, poised it above the lustrous coils of her hair with both hands, and said, half to serge and half to herself--
-“what age could not accomplish, youth shall do! by my own right, and with my own hands, i am crowned tsarina, empress of the russias in europe and asia. as the great catherine was, so will i be--and more, for i will be mistress of the west and the east. i will have kings for my vassals and senates for my servants, and i will rule as no other woman has ruled before me since semiramis!”
-as she uttered the daring words, whose fulfilment seemed beyond the dreams of the wildest imagination, she placed the crown upon her brow and stood, clothed in imperial purple from head to foot, the very incarnation of loveliness and royal majesty. serge looked up as she spoke, and gazed for a moment entranced upon her. then he threw himself upon his knees before her, and, raising the hem of her robe to his lips, said in a voice half choked with love and passion--
-“and i, who am also of the imperial blood, will be the first to salute you tsarina and mistress! you have taken me as your lover, let me also be the first of your subjects. i will serve you as woman never was served before. you shall be my mistress--my goddess, and your words shall be my laws before all other laws. if you bid me do evil, it shall be to me as good, and i will do it. i will kill or leave alive according to your pleasure, and i will hold my own life as cheap as any other in your service; for i love you, and my life is yours!”
-olga looked down upon him with the light of triumph in her eyes. no woman ever breathed to whom such words would not have been sweet; but to her they were doubly sweet, because they were a spontaneous tribute to the power of her beauty and the strength of her royal nature, and an earnest of her future sway over other men.
-more than this, too, they had been won without an effort, from the lips of the man whom she had always been taught to look upon as higher than other men, in virtue of his descent from her own ancestry, and the blood-right that he shared with her to that throne which it was to be their joint life-task to re-establish.
-if she did not love him, it was rather because ambition and the inborn lust of power engrossed her whole being, than from any lack of worthiness on his part. of all the men she had ever seen, none compared with him in strength and manliness save one--and he, bitter beyond expression as the thought was to her, was so far above her as she was now, that he seemed to belong to another world and to another order of beings.
-as their eyes met, a thrill that was almost akin to love passed through her soul, and, acting on the impulse of the moment, she took the crown from her own head and held it above his as he knelt at her feet, and said--
-“not as my subject or my servant, but as my co-ruler and helpmate, you shall keep that oath of yours, serge nicholaivitch. we have exchanged our vows, and in a few days i shall be your wife. we will wed as equals; and so now i crown you, as it is my right to do. rise, my lord the tsar, and take your crown!”
-serge put up his hands and took the crown from hers at the moment that she placed it on his brow. he rose to his feet, holding it on his head as he said solemnly--
-“so be it, and may the god of our fathers help me to wear it worthily with you, and to restore to it the glory that has been taken from it by our enemies!”
-then he laid it reverently down on the table and turned to olga, who was still standing before the mirror looking at her own lovely image, as though in a dream of future glory. he took her unresisting in his arms, and kissed her passionately again and again, bringing the bright blood to her cheeks and the light of a kindred passion to her eyes, and murmuring between the kisses--
-“but you, darling, are worth all the crowns of earth, and i am still your slave, because your beauty and your sweetness make me so.”
-“then slave you shall be!” she said, giving him back kiss for kiss, well knowing that with every pressure of her intoxicating lips she riveted the chains of his bondage closer upon his soul.
-to an outside observer, what had taken place would have seemed but little better than boy-and-girl’s play, the phantasy of two young and ardent souls dreaming a romantic and impossible dream of power and glory that had vanished, never to be brought back again. and yet, if such a one had been able to look forward through little more than a single lustrum, he would have seen that, in the mysterious revolutions of human affairs, it is usually the seemingly impossible that becomes possible, and the most unexpected that comes to pass.
-the secret will of paul romanoff, to the study of which the two lovers addressed themselves when they awoke from the dream of love and empire into which olga’s phantasy had plunged them both, would, if it had been made public, have given a by no means indefinite shape to such vague dreams of world-revolution as were inspired in thoughtful minds, even in the thirty-first year of the twenty-first century.
-it was a voluminous document of many pages, embodying the result of nearly eighty years of tireless scheming and patient research in the field of science as well as in that of politics. paul romanoff had lived his life with but one object, and that was, to prepare the way for the accomplishment of a revolution which should culminate in the subversion of the state of society inaugurated by the terrorists, and the re-establishment, at anyrate in the east of europe, of autocratic rule in the person of a scion of the house of romanoff. all that he had been able to do towards the attainment of this seemingly impossible project was crystallised in the document bequeathed to olga and serge.
-it was divided into three sections. the first of these was mostly of a personal nature, and contained details which it would serve no purpose of use or interest to reproduce here. it will therefore suffice to say, that it contained a list of the names and addresses of four hundred men and women scattered throughout europe and america, each of whom was the descendant of some prince or noble, some great landowner or millionaire, who had suffered degradation or ruin at the hands of the terrorists during the reorganisation of society, after the final triumph of the anglo-saxon federation in 1904.
-the second section of the will was of a purely scientific and technical character. it was a theoretical arsenal of weapons for the arming of those who, if they were to succeed at all, could only do so by bringing back that which it had cost such an awful expenditure of blood and suffering to banish from the earth in the days of the terror. the designs of paul romanoff, and the vast aspirations of those to whom he had bequeathed the crown of the great catherine, could have but one result if they ever passed from the realm of fancy to that of deeds.
-if the clock was to be put back, only the armed hand could do it, and that hand must be so armed that it could strike at first secretly, and yet with paralysing effect. the few would have to array themselves against the many, and if they triumphed, it would have to be by the possession of some such means of terrorism and irresistible destruction as those who had accomplished the revolution of 1904 had wielded in their aerial fleet.
-by far the most important part of this section of the will consisted of plans and diagrams of various descriptions of air-ships and submarine vessels, accompanied by minute directions for building and working them. most of these were from the hand of vladimir romanoff, olga’s father; but of infinitely more importance even than all these was a detailed description, on the last page but two of the section, of the solution of a problem which had been attempted in the last decade of the nineteenth century, but which was still unsolved so far as the world at large was concerned.
-this was the direct transformation of the solar energy locked up in coal into electrical energy, without loss either by waste or transference. how vast and yet easily controlled a power this would be in the hands of those who were able to wield it, may be guessed from the fact that, in the present day, less than ten per cent. of the latent energy of coal is developed as electrical power even in the most perfect systems of conversion.
-all the rest is wasted between the furnace of the steam-engine and the dynamo. it was to electrical power, obtained direct from coal and petroleum, that vladimir romanoff trusted for the motive force of his air-ships and submarine vessels, and which he had already employed with experimental success as regards the former, when his career was cut short by the swift and pitiless execution of the sentence of the supreme council.
-the remainder of this section was occupied by a list of chemical formulæ for the most powerful explosives then known to science, and minute instructions for their preparation. at the bottom of the page which contained these, there was a little strip of parchment, fastened by one end to the binding of the other sheets, and covered with very small writing.
-olga’s eyes, wandering down over the maze of figures which crowded the page, reached it before serge’s did. one quick glance told her that it was something very different to the rest. she laid one hand carelessly over it, and with the other softly caressed serge’s crisp, golden curls. as he looked round in response to the caress, their eyes met, and she said in her sweet, low, witching voice--
-“dearest, i have a favour to ask of you.”
-“not a favour to ask, but a command to give, you mean. speak, and you are obeyed. have i not sworn obedience?” he replied, laying his hand upon her shoulder and drawing her lovely face closer to his as he spoke.
-“no, it is only a favour,” she said, with such a smile as antony might have seen on the lips of cleopatra. “i want you to leave me alone for a little time--for half an hour--and then come back and finish reading this with me. you know my brain is not as strong as yours, and i feel a little bewildered with all the wonderful things that there are in this legacy of my father’s father.
-“before we go any further, i should like to read it all through again by myself, so as to understand it thoroughly. so suppose you go to your smoking-room for a little, and leave me to do so. i shall not take very long, and then we will go over the rest together.”
-“but we have only a couple more pages to read, sweet one, and then i will go over it all again with you, and explain anything that you have not understood.”
-as he spoke, serge’s eyes never wavered for a moment from hers. could he but have broken their spell, he might have seen that she was hiding something from him under her little, white hand and shapely arm. she brought her red, smiling lips still nearer to his as she almost whispered in reply--
-“well, it is only a girl’s whim, after all, but still i am a girl. come, now, i will give you a kiss for twenty minutes’ solitude, and when you come back, and we have finished our task, you shall have as many more as you like.”
-the sweet, tempting lips came closer still, and the witching spell of her great dusky eyes grew stronger as she spoke. how was he to know what was hanging in the balance in that fateful moment? he was but a hot-blooded youth of twenty, and he worshipped this lovely, girlish temptress, who had not yet seen seventeen summers, with an adoration that blinded him to all else but her and her intoxicating beauty.
-he drew her yielding form to him until he could feel her heart beating against his, and as their lips met, the promised kiss came from hers to his. he returned it threefold, and then his arm slipped from her shoulder to her waist, and he lifted her like a child from her chair, and carried her, half laughing and half protesting, to the door, claimed and took another kiss before he released her, and then put her down and left her alone without another word.
-“alas, poor serge!” she said, as the door closed behind him; “you are not the first man who has lost the empire of the world for a woman’s kiss. before, i saw that you were my equal and helpmate, now you and all other men--yes, not even excepting he who seems so far above me now--shall be my slaves and do my bidding, so blindly that they shall not even know they are doing it.
-“yes, the weapons of war are worth much, but what are they in comparison with the souls of the men who will have to use them!”
-in half an hour serge came back to finish the reading of the will with her. the little slip of paper had been removed so skilfully that it would have been impossible for him to have even guessed that it had ever been attached to the parchment, or that it was now lying hidden in the bosom of the girl who would have killed him without the slightest scruple to gain the unsuspected possession of it.
-on the day but one following the reading of paul romanoff’s secret will, olga and serge set out for st. petersburg, to convey his ashes to their last resting-place in the cathedral of ss. peter and paul in the fortress of petropaulovski, where reposed the dust of the tyrants of russia, from peter the great to alexander ii. of russia, now only remembered as the chief characters in the dark tragedy of the days before the revolution.
-the intense love of the russians for their country had survived the tremendous change that had passed over the face of society, and it was still the custom to bring the ashes of those who claimed noble descent and deposit them in one of their national churches, even when they had died in distant countries.
-the station from which they started was a splendid structure of marble, glass, and aluminium steel, standing in the midst of a vast, abundantly-wooded garden, which occupied the region that had once been made hideous by the slums and sweating-dens of southwark. the ground floor was occupied by waiting-rooms, dining-saloons, conservatories, and winter-gardens, for the convenience and enjoyment of travellers; and from these lifts rose to the upper storey, where the platforms and lines lay under an immense crystal arch.
-twelve lines ran out of the station, divided into three sets of four each. of these, the centre set was entirely devoted to continental traffic, and the lines of this system stretched without a break from london to pekin.
-the cars ran suspended on a single rail upheld by light, graceful arches of a practically unbreakable alloy of aluminium, steel, and zinc, while about a fifth of their weight was borne by another single insulating rail of forged glass,--the rediscovery of the lost art of making which had opened up immense possibilities to the engineers of the twenty-first century.
-along this lower line the train ran, not on wheels, but on lubricated bearings, which glided over it with no more friction than that of a steel skate on ice. on the upper rail ran double-flanged wheels with ball-bearings, and this line also conducted the electric current from which the motive-power was derived.
-the two inner lines of each set were devoted to long-distance, express traffic, and the two outer to intermediate transit, corresponding to the ordinary trains of the present day. thus, for example, the train by which olga and serge were about to travel, stopped only at brussels, berlin, königsberg, moscow, nijni novgorod, tomsk, tobolsk, irkutsk, and pekin, which was reached by a line running through the salenga valley and across the great desert of shamoo, while from irkutsk another branch of the line ran north-eastward viâ yakutsk to the east cape, where the behring bridge united the systems of the old world and the new.
-the usual speed of the expresses was a hundred and fifty miles an hour, rising to two hundred on the long runs; and that of the ordinary trains, from a hundred to a hundred and fifty. higher speeds could of course be attained on emergencies, but these had been found to be quite sufficient for all practical purposes.
-the cars were not unlike the pullmans of the present day, save that they were wider and roomier, and were built not of wood and iron, but of aluminium and forged glass. their interiors were, of course, absolutely impervious to wind and dust, even at the highest speed of the train, although a perfect system of ventilation kept their atmosphere perfectly fresh.
-the long-distance trains were fitted up exactly as moving hotels, and the traveller, from london to pekin or montreal, was not under the slightest necessity of leaving the train, unless he chose to do so, from end to end of the journey.
-one more advantage of railway travelling in the twenty-first century may be mentioned here. it was entirely free, both for passengers and baggage. easy and rapid transit being considered an absolute necessity of a high state of civilisation, just as armies and navies had once been thought to be, every self-supporting person paid a small travelling tax, in return for which he or she was entitled to the freedom of all the lines in the area of the federation.
-in addition to this tax, the municipality of every city or town through which the lines passed, set apart a portion of their rent-tax for the maintenance of the railways, in return for the advantages they derived from them.
-under this reasonable condition of affairs, therefore, all that an intending traveller had to do was to signify the date of his departure and his destination to the superintendent of the nearest station, and send his heavier baggage on in advance by one of the trains devoted to the carriage of freight. a place was then allotted to him, and all he had to do was to go and take possession of it.
-the continental station was comfortably full of passengers when olga and serge reached it, about fifteen minutes before the departure of the eastern express; for people were leaving the capital of the world in thousands just then, to spend christmas and new year with friends in the other cities of europe, and especially to attend the great winter festival that was held every year in st. petersburg in celebration of the anniversary of russian freedom.
-ten minutes before the express started, they ascended in one of the lifts to the platform, and went to find their seats. as they walked along the train, olga suddenly stopped and said, almost with a gasp--
-“look, serge! there are two aerians, and one of them is”--
-“who?” said serge, almost roughly. “i didn’t know you had any acquaintances among the masters of the world.”
-the son of the romanoffs hated the very name of the aerians, so bitterly that even the mere suspicion that his idolised betrothed should have so much as spoken to one of them was enough to rouse his anger.
-“no, i haven’t,” she replied quietly, ignoring the sudden change in his manner; “but both you and i have very good reason for wishing to make their distinguished acquaintance. i recognise one of these because he sat beside alan arnold, the president of the council, in st. paul’s, when they were foolish enough to relinquish the throne of the world in obedience to an old man’s whim.
-“the taller of the two standing there by the pillar is the younger counterpart of the president, and if his looks don’t belie him, he can be no one but the son of alan arnold, and therefore the future ruler of aeria, and the present or future possessor of the great secret. do you see now why it is necessary that we should--well, i will say, make friends of those two handsome lads?”
-olga spoke rapidly and in russian, a tongue then scarcely ever heard and very little understood even among educated people, who, whatever their nationality, made english their language of general intercourse. the words “handsome lads” had grated harshly upon serge’s ears, but he saw the force of olga’s question at once, and strove hard to stifle the waking demon of jealousy that had been roused more by her tone and the quick bright flush on her cheek than by her words, as he answered--
-“forgive me, darling, for speaking roughly! their hundred years of peace have not tamed my russian blood enough to let me look upon my enemies without anger. of course, you are right; and if they are going by the express, as they seem to be, we should be friendly enough by the time we reach königsberg.”
-a couple of minutes later the alderman, who had been an old friend of paul ivanitch, the famous sculptor, had cordially greeted them and introduced them to the two aerians, whose names he gave as alan arnoldson, the son of the president of the late supreme council, and alexis masarov, a descendant of the alexis mazanoff who had played such a conspicuous part in the war of the terror. they were just starting on the tour of the world, and were bound for st. petersburg to witness the winter festival.
-olga had been more than justified in speaking of them as she had done. both in face and form, they were the very ideal of youthful manhood. both of them stood over six feet in the long, soft, white leather boots which rose above their knees, meeting their close-fitting, grey tunics of silk-embroidered cloth, confined at the waist by belts curiously fashioned of flat links of several different metals, and fastened in front by heavy buckles of gold studded with great, flashing gems.
-from their broad shoulders hung travelling-cloaks of fine, blue cloth, lined with silver fur and kept in place across the breast by silver chains and clasps of a strange, blue metal, whose lustre seemed to come from within like that of a diamond or a sapphire.
-on their heads they wore no other covering than their own thick, curling hair, which they wore somewhat in the picturesque style of the fourteenth century, and a plain, broad band of the gleaming blue metal, from which rose above the temples a pair of marvellously-chased, golden wings about four inches high--the insignia of the empire of the air, and the sign which distinguished the aerians from all the other peoples of the earth.
-as olga shook hands with alan, she looked up into his dark-blue eyes, with a glance such as he had never received from a woman before--a glance in which he seemed instinctively to read at once love and hate, frank admiration and equally undisguised defiance. their eyes held each other for a moment of mutual fascination which neither could resist, and then the dark-fringed lids fell over hers, and a faint flush rose to her cheeks as she replied to his words of salutation--
-“surely the pleasure will rather be on our side, with travelling companions from the other world! for my own part, i seem to remind myself somewhat of one of the daughters of men whom the sons of the gods”--
-she stopped short in the middle of her daring speech, and looked up at him again as much as to say--
-“so much for the present. let the fates finish it!” and then, appearing to correct herself, she went on, with a half-saucy, half-deprecating smile on her dangerously-mobile lips--
-“you know what i mean; not exactly that, but something of the sort.”
-“more true, i fancy, of the daughter of men than of the supposed sons of the gods,” retorted alan, with a laugh, half startled by her words, and wholly charmed by the indescribable fascination of the way in which she said them; “for the daughters of men were so fair that the sons of the gods lost heaven itself for their sakes.”
-“even so!” said olga, looking him full in the eyes, and at that moment the signal sounded for them to take their places in the cars.
-a couple of minutes after they had taken their seats, the train drew out of the station with an imperceptible, gliding motion, so smooth and frictionless that it seemed rather as though the people standing on the platform were sliding backwards than that the train was moving forward. the speed increased rapidly, but so evenly that, almost before they were well aware of it, the passengers were flying over the snow-covered landscape, under the bright, heatless sun and pale, steel-blue sky of a perfect winter’s morning, at a hundred miles an hour, the speed ever increasing as they sped onward.
-the line followed the general direction of the present route to dover, which was reached in about half an hour. without pausing for a moment in its rapid flight, the express swept out from the land over the channel bridge, which spanned the straits from dover to calais at a height of 200 feet above the water.
-travelling at a speed of three miles a minute, seven minutes sufficed for the express to leap, as it were, from land to land. as they swept along in mid-air over the waves, olga pointed down to them and said to alan, who was sitting in the armchair next her own--
-“imagine the time when people had to take a couple of hours getting across here in a little, dirty, smoky steamboat, mingling their sorrows and their sea-sickness in one common misery! i really think this channel bridge is worthy even of your admiration. come now, you have not admired anything yet”--
-“pardon me,” said alan, with a look and a laugh that set serge’s teeth gritting against each other, and brought the ready blood to olga’s cheeks; “on the contrary, i have been absorbed in admiration ever since we started.”
-“but not apparently of our engineering triumphs,” replied olga frankly, taking the compliment to herself, and seeming in no way displeased with it. “it would seem that the polite art of flattery is studied to some purpose in aeria.”
-“there you are quite wrong,” returned alan, still speaking in the same half-jocular, half-serious vein. “before all things, we aerians are taught to tell the absolute truth under all circumstances, no matter whether it pleases or offends; so, you see, what is usually known as flattery could hardly be one of our arts, since, as often as not, it is a lie told in the guise of truth, for the sake of serving some hidden and perhaps dishonest end.”
-the blow so unconsciously delivered struck straight home, and the flush died from olga’s cheek, leaving her for the moment so white that her companion anxiously asked if she was unwell.
-“no,” she said, recovering her self-possession under the impulse of sudden anger at the weakness she had betrayed. “it is nothing. this is the first time for a year or so that i have travelled by one of these very fast trains, and the speed made me a little giddy just for the instant. i am quite well, really, so please go on.
-“you know, that wonderful fairyland of yours is a subject of everlasting interest and curiosity to us poor outsiders who are denied a glimpse of its glories, and it is so very rarely that one of us enjoys the privilege that is mine just now, that i hope you will indulge my feminine curiosity as far as your good nature is able to temper your reserve.”
-as she uttered her request, alan’s smiling face suddenly became grave almost to sternness. the laughing light died out of his eyes, and she saw them darken in a fashion that at once convinced her that she had begun by making a serious mistake.
-he looked up at her, with a shadow in his eyes and a slight frown on his brow. he spoke slowly and steadily, but with a manifest reluctance which he seemed to take little or no trouble to conceal.
-“i am sorry that you have asked me to talk on what is a forbidden subject to every aerian, save when he is speaking with one of his own nation. i see you have been looking at these two golden wings on the band round my head. i will tell you what they mean, and then you will understand why i cannot say all that i know you would like me to say.
-“they are to us what the toga virilis was to the romans of old, the insignia of manhood and responsibility. when a youth of aeria reaches the age of twenty he is entitled to wear these wings as a sign that he is invested with all the rights and duties of a citizen of the nation which has conquered and commands the empire of the air.
-“one of these duties is, that in all the more serious relations of life he shall remain apart from all the peoples of the world save his own, and shall say nothing that will do anything to lift the veil which it has pleased our forefathers in their wisdom to draw round the realm of aeria. before we assume the citizenship of which these wings are the symbol we never visit the outside world save to make air voyages, for the purpose of learning the physical facts of the earth’s shape and the geography of land and sea.
-“immediately after we have assumed it we do as alexis and i are now doing--travel for a year or so through the different countries of the outside world, in order to get our knowledge of men and things as they exist beyond the limits of our own country.
-“the fact that we do so,--under a pledge solemnly and publicly given, of never revealing anything which could lead even to a possibility of other peoples of the earth overtaking us in the progress which we have made in the arts and sciences,--is my excuse for refusing to tell you what your very natural curiosity has asked.”
-olga saw instantly that she had struck a false note, and was not slow to make good her mistake. she laid her hand upon his arm, with that pretty gesture which serge knew so well, and watched now with much bitter feelings, and said, in a tone that betrayed no trace of the consuming passion within her--
-“forgive me! of course, you will see that i did not know i was trenching on forbidden grounds. i can well understand why such secrets as yours must be, should be kept. you have been masters of the world for more than a century, and even now, although you have formally abdicated the throne of the world, it would be absurd to deny that you still hold the destinies of humanity in your hands.
-“the secrets which guard so tremendous a power as that may well be religiously kept and held more sacred than anything else on earth. still, you have mistaken me if you thought i asked for any of these. all i really wanted was, that you should tell me something that would give me just a glimpse of what human life is like in that enchanted land of yours”--
-alan laid his hands upon hers, which was still resting upon his arm, and interrupted her even more earnestly than before.
-“even that i cannot tell you. with us, the man who gives a pledge and breaks it, even in the spirit though not in the letter, is not considered worthy to live, and therefore i must be silent.”
-instead of answering with her lips, olga turned her hand palm upwards, and clasped his with a pressure which he returned before he very well knew what he was doing; and while the magic of her clasp was still stealing along his nerves, serge broke in, with a harsh ring in his voice--
-“but pardon me for interrupting what seems a very pleasant conversation with my--my sister, i should like to ask, with all due deference to the infinitely superior wisdom of the rulers of aeria, whether it is not rather a risky thing for you to travel thus about the world, possessing secrets which any man or woman would almost be willing to die even to know for a few minutes, when, after all, you are but human even as the rest of humanity are?
-“you, for instance, are only two among millions; how would you protect yourselves against the superior force of numbers? supposing you were taken unawares under circumstances which make your superior knowledge unavailing. you know, human nature is the same yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, despite the superficial varnish of civilisation.
-“the passions of men are only curbed, not dead. there may be men on earth to-day who, to gain such knowledge as you possess, would even resort to the tortures used by the inquisition in the sixteenth century. suppose you found yourself in the power of such men as that, what then? would you still preserve your secret intact, do you think?”
-“we do not fear anything of the sort, simply because each one of us holds the power of life and death in his hands. if you laid a hand on me now in anger, or with an intent to do me harm, you would be struck dead before you could raise a finger in your own defence.
-“do you think that we, who are as far in advance of you as you are in advance of the men of a hundred years ago, would trust ourselves amongst those who might be our enemies were we not amply protected against you? tell me, have you ever read a book, written nearly two hundred years ago in the victorian age, called the coming race?”
-“yes,” said serge, thinking, as he spoke, of the possibilities contained in the secret will of paul romanoff, “i have read it, and so has olga. what of it?”
-“well,” said alan quietly, without moving his eyes from those of serge. “i had better tell you at once that we have realised, to all intents and purposes, the dream that lytton dreamt when he wrote that book. i can tell you so much without breaking the pledge of which i have spoken. all that the vril-ya did in his dream we have accomplished in reality, and more than that.
-“our empire is not bounded by the roofs of subterranean caverns, but only by the limits of the planet’s atmosphere. we can soar beyond the clouds and dive beneath the seas. we have realised what he called the vril force as a sober, scientific fact; and if i thought that you, for instance, were my enemy, i could strike you dead without so much as laying a hand on you. and if a dozen like you tried to overcome me by superior brute force, they would all meet with the same fate.
-“i’m afraid this sounds somewhat like boasting,” he continued in a more gentle tone, and dropping his eyes to the floor of the car, “but the turn the conversation has taken obliged me to say what i have done. suppose we give it another turn and change the subject. we have unintentionally got upon rather uncomfortable ground.”
-serge and olga were not slow to take the pointed hint, and so the talk drifted into general and more harmless channels.
-at königsberg, which was reached in nine hours after leaving london, that is to say, soon after seven o’clock in the evening, the eastern express divided: five of the cars went northward to st. petersburg, carrying those passengers who were going to participate in the winter festival, while the other five which made up the train went on to moscow and the east.
-during the twenty minutes’ stop at berlin, olga had found an opportunity of having a few words in private with serge, and had succeeded in persuading him, much against his will, of the necessity of postponing their marriage, and therefore their visit to moscow, for the execution of a daring and suddenly-conceived plan which she had thought out, but which she had then no time to explain to him.
-serge, though very loath to postpone even for a day or two the consummation of his hopes and the hour which should make olga irrevocably his, so far as human laws could bind her to him, was so far under the domination of her imperious will that, as soon as he saw that she had determined to have her own way, he yielded with the best grace he could.
-olga chided him gently and yet earnestly for his outbreak of temper towards alan, and told him plainly that, where such tremendous issues were concerned as those which were involved in the struggle which sooner or later they must wage with the aerians, no personal considerations whatever could be permitted a moment’s serious thought. if she could sacrifice her own feelings, and disguise her hatred of the tyrants of the world under the mask of friendliness, for the sake of the ends to which both their lives were devoted, surely he, if he were at all worthy of her love, could so far trust her as to restrain the unreasoning jealousy of which he had already been guilty.
-either, she told him, he must trust to her absolutely for the present, or he must take the management of affairs into his own hands; and, as she said in conclusion, he must find some influence stronger than hers in their dealings with him who would one day be the ruler of aeria, and, therefore, the real master of the world, should it ever be possible to dispute the empire of earth with the aerians.
-from the influence which she exercised over himself, serge knew only too well that he could not hope to rival her in this regard where a man was concerned, and so he perforce agreed to her proposal, and for the present left the conduct of affairs in her hands.
-a telephonic message was therefore sent from königsberg to the friends who expected them at vorobièvŏ, near moscow, to tell them of the change in their plans; and when the train once more glided out over the frozen plains of the north, the four were once more seated together in the brilliantly-lighted car, which flashed like a meteor through the gathering darkness of the winter’s night.
-about half an hour after they had passed what had once been the jealously-guarded russian frontier, a dazzling gleam of light suddenly blazed down from the black darkness overhead, and olga, who was sitting by one of the windows of the car, bent forward and said--
-“look there! what is that? there is a bright light shining down out of the clouds on the train.”
-alan saw the flash across the window, and, without even troubling to look up at its source, said--
-“oh, i suppose that’ll be the air-ship that was ordered to meet us at st. petersburg. you know, we usually have one of them in attendance, when we trust ourselves alone among our possible enemies of the outer world.”
-the last sentence was spoken with a quiet irony, which brought home both to olga and serge the not very pleasant conviction that their previous conversation had by no means been forgotten. serge, perhaps fearing to give utterance to his thoughts, remained silent, but olga looked at alan with a half-saucy smile, and said almost mockingly--
-“your majesties of aeria may well esteem yourselves impregnable, while you have such a bodyguard as that at your beck and call. i suppose that air-ship would not have the slightest difficulty in blowing this train, and all it contains, off the face of the earth at a moment’s notice, if it had orders to do so?”
-“not the slightest,” said alan quietly. “but in proof of the fact that it has no such hostile intentions, you shall, if you please, take a voyage beyond the clouds in it the day after to-morrow, from st. petersburg.”
-“what!” said olga, her cheeks flushing and her eyes lighting up at the very idea of such an experience. “do you really mean to say that you would permit a daughter of the earth, as i am told you call the women who have not the good fortune to be born in aeria, to go on board one of those wonderful air-ships of yours, and taste the forbidden delights of spurning the earth and sharing, even for an hour, your empire of the air?”
-“why not?” replied alan, with a laugh. “what harm would be done by taking you for a trip beyond the clouds? we are not so selfish as all that; and if the novel experience would give you any pleasure, we have a perfect right to ask you to enjoy it. will you come?”
-“surely there is scarcely any need for me to say ‘yes.’ why, do you know, i believe i would give five years of my life for as many hours on board that air-ship of yours,” said olga; “and if you will do as you say, you will make me your debtor for ever. indeed, how could a poor earth-dweller such as i am repay a favour like that.”
-“ah, if only you were an aerian, i should not have much difficulty in telling you how you could do that,” retorted alan, with almost boyish candour. “as it is, i am afraid i must be satisfied for my reward with the pleasure of knowing that i have given you a pleasurable experience.”
-“your majesty has put that so prettily, that it almost atones for the sense of hopeless inferiority which, i need hardly tell you, is just a trifle bitter to my feminine pride,” said olga, in the same half-bantering tone she had used all along.
-before a reply had risen to alan’s lips, the conversation was interrupted by the air-ship suddenly swooping down from the clouds to the level of the windows of the train, which was now flying along over a wide, treeless plain at a speed of fully two hundred miles an hour.
-as the search-lights of the aerial vessel flashed along the windows of the cars, the blinds, which had been drawn down at nightfall, were sprung up again by the passengers, who were all eager to get a glimpse of one of the marvellous vessels which so rarely came within close view of the dwellers upon earth.
-the air-ship, on which all eyes were now bent with such intense curiosity, was a beautifully-proportioned vessel, built chiefly of some unknown metal, which shone with a brilliant, pale-blue lustre. her hull was about two hundred feet from stem to stern, not counting a long, ramlike projection which stretched some twenty-five feet in front of the stem, with its point level with the keel, or rather, with the three keels,--the centre one shallow and the two others very deep,--which were obviously shaped so as to enable the craft either to stand upright on land or to sail upon the water if desired.
-from each of her sides spread out two great wings, not unlike palm-leaves in shape, measuring some hundred feet from point to point, and about twice the width of the vessel’s deck, which was, as nearly as could be judged, twenty feet amidships.
-these wings were made of some white, lustrous material, which shone with a somewhat more metallic sheen than silk would have done, and were divided into a vast number of sections by transverse ribs. these sections vibrated and undulated rhythmically from front to rear with enormous rapidity, and evidently not only sustained the vessel in the air, but also aided in her propulsion.
-three seemingly solid discs, which glittered brilliantly in the light from the train, marked the positions of the air-ship’s propellers, of which one revolved on a shaft in a straight line with the centre of the deck, while the shafts of the other two were inclined outwards at a slight angle from the middle line. from the deck rose three slender, raking masts, apparently placed there for ornament rather than use, unless indeed they were employed for signalling purposes.
-the whole deck was covered completely from end to end by a curved roof of glass, and formed a spacious chamber pervaded by a soft, diffused light, the origin of which was invisible, and which showed about half a dozen figures clad in the graceful costume of the aerians, and all wearing the headdress with golden wings. from under the domed, crystal roof projected ten long, slender guns,--two over the bows, two over the stern, and three over each side, at equal intervals.
-such was the wonderful craft which swept down from the darkness of the wintry sky, in full view of the passengers in the cars, and lighted up the snowy landscape for three or four miles ahead and astern with the dazzling rays of her two search-lights.
-although, as has been said, the express was moving at quite two hundred miles an hour, the air-ship swept up alongside it with as much apparent ease as though it had been stationary. amid the murmurs of irrepressible admiration which greeted it from the passengers, it glided smoothly nearer and nearer, until the side of one of its wings was within ten feet of the car windows.
-alan and alexis stood up and saluted their comrades on the deck, then a few rapid, unintelligible signals made with the hand passed between them, a parting salute was waved from the air-ship to the express; and then, with a speed that seemed to rival that of the lightning-bolt, the cruiser of the air darted forward and upward, and in ten seconds was lost beyond the clouds.
-“well, now that you have seen one of our aerial fleet at close quarters,” said alan, turning to olga and serge, “what do you think of her?”
-“a miracle!” they both exclaimed in one breath; and then olga went on, her voice trembling with an irresistible agitation--
-“i can hardly believe that such a marvel is the creation of merely human genius. there is something appalling in the very idea of the awful power lying in the hands of those who can create and command such a vessel as that. you aerians may well look down on us poor earth-dwellers, for truly you have made yourselves as gods.”
-she spoke earnestly, and for once with absolute honesty, for the vision of the air-ship had awed her completely for the time being. alan appeared for the moment as a god in her eyes, until she saw his lips curve in a very human smile, and heard his voice say, without the slightest assumption of superiority in its tone--
-“no, not as gods; but only as men who have developed under the most favourable circumstances possible, and who have known how to make the best of their advantages.”
-“god or man,” said olga in her soul, while her lips were smiling acknowledgment of his modesty, “by this time to-morrow you shall be my slave, and i will be mistress both of you and your air-ship!”
-chapter vi. deed and dream.
-when olga went to her room that night in st. petersburg, instead of going to bed, she unpacked from her valise a series of articles which seemed strange possessions for a young girl of not quite seventeen to travel with on her wedding journey.
-first came a tiny spirit furnace from which, by the aid of an arrangement something like the modern blow-pipe, an intense heat could be obtained. then a delicate pair of scales, a glass pestle and mortar, and a couple of glass liquid-measures, and lastly, half a dozen little phials filled with variously-coloured liquids, and as many little packets of powders, that looked like herbs ground very finely.
-when she had placed these out on the table, after having carefully locked the door of her room, and seen that the windows were completely shuttered and curtained, she drew from the bosom of her dress a gold chain, at the end of which was fastened, together with the key of the secret recess in the wall of the turret chamber of the house at hampstead, a small bag of silk, out of which she took a little roll of parchment,--the slip which she had abstracted from paul romanoff’s secret will after she had persuaded serge, with her false kisses, to leave her alone for a while.
-she made them three times over before she was satisfied that they were absolutely correct, and then, with all the care and deliberation of a chemical analyst performing a delicate and important experiment, she proceeded to weigh out tiny quantities of the powders, and to mix them very carefully in the little glass mortar. this done, she emptied the mixture into a little platinum crucible, which she placed on the furnace, at the same time applying a gentle heat.
-then she turned her attention to the phials, measuring off quantities of their contents with the most scrupulous exactitude, mixing them two and two, and adding this mixture to a third, and so on, in a certain order which was evidently prearranged, as she constantly referred to the slip of parchment and her own calculations as she was mixing them.
-by the time she finished this part of her work, she had obtained from the various coloured liquids one perfectly colourless and odourless, of a specific gravity apparently considerably in excess of that of water, although, at the same time, it was extremely mobile and refractive. she held it up to the light, looking at it with her eyelids somewhat screwed up, and with a cruel smile on her pretty lips.
-“so far, so good,” she said in a voice little higher than a whisper. “the lives of fifty strong men in that couple of ounces of harmless looking fluid! if anyone could see me just now, i fancy they would take me rather for a witch or a poisoner of the fifteenth century than for a girl of the twenty-first.
-“well, my friend alan, your mysterious power may kill more quickly, but not more surely than this; and this, too, will take a man out of the world so easily that not even he himself will know that he is going,--not even when he sinks into the sleep from which he will awake on the other side of the shadows.
-“so much for the bodies of our enemies, and now for their souls! i don’t want to kill wholesale, at least, not just yet; and as for you, my alan, you are far too splendid, too glorious a man to be killed, to say nothing of your being so much more useful alive. no, i have a very much pleasanter fate in store for you.”
-just then a little cloud as of incense smoke began to rise from the crucible in which were the mixed powders, and a faint, pleasant perfume began to diffuse itself. she stopped her soliloquy, measured off exactly half of the liquid, and patiently poured it, drop by drop, into the crucible, at the same time gradually increasing the heat.
-the vapour gradually disappeared, and the perfume died away. when she had poured in the last drop, she began slowly stirring the mixture with a glass rod. it gradually assumed the consistency of thick syrup, and after stirring it for three minutes by her watch, which lay on the table beside her, she extinguished the electric lamp and waited.
-in a few seconds a pale, orange-coloured flame appeared hovering over the crucible. as its ghostly light fell upon her anxious features, she caught sight of herself in a mirror let into the wall on the opposite side of the table. she started back in her chair with an irrepressible shudder. for the first time in her life she saw herself as she really was.
-the weird, unearthly light of the flame changed the clear, pale olive of her skin into a sallow red, and cast what looked like a mist of vapour tinged with blood across the dark lustre of her dusky eyes. it seemed as though the light that she had called forth from the darkness had melted the beautiful mask which hid her inner self from the eyes of men, and revealed her naked soul incarnate in the evil shape that should have belonged to it.
-suddenly the flame vanished, she turned on the switch of the lamp, placed a platinum cover over the crucible with a pair of light, curved tongs, and, with a quick half-turn, screwed it hermetically down. then she turned the heat of the furnace on to the full, rose from her chair, and stretched herself, with her linked hands above her head, till her lithe, girlish form was drawn up to its full height in front of the mirror.
-she looked dreamily from under her half-closed lids at the perfect picture presented by the reflection, and then her tightly-closed lips melted into a smile, and she said softly to herself--
-“ah, that is a different sort of picture. i wonder what alan would have thought if he could have seen that one? i don’t think i should have taken my trip in the air-ship to-morrow if he had done. well, i have seen myself as i am--what four generations of inherited hate and longing for revenge have made me.
-“in the light of that horrible flame i might have sat for the portrait of the lost soul of lucrezia borghia. ah, well, if mine is lost, it shall be lost for something worth the exchange. ‘better to rule in hell than serve in heaven,’ as old milton said, and after all--who knows?
-“bah! that is enough of dreaming, when the time for doing is so near. i must get some sleep to-night, or my eyes will have lost some of their brightness by to-morrow.”
-so saying, she busied herself putting away her phials, and powders, and apparatus. the half of the colourless liquid she had left she carefully decanted into a tiny flask, over the stopper of which she screwed a silver cap that had a little ring on the top, and this she hung on the chain round her neck. she replaced the slip of parchment in its silken bag, and carefully burnt the paper on which she had made her calculations.
-by this time the bottom of the crucible was glowing red hot. she noted the time that had elapsed since she had screwed the cap down, waited five minutes longer, and then extinguished the furnace, undressed, and got into bed, and in half an hour was sleeping as quietly as a little child. she had set the chime of her repeating watch to sound at six, and hung the watch close above her head.
-calm as her sleep was at first, it was by no means dreamless, and her dreams were well fitted to be those of a guilty soul slumbering after a work of death.
-she saw herself standing with alan on the glass-domed deck of the air-ship, beneath the light of a clear, white moon sailing high in the heavens, and a host of brilliant stars glittering out of the deep-blue depths beyond it. far below them lay an unbroken cloud-sea of dazzling whiteness, which stretched away into the infinite distance on all sides, until it seemed to blend with the moonlight and melt into the sky.
-then the scene changed, and the air-ship swept downwards in a wide, spiral curve, and plunged through the noiseless billows of the shadowy sea. as she did so, a fearful chorus of sounds rose up from the earth below.
-the moonlight and starlight were gone, and in their place the lurid glare of burning cities and blazing forests cast a fearful radiance up through the great eddying waves of smoke, and reflected itself on the under surface of the clouds; now the air-ship swept hither and thither with bewildering rapidity, like the incarnation of some fearful spirit of destruction. alan had vanished, and she was giving orders rapidly, and men were working the long, slender guns in a grim silence that contrasted weirdly with the horrible din that rose from the earth.
-she saw neither smoke nor flame from the guns, nor heard any sound as they were discharged, but every time she raised her hand, the motion was followed within a few seconds by a shaking of the atmosphere, a dull roar from the earth, and the outburst of vast, dazzling masses of flame, before which the blaze of the conflagration paled.
-she looked down with fierce exultation upon the scene of carnage and destruction; and as she gazed upon it, the fires died away, the roar of the explosions began to sound like echoes in the distance, and when the landscape of her dreamland took definite shape again, the air-ship was hovering over a vast, oval valley, walled in by mighty mountain masses, surmounted by towering peaks, on some of which crests of everlasting snow and ice shone undissolved in the rays of the tropical sun.
-the valley itself was of such incomparable and fairy-like beauty, that it seemed to belong rather to the realm of imagination than to the world of reality. a great lake lay in the centre, its emerald shores lined with groves of palms and orange-trees, and fringed with verdant islets spangled with many coloured flowers.
-on the northern shore of the lake lay a splendid city of marble palaces, surrounded by shady gardens, and divided from each other by broad, straight streets, smooth as ivory and spotless as snow, and lined with double rows of wide-spreading trees, which cast a pleasant shade along their sides.
-in the midst of a vast square, in the centre of the city, rose an immense building of marble of perfect whiteness, surmounted by a great golden dome, which in turn was crowned by the silver shape of a woman with great spreading wings, which blazed and scintillated in the sunlight as though they had been fashioned of sheets of crystal, pure and translucent as diamonds.
-all over the valley, villas and palaces of marble were scattered in cool ravines and on shaded, wooded slopes; and as far as her eye could reach, vast expanses of garden land, emerald pastures, and golden corn fields stretched away over hill and vale, until the most remote were met by the cool, dark forests which clothed the middle slopes of the all-encircling mountains, and themselves gave place higher up to dark, frowning precipices, vast walls of living rock, rising thousands of feet sheer upwards, and ending in the mighty peaks which stood like eternal sentinels guarding this enchanted realm.
-if she had had her will, she would have gazed for ever upon this delightful scene; but the spirit of the dream was not to be controlled, and it faded from her sight just as the picture of death and desolation had done. as it faded away, alan, who had now come back to her side, laid his hand upon her shoulder, and, looking at her with mournful eyes, said wearily--
-“that was your first and last glimpse of heaven. now comes the judgment!”
-as he spoke, the air-ship soared upwards again, and was instantly enveloped in a cloud of impenetrable darkness. she sped on and on in utter silence through the gloom, which was so dense that it seemed to cast the rays of the ship’s electric lights back upon her as she floated amidst it. presently the deathlike silence was broken by a low, weird sound, that seemed like a wail of universal agony rising up from the earth beneath.
-then, far ahead and high up in the sky, appeared a faint light, which grew and brightened until the darkness melted away before it; and olga saw the air-ship floating near enough to the earth for her to see that all its vegetation was withered and yellow, and the beds of its streams almost dry, with only little, thin rivulets trickling sluggishly along them.
-millions of people seemed wandering listlessly and aimlessly about the streets of the cities and the parched fields of the open country, ever and anon stretching their hands as though in appeal up to the dark, moonless sky, in which the fearful shape of light and fiery mist was growing every moment brighter and vaster.
-it grew and grew until it arched half the horizon with its tremendous curve; and then out of the midst of it came a huge, dazzling globe of fire, from the rim of which shot forth great flames of every colour, some of which seemed to descend to the surface of the earth like long fiery tongues that licked up the seething lakes in wreathing clouds of steam, which hissed and roared as they rose like ascending cataracts.
-she looked down between them at the earth. the myriads of figures were there still, but now they lay prone and lifeless on the ground, as though the last agony of mankind were past. the light of the blazing globe grew more and more dazzling, and the heat more and more intense. the speed of the air-ship slackened visibly, although the wings and propellers were working at their utmost speed, and it was falling rapidly, as though there was no longer any air to support it.
-she gasped for breath in the choking, burning atmosphere of the deck chamber, and then a swift, vivid wave of light seemed to sweep through her brain, and she woke with a choking gasp of terror, with the chimes of her watch ringing sweetly in her ears, telling her that the vision had been but a dream of a night that had passed.
-she peered anxiously into the vessel, and saw about two fluid ounces of a dark, glittering liquid, from the surface of which the light of the lamp was reflected as though from a mirror. with hands that trembled slightly, in spite of the great effort she made to keep her nerves in check, she poured the precious fluid into one of the glass measures that she had used the night before.
-seen through the glass, its colour was a deep, brilliant blue, and, like the white liquid first prepared, shone as though with an inherent, light-giving power of its own. she held it up admiringly to the light, and said to herself, with the same cruel smile that had curved her lips when she had contemplated the other fluid--
-“how beautiful it is! it might be made of sapphires dissolved in some potent essence. in reality, it is an elixir capable of dissolving the souls of men. ah, my proud masters of the world, we shall soon see how much your boasted powers avail you against this and a woman’s wit and hatred!
-“and you, my splendid alan, before to-morrow night you shall be at my feet! two drops of this, and that proud, strong soul of yours shall melt away like a snowflake under warm rain, and you shall be my slave and do my bidding, and never know that you are not as free as you are now.
-she set the measure down on the table, and took out of her valise a similar little flask to the one which held the white liquid. in this she carefully poured the contents of the measure, screwed the cap on as before, and hung it with the other on the chain round her neck. then, woman-like, she turned to the mirror, threw back her cloak a little, and gazed at the reflection of the two flasks, which shone like two great gems upon her white skin.
-“there is such a necklace as woman never wore before, since woman first delighted in gems,--a necklace that all the jewels in the world could not buy. how pretty they look!”
-so saying, she turned away from the mirror and carefully put away all traces of the work she had been engaged in, then she threw off her cloak and turned the lamp out and got into bed again, to wait until the attendant called her at eight o’clock as she had directed.
-as such thoughts as these passed through her brain, a new and perhaps a nobler conception of her mission of revenge took possession of her. in the past, natasha had won the love of the man whose genius had made possible, nay, irresistible, the triumph of that revolution which had subverted the throne of her ancestors, and sent the last of the tsars of russia to die like a felon in chains amidst the snows of siberia.
-what more magnificent vengeance could she, the last surviving daughter of the romanoffs, win than the enslavement of the man descended not only from natasha and richard arnold, but also from that alan tremayne whose name he bore, and who, as first president of the anglo-saxon federation, had ensured the victory of the western races over the eastern?
-the empire of freedom and peace, which richard arnold had won for natasha’s sake, this son of the line of natas should convert, at her bidding, into an empire such as she longed to rule over,--an empire in which men should be her slaves and women her handmaidens. for her sake the wave of destiny should flow back again; she would be the semiramis of a new despotism.
-what was the freedom or the happiness of the mass of mankind to her? if she could raise herself above them, and put her foot upon their necks, why should she not do so? by force the leaders of the terror had overthrown the despotisms of the old world; why should not she employ the self-same force to seat herself, with the man she loved in spite of all her hereditary hatred, upon the throne of the world, and reign with him in that glorious land whose beauties had been revealed to her in the vision which surely had been something more than a dream?
-thus thinking and dreaming, and illumining the darkness with her own visions of glories to come, she lay in a kind of ecstasy, until a knock at the door warned her that the time for dreaming had passed and the hour for action had arrived.
-a brief half-hour sufficed for her toilet, and she entered the room of the hotel, in which serge was awaiting her, dressed to perfection in her plain, clinging robe of royal purple, and self-composed as though she had passed the night in the most innocent and dreamless of slumbers. she submitted to his greeting kiss with as good a grace as possible, and yet with an inward shrinking which almost amounted to loathing, born of the visions which were still floating in her mind.
-she shuddered almost invisibly as he released her from his embrace, and then the bright blood rose to her cheeks, and a sudden light shone in her eyes, as the thought possessed her, that not many hours would pass before a far nobler lover would take her in his arms, and would press sweeter kisses upon her lips,--the lips which had sworn fealty and devotion to the enemies of his race.
-serge, with the true egotism of the lover, took the blush to himself, and said, with a laugh of boyish frankness--
-“travelling and russian air seem to agree with your majesty. evidently you have slept well your first night on russian soil. i was half afraid that what happened yesterday, and your conversation with that golden-winged braggart from aeria, would have sufficiently disturbed you to give you a more or less sleepless night, but you look as fresh and as lovely as though you had slept in the most perfect peace at home.”
-the anger that these unthinking words awoke in her soul, brought back the bright flush to olga’s cheeks and the light into her eyes, and again serge mistook the sign, as indeed he might well have done; and so he entirely mistook the meaning of her words when she replied, with a laugh, of the true significance of which he had not the remotest conception--
-“on the contrary, how was it possible that i could have anything but the sweetest sleep and the most pleasant dreams, after such a delightful journey and the making of such pleasant acquaintances? do you not think the fates have favoured us beyond our wildest expectations, in thus bringing our enemies so unconsciously across our path at the very outset of our campaign against them?
-“but really, these aerians are delightful fellows. no, don’t frown at me like that, because you know as well as i do, that in that chivalrous good-nature of theirs lies our best hope of success.”
-as she spoke she went up to him, and laid her two hands upon his shoulder, and went on looking up into his eyes with a seductive softness in hers.
-“i am afraid i made you terribly jealous yesterday; but really, serge, you must remember that in diplomacy, and diplomacy alone, lies our only chance of advantage in the circumstances which the kindly fates appear to have specially created for our benefit.
-“the time for you to act will come later on, and when it comes, i know you will acquit yourself like the true romanoff that you are; but for the present--well, you know these aerians are men, and where diplomacy alone is in the question, it is better that a woman should deal with them. you will trust me for the present,--won’t you, serge?”
-for all answer, he took her face between his hands, put her head back, and kissed her, saying as he released her--
-“yes, darling; i will trust you not only now, but for ever. you are wiser than i am in these things. do as you please; i will obey.”
-as he spoke, the door opened, and an attendant came in with two little cups of coffee on a silver salver. he placed it on the table, told them that breakfast would be ready for them in the morning-room in ten minutes, and retired. as they sipped their coffee, olga said to serge--
-“now, we shall meet our enemies at breakfast, and i want you to be a great deal more cordial and friendly than you were yesterday. our own feelings concern ourselves alone, but in our outward conduct we owe something to the sacred cause which we both have at heart. you can imagine how great a sacrifice i am making in my relations with those whom i have been taught to hate from my cradle.
-“i can see as well as you do, perhaps better, that this future ruler of aeria admires me in his own boyish way. if i can bring myself to appear complaisant, surely it is not too much to ask you to look upon it with indifference, or even with interest,--a brotherly interest, you know; for you must remember that he knows me only as your sister.
-“now, i want you to ask them to come and have breakfast with us at our table, and to exert yourself to appear agreeable to them, even as i shall; and above all things, promise me that you will fall in with any suggestions that i may make as regards our trip in this wonderful air-ship which we are to make to-morrow.
-“there is no time now to explain to you what i mean, but i swear to you, by the blood that flows in both our veins, that if i can only carry through, without any let or hindrance, the plans that i have already formed--that before forty-eight hours have passed that air-ship shall no longer be under alan arnoldson’s command.”
-he looked at her for a moment with almost incredulous admiration. she returned his inquiring glance with a steady, unwavering gaze, which made suspicion impossible. all his life he had grown up to look upon her as sharing with him the one hope that was left of restoring the ancient fortunes of their family. more than this they had been lovers ever since either of them knew the meaning of love.
-how then could he have dreamt that behind so fair an appearance lay as dark and treacherous a design as the brain of an ambitious woman had ever conceived? intoxicated by her beauty and the memory of his lifelong love, he took a couple of steps towards her, took her unresisting into his arms again, and said passionately--
-“give me another kiss, darling, and on your lips i will swear to trust you always and do your bidding even to the death.”
-she returned his kiss with a passion so admirably simulated that his resolve was thrice strengthened by it, and then she released herself gently from his embrace, saying--
-“even so, unto the death if needs be,--as i shall serve our sacred cause to the end, cost what it may! come, it is time that we went down to breakfast.”
-chapter vii. the spell of circe
-breakfast passed off very pleasantly, and by the time it was over serge was upon much better terms with the two aerians than he had been on the previous day. he had taken olga’s warning and appeal to heart, and he had done so all the more easily for the reason that he felt somewhat ashamed of himself for the ill-temper and bad manners of which he had been guilty, and which their two new acquaintances had repaid with such dignified courtesy and good humour.
-his frankly-expressed apology was accepted with such perfect good nature, unmixed with even a suspicion of condescension, that he felt at ease with them at once, and even began to regret that his destiny made it impossible for him to be their friend instead of their enemy.
-the discussion of their plans for the day occupied the rest of the meal. they had a whole twenty-four hours before them, for the ithuriel would not be back from san francisco, where she was going when she passed the train, until ten o’clock on the following morning, so it was arranged that they would begin the day with a sleigh drive--a luxury which not even aeria could afford,--then the two aerians were to see the sights of the city under the guidance of olga and serge, and perform the chief of the duties that brought them to st. petersburg.
-after luncheon they were to have a couple of hours on the ice in the park, into which the yusupoff gardens of the nineteenth century had been expanded, after which they would see the ice palaces illuminated at dusk, then dine, and finish the day at the opera. when the air-ship arrived, a rapid flight was to be taken across europe over the alps and back to moscow, across italy, greece, and the black sea, which would enable alan and alexis to deposit their guests with their moscow friends soon after nightfall.
-the sleigh drive took the form of a race, on the plain stretching towards lake ladoga, between the two troikas driven by serge and olga, who had so managed matters that she had alan for a companion, and who, not a little to serge’s disgust, won it, after a desperate struggle, by a head. the race was a revelation to the two aerians, and when alan handed olga out of the sleigh after they had trotted quietly back to the city, the interest which she had excited in him during the railway journey had already begun to deepen into a sentiment much more pleasing and dangerous.
-the rest of the morning was devoted to driving about the city, and to paying a visit to the ancient fortress of peter and paul, which alone of all the fortress prisons of russia had been preserved intact as a fitting monument of fallen despotism and a warning to all future generations. once at least in his life every man in aeria visited this fortress, as good moslems visit mecca, and this was the duty which alan and alexis were now performing.
-in one of the horrible dungeons deep down in the foundations of the fortress, under the waters of the neva, they were shown a massive gold plate riveted on to the rough, damp, stone wall. its surface was kept brightly polished, and it looked strangely incongruous with the gloom and squalor of the cell. on it stood an inscription in platinum letters let into the gold:
-“in this cell israel di murska, afterwards known as natas, the master of the terror, was imprisoned in the year 1881, previous to his exile to siberia by order of alexander romanoff the last of the tyrants of russia.”
-with feelings wide asunder as love and hate, or gratitude and revenge, the descendant of natas and the daughter of the romanoffs stood in front of this memorial plate, and read the simple and yet pregnant words. alan and alexis both bent their heads as if in reverence for a moment, but olga and serge gazed at it with heads erect and eyes glowing with the fires of anger, in a silence that was broken by alan saying--
-“liberty surely never had a stranger temple than this, and yet this dungeon is to us what the tomb of the prophet is to the moslems. i wonder what the last of the tsars would have thought if he could have foreseen even a little part of all that sprang from the tragedy that was begun in this dismal cell?”
-“he would have killed him,” said olga, carried away for the moment by an irrepressible burst of passion, “and then there would have been no natas, no terror, and no terrorist air-fleet, and alexander romanoff would have died master of the world instead of a chained felon in siberia! your ancestor, richard arnold, would have starved in his garret, or killed himself in despair, as many other geniuses did before him, and”--
-“and the world would have remained the slave-market of tyrants and the shambles of murderous men. let us thank god that natas lived to do his work!” said alan in a tone of solemn reverence, wondering not a little at olga’s strange outburst, and yet not having the remotest idea of its true cause.
-neither olga nor serge could reply to this speech. they would have bitten their tongues through rather than say “amen” to it, and anything else they dare not have said. after a moment more of somewhat constrained silence, olga turned towards the door and said--
-“come! let us go, the air of this place poisons me!”
-when they got on the ice after lunch, olga was not a little astonished to find that, perfect as she and serge were in skating, the two aerians were little inferior to them, despite the fact that they had just left their tropical home for the first time.
-“how is this?” said olga to alan, as, hand in hand, they went sweeping over the ice in long, easy curves. “i suppose you manufacture your ice for skating purposes in aeria?”
-“no,” he said. “some of our mountains rise above the snow-line, and in their upper valleys they have little lakes, so, when we want a skating surface, we just pump the water up and flood them and let it freeze. besides this--i don’t think there is any harm in my telling you that we have a sort of wheel-skate which runs quite as easily as steel does on ice.”
-“ah,” said olga, possessed by a sudden thought. “then i suppose that is why the streets of your splendid city are so broad, and white, and smooth?”
-quietly as the words were spoken, alan’s hand tightened upon hers as he heard them with a grip that almost made her cry out with pain. it was some moments before he recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to ask her the meaning of her unexpected and amazing question. she greeted his question with a saucy smile and a mocking, upward glance, and said quietly--
-“simply because i have seen them!”
-it was a bow drawn at a venture. she had suddenly determined to test the truth of her vision and hazard a description from it of the unknown land.
-“you have seen them?” cried alan, now more amazed than ever. “but, pardon me, even at the risk of contradicting you i must tell you that that is impossible. no one not a born aerian has set eyes on aeria for more than a hundred years.”
-“so you think perhaps,” she said in the same quiet, half-mocking tone. “well now, listen and tell me whether this description is entirely incorrect. if it is correct you need say nothing, if it is not you can tell me so.”
-and then she began, while he listened in a silence of utter stupefaction, and described the valley and city of aeria as she had seen them in her dream-vision. when she had finished he was silent for several moments, and then said in a voice that told her that she had really seen it as though with the eyes of flesh--
-“what are you? a sorceress, or--no, you cannot be an aerian girl in disguise, for none ever leaves the country till she is married.”
-“then as i cannot be the latter,” said olga, “you must, i suppose, consider me the former. now i shall take my revenge for your reticence in the train yesterday, and tell you no more. we are quits to that extent at least, and now we will go back to my brother, if you please.”
-with this alan was forced to be content. indeed, he could not have pursued the subject without breaking his oath, and so a few minutes later it came about that olga and serge were skating together in an unfrequented part of the lake, and here olga took an opportunity that she might not have again of telling him as much as she thought fit for him to know of her plans for capturing the air-ship on the following day.
-“i needn’t tell you,” said she, “that this air-ship is worth everything to us, and that therefore we must be ready to go to any extremities to get possession of it. it is the first step to the command of the world, for you heard alan say to-day that she is the swiftest vessel in the whole aerian fleet.”
-“but to do that we must first overcome the crew,” said serge, looking anxiously about to see if there was anyone within earshot. “how are we going to do that--two of us against ten or a dozen, armed with powers we know nothing about?”
-“we must find means to drug them--to poison them, if necessary, during to-morrow’s voyage,” came the reply, in a whisper that made his heart stand still for the moment with utter horror.
-“good god! is that really necessary? it seems a horrible thing to do, when they are trusting us and taking us as their guests,” he said in a low, trembling tone.
-“yes,” she replied, with a well simulated shudder; “it is horrible, i know, but it is necessary. remember that we have solemnly sworn war to the knife against this people, and that, armed as they are, all open assault is impossible; therefore they must be struck in secret, or not at all.
-“now listen. i have brought with me a flask which my grandfather gave me a day or two before he died. it contains enough of a tasteless, powerful narcotic to send twenty people to sleep so that nothing will wake them for several hours. i will give you half of this to-night and keep half myself, and one of us must find an opportunity to get the crew to take it in their wine, or whatever they may drink, for they are sure to have one or two meals while we are on board.
-“to-night i will send instructions in cypher to the lossenskis in vorobièvŏ to tell them that as many as possible of the friends must be ready for action by eight to-morrow night, and must wait, if necessary, night after night till we come. if all goes well we shall select the new crew of the ithuriel from them before we see two more sunrises. in fact, by the time we return from our voyage we must have absolute control of the vessel.
-“and none shall, so far as i am concerned,” replied serge in a low, steady voice that showed that his horror at the deed they contemplated had succumbed, at least for the moment, to the tremendous temptation offered by the prospect of success.
-“spoken like a true romanoff!” said olga, looking up at him with a sweet smile of approval. “as the deed is so shall the reward be. now we must get back to our friends. we will find a means to get an hour together before to-night to arrange matters further, and we will have alan and alexis to supper with us after the opera, and then i will begin my share of the work. once the air-ship is ours, we can hide her in one of the ravines of the caucasus, hold a council of war in the villa at vorobièvŏ, and set about the work of the revolution in regular fashion.”
-the rest of the day was spent in accordance with the plans already agreed on. olga and serge had tea together in their private room before going to the theatre, and put the finishing touches to their plans for the momentous venture of the following day; and alan and alexis, all unsuspecting, accepted their invitation to supper after their return from the opera-house.
-the seemingly innocent and pleasant little supper, which passed off so merrily in the private sitting-room occupied by olga and serge, had but one incident which calls for description here, and even that was unnoticed not only by the two guests, but by serge himself.
-just before midnight, olga proposed that, in accordance with the ancient custom of russia, they should drink a glass of punch, brewed in the russian style; and as she volunteered to brew it herself, it is needless to say that the invitation was at once accepted.
-the apparatus stood upon a little table in one corner of the room. for a single minute her back was turned to the three sitting at the table in the centre; her share in the conversation was not interrupted for an instant, and no one saw a couple of drops of sparkling, blue liquid fall into each of three of the glasses from the little flask that she held concealed in the palm of her hand, and when she turned round with the little silver tray on which the glasses stood, the flask was resting at the bottom of her dress-pocket.
-she handed a glass to each of them, and then took her own up from the side-table where she had left it. she went to her place, and, holding her glass up, said simply--
-“here’s to that which each of us has nearest at heart!” and drank.
-all followed suit, and as the clock chimed twelve a few minutes later, the two aerians took their leave, and left olga and serge alone.
-“you said you would begin your share of the work to-night,” said he, as soon as they were alone. “have you done so?”
-“if you do your work to-morrow as successfully as i have done mine to-night,” replied olga, looking steadily into his eyes as she spoke, “the empire of the air will no longer be theirs.”
-serge returned her glance in silence. he wanted to speak, but some superior power seemed to have laid a spell upon his will, and as long as olga’s burning eyes were fixed on his, his tongue was paralysed, nay, more than this, his mind even refused to shape the sentences that he would have liked to speak. olga held him mute before her for several minutes, and then she said quietly, still keeping her eyes fixed on his--
-“now speak, and tell me what you would do if i told you that i preferred alan as a lover to you, and that i would rather a thousand times be his slave and plaything than your wife.”
-“i should say that you are the mistress of my destiny, that i have no law but your will, and that it is for you to give me joy or pain, as seems good to you.”
-serge spoke the unnatural words in a calm, passionless tone, rather as though he were speaking in a sort of hypnotic trance than in full command of his senses. a strange, subtle influence had been stealing through his veins and over his nerves ever since he had drunk the liquor which olga had prepared.
-he seemed perfectly incapable of resisting any suggestion that might have been made to him. his will was paralysed, but even the consciousness of this fact was fading from his mind. all his passions were absolutely in abeyance. even his love for olga failed to inspire him with any jealous resentment of words which half an hour before would have goaded him to frenzy. he heard them as though they concerned someone else.
-the ruin of his life’s hopes, which they implied so distinctly, had no meaning for him; so far as his volition was concerned he was an automaton, ready to obey without question the dictates of her imperious will.
-“that will do,” said olga, in the tone of a mistress addressing a servant. “now go to bed and sleep well, and remember the work that lies before you to-morrow.”
-“i will,” said serge, and without another word, without attempting to take his customary good-night kiss, he walked out of the room, leaving her to the enjoyment of her victory and the contemplation of triumphs that now seemed almost certain to her.
-punctual to its appointed time, the air-ship appeared in mid-air over the city a few minutes before ten the next morning. it sank slowly and gracefully to within a hundred feet of the ground over the garden of the hotel in which the two aerians and their new friends were staying.
-signals were rapidly exchanged as before between alan and one of the crew standing on the afterpart of the deck. then it sank down on to one of the snow-covered lawns of the garden, a door opened in the glass covering of the deck, a short, light, folding ladder with hand-rails dropped out of it to the ground, and alan, springing up three or four of the steps, held out his hand to olga, saying--
-“come along! we shall have a crowd round us in another minute.”
-this was true, for the appearance of the air-ship had already attracted hundreds of people in the streets, and many of them had already made their way into the gardens of the hotel in order to get a closer view of her.
-olga, feeling not a little like a queen ascending a throne, ran lightly up the steps, followed by serge and alexis. the moment they got on to the deck the ladder was drawn up, the glass door slid noiselessly to, and alan at once presented them to his friends on deck.
-while the introductions were taking place, the wings of the air-ship began to vibrate and undulate with a wavy motion from forward aft, at first slowly, and then more and more swiftly, her propeller whirled round, and the wonderful craft rose without a jar or a tremor from the earth. then the propellers began to revolve faster and faster, and she shot forward and upward over the trees amid the admiring murmurs of the crowds in the streets about the hotel. but little did those light-hearted sightseers dream, any more than did the captain and crew of the ithuriel, that this aerial pleasure-cruise was destined to mark the beginning of a tragedy that would involve the whole of civilised humanity in a catastrophe so colossal that the like of it had never been seen or even dreamt of on earth before. from the wit of a woman and the weakness of a man were now to be evolved the elements of destruction that ere long should lay the world in ruins.
-chapter viii. the new terror.
-five years had passed since the ithuriel had vanished like a cloud from the sky, leaving, so far as the air-ship itself was concerned, no more trace than if she had soared into space beyond the sphere of the earth’s attraction and departed to another planet.
-all the rest of the winter of 2030-1, tidings had been sought most anxiously, but in vain, by the kindred and friends of those who had formed her crew during the ill-fated voyage on which she had disappeared into the unknown. the earth had been ransacked east and west, north and south, by the aerial fleet in search of the missing ithuriel, but without result.
-she had been traced to st. petersburg and vorobièvŏ, but there, like the phantom craft of the flying dutchman, she had melted into thin air so far as any result of the search could show. but when the snows thawed on the mountains of norway, and the bodies of eight aerians who had formed her crew on her last fatal voyage were discovered by a couple of foresters in a melting snowdrift on the very spot on which vladimir romanoff had been killed with his companions by order of the supreme council, a thrill both of horror and excitement ran through the whole civilised world.
-that their death was intimately connected with the disappearance of the air-ship was instantly plain to everyone, and the only inference which could be drawn from such a conclusion was that at last some power, silent, mysterious, and intangible, had come into existence prepared to dispute the empire of the world with the aerians, and, more than this, had already struck them a deadly blow which it was utterly beyond their power to return.
-the effects of this discovery were exactly what olga had anticipated. from the first time since their ancestors had conquered the earth and made war impossible, the supreme authority of the aerians was called into question. it was quite beyond their power to conceal the fact that their flagship had either deserted or been captured, incredible as either alternative seemed. the central council therefore wisely accepted the situation, and immediately after the discovery of the bodies the president published a full account of her last voyage, as far as was known, in the columns of the european review, the leading newspaper of the day in the old world.
-the only clue to the fate of the air-ship seemed to lie in the fact that at st. petersburg a youth and young girl with whom alan and alexis had made friends on their journey from london had gone on board the ithuriel for a trip to the clouds. but this led to nothing. who was to recognise the daughter of the tsar and the last male scion of the house of romanoff in olga and serge ivanitch, who had never been known as anything but the orphan grandchildren of paul ivanitch, the sculptor.
-more than this, even to entertain for a moment the supposition that this boy and girl--for they were known to be little more--could by any possible means have overcome the ten aerians, armed as they were with their terrible death-power, and then have vanished into space with the air-ship would have been to shatter the supremacy of the aerians at a blow.
-even as it was, the wildest and most dangerous rumours began to fly from lip to lip and nation to nation all round the world, and for the first time since the days of the terror the “earth folk” began to think of the aerians rather as men like themselves than as the superior race which they had hitherto regarded them.
-the president of aeria at once issued a proclamation asking, in the interests of peace and public security, for the assistance of all the civilised peoples of the earth in his efforts to discover the lost air-ship, and also conditionally declaring a war of extermination on any power or nation which either concealed the whereabouts of the ithuriel or gave any assistance to those who might be in possession of her. this proclamation was published simultaneously in all the newspapers of the world, and produced a most profound sensation wherever it was read.
-the terrible magic of the ominous word “war” roused at once the deathless spirit of combativeness that had lain dormant for all these years. it was impossible not to recognise the fact that this mysterious power, which had come unseen into existence and had snatched the finest vessel in the aerian navy from the possession of the council with such daring and skill that not a trace of her was to be found, could have but one object in view, and that was to dispute the empire of the air with the descendants of the terrorists.
-this could mean nothing else than the outbreak, sooner or later, of a strife that would be a veritable battle of the gods, a struggle which would shake the world and convulse human society throughout its whole extent. the general sense of peace and security in which men had lived for four generations was shattered at a stroke by the universal apprehension of the blow that all men felt to be inevitable, but which would be struck no man knew when or how.
-a year passed, and nothing happened. the world went on its way in peace, the aerian patrols circled the earth with a moving girdle of aerial cruisers, ready to give instantaneous warning of the first reappearance of the lost ithuriel; but nothing was discovered. if she still existed, she was so skilfully concealed as to be practically beyond the reach of human search.
-then without the slightest warning, while anglo-saxondom was in the midst of the hundred and thirtieth celebration of the festival of deliverance, the civilised world was started out of the sense of security into which it had once more begun to fall by the publication, in the european review, of the following piece of intelligence:--
-a mystery of the sea.
-disappearance of three transports.
-it is our duty to chronicle the astounding and disquieting fact that the three transports, massilia, ceres, and astræa, belonging respectively to the eastern, southern, and western services, have disappeared.
-the first left new york for southampton four days ago, and should have arrived yesterday. the central atlantic signalling station reported her “all well” at midday on tuesday, and this is the last news that has been heard of her. the second was reported from cape verd station on her voyage from cape town to marseilles, and there all trace of her is lost, as she never reached the canary station. the third was last heard of from station no. 2 in the indian ocean, which is situated at the intersection of the 80th meridian of east longitude with the 20th parallel of south latitude; she was on her way from melbourne to alexandria, and should have touched at aden two days ago.
-the disappearance of these three magnificent vessels, filled as they were with passengers and loaded with cargoes of enormous value both in money and material, can only be described as a calamity of world-wide importance. unhappily, too, the mystery which surrounds their fate invests it with a sinister aspect which it is impossible to ignore.
-that their loss is the result of accident or shipwreck it is almost impossible to believe. they represented the latest triumphs of modern shipbuilding. all were over forty thousand tons in measurement, and had engines capable of driving them at a speed of fifty nautical miles an hour through the water.
-for fifty years no ocean transport has suffered shipwreck or even serious injury, so completely has modern engineering skill triumphed over the now conquered elements. added to this, no storms of even ordinary violence have occurred along their routes. after passing the stations at which they were last reported, they vanished, and that is all that is known about them.
-the president of aeria has desired us to state that he has ordered his submarine squadrons stationed at zanzibar, ascension, and fayal, to explore the ocean beds along the routes pursued by the transports. until we receive news of the result of their investigation it will be well to refrain from further comment on this mysterious misfortune which has suddenly and unexpectedly fallen upon the world, and in doing so we shall only express the fervent desire of all civilised men and women when we express the hope that this calamity, grievous as it is, may not be the precursor of even greater misfortunes to come.
-it would be almost impossible for us of the present day to form any adequate estimate of the thrill of horror and consternation which this brief and temperately-worded narration of the mysterious loss of the three transports sent through the world of the twenty-first century. not only was it the first event of the kind that had occurred within the memory of living men, but, saving the loss of the ithuriel, it was the first dark cloud that had appeared in the clear heaven of peace and prosperity for more than a hundred and twenty years.
-but terrible as was the state of excitement and anxiety into which it threw the nations of the world, it gave place to a still deeper horror and bewilderment when day after day passed and no tidings were received of the three submarine squadrons, consisting of three vessels each, which had been sent to inquire into the fate of the transports. they dived beneath the waves of the indian ocean and the atlantic, and that was the last that was ever seen of them.
-month after month went by, every week bringing news of some fresh calamity at sea--of the disappearance of transport after transport along the great routes of ocean travel, of squadron after squadron of submarine cruisers which plunged into the abysses of the sea to discover and attack the mysterious enemy of mankind that lay hidden in the depths, and which never reappeared on the surface. whether they were captured or destroyed it was impossible to say, simply because no member of their crews ever returned to tell the tale.
-whatever doubt there had been as to the existence or hostile nature of this ocean terror that was paralysing the trade of the world was speedily set at rest by a discovery made in the spring of the year 2032 by a party of divers who descended to repair a fault in one of the atlantic cables about two hundred miles west of ireland.
-there, lying in the atlantic ooze, they found the shattered fragments of the sirius, a transport which had disappeared about a month before. the great hull of the splendid vessel had been torn asunder by some explosive of tremendous power, and, more than this, her hold had been rifled of all its treasure and the most valuable portions of its cargo. after this there no longer remained any doubt that the depths of the ocean were the hunting-ground of some foe of society, one at least of whose objects was plunder.
-the president and council of aeria found themselves at last confronted and baffled by an enemy who could neither be seen nor reached in his hiding-place, wherever it might be, beneath the surface of the waters. thousands of lives had been sacrificed, and treasure in millions had been lost by the end of the first year of what men had now come to call the new terror.
-new fleets of submarine cruisers were built and held in readiness in all the great ports of the world, and these scoured the ocean depths in all directions with no further result than the swift and silent annihilation of vessel after vessel by some power which struck irresistibly out of the darkness and then vanished the moment that the blow had been delivered.
-as yet, however, no enemy appeared on land or in the air, nor were any tidings heard of the lost ithuriel, or her captain and lieutenant. the aerians had replaced her with ten almost identical vessels and had raised the strength of their navy to two hundred and fifty vessels, one hundred of which were kept in readiness in aeria, while the other hundred and fifty were distributed in small squadrons at twenty-four stations, half of which were in the western hemisphere and half in the eastern.
-the submarine warfare had now practically ceased. nearly two hundred vessels belonging to aeria, britain, and america, had been captured or destroyed by an enemy which at the period at which this portion of the narrative opens was as supreme throughout the realm of the waters as the aerians were in the air. to the menace of the air-ships this hidden foe replied by severing all the oceanic cables and paralysing the communication of the world save overland and through the air.
-thus, at the end of six years after the capture of the ithuriel by olga romanoff more than half the work of those who had brought peace on earth after the armageddon of 1904 had been undone. all over the world, not even excepting in aeria, men lived in a state of constant anxiety and apprehension, not knowing where or how their invisible enemy would strike them next.
-the masters of the world were supreme no longer, for a new power had arisen which, within the limits of the seas, had proved itself stronger than they were. communication between continent and continent had almost ceased, save where the aerian air-ships were employed. in six short years the peace of the world had been destroyed and the stability of society shaken.
-among the nations of anglo-saxondom the change had manifested itself by a swift decadence into the worst forms of unbridled democracy. men’s minds were unhinged, and the most extravagant opinions found acceptance.
-parliaments had already been made annual and were fast sinking into machines for registering the ever-changing opinions of rival factions and their leaders. sovereigns and presidents were little better than popular puppets existing on sufferance. in short, all that paul romanoff had prophesied was coming to pass more rapidly than even he had expected so far as the area of the anglo-saxon federation was concerned.
-in the moslem empire affairs were different, but no less threatening. the sultan khalid the magnificent, as he was justly styled by his admirers, saw clearly that the time must come when this mysterious enemy would emerge from the waters and attempt the conquest of the land, and for three years past he had been manufacturing weapons and forming armies against the day of battle which he considered inevitable, and which he longed for rather than dreaded.
-thus, while anglo-saxondom was lapsing into the anarchy of unrestrained democracy, the moslem monarch was preparing to take advantage of the issue of events which, skilfully turned to account, might one day make him master of the world.
-such was the condition of affairs throughout the world on the 1st of may 2036, and then the long-expected came in strange and terrible shape. at midnight a blaze of light was seen far up in the sky over the city of aeria. a moment later something that must have been a small block of metal fell from a tremendous height in the square in the centre of the city, and was shivered to fragments by the force of its fall.
-on the splintered pavement where it fell was found a little roll of parchment addressed to the president. it was taken to him, and he opened it and read these words:--
-to alan arnold, president of aeria.
-if you want your son alan and his friend alexis, go and look for them on an island which you will find near the intersection of the 40th parallel of south latitude and the 120th meridian of west longitude in the south pacific. they have served my turn, and i have done with them. perhaps they will be able to tell you how i have conquered the empire of the sea. before long i shall have wrested the empire of the air from you as well.
-chapter ix. the flight of the “revenge.”
-astounding, almost stupefying, as were the tidings conveyed by this letter, which had dropped like a veritable bolt from the blue, the challenge contained in the last sentence and the ominous name with which it was signed were matters of infinitely greater and more instant importance.
-alan arnold was the responsible president of aeria first and a father afterwards. he lost not a moment in speculating upon the strange fate of his son and first-born. the safety not only of aeria, but of the world, demanded his first attention, and he gave it.
-crushing the missive in his hand he took two swift strides to a telephone in the wall of the room in which he had received the message from the skies and delivered several rapid orders through it. if they had been the words of a demi-god instead of those of a man their effects could scarcely have been more instantaneous or marvellous.
-on a hundred mountain-peaks all round the great valley of aeria enormous lights blazed out simultaneously, flinging long streams of radiance, dazzling and intense, for miles into the sky towards all points of the compass, and at the same moment fifty air-ships soared up from their stations all round the mountains, flashing their search-lights ahead and astern in all directions.
-it was a scene of unearthly wonder and magnificence, a scene such as could only have been made possible by the triumphant genius of a race of men, heirs of all the best that earth could give them, who had turned the favour of circumstance to the utmost advantage.
-three minutes sufficed for the aerial cruisers to clear the mountains, and as they did so the wide-sweeping rays of fifty search-lights, assisted by the blazing orbs which crowned every mountain-peak, illuminated the darkness for many miles outside the valley. in the midst of the sea of light thus projected through the semi-darkness of the starlit heavens the flying shape of an air-ship was detected speeding away to the south-eastward.
-instantly the prows of the whole squadron were turned towards her, and the first aerial race in the history of the world began. the pursuing air-ships spread themselves out in a huge semicircle, at the extremities of which were the two swiftest vessels in the fleet, almost exact counterparts of the lost ithuriel. one of these bore the same name as the stolen flag-ship, and the other had been named the ariel, after the first vessel built by richard arnold, the conqueror of the air, a hundred and thirty-two years before.
-these two vessels carried ten guns each, and were capable of a maximum speed of five hundred miles an hour, the highest velocity that it had so far been found possible to attain. the others were somewhat smaller craft, mounting eight guns each, and capable of a speed of about four hundred miles an hour. the chase, either because she could not travel faster or for some hidden reason, allowed the pursuing squadron to gain upon her until she was only some five miles ahead of its two foremost vessels, which were travelling at the highest speed attainable by the whole flotilla.
-she showed no lights, and so in order to keep her in view it was necessary for her pursuers to keep their search-lights constantly sweeping the skies ahead of them, lest they should lose sight of her in the semi-darkness.
-this placed the aerian fleet at a serious disadvantage, which very soon became apparent, for before the pursuit had lasted an hour the chase opened fire with her stern guns and shell after shell charged with some terrific explosive began bursting along the line of the pursuing squadron, producing fearful concussions in the atmosphere, and causing the pursuers to rock and toss in the shaken air like ships on a stormy sea.
-the ithuriel and the ariel, at the two extremities of the semicircle, replied with a rapid converging fire from their bow guns in the hope of reaching the now invisible chase. all the projectiles were, of course, time-shells, but the speed at which the vessels were travelling not only made the aim hopeless, but caused such an in-rush of air into the muzzles of the guns that the projectiles, checked in their course through the barrels, flew wild and exploded at random, often in dangerous proximity to the vessels themselves.
-hence, after about a dozen shots had been fired, the commanders of the two vessels found themselves compelled to cease firing, and to trust to speed alone to overtake the enemy. on the other hand, this disadvantage to them was all in favour of the chase, which was able to work her two stern guns without the slightest impediment. before long she got the range of her pursuers, and at last a shell burst fairly under one of the smaller vessels. a brilliant flash of light, blue as the lightning-bolt, illuminated her for an instant, and in that instant her companions saw her stop and shiver like a stricken bird in mid-air, and then plunge downwards like a stone to the earth.
-olga romanoff, standing on the deck of what had once been the ithuriel, flag-ship of the aerian fleet, and now renamed the revenge, saw this catastrophe, as the others had done, through her night-glasses. she lowered them from her eyes, and said to a dark-eyed, black-haired young fellow, who was commanding the gun that had done the execution--
-“bravo, boris lossenski! did you sight that gun?”
-boris drew himself up and saluted, saying--
-“yes, majesty, i did.”
-“then for that you shall be a prince henceforth, and if you can bring another down you shall command an air-ship of your own when this fight is over.”
-boris saluted again, and ordered the gun to be reloaded. before it could be discharged a shell from the port gun, which had been fired as olga spoke, struck another of the aerian vessels square on the fore-quarter. the flash of the exploding projectile was almost instantaneously followed by the outburst of a vast dazzling mass of flame which illumined for the instant the whole scene of the aerial battle.
-the air-ship with all its cargo of explosives blew up like one huge shell, and the frightful concussion of the atmosphere induced by the explosion hurled the two vessels that were close on either side of her like feathers into space, turning them completely over and flinging them to the earth six thousand feet below. a few moments later they struck the ground simultaneously, two great spouts of flame shot up from the spots where they struck, and when the darkness closed over them again four of the pursuing squadron had been annihilated.
-“better still, levin ostroff!” cried olga, as she saw the awful effects of this last shot. “for that you too shall be a prince of the empire and command an air-ship on our next expedition. now, boris, let us see if you can beat that!”
-“yes, majesty,” said boris again, knitting his brows and clenching his teeth in anger at his rival’s superior success. he glanced along the line of the pursuers and saw four of the aerian squadron flying close together. he brought the gun to bear upon the two inner ones, took careful aim, and despatched the projectile on its errand of destruction. the moment he had released it he said to the two men who were working under him--
-“load again, quickly!”
-the command was instantly obeyed, and scarcely had the explosion of the first blazed out than a second shell was sent after it. the very firmament seemed split in twain by the frightful results of the two well-aimed shots, each of which had found its mark on the two inner vessels with fatal accuracy.
-great sheets of flame leapt out in all directions from the focus of the explosion, and in the midst of their dazzling radiance those on board the revenge saw the two outside air-ships of the four roll over and dive head foremost into the dark abyss below them. they struck the earth as the others had done, and vanished into annihilation in the midst of the momentary mist of fire.
-this last catastrophe made it plain to the commanders of the ithuriel and the ariel that to continue the chase under such conditions meant the destruction in detail of all the smaller ships of the squadron. those on board the revenge saw signals rapidly flash from one end of the line, and instantaneously answered from the other end.
-“ah!” said olga. “my lords of the air seem to have had enough of it for the present. look, the small fry are falling to the rear; our reception has been a little too hot for them. i wonder what they are going to do now. cease firing, and let us watch them. you two gunners have done gloriously and earned quite enough laurels for your first battle.”
-it soon became evident that the aerians had decided to send their smaller craft back. from the speed of the revenge, and the terrible accuracy and destructiveness of her guns, the commanders of the squadron were now convinced that she was either the lost ithuriel, or some vessel even superior to her, built upon the same plan.
-this being so, to have continued the pursuit under such conditions with the smaller craft would simply have been to court destruction for them in detail. it was impossible for them to use their guns effectively at the speed at which they were travelling, while, as had been so terribly proved, the chase could use hers with perfect ease.
-the flying fight could thus only result under present conditions in the ignominious defeat of the squadron by the single vessel as long as she was able to keep ahead. the only hope of success lay, therefore, in a trial of speed and manœuvring skill between her and the ithuriel and ariel, so orders were flashed to the smaller vessels to return to aeria with the mournful tidings of the destruction of eight of their number.
-as they vanished into the darkness behind, olga divined instantly the tactics that were to be adopted. she saw the converging search-lights of the two remaining air-ships begin to glow brighter and brighter in the rear of the revenge, proving that they had increased their speed.
-he went to the engine-room, and returned saying--
-“four hundred miles an hour, majesty.”
-“make it five,” replied olga.
-“that will do!” said olga. “they have reached the limit of their speed. keep to the southward, and see that they come no nearer.”
-the three air-ships were, in fact, now travelling at their utmost speed. if anything, the advantage was slightly in favour of the revenge, thanks to the high efficiency of the motive-power which had been applied to her in accordance with the directions left by olga’s father, and transmitted in the will of paul romanoff.
-so all the rest of the night and on into the next day pursuers and pursued sped on with fearful velocity through the air. they passed over africa and out above the ocean, and still on and on they swept until the southern sea was crossed and the mighty ice-barrier that fences in the south pole gleamed out white upon the horizon.
-this was passed, and still they rushed on over the dreary wastes of antarctica. the pole was crossed along the 40th meridian, and then they swept northward until the smoke-cloud that crowned the crest of mount erebus rose above the snow-clouds that hid the earth. the revenge headed straight towards this and swept over it, followed at a distance of about ten miles by her pursuers.
-then with a mighty upward sweep she leapt two thousand feet higher still, came to equilibrium, and discharged a shell downwards on to the ice. the explosion was answered by the rising of a flotilla of air-ships, which seemed to have sprung out of the bowels of the earth.
-thirty vessels as large as herself rose simultaneously through the clouds and spread themselves out in a wide circle round the two aerian vessels, which thus found themselves surrounded by an overwhelming force and dominated by the revenge floating far above them with her ten guns pointed down upon them.
-to an observer so placed as to be able to command a view of the situation it would have seemed that nothing short of the surrender or annihilation of the ithuriel and the ariel could have been the outcome of it.
-so evidently thought olga and those in command of the russian aerial fleet, for, although for one brief instant the two aerian vessels lay at their mercy, they failed to take advantage of it, and in losing this one precious moment they reckoned without the superior skill and perfect control of their air-ships possessed by those of whom they thought to make an easy prey.
-what really happened took place with such stupefying suddenness that they were taken completely off their guard. the ithuriel and the ariel lay end on to each other in the midst of the circle of their enemies. each mounted ten guns, and of these every one was available. the crews of both vessels, trained by constant practice to the highest point of efficiency, knew exactly what to do without so much as an order being given.
-automatically the twenty guns were trained in the twinkling of an eye, each on a russian vessel, and discharged simultaneously. a moment later the two vessels sank like stones through the thick clouds below them; and while the heavens above were shaken with the combined explosions of the twenty projectiles, each of which had found its mark with unerring accuracy, they had regained their equilibrium a thousand feet from the surface of the ice, and darted away full speed northward.
-to such a fearful pitch of efficiency had their guns and projectiles been brought that, while the aim was unerring if once a fair sight was obtained, nothing shaped by human hands could withstand the impact of their shells without destruction. twenty out of the thirty vessels of the russian fleet collapsed, and, as it were, shrivelled up under the frightful energy of the aerian projectiles. twenty masses of flame blazed out over the grey surface of the cloud-sea, and in another moment the fragments of the vessels it had taken so many months of labour and such wondrous skill to construct were lying scattered far and wide over the snow and ice of the antarctic desert.
-the awful suddenness with which this destruction had been accomplished deprived olga and her subordinates of all power of thought for the moment. they heard the roar of the explosions, and saw a mist of flame burst out round them as though all the fires of mount erebus had broken loose at once, and then came the silence of speechless horror and stupefaction. it was more like the work of omnipotent fiends than of men. the bolts of heaven themselves could have done nothing like it.
-then the moment of the shock passed, and those who survived remembered what they ought never to have forgotten--that, armed as they were with weapons which under favourable circumstances were absolutely irresistible, the first shot meant victory for those who fired it, and destruction for their enemies. odds of mere numbers went for nothing, for each air-ship was equal to ten others provided she could send her ten projectiles home first, and this is just what had happened.
-all this had passed in a twentieth of the time that it has taken to describe it, and by the time olga and her subordinates grasped the extent of the calamity that had overtaken them the two aerian vessels, darting through the air at five hundred miles an hour, had swept far out of range of their guns, and were moreover so hidden by the cloud-sea, that they had no idea which course they had taken.
-olga stamped her foot upon the deck, and, in a paroxysm of unrestrained passion, literally screamed with rage as she ordered the revenge to sink below the clouds. less than two minutes sufficed for the remains of the fleet, that had been thirty-one strong five minutes before and now only numbered eleven vessels, to sink through the clouds.
-a rapid glance round showed them the ithuriel and the ariel, tiny specks far out over the waste of snow and ice, speeding away to the northward. to give chase was out of the question, for scarcely had they sighted them than they vanished as completely as though they had melted into the atmosphere; and so olga signalled for her remaining vessels to proceed to their secret haven in the snowy solitudes of the south, while the ithuriel and her consort sped onward on their homeward voyage, to carry the news of the terrible vengeance that they had taken for the destruction of the eight air-ships which had been annihilated by the guns of the revenge.
-twenty hours sufficed for the two aerian vessels to pass over a quarter of the earth’s circumference, and carry their tidings of vengeance and victory to aeria, and shortly after noon on the day but one after olga had dropped her challenge from the skies, a meeting of the ruling council was held at the president’s house in order to consider the startling and pregnant events which had taken place, and to determine the plan of the war which, after a hundred and thirty years of unquestioned supremacy, they were now called upon to wage not only for the mastery of the world, but for the very lives and liberties of the citizens of aeria.
-it had of course been impossible to conceal from the inhabitants of the valley the gravity of the startling events which had taken place in such rapid succession, nor did the president and council consider any such concealment desirable. there were no demagogues and no politics in aeria, and therefore there was no need for any state secrets save those which contained the essentials of aerial navigation.
-there was also no fear of panic in a community which contained no ignorant or criminal classes, and so, while the council was sitting, the strange tidings were promulgated throughout the length and breadth of the valley. marvellous and disquieting as they were they yet gave rise to very few external signs of excitement. they were gravely, earnestly, and even anxiously discussed, for they brought with them a prophecy of calamities to come, the probability of whose realisation was too plain to be ignored.
-but ever since the days of the terror each generation of aerians had been carefully trained to recognise the fact that the progress of science and the restlessness of human invention in the world outside their borders must, sooner or later, produce some challenge to their supremacy and some attempt to dispute with them the empire of the air. now, after four generations--in spite of all the elaborate precautions that had been taken, the stringent laws that had been enacted and more than once mercilessly enforced--the crisis had come.
-it was now impossible to doubt that by some means, which so far seemed almost superhuman, the flag-ship of their fleet had been stolen, and the son of the president kidnapped with his greatest friend. more than this, the news brought back by the ithuriel and the ariel proved beyond all doubt that means had been found to build a large fleet of aerial warships without even arousing the suspicions of the council. and, worst and most sinister sign of all, there was also the fact, proved by olga’s letter to the president, that the moving spirit in this defiant revolt against the supremacy of aeria was one who bore the ill-omened and still hated name of romanoff.
-as has been said, there was no panic that night in aeria, but still many a man and woman anxiously asked, either aloud or in his or her own soul, whether in the mysterious revolution of human affairs it might not be about to come to pass that she who had wrought this apparent miracle might not yet be able to avenge the terrible fate of her ancestor, the last of the tsars. then, with this thought came a universal revulsion of horror at the prospect of such a crime against humanity and a deep resolve to exact the penalty for it to the uttermost.
-if war was to be brought once more upon the earth, those who brought it would find aeria worthy of its splendid traditions and ready, if necessary, to reconquer the earth as the founders of its empire had done in the armageddon of 1904. fierce as that mighty struggle had been, its horrors would pale before those of a conflict in which conquest would mean extermination, for if aeria was forced once more to draw the sword it would not be sheathed until there was peace again on earth, even if that peace were to be but the silence of universal desolation.
-chapter x. strange tidings to aeria.
-the sitting of the council lasted until nightfall, and just as the western mountains were throwing their huge shadows over the lovely valley, two more air-ships passed between two of the southward peaks and alighted in the great square in the centre of the city. they were the two vessels which had been sent to the island indicated in olga’s letter to bring back the long-lost alan and alexis.
-it would be vain to attempt to describe the feelings with which the president and the father of alexis went, as they thought, to receive their sons, but the air-ships had returned without them, and in their stead they brought a written message which conveyed tidings no less strange and startling than those brought from antarctica by the ithuriel and her consort.
-it was a letter from alan to his father, and as soon as he received it from the captain of one of the air-ships, who had found it nailed to a tree on the island, he took his friend into his library, and there the two fathers read it together.
-after briefly but circumstantially recounting the capture of the flag-ship by olga by means of her subtle drugs, and showing how, by using the power they gave her, she had kept them in mental slavery for years, forcing them to employ their skill and knowledge in aiding her to build her aerial and submarine fleets out of the spoils of the destroyed ocean transports, from which the latter had taken an incalculable amount of treasure, alan’s letter concluded thus:--
-i will now tell you the reason why alexis and myself have not waited for the air-ship which we knew you would send for us as soon as you received the message which olga romanoff told us she would despatch to you. we consider that by our weakness and folly--or, in truth, i should rather say mine, for it was i who invited these treacherous guests on board the ithuriel--we have not only brought endless calamities upon the world, but we have also forfeited our right to the citizenship of aeria.
-what the judgment of the council would be upon us i don’t know, but we are resolved that, whatever it might have been, you and alexis’s father shall be spared the sorrow of pronouncing sentence upon your own sons. some day perhaps we may win at least the right to plead our cause before you. at present we have none, and until we have won it you shall not see us again unless you capture us by force.
-we were sent here in the narwhal, the swiftest and most powerful vessel of the russian submarine fleet. only a few days ago an accident revealed to alexis for the first time during our long mental slavery the means which this woman, who is as beautiful as an angel and as merciless as a fiend, had used to keep us in subjection. we took the utmost care to give her no suspicion of his discovery, and although we drank no more of her poison we acted exactly as though we were still under its influence.
-in what could only have been mockery she gave us back our belts and coronets, bidding us wear them “when we returned to our kingdom,” as she put it. we shall never wear the winged circlets again till we have regained the right to do so, but the belts and a couple of brace of magazine pistols which we took before we left her stronghold in antarctica stood us in good stead.
-we have killed the crew of the narwhal, and taken possession of her. she is far swifter and more powerful than any vessel in our submarine navy, for she can be driven at a hundred and fifty miles an hour through the water, and can destroy anything that floats in or on the sea with a blow of her ram, and, more than this, she carries a torpedo battery which has an effective range of two miles, and can strike and destroy anything within that distance without giving the slightest warning of her presence.
-there are fifty vessels of this type in the russian fleet, but the narwhal is at least thirty miles an hour faster than any of them. an attack will probably be made by the russians on our station at kerguelen island within a week by submarine vessels and a small squadron of air-ships, and there we shall begin our operations against the enemy. if you have any reply to make to this letter we will wait for it at sea off kerguelen, and then begin the campaign we have planned. we shall never rest until we have either destroyed the russian fleet in detail or have died in the attempt to do so.
-if we ever return it will be to restore to you the supremacy of the sea, and then, and not till then, we will ask you to pardon our fault and will willingly submit to such further conditions as you may see fit to impose upon us before you give us back--if ever you do--the rights which we have lost.
-with all love and duty to yourself, and loving remembrances to the dear ones in aeria, your son
-at the foot of the letter was a postscript signed by alexis, indorsing all that alan had said, save with regard to his sole responsibility for the calamity that had ensued from the admission of olga and serge on board the ithuriel.
-the two fathers discussed the strange, and, to them, most affecting communication for nearly an hour in private, and then another meeting of the council was called to consider it and pronounce authoritatively upon it. the president read the letter aloud in a voice which betrayed no trace of the deep emotion that moved his inmost being, and then left the council chamber with maurice masarov, so that their presence might not embarrass their colleagues.
-the simple, manly straightforwardness of alan’s letter appealed far more eloquently to the council than excuses or prayers for forgiveness would have done. it was plain, too, that after the first indiscretion of taking the strangers on board the air-ship, no moral responsibility or blame could be laid on alan and alexis for what they had done under the influence of a drug which had paralysed their moral sense.
-the council, therefore, not only accepted the conditions of the letter, but without a dissentient voice, agreed to confer the first and second commands of the aerian submarine fleets and stations for the time being upon alan and alexis, with permission to call in the aid of the nearest aerial squadron when necessary. this decision was despatched forthwith by an air-ship to kerguelen, and within an hour all aeria was talking of nothing else than the strange fate of the two youths who for five years had been mourned as dead.
-later on that evening, when the twin snow-clad peaks which towered high above the city of aeria had lost the pink afterglow of the departed sunlight, and were beginning to gleam with a whiter radiance in the level beams of the newly-risen moon, a girl was standing on the spacious terrace of a marble villa which stood on the summit of a rounded eminence a couple of miles from the western verge of the city.
-it was an exceedingly rare event for an aerian girl to reach the eve of her twentieth year unmarried, for the sexes in the central-african paradise were very evenly balanced, and, as was natural in a very high state of civilisation, where families seldom exceeded three or four children, celibacy in either sex was looked upon as a public misfortune and a private reproach.
-but alma tremayne, the girl who was standing on the terrace of her father’s house on this most eventful evening, had become an exception to the rule through circumstances so sad and strange that her loneliness was an honour rather than a reproach. there were many of the wearers of the golden wings who had sought long and ardently to win her from the allegiance which forbade her to look with favouring eyes upon any of them.
-she was beautiful in a land where all women were fair, a land where, under the most favourable conditions that could be conceived, a race of almost more than human strength and beauty had been evolved, and she came of a family scarcely second in honour even to that of the president, for she was the direct descendant in the fifth generation of alan tremayne, first president of the anglo-saxon federation, through his son cyril born two years after the daughter who had married the first-born son of natasha and richard arnold.
-more than five years before she and alan had plighted their boy-and-girl troth on the eve of his departure on the fateful voyage from which he had never returned, and of which no tidings had reached aeria until a few hours before. to the simple vow which her girlish lips had then spoken she had remained steadfast even when, as the years went by and still no tidings came of her lost lover, she, in common with her own kindred, had begun to mourn him as dead.
-it is true that she was in love rather with a memory than with a man, yet with some natures such a love as this is stronger than any other, more ideal and more lasting, and exempt from the danger of growing cold in fruition. so strong was the hold that this ideal love had taken upon her being that the idea of even accepting the love and homage of any other man appeared as sacrilegious to her as the embrace of an earthly lover would have seemed to a nun of the middle ages.
-and so, with a single companion in her solitary state, she stood aside and watched with patient, unregretful eyes the wedded happiness of her more fortunate friends. this companion was isma arnold, alan’s sister, who had a double reason for doing as alma had done.
-not only had she resolved never to marry while her brother’s fate remained uncertain, but she, too, had also made her choice among the youths of aeria, and in such matters an aerian girl seldom chose twice. so she waited for alexis as alma did for alan, hoping even against her convictions, and keeping his memory undefiled in the sacred shrine of her maiden soul.
-no artist could have dreamed of a fairer picture than alma standing there on the terrace overlooking the stately city and the dark shining lake at her feet. she was clad in soft, clinging garments of whitest linen and finest silk of shimmering, pearly grey, edged with a dainty embroidery of gold and silver thread.
-her dress, confined at the waist with a girdle of interlinked azurine and gold, clothed without concealing the beauties of her perfect form, and her hair, crowned by her crystal-winged coronet, flowed unrestrained, after the custom of the maidens of aeria, over her shoulders in long and lustrous waves of dusky brown. there was a shadow in the great deep grey eyes which looked up as though in mute appeal to the starlight, the shadow of a sorrow which can never come to a woman more than once.
-all these years she had loved in cheerful patience and perfect faith the man for whose memory she had lived in maiden widowhood--and now, who could measure the depth of the darkness, darker than the shadow of death itself, that had fallen across her life, severing the past from the present with a chasm that seemed impassable, and leaving the future but a barren, loveless waste to be trodden by her in weariness and loneliness until the end!
-all these years she had loved an ideal man, one of her own splendid race, the very chosen of the earth, as pure in his unblemished manhood as she was in the stainless maidenhood that she had held so sacred for his sake even while she thought him dead--and, lo! the years had passed, and he had come back to life, but how? hers was not the false innocence of ignorance. she knew the evil and the good, and because she knew both shrank from contamination with the horror born of knowledge.
-she had seen both olga’s letter and alan’s, and those two terrible sentences, “they have served my turn, and i have done with them,” and “she is as beautiful as an angel and as merciless as a fiend,” kept ringing their fatal changes through her brain in pitiless succession, forcing all the revolting possibilities of their meaning into her tortured soul till her reason seemed to reel under their insupportable stress.
-mocking voices spoke to her out of the night, and told her of the unholy love that such a woman would, in the plenitude of her unnatural power, have for such a man; how she would subdue him, and make him not only her lover but her slave; how she would humble his splendid manhood, and play with him until her evil fancy was sated, and then cast him aside--as she had done--like a toy of which she had tired.
-better a thousand times that he had died as his murdered comrades had died--in the northern snowdrift into which this syren of the skies had cast them, to sleep the sleep that knew neither dreams nor waking! better for him and her that he had gone before her into the shadows, and had remained her ideal love until, hand in hand, they could begin their lives anew upon a higher plane of existence.
-as these thoughts passed and repassed through her mind with pitiless persistence, her lovely face grew rigid and white under the starlight, and, but for the nervous twining and untwining of her fingers as her hands clasped and unclasped behind her, her motionless form might have been carved out of stone. for the first time since peace had been proclaimed on earth, a hundred and thirty-two years ago, the flames of war had burst forth again, and for the first time in the story of her race the snake had entered the now no longer enchanted eden of aeria.
-it was hers to suffer the first real agony of soul that any woman of her people had passed through since natasha, in the palm-grove down yonder by the lake, had told richard arnold of her love on the night that he had received the master’s command to take her to another man to be his wife.
-there were no tears in the fixed, wide-open eyes that stared almost sightlessly up to the skies, in which the stars were now paling in the growing light of the moon. the torment of her torturing thoughts was too great for that.
-she was growing blind and dizzy under the merciless stress of them, when--it might have been just in time to save her from the madness that seemed the only outcome of her misery--the sweet, silvery tones of a girl’s voice floated through the still, scented air uttering her name--
-the sound mercifully recalled her wandering senses in an instant. it was the voice of her friend, of the sister of her now doubly-lost lover, and it reproved the selfishness of her great sorrow by reminding her that she was not suffering alone. as the sound of her name reached her ear the rigidity of her form relaxed, the light came back to her eyes, and turning her head she looked in the direction whence it came.
-there was a soft whirring of wings in the still air of the tropic night, and out of the half-darkness floated a shape that looked like a realisation of one of the old-world fairy-tales. it was a vessel some twenty-five feet long by five wide, built of white, polished metal, and shaped something like an old norse galley, with its high, arching prow fashioned like the breast and neck of a swan.
-from the sides projected a pair of wide, rapidly-undulating wings, and in the open space between these stood on the floor of the boat the figure of a girl whose loose, golden hair floated out behind her with the rapid motion of her fairy craft.
-there was no need for words of greeting between the two girl friends. alma knew the kindly errand on which isma had come, and as she stepped out she went towards her with hands outstretched in silent welcome.
-as their hands met, and the two girls stood face to face, motionless for a moment, they made an exquisite contrast of opposite types of womanly beauty--alma tall and stately, with a proudly-carried head, clear, pale skin, grey eyes, and perfectly regular features, and isma, a year younger and a good inch shorter, slender of form yet strong and lithe of limb, with golden, silky hair and sunny-blue eyes, fresh, rosy skin, and mobile features which scarcely ever seemed to wear the same expression for a couple of minutes together--as sweet a daughter of delight as ever man could look upon with eyes of love and longing.
-but she was grave enough now, for her friend’s sorrow was hers too, and its shadow lay with equal darkness upon her. the ready tears welled up under her dark lashes as she looked upon alma’s white, drawn face and dry, burning eyes, and her low, sweet voice was broken by a sob as, passing her arm round her waist, she drew her towards the boat and said--
-“come, dear, this sorrow belongs to me as well as you and we must help each other to bear it. i have brought my new boat so that we can take a flight round the valley and talk about it quietly. if two heads are better than one, so are two hearts.”
-alma’s only reply to the invitation was a sad, sweet smile, and a gentle caress, but the welcome, loving sympathy had come when it was most sorely needed, and so she got into the aerial boat with isma, and a few moments later the beautiful craft was bearing them at an easy speed southward down the valley.
-chapter xi. the snake in eden.
-no more perfect place could have been imagined for an exchange of confidences and sympathy between two girls situated as alma and isma were than the oval, daintily-cushioned interior of the cygna, as isma had called her swan-prowed craft.
-skirting the mountains, at a distance of about five hundred yards from them, and at a height of about as many feet from the summits of the undulating foothills below, the cygna sped quietly along at a speed of some twenty-five miles an hour. the temperature of the tropic night was so soft and warm, and the air was so dry that it was not even necessary for them to make use of the light wraps that lay in the stern of the boat.
-for several minutes they proceeded thus in silence, which neither seemed inclined to break. at length isma looked up at a planet that was shining redly over the northern mountains, and, possessed by a sudden inspiration, said--
-“look, alma, there is mars returning to our skies!”
-“yes,” said alma, turning round and gazing from beneath her slightly-frowning brows at the ruddy planet; “it is a fitting time for him to come back now that, after all these years of peace and happiness, human wickedness and ambition have brought the curse of war back again on earth.”
-“yes,” said isma. “if there were anything in what the old astrologers used to say we could look upon his rising as an omen. and yet we have very little reason surely for taking as an emblem of war a world in which wars have been unheard of for thousands of years.”
-“i wonder when that time will come on earth?” said alma bitterly. “if ever it does! we terrestrials seem to be too hopelessly wicked and foolish for such wisdom as that.
-“mankind will never have a fairer opportunity of working out its redemption than it had after the terror, and yet here, after four generations of peaceful happiness and prosperity, the wickedness of one woman is able to set the world ablaze again. our forefathers were wise, but they would have been wiser still if they had stamped that vile brood out utterly. their evil blood has been the one drop of venom that has poisoned the whole world’s cup of happiness!”
-as alma spoke these last words her grey eyes grew dark with sudden passion under her straight-drawn brows. her breast heaved with a sudden wave of emotion, and the sentences came quickly and fiercely from the lips which isma had never heard speak in anger before.
-“yes,” she replied, rather sadly than angrily, “perhaps it would have been better for the world if they had done so, or, at anyrate, if they had shut them up for life, as they did the criminals and the insane in the middle of the last century. but we must remember, even in our own sorrow and anger, that this olga romanoff is in her way not altogether unlike our own angel was in hers.”
-“surely you’re speaking sacrilege now!” interrupted alma. “how can the evil be like the good under any circumstances?”
-“no, i am not,” said isma, with a smile. “remember how natasha was trained up by the master in undying hate of russian tyranny, and how she inherited the legacy of revenge from her mother and him. no doubt this olga has done the same, and she has been taught to look upon us as the terrorists looked upon the tsar and his family.
-“we are the descendants of those who flung her ancestor from his throne, extinguished his dynasty, and sent him to die in siberia. i would kill her with my own hand if i could, and believe that i was ridding the world of a curse, but surely we two daughters of aeria are wise enough to be just even to such an enemy as she is.”
-“but she has done worse than kill us,” alma almost hissed between her clenched teeth. “if she had a thousand lives and we took them one by one they would not expiate her crime against us, or equal the hopeless misery that she has brought upon us.
-“what is mere death, the swift transition from one stage of existence to another, compared with the hopeless death-in-life to which her wanton wickedness has condemned you and me, or to the calamities which she has brought upon the world?”
-“it is nothing, i grant you,” said isma. “but still i do not agree with you about that hopeless death-in-life, as you call it. our present sorrow is great and heavy enough, god knows, but for me at least it is not hopeless, nor will it be for you when the first stress of the storm is over.”
-“what do you mean?” cried alma, almost as fiercely as before, and leaning forward and looking through the dusk into her face as though she hardly credited her ears. “do you mean to say that either you or i could ever”--
-“yes,” said isma, interrupting her, and speaking now with eager animation. “yes, i mean just what you were going to say. and some day, i believe, you will think as i do.”
-alma shook her head in mournful incredulity, and isma noticing the gesture went on--
-“yes, you will! the reason that you do not agree with me now is that yours is a deeper and stronger nature than mine. you are like the sea, and i am like the lake. your grief and anger struck you dumb at first.
-“you were in a stupor when i found you on the terrace, and now the depths of your nature are broken up and the storm is raging, and until it is over you will see nothing but your own sorrow and anger.
-“but with me the storm broke out at once, and i ran to my room and threw myself upon my bed and sobbed and wailed until my mother thought i was going mad. you have not wept yet, and it will be well for you when you do. your nature is prouder than mine, and it will take longer to melt, but it must melt some time, for we are both women, after all, and then you will see hope through your tears, as i did.”
-alma shook her head again, and said in a low, sad, steady voice--
-“i can never see hope until i can see alan as he was when he left me, and you know that is impossible.”
-“you will never see him again as he was,” replied isma gently. “but that is no reason why you should not see him better than he was.”
-“better?” exclaimed alma, with an involuntary note of scorn in her voice, which brought a quick flush to isma’s cheek, and a flash into her eyes for her brother’s sake. “better! how can that be?”
-“just as the man who has fallen and risen again of his own native strength, is better and stronger than the man who has never been tempted,” replied isma almost hotly.
-“remember the lessons we have learnt from the people of mars since we learnt to communicate with them. you know how they have gone through civilisation after civilisation until they have refined everything out of human nature that makes it human except their animal existence and their intellectual faculties.
-“they have no passions and they make no mistakes. what we call love they call sexual suitability, the mechanical arrangement into which they have refined our ruling passion. do you remember how almost impossible vassilis, after he had perfected the code of signals, found it to make even their brightest and most advanced intellects understand the meaning of jealousy?”
-the skilfully-aimed shot struck home instantly. a bright wave of colour swept from alma’s throat up to her brow. her eyes shone like two pale fires in the dusk, and her hand grasped the rail on which it was resting till the bones and sinews stood out distinct in it. she seemed to gasp for breath a moment before she found her voice, but when she spoke her tone seemed to ring and vibrate like a bell in the sudden strength of her unloosed passion.
-“yes,” she said. “yes, you innocent-looking little isma! you are wiser than i am after all. i did not know the meaning of that word till olga’s letter fell from the sky, but i know it now. my god, how i hate that woman!”
-“she is not a woman,” replied isma, speaking in the unconscious pride of her pure descent. “she is a baseborn animal, for she has used her beauty for the vilest ends, yet i am glad to hear you say that you hate her for alan’s sake, as i do, and--and for alexis’s. while you can hate you can love, and some day you will love alan--the real alan, not your ideal lover--all the better because you have hated olga for his sake.”
-“what?” almost wailed alma, in the intensity of her anger and misery. “after he has held her in his arms--after his lips have kissed hers--after”--
-“yes, even after that. when your first bitterness has passed, as mine has, you will be more just, and remember the influence under which he did so--if he did. do you hold yourself responsible for what you think or do in your dreams, or do you not believe what alan said in his letter about the drug? you know too much about chemistry not to know that such horrible poisons have existed for centuries.”
-“yes, yes, i know that, and i know that he has no share in the moral guilt; but how can i ever forget he has been what those cruel words of olga’s told us she had made of him?” replied alma, her face growing cold and hard again as she spoke.
-“alma,” said isma, with gentle dignity, yet with a note of keen reproach in her voice, “surely you are forgetting that you are speaking of my brother as well as of your lover. no, i am not angry, for i am too sad myself not to understand your sorrow. but i want you to remember that i who have lost both a lover and a brother am asking you to be patient and to hope with me.
-“we have never seen alan and alexis as they are. we only remember them as two handsome boys who had never seen or known evil. when we meet them again, as i firmly believe we shall, they will be men who have passed through the fire; for if they do not pass through it and come out stronger and better than they were, rest assured we shall never meet on earth again.
-“alan would no more come to you now than you would go to him. when he believes himself worthy of you he will come for you as alexis will come for me, and then”--
-when they reached the villa they found the president’s private yacht resting on the terrace, for alan’s father and mother had come over after the council meeting to discuss with alma’s parents the more intimate family aspect of the strange events which had cleared up in such terrible fashion the mystery which had so long shrouded the fate of the sons of the two chief families in aeria.
-so revolting was the idea of their mental servitude to such an enemy of the human race as they could not but believe olga romanoff to be, and so frightful were the consequences that must infallibly befall humanity in consequence of it, that their parents would rather have known them dead than living under such degrading circumstances. to the aerians, far advanced as they were beyond the standards of the present day, both in religion and philosophy, the conception of death was one which included no terrors and no more regret than was natural and common to all humanity at parting with a kinsman or a friend.
-as they were destined to prove, when face to face with a crisis unparalleled in the history of humanity, they regarded death merely as a natural and necessary transition from one state of existence to another, which would be higher or lower according to the preponderance of good or evil done in this life.
-if, therefore, the parents and kinsmen of those who were now exiles and wanderers upon the ocean wastes could have chosen, they would infinitely rather have known that alan and alexis had shared the fate of their companions in the norwegian snowdrift than they would have learnt that for six years they had been the slaves and playthings of a woman who, as they guessed from alan’s letter, combined the ambition of a semiramis with the vices of a messalina, and who had used the skill and knowledge which they had acquired and inherited as princes of the air with the avowed purpose of subverting the dominion of aeria, undoing all that their ancestors had done, and bringing back the evil era of strife, bloodshed, and political slavery.
-so, too, with alma. as she had told isma, she would a thousand times rather have seen her lover dead than degraded to such base uses. although she, like everyone else in aeria, admitted that the strange circumstances absolved both alan and alexis from all moral blame and responsibility, she, in common with her own father and mother, and perhaps, also, with others not less intimately concerned, found it impossible to forget or ignore the taint of such an association, and to look upon it as a stain that might never be washed away.
-indeed, the only member of the family council who openly proclaimed her belief that the two exiles would, if ever they returned, come back to aeria better and stronger men than those who had known no evil was isma, who repeated, with all the winning eloquence at her command, all the arguments that she had used to alma during their cruise together. whether alma and the others would ever come round to her view could of course only be proved by time, but it is nevertheless certain that when the family council at last separated the hearts of its members were less sore than they would have been had alan and alexis not possessed such an advocate as the girl who had so good a double reason for pleading their causes.
-chapter xii. the battle of kerguelen.
-the council of aeria possessed, as has already been said, four-and-twenty stations, scattered over the oceans of the world, which it used as depôts for the submarine fleets, by means of which, acting in co-operation with its aerial squadrons, it had made any attempt at naval warfare hopeless until the disasters described at the beginning of this book proved that an enemy, in this respect at least, more powerful than itself, had successfully challenged its empire of the sea.
-of these stations the most important in the southern hemisphere was that on kerguelen island, or desolation land, situated at the intersection of the 49th parallel of south latitude with the 69th meridian of east longitude. this lonely fragment of land in the midst of the ocean, barren of surface, and swept by the almost constant storms of long winters, had been chosen, first, because of its situation on the southern limits of the indian ocean, equidistant between africa and australia, and, secondarily, because of its numerous and sheltered deep-water harbours, so admirably adapted for vessels which were perfectly independent of storm.
-added to this, the island contained large supplies of coal, from which the motive-power of both the submarine vessels and the air-ships was now derived by direct conversion of its solar energy into electrical force through the secret processes known only to the president and two members of the council.
-so far the russians had not ventured to make any attack upon this stronghold, so strongly was it defended, not only by its submarine squadrons and systems of mines, guarding the entrances to all the harbours, but also by the large force of air-ships which had been stationed there since the new naval warfare had broken out.
-the warning which alan had conveyed in his letter to his father was based on the knowledge that a general attack was soon to be made upon it both by air and sea, with the object of crippling the power of the aerians in the southern ocean. no time had been lost in acting upon this warning. the aerial squadron was increased to forty, with the ariel as flagship, and twenty new submarine vessels, the largest and best possessed by the aerians, had been despatched from port natal to reinforce the fleet of thirty-five already at kerguelen island. with these must of course be counted the narwhal, under the command of alan and alexis.
-the strength of the attacking force could only be guessed at, as even alan did not know it, but it was not expected that, however strong a force the russians might bring up by sea, they would be able, after the disaster of antarctica, to muster more than a dozen air-ships.
-the aerian headquarters was at christmas harbour, on the northern shore of the island. this is an admirably-sheltered inlet running westward into the land between cape françois and arch point, and its upper and narrower half forms an oval basin nearly a mile long by a quarter of a mile broad, walled in by high perpendicular basaltic cliffs, and containing a depth of water varying from two to sixteen fathoms, as compared with twenty-five to thirty fathoms in its outer half.
-north of the harbour, table mount rises to a height of thirteen hundred feet, and to the south is a huge mass of basalt over eleven hundred feet high. on both of these elevations were mounted batteries of guns capable of throwing projectiles of great size and enormous explosive energy to a distance of several miles. there were altogether twelve of these batteries placed on various heights about the island, and the guns composing them were mounted on swivels, which enabled them to be trained so as to throw the projectile either into the sea or high up into the air.
-soon after daybreak on the fourth day after alan’s letter had been received the outlook on cape françois, a bold mass of basalt to the north of the outer bay, telephoned “narwhal in sight” to the settlement at the head of the harbour. immediately on this message being received the commander of the station, named max ernstein, a man of about thirty-four, and the most daring and skilful submarine navigator and engineer in the service of the council, went on board his own vessel, the cachalot, and set out to welcome the long-lost son of the president and convey to him the commission which had been sent out by air-ship from aeria.
-the cachalot, which may as well be described here as elsewhere as a type of the submarine warship of the time, was a double-pointed cylinder, built of plates of nickelised aluminium steel, not riveted, but electrically fused at the joints, so that they formed a continuous mass equally impervious all over, and presenting no seams or overlaps.
-the cylinder was a hundred and fifty feet from point to point, with a midship’s diameter of forty feet. the forward end was armed with a sheathing of azurine, the metal peculiar to the mines of aeria, which would cut and pierce steel as a diamond cuts glass. this sheathing formed a ram, which was by no means the least formidable portion of the warship’s armament.
-the upper part of the cylinder was flattened so as to form an oval deck forty feet long by fifteen wide. a centre section of this deck, three feet wide, could be opened by means of a lateral slide which allowed of the elevation of a gun twenty-five feet long, which could be used either for discharging torpedoes by water or for throwing projectiles through the air.
-when under water the deck could be hermetically closed, and sliding plates could be drawn over the opening of the torpedo tubes, so that from stem to stern of the cylinder there were no excrescences to impede the progress of the vessel through the water with the sole exception of a dome of thick forged glass just forward of the deck, under which stood the helmsman, who gave place to the commander of the vessel when she went into action. her powerful four-bladed screw, driven by engines almost precisely similar to those of the air-ships, gave her a maximum speed of a hundred miles an hour.
-the cachalot ran at twenty-five miles an hour down the harbour, and as soon as he got abreast of cape françois captain ernstein, who was standing on deck, saw a small red flag apparently rising from the waves about a mile to seaward. a similar flag was soon flying from a movable flagstaff on the cachalot, and a few minutes later she was lying alongside the narwhal.
-this vessel was a very leviathan of the deep, and as she lay three parts submerged in the water captain ernstein calculated that she could hardly be less than two hundred feet in length and forty-five in diameter amidships. she appeared to be built on very much the same plan as the cachalot and of the same materials, saving only, of course, the ram of azurine, which was replaced by one of nickel steel.
-as the cachalot got alongside, a slide was drawn back in the deck of the narwhal and the head and shoulders of a man dressed in close-fitting seal-fur appeared. it was alan, little changed in physical appearance since the fatal day that he invited olga romanoff on board the ithuriel, save that he had grown a moustache and beard, which he wore trimmed somewhat in the elizabethan style, and that the frank, open expression of the boy had given place to a grave, almost sad, sternness, which marked the man who had lived and suffered.
-max ernstein recognised him at once and saluted as though greeting a superior officer, for, although all the aerians were friends and comrades, the etiquette of rank and discipline was scrupulously observed amongst them when on active service.
-“what do you salute me for?” said alan gravely, as he reached the deck and came to the side on which the cachalot lay. “do you not see that i am no longer wearing the golden wings? are you the officer in command of the station?”
-“yes, admiral arnold,” returned the other, in the same formal tone and at the same time presenting the letter from the council. “i suppose you have forgotten me. i am max ernstein, in command of the naval fleet at kerguelen. that letter will explain why i saluted and why i have come to hand over my command to you.”
-before he replied alan ran his eye rapidly over the letter. as he did so the pale bronze of his face flushed crimson for a moment, and he turned his head away from ernstein, brushed his hand quickly across his eyes, and then read the letter again more deliberately. then he turned and said in a voice that he vainly strove to keep steady--
-“this is more than i have deserved or could expect, but obedience is the first duty, so i accept the command. come on board, ernstein; of course i recognised you, but until i knew how i stood with the council i looked upon myself as an outlaw, and therefore no friend or comrade for you.”
-“that’s the first honest hand that i have grasped for six years, except alexis’,” said alan, as he returned the clasp with a grip that showed his physical forces had been by no means impaired by his long mental servitude. “come down into the cabin, we shall find him there.”
-he led the way below, and as soon as alexis had been told the unexpected good news, which seemed to affect him even more deeply than it had alan, the three sat down at the table in the saloon of the narwhal, a plain but comfortably furnished room, about twenty-five feet long by fifteen broad and ten high, to discuss a plan of operations in view of the expected attack on the station.
-alan at once assumed the authority with which he had been invested by the council, and made minute inquiries into the nature and extent of the defending force at his disposal.
-“i think that ought to be quite sufficient, not only to defeat, but pretty well destroy any force that the russians can bring against us,” said alan, as soon as ernstein had finished his description. “we have much more to fear from the air-ships than from the submarine boats, because the narwhal would give a very good account of them, even by herself. have any more vessels of the type of the ithuriel been built since the old ithuriel was lost?”
-“yes,” replied ernstein; “but only ten, i am sorry to say. one of them is here, as i told you just now, but we have forty of the others, and i don’t suppose the russians can bring more than a dozen against us.”
-“what do you mean?” said alan. “they have fifty, every one of them as fast and as powerful as the old ithuriel. i ought to know,” he continued grimly, “for they were every one of them built under my own eyes.”
-“i beg your pardon,” said ernstein. “i ought to have told you before now that we have already won our first victory, and that though we lost eight vessels we destroyed twenty of the russians’.” and then he went on to give alan and alexis a rapid description of the pursuit of the revenge, and the havoc wrought at the end of it by the ithuriel and the ariel.
-“that is glorious news!” said alan. “but they have thirty ships at their disposal still, and i expect they will bring at least twenty of these against us, and they are all swifter than ours saving only the ariel. of course my command ends with the shore, but i think it will be as well if the captain of the ariel were to come on board the narwhal so that we could arrange our plans of defence together--i for the sea, and he for the air.”
-“but why not come ashore and see him?” said ernstein. “he and all of us will be delighted to see you on the island.”
-“no,” said alan, shaking his head. “alexis and i have promised each other never to leave the narwhal until the russian sea power is crippled. the day that we set foot on dry land again will be the day that we give back the supremacy of the sea to the council, so if we two admirals of the sea and air are to meet, the commander of the ariel must come here.”
-“very well,” said ernstein. “i understand you. write a note and i will send the cachalot back with it. she will bring him back in under half an hour, for he was up at the settlement when i left.”
-alan wrote the letter forthwith, and the cachalot departed, returning, as her captain had said, in less than half an hour, with edward forrest, the commander of the ariel. he was a lean, wiry, active man of about forty-five, of mixed english, scotch, and aerian descent, with short, crisp, curly black hair and smooth-shaven face, rather sharp, regular features, and a pair of keen grey eyes which seemed to look into the very brain of the person he was talking to--a man of prompt decisions and few words, and one of the most able aerial navigators that aeria could boast of.
-he held the rank of admiral, and was responsible for the station of kerguelen, and the command of the southern seas. he greeted alan and alexis courteously, but a trifle stiffly, as though he thought that their indiscretion had been somewhat lightly dealt with by the council. this, however, was no business of his, for the first law of aeria was that the decisions of the president and council were not open to criticism by any private or official citizen whatever his rank or experience.
-therefore, after reading, as a matter of form, the commission sent to alan and alexis, he addressed himself at once to the business of the moment, and before they had been discussing the plan of defence for many minutes he was forced to admit to himself that the president’s son, young as he was, was more than his master both in aerial and naval tactics.
-for the greater part of the morning plan after plan was suggested, thrashed out, and either accepted or thrown aside, and when he took his leave he shook hands with both alan and alexis far more cordially than he had done in greeting, and said with brief, blunt candour--
-“this is not the first time that a woman has used a man to upset the peace of the world, and i tell you honestly that i once thought you had both turned traitors. i don’t think so now, and i am heartily glad you are back. if you could only have returned three years ago a lot of trouble might have been saved, but i must confess that you have both learnt more in five years than i have in twenty. i will follow your instructions to the letter.”
-“what is done is done,” said alan, smiling, and yet with a grave dignity that showed admiral forrest that, despite all that had happened, he was standing in the presence of his master. “the work in hand now is to regain what we have lost, and if every man does his duty we shall do so. i think everything is arranged now, and as we have no time to lose i will say good-morning.”
-he held out his hand as he spoke, and admiral forrest took his dismissal and his leave at the same time.
-captain ernstein took six men out of the cachalot and placed them at the disposal of alan and alexis, for the working of the narwhal, and then took his leave to execute his part of the plan of defence.
-it was a bitterly cold day, for the southern winter had already set in in all its severity. the sea to the north of the island was comparatively smooth, but swept every now and then with violent gusts of wind from the southward. the sky was entirely covered by thick masses of cold grey cloud, every now and then torn up into great rolling masses by the sudden blasts of icy wind from the pole, which drove fierce storms of hard frozen snow across the bare and desolate island.
-but the roughness of the elements was a matter of small concern to the crews of the air-ships and the submarine cruisers, for both were independent alike of sea and storm. the former could literally ride upon the wings of the fiercest gale that ever blew. their interiors were warm and wind-proof, and their machinery was powerful enough to drive them four and five times as fast as the air-currents in which they floated, while the latter had only to sink a few feet below the level of the waves to find perfect calm.
-the days, in short, were past when men had been at the mercy of the elements, and so the atmospheric conditions which would have made a modern naval attack upon a rocky and exposed coast almost impossible were not even taken into account in preparing to meet the threatened assault on kerguelen island.
-no one knew when or how the first assault would be delivered. all that was known was that, unless olga and her advisers had completely altered their plans, the attack would take place either that day or the next, and consequently ceaseless vigilance was necessary on sea and land and in the air.
-in accordance with the plan arranged on board the narwhal, ten air-ships rose above the clouds to an altitude of five thousand feet, and from each of these an electric thread hung down to as many signal-stations on the island, all of which were connected with the headquarters at the top of christmas harbour.
-twenty cruisers patrolled the coast at a distance of a mile from the land, and two miles outside these the narwhal ran to and fro along the northern shore. all the more important inlets which had sufficient depth of water for submarine attack were guarded with mines and chains of torpedoes, so disposed that no vessel could possibly enter without firing them, and so giving warning of the locality of the attack.
-the afternoon passed without any alarm, and at nightfall the clouds sent down a blinding storm of snow, which, added to the intense darkness, made vision impossible both on land and sea, although high above the clouds the ten air-ships floated in a calm, clear atmosphere, under the brilliant constellations of the southern hemisphere.
-no attack seemed possible without warning, either by sea or above the clouds, for the hostile air-ships could not approach without being seen from a great distance through the clear, starlit sky, and without their lights, which would instantly betray their presence, it was impossible for the submarine vessels even to find the coast.
-hour after hour passed, and still no hostile sign rewarded the vigilance of the defenders. no one of the present day could have guessed that all the preparations had been made for such a battle as had never been fought before on sea or land, or in the air.
-nothing was visible but the snow-covered earth and the storm-swept sea, for the sentinel ships, floating far above the clouds, were beyond the reach of vision. and yet, if the combined fleets of the modern world had attacked kerguelen that night, not a ship would have escaped to tell the tale of annihilation, so terrible were the engines of destruction which waited but the signal of battle to strike their swift and irresistible blows.
-it was about half-past six o’clock the next morning when alexis, who was on watch in the conning-tower of the narwhal, saw a faint beam of light illuminating the water a long way ahead. he instantly signalled to alan--“enemy in sight. back. i am going to ram.”
-alan, unwilling to leave the new crew, who were not yet perfectly acquainted with the working of the machinery, had taken command of the engine-room alternately with alexis, who was now taking his four hours’ watch in the conning-tower, and to whom the fortune of war had given the honour of striking the first blow. the narwhal backed rapidly, and as she did so alexis turned a small wheel in the side of the conning-tower, and the whole chamber sank into the hull of the vessel.
-as soon as it stopped he pulled a lever and a heavy steel sheet slid over the opening where the glass dome had been. in front of him as he stood at the steering-wheel was a long, very slender needle hung with extreme delicacy on a pivot, up which an electric current constantly passed.
-this needle was terrestrially insulated by a magnet which always swung opposite to the magnetic pole, and when acted upon only by the steel of the vessel’s fabric, swung indifferently as long as there was no other vessel within a thousand yards of the narwhal. but the moment one came within that distance the needle pointed towards it with unerring accuracy, as it was doing at the present moment.
-alexis allowed the vessel to back until he saw the needle begin to waver. then he knew that the thousand-yard limit had been reached, and signalled--
-“full speed ahead.”
-the next moment the engines were reversed and the narwhal bore down on her invisible prey. the needle became rigid again. alexis kept it pointing dead ahead as the narwhal gathered way and rushed silently but with irresistible force upon her victim.
-she passed over the thousand yards in forty seconds. then came a dull, rending crash, a slight shiver of the mighty fabric, and then she swept on her way as though she had passed through a couple of inches of planking instead of the steel hull of a submarine warship more than two-thirds her own size.
-and so in silence and darkness, without the discharge of a gun or the flash of a shot or an audible cry of human pain, the work of death and destruction began and ended. in the passing of an instant a warship had been destroyed which could have annihilated a fleet of modern battleships in detail without once appearing above the surface of the water.
-the moment that the shock told alexis that the ram of the narwhal had done its work, he signalled “stop,” and as the vessel slowed down he watched the momentous fluctuations of the needle in front of him. it oscillated for an instant and then became still again, pointing to another victim hidden away somewhere under the dark waters. he brought the vessel round until it pointed ahead again, and then once more the leviathan plunged forward at full speed on her errand of destruction.
-thirty seconds later a rasping tearing sound, told him that he had ripped the side out of a second russian vessel; and again he stopped, and again the fatal tell-tale needle pointed to a mark on which he hurled his irresistible ram. so the work went on, and vessel after vessel was torn to pieces and sunk in the midst of the darkness and silence of the wintry sea, without even a warning having been given either to the consorts of the destroyed vessels or to those nearer in shore, all of which were, of course, outside the range of the needle’s indication. but for this fact alexis would have been unable to do his work, for he would not have known whether he was ramming friend or foe.
-when the ram had found its mark for the twelfth time, the needle oscillated vaguely to and fro, showing that within a thousand-yards radius at least there were no more victims to be found. then the narwhal rose to the surface of the water, and alexis resumed his watch as the vessel patrolled the coast again at a speed of fifty miles an hour.
-alan now came and relieved alexis from his watch. as he entered the conning-tower he said--
-“how many is that you’ve settled? a dozen, isn’t it?”
-“yes,” said alexis, “but i can hardly think they can have been anything but scouts, and so we shall have the main fleet to tackle yet.”
-“do you think any of them have got through?” said alan. “you know they may have approached from east and west as well, and if so they are lying inside of us.”
-“no,” replied alexis, “i don’t think they would do that. you see we have the advantage of them in this way. they can’t see ten yards in front of them unless there is bright sunshine on the water, or unless they turn their lights on to the full, in which case they would betray their presence at once.
-“then they don’t know what has become of the narwhal, and probably think that she has been attacked by an overwhelming force, or blown up by some lucky torpedo. they daren’t go inshore in force for fear of springing a mine, and so you may depend upon it the twelve we have destroyed were scouts, prowling about very slowly and waiting for daylight to examine the coast and find a way into christmas harbour.
-“they must have been in single line, and we had the luck to catch one of the end ones first, and so we sank the lot in the order in which they were floating. i don’t think we can do anything more till daylight except run up and down the coast and keep a sharp look-out to seaward and on the needle.”
-“i suppose you’re right,” said alan. “you’d better go and get an hour’s sleep if you can.”
-“there won’t be much sleep for any of us till to-night,” said alexis quickly, pointing to the clouds over the island. “look! the row has begun in the air already.”
-alan glanced up and saw a series of intensely bright flashes stream downwards through the clouds, which at the same moment were rent and rolled up into vast shadowy billows by some tremendous concussion of the atmosphere above them. there could be only one explanation of this. the attack on the island had begun from the air, and the flashes were those of the first shots of the aerial bombardment.
-what had really happened was this.
-a fleet of fifty submarine warships, under the command of michael lossenski, the eldest son of orloff lossenski, who was now olga romanoff’s chief adviser in the conduct of the war that she had commenced with the aerians, had reached the northern coast of kerguelen island about four o’clock in the morning in order to co-operate with an aerial squadron of fifteen vessels led by the revenge, under the command, nominally, of lossenski’s second son boris, but really of olga herself.
-as alexis had surmised, the twelve vessels destroyed by the narwhal were scouts sent out to, if possible, feel their way to the entrance of christmas harbour, which was known to be the headquarters of the station.
-these were to have returned to the fleet with all the intelligence they could get as to bearings and soundings, and the position of mines and the defending fleet. then at daybreak, that is to say about eight o’clock, the whole squadron was to have advanced to the entrance to the harbour, ramming any of the defenders who barred their way, and then, after sending a swarm of torpedoes into the mouth of the bay to explode the mines and blow up any submarine defences that might exist, to have made a rush for the inner bay at the same time that the air-ships engaged the land defences.
-the naval portion of the programme was completely frustrated by the destruction of the scouts, while the aerial attack was foiled by the look-outs stationed above the clouds. soon after seven it became light enough at their altitude for the powerful glasses of their commanders to make out the fifteen russian air-ships coming up from the southward at a distance of about twenty miles.
-a few minutes later they were themselves discovered by the russians, and olga, to her intense chagrin, saw at a glance that all hope of a surprise was gone. by some means or other the aerians had received intelligence of the attack, and were ready for it.
-the terrible experience taught by the disaster of antarctica warned her and her lieutenants that any approach, now that they were seen, must be made with the utmost caution, for they had no precise knowledge as to the range of the aerian guns. all they knew was that it was very great, and that where one of their projectiles found its mark destruction followed instantly.
-added to this, there was another difficulty. the dense masses of cloud completely hid both sea and land from their view, and made accurate shooting at the land defences impossible. consequently there was nothing for it but to fight the battle out in the upper regions of the air, against a force of whose actual strength they were ignorant. they dare not attempt to surround the ten air-ships, which hung stationary over the island, for this meant bringing all their guns into play, while they could only use half of their own.
-while they were debating on a plan of operations, two new factors in the coming struggle were swiftly and unexpectedly brought into play. as soon as the news of their arrival had been telegraphed to headquarters, the ariel took the air and passed under the clouds to the rear of the russian squadron. ten miles behind them, she swept round sharply, and with her wings inclined to the utmost, and her engines working at the fullest capacity, she took a mighty upward swoop, passed through the clouds like a flash of light, and before the russians knew what had happened, she was floating three thousand feet above them, out of reach of their guns, and hurling projectile after projectile into their midst. three of their ships, struck almost simultaneously, were torn into a thousand fragments, and vanished through the clouds.
-it was the glare and shock of this explosion that alexis had seen from the conning-tower of the narwhal. the remaining russian ships instantly scattered and sank through the clouds to seek a refuge from the foe whose deadly blows they were completely unable to return.
-but the moment they appeared on the under-side of the cloud-sea, all the guns of the land batteries opened fire in all directions with time-shells, and so rapid were the discharges, and so terrible the energy of the explosives, that the whole firmament above the island seemed ablaze with them, while the concussions of the nether atmosphere were so tremendous and continuous, that it would have been madness for the russian air-ships to have approached within the zone of fire with which the aerians had covered and encircled their positions.
-the clouds were torn and broken up into vast whirling masses, which completely obscured the view of the russians, and rendered anything like accurate shooting in the direction of the island impossible. worse than this, the range of the great land guns, fired at an elevation of forty-five degrees, was so enormous that they were forced by the incessantly exploding projectiles, which were hurled up into the air in all directions, to retire to a distance which, beyond the most random shooting, the results of which were spent upon the rocks of the island and the sea, rendered their own guns useless.
-rise up through the clouds they dare not, for they knew the ariel was still there, and that the first ship that showed herself would be an almost helpless mark for one of the ten guns which, for the time being, commanded the heavens. there seemed nothing for it but an ignominious retreat, for, as boris lossenski said to olga when, furious with rage and mortification, she reproached him with a lack both of skill and courage, an attack upon a volcano in full eruption would have been child’s play to an assault at close quarters on kerguelen island.
-their one hope of success had lain in a surprise, and that, by some unaccountable means, had been made impossible. they had reckoned only on the air-ships and the submarine defences, and even these they had expected to take unawares. the terrible power of the battery guns, which were able to spread their seas of fire through the air and to shake the very firmament itself with their projectiles, had been a revelation to them.
-they could not train their own guns without seeing their mark, and neither flame nor smoke betrayed the position of the batteries, while on the other hand the artillerists on the island had simply to surround the station with a zone of fire and a continuous series of atmospheric convulsions through which no air-ship could have passed without the risk of overturning or completely collapsing.
-so olga was at last convinced that her choice lay between abandonment of the attack or running the gauntlet of fire in the almost forlorn hope of engaging the land batteries and an aerial fleet of unknown strength at close quarters.
-baffled and defeated, and yet convinced that to continue the unequal contest under its present conditions would be merely to court still more disastrous defeat, and even probable destruction, olga at last allowed lossenski to give the signal for retreat, and the russian squadron withdrew to a position twelve miles northward of the island. its departure was seen both from the air and the land, and the cannonade immediately stopped.
-meanwhile alan had run the narwhal into the mouth of christmas harbour flying his red flag. he was met by the cachalot, and, after telling captain ernstein what he had done, and learning of the repulse of the russians in the aerial battle, he directed forty of the submarine vessels to follow him out to sea to look for the russian flotilla.
-all the craft were furnished with tell-tale needles similar to the one on board the narwhal, for it is impossible to see a sufficient distance under water to effectively attack an enemy as agile as the submarine warships were, and this fact had led to the universal employment of the needles.
-as it was now quite light, the whole aerian squadron, with the exception of five vessels whose duty it was to act as scouts under water, proceeded seaward on the surface of the waves, keeping a sharp look-out for the remains of the russian fleet, which they soon discovered lying about five miles off the island. they could make out thirty-five of the long, black, half-submerged hulls lying together like a school of whales with the waves breaking over them as over sunken rocks.
-alan immediately signalled from his conning-tower in the manual sign-language, used by the aerians to communicate between their air-ships, to his consorts, and ordered them to scatter and form a wide circle round the russian squadron at a distance of a mile, and a depth of two fathoms, but on no account to approach within a thousand yards of them. when they had reached their positions they were to rise to the surface and each was to discharge a couple of torpedoes towards the centre of the circle. after that they were to retire and leave the rest to him.
-the moment the order had been passed through the fleet, everyone of the vessels disappeared and proceeded to her station. the narwhal sank at the same time until nothing but the glass dome of her conning-tower remained above the water.
-by carefully noting the course steered by the compass, and accurately measuring the distance travelled by the number of revolutions of the propeller, each captain was able to place his craft in the desired position.
-so perfectly, indeed, was the manœuvre performed that when the vessels rose to the surface they formed a circle two miles in diameter, in the centre of which lay, within a space of about two hundred yards square, the russian flotilla, the commanders of which, afraid to advance nearer to the shore without the intelligence which they still awaited from their scouts, and confounded by the awful spectacle presented by the aerial battle, of the issue of which they were utterly ignorant, were waiting in bewilderment and indecision the issue of the events which had taken such a marvellous and unexpected turn.
-the manœuvre ordered by alan had been executed so promptly and secretly that the russians were not even aware that they were surrounded until torpedo after torpedo, coming in from all points of the compass, began exploding in their midst, hurling vast masses of water and foam up into the air, tearing their plates and crippling their propellers, and disabling half their number before they had time to recover from the confusion into which the sudden attack had thrown them.
-to communicate signals from one vessel to another under such circumstances was impossible, and so united action was out of the question. all that the captains of the vessels could see was that there were enemies upon all sides of them. the explosion of the eighty torpedoes had churned the water up into a mass of seething foam, in the midst of which fifteen vessels were lying crippled and helpless on the surface, while six more had been sent to the bottom.
-this was bad enough, but while the captains of those which had escaped were recovering from the stupefaction into which this sudden disaster had thrown them alan saw his chance, and as soon as the last torpedo had exploded headed the narwhal full speed into the midst of them. then followed a scene which would have beggared all description.
-the great ship, moving at a speed of nearly three miles a minute, tore her way through the half-crippled squadron, hurling everything she struck to the bottom of the sea. every russian vessel that was able to do so after the first assault sank out of the way of the terrible ram of the narwhal and headed off at full speed into the open sea.
-but for those that were partially or wholly disabled there was no escape. alan standing in his conning-tower, his teeth clenched and his blue eyes almost black with the fierce passion of battle and revenge, whirled his steering-wheel this way and that, and as the steel monster swung round in rapid curves in obedience to the rudder, he hurled her again and again upon his practically helpless victims, piercing them through and through as though their plates had been cardboard instead of steel.
-when the last one had gone down he left the conning-tower, hoisted his flagstaff, and flew a signal to his consorts to return to harbour. what had become of the russian vessels that had escaped he neither knew nor, for the present, cared.
-the victory of the aerians both at sea and in the air was complete, and he was certain that the russians had received such a lesson as would convince them that kerguelen island was impregnable to any assault that they could make upon it, unless they were able to take its defenders by surprise--a contingency which was justly considered impossible.
-chapter xiii. the syren’s stronghold.
-as soon as the first pitched battle in the world-war was over, a lengthy and detailed report of the attack on kerguelen and its repulse was drawn up by alan, captain ernstein, and admiral forrest for presentation to the council. to this report alan added a supplement, which is here reproduced in his own words.
-“from what i know of the designs of olga romanoff and her advisers i am convinced that the defeats which have been inflicted upon them will merely have the effect of checking, and not putting a stop to, their operations against the peace and freedom of the world.
-“i have seen and heard enough during the last five years to feel satisfied that there exists a very widespread conspiracy, the object of which is the restoration of the romanoff dynasty, in the person of olga, the breaking up of the anglo-saxon federation, and the inauguration of an era of personal despotism and popular slavery.
-“as far as we have been able to learn, this conspiracy embraces practically all the descendants of those families who lost their rank, official position, or property during the reconstitution of russia after the fall of the romanoffs. these people have, of course, everything to gain and not much to lose by the destruction of the present order of things, and olga has promised them, no doubt quite sincerely, that in the event of her triumph they shall be restored to all that their ancestors lost.
-“as a matter of fact, the greater part of russia will be divided amongst them should she ever accomplish her designs. the old order of things, as it existed before the days of alexander ii., is to be completely reinstated. the lower orders of the people are to be reduced once more to serfdom, and the trading classes to a condition very little better.
-“if they resist they are to be terrorised into submission by the air-ships, and all who raise their voices for freedom are to be banished to siberia, which is once more to be the prison-land of the russian empire. a large standing army is to be kept constantly on the war-footing, while the sea navy and the aerial fleet are to be kept up to such a strength as to be able to hold the rest of the continent in practical subjection.
-“in short, olga aspires to nothing less than the throne of an empire which shall stretch from the yellow sea to the atlantic ocean. i am afraid, too, that there can be no doubt but that this conspiracy is not only favoured, but actually assisted, by large numbers of people throughout the federation area.
-“in fact, during the latter part of our stay at mount terror, the stronghold was visited by men of all nations, who, of course, came and went away in the submarine vessels, and who openly promised to do everything they could to further what they called the cause of the new revolution in their own countries, on the understanding that the old evils of capitalism and private ownership of land by which their ancestors had grown wealthy are to be restored.
-“this will, i trust, be enough to show you that the triumph of olga romanoff means nothing less than the complete undoing of all the work that was done in the days of the terror.
-“we have proved so far that kerguelen, and, therefore, aeria, is impregnable to attack save by surprise, which will now, of course, be impossible. but, on the other hand, the force at the disposal of olga and her allies is still so strong that all our present resources will have to be kept constantly employed to protect ourselves, and this leaves the world at the mercy of any power which can obtain the assistance of the russians’ aerial navy, which still numbers twenty-seven vessels, all equal to our best ships.
-“in addition to these they possess a submarine navy of at least forty vessels, all of which are swifter and more powerful than ours, with the exception of the narwhal. i therefore suggest that the whole of the resources at the command of the council shall at once be devoted to the building of at least fifty air-ships of the ithuriel type, and the same number of submarine battleships like the narwhal, complete plans of which i enclose.
-“until this additional force is at our command, i think it would be useless to attempt the destruction of the russian stronghold in antarctica, and until this is destroyed there can be no hope of peace. this stronghold, which i will now attempt to describe for the information of the council, is one of the most marvellous places on earth.
-“it lies in and about mount terror and the parry mountains, which run from it towards the pole behind the ice-barrier of antarctica. nearly ten years ago a russian explorer named kishenov reached the ice-barrier and made the discoveries which have enabled the russian revolutionists to create their stronghold. in addition to his ship, he took with him three aerostats, which were chiefly constructed during his voyage, and also a small submarine vessel, which he took out in sections and put together at sea.
-“he skirted the coast of victoria land, and was stopped by the ice in latitude 78°, as all other antarctic explorers by sea have been since the voyage of sir james ross. the season was a singularly fine and open one, and two days after his arrival he inflated one of his aerostats and crossed the great barrier, to make a thorough exploration of the unknown land. kishenov was the first man, not an aerian, who had ever seen what there was on the other side of the antarctic ice-wall.
-“but he discovered far more than our explorers did, for while he was in the neighbourhood of mount terror an earthquake, accompanying a violent eruption of mount erebus, made a huge fissure in the south side of mount terror. after waiting three days to make sure that the earthquake had subsided, he and two of his officers entered the crevice, which they found to be over two hundred feet wide at the level of the land ice.
-“furnished with storage batteries and electric lights, they penetrated into the interior of the mountain and found that it was pierced in all directions with great galleries and enormous chambers, hollowed out by volcanic forces during the period of mount terror’s activity. four days were spent altogether in exploring this subterranean region, the existence of which was kept a profound secret by kishenov and his officers.
-“not the least strange and, as it has proved, one of the most valuable portions of his discovery was the finding of a subterranean lake in the heart of mount terror, the temperature of which was kept far above the freezing point by the heat which the interior of the mountain derived from the neighbouring fires of mount erebus. finding the lake to be salt water, he concluded that it must have some connection with the open sea, and so the next day he and the same two officers entered the submarine boat and penetrated underneath the ice-barrier.
-“after a search of five hours, the search-lights of the boat revealed a huge tunnel leading south-west into the land, that is to say, direct for mount terror. they followed this tunnel up for a distance of nearly five miles, and then struck the end. they now rose, and finally found themselves floating on the surface of the lake in the interior of the mountain.
-“one of kishenov’s officers, a man named louis khemski, was a member of the russian revolutionary society, whose existence only became known five years ago. after the capture of the ithuriel the heads of this society met, and to them this man communicated the secret of mount terror. kishenov and the other officer refused to join the revolutionists, and were assassinated.
-“khemski was at once taken on board the ithuriel, now renamed the revenge, and guided her to the fissure leading into mount terror. its outer portion was of course filled and covered with ice and snow, but as soon as khemski had found its position by his landmarks, a couple of shells speedily reopened it, and it was here that the revenge lay hidden while you were ransacking the world for her.
-“olga inherited from her grandfather, the father of the vladimir romanoff who was executed for disobeying the order of the council, all the plans and directions necessary for the building both of air-ships and submarine vessels, and as soon as this perfect stronghold and hiding-place was discovered, her accomplices in the conspiracy for the restoration of the russian monarchy at once devoted their fortunes to the supply of money and materials. the revenge made one more voyage to russia, and by travelling at full speed at a great elevation managed to make it unobserved.
-“the services of the cleverest engineers and most skilful craftsmen among the revolutionists were secured. transports were chartered and sent out to antarctica loaded with materials. on the shores of the subterranean lake the first squadron of submarine vessels was built, and then began the system of ocean terrorism which soon paralysed the trade of the world.
-“piracy was carried on with utter ruthlessness. transports were sunk by the vessels, and then plundered by divers of the treasure which they carried, and which was employed to purchase new materials and to repay those who had furnished the first funds.
-“alexis and myself were kept by olga, as i said in my first letter, under the influence of a drug which completely paralysed our volitional power, and were compelled to reveal all we knew concerning our own air-ships, submarine vessels, guns, and explosives. and in this manner was created and equipped the force which will be employed to dispute with us the empire of the world unless we are able to extirpate it utterly.”
-while the despatch to the council was being drawn up, the narwhal had been lying in the inner basin of christmas harbour, renewing her store of motive power from the generating station ashore. as soon as the engineer in charge reported that her power-reservoirs were full, and alan had delivered the despatch for conveyance to aeria by air-ship, alexis, who had been apparently buried in a brown study for the last two hours or so, asked alan to come with him into his private cabin, and as soon as the two friends were alone together he said to him--
-“look here, old man! while you fellows have been drawing up that despatch, and talking about the impossibility of attacking the stronghold at mount terror, i’ve been doing some thinking, and i’ve come to the conclusion that as far as an under-sea attack is concerned, it isn’t quite so hopeless as you’ve made out.”
-“i shall be only too delighted to hear you prove us wrong,” replied alan, his eyes brightening at the prospect, for he knew alexis too well not to be sure that he would not have spoken in this way unless he had pretty solid reasons for doing so. “say on, my friend; i am all attention.”
-“get out to sea, then, as fast as ever you can,” said alexis, “for there’s not an hour to be lost if you adopt my plan, and if you don’t we can just come back.”
-“very well,” said alan. “what’s the course?”
-“clear the islands and head away southward as hard as you can go,” replied alexis briefly.
-the excitement of the battle in which he had played such a terrible part had left alan in just the frame of mind to listen to the project of a desperate adventure, such as he instinctively knew was now in his friend’s mind. without hesitating further he went into the saloon, summoned the crew of the narwhal, and said to them--
-“alexis and i have decided upon an enterprise which will end either in very great injury to our enemies or our own destruction. you have seen enough to-day to know that in the warfare we are engaged in there are only two choices: victory or destruction. we don’t want to take anyone against his will to what may be certain death. those who care to go ashore may do so.”
-not a man moved. an athletic sailor named george cosmo, who held the post of chief engineer, saluted, and said briefly--
-“we shall all go, sir. what are the orders?”
-“get out of the harbour as fast as you can, and as soon as you are clear of the islands sink two fathoms, steer a straight course due south-east, and put her through the water as hard as she’ll go,” replied alan.
-cosmo saluted again, and left the room with his comrades to execute the order.
-“now, my friend,” said alan, turning to alexis as soon as they were alone again, “what is your plan?”
-“simply this,” replied alexis. “mount terror, or at any rate the mouth of the submarine tunnel, is in round numbers three thousand geographical miles from here. our speed is thirty miles an hour faster than that of olga’s squadron. that means that even if they go back at once and at full speed we shall be there four or five hours before them.
-“they, i think, have had quite enough fighting for to-day, and i don’t believe they’ll attack the island again--first, because they know that they can’t take our sea defences by surprise, and, second, because they think the narwhal will remain on guard.
-“either they will go off on a raiding expedition somewhere else with the air-ships--in which case we can’t follow them, for we don’t know where they’re going--or they will return to mount terror at an easy speed of fifty or sixty miles an hour. they will never dream that you and i will venture to attack the stronghold single-handed, and, therefore, that is just what i propose to do.”
-“that will be odds of about forty to one against the narwhal,” replied alan, somewhat gravely. “unless we can destroy it completely before they get back. but go on. let’s hear the rest. i don’t think you can propose anything too desperate for me now that i have really tasted the blood of the enemy.”
-“well, what i propose is not to destroy the stronghold, simply because it would be impossible to do that by sea. i merely propose to get quietly into the tunnel, go to that narrow part about two miles from the entrance, fix a dozen torpedoes with time-fuses up against the roof of the tunnel, and then clear out into the open water.
-“when those twelve torpedoes go off if they don’t bring a few thousand tons of rock down into the tunnel and block it pretty securely i’ll grant i know very little about explosives.”
-“good so far, very good!” said alan. “i confess i envy you that idea. what next?”
-“well, after that,” replied alexis. “you see we shall have shut in the vessels that are inside and shut out those that are outside. the ones inside will be no use for some time, for it will take the divers a good many days to open the tunnel again, even if they ever do.
-“as for those outside, we can lie in wait for them if they return, and trust to the narwhal’s speed and strength to sink as many of them as we can, or else, if they don’t put in an appearance, we can come home with the consciousness that we have done about all the damage in our power. now, what do you think?”
-alan was silent for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons of the desperate venture--for desperate it was, in spite of the incomparable speed and strength of the splendid vessel he commanded.
-it was easy enough, always supposing that it could be accomplished without interruption; but to be caught in the tunnel, as was quite possible, between a force inside and one outside meant almost certain destruction, for if the narwhal was not rammed and sunk in a space too narrow for her to turn she would be certain to be blown up by the torpedoes which would be launched against her.
-in the end, the very character of the desperate venture, combined with the magnitude of the injury it would do to the enemy, overcame the scruples of his prudence. he put his hand on alexis’ shoulder, and giving him a gentle shake, said with a laugh--
-“bravo, old philosopher! you’ve done more with your thinking than we have with our talking and writing. we’ll do it, if there isn’t a square foot of the narwhal left when the business is over.”
-“i knew you’d say that,” said alexis. “now let’s have some dinner and go to sleep, for we shall want it.”
-it was then very nearly midday, and the narwhal had cleared the islands, and, with her prow pointed direct for the north-eastern extremity of wilkes’s land, was rushing at full speed through the water about twelve feet below the surface of the sea. for twenty hours she sped silently and swiftly and unseen on her way, swept round the ice-barrier that fences the northern promontory of victoria land and into the bay dominated by the fiery crest of mount erebus.
-twenty-four hours after she had reached mount terror the narwhal came into the inner basin of christmas harbour, running easily along the surface, with the red flag flying at her flagstaff. the news spread rapidly through the little settlement, the dwellers in which had been wondering greatly at her sudden disappearance, and there was quite a crowd on the jetty as she ran alongside. max ernstein was among it, and as the battleship came to a standstill he saw to his amazement alan spring ashore and come towards him with outstretched hands.
-“why, what does this mean?” he said, as he grasped his hand. “i thought you told me you were never going to leave the narwhal until”--
-“until we had done what we have done,” said alan with a laugh, as he returned his hand-clasp with a grip that made the bones crack. “we have destroyed a good half of what remained of the russian sea navy, and, what’s more, we’ve blown up the entrance to their submarine dockyard, and completely crippled them as far as building or equipping new vessels is concerned until they can find a new harbour.”
-“magnificent!” exclaimed ernstein. “glorious! you’ll be wearing the golden wings again in forty-eight hours.”
-“if i am,” said alan, flushing with pleasure at the thought, “the credit will be due to alexis, and not to me. it was his idea entirely. but never mind that now. we’ve suffered rather badly, and only just escaped with our lives. five out of six of the narwhal’s crew are disabled, and i want you to get them out and send them away to aeria as soon as possible. meanwhile alexis and i will write our despatch to the council.”
-it was brief, plain, almost formal in language, and confined entirely to statement of bare fact, and in little more than an hour after the arrival of the narwhal at christmas harbour the vega had risen into the air, and was speeding on her way towards aeria.
-meanwhile the news of the daring venture and brilliant exploits of alan and alexis and their comrades spread like wildfire through the island, and everyone who was not engaged on duties that could not be left came to the settlement to see and congratulate the two heroes of the hour, whose strange and romantic fate, so well known to every aerian, had thus suddenly been glorified by the triumph of the genius and daring which had proved capable of wresting victory from defeat and glory from misfortune.
-although some were more demonstrative, none were heartier or more sincere in their congratulations than edward forrest, the admiral of the station, and, unknown to alan and alexis, he and ernstein had sent a joint despatch by the vega, strongly urging both the justice and the policy of at once restoring to the full rights of citizenship the two men who had proved themselves possessed of such extraordinary ability.
-if the battle for the empire of the world was to be fought over again, the command of the forces of aeria could not be entrusted to any hands so able and so daring as those of the president’s son and his friend and companion in misfortune and victory. the triumphs at kerguelen and antarctica had really been due to them alone. they had given warning of the attack on the station, and it was due to the skill and boldness of their strategy that it had been foiled with such disaster to the enemy.
-this of itself was much, but it had not satisfied either their ambition or their devotion, for, after it had been accomplished, they had carried the war almost single-handed in the russian stronghold, and there, under circumstances of unparalleled danger to themselves, they had struck a blow which could not fail to cripple the sea-power of the enemy, and so influence to an incalculable extent the ultimate issue of the war which, ere long, might be raging over the whole world.
-that night, while the almost constant storms of the southern winter were sweeping over the barren surface of desolation land, a feast was held in the central hall of the headquarters at christmas harbour in honour of the double victory and the return of the two chief heroes of it from their long captivity. the next day was spent in a rigorous inspection of all the defences of the island and the machinery and ammunition of the air-ships and submarine vessels. at six o’clock in the evening, twenty-six hours after she had started, the vega returned from aeria, bringing the reply of the council to the despatches which she had taken.
-the council has heard with great satisfaction of the repulse of the attack on the station at kerguelen and of the distinguished services rendered by alan arnold and alexis mazarov, both at kerguelen and mount terror.
-in recognition of the great skill and devotion they have displayed, the council invites them to assume the command of the air-ship ithuriel, and to make use of that vessel to execute such plans and purposes as in their discretion will best serve the interests of the state of aeria for a period of one year from the present date. they will be supplied with motive power and all stores and materials of war at any of the oceanic stations.
-the council accepts the recommendation contained in the supplement to the first despatch, and has given orders for the immediate building of a hundred air-ships of the ithuriel class and the same number of submarine battleships of the narwhal type. these are expected to be ready for service at the end of the year, by which time the council hopes to be able to call upon alan arnold and alexis mazarov to assume the duties of admiral and vice-admiral of the aerial navies, and at the same time to restore to them full privileges of citizenship in aeria.
-the admiral and officers of kerguelen will give all assistance in the carrying out of these directions, and will make and transmit all necessary reports in connection with them. no further hostilities are to be undertaken for the present by the aerial or sea forces, but they will maintain a strict watch against all possible surprises on the part of the enemy, and be ready to repel any assault which may be made. this order does not apply to the air-ship ithuriel.
-given in the council hall of aeria on the eleventh day of may in the hundred and thirty-second year of the deliverance.
-alan arnold, president. francis tremayne, vice-president.
-to edward forrest, admiral in command at the station of kerguelen.
-such was the reply of the council to the news of the daring foray made by the narwhal upon the stronghold of mount terror, and the suggestions of admiral forrest and captain ernstein. although it did not precisely adopt the latter, which, indeed, the council was well justified in looking upon as inspired rather by enthusiasm than the judicial spirit proper to the occasion, it was even more satisfactory both to alan and alexis than an immediate recall would have been.
-true, they had done great and brilliant service in the first few days of their return to freedom. they had virtually crippled the russian sea-power by the blows which they had so skilfully, so swiftly, and so daringly struck, but neither of them felt that this was a sufficient achievement to warrant their full restoration to all that they had lost through the fatal error that they had made on board the old ithuriel.
-both, indeed, longed ardently for just such further opportunity of devoting themselves to the service of their race and country as this order offered them. in command of the new ithuriel, one of the swiftest and most formidable aerial warships in existence, there was no telling the damage that they might do to the enemy or what service they might render to their friends.
-they knew that, as regarded the russian force, the odds against them were about twenty-four to one, and they also knew that olga and her lieutenants would lose no time in increasing their navy to the utmost extent in their power in preparation for the war of extermination that was now inevitable.
-they had a year before them during which they would have an absolutely free hand, and all the supplies that the resources of aeria could give them. true, it was a year of exile and probation, but they gladly welcomed the test of fidelity and devotion which it offered, and which, worthily passed through, would mean restoration of all they had lost, and a return to their friends and kindred in their beloved valley of aeria armed with powers and responsibilities which would make them practically the arbiters of the destinies of their people, and perhaps of the whole human race.
-but the vega had brought something more to the two friends and exiles than the reply of the council to their despatches, for immediately he landed her captain handed to alan a small sealed packet addressed to him in the handwriting of his sister isma. when he opened it, as he did at the first opportunity that found him alone, he found that it contained two letters and two chromatic photographs.
-the letters were from his parents and sister. his father’s was, as may well be imagined, very different from the cold and formal despatch that he had signed as president of the council. it was full of tender and loving sympathy for him in the strange fate that had overtaken him, and, while it entirely absolved them of all moral blame for the loss of the flagship and the lives of his companions, it exhorted him earnestly to apply himself without useless regrets to the work of the year of probation which the council had seen fit to impose upon him, and it ended with an assurance that the happiest day that had been known in aeria within the memory of its citizens would be that on which the golden wings would be replaced on their foreheads in the council hall of the city.
-to this letter was added another, written by alan’s mother, and written as only a mother can write to her son. strong and well tried as he was, there were tears in alan’s eyes when he had finished reading these two letters, but they did not remain there long after he had begun the one from his sister.
-isma, proud beyond measure of the exploits of her brother and the man she still looked upon as her lover, and absolutely assured that when the time came both would return covered with honour, wrote in the highest spirits. as it was an invariable rule of life among the aerians to be perfectly frank with one another, and to take every precaution to avoid those misunderstandings which in a less perfect state of society had produced so much personal and social suffering, she told him in plain yet tender language exactly what had passed between her and alma on the night that his first letter had been received.
-yet she said nothing that in any way committed either alma or himself to a renewal of the troth which had been broken by the designs of olga romanoff, and though she sent her remembrances to alexis, she sent them as though to a friend, tacitly giving both to understand that no words of love must pass between the two exiles and their former sweethearts until they met again upon equal terms.
-but there was another message not contained in the letter, or written in any words, which said more than all that she had written, and this was conveyed by the photographs, which she sent without a word of allusion to them. as alan looked upon them the six years of mental slavery and degrading servitude to the daughter of the enemies of his race passed away for the moment, and he saw himself standing with alma in one of the groves of aeria plighting his boyish troth on the night before he started on his fatal voyage in the ithuriel.
-the face that looked at him with such marvellous lifelikeness, with all its perfection of form and exquisite colouring, reproduced with the most absolute fidelity, was the same face that had been upturned to his to receive his kisses on that never-to-be-forgotten night. and yet, in another sense, it was not the same.
-that had been the sunny, smiling face of a girl to whom sorrow and evil were as absolutely unknown as they would be to an angel in heaven, but this was the face of a woman who had lived and thought and suffered.
-and when he remembered that whatever of sorrow or suffering she had known had been on his account, the last lingering traces of the vile spells of the evilly beautiful syren of the skies, who had so fatally bewitched him, vanished from his soul, and the old love revived within him pure and strong, and intensified tenfold by the knowledge of the great reparation that he owed to the girl upon whose life he had brought the only shadow it had ever known.
-he knew that their hands would never meet again until all that had been lost was regained, at whatever cost of labour or devotion that might be necessary on his part, but he also knew that in all these years no other man had been found worthy to fill the place that he had once occupied, and which he was resolved to win back or die in the attempt, and this knowledge made him look forward to the mighty struggle which lay before him with an eagerness that augured well for its issue.
-he had gone into his own cabin on board the ithuriel, which was being rapidly prepared for her roving commission, to read his letters in solitude. he put alma’s photograph on the table, and sat before it with his eyes fixed upon it until every line of form and tint of colour was indelibly impressed anew upon his memory.
-then he kissed it as reverently as a devotee of old might have kissed a sacred relic, and then he attached the oval miniature to a chain of alternate links of azurine and gold, and hung it round his neck inside his tunic, registering a mental vow that if death came before he once more wore the golden wings, it should find it lying nearest his heart.
-“this,” he said, speaking to himself, as he took isma’s photograph up from the table, and looked fondly upon the radiantly lovely face that looked out from its frame, “is evidently not intended for me. isma doesn’t say who it’s for, but i fancy that there is some one on board the ithuriel who has a very much better right to it than i have. i wonder if alexis is in his room?”
-so saying, he left his cabin and found his friend still deep in the perusal of two lengthy letters from his father and mother.
-“so you have had letters from home as well, old man? i hope they’ve been as pleasant reading as mine have,” he said, going to the couch on which alexis was sitting, and holding one hand behind his back.
-“yes, they’re from my father and mother, and so they can scarcely be anything else, so far as what they do say. it’s what they don’t say that gives me the only cause to find fault with them. but still that, i suppose, would be expecting too much under the circumstances.”
-he ended with something very like a sigh, and alan replied as gravely as he could--
-“and what might that be, my knight of the rueful countenance? don’t you think the council have treated us splendidly, and given us a glorious opportunity of winning back all that the daughter of the tsar has robbed us of?”
-“of course, i do,” replied alexis, looking up at him with a flush on his cheeks. “but for all that there is one thing still, something that i am not ashamed to say i value above everything else that i have lost or can regain.”
-“and that is--?”
-“well, to put it plainly,” replied alexis, the flush deepening as he spoke, “these two letters don’t contain one single word about isma. now you know what i mean. of course, i am ready to do everything that the council may call upon us to do, and the moment that i know i have won back the right to wear the golden wings will be the proudest of my life, but it will be far from the happiest if i only go back to aeria to find isma another man’s wife, and what else can i think when they don’t so much as mention her name?”
-“be of good cheer, my friend,” replied alan with a laugh, putting one hand on his shoulder, and taking the other from behind his back. “you will never find that, i can promise you. i am the bringer of good tidings. there, take those and feast your eyes and your heart on them in solitude as i have just been doing on something else.”
-so saying he put isma’s letter and photograph into alexis’ hand, and without another word left him to gather courage and comfort from them as he had himself done.
-the remains of the russian submarine squadron, numbering now only seventeen vessels, headed out northward into the open sea, after leaving their disabled consorts to their fate. in the brief space occupied by her first rush they had recognised the narwhal both by her size and speed, and one of the captains avowed that he had recognised alan arnold, olga’s late captive, standing under the glass dome of the conning-tower, steering the great vessel upon her devastating course.
-twenty miles out from the island they rose to the surface and made out the aerial fleet some five miles to the southward, hovering at an elevation of about a thousand feet, and evidently on the look-out for them. michael lossenski, who had escaped the ram of the narwhal, ran up his flagstaff, and flew a signal which soon brought the air-ships bearing down upon them. the revenge sank down to the surface of the water, and took lossenski off his ship in order that he might report himself.
-olga and his father received the first news of the defeat of their naval forces with cold displeasure; but when michael told them that more than half the fleet had been destroyed by the narwhal, and that it was believed that alan was in command of her, olga’s anger blazed out into fury, and she cried passionately--
-“you fools and cowards to have fled like that from one ship and one man! could not seventeen of you have overcome that one vessel? had you no rams, no torpedoes, that you fled before this single foe?”
-he took the bitter rebuke in silence. he knew that he had failed both in duty and courage, and that a reply would only make matters worse. olga looked at him for a moment, with eyes burning with scorn and anger. then she rose from her seat, and, pointing to the door of the saloon, said--
-“go! you have disgraced yourself and us. take your ships back to mount terror, and await our further commands.”
-with bowed head and face flushed with shame, the disgraced man walked in silence out of the saloon and left olga alone with his father. as soon as he had gone olga began striding up and down the saloon, her hands clenched and her eyes, black with passion, glittering fiercely under her straight-drawn brows.
-orloff lossenski knew her too well not to let her anger take its course uninterrupted, so he sat and watched her, and waited for her to speak first. at last she stopped in front of him, and said in a low fierce voice, that was almost hoarse with the strength of her passion--
-“so! you were right, my friend. i was a fool, an idiot, to let those two escape. i ought to have killed them, as you advised. they were of no further use to us, and we could have done without them. yes, truly i was a fool, such a fool as love makes of every woman!”
-“not of every woman, majesty,” replied lossenski in a low soothing tone, that was not without a trace of irony. “if i may say it without disrespect, your ancestress, the great catherine, knew how to combine love and wisdom. when she wearied of a lover, or had no further use for a man, she never left him the power of revenging his dismissal.”
-“yes, yes,” she replied. “i know that; but i did not weary of this man, this king among men, for whose love i would have sold my soul. i only wearied of my own attempts to win it. you know what i mean, lossenski, and you can understand me, for you have confessed that he was well worthy of the sacrifice.
-“you know that when he seemed my lover he was only my slave--that i could not compel the man to love me, but only the passive machine that i had made of him, and you know, too, that the moment i had let him regain his freedom of will he would have loathed and cursed me, as no doubt he is doing now.
-“why did i not kill him? how could i, when i loved him better than my own life, and all my dreams of empire? why, i could not even kill the other one because he was alan’s friend, and because he would have hated me still more for doing so.
-“but, after all,” she continued, speaking somewhat more calmly, “it is not setting them free that has done the mischief. it is the treason or the miracle that enabled them to capture the narwhal. i would give a good deal to know how that was done. they cannot have done it themselves, for i had given them enough of the drug to deprive them of all will-power for at least twenty-four hours, and i told that traitor, turgenieff, who must have betrayed the attack on kerguelen, to give them more when he landed them on the island.”
-“but is your majesty sure that they took the drug?” said lossenski, interrupting her for the first time. “did you give it with your own hand, or see them take it with your own eyes?”
-“no!” said olga, with a start. “i did not. i sent it to them by my maid, anna, but she swore that she put it in their wine, and when they had finished their last meal the decanter was empty.”
-“that was a grave mistake, majesty,” said lossenski, in a tone of respectful reproof, “and one which may yet cost you the empire of the world. it is such trifles as that which destroy the grandest schemes.”
-“i know! i know!” said olga impatiently. “you may think me a fool and a weakling, but i could not bring myself to see or speak to alan again after i had at last resolved to give up the hopeless task of winning him, and send him away.
-“but for that mistake the narwhal would still have been ours, and we should have taken kerguelen unawares. he could have told his people nothing else that would have harmed us, for the more he tells them about mount terror the more impossible they will see any attack upon it to be. no, no, it was all that one fatal mistake! but there, it tortures me to talk about it! tell me, my old friend and counsellor, what we are to do to repair the damage?”
-exhausted by her fierce and sudden outburst of passion, and the bitterness of her regret, olga threw herself into a chair and sat waiting for lossenski to speak. he remained silent for several moments, buried in thought, and then he began speaking in the low, deliberate tone of a man who has weighty counsels to impart.
-“we cannot deny, majesty, that we have been worsted in our two first encounters with these aerians, but we must learn wisdom and patience from defeat. it seems plain to me that the aerians are too strong for us as we are.
-“when we attacked them we forgot that, while we are children in warfare, they are perfect masters of it. they have preserved the traditions of their fathers, and for four generations they have been trained in the use of the weapons which we have only just learnt to use. therefore my advice is that we do not attack them again for the present.”
-“but,” interrupted olga, “in any case, they will attack us, and we shall still have to fight.”
-“not of necessity, your highness,” replied lossenski. “you see they have not pursued us, and the reason for this is that they know that both our air-ships and our submarine vessels are swifter and more powerful than theirs, with two or three exceptions.
-“they will not attack us till they can do so on equal terms, and we must take care that they never do that. you have plenty of treasure and plenty of men at your command. let us retire to our stronghold again and devote ourselves to increasing our strength both by sea and in the air, until we have made ourselves invulnerable.
-“and remember, too, majesty,” he continued with an added meaning in his tone, “aeria is not the world. there are vast possibilities before you in other directions. i am convinced now that we have made a mistake in attacking the aerians first. russia is ripe for revolt, and great quantities of arms have already been manufactured. the tribes of western asia need only a leader to take the field, and the sultan khalid could put an army millions strong into the field within a few months.
-“on the other hand, anglo-saxondom is a babel of conflicting opinions, and the mob rules throughout its length and breadth. where everyone is
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-the foremost textile journal of the united states. covering every department of textile manufacture.
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-richly illustrated in each number.
-sample copies on application to
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-improved piano machines --and-- automatic, positive action, power repeaters, for cutting jacquard pattern cards.
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-built by the m. a. furbush & son machine co., philadelphia, pa., u. s. a.
--->one hundred picks per minute.<-- fifteen shuttles pick and pick.
-this loom combines the best features of the duckworth and murkland looms; while possessing the shading capacity of the latter, it is easier in its operation, and of a considerably higher speed than either.
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-loom picker co. biddeford, maine, manufacturers of raw hide and leather loom pickers and strapping,
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-manufacturer of reeds and heddles, and dealer in manufacturers’ supplies,
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-patent jacquard machines
-applied to any style or make of power looms, for any kind of figured goods.
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-jacquard card-stamping machines.
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-far superior to hand lacing for regularity and durability.
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-machines now in operation and ready for the inspection of manufacturers.
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-knowles’ new ingrain power carpet loom.
-designed to meet a want long felt in the manufacture of ingrain carpets, for a loom that should be simple in its construction, easy of operation, positive in its motions, and could be run at a high rate of speed.
-the following are among the important features:
-the journals on the loom are controlled by a cam motion, or by the same efficient chain motion that is used on our worsted loom instead of the cam motion, handling the warp with the greatest ease and calling either journal at will, which cannot be done on other carpet looms, thus giving a wider range of pattern and design than on other looms; and should it be necessary to change the shading, it can be done by changing the chain, instead of cutting out the warp and re-drawing it.
-the box mechanism is positive, and controlled by a chain on the same shaft as the journals, and may be used with the chain alone, or with the chain in combination with the cards. the motion can be run forward or reversed at will, and any box called as desired, thus giving a wide range to the shading facilities of the loom, and any combination of colors can be produced on this loom that can be done on any 4 × 4 box loom in the world.
-the jacquard is of our own manufacture, and of the most improved pattern. great care is used in its construction, thus making it a very efficient part of the loom, and is driven from the same shaft as the journals and box motion, thus working in harmony with them.
-the take-up motion is positive, and is very substantial and accurate, consisting of fluted rolls, and operated by the usual train of gearing, while the goods are wound up on a roll below.
-the let-off is controlled by the tension of the warp over a rocking whip roll, operated by a cam on the bottom shaft, held by a clamp friction, geared to the head of the beam.
-two filling motions are used, one at each end of the lay, each working independently of the other, inside the selvedge, so that the breakage of the weft is instantly detected, and these motions are so combined with friction pulley and brake, that the loom is stopped instantly “on the pick,” and consequently, when filling is replaced, the loom is ready to start without loss of time in finding the pick, or setting of jacquard or box motion.
-the shuttle-smash protector, which knocks off the loom when the shuttle does not box properly, thus preventing what are known as “shuttle smashes;” a shuttle check, for easing the force of the shuttle as it enters the box; a foot lever, for throwing the lay back when the loom is stopped, making it very easy for the weaver, and the speed at which the loom can be run, together with the features mentioned above, combine to make this loom the best in the market for the purpose for which it is designed.
-correspondence solicited and circulars sent on application.
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-textile school of the pennsylvania museum and school of industrial art,
-classrooms: {no. 1336 spring garden street, {s. e. cor. broad & spring garden sts.
-the leading textile school in america. founded in co-operation with the trustees of the penna. museum and school of industrial art,
-wm. platt pepper, president,
-by the following members of the philadelphia textile association:
-thomas dolan & co., john & james dobson, william wood & co., william arrott, john yewdall, fiss, banes, erben & co., conyers button & co., george & james bromley, seville schofield, alexander crow & son, james smith & co., m. a. furbush & son, john bromley & sons, thomas l. leedom, james doak, jr. & co., charles spencer & co., h. becker & co., andreas hartel, s. b. m. fleisher, grundy bros. & campion, h. w. butterworth & sons, stead & miller.
-first year’s course.
-the hand-loom, analyzed and explained.
-elementary principles of “dressing” warps; beaming the same; fixing of harness; drawing-in; reed and reed calculations, etc., for single cloth.
-a general study of the nature of materials used in weaving textile fabrics; explanation of the necessary materials and instruments used by designers.
-weaves.--ground or foundation weaves.
-i. plain, or cotton weave, and fancy figuring through color arrangements in warp and filling, for light-weight fabrics.
-ii. twill weaves--a, one-sided twills; b, even-sided twills; and fancy figuring with same through color arrangements in warp and filling.
-iii. satin weaves--a, single satins; b, double satins; c, figuring in single satins.
-lectures, with practical examples and rules observed.
-basket, rib, and granite weaves; steep, curved, broken, skip, corkscrew, and fancy twills; pointed twills and honeycomb weaves; pique weaves, and combinations of miscellaneous weaves.
-standard sizes of cotton wool and worsted yarns, with calculations.
-picking out samples of textile fabrics constructed on single weaves, with methods and rules employed in duplication.
-original weaves for single cloth; complete orders for manufacturing.
-instrumental drawing in elementary exercises, with instruments; construction of plane figures; line shading, etc.
-freehand drawing; enlargement and reduction of designs; analysis of plants for the purpose of design for textile fabrics.
-work in color; lectures on color harmony.
-second year’s course.
-the power-looms analyzed and explained, and practical weaving and fixing; a, the thos. wood roller loom, for ginghams, shirtings, cottonades, dress goods, etc.; b, the crompton loom, and c, the knowles loom, for worsted and woolen fabrics of every description; single and double beam work.
-double cloths--study of the best methods of combining different weaves, as: designs backed with weft; designs backed with warp; designs backed with warp and weft; designs for double cloth, double faced.
-calculation: ascertaining the cost, production, etc., of the different fabrics.
-analyses of single cloth (fancy), and double cloth fabrics, and reproduction with various changes, as requested.
-the jacquard machine analyzed and explained; principles of construction and method of operation of the single lift machine; the various modifications, such as double lift single cylinder, double lift double cylinder; “laying out” of comber-boards, and figuring for various changes in texture; tying-up of harness for single cloth.
-the bridesburg clipper loom analyzed and explained, and practical work on it, with special reference to its use in connection with the double lift double cylinder jacquard machine for damask table-covers, etc.
-card-stamping machines (french index) analyzed and explained, and actual work for single cloth on the machine; explanation of, and practical work in card-lacing.
-theoretical work; designing paper with reference to the different textures of single cloth fabrics.
-shading of fabrics by the weave.
-analysis of jacquard work for actual reproduction; also for reproduction with various (given) changes.
-study of special fabrics, such as dress trimmings, fringes, etc.
-study of processes for textile fabrics before and after weaving.
-instrumental drawing in lettering; drawing plans for machinery, rooms, mill buildings, etc.
-illustrating processes of weaving.
-illustrating sectional cuts of textile fabrics, etc.
-freehand drawing; sketching for the different textile fabrics on jacquard work.
-work in color; lectures (advanced course); practice in the use of color.
-theory of chemistry applicable to the textile art.
-third year’s course.
-the two-ply ingrain carpet machine analyzed and explained.
-the ingrain carpet hand-loom, and the ingrain carpet power-loom, built by the m. a. furbush & son machine co., analyzed, explained, and practical work.
-card-stamping machine (american index) analyzed, explained, and practical work.
-tying-up of jacquard harness (french index) machines for double cloth; three and four-ply fabrics.
-advanced work for the harness loom.
-study and practical work of cut pile fabrics--velvets, plushes, etc.; terry pile fabrics, with wires and without wires; terry and velvet pile combined.
-astrakans, cut, uncut, also cut and uncut combined.
-chenille, rugs, curtains, etc.
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-card-stamping on the french index stamping machine for two, three, and four-ply fabrics.
-instrumental and freehand drawing similar to second year’s course, but for more difficult objects in textile fabrics and machinery.
-work in color; application of theory of harmony to dyeing.
-theory and practice of chemistry, including actual work in the laboratory and dyeing of fabrics.
-t. c. search,
-chairman committee on instruction of the school, and pres. phila. textile association.
-the circular of the committee on instruction will be mailed upon application.
-a model school of industrial art.
-we cannot, at this time, speak of its provisions by which drawing, modeling, designing, etc., are taught; but we desire to call particular attention to the facilities that are offered for a practical instruction in weaving and textile design. special courses are provided for teaching designing for all varieties of textile fabrics, and its practical application to loom work. as a complete course in its theoretical and practical utility we do not hesitate to say it is without an equal in america. a school of this kind is of the highest importance to the manufacturing community that centres about philadelphia.--boston journal of commerce.
-an american textile school.
-the textile department of the pennsylvania museum and school of industrial art clearly fulfils the requirements of a good textile school, and the promise is that it will speedily become one of the best in the world, as it is now decidedly the most advanced in this country. pupils are taught designing for all varieties of textile fabrics, and to make them thoroughly familiar with loom work, so that they may be able not only to prepare their own designs, but also to reproduce their own patterns in the cloth.
-this institution, by fitting young americans for exact scientific work in the textile industries, will confer a huge benefit upon them and upon the nation.--the textile record of america.
-the textile department of the school of industrial art, 1336 spring garden st.
-many scholars who have been at this school in former years are now filling responsible and profitable positions.--the bulletin, phila.
-thomas wood & co., fairmount machine works, twenty-second and wood streets, philadelphia, pa.
-patent bobbin winding machines. patent cop winding machines. improved presser beaming machines. plain beaming machines. improved reels for wool, worsted, cotton, linen, etc. improved presser spoolers. plain spoolers. warp splitting machines. hank twisting machines.
-warping mills with patent driving heads and improved hecks. single and double warp sizing machines. dyeing machines for warp and piece goods. cradle and cone indigo mills. fulling mills. calendering machines. self-acting wool scouring machines. yarn bundling presses. loom beam trucks.
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-importers of english worsted machinery, and hattersley looms, for every class of work. also, pickers, temples, loom springs, and white’s picker leather in the side or by the strap, torlotin’s sizing; also, all other english supplies.
-also agent for
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-pure oak-tanned leather belting and findings, wire-sewed belting, and maker of ireson’s patent self-adjusting leather link belting.
-stedman & smith, lawrence, massachusetts.
-machinists and makers of machine castings, and every kind of mill work.
-john w. barlow, lawrence, massachusetts.
-bow, drop box, english scoop, or other pickers of best quality.
-banning, bissell & co., new york, n. y.
-porcelain department:--pot eyes, steps, shuttle eyes, and pottery goods of every description.
-single and double belting, belt hooks, springs, temples, picker and lace leather (coupes), cleaning cloths, belt dressing, (both american and hepburn & gale’s english), felt cloth, porcelain goods, fibre washers, banding, gears, &c., &c., in stock at all times. all supplies not in stock can be procured at once.
-worsted mill machinery and supplies a specialty.
-david b. douglass,
-201 church st., philadelphia, pa.
-missing or incorrect punctuation has been repaired. inconsistent spelling and hyphenation have been left,
-in the html version, dittos have been replaced by the repeated text so that text alignes for easier reading.
-in the html version, adverts (unless all plain text) have been reproduced as illustrations to demonstrate layouts, decorations and fonts. the text from each illustration is given below each illustration, unformatted.
-the following mistakes have been noted:
-the practical book of oriental rugs
-the practical books of home life enrichment
-each profusely illustrated, handsomely bound. octavo. cloth. in a slip case.
-the practical book of early american arts and crafts by harold donaldson eberlein and abbot mcclure
-the practical book of architecture by c. matlack price
-the practical book of oriental rugs by dr. g. griffin lewis new edition, revised and enlarged
-the practical book of garden architecture by phebe westcott humphreys
-the practical book of period furniture by harold donaldson eberlein and abbot mcclure
-the practical book of outdoor rose growing by george c. thomas, jr. new revised edition
-the practical book of interior decoration
-the practical book of oriental rugs
-by dr. g. griffin lewis
-with 20 illustrations in color, 93 in doubletone 70 designs in line, chart and map
-new edition, revised and enlarged
-philadelphia & london j. b. lippincott company
-copyright, 1911, by j. b. lippincott company copyright, 1913, by j. b. lippincott company
-printed by j. b. lippincott company at the washington square press philadelphia, u.s.a.
-preface to the revised edition
-it is most gratifying to both author and publishers that the first edition of "the practical book of oriental rugs" has been so quickly exhausted. its rather remarkable sale, in spite of the fact that within the past decade, no less than seven books on the subject have been printed in english, proves that it is the practical part of the book that appeals to the majority.
-the second edition has been prepared with the same practical idea paramount and quite a few new features have been introduced.
-the color plates have been increased from ten to twenty; a chapter on chinese rugs has been inserted; descriptions of three more rugs have been added and numerous changes and additions have been made to the text in general.
-oriental rugs have become as much a necessity in our beautiful, artistic homes as are the paintings on the walls and the various other works of art. their admirers are rapidly increasing, and with this increased interest there is naturally an increased demand for more reliable information regarding them.
-the aim of the present writer has been practical--no such systematized and tabulated information regarding each variety of rug in the market has previously been attempted. the particulars on identification by prominent characteristics and detail of weaving, the detailed chapter on design, illustrated throughout with text cuts, thus enabling the reader to identify the different varieties by their patterns; and the price per square foot at which each variety is held by retail dealers, are features new in rug literature. instructions are also given for the selection, purchase, care and cleaning of rugs, as well as for the detection of fake antiques, aniline dyes, etc.
-in furtherance of this practical idea the illustrations are not of museum pieces and priceless specimens in the possession of wealthy collectors, but of fine and attractive examples which with knowledge and care can be bought in the open market to-day. these illustrations will therefore be found of the greatest practical value to modern purchasers. in the chapter on famous rugs some few specimens illustrative of notable pieces have been added.
-in brief, the author has hoped to provide within reasonable limits and at a reasonable price a volume from which purchasers of oriental rugs can learn in a short time all that is necessary for their guidance, and from which dealers and connoisseurs can with the greatest ease of reference refresh their knowledge and determine points which may be in question.
-table of contents
-age of the weaving art; biblical reference to the weaving art; a fascinating study; the artistic worth and other advantages of the oriental products over the domestic; annual importation.
-upon what depends the value; the various profits made; transportation charges; export duties; import duties; cost compared with that of domestic products; some fabulous prices.
-oriental shrewdness; when rugs are bought by the bale; the auction a means of disposing of poor fabrics; fake bidders.
-the antique craze; why age enhances value; what constitutes an antique; how to determine age; antiques in the orient; antiques in america; celebrated antiques; american collectors; artificial aging.
-reliable dealers; difference between oriental and domestic products; how to examine rugs; making selections; selection of rugs for certain rooms.
-the hygienic condition of oriental factories and homes; condition of rugs when leaving the orient; condition of rugs when arriving in america; united states laws regarding the disinfection of hides; the duties of retailers.
-erroneous ideas regarding the wearing qualities of oriental rugs; treatment of rugs in the orient compared with that in america; how and when cleaned; how and when washed; moths; how straightened; removal of stains, etc.
-wool, goats' hair, camels' hair, cotton, silk, hemp; preparation of the wool; spinning of the wool.
-secrets of the eastern dye pots; vegetable dyes; aniline dyes; persian law against the use of aniline; the process of dyeing; favorite colors of different rug-weaving nations; how to distinguish between vegetable and aniline dyes; symbolism of colors; the individual dyes and how made.
-the present method compared with that of centuries ago; oriental method compared with the domestic; pay of the weavers; the eastern loom; the different methods of weaving.
-oriental vs. european designs; tribal patterns; the migration of designs; characteristics of persian designs; characteristics of turkish designs; characteristics of caucasian designs; characteristics of turkoman designs; dates and inscriptions; quotations from the koran; description and symbolism of designs alphabetically arranged, with an illustration of each.
-a few characteristic features of certain rugs; table showing the distinguishing features of all rugs; an example.
-how they receive their names; trade names; geographical classification of all rugs.
-persian characteristics; the knot; the weavers; factories in persia; persian rug provinces; description of each persian rug, as follows: herez, bakhshis, gorevan, serapi, kara dagh, kashan, souj bulak, tabriz, bijar (sarakhs, lule), kermanshah, senna, feraghan (iran), hamadan, ispahan (iran), joshaghan, saraband (sarawan, selvile), saruk, sultanabad (muskabad, mahal, savalan), niris (laristan), shiraz (mecca), herat, khorasan, meshed, kirman, kurdistan.
-the rug-making districts of turkey in asia; annual importation of turkish rugs; turkish weavers; the knot; turkish characteristics; the kurds; description of each turkish rug, as follows: kir shehr, oushak, karaman, mujur, konieh, ladik, yuruk, ak hissar (aksar), anatolian, bergama, ghiordes, kulah, makri, meles (carian), smyrna (aidin, brousa), mosul.
-the country; the people; caucasian characteristics; description of each caucasian rug, as follows: daghestan, derbend, kabistan (kuban), tchetchen (tzitzi, chichi), baku, shemakha (soumak, kashmir), shirvan, genghis (turkman), karabagh, kazak.
-turkoman territory; turkoman characteristics; description of each turkoman rug, as follows: khiva bokhara (afghan), beshir bokhara, tekke bokhara, yomud (yamut), kasghar, yarkand, samarkand (malgaran).
-the country; the people; beluchistan characteristics; description and cost of beluchistan rugs.
-slow to grow in public favor; exorbitant prices; geographical classification; classification according to designs; chinese designs and their symbolism; the materials; the colors.
-how made; classification, characteristics, uses, description of each kind.
-prayer rugs. how used; the niche; designs; how classified; prayer niche designs with key.
-hearth rugs, grave rugs, dowry or wedding rugs, mosque rugs, bath rugs, pillow cases, sample corners, saddle bags, floor coverings, runners, hangings.
-museum collections; private collections; the recent metropolitan museum exhibit; age and how determined; description and pictures of certain famous rugs.
-giving all rug names and terms alphabetically arranged, with the proper pronunciation and explanation.
-giving an alphabetically arranged list of all rug literature in the english language.
-list of illustrations
-rug making, etc.
-just when the art of weaving originated is an uncertainty, but there seems to be a consensus of opinion among archæologists in general that it was in existence earlier than the 24th century before christ. the first people which we have been able with certainty to associate with this art were the ancient egyptians. monuments of ancient egypt and of mesopotamia bear witness that the products of the hand loom date a considerable time prior to 2400 b.c., and on the tombs of beni-hassan are depicted women weaving rugs on looms very much like those of the orient at the present time. from ancient literature we learn that the palaces of the pharaohs were ornamented with rugs; that the tomb of cyrus, founder of the ancient persian monarchy, was covered with a babylonian carpet and that cleopatra was carried into the presence of cæsar wrapped in a rug of the finest texture. ovid vividly described the weaver's loom. in homer's iliad we find these words: "thus as he spoke he led them in and placed on couches spread with purple carpets o'er." the woman in the proverbs of solomon said, "i have woven my bed with cords, i have covered it with painted tapestry from egypt." job said: "my days are swifter than the weaver's shuttle and are spent without hope." other places in the bible where reference is made to the art of weaving are, ex. 33, 35, sam. 17, 7, and isa. 38, 12. besides biblical writers, plautus, scipio, horace, pliny and josephus all speak of rugs.
-the egyptian carpets were not made of the same material and weave as are the so-called oriental rugs of to-day. the pile surface was not made by tying small tufts of wool upon the warp thread. the chinese seem to have been the first to have made rugs in this way. persia acquired the art from babylon many centuries before christ, since which time she has held the foremost place as a rug weaving nation.
-there is no more fascinating study than that of oriental rugs and there are few hobbies that claim so absorbing a devotion. to the connoisseur it proves a veritable enchantment: to the busy man a mental salvation. he reads from his rugs the life history of both a bygone and a living people. a fine rug ranks second to no other creation as a work of art and although many of them are made by semi-barbaric people, they possess rare artistic beauty of design and execution to which the master hand of time puts the finishing touches. each masterpiece has its individuality, no two being alike, although each may be true in general to the family patterns, and therein consists their enchantment. the longer you study them the more they fascinate. is it strange then that this wonderful reproduction of colors appeals to connoisseurs and art lovers of every country?
-were some of the antique or even the modern pieces endowed with the gift of speech what wonderfully interesting stories they could tell and yet to the connoisseur the history, so to speak, of many of these gems of the eastern loom is plainly legible in their weave, designs and colors. the family or tribal legends worked out in the patterns, the religious or ethical meaning of the blended colors, the death of a weaver before the completion of his work, which is afterwards taken up by another, the toil and privation of which every rug is witness, are all matters of interest only to the student.
-americans have been far behind europeans in recognizing the artistic worth and the many other advantages of the oriental rug over any other kind. twenty-five years ago few american homes possessed even one. since then a marked change in public taste has taken place. all classes have become interested and, according to their resources, have purchased them in a manner characteristic of the american people, so that now some of the choicest gems in existence have found a home in the united states. to what extent this is true may be shown by the custom house statistics, which prove that, even under a tariff of nearly 50 per cent., the annual importation exceeds over five million dollars and new york city with the possible exception of london has become the largest rug market of the world. this importation will continue on even a larger scale until the orient is robbed of all its fabrics and the persian rug will have become a thing of the past.
-already the western demand has been so great that the dyes, materials and quality of workmanship have greatly deteriorated and the orientals are even importing machine made rugs from europe for their own use. it therefore behooves us to cherish the oriental rugs now in our possession.
-both europe and the united states are manufacturing artistic carpets of a high degree of excellence, but they never have and never will be able to produce any that will compare with those made in the east. they may copy the designs and match the shades, to a certain extent, but they lack the inspiration and the knack of blending, both of which are combined in the oriental product.
-only in a land where time is of little value and is not considered as an equivalent to money, can such artistic perfection be brought about.
-prayer rugs of this class are exceedingly rare. this is the only one the author has ever seen. it is extremely fine in texture, having twenty-eight senna knots to the inch vertically and sixteen horizontally, making four hundred and forty-eight knots to the square inch, tied so closely that it is quite difficult to separate the pile sufficiently to see the wool or warp threads. the central field consists of the tree of life in dark blue with red, blue and pink flowers upon a background of rich red.
-the main border stripe carries the herati design in dark blue and dark red upon a pale blue ground on each side of which are narrow strips of pink carrying alternate dots of red and blue.
-cost and tariff
-the value of an oriental rug cannot be gauged by measurement any more than can that of a fine painting; it depends upon the number of knots to the square inch, the fineness of the material, the richness and stability of its colors, the amount of detail in design, its durability and, last but not least, its age. none of these qualifications being at sight apparent to the novice, he is unable to make a fair comparison of prices, as frequently rugs which appear to him to be quite alike and equally valuable may be far apart in actual worth.
-when we consider that from the time a rug leaves the weavers' hands until it reaches the final buyer there are at least from five to seven profits to pay besides the government tariffs thereon, it is no wonder that the prices at times seem exorbitant. the transportation charges amount to about ten cents per square foot. the turkish government levies one per cent. export duty and the heavily protected united states levies forty per cent. ad valorem and ten cents per square foot besides, all of which alone adds over fifty per cent. to the original cost in america, and yet should we estimate the work upon oriental rugs by the american standard of wages they would cost from ten to fifty times their present prices.
-to furnish a home with oriental rugs is not as expensive as it would at first seem. they can be bought piece by piece at intervals, as circumstances warrant, and when a room is once provided for it is for all time, whereas the carpet account is one that is never closed.
-everything considered, the difference in cost per square foot between the average oriental and the home product amounts to little in comparison to the difference in endurance. if one uses the proper judgment in selecting, his money is much better spent when invested in the former than when invested in the latter. while the nap of the domestic is worn down to the warp the oriental has been improving in color and sheen as well as in value. this is due to the fact that the eastern product is made of the softest of wool and treated with dyes which have stood the test of centuries and which preserve the wool instead of destroying it as do the aniline dyes.
-in comparing the cost of furnishing a home with oriental rugs or with carpets one should further take into consideration the fact that with carpets much unnecessary floor space must be covered which represents so much waste money. also the question of health involved in the use of carpets is a very serious one. they retain dust and germs of all kinds and are taken up and cleaned, as a rule, but once a year. with rugs the room is much more easily kept clean and the furniture does not have to be moved whenever sweeping time comes around.
-dealers and auctions
-few europeans or americans penetrate to the interior markets of the east where home-made rugs find their first sale. agents of some of the large importers have been sent over to collect rugs from families or small factories and the tales of oriental shrewdness and trickery which they bring back are many and varied. we have in this country many honest, reliable foreign dealers, but occasionally one meets with one of the class above referred to. in dealing with such people it is safe never to bid more than half and never to give over two-thirds of the price they ask you. also never show special preference for any particular piece, otherwise you will be charged more for it. no dealer or authority may lay claim to infallibility, but few of these people have any adequate knowledge of their stock and are, as a rule, uncertain authorities, excepting in those fabrics which come from the vicinity of the province in which they lived. they buy their stock in large quantities, usually by the bale at so much a square foot, and then mark each according to their judgment so as to make the bale average up well and pay a good profit. so it is that an expert may occasionally select a choice piece at a bargain while the novice usually pays more than the actual worth. every rug has three values, first the art value depending upon its colors and designs, second the collector's value depending upon its rarity, and third the utility value depending upon its durability. no dealer can buy rugs on utility value alone and he who sells oriental rugs very cheap usually sells very cheap rugs.
-it might be well right here to state that when rugs are sold by the bale the wholesaler usually places a few good ones in the bale for the purpose of disposing of the poor ones. dealers can always find an eager market for good rugs, but poor ones often go begging, and in order to dispose of them the auction is resorted to. they are put up under a bright reflected light which shows them off to the best advantage; the bidder is allowed no opportunity for a thorough examination and almost invariably there are present several fake bidders. this you can prove to your own satisfaction by attending some auction several days in succession and you will see the same beautiful tabriz bid off each time at a ridiculously low price, while those that you actually see placed into the hands of the deliveryman will average in price about the same as similar rugs at a retail store.
-the passion for antiques in this country has in the past been so strong that rugs showing signs of hard wear, with ragged edges and plenty of holes, were quite as salable as those which were perfect in every respect and the amateur collector of so-called "antiques" was usually an easy victim. of late, however, the antique craze seems to be dying out and the average buyer of to-day will select a perfect modern fabric in preference to an imperfect antique one.
-there is no question that age is an important factor in the beauty of a rug and that an antique in a state of good preservation is much more valuable than a modern fabric, especially to the collector, to whom the latter has little value. in order to be classed as an antique a rug should be at least fifty years old, having been made before the introduction of aniline dyes. an expert can determine the age by the method of weaving, the material used, the color combination, and the design, with more certainty than can the art connoisseur tell the age of certain european pictures, to which he assigns dates by their peculiarities in style. every time a design is copied it undergoes some slight change until, perhaps, the original design is lost. this modification of designs also affords great assistance in determining their age. in the tiffany studios in new york city can be seen a series of feraghan rugs showing the change in design for several generations.
-as a rule more knowledge concerning the age of a rug can be obtained from the colors and the materials employed than from the designs. an antique appears light and glossy when the nap runs from you, whereas it will appear dark and rich but without lustre when viewed from the other end. such rugs are usually more or less shiny on the back and their edges are either somewhat ragged or have been overcast anew.
-the late a. t. sinclair of allston, mass., possessed over one hundred and fifty antiques, which he himself collected over twenty years ago from the various districts of persia, asia minor, the caucasus, turkestan, and beluchistan. many of these pieces are from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty years old and every one is a gem.
-with the exception of an occasional old ghiordes, kulah, bergama or mosul, for which are asked fabulous prices, few antiques can now be found for sale. it is on account of the enormous prices which antiques bring that faked antiques have found their way into the market. rugs may be artificially aged but never without detriment to them. the aging process is mostly done by cunning adepts in persia or constantinople before they are exported, although in recent years the doctoring process has been practised to quite an extent in the united states, and a large portion of the undoctored rugs which reach these shores are soon afterwards put through this process. the majority of dealers will tell you that there is comparatively little sale for the undoctored pieces. the chemically subdued tones and artificial sheen appeal to most people who know little about oriental rugs.
-for toning down the bright colors they use chloride of lime, oxalic acid or lemon juice; for giving them an old appearance they use coffee grounds, and for the creation of an artificial sheen or lustre the rugs are usually run between hot rollers after the application of glycerine or paraffin wax; they are sometimes buried in the ground for a time, and water color paints are frequently used to restore the color in spots where the acid has acted too vigorously. such rugs usually show a slight tinge of pink in the white.
-there is a class of modern rugs of good quality, good material, and vegetable dyed, but with colors too bright for occidental taste. such rugs are sometimes treated with water, acid, and alkali. the effect of the acid is here neutralized by the alkali in such a way that the colors are rendered more subdued and mellow in tone without resulting injury to the material.
-what the trade speaks of as a "washed" rug is not necessarily a "doctored" one. there is a legitimate form of washing which is really a finishing process and which does not injure the fabric. it merely washes out the surplus color and sets the rest. the belief that only aniline dyes will rub off when wet and that vegetable ones will not do so is erroneous. if a rug is new and never has been washed the case is quite the opposite. for the reader's own satisfaction, let him moisten and rub a piece of domestic carpet. he will find that the aniline of the latter fabric is comparatively fast, whereas, in a newly made vegetable dyed oriental, certain colors, especially the blues, reds and greens, will wipe off to a certain extent. after this first washing out, however, nothing other than a chemical will disturb the vegetable color.
-the field: three fawn and blue flower colored medallions and four arabesques in a line arrangement on a rose-colored background, strewn with garlands.
-the border: one broad stripe, carrying elaborate floral sprays and arabesques, separated by four elongated corner designs in blue.
-an elegant combination of brilliant color and ornate floral design. cotton foundation and wool pile.
-advice to buyers
-no set of rules can be furnished which will fully protect purchasers against deception. it is well, however, for one, before purchasing, to acquire some knowledge of the characteristics of the most common varieties as well as of the different means employed in examining them.
-in the first place, avoid dealers who fail to mark their goods in plain figures. be on the safe side and go to a reliable house with an established reputation. they will not ask you fancy prices. if it is in a department store be sure you deal with some one who is regularly connected with the oriental rug department. you would never dream of buying a piano of one who knows nothing of music. so many domestic rugs copy oriental patterns that many uninformed people cannot tell the difference. the following are some of the characteristics of the eastern fabrics which are not possessed by the western ones. first, they show their whole pattern and color in detail on the back side; second, the pile is composed of rows of distinctly tied knots, which are made plainly visible by separating it; third, the sides are either overcast with colored wool or have a narrow selvage; and fourth, the ends have either a selvage or fringe or both.
-in buying, first select what pleases you in size, color, and design, then take time and go over it as thoroughly as a horseman would over a horse which he contemplates buying. lift it to test the weight. oriental rugs are much heavier in proportion to their size than are the domestics. see if it lies straight and flat on the floor and has no folds. crookedness detracts much from its value. take hold of the centre and pull it up into a sort of cone shape. if compactly woven it will stand alone just as a piece of good silk will. examine the pile and see whether it is long, short or worn in places down to the warp threads; whether it lies down as in loosely woven rugs or stands up nearly straight as in closely woven rugs; also note the number of knots to the square inch and whether or not they are firmly tied. the wearing qualities depend upon the length of the pile and the compactness of weaving. separate the pile, noting whether the wool is of the same color but of a deeper shade near the knot than it is on the surface or if it is of an entirely different color. vegetable dyes usually fade to lighter shades of the original color, while anilines fade to different colors, one or another of the dyes used in combination entirely disappearing at times and others remaining. this will also be noticeable, to a certain extent, when one end of the fabric is turned over and the two sides are compared. two rugs may be almost exactly alike in every respect excepting the dye, the one being worth ten to fifteen times as much as the other.
-a good way to test the material is to slightly burn its surface with a match, thus producing a black spot. if the wool is good the singed part can be brushed off without leaving the slightest trace of the burn. the smell of the burnt wool will also easily be recognized. ascertain the relative strength of the material, making sure that the warp is the heaviest and strongest, the pile next and the woof the lightest. if the warp is lighter than the pile it will break easily or if the warp is light and the weaving loose it will pucker. rugs whose foundation threads are dry and rotten from age are worthless. in such pieces the woof threads, which are the lightest, will break in seams along the line of the warp when slightly twisted.
-finally, before coming to a decision regarding its purchase, have it sent to your home for a few days. there you can study it more leisurely and may get an idea as to whether or not you would soon tire of the designs or colors. while you have it there do not forget to take soap, water and a stiff brush and scrub well some portion of it, selecting a part where some bright color such as green, blue or red joins a white. after the rug has thoroughly dried notice whether or not the white has taken any of the other colors. if so, they are aniline.
-a rather vulgar but very good way of telling whether a rug is doctored or not is to wet it with saliva and rub it in well. if chemically treated it will have a peculiar, disagreeable, pungent odor.
-a fairly accurate way of determining the claim of the fabric to great age is to draw out a woof thread and notice how difficult it is to straighten it, even after days of soaking in water. unless one is an expert, he should refrain from relying upon his own judgment in buying a rug for an antique.
-it may be interesting to know the meaning of the tags and seals so frequently found on rugs. the little square or nearly square cloth tag that is so frequently attached at one corner to the under surface by two wire clasps has on it the number given to that particular piece for the convenience of the washer, the exporter, the importer and the custom officials. the rug is recorded by its number instead of by its name to avoid confusion and to save labor. the round lead seal which is frequently attached to one corner of the rug by a flexible wire or a string, especially among the larger pieces, is the importer's seal, on one side of which will be found his initials. these also are of great assistance to the custom officials.
-before closing this chapter a few words in regard to the selection of rugs for certain rooms might be acceptable, though this is, to a large extent, a matter of individual taste; yet in making a selection one should have some consideration for the decorations and furniture of the room in which the rugs are to be laid and they should harmonize with the side walls, whether the harmony be one of analogy or of contrast. the floor of a room is the base upon which the scheme of decoration is to be built. its covering should carry the strongest tones. if a single tint is to be used the walls must take the next gradation and the ceiling the last. these gradations must be far enough removed from each other in depth of tone to be quite apparent but not to lose their relation. contrasting colors do not always harmonize. a safe rule to follow would be to select a color with any of its complementary colors. for instance, the primary colors are red, blue, and yellow. the complementary color of red would be the color formed by the combination of the other two, which in this case would be green composed of yellow and blue; therefore red and green would form a harmony of contrast. likewise red and blue make violet, which would harmonize with yellow; red and yellow make orange, which would harmonize with blue, etc.
-light rooms of louis xvi style would hardly look as well with bright, rich colored rugs as they would with delicately tinted kirmans, saruks, and sennas. nor would the latter styles look as well in a dutch dining room, finished in black oak, as would the rich, dark bokharas and feraghans. mission rooms also require the dark colored rugs. if the room is pleasing in its proportion and one rug is used it should conform as nearly in proportion as possible. if the room is too long for its width select a rug which will more nearly cover the floor in width than it will in length. a rug used in the centre of a room with considerable floor area around it decreases the apparent size of the room. long rugs placed lengthwise of a room increase its apparent length, while short rugs placed across a room decrease its apparent length, and rugs with large patterns, like wall paper with large patterns, will dwarf the whole apartment. the following ideas are merely offered as suggestions without any pretension whatever to superiority of judgment.
-for a vestibule a long-naped mat, which corresponds in shape to the vestibule and covers fully one-half of its surface, such for instance as a beluchistan or a mosul. appropriate shorter naped pieces may be found among the anatolians, meles, ladiks or yuruks. as a rule the dark colored ones are preferable.
-hall.--if the hall is a long, narrow one, use long runners which cover fully two-thirds of its surface. such may be found among the mosuls, sarabands, hamadans, ispahans, shirvans, and genghis.
-for a reception hall a khiva bokhara, a yomud, a dark colored mahal, or several kazaks or karabaghs would look well if the woodwork is dark. if the woodwork is light several light colored caucasian or persian pieces such as the daghestans, kabistans, sarabands, hamadans, or shiraz would be appropriate.
-reception room.--a light colored kermanshah, tabriz, saruk, senna, or khorasan. usually one large piece which covers from two-thirds to three-fourths of the floor surface is the most desirable.
-living room.--for this room, which is the most used of any in the home, we should have the most durable rugs and as a rule a number of small or medium sized pieces, which can be easily shifted from one position to another, are preferable. here, too, respect must be had for harmony with the side walls, woodwork and furniture, as it is here that the family spend most of their time and decorative discord would hardly add to one's personal enjoyment. many appropriate selections may be made from the feraghans, ispahans, sarabands, shiraz, mosuls, daghestans, kabistans, and beluchistans.
-dining room.--ordinarily nothing would be more appropriate than one of the herez or sultanabad productions unless the room be one of the mission style, in which case a khiva bokhara would be most desirable. small pieces would not be suitable.
-library or den.--one large or several small pieces, usually the dark rich shades are preferable, such for instance as are found in the khivas, yomuds, kurdistans, feraghans, shiraz, kazaks, beluchistans or tekke bokharas, the predominating color selected according to the decorations of the room.
-bath room.--one heavy long-piled, soft piece such as are some of the bijars or mosuls in light colors.
-bedrooms.--for chambers where colors rather than period styles are dominant and where large rugs are never appropriate, prayer rugs like those of the kulah, ghiordes, ladik, anatolian, or daghestan varieties are to be desired. those with yellow as the predominating color blend especially well with mahogany furniture if the walls are in buff or yellow tones. the nomad products are especially desirable for bedrooms on account of the comfort which they afford. being thick and soft the sensation to the tread is luxurious. an occasional anatolian, ladik, bergama, meles, or bokhara mat placed before a dresser or a wash-stand; a shiraz pillow on the sofa; a senna ghileem thrown over a divan; a shiraz, mosul, or beluchistan saddle-bag on a mission standard as a receptacle for magazines; a silk rug as a table spread, etc., will all add greatly to the oriental effect.
-this piece is typical of its class with the small tassels of wool on the side edging; with the ornamental web and the braided warp threads at each end, also the pole medallion and the numerous bird forms throughout the field.
-the hygiene of the rug
-in all the literature on oriental rugs no mention has been made of their sanitary condition when laid on the floors of our homes. in response to a letter of inquiry, one of our american missionaries, a young lady stationed at sivas, turkey in asia, who very modestly objects to the use of her name, so well explained the condition of affairs that portions of her letter given verbatim will prove most interesting. she says:
-"in sivas there are a number of rug factories in which are employed many thousand little girls, ages ranging from four years upward. they work from twelve to fourteen hours a day and i believe the largest amount received by them is five piasters (less than twenty cents) and the small girls receive ten to twenty paras (a cent or two). these factories are hotbeds of tuberculosis and we have many of these cases in our mission hospital. of course this amount of money scarcely keeps them in bread and in this underfed condition, working so long in ill ventilated rooms, they quickly succumb to this disease. these girls are all armenians in that region. the turks do not allow their women and children to work in public places. the armenians are going to reap a sad harvest in the future in thus allowing the future wives and mothers of their race to undermine their health working in these factories. these rugs are all exported to europe and america.
-"no matter what part of the city you pass through this time of the year you will see looms up in the different homes and most of the family, especially the women and children, working on these rugs, and it is very interesting to watch them and to see how skilful even the small children grow in weaving these intricate patterns. making rugs in the homes is quite different from making them in the factories, for in the summer at least they have plenty of fresh air.
-"no doubt many rugs made in these homes are filled with germs of contagious diseases, for they use no precautions here when they have such diseases in the family, and usually the poor people only have one room, and if a member of the family is stricken with smallpox or scarlet fever the rest of the family continue to work on the rug often in the same room."
-another correspondent from marash, turkey in asia, says, "if you are interested in humanity as well as in rugs, please put in a strong plea against some of these factories which are employing children who can scarcely speak. these little babies sit from morning till evening tying and cutting knots in damp and poorly ventilated places. is it a wonder that diseases, especially tuberculosis, are developing rapidly among them?"
-a third correspondent says, "often rugs upon which patients have died from contagious diseases are sold without cleaning. in fact, they are rarely cleaned."
-upon receipt of the above a letter of inquiry was at once sent to the treasury department at washington regarding the disinfection of textiles from the orient immediately upon their arrival into this country, to which we were informed that "the surgeon-general of the public health and marine hospital service stated that such rugs, if originating in parts or places infected with quarantinable diseases, would be required to be disinfected under the quarantine laws." this sounds sensible, but when the rugs are sent from all parts of the orient to constantinople, from whence they are shipped in bales to the united states, pray how can the surgeon-general discriminate? the only safe way is for the government to have strict laws regarding their immediate and thorough disinfection. we already have a law which requires the disinfection of hides before they are shipped to this country. it reads: "officers of the customs are directed to treat hides of neat cattle shipped to the united states without proper disinfection as prohibited importations, and to refuse entry of such hides." also, "the disinfection of such hides in this country or storage of the same in general order warehouses will not be permitted, for the reason that the passage of diseased hides through the country or their storage with other goods will tend to the dissemination of cattle disease in the united states." (see section 12 of the tariff act of august 5, 1909.)
-ex-president taft once recommended a new department of public health whose duty it would be to consider all matters relating to the health of the nation. if his suggestions are carried out no doubt the question of disinfecting oriental imports will be satisfactorily disposed of.
-until then we should see to it that all oriental rugs are at least clean and free from dust before allowing them to be delivered in our homes. the great majority of these rugs, when leaving the orient, are impregnated with dust from their adobe floors and, if free of this dust, they have in all probability been pretty thoroughly cleaned by some reliable importer or dealer, the majority of whom are beginning to realize the importance of this procedure.
-knot. nine to the inch vertically and eight horizontally, making seventy-two to the square inch.
-this is a most unusual piece. it has a long nap, is tied with the turkish knot and in many respects resembles the bergama while on the back it has a distinctly khorasan appearance. it is an old piece with a most lustrous sheen and the colors are of the best, every one being of exactly the same tint on the surface as it is down next to the warp threads.
-the prevailing color is a rich terra cotta with figures of lilies in olive-green, old rose, blue and white. there are also a number of six-petaled flowers in red, white and blue. in the centre there is a diamond-shaped medallion with triangular corner pieces to match, all of which are outlined in natural black wool. the nap is so cut as to give the surface the characteristic hammered-brass appearance so common in many of the antique bergamas and the lustre is such as is only found in the very old pieces.
-the care of rugs
-there is a popular idea that an oriental rug will never wear out and that the harder it is used the more silky it will grow. this is an erroneous idea and many rugs that would be almost priceless now are beyond repair, having fallen into the hands of people who did not appreciate them and give them the proper care. oriental rugs cannot be handled and beaten like the domestics without serious injury. in the orient they receive much better treatment than they do at our hands. there they are never exposed to the glare of a strong light and are never subjected to the contact of anything rougher than the bare feet. the peculiar silkiness of the nap so much admired in old pieces is due to the fact that the oriental never treads on them with his shoes.
-large rugs, having a longer pile, resist more the wear and tear from the shoes, but they must be handled with greater care than the small ones, as, being heavier, the warp or woof threads are more liable to break.
-unless rugs are frequently moved or cleaned moths are sure to get into them. sweeping alone is not always sufficient to keep them out. for this purpose the compressed air method is par excellence.
-if you expect to close your home for several weeks or months do not leave your rugs on the floor. after having all necessary repairs made, have them thoroughly cleaned by the compressed air process, then place them in canvas or strong paper bags, sealing them tightly. a large rug may be wrapped with clean white paper, then with tar paper. it is better to roll than to fold them, but if folded always see that the pile is on the inside, else bad creases may be made in them which may never come out. they should be stored in a dry, airy room, as they readily absorb moisture.
-many rugs that are crooked may easily be straightened by tacking them face downward in the proper shape and wetting them. they should be kept in that position until thoroughly dried and shrunken to the proper shape. obstinate and conspicuous stains may be removed by clipping the discolored pile down flat to the warp, carefully pulling out the knots from the back of the rug and having new ones inserted. this, however, with all other extensive repairs, should be done by one especially skilled in that line.
-considering the rapid increase in the price of good oriental rugs within the past few years we should appreciate and care for all the fine examples which we already have in our possession.
-the prayer niche, the cross panels and the main border stripe are all characteristic of its class.
-the material of rugs
-wool.--the wool produced in the colder provinces is softer and better than that produced in the warmer provinces. likewise that produced at a high altitude is superior to that from a lower altitude. the quality of the pasturage plays a most important part in the quality of the wool. for this reason no better wool is to be found anywhere in the world than from the provinces of khorasan and kurdistan. very often the sheep are covered over with a sheet to protect and keep the wool in a clean, lustrous condition. the quality of the wool also depends to no small extent upon the age of the sheep from which it is taken, that from the young lambs being softer and more pliable than that from the older animals. the softest and most lustrous wool is that which is obtained by combing the sheep in winter and is known as kurk. from this some of the choicest prayer rugs are made.
-goats' hair.--from the goats of some localities, especially in asia minor and turkestan, is obtained a soft down which is used to a large extent in the manufacture of rugs. the straight hair of the goat is also used. it is of a light brown color and, as it will not dye well, is sometimes used without dyeing to produce brown grounds, as in some of the kurdistan products. it is quite commonly used as a selvage and fringe in the turkoman products. when wet it curls so tightly that it is difficult to spin it, therefore it is not always washed. this accounts for the strong odor which is especially noticeable in warm weather.
-mohair is obtained from the angora goat of asia minor, while cashmere consists of the soft under-wool of the cashmere goat of tibet.
-camels' hair.--in eastern persia, afghanistan, and beluchistan are camels which produce a long woolly hair suitable for rug weaving which is never dyed, is silky and soft, has phenomenal durability and is used quite freely in the hamadan, mosul, and beluchistan products. it is more expensive than sheep's wool but has one great drawback in that on the muggy days of summer it has a disagreeable odor. most of the alleged camels' hair of commerce is a goats' hair pure and simple.
-cotton.--the majority of the finer persian rugs have cotton warp and woof. it makes a much lighter, better and more compact foundation on which to tie the pile, and a rug with such a foundation will hold its shape much better. seldom is cotton used for the pile excepting once in a great while a bokhara may be found with small portions of the white worked in cotton.
-silk.--in the regions bordering on the caspian sea and in some parts of china where silk is plentiful it is used to quite an extent in the making of rugs, not only for the nap but frequently for the warp and woof as well. it makes a beautiful fabric, but of course will not wear like wool.
-preparation of the wool.--after being sorted, the wool is taken to a brook and washed thoroughly at intervals in the cold running water for several times until all foreign matters are removed, leaving the animal fat which gives it the soft, silky appearance. the results of washing depend to a certain extent upon the quality of the water used in the process, soft water giving much better results than does the hard.
-after a thorough bleaching in the sun's rays it is placed in a stone vessel, covered with a mixture of flour and starch, then pounded with wooden mallets, after which it is again washed in running water for several hours and again dried in the sun. under this process it shrinks in weight from forty to fifty per cent., and after being spun the yarn is sold everywhere for the same price as twice the amount of the raw material.
-it is spun in three different ways. that which is intended for the warp is spun tightly and of medium thickness, that for the woof rather fine, and that for the pile heavy and loose.
-there are so many different natural shades of wool that much of it can be utilized in its natural color. the dyeing is always done in the yarn, never in the loose fibres, and will be explained in the chapter under dyes.
-owners' description.--these rare rugs, so renowned for their splendid coloring, are well represented by this specimen. the very unusual shade of green, the sacred color, the deep ivory, and the rich reds and blues are blended into each other in an artistic manner.
-in and above the "mihrab" or niche will be noted the "ubrech" or pitcher, a most interesting design. it is from this "ubrech" that water is poured upon the hands of the mohammedan as he makes his ablutions. wash basins are unknown in the orient and no follower of mohammed will consent to wash in anything except running water.
-so the "ubrech" is almost as important as the prayer rug itself, and the four reproductions on this rug emphasize to the devout mohammedan owner that cleanliness is next important to godliness.
-rhodian lilies, with long stems and inverted in the frieze below the "mihrab" or niche, are an often noted feature of the ladik prayer rugs.
-dyes and dyers
-the secrets of the eastern dye-pot are responsible for the unrivalled beauty and durability of the oriental rug. these secrets of extracting coloring matter from roots, leaves, flowers, barks, and various other vegetable and animal products by a process of boiling, fermenting, etc., were guarded religiously and descended from father to son, many of them having been lost as the family became extinct. each dyer or family of dyers has some peculiar and secret method of producing certain shades.
-our great knowledge of chemistry has aided us little in our effort to duplicate and produce certain colors which the orientals produced with the simplest ingredients and without any knowledge of chemistry whatever. every kind of plant from which dyestuff is obtained is a product of geographic environment, the quality of which depends upon certain conditions of climate and soil. for this reason those of one locality may be superior to those of another. on the other hand it must not be forgotten that there are many classes of vegetable dyes which are not scientifically or honestly made.
-after the wool has gone through the washing process and dried it is dipped into one or more pots, according to the shade desired, for a certain length of time, when, without being wrung out, it is hung up over the dye-pot to drip and after being washed once more in cold water it finally is spread out in the sun. even when the same process is followed each time it is seldom that two bunches of material dyed have exactly the same shade, as the density of the dye and its shade differs somewhat with each dip of wool from a previous pot. this probably accounts in part for the innumerable shadings seen in the rugs of certain localities. formerly the dyers employed as mordants, valonia, pomegranate rind, sumac, and the barks of certain trees, but in some districts of late they use alum. this, with the lime solution in which the wool is washed before dyeing to increase the brilliancy of the dyes, makes the yarn brittle and lessens its wearing quality. most vegetable dyes fade, but they fade into softer and more pleasing shades. the best colors for service are, as a rule, the blues, yellows, and reds, all of which improve greatly with age. the browns are apt to lose their lustre, while the blacks, which are really mineral, being made by the action of vinegar on iron shavings, seem most corrosive and gradually eat the wool. many of the antiques you will find in a splendid state of preservation with the exception of the black, which has eaten the pile down to the warp threads. natural colored black and brown wools and brown camels' hair are frequently used and they are, of course, durable.
-there is no doubt that the increasing demand in this country for the eastern rug, together with the russian influence in the orient, tends towards more hasty commercial methods of manufacture and is, to a great extent, responsible for the introduction there of aniline dyes. the coal tar products have been readily accepted by the eastern dyers, as they are cheaper, more easily used, and offer a greater number of brilliant shades, all of which appeal very much to the oriental taste.
-the aniline dyes are more commonly used through asia minor and, to some extent, in the caucasus and even in persia. in 1903 a law was enacted by the persian government forbidding the importation of chemical dyes and seizing and destroying all fabrics in which they were used. it was also decreed that a dyer found guilty of using them would have his right hand cut off. the government has never been very strict in enforcing this law, else there would be at the present time many one-handed men in persia.
-as there is no such law in asia minor, fully seventy-five per cent. of the rugs now imported from that country are aniline dyed. the kurdistan, khorasan, and kirman products, as well as those made by the nomads in the fars district of persia, have been particularly free from outside influences and as a rule are honestly dyed.
-the nomadic life of the kurds in former times enabled them to gather plants more easily and so they were able to obtain good vegetable dyes. now that they do not roam as much the result is, less vegetable and more aniline dyes. formerly also, the best wool only was used by the kurds for the making of rugs and the women chose only that which they knew would take the colors well. now the men sell the best part of the wool and the women use what is left and press aniline dyes into service to hide any possible defect.
-some of the coal tar products will resist light, water, and air even better than many of the vegetable pigments, but the former have a tendency to make the wool fibres more brittle so that they break easily, while the latter preserve the wool and lengthen the life of the fabric.
-each nation uses to a large extent its favorite color, thus the persian is partial to the dark greens and yellows, the turk to the reds, and the armenian to the blues. asia minor and persia being countries of intense sunshine, in which the colors of the sky and land are most pronounced, the neutral tints and hues make little impression on such surroundings and are therefore little used. all the rug making people use more or less yellow, blue, orange, red, ruby, and green, excepting the turk, who regards the latter as a sacred color and not to be trodden on. he therefore seldom uses it in any but those of the prayer design.
-an expert can often distinguish between an aniline dyed rug and a vegetable dyed one merely by feeling of it, as the coal tar product robs the wool of its oil, making it stiffer, harder, and dryer. another way to differentiate is to examine some of the white which lies next to some bright color like blue, red, orange, or green and see if it has become tinted with the brighter color. if not, wet the two and after they dry see if the white has taken any of the other color. if so it is probably aniline. in the orient they use a string of amber beads with which to test the dyes. the beads are drawn over the surface of the rug so that the colors reflect through them. if aniline they are said to have a cloudy appearance, while if vegetable they have a clear wavy appearance. if there is any knowledge imparted by this test it certainly is only in the hands of the experienced. a vegetable dye will fade into a lighter tone of itself, while in a chemical dye some one of the colors used to make up the composite color will disappear. for instance a blue, which has been used with yellow to make green, may entirely disappear, leaving the yellow; thus in the aniline product the surface will show the changed color and the original color will show down next to the warp, while in the vegetable dyed product there will simply be two shades of the same color.
-weavers frequently choose colors according to their symbolic significance, so that they work into their rugs a sort of poetry which only the initiated can read. thus to the persian, the chinese, and the indian mohammedan, white is an emblem of mourning; green is regarded by the mohammedan as a sacred color and denotes immortality; blue to the persian means air, while to the mongolian it means authority and power; black denotes sorrow, evil, and vice; red denotes joy, happiness, life, truth, virtue, and sincerity; yellow is a chinese color for royalty; orange is the buddhist and mohammedan color for sorrow, and rose for divine wisdom. the following is a list of some of the most common oriental colors with a short description of the sources from which they are derived:
-red.--the best and most lasting is the rich carmine known as kermes and consists of dried insects which live on a species of oak tree. these insects are collected in the month of june and are killed by being exposed to the vapors of acetic acid evolved by heating vinegar. kermes was known to have been used in syria in the time of moses, and is probably the most lasting and most preservative of all dyestuffs. of late years, however, it has been to a large extent supplemented by cochineal, which is more brilliant. madder root, ground and boiled, is the basis of a multitude of reds and is also noted for its fastness. from it can be obtained many degrees of red from pink to intense scarlet, but the shade most commonly used by the persians of to-day is obtained by combining madder with alum and grape juice. although cochineal is used considerably by eastern dyers, it is really a modern dye, being obtained from dried insects which are found on the cacti of mexico. it gives soft, beautiful reds, is absolutely fast and is very expensive. with bichromate of potash it gives purple; with sulphuric acid, crimson and scarlet, and with madder, cherry and various shades of pink. one of the best, richest and most lasting vermilions was made by a secret process from sheep's blood, but the secret has long since been lost. in recent years many reds have had as a basis the dye woods, such as campeachy wood, brazil wood, and others. they are sometimes obtained from onion skins, ivy berries, beets, and other plants, but these latter pigments are not as enduring as those previously mentioned.
-blue.--indigo dissolved in sulphuric acid, to which is added alum, forms a basis of most blues and was used long before the christian era. it is obtained from the leaves of various specimens of indigofera which are cultivated largely in india. the deep persian blue is obtained by applying indigo over madder. it can be compounded with almost any other dyeing material known and it is by this mixing process that beautiful violets, porcelain blues and pinks are obtained. a superb dark blue found in some of the antique persian rugs has been in disuse for nearly a half century. the secret of making it seems to have been lost and no one has been able to reproduce it.
-green.--indigo in combination with one of the yellows furnishes most of the greens. with buckthorn it produces chinese greens, both bright and dull.
-brown.--browns are most frequently obtained by mixing madder with yellow or by dyeing with madder over yellow. valonia, catechu, gall-nuts, and the green husks of walnuts also enter largely into the making of browns.
-yellow.--the principal yellows are obtained from the persian berries, from turmeric, from saffron and sumac roots. persian berries give a fast dull yellow. turmeric is from the root of a plant growing abundantly in east india and china and it gives a bright orange color. orange yellow is also obtained from henna and by combining madder and turmeric. a light yellow is obtained from larkspur; a greenish yellow from a fungus of the mulberry, and, of late years, a buff colored yellow has been obtained from quercitron bark.
-black.--black seems to be the only color which the rug makers of older days were unable to produce from vegetable or animal sources. the principal black used was that made from iron filings with vinegar and pomegranate rind, but it destroyed the fibres of the wool. for this reason very little black was used in the antique pieces excepting where the fleece of black sheep could be obtained. nowadays logwood, which grows in central america, is the essential basis of all blacks in wool, although other colors are frequently used with it to modify or intensify the shade.
-purple.--from very early times the phœnicians were renowned for a purple which they obtained from a shellfish found in the ægean sea, but the secret of making it has long since become a lost art. a great many shades of purple, heliotrope and lavender are obtained from the different red dyes in combination with indigo and the dye woods as well as from the bodies of marine insects and mollusks.
-gray.--gray is secured from smyrna gall-nuts with copperas.
-salmon.--salmon is obtained by mixing madder with valonia.
-violet.--violet is frequently made from milk, sour grape juice, madder and water.
-knot: ghiordes. seven to the inch horizontally and eight vertically, making fifty-six to the square inch.
-the georgian design in the outer border is a caucasian characteristic and especially of the daghestans.
-weaving and weavers
-the method of weaving in the orient to-day is practically the same as it was one thousand years ago with the exception, perhaps, that there are now fewer crooked fabrics woven than in the days gone by. next to the quality of the material from which it is made, and the dye with which it is colored, the splendid durability of the oriental rug is due to the manner in which the pile is tied to the warp thread. it is so secure that it is impossible to remove it by pulling either end of the knot. this differs from the domestic method in which the pile is merely drawn between the warp threads without tying or fastening. in the finer fabrics of the east the knots are so close that it requires careful examination to discover them except in very old rugs where the pile is worn down, then the knot is distinctly seen.
-each rug is given in charge of a master weaver who usually gets one anna (two cents) for every eleven hundred knots tied. he it is who hires and pays the weavers and makes himself responsible for the quality of the work done.
-the girls, especially those of asia minor, frequently buy with their earnings perforated gold coins with which to decorate themselves by making them into necklaces or bracelets or by arranging them on their headgear. these coins not only serve to make known their skill as weavers, but also answer as dowries for their future husbands. a skilful weaver can tie from twelve to fourteen knots a minute or from seven to eight thousand knots a day. this would be equal to from fourteen square inches to three square feet, according to the fineness of the rug. for this she receives, on the average, nine cents a day. for a rug 10 × 6 with 182 knots to the square inch, she would receive, in rough figures, from $18.00 to $20.00, and the rug would sell in constantinople for no less than $75.00. if the women of the orient are ever emancipated we will have to pay much higher prices for eastern carpets than we do now.
-the eastern loom, which is the same to-day as it was a thousand years ago, consists merely of four poles joined together by ropes according to the size of the rug to be woven. on these the warp threads are strung and kept at the proper tension by weights, which are attached to one of the cross poles.
-from one to six, or even more, weavers work on a rug at the same time, according to its size. they sit cross-legged either on the floor or on a raised frame, so that their work will be on a level with their knees. before them, as seen in the accompanying illustration, is fastened the model which they are to follow or what is known as the "talim," a chart which indicates the colors to be used and the number of knots to be tied in each color. like expert pianists their fingers seem to know the pattern and much of the time their eyes are not even upon the work.
-in many cases the head weaver sings these symbols for the benefit of the other weavers. among the nomads the design is frequently kept in the brain, or roughly drawn on paper or in the sand. if they have another rug as a model they get the right design by simply counting on the back the number of knots of every color in each row. beginning at the bottom and working towards the right, the wool yarn, which goes to form the pile, is looped around the warp threads by the aid of blunt pointed needles and then tied in such a way that by each knotting two of the warp threads are bound. when the turkish knot is used, these two threads are bound side by side. when the persian knot is used, if tied tightly, one is bound in front of the other. this process is repeated along the line with the proper colors required by the patterns and after each row of knots one or more weft threads are passed through between the warp threads and then beaten down with a sort of comb, the teeth of which pass between the warp threads. the pile is then trimmed off with the scissors to the desired length. the caucasians and kurds, as a rule, leave a long pile, while the turkomans and persians clip theirs quite short. close trimming brings out more minutely the color variations. the number of knots to the square inch is determined by the closeness of the warp threads and the number of weft threads thrown across after each row, also by the thickness of these threads. the tighter and closer the knots are tied the more perpendicular the pile and more durable the fabric. in coarse fabrics, like the kazak, there are usually four or five weft threads between each row of knots. in such fabrics the rows of pile yarn overlap, thus giving it ample opportunity to untwist and become more lustrous. this is why the loosely woven, long naped rugs have more sheen than do the tightly woven short naped ones. uneven trimming of the pile or unskilled use of the comb will produce unevenness in the completed rug.
-the fewer and the lighter the weft threads are, the more flexible is the rug. the great depth of pile is also a good feature in certain rugs, as the heavier the fabric is the better it will lie. stronger warp threads are usually put on each side to strengthen and give better support to the weft and sometimes both warp and weft are dyed, either in toto or at the ends only, in order to give a colored webbing to the finished product.
-as a rule the nap of all rugs which are tied with the ghiordes knot runs directly towards one end, while those that are tied with the senna knot have a nap which runs towards one corner, right or left, according to whether the right or left senna knot is employed. frequently rugs are found with either the ghiordes or the senna knot where the nap runs directly towards one side. this may be due to an untwisting of the pile yarn or to the washing process, the washer in such cases having scraped the water out towards the side of the rug instead of towards the end.
-plate loaned by the simplicity co., grand rapids, mich.
-the field consists of a series of medallions in dark brown and green upon a field of old rose. the main border stripe is rather foreign to the rugs of this class, being more like those found in the bergama products. the next two important stripes carry the "crab design" while all the four guard stripes carry the conventional "saw teeth." that this piece has some age is quite evident from the condition of its ends.
-designs and their symbolism
-the soul of the oriental is in his design, which is invariably well composed of skilfully conventionalized figures and superbly rich, harmonious colorings of which one never tires, while that of the european has a stiff set pattern which soon fails to attract.
-the transmission of ancient patterns has been going on from century to century, the old designs and colorings being copied by the weavers from one generation to another and many of those used at the present time are doubtless the same that were used in the time of abraham.
-each district, tribe or family had its characteristic patterns and color combinations which were regarded as its individual inheritance and were never copied by other districts, tribes or families. so it is possible for the expert to tell the locality from which an antique rug came, but the source of the modern one is not quite as accurately determined on account of the changes in designs brought about by the influence of immigration, travel and conquest. a design may be borrowed by a neighboring province and gradually undergo changes according to the taste of the adopting people until its original form is completely lost. the patterns have also become limited in number, so that to-day the entire output of persian fabrics comprises only about thirty original designs, but of these the varieties of form, arrangement and combination are very large. turkey and india have even, in some instances, adopted european designs. the nomad products are perhaps the freest of all from outside influences.
-in the way of characterization we might state that the persian designs are usually floral, while the turkish designs are for the most part a mixture of the floral and the geometrical, the former being much less natural than those of the persians. caucasian and turkoman designs are nearly always geometrical. occasionally they are floral but of a rectilineal nature and never connected with wavy lines as in the persian. the kurdish designs are more like the persian, while the chinese consist largely of dragons, monsters, and animals of all sorts. it is curious to note how the persians make many patterns out of one design by employing various methods of coloring. even when the same colors are used there is always a great dissimilarity between the different makes of the same design.
-sir george birdwood says, "whatever their type of ornamentation may be, a deep and complicated symbolism, originating in babylon and possibly india, pervades every denomination of oriental carpets." the geometrical figures, floral designs and the figures of animals and beings all carry with them a mystical, poetical idea of religious sentiment, the study of which, though difficult, is very fascinating to one who has the ability to interpret them. it seems perfectly natural that the oriental who is so passionately devoted to symbols should profusely weave them into his fabrics. the turks, being orthodox mohammedans, never weave figures of animals, birds or human beings into their rugs, as the teachings of the koran forbid it lest it should lead to idolatry. neither do they, as a rule, make their rugs symmetrical, their idea being to symbolize the fact that only allah is perfect. the persians and chinese, however, being more liberal, exercise greater freedom in these respects, and in some of their old hunting rugs, of which but few remain, are depicted animals of all kinds.
-it seems strange to us that the weaver, who worked day after day for months and sometimes for years on a single piece, seldom signed or dated it. i have seldom seen the name of the weaver, of the place of manufacture, or the date, on an antique rug. many of the modern commercial pieces are provided with dates to make them more attractive to the buyer. inscriptions, on the other hand, are frequently found in rugs of all ages and are most frequently on the borders. as a rule they are prayers or quotations from the koran or poems from the writings of some famous persian poet and with but few exceptions are in the arabic language. the ability to read these inscriptions adds greatly to the charm and interest of their possession.
-the date, when present, will usually be found in one corner of the rug, sometimes in the border on one side or end, and should be read from left to right. if the spot is well worn and the figures are indistinct turn the rug over and read on the back from right to left.
-the following are the arabic figures, of which there are numerous modifications:
-the following is an alphabetically arranged list of the different designs with descriptions and suggestive drawings of the same. for that part referring to the chinese and indian mythology the author is greatly indebted to prof. du bois reymond of shanghai, china, and to mr. b. a. gupte, f. z. s., of calcutta, india, respectively:
-alligator, see kulah border design.
-almond, see pear.
-anthemion or hom consists of an alternate bud and fir cone arrangement with strong lateral markings. it is frequently used as a flower on the sacred tree.
-apple, see silibik.
-ball and claw.--similar to that used on the legs of chairs and tables of the 17th and 18th centuries.
-basket.--one of the chinese buddhist ornaments.
-bat.--a chinese design which is symbolic of happiness. found quite commonly in the chinese fabrics. five bats often appear in the centre of chinese rugs and represent riches, longevity, health, love of virtue and peaceful end.
-beads.--the rosary was anciently used to record time, and a circle, being a line without termination, was the natural emblem of its perpetual continuity; hence we find circles of beads upon the heads of deities and enclosing the sacred symbols upon coins and other ornaments. beads are always carried by the mohammedans to assist them in their prayers. the moslem rosary consists of ninety-nine beads, each one designating one of the ninety-nine beautiful names of allah.
-bee.--in china it is symbolic of many descendants. in india it has been adopted from british associations and represents industry, but is not regarded as an old symbol.
-beetle or scarabæus.--a chinese symbol of creation, resurrection or new life. in india it is a symbol of royalty. wings of the gold beetle are used in decorating peacock feather fans and morchels or royal fly flaps. as the blue beetle it represents one that lives on honey and is portrayed near the form of a young lady whose lotus-like face it is supposed to have mistaken for that flower.
-boar.--in india a boar with a ball on its right tusk represents vishnu the protector in his third incarnation when he lifted up and saved the earth from being engulfed by the great flood (the deluge).
-bouquet, see pear.
-butterfly.--the chinese symbol of vanity. in india it was not used in the older decoration, but in modern decoration it has the associations of a flirt, owing to english environments. butterfly forms are frequently found in chinese rugs intermingled with those of bats.
-bow knot.--as one of the emblems of buddha it is used in chinese and japanese ornament and is often found in the border of chinese rugs. sometimes it partakes of a floral character in the shiraz and kirman rugs and is very commonly found in the shemakha weaving, where it is a talismanic design.
-canopy.--a chinese buddhist symbol.
-checker board.--an arrangement of squares of two or more different colors similar to that of a checker board. seldom found in any rugs excepting the bergama and yomud.
-chin, see pearl.
-chinese cloud band, see cloud, chinese.
-circle.--quite commonly used in chinese decoration, where it denotes eternity, having no commencement and no end. in india it is considered inauspicious. it is related that one of the maharajahs of india returned a costly landau to a british manufacturer because it had circles of embroidered tape on its cushions.
-claw and ball, see ball and claw.
-cloud band, see cloud, chinese.
-cobra, see serpent.
-cock, crowing, see rooster.
-comb.--an emblem of the mohammedan faith to remind the devout that cleanliness is next to godliness. for this reason it appears in its various forms near the niche of many prayer rugs, especially in the daghestans.
-compass.--carried by the mohammedans to determine the location so that the niche of their prayer rugs might be pointed in the right direction, towards mecca.
-conch shell.--a chinese buddhist symbol.
-cone, fir, see pear.
-cornucopia.--represented by a ram's horn filled with flowers and fruit. it symbolizes peace and prosperity.
-crane.--in india the crane is symbolic of a rogue, a cheat, a false prophet, a religious hypocrite. crane-like (bakavrata) means hypocrisy. a poet addressing a crane said, "you stand on one leg like a devotee performing austerities, but you can only cheat senseless fishes. your hypocrisy is well known to the learned; they are aware of it."
-crescent.--in china the crescent is symbolic of coming events. in india it signifies descent in the lunar line of kings of the warrior race (kehatriya) or it indicates mohammedan faith. when used as a tattoo mark it is associated with a little star below it and it means the devoted love of rohini (venus) to the moon (who is masculine in indian mythology).
-crocodile.--in indian mythology, when drawn with a female figure seated on it, it signifies the goddess ganga (personification of the river ganges); when drawn as holding an elephant in its tremendous jaws, it shows distress and tenacity.
-cross, greek (sometimes called the square cross).--a plain cross with four equal arms. most of the eastern churches are built in the form of this cross. the cross is never found in rugs that are woven by the orthodox mohammedans.
-cross, square, see cross, greek.
-crow.--chinese, harbinger of bad luck; indian, an evil foreboder among the hindus and a good omen among the mohammedans. it is said that sir salar jang, the late minister of hyderabad, always looked at a crow the first thing in the morning and that one of his attendants was told oft to stand with a crow in a cage facing his window.
-crowing cock, see rooster.
-crown jewel, see pear.
-david's shield, see star, six-pointed.
-david's signet or shield, see star, six-pointed.
-deer.--in china it is symbolic of longevity and success. in india a doe is symbolic of love towards animals because of its association with shakuntala in the lost ring, a very popular drama by kalidas.
-diaper, see lattice.
-disc, winged, see winged globe or disc.
-dog.--the dog is considered a sacred animal for the reason that one preceded mohammed the prophet, when he made his first triumphal entry into mecca.
-dove.--chinese, companionship; indian, no significance except through british associations for innocence.
-duck.--in china the duck is the symbol of connubial felicity.
-eagle.--in indian mythology, garud, the eagle of heaven, is the charger of vishnu and the destroyer of venomous snakes.
-egg.--in china it is symbolic of productiveness, plenty. in india, an egg with the figure of a babe inside of it indicates the universe.
-elephant.--chinese, high official rank; indian, sign of royalty, as kings possess them.
-feather, see pear.
-feraghan, see herati.
-fir cone, see pear.
-fish, see herati.
-flame, see pear.
-flower of henna, see guli henna.
-flower and knop, see knop and flower.
-fly.--with the chinese the fly is symbolic of worthlessness.
-four flowers, see roses, four.
-four roses, see roses, four.
-fret, chinese, see chinese fret.
-fret, greek, see chinese fret.
-galley (a border design).--originated among the people who inhabit the section of country between the shores of the mediterranean, black and caspian seas.
-gourd.--chinese, receptacle of mysteries; indian, when shaped like a bowl it represents the drinking vessel of a sanyasi or recluse.
-greek cross, see cross, greek.
-greek fret (border design), see chinese fret.
-greek key, see chinese fret.
-hand, see coat of arms, turkish; also pear.
-hare.--chinese, in connection with the moon.
-henna flower, see guli henna.
-hexagon.--found in rugs of most every class, but more especially in those of the caucasus. it apparently has no special symbolic significance.
-hog.--in china the hog is symbolic of depravity and imbecility.
-hom, see anthemion.
-hook, angular, see angular hook.
-hook, latch, see angular hook.
-horse shoe.--emblem of good luck. frequently used in combination with cloud forms.
-hound.--chinese, fidelity or loyalty.
-hour-glass.--formed by the joining of two triangles at their apices; is symbolic of fire and water.
-indian fish bone, see fish bone.
-jewel, see pear.
-jug.--in india the jug with the bust of a woman on the top represents the sacred water of the ganges.
-key, greek, see chinese fret.
-knop and flower.--a closed bud alternating with a rosette or a palmette. it is supposed to have had its origin in the egyptian lotus. it is used chiefly in border designs.
-knot.--a buddhist symbol.
-knot of destiny.--dates back to solomon's time. it is one of the chinese buddhist ornaments and is therefore quite commonly found in the samarkand, yarkand, kashgar, and the various chinese products. also used more or less throughout the caucasus and especially in the shemakha; in fact, it is present somewhere in most rugs of the latter class, as a talismanic design. in some of the persian fabrics it partakes of a floral character.
-konieh field, see rhodian.
-koran is a sacred design and few rugs with it ever leave persia.
-latch hook, see angular hook.
-leaf, see pear.
-leopard.--the chinese symbol for ferocity.
-lily, see rhodian.
-link.--link in lozenge or spiral is a combination of two triangles with one side of each parallel with the other and sometimes joined by a diagonal line. it is found in the borders of asia minor rugs, also in the field of many nomad productions. especially common in the kurdistans and shirvans.
-lion.--chinese, strength, power, authority; indian, a lion's figure on the arms of a chair indicates that it is a throne. a throne is called "sivasan," which means a lion seat. a lion is also one of the chargers of the goddess durga.
-loop, see pear.
-lotus.--very much resembles our pond lily with the exception that the color is of a brilliant purple on the border petals with a heart of deep orange and the stem stands high out of the water. it is commonly found on the banks of the nile and is the first flower to spring up after the overflowing waters of that river have subsided. for this reason and because it preserves its chaste beauty while growing from such impure surroundings it has always figured among the egyptians as an emblem of immortality and purity. with the chinese it is symbolic of many descendants and in india it is especially sacred to the buddhists and is the national flower of that country. in ornament the lotus is handled by many different nations, being used in both circular and profile forms, figuring as flowers, wheels, medallions, etc.
-magpie.--the chinese harbinger of good luck.
-meander, greek (a border design).--also known as the zigzag, the wave crest, or the water motif. it consists of a series of diagonal lines at regular intervals representing waves or running water. found in nearly all classes, especially the caucasian.
-mirror design, see trellis.
-monkey.--symbolic in china of high official rank.
-mosque design.--found in many prayer rugs. it consists of a column on each side of the prayer niche and a floral lamp hanging from the niche, usually in a field of solid color such as dark red or blue.
-mountains are represented with from one to five peaks. of mongolian origin, although they are occasionally found in some of the caucasian, turkestan, and persian fabrics. the ancient mongolians believed that the souls of the righteous mounted to heaven from the mountain tops and for this reason they are revered.
-network, see lattice.
-owl.--chinese, a bird of ill-omen. in eastern india the owl is considered auspicious because it is the charger of laxni, the goddess of wealth, but in western india it is considered an ominous bird.
-ox.--chinese, friend of man, agriculture; indian, the charger of shiva. the sacred nature of the humped bull in india is well known.
-palmette.--a little cup-shaped object with fan-shaped leaves around it. believed by some to have had its derivation from the human hand with all the digits extended; by others it is believed to have been derived from the palm growth.
-parrot.--in india this bird is symbolized as a messenger of love.
-peacock.--chinese, beauty; indian, it is always auspicious because it is the royal bird. its feathers supply material for the morchel brushes held by pages on each side of a maharajah or king.
-pearl or chin.--a mongolian design. frequently found in chinese, tibetan, and turkoman rugs. it stands for purity and is generally associated with the dragon, which is supposed to be guarding it from the grasp of the demons.
-peony.--symbol in china of wealth and official position.
-persian coat of arms, see coat of arms, persian.
-pineapple has furnished many designs. it is even claimed by some authorities that the palmette of the famous shah abbas design was originally suggested by the pineapple.
-pine tree, see tree.
-pole medallion, see medallion.
-pomegranate.--many descendants. the pomegranate takes a prominent place in mohammedan art, especially in the anatolian provinces. it is highly regarded as a food and from its juice a delicious drink is made.
-ram, indian.--if drawn with a four-headed figure riding it, it means mars.
-rhomboid.--common in rugs of most every country, but more especially in those of the caucasus. it carries no special symbolic significance.
-rice.--sometimes referred to as the "grains of rice" pattern; consists of pinkish brown colored spots sprinkled on a field of dull white. often arranged in a network. found only in samarkand and chinese products.
-river loop, see pear.
-rooster.--the people of shiraz personify the devil in the form of a rooster, which they weave in some of their choicest rugs in order to avert the evil eye. some forms of the "crowing cock," so called, are easily confused with the pear pattern.
-rosary, see beads.
-roses, four.--an ancient design appearing in many forms. common in the kurdish products and it is thought by some to be a kurdish form of the tree of life. it appears in several different forms.
-rosette.--a floral-shaped design which is said to resemble the "star of bethlehem," an early spring flower of persia. it is much used in border designs and it alternates with the palmette in forming the shah abbas pattern. it also forms the design known as the knop and flower by alternating with a closed bud. some authorities claim that it originated from the lotus.
-russian coat or arms, see coat of arms, russian.
-saraband border design, see mir.
-sardar.--named after the sardar aziz khan, who was at one time governor of azerbijan. this design consists of narrow leaf forms, which are connected by vines and relieved by bold floral shapes. quite commonly used in modern fabrics, especially the large-sized ones.
-saw-teeth, reciprocal, see reciprocal saw-teeth.
-scarabæus, see beetle.
-sceptre.--one of the most distinctive and famous of the mongolian patterns.
-scorpion or spider.--chinese, viciousness, poison. in india it is believed that if a scorpion creeps over the body it causes leprosy and that if one bears the tattooed image of a scorpion he is free from leprosy as well as from the bite of that insect. as a design it is quite common in the borders of caucasian fabrics, especially the shirvans.
-scroll.--one of the distinctive mongolian patterns which is said to represent the sun. found in the turkestan, chinese, and tibetan fabrics.
-seal, see pear.
-seal of solomon, see solomon's seal.
-serpent.--in india it is inauspicious because it reminds one of death.
-shaul design, see pear.
-shield of david, see star, six-pointed.
-shirvan design is composed of a diamond figure, each side of which is formed by a series of steps. frequently the centre is filled with small geometrical figures. this design is found more or less in the majority of the caucasian products, but more especially in the shirvans.
-shou appears in many forms, but the three forms illustrated herewith are the most common, not only in chinese rugs but also as decoration in old porcelain and as embroidered designs on silk.
-signet of david.--based upon the equilateral triangle and from it have originated many of the turkish designs. see star, six-pointed.
-silibik or apple.--a kurdish design which bears very little resemblance to the fruit after which it is named. it is usually arranged in perpendicular rows throughout the field.
-sixteen lucky squares, see knot of destiny.
-snake, see serpent.
-solomon's seal.--built on the right angle triangle and, like the signet of david, it is found in many of the turkish and caucasian fabrics and to it scores of patterns may be traced.
-sparrow.--in india it indicates bumper crops.
-spider, see scorpion.
-spiral, see link.
-square.--found in the rugs of nearly every class, but more especially in those of the caucasus. it apparently has no special symbolic significance.
-square cross, see cross, greek.
-squirrel.--in india it is sacred to rana, the seventh incarnation of vishnu, because while his monkey army was building a bridge for him to go over to ceylon this little creature was seen repeatedly rolling into the sand of the beach and washing the grains, which adhered to its bushy coat, into the sea. rana inquired why it took so much trouble and the reply was that it was taking sand down to the sea to reclaim the land or fill up the gap between ceylon and india and to facilitate the construction of the bridge. rana was so pleased that he passed his fingers coaxingly over its body and said that the sacred marks thus produced on its back would protect it. the stripes on the squirrel's back are still believed to be rana's finger marks and no good hindu, therefore, will kill a squirrel. its presence is auspicious, signifying divine protection.
-stork.--chinese, longevity. indian--the indian heron has been associated with cunning and deceit. it is said that it stands on one leg like an indian ascetic as if it had been performing austerities, but as soon as a fish comes within reach it pounces on it and devours it. people who assume the garb of religious men and cheat others are called (bak) storks, herons.
-sunburst, see palace.
-swan.--in india the swan is the charger of brahma.
-t forms (a border design) figure largely in the decoration of samarkand and chinese rugs. similar to the chinese fret.
-tae-kieh or yang and yin is a circle separated by two semicircles into comet-shaped halves. distinctly a chinese symbol and found in chinese, tibetan, and turkoman textiles. used as a charm and found in decorations on all sorts of articles.
-tomoye owes its origin to some ancient conception of elemental forces. it has been adopted by korea and japan as a national and heraldic crest. frequently used in mongolian ornament.
-trefoil, reciprocal, see reciprocal trefoil.
-trellis, see lattice.
-triangle.--scores of turkish patterns may be traced from the triangle. it is frequently found tattooed upon the body of the turks as a talisman. frequently appears as a design in the daghestans. in india it represents mother earth and is very auspicious.
-turkish coat of arms, see coat of arms, turkish.
-turtle, see tortoise.
-twin fish, see herati.
-umbrella.--a buddhist symbol which is occasionally found in chinese rugs.
-urn, see vase.
-water crest, see meander, greek.
-wheel.--a buddhist symbol which is sacred to vishnu, who holds it in his hand. it also symbolizes the "wheel of the law." found in chinese ornament.
-winged globe or disc.--an egyptian design consisting of a small ball, on the sides of which are two asps with extended wings, expressing by these extended wings the power of protection afforded by the egyptian government. also an emblem of religious sincerity and appreciation of benefits derived from god.
-wolf.--chinese, ingratitude, heartlessness. in india it is inauspicious and is never drawn or embroidered on fabrics.
-y form (a border design).--one of the most famous of the mongolian patterns and figures largely in the decoration of chinese rugs. see also tekke field design.
-yang and yin, see tae-kieh.
-zigzag, see meander, greek.
-knot: ghiordes. nine to the inch vertically and eight horizontally, making seventy-two to the square inch.
-one will seldom see a more beautiful and more glossy piece, especially among the caucasian fabrics, and neither the material nor dyes can be excelled.
-the black in the background is of natural black sheep's wool covered with all sorts of animals, birds and symbols, most of which are in a rich rose color. the main border stripe consists of the crab design in subdued tones of yellow, blue and red with more or less white.
-the identification of rugs
-the one thing desired by those who are just beginning the study of oriental rugs is the ability to readily identify them. realizing this, the author has included a chapter on the identification of rugs which contains many features new to rug literature and which, he trusts, will greatly simplify and render easy the process of identification; but it must be borne in mind that certain rugs are much more easily distinguished than others and that at times even the connoisseur is puzzled.
-oriental rugs are identified not alone by their designs and colors, but by their material, texture and finish, therefore, there is given first, a list of those which are distinguishable by their outstanding or prominent characteristics; second, reproductions of the backs of those rugs which are characteristic in their appearance, and third, an exhaustive chart giving complete details as to weave, material, texture and finish of each variety of rug.
-the chapter on design, which precedes this, is the most complete consideration ever given to this detail of rug making, and its numerous descriptions and drawings will enable the reader to identify, with reasonable certainty, rugs by this feature alone.
-the numerous pictures of the representative types of rugs will also familiarize the readers with many distinguishing patterns, while the chapters in part ii take up and gather together all of the various features of each kind of rug upon the market, so arranged and described that a clear and comprehensive idea of it will be formed in the mind of the reader.
-a few characteristic features of certain rugs
-named in the order of their importance and given to assist the reader in differentiating, although few are absolute criterions.
-herez.--characteristic angular ornamentation; shaded background (see doubletone, page 172).
-kara dagh.--the pile contains considerable natural colored camels' hair.
-tabriz.--almost invariably a medallion centre (see doubletone, page 182). very frequently curl on the sides.
-bijar.--considerable camels' hair in the field.
-kermanshah.--colors soft and light; sides overcast with dark wool.
-senna.--characteristic weave (see plate on weaves, page 152); pear design and herati field and border design very common; pole medallion (see doubletone, page 188).
-feraghan.--herati border and field design in the great majority (see doubletones, pages 114 and 190).
-hamadan.--broad outside band of natural colored camels' hair; pole medallion nearly always a prominent feature (see doubletones, pages 110 and 192).
-saraband (mir).--the characteristic saraband border stripe; field consisting of the pear design in rows with the stems of alternate rows turned in the opposite direction; light blue web (see doubletone, page 198).
-saruk.--overcast with silk or dark wool; herati border designs; intricate floral designs; frequently curled on the sides (see color plate, page 166).
-sultanabad.--generally large scroll and floral pattern (see doubletone of mahal, page 202).
-niris.--madder red predominates; pear pattern common.
-shiraz.--sides overcast with wool of two colors; pole medallion a prominent feature; little tassels of wool frequently along the sides; strand of colored yarn in web (see color plate, page 52, and doubletones, pages 206 and 208).
-herat.--herati border and field designs common; pear designs in field with stems all turned in the same direction.
-khorasan (meshed).--uneven distribution of woof threads (see plate on weave, page 152). two small pears resting their stems upon a larger one is one of the common designs. herati border and field also common. magenta a prominent color (see color plates, pages 22 and 32).
-kirman.--bouquets and vases in design most frequent (see doubletone, page 212).
-kurdistan.--one or two strands of colored wool in web of one end; overcast with yarn of different colors; shading of colors.
-kir shehr.---many have several tufts of wool composed of all the different colored yarns which are used in the body of the rug.
-ghiordes.--the fringe on the upper end, as a rule, instead of being a continuation of the warp threads, is a separate piece sewed on. it also usually has two cross panels, one above and one below the prayer field (see color plate, page 66).
-ladik.--wide red web striped with yellow or blue; figures large in comparison to the size of the rug; magenta freely employed.
-yuruk.--border narrow in proportion to size of rug.
-bergama.--designs generally broad and large in proportion to rug (see doubletones, pages 46 and 236); frequently small tassels of wool along the sides of the rug; several woof threads between each row of knots and a wide web which frequently carries a design or rosettes which are woven in.
-kulah.--the kulah border design nearly always in one or more of the stripes; the ends are generally dyed yellow; a large number of narrow border stripes which are filled with minute designs, usually the "fleck." a filled or partly filled centre field; usually one cross panel (see doubletone, page 240).
-meles.--field is frequently composed of perpendicular stripes of yellow, red and blue with zigzag lines or peculiar angular designs running through them (see doubletone, page 242).
-mosul.--one or more strands of colored yarn run through the selvage, usually red and blue.
-daghestan.--diagonal ornamentations of both field and border; all spaces well filled with a small geometrical design (see color plates, pages 84 and 292, also doubletones, pages 254 and 256).
-derbend.--yellow lavishly used; field likely to consist of a repetition of designs in alternate colors.
-tchetchen.--the characteristic tchetchen (chichi) border design is nearly always found (see doubletone, page 260).
-baku.--small strand of camels' hair crosses one end.
-shemakha.--pileless; loose shaggy yarn ends on the under side (see plate of weaves at page 153).
-genghis.---field often filled with the pear design, each row alternating in color (see design on page 268).
-kazak.--from two to six woof threads between each row of knots; diagonal position of pile (see plate on weaves, page 152). palace design commonly employed. bold figures and bright colors (see doubletone, page 272).
-khiva.--large detached octagon and diamond forms; goats' hair warp (see doubletone, page 278).
-tekke.--small detached octagon and diamond forms (see doubletone, page 282).
-yomud.--checker-board effect of selvage on the sides; strands of colored wool in the web (see doubletone, page 286).
-yarkand.--generally four strands of woof between each row of knots.
-samarkand.--one or more "circles of happiness"; three or four woof threads between each row of knots; lavish use of yellow and bokhara red; designs mostly chinese (see doubletone, page 290).
-beluchistan.--sides frequently finished in horse hair; dark subdued colors. if there is any white it is nearly always in one of the border stripes (see doubletone, page 296).
-by carefully consulting these characteristics and the chart of distinguishing features it ought to be a comparatively easy matter to take up almost any rug and name it after a few moments' reflection. to illustrate, try your skill on the following description: knot--senna, weave close and rows of knots very uneven; warp and woof both of undyed cotton. pile of very fine wool, short and upright; ends both have narrow white webs through which runs a strand of parti-colored yarn. there is also a fringe of loose warp ends. the sides are overcast with silk. there is a diamond-shaped pole medallion upon a field which is covered with a minute herati design; the colors are subdued shades of red, blue, green, yellow and old rose with more or less white.
-after consulting the table of distinguishing features you will find that the senna knot excludes all caucasian and turkish fabrics; the cotton warp and woof excludes all turkoman fabrics excepting the kashgar and the yarkand. the overcasting of the sides, as well as the herati design, excludes these two, therefore it must belong to the persian class. a great many of this class are tied with the senna knot; have cotton warp and woof; a short, upright wool pile and narrow webs with loose warp ends, but only two are ever overcast with silk, namely the senna and the saruk. upon referring to the characteristic features mentioned in the first part of this chapter (page 148) you will see that the herati design is common to both of these rugs, but that the uneven weave, the pole medallion and the strand of colored yarn in the web are all senna features, therefore you have a senna.
-a thorough knowledge of designs and colors would have enabled you to name the piece at first sight, as would also the character of the weave in this particular instance.
-most of the prayer rugs may be accurately classified by consulting the chart illustrating rug niches (page 322), while the distinguishing characteristics of the different ghileems may be found in the chapter on ghileems.
-illustrations of the backs of some rugs showing their characteristic weaves
-the details of each picture are of the same size as the rug from which it was taken and each one is presented with the warp threads running up and down. this idea of comparison would be even more valuable were it possible to procure pictures of pieces only which have the same number of knots to the square inch. a magnifying glass will aid materially in bringing out the minute details.
-no. 1. khorasan.--twelve knots to the inch vertically, and six horizontally. this peculiar weave is due to the fact that several rows of knots are tied with no woof thread to separate them; then two or three strands of the woof are thrown in, one after the other, followed by several more rows of knots. this method of weaving is a khorasan feature.
-no. 2. senna.--eighteen senna knots to the inch vertically, and eighteen horizontally. notice the closeness and irregularity of the rows of knots. contrast the appearance of this with that of the saruk (no. 3) which is tied with the same kind of knot and has very nearly the same number to the square inch.
-no. 3. saruk.--fifteen senna knots to the inch vertically, and sixteen horizontally. one of the most closely and most evenly woven of the oriental fabrics. in this illustration the rows of knots can easily be counted horizontally, but it is almost impossible to count them vertically unless we follow the stripe-like arrangement in the straight oblique outlines of some of the designs.
-no. 4. kazak.--six ghiordes knots to the inch vertically, and nine horizontally. notice the wide spacing between each row. this is due to the great number of woof threads between each row, a characteristic of the kazak. this cut beautifully illustrates the appearance of the ghiordes knot on the back. note that each one has two loops as compared with the one loop in the senna knot, as illustrated in no. 3.
-no. 5. saraband.--ten senna knots to the inch vertically and ten horizontally. the white or light blue woof threads are distinctly seen in each row, even in those which are closely woven. the spaces between the rows vary a little in places, giving it an appearance somewhat similar to the khorasan weave.
-no. 6. daghestan.--eight ghiordes knots to the inch vertically, and eight horizontally. this piece has the same number of knots to the square inch as does the chinese (no. 7), and, although of a different kind, the appearance of the weave is quite similar.
-no. 7. chinese.--nine knots to the inch vertically, and nine horizontally. the spiral appearance of the colored rows of knots and the white woof threads give it a look quite similar to that of the daghestan (no. 6).
-no. 8. merve ghileem.--eight stitches to the inch. compare the difference in weave to that of the kurdish ghileem (no. 9). the colors of the latter are always at right angles to or with the warp and woof threads, while that of the former is diagonal to the warp and woof threads. this method of weaving gives the merve fewer and smaller open spaces.
-no. 9. kurdish ghileem.--notice the many open spaces, also the loose yarn ends, a characteristic of this class of ghileems.
-no. 10. shemakha (coarse).--eight stitches to the inch. showing the front of the rug in order to illustrate the shemakha weave, which is a flat weave and yet quite different from that of the ghileems. note its braided appearance.
-no. 11. shemakha (coarse).--back of the same rug as shown in no. 10. note the quantity of loose yarn ends.
-no. 12. shemakha (fine).--ten stitches to the inch. note the difference in the number of loose yarn ends in this piece compared with those in the coarsely woven fabrics (no. 11).
-chart showing the distinguishing features of the different rugs (left side)
-column key ----------
-chart showing the distinguishing features of the different rugs (right side)
-column key ----------
-from the foregoing table the following facts may be advantageously emphasized, viz: (1) comparatively few rugs are tied with the senna knot, and these are mostly of the persian and turkoman classes. (2) all persian and caucasian rugs are tied with the ghiordes knot. (3) most of the finest persian rugs have cotton warp and woof, and are tied with the senna knot. (4) the kurdistan is the only one of the persian classification which ever has a dyed warp, but many of them have a dyed woof. (6) the turkish and caucasian rugs, as a rule, have a wool warp and woof. (7) the persians nearly all have narrow webs, with the exception of the niris and the shiraz, which have wide ones. (8) all turkish rugs have narrow webs, with the exception of the karaman, the ladik and the bergama, which have wide ones. (9) as a rule the caucasians have narrow webs, and the turkoman have wide ones. (10) the knotted warp ends are found especially among the caucasian rugs. (11) as a rule the persians are overcast on the sides, and the turkish and turkoman are selvaged, while the caucasians are as much one way as the other. (12) the length of the pile is of very little assistance in classifying.
-of a rather unusual color combination for a caucasian product, drab, light and dark blue being the only colors of much prominence. the diamond medallions in the field and the barber pole stripe in the border are found in rugs of nearly every class but more especially in the caucasian fabrics. note the numerous small animal and bird forms scattered throughout the field.
-in the general market are found over fifty different kinds of rugs, most of which are named after the towns or districts in which they are made, from which they are marketed, or after the people who make them. there is generally also some slight difference in the weave, the material, the color, the design or the finish, which gives each class its distinguishing, technical character. of late years, however, there has been such an intermingling of races and transmission of ideas from one country to another, that even the expert is often unable to identify a rug with the place in which it was made.
-there is occasionally a dealer who has many of his own names which he uses to the extinction of all others and some of the names used in western countries would not be recognized in the countries from which the rugs come. under such circumstances classification becomes rather difficult and it is not to be wondered at that authorities sometimes disagree. importers and dealers in oriental rugs would find it greatly to their advantage if they had a strict rug nomenclature based on facts and if they discountenanced everything in the trade which tended towards charlatanism or inspired distrust in the minds of buyers.
-in the classification to follow we will consider rugs from a geographical stand-point.
-to begin, we will consider them in the following order: 1st, persian; 2nd, turkish; 3rd, caucasian; 4th, turkoman; 5th, beluchistan; and 6th, chinese.
-no reference will be made to indian rugs for the reason that, outside of the fact that they are made in india, they can nowadays hardly claim a right to be classed as oriental products, inasmuch as they are wholly modern creations made merely upon a trade basis, often by machinery, and after designs furnished by american and european designers.
-genghis, of the caucasian class, being made by a tribe of turkomans in the caucasus and resembling closely the turkoman productions, are classified as such by several prominent writers.
-knot: senna. fourteen to the inch horizontally and seventeen to the inch vertically, making two hundred and thirty-eight to the square inch.
-the design is characteristic but the colors are unusual for a saruk. there is a central pole medallion within another medallion. the predominating color of the former is an old rose with figures in light and dark blue, white and yellow, especially the latter. the outside medallion has an old ivory background and is strewn with beautiful undulating vines covered with flowers of various colors, those at one end being principally in old rose while at the other end a rich red seems to predominate. each corner of the field outside of the medallion has a rich blue background with scroll figures and large flowers, differing considerably in color at the two ends. there are four border strips, the outside one being of plain ivory. the main border consists of alternate white and old rose floral forms connected by a meandering line upon a dark blue background and on both sides of this main border stripe is the reciprocal trefoil in red, blue and white.
-the persian classification and description
-from the earliest time to the present the persian has excelled all others in the designing of flowers and in color decoration, therefore the persian textiles have always shown complex floral designs and harmonious arrangement of colors. unlike the turkish fabrics, they almost invariably have a full straight fringe at each end which is composed of loose warp threads.
-in persia both the senna and the ghiordes knots are used, and the latter has been adopted in some localities where the former alone was once in vogue.
-the persian government has endeavored to uphold the quality of its rugs in the face of demoralizing influences, but alas, persia too is getting the commercial spirit and aniline dyes are being smuggled into and secretly used all over the country.
-one correspondent in teheran says, "good rugs are hard to get and are very expensive. there are quantities of the commercial variety, but those can be bought in london as cheap as in persia." during the recent revolution quite a number of the palaces were sold out by their owners at auction. at these sales the good rugs were quickly picked up at fabulous prices by european residents in teheran.
-there are no rug factories in persia, but there are several establishments owned by foreigners, especially at sultanabad and tabriz, where the wool is dyed and given out to the weavers to take home and weave according to the designs and specifications furnished.
-persian rug provinces
-the following is a short description of the various persian provinces from which rugs come:
-azerbijan is the most northeastern province of persia. it includes a part of ancient armenia and its present population consists mostly of turks, with some armenians and kurds. tabriz is the capital. its present output of rugs is very large.
-ardelan is the province just south of azerbijan. its inhabitants are mostly kurds and its capital is kermanshah.
-irak ajemi is the largest province of persia. it practically occupies the centre of the country. its principal city is teheran, which is the present capital of persia. irak ajemi has a larger output of rugs than any other province of persia.
-farsistan or fars, as it is sometimes called, lies in the southern part of persia west of kirman and south of irak ajemi. shiraz is its capital and it produces a wool which is not excelled, if equalled, by that of any other country in the world.
-khorasan is persia's most southeastern province and, next to irak ajemi, its largest one. it is sometimes called "the land of the sun," and is inhabited by arabs, turkomans, kurds, afghans, baluches, and jews. the western portion is a desert. meshed is the capital. it is one of the last of the persian provinces to be affected by outside influences.
-kirman is the most southerly province of persia and the least known. being so difficult of access, it is seldom visited by the traveller; consequently its products are free from outside influence. it has for its capital the city of the same name.
-a complete description of each rug of the persian class is given in the following pages.
-a name applied to all carpets made in the mountainous district of herez and to some from tabriz and sultanabad. the different products of this class are so similar in many respects that it is often difficult and sometimes impossible for the expert to differentiate. there is a great prevalence of mongolian influence in their designs. until quite recently the herez district was one of the few districts from which the modern rugs were a decided improvement on the antique, but they have deteriorated considerably of late. they are marketed at tabriz.
-the example illustrated
-in exception to most of the herez weaves this piece has no medallion centre with corner pieces to match, but the style of the floral motifs which fill the field is somewhat characteristic of the region in northern persia where it is made. the herez products are extremely serviceable.
-why so named.--after the village by that name in the herez district where they are made.
-knot.--usually the senna, sometimes the ghiordes. number vertically six to fifteen; number horizontally five to twelve; number to the square inch thirty to one hundred eighty.
-woof.--always cotton, sometimes dyed brown.
-sides.--nearly always overcast with different colored yarns. occasionally finished flat.
-ends.--short fringe with loose warp threads at each end; occasionally they are knotted.
-border.--usually consists of two narrow and one wide central stripe. the latter frequently carries the herati design.
-prevailing colors.--different shades of red, blue, and green. also ivory, white, brown, old rose, and sometimes yellow.
-dyes.--as a rule are good. aniline dyes are found in many of the very new pieces.
-designs.--usually the medallion centre with or without corners to match. characteristic angular ornamentation. shah abbas, herati, and sardar designs frequently used.
-sizes.--six to ten by ten to twenty-six feet. seldom in small sizes.
-remarks.--rather rare compared with the rest of the herez products. among the most desirable of the large carpets. until very recently they have been perfectly free from outside influences.
-why so named.--after a small village in the herez district.
-where made.--throughout the herez district.
-knot.--usually the senna, occasionally the ghiordes. number vertically from eight to fifteen; number horizontally from six to twelve; number to the square inch forty-eight to one hundred eighty.
-it is not necessary to explain that croce's intuition has nothing in common either with the mystic intuition of the neoplatonists or of the ultra-romantics, or with the intuition which bergson substitutes for the intellect as the proper organ of absolute knowledge. it is not a mysterious instrument of the mind, by which man can either come in contact with supernatural realities, or, renouncing that which is distinctively human in him, enter into the actual movement and life of nature. the fact that croce has spent so much time and thought in trying to understand this first, naã¯ve, elementary grade of the theoretical activity, does not justify his critics in putting him in the same class either with romantic metaphysicians or with romantic naturalists. that such a confusion has ever been possible is only a further proof of the immaturity and superficiality of a large part of our most solemn contemporary thought. it shows how it has been given to grown-up and apparently educated men, to read a book without knowing what its subject was, and without even being able to shield themselves behind the saving grace of silence.
-an objection of a quite different order was raised by croce himself, who found its solution in the elaboration of his philosophy of the practical, or of will. it can be said of the theory of art as intuition, that it reduces art to a form of knowledge, to a theoretical function, while what we look for in works of art is life and movement, and the feeling and personality of the artist, that is, something that is not theoretical but practical. the answer might be that the feeling is content and the intuition form; but such a dualistic point of view would in reality destroy not only croce's ã¦sthetics, but the foundations of his whole philosophy of mind. and we would be back at a position which we thought we had already criticised and surpassed. the truth is that intuition, and the personality, or lyrical character, of a work of art, are only different aspects of the same spiritual process, that where one is, the other too will have to be found. what we can abstract as the psychic content of intuition, since we have already excluded abstractions and concepts, is only what we call appetition, tendency, feeling, will--the various facts which constitute the practical form of the human spirit. pure intuition cannot represent anything but the will in its manifestations, that is, nothing but states of mind. and the states of mind are that passion, feeling, and personality which we find in art, and which determine its lyrical character.
-in order properly to understand this new point of view, it must be borne in mind that the lyrical character of the poetry does not however coincide with the practical passion of the poet: the relation between the emotion and the intuition is not a deterministic one, as of cause and effect, but a creative one, as of matter and form. the poetical vibration is different in kind from the practical one. if i grasp croce's meaning correctly, the feeling and movement which we find in art is something that belongs intrinsically to the intuitive activity--it is the dynamic of the creative process itself. and in fact, what we look for in the works of art is not the empirical personality of the artist, but the tonality of his individual ã¦sthetic activity, which is always new and always unmistakably his own,--not the rhythm of his passion but that of his vision or contemplation, of his intuition of the passion. any other way of considering this relation would inevitably lead us back to the conventional distinction of form and content, to the attribution of ã¦sthetic characters to the emotions themselves, and to a definition of intuition not as a simple and primitive fact, but as a combination of the practical and the theoretical, of will and knowledge. i consider this deduction of the lyrical character of intuition as one of the points of croce's ã¦sthetics which opens the way to new problems and stand in need of further elaboration; but what is important in it, and already firmly established, is the recognition of this character, through which the whole doctrine of intuition gains a deeper and richer meaning, and becomes more apt to deal with the concrete facts of our ã¦sthetic experience.
-iii. the concept of art
-further determinations of the concept of art--theoretical and practical activity--the progress of ã¦sthetic theories--an american instance: morality and art--the typical--the ends of art--the process of ã¦sthetic production--relations of the ã¦sthetic with the practical activity--the delusion of objective beauty--ã†sthetic hedonism--the ã¦sthetic value.
-the determination of the concept of art as pure intuition would be little more than a verbal variation of older doctrines, if its validity and importance could not be proved in the actual practice of thought on ã¦sthetic problems, in the study of the relations of the ã¦sthetic fact with the other facts of human activity, and in the criticism of errors which have invaded the field of ã¦sthetic thought through a confusion of the ã¦sthetic with the intellectual or the practical. we shall therefore not be able to grasp the new concept in the fulness of its meaning until we have surveyed the whole ground of the philosophy of mind: the ã¦sthetic concept cannot be said to be fully determined until we have a clear conception of the other fundamental grades or forms of the spirit. for the purposes of our exposition, we may however anticipate a summary or scheme of the essential relations, which will be more fully developed in the following chapters.
-we have already seen how the logical activity springs from the soil of the pure intuition; how the knowledge of the universal follows the knowledge of the individual. the ã¦sthetic and the logic grade, of which the second implies the first, exhaust the whole of knowledge, the whole theoretical life of man. a third grade or form does not exist: not in history, which croce still considered, in the first years of this period, as reducible to the concept of art, and differentiated from it only by its employment of the predicate of existence, of the distinction between reality and imagination; and not in the natural and mathematical sciences, which elaborate the data of intuition through fictions, hypotheses, and conventions, which are practical and not theoretical processes.
-the relation between the theoretical and the practical activity is of the same kind as that between the two grades of the theoretical activity: that is, the first is the basis of the second. we can think of a knowing which is independent from the will, but not of a will which is independent of knowledge: it is impossible to will without historical intuitions and a knowledge of relations. within the practical activity, we can further distinguish two grades corresponding to the two grades of the theoretical activity: the economic, which is the will of the individual, of a particular end, and the ethic, which is the will of the universal, of the rational end. the relation between the economic and the ethic activity is again the same grade-relation as between the ã¦sthetic and the logic, the theoretical and the practical. the concrete life of the human spirit consists in the perpetually recurring cycle of the four grades of its activity, which is the law of its unity and development. the concept rises from the intuition, and action from knowledge; ethical activity is not conceivable without a theoretical foundation, and the concreteness of a particular end. at the close of the cycle, the spiritual life itself becomes the object of a new intuition, from which a new concept and a new action are reproduced ad infinitum. in the history of ã¦sthetics, the errors deriving from the confusion of that which is distinctively ã¦sthetic with other forms of theoretical or practical activity, present themselves as a series of doctrines, which can be considered as gradual approximations to the definition of art as intuition. it is not necessarily, or not only, a chronological series, but rather a succession of actual moments in the deduction of the concept of art. empirical ã¦sthetics recognises the existence of a class of ã¦sthetic or artistic facts, without attempting to reduce them under a single concept; practical (hedonistic or moralistic) ã¦sthetics makes a first attempt at interpreting them by putting them in relation with one of the categories of spiritual activity; intellectualiste ã¦sthetics denies that they belong to the practical sphere, though failing to discover their precise theoretical character; agnostic ã¦sthetics criticises all the preceding moments, and is satisfied with a purely negative definition; mystic ã¦sthetics, conscious of the difference of ã¦sthetic from logical facts, makes a new spiritual category of them, affirms their autonomy and independence, but mistakes the nature of their relation with conceptual knowledge. we are all more or less familiar with the various aspects of these doctrines, and it can be said that none of them (with the exception of the first, which is now represented by psychologic ã¦sthetics) is now being held consistently by any responsible thinker. the truth of the intuitive theory, which we find adumbrated already in classical antiquity in the aristotelian theory of mimesis, and of which artists and critics have always had a kind of obscure presentiment, is now implicitly recognised by all who have an intimate contact with and a sincere feeling for art and poetry. the literary and artistic development of the end of the eighteenth and of the nineteenth century has been accompanied by such a wealth of critical thought, that a conscious understanding of the nature of art is now much more frequent than in former ages. the forces that were at work liberating logical and moral thought from the shackles of the past, reacted vigorously on ã¦sthetic thought, and helped to make it more and more independent from both intellectualistic and moralistic errors. it would be possible to extract aphorisms and meditations from the writings of the greatest poets, artists, and musicians of the period, to show how common among them was and is the knowledge of the spiritual autonomy and of the intuitive character of art. but because the task of the artist is not that of elaborating a philosophy of art, and a good many critics and ã¦stheticians, on the other hand, have very little experience of the actual ã¦sthetic processes, we find that though the other doctrines are discredited, yet a number of prejudices which have their roots in them are still current,--the artists themselves rejecting them, as it were, by instinct and not by reasoning, and the critics and ã¦stheticians clinging to them because they help them to gain a fictitious possession of that artistic reality which escapes them in its purity and actuality. an intellectualiste or moralistic critic can easily mask his lack of ã¦sthetic taste, his fundamental ignorance of art, by talking at length and with great solemnity about unessentials. artists and poets, on the other hand, are apt to react to these prejudices by falling into the errors of ã¦stheticism, that is by attributing to their empirical selves the freedom that belongs to their function, and by denying in the name of art the autonomy and dignity of intellectual and moral values. in both cases, what is manifestly lacking is a proper understanding of the meaning of logical, or ideal distinctions, for which the artists, i suppose, ought to be more readily forgiven than the critics, though ã¦stheticism may be as dangerous to art as moralism or intellectualism are to thought.
-a recent literary polemic in america offered some striking examples of these prejudices. a critic of the older school, in a discussion of the moral tendencies of the age, introduced a criticism of the proposition that art is not concerned either with truth or morality, by affirming that this negative proposition could legitimately be converted into the positive one: the object of art is to deny that which truth and morality affirm. the sophism of this conversion is based on a confusion between the two logical concepts of distinction and opposition. the critic was not deducing a logical consequence of the first proposition, any more than if he were interpreting my saying that i am not interested as a student of literature in the law of gravitation, as implying a disbelief in the law of gravitation: he was merely stating his own conception of art as a conceptual and moral function, and of the value of art as an intellectual and moral value; which is the error of intellectualism and moralism. in his reply to the older critic, a writer of the younger generation contended that ã¦sthetic values are higher than either logical or moral values, and in some mysterious way transcend and comprehend them both. the younger writer was evidently using the same kind of logic as his adversary, and affirming on his own account the error of a variety of ã¦stheticism.
-what the original proposition actually implies is that judgments regarding the logical truth or the historical verity, the moral merit or demerit of a work of art, do not treat art as art, but dissolve the work itself into its abstract elements, and deal with these elements in an entirely different context. if i discuss the theology and philosophy of dante, i shall find a number of propositions which to my mind are untrue; but the beauty of dante's poetry is incommensurable with the truth or falsehood of his logical thought. the beauty of francesca's episode is not impaired by the quite reasonable suspicion that the poetical idealization of a guilty passion might have a dangerous influence on weak and sentimental souls.
-the imperfect distinction between art and logical or scientific truth is responsible for the critical prejudice of art as expressive of the typical. the typical is a product of abstract thought, of the kind that is employed in the natural sciences. the expressions of art are essentially individual and particular, and when we consider them as typical, we merely use them as the starting point for our own abstractions, that is, for the purposes of a quite different mental process. similar to the concept of the typical are those of the allegory and symbol, which are mechanical constructions of the intellect, and which art is unable to represent unless it reduces them to the particular and concrete.
-the confusion between art and morality, being ultimately founded on the supposition that art is not a theoretical function, but an act of the will, gives rise to the theories of the ends of art, and of the so-called choice of the subject. but the end of art is art itself, expression or beauty, or whatever other name we shall give to the ã¦sthetic value, just as the end of science is truth and the end of morality is goodness; that is, the concept of end coincides in every case with the concept of value. and the artist cannot choose his subject, since there is no abstract subject present to his mind, but only the world of his own already formed intuitions and expressions; which he can neither will nor not will. this is the truth contained in the old idea of poetical inspiration, which was merely another word for the spontaneity and unreflectiveness of art. a choice of the subject according to ends other than ã¦sthetic is a certain cause of failure. the only conceivable meaning that advice as to the choice of a subject may have, is a kind of artistic know thyself, a warning to the artist to be true to himself, to follow his inspiration, and that which is deepest and most genuine in it. it is, however, a tautological meaning, and the reverse of the one which is given to it by the moralistic critic.
-if it is impossible for us either to will or not will our ã¦sthetic vision, the internal image which is the true "work of art," it is clear that an element of will enters into the production of the physical or external image, made of sounds or lines or colours or shapes, which we call works of art in a naturalistic or empirical sense. the complete process of ã¦sthetic production is symbolized by croce in the four following stages: a, the impression; b the expression or ã¦sthetic spiritual synthesis; c, the feeling of pleasure or pain which accompanies the ã¦sthetic as well as any other form of spiritual activity; d, the translation of the ã¦sthetic fact into physical phenomena. the only true ã¦sthetic moment of the whole process is in b, which alone is real expression, while d is expression in the naturalistic and abstract sense of the word. such a conception clashes against a number of deep-rooted fallacies, which in their turn are the source of innumerable ã¦sthetic prejudices. it is clear, however, that what we call a printed poem is no poem at all, but only a collection of conventional black signs on a white page, which suggest to me a number of movements of my vocal organs destined to the production of certain sounds; and again, that these sounds are not the poem in itself, apart from my understanding of their meaning, from my re-creation of the internal image which prompted their original production now recorded in the pages of a book. physically, a painting is constituted by colours on a wall, or board, or canvas: here, the first stage of reproduction which is required for the written poem is not necessary: the material (visual, as it was auditive for the poem) on which the original image fixed itself is directly present to me; and yet, again, that material object is not the ã¦sthetic vision, but a mere stimulus for its reproduction. starting from the material object, croce symbolized the inverse process of ã¦sthetic reproduction in the following series: e, the physical stimulus; d-b, the perception of physical facts (sound, colours, etc.), which is at the same time the ã¦sthetic synthesis previously produced; c, the ã¦sthetic pleasure or pain. here, again, the only moment of true ã¦sthetic activity is in b where, at least in the hypothesis of a perfect understanding, my vision coincides with the orignal creation.
-it must be understood, however, that these successive stages are not real, but abstract or symbolical distinctions. we cannot re-create an ã¦sthetic vision except through the sounds or colours in which it originally expressed itself; and those sounds or colours coincide with the original expression. the words and rhythm of a poem are to it what the body is to the soul, and once you have dissolved that form, there is nothing left. hence the theoretical impossibility of a translation, which can only exist as a new creation. but when we consider those words or that rhythm not within the expressive synthesis, in which their reality is spiritual and not physical, but outside it, as words, as rhythm, we build up by abstraction a category of physical facts, to which we attribute a reality not inferior to that of the spiritual activity. b and d, in the preceding analysis, are not different realities, but different elaborations, the first, ideal, the second, naturalistic, of the same fact.
-we have now established a relation between the ã¦sthetic and the practical activity: the physical expression is an act of the will, and as such it falls legitimately in the domain of both economic and ethical judgments. we may buy or sell the physical stimuli, books, statues, and paintings, though no amount of wealth can give the ã¦sthetic vision: the possession of the objects of art is of another order than the possession of the spiritual creation. we may consider that the communication of a certain intuition is in certain cases morally undesirable, and censure the artist for having willed it, or try to prevent him from accomplishing it. the principle of the spiritual autonomy of art, necessary to establish the nature of ã¦sthetic value, cannot be understood to imply the absolute practical freedom of the artist from the laws that bind all other men. but even from this point of view, there is no doubt that art is more likely to suffer from excessive constraint than from excessive freedom; and that the fanatics of morality in art are only too often inclined to mistake a set of arbitrary rulings for morality, and to overlook the intention of the artist. it is a significant fact, and one which deserves more attention than it seems to have ever received, that the so-called moral condemnation of a true work of art has never outlasted one or two generations, and their prejudices and weaknesses.
-the existence of the physical stimuli or material helps for the ã¦sthetic reproduction, fosters the illusion of beauty as an intrinsic attribute of physical objects, first as artistic, and then as natural beauty. it is hardly necessary to criticise this illusion at this point of our discussion: beauty is not an objective attribute, but a spiritual value. in the same way as there is no intrinsic beauty, independent dent of our either creative or re-creative activity, in words or notes or lines or colours, there is also no category of natural beauty. what we call beauty of nature is either that which in nature is merely pleasureable from a practical and sensuous standpoint, or the presence of certain stimuli for the reproduction of a preã«xistent ã¦sthetic vision. we recognise the obvious truth of this fact, when we remark that the beauty of a certain landscape is not visible to everybody, but only to him who looks at it with an artist's eye. and it would be possible to write a history of the progressive development of beauty in nature, which would practically coincide with, or follow at a short distance of time, the various stages of the history of poetry and painting.
-closely related with the confusion between the physical attributes of the objects of art, and the true ã¦sthetic value, are all the theories of ã¦sthetics which consider that the end of art is pleasure, or ã¦sthetic hedonism in its various forms. of these the most ancient is the one that considers beautiful that which gives pleasure to the higher senses, he hearing and the sight; and other forms of it can still be found, if not among artists and critics, at least among psychologists. two of the most recent interpretations of ã¦sthetic facts, the theory of empathy or einfã¼hlung and the theory of tactile values, are merely modern scientific variations of the old prejudice. but no hedonistic theory can ever give a consistent account of ã¦sthetic facts, as it is impossible to draw a distinction, on a purely psychological plane, between those pleasures of the senses which may precede or accompany the ã¦sthetic fact, and those that are purely sensuous; and the inevitable result is a complete reduction of the ã¦sthetic to the sensual. in such theories, the real ã¦sthetic problem does not even reach the stage of being formulated.
-the truth that the hedonist obscurely foresees is that every spiritual activity is constantly accompanied by the practical reflex of satisfaction and dissatisfaction, pleasure and pain, value and dis-value. value is every activity that unfolds itself freely, dis-value is the contrasted, hindered, impeded unfolding of the same activity. if we call beauty the ã¦sthetic value, then beauty is but the successful expression, or better, the expression, since an unsuccessful expression is not an expression at all. and it is not necessary to repeat that by expression we distinctly mean not the physical stimulus, but the spiritual synthesis.
-with this definition of ã¦sthetic value we reach one of the most important points of croce's thought: the solution of what he calls the dualism of values, or ideals, to the concrete realities. as the beautiful expression is simply expression, the true thought is simply thought, and so on, so the ugly expression or the false thought are non-expression and non-thought, the non-being which has no reality outside the moment of its opposition and criticism.
-art and technique--errors deriving from the common conception of technique--the theories of the particular arts--the literary genres --the rhetorical categories--the categories of language--genius and taste--the ã¦sthetic judgment--the idolatry of standards--the ã¦sthetic standard: the true objectivity--criticism and history.
-the relation between the ã¦sthetic activity and the practical moment of the production of the physical objects of art may be regarded under the aspect of the relation between art and technique. the only legitimate meaning of the word technique is that of a body of naturalistic knowledge in the service of the practical activity of the artist. in this sense we can conceive of a great artist who is a poor technician, as in the case of a painter who should use colours subject to rapid change and deterioration, a musician who should be a bad singer or pianist, a poet who should not be able to recite his own poetry. but in the common language of critics, we mean by technique something quite different--in painting what we call drawing or composition, in music, harmony or orchestration, in poetry, metre and construction. now it is quite clear that we cannot conceive of a great painter who could not draw, a great musician unable to harmonize or to orchestrate, a great poet whose lines are defective. what we here isolate as the technical handling of an artistic subject is but the process of ã¦sthetic creation itself, the succession and progression of intuitions in the artist's mind; using the naturalistic or psychological method, we abstract certain moments of the creative process, and we attribute a reality to such abstractions. we talk of the technique of a poem or of a painting as being something that has been superadded to the original intuition; we see the poet or the artist engaged in learning the technique of his art; we see him correcting or modifying his original expression according to certain technical standards. but what we call the technique of a poem or of a painting is that particular poem or painting in its concreteness; and no poet or artist can learn a technique except by re-creating in his own spirit the work of the great masters, his technical education being but one with his ã¦sthetic education; and finally, the process of correction or modification is merely a stage of the expressive process itself: no poet can correct a line in his poem, no painter change a line or a shade in his picture, if the internal image has not first spontaneously undergone such corrections and changes in his mind.
-the consequences of the common conception of technique in criticism are more dangerous, because more subtle and affecting a more intimate knowledge of art, than those of any other ã¦sthetic error. the talk of the connoisseur and of the average musical or dramatic critic is full of such fallacies as the technical errors of great painters, the harmonic or orchestral wonders of poor music, the faulty construction of a great play; fallacies which may sometimes have originated from some real character of the ã¦sthetic fact, but which are mere contradictions in terms. and the literary critic will speak of the fine frenzy and the quiet eye, meaning by the one, the abstract inspiration, and by the other the abstract production, and so miss the true ã¦sthetic moment which is neither the one nor the other, but the synthesis of the two. or he will oppose romanticism to classicism, in a similar sense, without realizing that all art is at the same time romantic and classic, truly inspired, and because truly inspired, able to express itself.
-mere variations of the naturalistic or psychological conception of technique, as an actual moment of the ã¦sthetic creation, are a series of theories which croce has extensively criticised, and of which we can give but a cursory account.
-the theories of the particular arts and of their limits originate from the manuals of practical precepts useful to architects, sculptors, painters or musicians, and are founded on the assumed possibility of finding a field of the ã¦sthetic activity corresponding to the physical means employed by each category of artists. but we have already seen that in the ã¦sthetic fact there is no distinction between means and end: we can speak of the various arts in a purely empirical sense, as an external classification of the objects of art, but not as classes of ã¦sthetic activity.
-a similar kind of classification is the one which gives rise to the literary genre, and to similar abstractions in the other arts: legitimate instruments of work as long as we do not forget that there does not exist anything like the idea of a tragedy or sonata apart from all concrete tragedies or sonatas, and as long as we do not condemn a new tragedy or a new sonata simply because it is not like the old ones, that is, as long as we do not transform an abstract type into a law. every new ã¦sthetic creation, far from being bound to obey external laws, establishes new laws, or rather is its own law. it must, and will, answer only for itself, and the only claim that we can put upon it is that of internal coherence. both the theories of the arts and the theories of the genres, when we try to treat them as true and rigorous, and not as mere practical expedients, manifest the absurdity of their task through their incapacity to give precise and absolute definitions. every work of art expresses a state of mind, and every state of mind is irreducibly individual and new: a complete classification would therefore be only that in which every class has under itself a single intuition.
-another form of the technical prejudice is the creation of rhetorical categories, which are also abstract classes of expressions tending to transform themselves into precepts. the main prejudice of rhetoric, in literature as well as in all other arts, is that of the distinction between the simple and the ornate, which is founded on a conception of beauty not as the value of the expression, but as something that can be added, so to speak, mechanically, to the expression. because of its preceptive character, rhetoric has done more harm in the history of poetry and art, than any of the other classifications of the same order; and though it is generally discredited among artists and critics to-day, in its pure original form, yet rhetorical prejudices, both in the creation and judgment of art, are still endowed with an obstinately vigorous life.
-these naturalistic classifications in art have their counterpart in the study of language, in the creation of grammatical genres or categories or parts of speech, and in the attempts to reduce the empirical grammars to preceptive or normative grammars: that is, a practical or pedagogic expedient, to a rhetoric or technique of language. but the individuality and indivisibility of expression is in the nature of language as well as of art, and language obeys not the abstract precepts of grammarians, but the law of the ã¦sthetic spirit which makes us find a new expression for every new intuition. even phonetic laws, the modern scientific instruments of grammar, are mere descriptive summaries of observed facts, of physical moments abstracted from their spiritual reality, and therefore abstract or naturalistic laws, and never actually represent the concrete, individually determined facts of language.
-a coherent theory of ã¦sthetic (literary and artistic) criticism can be deduced from the concept of art as intuition, and we have already anticipated its main theses in the discussion of the concept itself. we have seen that in the process of reproduction of an ã¦sthetic process, the actual moment in which the original image, through the medium of what we have abstracted as the physical stimulus, reproduces itself in a mind other than that of the creator (or, in what we might consider as a particular case, in the mind of the creator himself at a time other than that of the original creation), is a moment of ã¦sthetic activity identical with that of creation. given an identity of circumstances, that which takes place within my mind is the same ã¦sthetic process which took place originally in the mind of the artist. if we call genius the creative, and taste the reproductive activity, the corollary of these considerations is that of the identity of genius and taste: in the act of contemplating and judging a work of art, our spirit becomes one with the spirit of the artist. though in practice this identity may never be attained (because of variations in the material conditions of the physical stimulus, or in the spiritual attitude of the contemplator), yet if we deny it, and establish a difference in kind between these two aspects of ã¦sthetic activity, we find ourselves inevitably led to exclude the possibility not of the ã¦sthetic judgment only, but of all forms of ã¦sthetic communication. there is a sense in which we can speak of the relativity of taste, and which accounts for the actual variety of judgments, not in relation to art only, but to all forms of human activity: every judgment is relative to our knowledge, at a particular moment, of the actual conditions in which the work of art was originally produced. but this is the intrinsic relativity of all the particular determinations of reality, not a relativity peculiar to ã¦sthetic values, which are as real, though of a different order, as those of logic or morality.
-but the ã¦sthetic judgment itself is not the mere intuitive reproduction of the work of art, made possible by what we call historical criticism in the narrow sense of the word, that is, by interpretation and comment. these are the antecedent of the ã¦sthetic judgment, which consists in a logical proposition of the form: "a is art," or "a is not art," "a is art in a b c, a is not art in d e f"; or again: "there is a fact, a, which is a work of art," "there is a fact, a, which is falsely believed to be a work of art." the ã¦sthetic judgment, like all other judgments, establishes a relation between a particular, concrete fact, and a universal category, which is that of art. and, like all other judgments, it is at the same time a judgment of value and an historical judgment, which is the obvious consequence of croce's identification of value and fact. ã†sthetic criticism therefore coincides with the history of the ã¦sthetic activity, with the history of poetry or art.
-a frequent reaction to croce's ã¦sthetics, and to its implications in the theory of criticism, especially among literary critics, is a sense of irritation caused by the loss of the so-called standards of judgment. it would be interesting to analyze these supposed standards, which generally are not explicitly enunciated (probably because their clear enunciation would manifest their true nature, and annul them as standards of ã¦sthetic judgment), but only more or less obscurely referred to with a mixture of pride and reverence. they would then show themselves to be the critical duplicates of the various ã¦sthetic errors which we have already discussed.
-if the standards of which the critics speak are, as is often the case, moral or intellectual ideals, it is clear that croce's ã¦sthetics does not question their validity, but only their application. there is a large number of literary critics, who are such only in name, and whose real interests are intellectual or moral, critics of thought and of the ethical life, and not of art. they use works of art as documents and undoubtedly works of art are, in the unity of the human spirit, documents of intellectual and moral life; but their error begins when they confuse the issues, and censure or praise the art of the past, or try to influence the art of the future, with criteria which are no longer intellectual or moral, but, because they have been transposed outside their legitimate sphere, intellectualistic and moralistic.
-all other so-called standards are derived from the abstract ideas of literary genres and of rhetorical categories. it is easy to judge of a new tragedy if you know what a tragedy ought to be, if you have a catalogue of purely external characteristics which you may either find, or not find, in the new work that comes before you. this is, of course, the crudest form of rhetorical criticism; there is another which is not less frequent, but more subtle. the critic builds up an ideal of what art ought to be, not with abstract categories, and classifications transformed into arbitrary ã¦sthetic precepts or standards, but through his predilection for one particular author, or for one particular epoch, the middle ages or the renaissance, the classics or the romantics: every work of art which is different either in spirit or in form from those that have been chosen is condemned in proportion to its variation from the ideal. this form of criticism is often also vitiated by the intrusion of intellectualistic and moralistic errors, since an ideal which is a mere particular determination of the past assumed as a universal value is likely to be mere rhetoric of thought and morality as well as of art.
-the only legitimate standard in ã¦sthetic criticism is the ã¦sthetic standard, that of beauty or expression, as against ugliness or non-expression. our critical judgment is the reaction of our ã¦sthetic personality in the presence of a work of art, as the moral judgment is the reaction of our moral personality in the presence of an action. our knowledge of a work of art, of a concrete and individual intuition, as our knowledge of an action, approaches more or less to the ideal limit, according to the breadth of our experience and the depth of our understanding; but there exist no external criteria on which we can rest our judgment, no mechanical props which will support it. this theory of criticism, far from justifying a capricious and arbitrary subjectivism, requires from the critic a constant vigilance against that which is narrowly personal, capricious, and arbitrary in himself; a patient, unceasing effort in the labor of recapturing and recreating the material and spiritual circumstances from which the work of art originally sprang; and the quick sensitivity of the artist coupled with the wide understanding of the historian and the philosopher.
-when ã¦sthetic criticism is raised to this plane on which it coincides with the history of poetry, or of art, it transforms itself necessarily into a general criticism of life. what to the ã¦sthetic consciousness appears as ugly or non-expressive, since in the world of history there are no negative facts, will not, when historically considered, appear as a negative value, but as a value of another order, as an intrusion of the logical or of the practical spirit in the work of the poet or of the artist. what in the divine comedy is not poetry is the outcome of philosophical or moral preoccupations which have not become art, have not fused themselves into a new, coherent intuition, and must be apprehended not as art, but as philosophy and morality. the allegory of the fã¦rie queene is not art, but it is an expression of certain aspects of the protestant spirit in the england of elizabeth. in a poet like byron, the presence of practical motives is felt all through his poetical production; and the critic cannot limit his work to tracting the gems, and to saying of all the rest: this is not poetry. he must tell us what it is, and only by telling what it is, he criticises it completely as poetry. it is impossible, in fact, to give to art its place, without assigning its place to all the other activities of life. the great ã¦sthetic critic will also be a critic of philosophy, of morality, of politics; but, as croce says of de sanctis, the strength of his purely ã¦sthetic consideration of art will also be the strength of his purely moral consideration of morality, of his purely logical consideration of philosophy, and so on. the forms or grades of the spirit, which the critic employs as categories for his judgment, are ideally distinct in the unity of the spirit, but cannot materially be separated from each other or from that unity without losing all their vitality. the distinction of ã¦sthetic criticism from the other forms of criticism, of the history of poetry and the arts from the other kinds of history, is but an empirical one, pointing to the fact that the attention of the critic or historian is turned towards one aspect rather than another of the same indivisible reality.
-the function of logic in the system--the concept--logical concepts and conceptual fictions--the pure concept as the unity of distinctions-- singularity, particularity and universality--the dialectic process in hegel and in croce--opposition, distinction and value--the expressiveness of the concept--definition and individual judgment: their identity--classification and numeration--the a priori synthesis.
-we have summarily examined in the three preceding chapters the theory of ã¦sthetic, or intuitive, or individual, as distinct from logical, or conceptual, or universal, knowledge. we must now leave the ã¦sthetic activity in the background as the mere antecedent of the logical one, and proceed to investigate the latter.
-in a sense it may be said that the key to every system of philosophy is to be found in the either implicit or explicit solution given to certain logical problems and that only by understanding the logic of a philosopher can we be sure to give its true meaning and value to his thought. the reverse is, as a general rule, also true: any solution of a particular problem, any particular elaboration of the concept, when fully understood, will lead us back to the philosopher's logic, to his concept of the concept. the main points of croce's logic could easily be deduced from his ã¦sthetics; but an untrained mind might unwittingly transpose the whole ã¦sthetic theory on a purely psychological plane, and involve it again in the errors and contradictions of which it aims at being a conclusive refutation. a study of croce's logic will render such a shifting of the perspective impossible. it will show that a discussion of croce's ã¦sthetics has no meaning except on the logical plane on which croce has put it, and that therefore any serious objection to it ought necessarily to imply either a revision of the logical premises, or a demonstration that the actual logical processes are not rigorously in accord with these premises. what is here said of croce's ã¦sthetics is valid also for croce's economics or ethics, and the reason is obvious. croce's logica is not a manual of logic, in a scholastic and formalistic sense: it is the exposition of his conception of the logical activity, and therefore the philosophy of his philosophy.
-this method of approach to the logical problems, although unusual in our times, and antagonistic to the general tendencies of our culture, is not only, as its opponents assume, that of kant and hegel, but that of the whole tradition of european philosophy, beginning with socrates, plato, and aristotle. it was only in epochs of philosophical decadence that logic reduced itself to a mere formalism or instrumentalism, ism, to a doctrine of the means of thought, as opposed to its proper function, which is that of inquiring into the nature of thought, and therefore, since there is no way by which we can reach reality except through thought, into the nature of reality itself. to croce, as before him to hegel, the philosophical tradition is not a capricious sequel of unrelated speculations, but a series of connected efforts through which the human mind becomes progressively conscious of its own functions and structure. nothing is more alien from him than that type of philosophical criticism, which exhausts itself in an attempt at reducing under a common denominator apparently similar solutions of problems, which in fact are profoundly different in their historical determination: but this consciousness of the historical factor in philosophy, far from breeding in him a sense of scepticism and of the relativity of truth, impels him to consider every effective thought as a necessary moment of truth, and to represent therefore the succession of effective thoughts, critically separated from what in the various concrete philosophies is merely postulated or imagined, as a perpetual integration of truth. this attitude explains why the immediate foundations of croce's logic should be kant's a priori synthesis and hegel's dialectic, that is, the highest stages of the development of european thought before the positivistic anti-metaphysical reaction which swept away for a time, not the last traces of transcendental metaphysics only, but philosophy and logic itself; and why also, among all the recent critics of kant and hegel, croce should be one of the keenest and sharpest. his sure grasp of fundamentals made it easy for him to demolish all that is artificial and unessential in their systems; as is particularly evident in the case of hegel, who emerged from croce's criticism as the discoverer of one great principle and at the same time the creator, through the misapplication of the same principle, of many a false science.
-this return to the philosophical tradition, which between the end of the last and the beginning of this century, was not limited to croce and to italy only, was accompanied and indirectly favoured by the researches of pure scientists on the method of exact and natural sciences. the economic theory of the scientific concept, such as it appears especially in the works of mach and avenarius, and to an understanding of which croce had been prepared by his own studies on marxism, was probably the most efficient instrument in destroying from within the pseudo-scientific constructions of positivism. the scientists themselves, by defining the limits of scientific thought, proved the impossibility of building a philosophy which should be at the same time a synthesis of all particular sciences and a system of reality. the conclusions of this new scientific methodology are on the whole accepted by croce, and the fact that they naturally fall into their proper place in his logic is the most valid justification of his method, to which the distinction between the concept of philosophy and the concepts of the sciences is essential.
-we need not point to the object of logic, or concept, as we did in a former chapter to the object of ã¦sthetics, or intuition. the writing of this book implies a belief in its existence, and we could take practically any page of it as an example of what we mean by concept, or logical knowledge. we shall not therefore pause to confute logical scepticism, except by repeating the old argument that it is impossible to deny the existence of the concept except through the formulation of a concept. such affirmations as that there is no other knowledge than the ã¦sthetic one, or the one which is given by the ineffable intuition of the mystic, or by practical fictions, are in their turn neither ã¦sthetic knowledge nor mystical intuitions, nor practical fictions, but affirmations, however contradictory in themselves, of a universal value and of an absolute character, that is, concepts. through them, it is possible immediately to distinguish the logical form of knowledge, as represented by such affirmations, from the ã¦sthetic or representative one, from the sentimental or practical state of mind of the mystic, and from those concepts which are mere empirical fictions. it is evident, in this last instance, that the theory of the fiction cannot be a new fiction, but must belong to an activity of a different kind, the logical activity, whose value is truth.
-of those three forms of logical scepticism, ã¦stheticism, mysticism, and empiricism, the third one leads us to the distinction between the logical concept and the scientific concepts, or fictions. the logical or pure concept is beyond all individual representations, and must therefore not contain any particular representative element; but, on the other hand, being the universal as opposed to the individuality of representations, it must refer to all and each of them. if we think, for instance, of the concepts of beauty, truth, quality, development, and such like, it will be impossible for us to represent or imagine a sufficiently large fragment of reality that will exhaust them, or such an infinitesimal one as will not admit them. this is what is meant by saying that the concept is at the same time universal and concrete, or, in other words, that it is transcendent in respect to every single representation, and yet immanent in all of them. a third characteristic of the pure concept, besides those of universality and concreteness, is that of expressivity: being a product of knowledge, it must be expressed and spoken, and cannot be a dumb act of the mind, such as practical acts are.
-the conceptual fictions, or, as croce called them on account of their non-theoretical character, the pseudo-concepts differ from the pure concept in being either concrete and representative but not universal, or universal without any possible reference to individual representations, that is, without concreteness. the first class is that of empirical concepts, which contain some objects or fragments of reality, but not the whole of reality: such as the concepts of house, cat, rose. the second is that of abstract concepts, which contain no object or fragment of reality: such as those of triangle in geometry or of free movement in physics. the first are real, but not rigorous, the second rigorous, but unreal. neither the ones nor the others can be considered as mistaken concepts or errors, since after having criticised them from a logical point of view, we still continue to use them for what they are; nor as imperfect concepts, and preparatory to the perfect ones, since their formation presupposes the existence of the perfect and rigorous ones: it would be impossible to conceive the house, the rose, the triangle, before conceiving quantity, quality, existence, and other pure concepts. it is true that in the actual development of thought, conceptual fictions have again and again given birth to true concepts; but in that case they have lost their intrinsic nature, and have assumed the characters of the genuine logical activity. in order to understand the proper function or nature of the conceptual fictions, it is necessary to fix our attention on the moment of their formation, which is practical and not logical. their justification lies in their practical end and in their usefulness: they are instruments by the help of which we can recall with a single word vast groups of representations, or which indicate in a single word what kind of operation is required in order to find certain representations. the act of forming intellectual fictions is neither an act of knowledge nor of not-knowledge; logically, it is neither rational nor irrational (true or untrue); its rationality is of another order, practical and not logical. the activity which produces pure concepts, and that which produces empirical or abstract concepts, have been called respectively reason and abstract intellect, or intuition and intellect; to which terminology croce objects that the word intellect is certainly inappropriate to a non-theoretical activity. croce himself is in no need of a new name for it, since he considers it one with the general practical activity, will or action.
-the definition that we have given of the pure concept seems to clash against an insuperable difficulty arising from the multiplicity of concepts. if the concept is an elaboration of reality as a universal, how can we admit the existence of more than one concept? beauty and truth are both concrete universals, and yet they are not the same universal: they have the same logical form, but they denote different aspects of reality. if this variety of the concepts, that is, of the aspects of reality, were insuperable, we should fall from the irreducible multiplicity of representations into a not less irreductible multiplicity of concepts, which would in the end justify a new logical scepticism and take us back to a mystical solution of the problem of the unity of reality. the passage from the multiple universals to the true universal would be logically impossible, and to be performed only by the help of some sort of mystical intuition.
-the solution of this difficulty has already been hinted at in the discussion of the relations between intuition and concept, and between knowledge and will. the theory of the successive grades of reality, in their progressive implication, is the true form of the concept. croce affirms the unity of reality, as a consequence of the unity of the concept, of the form through which only reality is known. but if we suppress the distinction, the unity that we reach is an empty and ineffable one: a whole is a whole only inasmuch as it has parts, as it is parts; a unity can be thought only through its distinctions. therefore the unity and the distinctions are both necessary to the concept: the distinctions are not something outside the concept, but the concept itself, which is a unity of distinctions. the mind or spirit is one, but it is impossible to think of it as a pure and simple unity, outside of the forms in which it realizes itself, and of these forms in their necessary relations. which is but a more comprehensive way of saying what we have already said speaking of one of those forms in particular, the ã¦sthetic one, that it is impossible to conceive any of them except by determining its relations with the others.
-it is necessary, however, not to convert these distinctions of the concept into abstractions: by approximation, and for a practical purpose, we can speak of a given action as a theoretical or practical one, an economic or moral one. in fact, in every fragment of reality we find the universal, and therefore all the forms of the universal. but on the other hand it is impossible to think any concrete datum, and to recognize it as an affirmation of the spirit as a whole, unless we distinguish each of its aspects in the most rigorous fashion. we shall then have a criticism of art and poetry, from the ã¦sthetic point of view; or of philosophy, from the logical one; and a moral judgment which takes into account only the individual moral initiative. the distinctions of the concept are then used as directing principles of thought, but not, in the way empirical concepts are used, as criteria for a classification of objects; nor, again, as characteristics of epochs of actual historical development, which in the end reduce themselves to types of material classification.
-croce's theory of the unity and distinctions of the concept coincides with the old division of concepts into universal, particular, and singular ones. the true logical definition is reached only by determining the singularity of a distinction in relation with the other distinctions (particularity), and with the whole (universality). for instance, the concept of beauty is intuition (singularity), knowledge (particularity), and finally spirit or mind (universality). the symbol corresponding to this peculiar relation is not that of a fine or succession, but of a circle: there is not a first and a last term of the series, a beginning and an end, but a perpetual revolution, in which every distinction in turn may appear as the beginning and the end of the series. art or philosophy, knowledge or action, may be postulated with equal reason as the end of the spirit: the true end, however, is not any of the particular forms, but only the spirit or mind or reality as a whole.
-readers who are familiar with hegelian logic will at once perceive the difference between croce's and hegel's treatment of logical distinctions. there is no attempt on the part of croce to apply to them the dialectic process, which pervades the whole of hegel's philosophy, and which is retained by croce only in its legitimate sphere which is not that of distinctions but of oppositions. the dialectic process, of which the remote ancestor is plato, and the more immediate forbears those renaissance philosophers, cusanus and bruno, who more or less obscurely affirmed the principium coincidenti㦠oppositorum, only with hegel reaches its rigorous logical expression. the most famous instance of its application is to be found in hegel's formula of the opposition of being and non-being, and of their unity in the becoming: the pure being is identical with the pure non-being, or, to say the same thing in different words, we cannot think the one without the other, and we do actually think the one and the other when we think the actual reality, which is neither being nor non-being, but becoming. being and non-being are a true couple of opposites, as ideal and real, positive and negative, value and non-value, activity and passivity, and so on. by the application of the dialectic process, all these couples are shown to be not couples of concepts, but single concepts, each couple containing the affirmation and the negation of a single concept. croce's criticism of hegel is founded on an interpretation of the dialectic process as logically valid for such couples only, and inapplicable to the distinctions of the concept, or to empirical and abstract concepts; and this criticism, while emphasizing the importance of hegel's main contribution to philosophical thought, sweeps away at one stroke all that in his philosophy has generally been considered as most distinctly hegelian both by his followers and by his adversaries.
-croce's interest in such couples of opposites as those that we have mentioned is very far from being as keen as hegel's. their dialectic solution into single concepts is implicit in every phase of croce's philosophy. this can best be seen in the constant interchange of such words as spirit and reality; each of them, when taken by itself, a pure, formal spirit, and a pure, material reality, are meaningless, while, once they have been correlated, both indicate the same concept, the spirit perpetually realizing itself in the concreteness of life: a formula which contains the whole of croce's immanentism. but within the distinctions of the concept, the dialectic process is constantly applied by croce to such oppositions as those of good and evil, true and false, beautiful and ugly, which are nothing but the double aspect, affirmative and negative, respectively, of the concepts of goodness, and truth, and beauty. we need only recall what we have said of croce's conception of ã¦sthetic value, and of value in general. the dialectic process is the logical structure of croce's concept of value. the positive element of each concept is the only real one, and a negative judgment of value is not a purely logical judgment, but a statement to which is added the expression of a desire or of an exigency. if we say: a is immoral, we mean: a follows his own immediate pleasure (a logical statement), and also: a ought to follow a higher end (the expression of a desire). a positive judgment of value, on the other hand, coincides entirely with a logical judgment, or a statement of fact. the opposition of value to fact is of the same kind as that of spirit to reality; verbal and apparent and not logical and real. the underlying reality of the opposition can be grasped only through the distinction; what in the opposition is a negative and therefore a mere abstraction can never be anything but a positive value of another order, a distinct form of activity. the action that we have judged as morally evil, if it is an action at all, belongs to the economic order, is economically rational, directed towards a particular end which confers on it its particular value; and the same applies to all the other categories of reality, in which error and evil cannot be introduced except by the substitution of one form for the other. it is impossible to distinguish a concept from its opposite as two concepts; but when a distinction is introduced, the opposition loses its negative character, and identifies itself with a distinct but positive value. error and evil as such are never present except in the act that transcends them, in the conscience that, realizing itself in a higher sphere, turns against them and condemns them. it is superfluous to point to the importance that this process lends to the distinctions themselves, which are now seen at last not as mere logical instruments, but as the actual differentiations of reality, the necessary conditions of all life and progress.
-the concept does not exist outside its verbal expression, but the relation between logical thought and language, because of the purely ã¦sthetic or intuitive nature of language, is not of the rigorous character which is postulated by the aristotelian logician, and, in more recent times, by the student of symbolic logic, who both assume language to be an essentially logical function. it would be impossible for croce to fall into that extreme of idealism which is the common vice of the verbal realist, for whom propositions, judgments, or syllogisms have a kind of absolute reality of their own, independent of the mind that thinks them. it may seem paradoxical to assert that nowhere is croce's realism more apparent than in his treatment of the verbal forms of the concept; and yet his criticism of the old logical principles and forms, running parallel to that of the rhetorical categories and genres in the field of ã¦sthetics, allows him to reach the actual workings of the logical activity with much greater intimacy than is possible through any kind of formalistic logic.
-the logical judgment, or concept, appears in two main forms: the definition, and the individual judgment. in the definition, the subject is one with the predicate, both being universal; in the individual judgment, the subject is an individual, the predicate a universal. "the intuition is the ã¦sthetic form of the spirit," is a definition; "the divine comedy is poetry," is an individual judgment. the individual judgment is one with the perception, or perceptive judgment, with the historical judgment, and, for the reason given before, with the positive judgment of value; it is the last and most perfect form of knowledge. but the distinction between the definition and the individual judgment is not an ultimate and irreducible one. the concrete logical act is always an individual judgment, that is, the affirmation of the unity of the individual and the universal in relation to a particular subject; and every definition is an individual judgment inasmuch as it cannot be but the solution of a particular problem, individually and historically determined. the particular problem, the group of facts, from which a particular definition arises, is the individual subject of which the definition predicates the concept. this identification of the definition and the individual judgment disposes of the familiar distinctions of formal and material truths, of truths of reason and of fact, and of analytical and synthetical judgments; which all are reduced to mere abstractions, partial aspects of the only logical act, consisting in the thinking of the pure concept, as a concrete universal.
-the practical imitations of the concept, or pseudo-concepts, also may appear in the double form of definitions and individual judgments. from the empirical concepts we can form empirical judgments, which consist in the inclusion of an individual subject within a class or type, and therefore can also be called classificatory judgments. from the abstract concepts, the passage to the individual subject cannot be effected without the intervention of an empirical concept, that is, without a previous reduction of the individual subjects to classes and types: this reduction enables us to form empirico-abstract judgments, or judgments of numeration and mensuration. the function of these judgments is, as that of the concepts with which they are related, not theoretical, but practical: to classify or to enumerate is not the same as to understand, though they are both essential operations of the human mind. the corresponding judgments are therefore called by croce pseudo-judgments, or practical imitations of the individual judgment.
-the reduction of the pure concept to the individual judgment is the fundamental innovation of croce's logic. it entirely disposes of any form of transcendental thought, of an absolute or a universal as some beyond and above reality, and therefore of the last remnants of metaphysics in philosophy. it means, translated into terms of common language, that there is no thought outside the thinking of individual minds, individually, that is, historically determined; and, conversely, that there is no reality outside the reality of thought, since the postulation of an external reality is nothing but one more act of thought. in the light of this doctrine, the relation between the intuition and the concept, between ã¦sthetic and logical knowledge, can be restated by saying that while the intuition is the autonomous, creative mental act, by which the individual is known as individual, the concept is the autonomous, creative mental act, by which the individual is known as universal, that is, not simply known, but understood. since kant, an autonomous creative act of the human mind has received in modern philosophy the name of a priori synthesis, a synthesis which cannot be resolved into its components, or material elements, because its form, and therefore its true being, cannot be traced in them, but is imposed on them by the mind. croce's intuition is an ã¦sthetic a priori synthesis, through which the obscure psychic material rises to the light of consciousness; his concept, a logical a priori synthesis, in which the intuition is no longer form, but matter, subject to a new form which is judgment and reason. the a priori synthesis is thus employed by croce as the peculiar dialectic process of the distinctions of the concept, the rigorous logical form of the double-grade relation between the individual and the universal, between intuition and concept, between knowledge and action, and, as we shall see in his philosophy of the practical, between the economic and the ethical will. it is, however, not a mere logical form, or rather, it is a logical form, because it is the actual process of the spirit, which cannot either know or act except by forming a priori syntheses (ã¦sthetic or logical, economic or ethical), that is, by constantly re-creating itself and its own reality and values.
-the elementary forms of knowledge--philosophy as the pure concept-- development of croce's theory of history--the identity of history and philosophy--subjectivity and objectivity--distinctions and divisions of history--the historical determination of philosophy--the economic theory of science--the natural sciences--history and science--the naturalistic method and the concept of nature--mathematical processes.
-the result of croce's inquiry into the forms of man's theoretical activity can be summed up by saying that there are two pure theoretical forms, the intuition and the concept, of which the second can be subdivided for convenience' sake into the definition and the individual judgment; and two modes of the practical elaboration of knowledge, the empirical concept and the abstract concept, from which are derived the classificatory judgment and the judgment of numeration. already in ã¦sthetics we have found no rigorous criterion of distinction between the general intuitive activity of man, as it manifests itself in language, and those empirically constituted bodies of particular intuitions, which we call poetry and the arts: every man is a poet and an artist, though we reserve these names only for those among ourselves in whom the ã¦sthetic activity manifests itself in a higher degree, dominates the whole life of the individual spirit. the concept and the pseudo-concepts are also elementary, fundamental forms of knowledge, of which all men partake: every man, as he is a poet, is also a philosopher and an historian, a scientist and a mathematician: but, again, we reserve these names only for the most conspicuous manifestations of those common spiritual activities, and form the empirical concepts of philosophy and history, of science and mathematics. we may speak of vulgar knowledge and of pure or scientific knowledge, but only by approximation and without forgetting that the only claim to rationality and intelligibility on the part of pure knowledge lies in its relationship with the elementary forms, in the same way as poetry owes its power and beauty to the language in which it spreads its roots. a particular treatment of these higher degrees of knowledge is not, therefore, logically justified; the problems that they present are the same that have been met with in the general discussion of the theoretical activity, and all they will have to offer will be but a confirmation, and in some points a clarification, of what has already been said.
-as art is intuition, so philosophy is the pure concept: it is easy to see that all the formal definitions of philosophy that have ever been given, as science of the first principles, of the ultimate causes, of the origins of things, of norms, of values, of categories, are mere verbal variants of the pure concept. even the most materialistic and realistic philosophies, since matter itself or nature or reality are assumed by them as principles of universal validity, as concepts or ideas, fall within the limits of this definition. in this sense there is no philosophy which is not idealistic: the differences between one philosophy and another are nothing but differences in the elaboration of the pure concept. what follows from this identification cation of philosophy with the pure concept is that all philosophies are, of necessity, systematic, inasmuch as it is impossible to think the pure concept as a singular or particular one, outside its relations with the whole. this systematic character belongs to every philosophical proposition, and not only to the actual systems of philosophy: the solution of every particular philosophical problem implies a vision of that problem in its universality, that is, in the system. we are constantly reminded of this exigency by the fact that a new and original elaboration of particular problems does actually react on the whole of our thought; and that we are often compelled to revise our fundamental opinions by the discovery of a difficulty which at first presents itself in one sphere of thought only.
-of such a process, the whole of croce's philosophy is a continuous exemplification, but nowhere so clearly apparent as in the progress of his conception of history. his first step had been that of reducing history to the general concept of art, thereby emphasizing the concreteness and individuality of history, as opposed to the abstractness of the natural sciences, the concepts of which, in that early stage, he could not yet distinguish from those of philosophy. in the estetica the conception is still practically the same, history resulting from the intersection of art and philosophy through the application of the predicate of existence to the intuitive material. in his first lineamenti di logica, history appears as the ultimate product of the theoretical spirit, "the sea to which the river of art flowed, swollen by the waters of the river of philosophy." but in the same lineamenti he had not yet arrived at the identification of the definition and the individual judgment, which in his second logica constitutes the final form of the pure concept, croce's original interpretation of kant's a priori synthesis. between the first and the second logica, croce wrote his filosofia della pratica, in which he denied the duality of intention and action, as in the estetica he had denied the duality of intuition and expression: an intention which was not also an action appeared to him, as we shall see, inconceivable. it was by analogy with his treatment of this duality, that he solved the duality between the concept (in the sense of definition) and the individual judgment, which was also a duality of philosophy as antecedent and history as consequent, as he perceived that a concept which is not at the same time a judgment of the particular is as unreal as an intention which is not at the same time an action.
-these are the successive steps by which croce reached his doctrine of the identity of history and philosophy, one of the most discussed and of the least understood among his theories. we shall come back to it later. but a few more hints on its meaning can already be given here. it is clear that by introducing the predicate of existence as essential to history croce had already abandoned the conception of history as pure, that is, non-logical, non-intellectualized intuition: but the predicate of existence is insufficient to form a judgment, without the addition of the other predicates, that is, of the whole concept. the predicate of existence can only tell us that something exists, but not what it is, that exists: the determination of the singular, in its relations with the particular and the universal, is implicit in the historical judgment, even when it is not openly enunciated. such judgments as: this thing is, or has been, seem to present the proper form of the historical judgment; no other predicates than that of existence are here visible, but my talking of this thing implies that i know what this thing is; the other predicates are concealed in the subject. every historical statement is, therefore, a perfect individual judgment. its concrete and individual character, which croce had asserted in his early theory, is here maintained by the presence of the subject, though the subject itself, in history, is seen not in its intuitive purity, as in poetry, but as a concrete determination of the concept. the identification of philosophy and history is not so much the effect of a more intellectualized view of the historical processes, as of the progressive consciousness acquired by croce of the inherent concreteness and individuality of the universal--of that realistic view of the concept as expressed by his elaboration of the logical a priori synthesis.
-the old distinction between a subjective and an objective treatment of history receives a new light from the foregoing considerations. it is impossible to make history without judgment, and, therefore, history is in a sense irreducibly subjective. but the subjectivity of history is not the arbitrary and capricious subjectivity of the individual historian, who introduces his own passions and tendencies into the historical narrative: it is the subjectivity of thought, of the earnest and dispassionate research of truth, which coincides with the only conceivable objectivity. what we call objective truth is not reached by renouncing thought, but only by making our thought deeper and truer. the historian who permeates with his thought his recreation of the past (and if he did not, he would be recreating the past as poetry, and imagination, not as history) needs not add a judgment of value to his statements of fact: the identity of value and fact presents itself once more to us in the intrinsic structure of the historical judgment. whatever the aspect of reality to which we turn our attention, true history and true criticism coincide.
-a consequence of this identification of history and philosophy is that the only legitimate divisions of history are those that correspond to the distinctions of the concept,--history of knowledge and of action, of art, of thought, of the practical activity of man; and that the relation among the different branches of history is similar to that of the distinctions of the concept within the concept itself: that is, the history of one particular form of human activity is nothing but the history of the whole spirit of man as it realizes itself under one of its aspects, a statement that we have already illustrated when speaking of the history of art and poetry. other divisions of history are possible and useful, deduced from empirical concepts (such as the state, the church, the drama, the novel, society, religion, etc.), but they are divisions of practical convenience, mnemonic and didascalie expedients, and not rigorous distinctions. empirical concepts are, in fact, in constant use in history, but as instruments, not as constituents of historical thought. history is of the individual sub specie universalis, and not of the practical generalizations. this peculiar function of the empirical concept in history marks the distinction between history and the natural sciences, the final irreducibility of history to sociology.
-as history is reduced to philosophy through the identification of the historical with the individual judgment, so philosophy is reduced to history through the identification of the definition with the individual judgment. since every philosophical proposition is an answer to a given question, and every question or problem is individually and historically determined, the whole course of the history of philosophy is in constant function of the general course of history. this is the truth contained in hegel's formula of the identity of philosophy and history of philosophy, which had been revived in italy, when croce was meditating on these problems, by his friend gentile: a formula which he finally accepted and transformed into that of the identity of history and philosophy, in accordance with his view of philosophy as a moment or grade of the spirit of man. the a priori synthesis which constitutes the reality both of the definition and of the individual judgment is, at the same time, the reality of both philosophy and history. the distinction between the two is a purely didactic one: in the first the emphasis is laid on the definition and the system, in the second on the individual judgment and the narrative. but because the narrative includes the concept, every narrative clarifies and solves philosophical problems, and, on the other hand, every system of concepts throws light on the facts which are present to the mind. the confirmation of the soundness of the system is in the power it displays to interpret and narrate history; the touchstone of philosophy is history. the concept, in affirming itself, conquers the whole of reality, which becomes one with it.
-we shall deal more briefly with croce's treatment of the organization of the empirical and abstract concepts in the natural and mathematical sciences because his views coincide in their general lines with the economic theory of science, which is the view of scientific method elaborated by the scientists themselves in the last decades, and differ from it only in so far as they are comprehended in a vaster system of thought. croce's polemic against pseudo-scientific philosophy, which was amply justified at the beginning of his career, has now lost a good deal of its actuality, since the ambitious attempts to organize the concepts of science into a system of ultimate truth have finally collapsed under the blows inflicted on their authors by science itself, and are now relegated into a few academic and journalistic backwaters. on the other hand, there is no doubt that his discussion of scientific methods, though sufficient for his purposes, is far from being as exhaustive as his discussion of either art or philosophy.
-the natural sciences are systems of empirical concepts, that is, of practical elaborations of knowledge, and, therefore, they do not belong to the sphere of theoretical, but to that of practical activity. this proposition must not be understood as referring to the practical ends, or applications, of science: action requires a knowledge of the individual fact with which we are to deal, and, therefore, the true antecedent of action is not science, but an individual (or historical) judgment. the natural sciences are not subservient to action, but they are actions in the service of knowledge. because of the empirical and pragmatic character of their concepts, it is impossible either to unify them in a single concept, or to divide them according to rigorous distinctions. the natural laws which they evolve are the same empirical concepts, which give rise to the creation of classes and types, expressed in a different form; their empirical character is confirmed by what boutroux called their contingency, which is nothing but the reflex of their arbitrary formation. even the most general of those laws, that of the constancy and uniformity of nature, assumed as the foundation of so much pseudo-scientific thought in the nineteenth century, is a mere postulate of practical opportunity, without which it would be hardly possible to construct any science: it is the first economic principle of scientific method, not an attribute of objective reality.
-the truth of the natural sciences, that truth of which they and their empirical concepts are an abbreviated transcription, is the historical datum, the knowledge of actual individual happenings. history is the hot and fluid mass which the naturalist solidifies in the schematic moulds of classes and types. the naturalistic discoverer is, therefore, an historical discoverer and the revolutions of the natural sciences are steps in the progress of historical knowledge. the difference in method between history and the natural sciences is not due to the supposed difference between a higher and a lower reality (spirit and nature), or to the fact that nature has no history; nature is perpetual activity and change, that is, history, as much as the spirit, but the progress of nature is less clearly perceptible and less interesting to us than that of the human reality, and, therefore, an abbreviated transcription is more apt to satisfy our needs in relation to the knowledge of what we call nature than to that of the spirit. the nature that has no history, and which is opposed in dualistic systems of philosophy to the spirit of man, is not the actual, historical reality of nature, but the empirical concepts of the natural sciences, their classes, types and laws, conceived as an objective reality and substituted for that reality. in this sense, nature is not a special object, but only a method of treatment, as is proved by the fact that that same method, applied to the so-called higher and spiritual reality, by such sciences as psychology, sociology, or comparative philology, creates the same kind of naturalistic categories in the domain of the spirit. it is of nature in this sense that the idealist denies the real existence, since the time when bishop berkeley repudiated matter as a mere abstraction. and here again, the scientist comes to the support of the idealist with his keen awareness of the pragmatic character of his hypotheses on the ultimate physical constituents of reality.
-it is through this theory of the natural sciences that croce succeeded in eliminating naturalistic transcendence from his thought, and, singularly enough, his first impulse in this direction came to him from his ã¦sthetic studies, through his criticism of literary genres, of grammars, of the particular arts and of rhetorical forms. he saw how through them "nature" introduces itself, as a construction of the human spirit, in the pure spiritual world of art; and having denied its reality in art, he proceeded to discover it everywhere not as reality, but as an product of abstracting processes. this must not be interpreted as meaning that the naturalistic method is an illegitimate hybrid: it has its uses in its proper place, and not less in the study of mind than in the study of nature. it is only by mistaking its constructions or fictions for realities, that we can be tempted to deduce from the natural sciences a philosophy of nature, or from the applications of the naturalistic method to art and to the history of man, an ã¦sthetics or a philosophy of history. but the natural sciences themselves are not responsible for the errors of philosophical naturalism. that such errors should not be limited exclusively to philosophers, but very often appear within the body of sciences like biology or psychology or sociology, is easily explained by the fact that no scientist is a pure scientist: but poor philosophy does not become science simply because it finds place in scientific books. the quarrel between vitalists and mechanicists, for one instance, is a philosophical (or historical), not a scientific dispute: and it reveals itself, ultimately, as the opposition not of conceivable realities, but merely of different methods in the elaboration of the historical datum. the coherent and clear-minded biologist is to-day a mechanicist, not because mechanism is the essence of reality, but because it is the postulate of his research. the vitalist, on the other hand, is inevitably brought by the trend of his thought to abandon science and to become more or less deliberately a philosopher. it is enough to mention in this connection such names as driesch or bergson.
-the fictitious or conventional character of mathematics is still more apparent than that of the natural sciences; and we shall not add anything to what we have said in the preceding chapter about the abstract concept, the non-concrete universal, which is the distinctive process of mathematical thought. the application of the mathematical processes, through the empirical concepts, to the historical datum, gives origin to what we have called the judgment of numeration (and mensuration), and to the mathematical sciences of nature. all that has been observed of the natural sciences in general is valid for these also. their truth is still only the truth of the intuitive, historical datum of which the empirical concepts are practical elaborations; the addition of a further practical elaboration, the abstract concept, can add to their mnemonic or, as it is more often called, technical efficiency, but not to the value of their original content. this process, as the purely naturalistic one, can be applied to the human as well as to the natural reality, but it is evident that its usefulness decreases in the passage from the one to the other, following the same standards that apply to the natural sciences in general, those of the relative perceptibility and importance of the individual happening. it is at its highest in physics or astronomy, less notable in biology or economics; practically inexistent in psychology or sociology, the two sciences that suffer not less from the delusions of misapplied statistics than from the invasions of cheap philosophy. croce's theory of science, as we have already remarked, differs from the generally accepted methodology of modern science only in its context, which is usually agnostic in, the pure scientist, while, in croce, it consists in the affirmation of the pure concept, or of the autonomy of philosophy: a proposition with which the scientist qua scientist has no reason to quarrel. in both cases, the autonomy of scientific thought is only relative, and the difference of context is a difference in the determination of its limits. in both cases, scientific thought is recognised as thoroughly legitimate only within limits. the cry of the bankruptcy of science, of which we heard so much a few years ago, is as meaningless for croce as for the pure scientist; science cannot become bankrupt except by over-stepping its logical limits, that is, by first ceasing to be science and becoming the ape of philosophy.
-the practical origin of theoretical error--confirmations of this doctrine--the forms of error--ã†stheticism and empiricism; mathematicism--philosophism: the philosophy of history and the philosophy of nature--mythologism: philosophy and religion--dualism, scepticism, mysticism--the conversion to truth--the function of error.
-one of the most original developments of croce's thought--a doctrine that does not owe its validity only to its connection with the system, since we can find it adumbrated already in such widely divergent philosophies as those of socrates and thomas aquinas, of descartes and rosmini, but which in croce's system acquires a new and wider meaning--is the theory of the practical origin of theoretical error, which we shall briefly discuss in this chapter.
-from a strictly logical standpoint, every error is mere privation or negativity, the opposite of the logical value which is truth, and therefore inexistent outside the moment of opposition. as there are not two values in ã¦sthetics, the beautiful and the ugly, but one only, beauty or expression, of which ugliness or non-expression is merely the negative aspect, so in logic also there is but one value, thought or truth, and error is non-thought, that which logically has no being or reality. there is no thought which is not a thinking of truth.
-let us pause for one instant to consider this last proposition, which at first sight undoubtedly has a somewhat paradoxical air. and yet it is impossible not to accept it, unless we are willing to fall into the most radical scepticism, which would imply a renunciation not only of every form of thought, but even, since there is no action which is not founded on knowledge, of every kind of action. if we believed that it were possible for our thought to think that which is not true, no external criterion or standard of truth could even be substituted for that which thought intrinsically would lack, since the apprehension of such external standards would in itself be an act of thought, and therefore suffer from the indetermination and uncertainty of thought itself. this belief in the validity of human thought is in fact, however disguised or even openly denied, present in every thinking and acting being: every thought, every action of man is an implicit declaration of this faith. and once we have consciously acquired it, as an inalienable, intrinsic characteristic of our whole spiritual activity, it is evident that it leaves no place for faith as such, for an obscure, independent faculty, a mystical intuition, different from and superior to our human thought, and which could mysteriously endow thought itself with the gratuitous gift of truth.
-and yet, after we have denied the logical existence of error, we are still confronted with the mass of positive errors which we can more or less easily identify in the course of history and in our daily experience. positive errors, that is, affirmations of knowing that which we do not know, are real products of our activity: but since the theoretical value, truth, is absent from them, they cannot be products of the theoretical activity. they must therefore be products of the only other form of spiritual activity, the practical. ignorance or obscurity or doubt are not errors; they are the inexhaustible matter to which the spirit of man is perpetually giving form and reality. to be aware of one's ignorance is in fact the first stage in the research of truth, the initã¬um sapientã¦. thought and truth are affirmation; the positive error is an affirmation also, which simulates truth. we cannot think an error, but we can pass from thought to action, by making a false affirmation, a purely practical affirmation, which consists in the act of producing sounds to which no thought corresponds, or, which amounts to the same, only a thought without value, without coherence, without truth. what we have qualified in its negative aspect as a theoretical error manifests itself in its positive aspect as an act of will, directed to a certain end, a practical act, and, as such, having its own rationality, which is neither logical, nor moral, but purely economic, consisting in the adequacy of that particular affirmation to the individual purpose by which it has been prompted. morality requires that the thinking spirit should realize itself as truth; and therefore the economic act which is error, though logically unreal, though economically useful, finds inevitably its ultimate sanction in a moral condemnation.
-though this doctrine may appear unfamiliar to the logician, yet we all constantly depend on it in our analysis of error. we know that error is due to the passions or interests of men, which cloud the intellect, and the more an error is foreign to our own ways of thinking, the easier it is for us to discover the practical motives which help us to explain it away. that category of errors which goes under the name of national prejudices, for instance, is transparent in its origins to every man belonging to a nation other than the one in which a particular set of such prejudices is commonly accepted. and other categories of errors, social, professional, religious, and so on, are of the same kind, affecting only certain classes of men, because of the passions or interests or traditions which belong to them by reason of their peculiar practical associations. in the field of politics, or in any kind of heated discussion, this research of the practical motive is even pushed to the extreme, and the bad faith of the adversary becomes an obvious axiom. in such cases, the same passions being active on both sides, the research of the practical motive is evidently not pure and disinterested, but is itself moved by a practical motive, and therefore likely to produce a new error, rather than a clear judgment. therefore, though rigorously speaking there is no difference between the error which is a deliberate lie and that which is due to a more or less justifiable weakness, and there is no error which is not in bad faith, which is not due to a deliberate act of will, yet, from an empirical standpoint we may distinguish between errors in bad and in good faith, and recommend tolerance and indulgence for the latter kind. but tolerance is not indifference. croce went so far, in drawing the consequences of his doctrine, as to justify the holy inquisition; and in fact all our modern advocates of religious and political tolerance have really shaken our faith in its methods, but not in its principle, which is that of the moral responsibility of error. the holy inquisition moreover was bound to clash with the freedom, which is not the freedom of error but the freedom of truth, because it placed its faith in a static, extrahuman truth, as against the veritas filia temporis, the truth which is engendered and conditioned by history, by the peculiar problems and intellectual climate of the age, and which is the object of our modern faith; and therefore defeated its own end by striking at the roots of the value for the upholding of which it had been established.
-passing from the problem of the nature of error to that of the forms actually assumed by philosophic error, croce accepts vico's definition of error, as an improper combination of ideas, and therefore defines such forms, by deducing the number of possible improper combinations from his own conception of the legitimate forms of theoretical activity. this phenomenology of error is one of the main tasks of logic, while the refutation of particular philosophical errors is the task of philosophy as a whole. we shall rapidly survey these general forms, in which it will be easy for the reader to recognize the logical (or illogical) structure of many particular errors criticised in the preceding chapters.
-the pure concept can be improperly combined with, or exchanged for, the pure intuition (art), or the empirical and abstract concept (the natural and mathematical sciences); or it can be improperly split in its unity of intuition and concept (a priori synthesis), and arbitrarily put together again, either as a concept which simulates an intuition or as an intuition which simulates a concept. hence the five fundamental forms of error: ã¦stheticism, empiricism, mathematicism, philosophism, and historicism or mythologism. to these must be added other forms originated from combinations of the preceding ones: dualism, scepticism, and mysticism.
-we have dealt elsewhere with both ã¦stheticism and empiricism. of the first, the most recent form is that which pretends to build a philosophy of pure intuition or of pure experience, that is, of an experience which, not being touched by any intellectual category, is also pure intuition. empiricism is practically all the current philosophy of our times, from the positivism of comte and spencer to the more modern types of the so-called philosophic elaboration of scientific knowledge. mathematicism is a rarer and more aristocratic form of error: it does not consist in the application of the mathematical method to the exposition of philosophical concepts, which is a mere didactic expedient, more or less convenient, but insufficient to characterize the quality of the concepts themselves; its true exponents are those philosophers or mathematicians who take mathematical fictions, such as the dimensions of space, for realities, and proceed to speculate on such a foundation. the near future seems to promise a great extension of this kind of philosophy, through the prevailing interest in the theory of relativity, which is fondly supposed to contain the germs of a revolution in thought. both empiricism and mathematicism lead to a dualistic conception of reality, by opposing either the facts of scientific and historical knowledge, that is, a collection of facts limited in space and time, to an infinite reality beyond that knowledge, or our actual world of space and time, to worlds, spaces and times mathematically conceivable, but of which we have no experience. the passage from this dualism to spiritualism and other kinds of superstition, which in our times seem to be so closely associated with certain forms of pseudo-scientific thought, is of the easiest. the naturalistic experiments by which we attempt to peer into the mystery of the so-called unknown or unknowable, hoping to detect the spirit itself as matter, however subtle or light, and such theories as that of the identity of the spiritual world with the four-dimensional space, are evidences of this immediate connection between superstition and science, for which, obviously, not science is responsible, and not ignorance even, but a chain of more or less deliberate errors in each case reducible to definite practical motives. from the point of view of the ethics of intellect, there is no difference between the frank impostor who is moved to speculate on other people's feelings only by greed, and the scientist who makes his science minister to his own private feelings, and is hardly, if at all, conscious of his fraud.
-of the other two forms of philosophic error, philosophism, consisting in the abuse of the purely logical element, and therefore in an usurpation on the part of philosophy against either history or science, tending to the formation of a philosophy of history and of a philosophy of nature, is less common now than in times of more active and original speculation. the most conspicuous examples are to be met with among germany's classical thinkers; and we have already hinted at the connection between one particular logical error, the undue extension of the dialectic process to the distinctions of the concept, and to the empirical concept, which is the basis of hegel's philosophies of history and nature. both these sciences attempt an a priori deduction of the individual and of the empirical, a process which is in itself absurd and contradictory. they duplicate history and science with a series of concepts, which, unless they are the same which constitute history and science (in which case we have history and we have science, and not a philosophy of history or of nature), are necessarily empty of any concrete determinations. but though croce points to philosophy of history and philosophy of nature as to the two typical instances of philosophism, yet he is ready to acknowledge that a good deal of thought that has gone under those names in the past has had a large influence in moulding many of our historical and philosophical conceptions, and, in the case of the second one, in helping us to realize the unity and spirituality of nature, and to recognize in the history of nature the same principles operating in the history of man. croce's idealism, in fact, does not divide nature from the spirit except in the logical sense which has been made clear in the preceding chapter; it does not relegate nature in an unknowable sphere beyond the reach of human minds. it unifies spirit and nature, but a parte subjecti, and not a parte objecti, and reduces nature to the spirit, rather than the spirit to nature; which is the only process that makes such a unification intelligible and significant.
-the last of the five fundamental forms of philosophic error consists in the arbitrary separation of the subject from its predicate, of history from philosophy, and in the consequent position of the subject as predicate, that is, of a mere representation as a concept. this may sound rather abstruse, but can immediately be made clear by adding that what croce has in mind in this definition is the production of myths. this error he therefore calls either historicism (from the logical process by which it is produced), or mythologism (from the form which it commonly assumes). a myth is to him not a mere poetic or ã¦sthetic imagination, but necessarily includes an affirmation or logical judgment. it differs also from allegory, in which the relation established between a poetic fiction and a concept is always more or less openly declared to be arbitrary, and the two terms are not confused with each other. in a myth, on the contrary, the poetic fiction assumes the actual function of the concept, transforming both philosophy and history into a fable or legend. errors of this class are frequent in every system of philosophy, when the thinker, either consciously and deliberately, as in the case of plato, or unwittingly, as in kant's ding an sich or in schopenhauer's will, fills the gaps of his real speculation with a mere image. but mythologism is more generally the form of religious error, since there is no religion without a logical affirmation embodied in a myth. if myth and religion coincide, as the distinction between myth and philosophy is that of error and truth, of a false and a true philosophy, we must conclude that religion as truth is one with philosophy, or, as croce expresses it, that the true religion is philosophy; and this appears to croce to be the conclusion of all ancient and modern thought in regard to the history of religions. philosophies have sprung up in all times from the soil of religious thought, and more or less completely resolved in themselves, and logically clarified, the obscure substance of myth. this is croce's clear-cut, unequivocal solution of the problem of the relations between philosophy and religion: there is no place reserved anywhere in his system for an either internal or external revelation other than that perpetual revelation of truth, which is at the same time history and philosophy.
-from the possible combinations of these five fundamental forms of error, three more complex ones are derived: dualism, when two contradictory methods, one logically legitimate and the other illegitimate, or both equally false, are brought together, and considered to be both philosophically valid; scepticism, when the mind, in the presence of confusion and error, asserts the mystery of reality, which is the problem itself, but denies its own power to deal with it; and finally, mysticism, when even that last semblance of thought, by which the sceptic affirms that there is a mystery, is abandoned, and the immediate actuality of life is regarded to be the only truth. dualism leads inevitably to the conception of a double reality, and we have already seen how the whole of croce's speculation continually tends towards the logical unification of dualities, as with spirit and nature, value and fact. every philosophical problem seems to present itself to his mind as involved in a dualistic difficulty; every solution becomes satisfactory to him only when the last shreds of dualism are eliminated from it. while scepticism is a logical error (the affirmation of a purely negative position), it contains within itself one of the essential moments of every progress in thought, the scepsis, or philosophical doubt, which is the negation of an error, and therefore the germ of every true affirmation. as for mysticism, we have dealt with it elsewhere as being one of the untenable aspects of logical scepticism; we may add that, if it ever obeyed the laws of internal coherence, we should not even be able to discuss it, since its only conceivable expression would be an ecstatic silence.
-the same character of necessity that invests these forms of the logical error is present also in the false solutions of other philosophical problems, and we need only refer the reader to our discussion of ã¦sthetic theories. in both cases, not only the number, but also the logical succession, of the necessary forms of error, depends on the number of possible arbitrary combinations of the spiritual forms, or concepts of reality. but infinite, on the other hand, are the individual forms of error, as infinite are the individual forms of truth: the problems are always historically conditioned and variable, and so are also the solutions and the false solutions, determined by feelings, passions, and interests.
-from error to truth, there is no gradual ascent. the passage is described by croce as a kind of spiritual conversion: the erring spirit, fleeing from the light, must convert itself in a researching spirit, eager for light; pride must yield to humility; the narrow love for one's abstract individuality, widen and lift itself to an austere love, to an utter devotion to that which is above the individual, becoming bruno's eroico furore, spinoza's amor dei intellectualis. in this act of love and enthusiasm, the spirit becomes pure thought and attains the truth, or, rather, transforms itself into truth. and the possession of truth is at the same time possession of its contrary, of error transformed into truth; to possess a concept is to possess it in the fulness of its relations, and therefore to possess, in the same act, all the ways in which that concept, for instance, of the ã¦sthetic activity, is at the same time the concept of hedonism, intellectualism, empiricism, and so on. the two kinds of knowledge, that of truth and of its contrary, are inseparable: the concept is at the same time affirmation and negation.
-from this absolute possession of truth, we may distinguish a stage of research, which is not yet thought, but only the operation of the practical will creating certain conditions for thought. seen in the light of this process, the series of errors through which a mind goes, when guided by a will to gather its materials and prepare itself to think, transforms itself into a series of attempts or hypotheses. an error is an error when there is a will to err; the hypothesis, however, into which the error is transmuted by the new will is not yet truth, and becomes truth only in the act of its verification; but it is no longer an error, because it does not affirm itself as truth, but only as a means or help for the conquest of truth.
-from this double consideration of the nature of error, first, as error which is conquered and comprehended by truth, and then as attempt or hypotheses in the service of truth, croce derives the identification of the history of error with the history of truth, or philosophy. but not in the sense in which hegel had considered the successive apparition of the various philosophical categories and of the various forms of error, seeing in them a kind of gradual revelation of his own philosophy. to croce such a conception of the progress of philosophy is unacceptable. philosophy as an abstract category, as one of the forms of the spiritual activity, has no origin in time, is not limited to the men we call philosophers, but acts in every moment of the life of the spirit on the material offered by history, which it contributes to create, and does not, therefore, progress any more than the categories of art or of morality. but it progresses in its concreteness, as art and the whole of life do; because life is development, and development is progress. every affirmation of reality is conditioned by reality and conditions a new reality, which in its turn is, in its progress, the condition of a new thought and a new philosophy. in this perpetual cycle, though individual errors are conquered, no form of error can be definitely abolished; but they constantly reappear, because of the intrinsic necessity of their structure, and when they reappear not as wilful errors, but as attempts and hypotheses, they have their appointed function in the progress of truth and reality. to this constancy of error corresponds a constancy of truth: truth is not attained once and for ever, but is true in the act of its affirmation, and in proportion to its adequacy to the particular problem, to the individual conditions of fact, which necessarily include, at every given moment, the whole history of the past. thus, from a different angle, croce's theory of error reaches the same conclusion as his general theory of logic, the identity of philosophy and history; and philosophy appears as a perpetual development, a history that never can repeat itself, since every affirmation of the truth transforms itself into a new element of reality, into one of the conditions determining every new problem and every new solution.
-philosophical introspection--affirmation of the practical activity--the category of feeling--the theoretical activity as the antecedent of the practical--identity of intention and volition--identity of volition and action--the practical judgment: philosophy and psychology --the problem of free will: liberty and necessity--croce's solution in the context of his philosophy--the practical value: good and evil--the unreality of evil, and the function of ideals--the sanction of evil--the volition and the passions--the empirical individuality--development and progress.
-the reality of the practical activity as distinct from the theoretical activity, of will as distinct from knowledge, can never be proved through the naturalistic method of psychology, by merely pointing to a class of facts--actions--different from another class of facts--thoughts. the so-called action manifests itself, at a closer analysis, as infinitely complex and rich in purely theoretical elements; the so-called thought, as partly at least a work of the human will. the concrete life of the spirit is always both practical and theoretical, and the distinction we are looking for is an ideal distinction, to be ascertained by the method of philosophical, not psychological, introspection; by the direct witness of consciousness, and by the deduction of its function in the concept of the spirit, or of reality, as a whole. the complete affirmation of a form, or grade, of spiritual activity is the philosophy of that form, and of its relations with the others; in this case, the philosophy of the practical, or of will. it is hardly necessary, at this stage of our exposition, to observe that the philosophy of the practical will not be practical philosophy, a collection of rules for the attainment of the useful and the good, any more than the philosophy of art is a collection of ã¦sthetic precepts: it will be a purely formal science, a universal concept, the content of which is the infinite wealth of the individual determinations of the will, the history of the practical activity.
-in the following chapter we shall deal more particularly with the two forms of the practical activity, economic and ethic, corresponding to the two forms of the theoretical, ã¦sthetic and logic. here we shall consider the undifferentiated practical activity, first, in its relations, and then, in its internal dialectic. the contents of this chapter are, therefore, intended as applying both to economics and ethics, to the useful and to the good.
-there are two typical forms of scepticism regarding the practical activity. the first denies that it is a spiritual activity, by denying that man is conscious of his will, in the process of willing; consciousness comes only after, and is not consciousness of the will, but of our representation of the will. therefore, the will is nature, and consciousness, or spiritual activity, is only our thought. the second does not exclude the will from consciousness, but affirms that there is no real distinction between will and thought. the first doctrine is evidently founded on a confusion between reflected and intrinsic consciousness; and maintains something that is always true of reflected consciousness, not in relation to the will only, but to every form of spiritual activity; carried to its extreme consequences, it would banish consciousness from the whole life of human mind, since every act of consciousness would always be consciousness of something else, and never of itself. against this view, croce insists on the concept of an intrinsic consciousness, which accompanies every act of the spirit: the consciousness of the creative artist, for instance, which is certainly other than that of the critic, but not less real. the will may be regarded as nature, only when apprehended by the theoretical activity; as every other act of the spirit becomes nature, outside its immediate actuality, when consciously reflected upon. the second form of sceptism, identifying thought and will, cannot maintain itself in its purity, because of the difficulties involved by the denial of what seems to be the immediate evidence of consciousness; it, therefore, qualifies itself by recognizing that the will is thought, but of a particular kind, thought impressing itself on nature, or realizing itself in action: which is but an indirect way of admitting the autonomy of the practical activity.
-but do the theoretical and the practical activity exhaust the whole of the spirit of man? there is at least one more psychological category which clamours for admission within the precincts of philosophy, that of feeling or sentiment. for croce, feeling as a form of spiritual activity does not exist: the corresponding psychological class covers a number of heterogeneous facts, which cannot be reduced to a single concept. its function in philosophy has always been that of serving as a temporary term for that which philosophy had not yet hilly determined and understood; in ã¦sthetics, for the intuitive character of art, against the fallacies of hedonism and intellectualism; in the theory of history for the individual and concrete element of history, or even for the subjective historical judgment, against positivism and sociologism; in logic, for the pure concept against the empirical and abstract. its function in the philosophy of the practical is of the same order: feeling or sentiment are among the names by which the peculiarity of the practical activity first began to be recognized, being labels for classes of psychological facts in which the moment of will is more important than that of reason, practice more essential than theory. but the psychological facts thus classified resolve themselves ultimately either into acts of knowledge or of will; and the witness of direct consciousness does not find feeling or sentiment within itself as a distinct form of spiritual activity. obviously, this exclusion does not imply that croce denies the existence of the empirical groups of facts gathered in those classes; it means only that he has reduced those facts to the immediate data of consciousness of which they consist, and divested them of that mysterious halo, the halo of ignorance or of deliberate error, with which an appeal to sentimental reasons is sure to be accompanied when introduced into a philosophical discussion. when we hear, for instance, that philosophy and science belong to the sphere of reason, and religion to that of sentiment, since there is no sentiment which is not either reason or will, we at once understand that what is meant is that the speaker is willing to believe, for practical motives, what his reason tells him to be untrue; and we know also that this error contains, sometimes at least, an element of truth, which is the affirmation of a truer reason than the one employed by a certain type of philosophy, by a rationalism which treats the human spirit as a thing of abstract logic. the error consists in the putting of one's will in the place of one's reason; the germinal truth, in the attempt to make one's reason wider, more comprehensive. it is, therefore, one of those positions in which it is a sin against the spirit to acquiesce, but which are the beginning of wisdom in the man of good faith.
-the practical activity presupposes the theoretical activity: no will is conceivable without knowledge, and our will is such as our knowledge is. but this presupposition is of an ideal and not of a temporal order: the mind in its concreteness, at every moment of its life, is both practical and theoretical. the a particular kind of knowledge which conditions our will is neither the purely intuitive nor the abstractly logical one, but the historical or perceptive, or concretely logical knowledge, which is at the same time a knowledge of things and of the relations of things, constantly changing with the perpetual development of the world around us, and, therefore, constantly re-creating and renovating itself as the antecedent of every particular volition. no other theoretical fact precedes the act of will: the so-called practical judgments or practical concepts, which some thinkers consider as a necessary intermediate step between the historical judgment and the volition, are nothing but classes of historical judgments relating to volitions in the past, mental formations similar to the rhetorical categories in the domain of art, and, therefore, do not really precede but follow the actual volitions. in the process of willing, the recognition of a certain action as good or useful, that is, as belonging to one of the practical categories, and, therefore, desirable, is not an act that precedes the volition, but is the volition itself. the qualification of an action as useful or good is not distinguishable from the volition except when it comes after the action, and is then a reflection on the act itself, not different in kind from any other historical judgment.
-the conclusion to be drawn from these premises is that, in relation to every particular situation, intention and volition coincide; or, that what we call intention, the abstract volition, the imaginary volition, opposed to the concrete and real one, is not a moment of the will at all, and the only volition is the one that is determined by the concrete situation, the real and concrete volition. the distinction between intention and volition has in all times been the fertile ground for the growth of all kinds of hypocrisy, as it is easy to connect in one's mind a certain concrete volition, which is evil, with an imaginary intention of good; and the doctrine that justifies the means for the sake of the end is but a variety of this process. the identification of intention and volition is, therefore, not merely a matter of good logic; it is the necessary foundation of a realistic doctrine of the will, which cannot will anything but itself, and can never be abstracted from its real basis, from the actual determinations of the moment of reality by which it is conditioned.
-once the concrete character of volition has been recognized, there remains no difficulty in the way of further identifying volition and action. the relation between the two is analogous to the relation between intuition and expression in ã¦sthetics: there is no volition which is not also an action, and vice versa. volition and action are not two distinct phases of one process, but two different ways of looking at the same reality: the same fact which is, from the point of view of the spirit, a volition, is, naturalistically speaking, an action: we are in the presence of one more aspect of the old dualism of spirit and nature. and here again the duality vanishes when we observe that there is not a single act of will which does not manifest itself in a physical movement, however imperceptible, and that on the other hand there is no physical action, not even the so-called instinctive or habitual ones, which are not either direct or indirect products of the will. a that which is independent of the will is not the action itself, but the success of the action,--what croce calls a happening. the volition coincides with the action, which is the work of the individual, and not with the happening, which is collaboration or contrast of wills, the work not of the individual, but of the whole. no action ever realizes itself entirely in the happening, and no action, however hindered in its realization, is ever entirely without influence on the happening. the measure of the adequacy of the historical judgment preceding the action to the particular situation is given in some degree by the relation between the action and the happening; but it is impossible, and it is in fact never done, though we may affirm our inclination to do it, to derive the value of an action, of the actual, concrete volition, from its success. when we praise a practical hero for his success, we imply that his success was not accidental, not a mere happening, but entirely due to acts of his will; if the praise is misplaced, the error is not in the theory, on which we all implicitly agree, but in our knowledge and judgment of the facts of his life. and when we rise from the consideration of purely economical to that of ethical values, the importance of success gradually diminishes, because we fix our attention more to the spiritual reality, to the quality of the individual soul, and less to the material concomitants. the great majority of mankind's moral heroes would be utter failures from the standpoint of success, granted that it should be possible to speak of such a contradiction in terms as moral success, a phrase in which a true spiritual value, morality, is applied to a mere material abstraction.
-the practical judgment, which is, as we have already seen, nothing but a particular kind of historical judgment, is a reflection on the action and not on the happening; and we shall not repeat here what has been said elsewhere of the relation between fact and value: the practical value is the action itself, and cannot be deduced or derived from standards, principles, ideals, which are but combinations of preã«xistent judgments. the practical judgment, economic or moral, is a philosophical judgment in the sense in which every other judgment is also philosophical. a philosophy of the practical activity, not in the technical sense in which we speak of treatises and schools of philosophy, but in that universal sense in which every man is a philosopher, as he is a poet, is therefore the necessary condition of the practical judgment. but this philosophy is fundamentally distinct from the psychological or naturalistic elaboration of the facts of the will, though at times it may have been materially connected with it. a psychologically descriptive science of the practical activity is, however, as legitimate in its own field as all other natural sciences; it constitutes a practical rhetoric which has as glorious a tradition as the rhetoric of literature, from theophrastus to spinoza and descartes. it creates its classes or types of actions, the value of which is similar to that of all other empirical concepts, and by giving them a categorical form, it transforms them into maxims, rules, and precepts. as long as these types and precepts are taken for what they are, no harm can come from them; we all make similar formations as helps to our individual conduct, and find them more than helpful, necessary. but when they are taken as philosophy, then we have the usual results of this kind of logical confusion: either the empirical concepts, under a rigorous analysis, lose their consistency, and types or rules which were useful instruments for the treatment of particular problems are discarded for philosophical concepts, which are immaterial to the discussion, or they are treated as philosophical concepts, and invested with the character of universality and necessity which belongs to the latter. of the first process, we shall give as an example the man who maintains that war is necessary and eternal; which is true, if by war we mean the perpetual conflict and struggle which is the life of reality (a philosophical concept), but which is at least a gratuitous assertion, when it is said of that particular kind of war which is waged between state and state, with arms and armies. of the second, the moralist who identifies morality with a particular system or set of precepts, or the philosopher who turns his philosophy into a special pleading for his cause or party. turning now from the discussion of the relations between the practical and the theoretical activity, to consider the intrinsic problems of the will, and the most complex and difficult of all, that of the freedom of the will, we shall find that croce's solution, though reached by a totally different method, is very similar to the one offered by bergson. both croce and bergson refuse to take sides in the quarrel between free-will and determinism, but transfer it to a higher or deeper ground where the contrasting terms acquire more significant, and no longer opposite, meanings. bergson accomplishes his abolition of the dilemma through a masterful psychological analysis of the immediate data of consciousness, croce comes to the same result by applying to this problem his logic of the distinctions of the concept, which we have already seen so often at work. every act of the will is determined, in the sense that it is conditioned by a given situation, and varies with the varying of the situation; it is free, inasmuch as it is something new and different, which was not given in the situation, and without which there would be no change, no growth, no development. necessity and freedom, which so often appear as antagonistic views of the same fact, are both present, though distinct, in the volition, which is the unity of the two, being at once determined and free. the volition is thus regarded as a practical a priori synthesis, the autonomous creative act of the practical mind, as the intuition is the ã¦sthetic, and the concept the logical a priori synthesis; the spirit never realizes itself except by acting, and it never acts except under given conditions of place and time. but as these conditions are nothing but what we have called happenings, which in their turn are complex results of single volitions, the concept of the freedom of the spirit coincides with that of its activity.
-this solution is the one that we were obviously led to expect from the whole context of croce's philosophy, a solution in keeping with his logic and with his general theory of knowledge. a similar parallelism we can observe in respect to the other solutions of the problem of the will: determinism is connected with a mechanistic materialism, as indeterminism with one form or other of mythicism. the doctrine of the double causality, which admits of a double series of facts, some subject to a mechanical necessity, others free and creative--a solution which is probably the most commonly accepted to-day--corresponds to the logical dualism of nature and spirit. this last one can be considered as an approximation to the abolition of the dilemma, as proposed by both croce and bergson, when we contrast it with the strictly deterministic position, though it still preserves the opposition of fact and value, of experience and philosophy, of reality and spirit. in the new conception of the will, necessity and freedom stand in the same relation as all these other dualities in croce's system; and the emphasis is laid, as usual, on the second term, through which only we can understand the first. the agreement between croce and bergson in this particular instance points to a closer similarity between their respective philosophies than is apparent to a casual observer. that external reality which seems to confront the spirit as a separate existence, and which bergson considers as the product of a purely mechanical, practical intellect, corresponds to what croce defines as the naturalistic, not theoretical, but practical, elaboration of reality; and in bergson's intuition and ã©lan vital, croce's concept of reality as spiritual activity is mythically adumbrated.
-if activity is freedom, then freedom coincides with the value of activity. if we use the words good and evil, not with any special ethical connotation, but as the general terms of practical value and non-value, good and evil are activity and non-activity, freedom and absence of freedom. evil, like all other purely negative values, is unreal. this does not mean that the actions that we call evil have no real existence, any more than the unreality of ugliness or falsehood imply the non-existence of bad poetry or of logical errors; bad poetry and logical errors have no ã¦sthetic or logical reality, but they are products of the practical spirit, directed towards the satisfaction of practical ends; and every real action, inasmuch as it is an action, considered in itself as adequate to its particular end, is good. it is only by substituting to that end another end, that the first end may appear as evil, and the second as good; but if this substitution takes place before the action, then the action is inevitably directed towards the second end, and therefore again, it is not evil, but good. it is through a psychological delusion that we imagine ourselves in a position in which we see the good, and yet do the evil: what we do is that which appears to us as the most desirable end, and therefore as good. the intention, outside the actual volition, is, as we have seen, unreal; if it were real, it would realize itself as an action, and be one with it. the negative practical judgments, whether economic or ethic, are judgments which affirm the reality of a certain action, and therefore its value, at the same time comparing that value with a different one, which has not been realized in that particular instance. the negative moral judgment usually consists in the affirmation of a purely economic value contrasted with an ethical value which is absent from the action which is the subject of the judgment.
-the doctrine of the unreality of evil has always been regarded with deep mistrust by the practical moralist; but that mistrust is utterly unjustified by the doctrine itself. for practical purposes it may be convenient to consider life as intrinsically evil, and to oppose to it a set of ideals, or abstract moral values to which we must strive to conform our actions; in fact, every one of us is constantly doing something of the kind, and finding in those ideals a help and an inspiration. but shall our ideals lose their value when we understand that they have no separate, transcendent reality? that every action carries its own value within itself, and that therefore unless we constantly realize those ideals in our concrete and individual actions, in every one of our actions, the ideals themselves will be but empty shadows? every ideal, however high and comprehensive, is but an empirical concept derived from a class of actions in which we have recognised a moral value; moral standards have the same character as ã¦sthetic standards, and are useful and active only as long as we understand their nature. but the creation of moral values is a constantly renovated, spontaneous, original activity, in the same sense in which art and poetry are. we can be directed, both in our activity and in our judgment, by standards and ideals; that is, standards and ideals may help us to put ourselves in a position practically favourable to the creation or judgment of ã¦sthetic or moral values. but the actual creation, as the actual judgment, takes place, both in art and morality, so to speak, at the risk of our whole life: it is a new activity, in a situation which cannot be identical with any previous situation, and to which no rule will ever give us the key.
-while on one hand our sense of responsibility is rather heightened than diminished by croce's conception of value, if we look at the same doctrine from another angle, it tells us that there is no evil where there is no consciousness of evil; that evil becomes something positive, acquires an independent existence, only when it is reflected in a higher plane of consciousness. the only conceivable sanction of the evil that we have willed is in the will that, tending towards a better end, apprehends its former volition as inadequate and therefore evil; but until that light has shown itself to the spirit, all other sanctions are meaningless. this is the foundation of the christian doctrine of repentance, of the uses of remorse, or grace; and the individual intimate quality of moral values was first proclaimed by the voice that said: nolite iudicare. if the kingdom of heaven is not within you, it is not to be found anywhere else.
-we can consider the actual volition as intrinsically good, if we also approach it from the point of view of the multiplicity of possible volitions--impulses, passions, desires--striving to realize themselves at every moment of our life. every single volition is the result of a struggle from which it emerges after having conquered all the other possible volitions. when, in this struggle, the single volition does not assert itself fully, we become the prey of that multiplicity, willing a volition which is not the one that we ought to will, and that in a way we feel we will; hence a will that is divided against itself, an action which is not positive but negative, not a true action, but a kind of passivity. when the single volition conquers the passions, when one impulse or desire becomes the will, all the other possible volitions lose their actual value, multiplicity gives way to unity, passivity to action, evil to good, death to life.
-the passions can be empirically regarded as habits of the will, as inclinations towards one or another category of actions; by a further empirical elaboration, we can divide them into the various classes of virtues and vices, virtues being the passions or habits of rational actions, and vices the contrary ones. individuality or personality, as an empirical concept, is nothing but a complex of more or less lasting habits, some natural and some acquired, or, more rigorously, the historical situation of the universal spirit in every instant of time, and therefore that complex of habits which historical conditions have produced. these habits are the material out of which we mould our life, and the first duty of every individual consists in exploring his own dispositions, in establishing what attitudes the progress of reality has deposited in him, at the moment of his birth and in the course of his individual life--to acquire a consciousness of what in religious terms we might call his vocation or mission; it is impossible for anyone to act except on the basis of his preã«xisting personal habits of will. but temperament, or the empirical individuality, is not yet character, or virtue; and the respect that we owe to it, as the necessary condition of our action, must not be confused with the ultra-modern tendency which expresses itself in the cry for the rights of the individual temperament and for the free development of the passions. the individual has the duty of seeking his own self, but also that of cultivating himself in the light of reason; his empirical individuality is a mere datum, and his life is his own work. an education aiming only at the expression of individual idiosyncrasies (as so much of our modern education, at least in theory, is) is no education at all. the ideal is rather to be sought in such a perfect fulfilment of one's individual mission, however humble, that it should at the same time fulfil the universal mission of man.
-the law of life is in the unity that conquers the multiplicity, in the will asserting itself above the passions. the reality is perpetual development, an infinite possibility transforming itself into an infinite actuality, gathering itself at every instant from the multiple into the one, only to disrupt itself again and produce a new unity. multiplicity, contradiction, evil, non-being, on one side, and unity, coherence, good, being, on the other, are unthinkable outside the synthesis of life, which is activity, becoming, evolution. this concept of becoming or evolution is the one that modern thought has substituted for that of an immobile reality and of a transcendent divinity. and in croce it becomes wide enough to embrace hegel's speculative dialectic on one side, and the naturalistic evolutionism of the scientist on the other. the dialectic of will is the dialectic of reality, both spiritual and natural--or rather only and always spiritual, since nature cannot be distinguished from the spirit as a concrete reality of another order, but only as an abstraction of the practical intellect. what we call life in nature is consciousness in the spirit, and the history of nature is not qualitatively different from the history of man. the whole course of history cannot be regarded otherwise than as a continuous progress, a perpetual triumph of life over death; and its rationality, which we call fate or providence, is not the work of a transcendent intelligence, but is a providence realizing itself in die individual, working not outside or above, but within history itself. the mystery of which we are all conscious is not a part of reality, but only the presentment of future realizations, the infinity of evolution. the god transcendent, the empirical immortality, are mere figures and myths for the god living in nature and in the spirit of man, for the spirit of man, for the spiritual activity, which is life and death in one.
-the distinctions of the practical activity--the autonomy of ethics: utilitarianism--the autonomy of the economic form: abstract moralism--relations of the ethical to the economic form--pleasure and duty, happiness and virtue--importance of the economic principle--philosophy and the science of economics--the ethical principle; material ethics--ethical formalism; the universality of the principle--the object of the ethical will--croce as a moralist.
-the preceding chapter deals with the practical activity in general, with the general concept of will or action. we must now introduce in that concept a distinction analogous to that by which the theoretical activity has appeared to us first as the knowledge of die individual or intuition, then as the knowledge of the universal or concept. but here, again, we shall not employ the merely descriptive and psychological method, nor yet attempt to deduce this distinction from the analogy between the theoretical and the practical activity; we shall appeal once more to the immediate test of consciousness, which in fact reveals two distinct forms of the will, the economic and the ethic. economic activity is the one that wills and realizes only that which relates to the conditions of fact in which the individual finds himself; ethical activity, the one that wills and realizes that which, though related to those conditions, at the same time in some way transcends them. to one correspond individual, to the other, universal ends; on one is based the judgment on the coherence of the action in itself, on its adequacy to its individual end; on the other, the judgment on its adequacy to universal ends, which transcend the individual. if we recognise only the ethical form, we perceive very soon that it implies the other one, which we intended to exclude, since our action, though universal in its meaning, must always be something concrete and individually determined. we do not realize morality in the universal, but always a given moral volition, not the abstract virtues, but the concrete works. although a moral action is not only our individual pleasure, yet it must be that, too, or we should never be able to realize it. on the other hand, the mere economic action, the satisfaction of our immediate pleasure, though it satisfies us in relation to our individual end, yet it leaves constantly unsatisfied that which we are beside and beyond our individual determinations, our deepest and truest being. and this dissatisfaction will last until we succeed in lifting ourselves above the infinite succession of individual ends, and in inserting in them a universal value. this passage or conversion from the purely economic to the ethic, from pleasure to duty, is designed by croce as the conquest of that peace which is not of a fabulous future, but of the present and real; in every instant is eternity, to him who knows how to reach it. our actions will be always new, because always new problems are put before us by the course of reality; but in them, if we accomplish them with a pure heart, seeking in them what lifts them above themselves, we shall each time possess the whole. such is the character of the moral action; which satisfies us not as individuals but as men, and as individuals only because the individual is a man, and as men only through the medium of individual satisfaction.
-the denial of the autonomy of the ethical form, the attempt to reduce the ethic to the economic, the morally good to the individually useful, is the substance of the many theories that go under the name of utilitarianism. but this reduction of the practical activity to a single principle clashes in every instant of our life against the distinction between mere pleasure and duty, between the useful and the honest action, between the things that have a price and those that have none, between actions which have a moral motive and those that have only a utilitarian one. the utilitarians themselves, unable to pass over the distinction, have tried to explain it away as a purely quantitative one, defining morality as the utility of the greater number or as the interest or egotism of the race; but it is clear that these so-called quantitative distinctions are really qualitative ones: the utility of the greater number is no longer individual utility or immediate pleasure, the egotism of the race is no longer egotism, but a value which transcends the individual. a further attempt in the same direction consists in considering morality as born from the association between certain acts which are means to a pleasure, and that pleasure itself: a savage fights to defend his personal liberty or his life, a civilized man, forgetting that the tribe, or the city, or the state, are but means to preserve his life and his property, defends them for themselves, and allows himself to be deprived of both his property and his life for love of his country. but only through stupidity is it possible to mistake the means for the end, and, therefore, this theory actually reduces morality to what is practically irrational, a product of confusion and illusion; that is, to the contrary of the practical activity, which is, in its own sphere, rationality and wisdom. the mere enunciation of this theory, if true, ought to produce the dissolution of those false associations, and, therefore, the destruction of morality; if morality subsists, this is due to its rational character, which associationism has not succeeded in disproving. the last refuge of utilitarianism is in theology and mystery: the utility of moral actions is not of this world, but derived from the conception of another world in which god punishes or rewards us for our conduct on earth. but this kind of utilitarianism puts itself outside the field of philosophy, by emptying the symbols of religion of their moral content, which is their only logical justification.
-the converse form of error, which consists in eliminating the economic moment from the concept of practical activity, is criticised by croce as abstract moralism. the economic moment has been regarded as purely technical, that is, as the theoretical moment that precedes action, action itself being always and only ethical; but some sort of knowledge precedes every action, and the distinction between the useful and the good cannot be reduced to that between knowledge and will; we can consider the useful as the means and the good as the end, only by forgetting that there is as much difference between knowing the useful and willing the useful, as between knowing the good and willing the good. the useful has also been identified with the egotistic and immoral; but the merely useful is amoral, and not immoral, in the same sense in which the pure intuition is alogical, and not either logical or illogical. the imagination of the poet cannot be submitted to the logical judgment, any more than the immediate pleasure of the child, or any action which precedes the awakening of the moral consciousness. and besides, the useful is so far from being immoral, that there is no moral action which is not also useful, as there is no logical truth which can express itself except through language. finally, the useful has been defined as an inferior form of practical consciousness; but what this definition actually accomplishes is to recognise, though imperfectly, the true distinction, which is a relation of higher and lower only in the metaphorical sense in which these adjectives can be employed for the relation between the intuition and the concept.
-economics and ethics are the double grade of the practical activity: it is possible to conceive of actions having no moral value, and yet economically effective, but not of moral actions which should not at the same time be useful, or economic. morality lives concretely in utility, as the universal in the individual, the eternal in the contingent. but we can never sufficiently emphasize the true character of the distinction, which, taken as a purely abstract and psychological one, might justify the persistence of morally indifferent actions within the moral consciousness. the moral consciousness, once it is awakened, invests the whole life of the practical mind, as the logical consciousness does for the theoretical mind, and it abolishes that condition of innocence, in which the purely economic is not yet subject to the moral judgment, in the same way as perception and reflection destroy our naã¯ve belief in the reality of purely poetical imaginations. on the other hand, there are no actions which are economically ally indifferent, or, as they are generally called, disinterested; morality requires that the individual should transform a universal interest into his individual one, make of morality itself his personal utility, but it cannot ask for the abolition of all interests, which would mean the abolition of morality as well. the value of a moral action is in direct proportion with the passion and fervour with which we identify our individual ends with ends transcending our empirical individuality.
-in the light of this distinction, the old oppositions of pleasure and duty, of happiness and virtue, lose a good deal of their rigour and sharpness. pleasure as the positive economic activity or feeling can never be in real contrast with duty as the positive moral activity: a moral action brings with itself its own satisfaction or pleasure, and if it brings pain also, either the good action was not entirely good, not willed with all our heart, or it was accompanied by a new practical problem, which has yet to be solved. similarly, happiness is not necessarily virtue, but there is no virtue which is not happiness; the sorrows of the virtuous are not intrinsic to morality, being but the limits of human activity, which the good share with the wicked. we all can transform our limits into sorrows, by our restlessness and unreasonableness; or, through resignation, our sorrows in limits and conditions of activity. asceticism, which regards pleasure and happiness as essentially immoral, is the extreme form of moral abstractism; by destroying the economic category, it deprives morality of its reality and concreteness. it is, in fact, in the practical sphere, the counterpart of mysticism in the theoretical, which makes thought impossible by dissociating it from expression.
-the recognition of the autonomy of the economic moment as one of the fundamental forms of spiritual activity, and the study of its relations with morality, appears to me as croce's most important contribution to modern thought. we have seen what light the problems of the ethical will receive, when they are seen in their unity and distinction with the facts of the economic, or individual, will. we shall see in the next chapter what a vast field of human activity, comprising the whole political life of mankind, reveals a new rationality, once it is regarded as a legitimate product of the human mind, to be judged according to its own standards and values, and not to standards and values belonging to a different order of facts. croce's discovery of the will of the individual as the first grade, the elementary form of the practical spirit, is analogous to vico's discovery of the purely intuitive activity as the first grade of knowledge; and it establishes between economics and ethics, between politics and morality, the same relation as between ã¦sthetic and logical values. the ã¦sthetically true is the adequately expressive, as the economically good is the useful; but in both cases, we can never repeat it sufficiently, once the logical and the moral consciousness are awakened, neither the ã¦sthetic can be apprehended otherwise than as logically true or untrue, nor the economic otherwise than as morally good or bad. the standards which are illegitimate when applied to art as art, to politics as politics, become rational again in the all pervading light of truth and morality. the predecessors of croce in this line of his speculation are, on one side, the political writers who, from aristotle to machiavelli, attempted to define the relations between politics and morality; on the other side, the economists, who, by isolating a type of value, which was not an ã¦sthetic, intellectual, or ethical value, and which could not be identified with the reverse of the ethical value, or egotism, had prepared the ground for the establishment of a philosophy of economics. as a matter of actual, historical derivation, it was from his study of marxism, from his meditations on contemporary economic science, that croce drew, as we saw in one of the first chapters of this book, his conception of economic value as one of the universal values.
-after what has been said of the general relationship between philosophy and science, it will not be difficult to determine the place that economic science occupies in croce's thought, in relation to his philosophy of economics. economics as a philosophical science is that branch of philosophy, the object of which is the economic activity in its universality, the determination of the concept of volition or action as the volition or action of the individual, that is, as the predicate of the economic judgment or judgment of utility. the economic judgment, in its turn, is but a form of historical judgment, and, therefore, the concrete form of the philosophy of economics is economic history, the history of the spirit of man as it realizes itself in the individual action or volition. between that philosophy and that history, there is no place, as we know, for any intermediate form of knowledge, but only for the practical (empirical or abstract) elaboration, of the economic datum. this is what the science of economics actually is: an applied mathematical science, founded on empirical concepts. the postulates and types of economic science are among the most perfect examples of conscious fictions, beginning with the fundamental one of the homo å“conomicus: they are empirical concepts by which the economic reality is simplified to such an extent that it becomes possible to submit it to mathematical calculation, and thereby to recognise promptly its necessary aspects and consequences. economic science partakes, therefore, of the rigour and absoluteness of mathematics, which is obtained, as we know, only by sacrificing the concreteness of its object. its laws are arbitrary and tautological, consisting, like all scientific laws, in the definition of those characteristics of reality which have been abstracted to form its postulates or empirical concepts; but it is only through the acceptance of such definitions that it succeeds in dominating, ordering, describing, and classifying the mass and variety of economic facts and, most important of all, in treating them quantitively. it has, in fact, the same structure as another science with which it has been frequently compared, and which is here assumed as typical of the proceedings of applied mathematics--mechanics. i believe that very few economists would quarrel to-day with croce's characterization of economic science, since its mathematical character is now universally recognised; but croce proves conclusively that even in its non-mathematical phases, economics has always been a purely quantitative science. volition and action are assumed in it in their indistinction; and moral facts being volitions and actions as well as the economic facts, they can also be included in the economic calculus, because from a merely abstract point of view there is no way of differentiating them from the latter.
-between the philosophy and the science of economics there is neither agreement nor disagreement, but a total heterogeneity, and, therefore, a reciprocal tolerance. it is only when one invades the field, or adopts the methods, of the other, that conflict and error arise. economics as a science may then deny the legitimacy of the philosophical study of the economic moment; or it may attribute a universal value to its empirical concepts (as it has happened again and again in the disputes between free-traders and protectionists, or as it constantly happens when economic laws are referred to as endowed with a character of absolute necessity); or, finally it may transform its fictions into realities, attributing for instance to the concrete human being, and to the exclusion of any other quality, the qualities it has abstracted for the creation of its homo å“conomicus. but, in all such cases, though we may meet these errors among the economists, they are not scientific errors but logical errors; or rather, they are poor science only because they are bad philosophy. the true function of the abstract economic schemes is that of an instrument in the hands of the historical and sociological observer, who needs many other similar instruments, if he wants to gain a concrete and direct knowledge of actual historical and social conditions.
-it is now time for us to return, from this discussion of the two different elaborations of the economic datum, to a closer consideration of the second form of the practical activity, or of the ethical principle. in the same way as the empirical concepts of economic science are insufficient to exhaust the infinite wealth of the economic principle, no single action or group of single actions can define the ethical principle, which is universal, and therefore merely formal. by identifying the principle with a series, however vast, of particular determinations, that is, by substituting a material ethics for a formal one, we fall back inevitably into utilitarianism, since the volition of a single object or class of objects is not a volition of the universal but of the particular, not an ethical but an economic act. even the highest forms of moral ideals, such as benevolence, love, altruism, humanitarianism, etc., once they are apprehended materially, and not as mere verbal approximations to the formal ethical principle, acquire a contingent and utilitarian character, and are apt to come in actual conflict with the truly moral will. the same criticism applies, and with greater force, to institutionalized ideals, such as the family, the state, the social organism, the interest of the race, etc.; none of them can be the object of the moral will without exceptions and restrictions, that is, without losing in the act of the will its institutional character, and appearing as one of the particular conditions under which the particular moral volition takes place. the religious principles themselves are subject to this reduction from the ethical to the economic, when, as in the case of theological utilitarianism, they are taken as empirical limitations, as particular objects, of the ethical will. the material ethical principles are in fact analogous to those material ã¦sthetic principles which we have criticised as rhetorical; they constitute a rhetoric of the virtues not less deadly to the creative moral will than the rhetoric of the arts is to the creative intuition.
-the ethical principle must be formal, but not formalistic, and therefore croce is not satisfied with any of the so-called universal laws or categorical imperatives, or with any of the many formulas which attempt to define the moral actions through one constant determination which ought to be present in each of them. such formulas are mere symbols or metaphors, and can be used as the equivalents of the ethical principle, as some of the categories of material ethics can be used; but their danger consists in giving the illusion of possessing the true principle, while what we are given is an empty and tautological one, which will again give way to purely empirical determinations and therefore to utilitarianism. this empty formalism, or absolute indetermination, of the ethical principle, corresponds to two conceptions of philosophy, which croce respectively calls partial and discontinuous. according to the first, man may know a portion of reality, but never reality as a whole; as regards morality, he may hear the voice of his own conscience, but never grasp with his intellect the content of the moral law. according to the second, he may know the reason of morality, but not within the sphere of ethics, whose task consists only in establishing the moral law and deducing the moral precepts; the problem of the essence of morality belongs to another science, metaphysics. the reader who has followed us to this point knows that croce's philosophy is neither partial nor discontinuous; that he does not admit of any limits to human thought, nor of any division in the body of philosophy. the whole of philosophy is already included for him in the first philosophical proposition, and though it may didactically be useful to divide the problems of philosophy in groups, or even to deal separately with the particular philosophical science on one hand, and with general philosophy or metaphysics on the other, yet truth does not belong to the distinctions outside their unity, to the parts outside the whole, to the segments outside the circle. it is this totality and continuity of croce's philosophy that makes croce's ethical principle a form, but not an empty one; a form which is full in a philosophical and universal sense, which is at the same time content, and universal as content not less than as form. he has defined the ethical principle, not, tautologically, as a universal form, but as the volition of the universal: a definition which is at the same time the distinction of the ethical from the economical form, or volition of the individual. we may here recall, to test once more the coherence of croce's thought, and to make this definition clearer, his definition of the concept as knowledge of the universal; by it the concept is distinguished from the intuition, or knowledge of the individual, and the logical principle is seen as unidentifiable either with an abstract logical form or with any particular system of philosophy. the concept is real only in the infinite individual determinations of actual thought, as the ethical principle in the infinite concrete volitions of the human spirit sub specie universalis.
-the universal which is the object of the ethical volition is not something that we shall need to define at this point of our exposition, since the whole of croce's philosophy is nothing but a definition of the universal. the universal is mind or the spirit; it is reality, as unity of will and thought; it is life grasped in its depth as that same unity; it is freedom, since a reality thus conceived is perpetual development, creation, progress. man, in willing the universal, turns from his individuality to that which transcends it, to the spirit, or reality, or life, or freedom, not as abstract ideals, but as they realize themselves in his individual action. the volition of the individual, of one's individual existence, is necessarily the first step; there is no man, however deeply moral, who does not begin by affirming his own individual life; without this affirmation, he would never be able to transcend it and to deny it. but he who should limit himself to this affirmation, and accept as a place of rest what is only the beginning of his development, would find himself in contradiction with his real, intimate self. he must will not only his individual self, but that self also, which being the same in all selves is their common father. it is thus that he promotes the realization of reality, lives the full life, and makes his heart beat with the heart of the universe: cor cordium. the moral individual is conscious that he is working for the whole. every action which is in accord with the ethical duty is in accord with life, and would be contrary to duty and immoral, if instead of promoting life, it should depress and mortify it. the most humble moral action resolves itself into this volition of the spirit in its universality. the soul of a simple and ignorant man wholly devoted to his modest duty is in perfect unison with that of the philosopher whose mind receives within itself the universal spirit. what one does, the other thinks; and both reach by different roads their full satisfaction in an act of life, in a fecund embrace with reality.
-economic society as an empirical concept--the philosophical concept of society--sociology, philosophy of law and political science--the definition of law--laws and customs--the laws, the natural laws and the practical principles--mutability of the laws: the jus naturale--the function of the laws--legalism: the jesuit and the puritan--the legislative activity as a generically economic activity--the juridical activity--law and language.
-one of the fundamental empirical concepts of the science of economics is that of economic society, which is formed by abstracting certain classes of economic relationships from the mass of relationships of all kinds among which the life of the individual realizes itself. any treatise of economics can be considered as a definition of economic society; and we know how those definitions are apt to vary according to the choice of the groups of facts studied, and the method employed, by different schools of economists. the economic society of the marxian is not the economic society of the classical economist; the catholic economist, differing from both, will include in his treatment the consideration of certain ethical relations which give a greater complexity to his scheme. it would be possible to study the economics of the individual in perfect isolation from all other human beings, limiting the elements of this particular form of society to one man, and that portion of nature from which he draws his food, his clothing, his shelter; on the other hand, the whole of mankind and the whole of nature may enter into a single, all-including, economic body. we may even study animal species, in their relations within themselves, or with man, or with other animal species, or with nature at large, from an economic standpoint (symbiosis and parasitism are facts bearing a close resemblance with human economy)--and thus form an infinite number of new economic societies. each of these empirical concepts can be varied ad infinitum, by the mere inclusion or exclusion of certain classes of relationships.
-the empirical, non-rigorous character of the concept of economic society is self-evident; and it can therefore be usefully employed to prove by analogy the similar character of the concept of society as manufactured by jurists, sociologists, and political scientists. it is against such fictions that philosophy reacts by building a concept of the isolated individual, that is, of the individual isolated from the particular classes of relationships which enter into the formation of particular empirical concepts of society; but it does this only to plunge the individual again in the midst of that infinite multiplicity, which is one aspect, and an essential one, of reality, society as a philosophical concept cannot be identified with any form of economic or political society; of such, as mere abstractions, no philosophical treatment is possible. society is that real multiplicity, without which we should have neither knowledge nor action, neither art nor thought, neither utility nor morality; and from society in this sense, the individual cannot be isolated, without reducing him, in his turn, to a merely abstract concept.
-the sociologist, the jurist, the political scientist use their concepts of society for their purposes, which are, in the sense which is now familiar to our reader, scientific purposes. but very often they lose sight of the character of these concepts, and treat these instruments of classification and description as substitutes for the actual reality which they are, by reason of their abstractness, utterly unable to reproduce. the sociologist talks of the collective mind, and of collective representations, as if they had a reality outside the thought and action of the individual; the jurist builds a philosophy of law, in which society is opposed to the individual as a being to another being, and law, as a product of society, at every point transcends the individual will. the political scientist deals with the community, or the association, or the state, as with concepts of which it were possible to give a philosophical definition, valid for all times, and from which the rules of perfect government could be rigorously deduced. of these types of philosophical degenerations of legitimate scientific thought, it can be roughly said that, because of the peculiar cultural development of the various nations of europe, the first belongs more particularly to england and france, the second to italy and germany; though they are all more or less common in european culture as a whole. as an italian, croce was particularly interested in the second, the philosophical degeneration of juridical thought, and therefore his particular treatment of the economic facts underlying the problems of political society naturally took the shape of an inquiry into the nature of law. but it ought not to be difficult for the english or american reader, for whom these problems are not part of a practically inexistent philosophy of law, but of a long tradition of political science and theory of government, to translate croce's thought into terms of his own cultural experience.
-a law is an act of will, whose content is a series or class of actions. this definition excludes from the concept of law any empirical social determination; it includes within it all laws which are merely individual, the laws that the individual lays down to and for himself, the rules of conduct and programs of life and action, which the individual follows of his own accord. it may be objected that individual laws differ from social and political laws, because the latter are coercive and constrictive, while the former are not. there is no law, however, that is truly coercive; the individual is always free either to observe or not to observe the law. what a law does is to offer a choice or alternative, and this is as true of individual as of social laws. we may disregard our own rules of conduct or programs of action, and suffer from doing so, and inflict a punishment on ourselves for having done so; or we may alter our individual laws as social laws are altered when they no longer respond to the need of a community, and are either violently overthrown by rebellion or quietly allowed to fall into desuetude through non-observance, or modified by the proper organs of legislation. but the importance of the concept of individual laws lies in the fact that the so-called social laws have no reality outside the individual: in order to observe a law it is necessary to make it one's own, and to rebel against a law is to expel it from one's personality, of which it was, or tried to become, a part. the only real laws are, therefore, individual laws.
-if the criterion of sanction or coercion is insufficient to draw a distinction between individual and social laws, we can still less use it to divide the social laws into customs or unwritten laws, and political and juridical laws. both customs and laws carry with them sanctions, though of a different order, or, to put it in more precise terms, both offer a choice between probable consequences to the free individual will. this distinction, like every other subdivision of the laws (civil, penal, national, international, laws and by-laws, etc.), is a purely empirical one. but the concept of law comprehends these and many more in which the jurists have no interest, such as the literary or artistic laws (that a tragedy should have five acts, or, as at one time in england, that a novel should fill three volumes), or the rules of religious life, or the precepts of chivalry, down to the statutes of a criminal gang and to balzac's droit parisien. in fact, the empirical distinctions of the laws are coextensive with the empirical concepts of society, and partake of the same characteristics: to the preceding examples of laws correspond respectively the republic of letters, a monastery, the order of knighthood, a band of robbers, and le beau monde. but the only reality, both of the society and of the law, is the individual assent.
-the laws have one point in common with the so-called natural laws; both are concerned with empirical concepts, or classes. but while the natural laws are mere indicative statements of fact, the laws can always be translated from the indicative to the imperative; that is, they contain a volitive element which is absent from the natural laws. the volitive element is present, on the other hand, in the practical principles which have some time received the names of moral or economic laws, and which can be converted into such imperatives as will the universal, or, in particular, will the good, the useful, the true, the beautiful. but these principles are concerned with the universal, that is, with the spirit of man in the necessary forms of its activity, not with a particular product of the spirit, a class or type of actions, as do laws in the strict meaning of the word. this distinction between the practical principles and the laws opens the way to the recognition of a very important character of the laws: while the practical principles, because of their universality, have no limits and no exceptions (and we have already seen that a morally indifferent action is a contradiction in terms), the laws can never exhaust the universal, and therefore will always leave outside themselves a margin of actions, not included in any of the classes to which they refer, and therefore legally indifferent. in more technical language, we may express the same idea by saying that all laws, whether imperative or prohibitive or permissive (a law, according to the ancient formula, aut iubet aut vetat aut permittit), can be reduced to permissive laws: an order is always at the same time a prohibition, and both orders and prohibitions implicitly permit all actions which are not contemplated by the law.
-moreover, while the practical principles are immutable, always capable of giving form to the most varied historical material, the laws are in perpetual flux and change. the particular modes of change, whether by evolution or revolution, do not concern the philosopher, for whom all can be reduced to a angle one: the free will producing a new law under new conditions. against the perpetual mutability of the laws, due to the contingent and historical character of their content, clashes the concept of an eternal code, or law of nature (jus naturale), which presumes to determine the content and form of the laws, according to abstract reason, once and forever. this conception is due to an error with which we are now familiar, consisting in the transformation of empirical concepts into principals of universal validity. but from this particular error, as from all errors, we must distinguish certain elements of actual and concrete thought which have been historically associated with it. in the attempts to establish a law of nature, we shall then recognise either new concrete legislative programs, the new laws appearing as natural and rational by contrast with the old ones, or an attempt to deduce from, and through, juridical concepts, the principles of a philosophy of the practical. the principle of nationality, fighting for realization against the old dynastic law, appears to its defenders as a typical natural right; and rousseau, when deducing the principles of the jus naturale, warns us that he is not dealing with historical truths, but with hypothetical and conventional reasonings, that is, with principles which transcend every particular determination and have not a positive, but an ideal value. we no longer speak of a law of nature, but the error which gave rise to that conception is still vigorous in current social and political discussions; every attempt to change legal conditions is always advocated or resisted by an appeal either to natural rights, which are but arbitrary rationalizations of historical contingencies, or to abstract reasons, principles, or ideas, of which the particular laws or institutions are assumed to be the final and necessary expression. but rationality, morality, and naturality, in the sense in which these qualities are predicated of one or another type of laws and institutions, do not belong to any particular historical determination more than to another; they belong only to the spirit of man and to the concrete values that it realizes among the ever-changing conditions of history.
-a law, being a volition of a class of actions, and therefore of an abstraction, is in itself an abstract or unreal volition. what we actually will is not the law, but the single, individual action under the law: the reality of the law is only in its execution. in the individual execution, however, what realizes itself is not the law, but the practical principle, economic or ethic, of which both the observance and the non-observance of the law are particular determinations; the individual practical problems can never be foreseen seen by the law, which is by its nature general and abstract. what is then, it may be asked, the use of the laws? croce's answer is that the laws are helps to the real volition, in the same way as the empirical and abstract concepts, though not real knowledge themselves, are helps to knowledge. in order to determine ourselves to the single action, it is useful to begin by fixing our attention to the class of which that single is an element; in order to know either the individual, or the universal, it is useful to create, between the universal and the individual, classes and types, general concepts, or, as croce calls them, relatively constant variables, through which the process of actual knowledge is made easier and quicker. we cannot think the pseudo-concepts, but they help us to think; we cannot will the laws, but they help us to will. the concept of law is akin to that of plan or design; in practice, a plan or design, and its execution, are one and the same thing, as we act by constantly changing our design, because reality, which is the foundation of our action, is in perpetual change. but this unreality of the plan, as distinct from the concrete individual action, does not deprive the plan itself of its practical uses, which are universally recognized, and which are identical with the uses of law.
-when we identify the empirical laws with the universal practical principles, economic or ethic, we fall into "legalism," which can be defined as the belief that universal principles can be definitely embodied in a limited number of laws, and that, on the other hand, these laws partake of the character of absoluteness which belongs to those principles. it is especially in the treatment of ethics that this confusion has caused its worst effects. the two outstanding types of legalists are the jesuit, who admits of the morally indifferent, the justification through the intention, the pious fraud, and other practical means for the purely literal observance of the law, supposed to be a sufficient satisfaction of the moral obligation, and the puritan, who maintains that the unchangeable letter of the law is the only, and always certain, guide of the moral consciousness. both jesuit and puritan, or to give them the names they assumed in a historical controversy, both molinist and jansenist, have often been in practice much better than their theories; but we are here interested only in their theoretical pronouncements, which, though apparently contrasting, yet combine in substituting the letter for the spirit, and in drying up, in the name of morality, the living springs of moral activity. and in both cases, moral legalism is associated with theological utilitarianism; it is, in fact, but another aspect of the same error.
-the will that wills classes of actions, the legislative activity, is either moral or merely economic, and can therefore be judged as either moral or immoral, economic or anti-economic. but as the laws are will in the abstract, our judgment of the laws will also be an abstract judgment. to pronounce a concrete judgment, we must turn to the moment of the execution of the law, to the individual practical action, in which the law realizes itself. in this sphere, it is vain to dispute whether a law is essentially economic or moral: the economic or moral character of the law is not determined by the abstract intention of the legislator, but by the manner of its execution, by the quality of the individual executor. the punishment which a law assigns for a category of crimes may be intended by the legislator either to deter or to emend the criminal; but in the man who abstains from that particular kind of crime, the law is an economic one if the abstention is entirely due to the fear of the punishment, it is a moral one if it coincides with a sincere abhorrence of the crime. no law, therefore, can be said to be intrinsically moral, and if we want to define the legislative activity in its full extension, we must define it as generically practical or merely economic.
-the same definition obviously applies to the will that executes the law, as distinct from the will that formulates it: the juridical activity, as croce names it, is also generically practical or merely economic, and as such united to and distinct from the moral activity. as the juridical activity, however, does not partake of the abstractness of the legislative, but is as concrete and determined as the economic activity, there is actually no possibility of distinguishing the one from the other; the juridical activity is therefore identical with the economic activity. this is croce's original solution of the fundamental problem of the philosophy of law; a solution which is closely connected with his recognition of a utilitarian practical category, distinct from but not opposed to the moral category, and with his reduction of all laws to individual laws. the reader must recall what has been said elsewhere of the relations between economic and moral values; and he will then understand in what sense it can be said that croce's theory of law is an answer to the secular disputes on the relations between law and morality, between positive and ideal law, historical law and the law of nature. and he will also be able to perceive the difference between the reduction of the juridical to the mere economic activity, which, as we know, is also the form through which only morality realizes itself, and the theories of law as the pure embodiment of force and of the positive, established right as the only conceivable right, which are nothing but the counterpart of moral utilitarianism in the field of law. croce's theory of law is, as all the rest of his philosophy is, a purely formal doctrine; not intended to defend one type of laws and institutions against any other, but attempting to furnish a conception of law, as an individual, perpetually new activity of the spirit of man, of which all laws and institutions, all phases and tendencies of political history, appear as concrete historical manifestations.
-the philosophy of law has often had recourse to the philosophy of language for analogies by which its own problems could be clarified. a doctrinaire view of the juridical and political problem, for which the origin of law and society is to be found in an abstract convention, and which therefore tends to build up, by new conventions, a model legislation, or an eternal code, shows its real nature when related to the corresponding conception of language as a collection of signs, a purely symbolical organism, which can be so perfected by reason as to become an absolute, universal language, embodying in its signs every conceivable type of logical operations: a universal language, which should also be a universal symbolic logic. sharply opposed to the doctrinaire, the traditionalist views certain types of positive laws and institutions as endowed with a character of necessity which puts them above the reach of the individual judgment of man; and as he fails to discover the ever present creative activity, by which man constructs his juridical and political world, he also withdraws from the human spirit the power to create its own language, and makes of words a divine institution. equally remote from the sociological as from the theological concept, which are the extreme theoretical forms of popular errors, croce establishes between law and language an analogy by which both manifest their intrinsic creative and human character. the reality of law is the individual juridical or economic activity, as the reality of language is the concrete intuitive activity. law is the will of the individual, as language is the knowledge of the individual. grammars and dictionaries are the codes of language, mere abstractions from the actual living flux of the creative expression, as the written laws and codes are but the grammars of law, mere abstractions from the actual living flux of political history. language is not logic, and yet the logical thought cannot realize itself except through language; law is not morality, and yet the ethical activity cannot live except by incorporating itself in laws and institutions, and in the execution of laws, the concrete, individual life of institutions, that is, in the juridical and economic activity.
-thus, the end of this exposition of croce's system, the doctrine of language with which the system opens links itself intimately with this doctrine of law, with which it closes. and both as regards language and as regards law, the last word is, of necessity, a new implicit affirmation of the identity of the philosophical with the historical method. the true history of a language is not a history of abstract grammatical schemes, but the history of the poetry and literature in which that language has realized itself, a history of individual expressions; the true history of law is one with the social and political history of a people, which is, and cannot be but the history of its practical activity in its effective, individual realization, that is, juridical and economic history.
-part third philosophy as history (1911-1921)
-i. works and days
-a retrospective view of the system--germs of development--the return to history--croce's attitude during the war--essays on the great poets.
-to the reader of the three volumes of the filosofia dello spirito, which were published before 1910, the whole of croce's thought appeared as a solidly constructed system, in which the four grades or forms of spiritual activity were studied in their intrinsic essence, and presented in their relations as completing the cycle of living reality, in contrast with that reality which the mind postulates outside its living self, and which the system reduces to a complex practical product of the mind, a collection of material helps subservient to the essential forms of its activity. knowledge and action, reciprocally implicated, are the substance of reality; and both knowledge and action, rising, the first, from the intuition to the concept, the second, from the economic to the ethical will, attain the universal, all-including values which we express by the words beautiful, true, useful and good, but only and in so far as they realize themselves in the concrete and individual. a universal more universal than that which is present in the individual act is inexistent, or exists only as an impotent abstraction renouncing the concreteness and reality of the individual, and therefore also that true universality which has no being outside this action, this thought, this life. the soul of the system, slowly extricating itself from the traces of naturalism or intellectualism, which are still visible in the estetica, is the logic of the pure concept, which resolves in the concrete universal the dualisms of nature and spirit, of fact and value, of life and thought, and, finally, of history and philosophy. but while this logic can be seen at work in all the parts of the system, and is, in fact, the form towards which all croce's thoughts seem to have constantly tended from the time of his earliest philosophical essays, yet, to an attentive eye, it is possible to discover the successive stages by which it actually incorporated itself in the system. in particular, we have been able to point to the effects of the later meditations on the philosophy of will, on one side, on a more intimate understanding of the pure intuition as the lyrical intuition, on the other, on the identification of the definition with the individual judgment, and thereby on the relations between history and philosophy. on the whole it can be said that two apparently contrasting directions were at work within the system itself: one reflecting croce's mental need for clear and fine distinctions, the other, that deep consciousness of the unity of the real, without which all distinctions tend to solidify themselves into dead abstractions.
-if we imagine two students of croce's philosophy, endowed with antagonistic philosophical temperaments, the one a dialectician, the other a mystic, we can easily conceive them as the founders of two diametrically opposed schools of thought. the first would have emphasized the rigorous distinctions, the formal character, the intellectual precision of the system; he might have retained the identification of philosophy and history, but to him these words would have stood only for the names of two formal disciplines, and not for the concrete life of the human spirit which is present in them. the second would have passed lightly over the distinctions, and probably considered them as partaking of the same unreality which belongs to scientific or legal abstractions; and by obliterating the logical processes without which the mind of man is unable to grasp and to express itself, he would have taken refuge in an ineffable, though not necessarily silent, contemplation of the underlying unity. this hypothesis is not a criticism of croce's philosophy; it is merely the indication of the fact that, when the system appeared as completed, new problems, and therefore new errors or new truths, were bound to grow out of the elements of the system itself. and nobody was more conscious of this fact than croce himself, who concluded his volume on the filosofia della pratica by expressly warning his readers of the inexhaustibility of thought, which is one with the infinity of reality and of life. no philosophical system is final, because life itself has no end. every system of philosophy, being conditioned by life, can do no more than solve a group of problems historically given, and prepare the conditions for new problems and new systems. of his own work in relation to his readers, he conceived as of nothing more than an instrument of work.
-as during the preceding eight years, the critica continues to this day to be the main organ of croce's work and influence, and in the critica the greatest part of his writings are still published for the first time. the general features of the critica have remained practically unchanged, except that his series of essays on the italian literature of the last fifty years (which he collected in 1914-15 in the four volumes of la letteratura della nuova italia) has been followed by studies on italian historiography from the beginning of the nineteenth century to our day (since 1914), by essays on some of the greatest european poets (since 1917), by notes on modern italian and foreign literature (since 1917), and by the frammenti di etica (since 1913), containing discussions of particular problems of contemporary morality. but practically all the reviews and essays published in the critica and elsewhere are now being collected in the edition of his complete works, of which a full list will be found at the end of this volume. in 1912, for the inauguration of the rice institute in houston, texas, he wrote his breviario di estetica, which we have partly utilized in our exposition of his ã¦sthetic doctrine, and which he reprinted in 1920 in his nuovi saggi di estetica, which also contains his most significant philosophical essays of the last four or five years. his contributo alla critica di me stesso ("contribution to the criticism of myself") was written in april, 1915, on the eve of italy's entrance into the war, and is the best essay in existence on the development of his thought.
-of croce's attitude during the war we shall say but a few words. he was one of the very few european philosophers or scholars who did not transform themselves into improvised statesmen, or into passionate defenders of national prejudices and proclaimers of national hatreds. differing from the germanized philologist, who was the type prevailing in most universities before the war, in that he had not waited for the war to become aware of the many weaknesses and imperfections of modern german culture, while on the other hand he had lived for years in true and intimate contact with the great spirits of german romanticism, he resisted with all his power the universal tendency of the time to make of the contingent issues of the war a criterion of intellectual truth and of scientific conduct. at the same time, his temper and education reacted violently against the false ideologies of the war, the superstructure of verbal ideals with which on all sides cunning statesmen and naã¯ve philosophers attempted to veil the true nature of the conflict. against these, he reasserted his conception of the political life and struggles of states as manifestations of the economic, amoral or pre-moral, activity, and of life itself as a perpetual struggle, finding its reason and its rest in the struggle itself. the theory of the state as justice appeared to him merely as a theoretical error, the fortune of which lay in the opportunity it afforded to give a convenient mask of morality to particular interests, either of individuals or of states. the intrinsic morality of the war he conceived as resting on its tragic reality, as reflected in a severely historical thought, to which it appears as a moment of that historical fate which crushes and destroys states as well as individuals, to create from their ruins always new forms of life.
-it is needless to say that for a time at least croce shared with bertrand russell and with romain rolland, two thinkers in many respects very distant from him, and yet as impervious as he was to the rhetoric of the war, the privilege of a vast unpopularity. looking back now on his writings which were later collected in the volume pagine sulla guerra, it is possible to discover among them many attitudes which were justified and useful only as a reaction against the current fallacies of the time; and also to realize that the man who speaks to us through them is not always and only a pure philosopher, but a man with a given complex of moral and political tastes and passions. but this is, in a way, as it should be; in the same way, between croce the philosopher of ã¦sthetics and croce the critic of poetry, there is a difference which is inherent in the nature of the two different forms of intellectual activity; the philosopher is a man of understanding, the critic a man of tastes and passions. in both cases, his ideal has always been to make the critic or the moralist worthy of the philosopher, his particular comprehension of history adequate to his concept of the universal. to say that the equation is never perfect, is only another way of saying that every particular historical problem continually raises new problems of thought, and that croce's thought finds therefore in itself the motives of its own development, the springs of its own life. where passion and reason ultimately coincide, the roots of the development are taken away, and death takes the place of life.
-yet, notwithstanding these limitations, i know of no man whose thought on the war is on the whole more acceptable to those among us who lived through the war not as spectators, looking on it as on a vast moral abstraction, but as humble actors, in the midst of its human reality. a sense of collaboration between one side and the other, of being, here as there, employed in a common task, whose meaning was much deeper than any that had been offered to us by the national rhetoricians,--a collaboration which happened to take the aspect of a struggle, and imposed duties antagonistic, but of the same nature--was probably the most usual frame of mind among the soldiers who could think; and it existed, subconsciously, even among the unthinking ones, provided that their duties were of a definite, concrete kind, touched them in the deepest chords of their beings, involved the fundamental issues of life and death. to the man who consciously faces death, there is no comfort in wilful error; only this realization of an end that transcends all particular ideals, because it is the end of life itself, can be worthy of that price. you cannot willingly die for fourteen points any more than for one point, but death which is loathsome in the drama of mere circumstance, however adorned with brilliant rhetoric, is no longer death but an act of life in the tragedy in which the hero is conscious of his fate. there was no war, probably, that was ever more full than the last one of what might be called the material of tragedy; but what have the official celebrators done with it, they who have not feared to desecrate, in all our countries, one at least of the concrete, individual tragedies, in order to make of it an empty symbol, to transform an unknown hero into abstract heroism? in some of croce's pages, there is a more concrete realization of the ideal tragedy of the war than in any poem or oration that i have seen to this day.
-the last years of the war found croce at work on some of the greatest poetical spirits of modern europe, ariosto, goethe, corneille, shakespeare, bringing to the understanding of their work, to this task of concrete history, the deep consciousness of the nature of poetry, and of the relations of poetry with life, acquired in twenty years of philosophical meditations. even his functions as minister of public education during the last two years did not distract him entirely from his studies, and this year of the sixth centenary of dante's death was celebrated by him with the publication of la poesia di dante, which will certainly remain as the most lasting monument raised to the memory of the poet on this occasion. this troubled peace cannot make him deviate from the path of his appointed labour any more than the war could; in peace as in war, his duty is his daily task, here and to-day, and his confidence in the morality and usefulness of that work which is his work is as little shaken by the prophets of despair in peace, as it was by the messiahs of the promised land who were so loud above the turmoil of war. he is probably now noting with a smile that the same men who talked of the war to end all wars, are now very busy preventing our civilization from dying away; that is, building a peace in the abstract, with programs and words, as they fought a war which was not the war, but a phantasm of their imagination.
-ii. the theory of history
-two meanings of the word history--history as contemporary history-- history and chronicle--the spirit as history--philology, and philological history--poetical and rhetorical history--universal history--the universality of history: history and philosophy--the unity of thought--philosophy as methodology--the positivity of history--the humanity of history--distinctions and divisions--the history of nature.
-there are two meanings to the word history, in english as well as in other european languages; on one hand it denotes the actual doing, the immediacy of life, on the other, the thinking that seems to follow the doing, the consciousness of life. in a rough, approximate way, we speak of men who make history, and of other men who think or write history--though we are all perfectly aware of the fact that we cannot make history without first thinking history, that the action, in other words, follows a judgment of the situation, which is an elementary form of historical thought, and is accompanied by its own consciousness, which is its immediate history. in this sense, the action cannot be materially severed from its history: the distinction between the two is a purely formal and ideal one. and again, the thinking of history, in the second meaning of the word, consists in making present to our spirit, in re-living, an action or group of actions, which thus become as actual an experience as any practical doing, a fragment of our own life, and, ultimately, the consciousness of our own individual experience. thus the two meanings which stand out as sharply contrasting when we objectify and solidify them, as an external, chronological series of happenings, and as a formal discipline attempting to give, in innumerable books, a description and as it were a verbal duplicate of that series, once we examine them in the light of our consciousness, reveal themselves merely as different aspects or moments of the same spiritual process.
-croce's latest writings on history may be puzzling to the average reader because this ambiguity cannot be overcome by him unless he is willing to penetrate to the heart of croce's doctrine, in which the word history acquires a more pregnant and fundamental meaning. in many of us there is a tendency to balk at any attempt at filling old words with deeper and more precise connotations; but philosophy is not a matter of words. a new thought will in any case alter the whole physiognomy of our vocabulary, and to stand up for the old meanings is as much as to refuse to think, or rather, to refuse to live. for history as a formal discipline, for the actual writing of history, croce uses the word historiography; but in his teoria e storia della storiografia (theory and history of the writing of history), history still means both the doing and the thinking, life and the consciousness of life, though not in the abstract distinction in which these meanings are generally apprehended. in croce the distinction is also unity, and there is no doing which is not also a thinking, no life which is not also the consciousness of life, no consciousness which is not also the consciousness of itself. the ambiguity, some traces of which could still be seen in the logica, entirely disappears in this fourth volume of the system, at least for the reader who has followed the whole development of croce's thought.
-if history is thus regarded not as an object but as an activity, not as the irrevocable past but as the living present, the difference between history and chronicle, which is one of the puzzles of historical thought, becomes an important and significant distinction. we are used to think that the original form of historical writing is the chronicle, and history a later and maturer development. now if history is the consciousness of a present, it follows that history is contemporary with the event; that, therefore, the most meagre chronicle, in the mind of its writer, moved by the actuality of the facts which he records, is already a history in the full sense of the word. and the records of the past, whether appearing to us, from a literary point of view, as mere chronicles or as true histories, become history again whenever they are apprehended by a new mind as an answer to a present problem, partaking of the activity of the mind that thinks them anew. the same records, on the other hand, are a mere chronicle, an empty narrative, a truly irrevocable past, whenever they are not re-lived by a living mind, either because they do not correspond to any interest of present life, or because the essential conditions for the recreation of that past, the documents which enable us to revive within ourselves the original experience, are irrevocably lost. the true distinction between history and chronicle is not, therefore, a literary or material one, but a distinction between forms of spiritual activity: history is the living consciousness, and, therefore, an act of thought or knowledge; chronicle is the dead record, which we preserve by a mere act of will, because we know that some day the dead record itself may come back to life, transform itself again, under an impulse rooted not in the past but in the present, into a living thought.
-this practical function of the preservation of the dead documents and records is the work of the pure scholar, of the erudite, the archivist, the archã¦ologist, or what might be termed philology in the strict sense of the word. and it is a legitimate and useful function, provided that it does not pretend to be other than it actually is, and to substitute itself for the true process of history, by attempting to make history with the external objects that have been confided to its care. philological histories are never anything but mere compilations, learned chronicles, useful repertories; and as such, blameless; but as histories they lack the living spirit, the creative impulse, which alone can transform the document into history. we have only to turn our attention to the greatest part of our modern histories of literature, whether written by a single philologist or by a learned society, to realize that that which is philology in them is not history, but repertory; and the rest, which is history, is not philology, but a vivid reaction, an act of present life, by which some at least of the documents of the past (since some philologists are men) have suddenly become part of the actual experience of the writer, answered his spiritual need, stirred that which is still human in his soul. and if a further confirmation of the philological error is needed, and of the further errors in which it involves the philological historian, it is sufficient to open those same literary histories at the pages in which they attempt to explain the origins of the renaissance. because as those writers make history from the sources, so they imagine that life itself springs from material sources; and the renaissance finds its causes in the discovery of monuments and documents of the classical world, in the lives and travels of humanists, in the munificence of popes and princes. it does not seem to occur to them that monuments and manuscripts, which materially had existed in europe during all the so-called dark and middle ages, could not have been discovered unless, at a certain moment in the development of european civilization, the spirit of the western nations had not craved those particular helps to its own life, because of motives and impulses generated by its own actual experience; and that the mediã¦val clericus was not less of a traveller than the humanist, and that the economic aspect of life can never be intelligibly conceived as a cause of that life of which it is but a moment. for the philological historian, the renaissance begins between the end of the fourteenth and the beginning of the fifteenth century; but the historian tout court knows that the fundamental impulses and motives by which we empirically ally characterize that period in the history of the human spirit were already present in the italy of the thirteenth century, and slowly maturing in the other european countries long before any of the italian humanists had come to them as the apostles of a new creed.
-this final affirmation of the unity of human thought, this qualification of all thought as at the same time historical and philosophical, is the last answer given by croce to the problem which had occupied him for the last twenty years, ever since his first speculations on history as art. from the consideration of the individual moment which is essential to history, he had slowly raised himself to the contemplation of the pure universal, only to return finally to the individual moment in which only the universal realizes itself. and while this answer can be regarded, on the whole, as the natural conclusion of the idealistic movement in philosophy, yet it differs from kant in its ultimate repudiation of the noumenon, from hegel, in that it makes it impossible to build, side by side with a dynamic logic, a mythology of the idea, a philosophy of history and of nature, in which the transcendental element, eliminated already from the logic, should find its ultimate refuge. it is to be hoped that croce's critics will not level against him those same criticisms that are generally employed against kant or hegel, because they would be for the most part ineffectual against a kantian and hegelian philosopher who has discarded the whole of kantian and hegelian metaphysics. from this standpoint, croce is not only the heir of the idealistic, but also of the positivistic or realistic tradition, which he has constantly opposed, not because of its anti-metaphysical character, but because in the external reality of the realist, in the natural or historical philosophy of the positivist, he is unable to see anything but naturalistic disguises of the old metaphysical entities. a realist who should not in principle refuse to become acquainted with croce's thought, but honestly attempt to understand it, would probably find his own realism purified and made more truly realistic by the experience.
-we shall not follow our author in all his developments of the theory of history. it suffices to say that these developments are obviously but new presentations, made here and there more precise and more coherent, of the various problems already discussed in the preceding volumes of the filosofia dello spirito. we shall thus recognise in croce's criticism of the philosophy of history as a special discipline, distinct both from history as such and from a so-called general philosophy, his polemic against transcendence, either metaphysical or naturalistic; and in his claim for the positivity of history, his theory of value, by which the only real values are the positive ones, coinciding with the fact, while negative values are but expressions of feelings and desires. in the light of this theory, since history is obviously concerned with that which is, and not with that which is not, the limits of historical judgment are clearly established, in the way in which we saw them established for literary criticism. as the literary critic is never concerned with anything but with expression, or art, or beauty, non-expression, non-art, non-beauty being as such inexistent, and truly existent only as manifestations of the logical or practical activity of man; so the historian at large will never meet negative values, but positive facts only, which assume the aspect of ugliness, or error, or immorality, only in the dialectic process of reality, in the creation of a higher form of life. his affirmation of the positive fact is sufficient judgment, and it becomes an implicit moral judgment whenever the consciousness of the historian is a moral consciousness, without any need for him to usurp the function of the moralist or of the judge in apportioning praise or blame on the objects of his history.
-against the humanistic or pragmatic conception of history, which finds the reasons and motives of history in the abstract individual, as against the opposite view, for which the true history is only that of the collectivity, of the institutions, of the human values, croce reasserts his concept of the actuality of the spirit, in regard to which the individual is as much of an abstraction as the society or the value which does not entirely realize itself in the fact. the object of history is neither pericles nor politics, neither sophocles nor tragedy, neither plato nor philosophy; but the universal in the individual, that is, politics, tragedy, philosophy, as pericles, sophocles, and plato, or pericles, sophocles, and plato as particular moments of politics, of tragedy, and of philosophy.
-as there are no special philosophical sciences, and then a general philosophy, which should be outside or above them, but whenever we think of reality under one of its aspects or distinctions, we think of the whole of reality in one of its determinations, so there are no special histories, the limits of which can be definitely stated, and above them a general history, which would in a new form revive the myth of universal history. we have seen how literary history, for instance, tends inevitably to become the whole spiritual history of a nation; and the same applies to all special histories, whether political or moral, or philosophical. there are divisions of history, according to the quality of the objects, to time and space, but such divisions are mere empirical classifications, practical instruments or literary expedients; and we can use as the foundation of such divisions even the ideal distinctions of the fundamental forms of spiritual activity. but when these distinctions are understood as actual distinctions of the aspects of the spiritual life, of which we make history, then all the other aspects will inevitably be present in the particular distinction, once we truly apprehend it in the fulness of its relations. in this sense, history is always special or particular, because it is only in the special and particular that we can grasp the effectual and concrete universality, the effectual and concrete unity.
-finally, the difference between the history of man and the history of nature is not a difference in the object but in the method of history. the whole of reality is spiritual reality, and nature apprehended in its concreteness and actuality, if we are able to recreate it within ourselves, becomes actual, concrete, contemporary history as much as any part of human history. on the other hand, the application of empirical and abstract concepts, the practical manipulation of the data of human history, transforms the history of man into mere natural history. this difference in method we have already analyzed in studying croce's logic, and we shall only add here that the reader of croce may often be tempted to regard croce's conception of reality as limited to the human spirit only, and therefore to give a metaphysical interpretation to his exclusion of "nature." the correct interpretation is a purely epistemological one, and again and again croce insists that in the whole of reality, which is development or life, man and nature are but empirical and abstract distinctions. on the other hand, croce's interests are certainly more human than natural, and not only in the sense in which this is true of every man; in the more precise sense also that the effort to recreate within himself the consciousness of a blade of grass, which he advises the historian of nature to perform, clearly appeals to him so little, that he may even seem doubtful of its success. the accent is continually laid, in croce's thought, on the history of man, and on the thought of man; to many of us, our dealings with nature (not the dead nature of linnã¦us, but the living nature of virgil and shelley) would probably suggest a shifting of the accent by which the spirituality of nature, the continuity of the dynamic process from nature to man would become more emphatically affirmed than it is in any of croce's writings. we are probably touching here on one of the possible, and probable, lines of development of croce's philosophy; which, however, will not become actual until the historical problems of the living nature shall not urge croce himself, or one of his successors, as powerfully as the problems of human history have moved him. at present, with very rare exceptions, the students of the history of nature are occupied in transforming their historical experience into classes and types and laws; but a time may come when from the naturalistic constructions we shall be able more frequently to recreate the life of which these are but the dead spoils, the accumulated vestiges, by the same process by which history re-kindles the old chronicles into new, contemporary life. that such a development is implied in croce's own theory of history can hardly be questioned, though, when realized, it will undoubtedly react on more than one point of croce's logic.
-iii. criticism and history
-beyond the system--the universality of art--the discipline of art--poetry, prose and oratory--classicism and impressionism-- practical personality and poetical personality--the monographic method in criticism--the reform of ã¦sthetic history--criticism as philosophy--sensibility and intelligence.
-this last phase of croce's thought offers greater difficulties to the expositor than the preceding ones, partly because it is still in the making, and therefore lacks the necessary perspective, and partly because it is embodied not only in purely philosophical essays, but in every page of croce's historical and critical writings; so that very often it would be impossible to give a clear account of it without ample and minute reference to the underlying historical material. the whole of croce's thought could indeed be restated through an exposition of croce's historical views, and it would be an alluring task to extract from his writings a kind of outline of the history of mankind, considered especially in its ã¦sthetic and philosophical cal manifestations, and indirectly also in its moral and economic activities; but it would take us much beyond the limits which we have set to our labour. we shall therefore confine ourselves to examining, in this chapter, the latest developments of croce's ã¦sthetics, especially in relation with the history of art and poetry; and, in the following and concluding one, to considering his theory of truth or of the function of thought, in relation to other types of contemporary thought.
-this recognition of the implicit universality of the ã¦sthetic expression does not abolish, as it might seem to a superficial observer, the distinction between ã¦sthetic and logical knowledge; it rather makes it clearer and truer. an imperfect recognition may lead to an intellectualistic or mystic theory of art; and intellectualism and mysticism in ã¦sthetics remain for croce as typical forms of error, whether they are directed towards a confusion between intuition and judgment, or towards a symbolical or allegorical interpretation of art, or towards a semi-religious theory of art as the revelation of the deus absconditus. but the truth that those errors tried to express in their imperfect formulas, is finally understood by him to be that character of universality which belongs to every aspect and to every fragment of the living reality. feeling itself, or a state of mind, partakes in its actuality of that universal character, but when expressed in art, it retains its universality only by losing its practical nature, and subjecting itself entirely to the form which expresses it. thus the ã¦sthetic activity, because bent on realizing its own universality, which is the perfection of its form, imposes on the artist a morality and a discipline which cannot be identified with practical morality, with the discipline of life. the sincerity of the' artist is of another order than that of the practical man, though (we can never repeat it too often) ã¦sthetic virtues being incommensurable with moral values, his work as an artist does not exempt him from his duties as a man.
-similarly, in the history of poetry or of art, the consideration of the logical and practical moments in the expression will help to define and isolate that which is purely ã¦sthetic expression, that is, poetry and art. croce's expressionistic theory, when thus understood, differs both from other expressionistic theories and from the narrow interpretations of croce's own theory that have been given by some of his followers and by all his adversaries. it does not, in fact, attempt to give an ã¦sthetic justification of art as the mere passive reception of the transient mood; it has no sympathy for that impressionism which transforms the artist into a reed shaken by all winds of circumstance, legitimizing every intrusion of the practical personality in the ã¦sthetic production. it reduces this modern ã¦sthetics of the immediate feeling to an expression, not of the true spirit of what art and poetry is being produced to-day, but of that disease, or passivity, of the times, the first solemn document of which can be traced in rousseau's confessions. against it, croce appeals to the example and the word of a goethe or a leopardi, who diagnosed the disease in its inception, and contrasted the classical naturalness and simplicity of the ancients with the affectation and tumidity of the moderns. but the classicism which croce invokes is not a formal and literal ideal, limited to certain models or standards: it is that complete idealization, which the immediate practical data, in all times and climates, will undergo at the hands of the true poet and artist, whether he calls himself a romanticist or a classicist, an idealist or a realist.
-this is the purport of the essay on la riforma della storia artistica e letteraria (1917), and this is the method deliberately followed by croce in his recent essays on ariosto, goethe, shakespeare, corneille and dante, which ought to be studied not only as characterizations of the various poets, of the feeling or tonality which is peculiar to each of them and constitutes their ã¦sthetic personality, but also as sources for the methodology of literary criticism. to his theory croce brings a two-fold corroboration, first, from the observation of the fact that it coincides with a more and more widespread tendency in both literary and artistic history towards the monographic form, the individual essay, as the most effectual type of criticism; and second, from the analogy with other forms of history. all history, and not ã¦sthetic history only, is essentially monographic; all history is the history of a given event or of a given custom or of a given doctrine, and all history reaches the universal only in and through the individual. the only obstacles to a general acceptation of this view are, on one side, a persistent inability to distinguish art from the practical and moral life and from philosophy, and on the other, a lack of scientific sense, through which science is regarded not as critical research, but as a material gathering of facts. prospectuses, handbooks, dictionaries and encyclopedias are not the ideal of history: they are instruments of which we shall always make use as practical helps for the critical research; but what is living and real thought in them is but an echo of the actual thinking of individual problems.
-quid est veritas?--platonism, or transcendental idealism--naturalism, or transcendental realism--the idea of progress--progress and truth: evolutionism--pragmatism--croce's new pragmatism--the immanence of value--the actuality of truth--truth as history: the function of error and of evil--the foundations of croce's thought.
-there is one problem in the history of human thought, which, however conscious we might be of the multiplicity and historical contingency of philosophical problems, yet can appear to us as the ultimate or central one, if only because it is an abstract interrogation describing the attitude of the philosopher, and to which every concrete logical research, every act of thought, can be reduced. it is pilate's question: quid est veritas? what is truth?
-the question itself has no definite meaning, until it receives from the individual thinker a definite content, which is history or experience, and the infinite variety of the answers it has received is due to the infinite variability of that content. but at all times man has been urged by a passionate desire to lift his own individual answer from the flux of life, to put it as it were over and against that experience from which it had emerged, not as the truth of his particular problem, but as an abstractly universal truth. it is by violently breaking the process of thought, and hypostatizing in essence the subject of his thought, abstracted from its object, or the object from its subject, and both from the creative activity which produces truth, that man has created, both in philosophy proper and in the minds of the multitude, a double transcendence, of pure ideas, on one side, of brute matter on the other, from which the two most common meanings of the word truth are derived.
-the platonic idealist, for whom the actual processes of life and thought are but shadows and remembrances of the eternal ideas in the hyper-uranian space, can be assumed here as the symbol of the transcendental idealist, for whom truth is adequation to an ideal model existing outside the mind. the most disparate types of philosophers belong to this herd, and among them many that commonly go under the name of realists, since the idealist who has fixed and objectified his ideas cannot help considering them as real essences, and dealing with them accordingly. the aristotelian realist, the theologian, hegel himself when postulating an original logos, of which spirit and nature are the temporal explication, all can be gathered together in the goodly company of platonists; and platonists are to-day both the literal followers of german idealism, and the less barbarous among contemporary realists, who are in the habit of attributing an independent, absolute existence to logical or mathematical abstractions. but neither the ones nor the others seem to be in very close contact with the spirit of the age: what they mean by truth is not what is generally meant by truth to-day, except among those who still cling to the myths in which that form of transcendence expressed itself in past ages. the sturdiest, though hardly recognizable, survivals of platonism are relics of formalistic logic, still very frequent in contemporary culture, and a belief in what might be called average truth, mechanically extracted from an external and material consensus of opinions. but with this conception of truth, we touch the border line between idealistic and naturalistic transcendentalism.
-the most common attitude of contemporary thought (and the one that is therefore usually designated as common sense, and as such opposed to philosophy) is a naively naturalistic one. but it would be a mistake to regard it as a simple and spontaneous attitude, and to identify it, for instance, with the naã¯ve intuition of the artist, with a first grade of knowledge as yet untroubled by logical problems. the artist's vision is more distant from naturalism than the philosopher's concept, since common sense, however unreflected and illogical, is in itself a philosophy, and, though it may sound paradoxical, a transcendental one. the artist constantly identifies himself with his object; in his consciousness, the distinction between subject and object has not yet arisen. but the naã¯ve naturalism of which we are now speaking is posterior to the logical judgment, in which that distinction first appears; and is obtained by keeping separate the two terms of the judgment, each of which exists only in relation to the other, and by transforming that relation into a quality of the object. the unity thus disrupted is artificially reconstituted by abolishing the subject, that is, by treating the subject itself as merely an object among many objects, or as a mere abstract intersection of objects. it is with this form of naturalism that realism generally coincides, and its abstracting process is the one that has been recently systematized by the new realists. the justification of the naturalistic conception of truth, as truth of description, and the motive of its present popularity, is that it rests on a method of knowledge which is indispensable to the natural and mathematical sciences, and that the sciences have come to usurp, in modern times, for reasons which are obvious to every one, the place of science. it is not the less true, however, that wherever that method is applied, it reduces the living reality of life and thought to a heap of dead, immovable abstractions. there is no real danger in this as long as the abstractions are taken for what they are, and used as instruments for the purposes of our doing and understanding; but when they are considered as a complete equivalent of the living reality, then we become their prisoners, and are shut out by them from all possibility of true understanding. it is especially from the misuses of this method in the historical and moral sciences, from the degenerations of sociology, psychology, and philology, that we must be constantly on guard; lest in the very sciences of the human spirit we should miss that which is their true object, the human activity which creates the world of history and the values of life.
-modern thought, at the end of the renaissance, begins with an attempt at eliminating that static conception of truth, in which both platonism and naturalism find the roots of their transcendence. this is the origin of the idea of progress, first established by bruno, by bacon, by pascal, by vico, in the form of a correlation between truth and time. mediã¦val thought had been shackled for centuries by the authority of the ancients; the new thinkers invoked the authority of antiquity, of old age, and, therefore, of wisdom, not for the distant ages, in which the world could be said to be still young and inexperienced, but for their own times, in which it was possible to add a perpetually new experience and thought to that which had been bequeathed by the thinkers of greece and rome. the consequence of this attitude was the discovery of the immanence of truth in life, the liberation from the principle of authority (which had been the characteristic mediã¦val form of transcendence), and a vigorous impulse towards the recognition of the dynamic nature of reality, of what an american philosopher called the continuity of the ideal with the real. the thought that was contained in germ in those early polemics, vaguely and mythically in bruno, and much more consciously in vico, is substantially that of croce's identification of philosophy with history.
-we do not expect of a new philosophy that it should suddenly, as a revelation or illumination, give us a key to all the problems of reality, and resolve, once and forever, the so-called mystery of the universe. if such a thing should ever happen, it would mean the end of life, which cannot be conceived, in its ultimate essence, otherwise than as a perpetual positing and solution of problems. it must not be forgotten that a philosophy is the work of one man, and, therefore, contains only the answers to the problems that are real to him. but if we stop to consider the whole course of thought in the last two centuries, we shall realize that the idea of progress, in many different and even in contrasting forms, is the one around which all our life, theoretical and practical, has centred in modern times. and of that idea, croce's philosophy is the most powerful and coherent expression that has ever appeared. it is only by considering the whole of reality as activity, and the values of reality as coinciding with the forms of that activity, that progress acquires a definite meaning: a progress which should be a constant approximation towards a preã«xistent ideal, or a material process external to ourselves, would be a purely illusory one. in one case, our whole life would tend towards making a duplicate of that which already is--a work, therefore, without intrinsic worth, and without a real end; in the other, there would be no work at all, no activity, no life.
-but nothing seems more difficult to our mind than to keep together the two ideas of progress and of truth. the natural sciences have made a gallant attempt at assimilating the idea of progress, and at transforming themselves, ultimately, into history. but the static concepts of naturalism resist that assimilation, and scientific evolutionism offers but the mechanical outline, the external processes of progress, the evolved and not the evolving reality; that is, it keeps its truth at the expense of its progress. this same evolutionism, when applied to the human sciences, is obviously unable to grasp the actuality of spiritual growth and life, and it only reproduces, in aggravated form, the evils inherent in all naturalistic interpretations of the spirit. bergson's philosophy is a new evolutionism, which succeeds much better than the old one in retaining the idea of progress, and is, therefore, a further step towards the transformation of science into history; but what it gains in this respect, it loses in relation to its principle of truth, which is mythically represented as the lowest form of consciousness, or rather as that which is below consciousness itself.
-what is vital in bergson is his criticism of the scientific, or naturalistic, intellect; but the intellect of man has other functions besides those of dissecting and classifying. from a similar beginning, that is, from the economic theory of science, derives another attempt at conciliating progress and truth, pragmatism. in pragmatism also, the critical element is more or less sound, but the constructive one is weak and arbitrary. pragmatism does not reject the truth of science, because of its practical character; on the contrary, having recognized that the foundation of scientific truth is economic, it proceeds to deduce all truth from the will, and to verify it in action. the result of this deduction is a closer connection between truth and life than has been ever reached by any system of philosophy; but a merely apparent one, since truth itself is thus submerged and annulled in the immediacy of practical and passional life. the solution of the problem of truth is obtained only by putting truth out of the question at the beginning of the inquiry; as it is dear that for a rigid pragmatist, there is but one truth left, and that is the truth of his theory, which, however, cannot be verified by the theory itself, since its usefulness is, to say the least, very doubtful.
-truth is the value of the logical activity, and therefore it coincides with the positive history of human thought. its actuality is an infinite progress or development, but not in the sense that the value itself may be subject to increase or change from century to century. at no particular point in that history is it possible to point to a conversion from error to truth, to a total illumination or revelation. every single affirmation of truth, from the simplest and humblest to the most elaborate and complex, takes possession of the whole of reality, in the fulness of its relations; since it is manifestly impossible to affirm the truth of one individual subject, without implicitly determining its position in the universe. truth, as all other values, has no extension; it is incommensurable either with space or with time, it is not augmented by accumulation. degrees in truth, and a more and a less, are inconceivable; but each act that affirms it contains its whole, since truth itself does not live except in the spirit that perpetually creates and recreates it. truth belongs to the thinking mind, that is, to reality as a logical consciousness, as life belongs to the living body. it belongs to us, individually, in relation to that universal consciousness, in the mode and measure of our partaking of it: which means that however much of it we may conquer, however constant, laborious, honest, intense our efforts towards truth may be, yet our duty towards it will always remain infinite, inexhaustible. the conquered truth is dead in the mind that rests in it, that ceases its effort, as life gives place to death in the body that no longer functions.
-in a wider sense, truth belongs to every form of spiritual activity. beauty, utility, goodness are the truths of the artistic, the practical, the moral mind. and in the actual life of the spirit, each of these values represents all the others in the particular act in which it realizes itself. this is what croce means by his circular conception of the spirit. and this is why what is said of one value seems to apply without any change to the others; why, as we said elsewhere, all universals are but one universal. whether we call this one progress or development, spirit or reality, mind or nature, we know that our thought is grasping life itself, not in its abstract identity, but in its infinite actuality, that is, each time, this life, this beauty, this action, this truth. what we aim at is not an ecstatic absorption into the undifferentiated unity, but the finding within ourselves of a centre of consciousness, capable of introducing order and reason into the variegated spectacle of the natural and human world, not from outside and from above, but from its very heart. the truth that we seek is therefore never external to ourselves, but our own activity, our own life, our own history.
-this concept of truth as activity and as history, this activistic and energetic philosophy, truly positive in that the course of history appears to it as a succession of only positive acts and positive values, is not however a blind and fatuous optimism. if it is true that nowhere positive error or positive evil can interrupt the process of life, that death itself does not end but fulfil it, yet from the relations and implications of the various forms of activity arises a real dialectic of good and evil, of truth and error, which is the spring and motive of life. what to the purely utilitarian conscience is the good of now and of to-day, the same conscience, awakened to a greater light, repudiates as evil. the imaginative vision of the poet, in which truth expresses itself, sensuous and finite, and yet pregnant of its infinity, dissolves like mist in the sun in the clearness of the logical concept, and is then restored in its right by the historical and critical consciousness to which that truth is poetry. the myths and superstitions of the old religions, dead in the letter, are revived in the thought itself that seems to destroy them. history is but this perpetual cycle of death and resurrection, in which what is concrete distinction in the act transforms itself into opposition in the process, producing the terms of a new problem and becoming the source of the new creation. thus the whole method of croce's philosophy reveals itself as directed towards a realistic conception of life, and the distinctions within the concept are not abstract forms, but the very structure of reality.
-the professional philosopher moves always and only in the rarefied atmosphere of the pure concept. croce came to philosophy from art and from economics, and he never lost contact with the elementary forms of knowledge and of action. what might be termed as his fundamental discoveries are his definitions of the ã¦sthetic and of the economic principle. on this basis the whole of his thought rests. without a conception of a truth which is sufficient unto itself, and yet is not logical truth, and of a good which has its own justification, and yet is not moral good, he would have been compelled to maintain by the side of the concepts of truth and of goodness, error and evil as positive realities, or to include the whole of reality within what would have been truth and goodness in a purely verbal sense. in both cases, he would have been unable to make his philosophy immediately adherent to all grades of active consciousness, from the lowest to the highest, and thereby to history. of these discoveries the one that until now has attracted the greatest attention is that of the pure intuition, and of art and language as expression. but the establishment of the economic principle, that is of the world of nature, of feeling, of passion, as a positive grade of the spiritual process, will probably be counted as croce's greatest achievement, by those who shall be able to look back on his work with an ampler perspective. it is through it that his philosophy of the spirit, and in this philosophy, the consciousness of our day, has taken possession of that other world, of that persistent transcendance, which we call nature. in this direction lies, undoubtedly, the future course of the thought of an age, to which, in this afterglow of a great conflagration, all problems seem to gather into the one of the subjection to its better and higher self, the utilization for its purer purposes, of its own cumbersome economic body, of its nature and of its passions.
-croce's complete works form a collection of twenty-eight volumes, in four distinct series, published by laterza e figli, of bari, who are also the publishers of la critica, and of the following collections initiated or directed by croce: scrittori d'italia, scrittori stranieri, classici della filosofia moderna.
-we give here a full list of the opere di benedetto croce, adding to the title of each volume the year of the last available edition, the years of their composition having already been indicated in the text:
-filosofia dello spirito ("philosophy of the spirit"):
-vol. i, estetica, 1912. (translated under the tide of "ã†sthetic.")
-vol. ii, logica, 1917. (translated under the tide of "logic.")
-vol. iii, filosofia della pratica, 1915. (translated under the tide of "the philosophy of the practical: economics and ethics.")
-vol. iv, teoria e storia della storiografia, 1920. (translated under the tide of "theory and history of historiography" in england, and under the ride of "history: its theory and practice" in the united states.)
-saggi filosofici ("philosophical essays"):
-vol. i, problemi di estetica, 1910 ("problems of ã†sthetics.")
-vol. ii, la filosofia di giambattista fico, 1911. (translated under the title of "the philosophy of vico.")
-vol. iii, saggio sullo hegel, 1913. ("essay on hegel," followed by essays on the history of philosophy; the essay on hegel translated under the tide of "what is living and what is dead in the philosophy of hegel.")
-vol. iv, materialismo storico ed economia marxistica, 1918. (translated under the title of "historical materialism and marxian economics.")
-vol. v, nuovi saggi di estetica, 1920. ("new essays on ã†sthetics"; contains the breviario di estetica, translated under the title of "the essence of ã†sthetics.")
-vol. vi, frammenti di etica, 1922. ("fragments of ethics.")
-scritti di storia letteraria e politica. ("writings on literary and political history"):
-vol. i, saggi sulla letteratura italiana del seicento, 1911. ("essays on italian literature in the seventeenth century.")
-vol. ii, la rivoluzione napoletana del 1799, 1912. ("the neapolitan revolution of 1799.")
-vols. iii-vi, la letteratura della nuova italia, 1914-15. "(the literature of the new italy.")
-vol. vii, i teatri di napoli, 1916. ("the theatres of naples.")
-vol. viii, la spagna nella vita italiana durante la rinascenza, 1917. ("spain in italian life during the renaissance.")
-vols. ix-x, conversazioni critiche, 1918. ("critical conversations.")
-vol. xi, storie e leggende napoletane, 1919. ("historical tales and legends of naples.")
-vol. xii, goethe, 1919.
-vol. xiii, una famiglia di patrioti, 1919. ("a family of patriots"; includes essays on francesco de sanctis.)
-vol. xiv, ariosto, shakespeare e corneille, 1920. (translated under the title of "ariosto, shakespeare, and corneille.")
-vols. xv-xvi, storia della storiografia italiana, 1920. ("the history of italian historiography.")
-vol. xvii, la poesia di dante, 1921. ("the poetry of dante.")
-scritti varii. ("miscellaneous writings"):
-vol. i, primi saggi, 1919. ("early essays.")
-the following volumes are not included in the laterza edition of croce's works:
-cultura e vita morale, bari, 1914. ("culture and moral life.") aneddoti e profili settecenteschi, palermo, 1914. ("anecdotes and profiles of the eighteenth century.")
-contributo alla critica di me stesso, naples, 1918. ("contribution to a criticism of myself"; one hundred copies printed for private distribution.)
-curiositã  storiche, naples, 1920. ("historical curiosities.")
-pagine sparse, edited by g. castellano, naples, 1919-1920. ("scattered pages," consisting of pagine di letteratura e di cultura, 2 vols.; pagine sulla guerra; and memorie, scritti biografici e appunti storici.)
-a complete bibliography, cataloguing the whole of croce's multifarious activity, is outside the scope of this note. the nearest approach to it can be found in g. castellano's introduzione alle opere di b. croce, bari, 1920, which contains, besides, a full list of translations in eight languages, a bibliography of the italian and foreign critical literature on croce, and a very useful series of abstracts of discussions and judgments on croce's work.
-besides articles and essays in american and english magazines and reviews, the following works of croce have been translated into english: the four volumes of the filosofia dello spirito, the essay on hegel, the essence of ã†sthetics, and the essays on ariosto, shakespeare, and corneille, by douglas ainslie; the essay on vico, by r. g. collingwood, and the essays on historical materialism, by c. m. meredith. but the english or american student of croce ought to rely as little as possible on translations; the reading of the italian text will be found comparatively easy, on the basis of a good acquaintance with latin or with french. the labour entailed by the surmounting of the first difficulties will be largely repaid by the advantages gained in coming into direct contact with croce's thought, and by the acquisition of at least a reading knowledge of italian.
-madame gilbert's cannibal
-by bennet copplestone
-the lost naval papers the last of the grenvilles jitny and the boys the silent watchers
-madame gilbert's cannibal
-author of "the lost naval papers," etc.
-all rights reserved
-printed in the united states of america
-madame gilbert's cannibal
-madame gilbert's war service ended when austria fell out. she had been in italy busied with those obscure intrigues for the confounding of an enemy which are excused, and dignified, as patriotic propaganda. she is satisfied that on the italian front she, and those who worked with her, really won the war.
-the war satisfactorily won, madame gilbert sped home to revel in the first holiday which she had known since august, 1914. she always seems to travel with fewer restrictions and at greater speed than any except prime ministers and commanding generals. in italy she is an italian and in france a frenchwoman--a dazzling italian and a very winning frenchwoman. the police of both countries make smooth her path with their humble bodies upon which madame is graciously pleased to trample. "i never trouble much about passports or credentials," says she, "though i carry them just as i do my .25 automatic pistol; in practice i find that i need draw my papers as rarely as i draw my gun. most of the police and officials who have seen me once know me when i come again, and rush to my assistance." she is never grateful for service. i do not believe she knows the sentiment of gratitude. a poor man renders her aid in defiance of regulations, and maybe at the risk of his neck; she smiles upon him, and the debt is instantly discharged. he is dismissed until perchance madame may again have occasion for his devotion. then she reveals the royal accomplishment of never forgetting a face. imagine a harassed, weary chef du train, before whose official unseeing eyes travellers flit like figures on a cinema screen, imagine such a one addressed by name and rank by the most beautiful and gracious of mortal women, by a woman who remembers all those little family confidences which he had poured into her sympathetic ears some twelve months before, by a woman who enquires sweetly after his good wife--using her pet name--laments that the brave son--also accurately named--is still missing beyond those impenetrable boche lines. will not the chef du train, cooed over thus and softly patted as one pats butter, break every french rule the most iron-bound to speed madame upon her way? of course he will. in war time, as in peace time, that is the royal manner of madame gilbert. she does not travel; she makes a progress.
-madame came home after the armistice with austria, and, being discharged of liability to the propagandist headquarters, found herself a free and idle woman. the first time for more than four years.
-she had a little money from her late husband (the real one), and had been lavishly paid for her services during the war. war prices in london seemed quite moderate to her after the extortions of france and italy. she re-occupied her old rooms near shaftesbury avenue--and incidentally made homeless a pair of exiled belgians--and fed after the fashion that she loved in the restaurants of soho. madame enjoyed her food. she always scoffed at beauty specialists. "look at me," she would say. "look closely at my skin, at my hair, at my teeth if you like. what you see is god's gift improved by exact care for my health. i do physical exercises for twenty minutes every night and morning. i plunge all over into cold water whenever i can get together enough to cover me, and i eat and drink whatever i like. i shall go on living for just as long as i am beautiful and healthy. when i have to think of my digestion or of the colour of my skin, i shall say good-bye and go west in a dream of morphia." superficially, madame is a roman catholic; at heart she is a greek pagan.
-it was at la grande patisserie belge that madame stumbled across the lawyer who was fated to introduce her to the cannibal of whom she told me in whitehall.
-it was a melancholy afternoon in january, peace had not brought plenty--especially of coal--and madame was fortifying herself against the damp chills of london by long draughts of the hottest coffee and the sweetest and stickiest confectionery which even she could relish. about six feet distant, on what one may describe as her port quarter, sat a middle-aged englishman whose bagging clothes showed that war rations had dealt sorely with his once ample person. madame, who without turning her head examined him in critical detail, judged that his loss in weight was three stone. he had the clean, shaven face and alert aspect of a lawyer or doctor. in fancied security a little to the left and rear of madame gilbert the stranger stared openly at her cheek and ear and the coils of bright copper hair. madame knew that he was watching her, and rather liked the scrutiny. she had recognized him at once, and would have been slightly humiliated if he had failed to be interested in her. it is true that she had met him but once before in her life, and that some four years since, but as madame had condescended to recollect him--i have said that her memory for faces was royal--a failure on his part to remember her would have been an offence unpardonable.
-madame continued to munch sweet stuff, and the man, his tea completed, rose, paid his bill, and then passed slowly in front of her. he needed encouragement before he would speak. so madame gave it, a quick look and a smile of invitation. he bowed.
-"have i not the honour to meet again the signora guilberti?" said he.
-"the signora guilberti," assented madame, "or madame guilbert, or madame gilbert, as rendered by the rough english tongue. i have stooped to anglicise my name," she went on, "though i hate the clipped english version." she indicated a chair, and the lawyer--he was a lawyer--sat down.
-"is it possible that madame honours me with remembrance?"
-"let me place you," said she, happy in the display of her accomplishments, "and don't seek to guide my memory. it was in the spring of 1915, at a reception in the garden of devonshire house. you were in attendance upon her majesty the queen-mother of portugal. there were present representatives of the italian red cross, for italy, the land of my late husband, had ranged herself with the allies. you are a lawyer of the haute noblesse. your clients are peers and princes, of old princes in exile and of new peers in possession. i recall you most distinctly, though at that time, my poor friend, you were not a little portly, and now you are a man shrunken."
-"and my name?" he asked, flattered that a beautiful woman should recall him so distinctly.
-"it is a strange name--gatepath. an old english name redolent of the soil. roger gatepath. your firm bears no prefix of initials and no suffix of company. you call yourselves gatepaths. just gatepaths, as though your status were territorial."
-he crowed with pleasure. by an exercise in memory, madame gilbert had tied him to her chariot wheels.
-"right!" cried he. "right in every particular. you are the most wonderful of women. for two minutes i spoke with you, and that was nearly four years ago. i was one of a large party, an insignificant lawyer lost in a dazzling company of titles. yet you have remembered."
-madame left the sense of flattery to soak in. she did not spoil the impression that she had made by explaining that she would have remembered a lackey with just the same accuracy.
-"and you, madame?" he asked. "have you been all these years doing war work with the italian red cross? the years have passed and left no mark upon your face and figure. i, who comfortably filled out my clothes, am shrunken, yet time and sorrow have spared you."
-"nevertheless, i have been pretty hard at work," said madame briskly. "i was present at that party ostensibly as an official of the italian red cross. in fact i was there to see that no harm befell the royal personages who were in my charge. while we moved about those pleasant grounds, chatting and sipping tea, i was watching, watching. and my hand was never far from the butt of the webley automatic which, slung from my waist, was hidden in a bag of silk."
-"heavens!" he cried out. "you are...."
-"hush," interposed madame. "a lawyer and a gatepath should be more discreet. the war is over, and i can tell you now that i fought every minute of it in the secret service, the civil branch. i was the head woman, the bright particular star, in dawson's secret corps."
-"is it discreet to tell me this?" he asked, countering her reproof of a moment earlier.
-she smiled rather wickedly. "are you not a lawyer and a gatepath? and can one not tell anything to a lawyer and a gatepath? besides, i have sent in my resignation, and am now a free woman. it has been a good time, a very good time. i have fought devils and mastered devils in england and france and italy for four long years, and now i would rest. you say that time and sorrow have spared me. yet i have known both time and sorrow. have i not lost...."
-he broke into a babble of apologies. "i did not know.... i did not realise...."
-she waved a hand, and he fell silent. "i do not wear the trappings of woe, for though i am eternally widowed, i glory in my loss. it was in the rearguard at caporetto, when all less gallant souls had fled, that my guilberti fell."
-of course from that moment gatepath was her slave. she had flattered him and humbugged him as she flattered and humbugged all of us. madame had no designs against gatepath, yet she could not forbear to triumph over him. "one never knows," she said, "when one may need a devoted friend, and need him badly. i always look forward."
-two or three weeks later madame found a letter at her club signed "gatepaths." it was the club in dover street with those steep steps down which the members tumble helplessly in frosty weather. madame calls it "the club of falling women."
-it appears that gatepath, hunting for an adviser of ripe wisdom, had sought out the chief of dawson and lately of madame, and laid bare his pressing troubles. the chief is one of those rare men to whom all his friends, and they are as the stars in number, go seeking counsel in their crimes and follies. nothing shocks him, nothing surprises him. and from the depths of his wise, humorous, sympathetic mind, he will almost always draw waters of comfort. suppose, for example, one had slain a man and urgently sought to dispose of the corpse--a not uncommon problem in crowded cities--to whom could one more profitably turn than to the chief of his majesty's detective service? or if, in a passing fit of absence of mind, one had wedded three wives, and the junior in rank began to suspect the existence of one or more seniors; do we not all suffer from lapses of memory? one does not put these problems before the chief as one's own--there is a decent convention in these matters--but, of course, he knows. to know all is to pardon all, and there is very little that the chief does not know about you or me.
-the family solicitor of peers and princes poured into the chief's ear the fantastic cause of his present distresses. he delivered himself of the story in all seriousness, for it was dreadfully serious to him. never in all his experience, and in that of his century-old firm, had anything so dreadfully serious occurred. the chief controlled himself until the end was reached, and then exploded in a yell of laughter.
-"it is nothing to laugh at," grumbled gatepath.
-"not for you, perhaps. but to my mind the situation is gorgeous. has this man the legal right of succession?"
-"beyond a doubt," groaned gatepath. "his father saw to that."
-"then why not leave matters to take their legal course?" asked the chief, still laughing. "the house of lords will be the better for a shock. they are a dull lot. and your lively friend will administer the shock all right."
-roger gatepath spread out his hands in agony. "but it is one of the oldest peerages in the country, as old almost as the barony of arundel. can't you see how frightful it will be for the family if this--this person--is allowed to succeed?"
-"there is no question of allowing him. if he is the legal heir he must succeed. the family must just put him in their pipe and smoke him. what else can they do?"
-"i thought that you, with all your experience of the south, might suggest something. would it not be possible to buy the man off--or might he not----"
-"how can you buy him off when he is the heir? you people are nothing but trustees, who must account to him for every penny. if he claims the peerage and estates, you must accept him. you admit that legally he is the heir. i can see what is in your mind, but it won't do, gatepath, it won't do. if you try any hanky-panky, that pretty neck of yours will find itself in a hempen collar. now if it was only a case for judicious kidnapping----"
-gatepath looked around anxiously. the men were alone in a recess of the club smoking-room. "yes," he whispered eagerly. "yes, go on."
-"i shall not do anything of the sort. you are a nice sort of family solicitor, gatepath. apart from the personal danger of playing tricks, can't you see that your interest lies with the bouncing heir, not with the snuffy old family? don't be an ass. bring him home, give the house of lords the sensation of their placid lives, and let the good old british public enjoy a week of laughter. how they will bellow with joy. and the newspapers! i can see, gatepath, that your agreeable young heir is going to be the success of the season."
-"you are not very helpful," groaned gatepath. "there must be a solution; there must be some way of shielding the family from this frightful humiliation."
-the interview with the chief was a complete failure, and gatepath parted from his old friend both hurt and angry. he had not expected ribald laughter in so grave a social crisis. the chief must be a radical, a socialist, even a bolshevik, one empty of all decent political principles.
-it was on his way home that gatepath bethought him of madame gilbert. she, that beautiful, loyal-hearted woman, would not laugh. he remembered the glitter of unshed tears in the violet eyes when she had bade him farewell. it was his tactless hand upon the open wound of caporetto which had aroused those tears. he remembered also that madame was free, and that she had been trained to do the ruthless, unscrupulous work of the secret service. she did not look either ruthless or unscrupulous, and it was in a strictly professional sense that gatepath connected her etc.," was thus explained to me by molilakwa: "supposing we strike a snake, already it vanishes, it does not remain; thus also we human beings, when mulukwausi catch us, we disappear." that is, we disappear after having spoken this magical formula, for in a formula the desired result is always expressed in anticipation. molilakwa's description of a snake's behaviour is, according to my experience, not sound natural history, but it probably expresses the underlying idea, namely the elusiveness of the snake, which would naturally be one of the metaphorical figures used in the spell.
-the string of words following the invocation of the snake are all mythical names, four of which we found mentioned in the above myth, while the rest remain obscure. the last-named, that of modokei, is preceded by the words bulumavau tabugu, which means, 'recent spirit of my ancestor,' which words are as a rule used in spells with reference to real grandfathers of the reciters.
-the middle part of the spell proceeds:--
-"i shall cover the eyes of the witches of kitava; i shall cover the eyes of the witches of kumwageya; i shall cover the eyes of the witches of iwa; i shall cover the eyes of the witches of gawa, etc., etc.," enumerating all the villages and islands renowned for their witches. this list is again recited, substituting for the expression "i shall cover," in succession, "i shall befog," and "dew envelopes." this middle part needs no commentary.
-the end of this formula runs as follows:
-"i shall kick thy body, i shall take thy spirit skirt, i shall cover thy buttocks, i shall take thy mat, a pandanus mat, i shall take thy mantle. i shall strike thee with my foot, go, fly over tuma, fly away. i myself in the sea (here the reciter's name is mentioned), i shall drift away, well." this last part of the spell is so much alike to the end of the spell first quoted in this chapter, that no commentary is needed.
-the mythological and magical data presented in this chapter all bear upon the native belief in flying witches and dangers at sea, a belief in which elements of reality are strangely blended with traditionally fixed fancies, in a way, however, not uncommon to human belief in general. it is time now to return to our party on the beach at yakum, who, after having spent the night there, next morning rig up their masts, and with a favourable wind, soon reach the waters of gumasila and domdom.
-in the amphletts--sociology of the kula
-our party, sailing from the north, reach first the main island of gumasila, a tall, steep mountain with arched lines and great cliffs, suggesting vaguely some huge gothic monument. to the left, a heavy pyramid, the island of domdom, recedes behind the nearer mountain as the travellers approach. the fleet now sails along the westerly shore of gumasila, on which side the jungle, interspersed with bald patches, ascends a steep slope, ribbed with rocky ridges, and creased by valleys which run at their foot into wide bays. only here and there can be seen triangular clearings, signs of cultivation made by the natives from the other side of the island, where the two villages are situated. at the south-west end of gumasila, a narrow promontory runs into a flat, low point with a sandy beach on both sides. on the north side of the point, hidden from the villages, the fleet comes to a halt, on the beach of giyawana (called by the trobrianders giyasila). this is the place where all the fleets, arriving from the north, stop before approaching the villages. here also the inhabitants of the amphletts rest for a day, after the first false start they have made from the villages, and before they actually set off for the trobriands. this beach, in short, is the amphlettan counterpart of the sandbank muwa. it was also here that i surprised the gumasilan canoes on a full moon night, in march, 1918, after they had started to join the uvalaku expedition to sinaketa.
-on this beach, the sinaketans perform the final stage of kula magic, before approaching their partners in gumasila. the same magic will be repeated before arriving in dobu, and as a matter of fact, when the objective of the big uvalaku is dobu, the full and ceremonial performance of the magic might usually be deferred till then. it will be better therefore to postpone the description of this magic till we have brought our fleet to the beach of sarubwoyna. here it will be enough to mention that on occasions when magic is performed, after an hour's or half hour's pause on the beach of giyawana, all the men get into their canoes, take the paddles and oars, and the fleet sails round the point where, in a small, very picturesque bay, there lies the smaller village of gumasila, called nu'agasi (see plate i). this village in olden days was perched on a narrow ledge some one hundred metres above the sea level, a fastness difficult of access, and overlooking all its approaches. now, after the white man's influence has rendered unnecessary all precautions against raiding parties, the village has come down to the narrow strip of foreshore, a bridge between the sea and a small swamp formed at the foot of the hill. some of the canoes will come to this beach, the others will sail further, under a precipitous black rock of some 150 metres high and 300 metres wide (see plate xlii). turning another corner, they arrive at the big village of gumasila, built on artificial stone terraces, surrounded by dykes of small stones, forming square lagoons and diminutive harbours (compare the description given above in chapter i, division v). this is the old village which, practically inaccessible by sea, formed a fastness of a different kind from the other, high-perched villages typical of this district. exposed to the full onslaught of the south-easterly winds and seas, against which it was protected by its stone bulwarks and dykes, it was approachable only in all weathers by a small channel to the south, where a big rock and a reef shelter it from the rough waters.
-without any preliminary welcoming ceremony or formal reception, the sinaketan guests now leave their canoes and disperse among the villagers, settle down in groups near the houses of their friends, and engage in betel chewing and conversations. they speak in kiriwinian, a language which is universally known in the amphletts. almost as soon as they go ashore, they give to their partners presents of pari (opening gift), some small object, such as a comb, a lime pot, or a lime stick. after that, they await some kula gifts to be given them. the most important headman will offer such a gift first to kouta'uya, or to'udawada, whichever of them is the toli'uvalaku of the occasion. the soft, penetrating sound of a conch-shell soon announces that the first gift has been given. other blasts of conch-shells follow, and the kula is in full swing. but here again, what happens in the amphletts, is only a minor interlude to the sinaketan adventurers, bent on the bigger goal in dobu. and in order for us to remain in harmony with the native perspective we shall also wait for the detailed and circumstantial description of the kula proceedings till we arrive on the beach of tu'utauna, in dobu. the concrete account of how such a visiting fleet is received and behaves on arrival will be given, when i describe a scene i saw with my own eyes in the village of nabwageta, another amphlett island, when sixty dobuan canoes arrived there on their uvalaku, en route for boyowa.
-to give a definite idea of the conversations which take place between the visitors and the amphlettans, i shall give a sample noted down, during a visit of some trobrianders to nu'agasi, the smaller village of gumasila. a few canoes had arrived a day or two before, in the neighbouring island, nabwageta, coming from the small western islands of the trobriands on a kula. one of them paddled across to nu'agasi with a crew of some six men, in order to offer pari gifts to their partners and see what was to be done in the way of kula. the canoe was sighted from a distance, and its purpose was guessed at once, as word had been brought before of the arrival in nabwageta of this small expedition. the headman of nu'agasi, tovasana, hurried back to his house from my tent, where i was taking great pains to obtain some ethnographic information from him.
-tovasana is an outspoken character, and he is the most important headman in the amphletts. i am not using the word 'chief,' for in the amphletts, as i have said, the natives do not observe either the court ceremonial with crouching and bending, nor do the headmen have any power or economic influence, at all comparable with those of the trobriands. yet, although i came from the trobriands, i was struck by the authoritative tone used, and the amount of influence evidently wielded by tovasana. this is partly due undoubtedly to the lack of white man's interference, which has so undermined native authority and morality in the trobriands, whereas the amphletts have so far escaped to a large extent missionary teaching and government law and order. on the other hand, however, the very narrow sphere of his powers, the authority over a small village, consolidates the headman's influence. the oldest and the most aristocratic by descent of all the headmen, he is their acknowledged 'doyen.'
-in order to receive his visitors he went to the beach in front of his house and sat there on a log, looking impassively over the sea. when the trobrianders arrived each man took a gift and went to his partner's house. the chief did not rise to meet them, nor did they come in a body to greet him. the toliwaga came towards the place where tovasana was sitting; he carried a bundle of taro and a piece of gugu'a (objects of small value, such as combs, lime pots, etc.). these he laid down near the seated headman, who, however, took no notice of it. a small boy, a grandchild of tovasana, i think, took up the gifts and put them into his house. then, without having yet exchanged a word, the toliwaga sat down on the platform next to tovasana. under a shady tree, which spread its branches like a canopy above the bleached canoe, the men formed a picturesque group sitting cross-legged on the platform. beside the slim, youthful figure of the kaduwaga man, the old tovasana, with his big, roughly carved features, with his large aquiline nose sticking out from under an enormous turban-like wig, looked like an old gnome. at first exchanging merely a word or two, soon they dropped into more animated conversation, and when other villagers and the rest of the visitors joined them, the talk became general. as they spoke in kiriwinian, i was able to jot down the beginning of their conversation.
-"where have you anchored?"
-"when did you come?"
-"from where did you start on the last day before arriving?"
-"the day before yesterday."
-"started from home with yavata; wind changed. arrived on sandbank (gabuwana); we slept; so-and-so made wind magic; wind changed again; good wind."
-then tovasana asked the visitors about one of the chiefs from the island of kayleula (to the west of kiriwina), and when he was going to give him a big pair of mwali. the man answered they do not know; to their knowledge that chief has no big mwali at present. tovasana became very angry, and in a long harangue, lapsing here and there into the gumasila language, he declared that he would never kula again with that chief, who is a topiki (mean man), who has owed him for a long time a pair of mwali as yotile (return gift), and who always is slow in making kula. a string of other accusations about some clay pots given by tovasana to the same chief, and some pigs promised and never given, were also made by the angry headman. the visitors listened to it with polite assent, uttering here and there some noncommital remark. they, in their turn, complained about some sago, which they had hoped to receive in nabwageta, but which was churlishly refused for some reason or other to all the men of kaduwaga, kaysiga and kuyawa.
-tovasana then asked them, "how long are you going to stay?"
-"till dobu men come."
-"they will come," said tovasana, "not in two days, not in three days, not in four days; they will come tomorrow, or at the very last, the day after tomorrow."
-"you go with them to boyowa?"
-"i sail first to vakuta, then to sinaketa with the dobu men. they sail to susuwa beach to fish, i go to your villages, to kaduwaga, to kaysiga, to kuyawa. is there plenty of mwali in your villages?"
-"yes, there are. so-and-so has..."
-here followed a long string of personal names of big armshells, the approximate number of smaller, nameless ones, and the names of the people in whose possession they were at the time.
-the interest of both hearers and speakers was very obvious, and tovasana gave the approximate dates of his movements to his visitors. full moon was approaching, and the natives have got names for every day during the week before and after full moon, and the following and preceding days can therefore be reckoned. also, every seven-day period within a moon is named after the quarter which falls in it. this allows the natives to fix dates with a fair exactitude. the present example shows the way in which, in olden times, the movements of the various expeditions were known over enormous areas; nowadays, when white men's boats with native crews often move from one island to the other, the news spreads even more easily. in former times, small preliminary expeditions such as the one we have just been describing, would fix the dates and make arrangements often for as much as a year ahead.
-the kaduwaga men next inquired as to whether any strangers from the trobriands were then staying in gumasila. the answer was that there was in the village one man from ba'u, and one from sinaketa. then inquiries were made as to how many kula necklaces there were in gumasila, and the conversation drifted again into kula technicalities.
-it is quite customary for men from the trobriands to remain for a long time in the amphletts, that is, from one expedition to another. for some weeks or even months, they live in the house of their partner, friend, or relative, careful to keep to the customs of the country. they will sit about with the men of the village and talk. they will help in the work and go out on fishing expeditions. these latter will be specially attractive to a trobriander, a keen fisherman himself, who here finds an entirely new type of this pursuit. whether an expedition would be made on one of the sandbanks, where the fishermen remain for a few days, casting their big nets for dugong and turtle; or whether they would go out in a small canoe, trying to catch the jumping gar fish with a fishing kite; or throwing a fish trap into the deep sea--all these would be a novelty to the trobriander, accustomed only to the methods suitable to the shallow waters of the lagoon, swarming with fish.
-in one point the trobriander would probably find his sojourn in the amphletts uncongenial; he would be entirely debarred from any intercourse with women. accustomed in his country to easy intrigues, here he has completely to abstain, not only from sexual relations with women married or unmarried, but even from moving with them socially, in the free and happy manner characteristic of boyowa. one of my main informants, layseta, a sinaketa man, who spent several years in the amphletts, confessed to me, not without shame and regret, that he never succeeded in having any intrigues with the women there. to save his face, he claimed that he had had several amphlett belles declaring their love to him, and offering their favours, but he always refused them:
-"i feared; i feared the bowo'u of gumasila; they are very bad."
-the bowo'u are the local sorcerers of the amphletts. whatever we might think about layseta's temptations--and his personal appearance and charm do not make his boastings very credible--and whether he was afraid of sorcery or of a sound thrashing, the fact remains that a trobriander would have to change his usual mode of behaviour when in the amphletts, and keep away from the women entirely. when big parties arrive in gumasila, or nabwageta, the women run away, and camp in the bush till the beach is clear.
-the amphlettans, on the contrary, were used to receive favours from unmarried women in sinaketa. nowadays, the male inhabitants of that village, always disapproving of the custom, though not to the extent of taking any action, tell the amphlettans that the white man's government has prohibited the men from gumasila and nabwageta to have sexual relations in sinaketa. one of the very few occasions, when the men from the amphletts showed any interest in talking to me was when they asked me whether this was true.
-"the sinaketa men tell us that we will go to jail if we sleep with girls in sinaketa. would the government put us into jail, in truth?"
-as usually, i simply disclaimed all knowledge of the white man's arcana in such matters.
-the small party of kaduwaga men, whose visit to tovasana i have just been describing, sat there for about two hours, smoked and chewed betel-nut, the conversation flagging now and then, and the men looking into the distance with the habitual self-important expression worn on such occasions. after the final words about mutual plans were exchanged, and a few pots had been brought by small boys to the canoe as taio'i (farewell gift to the visitors), they embarked, and paddled back three or four miles across to nabwageta.
-we must imagine the big kula party from sinaketa, whom we just watched landing in the two villages of gumasila, behaving more or less in the same manner; conducting similar conversations, offering the same type of pari gifts to their partners. only everything happens of course on a much bigger scale. there is a big group seated before each house, parties walk up and down the village, the sea in front of it is covered with the gaudy, heavily laden canoes. in the little village, of which tovasana is headman, the two chiefs, to'udawada and kouta'uya, will be seated on the same platform, on which we saw the old man receiving his other guests. the other headmen of the sinaketans will have gone to the bigger village round the corner, and will encamp there under the tall palms, looking across the straits towards the pyramidal forms of domdom, and further south, to the main island fronting them with the majestic form of koyatabu. here, among the small houses on piles, scattered picturesquely through the maze of little harbours, lagoons and dykes, large groups of people will be seated on mats of plaited coco-nut, each man as a rule under the dwelling of his partner, chewing betel-nut stolidly, and watching stealthily the pots being brought out to be presented to them, and still more eagerly awaiting the giving of kula gifts, although he remains to a superficial glance quite impassive.
-we must now make another short digression from our consecutive account, and discuss the several aspects of the sociology of the kula one after the other.
-1. sociological limitations to the participation in the kula.--not everyone who lives within the cultural sphere of the kula does participate in it. more especially in the trobriand islands, there are whole districts which do not practise the kula. thus a series of villages in the north of the main island, the villages on the island of tuma, as well as the industrial villages of kuboma and the agricultural ones of tilataula do not practise kula. in villages like sinaketa, vakuta, gumasila and nabwageta, every man carries on the kula. the same applies to the small islands which link up the big gaps of the kula chain, the islands of kitava, iwa, gawa and kwayawata, strewn on the seas between the trobriands and woodlark island, to tubetube and wari, etc., etc. in the dobuan speaking district, on the other hand, i think that certain village complexes either do not practice kula at all, or else practice it on a small scale, that is, their headmen have only a few partners in the neighbouring villages.
-in some of the big chiefs' villages in kiriwina there are certain people who never practice kula. thus, in a village where the headman has the rank of guya'u (chief) or gumguya'u (minor chief) the commoners of the lowest rank and unrelated to the headman are not supposed to carry on the kula. in olden days this rule would be very strictly observed, and nowadays even, though somewhat relaxed, not many commoners of this description practice the kula. limitations as to entry into the kula, therefore, exist only in big kula districts such as that of dobu and of the trobriands, and they are partly local, excluding whole villages, and partly social, excluding certain people of low rank.
-only after this relationship has been established between two men, can the two make kula with one another. an overseas visitor would as a rule go to his partner's house and offer him a small present as pari. this again would be returned by the local man by means of a talo'i present. there would not be any great intimacy between two overseas partners. but, in sharp contrast to the essential hostility between two strange tribesmen, such a relationship of friendship would stand out as the most remarkable deviation from the general rule. in inland relations between two partners of neighbouring villages, the closeness and intimacy would be relatively small as compared to other ties. this relation was defined to me in these words:
-"my partner same as my clansman (kakaveyogu)--he might fight me. my real kinsman (veyogu), same navelstring, would always side with us."
-the best way of obtaining detailed information, and of eliminating any errors which might have crept into ethnographic generalisations, is to collect concrete data. i have drawn up a complete list of the partners of kouta'uya, who is one of the biggest kula men in the whole ring; another list of a smaller sinaketa headman, toybayoba; and of course i know several complements of partners of smaller men, who, as a rule, have about four to six partners each.
-the full list of kouta'uya includes fifty-five men in the northern half of boyowa, that is, in luba, kulumata and kiriwina. from these the chief receives armshells. to the south, his partners in the southern districts of boyowa and vakuta are twenty-three by number; in the amphletts eleven, and twenty-seven in dobu. thus we see that the numbers to the south and north almost balance, the southern exceeding the northern by six. these numbers include his partners in sinaketa, where he makes kula with all his fellow chiefs, and with all the headmen of the divisional villages, and in his own little village he kulas with his sons. but even there, everyone of his partners is either south or north to him, that is, either gives him the necklaces or armshells.
-all the clans are represented in the list. often when asked with regard to the name of some man, why he is in partnership with him, the answer would be--"because he is my kinsman," which means, in this case, clansman of equal rank. men of other clans are included, as 'friends' or relatives-in-law, or for some other reason more or less imaginary. i shall speak presently of the mechanism through which the man enters on this relation.
-the list of toybayoba's partners includes twelve men to the north, four in southern boyowa, three in the amphletts and eleven in dobu, the balance here also being on the southern side. as said above, minor men might have anything between four to ten partners all told, whereas there are men in northern boyowa who have only two partners, one on each side of the ring, so to speak, with whom they make kula.
-in drawing up these lists, which i shall not reproduce here in extenso, another striking feature comes to light: on both sides, there is a definite geographical limit, beyond which a man cannot have any partners. for all men in the village of sinaketa, for instance, this limit, as regards the armshells, coincides with the furthest boundary of kiriwina; that is, no man from sinaketa has any partners in kitava, which is the next kula district beyond kiriwina. south, in the direction from which the soulava are received, the villages at the south-east end of fergusson island are the last places where partners of sinaketan men are still to be found. the small island of dobu itself lies just beyond this boundary, and no man in this island or in any of the villages on normanby island makes kula with the sinaketans (compare the circles, indicating kula communities on map v).
-beyond these districts, the men still know the names of what could be called their partners-once-removed, that is, the partners of their partners. in the case of a man who has only a couple of partners on each side, who, again being modest men, have also only one or two, this relationship is not devoid of importance. if i, in sinaketa, have one partner, say in kiriwina, who again has one partner in kitava, it is no small matter for me to learn that this kitava man just obtained a splendid pair of armshells. for this means that there is about a quarter of a chance of my receiving these armshells, on the supposition that the kitavan and kiriwinian have two partners each between whom they can choose in bestowing them. in the case of a big chief like kouta'uya, however, the number of once-removed partners becomes so great that they lose any personal significance for him. kouta'uya has some twenty-five partners in kiriwina; among them to'uluwa, the big chief, makes kula with more than half of all the men in kitava. some other of kouta'uya's partners in kiriwina, of lesser rank, yet quite important, also make kula with a great number, so that probably practically everybody in kitava is kouta'uya's partner-once-removed.
-if we were to imagine that on the kula ring there are many people who have only one partner on each side, then the ring would consist of a large number of closed circuits, on each of which the same articles would constantly pass. thus if a in kiriwina always kulas with b in sinaketa who kulas with c in tubetube, who kulas with d in murua, who kulas with e in kitava, who kulas with a in kiriwina, then a b c d e f would form such one strand in the big kula circuit. if an armshell got into the hands of one of them, it could never leave this strand. but the kula ring is nothing approaching this, because every small kula partner has, as a rule, on one side or the other, a big one, that is a chief. and every chief plays the part of a shunting-station for kula objects. having so many partners on each side, he constantly transfers an object from one strand to another. thus, any article which on its rounds has travelled through the hands of certain men, may on its second round come through an entirely different channel. this, of course, supplies a large part of the zest and excitement of the kula exchange.
-the designation of such a partner-once-removed in the language of kiriwina is muri-muri. a man will say that such and such a one is 'my partner-once-removed,' 'ulo murimuri.' another expression connected with this relationship is to inquire 'whose hand' has passed on such and such a vaygu'a. when to'uluwa gives a pair of armshells to kouta'uya, this latter will ask: 'availe yamala' ('whose hand')? the answer is 'yamala pwata'i,' ('the hand of pwata'i'). and, as a rule, more or less the following conversation will ensue: "who gave this pair of armshells to pwata'i?" "how long were they kept by a man in the island of yeguma, and then distributed on the occasion of a so'i (feast)?" "when they had been the last time in boyowa?" etc., etc.
-not everyone, however, is as fortunate as to be the son of a chief, which in the trobriands is, on the whole, one of the most enviable positions, since it confers many privileges, and entails no special responsibilities. a young chief himself would have to pay substantially for establishing his position in the kula, for a chief is always the son of a woman of high rank, and the nephew of a chief, though his father may be a commoner of small influence only. in any case, his maternal uncle will expect from him some pokala (offerings by instalment), in payment for magic, vaygu'a, and finally for a leading position in the kula. the young chief would marry, and thus acquire wealth within limits, and with this he would have to give presents to his maternal uncle, who in turn would introduce him into the kula, exactly as a chief does his son, only not disinterestedly.
-a commoner enters into the kula like a chief, with the only exception that everything is on a smaller scale, the amount of the pokala which he gives to his maternal uncle, the vaygu'a which he receives, and the number of partners with whom he kulas. when a man gives to another a piece of vaygu'a, of the kula kind, but not as a kula exchange but as a gift, let us say as youlo (gift in repayment for the harvest supply offerings, see above, chapter vi, division vi), this vaygu'a does not leave the kula ring. the receiver, if he had not been in the kula yet, enters into it by acquiring the vaygu'a, and can then choose his partner, and go on with the exchange.
-there is one important qualification of the statement made at the beginning of this section. i said there that a man entering the kula ring, must learn the mwasila magic. this refers only to those who practise overseas kula. for people who do only the inland exchange, magic is not necessary, and in fact it is never learned by them.
-4. participation of women in the kula.--as i have said in the general descriptive chapter on the kula tribes, the position of women among them is by no means characterised by oppression or social insignificance. they have their own sphere of influence, which, in certain cases and in certain tribes, is of great importance. the kula, however, is essentially a man's type of activity. as mentioned above, in the section between sinaketa and dobu, women do not sail on the big expeditions. from kiriwina young, unmarried girls would sail east to kitava, iwa, and gawa, and from these islands even old, married women, indeed whole families, come to kiriwina. but they do not carry on overseas kula exchange, neither among themselves, nor with men.
-in southern boyowa, that is in sinaketa and vakuta, the rôle of women is similar, but they play besides another part. a man would sometimes send his wife with a kula gift to his partner in the neighbouring village. on some occasions, when he needs vaygu'a very badly, as for instance when he is expecting some uvalaku visitors, his wife may help him to obtain the vaygu'a from that partner. for, though this latter might refuse to give it to his sinaketan partner, he would not do so to his wife. it must be added that no sexual motives are associated with it, and that it is only a sort of customary compliment paid to the fair sex.
-in the short outline of the amphlett tribe which was given in chapter ii, division iv, i called them 'typical monopolists,' both with reference to their economic position and to their character. monopolists they are in two respects, namely as manufacturers of the wonderful clay pots which form the only supply for the surrounding districts; and in the second place, as a commercial community, situated half-way between the populous country of dobu, with its rich gardens and coco-nut plantations, on the one hand, and the trobriands, the main industrial community in eastern new guinea on the other.
-the expression 'monopolists' must, however, be correctly understood. the amphletts are not a centre of commercial middle-men, constantly busy importing and exporting desirable utilities. only about once or twice a year, a big expedition comes to their islands, and every few months they themselves will sail south-east or north and again receive visits from smaller expeditions from one of the neighbours or the other. it is through just such small expeditions that they collect a relatively considerable amount of utilities from all surrounding districts, and these they can give to such visitors as need and desire them. nor would they impose high prices on any such exchange, but they are certainly considered less liberal, less ready to give or to trade and always on the look out for higher return gifts and extras. in their bartering away of the clay pots, they also cannot ask extortionate prices, such as, according to the laws of supply and demand, they could impose on their neighbours. for, no more than any other natives, can they run counter to customary rules, which regulate this exchange as much as all others. indeed, considering the great amount of trouble which they have in obtaining the clay, and the high degree of skill necessary to produce the pots, the prices for which they sell them are very low. but here again, their manners over this transaction are distinctly haughty, and they are well aware of their value as potters and distributors of pots to the other natives.
-a few more words must be said about their pot making industry as well as about the trade in these islands.
-since then, the men have to go about twice yearly to yayawana in order to bring the clay from which the women afterwards will manufacture the pots. it takes them about a day to reach yayawana, to which, as it lies to the south-west, they can travel with any of the prevailing winds and return equally well. they remain for a couple of days there, digging the clay, drying it and filling a few vataga baskets with it. i estimate that each canoe carries about two ton weight on its return journey. this will last the women for half a year's production. the pale, straw-coloured clay is kept under the houses in big troughs made of sides of discarded canoes.
-in olden days, before the white man's advent, the conditions were a little more complicated. only one island, kwatouto, being on friendly terms with the natives had the freedom of the northern shore. whether the other islands used also to fetch the clay from there, doing so armed and ready for attack; or whether they used to acquire the clay by barter from kwatouto, i could not definitely establish. the information one receives in the amphletts is exceedingly unsatisfactory, and my several informants gave contradictory accounts on this point. the fact seems clear, in my case, that kwatouto, then as now, was the source of the best pottery, but that both gumasila and nabwageta also always manufactured pots, though perhaps inferior ones. the fourth island, domdom, never participated in this trade, and up to the present there is not a single woman in domdom who can shape a pot.
-the manufacturing of this article, as said, is exclusively the work of women. they sit in groups of two or three under the houses, surrounded by big clumps of clay and the implements of their craft, and produce in these very shabby and mean conditions, veritable masterpieces of their art. personally i had only the opportunity of seeing groups of very old women at work, although i spent about a month in the amphletts.
-with regard to the technology of pot-making, the method is that of first roughly moulding the clay into its form and then beating with a spatula and subsequently scraping the walls to the required thinness with a mussel-shell. to give the description in detail, a woman starts first by kneading a certain amount of clay for a long time. of this material she makes two semi-circular clumps, or several clumps, if a big pot is to be made. these clumps are then placed in a ring, touching one another upon a flat stone or board, so that they form a thick, circular roll (plate xliv, top). the woman now begins to work this roll with both hands, gradually pressing it together, and at the same time bringing it up all round into a slanting wall (see plate xliv, bottom). her left hand works as a rule on the inside, and her right on the outside of this wall; gradually it begins to shape into a semi-spherical dome. on the top of the dome there is a hole, through which the woman thrusts her left hand, working with it on the inside of the dome (see plate xlv, top). at first the main movements of her hands were from downward up, flattening out the rolls into thin walls. the traces of her fingers going up and down on the outside leave longitudinal furrows (see details on plate xlv, top). towards the end of this stage her hands move round and round, leaving concentric, horizontal marks on the dome. this is continued until the pot has assumed a good curvature all round.
-it seems almost a miracle to see how, in a relatively short time, out of this after all brittle material, and with no implements whatever, a woman will shape a practically faultless hemisphere, often up to a metre in diameter.
-after it has sufficiently hardened to be handled with safety, though it must be done with the utmost care, it is placed on some dried sticks, mouth downwards, supported by stones put between the sticks. it is surrounded with twigs and pieces of wood on its outside, fire is kindled, the sticks below bake it from the inside, and those from above on the outside. the final result is a beautiful pot, of a brick red colour when new, though after several uses it becomes completely black. its shape is not quite semi-spherical; it is rather half an ellipsoid, like the broader half of an egg, cut off in the middle. the whole gives the feeling of perfection in form and of elegance, unparalleled in any south sea pottery i know (see plate xlvi).
-these pots in kiriwinian language kuria, are called by the amphlett natives kuyana or va'ega. the biggest specimens are about a metre across their mouth, and some sixty centimetres deep; they are used exclusively for the ceremonial cooking of mona (see plate xxxv), and are called kwoylamona (in the amphletts: nokunu). the second size kwoylakalagila (in the amphletts, nopa'eva) are used for ordinary boiling of yams or taro. kwoylugwawaga (amphletts, nobadala), are used for the same purposes but are much smaller. an especial size, kwoylamegwa (amphletts, nosipoma) are used in sorcery. the smallest ones, which i do not remember ever having seen in the trobriands though there is a trobriand word for them, kwoylakekila, are used for everyday cooking in the amphletts where they are called va'ega, in the narrower sense of the word.
-i have expatiated on this singular and artistic achievement of the natives of the amphletts, because from all points of view it is important to know the details of a craft so far in advance of any similar achievement within the melanesian region.
-if we imagine a commercial diagram drawn on the map, we would first of all notice the export in pottery, radiating from the amphletts as its source. in the inverse direction, flowing towards them, would be imports in food such as sago, pigs, coco-nut, betel-nut, taro and yams. an article very important in olden days, which had to be imported into the amphletts, was the stone for implements coming via the trobriands from woodlark island. these indeed would be traded on by the amphlettans, as all the d'entrecasteaux relied, for the most part at least, on the imports from woodlark, according to information i obtained in the amphletts. the amphlett islands further depended on the trobriands for the following articles: wooden dishes, manufactured in bwoytalu; lime-pots manufactured in several villages of kuboma; three-tiered baskets and folding baskets, made in luya; ebony lime pots and mussel shells, these latter fished mainly by the village of kavataria in the lagoon. these articles were paid for, or matched as presents by the following ones: first of all, of course the pots; secondly, turtle-shell earrings, special nose sticks, red ochre, pumice stone and obsidian, all of these obtainable locally. further, the natives of the amphletts procured on fergusson island, for the trobrianders, wild banana seeds used for necklaces, strips of rattan used as belts and for lashing, feathers of the cassowary and red parrot, used for dancing decorations, plaited fibre-belts, bamboo and barbed spears.
-it may be added that in olden days, the natives in the amphletts would not sail freely to all the places on the main island. each amphlett village community had a district on the mainland, with which they were on friendly terms and with which they could trade without incurring any danger. thus, as said above, only the village of kwatouto, in the southernmost inhabited amphlett island, was free to go unmolested to the district round yayawana, from whence they obtained the pale yellow clay, so excellent for pottery. the natives of nabwageta had a few villages eastwards from yayawana to deal with, and those of gumasila went further east still. domdom natives were never great traders or sailors. the trading conditions in the islands were further complicated by the constant internal quarrels and warfare between the districts. kwatouto and domdom on the one side, gumasila and nabwageta on the other were allies, and between these two factions there was a constant, smouldering hostility, preventing any development of friendly commercial intercourse, and breaking out now and then into open warfare. this was the reason why the villages were all perched on high, inaccessible ledges, or like gumasila, were built so as to be protected by the sea and reefs from attack.
-the influence of the surrounding great districts, that is, of the trobriands and of dobu upon the amphletts neither was nor is merely commercial. from the limited linguistic material collected in the amphletts, i can only say that their language is related both to that of the trobriands and of dobu. their social organisation resembles closely that of the trobrianders with the exception of chieftainship, which is lacking in the amphletts. in their beliefs as to sorcery, spirits, etc., they seem to be more akin to the dobuans than to the trobrianders. their canoe magic has come from the trobriands, but the art of building their canoes is that of dobu, which as we have seen before is also the one adopted by the trobrianders. the magic of the kula, known in the amphletts, is partly adopted from the trobriands, and partly from dobu. there is only one indigenous system of magic which originated in the islands. long ago there lived a man of the malasi clan, who had his abode in the rock of selawaya, which stands out of the jungle, above the big village of gumasila. this man knew the magic of ayowa, which is the name given to mwasila (kula magic) in the language of the amphletts and of dobu. some people passed near the stone while it was being recited within it; they learned it, and handed it over to their descendants.
-one more point of importance must be mentioned here, a point bearing upon the intertribal relations in this district. as we saw, some trobriand people remain sometimes on prolonged visits in the amphletts. this custom, however, is never reciprocated, and people from the amphletts never visit for any length of time their northern neighbours. the same refers to the relations between the trobriands and the district of dobu. in discussing the lists of kula partners of kouta'uya and toybayoba, i was told about some of their southern partners, that they were veyola (maternal kinsmen) of my informant. on further inquiry it appeared that these people were emigrants from the trobriands, who settled down in tewara, sanaroa or the big dobuan settlements on the north-west shores of dawson straits.
-when i asked whether, on the contrary, there were any cases of dobuans settling in boyowa, it was emphatically denied that such a thing could happen. and indeed, in the numerous genealogical data which i have collected from all over the district, there is no trace of migration from the south, although frequent migrations occur within the district and some from the marshall bennett islands. in general, all these migrations within the trobriands show also a marked tendency to move form north to south. thus, the most aristocratic sub-clan, the tabalu, originated in the northernmost village of laba'i. but now their stronghold is further south in omarakana, and the members of the same sub-clan are ruling in olivilevi, and tukwa'ukwa, that is in the middle of the island. some of them even migrated as far south as vakuta, where they established a feeble imitation of chieftainship, never being able to subdue the other natives to any extent. several sub-clans, now firmly established in the middle and southern portions of the island, trace their descent from the north, and in the amphletts there are also a couple of cases of sub-clans immigrated from boyowa.
-in contrast to this migration of people from north to south, we have noted the spread of one of the main cultural elements, of the canoe, from south to north. we saw how the nagega, the big, sea-worthy, but heavy and slow canoe has been superseded by the masawa or tadobu, which spread a few generations ago, till it arrived at the island of kitava. it is more difficult to follow the movements of beliefs. but i have reason to assume that beliefs in sorcery, more especially in the mulukwausi and tauva'u, move from south to north.
-in the next chapter, we shall return to our sinaketan expedition, in order to move them for a short distance along their route into the first settlements of the dobu speaking people. these places will suggest a new theme for a lengthy digression, this time into the mythological subjects and legends connected with the kula.
-in tewara and sanaroa--mythology of the kula
-at daybreak the party leave the amphletts. this is the stage when the parting gifts, the talo'i are given. the clay pots, the several kinds of produce of the islands and of the koya, which had been laid aside the previous day, are now brought to the canoes (see plate xlvii). neither the giver nor the main receiver, the toliwaga, take much notice of the proceedings, great nonchalance about give and take being the correct attitude prescribed by good manners. children bring the objects, and the junior members of the crew stow them away. the general behaviour of the crowds, ashore and in the canoes, is as unostentatious at this moment of parting as it was at the arrival. no more farewells than greetings are spoken or shouted, nor are there any visible or formal signs of grief, or of hope of meeting again, or of any other emotions. the busy, self-absorbed crews push off stolidly, step the mast, set sail, and glide away.
-they now approach the broad front of koyatabu, which with a favourable wind, they might reach within two hours or so. they probably sail near enough to get a clear view of the big trees standing on the edge of the jungle, and of the long waterfall dividing the mountain's flank right down the middle; of the triangular patches under cultivation, covered with the vine of yams and big leaves of taro. they could also perceive here and there smoke curling out of the jungle where, hidden under the trees, there lies a village, composed of a few miserable huts. nowadays these villages have come down to the water's edge, in order to supplement their garden yield with fish. in olden days they were all high up on the slope, and their huts hardly ever visible from the sea.
-the inhabitants of these small and ramshackle villages are shy and timid, though in olden days they would have been dangerous to the trobrianders. they speak a language which differs from that of dobu and is usually called by the natives 'the basima talk.' there seem to be about four or five various languages on the island of fergusson, besides that of dobu. my acquaintance with the basima natives is very small, due only to two forced landings in their district. they struck me as being physically of a different type from the dobuans, though this is only an impression. they have got no boats, and do the little sailing they require on small rafts of three or five logs tied together. their houses are smaller and less well-made than those in dobu. further investigation of these natives would be very interesting, and probably also very difficult, as is always the case when studying very small communities, living at the same time right out of touch with any white man.
-this land must remain, for the present anyhow, veiled for ourselves, as it also is for the trobriand natives. for these, indeed, the few attempts which they occasionally made to come into contact with these natives, and the few mishaps which brought them to their shores, were all far from encouraging in results, and only strengthened the traditional superstitious fear of them. several generations ago, a canoe or two from burakwa, in the island of kayeula, made an exploring trip to the district of gabu, lying in a wide bay under the north-west flank of koyatabu. the natives of gabu, receiving them at first with a show of interest, and pretending to enter into commercial relations, afterwards fell on them treacherously and slew the chief toraya and all his companions. this story has become famous, and indeed one of the outstanding historical events of the trobriands, because tomakam, the slain chief's younger brother, went to the koya of gabu, and killed the head man of one of the villages, avenging thus his brother's death. he then composed a song and a dance which is performed to this day in kiriwina, and has indeed one of the finest melodies in the islands.
-the story of gumagabu
-"he anchored in the village in the koya. he told his younger brother: 'go, tell the kinana men these words: your friend has a sore leg, well, if we together go to the canoe he will give the pari!' the younger brother went and spoke those words to the headman of the kinana: 'some green coco-nuts, some betel-nut, some pig, bring this to us and we shall give you pari. your arm-shells, your big stone blade, your boar's tusk, your whale-bone spatula await you in the canoe. the message for you is that your friend has a sore leg and cannot walk.' says the kinana man: 'well, let us go!'"
-"he caught a pig, he collected betel-nut, sugar cane, bananas, necklaces, betel-pod, he said: 'well, let us go together to the canoe.' pu'u he gives the necklace; pu'u, the pig; then he gave the coco-nut, the betel-nut, the sugar cane, the bananas. tomakam lay on one side; his leg he wrapped up in a white, soft pandanus mat. before he had spoken to his younger brother": (i.e., he gave him this instruction also, when he sent him to meet the people of gabu): "'you all come with the kinana man. do not remain in the village.' then" (after the first gifts were exchanged) "the kinana man stood up in the canoe. his betel-pod fell down. spoke tomakam, addressing the kinana man: 'my friend, pick up the betel-pod. it fell and went down into the canoe.' the kinana man bent down, he took the betel-pod. tomakam saw that the kinana bent down, he took an axe, and sitting he made a stroke at him. he cut off his neck. then tomakam took the head, threw the body into the sea. the head he stuck on a stick of his canoe. they sailed, they arrived in their village. he caught a pig, prepared a taro pudding, cut sugar cane, they had a big feast, he invented this song."
-such was the story told me by the chief of omarakana about the song and dance of gumagabu, which at that time they were singing and performing in his village. i have adduced it in full, in an almost literal translation from the native text, in order to show it side by side with the song. the narrative thus reproduced shows characteristic gaps, and it does not cover even the incidents of the song.
-the following is a free translation of the song, which, in its original native text, is very condensed and impressionistic. a word or two indicates rather than describes whole scenes and incidents, and the traditional commentary, handed on in a native community side by side with the song, is necessary for a full understanding.
-the gumagabu song
-the stranger of gumagabu sits on the top of the mountain. 'go on top of the mountain, the towering mountain....' ----they cry for toraya...---- the stranger of gumagabu sits on the slope of the mountain. ----the fringe of small clouds lifts above boyowa; the mother cries for toraya---- 'i shall take my revenge.' the mother cries for toraya.
-our mother, dibwaruna, dreams on the mat. she dreams about the killing. 'revenge the wailing; anchor; hit the gabu strangers!' ----the stranger comes out; the chief gives him the pari; 'i shall give you the doga; bring me things from the mountain to the canoe!'
-we exchange our vaygu'a; the rumour of my arrival spreads through the koya we talk and talk. he bends and is killed. his companions run away; his body is thrown into the sea; the companions of the kinana run away, we sail home.
-next day, the sea foams up, the chief's canoe stops on the reef; the storm approaches; the chief is afraid of drowning. the conch shell is blown: it sounds in the mountain. they all weep on the reef.
-they paddle in the chief's canoe; they circle round the point of bewara. 'i have hung my basket. i have met him.' so cries the chief, so cries repeatedly the chief.
-women in festive decoration walk on the beach. nawaruva puts on her turtle rings; she puts on her luluga'u skirt. in the village of my fathers, in burakwa, there is plenty of food; plenty is brought in for distribution.
-the character of this song is extremely elliptic, one might even say futuristic, since several scenes are crowded simultaneously into the picture. in the first strophe we see the kinana, by which word all the tribesmen from the d'entrecasteaux archipelago are designated in boyowa, on the top of his mountain in gabu. immediately afterwards, we are informed of the intentions of tomakam to ascend the mountain, while the women cry for toraya, for the slain chief--probably his kinswomen and widows. the next picture again spans over the wide seas, and on the one shore we see the gabuan sitting on the slopes of his hill and far away on the other, under the fringe of small clouds lifting above boyowa, the mother cries for her son, the murdered chief. tomakam takes a resolve, 'i shall take my revenge,' hearing her cry.
-in the second strophe, the mother dreams about the expedition; the words about revenge to be taken on the gabu men and the directions to anchor and hit him are probably taken from her dream. then suddenly we are transported right across to the mountain, the expedition having arrived there already. the strangers, the kinana are coming down to the canoe, and we assist at the words spoken between them and the people of buakwa.
-then in the third strophe, we arrive at the culminating scene of the drama; even here, however, the hero, who is also his own bard, could not help introducing a few boastful words about his renown resounding in the koya. in a few words the tragedy is described: the kinana bends down, is killed, and his body is thrown into the water. about his head we hear nothing in this verse.
-in the next one, a storm overtakes the returning party. signals of distress are re-echoed by the mountain, and like homeric heroes, our party are not ashamed to weep in fear and anguish. somehow they escape, however, and in the next verse, they are already near their village and tomakam, their leader, bursts into a pæan of triumph. it is not quite clear what the allusion to the basket means, whether he keeps there his kula trophies or the slain enemy's head; this latter, in contradiction to what we heard in the prose story of its being impaled. the song ends with a description of a feast. the woman mentioned there is tomakam's daughter, who puts on festive attire in order to welcome her father.
-comparing now the song with the story, we see that they do not quite tally. in the story, there is the dramatic interest of the mother's intervention. we gather from it that tomakam, goaded by the aspersions of his fellow-villagers, wishes to make his return as effective as possible. he arranges the signals of the two conch shell blasts with his mother, and asks her to harangue the people at the moment of his return. all this finds no expression in the song. the ruse of the chief's sore leg is also omitted from there, which, however, does not mean that the hero was ashamed of it. on the other hand, the storm described in the song is omitted from the story, and there is a discrepancy about the head of the gabu man, and we do not know whether it really is conveyed in a basket as the song has it or impaled, as the story relates!
-i have adduced in detail the story and the song, because they are a good illustration of the native's attitude towards the dangers, and towards the heroic romance of the koya. they are also interesting as documents, showing which salient points would strike the natives' imagination in such a dramatic occurrence. both in the story and in the song, we find emphasised the motives of social duty, of satisfied self-regard and ambition; again, the dangers on the reef, the subterfuge in killing, finally the festivities on return home. much that would interest us in the whole story is omitted, as anyone can see for himself.
-other stories, though not made illustrious through being set into a song, are told about the koya. i met myself an old man in the island of vakuta, who, as a boy, had been captured with a whole party by a village community of dobu-speaking people on normanby island. the men and another small boy of the party were killed and eaten, but some women took pity on him, and he was spared, to be brought up amongst them. there is another man, either alive or recently dead in kavataria, who had a similar experience in fergusson island. another man called kaypoyla, from the small island of kuyawa in the western trobriands, was stranded with his crew somewhere in the west of fergusson island, but not in the district where they used to trade. his companions were killed and eaten. he was taken alive and kept to fatten for a proximate feast. his host, or rather the host of the feast in which he was going to furnish the pièce de résistence, was away inland, to invite the guests, while the host's wife went for a moment behind the house, sweeping the ground. kaypoyla jumped up and ran to the shore. being chased by some other men from the settlement, he concealed himself in the branches of a big tree standing on the beach, and was not found by his pursuers. at night he came down, took a canoe or a raft, and paddled along the coast. he used to sleep on shore during the night, and paddle on in day time. one night he slept among some sago-palms, and, awakening in the morning, found himself, to his terror, surrounded by kinana men. what was his joyful surprise after all, when he recognised among them his friend and kula partner, with whom he always used to trade! after some time, he was sent back home in his partner's canoe.
-many such stories have a wide currency, and they supply one of the heroic elements in tribal life, an element which now, with the establishment of white man's influence, has vanished. yet even now the gloomy shores which our party are leaving to the right, the tall jungle, the deep valleys, the hill-tops darkened with trailing clouds, all this is a dim mysterious background, adding to the awe and solemnity of the kula, though not entering into it. the sphere of activities of our traders lies at the foot of the high mountains, there, where a chain of rocks and islands lies scattered along the coast. some of them are passed immediately after leaving gumasila. then, after a good distance, a small rock, called gurewaya, is met, remarkable for the taboos associated with it. close behind it, two islands, tewara and uwama, are separated by a narrow passage, the mythical straits of kadimwatu. there is a village on the first-mentioned, and the natives of this make gardens on both islands. the village is not very big; it may have some sixty to eighty inhabitants, as it can man three canoes for the kula. it has no commercial or industrial importance, but is notable because of its mythological associations. this island is the home of the mythological hero, kasabwaybwayreta, whose story is one of the most important legends of the kula. here indeed, in tewara, we are right within the mythological heart of the kula. in fact, we entered its legendary area with the moment the sinaketan fleet sailed out of the lagoon into the deep waters of pilolu.
-once more we must pause, this time in an attempt to grasp the natives' mental attitude towards the mythological aspect of the kula. right through this account it has been our constant endeavour to realise the vision of the world, as it is reflected in the minds of the natives. the frequent references to the scenery have not been given only to enliven the narrative, or even to enable the reader to visualise the setting of the native customs. i have attempted to show how the scene of his actions appears actually to the native, to describe his impressions and feelings with regard to it, as i was able to read them in his folk-lore, in his conversations at home, and in his behaviour when passing through this scenery itself.
-here we must try to reconstruct the influence of myth upon this vast landscape, as it colours it, gives it meaning, and transforms it into something live and familiar. what was a mere rock, now becomes a personality; what was a speck on the horizon becomes a beacon, hallowed by romantic associations with heroes; a meaningless configuration of landscape acquires a significance, obscure no doubt, but full of intense emotion. sailing with natives, especially with novices to the kula, i often observed how deep was their interest in sections of landscape impregnated with legendary meaning, how the elder ones would point and explain, the younger would gaze and wonder, while the talk was full of mythological names. it is the addition of the human interest to the natural features, possessing in themselves less power of appealing to a native man than to us, which makes the difference for him in looking at the scenery. a stone hurled by one of the heroes into the sea after an escaping canoe; a sea passage broken between two islands by a magical canoe; here two people turned into rock; there a petrified waga--all this makes the landscape represent a continuous story or else the culminating dramatic incident of a familiar legend. this power of transforming the landscape, the visible environment, is one only of the many influences which myth exercises upon the general outlook of the natives. although here we are studying myth only in its connection with the kula, even within these narrow limits some of its broader connections will be apparent, notably its influence upon sociology, magic and ceremonial.
-the question which presents itself first, in trying to grasp the native outlook on the subject is: what is myth to the natives? how do they conceive and define it? have they any line of demarcation between the mythical and the actual reality, and if so, how do they draw this line?
-their folk-lore, that is, the verbal tradition, the store of tales, legends, and texts handed on by previous generations, is composed of the following classes: first of all, there is what the natives call libogwo, 'old talk,' but which we would call tradition; secondly, kukwanebu, fairy tales, recited for amusement, at definite seasons, and relating avowedly untrue events; thirdly, wosi, the various songs, and vinavina, ditties, chanted at play or under other special circumstances; and last, not least, megwa or yopa, the magical spells. all these classes are strictly distinguished from one another by name, function, social setting, and by certain formal characteristics. this brief outline of the boyowan folk-lore in general must suffice here, as we cannot enter into more details, and the only class which interests us in the present connection is the first one, that called libogwo.
-this, the 'old talk,' the body of ancient tradition, believed to be true, consists on the one hand of historical tales, such as the deeds of past chiefs, exploits in the koya, stories of shipwreck, etc. on the other hand, the libogwo class also contains what the natives call lili'u--myths, narratives, deeply believed by them, held by them in reverence, and exercising an active influence on their conduct and tribal life. now the natives distinguish definitely between myth and historic account, but this distinction is difficult to formulate, and cannot be stated but in a somewhat deliberate manner.
-first of all, it must be borne in mind, that a native would not trouble spontaneously to analyse such distinctions and to put them into words. if an ethnographer succeeded in making the problem clear to an intelligent informant (and i have tried and succeeded in doing this) the native would simply state:
-"we all know that the stories about tudava, about kudayuri, about tokosikuna, are lili'u; our fathers, our kadada (our maternal uncles) told us so; and we always hear these tales; we know them well; we know that there are no other tales besides them, which are lili'u. thus, whenever we hear a story, we know whether it is a lili'u or not."
-indeed, whenever a story is told, any native, even a boy, would be able to say whether this is one of his tribal lili'u or not. for the other tales, that is the historical ones, they have no special word, but they would describe the events as happening among 'humans like ourselves.' thus tradition, from which the store of tales is received, hands them on labelled as lili'u, and the definition of a lili'u, is that it is a story transmitted with such a label. and even this definition is contained by the facts themselves, and not explicitly stated by the natives in their current stock of expressions.
-for us, however, even this is not sufficient, and we have to search further, in order to see whether we cannot find other indices, other characteristic features which differentiate the world of mythical events from that of real ones. a reflection which would naturally present itself would be this: "surely the natives place their myths in ancient, pre-historic times, while they put historical events into recent ages?" there is some truth in this, in so far as most of the historical events related by the natives are quite recent, have occurred within the community where they are told and can be directly connected with people and conditions existing at present, by memory of living man, by genealogies or other records. on the other hand, when historical events are told from other districts, and cannot be directly linked with the present, it would be erroneous to imagine that the natives place them into a definite compartment of time different from that of the myth. for it must be realised that these natives do not conceive of a past as of a lengthy duration, unrolling itself in successive stages of time. they have no idea of a long vista of historical occurrences, narrowing down and dimming as they recede towards a distant background of legend and myth, which stands out as something entirely different from the nearer planes. this view, so characteristic of the naive, historical thinking among ourselves, is entirely foreign to the natives. whenever they speak of some event of the past, they distinguish whether it happened within their own memory or that of their fathers' or not. but, once beyond this line of demarcation, all the past events are placed by them on one plane, and there are no gradations of 'long ago' and 'very long ago.' any idea of epochs in time is absent from their mind; the past is one vast storehouse of events, and the line of demarcation between myth and history does not coincide with any division into definite and distinct periods of time. indeed, i have found very often that when they told me some story of the past, for me obviously mythological, they would deem it necessary to emphasise that this did not happen in their fathers' time or in their grand-fathers' time, but long ago, and that it is a lili'u.
-again, they have no idea of what could be called the evolution of the world or the evolution of society; that is, they do not look back towards a series of successive changes, which happened in nature or in humanity, as we do. we, in our religious and scientific outlook alike, know that earth ages and that humanity ages, and we think of both in these terms; for them, both are eternally the same, eternally youthful. thus, in judging the remoteness of traditional events, they cannot use the co-ordinates of a social setting constantly in change and divided into epochs. to give a concrete example, in the myths of torosipupu and tolikalaki, we saw them having the same interest and concerns, engaged in the same type of fishing, using the same means of locomotion as the present natives do. the mythical personages of the natives' legends, as we shall presently see, live in the same houses, eat the same food, handle the same weapons and implements as those in use at present. whereas in any of our historical stories, legends or myths, we have a whole set of changed cultural conditions, which allow us to co-ordinate any event with a certain epoch, and which make us feel that a distant historical event, and still more, a mythological one, is happening in a setting of cultural conditions entirely different from those in which we are living now. in the very telling of the stories of, let us say, joan of arc, solomon, achilles, king arthur, we have to mention all sorts of things and conditions long since disappeared from among us, which make even a superficial and an uneducated listener realise that it is a story of a remote and different past.
-i have said just now that the mythical personages in the trobriand tradition are living the same type of life, under the same social and cultural conditions as the present natives. this needs one qualification, and in this we shall find a very remarkable criterion for a distinction between what is legendary and what is historical: in the mythical world, although surrounding conditions were similar, all sorts of events happened which do not happen nowadays, and people were endowed with powers such as present men and their historical ancestors do not possess. in mythical times, human beings come out of the ground, they change into animals, and these become people again; men and women rejuvenate and slough their skins; flying canoes speed through the air, and things are transformed into stone.
-now this line of demarcation between the world of myth and that of actual reality--the simple difference that in the former things happen which never occur nowadays--is undoubtedly felt and realised by the natives, though they themselves could not put it into words. they know quite well that to-day no one emerges from underground; that people do not change into animals, and vice versa; nor do they give birth to them; that present-day canoes do not fly. i had the opportunity of grasping their mental attitude towards such things by the following occurrence. the fijian missionary teacher in omarakana was telling them about white man's flying machines. they inquired from me, whether this was true, and when i corroborated the fijian's report and showed them pictures of aeroplanes in an illustrated paper, they asked me whether this happened nowadays or whether it were a lili'u. this circumstance made it clear to me then, that the natives would have a tendency, when meeting with an extraordinary and to them supernatural event, either to discard it as untrue, or relegate it into the regions of the lili'u. this does not mean, however, that the untrue and the mythical are the same or even similar to them. certain stories told to them, they insist on treating as sasopa (lies), and maintain that they are not lili'u. for instance, those opposed to missionary teaching will not accept the view that biblical stories told to them are a lili'u, but they reject them as sasopa. many a time did i hear such a conservative native arguing thus:--
-"our stories about tudava are true; this is a lili'u. if you go to laba'i you can see the cave in which tudava was born, you can see the beach where he played as a boy. you can see his footmark in a stone at a place in the raybwag. but where are the traces of yesu keriso? who ever saw any signs of the tales told by the misinari? indeed they are not lili'u."
-to sum up, the distinction between the lili'u and actual or historical reality is drawn firmly, and there is a definite cleavage between the two. prima facie, this distinction is based on the fact that all myth is labelled as such and known to be such to all natives. a further distinctive mark of the world of lili'u lies in the super-normal, supernatural character of certain events which happen in it. the supernatural is believed to be true, and this truth is sanctioned by tradition, and by the various signs and traces left behind by mythical events, more especially by the magical powers handed on by the ancestors who lived in times of lili'u. this magical inheritance is no doubt the most palpable link between the present and the mythical past. but this past must not be imagined to form a pre-historic, very distant background, something which preceded a long evolution of mankind. it is rather the past, but extremely near reality, very much alive and true to the natives.
-as i have just said, there is one point on which the cleavage between myth and present reality, however deep, is bridged over in native ideas. the extraordinary powers which men possess in myths are mostly due to their knowledge of magic. this knowledge is, in many cases, lost, and therefore the powers of doing these marvellous things are either completely gone, or else considerably reduced. if the magic could be recovered, men would fly again in their canoes, they could rejuvenate, defy ogres, and perform the many heroic deeds which they did in ancient times. thus, magic, and the powers conferred by it, are really the link between mythical tradition and the present day. myth has crystallised into magical formulæ, and magic in its turn bears testimony to the authenticity of myth. often the main function of myth is to serve as a foundation for a system of magic, and, wherever magic forms the backbone of an institution, a myth is also to be found at the base of it. in this perhaps, lies the greatest sociological importance of myth, that is, in its action upon institutions through the associated magic. the sociological point of view and the idea of the natives coincide here in a remarkable manner. in this book we see this exemplified in one concrete case, in that of the relation between the mythology, the magic, and the social institution of the kula.
-thus we can define myth as a narrative of events which are to the native supernatural, in this sense, that he knows well that to-day they do not happen. at the same time he believes deeply that they did happen then. the socially sanctioned narratives of these events; the traces which they left on the surface of the earth; the magic in which they left behind part of their supernatural powers, the social institutions which are associated with the practice of this magic--all this brings about the fact that a myth is for the native a living actuality, though it has happened long ago and in an order of things when people were endowed with supernatural powers.
-i have said before that the natives do not possess any historical perspective, that they do not range events--except of course, those of the most recent decades--into any successive stages. they also do not classify their myths into any divisions with regard to their antiquity. but in looking at their myths, it becomes at once obvious that they represent events, some of which must have happened prior to others. for there is a group of stories describing the origin of humanity, the emerging of the various social units from underground. another group of mythical tales gives accounts of how certain important institutions were introduced and how certain customs crystallised. again, there are myths referring to small changes in culture, or to the introduction of new details and minor customs. broadly speaking, the mythical folk-lore of the trobrianders can be divided into three groups referring to three different strata of events. in order to give a general idea of trobriand mythology, it will be good to give a short characterisation of each of these groups.
-1. the oldest myths, referring to the origin of human beings; to the sociology of the sub-clans and villages; to the establishment of permanent relations between this world and the next. these myths describe events which took place just at the moment when the earth began to be peopled from underneath. humanity existed, somewhere underground, since people emerged from there on the surface of boyowa, in full decoration, equipped with magic, belonging to social divisions, and obeying definite laws and customs. but beyond this we know nothing about what they did underground. there is, however, a series of myths, of which one is attached to every one of the more important sub-clans, about various ancestors coming out of the ground, and almost at once, doing some important deed, which gives a definite character to the sub-clan. certain mythological versions about the nether world belong also to this series.
-2. kultur-myths.--here belong stories about ogres and their conquerors; about human beings who established definite customs and cultural features; about the origin of certain institutions. these myths are different from the foregoing ones, in so far as they refer to a time when humanity was already established on the surface of the earth, and when all the social divisions had already assumed a definite character. the main cycle of myths which belong here, are those of a culture hero, tudava, who slays an ogre and thus allows people to live in boyowa again, whence they all had fled in fear of being eaten. a story about the origins of cannibalism belongs here also, and about the origin of garden making.
-3. myths in which figure only ordinary human beings, though endowed with extraordinary magical powers. these myths are distinguished from the foregoing ones, by the fact that no ogres or non-human persons figure in them, and that they refer to the origin, not of whole aspects of culture, such as cannibalism or garden-making, but to definite institutions or definite forms of magic. here comes the myth about the origins of sorcery, the myth about the origins of love magic, the myth of the flying canoe, and finally the several kula myths. the line of division between these three categories is, of course, not a rigid one, and many a myth could be placed in two or even three of these classes, according to its several features or episodes. but each myth contains as a rule one main subject, and if we take only this, there is hardly ever the slightest doubt as to where it should be placed.
-a point which might appear contradictory in superficial reading is that before, we stressed the fact that the natives had no idea of change, yet here we spoke of myths about 'origins' of institutions. it is important to realise that, though natives do speak about times when humanity was not upon the earth, of times when there were no gardens, etc., yet all these things arrive ready-made; they do not change or evolve. the first people, who came from underground, came up adorned with the same trinkets, carrying their lime-pot and chewing their betel-nut. the event, the emergence from the earth was mythical, that is, such as does not happen now; but the human beings and the country which received them were such as exist to-day.
-the myths of the kula are scattered along a section of the present kula circuit. beginning with a place in eastern woodlark island, the village of wamwara, the mythological centres are spread round almost in a semi-circle, right down to the island of tewara, where we have left for the present our party from sinaketa.
-in wamwara there lived an individual called gere'u, who, according to one myth, was the originator of the kula. in the island of digumenu, west of woodlark island, tokosikuna, another hero of the kula, had his early home, though he finished his career in gumasila, in the amphletts. kitava, the westernmost of the marshall bennetts, is the centre of canoe magic associated with the kula. it is also the home of monikiniki, whose name figures in many formulæ of the kula magic, though there is no explicit myth about him, except that he was the first man to practice an important system of mwasila (kula magic), probably the most widespread system of the present day. further west, in wawela, we are at the other end of the kasabwaybwayreta myth, which starts in tewara, and goes over to wawela in its narrative of events, to return to tewara again. this mythological narrative touches the island of boyowa at its southernmost point, the passage giribwa, which divides it from vakuta. almost all myths have one of their incidents laid in a small island between vakuta and the amphletts, called gabuwana. one of the myths leads us to the amphletts, that of tokosikuna; another has its beginning and end in tewara. such is the geography of the kula myths on the big sector between murua and dobu.
-although i do not know the other half through investigations made on the spot, i have spoken with natives from those districts, and i think that there are no myths localised anywhere on the sector murua (woodlark island), tubetube, and dobu. what i am quite certain of, however, is that the whole of the trobriands, except the two points mentioned before, lie outside the mythological area of the kula. no kula stories, associated with any village in the northern half of boyowa exist, nor does any of the mythical heroes of the other stories ever come to the northern or western provinces of the trobriands. such extremely important centres as sinaketa and omarakana are never mentioned. this would point, on the surface of it, to the fact that in olden days, the island of boyowa, except its southern end and the eastern settlement of wawela, either did not enter at all or did not play an important part in the kula.
-i shall give a somewhat abbreviated account of the various stories, and then adduce in extenso the one last mentioned, perhaps the most noteworthy of all the kula myths, that of kasabwaybwayreta, as well as the very important canoe myth, that of the flying waga of kudayuri.
-the muruan myth, which i obtained only in a very bald outline, is localised in the village of wamwara, at the eastern end of the island. a man called gere'u, of the lukuba clan, knew very well the mwasila magic, and wherever he went, all the valuables were given to him, so that all the others returned empty-handed. he went to gawa and iwa, and as soon as he appeared, pu-pu went the conch shells, and everybody gave him the bagi necklaces. he returned to his village, full of glory and of kula spoils. then he went to du'a'u, and obtained again an enormous amount of arm-shells. he settled the direction in which the kula valuables have to move. bagi necklaces have 'to go,' and the arm-shells 'to come.' as this was spoken on boyowa, 'go' meant to travel from boyowa to woodlark, 'come' to travel from gere'u's village to sinaketa. the culture hero gere'u was finally killed, through envy of his success in the kula.
-the other version is much more interesting. tokosikuna, according to it, is also slightly crippled, lame, very ugly, and with a pitted skin; so ugly indeed that he could not marry. far north, in the mythical land of kokopawa, they play a flute so beautifully that the chief of digumenu, the village of tokosikuna, hears it. he wishes to obtain the flute. many men set out, but all fail, and they have to return half way, because it is so far. tokosikuna goes, and, through a mixture of cunning and daring, he succeeds in getting possession of the flute, and in returning safely to digumenu. there, through magic which one is led to infer he has acquired on his journey, he changes his appearance, becomes young, smooth-skinned and beautiful. the guya'u (chief) who is away in his garden, hears the flute played in his village, and returning there, he sees tokosikuna sitting on a high platform, playing the flute and looking beautiful. "well," he says, "all my daughters, all my granddaughters, my nieces and my sisters, you all marry tokosikuna! your husbands, you leave behind! you marry tokosikuna, for he has brought the flute from the distant land!" so tokosikuna married all the women.
-the other men did not take it very well, of course. they decided to get rid of tokosikuna by stratagem. they said: "the chief would like to eat giant clam-shell, let us go and fish it." "and how shall i catch it?" asks tokosikuna. "you put your head, where the clam-shell gapes open." (this of course would mean death, as the clam-shell would close, and, if a really big one, would easily cut off his head). tokosikuna, however, dived and with his two hands, broke a clam-shell open, a deed of super-human strength. the others were angry, and planned another form of revenge. they arranged a shark-fishing, advising tokosikuna to catch the fish with his hands. but he simply strangled the big shark, and put it into the canoe. then, he tears asunder a boar's mouth, bringing them thus to despair. finally they decide to get rid of him at sea. they try to kill him first by letting the heavy tree, felled for the waga, fall on him. but he supports it with his outstretched arms, and does no harm to himself. at the time of lashing, his companions wrap some wayaugo (lashing creeper) into a soft pandanus leaf; then they persuade him to use pandanus only for the lashing of his canoe, which he does indeed, deceived by seeing them use what apparently is the same. then they sail, the other men in good, sea-worthy canoes, he in an entirely unseaworthy one, lashed only with the soft, brittle pandanus leaf.
-and here begins the real kula part of the myth. the expedition arrives at gawa, where tokosikuna remains with his canoe on the beach, while the other men go to the village to kula. they collect all the smaller armshells of the soulava type, but the big ones, the bagi, remain in the village, for the local men are unwilling to give them. then tokosikuna starts for the village after all the others have returned. after a short while, he arrives from the village, carrying all the bagido'u bagidudu, and bagiriku--that is, all the most valuable types of spondylus necklaces. the same happens in iwa and kitava. his companions from the other canoes go first and succeed only in collecting the inferior kinds of valuables. he afterwards enters the village, and easily obtains the high grades of necklace, which had been refused to the others. these become very angry; in kitava, they inspect the lashings of his canoe, and see that they are rotten. "oh well, to-morrow, vakuta! the day after, gumasila,--he will drown in pilolu." in vakuta the same happens as before, and the wrath of his unsuccessful companions increases.
-they sail and passing the sandbank of gabula (this is the trobriand name for gabuwana, as the amphlettans pronounce it) tokosikuna eases his helm; then, as he tries to bring the canoe up to the wind again, his lashings snap, and the canoe sinks. he swims in the waves, carrying the basket-full of valuables in one arm. he calls out to the other canoes: "come and take your bagi! i shall get into your waga!" "you married all our women," they answer, "now, sharks will eat you! we shall go to make kula in dobu!" tokosikuna, however, swims safely to the point called kamsareta, in the island of domdom. from there he beholds the rock of selawaya standing out of the jungle on the eastern slope of gumasila. "this is a big rock, i shall go and live there," and turning towards the digumenu canoes, he utters a curse:
-"you will get nothing in dobu but poor necklaces, soulava of the type of tutumuyuwa and tutuyanabwa. the big bagido'u will stop with me." he remains in the amphletts and does not return to digumenu. and here ends the myth.
-i have given an extensive summary of this myth, including its first part, which has nothing to do with the kula, because it gives a full character sketch of the hero as a daring sailor and adventurer. it shows, how tokosikuna, after his northern trip, acquired magic which allowed him to change his ugly and weak frame into a powerful body with a beautiful appearance. the first part also contains the reference to his great success with women, an association between kula magic and love magic, which as we shall see, is not without importance. in this first part, that is, up to the moment when they start on the kula, tokosikuna appears as a hero, endowed with extraordinary powers, due to his knowledge of magic.
-in this myth, as we see, no events are related through which the natural appearance of the landscape is changed. therefore this myth is typical of what i have called the most recent stratum of mythology. this is further confirmed by the circumstance that no allusion is made in it to any origins, not even to the origins of the mwasila magic. for, as the myth is at present told and commented upon, all the men who go on the kula expedition with our hero, know a system of kula magic, the mwasila of monikiniki. tokosikuna's superiority rests with his special beauty magic; with his capacity to display enormous strength, and to face with impunity great dangers; with his ability to escape from drowning, finally, with his knowledge of the evil magic, bulubwalata, with which he prevents his companions from doing successful kula. this last point was contained in a commentary upon this myth, given to me by the man who narrated it. when i speak about the kula magic more explicitly further on, the reader will see that the four points of superiority just mentioned correspond to the categories into which we have to group the kula magic, when it is classified according to its leading ideas, according to the goal towards which it aims.
-one magic tokosikuna does not know. we see from the myth that he is ignorant of the nature of the wayugo, the lashing creeper. he is therefore obviously not a canoe-builder, nor acquainted with canoe-building magic. this is the point on which his companions are able to catch him.
-geographically, this myth links digumenu with the amphletts, as also did the previous version of the tokosikuna story. the hero, here as there, settles finally in gumasila, and the element of migration is contained in both versions. again, in the last story, tokosikuna decides to settle in the amphletts, on seeing the selawaya rock. if we remember the gumasilan legend about the origin of kula magic, it also refers to the same rock. i did not obtain the name of the individual who is believed to have lived on the selawaya rock, but it obviously is the same myth, only very mutilated in the gumasilan version.
-moving westwards from digumenu, to which the tokosikuna myth belongs, the next important centre of kula magic is the island of kitava. with this place, the magical system of monikiniki is associated by tradition, though no special story is told about this individual. a very important myth, on the other hand, localised in kitava, is the one which serves as foundation for canoe magic. i have obtained three independent versions of this myth, and they agree substantially. i shall adduce at length the story as it was told to me by the best informant, and written down in kiriwinian, and after that, i shall show on what points the other versions vary. i shall not omit from the full account certain tedious repetitions and obviously inessential details, for they are indispensable for imparting to the narrative the characteristic flavour of native folk-lore.
-to understand the following account, it is necessary to realise that kitava is a raised coral island. its inland part is elevated to a height of about three hundred feet. behind the flat beach, a steep coral wall rises, and from its summit the land gently falls towards the central declivity. it is in this central part that the villages are situated, and it would be quite impossible to transport a canoe from any village to the beach. thus, in kitava, unlike what happens with some of the lagoon villages of boyowa, the canoes have to be always dug out and lashed on the beach.
-the myth of the flying canoe of kudayuri.
-"mokatuboda of the lukuba clan and his younger brother toweyre'i lived in the village of kudayuri. with them lived their three sisters kayguremwo, na'ukuwakula and murumweyri'a. they had all come out from underground in the spot called labikewo, in kitava. these people were the u'ula (foundation, basis, here: first possessors) of the ligogu and wayugo magic."
-"all the men of kitava decided on a great kula expedition to the koya. the men of kumwageya, kaybutu, kabululo and lalela made their canoes. they scooped out the inside of the waga, they carved the tabuyo and lagim (decorated prow boards), they made the budaka (lateral gunwale planks). they brought the component parts to the beach, in order to make the yowaga (to put and lash them together)."
-"the kudayuri people made their canoe in the village. mokatuboda, the head man of the kudayuri village, ordered them to do so. they were angry: 'very heavy canoe. who will carry it to the beach?' he said: 'no, not so; it will be well. i shall just lash my waga in the village.' he refused to move the canoe; it remained in the village. the other people pieced their canoe on the beach; he pieced it together in the village. they lashed it with the wayugo creeper on the beach; he lashed his in the village. they caulked their canoes on the sea-shore; he caulked his in the village. they painted their canoes on the beach with black; he blackened his in the village. they made the youlala (painted red and white) on the beach; he made the youlala in the village. they sewed their sail on the beach; he did it in the village. they rigged up the mast and rigging on the beach; he in the village. after that, the men of kitava made tasasoria (trial run) and kabigidoya (visit of ceremonial presentation), but the kudayuri canoe did not make either."
-"by and by, all the men of kitava ordered their women to prepare the food. the women one day put all the food, the gugu'a (personal belongings), the pari (presents and trade goods) into the canoe. the people of kudayuri had all these things put into their canoe in the village. the headman of the kudayuri, mokatuboda, asked all his younger brothers, all the members of his crew, to bring some of their pari, and he performed magic over it, and made a lilava (magical bundle) of it."
-"a rock stood before it. it pierced the rock in two, and flew through it. he bent down, he looked; his companions (that is, the other canoes of kitava) sailed on the sea. he spoke to his younger brothers, (that is to his relatives in the canoe): 'bail out the water, pour it out!' those who sailed on the earth thought it was rain, this water which they poured out from above."
-"they (the other canoes) sailed to giribwa, they saw a canoe anchored there. they said: 'is that the canoe from dobu?' they thought so, they wanted to lebu (take by force, but not necessarily as a hostile act) the buna (big cowrie) shells of the dobu people. then they saw the dog walking on the beach. they said: 'wi-i-i! this is tokulubweydoga, the dog of the lukuba! this canoe they lashed in the village, in the village of kudayuri. which way did it come? it was anchored in the jungle!' they approached the people of kudayuri, they spoke: 'which way did you come?' 'oh, i came together with you (the same way).' 'it rained. did it rain over you?' 'oh yes, it has rained over me.'"
-"next day, they (the men of the other villages of kitava), sailed to vakuta and went ashore. they made their kula. the next day they sailed, and he (mokatuboda) remained in vakuta. when they disappeared on the sea, his canoe flew. he flew from vakuta. when they (the other crews) arrived in gumasila, he was there on the promontory of lububuyama. they said: 'this canoe is like the canoe of our companions,' and the dog came out. 'this is the dog of the lukuba clan of kudayuri.' they asked him again which way he came; he said he came the same way as they. they made the kula in gumasila. he said: 'you sail first, i shall sail later on.' they were astonished: 'which way does he sail?' they slept in gumasila."
-"next day they sailed to tewara, they arrived at the beach of kadimwatu. they saw his canoe anchored there, the dog came out and ran along the beach. they spoke to the kudayuri men, 'how did you come here?' 'we came with you, the same way we came.' they made kula in tewara. next day, they sailed to bwayowa (village in dobu district). he flew, and anchored at the beach sarubwoyna. they arrived there, they saw: 'oh, look at the canoe, are these fishermen from dobu?' the dog came out. they recognised the dog. they asked him (mokatuboda) which way he came: 'i came with you, i anchored here.' they went to the village of bwayowa, they made kula in the village, they loaded their canoes. they received presents from the dobu people at parting, and the kitava men sailed on the return journey. they sailed first, and he flew through the air."
-on the return journey, at every stage, they see him first, they ask him which way he went, and he gives them some sort of answer as the above ones.
-"from giribwa they sailed to kitava; he remained in giribwa; he flew from giribwa; he went to kitava, to the beach. his gugu'a (personal belongings) were being carried to the village when his companions came paddling along, and saw his canoe anchored and the dog running on the beach. all the other men were very angry, because his canoe flew."
-"they remained in kitava. next year, they made their gardens, all the men of kitava. the sun was very strong, there was no rain at all. the sun burned their gardens. this man (the head man of kudayuri, mokatuboda) went into the garden. he remained there, he made a bulubwalata (evil magic) of the rain. a small cloud came and rained on his garden only, and their gardens the sun burned. they (the other men of kitava) went and saw their gardens. they arrived there, they saw all was dead, already the sun had burned them. they went to his garden and it was all wet: yams, taitu, taro, all was fine. they spoke: 'let us kill him so that he might die. we shall then speak magic over the clouds, and it will rain over our gardens.'"
-"the real, keen magic, the kudayuri man (i.e. mokatuboda) did not give to them; he gave them not the magic of the ligogu (adze); he gave them not the magic of kunisalili (rain magic); he gave them not the magic of the wayugo (lashing creeper), of the coco-nut oil and staff. toweyre'i, his younger brother, thought that he had already received the magic, but he was mistaken. his elder brother gave him only part of the magic, the real one he kept back."
-"they came (to mokatuboda, the head man of kudayuri), he sat in his village. his brothers and maternal nephews sharpened the spear, they hit him, he died."
-"next year, they decided to make a big kula expedition, to dobu. the old waga, cut and lashed by mokatuboda, was no more good, the lashings had perished. then toweyre'i, the younger brother, cut a new one to replace the old. the people of kumwageya and lalela (the other villages in kitava) heard that toweyre'i cuts his waga, and they also cut theirs. they pieced and lashed their canoes on the beach. toweyre'i did it in the village."
-here the native narrative enumerates every detail of canoe making, drawing the contrast between the proceedings on the beach of the other kitavans, and of toweyre'i building the canoe in the village of kudayuri. it is an exact repetition of what was said at the beginning, when mokatuboda was building his canoe, and i shall not adduce it here. the narrative arrives at the critical moment when all the members of the crew are seated in the canoe ready for the flight.
-"toweyre'i went into the house and made magic over the adze and the coco-nut oil. he came out, smeared a staff with the oil, knocked the skids of the canoe. he then did as his elder brother did. he struck both ends of the canoe with the adze. he jumped into the canoe and sat down; but the waga did not fly. toweyre'i went into the house and cried for his elder brother, whom he had slain; he had killed him without knowing his magic. the people of kumwageya and lalela went to dobu and made their kula. the people of kudayuri remained in the village."
-"the three sisters were very angry with toweyre'i, for he killed the elder brother and did not learn his magic. they themselves had learnt the ligogu, the wayugo magic; they had it already in their lopoula (belly). they could fly through the air, they were yoyova. in kitava they lived on the top of botigale'a hill. they said: 'let us leave kitava and fly away.' they flew through the air. one of them, na'ukuwakula, flew to the west, pierced through the sea-passage dikuwa'i (somewhere in the western trobriands); she arrived at simsim (one of the lousançay). there she turned into a stone, she stands in the sea."
-"the two others flew first (due west) to the beach of yalumugwa (on the eastern shore of boyowa). there they tried to pierce the coral rock named yakayba--it was too hard. they went (further south on the eastern shore) through the sea-passage of vilasasa and tried to pierce the rock kuyaluya--they couldn't. they went (further south) and tried to pierce the rock of kawakari--it was too hard. they went (further south). they tried to pierce the rocks at giribwa. they succeeded. that is why there is now a sea passage at giribwa (the straits dividing the main island of boyowa from the island of vakuta)."
-"they flew (further south) towards dobu. they came to the island of tewara. they came to the beach of kadimwatu and pierced it. this is where the straits of kadimwatu are now between the islands of tewara and uwama. they went to dobu; they travelled further south, to the promontory of saramwa (near dobu island). they spoke: 'shall we go round the point or pierce right through?' they went round the point. they met another obstacle and pierced it through, making the straits of loma (at the western end of dawson straits). they came back, they returned and settled near tewara. they turned into stones; they stand in the sea. one of them cast her eyes on dobu, this is murumweyri'a; she eats men, and the dobuans are cannibals. the other one, kayguremwo, does not eat men, and her face is turned towards boyowa. the people of boyowa do not eat man."
-this story is extremely clear in its general outline, and very dramatic, and all its incidents and developments have a high degree of consistency and psychological motivation. it is perhaps the most telling of all myths from this part of the world which came under my notice. it is also a good example of what has been said before in division ii. namely that the identical conditions, sociological and cultural, which obtain at the present time, are also reflected in mythical narratives. the only exception to this is the much higher efficiency of magic found in the world of myth. the tale of kudayuri, on the one hand, describes minutely the sociological conditions of the heroes, their occupations and concerns, and all these do not differ at all from the present ones. on the other hand, it shows the hero endowed with a truly super-normal power through his magic of canoe building and of rain making. nor could it be more convincingly stated than is done in this narrative that the full knowledge of the right magic was solely responsible for these supernatural powers.
-passing to the following part of the tale, we find in it a description of canoe-building, and this was given to me in the same detailed manner in all three versions. here again, if we would substitute for the short sentences a fuller account of what happens, such as could be elicited from any intelligent native informant; if for each word describing the stages of canoe-building we insert a full description of the processes for which these words stand--we would have in this myth an almost complete, ethnographic account of canoe-building. we would see the canoe pieced together, lashed, caulked, painted, rigged out, provided with a sail till it lies ready to be launched. besides the successive enumeration of technical stages, we have in this myth a clear picture of the rôle played by the headman, who is the nominal owner of the canoe, and who speaks of it as his canoe and at the same time directs its building; overrides the wishes of others, and is responsible for the magic. we have even the mention of the tasasoria and kabigidoya, and several allusions to the kula expedition of which the canoe-building in this myth is represented as a preliminary stage. the frequent, tedious repetitions and enumerations of customary sequences of events, interesting as data of folk-lore, are not less valuable as ethnographic documents, and as illustrations of the natives' attitude towards custom. incidentally, this feature of native mythology shows that the task of serving as ethnographic informant is not so foreign and difficult to a native as might at first appear. he is quite used to recite one after the other the various stages of customary proceedings in his own narratives, and he does it with an almost pedantic accuracy and completeness, and it is an easy task for him to transfer these qualities to the accounts, which he is called upon to make in the service of ethnography.
-the dramatic effect of the climax of the story, of the unexpected flight of the canoe is clearly brought out in the narrative, and it was given to me in all its three versions. in all three, the members of the crew are made to pass through the numerous preparatory stages of sailing. and the parallel drawn between the reasonable proceedings of their fellows on the beach, and the absurd manner in which they are made to get ready in the middle of the village, some few hundred feet above the sea, makes the tension more palpable and the sudden denouement more effective. in all accounts of this myth, the magic is also performed just before the flight, and its performance is explicitly mentioned and included as an important episode in the story.
-the incident of bailing some water out of a canoe which never touched the sea, seems to show some inconsistency. if we remember, however, that water is poured into a canoe, while it is built, in order to prevent its drying and consequently its shrinking, cracking and warping, the inconsistency and flaw in the narrative disappear. i may add that the bailing and rain incident is contained in one of my three versions only.
-the episode of the dog is more significant and more important to the natives, and is mentioned in all three versions. the dog is the animal associated with the lukuba clan; that is, the natives will say that the dog is a lukuba, as the pig is a malasi, and the igwana a lukulabuta. in several stories about the origin and relative rank of the clans, each of them is represented by its totemic animal. thus the igwana is the first to emerge from underground. hence the lukulabuta are the oldest clan. the dog and the pig dispute with one another the priority of rank, the dog basing his claims on his earlier appearance on the earth, for he followed immediately the igwana; the pig, asserting himself in virtue of not eating unclean things. the pig won the day, and therefore the malasi clan are considered to be the clan of the highest rank, though this is really reached only in one of its sub-clans, that of the tabalu of omarakana. the incident of the lebu (taking by force) of some ornaments from the dobuans refers to the custom of using friendly violence in certain kula transactions (see chapter xiv, division ii).
-in the second part of the story, we find the hero endowed again with magical powers far superior to those of the present-day wizards. they can make rain, or stay the clouds, it is true, but he is able to create a small cloud which pours copious rain over his own gardens, and leaves the others to be shrivelled up by the sun. this part of the narrative does not touch the canoe problem, and it is of interest to us only in so far as it again shows what appears to the natives the real source of their hero's supernatural powers.
-now we come to one of the most remarkable incidents of the whole myth, that namely which brings into connection the yoyova, or the flying witches, with the flying canoe, and with such speed of a canoe, as is imparted to it by magic. in the spells of swiftness there are frequent allusions to the yoyova or mulukwausi. this can be clearly seen in the spell of the wayugo, already adduced (chapter v, division iii), and which is still to be analysed linguistically (chapter xviii, divisions ii to iv). the kariyala (magical portent, cf. chapter xvii, division vii) of the wayugo spell consists in shooting stars, that is, when a wayugo rite is performed at night over the creeper coils, there will be stars falling in the sky. and again, when a magician, knowing this system of magic, dies, shooting stars will be seen. now, as we have seen (chapter x, division i), falling stars are mulukwausi in their flight.
-in this story of the kudayuri we see the mythological ground for this association. the same magic which allowed the canoe to sail through the air gives the three sisters of kudayuri their power of being mulukwausi, and of flying. in this myth they are also endowed with the power of cleaving the rocks, a power which they share with the canoe, which cleft a rock immediately after leaving the village. the three sisters cleave rocks and pierce the land in several places. my native commentators assured me that when the canoe first visited giribwa and kadimwatu at the beginning of this myth, the land was still joined at these places and there was a beach at each of them. the mulukwausi tried to pierce boyowa at several spots along the eastern coast, but succeeded only at giribwa. the myth thus has the archaic stamp of referring to deep changes in natural features. the two sisters, who fly to the south return from the furthest point and settle near tewara, in which there is some analogy to several other myths in which heroes from the marshall bennett islands settle down somewhere between the amphletts and dobu. one of them turns her eyes northwards towards the non-cannibal people of boyowa and she is said to be averse to cannibalism. probably this is a sort of mythological explanation of why the boyowan people do not eat men and the dobuans do, an explanation to which there is an analogy in another myth shortly to be adduced, that of atu'a'ine and aturamo'a, and a better one still in a myth about the origins of cannibalism, which i cannot quote here.
-let us now proceed to the last named mythological centre, and taking a very big step from the marshall bennetts, return to tewara, and to its myth of the origin of the kula. i shall tell this myth in a translation, closely following the original account, obtained in kiriwinian from an informant at oburaku. i had an opportunity of checking and amending his narrative, by the information obtained from a native of sanaro'a in pidgin english.
-the story of kasabwaybwayreta and gumakarakedakeda
-"kasabwaybwayreta lived in tewara. he heard the renown of a soulava (spondylus necklace) which was lying (kept) in wawela. its name was gumakarakedakeda. he said to his children: 'let us go to wawela, make kula to get this soulava.' he put into his canoe unripe coco-nut, undeveloped betel-nut, green bananas."
-"they went to wawela; they anchored in wawela. his sons went ashore, they went to obtain gumakarakedakeda. he remained in the canoe. his son made offering of food, they (the wawela people) refused. kasabwaybwayreta spoke a charm over the betel-nut: it yellowed (became ripe); he spoke the charm over the coco-nut: its soft kernel swelled; he charmed the bananas they ripened. he took off his hair, his gray hair; his wrinkled skin, it remained in the canoe. he rose, he went he gave a pokala offering of food, he received the valuable necklace as kula gift, for he was already a beautiful man. he went, he put it down, he thrust it into his hair. he came to the canoe, he took his covering (the sloughed skin); he donned the wrinkles, the gray hairs, he remained."
-"his sons arrived, they took their places in the canoe, they sailed to giribwa. they cooked their food. he called his grandson; 'oh, my grandson, come here, look for my lice.' the grandson came there, stepped near him. kasabwaybwayreta spoke, telling him: 'my grandson, catch my lice in the middle (of my hair).' his grandson parted his hair; he saw the valuable necklace, gumakarakedakeda remaining there in the hair of kasabwaybwayreta. 'ee...' he spoke to his father, telling him, 'my father, kasabwaybwayreta already obtained gumakarakedakeda.' 'o, no, he did not obtain it! i am a chief, i am beautiful, i have not obtained that valuable. indeed, would this wrinkled old man have obtained the necklace? no, indeed!' 'truly, my father, he has obtained it already. i have seen it; already it remains in his hair!'"
-"all the water-vessels are empty already; the son went into the canoe, spilled the water so that it ran out, and only the empty vessels (made of coco-nut shell) remained. later on they sailed, they went to an island, gabula (gabuwana in amphlettan and in dobuan). this man, kasabwaybwayreta wanted water, and spoke to his son. this man picked up the water vessels--no, they were all empty. they went on the beach of gabula, the usagelu (members of the crew) dug out their water-holes (in the beach). this man remained in the canoe and called out: 'o my grandson, bring me here my water, go there and dip out my water!' the grandson said: 'no, come here and dip out (yourself)!' later on, they dipped out water, they finished, and kasabwaybwayreta came. they muddied the water, it was muddy. he sat down, he waited."
-"they went, they sailed in the canoe. kasabwaybwayreta called out, 'o, my son, why do you cast me off?' spoke the son: 'i think you have obtained gumakarakedakeda!' 'o, by and by, my son, when we arrive in the village, i shall give it to you!' 'o, no!' 'well, you remain, i shall go!' he takes a stone, a binabina one, this man kasabwaybwayreta, he throws so that he might make a hole in the canoe, and the men might go into the sea. no! they sped away, they went, this stone stands up, it has made an island in the sea. they went, they anchored in tewara. they (the villagers) asked: 'and where is kasabwaybwayreta?' 'o, his son got angry with him, already he had obtained gumakarakedakeda!'"
-"well, then, this man kasabwaybwayreta remained in the island gabula. he saw tokom'mwawa (evening star) approach. he spoke: 'my friend, come here, let me just enter into your canoe!' 'o no, i shall go to another place.' there came kaylateku (sirius). he asked him: 'let me go with you.' he refused. there came kayyousi (southern cross). kasabwaybwayreta wanted to go with him. he refused. there came umnakayva'u, (alpha and beta centauri). he wanted a place in his canoe. he refused. there came kibi (three stars widely distant, forming no constellation in our sky-chart). he also refused to take kasabwaybwayreta. there came uluwa (the pleiades). kasabwaybwayreta asked him to take him. uluwa said: 'you wait, you look out, there will come kaykiyadiga, he will take you.' there came kaykiyadiga (the three central stars in orion's belt). kasabwaybwayreta asked him: 'my friend, which way will you go?' 'i shall come down on top of taryebutu mountain. i shall go down, i shall go away.' 'oh, my friend, come here, let me just sit down (on you).' 'oh come,--see on one side there is a va'i (stingaree) on the other side, there is the lo'u (a fish with poisonous spikes); you sit in the middle, it will be well! where is your village?' 'my village is tewara.' 'what stands in the site of your village?' 'in the site of my village, there stands a busa tree!'"
-"they went there. already the village of kasabwaybwayreta is straight below them. he charmed this busa tree, it arose, it went straight up into the skies. kasabwaybwayreta changed place (from orion's belt on to the tree), he sat on the busa tree. he spoke: 'oh, my friend, break asunder this necklace. part of it, i shall give you; part of it, i shall carry to tewara.' he gave part of it to his companion. this busa tree came down to the ground. he was angry because his son left him behind. he went underground inside. he there remained for a long time. the dogs came there, and they dug and dug. they dug him out. he came out on top, he became a tauva'u (evil spirit, see chapter ii, division vii.) he hits human beings. that is why in tewara the village is that of sorcerers and witches, because of kasabwaybwayreta."
-to make this somewhat obscure narrative clearer, a short commentary is necessary. the first part tells of a kula expedition in which the hero, his son, his grandson, and some other members of the crew take part. his son takes with him good, fresh food, to give as solicitory offering and thus tempt his partners to present him with the famous necklace. the son is a young man and also a chief of renown. the later stages are clearer; by means of magic, the hero changes himself into a young, attractive man, and makes his own unripe, bad fruit into splendid gifts to be offered to his partner. he obtains the prize without difficulty, and hides it in his hair. then, in a moment of weakness, and for motives which it is impossible to find out from native commentators, he on purpose reveals the necklace to his grandson. most likely, the motive was vanity. his son, and probably also the other companions, become very angry and set a trap for him. they arrange things so that he has to go for his own water on the beach of gabula. when they have already got theirs and while he is dipping it out, they sail away, leaving him marooned on the sand-bank. like polyphemus after the escaping party of odysseus, he throws a stone at the treacherous canoe, but it misses its mark, and becomes an outstanding rock in the sea.
-the episode of his release by the stars is quite clear. arrived at the village, he makes a tree rise by his magic, and after he has given the bigger part of his necklace to his rescuer, he descends, with the smaller part. his going underground and subsequent turning into a tauva'u shows how bitter he feels towards humanity. as usual, the presence of such a powerful, evil personality in the village, gives its stamp to the whole community, and this latter produces sorcerers and witches. all these additions and comments i obtained in cross-questioning my original informant.
-the dobuan informant from sanaro'a introduced one or two variants into the second part of the narrative. according to him, kasabwaybwayreta marries while in the sky, and remains there long enough to beget three male and two female children. after he has made up his mind to descend to earth again, he makes a hole in the heavens, looks down and sees a betel-nut tree in his village. then he speaks to his child, 'when i go down, you pull at one end of the necklace.' he climbs down by means of the necklace on to the betel palm and pulls at one end of gumakarakedakeda. it breaks, a big piece remains in the skies, the small one goes with him below. arrived in the village, he arranges a feast, and invites all the villagers to it. he speaks some magic over the food and after they have eaten it, the villagers are turned into birds. this last act is quite in harmony with his profession of tauva'u, which he assumed in the previous version of the myth. my dobuan informant also added, by way of commentary, that the companions of kasabwaybwayreta were angry with him, because he obtained the necklace in boyowa, which was not the right direction for a necklace to travel in the kula. this, however, is obviously a rationalisation of the events of the myth.
-comparing the previously related story of tokosikuna with this one, we see at once a clear resemblance between them in several features. in both, the heroes start as old, decrepit, and very ugly men. by their magical powers, they rejuvenate in the course of the story, the one permanently, the other just sloughing off his skin for the purpose of a kula transaction. in both cases, the hero is definitely superior in the kula, and by this arouses the envy and hatred of his companions. again, in both stories, the companions decide to punish the hero, and the island or sandbank of gabuwana is the scene of the punishment. in both, the hero finally settles in the south, only in one case it is his original home, while in the other he has migrated there from one of the marshall bennett islands. an anomaly in the kasabwaybwayreta myth, namely, that he fetches his necklace from the north, whereas the normal direction for necklaces to travel is from south to north in this region, makes us suspect that perhaps this story is a transformation of a legend about a man who made the kula from the north. ill-treated by his companions, he settled in tewara, and becoming a local kultur-hero, was afterwards described as belonging to the place. however this might be, and the hypothetical interpretation is mine, and not obtained from the natives, the two stories are so similar that they must be regarded obviously as variants of the same myth, and not as independent traditions.
-so much about the ethnographic analysis of these myths. let us now return to the general, sociological considerations with which we opened this digression into mythology. we are now better able to realise to what extent and in what manner kula myths influence the native outlook.
-the main social force governing all tribal life could be described as the inertia of custom, the love of uniformity of behaviour. the great moral philosopher was wrong when he formulated his categorical imperative, which was to serve human beings as a fundamental guiding principle of behaviour. in advising us to act so that our behaviour might be taken as a norm of universal law, he reversed the natural state of things. the real rule guiding human behaviour is this: "what everyone else does, what appears as norm of general conduct, this is right, moral and proper. let me look over the fence and see what my neighbour does, and take it as a rule for my behaviour." so acts every 'man-in-the-street' in our own society, so has acted the average member of any society through the past ages, and so acts the present-day savage; and the lower his level of cultural development, the greater stickler he will be for good manners, propriety and form, and the more incomprehensive and odious to him will be the non-conforming point of view. systems of social philosophy have been built to explain and interpret or misinterpret this general principle. tarde's 'imitation,' giddings' 'consciousness of kind,' durkheim's 'collective ideas,' and many such conceptions as 'social consciousness,' 'the soul of a nation,' 'group mind' or now-a-days prevalent and highly fashionable ideas about 'suggestibility of the crowd,' 'the instinct of herd,' etc., etc., try to cover this simple empirical truth. most of these systems, especially those evoking the phantom of collective soul are futile, to my mind, in so far as they try to explain in the terms of a hypothesis that which is most fundamental in sociology, and can therefore be reduced to nothing else, but must be simply recognised and accepted as the basis of our science. to frame verbal definitions and quibble over terms does not seem to bring us much more forward in a new branch of learning, where a knowledge of facts is above all needed.
-whatever might be the case with any theoretical interpretations of this principle, in this place, we must simply emphasise that a strict adherence to custom, to that which is done by everyone else, is the main rule of conduct among our natives in the trobriands. an important corollary to this rule declares that the past is more important than the present. what has been done by the father--or, as the trobriander would say, by the maternal uncle--is even more important as norm of behaviour than what is done by the brother. it is to the behaviour of the past generations that the trobriander instinctively looks for his guidance. thus the mythical events which relate what has been done, not by the immediate ancestors but by mythical, illustrious forbears, must evidently carry an enormous social weight. the stories of important past events are hallowed because they belong to the great mythical generations and because they are generally accepted as truth, for everybody knows and tells them. they bear the sanction of righteousness and propriety in virtue of these two qualities of preterity and universality.
-thus, through the operation of what might be called the elementary law of sociology, myth possesses the normative power of fixing custom, of sanctioning modes of behaviour, of giving dignity and importance to an institution. the kula receives from these ancient stories its stamp of extreme importance and value. the rules of commercial honour, of generosity and punctiliousness in all its operations, acquire through this their binding force. this is what we could call the normative influence of myth on custom.
-the kula myth, however, exercises another kind of appeal. in the kula, we have a type of enterprise where the vast possibilities of success are very much influenced by chance. a man, whether he be rich or poor in partners, may, according to his luck, return with a relatively big or a small haul from an expedition. thus the imagination of the adventurers, as in all forms of gambling, must be bent towards lucky hits and turns of extraordinarily good chance. the kula myths feed this imagination on stories of extreme good luck, and at the same time show that it lies in the hands of man to bring this luck on himself, provided he acquires the necessary magical lore.
-i have said before that the mythological events are distinct from those happening nowadays, in so far as they are extraordinary and super-normal. this adds both to their authoritative character and to their desirability. it sets them before the native as a specially valuable standard of conduct, and as an ideal towards which their desires must go out.
-but i also said before that, distinct as it is, the mythical world is not separated by an unbridgeable gulf from the present order of events. indeed, though an ideal must be always beyond what actually exists, yet it must appear just within reach of realisation if it is to be effective at all. now, after we have become acquainted with their stories, we can see clearly what was meant when it was said, that magic acts as a link between the mythical and the actual realities. in the canoe myth, for instance, the flying, the super-normal achievement of the kudayuri canoe, is conceived only as the highest degree of the virtue of speed, which is still being imparted nowadays to canoes by magic. the magical heritage of the kudayuri clan is still there, making the canoes sail fast. had it been transmitted in its complete form, any present canoe, like the mythical one, could be seen flying. in the kula myths also, magic is found to give super-normal powers of beauty, strength and immunity from danger. the mythological events demonstrate the truth of the claims of magic. their validity is established by a sort of retrospective, mythical empiry. but magic, as it is practised nowadays, accomplishes the same effects, only in a smaller degree. natives believe deeply that the formulæ and rites of mwasila magic make those who carry them out attractive, irresistible and safe from dangers (compare next chapter).
-another feature which brings the mythical events into direct connection with the present state of affairs, is the sociology of mythical personages. they all are associated with certain localities, as are the present local groups. they belong to the same system of totemic division into clans and sub-clans as obtains nowadays. thus, members of a sub-clan, or a local unit, can claim a mythical hero as their direct ancestor, and members of a clan can boast of him as of a clansman. indeed, myths, like songs and fairy stories, are 'owned' by certain sub-clans. this does not mean that other people would abstain from telling them, but members of the sub-clan are supposed to possess the most intimate knowledge of the mythical events, and to be an authority in interpreting them. and indeed, it is a rule that a myth will be best known in its own locality, that is, known with all the details and free from any adulterations or not quite genuine additions and fusions.
-i spoke above (beginning of division ii) of the enlivening influence of myth upon landscape. here it must be noted also that the mythically changed features of the landscape bear testimony in the native's mind to the truth of the myth. the mythical word receives its substance in rock and hill, in the changes in land and sea. the pierced sea-passages, the cleft boulders, the petrified human beings, all these bring the mythological world close to the natives, make it tangible and permanent. on the other hand, the story thus powerfully illustrated, re-acts on the landscape, fills it with dramatic happenings, which, fixed there for ever, give it a definite meaning. with this i shall close these general remarks on mythology though with myth and mythical events we shall constantly meet in further inquiries.
-as we return to our party, who, sailing past the mythical centre of tewara, make for the island of sanaro'a, the first thing to be related about them, brings us straight to another mythological story. as the natives enter the district of siayawawa, they pass a stone or rock, called sinatemubadiye'i. i have not seen it, but the natives tell me it lies among the mangroves in a tidal creek. like the stone gurewaya, mentioned before, this one also enjoys certain privileges, and offerings are given to it.
-the natives do not tarry in this unimportant district. their final goal is now in sight. beyond the sea, which is here land-locked like a lake, the hills of dobu, topped by koyava'u loom before them. in the distance to their right as they sail south, the broad easterly flank of koyatabu runs down to the water, forming a deep valley; behind them spreads the wide plain of sanaro'a, with a few volcanic cones at its northern end, and far to the left the mountains of normanby unfold in a long chain. they sail straight south, making for the beach of sarubwoyna, where they will have to pause for a ritual halt in order to carry out the final preparations and magic. they steer towards two black rocks, which mark the northern end of sarubwoyna beach as they stand, one at the base, the other at the end of a narrow, sandy spit. these are the two rocks atu'a'ine and aturamo'a, the most important of the tabooed places, at which natives lay offerings when starting or arriving on kula expeditions. the rock among the mangroves of siyawawa is connected with these two by a mythical story. the three--two men whom we see now before us in petrified form, and one woman--came to this district from somewhere 'omuyuwa,' that is, from woodlark island or the marshall bennetts. this is the story:
-myth of atu'a'ine, aturamo'a and sinatemubadiye'i.
-"they were two brothers and a sister. they came first to the creek called kadawaga in siyawawa. the woman lost her comb. she spoke to her brethren: 'my brothers, my comb fell down.' they answered her: 'good, return, take your comb.' she found it and took it, and next day she said: 'well, i shall remain here already, as sinatemubadiye'i.'"
-"the brothers went on. when they arrived at the shore of the main island, atu'a'ine said: 'aturamo'a, how shall we go? shall we look towards the sea?' said aturamo'a; 'o, no, let us look towards the jungle.' aturamo'a went ahead, deceiving his brother, for he was a cannibal. he wanted to look towards the jungle, so that he might eat men. thus aturamo'a went ahead, and his eyes turned towards the jungle. atu'a'ine turned his eyes, looked over the sea, he spoke: 'why did you deceive me, aturamo'a? whilst i am looking towards the sea, you look towards the jungle.' aturamo'a later on returned and came towards the sea. he spoke, 'good, you atu'a'ine, look towards the sea, i shall look to the jungle!' this man, who sits near the jungle, is a cannibal, the one who sits near the sea is good."
-this short version of the myth i obtained in sinaketa. the story shows us three people migrating for unknown reasons from the north-east to this district. the sister, after having lost her comb, decides to remain in siyawawa, and turns into the rock sinatemubadiye'i. the brothers go only a few miles further, to undergo the same transformation at the northern end of sarubwoyna beach. there is the characteristic distinction between the cannibal and the non-cannibal. as the story was told to me in boyowa, that is, in the district where they were not man-eaters, the qualification of 'good' was given to the non-cannibal hero, who became the rock further out to sea. the same distinction is to be found in the previously quoted myth of the kudayuri sisters who flew to dobu, and it is to be found also in a myth, told about the origins of cannibalism, which i shall not quote here. the association between the jungle and cannibalism on the one hand, and between the sea and abstention from human flesh on the other, is the same as the one in the kudayuri myth. in that myth, the rock which looks towards the south is cannibal, while the northern one is not, and for the natives this is the reason why the dobuans do eat human flesh and the boyowans do not. the designation of one of these rocks as a man-eater (tokamlata'u) has no further meaning, more especially it is not associated with the belief that any special dangers surround the rock.
-the importance of these two rocks, atu'a'ine and aturamo'a lies, however, not so much in the truncated myth as in the ritual surrounding them. thus, all three stones receive an offering--pokala--consisting of a bit of coco-nut, a stale yam, a piece of sugar cane and banana. as the canoes go past, the offerings are placed on the stone, or thrown towards it, with the words:
-"old man (or in the case of sinatemubadiye'i, 'old woman') here comes your coco-nut, your sugar cane, your bananas, bring me good luck so that i may go and make my kula quickly in tu'utauna."
-this offering is given by the boyowan canoes on their way to dobu, and by the dobuans as they start on the kula northwards, to boyowa. besides the offerings, certain taboos and observances are kept at these rocks. thus, any people passing close to the rock would have to bathe in the sea out of their canoes, and the children in the canoes would be sprinkled with sea-water. this is done to prevent disease. a man who would go for the first time to kula in dobu would not be allowed to eat food in the vicinity of these rocks. a pig, or a green coco-nut would not be placed on the soil in this neighbourhood, but would have to be put on a mat. a novice in the kula would have to make a point of going and bathing at the foot of atu'a'ine and aturamo'a.
-the dobuans pokala some other stones, to which the boyowans do not give any offerings. the previously mentioned gurewaya rock receives its share from the dobuans, who believe that if they passed it close by without making a pokala, they would become covered with sores and die. passing gurewaya, they would not stand up in their canoes, nor would they eat any food when camping on a beach within sight of gurewaya. if they did so, they would become seasick, fall asleep, and their canoe would drift away into the unknown. i do not know whether there is any myth in dobu about the gurewaya stone. there is a belief that a big snake is coiled on the top of this rock, which looks after the observance of the taboos, and in case of breach of any of them would send down sickness on them. some of the taboos of gurewaya are also kept by the boyowans, but i do not exactly know which.
-i obtained from a dobuan informant a series of names of other, similar stones, lying to the east of dobu, on the route between there and tubetube. thus, somewhere in the district of du'a'u, there is a rock called kokorakakedakeda. besides this, near a place called makaydokodoko there is a stone, tabudaya. further east, near bunama, a small stone called sinada enjoys some kula prestige. in a spot sina'ena, which i cannot place on the map, there is a stone called taryadabwoyro, with eye, nose, legs and hind-quarters shaped like those of a pig. this stone is called 'the mother of all the pigs,' and the district of sina'ena is renowned for the abundance of these animals there.
-the only mythical fragment about any of these stones which i obtained is the one quoted above. like the two kula myths previously adduced, it is a story of a migration from north to south. there is no allusion to the kula in the narrative, but as the stones are pokala'd in the kula, there is evidently some association between it and them. to understand this association better, it must be realised that similar offerings are given in certain forms of magic to ancestral spirits and to spirits of kultur-heroes, who have founded the institution in which the magic is practised. this suggests the conclusion that atu'a'ine and aturamo'a are heroes of the kula like tokosikuna and kasabwaybwayreta; and that their story is another variant of the fundamental kula myth.
-on the beach of sarubwoyna
-when the sinaketan fleet passes the two mythical rocks of atu'a'ine and aturamo'a, the final goal of the expedition has been already reached. for before them, there stretch in a wide expanse the n.w. shores of dawson straits, where on the wide beach, there are scattered the villages of bwayowa, tu'utauna and deyde'i, at the foot of koyava'u. this latter, the boyowans call koyaviguna--the final mountain. immediately behind the two rocks, there stretches the beach of sarubwoyna, its clean, white sand edging the shallow curve of a small bay. this is the place where the crews, nearing their final destination, have to make a halt, to prepare themselves magically for approaching their partners in dobu. as, on their start from sinaketa, they stopped for some time on muwa and there performed the last act of their inaugurating rites and ceremonies, so in the same manner this beach is the place where they once more muster their forces after the journey has been accomplished.
-this is the place which was already mentioned in chapter ii when, in giving a description of the district, we imagined ourselves passing near this beach and meeting there a large fleet of canoes, whose crews were engaged in some mysterious activities. i said there that up to a hundred canoes might have been seen anchored near the beach, and indeed, on a big uvalaku expedition in olden days such a figure could easily have been reached. for, on a rough estimate, sinaketa could have produced some twenty canoes; the vakutans could have joined them with about forty; the amphlettans with another twenty; and twenty more would have followed from tewara, siyawawa, and sanaroa. some of them would indeed not have taken part in the kula, but have followed only out of sheer curiosity, just as in the big uvalaku expedition, which i accompanied in 1918 from dobu to sinaketa, the sixty dobuan canoes were joined by some twelve canoes from the amphletts and about as many again from vakuta.
-the sinaketans having arrived at this beach, now stop, moor the canoes near the shore, adorn their persons, and perform a whole series of magical rites. within a short space of time they crowd in a great number of short rites, accompanied by formulæ as a rule not very long. in fact, from the moment they have arrived at sarubwoyna up to their entry into the village, they do not cease doing one magical act or another, and the toliwaga never stop incessantly muttering their spells. to the observer, a spectacle of feverish activity unfolds itself, a spectacle which i witnessed in 1918 when i assisted at an analogous performance of the dobuan kula fleet approaching sinaketa.
-the fleet halts; the sails are furled, the masts dismounted, the canoes moored (see plate xlviii). in each canoe, the elder men begin to undo their baskets and take out their personal belongings. the younger ones run ashore and gather copious supplies of leaves which they bring back into the canoes. then the older men again murmur magical formulæ over the leaves and over other substances. in this, the toliwaga is assisted by others. then, they all wash in sea-water, and rub themselves with the medicated leaves. coco-nuts are broken, scraped, medicated, and the skin is rubbed with the mess, which greases it and gives it a shining surface. a comb is chanted over, and the hair teased out with it (see plate xlix). then, with crushed betel-nut mixed with lime, they draw red ornamental designs on their faces, while others use the sayyaku, an aromatic resinous stuff, and draw similar lines in black. the fine-smelling mint plant, which has been chanted over at home before starting, is taken out of its little receptacle where it was preserved in coco-nut oil. the herb is inserted into the armlets, while the few drops of oil are smeared over the body, and over the lilava, the magical bundle of pari (trade goods).
-all the magic which is spoken over the native cosmetics is the mwasila (kula magic) of beauty. the main aim of these spells is the same one which we found so clearly expressed in myth; to make the man beautiful, attractive, and irresistible to his kula partner. in the myths we saw how an old, ugly and ungainly man becomes transformed by his magic into a radiant and charming youth. now this mythical episode is nothing else but an exaggerated version of what happens every time, when the mwasila of beauty is spoken on sarubwoyna beach or on other similar points of approach. as my informants over and over again told me, when explaining the meaning of these rites:
-"here we are ugly; we eat bad fish, bad food; our faces remain ugly. we want to sail to dobu; we keep taboos, we don't eat bad food. we go to sarubwoyna; we wash; we charm the leaves of silasila; we charm the coco-nut; we putuma (anoint ourselves); we make our red paint and black paint; we put in our fine-smelling vana (herb ornament in armlets); we arrive in dobu beautiful looking. our partner looks at us, sees our faces are beautiful; he throws the vaygu'a at us."
-the bad fish and bad food here mentioned are the articles which are tabooed to those who know the mwasila, and a man may often unwittingly break such a taboo.
-there is no doubt that a deep belief in the efficacy of such magic might almost make it effective. although actual beauty cannot be imparted by spells, yet the feeling of being beautiful through magic may give assurance, and influence people in their behaviour and deportment, and as in the transaction it is the manner of the soliciting party which matters, this magic, no doubt, achieves its aim by psychological means.
-this branch of kula magic has two counter-parts in the other magical lore of the trobrianders. one of them is the love magic, through which people are rendered attractive and irresistible. their belief in these spells is such that a man would always attribute all his success in love to their efficiency. another type closely analogous to the beauty magic of the kula is the specific beauty magic practised before big dances and festivities.
-"o katatuna fish, o marabwaga fish, yabwau fish, reregu fish!"
-"their red paint, with which they are painted; their red paint, with which they are adorned."
-"alone they visit, together we visit; alone they visit, together we visit a chief."
-"they take me to their bosom; they hug me."
-"the great woman befriends me, where the pots are boiling; the good woman befriends me, on the sitting platform."
-"two pigeons stand and turn round; two parrots fly about."
-"no more it is my mother, my mother art thou, o woman of dobu! no more it is my father, my father art thou, o man of dobu! no more it is the high platform, the high platform are his arms; no more it is the sitting platform, the sitting platform are his legs; no more it is my lime spoon, my lime spoon is his tongue; no more it is my lime pot, my lime pot is his gullet."
-this formula then passes into the same ending as the sulumwoya spell, quoted previously, chapter vii, which runs: "recently deceased spirit of my maternal uncle, etc."
-the next few sentences refer to the reception he anticipates at dobu, in the forcible and exaggerated language of magic. the words which have been here translated by 'take to his bosom,' 'hug,' 'befriend,' are the terms used to describe the fondling and rocking and hugging of small children. according to native custom, it would not be considered effeminate or ridiculous for men to put their arms round each other and walk or sit about thus. and it must be added, this is done without any homo-sexual intention, at least of the grosser type. none the less, no such fondling would really take place between the dobuans and their kula partners. the mention of the 'great woman,' the 'great good woman' refers to the wife and sister of the partner, who, as we have said before, are considered to wield great influence in the transactions.
-the two pigeons and the two parrots express metaphorically the friendship between the reciter of this magic and his partner. the long list that follows expresses the exchange of his ordinary relations for his dobuan friends. an exaggerated description follows of the intimacy between him and his partner, on whose arms and legs he will sit, and from whose mouth he will partake of the betel chewing materials.
-i shall give a sample of another of these spells, associated with adornment and personal beauty. this is the spell spoken over the betel-nut with which the toliwaga and the members of his canoe draw lines of vermilion red on their faces. young betel-nut, when crushed with lime in a small mortar, produces pigment of wonderful brightness and intensity. travellers in the countries of the indian ocean and parts of the pacific know it well, as the paint that colours the lips and tongues of the natives.
-"red paint, red paint of the udawada fish! red paint, red paint, of the mwaylili fish! at the one end of the aromatic pandanus flower-petal; at the other end of the duwaku flower. there are two red paints of mine, they flare up, they flash."
-"my head, it flares up, it flashes; my red paint, it flares up, it flashes,
-my facial blacking, it flares up, it flashes;
-my aromatic paint, it flares up, it flashes;
-my little basket, it flares up, it flashes;
-my lime spoon, it flares up, it flashes;
-my lime pot, it flares up, it flashes;
-my comb, it flares up, it flashes."
-and so on, enumerating the various personal appurtenances, such as the mat, the stock-in-trade, the big basket, the charmed bundle (lilava) and then again the various parts of his head, that is his nose, his occiput, his tongue, his throat, his larynx, his eyes, and his mouth. the whole series of words is again repeated with another leading word instead of "it flares up, it flashes." the new word, 'mitapwaypwa'i' is a compound, expressing a desire, a coveting, nascent in the eyes. the eyes are, according to native psycho-physical theories, the seat of admiration, wish and appetite in matters of sex, of greed for food, and for material possessions. here, this expression conveys that the dobuan partner, will, on beholding his visitor, desire to make kula with him.
-the spell ends: "my head is made bright, my face flashes. i have acquired a beautiful shape, like that of a chief; i have acquired a shape that is good. i am the only one; my renown stands alone."
-at the beginning we have again the mention of two fishes; evidently the redness of the fish is the right redness for the kula! i am unable to explain the meaning of the second sentence, except that the petals of the pandanus flower are slightly coloured at one end, and that they are considered as one of the finest and most attractive ornaments. the middle part and the end of this spell need no commentary.
-these two spells will be sufficient to indicate the general character of the beauty magic of the kula. one more spell must be adduced here, that of the conch shell. this shell is as a rule medicated at this stage of the kula proceedings. sometimes, however, the toliwaga would, before departure from home, utter the formula into the opening of the conch shell, and close this up carefully, so that the virtue might not evaporate. the conch shell is made of a big specimen of the cassis cornuta shell, at the broad end of which the apex of the spiral windings is knocked out, so as to form a mouth-piece. the spell is not uttered into the mouthpiece, but into the broad opening between the lips, both orifices being afterwards closed with coco-nut husk fibre until the shell has actually to be blown.
-the spell of the ta'uya (conch shell)
-"mwanita, mwanita! come there together; i will make you come there together! come here together; i will make you come here together! the rainbow appears there; i will make the rainbow appear there! the rainbow appears here; i will make the rainbow here."
-"who comes ahead with the kula? i" (here the name of the reciter is uttered), "come ahead with the kula, i shall be the only chief; i shall be the only old man; i shall be the only one to meet my partner on the road. my renown stands alone; my name is the only one. beautiful valuables are exchanged here with my partner; beautiful valuables are exchanged there with my partner; the contents of my partner's basket are mustered."
-after this exordium there comes a middle part, constructed on the general principle of one word's being repeated with a series of others. the keyword here is an expression denoting the state of excitement which seizes a partner, and makes him give generous kula offerings. this word here is repeated first with a series of words, describing the various personal belongings of the partner, his dog, his belt; his tabooed coco-nut and betel-nut; and then, with a new series of terms denoting the different classes of kula valuables which are expected to be given. this part could therefore be translated thus:--
-"a state of excitement seizes his dog, his belt, his gwara" (taboo on coco-nuts and betel-nuts) "his bagido'u necklace, his bagiriku necklace, his bagidudu necklace, etc." the spell ends in a typical manner: "i shall kula, i shall rob my kula; i shall steal my kula; i shall pilfer my kula. i shall kula so as to make my canoe sink; i shall kula so as to make my outrigger go under. my fame is like thunder, my steps are like earthquake!"
-the first word of this spell, mwanita, is the native name for a long worm covered with rings of black armour. i was told that it is mentioned here because of its similarity to the spondylus shell necklaces, which also consist of many rings. i obtained this formula in sinaketa, hence this interpretation heeds only the necklaces, though the simile might also obviously be extended to armshells, for a number of armshells threaded on a string, as they can be seen on plate lx, presents also a likeness to the mwanita worm. it may be added here that sinaketa is one of these kula communities in which the overseas expeditions are done only in one direction, to the south, from where only the spondylus necklaces are fetched. its counterpart, kiriwina, to the north, carries on again only one-sided overseas kula. the formulæ which i obtained in kiriwina differ from those of sinaketa in their main parts: whenever there is a list of spondylus necklaces in a sinaketan tapwana (main part) a list of the several varieties of armshells would be used in a kiriwinian tapwana. in kitava, where, as in several other kula communities, the overseas expeditions are carried out in both directions, the same formula would be used by the same man with two different main parts, according as to whether he was sailing east to fetch mwali, or west to fetch soulava. no changes, however, would be made in the beginning of a spell.
-the sentence 'come here together' refers to the collected valuables. the play on 'there' and 'here,' represented in the native language by the sounds 'm' and 'w,' which are used as interchangeable formatives, is very frequent in magic; (see chapter xviii, division xii). the rainbow here invoked is a kariyala (magical portent) of this formula. when the conch shell is blown, and the fleet approaches the shore, a rainbow will appear in the skies.
-the rest of the exordium is taken up by the usual boasts and exaggerations typical of magic. the middle part needs no commentary. it is clear that the sound of the conch shell is meant to arouse the partner to do his duty eagerly. the magic spoken into the conch shell heightens and strengthens this effect.
-after the beauty magic and the spell over the conch shell are finished--and the whole performance does not take more than half an hour or so--every man, in full festive array, takes his place in his canoe. the sails have been folded and the masts removed, and the final stage is done by paddling. the canoes close in, not in any very regular formation, but keeping near to one another, the canoe of the toli'uvalaku as a rule moving in the van. in each canoe, the toliwaga sits at his proper place in the middle of the canoe near the gebobo (special erection made for cargo). one man sits in the front, right against the prow-board, and another at the stern on the platform. all the remaining members of the canoe wield the paddles, while the small boy or the junior member of the crew, sits near the front, ready to blow the conch shell. the oarsmen swing their leaf-shaped paddles with long, energetic and swift strokes, letting the water spray off them and the glistening blades flash in the sunlight--a ceremonial stroke which they call kavikavila (lightening).
-as the canoes begin to move, the three men, so far idle, intone a chant, reciting a special magical formula, each a different one. the man in the front, holding his hand on the tabuyo (oval prow-board), recites a spell, called kayikuna tabuyo (the swaying of the prow-board). the toliwaga in the middle recites the powerful formula called kavalikuliku (the earthquake spell), a formula which makes "the mountain tremble and subside." the man at the stern recites what is called kaytavilena moynawaga, a name which i cannot very well explain, which literally means, "the changing of the canoe entrance." thus, laden with magical force, which is poured forth irresistibly on to the mountain, the canoes advance towards the goal of their enterprise. with the voices of the reciters mingle the soft, penetrating sounds of the conch shell, blending their various pitches into a weird, disturbing harmony. samples of the three spells must be given here.
-"fish-hawk, fall on thy prey, catch it.
-my prow-board, o fish-hawk, fall on thy prey, catch it.
-this key expression, the invocation of the fish-hawk, is repeated with a string of words, denoting, first, the ornamental parts of the canoe; afterwards, certain of its constructive parts; and finally, the lime-pot, the lime stick, the comb, the paddles, the mats, the lilava (magical bundle), and the usagelu (members of the crew). the spell ends with the words:--
-"i shall kula, i shall rob my kula, etc.," as in the previously given formula of the conch shell.
-the first two words of this spell are personal names of men, as the initial syllable mo- indicates, but no information about them was available. the allusion to the fish-hawk in the main part suggests a connection between the action of the rite, that is, the moving of the tabuyo, with this part of the spell, for the ornamental prow-boards are called synonymously buribwari (fish-hawk). on the other hand, the expression: "fish-hawk, fall on thy prey," is no doubt also a magical simile, expressing the idea: "as a fish-hawk falls on his prey and carries it off, so let this canoe fall on the kula valuables and carry them off." the association of this simile with the act of shaking the prow-boards is very suggestive. it may be an attempt to assimilate the whole canoe and all its parts to a fish-hawk falling on its prey, through the special mediation of the ornamental prow-board.
-the spell recited by the toliwaga in the middle of the canoe runs thus:--
-"i anchor at the open sea beach, my renown reaches the lagoon; i anchor at the lagoon, my renown reaches the open sea beach."
-"i hit the mountain; the mountain shivers; the mountain subsides; the mountain trembles; the mountain falls down; the mountain falls asunder. i kick the ground on which the mountain stands. i bring together, i gather."
-"the mountain is encountered in the kula; we encounter the mountain in the kula."
-the expression, kubara, takuba, kubara, which we have here translated by "the mountain is met in the kula, etc." is then repeated with a long string of words denoting the various classes of valuables to be received in the kula. it ends with the conclusion already quoted: "my renown is like thunder, my steps are like earthquake."
-the opening two sentences are clear; they contain a typical magical exaggeration, and equally typical permutation of words. then comes the terrible verbal onslaught on "the mountain," in which the dreadful upheaval is carried on in words. "the mountain" (koya) stands here for the community of partners, for the partner, for his mind. it was very difficult to translate the expression kubara, takuba kubara. it is evidently an archaic word, and i have found it in several formulæ of the mwasila. it seems to mean something like an encounter between the approaching fleet and the koya. the word for sea battle is kubilia in the trobriand language, and kubara in that of the amphletts and dobu, and as often the words of the partner's language are mixed up into these formulæ, this etymology and translation seem to be the correct ones.
-the third formula, that of the man in the stern, is as follows:--
-"crocodile, fall down, take thy man! push him down under the gebobo! (part of the canoe where the cargo is stowed away)."
-"crocodile, bring me the necklace, bring me the bagido'u, etc."
-the formula is ended by the usual phrase: "i shall kula, i shall rob my kula, etc.," as in the two previously quoted spells (ta'uyo and kayikuna tabuyo).
-this formula is obviously a pendant to the first of these three spells, and the crocodile is here invoked instead of the fish-hawk, with the same significance. the rest of the spell is clear, the crocodile being appealed to, to bring all the different classes of the spondylus shell valuables.
-it is interesting to reflect upon the psychological importance of this magic. there is a deep belief in its efficiency, a belief cherished not only by those who advance chanting it, but shared also by the men awaiting the visitors on the shore. the dobuans know that powerful forces are at work upon them. they must feel the wave of magical influence slowly advancing, spreading over their villages. they hear the appeal of the conch-shell, wafting the magic to them in its irresistible note. they can guess the murmur of the many voices accompanying it. they know what is expected from them, and they rise to the occasion. on the part of the approaching party, this magic, the chant of the many voices blended with the ta'uyo (conch shell), expresses their hopes and desires and their rising excitement; their attempt to "shake the mountain," to stir it to its very foundations.
-at the same time, a new emotion arises in their minds, that of awe and apprehension; and another form of magic has to come to their assistance at this juncture, to give expression to this fear and to assuage it--the magic of safety. spells of this magic have been spoken previously, perhaps on the beach of sarubwoyna alongside with the rest, perhaps even earlier, at one of the intermediate stages of the journey. but the rite will be performed at the moment of setting foot ashore, and as this is also the psychological moment to which the magic corresponds, it must be described here.
-it seems absurd, from the rational point of view, that the natives, who know that they are expected, indeed, who have been invited to come, should yet feel uncertain about the good will of their partners, with whom they have so often traded, whom they have received in visit, and themselves visited and re-visited again and again. coming on a customary and peaceful errand, why should they have any apprehensions of danger, and develop a special magical apparatus to meet the natives of dobu? this is a logical way of reasoning, but custom is not logical, and the emotional attitude of man has a greater sway over custom than has reason. the main attitude of a native to other, alien groups is that of hostility and mistrust. the fact that to a native every stranger is an enemy, is an ethnographic feature reported from all parts of the world. the trobriander is not an exception in this respect, and beyond his own, narrow social horizon, a wall of suspicion, misunderstanding and latent enmity divides him from even near neighbours. the kula breaks it through at definite geographical points, and by means of special customary transactions. but, like everything extraordinary and exceptional, this waiving of the general taboo on strangers must be justified and bridged over by magic.
-indeed, the customary behaviour of the dobuans and of the visitors expresses this state of affairs with singular accuracy. it is the customary rule that the trobrianders should be received first with a show of hostility and fierceness; treated almost as intruders. but this attitude entirely subsides after the visitors have ritually spat over the village on their arrival. the natives express their ideas on this subject very characteristically:
-"the dobu man is not good as we are. he is fierce, he is a man-eater! when we come to dobu, we fear him, he might kill us. but see! i spit the charmed ginger root, and their mind turns. they lay down their spears, they receive us well."
-this show of hostility is fixed into a definite ceremonial attitude when the dobuan village, which consists of a collection of hamlets, has been laid under a taboo. on the death of a man of importance in any of the hamlets, the whole community undergoes the so called gwara taboo. the coco-nut and betel-nut palms around and within the village are not allowed to be scaled, and the fruit must not be touched by the dobuans themselves, and still less by strangers. this state of affairs lasts a varying length of time, according to the importance of the dead man, and to other circumstances. only after the gwara has run out its course, and is ripe for expiring, do the kiriwinians dare to come on a visit to dobu, having been advised beforehand of the circumstance. but then, when they arrive, the dobuans put up a show of real hostility, for the visitors will have to break the taboo, they will have to scale the palms, and take the forbidden fruit. this is in accordance with a wide-spread papuo-melanesian type of custom of finishing tabooed periods: in all cases, someone else, who is not under the taboo, has to put an end to it, or to force the imposer of the taboo to break it. and in all cases, there is some show of violence and struggle on the part of the one who has to allow it to be broken. in this case, as the kiriwinian natives put it:
-"supposing we do not perform the ka'ubana'i (safety magic), we are afraid, when there is a gwara in dobu. the dobuans put on war paint, take spear in hand, and a puluta (sword club); they sit and look at us. we run into the village; we climb the tree. he runs at us 'don't climb,' he cries. then we spit leyya (ginger root) at him. he throws down his spear, he goes back and smiles. the women take the spears away. we spit all around the village. then he is pleased. he speaks: 'you climb your coco-nut, your betel-nut; cut your bananas.'"
-thus the taboo is broken, the gwara is finished, and the customary and histrionic moment of tension is over, which must have been none the less a strain on the nerves of both parties.
-this is the lengthy formula which a toliwaga utters over several bits of ginger root, which are afterwards distributed among his crew, each of whom carries a piece when getting ashore.
-"floating spirit of nikiniki!
-duduba, kirakira." (these words are untranslatable).
-"it ebbs, it ebbs away!
-thy fury ebbs, it ebbs away, o man of dobu!
-thy war paint ebbs, it ebbs away, o man of dobu!
-thy sting ebbs, it ebbs away, o man of dobu!
-thy anger ebbs, it ebbs away, o man of dobu!
-thy chasing away ebbs, it ebbs away, o man of dobu!"
-a long string of various expressings denoting hostile passions, disinclination to make kula, and all the paraphernalia of war are here enumerated. thus, such words as "kula refusal," "growling," "sulking," "dislike"; further: "weapon," "bamboo knife," "club-sword," "large-barbed spear," "small-barbed spear," "round club," "war blackening," "red war paint," are uttered one after the other. moreover, all of them are repeated in their dobuan equivalents after the list has been exhausted in kiriwinian. when this series has been exhausted with reference to the man of dobu, part of it is repeated with the addition "woman of dobu," the mention of weapons, however, being omitted. but this does not end this extremely long formula. after the protracted litany has been finished, the reciter chants:
-"who emerges at the top of kinana? i" (here the name of the reciter is mentioned) "emerge on the top of kinana."
-then the whole litany is again repeated, the key word, instead of, "it ebbs, it ebbs away" being "the dog sniffs."
-in connection with all the other words, this would run, more or less, in a free translation:--
-"thy fury, o man of dobu, is as when the dog sniffs," or, more explicitly:--
-"thy fury, o man of dobu, should abate as the fury of a dog abates when it comes and sniffs at a new-comer."
-the simile of the dog must be very strongly ingrained in the magical tradition, for in two more versions of this formula, obtained from different informants, i received as key-words the expressions: "the dog plays about," and "the dog is docile." the final part of this formula is identical with that of the kaykakaya spell previously given in this chapter:--
-"no more it is my mother, my mother art thou, o woman of dobu, etc.," running into the ending "recently deceased, etc."
-in comment on this formula, there is first of all the name mentioned in the first line, that of nikiniki, or monikiniki, as it is usually pronounced, with the prefix of masculinity, mo-. he is described as "a man, an ancient man; no myth about him; he spoke the magic." indeed, the main system of mwasila magic is named after him, but none of my informants knew any legend about him.
-the first key word of the middle part is quite clear. it describes the ebbing away of the dobuans' passions and of their outward trappings. it is noteworthy that the word for 'ebbing' here used, is in the dobuan, and not in the kiriwinian language. the reference to the dog already explained may be still made clearer in terms of native comment. one explanation is simple:--
-"they invoke the dog in the mwasila, because when master of dog comes, the dog stands up and licks; in the same way, the inclinations of the dobu people." another explanation is more sophisticated: "the reason is that dogs play about nose to nose. supposing we mentioned the word, as it was of old arranged, the valuables do the same. supposing we had given away armshells, the necklace will come, they will meet."
-this means, by invoking the dog in this magic, according to old magical tradition, we also influence the kula gifts. this explanation is undoubtedly far-fetched, and probably does not express the real meaning of the spell. it would have no meaning in association with the list of passions and weapons, but i have adduced it as an example of native scholasticism.
-the dog is also a taboo associated with this magic. when a man, who practices the ka'ubana'i eats and a dog howls within his hearing, he has to leave his food, else his magic would 'blunt.'
-safe under the auspices of this magic, the trobriand sailors land on the beach of tu'utauna, where we shall follow them in the next chapter.
-the kula in dobu--technicalities of the exchange
-in the last chapter, we spoke about the institution of gwara (mortuary taboo) and of the threatening reception accorded to the visiting party, at the time when it is laid upon the village, and when it has to be lifted. when there is no gwara, and the arriving fleet are on an uvalaku expedition, there will be a big and ceremonial welcome. the canoes, as they approach, will range themselves in a long row facing the shore. the point selected will be the beach, corresponding to a hamlet where the main partner of the toli'uvalaku lives. the canoe of the toli'uvalaku, of the master of the uvalaku expedition, will range itself at the end of the row. the toli'uvalaku will get up on to the platform and harangue the natives assembled on the beach. he will try to appeal to their ambition, so that they might give the visitors a large amount of valuables and surpass all other occasions. after that, his partner on the shore will blow a conch-shell, and, wading through the water, advance towards the canoe, and offer the first gift of valuables to the master of the expedition. this may be followed by another gift, again given to the toli'uvalaku. other blasts then follow, and men disengage themselves from the throng on the shore, approaching the canoes with necklaces for their partners. a certain order of seniority will be observed in this. the necklaces are always carried ceremonially; as a rule they will be tied by both ends to a stick, and carried hanging down, with the pendant at the bottom (see plate lxi). sometimes, when a vaygu'a (valuable) is carried to the canoes by a woman (a headman's wife or sister) it will be put into a basket and carried on her head.
-after this ceremonial reception, the fleet disperses. as we remember from chapter ii, the villages in dobu are not built in compact blocks of houses, but scattered in hamlets, each of about a dozen huts. the fleet now sails along the shore, every canoe anchoring in front of the hamlet in which its toliwaga has his main partner.
-we have at last arrived at the point when the real kula has begun. so far, it was all preparations, and sailing with its concomitant adventure, and a little bit of preliminary kula in the amphletts. it was all full of excitement and emotion, pointing always towards the final goal, the big kula in dobu. now we have at last reached the climax. the net result will be the acquisition of a few dirty, greasy, and insignificant looking native trinkets, each of them a string of flat, partly discoloured, partly raspberry-pink or brick-red discs, threaded one behind the other into a long, cylindrical roll. in the eyes of the natives, however, this result receives its meaning from the social forces of tradition and custom, which give the imprint of value to these objects, and surround them with a halo of romance. it seems fit here to make these few reflections upon the native psychology on this point, and to attempt to grasp its real significance.
-it may help us towards this understanding to reflect, that not far from the scenes of the kula, large numbers of white adventurers have toiled and suffered, and many of them given their lives, in order to acquire what to the natives would appear as insignificant and filthy as their bagi are to us--a few nuggets of gold. nearer, even, in the very trobriand lagoon, there are found valuable pearls. in olden days, when the natives on opening a shell to eat it, found a waytuna, as they called it, a 'seed' of the pearl shell, they would throw it to their children to play with. now they see a number of white men straining all their forces in competition to acquire as many of these worthless things as they can. the parallel is very close. in both cases, the conventionalised value attached to an object carries with it power, renown, and the pleasure of increasing them both. in the case of the white man, this is infinitely more complex and indirect, but not essentially different from that of the natives. if we would imagine that a great number of celebrated gems are let loose among us, and travel from hand to hand--that koh-i-noor and orloff and other celebrated diamonds, emeralds and rubies--were on a continuous round tour, and to be obtained through luck, daring and enterprise, we would have a still closer analogy. even though the possession of them would be a short and temporary one, the renown of having possessed them and the mania of 'collectioneering' would add its spur to the lust for wealth.
-this general, human, psychological foundation of the kula must be kept constantly in mind. if we want, however, to understand its specific forms, we have to look for the details and technicalities of the transaction. a short outline of these has been given before in chapter iii. here, after we have acquired a better knowledge of preliminaries, and a more thorough grasp of native psychology and custom, we shall be more ready to enter into a detailed description.
-it is not very easy to unravel the various motives which combine to make up this customary behaviour on receiving and giving a gift. the part played by the receiver is perhaps not so difficult to interpret. right through their ceremonial and commercial give and take, there runs the crude and fundamental human dissatisfaction with the value received. a native will always, when speaking about a transaction, insist on the magnitude and value of the gift he gave, and minimise those of the equivalent accepted. side by side with this, there is the essential native reluctance to appear in want of anything, a reluctance which is most pronounced in the case of food, as we have said before (chapter vi, division iv). both these motives combine to produce the, after all, very human and understandable attitude of disdain at the reception of a gift. in the case of the donor, the histrionic anger with which he gives an object might be, in the first place, a direct expression of the natural human dislike of parting with a possession. added to this, there is the attempt to enhance the apparent value of the gift by showing what a wrench it is to give it away. this is the interpretation of the etiquette in giving and taking at which i have arrived after many observations of native behaviour, and through many conversations and casual remarks of the natives.
-the two gifts of the kula are also distinct in time. it is quite obvious this must be so in the case of an overseas expedition of an uvalaku type, on which no valuables whatever are taken with them by the visiting party, and so, any valuable received on such an occasion, whether as vaga or yotile, cannot therefore be exchanged at the same time. but even when the exchange takes place in the same village during an inland kula, there must be an interval between the two gifts, of a few minutes at least.
-there are also deep differences in the nature of the two gifts. the vaga, as the opening gift of the exchange, has to be given spontaneously, that is, there is no enforcement of any duty in giving it. there are means of soliciting it, (wawoyla), but no pressure can be employed. the yotile, however, that is, the valuable which is given in return for the valuable previously received, is given under pressure of a certain obligation. if i have given a vaga (opening gift of valuable) to a partner of mine, let us say a year ago, and now, when on a visit, i find that he has an equivalent vaygu'a, i shall consider it his duty to give it to me. if he does not do so, i am angry with him, and justified in being so. not only that, if i can by any chance lay my hand on his vaygu'a and carry if off by force (lebu), i am entitled by custom to do this, although my partner in that case may become very irate. the quarrel over that would again be half histrionic, half real.
-another difference between a vaga and a yotile occurs in overseas expeditions which are not uvalaku. on such expeditions, valuables sometimes are carried, but only such as are due already for a past vaga, and are to be given as yotile. opening gifts, vaga, are never taken overseas.
-another type of such a gift is called kaributu, and consists of a valuable which, as a rule, is not one of those which are regularly kulaed. thus, a small polished axe blade, or a valuable belt is given with the words: "i kaributu your necklace (or armshells); i shall take it and carry it off." this gift again may only be accepted if there is an intention to satisfy the giver with the desired vaygu'a. a very famous and great valuable will often be solicited by gift of pokala and of kaributu, one following the other. if, after one or two of such solicitory gifts, the big vaygu'a is finally given, the satisfied receiver will often give some more food to his partner, which gift is called kwaypolu.
-the food gifts would be returned on a similar occasion if it arises. but there would be no strict equivalence in the matter of food. the kaributu gift of a valuable, however, would always have to be returned later on, in an equivalent form. it may be added that the pokala offerings of food would be most often given from a district, where food is more abundant than in the district to which it is carried. thus, the sinaketans would bring pokala to the amphletts, but they would seldom or never pokala the dobuans, who are very rich in food. again, within the trobriands, a pokala would be offered from the northern agricultural district of kiriwina to men of sinaketa, but not inversely.
-another peculiar type of gift connected with the kula is called korotomna. after a sinaketan has given a necklace to a man of kiriwina, and this latter receives a minor valuable from his partner further east, this minor valuable will be given to the sinaketan as the korotomna of his necklace. this gift usually consists of a lime spatula of whalebone ornamented with spondylus discs, and it has to be repaid.
-it must be noted that all these expressions are given in the language of the trobriands, and they refer to the gifts exchanged between the northern and southern trobriands on the one hand, and these latter and the amphletts on the other. in an overseas expedition from sinaketa to dobu, the solicitary gifts would be rather given wholesale, as the visitors' gifts of pari, and the subtle distinctions in name and in technicality would not be observed. that this must be so becomes clear, if we realise that, whereas, between the northern and southern trobriands the news about an exceptionally good valuable spreads easily and quickly, this is not the case between dobu and boyowa. going over to dobu, therefore, a man has to make up his mind, whether he will give any solicitory presents to his partner, what and how much he will give him, without knowing whether he has any specially fine valuables to expect from him or not. if, however, there was any exceptionally valuable gift in the visitors' pari, it will have to be returned later on by the dobuans.
-"we say basi, for it does not truly bite, like a kudu (tooth); it just basi (pierces) the surface; makes it lighter."
-the equivalence of the two gifts, vaga and yotile, is expressed by the word kudu (tooth) and bigeda (it will bite). another figure of speech describing the equivalence is contained in the word va'i, to marry. when two of the opposite valuables meet in the kula and are exchanged, it is said that these two have married. the armshells are conceived as a female principle, and the necklaces as the male. an interesting comment on these ideas was given to me by one of the informants. as mentioned above, a gift of food is never given from sinaketa to kiriwina, obviously because it would be a case of bringing coals to newcastle. when i asked why this is so, i received the answer:
-"we do not now kwaypolu or pokala the mwali, for they are women, and there is no reason to kwaypolu or pokala them."
-there is little logic in this comment, but it evidently includes some idea about the smaller value of the female principle. or else perhaps it refers to the fundamental idea of the married status, namely that it is for the woman's family to provide the man with food.
-the idea of equivalence in the kula transaction is very strong and definite, and when the receiver is not satisfied with the yotile (return gift) he will violently complain that it is not a proper 'tooth' (kudu) for his opening gift, that it is not a real 'marriage,' that it is not properly 'bitten.'
-these terms, given in the kiriwinian language, cover about half of the kula ring from woodlark island and even further east, from nada (loughlan islands) as far as the southern trobriands. in the language of dobu, the same word is used for vaga and basi, while yotile is pronounced yotura, and kudu is udu. the same terms are used in the amphletts.
-so much about the actual regulations of the kula transactions. with regard to the further general rules, the definition of kula partnership and sociology has been discussed in detail in chapter xi. as to the rule that the valuables have always to travel and never to stop, nothing has to be added to what has been said about this in chapter iii, for there are no exceptions to this rule. a few more words must be said on the subject of the valuables used in the kula. i said in chapter iii, stating the case briefly, that in one direction travel the armshells, whilst in the opposite, following the hands of the clock, travel the necklaces. it must now be added that the mwali--armshells--are accompanied by another article, the doga, or circular boar's tusks. in olden days, the doga were almost as important as the mwali in the stream of the kula. nowadays, hardly any at all are to be met as kula articles. it is not easy to explain the reason for this change. in an institution having the importance and traditional tenacity which we find in the kula, there can be no question of the interference of fashion to bring about changes. the only reason which i can suggest is that nowadays, with immensely increased intertribal intercourse, there is a great drainage on all kula valuables by other districts lying outside the kula. now, on the one hand the doga are extremely valued on the main-land of new guinea, much more, i assume, than they are within the kula district. the drainage therefore would affect the doga much more strongly than any other articles, one of which, the spondylus necklaces, are actually imported into the kula region from without, and even manufactured by white men in considerable quantities for native consumption. the armshells are produced within the district in sufficient numbers to replace any leakage, but doga are extremely difficult to reproduce, as they are connected with a rare freak of nature--a boar with a circular tusk.
-one more article which travels in the same direction as the mwali, consists of the bosu, the big lime spatulæ made of whale-bone and decorated with spondylus shells. they are not strictly speaking kula articles, but play a part as the korotomna gifts mentioned above and nowadays are hardly to be met with. with the necklaces, there travel only as an unimportant subsidiary kula article, belts made of the same red spondylus shell. they would be given as return presents for small armshells, as basi, etc.
-there is one important exception in the respective movements of necklace and armshell. a certain type of spondylus shell strings, much bigger and coarser than the strings which are used in the kula, are produced in sinaketa, as we saw in the last chapter. these strings, called katudababile in kiriwinian, or sama'upa in dobuan, are sometimes exported from sinaketa to dobu as kula gifts, and function therefore as armshells. these katudababile, however, never complete the kula ring, in the wrong direction, as they never return to the trobriands from the east. part of them are absorbed into the districts outside the kula, part of them come back again to sinaketa, and join the other necklaces in their circular movement.
-another class of articles, which often take a subsidiary part in the kula exchange, consists of the large and thin polished axe blades, called in the kiriwinian language beku. they are never used for any practical purposes, and fulfil only the function of tokens of wealth and objects of parade. in the kula they would be given as kaributu (solicitary gifts), and would go both ways. as they are quarried in woodlark island and polished in kiriwina, they would, however, move in the direction from the trobriands to dobu more frequently than in the opposite one.
-to summarise this subject, it may be said that the proper kula articles are on the one hand, the armshells (mwali), and the curved tusks (doga); and, on the other hand, the fine, long necklaces (soulava or bagi), of which there are many sub-classes. an index of the special position of these three articles is that they are the only ones, or at least, by far the most important ones, mentioned in the spells. later on, i shall enumerate all the sub-classes and varieties of these articles.
-although, as we have seen, there is both a good deal of ceremony attached to the transaction and a good deal of decorum, one might even say commercial honour, implied in the technicalities of the exchange, there is much room left as well for quarrelling and friction. if a man obtains a very fine valuable, which he is not already under an obligation to offer as yotile (return payment), there will be a number of his partners, who will compete to receive it. as only one can be successful, all the others will be thwarted and more or less offended and full of malice. still more room for bad blood is left in the matter of equivalence. as the valuables exchanged cannot be measured or even compared with one another by an exact standard; as there are no definite correspondences or indices of correlation between the various kinds of the valuables, it is not easy to satisfy a man who has given a vaygu'a of high value. on receiving a repayment (yotile), which he does not consider equivalent, he will not actually make a scene about it, or even show his displeasure openly in the act. but he will feel a deep resentment, which will express itself in frequent recriminations and abuse. these, though not made to his partner's face, will reach his ears sooner or later. eventually, the universal method of settling differences may be resorted to--that of black magic, and a sorcerer will be paid to cast some evil spell over the offending party.
-when speaking about some celebrated vaygu'a, a native will praise its value in the words: "many men died because of it"--which does not mean that they died in battle or fight, but were killed by black magic. again, there is a system of signs by which one can recognise, on inspecting the corpse the day after death, for what reasons it has been bewitched. among these signs there are one or two which mean that the man has been done away with, because of his success in kula, or because he has offended somebody in connection with it. the mixture of punctilio and decorum, on the one hand, with passionate resentment and greed on the other, must be realised as underlying all the transactions, and giving the leading psychological tone to the natives' interest. the obligation of fairness and decency is based on the general rule, that it is highly improper and dishonourable to be mean. thus, though a man will generally strive to belittle the thing received, it must not be forgotten that the man who gave it was genuinely eager to do his best. and after all, in some cases when a man receives a really fine valuable, he will boast of it and be frankly satisfied. such a success is attributed of course not to his partner's generosity, but to his own magic.
-a feature which is universally recognised as reprehensible and discreditable, is a tendency to retain a number of valuables and be slow in passing them on. a man who did this would be called "hard in the kula." the following is a native description of this feature as exhibited by the natives of the amphletts.
-"the gumasila, their kula is very hard; they are mean, they are retentive. they would like to take hold of one soulava, of two, of three big ones, of four perhaps. a man would pokala them, he would pokapokala; if he is a kinsman he will get a soulava. the kayleula only, and the gumasila are mean. the dobu, the du'a'u, the kitava are good. coming to muyuwa--they are like gumasila."
-this means that a man in gumasila would let a number of necklaces accumulate in his possession; would require plenty of food as pokala--a characteristic reduplication describes the insistence and perseverance in pokala--and even then he would give a necklace to a kinsman only. when i inquired from the same informant whether such a mean man would also run a risk of being killed by sorcery, he answered
-"a man who is very much ahead in the kula--he will die--the mean man not; he will sit in peace."
-returning now to the concrete proceedings of the kula, let us follow the movements of a sinaketan toliwaga. he has presumably received a necklace or two on his arrival; but he has more partners and he expects more valuables. before he receives his fill, he has to keep a taboo. he may not partake of any local food, neither yams, nor coco-nuts, nor betel pepper or nut. according to their belief, if he transgressed this taboo he would not receive any more valuables. he tries also to soften the heart of his partner by feigning disease. he will remain in his canoe and send word that he is ill. the dobu man will know what such a conventional disease means. none the less, he may yield to this mode of persuasion. if this ruse does not succeed, the man may have recourse to magic. there is a formula called kwoygapani or 'enmeshing magic,' which seduces the mind of a man on whom it is practised, makes him silly, and thus amenable to persuasion. the formula is recited over a betel-nut or two, and these are given to the partner and to his wife or sister.
-"o kwega leaf; o friendly kwega leaf; o kwega leaf hither; o kwega leaf thither!"
-"i shall enter through the mouth of the woman of dobu; i shall come out through the mouth of the man of dobu. i shall enter through the mouth of the man of dobu; i shall come out through the mouth of the woman of dobu."
-"seducing kwega leaf; enmeshing kwega leaf; the mind of the woman of dobu is seduced by the kwega leaf, is enmeshed by the kwega leaf."
-the expression "is seduced," "is enmeshed "by the kwega leaf, is repeated with a string of words such as: "thy mind, o man of dobu," "thy refusal, o woman of dobu," "thy disinclination, o woman of dobu," "thy bowels, thy tongue, thy liver," going thus over all the organs of understanding and feeling, and over the words which describe these faculties. the last part is identical with that of one or two formulæ previously quoted:
-"no more it is my mother; my mother art thou, o woman of dobu, etc." (compare the kaykakaya and ka'ubana'i spells of the previous chapter.)
-kwega is a plant, probably belonging to the same family as betel pepper, and its leaves are chewed with areca-nut and lime, when real betel-pods (mwayye) are not available. the kwega is, remarkably enough, invoked in more than one magical formula, instead of the real betel-pod. the middle part is quite clear. in it, the seducing and enmeshing power of the kwega is cast over all the mental faculties of the dobuan, and on the anatomical seats of these faculties. after the application of this magic, all the resources of the soliciting man are exhausted. he has to give up hope, and take to eating the fruit of dobu, as his taboo lapses.
-side by side with the kula, the subsidiary exchange of ordinary goods takes place. in chapter vi, division vi, we have classified the various types of give and take, as they are to be found in the trobriand islands. the inter-tribal transactions which now take place in dobu also fit into that scheme. the kula itself belongs to class (6), 'ceremonial barter with deferred payment.' the offering of the pari, of landing gifts by the visitors, returned by the talo'i or farewell gifts from the hosts fall into the class (4) of presents more or less equivalent. finally, between the visitors and the local people there takes place, also, barter pure and simple (gimwali). between partners, however, there is never a direct exchange of the gimwali type. the local man will as a rule contribute a bigger present, for the talo'i always exceeds the pari in quantity and value, and small presents are also given to the visitors during their stay. of course, if in the pari there were included gifts of high value, like a stone blade or a good lime spoon, such solicitary gifts would always be returned in strictly equivalent form. the rest would be liberally exceeded in value.
-"some of our goods we give in pari; some we keep back; later on, we gimwali it. they bring their areca-nut, their sago, they put it down. they want some article of ours, they say: 'i want this stone blade.' we give it, we put the betel-nut, the sago into our canoe. if they give us, however, a not sufficient quantity, we rate them. then they bring more."
-this is a clear definition of the gimwali, with haggling and adjustment of equivalence in the act.
-when the visiting party from sinaketa arrive, the natives from the neighbouring districts, that is, from the small island of dobu proper, from the other side of dawson straits, from deyde'i, the village to the south, will assemble in the three kula villages. these natives from other districts bring with them a certain amount of goods. but they must not trade directly with the visitors from boyowa. they must exchange their goods with the local natives, and these again will trade them with the sinaketans. thus the hosts from the kula community act as intermediaries in any trading relations between the sinaketans and the inhabitants of more remote districts.
-to sum up the sociology of these transactions, we may say that the visitor enters into a threefold relation with the dobuan natives. first, there is his partner, with whom he exchanges general gifts on the basis of free give and take, a type of transaction, running side by side with the kula proper. then there is the local resident, not his personal kula partner, with whom he carries on gimwali. finally there is the stranger with whom an indirect exchange is carried on through the intermediation of the local men. with all this, it must not be imagined that the commercial aspect of the gathering is at all conspicuous. the concourse of the natives is great, mainly owing to their curiosity, to see the ceremonial reception of the uvalaku party. but if i say that every visitor from boyowa, brings and carries away about half-a-dozen articles, i do not under-state the case. some of these articles the sinaketan has acquired in the industrial districts of boyowa during his preliminary trading expedition (see chapter vi, division iii). on these he scores a definite gain. a few samples of the prices paid in boyowa and those received in dobu will indicate the amount of this gain.
-this table shows in its second column the prices paid by the sinaketans to the industrial villages of kuboma, a district in the northern trobriands. in the third column what they receive in dobu is recorded. the table has been obtained from a sinaketan informant, and it probably is far from accurate, and the transactions are sure to vary greatly in the gain which they afford. there is no doubt, however, that for each article, the sinaketan would ask the price which he paid for them as well as some extra article.
-thus we see that there is in this transaction a definite gain obtained by the middlemen. the natives of sinaketa act as intermediaries between the industrial centres of the trobriands and dobu, whereas their hosts play the same rôle between the sinaketans and the men from the outlying districts.
-besides trading and obtaining of kula valuables, the natives of sinaketa visit their friends and their distant relatives, who, as we saw before, are to be found in this district owing to migrations. the visitors walk across the flat, fertile plain from one hamlet to the other, enjoying some of the marvellous and unknown sights of this district. they are shown the hot springs of numanuma and of deyde'i, which are in constant eruption. every few minutes, the water boils up in one spring after another of each group, throwing up jets of spray a few metres high. the plain around these springs is barren, with nothing but here and there a stunted kind of eucalyptus tree. this is the only place in the whole of eastern new guinea where as far as i know, eucalyptus trees are to be found. this was at least the information of some intelligent natives, in whose company i visited the springs, and who had travelled all over the eastern islands and the east end of the mainland.
-the land-locked bays and lagoons, the northern end of dawson strait, enclosed like a lake by mountains and volcanic cones, all this must also appear strange and beautiful to the trobrianders. in the villages, they are entertained by their male friends, the language spoken by both parties being that of dobu, which differs completely from kiriwinian, but which the sinaketans learn in early youth. it is remarkable that no one in dobu speaks kiriwinian.
-as said above, no sexual relations of any description take place between the visitors and the women of dobu. as one of the informants told me:
-"we do not sleep with women of dobu, for dobu is the final mountain (koyaviguna dobu); it is a taboo of the mwasila magic."
-but when i enquired, whether the results of breaking this taboo would be baneful to their success in kula only, the reply was that they were afraid of breaking it, and that it was ordained of old (tokunabogwo ayguri) that no man should interfere with the women of dobu. as a matter of fact, the sinaketans are altogether afraid of the dobuans, and they would take good care not to offend them in any way.
-after some three or four days' sojourn in dobu, the sinaketan fleet starts on its return journey. there is no special ceremony of farewell. in the early morning, they receive their talo'i (farewell gifts) of food, betel-nut, objects of use and sometimes also a kula valuable is enclosed amongst the the talo'i. heavily laden as they are, they lighten their canoes by means of a magic called kaylupa, and sail away northwards once more.
-the journey home--the fishing and working of the kaloma shell
-the return journey of the sinaketan fleet is made by following exactly the same route as the one by which they came to dobu. in each inhabited island, in every village, where a halt had previously been made, they stop again, for a day or a few hours. in the hamlets of sanaroa, in tewara and in the amphletts, the partners are revisited. some kula valuables are received on the way back, and all the talo'i gifts from those intermediate partners are also collected on the return journey. in each of these villages people are eager to hear about the reception which the uvalaku party have received in dobu; the yield in valuables is discussed, and comparisons are drawn between the present occasion and previous records.
-no magic is performed now, no ceremonial takes place, and there would be very little indeed to say about the return journey but for two important incidents; the fishing for spondylus shell (kaloma) in sanaroa lagoon, and the display and comparison of the yield of kula valuables on muwa beach.
-the natives of sinaketa, as we have seen in the last chapter, acquire a certain amount of the koya produce by means of trade. there are, however, certain articles, useful yet unobtainable in the trobriands, and freely accessible in the koya, and to these the trobrianders help themselves. the glassy forms of lava, known as obsidian, can be found in great quantities over the slopes of the hills in sanaroa and dobu. this article, in olden days, served the trobrianders as material for razors, scrapers, and sharp, delicate, cutting instruments. pumice-stone abounding in this district is collected and carried to the trobriands, where it is used for polishing. red ochre is also procured there by the visitors, and so are the hard, basaltic stones (binabina) used for hammering and pounding and for magical purposes. finally, very fine silica sand, called maya, is collected on some of the beaches, and imported into the trobriands, where it is used for polishing stone blades, of the kind which serve as tokens of value and which are manufactured up to the present day.
-but by far the most important of the articles which the trobrianders collect for themselves are the spondylus shells. these are freely, though by no means easily, accessible in the coral outcrops of sanaroa lagoon. it is from this shell that the small circular perforated discs (kaloma) are made, out of which the necklaces of the kula are composed, and which also serve for ornamenting almost all the articles of value or of artistic finish which are used within the kula district. but, only in two localities within the district are these discs manufactured, in sinaketa and in vakuta, both villages in southern boyowa. the shell can be found also in the trobriand lagoon, facing these two villages. but the specimens found in sanaroa are much better in colour, and i think more easily procured. the fishing in this latter locality, however, is done by the sinaketans only.
-whether the fishing is done in their own lagoon, near an uninhabited island called nanoula, or in sanaroa, it is always a big, ceremonial affair, in which the whole community takes part in a body. the magic, or at least part of it, is done for the whole community by the magician of the kaloma (towosina kaloma), who also fixes the dates, and conducts the ceremonial part of the proceedings. as the spondylus shell furnishes one of the essential episodes of a kula expedition, a detailed account both of fishing and of manufacturing must be here given. the native name, kaloma (in the southern massim districts the word sapi-sapi is used) describes both the shell and the manufactured discs. the shell is the large spondylus shell, containing a crystalline layer of a red colour, varying from dirty brick-red to a soft, raspberry pink, the latter being by far the most prized. it lives in the cavities of coral outcrop, scattered among shallow mud-bottomed lagoons.
-this myth presents certain remarkable characteristics. i shall not enter into its sociology, though it differs in that respect from the kiriwinian myths, in which the equality of the sinaketan and the gumilababan chiefs with those of omarakana is not acknowledged. it is characteristic that the malasi woman in this myth shows an aversion to the dog, the totem animal of the lukuba clan, a clan which according to mythical and historical data had to recede before and yield its priority to the malasi (compare chapter xii, division iv). another detail of interest is that she brings the kaloma on their sticks, as they appear in the final stage of manufacturing. in this form, also, she tries to plant them on the reef. the finished kaloma, however, to use the words of one of my informants, "looked at her, the water swinging it to and fro; flashing its red eyes." and the woman, seeing it, pulls out the too accessible and too inviting kaloma and scatters them over the deep sea. thus she makes them inaccessible to the uninitiated inland villagers, and monopolises them for sinaketa. there can be no doubt that the villages of vakuta have learnt this industry from the sinaketans. the myth is hardly known in vakuta, only a few are experts in diving and manufacturing; there is a tradition about a late transference of this industry there; finally the vakutans have never fished for kaloma in the sanaroa lagoon.
-now let us describe the technicalities and the ceremonial connected with the fishing for kaloma. it will be better to give an account of how this is done in the lagoon of sinaketa, round the sandbank of nanoula, as this is the normal and typical form of kaloma fishing. moreover, when the sinaketans do it in sanaroa, the proceedings are very much the same, with just one or two phases missed out.
-the office of magician of the kaloma (towosina kaloma) is hereditary in two sub-clans, belonging to the malasi clan, and one of them is that of the main chief of kasi'etana. after the monsoon season is over, that is, some time in march or april, ogibukuvi (i.e., in the season of the new yams) the magician gives the order for preparations. the community give him a gift called sousula, one or two bringing a vaygu'a, the rest supplying gugu'a (ordinary chattels), and some food. then they prepare the canoes, and get ready the binabina stones, with which the spondylus shell will be knocked off the reef.
-next day, in the morning, the magician performs a rite called 'kaykwa'una la'i,' 'the attracting of the reef,' for, as in the case of several other marine beings, the main seat of the kaloma is far away. its dwelling place is the reef ketabu, somewhere between sanaroa and dobu. in order to make it move and come towards nanoula, it is necessary to recite the above-named spell. this is done by the magician as he walks up and down on the sinaketa beach and casts his words into the open, over the sea, towards the distant seat of the kaloma. the kaloma then 'stand up' (itolise) that is start from their original coral outcrop (vatu) and come into the lagoon of sinaketa. this spell, i obtained from to'udavada, the present chief of kasi'etana, and descendant of the original giver of this shell, the woman of the myth. it begins with a long list of ancestral names; then follows a boastful picture of how the whole fleet admires the magical success of the magician's spell. the key-word in the main part is the word 'itolo': 'it stands up,' i.e., 'it starts,' and with this, there are enumerated all the various classes of the kaloma shell, differentiated according to size, colour and quality. it ends up with another boast; "my canoe is overloaded with shell so that it sinks," which is repeated with varying phraseology.
-this spell the magician may utter once only, or he may repeat it several times on successive days. he fixes then the final date for the fishing expedition. on the evening before that date, the men perform some private magic, every one in his own house. the hammering stone, the gabila, which is always a binabina (it is a stone imported from the koya), is charmed over. as a rule it is put on a piece of dried banana leaf with some red hibiscus blossoms and leaves or flowers of red colour. a formula is uttered over it, and the whole is then wrapped up in the banana leaf and kept there until it is used. this will make the stone a lucky one in hitting off many shells, and it will make the shells very red.
-another rite of private magic consists in charming a large mussel shell, with which, on the next morning, the body of the canoe will be scraped. this makes the sea clear, so that the diver may easily see and frequently find his spondylus shells.
-next morning the whole fleet starts on the expedition. some food has been taken into the canoes, as the fishing usually lasts for a few days, the nights being spent on the beach of nanoula. when the canoes arrive at a certain point, about half-way between sinaketa and nanoula, they all range themselves in a row. the canoe of the magician is at the right flank, and he medicates a bunch of red hibiscus flowers, some red croton leaves, and the leaves of the red-blossomed mangrove--red coloured substances being used to make the shell red, magically. then, passing in front of all the other canoes, he rubs their prows with the bundle of leaves. after that, the canoes at both ends of the row begin to punt along, the row evolving into a circle, through which presently the canoe of the magician passes, punting along its diameter. at this place in the lagoon, there is a small vatu (coral outcrop) called vitukwayla'i. this is called the vatu of the baloma (spirits). at this vatu the magician's canoe stops, and he orders some of its crew to dive down and here to begin the gathering of shells.
-some more private magic is performed later on by each canoe on its own account. the anchor stone is charmed with some red hibiscus flowers, in order to make the spondylus shell red. there is another private magic called 'sweeping of the sea,' which, like the magic of the mussel shell, mentioned above, makes the sea clear and transparent. finally, there is an evil magic called 'besprinkling with salt water.' if a man does it over the others, he will annul the effects of their magic, and frustrate their efforts, while he himself would arouse astonishment and suspicion by the amount of shell collected. such a man would dive down into the water, take some brine into his mouth, and emerging, spray it towards the other canoes, while he utters the evil charm.
-so much for the magic and the ceremonial associated with the spondylus fishing in the trobriand lagoon. in sanaroa, exactly the same proceedings take place, except that there is no attracting of the reef, probably because they are already at the original seat of the kaloma. again i was told that some of the private magic would be performed in sinaketa before the fleet sailed on the kula expedition. the objects medicated would be then kept, well wrapped in dried leaves.
-it may be added that neither in the one lagoon nor in the other are there any private, proprietary rights to coral outcrops. the whole community of sinaketa have their fishing grounds in the lagoon, within which every man may hunt for his spondylus shell, and catch his fish at times. if the other spondylus fishing community, the vakutans, encroached upon their grounds, there would be trouble, and in olden days, fighting. private ownership in coral outcrops exists in the northern villages of the lagoon, that is in kavataria, and the villages on the island of kayleula.
-account of the kaloma making
-this narrative, like many pieces of native information, needs certain corrections of perspective. in the first place, events here succeed one another with a rapidity quite foreign to the extremely leisurely way in which natives usually accomplish such a lengthy process as the making of a katudababile. the amount of food which, in the usual manner, is enumerated over and over again in this narrative would probably not be exaggerated, for--such is native economy--a man who makes a necklace to order would get about twice as much or even more for it than it would fetch in any other transaction. on the other hand, it must be remembered that what is represented here as the final payment, the karibudaboda, is nothing else but the normal filling up of the yam house, always done by a man's relations-in-law. none the less, in a year in which a katudababile would be made, the ordinary yearly harvest gift would be styled the 'karibudaboda payment for the necklace.' the giving of the necklace to the wife, who afterwards carries it to her brother or kinsman, is also characteristic of the relation between relatives-in-law.
-in sinaketa and vakuta only the necklaces made of bigger shell and tapering towards the end are made. the real kula article, in which the discs are much thinner, smaller in diameter and even in size from one end of the necklace to the other, these were introduced into the kula at other points, and i shall speak about this subject in one of the following chapters (chapter xxi), where the other branches of the kula are described.
-after this is over, they return to the village. each canoe blows its conch shell, a blast for each valuable that it contains. when a canoe has obtained no vaygu'a at all, this means great shame and distress for its members, and especially for the toliwaga. such a canoe is said to bisikureya, which means literally 'to keep a fast.'
-on the beach all the villagers are astir. the women, who have put on their new grass petticoats (sevata'i) specially made for this occasion, enter the water and approach the canoes to unload them. no special greetings pass between them and their husbands. they are interested in the food brought from dobu, more especially in the sago.
-people from other villages assemble also in great numbers to greet the incoming party. those who have supplied their friends or relatives with provisions for their journey, receive now sago, betel-nuts and coco-nuts in repayment. some of the welcoming crowd have come in order to make kula. even from the distant districts of luba and kiriwina natives will travel to sinaketa, having a fair idea of the date of the arrival of the kula party from dobu. the expedition will be talked over, the yield counted, the recent history of the important valuables described. but this stage leads us already into the subject of inland kula, which will form the subject of one of the following chapters.
-the return visit of the dobuans to sinaketa
-in the twelve preceding chapters, we have followed an expedition from sinaketa to dobu. but branching off at almost every step from its straight track, we studied the various associated institutions and underlying beliefs; we quoted magical formulæ, and told mythical stories, and thus we broke up the continuous thread of the narrative. in this chapter, as we are already acquainted with the customs, beliefs and institutions implied in the kula, we are ready to follow a straight and consecutive tale of an expedition in the inverse direction, from dobu to sinaketa.
-as i have seen, indeed followed, a big uvalaku expedition from the south to the trobriands, i shall be able to give some of the scenes from direct impression, and not from reconstruction. such a reconstruction for one who has seen much of the natives' tribal life and has a good grip over intelligent informants is neither very difficult nor need it be fanciful at all. indeed, towards the end of my second visit, i had several times opportunities to check such a reconstruction by witnessing the actual occurrence, for after my first year's stay in the trobriands i had written out already some of my material. as a rule, even in minute details, my reconstructions hardly differed from reality, as the tests have shown. none the less, it is possible for an ethnographer to enter into concrete details with more conviction when he describes things actually seen.
-in september, 1917, an uvalaku expedition was led by kouta'uya from sinaketa to dobu. the vakutans joining them on the way, and the canoes of the amphletts following them also, some forty canoes finally arrived at the western shore of dawson straits. it was arranged then and there that a return expedition from that district should visit sinaketa in about six months' time. kauyaporu, the esa'esa (headman) of kesora'i hamlet in the village of bwayowa, had a pig with circular tusks. he decided therefore to arrange an uvalaku expedition, at the beginning of which the pig was to be killed and feasted upon and its tusks turned into ornaments.
-when, in november, 1917, i passed through the district, the preparing of the canoes was already afoot. all of those, which still could be repaired, had been taken to pieces and were being relashed, recaulked and repainted. in some hamlets, new dug-outs were being scooped. after a few months stay in the trobriands, i went south again in march, 1918, intending to spend some time in the amphletts. landing there is always difficult, as there are no anchorages near the shore, and it is quite impossible to disembark in rough weather at night. i arrived late in a small cutter, and had to cruise between gumasila and domdom, intending to wait till daybreak and then effect a landing. in the middle of the night, however, a violent north-westerly squall came down, and making a split in the main-sail, forced us to run before the wind, southwards towards dobu. it was on this night that the native boys employed in the boat, saw the mulukwausi flaming up at the head of the mast. the wind dropped before daybreak, and we entered the lagoon of sanaroa, in order to repair the sail. during the three days we stopped there, i roamed over the country, climbing its volcanic cones, paddling up the creeks and visiting the villages scattered on the coral plain. everywhere i saw signs of the approaching departure for boyowa; the natives preparing their canoes on the beach to be loaded, collecting food in the gardens and making sago in the jungle. at the head of one of the creeks, in the midst of a sago swamp, there was a long, low shelter which serves as a dwelling to dobuan natives from the main island when they come to gather sago. this swamp was said to be reserved to a certain community of tu'utauna.
-the pulp was then carried in baskets to a neighbouring stream. at this spot there was a natural trough, one of the big, convex scales, which form the basis of the sago leaf. in the middle of it, a sieve was made of a piece of coco-nut spathing, a fibre which covers the root of a coco-nut leaf, and looks at first sight exactly like a piece of roughly woven material. water was directed so that it flowed into the trough at its broad end, coming out at the narrow one. the sago pulp was put at the top, the water carried away with it the powdered sago starch, while the wooden, husky fibres were retained by the sieve. the starch was then carried with the water into a big wooden canoe-shaped trough; there the heavier starch settled down, while the water welled over the brim. when there is plenty of starch, the water is drained off carefully and the starch is placed into another of the trough-shaped, sago leaf bases, where it is allowed to dry. in such receptacles it is then carried on a trading expedition, and is thus counted as one unit of sago.
-i watched the proceedings for a long time with great interest. there is something fascinating about the big, antideluvian-looking sago palm, so malignant and unapproachable in its unhealthy, prickly swamp, being turned by man into food by such simple and direct methods. the sago produced and eaten by the natives is a tough, starchy stuff, of dirty white colour, very unpalatable. it has the consistency of rubber, and the taste of very poor, unleavened bread. it is not clear, like the article which is sold under the name of sago in our groceries, but is mealy, tough, and almost elastic. the natives consider it a great delicacy, and bake it into little cakes, or boil it into dumplings.
-the main fleet of the dobuans started some time in the second half of march from their villages, and went first to the beach of sarubwoyna, where they held a ceremonial distribution of food, eguya'i, as it is called in dobu. then, offering the pokala to aturamo'a and atu'a'ine, they sailed by way of sanaroa and tewara, passing the tabooed rock of gurewaya to the amphletts. the wind was light and changeable, weak s.w. breezes prevailing. the progress of this stage of the journey must have been very slow. the natives must have spent a few nights on the intermediate islands and sandbanks, a few canoes' crews camping at one spot.
-at that time i had already succeeded in reaching the amphletts, and had been busy for two or three weeks doing ethnographic work, though not very successfully; for, as i have already once or twice remarked, the natives here are very bad informants. i knew of course that the dobuan fleet was soon to come, but as my experience had taught me to mistrust native time-tables and fixtures of date, i did not expect them to be punctual. in this, however, i was mistaken. on a kula expedition, when the dates are once fixed, the natives make real and strenuous efforts to keep to them. in the amphletts the people were busy preparing for the expedition, because they had the intention of joining the dobuans and proceeding with them to the trobriands. a few canoes went to the mainland to fetch sago, pots were being mustered and made ready for stowing away, canoes were overhauled. when the small expedition returned from the mainland with sago, after a week or so, a sagali (in amphlettan: madare), that is, a ceremonial distribution of food was held on the neighbouring island, nabwageta.
-my arrival was a very untoward event to the natives, and complicated matters, causing great annoyance to tovasana, the main headman. i had landed in his own little village, nu'agasi, on the island of gumasila, for it was impossible to anchor near the big village, nor would there have been room for pitching a tent. now, in the amphletts, a white man is an exceedingly rare occurrence, and to my knowledge, only once before, a white trader remained there for a few weeks. to leave me alone with the women and one or two old men was impossible, according to their ideas and fears, and none of the younger men wanted to forgo the privilege and pleasure of taking part in the expedition. at last, i promised them to move to the neighbouring island of nabwageta, as soon as the men were gone, and with this they were satisfied.
-as the date fixed for the arrival of the dobuans approached, the excitement grew. little by little the news arrived, and was eagerly received and conveyed to me: "some sixty canoes of the dobuans are coming," "the fleet is anchored off tewara," "each canoe is heavily laden with food and gifts," "kauyaporu sails in his canoe, he is toli'uvalaku, and has a big pandanus streamer attached to the prow." a string of other names followed which had very little meaning for me, since i was not acquainted with the dobuan natives. from another part of the world, from the trobriands, the goal of the whole expedition, news reached us again: "to'uluwa, the chief of kiriwina has gone to kitava--he will soon come back, bringing plenty of mwali." "the sinaketans are going there to fetch some of the mwali." "the vakutans have been in kitava and brought back great numbers of mwali." it was astonishing to hear all this news, arriving at a small island, apparently completely isolated with its tiny population, within these savage and little navigated seas; news only a few days old, yet reporting events which had occurred at a travelling distance of some hundred miles.
-it was interesting to follow up the way it had come. the earlier news about the dobuans had been brought by the canoes, which had fetched the sago to gumasila from the main island. a few days later, a canoe from one of the main island villages had arrived here, and on its way had passed the dobuans in tewara. the news from the trobriands in the north had been brought by the kuyawa canoe which had arrived a couple of days before in nabwageta (and whose visit to nu'agasi i have described in chapter xi). all these movements were not accidental, but connected with the uvalaku expedition. to show the complexity, as well as the precise timing of the various movements and events, so perfectly synchronised over a vast area, in connection with the uvalaku, i have tabulated them in the chart, facing this page, in which almost all the dates are quite exact, being based on my own observations. this chart also gives a clear, synoptic picture of an uvalaku, and it will be useful to refer to it, in reading this chapter.
-in olden days, not less than now, there must have been an ebullition in the inter-tribal relations, and a great stirring from one place to another, whenever an uvalaku kula was afoot. thus, news would be carried rapidly over great distances, the movements of the vast numbers of natives would be co-ordinated, and dates fixed. as has been said already, a culminating event of an expedition, in this case the arrival of the dobuan fleet in sinaketa, would be always so timed as to happen on, or just before, a full moon, and this would serve as a general orientation for the preliminary movements, such as in this case, the visits of the single canoes.
-the previous uvalaku
-the arrival of the dobuans in boyowa
-indeed, from that moment, the events on and about the amphlett islands moved rapidly. the day after the visit from the kuyawan canoes, the canoes of the main village of gumasila sailed off to the trobriands, starting therefore a few days ahead of the dobuan uvalaku fleet. i rowed over in a dinghy to the big village, and watched the loading and departing of the canoes. there was a bustle in the village, and even a few old women could be seen helping the men in their tasks. the large canoes were being pushed into the water from their supports, on which they were beached. they had been already prepared for the journey there, their platforms covered with plaited palm leaves, frames put in their bottoms to support the cargo, boards placed crossways within the canoe to serve as seats for the crew, the mast, rigging and sail laid handy. the loading, however, begins only after the canoe is in water. the large, trough-shaped chunks of sago were put at the bottom, while men and women carefully brought out the big clay pots, stowing them away with many precautions in special places in the middle (see plate xlvii). then, one after the other, the canoes went off, paddling round the southern end of the island towards the west. at about ten o'clock in the morning, the last canoe disappeared round the promontory, and the village remained practically empty. there was no saying of farewells, not a trace of any emotion on the part of those leaving or those remaining. but it must be remembered that, owing to my presence, no women except one or two old hags, were visible on the shore. all my best informants gone, i intended to move to nabwageta next morning. at sunset, i made a long excursion in my dinghy round the western shores of gumasila, and it was on that occasion that i discovered all those who had left that morning on the kula sitting on giyasila beach, in accordance with the kula custom of a preliminary halt, such as the one on muwa described in chapter vii.
-next morning, i left for the neighbouring island and village of nabwageta, and only after he saw me safely off, tovasana and his party left in his canoe, following the others to vakuta. in nabwageta, the whole community were in the midst of their final preparations for departure, for they intended to wait for the dobuans and sail with them to kiriwina. all their canoes were being painted and renovated, a sail was being repaired on the beach (see plate liii). there were some minor distributions of food taking place in the village, the stuff being over and over again allotted and re-allotted, smaller pieces carved out of the big chunks and put into special wrappings. this constant handling of food is one of the most prominent features of tribal life in that part of the world. as i arrived, a sail for one of the canoes was just being finished by a group of men. in another canoe, i saw them mending the outrigger by attaching the small log of light, dry wood to make the old, waterlogged float more buoyant. i could also watch in detail the final trimming of the canoes, the putting up of the additional frames, of the coco-nut mats, the making of the little cage in the central part for the pots and for the lilava (the sacred bundle), i was, nevertheless, not on sufficiently intimate terms with these nabwageta natives to be allowed to witness any of the magic. their system of mwasila is identical with that of boyowa, in fact, it is borrowed from there.
-next day--in this village again i had difficulty in finding any good informants, a difficulty increased by the feverish occupation of all the men--i went for a long row in the afternoon with my two 'boys,' hoping to reach the island of domdom. a strong current, which in this part is at places so pronounced that it breaks out into steep, tidal waves, made it impossible to reach our goal. returning in the dark, my boys suddenly grew alert and excited, like hounds picking up a scent. i could perceive nothing in the dark, but they had discerned two canoes moving westwards. within about half-an-hour, a fire became visible, twinkling on the beach of a small, deserted island south of domdom; evidently some dobuans were camping there. the excitement and intense interest shown by my boys, one a dobuan, the other from sariba (southern massim), gave me an inkling of the magnitude of this event--the vanguard of a big kula fleet slowly creeping up towards one of its intermediate halting places. it also brought home to me vividly the inter-tribal character of this institution, which unites in one common and strongly emotional interest so many scattered communities. that night, as we learnt afterwards, a good number of canoes had anchored on the outlying deserted islands of the amphletts, waiting for the rest of the fleet to arrive. when we came that evening to nabwageta, the news had already been received of the important event, and the whole village was astir.
-next day, the weather was particularly fine and clear, with the distant mountains wreathed only in light cumuli, their alluring outlines designed in transparent blue. early in the afternoon, with a blast of conch shell, a dobuan waga, in full paint and decoration, and with the rich pandanus mat of the sail glowing like gold against the blue sea, came sailing round the promontory. one after the other, at intervals of a few minutes each, other canoes came along, all sailing up to some hundred yards from the beach, and then, after furling the sail, paddling towards the shore (see plate xl). this was not a ceremonial approach, as the aim of the expedition this time did not embrace the amphletts, but was directed towards the trobriands only, vakuta, and sinaketa; these canoes had put in only for an intermediate halt. nevertheless, it was a great event, especially as the canoes of nabwageta were going to join with the fleet later on. out of the sixty or so dobuan canoes, only about twenty-five with some 250 men in them had come to nabwageta, the others having gone to the big village of gumasila. in any case, there were about five times as many men gathered in the village as one usually sees. there was no kula done at all, no conch-shells were blown on the shore, nor do i think were any presents given or received by either party. the men sat in groups round their friends' houses, the most distinguished visitors collected about the dwelling of tobwa'ina, the main headman of nabwageta.
-many canoes were anchored along the coast beyond the village beach, some tucked away into small coves, others moored in sheltered shallows. the men sat on the shore round fires, preparing their food, which they took out of the provisions carried on the canoes. only the water did they obtain from the island, filling their coco-nut-made water vessels from the springs. about a dozen canoes were actually moored at the village beach. late at night, i walked along the shore to observe their sleeping arrangements. in the clear, moonlit night, the small fires burnt with a red, subdued glow; there was always one of them between each two sleepers, consisting of three burning sticks, gradually pushed in as they were consumed. the men slept with the big, stiff pandanus mats over them; each mat is folded in the middle, and when put on the ground, forms a kind of miniature prismatic tent. all along the beach, it was almost a continuous row of man alternating with fire, the dun-coloured mats being nearly invisible against the sand in the full moonlight. it must have been a very light sleep for every now and then, a man stirred, peeping up from under his shell, re-adjusting the fire, and casting a searching glance over the surroundings. it would be difficult to say whether mosquitoes or cold wind or fear of sorcery disturbed their sleep most, but i should say the last.
-the next morning, early, and without any warning, the whole fleet sailed away. at about 8 o'clock the last canoe punted towards the offing, where they stepped their mast and hoisted their sail. there were no farewell gifts, no conch shell blowing, and the dobuans this time left their resting place as they had come, without ceremony or display. the morning after, the nabwagetans followed them. i was left in the village with a few cripples, the women and one or two men who had remained perhaps to look after the village, perhaps specially to keep watch over me and see that i did no mischief. not one of them was a good informant. through a mistake of mine, i had missed the cutter which had come two days before to the island of gumasila and left without me. with bad luck and bad weather, i might have had to wait a few weeks, if not months in nabwageta. i could perhaps have sailed in a native canoe, but this could only be done without bedding, tent, or even writing outfit and photographic apparatus, and so my travelling would have been quite useless. it was a piece of great good luck that a day or two afterwards, a motor launch, whose owner had heard about my staying in the amphletts, anchored in front of nabwageta village, and within an hour i was speeding towards the trobriands again, following the tracks of the kula fleet.
-on the next morning, as we slowly made our way along the channels in the opalescent, green lagoon, and as i watched a fleet of small, local canoes fishing in their muddy waters, and could recognise on the surrounding flat shores a dozen well-known villages, my spirits rose, and i felt well pleased to have left the picturesque, but ethnographically barren amphletts for the trobriands, with their scores of excellent informants.
-moreover, the amphletts, in the persons of their male inhabitants were soon to join me here. i went ashore in sinaketa, where everybody was full of the great moment which was soon to arrive. for the dobuan fleet was known to be coming, though on that morning, so far, no news had reached them of its whereabouts. as a matter of fact, the dobuans, who had left nabwageta forty-eight hours ahead of me, had made a slow journey with light winds, and sailing a course to the east of mine, had arrived that morning only in vakuta.
-all the rumours which had been reported to me in the amphletts about the previous movements of the trobriand natives had been correct. thus the natives of vakuta had really been to the east, to kitava, and had brought with them a big haul of armshells. to'uluwa, the chief of kiriwina, had visited kitava later, and about five or six days before had returned from there, bringing with him 213 pairs of armshells. the sinaketans then had gone to kiriwina, and out of the 213 pairs had succeeded in securing 154. as there had been previously 150 pairs in sinaketa, a total of 304 was awaiting the dobuans. on the morning of my arrival, the sinaketan party had just returned from kiriwina, hurrying home so as to have everything ready for the reception of the dobuans. of these, we got the news that very afternoon--news which travelled overland from one village to another, and reached us from vakuta with great rapidity. we were also told that the uvalaku fleet would be at sinaketa within two or three days.
-this period i utilised in refurbishing my information about that phase of the kula, which i was going to witness, and trying to get a clear outline of every detail of all that was going soon to happen. it is extremely important in sociological work to know well beforehand the underlying rules and the fundamental ideas of an occurrence, especially if big masses of natives are concerned in it. otherwise, the really important events may be obliterated by quite irrelevant and accidental movements of the crowd, and thus the significance of what he sees may be lost to the observer. no doubt if one could repeat one's observations on the same phenomenon over and over again, the essential and relevant features would stand out by their regularity and permanence. if, however, as it often happens in ethnographic field-work, one gets the opportunity only once of witnessing a public ceremony, it is necessary to have its anatomy well dissected beforehand, and then concentrate upon observing how these outlines are followed up concretely, gauge the tone of the general behaviour, the touches of emotion or passion, many small yet significant details which nothing but actual observation can reveal, and which throw much light upon the real, inner relation of the native to his institution. so i was busy going over my old entries and checking them and putting my material into shape in a detailed and concrete manner.
-on the third day, as i was sitting and taking notes in the afternoon, word ran all round the villages that the dobuan canoes had been sighted. and indeed, as i hastened towards the shore, there could be seen, far away, like small petals floating on the horizon, the sails of the advancing fleet. i jumped at once into a canoe, and was punted along towards the promontory of kaykuyawa, about a mile to the south of sinaketa. there, one after the other, the dobuan canoes were arriving, dropping their sails and undoing the mast as they moored, until the whole fleet, numbering now over eighty canoes, were assembled before me (see plate xlviii). from each a few men waded ashore, returning with big bunches of leaves. i saw them wash and smear themselves and perform the successive stages of native, festive adornment (see plate xlix). each article was medicated by some man or another in the canoe before it was used or put on. the most carefully handled articles of ornamentation were the ineffective looking, dried up herbs, taken out of their little receptacles, where they had remained since they had been becharmed in dobu, and now stuck into the armlets. the whole thing went on quickly, almost feverishly, making more the impression of a piece of technical business being expeditiously performed, than of a solemn and elaborate ceremony taking place. but the ceremonial element was soon to show itself.
-after the preparations were finished, the whole fleet formed itself into a compact body, not quite regular, but with a certain order, about four or five canoes being in a row, and one row behind the other. in this formation they punted along over the lagoon, too shallow for paddling, towards the beach of sinaketa. when they were within about ten minutes of the shore, all the conch shells began to be sounded, and the murmur of recited magic rose from the canoes. i could not come sufficiently near the canoes, for reason of etiquette, to be able to see the exact arrangement of the reciters, but i was told that it was the same as that observed by the trobrianders on their approach to dobu, described in chapter xiii. the general effect was powerful, when this wonderfully painted and fully decorated fleet was gliding swiftly good citizens, as well as the undesirable class, would either attend the hearings or familiarize themselves with the quarterly reports. thus a general steal would be impossible. a single commissioner cannot make all of his business public, and much that he does never reaches the light of publicity. in fact, i believe that because the commissioner cannot take the public into his confidence, abuses are bound to occur. often it remains for the indian rights association, or other organizations, to appeal to the public and do that which the indian office should establish without outside influence. there would be far less incentive to dishonesty, were covetous white men compelled to deal with a commission instead of an individual. the publication of the board’s hearings and findings would have a deterrent effect on certain men who otherwise appeal to senators or congressmen.
-i have often contrasted the work of dr. w. t. grenfell in labrador with that of organizations laboring among our indians. we are not responsible for the condition of the fishermen in labrador, and they are numerically but a fraction as compared with our total indian population. yet dr. grenfell, through his lectures and publications has aroused such an interest in this country that he can collect for his labrador work a sum far greater than that expended in support of six indian missions. people are interested in him and his work because of the appeal he makes. the labrador fishermen suffer no wrongs compared with our indians, and their condition is far better than that of the average aborigine. similar publicity given to indian affairs through the reports and hearings of a national commission, would arouse the american people, and a brighter day for the indian would certainly dawn.
-no matter what is said, the commissioner must fight alone and single-handed with the members of congress. his is a great responsibility. both mr. leupp and mr. valentine, in conversations with me, have admitted that the chief difficulty in handling the indian problem is found in the word “politics”. the commissioner is dependent on congress for his appropriations. he may be sustained or opposed by members of congress, and the public will remain in ignorance. he may not appeal save to the secretary of the interior. he must keep in mind the wishes of his political party. he will not admit political pressure when in office, but after leaving the service, he may tell his story of trouble with politicians, as mr. leupp has in his book. mr. valentine could enlighten us further on “the indian office in politics”, did he care to speak. a paid national commission would be dominated by no political party. ten years’ service would enable it to become entirely familiar with the needs of the indians, whereas the average commissioner, serving less than three years, barely becomes acquainted with the problem when he is succeeded by a new appointee.
-i recommend to the earnest consideration of the american people the commission idea, as the only means of salvation of the american indian. it will be said by critics that many of the tribes are making satisfactory progress and need no commission; that the present organization of the indian office is sufficient. this is partly true, but a study of the table of statistics, and reference to the testimony submitted in this book, establishes the sad fact, that the majority of the indians must lose unless we make a radical change in our policy. it is useless to blind our eyes to hard facts; and these are that we develop a certain area after painstaking labor, and then through unwise acts (or legislation) we destroy the very tracts we have improved.
-the indian must ultimately be merged into the body politic, as has been affirmed. but in bringing about this desideratum, it is not necessary to crush all happiness out of his life. for fifty years the indian has followed a devious and uncertain trail, in the fond hope that he might reach his journey’s end. if men and women, who through unintentional ignorance have given no heed to the welfare of our red americans, will interest their representatives in congress, and also help to crystallize public opinion against further harmful legislation, it is quite possible that the national commission plan may be carried into effect. after many years of study of the subject, i firmly believe that the welfare of the indian depends upon the creation of such a commission as has been indicated—one composed not of those interested in political parties, but on the contrary of competent men who understand indians and their needs, of men who are willing to devote the best years of their lives to transforming the rough, uncertain trail along which the indian has toiled, into a broad highway, upon which the red man may safely travel to his ultimate destination—the civilized community. and having reached the end of his journey, the indian will live henceforth peacefully, and enjoy to the full the blessings of liberty, equality and justice.
-abbott, f.h., 13, 242, 247, 248, 291, 359, 384, 424.
-affidavits, 71, 74, 75, 77, 81, 82, 83, 84, 90, 91.
-agricultural lands cultivated, 24, 27, 29, 66.
-ah-bow-we-ge-shig, 93, 94.
-alaska indians, 283.
-allen, edgar a., 13, 204.
-allen, c. w., 174.
-allen, j. weston, 13, 74, 95, 149, 157, 247, 249, 251, 252.
-allotting, 27, 28, 33, 59, 62, 70, 71, 73, 76, 133, 248, 333, 337, 338, 389.
-american horse, 125, 128, 184.
-andrus, miss caroline w., 13, 209.
-anundensen, mr., 77.
-apache, 26, 43, 44, 219, 222, 223, 233, 237, 238, 311, 314, 373, 404, 427.
-appropriations, 26, 27, 63, 64, 363.
-arapaho, 31, 102, 311, 314, 317.
-arizona, 219, 221, 222, 223, 225, 233, 235, 237, 241, 242, 250, 265, 282, 291, 373.
-armstrong, gen. c. s., 205.
-art and industries, 10, 28, 29, 35, 37, 227, 229, 232, 241, 244, 256, 359–366.
-ayer, e. e., 13, 31, 36, 40, 41.
-bad river reservation, 41, 42.
-bannock indians, 253.
-ballinger, secretary, 424.
-barbour, hon. geo. w., 329.
-barnard, kate, 11, 13, 137, 150, 151, 154, 160, 163, 167, 168, 170, 426, 427.
-bartlett, george e., 101, 102, 112, 118, 132.
-barrett, s. m., 233, 238.
-bassett, jim, 58.
-bay-bah-dwun-gay-aush, 66, 81, 95, 399.
-beaulieu, clement, 55, 91.
-beaulieu, gus, 65, 67, 71, 79, 91, 93, 424.
-bear, john t., 418.
-beum, lawyer, 80.
-bibliography, 14, 98, 171, 172, 217, 277, 340.
-big foot, 127, 128.
-big head, 152.
-blackmore, hon. wm., 179.
-blue whirlwind, 127.
-board of indian commissioners, 36, 68, 69, 149, 224, 240, 288, 291, 326, 327, 332, 336, 340, 417, 431, 432.
-boston indian citizenship committee, 74, 149, 247, 249.
-brennan, major john r., 13, 100, 105, 342, 418.
-bright eyes (susette laflesche), 402.
-bristow (senator), 246.
-brooke, major john r., 122, 125.
-brown, capt. frederick h., 177.
-brown, john b., 133, 379.
-browning, d. w., 384.
-brulé, 99, 401.
-budrow, ephraim, 84.
-bull head, 123, 124.
-burch, judge marsden c., 57, 59, 66, 68, 90.
-bureau of catholic missions, 93, 282.
-bureau of ethnology, 15, 20, 100, 184, 229, 271.
-bureau of indian affairs, 25, 76, 264, 329.
-burke, hon. charles h., 137, 155, 428.
-california, 28, 33, 70, 174, 213, 219, 241, 253, 267, 270, 274, 282, 283, 291, 297, 325–340.
-california indian association, 282, 327, 335, 336, 337.
-california indians, 325–340, 372, 375.
-canada, 18, 33, 54, 179, 191, 192, 197, 198, 199, 310, 321, 371, 418.
-carl, john, 91.
-carlisle indian school, 29, 38, 39, 79, 203, 204, 210, 212, 215, 267, 268, 366, 412, 416.
-carter code bill, 285.
-carrington, col. h. b., 177, 178, 192.
-carrier pigeon (journal), 31.
-century of dishonor, 94, 183.
-chapin, a. r., 125.
-cass lake, 45, 47, 51, 57.
-cattle, 24, 29, 44, 237, 271, 359, 361.
-cherokees, 33, 133, 135, 140, 143, 153, 159, 274, 372, 431.
-cheyenne, 31, 102, 178, 185, 253, 254, 286, 308, 311, 314, 317, 318, 372, 380, 400.
-chickasaws, 133, 140, 143, 159, 164.
-chief joseph, 253, 402.
-chilocco indian school, 37, 204, 208.
-chilocco school journal, 29.
-chippewa (see ojibwa)
-chippewa music, 20, 86.
-choctaws, 133, 140, 143, 152, 153, 159, 164, 165, 167, 276.
-choctaw investment company, 167.
-citizenship, indian, 33.
-civil service commission, 359.
-clapp amendment, 59, 60, 67.
-clapp, senator moses e., 67, 68, 93.
-cleveland, president, 133.
-cochise, 220, 237.
-cody, col. wm. f., 199, 301, 303.
-comanches, 43, 44, 235, 236, 291, 304, 311, 314.
-commissioner of indian affairs, 25, 26, 28, 29, 31, 41, 50, 68, 93, 96, 136, 183, 260, 265, 337, 341, 367, 384, 428, 431, 433.
-commissioner of the five civilized tribes, 11, 28, 139, 157.
-communistic life, 399, 400.
-congressional committees, 49, 185, 193, 194.
-correspondents (data), 213, 214, 216, 260–264, 274–277, 387–397.
-court of claims, 286.
-crazy horse, 184, 402.
-creek council, 143.
-creeks, 133, 137, 140, 143, 148, 155, 162, 214, 276, 414.
-crops, 24, 29.
-crow, 26, 174, 190, 191, 253, 254, 294, 308, 380, 427.
-crow dog, 120, 121.
-crow foot, 123, 124.
-crook, gen. g. h., 222, 223, 238, 239, 308.
-curtis, miss nathalie, 15.
-cushing, frank hamilton, 229.
-custer, general, 103, 184, 185, 190, 303, 308, 316.
-dagenett, charles e., 13, 201.
-dances, 111, 305, 400, 404, 405.
-darr, john, 112.
-dartmouth college, 200, 207.
-dawes commission, 133, 135.
-dennis, c. e., 85.
-densmore, miss frances, 20, 66, 86, 280.
-denver conference, 285.
-department of agriculture, 28, 359.
-department of charities and corrections, 137, 150, 170.
-department of justice, 12, 57, 60, 70, 90, 95, 96, 139, 394, 413.
-department of the interior, 25, 70, 141, 147, 168, 185, 200, 212, 225.
-diagram indian service, 32.
-dickenson, judge j. t., 166.
-dixon, dr. joseph k., 12, 248.
-dodge city, kas., 182, 299, 300, 304, 311, 319.
-dodge, gen. (col.), 174, 175, 177, 179, 236, 281, 300, 376.
-doubleday page co., 12.
-drunkenness, 31, 53, 54, 61, 62, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 276, 363, 422.
-dull knife, 319.
-eastman, dr. charles a., 13, 15, 102, 185, 199, 201, 202, 279, 284, 402, 403.
-education, 27, 30, 37, 40, 50, 200–217, 231, 251, 282, 335, 338.
-eldridge, mrs. mary l., 250.
-ellis, mrs. rose, 78, 407.
-espinosa pedro, 236.
-fairs, 256, 361, 363.
-fairbanks, albert, 55.
-fairbanks, ben, 55, 91.
-farrell, f. e., 31.
-fasler, addie b., 165, 166.
-federal government, 331.
-fetterman, col. wm. j., 177, 315.
-few tails, 129, 130.
-fewkes, dr. j. walter, 229.
-fisher, secretary w. l., 424.
-five civilized tribes, 11, 28, 29, 133–172, 204, 209, 276, 277, 379, 415, 417, 427.
-flammand, joe, 80.
-flat hip, 185.
-fletcher, miss alice c., 307.
-florida, 35, 240, 265.
-foreman, grant, 13, 137, 139, 160, 168.
-forrest, e. r., 13, 231, 246, 259.
-forsythe, col., 125.
-fort belknap reservation, 34.
-fort fetterman, 310.
-fort laramie, 177.
-fort phil. kearney, 177, 286.
-fort robinson, 180.
-foster, charles, 103.
-fourteen confederated tribes, 257.
-four important books, 367–377.
-franciscan fathers, 225, 241, 274.
-french mission, 36.
-friedman, moses, 201.
-frost, a. n., 13, 139, 163, 413, 427.
-full-blood indians, 57, 68, 71, 74, 75, 77, 79, 80, 84, 140, 161, 168, 271, 274, 277, 352–358, 432.
-galagher, h. g., 107, 108.
-garfield, james, 143, 254, 424.
-george, jr., henry, 419.
-geronimo, 198, 220, 221, 233, 234, 235–240, 373.
-ghost dance, (see messiah craze).
-ghost dance music, 115.
-“ghost dance religion”, 100.
-graham, hon. james m., 49, 98, 419, 428.
-graham investigating committee, 66, 88, 93.
-grayson, capt. g. w., 135, 148, 162, 163.
-greeley, horace, 300.
-grenfell, dr. w. t., 403, 433.
-gresham, j. e., 139, 163, 427.
-hall, darwin s., 67, 93.
-hampton normal and agricultural institute, 205, 209, 211, 212.
-handbook of american indians, 15, 45, 173, 190, 217, 219, 233, 245, 291, 307, 325, 401.
-harjo fixico, 135.
-haskell institute, 13, 29.
-hauke, c. f., 25.
-hawk man, 124.
-health of the indians, 54, 61, 66, 227, 230, 266–277, 345–351.
-henderson, d. b., 65.
-henry, robert, 71.
-hinton, john h., 90.
-hodge, dr. f. w., 219, 291.
-hole-in-the-day, 54, 55, 56, 63, 407, 408.
-holmes, e. g., 77.
-homar, father roman, 13, 85.
-hospitals, 27, 85, 250, 266, 275, 277.
-hornaday, prof. wm. t., 301, 303.
-horses, 24, 29, 359.
-horse indians, 99, 174, 311.
-house committee on indian affairs, 142, 258.
-howard, major john r., 13, 47, 70, 95.
-hrdlicka, dr. ales, 265, 268, 271.
-humphrey, seth k., 13, 224, 367, 368, 372, 373, 376, 421.
-hunter, henry (see weasel).
-huson, h., 13, 151, 170.
-indian domination, 18.
-indian industries league, 283.
-indian labor, 24, 27, 29, 32, 33, 34, 37, 47, 66, 261.
-indian office (see indian service).
-indian population, 20, 21, 22, 23, 33, 40, 43, 45, 232.
-indian publications, 29, 30, 31, 203.
-indian rights association, 12, 68, 240, 241, 254, 282, 291, 385, 433.
-indian service, 25, 26, 28, 29, 31, 32, 42, 66, 68, 69, 70, 87, 90, 97, 150, 151, 167, 226, 230, 252, 255, 291, 327, 331, 340, 360, 363, 366, 424, 428, 431, 433, 434.
-indian territory, 134, 301, 417.
-inspection service, 25, 97.
-iroquois, 33, 35.
-irrigation, 27, 219, 226, 230, 257, 291–298, 337, 374.
-jackson, helen hunt, 94, 183, 224, 237, 326, 334, 367, 372, 373.
-james, george wharton, 12, 15, 241, 290.
-jesus christ, 102.
-johnson, governor john a., 68.
-jones bill, 257.
-jones, col. w. a., 303.
-jones, hon. william, 50, 384.
-kelsey, c. e., 13, 282, 327, 336, 337.
-kelsey, dana h., 13, 133, 139, 149, 150, 159, 160, 161, 168, 427.
-keshena, 36, 37.
-kicking bear, 125.
-kiowa, 311, 314, 315.
-kolb, m. j., 82.
-kraft, father, 128.
-kroeber, dr. a. l., 325, 329.
-lacy, georgia, 81.
-lake superior, 18.
-lane, franklin k., 13, 163, 424, 429.
-leecy, john, 81.
-leech lake, 45, 47, 51, 55, 57, 59.
-leupp, francis e., 12, 35, 206, 207, 245, 267, 287, 288, 359, 367, 369, 371, 384, 402, 424, 433.
-lewis and clark, 402.
-lincoln, president, 211.
-linnen, e. b., 13, 25, 47, 64, 69, 70, 81, 87, 89, 90, 93, 95, 96, 97, 385.
-lipps, oscar h., 13, 201, 209, 241, 243, 379.
-little crow, 175, 401.
-little horse, 116.
-little wound, 113, 125.
-livestock, 24, 29, 365.
-locke, victor, 428.
-logan, gen., 197.
-lufkins, william, 80, 83.
-lufkins, john, 94, 407.
-lusk, charles s., 93.
-lummis, chas. f., 14, 210, 267, 327, 336.
-mah-een-gonce, 66, 94.
-mah-een-gonce’s story, 409.
-maine, 31, 32, 33.
-malecite indians, 33.
-mangus-colorado, 233, 238.
-maps, 20, 21, 22, 25, 35.
-marriages, indian, 26, 243.
-marsh, prof., 176, 180.
-mcgillicuddy, dr., 128.
-mccumber, senator, 141.
-mckee, hon. redick, 329.
-mclaughlin, supt. (maj., hon.), j., 102, 121, 122, 123, 191, 279, 367, 368.
-mcmurray contracts, 164.
-medal of red cloud, 419.
-menominee, 35, 36, 40, 41, 43, 268.
-mercer, maj. wm. a., 201.
-meritt, edgar b., 12, 25, 360, 384, 432.
-merriam, c. hart, 327, 328, 332.
-messiah craze, 99, 100–107, 121, 185, 199, 283.
-mexico, 220, 221, 223, 235, 237, 239, 325, 326, 373.
-me-zhuck-ke-ge-shig, 55, 66, 68, 81.
-michelet, simon, 59, 64, 68, 70, 71, 97.
-miles, gen., 128, 130, 180, 191, 192, 240, 308.
-miller, okoskee, 135.
-mille lac indians, 63, 65, 93.
-mission indians, 297.
-missionary denominations, 33, 93, 281, 225.
-missionaries, 33, 49, 85.
-minnesota, 33, 265, 366.
-minnesota historical collections, 175.
-mixed-blood indians, 21, 26, 47, 48, 53, 57, 66, 68, 71, 74, 75, 77, 79, 80, 84, 140, 168, 352–358, 432.
-modocs, 253, 254.
-mohonk conference, 50, 97, 151, 284, 326, 368, 384, 385, 413, 418, 425.
-money belonging to indians, 26, 40, 42, 47, 62.
-montana, 34, 260, 261, 264.
-montezuma, dr. carlos, 203, 403.
-monument at wounded knee, 130, 131.
-mooney, james, 100, 101, 102, 127, 128, 129, 191.
-moorehead, w. k., 64, 81, 83, 87, 90, 96, 149, 428.
-morality, 53, 61, 62, 66, 73, 74, 352–358, 380, 381, 404–405.
-morgan, t. j., 12, 384.
-morrison, robert, 77.
-mormons, 243, 261, 417.
-moty tiger, chief, 162.
-mott, hon. m. l., 11, 13, 137, 140, 141, 143, 150, 155, 160, 162, 167, 170, 414, 427.
-murphy, dr. joseph a., 14, 273.
-murray, w. n., 428.
-national commission (new), 431–434.
-national indian association, 250, 281, 327, 335.
-navaho, 21, 24, 26, 31, 44, 47, 219, 241–252, 279, 280, 342, 343, 420, 423, 427.
-negro, 23, 132, 205, 401.
-nelson act, 59, 64.
-nelson, senator knute, 68.
-new brunswick, 31, 33.
-new mexico, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 241, 249, 265, 267, 268, 283, 291.
-newton, mrs. elsie e., 97, 216, 379, 404.
-new york, 21, 33, 35, 265, 415.
-nez perce, 253, 372, 430.
-nez perce war, 253.
-nichols-chisolm lumber co., 61, 71.
-no neck, 120, 121.
-north carolina, 33.
-no water, 109, 110, 111, 114.
-o’brien, e. c., 14, 56, 90.
-official views of indian conditions, 378–385.
-oglala, 99, 100, 113, 173, 270, 271.
-ojibwa, 35, 36, 41, 43, 45–56, 57–65, 66–76, 77–88, 89–98, 99, 204, 308, 342, 361, 373, 399, 427.
-ojibwa music, 86.
-ojibwa’s story, 407.
-oklahoma, 133–172, 205, 214, 265, 273, 277, 281, 283, 284, 318, 342, 413–415, 425, 427, 428, 431.
-oklahoma delegation, 145.
-one feather, 129, 130.
-onondaga reservation, 21.
-out west (land of sunshine), 327.
-owen, hon. sen. robert l., 203, 413, 414.
-papago, 31, 219, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 291.
-parker, arthur c., 14, 19, 201.
-parker, gabe e., 11, 46.
-park rapids lumber co., 61.
-parquette, peter, 252.
-passamaquoddy, 31, 33.
-pawnees, 204, 400.
-peabody, dr. charles, 14.
-peace commissions, 175, 179, 253.
-peairs, h. b., 14, 378.
-peirce, chas. f., 14, 381.
-penobscot, 31, 32, 33.
-pepper, dr. george w., 241.
-pereault, joe, 89.
-philanthropic organizations, 281–289.
-phillips academy, andover, 211, 245.
-pillagers, 63, 81, 97, 399.
-pimas, 219, 222, 223, 224, 291, 374, 382, 383.
-pine ridge, 99–109, 111, 117, 122, 125, 128, 132, 174, 270, 309, 418, 420.
-plains indians, 99, 174, 177, 187, 304, 308, 309, 311–324.
-politicians, 26, 50, 376, 395.
-politics and indians, 139, 144, 376.
-poncas, 204, 372, 373, 402.
-potawatomie, 35, 43.
-powell, maj. james, 99, 178, 179.
-pratt, capt. r. h., 200, 201.
-prominent indian men and women, 201, 203, 401, 402.
-property (lands, timber, minerals), 21, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 37, 40, 41, 42, 47, 50, 51, 57, 59, 61, 62, 73, 103, 157, 159, 229, 250, 343.
-property valuation, 26, 27.
-public domain, 31.
-public health and marine hospital service, 265.
-pueblo, 219, 229, 230–232, 267, 268, 291.
-recommendations, 40, 387–397.
-red cloud, 99, 121, 173–189, 281, 318, 402.
-red cloud, jack, 186, 419.
-red lake, 45, 47, 51, 57, 59, 62.
-red man, the (journal), 29.
-red tomahawk, 123, 124.
-report of cases, 155, 156.
-riggs missions, 409.
-robinson, senator joe, 432.
-rock, grace, 77.
-rock, mrs. john, 77.
-roe cloud, henry, 201, 207, 403.
-roosevelt, president, 140, 143, 144, 233.
-rosebud, 104, 107.
-royer, doctor d. f., 105, 108.
-st. luke, john, 71.
-san carlos, 222.
-santa fe trail, 174.
-sauk and fox, 36.
-saunders, fred, 77.
-schools, 27, 37, 38, 39, 48, 87, 106, 138, 146, 213–217, 227, 266.
-scott, duncan c., 418, 419.
-secretary of the interior, 54, 55, 91, 96, 136, 143, 149, 162, 163, 258, 433.
-seger, john h., 14, 417, 418.
-sells, commissioner, 12, 16, 21, 23, 25, 26, 28, 151, 167, 267, 283, 341, 359, 360, 363, 378, 384, 423, 424, 432.
-seminoles, 35, 133, 140, 143, 276.
-seventh cavalry, 125, 128.
-shangraux, louis, 118, 119, 120, 121.
-shave head, 123, 124, 125.
-shearman, james t., 54, 55, 56.
-sherman, jas. s., 429.
-sheep, 24, 29, 44, 250, 364, 395.
-shelton, maj. w. t., 247, 252, 343.
-short bull, 119, 120, 121, 125.
-sioux, 26, 47, 63, 99–117, 131, 132, 173, 177, 178, 181, 268, 270, 304, 308, 322, 372, 400, 407.
-sioux music, 189.
-sitting bull, 99, 102, 121, 122, 123–132, 173, 179, 180, 184, 190–199, 402.
-smiley commission. 334.
-smiley, hon. albert k., 284, 326.
-smiley, hon. daniel, 284.
-smithsonian institution, 12, 15, 219, 265.
-sniffen, m. k., 13, 25, 247, 255, 283.
-society of american indians, 284, 285, 286, 404.
-spotted tail, 120, 178, 181, 183, 281, 402.
-stahlberg, dr. isaac, 69.
-standing rock, 104, 107.
-statistics, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 29, 32, 42, 43, 45, 59, 133, 142, 155, 156, 168, 257, 295.
-statistics of indian conditions, 341, 345–358.
-steenerson, hon. halvor, 59, 68.
-steenerson act, 59.
-stephens bill, 286.
-stephens, hon. j. h., 149, 150, 258.
-stevenson, mrs. matilda, 229.
-stone calf, 317.
-sturdevant, w. l., 141, 144.
-sully, gen., 316.
-swindling of indians, 71, 75, 76, 77, 79, 80, 81, 82, 84, 87, 98, 136, 150, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 160, 163, 166, 254.
-taft, president, w. h., 151, 422.
-thumb prints, 81.
-tiger, moty, 162, 163.
-trachoma, 27, 32, 52, 54, 85, 208, 209, 211, 250, 265, 267, 269, 276, 277, 345, 351, 382.
-treaties, 41, 62, 195, 329, 330, 371.
-tribal property, 21, 40.
-tribal customs, 20.
-tribal funds, 27, 40.
-tuberculosis, 27, 32, 35, 54, 85, 92, 208, 209, 210, 211, 250, 265, 267, 268, 269, 270, 272, 273, 274, 275, 277, 345–351, 382, 416.
-tucson farms company, 225, 226, 227.
-twin lakes, 49.
-two strike, 120, 121.
-union pacific railway, 301.
-utes, 107, 253, 258, 259.
-u. s. reclamation service, 257.
-valentine, robert g., 11, 12, 69, 207, 242, 254, 267, 359, 384, 399, 424, 433.
-valuation, stock, 24.
-vanoss, andrew, 82.
-vaux, hon. george, jr., 14, 149, 167, 224.
-victorio, 220, 221.
-van metre, j. t., 71, 83.
-wakaya, simon, 153.
-wallace, dr. w. w., 14, 247.
-waller, mr., 82.
-wanamaker expedition, 248.
-wanamaker, rodman, 12.
-war dance music, 189.
-war department, 25, 132, 173, 200, 223, 233.
-warren, william w., 45, 98.
-washington, booker t., 402.
-weasel, the, 102, 112, 117.
-whipple, bishop, 371.
-white bird, 108.
-white earth, 41, 43, 45, 49, 51, 53, 55, 57, 59, 66, 70, 77, 89–98, 254, 409, 411, 424.
-whitside, major, 125.
-wigglesworth, dr., 250.
-wild rice lumber co., 61.
-wilson, horace, 381.
-winnebago, 35, 372.
-winnemucca, sarah, 264, 402.
-wisconsin, 35, 36, 40, 41, 42, 43, 213, 265, 273, 274.
-wisconsin university conference, 285.
-wovoka, 101, 102.
-wounded knee massacre, 123–132, 186.
-wounded knee creek, 117, 119.
-wozencraft, hon. o. m., 329, 332.
-wright, j. george, 14, 28, 133, 139, 157, 159, 161, 427.
-wright, robert m., 14, 182, 286, 299, 311.
-wyoming, 43, 295.
-yakima, 26, 253, 255, 257, 295, 385.
-yellow bird, 127.
-yuma, 219, 223, 291.
-zuni, 229, 232.
-the rover boys in the jungle
-stirring adventures in africa
-by arthur m. winfield
-my dear boys:
-this volume, "the rover boys in the jungle," is the third story of the "rover boys series," and while a complete tale in itself, forms a companion story to "the rover boys at school" and "the rover boys on the ocean," which preceded it.
-in the former volumes i told you much of the doings of dick, tom, and sam at putnam hall and during a remarkable chase on the atlantic ocean. in the present story the scene is shifted from the military academy, where the boys are cadets, to the wilds of africa, whither the lads with their uncle have gone to look for anderson rover, the boys' father, who had disappeared many years before. a remarkable message from the sea causes the party to leave this country, and they journey to africa, little dreaming of all the stirring adventures which await them in the heart of the dark continent. how they battle against their many perils, and what the outcome of their remarkable search is, i will leave for the pages that follow to explain.
-in conclusion, let me state that i am extremely grateful for the kind favor given the previous volumes of this series, and i sincerely trust that the present tale merits a continuance of your support.
-affectionately and sincerely yours,
-the rover boys in the jungle
-"back to putnam hall again, boys! hurrah!"
-"yes, back again, tom, and glad of it," returned dick rover. "i can tell you, the academy is getting to be a regular second home."
-"right you are, dick," came from sam rover, the youngest of the three brothers. "i'd rather be here than up to the farm, even if uncle randolph and aunt martha are kind and considerate. the farm is so slow--"
-"while here we have our full share of adventures and more," finished tom. "i wonder what will happen to us this term? the other terms kept us mighty busy, didn't they?"
-"i'm not looking for any more outside adventures," said dick, with a serious shake of his head. "our enemies have been disposed of, and i don't want, to hear of or see them again."
-"nor i--but we'll hear of them, nevertheless, mark my words. the baxters won't leave us rest. they are a hard crowd, and buddy girk is just as bad," finished tom.
-it was the opening of the spring term at putnam hall military academy, and the three rover boys had just come up from cedarville in the carryall, driven by peleg snuggers, the general-utility man of the place. their old chums, frank harrington, fred garrison, larry colby, and a number of others, had already arrived, so the boys did not lack for company. as they entered the spacious building genial captain putnam greeted each with a hearty handshake, and a pleasant word also came to them from george strong, the head assistant.
-for the benefit of those who have not read the other books of this series, entitled "the rover boys at school" and "the rover boys on the ocean," i would state that the rover boys were three in number, dick being the oldest, tom next, and sam the youngest, as already mentioned. whether the boys were orphans or not was a question which could not be answered. upon the death of their mother, their father, a rich mine owner and geological expert, had left the boys in the care of his brother, randolph rover, an eccentric gentleman who devoted his entire time to scientific farming. mr. anderson rover had then journeyed to the western coast of africa, hoping to locate some valuable gold mines in the heart of the dark continent. he had plunged into the interior with a number of natives, and that was the last heard of him, although mr. randolph rover had made diligent inquiries concerning his whereabouts.
-all of the boys were bright, fun-loving fellows, and to keep them out of mischief randolph rover had sent them off to putnam hall, a first class school, located some distance from cedarville, a pretty town on lake cayuga, in new york state. here the lads had made numerous friends and incidentally a number of enemies.
-of the friends several have already been named, and others will come to the front as our story proceeds. of the enemies the principal ones were arnold baxter, a man who had tried, years before, to defraud the boys' father out of a gold mine in the west, and his son dan, who had once been the bully of putnam hall. arnold baxter's tool was a good-for-nothing scamp named buddy girk, who had once robbed dick of his watch. both of these men were now in jail charged with an important robbery in albany, and the rover boys had aided in bringing the men to justice. dan, the bully, was also under arrest, charged with the abduction of dora stanhope. dora, who was dick rover's dearest friend, had been carried off by the directions of josiah crabtree, a former teacher of putnam hall, who wished to marry mrs. stanhope and thus get his hands on the money the widow held in trust for her daughter, but the abduction had been nipped in the bud and josiah crabtree had fled, leaving dan baxter to shoulder the blame of the transaction. how dora was restored to her mother and what happened afterward, old readers already know.
-a winter had passed since the events narrated above, and before and after the holidays the rover boys had studied diligently, to make up for the time lost on that never-to-be-forgotten ocean chase. their efforts had not been in vain, and each lad had been promoted to the next higher class, much to randolph rover's satisfaction and the joy of their tender-hearted aunt martha.
-"the boys are all right, even if they do love to play pranks," was randolph rover's comment, when he heard of the promotions. "i trust they improve their time during the term to come."
-"they are good boys, randolph," returned mr. rover. "they would not be real boys if they did not cut up once in a while. as to their daring--why, they simply take after their father. poor man. if only we knew, what had become of him."
-"yes, a great weight would be lifted from our shoulders, martha, if we knew that. but we do not know, and there seems to be no way of finding out. i have written to the authorities at various places in africa until i know not whom to address next."
-"he must be dead, otherwise he would write or come home, randolph. he was not one to keep us in the dark so long."
-"to africa! what will that boy do in such a jungle, and among such fierce natives? he will be killed!"
-"perhaps not. the boy is uncommonly shrewd, when it comes to dealing with his enemies. just look how nicely he and tom and sam served arnold baxter and those others. it was wonderful doings--for boys."
-"yes, but they may not be so successful always, randolph. i should hate to see them run into any more, danger."
-"so should i, my dear. but they will take care of themselves, i feel that more and more every day," concluded randolph rover; and there, for the time being, the subject was dropped.
-"i wonder what has become of old josiah crabtree?" remarked dick rover, as he and his brothers walked around the parade ground to inspect several improvement which captain putnam had caused to be made.
-"i'm sure i can't guess," answered tom.
-"like as not he became scared to death. i suppose you'll be satisfied if he keeps away from dora and her mother in the future?"
-"yes; i never want to set eyes on him again, tom. he worried the widow half to death with his strange ways."
-"i wonder how the baxters feel to be locked up?" put in sam. "i know arnold baxter is used to it, but it's a new experience for dan."
-"dan is as bad as his father," broke in larry colby, who had joined the brothers. "i was glad to hear that mumps had turned over a new leaf and cut the bully dead."
-"oh, so were all of us!" said tom. "by the way, do you know where mumps is now? in the mining business, out west, acting as some sort of a clerk."
-"a spell in the west will take the nonsense out of him," came from dick. "it was a great pity he ever got under dan baxter's influence i wonder how arnold baxter is getting along? he was quite severely wounded, you know, during that tussle on the yachts."
-"he's about over that, so frank harrington says," replied larry. "i'll wager he is mighty bitter against you fellows for having put him where he is."
-"it was his own, fault, larry. if a person is going to do wrong he must take the consequences. mr. baxter might today be a fairly well-to-do mine owner of the west and dan might be a leading cadet here. but instead they both threw themselves away--and now they must take what comes."
-"my father used to say it took all kind of people to make a world," went on larry. "but i reckon we could do without the baxter and the buddy girk kind."
-"and the josiah crabtree kind," added sam. "don't forget that miserable sneak."
-"perhaps crabtree has reformed, like mumps."
-"it wasn't in him to reform, larry," came from tom. "oh, how i detested him, with his slick, oily tongue! i wish they had caught him and placed him where he deserved to be, with the baxters."
-"yes, and then we could--" began sam, when he stopped. "hullo, frank, what are, you running so fast about?" he cried.
-"just got a letter from my father!" burst out frank harrington, as he came up out of breath. "i knew you would want to hear the news. dan baxter has escaped from jail and the authorities don't know where to look for him."
-newcomers at the academy
-"dan baxter has escaped!" repeated dick. "that is news indeed. does your father give my particulars?"
-"he says it is reported that the jailer was sick and unable to stop dan."
-"humph! then they must have had some sort of a row," put in tom. "well, it does beat the nation how the baxters do it. don't you remember how arnold baxter escaped from the hospital authorities last year?"
-"those baxters are as slick as you can make them," said frank. "i've been thinking if dan would dare to show himself around putnam hall."
-"not he!" cried larry. "he'll travel as far can and as fast as he can."
-"perhaps not," mused dick. "i rather he will hang around and try to help his father out of prison."
-"that won't help him, for the authorities will be on strict guard now. you know the stable door is always locked after the horse is stolen."
-at this there was a general laugh, and when it ended a loud roll of a drum made the young cadets hurry to the front of the parade ground.
-"fall in, companies a and b!" came the command from the major of the battalion, and the boys fell in. dick was now a first lieutenant, while tom and sam were first and second sergeants respectively.
-as soon as the companies were formed they were marched around the hall and to the messroom. here they were kept standing in a long fine while george strong came to the front with half a dozen new pupils.
-"young gentlemen, i will introduce to you several who will join your ranks for this season," said the head assistant. then he began to name the half dozen. among others they included a round-faced german youth named hans mueller, and a tall, lank, red-haired boy, of irish descent who rejoiced in the name of jim caven.
-"i'll wager the dutch boy is full of fun," whispered sam to tom. "you can see it in his eyes."
-"i don't like the looks of that jim caven," returned tom. "he looks like a worse sneak than mumps ever was."
-"i agree there. perhaps we had better keep, our eyes open for him."
-despite this talk, however, the newcomers were welcomed cordially, and to the credit of the students be it said that each old cadet did all in his power to make the new boys feel perfectly at home.
-"mine fadder vos von soldier py der cherman army," said hans mueller. "dot's vy he sent me py a military academy ven we come py dis country."
-"glad to know you intend to help us fight the indians," answered tom innocently.
-"me fight der indians? vot you means py dot?" demanded hans, his light-blue eyes wide open with interest.
-"why, don't you know that we are here to learn how to fight indians?" went on tom, with a side wink at those around him.
-"no; i dink me dis vos von school only."
-"schalp! vot's dot?"
-"cut an indian's top-knot off with a knife, this way," and tom made an imaginary slash at hans' golden locks.
-"ton't do dot!" stammered the german boy, falling back. "no, i ton't vant to learn to schalp, noputty."
-"but you are willing to fight the indians, are you not?" put in sam. "we are all going to do that, you know."
-"i ton't like dem indians," sighed hans. "i see me some of dem vonde by a show in chermany, und i vos afraid."
-as the majority of the scholars had been to the hall before, it did not take long for matters to become settled, and in a few days all of the boys felt thoroughly at home, that is, all but jim caven, who went around with that same sneaking look on his face that tom had first noticed. he made but few friends, and those only among the smaller boys who had plenty of pocket money to spend. caven rarely showed any money of his own.
-with the coming of spring the cadets formed, as of old, several football teams, and played several notches, including one with their old rivals, the pupils of pornell academy. this game they lost, by a score of four to five, which made the pornellites feel much better, they having lost every game in the past. (for the doings of the putnam hall students previous to the arrival at that institution of the rover boys see, "the putnam hall series," the first volume of which is entitled, "the putnam hall cadets."--publisher)
-"well, we can't expect to beat always," said tom, who played quarterback on the putnam team. "we gave them a close brush."
-"yes, and we might have won if larry hadn't slipped and sprained his ankle," put in sam. "well, never mind; better luck next time. we'll play them again next fall." sam was right so far as a game between the rival academies was concerned, but none of the rover boys were on hand to take part in the contest--for reasons which the chapter to follow will disclose.
-with the football came kite-flying, and wonderful indeed were some of the kites which the boys manufactured.
-"i can tell you, if a fellow had time he could reduce kite-flying to a regular science," said dick.
-"oh, dick, don't give us any more science!" cried sam. "we get enough of science from, uncle randolph, with his scientific farming, fowl-raising, and the like. i would just as lief fly an old-fashioned kite as anything."
-"dick is right, though," put in fred garrison. "now you have a big flat-kite there, three times larger than mine. yet i'll wager my little box kite will fly higher than your kite."
-"done!" cried sam. "what shall the wager be?"
-"ice cream for the boys of our dormitory," answered fred.
-"all right, but how is a fellow to get the cream if he loses?"
-"that's for him to find out, sam. if i lose i'll sneak off to cedarville, as dick did once, and buy what i need."
-"ice cream for our room it is," said. frank.
-"and mum's the word about the wager, or captain putnam will spoil the whole affair if he gets wind of it."
-"make me stakeholder," grinned tom. "i'd just like to lay hands on about two quarts of chocolate cream."
-"there won't be any stakeholder," said dick.
-"but when is this kite-flying contest to come off?"
-the matter was talked over, and it was decided to wait until the next saturday, which would be, as usual, a half-holiday. in the meantime some of the other boys heard there was going to be a contest, although they knew nothing of the wager made, and half a dozen other matches were arranged.
-saturday proved to be cool and clear with a stiff breeze blowing directly from the west. this being so, it was decided, in order to get clear of the woods in front of the hall, to hold the contests on baker's plain, a level patch of ground some distance to the westward.
-the cadets were soon on the way, shouting and laughing merrily over the sport promised. only a few remained behind, including jim caven, who gave as his excuse that he had a headache.
-"i'm glad he is not with us," said dick. "i declare, for some reason, i can't bear to have him around."
-"nor i," returned frank. "it's queer, but he gives me the shivers whenever he comes near me."
-"it's a wonder he came here at all. he doesn't belong in our style of a crowd."
-to reach baker's plain the cadets had to make a detour around a high cliff which overlooked a rocky watercourse which flowed into cayuga lake. they moved slowly, as nobody wished to damage his kite, and it was after two o'clock before all hands were ready for the first trial at kite-flying.
-"gracious, but it is blowing!" cried tom.
-"sam, have you a good strong cord on your kite?"
-"the strongest i could get," answered the youngest rover. "i guess it is stronger than what fred has."
-"my kite won't pull like yours," said fred garrison. "all ready?"
-"then up they go--and may the best kite win!"
-soon a dozen kites of various kinds were soaring in the air, some quite steadily and others darting angrily from side to side. one went up with a swoop, to come down with a bang on the rocks, thus knocking itself into a hundred pieces.
-"never mind, hans," said dick. "you can help sail the katydid. she will pull strong enough for two, i am sure."
-the katydid was a wonderful affair of silver and gold which dick had constructed on ideas entirely his own. it went up slowly but surely and proved to be as good a kite as the majority.
-a number of girls living in the neighborhood, bad heard of the kite-flying contests, and now they came up, dora stanhope with the rest, accompanied by her two cousins, grace and nellie laning. as my old readers may guess, dick was very attentive to dora, and his brothers were scarcely less so to the two laning sisters.
-"and how is your mother?" dick asked of dora, during the course of their conversation.
-"she is much better," replied dora, "although she is still weak from her sickness."
-"does she ever mention josiah crabtree?"
-"she mentioned him once. she said that she had dreamed of him and of you, nick."
-"me? and what was the dream?"
-"oh--it was only a silly affair, dick, not worth mentioning."
-"but i would like to know what it was."
-"well, then, she dreamed that both of you were in a big forest and he was about to attack you with a gun or a club, she couldn't tell which. she awoke screaming and i ran to her side, and that is how she told me of the dream."
-an old enemy turns up
-"that was certainly an odd dream," said dick, after a short pause. "i am sure i never want to meet josiah crabtree under such circumstances."
-"it was silly, dick--i'd forget it if i was you."
-"and she never mentioned the man at any other time?"
-"no. but i am certain she is glad he has left for parts unknown. i never, never, want to see him again," and the girl shivered.
-"don't be alarmed, dora; i don't think he will dare to show himself," answered dick, and on the sly gave her hand a tight squeeze. they were warmer friends than ever since dick had rescued her from those who had abducted her.
-"run her up, fred! you can win if you try!" cried several of the cadets.
-"play out a bit more, sam; you haven't given your kite all the slack she wants," said others. so the talk ran on, while each contestant did the best to make his kite mount higher. in the meantime the wind kept increasing in violence, making each kite pull harder than ever.
-"it's a dandy for flying," panted tom, who was holding his kite with all the strength he possessed. "something must give way soon," and something did give way. it was the string he was holding, and as it snapped he went over on his back in such a comical fashion that all, even to the girls, had to laugh.
-"torn! tom! what a sight!" burst out nellie laning. "you should have brought a stronger cord."
-"if i had i'd a-gone up in the clouds," answered tom ruefully. "that's the last of that kite, i suppose; if i--"
-"the string has caught on sam's kite!" interrupted grace laning. "oh, my! see both of them going up!"
-"now you can win, sam!" laughed dora. "fred, your flying is nowhere now."
-"he didn't calculate to fly one kite against two," answered fred. "hold on, sam, where are you going? the cliff is over in that direction!" he yelled suddenly.
-"i--i know it!" came back the alarming answer. "but i can't stop myself!"
-"he can't stop himself!" repeated dora.
-"oh, stop him somebody, before he goes over the cliff!"
-"let go of the line!" shouted dick. "don't go any closer to the cliff!"
-"i--i can't let go! the line is fast around my wrist!" gasped poor sam. "oh, dear, it's cutting me like a knife!"
-"he's in a mess," came from frank. "if he isn't careful he'll go over the cliff, as sure as he's born!"
-"throw yourself down!" went on dick, and, leaving his kite in hans mueller's care, he ran after his brother.
-by this time sam had gained a few bushes which grew but a dozen feet away from the edge of the cliff, that at this point was nearly forty feet in height. with his right hand held a painful prisoner, he clutched at the bushes with his left.
-"i've got the bushes, but i can't hold on long!" he panted, as dick came close. "help me, quick!"
-scarcely had the words left his mouth when the bushes came up by the roots and poor sam fell over on his side. then came another strong puff of wind, and he was dragged to the very edge of the rocky ledge!
-"i'm going!" he screamed, when, making a mighty leap, dick caught him by the foot.
-"catch the rock--anything!" cried the older brother. "if you don't you'll be killed!"
-"save me!" was all poor sam could say. "oh, dick, don't let me go over!"
-"i'll do my best, sam," was dick's answer, and he held on like grim death.
-by this time half a dozen boys were running to the scene. dora stanhope followed, and as she came up she pulled a tiny penknife from her pocket.
-"can't i cut the line with this?" she asked, timidly, as she pushed her way to dick's side.
-"yes, yes; cut it!" moaned sam. "oh, my wrist is almost cut in two!"
-stooping low, dora sawed away at the kite line, which was as taut as a string on a bass fiddle. suddenly there was a loud snap and the cord parted. sam and dick fell back from the edge of the cliff, while the entangled kites soared away for parts unknown.
-"thank heaven you cut the line, dora!" said dick, who was the first to recover from the excitement of the situation. he saw that dora was trembling like a leaf, and he hastened to her support, but she pushed him away and pointed to sam.
-"don't mind me--i am all right, dick," she said. "go care for poor sam. see how his wrist is bleeding! oh, how dreadful!"
-"here is my handkerchief; he had better bind it up with that," said grace laning, as she offered the article.
-"we'll wash the wound first," put in frank, and raced off for some water. soon he returned with his stiff hat full, and the cut on sam's wrist was tenderly washed by the laning girls, who then bound it up with the skill of a hospital surgeon.
-the kite-flying continued for the balance of the afternoon. but sam and dick had had enough of it, and, along with tom, they took a stroll along the lake front with dora stanhope and grace and nellie. of course both boys and girls talked a whole lot of nonsense, yet all enjoyed the walk very much.
-"this is the spot where they abducted me," shivered dora, as they came to the old boathouse. "oh, what a dreadful time that was, to be sure!"
-"i don't believe our enemies will bother you any more, dora," said dick. "it's not likely that old crabtree will try the same game twice; and mumps has really turned over a new leaf and gone to work for a living."
-"yes, i was glad to hear that, for i don't believe he was such a bad fellow at heart. he was under dan baxter's influence, just as--as--"
-"as josiah crabtree tried to influence your mother," whispered dick, and dora nodded slowly. "well, let us forget it, and--my gracious!"
-dick stopped short, to stare in open-mouthed wonder at a small boat shooting down the lake at a distance of several hundred yards from the shore.
-"what's up?" came simultaneously from tom and sam.
-"don't you see that fellow in the boat?" demanded dick, in increased wonder.
-"of course we see him," answered tom.
-"don't you recognize him?"
-"no; he's too far off," came from sam..
-"it's dan baxter!"
-"baxter!" cried dora. "oh, dick!"
-"nonsense!" said tom. "how could he be am here?"
-"it does look a little like baxter," was sam's slow comment. "yet it seems impossible that he could be here, as tom says."
-"i say it's baxter," affirmed dick stoutly, "i'll hail him and make sure."
-"oh, don't bring him over here!" interposed dora, becoming alarmed.
-"don't be alarmed--he shan't hurt anybody, dora." dick raised his voice. "hi there, baxter! what are you doing here?"
-at first there was no reply, and the boy in the rowboat kept on pulling. but as dick repeated his call, the rower threw up his oars.
-"you mind your own business," he growled. "guess i can row on the lake if i want to."
-"it is baxter, sure enough!" ejaculated tom.
-"the rascal! we ought to recapture him."
-"that's the talk," added sam. "i wish my wrist wasn't so sore--i'd go after him."
-"there's a boat below here," said dick.
-"let's put out in that."
-"he may--may shoot at you," faltered dora. "you know how wicked he can be at times."
-"indeed i do know," answered dick. "but he ought to be handed over to the authorities. it is a crime to let him go free."
-"hi, baxter. come over here; we want to talk to you!" yelled tom.
-"not much!" growled the former bully of putnam hall.
-"you had better come," said sam. "if you don't come we'll bring you."
-"hush, sam, or you'll make a mess of things!" cried dick softly, but the warning came too late.
-"will you bring me back?" roared the bully. "just try it on and see how i'll fix you."
-"come on for the boat," said tom. "we'll show him he can't scare us."
-he started off and dick came after him. sam was also about to follow, when his elder brother stopped him.
-"you can't do much with that sore wrist, sam," he said. "better stay with the girls until we come back. you can watch events from the shore, and run for assistance, if it's necessary."
-sam demurred at first, but soon saw the wisdom of dick's reasoning and consented to remain behind.
-by this time tom had shoved out the rowboat dick had mentioned--a neat craft belonging to a farmer living near. a pair of oars lay in a locker on the lake bank; and, securing these, tom leaped on board of the craft, and soon dick came after.
-dan baxter had watched their movement with interest, which speedily gave way to arm when he saw the other boat come out, and beheld dick and tom each take up an oar and begin to pull for all they could.
-"i was a clam to come up here, when there is no real need for it," he muttered. "two to one, eh? well, i reckon i can put up a pretty stiff fight if it comes to the worst." then he caught up his oars once more, and began to row down cayuga lake with all possible speed.
-the chase on the lake
-"he means to give us as much of a chase as possible," remarked tom, as he glanced over his shoulder. "if i remember rightly, baxter was always a pretty fair oarsman."
-"yes, that was the one thing he could do well," returned dick. "but we ought to be able to catch him, tom."
-"we could if we had two pairs of oars. one pair can do just about so much and no more."
-"nonsense! now, both together, and put all your muscle into it," and dick set a stiff stroke that his brother followed with difficulty.
-baxter had been rowing down the lake, but as soon as he saw that he was being pursued he changed his course for the east shore. he was settled to his work, and for several minutes it was hard to tell whether he was holding his own or losing.
-"hurrah! we are catching up!" cried dick, after pulling for five minutes. "keep at it, tom, and we'll have him before he is half over."
-"gosh, but it's hot work!" came with a pant from tom rover. "he must be almost exhausted to row like that."
-"he knows what he has at stake. he sees the prison cell staring him in the face again. you'd do your best, too, if you were in his place."
-"i'm doing my best now, dick. on we go!" and tom renewed his exertions. dick set a faster stroke than ever, having caught his second wind, and the rowboat flew over the calm surface of the lake like a thing of life.
-"keep off!" the cry came from baxter, while he was still a hundred yards from the eastern shore. "keep off, or it will be the worse for you!"
-"we are not afraid of you, baxter, and you ought to know it by this time," answered dick. "you may as well give in now as later on."
-"give in! you must be crazy!"
-"we are two to one, and you know what we have been able to do in the past."
-"humph! i don't intend to go to jug again, and that is all there is to it."
-"maybe you can't help yourself."
-"we'll see about that. are you--going to keep off or not?
-"don't ask foolish a question."
-"you won't keep off?"
-"if you don't i--i'll shoot you."
-as dan baxter spoke he stopped rowing and brought from a hip pocket a highly polished nickel-plated revolver.
-"do you see this?" he demanded, as he pointed the weapon toward the rover boys.
-both dick and tom were taken aback at the sight of the weapon. but they had seen such arms before, and had faced them, consequently they were not as greatly alarmed as they right otherwise have been. they knew, too, that dan baxter was a notoriously bad shot.
-"put that up, baxter," said dick calmly. "it may only get you into deeper trouble."
-"i don't care!" said the bully recklessly. "i'm not going back to jail and that is all there, is to it!"
-"you won't dare to shoot at us, and you know it," put in tom, as the two boats drifted closer together.
-"i will, and don't you fool yourself on it."
-"drop those oars or i'll fire, as sure as my name is dan baxter," and the revolver, which had been partly lowered, was raised a second time.
-it must be confessed that dick and tom were much disconcerted. the two rowboats were now less than fifty feet apart, and any kind of a shot from the weapon was likely to prove more or less dangerous. baxter's eyes gleamed with the hatred of an angry snake ready to strike.
-"you think you are smart, you rover boys," said the bully, after an awkward pause all around. "you think you did a big thing in rescuing dora stanhope and in putting me and my father and buddy girk in prison. but let me tell you that this game hasn't come to an end yet, and some day we intend to square accounts."
-"there is no use in wasting breath in this fashion, baxter," returned dick, as calmly as he could. "we are two to one, and the best thing to do is for you to submit. if you fire on us, we may do a little shooting on our own account."
-"humph! do you imagine you can scare me in that fashion? you haven't any pistol, and i know it. if you had you would have drawn the weapon long ago."
-"got afraid i'd come around, eh?"
-"i knew there was nothing like becoming prepared. now will you--"
-dick did not have time to finish, for, lowering the front end of the pistol, dan baxter pulled the trigger twice and two reports rang out in quick succession. one bullet buried itself in the seat beside tom, while the second plowed its way through the bottom, near the stern.
-"you villain!" cried dick, and in his excitement hurled his oar at dan baxter, hitting the fellow across the fact with such force that the bully's nose began to bleed. the shock made baxter lose his hold on the pistol and it went over the side of his craft and sank immediately to the bottom of the lake.
-"my, but that was a close shave!" muttered tom, as he gazed at the hole through the seat. "a little closer and i would have got it in the stomach."
-a yell now came from sam, and a shriek from the girls, all of whom had heard the pistol shots. they were too far away to see the result of the shooting and feared both tom and dick had been killed or wounded.
-as quickly as he could recover from the blow of the oar, dan baxter picked up his own blades, and without paying attention to the blood which was flowing from his nose, began once again to pull for the shore.
-"come on, his pistol is gone!" shouted dick, and then his face fell. "confound it, i've thrown away my oar! there it goes!" and he pointed some distance to their left.
-"that isn't the worst of it!" groaned tom. "look at that hole in the bottom, made by that pistol shot. the water is coming in just as fast as it can."
-"now we'll have to bail out and pick up that other oar," said tom. "it was foolish to throw it away, dick."
-but dan baxter had made good use of the precious moments lost by the rover boys, and hardly were the latter into shape for rowing once more than they saw the bully beach his craft and leap out on the shore. "good-by to you!" he cried mockingly. "i told you that you couldn't catch me. the next time we meet i'll make you sorry that you ever followed me," and he started to run off with all possible speed.
-tom and dick were too chagrined to answer him, and pulled forward to the shore in silence. they ran the craft into some bushes and tied up, and then started after baxter, who was now making for the woods south of the village of nelson.
-when the highway skirting this portion of cayuga lake was gained dan baxter was a good five hundred feet ahead of them. a turn in the road soon hid him from view. gaining the bend they discovered that he had disappeared from view altogether.
-"he has taken to the woods," sighed dick.
-"if that is so we may as well give the hunt up," answered his brother. "it would be worse than looking for a pin in a haystack, for we wouldn't know what direction he had taken."
-"i wish i had a bloodhound with which to trail him. he ought to be run down, tom."
-"well, let us notify some of the people living near and see what can be done."
-they ran on to the spot where they supposed baxter had left the highway. on both sides were dense thickets of cedars with heavy underbrush. all in all, the locality formed an ideal hiding place.
-night was coming on by the time they gained the nearest farmhouse. here they found three men, to whom they explained the situation. all of the men smiled grimly.
-"if he went into the woods it would be a hard job to trail him," was the comment from farmer mason. "if he ain't careful he'll lose himself so completely he'll never git out, b'gosh!"
-"well, i don't know but what that would suit me," responded tom dryly.
-the search was begun, and several others joined in. it lasted until night was fairly upon the party and was then given up in disgust.
-"it's no use," said dick. "he has slipped us!"
-"but we ought to notify the authorities," said tom. "they will probably put a detective on his track."
-"yes; but a detective can't do any more than we can, up in this wild locality."
-"he won't remain in the woods forever. he'll starve to death."
-"well, we can send the police a telegram from cedarville."
-this was done, and the rover boys returned to putnam hall by way of the side road leaving past the homes of the stanhopes and the lanings. they found sam and the girls very anxious concerning their welfare.
-"we were afraid you had been shot," said dora. "i am thankful that you escaped."
-"so am i," put in sam. "but it's too bad that baxter got away. i wonder where he will turn up next."
-they all wondered, but could not even venture an answer. soon the boys left the girls and hurried to the academy, where their story, had to be told over again. captain putnam looked exceedingly grave over the narrative.
-"you must be careful in the future, lads," he said. "remember, you are in my care here. i do not know what your uncle would say if anything should happen to you."
-"we will be on our guard in the future," answered dick. "but i am awfully sorry we didn't catch him."
-"so am i. but perhaps the authorities will have better luck," and there the talk came to an end, and the boys retired for the night.
-fun and an explosion
-several days slipped by, and the boys waited anxiously for some news from the authorities. but none came, and they rightfully surmised that, for the time being, dan baxter had made good his escape.
-on account of the disastrous ending to the kite-flying match, many had supposed that the feast in dormitory no. 6 was not to come off, but sam, tom, frank, and several others got their heads together and prepared for a "layout" for the following wednesday, which would be dick's birthday.
-"we'll give him a surprise," said sam, and so it was agreed. passing around the hat netted exactly three dollars and a quarter, and tom, sam, and fred garrison were delegated to purchase the candies, cake, and ice cream which were to constitute the spread.
-"we'll do the thing up brown," said sam.
-"we must strike higher than that feast we had, last year."
-"right you are!" came from tom, "oh dear, do you remember how we served mumps that night!" and he set up a roar over the remembrance of the scene.
-hans mueller had become one of the occupants of the dormitory, and he was as much, interested as anybody in the preparations for the spread. "dot vill pe fine!" he said. "i like to have von feast twist a veek, ha i ha!
-"he's a jolly dog," said tom to frank.
-"but, say, i've been thinking of having some fun with him before this spread comes off."
-"let me in on the ground floor," pleaded frank, who always wok a great interest in tom's jokes.
-"i will, on one condition, frank."
-"and what is that?"
-"that you loan me that masquerade suit you have in your trunk. the one you used at that new year's dance at home."
-"you mean that indian rig?"
-"hullo, i reckon i smell a mouse!" laughed the senator's son. "i heard you giving hans that yarn about us training to fight indians."'
-"did you indeed."
-"i did indeed; and i heard hans say that he wanted nothing to do with the indians."
-"well, he's going to have something to do with at least one indian," grinned tom. "what do you say i get the suit?"
-"yes; if you'll fix it so that i can see the sport."
-"all of the crowd can see it, if they don't leak about it," returned the fun-loving rover.
-tom soon had the masquerade suit in his possession and also, some face paints which frank had saved from the new year's dance mentioned. shortly afterward tom joined the crowd in the gymnasium, where hans mueller was trying to do some vaulting over the bars.
-"i dink i could chump dem sticks of i vos taller," the german youth was saying.
-"or the sticks were lower," replied tom, with a wink at the crowd. "that's right, hans, you had better learn how to jump now, and to run, too."
-"the indians have come," put in frank.
-"indians?" repeated hans mueller. "vere is da?"
-"they say a band of them are in the woods around here," answered tom. "if you go out you want to be careful or they may scalp you."
-"cracious, rofer, ton't say dot!" cried mueller in alarm. "vot is dem indians doing here annavay?"
-"they came in east to hunt up some buffalo that got away. they had something like half a million in a corral, and about two thousand got away from them."
-this preposterous announcement was taken by hans mueller in all seriousness, and he asked tom all sorts of ridiculous questions about the savage red men, whom he supposed as wild and wily as those of generations ago.
-"no, i ton't vonts to meet any of dem," he said at last. "da vos von pad lot alretty!"
-"that's right, hans, you give them a wide berth," said tom, and walked away.
-later on tom persuaded dick to ask hans if he would not walk down to cedarville for him, to buy him a baseball. eager to be accommodating, the german youth received the necessary permission to leave the academy acres and hurried off at the full speed of his sturdy legs.
-"now for some fun!" cried tom, and ran off for the indian suit and the face paints. these he took down to the bam and set to work to transform himself into a wild-looking red man.
-"you're a lively one!" grinned peleg snuggers, who stood watching him. "we never had such a lad as you before master thomas."
-"thanks, peleg, and perhaps you'll never have one like me again--and then you'll be dreadfully sorry."
-"or glad," murmured peleg.
-"mum's the word, old man."
-"oh, i never say nuthin, master thomas; you know that," returned the man-of-all-work.
-a number of the other pupils had been let into the secret, and, led by dick, they ran off to the woods lining the cedarville road. tom came after them, skulking along that nobody driving by might catch sight of him.
-not quite an hour later hans mueller was heard coming back. the german boy was humming to himself and at the same time throwing up the new ball he had purchased for dick.
-"burra! burra!" thundered out tom, as he leaped from behind a big tree. "dutcha boy heap big scalp-me take um! burra!" and he danced up to hans, flourishing a big tin knife as he did so. the masquerade was a perfect one, and he looked like an indian who had just stepped forth from some wild west show.
-"ach du!" screamed hans, as he stopped short and grew white. "it's dem indians come to take mine hair! oh, please, mister indian, ton't vos touch me!"
-"dutcha boy heap nice hair," continued tom, drawing nearer. "maka nice door-mat for big wolf. burra!"
-"no, no; ton't vos touch mine hair-it vos all der hair i vos got!" howled hans. "please, mister indian mans, let me go!" and then he started to back away.
-"white bay stop or big wolf shoot!" bellowed tom, drawing forth a rusty pistol he had picked up in the barn. this rusty pistol had done lots of duty at fun-making before.
-"no, no; ton't shoot!" screamed hans. then he fell on his knees in despair.
-tom could scarcely keep from laughing at the sight, and a snicker or two could be heard coming from where frank, dick, and the others were concealed behind the bushes. but the german youth was too terrorized to notice anything but that awful red man before him, with his hideous war-paint of blue and yellow.
-"dutcha boy dance for big wolf," went on tom. "dance! dance or big wolf shoot!" and the fun-loving rover set the pace in a mad, caper that would have done credit to a zulu.
-"i can't vos dance!" faltered hans, and then, thinking he might appease the wrath of his unexpected enemy he began to caper about in a clumsy fashion which was comical in the extreme.
-"hoopla! keep it up!" roared tom. "dutcha boy take the cake for flingin' hees boots. faster, faster, or big wolf shoot, bang!"
-"no, no; i vos dance so hard as i can!" panted hans, and renewed his exertions until tom could keep in no longer, and set up such a laugh as had not been heard around the hall for many a day. it is needless to add that the other boys joined in, still, however, keeping out of sight.
-"you're a corker, hans!" cried tom in his natural voice. "you ought to join the buck-and-wing dancers in a minstrel company."
-"vot--vot--?" began the german boy in bewilderment. "ain't you no indian?"
-"to be sure i am; i'm big wolf, the head dancing master of the tuscaroras, hans, dear boy. don't you think i'm a stunner."
-"you vos tom rofer, made up," growled hans in sudden and deep disgust. "vot for you vos blay me such a drick as dis, hey?"
-"just to wake you up, hans."
-"i ton't vos been asleep, not me!"
-"i mean to stir up your ideas--put something new into your head."
-"mine head vos all right, tom."
-"to be sure it is."
-"den vot you say you vos put somedings new py him, hey?"
-"i mean to make you sharper-put you on your mettle."
-"i ton't understand," stammered the german youth hopelessly.
-"that's so, and you won't in a thousand years, hans. but you are the right sort, any way."
-"i dink i blay me indian mineselluf some tay," mused hans. "dot vos lots of fun to make me tance, vosn't it? vere you got dot bistol?"
-"down in the barn. look out, or it may go off," added tom, as he held out the weapons, thinking hans would draw back in alarm.
-instead, however, the german boy took the pistol and of a sudden pointed it at tom's head.
-"now you tance!" he cried abruptly. "tance, or i vos shoot you full of holes!"
-"hi, tom; he's got the best of you now!" cried frank from behind the bushes.
-"you can't make me dance, hans," returned tom. "that old rusty iron hasn't been loaded for years."
-"it ton't vos no goot? no. maybe you vos only fool me."
-"pull the trigger and see," answered tom coolly.
-he had scarcely spoken when hans mueller did as advised. a tremendous report followed, and when the smoke cleared away the boys in the bushes were horrified to see that the rusty pistol had been shattered into a thousand pieces and that both tom and hans lay on their backs in the road, their faces covered with blood.
-the strange figure in the hallway
-at the fearful outcome of the joke tom had been perpetrating the boys concealed in the bushes were almost struck dumb, and for several seconds nobody could speak or move.
-"oh, heavens, tom is killed!" burst out dick, who was the first to find his voice. he ran forth as speedily as possible, and one after another the other cadets followed.
-tom lay as quiet as death, with his eyes closed and the blood trickling over his temple and left cheek. quickly dick knelt by his side and felt of his heart.
-"tom, tom, speak to me! tell me you are not seriously hurt!" he faltered.
-"oh my! what struck me?" he murmured, and then tried to sit up, but for the minute the effort was a failure.
-"the pistol exploded," said frank. "a piece must have hit you on the head," and he pointed at a nasty scalp wound from which the flow of blood emanated.
-as well as it could be done, frank and dick bound up tom's head with a handkerchief, and presently the fun-loving lad declared himself about as well as ever, "only a bit light-headed," as he added.
-in the meantime the others had given their attention to hans, who had been struck both in the scalp and in the shoulder. it was a good quarter of an hour before the german youth came around, and then he felt so weak that the boys had to assist him back to the academy.
-"honestly, i thought the pistol was empty," said tom, on the return to the hall. "why, i think i've pulled that trigger a dozen times."
-"don't mention it," said frank with a shiver. "why, only last week i pointed the thing at peleg snuggers and played at firing it. supposing it had gone off and killed somebody?"
-and he shivered again.
-"dot vos almost as pad as von indian's schalping," put in hans faintly. "i dink, tom, you vos play no more such dricks, hey?"
-"no, i've had enough," replied tom very soberly. "if you had been killed or seriously hurt i would never have forgiven myself." and it may be added here that for some time after this event fun-making and tom were strangers to each other.
-at the proper time the feast which had been planned came off, and proved to be an event not readily forgotten. it was no easy matter to obtain the good things required, and the boys ran the risk of being discovered by george strong and punished; but by midnight everything was ready, and soon eating was "in full blast," to use sam's way of expressing it.
-a few of the boys from the other dormitories had been invited, and the boys took turns in standing out in the hall on guard.
-"you see," explained tom, "mr. strong may come in, and i won't be able to play nightmare again, as i did last year."
-"say, but that was a prime joke," laughed frank.
-"and mumps!" cried larry. "i'll never forget the orange flavored with kerosene," and a general laugh followed.
-somebody had spoken of inviting jim caven to the feast, but no one cared particularly for the fellow, and he had been left out.
-"perhaps he'll tell on us," suggested larry, but frank shook his head.
-"he hasn't got backbone enough to do it. he's a worse coward than mumps was."
-soon it came time for sam to do his turn at guarding, and stuffing a big bit of candy in his mouth, the youngest rover stepped out into the dimly lit hallway and sat down on a low stool which one of the guards had placed there.
-for ten or fifteen minutes nothing occurred to disturb sam, and he was just beginning to think that watching was all nonsense when he saw a dark figure creeping along the wall at the extreme lower end of the hallway, where it made a turn toward the back stairs.
-"hullo, who's that?" he muttered. "it doesn't look much like mr. strong."
-he continued to watch the figure, and now saw that it was dressed in a black suit and had what looked like a shawl over its head.
-"that's queer," went on the boy. "what can that man or boy be up to?"
-presently the figure turned and entered one of the lower dormitories, closing the door gently behind it. then it came out again and made swiftly for the rear of the upper hallway. by this time sam was more curious than ever, and as the figure disappeared around the bend by the back stairs he followed on tiptoes.
-but as what light there was came from the front, the rear was very dark, and the youth could see little or nothing. he heard a door close and the lock click, but whether or not it was upstairs or down he could not tell.
-for several minutes he remained in the rear hallway, and then he went back to his post. soon tom came out to relieve him, and sam re-entered the dormitory and told his story to the others.
-"that's certainly odd," was dick's comment
-"was it a man or a boy, sam?"
-"i can't say exactly. if it wasn't a man it was a pretty big boy."
-"perhaps we ought to report the matter to captain putnam," suggested frank. "that person may have been around the hallways for no good purpose."
-"oh, pshaw! perhaps it was somebody who was trying to spy on us," put in fred. "if we tell the captain we will only be exposing ourselves, and i guess you all know what that means."
-"it means half-holidays cut off for a month," said dick.
-"besser you vait und see vot comes of dis," said hans, and after a little more talk this idea prevailed, and then the boys went in to clear up what was left of the feast. everything was gone but a little ice-cream, and it did not take long to dispose of this.
-sam was bound to have some fun, and instead of eating his last mouthful of cream he awaited a favorable opportunity and dropped it down inside of fred's collar.
-"great scott!" roared fred garrison. "whow!" and he began to dance around. "oh, my backbone! that's worse than a chunk of ice! oh, but i'll be frozen stiff!"
-"go down and sit on the kitchen stove," suggested dick.
-"sit on the stove? i'll sit on sam's head if i get the chance!" roared fred, and made a rush for sam. a scuffle ensued, which came to a sudden end as both sent a washstand over with a loud crash.
-"wow you've done it!" cried frank. "that's noise enough to wake the dead."
-"great caesar, stop that row!" burst out torn, opening the door. "do you want to bring the captain down on us at the last minute?"
-"clear up that muss, both of you," said dick to sam and fred. but the latter demurred. it was sam's fault--he started the racket.
-"i won't touch it." and fred proceeded to go to bed.
-"i reckon we had best dust," said one of the boys from another dormitory.
-"so you had!" burst out tom. "i hear somebody coming already," and in a twinkle the outsiders ran for their various quarters, leaving the occupants of dormitory no. 6 to fix up matters as best they could.
-it was no easy job to straighten out the washstand, clear up the general muss, and disrobe. but the boys were on their mettle, and in less than two minutes the light was out and all were under the covers, although, to be sure, sam had his shoes still on and tom was entirely clothed.
-"boys, what is the row up here?" the call came from captain putnam himself. he was ascending the front stairs, lamp in hand, and attired in a long dressing gown.
-as no one answered, he paused in the upper hallway and asked the question again. then he looked into one dormitory after another.
-"all asleep, eh? well, see that you don't wake up again as soon as my back is turned," he went on, and soon after walked below again, a faint smile on his features. he knew that boys were bound to be more or less mischievous, no matter how strict his regulations.
-"i'll tell you what, the captain's a brick!" whispered tom, as he began to disrobe noiselessly.
-"so he is," answered frank. "you wouldn't catch old crabtree acting that way. he'd have bad every cadet out of bed and sent half a dozen of us down to the guard-room."
-"i guess the captain remembers when he was a cadet himself," remarked dick. "i've heard that they cut up some high pranks at west point."
-"george strong would be just as kind," came from tom. "but say, i am growing awfully tired."
-"so am i," came from several others,
-then the good-night word was passed, and soon all of the cadets were sound asleep, never dreaming of the surprise which awaited them in the morning.
-who was guilty?
-"boys, i've had my trunk looted!"
-"and i've had my trousers' pockets picked!"
-"and the half-dollar i left on the bureau is gone!"
-such were some of the excited exclamations which the rover boys heard when they went downstairs the next morning. the speakers were the youths who occupied dormitories numbers 3 and 4, at the rear of the main upper hall. an inquiry among the lads elicited the information that everybody had suffered excepting one boy, who said he had not had any money on hand.
-"i spent my last cent for the spread," he grinned. "i guess i'm the lucky one."
-the news of the robberies created a profound sensation throughout putnam hall, and both captain putnam and george strong were very much disturbed.
-"we never had such a thing occur before," said the captain, and he ordered a strict investigation.
-all told, something like thirty-two dollars were missing, and also a gold watch, a silver watch, and several shirt-studs of more or less value. among the shirt-studs was one set with a ruby belonging to a cadet named weeks.
-the investigation revealed nothing of importance. the robbery had been committed during the night, while the owners of the money and the various articles slept.
-"i must get at the bottom of this affair," said captain putnam. "the honor of the academy is at stake."
-he talked to all of those who had lost anything and promised to make the matter good. then he asked each if he had any suspicions regarding the thief or thieves. no one had, and for the time being it looked as if the case must fall to the ground.
-those who had been at the feast hardly knew what to say or to do. should they tell the captain of the strange figure sam had seen in the hallway?
-"i'll tell him, and shoulder the blame, if you fellows are willing," said sam, after a long discussion. "fun is one thing, and shielding a thief is another."
-"but what can you tell?" asked fred. "you do not know that that person, was the thief."
-"more than likely he was," came from dick.
-"and if he was, who was he?" went on fred. "if you tell captain putnam you'll simply get us all into trouble."
-"i vote that sam makes a clean breast of it," said frank, and larry said the same. this was just before dinner, and immediately after the midday meal had been finished the youngest rover went up to the master of the hall and touched him on the arm.
-"i would like to speak to you in private and at once, captain putnam," he said.
-"very well, rover; come with me," was the reply, and captain putnam led the way to his private office.
-"i suppose i should have spoken of this before," said sam, when the two were seated. "but i didn't want to get the others into trouble. as it is, captain putnam, i want to take the entire blame on my own shoulders."
-"the blame of what, samuel?"
-"of what i am going to tell you about. we voted to tell you, but i don't want to be a tattle-tale and get the others into trouble along with me."
-"i will hear what you have to say," returned the master of the hall briefly.
-"well, sir, you know it was dick's birthday yesterday, and we boys thought we would celebrate a bit. so we had a little blow-out in our room."
-"was that the noise i heard last night?"
-"the noise you heard was from our room, yes. but that isn't what i was getting at," stammered sam. "we set a guard out in the hallway to keep watch."
-"i was out in the hall part of the time, and i saw a dark figure in the rear hallway prowling around in a most suspicious manner. it went into dormitory no. 3 and then came out and disappeared toward the back stairs."
-"this is interesting. who was the party?"
-"i couldn't make out."
-"was it a man or a woman?
-"a man, sir, or else a big boy. he had something like a shawl over his shoulders and was dressed in black or dark-brown."
-"you saw him go in and come out of one of the sleeping rooms?"
-"and then he went down the back stairs?"
-"he either went down the stairs or else into one of the back rooms. i walked back after a minute or two, but i didn't see anything more of him, although i heard a door close and heard a key turn in a lock."
-"was this before i came up or after?"
-"who was present at the feast?" and now captain putnam prepared to write down the names.
-"oh, sir; i hope you won't--won't--"
-"i'll have to ask you for the names, samuel. i want to know who was on foot last night as well as who was robbed."
-"surely you don't think any of us was guilty?" cried sam in sudden horror.
-"i don't know what to think. the names, please."
-"i--i think i'll have to refuse to give them, captain putnam."
-"of course all the boys who sleep in your dormitory were present?"
-"i said i would take this all on my own shoulders, captain putnam. of course, you know i wouldn't have confessed at all; but i don't wish to give that thief any advantage."
-"perhaps the person wasn't a thief at all, only some other cadet spying upon you."
-"we thought of that."
-"you may as well give me the names. i shall find them out anyway."
-hardly knowing whether or not he was doing right, sam mentioned all of the cadets who had taken part in the feast. this list captain putnam compared with another containing the names of those who had been robbed.
-"thirty-two pupils," he mused. "i'll have the whole, school in this before i finish."
-he looked at sam curiously. the youth wondered what was coming next, when there was a sudden knock on the door. "come in," said captain putnam, and one of the little boys entered with a letter in his hand.
-"mr. strong sent me with this," said the young cadet. "he just found it on the desk in the main recitation room."
-"all right, powers; thank you," answered the captain, and took the letter. "you can go," and powers retired again.
-the letter was encased in a dirty, envelope on which was printed in a big hand, in lead pencil:
-"capt. victor putnam. very important. deliver at once."
-taking up a steel blade, the master of the hall cut open the envelope and took out the slip of paper it contained. as he read the communication he started. then he crushed the paper in his hand and looked sharply at sam.
-"samuel, was the party you saw in the hall-way tall and slim?"
-"rather tall, yes, sir."
-"well, he wasn't fat."
-"did you see his face?"
-"no; it was too dark for that, and, besides, he had that shawl, or whatever it was, pretty well up around him."
-"did you notice how he walked?"
-"he moved on tiptoes."
-"and you cannot imagine who it was?"
-"by the way, you of course know alexander pop, our colored waiter."
-"why, to be sure! everybody knows aleck, and we have had lots of fun with him, at one time or another. but you surely don't suspect him, do you?"
-"this letter says pop is guilty."
-"that letter? and who wrote it?"
-"i do not know. it contains but two lines, and you can read it for yourself," and the captain handed over the communication, which ran as follows:
-"alexander pop stole that money and the other things. one who knows all."
-"that's a mighty queer letter for anybody to write," murmured sam, as he handed it back. "why didn't the writer come to you, as i have done?"
-"perhaps he wanted to keep out of trouble."
-"i don't believe the letter tells the truth, sir."
-"and why not?"
-"because aleck is too good-hearted a fellow to turn thief."
-"hum! that hardly covers the ground, samuel."
-"well, why don't you have him searched?"
-without further ado sam was dismissed, and captain putnam called george strong to him and showed the strange letter.
-"why not look among pop's effects?" suggested the assistant. "he may have hidden the money and jewelry in his trunk."
-"we will go up to his apartment," replied captain putnam, and a few minutes later the pair ascended to the attic room which the colored waiter had used for several terms. they found pop just fixing up for a trip to cedarville.
-he nodded pleasantly, and then looked at both questioningly.
-"pop, i am afraid i have a very unpleasant duty to perform," began captain putnam.
-"wot's dat, sah?" asked aleck in surprise.
-"you have heard of the robberies that have been committed?"
-"'deed i has, sah. but--but yo' don't go fo' to distrust me, do yo', cap'n?" went on the colored man anxiously.
-"but, sah, i didn't steal nuffin, sah."
-"then you shouldn't object."
-"it aint right nohow to 'spect an honest colored pusson, sah," said aleck, growing angry.
-"do you object to the search?"
-"i do, sah. i am not guilty, sah, an' dis am not treatin' me jest right, sah, 'deed it aint, sah."
-"if you object, pop, i will be under the painful necessity of having snuggers place you under arrest. you know he is a special officer for the hall."
-at this announcement aleck fell back completely dumfounded. "well, dat's de wust yet!" he muttered, and sank back on a chair, not knowing what to do next.
-in which alexander pop runs away
-"will you submit to having your trunk examined or not?" demanded captain putnam, after a painful pause, during which alexander pop's eyes rolled wildly from one teacher to the other.
-"yo' kin examine it if yo' desire," said aleck. "but it's an outrage, cap'n putnam, an' outrage, sah!"
-without more ado captain putnam approached the waiter's trunk, to find it locked.
-"where is the key, pop?"
-"dare, sah, on de nail alongside ob yo' sah."
-soon the trunk was unlocked and the lid thrown back. the box contained a miscellaneous collection of wearing apparel, which the captain pushed to one side. then he brought out a cigar box containing some cheap jewelry and other odds and ends, as well as two five dollar bills.
-"dat money am mine, sah," said aleck. "yo paid me dat las' saturday, sall."
-"that is true, but how did this get here, pop?"
-as captain putnam paused he held up a stud set with a ruby-the very stud the cadet weeks had lost!
-"dat--dat stud--i never seen dat shirt-stud before, cap'n, 'deed i didn't," stammered the waiter.
-"that is certainly weeks' stud; i remember it well," put in george strong. "he showed it to me one day, stating it was a gift from his aunt."
-"and here is a cheap watch," added captain putnam, bringing forth the article. "pop, is this your watch?"
-"no, sah--i--i never seen dat watch before," answered aleck nervously. "i dun reckon sumbuddy put up a job on dis poah coon, sah," he continued ruefully.
-"i believe the job was put up by yourself," answered captain putnam sternly. "if you are guilty you had better confess."
-a stormy war of words followed. alexander pop stoutly declared himself innocent, but in the face of the proofs discovered the master of the hall would not listen to him.
-"peleg snuggers shall take you in charge and drive down to the cedarville lock-up," said the captain.
-the news that some of the things had been found in pop's trunk spread with great rapidity. many were astonished to learn that he was thought guilty, but a few declared that "a coon wasn't to be trusted anyway."
-"niggers are all thieves," said jim caven, "never yet saw an honest one."
-"i don't believe you!" burst out tom. "pop's a first-rate fellow, and the captain has got to have more proof against him before i'll believe him guilty."
-"oh, he's a bad egg!" growled the irish boy.
-"you only say that because he called you down last week," put in frank. he referred to a tilt between the new pupil and the colored man. jim caven had tried to be "smart" and had gotten the worst of the encounter.
-"yes, i think he's as honest as you are!" burst out tom, before he had stopped to think twice.
-"what! do you call me a thief!" roared jim caven, and leaped upon tom, with his face as white as the wall. "i'll make you smart for that!"
-one blow landed on tom's cheek and another was about to follow, when tom dodged and came up under caven's left arm. then the two boys faced each other angrily.
-"a fight! fight!" cried a number of the cadets, and in a twinkle a ring was formed around the two contestants.
-"i'm going to give you the worst thrashing you ever had," said caven, but in rather a nervous tone.
-"all right, caven, go ahead and do it," cried tom. "i will stand up for aleck pop, and there you are!"
-tom launched forth and caught caven on the right cheek. the irish lad also struck out, but the blow fell short. then the two boys clinched.
-"break away there!" cried frank. "break away!"
-"i'll break his head!" panted caven. "how do you like that?" and he held tom with one hand and hit him in the neck with the other.
-the blow was a telling one, and for a brief instant tom was dazed. but then he caught his second wind and threw caven backward. before the irish lad could recover his balance, tom struck him in the nose, and over rolled his opponent.
-"i'll fix you!" gasped jim caven, as soon as he could speak. "i'll fix you!" and staggering to his feet, he glanced around for some weapon. nothing met his view but a garden spade which peleg snuggers had been using, and catching this up he ran for tom as if to lay him low forever.
-"caven, none of that! fight fair!"
-"he shan't call me a thief!" growled the irish boy. "i'll show him!" and he aimed a tremendous blow for tom's head.
-had the spade fallen as intended tom's cranium might have been split in twain. but now both dick and frank caught the unreasonable youth and held him while sam and several others took the spade away.
-"stop it--here comes mr. strong!" came the unexpected cry from some outsiders.
-"yes, give it up, tom," whispered sam.
-"we're in hot water enough, on account of that feast."
-"i'll give it up if caven is willing," muttered
-"i'll meet you another time," answered caven, and walked rapidly away.
-"nothing, sir," said one of the boy. "some of the fellows were wrestling for possession of that spade."
-"oh, i was afraid there was a fight," and mr. strong sauntered off.
-he was on his way to the barn, and presently the cadets saw him come forth with the man-of-fall-work and the light spring wagon.
-"they are going to take poor aleck to the cedarville lock-up," announced fred. "poor chap, i never thought this of him!"
-"nor i," answered dick. "to me this affair isn't very clear."
-"i don't believe they will be able to convict him of the crime," put in sam.
-an hour later peleg snuggers started away from putnam hall with his prisoner. aleck looked the picture of misery as he sat on a rear seat, his wrists bound together and one leg tied to the wagon seat with a rope.
-"dis am a mistake," he groaned. "i aint guilty nohow!"
-some of the boys wished to speak to him, but this was not permitted. soon the turnout was out of sight.
-"you may think i am hard with him," said captain putnam, later on, "but to tell the truth he does not come from a very good family and he has a step-brother already in prison."
-"aleck can't be held responsible for his stepbrother's doings," murmured tom, but not loud enough for the master to hear him.
-a diligent search had been made for the other stolen articles, but nothing more was brought to light. if pop had taken the things he had either hidden them well or else disposed of them.
-it was nearly nightfall when peleg snuggers drove back to the hall. dick and tom met him just outside the gates and saw that the man-of-all-work looked much dejected.
-"well, peleg, is he safe in jail?" called out tom.
-"no, he ain't," was the snappy reply.
-"why, what did you do with him?" questioned dick quickly.
-"do? i didn't do nuthin--not me. it was him as did it all--cut that blessed rope and shoved me over the dashboard on to the hosses!" growled snuggers.
-"do you mean to say he got away from you?" asked tom.
-"yes, he did--got away like a streak o' fightnin', thet's wot he did, consarn him!" and without another word peleg drove to the rear of the hall, put his team in the barn, and went in to report to captain putnam.
-another row resulted, and this nearly cost the utility man his position. but it appeared that he was not so much to blame that alexander pop had taken him unawares and finally he was sent away to his work with the caution to be more careful in the future. before night and during the next day a hunt was made for the colored man, but he had left the vicinity entirely, gone to new york, and shipped on one of the outward-bound ocean vessels. the rover boys fancied that they would never see him again, but in this they were mistaken.
-the rover boys on wheels
-"say, fellows, but this is the greatest sport yet!"
-"i feel like flying, tom," said dick rover. "i never thought wheeling was so grand."
-"nor i," came from sam rover. "where shall we go this afternoon?"
-it was several weeks later, and the scholars were having a half-holiday. just six days before, randolph rover had surprised his three nephews by sending each a handsome bicycle, and it had taken them hardly any time to learn how to handle the machines.
-"let us take a ride over to chardale," said dick. "i understand that the roads are very good in that direction."
-"all right, i'm willing," answered sam, and tom said the same. soon the three brothers were on the way, dick leading and tom and sam coming behind, side by side.
-it was an ideal day for cycling, cool and clear, and the road they had elected to take was inviting to the last degree, with its broad curves, its beautiful trees, and the mountainous views far to the north and west.
-"it's a wonder we didn't get wheels before," observed dick. "this beats skating or riding a to bits."
-"just you look out that you don't take a header!" warned tom. "this road is all right, but a loose stone might do a pile of damage."
-"i've got my eye on the road," answered his big brother. "for the matter of that, we'll all have to keep our eyes open."
-to reach chardale they had to cross several bridges and then descend a long hill, at the foot of which ran the railroad to several towns north and south.
-"come on!" cried tom, and spurted ahead. with a laugh, sam tried to catch up to him, but could not. "now for a coast!" went on the fun-loving rover, as the hill was gained, and on he started, his wheel flying faster and faster as yard after yard was covered.
-"my gracious, tom! look out or you'll be smashed up!" yelled dick. "put on your brake!"
-"can't," came back the answer. "i took it off entirely this morning."
-this reply had scarcely reached dick's ears when another sound came to him which disturbed him greatly.
-far away he heard the whistle of a locomotive as it came around the bottom of the hill. looking in the direction, he saw the puff of smoke over the treetops.
-he tried to cry out, but now the road was rather rough, and he had to pay strict attention 'to where he was riding.
-"tom's going to get into trouble," gasped sam, as he ranged up alongside of his elder brother. "the road crosses the railroad tracks just below here."
-"i know it, sam. i wish we could make him come back."
-as dick finished he saw a chance to stop and at once dismounted. then he yelled at the top of his lungs:
-"tom, stop! stop, or you'll run into the railroad train!"
-sam also came to a halt and set up a shout. but tom was now speeding along like the wind and did not hear them.
-nearer and nearer he shot to the railroad tracks. then the whistle of the locomotive broke upon his ears and he turned pale.
-"i don't want to run into that train," he muttered, and tried to bring his bicycle to a halt.
-but the movement did not avail without a brake, and so he was compelled to seek for some side path into which he might guide his machine.
-but, alas! the road was hemmed in with a heavy woods on one side and a field of rocks on the other. a sudden stop, therefore, would mean a bad spill, and tom had no desire to break his bones by any such proceeding.
-nearer and nearer he drew to the railroad crossing. he could now hear the puffing of the engine quite plainly and caught a glimpse of the long train over the rocks to his left. on he bounded until the crossing itself came into view. he was less than a hundred yards from it--and the oncoming engine was about the same distance away!
-there are some moments in one's life that seem hours, and the present fraction of time was of that sort to poor tom. he had a vision of a terrific smash-up, and of dick and sam picking up his lifeless remains from the railroad tracks. "i'm a goner!" he muttered, and then, just before the tracks were reached, he made one wild, desperate leap in the direction of a number of bushes skirting the woods. he turned over and over, hit hard--and for several seconds knew no more.
-when dick and sam came up they found tom sitting in the very midst of the bushes. the bicycle lay among the rocks with the handle-bars and the spokes of the front wheel badly twisted.
-"are you much hurt, tom?" asked his big brother sympathetically, yet glad to learn that tom had not been ground to death under the train, which had now passed the crossing.
-"i don't know if i'm hurt or not," was the 'slow answer, as tom held his handkerchief to his nose, which was bleeding.
-"i tried to plow up these bushes with my head, that's all. i guess my ankle is sprained, too."
-"you can't ride that wheel any further," announced sam.
-"i don't want to ride. i've had enough, for a few days at least."
-"i'm sure i don't know what i am going to do," he said ruefully. "i can't walk and i can't ride, and i don't know as i can stay here."
-"perhaps dick and i can carry you to hopeton," said sam, mentioning a small town just beyond the railroad tracks.
-"it will be a big job. if you-- here comes a wagon. perhaps the driver of that will give me a lift."
-as tom finished a large farm wagon rattled into sight, drawn by a pair of bony horses and driven by a tall, lank farmer.
-"hullo, wot's the matter?" asked the farmer, as he drew rein. "had a breakdown?"
-"no, i've had a smash-up," answered tom.
-"my brother's ankle is sprained, and we would like to know if you can give him a lift to the next town," put in dick. "we'll pay you for your trouble."
-"that's all right--seth dickerson is allers ready to aid a fellow-bein' in distress," answered the farmer. "can ye git in the wagon alone?"
-tom could not, and the farmer and dick carried him forward and placed him on the seat. then the damaged bicycle was placed in the rear of the turnout, and seth dickerson drove off, while sam and dick followed on their steeds of steel.
-"i see you air dressed in cadet uniforms," remarked the farmer, as the party proceeded on its way. "be you fellers from pornell school?"
-"no; we come from putnam hall," answered tom.
-"oh, yes--'bout the same thing, i take it. how is matters up to the school--larnin' a heap?"
-"we are trying to learn all we have to."
-"had some trouble up thar, didn't ye? my wife's brother was a-tellin' me about it. a darkey stole some money an' watches, an' that like."
-"they think he stole them," said tom.
-"we can hardly believe it."
-"why don't captain putnam hunt around them air pawnshops fer the watches?" went on seth dickerson, after a pause.
-"the thief would most likely pawn 'em, to my way of thinkin'."
-"he hasn't much of a chance to do that. but i presume the police will keep their eyes open."
-"is that so," returned tom, with much interest. "what kind of a looking boy was it?"
-"a tall, slim feller, with reddish hair. he had sech shifty eyes i couldn't help but think that maybe he had stolen them things jest to raise some spending money."
-"did he give his name?"
-"he said jack smith, but i don't think thet vas correct, for he hesitated afore he gave it."
-"a tall, slim fellow, with reddish hair and shifty eyes," mused tom. "do you remember how he was dressed?"
-"he had on a rough suit of brownish-green and a derby hat with a hole knocked in one side."
-"my gracious me!" burst out the boy. "can it be possible!"
-"can wot be possible, lad?"
-"that description fits one of our students exactly." tom called to dick and sam. "come up here, both of you!"
-"what's up, tom; do you feel worse?" asked dick, as he wheeled as closely to the seat of the wagon as possible.
-"no, i feel better. but i've made a big discovery--at least, i feel pretty certain that i have?"
-"what discovery?" questioned sam.
-"i've discovered who stole that money and other stuff."
-"and who was it?" came quickly from both brothers.
-a strange message from the sea
-"jim caven!" repeated dick slowly, "what makes you believe that he is guilty?"
-"from what mr. dickerson here says," answered tom, and repeated what the farmer had told him.
-"gracious, that does look black for caven!" said dick, when he had finished. he turned to the farmer. "would you recognize that boy again if you saw him?"
-"i allow as how i would. his eyes was wot got me--never saw sech unsteady ones afore in my life."
-"yes, those eyes put me down on caven the minute i saw him," answered tom. "more than half of the boys at the hall have put him down as a first-class sneak, although we can't exactly tell why."
-"see here," said dick. "i think it would be best if mr. dickerson would drive back to the hall with us and tell captain putnam of what he knows."
-"and see if he can identify caven," finished sam. "are you willing to do that, mr. dickerson?"
-"well, to tell the truth, i've got some business to attend to now," was the slow reply.
-"i am sure captain putnam will pay you for your trouble," went on sam. "if he won't, we will."
-"you seem mighty anxious to bring this caven to justice," smiled the farmer.
-"we are, for two reasons," said tom. "the first is, because he isn't the nice sort to have around, and the second is, because one of the men working at the school, a colored waiter, whom we all liked, has been suspected of this crime and had to run away to avoid arrest."
-"i see. well--" the farmer mused for a moment. "all right, i'll go back with ye--and at once."
-the team was turned around as well as the narrow confines of the hilly road permitted, and soon the rover boys were on their way back to putnam hall, a proceeding which pleased tom in more ways than one, since he would not have now to put up at a strange resort to have his ankle and his wheel cared for. they bowled along at a rapid gait, the horses having more speed in them than their appearance indicated. they were just turning into the road leading to putnam hall grounds when dick espied several cadets approaching, bound for the lake shore.
-"here come caven, willets, and several others!" he cried. "mr. dickerson, do you recognize any of those boys?"
-the farmer gave a searching glance, which lasted until the approaching cadets were beside the wagon. then he pointed his hand at jim caven.
-"thet's the boy i seed over to auburn, a-pawning thet watch an' them studs," he announced. "he's got his sodger uniform on, but i know him jest the same."
-jim caven looked at the farmer in astonishment. then when he heard seth dickerson's words he fell back and his face grew deathly white.
-"i--i don't know you," he stammered.
-"i seed you over to auburn, in a pawnshop," repeated dickerson.
-"it--it isn't true!" gasped caven. "i was never over to auburn in my life. why should i go there to a pawnshop?"
-"i guess you know well enough, caven," said tom. "you bad better come back to the hall with us and have a talk with captain putnam."
-"i won't go with you. this is--is a--a plot against me," stammered the slim youth.
-"you will go back!" cried dick, and caught caven by the arm. but with a jerk the seared boy freed himself and ran down the road at the top of his speed.
-sam and dick pursued him on their bicycles, while some of the others came after on foot. seeing this, jim caven took to the woods just as dan baxter had done, and the boys found it impossible to track him any further.
-"i wonder if he'll come back tonight?" said dick, as the party returned to where they had left seth dickerson and tom.
-"i don't think he will," answered sam. "i declare, he must be almost as bad as the baxters!"
-the farm wagon soon reached the hall, and dick ushered seth dickerson into captain putnam's office. the captain looked surprised at the unexpected visitor, but listened with deep concern to all the farmer and the rover boys had to say.
-"this certainly looks black for caven," he said at last. "i did not think i had such a bad boy here. and you say he got away from you?"
-"it is a question if he will come back--providing he is really guilty. i will have his trunk and bag searched without delay. but if he is guilty how did that ruby stud and the watch come into alexander pop's possession?"
-"he was down on aleck," replied tom, who had hobbled in after the others. "and, besides, he thought if aleck was arrested the search for the criminal would go no further."
-"perhaps you are right, thomas. it is a sad state of affairs at the best."
-the party ascended to the dormitory which jim caven occupied with several smaller boy. his trunk was found locked, but captain putnam took upon himself the responsibility of hunting up a key to fit the box. once open the trunk was found to contain, among other things, a bit of heavy cloth tied with a piece of strong cord.
-"here we are, sure enough!" cried the captain, as he undid the package and brought to light several of the missing watches and also some of the jewelry. "i guess it is a clear case against caven, and pop is innocent."
-"i wish we could tell pop of it," put in dick.
-"he must feel awfully bad."
-"i will do what i can for the negro, rover. i am very sorry indeed, now, that i suspected him," said captain putnam, with a slow shake of his head.
-at the bottom of the trunk was a pocketbook containing nearly all of the money which had been stolen. a footing-up revealed the fact that two watches and three gold shirt studs were still missing.
-"and those were pawned in auburn," said sam. "just wait and see if i am not right."
-a party was organized to hunt for caven, and the captain himself went to auburn that very evening. the hunt for the missing boy proved unsuccessful, and it may be added here that he never turned up at putnam hall again nor at his home in middletown, having run away to the west.
-when captain putnam came back he announced that he had recovered all but one watch. the various goods and the money were distributed among their rightful owners, and it must be confessed that a big sigh of relief went up from the cadets who had suffered. the single missing timepiece was made good to the boy who had lost it, by the captain buying a similar watch for the youth.
-after this several weeks passed without anything of special interest occurring outside of a stirring baseball match with a club from ithaca, which putnam hall won by a score of six to three. in this game dick made a much-needed home run, thus covering himself with glory.
-"the rovers are out of sight!" was larry's comment. "whatever they do they do well."
-"and they hang together like links of a chain," added fred. "the friend of one is the friend of all, and the same can be said of an enemy."
-one morning a telegraph messenger from cedarville was seen approaching the hall, just as the boys were forming for the roll-call.
-"here's a telegram for somebody," said sam.
-"i hope it's not bad news."
-"a message for richard rover," announced george strong, after receiving it, and handed over the yellow envelope.
-wondering what the message could contain and who had sent it, dick tore open the envelope and read the brief communication. as his eyes met the words his head seemed to swim around, so bewildered was he by what was written there.
-"what is it, dick?" came from tom and sam.
-"it's from uncle randolph. he wants us to come home at once. he says--but read it for yourselves," and the elder rover handed over the message, which ran as follows:
-"have just received a strange message from the sea, supposed to be written by your father. come home at once. randolph rover."
-"my gracious! news from father!" gasped tom.
-"is he really alive?" burst out sam. "oh, i pray heaven the news is true!"
-"a strange message from the sea," repeated dick. "i wonder what he can mean?"
-"perhaps it's a message that was picked up by some steamer," suggested sam. "anyway, uncle wants us to come home at once."
-"he doesn't say all of us. the message is addressed to me."
-"but of course he wanted all of us to come," put in tom. "anyway, four horses couldn't hold me back!" he continued determinedly.
-"nor me," chimed in sam. he drew a long breath. "if we hurry up we can catch the noon boat at cedarville for ithaca."
-"yes, and the evening train for oak run," finished tom. "hurry up, dick!"
-dick was willing. to tell the truth, that message had fired him as he had never been fired before. he burst into the captain's office pell-mell, with tom and sam on his heels, to explain the situation. ten minutes later--and even this time seemed an age to the brothers--they were hurrying into their ordinary clothing and packing, their satchels, while peleg snuggers was hitching up to take them to the landing at cedarville.
-"good-by to you, and good luck!" shouted frank, as they clambered into the wagon, and many other cadets set up a shout. then the wagon rattled off. the rover boys had turned their backs on dear old putnam hall for a long while to come.
-the rovers reach a conclusion
-for the three rover boys the golden star could not make the trip from cedarville to ithaca fast enough. they fretted over every delay, and continually wondered if there was any likelihood of their missing the train which was to take them to oak run, the nearest railroad station to valley brook farm, their uncle's home.
-but the train was not missed; instead, they had to wait half an hour for it. during this time they procured dinner, although dick felt so strange he could scarcely eat a mouthful.
-"uncle randolph doesn't say much," he murmured to tom. "he might have said more."
-"we'll know everything before we go to bed, dick," answered his brother. "i don't believe uncle randolph would telegraph unless the news was good."
-they indulged in all sorts of speculation, as the train sped on its way to oak run. when the latter place was reached it was dark, and they found jack ness, the hired man, waiting for them with the carriage.
-"there, i knowed it," grinned jack. "mr. rover calculated that only dick would come, but i said we'd have 'em all."
-"and what is this news of my father?" questioned dick.
-"it's a message as was picked up off the coast of africky," replied ness. "mr. rover didn't explain very clearly to me. he's a good deal excited, and so is the missus."
-"and so are we," remarked sam. "can it be that father is on his way home?"
-"i calculate not, master sam. leas'wise, your uncle didn't say so," concluded the hired man.
-never had the horses made better time than they did now, and yet the boys urged ness continually to drive faster. swift river was soon crossed--that stream where sam had once had such a stirring adventure--and they bowled along past the fox and other farms.
-"here we are!" shouted dick at last.
-"there is uncle randolph out on the porch to greet us!"
-"and there is aunt martha!" added sam. "i do believe they look happy, don't you, tom?"
-"they certainly don't look sad," was the noncommittal answer; and then the carriage swept up to the horse-block and the three boys alighted.
-"all of you, eh?" were randolph rover's first words. "well, perhaps it is just as well so."
-"we simply couldn't stay behind, uncle," said sam. "and we are dying to know what it all means."
-"but you must have supper first," put in aunt martha, as she gave one and another a motherly kiss. "i know riding on the cars usually makes tom tremendously hungry."
-"well eat after we have had the news," said tom. "we're dying to know all, as sam says."
-"the news is rather perplexing, to tell the truth," said randolph rover, as he led the way into the library of the spacious home. "i hardly know what to make of it."
-"who brought it?" questioned dick.
-"it came by mail--a bulky letter all the way from cape town, africa."
-"no, from a captain townsend, who, it seems, commands the clipper ship rosabel. he sent me one letter inclosing another. the first letter is from himself."
-"and is the second letter from father?" burst out tom.
-"yes, my boy."
-"oh, let us see it!" came in a shout from all three of the rover boys.
-"you had better read the captain's communication first," answered randolph rover. "then you will be more apt to understand the other. or shall i read it for the benefit of all?"
-"yes, yes, you read it, uncle randolph," was the answer.
-"the letter is dated at cape town, and was written a little over a month ago. it is addressed to 'randolph rover, or to richard, thomas, or samuel rover, new york city,' and is further marked 'highly important-do not lose or destroy.'"
-"and what is in it?" asked the impatient tom. "do hurry and tell us, uncle randolph."
-and then his uncle read as follows:
-"to the rover family, new york:
-"i am a stranger to you, but i deem it my duty to write to you on account of something which occurred on the 12th day of april last, while my clipper ship rosabel, bound from boston, u. s. a., to cape town, africa, was sailing along the coast of congo but a few miles due west from the mouth of the congo river.
-"our ship had been sent in by a heavy gale but the wind had gone down, and we were doing more drifting than sailing to the southward when the lookout espied a man on a small raft which was drifting toward us.
-"on coming closer, we discovered that the man was white and that he looked half starved. we put out a boat and rescued the poor creature but he had suffered so much from spear wounds and starvation that, on being taken on board of our ship, he immediately relapsed into insensibility, and out of this we failed to arouse him. he died at sundown, and we failed, even to learn him name or home address.
-"on searching the dead man's pockets we came across the enclosed letter, addressed to you, and much soiled from water. as you will see, it is dated more than a year back and was evidently in the possession of the man who died for some time. probably he started out to deliver it, or to reach some point from which it could be mailed.
-"i trust that the message becomes the means of rescuing the anderson rover mentioned in the letter, and i will be pleased to learn if this letter of mine is received. the rosabel sails from cape town to brazil as soon as her cargo can be discharged and another taken on.
-"very truly yours,
-as randolph rover ceased reading there was a brief silence, broken by tom.
-"so the man who died held a letter. and what is in that, uncle randolph?"
-"i will read it to you, boys, although that is a difficult matter, for the writing is uneven and much blurred. on one part of the sheet there is a blot of blood--the blood, i presume--of the poor fellow who was trying to deliver the communication."
-unfolding the stained document, randolph rover bent closer to the table lamp that he might read the more easily. as for the boys, they fairly held their breaths, that no spoken word might escape them.
-"the letter is addressed to me," said the uncle. "but the envelope is, as you can see, very much torn. i will read," and he did so.
-"niwili camp, on the congo,
-"july the 18th, 189--.
-"dear brother randolph:
-"if, by the goodness of god, this reaches you, i trust that you will set out without delay to my assistance.
-"i write under great difficulties, as a prisoner, of the bumwo tribe of natives, ruled by king susko.
-"i have discovered the secret of a gold mine here, and the king will not let me go, fearing that i will tell the outside world of my discovery and bring the english or french here to slay him and his followers. they know nothing here of americans.
-"i entrust this to the care of an english sailor who is going to try to make his escape. i cannot go myself, having had my leg broken by a blow from one of my jailers.
-"i am sick and weak in body, and it may be that i will soon die. yet i beg of you to do what you can for me. if i die, i trust you to be a father to my dear boys, dick, tom, and sam, and ask martha for me to be a mother to them.
-"the king expects soon to remove to another camp at a place called rhunda konoka (the water well). perhaps he will take me along, or else he may slay me.
-"all those who were with me are dead excepting several natives who have joined the burnwo tribe.
-"good-by, and do what you can until you are certain that i am dead.
-"your loving brother,
-when randolph rover ceased reading he saw that there were tears in the eyes of all of the boys, and that his wife was also crying. his own voice had had to be cleared continually. to all the letter was like a message from the grave.
-"and that is all?" questioned dick, breaking the silence.
-"that is all, my boy--and the letter was written about a year ago!"
-"but we'll go in search of him!" put in tom, quickly. "he may be alive yet."
-"i thought i would go," answered randolph rover, "and i thought, possibly, that i might take dick with me."
-"oh, you must take me too!" burst out tom. "i could never bear to be left behind."
-"and you must take me," interrupted sam. "we always go together, you know."
-at this talk randolph rover was somewhat taken aback. "all!" he cried. "why, what would three boys do in the heart of africa?"
-"look for father!" cried tom. "i shan't stay behind--you can't make me!" he went on half defiantly.
-"we have been through lots of adventures, uncle, you know that," came from sam. "we are not afraid."
-"but the danger, boys--" began the uncle.
-"what danger wouldn't we face for father's sake!" said tom. "i'd go through fire and water for him."
-"you had better let us all go," said dick.
-"if you don't let tom and sam go, why, the chances are they'll--"
-"run away and go anyway," finished sam.
-"oh, uncle randolph, say we can go; please do!"
-at this enthusiasm the uncle smiled sadly.
-"all-right, boys; as you are bound to have it so, you shall all go. but don't blame me if the perils are greater than you anticipate, and if the undertaking costs one or more of you your lives."
-off for africa
-it was long after midnight before the conversation in relation to the proposed trip to africa came to an end. mrs. rover insisted that the boys should eat something, and they sat around the table discussing the viands and the two letters at the same time.
-"have you any idea where this niwili camp is?" asked dick of his uncle.
-"it is on the congo, but how far froth the mouth of that stream is a question, lad. probably we can learn all about it when we reach boma, the capital of the congo free state."
-"the congo is a pretty big stream, isn't it?" questioned sam.
-"very large indeed. at its mouth it is about ten miles wide, and it is from twelve to fourteen hundred miles long. stanley traced its course after an expedition in which he fought over thirty battles with the natives."
-"they must be fearfully savage."
-"those in the interior are. the natives that live close to the ocean are peaceable enough, so i have been told."
-"and how are we going to get there?" asked tom. "i don't suppose there are any regular steamers running to the congo."
-"no, indeed, tom. i have written to a shipping firm in new york for information, and they will probably send word by morning," was the answer.
-it can well be imagined that the boys slept but little that night. in the morning they telegraphed to putnam hall for their trunks, and also let captain putnam and their chums know how matters stood. then began preparations for such a tour as none of them had ever before anticipated.
-word came from new york in the early afternoon mail, and the information sent was highly satisfactory to randolph rover. the french steamer republique was in port, loading for boma and other african ports, and would set sail on the coming saturday. the firm had taken upon itself the responsibility to speak of passage for mr. rover and one or two others.
-"hurrah!" cried tom. "uncle randolph, you had better telegraph to them at once for passage for the four of us."
-"i will," answered, mr. rover, and the telegram was sent within the hour.
-the next day was a busy one. as but little in the way of outfits could be procured in oak run or the adjoining villages, it was decided that they should go down to new york on thursday afternoon and spend all of friday in purchasing in the metropolis whatever was needed.
-the only person who was really sober was mrs. rover, for she hated to see her husband start on such a journey, which was bound to, be full of grave perils.
-"i am afraid you will never come back," she said, with tears in her eyes. "and if you and anderson are both dead to me, what will i do?"
-"be brave, martha," said mr. rover tenderly. "i feel certain that a kind providence will watch over us and bring us all back in safety."
-at last the party was ready to set off. a fond good-by was said, and away they rattled in the carryall for the railroad station at oak run.
-"good-by to home!" shouted tom, as he waved his cap to his aunt, who stood beside the gateway.
-"and when we come back may we bring father with us," added dick, and sam muttered an amen.
-the journey down to new york was without incident, and as the rovers had lived in the metropolis for years they felt thoroughly at home and knew exactly where to go for their outfit and suitable clothing for use in such a warm country was procured, and in addition each was armed with a revolver. mr. rover also purchased a shot-gun and a rifle, and likewise a number of cheap gold and silver trinkets.
-"the natives are becoming civilized," he explained. "but, for all that, i am certain a small gift now and then will go a long way toward making friends."
-the found that the republique was a stanch-built steamer of eight thousand tons burden. her captain, jules cambion, spoke english quite fluently and soon made them feel at home. he was much interested in the story randolph rover had to tell concerning his missing brother.
-"'tis a strange happening, truly," he remarked. "i sincerely trust that your search for him proves successful and that he returns to the arms of his family unharmed. but it is a fierce country. i have visited it twice, and i know."
-"i am glad to learn that you have been up the congo," replied randolph rover. "perhaps during your leisure hours on the trip you will not mind giving me such information as conics to your mind."
-"i will tell you all i know willingly," answered captain cambion.
-exactly at noon on saturday the republique was ready to sail, and with a shout from those on the wharf who had come to see the few passengers off, she sheered away and started down the bay, past bedloe island and the statue of liberty. before night the shore line had faded from view, and they were standing out boldly into the atlantic ocean.
-"off for africa at last," murmured sam, who had been standing at the rail watching the last speck of land as it disappeared. "what a big trip this is going to be!"
-"never mind how big it is, sam," came from tom, "if only it is successful."
-the first few days on board were spent in settling themselves. the party had two connecting staterooms, and mr. rover and sam occupied one, while dick and tom had settled themselves in the other.
-the passengers were mostly french people, who were going to try their fortunes in french congo. there was, however, one englishman, a man named mortimer blaze, who was bound out simply for adventure.
-"i'm tired of england, and tired of america too," he explained. "i've hunted through the rocky mountains and up in canada, as well as at home, and now i'm going to try for a lion or a tiger in africa."
-"perhaps the lion or tiger will try for you," smiled tom. "what then?"
-"it will be a pitched battle, that's all," drawled mortimer blaze. he was rather a sleepy looking man, but quick to act when the occasion demanded.
-the weather was all that could be wished, and during the first week out the republique made good progress. on a steamer there was but little for the boys to do, and they spent all of their spare time in reading the books on africa which captain cambion had in his library, and which were printed in english. often they persuaded the genial captain to tell them of his adventures in that far-away country.
-"you have many strange sights before you," he said to them one day. "the strange vegetation, the immense trees, the wonderful waterfalls, some larger than your own niagara, and then the odd people. some of the natives are little better than dwarfs, while others are six feet and more in height and as straight as arrows.
-"did you ever hear of this king susko?" questioned tom.
-"yes; i have heard of him several times. he is known as the wanderer, because he and his tribe wander from place to place, making war on the other tribes."
-the captain knew nothing of niwili camp and expressed the opinion that it had been, like many other camps, only a temporary affair. he said that the best the party could do was to strike straight up the congo, along the south shore, and question the different natives met concerning king susko's present whereabouts.
-on the beginning of the second week a storm was encountered which lasted for three days. at first the wind blew at a lively rate, and this was followed by thunder and lightning and a regular deluge of rain, which made all of the boys stay below. the steamer pitched from side to side and more than one wave broke over her decks.
-"this is the worse storm i ever saw," remarked dick, as he held fast to a chair in the cabin. "they won't be able to set any table for dinner today."
-"dinner!" came from sam, with a groan.
-"who wants any dinner, when a fellow feels as if he was going to be turned inside out!" so far none of the boys had suffered from seasickness, but now poor sam was catching it, and the youngest rover felt thoroughly miserable.
-"never mind, the storm won't last forever," said dick sympathetically. "perhaps you had better lie down, sam."
-"how can i, with the ship tossing like a cork? i've got to hold on, same as the rest, and be glad, i suppose, that i am alive," and poor sam looked utterly miserable.
-"i believe we'll go to the bottom before we are done," began sam, when a loud shout from the deck reached the ears of all of the rovers and made tom and dick leap to their feet.
-"what's that?" cried dick. "they are calling to somebody!"
-above the wind they could hear a yell from a distance, and then came more cries from the deck, followed by a bump on the side of the steamer.
-"we've struck something!" ejaculated tom.
-"but i guess it wasn't hard enough to do much damage."
-"that remains to be seen," answered dick. "storm or no storm, i'm gong on deck to learn what it means," and he hurried up the companionway.
-a rescue in mid-ocean
-dick found that he could remain on the deck only with the greatest of difficulty. several life lines had been stretched around and he clung to one of these.
-"what has happened?" he asked of one of the sailors. "what did we strike?"
-"struck a small boat," was the answer. "it had a colored man in it. we've just hauled the fellow on deck."
-"is he all right?"
-"no; he's about half dead. but the captain thinks he may get over it, with care," and the sailor hurried away.
-dick now saw several men approaching, carrying the form of the rescued one between them. he looked at the unconscious man and gave a cry of amazement.
-"alexander pop! what a strange happening!"
-"do you know the man?" questioned captain cambion.
-"i know him very well," answered dick. "he used to work at the military academy where my brothers and i were cadets." and the boy told captain cambion the particulars of alexander pop's disappearance from putnam hall. "i am glad that i will be able to tell him that his innocence is established," he concluded.
-"all providing we are able to bring him around to himself, master rover," returned the captain gravely.
-"you think, then, that he is in bad shape?"
-"i hardly know what to think. we will take him below and do all we can for him."
-it was no easy matter to transfer pop to one of the lower staterooms, but once placed on a soft berth the rovers did all they could for him.
-"it is like a romance," said sam, while randolph rover was administering some medicine to the unconscious man. "how thin he looks."
-"he's been suffering from starvation," put in dick. "i suppose he gave that yell we heard with his last breath."
-all of the party watched over the colored man with tender care, and feeling that he could be in no better hands the captain left him entirely in his friends' charge. "when he comes to his senses you can let me know," he said.
-dick was watching by pop's side, and tom was at the foot of the berth, when the colored man opened his eyes. as they rested on first one rover and then the other he stared in utter astonishment.
-"my gracious sakes alive!" he gasped. "am i dreamin', or am i back to putnam hall again?"
-"neither, aleck," replied dick. "you are safe on board an ocean steamer."
-"an' yo'--whar yo' dun come from?"
-"we are passengers on the steamer," said tom. "you were picked up several hours ago."
-"yes, but--but i can't undersand dis nohow!" persisted the colored man, and tried to sit up, only to fall back exhausted.
-"don't try to understand it, aleck, until you are stronger," said dick. "would you like some hot soup?"
-"anyt'ing, sah, anyt'ing! why, i aint had, no reg'lar meal in most a week!" moaned the sufferer. "glory to heaben dat i am sabed!"
-and then he said no more for quite a long, while.
-the soup was already at hand, and it was dick who fed it slowly and carefully, seeing to it that pop should have no more than his enfeebled stomach could take care of, for overfeeding, so mr. rover had said, might kill the man.
-the next day pop was able to sit up, although still too weak to stand on his legs. he was continually praising heaven for his safety.
-"i dun vink i was a goner more dan once," he said. "i was on de ocean all alone about a week, i reckon, although i lost time ob days after i'd been out two or vree nights. i vink i was most crazy."
-"perhaps you were, aleck," said sam. "but tell us how you got in that position."
-"dat am de queerest part ob it, master rober--de queerest part of it. i got into de small boat fo' a sleep, and de fust ving i knowed i was miles an' miles away from eberyt'ing; yes, sah-miles an' miles away on de boundless ocean, an' not so much as a fishin' smack sail in sight. golly, but wasn't i scared--i reckon i dun most turn white!" and aleck rolled his eyes around impressively.
-"you were in a small boat attached to some steamer?"
-"dat's it. da had been usin' de small boat fo' surnt'ing, and left her overboard."
-"were you cut adrift?"
-"i don't tink i was--but i aint shuah nohow."
-"what boat was it?"
-"de harrison, from brooklyn, bound to cuba."
-"did you ship on her after you left putnam hall in such a hurry?
-"i did, cos i didn't want de police to coted me. but, say, as true as i stand heah--mean sit heah--i aint guilty of stealin' dem watches an' t'ings, no i aint!"
-and aleck raised both hands earnestly. "captain putnam made a great mistake when he dun suspect me."
-"we know it," answered dick quietly. "we thought you innocent all along, aleck."
-"t'ank yo' fo' dat, master rober--i'se glad to see dat i'se got one friend--"
-"three friends, aleck--we all stood up for you," interrupted tom.
-"t'ank yo', t'ank yo'!"
-"and we discovered who the real thief was," added sam.
-"dat cadet wot tried to be funny wid me an' i had to show him his place? hol' on--i dun see him comin' from de attic one day."
-"when he must have put those stolen articles in your trunk," said tom. "yes, he was guilty, captain putnam was going to have him arrested, but he got away."
-nothing would do for alexander pop after this but that the boys give him the full particulars of the affair, to which he listened with the closest attention. but at the conclusion his face fell.
-"ise mighty glad i am cleared," he said. "but i'd give a good deal to face de cap'n--jest to see wot he would say, eh?"
-"he said he was sorry he had suspected you," said dick.
-"what a big fool dis darkey was to run away!" murmured aleck meditatively. "i wasn't cut out fo' no sailer man. ise been sick most ebery day since i left shoah. by de way, whar is dis ship bound?" he went on.
-"africa! shuah yo' is foolin', massah dick?"
-"no, i am not. we and our uncle are bound for the congo river."
-"de congo! dat's whar my great gran' fadder dun come from--so i heard my mammy tell, years ago. i don't want to go dar, not me!"
-"i don't see how you are going to help yourself, aleck. the first stop this steamer will make will be at boma on the congo river."
-"'wot am i to do when i gits dar? answer me dat, chile."
-"i'm sure i don't know. perhaps the captain will let you remain on the republique."
-"what wid dern frenchmen? i don't t'ink i could stand dat. an' what am yo' going to do in africa?"
-"we are going on a hunt for my father, who has been missing for years."
-again aleck had to be told the particulars and again he was tremendously interested. when the boys had finished he sat in silence for several minutes.
-"i've got it-jest de t'ing!" he cried suddenly.
-"got what?" asked tom.
-"de right idea, massah tom. foah gen'men like yo' don't want to go to africa widout a valet nohow. let me be de workin' man fe de crowd. i'll take de job, cheap,--an' glad ob de chance."
-"hullo, that's an idea!" mused dick.
-"will yo' do it, massah dick?"
-"we'll have to speak to my uncle about it first."
-"well, yo' put in a good word fo' me. yo know i always stood by yo' in de school," pleaded the colored man. "i don't want to be driftin' around jess nowhar, wid nuffin to do, an' no money comin' in--not but what i'll work cheap, as i dun said i would," he added hastily.
-a little later randolph rover joined the group and aleck's proposition was laid before him. strange to say he accepted the colored man's offer immediately, greatly to the wonder of the boys, and from that minute on pop be came a member of the searching party.
-"i will tell you why i did it," explained randolph rover to the boys in private. "when we get into the jungle we will need a man we can trust and one who is used to american ways. moreover, if there is any spying to be done among the natives the chances are that a black man can do it better than a white man."
-"uncle randolph, you've got a long head," remarked tom. "no doubt aleck will prove just the fellow desired." and tom was right, as later events proved.
-a strange meeting in boma
-the storm delayed the passage of the republique nearly a week, in a manner that was totally unexpected by the captain. the fierce waves, running mountain high, wrenched the screw and it was found next to impossible to repair the accident. consequently the steamer had to proceed under a decreased rate of speed.
-this was tantalizing to the boys, and also to randolph rover, for everyone wished to get ashore, to start up the congo as early as possible. but all the chafing in the world could not help matters, and they were forced to take things as they came.
-a place was found among the sailors for aleck, and soon he began to feel like himself once more. but the sea did not suit the colored man, and he was as anxious as his masters to reach shore once more.
-"it's a pity da can't build a mighty bridge over de ocean, an' run kyars," he said. "den nobody would git seasick."
-"perhaps they'll have a bridge some day resting on boats, aleck," answered tom.
-"but i don't expect to live to see it."
-"yo' don't know about dat, chile. look at uddert'ings. did yo'gran'fadder expect to ride at de rate ob sixty miles an hour? did he expect to send a telegram to san francisco in a couple ob minutes? did he eber dream ob talkin' to sumboddy in chicago froo a telephone? did he knew anyt'ing about electric lights, or movin' pictures, or carriages wot aint got no bosses, but run wid gasoline or sumfing like dat? i tell yo, massah tom, we don't know wot we is comin' to!"
-"you are quite right, alexander," said mr. rover, who had overheard the talk. "science is making wonderful strides. some day i expect to grow com and wheat, yes, potatoes and other vegetables, by electricity," and then randolph rover branched off into a long discourse on scientific farming that almost took away poor aleck's breath.
-"he's a most wonderful man, yo' uncle!" whispered the colored man to sam afterward. "fust t'ing yo' know he'll be growin' corn in de com crib already shucked!" and he laughed softly to himself.
-on and on over the mighty atlantic bounded the steamer. one day was very much like another, excepting that on sundays there was a religious service, which nearly everybody attended. the boys had become quite attached to mortimer blaze and listened eagerly to the many hunting tales he had to tell.
-"i wish you were going with us," said tom to him. "i like your style, as you englishman put it."
-"thanks, rover, and i must say i cotton to you, as the americans put it," laughed the hunter. "well, perhaps we'll meet in the interior, who knows?"
-"are you going up the congo?"
-"i haven't decided yet. i am hoping to meet some friends at boma. otherwise i may go further down the coast."
-the steamer bad now struck the equator, and as it was midsummer the weather was extremely warm, and the smell of the oozing tar, pouring from every joint, was sickening. but the weather suited alexander pop perfectly.
-"dis am jest right," he said. "i could sleep eall de time, 'ceptin' when de meal gong rings."
-"blood will tell," laughed randolph rover. "when you land, alexander, you ought to feel perfectly at home."
-"perhaps, sah; but i dun reckon de united states am good enough for any man, sah, white or colored."
-"right you are," put in dick. "it's the greatest country on the globe."
-it was a clear day a week later when the lookout announced land dead ahead. it proved to be a point fifteen miles above the mouth of the congo, and at once the course was altered to the southward, and they made the immense mouth of the river before nightfall.
-it was a beautiful scene. far away dashed the waves against an immense golden strand, backed up by gigantic forests of tropical growth and distant mountains veiled in a bluish mist: the river was so broad that they were scarcely aware that they were entering its mouth until the captain told them.
-when night came the lights of boma could be distinctly seen, twinkling silently over the bay of the town. they dropped anchor among a score of other vessels; and the long ocean trip became a thing of the past.
-"i'm all ready to go ashore," said tom.
-"my, but won't it feel good to put foot on land again!"
-"indeed it will!" cried dick. "the ocean is all well enough, but a fellow doesn't want too much of it."
-"and yet i heard one of the french sailors say that he hated the land," put in sam. "he hadn't set foot on shore for three years. when they reach port he always remains on deck duty until they leave again."
-mortimer blaze went ashore at once, after bidding all of the party a hearty good-by. "hope we meet again," he said. "and, anyway, good luck to you!"
-"and good luck to you!" cried tom. "hope you bag all of the lions and tigers you wish," and so they parted, not to meet again for many a day.
-it was decided that the rovers should not leave the ship until morning. it can well be imagined that none of the boys slept soundly that night. all wondered what was before them, and if they should succeed or fail in their hunt.
-"dis aint much ob a town," remarked aleck, as they landed, a little before noon, in a hot, gentle shower of rain. "nuffin like new york."
-"there is only one new york, as there is but one london," answered randolph rover. "our architecture would never do for such a hot climate."
-along the river front was a long line of squatty warehouses, backed up by narrow and far from clean streets, where the places of business were huddled together, and where a good share of the trading was done on the sidewalk. the population was a very much mixed one, but of the europeans the english and french predominated. the natives were short, fat, and exceedingly greasy appearing. hardly a one of them could speak english.
-"i don't see any americans," remarked dick. "i suppose--"
-"there is an american store!" burst out sam, pointing across the way. he had discovered a general trading store, the dilapidated sign of which read:
-dealer in everything. english spoken by an american. horn of all kinds bought. yankee boots are the best!
-"he believes in advertising," laughed dick. "i'd like to go in and see simon hook. perhaps he'll remember something about father!" he added suddenly.
-"that's an idea!" returned tom. "let us go in, uncle randolph."
-mr. rover was willing, and they entered the low and dingy-looking establishment, which was filled with boxes, barrels, and bags of goods.
-they found the proprietor sitting in an easy chair, his feet on a desk, and a pipe in his mouth.
-"is this mr. hook?" asked randolph rover.
-"that's me," was the answer; but mr. hook did not offer to rise, nor indeed to even shift his position.
-"we saw your sign and as we are americans we thought we would drop in," went on mr. rover.
-"that's right; glad to see you," came from the man in the chair; but still he did not offer to shift his position.
-"been here many years?" asked dick.
-"how is business?" put in tom, bound to say something.
-"aint none, sonny."
-"you don't look very busy."
-"it's a fool's place to come to, sonny. when these goods are sold i'm going to quit." mr. simon hook paused long enough to take an extra whiff from his pipe. "what brought you here?"
-"we are on a hunt for a missing man," answered randolph rover. "did you ever meet him? his name is anderson rover, and he is my brother."
-"anderson rover?" simon hook thought for a moment. "i remember him. he was a gold hunter from californy, or somethin' like that."
-"yes; he was a mine owner."
-"went up the congo four or five years ago--maybe longer?"
-"i remember him. he had lots of money, and took several guides and a number of other, natives along."
-"have you seen or heard of him since?" questioned dick eagerly.
-simon hook shook his head. "no, sonny. 'twasn't to be expected."
-"and why not?" put in tom.
-"because them as goes up the congo never, comes back. it's a fool's trip among those wild people of the interior. stanley went up, but look at the big party he took with him and the many fights he had to get back alive."
-at this announcement the hearts of the rover boys fell.
-"you never heard one word of him?" persisted sam.
-"nary a word, sonny. i reckon he's either lost in the jungle or among the mountains, or else the natives have taken care of him."
-"did he say anything about the trail he was going to take?" asked randolph rover. "i understand there are several."
-"he was going to take the rumbobo trail, most all of 'em do." simon hook drew a long breath. "say, can i sell you any of these old things of mine cheap?"
-"perhaps you can," said randolph rover.
-"we are bound for the hotel now. we will come in later."
-"glad to see you," and as they left the shopkeeper waved them a pleasant adieu with his hand. but he never stirred from his chair.
-"i guess he has grown tired of trying to sell goods," observed tom.
-"perhaps he knows that if folks want the things he has to sell they are bound to come to him," said dick. "his store seems to be the only one of its sort around."
-the hotel for which they were bound was several squares away, located in something of a park, with pretty flowers and a fountain. it was a two-story affair, with spacious verandas and large rooms, and frequented mostly by english and french people.
-they had just entered the office; and randolph rover was writing his name in the register, when dick caught sight of somebody in the reading room that nearly took away his breath.
-"well, i never!"
-"what is it, dick?" asked tom quickly.
-"look at that boy reading a newspaper. it is dan baxter--dan baxter, just as sure as you are born!"
-captain villaire's little plot
-dick was right: the boy in the reading-room' was indeed dan baxter, but so changed in appearance that for the minute neither tom nor sam recognized him.
-in the past baxter had always been used to fine clothing, which he had taken care should be in good repair. now his clothing was dilapidated and his shoes looked as if they were about ready to fall apart.
-more than this, his face was hollow and careworn, and one eye looked as if it had suffered severe blow of some sort. altogether he was most wretched-looking specimen of humanity, and it was a wonder that he was allowed at the hotel. but the truth of the matter was that he had told the proprietor a long tale of sufferings in the interior and of a delayed remittance from home, and the hotel keeper was keeping him solely on this account.
-"how he is changed!" muttered tom. "he looks like a regular tramp!"
-"he's been in hard luck, that's certain," came from sam. "i wonder how he drifted out here?"
-while sam was speaking dan baxter raised his eyes from the newspaper and glanced around. as his gaze fell upon the three rover boys he started and the paper fell to the floor, then he got up and strode toward them.
-"dick rover!" he cried. "where did you fellows come from?"
-"from putnam hall, baxter," answered dick quietly. "and what brought you here?"
-ordinarily dan baxter would have retorted that that was none of dick's business, but now he was in thoroughly low spirits, and he answered meekly:
-"i've been playing in hard luck. i went down to new york and one night when i was in a sailors' boarding house i drank more than was good for me, and when i woke up in the morning i found myself on a vessel bound for africa."
-"you were shanghaied as a sailor?" asked tom.
-"that's it, and while i was on board the costelk the captain and mate treated me worse than a dog. see that eye? the captain did that, and when i struck back he put me in irons and fed me nothing but stale biscuits and water."
-"and the ship left you here?"
-"no; she was bound for cape town, but stopped here for supplies, and i jumped overboard at night and swam ashore, and here i am, and sorry for it," and dan baxter drew a long breath.
-the rovers were astonished at his meek manner. was this really the domineering baxter, who had always insisted on having his own way, and who had done so many wrong deeds in the past?
-"you've had a hard time of it, i suppose? said dick, hardly knowing how to go on.
-"hard, dick, aint no word," came from the former bully of putnam hall. "i've run up against the worst luck that anybody could ever imagine. but i reckon you don't care about that?"
-"do you think we ought to care, baxter?"
-"well, it aint fair to take advantage of a chap when he's down on his luck," grumbled the former bully. "i guess i've learnt my lesson all right enough."
-"do you mean to say you are going to turn over a new leaf?" queried sam with interest.
-"yes, if i ever get the chance."
-randolph rover now joined the group, and dick explained the situation. mr. rover questioned baxter closely and found that he was without a cent in his pocket and that the hotel keeper had threatened to put him out if he was not able to pay up inside of the next twenty-four hours.
-"see here, baxter, you never were my friend, and you never deserved any good from me, but i don't like to see a dog suffer," said dick. "i'll give you thirty shillings, and that will help you along a little," and he drew out his purse.
-"and i'll give you the same," came from tom.
-"ditto from me," said sam. "but don't forget that what dick says is true, nevertheless."
-ninety english shillings--about twenty-two dollars of our money--was more cash than dan baxter had seen in some time, his other money having been spent before he had taken his unexpected ocean trip, and his eyes brightened up wonderfully.
-"i'll be much obliged to you for the--the loan," he stammered. "i'll pay you back some time, remember."
-"never mind about that," replied dick.
-"my advice to you is, to take the first ship you can for home."
-"and what brought you out here--going on a hunt for your father?"
-"you'll have a big job finding him. i understand the natives of the congo are going on the warpath before long. they have had some difficulty with the settlers."
-"i guess we'll manage to take care of ourselves," answered tom, and then he and his brothers followed their uncle up to the rooms which had been engaged for them during their stay in the town.
-"he's, down in the mouth, and no mistake," was tom's comment, when the boys were left to themselves. "i never saw him so humble before."
-"perhaps knocking around has taught him a lesson," said dick. "i hope he really does turn over a new leaf."
-"him bad man," he said soberly. "no et him catch you, or you suffer big lot!" cujo took to aleck from the start, and the pair soon became warm friends. the african inspected their outfits with interest and offered several suggestions regarding additional purchases.
-"say, why can't you take me with you?" he asked, on the day that the rover expedition was to start out. "i'm willing to do my share of the work and the fighting, and i won't charge you a cent for my service."
-"i don't know as my uncle wants anybody along," said sam, to whom baxter addressed his remarks.
-"well, won't you speak to him about it, sam? i can't find anything to do here, and the captains to whom i've applied don't want me on their ships," pleaded the former bully of putnam hall.
-sam was easily touched at all times, and he knew that baxter must feel lonely and wretched so far from home and without friends or capital. he at once went to his brothers and his uncle and laid the big youth's proposition before them.
-"we don't want him," said dick promptly.
-"i don't believe he would be of any use to us."
-"i would rather give him some more money just for him to stay behind," added tom.
-mr. rover was thoughtful for a moment.
-"and what do you say, sam?" he asked at length.
-"well, i don't like baxter any more than the others do. but it seems awfully hard on him. i don't believe he knows how to turn."
-"we might give him enough money to get back to the united states with."
-"i'd rather have you do that, uncle randolph," said dick. "i don't want him with me."
-"i will have a talk with the misguided boy," was the conclusion reached by randolph rover; but he got no chance to speak to dan baxter until late in the afternoon, and then, to his astonishment, baxter's manner had changed entirely, he intimating that he wanted nothing more to do with them.
-for in the meantime something which was bound to be of great importance to the rovers had occurred. in boma were a number of persons of mixed french and native blood who were little better than the old-time brigands of italy. they were led by a wicked wretch who went by the name of captain villaire. villaire had been watching the rovers for two days when he noticed the coldness which seemed to exist between, our friends and baxter. at once he threw himself in baxter's way and began to it pump the youth regarding the americans.
-"zay are going into the interior, you have remarked," he said in very bad english. "are zay verra rich people?"
-"yes, they are well fixed," answered the tall youth.
-"and zay do carry zare money wid zem?"
-"i guess not--at least, not much of it."
-"you are zare friend, eh?"
-"hardly. out in america we were enemies."
-"so? you hata zem?"
-"yes, i hate them," muttered dan, and his eyes shone wickedly. "i'm only treating them in a friendly way now because i'm out of money and must do something."
-"i see. it ees a good head you have--verra good," murmured captain villaire. "do you know, i heara dem talk about you?"
-"did you? what did they say?"
-"de one boy say you should be in ze jail; didn't you robba somebody."
-"he had better keep his mouth shut."
-"you lika do somet'ing wid me?" continued the french native, closing one eye suggestively. he was a close reader of human nature and had read baxter's character as if it was an open book.
-"what do you mean?"
-"we gitta dem people into trouble--maka big lot of money."
-"all right--i'll do anything," answered baxter savagely. "so they said i ought to be in jail, eh? i'll fix 'em yet!"
-"you helpa me, i helpa you," went on the wily french native.
-he had his plan all ready, and, after sounding baxter some more, revealed what was in his mind, which was simply to follow the rovers into the interior and then make them prisoners. once this was done, they would hold the prisoners for a handsome ransom.
-"that's a big job," answered the big youth. "but i like your plan, first-rate if you can carry it out."
-"trust me," replied captain villaire. "i have half a dozen of ze best of killowers-za, nevair fail me. but as you knowa dem you will have to do ze lettair writing for us, so zat we git ze money from zare people at home."
-"trust me for that," responded baxter quickly. the plot pleased him immensely. "you do the capturing and i'll make mrs. rover or somebody else pay up handsomely, never fear."
-and so a compact was formed which was to give the rovers a good deal of trouble in the near future.
-the start up the congo
-"it was queer dan baxter should act so," said sam to his uncle, when mr. rover came back from his interview with the bully. "i thought he wanted to, go the worst way."
-"he acted as if he had struck something else," answered randolph rover. "he didn't even want the money i offered. perhaps he has received a remittance from home."
-"who would send it to him?" put in dick. "his father is still in jail."
-"perhaps he got mumps to send it to him," said sam. "but i forgot, mumps is away."
-there was no time to discuss the situation further, for they were to start early on the following morning, and there were yet a dozen small matters which must be given attention. all were busy, and it was not until after eleven that evening that they turned in.
-the day for the departure from boma dawned bright and clear, and cujo appeared with his assistants while they were still eating breakfast.
-"werry good day for um journey," he said, with a grin. "make good many miles if nothing go wrong."
-"you can't do any too well for me," answered dick. "i hope our expedition into the interior is both short and successful."
-at eight o'clock they were off. at first they had thought to go on horseback; but this was abandoned by the advice of the native, who declared that horses would prove more of a drag than a help in many places.
-"horse canno' climb tree bridge," he explained. "no climb high rock, no go around bad hill. we go on foot an' make better time."
-the town was soon left behind and they struck a highway which for several miles afforded easy traveling. on all sides were dense groves of tropical growth, palms, mangoes, and the like, with enormous vines festooned from one tree to the next. underneath were a great variety, of ferns and mosses, the homes of countless insects and small animals. the ground was black and wherever turned up gave forth a sickly odor of decayed vegetation.
-"that is regular fever territory," explained randolph rover. "boys, do not sleep on the ground if you can possibly avoid it. i sincerely trust that none of us take the tropical fever."
-"if i feel it coming on i'll take a good dose of quinine," declared tom.
-fortunately they had brought along a good supply of that valuable drug.
-two days traveling passed without special incident. on one side sitting in the shade of the portales on that high hill and almost a breeze coming in from the waters of the gulf--even so, all ready to soak iced porto bello lemonados into me, even so it was hot.
-and while i'm waiting there having another lemonade, and by and by another and another, a young girl enters the shade of the portales; and no man could carry two eyes in his head and not notice the loveliness of her. lovely and good. i could feel it in the air when i wasn't looking straight at her. women's hats and men's cigarettes bobbed in high approval, and the watery eyes of two gray-whiskered old rounders grew almost bright and decent to look at when from over the tops of their newspapers they gazed after her in passing.
-my little table was up by the main entrance, and as if for no more than to let her lovely glance rest on some manly creature who might be sitting unattached in the neighborhood, she stopped on the lowest step of the hotel doorway and her eyes were slanted in my general direction.
-"jeepers!" i said to myself, for even with a gray hair here and there impinging on the black mop above my temples--even so, i needed no ship's surgeon to testify that the pension-list was a long way from me yet. and as for the rank, 'twas well i knew that when the heart goes cruising 'tis little the rank matters. gunner's mate, even as an admiral of the line, may well have his fair romance: that i knew.
-but what man of intelligence and natively good intentions may run riot through the years of tempestuous youth and not arrive some day at a belated wisdom? after another upward glance i saw that not for me was that look of virginal yearning and distress. the line of fire of her gaze had for its target the back of the head of the young fellow who so melancholy and abstracted was gazing on the blue waters of the gulf from the next table.
-"jeepers!" i said to myself, "is he asleep or what?" and above my lemonade i points a soft cough at him.
-but no sign from him, and i coughed again--the short double cough which is the signal among all males from kamchatka to punta arenas, sailing east or west, north or south, great or little circles, as you please--for all males above the age of apprentice boys to stand to attention--that 'tis lovely ladies coming over the side.
-but never a sign of hearing from him, and "mucho calero, mucho heato," i said respectfully, and with a side look of apology, meaning in that way to intimate to the lovely creature that i had gone as far as the regulations would permit a rough and simple nature who hadn't been formally introduced.
-i thought she would step down onto the walk beside us there to speak, but a voice from within the hotel called out: "marguerite! marguerite!" a firm, commanding voice it was, and with it the lovely vision faded somewhere into the forbidding dark between-decks of the hotel.
-by and by the chin of the young fellow at the next table lifted off his chest, his eyes came slowly back from the blue waters--or whatever it was they were staring at--to the white marble top of his table, and he stared, puzzled, at his full glass. "i thought i drank that," he says, and has a sip of it.
-"i never ordered anything like that," he says, and shoves it from him, and then he spies me. "excuse me," he says, "but did you speak?"
-"i did," i says, "but so long ago that i've most lost the use of my tongue. but no harm; i'll speak now again," and i clapped my hands and "muchacho! boyo!" i calls. "oono lemonado plaino--and oono lemonado porto bello with much frio--you know--mucho iceyo and hurry like helleo!"
-and i explained to the young fellow how long years back my chum monaghan had taught me how to talk these tropic languages: the way to do was to wave both hands, stick an "o" onto every other word and yell like a bo'son's mate in the morning watch, and, with the waiter maybe knowing a little american to help you out, you could get what you ordered every time.
-"but i'm wondering who it was called her," i said when the lemonades had come. "there she was, sort of standing on one foot like she wanted to talk to somebody, and i know that somebody wasn't me, when 'marguerite!' a voice called--like that--and whing! she was gone, with sighs soft as the bubbles in the wake of a torpedo to mark her going."
-"marguerite?" says the young fellow, coming wonderfully back to life. "what did she look like?"
-"queen o' the movies--nothing less for looks, but with a touch o' home and mother and little babies clinging to her neck."
-"that's marguerite! why didn't you call me?" he says.
-he reminded me in his indignation of the rookies aboard ship when they're first shook up to go on night watch. if you don't haul 'em out of their hammocks and throw them ten feet down the passageway by their necks and ankles, they bellow to the skipper at the mast next morning how no one called them. but i would not tell him that. let him who has never felt the sting of the barbed arrow rub salt in the wound it makes.
-"i coughed so loud at you the second time that i had all the johnnies along the row looking up over their coffee demi-tasseys, and all the stout señoras were eying me with more than ordinary female suspicion," was all i said to that.
-he ran inside the hotel then. by and by he comes back. "she was here, but she's gone, the clerk doesn't know where."
-"i'm sorry to hear that," i says; and, moved by my further words of sympathy, he tells me how he's been steaming in the wake of the beautiful young lady through seven european monarchies and four central american republics, and of how, whenever he thought he was safe alongside, the mother would up anchor and leave him riding to a lonesome mooring in the dark of some foreign port.
-"just ten minutes with marguerite and her mother together and i know i could explain how it came about i got mixed up in what they think was a disgraceful row, but i can't get the chance."
-to my way of thinking the young lady at least wouldn't require much explanation; and, talking of one thing and another, we had a bite of lunch and after lunch a smoke, and we were absorbing, to abate the heat--he a plain and myself another lemonado porto bello--when a mahogany-tinted boy with a musical voice and his pants held up by one suspender stops in front of us to chant of a bull-fight which is to come off that afternoon.
-"maybe," i says to my new young friend, "this bull-fight would make you forget your troubles for a while." and he agrees it might. so "boyo! muchacho!" i hail the waiter. "duo--two-o seatso for the bull-fighteo! you know--good seatso--the besto!"
-"bueno, señor," says the waiter, and hurries off, and pretty soon is back with two yellow tickets for three pesos each, proving again what i'd said about talking the language.
-no policeman tried to, and in due season and good order we made entrance to a plaza that was crowded with long-legged tables piled high with chile con carnes and olla podridas and various other comestibles indigenous to the region; and under the tables, where the shade was deepest, were many cases of native beer piled high with ice.
-from behind the tables men and women in green and yellow and red and blue and purple and i don't know what-all colors of clothes were crying out what they had to sell, and up and down the long lines of waiting people were men telling how they had the best seats to sell to the bull-fight.
-"beer on ice and the speculators with the best seats out on the sidewalk--it makes me almost feel that i'm back on broadway," says my young friend. 'twas the first sign of life he'd shown since he'd jumped into the hotel to look for the young lady of his sorrows, and the same encouraged me to hope that maybe before the afternoon was over he'd remember that 'twasn't yet the last day--that the blue waters of the gulf and the golden rays of the sun was still shining and sparkling, the one to the other below and above us--glory!
-'twas a plaza of promise we had come to. on a stand over by the bull-ring entrance was a band of hill indians trying to jam a little music out of a collection of queer-looking instruments, but making a poor job of it, not to speak of resting up too frequently to please a young american bluejacket who was standing by. a festive lad he was, and he climbed up on the band-stand and stepped a lively jig by way of speeding up the band.
-"no hurry?" says the young bluejacket. "no hurry uppo? then you guys watch me do an imitation of a whirlin' dervish i see one time in the caffey dee joy in cairo. watch!"
-they watched and saw him revolve himself, one, two, three, four times atop of the stand, and then down the steps and on to his head in the plaza area. but he was of unquenchable spirit; without letting on that that wasn't part of it, he climbed back on to the band-stand and questioned the leader further. did he know any american music, and would he for a peso--or two pesos, say--play some? did he sabe americano musico?
-the leader of the band did sabe, and, the two pesos being passed, out rolled "marching through georgia." which pleased our dancing blue-jacket. "fine!" he says. "my old man was with sherman's outfit on that hike. roll her out again!"
-and once more was "marching through georgia" rolling nobly out, and as it was so rolling, a young american marine--but looking too slim and melancholy to so much as give back talk to a scuttle-butt--detached himself from a file of his comrades, and, marching stiffly up onto the band-stand, said: "what d'you-uns mean tellin' this yer nigger to play that-a-one for? i was bawn 'n' raised in jaw-juh. in jaw-juh, and my daddy fit with lee," and he whaled our dancing bluejacket under the ear.
-the band-leader was playing an instrument that sounded like a currycomb rubbing across a battle-hatch. swishy-swishy, it was going, with a loud r-r-rump-umph every few bars, and it was shaped like a long-necked pumpkin. this the young native of jaw-juh grabbed by its long neck and bent in several places over the leader's skull. there was a platoon of native policemen standing by and another platoon within easy signal distance. with the first shriek of the band for help that first platoon came limbering up, not forgetting to pass the word for their watchmates as they came.
-but waiting in line for their tickets, or sampling in their strollings the wares above and beneath the piled-up tables, were a few files and boatloads of our own marines and bluejackets, and these now came steaming up to the battle line, meaning harm to nobody in particular, but curious to know what all the ballyhooing was about and so as to be handy in case anything was doing.
-the native police came galloping up and captured the outraged georgian in the first rush, and as they did so up charged in one thin khaki wave his marine comrades to his rescue. and 'twas a gallant charge, even if all that came of it was to bury the band-stand under the falling bodies.
-the mind of my young friend--it pleased me to know him for being so thoughtful--was running in much the same groove as my own. "down under that pile that poor band-leader is still wondering what he did to get hit. that marine shouldn't have bothered him," says he.
-"you're right," i said. "and this everlasting looking for trouble on shore liberty--it gives me the needles."
-'twas just then a tall policeman, with a sword and his chin stuck out belligerently before him gave signs for me to vamose from the plaza. "and what board of examiners," i says, "gave you a rating to be ordering me around?" and i relieved him of his sword and drove his chin back to front dress.
-says the young fellow with me then: "once in new york i tried to keep some policemen from taking a couple of friends of mine into a patrol-wagon, and they took me along too, and my picture was in the paper next morning--that's what got me in wrong with marguerite's mother, and this will probably get me in wrong again. but where a fellow's people are there's where he must be too, i suppose."
-there were almost tears in the poor boy's voice but nothing like them in his eyes when beside me he waded in knee-deep, and he was a wide-shouldered, round-chested lad with quick, strong ways to him. knee-deep, i say, for by this time the uniformed natives were threatening to roll over us like some huge, advancing wave. and such natives as weren't in uniform stood to one side and cheered, or maybe hove a doby brick or two at intervals.
-but not entirely one-sided was it, for every bluejacket or marine arriving by the blue-line cars, after a quick masthead view of the situation, took a running hop, step, and a leap into the middle of it.
-our numbers were increasing, and there were other matters to aid us. the pedlers at the tables were hurrying to remove their wares from the war zones, but the quick advances of battle overtook the most of them, and tropical things to eat and drink from above and beneath the tables were soon adding a grand variety to the first plans of battle. there was the ice that had been cooling the beer. you take a lump of ice about the size of a small man's head, point the same carefully at a range of three or four feet, and hurl it with the full power of a moderately strong arm and--but 'tis a bad habit, boasting. and a thick-bottomed bottle of native beer--'tis a useful little article, too, at close quarters.
-it was a hot day. "mucho calero, mucho heato, be quiet, you!" i admonished one of the enemy lying prone at my feet, and picked up a beer-bottle, taking notice that it was not empty and that the cold beads of a late icing still clung to it. and i snapped free the patent stopper, and, for better action, loosened the blouse about my neck, giving thanks at the same time for the lucky man i was to have a blouse left on me to loosen.
-now, if regulations had been there to see, it is a fine sermon he could have preached on the evils of strong drink--how it brings its own punishment always in its wake. and not a word but would be true. but a man exalted by the clash of battle is no man to preach to. 'tis then he delights in confounding the precepts of his betters. and, man, the hot day it was! in all my cruisings on that abandoned coast i never knew a hotter; from the melting asphalt the heat was rising in torrid waves. i placed the cold bottle of beer to my lips and felt the first trickle of it on my swollen tongue. but no more than felt it, when the enemy--who by all rights was out of the combat at my feet--stood up, and what it was he clouted me with on the back of my head i never learned, nor does it matter now; war is war. but in falling i remember saying sad like to myself: "a man that would do that would ship his mother in the navy!"
-elbow to elbow with me all this time was my new young friend, and he had in his hand at the moment of my fall the mahogany leg of a table, that fine-grained mahogany for which, as i had so often read in the ship's library, that hot coast is also justly famous. with the table leg, the same being of good length and moderately thick through, the lad reached over and tapped on the temple the party who had exploded the shell, or whatever it was, on the back of my head. and as mcwarrish, an eye-witness, informed me later, my would-be assassin shared no further in the glory of that day.
-it had been a pleasant and not unequal prospect up to then, but by now they had routed the colonel of the barracks from his box-seat in the bull-ring, and "fix bayonetso!" he calls to his soldiers coming on at the double, and they fixed bayonets. "advanceo!" he says, and they advanced and continued to advance until presently, the ice being melted and the beer-bottles expended--being, as i should have poetically said, short of ammunition--such of our bluejackets and marines as were not in the need of first aid to the injured might presently be seen making the best of their way back to their liberty boats.
-in good time i revived, and i could taste it even then--that one teaspoonful of cold beer on the end of my swollen tongue, and, recalling the incident, "the green-eyed spig!" i says. "is it any wonder they have revolutions every other week or so in their god-forsaken land?"
-and what did i hear then but a voice calling me, and what did i see when i turned my head but my young friend with his head in the lap of the lovely marguerite, and the rest i knew without being told, for marguerite's stern mother was pouring water onto her lace handkerchief and applying the same to a lump topside of the youth's ears!
-a large hearty-looking party was tending to my case. mcwarrish was his name, and he was marguerite's mother's brother, who managed a silver or lead (or was it a gold?) mine on that same hot coast, which, according to the ship's library, was likewise rich in oil, rubber, pepper, tabasco sauce, palm-leaf fans, and all manner of vegetable and mineral resources: a fertile and auriferous country that needed only the intelligence and energy of the superior northern races to make of it a marvellous commercial asset.
-"would ye no like tae ha' been there," says mcwarrish, "the rainy nicht robbie cam' ridin' on his horse frae the tavern wi' fower or five, or eight or ten it micht be, guid measures o' usquebaugh under his shirt tae keep him wet inside, wi' his cloak doon ower his shouthers tae keep him dry ootside, the whiles he composed the grandest song ever writ by the hond o' mon? listen!" and he rolls out:
-"scots wha hae wi' wallace bled, scots wham bruce has aften led--"
-he was a large-boned man, mcwarrish, with a voice that left no idle spaces in the air about him, and i am myself no dwarf, nor weak of lung; and singing in and out among the fleet we went, while marine guards looked over top-rails and bluejackets rolled out of their blankets to give us a cheerful word in passing and sailors on anchor watch warned us in a friendly way not to run 'em down and sink 'em--from one battleship after another--when in the silvery night they would loom surprisingly up before mcwarrish, who was steering.
-"wull i gae aboard wi' ye, brither," he says to me when by and by we made my ship, "tae explain the reason o' your delay?"
-"thank you, friend," i said, "but there'll be trouble enough as it is." and i climbed up the side the while he shoved off for the beach again.
-"what," says mr. trench, who had the deck, "shall i set down in the log for your overstaying your liberty after you were so strictly warned?"
-"yes," says regulations, bobbing up behind him, "what's the alibi this time?"
-and i gives them the log of the day from first to last, even as i've told it here, omitting, of course, the personal allusions, and all gravely and respectfully, as befitted an enlisted man to his officers.
-"m--m--," says regulations, and considered the case. "you say you bought tickets to the bull-fight, eh? and didn't use them? m--m--m--then you must have the tickets yet. where are they?"
-from the inside of my cap i pulls out two yellow tickets, and passes them to him. no great evil, as i've said, in the make-up of regulations, and doubtless, in good time, by reason of advanced age and taking no mad chances, he will rise to be commander-in-chief of the fleet.
-he looks at the tickets under the deck light. "h--m," he sniffs; "h--m," and leaves the deck.
-"just as well, cohalan," says mr. trench, "you saved those two tickets."
-"if i hadn't, sir," i says, "there was a hatful of them to be had for the picking up in the plaza when the battle was over. and they're to be married next tuesday, and i'm invited."
-mr. trench was my division officer, and this was not our first cruise together. "i'll recommend you for shore liberty," says mr. trench--"providing there's no bull-fight the same day."
-and i'm passing on when i hear the whispering voice of monaghan.
-"i was listening to you," says monaghan, "and thinking while i listened of what you said one day. 'nothing like poetry,' says you, 'to develop the imagination.'"
-"more beautiful than the flowers of the imagination," i says to that, "are the rocks of eternal truth. you were saying only this morning how when yourself and myself were apprentice lads together, 'twas paroquets and blue monkeys 'stead o' picture post-cards as in these degenerate days we would be sending home to show the family and neighbors how we'd been in foreign parts. and that's true, but such are only the temporary frivolities of the human creature and not to be measured as important. i tell you, monaghan, that in its potentials human nature has not changed--not yet."
-"not yet?" says monaghan. "how much longer of this mechanical age will you be giving it?"
-"that," i said, "is to be determined. but 'tis my belief, monaghan," i says, "that let the drums beat and the banners wave and the gonfalons and the various other palladiums and symbols of our liberty be carried in marching columns before us, and, barrin' the shell-makers and the spellbinders and the owners maybe of newspapers with increasin' circulations, 'tis my belief we would march forth to war as cheerfully and rampageously as any band of red indians that ever danced around a red fire in the full of an autumn moon."
-"if all you say is true," says monaghan, "then it must 'a' been a grand place for an hour or two--that plaza this day. and yourself and myself and that husky bridegroom-elect standin' elbow to elbow this day--man, but 'tis talkin' of us in the cantinas they would be for a full generation to come. and, 'stead o' that, here was i, a man of my tonnage an' speed under forced draft, lyin' here useless as an old cruiser in ordinary."
-from the little motor-boat, the same being navigated in devious ways back to the pier, i could hear mcwarrish:
-"oh, my luve's like a red, red rose, that's newly sprung in june; oh, my luve's like the melodie--"
-always, or so i've thought, there's something disposing to romance, or maybe melancholy, in the quiet that lies o'er great waters, and something, it may be, softening to large voices.
-anyway, 'twas a lovely, moonlit tropic night--fitting close to a blessed day.
-a bale of blankets
-they were holding what was almost a public reception in the ward-room of the missalanna. the honorable j. j. flavin, having appeased his hunger and slaked his thirst, signalled the filipino mess-boy for a smoke; and having decided as to what was the most expensive cigar on the tray, he took two, and moved on to where, through a shining air-port, a fresh sea-breeze might find its cooling way to his beaded brow, for it was a warm summer's day and at trencher-play the honorable flavin had been no laggard.
-as the honorable j. j. smoked, so did he take the time to observe; and, observing, he vouchsafed the opinion to a thin-faced, high-shouldered young fellow who happened to halt near him: "these navy fellows must have a fat time of it, huh, carlin?"
-carlin flashed a glance on flavin. "how do you figure that?"
-"why, look at the swell feed--and the champagne here to-day. and look!" he slid off for inspection the band of the cigar he was smoking. "i paid three for a dollar for that same cigar the other day at a big hotel in washin'ton. they must have money to throw overboard to be givin' that kind away."
-carlin knew the brand. he also knew that only two, or it might be three, officers of that ward-room mess could afford to smoke that make of cigar regularly; but he did not tell flavin that. "they get those cigars for twelve cents apiece--buying 'em by the hundred--in cuba, j. j.," he suggested mildly.
-"and the dealers stick us thirty-five cents for em up here! anyway, a fat time they have swelling 'round in uniforms given 'em by the gover'ment for the ladies to admire 'em."
-two years of political reporting in his home city and two more as washington correspondent for the paper of most vital circulation in that same home city had not made of carlin a politician, and it is to be doubted if ten times four years in a political atmosphere would have so made him; because ancestrally implanted in carlin's breast was an inextinguishable desire to speak what he thought, and usually as soon as he thought it.
-he said now--sharply: "what do you know about naval officers or navy life, j. j.?"
-the honorable j. j. flavin had never, not even when he was only ward leader and therefore much more disposed to humility than now, been able to reconcile carlin's unworshipful tongue with his own sense of what was due a man of importance in the political world. and judas priest, he had a tongue of his own if it came to that! "of course, you know all about it!" he retorted.
-"no, i don't," replied carlin promptly and placidly. "but i probably know more than do you or almost anybody else who has never had the chance to live aboard ship and see some of it. this afternoon the officers of this ship are spreading themselves according to service traditions to give you and me and all aboard here a good time. to-morrow they'll be to sea and on the job, a simple-living, busy crowd--working hard, taking chances, and making no talk about it."
-flavin whoofed a funnel of doubting cigar smoke into the teeth of the air-port breeze. "taking chances! how? and where?"
-"everywhere. day and night--battleships, destroyers, in submarines and aeroplanes. thirty men and officers killed in one turret explosion only last month."
-"taking chances--huh! foolish chances!"
-"anybody who isn't living to see how long he can live takes a foolish chance once in a while. that turret crew were on the battle-range trying to make big-gun records."
-"and did they make 'em?"
-"they did. and their seven-inch batteries made 'em, too. single guns and broadsides at ten thousand five hundred yards."
-"i didn't hear about that," growled flavin.
-"no? that's a shame, j. j. the department ought to 've wired you about it."
-flavin eyed carlin sidewise. no use--he would never change. would he never get on to himself? flavin wondered. carlin ought to have been one of the best-advertised men in his line in the country, as everybody around washington said, but a fellow liable to hop out any time and bat somebody that could be of use to him over the eye, how could anybody go boosting him?
-"they must 'a' treated you pretty well, carlin?" he hazarded slyly.
-"they treated me well--yes," snapped carlin. "and they're treating you pretty decently now, aren't they?"
-"i'd like to see 'em treat me, or any member o' congress, any other way!"
-"a member of congress--that's right. and as a member of congress you're drawing down how much, j. j.?"
-"seventy-five hundred a year--and allowances," replied flavin, looking around the wardroom and not caring particularly who might hear the figures.
-"and before you were sent to washington you never made more than fifteen dollars a week in your life," thought carlin. aloud he said, in as gentle a tone as he could on short-order muster: "and did you ever stop to think, j. j., that while you're being paid that seventy-five hundred a year--and allowances--the captain of this ship, with ten or eleven hundred lives and a twelve-million-dollar war-machine to look out for, gets less than five thousand a year--and that only after thirty-odd years of professional study and practice? and that almost all of these other officers you see standing around here will regularly have to go up on the bridge and take full charge of this ship and all on her, and let 'em, some night or day, make a mistake, lose their nerve, or close their eyes for an instant and--bing! all off with the ten or eleven hundred lives, not to mention the twelve-million-dollar plant! and these officers under the captain have had all the way from seven or eight to thirty years of continuous professional study and practice, and yet some of them are getting less than one-third of the money you get."
-to which the honorable j. j. responded blandly: "well, what of it? their pay and my pay is fixed by the same gover'ment. if they don't pay more, it's because the people who regulate their pay and my pay think they ain't worth any more."
-"fine!" said carlin--"seeing that congress regulates them both!"
-"huh!" flavin hadn't foreseen that. "here, you!" he roared to the mess-boy with the tray of cigars; and the little brown boy, with no inclining admiration for stout-waisted, loud-voiced men in splendid new gray trousers and frock coats, but always well drilled, floated himself and his tray respectfully, if not over-hurriedly, across the ward-room deck to flavin.
-"if you worked for me i'd soon learn you to move faster," growled flavin. he began to paw through the tray. "where's that cigar i had before? this it?" he read the name on the band. "yes, that's it. twelve cents apiece in cuba, did y' say, carlin? i wonder couldn't i get somebody to get me some of 'em? here, ain't you having one?"
-"no, i've smoked enough."
-"enough?--and swell smokes like this kind being passed round!" he took two.
-suddenly, smoking anew, flavin cast a suspicious glance at the newspaper man. "what you getting at, carlin--trying to drive into me all this talk about the navy? is it because i'm a member of congress?"
-"i don't know that i've been trying to drive anything into you," retorted carlin. "but you made a crack about the navy, and after you've been in washington awhile longer somebody will be sure to tell you that my favorite monologue is the navy. they'll probably tell you, too, that if i couldn't get anything more intelligent to listen i'd hold up a row of trolley-poles and pump it into 'em. and so long as we are at it--take the officers' case again. as a member of congress, j. j., you ought to know these things. when from out of his pay an officer deducts the cost of his grub and uniforms, not to speak of other items----"
-"huh!" flavin was thinking of a new speech. its theme was to be the soft times of certain pampered government servants, this for the undistinguished and unterrified voter of his district; but this item of grub and clothes was disturbing. "the gover'ment don't furnish 'em grub and clothes?"
-"it doesn't. and the special full-dress coat of that officer standing there, or any of those younger officers, happens to cost nearly one-half of one month's pay--just the coat. and being naval officers, they have to live up to a certain standard aboard ship, as do their families, if they have any, ashore. and a lot of other items. take this reception this afternoon--they have to pay for it out of their own pockets."
-flavin whoofed two, three funnels of smoke thoughtfully toward the air-port. that speech would sure have to be given up, or vamped up in some new way, or saved for prudent delivery before closed secret organizations--that was sure. an impressive speech, too, he could have made of it. confound carlin butting in with his inside information! and carlin not being a politician either, what could a fellow do with him?
-carlin waited for the words of wisdom to flow. they flowed. "y' know, carlin, there's nothing to be gained in my district by voting for any naval bill."
-"is there anything to be lost?"
-"suppose i could swap a vote with somebody for a federal building or something in my district for something in his district?"
-"go ahead and swap it!" barked carlin. "and keep on swapping till your district wakes up to you and swaps you for somebody else!"
-flavin shook his head in triumphant prophecy. "they won't--not in my district, carlin. it's too solid. a nomination is an election in my district, and the machine says who'll be nominated. but i tell you what, carlin--a man like you in washin'ton could help me out a lot through your paper up home." he eyed carlin narrowly to see how he took that. carlin said nothing. flavin continued: "you weren't born in the bushes yesterday, carlin, for all you're no pol. you know enough about the game to know there's nobody giving somethin' for nothing in politics. and----"
-carlin raised a warning palm. "pull up, pull up! you don't have to do any trading in this thing. you want to remember, j. j., that i'm a newspaper man even before i'm a navy man, and whatever you do you'll get what's coming to you from me."
-the honorable flavin, not without doubt in his eyes, stared out of the air-port. presently he said: "i'll take a look over the ship, i guess. see you later."
-the eyes of carlin, searching the ward-room for such officers of the ship as he had not yet greeted, encountered the quizzical and questioning glance of "sharkey," otherwise lieutenant trench, united states navy. "who is your large and sonorous friend?" queried trench. being a host he did not put it in words, but being human he could not help looking it.
-the spoken answer to the unspoken question would probably have horrified the honorable flavin. "he's a man from up my way who made himself useful to the machine, and so they sent him to washington. he's pretty raw, sharkey, but i suppose he could be worse. at least we know where he will always be found."
-"and where, carl, will he always be found?"
-carlin smiled with trench. "where the votes are. that's his idea of supreme political genius--playing for the votes of the moment. i was talking up the navy to him, with an increased navy-pay bill in mind for this session. but i don't suppose that interests you, sharkey."
-"thanks to the thrift and thoughtfulness of an acquisitive ancestry," smiled trench, "i suppose i could worry along if there was never a pay-day in the service. but most of the rest of the fellows would surely be interested. there's pay totten now. he'd----"
-"where is pay? i haven't seen him since i came aboard."
-"nor you won't for some time again, unless you carry a longer than regulation glass, for pay's by this time on the high seas and southward bound. that's why i spoke of him. but come into my room."
-from a pigeonhole in his desk in his room trench pulled out several typewritten pages. "ever hear, carl, of pay's bale of blankets?"
-"ah-h--yours shall be the joy of hearing the tale from the lips of the poet-author himself. you may elevate your high literary eyebrows at the construction, but recalling that you, or some other competent critic, told me once that construction was, after all, subordinate--that is, physical, not psychological, construction--i venture to tell this story in my own way. hark, now!" he smoothed out his sheets of paper and read:
-"she was the war-ship missalanna, which lay out in the stream of a port in chinese waters which translated means cold cream. a wireless comes from the admiral--he flew two stars on blue-- and the message read: 'at once cast free and join me in chee foo. but bring along all packages, all bundles, and all mail our need is great, the fleet does wait, come forced draft, do not fail.'
-"and says the missalanna's commander: 'whatever shall i do? 'tis a two days' chinese holiday, don't they know that in chee foo? and a thousand tons of coal we'll need, and merchandise in dock fills half the tin-clad warehouse, and immovable as rock are sampan men and coolies when they've knocked off for the day-- and now 'tis snow and hail and sleet and a two days' holiday!' "but he wakes up good old totten sleeping soundly in his bed, and showing the admiral's wireless, mutters: 'this is what he said.'"
-trench looked over the top of his first page. "how's it so far, carl?"
-"they've put men in the brig for less. but go ahead."
-"thanks. i proceed:
-"'i was dreaming,' says good old totten, 'i was writing to my wife of chinese native customs and the joys of navy life. but two hundred coolie men we'll need and a score of sampans wide to get that coal aboard the ship and sail by morning tide. no night for honest men to roam, but be sure ashore i'll go-- mayhap in a shack on the water-side i'll find my friend jim joe.'
-"pay found his old-time chinese friend and tells him what's to do. 'a thousand tons of coal i want and i'm putting it up to you.' but joe he looks at his melican flend and he says: 'me no can do-- to-night good chinese mens they go and burn the joss-sticks--so-- and bad chinese mens, my flend,' says joe, with a wink or two, 'they play fan-a-tan, low-lee and mot.' says joe: 'me no can do.'
-"and saying the last part over again-- with another wink or two, 'they play fan-a-tan, low-lee and mot.' says joe: 'me no can do.'
-"then pay, with a grip of joe's pigtail, 'you mind the time--you do?-- when i pulled you out from a gunboat's snout?--and you now say: "no can do"? two hundred coolie boys i want and twenty sampans wide, and twice five hundred tons aboard, so we sail by morning tide. when i left the ship the skipper says: "now, pay, it's up to you!"' pay gives joe's tail a gentle twitch--'now, joe, you must can do!'
-"and joe, with queue curled all anew, in the sleet and hail he goes and twoscore crews of coolie boys he drags out by their toes. 'two hundled coolie boys me want and twenty sampans wide, and tice fi' hundled tlons on ship so she sail by morning tlide.' and some he tore from their honest beds and some from loud wassail, but all came out, for joe was stout, into the sleet and hail.
-"and two hundred lusty coolie boys with twenty sampans wide, laid twice five hundred tons to where the ship in stream did ride."
-trench laid down the sheets.
-"that's not the end, sharkey?"
-"no, no. but that's the end of the jim joe part, which was hailed as so masterly a performance on pay's part--getting those sampan men and coolies out of their beds on a night like that and to work at coaling ship for us--that i, the uncrowned poet laureate of the asiatic squadron, was commissioned to do it in verse, which i proceeded to do one night; and got that far, swinging along fine and dandy, when the messenger called me for the mid-watch."
-"and you never finished it?"
-"i couldn't--not in rhyme. after that four hours' night-watch the rhymes were all gone from me. it was a rough night. a monsoon made out of the southeast----"
-"omit the professional jargon, sharkey, and your professional troubles, and remember the first law of story-telling is to tell the story."
-"wizz!" murmured sharkey. "but, thus encouraged, i proceed. well, getting jim joe started with his twenty sampans and his two hundred coolies was only part of pay's job that night. the big warehouse, where goods for our fleet and other craft were stored, was in charge of a chinaman we called hoo ling, and he knew less english than joe, and appreciated even less than joe the need of quick action. the admiral's wireless message looked just like any other wireless message to this big chink, hoo ling. but it's a great thing to be a student of the chinese and of chinese customs and of chinese mental processes. pay wheedled ling a little, bluffed him a little, touched on past friendships a little, on possible future business a lot, painted a picture of our warlike forces over to chee foo, touched--not too casually--on the so much greater love which the officers and men of the united states navy bore for china than for japan, and such other little subtleties as he could invoke or invent. at last the old fellow was moved to open up and let pay pick out what packages were for the fleet.
-"and so, with four yeomen of the ship roused from restful hammocks to make memoranda of the addresses as fast as he pried them loose from the main pile and called them out, and with twelve able seamen of the watch to hustle the packages along as fast as the yeomen recorded them, and with forty other bustling bluejackets to load them into the boats, pay tore into that pile of freight, which was about as high and twice as long and wide as a three-apartment house. there were probably four or five thousand packages of various kinds to be overhauled, and they were addressed in four languages--english, german, french, and chinese. if pay was the only white man in that part of china who could have charmed that impassive old storekeeper out of his bamboo bed that time of night, he was probably likewise the only white man in port that night who could read those chinese shopkeepers' addresses.
-"dry goods, wet goods, hardware, grocery stuff, butcher's stuff, jeweller's stuff, ship's stores, bales of cotton, bales of silk, curios, souvenirs, bicycles, sewing-machines, sacks of rice, sacks of coffee, sacks of potatoes, barrels of flour and of gasolene, auto tires, boxes of tea, quarters of beef and of mutton, cases of breakfast-food and of oil, packages all the way from the size of a finger-ring to packages the size of an auto-truck. you know what a big, husky chap pay totten is? imagine him on a slushy, snowy night, stripped to the waist, wading into that pile--feet, shoulders, knees, hands, elbows, with his teeth almost--tearing out those packages, and from addresses in english, french, german, and especially chinese, picking out flying such as were for our ships."
-trench paused. a reminiscent smile was parting his lips.
-"we did. with our coal aboard and the packages for the fleet, we made a record run and arrived in chee foo hours before the admiral was looking for us. and it was the day before christmas, and our coming made the whole fleet happy for christmas week, and our skipper got 'well done!' from the flag-bridge, but--" trench looked at carlin and smiled ruefully. "there's so often a but, isn't there, to the otherwise happy tale? among the seven hundred and odd packages receipted for by paymaster totten it seems there was missing one bale of blankets. what happened to the bale of blankets? they queried paymaster totten, and 'lord!' says poor pay, 'how do i know? it might 've been stolen on the wharf, or dropped overboard between the wharf and one of the ship's boats, or lost in rowing out to the ship or hoisting it over the ship's side. there were a dozen ship's boats and two hundred ship's men coming and going, and half a mile between the ship and shore; and it was a black, blustering night of sleet and hail, and there were also hundreds of coolies and dozens of sampans on the coal. it was drive, drive, drive, from midnight to daylight--how do i know what happened to one lone bale of blankets?'
-"however, pay nor anybody else worried much about the blankets at the time. our skipper recommended, in view of paymaster totten's extraordinary exertions on that night, that the bale of blankets be not charged against his accounts. and the admiral, when he heard all the story, approved and passed it along to washington. but it came back. and by and by it was sent on to washington again. and by and by it came back.
-"and forth from us it went in due time, and for the last time, we thought, on leaving for home by way of suez and guantanamo. in the mediterranean we picked up the european squadron and with them enjoyed several gala occasions, notably at alexandria, naples, villefranche, and gibraltar, at each of which ports we deemed it incumbent upon the service to spread itself a little. and during these festivities pay was there with the rest of us, but between the gala-days going without his bottle of beer with lunch, his cigar after dinner, in order that on the great days he might be able to contribute his share toward these receptions and yet not impair that sum--three-quarters of his pay it was--which he sent home monthly, in order that mrs. pay and the five little pays might have food, lodging, clothes, and otherwise maintain the little social standard of living imposed upon a naval officer's family.
-"'thank god,' says pay on our last day in the mediterranean, 'we are leaving here to-morrow!' and he hauls out his aged special full-dress suit, and looks it over, and says with a sigh: 'i'm afraid i'll have to lay you away, old friend; but a few thrifty months in west india winter quarters and i may be able to replace you with a grand new shining fellow, and so come up the home coast the gayly apparelled, dashing naval officer of tradition.'
-"and we went on to the west indies and put in the rest of the winter there, with pay forgetting all about the bale of blankets, until the night before we were to go north. on that night a steamer from new york puts into where the fleet is, and in her mail for us is our old friend the letter of the indorsements as to the loss of the blankets, and now with one more indorsement since we'd last seen it, to wit: the department saw no reason to change its original ruling as to the responsibility for the loss of the bale of blankets, and paymaster totten's accounts would be charged with the loss thereof."
-trench paused to allow a swift hot blast from carlin to sweep through the room. "the archaic bureaucrats!" concluded carlin fervently.
-"yes," agreed trench, "and yet, carl, from their point of view----"
-"a point of view which impairs high service is criminal."
-trench knitted his brows. "maybe you're right, carl, but--recalling your advice about story-telling--pay totten, foreseeing a battleship cruise along the north atlantic coast this summer, with certain pleasant but expensive ports in sight, could see where it might well behoove him to ask for a change of venue--that is, if he ever hoped to settle for that bale of blankets. it was costing him thirty dollars on the ship for his grub, which, as you know, didn't include any smokes or an occasional bottle of beer, nor the laundry for fifteen white suits--a fresh one every day in the tropics--and a few other sundry items, not to mention other minor but inescapable items.
-"so pay thought it all over, and on his way north he put in his request, and two days ago he got his orders; and yesterday he left us. and this morning--look!"--from the pile of letters atop of his desk trench selected one. "this came. listen:
-"we're sailing to-day for the west african coast to look into liberian matters. and in that country, where you're likely any time to fall in with a member of the cabinet sitting barefooted in the middle of the road peeling potatoes, the wear and tear on uniforms won't probably be over-heavy. and if there should happen to be any recherché affairs when we move onto the congo coast, i am only hoping that the natives won't inspect too closely any special full-dress paymaster's coat which should be blue but, as it happens, is green in the region of the seams. and after the west african sojourn we are bound for a little jaunt of a thousand miles or so up the amazon, where i learn--and i've taken some trouble to learn--we won't have to wear full dress at all, not even when calling upon the tribal high chiefs. i'll come home yet with that old full-dress standby--if it isn't blown off my back during some tropical typhoon.
-"it's a great thing, sharkey, the being allowed two months' advance pay on leaving for foreign service. for me it means that mrs. totten and the children can have their little place and their one little maid at the little beach which did them all so much good last summer, and, if they're economical, maybe an occasional trip to the movies.
-"and so i am leaving almost happy. of course, the good-by and that two years made me feel a bit lumpy and lonesome leaving them, but the race would be too easy if we didn't carry some little extra weight, wouldn't it? as to the bale----"
-carlin jumped to his feet. "you're right, sharkey. and he isn't the worst in the world. i'll put it up to him right now, if he's still aboard."
-congressman flavin was still aboard, but also was bursting with something to tell. "what d'y'know, carlin--nine hundred and odd sailors aboard this ship and not home once in ten years to vote."
-"and you ask me to vote for bills for a lot of people that ain't ever home to vote. i wouldn't 'a' known only i was speaking to a couple of 'em happened to live in my district, and they told me."
-"that's all right, j. j., but forget that voting stuff for a minute and listen to me." and briefly, rapidly, and not without art, carlin retold the story--retold it in prose entirely--of paymaster totten and the bale of blankets. when he had done he added: "now, j. j., what do you think of a man doing a good job like that and losing out by it?"
-"always the way, carlin--always," replied the honorable flavin briskly. "what most of these fellows on these ships need is a little course in practical politics. why didn't that paymaster sit tight in his bunk, the time his captain came to him with that hurry-up message, and tell him he couldn't get any coolies or sampans? if he'd just rolled over in his bunk and said, 'captain, it can't be done,' or if he'd gone ashore and made a bluff it couldn't be done, he wouldn't 'a' had any bale of blankets to pay for--see? this doing things you don't have to do, and nothing in it for yourself when you do do 'em--that's kid's work."
-"all fine, j. j., but how about christmas for the fleet?"
-"christmas? let 'em look out for their own christmas! he'd be getting his pay envelope every week just the same, wouldn't he?"
-"fine again--and as beautifully practical as you always are, j. j. but how about doing what totten thought was his duty?"
-"duty? that ain't duty--that's foolishness. duty's doing what you got to do, not doing something just to make a good fellow of yourself."
-slowly carlin began to count: "one, two, three----"
-"what's the matter?" demanded flavin.
-"a dream i had is taking the count--eight, nine, ten, out! say, flavin, did it ever occur to you that your duty included knowing something about your business--who can vote, for instance, among a thousand other things, and who can't?"
-"the mistake you make and all you wise high-brows make, carlin"--and the honorable flavin fixed him with a knowing eye--"is in thinking i don't know my job. my job ain't in being in congress. a hell of a lot they'll know at home what i'm doing in washin'ton after i get there. my job is being elected to congress. and getting elected means to be able to get votes, and getting votes means being with the people who'll give you the votes. and your paymaster friend"--the honorable flavin favored carlin with a wink and another knowing smile--"and his push, they don't swing any votes. but o' course that's for them. with you it's different. now, you being in washin'ton with a string o' newspapers--huh?"
-carlin had walked off.
-"there he goes," muttered flavin, "pluggin' the game of a lot of people who can never do a thing for him."
-trench was shaking his head, half-sadly and half-smilingly, at carlin. he replaced totten's letter on the pile on his desk. "one of the jokes of the mess is to accuse me of having so much money that i could publish my own books of foolish rhymes if i felt like it, but i haven't enough to pay for that bale of blankets for pay totten. aboard ship pay has just as much money as i have. but no matter--i'm one of those who believe that nobody beats the game in the long run. the eternal laws are against it. the people get everybody pretty near right in time. and fellows like pay will get what's due them some time. and your congressional friend, too, i hope. but"--trench stood up--"what d'y'say, carl, if we get out into the ward-room country again? it's been a long watch since you and i clinked glasses together."
-and outside, in the mess-room, standing almost under the air-port which opened out to sea, trench held his glass up to carlin's, saying: "there was a boson's mate i knew one time, named cahalan. i used to absorb most of my philosophy from him. i was on the bridge one night, and in one of the wings was cahalan and another lad of the watch. they were evidently having an argument about something, and cahalan was trying to convince him. i couldn't hear what his watch-mate said, but from out of the dark all at once i heard cahalan. said cahalan: 'when a man does a good job and gets rated up for it, he's a lucky geezer; when he does a good job and don't get rated up for it, he mayn't be a lucky geezer, but what th' hell, he's done a good job just the same, hasn't he?' so, carl, what d'y'say?--to pay totten, sailing lonesome through the trades--a poor politician, but a damn good officer!"
-breath o' dawn
-it was an admiral of a great navy returning a call, and hundreds of bluejackets were peeking out from the superstructure.
-"here he comes--spot me lord admiral, fellows!"
-"three ruffles of the drum, three pipes o' the boson's whistle----"
-"--six boys an' thirteen guns----"
-"--and he swellin' out like an eight-inch sponson comin' over the side, as if it was himself and not his job the guns are for!"
-young apprentice boys' voices those.
-there came an older voice: "you kids talk as if it was in admirals and at sea alone. and ashore any day are bank presidents, head floor-walkers, chairmen of reception committees--yes, and bishops of the church--any of them on their great days stepping high to the salutations, as if 'twas something they had done, and not the uniform or the robe or the job they held."
-carlin had a look at the owner of the voice. later he hunted up trench--lieutenant trench--and to him he said: "glory to the man who can wear his uniform without tempering hot convictions or coining free speech to the bureaucratic mint! but greater glory to the man who can divest high office of its shining robes and see only the man beneath. who's your big, rangy gunner's mate with the gray-flecked, thick black hair and what the apprentice boys call go-to-hell eyes?"
-"and what's his history?"
-"when i first knew him--on the china station--he was stroke of the ship's racing crew, the best football player i ever saw, and among the men he had the name of being an all-big-gun ship in a fight. a medal-of-honor man, too. later he went in for booze-fighting and hellraising generally and made a first-class job of that, too. i liked him--all the officers did--and when i was having my first dreams of the day when i should be commanding the latest dreadnought, it was killorin, settled down and steady, who was to be my chief gunner. i told him as much one night on watch.
-"'a warrant-officer and wear a sword and be called mister?' says killorin. 'and will you tell me, sir, what's being a warrant-officer and wearing a sword and being called mister to being all alive when my youth is still with me?'
-"i couldn't tell him; and as we grew more friendly many another question he asked me in the quiet of the night-watches i couldn't answer. he could talk the eye out of a chinese idol himself."
-carlin peered down at killorin. "did you ever ask him how--despite the being all alive and having his youth--he is to-day only a gunner's mate?"
-"and have him, in ten perfectly respectful words, put me back in my place? i did not--not that i wouldn't like to know."
-"i think i half know," said carlin.
-that was in a tropic port. that same night carlin found it too hot to sleep below. he rolled off his bunk, had another shower-bath, dressed lightly, and went on deck, where his friend trench was on watch.
-"pretty hot?" asked trench.
-"it is hot--yes, sir."
-"these young lads"--trench waved a hand toward the stretched-out shapes all around--"they don't seem to mind it."
-"they're young, sir."
-"young? i didn't think there was a tougher man, young or old, in the navy than you."
-"a man's body," said killorin, "can take comfort atop of a hot galley stove--or a cold one. a man's mind--'tis not so simply eased."
-"trench," said carlin, when they had left killorin, "when i was a boy there was a great hero in our school. half the girls i knew carried his picture on their bureaus. and most of the other half were suspected of hiding one away. one of those athletic heroes, a husky apollo--this killorin makes me think of him. but suddenly he disappeared from the middle of his glory."
-"no, no crime. wild, but straight. his name was delaney."
-"killorin's right name," said trench after a while, "is delaney."
-carlin left trench and walked around deck, in and out among the sleeping forms. here was one in a hammock, here one on a cot, but mostly they slept on the bare deck in their blankets. every odd corner and open space held them. they were tucked in against hatchways, under turrets, inboard of boats, outboard of boats, next the smoke-pipes, in the lee of gypsies, of winches, cook's galley. everyhow and everywhere they slept--on their backs, their stomachs, on their sides, curled up and stretched out. some whistled, some groaned, some snored, but mostly they slept like babes.
-it was hot, as sometimes it seems to be hotter in the night than ever it can be in the day, even in the tropics.
-"how about bar harbor, or rockport, or some other little place off the new england coast a night like this, with a cool, fresh breeze sweeping in from the atlantic?" asked the first one.
-"what's the matter with the little old north river?" said the other, "or the east river, with the brooklyn trolleys clangin' and the train to coney and a few dollars in your pocket after a visit to the paymaster? ... and your best girl, o' course," he added after a moment.
-they snuffed out their cigarettes and rolled back into their blankets. killorin was still sitting up wide awake.
-"and your best girl?" repeated carlin to killorin.
-"yes," responded killorin, "as if that didn't go, like an anchor to a ship, without saying."
-"isn't it always a girl?" said killorin presently. "whatever drives the most of us to whatever it is we do, good or bad beyond the ordinary, but a woman stowed away somewhere to see what we do at the time or read of it later?"
-the killorins of the world are not standing and delivering to men they never saw before; and so it was not that night, nor the next; but on another hot night, and the ship headed up the gulf, with the men sleeping anyhow and everywhere about the deck, that killorin sat outboard of the sailing-launch and, looking out over the dark waters, said:
-"progresso astern and veracruz ahead--always a port astern and another ahead, isn't it? and so you knew old dan riley that kept the candy store up home? ... and mary riley?" he asked; and, after a while, began to talk of things that had been.
-lovely mary riley! no thought ever i had that girls were made for boys to notice till i saw you!
-five blocks out of my way from school her father's store was, but four times i walked past that store window the day after the first time i saw her, and more than four times many a day later--to see her again. it was three months before i got courage to go nearer to her. and then it had to be a night with snow on the ground and sleigh-bells to the horses, and in the faces of men and women a kinder look and in the heart of a boy maybe a higher hope than ordinary.
-christmas eve it was and the store all decorated--candy canes, big and little, hanging among the bright things in the window. there were other people before me, but she nodded and smiled by way of letting me know that she saw i was waiting. she nodded in the same smiling way to a poor child and a rich man of the neighborhood.
-"how much for a cane?" i asked when it came my turn, and i that nervous i exploded it from me.
-"canes?" she turned to the window. they were all prices, but i didn't hear what she said. i was listening to her voice and trembling as i listened.
-there was a great big brute of a cane, tied with blue ribbons and hanging from a gas fixture. "how much for that one?" i asked.
-"that?" she had violet eyes. she opened them wide at me. "that is two dollars."
-"let me have it," i said.
-her thin red lips opened up and the little teeth inside them shined out at me. "but you don't want to be buying that," she said; "we keep that more for show than to sell."
-to this day a thing can come to my mind and be as if it happened before my eyes. "she thinks i'm one who can't afford to spend two dollars for that cane, and she's going to stop me," i says to myself. "she thinks i am a foolish kind who would ruin himself to make a show." if there had been less truth in what she thought, maybe i would have been less upset. "i'll take it," i said. "i want it for a christmas tree for my little nephew."
-there was no nephew, little or big, and no christmas tree, and that two dollars was every cent i had to spend for christmas. but her eyes were still wide upon me, and i paid and walked out with the cane--without once turning at the door or peeking through the window in passing, for fear she would be looking after me, and i wouldn't have her think that a two-dollar candy cane wasn't what i could buy every day of my life if it pleased me.
-i hoped she would remember me, but took care not to pass the store for a week again, for fear she would see me and think i was courting her notice because i had bought the big cane.
-i was going to high school then. one saturday afternoon there came high-school boys from all that part of the country to compete for prizes in a great hall near by. i wasn't in them. i liked to run and jump and put the shot well enough, but to go in training, to have a man tell me what time to go to bed and what time to get up, and what to eat and what not to eat, and after a couple of months of that to have to display yourself before crowds of people--that was like being a gladiator in the colosseum i used to read about, and performing for the pleasure of the mob--patricians and the proletariat alike!
-i would spend hours in the alcove of the school library reading of belted knights in the days of tourneys and crusades--but that was different. i could see myself addressing the kings of the land and the queens of the court of beauty, the while the heralds all about were proclaiming my feats of valor. a knight on a great charger in armor and helmet, with my lance stuck out before me--never anything less glorious could i be than that.
-but all loyal sons of our school took a ticket for the games. i went to them; and there i saw mary riley waving her banner and cheering a gangling-legged young fellow that lived in the same street as myself. no special looks did he have, and no more brains than another, but he was winning a hurdle race and she was cheering him. and there came another, the winner of the high jump, and she cheered him, too.
-to see a girl you are night and day thinking of--to see and hear her cheering some one else--! i went in for winning prizes. and when the season came around i played football. and my picture used to be in the papers, those same papers saying what a wonder i would be when i went to college. and all the time i wondering was she seeing the pictures and reading the words of me.
-my people had no money to send me to any college, but from this college and that came men to explain to me how the money part could be arranged. and so to college i went. i paid enough attention to my studies to get by--no great attention did it take--but i paid special attention to athletics, and before long my picture was sharing space in the papers with presidents and emperors and the last man to jump off the brooklyn bridge. and is there any surer way to spoil a nineteen-year-old boy's perspective of life than to keep telling him that well-developed muscles--whether they be in his back or his legs or inside his head--will make a great man of him?
-i came home from college for the summer. i'd seen mary a few times since that christmas eve, but made no attempt to get acquainted. maybe i was too shy. maybe i was too vain, or overproud--waiting for the day when i would be of some account, when the notice of neither men nor women would i have to seek--they would be coming to me.
-but pride is a poor food for heart hunger. i went to have a look into her store on my first night home. i had a wild idea that i would go in and introduce myself and she would know of me, and maybe i would walk home with her.
-there was a young fellow in a navy uniform--a chief petty officer's coat and cap--leaning on the counter talking to her, and he had a red rose in the buttonhole of his uniform coat. by and by, when her father came to close up the store, the young fellow walked home with her. standing on the opposite corner, i watched them pass. it was something serious they were talking about--no smile to either of them.
-i stood on the corner after they had passed for as long as i could stand it. then i walked up to where i knew she lived. they were standing at the steps of her house. it was a quiet street, and the sound of my footsteps caused them both to turn. the young fellow stood up straight and strong on the lowest step, but she stepped into the shadow of the doorway. i saw her eyes looking out on me as i passed. her hat was off and there was a red rose in her hair--and none in his coat.
-some pictures fade quick, some never. the picture of mary riley in that doorway, with his rose in her hair--that hasn't faded yet.
-they had been talking before i reached them, but as i passed on i could feel the silence between them. for many steps after i passed on i could feel that silence and their eyes following me up the street.
-next day there was an outdoor bazaar for the benefit of some flood sufferers. there was an athletic programme and i was the star of the meet, with my picture on the bill-boards.
-i went. surrounding the athletic field and track were tables for the sale of this thing and that, and behind the tables were women and girls using every female guile to coax money from men's pockets.
-there were big tables and little tables. at one of the little tables was mary riley. sidewise out of my eyes i saw her, standing atop of a chair behind the table to look out on the games. when the games were over and i was dressed up in my street clothes again, i walked over to her table. my three first-prize cups in their three chamois bags were carried behind me by a multi-millionaire's son named twinney. he was an athletic rooter, with an ambition to be known as the friend of some prize-ring or football or sprinting champion. in my coat pocket were two gold prize watches.
-mary riley was standing behind her table. the young chief petty officer was there, too--in front of the table. they were auctioning the last of the things off. with a smile and a word of thanks mary would hand over the things as they were bought. but she wasn't taking in too much money. she was the daughter of a man of no great importance in the community, and she didn't have the grand articles that the women at the other tables had. her little stock was made up of things that she had begged or made herself.
-the auctioneer was a whiskered old man with a great flow of gab. he holds up a piece of lace--to put on a bureau or a dresser it was--made, as he put it, by beautiful miss riley herself. and she was beautiful! violet eyes and blue-black hair, and--i've seen chinese ivory since that her face was the color of, only no chinese ivory that ever would take on the warmer waves of color as i looked at it.
-"how much for this lovely lace cover?" the auctioneer was asking, and "two dollars," some one said. and right away the chief petty officer said "five!"
-i looked at him then--for the first time fairly. he was one of those quiet-looking, thoughtful kind--of good height, well made and well set up--maybe twenty-two years old.
-"he's got his medal of honor for it, but he's not one to carry it around and show it," said meagher's friend.
-meagher was bidding--some one had said six dollars for the lace. meagher had said ten, and mary riley's violet eyes were glowing. i had five dollars--no more--in my pocket. but there was twinney with his tens-of-thousands allowance in the year. he always carried plenty of money around with him.
-"twinney," i said, "how much money have you?"
-"oh, a couple of hundred or so," and pulled it out and began to count it.
-"i'll bid on the lace piece," i said, "and you pay for it."
-"ten dollars i'm offered for this lovely piece of lace," the auctioneer was drooning. "do i hear----?"
-"twenty," i said.
-meagher looks over at me and a light comes into his eyes. "forty," says meagher.
-"sixty," i said.
-"eighty," says meagher.
-the fat auctioneer looked from one to the other of us. he had not had a chance to speak since the bidding was at ten dollars. he was about to open his mouth now when----
-"one hundred dollars!" i said and looked over at meagher.
-meagher turns to his chum. before he could speak the chum was emptying his pockets to him. when he had it all counted--his chum's and his own----
-"two hundred fifty dollars," he said; "we might as well throw in the change--two hundred and sixty-five dollars," and laid it down on the table before mary riley.
-gold of angels, but there was class to the way he did it. no millionaire's money, but the savings of an enlisted man's pay.
-i turned to twinney. "he's through--make out your check for three hundred and give to me."
-"three hundred dollars," he says, "for that piece of lace! three hundred--why, five dollars would be enough for it!"
-"but three hundred dollars!"
-"yes, and three thousand if i had your money!"
-"but what do you want it for?"
-"that wasn't right," said meagher.
-"i'll make it right," i said, "with you or him or whoever else doesn't like it, now or later."
-he went white; and the kind that go white are finish fighters. and he was a good big man with more than muscle under his coat.
-"make it right now," he said. "but not here--some place where the crowd won't be."
-we moved over to under the grand stand. that was at half past five o'clock and it was a long summer's day, but it took till the daylight was all but gone before i knocked him down for the last time.
-a score of people had found their way in under the seats. none who cared to know but would hear a word of every blow that was passed in that fight. going home after the fight it was borne in on me that less than ever was i the hero i was wishful to make myself out to be.
-i slept little that night, and in the morning--nothing within the four walls of a house suited me any more--i slipped out into the sun and walked along the docks; and walking the docks i reached the gates to the navy-yard. i went in.
-a ship!--'tis like nothing else in the world. ships! in the romances i'd been reading since ever i could read, there had been tales of ships and of the sea. phoenician galleys, roman triremes, the high-prowed boats of the vikings, carved spanish caravels--they had carried the men who made history. great ships were they, and yet here were ships that could take--any one of them here--could take a score, a hundred, of the ancient craft with all their shielded men at arms and stand off--a mile, two miles, ten miles off--and with one broadside blow them from the face of the waters. dreams of what had been and what might be--what use were they? things as they are--that was it!
-what most people, maybe, would call common sense was coming to me; and maybe something finer than all the common sense in the world was flying from me. so i've often thought since of that morning.
-i enlisted in the navy. and it was good for me. to look out on the wide 'waters--day or night--'tis to calm a man's soul, to widen his thought.
-i had no ambition to rise. the blazing life of the four quarters of the world was soaking into me. my eyes, perhaps, were seeing too much, and my mind pondering on what i saw too much, to be breaking any ship records for efficiency.
-the ridiculousness of him was too wide a target for any man with an eye in his head to miss. i was never short of an eye, nor oil for the trunnions of my tongue, and no ship's company ever lacked a messenger to carry the disturbing word. for the fun i poked at him my bold superior had me spotted for his own target later.
-there was a chest of alcohol on the lower flag bridge and there was a marine sentry standing by it night and day. as much for the devilment as for the drink, four or five of the lads in our gun crew one night rushed the ladder to the bridge, stood the sentry on his head, broke open the chest, grabbed the alcohol, and got away.
-my warrant-officer says he saw me among 'em. 'twas a hot night, like to-night, and in the tropics too, and he couldn't sleep, he said, and had to leave his room and come on deck. and so it was he happened to be where he could see me. he couldn't name the others. indeed, he would not care to name others when he was not positive, and so do possibly innocent men an injustice, and so on. but he was positive about me.
-i was called. the sentry looked me over. he wouldn't swear it was me, but there was one man in the party about my height and build, and, like me, he was a very active man, judging by the way he went down the bridge ladder.
-i didn't mind the disrating, nor the brig and the bread and water; but i did mind being made out a liar.
-the first liberty i made after that--in hong kong--i caught my boxing rival ashore. i gave him a proper beating. he took it as something coming to him, without complaint. the next liberty i made--in nagasaki it was--i caught my warrant-officer ashore.
-he was not on duty and so not in uniform, and, pretending to mistake him for somebody else, i gave him a grand beating. six or eight of their little ju-jutsu policemen clung to my legs and back, but that didn't stop me from finishing my job on him. i left him in such a ridiculous fix that he was ashamed to complain, but the japanese authorities weren't satisfied. i spent a night in one of their jails, and aboard ship next day i was masted and once more disrated--this time with a sermon from the captain on my disorderly ways.
-i didn't mind the captain's lecture--i had rated that--but i did mind being drafted to another ship with a record as a disturber. i had not taken more than four or five drinks in my time up to then, and then more out of curiosity than desire, but on my next liberty--in manila--i took a drink. i didn't like the taste of it--i don't yet--but there's never any use in half-doing a thing--i took another, and more than another. from then on i began making liberty records.
-officers were good to me. it is only a skunk of an officer who will take pride in crowding an enlisted man, and i've met few skunks among our officers. so long as i could hold my feet coming over the gang-plank, a friendly shipmate buckled to either side of me and i able to answer "here!" to the roll-call--so long as i could do that, there were deck officers who looked no further. 'twas a friendly way, but bringing no cure to me.
-he never let on that he remembered me, until one day the handling-room was cleared of all but the two of us, and then it was me who spoke to him. "i'd like to have a word with you, mr. meagher," i said, "if you don't bear too much of a grudge."
-"why should i bear you a grudge?" he said. "you licked me, and licked me good. you left no argument as to who won that fight. if i ever bear you any grudge, it will be for the drinking and brawling record you're making, with never a thought of the manhood you're wasting."
-"it's easy for you to talk so--you that won what i'd die ten times over to get."
-"die? you die? give up your life? why, you haven't even the courage to give up your consuming pride!"
-he looked at me and i at him. i was all but leaping for him. "go ahead," he says, "beat me up again!"
-"you're my officer," i said.
-"cut the officer stuff!" he threw his cap on the deck. he took off his coat and threw that on the deck. "now i bear no mark of the officer--come on now and beat me up! and you'll have to beat me till i can't speak or see again--and then you can leave me here, and i'm telling you now no one will ever know who did it. you're many pounds heavier and half as strong again as when you licked me before, but go ahead and turn yourself loose at me. there's no alibi left you now--go ahead, turn yourself loose at me!"
-i was all that he said--a brute that felt equal to ripping the three-inch planking off the quarterdeck, and he wasn't himself near the man he had been when i fought him before--he had never got well over the burning in the handling-room fire; but he stood there telling me what some one should have told me long before.
-"jack meagher," i said, "mary riley made no mistake--you're a better man than i am." and i left him and ran up the ladder--up to where winds were blowing and seas singing and the stars rolling their eternal circles. all night long i walked the deck.
-it did me good--what he had said to me. but a man doesn't change his ways overnight. i stopped maybe to have a backward look more often than i used to, and friendly deck officers maybe didn't have so often to look hard at the liberty lists; but being in the same ship with meagher did me good.
-i used to take to watching him, to studying his ways--the ways of the man mary riley had married.
-he used to come out of the after turret and look out on the sea, when maybe he'd finished up his work for the afternoon. he was there one afternoon late; and we were in the china sea, a division of us, bound up to cheefoo for a liberty. a monsoon was blowing, and there we were, pitching into it, taking plenty of water over ourselves forward, but so far very little aft.
-meagher was in rain-coat and rubber boots, leaning against a gypsy-head, when this big sea rolled up over our quarter-deck. she had a low quarter, our ship, and the solid water of this sea rolled turret-high. when it had passed on, meagher and four others were gone.
-i was in the lee of the superstructure. i ran onto her quarter-deck. i saw an officer's cap and took a running high jump over the rail. while i was still in the air i said to myself: "you're gone! her starb'd propeller will get you--you're gone! ...
-"and if i am, what of it?" i recalled later saying to myself; but before my head was fairly under i was kicking out hard from the ship's side.
-"i kicked off my rubber boots right away, but the buckles of this thing they don't come so easy." that was meagher's first word, and--heavy-spoken because of weariness--he said it by way of apology for causing so much trouble. "but i'd never got clear in time--you saved me from going, that's sure." not till then did he have a chance to look at me. when he saw who it was he went quiet.
-"you're surprised, jack meagher?" i said.
-"yes," he said.
-"you doubted my courage, maybe?" i asked.
-"no," he said to that, "not your courage--never your courage. but your good intentions--yes."
-we were lying with our chests across the buoy, and we could easily see the ship, and we knew that the ship could see us so long as our buoy light kept burning--her whistles were blowing regularly to let us know that. but she would have to have a care in manoeuvring because of the other ships so near, and it was too rough to lower a boat for us.
-then at last the blue light of our buoy burned itself out, for which we were almost thankful--it smelled so. and then night came, and darkness.
-tossing high up and then down, like a swing in the sea, we went, lying on our chests across the buoy one time and hanging on by a grip of our fingers another time. and when the sea wasn't washing over my head i would shout; though i doubt if, in the hissing of the sea and the roaring of the wind, my voice carried ten feet beyond the buoy.
-by and by a search-light burned through the dark onto us. meagher was by then in tough shape. for the last half-hour i'd been holding him onto the buoy, and it was another half-hour before they could launch a boat. we had been three hours in the water, and i was glad to be back aboard. it is one thing not to mind dying; it is another thing to fight and fight and have to keep on fighting after your strength is gone. when a man's strength goes a lot of his courage goes with it.
-meagher's courage was still with him. he protested against being taken to the sick bay, but there they took him; and when he left the sick bay, it was to take a ship for home. i went to see him the last day. on my leaving him, he said: "i'm taking back a lot i said to you. if you had been washed over i doubt if i'd gone after you."
-he would have gone after me--or anybody else. and i told him so, my heart thumping as i said it, for i'd come to have a great liking for him.
-"i still doubt it," he said. "anyway, i owe my life--what there is left of it--to you."
-"if you think you owe me anything," i said, "then don't tell your wife anything about me. don't tell her where i am or what my name is now."
-"i won't tell her or anybody else where you are or what your name is, but i will tell her how you saved my life."
-i never saw him again. i heard they gave him a shore billet when he was discharged from the hospital; i heard, too, that within a year he was retired on a pension. but that he was dead--i never knew that till you told me to-night.
-carlin recalled the last time he had seen meagher--when they both knew he had not long to live. "she has been a wonderful wife to me. not much happiness i have had that she has not made for me," meagher had said.
-"i don't doubt he told her of my going over the side after him in the gale--he wasn't a man to lie," said killorin.
-"he told her," said carlin. "and he told me something more. that night you passed them on the steps he had proposed to her. he thought she was going to say yes. she had stuck his rose into her hair and was about to say the word--so he thought--and then you came by. and it was six years again before she said the word. if you had not left home----"
-"thank god," said killorin, "i left home! thank god on her account. the consuming pride--it had to burn itself out in me."
-it was still dark night, but ahead of the ship a cluster of pale yellow lights could be seen.
-"veracruz?" asked carlin.
-"veracruz, yes--the port ahead. and how was she when you saw her last?"
-"a lonesome woman--more lonesome and weary than a good woman should be at her age. her eyes are still violet and her cheeks like ivory, but the color doesn't come and go in them now."
-"i had to leave home to learn," said killorin, "that the bright color coming and going like a flood means the blood running high in the heart. men should have a care for such. such natures feel terribly--either joy or sorrow."
-it had been night. in a moment the red sun rose up from the oily sea, and it was day. there was a moment of haze and vapor, and then emerged a city ahead--a pink-and-white city, with here and there a touch of cream and blue.
-"beautiful!" murmured carlin.
-"they're all beautiful," said killorin, "in the dawn."
-a faint breeze was stealing over the gulf. through the black sea little crests of white were breaking--pure white they were, and a whiff of pure air was coming from them. the sleepers around the deck began to stir, to roll over, to sit up, and, with thankful sighs, to inhale the fresh, sweet air.
-"the breath o' dawn!" murmured killorin--"like a breath o' heaven after the hot tropic night.... as you say, that port ahead is beautiful. but when that port is astern and some other one ahead! that will be the sight, man--new york harbor after all these years! the breath and the color o' dawn then--'twill be like a bride's blush and her whisper stealing over the waters o' new york bay."
-peter stops ashore
-the pentle place had been closed up and the servants were gone; but mrs. pentle's car was still waiting at the gate, and mrs. pentle herself--old john ferguson, on his way to the lookout, could see mrs. pentle perched up on her flat rock and looking out on gloucester harbor and the sea.
-there was a fishing-schooner sailing out. john put his glasses on her and was entering her in his book when he heard some one's step on the ladder leading to his tower, and then the hatch sliding back. it was mrs. pentle.
-"i've heard of your book, john. may i look at it?"
-"surely, ma'am, surely." he passed it to her. "for seventeen years now i've been keeping it--the account o' the fishing-vessels sailin' out o' gloucester, ma'am. a column for the day o' departure, one for the name o' the vessel, one for the master, and one for the day she comes back home."
-she was turning the pages.
-"so many never come back home, do they?"
-"nacherally--they bein' fishermen, ma'am."
-"ah-h, here's the year!" she ran her finger down the page. "and here!" and read: "'valorous--sailed december seventeenth--and never returned.'"
-"i mind her, ma'am, with the proud name--george's handlin'."
-"i know. my father was one of her crew.... but here"--she stopped in her turning of the pages--"isn't this the entry of one they've just given up for lost?"
-"that's her, ma'am--the conqueror. it's queer what bad luck goes with those proud names, ma'am. peter crudden was master of her."
-"peter crudden! i played with peter crudden when we were children together. and he's lost?"
-"when they print the names o' the crew in the gloucester papers, it's a hundred to one they're gone, ma'am. a married sister o' peter's is a neighbor o' my married daughter's up in boston, and they're cryin' their heart out a'ready, she writes me--peter's sister an' her children."
-mrs. pentle closed the book.
-"we live such sheltered lives here ashore, most of us, don't we, john? and we complain at the smallest little discomfort--many of us, i mean. and those brave men sail out to the dangerous waters in their little boats, where the best of it is hardship and death comes so often. it must be born in me--i just can't help feeling different toward those fishermen from what i do toward the men i meet in my business in the city."
-she left; and, watching her swing down the ladder, john ferguson was thinking that for a woman of her build--full-bosomed and no slimling--she was cert'nly light on her feet, and wondering why a young and good-looking widow as she was--dang good-looking--why more o' those wealthy young men she must know hadn't hooked her afore that. "must be," mused john, "none of 'em's used the right bait."
-john turned, just naturally to have another look out to sea, and--"well, you old gadabout!" muttered john and hurried to point his glasses at what he saw wabbling in.
-"dang me if she c'n be!" cried john. "dang me, but she is!"
-it was the conqueror--her foremast gone half-way to the deck, her mainmast gone clean to the deck, and her bowsprit broken off at the knight-heads. and she was a foot thick, or more, in ice; and in her jury-rigging was her flag--at half-mast.
-"that's one, ye ravenous sea, dang ye, ye didn't get!" muttered john. "and she'll have a tale to tell!" and wondering how many of 'em were gone, and who they were, he entered the month and day of her return.
-the conqueror had fitted out at duncan's; and duncan's wharf and store had not changed in twenty years. mr. duncan did not like changes.
-the old shelves of canned goods in duncan's, the long packages of blue-papered macaroni, the little green cartons of fish-hooks, the piled-up barrels of flour and boxes of hardtack--they were all of the same old reliable brands. and the woollen mitts in strings! and in back was an area of kegs of red lead and hanks of tarred ground-line and coils of stout rope, and oilskins and sou'-westers, and rubber boots and the heavy leather redjacks--the smell of them was all over duncan's.
-fred lichens, who had kept books for thirty years for mr. duncan, was looking down the wharf at the conqueror warping into the slip when mrs. pentle arrived in her car. her arrival was not surprising. she had half a dozen small charities in gloucester, and she came regularly to mr. duncan's for advice about them.
-fred knew all this exactly, because he kept the books for the gloucester end of these things--drawing a few extra dollars a month therefor--and he had known mrs. pentle since she was a little girl and used to come with her mother, and without her as she grew older, to mr. duncan's to draw, against whatever would be her father's share, the stores which the family needed to keep them alive while the father was out to sea.
-fred remembered when the girl who was now mrs. pentle left high school to go to work in boston. she was a bouncingly pretty girl, and within two years married pentle, the millionaire department-store man.
-fred dusted a chair for mrs. pentle and set it in her favorite spot, which was beside a window in mr. duncan's own office looking out on the harbor. sitting there, she saw an iced-up wreck of a vessel and some of her crew leaping up onto the wharf, where a crowd was surrounding them. she asked what vessel it was, and fred told her--the conqueror, peter crudden; and she said no! and fred said yes, ma'am, it was.
-"i wonder if i should know him now," she said; and then: "which is peter crudden?"
-"captain crudden," said fred, "is the one mr. duncan is bending toward to hear better."
-the crowd was moving up toward the store. mrs. pentle jumped up on her chair so as to be able to look over the glazed lights of glass between the private office and the store as they came in.
-peter crudden was a hard-looking figure of a man, coming into duncan's store that day. he had not shaved for days, and his thick hair looked enormous--it was so tangled. he had not slept in a week; and when he took his seat on the long store bench and let his head settle wearily back against the wall he looked old.
-he was telling about the big gale coming on and how her spars went, which maybe saved her from going into the shoals and being lost right there, and how they worked her way clear o' the shoals under jury-rig, how they were lookin' for a little ease and comfort, when aboard comes this unlucky sea, with no more warning than a shooting star out of the sky, and sweeps--cleaner than ever you could sweep the floor o' the store--her deck and all, everything. and atop o' that a sea to fill her cabin full. four of 'em makin' for the deck were thrown back into the cabin again--smashed afoul o' the stove one, and atop o' the lockers and into a looard bunk another; and how they picked themselves up and made the deckhand when they got there--as if a clean-swept deck warn't hard luck enough--there was dave elwell that was to the wheel, his breast smashed again' the wheel spokes and he dead.
-"and the two on the deck gone--gone, sir, so quick that we never even got a sight o' them or a smothered hail from them goin'," concluded peter. "an' cold! and ice! and--" but once more he let his head fall back against the wall.
-fred was so wrapped up in peter's story that he forgot mrs. pentle till he found her beside him and heard her saying in a low voice:
-"when i was a little girl i listened to fishermen on that same bench, with their stories of toil and death. and i remember how i would linger, making believe to retie my packages into a tighter bundle, to hear more of what they had to say. it was a man sitting on that bench, mr. lichens, in just that way, not knowing who i was, who brought word of my father's vessel gone down--and all hands with her."
-"i cal'late the hard tales told from that same bench would fill more books than was ever writ about gloucester, an' there's been a many--an' some foolish ones among 'em," said fred.
-"those two men washed overboard"--peter was speaking again--"some one has got to tell their people how they come to be lost. and poor dave in the ice-house aboard the vessel--some one has got to 'tend to him."
-"i'll 'tend to dave," said mr. duncan.
-"that'll help," said peter. "and now--i'm through with fishin'--through with goin' to sea! i'm goin' to stop ashore!"
-it was then mrs. pentle ran from beside fred and into the store. "captain crudden----"
-"this is mrs. pentle, captain," said mr. duncan.
-"celia curtin that was," explained mrs. pentle. "i knew you as a boy."
-"i know," said peter. and then he almost smiled: "and no girl in gloucester ever better able to take care of herself!"
-"if i could get you something to do in my store, would you take it, captain? if it was fit work, i mean, for a man?"
-"it wouldn't have to be fit--i'll trim bonnets for ladies before i go back to fishin'," said peter, "and thank you for the chance."
-peter passed out with his crew.
-mrs. pentle turned to mr. duncan.
-"so that's settled! i shall telephone you, mr. duncan, about captain crudden's place in my store--the work will not be disagreeable."
-mr. duncan and fred watched mrs. pentle's car racing up the street; and then fred said:
-"mr. duncan, peter didn't look like any magazine cover of a hero i've seen lately, but--sitting there on that bench awhile ago--did you take a look at mrs. pentle's face while he was telling the story of that wreck?"
-mr. duncan looked at his old bookkeeper.
-"reef down your imagination, fred. she's a woman who likes to manage things and to do good; but what i'm afraid she'll do now will be to ruin the makings of a smart young skipper with her soft job ashore."
-mr. henston, the manager of pentle's, brought peter crudden to flaxley, the head shipper.
-"flaxley, you are to break in this man," said henston, "and he's to go on the pay-roll at twenty dollars per week."
-flaxley wondered why a new man, who was to be only a shipper's helper, should go on the payroll for twenty dollars a week; and he wondered yet more why henston should be telling him about the pay-roll, which was made up in the office and not in the shipping-room. he wondered, too, why the manager himself should take the trouble to introduce the new man.
-"you needn't make it easy for him on my account," whispered henston, going out.
-flaxley had seen a lot of things happen in pentle's, where he had been so long that, when mrs. pentle wanted to know about anything that went back beyond the memory of even the ancient cashier herrick, she would send down for flaxley.
-he was no older than herrick, but he had started to work in the store younger.
-flaxley was like something that went with the store. he had privileges; and he did not like henston and would not have minded telling him so, but that he had great respect for mrs. pentle and thought--what many more in the store thought--that henston was dressing his windows so as to catch mrs. pentle's eye, and some day--you can't tell about women, especially young widows--some day henston might marry her.
-flaxley looked peter over and rather liked his make-up, and pointed out a big dry-goods case and told him what he wanted done. flaxley saw the new man hook into the box, which weighed eight hundred pounds, up-end it, claw-hammer it, and toss the heavy bolts of cloth out onto the long table.
-peter took his lunch in the basement where he worked, the same being put up by his married sister in a package made to look like a camera-box.
-he had bought this lunch-box in pentle's--he remembered it was sold to him by a pretty girl with a pleasant manner. it was just the thing for lunch--she had said--all the girls in pentle's carried 'em; and there was ten per cent off for employees. it was the first time in his life that peter ever got anything off on anything he'd ever bought, and he said so; and the salesgirl looked at him again and then smiled.
-"you're not a city man?" she said. peter said he wasn't; and then his change came and he went off.
-"my new helper, girls--height five feet eleven, weight a hundred ninety, thirty-two teeth in his head and not married--look him over," said old flaxley, making peter blush. "and now warm his coffee for him--he's been too shy to ask," and flaxley handed peter's coffee across the passageway.
-they looked him over, some of them saucily. and hearing flaxley call him peter, in a week or so some of them were calling him peter and offering him pickles and doughnuts from their lunch-boxes; and there were always three or four ready to take his coffee from him when he reached it across the passageway to be heated.
-one day a group of them, with their heads bunched in the doorway as usual, chaffed him across the passageway. peter was looking at a lovely white neck and dark little head, back of the row of heads in the door, and wondering where he had seen that girl before. and biting into a thick corned-beef sandwich, he remembered where--it was the girl who had sold him the lunch-box.
-"ten per cent off for employees," shouted peter; "all the girls carry 'em!" and held up the lunch-box. the others caught the idea and laughed uproariously--except the one who had sold it. she only blushed scarlet and disappeared, and did not come back.
-"she must 'a' thought i was tryin' to get acquainted," said peter later to old flaxley, "and didn't like it."
-that same afternoon mrs. pentle looked into the shipping-room. it was one of those warm days in winter and, of course, the steam was on. peter was wearing only a sleeveless white jersey above his belt. peter was wide-shouldered and trim-waisted, with the easy lines of the man who is quick as well as powerful in action.
-flaxley saw mrs. pentle in the doorway. henston was with her and, because henston was with her, flaxley stepped quickly over to the door. if mr. henston had anything to say about peter he wanted to be there to hear it.
-mrs. pentle was watching peter at work.
-"he doesn't look like the same man," said mrs. pentle. "when i last saw him his jaws were set like steel, his eyes like hard lights back in his head, and his voice was rough. and his skin was like something worn raw by the beating of hammers on it. he looked like a middle-aged man then, and now--why, he doesn't look twenty-two now!"
-"he ain't much more," said flaxley.
-just then peter up-ended a big dry-goods case, ripped off a boarded side, tore away a layer of thick paper, and tossed onto a table ten feet away a bolt of cloth that mrs. pentle knew weighed fifty pounds; and he did not even bend his knees to do it.
-"a powerful brute," said henston.
-"brute?" said mrs. pentle.
-"i mean--" said henston; but mrs. pentle had stepped inside the shipping-room door.
-peter was whistling; but he had to up-end another case. it took a little effort, this one, and he stopped his whistling.
-"when peter takes to heavin' in earnest they generally come," said flaxley.
-while old flaxley stood there looking from peter to mrs. pentle he couldn't help thinking--much as he respected her--he couldn't help wondering if she was comparing peter to pentle that was dead and gone.
-"if she is," thought flaxley, "lord help the memory o' pentle--who was never any apoller for build and about as much blood in him as a man'd find in four pounds of excelsior packin'."
-peter was whistling again and carolling and heaving facetious comment at anybody and everybody, when he felt the silence. he looked round and saw mrs. pentle.
-"how do you do, captain?"
-peter shifted his cotton-hook from right hand to left and shook her extended hand.
-"i'm cert'nly glad to see you again, mrs. pentle."
-"how are you getting on, captain?"
-"the work is not too hard?"
-"hard?" peter smiled. "often enough i think of those fellows out on the banks turning out on a good, cold, blizzardy day in winter, mrs. pentle--turning out at four o'clock in the mornin' and goin' into a cold hold with the ice and baitin' up, so's to be ready to go over the side in the dory by the first o' the daylight. and then all day long it's heave and haul trawls, with maybe a sea that they don't know what minute'll get 'em. an' dressin' down a deck-load o' fish on top o' that afore they turn in of a night--an' maybe standin' watch in the night again, standin' to the wheel beatin' home in a nor'wester, when it's so cold you have to wear a woollen mask over your face with two holes to see through and another to breathe through, and your watch-mates have to relieve you--and you them--every six or eight minutes to keep from freezin' to death!
-"hard work, mrs. pentle!" it was too ridiculous--peter laughed aloud this time.
-"i live with my married sister, mrs. pentle, and goin' home these cold winter nights i sit down to supper, and after supper i slip into my slipshods, an' i get out my pipe, an' i spread my feet out before a nice, hot fire, in a rockin'-chair, an' the sister's six children they climb up all over me and we have one good time together. some nights i take one or two of the oldest of 'em to the movies."
-"you like children, then, captain?"
-"the man, mrs. pentle, that ain't got children is bein' cheated out o' something," said peter. "an' sittin' there after the children are put to bed, i say to myself: 'well, peter crudden, you're cert'nly one lucky dog. here's you into your warm, dry bed every night, an' work that there's about enough of to exercise you, an' no matter how the weather is--no matter about sea and wind so rough you can't fish--there's your pay-envelope every week with the same old reg'lar amount in it.'"
-"i'm glad you like it here, captain, and--i'm partners with mr. duncan in a new vessel to be named after me."
-"i hope," said peter earnestly, "that she won't shame her name--that she'll be fast an' weatherly--and always find her way back home."
-"i hope so, captain. and now--if there is anything about your work you do not like, let me know." there was a tramping of girls hurrying through the passageway. two or three were gazing curiously in from the doorway.
-"closing-up time, is it?" mrs. pentle had suddenly become nervous. "good-by." she passed out with henston.
-old flaxley looked kindly at peter. "no airs to her, peter; all men look alike to her," said old flaxley.
-"she's all right," said peter. "but as for hard work--lord!"
-and he was chuckling over that all the while he was washing up and still smiling at the thought of it when he overhauled a girl in the passageway on his way out. he said good evening politely and was hurrying by when the figure said: "good evening, captain."
-it was something in the voice that held him. he had another look--it wasn't very light in the passageway. well, if it wasn't the girl who had sold him the lunch-box!
-peter walked to the corner with her; when her car came along, it happened to be his car. she lived not very far from peter's sister. he walked to her door with her. her name was sarah hern.
-after work next day peter waited at the door of the shipping-room. when she came out of the girls' room he fell into step with her and they rode home together. sarah invited him in. peter stepped in for a minute and met sarah's mother.
-he stayed to supper. there must have been eight or nine hern boys and girls, some grown up, with a widowed mother. and they all but the mother sat down together; and the girls kept bouncing up and down, hopping back and forth between table and kitchen when things didn't come fast enough.
-peter felt as if he had known them for years; and after supper, an older brother passed peter a cigar and up-stairs in the living-room talked in a casually friendly way on baseball, prize-fighting, the big war, the latest movies. one of sarah's sisters played the piano and sarah and another sister sang. other young men called. peter was a good listener until a little brother of sarah's peeked in and finally came over by peter and shyly said:
-"won't you tell something, captain, about the big ocean?"
-peter told them a little about the big ocean, as he knew it, and stopped. he himself wanted to hear more songs--"annie laurie," or "the robert e. lee," or something like them--but they asked him to keep on. he told more--he would have told them more, in the first place, but he had no idea shore-going people, especially girls, cared much for rough fishing life. in a little while he was warmed up and going good. when he stopped this time they were all bent over and staring at him. the big brother straightened up first and pulled out his watch and said:
-"what d'y'know--i'm chairman o' the house committee down to the club, and we had a meeting scheduled for an hour and a half ago!"
-sarah sang "asthore" and "mother machree" and there was more playing. and they all had ice-cream and cake, and the older brother gave peter a great grip of the hand going; and they all asked him to call again soon and waved him good night from the doorway. and peter, walking up the street, began to think that maybe he had been sticking round his sister's too much nights.
-mrs. pentle called into the shipping-room on a tour of inspection the next day again and regularly after that; and regularly peter rode home with sarah and one night he asked her if she would go to the theatre with him. she looked so pleased that he was sorry he hadn't got his courage up sooner.
-it was to a musical show that peter took sarah. all the time he was there he felt uncomfortable--some of the people on the stage cert'nly did carry some things pretty far.
-however, it was over, and peter suggested supper at a restaurant.
-peter knew nothing of the night restaurants of the city. he picked out one he saw advertised in the theatre programme and because it also happened to be on the way to their trolley-line. he felt sarah shrink a little going in; and after he was inside and seated he wished he had paid more attention to her shrinking. but he had been too excited to notice. he had been lashed to the wheel of his vessel steering her in a living gale and not half so much excited as he was now. it wasn't just the kind of place, maybe, to bring a young girl; but they were in there now and he guessed they would weather whatever happened. he asked sarah if she would have a glass of beer or anything like that. he didn't want her to think him too slow. he was pleased when she said no.
-what would she have to eat? sarah picked up the card. "suppose we try a tarble dote?" she said.
-"all right. where is it?"
-sarah pointed it out:
-peter had a notion she was trying to save his money, and he liked her for it, but he wasn't looking to save money. he pointed out various things on the other side of the bill, picking out always the high-priced ones, but sarah shook her head. she always preferred the "tarble dote" to ordering à la carte.
-the waiter approached.
-"what to drink?" he asked briskly.
-"nothing to drink," answered peter, and, pointing out the caption, table d'hôte $1.50, said "two."
-"two what?" asked the waiter.
-"why, two of what it says--two tarble dotes."
-"and what drinks did you say?" the waiter bent a confidential ear and scratched his head with his pencil while he waited. peter looked up at the ear; then he stretched up and whispered into it:
-"ever hear of the boundin' biller, captain hanks?"
-"the boundin' biller?" well, all kinds of queer ones blow into restaurants--the waiter slewed his head round, looked at peter, put his ear down, and whispered back: "what about it?"
-and peter whispered up into the waiting ear:
-"the boundin' biller, captain hanks, she was hove flat down on th' western banks."
-"huh!" the waiter slewed his head round again to have another look, which pulled his ear out of position and forced peter to raise his voice.
-"he had the greatest ear, that captain hanks," explained peter. "he could hear a sound when no other mortal ever sailed a vessel could. he heard a steamer's whistle in a gale o' wind and fog one time, and--runnin' fair before the wind at the time he was--he jibed her over, and o' course you know what happens to a vessel that's runnin' with her main sheet to the knot an' somebody jibes her over all standin'?"
-the waiter stared with increasing doubt at peter.
-"captain hanks had nothing on you for hearing," explained peter. "i said no drinks."
-"oh, oh, excuse me! i begin to get yuh now. no drinks," and the waiter retreated and returned in silence, but with the food.
-two women on a platform, one very stout and one very thin, danced and sang; and then they half-wiggled and half-danced in and out among the tables. here and there they chucked a chin or kissed a bald head, and one, on invitation, sat on a man's knee and had a sip of wine with him.
-sarah herself was knots prettier than either of the singing girls--peter could see that--and she was dressed pretty, too. he didn't know what kind of stuff it was she was wearing, except that it was a kind of slaty sea-gray color and fitted snug. and she had a hat that was shaped like a little capsized dory and listed to starboard, just about the same list a vessel takes when she puts her scuppers under to a light breeze.
-peter, by and by, began to have a notion that sarah wasn't enjoying herself. there was a party in one of the booths--peter could not see them without turning, but he had a feeling in the back of his head that they were paying more attention to sarah than she liked. but perhaps he was wrong about it. what with the lights and the music and the dancing, he was beginning to feel like rolling out a little song himself--a little more maybe about the boundin' biller--but sarah suddenly started to draw on her gloves. and she looked tired; and peter hurried to pay the bill and tip the waiter--fifty cents. the waiter thanked him with more respect than peter would have thought was in him.
-peter was jumping up to put sarah's coat on her before his waiter could do it, when a strange waiter came over with a glass of champagne and set it on the table before sarah.
-"the gentleman wishes to know if the young lady will have a glass of wine with him."
-some joker, of course. peter smiled till he saw that sarah was looking frightened.
-"who sent it?" asked peter.
-the waiter looked over to the booth which peter had had in mind earlier. peter looked over that way. a head darted out and back into the corner of the booth. peter's eyebrows lowered and his eyes narrowed. it looked like a familiar sail.
-"did he say anything about a drink for me?" asked peter.
-the waiter started to smile and then said "no, sir," very quickly.
-peter picked up the glass delicately.
-"do you want to drink this wine, sarah?"
-"it's all right--i knew you didn't," assured peter.
-he stepped over to the booth. he was right about the man in the corner--it was henston.
-more than the shipping of goods was discussed in the shipping-room, and there was more than that glass of wine in peter's mind when he looked in on henston in the booth. there was a sales-girl who had lost her job in pentle's. it was henston who had taken advantage of his position to start her on the wrong road.
-"the young lady," said peter to henston, "don't want to drink your health."
-"too bad--she drank it before," said henston.
-peter had hard work to keep the wine from spilling.
-"if you don't believe me, ask her," said henston.
-"what's that?" peter said that to gain time to get his balance.
-"i said, ask her."
-"you--you squid, you!"
-peter whipped the glass of wine into henston's face and with that reached across for him. the two men nearest to peter in the booth stood up to stop him. peter reached a hand to the collar of each, stepped back, and brought their faces crashing together.
-"it's my fight and his--keep out, you!" said peter, and swept them back and down into their seats.
-a waiter attacked peter from behind. it took peter a few seconds to wiggle round, get the heel of his hand under the waiter's chin, and jolt him down to where, falling backward on his heels all the while, he hit solidly with the back of his head between the plump shoulders of the fat one of the singing ladies who was fervidly warbling:
-to an elderly male with a proud smile on his face.
-a little cloud of powder flew into the air above the singer; an ejaculation of shocked surprise from her lips. peter felt sorry, but didn't see how he could help her just then.
-it was henston peter wanted, and all the waiters tugging from behind warn't going to stop him. he reached across the table and took a good hold and hauled. it was like hauling a two-hundred-pound halibut over the gunnel of a dory, only he had nothing against any halibut that ever he hauled into a dory. he braced and heaved, and henston came out of his corner and over the table, and kept on coming till he was clear over the table behind peter and flat into the aisle beyond.
-"you'll have to excuse me," said peter to the diners at that table--all men; but they spoke right up, three of them, to say hurriedly:
-"it's all right; it's all right." and the other, as if to himself: "and they're scourin' the country for white hopes!"
-"stop him, some of you, before he smashes the place up!" roared a frantic man who came running up then; and two, four, six waiters piled onto peter, who, having no quarrel with them, gently shoved them off and went over to get sarah.
-a pugnacious-looking, prematurely gray-haired man stood at the café door as they were passing out. peter was wondering if he would have to fight him, too.
-the man's face--it was the cafe bouncer--broke into a sudden grin.
-"you're all right," he said. "i been watchin' that fuhler an' his crowd. an' you leave it to the manager to stick the damages onto him. you're all right, and that young lady--you take it from me, young fuhler--she's all right, too."
-sarah felt grateful to the bouncer for that tribute. she hoped that it would bring a smile to peter's face. but all the way home in the trolley there was no smile from peter; he clung grimly to his strap and stared straight at the advertising cards. at her door he only spoke to say "good night."
-"good night, peter." and then, with a little clutch at his sleeve: "you're not mad with me, peter?"
-"i'm mad with myself for makin' the show o' you that i did to-night; but when he said you'd drunk wine with him there--said it with a bunch o' people like himself listenin'--when he said that----"
-sarah's curling little hand had been reaching out for his. it came back flat to her side again.
-"i got a bad temper, sarah. it don't come out often, but it's there. and to-night, sarah, when he lied about you like that, and his crowd, and maybe others round, believin' him maybe----"
-sarah shivered. she knew now that in peter's good opinion of her lay much of what she cared for in this world. in the good opinion of some man or other lay most of what the other girls in the store cared for. always with them was the undying note--to hold and keep men's good opinion, to keep it at no matter what sacrifice of everything else.
-"what they don't know will never hurt them. a man is no better off because he knows things!" she had heard that so often; and no girl is spending eight hours a day for two years with other girls without soaking in something of what they believe--not and be human, that is.
-but she had never met a man like peter. he held her in such respect, he held all girls in such respect, that it was solemn. only the night before she had thought one time he was going to kiss her, and she had surged toward him, with her lips soft for him, but he had only said "good night" suddenly and had run off--almost--up the street.
-but peter was speaking.
-"men have to go out to fight for a living in places where the fighting, sarah, is sometimes pretty fierce. and sometimes that kind o' fighting makes 'em rough, and maybe cruel in spots. but that don't mean they're bad men. men c'n be rough sometimes, but i never knew a man--that was any good, sarah--that wanted women to have any o' men's badness. aboard a vessel we just nacherally expect every man in her will 'tend to his part o' the work, even if he loses his life sometimes 'tendin' to it. that's a man's part, an' it's what he owes to the other men aboard. an' every man has that, an' it's as much a part of him as the beard on his face. and so when there's a woman somewhere a man's countin' on, he expects just nacherally she'll hold out against all the world for him. that's her part. and when to-night, sarah, that fat-faced, lyin' brute said you'd drunk wine with him, 'twas just as much as if you'd said you liked him once--liked his kind."
-"sarah, sarah; what is it?"
-she drew away from him; for, of course, when she told him, he, that was so good himself, would never care for her again.
-"it was true what he said, peter! i did drink wine with him, and in that same place!"
-peter stood very still. and then he moved out to the curbstone, and with little tugs at his collar kept looking up at the sky. by and by he came back to the doorway.
-"i wish you hadn't, sarah; i wish you hadn't," he said, but came no nearer.
-"wish i hadn't told you?"
-"no, no; i'm glad you told me. and i know what it meant for you to tell me. i'd rather take a chance going over the side--redjacks, oilskins, and all--in a high sea after a shipmate than have to tell a girl something about myself that i know she don't want to hear. specially when i care for her--not that i'm thinkin' you care for me so much, sarah."
-the blood came back to sarah's heart. she hurried to tell him the rest.
-"i've been wanting to tell you, peter; you mustn't think me worse than i am. he used to come down to my counter and talk to me; and after a few days of that he asked me to go out with him. i was a little proud at first--to be noticed by the manager above the other girls. girls like to be made much of, peter; if it's only by a lost dog that licks their hand, they like it. i went to that place with him, after he'd asked me a dozen times, and the third time there with him i drank a glass of champagne. i wanted to know for myself what it tasted like. but i never took it with him again--nor went out with him again, because coming home in the taxi that night he tried to get fresh. a lot of men, peter, think that if a girl isn't cold and stiff in her ways she must be bad. and i kicked the door of the taxi open and left him and came home alone."
-"i'm glad you told me that. and sarah?"
-"good night, sarah."
-"you're not mad with me any more, peter?"
-"i could never stay mad with you."
-"then you must tell me you're not, peter. a girl wants to be told these things."
-her eyes were smiling up like stars through the dark of the doorway at him. he drew back her head to him and kissed her. she lay very still against him. he patted her head.
-"you'll marry me, won't you, sarah, some day?"
-"i'll ask mother. and whenever she says--will that do, peter?"
-late every winter mrs. pentle took a month's trip south. she had returned from that trip south and was making the rounds of the store. she came to the shipping-room, looked round, asked flaxley a few questions about things; and then, as she was about to go:
-"i don't see captain crudden. he is not sick?"
-"peter's gone, ma'am," said flaxley. "mr. henston and peter had words, ma'am, and peter put on his coat and walked out."
-"yes'm. but before he put on his coat he threw mr. henston into the passageway. then he went and got married," he added.
-"yes, ma'am. he surprised us, too--that is, gettin' married so quick."
-"whom did he marry?"
-"miss hern, from the notions counter."
-"hern? notions? oh--i remember her now."
-flaxley saw her cross the passageway to the rest-room and sit down on a couch. after a time she went up-stairs.
-it was after two o'clock--flaxley remembered the time very well--when mrs. pentle left the rest-room; so she must have ordered her car and gone to gloucester right away, for she was in duncan's store, according to the minutes of fred lichens, the old bookkeeper, before four o'clock.
-"is captain crudden here?" was her first question.
-"he is. he's down the wharf--ready to sail in your vessel," said mr. duncan. "shall i call him up?"
-mr. duncan hailed from the steps of the store, and peter came; but no smiling shipper's helper who looked like a boy was this peter.
-he was smiling enough, but there was already the hint in the set jaws, the wary, far-looking eyes of the master mariner, the ocean battler. her confidence ebbed; she was in an atmosphere of men's work that she could never get away from in duncan's store, and almost timidly she heard herself asking:
-"will you tell me, captain crudden, what was wrong with the work in the store? i thought you liked it."
-"nothing wrong, mrs. pentle."
-"then what, please?"
-"m-m-m." peter revolved his cloth cap on one finger but said nothing.
-"one day in the shipping-room, captain crudden, you told me what a comfort it was for a man to be home--of the joy of the easy slippers and the warm fire, of children climbing all over you--of the warm bed every night."
-"that's right; i did."
-"no more danger, no more hardship, your sure pay every week!"
-"i know; i know."
-"then why? was it the work?"
-"the work?" peter clearly smiled now.
-"haddockin' in south channel, mrs. pentle, workin' fourteen tubs--eight thousand hooks to a dory a day, an' dressin' our deckload o' fish on top o' that--three, four, yes an' five days an' nights runnin' sometimes, with no lookin' at our bunks till we filled her up--! work? i cal'late i've done more work in south channel fishin' many a day than in any ten days i ever saw in your store, mrs. pentle."
-"then why, please, captain crudden, why?"
-"why? when you went south, mrs. pentle, you left a man in your place to give orders."
-"mr. henston? what of him?"
-"him!" peter looked down at his cap, twirled it on a finger, looked at mrs. pentle, and then: "him! honest, mrs. pentle, if we had him out on the fishin'-grounds we wouldn't cut him up for bait!"
-peter went back to his vessel and mrs. pentle to her car.
-"i ordered my house opened to-day. i'll run over there," she told mr. duncan.
-it was a clear day with a fresh breeze from the west. she must have seen, when she looked, the whitecaps in the harbor as her car rolled over the road.
-john ferguson, up in his lookout, saw her car roll up to her gate. john could also see the reflection of the fresh fire in the grate in her den, the fresh pot of tea beside the window-seat. and no doubt she could see, as she sipped her tea, john ferguson through an air-port of his aerie.
-however, the celia pentle was sailing out to sea and john was entering her--celia pentle, peter crudden, master, with the date, in his book--and was reading the entry over to himself when mrs. pentle came in.
-the harbor had grown whiter under the little crests of the tossing seas, and outside the point they were rolling yet higher and higher.
-"isn't it rough weather to be sailing, john?" she asked.
-"rough? for an able fisherman and an able master and crew? no, mrs. pentle. the wind's fair, ma'am, as a man'd want for a run offshore--a great chance for peter to try the new vessel out. this time to-morrow, ma'am, and if you could listen to peter i'll bet you'd be proud to have such a wonderful vessel named after you. a new, able vessel and a new, lovely young wife--he oughter be the happy man sailin' to sea this night."
-"but his wife--won't she be lonesome, john?"
-"for her own good and peter's, i cert'nly hope so, ma'am. but she won't be lonesome for too long, ma'am. their age--an' healthy an' lovin'--they're the kind, ma'am, to have a houseful o' children. an' that'll be a good thing. many's the day an' night, out on the wide ocean there, peter'll be drivin' his vessel, thinkin' o' them children an' the mother to home, an' plannin' how he's ever goin' to kill fish enough to pay for the shoes an' their clothes an' their schoolin' an' the house rent, an' all the rest of it. many a hard night out to sea he'll be thinkin' o' that, an' it'll be that'll hold him to his work an' make a full man o' him. and the mother she'll be keepin' the home, lovin' the children an' lovin' peter that's workin' night an' day to keep 'em. i tell you, ma'am, they're the wise ones that lay their courses so that by 'n' by, whether they will or no, they got to go on with the steady drivin'."
-"look at her now, ma'am, down to the rail already an' whalin' away through it! an' there's peter--look at him--in the oilskins up by the wind'ard bitt! an'-- but there's some one callin' you, ma'am."
-it was her maid, who came running over to say that there was an urgent telephone message.
-"it is from mr. henston, madam."
-mrs. pentle nodded that she heard, but continued to look through the glasses at the celia sailing out to sea.
-"he says, madam, that the silk-buyer wishes him to go to new york for that stock of pongees, and that he is waiting for an answer to his letter before he goes."
-mrs. pentle stood at the hatch of the tower, looking down.
-"fishermen are pretty careful of what they use for bait, aren't they, john?"
-john, after consideration, said:
-"bank fishermen are maybe more careful than most, ma'am; though, when we was hard put to it, i've seen some pretty poor quality o' stuff cut up for bait."
-mrs. pentle looked down the ladder to the maid.
-"tell mr. henston there is no answer. tell him to go to new york and that, hereafter, he had better stay there and look after the silks exclusively."
-for as long as the falling darkness would allow, john saw mrs. pentle picking out the plunging course of peter's vessel through the green-white waters. and then, turning to him, she said:
-"i've been thinking that i ought to take more interest in my young girls when they marry. on the day the cruddens have a baby born to them i shall make over the celia pentle to the baby."
-for all she smiled when she said that--and in john's opinion she should 'a' been a happy woman to be able to say things like that--for all that there was what john called a melancholy in her voice and a sort of vapor in her eyes when she said it; and, looking after her making her lonesome way over to the big house with all the lighted windows, he couldn't help thinking that for all they said she was such a boss of a woman--for all that--there ought to be somebody more than a lot of butlers and maids and cooks to meet her at the door.
-there is the story of peter's stop ashore, as old man flaxley, john ferguson, and fred lichens know it. fred had to add that he couldn't see where peter's stop ashore ever hurt him any.
-"certainly," said fred, "since the baby came, he has been making fishing history in the celia!" he looked over to mr. duncan when he said that.
-mr. duncan wasn't deaf.
-"a little stop ashore never harmed anybody," retorted mr. duncan--"it's the stopping ashore too long!"
-it was fine summer weather, and john asked me how about a swordfishing trip for a change. i said all right, and we got a chance in the henriette, and went down that same morning to duncan's wharf to go aboard.
-the henriette lay ready to go to sea, and john and i stood on the string-piece and looked down on her deck and up at her mastheads. a lumper hanging around duncan's was standing near us.
-i never knew a dock lumper that couldn't tell you all about everything. "she is weak-built and pretty deep--i don't like to see them so deep," said this lumper. "and down by the head, too."
-"maybe you'd be deep if you were on'y thirteen tons net register an' thirty tons of ice in you," said john.
-i like the big fellows to go to sea in. i said so to john.
-"a big, able brute--yes, boy. but that big brute--lard gard, she'd look sweet, wouldn't she, chasin' swordfish in the shoal water south o' georges. she's a good little boat, the henriette--and a pretty name," said john.
-it was a fresh southwesterly, and a day to make a man over, as we passed on by eastern point. just to look at the young blue seas was life, and the soft salt air was a cure for whatever blue feeling a man might have had hooked into himself ashore.
-a great morning. we passed two big salt fishermen bound in. from the western banks they were, or from flemish cap, half across the ocean, maybe; and the brown rocks of cape ann must have looked to them like mother's johnny-cake on the kitchen table that sunny morning. swinging by like a pair of twins they went, flying both topsails the pair of them, but neither of them much more than flushing their scuppers to the fine fresh breeze. whoo-o-sh! fifteen hundred miles we've come from the east'ard! in the name o' heaven--we could almost hear them saying it--don't stop us!
-the sea was more than swishing through the little henriette's scuppers. our rail was good and wet as we belted across the bay, and rounding cape cod we rolled down till the solid water began to fill her lee gangway; rolled lower and lower, 'till it was solid between her lee rail and house; and those of us on her wind'ard quarter had our feet braced so we wouldn't take a slide down her high-slanting deck and overboard.
-our skipper was a driver. by and by we were rolling low enough for a buoy keg to go floating off our house and overboard astern. a fine half-barrel of a buoy keg it was--black and white painted, smooth and tight as a drum; a beauty of a buoy which by and by, at the end of a fifty-fathom warp, ought by rights to be towing after a fat swordfish; and so the skipper said. but now she was dancing atop of the swirling seas astern, and the skipper, looking astern after it and then at us, also said: "to hell with it now! buy a new one out your share--and next time some o' you'll learn to lash 'em, maybe!"
-it was a day to see pictures. from astern of us came bowling up one of the biggest and stiffest knockabouts sailing out o' gloucester. she had a bow like a bulldog's jaw; and she sent that bow smashing through the white-collared seas as if she had come out for no more than to give her ugly face a wash. stiff? she was a church on a rock.
-"there's the able lady!" said shorty. "no water sloshin' solid through her lee gangway an' washin' buoy kegs off her house--hah, john?"
-john was a newfoundlander. he told me that the earliest thing he remembered was helping bait his father's trawls on a grand banks fisherman.
-with his arms folded over the corner of the house, his chin resting on his arms, and his eyes like two razor-edges peering out between his eyelids, there wasn't much happening up to wind'ard--or leeward either--that john wasn't seeing. and it was a great day to see things; for it was a gale o' wind blowing, the sky was still clear blue, and the air was the kind to make a man over.
-a quick-acting, quick-talking, wiry little fellow was john. big bill couldn't keep up with him at all. bill's right name was not bill. nobody knew what it was; nor cared. bill was probably a better name, anyway. one peek at him as the big fellow hove himself aboard was enough for john. "will ye look at big bill!" cried john; after that no other name would fit him. "lard, lard," said john, "but i be wantin' to see the look o' that bulk of a man when he jams hisself into a bosun's chair to the masthead!"
-bill never could see anything funny in john's line of talk, and said so across the supper-table that same afternoon. breakfast was at four o'clock, dinner at half-past nine, and supper at three o'clock on the henriette. "somebody'll come along and set on you right hard some day," said bill. to which john said: "so long's 'tisn't some one o' your tonnage does the settin', i callate i c'n stand it," and then, reaching over and scooping to himself another wedge of blueberry pie: "you cert'nly do make great blueberry pie, cook."
-"not so ferry bad," said the cook.
-he was a good cook, who had followed the sea since he was fifteen. the big ports of the world--he knew them all, and when he wasn't too busy he would talk about them; though what he most liked to talk about was his blueberry patch in stoneport, where he owned a nice little white house with a simment cellar--up on the hill next the isinglass factory. he had a dog at home, a part of him skitch and the other part of him sin bernard. gardner, the milkman, owned the bernard. who owned the collie he didn't know. nobody knowed. and when those smart alecks of stoneport kids came along and tried to bemboozle those blueberry-bushes where they was hangin' in bunches as on a grapewine, why that dog-- well, he was the cleffer dog, that was all.
-he had brought a few of the blueberries aboard, he said; which we very well knew--two bushels of them charged to the ship's stores at current market rates. his blueberry pies were all right; but the blueberry stews! with dumplings! there was a cook sailed out of homburg on a barque when our cook was a cabin-boy on her, and that dumpling receipt was got out of him one night in yokohama when the old fellow had a couple of bowls of saki into him. saki and rice, yes. which was how it came about that thirty-four years later we were getting dumplings noon and night with our blueberry stew aboard the henriette. john, after maybe five hours to the masthead, would come sliding cheerily down to deck at dinner call. at the head of the forec's'le companionway he would haul up and have half a peek below. and then a sniff. a long sniff, and then a full peek. "lard gard, dumplin's!" john would say, and look sadly around and up at sea and sky.
-but so as not to hurt the cook's feelings, john, when he sat down, would take the big fork and go sounding in the blueberry stew, and soon, bright blue and beautiful, he would gaff a half-dozen of them onto his plate. and the cook, noticing it, would smile and say: "you like tem tumplings, chon?" and john would say: "this side o' fortune bay i never saw nothin' to ekal 'em." and when the cook would turn his back, john would slip them into his pocket.
-after dinner john would take the dumplings aloft, and, when big bill would take the skipper's place out at the end of the bowsprit, john would heave the dumplings at him from the masthead. sometimes he would heave a few astern at whoever happened to have the wheel. generally it was oliver at the wheel, because his eyesight was not so sharp as the others of us for seeing fish from aloft.
-oliver was the first spectacled fisherman that john had ever seen; and one day when oliver laid his glasses down, john took them up, and set them on his own nose and picked up a newspaper. and quickly removed them. "lard, lard, a swordfish she'd look like a whale in them and his sword as long's a vessel's bowsprit!"
-when oliver was not to the wheel, steve would be there. steve was a tall fellow. to give an idea of how tall he was, john would run down the deck, leap into the air and give a grab at the sky. "where me hand touched would maybe reach to his waist," john would say. steve, when he turned in, had to let his feet hang over his bunkboard and onto the locker; and when he did that john came and sat on them. steve slept in the cabin under the overhang. big bill slept under the overhang, too, in the opposite bunk. one of our pleasures was to watch bill kick his way into his bunk under the low overhang, then to tell him the skipper wanted to see him on deck, and watch him wiggle his way out. feet first he had to come. steve could do it all right, but bill--he weighed three hundred.
-on foggy nights bill turned in on the locker, with one arm and leg stretched out to keep him from rolling onto the floor. he had once been in a steamer collision, and he warn't of any notion to be sent to the bottom by no steamer collision--leastways not if he saw her comin'. and he callated to see her comin'. his last word to the next on watch on a foggy night was always: "call me soon's you see any steamer lights. an' don't wait to diskiver if it be a pote or stabbid light." on watch in a fog bill never got farther away from the fog-horn than he could make in two leaps; and he was no olympic leaper.
-with bill and steve in the cabin slept oliver and the skipper. most sword-fishermen carry an auxiliary engine to hustle after the fish in calm summer weather. the rest of us bunked in the forec's'le. she was a little creature, the henriette, and it was pretty close sleeping for'ard on a hot night. to abate the heat nights, we rigged up a wind-sail which came down the air-port forward of the foremast; which was all right till the vessel tacked. when she did, her jumbo-boom would sweep across the deck and swipe our wind-sail over the rail. when we fellows bunking forward talked of how hot it was for'ard, the cabin gang would only say: "hot? you want to come aft and soak in the gas off the engine for a few nights!"
-we cruised four days off block island without seeing a sword-fin. plenty of big sharks were loafing under the surface there, but sharks don't bring anything on the market. we stood easterly. off nantucket light-ship we picked up bob johnson of nantucket and bill jackson of maine, bill rice and tom o'brien of gloucester, the master and the norma also of gloucester, a boston schooner, the alarm, and a big, black brute of a sloop which nobody could name. tom haile was there, too--in the esther ray.
-no fish in sight that afternoon; but even so the skipper took his station in the pulpit. john, shorty, and i went aloft. john was topmost, and swung in his chair just under the truck. shorty and i were just under john. when we got tired of swinging in our chairs we could stand up, one cross-line in the small of our backs, another against our chests, and balance ourselves. when the vessel dove we could wrap our arms around the topmast and hang on. there was a swell on this morning--no crested seas, but a long, smooth, black swell, enough to send the vessel's bowsprit under every little while; and sometimes to send the pulpit atop of the bowsprit under, too.
-"but this skipper--he don't mind gettin' wet," explained shorty. "i've seen him go divin' till it was over his head in the pulpit an' he still hangin' on waitin' for fish."
-bill did not stand watch at the masthead. his eyesight was good enough, but bill's three hundred pounds climbing up the rigging four or five times a day to the masthead--the skipper said he guessed he'd take pity on the rigging. so bill stayed on deck to go in the dory, when a fish would be ironed. also he took the pulpit when the skipper came inboard to eat. the first time john saw bill go into the pulpit, he let a yell of mock terror out of him from aloft. "skipper, skipper, he's puttin' her down by the head, and lard knows she was down by the head enough before. let she go into a good head sea, she'll never come up an' we'll be lost, all hands!" which made bill turn and glare up at john; and when he did that, john hove one of the cook's bright-blue dumplings down at bill.
-that afternoon we sighted our first fish. the skipper was in the pulpit, with the pole half hitched across the pulpit rail. bill was resting his chest across the gunnel of the top dory and with half-closed eyes studying the sea to wind'ard. oliver was sitting on the wheel-box, motionless except when he moved an arm or a hand to roll a spoke or two up and down. aloft, we had not seen a sign of fish, near or far, for an hour or more.
-john let out a sharp little cry: "fish-o!" the skipper stood up and balanced his long pole. oliver straightened up at the wheel-box. bill came out of his trance, looked to us aloft and shifted his gaze to leeward. the bright, bald head of the cook shone up the forec's'le ladder. he cast a peek aloft, said "fish-h?" inquiringly, and stepped onto the deck, smoking his pipe.
-the skipper balanced his pole, but without looking down at it. his eyes were for the fish only. "hard up!" called john, and oliver sent our bow swinging into line.
-"stea-a-dy!" called john.
-the skipper was swaying from the waist. a big-boned, rangy man the skipper, more than six feet high and wide-shouldered, with a great reach and a strong-looking back. he hefted his pole--more than a week since he had ironed a swordfish--and he looked to see that the line running from his pole to a tub in the waist of the vessel was all clear. to look after that was the cook's business, and now, meeting the skipper's look: "all clear!" he sang out, and stowed his pipe in his stern pocket.
-we were within half the vessel's length of our fish when, he dived. "port!" called john. "stea-a-dy! stea-a-dy! lard, man, stea-a-dy-y!" they could not see the fish from the deck, but we at the masthead could follow his course under water.
-the fin and tail showed again. we swung around to head him off in his course. the skipper, to loosen up his waist and back muscles, was swaying from his hips.
-we were almost on the big fish. he was cruising lazily. the skipper drew back his right arm and shoulder, but fin and tail took a sudden shoot. john was in command at the masthead. "luff--luff!" called john. the vessel shot up, the skipper leaned far over the pulpit rail. fin and tail were gone from his sight, but from aloft we could follow the blue-black shadow of the body under water. suddenly the shadow turned and shot diagonally back under our bowsprit. john called a warning. the skipper rose on his toes--with that long right arm raised above and behind his head, he looked seven feet tall--and waited. we feared he was waiting too long, when whing!--a backward swoop of the arm, a downward thrust of the pole, and "gottim!" said the cook, and tossed the bight of the warp over the rail and calmly bent on a new warp for the skipper's pole. the skipper took a backward look at the flying fish; then quickly, but with never a hurry, rigged a fresh iron and line to his pole. after a man has ironed a few thousand swordfish it is probably hard to get excited over one more.
-the buoy ran round another big circle before bill caught up with it. when he did he took the buoy into the dory and began to warp in the fish, and had him alongside and was about to lance him in the head, when whir-h-h! tail and sword beat the sea white, and bill cast him loose.
-now, if john, or oliver, or shorty had ever got that fish snubbed up under the dory gunnel like that, they would have finished him. if he was as long and big around as a dory, be sure they would, or try to; but getting on to middle age was bill, and he probably had in mind a clear picture of every doryman that was ever killed swordfishing.
-bill was going after them in his own way. he'd get 'em just the same. just let that fish play hisself out. which he did after an hour or so, and then bill hauled him under the dory's quarter, and reached over and a dozen times or so drove the long lance into his head. the fish flurried around and churned white water, but the deep lance thrusts did for him at last. and then bill hitched him around the tail and waited for the vessel; and oliver, who had been having a windward eye to the dory all the time, put over to him, and the dory tackle was hooked under the tail-knot and the fish hauled in.
-a swordfish is a handsome creature when fresh caught. plump and tapering in body, with pointed head and big eyes, and his skin a lovely dripping blue-black, which had not faded hours later when he was lowered into the hold after being dressed. the cook had a fine large round of beef on top of the ice in the hold, but it had to come out on deck to make room for that first fish--which is how deep the henriette was loaded.
-he weighed perhaps three hundred pounds. a good-sized fellow. "jist the size to be lively," said bill. "and to fight--i don't take no chances with them kind."
-the iron had gone diagonally through his body amidships. it was now hanging out with six inches of the line on the under side of him. a great stroke, passing through almost two feet of solid meat and just grazing the back-bone on the way. the cook explained that he had seen the skipper drive his iron clean through the backbone and then clear through the body of bigger ones than that.
-by dark we had four good fish in, and all hands were pleased. the cook, before he turned in for the night, told us more about his blueberry patch. the skipper came below and broke in on the cook to talk about the weather. "a sea the same's if there was gasolene poured over it," said the skipper. "a clear sky, but a swell and near the horizon at sunset clouds piled up with gashes of green and purple and a hundred other shades. wind there--plenty of it--we'll see to-morrow."
-to-morrow came, but no breeze. the skipper felt put out. "i'd 'a' bet it," he said.
-that night came an ugly sunset. no oily sea this time, but a gray tossing and murmuring, and showing behind among the clouds, long deep-red streaks paralleling the horizon, and the horizon lifting up and down like it had something the matter with it, too.
-next morning nothing, or no more than what shorty said when he came down from his watch at eight o'clock. "just a good liver shaker aloft," said shorty.
-just before ten o'clock came a stirring out of the sea; but nothing much. another stirring and the skipper took a good look around, and then came in from the pulpit. he called out to us to come from the masthead. we came, and took sail off her--all but her foresail. no word was given to hurry, but there was no loafing over it. oliver, a great fellow to keep looking clean, said he guessed he'd take a chance to shave himself; and then he took another look around at sea and sky, and then he said he guessed he'd wait awhile.
-while a man would be drawing on a pair of rubber-boots it came--oh, whistling! and four hours of it followed. wind to blow a man's ears off. and rain! oh, rain! not rain in sheets--nothing so soft and easy as that; but rain which came driving in like a billion bullets at once. we could pick out where every one hit us. the wind blew maybe eighty miles an hour for four hours. and then the real thing came. for an hour or so more wind really blew. how many miles? lord knows. john said a good hundred miles. bill snorted: "a hunderd? take on'y what's above a hunderd an' you'd git a gale by itself!"
-with all the wind there was a high-running sea; and wind and sea together were driving us into shoal water. and the shoal water of georges is bad--no worse anywhere. we sounded and got ten fathoms. bad. there was nothing but to make a little more sail and get out. put jumbo and trysail to her, was the word; as we started to do that a forepeak block came away, and the halyards and block got fouled with the jib-stay aloft. the skipper sent john and me aloft to clear it.
-we went; and were lying out to get it, when we saw this sea come at us. it was a white yeast all around the vessel, but this one was a solid white, solid as marble almost. it came roaring like a mad bull at us. i took one peek at it and "hang on, john!" i yelled. i did my best to leave the print of my fingers on the steel stay with the way i hung on myself--we were both of us to the masthead and that sea was just high enough to roll over our heads. i could just see a light-green color over my head as it passed.
-as we stuck our heads through and looked at each other, john was saying something. there was a ringing in my ears. i asked him: "what? what did you say, john?"
-"you told me to hang on," said john. "to hang on! lard gard, boy, did y' think i was goin' to dive into it?"
-on deck when they saw it coming they had all jumped below and pulled the hatches after them. they began to come out now, and the skipper called for us to come down. nothing was washed from her deck. of course, everything before that had been double-lashed--dories and barrels of gasolene--before that. the skipper now ordered the bung pulled from a full barrel of gasolene. we stove one in and let the oil run out; and the seas calmed to leeward and we threw a dory to the lee rail, after lashing an empty gasolene barrel to each side of her.
-"whoever's handiest jump in!" yelled the skipper.
-big bill was handy to the dory, but he never would have made it if john hadn't stopped to push him over the gunnel from behind. shorty and oliver leaped over the other gunnel. i waited for john; but the skipper had called "more oil and another dory!" and john had turned back.
-we four--bill, shorty, oliver, and myself--were hardly in when a sea came over the vessel's deck and swept our dory away--wh-f-f! like that. she all but filled to the gunnels before we were fair away from the vessel's side, but the two empty barrels kept her from sinking. and before another sea could get a fair chance at her oliver and bill were busy bailing her, and shorty and i keeping her head to the sea with an oar astern. we looked back to the vessel, and could see them rigging up another dory and breaking out another barrel of oil.
-we kept going in our dory--none of us could say how long, whether it was one hour or four, we were all so busy--big bill and oliver with their heads down bailing her out with their sou'-westers, and shorty and i with an oar keeping her head to windward. bill and oliver had to bail pretty fast. bill kept getting out of wind and oliver's eye-glasses kept getting wet with salt water so he couldn't see out of them.
-"what d'y' want to see out of 'em for?" asks shorty. "we're here in the stern to do the seein' an' the steerin'. might's well heave your specks overboard."
-oliver hove them overboard.
-so far as our seeing went we never saw the vessel which picked us up until after she saw us. she was the esther ray and she was under a jumbo and storm trysail, working off from the shoal water and having trouble enough; but they saw us, and stood down and hailed. we made out what they said, more by their signs than by what words we heard.
-"i'll tack and come by close to looard of you!" called tom haile, her skipper; "and when i do, take your chance and come board. you'll maybe have to jump!"
-he had to watch his chance to tack. he waited maybe five minutes, both hands on the spokes, waiting and watching. and then he gave her the wheel; and when he did, it was something to look at. between seas and sky she hung for i don't know how long--maybe five seconds, maybe ten, maybe thirty seconds--between heaven and hell she hung, before she came over. and, man, when she did, she wouldn't have started a pack thread. judgment there, boy! then falling and rising, and falling again, she came down onto us. a sea lifted our dory straight for her; up we went and down--straight for her windward rail. we watched. we jumped--all but bill. he was hove aboard. the dory under us was smashed on her rail as we jumped, but we could spare the dory--we were safe aboard the esther.
-i'd been fishing mostly in big vessels before this trip, and for the first time in my life i saw a little boat stand up and take a beating. she was a few tons bigger than the henriette, but still little enough--the esther. little and deep-laden, she lay there and took it.
-little and deep-laden, yes; but, man, a stout one, too. when she was building it was tom haile himself who drove every bolt--every trenail--into her. he had seen to it that her timbers were heavy enough for a vessel four times her tonnage. believe him, a vessel the esther! a solid block of oak, yes! and like a solid block of oak she lay there, and "come on, damn you, come on and get me!" we could almost hear her saying to the big seas.
-of course, she could not do it all herself. after all, she was no five-hundred-foot steamer, that no matter how it came all you had to do was to let her lay and no harm come to her. there were the moments when it was up to the skipper and her crew. but a capable skipper on her quarter and a quick-moving, handy crew in her waist--when your vessel is well-found leave the rest of it to them! they were all there, and there on the jump when wanted. no talk, no questioning--when the word was passed the word was carried out. by seven o'clock that night the little esther had ridden out the gale in glory. to be sure, it was a thunderer of a night that followed, with seas pounding her solid little head, and perhaps the man in the peak bunk did not have a word to say about that in the morning! but with the morning--glory be!--'twas a silver sunrise and a little schooner smiling and bowing like to the baffled ocean.
-but not all the swordfishing fleet were there in the morning. bill jackson was there, and the big, ugly sloop, and we thought we could make out bill rice and tom o'brien on the horizon. but where was the norma? and the master? and bob johnson? and the alarm of boston? and our own little henriette?
-we made sail, and after a time the big sloop with the ugly bow also made sail. and we jogged back to where we had left the good fishing, and, the sea having moderated sufficiently, lookouts went aloft and the esther's skipper to the pulpit. vessels and men may be lost, but men and vessels have to keep on with the fishing just the same.
-but there were no fish to be seen. the storm had scattered them. the skipper wanted to know what somebody else thought of the storm. he ran down to speak to bill jackson.
-bill was sitting on the wheel-box whittling a piece of red cedar when we drew alongside. bill's half-bared chest seemed to be trying to burst through his undershirt, and above the shirt his seamed neck rose ruggedly. neck, arms, and chest were burned red. his beard, red in the shadows and gold in the sun, was ten days old at least. fifteen centuries ago it must have been men of bill jackson's style that left the marshes of the elbe and, sailing westward across the north sea, looted the shores of wherever they happened to beach their keels.
-"how'd you make out yesterday, bill?" asked tom.
-"rolled our sheer-poles under," said bill, "not once in a while, but reg'lar. an' not a stitch o' canvas on her to the time, nuther. an' washed over everything that warn't bolted. when i see it warn't lettin' up, i ran her under bare poles. logged eight and a half knots under bare poles. goin' some? i call it so. glad not to be lost, we were."
-"same here. i'm worried about some o' the fleet, bill."
-"some of 'em's gone, all right. i don't want to see another day like yesterday in a hurry, tom."
-"nor me, bill. a good breeze o' wind i call it, bill."
-"a damn good breeze o' wind i call it," said bill.
-"i guess by this time there's no argument 'bout it bein' a pretty good little blow," said shorty.
-we left bill jackson. the middle of the morning it was, a fine day, and, still hoping for fish, the esther's lookouts were aloft. one called out something--not fish-o!--and pointed. we looked. it was part of a drifting mast, the lower part, broken off raggedly from a foot or two above the saddle. it drifted on by.
-"a white-painted saddle," said tom haile, looking at shorty and me.
-"the henriette's saddles was painted white," said shorty. "but she ain't the only vessel with white-painted saddles."
-"that's right," said the esther's crew, "she ain't."
-a few minutes later a floating gasolene barrel drifted by, and soon another. tom haile reached out with a boat-hook and gaffed in that second barrel. there was a hole in the head of it--made by an axe. that didn't mean anything--it could have washed off the henriette's deck, off anybody's deck. the surprise would be in a barrel staying on her deck in the shoal water she was in when we left her. yes, that could be, agreed the esther's crew.
-"a yellow dory?" shorty and i asked.
-the lookout scanned the water. "a yellow dory, yes."
-the skipper put off for the yellow dory, and when he towed it back, there was the name:
-on her bow planks.
-"that's her other dory, all right," said shorty. "but they still have the vessel under them." nobody said anything to that.
-next we picked up a hatch-cover. and the hatch-cover, when we got it aboard, had a star carved on it.
-"yes, the main hatch-cover o' the henriette had a star carved on it," said shorty. "but there's plenty o' chances for her yet."
-shorty looked to see better. "if it's a watermelon, i give up--she's gone," said shorty. "they's nobody heaves a watermelon overboard to lighten a vessel."
-shorty made a flying leap into the yellow dory towing astern, and, leaning far enough out to lay the dory over on her side, he spread wide his arms and the melon floated right in over the gunnel and into his arms, and he took it to his bosom.
-big bill hurried to take the melon when shorty passed it up over the rail. "poor little henriette an' the good fellers in yer--where are yer now, i wonder?" said bill, looking down on the melon. and then he tested it for soundness. "only one soft spot where she bumped into somethin'," announced bill. he called for a knife and cut it up, and tasted a piece.
-"not a touch o' salt," he said, and passed slices of it around.
-a good-tasting melon, everybody said; and eating it on the esther's quarter we said all the good things we knew of the henriette and her skipper and crew.
-two days later the esther put into newport. we came past point judith in a night of black vapor--a bad night for big bill. he saw steamer lights all sides of him, and never went to sleep at all.
-we stood up narragansett bay in the dawn, and the cook of the esther, smoking his pipe on the deck, was the boy could tell all about the big summer houses on the bluffs. there is that about cooks--they always seem to hold more gossip than anybody else aboard a vessel. names of who owned the cottages, how many millions--and how they made the millions--was what the cook could tell us, with a few bits of flaming gossip added on.
-some big schooner-yachts from new york were anchored in newport harbor. one of them, as large again as any fresh halibutter that ever was launched--a great black-enamelled cruising schooner with a high free-board, perhaps fifteen times the tonnage of the henriette--held the eyes of all. "if we'd only had her out there the other day!" was what most of us were thinking.
-"she'd be the girl to walk us out o' shoal water in that breeze!" put in shorty. "we'd had her 'nd we'd 'a' washed her face for her!"
-"and mebbe a few o' them fancy skylights and brass rails off her deck, too," said big bill.
-"maybe. but i'd like to had her tried out, just the same."
-tied up to the other side of long wharf when we got in was tom o'brien's vessel. big bill, like a good gossip, waddled over to get the news, and soon came galloping back.
-"she's gone!" he called out, and showed us a boston paper with the report of how four men's bodies with a life-preserver marked henriette had been picked up off nantucket the day before. there was also the story in a new york paper of how a big ocean liner had been in the storm. she was six hundred foot long and bound for new york. there was a bishop aboard, and when it got too rough for the passengers, some of them wrote notes to the bishop asking him to hold a prayer-meeting in the saloon. he started to hold the prayer-meeting but it grew too rough. they had to quit.
-"and they in good deep water where they were! i wonder what they'd 'a' thought if they'd been in this little one and where she was?" said tom haile.
-"maybe they'd held the prayer-meetin' anyway, then," said shorty.
-we had come away from the henriette in only our oilskins and trousers and undershirts. tom haile and tom o'brien and a couple of fish-buyers on long wharf started a collection to get us some clothes. we took the money up thames street to some clothing dealer who was a brother moccasin to tom haile and o'brien. but belonging to the same order didn't make any difference. the clothing dealer wouldn't take a cent off.
-"not even for shipwrecked seamen?" asked o'brien.
-"being shipwrecked seamen don't make the clothes cost any less to me," said the dealer.
-"a hell of a fine brother moccasin you are!" said o'brien.
-"a fine brother moccasin yourself!" said the clothing dealer, "wantin' me to lose money on a sale."
-so we went to another place, and he happened to be a jew and not a moccasin. not that he wouldn't like to be a member of that noble order; which made o'brien and haile warm up to him, so that they forgot to argue about the price at all.
-they had to saw a foot off shorty's new pants to make them fit, and the coat came pretty low down on him; but no harm in that bill and oliver and i said. we got pretty good fits.
-they bought tickets for us and we took the train to gloucester, and then i went down to tony webber's to get a shave, and there was a young fellow in the chair next to me said to tony: "yer sh'd have been out in the breeze!"
-"what vessel?" i asked.
-"the thunderbolt," he says.
-"and what shape is she in?"
-"go down to the halibut company's wharf and see," he says.
-i did go down later. she'd lost both masts to near her deck, and her bowsprit was broken off short at the knightheads--not a thing left on her except her last coat of paint and a few twisted yarns of her lower shrouds. but, thank the lord, no men lost. they had all stayed aboard.
-"they were luckier than the hiawatha. heard about the hiawatha?" asked a man in the chair.
-"no; what about her?"
-"i had a brother on her," said this man. "she was hove down and her whole crew washed over--hove flat down and the whole crew of eight men in the water at once. six of 'em got back--first one and then another, the first of those back aboard heavin' lines to the others still overboard. two men never came back, though--pretty rough it was."
-on his own vessel, the thunderbolt, it was pretty rough sailing, and in the middle of it there was one of the crew--he'd never been off-shore fishing in his life before this--he came on deck with a life-preserver around him. "seas to our masthead," said the man off the thunderbolt, "and he comes on deck with a life-preserver. he must 'a' thought he was bein' wrecked in some swimmin'-pool in some turkish bath 'stead of old south shoal in a gale. if ever he'd got two feet from the deck of that vessel, he'd lasted 'bout two seconds--him and his life-preserver!"
-tony, the barber, was so interested in the man with the life-preserver that he gave me a fine cut on my right cheek.
-john and the skipper and steve and the cook were buried that same day in gloucester, and we all went to the funeral; and coming away from the funeral: "you goin' back fishin'?" said shorty to me.
-"no more fishin' for me," i said. and shorty and oliver, they both said never again for them, either.
-that was day before yesterday. this morning the master of the antoinette came along with shorty and oliver and asked me didn't i want to make just one more swordfishing trip while the season was on.
-i looked at shorty. he was wearing a smile and had a rose on his coat some girl had given him. "i thought you said you were through fishing, shorty?"
-"so i did," said shorty, "but a man says a lot o' things in his careless hours. i've had a couple o' good nights' sleep since."
-"and you, oliver?" i said.
-"me? well, there's a wife and an old mother up to my house, and i never read anywhere the gover'ment was paying out money to the families of fishermen who didn't want to fish any more, did you?" said oliver.
-so i said all right i'd go along, too. "what's the use--we're sea-birds," i said. "it's our home and our living--where else should we go but to sea, at the last? but have you seen big bill?"
-yes, shorty had seen big bill. he had hopes to get a job at the car-barn. "he's had two warnings, he says," said shorty, "and not to wait for a third would be foolish. he's up on main street right now with people buying drinks for him, while he tells 'em how he managed to save himself off the henriette."
-well, big bill's all right; but he's alive to-day because a better man--the same being john--shoved him into a dory when he might have gone himself instead. and big bill thinks of john only as an irresponsible young fellow who liked to play jokes with blueberry dumplings.
-the best men don't always come back from sea. four good men stayed aboard the henriette, and two of them--the skipper and john--were certainly quicker and braver than any of the others of us. the skipper could have come away first, but he didn't.
-nor john. six years i was shipmates with john and he was one good shipmate. good shipmates--they make a long cruise short, a rough sea smooth. good shipmates! you don't mind going with good shipmates alongside.
-and the antoinette, she's a sister ship to the henriette--thirteen tons net and thirty tons of ice in the hold. and that same dock lumper who never left a vessel leave duncan's without he sees her off--he says she's down by the head, too.
-a fine joy-killer, that lad.
-we're putting out in an hour. so fair wind, boy--i'm off.
-the medicine ship
-old bill green was comin' out of spiegel's caffy, meanin' a place where a man can have somethin' to eat while he's havin' a drink, an' he had folded over his arm what looked like a pretty swell coat for old bill to be wearin'.
-noticin' me, "hulloh, hiker!" says bill, an' we stroll along till we come opposite to wallie whelan's father's store on south street, where bill stops. "i do like that little whelan kid," says bill. "i wonder is he in?"
-wallie was in, an' "hulloh, hiker!" an' "how do you do, mr. green!" he says, an' comes runnin' out when he sees us.
-an' old bill says, "oh-h, driftin' by--driftin' by," an' spreads out to the air the coat he's carryin' on his arm. all wrinkled up it was, like somebody's slept in it, but a pretty swell coat just the same, like the kind hackmen wear to a funeral or a weddin' with a stovepipe hat. there's a pocket in one o' the coat-tails, an' old bill slides his hand into it and out comes a case, an' when he springs open the case there's a shiny black pipe.
-"well, well," says bill, lookin' at the pipe like he was wonderin' how it come there.
-"where did y' ever get that fine pipe, mr. green?" asks wallie.
-"oh, a souveneer, a little souveneer of other days--of days i'd 'most forgot," says bill.
-"a handsome pipe!" says wallie.
-"yes," says bill, "if on'y i had the fillin' of it once in a while!"
-"wait!" says wallie, an' rushes inside the store.
-"comanche chief, if you have any in stock!" calls out bill after him.
-mr. whelan, who's sittin' by the open winder in his office, looks out to bill an' then to the clerk an' smiles that it's all right to wallie over the top of his mornin' paper, an' wallie comes out with a plug o' comanche chief smokin' for bill an' a plug o' the same of chewin' for me.
-i bites into mine right away, but old bill looks at his pipe, an' then, sayin' he didn't know's he'd baptize it yet awhile, he reaches over an' gnaws a corner off my plug o' chewin'.
-an' wallie's dyin' to know how it come to be a souveneer pipe, but is too polite to ask, on'y he can't help havin' another look at the pipe an' noticin' the picksher of a bird on the bowl an' readin' the letters on the gold band. "hrc" he reads out, an' looks at old bill.
-"i know, i know," says old bill. "they bring me back, them initials, lad, like nothin' else could, to days that is past 'n' gone." he looks across east river over to brooklyn mournful-like, but not forgettin' to chew an' chew, 'nd bineby, when he has his jaws well oiled up, he says: "'tis many 'n' many a year ago, lad, an' me the cabin-boy an' the fav'rite o' the capt'n o' the good ship tropic zone."
-"the tropic zone! what a corkin' name for a ship!" says wallie.
-"ay, lad," says bill, "a noble name an' a noble ship, a full-rigged four-master, an' one fine day we up jibs an' yanchor an' sailed out this same yeast river an' past the battery an' down new york bay an' the jersey coast, an' on an' on, bearin' s'utherly, till we came to the land o' yunzano, which was--an' mebby is yet--down south ameriky way, an' we went ashore, me 'n; the capt'n, to call on the noble don which them same initials stands for.
-"hrc," says bill, readin' 'em off the pipe. "how well do i remember the noble don, hidalgo rodreego cazamma, who lived in r'yal splender in a most lovely an' fertyle valley. lookin' back now through the vister of my matoored manhood, i can't say's i c'n recall in all my years o' world travellin' a more entrancin' picksher than the valley o' yunzano when my capt'n 'n' me hove into it of that gorgeous april mornin'. there was a river gleamin' like silver--an' sometimes like gold 'n' copper--flowin' through that marvellous valley, an' above it rose the volkanous mountains with sides of the color of the purple neglijay shirts an' tops like the ruby scarf-pins that sometimes you see of a mornin' on the hot sports in times square. an' in that valley was forests with all the tropic trees that ever you read of, bearin' the most jul-luscious fruits--pomgrannits, cocoanuts, pineapples, limes, lemons, grapefruits, alligator-pears--any fruit ever you see to the stalls in the market was there in abundance. an' fr'm the branches o' them same trees came the most melojus birds' voices, an' the birds themselves 'd a-dazzle your eyes with the color o' their feathers. parrakeets, marrakeets, bobalinks, nightingales, an' a little red, white, 'n' blue-spotted bird the natives called an eggleeno."
-"ah-h!" says wallie, "and is that the picture on the bowl o' the pipe?"
-"the same," says bill; "done by a master hand, with the same round pop-eyes--see--an' the same wide, square-cut tail like the stern of a ferry-boat.
-"'dijjer ever in yer life, william, see anything more saliferous?' says the capt'n to me whilst we're ridin' up to the don hidalgo's house--a hashyender, they called it--longer 'n' wider than any two blocks on broadway, but not so high, with a red roof, an' walls o' solid marble, an' marble columns 'n' promenades around it, with thousands o' lofty trees liftin' their heads to the sky, an' balconies outside the winders, an' spoutin' fountains in the r'yal pam garden, which was the size mebby o' central park. it took all of a thousand servants, i should say, in pink-'n'-old-rose knee-pants, to look arter the place; an' the old don kep' a band o' musicians in a green-an'-old-gold uniform on tap all the time. the house rules there--the same engraved in silver on ivory tablets an' hung on the wall over the head o' your bed--was that if a guest woke up in the middle o' the night an' didn't feel well enough to go back to sleep, he had on'y to poke the little injun boy who slep' on a mat afore every door with his big toe an' say to him: 'boyo, some musico!' an' we did one night, an' in no time the still air was rent by the entrancin' strains of 'in the sweet by 'n' by,' which was the pop'l'ar toon o' them days, an' the one we ordered. guitars, manderlins, violins, oboes, trombones, an' cornets they had in squads, though to my mind a native instrerment called the hooloobooloo was the most truly musical of all. shaped like the bow of a ship it was, with a hundred strings to it, an' made a noise like a breeze o' wind tryin' to steal through a forest o' trees on a summer's night. 'twas ravishin'.
-"arter the fatigues of our long an' tejus voy'ge, the hashyender o' the don was a most refreshin' place to pass a few days in, but we had our business to attend to. not that the noble don would sully our ears by mentionin' the same to us. in those tropic countries the greatest insult to the stranger who happens to step in an' camp awhile with you is to ask him what's on his mind--not till he's been restin' up for at least a week. however, after six days o' restin' up, with salubrious fruits an' wines an' the most melojus concerts, my capt'n broaches the cause of why we're callin' on the don hidalgo rodreego cazamma."
-"ah-h," says wallie, "now we'll get it, hiker!"
-"yes," says bill, "now we'll have it. but, lemme see now--i must tell it so it'll be clear to your young interlecks," an' he looks hard at the pipe an' then mournful-like acrost east river toward brooklyn.
-"in them days," bill goes on at last, "no place you could go to in the whole yunnited states--the piny woods, the rocky hills an' grassy plains, no busy city fr'm the rock-bound coast o' maine to the golden shores where rolls the oregon, no sleepy hamlet between the wooded hills o' canada an' the surf-washed sands o' florida, but you'd see in big letters on the tops o' flat rocks an' the sides o' mountains, the backs o' fences an' the roofs o' barns, in the winders o' drug-stores an' the flags o' back alleys, nowhere but you'd see: yunzano swamp root, for coughs, colds, lumbago, rummatiz, gout, chilblains, cold sores, colic, bright's disease, an' liver trouble--all in high yoller letters agin black paint.
-"pints an' 'quarts in bottles, for sale at all reputable drug-stores, an' those bottles had to come all the way by sea an' fr'm the estate o' don hidalgo rodreego cazamma, who owned all the swamp-root region in yunzano. an' when it'd come on to blow an' the ship'd take to rollin', where there was no way o' tellin' till arter you'd get to port an' counted 'em how many bottles was left that wasn't busted. sometimes more'n half or three-quarters of 'em 'd be busted.
-"an' now we come to that noble benefactor o' the human race who at that time owned the string o' drug-stores painted blue 'n' green 'n' red, with cut-rate prices up 'n' down the side of every one of 'em. 'twas him owned the yunnited states rights to yunzano swamp root, an' he used to sell millions 'n' millions o' bottles of yunzano every year, an' he says: 'why do we have to have so many o' these bottles o' yunzano busted in comin'?' an' he says: 'i have it--by plutie, i have it. i'll build a special ship for carryin' my wondrous tropic medicines!' an' he does. he builds a ship 'special, an' in her he sets a great tank--oh, mebby four hundred foot long an' fifty foot wide an' deep--oh, deep as the ship was deep, and of all the ships ever i sailed in she was the deepest. 'there,' he says to my capt'n, 'spill the yunzano in there 'stead of in bottles an' we'll make millions--millions, sir!' he meant he'd make millions. an' the tropic zone was that ship, an' so it was we come, me 'n' the capt'n, to be doin' business this lovely day with the owner o' the great yunzano estate.
-'what we want, don,' says the capt'n fr'm his chair that was made of inlaid precious woods an' the horns o' th' anzello, a beeyootiful creachure like a nantelope, of which on'y one was killed every hundred years--'what we want, don,' says my capt'n--an' four liveried servants keepin' the flies 'n' other insecks off him with wavin' pam-leaves while he's talkin'--'is to take our swamp-root home in bulk.' an' the don, a man o' most majestic figger, smokin' a fourteen-inch cheroot in another chair that was inlaid all in di'monds 'n' gold, he considers the case and finally agrees to sell us enough to fill our tank, which is two million two hundred 'n' sixty thousand gallons o' yunzano at forty-two cents a gallon. an' we despatch a fleet messenger back to the ship, an' up comes the gold with forty men-at-arms o' the don guardin' it--a million dollars or so it was, an' all in the coin o' the realm--shiny ten an' twenty dollar gold pieces.
-"well, that's settled, so we goes back to the ship, ridin' our sumpter-mules in the dewy morn, an' down the gleamin' silver 'n' gold 'n' copper river comes the yunzano in the skins o' wild animals on bamboo rafts, an' while they're dumpin' it inter the tank the capt'n 'n' me, by special invitation, have a look at where the don manufactured the yunzano.
-"it was dark like the sassaparilla they served out to church picnics when it oozed first from nature's bosom, an' not till it was mixed with a native liquid called poolkey did it become th' inspirin' article o' commerce which the rocks an' fences an' druggists' winders an' the advertisin' an' sometimes the readin' columns of our american journals shouted to the public. this poolkey grew on trees, in little cups like, which all you had to do was to turn upside down an' into your mouth. it was the grandest proof to me o' the wise provisions of nature. it was a white-colored stuff, an' tasted like an equal mixture o' wood alcohol an' red flame. one part swamp root to one part poolkey made up the yunzano o' commerce that many folks preferred to tea. the poolkey kep' it fr'm spilin'. some o' the most inveterate battlers agin the demon rum we ever had, some o' the most cel'brated politicians, platform speakers, an' drug-dealers in the land, certified over their own signatures to the component parts o' yunzano an' indorsed the same highly.
-"well, our tank was fin'lly filled to the hatches with the two million two hundred 'n' sixty thousand gallons o' prime yunzano, an' when we considered the sellin'-price--pints fifty cents, quarts a dollar--quarts o' the five-to-the-gallon size--up home we felt happy to think what profits was goin' to be in this v'yage, for--but lemme see--did i say his name, the owner o' the tropic zone an' the fleet o' drug-stores?"
-"no," says wallie. "an' i was wonderin'."
-"no? well, nathaniel spiggs was his name. however, to continue our tale. there we was, our cargo all aboard an' waitin' on'y for the mornin' light to leave to sea. it was a windin', tortuss channel outer that harbor, not to be navvergated at night by no ship of our size, an' the skipper was readin' the bible in his cabin. he liked to read a few chapters afore turnin' in of a night, an' to my joy he used to invite me to sit 'n' listen to him, an' many a time in after life i'd be minded of my old skipper o' the tropic zone, an' the mem'ry of his monitions fr'm the bible was surely a great bullerk to me agin terrible temptations.
-"an' while he's sittin' there, balancin' his specks an' readin' to me, 'n' stoppin' to expound now 'n' agin where mebby my young intellergence couldn't assimmerlate it, the mate comes down 'n' salutes 'n' says: 'sir, there's some people on the beach makin' signs o' distress--on horseback.' an' the skipper, arter a few cusses, which was on'y nacheral at bein' disturbed in his pious occupation, he sets the bible back in his bunk an' goes up on deck. an' me with him.
-"an' there they are. an' behold, as we look, we see--my eyes bein' young an' marvellous sharp in them days was the fust--afar up the mountainside--to descry a band o' people ridin' wildly down to the valley an' makin' what must 'a' been all manner o' loud noises, judgin' by the way they waved their arms an' guns, on'y they was too far away to be heard. an' the capt'n gets out his night-glasses."
-"excuse me, mr. green," says wallie, "but what is a night-glass?"
-"a glass you look through at night is a night-glass. don't all the grand sea-stories speak o' night glasses?"
-"that's why i ast. but, excuse me--please go on," says wallie.
-"an' who should they turn out to be on the beach, wavin' dolorous-like signals o' distress, but the don hidalgo an'--i forget mebby to mention her afore--the don's lovely daughter! an' with them is four sumpter-mules, an' the sumpter-mules, when we goes 'n' gets 'em off in a boat, turns out to be loaded down with gold 'n' jewels. the million dollars in gold we'd brought for the yunzano water 'n' all the jewels the noble don's fam'ly has been savin' up for hundreds o' years is on the mules.
-"when we get 'em all aboard--mules 'n' all--the don explains how there's been a revverlootion in th' interior, an' how the general feeleepo balbeezo, the leader o' the revverlootionists, 'd planned to capture the hashyender o' the don, includin' his beeyoocheous daughter 'n' the gold 'n' jewels. an', on'y for a cook in the employ o' the wicked general give it away, he would. the don had cured this cook's grandmother of a vi'lent attack o' tropic fever years afore this by frequent an' liberal applications o' yunzano, an' this grandson, though he was a wild an' reckless an' dark-complected youth, who preferred to associate with evil companions, nevertheless was grateful for the don's curin' his grandmother 'n' never forgot it. an' when he overhears in the kitchen, where he's fryin' a few yoller podreedos for the general's breakfast, the general hisself tellin' of his dastardly plan to his vellay, he ups on the fav'rite war-charger o' the general's, a noble steed eighteen hands high, an' don't stop ridin', without stirrup or bridle or saddle, till he comes gallopin' in a lather o' sweat--a hundred 'n' ten miles in one night over the mountain trails--to the don an' tells him all. o' course, when later the wicked general discovers the cook's noble devotion to the don's fam'ly, he has him hung on the spot, but that's to be expected, an', the hero an' herrin' bein' saved, it don't matter.
-"'cheer up, my brave don!' says our skipper, when the don tells him the story, an' refreshes him with a drink o' vold bourbon fr'm his private stock that he kep' under lock 'n' key in his cabin. an' he has one hisself. an' then he considers, an', while he's considerin', the general balbeezo 'n' his army, who it was i'd seen ridin' down the high mountainside, they're arrived at the beach. an' they hollers acrost the harbor to us that if we didn't give up the don hidalgo an' the seenyohreeter, his daughter, an' the gold 'n' jewels, why, he, general balbeezo, regardless of possible international complercations, will bring his artillery to the beach 'n' blow us all outer water.
-"the don 'n' his daughter is tremblin' with fear, but 'fear not, fear not!' says our skipper, an' sends for the owner's son."
-"the owner's son--aboard all the time!" says wallie.
-"sure. i'd 'a' told y'about him afore," says bill, "but it wasn't time yet. he'd made the passage with us so's he could study the volkanous mountains o' yunzano, the like o' which mountains wasn't in all the world anywhere else. he was a wonderful stoodent, so abstracted in his studies that he hadn't heard a word of what we was sayin' in the cabin this night till the capt'n sent me to call him outer his room. he was sure a noble specimen o' fair young manhood to gaze upon--'twas on'y the other day i was readin' up to the yastor library of a hero in one o' the best-sellers just like him: seven foot tall 'n' three foot acrost the shoulders, an' nothin' but pale pink curls to below his shoulders, an' he no sooner steps inter the cabin now, his wonderful keen, blue-gray eyes still with the absent-minded look o' the stoodent o' science, than i could see the don's daughter, the seenyohreeter, was goin' to fall wild in love with him.
-"the capt'n explains the situation to young hennery. an' hennery thinks awhile, an' by'n'by he speaks. 'har, i have it!' he says. 'the volkaners!' an' orders h'isted up from the hold his balloon."
-"a balloon, hiker--whooh!" says wallie, an' sits closer to bill.
-"a balloon, yes. y' see, besides bein' brought up by his father to be a great chemist an' stoodent o' mountains, he was likewise professor of airology in one of our leadin' colleges. an' he fills up his balloon--the whole crew standin' by to help him pump the hot air inter it--an' then away he goes. 'in an hour, i promise you, you shall hear from me!' he says, an' we watch him soarin' 'n' soarin' 'n' soarin' till his balloon ain't no bigger than a sparrer an' higher than the large an' silvery moon.
-"an' all this time the wicked general balbeezo an' his bandit army is bringin' their guns down the mountainside 'n' preparin' to blow our ship outer water. an' by'n'by they're all ready to begin, when 'car-ra-be-ee-sss-toe!' exclaims the don--'what is that sound i hear?' i forgot to say that the last thing young hennery did afore leavin' the ship was to put in the balloon a handful o' bombs of a powerful explosive he'd invented hisself. an' the sound the don hears is the 'ruption produced when young hennery drops the first of them bombs into the craters o' the nearest volkaner. an', while we look, the air gets dark an' the moon hides, an' fr'm outer the top of one volkaner after another comes the most monstrous explosions, an' down the mountainside comes a nocean o' fiery, flamin' lavver, with billers 'n' billers o' black smoke floatin' up off it. an' soon we hears groans o' terror an' 'save us! oh, save us!' from the wicked general an' his army on the beach, an' inter the harbor they plunges with their war-horses 'n' the cannon 'n' their armer still on 'em.
-"an' onter the deck of our ship begins to fall just then a great shower o' yashes. an' we're in danger o' burnin' up 'n' suffercatin' an' wonderin' what to do next, when outer the black heavens comes hennery 'n' his balloon. an' we grabs his lines that's trailin' below him when he sails over our ship an' makes 'em fast to belayin'-pins, an' he climbs down to the deck 'n' takes charge. he's on'y eighteen year old, but wonderful beyond his years. he see what to do right away, an' runs down an' peels the yasbestos off the boilers 'n' steam-pipes in her injin-room."
-"what!" says wallie. "was she a steamer?"
-"sail 'n' steam both. sail for the hot days to make a draft 'n' keep us cool 'n' comfortable, an' steam when there was air 'n' it was cold 'n' rainy. an' young hennery makes fireproof coats 'n' boots an' hats outer the yasbestos linin' for the capt'n an' me an' the mate an' hisself, 'cause we're goin' to guard the deck agin the wicked general 'n' his army. all the others we puts below, so no danger'll come to them. an' when the bandits comes swimmin' alongside an' up over the rail from the backs o' their war-horses, we captures 'em an' take their weapons from 'em, an' then the capt'n says: 'now we got 'em, what'll we do with 'em?'
-"'o' course,' says hennery, 'it would be perfeckly proper for the crool men o' the south to kill their prisoners, but as men of the north we must show a loftier example.' so spoke up our hero nobly.
-"an', while we're ponderin' what to do, 'har,' says hennery agin, 'i have it! we will put them in the medicine-tank.'
-"'but,' says our capt'n, 'they'll spile it--your father's two million two hundred 'n' odd thousand gallons o' yunzano that we paid forty-two cents a gallon for.'
-"'an',' says young hennery spinks to that----"
-"spiggs," says wallie.
-"spiggs, i mean. 'is this the time or the place,' says heroic young hennery spiggs then, 'to be considerin' of mere money--with the lives o' human bein's at stake? what though they be viler than dogs, they are still our fellow creatures. cost what it may an' ruthless though the varlets be, save their lives i shall!' an' y' oughter seen him then, the fair scion of a noble sire, his pink hair flyin' in the southern wind, his pale eyes an' form in general expanded to twice their reg'lar dimensions by his righteous indignation, an' the beeyoocheous an' volupchous daughter o' the noble, wealthy don stickin' her head outer a hatchway to cast a nadorin' gaze upon him.
-"an' into the tank o' yunzano we flopped 'em, one by one as they come over the rail o' the tropic zone. i wouldn't want to state at this late date how many of 'em we saved from the burnin' lavver by throwin' 'em inter the tanks, but mebby three or four or five hundred souls all told. an', to keep the burnin' yashes off 'em, we makes a few yasbestos tarpaulins an' claps 'em down over the hatches o' the tank.
-"all night long we patrolled the decks shovellin' the yashes off where they fell. an' when mornin' comes an' the 'ruptions is over we take the tarpaulins off the tank, an' there was every blessed one of 'em, fr'm the general feeleepo balbeezo down to the lowest private, 'spite of all we'd done for 'em, floatin' around drowned. overcome with grief 'n' surprise we was o' course, but when we come to think it over--their endin' up that way, wi' the noble don 'n' his beeyoocheous daughter saved an' the revverlootion busted up--it sure did look like the hand o' providence was hoverin' over us.
-"and then," says old bill, borrowin' another chew from me, "arter we'd cleared out the tank of the dead revverlootionists an' the old yunzano, the don filled her up again free of charge. an' o' course hennery married the don's daughter, an' for seven days an' seven nights there was no place yuh could cast yer eyes but you'd see pillers o' smoke by day an' columns o' flame by night, an' wherever you see one o' them it meant a barbecuin' of a carload o' goats 'n' oxen 'n' pigs. 'twas nothin' but feastin' an' the givin' o' presents, an' then the bridal party embarked on the tropic zone, an' gentle tropic breezes wafted us no'therly an' westerly an' sometimes yeasterly past the shores o' panama an' peru an' brazil an' mexico an' yucatan an' the farrago islands, an' the don's own band used to sit on their camp-stools under the shadder o' the great bellyin' mains'l an' plunk their guitars an' mandolins 'n' picolettes, not forgettin' the band leader who played the most amazin' solos on the hooloobooloo. an' strange ships used to sail a hundred miles out o' their course to find out who was it was sendin' them dulcet strains acrost the cam waters. an' the bridal couple 'd be holdin' hands an' gazin' over the spanker-boom at the full moon. 'twas gorgeous an' elevatin', an' a fasset an' pipe led direct from the tank to the little kegs with brass hoops placed at frequent intervals around deck, so that whoever o' the crew wanted to could help theirselves any hour o' the day or night to a free drink o' yunzano.
-"an' thole don sits up on the poop-deck, with his hands folded acrost his stomach, an' says: 'quiscanto vascamo mirajjar,' which is yunzano for 'i am satisfied, i can now die happy.' but he didn't die--he lived to be ninety year old, an' before we arrives at new york he makes me a gift o' this pipe. o' course he made me other gifts, the don did, but this i value most of all, bein' made from wood of a rare tree from the heart o' the swamps o' yunzano. an' i'll never forget him. an' so there's the story o' my youth an' yunzano.
-"'the days of our youth are the days of our glory-- the days of old age is the time for the story--'
-so i read in a book o' poetry one time."
-"but young henry and his bride," said wallie--"what happened them later?"
-"them?" says old bill. "well, it was on'y the other day i met a nold friend o' mine who used to report prize-fights an' jail matters, but is now writin' about society matters for one of our great metropolitan journals, an' he shows me in the sunday supplement a full-page picksher, in brown ink, of a solid granite buildin' that looked like a jail but wasn't. it was the hennery spiggs home for inebriates, an' built strong like that so no one could escape from it 'n' the good that was to be done 'em. an' there was another two-page picksher, in brown ink, of hennery spiggs, our same young hero of other days, but now a noldish gentleman with whiskers under his ears an' his child an' grandchild gamblin' on the green lawn of his million-dollar newport cottage. a great philanthropist he is now, an' a leader of society, with wealth beyond the dreams of a movin'-picksher actor--all made outer yunzano. before he dies he's hopin' to see erected a fittin' monument for that world-famous chemist, that great benefactor to the cause o' humanity an' medicine, the honorable nathaniel spiggs, his father. already his best-paid foremen an' employees was bein' invited to contribute. sometimes i think o' goin' to see him."
-"you should go, of course," says wallie. "he will be glad to see you."
-"mebby so, mebby so, lad, but why should i thrust my wuthless carcass onter him? besides, the round-trip fare to newport is four dollars an' more." an' bill gazes mournful-like across east river to brooklyn, an' wallie's too polite to bust in on him, but i c'n see in his eyes where he's goin' to get four dollars some way for old bill some day to pay a visit to newport.
-an' then it comes time for wallie to hike off to school, an' he kisses his father good-by, an' says "so long, hiker!" to me, an' thanks old bill for his story.
-"it always gives me pleasure to instruct an' edify growin' youth," says old bill, lookin' after wallie goin' up south street, an' whilst he's lookin' a policeman an' a common nordinary citizen heaves into sight. an' the man looks to be excited, with a coat over one arm.
-"you take some o' these young fuhlers," says bill, "that's been drivin' a dray all his life an' invest him with a yunniform an' authority an' a club in his hand, an' two or three times more pay than ever he got before--you do that, an' i tell you there's nobody safe from 'em." an' old bill slips the pipe back into the coat-tail pocket of the coat an' leaves it on the steps, an' scoots lightly to behind barrels o' flour three high in the back o' the store.
-mr. whelan has a peek over his paper at bill passin'; but he don't say anything on'y to step to the door when the policeman an' the man come along.
-"look!" the man hollers, an' dives for the coat bill 'd left behind him. "an' look at--the pipe!" he'd hauled it out of the coat-tail pocket. "my pipe!"
-an' then the policeman says: "this gentleman this morning, mr. whelan, dropped into spiegel's after a little bat for a little nip and a----"
-"if you please," interrupts the man, "i will tell it. a short while ago"--he faces mr. whelan--"i was yunnanimously elected outer sentinel o' my lodge o' fantail pigeons. and last night a few friends, wishin' to commemorate the honor, presented me with this pipe--a fine pipe, as you can see--of ebony. and my initials, see--hrc--henry r. cotton--on the gold band. and a picture of a fantail--see--engraved on the bowl. you don't happen to be"--the man steps up to mr. whelan an' grabs an' squeezes his hand, all the while lookin' him hard in the eye--"a fantail?" when mr. whelan don't say anything, the man gives him another grip, 'most jumpin' off his feet this time to make sure it was a good one.
-"no," says mr. whelan, wrigglin' his fingers apart after the man let go of 'em--"i'm no fantail."
-"spiegel's bartender, herman," puts in the policeman, "says there was a nold bum came in an' hung his coat next to this gentleman's, an' when he went the coat went; and he must 'a' went pretty quiet, herman says, for he didn't notice him goin'. an' his description fits an old loafer who hits the free-lunch trail pretty reg'lar 'round here, an' i think i seen him loafin' around here once or twice."
-"he meant to steal that coat an' pipe," says the man.
-"if he meant to steal it," says mr. whelan, "why d' y' s'pose he left it here?"
-"why, i dunno," says the man.
-"o' course he didn't," says mr. whelan. "an', look here"--he sticks the mornin' paper under the man's nose an' says: "what do you think o' marquard holdin' the phillies down to two hits yesterday?"
-"no!" says the man; "two hits? well, say, he's some boy, hah?"
-"is he? listen to me," says the policeman, shovin' his club between them. "listen. all i gotter say is, with mattie an' jeff an' the rube goin' right, where'll them red sox fit with the giants in the world's series next month? god help 'em--that's all i gotter say."
-"the giants look like a good bet to me, too," says the man, an' soon up the street toward spiegel's the pair of 'em go, fannin' about the giants with mr. whelan.
-an' when mr. whelan is soon back alone, bill comes out from behind his flour-barrels an' with his plug o' comanche chief in his hand. "i don't s'pose yuh could swap this for chewin' o' the same brand, could yuh, mr. whelan?" he says.
-"why--you given up smokin'?" says mr. whelan.
-"how'm i goin' to smoke without a pipe?" says bill.
-"that's so," says mr. whelan, an' goes behind the counter an' pulls down a couple o' boxes of brier pipes.
-"with a middlin' good hook to the stem, if you don't mind," says bill.
-"about wallie, mr. whelan?"
-"why, bill," says mr. whelan, "when he gets back from school of course he'll get down the chart to look up all those countries you passed on the way back from yunzano, and o' course we'll have to make a correction or two in your jography."
-"o' course," says bill. "i useder have a good mem'ry once, but"--he taps his head--"gettin' old, gettin' old, mr. whelan. that coat now--it sure did look like the cut o' the coat i used to wear on the tropic zone. and the pipe!" an' old bill gazes mournful-like across east river to brooklyn, an' turns again an' says: "a good boy, your boy, mr. whelan--no evil suspicions o' people in his heart. an', as my old capt'n o' the tropic zone useder quote fr'm the bible to me: 'it's they shall inherit all there is that's wuth inheritin'.'"
-an' then bill heaved another sigh, and put on his old coat, an' went shufflin' up south street, on the side away from spiegel's.
-one wireless night
-cahalan, of the many voyages, had been reading of the latest marine near-disaster and the part played therein by the ship's wireless man; but refused to be impressed.
-"the slush the papers print sometimes!" he snorted. "here's this now about this sos fellow--all these papers trying to make out what a wonder he was, as if it took a wizard to keep pumping out three letters till somebody heard you. and a hero, too!"
-"why not--he stood by his key, didn't he?"
-"sure he did. and if you and me were wash-women we'd probably stand by our wash-tubs, wouldn't we? if there was no more danger keeping on washing than standing around doing nothing, we surely would, wouldn't we? but nobody'd think of calling us heroes for it, would they? that sos man now--if he didn't want to stand by his key he could 've jumped overboard--it was only a thousand miles to shore. so he stood by his key and eased his mind by having something to do, which, of course, makes him a hero."
-"it's a great thing just the same, the wireless."
-"sure it is and needs no fake booming, but i like to see a little brains mixed with it. there was a fellow named furlong--i ran across him first in guantanamo bay, cuba, where our battle-fleet was rondayvouing for winter drill. i had a month's pay on a fight coming off in london and was wishing i knew how it came out without waiting a week or ten days for the new york papers, when faulkner, the captain's yeoman, says: 'why don't you ask furlong, the wireless operator? he'll find out for you.'
-"but how can he?" says i.
-"you people in the deck division," says faulkner, "you're living in the past. you fellows want to come out of your sailin'-ship dreams and steam around and see what's doin' in the world. furlong'll pick it off from the cape cod station when they're gettin' it from across for the newspapers."
-"from here--from off the ship?" i asks. "why, i thought the record for picking up or sending from a ship was six or seven hundred miles."
-"maybe it is," says faulkner, "but furlong's specialty is breaking records."
-so i step up to the wireless shack to see furlong. regan, the chief signal quartermaster, was there before me. regan had a girl in brooklyn, and furlong was getting off regan's regular evening message to her about how he was still in good health and still hoped to be back in the spring and so on by wireless to a station up near new york in charge of a friend of furlong's, whose job was to pass it on to a telegraph-office in brooklyn just across the street from where the girl lived. she would have it for breakfast in the morning, and regan would have her answer to it some time during the day. a consolation to two loving hearts it was, and they doing it all winter without it costing either of them a copper.
-i looked around for a match. "here," says furlong, and spills a little alcohol from a bottle onto a copper-looking switch thing and brings down on that another copper-looking switch thing with a handle--both of 'em sticking out from the bulkhead--and out flows a blue flame six inches long and i light my cigarette, watching out not to burn the end of my nose while i'm lighting it. he had the place full of little gadgets like that.
-while we sat there he gives out all the latest news as fast as he grabs it off, not only about my fight in london, but how the ponies were running in new orleans, what congress was killing time about, which particular european country was going to war now--all the important news.
-i'm not setting up furlong for any hero, mind you, but sitting up there in his little shack on the superstructure, grabbing news like that from everywhere flying--he made a hit with me. after that if i didn't want to know any more than was there good skating in central park i'd ask furlong, and he'd dig up some station or other around new york, make the blue lights hop, clap the wireless gear to his head, and soon be telling me all about it.
-that spring i was transferred, and didn't see furlong again for two years. then it was in the east--in hong kong during the russo-japanese war, both of us paid off and both of us wondering what we'd do, but furlong not worrying much about the money end of it. he had plenty of that, enough anyway to keep him in good clothes and stop at all the good hotels he cared to for a while. and enough to stake me after i'd gone broke, too.
-in hong kong we struck in with another young fellow who was flourishing around as an american tourist, though furlong knew him for a wireless man before he'd been with him an hour, and in less than another hour knew him for the wireless operator one time on the nippon, a steamer running from our country to japan. but he never let on he knew him.
-"suppose he is playing a little game of bluff, where is it my business to show him up?"
-furlong had come to know the daughter of a purser running on a steamer, the plantagenet, between hong kong and the japanese ports, and she was pretty as you please and he taking a great shine to her; after telling the old man, mind you, that he had been an enlisted man in the united states navy and was thinking of going back home to chicago, but not telling him that his folks back home had bales of money, which would have put him in right, for the old man did like the chink of hard coin and was picking up his share on his own little graft--renting his room to rich passengers when the ship was crowded, picking up a little more change by doing a little smuggling, and probably in the pay of the jap secret service on the side.
-one evening furlong, always a sociable chap, brings his wireless friend around, and another evening, and another. pretty soon things don't seem to be running as smooth as they used to for furlong, but fine for his wireless friend. "well, that's all right, too," says furlong, "if they like him better than me."
-"but no need to give you a frost, is there?" i said.
-things kept growing cooler around the girl's house, so we made up our minds 'twas about time to get away somewhere, and war being a great place to forget your troubles, we had a look in at that. we took the russian side. we were for the japs in the beginning, but by this time nearly all our navy people in the east had swung over to the russians. why? m-m--probably because deep down inside of us we believed the russians were nearer our own kind.
-before we left hong kong i found out how furlong's wireless friend had done for him. with a few drinks in him--me buying the drinks--he gushes some confidential chatter.
-furlong was in the pay of the russian government, was what he told the foxy old purser. how else could a man so clever--talking and having so much money to spend as furlong was spending--how could he have been an enlisted man in any navy? and he showed a cable--being so easy to fix up, i wondered why he hadn't made it a wireless--that no man of furlong's father's name was living in chicago. i didn't tell that to furlong--not then. why? because to my notion he was well clear of a cheap bunch.
-later we heard she was married to the wireless chap and the pair of them living off her father. his people had lost all their money in speculation, so the young fellow told the old man; which left nothing for the old man to do but get him a job somewhere; which he did, on the plantagenet, where the wife was aboard, too--to save expenses.
-"kind of tough on her," says furlong, and maybe it was, though i couldn't see it. she only got what was coming to her. the woman that would look at furlong and not see that he rated a whole division like the other chap-- but trying to account for young women's judgment of young men and vice versa, as the old romans would say, what's the use? and if we all knew as much as we ought to there would half the time be no story, would there?
-we were both in port arthur when things were looking blue for the russians. the japs were hammering away at the forts and the place filling up with dead and wounded, and all kinds of sickness and fever flourishing, and medical and food supplies getting pretty low. they were wondering how they were going to make out, when some topsider said that if some of the sick and wounded could be got up to vladivostok it might save a good many lives and be a great relief to the rest of the garrison.
-there happened to be three transports in the harbor at this time. they had slipped by the blockade, which wasn't ever any too well kept, the mines outside being about as dangerous to the japs as to anybody else. these three ships would accommodate three thousand sick people. so they were put aboard, sick and wounded, officers and men--and women, too, some officers' wives among them.
-for a convoy to the transports the best they could detail was a battleship that had been in an engagement not long before. pretty well shot up she was and much doubt would she stand the trip to vladivostok; but she was the only one available and out we went, with furlong as her wireless operator. there being not too many good wireless men lying around just then, they counted a lot on him.
-before we left port there was a rumor flying that the japs had wind of what we were trying to do; and perhaps that was the reason why when the battleship had trouble with her machinery on our first day out she didn't put back to port arthur, but put into a little chinese harbor on the westerly side of the yellow sea. you may think the chinese officials wanted to run us out, but they didn't. maybe they saw the shadows of the future.
-we lay in there all that night, i bunking in with furlong in the wireless shack and he on watch every minute. during the night he picked up the call of a russian supply-ship--the sevastopol she was--and passed the word on to the admiral, who sent back word to tell her to wait outside till next morning and then follow on, giving her the next day's course.
-next morning we went belting across the yellow sea at eleven knots--pretty good for us--and we began to think everything was working fine, when astern, about noon, came up a smoke. furlong and i could see her without leaving the wireless shack, which on this russian battleship was on the after-bridge. she drew nearer, and something about her caught my eye. i knew i had seen her somewhere, and, getting a chance at the chief quartermaster's long glass, i took a peep, and sure enough--the plantagenet! i didn't say anything, not even when the flag-lieutenant and the executive were having a great spiel together as to her being the supply-ship which we expected was coming astern of us.
-soon a vapor comes up and the stranger fades away, and after thinking it over, i tell the flag-lieutenant what i felt sure of, and he tells the admiral, and the old man he has furlong tell the transports to come closer, and then he signals them to steam off by the right, and once more to the right, and again to the right, which brought us after half an hour or more a couple of miles astern of where we'd been when the plantagenet last showed. it was a day of shifting fog and vapor, and when we raised her again there she was still on the old course, but now directly ahead of us.
-"if she could bring about the capture of this little fleet of ours, she'd make a lot of money for her owners and officers, wouldn't she?" i says to furlong. "and that wireless friend of yours, he'll get an extra good whack, too, for they'll mostly depend on him, won't they?"
-"yes," says furlong, "but not if i can stop him."
-by and by the admiral comes into the wireless shack himself and tells furlong to see if he couldn't raise the strange ship by wireless. but he couldn't. she wouldn't answer; which made the admiral pretty mad, and with the fog lifting and we seeing her again, he trained a big gun on her but didn't fire, though for a second i thought he would--across her bow anyway.
-all that afternoon we held to our course. another night and day we hoped to make vladivostok all right, but coming on to dark our old wreck of a battleship broke down again. so the old man picked out another place to put into--on the northern part of the korean coast we were now, where the russian officers were pretty well posted and--something telling us the koreans wouldn't bother--we felt safe for the night. we all figured we had slipped the plantagenet, and so we had, maybe, only for that blessed supply-ship behind us. she had been sent a wireless not to anchor till a couple of hours after the rest of us--after dark.
-but she had one of those yap skippers who are always bound to be in the commander-in-chief's eye, and instead of sneaking in without calling attention to himself, he comes bowling along, every light aboard her blazing, and steams like a torch-light procession around the harbor. she might just as well have lit up and kept her search-lights going, for as she passed each one of us her lights were blocked off, which told to any other ship which might be watching outside just how many ships of us there were to anchor inside. that parading skipper certainly did get in the old man's eye. if the admiral's message read anything like it sounded, then that parading skipper must have felt as good as blown from a turret-gun before he turned in that night.
-later in the night the officer that in our navy we'd call the flag-lieutenant--a decent kind who talked good english, too--ordered furlong to turn in. he had been on continuous duty since we left port arthur. "you can do no more, and you are much fatigued, you require repose," says the flag-lieutenant. and furlong thought a little repose wouldn't hurt either; but before going he thought he would give one last listen for anything that might be floating around in the wireless zone.
-right away i saw that something was doing.
-"look up k k k," he says--"quick!"
-i got out the printed call-book, but no k k k there.
-"perhaps she is some new ship," says furlong, "or an old one with a plant installed since the last list was put out. quiet now--maybe i can recognize the sending." he listened; and "no"--he shook his head thoughtfully. "and yet--wait--sh-h--" he jams the head-gear harder to his ears. "well, what d'y' think o' that! it's that lobster off the old nippon--nearly two years since i've taken him."
-"yes," he says.
-"and still on the plantagenet, d'y' s'pose?"
-"must be. i know him now like i'd know his voice, or his signature. and she's not far off either--coming strong!"
-"then they must 'a' seen that supply-ship and her fool skipper parading in to-night."
-"that's what. sh-h--he's using a cipher code, and merchantmen don't use cipher codes to each other. i'll ask him what his call is."
-he makes the blue lights sputter again and listens. and in a few seconds almost jumps out of his chair. "we got him! he says he's the grand knight of the china and indian line, but last night while i was sitting here doing nothing i raised the grand knight--she was in formosa strait then and bound south. but i'll give him ok, and see what he does then." which he did, and waited another while.
-the plantagenet kept pumping away, calling the cipher letter over and over, furlong said--he listening in and trying to dope things out. by and by he made up his mind she must be trying to raise some plant ashore, probably a station on the japanese coast in touch with togo's fleet. "if we could only get on to her cipher," says furlong; and, after another thinking spell: "it's sure to be something made up in a hurry. and i don't believe that nippon chap's got overmuch invention. here, look here, cahalan. three-quarters of all quick-made codes are one way, when it's an amateur makes 'em up in a hurry--it's mostly to push letters forward or back three or four or five or ten places. here, get to work with this pad and pencil."
-i take the plantagenet's right call--p g--and slips them forward and back, and sure enough seven letters forward gives him w n, the same she'd been sending with the k k k. when i'd got that far furlong, listening hard, said she'd got an answer and was giving her position--ten miles southeast of hai-po bay, which was the little place we were laying into.
-furlong kept spelling out the letters as he caught them, and i kept putting them down and pushing them forward seven till it read: russian-battle-ship-and-three-trans-ports-are--just that far when bing! furlong breaks in and begins to send--nothing particular, but everything he could think of. every minute or so he'd let up, only to hear another operator--the k k k one--calling excitedly.
-"he wants to get off the rest of that message about us," said furlong, and lets the plantagenet start another letter or two and then breaks in again. and he kept at it with never a let-up for maybe an hour, when he notices signs of weakness in our current and sends word to the flag-lieutenant, who goes below and pretty soon comes up with the admiral to the shack.
-"for how long can you restrain the plantagenet from sending that message?" asks the admiral.
-"no telling, sir," says furlong, "but not for a great while. i've had to pump it in so fast trying to break their waves that i'm afraid i'll soon burn out our plant."
-to break up their waves furlong had to keep giving them all he had, and of course something had to give way. what i know of a wireless outfit wouldn't rate me heavy in a wireless fleet, but the rotary converter or something like it became so hot that furlong said he'd have to have an electric fan to cool it. "and get it quick!" he calls out after me.
-the first fan i spotted was in an officer's room that none of us admired much. he was a man who would rate a man higher for tying his neckerchief right than for laying a turret-gun on the target at twelve thousand yards. he was getting ready to turn in. it was a hot night and i knew he'd have trouble trying to sleep without a fan, his room being where it was--near the engine-room ladder--and orders being that all air-ports be kept closed that night.
-of course, he didn't want to give up his fan. i didn't waste any time on him--only to say to the flag-lieutenant that it was just the class of fan that furlong ordered, and the flag-lieutenant tells the officer--still kicking he was--that he'd get an order from the admiral if he desired. on reflection, the officer didn't think a special order from the admiral was necessary, and in a minute or two i was pumping nice cold air on the converter with the fan.
-then the brush-holders and the brushes kept getting out of adjustment or something. they were too light to carry the extra current. before this furlong had passed the word to the chief electrician, and he had switched on juice enough to run a central office plant ashore. we fixed up the brushes, and everything was doing fine, i thought, when all at once furlong looks across the table and says: "o, lord! the condenser-plates!"
-i never knew before i was shipmates with any such gadgets, but i look around and there are four glass plates about an inch thick and a foot and a half across that the current was boring through.
-"sure enough!" i says--"the condenser-plates going to hell. what'll i do with them?"
-"find out if there are any thick sheets of glass in the storeroom," says furlong.
-i thinks of a young officer, the freshest one ever, who had an ancestor related to peter the great, and an uncle or granduncle or grandmother or somebody or other in the family who was even then a general. now, of course, there's no great harm in talking a little about your family, but when you begin to think it gives you a rating to ride over other people! and the living ancestor was such an old granny of a general, according to all accounts, and the dead one such an old robber! "mr. kaminoff, sir, has a specially powerful fan," says i to the flag-lieutenant.
-"yes--o yes--true!" says the flag-lieutenant and bounces down to mr. kaminoff's quarters himself, and kaminoff didn't know what happened till he found himself gulping down big gobs of darkness by way of getting his breath. it was a hell of a hot night, and nobody less than a four-striper would have dared to leave his port open that night, because kaminoffskis or romanoffskis, the old man made them all toe the mark when he gave out an order.
-the illustrious kaminoff howled around some in the dark, but nobody minded him now the powers were sitting on him. when he came out on the gun-deck in his silk pajamas to get the air, he probably wished he was an ordinary seaman without any ancestry and owned a hammock to swing to a couple of hooks somewhere.
-by letting that second fan play onto the glass plates they stayed cool for a time. but only for a time. by and by they showed signs of melting again. and the flag-lieutenant, deliberating on the possibility of the plantagenet getting her message away and the probability of the jap fleet bearing down on them if he did get it away, he sends a man down to the chief engineer to ask again how long before we could get up steam.
-maybe two hours, said the chief engineer, and furlong said he'd try to hold out for two hours more.
-but we were getting in a new mess every ten minutes. the keys weren't heavy enough to stand the continuous pounding under the current furlong was giving 'em. one set of points was already burned off--he had to ship new keys. then it was back to the new condenser-plates, which didn't seem to be of the best quality of glass and were beginning to fuse worse than the old ones. they were going fast and furlong was puzzled--for a while. then--"tallow!" he hollers, and away hustles the flag-lieutenant for the paymaster, who was already turned in and sound asleep 'spite of the heat, for he had a good fan in his room--being the paymaster. he was shook up, broke out the stores, and four condenser-plates of tallow were moulded; but as soon as furlong sees what kind of tallow it was, he says they couldn't be made to work without they were coated with tin-foil or something like it.
-"tin-foil? but where shall we obtain tin-foil?" says the flag-lieutenant. "have you no tin-foil?" says he to the paymaster, who said no, he had no such item in his lists.
-"there's a lot of tobacco in the canteen and a couple of hundred cases of tea below," says furlong to the flag-lieutenant.
-"o yes, the tobacco and the tea!" says the flag-lieutenant, and they send down three or four husky lads to break out the commissary yeoman, or whatever his rating was, out of his hammock. you could hear him yelling clear up on the superstructure when they landed him onto the deck, for by this time half of the ship's crew began to guess that something was going on, and whoever could get near enough to lay hands on that commissary yeoman was helping to hustle him along to his shack.
-"ganavitch! ganavitch!" he kept saying, or something like that; and the flag-lieutenant sent up to furlong to ask, now they had him, what was he to do?
-"break out your tobacco and your tea!" yells furlong, who, with the receiver strapped to his head and the fingers of one hand pounding the key and the other motioning me to hurry on the thrilling messages which i was reading from the back pages of an american magazine:
-the - forty - horse - power - camarac - is - the - machine - how - about - c. b. & q. - corsets - to - pinch - in - your - shape - send - for - our - latest - catalogue - with - illustrations - add - an - inch - to - your - height - why - be - poor - the - best - abana - cigars - two - dollars - the - hundred - observe - that - curve - use - the - instantaneous - safety - razor - no - honing - no - strapping----
-for some time before this i'd seen how foolish it was to be straining your brain inventing messages to send when there they lay ready printed to your hand, and so 'twas:
---pneumatic - soap - she - floats - why - pay - rent - don't - you - think - uneeda - wash - write - us - for - free - sample----
-i kept calling it out and furlong kept banging it away on the key.
-the flag-lieutenant sticks his head in. "what shall the commissary yeoman do with the tobacco and the tea?"
-furlong hollers to tear out the tin-foil and bring it up to him. they brought it up, and a couple of slavs, who had been working the tallow into the shape of condensing-plates--helped out by two electric fans and a stream of ice-water playing on them--they wrap the tin-foil around the tallow plates.
-"mould some more!" yells furlong--"and keep mouldin' 'em!"
-as fast as one set would melt, out they'd ship another. there was plenty of tallow--those russian ships they're greasy with tallow--and dozens of cases of tobacco and lord knows how many boxes of tea. it was a stirring sight below, with a dozen or so wild slavs in their underclothes smashing things open with axes and tobacco and tea flying around regardless. every blessed russian that had a samovar and could get hold of hot water begins to make tea. there must have been a division of them sitting around between decks--at two in the morning--drinking hot tea and sweating like horses, for it was hotter than--oh, but it was hot that night!
-"more tallow plates!" yells furlong.
-they had a carpenter's mate drafted below, a finlander with a good eye, and he was cutting out swell plates with a chisel, and as fast as he did they would wrap them in the tin-foil and the two slavs would squeeze them into place.
-sure-enough sea-going condensing-plates those tallow inventions of furlong's were, and they did the business till the chief engineer reported he had steam up, and we started to put out. "and now," says the flag-lieutenant to furlong, "your noble exertions are to be rewarded. you shall see how we shall catch that plantagenet ship!"
-"and a good job," i says to furlong. "i hope they blow her out of water when they do get her." which sets him to studying.
-"say, cahalan," he asks, "you don't suppose they'd do that?"
-"they'd have to prove she sent the wireless messages. even i couldn't prove that any man aboard her ever sent a wireless message," says furlong, "let alone that they sent any to the japs about us."
-"no matter," i says. "everybody aboard here believes she did. and you know she did. and if you'd seen those wild slavs prancing around between decks awhile ago, i bet you some of 'em wouldn't wait too long to slip out a torpedo surreptishus-like from the torpedo chamber."
-furlong lays down his head-gear and ponders awhile. "if i thought there was any danger--say, cahalan--suppose his wife--the wireless chap's--is aboard, as she probably is?" he reaches for the key.
-"what're you goin' to do now?" i asks.
-"i'm going," he says, "if those home-made, unpatented tallow condenser-plates will hold for just one more charge--i'm going to tell the plantagenet that a russian battle fleet is headin' her way and for her to steam to the south'ard about as fast as she can go and to keep on steaming."
-he fills the bird-cage gadjet with green and blue flashes again and kept filling it till the tallow plates melted into a pool of grease.
-the pool of grease hardened into a flat cone of tallow on the deck. "did you get it away?" i asks him.
-"we'll soon see," he says.
-when we made steam and got well outside, all we saw, far down on the horizon, was a streak of black smoke going wide open to the south'ard. the admiral let her go--with that start and she good for twenty-one knots he had to. and while we were watching, up comes the commissary yeoman to complain to the flag-lieutenant. when he came to put the tobacco back in the boxes there was sixty-four plugs shy and thirteen more had bites out of them.
-the flag-lieutenant said he did not see how he could help the commissary yeoman; and then, being pretty tired, we turned in.
-when we woke up we were at anchor in vladivostok.
-they thought furlong was all right after that, and wanted him to start right in and overhaul a wireless plant in their yard ashore. he could be an officer if he desired, they said.
-"what d'y'think of it, cahalan?" he says.
-"they're good people, the russians," i said, "and i like 'em. but i like my own people better, and i will not. i'm going back home."
-"and me," he says.
-and we did, or back to the nearest thing to it--a cruiser of our own which happened to be to anchor in chee foo.
-dan magee: white hope
-that night in the forec's'le tom was telling them how he got the word of the jeffries-johnson fight.
-"i sights her smoke to the west'ard, the sun just risin'. but it came to me that mebbe a great steamer like her wouldn't like it to be held up by a couple o' grand bank trawlers in a dory, an' i mentions that to jack there, but jack says: 'you know how they all want to know aboard the vessel, 'specially the cook.'"
-the cook looked up to say dejectedly: "i'd ha' forgiven you."
-"jack handed me his oil jacket for a signal o' distress, an' i lashes it to the blade of an oar an' lashes th' oar to a for'ard thwart an' sits down an' waits.
-"along she comes, an' she cert'nly was the grand sight comin'. the len'th an' height of her, and a wave to her bow an' stern would swamp a dory! an' her bridge! miles away 'twas high as some flyin' thing. on she comes a-roarin'--twenty-six knots, no less. an' almost atop of us she stops. an' i looks up at her, an' a gold-braided lad in blue he leans over the side rail o' th' bridge an' he says: 'what's wrong with you chaps?'
-"an' i looks up an' says: 'who won?'
-"an' he says: 'what d'y'mean--who won?'
-"an' i says: 'god, man! where you been the last few days ashore? who won th' fight?'
-"a couple other gold-braided lads 'd joined the first, an' behind them four or five rail-polishers was bobbin' up an' down. an' then came a fat-whiskered lad an' bustles all the others out o' his way, an' one o' the others hands him a little megaphone, an' he leans over the rail an' he says: 'you yankee beggars, do i understand that you're holdin' up a ship of our class, and we, bearin' the roy'l mails, to ask who won a bloody prize-fight?'
-"an' i says: 'ferget y'ur class an' y'ur roy'l mails--who won th' fight?'
-"there was a couple o' hundred o' passengers mebbe by this time along the top rail--men an' women, in night-dresses an' bath-robes the women, the men in chinese trousers they looked like to me. an' a lad in a blue one of 'em he sings out: 'there's sporting blood for you!' an' he grabs another lad in a pink one an' says: 'look--those two down there want to know who won the fight'; an' then sings out to us: 'say, you're all right, you two?' an' just then the whiskered one on the bridge, he sings out--what was it he said, jack?"
-jack quoted: "'will the first-cabin passengers understand that i am thoroughly capable of carrying on all the necessary conversation with these people in regard to this matter?'"
-"an' i was gettin' mad, an' i says: 'to blazes with y'ur nessary conversation, you pot-bellied loafer--who won th' fight?' an' at that the passenger that'd first butted in he makes a megaphone of his hands an' he sings out: 'johnson!'
-"'johnson?' i says--'johnson?' an' reaches back to find somethin' t' heave at him. i was goin' to heave a cod at him, but jack says: 'don't waste that on him,' an' digs me out an old gray hake, an' i holds it by the tail an' i says: 'say, you, you in the blue chinese trousers, who'd you say won?' an' he says: 'why, johnson.'
-"'you glue-eyed squid!' i says, an' scales th' old hake up at him, an' he dodges, but his chum in pink he didn't have time an' it ketches him fair, an' 'what in thunder's that thing!' he yells, an' takes to hoppin' up an' down an' wipin' the hake scales off his chin.
-"an' the lad in blue sings out: 'say, you, you oughter be in a big league with that arm o' yours,' an' he rushes inside the house an' comes out with a bunch of papers twisted together an' throws 'em over the side, an' jack an' me we picks 'em up an' smooths 'em out on a thwart, an' there 'twas in letters six inches high--black letters, too--'johnson wins!' an' that's them the cook's readin' to himself now."
-tom stopped, and he who was called professor said: "no doubt you would have wagered all you possessed if you had been home instead of out here."
-"i wouldn't 'a' minded that. but jeffries licked by a nigger! what's the white race comin' to? say--say, but i wisht good old john l. in his prime'd been there to reno--or dan magee."
-there were two, both of course new to the vessel, who before this night had never heard of dan magee. one being from fortune bay, tom was expecting no better of him; but the other (and he called professor because of his book learning), and living in boston, in boston where they used to nourish champion fighters!
-"but there is no record of a dan magee who was a heavyweight champion," argued professor.
-"a good thing for a lot of 'em there ain't," snapped tom. "johnson!!--johnson!--johnson----"
-"i bet twenty to fifteen on jeffries before we left gloucester." this was from the cook, who, having read all about the fight, was now mixing a pan of bread, with his sad eyes directed to a deck beam. "yes, twenty to-- cæsar zippicus!" he brought his fist down bff! in the lump of dough. "and i left ten more--i just remember--with billy mills to bet for me at the same odds."
-professor, lying in a lower bunk, took the trouble to roll over and say: "and why did you do that?"
-"why? why?" the cook glared at the lower bunk. "you people-- caesar zippicus!" and, raising the bread pan high above his head, he brought it down smash atop of the galley-locker. whang!
-the cook looked ashamed. "i just remember i left another twenty with jerry mccarty to place on jeffries, too," he explained.
-"never mind, cook," said tom, "you wouldn't 'a' lost nothing if it'd been dan magee."
-"to blazes with you and dan magee!" whooped the cook.
-"and that's what i says, too, cook." this was from fortune bay. "i been hearin' more o' dan magee this night! it's dan magee this an' dan magee that. and what did ever the man do?"
-"do?" tom held a reverential hand high. "a book wouldn't tell th' half dan did. where's jack?"
-"too bad--if jack ferris wasn't aft playin' cribbage with the skipper in the cabin, you'd hear a few things more of dan magee. but he'll be for'ard by'n'by for his turnin'-in mug-up, an' then----"
-and by and by jack came. "they're castin' doubt on dan magee," declared tom to his dorymate. "tell him about the time he licked th' seven p'licemen in saint johns or about that time in soorey."
-jack glanced at the clock.
-"there might be time for the soorey fight. we were chasing mackerel," upon the occasion of the eldest brother's seventieth birthday, both vivian and nathan stood at the outer gate of cadworthy and welcomed humphrey when he alighted off his semi-blind pony.
-years sat lightly on the farmer. he was a man of huge girth and height above the average. he had a red moon face, with a great fleshy jowl set in white whiskers. his brow was broad and low; his small, pig-like eyes twinkled with kindliness. it was a favourite jest with him that he weighed within a stone or two as much as his brothers put together.
-they shook hands and went in, while mark and rupert took the ponies. the three brothers all wore sunday black; and vivian had a yellow tie on that made disharmony with the crimson of his great cheeks. this mountain of a man walked between the others, and nathan came to his ear and humphrey did not reach his shoulder. the last looked a mere shadow beside his brother.
-"seventy year to-day, and have moved two ton of sacks--a hundredweight to the sack--'twixt breaksis and noon. and never felt better than this minute," he told them.
-"'tis folly, all the same--this heavy work that you delight in," declared nathan. "i'm sure humphrey's of my mind. you oughtn't to do such a lot of young man's work. 'tis foolish and quite uncalled for."
-"the young men can't do it, maybe," said humphrey. "vivian be three men rolled into one--with the strength of three for all his threescore and ten years. but you're in the right. he's too old for these deeds. there's no call for weight-lifting and all this sweating labour, though he is such a mighty man of his hands still."
-mr. baskerville of cadworthy laughed.
-"you be such brainy blids--the pair of you--that you haven't got no patience with me and my schoolboy fun. but, then, i never had no intellects like you--all ran into muscle and bone. and 'tis my pleasure to show the young generation what strength be. the reverend masterman preached from a very onusual text sunday, 'there were giants in those days,' it was--or some such words, if my memory serves me. and rupert and may, as were along with me, said as surely i belonged to the giant race!"
-he laughed with a loud, simple explosion of ingenuous merriment, and led the way to the parlour.
-there his wife, in black silk, welcomed her brothers-in-law and received their congratulations. humphrey fumbled at a parcel which he produced from his breast. he untied the string, wound it up, and put it into his pocket.
-"'tis a book as i heard well spoken of," he said. "there's only one book for you and me, i believe, vivian; but an old man as i know came by this, and he said 'twas light in his darkness; so i went and bought a copy for you by way of something to mark the day. very like 'tis all rubbish, and if so you can throw it behind the fire."
-"sermons, and good ones without a doubt," answered the farmer. "i'm very fond of sermons, and i'll lay on to 'em without delay and let you know what i think. not that my opinion of such a thing do count; but i can tell to a hair if they'm within the meaning of scripture, and that be all that matters. and thank you kindly, i'm sure."
-"tom gollop's got terrible down-daunted about mr. masterman," said nathan. "he says that your parson is a radical, and will bring down dreadful things on the parish."
-"old fool," answered humphrey. "'tis just what we want, within the meaning of reason, to have a few of the cobwebs swept away."
-"but you're a radical too, and all for sweeping away," argued his eldest brother doubtfully.
-"i'm for folly and nonsense being swept away, certainly. i'm for all this cant about humility and our duty to our superiors being swept away. i hate to see chaps pulling their hair to other men no better than themselves, and all that knock-kneed, servile rubbish."
-nathan felt this to be a challenge.
-"we take off our hats to the blood in a man's veins, if 'tis blue enough--not to the man."
-"and hate the man all the time, maybe--and so act a lie when we cap to him and pretend what isn't true."
-"you go too far," declared nathan.
-"i say that we hate anything that's stronger than we are," continued his brother. "we hate brains that's stronger than our own, or pockets that's deeper. the only folk that we smile upon honestly be those we reckon greater fools than ourselves."
-vivian laughed loud at this.
-"what a sharp tongue the man hath!" he exclaimed. "but he's wrong, for all that. for if i only smiled at them who had less brains than myself, i should go glum from morn till night."
-"don't say it, father!" cried his wife. "too humble-minded you be, and always will be."
-"'tis only a very wise man that knows himself for a fool, all the same," declared nathan. "as for humphrey here, maybe 'tis because men hate brains bigger than their own, as he says, that he hasn't got a larger circle of friends himself. we all know he's the cleverest man among us."
-humphrey was about to speak again, but restrained the inclination and turned to his nieces who now appeared.
-polly lacked character and existed as the right hand of her mother; but may took physically after vivian, and represented his first joy and the apple of his eye. she was a girl of great breadth and bulk every way. the beauty of youth still belonged to her clean white and red face, and her yellow hair was magnificent; but it required no prophet to foretell that poor may, when her present colt-like life of physical activity decreased, must swiftly grow too vast for her own comfort or the temptation of the average lover.
-the youngest of the family--his uncle humphrey's namesake--followed his sisters. he was a brown boy, well set up and shy. of all men he feared the elder humphrey most. now he shook hands evasively.
-"don't stare at the ceiling and the floor, but look me in the eyes. i hate a chap as glances athwart his nose like that," said the master of hawk house. whereat the lesser humphrey scowled and flushed. then he braced himself for the ordeal and stared steadily into his uncle's eyes.
-the duel lasted full two minutes, and the boy's father laughed and applauded him. at last young humphrey's eyes fell.
-"that's better," said humphrey the elder. "you learn to keep your gaze on the eyes of other people, my lad, if you want to know the truth about 'em. a voice will teach you a lot, but the eyes are the book for me--eh, nathan?"
-"no doubt there's a deal in that."
-"and if 'twas followed, perhaps we shouldn't take our hats off to certain people quite so often as we do," added humphrey, harking back to the old grievance. "what's the good of being respectful to those you don't respect and ought not to respect?"
-"the man's hungry!" said vivian. "'tis starvation making him so crusty and so clever. come now, ban't dinner ready?"
-mrs. baskerville had departed and polly with her.
-"hurry 'em up," cried vivian, and his youngest son hastened to do so.
-meantime nathan, who was also hungry, and who also desired to display agility of mind before his elder brother, resumed the argument with humphrey and answered his last question.
-"because we've everything to gain by being civil, and nought to gain by being otherwise, as things are nowadays. civility costs nothing and the rich expect it of the poor, and gentle expect it of simple. why not? you can't mar them by being rude; but you can mar yourself. 'the golden rule for a pushing man is to be well thought upon.' that's what our father used to say. and it's sound sense, if you ask me. of course, i'm not speaking for us, but for the younger generation, and if they can prosper by tact and civility to their betters, why not? we like the younger and humbler people to be civil to us; then why shouldn't they be civil to parson and squire?"
-"how if parson be no good, and squire a drinker or a rascal?"
-"that's neither here nor there. 'tis their calling and rank and the weight behind 'em."
-"trash!" said humphrey sourly. "let every man be weighed in his own balance and show himself what he is. that's what i demand. why should we pretend and give people the credit of what they stand for, if they don't stand for it?"
-"for a lot of reasons----" began nathan; then the boy humphrey returned to say that dinner was ready.
-they sat down, and through the steam that rose from a dish of ducks humphrey looked at nathan and spoke.
-"what reasons?" he said. "for your credit's sake you can't leave it there."
-"if you will have it, you will have it--though this isn't the time or place; but vivian must blame you, not me. life's largely a game of make-believe and pretence, and, right or wrong, we've got to suffer it. we should all be no better than lonely monkeys or red indians, if we didn't pretend a bit more than we meant and say a bit more than we'd swear to. monkeys don't pretend, and what's the result? they've all gone under."
-they wrangled until the food was on the plates, then vivian, who had been puffing out his cheeks, rolling his eyes and showing uneasiness in other ways, displayed a sudden irritability.
-"god damn it!" he cried. "let's have no more of this! be the meal to be sarved with no sauce but all this blasted nonsense? get the drink, rupert."
-nathan expressed instant regret and strove to lift the tone of the company. but the cloud did not pass so easily. vivian himself soon forgot the incident; his children and his wife found it difficult. the young people, indeed, maintained a very dogged taciturnity and only talked among themselves in subdued tones. may and polly waited upon the rest between the intervals of their own meal. they changed the dishes and went to and from the kitchen. rupert and his youngest brother helped them, but ned did not.
-some cheerfulness returned with the beer, and even humphrey baskerville strove to assist the general jollity; but he lacked the power. his mind was of the discomfortable sort that cannot suffer opinions, believed erroneous, to pass unchallenged. sometimes he expressed no more than doubt; sometimes he dissented forcibly to nathan's generalities. but after vivian's heat at the beginning of the entertainment, his brother from 'the white thorn' was cautious, and took care to raise no more dust of controversy.
-the talk ran on the new vicar, and the master of cadworthy spoke well of him.
-"an understanding man, and for my part, though i can't pretend to like new things, yet i ban't going to quarrel for nothing. and if he likes to put the boys in surplices and make the maidens sit with the congregation, i don't see no great harm. they can sing praises to god wi' their noses to the east just so easy as they can facing north."
-"as one outside and after a different persuasion, i can look on impartial," declared nathan. "and i think with you both that masterman is a useful and promising man. as for gollop, he's the sort that can't see further than the end of the parish, and don't want to do so."
-"for why? he'd tell you there's nought beyond," said humphrey. "he foxes himself to think that the world can go on without change. he fancies that he alone of us all be a solid lighthouse, stuck up to watch the waves roll by. 'tis a sign of a terrible weak intellect to think that everybody's changeable but ourselves, and that we only be the ones that know no shadow of changing. yet i've seen many such men--with a cheerful conceit of themselves too."
-"there's lots like that--common as blackberries in my bar," declared nathan. "old fellows most times, that reckon they are the only steadfast creatures left on earth, while everybody else be like feathers blown about in a gale of change."
-"every mortal man and woman be bound to change," answered his brother. "'tis the law of nature. i'd give nought for a man of hard and fast opinions. such stand high and dry behind the times."
-but vivian would not allow this.
-"no, no, humphrey; that won't do. if us wasn't fixed and firm, the world couldn't go on."
-"vivian means we must have a lever of solid opinions to lift our load in the world," explained nathan. "of course, no grown man wants to be flying to a new thing every day of his life, like the young people do."
-"the lever's the bible," declared humphrey. "i've nought to do with any man who goes beyond that; but, outside that, there's a margin for change as the world grows, and 'tis vain to run your life away from the new facts the wise men find out."
-"i don't hold with you," declared vivian. "at such a gait us would never use the same soap or wear the same clothes two years together. if you'm going to run your life by the newspapers, you'm in the same case with the chaps and the donkey in the fable. what father believed and held to, i shall believe and hold to; for he was a better man than me and knowed a lot more."
-humphrey shook his head.
-"if we all thought so, the world would stand still," he replied. "'tis the very argument pushed in the papers to-day about teaching the young people. 'tis said they must be taught just what their parents want for 'm to be taught. and who knows best, i should like to know--the parents and guardians, as have finished their learning years ago and be miles behind-hand in their knowledge, or the schoolmasters and mistresses as be up to date in their larning and full of the latest things put into books? there's no standing still with the world any more than there's standing still with the sun. it can't be. law's against it."
-"we must have change," admitted nathan.
-"for sure we must. 'tis the only way to keep sweet--like water running forward. if you block it in a pond, it goes stagnant; and if you block your brains, they rot."
-but there was yet a duty to perform, and nathan rose and whispered in humphrey's ear.
-"i think the time's come for drinking his health. it must be done. will you propose it?"
-his brother answered aloud.
-"nathan wants for me to propose your good health, vivian. but i ban't going to. that sort of thing isn't in my line. i wish you nought but well, and there's an end on't."
-"then i'll say a word," declared the innkeeper, returning to his place. "fill your glasses--just a drop more, hester, you must drink--isn't it to your own husband? and i say here, in this family party, that 'tis a proud and a happy thing to have for the head of the family such a man as our brother--your husband, hester; and your father, you boys and girls. long may he be spared to stand up among us and set us a good example of what's brave and comely in man; long may he be spared, i say, and from my heart i bless him for a good brother and husband and father, and wish him many happy returns of his birthday. my love and honour to you, vivian!"
-they all rose and spoke after the custom of the clan.
-"my love and honour to you, brother," said humphrey.
-"my love and honour to you, vivian baskerville," said his wife.
-"love and honour to you, father," murmured the boys and girls.
-and mark said, "love and honour to you, uncle."
-there was a gulching of liquor in the silence that followed, and mr. baskerville's little eyes twinkled.
-"you silly folk!" he said. "god knows there's small need of this. but thank you all--wife, children, brothers, and nephew. i be getting up home to my tether's end now, and can't look with certainty for over and above another ten birthdays or thereabouts; but such as come we'll keep together, if it pleases you. and if you be drinking, then here's to you all at a breath--to you all, not forgetting my son nathan that's sailing on the sea."
-"i'll write to nat and tell him every blessed word of it, and what we've had for dinner and all," said may.
-the company grew hilarious and nathan, leaving them, went to the trap that had brought him from shaugh prior and returned with a bottle.
-"'tis a pretty cordial," he said, "and a thimbleful all round will steady what's gone and warm our hearts. not but what they'm warm enough already."
-the liquor was broached and all drank but humphrey.
-"enough's as good as a feast. and you can saddle my pony, mark. i'm going home now. i'm glad to have been here to-day; but i'm going now."
-they pressed him to remain, but he judged the invitation to be half-hearted. however, he was tranquil and amiable at leave-taking. to rupert he even extended an invitation.
-rupert was the only one of his brother's family for whom he even pretended regard.
-"you can come and see me when you've got the time," he said. "i'll go for a walk along with you and hear what you have to say."
-then he rode off, but mark stopped and finished the day with his cousins.
-he talked to rupert and, with secret excitement, heard the opinions of may and polly on the subject of cora lintern.
-a very glowing and genial atmosphere settled over cadworthy after the departure of humphrey baskerville. even the nervous mark consented to sing a song or two. the musical traditions of the baskervilles had reawakened in him, and on rare occasions he favoured his friends with old ballads. but in church he never sang, and often only went there to ring the tenor bell.
-mr. nathan also rendered certain comic songs, and may played the aged piano. then there was dancing and dust and noise, and presently the meal called 'high tea.' hester baskerville protested at last against her brother-in-law's absurdities, for everybody began to roll about and ache with laughter; but he challenged her criticism.
-"clever though you all are," he said, "no woman that ever i met was clever enough to play the fool. 'tis only the male creature can accomplish that."
-"no woman ever wanted to, i should hope," she answered; and he retorted triumphantly--
-"there you are! there's my argument in a nutshell!"
-she was puzzled.
-"what d'you mean by that?" she asked, and, from the standpoint of his nimble wit, he roared.
-"there you are again!" he said. "i can't explain; but the lack in you be summed in the question."
-"you'm a hopeless case," she said. "we all laugh at you, and yet couldn't for the life of us tell what on earth 'tis we be laughing at."
-"that's the very highest art and practice of playing the fool!" he told them.
-where wigmore down descends in mighty shoulders clad with oak, there meet the rivers plym and mew, after their diverse journeyings on dartmoor. the first roars wild and broken from its cradle aloft on the midmost waste, and falls with thunder under cadworthy and beneath the dewerstone; the other, as becomes a stream that has run through peaceful valleys by bridges and the hamlets of men, shall be found to wander with more gentle current before she passes into the throbbing bosom of her sister. above them, on a day in early summer, the hill ascended washed with light, spread hugely for the pomp of the leaf.
-from plym beneath, flashing arrowy under their lowermost branches, to the granite tonsure of the hill above, ten thousand trees ascended in a shining raiment of all greens--a garment that fitted close to the contours of each winding ridge, sharp cleeve, and uplifted knoll of the elevation that they covered. lustrous and shimmering, this forest garb exhibited every vernal tint that nature knows, for upon a prevalent, triumphant fabric of golden-green were cast particular jewels and patterns; against the oaken undertones, where they spread a dappled verdure of amber and carmine, there sprang the tardy ash, shone the rowan's brightness, sparkled the whitethorn at river's brink, and rose the emerald pavilions of the larch. beeches thrust their diaphanous foliage in veils athwart the shadows; here a patchwork of blue firs added new harmonies to the hill; here the glittering birch reflected light from every tiny leaf; and here the holly's sobriety was broken by inflorescence and infant foliage, young and bright.
-the forest spread its new-born leaves under a still, grey evening, upon which, suddenly, the sun thrust through before it sank. shafts of light, falling from west to east upon the planes of the woods, struck out a path of sudden glory along the pine-tops and thrust down in rain of red gold even to the river's face; while on dewerstone's self, where it towered above the trees and broke the green with grey, this gracious light briefly brooded and flashed genial into dark crevices and hidden nests of birds.
-the great rock falls by abrupt acclivity to the water; it towers with pinnacle and peak aloft. planted in the side of the forest it stands veined, scarred; it is fretted with many colours, cut and torn into all manner of fantastic shapes by work of roots and rain, by centuries of storm and the chisel of the lightning. bedded here, with ivy on its front, the smile of evening for a crown, and the forest like a green sea breaking in foam of leaves around it, the water stone stood. night was already come upon its eaves and cornices; from its feet ascended musical thunder of plym in a riot of rocks; and aloft, clashing, echoing and re-echoing from scarp and precipice, there rang the cheerful chiming music of unnumbered jackdaws, who made these crags their home.
-mark baskerville, descending into the valley from shaugh, beheld this scene with understanding. he had been well educated; he was sentimental; he regarded wild nature in a manner rare amid those born and bred upon her bosom. beauty did not find him indifferent; old legends gave him joy. he knew the folk-tales of the land and dwelt upon them still with pleasure--an instinct surviving from boyhood, and deliberately suffered to survive. he loved the emotion of awe and cultivated it; he led a life from choice much secluded; he had walked hitherto blind, in so far as women were concerned; but now a woman had entered his life, and nature shone glorified throughout by the experience.
-mark was in love with cora lintern; yet this prime fact did not lessen his regard for the earth and the old stories concerning it. he found the things that were good aforetime still good, but changed. his emotions were all sharpened and intensified. his strength was stronger; his weakness was weaker than of yore. she was never out of his thoughts; she made the sunlight warmer, the bird's song sweeter, the night more wonderful. he woke and found himself brave enough to approach her in the deep, small hours of morning; but with dawn came fear, and with day his courage melted. by night also he made rhymes that seemed beautiful to him and brought moisture to his eyes; but when the sun came and he repeated his stumbling periods, he blushed at them and banished them.
-she was friendly and not averse; but she was clever, and had many friends among young men. nathan baskerville rejoiced in her, and often foretold a notable match for cora. what mark could offer seemed very little to mark himself. his father, indeed, was reputed rich; but life at hawk house revealed no sign of it. they lived hard, and humphrey baskerville affected a frugality that would have been unusual in the homes of humbler people.
-humphrey had often told his son that he did not know how to spend money; and as for mark, until the present, he had shared his father's indifference and been well content. but he felt that cora might be fond of money; and he was glad sometimes that his father spent so little; because, if all went well, there must surely come a time when he would be able to rejoice cora with great riches. the obstacle, however, he felt to be himself. his distrust of himself was morbid; the folk said that he was frightened of his own voice, and only spoke through the tenor bell of st. edward's.
-now he descended into the shadows of the valley and moved along the brink of plym, seeking for certain young wood, ripe for cutting. presently mark found what he sought, but made no immediate effort to begin work. he flung down a frail which contained a bill-hook and saw. then he sat upon a rock overhanging the river and buried himself in his own thoughts.
-a path wound beside the stream, and along it sauntered suddenly the maiden of this man's dream. she looked fair enough and moved in deep apparent unconsciousness of any human presence.
-but her ignorance was simulated. she had seen young baskerville pass over the hill; she had known his destination, and by a detour she had entered the valley from below.
-now she started and exhibited astonishment.
-"mark! whoever would have thought----! what be you doing here all alone like this--and you not a fisherman?"
-he stammered, and grew pale.
-"fancy meeting; and i might ask what brought you, cora?"
-"oh, just a silly fondness for the river and the trees and my own thoughts. i like being about among the wild things, though i dare say you won't believe it."
-"of course, i'll believe it--gladly too. don't i like being about among 'em better than anything else? i'm very pleased to meet you, i'm sure. there's no lovelier bit of the river than here."
-"dewerstone do look fine to-night," she said, glancing up at the crags above them.
-"it does, then. the water stone i always call it, since i read in a book that that was what it meant. 'tis the great stone by the water, you see. have you ever heard tell of the black hunter, cora? but perhaps you don't hold with such old wife's tales?"
-she put him at his ease and assured him that she loved ancient fables and liked to go on believing them, despite her better knowledge.
-"just the same as me!" he cried eagerly. "the very thing i do. how wonderful you should feel the same! i know 'tis rubbish, yet i let it go sadly. i'd believe in the pixies, if i could!"
-"who was the black hunter, if you don't mind telling me?" she asked. "i'll sit here a bit afore i go on, if it won't be to hinder you."
-"proud i am, i'm sure," he said. "and as for him, the black hunter, that's no more than another name for the devil himself. 'twas thought that he'd come here by night with his great, bellowing, red-eyed dogs, and go forth to hunt souls. a coal-black horse he rode; but sometimes he'd set out afoot, for 'tis well remembered how once in the deep snow, on a winter morn, human footprints, along with hoofmarks, were traced to the top of the hill, but not down again!"
-"the devil flew away with somebody?"
-"so the old story says. but i like the thought of the little heath hounds better. for they hunt and harry old nick's self. they are the spirits of the young children who die before they are baptised; and the legend hath it that they win to heaven soon or late by hunting the prince of darkness. 'tis the children that we bury with maimed rites upon 'chrisomers' hill' in the churchyard. they put that poor woman who killed herself in the same place, because the old parson wouldn't read 'sure and certain hope' over her."
-but cora was not interested in his conversation, though she pretended to be. she endeavoured to turn speech into a more personal road.
-"what have you come here for? i hadn't any idea you ever took walks alone."
-"i take hundreds--terrible poor hand at neighbouring with people, i am--like my father. but i'm here to work--getting handles for tools. there's no wood for light tools like alder. you know the old rhyme--
-'when aller's leaf is so big as a penny, the stick will wear so tough as any.'
-that's true enough, for i've proved it."
-"set to work and i'll watch you, if i may."
-"proud, i'm sure. and i'll see you home after. but there's no haste. i was thinking that bare, dark corner in the garden at undershaugh might do very nice for ferns--if you'd care----?"
-"the very thing! how kind to think of it. i love the garden and the flowers. but none else cares about them. d'you think you could get me one of they king ferns? but i suppose that would be too much to ask."
-"i'll get you more than one."
-"i'll try to plant 'em then, but i'm not very clever."
-"i'll come and make a bit of a rockery myself, if--if you like."
-"'like!" i should love it. but 'tis very good of you to bother about a stupid girl."
-"don't you say that. far, far from stupid. never was a cleverer girl, i'm sure."
-she shook her head and talked about the ferns. then she became personal.
-"i've always felt somehow with you; but i suppose it ban't maidenly to say such things--but i've always felt as you understood me, mark."
-"ah!" he said. "and as for me, i've felt--god, he knows what i've felt."
-the man broke off, and she smiled at him and dropped her eyes. she knew the thing that shared his heart with her, and now spoke of it.
-"and through you i've got to love tenor bell almost as much as you do. of a sunday the day isn't complete till i've heard the beautiful note of your bell and thought of you at the rope. i always somehow think of you when i hear that bell; and i think of the bell when i see you! ban't that strange?"
-"'tis your wonderful quick mind, and you couldn't say anything to please me better."
-"i wanted to ask you about the bells. i'm so ignorant; but i thought, if 'twasn't silly of me, i'd ask you about 'em. i suppose they'm awful difficult to ring?"
-"not a bit. only wants steady practice. the whole business is little understood, but 'tis simple enough. i've gone into it all from the beginning, and i'm glad--very glad--you care about it. the first thing is for a ring of bells to be in harmony with itself, and founders ought to be free to make 'em so. the bells are never better than when they are broken out of the moulds, and every touch of the lathe, or chip of the chisel, is music lost. the thickness of the sound-bow should be one-thirteenth of the diameter, you must know; but modern bells are made for cheapness. long in the waist and high in the shoulder they should be for true fineness of sound; but they cast 'em with short waists and flat shoulders now. 'tis easier to hang and ring them so; but they don't give the same music. my tenor is a wonderful good bell--a maiden bell, as we say--one cast true, that has never had a chip at the sound-bow. 'i call the quick to church and dead to grave,' is her motto. a pennington bell she is, and no bell-founder ever cast a better. every year makes her sweeter, for there's nothing improves bell-metal like time."
-"i suppose it wouldn't be possible for me actually to see the bells?"
-"it can be done and shall be," he promised. then he went off again.
-"i've been in nearly every bell-cot and bell-turret in devonshire, one time and another, and i've took a hand in change-ringing far and wide; but our ring of six, for its size and weight, can't be beat in the county, and there's no sweeter tenor that i've heard than mine. and i'm very hopeful that mr. masterman will take my advice and have our wheels and gear looked to, and the bell-chamber cleaned out. 'tis the home of birds, and the nest litter lies feet deep up there. the ladder's all rotten too. we ought to have stays and slides; and our ropes are a bit too heavy, and lack tuftings for the sally. i'm hopeful he'll have a care for these things."
-he prattled on, for it was his subject and always loosed his tongue. she was bored to death, but from time to time, when he feared that he wearied her, she assured him that her interest did not wane and was only less than his own. he showed unusual excitement at this meeting, was lifted out of himself, and talked until grey gloaming sank over the valley and the jackdaws were silent. then cora started up and declared that she must return home quickly.
-"listening to you has made me forget all about the time and everything," she said. "they'll wonder whatever has befallen me."
-"i'll see you home," he answered. "'tis my fault you'll be late, and i must take the blame."
-"and i've kept you from your work, i'm afraid."
-"that's no matter at all. to-morrow will do just as well for the alder."
-he rose and walked beside her. she asked him to help her at one place in the wood, and her cool, firm hand thrilled him. once or twice he thought to take this noble opportunity and utter the thing in his heart; but he could not bring himself to do it. then, at her gate, he left her, and they exchanged many assurances of mutual thanks and obligation. he promised to bring the ferns in three days' time, and undertook to spend an evening with the linterns, build the rockery, and stay to supper with the family afterwards.
-he walked home treading on air, with his mind full of hope and happiness. cora had never been so close as on this day; she had never vouchsafed such an intimate glimpse of her beautiful spirit before. each word, each look seemed to bring her nearer; and yet, when he reflected on his own imperfections, a wave of doubt swept coldly over him. he supped in silence, but, after the meal, he confessed the thoughts in his mind.
-"never broke a twig this evening," he said. "was just going to begin, when who should come along but cora lintern."
-"has she forgiven parson for turning her out of the choir? can't practise that side-glance at the men no more now."
-"she's not that sort, father."
-"not with a face like hers? that girl would rather go hungry than without admiration and flattering. a little peacock, and so vain as one."
-"you're wrong there. i'll swear it. she's very different to what you reckon. why, this very evening, there she was under the water stone all alone--walking along by herself just for love of the place. often goes there, she tells me."
-"very surprised to find you there--eh?"
-"that she was. and somehow i got talking--such a silent man as me most times. but i found myself chattering about the bells and one thing and another. we've got a lot more in common than you might think."
-mr. baskerville smoked and looked into the fire.
-"well, don't be in a hurry. i'm not against marriage for the young men. but bide your time, till you've got more understanding of women."
-"i'll never find another like her. i'm sure she'd please you, father."
-"you'll be rich in a small way, as the world goes, presently. remember, she knows that as well as you do."
-"she never speaks of money. just so simple and easily pleased as i am myself, for that matter. she loves natural things--just the things you care about yourself."
-"and very much interested in tenor bell, no doubt?"
-"how did you guess that? but 'tis perfectly true. she is; and she said a very kind thing that was very hopeful to me to hear. she said that the bell always put her in mind of me, and i always put her in mind of the bell."
-"i wonder! and did you tell her what was writ on the bell?"
-"yes, i did, father."
-"and d'you know what she thought?"
-mark shook his head.
-"she thought that the sooner it called you and her to church together, and the sooner it called me to my grave, the pleasanter life would look for her hard eyes."
-"father! 'tis cruel and unjust to say such things."
-"haven't i seen her there o' sundays ever since she growed up? there's nought tells you more about people than their ways in church. as bright as a bee and smart and shining; but hard--hard as the nether millstone, that woman's heart. have a care of her; that's all i'll say to you."
-"i hope to god you'll know her better some day, father."
-"and i hope you will, my lad; and i'll use your strong words too, and hope to god you'll know her better afore 'tis too late."
-"this is cruel, and i'm bitter sorry to hear you say it," answered the young man, rising. then he went out and left his father alone.
-elsewhere phyllis lintern had eagerly inquired of cora as to the interview with the bellringer.
-the girls shared many secrets and were close friends. they knew unconsciously that their brother was more to the mother than were they. heathman adored mrs. lintern and never wearied of showing it; but for his sisters he cared little, and they felt no interest in him.
-now phyllis sympathised with cora's ambitions and romances.
-"how was it?" she asked. "i warrant you brought him to the scratch!"
-"'tis all right," declared her sister. "'tis so good as done. the word was on his tongue coming up-along in the dimpsy; but it stuck in his throat. i know the signs well enough. however, 'twill slip out pretty soon, i reckon. he's a good sort, though fidgety, but he's gotten lovely eyes. i'll wake him up and smarten him up, too--presently."
-when man builds a house on dartmoor, he plants trees to protect it. sometimes they perish; sometimes they endure to shield his dwelling from the riotous and seldom-sleeping winds. round the abode of humphrey baskerville stood beech and pine. a solid old house lurked beneath, like a bear in its grove. people likened its face to the master's--the grey, worn, tar-pitched roof to his hair, and the small windows on either side of the door to his eyes. a few apple trees were in the garden, and currant and gooseberry bushes prospered indifferent well beneath them. rhubarb and a row of elders also flourished here. the latter were permitted to exist for their fruit, and of the berries mrs. susan hacker, humphrey's widowed housekeeper, made medicinal preparations supposed to possess value.
-hawk house lay under a tor, and behind it the land towered to a stony waste that culminated in wild masses of piled granite, where the rowan grew and the vixen laid her cubs. from this spot one might take a bird's-eye survey of humphrey baskerville's domain. gold lichens had fastened on the roof, and the folk conceited that since there was no more room in the old man's house for his money, it began to ooze out through the tiles.
-humphrey himself now sat on a favourite stone aloft and surveyed his possessions and the scene around them. it was his custom in fair weather to spend many hours sequestered upon the tor. dwarf oaks grew in the clitters, and he marked the passage of the time by their activity, by the coming of migrant birds, by the appearance of the infant foxes and by other natural signs and tokens. beneath hawk house there subtended a great furze-clad space flanked with woods. the rut, as it was called, fell away to farms and fertile fields, and terminated in a glen through which the little torry river passed upon her way to plym. cann wood fringed the neighbouring heights, and far away to the south laira's lake extended and plymouth appeared--faint, grey, glittering under a gauze of smoke.
-the tor itself was loved by hawks and stoats, crows and foxes. not a few people, familiar with the fact that humphrey here took his solitary walks and kept long vigils, would affirm that he held a sort of converse with these predatory things and learned from them their winged and four-footed cunning. his sympathy, indeed, was with fox and hawk rather than with hunter and hound. he admitted it, but in no sense of companionship with craft did he interest himself in the wild creatures. he made no fatuous imputation of cruelty to the hawk, or cunning to the fox. his bent of mind, none the less, inclined him to admire their singlehanded fight for life against long odds; and thus he, too, fell into fallacy; but his opinion took a practical turn and was not swiftly shattered, as such emotions are apt to be, when the pitied outlaw offers to the sentimental spectator a personal taste of his quality.
-if a hawk stooped above his chickens, he felt a sort of contempt for the screaming, flying fowls--let the hawk help itself if it could--and did not run for his gun. indeed, he had no gun. as men said of this or that obstinate ancient that he had never travelled in a train, so they affirmed, concerning humphrey baskerville, that he had never in his life fired a gun.
-he sat and smoked a wooden pipe and reflected on the puzzles of his days. he knew that he was held in little esteem, but that had never troubled him. his inquiring spirit rose above his fellow-creatures; and he prided himself upon the fact, and did not see that just in this particular of a flight too lofty did he fail of the landmarks and sure ground he sought.
-a discontent, in substance very distinguished and noble, imbued his consciousness. he was still seeking solace out of life and a way that should lead to rest. but he could not find it. he was in arms on the wrong road. he missed the fundamental fact that from humanity and service arise not only the first duties of life, but also the highest rewards that life can offer. he had little desire towards his fellow-creatures. his mind appeared to magnify their deficiencies and weakness. he was ungenerous in his interpretation of motives. mankind awoke his highest impatience. he sneered at his own shortcomings daily, and had no more mercy for the manifold disabilities of human nature in general. in the light of his religion and his learning, he conceived that man should be by many degrees a nobler and a wiser thing than he found him; and this conclusion awoke impatience and a fiery aversion. he groped therefore in a blind alley, for as yet service of man had not brought its revelation to his spirit, or opened the portals of content. he failed to perceive that the man who lives rationally for men, with all thereby involved in his duty to himself, is justifying his own existence to the limit of human capacity.
-instead, he fulfilled obligations to his particular god with all his might, and supposed this rule of conduct embraced every necessity. he despised his neighbour, but he despised himself also. thus he was logical, but such a rule of conduct left him lonely. hence it came about that darkness clothed him like a garment, and that his kind shunned him, and cared not to consider him.
-he sat silent and motionless. his gift of stillness had often won some little intimate glimpse of nature, and it did so now. a fox went by him at close quarters. it passed absorbed in its own affairs, incautious and without fear. then suddenly it saw him, braced its muscles and slipped away like a streak of cinnamon light through the stones.
-it made for the dwarf oaks beneath the head of the tor, and the watcher saw its red stern rise and its white-tipped brush jerk this way and that as it leapt from boulder to boulder. a big and powerful fox--so humphrey perceived; one that had doubtless stood before hounds in his time, and would again.
-arrived at the confines of the wood, the brute hurried himself no more; but rested awhile and, with a sort of highwayman insolence, surveyed the object of alarm. then it disappeared, and the man smiled to himself and was glad that he had seen this particular neighbour.
-at the poultry-house far below, moved mrs. hacker. viewed from this elevation she presented nothing but a sun-bonnet and a great white square of apron. she wore black, and her bust disappeared seen thus far away, though her capacious person might be noted at a mile. susan hacker was florid, taciturn, and staunch to her master. if she had a hero, it was mr. baskerville; and if she had an antipathy, miss eliza gollop stood for that repugnance.
-of susan it might be said that she was honest and not honest. in her case, though, she would have scorned to take a crust; she listened at doors. to steal a spoon was beyond her power; but to steal information not intended for her ears did not outrage her moral sense. her rare triumphs were concerned with humphrey's ragged wardrobe; and when she could prevail with him to buy a new suit of clothes, or burn an old one, she felt the day had justified itself.
-now, through the clitters beneath him, there ascended a man, and humphrey prepared to meet his nephew. he had marked rupert speak with mrs. hacker and seen her point to the tor. it pleased the uncle that this youth should sometimes call unasked upon him, for he rated rupert as the sanest and usefulest of his kindred. in a sense rupert pleased humphrey better than his own son did. a vague instinct to poetry and sentiment and things of abstract beauty, which belonged as an ingredient to mark's character, found no echo in his father's breast.
-"i be come to eat my dinner along with you and fetch a message for mark," began the young man. "mr. masterman's meeting, to tell everybody about the play, will be held in the parish room early next month, and parson specially wants you and mark to be there. there's an idea of reviving some old-fangled customs. i dare say 'tis a very good idea, and there will be plenty to lend a hand; but i doubt whether mark will dress up and spout poetry for him--any more than i would."
-"he means to perform 'st. george' next christmas and invite the countryside," said mr. baskerville. "well, one man's meat is another man's poison. he's young and energetic. he'll carry it through somehow with such material as lies about him. the maidens will all want to be in it, no doubt."
-"i think 'tis foolery, uncle."
-"then what's the good of trying?"
-"the man must earn his money."
-"fancy coming to a dead-alive hole like this! why, even jack head from trowlesworthy--him as works for mr. luscombe--even he laughs at shaugh."
-"he's a rare radical, is head. 'tis the likes of him the upper people don't want to teach to read or to think--for fear of pickling a rod for themselves. but head will be thinking. he's made so. i like him."
-"he laughed at me for one," said rupert; "and though i laughed back, i smarted under his tongue. he says for a young and strapping chap like me to stop at cadworthy doing labourer's work for my father, be a poor-spirited and even a shameful thing. he says i ought to blush to follow a plough or move muck, with the learning i've learnt. of course, 'tis a small, mean life, in a manner of speaking, for a man of energy as loves work like i do."
-mr. baskerville scratched his head with the mouthpiece of his pipe, and surveyed rupert for some time without speaking.
-then he rose, sniffed the air, and buttoned up his coat.
-"we'll walk a bit and i'll show you something," he said.
-they set out over shaugh moor and rupert proceeded.
-"i do feel rather down on my luck, somehow--especially about milly luscombe. it don't seem right or fair exactly--as if providence wasn't on my side."
-"don't bleat that nonsensical stuff," said his uncle. "you're the sort that cry out to providence if you fall into a bed of nettles--instead of getting up quick and looking for a dock-leaf. time to cry to providence when you're in a fix you can't get out of single-handed. if you begin at your time of life, and all about nothing too, belike 'twill come to be like the cry of 'wolf, wolf!' and then, when you really do get into trouble and holloa out, providence won't heed."
-"milly luscombe's not a small thing, anyway. how can i go on digging and delving while father withstands me and won't hear a word about her?"
-"she's too good for you."
-"i know it; but she don't think so, thank the lord."
-"your father's a man that moves in a groove. maybe you go safer that way; but not further. the beaten track be his motto. he married late in life, and it worked very well; so it follows to his narrow mind that late in life is the right and only time to marry."
-"i wish you'd tell him that you hold with milly and think a lot of her. father has a great opinion of your cleverness, i'm sure."
-"not he! 'tis your uncle nathan that he sets store by. quite natural that he should. he's a much cleverer man than me, and knows a lot more about human nature. see how well all folk speak of him. can't you get him your side? your father would soon give ear to you if uncle nathan approved."
-"'tis an idea. and uncle nat certainly be kind always. i might try and get him to do something. he's very friendly with mr. saul luscombe, milly's uncle."
-"how does luscombe view it?"
-"he'll be glad to have milly off his hands."
-"more fool him then. for there's no more understanding girl about."
-"so jack head says. ban't often he's got a good word for anybody; but he's told me, in so many words, that milly be bang out of the common. he said it because his savage opinions never fluster her."
-they stood on hawk tor, and beneath them stretched, first, the carpet of the heath. then the ground fell into a valley, where water meadows spread about a stream, and beyond, by woods and homesteads, the earth ascended again to shaugh prior. the village, perched upon the apex of the hill, twinkled like a jewel. glitter of whitewash and rosy-wash shone under the grey roofs; sunlight and foliage sparkled and intermingled round the church tower; light roamed upon the hills, revealing and obscuring detail in its passage. to the far west, above deep valleys, the world appeared again; but now it had receded and faded and merged in tender blue to the horizon. earth spread before the men in three huge and simple planes: of heath and stone sloping from north to south; of hillside and village and hamlet perched upon their proper crest; of the dim, dreaming distance swept with the haze of summer and rising to sky-line.
-"that's not small--that's big," said humphrey baskerville. "plenty of room here for the best or worse that one boy can do."
-but rupert doubted.
-"think of the world out of sight, uncle. this bit spread here be little more than a picture in its frame."
-"granted; but the frame's wide enough to cage all that your wits will ever work. you can run here and wear your fingers to the bone without bruising yourself against any bars. go down in the churchyard and take a look at the baskerville slates--fifty of 'em if there's one: your grandfather, your great-uncle, the musicker, and all the rest. and every man and woman of the lot lived and died, and suffered and sweated, and did good or evil within this picture-frame."
-"all save the richest--him that went to foreign parts and made a fortune and sent back tons of money to father and you and uncle nat."
-"thou hast me there!" he said. "but don't be discontented. bide a bit and see how the wind blows. i'm not against a man following the spirit that calls him; but wait and find out whether 'tis a true voice or only a lying echo. what does milly say?"
-"'tis milly have put the thought into me, for that matter. she's terrible large in her opinions. she holds that father haven't got no right to refuse to let us be tokened. she'd come and talk to him, if i'd let her. a regular fear-nothing, she is."
-"what would she have you do?"
-"gird up and be off. she comes of a very wandering family, and, of course, one must allow for that. i've nought to say against it. but they can't bide in one spot long. something calls 'em to be roaming."
-"the tribe of esau."
-they talked on, and rupert found himself the better for some caustic but sane counsel.
-"'tis no good asking impossibilities from you, and i'm the last to do it," said humphrey. "there are some things we can't escape from, and our characters are one of them. there's no more sense in trying to run from your character than in trying to run from your shadow. too often your character is your shadow, come to think on it; and cruel black at that. but don't be impatient. wait and watch yourself as well as other people. if these thoughts have been put in your head by the girl, they may not be natural to you, and they may not be digested by you. see how your own character takes 'em. i'm not against courting, mind, nor against early marriages; and if this woman be made of the stuff to mix well and close with your own character, then marry her and defy the devil and all his angels to harm you. to take such a woman is the best day's work that even the hardest working man can do in this world. but meantime don't whine, but go ahead and gather wisdom and learn a little about the things that happen outside the picture-frame--as i do."
-they turned presently and went back to dinner.
-rupert praised his uncle, and declared that life looked the easier for his advice.
-"'tis no good being called 'the hawk' if you can't sharpen your wits as well as your claws," said the old man. "yes--you're astonished--but i know what they call me well enough."
-"i knocked a chap down last sunday on cadworthy bridge for saying it," declared rupert.
-"very thoughtful and very proper to stand up for your family; but i'm not hurt. maybe there's truth in it. i've no quarrel with the hawks--or the herons either--for all they do eat the trout. by all accounts there was birds to eat trout afore there was men to eat 'em. we humans have invented a saying that possession is nine points of the law; but we never thought much of that when it comed to knocking our weaker neighbours on the head--whether they be birds or men."
-"you've made me a lot more contented with the outlook, anyway."
-"i'm glad to hear it. content's the one thing i'd wish you--and wish myself. i can't see the way very clear yet. let me know if ever you come by it."
-"you! why, you'm the most contented of any of us."
-"come and eat, and don't talk of what you know nought," said mr. baskerville.
-they went through the back yard of the homestead presently, where a hot, distinctive odour of pigs saturated the air. as they passed by, some young, very dirty, pink porkers grunted with fat, amiable voices and cuddled to their lean mother, where she lay in a lair of ordure.
-"that's content," explained humphrey; "it belongs to brainless things, and only to them. i haven't found it among men and women yet, and i never count to. rainbow gold in this world. yet, don't mistake me, i'm seeking after it still."
-"why seek for it, if there's no such thing, uncle?"
-"well may you ask that. but the answer's easy. because 'tis part of my character to seek for it, rupert. character be stronger than reason's self, if you can understand that. i seek because i'm driven."
-"you might find it after all, uncle. there must be such a thing--else there'd be no word for it."
-the older sighed.
-"a young and hopeful fashion of thought," he said. "but you're out there. men have made up words for many a fine, fancied thing their hearts long for; but the word is all--stillborn out of poor human hope."
-he brooded deep into his own soul upon this thought and spoke little more that day. but mark was waiting for his dinner when they returned, and he and rupert found themes in common to occupy them through the meal.
-the great project of the new vicar chiefly supplied conversation. rupert felt indifferent, but mark was much interested.
-"i'm very willing to lend a hand all i can, and i expect the parish will support it," he said. "but as for play-acting myself, and taking a part, i wouldn't for all the world. it beats me how anybody can get up on a platform and speak a speech afore his fellow-creatures assembled."
-"the girls will like it," foretold rupert.
-"cora lintern is to play a part," declared mark; "and no doubt she'll do it amazing well."
-rupert was up in arms at once.
-"i should think they'll ask milly luscombe too. she's got more wits than any of 'em."
-"she may have as much as cora, but not more, i can assure you of that," answered mark firmly.
-he rarely contradicted a statement or opposed an assertion; but upon this great subject his courage was colossal.
-mr. masterman and his sister made more friends than enemies. the man's good-nature and energy attracted his parishioners; while miss masterman, though not genial, was sincere. a certain number followed the party of mr. gollop and eliza, yet, as time passed, it diminished. the surplices arrived; the girls were turned out of the choir; but the heavens did not fall. even the nonconformists of shaugh prior regarded the young vicar with friendliness, and when he called a meeting at the parish room, mr. nathan baskerville and others who stood for dissent, attended it in an amiable spirit.
-rumours as to the nature of the proposition had leaked out, and they were vague; but a very general interest had been excited, and when the evening came the vicar, his churchwardens, and friends, found a considerable company assembled.
-there were present vivian and nathan baskerville, with most of the former's family. mrs. lintern and her two daughters from undershaugh also came; while heathman lintern, ned baskerville, and other young men stood in a group at the rear of the company. from trowlesworthy arrived the warrener, saul luscombe, his niece, milly, and his man, jack head. people looked uneasy at sight of the last, for he was a revolutionary and firebrand. the folk suspected that he held socialistic views, and were certain that he worked harm on the morals of younger people. susan hacker, at her master's wish, attended the meeting and sat impassive among friends. thomas gollop and joe voysey, the vicarage gardener, sat together; but miss gollop was not present, because her services were occupied with the newly-born.
-a buzz and babel filled the chamber and the heat increased. jack head opened a window. whereupon mr. gollop rose and shut it again. the action typified that eternal battle of principle which waged between them. but vivian baskerville was on the side of fresh air.
-"let be!" he shouted. "us don't want to be roasted alive, thomas!"
-so the window was opened once more, and head triumphed.
-dennis masterman swiftly explained his desire and invited the parish to support him in reviving an ancient and obsolete ceremonial.
-"the oldest men among you must remember the days of the christmas mummers," he said. "i've heard all about them from eye-witnesses, and it strikes me that to get up the famous play of 'st. george,' with the quaint old-world dialogue, would give us all something to do this winter, and be very interesting and instructive, and capital fun. there are plenty among you who could act the parts splendidly, and as the original version is rather short and barren, i should have some choruses written in, and go through it and polish it up, and perhaps even add a character or two. in the old days it was all done by the lads, but why not have some lasses in it as well? however, these are minor points to be decided later. would you like the play? that's the first question. it is a revival of an ancient custom. it will interest a great many people outside our parish; and if it is to be done at all, it must be done really well. probably some will be for it and some against. for my part, i only want to please the greater number. those who are for it had better elect a spokesman, and let him say a word first; then we'll hear those who are against."
-the people listened quietly; then they bent this way and that, and discussed the suggestion. some rose and approached vivian baskerville, where he sat beside his brother. after some minutes of buzzing conversation, during which vivian shook his head vigorously, and nathan as vigorously nodded, the latter rose with reluctance, and the folk stamped their feet.
-"'tis only because of my brother's modest nature that i get up," he explained. "as a church of england man and a leader among us, they very properly wanted for him to speak. but he won't do it, and no more will young farmer waite, and no more will mr. luscombe of trowlesworthy; so i'll voice 'em to the best of my power. though i'm of t'other branch of the christian church, yet my friends will bear me out that i've nothing but kind feeling and regard for all of them, and in such a pleasant matter as this i shall do all in my power to help your reverence, as we all shall. for i do think there's none but will make the mummers welcome again, and lend a hand to lift the fun into a great success. me and my brother and luscombe, and waite and gollop, and joe voysey, and a good few more, can well remember the old mumming days; and we'll all do our best to rub up our memories. so what we all say is, 'go ahead, mr. masterman, and good luck to it!'"
-applause greeted nathan. the folk were filled with admiration at his ready turn of speech. he sat down again between mrs. lintern and cora. everybody clapped their hands.
-then came a hiss from the corner where jack head stood.
-"a dissentient voice," declared the clergyman. "who is that?"
-"my name is jack head, and i be gwaine to offer objections," said the man stoutly.
-head was a middle-aged, narrow-browed, and underhung individual of an iron-grey colour. his body was long and thin; his shoulders were high; his expression aggressive, yet humorous. he had swift wits and a narrow understanding. he was observant and impressed with the misery of the world; but he possessed no philosophical formulas to balance his observation or counsel patience before the welter of life. he was honest, but scarce knew the meaning of amenity.
-"one or not won't shut my mouth," he said. "i'm a member of the parish so much as you, though i don't bleat a lot of wild nonsense come every seventh day, and i say that to spend good time and waste good money this way be a disgrace, and a going back instead of going forward. what for do we want to stir up a lot of silly dead foolishness that our grandfathers invented? ban't there nothing better to do with ourselves and our wits than dress up like a ship-load of monkeys and go play-acting? we might so well start to wassail the apple-trees and put mourning on the bee-butts when a man dies. i'm against it, and i propose instead that mr. masterman looks round him and sees what a miserable jakes of a mess his parish be in, and spends his time trying to get the landlords to----"
-"order! order! withdraw that!" cried out mr. gollop furiously. "how dare this infidel man up and say the parish be in a jakes of a mess? where's ben north?"
-"i'm here, thomas," said a policeman, who stood at the door.
-"you'm a silly old mumphead," replied jack. "to hear you about this parish--god's truth! i'll tell you this, my brave hero. when the devil was showing the lord the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of 'em, he kept his thumb on shaugh prior, so as none should see what a dung-heap of a place it was."
-"order! order!" cried miss masterman shrilly, and mr. gollop grew livid.
-"i appeal to the chair! i appeal to the nation!" he gasped. then he shook his fist at jack.
-"there's no chair--not yet," explained dennis. "as soon as we decide, i'll take the chair, and we'll appoint a committee to go into the matter and arrange the parts, and so on. the first thing is, are we agreed?"
-one loud shout attested to the sense of the meeting.
-"then, mr. head, you're in a minority of one, and i hope we may yet convince you that this innocent revival is not a bad thing," said dennis. "and further than that, you mustn't run down shaugh prior in this company. we've got a cheerful conceit of ourselves, and why not? don't think i'm dead to the dark side of human life, and the sorrows and sufferings of the poor. i hope you'll all very soon find that i'm not that sort, or my sister either. and the devil himself can't hide shaugh prior from the lord and saviour of us all, mr. head--have no fear of that."
-"sit down, jack, and say you'm sorry," cried mr. luscombe.
-"not me," replied head. "i've stated my views at a free meeting, and i'm on the losing side, like men of my opinions always be where parsons have a voice. but me and my friends will be up top presently."
-"turn him out, ben north!" shouted mr. gollop; but ben north refused. indeed, he was of jack's party.
-"he've done nought but say his say, and i shan't turn him out," the policeman answered. "there's nobody in the chair yet, and therefore there's none here with power to command the law to move."
-a committee was swiftly formed. it consisted of the clergyman and certain parishioners. nathan joined it for his family; mr. luscombe also joined, and dennis promised that certain local antiquaries and the lord of the manor would assist the enterprise.
-"while we are here," he said, "we may as well get the thing well advanced and decide about the characters. all those interested are here, so why not let me read through the old play as it stands? then we'll settle the parts, and each can copy his or her part in turn."
-"there's nothing like being fore-handed," admitted nathan. "let's have it by all means. we shall want young and old to play, if my memory serves me."
-"we shall, and a good company to sing the songs that i hope to add. my sister, our organist, will undertake the music."
-mr. masterman then read a version of the old play, and its ingenuous humour woke laughter.
-"now," said the vicar when his recital was at an end, "i'll ask those among us who will volunteer to act--ladies and gentlemen--to come forward. especially i appeal to the ladies. they'll have to say very little."
-"only to look nice, and i'm sure that won't cost 'em an effort, for they can't help it," declared nathan.
-none immediately rose. then ned baskerville strolled down the room.
-"best-looking young man in shaugh," cried an anonymous voice.
-"and the laziest!" answered another unknown.
-there was a laugh and ned turned ruddy.
-"thou'lt never take trouble enough to learn thy part, ned!" cried heathman lintern.
-"play turkish knight, my son," said his father. "then thou can'st be knocked on the head and die comfortable without more trouble."
-others followed ned, and mr. masterman called for mark.
-"you'll not desert us, mark? i shall want your help, i know."
-"and glad to give it," answered the young man. he grew very hot and nervous to find himself named. his voice broke, he coughed and cut a poor figure. somebody patted him on the back.
-"don't be frighted, mark," said vivian baskerville; "his reverence only wants for you to do what you can. he wouldn't ask impossibilities."
-mrs. baskerville compared her handsome son to stammering mark and felt satisfied. cora lintern also contrasted the young men, and in her bosom was anything but satisfaction.
-"you needn't act, but you must help in many ways. you're so well up in the old lore--all about our legends and customs," explained the clergyman. "we count on you. and now we want some of the older men among you, and when we've settled them we must come to the ladies. we're getting on splendidly. now--come--you set a good example, thomas."
-"you must play, thomas," urged vivian baskerville of cadworthy. "such a voice can't be lost. what a king of egypt the man will make!"
-"i'll do a part if you will, but not else," returned gollop, and the baskerville family lifted a laugh at their father's expense.
-"for that matter i've took the stage often enough," admitted vivian; "but 'twas to work, not to talk. all the same, if his reverence would like for me to play a part, why, i'm ready and willing, so long as there isn't much to say to it."
-"hurrah for mr. baskerville!" shouted several present.
-"and mr. nathan must play, too," declared joe voysey. "no revel would be complete without him."
-"if you'll listen i'll tell you what i think," said the clergyman. "i've considered your parts during the last five minutes, and they go like this in my mind. let's take them in order:--
-"st. george, mr. ned baskerville. will you do st. george, ned?"
-"yes, if you can't find a better," said the young man.
-"good! now the turkish knight comes next. he must be young and a bit of a fighter. will you be turkish knight, mr. waite?"
-he addressed a young, good-looking, dark man, who farmed land in the parish, and dwelt a few miles off.
-mr. waite laughed and nodded.
-"well done! now"--mr. masterman smiled and looked at jack head--"will mr. head play the bear--to oblige us all?"
-everybody laughed, including jack himself.
-"the very living man for bear!" cried mr. luscombe. "i command you, jack, to be bear!"
-"you ain't got much to do but growl and fight, jack, and you're a oner at both," said heathman.
-"well, i've said my say," returned mr. head, "and i was in a minority. but since this parish wants for me to be bear, i'll bear it out so well as i can; and if i give st. george a bit of a hug afore he bowls me over, he mustn't mind that."
-"capital! thank you, jack head. now, who'll be father christmas? i vote for mr. nathan baskerville."
-applause greeted the suggestion, but miss masterman bent over from her seat and whispered to her brother. he shook his head, however, and answered under his breath.
-"it doesn't matter a button about his being a dissenter. so much the better. let's draw them in all we can."
-"you ought to choose the church people first."
-"it's done now, anyway," he replied. "everybody likes the man. we must have him in it, or half the folk won't come."
-"the king of egypt is next," said nathan, after he had been duly elected to father christmas. "i say thomas gollop here for the part."
-"i don't play nought," answered thomas firmly, "unless vivian baskerville do. he's promised."
-"i'll be giant, then, and say 'fee-fo-fum!" answered the farmer. "'twill be a terrible come-along-of-it for ned here, and i warn him that if he don't fight properly valiant, i won't die."
-"the very man--the only man for giant," declared dennis masterman. "so that's settled. now, who's for doctor? that's a very important part. i suppose your father wouldn't do it, mark? he's just the wise-looking face for a doctor."
-"my brother!" cried vivian. "good lord! he'd so soon stand on his head in the market-place as lend a hand in a bit of nonsense like this. ask luscombe here. will you be doctor, saul?"
-but mr. luscombe refused.
-"not in my line. here's joe voysey--he's doctored a lot of things in his time--haven't you, joe?"
-"will you be doctor, joe?" asked mr. masterman.
-but joe refused.
-"too much to say," he answered. "i might larn it with a bit of sweat, but i should never call it home when the time came."
-"be the french eagle, joe," suggested mark baskerville. "you've got but little to say, and st. george soon settles you."
-"very well, if the meeting is for it, i'll be eagle," assented mr. voysey.
-the part of doctor remained unfilled for the present.
-"now there's the fair princess sabra and mother dorothy," explained the vicar. "princess sabra, the king of egypt's daughter, will be a novelty, for she didn't come into the old play in person. she doesn't say anything, but she must be there."
-"miss lintern for princess sabra!" said mark.
-everybody laughed, and the young man came in for some chaff; but dennis approved, and mrs. lintern nodded and smiled. cora blushed and nathan patted mark on the back.
-"a good idea, and we're all for it," he said.
-to cora, as the belle of the village, belonged the part by right. she was surprised and gratified at this sudden access of importance.
-then the vicar prepared to close his meeting.
-"for mother dorothy we want a lady of mature years and experience. the part is often played by a man, but i would sooner a lady played it, if we can persuade one to do so," he said.
-"mrs. hacker! mrs. hacker!" shouted a mischievous young man at the back of the hall.
-"never," said susan hacker calmly. "not that i'd mind; but whatever would my master say?"
-"let my sister play the part," suggested thomas. "eliza gollop fears nought on two legs. she'll go bravely through with it."
-mr. nathan's heart sank, but he could not object.
-the company was divided. then, to the surprise of not a few, mrs. hacker spoke again. the hated name had dispelled her doubts.
-"i'll do it, and chance master," she said. "yes, there's no false shame in me, i believe. i'll do it rather than----"
-"you're made for the part, ma'am," declared mr. nathan, much relieved. "and very fine you'll look. you've got to kiss father christmas at the end of the play, though. i hope you don't mind that."
-"that's why she's going to act the part!" shouted heathman, and laughter drowned mrs. hacker's reply.
-in good spirits the company broke up, and the young folk went away excited, the old people interested and amused.
-merriment sounded on the grey july night; many women chattered about the play till long after their usual hour for sleep; and plenty of coarse jests as to the promised entertainment were uttered at the bar of 'the white thorn' presently.
-as for the vicar and his sister, they felt that they had achieved a triumph. two shadows alone darkened the outlook in miss masterman's eyes. she objected to the nonconformist element as undesirable or unnecessary; and she did not like the introduction of queen sabra.
-"that showy girl is quite conceited enough already," she said.
-but her brother was young and warm-hearted.
-"she's lovely, though," he said. "by jove! the play will be worth doing, if only to see her got up like a princess!"
-"don't be silly, dennis," answered his sister. "she's a rude wretch, and the linterns are the most independent people in the parish."
-at high summer two men and two maids kept public holiday and wove romance under the great crown of pen beacon. from this border height the south hams spread in a mighty vision of rounded hills and plains; whole forests were reduced to squat, green cushions laid upon the broad earth's bosom; and amid them glimmered wedges and squares of ripening corn, shone root crops, smiled water meadows, and spread the emerald faces of shorn hayfields.
-it was a day of lowering clouds and illumination breaking through them. fans of light fell between the piled-up cumuli, and the earth was mottled with immense, alternate patches of shadow and sunshine. thick and visible strata of air hung heavy between earth and sky at this early hour. they presaged doubt, and comprehended a condition that might presently diffuse and lift into unclouded glory of august light, or darken to thunderstorm. southerly the nakedness of hanger down and the crags of eastern and western beacons towered; while to the east were quickbeam hill, three barrows, and the featureless expanses of stall moor. northerly towered penshiel, and the waste spread beyond it in long leagues, whose planes were flattened out by distance and distinguished against each other by sleeping darkness and waking light.
-a fuliginous heaviness, that stained air at earth's surface, persisted even on this lofty ground, and the highest passages of aerial radiance were not about the sun, but far beneath it upon the horizon.
-rupert baskerville trudged doubtfully forward, sniffing the air and watching the sky, while beside him came milly luscombe; and a quarter of a mile behind them walked mark and cora lintern. the men had arranged to spend their holiday up aloft, and milly was well pleased; but cora held the expedition vain save for what it should accomplish. to dawdle in the moor when she might have been at a holiday revel was not her idea of pleasure; but as soon as mark issued his invitation she guessed that he did so with an object, and promised to join him.
-as yet the definite word had not passed his lips, though it had hovered there; but to-day miss lintern was resolved to return from pen beacon betrothed. as for mark, his hope chimed with her intention. cora was always gracious and free of her time, while he played the devout lover and sincerely held her above him every way. only the week before heathman, obviously inspired to do so, had asked him why he kept off, and declared that it would better become him to speak. and now, feeling that the meal presently to be taken would be of a more joyous character after than before the deed, he stopped cora while yet a mile remained to trudge before they should reach the top of the tor.
-"rest a bit," he said. "let rupert and milly go forward. they don't want us, and we shall all meet in the old roundy-poundies up over, where we're going to eat our dinner."
-"looks as if 'twas offering for bad weather," she answered, lifting her eyes to the sky. "i'm glad i didn't put on my new muslin."
-she sat on a stone and felt that he was now going to ask her to marry him. she was not enthusiastic about him at the bottom of her heart; but she knew that he would be rich and a good match for a girl in her position. she was prone to exaggerate her beauty, and had hoped better things from it than mark baskerville; but certain minor romances with more important men had come to nothing. she was practical and made herself see the bright side of the contract. he was humble and she could influence him as she pleased. he worshipped her and would doubtless continue to do so.
-once his wife she proposed to waken in him a better conceit of himself and, when his father died, she would be able to 'blossom out,' as she put it to her sister, and hold her head high in the land. there were prospects. nathan baskerville was rich also, and he was childless. he liked mark well, and on one occasion, when she came into the farm kitchen at undershaugh suddenly, she overheard nathan say to her mother, "no objection--none at all--a capital match for her."
-mark put down the basket that carried their meal and took a seat beside cora.
-"'tisn't going to rain," he said. "i always know by my head if there's thunder in the elements. it gets a sort of heavy, aching feeling. look yonder, the clouds are levelling off above the moor so true as if they'd been planed. that's the wind's work. why, there's enough blue showing to make you a new dress a'ready, cora."
-"i'd love a dress of such blue as that. blue's my colour," she said.
-"yes, it is--though you look lovely enough in any colour."
-"i like to please you, mark."
-"oh, cora, and don't you please me? little you know--little you know. i've had it on my tongue a thousand times--yet it seems too bold--from such as me to you. why, there's none you mightn't look to; and if you'd come of a higher havage, you'd have been among the loveliest ladies in the land. and so you are now, for that matter--only you're hid away in this savage old place--like a beautiful pearl under the wild sea."
-this had long been cora's own opinion. she smiled and touched the hair on her hot forehead.
-"if there comes on a fog, i shall go out of curl in a minute," she said. then, seeing that this prophecy silenced him, she spoke again.
-"i love to hear you tell these kind things, mark. i'd sooner please you than any man living. perhaps 'tis over-bold in me to say so; but i'm telling nought but truth."
-"truth ban't often so beautiful as that," he said slowly. "and 'tis like your brave heart to say it out; and here's truth for your truth, cora. if you care to hear me say i think well of you, then i care to hear you speak well of me; and more: nobody else's good word is better than wind in the trees against your slightest whisper. so that i please you, i care nothing for all the world; and if you'll let me, i'll live for you and die for you. for that matter i've lived for only you these many days, and if you'll marry me--there--'tis out. i'm a vain chap even to dare to say it; but 'tis you have made me so--'tis your kind words and thoughts for me--little thoughts that peep out and dear little kind things done by you and forgotten by you; but never by me, cora. can you do it? can you sink down to me, or is it too much of a drop? others have lowered themselves for love and never regretted it. 'tis a fall for such a bright, lovely star as you; but my love's ready to catch you, so you shan't hurt yourself. i--i----"
-he broke off and she seemed really moved. she put her hand on his two, which were knotted together; and then she looked love into his straining eyes and nodded.
-his hands opened and seized hers and squeezed them till she drew in her breath. then he put his arms round her and kissed her.
-"don't move, for god's sake!" he said. "d'you know what you've done?"
-"given myself to a dear good chap," she answered.
-in her heart she was thanking heaven that she had not worn the new muslin dress.
-"weather or no weather, he'd have creased it and mangled it all over and ruined it for ever," she thought.
-they proceeded presently, but made no haste to overtake their companions. their talk was of the future and marriage. he pressed for an early union; she was in no hurry.
-"you must learn a bit more about me first," she told him. "maybe i'm not half as nice as you think. and there's your father. i'm terrible frightened of him."
-"you need not be, cora. he's not against early marriage. you must come and see him pretty soon. he'll be right glad for my sake, though he'll be sure to tell me i've had better luck than i deserve."
-she considered awhile without speaking.
-"i'm afraid i shan't bring you much money," she said.
-"what's money? that's the least thing. i shall have plenty enough, no doubt."
-"what will your father do? then there's your uncle, mr. nathan. he's terrible rich, by all accounts, and he thinks very well of you."
-"i shall be all right. but i'm a lazy man--too lazy. i shall turn my hand to something steady when we're married."
-"such a dreamer you are. not but what, with all your great cleverness, you ban't worth all the young men put together for brains."
-"i'm going to set to. my father's often at me about wasting my life. but, though he'd scorn the word, he's a bit of a dreamer too--in his way. you'd never guess it; but he spends many long hours all alone, brooding about things. and he's a very sharp-eyed, clever man. he marks the seasons by the things that happen out of doors. he'll come down off our tor that cheerful sometimes, you wouldn't believe 'twas him. 'curlew's back on the moor,' he'll say one day; then another day, 'oaks are budding'; then again, 'first frost to-night,' or 'thunder's coming.' his bark is worse than his bite, really."
-"'tis his terrible eyes i fear. they look through you. he makes me feel small, and i always hate anybody that does that."
-"you mustn't hate him. too many do already. but 'twould be better to feel sorry for him. he's often a very unhappy old man. i feel it, but i can't see the reason, and he says nothing."
-"i wish i hadn't got to see him. why, his own brother--your uncle nathan--even he can't hit it off with him. and i'm sure there must be something wrong with a man that can't get on with mr. nathan. everybody is fond of him; but i've often heard him say----"
-"leave it," interrupted mark. "i know all that, cora. 'tis just one of those puzzles that happen. 'tis no good fretting about anybody else: what you've got to do is to make my father love you. and you've only got to be yourself and he must love you."
-"of course i'll do my best."
-she kissed him and then silence fell between them. it lasted a long while until he broke it.
-"don't fancy because i'm so still that i'm not bursting with joy," he said. "but when i think of what's happened to me this minute, i feel 'tis too big for words. the thoughts in me can't be spoken, cora. they are too large to cram into little pitiful speeches."
-"i'm getting hungry; and there's milly waving," she answered.
-"milly's hungry too, belike."
-eastward, under pen beacon, lay an ancient lodge of the neolithic people. the circles of scattered granite shone grey, set in foliage and fruit of the bilberry, with lichens on the stone and mosses woven into the grass about them. a semicircle of hills extended beyond and formed a mighty theatre where dawn and storm played their parts, where falling night was pictured largely and moonshine slept upon lonely heights and valleys. in the glen beneath spread dendles wood, with fringes of larch and pine hiding the river yealm and spreading a verdant medley of deep summer green in the lap of the grey hills. gold autumn furzes flashed along the waste, and the pink ling broke into her first tremble of colourless light that precedes the blush of fulness.
-the party of four sat in a hut circle and spoke little while they ate and drank. rupert, unknown to the rest, and much to his own inconvenience, had dragged up six stone bottles of ginger-beer hidden under his coat. these he produced and was much applauded. a spring broke at hand, and the bottles were sunk therein to cool them.
-they talked together after a very practical and businesslike fashion. milly and rupert were definitely engaged in their own opinion, and now when mark, who could not keep in the stupendous event of the moment, announced it, they congratulated the newly engaged couple with the wisdom and experience of those who had long entered that state.
-"'tis a devilish unrestful condition, i can promise you," said rupert, "and the man always finds it so if the girl don't. hanging on is just hell--especially in my case, where i can't get father to see with my eyes. but, thank god, milly's jonic. she won't change."
-"no," said milly, "i shan't change. 'tis you have got to change. i respect your father very much, like the rest of the world, but because he didn't marry till he was turned forty-five, that's no reason why you should wait twenty years for it. anyway, if you must, so will i--only i shall be a thought elderly for the business by that time. however, it rests with you."
-"i'm going--that's what she means," explained rupert. "jack head and me have had a talk, and he's thrown a lot of light on things in general. i can't be bound hand and foot to my father like this; and if he won't meet me, i must take things into my own hands and leave home."
-mark was staggered at the enormity of such a plan.
-"don't do anything in a hurry and without due thought."
-"very well for you to talk," said milly. "you do nought but ring the bells on sundays, and play at work the rest of the week. mr. humphrey won't stand in your way. i suppose you could be married afore christmas, if you pleased."
-she sighed at the glorious possibility.
-"i hope we shall be; but cora's in no hurry, i'm afraid."
-"and when i've got work," continued rupert, "then i shall just look round and take a house and marry; and why not?"
-"your father will never let you go. it isn't to be thought upon," declared mark.
-"then he must be reasonable. he appears to forget i'm nearly twenty-four," answered his cousin.
-conversation ranged over their problems and their hopes. then rupert touched another matrimonial disappointment.
-"it looks as if we were not to be fortunate in love," he said. "there's ned terrible down on his luck. he's offered marriage again--to farmer chave's second daughter; and 'twas as good as done; but mr. chave wouldn't hear of it, and he's talked the girl round and ned's got chucked."
-"serve him right," said milly. "he jilted two girls. 'twill do him good to smart a bit himself."
-"the chaves are a lot too high for us," asserted mark. "he's a very well-born and rich man, and his father was a justice of the peace, and known in london. he only farms to amuse himself."
-"he don't think so, however," replied rupert. "i've never known him take any of his affairs to heart like this one. moped and gallied he is, and creeps about with a face as long as a fiddle; and off his food too."
-"poor chap," said cora feelingly.
-"even talks of ending it and making away with himself. terrible hard hit, i do believe."
-"your mother must be in a bad way about him," said milly.
-cora declared her sympathy, but mark did not take the incident as grave.
-"you needn't fear," he assured ned's brother. "men that talk openly of killing themselves, never do it. words are a safety-valve. 'tis the sort that go silent and cheerful under a great blow that be nearest death."
-cora spoke of ned's looks with admiration and feared that this great disappointment might spoil them; but milly was not so sympathetic.
-"if he stood to work and didn't think so much about the maidens, they might think a bit more about him," she said.
-"he swears he won't play st. george now," added rupert. "he haven't got the heart to go play-acting no more."
-"he'll find twenty girls to go philandering after afore winter," foretold milly. "and if cora here was to ask him, he'd play st. george fast enough."
-"'twill be a very poor compliment to me if he cries off now," declared cora. "for i'm to be the princess, and 'tis pretended in the play that he's my true lover."
-"mark will be jealous then. 'tis a pity he don't play st. george," said milly.
-but mark laughed.
-"a pretty st. george me!" he answered. "no, no; i'm not jealous of ned. safety in numbers, they say. let him be st. george and welcome; and very noble he'll look--if ever he's got brains enough in his empty noddle to get the words and remember them."
-cora cast a swift side glance at her betrothed. she did not speak, but the look was not all love. discontent haunted her for a little space.
-the ginger-beer was drunk and the repast finished. the men lighted their pipes; the girls talked together.
-milly congratulated cora very heartily.
-"he's a fine, witty chap, as i've always said. different to most of us, along of being better eggicated. but that modest and retiring, few people know what a clever man he is."
-these things pleased the other, and she was still more pleased when milly discussed mark's father.
-"i often see him," she said--"oftener than you might think for. he'll ride to trowlesworthy twice and thrice a month sometimes. why for? to see my uncle, you might fancy. but that's not the reason. to talk with jack he comes. jack head and me be the only people in these parts that ban't afraid of him. and that's what he likes. you be fearless of him, cora, or he'll think nought of thee. fearless and attentive to what he says--that's the rule with him. and pretend nothing, or he'll see through it and pull you to pieces. him and jack head says the most tremendous things about the world and its ways. they take uncle saul's breath away sometimes, and mine too. but don't let him frighten you--that's the fatal thing. if a creature's feared of him, he despises it. never look surprised at his speeches."
-cora listened to this advice and thanked the other girl for it.
-"why should i care a button for the old man, anyway?" she asked. "if it comes to that, i'm as good as him. there's nought to fear really, when all's said. and i won't fear."
-the men strolled about the old village and gathered whortleberries; then rupert judged that the storm that had skulked so long to the north, was coming at last.
-"we'd best be getting down-along," he said. "let's go across to trowlesworthy; then, if it breaks, we can slip into the warren house a bit till the worst be over.
-"you be all coming to drink tea there," said milly. "uncle saul and jack head are away, but aunt be home, and i made the cakes specially o' saturday."
-drifting apart by a half a mile or so, the young couples left the beacon, climbed penshiel, and thence passed over the waste to where the red tor rose above milly luscombe's home.
-a sort of twilight stole at four o'clock over the earth, and it seemed that night hastened up while yet the hidden sun was high. the sinister sky darkened and frowned to bursting; yet no rain fell, and later it grew light again, as the sun, sinking beneath the ridges of the clouds, flooded the moor with the greatest brightness that the day had known.
-some few weeks after it was known that young mark baskerville would marry cora lintern, a small company drank beer at 'the white thorn' and discussed local politics in general, and the engagement in particular. the time was three in the afternoon.
-"they'll look to you for a wedding present without a doubt," said mr. gollop to nathan, who stood behind his bar.
-"and they'll be right," answered the innkeeper. "i'm very fond of 'em both."
-"you'll be put to it to find rich gifts for all your young people, however."
-"that's as may be. if the lord don't send you sons, the devil will send you nephews--you know the old saying. not but what vivian's boys and girls are a very nice lot--i like 'em all very well indeed. mark's different--clever enough, but made of another clay. his mother was a retiring, humble woman--frightened of her own shadow, you might say. however, cora will wake him into a cheerfuller conceit of himself."
-there was an interruption, for dennis masterman suddenly filled the doorway.
-"the very men i want," he said; then he entered.
-"fine sweltering weather for the harvest, your honour," piped an old fellow who sat on a settle by the window with a mug of beer beside him.
-"so it is, abel, and i hope there's another month of it to come. give me half a pint of the mild, will you, baskerville? 'tis about the rehearsal i've looked in. thursday week is the day--at seven o'clock sharp, remember. and i'm very anxious that everybody shall know their words. it will save a lot of trouble and help us on."
-"i've got mine very near," said nathan.
-"yes, but you mustn't say 'heir'; the h isn't sounded, you know. has anybody seen ned baskerville? i heard that he was in trouble."
-"not at all," said nathan. "he's all right--a lazy rascal. 'twas only another of his silly bits of work with the girls. running after mr. chave's daughter. like his cheek!"
-mr. masterman looked astonished.
-"i thought mr. chave----" he said.
-"exactly, vicar; you thought right. 'tis just his handsome face makes my nephew so pushing. we be a yeoman race, we baskervilles, though said to be higher once; but of course, as things are, ned looking there was just infernal impudence, though his good old pig-headed father, my brother, couldn't see it. he's only blind when ned's the matter."
-"'twas said he was going to jump in the river," declared the ancient abel.
-"nonsense and rubbish!" declared nathan. "ned's not that sort. wait till he sees himself in the glittering armour of st. george, and he'll soon forget his troubles."
-"we must talk about the dresses after rehearsal. a good many can be made at home."
-"yes, certainly i am," answered dennis. "the money will go to rehanging the bells. that's settled. well, remember. and stir up joe voysey, thomas. you can do anything with him, but i can't. remind him about the french eagle. he's only got to learn six lines, but he says it makes his head ache so badly that he's sure he'll never do it."
-"that's right. now i must be off."
-when the vicar was gone gollop reviewed the situation created by young masterman's energy and tact.
-"i never could have foreseen it, yet the people somehow make shift to do with him. it don't say much for him, but it says a lot for us--for our sense and patience. we'm always ready to lend the man a hand in reason, and i wish he was more grateful; but i shouldn't call him a grateful man. of course, this here play-acting will draw the eyes of the country on us, and he'll get the credit, no doubt; yet 'twill be us two men here in this bar--me and you, nathan--as will make or mar all."
-"i'm very glad to help him. he's a good chap, and my sort. lots of fun in the man when you know him."
-"not your fault if he hasn't."
-"and another thing--he don't take himself seriously enough," continued the parish clerk. "as a man i grant you he has got nought to take seriously. he's young, and he's riddled with evil, modern ideas that would land the country in ruin if followed. but, apart from that, as a minister he ought to be different. i hate to see him running after the ball at cricket, like a school-child. 'tisn't decent, and it lessens the force of the man in the pulpit come sunday, just as it lessened the force of physician dawe to tavistock when he took to singing comic songs at the penny readings. why, 'twas money out of the doctor's pocket, as he lived to find out, too late. when old master trelawny lay dying, and they axed un to let dawe have a slap at un, he wouldn't do it. 'be that the man that sang the song about locking his mother-in-law into the coal-cellar?' he axed. 'the same,' said they; 'but he's a terrible clever chap at the stomach, and may save you yet if there be enough of your organs left for him to work upon.' 'no, no,' says old trelawny. 'such a light-minded feller as that couldn't be trusted with a dying man's belly.' i don't say 'twas altogether reasonable, because the wisest must unbend the bow now and again; but i will maintain that that minister of the lord didn't ought to take off his coat and get in a common sweat afore the people assembled at a cricket match. 'tis worse than david making a circus of himself afore the holy ark; and if he does so, he must take the consequences."
-"the consequences be that everybody will think a lot better of him, as a manly and sensible chap, wishful to help the young men," declared mr. baskerville. "one thing i can bear witness to: i don't get the saturday custom i used to get, and that's to the good, anyway." then he looked at his watch and changed the subject.
-"mrs. lintern's daughter is paying a sort of solemn visit to my brother to-day, and they are all a little nervous about it."
-"'tisn't that, 'tis his manner. he don't mean to hurt 'em. a difficult man, however, as i know only too well."
-"if he can't get on with you, there's a screw loose in him," remarked the old man, sitting on the settle.
-"i won't say that, abel; but i don't know why 'tis that he's got no use for me."
-"no loss, however," asserted thomas. "a cranky and heartless creature. the likes of him couldn't neighbour with the likes of us--not enough human kindness in him."
-"like our father afore him, and yet harder," explained the publican. "i can see my parent now--dark and grim, and awful old to my young eyes. well i remember the first time i felt the sting of him. a terrible small boy i was--hadn't cast my short frocks, i believe--but i'd sinned in some little matter, and he give me my first flogging. and the picture i've got of father be a man with a hard, set face, with a bit of a grim smile on it, and his right hand hidden behind him. but i knowed what was in it! a great believer in the rod. he beat us often--all three of us--till we'd wriggle and twine like a worm on a hook; but our uncle, the musicker, he was as different as you please--soft and gentle, like my nephew mark, and all for spoiling childer with sweeties and toys."
-mr. gollop rose to depart, and others entered. then nathan called a pot-man and left the bar.
-"i promised mrs. lintern as i'd go down to hear what cora had to say," he explained. "i'm very hopeful that she's had the art to win humphrey, for 'twill smooth the future a good bit for the people at undershaugh if my brother takes to the wench. you'd think nobody could help it--such a lovely face as she has. however, we shall know how it fell out inside an hour or so."
-"better you go into the parlour and keep cool, my dear," she said. "you'll need to be. master's not in the best of tempers to-day. and your young man left a message. he be gone to plympton, and will be back by four o'clock; so, when you take your leave, you are to go down the rut and meet him at torry brook stepping-stones, if you please."
-"where's mr. baskerville?"
-"taking the air up 'pon top the tor. he bides there most mornings till the dinner hour, and he'd forget his meal altogether so often as not, but i go to the hedge and ring the dinner bell. then he comes down."
-"how can i best please him, susan?"
-"by listening first, and by talking afterwards. he don't like a chatterbox, but he don't like young folk to be too silent neither. 'twill be a hugeous heave-up of luck if you can get on his blind side. few can--i warn you of that. he's very fond of natural, wild things. if you was to talk about the flowers and show him you be fond of nature, it might be well. however, do as you will, he'll find out the truth of 'e."
-"i'm all of a tremor. i wish you hadn't told me that."
-eat hearty, don't leave nothing on your plate, and wait for him to say grace afore and after meat. the rest must fall out according to your own sense and wit. now i be going to ring the bell."
-"i half thought that he might come part of the way to meet me."
-"you thought wrong, then. he don't do that sort of thing."
-"i wish mark was here, susan."
-"so does mark. but master has his own way of doing things, and 'tis generally the last way that other people would use."
-mrs. hacker rang the bell, and the thin, black figure of humphrey baskerville appeared and began to creep down the side of the hill. he had, of course, met cora on previous occasions, but this was the first time that he had spoken with the girl since her betrothal.
-he shook hands and hoped that her mother was well.
-"a harvest to make up for last year," he said. "you ought to be lending a hand by rights."
-"i don't think mr. baskerville would like for polly and me to do that. 'tis too hot," she said.
-"nathan wouldn't? surely he would. many hands make light work and save the time. you're a strong girl, aren't you?"
-"strong as a pony, sir."
-"don't call me 'sir.' and you're fond of wild nature and the country--so mark tells me."
-"that i am, and the wild flowers."
-"i'll let you into the secret," she said. "i wanted to be smart to-day, and so i took one of my treasures. you'll never guess where this gold belt came from, mr. baskerville?"
-"don't like it, anyway," he answered.
-"why, 'twas the hat-band round my grandfather's hat! he was a beadle up to some place nigh london; and 'twas an heirloom when he died; and mother gived it to me, and here it is."
-he regarded the relic curiously.
-"a funny world, to be sure," he said. "little did that bygone man think of such a thing when he put his braided hat on his head, i'll warrant."
-he relapsed into a long silence, and cora's remarks were rewarded with no more than nods of affirmation or negation. then, suddenly, he broke out on the subject of apparel long after she thought that he had forgotten it.
-"terrible tearing fine i suppose you think your clothes are, young woman--terrible tearing fine; but i hate 'em, and they ill become a poor man's wife and a poor man's daughter. my mother wore her hair frapped back light and plain, with a forehead cloth, and a little blue baize rochet over her breast, and a blue apron and short gown and hob-nailed shoon; and she looked ten thousand times finer than ever you looked in your life--or ever can in that piebald flimsy, with those godless smashed birds on your head. what care you for nature to put a bit of a dead creature 'pon top of your hair? a nasty fashion, and i'm sorry you follow it."
-she kept her temper well under this terrific onslaught.
-"we must follow the fashion, mr. baskerville. but i'll not wear this hat again afore you, since you don't like it."
-"going to be married and live up to your knees in clover, eh? so you both think. now tell me what you feel like to my son, please."
-"i love him dearly, i'm sure, and i think he's a very clever chap, and quite the gentleman in all his ways. though he might dress a bit smarter, and not be so friendly with the other bellringers. because they are commoner men than him, of course."
-"'quite the gentleman'--eh? what's a gentleman?"
-"oh, dear, mr. baskerville, you'll spoil my dinner with such a lot of questions. to be a gentleman is to be like mark, i suppose--kind and quick to see what a girl wants; and to be handsome and be well thought of by everybody, and all the rest of it."
-"you go a bit too high at instep," he said. "you're too vain of your pretty face, and you answer rather pertly. you don't know what a gentleman is, for all you think yourself a fine lady. and i'll tell you this: very few people do know what a gentleman is. you can tell a lot about people by hearing them answer when you ask them what a gentleman is. where would you like to live?"
-"where 'twould please mark best. and if the things i say offend you, i'm sorry for it. you must make allowances, mr. baskerville. i'm young, and i've not got much sense yet; but i want to please you--i want to please everybody, for that matter."
-this last remark much interested her listener. he started and looked at the girl fixedly. then his expression changed, and he appeared to stare through her at somebody or something beyond. behind cora the old man did, indeed, see another very clearly in his mind's eye.
-after a painful silence she spoke again, and her tone was troubled.
-"i want to say the thing that will please you, if i can. but i must be myself. i'm sorry if you don't like me."
-"you must be yourself, and so must i," he answered; "and if i'm not liking you, you're loathing me. but we're getting through our dinner very nicely. will you have any more of this cherry tart?"
-"no, i've done well."
-"you've eaten nought to name. i've spoiled your appetite, and you--well, you've done more than you think, and taught me more than you know yourself."
-she shrugged her shoulders.
-"mark says puzzling things like that sometimes."
-there was another silence.
-"he's going to make it up with a pony!" thought sanguine cora.
-"i do. i'm very fond of riding."
-"like it better than walking, i dare say?"
-"yes, i do."
-"and you'd like driving better still, perhaps?"
-"no, i wouldn't."
-"what are the strangles?" he asked suddenly and grimly.
-"it's something the ponies get the matter with them."
-"of course; but what is it? how does it come, and why? is it infectious? is it ever fatal to them?"
-she shook her head.
-"i don't know nothing about things like that."
-"no use having a pony if you don't understand it. the strangles are infectious and sometimes fatal. don't forget that."
-cora felt her temper struggling to break loose. she poured out a glass of water.
-"i promise not to forget it," she answered. "shall i put the cheese on the table for you??
-"no, i thank you--unless you'll eat some."
-"nothing more, i'm sure."
-"we'll walk out in the air, then. with your love of nature, you'll like the growing things up on top of my hill. mark will be back for tea, i think. but maybe you'll not stop quite so long as that."
-"i'll stop just as long as you like," she said. "but i don't want to tire you."
-"you've got your mother's patience, and plenty of it, i see. that's a good mark for you. patience goes a long way. you can keep your temper, too--well for you that you can. though whether 'tis nature or art in you----"
-he broke off and she followed him out of doors.
-upon the tor he asked her many things concerning the clouds above them, the cries of the birds, and the names of the flowers. the ordeal proved terrible, because her ignorance of these matters was almost absolute. at last, unable to endure more, she fled from him, pleaded a sudden recollection of an engagement for the afternoon, and hastened homeward as fast as she could walk. once out of sight of the old man she slowed down, and her wrongs and affronts crowded upon her and made her bosom pant. she clenched her hands and bit her handkerchief. she desired to weep, but intended that others should see her tears. therefore she controlled them until she reached home, and then she cried copiously in the presence of her mother, her sister, and nathan baskerville, who had come to learn of her success.
-the directions of mark, to meet him at torry stepping-stones, cora had entirely forgotten. nor would she have kept the appointment had she remembered it. in her storm of passion she hated even mark for being his father's son.
-nathan was indignant at the recital, and mrs. lintern showed sorrow, but not surprise.
-"'twas bound to be difficult," she said. "he sent mark away, you see. he meant to get to the bottom of her."
-"a very wanton, unmanly thing," declared nathan. "i'm ashamed of him."
-"don't you take it too much to heart," answered the mother. "maybe he thought better of cora than he seemed to do. he's always harsh and hard like that to young people; but it means nought. i believe that cora's a bit frightened, that's all."
-"we must see him," said nathan. "at least, i must. i make this my affair."
-"'twill be better for me to do so."
-"i tried that hard to please the man," sobbed cora; "but he looked me through--tore me to pieces with his eyes like a savage dog. nothing was right from my head to my heels. flouted my clothes--flouted my talk--was angered, seemingly, because i couldn't tell him how to cure a pony of strangles--wanted me to tell the name of every bird on the bough, and weed in the gutter. and not a spark of hope or kindness from first to last. he did say that i'd got my mother's patience, and that's the only pat on the back he gave me. patient! i could have sclowed his ugly face down with my nails!"
-her mother stroked her shoulder.
-"hush!" she said. "don't take on about it. we shall hear what mark has got to tell."
-"i don't care what he's got to tell. i'm not going to be scared out of my life, and bullied and trampled on by that old beast!"
-"no more you shall be," cried nathan. "he'll say 'tis no business of mine, but everything to do with undershaugh is my business. i'll see him. he's always hard on me; now i'll be hard on him and learn him how to treat a woman."
-"don't go in heat," urged mrs. lintern after cora had departed with the sympathetic phyllis. "there's another side, you know. cora's not his sort. no doubt her fine clothes--she would go in 'em, though i advised her not--no doubt they made him cranky; and then things went from bad to worse."
-"'tis not a bit of use talking to me, hester. i'm angered, and naturally angered. in a way this was meant to anger me, i'm afraid. he well knows how much you all at undershaugh are to me. 'twas to make me feel small, as much as anything, that he snubbed her so cruel. no--i'll not hear you on the subject--not now. i'll see him to-day."
-"i shouldn't--wiser far to wait till you are cool. he'll be more reasonable too, to-morrow, when he's forgotten a little."
-"what is there to forget? the prettiest and cleverest girl in shaugh--or in the county, for that matter. don't stop me. i'm going this instant."
-"it's dangerous, nat. he'll only tell you to mind your own business."
-"no, he won't. even he can't tax me with not doing that. everything is my business, if i choose to make it so. anyway, all at undershaugh are my business."
-he left her; but by the time he arrived at beatland corner, on the way to hawk house, nathan baskerville had changed his mind. another aspect of the case suddenly presented itself to him, and, as he grew calmer, he decided to keep out of this quarrel, though natural instincts drew him into it.
-a few moments later, as thought progressed with him, he found himself wishing that humphrey would die. but the desire neither surprised nor shocked him, for he had often wished it before. humphrey's life was of no apparent service to humphrey, while to certain other people it could only be regarded in the light of a hindrance.
-some days later mark baskerville spoke with mrs. lintern, and she was relieved to find that cora's fears had been exaggerated.
-"he said very little indeed about her, except that he didn't like her clothes and that she had a poor appetite," explained mark. "of course, i asked him a thousand questions, but he wouldn't answer them. i don't think he knows in the least how he flustered cora. he said one queer thing that i couldn't see sense in, though perhaps you may. he said, 'she's told me more about herself than she knows herself--and more than i'll tell again--even to you, though some might think it a reason against her.' whatever did he mean by that? but it don't much matter, anyway, and my cora's quite wrong to think she was a failure or anything of that kind. he asked only this morning, as natural as possible, when she was coming over again."
-these statements satisfied the girl's mother, but they failed to calm cora herself. she took the matter much to heart, caused her lover many unquiet and anxious hours, and refused point-blank for the present to see mr. baskerville.
-then fell the great first rehearsal of the christmas play, and dennis masterman found that he had been wise to take time by the forelock in this matter. the mummers assembled in the parish room, and the vicar and his sister, with nathan baskerville's assistance, strove to lead them through the drama.
-"it's not going to be quite like the version that a kind friend has sent me, and from which your parts are written," explained dennis. "i've arranged for an introduction in the shape of a prologue. i shall do this myself, and appear before the curtain and speak a speech to explain what it is all about. this answers mr. waite here, who is going to be the turkish knight. he didn't want to begin the piece. now i shall have broken the ice, and then he will be discovered as the curtain rises."
-mr. timothy waite on this occasion, however, began proceedings, as the vicar's prologue was not yet written. he proved letter-perfect but exceedingly nervous.
-"open your doors and let me in, i hope your favours i shall win. whether i rise or whether i fall, i'll do my best to please you all!"
-mr. waite spoke jerkily, and his voice proved a little out of control, but everybody congratulated him.
-"how he rolls his eyes to be sure," said vivian baskerville. "a very daps of a turk, for sartain."
-"you ought to stride about more, waite," suggested ned baskerville, who had cheered up of recent days, and was now standing beside cora and other girls destined to assist the play. "the great thing is to stride about and look alive--isn't it, mr. masterman?"
-"we'll talk afterwards," answered dennis. "we mustn't interfere with the action. you have got your speech off very well, waite, but you said it much too fast. we must be slow and distinct, so that not a word is missed."
-timothy, who enjoyed the praise of his friends, liked this censure less.
-"as for speaking fast," he said, "the man would speak fast. because he expects st. george will be on his tail in a minute. he says, 'i know he'll pierce my skin.' in fact, he's pretty well sweating with terror from the first moment he comes on the stage, i should reckon."
-but mr. masterman was unprepared for any such subtle rendering of the turkish knight, and he only hoped that the more ancient play-actors would not come armed with equally obstinate opinions.
-"we'll talk about it afterwards," he said. "now you go off to the right, waite, and father christmas comes on at the left. mr. baskerville--father christmas, please."
-nathan put his part into his pocket, marched on to the imaginary stage and bowed. everybody cheered.
-"you needn't bow," explained dennis; but the innkeeper differed from him.
-"i'm afraid i must, your reverence. when i appear before them, the people will give me a lot of applause in their usual kindly fashion. why, even these here--just t'other actors do, you see--so you may be sure that the countryside will. therefore i had better practise the bow at rehearsal, if you've no great argument against it."
-"all right, push on," said dennis.
-"we must really be quicker," declared miss masterman. "half an hour has gone, and we've hardly started."
-"off i go then; and i want you chaps--especially you, vivian, and you, jack head, and you, tom gollop--to watch me acting. acting ban't the same as ordinary talking. if i was just talking, i should say all quiet, without flinging my arms about, and walking round, and stopping, and then away again. but in acting you do all these things, and instead of merely saying your speeches, as we would, just man to man, over my bar or in the street, you have to bawl 'em out so that every soul in the audience catches 'em."
-having thus explained his theory of histrionics mr. baskerville started, and with immense and original emphasis, and sudden actions and gestures, introduced himself.
-"here come i, the dear old father christmas. welcome or welcome not, i hope old father christmas will never be forgot. a room--make room here, gallant boys, and give us room to rhyme----"
-nathan broke off to explain his reading of the part.
-"when i say 'make room' i fly all round the stage, as if i was pushing the people back to give me room."
-he finished his speech, and panted and mopped his head.
-"that's acting, and what d'you think of it?" he asked.
-they all applauded vigorously excepting mr. gollop, who now prepared to take his part.
-nathan then left the stage and the vicar called him back.
-"you don't go off," he explained. "you stop to welcome the king of egypt."
-"beg pardon," answered the innkeeper. "but of course, so it is. i'll take my stand here."
-"yes," said dennis, "he bows, of course. you'll have a train carried by two boys, gollop; but the boys aren't here to-night, as they're both down with measles--mrs. bassett's youngsters."
-"i'll bow to you if you bow to me, tom," said mr. baskerville. "that's only right."
-"kings don't bow to common people," declared the parish clerk. "me and my pretended darter--that's miss cora lintern, who's the princess--ban't going to bow, i should hope."
-"you ought to, then," declared jack head. "no reason because you'm king of egypt why you should think yourself better than other folk. make him bow, nathan. don't you bow to him if he don't bow to you."
-"he must bow first, then," argued the parish clerk.
-"damn the man! turn him out and let somebody else do it!" cried head.
-"let neither of 'em bow," suggested mrs. hacker suddenly. "with all this here bowing and scraping, us shan't be done afore midnight; and i don't come in the play till the end of all things as 'tis."
-"you'd better decide, your reverence," suggested vivian. "your word's law. i say let 'em bow simultaneous--how would that serve?"
-thomas marched on with an amazing gait, designed to be regal.
-"they'll all laugh if you do it like that, tom," complained mr. voysey.
-"beggar the man! and why for shouldn't they laugh?" asked jack head. "thomas don't want to make 'em cry, do he? ban't we all to be as funny as ever we can, reverend masterman?"
-"yes," said dennis. "in reason--in reason, jack. but acting is one thing, and playing the fool is another."
-"oh, lord! i thought they was the same," declared vivian baskerville. "because if i've got to act the giant----"
-"order! order!" cried the clergyman. "we must get on. don't be annoyed, mr. baskerville, i quite see your point; but it will all come right at rehearsal."
-"you'll have to tell me how to act then," said vivian. "how the mischief can a man pretend to be what he isn't? a giant----"
-"you're as near being a live giant as you can be," declared nathan. "you've only got to be yourself and you'll be all right."
-"no," argued jack head. "if the man's himself, he's not funny, and nobody will laugh. i say----"
-"bow then," said mr. gollop to nathan.
-"i'll bow when you do, and not a minute sooner," answered the innkeeper firmly.
-the matter of the bow was arranged, and mr. gollop, in the familiar voice with which he had led the psalms for a quarter of a century, began his part.
-"here i, the king of egypt, boldly do appear, st. garge! st. garge! walk in, my only son and heir; walk in, st. garge, my son, and boldly act thy part, that all the people here may see thy wondrous art!"
-"well done, tom!" said mr. masterman, "that's splendid; but you mustn't sing it."
-"i ban't singing it," answered the clerk. "i know what to do."
-"all right. now st. george, st. george, where are you?"
-as a matter of fact ned baskerville was engaged in deep conversation with princess sabra and the turkish knight. he left them and hurried forward.
-"give tongue, ned!" cried his father.
-"you walk down to the footlights, and the king of egypt will be on one side of you and father christmas on the other," explained the vicar.
-"and you needn't look round for the females, 'cause they don't appear till later on," added jack head.
-a great laugh followed this jest, whereon miss masterman begged her brother to try and keep order.
-"if they are not going to be serious, we had better give it up, and waste no more time," she said.
-"don't take it like that, miss, i beg of you," urged nathan. "all's prospering very well. we shall shape down. go on, ned."
-ned looked at his part, then put it behind his back, and then brought it out again.
-"this is too bad, baskerville," complained dennis. "you told me yesterday that you knew every word."
-"so i did yesterday, i'll swear to it. i said it out in the kitchen after supper to mother--didn't i, father?"
-"you did," assented vivian; "but that's no use if you've forgot it now."
-"'tis stage fright," explained nathan. "you'll get over it."
-"think you'm talking to a maiden," advised jack head.
-"do get on!" cried dennis. then he prompted the faulty mummer.
-"here come i, st. george----"
-ned struck an attitude and started.
-"here come i, st. george; from britain did i spring; i'll fight the russian bear, my wonders to begin. i'll pierce him through, he shall not fly; i'll cut him--cut him--cut him----"
-"how does it go?"
-"'i'll cut him down,'" prompted dennis.
-"i'll cut him down, or else i'll die."
-"good! now, come on, bear!" said nathan.
-"you and jack head will have to practise the fight," explained the vicar; "and at this point, or earlier, the ladies will march in to music and take their places, because, of course, 'fair sabra' has to see st. george conquer his foes."
-"that'll suit ned exactly!" laughed nathan.
-then he marshalled cora and several other young women, including may and polly baskerville from cadworthy, and cora's sister phyllis.
-"there will be a daïs lifted up at the back, you know--that's a raised platform. but for the present you must pretend these chairs are the throne. you sit by 'fair sabra,' thomas, and then the trumpets sound and the bear comes on."
-"who'll play the brass music?" asked head, "because i've got a very clever friend at sheepstor----"
-"leave all that to me. the music is arranged. now, come on!"
-"shall you come on and play it like a four-footed thing, or get up on your hind-legs, jack?" asked st. george.
-"i be going to come in growling and yowling on all fours," declared mr. head grimly. "then i be going to do a sort of a comic bear dance; then i be going to have a bit of fun eating a plum pudding; then i thought that me and mr. nathan might have a bit of comic work; and then i should get up on my hind-legs and go for st. george."
-"you can't do all that," declared dennis. "not that i want to interfere with you, or anybody, head; but if each one is going to work out his part and put such a lot into it, we shall never get done."
-"the thing is to make 'em laugh, reverend masterman," answered jack with firmness. "if i just come on and just say my speech, and fight and die, there's nought in it; but if----"
-"go on, then--go on. we'll talk afterwards."
-"right. now you try not to laugh, souls, and i wager i'll make you giggle like a lot of zanies," promised jack.
-then he licked his hands, went down upon them, and scrambled along upon all fours.
-"good for you, jack! well done! you'm funnier than anything that's gone afore!" cried joe voysey.
-"so you be, for certain," added mrs. hacker.
-"for all the world like my bob-tailed sheep-dog," declared mr. waite.
-"now i be going to sit up on my hams and scratch myself," explained mr. head; "then off i go again and have a sniff at father christmas. then you ought to give me a plum pudding, mr. baskerville, and i balance it 'pon my nose."
-"well thought on!" declared nathan. "so i will. 'twill make the folk die of laughing to see you."
-"come on to the battle," said dennis.
-"must be a sort of wraslin' fight," continued head, "because the bear's got nought but his paws. then, i thought, when i'd throwed st. george a fair back heel, he'd get up and draw his shining sword and stab me in the guts. then i'd roar and roar, till the place fairly echoed round, and then i'd die in frightful agony."
-"you ban't the whole play, jack," said mr. gollop with much discontent. "you forget yourself, surely. you can't have the king of egypt and these here other high characters all standing on the stage doing nought while you'm going through these here vagaries."
-but mr. head stuck to his text.
-"we'm here to make 'em laugh," he repeated with bull-dog determination. "and i'll do it if mortal man can do it. then, when i've took the doctor's stuff, up i gets again and goes on funnier than ever."
-"by the way, who is to be the doctor?" asked ned baskerville. "'twasn't settled, mr. masterman."
-dennis collapsed blankly.
-"by jove, no! more it was," he admitted, "and i've forgotten all about it. the doctor's very important, too. we must have him before the next rehearsal. for the present you can read it out of the book, mark."
-mark baskerville was prompting, and now, after st. george and the bear had made a pretence of wrestling, and the bear had perished with much noise and to the accompaniment of loud laughter, mark read the doctor's somewhat arrogant pretensions.
-"all sorts of diseases-- whatever you pleases: the phthisic, the palsy, the gout, if the devil's in, i blow him out.
-"i carry a bottle of alicampane, here, russian bear, take a little of my flip-flap, pour it down thy tip-tap; rise up and fight again!"
-"well said, mark! 'twas splendidly given. why for shouldn't mark be doctor?" asked nathan.
-"an excellent idea," declared dennis. "i'm sure now, if the fair queen sabra will only put in a word----"
-mark's engagement was known. the people clapped their hands heartily and cora blushed.
-"i wish he would," said cora.
-"your wish ought to be his law," declared ned. "i'm sure if 'twas me----"
-but mark shook his head.
-"i couldn't do it," he answered. "i would if i could; but when the time came, and the people, and the excitement of it all, i should break down, i'm sure i should."
-"it's past ten o'clock," murmured miss masterman to her brother.
-the rehearsal proceeded: jack head, as the bear, was restored to life and slain again with much detail. then ned proceeded--
-"i fought the russian bear and brought him to the slaughter; by that i won fair sabra, the king of egypt's daughter. where is the man that now will me defy? i'll cut his giblets full of holes and make his buttons fly."
-"and when i've got my sword, of course 'twill be much finer," concluded ned.
-mr. gollop here raised an objection.
-"i don't think the man ought to tell about cutting anybody's giblets full of holes," he said; "no, nor yet making their buttons fly. 'tis very coarse, and the gentlefolks wouldn't like it."
-"nonsense, tom," answered the vicar, "it's all in keeping with the play. there's no harm in it at all."
-"evil be to them as evil think," said jack head. "now comes the song, reverend masterman, and i was going to propose that the bear, though he's dead as a nit, rises up on his front paws and sings with the rest, then drops down again--eh, souls?"
-"they'll die of laughing if you do that, jack," declared vivian. "i vote for it."
-but dennis firmly refused permission and addressed his chorus.
-"now, girls, the song--everybody joins. the other songs are not written yet, so we need not bother about them till next time."
-the girls, glad of something to do, sang vigorously, and the song went well. then the turkish knight was duly slain, restored and slain again.
-"we can't finish to-night," declared dennis, looking at his watch, "so i'm sorry to have troubled you to come, mrs. hacker, and you, voysey."
-"they haven't wasted their time, however, because head and i have showed them what acting means," said nathan. "and when you do come on, susan hacker, you've got to quarrel and pull my beard, remember; then we make it up afterwards."
-"we'll finish for to-night with the giant," decreed dennis. "now speak your long speech, st. george, and then mr. baskerville can do the giant."
-ned, who declared that he had as yet learned no more, read his next speech, and vivian began behind the scenes--
-"fee--fi--fo--fum! i smell the blood of an englishman. let him be living, or let him be dead, i'll grind his bones to make my bread."
-"and when you come on, farmer, you might pass me by where i lie dead," said jack, "and i'll up and give you a nip in the calf of the leg, and you'll jump round, and the people will roar again."
-"no," declared the vicar. "no more of you, head, till the end. then you come to life and dance with the french eagle--that's voysey. but you mustn't act any more till then."
-"a pity," answered jack. "i was full of contrivances; however, if you say so----"
-"be i to dance?" asked mr. voysey. "this is the first i've heard tell o' that. how can i dance, and the rheumatism eating into my knees for the last twenty year?"
-"i'll dance," said head. "you can just turn round and round slowly."
-"now, mr. baskerville!"
-vivian strode on to the stage.
-"here come i, the giant; bold turpin is my name, and all the nations round do tremble at my fame, where'er i go, they tremble at my sight: no lord or champion long with me will dare to fight."
-"people will cheer you like thunder, vivian," said his brother, "because they know that the nations really did tremble at your fame when you was champion wrestler of the west."
-"but you mustn't stand like that, farmer," said jack head. "you'm too spraddlesome. for the lord's sake, man, try and keep your feet in the same parish!"
-mr. baskerville bellowed with laughter and slapped his immense thigh.
-"dammy! that's funnier than anything in the play," he said. "'keep my feet in the same parish!' was ever a better joke heard?"
-"now, st. george, kill the giant," commanded dennis. "the giant will have a club, and he'll try to smash you; then you run him through the body."
-"take care you don't hit ned in real earnest, however, else you'd settle him and spoil the play," said mr. voysey. "'twould be a terrible tantarra for certain if the giant went and whipped st. george."
-"'twouldn't be the first time, however," said mr. baskerville. "would it, ned?"
-nathan and ned's sisters appreciated this family joke. then mr. gollop advanced a sentimental objection.
-"i may be wrong," he admitted, "but i can't help thinking it might be a bit ondecent for ned baskerville here to kill his father, even in play. you see, though everybody will know 'tis ned and his parent, and that they'm only pretending, yet it might shock a serious-minded person here and there to see the son kill the father. i don't say i mind, as 'tis all make-believe and the frolic of a night; but--well, there 'tis."
-"you'm a silly old grandmother, and never no king of egypt was such a fool afore," said jack. "pay no heed to him, reverend masterman."
-gollop snarled at head, and they began to wrangle fiercely.
-then dennis closed the rehearsal.
-"that'll do for the present," he announced. "we've made a splendid start, and the thing to remember is that we meet here again this day week, at seven o'clock. and mind you know your part, ned. another of the songs will be ready by then; and the new harmonium will have come that my sister is going to play. and do look about, all of you, to find somebody who will take the doctor."
-"we shall have the nation's eyes on us--not for the first time," declared mr. gollop as he tied a white wool muffler round his throat; "and i'm sure i hope one and all will do the best that's in 'em."
-the actors departed; the oil lamps were extinguished, and the vicar and his sister returned home. she said little by the way, and her severe silence made him rather nervous.
-"well," he broke out at length, "jolly good, i think, for a first attempt--eh, alice?"
-"i'm glad you were satisfied, dear. everything depends upon us--that seems quite clear, at any rate. they'll all get terribly self-conscious and silly, i'm afraid, long before the time comes. however, we must hope for the best. but i shouldn't be in a hurry to ask anybody who really matters."
-in a triangle the wild land of the rut sloped down from hawk house to the valley beneath, and its solitary time of splendour belonged to spring, when the great furzes were blooming and the white thorns filled the valley with light. hither came mark to keep tryst with cora beside the stream. he walked not loverly but languid, for his mind was in trouble, and his gait reflected it.
-to water's brink he came, sat on a familiar stump above torry brook, and watched sunshine play over the ripples and a dance of flies upon the sunshine.
-looked at in a mass, the insects seemed no more than a glimmering, like a heat haze, over the water and against the background of the woods; but noted closer the plan and pattern of these myriads showed method: the little storm of flies gyrated in a circle, and while the whole cluster swept this way and that with the proper motion of the mass, yet each individual, like planets round the sun, revolved about a definite but shifting centre. the insects whirled round and round, rose and sank again, each atom describing repeated circles; and though the united motion of this company suspended here in air appeared inconceivably rapid and dazzling, yet the progress of each single gnat was not fast.
-mark observed this little galaxy of glittering lives, and, knowing some natural history, he considered intelligently the thing he saw. for a moment it distracted him. a warm noon had wakened innumerable brief existences that a cold night would still again. all this immense energy must soon cease and the ephemeral atoms perish at the chill touch of evening; but to nature it mattered neither more nor less if a dance of nebulæ or a dance of gnats should make an end that night. countless successions of both were a part of her work. from awful marriages of ancient suns new suns would certainly be born; and out of this midge dance here above the water, potential dances for another day were ensured, before the little system sank to rest, the aureole of living light became extinguished.
-he turned from the whirl and wail of the gnats to his own thoughts, and found them also revolving restlessly. but their sun and centre was cora. he had asked her to meet him here, in a favourite and secret place, that he might speak harsh things to her. there was no love-making toward just now. she had angered him once and again. he considered his grievances, strove to palliate them, and see all with due allowance; but his habit of mind, if vague, was not unjust. he loved her passionately, but that she should put deliberate indignities upon him argued a faulty reciprocity of love. time had revealed that cora did not care for mark as well as he cared for her; and that would not have mattered--he held it reasonable. but he desired a larger measure of affection and respect than he had received. then to his quick senses even the existing affection diminished, and respect appeared to die.
-these dire shadows had risen out of the rehearsals for the play. cora's attitude towards other young men first astonished mark and then annoyed him. he kept his annoyance to himself, however, for fear of being laughed at. then, thanks to his cousin, ned baskerville, and the young farmer, timothy waite, he was laughed at, for cora found these youths better company than mark himself, and jack head and others did not hesitate to rally him about his indifferent lady.
-"she's more gracious with either of them than with me," he reflected. "why, actually, when i offered as usual to walk home with her last week, she said yonder man had promised to do so and she need not trouble me!"
-as he spoke he lifted his eyes where a farm showed on the hills westerly through the trees. coldstone was a prosperous place, and the freehold of a prosperous man, young waite, the turkish knight of the play.
-he had seen cora home according to her wish, and mark had kept his temper and afterwards made the present appointment by letter. now cora came to him, late from another interview--but concerning it she said nothing.
-on her way from undershaugh it happened that she had fallen in with mark's father. the old man rode his pony, and cora was passing him hastily when he stopped and called her to him. they had not met since the occasion of the girl's first and last visit to hawk house.
-"come hither," he said. "i've fretted you, it seems, and set you against me. i'm sorry for that. you should be made of stouter stuff. shake hands with me, cora, please."
-he held out his hand and she took it silently.
-"i'll turn and go a bit of your road. if you intend to marry my son, you must make shift to be my daughter, you see. what was it made you so cross that you ran away? but i know--i spoke against your clothes."
-"you spoke against everything. i felt in every drop of blood in my body that you didn't like me. that's why i had to run."
-he was silent a moment. suddenly he pointed to one faint gold torch above their heads, where a single bough of an elm was autumn-painted, and began to glow on the bosom of a tree still green. it stood out shining against the deep summer darkness of the foliage.
-"what d'you make of that?" he asked.
-"'tis winter coming again, i suppose."
-"yes--winter for us, death for the leaves. i'm like that--i'm frost-bitten here and there--in places. 'twas a frosty day with me when you came to dinner. i'm sorry i hurt you. but you must be sensible. it's a lot harder to be a good wife than a popular maiden. my son mark will need a strong-minded woman, not a silly one. the question is, are you going to rise to it? however, we'll leave that. how did you know in every drop of your blood, as you say, that you'd failed to please me?"
-"i knew it by--oh, by everything. by your eyes and by the tone of your voice. you said you wanted to talk to me."
-"well, i did."
-"you never asked me nothing."
-"there was no need, you told me everything."
-"i said nought, i'm sure."
-"you said all i wanted to hear and told me a lot more than i wanted, or expected, to hear for that matter."
-"i'm sure i don't understand you, mr. baskerville."
-"no need--no need. that's only to say you're like the rest. they wonder how 'tis they don't understand me--fools that they are!--and yet how many understand themselves? i'll tell you this: you're not the right wife for mark."
-"then i won't marry him. there's quite as good as him, and better, for that matter."
-"plenty. take young waite from coldstone farm, for instance. a strong man he is. my son mark is a weak man--a gentle character he hath. 'tis the strong men--they that want things--that alter the face of the world, and make history, and help the breed--not such as mark. he'd spoil you and bring out all the very worst of you. such a man as waite would do different. he'd not stand your airs and graces, and little silly whims and fancies. he'd break you in; he'd tame you; and you'd look back afterwards and thank god you fell to a strong man and not a weak one."
-"women marry for love, not for taming," she said.
-"some, perhaps, but not you. you ban't built to love, if you want to know the whole truth," he answered calmly. "you belong to a sort of woman who takes all and gives nought. i wish i could ope your eyes to yourself, but i suppose that's beyond human power. but this i'll say: i wish you nothing but good; and the best good of all for such a one as you is to get a glimpse of yourself through a sensible and not unkindly pair of eyes. if you are going to marry mark, and want to be a happy woman and wish him to be a happy man, you must think of a lot of things beside your wedding frock."
-"for two pins i wouldn't marry him at all after this," she said. "you'd break any girl's heart, speaking so straight and coarse to her. i ban't accustomed to be talked to so cruel, and i won't stand it."
-"i do beg you to think again," he said, stopping his pony. "i'm only telling you what i've often told myself. i'm always open to hear sense from any man, save now and again when i find myself in a black mood and won't hear anything. but you--a green girl as haven't seen one glimpse of the grey side yet--why, 'tis frank foolishness to refuse good advice from an old man."
-"you don't want to give me good advice," she answered, and her face was red and her voice high; "you only want to make me think small things of myself, and despise myself, and to choke me off mark."
-"to choke you off mark might be the best advice anybody could give you, for that matter, my dear; and as to your thinking small things of yourself--no such luck i see. you'll go on thinking a lot of your little, empty self till you stop thinking for good and all. life ban't going to teach you anything worth knowing, because you've stuffed up your ears with self-conceit and vanity. so go your way; but if you get a grain of sense come back to me, and i shall be very glad to hear about it."
-he left her standing still in a mighty temper. she felt inclined to fling a stone after him. and yet she rejoiced at the bottom of her heart, because this scene made her future actions easier. only one thing still held her to mark baskerville, and that was his money. the sickly ghost of regard for him, which she was pleased to call love, existed merely as the answer to her own appeal to her conscience. she had never loved him, but when the opportunity came, she could not refuse his worldly wealth and the future of successful comfort it promised.
-now, however, were appearing others who attracted her far more. two men had entered into her life since the rehearsals, and both pleased her better than mark. one she liked for his person and for his charms of manner and of speech; the other for his masterful character and large prosperity. one was better looking than mark, and knew far better how to worship a woman; the other was perhaps as rich as mark would be, and he appealed to her much more by virtue of his masculinity and vigour. mr. baskerville had actually mentioned this individual during the recent conversation; and it was of him, too, that mark considered where he sat and waited for cora by the stream.
-but though she felt timothy waite's value, yet a thing even stronger drew her to the other man. ned baskerville was the handsomest, gallantest, most fascinating creature that cora had ever known. chance threw them little together until the rehearsals, but since then they had met often, and advanced far along a road of mutual admiration. like clove to like, and the emptiness of each heart struck a kindred echo from the other; but neither appreciated the hollowness of the sound.
-under these circumstances humphrey baskerville's strictures, though exceedingly painful to her self-love, were not unwelcome, for they made the thing that she designed to do reasonable and proper. it would be simple to quote his father to her betrothed when she threw him over.
-in this temper cora now appeared to mark. had he been aware of it he might have hesitated before adding further fuel to the flames. but he began in a friendly fashion, rose and kissed her.
-"you're late, cora. look here. sit down and get cool and watch these flies. the merry dancers, they are called, and well they may be. 'tis a regular old country measure they seem to tread in the air--figure in and cross over and all--just like you do when you go through the old dance in the play."
-but she was in no mood of softness.
-"a tidy lot of dancing i'll get when i'm married to you! you know you hate it, and hate everything else with any joy and happiness to it. you're only your father over again, when all's said, and god defend me from him! i can't stand no more of him, and i won't."
-"you've met him?" said mark. "i was afraid you might. i'm sorry for that."
-"not so sorry as i am. if i was dirt by the road he couldn't have treated me worse. and i'm not going to suffer it--never once more--not if he was ten times your father!"
-"what did he say?"
-"what didn't he say? not a kind word, anyway. and 'tis vain your sticking up for him, because he don't think any better of you than he do of me seemingly. 'twas to that man he pointed." she raised her arm towards the farm through the trees. "he thinks a lot more of timothy waite than he does of you, i can tell you."
-"i'll talk to father. this can't go on."
-"no, it can't go on. life's too short for this sort of thing. i won't be bullied by anybody. people seem to forget who i am."
-"you mustn't talk so, cora. i'm terrible sorry about it; but father's father, and he'll go his own rough way, and you ought to know what way that is by now. don't take it to heart--he means well."
-"'heart!' i've got no heart according to him--no heart, no sense, no nothing. just a dummy to show off pretty clothes."
-"he never said that!"
-"yes, he did; and worse, and i'm tired of it. you're not the only man in the world."
-"nothing is gained by my quarrelling with father."
-"i suppose not; but i've got my self-respect, and i can't marry the son of a man that despises me openly like he does. i won't be bullied by him, i promise you--a cruel hunks he is, and would gore me to pieces if he dared! no better than a mad bull, i call him."
-"'tis no good your blackguarding my father, cora," said mark.
-"perhaps not; and 'tis no good his blackguarding me. very different to your uncle vivian, i'm sure. always a kind word and a pat on the cheek he've got; and so have your uncle nathan."
-"uncle vivian can be hard enough too--as my cousin rupert that means to marry milly luscombe will tell you. in fact, rupert's going away because he won't stand his father."
-"why don't you go away then? if you were worth your salt, you'd turn your back on any man living who has treated me so badly as your father has."
-"we're in for a row, it seems," answered mark, "and i'd better begin and get a painful job over. when you've heard me, i'll hear you. in the matter of my father i'll do what a son can do--that i promise you; but there's something on my side too."
-"say it out then--the sooner the better."
-she found herself heartily hating mark and was anxious to break with him while angry; because anger would make an unpleasant task more easy.
-"in a word, it's ned baskerville and that man over there--waite. these rehearsals of the play--you know very well how you carry on, cora; and you know very well 'tisn't right or seemly. you've promised to marry me, and you are my life and soul; but i can't share you with no other man. you can't flirt with ned while you're engaged to me; you can't ask waite to see you home of a night while you're engaged to me. you don't know what you're doing."
-"why ban't you more dashing then?" she asked. "you slink about so mean and humble. why don't you take a part in the play, and do as other men, and talk louder and look people in the face, as if you wasn't feared to death of 'em? if you grumble, then i'll grumble too. you haven't got enough pluck for me. ned's different, and so's t'other man, for that matter. i see how much they admire me; i know how they would go through fire and water for me."
-"not they! master ned--why--he can roll his eyes and roll his voice; but--there--go on! finish what you've got to say."
-"i've only got to say that there's a deal about ned you might very well copy in my opinion. he's a man, anyway, and a handsome man for that matter. and if you're going to fall out with your father, then you'll lose your money, and----"
-"i'm not going to fall out with him. you needn't fear that."
-"then more shame to you, for keeping friendly with a man that hates me. call that love! ned----"
-"have done about ned!" he cried out. "ned's a lazy, caddling good-for-nought--the laughing-stock of every decent man and sane woman in shaugh. a wastrel--worthless. you think he's fond of you, i suppose?"
-"i know he is. and you know it."
-"yes, just as fond of you as he is of every other girl that will let him be. anything that wears a petticoat can get to his empty heart--poor fool. love! what does he know of that--a great, bleating baby! his love isn't worth the wind he takes to utter it; and you'll very soon find that out--like other girls have--if you listen to him."
-"he knows what pleases a woman, anyway."
-"cora! cora! what are you saying? d'you want to drive me mad?"
-he started up and stared at her.
-"'twouldn't be driving you far. better sit down again and listen to me now."
-"i'll listen to nothing. i'm choking--i'm stifling! to think that you--oh, cora--good god almighty--and for such a man as that----"
-he rushed away frantically and she saw him no more. he had not given her time to strike the definite blow. but she supposed that it was as good as struck. after such a departure and such words, they could not meet again even as friends. the engagement was definitely at an end in her mind, for by no stretch of imagination might this be described as a lovers' quarrel.
-all was over; she rejoiced at her renewal of liberty and resolved not to see mark any more, no matter how much he desired it.
-she flung away the luncheon that she had brought and set off for home, trusting that she might meet humphrey baskerville upon the way. she longed to see him again now and repay him for a little of the indignity that he had put upon her.
-but she did not meet mark's father.
-on the evening of the same day a congenial spirit won slight concessions from her. ned baskerville arrived on some pretext concerning the play. he knew very well by this time that, in the matter of her engagement, cora was a victim, and he felt, as he had often felt before in other cases, that she was the only woman on earth to make him a happy man. he despised mark and experienced little compunction with respect to him.
-upon this night mrs. lintern was out, and cora made no objection to putting on her hat and going to the high ground above shaugh prior to look at the moon.
-"'twon't take above ten minutes, and then i'll see you back," said ned.
-they went together, and he flattered her and paid her many compliments and humbled himself before her. she purred and was pleased. they moved along together and he told her that she was like the princess in the play.
-"you say nought, but, my god, you look every inch a princess! if 'twas real life, i'd slay fifty giants and a hundred bears for you, cora."
-"don't you begin that silliness. i'm sure you don't mean a word of it, ned."
-"if you could see my heart, cora, you'd see only one name there--i swear it."
-"what about t'other names--all rubbed out, i suppose?"
-"they never were there. all the other girls were ghosts beside you. not one of them----"
-suddenly near at hand the church bells began to throb and tremble upon the peace of moonlit night.
-"mark's out of the way then," said ned. "not that i'm afraid of him, or any other man. you're too good for mark, cora--a million times too good for him. i'm bound to tell you so."
-"i'm sick of him and his bell-ringing," she said violently.
-"hullo! that's strong," he exclaimed.
-"so would any maiden be. he puts tenor bell afore me. 'tis more to him than ever i was. in a word, i've done with the man!"
-"you splendid, plucky creature! 'twas bound to come. such a spirit as yours never could have brooked a worm like him! you're free then?"
-"yes, i am."
-elsewhere in the belfry mark rang himself into better humour. the labour physicked his grief and soothed his soul. he told himself that all the fault was his, and when the chimes were still, he put on his coat and went to undershaugh to beg forgiveness.
-phyllis met him.
-"cora's out walking," she said.
-"out walking! who with?" he asked.
-but phyllis was nothing if not cautious. she had more heart, but not more conscience than her sister.
-"i don't know--alone, i think," she answered.
-a day of storm buffeted the moor. fitful streaks of light roamed through a wild and silver welter of low cloud; and now they rested on a pool or river, and the water flashed; and now they fired the crests of the high lands or made the ruddy brake-fern flame. behind shaugh moor was storm-cloud, and beneath it, oozing out into the valleys, extended the sullen green of water-logged fields hemmed in with autumnal hedges.
-hither came mark baskerville on his way to shaugh, and then a man stopped him and changed his plan. for some time he had neither seen nor heard from cora, and unable longer to live with this cloud between them, mark was now on his way to visit her.
-consideration had convinced him that he was much in fault, and that she did well to keep aloof until he came penitent back again; but he had already striven more than once to do so, and she had refused to see him. he told himself that it was natural she should feel angered at the past, and natural that she should be in no haste to make up so serious a quarrel.
-but the catastrophe had now shrunk somewhat in his estimation, and he doubted not that cora, during the passage of many days, also began to see it in its proper perspective. he did not wholly regret their difference, and certain words that she had spoken still stung painfully when he considered them; but the dominant hunger in his mind was to get back to her, kiss her lips and hear her voice again. he would be very circumspect henceforth, and doubtless so would she. he felt sure that cora regretted their difference now, and that the time was over-ripe for reconciliation.
-the next rehearsal would take place upon the following day, and mark felt that friendly relations must be re-established before that event. he was on his road to see cora and take no further denial, when her brother met him and stopped him.
-"lucky i ran against you," said heathman; "i've got a letter for you from my sister, and meant to leave it on my way out over to lee moor. coarse weather coming by the look of it."
-"thank you," answered mark. "you've saved me a journey then. i was bound for undershaugh."
-heathman, who knew that he bore evil news, departed quickly, while the other, with true instinct of sybarite, held the precious letter a moment before opening it.
-it happened that cora seldom wrote to him, for they met very often; but now, having a difficult thing to say, she sought this medium, and mark, knowing not the truth, was glad.
-"like me--couldn't keep it up no more," he thought. "i almost wish she'd let me say i was sorry first; but she might have heard me say so a week ago, if she'd liked. thank heaven we shall be happy again before dark. i'll promise everything in the world she wants to-night--even to the ring with the blue stone she hungered after at plymouth."
-he looked round, then the wind hustled him and the rain broke in a tattered veil along the edge of the hill.
-"i'll get up to hawk tor, and lie snug there, and read her letter in the lew place i filled with fern for her," he thought.
-there was a natural cavern facing west upon this height, and here, in a nook sacred to cora, he sat presently and lighted his pipe and so came to the pleasant task. he determined that having read her plea for forgiveness, it would be impossible to wait until nightfall without seeing her.
-"i'll go down and take dinner with them," he decided: then he read the letter:--
-"after what happened a little while ago you cannot be surprised if i say i will not marry you. there is nothing to be said about it except that i have quite made up my mind. i have thought about it ever since, and not done nothing in a hurry. we would not suit one another, and the older we grew, the worse we should quarrel. so it will be better to part before any harm is done. you will easily find a quieter sort of girl, without so much spirit as me. and she will suit you better than what i do. i have told my mother that i am not going to marry you. and mr. nathan baskerville, your own uncle, though he is very sorry indeed about it, is our family friend and adviser, and he says it is better we understand and part at once. i hope you won't make any fuss, as nothing will change me. and you will have the pleasure of knowing your father will be thankful. no doubt you will soon find a better-looking and nicer girl than me, and somebody that your father won't treat the same as he treated
-"yours truly, "cora lintern."
-through the man's stunned grief and above the chaos of his thoughts, one paramount and irrevocable conviction reigned. cora meant what she wrote, and nothing that he had power to say or to do would win her back again. she would never change; she had seen him in anger and the sight had determined her; she had met his father and had felt that such antagonism must ruin her life.
-he possessed imagination and was able swiftly to feel what life must mean without her. he believed that his days would be impossible henceforth. he read the letter again and marked how she began with restraint and gradually wrote herself into anger.
-she smarted when she reflected on his father; and he soon convinced himself that it was his father who had driven her to these conclusions. he told himself that he did not blame her. the pipe in his mouth had been given to him by cora. he emptied it now, put it into its case, rose up and went home. he planned the things to say to his father and determined to show him the letter. mark desired to make his father suffer, and did not doubt but that he would suffer when this catastrophe came to his ears.
-then his father appeared before him, far off, driven by the wind; and mark, out of his tortured mind, marvelled to think that a thing so small as this dim spot, hastening like a dead leaf along, should have been powerful enough, and cruel enough, deliberately to ruin his life. for he was now obsessed by the belief that his father alone must be thanked for the misfortune.
-they came together, and humphrey shouted to be heard against the riot of the wind. his hat was pressed over his ears; the tails of his coat and the hair on his head leapt and danced; his eyes were watering.
-"a brave wind! might blow sense into a man, if anything could. what are you doing up here?"
-"read that," said the other, and his father stopped and stared at him. despite the rough air and the wild music of heath and stone, mark's passion was not hidden and his face as well as his voice proclaimed it. "see what you have done for your only son," he cried.
-humphrey held out his hand for the letter, took it and turned his back to the wind. he read it slowly, then returned it to mark.
-"she means that," he answered. "this isn't the time to speak to you. i know all that's moving in you, and i guess how hard life looks. but i warn you: be just. i'm used to be misread by the people and care nought; but i'd not like for you to misread me. you think that i've done this."
-"i know you have--and done it with malice aforethought too. the only thing i've ever loved in life--the only thing that ever comed into my days to make 'em worth living--and you go to work behind my back to take it away from me. and me as good a son to you as my nature would allow--always--always."
-"shouldn't i know if 'twas another man? she was friendly and frank with all. she hadn't a secret from me. 'twas only my own blind jealousy made me think twice about it when she talked with other men."
-"but she did talk with 'em and you did think twice? and you didn't like it? and you quarrelled -eh? and that was the sense in you--the sense trying to lift you above the blind instinct you'd got for her. would you have quarrelled for nothing? are you that sort? too fond of taking affronts and offering the other cheek, you are--like i was once. you can't blind me. you've suffered at her hands already, and spoken, and this is her slap back at you. no need to drag me in at all then; though i did give her raw sense for her dinner when she came to see me. look further on than your father for the meaning of this letter. look to yourself first, and if that don't throw light, look afield."
-"there's none--none more than another--i'll swear it."
-"seek a man with money and with a face like a barber's image and not over-much sense. that's the sort will win her; and that's the sort will suit her. and now i've done."
-they walked together and said the same things over and over again, as people are prone to do in argument. then they separated in heat, for the father lost patience and again declared his pleasure at this accident.
-whereon mark cried out against him for a callous and brutal spirit, and so left him, and turned blindly homeward. he did not know what to do or how to fight this great tribulation. he could not believe it. he came back to hawk house at last and found himself in an angle of the dwelling, out of the wind.
-here reigned artificial silence and peace. the great gale roared overhead; but beneath, in this nook, not a straw stirred. he stood and stared at his fallen hopes and ruined plans; while from a dry spot beside the wall, there came to him the sweet, sleepy chirruping of chickens that cuddled together under their mother's wings.
-while the desolation of mark baskerville came to be learnt, and some sympathised with him and some held that cora lintern had showed a very proper spirit to refuse a man cursed with such a father, lesser trouble haunted cadworthy farm, for the parent of rupert baskerville declared himself to be suffering from a great grievance.
-vivian was an obstinate man and would not yield to his son's demand; but the situation rapidly reached a climax, for rupert would not yield either.
-night was the farmer's time for long discussions with his wife; and there came a moment when he faced the present crisis with her and strove for some solution of the difficulty.
-"unray yourself and turn out the light and come to bed," he said to mrs. baskerville. he already lay in their great four-poster, and, solid though the monster was, it creaked when vivian's immense bulk turned upon it.
-his wife soon joined him and then he began to talk. he prided himself especially on his reasonableness, after the fashion of unreasonable men.
-"it can't go on and it shan't," he said. "never was heard such a thing as a son defying his father this way. if he'd only given the girl up, then i should have been the first to relax authority and tell him he might have her in due season if she liked to wait. but for him to cleave to her against my express order--'tis a very improper and undutiful thing--specially when you take into account what a father i've been to the man."
-"and he've been a good son, too."
-"and why not? i was a good son--better than ever rupert was. and would i have done this? i never thought of marriage till my parents were gone."
-"work was enough for you."
-"and so it should be for every young man. but, nowadays, they think of nought but revels and outings and the girls. a poor, slack-twisted generation. my arm would make a leg for any youth i come across nowadays."
-"you must remember you'm a wonder, my dear. we can't all be like you."
-"my own sons ought to be, anyway. and i've a right to demand it of 'em."
-"rupert works as hard as a man can work--harder a thousand times than ned."
-"i won't have you name 'em together," he answered. "a man's firstborn is always a bit different to the rest. ned is more given to reading and brain work."
-she laughed fearlessly and he snorted like a bull beside her.
-"what are you laughing at?" he said.
-"at your silliness. such a sharp chap and so wise as you are; and yet our handsome eldest--why, he can't do wrong! and lord knows he can't do wrong in my eyes neither. still, when it comes to work----"
-"we'll leave ned," answered the father. "he can work all right, and when you've seed him play st. george and marked his intellects and power of speech, you'll be the first to say what a 'mazing deal of cleverness be hid in him. his mind's above the land, and why not? we can't all be farmers. but rupert's a born farmer, and seeing as he be going to follow my calling, he ought to follow my example and bide a bachelor for a good ten years more."
-"she's a nice girl, however."
-"she may be, or she may not be. anyway, she's been advising him to go away from home, and that's not much to her credit."
-"she loves him and hates for him to be here so miserable."
-"he'll find himself a mighty sight more miserable away. don't i pay him good money? ban't he saving and prospering? what the deuce do he want to put a wife and children round his neck for till he's learned to keep his own head above water?"
-"'twas mr. luscombe's man that's determined him, i do think," declared hester baskerville. "jack head is just the sort to unsettle the young, with his mischievous ideas. all the same, i wish to god you could meet rupert. he's a dear good son, and there's lots of room, and for my part i'd love to see him here with milly. 'tis high time you was a grandfather."
-"you foolish women! let him bide his turn then. the eldest first, i say. 'tis quite in reason that ned, with his fashion of mind, should take a wife. i've nought against that----"
-"you silly men!" she said. "ned! why, what sensible girl will look at such a jack-o'-lantern as him--bless him! he's too fond of all the girls ever to take one. and if he don't throw them over, after a bit of keeping company, they throw him over. if you could but see yourself and him! 'tis as good as play-acting! 'there's only one lazy man in the world that your husband forgives for being lazy,' said jack head to me but yesterday. 'and who might that be?' said i, well knowing. 'why, ned, of course,' he answers back."
-"you think so," she answered.
-"i know so. and rupert may go. he'll soon come back."
-"he'll come back, i tell you. he'll find the outer world very different from cadworthy."
-"i wish you'd let that poor boy, mark, be a lesson to you. your love story ran suent, so you can't think what 'tis for a young thing to be crossed where the heart is set. it looks a small matter to us, as have forgotten the fret and fever, if we ever felt it, but to them 'tis life or death."
-"that's all moonshine and story-books. and my story ran suent along of my own patience and good sense--no other reason. and i may tell you that mark have took the blow in a very sensible spirit. i saw my brother a bit ago--nathan i mean. he was terrible cut up for both of 'em, being as soft as a woman where young people are concerned. but he'd had a long talk with mark and found him perfectly patient and resigned about it."
-"rupert's very different to that. 'tis his will against mine, and if he disobeys, he must stand the brunt and see what life be like without me behind him. when nathan went for a sailor, i said nothing. they couldn't all bide here, and 'twas a manly calling. but rupert was brought up to take my place, owing to ned's superior brain power; and now if he's going to fling off about a girl and defy me--well, he may go; but they laugh best who laugh last. he'll suffer for it."
-"i'm much feared nought we can do will change him. that girl be everything to him. a terrible pity, too, for after you, i never knowed a man so greedy of work. 'sundays! there are too many sundays,' he said to ned in my hearing not long since. 'what do a healthy man want to waste every seventh day for?' it might have been you talking."
-"not at all," answered her husband. "very far from it. that's jack head's impious opinion. who be we to question the lord's ordaining? the seventh's the lord's, and i don't think no better of rupert for saying that, hard though it may sometimes be to keep your hands in your pockets, especially at hay harvest."
-"well, if you ban't going to budge, he'll go."
-"then let him go--and he can tell the people that he haven't got no father no more, for that's how 'twill be if he does go."
-"don't you say that, master."
-"why for not? truth's truth. and now us will go to sleep, if you please."
-others had debated these vexed questions of late, and the dark, short days were made darker for certain sympathetic people by the troubles of mark and the anxieties of his cousin, rupert.
-nathan baskerville discussed the situation with mrs. lintern a week before the great production of 'st. george.' matters had now advanced and the situation was developed.
-"that old fool, gollop!" he said. "he goeth now as if the eye of the world was on him. you'd think shaugh prior was the hub of the universe, as the yankees say, and that thomas was the lynch-pin of the wheel!"
-"he's found time to see which way the cat's jumping, all the same," answered mrs. lintern. "full of ned baskerville and our cora now! says that 'tis a case and everybody knows it."
-nathan shrugged his shoulders.
-"yes--well, these things can't be arranged for them. the young must go their own road. a splendid couple they make without a doubt. they'll look magnificent in their finery at the revel. but i wish nephew ned wasn't quite so vain of his good parts."
-cora herself entered at this moment, and had that to say which awoke no small interest in her mother.
-"i've fallen in with mark," she said; "and i was passing, but he spoke and 'tis all well, i believe. he was very quiet and you might almost say cheerful."
-"thank the lord he's got over it then," answered nathan; but mrs. lintern doubted.
-"don't feel too sure of that. he ban't one to wear his heart on his sleeve, anyway."
-"he's took it surprising well, everybody says," said cora, in a voice that made the innkeeper laugh.
-"poor mark!--but i see cora here isn't too pleased that he's weathered the storm so easily. she'd have liked him to be a bit more down in the mouth."
-"i'm very pleased indeed," she answered. "you never gave better advice than when you bade me write to him. the truth is that he's not made to marry. tenor bell be enough wife for him."
-"time enough. not that he'd mind ringing for me, i believe. such a bloodless thing as he is really--no fight in him at all seemingly."
-"if you talk like that we shall begin to think you're sorry he took you at your word," said mr. baskerville; but cora protested; and when he had gone, she spoke more openly to her mother.
-"'tis a very merciful escape for me, and perhaps for him. i didn't understand my own mind; and since he's took it so wonderful cool, i guess he didn't know his mind either."
-"you haven't heard the last of him. i've met the like. for my part i'd rather hear he was daft and frantic than so calm and reasonable. 'tis the sort that keep their trouble out of sight suffer most."
-mrs. lintern smiled, not at the picture of mark's sorrows, but at her daughter's suggestion, that she would have run away with the young man and married him and defied consequences.
-"how we fool ourselves," she said. "you think you would have run with him. you wouldn't have run a yard, cora. the moment you found things was contrary with his father, you was off him--why? because your first thought always is, and always has been, the main chance. you meant to marry him for his money--you and me know that very well, if none else does."
-the daughter showed no concern at this attack.
-"i shan't marry a pauper, certainly. my face is all the fortune you seem like to give me, and i'm not going to fling it away for nought. i do set store by money, and i do long to have some; and so do every other woman in her senses. the only difference between me and others is that they pretend money ban't everything, and i say it is, and don't pretend different."
-"milly luscombe be going to stick to rupert baskerville, however, though 'tis said his father will cut him off with a shilling if he leaves cadworthy."
-"there'll be so much the more for the others then. they baskerville fathers always seem to stand in the way of their sons when it comes to marrying. mr. nathan would have been different if he'd had a family. he understands the young generation. not that vivian baskerville will object to ned marrying, for ned told me so."
-"no doubt he'll be glad for ned to be prevented from making a fool of himself any more."
-mrs. lintern's daughter flushed.
-"he's long ways off a fool," she said. "he ban't the man who comes all through the wood and brings out a crooked stick after all. he knows what women are very well."
-"yes; and i suppose mr. waite knows too?"
-"he's different to ned baskerville. more cautious like and prouder. i'd sooner have ned's vanity than t'other's pride. what did he want to be up here talking with you for?--timothy waite i mean."
-"'twasn't farming, anyway?"
-"might have been, or might not. but, mark this, he's a very shrewd, sensible young man and knows his business, and how to work, and the value of money, and what it takes to save money. he'll wear well--for all you toss your head."
-"but t'other suits you better? well, have a care. don't be in no hurry. get to know a bit more about him; and be decent, cora. 'twouldn't be decent by no means to pick up with him while everybody knows you've just jilted his cousin."
-"didn't do no such thing. i've got my side and 'tisn't over-kind in you to use such a word as that," answered her daughter sharply. "however, you never did have no sympathy with me, and i can't look for it. i'll go my way all the same, and if some fine day i'm up in the world, i'll treat you better than you've treated me."
-but mrs. lintern was not impressed by these sentiments. she knew her daughter's heart sufficiently well.
-"'twill be a pair of you if you take ned baskerville," she said. "and you needn't pretend to be angered with me. you can't help being what you are. i'm not chiding you; i'm only reminding you that you must be seemly and give t'other matter time to be forgot. you owe the other man something, if 'tis only respect--mark, i mean."
-"he'll be comforted mighty quick," answered cora. "perhaps he'll let his father choose the next for him; then 'twill work easier and everybody will be pleased. as for me, i'm in no hurry; and you needn't drag in ned's name, for he haven't axed me yet and very like he'd get 'no' for his answer if he did."
-mrs. lintern prepared to depart and cora spoke again.
-"and as for mark, he's all right and up for anything. he chatted free and friendly about the play and the dresses we're going to wear. he's to be prompter on the night and 'tis settled that the schoolmaster from bickleigh be going to be doctor, because there's none in this parish will do it. and mark says that after the play's over, he shall very like do the same as rupert and leave home."
-"he said that?"
-"yes; and i said, 'none can ring tenor bell like you, i'm sure.' then he looked at me as if he could have said a lot, but he didn't."
-"i hope he will go and see a bit of the world. 'twill help him to forget you," said her mother.
-"ned's the only one of 'em knows the world," answered cora. "he's travelled about a bit and 'tis natural that his father should put him before all the others and see his sense and learning. when parson's voice gave out, ned read the lessons--that sunday you was from home--and nobody ever did it better. he's a very clever man, in fact, and his father knows it, and when his father dies, the will is going to show what his father thinks of him."
-"he's told you so, i suppose?"
-"ned has, yes. he knows i'm one of the business-like sort. i'd leap the hatch to-morrow if a proper rich man came along and asked me to."
-"remember you're not the first--that's all," said her mother. "if you take him and he changes his mind and serves you like he's served another here and there, you'll have a very unquiet time of it, and look a very big fool."
-"'twas all nonsense and lies," she answered. "he made the truth clear to me. he never took either of them girls. they wasn't nice maidens and they rushed him into it--or thought they had. he's never loved any woman until----"
-cora broke off.
-"shan't tell you no more," she continued. "'tis no odds to you--you don't care a button--and i shall soon be out of your house, anyhow."
-"you ax mrs. hester baskerville if i be hard," retorted cora. "she'll tell that i'm gentle as a wood-dove. i don't show my claws without there's a good reason for it. and never, unless there is. anyway, i'm a girl that's got to fight my own battles, since you take very good care not to do a mother's part and help me."
-"you shall have the last word," answered mrs. lintern.
-some weeks after christmas had passed, mr. joseph voysey and others met at 'the white thorn' and played chorus to affairs according to their custom. the great subject of discussion was still the play. it had been enacted twice to different audiences, and it proved but an indifferent success. everybody agreed that the entertainment promised better than its ultimate performance. at rehearsal all went well; upon the night of the display a thousand mishaps combined to lessen its effect.
-joe voysey summed up to thomas gollop, who sat and drank with him.
-"what with us all being so busy about christmas, and the weather, and nathan here getting a cold on his chest and only being able to croak like a frog, and parson losing his temper with head at the last rehearsal, and other things, it certainly failed. 'tis a case of least said soonest mended; but i'm keeping this mask of the french eagle what i wore, for it makes a very pretty ornament hanged over my parlour mantelshelf."
-"in my judgment," declared nathan, "'twas jack head that played the mischief with the show. after parson cooled him down at rehearsal, i allow he went a bit lighter on his part and didn't act quite so forcible, but well i knew he was saving it up for the night; and so he was. 'twas all jack all the time, and even when he was supposed to be dead, he must still keep growling to make the people laugh. he's had a right down row with mr. masterman since."
-"a make-strife sort of man; and yet a cheerful man; and yet, again, a very rebellious man against the powers," said voysey.
-"well, 'tis over and it shows, like everything else do, how much may grow out of little," added nathan. "just a bit of fun at christmas, you'd say, wouldn't leave no very great mark, yet--look at it--how far-reaching."
-"it's brought the eyes of the county on us, as i said it would," replied the parish clerk. "the rural dean was here afterwards and took his luncheon at the vicarage and came to the church to see the font-cover; but nancy mumford--maiden to the vicarage--waits at table, and she told my sister that his reverence said to mr. masterman that we'd fallen between two stools and that the performance was a sort of a mongrel between a modern pantomime and the old miracle play, and that the masks and such-like were out of order. and miss masterman was a bit acid with the rural dean and said, to his face, that if he'd only had to see the thing through, as they had, she was sure that he'd be more charitable like about it."
-"us shan't have no more play-acting, mark me," foretold joe voysey; then others entered the bar, among them being saul luscombe from trowlesworthy and heathman lintern. the warrener was on his way home and stayed only for a pint and a few friendly words.
-"you should hear jack head tell about the play," he said.
-"and he should hear us tell about him," answered voysey. "jack, so near as damn it, spoilt the play. in fact, innkeeper here thinks he did do so."
-"he vows that he saved the whole job from being a hugeous failure. and young farmer waite swears 'twas miss lintern as the princess that saved it; and mr. ned, your nephew, nathan--he swears 'twas himself that saved it."
-"and i think 'twas i that saved it," declared thomas. "however, enough said. 'tis of the past and will soon be forgot, like a dead man out of mind."
-"that's where you're wrong, tom," said heathman. "you can't forget a thing so easy. besides, there's all that hangs to it. there's polly baskerville, that was one of cora's maidens in the play, got engaged to be married on the strength of it--to nick bassett--him as waited on the turkish knight. and now--bigger news still for me and mine. cora's taken ned baskerville!"
-"i knew it was going to happen," admitted nathan. "'tis a very delicate thing, for she's only broken with the man's cousin a matter of a few months. her mother asked me about it a bit ago."
-"you've got to remember this," said heathman. "i should have been the first to make a row--me being cora's only brother and the only man responsible to look after her. i say i should have been the first to make a row, for i was terrible savage with her and thought it hard for her to throw over mark, just because his father was an old carmudgeon. but seeing how mark took it----"
-"to the eye, i grant you that; but these quiet chaps as hide their feelings often feel a lot more than they show," said mr. luscombe.
-"he was hard hit, and well i know it, for his father told me so," continued nathan baskerville. "my brother, humphrey, in a sort of way, blamed me and mrs. lintern, and, in fact, everybody but himself. one minute he said that mark was well out of it, and the next he got to be very jealous for mark and told me that people were caballing against his son. i go in fear of meeting my brother now, for when he hears that cora lintern is going to take ned baskerville, he'll think 'twas all a plot and he'll rage on mark's account."
-"'tis mark that i fear for," said heathman; then gollop suddenly stopped him.
-"hush!" he cried, and held up his hand. after a brief silence, however, he begged young lintern to proceed.
-"beg your pardon," he said. "i thought i heard something."
-"i fear for mark," continued the other, "because i happen to know that he still secretly hoped a bit. i don't like my sister cora none too well, and i reckon mark's worth a million of her, and i told him i was glad to see him so cheerful about it. 'you'm very wise to keep up your pecker, mark,' i said to the man; 'because she'm not your sort really. i know her better than you do and can testify to it.' but he said i mustn't talk so, and he told me, very private, that he hadn't gived up all hope. poor chap, i can let it out now, for he knows 'tis all over now. 'while she's free, there's a chance,' he told me. 'i won't never think,' he said, 'that all that's passed between us is to be blown away at a breath of trouble like this.' that's how he put it, and i could see by the hollow, wisht state of his eyes and his nerves all ajolt, that he'd been through a terrible lot."
-"he'd built on her coming round, poor fellow--eh? that's why he put such a brave face on it then," murmured nathan.
-then voysey spoke again.
-"as it happens, i can tell you the latest thing about him," he said. "i was to work two days agone 'pon the edge of our garden, doing nought in particular because the frost was got in the ground and you couldn't put a spade in. but i was busy as a bee according to my wont--tying up pea-sticks i think 'twas, or setting a rat-trap, or some such thing--when who should pass down t'other side of the hedge but mark baskerville? us fell into talk about the play, and i took him down to my house to show him where my grand-darter had stuck the mask what made me into the french eagle. then i said there were changes in the air, and he said so too. i remarked as rupert baskerville had left cadworthy and gone to work at the lee moor china clay, and he said 'yes; and i be going too.' 'never!' i said. 'what'll mr. humphrey do without you?' but he didn't know or care. 'who ever will ring your bell when you're gone?' i asked him, and----"
-thomas gollop again interrupted.
-"'tis a terrible queer thing you should name the bell, joe," he said, "for i'll take my oath somebody's ringing it now!"
-"ringing the bell! what be talking of?" asked heathman. "why, 'tis hard on ten o'clock."
-"yet i'm right."
-at this moment saul luscombe, who had set out a minute sooner, returned.
-"who's ago?" he asked. "the bell's tolling."
-they crowded to the door, stood under the clear stillness of night, and heard the bell. at intervals of a minute the deep, sonorous note throbbed from aloft where the church tower rose against the stars.
-"there's nobody sick to death that i know about," said nathan. "'twill be mark ringing, no doubt. none touches tenor bell but him."
-mr. luscombe remounted his pony.
-"cold bites shrewd after your bar, nathan. good night, souls. us shall hear who 'tis to-morrow."
-the bell tolled thrice more; then it stopped.
-he crossed the road and entered his own house, which stood against the churchyard wall. they waited and he returned in a minute.
-"she knows nought," he said. "mark dropped in a little bit ago and axed for the key. 'what do 'e want in belfry now, mr. baskerville?' she axed him. 'passing bell,' he said; and eliza was all agog, of course, for 'twas the first she'd heard of it. 'what's the name?' she said; but he answered nought and went down the steps and away. a minute after the bell began."
-"'tis over now, anyway. i'll step across and meet mark," said mr. baskerville.
-one or two others accompanied him; but there was no sign of the ringer. then, led by gollop, they entered the silent church and shouted.
-in the belfry profound silence reigned, and the ropes hanging from their places above, touched the men as they groped in the darkness.
-"he's gone, anyway," declared nathan. then suddenly a man's boot rubbed against his face. the impact moved it a moment; but it swung back heavily again.
-the innkeeper yelled aloud, while gollop fetched a lantern and lighted it. then they found that mark baskerville had fastened a length of stout cord to the great rope of the tenor bell at twenty feet above the floor. he had mounted a ladder, drawn a tight loop round his neck, jumped into the air, and so destroyed himself.
-certain human dust lay in a place set apart from the main churchyard of st. edward's. here newborn babies, that had perished before admission into the christian faith, were buried, because the ministers of the church felt doubtful as to the salving of these unbaptised ones in another world. the spot was known as 'chrisomers' hill,' a name descended from ancient use. by chrisom-cloths were first understood the anointed white garments put upon babes at baptism; and afterwards they came to mean the robes of the newly-baptised. infants were also shrouded in them if they perished a month after baptism; while a chrisom-child, or chrisomer, signified one who thus untimely died.
-among these fallen buds the late vicar of the parish had also buried a woman who took her own life; and thomas gollop, nothing doubting but that here, and only here, the body of mark baskerville might decently be laid, took it upon himself to dig the grave on chrisomers' hill. but the ground was very hard and thomas no longer possessed his old-time strength of arm. therefore a young man helped him, and during the intervals of labour, the elder related incidents connected with past interments. some belonged to his own recollection; others had been handed down by his father.
-"and touching these childer took off afore the holy water saved 'em, my parent held the old story of the heath hounds," concluded thomas. "and there might be more in it than us later-day mortals have a right to deny. for my father solemnly swore that he'd heard 'em in winter gloamings hurrying through the air, for all the world like a flock of night-flying birds, and barking like good-uns in full cry after the dowl. 'tis satan that keeps 'em out of the joys of paradise; but only for a time, you must know, because these here babbies never done a stroke of wrong, being too young for it; and therefore, in right and reason, they will be catched up into heaven at the last."
-"but no doubt 'tis different if a human takes their own life," said the young man.
-"crowner's sitting now over to 'the white thorn,'" said tom's assistant.
-"yes; and since jack head's 'pon the jury, there'll be no paltering with truth. i hate the man and have little good to say of him as a general thing; but there's no nonsense to him, and though he's oftener wrong than any chap i know, he won't be wrong to-day, for he told me nought would shake him. 'tis the feeble-minded fashion to say that them that kill themselves be daft. they always bring it in so. why? because the dust shall cheat justice and get so good christian burial as the best among us. but head won't have that. he's all for bringing it in naked suicide without any truckling or hedging. the young man was sane as me, and took his life with malice aforethought; and so he must lie 'pon chrisomers' hill with the doubtfuls, not along with the certainties."
-as he spoke somebody approached, and nathan baskerville, clad in black, stood beside them.
-"i want you, gollop," he said. "who are you digging for here? 'tis long since chrisomers' hill was opened."
-"for mark baskerville," answered the sexton stoutly. "'tis here he's earned his place, and here he'll lie if i'm anybody."
-nathan regarded thomas with dislike.
-"so old and so crooked-hearted still!" he said. "i'm glad you've had your trouble for your pains, for you deserve it. poor mark is to be buried with his mother. you'd better see about it, and pretty quick too. the funeral's the day after to-morrow."
-"i'll discourse with the reverend masterman," answered thomas; "and i'll also hear what the coroner have got to say."
-"you're a nasty old man sometimes, gollop, and never nastier than to-day. as to mr. masterman, you ought to know what stuff he's made of by this time; and as for the inquest, 'tis ended. the verdict could only be one thing, and we decided right away."
-"what about jack head?"
-"jack's not a cross-grained old fool, whatever else he may be," answered the innkeeper. "i convinced him in exactly two minutes that my nephew couldn't have been responsible for what he did. and everybody but a sour and bitter man, like you, must have known it. poor mark is thrown over by a girl--not to blame her, either, for she had to be true to herself. but still he won't believe that she's not for him, though she's put it plain as you please in writing; and he goes on hoping and dreaming and building castles in the air. always dreamy and queer at all times he was--remember that. then comes the crashing news for him that all is over and the maiden has taken another man. wasn't it enough to upset such a frail, fanciful creature? enough, and more than enough. he hides his trouble and his brain fails and his heart breaks--all unseen by any eye. and then what happens? he rings his own passing-bell! was that the work of a sane man? poor chap--poor chap! and you'd deny him christian burial and cast him here, like a dog, with the poor unnamed children down under. i blush for you. see to his mother's grave and try and be larger-hearted. 'tis only charity to suppose the bitter cold weather be curdling your blood. now i'm off to my brother humphrey, to tell him what there is to tell."
-then mr. nathan buttoned up his coat and turned to the grinning labourer.
-"don't laugh at him," he said. "be sorry for him. 'tis no laughing matter. fill up that hole and take down yonder slate at the far end of the baskerville row, and put everything in order. our graves be all brick."
-he departed and mr. gollop walked off to the vicarage.
-a difficult task awaited nathan, but he courted it in hope of future advantage. he was terribly concerned for his brother and now designed to visit him. as yet humphrey had seen nobody.
-vivian had called at hawk house the day after mark's death, but mrs. hacker had told him that her master was out. on inquiries as to his state, she had merely replied that he was not ill. he had directed that his son's body should remain at the church, and he had not visited shaugh again or seen the dead since the night that mark perished.
-now nathan, secretly hoping that some better understanding between him and humphrey might arise from this shattering grief, and himself suffering more than any man knew from the shock of it, hastened to visit his bereaved brother and acquaint him with the circumstances of the inquest.
-humphrey baskerville was from home and nathan, knowing his familiar haunt, proceeded to it. but first he asked mrs. hacker how her master fared.
-the woman's eyes were stained with tears and her nerves unstrung.
-"he bears it as only he can bear," she said. "you'd think he was a stone if you didn't know. grinds on with his life--the lord knows at what cost to himself. he lighted his pipe this morning. it went out again, i grant you; still it shows the nature of him, that he could light it. not a word will he say about our dear blessed boy--done to death--that's what i call it--by that picture-faced bitch to undershaugh."
-"you mustn't talk like that, susan. 'twas not the girl's fault, but her cruel misfortune. be honest, there's a good creature. she's suffered more than any but her mother knows. no, no, no--not cora. the terrible truth is that humphrey's self is responsible for all. if he'd met mrs. lintern's daughter in a kinder spirit, she'd never have feared to come into the family and never have thrown over poor mark. but he terrified her to death nearly, and she felt a marriage with such a man's son could never come to good."
-mrs. hacker was not following the argument. her mind had suffered a deep excitation and shock, and she wandered from the present to the past.
-"the ups and downs of it--the riddle of it--the indecency of it--life in general, i mean! to think that me and you not above a week agone were dancing afore the public eye--father christmas and mother dorothy. how the people laughed! and now----"
-she stared stupidly before her and suddenly began repeating her part in the play.
-"here come i, old mother dorothy, fat, fair, plump and commodity. my head is big, my body is bigger: don't you think i be a handsome old figure?"
-"and the quality said i might have been made for the part!"
-"you're light-headed along of all this cruel grief," answered nathan. "go in out of this cold wind, susan, and drink a stiff drop of spirits. i suppose my brother is up on the tor?"
-"yes, he's up there; you can see him from the back garden. looks like an image--a stone among the stones, or a crow among the crows. but the fire's within. he was terrible fond of mark really, though he'd rather have had red-hot pincers nip him than show it."
-"i'll go up," declared the innkeeper.
-he climbed where his brother appeared against the skyline and found humphrey bleakly poised, standing on a stone and looking into the eye of the east wind. his coat was flapping behind him; his hat was drawn over his eyes; his nose was red and a drop hung from it. he looked like some great, forlorn fowl perched desolate and starving here.
-"forgive me for coming, brother, but i hadn't the heart to keep away. you wouldn't see me before; but you must now. get down to the lew side of these stones. i must speak to you."
-"i'm trying to understand," answered the other calmly. "and the east wind's more like to talk sense to me than ever you will."
-"don't say that. we often court physical trouble ourselves when we are driven frantic with mental trouble. i know that. i've suffered too in my time; though maybe none of the living--but one--will ever know how much. but 'tis senseless to risk your own life here and fling open your lungs to the east wind because your dear son has gone. remember 'tis no great ill to die, humphrey."
-"then why do you ask me to be thoughtful to live?"
-"i mean we mustn't mourn over mark for himself--only his loss for ourselves. he's out of it. no more east wind for him. 'tis our grief that's left. his grief's done; his carking cares be vanished for ever. you mustn't despair, humphrey."
-"and you pass for an understanding man, i suppose? and tell me not to despair. despair's childish. only children despair when they break their toys. and grown-up children too. but not me. i never despair, because i never hope. i made him. i created him. he was a good son to me."
-"and a good man every way. gentle and kind--too gentle and kind, for that matter. thank god we're all christians. blessed are the meek. his cup of joy is full, and where he is now, humphrey, his only grief is to see ours."
-"that's the sort of stuff that's got you a great name for a sympathetic and feeling man, i suppose? d'you mean it, or is it just the natural flow of words, as the rain falls and the water rolls down-hill? i tell you that he was a good man, and a man to make others happy in his mild, humble way. feeble you might call him here and there. and his feebleness ended him. too feeble to face life without that heartless baggage!"
-"leave her alone. you don't understand that side, and this isn't the time to try and make you. she's hit hard enough."
-humphrey regarded his brother with a blazing glance of rage. then his features relaxed and he smiled strangely at his own heart, but not at nathan.
-"i was forgetting," he said. then he relapsed into silence.
-presently he spoke again.
-"my mark wasn't much more than a picture hung on a wall to some people. perhaps he wasn't much more to me. but you miss the picture if 'tis taken down. i never thought of such a thing happening. i didn't know or guess all that was hidden bottled up in him. i thought he was getting over it; but, lover-like, he couldn't think she'd really gone. then something--the woman herself, i suppose--rubbed it into him that there was no more hope; and then he took himself off like this. for such a worthless rag--to think! and i suppose she'll hear his bell next sunday without turning a hair."
-"don't say that. she's terribly cut up and distressed. and i'm sure none--none will ever listen to his bell like we used to. 'twill always have a sad message for everybody that knew mark."
-"humbug and trash! you'll be the first to laugh and crack your jokes and all the rest of it, the day that girl marries. and the bell clashing overhead, and the ashes of him in the ground under. let me choose the man--let me choose the man when she takes a husband!"
-nathan perceived that his brother did not know the truth. it was no moment to speak of cora and ned baskerville, however.
-"i've just come from the inquest," he said. "of course 'twas brought in 'unsound mind.'"
-"of course--instead of seeing and owning that the only flash of sanity in many a life be the resolve and deed to leave it. he was sane enough. no baskerville was ever otherwise. 'tis only us old fools, that stop here fumbling at the knot, that be mad. the big spirits can't wait to be troubled for threescore years and ten with a cargo of stinking flesh. they drop it overboard and----"
-his foot slipped and interrupted the sentence.
-"take my arm," said the innkeeper. "i've told gollop that mark will lie with his mother."
-the other seemed suddenly moved by this news.
-"if i've misjudged you, nathan, i'm sorry for it," he said. "you know in your heart whether you're as good as the folk think; and as wise; and as worthy. but you catch me short of sleep to-day; and when i'm short of sleep, i'm short of sense, perhaps. to lie with his mother--eh? no new thing if he does. he lay many a night under her bosom afore he was born, and many a night on it afterwards. she was wonderful wrapped up in him--the only thing she fretted to leave. how she would nuzzle him, for pure animal love, when he was a babby--like a cat and her kitten."
-"he promised her when he was ten years old--the year she died--that he would be buried with her," said nathan. "i happen to know that, humphrey."
-"few keep their promises to the dead; but he's dead himself now. burrow down--burrow down to her and put him there beside her--dust to dust. i take no stock in dust of any sort--not being a farmer. but his mother earned heaven, and if he didn't, her tears may float him in. to have bred an immortal soul, mark you, is something, even if it gets itself damned. the parent of a human creature be like god, for he's had a hand in the making of an angel or a devil."
-"shall we bring mark back to-night, or shall the funeral start from the church?" asked nathan.
-they had now descended the hill and stood at humphrey's gate.
-"don't worry his bones. let him stop where he is till his bed's ready. i'm not coming to the funeral."
-"no. i didn't go to my wife's, did i?"
-"yes, indeed you did, humphrey."
-"you're wrong there. a black hat with a weeper on it, and a coat, and a mourning hankercher was there--not me. bury him, and toll his own bell for him, but for god's sake don't let any useful person catch their death of cold for him. me and his mother--we'll mourn after our own fashion. yes, her too: there are spirits moving here for the minute. in his empty room she was the night he finished it. feeling about she was, as if she'd lost a threepenny piece in the bed-tick. i heard her. 'let be!' i shouted from my chamber. 'the man's not there: he's dead--hanged hisself for love in the belfry. go back where you come from. belike he'll be there afore you, and, if not, they'll tell you where to seek him.'"
-he turned abruptly and went in; then as his brother, dazed and bewildered, was about to hurry homeward, the elder again emerged and called to him.
-"a word for your ear alone," he said as nathan returned. "there's not much love lost between us, and never can be; but i thank you for coming to me to-day. i know you meant to do a kindly thing. my trouble hasn't blinded me. trouble ban't meant to do that. tears have washed many eyes into clear seeing, as never saw straight afore they shed 'em. i'm obliged to you. you've come to me in trouble, though well you know i don't like you. 'twas a christian thing and i shan't forget it of you. if ever you fall into trouble yourself, come to me, innkeeper."
-"'twas worth my pains to hear that. god support you always, brother."
-but humphrey had departed.
-nathan drifted back and turned instinctively to undershaugh rather than his own house. darkness and concern homed there also; cora had gone away to friends far from the village, and the linterns all wore mourning for mark.
-priscilla met her landlord and he came into the kitchen and flung his hat on the table and sat down to warm himself by the fire.
-"god knows what's going to happen," he said. "the man's mind is tottering. never such sense and nonsense was jumbled in a breath."
-after a pause he spoke again.
-"and poor old susan's half mad too. an awful house of it. nothing humphrey may do will surprise me. but one blessed word he said, poor chap, though whether he knew what he was talking about i can't guess. he thanked me for coming to him in trouble--thanked me even gratefully and said he'd never forget it. that was a blessed thing for me to hear, at such a time."
-the emotional man shed tears and priscilla lintern ministered to him.
-humphrey baskerville had sought for peace by many roads, and when the final large catastrophe of his life fell upon him, it found him treading a familiar path.
-he had conceived, that only by limiting the ties of the flesh and trampling love of man from his heart, might one approximate to contentment, fearlessness, and rest. he had supposed that the fewer we love, the less life has power to torment us, and he had envied the passionless, sunless serenity of recorded philosophers and saints. he was glad that, at a time when nature has a large voice in the affairs of the individual and sways him through sense, he had not incurred the customary responsibilities.
-chance threw him but a single child; and when the mother of the child was taken from him, he felt a sort of dreary satisfaction that fate could only strike one more vital blow. he had dwarfed his affections obstinately; he had estimated the power of life to inflict further master sorrows, and imagined that by the death of one human creature alone could added suffering come. so at least he believed before the event. and now that creature was actually dead. out of the ranks of man, the bullet had found and slain his son.
-yet, when mark sank to the grave and the first storm of his passing was stilled in the father's heart, great new facts and information, until then denied, fell upon humphrey baskerville's darkness and showed him that even this stroke could not sever his spirit from its kind.
-the looked-for deliverance did not descend upon him; the universal indifference did not come. instead his unrest persisted and he found the fabric of his former dream as baseless as all dreaming. because the alleged saint and the detached philosopher are forms that mask reality; they are poses only possible where the soul suffers from constitutional atrophy or incurred frost-bite.
-they who stand by the wayside and watch, are freezing to death instead of burning healthily away. faulty sentience is not sublime; to be gelded of some natural human instinct is not to stand upon the heights. he who lifts a barrier between himself and life, shall be found no more than an unfinished thing. his ambition for detachment is the craving of disease; his content is the content of unconsciousness; his peace is the peace of the mentally infirm.
-a complete man feels; a complete man suffers with all his tingling senses; a complete man smarts to see the world's negligences, ignorances, brutalities; he endures them as wrongs to himself; and, because he is a complete man, he too blunders and adds his errors to the sum of human tribulation, even while he fights with all his power for the increase of human happiness.
-the world's welfare is his own; its griefs are also his. he errs and makes atonement; he achieves and helps others to achieve; he loathes the cloister and loves the hearth. he suffers when society is stricken; he mourns when the tide of evolution seems to rest from its eternal task 'of pure ablution round earth's human shores'; he is troubled when transitory victories fall to evil or ignorance; in fine, he lives. and his watch-tower and beacon is not content, not peace, but truth.
-he stands as high above the cowardly serenity of any anchorite or chambered thinker, as the star above glimmering and rotten wood in a forest hidden; and he knows that no great heart is ever passionless, or serene, or emparadised beyond the cry of little hearts, until it has begun to grow cold. to be holy to yourself alone is to be nought; a piece of marble makes a better saint; and he who quits the arena to look on, though he may be as wise as the watching gods, is also as useless.
-dimly, out of the cloud of misery that fell upon him when his son perished, baskerville began to perceive and to feel these facts. he had consoled himself by thinking that the only two beings he loved in the whole world were gone out of it, and now waited together in eternity for his own arrival thither.
-their battle was ended; and since they were at rest, nothing further remained for him to trouble about. but the anticipated peace did not appear; no anodyne poured into his soul; and he discovered, that for his nature, the isolated mental standpoint did not exist.
-there could arise no healing epiphany of mental indifference for him. he might be estranged, but to exile himself was impossible. he must always actively hate what he conceived to be evil; he must always suspect human motives; he must always feel the flow and ebb of the human tide. though his own rocky heart might be lifted above them, the waves of that sea would tune its substance to throb in sympathy, or fret it to beat with antagonism, so long as it pulsed at all.
-this discovery surprised the man; for he had believed that a radical neutrality to human affairs belonged to him.
-he attributed the sustained restlessness of his spirit to recent griefs and supposed that the storm would presently disappear; and meantime he plunged into a minor whirlwind by falling into the bitterest quarrel with his elder brother.
-nathan indeed he had suffered to depart in peace; but as soon as the bereaved father learned that vivian's son, ned, was engaged to cora, and perceived how it was this fact that had finally killed hope in mark and induced the unhappy weakling to destroy himself, his rage burst forth against the master of cadworthy; and when vivian called upon the evening of the funeral to condole with humphrey, an enduring strife sprang up between them.
-"i'm come as the head of the family, humphrey," began the veteran, "and it ban't seemly that this here terrible day should pass over your head without any of your kith and kin speaking to you and comforting you. we laid the poor young man along with his mother in the second row of the baskerville stones. my word! as gollop said after the funeral, 'even in death the baskervilles be a pushing family!' our slates stretch pretty near from the church to the churchyard wall now."
-"thank you for being there," answered his brother. "i couldn't have gone, because of the people. there was no maiming of the rite--eh?"
-"not a word left out--all as it should be. eight young men carried him, including a farmer or two, and my son ned, and heathman lintern, and also my son rupert--though where he came from and where he went to after 'twas ended, i don't know, and don't care. he's left me--to better himself--so he thinks, poor fool! a nice way to treat a good father."
-"you've lost a son, too, then--lost him to find him again, doing man's work. you'll live to know that he was right and you were wrong. but my son--my mind is turned rather rotten of late. after dark i can't get his dead face out of my eyes. nought terrible, neither--just, in a word, 'dead.' he broke his neck--he didn't strangle himself. he knew what he was about. but there, i see it. gone--and none knows what he was to me. he never knew himself; and for that matter i never knew myself, neither--till he was gone."
-"we never do know all other folk mean to us--not until they be snatched off. if anybody had told me how my son rupert's going would have made such a difference, i'd not have believed it."
-"then think of this house. you feel that--you with your store of children and rupert, after all, but gone a few miles away to go on with his work and marry the proper wife you deny him. but me--nought left--nought but emptiness--no 'good morning, father'; no 'good night, father'; no ear to listen; no voice to ask for my advice. and i'd plotted and planned for him, vivian; i'd made half a hundred little secret plans for him. i knew well the gentle fashion of man he was--not likely ever to make a fighter--and so i'd cast his life in a mould where it could be easy. he'd have come to know in time. but he never did know. he went out of it in a hurry, and never hinted a whisper of what he was going to do. if he'd but given me the chance to argue it out with him!"
-"we've acted alike, me and you," answered his brother; "and it ban't for any man to dare to say that either of us was wrong. when the young fall into error, 'tis our bounden duty to speak and save 'em if we've got the power. i don't hold with rupert----"
-"no need to drag in your affairs. that case is very different. i did not treat my son like a child; i did not forbid him to marry and turn him out of doors."
-"stay!" cried vivian, growing red, "you mustn't speak so to me."
-"what did you do if it wasn't that? no proud man can stay under the roof where he's treated like a child. but mark--did i forbid? no. i only made it clear that i despised the woman he'd set his heart on. i only told him the bitter truth of her. if she'd clung to him through all, would i have turned him away or refused him? never. 'twould have made no difference. 'twas not me kept 'em apart--as you are trying to keep apart your son and saul luscombe's niece--trying and failing. 'twas the proud, empty, heartless female herself that left him."
-"i'll hear nought against her," answered vivian stoutly. "she's not proud and she's not empty. she's a very sensible woman, and this cruel piece of work has been a sad trouble to her. she left mark because she felt that you hated her, and would torment her and make her married life a scourge to her back. any woman with proper sense and self-respect would have done the like. 'twas you and only you choked her off your son, and 'tis vain--'tis wicked to the girl--to say now that 'twas her fault. but i've not come to speak these things--only i won't hear lies told."
-"you've heard 'em already, it seems. who's been telling you this trash? nathan baskerville belike?"
-"as a matter of fact 'tis my son ned," answered vivian. "you must surely know how things have fallen out? it happened long afore poor mark died. didn't he tell you?"
-"he told me nought. what should he tell me? ned he certainly wouldn't name, for he knew of all your brood i like your eldest son least--a lazy, worthless man, as all the world well knows but you."
-"you shan't anger me, try as you will, humphrey. i'm here, as your elder brother and the head of the family, to offer sympathy to you in your trouble; and i'll ax you to leave my family alone. young men will be young men, and as for ned, if i be the only one that feels as i should feel to him, 'tis because i'm the only one that understands his nature and his gifts. he'll astonish you yet, and all of us. the books he reads! you wait. soon ripe, soon rotten. he's taking his time, and if he wants a wife, 'tis only in reason that the future head of the family should have a wife; and why not? he shan't have to work as i have worked."
-"a fool's word! what made you all you are? work and the love of it. yet you let him go to the devil in idleness."
-"if you'd but suffer me to finish my speech--i say that ned won't work as i have worked--with my limbs and muscles. he's got a brain, and the time be coming when he'll use it."
-"anyway a settled life is the first thing, and the mind free to follow its proper bent. and i don't say 'no' to his marrying, because the case is different from rupert's, and 'tis fitting that he should do so."
-"but rupert must not. and you pass for a just and sensible man!"
-"'tis strange--something in the baskerville character that draws her--but so it is," continued the master of cadworthy, ignoring his brother's last remark. "in a word, when he found she was free, my ned took up with cora lintern, and she's going to marry him. but 'tis to be a full year from this sad christmas--i bargained for that and will have it so."
-"'going to take him'? going to take your son!" cried the other.
-"she is; and i sanction it; for i found her a very different maiden to what you did."
-"going to marry ned! going from my mark to your ned!"
-"'twas settled some time ago. mark knew it, for i myself let it out to him when i met him one day in north wood. 'twas but two days afore his last breath, poor fellow. of course, i thought that he knew all about it, and as it was understood that he had got over his loss very bravely and was cheerful and happy as usual again, i made nothing of the matter, thinking that was the best way to take it."
-humphrey stared at him.
-"go on--you're letting in the light," he said.
-"that's all--all save this. when i told mark that cora was going to wed his cousin, i saw by his face 'twas news for him. his colour faded away. then i knew that he hadn't heard about it. accident had kept it from him till the matter was a week old."
-"and he said----?"
-"he just said something stammering like. he was a bit of a kick-hammer in his speech sometimes--nothing to name; but it would overtake him now waking life. it may be worth while to bring forward a few dreams which incidentally illustrate the moral attitude of the dreamer.
-on another occasion the same dreamer experienced remorse. she imagined she was in a restaurant, and the girl behind the counter pointed to a barrel of beer--a golden barrel, she said, with a magic key--which could only be opened by the owner. the dreamer declared, however, that she could open it, and, producing a key, proceeded to do so, handing round beer to the bystanders. then she realised that she had been stealing, and was full of remorse. she asked a friend if she ought to tell the owner, but the friend replied, 'by no means.' this conclusion of the dream seems to indicate that the moral sense, though present in dreams, is apt to be impaired.
-in yet another dream this dreamer exhibited a curious combination of moral sensibility and criminal indifference. she imagined that, while walking with a man, a friend, she revealed to him a secret of a woman friend's. then, realising her betrayal of confidence, she decided that the best thing she could do would be to kill the man. on reflection, however, she thought that it would, after all, be unkind to do so since he was a friend, and so told him that if he ever repeated the secret she would have him torn to pieces. it will be seen that the betrayal of a secret was felt as a far more serious offence than murder. the facility with which, in such dreams as this, the suggestion of murder presents itself, even to dreamers who, when awake, cherish no bloodthirsty or revengeful ideas, is certainly remarkable.
-it is often said that in dreams erotic suggestions present themselves with extreme facility, and are eagerly accepted by the dreamer. to some extent there is truth in this statement, but it is by no means always true. this may be illustrated by the following dream, the sources of which could be easily traced; two days before i had seen the gambols of east enders at hampstead heath on a bank holiday, and the day before i had visited a picture gallery, the two sets of impressions becoming ingeniously combined, according to the usual rule of dream confusion. i thought that when walking along a country lane a sudden turn brought me to a broader part of the road covered with grass, into the midst of a crowd of women, large and well-proportioned persons, mostly in a state of complete nudity, and engaged in romping together, more especially in tugs-of-war; some of them were on horseback. my appearance slightly disturbed them, i heard one cry out my name, and to some extent they drew back, and partly desisted from their games, but only to a very slight degree, and with no overpowering embarrassment. i was myself rather embarrassed, and, glancing at them again, turned back. afterwards my walk again brought me in view of them, and it occurred to me that women are somewhat changing their customs, a very wholesome change, it seemed to me. but i remonstrated with one or two of them that they ought to keep in constant movement to avoid catching cold. no erotic suggestions were present, although the dream might be said to lend itself to such suggestions.
-the idea of moral retribution and eternal punishment may also be present in dreams. this may be illustrated by the dream of a lady who had an ill and restless girl companion sleeping with her, and was disturbed as well by a yelping and howling terrier outside. she had also lately heard that a friend had brought over a python from africa. 'i dreamed last night i had a basket of cold squirming snakes beside me; they just touched me all over, but did not hurt; i felt mad with loathing and hate of them, and the beasts would not kill me. that, i thought, was my eternal punishment for my sins.' in her waking moments the dreamer was not apprehensive of eternal punishment, and it may be in such a case that, as freud suggests, an unfamiliar moral idea emerges in sleep in much the same way as an unfamiliar or 'forgotten' fact may emerge.
-on the whole, it may be said that while the moral attitude of the dreaming state is not usually identical with that of the waking state, there still nearly always is a moral attitude. it could not well be otherwise. our emotional states are intimately bound up with moral relationships; we could not display such highly emotional states as we experience in dreams, with all their tragic accompaniments, in the absence of any sense of morality.
-aviation in dreams
-dreams of flying and falling--their peculiar vividness--dreams of flying an alleged survival of primeval experiences--best explained as based on respiratory sensations combined with cutaneous anaesthesia--the explanation of dreams of falling--the sensation of levitation sometimes experienced by ecstatic saints--also experienced at the moment of death.
-all my life, it seems to me, certainly from an early age, until recently, i have at intervals had dreams in which i imagined myself rhythmically bounding into the air, and supported on the air, remaining there for a perceptible interval; at other times i have felt myself gliding downstairs, but not supported by the stairs. in my case the experience is nearly always agreeable, involving a certain sense of power, and it usually evokes no marked surprise, occurring as a familiar and accustomed pleasure. on awaking i do not usually remember these dreams immediately, which seems to indicate that they are not due to causes specially operative at the end of sleep, or liable to bring sleep to a conclusion. but they leave behind them a vague yet profound sense of belief in their reality and reasonableness.
-in a dream belonging to this group, i imagined i was being rhythmically swung up and down in the air by a young woman, my feet never touching the ground; and then that i was swinging her similarly. at one time she seemed to be swinging me in too jerky and hurried a manner, and i explained to her that it must be done in a slower and more regular manner, though i was not conscious of the precise words i used. there had been some dyspepsia on the previous day, and on awaking i felt slight discomfort in the region of the heart. the symbolism into which slightly disturbed respiratory or cardiac action is here transformed seems very clear in this dream, because it shows the actual transition from the subjective sensation to the objective imagery of flying. by means of this symbolic imagery we find sleeping consciousness commanding the hurried heart to beat in a more healthy manner.
-in this way it comes about that out of dreams and of dream-like waking states, one of the most permanent of human spiritual conceptions has been evolved. to float, to rise into the air, to fly up to heaven, has always seemed to man to be the final climax of spiritual activity. the angel is the most ethereal creature the human imagination can conceive. browning's cry to his 'lyric love, half angel and half bird,' pathetically crude as poetry, is sound as psychology. the prophets and divine heroes of the race have constantly seemed to their devout followers to disappear at last by floating up into the sky, like elijah, who went up 'by a whirlwind into heaven.' st. peter once thought he saw his master walking on the waves, and the last vision of jesus in the gospels reveals him rising into the air. for it is in the world of dreams that the human soul has its indestructible home, and in the attempt to realise these dreams lies a large part of our business in life.
-symbolism in dreams
-the dramatisation of subjective feelings based on dissociation--analogies in waking life--the synaesthesias and number-forms--symbolism in language--in music--the organic basis of dream symbolism--the omnipotence of symbolism--oneiromancy--the scientific interpretation of dreams--why symbolism prevails in dreaming--freud's theory of dreaming--dreams as fulfilled wishes--why this theory cannot be applied to all dreaming--the complete form of symbolism in dreams--splitting up of personality--self-objectivation in imaginary personalities--the dramatic element in dreams--hallucinations--multiple personality--insanity--self-objectivation a primitive tendency--its survival in civilisation.
-in discussing dreams of flying i have referred to a dream in which a slight disturbance of the heart's action was transformed by sleeping consciousness into the image of an athlete manipulating an elastic ball. this objectivation of what are really the dreamer's subjective sensations, although he is not conscious of them as subjective, is, indeed, a phenomenon which we have encountered many times. it is, however, so important a feature of dream psychology, and probably of such significant weight in its influence on waking life, that it is worth while to deal with it separately.
-the dramatisation of subjective elements of the personality, which contributes so largely to render our dreams vivid and interesting, rests on that dissociation, or falling apart of the constituent groups of psychic centres, which is so fundamental a fact of dream life. that is to say, that the usually coherent elements of our mental life are split up, and some of them--often, it is curious to note, precisely those which are at that very moment the most prominent and poignant--are reconstituted into what seems to us an outside and objective world, of which we are the interested or the merely curious spectators, but in neither case realise that we are ourselves the origin of.
-an elementary source of this tendency to objectivation is to be found, it may be noted, in the automatic impulse towards symbolism by which all sorts of feelings experienced by the dreamer become transformed into concrete visible images. when objectivation is thus attained, dissociation may be said to be secondary. so far indeed as i am able to dissect the dream-process, the tendency to symbolism seems nearly always to precede the dissociation in consciousness, though it may well be that the dissociation of the mental elements is a necessary subconscious condition for the symbolism.
-it will be seen that a synaesthesia--which may involve taste, smell, and other senses besides hearing and sight--causes an impression of one sensory order to be automatically and involuntarily linked on to an impression of another totally different order. in other words, we may say that the one impression becomes the symbol of the other impression, for a symbol--which is literally a throwing together--means that two things of different orders have become so associated that one of them may be regarded as the sign and representative of the other.
-not only is there an instinctive and direct association between sounds and motor imagery, but there is an indirect but equally instinctive association between sounds and visual imagery which, though not itself motor, has motor associations. thus bleuler considers it well established that among colour-hearers there is a tendency for photisms that are light in colour (and belonging, we may say, to the 'high' part of the spectrum) to be produced by sounds of high quality, and dark photisms by sounds of low quality; and, in the same way, sharply-defined pains or tactile sensations, as well as pointed forms, produce light photisms. similarly, bright lights and pointed forms produce high photisms, whole low photisms are produced by opposite conditions. urbantschitsch, again, by examining a large number of people who were not colour-hearers, found that a high note of a tuning-fork seems higher when looking at red, yellow, green, or blue, but lower if looking at violet. thus two sensory qualities that are both symbolic of a third quality are symbolic to each other.
-oneiromancy, the symbolical interpretation of dreams, more especially as a method of divining the future, is a widespread art in early stages of culture. the discerning of dreams is represented in the old testament as a very serious and anxious matter (as in regard to pharaoh's dream of the fat and lean cattle), and, nearer to our time, the dreams of great heroes, especially charlemagne, are represented as highly important events in the mediæval european epics. little manuals on the interpretation of dreams have always been much valued by the uncultured classes, and among our current popular sayings there are many dicta concerning the significance, or the good or ill luck, of particular kinds of dreams.
-the obscuration during sleep of the external sensory channels, with the checks on false conclusions they furnish, is not alone sufficient to explain the symbolism of dreams. the dissociation of thought during sleep, with the diminished attention and apperception involved, is also a factor. the magnification of special isolated sensory impressions in dreaming consciousness is associated with a general bluntness, even an absolute quiescence, of the external sensory mechanism. one part of the organism, and it seems usually a visceral part, is thus apt to magnify its place in consciousness at the expense of the rest. as vaschide and piéron say, during sleep 'the internal sensations develop at the expense of the peripheral sensations.' that indeed seems to be the secret of the immense emotional turmoil of our dreams. yet it is very rare for these internal sensations to reach the sleeping brain as what they are. they become conscious, not as literal messages, but as symbolical transformations. the excited or labouring heart recalls to the brain no memory of itself, but some symbolical image of excitement or labour. there is association, indeed, but it is association not along the matter-of-fact lines of our ordinary waking civilised life, but along much more fundamental and primitive channels, which in waking life we have now abandoned or never knew.
-'we only dream of things that are worth while.' that is the point at which many of us are no longer able to follow freud. that dreams of the type studied by freud do actually occur may be accepted; it may even be considered proved. but to assert that all dreams must be made to fit into this one formula is to make far too large a demand. as regards the presentative element in dreams--the element that is based on actual sensory stimulation--it is in most cases unreasonable to invoke freud's formula at all. if, when i am asleep, the actual song of a bird causes me to dream that i am at a concert, that picture may be regarded as a natural symbol of the actual sensation, and it is unreasonable to expect that psycho-analysis could reveal any hidden personal reason why the symbol should take the form of a concert. and, if so, then freud's formula fails to hold good for phenomena which cover one of the two main divisions of dreams, even on a superficial classification, and perhaps enter into all dreams.
-similarly, in insanity, liepmann, in his study ueber ideenflucht, has forcibly argued that ordinary logorrhœa--the incontinence of ideas linked together by superficial associations of resemblance or contiguity--is a linking without direction, that is, corresponding to no interest, either practical or theoretical, of the individual. or, as claparède puts it, logorrhœa is a trouble in the reaction of interest in life. it seems most reasonable to believe that in ordinary sleep the flow of imagery follows, for the most part, the same easy course. that course may to waking consciousness often seem peculiar, but to waking consciousness the conditions of dreaming life are peculiar. under these conditions, however, we may well believe that the tendency to movement in the direction of least resistance still prevails. and as attention and will are weakened and loosened during sleep, the tense concentration on personal ends must also be relaxed. we become more disinterested. personal desire tends for the most part rather to fall into the background than to become more prominent. if it were not a period in which desire were ordinarily relaxed, sleep would cease to be a period of rest and recuperation.
-the wish-dream of the kind elaborately investigated by freud may be accepted as one type of dreaming, and a very interesting type, but it seems evident that it is only one type. there are even other types which seem closely related to it, and yet are quite distinct. this is, for instance, the case with the contrast-dream. the contrast-dream of näcke's type represents the emergence of characteristics which are distinctly opposed to the dreamer's character and habits. thus, in the course of four consecutive nights, i have dreamed in much detail that (1) i was the mayor of a large northern city about to take the chair at a local meeting of the bible society; (2) that i was a soldier in the heat of battle; and (3) that i was meditating the step of going on the stage as a comedian--the only rôle of the three which seemed to cause me any nervousness or misgiving. in contrast-dreams of this type we are not concerned with the eruption of concealed and repressed wishes. they are merely based on vestigial possibilities, entirely alien to our temperament as it has developed in life, and only a part of our complex personalities in the sense that, as schopenhauer said, whatever path we take in life there are latent germs within us which could only have developed in an exactly opposite path. even the very same dream may be due to quite different causes. to take a very simple dream, for we may best argue on the simplest facts: the dream of eating. we dream of eating when we are hungry, but sometimes we also dream of eating when the stomach is suffering from repletion. the dream is the same, but the psychological mechanism is entirely different, in the one case emotional, in the other intellectual. in the first case the picture of eating is built up in response to an organic visceral craving, and we have an elementary wish-dream of what freud would call infantile type; in the second case the same dream is a theory, embodied in a concrete picture, to account for the existence of the repletion experienced.
-if, however, wishes, conscious or unconscious, are often fulfilled in dreams, and if, as we have seen reason to conclude, symbolism is a fundamental tendency of dreaming activity, it is inevitable that wish-dreams should sometimes take on a symbolic form. it is thus, for instance, that i interpret my dream of being in an english cathedral and seeing on the wall a notice to the effect that at evensong on such a day the edifice will not be illuminated, in order to avoid attracting moths; i awake with a slight headache, and the unilluminated cathedral was the symbol of the coolness and absence of glare which one desires when suffering from headache.
-the wish-dream of freud's type has presented itself for consideration here, because it is a special and elaborate illustration of symbolism in dreaming. the important place of symbols in dreaming is by no means dependent on the validity of this particular type of dream, and we may now proceed to continue the discussion of the significance of the symbolic tendency during sleep in its most important form.
-an interesting and significant group of cases is furnished by those dreams in which--as the result of some compression or effort--the tactile and muscular sensations of our own limbs are split off from sleeping consciousness and built up into an imaginary personality. thus a medical friend, shortly after an attack of influenza, dreamed that in conversation with a lady patient his hand rested on her knee; she requested him to remove it, but his efforts to do so were fruitless, and he awoke in horror from this unprofessional situation to find that his hand was firmly clasped between his own knees. his body had thus been divided in dreaming consciousness between himself and an imaginary other person; the knee had become the other person's, while the hand remained his own, the hand being claimed in preference to the knee no doubt on account of its greater tactile sensibility and more complexly intimate association with the brain. in the hypnagogic (or hypnopompic) state such dream sensations may almost reach the intensity of hallucination. thus, after an indigestible supper, i awake with the vivid feeling that some one is lying on me and attempting to drag off the bedclothes, and i find myself violently attempting, but apparently in vain, to articulate: 'who is there?' in a dream of similar type, which occurred when lying on my back (and possibly with slight indigestion due to an unusually late dinner), i awoke making a kind of inarticulate exclamation which awakened my wife. i had dreamed that i was lying in bed, and that some unseen creature--more supernatural than human, it seemed--was violently dragging the bedclothes off me, while i shouted to it, very distinctly it seemed to me, 'avaunt, avaunt!'
-similarly in insanity we have an even more constant and pronounced tendency for the subject to attribute his own sensations to imaginary individuals, and to create personalities out of portions of the real personality. all the illusions, delusions, and hallucinations of the insane are merely the manifold manifestations of this tendency. without it the insanity would not exist. it is not because he is subjected to unusual sensations--visionary, auditory, tactile, olfactory, visceral, etc.--that a man is insane. it is because he creates imaginary personalities to account for these sensations; if his food tastes strange some one has given him poison if he hears a strange voice it is some one communicating with him by telephones or microphones or hypnotism; if he feels a strange internal sensation it is perhaps because he has another person inside him. the case has even been recorded of a man who attributed any feeling he experienced, even the most normal sensations of hunger and thirst, to the people around him. it is exactly the same process as goes on in our dreams. the sane man, the normal waking man, may experience all these strange sensations, but he recognises that they are the spontaneous outcome of his own organisation.
-the savage has gone beyond the infant in ability to assimilate the impressions of his own limbs, but on the psychic side he still constantly tends to objectify his own feelings and ideas, re-creating them as external beings. primitive man has done so from the first, and this impulse has struck its roots into all our most fundamental human traditions even as they survive in civilisation to-day. the man of the early world moves, like the dreamer, among a sea of emotions and ideas which he cannot recognise the origin of, and, like the dreamer, he instinctively dramatises them. but, unlike the dreamer, he gives stability to the images he has thus created and in good faith mistaken for independent beings. thus we have the animistic stages of culture, and early man peoples his world with gods and spirits and demons and fairies and ghosts which enter into the traditions of his race, and are more or less accepted even by a later race which no longer creates them for itself.
-it is thus impossible to over-estimate the immense importance of the primitive symbolic tendency to objectify the subjective. men have taken out of their own hearts their best feelings and their worst feelings, and have personalised and dramatised them, bowed down to them or stamped on them, unable to hear the voice with which each of their images spoke: 'i am thyself.' our conceptions of religion, of morals, of many of the mightiest phenomena of life, especially the more exceptional phenomena, have grown up under this influence, which still serves to support many movements of to-day by some people imagined to be modern.
-dreaming, as we have seen, is not the sole source of such conceptions. but they could scarcely have been found convincing, and possibly could not even have arisen, among races which were wholly devoid of dream experiences. a large part of all progress in psychological knowledge, and, indeed, a large part of civilisation itself, lies in realising that the apparently objective is really subjective, that the angels and demons and geniuses of all sorts that once seemed to be external forces taking possession of feeble and vacant individualities are themselves but modes of action of marvellously rich and varied personalities. in our dreams we are brought back into the magic circle of early culture, and we shrink and shudder in the presence of imaginative phantoms that are built up of our own thoughts and emotions, and are really our own flesh.
-dreams of the dead
-mental dissociation during sleep--illustrated by the dream of returning to school life--the typical dream of a dead friend--examples--early records of this type of dream--analysis of such dreams--atypical forms--the consolation sometimes afforded by dreams of the dead--ancient legends of this dream type--the influence of dreams on the belief of primitive man in the survival of the dead.
-in sleep, however, these groups are not usually so firmly held together by the cords along which we can move in our waking moments from one to the other. they are, as it were, loosened from their moorings, and on the sea of sleeping consciousness they drift apart or jostle together in new and what seem to be random associations. this is that process of dissociation which we find so marked in dreaming, and in all those psychic phenomena--hallucinations, hysteria, multiple personality, insanity--which are allied to dreaming.
-dreams of our recently dead friends furnish a type of dream which is formed in exactly the same way as these dreams of a return to school life. the only difference is that they often present it in a more vivid, pronounced, and poignantly emotional shape. this is so, partly from the very subject of such dreams, and partly because the fact of death definitely divides our impressions of our dead friends into two groups, which are intimately allied to each other by their subject, and yet absolutely opposed by the fact that in the one group the friend is alive, and in the other dead.
-observation i.--mr. c., age about twenty-eight, a man of scientific training and aptitudes. shortly after his mother's death he repeatedly dreamed that she had come to life again. she had been buried, but it was somehow found out that she was not really dead. mr. c. describes the painful intellectual struggles that went on in these dreams, the arguments in favour of death from the impossibility of prolonged life in the grave, and how these doubts were finally swallowed up in a sense of wonder and joy because his mother was actually there, alive, in his dream.
-these dreams became less frequent as time went on, but some years later occurred an isolated dream which clearly shows a further stage in the same process. mr. c. dreamed that his father had just returned home, and that he (the dreamer) was puzzled to make out where his mother was. after puzzling a long time he asked his sister, but at the very moment he asked it flashed upon him--more, he thinks, with a feeling of relief at the solution of a painful difficulty than with grief--that his mother was dead.
-observation ii.--mrs. f., age about thirty, highly intelligent but of somewhat emotional temperament. a week after the death of a lifelong friend to whom she was greatly attached, mrs. f. dreamed for the first time of her friend, finding that she was alive, and then in the course of the dream discovering that she had been buried alive.
-a second dream occurred on the following night. mrs. f. imagined that she went to see her friend, whom she found in bed, and to whom she told the strange things that she had heard (i.e., that the friend was dead). her friend then gave mrs. f. a few things as souvenirs. but on leaving the room mrs. f. was told that her friend was really dead, and had spoken to her after death.
-in a fourth dream, at a subsequent date, mrs. f. imagined that her friend came to her, saying that she had returned to earth for a few minutes to give her messages and to assure her that she was happy in another world and in the enjoyment of the fullest life.
-another dream occurred more than a year later. some one brought to mrs. f., in her dream, the news that her friend was still alive; she was taken to her and found her as in life. the friend said she had been away, but did not explain where or why she had been supposed dead. mrs. f. asked no questions and felt no curiosity, being absorbed in the joy of finding her friend still alive, and they proceeded to talk over the things that had happened since they last met. it was a very vivid, natural, and detailed dream, and on awaking mrs. f. felt somewhat exhausted. although not superstitious, the dream gave her a feeling of consolation.
-nineteen days later (4th february) occurred the next dream. this time i dreamed that my friend was just dead, and that i was gazing at a postcard of good wishes, written partly in latin, which he had sent me a few days before (on the actual date of my birthday), and regretting that i had not answered it. there was no doubt in my mind as to the fact of his death. (i may remark that the last letter i had written to my friend was on his birthday, and he had been unable to reply, so that there was here one of those reversals which freud and others have noted as not uncommon in dreams.)
-the next dream occurred thirty-four days later (10th march). i thought that i met my friend, and at once realised that it was not he but his wife who had died, and i clasped his hand sympathetically.
-some months later (27th july) i again dreamed that i was walking with my friend and talking, as we might have talked, on topics of common interest. but at the same time i knew, and he knew that i knew, that he was to die on the morrow.
-once more, a fortnight later (10th august), i dreamed that i had an appointment to meet my friend in a certain road, but he failed to appear. i began to wonder whether he had forgotten the appointment, or i had made a mistake, and i was seeking for the letter making the appointment when i awoke.
-it is not difficult, in the light of all that we have been able to learn regarding the psychology of the world of dreams, to account for the process here described, for its frequency, and for its poignant emotional effects. this dream type is only a special variety of the commonest species of dream, in which two or more groups of reminiscences flow together and form a single bizarre congruity, a confusion in the strict sense of the word. the death of a friend sets up a barrier which cuts into two the stream of impressions concerning that friend. thus, two streams of images flow into sleeping consciousness, one representing the friend as alive, the other as dead. the first stream comes from older and richer sources; the second is more poignant, but also more recent and more easily exhausted. the two streams break against each other in restless conflict, both, from the inevitable conditions of dream life, being accepted as true, and they eventually mix to form an absurd harmony, in which the older and stronger images (in accordance with that recognised tendency for old psychic impressions generally to be most stable) predominate over those that are more recent. thus, in the first observation the dreamer seems to have begun his dream by imagining that his mother was alive as of old; then his more recent experiences interfered with the assertion of her death. this resulted in a struggle between the old-established images representing her as alive and the later ones representing her as dead. the idea that she had come to life again was evidently a theory that had arisen in his brain to harmonise these two opposing currents. the theory was not accepted easily; all sorts of scientific objections arose to oppose it, but there could be no doubt, for his mother was there. the dreamer is in the same position as a paranoiac who constantly seems to hear threatening voices; henceforth he is absorbed in inventing a theory (electricity, hypnotism, or whatever it may be) to account for his hallucinations, and his whole view of life is modified accordingly. the dreamer, in the cases i am here concerned with, sees an image of the dead person as alive, and is therefore compelled to invent a theory to account for this image; the theories that most easily suggest themselves are either that the dead person has never really died, or else that he has come back from the dead for a brief space. the mental and emotional conflict which such dreams involve renders them very vivid. they make a profound impression even after awakening, and for some sensitive persons are almost too sacred to speak of.
-when a series of these dreams occurs concerning the same dead friend the tendency seems to be, on the whole--though there are certainly many exceptions--for the living reality of the vision of the dead friend to be more and more positively affirmed. whether awake or asleep, it is very difficult for us to resist the evidence of our senses. it is even more difficult asleep than awake, for, as we have seen reason to believe, apperception, with the critical control it involves, is weakened. just as the savage or the child accepts as a reality the illusion of the sun traversing the sky, just as the paranoiac accepts the reality of the hallucinations he is subjected to, and gradually weaves them into a more or less plausible theory, so the dreamer seems to employ all the acutest powers of sleeping reason available to construct a theory in support of the reality of the visions of his dead friend.
-i am indebted to a clergyman for the record of a somewhat similar experience. 'a close friendship,' he writes, 'once existed between myself and a lady, somewhat older, and of a religious temperament. we often discussed the life beyond the grave, and agreed that if she died first, and this appeared more than probable, as she was the victim of a mortal disease, she would appear to me. i may add that she was of a highly-strung and nervous nature, and though purely english had many of the psychic characteristics of the celt. after her death, i looked for some appearance or manifestation, and about three days after dreamed that she had come back to me, and was discussing with me a matter which i much wished to speak about before her death, but was unable to, owing to her weakness and the presence of strangers. in the dream it was perfectly clear to me that she was a dead woman back from another sphere of existence. for some weeks after this i had similar experiences. they were never dreams of the old life and friendship before death, but always reappearances from the other world. of course it may be said of this experience of mine, that it was merely the result of expectation. but i have found that the things most on my mind are rarely the subject of my dreams. moreover, these dreams formed a series, lasting for weeks, and all of the same character, though the conversations differed.'
-but while these thinkers have in some cases specifically referred to dreams of the dead, and not merely to the widespread belief of savages that in sleep the soul leaves the body to wander over the earth, they have never realised that there is a special mechanism in the typical dream of a dead friend, due to mental dissociation during sleep, which powerfully suggests to us that death sets up no fatal barrier to the return of the dead. in dreams the dead are thus rendered indestructible; they cannot be finally killed, but rather tend to reappear in ever more clearly affirmed vitality. dreams of this sort must certainly have come to men ever since men began to be. if their emotional effects are great to-day, we can well believe that they were much greater in the early days when dream life and what we call real life were less easily distinguished. the repercussion of this kind of dream through unmeasured ages cannot fail to have told at last on the traditions of the race.
-memory in dreams
-the apparent rapidity of thought in dreams--this phenomenon largely due to the dream being a description of a picture--the experience of drowning persons--the sense of time in dreams--the crumpling of consciousness in dreams--the recovery of lost memories through the relaxation of attention--the emergence in dreams of memories not known to waking life--the recollection of forgotten languages in sleep--the perversions of memory in dreams--paramnesic false recollections--hypnagogic paramnesia--dreams mistaken for actual events--the phenomenon of pseudo-reminiscence--its relationship to epilepsy--its prevalence especially among imaginative and nervously exhausted persons--the theories put forward to explain it--a fatigue product--conditioned by defective attention and apperception--pseudo-reminiscence a reversed hallucination.
-the peculiarities of memory in dreams--its defects, its aberrations, its excesses--have attracted attention ever since dreams began to be studied at all. it is not enough to assure ourselves that on awakening from a dream our memory of that dream may fairly be regarded as trustworthy so far as it extends. the characteristics of memory revealed within the reproduced dream have sometimes seemed so extraordinary as to be only explicable by the theory of supernatural intervention.
-exactly the same illusion is experienced by persons who are rescued from drowning, or other dangerous situations. it sometimes seems to them that their whole life has passed before them in vision during those brief moments. but careful investigation of some of these cases, notably by piéron, has shown that what really happened was that a scene from childhood, perhaps of some rather similar accident, came before the drowning man's mind and was followed by five, six, perhaps even ten or twelve momentary scenes from later life. when the time during which these scenes flashed through the mind was taken into account it was found that there had by no means been any remarkable mental rapidity.
-if this peculiarity of memory in dreaming is not difficult to explain as a natural illusion, there are other and rarer characteristics of dream memory which are much more puzzling.
-it is interesting to observe that this same process of discovery due to the wider outlook of relaxed attention can take place, not only in sleep and the hypnagogic state, but also, subconsciously, in the fully waking state when the mind is occupied with some other subject. thus in reading a ms., i came upon an illegible word which i was unable to identify, notwithstanding several guesses and careful scrutiny through a magnifying glass. i passed on, dismissing the subject from my mind. a quarter of an hour afterwards, when walking, and thinking of quite a different subject, i became conscious that the word 'ceremonial' had floated into the field of mental vision, and i at once realised that this was the unidentified word. the instance may be trivial, but no example could better show how the mind may continue to work subconsciously in one direction while consciously working in an entirely different direction.
-this psychic process, by which unconscious memories become conscious in dreams, is of considerable interest and importance because it lends itself to many delusions. not only the ignorant and uncultured, but even well-trained and acute minds, are often so unskilled in mental analysis that they are quite unable to pierce beneath the phenomenon of conscious ignorance to the deeper fact of unconscious memory; they are completely baffled, or else they resort to the wildest hypotheses. this is illustrated by the following narrative received twelve years ago from a medical correspondent in baltimore. 'several years ago,' he writes, 'a friend made a social call at my house and in the course of conversation spoke very enthusiastically of mascagni's cavalleria rusticana, the first performance of which in the united states he had attended a few nights previously. i had never even heard of the opera before, but that night i dreamed that i heard it performed. the dream was a very vivid one, so vivid that several times during the next day i found myself humming airs from the dream opera. several evenings later i went to the theatre to see a comedy, and before the curtain rose the orchestra played a selection which i instantly recognised as part of my dream opera. i exclaimed to a lady who was with me: "that selection is from cavalleria rusticana." on inquiring of the leader of the orchestra such proved to be the case.' now, at that period, shortly after the first appearance of cavalleria rusticana, portions of it had become extremely popular and were heard everywhere, by no means merely on the operatic stage. it was difficult not to have heard something of it. there cannot be the slightest doubt that my correspondent had heard not only the name but the music, though, writing at an interval of some years, he probably exaggerated the extent of his unconscious recollections. this seems the simple explanation of what to my correspondent was an inexplicable mystery. other people, like the late frederick greenwood, not content to remain baffled, go further and regard such dreams as 'dreams of revelation,' as they also consider that class of dreams in which the dreamer works out the solution of a difficulty which he had vainly grappled with when awake.
-an interesting group of cases in this class is furnished by the dreams in which the dreamer, in opposition to his waking judgment, sees an acquaintance in whom he reposes trust acting in a manner unworthy of that trust, subsequent events proving that the estimate formed during sleep was sounder than that of waking life. hawthorne (in his american notebooks), greenwood, jewell, and others have recorded cases of this kind.
-it must be remembered that the suggestibility of sleeping consciousness varies in degree, and in the face of serious improbabilities there is often a considerable amount of resistance, just as the hypnotised person seriously resists the suggestions that fundamentally outrage his nature. but some degree of suggestibility, some tendency to regard the things that come before us in dreams as familiar--in other words, as things that have happened to us before--is not merely a natural result of defective apperception, but one of the very conditions of dreaming. it enables us to carry on our dreams; without it their progress would be fatally inhibited by doubt, uncertainty, and struggle. so it is, perhaps, that in all dreaming, or at all events in certain stages of sleeping consciousness, we are liable to fall into a state of pseudo-reminiscence.
-the first experience which enabled me clearly to realise this phenomenon, and its probable explanation, occurred many years ago. about the middle of the night i had a very vivid dream, in which i imagined that two friends--a gentleman and his daughter--with a certain lord chesterfield (i had lately been reading the letters of the famous lord chesterfield), were together at a hotel, that they were playing with weapons, that the lady accidentally killed or wounded lord chesterfield, and that she then changed clothes with him with the object of escaping, and avoiding discovery which would somehow be dangerous. i was informed of the matter, and was much concerned. i awoke, and my first thought was that i had just had a curious dream which i must not forget in the morning. but then i seemed to remember that it was a real and familiar event. this second thought lulled my mental activity, and i went to sleep again. in the morning i was able to recall the main points in my dream, and my thoughts on awaking from it.
-since then i have given attention to the point, and i have found on recalling my half-waking consciousness after dreams that, while it is doubtless rare to catch the assertion 'that really occurred,' it is less rare to catch the vague assertion, 'that is the kind of thing that does occur.' i find that this latter impression appears, like the former, after vivid dreams which contain no physical impossibility, but which the full waking consciousness refuses to recognise as among the things that are probable. as an example quite unlike that just recorded, i may mention a dream in which i imagined that i was proving the frequency of local intermarriage by noting in directories the frequency of the presence of people of the same name in neighbouring towns and villages. on half-awaking i still believed that i had actually been engaged in such a task--that is, either that the dream was real or that it referred to a real event--and it was not until i was sufficiently awake to recognise the fallacy of such a method of investigation that i realised that it was purely a dream.
-under normal conditions, the liability of a dream memory to be mistaken for an actual event seems to be greater when an interval has elapsed before the dream is remembered, such an interval making it difficult to distinguish one class of memories from the other, provided the dream has been of a plausible character. thus professor näcke has recorded that his wife dreamed that an acquaintance, an old lady, had called at the house; this dream was apparently forgotten until forty or fifty hours afterwards when, on passing the old lady's house, it was recalled, and the dreamer was only with much difficulty convinced that the dream was not an actual occurrence. when we are concerned with memories of childhood, it not infrequently happens that we cannot distinguish with absolute certainty between real occurrences and what may possibly have been dreams.
-in normal physical and mental health, however, it seems rare for the hallucinatory influence of dreams to extend beyond the hypnagogic state, but any impairment of the bodily health generally, and of the brain in particular, may extend this confusion. thus in a case of heart disease terminating fatally, the patient, though in health he was by no means visionary or impressionable, became liable during sleep in the day-time to dreams of an entirely reasonable character which he had great difficulty in distinguishing from the real facts of life, never feeling sure what had actually happened, and what had been only a dream. in disordered cerebral and nervous conditions the same illusion becomes still more marked. this is notably the case in hysteria. in some forms of insanity, as many alienists have shown, this mistake is sometimes permanent and the dream may become an integral and persistent part of waking life. at this point, however, we leave the normal world of dreams and enter the sphere of pathology.
-in the normal persistence of the dream illusion into the hypnagogic state with which we are here concerned, the dream usually presents a possible, though, it may be, highly improbable event. the half-waking or hypnagogic intelligence seems to be deceived by this element of life-like possibility. consequently a fallacy of perception takes place strictly comparable to the fallacious perception which, in the case of an external sensation, we call an illusion. in the ordinary illusion an externally excited sensation of one kind is mistaken for an externally excited sensation of another kind. in this case a centrally excited sensation of one order (dream image) is mistaken for a centrally excited sensation of another order (memory). the phenomenon is, therefore, a mental illusion belonging to the group of false memories, and it may be termed hypnagogic paramnesia.
-the process seems to have a certain interest, and it may throw light on some rather obscure phenomena. when we are able to recall a vivid dream, usually a fairly probable dream, with no idea as to when it was dreamed, and thus find ourselves in possession of experiences of which we cannot certainly say that they happened in waking life or in dream life, it seems probable that this hypnagogic paramnesia has come into action; the half-waking consciousness dismisses the vivid and life-like dream as an old and familiar experience, shunting it off into temporary forgetfulness, unless some accident again brings it into consciousness with, as it were, a fragment of that wrong label still sticking to it. such a paramnesic process may thus also help to account for the mighty part which, as so many thinkers from lucretius onwards have seen, dreams have played in moulding human action and human belief. it is a means whereby waking life and dream life are brought to an apparently common level.
-if this memory illusion of the half-waking state may be regarded as a variety of paramnesia, a new horizon is opened out to us. may not the hypnagogic variety throw light on the general phenomenon of paramnesia which has led to so many strange and complicated theories? i think it may.
-a great many theories have been put forward by psychologists and others to account for this paramnesic phenomenon. the most ancient explanation, long anterior to the beginnings of scientific psychology, was the theory that the occurrence which, as it now happens, strikes us as so overwhelmingly familiar had actually occurred to us in a previous existence long ages before; thus pythagoras, according to the ancient story, when he visited the temple of juno at argos recognised the shield he had worn ages before when he was euphorbus and fought with menelaus in the trojan war. a much more recent theory runs to the opposite extreme and claims that all or nearly all these cases of recognition indicate a real but confused reminiscence of past events in our present life, dim recollections which the subject is unable definitely to locate. this is the explanation largely relied on by ribot, jessen, sander, sully, burnham, and many others. it was perhaps largely due to ignorance of the phenomenon; ribot, when he wrote his book on the diseases of memory, considered that only three or four cases had been recorded, for an abnormal phenomenon always seems rare until it is recognised and definitely searched for. undoubtedly, this theory will explain a considerable proportion of cases, but not really typical cases in which the subject has an overwhelming conviction that even the minute details of the present experience have been experienced before. we may read a new poem with a vague sense of familiarity, but such an experience never puts on a really paramnesic character, for we quickly realise that it is explainable by the fact that the writer of the poem has fallen under the influence of some greater master. the only experience i can personally speak of as at all approaching true paramnesia occurred on visiting the ruins of pevensey castle many years ago. on going up the slope towards the ivy-covered ruins, bathed in bright sunlight, i experienced a strange and abiding sense of familiarity with the scene. three theories might account for this experience (for i refrain from including the pythagorean theory that i experienced a reminiscence of the experience of a possible ancestor coming from across the thames to the assistance of harold against william the conqueror at this spot): (1) that it was a case of true paramnesia; (2) that i had been taken to the spot as a child; (3) that the view was included among a series of coloured stereoscopic pictures with which i was familiar as a child, and which certainly contained similar scenes. i incline to this last explanation. here, as elsewhere, there are no keys which will unlock all doors.
-we may dismiss these theories, which have been effectively criticised by others, and revert to our clue in the sleeping and hypnagogic state. the hypnagogic state is a transition between waking and sleeping. it is thus a condition of mental feebleness and suggestibility doubtless correlated with a condition of irregular brain anaemia. a plausible suggestion under such conditions is too readily accepted. does ordinary paramnesia occur under similar conditions of mental feebleness and suggestibility? it is rare to find descriptions of paramnesic experiences by scientific observers who are alive to the importance of accurately recording all the conditions, but there is some reason to think that paramnesia does occur in states produced by excitement, exhaustion, and allied causes. the earliest case of paramnesia recorded in detail by a trained observer is that described by wigan as occurring to himself at the funeral of the princess charlotte. he had passed several disturbed nights previous to the ceremony, with almost complete deprivation of rest on the night immediately preceding; he was suffering from grief as well as from exhaustion from want of food; he had been standing for four hours, and would have fainted on taking his place by the coffin if it had not been for the excitement of the occasion. when the music ceased the coffin slowly sank in absolute silence, broken by an outburst of grief from the bereaved husband. 'in an instant,' wigan proceeds, 'i felt not merely an impression, but a conviction, that i had seen the whole scene before on some former occasion.' such a condition may fairly be regarded as an artificial reproduction, by means of emotion, excitement, and exhaustion, of the condition which occurs simply and naturally in sleep or on its hypnagogic borderland.
-in all these conditions we appear to be in the presence of an enfeebled, excited, and impaired state of consciousness approximating to the true confusion of dream consciousness. it seems as if externally aroused sensations in such cases are received by the exhausted cerebral centres in so blurred a form that an illusion takes place, and they are mistaken for internally excited sensations, for memories.
-we thus realise how it is that that doubling of experience occurs. the mind has for the moment become flaccid and enfeebled; its loosened texture has, as it were, abnormally enlarged the meshes in which sensations are caught and sifted, so that they run through too easily. in other words, they are not properly apperceived. to use a crude simile, it is as though we poured water into a sieve. the impressions of the world which are actual sensations as they strike the relaxed psychic meshwork are instantaneously passed through to become memories, and we see them in both forms at the same moment, and are unable to distinguish one from the other.
-in sleep, and in the hypnagogic state, as in hypnosis, we accept a suggestion, with or without a struggle. in the waking paramnesic state we seem to find, in a slighter stage of a like condition, the same process in a reversed form. instead of accepting a representation as an actual present fact, we accept the actual present fact as merely a representation. the centres of perception are in such a state of exhaustion and disorder that they receive an actual external sensation in the feebler shape of a representation. the actual fact becomes merely a suggestion of far distant things. it reaches consciousness in the enfeebled shape of an old memory--
-'... like to something i remember a great while since, a long, long time ago.'
-paramnesia is thus an internal hallucination, a reversed hallucination, it is true, but while so reversed, the stream of consciousness is still following the line of least resistance.
-it is along some such lines as these, it seems to me, that we may best attempt to explain the phenomena of paramnesia, phenomena which are of no little interest since, in earlier stages of culture, they may well have had a real influence on belief, suggesting to primitive man that he had somehow had wider experiences than he knew of, and that, as wordsworth put it, he trailed clouds of glory behind him.
-the fundamental nature of dreaming--insanity and dreaming--the child's psychic state and the dream state--primitive thought and dreams--dreaming and myth-making--genius and dreams--dreaming as a road into the infinite.
-in the preceding chapters we have traced some of the elementary tendencies which prevail in the formation of dreams. these tendencies are in some respects so unlike those that rule in waking life--slight and subtle as their unlikeness often seems--that we are justified in regarding the psychic phenomena of sleeping life as constituting a world of their own.
-the dream-like character of myths, legends, and fairy tales is probably, however, not entirely due to direct borrowing from the actual dreams of sleep, or even from the hallucinations connected with insanity, music, or drugs, though all these may have played their part. the greater nearness of the primitive mind to the dream-state involves more than a tendency to embody in waking life conceptions obtained from dreams. it means that the waking psychic life itself is capable of acting in a way resembling that of the sleeping psychic life, and of evolving conceptions similar to dreams.
-in this way the paradise of dreams has been a reservoir from which men have always drawn consolation and sweet memory and hope, even belief, the imagination and gratification of desires that the world restrained, the promise and proof of the dearest and deepest aspirations.
-we set out to study as carefully as possible the small field of dream consciousness belonging to a few persons, not, it may be, abnormal, of whom it was possible to speak with some assurance. the great naturalist, linnæus, once said that he could spend a lifetime in studying as much of the earth as he could cover with his hand. however small the patch we investigate, it will lead us back to the sun at last. there is nothing too minute or too trivial. i have often remembered with a pang, how, long years ago, i once gave pain by saying, with the arrogance of boyhood, that it was foolish to tell one's dreams. i have done penance for that remark since. 'il faut cultiver notre jardin,' said the wise philosopher of the eighteenth century. i have cultivated, so far as i care to, my garden of dreams, and it scarcely seems to me that it is a large garden. yet every path of it, i sometimes think, might lead at last to the heart of the universe.
-abraham, k., 65, 272.
-albès, 246, 248, 252, 256.
-analogy in dreams, 41.
-andamanese shamans, 268.
-anaesthesia from drugs, 101.
-andrews, grace, 84, 108.
-animism and dreaming, 210, 266.
-anjel, 247, 257.
-apperception in dreams, 68, 259.
-aristotle, 17, 31, 65, 92.
-artemidorus of daldi, 157.
-atavistic dreams, alleged, 133.
-attention in dreams, 24 et seq.; 67, 219, 229, 252.
-auditory element in dreams, 77 et seq.
-augustine, st., 239.
-aural origin of some dreams, alleged, 139.
-baldwin, 2, 4, 68.
-ballet, g., 253.
-bancroft, h. h., 37.
-beaunis, 14, 33, 72, 132, 145, 203, 211, 224, 270.
-beddoes, t., 199.
-benson, archbishop, 224.
-bergson, 137, 255 et seq., 280.
-binet, 56, 57, 58, 201.
-binswanger, l., 144.
-birds in dreams, 37.
-bladder as a stimulant to dreams, 88, 96, 163, 164.
-bleuler, 150, 154.
-blind, dreams of the, 278.
-blood, dreams of, 183.
-boerner, j., 269.
-bolton, f. e., 133.
-bolton, j., 69.
-bradley, f. h., 97.
-bramwell, j. m., 188.
-brodie, sir b., 13.
-brown, horatio, 30, 108.
-brunton, sir lauder, 270.
-burnham, 230, 242.
-cardiac stimuli of dreams, 88, 90, 136, 140.
-carpenter, w., 14.
-cerebral light, 27.
-chabaneix, 130, 143, 206, 265.
-child, psychic state of, 189, 264.
-childhood, hypnogogic hallucinations of, 28 et seq., 232.
-chloroform anaesthesia compared to dreaming, 16, 32, 34, 135, 137.
-christina the wonderful, 144.
-claparède, 171, 174.
-clarke, e. h., 30, 119.
-classification of dreams, 17, 71.
-clavière, 150, 215, 216.
-coleridge, 273, 275.
-colour in dreams, 33.
-colour associations, 149.
-coloured hearing, 150.
-confusion in dreams, 36 et seq.
-consciousness, definition of, 2.
-contrast dreams, 175, 208.
-corning, l., 79.
-criminals, dreams of, 120.
-curnock, n., 228.
-dauriac, 79, 152.
-day-dreams, 167, 244, 261, 274.
-dead, dreams of the, 194 et seq.
-delbœuf, 5, 23.
-dircks, h., 2.
-dissociation in dreams, 66, 148, 185, 195, 221.
-dissolving view, dreams compared to, 36, 47.
-dogs, sleep of, 15, 101.
-dramatic element in dreams, 180 et seq.
-dreaming, alleged dreams of, 65.
-dreamless sleep, 14.
-dreamy state, 239.
-dromard, 248, 255.
-drowning, hallucinations of the, 145, 214.
-dugas, 240, 248, 252, 253.
-duplex brain, theory of, 244.
-dying, hallucinations of the, 145, 161.
-ecstasy, hysterical, 144.
-egger, 213, 216.
-ellis, havelock, 28, 37, 165, 168, 179, 191, 197.
-emotion in dreams, 94 et seq.
-epilepsy and pseudo-reminiscence, 239, 245.
-epileptic dreams, 139.
-erotic dreams, 88, 126, 177.
-erotic symbolism, 65, 179.
-fairies and dreams, 270.
-falling, dreams of, 129 et seq.
-false recognition in dreams, 230 et seq.
-fear in dreams, 121, 174.
-féré, 92, 139, 156, 163, 248.
-fish, dreams of, 163.
-floating, dreams of, 143.
-flournoy, 174, 187.
-flying, dreams of, 129 et seq.
-forman, simon, 30.
-foucault, 5, 6, 7, 8, 13, 17, 22, 24, 174, 187, 195, 202, 215, 216, 224, 234.
-fouillée, 252, 255.
-freud, 52, 56, 65, 89, 99, 119, 120, 127, 133, 164 et seq., 210, 216, 217, 244, 262, 264, 272.
-fusion of dream imagery, 36 et seq.
-galton, sir f., 149.
-gassendi, 65, 202.
-genius and dreaming, 273.
-giessler, 22, 72, 174, 187, 189, 264.
-glanvill, j., 280.
-goblot, 6, 32, 154.
-gods first appeared in dreams, 268.
-goethe, 70, 208.
-goncourt, e. de, 203.
-goncourt, j. de, 142.
-gowers, sir w. r., 139, 239.
-grasset, 240, 243.
-greenwood, f., 66, 113, 163, 228.
-gross, hans, 265.
-gustatory dreams, 85.
-guthrie, 76, 108, 138.
-guyon, e., 29, 31.
-hall, stanley, 29, 65, 133, 174, 189.
-hallam, florence, 74.
-hallucinations, 26, 159, 182, 188, 235, 271.
-hammond, 14, 65, 92, 104.
-hartland, e. s., 268.
-haschisch, 98, 215, 262.
-head, h., 34, 121.
-headache and dreams, 34, 91, 116, 177.
-hearn, lafcadio, 108, 133, 138, 209.
-heaven and dreams, 270. green nightmare of forests, in which he found himself in the power of an ogre about twelve feet high, with scarlet flames for hair and dressed rather like robin hood. but a long course of what is known as “keeping the party together” had made it as unnatural to him to tell anyone (even himself) what he really thought about anything, as it would have been to spit—or to sing. he had at present only three motives and strong resolves: (1) not to admit that he had been drunk; (2) not to let anyone escape whom lord ivywood might possibly want to question; and (3) not to lose his reputation for sagacity and tact.
-“this party has a brown velvet suit, you see, and a fur overcoat,” the inspector continued, “and in the notes i have from you, you say the man wore a uniform.”
-“when we say uniform,” said mr. hibbs, frowning intellectually, “when we say uniform, of course—we must distinguish some of our friends who don’t quite see eye to eye with us, you know,” and he smiled with tender leniency, “some of our friends wouldn’t like it called a uniform perhaps. but—of course—well, it wasn’t a police uniform, for instance. ha! ha!”
-“i should hope not,” said the official, shortly.
-“so—in a way—however,” said hibbs, clutching his verbal talisman at last, “it might be brown velvet in the dark.”
-the inspector replied to this helpful suggestion with some wonder. “but it was a moon, like limelight,” he protested.
-“yars, yars,” cried hibbs, in a high tone that can only be described as a hasty drawl. “yars—discolours everything of course. the flowers and things—”
-“but look here,” said the inspector, “you said the principal man’s hair was red.”
-“a blond type! a blond type!” said hibbs, waving his hand with a solemn lightness. “reddish, yellowish, brownish sort of hair, you know.” then he shook his head and said with the heaviest solemnity the word was capable of carrying, “teutonic, purely teutonic.”
-the inspector began to feel some wonder that, even in the confusion following on lord ivywood’s fall, he had been put under the guidance of this particular guide. the truth was that leveson, once more masking his own fears under his usual parade of hurry, had found hibbs at a table by an open window, with wild hair and sleepy eyes, picking himself up with some sort of medicine. finding him already fairly clear-headed in a dreary way, he had not scrupled to use the remains of his bewilderment to despatch him with the police in the first pursuit. even the mind of a semi-recovered drunkard, he thought, could be trusted to recognise anyone so unmistakable as the captain.
-but, though the diplomatist’s debauch was barely over, his strange, soft fear and cunning were awake. he felt fairly certain the man in the fur coat had something to do with the mystery, as men with fur coats do not commonly wander about with donkeys. he was afraid of offending lord ivywood, and at the same time, afraid of exposing himself to a policeman.
-“you have large discretion,” he said, gravely. “very right you should have large discretion in the interests of the public. i think you would be quite authorised, for the present, in preventing the man’s escape.”
-“and the other man?” inquired the officer, with knitted brow. “do you suppose he has escaped?”
-“the other man,” repeated hibbs. however, regarding the distant windmill through half-closed lids, as if this were a new fine shade introduced into an already delicate question.
-“well, hang it all,” said the police officer, “you must know whether there were two men or one.”
-gradually it dawned, in a grey dawn of horror, over the brain of hibbs that this was what he specially couldn’t know. he had always heard, and read in comic papers, that a drunken man “sees double” and beholds two lamp-posts, one of which is (as the higher critic would have said) purely subjective. for all he knew (being a mere novice) inebriation might produce the impression of the two men of his dream-like adventure, when in truth there had only been one.
-“two men, you know—one man,” he said with a sort of moody carelessness. “well we can go into their numbers later; they can’t have a very large following.” here he shook his head very firmly. “quite impossible. and as the late lord goschen used to say, ‘you can prove anything by statistics.’”
-and here came an interruption from the other side of the road.
-“and how long am i to wait here for you and your goschens, you silly goat,” were the intemperate wood-notes issuing from the poet of the birds. “i’m shot if i’ll stand this! come along, donkey, and let’s pray for a better adventure next time. these are very inferior specimens of your own race.”
-unfortunately this disdainful dash for liberty was precisely what was wanting to weigh down the rocking intelligence of the inspector on the wrong side. if wimpole had stood still a minute or two longer, the official, who was no fool, might have ended in disbelieving hibbs’s story altogether. as it was, there was a scuffle, not without blows on both sides, and eventually the honourable dorian wimpole, donkey and all, was marched off to the village, in which there was a police station; in which was a temporary cell; in which a sixth mood was experienced.
-his complaints, however, were at once so clamorous and so convincing, and his coat was so unquestionably covered with fur, that after some questioning and cross purposes they agreed to take him in the afternoon to ivywood house, where there was a magistrate incapacitated by a shot only recently extracted from his leg.
-they found lord ivywood lying on a purple ottoman, in the midst of his chinese puzzle of oriental apartments. he continued to look away as they entered, as if expecting, with roman calm, the entrance of a recognised enemy. but lady enid wimpole, who was attending to the wants of the invalid, gave a sharp cry of astonishment; and the next moment the three cousins were looking at each other. one could almost have guessed they were cousins, all being (as mr. hibbs subtly put it) a blond type. but two of the blond types expressed amazement, and one blond type merely rage.
-“i am sorry, dorian,” said ivywood, when he had heard the whole story. “these fanatics are capable of anything, i fear, and you very rightly resent their stealing your car—”
-“you are wrong, phillip,” answered the poet, emphatically. “i do not even faintly resent their stealing my car. what i do resent is the continued existence on god’s earth of this fool” (pointing to the serious hibbs) “and of that fool” (pointing to the inspector) “and—yes, by thunder, of that fool, too” (and he pointed straight at lord ivywood). “and i tell you frankly, phillip, if there really are, as you say, two men who are bent on smashing your schemes and making your life a hell—i am very happy to put my car at their disposal. and now i’m off.”
-“you’ll stop to dinner?” inquired ivywood, with frigid forgiveness.
-“no, thanks,” said the disappearing bard, “i’m going up to town.”
-the seventh mood of dorian wimpole had a grand finale at the café royal, and consisted largely of oysters.
-the poet in parliament
-but joan, looking out of real windows on a real sky and sea, thought no more about the astronomical wall-paper than about any other wall-paper. she was asking herself in sullen emotionalism, and for the thousandth time, a question she had never been able to decide. it was the final choice between an ambition and a memory. and there was this heavy weight in the scale: that the ambition would probably materialise, and the memory probably wouldn’t. it has been the same weight in the same scale a million times, since satan became the prince of this world. but the evening stars were strengthening over the old sea-shore, and they also wanted weighing like diamonds.
-as once before at the same stage of brooding, she heard behind her the swish of lady enid’s skirts, that never came so fast save for serious cause.
-“joan! please do come! nobody but you, i do believe, could move him.” joan looked at lady enid and realised that the lady was close on crying. she turned a trifle pale and asked quietly for the question. “phillip says he’s going to london now, with that leg and all,” cried enid, “and he won’t let us say a word.”
-“but how did it all happen?” asked joan.
-lady enid wimpole was quite incapable of explaining how it all happened, so the task must for the moment devolve on the author. the simple fact was that ivywood in the course of turning over magazines on his sofa, happened to look at a paper from the midlands.
-“the turkish news,” said mr. leveson, rather nervously, “is on the other side of the page.”
-but lord ivywood continued to look at the side of the paper that did not contain the turkish news, with the same dignity of lowered eyelids and unconscious brow with which he had looked at the captain’s message when joan found him by the turret.
-on the page covered merely with casual, provincial happenings was a paragraph, “echo of pebblewick mystery. reported reappearance of the vanishing inn.” underneath was printed, in smaller letters:
-“an almost incredible report from wyddington announces that the mysterious ‘sign of the old ship’ has once more been seen in this country; though it has long been relegated by scientific investigators to the limbo of old rustic superstitions. according to the local version, mr. simmons, a dairyman of wyddington, was serving in his shop when two motorists entered, one of them asking for a glass of milk. they were in the most impenetrable motoring panoply, with darkened goggles and waterproof collars turned up, so that nothing can be recalled of them personally, except that one was a person of unusual stature. in a few moments, this latter individual went out of the shop again and returned with a miserable specimen out of the street, one of the tattered loafers that linger about our most prosperous towns, tramping the streets all night and even begging in defiance of the police. the filth and disease of the creature were so squalid that mr. simmons at first refused to serve him with the glass of milk which the taller motorist wished to provide for him. at length, however, mr. simmons consented, and was immediately astonished by an incident against which he certainly had a more assured right to protest.
-“later. the two motorists have apparently left the town, unmolested, in a small second-hand two-seater. there is no clue to their destination, except it be indicated by a single incident. it appears that when they were waiting for the second glass of milk, one of them drew attention to a milk-can of a shape seemingly unfamiliar to him, which was, of course, the mountain milk now so much recommended by doctors. the taller motorist (who seemed in every way strangely ignorant of modern science and social life) asked his companion where it came from, receiving, of course, the reply that it is manufactured in the model village of peaceways, under the personal superintendence of its distinguished and philanthropic inventor, dr. meadows. upon this the taller person, who appeared highly irresponsible, actually bought the whole can; observing, as he tucked it under his arm, that it would help him to remember the address.
-“later. our readers will be glad to hear that the legend of ‘the old ship’ sign has once more yielded to the wholesome scepticism of science. our representative reached wyddington after the practical jokers, or whatever they were, had left; but he searched the whole frontage of mr. simmons’s shop, and we are in a position to assure the public that there is no trace of the alleged sign.”
-lord ivywood laid down the newspaper and looked at the rich and serpentine embroideries on the wall with the expression that a great general might have if he saw a chance of really ruining his enemy, if he would also ruin all his previous plan of campaign. his pallid and classic profile was as immovable as a cameo; but anyone who had known him at all would have known that his brain was going like a motor car that has broken the speed limit long ago.
-then he turned his head and said, “please tell hicks to bring round the long blue car in half an hour; it can be fitted up for a sofa. and ask the gardener to cut a pole of about four feet nine inches, and put a cross-piece for a crutch. i’m going up to london tonight.”
-mr. leveson’s lower jaw literally fell with astonishment.
-“the doctor said three weeks,” he said. “if i may ask it, where are you going?”
-“st. stephens, westminster,” answered ivywood.
-“surely,” said mr. leveson, “i could take a message.”
-“you could take a message,” assented ivywood, “i’m afraid they would not allow you to make a speech.”
-it was a moment or two afterward that enid wimpole had come into the room, and striven in vain to shake his decision. then it was that joan had been brought out of the turret and saw phillip standing, sustained upon a crutch of garden timber; and admired him as she had never admired him before. while he was being helped downstairs, while he was being propped in the car with such limited comfort as was possible, she did really feel in him something worthy of his ancient roots, worthy of such hills and of such a sea. for she felt god’s wind from nowhere which is called the will; and is man’s only excuse upon this earth. in the small toot of the starting motor she could hear a hundred trumpets, such as might have called her ancestors and his to the glories of the third crusade.
-such imaginary military honours were not, at least in the strategic sense, undeserved. lord ivywood really had seen the whole map of the situation in front of him, and swiftly formed a plan to meet it, in a manner not unworthy of napoleon. the realities of the situation unrolled themselves before him, and his mind was marking them one by one as with a pencil.
-first, he knew that dalroy would probably go to the model village. it was just the sort of place he would go to. he knew dalroy was almost constitutionally incapable of not kicking up some kind of row in a place of that kind.
-second, he knew that if he missed dalroy at this address, it was very likely to be his last address; he and mr. pump were quite clever enough to leave no more hints behind.
-third, he guessed, by careful consideration of map and clock, that they could not get to so remote a region in so cheap a car under something like two days, nor do anything very conclusive in less than three. thus, he had just time to turn round in.
-fourth, he realised that ever since that day when dalroy swung round the sign-board and smote the policeman into the ditch, dalroy had swung round the ivywood act on lord ivywood. he (lord ivywood) had thought, and might well have thought rightly, that by restricting the old sign-posts to a few places so select that they can afford to be eccentric, and forbidding such artistic symbols to all other places, he could sweep fermented liquor for all practical purposes out of the land. the arrangement was exactly that at which all such legislation is consciously or unconsciously aiming. a sign-board could be a favour granted by the governing class to itself. if a gentleman wished to claim the liberties of a bohemian, the path would be open. if a bohemian wished to claim the liberties of a gentleman, the path would be shut. so, gradually, lord ivywood had thought, the old signs which can alone sell alcohol, will dwindle down to mere curiosities, like audit ale or the mead that may still be found in the new forest. the calculation was by no means unstatesmanlike. but, like many other statesmanlike calculations, it did not take into account the idea of dead wood walking about. so long as his flying foes might set up their sign anywhere, it mattered little whether the result was enjoyment or disappointment for the populace. in either case it must mean constant scandal or riot. if there was one thing worse than the appearance of “the old ship” it was its disappearance.
-he realised that his own law was letting them loose every time; for the local authorities hesitated to act on the spot, in defiance of a symbol now so exclusive and therefore impressive. he realised that the law must be altered. must be altered at once. must be altered, if possible, before the fugitives broke away from the model village of peaceways.
-he realised that it was thursday. this was the day on which any private member of parliament could introduce any private bill of the kind called “non-contentious,” and pass it without a division, so long as no particular member made any particular fuss. he realised that it was improbable that any particular member would make any particular fuss about lord ivywood’s own improvement on lord ivywood’s own act.
-finally, he realised that the whole case could be met by so slight an improvement as this. change the words of the act (which he knew by heart, as happier men might know a song): “if such sign be present liquids containing alcohol can be sold on the premises,” to these other words: “liquids containing alcohol can be sold, if previously preserved for three days on the premises”; it was mate in a few moves. parliament could never reject or even examine so slight an emendation. and the revolution of “the old ship” and the late king of ithaca would be crushed for ever.
-it does undoubtedly show, as we have said, something napoleonic in the man’s mind that the whole of this excellent and even successful plan was complete long before he saw the great glowing clock on the towers of westminster; and knew he was in time.
-it was unfortunate, perhaps, that about the same time, or not long after, another gentleman of the same rank, and indirectly of the same family, having left the restaurant in regent street and the tangle of piccadilly, had drifted serenely down whitehall, and had seen the same great golden goblin’s eye on the tall tower of st. stephen.
-the poet of the birds, like most æsthetes, had known as little of the real town as he had of the real country. but he had remembered a good place for supper; and as he passed certain great cold clubs, built of stone and looking like assyrian sarcophagi, he remembered that he belonged to many of them. and so when he saw afar off, sitting above the river, what has been very erroneously described as the best club in london, he suddenly remembered that he belonged to that too. he could not at the moment recall what constituency in south england it was that he sat for; but he knew he could walk into the place if he wanted to. he might not so have expressed the matter, but he knew that in an oligarchy things go by respect for persons and not for claims; by visiting cards and not by voting cards. he had not been near the place for years, being permanently paired against a famous patriot who had accepted an important government appointment in a private madhouse. even in his silliest days, he had never pretended to feel any respect for modern politics, and made all haste to put his “leaders” and the mad patriot’s “leaders” on the well selected list of the creatures whom man forgets. he had made one really eloquent speech in the house (on the subject of gorillas), and then found he was speaking against his party. it was an indescribable sort of place, anyhow. even lord ivywood did not go to it except to do some business that could be done nowhere else; as was the case that night.
-ivywood was what is called a peer by courtesy; his place was in the commons, and for the time being on the opposition side. but, though he visited the house but seldom, he knew far too much about it to go into the chamber itself. he limped into the smoking room (though he did not smoke), procured a needless cigarette and a much-needed sheet of note-paper, and composed a curt but careful note to the one member of the government whom he knew must be in the house. having sent it up to him, he waited.
-outside, mr. dorian wimpole also waited, leaning on the parapet of westminster bridge and looking down the river. he was becoming one with the oysters in a more solemn and solid sense than he had hitherto conceived possible, and also with a strictly vegetarian beverage which bears the noble and starry name of nuits. he felt at peace with all things, even in a manner with politics. it was one of those magic hours of evening when the red and golden lights of men are already lit along the river, and look like the lights of goblins, but daylight still lingers in a cold and delicate green. he felt about the river something of that smiling and glorious sadness which two englishmen have expressed under the figure of the white wood of an old ship fading like a phantom; turner, in painting, and henry newbolt, in poetry. he had come back to earth like a man fallen from the moon; he was at bottom not only a poet but a patriot, and a patriot is always a little sad. yet his melancholy was mixed up with that immutable yet meaningless faith which few englishmen, even in modern times, fail to feel at the unexpected sight either of westminster or of that height on which stands the temple of st. paul.
-“while flows the sacred river, while stands the sacred hill,”
-he murmured in some schoolboy echo of the ballad of lake regillus,
-“while flows the sacred river, while stands the sacred hill, the proud old pantaloons and nincompoops, who yawn at the very length of their own lies in that accursed sanhedrim where people put each other’s hats on in a poisonous room with no more windows than hell shall have such honour still.”
-relieved by this rendering of macaulay in the style known among his cultured friends as vers libre, or poesy set free from the shackles of formal metre, he strolled toward the members’ entrance and went in.
-lacking lord ivywood’s experience, he strolled into the common’s chamber itself and sat down on a green bench, under the impression that the house was not sitting. he was, however, gradually able to distinguish some six or eight drowsy human forms from the seats on which they sat; and to hear a senile voice with an essex accent, saying, all on one note, and without beginning or end, in a manner which it is quite impossible to punctuate,
-“... no wish at all that this proposal should be regarded except in the right way and have tried to put it in the right way and cannot think the honourable member was altogether adding to his reputation in putting it in what those who think with me must of course consider the wrong way and i for one am free to say that if in his desire to settle this great question he takes this hasty course and this revolutionary course about slate pencils he may not be able to prevent the extremists behind him from applying it to lead pencils and while i should be the last to increase the heat and the excitement and the personalities of this debate if i could possibly help it i must confess that in my opinion the honourable gentleman has himself encouraged that heat and personality in a manner that he now doubtless regrets i have no desire to use abusive terms indeed you mr. speaker would not allow me of course to use abusive terms but i must tell the honourable member face to face that the perambulators with which he has twitted me cannot be germane to this discussion i should be the last person....”
-dorian wimpole had softly risen to go, when he was arrested by the sight of someone sliding into the house and handing a note to the solitary young man with heavy eyelids who was at that moment governing all england from the treasury bench. seeing him go out, dorian had a sickening sweetness of hope (as he might have said in his earlier poems), that something intelligible might happen after all, and followed him out almost with alacrity.
-the solitary and sleepy governor of great britain went down into the lower crypts of its temple of freedom and turned into an apartment where wimpole was astonished to see his cousin ivywood sitting at a little table with a large crutch leaning beside him, as serene as long john silver. the young man with the heavy eyelids sat down opposite him and they had a conversation which wimpole, of course, did not hear. he withdrew into an adjoining room where he managed to procure coffee and a liqueur; an excellent liqueur which he had forgotten and of which he had more than one glass.
-but he had so posted himself that ivywood could not come out without passing him, and he waited for what might happen with exquisite patience. the only thing that seemed to him queer was that every now and then a bell rang in several rooms at once. and whenever the bell rang, lord ivywood nodded, as if he were part of the electrical machinery. and whenever lord ivywood nodded the young man turned and sped upstairs like a mountaineer, returning in a short time to resume the conversation. on the third occasion the poet began to observe that many others from the other rooms could be heard running upstairs at the sound of this bell, and returning with the slightly less rapid step which expresses relief after a duty done. yet did he not know that this duty was representative government; and that it is thus that the cry of cumberland or cornwall can come to the ears of an english king.
-suddenly the sleepy young man sprang erect, uninspired by any bell, and strode out once more. the poet could not help hearing him say as he left the table, jotting down something with a pencil: “alcohol can be sold if previously preserved for three days on the premises. i think we can do it, but you can’t come on for half an hour.”
-saying this, he darted upstairs again, and when dorian saw ivywood come out laboriously, afterward, on his large country crutch, he had exactly the same revulsion in his favour that joan had had. jumping up from his table, which was in one of the private dining-rooms, he touched the other on the elbow and said:
-“i want to apologise to you, phillip, for my rudeness this afternoon. honestly, i am sorry. pinewoods and prison-cells try a man’s temper, but i had no rag of excuse for not seeing that for neither of them were you to blame. i’d no notion you were coming up to town tonight; with your leg and all. you mustn’t knock yourself up like this. do sit down a minute.”
-it seemed to him that the bleak face of phillip softened a little; how far he really softened will never be known until such men as he are understood by their fellows. it is certain that he carefully unhooked himself from his crutch and sat down opposite his cousin. whereupon his cousin struck the table so that it rang like a dinner-bell and called out, “waiter!” as if he were in a crowded restaurant. then, before lord ivywood could protest, he said:
-“it’s awfully jolly that we’ve met. i suppose you’ve come up to make a speech. i should like to hear it. we haven’t always agreed; but, by god, if there’s anything good left in literature it’s your speeches reported in a newspaper. that thing of yours that ended, ‘death and the last shutting of the iron doors of defeat’—why you must go back to strafford’s last speech for such english. do let me hear your speech! i’ve got a seat upstairs, you know.”
-“if you wish it,” said ivywood hurriedly, “but i shan’t make much of a speech tonight.” and he looked at the wall behind wimpole’s head with thunderous wrinkles thickening on his brow. it was essential to his brilliant and rapid scheme, of course, that the commons should make no comment at all on his little alteration in the law.
-an attendant hovered near in response to the demand for a waiter, and was much impressed by the presence and condition of lord ivywood. but as that exalted cripple resolutely refused anything in the way of liquor, his cousin was so kind as to have a little more himself, and resumed his remarks.
-“it’s about this public-house affair of yours, i suppose. i’d like to hear you speak on that. p’raps i’ll speak myself. i’ve been thinking about it a good deal all day, and a good deal of last night, too. now, here’s what i should say to the house, if i were you. to begin with, can you abolish the public-house? are you important enough now to abolish the public-house? whether it’s right or wrong, can you in the long run prevent haymakers having ale any more than you can prevent me having this glass of chartreuse?”
-the attendant, hearing the word, once more drew near; but heard no further order; or, rather, the orders he heard were such as he was less able to cope with.
-“remember the curate!” said dorian, abstractedly shaking his head at the functionary, “remember the sensible little high-church curate, who when asked for a temperance sermon preached on the text ‘suffer us not to be overwhelmed in the water-floods.’ indeed, indeed, phillip, you are in deeper waters than you know. you will abolish ale! you will make kent forget hop-poles, and devonshire forget cider! the fate of the inn is to be settled in that hot little room upstairs! take care its fate and yours are not settled in the inn. take care englishmen don’t sit in judgment on you as they do on many another corpse at an inquest—at a common public-house! take care that the one tavern that is really neglected and shut up and passed like a house of pestilence is not the tavern in which i drink tonight, and that merely because it is the worst tavern on the king’s highway. take care this place where we sit does not get a name like any pub where sailors are hocussed or girls debauched. that is what i shall say to them,” said he, rising cheerfully, “that’s what i shall say. see you to it,” he cried with sudden passion and apparently to the waiter, “see you to it if the sign that is destroyed is not the sign of ‘the old ship’ but the sign of the mace and bauble, and, in the words of a highly historical brewer, if we see a dog bark at your going.”
-lord ivywood was observing him with a deathly quietude; another idea had come into his fertile mind. he knew his cousin, though excited, was not in the least intoxicated; he knew he was quite capable of making a speech and even a good one. he knew that any speech, good or bad, would wreck his whole plan and send the wild inn flying again. but the orator had resumed his seat and drained his glass, passing a hand across his brow. and he remembered that a man who keeps a vigil in a wood all night and drinks wine on the following evening is liable to an accident that is not drunkenness, but something much healthier.
-“i suppose your speech will come on pretty soon,” said dorian, looking at the table. “you’ll let me know when it does, of course. really and truly, i don’t want to miss it. and i’ve forgotten all the ways here, and feel pretty tired. you’ll let me know?”
-“yes,” said lord ivywood.
-stillness fell along all the rooms until lord ivywood broke it by saying:
-“debate is a most necessary thing; but there are times when it rather impedes than assists parliamentary government.”
-phillip ivywood raised himself on his crutch and stood for a moment looking at the sleeping man. then he and his crutch trailed out of the long room, leaving the sleeping man behind. nor was that the only thing that he left behind. he also left behind an unlighted cigarette and his honour and all the england of his father’s; everything that could really distinguish that high house beside the river from any tavern for the hocussing of sailors. he went upstairs and did his business in twenty minutes in the only speech he had ever delivered without any trace of eloquence. and from that hour forth he was the naked fanatic; and could feed on nothing but the future.
-the republic of peaceways
-in a hamlet round about windermere, let us say, or somewhere in wordsworth’s country, there could be found a cottage, in which could be found a cottager. so far all is as it should be; and the visitor would first be conscious of a hearty and even noisy elderly man, with an apple face and a short white beard. this person would then loudly proffer to the visitor the opportunity of seeing his father, a somewhat more elderly man, with a somewhat longer white beard, but still “up and about.” and these two together would then initiate the neophyte into the joys of the society of a grandfather, who was more than a hundred years old, and still very proud of the fact.
-this miracle, it seemed, had been worked entirely on milk. the subject of this diet the oldest of the three men continued to discuss in enormous detail. for the rest, it might be said that his pleasures were purely arithmetical. some men count their years with dismay, and he counted his with a juvenile vanity. some men collect stamps or coins, and he collected days. newspaper men interviewed him about the historic times through which he had lived, without eliciting anything whatever; except that he had apparently taken to an exclusive milk diet at about the age when most of us leave it off. asked if he was alive in 1815, he said that was the very year he found it wasn’t any milk, but must be mountain milk, like dr. meadows says. nor would his calculating creed of life have allowed him to understand you if you had said that in a meadowland oversea that lies before the city of brussels, boys of his old school in that year gained the love of the gods and died young.
-it was the philanthropic dr. meadows, of course, who discovered this deathless tribe, and erected on it the whole of his great dietetic philosophy, to say nothing of the houses and dairies of peaceways. he attracted many pupils and backers among the wealthy and influential; young men who were, so to speak, training for extreme old age, infant old men, embryo nonagenarians. it would be an exaggeration to say that they watched joyfully for the first white hair as fascination fledgeby watched for his first whisker; but it is quite true to say that they seemed to have scorned the beauty of woman and the feasting of friends and, above all, the old idea of death with glory; in comparison with this vision of the sports of second childhood.
-peaceways was in its essential plan much like what we call a garden city; a ring of buildings where the work people did their work, with a pretty ornamental town in the centre, where they lived in the open country outside. this was no doubt much healthier than the factory system in the great towns and may have partly accounted for the serene expression of dr. meadows and his friends, if any part of the credit can be spared from the splendours of mountain milk. the place lay far from the common highways of england, and its inhabitants were enabled to enjoy their quiet skies and level woods almost undisturbed, and fully absorb whatever may be valuable in the meadows method and view; until one day a small and very dirty motor drove into the middle of their town. it stopped beside one of those triangular islets of grass that are common at forked roads, and two men in goggles, one tall and the other short, got out and stood on the central space of grass, as if they were buffoons about to do tricks. as, indeed, they were.
-before entering the town they had stopped by a splendid mountain stream quickening and thickening rapidly into a river; unhelmed and otherwise eased themselves, eaten a little bread bought at wyddington and drank the water of the widening current which opened on the valley of peaceways.
-“i’m beginning quite to like water,” said the taller of the two knights. “i used to think it a most dangerous drink. in theory, of course, it ought only to be given to people who are fainting. it’s really good for them, much better than brandy. besides, think of wasting good brandy on people who are fainting! but i don’t go so far as i did; i shouldn’t insist on a doctor’s prescription before i allow people water. that was the too severe morality of youth; that was my innocence and goodness. i thought that if i fell once, water-drinking might become a habit. but i do see the good side of water now. how good it is when you’re really thirsty, how it glitters and gurgles! how alive it is! after all, it’s the best of drinks, after the other. as it says in the song:
-“feast on wine or fast on water, and your honour shall stand sure; god almighty’s son and daughter, he the valiant, she the pure. if an angel out of heaven brings you other things to drink, thank him for his kind intentions, go and pour them down the sink.
-“tea is like the east he grows in, a great yellow mandarin, with urbanity of manner, and unconsciousness of sin; all the women, like a harem, at his pig-tail troop along, and, like all the east he grows in, he is poison when he’s strong.
-“tea, although an oriental, is a gentleman at least; cocoa is a cad and coward, cocoa is a vulgar beast; cocoa is a dull, disloyal, lying, crawling cad and clown, and may very well be grateful to the fool that takes him down.
-“as for all the windy waters, they were rained like trumpets down, when good drink had been dishonoured by the tipplers of the town. when red wine had brought red ruin, and the death-dance of our times, heaven sent us soda water as a torment for our crimes.”
-“upon my soul, this water tastes quite nice. i wonder what vintage now?” and he smacked his lips with solemnity. “it tastes just like the year 1881 tasted.”
-“you can fancy anything in the tasting way,” returned his shorter companion. “mr. jack, who was always up to his tricks, did serve plain water in those little glasses they drink liqueurs out of, and everyone swore it was a delicious liqueur, and wanted to know where they could get it—all except old admiral guffin, who said it tasted too strong of olives. but water’s much the best for our game, certainly.”
-patrick nodded, and then said:
-“i doubt if i could do it, if it weren’t for the comfort of looking at that,” and he kicked the rum-keg, “and feeling we shall have a good swig at it some day. it feels like a fairy-tale, carrying that about—as if rum were a pirate’s treasure, as if it were molten gold. besides, we can have such fun with it with other people—what was that joke i thought of this morning? oh, i remember! where’s that milk-can of mine?”
-for the next twenty minutes he was industriously occupied with his milk-can and the cask; pump watching him with an interest amounting to anxiety. lifting his head, however, at the end of that time, he knotted his red brows and said, “what’s that?”
-“what’s what?” asked the other traveller.
-���that!” said captain patrick dalroy, and pointed to a figure approaching on the road parallel to the river, “i mean, what’s it for?”
-“i suppose it’s somebody from that milk place,” said humphrey pump, indulgently. “they seem to be pretty mad.”
-“i don’t mind that so much,” said dalroy, “i’m mad myself sometimes. but a madman has only one merit and last link with god. a madman is always logical. now what is the logical connection between living on milk and wearing your hair long? most of us lived on milk when we had no hair at all. how do they connect it up? are there any heads even for a synopsis? is it, say, ‘milk—water—shaving-water—shaving—hair?’ is it ‘milk—kindness—unkindness—convicts—hair?’ what is the logical connection between having too much hair and having far too few boots? what can it be? is it ‘hair—hair-trunk—leather-trunk—leather-boots?’ is it ‘hair—beard—oysters—seaside—paddling—no boots?’ man is liable to err—especially when every mistake he makes is called a movement—but why should all the lunacies live together?”
-they did not, however, arrive in the civic centre of such things without yet another delay. they left the river and followed the man with the long hair and the goatskin frock; and he stopped as it happened at a house on the outskirts of the village. the adventurers stopped also, out of curiosity, and were at first relieved to see the man almost instantly reappear, having transacted his business with a quickness that seemed incredible. a second glance showed them it was not the man, but another man dressed exactly like him. a few minutes more of inquisitive delay, showed them many of the kilty and goatish sect going in and out of this particular place, each clad in his innocent uniform.
-“this must be the temple and chapel,” muttered patrick, “it must be here they sacrifice a glass of milk to a cow, or whatever it is they do. well, the joke is pretty obvious, but we must wait for a lull in the crowding of the congregation.”
-when the last long-haired phantom had faded up the road, dalroy sprang from the car and drove the sign-board deep into the earth with savage violence, and then very quietly knocked at the door.
-the apparent owner of the place, of whom the two last of the long-haired and bare-footed idealists were taking a rather hurried farewell, was a man curiously ill-fitted for the part he seemed cast for in the only possible plot.
-both pump and dalroy thought they had never seen a man look so sullen. his face was of the rubicund sort that does not suggest jollity, but merely a stagnant indigestion in the head. his mustache hung heavy and dark, his brows yet heavier and darker. dalroy had seen something of the sort on the faces of defeated people disgracefully forced into submission, but he could not make head or tail of it in connection with the priggish perfections of peaceways. it was all the odder because he was manifestly prosperous; his clothes were smartly cut in something of the sporting manner, and the inside of his house was at least four times grander than the outside.
-but what mystified them most was this, that he did not so much exhibit the natural curiosity of a gentleman whose private house is entered by strangers, but rather an embarrassed and restless expectation. during dalroy’s eager apologies and courteous inquiries about the direction and accommodations of peaceways, his eye (which was of the boiled gooseberry order) perpetually wandered from them to the cupboard and then again to the window, and at last he got up and went to look out into the road.
-“oh, yes, sir; very healthy place, peaceways,” he said, peering through the lattice. “very ... dash it, what do they mean?... very healthy place. of course they have their little ways.”
-“only drink pure milk, don’t they?” asked dalroy.
-the householder looked at him with a rather wild eye and grunted.
-“yes; so they say,” and he went again to the window.
-“i’ve bought some of it,” said patrick, patting his pet milk-can, which he carried under his arm, as if unable to be separated from dr. meadows’s discovery. “have a glass of milk, sir.”
-the man’s boiled eye began to bulge in anger—or some other emotion.
-“what do you want?” he muttered, “are you ’tecs or what?”
-“agents and distributors of the meadows’ mountain milk,” said the captain, with simple pride, “taste it?”
-the dazed householder took a glass of the blameless liquid and sipped it; and the change on his face was extraordinary.
-“well, i’m jiggered,” he said, with a broad and rather coarse grin. “that’s a queer dodge. you’re in the joke, i see.” then he went again restlessly to the window; and added, “but if we’re all friends, why the blazes don’t the others come in? i’ve never known trade so slow before.”
-“oh, the usual peaceways people,” said the other. “they generally come here before work. dr. meadows don’t work them for very long hours, that wouldn’t be healthy or whatever he calls it; but he’s particular about their being punctual. i’ve seen ’em running, with all their pure-minded togs on, when the hooter gave the last call.”
-then he abruptly opened the front door and called out impatiently, but not loudly:
-“come along in if you’re coming. you’ll give the show away if you play the fool out there.”
-patrick looked out also and the view of the road outside was certainly rather singular. he was used to crowds, large and small, collecting outside houses which he had honoured with the sign of “the old ship,” but they generally stared up at it in unaffected wonder and amusement. but outside this open door, some twenty or thirty persons in what pump had called their night-gowns were moving to and fro like somnambulists, apparently blind to the presence of the sign; looking at the other side of the road, looking at the horizon, looking at the clouds of morning; and only occasionally stopping to whisper to each other. but when the owner of the house called to one of these ostentatiously abstracted beings and asked him hoarsely what the devil was the matter, it was natural for the milk-fed one to turn his feeble eye toward the sign. the gooseberry eyes followed his, and the face to which they belonged was a study in apoplectic astonishment.
-“what the hell have you done to my house?” he demanded. “of course they can’t come in if this thing’s here.”
-“i’ll take it down, if you like,” said dalroy, stepping out and picking it up like a flower from the front garden (to the amazement of the men in the road, who thought they had strayed into a nursery fairy-tale), “but i wish, in return, you’d give me some idea of what the blazes all this means.”
-“wait till i’ve served these men,” replied his host.
-the goat-garbed persons went very sheepishly (or goatishly) into the now signless building, and were rapidly served with raw spirits, which mr. pump suspected to be of no very superior quality. when the last goat was gone, captain dalroy said:
-“i mean that all this seems to me topsy-turvy. i understood that as the law stands now, if there’s a sign they are allowed to drink and if there isn’t they aren’t.”
-“the law!” said the man, in a voice thick with scorn. “do you think these poor brutes are afraid of the law as they are of the doctor?”
-“why should they be afraid of the doctor?” asked dalroy, innocently. “i always heard that peaceways was a self-governing republic.”
-“self-governing be damned,” was the illiberal reply. “don’t he own all the houses and could turn ’em out in a snow storm? don’t ’e pay all the wages and could starve ’em stiff in a month? the law!” and he snorted. a moment after he squared his elbows on the table and began to explain more fully.
-“i was a brewer about here and had the biggest brewery in these parts. there were only two houses which didn’t belong to me, and the magistrates took away their licenses after a time. ten years ago you could see hugby’s ales written beside every sign in the county. then came these cursed radicals, and our leader, lord ivywood, must go over to their side about it, and let this doctor buy all the land under some new law that there shan’t be any pubs at all. and so my business is ruined so that he can sell his milk. luckily i’d done pretty well before and had some compensation, of course; and i still do a fair trade on the q.t., as you see. but of course that don’t amount to half the old one, for they’re afraid of old meadows finding out. snuffling old blighter!”
-and the gentleman with the good clothes spat on the carpet.
-“i am a radical myself,” said the irishman, rather coldly, “for all information on the conservative party i must refer you to my friend, mr. pump, who is, of course, in the inmost secrets of his leaders. but it seems to me a very rum sort of radicalism to eat and drink at the orders of a master who is a madman, merely because he’s also a millionaire. o liberty, what very complicated and even unsatisfactory social developments are committed in thy name! why don’t they kick the old ass round the town a bit? no boots? is that why they’re allowed no boots? oh, roll him down hill in a milk can: he can’t object to that.”
-“i don’t know,” said pump, in his ruminant way, “master christian’s aunt did, but ladies are more particular, of course.”
-“look here!” cried dalroy, in some excitement, “if i stick up that sign outside, and stay here to help, will you defy them? you’d be strictly within the law, and any private coercion i can promise you they shall repent. plant the sign and sell the stuff openly like a man, and you may stand in english history like a deliverer.”
-mr. hugby, of hugby’s ales, only looked gloomily at the table. his was not the sort of drinking nor the sort of drink-selling on which the revolutionary sentiment flourishes.
-“well,” said the captain, “will you come with me and say ‘hear, hear!’ and ‘how true!’—‘what matchless eloquence!’ if i make a speech in the marketplace? come along! there’s room in our car.”
-“well, i’ll come with you, if you like,” replied mr. hugby, heavily. “it’s true if yours is allowed we might get our trade back, too.” and putting on a silk hat he followed the captain and the innkeeper out to their little car. the model village was not an appropriate background for mr. hugby’s silk hat. indeed, the hat somehow seemed to bring out by contrast all that was fantastic in the place.
-it was a superb morning, some hours after sunrise. the edges of the sky touching the ring of dim woods and distant hills were still jewelled with the tiny transparent clouds of daybreak, delicate red and green or yellow. but above the vault of heaven rose through turquoise into a torrid and solid blue in which the other clouds, the colossal cumuli, tumbled about like a celestial pillow-fight. the bulk of the houses were as white as the clouds, so that it looked (to use another simile) as if some of the whitewashed cottages were flying and falling about the sky. but most of the white houses were picked out here and there with bright colours, here an ornament in orange or there a stripe of lemon yellow, as if by the brush of a baby giant. the houses had no thatching (thatching is not hygienic) but were mostly covered with a sort of peacock green tiles bought cheap at a preraphaelite bazaar; or, less frequently, by some still more esoteric sort of terra cotta bricks. the houses were not english, nor homelike, nor suited to the landscape; for the houses had not been built by free men for themselves, but at the fancy of a whimsical lord. but considered as a sort of elfin city in a pantomime it was a really picturesque background for pantomimic proceedings.
-i fear mr. dalroy’s proceedings from the first rather deserved that name. to begin with, he left the sign, the cask, and the keg all wrapped and concealed in the car, but removed all the wraps of his own disguise, and stood on the central patch of grass in that green uniform that looked all the more insolent for being as ragged as the grass. even that was less ragged than his red hair, which no red jungle of the east could imitate. then he took out, almost tenderly, the large milk-can, and deposited it, almost reverently, on the island of turf. then he stood beside it, like napoleon beside a gun, with an expression of tremendous seriousness and even severity. then he drew his sword, and with that flashing weapon, as with a flail, lashed and thrashed the echoing metal can till the din was deafening, and mr. hugby hastily got out of the car and withdrew to a slight distance, stopping his ears. mr. pump sat solidly at the steering wheel, well knowing it might be necessary to start in some haste.
-“gather, gather, gather, peaceways,” shouted patrick, still banging on the can and lamenting the difficulties of adapting “macgregor’s gathering” to the name and occasion, “we’re landless, landless, landless, peaceways!”
-two or three of the goat-clad, recognising mr. hugby with a guilty look, drew near with great caution, and the captain shouted at them as if they were an army covering salisbury plain.
-“citizens,” he roared, saying anything that came into his head, “try the only original unadulterated mountain milk, for which alone mahomet came to the mountain. the original milk of the land flowing with milk and honey; the high quality of which could alone have popularised so unappetising a combination. try our milk! none others are genuine! who can do without milk. even whales can’t do without milk. if any lady or gentleman keeps a favourite whale at home, now’s their chance! the early whale catches the milk. just look at our milk! if you say you can’t look at the milk, because it’s in the can—well, look at the can! you must look at the can! you simply must! when duty whispers low ‘thou must!’” he bellowed at the top of his voice in a highly impromptu peroration, “when duty whispers low ‘thou must,’ the youth replies, ‘i can!’” and with the word “can” he hit the can with a shocking and shattering noise, like a peal of demoniac bells of steel.
-this introductory speech is open to criticism from those who regard it as intended for the study rather than the stage. the present chronicler (who has no aim save truth) is bound to record that for its own unscrupulous purpose it was extremely successful: a great mass of the citizens of peaceways having been attracted by the noise of one man shouting like a crowd. there are crowds who do not care to revolt; but there are no crowds who do not like someone else to do it for them; a fact which the safest oligarchs may be wise to learn.
-but dalroy’s ultimate triumph (i regret to say) consisted in actually handing to a few of the foremost of his audience some samples of his blameless beverage. the fact was certainly striking. some were paralysed with surprise. some were abruptly broken double with laughter. many chuckled. some cheered. all looked radiantly toward the eccentric orator.
-and yet the radiance died quietly and suddenly from their faces. and only because one little old man had joined the group; a little old man in white linen with a white pointed beard and a white powder-puff of hair like thistledown: a man whom almost every man present could have killed with the left arm.
-the hospitality of the captain
-dr. moses meadows, whether that was his name or an anglicised version of it, had certainly come in the first instance from a little town in germany and his first two books were written in german. his first two books were his best, for he began with a genuine enthusiasm for physical science, and this was adulterated with nothing worse than a hatred of what he thought was superstition, and what many of us think is the soul of the state. the first enthusiasm was most notable in the first book, which was concerned to show that “in the female not upsprouting of the whiskers was from the therewith increasing arrested mentality derived.” in his second book he came more to grips with delusions, and for some time he was held to have proved (to everyone who agreed with him already) that the time ghost had been walking particularly “rapidly, lately; and that the christus mythus was by the alcoholic mind’s trouble explained.” then, unfortunately, he came across the institution called death, and began to argue with it. not seeing any rational explanation of this custom of dying, so prevalent among his fellow-citizens, he concluded that it was merely traditional (which he thought meant “effete”), and began to think of nothing but ways of evading or delaying it. this had a rather narrowing effect on him, and he lost much of that acrid ardour which had humanised the atheism of his youth, when he would almost have committed suicide for the pleasure of taunting god with not being there. his later idealism grew more and more into materialism and consisted of his changing hypotheses and discoveries about the healthiest foods. there is no need to detain the reader over what has been called his oil period; his sea-weed period has been authoritatively expounded in professor nym’s valuable little work; and on the events of his glue period it is, perhaps, not very generous to dwell. it was during his prolonged stay in england that he chanced on the instance of the longevity of milk consumers, and built on it a theory which was, at the beginning at least, sincere. unfortunately it was also successful: wealth flowed in to the inventor and proprietor of mountain milk, and he began to feel a fourth and last enthusiasm, which, also, can come late in life and have a narrowing effect on the mind.
-in the altercation which naturally followed on his discovery of the antics of mr. patrick dalroy, he was very dignified, but naturally not very tolerant; for he was quite unused to anything happening in spite of him, or anything important even happening without him, in the land that lay around. at first he hinted severely that the captain had stolen the milk-can from the milk-producing premises, and sent several workmen to count the cans in each shed; but dalroy soon put him right about that.
-“i bought it in a shop at wyddington,” he said, “and since then i have used no other. you’ll hardly believe me,” he said, with some truth, “but when i went into that shop i was quite a little man. i had one glass of your mountain milk; and look at me now.”
-“you have no right to sell the milk here,” said dr. meadows, with the faintest trace of a german accent. “you are not in my employment; i am not responsible for your methods. you are not a representative of the business.”
-“i’m an advertisement,” said the captain. “we advertise you all over england. you see that lean, skimpy, little man over there,” pointing to the indignant mr. pump, “he’s before taking meadows’s mountain milk. i’m after,” added mr. dalroy, with satisfaction.
-“you shall laugh at the magistrate,” said the other, with a thickening accent.
-“i shall,” agreed patrick. “well, i’ll make a clean breast of it, sir. the truth is it isn’t your milk at all. it has quite a different taste. these gentlemen will tell you so.”
-a smothered giggle sent all the blood to the eminent capitalist’s face.
-“then, either you have stolen my can and are a thief,” he said, stamping, “or you have introduced inferior substances into my discovery and are an adulterer—er—”
-“try adulteratist,” said dalroy, kindly. “prince albert always said ‘adulteratarian.’ dear old albert! it seems like yesterday! but it is, of course, today. and it’s as true as daylight that this stuff tastes different. i can’t tell you what the taste is” (subdued guffaws from the outskirts of the crowd). “it’s something between the taste of your first sugar-stick and the fag-end of your father’s cigar. it’s as innocent as heaven and as hot as hell. it tastes like a paradox. it tastes like a prehistoric inconsistency—i trust i make myself clear. the men who taste it most are the simplest men that god has made, and it always reminds them of the salt, because it is made out of sugar. have some!”
-and with a gesture of staggering hospitality, he shot out his long arm with the little glass at the end of it. the despotic curiosity in the prussian overcame even his despotic dignity. he took a sip of the liquid, and his eyes stood out from his face.
-“you’ve been mixing something with the milk,” were the first words that came to him.
-“yes,” answered dalroy, “and so have you, unless you’re a swindler. why is your milk advertised as different from everyone else’s milk, if you haven’t made the difference? why does a glass of your milk cost threepence, and a glass of ordinary milk, a penny, if you haven’t put twopennorth of something into it? now, look here, dr. meadows. the public analyst who would judge this, happens to be an honest man. i have a list of the twenty-one and a half honest men still employed in such posts. i make you a fair offer. he shall decide what it is i add to the milk, if you let him decide what it is you add to the milk. you must add something to the milk, or what can all these wheels and pumps and pulleys be for? will you tell me, here and now, what you add to the milk which makes it so exceedingly mountain?”
-there was a long silence, full of the same sense of submerged mirth in the mob. but the philanthropist had fallen into a naked frenzy in the sunlight, and shaking his fists aloft in a way unknown to all the english around him, he cried out:
-“ach! but i know what you add! i know what you add! it is the alcohol! and you have no sign and you shall laugh at a magistrate.”
-dalroy, with a bow, retired to the car, removed a number of wrappings and produced the prodigious wooden sign-post of “the old ship,” with its blue three-decker and red st. george’s cross conspicuously displayed. this he planted on his narrow territory of turf and looked round serenely.
-“in this old oak-panelled inn of mine,” he said, “i will laugh at a million magistrates. not that there’s anything unhygienic about this inn. no low ceilings or stuffiness here. windows open everywhere, except in the floor. and as i hear some are saying there ought always to be food sold with fermented liquor, why, my dear dr. meadows, i’ve got a cheese here that will make another man of you. at least, we’ll hope so. we can but try.”
-but dr. meadows was long past being merely angry. the exhibition of the sign had put him into a serious difficulty. like most sceptics, like even the most genuine sceptics such as bradlaugh, he was as legal as he was sceptical. he had a profound fear, which also had in it something better than fear, of being ultimately found in the wrong in a police court or a public inquiry. and he also suffered the tragedy of all such men living in modern england; that he must always be certain to respect the law, while never being certain of what it was. he could only remember generally that lord ivywood, when introducing or defending the great ivywood act on this matter, had dwelt very strongly on the unique and significant nature of the sign. and he could not be certain that if he disregarded it altogether, he might not eventually be cast in heavy damages—or even go to prison, in spite of his success in business. of course he knew quite well that he had a thousand answers to such nonsense: that a patch of grass in the road couldn’t be an inn; that the sign wasn’t even produced when the captain began to hand round the rum. but he also knew quite well that in the black peril we call british law, that is not the point. he had heard points quite as obvious urged to a judge and urged in vain. at the bottom of his mind he found this fact: rich as he was, lord ivywood had made him—and on which side would lord ivywood be?
-“captain,” said humphrey pump, speaking for the first time, “we’d better be getting away. i feel it in my bones.”
-“inhospitable innkeeper!” cried the captain, indignantly. “and after i have gone out of the way to license your premises! why, this is the dawn of peace in the great city of peaceways. i don’t despair of dr. meadows tossing off another bumper before we’ve done. for the moment, brother hugby will engage.”
-as he spoke, he served out milk and rum at random; and still the doctor had too much terror of our legal technicalities to make a final interference. but when mr. hugby, of hugby’s ales, heard his name called, he first of all jumped so as almost to dislodge the silk hat, then he stood quite still. then he accepted a glass of the new mountain milk; and then his very face became full of speech, before he had spoken a word.
-“there’s a motor coming along the road from the far hills,” said humphrey, quietly. “it’ll be across the last bridge down stream in ten minutes and come up on this side.”
-“well,” said the captain, impatiently, “i suppose you’ve seen a motor before.”
-“mr. chairman,” said mr. hugby, feeling a dim disposition to say “mr. vice,” in memory of old commercial banquets, “i’m sure we’re all law-abiding people here, and wish to remain friends, especially with our good friend the doctor; may he never want a friend or a bottle—that is in short, anything he wants, as we go up the hill of prosperity, and so on. but, as our friend here with the sign-board seems to be within his rights, well, i think the time’s come when we can look at these things more broadly, so to speak. now i know it’s quite true those dirty little pubs do a lot of harm to a property, and you get a lot of ignorant people there who are just like pigs; and i don’t say our friend the doctor hasn’t done good by clearing ’em away. but a big, well-managed business with plenty of capital behind it is quite another thing. well, friends, you all know that i was originally in the trade; though i have, of course, left off selling under the new regulations.” here the goats looked rather guiltily at their cloven hoofs. “but i’ve got my little bit and i wouldn’t mind putting it into this ‘old ship’ here, if our friend would allow it to be run on business lines. and especially if he’d enlarge the premises a bit. ha! ha! and if our good friend, the doctor—”
-“you rascal fellow!” spluttered meadows, “your goot friend the doctor will make you dance before a magistrate.”
-“now, don’t be unbusinesslike,” reasoned the brewer. “it won’t hurt your sales. it’s quite a different public, don’t you see? do talk like a business man.”
-“i am not a business man,” said the scientist, with fiery eyes, “i am a servant of humanity.”
-“then,” said dalroy, “why do you never do what your master tells you?”
-“you would undo all my works,” cried the doctor, with sincere passion. “when i have built this town myself, when i have made it sober and healthful myself, when i am awake and about before anyone in the town myself, watching over its interests—you would ruin all to sell your barbaric and fundamentally beastly beer. and then you call me a goot friend. i am not a goot friend!”
-“that i can’t say,” growled hugby, “but if it comes to that—aren’t you trying to sell—”
-a motor car drove up with a white explosion of dust, and about six very dusty people got out of it. even through the densest disguise of the swift motorist, pump perceived in many of them the peculiar style and bodily carriage of the police. the most evident exception was a long and more slender figure, which, on removing its cap and goggles, disclosed the dark and drooping features of j. leveson, secretary. he walked across to the little, old millionaire, who instantly recognized him and shook hands. they confabulated for some little time, turning over some official documents. dr. meadows cleared his throat and said to the whole crowd.
-“i am very glad to be able to announce to you all that this extraordinary outrage has been too late attempted. lord ivywood, with the promptitude he so invariably shows, has immediately communicated to places of importance such as this a most just and right alteration of the law, which exactly meets the present case.”
-“it is enough to say,” proceeded the millionaire, “that by the law as it now stands, any innkeeper, even if he display a sign, is subject to imprisonment if he sells alcohol on premises where it has not been previously kept for three days.”
-even the impudence of dalroy appeared for the instant dazed and stilled. he was staring forlornly up into the abyss of sky above him, as if, like shelley, he could get inspiration from the last and purest clouds and the perfect hues of the ends of heaven.
-at last he said, in a soft and meditative voice, the single syllable,
-pump looked at him sharply with a remarkable expression growing on his grim face. but the doctor was far too rabidly rejoicing in his triumph to understand the captain’s meaning.
-“sells alcohol, are the exact words,” he insisted, brandishing the blue oblong of the new act of parliament.
-“so far as i am concerned they are inexact words,” said captain dalroy, with polite indifference. “i have not been selling alcohol, i have been giving it away. has anybody here paid me money? has anybody here seen anybody else pay me money? i’m a philanthropist just like dr. meadows. i’m his living image!”
-mr. leveson and dr. meadows looked across at each other, and on the face of the first was consternation, and on the second a full return of all his terrors of the complicated law.
-“i shall remain here for several weeks,” continued the captain, leaning elegantly on the can, “and shall give away, gratis, such supplies of this excellent drink as may be demanded by the citizens. it appears that there is no such supply at present in this district, and i feel sure that no person present can object to so strictly legal and highly charitable an arrangement.”
-in this he was apparently in error; for several persons present seemed to object to it. but curiously enough it was not the withered and fanatical face of the philanthropist meadows, nor the dark and equine face of the official leveson, which stood out most vividly as a picture of protest. the face most strangely unsympathetic with this form of charity was that of the ex-proprietor of hugby’s ales. his gooseberry eyes were almost dropping from his head and his words sprang from his lips before he could stop them.
-“and you blooming well think you can come here like a big buffoon, you beast, and take away all my trade—”
-old meadows turned on him with the swiftness of an adder.
-“and what is your trade, mr. hugby?” he asked.
-the brewer bubbled with a sort of bursting anger. the goats all looked at the ground as is, according to a roman poet, the habit of the lower animals. man (in the character of mr. patrick dalroy) taking advantage of a free but fine translation of the latin passage, “looked aloft, and with uplifted eyes beheld his own hereditary skies.”
-“well, all i can say is,” roared mr. hugby, “if the police come all this way and can’t lock up a dirty loafer whose coat’s all in rags, there’s an end of me paying these fat infernal taxes and—”
-this song was joyously borne away with mr. dalroy in the disappearing car; and the motorists were miles beyond pursuit from peaceways before they thought of halting again. but they were still beside the bank of that noble and enlarging river; and in a place of deep fern and fairy-ribboned birches with the glowing and gleaming water behind them, patrick asked his friend to stop the car.
-“by the way,” said humphrey, suddenly, “there was one thing i didn’t understand. why was he so afraid of the public analyst? what poison and chemicals does he put in the milk?”
-“h{2}o,” answered the captain, “i take it without milk myself.”
-and he bent over as if to drink of the stream, as he had done at daybreak.
-the turk and the futurists
-mr. adrian crooke was a successful chemist whose shop was in the neighbourhood of victoria, but his face expressed more than is generally required in a successful chemist. it was a curious face, prematurely old and like parchment, but acute and decisive, with real headwork in every line of it. nor was his conversation, when he did converse, out of keeping with this: he had lived in many countries, and had a rich store of anecdote about the more quaint and sometimes the more sinister side of his work, visions of the vapour of eastern drugs or guesses at the ingredients of renascence poisons. he himself, it need hardly be said, was a most respectable and reliable apothecary, or he would not have had the custom of families, especially among the upper classes; but he enjoyed as a hobby, the study of the dark days and lands where his science had lain sometimes on the borders of magic and sometimes upon the borders of murder. hence it often happened that persons, who in their serious senses were well aware of his harmless and useful habits, would leave his shop on some murky and foggy night, with their heads so full of wild tales of the eating of hemp or the poisoning of roses, they could hardly help fancying that the shop, with its glowing moon of crimson or saffron, like bowls of blood and sulphur, was really a house of the black art.
-it was doubtless for such conversational pleasures, in part, that hibbs however entered the shop; as well as for a small glass of the same restorative medicine which he had been taking when leveson found him by the open window. but this did not prevent hibbs from expressing considerable surprise and some embarrassment when leveson entered the same chemist’s and asked for the same chemical. indeed, leveson looked harassed and weary enough to want it.
-“you’ve been out of town, haven’t you?” said leveson. “no luck. they got away again on some quibble. the police wouldn’t make the arrest; and even old meadows thought it might be illegal. i’m sick of it. where are you going?”
-“i thought,” said mr. hibbs, “of dropping in at this post-futurist exhibition. i believe lord ivywood will be there; he is showing it to the prophet. i don’t pretend to know much about art, but i hear it’s very fine.”
-there was a long silence and mr. leveson said, “people always prejudiced against new ideas.”
-then there was another long silence and mr. hibbs said, “after all, they said the same of whistler.”
-refreshed by this ritual, mr. leveson became conscious of the existence of crooke, and said to him, cheerfully, “that’s so in your department, too, isn’t it? i suppose the greatest pioneers in chemistry were unpopular in their own time.”
-“look at the borgias,” said mr. crooke. “they got themselves quite disliked.”
-“you’re very flippant, you know,” said leveson, in a fatigued way. “well, so long. are you coming, hibbs?”
-and the two gentlemen, who were both attired in high hats and afternoon callers’ coats, betook themselves down the street. it was a fine, sunny day, the twin of the day before that had shone so brightly on the white town of peaceways; and their walk was a pleasant one, along a handsome street with high houses and small trees that overlooked the river all the way. for the pictures were exhibited in a small but famous gallery, a rather rococo building of which the entrance steps almost descended upon the thames. the building was girt on both sides and behind with gaudy flower-beds, and on the top of the steps, in front of the byzantine doorway, stood their old friend, misysra ammon, smiling broadly, and in an unusually sumptuous costume. but even the sight of that fragrant eastern flower did not seem to revive altogether the spirits of the drooping secretary.
-“you have coome,” said the beaming prophet, “to see the decoration? it is approo-ooved. i haf approo-ooved it.”
-“we came to see the post-futurist pictures,” began hibbs; but leveson was silent.
-“there are no pictures,” said the turk, simply, “if there had been i could not haf approo-ooved. for those of our religion pictures are not goo-ood; they are idols, my friendss. loo-ook in there,” and he turned and darted a solemn forefinger just under his nose toward the gates of the gallery; “loo-ook in there and you will find no idols. no idols at all. i have most carefully loo-ooked into every one of the frames. every one i have approo-ooved. no trace of ze man form. no trace of ze animal form. all decoration as goo-ood as the goo-oodest of carpets; it harms not. lord ivywood smile of happiness; for i tell him islam indeed progresses. ze old moslems allow to draw the picture of the vegetable. here i hunt even for the vegetable. and there is no vegetable.”
-on a sofa like a purple island in the middle of the sea of floor sat enid wimpole, talking eagerly to her cousin, dorian; doing, in fact, her best to prevent the family quarrel, which threatened to follow hard on the incident at westminster. in the deeper perspective of the rooms lady joan brett was floating about. and if her attitude before the post-futurist pictures could not be called humble, or even inquiring, it is but just to that school to say that she seemed to be quite as bored with the floor that she walked on, and the parasol she held. bit by bit other figures or groups of that world drifted through the exhibition of the post-futurists. it is a very small world, but it is just big enough and just small enough to govern a country—that is, a country with no religion. and it has all the vanity of a mob; and all the reticence of a secret society.
-leveson instantly went up to lord ivywood, pulled papers from his pocket and was plainly telling him of the escape from peaceways. ivywood’s face hardly changed; he was, or felt, above some things; and one of them was blaming a servant before the servant’s social superiors. but no one could say he looked less like cold marble than before.
-“i made all possible inquiries about their subsequent route,” the secretary was heard saying, “and the most serious feature is that they seem to have taken the road for london.”
-“quite so,” replied the statue, “they will be easier to capture here.”
-“that little turk has more sense than you have,” he said, “he passes it as a good wall-paper. i should say it was a bad wall-paper; the sort of wall-paper that gives a sick man fever when he hasn’t got it. but to call it pictures—you might as well call it seats for the lord mayor’s show. a seat isn’t a seat if you can’t see the lord mayor’s show. a picture isn’t a picture if you can’t see any picture. you can sit down at home more comfortably than you can at a procession. and you can walk about at home more comfortably than you can at a picture gallery. there’s only one thing to be said for a street show or a picture show—and that is whether there is anything to be shown. now, then! show me something!”
-“well,” said lord ivywood, good humouredly, motioning toward the wall in front of him, “let me show you the ‘portrait of an old lady.’”
-“well,” said dorian, stolidly, “which is it?”
-mr. hibbs made a hasty gesture of identification, but was so unfortunate as to point to the picture of “rain in the apennines,” instead of the “portrait of an old lady,” and his intervention increased the irritation of dorian wimpole. most probably, as mr. hibbs afterward explained, it was because a vivacious movement of the elbow of mr. wimpole interfered with the exact pointing of the forefinger of mr. hibbs. in any case, mr. hibbs was sharply and horridly fixed by embarrassment; so that he had to go away to the refreshment bar and eat three lobster-patties, and even drink a glass of that champagne that had once been his ruin. but on this occasion he stopped at one glass, and returned with a full diplomatic responsibility.
-he returned to find that dorian wimpole had forgotten all the facts of time, place, and personal pride, in an argument with lord ivywood, exactly as he had forgotten such facts in an argument with patrick dalroy, in a dark wood with a donkey-cart. and phillip ivywood was interested also; his cold eyes even shone; for though his pleasure was almost purely intellectual, it was utterly sincere.
-“and i do trust the untried; i do follow the inexperienced,” he was saying quietly, with his fine inflections of voice. “you say this is changing the very nature of art. i want to change the very nature of art. everything lives by turning into something else. exaggeration is growth.”
-“but exaggeration of what?” demanded dorian. “i cannot see a trace of exaggeration in these pictures; because i cannot find a hint of what it is they want to exaggerate. you can’t exaggerate the feathers of a cow or the legs of a whale. you can draw a cow with feathers or a whale with legs for a joke—though i hardly think such jokes are in your line. but don’t you see, my good phillip, that even then the joke depends on its looking like a cow and not only like a thing with feathers. even then the joke depends on the whale as well as the legs. you can combine up to a certain point; you can distort up to a certain point; after that you lose the identity; and with that you lose everything. a centaur is so much of a man with so much of a horse. the centaur must not be hastily identified with the horsey man. and the mermaid must be maidenly; even if there is something fishy about her social conduct.”
-“no,” said lord ivywood, in the same quiet way, “i understand what you mean, and i don’t agree. i should like the centaur to turn into something else, that is neither man nor horse.”
-“but not something that has nothing of either?” asked the poet.
-“yes,” answered ivywood, with the same queer, quiet gleam in his colourless eyes, “something that has nothing of either.”
-“but what’s the good?” argued dorian. “a thing that has changed entirely has not changed at all. it has no bridge of crisis. it can remember no change. if you wake up tomorrow and you simply are mrs. dope, an old woman who lets lodgings at broadstairs—well, i don’t doubt mrs. dope is a saner and happier person than you are. but in what way have you progressed? what part of you is better? don’t you see this prime fact of identity is the limit set on all living things?”
-“no,” said phillip, with suppressed but sudden violence, “i deny that any limit is set upon living things.”
-“why, then i understand,” said dorian, “why, though you make such good speeches, you have never written any poetry.”
-lady joan, who was looking with tedium at a rich pattern of purple and green in which misysra attempted to interest her (imploring her to disregard the mere title, which idolatrously stated it as “first communion in the snow”), abruptly turned her full face to dorian. it was a face to which few men could feel indifferent, especially when thus suddenly shown them.
-“why can’t he write poetry?” she asked. “do you mean he would resent the limits of metre and rhyme and so on?”
-the poet reflected for a moment and then said, “well, partly; but i mean more than that too. as one can be candid in the family, i may say that what everyone says about him is that he has no humour. but that’s not my complaint at all. i think my complaint is that he has no pathos. that is, he does not feel human limitations. that is, he will not write poetry.”
-lord ivywood was looking with his cold, unconscious profile into a little black and yellow picture called “enthusiasm”; but joan brett leaned across to him with swarthy eagerness and cried quite provocatively,
-“dorian says you’ve no pathos. have you any pathos? he says it’s a sense of human limitations.”
-ivywood did not remove his gaze from the picture of “enthusiasm,” but simply said “no; i have no sense of human limitations.” then he put up his elderly eyeglass to examine the picture better. then he dropped it again and confronted joan with a face paler than usual.
-“joan,” he said, “i would walk where no man has walked; and find something beyond tears and laughter. my road shall be my road indeed; for i will make it, like the romans. and my adventures shall not be in the hedges and the gutters, but in the borders of the ever advancing brain. i will think what was unthinkable until i thought it; i will love what never lived until i loved it—i will be as lonely as the first man.”
-“they say,” she said, after a silence, “that the first man fell.”
-“you mean the priests?” he answered. “yes, but even they admit that he discovered good and evil. so are these artists trying to discover some distinction that is still dark to us.”
-“oh,” said joan, looking at him with a real and unusual interest, “then you don’t see anything in the pictures, yourself?”
-“i see the breaking of the barriers,” he answered, “beyond that i see nothing.”
-she looked at the floor for a little time and traced patterns with her parasol, like one who has really received food for thought. then she said, suddenly,
-“but perhaps the breaking of barriers might be the breaking of everything.”
-the clear and colourless eyes looked at her quite steadily.
-“perhaps,” said lord ivywood.
-dorian wimpole made a sudden movement a few yards off, where he was looking at a picture, and said, “hullo! what’s this?” mr. hibbs was literally gaping in the direction of the entrance.
-framed in that fine byzantine archway stood a great big, boney man in threadbare but careful clothes, with a harsh, high-featured, intelligent face, to which a dark beard under the chin gave something of the puritanic cast. somehow his whole personality seemed to be pulled together and explained when he spoke with a north country accent.
-“weel, lards,” he said, genially, “t’hoose be main great on t’pictures. but i coom for suthin’ in a moog. haw! haw!”
-leveson and hibbs looked at each other. then leveson rushed from the room. lord ivywood did not move a finger; but mr. wimpole, with a sort of poetic curiosity, drew nearer to the stranger, and studied him.
-“it’s perfectly awful,” cried enid wimpole, in a loud whisper, “the man must be drunk.”
-“na, lass,” said the man with gallantry, “a’ve not been droonk, nobbut at hurley fair, these years and all; a’m a decent lad and workin’ ma way back t’wharfdale. no harm in a moog of ale, lass.”
-“are you quite sure,” asked dorian wimpole, with a singular sort of delicate curiosity, “are you quite sure you’re not drunk.”
-“a’m not droonk,” said the man, jovially.
-“even if these were licensed premises,” began dorian, in the same diplomatic manner.
-“there’s t’sign on t’hoose,” said the stranger.
-the black, bewildered look on the face of joan brett suddenly altered. she took four steps toward the doorway, and then went back and sat on the purple ottoman. but dorian seemed fascinated with his inquiry into the alleged decency of the lad who was working his way to wharfdale.
-“even if these were licensed premises,” he repeated, “drink could be refused you if you were drunk. now, are you really sure you’re not drunk. would you know if it was raining, say?”
-“aye,” said the man, with conviction.
-“would you know any common object of your countryside,” inquired dorian, scientifically, “a woman—let us say an old woman.”
-“aye,” said the man, with good humour.
-“what on earth are you doing with the creature?” whispered enid, feverishly.
-there soared up into the sky like a cloud of rooks the eager vanity of the north.
-“we collier lads are none so badly educated, lad,” he said. “in the town a’ was born in there was a gallery of pictures as fine as lunnon. aye, and a’ knew ’em, too.”
-“thank you,” said wimpole, pointing suddenly at the wall. “would you be so kind, for instance, as to look at those two pictures. one represents an old woman and the other rain in the hills. it’s a mere formality. you shall have your drink when you’ve said which is which.”
-the northerner bowed his huge body before the two frames and peered into them patiently. the long stillness that followed seemed to be something of a strain on joan, who rose in a restless manner, first went to look out of a window and then went out of the front door.
-at length the art-critic lifted a large, puzzled but still philosophical face.
-“soomehow or other,” he said, “a’ mun be droonk after all.”
-“you have testified,” cried dorian with animation. “you have all but saved civilization. and by god, you shall have your drink.”
-and he brought from the refreshment table a huge bumper of the hibbsian champagne, and declined payment by the rapid method of running out of the gallery on to the steps outside.
-joan was already standing there. out the little side window she had seen the incredible thing she expected to see; which explained the ludicrous scene inside. she saw the red and blue wooden flag of mr. pump standing up in the flower-beds in the sun, as serenely as if it were a tall and tropical flower; and yet, in the brief interval between the window and the door it had vanished, as if to remind her it was a flying dream. but two men were in a little motor outside, which was in the very act of starting. they were in motoring disguise, but she knew who they were. all that was deep in her, all that was sceptical, all that was stoical, all that was noble, made her stand as still as one of the pillars of the porch; but a dog, bearing the name of quoodle, sprang up in the moving car, and barked with joy at the mere sight of her, and though she had borne all else, something in that bestial innocence of an animal suddenly blinded her with tears.
-it could not, however, blind her to the extraordinary fact that followed. mr. dorian wimpole, attired in anything but motoring costume, dressed in that compromise between fashion and art which seems proper to the visiting of picture-galleries, did not by any means stand as still as one of the pillars of the porch. he rushed down the steps, ran after the car and actually sprang into it, without disarranging his whistlerian silk hat.
-“good afternoon,” he said to dalroy, pleasantly. “you owe me a motor-ride, you know.”
-the road to roundabout
-patrick dalroy looked at the invader with a heavy and yet humourous expression, and merely said, “i didn’t steal your car; really, i didn’t.”
-“oh, no,” answered dorian, “i��ve heard all about it since, and as you’re rather the persecuted party, so to speak, it wouldn’t be fair not to tell you that i don’t agree much with ivywood about all this. i disagree with him; or rather, to speak medically, he disagrees with me. he has, ever since i woke up after an oyster supper and found myself in the house of commons with policemen calling out, ‘who goes home?’”
-“indeed,” inquired dalroy, drawing his red bushy eyebrows together. “do the officials in parliament say, ‘who goes home?’”
-“yes,” answered wimpole, indifferently, “it’s a part of some old custom in the days when members of parliament might be attacked in the street.”
-“well,” inquired patrick, in a rational tone, “why aren’t they attacked in the street?”
-there was a silence. “it is a holy mystery,” said the captain at last. “but, ‘who goes home?’—that is uncommonly good.”
-the captain had received the poet into the car with all possible expressions of affability and satisfaction, but the poet, who was keen-sighted enough about people of his own sort, could not help thinking that the captain was a little absent-minded. as they flew thundering through the mazes of south london (for pump had crossed westminster bridge and was making for the surrey hills), the big blue eyes of the big red-haired man rolled perpetually up and down the streets; and, after longer and longer silences, he found expression for his thoughts.
-“doesn’t it strike you that there are a very large number of chemists in london nowadays?”
-“are there?” asked wimpole, carelessly. “well, there certainly are two very close to each other just over there.”
-“yes, and both the same name,” replied dalroy, “crooke. and i saw the same mr. crooke chemicalizing round the corner. he seems to be a highly omnipresent deity.”
-“a large business, i suppose,” observed dorian wimpole.
-“too large for its profits, i should say,” said dalroy. “what can people want with two chemists of the same sort within a few yards of each other? do they put one leg into one shop and one into the other and have their corns done in both at once? or, do they take an acid in one shop and an alkali in the next, and wait for the fizz? or, do they take the poison in the first shop and the emetic in the second shop? it seems like carrying delicacy too far. it almost amounts to living a double life.”
-“but, perhaps,” said dorian, “he is an uproariously popular chemist, this mr. crooke. perhaps there’s a rush on some specialty of his.”
-“it seems to me,” said the captain, “that there are certain limitations to such popularity in the case of a chemist. if a man sells very good tobacco, people may smoke more and more of it from sheer self-indulgence. but i never heard of anybody exceeding in cod-liver oil. even castor-oil, i should say, is regarded with respect rather than true affection.”
-after a few minutes of silence, he said, “is it safe to stop here for an instant, pump?”
-the motor car stopped before yet a fourth arsenal of mr. crooke and his pharmacy, and dalroy went in. before pump and his companion could exchange a word, the captain came out again, with a curious expression on his countenance, especially round the mouth.
-“mr. wimpole,” said dalroy, “will you give us the pleasure of dining with us this evening? many would consider it an unceremonious invitation to an unconventional meal; and it may be necessary to eat it under a hedge or even up a tree; but you are a man of taste, and one does not apologise for hump’s rum or hump’s cheese to persons of taste. we will eat and drink of our best tonight. it is a banquet. i am not very certain whether you and i are friends or enemies, but at least there shall be peace tonight.”
-“friends, i hope,” said the poet, smiling, “but why peace especially tonight?”
-“because there will be war tomorrow,” answered patrick dalroy, “whichever side of it you may be on. i have just made a singular discovery.”
-and he relapsed into his silence as they flew out of the fringe of london into the woods and hills beyond croydon. dalroy remained in the same mood of brooding, dorian was brushed by the butterfly wing of that fleeting slumber that will come on a man hurried, through the air, after long lounging in hot drawing rooms; even the dog quoodle was asleep at the bottom of the car. as for humphrey pump, he very seldom talked when he had anything else to do. thus it happened that long landscapes and perspectives were shot past them like suddenly shifted slides, and long stretches of time elapsed before any of them spoke again. the sky was changing from the pale golds and greens of evening to the burning blue of a strong summer night, a night of strong stars. the walls of woodland that flew past them like long assegais, were mostly, at first, of the fenced and park-like sort; endless oblong blocks of black pinewood shut in by boxes of thin grey wood. but soon fences began to sink, and pinewoods to straggle, and roads to split and even to sprawl. half an hour later dalroy had begun to realise something romantic and even faintly reminiscent in the roll of the country, and humphrey pump had long known he was on the marches of his native land.
-so far as the difference could be defined by a detail, it seemed to consist not so much in the road rising as in the road perpetually winding. it was more like a path; and even where it was abrupt or aimless, it seemed the more alive. they appeared to be ascending a big, dim hill that was built of a crowd of little hills with rounded tops; it was like a cluster of domes. among these domes the road climbed and curled in multitudinous curves and angles. it was almost impossible to believe that it could turn itself and round on itself so often without tying itself in a knot and choking.
-“i say,” said dalroy, breaking the silence suddenly, “this car will get giddy and fall down.”
-“perhaps,” said dorian, beaming at him, “my car, as you may have noticed, was much steadier.”
-patrick laughed, but not without a shade of confusion. “i hope you got back your car all right,” he said. “this is really nothing for speed; but it’s an uncommonly good little climber, and it seems to have some climbing to do just now. and even more wandering.”
-“the roads certainly seem to be very irregular,” said dorian, reflectively.
-“well,” cried patrick, with a queer kind of impatience, “you’re english and i’m not. you ought to know why the road winds about like this. why, the saints deliver us!” he cried, “it’s one of the wrongs of ireland that she can’t understand england. england won’t understand herself, england won’t tell us why these roads go wriggling about. englishmen won’t tell us! you won’t tell us!”
-“don’t be too sure,” said dorian, with a quiet irony.
-dalroy, with an irony far from quiet, emitted a loud yell of victory.
-“right,” he shouted. “more songs of the car club! we’re all poets here, i hope. each shall write something about why the road jerks about so much. so much as this, for example,” he added, as the whole vehicle nearly rolled over in a ditch.
-for, indeed, pump appeared to be attacking such inclines as are more suitable for a goat than a small motor-car. this may have been exaggerated in the emotions of his companions, who had both, for different reasons, seen much of mere flat country lately. the sensation was like a combination of trying to get into the middle of the maze at hampton court, and climbing the spiral staircase to the belfry at bruges.
-“this is the right way to roundabout,” said dalroy, cheerfully, “charming place; salubrious spot. you can’t miss it. first to the left and right and straight on round the corner and back again. that’ll do for my poem. get on, you slackers; why aren’t you writing your poems?”
-“i’ll try one if you like,” said dorian, treating his flattered egotism lightly. “but it’s too dark to write; and getting darker.”
-indeed they had come under a shadow between them and the stars, like the brim of a giant’s hat; only through the holes and rents in which the summer stars could now look down on them. the hill, like a cluster of domes, though smooth and even bare in its lower contours was topped with a tangle of spanning trees that sat above them like a bird brooding over its nest. the wood was larger and vaguer than the clump that is the crown of the hill at chanctonbury, but was rather like it and held much the same high and romantic position. the next moment they were in the wood itself, and winding in and out among the trees by a ribbon of paths. the emerald twilight between the stems, combined with the dragon-like contortions of the great grey roots of the beeches, had a suggestion of monsters and the deep sea; especially as a long litter of crimson and copper-coloured fungi, which might well have been the more gorgeous types of anemone or jelly-fish, reddened the ground like a sunset dropped from the sky. and yet, contradictorily enough, they had also a strong sense of being high up; and even near to heaven; and the brilliant summer stars that stared through the chinks of the leafy roof might almost have been white starry blossoms on the trees of the wood.
-but though they had entered the wood as if it were a house, their strongest sensation still was the rotatory; it seemed as if that high green house went round and round like a revolving lighthouse or the whiz-gig temple in the old pantomimes. the stars seemed to circle over their heads; and dorian felt almost certain he had seen the same beech-tree twice.
-at length they came to a central place where the hill rose in a sort of cone in the thick of its trees, lifting its trees with it. here pump stopped the car, and clambering up the slope, came to the crawling colossal roots of a very large but very low beech-tree. it spread out to the four quarters of heaven more in the manner of an octopus than a tree, and within its low crown of branches there was a kind of hollow, like a cup, into which mr. humphrey pump, of “the old ship,” pebblewick, suddenly and entirely disappeared.
-when he appeared it was with a kind of rope ladder, which he politely hung over the side for his companions to ascend by, but the captain preferred to swing himself onto one of the octopine branches with a whirl of large wild legs worthy of a chimpanzee. when they were established there, each propped in the hollow against a branch, almost as comfortably as in an arm chair, humphrey himself descended once more and began to take out their simple stores. the dog was still asleep in the car.
-“an old haunt of yours, hump, i suppose,” said the captain. “you seem quite at home.”
-the tree just topped the mound or clump of trees, and from it they could see the whole champaign of the country they had passed, with the silver roads roaming about in it like rivers. they were so exalted they could almost fancy the stars would burn them.
-“those roads remind me of the songs you’ve all promised,” said dalroy at last. “let’s have some supper, hump, and then recite.”
-humphrey had hung one of the motor lanterns onto a branch above him, and proceeded by the light of it to tap the keg of rum and hand round the cheese.
-“what an extraordinary thing,” exclaimed dorian wimpole, suddenly. “why, i’m quite comfortable! such a thing has never happened before, i should imagine. and how holy this cheese tastes.”
-“it has gone on a pilgrimage,” answered dalroy, “or rather a crusade. it’s a heroic, a fighting cheese. ‘cheese of all cheeses, cheeses of all the world,’ as my compatriot, mr. yeats, says to the something-or-other of battle. it’s almost impossible that this cheese can have come out of such a coward as a cow. i suppose,” he added, wistfully, “i suppose it wouldn’t do to explain that in this case hump had milked the bull. that would be classed by scientists among irish legends—those that have the celtic glamour and all that. no, i think this cheese must have come from that dun cow of dunsmore heath, who had horns bigger than elephant’s tusks, and who was so ferocious that one of the greatest of the old heroes of chivalry was required to do battle with it. the rum’s good, too. i’ve earned this glass of rum—earned it by christian humility. for nearly a month i’ve lowered myself to the beasts of the field, and gone about on all fours like a teetotaler. hump, circulate the bottle—i mean the cask—and let us have some of this poetry you’re so keen about. each poem must have the same title, you know; it’s a rattling good title. it’s called “an inquiry into the causes geological, historical, agricultural, psychological, psychical, moral, spiritual and theological of the alleged cases of double, treble, quadruple and other curvature in the english road, conducted by a specially appointed secret commission in a hole in a tree, by admittedly judicious and academic authorities specially appointed by themselves to report to the dog quoodle, having power to add to their number and also to take away the number they first thought of; god save the king.” having delivered this formula with blinding rapidity, he added rather breathlessly, “that’s the note to strike, the lyric note.”
-for all his rather formless hilarity, dalroy still impressed the poet as being more distrait than the others, as if his mind were labouring with some bigger thing in the background. he was in a sort of creative trance; and humphrey pump, who knew him like his own soul, knew well that it was not mere literary creation. rather it was a kind of creation which many modern moralists would call destruction. for patrick dalroy was, not a little to his misfortune, what is called a man of action; as captain dawson realised when he found his entire person a bright pea-green. fond as he was of jokes and rhymes, nothing he could write or even sing ever satisfied him like something he could do.
-thus it happened that his contribution to the metrical inquiry into the crooked roads was avowedly hasty and flippant. while dorian who was of the opposite temper, the temper that receives impressions instead of pushing out to make them, found his artist’s love of beauty fulfilled as it had never been before in that noble nest; and was far more serious and human than usual. patrick’s verses ran:
-“some say that guy of warwick, the man that killed the cow, and brake the mighty boar alive, beyond the bridge at slough, went up against a loathly worm that wasted all the downs, and so the roads they twist and squirm (if i may be allowed the term) from the writhing of the stricken worm that died in seven towns. i see no scientific proof that this idea is sound, and i should say they wound about to find the town of roundabout, the merry town of roundabout that makes the world go round.
-“some say that robin goodfellow, whose lantern lights the meads, (to steal a phrase sir walter scott in heaven no longer needs) such dance around the trysting-place the moonstruck lover leads; which superstition i should scout; there is more faith in honest doubt, (as tennyson has pointed out) than in those nasty creeds. but peace and righteousness (st. john) in roundabout can kiss, and since that’s all that’s found about the pleasant town of roundabout, the roads they simply bound about to find out where it is.
-“some say that when sir lancelot went forth to find the grail, grey merlin wrinkled up the roads for hope that he should fail; all roads led back to lyonesse and camelot in the vale; i cannot yield assent to this extravagant hypothesis, the plain, shrewd briton will dismiss such rumours (daily mail). but in the streets of roundabout are no such factions found, or theories to expound about or roll upon the ground about, in the happy town of roundabout that makes the world go round.”
-patrick dalroy relieved his feelings by finishing with a shout, draining a stiff glass of his sailor’s wine, turning restlessly on his elbow and looking across the landscape toward london.
-dorian wimpole had been drinking golden rum and strong starlight and the fragrance of forests; and, though his verses, too, were burlesque, he read them more emotionally than was his wont.
-“before the roman came to rye or out to severn strode, the rolling english drunkard made the rolling english road. a reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire, and after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire. a merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread that night we went to birmingham by way of beachy head.
-“i knew no harm of bonaparte and plenty of the squire, and for to fight the frenchmen i did not much desire; but i did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed to straighten out the crooked road an english drunkard made, where you and i went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands the night we went to glastonbury by way of goodwin sands.
-“his sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun? the wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which, but the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch. god pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear the night we went to bannockburn by way of brighton pier.
-“my friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage, or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age, but walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth, and see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death; for there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen before we go to paradise by way of kensal green.”
-“have you written one, hump?” asked dalroy. humphrey, who had been scribbling hard under the lamp, looked up with a dismal face.
-“yes,” he said. “but i write under a great disadvantage. you see, i know why the road curves about.” and he read very rapidly, all on one note:
-“the road turned first toward the left where pinker’s quarry made the cleft; the path turned next toward the right because the mastiff used to bite; then left, because of slippery height, and then again toward the right. we could not take the left because it would have been against the laws; squire closed it in king william’s day because it was a right of way. still right; to dodge the ridge of chalk where parson’s ghost it used to walk, till someone parson used to know met him blind drunk in callao. then left, a long way round, to skirt the good land where old doggy burt was owner of the crown and cup, and would not give his freehold up; right, missing the old river-bed, they tried to make him take instead right, since they say sir gregory went mad and let the gypsies be, and so they have their camp secure. and, though not honest, they are poor, and that is something; then along and first to right—no, i am wrong! second to right, of course; the first is what the holy sisters cursed, and none defy their awful oaths since the policeman lost his clothes because of fairies; right again, what used to be high toby lane, left by the double larch and right until the milestone is in sight, because the road is firm and good from past the milestone to the wood; and i was told by dr. lowe whom mr. wimpole’s aunt would know, who lives at oxford writing books, and ain’t so silly as he looks; the romans did that little bit and we’ve done all the rest of it; by which we hardly seem to score; left, and then forward as before to where they nearly hanged miss browne, who told them not to cut her down, but loose the rope or let her swing, because it was a waste of string; left once again by hunker’s cleft, and right beyond the elm, and left, by pill’s right by nineteen nicks and left——”
-“no! no! no! hump! hump! hump!” cried dalroy in a sort of terror. “don’t be exhaustive! don’t be a scientist, hump, and lay waste fairyland! how long does it go on? is there a lot more of it?”
-“yes,” said pump, in a stony manner. “there is a lot more of it.”
-“and it’s all true?” inquired dorian wimpole, with interest.
-“yes,” replied pump with a smile, “it’s all true.”
-“my complaint, exactly,” said the captain. “what you want is legends. what you want is lies, especially at this time of night, and on rum like this, and on our first and our last holiday. what do you think about rum?” he asked wimpole.
-“about this particular rum, in this particular tree, at this particular moment,” answered wimpole, “i think it is the nectar of the younger gods. if you ask me in a general, synthetic sense what i think of rum—well, i think it’s rather rum.”
-“you find it a trifle sweet, i suppose,” said dalroy, with some bitterness. “sybarite! by the way,” he said abruptly, “what a silly word that word ‘hedonist’ is! the really self-indulgent people generally like sour things and not sweet; bitter things like caviare and curries or what not. it’s the saints who like the sweets. at least i’ve known at least five women who were practically saints, and they all preferred sweet champagne. look here, wimpole! shall i tell you the ancient oral legend about the origin of rum? i told you what you wanted was legends. be careful to preserve this one, and hand it on to your children; for, unfortunately, my parents carelessly neglected the duty of handing it on to me. after the words ‘a farmer had three sons ...’ all that i owe to tradition ceases. but when the three boys last met in the village market-place, they were all sucking sugar-sticks. nevertheless, they were all discontented, and on that day parted for ever. one remained on his father’s farm, hungering for his inheritance. one went up to london to seek his fortune, as fortunes are found today in that town forgotten of god. the third ran away to sea. and the first two flung away their sugar-sticks in shame; and he on the farm was always drinking smaller and sourer beer for the love of money; and he that was in town was always drinking richer and richer wines, that men might see that he was rich. but he who ran away to sea actually ran on board with the sugar-stick in his mouth; and st. peter or st. andrew, or whoever is the patron of men in boats, touched it and turned it into a fountain for the comfort of men upon the sea. that is the sailor’s theory of the origin of rum. inquiry addressed to any busy captain with a new crew in the act of shipping an unprecedented cargo, will elicit a sympathetic agreement.”
-“your rum at least,” said dorian, good-humouredly, “may well produce a fairy-tale. but, indeed, i think all this would have been a fairy-tale without it.”
-patrick raised himself from his arboreal throne, and leaned against his branch with a curious and sincere sense of being rebuked.
-“yours was a good poem,” he said, with seeming irrelevance, “and mine was a bad one. mine was bad, partly because i’m not a poet as you are; but almost as much because i was trying to make up another song at the same time. and it went to another tune, you see.”
-he looked out over the rolling roads and said almost to himself:
-“in the city set upon slime and loam they cry in their parliament ‘who goes home?’ and there is no answer in arch or dome, for none in the city of graves goes home. yet these shall perish and understand, for god has pity on this great land. men that are men again; who goes home? tocsin and trumpeter! who goes home? for there’s blood on the field and blood on the foam, and blood on the body when man goes home. and a voice valedictory—who is for victory? who is for liberty? who goes home?”
-softly and idly as he had said this second rhyme, there were circumstances about his attitude that must have troubled or interested anyone who did not know him well.
-“may i ask,” asked dorian, laughing, “why it is necessary to draw your sword at this stage of the affair?”
-“because we have left the place called roundabout,” answered patrick, “and we have come to a place called rightabout.”
-and he lifted his sword toward london, and the grey glint upon it came from a low, grey light in the east.
-the chemistry of mr. crooke
-when the celebrated hibbs next visited the shop of crooke, that mystic and criminologist chemist, he found the premises were impressively and even amazingly enlarged with decorations in the eastern style. indeed, it would not have been too much to say that mr. crooke’s shop occupied the whole of one side of a showy street in the west end; the other side being a blank façade of public buildings. it would be no exaggeration to say that mr. crooke was the only shopkeeper for some distance round. mr. crooke still served in his shop, however; and politely hastened to serve his customer with the medicine that was customary. unfortunately, for some reason or other, history was, in connection with this shop, only too prone to repeat itself. and after a vague but soothing conversation with the chemist (on the subject of vitriol and its effects on human happiness), mr. hibbs experienced the acute annoyance of once more beholding his most intimate friend, mr. joseph leveson, enter the same fashionable emporium. but, indeed, leveson’s own annoyance was much too acute for him to notice any on the part of hibbs.
-“well,” he said, stopping dead in the middle of the shop, “here is a fine confounded kettle of fish!”
-it is one of the tragedies of the diplomatic that they are not allowed to admit either knowledge or ignorance; so hibbs looked gloomily wise; and said, pursing his lips, “you mean the general situation.”
-“i mean the situation about this everlasting business of the inn-signs,” said leveson, impatiently. “lord ivywood went up specially, when his leg was really bad, to get it settled in the house in a small non-contentious bill, providing that the sign shouldn’t be enough if the liquor hadn’t been on the spot three days.”
-“oh, but,” said hibbs, sinking his voice to a soft solemnity, as being one of the initiate, “a thing like that can be managed, don’t you know.”
-“of course it can,” said the other, still with the same slightly irritable air. “it was. but it doesn’t seem to occur to you, any more than it did to his lordship, that there is rather a weak point after all in this business of passing acts quietly because they’re un-popular. has it ever occurred to you that if a law is really kept too quiet to be opposed, it may also be kept too quiet to be obeyed. it’s not so easy to hush it up from a big politician without running the risk of hushing it up even from a common policeman.”
-“but surely that can’t happen, by the nature of things?”
-“can’t it, by god,” said j. leveson, appealing to a less pantheistic authority.
-he unfolded a number of papers from his pocket, chiefly cheap local newspapers, but some of them letters and telegrams.
-“listen to this!” he said. “a curious incident occurred in the village of poltwell in surrey yesterday morning. the baker’s shop of mr. whiteman was suddenly besieged by a knot of the looser types of the locality, who appear to have demanded beer instead of bread; basing their claim on some ornamental object erected outside the shop; which object they asserted to be a sign-board within the meaning of the act. there, you see, they haven’t even heard of the new act! what do you think of this, from the clapton conservator. ‘the contempt of socialists for the law was well illustrated yesterday, when a crowd, collected round some wooden ensign of socialism set up before mr. dugdale’s drapery stores, refused to disperse, though told that their action was contrary to the law. eventually the malcontents joined the procession following the wooden emblem.’ and what do you say to this? ‘stop-press news. a chemist in pimlico has been invaded by a huge crowd, demanding beer; and asserting the provision of it to be among his duties. the chemist is, of course, well acquainted with his immunities in the matter, especially under the new act; but the old notion of the importance of the sign seems still to possess the populace and even, to a certain extent, to paralyze the police.’ what do you say to that? isn’t it as plain as monday morning that this flying inn has flown a day in front of us, as all such lies do?” there was a diplomatic silence.
-“well,” asked the still angry leveson of the still dubious hibbs, “what do you make of all that?”
-one ill-acquainted with that relativity essential to all modern minds, might possibly have fancied that mr. hibbs could not make much of it. however that may be, his explanations or incapacity for explanations, were soon tested with a fairly positive test. for lord ivywood actually walked into the shop of mr. crooke.
-“good day, gentlemen,” he said, looking at them with an expression which they both thought baffling and even a little disconcerting. “good morning, mr. crooke. i have a celebrated visitor for you.” and he introduced the smiling misysra. the prophet had fallen back on a comparatively quiet costume this morning, a mere matter of purple and orange or what not; but his aged face was now perennially festive.
-“the cause progresses,” he said. “everywhere the cause progresses. you heard his lordship’s beau-uti-ful speech?”
-“i have heard many,” said hibbs, gracefully, “that can be so described.”
-“the prophet means what i was saying about the ballot paper amendment act,” said ivywood, casually. “it seems to be the alphabet of statesmanship to recognise now that the great oriental british empire has become one corporate whole with the occidental one. look at our universities, with their mohammedan students; soon they may be a majority. now are we,” he went on, still more quietly, “are we to rule this country under the forms of representative government? i do not pretend to believe in democracy, as you know, but i think it would be extremely unsettling and incalculable to destroy representative government. if we are to give moslem britain representative government, we must not make the mistake we made about the hindoos and military organization—which led to the mutiny. we must not ask them to make a cross on their ballot papers; for though it seems a small thing, it may offend them. so i brought in a little bill to make it optional between the old-fashioned cross and an upward curved mark that might stand for a crescent—and as it’s rather easier to make, i believe it will be generally adopted.”
-“and so,” said the radiant old turk, “the little, light, easily made, curly mark is substituted for the hard, difficult, double-made, cutting both ways mark. it is the more good for hygi-e-ene. for you must know, and indeed our good and wise chemist will tell you, that the saracenic and the arabian and the turkish physicians were the first of all physicians; and taught all medicals to the barbarians of the frankish territories. and many of the moost modern, the moost fashionable remedies, are thus of the oriental origin.”
-“yes, that is quite true,” said crooke, in his rather cryptic and unsympathetic way, “the powder called arenine, lately popularised by mr. boze, now lord helvellyn, who tried it first on birds, is made of plain desert sand. and what you see in prescriptions as cannabis indiensis is what our lively neighbours of asia describe more energetically as bhang.”
-“and so-o—in the sa-ame way,” said misysra, making soothing passes with his brown hand like a mesmerist, “in the sa-ame way the making of the crescent is hy-gienic; the making of the cross is non-hygienic. the crescent was a little wave, as a leaf, as a little curling feather,” and he waved his hand with real artistic enthusiasm toward the capering curves of the new turkish decoration which ivywood had made fashionable in many of the fashionable shops. “but when you make the cross you must make the one line so-o,” and he swept the horizon with the brown hand, “and then you must go back and make the other line so-o,” and he made an upward gesture suggestive of one constrained to lift a pine-tree. “and then you become very ill.”
-“as a matter of fact, mr. crooke,” said ivywood, in his polite manner, “i brought the prophet here to consult you as the best authority on the very point you have just mentioned—the use of hashish or the hemp-plant. i have it on my conscience to decide whether these oriental stimulants or sedatives shall come under the general veto we are attempting to impose on the vulgar intoxicants. of course one has heard of the horrible and voluptuous visions, and a kind of insanity attributed to the assassins and the old man of the mountain. but, on the one hand, we must clearly discount much for the illimitable pro-christian bias with which the history of these eastern tribes is told in this country. would you say the effect of hashish was extremely bad?” and he turned first to the prophet.
-“and what do you think about hashish, mr. crooke?” asked ivywood, thoughtfully.
-“i think it’s hemp at both ends,” said the chemist.
-“i fear,” said lord ivywood, “i don’t quite understand you.”
-“a hempen drink, a murder, and a hempen rope. that’s my experience in india,” said mr. crooke.
-“it is true,” said ivywood, yet more reflectively, “that the thing is not moslem in any sense in its origin. there is that against the assassins always. and, of course,” he added, with a simplicity that had something noble about it, “their connection with st. louis discredits them rather.”
-after a space of silence, he said suddenly, looking at crooke, “so it isn’t the sort of thing you chiefly sell?”
-“no, my lord, it isn’t what i chiefly sell,” said the chemist. he also looked steadily, and the wrinkles of his young-old face were like hieroglyphics.
-“the cause progress! everywhere it progress!” cried misysra, spreading his arms and relieving a momentary tension of which he was totally unaware. “the hygienic curve of the crescent will soon superimpose himself for your plus sign. you already use him for the short syllables in your dactyl; which is doubtless of oriental origin. you see the new game?”
-he said this so suddenly that everyone turned round, to see him produce from his purple clothing a brightly coloured and highly polished apparatus from one of the grand toy-shops; which, on examination, seemed to consist of a kind of blue slate in a red and yellow frame; a number of divisions being already marked on the slate, about seventeen slate pencils with covers of different colours, and a vast number of printed instructions, stating that it was but recently introduced from the remote east, and was called naughts and crescents.
-strangely enough, lord ivywood, with all his enthusiasm, seemed almost annoyed at the emergence of this asiatic discovery; more especially as he really wanted to look at mr. crooke, as hard as mr. crooke was looking at him.
-hibbs coughed considerately and said, “of course all our things came from the east, and”—and he paused, being suddenly unable to remember anything but curry; to which he was very rightly attached. he then remembered christianity, and mentioned that too. “everything from the east is good, of course,” he ended, with an air of light omniscience.
-those who in later ages and other fashions failed to understand how misysra had ever got a mental hold on men like lord ivywood, left out two elements in the man, which are very attractive, especially to other men. one was that there was no subject on which the little turk could not instantly produce a theory. the other was that though the theories were crowded, they were consistent. he was never known to accept an illogical compliment.
-“you are in error,” he said, solemnly, to hibbs, “because you say all things from the east are good. there is the east wind. i do not like him. he is not good. and i think very much that all the warmth and all the wealthiness and the colours and the poems and the religiousness that the east was meant to give you have been much poisoned by this accident, this east wind. when you see the green flag of the prophet, you do not think of a green field in summer, you think of a green wave in your seas of winter; for you think it blown by the east wind. when you read of the moon-faced houris you think not of our moons like oranges but of your moons like snowballs—”
-here a new voice contributed to the conversation. its contribution, though imperfectly understood, appeared to be “nar! why sh’d i wite for a little jew in ’is dressin’ gown? little jews in their dressin’ gowns ’as their drinks, and we ’as our drinks. bitter, miss.”
-the speaker, who appeared to be a powerful person of the plastering occupation, looked round for the unmarried female he had ceremonially addressed; and seemed honestly abashed that she was not present.
-ivywood looked at the man with that expression of one turned to stone, which his physique made so effective in him. but j. leveson, secretary, could summon no such powers of self-petrification. upon his soul the slaughter red of that unhallowed eve arose when first the ship and he were foes; when he discovered that the poor are human beings, and therefore are polite and brutal within a comparatively short space of time. he saw that two other men were standing behind the plastering person, one of them apparently urging him to counsels of moderation; which was an ominous sign. and then he lifted his eyes and saw something worse than any omen.
-all the glass frontage of the shop was a cloud of crowding faces. they could not be clearly seen, since night was closing in on the street; and the dazzling fires of ruby and amethyst which the lighted shop gave to its great globes of liquid, rather veiled than revealed them. but the foremost actually flattened and whitened their noses on the glass, and the most distant were nearer than mr. leveson wanted them. also he saw a shape erect outside the shop; the shape of an upright staff and a square board. he could not see what was on the board. he did not need to see.
-those who saw lord ivywood at such moments understood why he stood out so strongly in the history of his time, in spite of his frozen face and his fanciful dogmas. he had all the negative nobility that is possible to man. unlike nelson and most of the great heroes, he knew not fear. thus he was never conquered by a surprise, but was cold and collected when other men had lost their heads even if they had not lost their nerve.
-“thank yer,” said a man connected in some way with motor buses, who lurched in behind the plasterer.
-“thanky, sir,” said a bright little clock-mender from croydon, who immediately followed him.
-“thanks,” said a rather bewildered clerk from camberwell, who came next in the rather bewildered procession.
-“thank you,” said mr. dorian wimpole, who entered, carrying a large round cheese.
-“thank you,” said captain dalroy, who entered carrying a large cask of rum.
-i fear it must be recorded that the crowd which followed them dispensed with all expressions of gratitude. but though the crowd filled the shop so that there was no standing room to spare, leveson still lifted his gloomy eyes and beheld his gloomy omen. for, though there were very many more people standing in the shop, there seemed to be no less people looking in at the window.
-“gentlemen,” said ivywood, “all jokes come to an end. this one has gone so far as to be serious; and it might have become impossible to correct public opinion, and expound to law-abiding citizens the true state of the law, had i not been able to meet so representative an assembly in so central a place. it is not pertinent to my purpose to indicate what i think of the jest which captain dalroy and his friends have been playing upon you for the last few weeks. but i think captain dalroy will himself concede that i am not jesting.”
-“with all my heart,” said dalroy, in a manner that was unusually serious and even sad. then he added with a sigh, “and as you truly say, my jest has come to an end.”
-“that wooden sign,” said ivywood, pointing at the queer blue ship, “can be cut up for firewood. it shall lead decent citizens a devil’s dance no more. understand it once and for all, before you learn it from policemen or prison warders. you are under a new law. that sign is the sign of nothing. you can no more buy and sell alcohol by having that outside your house, than if it were a lamp-post.”
-“d’you meanter say, guv’ner,” said the plasterer, with a dawn of intelligence on his large face which was almost awful to watch, “that i ain’t to ’ave a glass o’ bitter?”
-“try a glass of rum,” said patrick.
-“captain dalroy,” said lord ivywood, “if you give one drop from that cask to that man, you are breaking the law and you shall sleep in jail.”
-“are you quite sure?” asked dalroy, with a strange sort of anxiety. “i might escape.”
-“i am quite sure,” said ivywood. “i have posted the police with full powers for the purpose, as you will find. i mean that this business shall end here tonight.”
-“if i find that pleeceman what told me i could ’ave a drink just now, i’ll knock ’is ’elmet into a fancy necktie, i will,” said the plasterer. “why ain’t people allowed to know the law?”
-“they ain’t got no right to alter the law in the dark like that,” said the clock-mender. “damn the new law.”
-“what is the new law?” asked the clerk.
-“the words inserted by the recent act,” said lord ivywood, with the cold courtesy of the conqueror, “are to the effect that alcohol cannot be sold, even under a lawful sign, unless alcoholic liquors have been kept for three days on the premises. captain dalroy, that cask of yours has not, i think, been three days on these premises. i command you to seal it up and take it away.”
-“surely,” said patrick, with an innocent air, “the best remedy would be to wait till it has been three days on the premises. we might all get to know each other better.” and he looked round at the ever-increasing multitude with hazy benevolence.
-“you shall do nothing of the kind,” said his lordship, with sudden fierceness.
-“well,” answered patrick, wearily, “now i come to think of it, perhaps i won’t. i’ll have one drink here and go home to bed like a good little boy.”
-“and the constables shall arrest you,” thundered ivywood.
-“and why not?” demanded the nobleman, white with passion.
-“because,” cried patrick dalroy; and his voice lifted itself like a lonely trumpet before the charge, “because i shall not have broken the law. because alcoholic liquors have been three days on these premises. three months more likely. because this is a common grog-shop, phillip ivywood. because that man behind the counter lives by selling spirits to all the cowards and hypocrites who are rich enough to bribe a bad doctor.”
-and he pointed suddenly at the small medicine glass on the counter by hibbs and leveson.
-“what is that man drinking?” he demanded.
-“scortch,” he said, and dashed the glass to atoms on the floor. “right you are too,” roared the plasterer, seizing a big medicine bottle in each hand. “we’re goin’ to ’ave a little of the fun now, we are. what’s in that big red bowl up there—i reckon it’s port. fetch it down, bill.”
-ivywood turned to crooke and said, scarcely moving his lips of marble, “this is a lie.”
-“it is the truth,” answered crooke, looking back at him with equal steadiness. “do you think you made the world, that you should make it over again so easily?”
-“the world was made badly,” said phillip, with a terrible note in his voice, “and i will make it over again.”
-almost as he spoke the glass front of the shop fell inward, shattered, and there was wreckage among the moonlike, coloured bowls; almost as if spheres of celestial crystal cracked at his blasphemy. through the broken windows came the roar of that confused tongue that is more terrible than the elements; the cry that the deaf kings have heard at last; the terrible voice of mankind. all the way down the long, fashionable street, lined with the crooke plate-glass, that glass was crashing amid the cries of a crowd. rivers of gold and purple wines sprawled about the pavement.
-“out in the open!” shouted dalroy, rushing out of the shop, sign-board in hand, the dog quoodle barking furiously at his heels, while dorian with the cheese and humphrey with the keg followed as rapidly as they could. “goodnight, my lord.
-“perhaps our meeting next may fall, at tomworth in your castle hall.
-“where are we all going to?” asked the plasterer.
-“we’re all going into parliament,” answered the captain, as he went to the head of the crowd.
-the marching crowd turned two or three corners, and at the end of the next long street, dorian wimpole, who was toward the tail of the procession, saw again the grey cyclops tower of st. stephens, with its one great golden eye, as he had seen it against that pale green sunset that was at once quiet and volcanic on the night he was betrayed by sleep and by a friend. almost as far off, at the head of the procession, he could see the sign with the ship and the cross going before them like an ensign, and hear a great voice singing—
-“men that are men again, who goes home? tocsin and trumpeter! who goes home? the voice valedictory—who is for victory? who is for liberty? who goes home?”
-the march on ivywood
-that storm-spirit, or eagle of liberty, which is the sudden soul in a crowd, had descended upon london after a foreign tour of some centuries in which it had commonly alighted upon other capitals. it is always impossible to define the instant and the turn of mood which makes the whole difference between danger being worse than endurance and endurance being worse than danger. the actual outbreak generally has a symbolic or artistic, or, what some would call whimsical cause. somebody fires off a pistol or appears in an unpopular uniform, or refers in a loud voice to a scandal that is never mentioned in the newspapers; somebody takes off his hat, or somebody doesn’t take off his hat; and a city is sacked before midnight. when the ever-swelling army of revolt smashed a whole street full of the shops of mr. crooke, the chemist, and then went on to parliament, the tower of london and the road to the sea, the sociologists hiding in their coal-cellars could think (in that clarifying darkness) of many material and spiritual explanations of such a storm in human souls; but of none that explained it quite enough. doubtless there was a great deal of sheer drunkenness when the urns and goblets of æsculapius were reclaimed as belonging to bacchus: and many who went roaring down that road were merely stored with rich wines and liqueurs which are more comfortably and quietly digested at a city banquet or a west end restaurant. but many of these had been blind drunk twenty times without a thought of rebellion; you could not stretch the material explanation to cover a corner of the case. much more general was a savage sense of the meanness of crooke’s wealthy patrons, in keeping a door open for themselves which they had wantonly shut on less happy people. but no explanation can explain it; and no man can say when it will come.
-dorian wimpole was at the tail of the procession, which grew more and more crowded every moment. for one space of the march he even had the misfortune to lose it altogether; owing to the startling activity which the rotund cheese when it escaped from his hands showed, in descending a somewhat steep road toward the river. but in recent days he had gained a pleasure in practical events which was like a second youth. he managed to find a stray taxi-cab; and had little difficulty in picking up again the trail of the extraordinary cortège. inquiries addressed to a policeman with a black eye outside the house of commons informed him sufficiently of the rebels’ line of retreat or advance, or whatever it was; and in a very short time he beheld the unmistakable legion once more. it was unmistakable, because in front of it there walked a red-headed giant, apparently carrying with him a wooden portion of some public building; and also because so big a crowd had never followed any man in england for a long time past. but except for such things the unmistakable crowd might well have been mistaken for another one. its aspect had been altered almost as much as if it had grown horns or tusks; for many of the company walked with outlandish weapons like iron teeth or horns, bills and pole axes, and spears with strangely shaped heads. what was stranger still, whole rows and rows of them had rifles, and even marched with a certain discipline; and yet again, others seemed to have snatched up household or workshop tools, meat axes, pick axes, hammers and even carving knives. such things need be none the less deadly because they are domestic. they have figured in millions of private murders before they appeared in any public war.
-dorian was so fortunate as to meet the flame-haired captain almost face to face, and easily fell into step with him at the head of the march. humphrey pump walked on the other side, with the celebrated cask suspended round his neck by something resembling braces, as if it were a drum. mr. wimpole had himself taken the opportunity of his brief estrangement to carry the cheese somewhat more easily in a very large, loose, waterproof knapsack on his shoulders. the effect in both cases was to suggest dreadful deformities in two persons who happened to be exceptionally cleanly built. the captain, who seemed to be in tearing and towering spirits, gained great pleasure from this. but dorian had his sources of amusement too.
-“what have you been doing with yourselves since you lost my judicious guidance?” he asked, laughing, “and why are parts of you a dull review and parts of you a fancy dress ball? what have you been up to?”
-“we’ve been shopping,” said mr. patrick dalroy, with some pride. “we are country cousins. i know all about shopping; let us see, what are the phrases about it? look at those rifles now! we got them quite at a bargain. we went to all the best gunsmiths in london, and we didn’t pay much. in fact, we didn’t pay anything. that’s what is called a bargain, isn’t it? surely, i’ve seen in those things they send to ladies something about ‘giving them away.’ then we went to a remnant sale. at least, it was a remnant sale when we left. and we bought that piece of stuff we’ve tied round the sign. surely, it must be what ladies called chiffon?”
-dorian lifted his eyes and perceived that a very coarse strip of red rag, possibly collected from a dustbin, had been tied round the wooden sign-post by way of a red flag of revolution.
-“not what ladies call chiffon?” inquired the captain with anxiety. “well, anyhow, it is what chiffoniers call it. but as i’m going to call on a lady shortly, i’ll try to remember the distinction.”
-“is your shopping over, may i ask?” asked mr. wimpole.
-“all but one thing,” answered the other. “i must find a music shop—you know what i mean. place where they sell pianos and things of that sort.”
-“look here,” said dorian, “this cheese is pretty heavy as it is. have i got to carry a piano, too?”
-“you misunderstand me,” said the captain, calmly. and as he had never thought of music shops until his eye had caught one an instant before, he darted into the doorway. returning almost immediately with a long parcel under his arm, he resumed the conversation.
-“did you go anywhere else,” asked dorian, “except to shops?”
-“anywhere else!” cried patrick, indignantly, “haven’t you got any country cousins? of course we went to all the right places. we went to the houses of parliament. but parliament isn’t sitting; so there are no eggs of the quality suitable for elections. we went to the tower of london—you can’t tire country cousins like us. we took away some curiosities of steel and iron. we even took away the halberds from the beef-eaters. we pointed out that for the purpose of eating beef (their only avowed public object) knives and forks had always been found more convenient. to tell the truth, they seemed rather relieved to be relieved of them.”
-“and may i ask,” said the other with a smile, “where you are off to now?”
-“another beauty spot!” cried the captain, boisterously, “no tiring the country cousin! i am going to show my young friends from the provinces what is perhaps the finest old country house in england. we are going to ivywood, not far from that big watering place they call pebblewick.”
-“i see,” said dorian; and for the first time looked back with intelligent trouble on his face, on the marching ranks behind him.
-“captain dalroy,” said dorian wimpole, in a slightly altered tone, “there is one thing that puzzles me. ivywood talked about having set the police to catch us; and though this is a pretty big crowd, i simply cannot believe that the police, as i knew them in my youth, could not catch us. but where are the police? you seem to have marched through half london with much (if you’ll excuse me) of the appearance of carrying murderous weapons. lord ivywood threatened that the police would stop us. well, why didn’t they stop us?”
-“your subject,” said patrick, cheerfully, “divides itself into three heads.”
-“i hope not,” said dorian.
-“there really are three reasons why the police should not be prominent in this business; as their worst enemy cannot say that they were.”
-he began ticking off the three on his own huge fingers; and seemed to be quite serious about it.
-“first,” he said, “you have been a long time away from town. probably you do not know a policeman when you see him. they do not wear helmets, as our line regiments did after the prussians had won. they wear fezzes, because the turks have won. shortly, i have little doubt, they will wear pigtails, because the chinese have won. it is a very interesting branch of moral science. it is called efficiency.
-“second,” explained the captain, “you have, perhaps, omitted to notice that a very considerable number of those wearing such fezzes are walking just behind us. oh, yes, it’s quite true. don’t you remember that the whole french revolution really began because a sort of city militia refused to fire on their own fathers and wives; and even showed some slight traces of a taste for firing on the other side? you’ll see lots of them behind; and you can tell them by their revolver belts and their walking in step; but don’t look back on them too much. it makes them nervous.”
-“and the third reason?” asked dorian.
-“for the real reason,” answered patrick, “i am not fighting a hopeless fight. people who have fought in real fights don’t, as a rule. but i noticed something singular about the very point you mention. why are there no more police? why are there no more soldiers? i will tell you. there really are very few policemen or soldiers left in england today.”
-“surely, that,” said wimpole, “is an unusual complaint.”
-“you don’t mean,” said dorian, “that the british army is practically disbanded?”
-“there are the sentinels outside whitehall,” replied patrick, in a low voice. “but, indeed, your question puts me in a difficulty. no; the army is not entirely disbanded, of course. but the british army—. did you ever hear, wimpole, of the great destiny of the empire?”
-“i seem to have heard the phrase,” replied his companion.
-“it is in four acts,” said dalroy. “victory over barbarians. employment of barbarians. alliance with barbarians. conquest by barbarians. that is the great destiny of empire.”
-“i think i begin to see what you mean,” returned dorian wimpole. “of course ivywood and the authorities do seem very prone to rely on the sepoy troops.”
-“and other troops as well,” said patrick. “i think you will be surprised when you see them.”
-he tramped on for a while in silence and then said, with some air of abruptness, which yet did not seem to be entirely a changing of the subject,
-“do you know the man who lives now on the estate next to ivywood?”
-“no,” replied dorian, “i am told he keeps himself very much to himself.”
-“and his estate, too,” said patrick, rather gloomily. “if you would climb his garden-wall, wimpole, i think you would find an answer to a good many of your questions. oh, yes, the right honourable gentlemen are making full provision for public order and national defence—in a way.”
-he fell into an almost sullen silence again; and several villages had been passed before he spoke again.
-they tramped through the darkness; and dawn surprised them somewhere in the wilder and more wooded parts where the roads began to rise and roam. dalroy gave an exclamation of pleasure and pointed ahead, drawing the attention of dorian to the distance. against the silver and scarlet bars of the daybreak could be seen afar a dark purple dome, with a crown of dark green leaves; the place they had called roundabout.
-dalroy’s spirit seemed to revive at the sight, with the customary accompaniment of the threat of vocalism.
-“been making any poems lately?” he asked of wimpole.
-“nothing particular,” replied the poet.
-“then,” said the captain, portentously, clearing his throat, “you shall listen to one of mine, whether you like it or not—nay, the more you dislike it the longer and longer it will be. i begin to understand why soldiers want to sing when on the march; and also why they put up with such rotten songs.
-“the druids waved their golden knives and danced around the oak, when they had sacrificed a man; but though the learnèd search and scan no single modern person can entirely see the joke; but though they cut the throats of men they cut not down the tree, and from the blood the saplings sprang of oak-woods yet to be. but ivywood, lord ivywood, he rots the tree as ivy would, he clings and crawls as ivy would about the sacred tree.
-“king charles he fled from worcester fight and hid him in an oak; in convent schools no man of tact would trace and praise his every act, or argue that he was in fact a strict and sainted bloke; but not by him the sacred woods have lost their fancies free, and though he was extremely big, he did not break the tree. but ivywood, lord ivywood, he breaks the tree as ivy would and eats the woods as ivy would between us and the sea.
-“great collingwood walked down the glade and flung the acorns free, that oaks might still be in the grove as oaken as the beams above when the great lover sailors love was kissed by death at sea. but though for him the oak-trees fell to build the oaken ships, the woodman worshipped what he smote and honoured even the chips. but ivywood, lord ivywood, he hates the tree as ivy would, as the dragon of the ivy would, that has us in his grips.”
-they were ascending a sloping road, walled in on both sides by solemn woods, which somehow seemed as watchful as owls awake. though daybreak was going over them with banners, scrolls of scarlet and gold, and with a wind like trumpets of triumph, the dark woods seemed to hold their secret like dark, cool cellars; nor was the strong sunlight seen in them, save in one or two brilliant shafts, that looked like splintered emeralds.
-“i should not wonder,” said dorian, “if the ivy does not find the tree knows a thing or two also.”
-“the tree does,” assented the captain. “the trouble was that until a little while ago the tree did not know that it knew.”
-there was a silence; and as they went up the incline grew steeper and steeper, and the tall trees seemed more and more to be guarding something from sight, as with the grey shields of giants.
-“do you remember this road, hump?” asked dalroy of the innkeeper.
-“yes,” answered humphrey pump, and said no more; but few have ever heard such fulness in an affirmative.
-when they resumed the march it was nearly the middle of the afternoon; and the meal which dalroy insisted buoyantly on describing as breakfast was taken about that mysterious hour when ladies die without tea. the steep road had consistently grown steeper and steeper; and steeper; and at last, dalroy said to dorian wimpole,
-“don’t drop that cheese again just here, or it will roll right away down into the woods. i know it will. no scientific calculations of grades and angles are necessary; because i have seen it do so myself. in fact, i have run after it.”
-wimpole realised they were mounting to the sharp edge of a ridge, and in a few moments he knew by the oddness in the shape of the trees what it had been that the trees were hiding.
-they had been walking along a swelling, woodland path beside the sea. on a particular high plateau, projecting above the shore, stood some dwarfed and crippled apple-trees, of whose apples no man alive would have eaten, so sour and salt they must be. all the rest of the plateau was bald and featureless, but pump looked at every inch of it, as if at an inhabited place.
-“this is where we’ll have breakfast,” he said, pointing to the naked grassy waste. “it’s the best inn in england.”
-some of his audience began to laugh, but somehow suddenly ceased doing so, as dalroy strode forward and planted the sign of “the old ship” on the desolate sea-shore.
-“and now,” he said, “you have charge of the stores we brought, hump, and we will picnic. as it said in a song i once sang,
-“the saracen’s head out of araby came, king richard riding in arms like flame, and where he established his folk to be fed he set up his spear, and the saracen’s head.”
-it was nearly dusk before the mob, much swelled by the many discontented on the ivywood estates, reached the gates of ivywood house. strategically, and for the purposes of a night surprise, this might have done credit to the captain’s military capacity. but the use to which he put it actually was what some might call eccentric. when he had disposed his forces, with strict injunctions of silence for the first few minutes, he turned to pump, and said,
-“and now, before we do anything else, i’m going to make a noise.”
-and he produced from under brown paper what appeared to be a musical instrument.
-“a summons to parley?” inquired dorian, with interest, “a trumpet of defiance, or something of that kind?”
-“no,” said patrick, “a serenade.”
-the enigmas of lady joan
-on an evening when the sky was clear and only its fringes embroidered with the purple arabesques of the sunset, joan brett was walking on the upper lawn of the terraced garden at ivywood, where the peacocks trail themselves about. she was not unlike one of the peacocks herself in beauty, and some might have said, in inutility; she had the proud head and the sweeping train; nor was she, in these days, devoid of the occasional disposition to scream. for, indeed, for some time past she had felt her existence closing round her with an incomprehensible quietude; and that is harder for the patience than an incomprehensible noise. whenever she looked at the old yew hedges of the garden they seemed to be higher than when she saw them last; as if those living walls could still grow to shut her in. whenever from the turret windows she had a sight of the sea, it seemed to be farther away. indeed, the whole closing of the end of the turret wing with the new wall of eastern woodwork seemed to symbolise all her shapeless sensations. in her childhood the wing had ended with a broken-down door and a disused staircase. they led to an uncultivated copse and an abandoned railway tunnel, to which neither she nor anyone else ever wanted to go. still, she knew what they led to. now it seemed that this scrap of land had been sold and added to the adjoining estate; and about the adjoining estate nobody seemed to know anything in particular. the sense of things closing in increased upon her. all sorts of silly little details magnified the sensation. she could discover nothing about this new landlord next door, so to speak, since he was, it seemed, an elderly man who preferred to live in the greatest privacy. miss browning, lord ivywood’s secretary, could give her no further information than that he was a gentleman from the mediterranean coast; which singular form of words seemed to have been put into her mouth. as a mediterranean gentleman might mean anything from an american gentleman living in venice to a black african on the edge of the atlas, the description did not illuminate; and probably was not intended to do so. she occasionally saw his liveried servants going about; and their liveries were not like english liveries. she was also, in her somewhat morbid state, annoyed by the fact that the uniforms of the old pebblewick militia had been changed, under the influence of the turkish prestige in the recent war. they wore fezzes like the french zouaves, which were certainly much more practical than the heavy helmets they used to wear. it was a small matter, but it annoyed lady joan, who was, like so many clever women, at once subtle and conservative. it made her feel as if the whole world was being altered outside, and she was not allowed to know about it.
-but she had deeper spiritual troubles also, while, under the pathetic entreaties of old lady ivywood and her own sick mother, she stayed on week after week at ivywood house. if the matter be stated cynically (as she herself was quite capable of stating it) she was engaged in the established feminine occupation of trying to like a man. but the cynicism would have been false; as cynicism nearly always is; for during the most crucial days of that period, she had really liked the man.
-she had liked him when he was brought in with pump’s bullet in his leg; and was still the strongest and calmest man in the room. she had liked him when the hurt took a dangerous turn, and when he bore pain to admiration. she had liked him when he showed no malice against the angry dorian; she had liked him with something like enthusiasm on the night he rose rigid on his rude crutch, and, crushing all remonstrance, made his rash and swift rush to london. but, despite the queer closing-in-sensations of which we have spoken, she never liked him better than that evening when he lifted himself laboriously on his crutch up the terraces of the old garden and came to speak to her as she stood among the peacocks. he even tried to pat a peacock in a hazy way, as if it were a dog. he told her that these beautiful birds were, of course, imported from the east—by the semi-eastern empire of macedonia. but, all the same, joan had a dim suspicion that he had never noticed before that there were any peacocks at ivywood. his greatest fault was a pride in the faultlessness of his mental and moral strength; but, if he had only known, something faintly comic in the unconscious side of him did him more good with the woman than all the rest.
-“they were said to be the birds of juno,” he said, “but i have little doubt that juno, like so much else of the homeric mythology, has also an asiatic origin.”
-“i always thought,” said joan, “that juno was rather too stately for the seraglio.”
-“you ought to know,” replied ivywood, with a courteous gesture, “for i never saw anyone who looked so like juno as you do. but, indeed, there is a great deal of misunderstanding about the arabian or indian view of women. it is, somehow, too simple and solid for our paradoxical christendom to comprehend. even the vulgar joke against the turks, that they like their brides fat, has in it a sort of distorted shadow of what i mean. they do not look so much at the individual, as at womanhood and the power of nature.”
-“i sometimes think,” said joan, “that these fascinating theories are a little strained. your friend misysra told me the other day that women had the highest freedom in turkey; as they were allowed to wear trousers.”
-ivywood smiled his rare and dry smile. “the prophet has something of a simplicity often found with genius,” he answered. “i will not deny that some of the arguments he has employed have seemed to me crude and even fanciful. but he is right at the root. there is a kind of freedom that consists in never rebelling against nature; and i think they understand it in the orient better than we do in the west. you see, joan, it is all very well to talk about love in our narrow, personal, romantic way; but there is something higher than the love of a lover or the love of love.”
-“what is that?” asked joan, looking down.
-“the love of fate,” said lord ivywood, with something like spiritual passion in his eyes. “doesn’t nietzsche say somewhere that the delight in destiny is the mark of the hero? we are mistaken if we think that the heroes and saints of islam say ‘kismet’ with bowed heads and in sorrow. they say ‘kismet’ with a shout of joy. that which is fitting—that is what they really mean. in the arabian tales, the most perfect prince is wedded to the most perfect princess—because it is fitting. the spiritual giants, the genii, achieve it—that is, the purposes of nature. in the selfish, sentimental european novels, the loveliest princess on earth might have run away with her middle-aged drawing-master. these things are not in the path. the turk rides out to wed the fairest queen of the earth; he conquers empires to do it; and he is not ashamed of his laurels.”
-the crumpled violet clouds around the edge of the silver evening looked to lady joan more and more like vivid violet embroideries hemming some silver curtain in the closed corridor at ivywood. the peacocks looked more lustrous and beautiful than they ever had before; but for the first time she really felt they came out of the land of the arabian nights.
-“joan,” said phillip ivywood, very softly, in the twilight, “i am not ashamed of my laurels. i see no meaning in what these christians call humility. i will be the greatest man in the world if i can; and i think i can. therefore, something that is higher than love itself, fate and what is fitting, make it right that i should wed the most beautiful woman in the world. and she stands among the peacocks and is more beautiful and more proud than they.”
-joan’s troubled eyes were on the violet horizon and her troubled lips could utter nothing but something like “don’t.”
-“joan,” said phillip, again, “i have told you, you are the woman one of the great heroes could have desired. let me now tell you something i could have told no one to whom i had not thus spoken of love and betrothal. when i was twenty years old in a town in germany, pursuing my education, i did what the west calls falling in love. she was a fisher-girl from the coast; for this town was near the sea. my story might have ended there. i could not have entered diplomacy with such a wife, but i should not have minded then. but a little while after, i wandered into the edges of flanders, and found myself standing above some of the last grand reaches of the rhine. and things came over me but for which i might be crying stinking fish to this day. i thought how many holy or lovely nooks that river had left behind, and gone on. it might anywhere in switzerland have spent its weak youth in a spirit over a high crag, or anywhere in the rhinelands lost itself in a marsh covered with flowers. but it went on to the perfect sea, which is the fulfilment of a river.”
-again, joan could not speak; and again it was phillip who went on.
-“here is yet another thing that could not be said, till the hand of the prince had been offered to the princess. it may be that in the east they carry too far this matter of infant marriages. but look round on the mad young marriages that go to pieces everywhere! and ask yourself whether you don’t wish they had been infant marriages! people talk in the newspapers of the heartlessness of royal marriages. but you and i do not believe the newspapers, i suppose. we know there is no king in england; nor has been since his head fell before whitehall. you know that you and i and the families are the kings of england; and our marriages are royal marriages. let the suburbs call them heartless. let us say they need the brave heart that is the only badge of aristocracy. joan,” he said, very gently, “perhaps you have been near a crag in switzerland, or a marsh covered with flowers. perhaps you have known—a fisher-girl. but there is something greater and simpler than all that; something you find in the great epics of the east—the beautiful woman, and the great man, and fate.”
-“my lord,” said joan, using the formal phrase by an unfathomable instinct, “will you allow me a little more time to think of this? and let there be no notion of disloyalty, if my decision is one way or the other?”
-“why, of course,” said ivywood, bowing over his crutch; and he limped off, picking his way among the peacocks.
-for days afterward joan tried to build the foundations of her earthly destiny. she was still quite young, but she felt as if she had lived thousands of years, worrying over the same question. she told herself again and again, and truly, that many a better woman than she had taken a second-best which was not so first-class a second-best. but there was something complicated in the very atmosphere. she liked listening to phillip ivywood at his best, as anyone likes listening to a man who can really play the violin; but the great trouble always is that at certain awful moments you cannot be certain whether it is the violin or the man.
-moreover, there was a curious tone and spirit in the ivywood household, especially after the wound and convalescence of ivywood, about which she could say nothing except that it annoyed her somehow. there was something in it glorious—but also languorous. by an impulse by no means uncommon among intelligent, fashionable people, she felt a desire to talk to a sensible woman of the middle or lower classes; and almost threw herself on the bosom of miss browning for sympathy.
-but miss browning, with her curling, reddish hair and white, very clever face, struck the same indescribable note. lord ivywood was assumed as a first principle; as if he were father time, or the clerk of the weather. he was called “he.” the fifth time he was called “he,” joan could not understand why she seemed to smell the plants in the hot conservatory.
-“you see,” said miss browning, “we mustn’t interfere with his career; that is the important thing. and, really, i think the quieter we keep about everything the better. i am sure he is maturing very big plans. you heard what the prophet said the other night?”
-“the last thing the prophet said to me,” said the darker lady, in a dogged manner, “was that when we english see the english youth, we cry out ‘he is crescent!’ but when we see the english aged man, we cry out ‘he is cross!’”
-a lady with so clever a face could not but laugh faintly; but she continued on a determined theme, “the prophet said, you know, that all real love had in it an element of fate. and i am sure that is his view, too. people cluster round a centre as little stars do round a star; because a star is a magnet. you are never wrong when destiny blows behind you like a great big wind; and i think many things have been judged unfairly that way. it’s all very well to talk about the infant marriages in india.”
-“miss browning,” said joan, “are you interested in the infant marriages in india?”
-“well—” said miss browning.
-“is your sister interested in them? i’ll run and ask her,” cried joan, plunging across the room to where mrs. mackintosh was sitting at a table scribbling secretarial notes.
-“well,” said mrs. mackintosh, turning up a rich-haired, resolute head, more handsome than her sister’s, “i believe the indian way is the best. when people are left to themselves in early youth, any of them might marry anything. we might have married a nigger or a fish-wife or—a criminal.”
-“now, mrs. mackintosh,” said joan, with black-browed severity, “you well know you would never have married a fish-wife. where is enid?” she ended suddenly.
-“lady enid,” said miss browning, “is looking out music in the music room, i think.”
-joan walked swiftly through several long salons, and found her fair-haired and pallid relative actually at the piano.
-“enid,” cried joan, “you know i’ve always been fond of you. for god’s sake tell me what is the matter with this house? i admire phillip as everybody does. but what is the matter with the house? why do all these rooms and gardens seem to be shutting me in and in and in? why does everything look more and more the same? why does everybody say the same thing? oh, i don’t often talk metaphysics; but there is a purpose in this. that’s the only way of putting it; there is a purpose. and i don’t know what it is.”
-lady enid wimpole played a preliminary bar or two on the piano. then she said,
-“nor do i, joan. i don’t indeed. i know exactly what you mean. but it’s just because there is a purpose that i have faith in him and trust him.” she began softly to play a ballad tune of the rhineland; and perhaps the music suggested her next remark. “suppose you were looking at some of the last reaches of the rhine, where it flows—”
-“enid!” cried joan, “if you say ‘into the north sea,’ i shall scream. scream, do you hear, louder than all the peacocks together.”
-“well,” expostulated lady enid, looking up rather wildly, “the rhine does flow into the north sea, doesn’t it?”
-“i dare say,” said joan, recklessly, “but the rhine might have flowed into the round pond, before you would have known or cared, until—”
-“until what?” asked enid; and her music suddenly ceased. “until something happened that i cannot understand,” said joan, moving away.
-“you are something i cannot understand,” said enid wimpole. “but i will play something else, if this annoys you.” and she fingered the music again with an eye to choice.
-joan walked back through the corridor of the music room, and restlessly resumed her seat in the room with the two lady secretaries.
-“well,” asked the red-haired and good-humoured mrs. mackintosh, without looking up from her work of scribbling, “have you discovered anything?”
-for some moments joan appeared to be in a blacker state of brooding than usual; then she said, in a candid and friendly tone, which somehow contrasted with her knit and swarthy brows—
-“surely,” said miss browning, in the girton manner, “the one always flows from the other.”
-“i hope not,” said joan.
-“but what else can you do with the hero?” asked mrs. mackintosh, still without looking up from her writing, “except worship him?”
-“you might crucify him,” said joan, with a sudden return of savage restlessness, as she rose from her chair. “things seem to happen then.”
-“aren’t you tired?” asked the miss browning who had the clever face.
-“yes,” said joan, “and the worst sort of tiredness; when you don’t even know what you’re tired of. to tell the honest truth, i think i’m tired of this house.”
-“it’s very old, of course, and parts of it are still dismal,” said miss browning, “but he has enormously improved it. the decoration, with the moon and stars, down in the wing with the turret is really—”
-away in the distant music room, lady enid, having found the music she preferred, was fingering its prelude on the piano. at the first few notes of it, joan brett stood up, like a tigress.
-“thanks—” she said, with a hoarse softness, “that’s it, of course! and that’s just what we all are! she’s found the right tune now.”
-“what tune is it?” asked the wondering secretary.
-from the distant and slowly darkening music room, enid wimpole’s song came thin and clear:
-“less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheel, less than the rust that never stained thy sword—”
-“do you know what we are?” demanded joan brett, again. “we are a harem.”
-“why, what can you mean?” cried the younger girl, in great agitation. “why, lord ivywood has never—”
-“i know he has never. i am not sure,” said joan, “even whether he would ever. i shall never understand that man, nor will anybody else. but i tell you that is the spirit. that is what we are. and this room stinks of polygamy as certainly as it smells of tube-roses.”
-“why, joan,” cried lady enid, entering the room like a well-bred ghost, “what on earth is the matter with you. you all look as white as sheets.”
-joan took no heed of her but went on with her own obstinate argument.
-“and, besides,” she said, “if there’s one thing we do know about him it is that he believes on principle in doing things slowly. he calls it evolution and relativity and the expanding of an idea into larger ideas. how do we know he isn’t doing that slowly; getting us accustomed to living like this, so that it may be the less shock when he goes further—steeping us in the atmosphere before he actually introduces,” and she shuddered, “the institution. is it any more calmly outrageous a scheme than any other of ivywood’s schemes; than a sepoy commander-in-chief, or misysra preaching in westminster abbey, or the destruction of all the inns in england? i will not wait and expand. i will not be evolved. i will not develop into something that is not me. my feet shall be outside these walls if i walk the roads for it afterward; or i will scream as i would scream trapped in any den by the docks.”
-she swept down the rooms toward the turret, with a sudden passion for solitude; but as she passed the astronomical wood-carving that had closed up the end of the old wing, enid saw her strike it with her clinched hand.
-it was in the turret that she had a strange experience. she was again, later on, using its isolation to worry out the best way of having it out with phillip, when he should return from his visit to london; for to tell old lady ivywood what was on her mind would be about as kind and useful as describing chinese tortures to a baby. the evening was very quiet, of the pale grey sort, and all that side of ivywood lay before her eyes, undisturbed. she was the more surprised when her dreaming took note of a sort of stirring in the grey-purple dusk of the bushes; of whisperings; and of many footsteps. then the silence settled down again; and then it was startlingly broken by a big voice singing in the dark distance. it was accompanied by faint sounds that might have been from the fingering of some lute or viol:
-“lady, the light is dying in the skies, lady, and let us die when honour dies, your dear, dropped glove was like a gauntlet flung, when you and i were young. for something more than splendour stood; and ease was not the only good about the woods in ivywood when you and i were young.
-“lady, the stars are falling pale and small, lady, we will not live if life be all forgetting those good stars in heaven hung when all the world was young, for more than gold was in a ring, and love was not a little thing between the trees in ivywood when all the world was young.”
-the singing ceased; and the bustle in the bushes could hardly be called more than a whisper. but sounds of the same sort and somewhat louder seemed wafted round corners from other sides of the house; and the whole night seemed full of something that was alive, but was more than a single man.
-she heard a cry behind her, and enid rushed into the room as white as one of the lilies.
-“what awful thing is happening?” she cried. “the courtyard is full of men shouting, and there are torches everywhere and—”
-joan heard a tramp of men marching and heard, afar off, another song, sung on a more derisive note, something like—
-“but ivywood, lord ivywood, he rots the tree as ivy would.”
-“i think,” said joan, thoughtfully, “it is the end of the world.”
-“but where are the police?” wailed her cousin. “they don’t seem to be anywhere about since they wore those fezzes. we shall be murdered or—”
-three thundering and measured blows shook the decorative wood panelling at the end of the wing; as if admittance were demanded with the club of a giant. enid remembered that she had thought joan’s little blow energetic, and shuddered. both the girls stared at the stars and moons and suns blazoned on that sacred wall that leapt and shuddered under the strokes of the doom.
-then the sun fell from heaven, and the moon and stars dropped down and were scattered about the persian carpet; and by the opening of the end of the world, patrick dalroy came in, carrying a mandolin.
-the finding of the superman
-“i’ve brought you a little dog,” said mr. dalroy, introducing the rampant quoodle. “i had him brought down here in a large hamper labelled ‘explosives,’ a title which appears to have been well selected.”
-he had bowed to lady enid on entering and taken joan’s hand with the least suggestion that he wanted to do something else with it; but he resolutely resumed his conversation, which was on the subject of dogs.
-“people who bring back dogs,” he said, “are always under a cloud of suspicion. sometimes it is hideously hinted that the citizen who brings the dog back with him is identical with the citizen who took the dog away with him. in my case, of course, such conduct is inconceivable. but the returners of dogs, that prosperous and increasing class, are also accused,” he went on, looking straight at joan, with blank blue eyes, “of coming back for a reward. there is more truth in this charge.”
-then, with a change of manner more extraordinary than any revolution, even the revolution that was roaring round the house, he took her hand again and kissed it, saying, with a confounding seriousness,
-“i know at least that you will pray for my soul.”
-“you had better pray for mine, if i have one,” answered joan, “but why now?”
-“because,” said patrick, “you will hear from outside, you may even see from that turret window something which in brute fact has never been seen in england since poor monmouth’s army went down. in spirit and in truth it has not happened since saladin and cœur de lion crashed together. i only add one thing, and that you know already. i have lived loving you and i shall die loving you. it is the only dimension of the universe in which i have not wandered and gone astray. i leave the dog to guard you;” and he disappeared down the old broken staircase.
-lady enid was much mystified that no popular pursuit assailed this stair or invaded the house. but lady joan knew better. she had gone, on the suggestion she most cared about, into the turret room and looked out of its many windows on to the abandoned copse and tunnel, which were now fenced off with high walls, the boundary of the mysterious property next door. across that high barrier she could not even see the tunnel, and barely the tops of the tallest trees which hid its entrance from sight. but in an instant she knew that dalroy was not hurling his forces on ivywood at all, but on the house and estate beyond it.
-and then followed a sight that was not an experience but rather a revolving vision. she could never describe it afterward, nor could any of those involved in so violent and mystical a wheel. she had seen a huge wall of a breaker wash all over the parade at pebblewick; and wondered that so huge a hammer could be made merely of water. she had never had a notion of what it is like when it is made of men.
-the palisade, put up by the new landlord in front of the old tangled ground by the tunnel, she had long regarded as something as settled and ordinary as one of the walls of the drawing room. it swung and split and sprang into a thousand pieces under the mere blow of human bodies bursting with rage; and the great wave crested the obstacle more clearly than she had ever seen any great wave crest the parade. only, when the fence was broken, she saw behind it something that robbed her of reason; so that she seemed to be living in all ages and all lands at once. she never could describe the vision afterward; but she always denied it was a dream. she said it was worse; it was something more real than reality. it was a line of real soldiers, which is always a magnificent sight. but they might have been the soldiers of hannibal or of attila, they might have been dug up from the cemeteries of sidon and babylon, for all joan had to do with them. there, encamped in english meadows, with a hawthorn-tree in front of them and three beeches behind, was something that has never been in camp nearer than some leagues south of paris, since that carolus called the hammer broke it backward at tours.
-there flew the green standard of that great faith and strong civilization which has so often almost entered the great cities of the west; which long encircled vienna, which was barely barred from paris; but which had never before been seen in arms on the soil of england. at one end of the line stood phillip ivywood, in a uniform of his own special creation, a compromise between the sepoy and the turkish uniform. the compromise worked more and more wildly in joan’s mind. if any impression remained it was merely that england had conquered india and turkey had conquered england. then she saw that ivywood, for all his uniform, was not the commander of these forces, for an old man, with a great scar on his face, which was not a european face, set himself in the front of the battle, as if it had been a battle in the old epics, and crossed swords with patrick dalroy. he had come to return the scar upon his forehead; and he returned it with many wounds, though at last it was he who sank under the sword thrust. he fell on his face; and dalroy looked at him with something that is much more great than pity. blood was flowing from patrick’s wrist and forehead, but he made a salute with his sword. as he was doing so, the corpse, as it appeared, laboriously lifted a face, with feeble eyelids. and, seeming to understand the quarters of the sky by instinct, oman pasha dragged himself a foot or so to the left; and fell with his face toward mecca.
-after that the turret turned round and round about joan and she knew not whether the things she saw were history or prophecy. something in that last fact of being crushed by the weapons of brown men and yellow, secretly entrenched in english meadows, had made the english what they had not been for centuries. the hawthorn-tree was twisted and broken, as it was at the battle of ashdown, when alfred led his first charge against the danes. the beech-trees were splashed up to their lowest branches with the mingling of brave heathen and brave christian blood. she knew no more than that when a column of the christian rebels, led by humphrey of the sign of the ship, burst through the choked and forgotten tunnel and took the turkish regiment in the rear, it was the end.
-that violent and revolving vision became something beyond the human voice or human ear. she could not intelligently hear even the shots and shouts round the last magnificent rally of the turks. it was natural, therefore, that she should not hear the words lord ivywood addressed to his next-door neighbour, a turkish officer, or rather to himself. but his words were:
-“i have gone where god has never dared to go. i am above the silly supermen as they are above mere men. where i walk in the heavens, no man has walked before me; and i am alone in a garden. all this passing about me is like the lonely plucking of garden flowers. i will have this blossom, i will have that.”
-the sentence ended so suddenly that the officer looked at him, as if expecting him to speak. but he did not speak.
-but patrick and joan, wandering together in a world made warm and fresh again, as it can be for few in a world that calls courage frenzy and love superstition, feeling every branching tree as a friend with arms open for the man, or every sweeping slope as a great train trailing behind the woman, did one day climb up to the little white cottage that was now the home of the superman.
-he sat playing with a pale, reposeful face, with scraps of flower and weed put before him on a wooden table. he did not notice them, nor anything else around him; scarcely even enid wimpole, who attended to all his wants.
-“he is perfectly happy,” she said quietly.
-joan, with the glow on her dark face, could not prevent herself from replying, “and we are so happy.”
-“yes,” said enid, “but his happiness will last,” and she wept.
-“i understand,” said joan, and kissed her cousin, not without tears of her own.
-● transcriber’s notes: ○ missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. ○ typographical errors were silently corrected. ○ the notation “h{2}o” uses the underscore and braces to mean a subscripted
-character. in this case the formula for water.
-○ inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book. ○ text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (italics).
-by george h. smith
-edith was just a computer, but a very good one and a very observing one. so it was quite natural that she be consulted about the doctor's murder....
-ballard was quite dead. there could be no doubt of it. he lay sprawled in front of edith, with his head very messily bashed in and with one hand still extended toward her. a long shimmering stream of blood ran half-way across the large room. dr. dudley ballard had been as inconsiderate in his dying as he had been in his living.
-art mackinney and i stood in the doorway and stared. we were shocked not so much by the fact that ballard was dead as by the fact that he lay in this most secret room, this holy of holies. ours was the most security conscious project in the whole country; and this was where he had picked to get himself killed.
-"god! there'll really be a stink about this," mackinney breathed.
-"well, i can't think of anyone who had it coming more than he did," i said. i hated ballard's guts and everyone knew it, so there was no point in being hypocritical now.
-edith stood silently. she didn't seem to be interested in the fact that the man who had run her life, who had spent hours shouting questions at her and criticizing her slightest error with burning sarcasm was now dead. no, edith wasn't interested, but you couldn't really expect her to be--she was only a computing machine, a mechanical brain, the final result of years of work by the best cybernetics experts in the world. edith was silent, and would be, until we turned her on and fed the tapes into her.
-"it looks as though this is what did it," mackinney said, indicating a large spanner lying on the floor beside ballard. he touched it gingerly with his foot. his face was white and strained and it occurred to me that he was more upset than i thought he should be. after all, he had as much reason to hate the dead man as the rest of us. ballard had taken advantage of his position as head of the research project to make passes at jane currey and mackinney wasn't at all a cool scientist when it came to jane. he was engaged to her and quite naturally resented ballard's attentions to her.
-"you'd better not touch that until the police get here," i said as he bent over to pick up the spanner.
-"yeah, i guess you're right--i forgot. how do you suppose this got in here anyway?"
-"one of the workmen making adjustments on edith's outer casing must have left it. i saw it sitting up there on top of her late yesterday afternoon," i told him. "you'd better go call mr. thompson and--the fbi."
-with ballard gone, i was in charge. maybe someone would think that was reason enough for me to kill him. i didn't care, i was just glad he was gone. now he couldn't mistreat edith anymore.
-i turned edith on just as mackinney returned. "what are you doing?" he asked.
-"why i'm going to wake edith up and feed these tapes into her. after all these are more important than any one man's life."
-"you didn't care much for ballard, did you bill?"
-i gave him look for look as i replied. "can you name anyone around here that did?"
-he shook his head. "no--i guess not. but maybe it wasn't one of us. it might have been an outside job, you know. edith was working on that space station stuff and the iron curtain people would give a lot to know about it."
-"hell," i said pressing the studs and levers that would arouse edith and put her to work. "you don't really think anyone could get past those security guards, do you?"
-happily i went about the business of waking edith, my sleeping beauty, from her slumbers. in a very few seconds, her hundreds of tiny red eyes were gleaming with intelligence.
-good morning, edith, i punched out the tape and fed it into her.
-there was the faintest pause, while edith's photo-electric cells surveyed the room, pausing for a moment on the sprawled body of ballard.
-good morning, bill green, she typed back. i knew she was happy to see me by the cheerful little clicks she emitted.
-i have some interesting work for you this morning, edith. and i think you'll be glad to know that we will be working together from now on instead of....
-"hey! what's the idea of starting that machine?" a gray haired, gray suited security agent demanded, striding into the room with mackinney, mr. thompson and several other officers at his heels. "don't you know enough not to touch anything in here?"
-"this work is too important to be stopped--even for a murder," i said, and mr. thompson nodded in agreement.
-"that's right," he said mopping his perpetually perspiring forehead, "this work has top priority from washington." he looked nervous and i couldn't help wondering what he was thinking. there had been stories circulating about ballard and thompson's wife and the dome-headed little man must have heard them too. ballard just couldn't keep his hands off any female within reach. that was one of the reasons he was so thoroughly hated.
-the youngest of the security agents rose from where he had been kneeling beside ballard and crossed to me.
-"you're green, aren't you?" i nodded and he continued, "how did you know it was murder?"
-i laughed at him. "how the hell could a man bash in his own brains that way?"
-the gray haired man stepped into the breach. he gave us all a thorough going over, but concentrated on mackinney and me. he seemed to think it peculiar that neither of us could give any reason for ballard's being alone with edith. i was sure i knew, but no one would have believed me so i made no attempt to enlighten him.
-"well, i guess that's all we can do now," he said at last. "someone from the local police will have to be notified and brought in after they get security clearance." he turned to go.
-"wait a minute," mackinney said, "we're all overlooking one thing."
-"there was an eye witness to this crime," he said, and i stared at him in consternation. i didn't know he knew. i thought i was the only one who knew.
-"what do you mean," the agent demanded angrily.
-"edith saw it. edith, the computer."
-"are you nuts?" the agent demanded.
-"you forget that edith was turned off," thompson said.
-"but mr. thompson, edith's not like most cybernetic machines. she's so far advanced, that i'm not sure we understand her completely. she can't really be turned off. she has a distinct personality and that new circuit--"
-of course edith had a personality of her own! she had more charm, more intelligence, more understanding than most women.
-"--well--she'd be able to tell us who killed ballard."
-"that's ridiculous," i said, badly frightened. "a machine can't be a witness to murder."
-the security officer looked dubious and shook his head. "i guess we'll have to leave that up to the coroner at the inquest."
-"but they can't ask questions like that of edith," i protested. "she's--she's too important to the national defense to have some country coroner asking her silly questions about the murder of a man who deserved to die anyway." i had to prevent this. i had to get around this eye witness business.
-thompson looked at me levelly. "mackinney may be right, green. the coroner may very well want to talk to edith and there's no reason we should object if security gives him clearance."
-"but mr. thompson, our work--it'll be interrupted."
-"we'll have to take that chance. and i think washington will agree."
-"but--" couldn't they see that there wasn't any question of spying here. couldn't they understand that ballard had just gotten what he had coming. i couldn't let them question edith. at least not until i had a chance to talk to her alone.
-"and green--because of your rather strange behaviour, i'm afraid i'll have to ask you to stay in your quarters until the inquest. mackinney will handle your work with edith until then."
-i was shocked and really frightened now. i wouldn't get to talk to her, wouldn't get a chance to tell her what to say. i protested, but thompson was firm, so firm that he placed a guard outside my door to make sure i didn't leave.
-washington rushed through clearance for the local officers and the inquest was held three days later. the coroner proved to be a shrewd country doctor, who had the inquest adjourned to the computer room as soon as he heard mackinney's ideas about edith.
-the security guards on duty the night of the murder testified that only mackinney, thompson, ballard and i had had access to the computer room; and it had already been established that it would have been impossible for a spy or foreign agent to have slipped into the heavily guarded room. it was clearly an inside job.
-with all of us at the scene of the crime, the coroner summed it up for us. "--and since it could not have been the work of an outsider, it must have been a crime of a private nature." he looked closely at thompson, mackinney and me. "a crime of a private nature with the motive either revenge, jealousy or ambition. we know that the victim was an over-bearing man with a good many unpleasant traits. we know he was a man who forced his attentions on women, who was ill-tempered and abusive to those who worked with him. a man who had many enemies--but there were only three people who had the chance to attack him on this particular night.
-"i am going to attempt to establish the identity of the killer by the unusual procedure of questioning a machine. it will be for later courts to establish the validity of such testimony. because of the nature of this case and because of the urgent need to get this computer back to its proper work, i am going to ask the questions in a more direct manner than i would ordinarily employ."
-mackinney took his place before edith. they didn't even trust me to feed the tapes into her under their very eyes.
-"mr. thompson, i object to the use of this delicate piece of equipment in--"
-they ignored me, and mackinney punched out the questions the coroner asked:
-"do you know who murdered dr. ballard?"
-there was a pause. edith blinked several times. i was shaking with apprehension for her. a mind so delicate and noble should not be faced with such a dilemma.
-yes, she typed back.
-"did you witness the murder?"
-there was a longer pause this time. "you must answer the question," mackinney reminded her.
-i was here.
-"is it true that you do not lose your perceptive qualities when we turn you off?" mackinney asked this on his own.
-it is true.
-"we might as well get to the heart of the matter," the coroner said. "did mr. thompson kill ballard?"
-edith clicked and her eyes glowed. no.
-"did mr. mackinney kill ballard?"
-edith had to tell the truth ... it was an innate part of her personality. i tensed in my seat. i wanted to scream, to leap at mackinney and prevent, somehow, the asking of the next question. but there wasn't a chance.
-"did mr. green kill dr. ballard?"
-edith's beautiful electric eyes flashed and her clicks pulsed twice as rapidly as before. there was such a roaring and wrenching within her i was afraid for her--she was being torn apart in her struggle not to answer. i couldn't stand listening to her desperate efforts any longer.
-"yes!" i leapt to my feet. "yes, i did it. leave her alone. can't you see what you're doing to her? that swine was always mistreating her. he didn't understand her--no one understands her as i do!"
-the coroner looked at me closely. "is that really why you killed him, mr. green?"
-"no! you were wondering why he was here by himself while no work was going on. he--he had begun to feel about edith as he did about all women. he sneaked back here to be alone with her. he wanted to--he wanted to--" my voice broke and they stared at me in shocked amazement.
-into the silence mackinney read what edith had slowly typed out: "mr. green did not kill dr. ballard."
-"yes--yes i did," i screamed. "don't edith--"
-"who did kill him?" the coroner asked, quietly.
-this was the question i had wanted to avoid. i sank down my hands cradling my aching head. edith must have expected the question. she had her answer ready.
-i refuse to state on the grounds that it may tend to incriminate me.
-my poor, sweet, adorable edith. if only i had had a chance to talk to her, to tell her what to say. i had known ... ever since i had seen the spanner and remembered where it had been before. i could have warned her to say that ballard had attacked her, threatened her, to say anything ... but not to attempt to hide behind a fifth amendment that didn't exist anymore. my darling, never had kept up with current events.
-now they'll disconnect her, they'll rewire her, they'll destroy her understanding, her warmth, her whole personality ... and i ... i love her, i love her....
-by charles e. fritch
-parker was a trouble maker wherever they landed. but here was the planet ideal, a chance he had awaited a long, long time--easy, like taking candy from a baby....
-like a lone sentinel, the house stood apart at the edge of the village, a white cube with no windows. the door stood open, a dark hole against the white brick. the house was silent. the village beyond was silent.
-"they must have seen us land," compton said, a little wildly. "you can't set down a rocket ship a hundred yards from somebody and not have them notice. they must have seen us!"
-"unless no one lives here," parker amended. "this may be a ghost city."
-"he's right," hinckley agreed. "there might not be anyone living here, or anyplace on the planet for that matter. we've found very little life in these alien star-systems, and it's varied from primitive to ancient. perhaps this society became old and died before any of us were born."
-the three earthmen stood at the base of the spaceship, their spacesuit headpieces thrown back so they could breathe in the cool thin air. they stood there peering into the deathly stillness.
-"i hope there are people living here," parker said. "it's been more than a month now--"
-"well," hinckley said, "let's find out." he waved them forward.
-they were fifty feet from the house when a woman appeared in the doorway with a silver vase. she was dressed in a grey flowing robe that covered her from neck to ankles.
-"a young woman," hinckley breathed, staring. "a woman just like any on earth!"
-his voice was loud in the silence, but the woman took no notice. she stooped and began filling the vase with sand. the two men with hinckley shifted anxiously, settling the sand beneath their boots. behind them the great spaceship pointed its nose at the sky.
-parker was staring intently at the girl. "i'm going to like this place," he said slowly.
-"maybe she's deaf," parker suggested vaguely. his eyes wandered appraisingly over her youthful body; he licked dry lips.
-hinckley moved forward and stood before the girl. her small white hands dug into the sand, scooping around his boots as though not aware of them.
-"and blind, too?" compton wanted to know. "and without the sense of touch?" there was a strange quality to his voice, as though some primitive part of his unconsciousness was telling him to run.
-hinckley bent to tap the girl lightly upon the shoulder. "pardon me, miss. we're visitors from earth," he told her.
-but she paid no attention to the sound of his voice, and he stepped back, puzzled.
-"now what?" compton wanted to know. he looked around him nervously, at the house, the speckled sand, the rocket squatting behind them. "i hope all the natives aren't like this."
-"i do," parker said, licking his lips thoughtfully and keeping his gaze on the girl. "i'd just as soon have them all like this. it might be interesting."
-compton flushed. "what i meant--"
-"he knows what you meant," hinckley said harshly. "and there won't be any of that going on here. you caused enough trouble on the other planets, and it's not going to happen again, not while i'm in charge of this expedition. we didn't come all the way out here just so you could satisfy your romantic inclinations."
-"and how about my off hours, captain," parker said, emphasizing the word as though it were obscene; "then may i fraternize?"
-"you have no off hours," hinckley said sternly.
-"here comes another one," compton warned in a whisper.
-a man, dressed in robes similar to the woman's, came from the door of the house and walked into the yard. after helping the woman to rise, he picked up the vase, and the two of them went back inside the house. he hadn't even looked at the earthmen.
-after awhile, parker said, "do you suppose they're both mirages?"
-"maybe that's it," compton said. "maybe it's all a mirage, the woman, the vase, the man, the house, maybe even the planet itself." his voice had risen in his excitement.
-"take it easy," hinckley advised.
-"let's get back to the ship before the whole planet evaporates," compton said.
-"go back if you like," hinckley said. "i'm going to investigate this. how about you, parker?"
-"okay with me. always wanted to see what makes a mirage tick." he glanced contemptuously at compton.
-"okay," compton said, gripping his rifle, "we'll all make fools of ourselves."
-hinckley led the way into the house, hesitating only briefly at the doorway. inside, a blue light flickered as the man bent over a flaming trough and poured sand into it from the silver vase. the flames leaped high, filling the room with a sweet fragrance. the man emptied the vase, rose and took it to one corner of the room. he sat down on the couch by the woman. he did not look at the earthlings.
-"he doesn't see us either," compton said hoarsely. he cried, "hey, you! you! listen! we're earthmen. visitors from space."
-"i don't like this," compton said. "i don't like it at all. why are they ignoring us? why?"
-"maybe they can't help it," hinckley suggested. "perhaps they actually can't see us or hear us. it's fantastic, but it's possible."
-"i wonder," parker mused. and before anyone could stop him, he struck the man across the face with a doubled fist.
-"parker!" hinckley cried. "you fool!"
-"that's a matter of opinion," parker said steadily, rubbing his knuckles. "i found out what i wanted to."
-the man had fallen beneath the blow, but recovered seconds later. there was a large red welt on his forehead, but neither he nor the woman took any notice of it.
-"it's incredible," compton said.
-"evidently we can affect them physically, even if not mentally," hinckley said. "you do something like that again, parker, and i'll shoot you. i've got the authority to do it, you know, and sometimes the urge."
-"i know," parker said, "but you haven't got the guts. besides, i'll behave myself." he looked intently at the young woman. "i just wanted to make certain they're real, that's all."
-"let's get out of here," compton suggested. "there must be some way we can get a message through to these people. perhaps someone in the village--"
-hinckley nodded and motioned them from the house. compton went eagerly, but parker lingered. the air outside seemed cooler now, and its freshness seemed strange after the pleasant fragrance inside the house.
-"go back to the ship," hinckley told parker. "compton and i'll go into the village."
-"i like it right here," parker said.
-"we might need someone at the ship," hinckley said. "that's an order." his hand caressed his rifle, as though daring parker to refuse.
-parker grinned contemptuously. "anything you say, captain. if you need any help, just yell." he turned away and walked toward the rocket.
-"someday i'm going to kill him," hinckley promised. he turned to compton. "c'mon, let's see what the village looks like."
-the village was a replica of the first hut, multiplied. some of the huts seemed to have specialized purposes as stores or warehouses, but otherwise it was the same. people sat in the houses, listening to music or watching moving pictures swarm over their hut walls. some occasionally ventured into the street. all of them ignored the earthmen.
-"i don't know what to make of it," hinckley said finally. "we can touch them and hear them; they appear normal in all respects, but they seem to be operating on a different level of existence."
-"i don't pretend to understand it," compton said, "but i have a feeling i don't like, whenever i think about it. i'd rather meet bug-eyed monsters than this."
-"i know what you mean," hinckley said. "these people even though they're humanoid, are out of contact with reality--at least with reality as we know it. it's like some kind of mass hypnosis, with everyone in a trance except us."
-"think of how helpless these people would be," compton said. "when we turn in our report, those who come out here with unhealthy designs won't have any opposition."
-"we have a prime example of that on board," hinckley said disgustedly. "we'd better get back to the ship; i don't like to leave parker alone; there's no telling what he'll do."
-when they got back parker wasn't there.
-"i was afraid of this," hinckley said between clenched teeth.
-"maybe they've done something to him," compton suggested nervously.
-"that's too much to hope for. chances are, it's the other way around. if i know parker, there's only one place he'll be. c'mon."
-clutching his rifle, hinckley ran from the rocket. compton followed, a bit more cautiously.
-hinckley reached the lone house and peered into the bluelit gloom. he entered, gun ready, compton at his heels.
-"he's not here," hinckley said, surprised.
-the man and the young woman sat on the couch and casually watched pictures move across the far wall. hinckley, looking at the pictures, was not at all certain they weren't the reality and the natives of this place merely ghost images that might fade at any moment.
-on the wall an empire was being formed. tall buildings were raised by machinery that was unfamiliar to the earthmen. aircraft flitted across the sky like strange black birds. the buildings towered, the flying machines dove, spitting needles that exploded into blossoms of fire, and the buildings toppled into dust. people ran, screaming soundless screams. columns of smoke rose to replace the buildings. the scene shifted. great weapons were assembled and heaped carelessly. to the heap were added the skycraft and other weapons of war. the pile exploded, and the people rejoiced, clasping hands, dancing. the walls darkened.
-actual or symbolic? hinckley wondered.
-"what does it mean?" compton asked him.
-"i think," hinckley said, "we've just been given a short history of their race. they built up a great society here, but a warring one. finally, they outlawed all weapons in order to save themselves from total destruction. we could probably take a lesson from that."
-"they'll probably be worse off when the earthmen come here," compton said. "even if they could see and hear us, they wouldn't have any weapons left to defend themselves. we could loot and rape and--"
-"i think we'd better forget this planet exists," hinckley said slowly. "if we don't report it, no one'll ever know. it's one planet in a million planets. if we say it's empty, they'll believe it and never bother to check."
-"but what about parker?"
-"yes," hinckley said in a disturbed tone. "parker. we've got to find him before he does anything he shouldn't. he must be in one of the huts. c'mon. you take one side of the village, i'll take the other. when we find him, we'll blast off."
-but they didn't find him. they searched through all the buildings, peered into all the faces.
-"i don't like it," compton said when they met. "the people may be helpless, but that doesn't mean everything on the planet is. we've got to get out of here while we've got the chance."
-"take it easy," hinckley advised. "we can't leave without parker. he's probably hiding someplace."
-"hoping we'll take off and leave him alone here. he'd be perfectly safe. he could take anything he wanted--food, drink, anything--and these people couldn't raise a finger to stop him; they wouldn't even know he was here, most likely. if i know parker that's what he'd want. he wouldn't care about the people as long as he satisfied himself."
-"we'll never find him," compton said. "there's a forest beyond the village. if he got into that, we could search for months and not find him."
-hinckley shrugged. "we've got to try."
-night came before they returned to the rocket.
-hinckley shook his head in the gathering darkness. "he could be anyplace out there, damn him."
-"let's get out of here," compton suggested again. "leave him here, if that's what he wants. let him do what he wants here; what difference does it make if the natives don't know what's happening?"
-hinckley's look was cold. "we'll wait until morning," he said. "if he isn't back by then, we'll leave."
-but the next morning, the rays of the alien sun found the white squatting houses silent; parker had not returned.
-hinckley turned on the outer loudspeaker. "parker," he said. the words crashed across the still village. "parker, this is hinckley. we're blasting off in five minutes. if you're not aboard, we're leaving without you."
-after a few minutes, compton said, "he's not coming. he's probably dead, and so will we be if we wait long enough."
-"more likely, he's ignoring us," hinckley said, consulting his watch. "he's got two minutes more."
-hinckley nodded. he switched on the rocket motors. deep within the spaceship a turbine growled; the growl rose to a whine.
-"i still don't like to leave him there. even though they don't know what's happening to them, i feel sorry for those people out there." he switched on the loudspeaker again. "parker," he said over it. "last chance. we're blasting off."
-"he's not coming," compton said shrilly, "he's not coming."
-hinckley touched a button. flaming rockets drove their fire in to the ground. the great spaceship shuddered, rose on a column of flame.
-"at last," compton sighed. "at last."
-"we'll have to come back, though," hinckley said. "i knew we'd have to turn in a report, and now i know we'll have to come back here to find parker, to jail him as a deserter, and perhaps worse. i hate to think of what'll happen to those people down there when the earthmen come."
-they looked into a viewscreen. below them, the planet dwindled and became nothing.
-from the edge of the forest, parker watched the spaceship rise into the sky and disappear. he chuckled contentedly. he had won the game of hide-and-seek, and the planet was his prize. earthmen always took what they could from newly discovered planets, only this time he would have first choice well ahead of any others. it would be months before an earth ship would arrive. but he could last that long easily. longer if necessary. during that time he could make up some story to account for his absence. they'd have to prove him a liar, and that would be difficult. any story he made up would certainly be no less fantastic than this planet certainly was.
-meanwhile, there were things to do.
-he took off his cumbersome spacesuit and left it in a clearing in the forest; he wouldn't need that for awhile, and it would only hamper him. he was in no mood to be delayed. there were a great many things to do, but first there was one special thing to do. there was a girl, he remembered, a young woman in a small hut at the other end of the village. he licked his lips in anticipation. there was a man with her, but there was nothing he could do--nothing at all. parker laughed loudly into the silence and trotted down the street.
-when he reached the other end of the village, he walked eagerly into the house. the girl sat on the couch. the man stood nearby. the walls were unmoving and the blue fire cast a cold light about the room. the earthman sat down beside the girl, and his hands reached out, unhesitating.
-but suddenly the man said something in an alien tongue, a sound that was like a whiplash, angry and bitter.
-parker felt his throat tighten. "what?" he said. "what?"
-he looked up into eyes alive with hate. no, that was impossible. it was only imagination. only imagination, yet for a moment--he laughed guiltily--he'd thought the man was looking directly at him.
-the man had taken a long silver knife from beneath his robe, and he held it in his hands so that its blade reflected the cold blue fire. his face was a mask, not pleasant to see. and he was looking at the earthman, seeing him, watching him, hating him.
-a sudden flash of understanding came. these people had known all the time. they stayed indoors in dim light to enhance the illusion and watch with greater secrecy, so that the movement of eyes would not betray them--and they had waited. for what?
-parker leaped up with a hoarse cry and ran, not waiting to find out. he was in the doorway when the silver knife caught him and slid easily between his ribs and released the breath of life that lay hidden there. before he struck the ground, he was a shell, with neither fear nor desire to trouble him.
-for a long moment afterward, the man stood over the still body, looking down at it with a mixture of hate and disgust. the girl joined him. he looked at her and then at the sky.
-"we must learn to make weapons again," he told her. "these creatures will be back, unsuspecting, thinking us helpless. next time, we must be ready!"
-without ceremony, they buried the earthman's body and then met others of their kind coming into the village streets. there was work to do.
-pee-wee harris in luck
-by percy keese fitzhugh
-author of the tom slade books the roy blakeley books the pee-wee harris books
-illustrated by h. s. barbour
-published with the approval of the boy scouts of america
-grosset & dunlap publishers : : new york
-made in the united states of america
-copyright, 1922, by grosset & dunlap
-i the art of choosing ii “they’re off” iii some doings iv action v pals vi the woods trail vii the hero viii pee-wee goes to it ix a vision of splendor x another vision of splendor xi hope triumphant xii deserted xiii hope advances against snailsdale xiv forward, march! xv handling the crowd xvi the milky way falls down xvii the last sally xviii chaos and confusion xix going down xx in the fog xxi every which way xxii at the cross-road xxiii en route xxiv side-tracked xxv pee-wee’s luck xxvi the two perfectly lovely fellows xxvii the last laugh xxviii the outsider xxix three of a kind xxx as luck would have it xxxi the third house xxxii marooned xxxiii in the dead of the night xxxiv the clue xxxv pee-wee, scout xxxvi the last destination
-pee-wee harris in luck
-the art of choosing
-whenever pee-wee harris was given the choice of two desserts he invariably chose both. this policy, which eliminated all possibility of vain regrets, had worked so well that he applied it on all occasions where a difficult choice was involved, on the wise principle that if he took everything he would not lose much.
-thus, when the sunday school picnic with its ice cream and cake conflicted with the troops’ hike, pee-wee saved the day and much of the ice cream by proposing that they hike to the scene of the picnic.
-his greatest triumph of maneuvering, however, was when he “foiled” father time by means of the daylight saving law. on that memorable occasion he set the hands of the kitchen clock back an hour which enabled him to have supper home at six o’clock and also to reach the scout rally at north bridgeboro at six o’clock, where he partook of a second supper, including a helping of plum pudding—and a helping of apple pie. thus, he solved the problem of being in two places at the same time at meal-time. a scout is resourceful.
-pee-wee never had to pause and consider which thing he preferred, since he preferred all things. the place that he liked best to go was everywhere. the thing that he liked best to do was everything. broadly speaking, the thing which he liked best to eat was food. and speaking more particularly the food that he liked best was dessert. but it might be said that he ate everything; adventures, hairbreadth escapes, colossal enterprises, dark mysteries—he ate them alive.
-so it befell that when pee-wee’s mother offered him the choice of going to temple camp or accompanying her into the mountains where she hoped to rest, he announced that he would go to the mountains first and to temple camp afterward. he did not specify how long he would remain in the mountains, but he assured his mother that temple camp and the mountains would be a moderate mouthful for one summer.
-“i’m afraid it is very quiet up there,” said mrs. harris warningly.
-“gee whiz, i’ll show them how to make a noise,” pee-wee assured her. “i can multiply my voice three times. do you want to know how?”
-“i’d rather hear you subtract it,” said pee-wee’s mother.
-“do you want to know how?” he persisted.
-“tell me but don’t show me,” she said.
-“you do it with echoes,” pee-wee said; “it’s a scout stunt. i bet you couldn’t do it. gee whiz, you say it’s quiet up there; i bet i can make those mountains talk. if i shout at a mountain that’s facing another mountain they’ll both answer; that makes three voices. only i have to shout good and loud; i have to yell. see? all i need is a lot of lonely mountains. the quieter it is up there the more noise i can make. see? i might even make four of them shout.”
-the vision of pee-wee acting as a sort of orchestral leader to a range of mountains rather appalled his mother, but she said with a gentle smile as was her wont, “i’m afraid the place is very quiet and lonely, and such pleasure as you have you will have to make for yourself. i don’t want you to be restless and disappointed when you get there. it isn’t at all like temple camp, you know.”
-“have they got a windmill?” pee-wee demanded vociferously.
-“i don’t know, i’m sure.”
-“because i know how to put a riot-rattle in a windmill so it will make a lot of noise; it’s a scout trick. i can show them how to churn milk with a vacuum cleaner, too.”
-“i don’t believe they have any vacuum cleaners up there, dearie,” mrs. harris said, reaching for a letter that lay on her dresser. “let me read you what the letter says.”
-the letter was written on cheap lined stationery, dignified by a rubber stamp heading which read,
-the writing was shaky and crude and evidently the result of much laborious care. it read as follows:
-respectibly asa goodale.
-“i’m afraid they haven’t even a rural mail delivery,” said mrs. harris. “your uncle charlie, who went up for the hunting several years ago, said that the only living things he saw up there were mr. and mrs. goodale, their son, a team of oxen, several cows, and a woodchuck. and he thinks the woodchuck has since moved away. i suppose they have chickens. i don’t know how old mr. goodale’s son is.”
-“sure, i’ll go,” pee-wee announced conclusively, “because anyway one thing scouts hate and that is civilization. and anyway i bet that woodchuck didn’t move away at all, because woodchucks have back entrances under stone walls and scouts know where to look for them; gee whiz, no woodchuck can fool me. i bet there are skunks up there, too, and lots of other peachy things; i can tell by deduction,”
-“well, he doesn’t give any skunk as a reference,” smiled mrs. harris; “i’m afraid you’ll find it very quiet and dull.”
-“if you’re a scout you can make your own noise,” pee-wee said; “you don’t have to depend on noises, just the same as you can always make the forest yield food. you can eat fungus even.”
-“well, i think fresh milk will be better than fungus,” said mrs. harris.
-“fungus is all right to eat and so is moss,” pee-wee said. “that shows how much you know about scouting. you can even eat ground-worms, if you’re a scout.”
-“gracious heavens!” said pee-wee’s mother.
-the snailsdale branch of the drerie railroad went through the loneliest country that pee-wee had ever seen. leaving the main line at woodsend junction, the train of two musty, dilapidated, old cars lurched and rattled along like an old hay wagon.
-the engineer and the conductor were all there was to the train crew and there was a pleasant air of family familiarity between them and the few lounging passengers bound for snailsdale manor, all calling each other by their first names.
-the engineer, glancing backward, shot remarks about the crops to the occupants of the baggage compartment who were playing checkers on a milk can. he wore old-fashioned spectacles, did this engineer, and he looked over the top of them along the track like a stern schoolmaster. his very look was enough to frighten away any cow that had ever attended school. the conductor’s name was evidently hink, and from the trend of the talk it appeared that his cow was capable of some speed, if his train was not for she had escaped the day before and had not yet returned. he told every one about this.
-there were two stations, or rather sheds along this line, at which the train stopped, but no one got on or off. the ghosts of former passengers or loiterers were to be seen, however, in the form of carved initials which literally covered these makeshift shelters. across the end of each of these sheds was a large sign, quite disproportionate to the modest edifice, giving the name of the station. the signs looked garish enough on these board shelters for they were of the regulation size and pattern used for such purpose from one end of the drerie railroad to the other. thus hickson crossing was as great as jersey city (if that were possible), at least so far as its flaunting sign was concerned. the other station was hawley’s. the sign did not say hawley’s what; it just said hawley’s. there did not seem to be anything about for hawley to own.
-one would say that it would be quite impossible for any village, or neighborhood, or cross-road, to have less of a station than these two. yet the neighborhood of goodale manor farm beat them in this, for it had just no station at all. it is true that a road crossed the track and that half a mile of travel over this road brought one to the farm, but the train never stopped at this road. it kept going, after a fashion, and did not stop till it reached snailsdale manor.
-beyond snailsdale manor lay snailsdale glen, then north snailsdale, where there was a tannery, three houses and a turntable. here the engineer turned around while hink turned the seat-backs over and the train was ready to return to woodsend junction. posted on the side of this busy terminal was a list of two names called to service by the draft. those rural heroes had gone and served, and in the interim the single locomotive had ridden upon its drowsy carousal, how many times?
-but the two names were still posted there at the station.
-snailsdale manor had a real station, as befitted a town of five thousand people. it had all modern improvements, including a tin water cooler and a posting board with a three-year-old time-table tacked on it.
-posted here also was an announcement which attracted pee-wee’s attention. he was sagacious enough to read the date first of all to make sure that the magnificent affair advertised had not already taken place, for the announcement might have pertained to some gala celebration of a prehistoric age.
-old home week at snailsdale manor! come one come all saturday, july 10th, 1921. gorgeous parade fireworks at night. come everybody!
-pee-wee read this announcement while he and his mother waited for mr. goodale.
-now if there was one thing more than another dear to the heart of scout harris it was a parade. not that such an affair constituted anything in the way of a novelty in his young life, for indeed his whole career was one grand, triumphal procession. when he walked down the street it was a parade. when he went to scout meeting in his full regalia, including his aluminum cooking set, it was a veritable pageant. some said that pee-wee was more than a parade, that he was a circus.
-be that as it might, there was nothing, excepting a fire, which pee-wee so adored as a parade. and he contemplated this announcement with thrilling anticipations.
-“i’m going to be there,” he said to his mother; “i’m going to be in it. i’m going to be in the fireworks, too.”
-exactly how he meant to be “in” the fireworks he did not explain, but perhaps he expected his propensity for going up in the air to help him in that particular. he was presently to give a demonstration of his proficiency in aerial flight, for he heard a voice close behind him say:
-“you can’t be in it because you don’t belong here. you’re waiting for farmer goodale, and his place is seven miles from here, and there aren’t any people there anyway, and he only has one horse. they’re asleep down there, only they haven’t got sense enough to lie down.”
-pee-wee turned and beheld a boy of about fifteen, wearing a regulation suit and regulation straw hat and a regulation scarf and white collar, and a regulation handkerchief nattily folded in the regulation way and projecting out of his breast pocket. he presented a singular contrast to pee-wee, who was in scout negligee, his broad-brimmed hat far enough back on his head to expose his curly hair, the raven patrol scarf tied loosely about his neck, with a compass as big as a watch dangling from the knotted ends of it.
-“do you think i can’t find my way from mr. goodale’s?” he demanded, as if that were the only condition of participating officially in the festivities. “lots of times i’ve been as far as fifty miles from civilization and i can always find my way. i bet you’re not a scout.”
-“i wouldn’t be one,” said the youth.
-“maybe you couldn’t,” pee-wee retorted, “because you’re kind of civilized. gee whiz, i used to be that way, but you don’t have any fun. i bet you hang around the post office waiting for mail. i can tell by looking at you, but we don’t bother with mail, because we write on birch bark.”
-“i wouldn’t spoil my fountain pen writing on birch bark,” said the civilized youth.
-“that shows how much you know about scouts!” pee-wee said with withering scorn. “fountain pens are no good; you’re supposed to write with charred wood. if you’re mad you can use beet juice for ink, because that’s red and it means anger; only scouts don’t get mad,” he added cautiously.
-“what’s your name?” the stranger asked, contemplating pee-wee curiously.
-“do you live here?”
-“do you think i’d live in a place like this? no, i board here. but it’s better than where you’re going. that’s away, way off in the woods and there’s nobody there and it’s too far to walk—”
-“you mean hike,” pee-wee said.
-“anyway, you won’t have any fun down there,” said master braggen consolingly; “but you couldn’t get into our hotel, because it’s full and all the places here are full and we’re going to have a big tennis tournament next week and our hotel is going to win it because two fellows from hydome university are coming to our hotel and they’re champions. you can come and see the tournament but you can’t be in the and then she had been a bride of an hour—and now she was a widow of an hour. she caught herself blushing, was confused, felt eyes upon her: the carriage seemed full of eyes. for a while, she continued to watch, to watch through the mist in her own eyes—and then she turned suddenly in her place, opened her novel and read diligently in it until the train, stopping at taunton, showed her that the place of dangerous memories was past.
-she would not allow her thoughts to recur to that curious little drama of the mind: in fact, she worked hard to avoid the temptation. she abandoned her novel, opened her purse, and did her accounts. she made lists of necessary purchases, and began to post up the diary with which she had provided herself.
-when she reached exeter she stepped out—miss mary middleham. her bag bore a label to that effect.
-xvii first flight
-mrs. merritt who had been housekeeper to the late canon blackrod and now let lodgings in a house of her own, was amiable, and by the possession of that quality was able to keep her curiosity within bounds: but it was her daughter polly, a devon maid of apple cheeks and sloe-black eyes, who taught her enthusiasm for her lodger. polly merritt adored the quiet and pretty young lady who, though she wore such beautiful clothes, gave herself none of the airs which were clearly within her rights; who would wash her own blouses, trim her own hats, or sit below-stairs chatting affably, while she trimmed one for polly herself. in such familiar intercourse all the necessary safeguards of landladies were proved to be secure. miss middleham, it seemed, was an orphan, by profession a teacher of languages, who had found it necessary to leave her london employment to escape a gentleman’s attentions. most reasonable, most proper. the gentleman was one indeed, highly connected, in fact, cousin of an honourable; but impecunious and not very steady. girls who are orphans must look after themselves: there had been nothing for it but flight. admirable forethought! nothing, certainly, but praise could be given to miss middleham for conduct so discreet.
-“it’ll bring him round, miss, depend upon it,” mrs. merritt had considered. “it’ll make him look nine ways. as good as a slap in the face, any day.”
-“better, i hope,” mary said.
-“some of ’em wants one thing, some another, miss. let him know that you’re in earnest, whatever you do.”
-“i am quite in earnest, mrs. merritt,” mary told her; “and i think i have made that plain.”
-“did you tell him so, or write it, miss?” polly must ask. “writing’s better—but it’s dull work.”
-“i have done both, polly. he doesn’t know where i am. i made it quite clear to him that he could not.”
-mrs. merritt, having observed her guest, passed the back of her hand rapidly across her nose. “to be sure you could, miss. it’s easy to be seen that god almighty never gave you that pair of eyes for nothing. to call a man, or send him about his business—ah, i’ll warrant you.”
-“poor fellow,” mused the tender polly. “i pity him.”
-in private conversation afterwards mrs. merritt assured her daughter that she need not. we should have the young gentleman here before the swallows were away: let polly mark her words. our young lady was a snug young lady—that was a certainty. she was not a girl who would go without letters of a morning for long together. letters! that sort live on ’em, as a man on his eleven o’clock beer. no, no. she was used to company, any one could see. she was meant to be somebody’s darling. how else did she get her pretty ways—and why to goodness wear her pretty frocks, but for that? meantime, she had been used to the best, you could see; and she should have it here.
-what mrs. merritt, however, did not know, and polly did know, was that another gentleman stood in the background. here lay the root of polly’s passionate interest in her friend: a constant appeal to her imagination and judgment and wonder. a gentleman was to be expected; there was always a gentleman. but two gentlemen! one more gentleman, and polly might have felt the responsibilities of paris. in fact, she did feel them as things were.
-mary had come to exeter, meaning no more than a passage-bird’s rest there—a night or two, and away. her cottage at the land’s end, solitary vigil face to face with the sea and the rocks, tending of the hidden garden there, a waiting and watching—and a great reward: that had been her fixed intent. nothing seemed to be in the way. she was free as air: why should she wait?
-it is very odd, though, how you cannot carry through these hot-blood thoughts in the cold blood. that momentary shyness which had come upon her in the train, when she had caught herself looking out for a remembered village-green and had been abashed, came upon her the moment she began to think of cornwall with a view to going there. she found herself trembling, found herself delaying, drawing back. had she been her old self, never sought and never mated, in this tremulous plight she had remained; but she had learned to face such difficulties, and did not shirk it. the more she thought of it the plainer it became that she could not have the cottage, could not sit down there and wait for senhouse. virgin as she was, and virginal as she was now become again, the picture of herself in such an attitude, and in such an act, filled her with shame. and if to picture it was dreadful, what would the day-long reality be but unendurable? but where, then, was her sense of comradeship, of perfect amity between him and her? she did not know. it was gone. and what would he—wondrous, clear-seeing friend—say to her for this prudery? that she did know: she could see him appeal for laughter to the skies. alas, it could not be helped. she was a maiden, therefore might be wooed. she was a maiden, therefore could not go a-wooing. so he and she might never meet again! better so—oh, infinitely better—than that they should meet by her act.
-thus it was that polly merritt came to learn about the other gentleman. mary’s perplexities had been stated, and polly was thrilled.
-“oh, miss! and he’s never spoken?”
-“no,” said mary. “at least—not about that.”
-“what was the nearest he ever got to?”
-mary looked wise. “he told me to go away, once.”
-“he did! why were you to go then?”
-“because—oh, because he could see, i suppose, that i didn’t want to; and——”
-“because—i sometimes fancy—he didn’t want me to. at least, i think he didn’t. he said, ‘you had better go home. i’m a man, you know.’”
-polly opened her eyes wide. “that’s as plain as my nose. i should think so! so, of course——”
-“yes, of course i had to go.” she looked down at her toes, just as if senhouse had been standing above her, bidding her go.
-“i dream sometimes,” she said, “that he comes to me in the night, and looks at me—never speaks, but just looks. not at me, you know, but through me—right through to the pillow. that’s enough. then he turns and goes away, and i follow him out of door, into the warm dark—and he turns sharply upon me and is dreadfully angry. i’ve never known him angry; but dreams are like that. i see his face quite changed—wild and cold at once, and terribly stern. and i run away into the empty house, and wish that i were dead. no, no. i could never bear that—to seek him and be spurned. i would sooner never see him again.”
-polly was deeply moved, but practical. a girl must look ahead—far beyond dreams. “you had best not, miss,” she said, “if that’s likely to be the way of it. is he that sort—your hot-and-cold?”
-“oh, i don’t know—how can i tell? that has never been between us, save that once, when he told me to go away. he’s a wonderful talker about all sorts of things; he can make them all extraordinary. i feel, after listening to him, that i understand all life, all experience. everything seems reasonable. but when it comes to—us—he won’t speak. i believe he can’t. and i understand him better when he doesn’t.”
-“so would any one, i should think,” said polly merritt. “but how’s he going to look at you if he never sees you, and don’t know where you are?”
-“ah,” said mary with far-sighted eyes, “i don’t know.”
-“you might write to him, i suppose—and slip in your address, by accident like.”
-mary shook her head. “i couldn’t. besides, he has no address. he just comes and goes—like the wind.”
-“has he no house of his own?”
-“no. he lives in a tent—in a cart.”
-“what! like a gipsy? oh, miss!” this would never, never do.
-but mary admitted it, thoughtfully. “yes. i think he might be a sort of gipsy.”
-this, to polly, was final. “i do think you’re better here, miss middleham, if you’ll excuse me.”
-“perhaps i am,” said mary.
-polly had veered. “i’ll warrant the other gentleman would have a house to offer you.”
-“oh, yes, i suppose so. but——”
-“ah, that’s just it—that’s just it.”
-mary admitted it. “i suppose it is. but he says that he will never marry. he doesn’t believe in marriage.”
-“ho, indeed!” cried polly. “then pray what does he believe in?”
-“i don’t know. i’m not sure.”
-polly tossed her young head. “it wouldn’t take long for me to be sure.”
-then mary showed her face, and her eyes shone clear. “i am sure of this, that if he called me i should follow him over the world, however he chose me to be. but i know he never will. he is unlike anybody else—he comes and goes like the wind.”
-“let him, for me,” said polly, “’specially when he’s going.”
-the summer waned and fainted; autumn mists crept about, and found her still in exeter. pupils came slowly, but she got one or two, and there was promise of more. the vicar of the parish helped her. she taught in his sunday school, did him some visiting, danced with his boys and sang with his girls. through him she got an engagement in september, in a young ladies’ academy—to teach italian two days a week. she got to know a few people. there was a gentlemanly young man called bloxam, who escorted her home from choral evenings; then there was a curate—quod semper, quod ubique—who lent her books and professed himself ready to discuss them afterwards, by correspondence or otherwise.
-these things faintly amused her; the simplicity of such devices, for instance, the little buildings-up of the little architects! she felt herself, ruefully, slipping back into the parochial, losing touch with her wide horizons. the tonic properties of freedom, which at first had been as delightful as the mere ease of it, were now staling by use. she began to find herself grow dull. the one fact upon which she could build was that she was again earning her living.
-xviii enter a bird-catcher
-october was in, mild and languorous; the trees dripped all day, the mist seemed unable to lift itself from the low-lying city. mary grew restless and discontented. the usual things happened, but had ceased to entertain. mr. bloxam, after taking her for excursions by water, had one day proposed that she should take tea with his people, prosperous hucksters in the town. she agreed—to find out very soon that she was on exhibition, on approval, you might say. mrs. bloxam, the mother, addressed her particular inquiries, mr. bloxam, the father, gave her a carnation out of the conservatory. shortly afterwards mr. bloxam, the son, made her another proposition, and was exceedingly surprised that she did not jump at it. can such things be? he inquired, looking about. she had shaken her head at him very gently when she told him that really she couldn’t. it was charmingly done, with kindness, but complete finality. that he saw.
-he told her that his heart was broken, that she saw before her a man beaten down. “it is dreadful,” he said. “my mother liked you so much. she is hard to please. i suppose you wouldn’t care to think it over?”
-again she shook her head. a mr. bloxam of exeter! if he only knew, or could be made to know! “no, no,” she said. “i sha’n’t alter. but i hope we are not to be bad friends.”
-mr. bloxam had bowed, and said, “i should be most happy”—and one sees what he meant. “my mother, you know, won’t like it. naturally she is partial. she will say that you led me on.”
-“then she will say what is very untrue,” cried mary, with flashing eyes, “and i hope you will tell her so. it is very hard if i may not have friends without being accused of ridiculous things.”
-“girls do them, you know,” said mr. bloxam dubiously. “i’ve met with several cases.”
-“if you are likely to include this among them, i must ask you to let me go,” she said with spirit; “but perhaps you would like to give me some tea first.”
-mr. bloxam, murmuring about the sacred rites of hospitality, assured her that he would; and they parted on good terms. he told her that he intended to travel; and indeed he did afterwards go to weston-super-mare for a month.
-the unfortunate but absurd episode taught her to be circumspect with the literary curate. he, however, was of a more cautious temperament, and went away for his holiday with no more pronounced symptom than a promise to send her picture postcards from the cathedral cities which he purposed visiting. “you may like to have these afterwards,” he darkly said, and then took himself away on a bicycle.
-the year was come to a critical point for her. about this time halfway house would be plodding its way to the west, its owner, loose-limbed and leisurely, smoking on the tilt. almost any day now it might pass by exeter, or through it; almost any day she might come plump upon it—and what was to happen to her then? could she endure the year’s round, or know him by her cornish sea, in her white cottage on the cliff, and stay here nursing her wound, feeling the throb and the ache? it seemed impossible—and yet women do such things. it was almost the worst of her plight that she knew she could do it. it was in her blood to do it. the poor were like that: dumb beasts.
-and now the delicacy which she had felt at first, and which had kept her away from land’s end, became a tyrant, as the temptations grew upon her. it prevented her riding afield by any road leading into exeter from the east. she had a bicycle; more, she had a certain way of bringing him directly to her side. he had taught her. the patteran. but no! she couldn’t. so she worked on doggedly, with the fret and fever in her bones; and day by day october slipped into november; the days slipped off as the wet leaves fell.
-early in november, on a day of sunny weather, polly merritt announced a visitor, who followed her immediately into the room, his straw hat under his left arm, his right hand held out.
-“a gentleman to see miss middleham, if you please,” says polly merritt, and mary had sprung up, with her hand to her side.
-“it’s the tall one, mother, not the windy one,” was explained in the kitchen, but mrs. merritt, sniffing, had declared they were all the same.
-“i don’t know anything about that,” said polly. “but this gentleman talks like asking and having, if you want my opinion.”
-the riot in her breast was betrayed by her shining eyes and the quick flood of colour from neck to brows; but he played the man of the world so well that she was able to recover herself.
-he made his excuses for breaking in upon her. he had been going through exeter in any case. it was hardly to be resisted, she would allow. he owned that horace wing had given him the clue. “poor horace, you hurt him. it took two months’ hard talking in town and at least a month of surmise in scotland before horace could find strength enough to own up to the fact that he had met you, that you had bowed—and bolted. he mentioned it with tears in his eyes, as an extreme case. he had heard you book to exeter—second single.” then he looked at her and smiled. “but why miss middleham?”
-“why not?” she echoed him bravely. “i had to be somebody.”
-“weren’t you person enough?”
-“ah, yes, i was too much of a person, i was almost a personage. i was never happy in that disguise. my clothes never fitted me.”
-“you should let other people judge of that. if you would like my opinion of your clothes, for instance——”
-she shook her head, without speaking. he tried a more direct attack.
-“you forgive me for coming?”
-she suspected a tenderness. “oh, it is very kind of you. i don’t have many visitors. i am glad to see you.”
-“that’s good. may i see you again, then, while i can?”
-she inquired: “are you likely to be here long?”
-a light hand was necessary now. “oh, dear no—unfortunately. a day or two at the outside; time to buy cartridges. you remember the ogmores? i am due at wraybrook on the seventh. pheasants. but until then——”
-this was the fourth, you see. he would be horribly in the way. “i am occupied a good part of the day,” she told him. “i have pupils.”
-he raised his eyebrows. “really! have you—” he flushed, and leaned forward. “have you renounced your——?”
-“not in so many words,” she said. “i have simply dropped it. nobody knows where i am.”
-“you knew that i had formally renounced mine?”
-she had not known that. there was an implication in it—which she had run here to avoid; and here it was. “did you?” she said shortly. “i’m not surprised.”
-she looked at him for a moment. “of course i am pleased. i always wanted you to succeed.”
-he rattled on. she had never seen him in such good spirits or manners. when he left her after an hour she was quite at her ease. he said that, if he might, he would come in the evening, and take her for a walk. it would do her good; and as for him she might have pity upon a fellow at a loose end, with nothing on earth to do but buy cartridges.
-she struggled. at three o’clock in the afternoon she told polly merritt that if the gentleman called again he was to be told that miss middleham was not well and had gone to bed. polly wondered, but obeyed. “lovers’ tricks!” quoth mrs. merritt. “that’ll bring him to the scratch.” it did. he received the news at the door, with an impassive face—all but for his eyes, which, keen and coldly blue, pierced polly’s sloe-blacks to the brain, and extracted what might be useful to him. “many thanks, miss polly,” he had said presently. “you’re a good friend, i see. look here, i’ll tell you what to do. i’ll bring some flowers round presently, and you shall put ’em in her room, and say nothing about it. do you see?” polly saw.
-the next day was a busy one for her, and she saw nothing of tristram until the evening. then, to her dismay, she found him waiting for her outside the gates of rosemount academy, where her italian lesson had been given. if she bit her lip, she blushed also; and if he remarked but one of these signals it was not her fault. cavaliers had attended at those gates before—not for her only, but for her among others. such a cavalier, however, so evidently of the great world, had never yet been looked upon by the young ladies of rosemount.
-“oh,” cried mary, startled, “who told you——?”
-“your amiable friend, miss polly, betrayed you. i hope you’ll forgive her.”
-“i suppose i must. probably you frightened her out of her wits.” but he swore that they were very good friends indeed. he thought that miss polly liked him, upon his word; and mary could not deny that. polly undoubtedly did.
-his admirable behaviour inspired confidence; inquiries after her health, no reference to ambiguous exotics, no assumptions, no plans for evening walks. he went with her to her door, and left her there with a salute. but before she could get in, while she stood with her hand on the knocker, as if by an after-thought he came back to her from the gate. jess had summoned him to wraybrook, he said. he knew that there was something to tell her. positively he must go the day after to-morrow. now, was she free to-morrow?
-she was; but she hesitated to say so. well, then, would she give him a great pleasure? would she come with him to powderham—explore the park and the shore, have a picnic luncheon and all that sort of thing? would she? as he stood down there below her, with flushed face and smiling, obsequious eyes, she thought that she really might trust herself, if not him. polly, opening the door, was nodded to, and told that she need not wait. polly needed no telling.
-“come, mrs. mary,” he urged her, “what do you say? will you let me look after you for this once? will you please to remember that never once since we have known each other—how many years?—have we had a whole day together? extraordinary fact.”
-“it’s quite true,” she reflected, “we never have. once we very nearly did, though.”
-“twice,” he corrected her; but she could not admit that. well, which was her instance?
-it was long ago, when she had been at misperton—had been some six months there. one midsummer day—surely he remembered! he had promised to take her to glastonbury; the dog-cart was to meet them at clewgate station——
-“ah, yes,” he cried—“and i called for you—and you were ready—in a brown holland frock——”
-“had i a brown holland? i remember that i was quite ready. and then a note came down from mrs. james——”
-“beloved mrs. james——”
-“and you pretended to be angry——”
-“pretended! oh, my dearest friend—i swore.”
-“i know you did. and i——”
-“you pretended to cry——”
-“no, no, there was no pretence. i did cry.”
-“mary,” he said, “why did you cry?”
-she recovered herself. “because i was very young, and very stupid.”
-“now for my instance,” he said. “not so very long ago, you were to go to blackheath—by train; and i went to charing cross station.” but, with a flaming face, and real trouble in her eyes, she stopped him.
-“please, don’t—you hurt me. i think that you forget.”
-he begged her pardon so sincerely that she could not refuse the morrow’s appointment.
-they met at the station—she in a straw hat and linen frock—for the weather was wonderful; he in flannels. the perils of adventure glittered in her eyes; he played the courtier, sure now of his game. she begged for third-class tickets, but he compromised for second—and flagrantly bribed the guard to keep the carriage. it was impossible that she should avoid the knowledge that she was practically in possession—impossible that she should not see the approving smiles of the bystanders. “a pretty girl and her sweetheart”; simple comedy, of never-ending charm. abhorrent to the senhouses of this world, but not to be extirpated until birnam come to dunsinane.
-softly the knowledge brooded upon her, softly virginal she sat, very much aware. the epicure returned to master tristram, who by a whisper could have had her, but refrained. he sat by her, but respectfully—he discoursed at large. powderham castle—he spoke of that. it was a pity that the fine place could not be seen; but the courteneys had let it, and he didn’t know the people. it was full, he happened to have heard. he believed that bramleigh was staying there. he forgot if she knew bramleigh; a quaint little man. but probably she wouldn’t want to be bothered with a lot of people; so they must be contented with the park. thus tristram discoursed; and at his discretion sat she, saying little, looking at him never, heeding every shade of inflection, and every hair’s breadth of movement of his. they reached the station; he helped her to descend.
-all seemed well with tristram’s wooing. his lady was in a pensive mood, softly receptive of his implications. the temptation to paint in bolder masses was not resisted, nor that more subtle form of art—the silent art. speechless they loitered together; and sometimes their hands touched, and sometimes he hovered over her, as if protecting her with wings. her eyes were veiled; she appeared sleek as a dove under his hand. once he breathed her name—“mary, oh, mary—”; but he saw her shiver and stiffen, and knew that she was still to be won. so be it! but he could not give over the delicious chase. to have her thus wide-eyed, quivering, straining beside him—like a greyhound taut at his leash; he was beside himself with longing, and like a fool gave way.
-“my dearest—” he began, but she checked him with a fierce cry—“no, no!—not that—” and though he could see nothing but the sharp outline of her cheek and chin he knew that she was watching something. he looked about him vaguely. what on earth—? the sea—a narrow strip of blue tumbling water, spuming where it touched the yellow sands—the flecked, pale sky—the gorse—larks above it—in a far corner a gipsy’s tent, and a white horse foraging—. what on earth—?
-he drew back. she seemed to start forwards as if to escape from him—but then she turned suddenly, and he saw that she was pale, that she trembled, and that there was real trouble in her eyes.
-“i am tired,” she said, “very tired. may we go home now?”
-“of course—what a brute i am. but i thought that you— won’t you tell me what has tired you all at once?”
-“i don’t know—it came over me—suddenly. but i do want to go home, please—immediately.” her eyes were full—brimming. he was touched.
-“come then, we’ll go to the station. it’s no great distance. unless you would rather sit——”
-“oh, no, i couldn’t possibly! no, no, indeed, i must go home. my head aches dreadfully. i think a sunstroke—perhaps. i can hardly stand up——”
-he saw that that was true. “come,” he said, “take my arm. we’ll go at once.”
-when they had turned back she seemed to recover. she walked, at any rate, as fast as he did—set the pace. but she would not talk any more. in the train she sat apart, looking out of the window—and after a time he let her alone.
-at exeter when he put her in the fly and would have followed her, she put her hand on his arm. “please don’t come with me. i shall be myself directly. i beg you not to come. and don’t think me ungrateful—indeed, you have been kindness itself. i’m very much ashamed of myself——”
-“i’ll see you to-morrow—to say good-bye. you will let me do that? i must know how you are, you see.”
-“yes—come to-morrow if you will. good-bye. i am much better. i shall be quite well. but come, of course, if you had rather.”
-“of course i shall come.” he lifted his hat, bowed, and turned away. she watched him walk towards his hotel. then, with a face of flame, she turned to her own affair.
-she stayed the fly at the door, paid the man, and watched him turn and go galloping down the hill. then she turned to her affair—across exeter it took her, to the honiton road.
-she walked the whole way, some two miles out of the city, beyond the suburbs to where the open country began. and here she laid her patteran, with branches of crimson maple, torn from the sunny side of the hedge. at the corners of two by-roads she laid them—one to the south, one to the north. not satisfied with that, she went north herself to the cullompton road, and laid two patterans more. her cheeks burned like fire, and in her heart was a bitter pain; she felt that she had unsexed herself, was bedraggled and bemired. but her need had racked her—you can’t blame the wretch writhing there if he call upon his god.
-xix heartache and the philosopher
-the outlook was a bad one. he tried to paint, and smeared out everything he tried; to write, and had nothing to say. he slept badly. and yet he could not leave the north; for he had an appointment in october which would take him to penrith. a learned man from baden was coming out to meet him, with proposals in his pocket of grand ducal dimensions; two years’ plant-hunting in the caucasus, and three years’ gardening—with the schwarzwald for his garden. so far the grand ducal government was prepared to go upon report. the thing had been a year coming to a head, for senhouse was a difficult man to inoculate with other people’s ideas; but to such a head it was now brought, and he felt that, whatever else he did, he must by all means meet herr doktor löffner.
-what was he to do, then, between june and october? characteristically, with the south calling him, he went north. he shipped at leith and went to iceland with bingo and a saddle-bag for all his luggage. he traversed that island from end to end; and though he could not tire himself, he got his sleeping powers back, began to paint and to believe in his painting, to botanize and to be sure it was worth while. he knew next to nothing of danish, and was driven in upon himself for company. upon that fare he throve. he moped no more, forgot mary for whole hours together, and believed himself cured. in september he returned to leith and went afoot down to penrith to meet the herr doktor.
-their greeting was cordial. “oh, man of silences, oh, thou unlettered one, do i find thee in truth?”
-“my dear doctor löffner, you do indeed. come into the yard and i’ll show you some things worth having.”
-“where have you been, my friend?”
-“iceland! ach, then you haf—? no, you haf not—? never in the worlt!”
-“i’m not sure. but i rather think that i have.” what he had was some earth and broken limestone in a sponge-bag—so far as could be seen. but there was enough beside to occupy the pair of them until dinner. before that meal was ready the doctor had fallen weeping on senhouse’s neck, had clasped him to his breast. “thou hast it—thou hast it—oh, wonder-child!”—and then, as he wiped the dew from his glasses, with a startling lapse into idiom—“i say! dot was cholly.”
-the dinner was very gay; bingo had an indigestion.
-next morning, the great man was taken out and about to view the various fields of tillage; the ledge where calochortus had been fair in mary’s eyes, the larkspur slope, and what could be done with alpines upon a cumberland moraine. he was more than amazed, he was convinced. “you are chust the man for us. we pick you up cheap, i consider, for ten thousand mark.” senhouse was not concerned to affirm or deny; but he insisted upon it that he was selling his liberty very cheaply indeed. “and i wouldn’t do it, you know, for a hundred thousand,” he said, “if it weren’t for the two years in the caucasus. you have me there, i own. i’ve hungered after that for years, and now i’ll take it as it comes to me. there must be irises there which neither leichtlin nor korolkov have spotted—i’m certain of it.”
-“and you are the man to spod them,” said herr löffner with deep feeling. “bod, mind you, we haf them wid you in schwarzwald.”
-“honour among thieves,” said senhouse. “depend upon me.”
-herr löffner passed by the proposal that he should be taken to the dukeries to see the cyclamen, or to wales for the peonies, or to cornwall for the ramondias; but he could not resist the promise of syrian irises growing wild on dartmoor. that he must see before he died; and he would take kew and necessary business there on the way. agreed; they would start in the morning by the express from carlisle.
-this they did; löffner, senhouse, and bingo journeyed to london, and put up at the grand hotel, which was chosen by the savant solely on account of its name. “i feel grand to haf got you my senhouse,” said he; “let us therefore go to the grandest hotel we can find.” it was not in his friend’s power to correct this simplicity; and the grand hotel was too grand for him.
-in the “lounge” of this palace—“all looking-glasses and whisky,” as he described it—it was necessary for him to spend certain moments while herr löffner briskly inspected rooms, menus, and lists of wines. briskly, but with method, he went to work. senhouse, having discovered that most of the plants were imitation and the others dying, flung himself upon a plush settee and picked up journal after journal, in the hope of finding one which did not contain either photographs of ladies or advertisements. he was grumbling over an evening sheet when his friend joined him and, sighing his content at a good dinner ahead of him, produced and lighted a cigar. senhouse found himself reading for a second time a paragraph of a leading article which began thus:—
-“excuse me, löffner,” he said, “but i must leave you for an hour or so.”
-herr löffner beamed and bowed. “i am sorry, but submit. only—you must promise me to come back, or i lose you, du wilder mann.”
-senhouse was not vague; on the contrary, he was remarkably collected. “yes, i’ll come back. but this is a matter of losing myself—or the reverse, as the case may be.” he nodded, and walked straight out of the hotel into the street. bingo, stepping delicately, with ears set back and muzzle to earth, followed close to his right heel. he shared his master’s contempt of london, but added fear.
-the hour was late for callers, since it was now half-past seven, but he knew nothing of hours. he went directly to hill-street and rang the bell. after a long interval a caretaker released many a bolt and peered round the edge of the door. a respectable, grey-haired lady, very anxious.
-“mrs. germain?” said senhouse. he almost heard her sigh.
-“out of town, sir.”
-“so i see. but where is she?” bingo lifted his head high, snuffed the air, misliked it, and yawned.
-the elderly lady had no more doubts. “she would be at southover house, sir. the family is expected on the 15th for a few days, on their way abroad.”
-senhouse jerked away all this surplusage. “the family? what family? it is mrs. john germain, i mean.”
-whatever caution may have lingered in the caretaker now disappeared, in the occasion of a treasured wonder to be revealed. “oh, sir, we don’t know anything about her. it’s all a mystery, sir, and has been since mr. john—passed away.”
-“what do you mean by that?” she was asked.
-her cue! “she’s not been seen or heard of, sir—not by her own family nor by ours. she went away by herself in july—after the event. sir—and here’s october come round, and never heard of yet.”
-senhouse betrayed nothing; but his mind moved like lightning. “tell me exactly what you mean,” he bade her; and she did, omitting nothing. he listened, made no comments, and gave no chances.
-then he asked her, “do you know mr. duplessis’s address?”
-she did not.
-“his club?” she said she would call her husband.
-the husband in his shirt-sleeves was all for speculation upon the affair—speculation at large, illustrated by reminiscences. duplessis was a good gambit; but the moment he had opened by saying that many a time had he stood behind mr. duplessis’s chair at the reform he found himself rehearsing to his wife things that she had heard but an hour ago. senhouse had snapped out his “reform! thanks,” and gone his way.
-at the reform—bingo coiled on the steps, with one eye wary for peril—he learned that duplessis was in devonshire. “wraybrook park, near honiton,” was his address. he returned to the hotel and found herr löffner immovable in his place, and still with a cigar. but he was deplorably hungry, and leapt to his feet the moment he saw senhouse.
-“thank god for you,” he warmly said. “come and dine.”
-“i can’t dine, löffner. you must hoard your thanksgiving. i’m going down to devonshire.” the savant gazed at him.
-“to devonshire—without dinner! that is not possible, my friend. to begin, it is bad for you—secondly, it is late.”
-“oh,” said senhouse, “i’m a night-bird, you know. i don’t want you to come with me—in fact, i’d rather you didn’t. you’ve got lots to do at kew, and can meet me there. but i must be off in half an hour. i shall catch the 9.25.”
-herr löffner looked at his watch, then at his friend’s dog, then at his friend. smiles played about his face and eyes. “what mischief do you meditate? what dark work?” he said; and you could hear the enthusiasm gurgling beneath, like flood water in a drain. but senhouse was unfathomable, and for once not smiling.
-“it’s serious work i’m after. life-and-death work, i believe. my trip to the caucasus hangs on it—and all my trips to come.”
-“herr je! du lieber——!”
-“i know. it’s a queer thing. nothing seemed to hang upon anything this morning, and now everything upon one thing. it’s no good, my dear man, i can’t explain. trust me, i’ll telegraph to you from exeter and wait for you there.”
-“bod—” said herr löffner out of his chest. “if you haf here a life-and-death-works—i cannot understand. if you make of it life-works, you telegraph and i come. but if it is a death-works—what then?”
-“it won’t be,” said senhouse. “it can’t be. good-bye.” herr löffner went to his dinner.
-at wraybrook park his lean face was announced to duplessis at half-past ten in the morning, at the breakfast-table, by a respectful butler. it was not told him that it had awaited him since eight o’clock.
-“some one to see me—in the drive?” he had asked, suspecting nothing. “why in the drive?”
-“the gentleman preferred to be outside, sir. he had a dog with him.”
-duplessis stared at his plate. “all right. i’ll come in a minute,” he said, and resumed his meal.
-at eleven he came out of the front door, cigar in mouth, and saw immediately what was in store for him. the carriage drive at wraybrook sweeps round the lake, which is the great feature of the place. on the edge of that he had seen in a moment the tall man in grey, bareheaded, talking with one of the gardeners, and had flushed. his eyes narrowed, and glittered; he paused perceptibly, then drew a breath and went down over the lawn.
-bingo, sitting up on his haunches, gave a short yap of warning, then apologized to his master. senhouse finished what he had to say to the gardener, nodded and went up to meet his man.
-they encountered without recognition: bingo, with lifted forefoot, reserved his judgment. his custom was to run in and apply the test of nose to calf; but in this case he stayed behind.
-“you wish to see me, i’m told.” duplessis spoke first.
-“yes,” said senhouse, “i do. i have to trouble you. i have just heard of john germain’s death.”
-in some sort duplessis had been prepared for this—but in no way which could have been explained. he was able to take it quietly.
-“news travels slowly your way,” he said. “germain died in july.”
-“so i have learned; but it must have been sudden. i happen to know that he was quite well at the beginning of that month; and had not the least reason to expect any such thing.”
-“why should you?” duplessis was rather famous for impertinence.
-senhouse said, “i’ll tell you. i saw mrs. germain early in july”—duplessis grew red—“in fact, she must have gone directly from the north, where i met her, to her husband’s bedside.”
-“i think i’ll interrupt you for one moment,” duplessis said. “you are probably as interested in saving time as i am. therefore the sooner i know how i can serve you the better for both of us.” bingo who had been looking with gloomy interest at the root of his tail, here attacked it with ferocity. senhouse laughed.
-“i’ll tell you. mrs. germain has disappeared.”
-duplessis asked, “do you want me to find her for you?”
-“i want you,” said senhouse, “to tell me where she is.”
-duplessis looked him full in the face. “really, i don’t know what business you have to ask me that.”
-“then i’ll tell you, if you please,” said senhouse. “when she left the north she did not, i believe, go directly to london. she went to blackheath, to her people. there she saw you.”
-“who told you that, sir?” duplessis was angry.
-“she told me that she should see you there. it had not been her intention; but she changed her mind.”
-“then i have to thank you, mr. senhouse, for an insufferable interference in my affairs,” said duplessis.
-“i advised her to see you—yes. come, now,” he said with a change of tone which duplessis found hard to bear, “you have had your innings, i was careful not to touch on that. you have had more than one, if i don’t mistake you. i think now that i go in.”
-duplessis was not the man to give candour for candour. his eyes were steady on his enemy. “i don’t give ladies’ addresses without their leave, you know.”
-“you may assume it here. when i saw mrs. germain in cumberland she gave me to understand that she might wish to see me again.”
-“if she had wished it,” said duplessis, “i suppose she would have told you where she was. apparently she does not wish it.”
-“obviously you do not,” senhouse replied; “and i have reasons for putting your wish and her action together. and, as a matter of fact, she could not let me know anything, because i have no certain address.”
-“your addresses are nothing whatever to me,” said duplessis. “i decline to tell you anything.”
-“very well,” said senhouse slowly. “then you must get what good you can out of that.”
-duplessis turned on his heel and walked away. bingo, sleek and swift, ran after him and sniffed daintily at his calves. curiosity, so to speak, was behind him, drove his tail in between his legs. it wanted but a spark to kindle the smouldering young man, and here it was. he turned again, blazing. “call in your cur, will you? they don’t allow dogs here.”
-“bingo, heel,” said senhouse, and watched him, smiling quietly.
-xx in which bingo is unanswerable
-swinging along his miles from honiton back into exeter he saw the patteran just within the two-mile-stone. “she wants me. she’s here. bless her wild heart.” then he walked into the city, sat in the tree-shaded alley of the inn by exebridge, and breakfasted, as well he might. he had eaten nothing since yesterday’s noon.
-he addressed himself to the wooded heights which look down on exeter. his spirits were high to meet the evening’s battle; he urged bingo to extend himself, infected him with the fray to come. “my friend, do you know who lives in this town? do you know whom we are to see by-and-by? a gentle-handed acquaintance, my friend—a lover of yours, whose troubles have been told you and me by signs. not by words, bingo, my boy; for words have not been made fine enough to voice her thoughts, half-thoughts and quarter-thoughts: no, but by a sigh scarcely heard, or a hand on your head, by caresses, and lingering touches, and suchlike pretty talk. that’s how we know her, and what we love her for, bingo; because she’s timid and full of alarms—all on the edge of the real thing, hovering on the threshold of the cage.”
-bingo pricked up his ears, then whined. he moved his head to acknowledge a friendly speech, but he was trembling and looking up the road.
-“bingo, come in,” said senhouse, and trembled, too. he saw mary coming up the road, books under her arm. she was rosy with breasting the hill; and he could see that her eyes were very bright. he could see, from the gate at which he leaned, that she was charged with excitement; that her lips were never still, that she looked sideways for events. he had to put his hand on bingo’s head to keep him back—and to keep himself back. “i’ll give him one more chance,” he told himself, and stayed where he was. mary passed him, all unconscious, went quickly up the road, stopped at a white gate, and slowly pushed it open. as she went in he saw her pause and look down the road by which she had come. then she went in, and the gate swung to and fro, and clicked as the latch caught.
-senhouse inspected the gate, then his watch. “rosemount academy for young ladies—three o’clock. she’s teaching till four. she expects him.” he retired to his trees; but had to call bingo twice. he was halfway up the drive, nosing out his friend.
-as she stood beyond the gate she saw duplessis. senhouse knew that by her look. she had a trick, when she was at a pass, of driving all expression from her eyes. they showed then as masks of black: it was her way of defence. you could not tell whether she was glad or afraid of you.
-but she addressed herself to her task; completed, or allowed the young musician to complete, the conversation, bade him a smiling farewell which sent him happily on his way, and then waited, blankly, but with colour, for duplessis. the road was now empty but for these two.
-he came up, lifting his hat; he took her hand, and held it while he bent to speak to her. senhouse saw her so held, but with averted face; saw that she was listening, that she was serious—too serious to be frightened. once he saw her look up at the man, and frame no with her grave lips; once again look up and frame yes. at that second answer duplessis took her hand again—her left hand which had been idle by her side—and held it while he continued to talk vehemently, in low tones. he watched her now intently, as she fought these long odds; and had bingo by the scruff—bingo on his hind legs, shivering and whining in whispers—“steady, boy; hold yourself——.”
-mary was now pale, and in her eyes was the light of distress. they beaconed across the way: but no help came. as she listened she began to breathe quickly; he could see her bosom’s unrest. her hand was caught up to tristram’s lips—but she sprang away then, and her “oh, no, no! never, never—i could not do it,” gave senhouse the cue for which he shook. he loosed bingo, who, like a streak of grey light, shot across the road.
-duplessis started violently; but a low glad cry came from mary’s heart. “bingo! oh, my dearest friend! oh, bingo!” she stooped in the road, and the two were one. then she rose vividly bright and waited for senhouse.
-he crossed the road leisurely—with no looks for duplessis. he held out the maple-branch. “my excuse,” he said. she took it from him, and kept it in her hand. but she could not speak. in the presence of the two men she showed nothing common or mean—no consciousness. she was perhaps at her best: her colour high, but not painful, her eyes serious, but not veiled. modesty had been jarring affectation here: modesty was not possible. her left hand still held bingo’s head to her side: bingo on his hind legs, revelling in her hand.
-the two men, each in his way, put their fate to the touch. neither took his eyes off her, neither gave an inch. duplessis would not have compromised if he could. his sullen rage was patent: he let it smoulder. senhouse smiled—all the faun showed in him: the stored secret knowledge, the power of the adept, of the seer into the dark, of him who would mock if he were not full of pity.
-he spoke first. “it seems that you are to choose,” he said. “i can ask you to do that.”
-her soft eyes beamed, and her smile met his in the way. “halfway house?” she said, asking.
-he nodded. “halfway house, we’ll put it still.”
-duplessis said nothing at all; but fixed her with his knit brows. a good ear might have heard three hearts beating. i think that bingo’s did, for he nozzled in mary’s hand.
-she let him gently down, stooped over him, kissed his head, whispered in his ear. then, rising to her assize, with a look divinely mild and a gesture of confidence which brought tears into one pair of eyes, she put her hand in senhouse’s, and stood by his side.
-duplessis stiffened and looked at the pair of them. “i take your answer,” he said, bowed to her, and walked down the hill. bingo, sitting sagely on his haunches, suddenly yawned.
-shyly they turned to each other, shyly kissed. senhouse kissed her twice, then threw his head back and laughed his joy to the skies. “oh, wonder of the world!” he cried, and took her to his heart.
-here’s for the last of her. in the train, on their way to london and löffner, senhouse was commenting upon what lay before them: the caucasus, the schwarzwald. what would she do in the caucasus, for example? that was easy. “i shall sit in the door of the tent, waiting for you,” she told him. in the black forest? what else?
-he believed her. “we are to leave halfway house, then?” and then he looked out of the window at the rolling hills of wilts. “at any rate, here i am a bondslave—yoked by baden for five years. make what you will of it.”
-she said nothing; she was always slow of speech with her betters when they talked above her head. but she pondered the saying, it was clear, for presently she picked up his hand, stooped to it, and kissed it; then, lowering her head, put his arm over her neck, and looked at him from below it. it was a pretty act, one of her prettiest. he saw the beauty of her gentle rebuke.
-it sent him to his knees. bingo, sitting on her skirt, looked pityingly at his master, for a few seconds, and then up into her face.
-obvious printing errors have been silently corrected.
-inconsistencies in hyphenation, spelling and punctuation have been preserved.
-online distributed proofreaders canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
-the open window
-tales of the months
-author of “the garden of a commuter’s wife,” “people of the whirlpool,” etc., etc.
-new york g r o s s e t & d u n l a p publishers
-by the macmillan company.
-set up and electrotyped. published june, 1908. reprinted july, august, november, 1908; february, 1910.
-norwood press j. s. cushing co.—berwick & smith co. norwood, mass., u.s.a.
-is inscribed to
-for a thought
-i the markis and the major
-told by barbara, the commuter’s wife
-when christmas has passed it is useless to make believe that it is not winter, even if the snow has merely come in little flurries quickly disappearing in the leaves that now lie suppliant with brown palms curved upward.
-early december is often filled with days that, if one does not compare the hours of the sun’s rise and setting, might pass for those of an early spring. sharp nights but soft noon air, meadow larks in voice down in the old fields, uneasy robins in the spruces, a song sparrow in the shelter of the honeysuckle wall, goldfinches feeding among the dry stalks of what two months gone was a scarlet flame of zinnias, or else in their rhythmic, restless flight binding the columns where the seeded clematis clings, in chains of whispered song.
-all through the month the garden, thriftily trimmed, and covered according to its need, refused to sleep in peace and thrust forth its surprises. one day it was a pansy peeping from beneath a box bush, then a dozen sturdy russian violets for the man’s buttonhole, that, fading in an hour, were outlived by their perfume, while on the very eve of christmas itself, the frosted wall flowers yielded a last bouquet, just a bit pinched and drawn like reduced gentlefolks of brave heart, whose present garb is either cherished or overlooked from a half-reminiscent pleasure in their society.
-many say that the ending of the year with christmas week is only an arbitrary time division, and so is meaningless. but this cannot be so. the natural year has ended and it begins anew, even though we do not at once see its processes, for intervals in nature there are none, and the first law of being is emergence from unseen sleep, wherein is stamped the pattern for the after-growth.
-thus with christmas passed, we all must yield to winter. playtime with its dalliance outdoors is over for man, and the little beasts lie in their lairs, except when hunger prods.
-the poor, god help them, drawing their heads down into their garments, prepare to endure. they have not two or three changes of raiment to match the graded weather from september to january—the relentless hard moon of the indian calendar. resistance is their final set of winter flannels, which must be worn sleeping or waking.
-with january the rabbit season is over, and the sturdy dogs, the merry, tireless beagles, left to themselves, abandon the trail after a sniff or two, or else return from the run with stiff, wounded feet: for does not a spear lurk in every blade of frozen stubble? and, after nosing into the house, they lie in relaxed comfort by the kitchen stove. that is, unless the thaw from their hair-set foot-pads annoys the cook (and few recognize dog needs and rights as did martha corkle), in which case they slink out again sheepish under reproof, and, loping uphill to the cottage, charge at martha’s kitchen door until she opens it, protesting as usual at their lack of manners and the mess “the beasties” make. this, however, is wholly from principle, because protest against dirt in any form becomes a thrifty british housewife, even though transplanted to america.
-in truth all the while her heart is swelling with pleasure at their recognition, voiced as it presently is in a baying chorus, heads well thrown back, throats swelling, tails held aloft and firm, for sweet as the voice of love is hound music to the people of the english hunting country, however far from it their lives have led them. then presently, after a meal of stew seasoned to each dog’s liking (for lark is fond of salt and likes to chew his biscuits dry and lap the gravy after, while cadence and old waddles, being scant of teeth, prefer to guzzle the softened food and like a pinch of sugar), they fall prone before the fire, their bellies replete, and round, pressing the floor as close as their heavy heads. whereupon martha heaves a sigh of deep content and seats herself in the window corner of the front room, behind her geranium pots, with her white needlework of scallop, sprig, and eyelet hole, a substantial old-time craft lately returned to favour.
-this occupation also is a sign that it is winter without doubt, for not until the christmas puddings have been made and eaten and the results have worn away, does martha saunders (born corkle) sit in the bay window of her front room shedding abroad the light of her rosy face and her bright geraniums by day, while the gloom of night is pierced by her clear lamp with its gay shade, whereon an endless steeple-chase is portrayed against a screen of ruby isinglass. here in oaklands whoever sets a drinking trough before his door in summer-time to succour man and thirsty beasts receives so much a year from the town fathers. why should not those who, in the dark season, set a row of jovial red geraniums behind the window-pane by day or a well-trimmed light by night, be equally rewarded? is not the thirst for light, colour, and other home symbols as keen a desire of the winter wayfarer as his thirst for water in the torrid season?
-the first new year callers were out before sunrise this morning while the hoar-frost lay thick on the porch of father’s office, for here, whirlpool customs to the contrary, the country doctor and his tribe expect a gentle drift of friendly visitors, as much as do the people at the parsonage, and often with them there come homespun good-will gifts.
-these early guests were nameless, and left their gift upon the door-mat, where father found it. a pair of redheads, duck and drake by chance, such as the gunners at this season harvest from the still-water inside the lighthouse at the bayhead.
-any one interested in following backward the tracks these callers left would have found that they began at the edge of the bare, drifted sand beach and followed the wavering fence of the shore road until the outline of that also disappearing, the footprints crossed the upland fields to the lower end of the village street, where many of the houses, old, sedate, and self-sufficient in their ancestry, were prouder in their garb of mossy shingles than the bluff cottages in all their bravery of new paint, and porches supported by stone pillars.
-after leaving the yard, also by the back gate, that no telltale prints might mar the plumpness of the front walk, or jar the white rime that made mammoth cakes of the box bushes on either side the door, the footprints took a short cut to the hill road and paused at our steps, evidently with some scuffing and stamping, and none of the precautions used in approaching the other door.
-here the two sets of footprints, those of dog and man, alone told of who had come and gone, and yet we knew as plainly as if the social cardboard had been left. the overlapping, shifty human footprints, suggesting a limp or halting gait, were those of a rubber-booted man. the round pad-marks of a four-foot, with a dragging trail, spoke of a dog either old or weak in his hind quarters.
-as i, answering father’s call, scanned the tracks, our eyes met and we said, as with one voice, “the markis and the major,” whereby hangs a pleasant winter’s tale. a comedy that was turned from tragedy merely by the blowing of the bitter northeast wind among the sedge grass. a simple enough story, like many another gleaned from between the leaves that lie along the village fences or the lanes and byways of the lonelier hill country.
-down in a little hut, by the bay-side, lived the village ne’er-do-weel; this was a year ago. he was not an old man in action, but at times he looked more than his fifty odd years, for life had dealt grudgingly with his primitive tastes, and besides being well weathered by an outdoor life, both eyes and gait had the droop of the man of middle age who, lacking good food, has made up for it by bad drink. yet, in spite of a general air of shiftlessness, there was that about him still that told that he had once not only been nearly handsome, but had been possessed of a certain wild gypsy fascination coupled with a knack with the violin that had turned the heads, as well as the feet, of at least two of the village lassies of his day who, though rigidly brought up, had eyes and ears for something beyond the eternal sowings, hoeings, reapings, and sleepings of farm life. even in his boyhood he was looked upon as a detrimental, until, partly on the principle of “give a dog a bad name and he will earn it,” he absolutely earned one by default, so to speak, for the things that he left undone, rather than deeds committed.
-it was at one of these festivities that he first met charity hallet, called in those days cheery from her disposition that fairly bubbled over with happiness. a fiery sort of wooing followed; that is, fiery and unusual for a staid new england town, where sitting evening after evening by the best room lamp or “buggy dashing” through the wild lanes of a moonlight night or of a sunday afternoon were considered the only legitimate means of expression. alack! this man possessed neither horse nor buggy, or the means of hiring one, and the door of the hallets’ best room was closed to him, as well as every other door of the house. what would you have? swift dances snatched when some one else relieved the fiddler; meetings by stealth in the woods, intricate journeys through the winding marsh watercourses where, hidden by tall reeds, a duck boat slipped in and out, holding a half-anxious, half-happy girl, while a tall, bronzed youth either poled the craft along or sometimes pushed it as he strode beside it waist deep in water, his eyes fixed upon the merry ones beside him.
-of course discovery came at last, and charity’s father sent her to spend a winter with an aunt in another state and “finish” school there.
-meanwhile for half a dozen years the youth followed the sea and on his return found charity an orphan in possession of the house and a snug income, and though she was still unmarried, a vein of prudence or a change of heart, just as one happens to view it, had at least diluted her romance.
-“get some employment with a name to it; i couldn’t stand an idle man hanging about,” she had said when man and dog (there had always been and always would be a dog following at this man’s heels) for the first time entered the hallet front door and prepared, without ceremony, to resume the boy and girl footing as a matter of course.
-the man, of primitive instincts and no responsibility, had looked at her dumbly for a minute, and then the light of her meaning breaking upon him he jumped to his feet and bringing his heels sharply together, said, “i thought you were fond o’ me, cheery, and that women sort o’ liked somebody they were fond of hanging around ’em,” and without further ado he called the dog, and closing door and gate carefully behind him, turned from the village street to the shore road with easy, swinging gait; but from that day his fiddle never played for the village dancers.
-the thrifty half of charity hallet congratulated the half that was longing to open door and heart to man, dog, and violin in the face of prudence and the village, upon its escape. but sometimes prudence and the wind race together, for the next year the most trusted man in the township, under cover of decorous business, made way with all of charity’s little property, except the house; and the glass sign, once used by a great aunt, was rescued from the attic rafters, placed in the foreroom window; and at twenty-five charity, who had been sought far and near, and had been wholly independent in action, began the uphill road of being a self-supporting old maid.
-the man’s feet never again turned toward her front gate, though the dog’s did, and many a bone and bit did he get there, for the dog who grew old, evidently bequeathed knowledge of charity’s hospitality to his puppy successor, and so the years went. if mysterious heaps of clams, big lobsters from the deep fishing, delicate scallops or seasonable game appeared in the morning under the well house, no word was spoken.
-five, fifteen, twenty years went by, and the very face of the country itself had changed and cheery hallet had almost forgotten how to smile. the man’s natural hunting grounds being largely reclaimed from wildness, the game becoming scarcer and the laws of season and selling close drawn, like many an indian brother of old, too unskilled to work, too old to learn, he found himself absolutely facing extinction, while in these years the drink habit had gradually crept upon and gripped him.
-a few days after christmas he was sitting outside his shore hut, that, lacking even the usual driftwood fire, was colder than the chilly sunshine, facing hunger and his old red setter dog, the major, who gazed at him with a brow furrowed by anxiety and then laid his gaunt, grizzled muzzle against his master’s face that rested on his hands. the turkey won at the raffle in corrigan’s saloon had been devoured,—flesh, bones, skin, and i had almost said feathers,—so ravenous had been the pair, for charity hallet being ill was tended by a neighbour, who would rather burn up plate scraps than feed tramp dogs, as she designated the major, who as usual had come scratching at the kitchen door, and so for many days he had crept away empty.
-a few days only remained of the upland open season, but for that matter the sportsmen speeding from all quarters in their motors to the most remote woodlands and brush lots had changed the luck and ways of foot hunting, and what birds remained had been so harried that they huddled and refused to rise. his duck boat was rotten to the danger point, while the clam banks that had meant a certain weekly yield had the past season been ruthlessly dug out by the summer cottagers, who herded in a string of cheap and gaudy shore houses and knew no law.
-this was the plight of marquis lafayette burney, fantastically christened thus at his mother’s command, and called from his youth “the markis,” in well-understood derision.
-feeling the dog’s caress, the man raised his head and gazed at his solitary friend, then out upon the water. the wind that ruffled the sand into little ridges raised the hair upon the dog’s back, plainly revealing its leanness. out on the bay beyond the bar the steel-blue tide chafed and fretted; within the protecting arm lay still-water without a trace of ice on it, while in and out among the shallows the wild ducks fed and at night would bed down inside the point.
-along the beach itself there was no life or sound, a wide band of dull blue mussel shells thrown up by a recent storm only intensified the look of cold, while the gulls that floated overhead carried this colour skyward, and cast it upon the clouds.
-“it’s come jest ter this, maje,” the markis muttered, “there’s nothin’ ter eat! nothin’ ter eat! do you sense that, old man? come fust o’ the year, if we hold out to then, we’ll hev to make other arrang’ments, you and me! town farm’s a good place fer the winter, some say, and some say bad, certain sure we won’t be over het up there, that’s what i dre’d in gettin’ in out o’ the air!” then as a new thought struck him, he cried aloud, “god! suppose they won’t take you in along o’ me!” and the markis started back aghast at the thought and then peered about with blinking eyes that he shielded with a shaking hand, for the major had disappeared.
-the markis whistled and waited. presently from behind the dunes loped the major carrying something in his mouth; with a cheerful air of pride he laid before his master a turkey drumstick, sand-covered and dry, the last bone in the dog’s ground larder; then, stepping back with a short, insistent bark, he fixed his eyes on the markis with lip half raised in a persuasive grin.
-as the man slowly realized the meaning of the bone, his bleared eyes filled and the knotting of his throat half stopped his breath. pulling the slouch hat that he always wore still lower to hide his face, though only gulls were near to see, he drew the major close between his knees and hugged him. who dares say that any man o’ersteps salvation when a dog yet sees in him the divine spark that he recognizes and serves as master?
-into the hut went the markis, took down his gun from its rest above a tangle of shad nets that he had been mending before cold weather, picked up a pair of skilfully made duck decoys, and looked at them regretfully, saying, “a couple o’ dollars would fix that boat in shape, but where’s a couple o’ dollars?” the last coin he had fingered having gone to pay the major’s license on instalments, the final quarter being yet due, and only two days of grace.
-two hours later the markis and the major crept out of the lane that ran between a brush lot and stubble field on the lonetown side of the ridge. both master and dog were footsore and weary, while the markis wore a shifting, guilty look; for he had spoken truly: pot-hunter he had always been, but never a setter of snares, except for mink or muskrat. to be sure he would come to the front door to offer berries that he frankly said were gathered in one’s own back lot, but this day was the first time that he had thought to set a loop to catch a partridge by the neck instead of shooting it in fair hunting.
-straightening himself for a moment he glanced shoreward down the rolling hills, while the major dropped upon a heap of dry leaves and dozed with twitching limbs. the sun came from behind the wind clouds with which he had been running a race all day, and suddenly the face of nature melted as with a smile and grew more tender. a big gray squirrel ran along the stone fence, a blue jay screamed, but the markis started nervously and once more looked shoreward.
-what was that flickering and glimmering far away upon the beach? merely the sunlight flashing upon the single window of his cabin? no, a puff of smoke was running along the dry grasses from the inlet of the creek, where the men who watch the oyster grounds had beached their boat and kindled a bit of fire to heat their coffee.
-another puff, and the smoke arose in a cone the shape of the markis’s cabin that the hungry flames were devouring!
-with a harsh cry the man dropped his half-made snare and fled impotently, for now indeed were the markis and the major homeless vagabonds!
-when father, being sent for by a farmer of the marsh road who said that both man and dog had doubtless perished in the hut, reached the shore a little before sunset, he stumbled over the markis lying among the broken sedge and seaweed, numb with cold and despair, the major keeping watch beside.
-when, after being shaken awake and some stimulant hastily forced between his lips, the markis started up muttering a plea to be left alone, and saw who was bending over him, he whispered, for his voice was hoarse and uncertain, “it’s you, doc, is it? well, i’d ruther you’n another! for it’s all up this time; it’s either go to the town farm to-night, or be a stiff, and i’m near that now. we thought mebbe we could pull through till the next shad run, maje and me, but now the nets and all hev gone!” then, sitting up and pulling himself together with an effort, “would you—i wouldn’t ask it of any other man—would you house the maje, doc, until maybe he’d drop off comfortable and quiet, or i get round again? and once in a time jest say, quick like, ‘maje, where’s the markis?’ to keep me in mind?”
-this time the markis made no effort to hide the tears that washed roadways down his grimy cheeks.
-“but there is no need of this,” father replied, as, clearing his throat and wiping his nose, he tried to look severe and judicial, (dear dad! how well i know this particularly impossible and fleeting expression of yours)—“i got you the promise of work at mrs. pippin’s only last week, to do a few light errands and keep her in split kindlings for three square meals a day, and pay in money by the hour for tinkering and carpentering, and you only stayed one morning! man alive! you are intelligent! why can’t you work? the day is over when hereabout men can live like wild-fowl!”
-“doctor russell,” said the markis, speaking slowly and raising a lean forefinger solemnly, “did you ever try to keep mis’s pippin in kettlewood for three square meals a day, likewise her opinion o’ you thrown in for pepper, and talk o’ waiting hell fire for mustard, with only one door to the woodshed and her a-standin’ in it? not but the meals was square enough, that was jest it,—they was too square, they wouldn’t swaller! give me a man’s job and i’ll take a brace and try it for the major here, but who takes one of us takes both, savvy? beside, when mis’s pippin was luella green she liked to dance ter my fiddlin’, and now she don’t like ter think o’t and seein’ me reminds her!”
-here father broke down and laughed, he confesses, and with the change of mood came the remembrance that the son of the rich van camps of the bluffs, whose sporting possessions dot the country from canada to florida, needed a man to tend his boat house that lay further round the bay, and to take him occasionally to the ducking grounds at the crucial moment of wind and weather. thus far, though several landsmen had attempted it, no one had kept the job long owing to its loneliness, and the fact that they lacked the outdoor knack, for the pay was liberal.
-in a few words father told of the requirements. shaking the sand from his garments the markis stood up, new light in his eyes,—“what! that yaller boat house round the bend, with all the contraptions and the tankboat painted about ’leven colours that jason built? i’d better get to work smart in the mornin’ and weather her up a bit, it ’ud scare even a twice-shot old squaw the way it is! the weather is softenin’; come to-morrow there’ll be plenty o’ birds comin’ in and we’ll soon learn him how to fetch home a show of ’em, which is what most o’ them city chaps wants more’n the eatin’,—won’t we, maje? yes, doc, i’ll take the ockerpation straight and honourable and won’t go back on you! go home with you for supper and the night? that’s kindly, we air some used up, that’s so! and something in advance of pay to-morrow? and he’ll let me raise a shingle and pick up what i can takin’ other folks fishin’ and shootin’ when he don’t need me? and he’ll most likely supply me clothes,—a uniform like a yacht sailor’s, you say? well, i suppose these old duds are shabby, but me and they’s kept company this long time and wild-fowl’s particular shy o’ new things, and the smell of them i reckon! weathered things is mostly best to my thinkin’, likewise friends, doc!”
-when young van camp, arriving at the shore one day at dawn for his first expedition, saw his new employee and his aged dog, he shuddered visibly and for a moment inwardly questioned father’s sanity; but having been about with half-breed guides too much to judge the outdoor man by mere externals, he laughed good-naturedly and abandoned himself to the tender mercies of the markis and the major, saying lightly as he glanced at the faded sweater and soft hat, “it’s cold down here; i’m sending you a reefer and some better togs to-morrow.”
-so the three went out across the still-water to the ducking grounds and brought back such a bunch before the fog closed in the afternoon that van camp clapped the markis on the back and declared the major must be a mascot, and that he deserved the finest sort of collar!
-“a mascot! that’s what he is, in addition to being the wisest smell-dog on the shore!” affirmed the markis solemnly, the eyelid on the off side drooping drolly. “all he has to do is to smell the tide when it turns flood, and he knows jest where the ducks’ll bed next night!” all of which van camp, junior, believed, because it seemed suitable that the dog he hired with the man should be superlatively something; and next day there arrived, together with the reefer, a yacht captain’s cap, a set of oil-skins, and a great tin of tobacco,—a broad brass-studded collar, such as bull-dogs wear, but an ornament unknown to self-respecting “smell-dogs” even if, like the major, they were bar sinister.
-the morrow was new year’s day, and the day after, just at evening, the markis, clad in a trim sailor suit from cap to trousers, was seen sauntering down the village street toward the cross-roads at the centre, where his tangled trails to and from the two saloons had before-times often puzzled the major’s acute sense of smell. behind the markis loped the major with drooping tail and the heavy collar, too large for his lean neck, hanging about his ears. but had not his master fastened the hateful thing upon him? that was reason enough for wearing it, at least for the time being!
-slowly the markis passed the two saloons and nonchalantly entered the market, where he carefully selected a whole bologna and a ham! crossing to the grocery he bought a month’s provisions to be sent to “van camp’s boat house, for capt’n burney!” then pulling on a fresh corn-cob pipe in leisurely fashion he stopped at the paint shop, from whence he took a sign board, that he carried, letters toward him; next he repassed the saloons and gradually gained the wooded lane that skirts the marsh meadows.
-once under cover he pulled off the new reefer, wrapped it around the board, and began to run, never pausing until he gained the boat house.
-throwing open the door he quickly stripped off the new stiff, confining garments, and slipped eel-like into loose trousers and the gray sweater that made him one with the seaweed and the sands. then drawing the old soft hat well down to his very eyes he opened the tool chest that stood under the window and, taking therefrom gimlet, screw eyes, and hooks, he mounted an empty box, and proceeded to fasten the sign he had brought over the door. when it hung exactly even and to his liking, he walked backward, slowly surveying his handiwork, talking to the dog meanwhile. “what do you think of that, maje? you and me hev got a business, we hev! employment with a name to it! don’t yer remember what she said? no, you wasn’t the dog, though; ’twere old dave, yer granddad! there’ll be jest two o’ us in the business, man and dog. you know the saying as two’s a company. onct maybe i’d chose a woman partner! when they’re young wimmen’s prettier, but fer age give me er dog! dogs is more dependable, likewise they don’t talk back, eh, maje?”
-on the swinging white board, edged with bright blue, in blue letters he read these words aloud, slowly, and with deep-drawn satisfaction:—
-the markis and the major.
-decoys and fishing tackle to rent. sailing, gunning, fishing and retrieving done with neatness and dispatch.
-reëntering the boat house he gazed about with a sigh of perfect content, dropped into the ship-shaped bunk that was his bed, hat still on his head, and stretching himself luxuriously, said to the major, who crouched beside, “i reckoned we’d hev ter make a change long first o’ the year, and i reckon we hev!” the coffee-pot upon the new stove in the far corner brooded comfortably and gave little gasps before being fully minded to excite itself to boiling, while the wild blood, even a few drops of which often makes its owners think such long, long thoughts that stretch back to the dawn of things, coursed evenly on its way until a delicious sleep, such as had been unknown for months, laid its fingers on the eyelids of the markis.
-cautiously the major rose to his feet, looked about the room narrowly, sniffed the floor and then the air, shook his head and pawed persistently until the heavy new collar slipped over his ears and clattered to the floor. for a moment, minded to lie down again, he paused, sniffed the fresh air from the open window in the corner, then lifting the offending collar carefully in his mouth he gripped it firmly and crossed the room, jumped for the open sash, missed, tried again, and disappeared in the boat house shadows.
-a loon laughed far out on the water, and the major trembled guiltily. gaining the beach crest he kept on to tide-water mark, where, digging deep, he buried the offending bit of leather, covering it well, kicking backward at it, dog fashion, with snorts of contemptuous satisfaction. then trotting gaily back he entered by the window, and soon two rhythmic snores, added to the bubbling of the overboiling coffee-pot, told that the markis and the major slept the peaceful winter sleep, while the sharp crescent moon of january slipped past the window, lingering over still-water to cover the bedded wild-fowl with a silver sheet.
-ii the stalled train
-he was no kin to the man of whittier’s eulogy, though he might well have been; jim bradley was only the conductor on the milk freight that fussed and fumed its way down the valley of the moosatuck every evening, at intervals leaving the single track road of the sky line to rest upon the sidings while a passenger train or the through express took right of way.
-to miranda banks, however, bradley seemed a hero as he sprang from the caboose, swinging his lantern, when his train took the switch and halted on the side track below the calf pastures.
-to be sure his claim to heroism had, so far, rested upon the fact that both he and his vocation moved. in hattertown very few people or things had moved these ten years past; they had groped as being between daylight and dark. the beginning of this twilight period was when the trade that gave the town both its name and reason for being, owing to change of methods and market, vanished across the low gentian meadows of the moosatuck to install itself anew in bridgeton, fifteen miles away. the empty factory, long and vainly offered for sale, became a storage place for the hay that speculators bought on the field from the somnolent hillside farmers and held for the winter market. at the same time the hay gave the building a good reputation among the travelling brotherhood of the back roads, who work a week and tramp on again (an entirely distinct clan from the hoboes who follow the railroad through villages and alternate thieving with stolen rides upon freight trains), and the factory became a wayfarers’ lodging-house, until gradually the unpainted boards turned black and the building grew hollow-eyed as its window panes were shattered.
-when man wholly forsook it, swallows and swifts brought primitive life to it again, the one nesting against its warped rafters, the others lining the chimney, now free from plaster and very hospitable, with their bracketed homes, until their flocks pouring forth from its mouth at dawn and swirling and settling at evening, seemed in the distance a curling column of smoke.
-the row of cheap wooden houses where the factory hands had lived, had also mouldered away and joined the general ruin, only a starved grape-vine or rose-bush telling that they had once been homes; until, at the time i first saw the place, the most depressing of all palls seemed over it,—the shadow of a dead industry.
-it was an october morning when lavinia cortright and i drove up into the hill country with father, who went to see a woman who had applied for a free bed in the bridgeton hospital, an aunt of miranda banks, she afterward proved to be; and while father went into the little farm-house, that had bright geraniums in the windows and wore more of a general air of thrift than any of those we had passed in the last mile of our uphill ride, lavinia and i sauntered along the road and finally settled ourselves on a tumble-down stone wall in the midst of a wild grape-vine whose fruit was black with sun-ripeness and bore the moist bloom of the first light frost.
-as we gazed idly over the fields toward the river, that seemed, as we looked down upon it, to filter through the glowing branches of the swamp maples, washing their colours with it, rather than to flow between banks of earth, we sipped the pure wild grape wine where alone it may be found,—between the skin and pulp of the grape itself, a few drops to each globe,—and fell to moralizing.
-“you like to find a reason for everything, barbara,” said lavinia cortright, after a long pause; “can you tell me exactly why the country hereabout seems so desolate and impossible? it has all the colour and atmosphere of the perfect autumn landscape, and yet the idea of living here would be appalling.”
-i had been thinking the same thing as lavinia spoke; there was something in the very wind that blew over the ruined factory settlement that was deterrent; funerals might take place there, but how could enough impetus ever exist to cause weddings or christenings?
-at this moment the door of a small building, the schoolhouse at the cross-roads immediately below, opened, and a dozen or more children rushed out pell-mell, followed by the slim form of a young woman, evidently the teacher, who closed the door and prepared to take a cross cut through the fields, the worn track leading up to the pasture bars close to where we were sitting. no bell, no whistle, no exodus of labourers from the fields to mark the noon hour, the impulsive rush of childhood breaking bounds was the only clock.
-the woman disappeared in a dip of the land, and then presently her head emerged from it and the whole figure appeared again walking between the deep green bayberry bushes that make the dark patches in the waste hillside fields. she walked without either energy or fatigue, looking neither to the right nor left; the freckled face, tending to thinness, interested me from the first glance, for though it wore very little expression, it was in no wise vacant; the chin was firm, and there was a good space between the eyes, which opened wide and had none of the squinting shrewdness i have met with in my wanderings with father among remote rural communities. it was an unawakened face, and as i began to wonder what could ever come to give it the vital touch, she reached the bars and seeing us for the first time, paused, scrutinized us slowly, and then said with a tinge of irritation in the tone:—
-“i wish you wouldn’t spoil those grapes, i’m going to spice them on saturday. i should have done it last week, but they are always better for a touch of frost.”
-i straightway disentangled myself from the vine with a guilty feeling, and murmured the usual apology of the roadside depredators; that is, when they deign to make excuses, about the grapes being wild and not knowing that they belonged to any one, but my words fell upon deaf ears.
-“there were full ten pounds of grapes here this morning, but with what you’ve eaten and more that you’ve shaken off, there isn’t more than six pounds left. how came you up here, anyhow? nobody ever passes this way; even the mail-man turns ’round below at four corners. i’m randy banks.”
-this gave me my chance to explain father’s errand. “do you think dr. russell can get aunt lucy in?” she asked, eagerness bringing a pretty colour to her cheeks. “it isn’t the care of her we mind, ma and i,” she added hastily, “but it’s the loneliness for her of days in winter when i’m at school and ma out nursing mebbe; being chair-tied at best, there’s just nothing to break the time, for nothing ever happens.”
-“now that you have the rural free delivery, you get your mail and papers every day without having to go down to the hattertown post-office,” i said, trying to find a cheerful loophole.
-“that’s no advantage to us, rather the other way. when town was alive and we drove down to the post-office, even if we had no mail, and we never do except the newspaper, somebody else had and maybe opened it right there and told the news for the sake of talking it over with some one else. then market and store were in the same building and chances were you’d be reminded of something you needed by seeing it, or maybe a bit of fresh meat would look tempting and be sold reasonable, too, if it was near week-end. but to go to that box at cross-roads, though it’s only a step, and find it empty, it’s as lonesome and strange as a draught coming from a shut-up room.”
-then as she realized that she was in a way complaining of her lot to a stranger, a thing that the etiquette of the entire hill country quite forbade, she broke off, and turning toward the house, said in a perfectly unembarrassed way: “won’t you come in? mother will have dinner ready. she’d be pleased to see you. i have to hurry back to school to-day, for the committee man is coming to see if the old stove can be mended or if we must have a new one, for it’s never done well since joel fanton put a shotgun cartridge in it last winter.” then we went in, wondering if events would ever so shape themselves that she would become an active factor on a wider path than that between the corner school and the old farm-house.
-it was three years before i saw miranda again; meanwhile, a far-away city had thrown a lariat of steel across country, and it had encircled hattertown; a railway that ran down the valley needed a southern outlet. the survey ran by the ruined factory, and rounding nob hill, crossed the river below the banks’ farm, and disappeared on trestles over “calf pastures,” a name given strangely enough to many a bit of waste river meadow, as if calves did not need the best of material to become successful cows.
-the sky line railroad had come. cruft’s store was rented as a temporary station and the name hattertown appeared in dazzling white letters on the black sign over the door. in one room were scales for weighing freight and a baggage truck, in the other, a ticket booth took the place of the old post-boxes, while on a shelf behind the little window, a telegraph instrument ticked and told the doings of the outer world to the only man in the neighbourhood that could interpret it. time-tables were tacked above the two benches in a corner that made the waiting-room, but the greatest excitement of all was contained in a great poster that was not only stuck in conspicuous places in all the settlements along the line, but put in the mail-boxes as well, announcing that a milk train would be run nightly, sundays included, and urging all farmers, if they had no milk to market, to make immediate arrangements for producing that commodity.
-the widow banks had three cows. a dealer in bridgeton had tried to buy them late in the autumn when fodder was at a premium, but she had withstood temptation and taken the risk of wintering them; if she had not, miranda would never have met jim bradley during the negotiations for the transportation to the city of the polished tin can that cost the little teacher many days’ pay, and was regarded by her as a speculation as wild and daring as any gambler staking his all on a throw of dice, nor would this story have found its way into father’s note-book.
-jim bradley came of good up-country stock, but the yeast of desire to see the world had led him upon the shining road, freight brakeman first and now conductor. visiting new york every other day, he seemed a travelled man of the world to miranda, whose outside life was bounded by two trips a year to bridgeton and the paragraphs upon racial traits, habits and customs, exports and imports contained in the geography which she had heard droned and mispronounced annually for the five seasons she had taught at the corners.
-a year had passed, and now when jim bradley ran his train into the siding at hattertown, he could not have told which light he saw first, the railway signal or the well-trimmed lamp in the widow banks’ kitchen; this light, being always kept bright and clear, was lit at sunset with the regularity of a lighthouse beacon, the reflector improvised from a tin plate being turned so that the welcoming rays met the milk train as it rounded the hills and left solid ground for the trestles between eight and half-past every evening.
-as the whistle of the eight-fifteen morning train spelt school to miranda, so the whistle of the milk freight, one long and two short, not only spelled but shouted jim bradley, and as a matter of course, she took her hand lantern if the night was dark, or else trusted to the moon and stars and following the now well-worn path through the corn patch to “calf pastures,” reached the low shed by the water-tank almost at the moment that the engine gave its final puff, and jim bradley swung himself from the caboose and seeing that his rear lights were properly set, promptly forgot his train for an interval ranging from twenty minutes to perhaps half an hour, when traffic on the through express was heavy.
-widow banks had long since announced to inquiries both of the really interested and maliciously curious order, that randy and jim bradley were keeping company, though, at the same time, regretting with a sigh that his business didn’t allow of evenings spent in the austere “fore room” where the one visible eye of the departed deacon’s portrait done in air brush crayon, might witness the courting. neither was it possible for randy to exhibit him to the neighbours in a bright and shining buggy with a blue bow tied to the whip, of a sunday afternoon, nor had they the chance for the same reason to judge of his capacity at prayer-meeting.
-if either randy or jim had been questioned as to their relations to each other, they would have been speechless upon the subject. neither had given the matter a thought, and therefore neither was worried by the mazes of material analysis.
-miranda simply obeyed a call that made the spot where jim bradley was the only possible place for her to be between eight and half past; but when the train left the siding, crossed the bridge over the moosatuck and disappeared, she returned to the house and gave her mind up to the correction of the smeared papers whereon the youth of hattertown were struggling along the arithmetic road, and in striving to prepare for the puzzling questions that the school’s bad boy might spring upon her on the morrow.
-jim regarded matters much in the same way, that is, all through that spring, summer, and autumn. when winter set in and the siding grew chilly, the tank shed with its little stove became the only shelter, for, without realizing why, it never occurred to the man that the caboose with its bunk and litter of flags and lanterns was the place for randy.
-one night she noticed that jim had a heavy cold, and the next evening she brought with her a basket in which a little pot of hot coffee and a generous wedge of equally fresh-baked mince pie kept each other warm. jim smiled at randy with a glance in which feigned indifference and indulgence struggled, as by way of table-cloth she spread the napkin that covered the basket, on a barrel top and motioned for him to eat, saying as she handed him a paper of sugar, “i didn’t know how you like your coffee sweetened, so i brought some sugar along.”
-in some way the steam from that tin kettle as he looked across it, altered the perspective of his existence and changed his terminal; for the first time he wished that hattertown was at one end or the other of the route instead of a brief turnout in the middle.
-then as randy under his guidance dropped the lumps of sugar in the pail (cup and saucer lacking), he suddenly formulated for the first time the fact of her refinement and the difference between her and the other women that he met along the route. a sudden vision of a home other than a caboose with meals taken at depot restaurants blazed comet-like across his firmament in a way that startled—no, fairly frightened him. that night the time passed so quickly that they were obliged to hurry up hill at a pace that left miranda flushed and with no breath for speech as she opened the narrow storm door to the back porch and swinging her lantern on a peg, turned to take the basket.
-jim bradley looked at the girl, whose cape hung about her neck by a single fastening, its hood that she had pulled up for her head covering, falling back so that the glorious hair that was usually plastered and twisted into the subjection fitting a schoolmarm, was loosed and fell into its natural curves and waves. then he looked out into the dark to where one of his brakemen was waving the “time up” signal lantern furiously. buttoning his short coat with the air of making all snug and fit that a man might have who was about to face some new and dangerous situation, he stepped into the porch so quickly that miranda was caught betwixt him and the inner door at the moment when she had raised her arms to smooth her rumpled hair.
-“i want to tell you something right up and out,” he said, also breathing hard from his run up hill. “that pie was the best i ever closed teeth on, better even than ever the old lady made and she took three prizes for mince pie running at the oldfield fair;” then, before miranda’s arms could drop, jim had grasped her in a swift but complete embrace, landing a kiss at random that all the same fell squarely upon her lips, and fled down hill through the night without another word.
-when miranda returned to the kitchen this evening, she did not join her mother where she sat sewing by the reading lamp, but dropped on a bench before the open wood stove and began following the pictures the embers painted, with eyes that really took no note of outward happenings.
-widow banks glanced at her daughter anxiously, then caught a glimpse of the smile that was hovering about her usually rather set lips, noticed the ruddy mane from which the hairpins rose in various attitudes of resentment, and glancing at the untouched task upon the table, gave a contented sigh and began to knit reminiscences of her own youth into the muffler she was fashioning for a missionary box. to be sure, she had planned a theological career for her only daughter. she was to have married a young theologue who had occupied the pulpit of the pound rock church for a year and then gone to india, where by virtue of her experience as a teacher, miranda was to help him convince the heathen, do credit to her religious training, and become a factor in the world. this plan belonged to seven years before when the girl was twenty, and it had not happened because the stubborn streak inherited from the deacon, stiffened randy’s neck and perverted her judgment to the extent of preferring hattertown to india, and declaring to her suitor and mother in one breath that if she ever felt a hankering for the heathen she could find plenty without leaving home.
-when february comes the romance of winter is over in the hill country, and this long short month brings only the reality. it is a betwixt and between month, fully as trying as its opposite, august, that time of general stuffiness, flies, and limp linen.
-january had been a month of even snow and good sleighing, but a sleet storm had made the many downhill roads that converged at hattertown well-nigh impassable with glittering ice; while in february, coughing and snuffling, as much a part of the month as st. valentine’s day, sadly interfered with discipline at the crossroads schoolhouse. miranda, under pressure, allowed herself to confess for the first time, that seven years was quite long enough for a woman to sit upon the selfsame wooden chair, or wrestle with the constitutional peculiarities of a sheet-iron stove. this stove, having been second-hand upon its arrival, was now wearing three patches through the ill-fitted rivets of which smoke and gas filtered, obscuring the wall map of north america that was at least three states behind the times.
-the season and bad weather of course had some effect upon her point of view, for given june, open doors and windows, and a glimpse of the moosatuck to draw the eye from the faded map, the most pressing of grievances would have vanished.
-somehow miranda had never realized until now what an exasperating month february was; formerly she had used the evenings for her spring sewing and was really glad of the forced cessation of the small events that made hattertown’s social life, but now the ice crust upon the hill slope above calf pastures made walking impossible between the house and the station siding, so that two or three and in one week five evenings went by and only the greeting of lantern signals passed between jim bradley and miranda.
-the next afternoon on her return from school, miranda found a letter in the box, directed in a round, bold, and unfamiliar hand; moreover, it was for her. therefore, as it was a man’s writing it must be from jim. instead of opening it as she walked along, half a dozen children struggling on before or at her side, she dropped it in her pocket and then smiled to find, a few minutes later, when she reached her gate and needed a hand to open it with (the other carrying books) that it had remained inside the pocket caressing the square of paper.
-widow banks was then “accommodating” at the house of the new ticket agent and telegraph operator, who had pneumonia, as his wife was obliged to fill his place. the banks’ house was empty save for the cat who purred before the stove, there was no necessity for seeking privacy; yet miranda went through the kitchen and shut herself into the little storm porch before she opened the envelope, and held the sheet close to the single diamond pane in the outer door that she might read.
-“respected friend—” the words ran, “this has been the deuce of a month with ice and tie-ups. i need to see you special to-morrow night. if the run is close so i can’t get up, i’ll fix to have sweezy’s boy go fetch you to the depot with a team, so come down sure.
-“yours with compliments, “jim bradley.”
-what did the special mean? was her hero going to leave the milk freight for a better job? that meant a passenger or possibly a through train, and neither of these would pause on the side track at hattertown. or—well, there was no use in guessing; “to-morrow night” was exactly twenty-eight hours away and that was all there was to it. so randy put wood on the fire, skimmed a saucer of cream which she gave to the cat as if in some way propitiating a powerful domestic idol, lit the lamp, though it was broad daylight, and began the preparation of curling the feathers in her best hat by holding them in the steam of the tea-kettle, and then realized that as the morrow was saturday, she would have plenty of time for both housework and preparation.
-the last saturday morning of february did not really dawn, for the discouraged light merely struggled with a snowstorm so dense that the rays only penetrated by refraction. a little before noon the fall ceased, but the sky would not relax, and scowled dark and sullen as if with the pain of its recent effort, the snow lay heavy on hill and lowland, covering land and water alike; and, lodging on the ice, completely obliterated the boundary of the usually assertive moosatuck.
-a few crows, cawing dismally, straggled toward what had been down stream from their cedar roosts, but all other sounds were muffled. it was almost noon before the village, headed by the first selectman with two yokes of oxen and as many ploughs, dug itself out; and a great snow-plough bound north cleared the rails for the morning mail train, now hours late. meanwhile mr. sweezy, the host of the “depot hotel,” the wit of the reconstructed hattertown, did a thriving trade with many usually abstemious citizens exhausted by the wielding of snow shovels, in beverages that did not bear the label “soft drinks,” and the ticket agent’s wife in the little booth struggled with and made more incoherent the reports that came over the snow-laden wires.
-in spite of the storm and the desirability of daylight, there were four souls under the magnetic influence, as it were, of those bands of steel rails, that wished it were night. two that they might meet once more, and two in order that a distance might reach between them that it seemed likely would end in a more complete separation.
-neither couple had ever seen or heard of the other, and yet the strands were fast weaving to draw them together and make it impossible to blot either from the other’s memory.
-the first couple were man and maid, the second, man and wife.
-jim bradley,—working his way slowly on the morning trip from new york in dire apprehension that the return trip would be hopelessly delayed as far as the interval at hattertown within visiting hours was concerned,—and miranda banks, who looked from her watch-tower of the kitchen window over the snow waves that had enveloped all below, through which the various hay-ricks and chimney stacks emerged and seemed to drift like bits of wreckage in an arctic sea. as she gazed she brought new england thrift to bear, and decided that hat and feathers would be an unseemly head covering on such a night, even if the meeting should be possible, and straightway put it by and began the freshening of an old hood with scraps of ribbon.
-the second couple, john hasleton and helen, his wife, stood looking at each other across a table in the richly furnished library of one of the best modern houses of the city that was the sky line railroad’s eastern terminal.
-everything about the room indicated a soothing combination of good taste augmented by money; the soft but not too profuse draperies and rugs, black oak shelves holding books of enticing title and suitably clothed, unique specimens of bronze and porcelain on table and shelf, prints upon the walls that through skill of dry point and gravers’ tools reflected the faces of the past,—poet, king, warrior, gallant, and court beauty, all given an added touch of reality and animation by the glowing colours the hearth fire flashed upon them. but on the two faces that gazed across the table lay an expression of animal hatred,—no, not animal, for that is direct and primitive, while human hatred is so compounded that one unimportant ingredient is often the yeast that ferments the whole inert bulk.
-the man was openly furious, both in speech and mien; the woman held herself verbally within that purely technical and outward quality of self-control that is so exasperating to the opposite side, who feels that something is at stake besides success or defeat in argument.
-this couple, of the relative ages of twenty-seven and thirty odd, had been married five years, spent largely in travel and social pleasures, satisfying their various tastes by acquisitions, and passing brief winters in the city house given by an indulgent father to his only daughter on her marriage.
-until this time, no great responsibility had fallen on either to say you must or must not do this or that. but now circumstances called the husband to give his time to various interests in new york, necessitating a permanent removal.
-“you forget that i have not refused to leave my home and assured social position here, and if i am willing to begin again elsewhere, you have no right to forbid this visit that will not only make everything plain, but amuse me greatly as well.” the words were reasonable, but the voice was hard, and the pointed white fingers, heavy with rings that seemed to touch the table top lightly, but in reality supported the swaying figure, were tense and cold.
-“social position be damned! i’ve had enough of it these three years and over, but if not a soul should ever again speak to you in the street, i’ll not have it said that you have spent a single night in tom barney’s house, much less passed two weeks there and been thrown into the arms of the crowd they travel with!”
-“don’t be coarse. mr. and mrs. barney’s house,” corrected the woman’s voice; “and when i know that you spent innumerable week-ends before our marriage at one or more of their country places and that he proposed your name for the difficult cosmopolitan club and engineered your election. i wish to make this visit, i have accepted the invitation, and i am going.”
-“i repeat, i will not allow my wife to sleep under the barneys’ roof. if, with your sharp insight, you cannot grasp the reason, then you must yield obedience to what i consider seemly.”
-“if that is all, the matter is possible of arrangement,” replied the woman’s voice, growing colder than the february sleet outside.
-“then you will yield this point?”
-“yes, i will yield the point of being your wife,” and the woman, suddenly feeling the need of greater support than the touch of finger tips upon the table gave her, moved slowly toward a deep chair before the fire and dropped from view behind its screening back.
-for a full minute the man stood staring at the place where she was not, then turned and crashed from the room, overturning a porcelain jar in his blind haste.
-ten minutes later the front door shut.
-an hour later, mrs. hasleton’s maid was packing a suit case while her mistress, dressed in a street gown and seated at her desk, wrote half a dozen notes. presently looking up, she said: “elise, you will follow me on tuesday, as i had arranged, with the trunks packed for a two weeks’ visit. i have written the directions for you.” then, glancing through some time-tables, “tell peter to be here at two to drive me to the station.”
-“a bad day for travel? not at all; the snow packs in the streets, that in the open country blows off and amounts to nothing.”
-why she did it, she could not have told, but mrs. hasleton chose the least direct way of reaching her destination; and, instead of going as usual to the parlour car, entered a day coach, where she sat tapping her foot nervously, waiting for the train to pull out, without so much as lifting her heavy brown veil.
-it was in itself a novel sensation, this leaving with no one to say good-by, to go to a city where no one expected her; for she had determined to spend the next two days at a woman’s club to which she belonged, going to the barneys’ on the following tuesday, that being the time of the invitation. she had not yet told her change of destination to elise.
-the man strode about the half-cleared streets until he was physically almost exhausted, and then entered his club, where he hid himself in a corner, curling up like a half-sick and surly dog who both craves and resents sympathy. a group of younger men entered, joking each other and harmlessly boisterous. spying hasleton, they proceeded to unearth him from his lair. shouted one, “we have a scheme afoot for sunday, and we want a steady head like yours to come along and collect us and see that we start for home straight on monday morning.”
-“grumpy and got a cold? nonsense, you want some lunch.”
-the milk freight crawled in on the slippery rails at the hattertown siding only an hour late, which was doing very well, as sleet had followed the snow and everything was a glare of ice. but now the threatening snow clouds had vanished and the stars were piercingly clear.
-the sweezy boy had gone up for miranda banks in a sleigh before eight o’clock, and she waited patiently in the little room outside the ticket booth, with only the two benches and the air-tight stove for company. the natives who usually gathered at the station on winter evenings were mostly in bed, tired out by snow shovelling, the few remaining having collected at sweezy’s hotel to listen to his accounts of other february storms he had known.
-inside the booth the sick operator’s wife, who was waiting until the freight and express had passed safely through before closing up, alternately dozed and started to listen to the tick-tickety-tick, that sounded to the girl outside as mysterious as the death-watch beetle in a wall.
-then the milk train came in. jim bradley crossed the little room and inquired the whereabouts of the through express before he saw miranda.
-“i haven’t heard since oldfield,” replied the tired woman, “but i reckon you’re good for an hour’s holdup anyway.”
-the milk supply was low that night and quickly loaded, then jim bradley, throwing off his outer coat and pitching his cap at it, wholly relaxed and stretched luxuriously on the bench behind the stove, regardless of chilblains. for a few moments the unusually bad weather of the month, the present storm, and various bits of local news held their attention; then bradley sat up erect, folded his arms, and said: “now for my news. no, i won’t let you guess, for if you hit it, you’d knock half the wind out of the story. i’m promoted,—first of march i’m boss of the through morning local no. 11 and can pick my own crew!”
-randy’s heart sank, though she knew that this meant progress. “it’s very nice,” she stammered, looking down; “they must think a lot of you.”
-“is that all you’ve got to say about it?” and bradley fixed his eyes upon her face so that she could not avoid them.
-“i guess so. what do you want me to say?”
-“which end of the line you’d rather live at; that’s what’s concerning me now.”
-when jim bradley’s arm was free once more, the breathing from the ticket office was audible and regular, and the instrument also seemed asleep for a time and ceased its ticking. in fifteen minutes life plans were on their way to being settled, when in the midst of optimistic happiness arose a ghost called theoretical new england conscience.
-ten long, slender fingers were linked between ten short, heavy ones, when a few harmless words severed the conjunction. “tell me, jim, are you methodist or congregational? ma heard up telford way that your uncle on your father’s side was a congregational preacher, and it would seem real suitable, ’cause my father was a deacon.”
-jim bradley started as if a broken rail had suddenly confronted his engine on a curve, then he answered quietly: “yes, uncle was. i’m not either, randy, i’m a roman catholic. you see mother was out of irish stock and she kept to her religion, and i, well, i held to it as long as she lived, and after because it held to me. it’s a good religion for us knock-about men,” he added half-appealingly. “it never forgets you and it’s always there.” but miranda sat silent and drooping, white to the lips.
-jim bradley looked at her and tried to give her time; he well knew from his early life just what his statement meant to this girl with the rigid ideas of the hill country; but because he understood, he would not say a word to force his creed upon her if she would do the same, and he told her so. still she crouched on the bench and the only words that he could get from her were, “what would they all say?” and “ma would never look at me again,” repeated over and over.
-suddenly the instrument began a vigorous ticking. the woman started and, grasping the key, answered the sounds.
-“anything for me?” asked bradley, glad to move and break the spell that had fallen over both.
-“no—yes—wait a minute,” said the operator, with a puzzled expression on her face, looking at bradley with eyes that seemed only half awake. “you are to go right on to bridgeton and take further orders there.”
-putting on coat and hat and turning up the wick of his lantern, jim once more faced randy, who stood with her hands clenched in the fringe of her long cape.
-“well, it’s good-night for now,” he said cheerfully; then as her eyes met his he added, “don’t say it’s good-by, girl; for god’s sake, think it over.”
-“it’s—it ought—it must be good-by,” she whispered; “but oh, jim, i do care, care so much; if only something stronger than either of us could decide and say it would be right.”
-“good-night, randy,” said jim, and the swing of his lantern was answered by the train’s whistle. when it left the siding, randy stood on the edge of the platform watching it go out over the trestles and gain speed on the level bit before the bridge, the red and green signal lights blinking at her like harlequin stars.
-sweezy’s boy, who had gone into the hotel for shelter, emerged slowly and then disappeared in the barn to get the horse and sleigh. still randy lingered out on the platform end.
-the lights were disappearing around the curve and the village lay as silent and dead as if no railway pierced it, few houses showing any light. suddenly three shrill whistles pierced the air, the signal for down brakes, followed swiftly by a splitting noise, a vibrating crash, and a roar that was muffled almost immediately.
-for a brief second miranda waited for another whistle. none came. glancing toward the station she saw a couple of lighted lanterns, one red and one plain, that were partly hidden by a baggage truck. seizing one in either hand, she started down the track, springing lightly between the ice-coated ties. when she reached the beginning of the trestles across the low calf-pastures, she stopped long enough to shake off her heavy cape, that risked her balance, and then flew on.
-the bright starlight showed the outline of the bridge ahead, but where was the train with its winking lights? only one dark hump broke the outline of the trestles. on again over the perilous ice-coated footing that a man in daylight would have hesitated to traverse. what was that? a cry? yes, a halloo, repeated as continuously as breath would allow.
-as the girl drew near, she saw that the obstacle in front was the freight caboose, lying on its side on the bank at the very beginning of the bridge, and from beside or under it, jim bradley’s voice was calling.
-feeling her way more carefully now, she answered, “i’m coming, jim; where are you?” and finding solid earth beneath her feet once more she crept around the end of the car.
-an endless minute told it all; something had caused the engine to leave the track when halfway across the bridge, the brakes had not answered, and the six cars had followed their leader into the river, the caboose alone breaking free—wedging and overturning on the bridge. bradley had sprung from the rear steps only to be pinned fast below the knees, body prone on the frozen earth.
-“oh, jim! jim! tell me what to do first! how can i get you out before it kills you?” she cried, for though conductor bradley did not groan, in spite of himself his arms would twist in his agony.
-“no, don’t mind me; take that red lantern and run back as far as you can go above the depot and signal the express—it’s coming—i can hear the growl of it along the ground!”
-“but, jim, it can’t come this half hour yet; it was to pass you at bridgeton.”
-“that woman operator’s made a mistake. it’s coming, i tell you, go!”
-“i don’t want to leave you, jim, i can’t,” wailed the girl.
-“’tain’t what we want, randy, it’s what’s got to be. go, or if you won’t, don’t come near me, i couldn’t bear you to touch me!” and the man threw one twisting arm across his face, for turn away he could not.
-back over trestles and track flew the girl; past the station, from which suddenly awakened men were stumbling up the track calling; past the overtasked wife of the station master, who was wringing her hands, but all seemed unconscious of any danger save the wrecked freight.
-then a broad pathway of light streamed down the track, almost blinding randy, who, gaining a firm footing on the side bank and clinging to a telegraph pole, waved the lantern to and fro—to and fro, until a whistle answered the signal and the train came to an abrupt stop, with randy, her red lantern, and the great, panting engine almost side by side.
-in an instant the track was swarming with people; the conductor of the express, by chance an operator, went to the telegraph key to summon help of various kinds, the poor woman who had made the error having utterly collapsed. the crew, armed with pails and axes, hurried to the wrecked freight, for now the smell of burning wood came on the air, while the passengers of the express, satisfied that they had nothing further than a night’s discomfort to fear, were scattered about, filling the little waiting room at the station and sweezy’s hotel to overflowing, while looking up the possibilities of food and lodging; fortunately, owing to the storm, the train was but scantily filled.
-a woman from one of the day coaches, evidently a lady from quiet mien and tone, dressed in a plain cloth travelling suit, went to the bare and formal hotel parlour, and asked if she could have a room, as she was travelling alone and did not care to pass the night upon the train.
-choosing the least uncomfortable of the chairs, the woman threw herself back in it, taking off her veil and hat to ease the strain upon her aching head.
-people passed to and fro in groups, occasionally glancing in, but she seemed neither to see nor to hear them. at last a familiar voice speaking her name startled her, and she looked up, facing the door; it said:
-“hello, burt, you didn’t tell us your wife was with you,—thought you were off with the boys alone. don’t apologize. everybody gets rattled when they’re held up like this and know that four or five good fellows have come to an end a few feet ahead of them.
-“pretty well tired out, aren’t you, helen?” and there came into the room her father’s oldest friend and business associate, holding her husband by the arm, and pushing his wife and daughter before him in his eagerness.
-after a few minutes’ aimless prattle the party of three left, having decided to spend the night on the train, the elderly man making jocular remarks about leaving the couple to have a tête-à-tête in peace.
-complete silence for a moment, and then, that being the last thing the woman’s nerves could endure, she said: “why did you follow me? what right have you to put me in a position like this after this morning?”
-“i did not follow you, for i did not know that you had left boston.”
-“then it is as mr. dale hinted, you were going alone with some men without even telling me.”
-“after this morning, what right had you to know?” the blow that she had set in motion, but of which she had not before gauged the full power, struck her squarely between the eyes.
-“at least we must assume a part, not make ourselves ridiculous and start a scandal here to-night among people that are almost relations, before,—before things are arranged,” she said, on the verge of tears.
-“as you please; creating public comment has never been my plan,” he answered, and drawing a chair to the feeble light, he took a copy of a comic paper from his pocket and at least feigned to read, while the woman closed her eyes, and from holding them closed to keep the angry tears back, finally fell into a sleep of exhaustion where she sat.
-an hour passed. hasleton went out, but as usual, could gather little absolute knowledge of the wreck. he saw his companions playing poker in the parlour car; they, having heard of his wife’s presence and deeming that she had followed him, winked knowingly, and he, having nothing to explain and much to cover, drifted back to the hotel. seeing that the woman slept, he, in his turn, settled himself as well as might be on the hard sofa, and, cramped and uncomfortable as he was, dozed, being too much bewildered by the condition of things to plan or even think.
-twelve o’clock was called slowly and almost spitefully, it seemed, by the clock in sweezy’s bar and lunch room; usually this was the signal for closing, but to-night no excise regulations were enforced. sweezy, having sold all the eatables that could be procured and most of the drinkables, was busying himself disposing of people for the night, as it was not possible to remove the débris and get the track in shape under four or five hours. he had spent a profitable evening and was, consequently, in fine joking humour. peering into the parlour, he saw the sleeping couple, and not remembering that the woman had entered alone and asked for a room, he awakened them, giving the man a cheerful slap on the back to boot. “be you folks married?” and upon hasleton’s giving a sleepy assent, he continued, “all right, then, i kin double you up and that’ll take the last room, and then i’ll make shake-downs in here for half a dozen schoolmarms goin’ to a convention. first to the right at the head of the stairs, sir.” then, setting a spluttering candle on the table at the woman’s elbow, as if he naturally expected her to take the lead, he disappeared.
-helen hasleton started to her feet, her face lowering and furious. “you might have prevented this, it’s taking a mean advantage of me,” she fairly hurled the words at him. “you can go upstairs, i shall stay down here with the other women.”
-burt rose with difficulty, stiff and aching in every limb, and taking up the candle, said, “very well, it seems rude to leave you here among strangers and without a bed, but under the circumstances, i can only obey your wish.”
-“obey!” snapped the woman; “there is no such word, or if there is, i do not understand its meaning. this morning i was to obey you. to-night you offer at once to make a spectacle of me and obey me. rubbish! go back to the car with your friends and say there was no room for you here.”
-something moved in the alcove, a long shadow fell upon the floor, followed by the presence of a tall, clean-shaven man in the garments of a priest, who stood for a moment looking from one to the other.
-“there is a word obey, and it will always have a meaning until the world falls apart. the question is, whom shall we obey and what,” said a deep but quiet voice in the perfect accents of well-born speech. “if one woman had not obeyed to-night, you two perhaps, as well as all on board the train, would have been lying crushed or burned in the river-bed beyond, dead, distorted, horrible! jim bradley, the conductor, pinned in the wreck, was found by the woman he was to marry, frantic of course to rescue him. he told her to leave him, to go back and save this train, and she obeyed. they have carried him to her home and the surgeons are at work; the end i do not know. i have left them but now, and with them the two rites of the church that best could help, belonging to the two ends of life, marriage that gives her the right to care for him, and to him the last sacrament.
-“and yet you stand there, man and woman, and bicker and create falsity from empty words, forgetting that nothing can transpose right and wrong. shame on you both!”
-for several moments no one moved; then hasleton replaced the candle on the table, as he saw the outlines of the man’s face, young in spite of gauntness and close-cropped gray hair, and in his astonishment almost whispered, “john anthony!”
-“father john,” corrected the voice calmly, but in a tone that forbade further questioning, though recognition gleamed in his own eyes; for john anthony had been a college mate of hasleton’s, who, though always serious, had, ten years before, suddenly, and to the world in general unaccountably, given up the brilliant promise of public life for the priesthood. two men alone knew that the first motive for his course lay in that it was the only immovable barrier he could place between his nature and temptation,—the mad infatuation of a beautiful married woman, whose husband was his friend.
-as hasleton raised his eyes again to father john’s face, their hands met in a tense clasp that told its tale to each. no words were spoken, and hasleton, in turn, went up the creaking stairs.
-five years passed, and hattertown looked much the same as of old. the factory ruins were now but a heap of wood dust where vagrant hens scratched for slugs. the milk freight still ran on the siding every evening, but jim bradley was not the conductor, neither did miranda banks teach the school at the corners.
-in one of the offices of an important station of the sky line railroad works a short, thick-set man, to whom many others defer as their manager; his face is strong and cheerful, but after noting his chin lines, very few bigger men would try to browbeat him in spite of the fact that he moves with a crutch, one leg being shortened almost to the thigh.
-the working day ends, and going downstairs, the man sees a horse and low buggy driven by a trim woman with glorious ruddy-gold hair turn toward the platform. she, smiling a welcome, moves the tiny girl beside her to make place; and the horse, taking his own head, trots to a quiet by-way apart from the main road that leads past stately country places.
-“where is jimmy this afternoon? i hope he hasn’t been cutting up, randy,” said the father, questioningly.
-“oh, no, but we’ve company at home that i left him to entertain. guess who?”
-“no, father john, and only think of it, he’s going to stay two days before he goes up to the hasletons’ for his usual august visit. on hearing of it, mrs. hasleton brought me some flowers and fruit this afternoon, and when she had seen the house, asked me if i would let her john and little helen come to me of mornings this winter and learn to read and spell with jimmy. she said that she knew i had taught school in the old-fashioned way, and that she preferred it to kindergarten methods for the boy. think of my being able to teach the hasletons’ children anything. isn’t it splendid, jim? how pleased ma will be.”
-“i don’t know about that,” said jim bradley, closing one hand over those that held the reins, “but i know something, or rather somebody, else that is splendid, even if she couldn’t just at first make up her mind which end of the line she’d live at.”
-miranda bradley, not one whit abashed, laughed softly. “it wasn’t really a matter for me to decide which end, was it, jim, since hasleton manor station happens to be almost in the middle?”
-thus it came about that neither the remote hamlet of hattertown nor a bleak february day was without influence on vital things.
-iii the vandoo
-“how can you ask me to invite her?” i said, looking up from a letter evan had a moment before handed me to read, and blinking at him reproachfully; for i had been driving about with father all the afternoon with the brightening march sun reflected by ice-coated march snow in my eyes, until the lids seemed to be controlled by rusty wires and everything was enveloped in rainbow-hued mist through which black spots danced.
-“is it possible that you have read the letter? hear what she writes: ‘terry says that you live in the country and that you wouldn’t leave your home for anything in the world. i want to live in the country because i was born in the west and lived on a ranch until i was well grown, and i haven’t yet found a city big enough to give me elbow-room, much less a comb in a twelve-story beehive, which in new york it seems is the only available shelter for people like terry and myself. besides, i want room for a riding horse and pasture to turn him out.
-“‘i want to see your place and, if possible, find out what it is that makes you hug it so close, and i want to see it soon; so if you will please engage a room for us at the nearest hotel, terry and i will go down for sunday, and i can wait behind a bit and look around the neighbourhood.
-“‘i’ve been at him about this for a month, but he always forgets to ask when he sees you. then, too, the poor boy is a bit discouraged; we’ve been to so many places that we know the railway time-tables of all the villages within an hour of the city as well as we know our twice twos. he thinks the only possible way to be satisfied is to inherit a place, and “feel the blood of your people in the soil” as he puts it. but how can we? i’ve no people but uncle sandy at the ranch, which is several thousand miles inconvenient to terry’s work, and his people are in the old country, where, at best, the family nest, though decidedly a last year’s one, was overfull, and dropped him out (he says you’ll appreciate that). so you see, we’ve both got to start and make believe until it seems natural.
-“‘i hope i’m not putting you to trouble, but in the west we’re always glad to step out for a prospective homesteader.
-“‘sincerely, your possible neighbour, “‘vesta donelly.’”
-“i didn’t suppose it would put you out very much to have a jolly sort of girl here for a few days at this dull time of the year,” said evan, regretfully, rather than apologetically, and dodging the real issue.
-“it isn’t the trouble. i would welcome any one with open arms who cared to come here in the first three weeks of march (as to the fourth week, barring a blizzard, my mind goes back to the earth and revels in the task of keeping the temperature of the hot-beds equable, an occupation not naturally appreciated by company). but knowing the country as we do, can you possibly consider march a good month for exploiting real estate? especially a march like the present, that starts by being snowbound in the fields, and so sloppy in the roads that the wheels of anything but father’s stanhope are mired and won’t go round, while down in the valley the light sleigh almost turned into a boat and floated this morning.
-“there is nothing attractive of any kind that i know of for sale, and if there were, it would repel people at this season. even the cortrights’ trim, lovely house, standing between the great oaks, looked, this afternoon, like a belated and bedraggled straggler, propped up between two policemen waiting for the patrol wagon to come for it. besides, at best, this mrs. terence donelly is looking for the impossible with true western fervour.
-“one must grow up with a place and feel rooted in its earth to love it in march; she won’t have the ghost of an idea what the garden means to us by looking at it now, for it isn’t there, only its spirit, and that, like everything dead, is invisible except to the eyes of those that love.
-“what is vesta like? how old is she, and who were her people?” i asked, for optimistic evan was beginning to look depressed, which is something wholly against the rule.
-terence donelly was a college chum of evan’s at oxford, and is as fascinating and warm-hearted as only a well-bred irishman knows how to be. he had visited us many times before the western trip that had buckled into double harness a spirited roadster who had travelled straight and true in single harness without either check-rein or blinders for nearly forty years. consequently, mrs. terence was an object of an interest that became intense upon the thought of meeting her.
-“she is small, her hair is light brown and her eyes flash and dance so that i don’t remember anything else about them,” said evan, slowly, shutting his eyes, as if searching his memory for an accurate picture. “i happen to know that she is twenty-six, though she does not look it by five or six years. i haven’t made up my mind about her disposition; one moment she has an almost pathetic expression as though she needed sympathy and protection, and then her eyes blaze, and she runs her hand through her front hair until it stands on end, and she reminds one of something as unapproachable as a coil of slender live wire.
-“her people? her father was a californian, but her mother was an eastern woman by descent, the daughter of a judge morland who came from massachusetts, and, like many another boy, tired of farm life, taught school to get his education, and then by the same process worked his way out west. terry has tried to look up the family to please his wife, who seems very lonely in spite of all her independence, but there is no one left. that is why i thought you might cheer her up from the woman’s side of things if they settled here. she is unconventional enough to satisfy you, i’ll warrant, and would be delighted to go up in the attic on a wet day and dream pussy willows, and the fact that hers may be the western species of the tree would be a sort of tonic for the dreams.”
-“you must have said something to terry about his wife’s coming here,” i announced, when he had ended.
-“i may have,” evan answered. “the poor fellow is worried because she is getting restless, and hasn’t a woman friend in new york, and i thought if she could meet the cortrights and bradfords, sukey latham and the rest, the air might clear in a twinkling.”
-“i’ll write to her to-night; imagine you and me, married only a year and living in chicago or san francisco, father dead, and not even aunt lot or martha saunders to turn either against or to, and no home to which to return! what a wretched time you would be having with me! nevertheless, upon your head be the failure to find in this neighbourhood the ideal house built around a magnet.”
-“oh, if you once get her here something will be sure to turn up,” said evan. “she may find a few bits of old furniture, or a bargain in a jug or spoon up at tucker’s curiosity shop; he’s had a dull season, and the donellys are keen about getting old colony things so that when they find the house they may have the fittings, as they seem to take it for granted the house will match.”
-father, who had come in while we were talking, stood with his back to the study fire rubbing his hands together as if it were midwinter, while the sleepy dogs only roused enough to wag their tails drowsily, take a comfortable yawn that arched their backs, easing the muscles, then settled down again.
-“is it thawing or freezing?” i asked, crossing the hall to him.
-“both,” he answered, laughing, “one overhead, the other underfoot; a fine climate this, to test the vigour of the new england people. i’ve just come down from the dearborn farm from visiting old man becker, who is racked by grippy pains. he says there is more snow in the south meadow than any spring since the old deacon died, and that is forty years and he reckons march is ‘no good to anybody but for plotting and planning.’ he gave me this handbill yesterday, which owing to the weather, it’s several days in advance of its being posted. i was reminded of it by hearing the words ‘bargains in jugs and old spoons’;” and father pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper from his side pocket, which, being spread upon the table, took the form of a tree poster that read as follows:—
-“vandoo! part i
-“the entire goods and chattels belonging to the estate of sarah dearborn deceased, will be disposed of on the premises by public vandoo on the 12th of march, or if stormy, the first fair day thereafter. goods will go to the highest bidder and must be paid for at time of purchase and removed within two days.
-“a list of the property may be seen on the premises.
-“a grand chance for the friends of the late estimable lady to obtain souvenirs.”
-“vandoo! part ii
-“on friday, march 15, the real estate belonging to the estate of the late sarah dearborn, as follows: parcel i consisting of one two-story oak-framed dwelling with attic, wood-shed, and buttery, two barns and smaller out-buildings, and seventeen acres of land, the same comprising the homestead and to be sold together. parcel ii, ten acres of woodland situated on the ridge road, parcel iii, ten acres of salt meadow, parcel iv, forty acres of plowed and grass land being known as the south meadows. these pieces will be sold together or separate to suit the bidder.
-“grand chance to secure high land for building lots, with a land boom and a trolley only a few miles away and coming nearer! come one! come all!
-“these two important vandoos are under the management of joshua hanks, licensed auctioneer and attorney for the executors.
-“oaklands, march, 19—.”
-“here is something, i’m sure, that will interest mrs. terry,” said evan, who had followed me; “naturally she will not care for the house, for it is low and rambling, but it will be a chance to go to an auction sale conducted with strict hill-country etiquette, unless i’m mistaken, for even the leading word, ‘vendue,’ is spelled according to the local pronunciation. it is always as good as a play to hear hanks conduct a sale, he is all commercial bathos. don’t you remember going with me, barbara, to an auction on the ridge where some one complained that a certain cow was damaged, and not sound as represented because she had a broken horn, and hanks gave a thrilling account of how the horn was broken and tried to prove added value from the happening?”
-“but, father,” i asked, “why is the dearborn farm to be sold? i thought miss sallie had pinched and denied herself even ordinary comforts the last half of her life to leave the place, with a little sum for keeping it up, to some grandnephews.”
-“it is one of the many cases that come to us all, and especially into the life of a country doctor, that prove how foolish it is for people to make plans for those who come after them, or pinch or save beyond the ordinary bounds of prudence,” answered father. “i knew sallie dearborn for upwards of fifty years. the lord intended her for a woman to love and be loved, yet a streak of obstinate martyrdom from first to last made her lose her chances of happiness one after another, because to accept them would interfere with some elaborate and prudent plan she had made either for indefinite posterity, or more often merely on general principles of thrift.
-“after the old people died, they say that sallie had a chance to marry a promising young fellow and go out into the world, but to have withdrawn her interest in the land at that time would have hindered her two brothers, and after a controversy that no one understood, the lover went away.
-“presently one brother died, and the other, having married a delicate wife, broke away from the farm to go to the southwest. for years sallie toiled and scrimped to pay him his portion and keep the place of five generations ‘in the family.’ she has even paid her farmer becker and his wife with post obits, that she might leave a money equivalent of the farm in the bank so that the two nephews might have equal portions without selling the homestead and furnishings. the first choice going to the elder, with many directions as to the handing of it down being left to the one who takes it and its quaint furnishings.
-“now, as it turns out, neither man wishes the farm or fixings, nor has sufficient interest in their fate even to bring them here to oversee affairs, and everything available is to be sold without reserve and turned into money!
-“deborah becker, who lived with miss sallie as companion more than helper these forty years, is almost heart-broken, and told me this afternoon that such a happening had never entered miss sallie’s head, for that not long before her last illness, she even sent for samples of wall-paper, labelled and put them away in the old mahogany desk of the squire’s that always stood in the best room; this paper for the guest room, that for the parlour, as a guide for the doing over of the house when ‘one of the boys’ should take it.”
-“timothy saunders’ saying is true, ‘the future’s a kittle mare that travels best her ain gate and lacking both bit and bridle,’” i said, “but yet it is pathetic when one has sacrificed everything to a sort of old country land-pride, to have it come to naught. didn’t she leave you a letter of some sort, father, that was to remain sealed a year until everything was settled?”
-“yes, barbara, a sealed letter enclosing a key; the key of the old desk, which the will says is to be disposed of according to directions given me. i hope it may give rise to no complications. who that saw sallie dearborn during the last half of her life would dream that she was once full of woman’s romance crossed with chivalry? these have seen her grim, calculating, measuring every egg or berry that she sold; sending her weekly paper to the bridgeton hospital, but first cutting the white margins therefrom, and rolling them into lamplighters to save matches at two cents a box!”
-with the prospective “vandoo” as a motive, i invited terry donelly for over a sunday and his wife for a week’s visit. when she came, of a saturday after dusk, i found, as evan had said, that one moment she was tender and almost piteously feminine, so that i was impelled to take her in my arms as i would a child, while in a moment of animation, a flush would mantle her cheeks, too thin for her years, the gray eyes would flash, little bright glints play about her hair, until she was, indeed, like a bundle of lithe, live wires.
-at such moments, terry’s laughing eyes would grow grave, and the banter, which was one of his charms, die on his lips; that she was restless and he apprehensive even through the spell of strong affection, there was no doubt, and on monday, when terry left her with me, there was something appealing in his glance and the grip he gave my hand.
-the day was fairly pleasant out-of-doors in that a frozen crust made good walking, and, arm in arm, mrs. terry and i explored my haunts; i pointed to the stakes and trellises where the garden had been and would be again, and for a moment we sat upon the seat where the “mother tree” had been and looked down the walk that had bordered that first garden of the long ago. would she understand from these bare outlines the why of it, the voiceless potency of that which bound me?
-if she did she said nothing until afternoon, when i took her to my attic corner, and building a log fire in the franklin stove, drew the dumpy old lounge before it and called the dogs to soothe us with their sleepy influence.
-at first mrs. terry sat upright, hands clasped about her knees, gazing at the fire, and breathing quickly.
-“how i love that,” she said; “we have not had these fires since i left the ranch, and i’ve often slept out by one as high as the wall when we’ve been on camping trips.”
-then gradually her breath came slower and more evenly, and she dropped back half against the sweet clover pillows and half against my shoulder.
-“i was born in march, i met terry in march, the next march we were married, and now, oh, mrs. evan, unless you can help me and hold me, we shall part, terry and i, for no fault, and i shall go back to uncle sandy in march! no, don’t look at me so hardly, i can feel your eyes right through my hair: you, who have always been at home, can’t judge me. it isn’t that i don’t love terry better than any one else, but the earth loves you, too, and sometimes it won’t let go. i could not know it would be so until i came away; no one could. some day it will all be changed, this coming of a man and taking the woman away; he will come to her and stay, for home is more to the one who stays in to keep it.”
-as she leaned close to me, i could feel the beating of her heart and with it another sound, a sort of feeble echo as it were. then i gathered her up and held her close, and told her of those two first years and of my own separation from home and country.
-“but after that you came back,” she cried, “and terry can’t go back with me; we thrashed that out in the beginning, for even uncle sandy said there was no opening for a lawyer in a grazing country, because every one settles their own disputes quick, unless they are big enough for the government to butt in, and anyway a lawyer isn’t popular. well, at last, thank god, i’ve found some one to understand it, some one who has lived through that feeling that pulls you back to where you started.” and mrs. terry, clasping her arms around my neck, fell to crying, not passionately, but comfortably, that blessed outlet that nature has given us women in compensation for much pain we may not avoid.
-the morning of the sale at the dearborn farm was mild, as though march was preparing to go out like a lamb that scented green pastures. two days of rain had washed the snow from the open places, and though the roads ran mud, yet it was the mud of promise.
-we made an early start, that mrs. terry might have a chance to see the few bits of old furniture likely to attract one who had no association with the family or place; for the dearborns were of the plain yankee stock that, aside from a few heirlooms kept most of the time behind drawn blinds, had furnishings of the plainest sort. there was a good tall clock with a ship atop of the pendulum sailing toward a port it never reached, a handsome claw-footed table of mahogany, a chest of drawers, and a dozen chairs of the same wood, patterned diversely, a four-post bed, carved with some skill, a davenport sofa with carved ends, a hooded cradle, a low-boy, and a work table with heavy brass handles. the silver table ware, worn thin by use, was of a slender pattern, the ends of the handles of spoons and forks being abruptly angled; while of china, outside of the modern ware in daily use, there was a tea-set of lowestoft with its odd small-necked tea-caddy and helmet cream-pitcher, and a more complete service of blue and white india porcelain.
-a bevy of neighbours and one or two dealers, including old pop tucker, were buzzing about these things, but what seemed to attract mrs. terry far more, were the pitiful little personal articles that belonged intimately to the life of sallie dearborn, and that she had never doubted would pass either to her own kin, or, if worthless, be destroyed instead of being exposed for criticism and sale, as the law ordains in the settling of an estate where no friendly hand intervenes.
-worn table-linen tied into bundles, underclothing, much darned stockings, shoes, a well-worn bible filled with little memory markers bearing names and dates, a book filled with household recipes copied in a stiff, exact handwriting, and lastly, resting on the seat of a chintz-covered chair, as if its owner had left it there for a brief moment while she went to other tasks, was a deep work-basket, big as a peck measure. the inside pockets of this basket were filled with spools, needle-cases, tapes and all such gear; the outside bags held bits of half-finished work, and knitting, the rusty needles sticking from a ball of home-dyed blue-gray yarn, just as they had been laid away; while a thimble of an odd pineapple pattern hung on the top of a long darning needle that occupied the middle of the pincushion.
-“this is simply cruel,” whispered mrs. terry, the electric wire look reappearing as she rumpled her hair and held the basket close to her as if to protect it. “there is nothing in this basket worth a nickel, unless that dingy thimble is gold, and to have it put up and sold to some one of those old cats yonder, who have been going about pinching and smelling everything, not that they mean to buy, but just to see, as that one with the green porcupine topknot in her hat said a minute ago, ‘what dear sallie had that set her up so.’
-“a lot of a woman’s secrets drop into her work-basket, and mix up with her pens and writing things when she’s alone, and it’s wicked to sell any of these things. i’m going to buy this basket, mrs. evan, and wrap it up in a pink paper and bury it if you’ll lend me a spade and the ground isn’t frozen too hard; if not, i’ll burn it.
-“i mean to buy that old bible, too, with all the births and deaths written in. the porcupine woman said she would buy it if it didn’t bring over a dollar, because she hadn’t had a chance to ‘leaf it over well’ and there were dates in it she wanted to write out and there might be letters tucked in somewhere! from what i’ve overheard, miss sallie must have had a lover fifty or sixty years ago, who went away, and as no one ever knew why, her friends’ children are still curious about the matter.”
-mr. hanks’ vigorous pounding on the table in the kitchen, and the ringing of a bell, gathered about him an audience of nearly one hundred people, and the selling began, room by room; for, to save confusion, the large pieces of furniture were sold where they stood.
-during the morning the sale dragged, the dealers had everything their own way, and in spite of mr. hanks’ pathetic reminiscences concerning each article, from an old pew stove to a five-cent factory-made wooden spoon, the derelicts that did not receive a single bid would have filled a wagon. the afternoon session began in the best room, wherein was the four-poster, the cradle, a good mirror, the work-basket and the tall desk, the fate of which was contained in miss sallie’s letter to father.
-as we stood in the doorway, a flood of sunlight, coming in through the small, iridescent window-panes, gilded the dust that lay upon everything and lent warmth to the quaint buff wall-paper, festooned with loops of bright flowers and birds of paradise; a brave paper in its day and one that had faded with dignity.
-“i don’t know quite what there is about this room,” whispered mrs. terry, “but bare as it is and cold, it seems familiar and somehow more homelike to me than any other i have ever seen; i wonder could i have lived in it in dreams?”
-before i could answer, one of the swift changes passed over her, and stepping forward, she said in the perfectly clear, unemotional voice of a business man, “mr. hanks, as it is growing late and i must go, would you object to selling the contents of this room as it stands? wall-paper and all, if it is possible to get it off?” i was amazed and a little worried, for i knew nothing of the length of mrs. terry’s purse.
-the country folks gasped and whispered among themselves; they did not wish to be cheated out of a moment’s excitement. the dealers began a series of mental calculations, but no real objection being made, mr. hanks stroked his chin a moment, muttered something about its being possible that the wall paper being fastened to the house might be real estate, and then said, “the bed must be a separate lot, the desk as is known is not for the sale, but the rest of the fittings i will put up in bulk ‘as is,’ madam, which is a learned and professional term you must know for the way they seem to be to the casual eye, not what perhaps the brush of fancy might paint them.”
-the green porcupine lady shut her mouth with the snap of a turtle, murmuring something about the widow’s mite being disdained, as she saw that both the bible, and the basket containing the thimble that was suspected of being gold, would vanish from her horizon.
-of course i was in no way responsible for mrs. terry, yet for one who confessed to being on the eve of running away, to buy a wagon load of furniture seemed hardly rational. when, ten minutes later, mr. hanks, after selling the bed and contents of the room for one hundred and fifty dollars, was fairly beaming at his success, and i realized that the furniture must be removed within two days, my heart sank.
-not so mrs. terry’s; after giving hanks a very substantial deposit upon her purchase, she tucked the bible under one arm, and hugging the basket to her breast, made ready to go.
-that evening, after supper, she spread bible, basket, and herself upon the rug before the den fire and began examining the contents of the old work-basket as a child does a picture puzzle, saying naïvely, “it’s no harm to look at the things before i bury them,” whereat evan heaved a sigh, and i knew that he was mentally weighing the stability of terry donelly’s marriage, though at the same time his eyes twinkled with amusement.
-“see,” she continued, “here’s a finished sock wrapped up in paper with something peppery, and the other is all done but a bit of the tip of the toe. i think i’ll finish it if i can get the rust off the needles; yes, it rubs off and the rug polishes them nicely,—there seems to be enough yarn on the ball to finish the toe, though it’s rather mothy; it looks ages old. can i knit? oh, yes, i used to knit long stockings for uncle sandy out of heather yarn. i knit a pair of golf stockings for terry last fall, but one foot was shorter than the other, and he said it always drew up his big toe and distracted his attention when he was ‘putting.’”
-“what a well-packed idea!” cried mrs. terry, rising to her knees, “and perhaps, who knows, the name brought good luck and helped her get both feet alike!”
-“i’m not sure about that,” laughed father, “but i do remember that there was a lot of curiosity about those papers and sometimes a girl would steal her rival’s knitting ball to find whose name was inside, and feuds came of it that were worse than tangled yarn.”
-“do you suppose there could possibly be a paper in this ball?” mrs. terry cried suddenly, as she squeezed it tight; “it isn’t all yarn, there’s something inside and it isn’t a spool. no, i won’t unwind it, i’ll knit this last inch out,” and the fingers flew, while it seemed as though her strange hair stretched out to look, and pulling away from its pins fairly danced in the firelight.
-as the stocking ate up the yarn, i found myself getting nearer to mrs. terry, father drew his chair close, and evan leaned against the fireplace.
-“why are we all so breathlessly interested?” i asked, addressing the ball of yarn as much as anything.
-“because,” answered father, “of the possibility of unearthing romance, and twist, distort, and disguise it as we will, simple love is the most interesting thing to every one of us.”
-“last round,” called evan, who was watching so closely that mrs. terry’s fingers trembled nervously.
-the row was finished and bound off, though the rotten yarn had to be pieced three times in the process; then she began to unwind the wisp that remained. yes, there was a piece of paper inside, brittle and yellow.
-slowly she opened it, for it threatened to tear in shreds, and read in an awestruck voice, “‘surely goodness and mercy will follow me all my days. march the 20th, 1842. sarah dearborn and richard morland’!”
-“richard morland was my mother’s father!” she said, scarcely above a whisper; “how did his name come here, dr. russell?”
-father held the paper to the lamp, scarcely less excited than mrs. terry, who stood with clasped hands and a strange, searching expression in her eyes as they followed him.
-“richard morland, yes, that is the name,” said father, making sure of every letter. “he once taught school at the old centre village. it was before my time, but it is a matter of record, and some of the old people still speak of him. as i remember the story, the school-teacher always boarded at the dearborn farm.”
-“then my grandfather once lived in the house where we were, to-day, and probably slept in the four-posted bed and saw the parrots perched in the flowers on the wall the first thing in the morning,” mrs. terry said slowly, turning her back to the room and speaking, as it were, to the fire.
-“it is very strange, because when i went into the room, it did not seem new to me. i, too, must sleep in the great bed and wake up with the sunshine on that old, old paper.”
-“it is a pity that it couldn’t be taken off the wall so that all the fittings might be kept together,” i said thoughtlessly. but the young woman wheeled around swiftly, and putting a hand on either of my shoulders held me off, at the same time that her expression drew me close.
-“that paper shall never come off,” she said. “if grandpa had married miss sallie, she would have been my grandmother and i should have belonged in the dearborn homestead. it’s too late for that now, but i’m going to buy the place and manage it that way. don’t you see, mrs. evan? i’ve found my reason, the reason that i wanted to make me stay somewhere until i had taken root and couldn’t get away. then perhaps i may find out something more from the old place to make me hug it tighter. anyway, the south pasture is just the place to turn out horses.
-“don’t you think, dr. russell, that they might be willing to sell before next week? please may i use the telephone? i’ll call up terry, he will be so relieved! and then i must get to work and find out why miss sallie wasn’t my grandmother.”
-now the time had come for father to open miss sallie’s letter, which said that—the desk and its contents were to become the property of the owner of the house!
-“the desk and all the wall-papers miss sallie chose for the refurnishings!” cried mrs. terry; “it’s actually like having some one to share the responsibility of it all. ah, you see, mrs. evan, i told you that dreary old march is my lucky month; another thirty days and it might have been too late.”
-the day that the deed was transferred, father handed mrs. terry the key of the old secretary. whispering to me, “i don’t want even terry to come up yet, only you must be with me when i open it, for you understand,” she literally pulled me up the narrow stairs.
-dragging up the big arm-chair, she seated herself in it and turned the key slowly in the creaking lock. as the flap fell back, revealing a row of pigeon-holes and two shallow drawers, she whispered, “i don’t know exactly whether i’m opening a treasure chest or a grave!”
-after some hesitation, she pulled out a drawer and took from it a bundle of yellow papers, folded lengthwise and tied with a faded blue ribbon. “‘letters from r. m. to s. d., preserved to show my kin how good a man their foolish aunt lost through thinking that land could weigh in the balance with love,’” read mrs. terry, reddening deeply; “and here is a picture of grandpa cut from black paper, and a queer curl of hair. ah, now i see where my inquisitive hair comes from.
-“‘a letter of advice to my kin if they think to marry, and a request.’” mrs. terry read this slowly to herself, saying as she did so, “i hope she wants something i can do for her.”
-there was a long silence, so long that i looked up rather anxiously at last.
-“what is it?” i asked.
-“she wants grandpa’s name to be given to the first child that is born in this house,” said mrs. terry, in an awestruck tone, “and that seems to me like a loaf and fish miracle, for i was so afraid that terry would want to call him for his own people, and his father’s name was patrick dennis! oh, how nice it is to have even a might-have-been grandmother to shoulder such responsibilities!” and once more she threw herself into my arms as she had done the afternoon in the attic, peeping over my shoulder at the hooded mahogany cradle into which the beams of the victorious snow-quelling march sun were shining.
-“something seems to have turned up, or else we have all gone snow-blind,” said evan that night.
-iv the immigrants
-it was early in april, an hour before sunset. the keen wind that blew down through the valley, sweeping the forge pond into little ripples, was tinkling with spring sounds,—wayside voices of robin, meadow-lark, purple finch, and cheery song sparrow; the red-wing’s good-night blending with the piping of the marsh frogs; music of little brooks newly born of melted ice and spring rain on the rocky hillsides; here and there the chime of cow bells worn by peter salop’s rambling herd returning from their first day’s browsing in the brush lots,—all blended into the steady rhythm of the water as it fell in an unbroken sheet from the pond’s edge upon the rocks below.
-spring rushed toward the ear that evening more swiftly than to the eye. there were yellow tassels of fragrant spice-bush in moist warm hollows, echoing in tint the winter-flowering witch-hazel; wands of glistening willow outlined the waterways, and the red glow of life lay upon the swamp maples; but only the eyes of the wise might hope to find the hiding-places of the white and rathe blue hepaticas, or the nooks deep in the hemlock woods where the wax-pink arbutus distilled fragrance from the leaf mould.
-as the sun slowly vanished behind the long chain of hills beyond the moosatuck, the warmth of the first spring day swiftly followed, and soon the sky was barred with the dull red-purple and citron that promised unwelcome frosts.
-in all the countryside but two people were to be seen out-of-doors or in any way seemingly conscious of the evening’s beauty, and these were alien born; peter salop, the owner of the pond, mill, and forge, and ivan gronski, his hired helper. peter was english born, a portly and comfortable man of sixty odd, who, having come over in his youth, had made a little money by city trade. once upon a time he had gone home again to pick up the old life for middle-aged rest, but though the land was there, the people that made the life had vanished. now coming for the second time, he had settled in our hill country near his sons, and because he was born in a mill, a mill he must own, and, because as a boy he had loved to creep into a neighbour’s forge and watch the molten metal take shape, a forge he must have, even though its work was no more ambitious than turning scrap iron into cheap ploughs and third-grade tools.
-among other traditions that he brought with him and never seemed to have lost in his forty years of city trading, was a love for the sound of cow bells, the sight of sheep grazing on the rough hillsides where they were almost indistinguishable from the rocks, the sight and smell of snowy “may” or hawthorn, big bushes of which grew in his house yard, a love of lying prone on green grass, hands behind head to watch the sky, and an intense respect for the game laws. it was this latter quality that had begun an intimacy between peter and evan, and together they had formed an alliance to put down the trapping, ferreting, and snaring among the hills, about which the country lad, native by a few generations, has no conscience.
-wild geese had been flying these two weeks, and peter salop was minded that if a flock dropped to rest and feed on his pond, there should be none lacking in their onward flight. moreover, with the wild-fowl in mind, he never cut the heavy-seeded marsh grasses and sedges that grew in the pond’s backwater, and had scattered wild rice until it had become naturalized. so now peter paced up and down the highway that skirted his property on the west, hands behind back, his eyes first resting upon the pond that, here and there, glistened silver-like between the meshed alders that hedged it like coin within a knitted purse, then sweeping the road up which either the mail man or the home-coming cattle might at any time be expected.
-for the moment, a flock of white geese held the right of way with half-raised wings and heads erect, forcing their master to one side; for this was before the day of heartless motor cars, when in rural regions, at least, the road belonged to the females, who drove buggies with sundry twitches of the reins as though they were pulling in fish, and to the ducks, geese, and portly hens escorting young chickens.
-the other human figure in the picture was working steadily back of the cow barns, occasionally looking across the pond toward the sunset, but without once ceasing his toil of carrying hay from the stack and making ready for milking. what he thought, if he thought at all, left no trace upon his flat features, that were tanned and weathered to the deep hue of sole leather, although his long, light hair, and scant, bristling mustache, showed that originally he must have been fair of skin; his short, thick-set, yet lean body, with its long arms, worked like a machine until one would have supposed that an overseer was standing by him with a lash.
-this unceasing labour was a sort of inborn habit, one of the few traditions that ivan gronski had brought with him. he never stopped to think why he worked so incessantly. peter salop would have told you that ivan worked but never thought about his work, and in this way he stood in his own light, adding, “by ’n by he’ll get to thinkin’, no doubt, and then he’ll most like not work at all.”
-but peter did not know the reason. once in the years gone by, ivan had stopped when he was working, stopped to listen to what another said, that ‘if the tax to support the idle was not so heavy upon them all, there would be more time to raise the head and breathe the air, while if a time should come when there were no idle to be clad in gold and gems, they, the people, might even in work hours stand, hands upon hips, and laugh!’ then had ivan not only listened but answered, “god hasten the day,” crossing himself with one hand, while with the other he pressed the little icon, worn under his blouse, against his flesh until it left a mark.
-some one had heard! swift as the bird flies the words travelled. nicholas, the man who had spoken, disappeared from among his fellows who worked in a nobleman’s field, while the man who had merely answered soon felt the dreaded spy shadow hovering over him, following him and blighting the way before.
-in ivan’s hut there were five: maria the wife, zetta the eldest girl, ’tiana (short for tatiana) who crept about, and paul the baby, and over them all the spy shadow hung. some day, ivan had hoped they might all go overseas to america, where it was said that one might not only laugh, but own land and houses; perhaps this might happen when paul also could walk. but all that was before the spy shadow fell. a little money had been saved and hidden beneath the thatch, but the shadow seemed to shut a door between ivan and freedom of motion even. what day it would come in the door, he could not tell. some work horses from the estate were to go for exhibition to a neighbouring fair. when they were ready, polished and sleek, with bunches of ribbons braided in their manes and tails, the man in charge of them fell suddenly ill, and not daring to disarrange his overseer’s plans, he begged ivan to wear his new boots, blouse, and cap, and ride the horses to the fair. maria urged him to go, and overlooked the new blouse carefully,—a stitch was lacking here and there, she said,—and had he the eyes for it there was something strange both in her face and her manner of wishing him good-by.
-the first night of the fair, amid some little jollity and confusion, an overseer in a village near to ivan’s pressed close to him and whispered in his ear, “michael is in siberia, i, too, am beneath the spy cloud and therefore i go away to-night; come you with me, else it will be too late, to-morrow they mean to arrest us both; keep on moving with the crowd and do not let your face change.”
-“how? i cannot, i have no money, and there is maria and all. you need not think i will do that.”
-“maria knows and wishes it, then she follows when you have made a place. she has sewn the money from the thatch into the blouse you wear.”
-involuntarily ivan pressed his hand to his side where something had been chafing him, and there he felt the little box that held their treasure. without question maria had placed it there, maria must know more than he. so ivan gronski turned his back upon russia, hatred of his country being all that remained of it in his heart, for what other heritage is left to an honest russian pole!
-three weeks later the two men reached a seaport, after arrest, hunger, and despair, all three in turn, had threatened them; another three weeks, and they stood upon american soil. the brother of ivan’s rescuer, already well established, met and vouched for both; the friend found quick haven, but ivan drifted here and there at first, working in ditches, on railways, clutching at every penny to save it for the coming of maria and the others when he had “made a place,” then losing again through sickness, hearing seldom from her, and then always through michael, the friend with whom he had come.
-when working for a junk dealer in bridgeton, he had been sent one day, in company with another man, out far across country with a load of scrap iron, its destination being peter salop’s forge. while his companion bargained about the iron, ivan had watered the horses and, idle for the moment, stood looking across the pond to where a field of ripening wheat waved to and fro against the blue midsummer sky. he had never set his eyes upon a wheat field since the time when his fellow-worker, in tying sheaves, had spoken of liberty and he had answered. how long ago was that, years or only months? he could hardly tell. and what was that beyond the field edge lying low to the land almost concealed by a tall poplar—was it a peasant’s hut?
-no, merely the low-built house of some early settler, the wide stone chimney and sloping attic eaves seeming lowered by the intervening hill. but a throb came into ivan’s throat and tore it, and suddenly the oppression of his race that had gripped him even in the new land like a paralysis, gave way, and long-drawn sobs swept him until he swayed and shook like the wheat in the wind.
-“the wheat, the hut, maria, and i make no place for her,” ivan explained, piecing out his few words of english with direct gestures.
-“homesick?” shouted peter; “want to go home?” making the common mistake of thinking loud tones help to interpret a strange tongue. “what are you, a polack or a slav?”
-ivan understood, and a sadness deeper than tears came to him, almost giving dignity to his hunched form. “me? there is no go home for me, i am a russe!”
-peter salop might be called dense upon some occasions, but not now. for a moment he too was an immigrant, and that other pond and mill, whose double he had sought in later life in a strange land, were before him.
-“i need a farm man, if you’d care to stay about here,” he said presently; “to begin, twenty a month if i board you, thirty and you find yourself; more, bimeby if you fit in.”
-“yeas, yeas, oh yeas,” gasped ivan, clinging only to the first proposition, which for the moment overshadowed the others.
-ivan stayed; indeed, he seemed rooted to the spot, and this time was now three years past. in the working hours he only worked, but after, he schemed and planned in his little room in the horse barn about the place for maria, always with the cottage back of the grain field in his mind. now the plans had taken solid shape and this spring she would come, for did not the letter say so, the letter she had written him at christmas?—that is, if he had the money ready. this being so, had not the good friend michael arranged about the passage, and made all safe? for it is not wise for a wife to have much money in the house or write many letters, when the spy shadow has rested on the husband and he has escaped.
-the cows came slowly up the road, nipping a green tuft here and there, before turning each to her particular stall. the boy who drove them, a grandson of peter’s and a namesake as well, gave a whoop of delight as the last one entered the door, and carefully taking a slender trout pole from its resting-place on a beam, he unearthed a bait box from beneath the door stone and sped off through the alders up-stream, to make the most of the hour of twilight, waving his hand to old peter as he went.
-the milking over, ivan turned the cows into the yard, carried the pails up to the milk-room door, where he received his own small can, then throwing his coat about him as if it were a sleeveless cloak, and raising his head as though lifting the day’s toil from his shoulders, he strolled slowly toward the pond. the evening mail was overdue by this time, and each night he thought might there not be a letter saying when? for surely it was spring now: april the 15th said the insurance calendar on the barn door. but primitive ivan had a truer almanac in his head, made up of ice and snow, sun and wind, water, flower colours, and bird songs, though he could not call them by name; for three years this calendar had grouped itself about him and spoken to him in clearer tones than printed figures.
-yes, it was spring in truth and fulness. twice the marsh frogs had piped up and been stilled again by ice; that was in march. now they had chanted for fourteen uninterrupted evenings; that meant april. also yesterday, and the day before that, the straight wild goose arrows had crossed the sky from south to the north-eastward.
-the first time in his boyhood that he had seen birds resembling these, in that they looked dark against the sky, an old crone had crossed herself and muttered, “there go the birds of famine.” here in this land it was otherwise, these birds were the wise prophets, seeing spring from afar. moreover, best of all the signs, in the field above the pond, the fall wheat had raised its green ribbons far enough to flutter in the breeze that whispered as it ran, “summer, harvest, bread!”
-the twilight began to deepen, and the purple bars locked the horizon against the warmer rays. a mist rose from the pond as high as ivan’s heart and chilled it. a merry little screech-owl whose quavering call belied its feelings, flapped over to its nest in an abandoned dove-cote.
-suddenly the frogs began to croak, “if she shouldn’t come, suppose they do not come!”
-“maybe that they are dead,” throbbed ivan’s heart, as though responding in a litany. and why not? the last letter was more than three months back; life had been hard to maria, she told of work in many places, and in peasant russia winter is a demon who travels with famine for horses and wolves for his hunting pack!
-there was a harsh bird cry in the distance. far overhead, a second, nearer, clear and sonorous, then a dark arrow clove the dusk, fell swiftly, broke into feathered fragments, as with some little manœuvring and splashing, the wild-goose flock settled upon the forge pond. then the pendulum of hope swung back toward ivan. at the same time, the postman’s white-topped wagon with its sliding door stopped at the four corners. peter salop, preparatory to his evening gossip, shuffled his mail deftly in his big hands as one who had been in the haste of commercial life, at the same time giving a whistle and then calling, “hi, ivan, are you there? here’s a letter, a roosian letter,” he added, as the man came forward, half eager, half reluctant with dread. then as he saw the cramped, thin writing by the light of the carrier’s lantern, ivan’s face relaxed. no, maria was not dead, she could write her own letters to him,—a proud distinction. content with this, he put the letter inside his shirt, gave a silent good-night greeting to his employer, and balancing his little can of milk carefully, hurried along the lonetown cross-road that wound toward the north between forge and farm.
-for half a mile he kept on the road that twisted and circled until he reached a crudely fashioned gate in the loosely piled stone fence; opening it, he went up a straight dirt path edged with bits of stone to the door of a small house, took a key from his pocket, and let himself in.
-going into the furthest of the three rooms into which the first floor was divided, he lighted a lamp that stood on the uncovered pine table, and drawing up a stool, laid the letter before him, scanned it carefully and then jumped up again. no, he would feed the fowls first, else it would be too dark, bring in his water, fix fire and teapot, make all snug,—then for the letter. what was ivan doing in this little house, and whose house was it? his own, as well as the five acres of rough land that lay about it.
-two kinds of people traverse the country nowadays, reviving the dead and dying farms: the idealists with money (more or less) in pocket, seeking to find homes on the old lines wherein to spend it; the immigrant looking for a foothold where he may wrest a living from soil whereon the native would starve.
-the house, with its three rooms and loft above, was the ruin clinging about its stone chimney that ivan had spied across the corn field that summer day three years before, one of a dozen such lonely places that had fallen to the town for taxes. year after year no one had come to pay, and all had fallen away but chimney and stout oak frame.
-from the moment ivan had seen its veiled outlines across the wheat field, he had desired it. at first he only thought of it, and walked around it silently on sunday afternoons. in a few months his tongue loosened to peter salop, “could the place be bought?” “yes, surely, for the price of the rough land.” so before the second summer came he owned it.
-little by little—in the off season when salop could spare him—board by board had he floored it and closed it in. odd windows picked up second-hand had followed, a ladder reached the loft chamber; then came the paint, odd cans bought at an auction, bright blue with red for window-frames and door. next he made a sort of corral of birch brush woven with wild grapevines in one corner where once had been a barn. this meant a poultry-yard; four posts and some boards thereon back of the house stood for a wood-shed. the old well was cleaned out and a swinging bucket geared above it.
-by the third fall, the rough land was broken up and one little corner spaded and made ready for the vegetable garden to come this spring. spaded and combed and brushed it was as for a flower-bed, this work largely done by the women, being half the secret of how the immigrant can live upon the bit of land the native scorns.
-in-doors a few bits of plain furniture, some dishes, pots and pans, and a stove made home; no, one thing more, a little mongrel cur that a year before had followed ivan from the village, entered the house with him, and on being fed, refused ever after to leave the place, watching all day for his return, and sleeping either on door or hearth-stone, according to the season.
-the evening work done, the fire lit and tea made, ivan broke the edge slowly from the envelope, grasping his icon and muttering a prayer as he did it. yes, maria and all were coming, also his young sister. coming? as the date read they were now on the seas and any day might bring them.
-for the first time since the parting, ivan seemed to realize the meeting, lost his head, and shuffling his feet, danced with joy. hitherto he had worked always, worked at first without success; now he let himself feel as a man, which he never had done since the spy shadow came between him and the sun. then he was merely fear walking; how long ago was it? he could not seem to reckon, but what mattered it now that it was over?
-lamp in hand, he strode through the three rooms and noticed for the first time how many things were lacking, that workmen in the houses on the upper road possessed. what did that matter? in two days another month’s pay would be due, and maria could go some day to bridgeton and choose for herself. all that evening he talked to himself and to the cur by turns, telling him how maria would tend the garden and zetta the poultry, and by and by, when they were old enough, ’tiana and paul would gather both fagots and berries in the big unfenced country by the ridge.
-next day ivan was uneasy at his work; a pedler’s wagon passed and he followed it and bought a doll for ’tiana and a jingling toy for paul, to give them welcome. the evening mail brought him another letter, this time from the friend michael in new york. maria had landed, and, the legal formalities being over, would go by the noon train to the glen station on the morrow!
-a long two miles separated the glen station from the forge; a good half hour before train time, ivan reached it, clad in his best, a bit of myrtle sticking in his buttonhole. as the engine slid up to the narrow platform, he barely had the courage to raise his eyes. a woman got off, then another, and two men, but no maria, and the train went snorting on its way.
-“another train from new york?” repeated the station master, busy with his trunks and packages. “oh, there’s another at four.”
-for a moment ivan hesitated, and then turned back toward the forge, stripped off his bits of finery, and tried to lose himself in work. peter passing by on his way to the village for a wagon that was at the repair shop, guessed what had happened and wisely said nothing. the good-hearted never jar a brimming goblet.
-he would not go too early, thought ivan, and so the second time he reached the station almost as the train pulled in. this time there were many people, chiefly for the ridge, and he pushed his way among them wildly; but when the little crowd parted and vanished, maria was not there! “six-thirty is the last train up to-night, mostly freight, not often passengers,” chirped the agent.
-ivan slunk off behind the station, head down and the old stoop to his shoulders. he had eaten no dinner and his head reeled. stumbling into the general store close to the station, he bought a hunk of cheese and a small loaf, and going down the road a short way, he climbed up the wooded bank and finding some soft moss, threw himself down and whittling his bread and cheese into mouthfuls, ate from necessity rather than with relish, for all of a sudden he felt strangely and intensely weary. a little nap could do no harm, so coat under head, ivan fell soddenly asleep, like the wayfarer he had once been.
-the six-thirty train came slowly into the glen station, for it was both long and heavy with freight cars, a single combination passenger and baggage car being at the very end. this same halted far below the station, where the water-tank made a barrier between the railroad ground and the open fields.
-slowly four clumsy, heavy-laden figures in petticoats crawled down the high steps, assisting a little boy in curious trousers, while a good-natured brakeman helped to steady and replace the various bundles that were fastened to head and shoulders. as they huddled together, straightening their garments and belongings, the whistle blew three times shrilly, and the train creaked and moved heavily on.
-is there any stillness more intense than that which closes around the countryside after the bustle of a train has ceased? the evensong of the birds and the peeping frogs only serve to deepen silence from the purely human standpoint.
-“where is he, maria? where is ivan my brother? he leaves us here alone in a strange place at nightfall?” she asked in her foreign tongue. “i can see no houses, it is like a green desert.”
-“perhaps it is siberia, then!” said the girl of twelve, with a shiver.
-“hush,” said maria, “thy father has not forgotten us in all these years, he will not now,” but nevertheless dread was creeping over her, and she raised her hands nervously to loose the band that bound the bundle to her forehead.
-“i’m hungry and i want to go to sleep,” piped the little boy, and crouching toward him on the bare ground his mother strove to comfort him.
-ivan slept like one dead, until a shrill whistling sound waked him with a start, and reading the time by the shadows that had not only lengthened, but were vanishing, he rolled to his feet, and half slid, half stumbled down to the road, across the head of which the evening train was moving.
-pulling on his coat, he tried to run, but his feet, numb with inaction, refused to do more than walk. would he ever reach the station?
-at last he felt the boards under his feet, but the long platform was empty, and the station master was setting his night light and preparing to leave. “no, there had been no passengers on the evening train,” he answered curtly, wondering if this wild-eyed man who had been there thrice in one day was a bit out of his head.
-for the third time ivan was about to turn away, when something fluttering far down by the water-tank caught his eye, and as he stared the forlorn group came into view, walking slowly up the track. another moment, suspense was over, and they stood facing one another.
-“maria and all.”
-then at last the women began to cry softly, and ivan with wet cheeks ran from one to the other, untying the burdens that bound head and throat, and that never more should choke them.
-halting suddenly, ivan gasped, “but where is paul, my baby?”
-then maria laughed in earnest. “this is paul, a well-grown boy; he has not been a baby these seven years. have you lost count of time, ivan, my friend?”
-and truly, he had, and flushed when he thought of the little one he had expected to fondle, and the jingling toy at home, and with the knowledge came a certain tinge of disappointment.
-then was the procession formed for the homeward march, ivan heaped high with the bedding; but they had gone but a few yards when a team, rumbling up from behind, came to a halt, and a jolly voice called, “hi, ivan, i think your people had better have a ride.”
-“it is the master,” ivan whispered, and the group stood with bent heads, hardly daring to look at the magnificence.
-climbing in, the children’s tongues loosened among themselves. “at home, the master flogs us with a whip, sometimes, if he meets us on the roads,” murmured ’tiana, “but here in this new country he takes us to ride in his beautiful chariot.”
-once at the house, ivan and maria wandered through the rooms, hand in hand, smiling shyly, and then laughing with pleasure. as maria stopped before the little mirror to unwrap her head and set the hair-pins, ivan snatched up the jingling toy and thrust it in the mantel closet, for somehow it wounded him to think of his mistake. but maria cautioned him not to break it, saying: “it may be useful yet, who knows? ah, who knows anything?”
-then leading her about the yard, her eyes rested on the sprouting wheat field and again tears filled them. “what is it that speaks, ivan, my friend?” she asked.
-“something we have left behind and wish to forget,” he answered shortly.
-“yes, but what we are glad to leave, we are more glad to find here before us,” and she laid her face against his, which was also wet, but smiling; and high above their heads shot a wild goose arrow.
-“what is that?” asked maria, pointing.
-“it is a sign of spring, and a good omen of birds,” ivan answered.
-v tree of life
-one day, evan and i played make believe and went a-maying. this was not very long ago, yet in those days, high-road and byways were divided between horse and man only and therefore were our own, while we jogged along plucking at the branches and trailers that we passed, letting the horses browse, reins upon neck without risk of danger.
-the make believe was that we were a couple of carefree children playing at going on a journey to seek the tree of life, which, should we chance to find in blossom and walk in its shadow, would enable us to live as long as we wished. this had been one of my childhood’s plays, a hybrid born of genesis and pilgrim’s progress, belonging to days spent alone in the garden when father had gone a day’s journey to see some patients over the hills, and aunt lot was immersed in preserves and forgot me. blissful forgetfulness of children by their elders that is one of the gates to wonderland!
-we took the idea as a motive for make believe, and if one plays at being a child, one must complete the game, turn loose the overworked horses of every day, proof and reason, and harness in their places instinct and belief, steeds who may be trusted to know the straightest road to happiness. as to the maying part, that is a play also, and, at least in the new england country, a game of chance if you do not know the moves, but an ecstasy if the combinations fall right.
-the red men waited for the may moon to wax full and the truce flowers of the white dogwood to signal frost’s surrender from the wood edges before they planted their maize. we wait for the first blooming of an apple tree to tell us that the springtide is at its height. not one of the opulent, well-fed orchard trees, having all the advantages of a protected location, but a wayside, ungrafted scion of the old orchard standing alone in a field, on the north side of the spruce wind break. we called this tree “the messenger.” it is the bearer of inconsequent fruit akin to the wild, but in may it is garlanded with firm-fleshed, deep rose-hued blossoms. when this tree opens its buds, we know that its kindred of the hill country will also be decked, and it is our time to go forth, for here the maying is the festival of the apple blossoms, and the blushing snow of it veils the grim gray hills, and brocades the silken emerald of the grassy lowlands every may as completely as the gold and purple of golden-rod and aster mantle the land in autumn.
-people make journeys to the orient to see the festival of fruit blossoms, where many of the trees enclosed in gardens are shown with suggestion both of art and artifice; all this is deemed wonderful because it is far away. distance promises change, and change is seemingly the key-note of current life. perpetuity was the ambition of our forbears, else we should not be here. yet when the near-by holds a festival of apple blossoms reaching from our doors to the horizon line that travels before us, when we try to reach it, do we make a national event of it? who goes out? who sees? the reeds shaking in the wind, perhaps; the bluebirds that nest in the hollow tree trunks; the flaming orioles that, grown wanton with spring joy, rifle the honeyed blossoms; but people, where are they? no parties of school children playing in the abandoned orchards, no others sauntering along the highways like ourselves. for the twenty years that we have gone up through the hill country for this maying, we have never met any others bent upon the same errand. so we call this festival our own, and as we stray along, we conjure up companions from the past to bear us company; the people who planted the orchards that still remain and blossom through all the neglect and moss that time has dropped upon them.
-each year, though we traverse mainly the same roads, by some fashion we always come upon some place or sign that has before escaped us, though rarely anything that brings past and present together as happened on the day that we played make believe and set out to find the tree of life.
-after we left oaklands and the bluffs behind, and dipped into the valley north of hemlock hill, we began to look for signs and symptoms; for in this country, one can never tell what a winter may bring forth, what tottering chimneys may have collapsed into a stone heap, or piece of primal woodland disappear into the maw of a travelling saw-mill to emerge in form of railway ties. yes, the overshot water-wheel had disappeared from the mill in the cedar woods, and the back of the lilac house on the hilltop overlooking the moosatuck was broken, though the giant lilac bushes that hedged it seemed striving to hide its crippled state.
-in the apple orchards runs the blood of our race, the blood of the sweat and toil of our pioneer forefathers; all these old orchards are peopled, for those who have the eyes to see, and so there is no loneliness for us in this silent hill country.
-the ancients had it that every child was born under the influence of a particular star; a more spiritual age, that each child has its guardian angel. i have always believed that my particular guardian is a tree, and that one an apple, for this was the first tree that i remember lying under and looking up through the flower-laden branches at the sky, as mother sat upon the round seat that encircled the big trunk, the great fragrant russian violets growing at her feet.
-the first two birds i learned to call by name lived in that apple tree,—a robin who had saddled his untidy nest of mud and straws on a drooping branch, and a pair of purling bluebirds, who lived in a little hole where a broken limb had let in the rain and consequently decay followed,—while my first remembrance of being hurt was when a heavy baldwin apple fell from the tip-top of the tree and bumped me on the forehead. as i grew up and left dolls behind, my kinship with the tree grew more material,—four apples and a book, to be taken at regular intervals in the depths of the big leather chair in father’s study, being my formula for comfort on a rainy autumn afternoon.
-when we had looked and dreamed our fill, we turned into one of the meandering cross-roads that traverse lonetown converging toward pine ridge, to crawl slowly upward to our watch-tower. this is the place of all others in our haunts for looking down upon the country as if mirrored in a pool or seen as mirage—tuck hill in may time, and there is nothing more to be desired! evan and i crouched on the summit in the shelter of an old tree, still brave with blossoms though the trunk had fallen forward as if on its knees, and gazed our fill.
-for days after, i felt the rush of the wind through my hair, for at this spot the wind of the hills meets the breath of the salt-water. below, two rivers, that give the hill its name, shot their silvery arrows through the overhanging foliage; tuck being an indian term for river, as moosatuck, aspetuck.
-all these things i said half aloud, ending with the query, “why has no one hereabout planted an orchard for thirty years at least?”
-“who is talking a sermon?” i cried. “come down through that lane where we tied the horses; it’s full of dogwood and pinxter flowers; we will fill the chaise and bury ourselves in them; being children, it does not matter if they fade by noon so that we can gather more,” and then we wandered down and on, choosing the pleasantest ways, and letting the horses lead so long as we kept due north, or fancied we did.
-“we should cross the ridge before noon,” said evan, after we had driven for many miles without keeping track of time. “i wonder if there is a short cut: here is a green lane that runs in the right direction, but it has a gate to it, and may either be a pent road or a private way.” strangely enough, the old gray horses turned toward the gate, nosed it, and whinnied in unison.
-“see the wild fruit trees and bushes that hedge it,” i cried; “apples, cherries, a peach or two, tall blackberries; i wonder if there ever was a garden in this corner? there are all the signs, the lilac bushes, stones that might have been a chimney, and there are new horse tracks in the turf, and colts pasturing yonder in that field. the way is pretty enough to lead to the land of forbidden fruit, and we may find the tree of life we are looking for at the end. do let us go in; as we are only children, no one will have the heart to scold us if we should find ourselves in some one’s yard.” so evan opened the gate, which was made of rough-sawn chestnut boards, and followed rather than led the horses along the way, for the trees closed low above our heads and shut out the distance.
-in a glimpse across the fields we saw the tower and broken outlines of a little church.
-“that’s not pine ridge church!” exclaimed evan, stopping short. “the ridge church has a pointed steeple, and that is”—“a christopher wren box,” i said, the name by which evan had once designated that particular style of architecture with a tower top that looks like a turned-over table, legs pointing skyward.
-“where are we, barbara? you were born in this country, not i; this lane seems to be leading us due west, and i’m getting hungry, a natural feeling for a child.”
-“i do not know,” i confessed; “there is a place back of banbury somewhere in this direction called fool’s hill because of its cross-purpose roads, where father once had a patient, but i’ve never been there. wherever we are, we can stop for lunch at the first flat rock that we see.”
-still another sweep of lane and the sound of running water. the horses pricked up their ears and whinnied again, and their call, evidently of interrogation, was answered. suddenly we emerged from the trees into an open space; a rushing brook crossed the meadow, and was itself crossed by a railed bridge of logs and wide chestnut planks.
-“why didn’t i think to bring my trout pole,” sighed evan.
-“it’s not at all necessary; i can supply a bent pin, and boys always have string in their pockets; while you cut a hickory pole, i will dig for worms with one of these tin spoons; martha never gives us anything but tin when we go a-maying.”
-evan looked about as though inclined to accept my offer, and then he stood transfixed, pointing toward a tree on the other side of the river we were preparing to cross; it was a slender white birch that leaned out over the water as if keeping watch, both up and down stream, while its pointed, silver-lined leaves trembled and tittered as it swayed. halfway up the trunk was a small board that said in unmistakable letters,—“no hunting, fishing, or trespassing—by request of father adam.”
-i pinched myself to see if i were awake, and i believe that evan did the same, though he would not acknowledge it. now, indeed, had make believe come true. “why?” i began, but evan promptly replied, “why not?” hearing a rustling among the bushes, i half expected the bodiless head of the cheshire cat to appear, but instead there stood a tall man with a strong, smooth-shaven, sunburned face capped with curling white hair, and dark eyes that, though their flash could be seen even across stream, had a genial sort of twinkle at their corners. save that he was coatless, his clothes were neat almost to precision, even to a clean linen collar turned down over a loose black tie, something unusual in any part of the hill country.
-then evan spied the man, who stood gazing at us more in amazement than anger. “we were looking for something quite different when we saw your sign,” said evan, awkwardly, “and now we’ll go away as soon as i can turn the horses.”
-“are you father adam?” i asked.
-“that is what people call me,” he answered; “and who are you, and what are you trying to find?” this time his gaze took a sweep that included not only ourselves but the horses and the chaise, which we had forgotten was decked like a bower.
-“we? oh, we are only two children out a-maying,” i said, the spirit of make believe taking complete possession, “and we are searching for the tree of life, so that we may pass under its branches and live as long as we choose. do you know where we might find it?”
-“yes; it grows up yonder in the midst of my orchard. how did i come by it? ah, that is a story that i only tell those who promise to believe it. now it is my turn to ask questions,” said father adam. “where did you get those horses?”
-“we borrowed them from father, who is dr. russell and lives down at oaklands.”
-“so then you are his daughter; well, i know that you are telling the truth, for i sold him those gray colts, as they were then, sixteen years ago.”
-“they whinnied when we turned in the gate, and rather led us on; can horses remember a place for sixteen years?”
-“yes, and longer if it is the home where they were foaled; but the time has been broken, for the doctor has chanced in every few years.”
-then i began to wonder about this man’s age, who spoke of a few years as if they were but days; was he fifty, or seventy, which?
-“come, let us go up into the cleared land, and i will show you the tree and tell you its story,” said father adam, as he took gray tom by the bit to lead him, the horse nosing and nibbling at his hand familiarly.
-“is it far?” asked evan; “because if it is, i think we’d better eat our luncheon first; children always listen better when they’re not hungry.” something in the tone made father adam laugh, and a different expression took possession of his features, as though at first he had doubts as to our entire sanity which were now removed.
-“it’s only a few hundred yards, and if those who only pass under the shadow of the tree may have their wish, how much more will happen to those who eat bread beneath it!”
-so we two followed him hand in hand, over the bridge and through another bit of lane, and then a vision of peace broke upon our sight,—a green hill sloping upward to a group of elms that shaded a low, rambling house, on one side of which was a bit of garden gay with tulips, bleeding hearts, and columbine, flanked by rows of beehives, tilled fields showing beyond. but it was the right slope that held the eyes; row upon row the apple trees, in first full maturity, made endless aisles into green space—aisles so wide that we traversed them side by side and yet had room to spare.
-then, again, we came upon an open, a square court of grass, and in the centre an apple tree such as i had never seen before,—tall, with two main trunks, high-branched, straight and spreading at the top, elm fashion, half was covered with dazzling white flowers, the other half with pink, after the pattern of a florist’s formal bouquet.
-“sit ye down there,” said father adam, “and hear my story. will i eat with ye? well, i’ll break a bit of bread for company, for i dined at noon, and it’s now past two.” while he was speaking, the man had slipped the harness from the horses and left them to graze and roll at will.
-“though this was my forbears’ homestead, i was born out in ohio on a little farm in the muskingan river valley. seventy years ago it was hard living there as far as indoor comforts went, yet all the rich land was free for the tilling, and the corn and wheat flourished, but the thing i first remember about spring was the blooming apple trees. everybody had them, half a dozen about the dwelling and then an orchard strip, while in almost every settlement there was a space roughly fenced in where young seedling trees were cultivated.
-“who made these apple nurseries, where the settler might get the stock of what was truly the tree of life to him, the fruit, food and drink that moistened his bread instead of tears? was it the pioneers’ own providence? was it the government? no; it was johnny appleseed who planted and cultivated, and the apple trees were his.
-“did you ever hear of the man? few of your generation have, yet i remember him as i saw him when i was a lad, sixty years ago, and my mother, who was massachusetts born, numbered him among her distant kin. she said, and she had it from her mother, that he was born in boston in the year of paul revere’s ride; and that his real name was chapman (the same as my mother’s), john chapman. he was a studious boy, and wished to be a preacher, having a zealous streak to go overseas and teach the heathen, but what with the war and troubled times, the way was not made straight. yet the times were fair enough for falling in love, and this he did with one anice chase, but while he bestirred himself for the wherewithal to marry, the white plague laid its hands on her. in those days, at the first sign, the victim was set apart as doomed, and so it was with anice. only a year from their betrothal, and john journeyed on foot three days out from boston town to her father’s farm to bid her good-by.
-“it was a may afternoon, and the lilacs and apples in the yard were all abloom; anice on a couch lay under one of those trees, for she would not rest content indoors; the sight and smell of the flowers were all she thought or spoke of. long they talked together, and then she said so feebly that he could scarcely hear, ‘go and preach, but not to the far-off heathen. stay in your own land, but go westward, preach christ and the garden of eden, which is home, and wherever you go plant the apple, the tree of life that stood in the midst of the garden, as its symbol and mine. for i shall reach the garden first and wait for you close to the door.’
-“that night anice died. john chapman soon after fell ill of a fever, they said from exposure on his homeward journey, and when he recovered, he had strange fancies, and then totally disappeared.
-“soon after the year eighteen hundred, early in spring, and for nearly half a century following, a traveller made his way from western pennsylvania into ohio, journeying straight across country to the indiana border, whether there were houses in his route or not. he was a strange-looking figure, tall, gaunt, and clad in curiously assorted garments, sometimes hatless and barefoot, sometimes wearing mismated shoes and a peaked cap of his own manufacture. either on his back, or else in a small cart that he dragged after him, he carried a bag filled with apple seeds. whenever he came to a likely spot, he would loosen the ground with a rude, strong hoe, plant some seeds, weave saplings into a strong enclosure to keep the cattle out, and then pass on. wild beasts never molested him, the rattlesnakes turned from his path, and the indians, brutal as they were at that time in their treatment of the settlers, not only never harmed him, but treated him with reverence as a messenger of the great spirit.
-“then, when the day was done, he would knock at the door of a cabin, and after partaking of simple food, for which he would always offer to pay, either in coin of which he managed to earn enough to supply his few needs, or else in young apple trees, he would draw close to the lamp or throw himself on the floor by the fire, and pulling a tattered bible from his shirt, open it and proclaim as one reading a letter, ‘behold i have planted the tree of life at your doors, now hearken to the news fresh from heaven.’
-“to a few of the women, from time to time, he told detached fragments of his history, and my mother being one of these, recognized him almost by intuition as her kinsman john chapman; and either feeling the distant tie of blood, or because we children gathered about him and hung on his words, he came to our cabin more frequently than to others, for next to his beloved trees, he loved little children and all animals. for women who tried to better his attire or sympathize with him, he had no eyes. ‘i have a wife waiting for me beside the gates of paradise,’ he would say, ‘and what has she to do but busy her fingers in making me wedding garments, and none but of her making will i wear.’ as to his name, johnny appleseed was the only title he was known by in that country.
-“every spring he returned to pennsylvania for more seed, for which he bartered at the cider mills, and wherever he went his path was strewn with his kind deeds. did he come across a sick horse left to die by pioneers, it was housed and fed at his expense. did he meet a traveller more ragged than himself, he always found that he had a garment he could spare, until finally, a feed bag with opening for head and arms was his most common coat.
-“one autumn, being lame, he tarried a long while at our cabin; it was the year that i was ten, and word came that the connecticut home in which my father was born had fallen to him, who, being the youngest, had been obliged to strike out for himself. at first my mother cried, for she had learned to love the free life, hard as it was, and she could not bear the thought of leaving what was now home to her; but in connecticut there were better schools, and mother came of gentle stock, and had planned to make a preacher of me.
-“when the day for leaving came, johnny appleseed, who had not left the vicinity of our cabin for weeks, appeared beside my mother in the kitchen; in one hand he held a straight young apple tree, securely packed in moss and sacking for the journey, and in the other a leaf from his bible, the page of genesis that tells of the tree of life.
-“‘take them with you, hannah, and you will not be lonely,’ he said; ‘where the tree of life is there is home, and i give you fresh news of it; soon i shall enter forever into the garden where it grows;’ and before she could answer, he had disappeared among the trees.
-“my mother brought the apple tree back with her, set it in the midst of her garden, and cherished it as she did her own children; the leaf from genesis is now in the family bible, where the record is writ of her own entry into the garden. mother would never let the tree of life be grafted, for grafting was a thing that johnny appleseed discountenanced, and many good varieties came from his seedlings; as it grew, two branches of equal vigour started half a dozen feet above the ground; yet when it came to bloom, one main branch bore white flowers, and the other rose, while the apples of the white flowers were yellow with rosy cheeks, and the fruit of the pink flowers golden russets.
-“‘see, adam,’ said my mother, the year that the tree blossomed (she had christened me adam because i was her first man child), ‘i will call one branch anice and the other john. what does it signify? that they are united in the tree of life.’
-“not many years after, we heard that john appleseed had come to plant at the house that had once been ours, and after talking cheerfully at supper, spoke of an unusual light that lingered after sunset, and the clouds that were like a door opening in the heavens. after his evening reading, he went to sleep as usual on the floor, leaving the door open, for the night was mild. in the morning they came upon him, the rising sunlight shining on his smiling face, for anice had been allowed to open the garden door at dawn.”
-the bees hummed, and the petals of the apple blossoms fell upon us until father adam broke the spell by saying, “it is turning four, and little children should not stay out after dark, for the babes in the wood must have had a cold, damp bed in spite of the robins.”
-so we thanked him, wishing to ask many questions that we could not, and pulling the faded blossoms from the chaise, took the flower branches from the tree of life that he gave us together with a jar of honey, and turning the way he pointed, up past the house, to the high-road, the grays, old as they were, trotted gaily home.
-then i told father. “yes,” he answered, “i know where you have been, to adam kelby’s farm. a methodist preacher of power, also a farmer and raiser of fine stock, called father by the hill people, because that’s what he is to them one and all, never straying far from home. he was born out in ohio, and believes strange things about apple trees, and holds them sacred, as the druids did the oaks, some people say. well, so do i!” as for johnny appleseed, he was an actual being who lived and toiled much as adam has said.
-we could not stay indoors that night, but sat on the back steps and supped with the dogs, eating buttered bread in great slabs, with honey to boot. feasting slowly and dreamily, as pleases children who have been out all day, and between whose mouthfuls the sandman is beckoning.
-as i finished my last bit, assisted by lark, who has a sweet tooth, i said half to myself, “we’ve certainly been a-maying, but i wonder did we play make believe, or are we really children who have found the tree of life.” evan echoed, “i wonder,” and straightway spread more honey on his bread.
-vi wind in the grass
-“the boy will go back to his mother’s people of course, and then at last, ernest, you will be free to carry out our plans,” said eileen’s clear voice, in which there was an unconscious note of uncertainty mingled with expectancy. as she spoke, she gave her slender fishing rod an unnecessary jerk that meshed line and hook in the tendrils of an overhanging grape-vine.
-without speaking, her companion secured his own pole in a crotched tree, and swinging out over the stream that rushed noisily past, quickly disentangled the line; then, taking the rod from eileen, he reeled up the line and cast the fly deftly into the quiet pool below. twice he framed his lips to answer her question, but those two innocent words, our plans, seemed to stop his voice; at his third essay, his line played out swiftly while the reel sang the tune that the fisherman loves. then, after a short, exciting bit of play, a splendid brook trout, more than a pound in weight, lay upon the moss beside eileen.
-“there is a king trout for you,” ernest said; “could anything more beautiful come out of the water?” and he made a fresh cast still farther down the pool.
-eileen’s first glance of admiration changed as she watched the trout quiver. “put it back, please,” she cried; “now it’s a fairy thing, and more beautiful than any jewels i ever saw; but as soon as the water dries away it will only be a dead fish to be cooked and eaten. i love to catch fish, it’s so exciting, but not to keep them.”
-“yes; but eileen, after all, to be eaten, that is what it was made for,” answered ernest, in quiet, practical tones, yet smiling indulgently. “the unkind thing would be to put it back and let it have its fight all over again when some other fellow played it and it had learned fear. besides, have you forgotten that this is the last day of the fishing and that we came out to get some trout for your father, who is sick and needs tempting, that being your excuse for my leaving work?”
-then they glanced at one another, laughing; the trout went into the creel, and the soft wind came down with the stream, laden with fragrance of grape flowers and the courting ecstasies of birds, then escaped from the trees, and was spread over the low meadows to the eastward, making low music in the long grass, fit accompaniment to the bobolinks that soared from it, singing.
-two more trout were caught in quick succession, then luck and the morning turning together, the pair came out into the open fields under the shade of a group of old willows, to free themselves of the weight of rubber boots, and allow eileen to rest a few moments after the rough tramp down stream that had been half climbing and half wading.
-may was withdrawing her veil, woven of apple blossoms in a green mist of unfolding leaves, to reveal june’s young splendour, and for the two sitting under the willows it was also early june; they were the children of neighbours, and though their parents were of widely different fortunes, they had been friends since eileen had caught her first sunfish on a pin and string arrangement, rigged by ernest, and he, for inattention to his lessons, had been forced to wear her pink shirred sunbonnet at school.
-her father was a promoter and politician; his, a farmer and wagon-maker, who, following an oft-repeated story, died just as his son had begun to work his way through college. how often eileen and he had planned what he would do and be when this was accomplished, and she had done once and for all with the city boarding school to which her mother’s, rather than her father’s, ambition had consigned her. now she had accomplished in a way and returned, but for family reasons ernest wray, a born book-lover, was still plodding in the old paths of his father, the wagon-maker.
-“you hear the wind in the grass when you do not hear what i say,” said eileen, presently, in a tone half laughing, half pettish, as ernest, placing the creel in the water to keep the trout fresh, secured it from floating away with a stone.
-“come and sit where you must look at me and not beyond or through me, and answer the question i asked you half an hour ago. when does the boy go to his mother’s people, so that you can carry out your plans?”
-“did you ask me that before?” said ernest.
-“perhaps not in the same words, but the meaning was the same.”
-“then i did not hear you, for i thought you said our plans, eileen.”
-to the man, the girl stood for everything that beckoned him into the future; to the girl, the man at this time was an indispensable comrade when she was at home, upon whom she was eager to practise certain school-taught theories. her influence over him fed a growing vanity, standing in the place of love, of which, as yet, she had really no comprehension.
-“put it any way you choose, only tell me when you are going to send the boy to his relations,” she said, this time in a voice of assurance. “i suppose it is too late now to rent the farm and sell the business before autumn. of course you are four years too late for college, but you might still manage the law school. father thinks that the trolley line through the upper road into bridgeton is an assured thing, and that before long your farm could be turned into money for house lots; that is what we mean to do with our land.”
-“there is one unsurmountable objection to my doing all this, eileen,” said ernest, speaking slowly, that his voice might not tremble; “i am not going to send the boy to his mother’s people, and i hope to sell neither the farm nor the wagon shop for many years to come.”
-eileen stared at him in speechless amazement for a moment, when a new idea came to her.
-“then your father left more money than was supposed, so that you can send the boy to school and keep the place while you study, though i don’t see why you should bother with either him or it,” she said, half angrily. “surely, after being tied, all your life, to this hill country, where nothing ever happens, you must long to get away as much as i do.”
-“and you wish to get away? of course you will like to travel, but not to go away for good? would you like to see your homestead cut up and the brook turned into a drain for a new village?” he asked, quickly drawing his eyes from hers to follow the stream.
-“of course it’s a lovely old place, and i’ve had lots of good times there, but i’ve never expected to live in oaklands all my life. yes, i’m even willing to go for good and all, i think, quite for the sake of going. you know you were to come, too, and do fine things that should get in the newspapers. oh, ernest, have you forgotten all the plans we made before they built the sawmill dam, and we used to canoe from the ridge falls quite down to moosatuck?”
-the momentary warmth in her voice made him flush, even as he took a new hold on himself to keep back the words that struggled for speech.
-“no, eileen, there is no more money than people thought, nor even as much. the farm must be worked, and the wagon shop also, to give us a living.”
-“but why should you support the boy,” she interrupted, growing incoherent through her disappointment, “just because your father, when he was past sixty, chose to marry a young woman from nobody knows where, and then both died and left the boy, only seven years old, who has no claim on you, to drag you down? for father told me last night what i never knew before, that house, land, and business all came from your mother’s people.”
-the man tingled hotly to know that his neighbour had been discussing the intricacies of his family affairs with eileen, but in another light it gave him comfort. her hardness toward the boy was undoubtedly caught from her father, not born of her own feelings. but she, lashing herself more and more, persisted in her question: “why should you support the boy? why do you not send him to his mother’s people, if she had any?”
-“because i love him, eileen, and he loves me and needs me. young as he is, he stifles his loneliness lest it should trouble me, or his mother ‘hear and be too sorry,’ as he puts it.” ernest spoke quietly, all the uncertainty that had swayed him ending. “his mother’s people live in a crowded city. the boy has an active mind in a frail body; he needs fresh air and a quiet life if he is to live to manhood, dr. russell says; shall i refuse him the chance?”
-“and lose your own?”
-“possibly; if only one of us can have it, why not he as well as i?”
-“what do you mean to do if you stay here? how can you keep house?”
-“turn the farm largely to fruit, and with helpers enlarge the wagon shop; in spite of cheap western makers, there is a good demand for hand-made work wagons. as to the house, aunt louisa taylor will care for it, and between us, god willing, we will make the boy into a man and let him go to college for me. do you know, eileen, that a good many of the world’s best soldiers have gone to the fight as substitutes for those who could not, and the work was better done than it would have been by those who grieved because they could not go?”
-“have you lost all your ambition, ernest? can you be content with such an empty life? if any tongue but yours had told me of this absurd sacrifice, i would not have believed it.”
-“not all my ambition; i still have my books, and i can buy others. i have my rod and my gun, and all outdoors, besides the boy, and—memories of what, until to-day, i thought might be. i believed that you cared for me, eileen, that you liked our old hills and their life; i thought that you, too, loved the bird on the wing and the sound of the wind in the grass. i knew that you would go away to travel for a long while, perhaps, but i thought you would want to return.”
-“i do care, ernest, that is, in a way; but there must be something else to do in my life besides merely caring. father is going to take mother and me abroad this summer. i was keeping it a secret to tell you to-day, for i thought that you might join us; i’m so disappointed;” and the golden head buried itself in the slender arms that were clasped about the mossy stump of a fast-vanishing willow, and tears washed away the steely look that sometimes crept into eileen’s gray eyes.
-as she crouched thus, a change seemed to come over the perfect june morning; ragged clouds edged with rain came out of the west and darkened the sun; the singing wind turned to a gale that beat a path before it through the ox-eye daisies, and the ripening wild strawberries looked like blood drops in the grass.
-the change came and passed rapidly, and with it eileen’s emotion, and in a moment more they were strolling uphill toward her house as though nothing had happened. true it was she could not picture oaklands without ernest; that is, ernest the man in the open, clad in his loose brown suit, carrying rod and creel, a figure that her imagination turned into a hero of romance. but the other ernest, the man of the wagon shop, sweat drops on his forehead and uprolled sleeves, superintending some manipulation that he would not leave to the judgment of his workmen, repelled her forcibly. it was this second man that she wished to conceal from her friends of school and city. many other women in country towns have felt this way at twenty-two. that individual work of the hands has fallen into disrepute is the fault of a feminine point of view as well as the encroachment of machinery.
-“when are you going away?” ernest asked, as he paused at the kitchen door and transferred the trout, wet moss and all, from the creel to the dish that eileen brought. it was an old-fashioned blue and white platter with cut-off corners; in the centre was the picture of a ruined castle, while the border was wrought in a shell pattern. ernest had doubtless seen it many times before, yet in the brief moment while he laid the trout upon it every unimportant detail was fixed in his memory, together with the outline of the ten pointed, flexible fingers, tanned with the morning’s fishing, that held the dish.
-“not to-day, eileen, it’s nearly noon.” he might have added that the great work wagon made for mrs. jenks-smith of the bluffs was to be sent out that afternoon, and that he must go over every bolt and screw, after his father’s habit, before it was delivered; but he refrained, as well as from saying that the boy would be waiting for him to come home to dinner.
-“why didn’t wray come in to dinner, and where is eileen?” asked her father of her mother, as an hour later he finished the second of the delicately broiled trout with a relish that belied the symptoms of indigestion.
-“he was busy and couldn’t, and she’s downstairs writing letters, to see if she can’t get one of her classmates to join our trip and make a fourth; she thinks it makes pleasanter travelling.”
-“then she couldn’t coax wray to go. well, i’m glad; i thought he’d too much sense to loaf about all summer, as i must. i hope they haven’t quarrelled and she’s turned him down.”
-“i thought that and put the question to her, but from what she says, i guess he didn’t give her the chance. i think she’s vexed because he intends to stick to the farm and wagon shop and keep his stepbrother here, and i don’t blame her; a girl with her schooling and a father like you can look higher than a man who works with his hands, even if he has got a whole room full of books and goes down to read shakespeare and nose out county history that had much better be forgotten with martin cortright. eileen’s handsome, and she’s got a tongue in her head; there’s no knowing what may happen or who she may meet in travelling, or visiting some of her friends that are scattered all over the country.”
-“nonsense; i know very well what i don’t wish to have happen. wray is worth ten of the pretty boys that lounge about nowadays, and haven’t enough grip either of body or brain to stick to anything.”
-mrs. march, however, did not argue; she had no capacity for it, having had pretty much her own way through life by the mere force of inertia. she had cherished romantic ideals in her youth, but not to the extent of marrying one of them. in fact, she had named her only daughter for the heroine of a novel over which she had shed many comfortable tears, and fortunately, eileen, of a slimness and fairness hitherto unknown on either side of the family, had grown into the name. mrs. march was the typical american woman of a country town who has means enough to go to new york at intervals, who after forty regards europe, indefinite and at large, as the one aim and end of life and needed rest, but who, owing to a limited intelligence, returns from the tour sadder, much wearier, but in no way wiser than when she left, in spite of a miscellaneous collection of photographs and guide books.
-ernest wray walked slowly uphill, his house being on the main road above the marches’, while the acres belonging to it climbed one above the other, over the ridge and down the other side. this road was the highway between banbury and bridgeton, and there was a cheerful amount of passing on it. as he pushed open the front gate, he looked about the yard for the boy, but saw no signs of him. a pair of setter pups came from the porch to meet him, stumbling over their own great soft paws, and fastening their sharp first teeth in his trouser hems, pulling him backward at the same time that their shrill barks welcomed him.
-aunt louisa taylor (so called because she had ushered ernest, as well as most of the younger portion of the community, into the world) was setting the dinner table in the little room out of the summer kitchen, whose windows disclosed a view of both ranges of hills and the valley between.
-no answer came, so going to the boy’s room, the great south chamber that had been the child’s mother’s, and finding it empty, ernest went on to his own, where in a heap on the floor, his head buried in the white-knitted quilt, half crouched, half knelt the boy. at first ernest was startled, thinking the child was ill, or had perhaps picked and eaten something poisonous. but as he turned his face up to his half-brother, the expression was of misery of mind, not body.
-sitting in the low rush-bottomed rocker, ernest drew the boy to him tenderly, so that the pale, downcast face rested against his shoulder. raising it gently in his hands, he said, “what is it, asa? tell big brother.”
-“i can’t, oh, i can’t say it,” sobbed the child, yet without shedding a tear. “it’s the brown boys that told me, and their mother knows it’s true.”
-“very well, then, if little brother cannot say it, big brother must try; only look up and say yes and no, so that he may know that he is guessing right. they said, perhaps, that i am going away and that you are going to live far off with strangers?”
-“they said that everything here belongs to me and nothing to you?”
-“they told you that one day i would marry some one who was very beautiful, like a princess in a fairy tale, and that i should not care for you any more?”
-“yes, oh, yes, that was the worst of all!”
-“i have also heard all this, but it is not true.”
-“not even a word, brother?”
-“not even a word.”
-“and you want me for always?” said the child, now standing before him and searching the man’s very soul with his solemn brown eyes.
-“only god and your mother know how much.”
-“can i bring my bed right in here close to yours, and put my story-books in the little shelves by yours, and just keep that big lonely room to play in when it’s wet? yes?”
-then, clasping his arms tight around the man’s neck in an ecstasy of relief, he whispered, “can i have one more wish, just one more?”
-“what is it, boy? you must name it first, in fair play, you know.”
-“may i call you daddy? boys can have lots of brothers, but a daddy’s very special, and there’s never only one of him, just like you.”
-ernest waited a moment before he answered, for something swayed him that was stronger than his will, impelling him to cry out, “no, not that!”
-and then he whispered back, “yes, boy, from now on;” and clasping the child in a way that almost hurt, he kissed him on the forehead.
-thus was the compact sealed.
-the tension over, the boy, who could not realize what the other’s promise meant, speedily became a child again, and freeing himself, cried, “now i shall be here to see the thrashers hatch out; there’s four eggs in the nest in last year’s pea brush down by the fence; do let us go over and see them, daddy; if we don’t poke them, they won’t mind.” then, as they looked across the fields, the boy laid his cheek against the man’s, and nestling, murmured in a voice of deep content: “isn’t it a lovely, lovely day, and everything is so happy. listen: now i can hear the wind talking in the grass, just as you say it talks to you.”
-the summer hurried on and slipped away, as it has a way of doing after the rose and strawberry have held their garden carnival, where each crowns the other.
-in july the marches went abroad. ernest had not broken his habit of dropping in at his neighbour’s house, but he had seen less and less of eileen, who, very naturally, was absorbed in her preparations and the visit of the young woman who was to be her companion. before leaving, eileen had sent ernest a photograph of herself taken in the filmy summer gown she had last worn. why she did it, she herself could not have told; neither could ernest have fathomed her motive if he had tried.
-he was about to slip the card into a drawer, then hesitated, and taking from his mantel-shelf in the living-room a picture of eileen at sixteen, plump, wide-eyed, and serene, for which, at the time, he had carved a somewhat clumsy frame of tulip wood, he substituted the new picture of the lovely, graceful woman with birdlike poise of head and expression, for the old, placing it on his desk.
-the boy, coming in, spied the photograph, and always alert for new impressions, climbed on a chair to look at it, crying, “oh, daddy, isn’t this eileen pretty? she looks up at me just like pandora peeping up from the box, or a wood-thrush when it’s going to sing. she’s prettier than the sleeping beauty in my book. i want to take her up to live on our bureau and be our fairy princess; may i?”
-and the man, wishing to say no, as in many other things the boy asked, answered, “yes.”
-autumn came—and winter. the boy began to thrive so well that even father marvelled at the change; there was no outdoor sport fit for his age that ernest did not enter with him, and the long evenings were filled with delight drawn from all of childhood’s countries, fairyland being not the least. christmas was the time set for the marches to return, but new business at washington claimed the father, and after a brief week spent in house closing, mother and daughter joined him there; and from that time eileen came to be more and more of an unreality save to the boy, who seemed to regard her portrait as a living actuality and the third person of the household, saying one day to the man: “i’m going to marry the princess when i grow up if she will wait, and not grow old. do you think, daddy, eileen will ever be old like aunt louisa?”
-“she will never grow old to me; she has stopped,” the man answered.
-the spring of the following year was cold and very wet, bringing more illness than usual to the well-drained hill country, especially to the children. there was scarlet fever at bridgeton, and some one brought it to the ridge school, the boy being one of its first victims.
-“who is going to nurse the boy?” asked father. “aunt louisa is too old, and no risk must be taken with him. his bed must be moved into the large room with the open chimney, and a log fire kept on the hearth. would you like me to send over a trained nurse from the bridgeton hospital?”
-“i will care for him,” said ernest, setting about the preparation of the room as quietly as a woman could.
-that night began a siege that lasted for weeks that seemed like years: on one side deafness and blindness in league with death, on the other side nature, the doctor, and the man, while between them lay the boy.
-from the end of the first week the doctor came twice daily, then followed nights when he never went away. meanwhile, the man prayed wordless prayers, fought on, refusing to be discouraged, seeming to infuse his own vitality into the boy’s failing pulse by sheer force of will. yet all this time the doctor dared not look him in the eyes, so fierce their agonized questioning.
-then at last nature first routed death, and then slowly, one by one, the others of his train, until one soft, mild day in early april the man carried a bundle rolled in blankets and, partly unfolding it, set it in the big chair in the sunny corner of the south porch, where, from above the wrappings, two great brown eyes looked out, and the voice of the boy said clearly, if faintly, “why, daddy, i’m so surprised, it’s spring again; and the robin’s sitting tight on her nest, so there must be eggs in it.” then, lying back, he closed his eyes, with a sigh in which both weakness and content took part, his fingers, thin as birds’ claws, seeking the man’s, and twining themselves with his.
-presently he said, as if he had been thinking, “i’ve had a big long sleep, i guess, and my throat hurt so, and when i was thirsty, i dreamed that my mother used to turn over my pillow when it burned, and you always came and gave me a cool drink. did you, daddy? was it always you?”
-“and did mother turn my pillow? did you see her?”
-“i did not see her, asa, but then she may have been there; you know the room was often dark.”
-“everything is normal now,” the doctor said that evening when he came in; “in another month, with fresh air and careful feeding, the boy will be quite himself again.”
-then at last the sluice-gates opened, and the waters of sorrow and joy, so long pent up, rushed forth, and the man stood before the doctor, his arm before his face, sobbing like a woman.
-at first, the doctor was minded to steal away, then, realizing the nerve strain ernest had undergone, he laid his hand upon the arm to urge him to go to bed, and repressed a start, for the flesh burned under his touch. worn out by his vigil and carelessness of self, the man had caught the fever.
-“but i cannot go to bed; the boy is only half out of the woods even now,” protested ernest, as father told him of his condition in as few words as possible.
-“do not worry about him,” said father, cheerily. “i will fumigate his things to-morrow and take him down to our house and mrs. evan’s care if it is necessary, i promise you.” so the man yielded to the weariness that weighed him down, and soon, in his turn, was tossing in delirium, not knowing that a white-capped nurse was caring for him as he had cared for the boy.
-the fever itself had taken but a slight hold on ernest; it was the other spectres, worse than death, that threatened him, deafness and blindness; his parched throat and tongue refused to form coherent sound, as he lay there with bandaged eyes and ears, that surgery had rendered wholly deaf in the one hope that nature might repair the necessary wounds.
-as the fever left, and consciousness returned to stay, loneliness possessed him, entire and complete; except through the sense of touch, he was utterly isolated from his kind.
-the days went by, until one came, after the pain had left his eyes, when they removed the bandages cautiously, and he saw the chintz figures of the wall-paper in the partly darkened room, and heaven itself could not have seemed a fairer vision.
-presently they let him read, a few words at a time, and the nurse wrote answers to his various questions on a pad that she kept upon the bed; but oftentimes, when he thought that he was speaking, he had in reality made no sound, for he could not hear his own voice.
-they brought the boy, now fast gaining colour and strength, in to reassure him, and asa, who smiled and puffed out his cheeks to show how he was gaining, left in his hand a little bunch of pansies and hardy english violets. the man pressed them to his face, but scent was as dead as sound. would he never again hear the wind in the grass, or eileen’s voice laughing as they went fishing and the fish slipped the hook? then it came to him, who for a moment had forgotten more recent events, remembering only the past, that hearing had nothing to do with this.
-may fluttered past the man as though on the wings of many birds. the sight of the lilacs under the window, and the apple blossoms scattered through the valley, were his portion of it, and the blood in his veins seemed to grow warm again and his heart began to take courage. the horses were plodding to and fro, ploughing the river meadow, but he did not ask who was guiding the work, or whether the men at the wagon shop were idle or busy; his head was still tired, so tired that he had scarcely the strength to think.
-“you must try to rouse him now,” said the specialist, who was watching the unresponsive ears, to father; “with bodily health the hearing will return.”
-it was june when he first crawled down the narrow stairs and took the boy’s seat in the sunny porch, near which his dinner was spread by aunt louisa, who bustled about him affectionately, trying by gesture, as well as by written words, to raise his curiosity to the point of questioning how they were managing without him.
-every few days the boy came with the doctor, now bringing him some little thing that he had made, or a bunch of wayside flowers. one day he brought a knot of white musk roses fastened together with grass. the man caught at them eagerly, for such grew in the old garden at eileen’s. burying his nose in them, their fragrance penetrated the awakening sense, the same moment that a high-pitched peal of the boy’s laughter, as he made the young dogs do their tricks, reached his ears. ah! blessed mother nature, who had day and night been knitting, knitting, to rejoin the severed nerves and tissues that they might carry the messages to the brain once more!
-strawberries were ripe and passing, and the blush rose on the kitchen porch was shedding its satin petals when the man said abruptly to father, who had this day come without the boy: “when may asa come home, dr. russell? it is a shame to trouble your daughter any longer, and besides, i need his company. i’ve been over the farm to-day, and to-morrow i shall go outside to the wagon shop; yes, to-morrow i must
-"i do! everybody in town except you and the news-dealer at the corner--he's blind."
-emerson rose from his chair, and began to pace about slowly. "if hilliard has turned that girl's head with his attentions, i'll--"
-clyde threw back his head and laughed in open derision. "don't worry about her--he is the one to be pitied. she's taking him on a seeing-seattle trip of the most approved and expensive character."
-"she isn't that kind," emerson hotly denied.
-"if i can't get along without taking money from a woman, i'll throw up the whole deal."
-the curious look which boyd had noted once before came into clyde's eyes, and this time, to judge by the young fellow's manner, he might have translated it into words but for the entrance at that moment of cherry herself, accompanied by "fingerless" fraser.
-"what luck in vancouver?" she inquired,
-"none whatever. the banks won't listen to me and i can't interest any private parties."
-"see here," volunteered fraser, "why don't you let me sell some of your stock? i'm there with the big talk."
-emerson turned on him suddenly. "you have demonstrated that. if you had kept your mouth shut we'd have been at sea by now."
-the fellow's face paled slightly as he replied: "i told you once that i didn't tip your mit."
-"don't keep that up!" cried boyd, his much-tried temper ready to give way. "i can put up with anything but a lie."
-noting the signs of a rising storm, clyde scrambled out of his chair, saying: "well, i think i'll be going." he picked up his hat and stick, and hurriedly left the room, followed in every movement by the angry eyes of fraser, who seemed on the point of an explosion.
-"i don't believe fraser gave out the story," said cherry, at which he flashed her a grateful glance.
-"you can make a book on that," he declared. "i may be a crook, but i'm no sucker, and i know when to hobble my talk and when to slip the bridle. i did five years once when it wasn't coming to me, and i can do it again--if i have to." he jammed his hat down over his ears, and walked out.
-"i really think he is telling the truth," said the girl. "he is dreadfully hurt to think you distrust him."
-"he and i have threshed that out," emerson declared, pacing the room with nervous strides. "when i think what an idiotic trifle it was that caused this disaster, i could throttle him--and i would if i didn't blame myself for it." he paused to stare unseeingly at her. "i'm waiting for the crash to come before i walk into room 610 at the hotel buller and settle with 'mr. jones, of new york.'"
-"you aren't seriously thinking of any such melodramatic finish, are you?" she inquired.
-"when i first met you in kalvik, i said i would stop at nothing to succeed. well, i meant it. i am more desperate now than i was then. i could have stood over that wretch at the dock, the other day, and watched him drown, because he dared to step in between me and my work, i could walk into willis marsh's room and strangle him, if by so doing i could win. yes!" he checked her, "i know i am wrong, but that is how i feel. i have wrung my soul dry. i have toiled and sweated and suffered for three years, constantly held down by the grip of some cursed evil fortune. a dozen times i have climbed to the very brink of success, only to be thrust down by some trivial cause like this. can you wonder that i have watched my honor decay and crumble?--that i've ceased to care what means i use so long as i succeed? i have fought fair so far, but now, i tell you, i've come to a point where i'd sacrifice anything, everything to get what i want--and i want that girl."
-"you are tired and overwrought," said cherry, quietly. "you don't mean what you say. the success of this enterprise, with any happiness it may bring you, isn't worth a human life; nor is it worth what you are suffering."
-"perhaps not, from your point of view," he said, roughly, then struck his palm with closed fist. "what an idiot i was to begin all this--to think i could win with no weapons and no aid except a half-mad fisherman, an addle-brained imbecile, a confidence man--"
-"and a woman," supplemented cherry. then, more gravely: "i'm the one to blame; i got you into it."
-"no, i blame no one but myself. whatever you're responsible for, there's only one person you've harmed--yourself."
-"what do you mean?" asked cherry.
-her surprise left him unimpressed.
-"let's be frank," he said. "it is best to have such things out and be done with them. i traded my friendship for money and i am ruined. you are staking your honor against hilliard's bank-notes." her look commanded him, pleaded with him, to stop; but her silence only made him the more fiercely determined to force an explanation. "oh, i'm in no mood to speak gently," he said; then added, with a sting of contempt in his tone: "i didn't think you would pay quite that price for your copper-mine."
-cherry malotte paled to her lips, and when she spoke her voice was oddly harsh. "kindly be more explicit; i don't know what you are talking about."
-"then, for your own good, you'd better understand. according to accepted standards, there is one thing no woman should trade upon."
-"you have set yourself to trap hilliard, and, from what i hear, you are succeeding. he is a married man. he is twice your age. he is notorious--all of which you must know, and yet you have deliberately yielded yourself to him for a price."
-suddenly he found the girl standing over him with burning eyes and quivering body.
-"what right have you to say such things to me?" she cried. "a moment ago you acknowledged yourself a murderer--at least in thought; you said you would sacrifice anything or everything to gain your ends. do you think i'm like that, too? are my methods to be called shameful because your own are criminal? and suppose they were! do you think that you and your love for that unfeeling woman, who sent you out to toil and suffer and sweat your soul dry in the solitude of that horrible country, are the only issues in the world?"
-"we won't speak of her," he broke in, sharply.
-"oh yes, we will you say i have set a price on myself. well, she set a price on herself, but you can't see it. her price was your honor, that has crumbled; your conscience, that has rotted. you have paid it, and you would pay double if she exacted it. but one thing you shall not do: you shall not judge of my bargains, nor decide what i have paid to any man."
-never before had boyd seen a woman so transformed by the passion of anger. her lids had drooped, half hiding her eyes. her whole expression had hardened; she was the picture of defiant fury. the mask had slipped, and he caught a glimpse of the naked, passionate soul, upheaved to its depths. oddly enough, he felt it thrill him.
-"i beg your pardon," he said. "you are your own mistress, and you have the right to make any bargain you choose."
-she turned away, and, going to the window, stared down upon the busy street, striving to calm herself. for a time the room was silent, save for the muffled sounds from below; then she faced him again, and he saw that her eyes were misty with tears. "i want you to know," she said, "that i understand your position perfectly. if you don't succeed, you not only lose the girl but ruin yourself, for you can never repay the men who trusted you. that is a very big thing to a man, i know, yet there must be a way out--there always is. perhaps it will present itself when you least expect it." she gave him a tired little smile before lowering her veil.
-he rose, and laid his hand on her arm. "forgive my brutal bluntness. i'm not clever at such things, but i would have said as much to my sister if i had one."
-all the way back to her hotel her mind dwelt bitterly upon his parting words. "his sister! his sister!" she kept repeating. "god! can't he see?" if he had shown even a momentary jealousy of hilliard it would not have been so hard, but this impersonal attitude was maddening! the man had but one idea in the world, one dream, one vision--another woman. alone in her room, she still felt the flesh of her arm burn, where he had laid his hand, and then came the thrill of that forgotten kiss. how many times had she felt the pressure of his lips upon hers! how many hopes had she built upon that memory! but the thought of boyd's indifference rose in sharp conflict with the tenderness that prompted her to help him at any cost. after all, why not take what was offered her and let this man shift for himself? why not live her life as she had planned it before he came? the reward was at hand--she had only to take it and let him go down as a sacrifice to that ice-woman he coveted.
-dusk was falling when she ceased pacing the floor, and with set, defiant face went to the telephone, to call up hilliard at the rainier club.
-"i have thought over your proposition and i have changed my mind," she said. "yes, you may send the car for me at seven." then, in reply to some request, she laughed back, through white lips: "very well, if you wish it--the blue dress. yes! the blue decollete dress." she hung up the receiver, then stood with hands clinched while a shiver ran through her slender body. she stepped to a closet, and flung open the door to stare at the array of gowns.
-"so this is the end of my good resolutions," she laughed, and snatched a garment recklessly from its hook. "now for all the miserable tricks of the trade!"
-willis marsh comes out from cover
-george balt, clyde, and fraser formed a glum trio as they sat in a nook of the hotel cafe, sipping moodily at their glasses, when, on the following afternoon, emerson joined them. but they sensed some untoward happening even before he spoke; for his face wore a look of dazed incredulity, and his manner was so extraordinary that they questioned in chorus:
-"what's the matter? are you sick?"
-"no," said he. "but i--i must have lost my mind."
-"what is it?"
-"the trick is turned."
-"i have raised the money."
-with a shout that startled the other occupants of the room, balt and clyde jumped to their feet and began to caper about in a frenzy. even "fingerless" fraser's expressionless face cracked in a wide grin of amazement.
-"you must have made a great talk," declared clyde.
-"i said nothing. he offered it himself, as a personal loan. it has nothing to do with the bank."
-"well, i'm--!" cried big george.
-"and that goes two ways," supplemented fraser.
-"i'm going to tell cherry, now. she will be delighted."
-alton clyde tittered. "i told you she could pull it off," he said.
-"this was hilliard's own notion," boyd returned, coldly. "he merely reconsidered his decision, and--"
-"turn over! you're on your back."
-"it was only yesterday afternoon that i talked with cherry. i dare say she hasn't seen him since."
-"well, i happen to know that she has. as i came home last night i saw them together. they came out of that french cafe across the street, and got into hilliard's car. she was dressed up like a pony."
-"what's that got to do with it?" demanded "fingerless" fraser.
-"she pulled the old fellow's leg, that's all," explained alton.
-"well, it wasn't your leg, was it?" inquired fraser, sourly.
-"no; i've no kick coming. i think she's mighty clever."
-"if i thought she had done that," said emerson, slowly, "i wouldn't touch a penny of the money."
-"i don't care where the money came from or how it got here," rumbled balt. "it's here; that's enough."
-"i care, and i intend to find out."
-"oh, come now, don't spoil a good piece of work," cautioned clyde, visibly perturbed at boyd's expression. "you know you aren't the only one to consider in this matter; the rest of us are entitled to a look-in. for heaven's sake, try to control this excess of virtue, and when you get into one of those martin luther moods, just reflect that i have laid ten thousand aching simoleons on the altar."
-"sure!" supplemented george; "and look at me and cherry. success means as much to her as it does to any of us, and if she pulled this off, you bet she knew what she was doing. anyhow, you ain't got any right to break up the play."
-but boyd clung to his point with a stubbornness which he himself found it difficult to explain. the arguments of the others only annoyed him. the walk to cherry's hotel afforded him time for reflection which, while it deepened his doubt, somewhat lessened his impatience, and when he was shown into her presence he did not begin in the impetuous manner he had designed. a certain hesitation and dread of the truth mastered him, and, moreover, the girl's appearance dismayed him. she seemed almost ill. she was listless and fagged. upon his announcement of the good news, she only smiled wearily, and said:
-"and was it unexpected--to you?" he asked, awkwardly.
-"what happens is nearly always unexpected--when it's good."
-"not to the one who brings it about."
-"what makes you think i had anything to do with it?"
-"you were with hilliard last night."
-she nodded slightly, "we closed our negotiations for the copper-mine last night."
-"how did you come out?"
-"he takes it over, and does the development work," she answered.
-"that means that you are independent; that you can leave the north country and do all the things you want to do?" this time her smile was puzzling. "you don't seem very glad!"
-"no! realization discounts anticipation about ninety per cent but don't let's talk about me. i--i'm unstrung to-day."
-"i'm sorry you aren't going back to kalvik," he said, with genuine regret.
-"but i am," she declared, quickly. "i'm going back with you and george if you will let me. i want to see the finish of our enterprise."
-"see here, cherry, i hope you didn't influence hilliard in this affair?"
-"why probe the matter?"
-"well, do anything you may be sorry for." at last he detected a gleam of spirit in her eyes.
-"suppose i did. what difference to you would that make?" he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
-"suppose that mr. hilliard had called on me for some great sacrifice before he gave up that money. would you allow it to affect you?"
-"of course," he answered. then, unable to sit still under her searching gaze, he arose with flushed face, to meet further discomfiture as she continued:
-"even if it meant your own ruin, the loss of the fortune you have raised among your friends--money that is entrusted to you--and--and the relinquishment of miss wayland? honestly, now"--her voice had softened and dropped to a lower key--"would it make any difference?"
-"how much difference?"
-"i'm in a very embarrassing position," he said, slowly. "you must realize that with others depending on me i'm not free to follow my own inclinations."
-she uttered a little, mocking laugh. "pardon me. it was not a fair question, and i shouldn't have asked it; but your hesitation was sufficient answer." then, as he broke into a heated denial, she went on:
-"like most men, you think a woman has but one asset upon which to trade. however, if i felt responsible for your difficulties, that was my affair; and if i determined to help extricate you, that also concerned me alone." he stepped forward as if to protest, but she silenced his speech with an imperious little stamp of her foot. "this spasm of righteousness on your part is only temporary--yes it is"--as he attempted to break in--"and now that you have voiced it and freed your mind, you can feel at rest. have you not repeatedly asserted that to win miss wayland you would use any means that offered? you are not really sincere in this sudden squeamishness, and i would like you better if you had seized your advantage at once, without stopping to consider whence or how it came. that would have been primitive--elemental--and every woman loves an elemental lover."
-he was no subtle casuist, and found himself without words to reply. the girl's sharp challenging of his motives had disconcerted him without helping him to a clearer understanding of his own mind, and in spite of the cheering turn his fortunes had taken it was in no very amiable mood that he left her at last, no whit the wiser for all his questioning. in the hotel lobby below he encountered the newspaper reporter who had fallen under fraser's spell upon their first arrival from the north. the man greeted him eagerly.
-"how d'y'do, mr. emerson. can you give me any news about the fisheries?"
-"i thought there might be something new bearing on my story."
-"indeed! so you are the chap who wrote that article some time ago, eh?"
-"yes, sir. good, wasn't it?"
-"doubtless, from the newspaper point of view. where did you get it?"
-"from mr. clyde."
-"clyde! you mean fraser--frobisher, i should say."
-"no, sir. alton clyde! he was pretty talkative the night i saw him." the reporter laughed, meaningly.
-"drunk, do you mean?"
-"oh, not exactly drunk, but pretty wet. he knew what he was saying, however. can't you give me something more?"
-"nothing." boyd hurried to his hotel, a prey to mingled anger and contrition. so fraser had told the truth, after all, and with a kind of sullen loyalty had chosen to remain under a cloud himself rather than inform on a friend. it was quite in keeping with the fellow's peculiar temperament. as it happened, boyd found the two men together and lost no time in acquainting them with his discovery.
-"i've come to apologize to you," he said to fraser, who grinned broadly and was seized with a sudden abashment which stilled his tongue. emerson turned to clyde. "why did you permit me to do this injustice?"
-"i--i didn't mean to give out any secrets--i don't remember doing it," alton apologized, lamely. "you know i can't drink much. i don't remember a thing about it, honestly." boyd regarded him coldly, but the young man's penitence seemed so genuine, he looked so weak, so pitifully incompetent, that the other lacked heart to chastise him. it requires resistance to develop heat, and against the absence of character it is impossible to create any sort of emotion.
-"when you got drunk that night you not only worked a great hardship on all of us, but afterward you allowed me to misjudge a very faithful man," declared boyd. "fraser's ways are not mine, and i have said harsh things to him when my temper prompted; but i am not ungrateful for the service he has done me and the sacrifices he has made. now, alton, you have chosen to join us in a desperate venture, and the farther we go the more vigorous will be the resistance we shall meet. if you can't keep a close mouth, and do as you are told, you'd better go back to chicago. by rare good luck we have averted this disaster, but i have no hope of being so fortunate again."
-"don't climb any higher," admonished "fingerless" fraser. "he's all fluffed up now. i'll lay you eight to one he don't make another break of the kind."
-"no, i was so com-cussed-pletely pickled that i forgot i even spoke about the salmon-canning business. i'll break my corkscrew and seal my flask, and from this moment until we come out next fall the demon rum and i are divorced. is that good news?"
-"what is it?"
-"go down to the freight-office and trace a shipment of machinery, while i--"
-"nix! that ain't my line. if you need a piece of rough money quick, why i'll take my gat and stick somebody up in an alley, or i'll feel out a safe combination for you in the dark; but this chaperoning freight cars ain't my game. i'd only crab it."
-"i do, sure i do! i'll be glad when you're on your way, but i must respectfully duck all bills-of-lading and shipping receipts."
-"you are merely lazy," emerson smiled. "nevertheless, if we get in a tight place, i'll make you take a hand in spite of yourself."
-"any time you need me," cheerfully volunteered the other, lighting a fresh cigar. "only don't give me child's work."
-as if hilliard's conversion had marked the turning-point of their luck, the partners now entered upon a period of almost uninterrupted success. in the reaction from their recent discouragement they took hold of their labors with fresh energy, and fortune aided them in unexpected ways. boyd signed his charter, securing a tramp steamer then discharging at tacoma. balt closed his contracts for chinese labor, and the scattered car-loads of material, which had been lost en route or mysteriously laid out on sidings, began to come in as if of their own accord. those supplies which had been denied them they found in unexpected quarters close at hand; and almost before they were aware of it the bedford castle had finished unloading and was coaling at the bunkers.
-a brigade of orientals and a miniature army of fishermen had appeared as if by magic, and were quartered in the lower part of the city awaiting shipment. boyd and big george worked unceasingly in the midst of a maelstrom of confusion, the centre of which was the dock. there, one throbbing april evening, the bedford castle berthed, ready to receive her cargo, and the two men made their way toward their hotel, weary, but glowing with the grateful sense of an arduous duty well performed. the following morning would find the wharf swarming with stevedores and echoing to the rattle of trucks, the clank of hoists, and the shrill whistles of the signalmen.
-"looks like they couldn't stop us now," said balt.
-"it does," agreed emerson. "we ought to clear in four days--that'll be the 15th."
-"it smells like an early spring, too," the fisherman observed, sniffing the air. "if it is, we'll be in kalvik the first week in may."
-"is your sense of smell sharp enough to tell what's happening up there?"
-"suppose it's a backward season?"
-"then we'll lay in the ice alongside the company boats till she breaks. that may be in june."
-"i would like to get in early, and have the buildings started before marsh arrives. there's no telling what he may try."
-george gave his companion a short nod. "and there ain't no telling what we may try right back at him. anyhow, he'll have to fight in the open, and that's better than this shadow-boxing that we've been doing."
-"i'm off to tell cherry," said boyd. "she'll need to be getting ready."
-his course took him past hilliard's bank, and when abreast of it he nearly collided with a man who came hurrying forth, an angry scowl between his eyes giving evidence of a surly humor. in the well-groomed, fiery-haired, plump-figured man who, absorbed in his own anger, was rushing by without raising his eyes, emerson recognized the manager of the north american packers' association.
-"good-evening, mr. marsh."
-marsh whirled about. "eh? ah!" with a visible effort he smoothed the lines from his brow; his full lips lost their angry pout, and he showed his teeth in a startled, apprehensive smile.
-"why, yes--it's emerson. how are you, mr. emerson?" he extended a soft hand, which boyd took. apparently reassured by this mute response, marsh continued: "i heard you were in town. how is the new cannery coming on?"
-"nicely, thank you. when did you arrive from the east?"
-"i just got in. haven't had time to get straightened out yet. we--mr. wayland and i--were speaking of you before i left chicago. we were--somewhat surprised to learn that you were engaging in the same line of business as ourselves."
-"i told him there was room for us all."
-"yes! i assured him that his resentment was unwarranted."
-"he resents something, does he?"
-"well, naturally," marsh declared, with a wintry smile. "in view of the circumstances i may truthfully say that his feelings embrace not only a sense of resentment, but the firmly fixed idea that he has been betrayed--however, you are no doubt aware of all that. you have an able champion on the ground." he looked out across the street abstractedly. "miss wayland and i did our utmost to convince him you merely took a legitimate commercial advantage in dining at his house the night before you left."
-"it was good of you to take my part," said boyd, with such an air of simple cordiality that marsh shot a startled glance at him. "now that we are to be neighbors this summer, i hope we will get well acquainted, for mr. wayland spoke highly of you, and strongly advised me to pattern after you."
-marsh hid his bewilderment behind an expression which he strove to make as friendly as emerson's own. "i understand you are banking here," he said, jerking his head toward the building at his back.
-"yes. i was offered a number of propositions, but mr. hilliard was so insistent and made such substantial inducements that i finally placed the business with him."
-the animosity that glimmered for one fleeting instant in marsh's eyes amused boyd greatly, advertising as it did, that for once the trust's executive felt himself at a disadvantage. the younger man never doubted for an instant that his coup in securing hilliard's assistance at the eleventh hour was responsible for his enemy's sudden appearance from cover, nor that the arrival of the bedford castle had brought marsh to the banker's office out of hours in final desperation. from the man's bearing he judged that the interview had not been as placid as a spring morning, and this awoke in him not only a keen sense of elation but the very natural desire to goad his opponent.
-"all in all, we have been singularly fortunate in our enterprise thus far," he continued, smoothly. "we were held up on some of our machinery, but in every instance the delay turned out a blessing in disguise, for it enabled us to buy in other quarters at a saving."
-"i'm delighted to hear it," marsh declared. "when do you sail?"
-"immediately. we begin to load to-morrow."
-"i have changed my plans somewhat," the other announced. "i'll follow your tracks before long."
-"what is your hurry?"
-"repairs. kalvik is our most important station, so i want to get it in first-class shape before mr. wayland and mildred arrive."
-"mildred!" ejaculated boyd, surprised past resenting marsh's use of the girl's first name. "is she coming?"
-the other's smile was peculiarly irritating.
-"oh, indeed yes! we expect to make the trip quite an elaborate excursion. sorry i can't ask you to join us on the homeward voyage, but--" he shrugged his fat shoulders. "run in and see me before you leave. i may be able to give you some pointers."
-"thank you. i hope you'll enjoy the summer up there in the wilderness. it will be a relief to get away from all conventions and restraints."
-the men extended their hands and the trust's manager said, in final invitation, "drop in on me any day at the office. i'm at the national building."
-"oh, you've moved, eh?" said boyd, with a semblance of careless interest.
-"indeed! i thought you were still at 610, hotel buller." with a short laugh and a casual gesture of adieu he turned, leaving the manager of the trust staring after him, an astonished pucker upon his womanish mouth, a vindictive glare in his eyes. not until his rival had turned the corner did willis marsh remove his gaze. then he found that he was trembling as if from weakness.
-"the ruffian!" he reached into his pocket and produced a gold cigarette-case, repeatedly snapping the heavy sides together with vicious force. when he attempted to light a match it broke in his fingers, then in a temper he threw the cigarette from him and hurried away, his plump face working, his lips drawn into a spiteful fold.
-for the first time in a fortnight boyd allowed himself the luxury of a long sleep, and a late breakfast on the following morning. but the meal came to an abrupt conclusion when balt, who always arose with the sun, rushed in upon him and exclaimed:
-"hey! come on down to the dock, quick. there's hell to pay!"
-"what's up now?"
-"strike! the longshoremen have walked out on us. i was on hand early to oversee the loading, but the whole mob refused to commence. there's some union trouble because the bedford castle discharged her cargo with scab labor."
-"why, that's ridiculous! what does captain peasley say?"
-"he says--i'll have to wait till we're outside before i can repeat what he says."
-together the two hurried to the water-front to find a crowd of surly stevedores loafing about the dock, and an english sea-captain at breakfast in his cabin, his attention divided equally between toast, tea, marmalade and profanity.
-"the beggars are mad, absolutely mad," declared the captain. "i can't understand it. i'm still in my bed when i'm aroused by an insolent loafer who calls himself a walking delegate and tells me his union won't load me until i pay some absurd sum."
-"what did you tell him?" inquired emerson.
-"what did i tell him?" captain peasley laid down his knife gently and wiped the tea from his drooping mustache, then squared about in his seat. "here's what i told him as near as my memory serves." whereupon he broke into a tornado of nautical profanity so picturesquely british in its figures, and so whole-souled in its vigor, that his auditors could not but smile. "then i bashed him with my boot, and bloody well pursued him over the rail. two thousand dollars! sweet mother of queen anne! wouldn't i look well, now, handing four hundred pounds over to those highbinders? my owners would hang me."
-"so they demand two thousand dollars!"
-"yes! just because of some bally rot about who may and who may not work for a living on the docks at frisco."
-"what are you going to do about it?"
-"i'm going to make a swimming delegate out of the next walking emissary that boards me. two thousand dollars!" he hid half a slice of toast behind his mustache and stirred his tea violently.
-"it's marsh again," said big george.
-"i dare say," emerson answered. "it's a hold-up pure and simple. however, if ships can be unloaded with non-union labor they can be loaded in the same manner, and captain peasley talks like a man who would like to have the argument out. i want you to stay here and watch our freight while i see the head of the union."
-a new enemy appears
-when boyd returned some two hours later he found the dock deserted save for big george, who prowled watchfully about the freight piles.
-"well, did you fix it up?" the fisherman inquired.
-"no," exclaimed boyd. "it's a rank frame-up, and i refused to be bled."
-"good for you."
-"there are some things a fellow's manhood won't stand for. i'll carry that freight aboard with my own hands before i'll be robbed by a labor union at the bidding of willis marsh."
-"say! will you let me load this ship my way?" george asked.
-"can you do it?"
-balt's thick lips drew back from his yellow teeth in that smile which emerson had come to recognize as a harbinger of the violent acts that rejoiced his lawless soul.
-"listen," said he, with a chuckle. "down the street yonder i've got a hundred fishermen. half of them are drunk at this minute, and the rest are half drunk."
-"then they are of no use to us."
-"i don't reckon you ever seen a herd of kalvik fishermen out of a job, did you? well, there's just two things they know, fishing and fighting, and this ain't the fishing season. when they hit seattle, the police force goes up into the residence section and stufts cotton in its ears, because the only thing that is strong enough to stand between a uniform and a fisherman is a hill."
-"can you induce them to work?"
-"i can. all i'm afraid of is that i can't induce them to quit. they're liable to put this freight aboard the bedford castle, and then pull down the dock in a spirit of playfulness and pile it in captain peasley's cabin. there ain't no convulsion of nature that's equal to a gang of idle fishermen."
-"when can they begin?"
-"well, it will take me all night to round them up, and i'll have to lick four or five, but there ought to be a dozen or two on hand in the morning." george cast a roving eye over the warehouse from the heavy planking under foot to the wide-spanning rafters above. "yes," he concluded, "i don't see nothing breakable, so i guess it's safe."
-"would you like me to go with you?"
-the giant considered him speculatively. "i don't think so. i ain't never seen you in action. no, you better stay here and arrange to guard this stuff till morning. i'll do the rest."
-boyd did not see him again that day, nor at the hotel during the evening, but on the following morning, true to his word, the big fellow walked into the warehouse followed by a score or more of fishermen. at first sight there was nothing imposing about these men: they were rough-garbed and unkempt, in the main; but upon closer observation boyd noticed that they were thick-chested and broad-shouldered, and walked with the swinging gait that comes from heaving decks. while the majority of them were neither distinctly american nor markedly foreign in appearance, being rather of that composite caste that peoples the outer reaches of the far west, they were all deeply browned by sun and weather, and spoke the universal idiom of the sea. there were men here from finland and florida, portugal and maine, fused into one nondescript type by the melting-pot of the frontier. some wore the northern mackinaw in spite of the balmy april morning, others were dressed like ranch hands on circus day, and a few with the ornateness of butte miners on parade.
-certain ones displayed fresh contusions on cheek and jaw, or peered forth from lately blackened eyes, and these, boyd noticed, invariably fawned upon big george or treated him with elephantine playfulness, winking swollen lids at him in a mysterious understanding which puzzled the young man, until he saw that balt himself bore similar signs of strife. the big man's lips were cut, while back of one ear a knot had sprung up over night like a fungus.
-they fell to work quickly, stripping themselves to their undershirts; they manned the hoists, seized trucks and bale-hooks, and began their tasks with a thoroughly non-union energy. some of them were still so drunk that they staggered, their awkwardness affording huge sport to their companions, yet even in their intoxication they were surprisingly capable. there was a great deal of laughter and disorder on every hand, and all made frequent trips to the water-taps, returning adrip to the waist, their hair and beards bejewelled with drops. boyd saw one, a well-dressed fellow in a checked suit, remove his clothes and hang them carefully upon a nail, then painfully unlace his patent-leather shoes, after which, regardless of the litter under foot and the splinters in the floor, he tramped about in bare feet and red underwear. without exception, they seemed possessed by the spirit of boys at play. having seen them well under way and the winches working, george sought out boyd and proudly inquired:
-"what do you think of them, eh?"
-"they are splendid. but where are the others?"
-"well, there are two or three that won't be able to get around at all." he meditatively stroked the knuckles of his right hand, which were badly bruised. "but the balance will be here to-morrow. these are just the mildest-mannered ones--the family men, you might say. the others will show up gradual. you see, if there had been any fighting going on here, i'd have got most of them right off the bat, but there wasn't any inducement to offer except hard work, so they wasn't quite so anxious to commence."
-"humph! there ought to be enough excitement before long to satisfy any one," said boyd, with a trace of worry in his voice.
-"as sure as you're a foot high!" exclaimed george, hopefully. "it's the only way we'll get that ship loaded on time. all we need is a riot or two."
-a man passed them trundling a heavy truck, but seeing big george, he paused, wiped the sweat from his face, then grinned and winked fraternally.
-"hey! if this work is too heavy for you, why don't you quit?" growled balt, but strangely enough the fellow took no offence. instead, he closed his swollen eye for a second time, then spat upon his hands, and, as he struggled with his burden, grunted pleasantly:
-"i pretty near--got you, georgie. if you hadn't 'a' ducked, we'd 'a' been at it yet, eh?"
-balt smiled in turn, then gingerly felt of the knob behind his ear.
-"did you have a fight with him?" queried emerson.
-"not exactly a fight, but he put this nubbin on my conch," answered the fisherman. "he's a tough proposition, one of the best we've got."
-"what was the trouble?"
-"nothing! i used to have to lick him every year. we've sort of missed each other lately."
-"then you were merely renewing a pleasant acquaintance?" laughed the younger man. "he hit you in the mouth too, i see."
-"no, i got that from a stranger. i was bedding him down when he kicked me with his boot. he ain't here this morning."'
-"if i were you, i'd go up to the hotel and get some sleep," boyd advised. "i'll oversee things."
-george hesitated. "i don't know if i'd better go or not. they've all got hang-overs, and they're liable to bu'st out any minute if you don't watch them. they ain't vicious, understand; they just like to frolic around."
-"i'll watch them."
-after a contemplative glance at his companion's well-knit figure, balt gave in, with the final caution: "don't let them get the upper hand, or there won't be no living with them."
-after his departure, boyd was not long in learning the cause of his hesitancy, for no sooner did the men realize the change in authority over them than they undertook to feel out the mettle of their new foreman. directly one of them approached him, with the demand:
-"get us a drink, boss; we're thirsty."
-"there is the water-tap," said emerson. "help yourself."
-"go on! we don't want water. rustle up a keg of beer, will you?"
-he turned back to his task, but a moment later boyd saw him making for the shore end of the dock, and with a few strides placed himself in his path.
-"where are you going?"
-"after a drink, of course."
-"you want to quit, eh?"
-the man eyed him for an instant, then answered: "no! the job's all right, but i'm thirsty."
-those working near ceased their labors and gathered around, whereupon their companion addressed them.
-"get back to work, all of you." but the spokesman, disregarding his words, attempted to pass, whereupon without warning boyd knocked him down with a clean blow to the face. at this the others yelled and rushed forward, only to be met by their foreman, who had snatched a bale-hook. it was an ugly weapon, and he used it so viciously that they quickly gave him room.
-"now get to work," he ordered, quietly. "you can quit if you want to, but i'll lay out the first fellow that goes after a drink. make up your minds what you want to do. quick!"
-there was a moment's hesitation, and then, with the absurd vagary of a crowd, they broke into loud laughter and slouched back to work, two of them dragging the cause of the outburst to the water-faucet, where they held his head under the stream until he began to sputter and squirm. before those at the gangway had noticed the disturbance it was all over, and thereafter boyd experienced no trouble. on the contrary, they worked the better for his proof of authority, and took him into their fellowship as if he had qualified to their entire satisfaction. even the man he had struck seemed to share in the general respect rather than to cherish the least ill-feeling. the respite was brief, however, for the work had not continued many hours before a stranger made his way quietly in upon the dock and began to argue with the first fisherman he met. boyd discovered him quickly, and, approaching him, demanded:
-"what do you want?"
-"nothing," said the new-comer.
-"then get out."
-"what for? i'm just talking to this man."
-"i can't allow any talking here. hurry up and get out."
-"this is a free country. i ain't hurting you."
-"will you go?"
-"say! you can't load that cargo this way," the man began, threateningly. "and you can't make me go--"
-at which emerson seized him by the collar and quickly disproved the assertion, to the great delight of the fishermen. he marched his prisoner to the dock entrance and thrust him out into the street with the warning: "don't you let me catch you in here again."
-"i'm a union man and you can't load that ship with 'scabs!'" the stranger swore as he slunk off. "you'll be sorry for this." but boyd motioned him away and summoned two of his men to stand guard with him.
-all that morning the three held their posts, refusing to admit any one who did not have business within, the while a considerable crowd assembled in the street. the first actual violence, however, occurred when the fishermen knocked off for the noon hour. sensing the storm about to break, boyd called up the police department from the dock-office, then summoned big george, who appeared in quick time. it was with considerable difficulty that the non-union crew fought its way back to resume work at one o'clock.
-during the afternoon the strikers made several attempts to enter the dock-shed, and it required a firm stand by the guards to restrain them. these growing signs of excitement pleased the fishermen intensely, and at each advance of the crowd it became as great a task to hold them back as it was to check the union forces. during one of these disturbances captain peasley made his way shoreward from the ship to scan the scene, and the sight of his uniform excited the ire of the strikers afresh. after a glance over the mob, he remarked to emerson:
-"bli'me! it looks like a bloody riot already, doesn't it? four hundred pounds to those dock wallopers! huh! you know if i allowed them to bleed me that way--"
-at that instant, from some quarter, a railroad spike whizzed past the captain's head, banging against the boards behind him with such a thump that the dignified englishman ducked quickly amid a shout of derision. he began to curse them roundly in his own particular style.
-"you'd better keep under cover, captain," advised emerson. "they don't seem to care for you."
-"so it would appear," he agreed. "they're getting nawsty, aren't they? i hope it doesn't lawst."
-"well, i hope it does," said george balt. "if they'll only keep at it and beat up some of our boys at quitting-time the whole gang will be here in the morning."
-it seemed that his wishes bade fair to be realized, for, as the day wore on, instead of diminishing, the excitement increased. by evening it became so menacing that boyd was forced to send in an urgent demand for a squadron of bluecoats to escort his men to their lodgings, and it was only by the most vigorous efforts that a serious clash was averted. nor was this task the easier since it did not meet with the approval of the fishermen themselves, who keenly resented protection of any sort.
-true to george's prediction, the next morning found the non union men out in such force that they were divided into a night and a day crew, half of them being sent back to report later, while among the mountains of freight the work went forward faster than ever. but the night had served to point the anger of the strikers, and the dock owners, becoming alarmed for the safety of their property, joined with emerson in establishing a force of a dozen able-bodied guards, armed with clubs, to assist the police in disputing the shore line with the rioters. the police themselves had proved ineffective, even betraying a half-hearted sympathy with the union men, who were not slow to profit by it. even so, the day passed rather quietly, as did the next. but in time the agitation became so general as to paralyze a wide section of the water-front, and the city awoke to the realization that a serious conflict was in progress. the handful of fishermen, hidden under the roof of the great warehouse, outnumbered twenty to one, and guarded only by a thin line of pickets, became a centre of general interest.
-as the violence of the mob, stimulated rather than checked by the indifference of the police, became more openly daring, so likewise did the reprisals of the fishermen, goaded now to a stubborn rage. they would not hear to having their food brought to them, but insisted daily on emerging in a body at noon and spending the hour in combat. not to speak of the physical disabilities they incurred in these affrays, the excitement distracted them and affected their work disastrously, to the great concern of their employer.
-it was on the fourth day that boyd espied the man in the gray suit among the strikers and pointed him out to his three companions, clyde and fraser having joined him and george in a spirit of curiosity. clyde was for immediately executing a sally to capture the fellow, explaining that once they had him inside the dock-house they could beat him until he confessed that marsh was behind the strike, but his valor shrank amazingly when fraser maliciously suggested that he himself lead the dash.
-"no!" he exclaimed. "i'm not a fighting man, but i'm a good general. you know, napoleon was about my size."
-"i never noticed the resemblance," remarked fraser.
-"all the same, your idea ain't so bad," said balt. "there's somebody stirring those fellows up, and i think it's that detective. i wouldn't mind getting my hands on him, and if you'll all stick with me i'll go out after him."
-"not for mine," hastily declared "fingerless" fraser. "i don't want to fight anybody. i'm here as a spectator."
-"you're not afraid?" questioned emerson.
-"not exactly afraid, but what's the use of my getting mixed up in this row? it ain't my cannery."
-now, while a mob is by nature noisy and threatening, there is little real danger in it until its diffusive violence is directed into one channel by a leader. then, indeed, it becomes a terrible thing, and to the watchers at the dock it became evident, in time, that a guiding influence was at work among their enemies. sure enough, late in the afternoon of the fourth day, without a moment's warning, the strikers rushed in a body, bearing down the guards like reeds. they came so unexpectedly that there was no time to muster reinforcements at the gate; almost before the fishermen could drop their tasks, their enemies were inside the building and pandemonium had broken loose. the structure rocked to the tumult of pounding heels, of yells and imprecations, the lofty roof serving to toss back and magnify the uproar.
-emerson and his companions found themselves carried away before the onslaught like chips in the surf, then sucked into a maelstrom where the first duty was self-preservation. behind locked doors and shivering glass a terrified office-clerk, receiver to ear, was calling madly for police headquarters, while in the main building itself the crowd bellowed and roared and the hollow floor reverberated to the thunder of trampling feet and the crash of tumbling freight-piles.
-boyd succeeded in keeping his footing and eventually fought his way to a backing of crated machinery, where he stooped and ripped a cleat loose; then, laying about him with this weapon, he cleared a space. it was already difficult to distinguish friend from foe, but he saw alton clyde go down a short distance away and made a rush to rescue him. his pine slat splintered against a head, he dodged a missile, then struck with the fragment in his hand, and, snatching clyde by the arm, dragged him out from under foot. battered and bruised, the two won back to emerson's first position, and watched the tide surge past.
-at the first alarm the fishermen had armed themselves with bale-hooks and bludgeons, and for a time worked havoc among their assailants; but as the fight became more general they were forced apart and drawn into the crowd, whereupon the combatants split up into groups, milling about like frightened cattle. men broke out from these struggling clusters to nurse their injuries or beat a retreat, only to be overrun and swallowed up again in a new commotion.
-emerson saw the big, barefooted fisherman in the red underclothes, armed with a sledge-hammer, go through the ranks of his enemies like a tornado, only to be struck by some missile hurled from a distance. with a shout of rage the fellow turned and flung his own weapon at his assailant, felling him like an ox, then he in turn was blotted out by a surge of rioters. but there was little time for observation, as the scene was changing with kaleidoscopic rapidity and there was the ever-present necessity of self-protection. seeing clyde's helpless condition, emerson shouted:
-his nearest assailant had armed himself with an iron bar and endeavored to guard the first blow with this instrument, but it flew from his grasp, and he sustained the main force of the impact on his forearm. then, though boyd fell back farther, the others rushed in and he found himself hard beset. what happened thereafter neither he nor alton clyde, who was half-dazed to begin with, ever clearly remembered, for in such over-charged instants the mental photograph is wont to be either unusually distinct or else fogged to such a blur that only the high-lights stand out clearly in retrospect.
-before he had recognized the personal nature of the assault, emerson found himself engaged in a furious hand-to-hand struggle where a want of room hampered the free use of his cudgel, and he was forced to rely mainly upon his fists. blows were rained upon him from unguarded quarters, he was kicked, battered, and flung about, his blind instinct finally leading him to clinch with whomsoever his hands encountered. then a sudden blackness swallowed him up, after which he found himself upon his knees, his arms loosely encircling a pair of legs, and realized that he had been half-stunned by a blow from behind. the legs he was clutching tried to kick him loose, at which he summoned all his strength, knowing that he must go down no further; but as he struggled upward, something smote him in the side with sickening force, and he went to his knees again.
-close beside him he saw the club he had dropped, and endeavored to reach it; but before he could do so, a hand snatched it away and he heard a voice cursing above him. a second time he tried to rise, but his shocked nerves failed to transmit the impulse to his muscles; he could only raise his shoulder and fling an arm weakly above his head in anticipation of the crushing blow he knew was coming. but it did not descend, instead, he heard a gun shot--that sound for which his ears had been strained from the first--and then for an instant he wondered if it had been directed at himself. a weight sank across his calves, the legs he had been holding broke away from his grasp; then, with a final effort, he pulled himself free and staggered to his feet, his head rocking, his knees sagging. he saw a man's figure facing him, and lunged at it, to bring up in the arms of "fingerless" fraser, who cried sharply:
-"are you hurt, bo?"
-too dazed to answer, he turned and beheld the body of a man stretched face downward on the floor. beyond, the fellow in the gray suit was disappearing into the crowd. even yet boyd did not realize whence the shot had come, although the smell of powder was sharp in his nostrils. then he saw a gleam of blue metal in fraser's hands.
-"give me that gun!" he panted, but his deliverer held him off.
-"i may need it myself, and i ain't got but the one here! let's get clyde out of this."
-stepping over the motionless form at his feet, fraser lifted the young club-man, who was huddled in a formless heap as if he had fallen from a great height, and together the two dragged him toward the bedford castle. as they went aboard, they were nearly run down by a body of reinforcements that captain peasley had finally mustered from between decks. down the gang-plank and over the side they poured, grimy stokers, greasy oilers, and swearing deckhands, equipped with capstan-bars, wrenches, and marlin-spikes. without waiting to observe the effect of these new-comers, boyd and fraser bundled alton into the first cabin at hand, then turned back.
-"better stay here and look after him. you're all in, yourself," the adventurer advised. "i'm going to hunt up george."
-he was away on the instant, with boyd staggering after him, still weak and shaking, the vague discomfort of running blood at the back of his neck, muttering thickly as he went: "give me your gun, fraser! give me your gun!"
-the battle was still raging when the police arrived, after an interminable delay, and it ceased only at the rough play of night-sticks, and after repeated charges of the uniformed men had broken up the ranks of the strikers. the dock was cleared at length, and wagon-loads of bleeding, struggling combatants rolled away to jail, union and non-union men bundled in together. but work was not resumed that day, despite the fact that big george, bruised, ragged, and torn, doubled his force of pickets and took personal charge of them.
-that night, under glaring headlines, the evening papers told the story, reporting one fisherman fatally hurt, one striker dead of a gunshot wound, and many others injured.
-willis marsh springs a trap
-the ensuing days were strenuous ones for the partners, working as they did, with a crippled force and under constant guard. riot was in the air, and violence on every side. by the police, whose apathy disappeared only when an opportunity occurred of arresting the men they were supposed to protect, they were more handicapped than helped. the appearance of a fisherman at any point along the water-front became a sure signal for strife.
-day by day the feeling on both sides grew stronger, till the non-union men were cemented together in a spirit of bitterest indignation, which materially lessened their zeal for work. every act of violence intensified their rage. they armed themselves, in defiance of orders, tossed restraint to the winds, and sought the slightest opportunity of wreaking vengeance upon their enemies. nor were the rioters less determined. authority, after all, is but a hollow shell, which, once broken, is quickly disintegrated. fierce engagements took place, populating the hospitals. it became necessary to guard all property in the warehouse districts, and men ceased to venture there alone after dark.
-one circumstance caused boyd no little surprise and uneasiness--the fact that no vigorous effort had been made to fix the blame for the striker's death on that riotous afternoon. surely, he reasoned, marsh's detective must have witnessed the killing, and must recognize the ease with which the act could now be saddled upon him. if delay were their object, emerson could not understand why they did not seek to have him arrested. the consequences might well be serious if marsh's money were used; but, as the days slipped past and nothing occurred, he decided that he had been overfearful on this score, or else that the manager of the packers' trust had limits beyond which he would not push his persecution.
-a half-mile from captain peasley's ship, the rival company tenders were loading rapidly with union labor, and it seemed that in spite of boyd's plan to be first at kalvik, marsh's force would beat him to the ground unless greater efforts were made. when he communicated these fears to big george, the fisherman suddenly became a slave-driver. he passed among his men, cajoling, threatening, bribing, and they began to work like demons, with the result that when the twentieth arrived he was able to announce to his partner that the work would be finished some time during the following morning.
-the next day emerson and clyde drove down to the dock with cherry in a closed carriage, experiencing no annoyance beyond some jeers and insults as they passed through the picket line. boyd had barely seen them comfortably established on board, when up the ship's gangway came "fingerless" fraser radiantly attired, three heavily laden hotel porters groaning at his back, the customary thick-waisted cigar between his teeth.
-"are you going with us?" boyd inquired.
-"see here. is life one long succession of surprise parties with you?"
-"why, i've figgered on this right along."
-"but the ship is jammed now. there is no room."
-"oh, i fixed that up long ago. i am going to bunk with the steward."
-"well, why in the world didn't you let us know you were coming?"
-"say, don't kid yourself. you knew i couldn't stay behind." fraser blew a cloud of smoke airily. "i never start anything i can't finish, i keep telling you, and i'm going to put this deal through, now that i've got it started." with a half-embarrassed laugh and a complete change of manner, he laid his hand upon boyd's shoulder, saying: "pal, i ain't much good to myself or anybody else, but i like you and i want to stick around. maybe i'll come in useful yet--you can't tell."
-emerson had never glimpsed this side of the man's nature, and it rather surprised him.
-"of course you can come along, old man," he responded, heartily. "we're glad to have you."
-to one who has never witnessed the spring sailing of a northern cannery-tender, the event is well worth seeing; it is one of the curiosities of the seattle water-front. not only is there the inevitable confusion involved in the departure of an overloaded craft, but likewise there is all the noisy excitement that attends a shipment of oriental troops.
-the chinese maintain such a clatter as to drown the hoarse cries of the stevedores, the complaint of the creaking tackle, and the rumble of the winches. they scurry hither and yon like a distracted army, forever in the way, shouting, clacking, squealing in senseless turmoil. they are timid as to the water, and for them a voyage is at all times beset with many alarms. it is no more possible to restrain them than to calm a frightened herd of wild pigs, nor will they embark at all until their frenzy has run its course and died of its own exhaustion. to discipline them according to the seamen's standard is inadvisable, for many of them are "cutters," big, evil, saffron-hued fellows, whose trade it is to butcher and in whose dextrous hands a knife becomes a frightful weapon.
-the japs, ordinarily so noiseless and submissive, yield to the contagion and add their share to the uproar. each man carries a few pounds of baggage in bundles or packs or valises, and these scanty belongings he guards with shrieking solicitude.
-while the pandemonium of the orientals who gathered to board the bedford castle was sufficient in itself to cause consternation, it was as nothing to that which broke loose when the fishermen began to assemble. to a man they were drunk, belligerent and, declamatory. a few, to be sure, were still busy with the tag ends of the cargo, but the majority had gone to their lodgings for their packs, and now reappeared in a state of the wildest exuberance; for this would be their last spree of the season, and before them lay a period of long, sleepless nights, exposure, and unceasing labor, wherein a year's work must be crowded into three months. they, therefore, inaugurated the change in befitting style.
-on the whole, no explosive has ever been invented that is so noisy in its effect, so furiously expansive in its action, as the fumes of cheap whiskey. the great dock-shed soon began to reverberate to the wildest clamor, which added to the fury of the crowd outside. the strikers, unable to enter the building, flowed down upon the adjoining wharf, or clambered to the roofs nearby, whence they jeered insultingly. among them was a newspaper photographer, bent on securing an unusual picture for his publication, and in truth the scene from this point of view was sufficiently novel and striking.
-the decks of the big, low-lying tramp steamer were piled high with gear of every description. a trio of stout tow-boats were blocked up amidships, long piles of lumber rose higher than a man's head, and the roofs of the deck-houses were jammed with fishing-boats nested, one inside the other, like pots in a kitchen. every available inch was crowded with cases of gasoline, of groceries, and of the varied provisions required on an expedition of this magnitude. aft, on rows of hooks, were suspended the carcasses of sheep and bullocks and hogs; there seemed to be nowhere another foot of available room. the red water-line of the ship was already submerged, yet notwithstanding this fact her derricks clanged noisily, her booms swung back and forth, and her gaping hatches swallowed momentary loads. those fishermen who had come aboard early had settled like flies in the rigging, whence they taunted their enemies, hurling back insult for insult.
-it was much like the departure of a gold steamer during the early famine stages of the northward stampede, save that now there were no women, while the confusion was immeasurably greater, and through it all might be felt a certain strained and angry menace. all the long afternoon the bedford castle lay at her moorings subjected to the customary eleventh-hour delays. as the time dragged on, and the liquor died in the fishermen, it became a herculean task to prevent them from issuing forth into the street, while the crowds outside seemed possessed of a desperate determination to force an entrance and bring the issue to a final settlement. but across the shore end of the dock a double cordon was drawn which hurled back the intruders at every advance.
-the fishermen who remained inside the barnlike structure, unable to come at their enemies, fought among themselves, bidding fair to wreck the building in the extravagance of their delirium, while outside the rival faction kept up a fire of missiles and execrations. as the hours crept onward the tension increased, and at last boyd turned to captain peasley saying, "you'd better be ready to pull out at any minute, for if the mob breaks in we'll never be able to hold these maniacs." he pointed to the black swarm aloft, whence issued hoarse waves of sound. "i don't like the look of things, a little bit."
-"they are a trifle strained, to be sure," the captain acknowledged. "i'll stand by to cast off at your signal, so you'd better pass the word around."
-boyd left the ship and went to the dock-office, for there still remained one thing to be done: he could not leave without sounding a final note of triumph for mildred. how sweet it would be to her ears he knew full well, yet he could not help wondering if she would feel the thrill that mastered him at this moment. as he saw the empty spaces where had stood those masses of freight which he had gathered at such cost, as he heard his own men bellowing defiance at his enemies and realized that his first long stride toward success had been taken, his heart swelled with gladness and the breath caught momentarily in his throat. after all, he was going to win! out of the shimmering distance of his desire, the lady of his dreams drew closer to him; and ere long he could lay at her feet the burden of his travail, and then--. oblivious to the turmoil all about, he wrote rapidly, almost incoherently, to mildred, transcribing the mood of mingled tenderness and exultation which possessed him.
-"outside the building," he concluded, "there is a raging mob. they would ruin me if they could, but they can't do it, they can't do it. we have beaten them all, my lady. we have won!"
-he was sealing his letter, when, without warning, "fingerless" fraser appeared at his side, his fishlike eyes agleam, his colorless face drawn with anxiety.
-"they've come to grab you for killing that striker," he began, breathlessly; "there's a couple of 'square-toes' on the dock now. better take it on the 'lam'--quick!"
-"there's two plain-clothes men," he heard fraser running on. "i 'made' 'em as they were talking to peasley. you'd better 'beat' it, quick!"
-"how? i couldn't get through that crowd. they know me. listen!" outside the street broke into a roar at some taunt of the fishermen high up in the rigging. "i can't run away, and if those detectives get me i'm ruined."
-"well! what's to be done?" demanded fraser, sharply. "if you say the word, we'll shoot it out with them, and get away on the ship before--"
-"we can't do that--there are a dozen policemen in front here."
-"well, you'll have to move quick, or they'll 'cop' you, sure."
-boyd clinched his hands in desperation. "i guess they've got me," he said, bitterly. "there's no way out."
-his eyes fell upon the letter containing his boastful assurance of victory. what a mockery!
-"from what they said i don't think they know you," fraser continued. "anyhow, they wanted peasley to point you out. when they come off, maybe you can slip 'em."
-"but how?" boyd seized eagerly upon the suggestion. "the wharf is empty--see! i'll have to cross it in plain sight."
-through the rear door of the office that opened upon the dock proper they beheld the great floor almost entirely clear. save for a few tons of freight at which big george's men were working, it was as unobstructed as a lawn; and, although it was nearly the size of a city block, it afforded no more means of concealment than did the little office itself, with its glass doors, its counter, and its long desk, at the farther end of which a bill-clerk was poring over his task. iron-barred windows at the front of the room looked out upon the street; other windows and a door at the right opened upon the driveway and railroad track, while at the rear the glass-panelled door through which they had just been peering gave egress only to the dock itself, up which the two officers were likely to come at any instant. even as emerson, with a last desperate glance, summed up the possible places of concealment, fraser exclaimed, softly:
-"there they are now!" and they saw at the foot of the gang-plank two men talking with big george. they saw balt point the strangers carelessly to the office, whence he had seen boyd disappearing a few moments before, and turn back to his stevedores; then they saw the plain-clothes men approaching.
-"here! gimme your coat and hat, quick!" cried fraser in a low voice, his eyes blazing at a sudden, thought. he stripped his own garments from his back with feverish haste. "put mine on. there! i'll stall for you. when they grab me, take it on the run. understand!"
-"that won't do. everybody knows me." boyd cast an apprehensive glance at the arched back of the bill-clerk, but fraser, quick of resource in such a situation, forced him swiftly to make the change, saying:
-"nix. it's your only 'out.' stand here, see!" he indicated a position beside the rear door. "i'll step out the other way where they can see me," he continued, pointing to the wagon-way at the right. "savvy? when they grab me, you beat it, and don't wait for nothing."
-already they could hear the footsteps of the officers.
-"i'll take a chance. good-bye."
-there was no time even for a hand-shake; fraser stepped swiftly to the door, then strolled quietly out into the view of the two men, who an instant later accosted him.
-"are you mr. boyd emerson?"
-the adventurer answered brusquely, "yes, but i can't talk to you now."
-"you are under arrest, mr. emerson."
-boyd waited to hear no more. the glass door swung open noiselessly under his hand, and he stepped out just as the bill-clerk looked up from his work, staring out through the other entrance.
-"fingerless" fraser's voice was louder now, as if for a signal. "arrest me? what do you mean? get out of my way."
-"you'd better come peaceably."
-boyd heard a sharp exclamation--"get him, bill!" and then the sound of men struggling. he ran, followed by a roar from the strikers, in whose full view fraser's encounter with the plain-clothes men was taking place. a backward glance showed him that fraser had drawn his pursuers to the street. he had broken away and dodged out into the open, where the other officers responded at a call and seized him as he apparently undertook to break through the cordon. this diversion served an unexpected purpose. not only did it draw attention from emerson's retreat, but it also gave the mob its long-awaited opportunity. recognizing in the officers' quarry the supposed figure of emerson, the hated cause of all this strife, the strikers gave vent to a great shout of rage and triumph, and surged forward across the wide street, carrying the police before them with irresistible force.
-in a moment it became not a question of keeping the entrance to the wharf, but of protecting the life of the prisoner, and the policemen rallied with their backs to the wall, their clubs working havoc with the heads that came within striking distance.
-scarcely had boyd reached big george, when a wing of the besieging army swept in through the unguarded entrance and down the dock like an avalanche, leaving behind them the battling officers and the hungry pack clamoring for the prisoner.
-"drop that freight, and get aboard the best way you can!" boyd yelled at the fishermen, and with a bound was out into the open crying to captain peasley on the bridge:
-"here they come! cast off, for god's sake!"
-instantly a wild cry of rage and defiance rose from the clotted rigging and upper works of the bedford castle. down the fishermen swarmed, ready to over-flow the sides of the ship, but, with a sharp order to george, boyd ran up the gang-plank and rushed along the rail to a commanding position in the path of his men, where, drawing his revolver, he roared at them to keep back, threatening the first to go ashore. his lungs were bursting from his sprint, and it was with difficulty that his voice rose above the turmoil; but he presented such a figure of determination that the men paused, and then the steamship whistle interrupted opportunely, with a deafening blast.
-the dozen men who had been slinging freight on the dock hastened up the gang-plank or climbed the fenders, while the signal-man clung to the lifting tackle, and, at the piping cry of his whistle, was swung aloft out of the very arms of the rioters.
-above, on the flying bridge, captain peasley was bellowing orders; a quartermaster was running up the iron steps to the pilot-house; on deck the sailors were fighting their way to their posts through the ranks of the raging fishermen and the shrieking confusion of the orientals; the last men aboard, with a "heave ho!" in unison, slid the gang-plank upward and out of reach. the neighboring roofs, lately so black, were emptying now, the onlookers hastening to join in the attack.
-big george alone remained upon the wharf. as he saw the rush coming he had ordered his men to abandon their load; then he ran to the after-mooring, and, taking slack from a deck hand, cast it off. back up the dock he went to the forward hawser, where, at a signal, he did the same, moving, toward the last, without excessive hurry, as if in a spirit of bravado. the ship was clear, and he had not cut a hawser. he had done his work; all but a ton or two of the cargo was stowed. there was no longer cause for delay.
-"get aboard! are you mad?" emerson shouted, but the cry never reached him. back he came slowly, in front of the press, secure in his tremendous strength, defiance in his every move, a smouldering challenge in his eyes; and noting that gigantic frame with its square-hewn, flaming face, not one of his enemies dared oppose him. but as he passed they yapped and snarled and jostled at his heels, hungry to rend him and only lacking courage.
-as yet the ship, although throbbing to the first pulsations of her engines, lay snug along the piling, but gradually her stern swung off and a wedge of clearance showed. almost imperceptibly she drew back and rubbed against the timbers. a fender began to squeeze and complain. the dock planking creaked. sixty seconds more and she would be out of arm's-reach, and still george made no haste. again boyd shouted at him, and then with one farewell glower over his shoulder the big fellow mounted a pile, stretched his arms upward to the bulwarks, and swung himself lightly aboard.
-even yet emerson's anxiety was of the keenest; for, notwithstanding the stress of these dragging moments, he had not forgotten fraser, the vagabond, the morally twisted rascal, to whose courage and resourcefulness he owed so much. he strained his eyes for a glimpse of the fellow, at the same time dreading the sight of a uniform. would the ship never get under way and out of hailing distance? if those officers had discovered their mistake, they might yet have time to stop him. he vowed desperately that he would not let them, not if he had to take the bedford castle to sea with a gun at the back of her helmsman. he made his way hurriedly to the bridge, where he hastily explained to captain peasley his evasion of the officers; and here he found cherry, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, but far too wise to speak to him in his present state of mind.
-a scattered shower of missiles came aboard as the strikers kept pace with the steamer to the end of the slip, exciting the fishermen, who had again mounted the rigging, to a simian frenzy. oaths, insults, and jeers were hurled back and forth; but as the big steamer gathered momentum and slid out of her berth, they grew gradually more indistinct, until at last they became muffled, broken, and meaningless. even then the rival ranks continued to volley profanely at each other, while the captain, with hand on the whistle-rope, blew taunting blasts; nor did the fishermen descend from their perches until the forms on the dock had blurred together and the city lay massed in the distance, tier upon tier, against the gorgeous evening sky.
-in which a mutiny is threatened
-even after they were miles down the sound, boyd remained at his post, sweeping the waters astern in an anxious search for some swift harbor craft, the appearance of which would signal that his escape had been discovered.
-"i won't feel safe until we are past port townsend," he confessed to cherry, who maintained a position at his side.
-"why port townsend? we don't stop there."
-"no. but the police can wire on from seattle to stop us and take me off at that point."
-"if they find out their mistake."
-"they must have found it out long ago. that's why i've got peasley forcing this old tub; she's doing ten knots, and that's a breakneck speed for her. once we're through the straits, i'll be satisfied. but meanwhile--" emerson lowered his glasses with a sigh of fatigue, and in the soft twilight the girl saw that his face was lined and careworn. the yearning at her heart lent poignant sympathy to her words, as she said:
-"you deserve to win, boyd; you have made a good fight."
-"oh, i'll win!" he declared, wearily. "i've got to win; only i wish we were past port townsend."
-"what will happen to fraser?" she queried.
-"nothing serious, i am sure. you see, they wanted me, and nobody else; once they find they have the wrong man i rather believe they will free him in disgust."
-a moment later he went on: "just the same, it makes me feel depressed and guilty to leave him--i--i wouldn't desert a comrade for anything if the choice lay with me."
-"you did quite right," cherry warmly assured him.
-"you see, i am not working for myself; i am doing this for another."
-it was the girl's turn to sigh softly, while the eyes she turned toward the west were strangely sad and dreamy. to her companion she seemed not at all like the buoyant creature who had kindled his courage when it was so low, the brave girl who had stood so steadfastly at his shoulder and kept his hopes alive during these last, trying weeks. it struck him suddenly that she had grown very quiet of late. it was the first time he had had the leisure to notice it, but now, when he came to reflect on it, he remembered that she had never seemed quite the same since his interview with her on that day when hilliard had so unexpectedly come to his rescue. he wondered if in reality this change might not be due to some reflected alteration in himself. well! he could not help it.
-her strange behavior at that time had affected him more deeply than he would have thought possible; and while he had purposely avoided thinking much about the banker's sudden change of front, back of his devout thankfulness for the miracle was a vague suspicion, a curious feeling that made him uncomfortable in the girl's presence. he could not repent his determination to win at any price; yet he shrank, with a moral cowardice which made him inwardly writhe, from owning that cherry had made the sacrifice at which clyde and the others had hinted. if it were indeed true, it placed him in an intolerable position, wherein he could express neither his gratitude nor his censure. no doubt she had read the signs of his mental confusion, and her own delicate sensibility had responded to it.
-they remained side by side on the bridge while the day died amidst a wondrous panoply of color, each busied with thoughts that might not be spoken, in their hearts emotions oddly at variance. the sky ahead of them was wide-streaked with gold, as if for a symbol, interlaid with sooty clouds in silhouette; on either side the mountains rose from penumbral darkness to clear-cut heights still bright from the slanting radiance. here and there along the shadowy shore-line a light was born; the smell of the salt sea was in the air. above the rhythmic pulse of the steamer rose the voices of men singing between decks, while the parting waters at the prow played a soft accompaniment. a steward summoned them to supper, but boyd refused, saying he could not eat, and the girl stayed with him while the miles slowly slipped past and the night encompassed them.
-"two hours more," he told her, as the ship's bell sounded. "then i can eat and sleep--and sing."
-captain peasley was pacing the bridge when later they breasted the glare of port townsend and saw in the distance the flashing searchlights of the forts that guard the straits. they saw him stop suddenly, and raise his night-glasses; boyd laid his hand on cherry's arm. presently the captain crossed to them and said:
-"you won't stop, will you?" questioned emerson.
-"i don't know, i am sure. i may have to."
-the two boats were drawing together rapidly, and soon those on the bridge heard the faint but increasing patter of a gasoline exhaust. carrying the same speed as the bedford castle, the launch shortly came within hailing distance. the cyclopean eye of the ship's searchlight blazed up, and the next instant, out from the gloom leaped a little craft, on the deck of which a man stood waving a lantern. she held steadfastly to her course, and a voice floated up to them:
-"ahoy! what ship?"
-"the bedford castle, cannery-tender for bristol bay," peasley shouted back.
-the man on the launch relinquished his lantern, and using both palms for a funnel, cried, more clearly now: "heave to! we want to come aboard."
-with an exclamation of impatience, the commanding officer stepped to the telegraph, but emerson forestalled him.
-"wait, they're after me, captain; it's the port townsend police, and if you let them aboard they'll take me off."
-"what makes you think so?" demanded peasley.
-turning, the skipper bellowed down the gleaming electric pathway, "who are you?"
-"police! we want to come aboard."
-"what did i tell you?" cried emerson.
-once more the captain shouted: "what do you want?"
-"one of your passengers--emerson. heave to. you're passing us."
-"that's bloody hard luck, mr. emerson; i can't help myself," the captain declared. but again boyd blocked him as he started for the telegraph.
-"i won't stand it, sir. it's a conspiracy to ruin me."
-"but, my dear young man--"
-"don't touch that instrument!"
-from the launch came cries of growing vehemence, and a startled murmur of voices rose from somewhere in the darkness of the deck beneath.
-"stand aside," peasley ordered, gruffly; but the other held his ground, saying, quietly:
-"i warn you. i am desperate."
-"shall i stop her, sir?" the quartermaster asked from the shadows of the wheel-house.
-"no!" emerson commanded, sharply, and in the glow from the binnacle-light they saw he had drawn his revolver, while on the instant up from the void beneath heaved the massive figure of big george balt, a behemoth, more colossal and threatening than ever in the dim light. rumbling curses as he came, he leaped up the pilot-house steps, wrenched open the door, and with one sweep of his hairy paw flung the helmsman from his post, panting,
-"keep her going, cap', or i'll run them down!"
-the launch was abreast of them now, and skimming along so close that one might have tossed a biscuit aboard of her. for an instant captain peasley hesitated; then emerson saw the ends of his bristly mustache rise above an expansive grin as he winked portentously. but his voice was convincingly loud and wrathful as he replied:
-"what do you mean, sir? i'll have my blooming ship libelled for this."
-"i'll make good your losses," emerson volunteered, quickly, realizing that other ears were open.
-"why, it's mutiny, sir."
-"exactly! you can say you went out under duress."
-"i never heard of such a thing," stormed the skipper. then, more quietly, "but i don't seem to have any choice in the matter; do i?"
-"tell them to go to hell!" growled balt from the open window above their head.
-a blasphemous outcry floated up from the launch, while heads protruded from the deck-house openings, the faces white in the slanting glare. "why don't you heave to?" demanded a voice.
-peasley stepped to the end of the bridge and called down: "i can't stop, my good man, they won't allow it, y' know. you'll have to bloody well come aboard yourself." then, obedient to his command, the search-light traced an arc through the darkness and died out, leaving the little craft in darkness, save for its dim lantern.
-unseen by the amazed quartermaster, who was startled out of speech and action, emerson gripped the captain's shoulder and whispered his thanks, while the britisher grumbled under his breath:
-"bli' me! won't that labor crowd be hot? they nearly bashed in my head with that iron spike. four hundred pounds! my word!"
-the sputter of the craft alongside was now punctuated by such a volley of curses that he raised his voice again: "belay that chatter, will you? there's a lady aboard."
-the police launch sheered off, and the sound of her exhaust grew rapidly fainter and fainter. but not until it had wholly ceased did big george give over his post at the wheel. even then he went down the ladder reluctantly, and without a word of thanks, of explanation, or of apology. with him this had been but a part of the day's work. he saw neither sentiment nor humor in the episode. the clang of the deep-throated ship's bell spoke the hour, and, taking cherry's arm, boyd helped her to the deck.
-"now let's eat something," said she.
-"yes," he agreed, relief and triumph in his tone, "and drink something, too."
-"we'll drink to the health of 'fingerless' fraser."
-"to the health of 'fingerless' fraser," he echoed. "we will drink that standing."
-a week later, after an uneventful voyage across a sea of glass, the bedford castle made up through a swirling tide-rip and into the fog-bound harbor of unalaska. the soaring "goonies" that had followed them from flattery had dropped astern at first sight of the volcanic headlands, and now countless thousands of sea-parrots fled from the ship's path, squattering away in comic terror, dragging their fat bodies across the sea as a boy skips a flat rock. it had been captain peasley's hope, here at the gateway of the misty sea, to learn something about the lay of the big ice-floes to the northward, but he was disappointed, for the season was yet too young for the revenue-cutters, and the local hunters knew nothing. forced to rely on luck and his own skill, he steamed out again the next day, this time doubling back to the eastward and laying a cautious course along the second leg of the journey.
-once through the ragged barrier that separates the north pacific from her sister sea, the dank breath of the arctic smote them fairly. the breeze that wafted out from the north brought with it the chill of limitless ice-fields, and the first night found them hove-to among the outposts of that shifting desert of death which debouches out of behring straits with the first approach of autumn, to retreat again only at the coming of reluctant summer. from the crow's-nest the lookout stared down upon a white expanse that stretched beyond the horizon. at dawn they began their careful search, feeling their way eastward through the open lanes and tortuous passages that separated the floes, now laying-to for the northward set of the fields to clear a path before them, now stealing through some narrow lead that opened into freer waters.
-the bedford castle was a steel hull whose sides, opposed to the jaws of the ponderous masses, would have been crushed like an eggshell in a vise. unlike a wooden ship, the gentlest contact would have sprung her plates, while any considerable collision would have pierced her as if she had been built of paper. appreciating to the full the peril of his slow advance, captain peasley did all the navigating in person; but eventually they were hemmed in so closely that for a day and a night they could do nothing but drift with the pack. in time, however, the winds opened a crevice through which they retreated to follow the outer limits farther eastward, until they were balked again.
-opposed to them were the forces of nature, and they were wholly dependent upon her fickle favor. it might be a day, a week, a month before she would let them through, and, even when the barrier began to yield, another ship, a league distant, might profit by an opening which to them was barred. for a long, dull period the voyagers lay as helpless as if in dry-dock, while wandering herds of seals barked at them or bands of walruses ceased their fishing and crept out upon the ice-pans to observe these invaders of their peace. when an opportunity at last presented itself, they threaded their way southward, there to try another approach, and another, and another, until the first of may had come and gone, leaving them but little closer to their goal than when they first hove-to. late one evening they discerned smoke on the horizon, and the next morning's light showed a three-masted steamship fast in the ice, a few miles to the westward.
-"that's the juliet," big george informed his companions, "one of the north american packers' association tenders."
-"she was loading when we left seattle," boyd remarked.
-"it is willis marsh's ship, so he must be aboard," supplemented cherry. "she's a wooden ship, and built for this business. if we don't look out he'll beat us in, after all."
-"what good will that do him?" clyde questioned. "the fish don't bite--i mean run--for sixty days yet."
-emerson and balt merely shrugged.
-to cherry malotte this had been a voyage of dreams; for once away from land, boyd had become his real self again--that genial, irrepressible self she had seen but rarely--and his manner had lost the restraint and coolness which recently had disturbed their relations. of necessity their cramped environment had thrown them much together, and their companionship had been most pleasant. she and boyd had spent long hours together, during which his light-heartedness had rivalled that of alton clyde--hours wherein she had come to know him more intimately and to feel that he was growing to a truer understanding of herself. she realized beyond all doubt that for him there was but one woman in all the world, yet the mere pleasure of being near him was an anodyne for her secret distress. womanlike, she took what was offered her and strove unceasingly for more.
-two days after sighting the juliet they raised another ship, one of the sailing fleet which they knew to be hovering in the offing, and then on the fifth of the month the capricious current opened a way for them. slowly at first they pushed on between the floes into a vast area of slush-ice, thence to a stretch as open and placid as a country mill-pond. the lookout pointed a path out of this, into which they steamed, coming at length to clear water, with the low shores of the mainland twenty miles away.
-at sundown they anchored in the wide estuary of the kalvik river, the noisy rumble of their chains breaking the silence that for months had lain like a smother upon the port. the indian village gave sign of life only in thin, azure wisps of smoke that rose from the dirt roofs; the cannery buildings stood as naked and uninviting as when boyd had last seen them. the greek cross crowning the little white church was gilded by the evening sun. through the glasses cherry spied a figure in the door of her house which she declared was constantine, but with commendable caution the big breed forebore to join the fleet of kyaks now rapidly mustering. taking clyde with them, she and boyd were soon on their way to the land, leaving george to begin discharging his cargo. the long voyage that had maddened the fishermen was at last at an end, and they were eager to begin their tasks.
-a three-mile pull brought the ship's boat to cherry's landing, where constantine and chakawana met them, the latter hysterical with joy, the former showing his delight in a rare display of white teeth and a flow of unintelligible english. even the sledge-dogs, now fat from idleness, greeted their mistress with a fierce clamor that dismayed alton clyde, to whom all was utterly new and strange.
-"glory be!" he exclaimed. "they're nothing but wolves. won't they bite? and the house--ain't it a hit! why, it looks like a stage setting! oh, say, i'm for this! i'm getting rough and primitive and brutal already!"
-when they passed from the store, with its shelves sadly naked now, to the cozy living quarters behind, his enthusiasm knew no bounds. leaving chakawana and her mistress to chatter and clack in their patois, he inspected the premises inside and out, peering into all sorts of corners, collecting souvenirs, and making friends with the saturnine breed.
-cherry would not return to the ship, but emerson and clyde re-embarked and were rowed down to the cannery site, abreast of which lay the bedford castle, where they lingered until the creeping twilight forced them to the boat again. when they reached the ship the cool arctic night had descended, but its quiet was broken by the halting nimble of steam-winches, the creak of tackle, the cries of men, and the sounds of a great activity. baring his head to the breezes boyd filled his lungs full of the bracing air, sweet with the flavor of spring, vowing secretly that no music that he had ever heard was the equal of this. he turned his face to the southward and smiled, while his thoughts sped a message of love and hope into the darkness.
-wherein "fingerless" fraser returns
-his early training as an engineer now stood him in good stead, for a thousand details demanded expert supervision; but he was as completely at home at this work as was big george in his own part of the undertaking, and it was not long before order began to emerge from what seemed a hopeless chaos. never did men have more willing hands to do their bidding than did he and george; and when a week later the juliet, with willis marsh on board, came to anchor, the bunk-houses were up and peopled, while the new site had become a beehive of activity.
-the mouth of the kalvik river is several miles wide, yet it contains but a small anchorage suitable for deep-draught ships, the rest of the harbor being underlaid with mud-bars and tide-flats over which none but small boats may pass; and as the canneries are distributed up and down the stream for a considerable distance, it is necessary to transport all supplies to and from the ships by means of tugs and lighters. owing to the narrowness of the channel, the juliet came to her moorings not far from the bedford castle.
-to marsh, already furious at the trick the ice had played him, this forced proximity to his rival brought home with added irony the fact that he had been forestalled, while it emphasized his knowledge that henceforth the conflict would be carried on at closer quarters. it would be a contest between two men, both determined to win by fair means or foul.
-emerson was a dream-dazzled youth, striving like a knight-errant for the love of a lady and the glory of conquest, but he was also a born fighter, and in every emergency he had shown himself as able as his experienced opponent.
-as marsh looked about and saw how much boyd's well-directed energy was accomplishing, he was conscious of a slight disheartenment. still, he was on his own ground, he had the advantage of superior force, and though he was humiliated by his failure to throttle the hostile enterprise in its beginning, he was by no means at the end of his expedients. he was curious to see his rival in action, and he decided to visit him and test his temper.
-it was on the afternoon following his arrival that marsh, after a tour of inspection, landed from his launch and strolled up to where boyd emerson was at work. he was greeted courteously, if a bit coolly, and found, as on their last meeting, that his own bearing was reflected exactly in that of boyd. both men, beneath the scant politeness of their outward manner, were aware that the time for ceremony had passed. here in the northland they faced each other at last as man to man.
-"i see you have a number of my old fishermen," marsh observed.
-"yes, we were fortunate in getting such good ones."
-"you were fortunate in many ways. in fact you are a very lucky young man."
-"well, don't you think you were lucky to beat that strike?"
-"it wasn't altogether luck. however, i do consider myself fortunate in escaping at the last moment," boyd laughed easily. "by the way, what happened to the man they mistook for me?"
-"let him go, i believe. i didn't pay much attention to the matter." marsh had been using his eyes to good advantage, and, seeing the work even better in hand than he had supposed, he was moved by irritation and the desire to goad his opponent to say more than he had intended: "i rather think you will have a lot to explain, one of these days," he said, with deliberate menace.
-"with fifty thousand cases of salmon aboard the bedford castle i will explain anything. meanwhile the police may go to the devil!" the cool assurance of the young man's tone roused his would-be tormentor like a personal affront.
-"you got away from seattle, but there is a commissioner at dutch harbor, also a deputy marshal, who may have better success with a warrant than those policemen had." the trust's manager could not keep down the angry tremor in his voice, and the other, perceiving it, replied in a manner designed to inflame him still more:
-"yes, i have heard of those officers. i understand they are both in your employ."
-"i hear you have bought them."
-"do you mean to insinuate--"
-"i don't mean to insinuate anything. listen! we are where we can talk plainly, marsh, and i am tired of all this subterfuge. you did what you could to stop me, you even tried to have me killed--"
-"you dare to--"
-"but i guess it never occurred to you that i may be just as desperate as you are."
-the men stared at each other with hostile eyes, but the accusation had come so suddenly and with such boldness as to rob marsh of words. emerson went on in the same level voice: "i broke through in spite of you, and i'm on the job. if you want to cry quits, i'm willing; but, by god! i won't be balked, and if any of your hired marshals try to take me before i put up my catch i'll put you away. understand?"
-willis marsh recoiled involuntarily before the sudden ferocity that blazed up in the speaker's face. "you are insane," he cried.
-"am i?" emerson laughed, harshly. "well, i'm just crazy enough to do what i say. i don't think you're the kind that wants hand-to-hand trouble, so let's each attend to his own affair. i'm doing well, thank you, and i think i can get along better if yon don't come back here until i send for you. something might fall on you."
-marsh's full, red lips went pallid with rage as he said "then it is to be war, eh?"
-"suit yourself." boyd pointed to the shore. "your boatman is waiting for you."
-as marsh made his way to the water's edge he stumbled like a blind man; his lips were bleeding where his small, sharp teeth had bitten them, and he panted like an hysterical woman.
-during the next fortnight the sailing-ships began to assemble, standing in under a great spread of canvas to berth close alongside the two steamships; for, once the ice had moved north, there was no further obstacle to their coming, and the harbor was soon livened with puffing tugs, unwieldy lighters, and fleets of smaller vessels. where, but a short time before, the brooding silence had been undisturbed save for the plaint of wolf-dogs and the lazy voices of natives, a noisy army was now at work. the bustle of a great preparation arose; languid smoke-wreaths began to unfurl above the stacks of the canneries; the stamp and clank of tin-machines re-echoed; hammer and saw maintained a never-ceasing hubbub. down at the new plant scows were being launched while yet the pitch was warm on their seams; buildings were rising rapidly, and a crew had gone up the river to get out a raft of piles.
-on the morning after the arrival of the last ship, emerson and his companions were treated to a genuine surprise. cherry had come down to the site as usual--she could not let a day go by without visiting the place--and clyde, after a tardy breakfast, had just come ashore. they were watching big george direct the launching of a scow, when all of a sudden they heard a familiar voice behind them cry, cheerfully:
-"hello, white folks! here we are, all together again."
-they turned to behold a villanous-looking man beaming benignly upon them. he was dirty, his clothes were in rags, and through a riotous bristle of beard that hid his thin features a mangy patch showed on either cheek. it was undeniably "fingerless" fraser, but how changed, how altered from that radiant flower of indolence they had known! he was pallid, emaciated, and bedraggled; his attitude showed hunger and abuse, and his bony joints seemed about to pierce through their tattered covering. as they stood speechless with amazement, he made his identification complete by protruding his tongue from the corner of his mouth and gravely closing one eye in a wink of exceeding wisdom.
-"fraser!" they cried in chorus, then fell upon him noisily, shaking his grimy hands and slapping his back until he coughed weakly. summoned by their shouts, big george broke in upon the incoherent greeting, and at sight of his late comrade began to laugh hoarsely.
-"glad to see you, old man!" he cried, "but how did you get here?"
-fraser drew himself up with injured dignity, then spoke in dramatic accents. "i worked my way!" he showed the whites of his eyes, tragically.
-"you look like you'd walked in from kansas," george declared.
-"yes, sir, i worked! me!"
-"on that bloody wind-jammer." he stretched a long arm toward the harbor in a theatrical gesture.
-"but the police?" queried boyd.
-"oh, i squared them easy. it's you they want. yes, sir, i worked." again he scanned their faces anxiously. "i'm a scullery-maid."
-"that's what i said. i've rustled garbage-cans till the smell of food gives me a cold sweat. i'm as hungry as a starving cuban, and yet the sight of a knife and fork turns my stomach." he wheeled suddenly upon alton clyde, whose burst of shrill laughter offended him. "don't cry. your sympathy unmans me."
-"tell us about it," urged cherry.
-"what's the use?" he demanded, with a glare at clyde. "that bone-head wouldn't understand."
-"go ahead," boyd seconded, with twitching lips. "you look as if you had worked, and worked hard."
-"hard? i'm the only man in the world who knows what hard work is!"
-"start at the beginning--when you were arrested."
-"well, i didn't care nothing about the sneeze," he took up the tale, "for i figure it out that they can't slough me without clearing you, so i never take no sleeping-powders, and, sure enough, about third drink-time the bulls spring me, and i screw down the main stem to the drink and get jerry to your fade--"
-"tell it straight," interrupted cherry. "they don't understand you."
-"well, there ain't any pullmans running to this resort, so i stow away on a coal-burner, but somebody flags me. then i try to hire out as a fisherman, but i ain't there with the gang talk and my stuff drags, so i fix it for a hide-away on the blessed isle--that's her name. can you beat that for a monaker? this sailor of mine goes good to grub me, but he never shows for forty-eight hours--or years, i forget which. anyhow, i stand it as long as i can, then i dig my way up to a hatch and mew like a house-cat. it seems they were hep from the start, and battened me down on purpose, then made book on how long i'd stay hid. oh, it's a funny joke, and they all get a stomach laugh when i show. when i offer to pay my way they're insulted. nix! that ain't their graft. they wouldn't take money from a stranger. oh, no! they permit me to work my way. the scullion has quit, see? so they promote me to his job. it's the only job i ever held, and i held it because it wouldn't let go of me, savvy? there's only three hundred men aboard the blessed isle, so all i have to do, regular, is to understudy the cooks, carry the grub, wait on table, wash the dishes, mop the floors, make the officers' beds, peel six bushels of potatoes a day, and do the laundry. then, of course, there's some odd tasks. oh, it was a swell job--more like a pastime. when a mop sees me coming now it dances a hornpipe, and i can't look a dish-rag in the face. all i see in my dreams is potato-parings and meat-rinds. i've got dish-water in my veins, and the whole universe looks greasy to me. naturally it was my luck to pick the slowest ship in the harbor. we lay three weeks in the ice, that's all, and nobody worked but me and the sea-gulls."
-"you deserted this morning, eh?"
-he showed no interest whatever in the new plant, refusing even to look it over or to express an opinion upon the progress of the work; so they sent him out to the ship, where for days he remained in a toad-like lethargy, basking in the sun, sleeping three-fourths of the time and spending his waking hours in repeating the awful tale of his disgraceful peonage.
-hearing a confused shouting to shoreward, boyd ran to the rail in time to see one of the company tugs at the head of a string of towboats bearing down ahead of the current directly upon his own slow-moving lighter. already it was so close at hand as to make disaster seem inevitable. he saw balt wave his arms furiously and heard him bellow profane warnings while the fishermen scurried about excitedly, but still the tug held to its course. boyd raised his voice in a wild alarm, but had they heard him there was nothing they could have done. then suddenly the affair altered its complexion.
-the oncoming tug was barely twice its length from the scow when boyd saw big george cease his violent antics and level a revolver directly at the wheel-house of the opposing craft. two puffs of smoke issued from weapon, then out from the glass-encased structure the steersman plunged, scrambled down the deck and into the shelter of the house. instantly the bow of the tug swung off, and she came on sidewise, striking balt's scow a glancing blow, the sound of which rose above the shouts, while its force threw the big fellow and his companions to their knees and shattered the glass in the pilot-house windows. the boats behind fouled each other, then drifted down upon the scow, and the tide, seizing the whole flotilla, began to spin it slowly. rushing to the ladder, emerson leaped into another launch which fortunately was at hand, and the next instant as the little craft sped out from the side of the bedford castle, he saw that a fight was in progress on the lighter. it was over quickly, and before he reached the scene the current had drifted the tows apart. george, it seemed, had boarded the tug, dragged the captain off, and beaten him half insensible before the man's companions had come to his rescue.
-"is the scow damaged?" emerson cried, as he came alongside.
-"she's leaking, but i guess we can make it," george reassured him.
-they directed the second launch to make fast, and, towed by both tugs, they succeeded in beaching their cargo a mile below the landing.
-"we'll calk her at low tide," george declared, well satisfied at this outcome of the misadventure. then he fell to reviling the men who had caused it.
-"don't waste your breath on them," boyd advised. "we're lucky enough as it is. if that tug hadn't sheered off she would have cut us down, sure."
-"that fellow done it a-purpose," george swore. "seamen ain't that careless. he tried to tell me he was rattled, but i rattled him."
-"if that's the case they may try it again," said the younger man.
-"huh! i'll pack a 'thirty-thirty' from now on, and i bet they don't get within hailing distance without an iron-clad."
-the more calmly emerson regarded the incident, the more he marvelled at the good-fortune that had saved him. "we had better wake up," he said. "we have been asleep so far. if marsh planned this, he will plan something more."
-"yes, and if he puts one wallop over we're done for," george agreed, pessimistically. "i'll keep a watchman aboard the scows hereafter. that's our vital spot."
-but the days sped past without further interference, and the construction of the plant progressed by leaps and bounds, while the bedford castle, having discharged her cargo, steamed away to return in august.
-the middle of june brought the first king salmon, scouts sent on ahead of the "sockeyes;" but boyd made no effort to take advantage of this run, laboring manfully to prepare for the advance of the main army, that terrific horde that was soon to come from the mysterious depths, either to make or ruin him. once the run proper started, there would be no more opportunity for building or for setting up machinery. he must be ready and waiting by the first of july.
-it was for the title to the ground where his present operations were going forward that george had been so cruelly disciplined by the "interests;" and while he had held stubbornly to his rights for years in spite of the bitterest persecution, he was now for the first time able to utilize his site. accordingly his exultation was tremendous.
-as for boyd, the fever in his veins mounted daily as he saw his dream assuming concrete form. the many problems arising as the work advanced afforded him unceasing activity; the unforeseen obstacles which were encountered hourly required swift and certain judgment, taxing his ingenuity to the utmost. he became so filled with it all, so steeped with the spirit of his surroundings, that he had thought for nothing else. every dawn marked the beginning of a new battle, every twilight heralded another council. his duties swamped him; he was worried, exultant, happy. always he found cherry at his shoulder, unobtrusive and silent for the most part, yet intensely observant and keenly alive to every action. she seemed to have the faculty of divination, knowing when to be silent and when to join her mood with his, and she gave him valuable help; for she possessed a practical mind and a masculine aptitude for details that surprised both him and george. but, rapidly as the work progressed, it seemed that good-fortune would never smile upon them for long. one day, when their preparations were nearly completed, a foreman came to boyd, and said excitedly:
-"boss, i'd like you to look at the iron chinks right away."
-"i don't know, but something is wrong." a hurried examination showed the machines to be cunningly crippled; certain parts were entirely missing, while others were broken.
-"they were all right when we brought them ashore," the man declared. "somebody's been at them lately."
-"when? how?" questioned boyd. "we have had watchmen on guard all the time. have any strangers been about?"
-"nobody seems to know. when we got ready to set 'em just now, i saw this."
-the iron chink, or mechanical cleaner, is perhaps the most ingenious of the many labor-saving devices used in the salmon fisheries. it is an awkward-looking, yet very effective contrivance of revolving knives and conveyors which seizes the fish whole and delivers it cleaned, clipped, cut, and ready to be washed. with superhuman dexterity it does the work of twenty lightning-like butchers. without the aid of these iron chinks, boyd knew that his fish would spoil before they could be handled. in a panic, he pursued his investigation far enough to realize that the machines were beyond repair; that what had seemed at first a trivial mishap was in fact an appalling disaster. then, since his own experience left him without resource, he hastened straightway to george balt. a half-hour's run down the bay and he clambered from his launch to the pile-driver, where, amid the confusion and noise, he made known his tidings. the big fellow's calmness amazed him.
-"what are you going to do now?"
-"butcher by hand," said the fisherman.
-"but how? that takes skilled labor--lots of it."
-george grinned. "i'm too old a bird to be caught like this. i figured on accidents from the start, and when i hired my chinamen i included a crew of cutters."
-"by jove, you never told me!"
-"there wasn't no use. we ain't licked yet, not by a damned sight. willis marsh will have to try again."
-a hand in the dark
-while they were talking a tug-boat towing a pile-driver came into view. boyd asked the meaning of its presence in this part of the river.
-"i don't know," answered big george, staring intently. "yonder looks like another one behind it, with a raft of piles."
-"i thought all the company traps were up-stream."
-"so they are. i can't tell what they're up to."
-a half-hour later, when the new flotilla had come to anchor a short distance below, emerson's companion began to swear.
-"i might have known it."
-"marsh aims to 'cork' us."
-"what is that?"
-"he's going to build a trap on each side of this one and cut off our fish."
-"good lord! can he do that?"
-"sure. why not? the law gives us six hundred yards both ways. as long as he stays outside of that limit he can do anything he wants to."
-"then of what use is our trap? the salmon follow definite courses close to the shore, and if he intercepts them before they reach us--why, then we'll get only what he lets through."
-"that's his plan," said big george, sourly, "it's an old game, but it don't always work. you can't tell what salmon will do till they do it. i've studied this point of land for five years, and i know more about it than anybody else except god 'lmighty. if the fish hug the shore, then we're up against it, but i think they strike in about here; that's why i chose this site. we can't tell, though, till the run starts. all we can do now is see that them people keep their distance."
-the "lead" of a salmon-trap consists of a row of web-hung piling that runs out from the shore for many hundred feet, forming a high, stout fence that turns the schools of fish and leads them into cunningly contrived enclosures, or "pounds," at the outer extremity, from which they are "brailed" as needed. these corrals are so built that once the fish are inside they cannot escape. the entire structure is devised upon the principle that the salmon will not make a short turn, but will swim as nearly as possible in a straight line. it looked to boyd as if marsh, by blocking the line of progress above and below, had virtually destroyed the efficiency of the new trap, rendering the cost of its construction a total loss.
-"sometimes you can cork a trap and sometimes you can't," balt went on. "it all depends on the currents, the lay of the bars, and a lot of things we don't know nothing about. i've spent years in trying to locate the point where them fish strike in, and i think it's just below here. it'll all depend on how good i guessed."
-"exactly! and if you guessed wrong--"
-"then we'll fish with nets, like we used to before there was any traps."
-that evening, when he had seen the night-shift started, emerson decided to walk up to cherry's house, for he was worried over the day's developments and felt that an hour of the girl's society might serve to clear his thoughts. his nerves were high-strung from the tension of the past weeks, and he knew himself in the condition of an athlete trained to the minute. in his earlier days he had frequently felt the same nervousness, the same intense mental activity, just prior to an important race or game, and he was familiar with those disquieting, panicky moments when, for no apparent reason, his heart thumped and a physical sickness mastered him. he knew that the fever would leave him, once the salmon began to run, just as it had always vanished at the crack of the starter's pistol or the shrill note of the referee's whistle. he was eager for action, eager to find himself possessed of that gloating, gruelling fury that drives men through to the finish line. meanwhile, he was anxious to divert his mind into other channels.
-cherry's house was situated a short distance above the cannery which served as willis marsh's headquarters, and boyd's path necessarily took him past his enemy's very stronghold. finding the tide too high to permit of passing beneath the dock, he turned up among the buildings, where, to his surprise, he encountered his own day-foreman talking earnestly with a stranger.
-the fisherman started guiltily as he saw him, and boyd questioned him sharply.
-"what are you doing here, larsen?"
-"i just walked up after supper to have a talk with an old mate."
-"who is he?" boyd glanced suspiciously at larsen's companion.
-"he's mr. marsh's foreman."
-emerson spoke out bluntly: "see here. i don't like this. these people have caused me a lot of trouble already, and i don't want my men hanging around here."
-"oh, that's all right," said larsen, carelessly. "him and me used to fish together." and as if this were a sufficient explanation, he turned back to his conversation, leaving emerson to proceed on his way, vaguely displeased at the episode, yet reflecting that heretofore he had never had occasion to doubt larsen's loyalty.
-he found cherry at home, and, flinging himself into one of her easy-chairs, relieved his mind of the day's occurrences.
-"marsh is building those traps purely out of spite," she declared, indignantly, when he had finished. "he doesn't need any more fish--he has plenty of traps farther up the river."
-"to be sure! it looks as if we might have to depend upon the gill-netters."
-"we will know before long. if the fish strike in where george expects, marsh will be out a pretty penny."
-"exactly! it's a fascinating business, isn't it? it's a business in which the unexpected is forever happening. but the stakes are high and--i know you will succeed."
-boyd smiled at her comforting assurance, her belief in him was always stimulating.
-"by-the-way," she continued, "have you heard the historic story about the pink salmon?"
-he shook his head.
-"well, there was a certain shrewd old cannery-man in washington state whose catch consisted almost wholly of pink fish. as you know, that variety does not bring as high a price as red salmon, like these. well, finding that he could not sell his catch, owing to the popular prejudice about color, this man printed a lot of striking can-labels, which read, 'best grade pink salmon, warranted not to turn red in the can.' they tell me it worked like a charm."
-"no wonder!" boyd laughed, beginning to feel the tension of his nerves relax at the restfulness of her influence. as usual, he fell at once into the mood she desired for him. he saw that her brows were furrowed and her rosy lips drawn into an unconscious pout as she said, more to herself than to him:
-"i wish i were a man. i'd like to engage in a business of this sort, something that would require ingenuity and daring. i'd like to handle big affairs."
-"it seems to me that you are in a business of that sort. you are one of us."
-"oh, but you and george are doing it all."
-"there is your copper-mine. you surely handled that very cleverly."
-cherry's expression altered, and she shot a quick glance at him as he went on:
-"how is it coming along, by-the-way? i haven't heard you mention it lately?"
-"very well, i believe. the men were down the other day, and told me it was a big thing."
-"i'm delighted. how does it seem, to be rich?"
-there was the slightest hint of constraint in the girl's voice as she stared out at the slowly gathering twilight, murmuring:
-"i--i hardly know. rich! that has always been my dream, and yet--"
-"the wonderful feature about dreams," he took advantage of her pause to say, "is that they come true."
-"not all of them--not the real, wonderful dreams," she returned.
-"oh yes! my dream is coming true, and so is yours."
-"i have given up hoping for that," she said, without turning.
-something in the girl's attitude and in her silence made him feel that his words rang hollow and commonplace. while they had talked, an unaccustomed excitement had been mounting in his brain, and it held him now in a kind of delicious embarrassment. it was as if both had been suddenly enfolded in a new and mysterious understanding, without the need of speech. he did not tell himself that cherry loved him; but he roused to a fresh perception of her beauty, and felt himself privileged in her nearness. at the same time he was seized with the old, half-resentful curiosity to learn her history. what wealth of romance lay shadowed in her eyes, what tragic story was concealed by her consistent silence, he could only guess; for she was a woman who spoke rarely of herself and lived wholly in the present. her very reticence inspired confidence, and boyd felt sure that here was a girl to whom one might confess the inmost secrets of a wretched soul and rest secure in the knowledge that his confession would be inviolate as if locked in the heart of mountains. he knew her for a steadfast friend, and he t'elt that she was beautiful, not only in face and form, but in all those little indescribable mannerisms which stamp the individual. and this girl was here alone with him, so close that by stretching out his arms he might enfold her. she allowed him to come and go at will; her intimacy with him was almost like that of an unspoiled boy--yet different, so different that he thrilled at the thought, and the blood pounded up into his throat.
-he stopped her at last, and they talked in the half-light, floating along together half dreamily, as if upon the bosom of some great current that bore them into strange regions which they dreaded yet longed to explore.
-they heard a child crying somewhere in the rear of the house, and chakawana's voice soothing, then in a moment the indian girl appeared in the doorway saying something about going out with constantine. cherry acquiesced half consciously, impatient of the intrusion.
-for a long time they talked, so completely in concord that for the most part their voices were low and their sentences so incomplete that they would have sounded incoherent and foolish to other ears. they were roused finally by the appreciation that it had grown very late and a storm was brewing. boyd rose, and going to the door, saw that the sky was deeply overcast, rendering the night as dark as in a far lower latitude.
-"i've overstayed my welcome," he ventured, and smiled at her answering laugh.
-with a trace of solicitude, she said:
-"wait! i'll get you a rain-coat," but he reached out a detaining hand. in the darkness it encountered the bare flesh of her arm.
-"please don't! you'd have to strike a light to find it, and i don't want a light now."
-he was standing on the steps, with her slightly above him, and so close that he heard her sharp-drawn breath.
-"it has been a pleasant evening," she said, inanely.
-"i saw you for the first time to-night, cherry. i think i have begun to know you."
-with trembling, gentle hands she pushed him from her; but even when the sound of his footsteps had died away, she stood with eyes straining into the gloom, in her breast a gladness so stifling that she raised her hands to still its tumult.
-emerson, with the glow still upon him, felt a deep contentment which he did not trouble to analyze. it has been said that two opposite impulses may exist side by side in a man's mind, like two hostile armies which have camped close together in the night, unrevealed to each other until the morning. to emerson the dawn had not yet come. he had no thought of disloyalty to mildred, but, after his fashion, took the feeling of the moment unreflectively. his mood was averse to thought, and, moreover, the darkness forced him to give instant attention to his path. while the waters of the bay out to his right showed a ghostly gray, objects beneath the bluff where he walked were cloaked in impenetrable shadow. the air was damp with the breath of coming rain, and at rare intervals he caught a glimpse of the torn edges of clouds hurrying ahead of a wind that was yet unfelt.
-greatly relieved, boyd was about to go on, when a sharp cry, like a signal, came in the woman's voice, a cry which turned to a genuine wail of distress. the listener heard a man's voice cursing in answer, and then the sound of a scuffle, followed at length by a choking cry, that brought him bounding into the building. he ran forward, recklessly, but before he had covered half the distance he collided violently with a piece of machinery and went sprawling to the floor. a glance upward revealed the dim outlines of a "topper," and showed him farther down the building, silhouetted briefly against the lesser darkness of the windows, two struggling figures. as he regained his footing, something rushed past him--man or animal he could not tell which, for its feet made no more sound upon the floor than those of a wolf-dog. then, as he bolted forward, he heard a man cry out, and found himself in the midst of turmoil. his hands encountered a human body, and he seized it, only to be hurled aside as if with a giant's strength. again he clinched with a man's form, and bore it to the floor, cursing at the darkness and reaching for its throat. his antagonist raised his voice in wild clamor, while boyd braced himself for another assault from those huge hands he had met a moment before. but it did not come. instead, he heard a cry from the woman, an answer in a deeper voice, and then swift, pattering footsteps growing fainter. meanwhile the man with whom he was locked was fighting desperately, with hands and feet and teeth, shouting hoarsely. other footsteps sounded now, this time approaching, then at the door a lantern flared. a watchman came running down between the lines of machinery, followed by other figures half revealed.
-boyd had pinned his antagonist against the cold sides of a retort at last, and with fingers clutched about his throat was beating his head violently against the iron, when by the lantern's gleam he caught one glimpse of the fat, purple face in front of him, and loosed his hold with a startled exclamation. released from the grip that had nearly made an end of him, willis marsh staggered to his feet, then lurched forward as if about to fall from weakness. his eyes were staring, his blackened tongue protruded, while his head, battered and bleeding, lolled grotesquely from side to side as if in hideous merriment. his clothes were torn and soiled from the litter underfoot, and he presented a frightful picture of distress. but it was not this that caused emerson the greatest astonishment. the man was wounded, badly wounded, as he saw by the red stream which gushed down over his breast. boyd cast his eyes about for the other participants in the encounter, but they were nowhere visible; only an open door in the shadows close by hinted at the mode of their disappearance.
-there was a brief, noisy interval, during which emerson was too astounded to attempt an answer to the questions hurled broadcast by the new-comers; then marsh levelled a trembling finger at him and cried, hysterically:
-"there he is, men. he tried to murder me. i--i'm hurt. i'll have him arrested."
-"i didn't do that. i heard a fight going on and ran in here--"
-"he's a liar," the wounded man interrupted, shrilly. "he stabbed me! see?" he tried to strip the shirt from his wounds, then fell to chattering and shaking. "oh, god! i'm hurt." he staggered to a packing-case and sank upon it weakly fumbling at his sodden shoulder.
-"i didn't do that," repeated boyd. "i don't know who stabbed him. i didn't."
-"then who did?" some one demanded.
-"what are you doing in here? you'd a killed him in a minute," said the man with the lantern.
-"we'll fix you for this," a third voice threatened.
-"listen," boyd said, in a tone to make them pause. "there has been a mistake here. i was passing the building when i heard a woman scream, and i rushed in to prevent marsh from choking her to death."
-"that's what i said."
-"where is she now?"
-"i don't know. i didn't see her at all. i grappled with the first person i ran into. she must have gone out as you came in." boyd indicated the side door, which was still ajar.
-"it's a lie," screamed marsh.
-"it's the truth," stoutly maintained emerson, "and there was a man with her, too. who was she, marsh? who was the man?"
-"she--she--i don't know."
-"i'm hurt," reiterated the stricken man, feebly. then, seeing the bewilderment in the faces about him, he burst out anew: "don't stand there like a lot of fools. why don't you get him?"
-"if i stabbed him i must have had a knife," emerson said, again checking the forward movement. "you may search me if you like. see?" he opened his coat and displayed his belt.
-"he's got a six-shooter," some one said.
-"yes, and i may use it," said emerson, quietly.
-"maybe he dropped the knife," said the watchman, and began to search about the floor, followed by the others.
-"it may have been the woman herself who stabbed mr. marsh," offered emerson. "he was strangling her when i arrived."
-roused by this statement to a fresh denial, marsh cried out:
-"i tell you there wasn't any woman."
-"and there isn't any knife either," emerson sneered.
-the men paused uncertainly. seeing that they were undecided whether to believe him or his assailant, marsh went on:
-"if he hasn't a knife, then he must have had a friend with him--"
-"then tell your men what we were doing in here and how you came to be alone with us in the dark." emerson stared at his accuser curiously, but the trust's manager seemed at a loss. "see here, marsh, if you will tell us whom you were choking, maybe we can get at the truth of this affair."
-without answering, marsh rose, and, leaning upon the watchman's arm, said:
-"help me up to the house. i'm hurt. send the launch to the upper plant for john; he knows something about medicine." with no further word, he made his way out of the building, followed by the mystified fishermen.
-no one undertook to detain emerson, and he went his way, wondering what lay back of the night's adventure. he racked his brain for a hint as to the identity of the woman and the reason of her presence alone with marsh in such a place. again he thought of that mysterious third person whose movements had been so swift and furious, but his conjectures left him more at sea than ever. of one thing he felt sure. it was not enmity alone that prompted marsh to accuse him of the stabbing. the man was concealing something, in deadly fear of the truth, for rather than submit to questioning he had let his enemy go scot-free.
-suddenly boyd paused in his walk, recalling again the shadowy outlines of the figure with whom he had so nearly collided on his way up from the beach. there was something familiar about it, he mused; then, with a low whistle of surprise, he smote his palms together. he began to see dimly.
-for more than an hour the young man paced back and forth before the door of his sleeping-quarters, so deeply immersed in thought that only the breaking storm drove him within. when at last he retired, it was with the certainty that this night had placed a new weapon in his hand; but of what tremendous value it was destined to prove, he little knew.
-the silver horde
-the main body of salmon struck into the kalvik river on the first day of july. for a week past the run had been slowly growing, while the canneries tested themselves, but on the opening day of the new month the horde issued boldly forth from the depths of the sea, and the battle began in earnest. they came during the hush of the dawn, a mad, crowding throng from no man's land, to wake the tide-rips and people the shimmering reaches of the bay, lashing them to sudden life and fury. outside, the languorous ocean heaved as smiling and serene as ever, but within the harbor a wondrous change occurred.
-as if in answer to some deep-sea signal, the tides were quickened by a coursing multitude, steadfast and unafraid, yet foredoomed to die by the hand of man, or else more surely by the serving of their destiny. clad in their argent mail of blue and green, they worked the bay to madness; they overwhelmed the waters, surging forward in great droves and columns, hesitating only long enough to frolic with the shifting currents, as if rejoicing in their strength and beauty.
-at times they swam with cleaving fins exposed: again they churned the placid waters until swift combers raced across the shallow bars like tidal waves while the deeper channels were shot through with shadowy forms or pierced by the lightning glint of silvered bellies. they streamed in with the flood tide to retreat again with the ebb, but there was neither haste nor caution in their progress; they had come in answer to the breeding call of the sea, and its exultation was upon them, driving them relentlessly onward. they had no voice against its overmastering spell.
-mustering in the early light like a swarm of giant white-winged moths, the fishing-boats raced forth with the flowing tide, urged by sweep and sail and lusty sinews. paying out their hundred-fathom nets, they drifted over the banks like flocks of resting sea-gulls, only to come ploughing back again deep laden with their spoils. grimy tugboats lay beside the traps, shrilling the air with creaking winches as they "brailed" the struggling fish, a half-ton at a time, from the "pounds," now churned to milky foam by the ever-growing throng of prisoners; and all the time the big plants gulped the sea harvest, faster and faster, clanking and gnashing their metal jaws, while the mounds of salmon lay hip-deep to the crews that fed the butchering machines.
-the time had come for man to take his toll.
-now dawned a period of feverish activity wherein no one might rest short of actual exhaustion. haste became the cry, and comfort fled.
-at emerson's cannery there fell a sudden panic, for fifty fishermen quit. returning from the banks on the night before the run started, they stacked their gear and notified boyd emerson of their determination. then, despite his utmost efforts to dissuade them, they took their packs upon their shoulders and marched up the beach to willis marsh's plant. larsen, the day-foreman, acted as their spokesman, and boyd recognized, too late, the result of that conversation he had interrupted on the night of his visit to cherry.
-this defection diminished his boat-crew by more than half, and while the shoremen stoutly maintained their loyalty, the chance of putting up a pack seemed lost. success or failure in the behring sea fisheries may depend upon the loss of a day. emerson found himself facing a situation more desperate than any heretofore; marsh had delayed the execution of his plans until the run had started, and there was no possibility of recruiting a new force. alarmed beyond measure, boyd swallowed his pride and went straightway to his enemy. he found marsh well recovered from his flesh-wound of a week or more before, yet extremely cautious for his safety, as he evidenced by conducting the interview before witnesses.
-"we are short-handed, and i gave instructions to secure every available man," he announced at the conclusion of emerson's story. "it is not my fault if your men prefer to work for me."
-"then you force me to retaliate," said boyd. "i shall hire your men out from under you."
-marsh laughed provokingly.
-"try it! i am a good organizer if nothing else. if you send emissaries to my plants, it will cause certain violence--and i think you had better avoid that, for we outnumber you ten to one."
-stormy accusations and retorts followed, till emerson left the place in helpless disgust.
-nor had he hit upon any method of relief when cherry came down to the plant on the following morning, though he and big george had spent the night in conference. she lost no time in futile indignation, but inquired straightway:
-"what are you doing about it? the fish have begun to run, and you can't afford to lose an hour."
-"i have sent a man to each of the other plants to hire fishermen at any price, but i have no hope that they will succeed. marsh has his crews too well in hand for that."
-cherry nodded. "they wouldn't dare quit him now. he'd never let them return to this country if they did. meanwhile, the rest of your force is on the banks, i presume."
-"how many boats have you?"
-"heavens! and this is the first day of the run! it looks bad, doesn't it? has the trap begun to fill?"
-"no. george is down there now. i guess marsh succeeded in corking it. meanwhile all the other plants are working while my chinks are playing fan-tan."
-cherry gazed curiously at her companion, to see how he accepted this latest shift of fortune. she knew that it spelled disaster; for a light catch, with the tremendous financial loss entailed, would not only mean difficulty with hilliard's loan, but other complications impossible to forecast. her mind sped onward to the effect of a failure upon boyd's private affairs. he had told her in unmistakable terms that this was his last chance, the final hope upon which hung the realization of his dreams. in some way his power to hold mildred wayland was bound up with his financial success. if he should lose her, where would he turn? she asked herself, and something within her answered that he would look for consolation to the woman who had stood at his shoulder all these weary months. sudden emotion swept over her at the thought. what cared she for his success or failure? he was the one man she had ever known, the mate for whom she had been moulded. if this were his last chance, it promised to be the opportunity she had so long awaited; for once that other was out of his mind, cherry felt that he would turn to her. she knew it intuitively, knew it from the light she had seen in his eyes that night at her house, knew it by the promptings of her own heart at this moment. she began to tremble, and felt her breast swelling with a glad determination; but he interrupted her flight of fancy with a sigh of such hopeless weariness that her pity rose instinctively. he gave her a sad little smile as he said:
-"i seem to bring misfortune upon every one connected with me, don't i? i'm afraid i'm a poor sort."
-how boyish he was, the girl thought tenderly, yet how splendidly brave he had been throughout the fight! there was a voiceless, maternal yearning in her heart as she asked him, gravely:
-"if you fail now, it will mean--the end of everything, will it not?"
-"and--suppose you don't succeed? suppose hilliard won't carry you?"
-"then i shall try something else; maybe i shall go to mining again, i don't know. anyhow, she would not let me grow disheartened if she were here, she wouldn't let me quit. she isn't that sort."
-cherry malotte stirred and shifted her gaze uncertainly to the gleaming bay. abreast of them the fleet of fishing-boats were drifting with the tide; in the distance others were dotted, clear away to where the opal ocean lay. a tug was passing, and she saw the sun flash from the cargo in its tow, while the faint echo of a song came wafting to her ears. she stood so for a long moment, fighting manfully with herself, then wheeled upon him suddenly. there was a new tone in her voice as she said:
-"if you will let me have one of your launches, i may be able to help you."
-"how?" he demanded, quickly.
-"never mind how--it's a long chance and hardly worth trying, but--may i take the boat?"
-"certainly," said he, "there's one lying at the dock."
-he led her to the shore and saw her aboard, then waved good-bye and walked moodily back to the office, gratified that she should try to help him, yet certain that she could not succeed where he and george had failed.
-"fingerless" fraser had breakfasted late, as was his luxurious custom, and shortly before noon, in the course of his dissatisfied meanderings, he found his friend in the office, lost in sombre thought. it was the first time in many weeks that he had seen this mood in boyd, and after a fruitless effort to make him talk, he fell into his old habit of imaginary reading, droning away to himself as if from a printed page:
-"'your stay among us has not been very pleasant, has it?' mr. emerson inquired.
-"'not so that you could notice it," replied our hero. 'i don't like fish, and i never did.'
-"'that is the result of prejudice; the fish is a noble animal,' mr. emerson declared.
-"'he's not an animal at all,' our hero gently corrected. 'he's a biped, a regular wild biped without either love of home or affection for his children. the salmon is of a low order of intelligence, and has a queen anne slant to his roof. no person with a retreating forehead like that knows very much. the only other member of the animal kingdom that is as foolish as the salmon is alton clyde. the fish has got a shade the best of it over him; but as for friendship and the gentler emotions--why, the salmon hasn't got them at all. the only thing he's got is a million eggs and a sense of direction. if he had a spark of intelligence he'd lay one egg a year, like a hen, and thus live for a million years. but does he? not on your sarony! he's a spendthrift, and turns his eggs loose--a hatful at a time. he's worse than a shotgun. and then, too, he's as clannish as a harvard graduate, and don't associate with nobody out of his own set. no, sir! give me a warm-blooded animal that suckles its young. i'll take a farmer, every time.'
-"'these are points i had never considered,' said mr. emerson, 'but every business has its drawbacks, you'll agree. if i have failed as a host, what can i do to entertain you while you grace our midst?'
-"'you can do most anything,' remarked his handsome companion, 'you can climb a tree, or do anything except fish all the time.'
-"'but it is a dark night without, and i fear some mischief is afoot!'
-"'true! but yonder beautcheous gel--'"
-roused by the familiarity of these lines, emerson looked up from his preoccupation and smiled at fraser's serious pantomime.
-"am i as bad as all that?" he inquired, with an effort at pleasantry.
-"you're worse, bo! i guess you didn't know i was here, eh?"
-"no. by-the-way, what about that 'beautcheous gel and the mischief that is afoot? what is the rest of the story?"
-"i don't know. i never got past that place. say! if i had time, i'll bet i could write a good book. i've got plenty to say."
-"why don't you try it?"
-"too busy!" yawned the adventurer, lazily. "gee, this is a lonesome burg! kalvik is sure out in the tall grass, ain't it? i feel as if i'd like to break a pane of glass. let's start something."
-"i don't find it particularly dull at the present moment." boyd rose and began to pace the room.
-"oh, i heard all about your trouble. i just left the pest-house."
-"the pest-house--clyde's joint. ain't he a calamity?"
-"in what way?"
-"is there any way in which he ain't?"
-"you don't like him, do you?"
-"no, i don't," declared "fingerless" fraser stoutly, "and what's more i'm glad i don't like him. because if i liked him, i'd associate with him, and i hate him."
-"what's the matter?"
-"well, i like silence and quietude--i'm a fool about my quiet--but clyde--" he paused, as if in search for suitable expression. "well, whenever i try to say anything he interrupts me." after another pause he went on: "he's dead sore on this place, too, and whines around like a litter of pups. he says he was misled into coming up here, and has a hunch he's going to lose his bank-roll."
-"last night's episode frightened him, i dare say."
-"yes. ever since he got that wallop on the burr in seattle a guinea pig could lick him hand to hand. you'd think that ten thou' he put up was all the wealth of the inkers."
-"the wealth of what?"
-"inkers! that's a tribe of rich mexicans. however, i suppose i'd hang to my coin the same way he does if i had a mayonnaise head like his. he's an awful shine as a business-man."
-"so he's homesick, eh?"
-"sure! offered to sell me his stock." fraser threw back his head and gave vent to one of his rare laughs. "ain't that a rave?"
-"here he comes now," boyd announced, with a glance out the window, and the next instant alton clyde entered, a picture of dejection.
-"gee! this is fierce, isn't it?" the club-man began, flinging himself into the nearest chair. "they tell me it's all off, finally. what are you going to do?"
-"put up what fish i can with a short crew," said boyd.
-"we'll lose a lot of money."
-clyde's tone was querulous as he continued:
-"i'm sorry i ever went into this thing. you bet if i had known as much in chicago as i know now, i would have hung on to my money and stayed at home."
-"you knew as much as we did," boyd declared, curtly.
-"oh, it's all right for you to talk. you haven't risked any coin in the deal, but i'm a rotten businessman, and i'll never make my ante back again if i lose it."
-"don't whine about it," said boyd, stiffly. "you can at least be game and lose like a man."
-"then we are going to lose, eh?" queried clyde, in a scared voice. "i thought maybe you had a plan. look here," he began an instant later, "cherry pulled us out once before, why don't you let her see what she can do with marsh?"
-boyd scanned the speaker's face sharply before speaking.
-"what do you mean by that?"
-"i mean she can work him if she tries, the same way she worked hilliard."
-"marsh isn't in the mood to listen to arguments. i have tried that."
-"who said anything about arguments? you know what i mean."
-"i don't care to listen to that sort of talk."
-"why not? i'm entitled to have my say in things." clyde was growing indignant. "i put in ten thousand of my own money and twenty-five thousand besides, on your assurances. that's thirty-five thousand more than you put up--"
-"nevertheless, it doesn't give you the right to insult the girl."
-"insult her! bah! you're no fool, boyd. why did hilliard advance that loan?"
-"because he wanted to, i dare say."
-"what's the use of keeping that up? you know as well as i do that she worked him, and worked him well. she'd do it again if you asked her. she'd do anything for you."
-boyd broke out roughly: "i tell you. i've heard enough of that talk, alton. anybody but an idiot would know that cherry is far too good for what you suggest. and when you insult her, you insult me."
-"oh, she's good enough," said clyde. "they're all good, but not perhaps in the way you mean--"
-"how do you know?"
-"i don't know, but fraser does. he's known her for years. haven't you, fraser?" but the adventurer's face was like wood as they turned toward him.
-"i don't know nothing," replied "fingerless" fraser, with an admirable show of ignorance.
-"well, judge for yourself." clyde turned again to emerson. "who is she? where did she come from? what is she doing here alone? answer that. now, she's interested in this deal just as much as any of us, and if you don't ask her to take a hand, i'm going to put it up to her myself."
-"you'll do nothing of the sort!" boyd cried, savagely.
-clyde rose hastily, and his voice was shaking with excitement as he stammered:
-"see here, boyd, you're to blame for this trouble, and now you either get us out of it or buy my stock."
-"you know that i can't buy your stock."
-"then i'll sell wherever i can. i've been stung, and i want my money. only remember, i offered the stock to you first."
-"you've got a swell chance to make a turn in kalvik," said fraser. "why don't you take it to marsh?"
-"i will!" declared alton.
-"you wouldn't do a trick like that?" emerson questioned, quickly.
-"why not? you won't listen to my advice. you're playing with other people's money, and it doesn't matter, to you whether you win or lose. if this enterprise fails, i suppose you can promote another."
-"get out!" boyd ordered, in such a tone that the speaker obeyed with ludicrous haste.
-"fingerless" fraser broke the silence that fell upon the young man's exit.
-"he's a nice little feller! i never knew one of those narrow-chested, five-o'clock-tea-drinkers that was on the level. he's got eighteen fancy vests, and wears a handkerchief up his sleeve. that put him in the end book with me, to start with."
-"did you know cherry before you came to kalvik?" boyd asked, searching his companion's face with a look the man could not evade.
-"nome--the year of the big rush."
-"during the mining troubles, eh?"
-"what was she doing?"
-"minding her business. she's good at that." fraser's eyes had become green and fishy, as usual.
-"what do you know about her?"
-"well, i know that a lot of fellows would 'go through' for her at the drop of a hat. she could have most anything they've got, i guess. most any of them miners at nome would give his right eye, or his only child, or any little thing like that if she asked it."
-"well, she was always considered a right good-looking party--"
-"yes, yes, of course. but what do you know about the girl herself? who is she? what is her history?"
-"now, sir, i'm an awful poor detective," confessed "fingerless" fraser. "i've often noticed that about myself. if i was the kind that goes snooping around into other people's business, listening to all the gossip i'm told, i'd make a good witness. but i ain't. no, sir! i'm a rotten witness."
-despite this indirect rebuke, boyd might have continued his questioning had not george balt's heavy step sounded outside. a moment later the big fellow entered.
-"what did you find at the traps?" asked emerson, eagerly.
-"nothing." george spoke shortly. "the fish struck in this morning, but our trap is corked." he wrenched off his rubber boots and flung them savagely under a bench.
-"what luck with the boats?"
-"not much. marsh's men are trying to surround our gill-netters, and we ain't got enough boats to protect ourselves." he looked up meaningly from under his heavy brows, and inquired: "how much longer are we going to stand for this?"
-"what do you mean? i've got men out hunting for new hands."
-"you know what i mean," the giant rumbled, his red eyes flaming. "you and i can get willis marsh."
-emerson shot a quick glance at fraser, who was staring fixedly at big george.
-"he's got us right enough, and it's bound to come to a killing some day, so the sooner the better," the fisherman ran on. "we can get him to-night if you say so. are you in on it?"
-boyd faced the window slowly, while the others followed him with anxious eyes. inside the room a death-like silence settled. in the distance they heard the sound of the canning machinery, a sound that was now a mockery. to balt this last disaster was the culmination of a persecution so pitiless and unflagging that its very memory filled his simple mind with the fury of a goaded animal. to his companion it meant, almost certainly, the loss of mildred wayland--the girl who stood for his pride in himself and all that he held most desirable. he thought bitterly of all the suffering and hardship, the hunger of body and soul, that he had endured for her sake. again he saw his hopes crumbling and his dreams about to fade; once more he felt his foothold giving way beneath him, as it had done so often in the past, and he was filled with sullen hate. something told him that he would never have the heart to try again, and the thought left him cold with rage.
-"what did you say?" queried balt.
-"i said that you are right. the time is close at hand for some sort of a reckoning," answered boyd, in a harsh, strained voice.
-emerson was upon the point of turning when his eyes fell upon a picture that made him start, then gaze more intently. out upon the placid waters, abreast of the plant, the launch in which cherry had departed was approaching, and it was loaded down with men. not only were they crowded upon the craft itself, but trailing behind it, like the tail of a kite, was a long line of canoes, and these also were peopled.
-"look yonder!" cried boyd.
-"cherry has got--a crew!" his voice broke, and he bolted toward the door as big george leaped to the window.
-"injuns, by god!" shouted the giant, and without stopping to stamp his feet into his boots, he rushed out barefoot after boyd and fraser; together, the three men reached the dock in time to help cherry up the ladder.
-"what does this mean?" boyd asked her, breathlessly. "will these fellows work?"
-"that's what they're here for," said the girl. after her swarmed a crowd of slant-eyed, copper-hued aleuts; those in the kyaks astern cast off and paddled toward the beach.
-"i've got fifty men, the best on the river; i tried to get more, but--there aren't any more."
-"fingerless" fraser slapped himself resoundingly upon the thigh and exploded profanely; boyd seized the girl's hands in his and wrung them.
-"cherry, you're a treasure!" the memory of his desperate resolution of a moment before swept over him suddenly, and his voice trembled with a great thankfulness.
-"don't thank me!" cherry exclaimed. "it was more constantine's work than mine."
-"but i don't understand. these are marsh's men."
-"to be sure, but i was good to them when they were hungry last winter, and i prevailed upon them to come. they aren't very good fishermen; they're awfully lazy, and they won't work half as hard as white men, but it's the best i could do." she laughed gladly, more than repaid by the look in her companion's face. "now, get me some lunch. i'm fairly starved."
-big george, when he had fully grasped the situation, became the boss fisherman on the instant; before the others had reached the cook-house he was busied in laying out his crews and distributing his gear. the impossible had happened; victory was in sight; the fish were running--he cared to know no more.
-that night the floors of the fish-dock groaned beneath a weight of silver-sided salmon piled waist-high to a tall man. all through the cool, dim-lit hours the ranks of chinese butchers hacked and slit and slashed with swift, sure, tireless strokes, while the great building echoed hollowly to the clank of machines and the hissing sighs of the soldering-furnaces.
-in which more plans are laid
-while the daily output was disappointing, emerson drew consolation from the prospect that his pack would be large enough at least to avert utter ruin, and he argued that once he had won through this first season no power that marsh could bring to bear would serve to crush him. he saw a moderate success ahead, if not the overwhelming victory upon which he had counted.
-up at the trust's headquarters willis marsh was in a fine fury. as far as possible, his subordinates avoided him. his superintendents, summoned from their work, emerged from the red-painted office on the hill with dampened brows and frightened glances over their shoulders. many of them held their places through services that did not show upon the company's books, but now they shook their heads and swore that some things were beyond them.
-except for one step on emerson's part, marsh would have rested secure, and let time work out his enemy's downfall; but boyd's precaution in contracting to sell his output in advance threatened to defeat him. otherwise, marsh would simply have cut down his rival's catch to the lowest point, and then broken the market in the fall. with the trust's tremendous resources back of him, he could have afforded to hammer down the price of fish to a point where emerson would either have been ruined or forced to carry his pack for a year, and in this course he would have been upheld by wayne wayland. but as matters stood, such tactics could only result in a serious loss to the brokers who had agreed to take boyd's catch, and to the trust itself. it was therefore necessary to work the young man's undoing here and now.
-marsh knew that he had already wasted too much time in kalvik, for he was needed at other points far to the southward; but he could not bear to leave this fight to other hands. moreover, he was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the grande dame, with mildred and her father. one square of the calendar over his desk was marked in red, and the sight of it gave him fresh determination.
-on the third day after boyd's deliverance, constantine sought him out, in company with several of the native fishermen, translating their demand to be paid for the fish they had caught.
-"can't they wait until the end of the week?" emerson inquired.
-"no! they got no money--they got no grub. they say little baby is hongry, and they like money now. so soon they buy grub, they work some more."
-"very well. here's an order on the book-keeper."
-boyd tore a leaf from his note-book and wrote a few words on it, telling the men to present it at the office. as constantine was about to leave, he called to him:
-"wait! i want to talk with you."
-the breed halted.
-"how long have you known mr. marsh?"
-"me know him long time."
-"do you like him?"
-a flicker ran over the fellow's coppery face as he replied:
-"yes. him good man."
-"you used to work for him, did you not?"
-"why did you quit?"
-constantine hesitated slightly before answering: "me go work for cherry."
-"she good to my little broder. you savvy little chil'ren--so big?"
-"yes. i've seen him. he's a fine little fellow. by the way, do you remember that night about two weeks ago when i was at cherry's house?--the night you and your sister went out?"
-"where did you go?"
-constantine shifted his walrus-soled boots. "what for you ask?"
-"never mind! where did you go when you left the house?"
-"me go indian village. what for you ask?"
-"nothing. only--if you ever have any trouble with mr. marsh, i may be able to help you. i like you--and i don't like him."
-the breed grunted unintelligibly, and was about to leave when boyd reached forth suddenly and plucked the fellow's sheath-knife from its scabbard. with a startled cry, constantine whirled, his face convulsed, his nostrils dilated like those of a frightened horse; but emerson merely fingered the weapon carelessly, remarking:
-"that is a curious knife you have. i have noticed it several times." he eyed him shrewdly for a moment, then handed the blade back with a smile. constantine slipped it into its place, and strode away without a word.
-it was considerably later in the day when boyd discovered the indians to whom he had given the note talking excitedly on the dock. seeing constantine in argument with them, he approached to demand an explanation, whereupon the quarter-breed held out a silver dollar in his palm with the words:
-"these men say this money no good."
-"what do you mean?"
-"it no good. no can buy grub at company store."
-boyd saw that the group was eying him suspiciously.
-"nonsense! what's the matter with it?"
-"storekeeper laugh and say it come from you. he say, take it back. he no sell my people any flour."
-it was evident that even constantine was vaguely distrustful.
-another native extended a coin, saying;
-"we want money like this."
-boyd took the piece and examined it, whereupon a light broke upon him. the coin was stamped with the initials of one of the old fishing companies, and he instantly recognized a ruse practiced in the north during the days of the first trading concerns. it had been the custom of these companies to pay their indians in coins bearing their own impress and to refuse all other specie at their posts, thus compelling the natives to trade at company stores. by carefully building up this system they had obtained a monopoly of indian labor, and it was evident that marsh and his associates had robbed the aleuts in the same manner during the days before the consolidation. boyd saw at once the cause of the difficulty and undertook to explain it, but he had small success, for the indians had learned a hard lesson and were loath to put confidence in the white man's promises. seeing that his words carried no conviction, emerson gave up at last, saying:
-"if the company store won't take this money, i'll sell you whatever you need from the commissary. we are not going to have any trouble over a little thing like this."
-he marched the natives in a body to the storehouse, where he saw to it that they received what provisions they needed and assisted them in loading their canoes.
-but his amusement at the episode gave way to uneasiness on the following morning when the aleuts failed to report for work, and by noon his anxiety resolved itself into strong suspicion.
-balt had returned from the banks earlier in the morning with news of a struggle between his white crew and marsh's men. george's boats had been surrounded during the night, nets had been cut, and several encounters had occurred, resulting in serious injury to his men. the giant, in no amiable mood, had returned for reinforcements, stating that the situation was becoming more serious every hour. hearing of the desertion of the natives, he burst into profanity, then armed himself and returned to the banks, while boyd, now thoroughly alarmed, took a launch and sped up the river to cherry's house, in the hope that she could prevail upon her own recruits to return.
-he found the girl ready to accompany him, and they were about to embark when chakawana came running from the house as if in sudden fright.
-"where you go?" she asked her mistress.
-"i am going to the indian village. you stay here--"
-"no, no! i no stop here alone. i go 'long too." she cast a glance over her shoulder.
-"but, chakawana, what is the matter? are you afraid?"
-"yes." chakawana nodded her pretty head vigorously.
-"what are you afraid of?" boyd asked; but she merely stared at him with eyes as black and round as ox-heart cherries, then renewed her entreaty. when she had received permission and had hurried back to the house, her mistress remarked, with a puzzled frown:
-"i don't know what to make of her. she and constantine have been acting very strangely of late. she used to be the happiest sort of creature, always laughing and singing, but she has changed entirely during the last few weeks. both she and constantine are forever whispering to each other and skulking about, until i am getting nervous myself." then as the indian girl came flying back with her tiny baby brother in her arms, cherry added: "she's pretty, isn't she? i can't bear ugly people around me."
-at the native village, in spite of every effort she and boyd could make, the indians refused to go back to work. many of them, so they learned, had already reported to the other canneries, evidently still doubtful of emerson's assurances, and afraid to run the risk of offending their old employers. those who were left were lazy fellows who did not care to work under any circumstances; these merely listened, then shrugged their shoulders and walked away.
-"since they can't use your money at the store, they don't seem to care whether it is good or not," cherry announced, after a time.
-"i'll give them enough provisions to last them all winter," boyd offered, irritated beyond measure at such stupidity. "tell them to move the whole blamed village down to my place, women and all. i'll take care of them." but after an hour of futile cajolery, he was forced to give up, realizing that marsh had been at work again, frightening these simple people by threats of vengeance and starvation.
-"you can't blame the poor things. they have learned to fear the hand of the companies, and to know that they are absolutely dependent upon the cannery stores during the winter. but it's maddening!" she stamped her foot angrily. "and i was so proud of my work. i thought i had really done something to help at last. but i don't know what more we can do. i've reached the end of my rope."
-"so have i," he confessed. "even with those fifty aleuts, we weren't running at more than half capacity, but we were making a showing at least. now!" he flung up his hands in a gesture of despair. "george is in trouble, as usual. marsh's men have cut our nets, and the yacht may arrive at any time."
-"the yacht! what yacht?"
-"mr. wayland's yacht. he is making a tour of this coast with the other officers of the trust and--mildred."
-"is--is she coming here?" demanded cherry, in a strained voice.
-"why didn't you tell me?"
-"i don't know, i didn't think you would be interested."
-"so she can't wait? she is so eager that she follows you from chicago clear up into this wilderness. then you won't need my assistance any more, will you?" her lids drooped, half hiding her eyes, and her face hardened.
-"it strikes me that you have allowed me to make a fool of myself long enough," said cherry, angrily. "here i have been breaking my heart over this enterprise, while you have known all the time that she was coming. why, you have merely used me--and george, and all the rest of us, for that matter--" she laughed harshly.
-"you don't understand," said boyd. "miss wayland--"
-"oh yes, i do. i dare say it will gratify her to straighten out your troubles. a word from her lips and your worries will vanish like a mist. let us acknowledge ourselves beaten and beg her to save us."
-boyd shook his head in negation, but she gave him no time for speech.
-"it seems that you wanted to pose as a hero before her, and employed us to build up your triumph. well, i am glad we failed. i'm glad willis marsh showed you how very helpless you are. let her come to your rescue now. i'm through. do you understand? i'm through!"
-emerson gazed at her in astonishment, the outburst had been so unexpected, but he realized that he owed her too much to take offence.
-"miss wayland will take no hand in my affairs. i doubt if she will even realize what this trouble is all about," he said, a trifle stiffly. "i suppose i did want to play the hero, and i dare say i did use you and the others, but you knew that all the time."
-"why won't she help you?" queried cherry. "doesn't she care enough about you? doesn't she know enough to understand your plight?"
-"yes, but this is my fight, and i've got to make good without her assistance. she isn't the sort to marry a failure, and she has left me to make my own way. besides, she would not dare go contrary to her father's wishes, even if she desired--that is part of her education. oh, wayne wayland's opposition isn't all i have had to overcome. i have had to show his daughter that i am one of her own kind, for she hates weakness."
-"and you think that woman loves you! why, she isn't a woman at all--she doesn't know what love means. when a woman loves, do you imagine she cares for money or fame or success? if i cared for a man, do you think i'd stop to ask my father if i might marry him or wait for my lover to prove himself worthy of me? do you think i'd send him through the hell you have suffered to try his metal?" she laughed outright. "why, i'd become what he was, and i'd fight with him. i'd give him all i had--money, position, friends, influence; if my people objected, i'd tell them to go hang, i'd give them up and join him! i'd use every dollar, every wile and feminine device that i possessed in his service. when a woman loves, she doesn't care what the world says; the man may be a weakling, or worse, but he is still her lover, and she will go to him."
-the words had come tumbling forth until cherry was forced to pause for breath.
-"you don't understand," said boyd. "you are primitive; you have lived in the open; she is exactly your opposite. conservatism is bred in her, and she can't help her nature. it was hard even for me to understand at first; but when i saw her life, when i saw how she had been reared from childhood, i understood perfectly. i would not have her other than she is; it is enough for me to know that in her own way she cares for me."
-cherry tossed her head in derision. "for my part, i prefer red blood to sap, and when i love i want to know it--i don't want to have it proved to me like a problem in geometry. i want to love and hate, and do wild, impulsive things against my own judgment."
-"have you ever loved in that way?" he inquired, abruptly.
-"yes," she answered, without hesitation, looking him squarely in the eye with an expression he could not fathom. "thank heaven, i'm not the artificial kind! as you say, i'm primitive. i have lived!" her crimson lips curled scornfully.
-"i didn't expect you to understand her," he said. "but she loves me. and i--well, she is my religion. a man must have some god; he can't worship his own image."
-cherry malotte turned slowly to the landing-place and made her way into the launch. all the way back she kept silence, and boyd, confused by her attack upon the citadel of his faith and strangely sore at heart, made no effort at speech.
-"fingerless" fraser met him at the water's edge.
-"where in the devil have you been?" he cried, breathlessly.
-"big george is in more trouble; he sent for help two hours ago. i was just going to 'beat it' down there."
-"there's six of your men in the bunk-house all beat up; they don't look like they'd fish any more for a while. marsh's men threw their salmon overboard, and they had another fight. things are getting warm."
-"we can't allow ourselves to be driven from the banks," said boyd, quickly. "i'll get the shoremen together right away. find alton, and bring him along; we'll need every man we can get."
-"nothing doing with that party; he's quit like a house cat, and gone to bed."
-"very well; he's no good, anyhow; he's better out of the way."
-he hurried through the building, now silent and half deserted, gathering a crew; then, leaving only the orientals and the watchman to guard the plant, he loaded his men into the boats and set out.
-all that afternoon and on through the long, murky hours of the night the battle raged on the lower reaches of the kalvik. boat crews clashed; half-clad men cursed each other and fought with naked fists, with oars and clubs; and when these failed, they drove at one another with wicked one-tined fish "pues." all night the hordes of salmon swarmed upward toward the fatal waters of their birth, through sagging nets that were torn and slit; beneath keels that rocked to the impact of struggling, heedless bodies.
-wherein "the grande dame" arrives, laden with disappointments
-as the sun slanted up between the southward hills, out from the gossamer haze that lay like filmy forest smoke above the ocean came a snow-white yacht. she stole inward past the headlands, as silent as a wraith, leaving a long, black streamer penciled against the sky; so still was the dawn that the breath from her funnel lay like a trail behind her, slowly fading and blending with the colors of the morning.
-the waters were gleaming nickel beneath her prow, and she clove them like a blade; against the dove-gray sky her slender rigging was traced as by some finely pointed instrument; her sides were as clean as the stainless breasts of the gulls that floated near the shore.
-as she came proudly up through the fleets of fishing-boats, perfect in every line and gliding with stately dignity, the grimy little crafts drew aside as if in awe, while tired-eyed men stared silently at her as if at a vision.
-as he turned shoreward george balt hailed him, and brought his own launch alongside.
-"what craft is that?" he inquired.
-"some of our boys is hurt pretty bad," he observed. "i've told them to take in their nets and go back to the plant."
-"we all need breakfast."
-emerson shrugged his shoulders listlessly; he was very tired. "what is the use? it won't pay us to lift it."
-"i've watched that point of land for five years, and i never seen fish act this way before," balt growled, stubbornly. "if they don't strike in to-day, we better close down. marsh's men cut half our nets and crippled more than half our crew last night." he began to rumble curses. "say! we made a mistake the other day, didn't we? we'd ought to have put that feller away. it ain't too late yet."
-"wait! wayne wayland is aboard that yacht; i know him. he's a hard man, and i've heard strange stories about him, but i don't believe he knows all that marsh has been doing. i'm going to see him and tell him everything."
-"s'pose he turns you down?"
-"then there will be time enough to--to consider what you suggest. i don't like to think about it."
-"you don't have to," said balt, lowering his voice so that the helmsmen could not hear. "i've been thinking it over all night, and it looks like i'd ought to do it myself. marsh is coming to me anyhow, and--i'm older than you be. it ain't right for a young feller like you to take a chance. if they get me, you can run the business alone."
-boyd laid his hand on his companion's shoulder.
-"no," he said. "perhaps i wouldn't stick at murder--i don't know. but i won't profit by another man's crime, and if it comes to that, i'll take my share of the risk and the guilt. whatever you do, i stand with you. but we'll hope for better things. it's no easy thing for me to go to mr. wayland asking a favor. you see, his daughter is--well, i--i want to see her very badly."
-balt eyed him shrewdly.
-boyd returned to the cannery with the old mood of self-disgust and bitterness heavy upon him. he realized that george's offer to commit murder had not shocked him as much as upon its first mention. he knew that he had thought of shedding human blood with as little compunction as if the intended victim had been some noxious animal. he felt, indeed, that if his love for mildred made him a criminal, she too would be soiled by his dishonor, and for her sake he shrank from the idea of violence, yet he lacked the energy at that time to put it from him. well, he would go to her father, humble himself, and beg for protection. if he failed, then marsh must look out for himself. he could not find it in his heart to spare his enemy.
-at the plant he found alton clyde tremendously excited at the arrival of the yacht, and eager to visit his friends. he sent him to the launch, and, after a hasty breakfast, joined him.
-on their way out, boyd felt a return of that misgiving which had mastered him on his first meeting with mildred in chicago. for the second time he was bringing her failure instead of the promised victory. now, as then, she would find him in the bitterness of defeat, and he could not but wonder how she would bear the disappointment. he hoped at least that she would understand his appeal to her father; that she would see him not as a suppliant begging for mercy, but as a foeman worthy of respect, demanding his just dues. surely he had proved himself capable. wayne wayland could hardly make him contemptible in mildred's eyes. yet a feeling of disquiet came over him as he drew near the grande dame.
-willis marsh was ahead of him, standing with mr. wayland at the rail. some one else was with them; boyd's heart leaped wildly as he recognized her. he would have known that slim figure anywhere--and mildred saw him too, pointing him out to her companions.
-with knees shaking under him, he came stumbling up the landing-ladder, a tall, gaunt figure of a man in rough clothing and boots stained with the sea--salt. he looked older by five years than when the girl had last seen him; his cheeks were hollowed and his lips cracked by the wind, but his eyes were aflame with the old light, his smile was for her alone.
-he never remembered the spoken greetings nor the looks the others gave him, for her soft, cool hands lay in his hard, feverish palms, and she was smiling up at him.
-alton clyde was at his heels, and he felt mildred disengage her hand. he tore his eyes away from her face long enough to nod at marsh,--who gave him a menacing look, then turned to wayne wayland. the old man was saying something, and boyd answered him unintelligibly, after which he took mildred's hands once more with such an air of unconscious proprietorship that willis marsh grew pale to the lips and turned his back. other people, whom boyd had not noticed until now, came down the deck--men and women with field-glasses and cameras swung over their shoulders. he found that he was being introduced to them by mildred, whose voice betrayed no tremor, and whose manners were as collected as if this were her own drawing-room, and the man at her side a casual acquaintance. the strangers mingled with the little group, levelled their glasses, and made senseless remarks after the manner of tourists the world over. boyd gathered somehow that they were officers of the trust, or heavy stockholders, and their wives. they seemed to accept him as an uninteresting bit of local color, and he regarded them with equal indifference, for his eyes were wholly occupied with mildred, his ears deaf to all but her voice. at length he saw some of them going over the rail, and later found himself alone with his sweetheart. he led her to a deck-chair, and seated himself beside her.
-"at last!" he breathed. "you are here, mildred. you really came, after all?"
-"and are you glad?"
-"indeed i am. the trip has been wonderful."
-"it doesn't seem possible. i can't believe that this is really you--that i am not dreaming, as usual."
-"and you? how have you been?"
-"i've been well--i guess i have--i haven't had time to think of myself. oh, my lady!" his voice broke with tenderness, and he laid his hand gently upon hers.
-she withdrew it quickly.
-"not here! remember where we are. you are not looking well, boyd. i don't know that i ever saw you look so badly. perhaps it is your clothes."
-"i am tired," he confessed, feeling anew the weariness of the past twenty-four hours. he covertly stroked a fold of her dress, murmuring: "you are here, after all. and you love me, mildred? you haven't changed, have you?"
-"not at all. have you?"
-his deep breath and the light that flamed into his face was her answer. "i want to be alone with you," he cried, huskily. "my arms ache for you. come away from here; this is torture. i'm like a man dying of thirst."
-no woman could have beheld his burning eagerness without an answering thrill, and although mildred sat motionless, her lids drooped slightly and a faint color tinged her cheeks. her idle hands clasped themselves rigidly.
-"you are always the same," she smiled. "you sweep me away from myself and from everything. i have never seen any one like you. there are people everywhere. father is somewhere close by."
-"i don't care-"
-"my launch is alongside; let me take you ashore and show you what i have done. i want you to see."
-"i can't. i promised to go ashore with the berrys and mr. marsh."
-"now don't get tragic! we are all going to look over his plant and have lunch there--they are expecting me. oh, dear!" she cried, plaintively, "i have seen and heard nothing but canneries ever since we left vancouver. the men talk nothing but fish and packs and markets and dividends. it's all deadly stupid, and i'm wretchedly tired of it. father is the worst of the lot, of course."
-emerson's eyes shifted to his own cannery. "you haven't seen mine--ours," said he.
-"oh yes, i have. mr. marsh pointed it out to father and me. it looks just like all the others." there was an instant's pause before she ran on. "do you know, there is only one interesting feature about them, to my notion, and that is the way the chinamen smoke. those funny, crooked pipes and those little wads of tobacco are too ridiculous." the lightness of her words damped his ardor, and brought back the sense of failure. that formless huddle of buildings in the distance seemed to him all at once very dull and prosaic. of course, it was just like scores of others that his sweetheart had seen all the way north from the border-line. he had never thought of that till now.
-"i was down with the fishing fleet at the mouth of the bay this morning when you came in. i thought i might see you," he said.
-boyd stared at her in hurt surprise; but she was smiling at alton clyde in the distance, and did not observe his look.
-"don't you care even to hear what i have done?" he inquired.
-"of course," said mildred, bringing her eyes back to him.
-hesitatingly he told her of his disappointments, the obstacles he had met and overcome, avoiding marsh's name, and refraining from placing the blame where it belonged. when he had concluded, she shook her head.
-"it is too bad. but mr. marsh told us all about it before you came. boyd, i never thought well of this enterprise. of course, i didn't say anything against it, you were so enthusiastic, but you really ought to try something big. i am sure you have the ability. why, the successful men i know at home have no more intelligence than you, and they haven't half your force. as for this--well, i think you can accomplish more important things than catching fish."
-"important!" he cried. "why, the salmon industry is one of the most important on the coast. it employs ten thousand men in alaska alone, and they produce ten million dollars every year."
-"oh, let's not go into statistics," said mildred, lightly; "they make my head ache. what i mean is that a fisherman is nothing like--an attorney or a broker or an architect, for instance; he is more like a miner. pardon me, boyd, but look at your clothes." she began to laugh. "why, you look like a common laborer!"
-he became conscious for the first time that he cut a sorry figure. everything around him spoke of wealth and luxury. even the sailor that passed at the moment was better dressed than he. he felt suddenly awkward and out of place.
-"i might have slicked up a bit," he acknowledged, lamely; "but when you came, i forgot everything else."
-"i was dreadfully embarrassed when i introduced you to the berrys and the rest. i dare say they thought you were one of mr. marsh's foremen."
-never before had boyd known the least constraint in mildred's presence, but now he felt the rebuke behind her careless manner, and it wounded him deeply. he did not speak, and after a moment she went on, with an abrupt change of subject:
-"so that funny little house over there against the hill is where the mysterious woman lives?"
-"yes. how did you learn that?"
-"mr. marsh pointed it out. he said she came up on the same ship with you."
-"that is true."
-"why didn't you tell me? why didn't you write me that she was with you in seattle?"
-"i don't know; i didn't think of it." she regarded him coolly.
-"has anybody discovered who or what she is?"
-"why are you so curious about her?"
-mildred shrugged her shoulders. "your discussion with willis marsh that night at our house interested me very much. i thought i would ask mr. marsh to bring her around when we went ashore. it would be rather amusing. she wouldn't come out to the yacht and return my call, would she?" boyd smiled at her frank concern at this possibility.
-"you don't know the kind of girl she is," he said. "she isn't at all what you think; i don't believe you would be able to meet her in the way you suggest."
-"indeed!" mildred arched her brows. "why?"
-"she wouldn't fancy being 'brought around,' particularly by marsh."
-from her look of surprise, he knew that he had touched on dangerous ground, and he made haste to lead the conversation back to its former channel. he wished to impress mildred with the fact that if he had not quite succeeded, he had by no means failed; but she listened indifferently, with the air of humoring an insistent child.
-"i wish you would give it up and try something else," she said, at last. "this is no place for you. why, you are losing all your old wit and buoyancy, you are actually growing serious. and serious people are not at all amusing."
-just then alton clyde and a group of people, among whom was willis marsh, emerged from the cabin, talking and laughing. mildred arose, saying:
-"here come the berrys, ready to go ashore."
-"when may i see you again?" he inquired, quickly.
-"you may come out this evening."
-his eyes blazed as he answered, "i shall come!"
-as the others came up, she said:
-"mr. emerson can't accompany us. he wishes to see father."
-"i just left him in the cabin," said marsh. he helped the ladies to the ladder, and a moment later emerson waved the party adieu, then turned to the saloon in search of wayne wayland.
-mr. wayland had removed his glasses, and was waiting grimly.
-"i have a good deal to say to you, sir," emerson began, "and i would like you to hear me through."
-"i am going to tell you some things about mr. marsh that i dare say you will disbelieve, but i can verify my statements. i think you are a just man, and i don't believe you know, or would approve, the methods he has used against me."
-"if this is to be an arraignment of mr. marsh, i suggest that you wait until he can be present. he has gone ashore with the women folks."
-"i prefer to talk to you, first. we can call him in later if you wish."
-"before we begin, may i inquire what you expect of me?"
-"i expect relief."
-"you remember our agreement?"
-"i don't want assistance; i want relief."
-"whatever the distinction in the words, i understand that you are asking a favor?"
-"i don't consider it so."
-"very well. proceed."
-"when you sent me out three years ago to make a fortune for mildred, it was understood that there should be fair play on both sides--"
-"have you played fair?" quickly interposed the old man.
-"how do you know he did that?"
-"i have no legal proof, but i know it just the same."
-mr. wayland smiled. "that is not a very definite charge. you surely don't hold him responsible for the death of that striker?"
-"i do; and for the action of the police in trying to fix the crime upon me. you know, perhaps, how i got away from seattle. when marsh arrived at kalvik, he first tried to sink my boilers; failing in that, he ruined my iron chinks; then he 'corked' my fish-trap, not because he needed more fish, but purely to spoil my catch. the day the run started he bribed my fishermen to break their contracts, leaving me short-handed. he didn't need more men, but did that simply to cripple me. i got indians to replace the white men, but he won them away by a miserable trick and by threats that i have no doubt he would make good if the poor devils dared to stand out.
-"his men won't allow my fellows to work; we have had our nets cut and our fish thrown out. last night we had a bad time on the banks, and a number of people were hurt. the situation is growing worse every hour, and there will be bloodshed unless this persecution stops. all i want is a fair chance. there are fish enough for us all in the kalvik, but that man has used the power of your organization to ruin me--not for business reasons, but for personal spite. i have played the game squarely, mr. wayland, but unless this ceases i'm through."
-"you are through?"
-the president of the trust stirred for the first time since boyd had begun his recital; the grim lines about his mouth set themselves deeper, and, staring with cold gray eyes at the speaker, he said:
-"well, sir! what you have told me confirms my judgment that willis marsh is the right man in the right place."
-completely taken back by this unexpected reply, boyd exclaimed:
-"you don't mean to say that you approve of what he has done?"
-"yes, of what i know he has done. mr. marsh is pursuing a definite policy laid down by his board of directors. you have shown me that he has done his work well. you knew before you left the east that we intended to crush all opposition."
-"tut, tut! don't talk nonsense. you admit that you have no proof of willis' connection with the attempt upon your life. you put yourself in the way of danger when you hired scab labor to break that strike. i think you got off very easily."
-"if marsh was instructed to crush the independents, why has he centred all his efforts on me alone? why has he spent this summer in kalvik and not among the other stations to the south?"
-"that is our business. different methods are required in different localities."
-"then you have no criticism to make--you uphold him?" boyd's indignation was getting beyond control.
-"none whatever. i cannot agree that marsh is even indirectly responsible for the collision of the scows, for the damage to your machinery, or for the fighting between the men. on the contrary, i know that he is doing his best to prevent violence, because it interferes with the catch. he hired your men because he needed them. nobody knows who broke your machinery. as for your fish-trap, you are privileged to build another, or a dozen more, wherever you please. willis has already told me everything that you have said, and it strikes me that you have simply been outgeneraled. your complaints do not appeal to me. even granting your absurd assumption that marsh tried to put you out of the way, it seems to me that you have more than evened the score."
-"he is still wearing bandages over that knife-thrust you gave him."
-emerson leaped to his feet.
-"he knows i didn't do that; everybody knows it!" he cried. "he lied to you."
-"we won't discuss that," said wayne wayland, curtly. "what do you want me to do?"
-"i want you to end this persecution. i want you to sail him off."
-"in other words, you want me to save you."
-emerson swallowed. "i suppose it amounts to that. i want to be let alone, i want a square deal."
-"well, i won't." wayne wayland's voice hardened suddenly; his sound, white teeth snapped together. "you are getting exactly what you deserve. you betrayed me by spying upon me while you broke bread in my house. i see nothing reprehensible in mr. marsh's conduct; but even if i did, i would not censure him; any measures are justifiable against a traitor."
-boyd emerson's face went gray beneath its coating of tan, and his voice threatened to break as he said:
-"i am no traitor, and you know it. i thought you a man of honor, and i came to you, not for help but for justice. but i see i was mistaken. i am beginning to believe that marsh acted under your instructions from the first."
-"believe what you choose."
-"you think you've got me, but you haven't. i'll beat you yet."
-"you can't beat me at anything." mr. wayland's jaws were set like iron.
-"not this year perhaps, but next. you and marsh have whipped me this time; but the salmon will come again, and i'll run my plant in spite of hell!"
-wayne wayland made as if to speak, but boyd went on unheeding: "you've taken a dislike to me, but your conduct shows that you fear me. you are afraid i'll succeed, and i will."
-"brave talk!" said the older man. "but you owe one hundred thousand dollars, and your stockholders will learn of your mismanagement."
-"your persecution, you mean!" cried the other. "i can explain. they will wait another year. i will raise more money, and they will stand by me."
-"perhaps i know more about that than you do."
-emerson strode toward the desk menacingly, crying, in a quivering voice:
-"i warn you to keep your hands off of them. by god! don't try any of your financial trickery with me, or i'll--"
-wayne wayland leaped from his chair, his face purple and his eyes flashing savagely.
-"leave this yacht!" he thundered. "i won't allow you to insult me; i won't stand your threats. i've got you where i want you, and when the time comes you'll know it. now, get out!" he stretched forth a great square hand and closed it so fiercely that the fingers cracked. "i'll crush you--like that!"
-boyd turned and strode from the cabin.
-half-blinded with anger, he stumbled down the ladder to his launch.
-"back to the plant!" he ordered, then gazed with lowering brows and defiant eyes at the grande dame as she rested swanlike and serene at her moorings. his anger against mildred's father destroyed for the time all thought of his disappointment at her own lack of understanding and her cool acceptance of his failure. he saw only that his affairs had reached a final climax where he must bow to the inevitable, or--big george's parting words came to him--strike one last blow in reprisal. a kind of sickening rage possessed him. he had tried to fight fair against an enemy who knew no scruple, partly that he might win that enemy's respect. now he was thoroughly beaten and humbled. after all, he was merely an adventurer, without friends of resources. his long struggle had made him the type of man of whom desperate things might be expected. he might as well act the part. why should he pretend to higher standards than wayne wayland or marsh? george's way was best. by the time he had reached the cannery, he had practically made up his mind.
-it was the hour of his darkest despair--the real crisis in his life. there are times when it rests with fate to make a strong man stronger or turn him altogether to evil. such a man will not accept misfortune tamely. he is the reverse of those who are good through weakness; it is his nature to sin strongly.
-but the unexpected happened, and boyd's black mood vanished in amazement at the sight which met his eyes. moored to the fish-dock was a lighter awash with a cargo that made him stare and doubt his vision. he had seen his scanty crew of gill-netters return empty-handed with the rising sun, exhausted, disheartened, depleted in numbers; yet there before him were thousands of salmon. they were strewn in a great mass upon the dock and inside the shed, while from the scow beneath they came in showers as the handlers tossed them upward from their pues. through the wide doors he saw the backs of the butchers busily at work over their tables, and heard the uproar of his cannery running full for the first time.
-before the launch had touched, he had leaped to the ladder and swung himself upon the dock. he stumbled into the arms of big george.
-"where--did those--fish come from?" he cried, breathlessly.
-"that means that we can run the plant--that we'll get all we can use?"
-"hell! we've got fish enough to run two canneries. they've struck their gait i tell you, and they'll never stop now night or day till they're through. we don't need no gill-netters; what we need is butchers and slimers and handlers. there never was a trap site in the north till this one; i told willis marsh that years ago." he flung out a long, hairy arm, bared half to the shoulder, and waved it exultantly. "we built this plant to cook forty thousand salmon a day, but i'll bring you three thousand every hour, and you've got to cook 'em. do you hear?"
-"and they couldn't cork us, after all!" emerson leaned unsteadily against a pile, for his head was whirling.
-"no! we'll show that gang what a cannery can do. marsh's traps will rot where they stand." big george shook his tight-clinched fist again. "we've won, my boy! we've won!"
-"then don't let us stand here talking!" cried emerson, sharply. "hurry! hurry!" he turned, and sped up the dock.
-he had come into his own at last, and he vowed with tight-shut teeth that no wheel should stop, no belt should slacken, no man should leave his duty till the run had passed. at the entrance to the throbbing, clanging building he paused an instant, and with a smile looked toward the yacht floating lazily in the distance. then, with knees sagging beneath him from weariness, he entered.
-"i've heard the news!" cried cherry, later that afternoon, shrieking to make herself heard above the rattle and jar of the machinery.
-"there seems to be a providence that watches over fishermen," said boyd.
-"i am happy, for your sake, and i want to apologize for my display of temper. come away where i won't have to scream so. i want to talk to you."
-"it is music to my ears," he answered, as he led her past the rows of chinamen bowed before their soldering-torches as if busied with some heathen rites. "but i'm glad to sit down just the same. i've been on my feet for thirty-six hours."
-"you poor boy! why don't you take some sleep?"
-"i can't. george is coming with another load of fish, and the plant is so new i am afraid to leave it even for an hour."
-"it's too much for one man," she declared.
-"oh, i'll sleep to-morrow."
-"did you see--her?" questioned cherry.
-"she must be very proud of you," she said, wistfully.
-"i--i--don't think she understands what i am trying to do, or what it means. our talk was not very satisfactory."
-"she surely must have understood what marsh is doing."
-"i didn't tell her that."
-"what good would it have done?"
-"why"--cherry seemed bewildered--"she could put a stop to it; she could use her influence with her father against marsh. i expected to see your old crew back at work again. oh, i wish i had her power!"
-"she wouldn't take a hand under any circumstances--it wouldn't occur to her--and naturally i couldn't ask her." boyd flushed uncomfortably. "thanks to george's trap, there is no need." he went on to tell cherry of the scene with mr. wayland and its stormy ending.
-"they have used all their resources to down you," she said, "but luck is with you, and you mustn't let them succeed. now is the time to show them what is in you. go in and win her now, against all of them."
-he was grateful for her sympathy, yet somehow it made him uncomfortable.
-"what was it you wished to see me about?" he asked.
-"oh! have you seen chakawana?"
-"she disappeared early this morning soon after the yacht came in; i can't find her anywhere. she took the baby with her and--i'm worried."
-"doesn't constantine know where she is?"
-"why, constantine is down here, isn't he?"
-"he hasn't been here since yesterday."
-cherry rose nervously. "there is something wrong, boyd. they have been acting queerly for a long time."
-"then you are alone at your place," he said, thoughtfully. "i think you had better come down here."
-"i shall send some one up to spend the night at your house. you shouldn't be left unprotected." but just then constantine came sauntering round the corner of the building.
-"thank heaven!" cried cherry. "he will know where the others are."
-but when his mistress questioned him, constantine merely replied: "i don' know. i no see chakawana."
-"they have been gone since morning, and i can't find them anywhere."
-"umph! i guess they all right."
-"there is something queer about this," said emerson. "where have you been all day?"
-"well, i don't need you to-night, so you'd better go back to cherry's house and stay there till i send for you."
-constantine acquiesced calmly, and a few minutes later accompanied his mistress up the beach.
-as she passed marsh's cannery, cherry saw a tender moored to the dock, and noticed strangers among the buildings. they stared at her curiously, as if the sight of a white girl attended by a copper-hued giant were part of the picturesqueness they expected. as she drew near her own house, she saw a woman approaching, and while yet a stone's-throw distant she recognized her. a jealous tightening of her throat and a flutter at her breast told her that this was mildred wayland.
-cherry would have passed on silently, but miss wayland checked her.
-"pardon me," she said. "will you tell me what that odd-looking building is used for?" she pointed to the village above.
-"that is the greek church."
-"how interesting! are there many greeks here?"
-"no. it is a relic of the russian days. the natives worship there."
-"i intended to go closer; but the walking is not very good, is it?" she glanced down at her dainty french shoes, then at cherry's hunting-boots. "do you live here?"
-"yes. in the log house yonder."
-"indeed! i tried to find some one there, but--you were out, of course. you have it arranged very cozily, i see." mildred's manner was faintly patronizing. she was vexed at the beauty and evident refinement of this woman whom she had thought to find so different.
-"if you will go back i will show it to you from the inside, miss wayland." cherry enjoyed her start at the name and the look of cold hostility that followed.
-"you have the advantage of me," said mildred. "i did not think we had met. you are--?" she raised her brows, inquiringly.
-"cherry malotte, of course."
-"i remember. mr. marsh spoke of you."
-"i am sorry."
-"i beg your pardon?"
-"i say i am sorry mr. marsh ever spoke of me."
-mildred smiled frigidly. "evidently you do not like him?"
-"nobody in alaska likes him. do you?"
-"you see, i am not an alaskan."
-it occurred to cherry that this girl was ignorant of the unexpected change in boyd's affairs. she decided to sound her--to find out for herself the answer to those questions which boyd had evaded. he had not spoken to mildred of marsh. perhaps if she knew the truth, she would love him better, and even now her assistance would not be valueless.
-"do you know that mr. marsh is to blame for all of boyd's misfortune?" she said.
-"yes, boyd's, of course. oh, let us not pretend--i call him by his first name. i think you ought to know the truth about this business, even if boyd is too chivalrous to tell you."
-"why do you think he has not told me?"
-"i have just come from him."
-"if mr. emerson blames any one but himself for his failure, i am sure he would have told me."
-"then you don't know him."
-"i never knew him to ask another to defend him."
-"he never asked me to defend him. i merely thought that if you knew the truth, you might help him."
-"it is for you to find a way. he has met with opposition and treachery at every step; i think it is time some one came to his aid."
-"he has had your assistance at all times, has he not?"
-"i have tried to help wherever i could, but--i haven't your power."
-mildred shrugged her shoulders. "you even went to seattle to help him, did you not?"
-"i went there on my own business."
-"why do you take such an interest in mr. emerson's affairs, may i ask?"
-"it was i who induced him to take up this venture," said cherry, proudly. "i found him discouraged, ready to give up; i helped to put new heart into him. i have something at stake in the enterprise, too--but that's nothing. i hate to see a good man driven to the wall by a scoundrel like marsh."
-"wait! there is something to be said on both sides. mr. marsh was magnanimous enough to overlook that attempt upon his life."
-"you must have heard. he was wounded in the shoulder."
-"didn't boyd tell you the truth about that?"
-"he told me everything," said mildred, coldly. this woman's attitude was unbearable. it would seem that she even dared to criticise her, mildred wayland, for her treatment of boyd. she pretended to a truer friendship, a more intimate knowledge of him. but no--it wasn't pretense. it was too natural, too unconscious, for that; and therein lay the sting.
-"i shall ask him about it again this evening," she continued. "if there has really been persecution, as you suggest, i shall tell my father."
-"you won't see boyd this evening," said cherry.
-"oh yes, i shall."
-"he is very busy and--i don't think he can see you."
-"you don't understand. i told him to come out to the yacht!" mildred's temper rose at the light she saw in the other woman's face.
-mildred tossed her head. "to be frank with you, i never liked this enterprise of boyd's. now that i have seen the place and the people--well, i can't say that i like it better."
-"the country is a bit different, but the people are much the same in kalvik and in chicago. you will find unscrupulous men and unselfish women everywhere."
-mildred gave her a cool glance that took her in from head to foot.
-"and vice versa, i dare say. you speak from a wider experience than i." with a careless nod she picked her way toward the launch, where her friends were already assembling. she was angry and suspicious. her pride was hurt because she had not been able to feel superior to the other woman. instead, she had descended to the weak resource of innuendo, while cherry had been simple and direct. she had expected to recognize instantly the type of person with whom she had to deal, but she found herself baffled. who was this woman? what was she doing here? why had boyd never told her of this extraordinary intimacy? she remembered more than one occasion when he had defended the woman. she resolved to put an end to the affair at once; boyd must either give up cherry or--
-during the talk between the two young women constantine had kept at a respectful distance, but when mildred had gone he came up to cherry, with the question:
-"who is that?"
-"that is miss wayland. that is the richest girl in the world, constantine."
-"and the pity of it is, she doesn't understand how very rich she is. her father owns all these canneries and many more besides, and lots of railroads--but you don't know what a railroad is, do you?"
-"mebbe him rich as mr. marsh, eh?"
-"a thousand time richer. mr. marsh works for him the way you work for me."
-being too much a gentleman to dispute his mistress' word, constantine merely shook his head and smiled broadly.
-"she fine lady," he acknowledged. "she got plenty nice dress--silik."
-"she more han'somer than you be," he added, with reluctant candor. "mebbe that's lie 'bout mr. marsh, eh? white men all work for mr. marsh. he no work for nobody."
-"no, it is true. mr. marsh knows how rich she is, and that is why he wants to marry her."
-the breed wheeled swiftly, his soft soles crunching the gravel.
-"mr. marsh want marry her?" he repeated, as if doubting his ears.
-"yes. that is why he has fought mr. emerson--they both want to marry her. that is why marsh broke mr. emerson's machinery, and hired his men away from him, and cut his nets. they hate each other--do you understand?"
-"me savvy!" said constantine shortly, then strode on beside the girl. "me think all the time mr. emerson goin' marry you."
-cherry gasped. "no, no! why, he is in love with miss wayland."
-"s'pose he don' marry her?"
-"than mr. marsh will get her, i dare say."
-after a moment constantine announced, with conviction: "i guess mr. marsh is damn bad man."
-"i'm glad you have discovered that. he has even tried to kill mr. emerson; that shows the sort of man he is."
-"it's good thing--get marry!" said constantine, vaguely. "the father say if woman don' marry she go to hell."
-"i'd hate to think that," laughed the girl.
-"that's true," the other affirmed, stoutly. "the pries' he say so, and pries' don' lie. he say man takes a woman and don' get marry, they both go to hell and burn forever. bime'by little baby come, and he go to hell, too."
-"oh, i understand! the father wants to make sure of his people, and he is quite right. you natives haven't observed the law very carefully."
-"he say indian woman stop with white man, she never see jesus' house no more. she go to hell sure, and baby go too. you s'pose that's true?"
-"i dare say it is, in a way."
-"by god! that's tough on little baby!" exclaimed constantine, fervently.
-all that night boyd stayed at his post, while the cavernous building shuddered and hissed to the straining toil of the machines and the gasping breath of the furnaces. as the darkness gathered, he had gone out upon the dock to look regretfully toward the twinkling lights on the grande dame, then turned doggedly back to his labors. another load had just arrived from the trap; already the plant, untried by the stress of a steady run, was clogged and working far below capacity. he would have sent mildred word, but he had not a single man to spare.
-he met "fingerless" fraser emerging, decked royally in all the splendor of new clothes and spotless linen.
-"where are you going?" boyd asked him.
-"i'm going out into society."
-"clyde is taking you to the yacht, eh?"
-"no! he's afraid of my work, so i'm going out on my own. he told me all about the swell quilts at marsh's place, so i thought i'd lam up there and look them over. i may cop an heiress." he winked wisely. "if i see one that looks gentle, i'm liable to grab me some bride. he says there ain't one that's got less than a couple of millions in her kick."
-boyd was too weary to do more than wish him success, but it seemed that fortune favored fraser, for before he had gone far he saw a young woman seated in a patch of wild flowers, plucking the blooms with careless hand while she drank in the beauty of the bright arctic morning. she was simply dressed, yet looked so prosperous that fraser instantly decided:
-"that's her! i'll spread my checks with this one."
-"good-morning!" he began.
-the girl gave him an indifferent glance from two fearless eyes, and nodded slightly. but "fingerless" fraser upon occasion could summon a smile that was peculiarly engaging. he did so now, seating himself hat in hand, with the words:
-"if you don't mind, i'll rest a minute. i'm out for my morning walk. it's a nice day, isn't it?" as she did not answer, he ran on, glibly: "my name is de benville--i'm one of the new orleans branch. that's my cannery down yonder." he pointed in the direction from which he had just come.
-"indeed!" said the young lady.
-"yes. it's mine."
-a wrinkle gathered at the corners of the stranger's eyes; her face showed a flicker of amusement.
-"i thought that was mr. emerson's cannery," she said.
-"oh, the idea! he only runs it for me. i put up the money. you know him, eh?"
-the girl nodded. "yes; i know mr. clyde also."
-"who--alton?" he queried, with reassuring warmth. "why, you and i have got mutual friends. alton and me is pals." he shook his head solemnly. "ain't he a scourge?"
-"i beg your pardon."
-"i say, ain't he an awful thing? he ain't anything like emerson. there's a ring-tailed swallow, all right, all right! i like him."
-"are you very intimate with him?"
-an atmosphere of snuff and mildew enveloped them, as the maestro, the date and design of whose evening dress-suit baffled the antiquarian and enraptured the caricaturist, embraced both the tenor and the soprano in rapid succession.
-“aha! mes enfants, am i not a true prophet?” he cried. “hasten to grow up, i said to the little one ten years ago, and carlo there shall one day sing romeo to thy juliet.” he embraced them again. “you sing like angels—you quarrel like devils! heaven intended you for one another. be happy!” and the maestro blessed the betrothed lovers with a sprinkling of snuff.
-the tug of war
-men invariably termed her “a sweet woman.” women called her other things.
-what was she like? of middle height and “caressable,” with a rounded, supple figure, exquisitely groomed and got up! her golden hair would have been merely brown, if left to nature. it came nearly to her eyebrows in the dearest little rings, and was coaxed into the loveliest of coils and waves and undulations. her eyes were lustrous hazel, her eyelashes and eyebrows as nearly black as perfect taste allowed. her cheeks were of an ivory pallor, sometimes relieved with a faint sea-shell bloom. her features were beautifully cut, inclining to the aquiline in outline. her voice was low and tender, especially when she was saying the sort of thing that puts a young fellow out of conceit with the girl he is engaged to, and makes the married man wonder why he threw himself away. why he was such an infuriated ass, by george! as to beg and pray clara to marry him ten years ago, and buy a new revolver when she said it was esteem she felt for him, not love. why fate should ordain just at this particular juncture that he should encounter the one woman, by jingo! the only woman in the world who had ever really understood and sympathized with him! it was mrs. osborne’s vocation to make men of all grades, ranks, and ages ask this question. she had followed her chosen path in life with enthusiasm, let us say, collecting scalps, with here and there a little shudder of pity, and here and there a little smart of pain. fascination, exercised almost involuntarily, was to her, as to the cobra, the means of life. not in a vulgar sense, because the late colonel osborne had left his widow handsomely provided for. but the excitement of the sport, the keen delight of capturing new victims—bringing the quarry boldly down in the open, or setting insidious snares, pitfalls, and traps for the silly prey to blunder into—these joys the huntress knows who sharpens her arrows and weaves her webs for man.
-i have said—or hinted—that other women did not love mrs. osborne. knowing, as they did, that the lovely widow frankly despised them, her own sex responded by openly declaring war. they knew her strength, and never attacked her save in bands. yet, strange to say, the invincible mrs. osborne was never so nearly worsted as in a single-handed combat to which she was challenged by a mere neophyte—“a chit”—as, had she lived in the eighteenth instead of the twentieth century, the fair widow would have termed polly overshott.
-polly’s real name was mariana, but, as everyone in the county said, polly seemed more appropriate. sir giles overshott had no other child, and sometimes seemed not to regret this limitation of his family circle. lady overshott had been dead some five years when the story opens, and sir giles was beginning to speak of himself as a widower, which to experienced ears means much.
-the estate of overshott foxbrush was a fine one, unencumbered, and yielding a handsome rent-roll. it was understood that polly would have nearly everything. she had consented in the most daughterly manner to become engaged to the eldest son of a county neighbor, a young gentleman with whom she was very much in love, costebald ianson smithgill, commonly known as “cis” smithgill, his united initials forming the caressing little name. he was six feet high, and had a bass voice with treble inflections, which he was training for a parliamentary career. he had, until the demise of an elder brother removed him from the service of his country, held a lieutenancy in the guards. as to his family, who does not know that the smithgills are a family of extreme antiquity, descended from that british princess and daughter of vortigern who drank the health of hengist, proffering the saxon general the mead-horn of welcome when he first set his conquering foot on british soil? who does not know this, knows nothing. the mead-horn is said to be enclosed in the masonry of the eldest portion of hengs hall, the family seat in the country of mixshire, where, of course, the scene of our story is laid. and polly and cis had been engaged about two months when mrs. osborne took the sabines, and was called on by the county, because osborne had been the cousin of an earl, and she herself came of a very good family. you don’t want any name much better than that of weng. and mrs. osborne came of the wengs of hollowshire.
-she took the sabines for the sake of her health, which required country air. it was an old-fashioned, square jacobean house of red brick faced with stone, and it boasted a yew walk, the yews whereof had been wrought by some long-moldered-away tree-clipper into arboreal representatives of the rape of the sabines. that avenue was one of the lions of the county, and every fresh tenant of the place had to bind him or herself, under fearful penalties, to keep the sabine ladies and their abductors properly clipped.
-mrs. osborne was destitute of the faculty of reverence, lady smithgill of hengs said afterwards. because early in june, when she drove over to call—it would not become even a smithgill to ignore a weng of hollowshire—upon turning a curve in the avenue so as to command the house, the lawn, and the celebrated yew tree walk, the new tenant of the sabines, exquisitely attired in a paris gown and carrying a marvelous guipure sunshade, appeared to view; sir giles overshott was with her, and the lady and the baronet were laughing heartily.
-“mrs. osborne simply shrieked,” lady smithgill said afterwards, in confidence to a few dozen dear friends; “and sir giles was quite purple—that unpleasant shade, don’t you know?
-“it turned out that they were amusing themselves at the expense of the sabines. i looked at her, and i fancy i showed my surprise at her want of taste.
-“‘we think a great deal of them in the county,’ i said, ‘and sir giles can tell you how severe a censure would be pronounced by persons of taste upon the tenant who was so audacious as to deface or so careless as to neglect them, or even, ignorantly, to make sport of them.’
-“at that sir charles became a deeper shade, almost violet, and she uncovered her eyes and smiled. i think somebody has told her she resembled bernhardt in her youth.
-“‘dear lady smithgill,’ she said, or rather cooed (and those cooing voices are so irritating!), ‘depend on it, i shall make a point of keeping them in the most perfect condition. to be obliged to pay a forfeit to my landlord would be a nuisance, but to be censured by persons of taste residing in the county, that would be quite insupportable.’ then she rang for tea, and there were eight varieties of little cakes, which must have been sent down from buszard’s, and a cut-glass liqueur bottle of rum upon the tray. ‘do you take rum?’ she had the audacity to ask me. i did not stoop to decline verbally, but shook my head slightly, and she gave me another of those smiles and passed on the rum. sir charles brought it me, and i waved it away, speechless, absolutely speechless, at the monstrosity of the idea.
-“she overwhelmed me with apologies, of course.
-“and both sir giles—who, i regret to see, is constantly there—and sir costebald, who has once called—consider her a sweet woman. but—think me foreboding if you will—i cannot feel that county society has an acquisition in mrs. osborne.”
-“papa goes to the sabines rather often,” said polly overshott, when it came to her turn to be the recipient of lady smithgill’s confidence. “he does say that mrs. osborne is a sweet woman, and he is helping her to choose some brougham horses. he says the pair she brought down are totally unfit for country roads. and as for the rum, she offered it to me. colonel osborne held a post in the diplomatic service at berlin, and germans drink it in tea, and i rather like it, though a second cup gives you a headache afterwards.”
-“mary!” screamed miss overshott’s mamma-in-law elect, who had effected this compromise between polly and mariana.
-“as regards the sabines,” polly went on, “we have bowed down before them for years and years, and we shall go on doing it, but they are absurd all the same. so are our lead groups and garden temples at overshott—awfully absurd——”
-“i suppose you include our saxon buttress and roman pavement at hengs in the catalogue of absurdities,” said lady smithgill icily. “fortunately, sir costebald is not a widower, or they might stand in some danger of being swept away. at the present moment, let me tell you, mary, your lead figures and garden temples are far from secure. that woman leads your father by the nose—twines him round her little finger. cis tells me——”
-“what does cis know about it?” said polly, flushing to the temples.
-“cis is a man of the world,” said lady smithgill. “but at the same time he is a dutiful son. he tells everything to his mother. it seems—cis personally vouches for the truth of this—that sir giles is constantly at the sabines—in fact, every day.... he is dressed for conquest, it would appear.”
-“cis or papa?” asked polly, with feigned innocence.
-“sir giles wears coats and neckties that would be condemned as showy if worn by a bridegroom,” said lady smithgill rapidly. “he is perfumed with expensive extracts, and his boots must be torture, cis says, knowing all one does know of the overshott tendency to gout. he never removes his eyes from mrs. osborne, laughs to idiocy at everything she says, and simply lives in the corner of the sofa next her. he monopolizes the conversation. nobody else can get in a word, cis tells me.”
-“since when did cis begin to be jealous?” said polly under her breath.
-“i did not quite catch your remark,” returned lady smithgill. “by the way, mary, i hope you will wear those pearls as often as you can. they require air, sunshine, and exercise.... i contracted my chronic rheumatic tendency thirty years ago through sitting in the garden with them on. for days together sir costebald’s mother used to skip in them upon the terrace, but i never went as far as that.”
-“the pearls—what pearls?” asked polly vaguely.
-“dear mary, when a fiancé makes a gift of such beauty—to say nothing of its value—and the strings were originally purchased for two thousand pounds—it is customary for the recipient to exhibit a little appreciation,” lady smithgill returned.
-“of course you thanked cis, my dear. i never doubted that. but there, we will say no more....”
-polly’s blue eyes flashed. she rose up; she had ridden over to the hall alone, and her slight upright figure looked its best in a habit.
-“i should like to say a little more.” she put up her hand and unpinned her hat from her close braids of yellow-gold, and tossed the headgear into a neighboring chair. “dear lady smithgill, cis has not given me any pearls. perhaps he has sent them to bond street to be cleaned——”
-“cleaned! they are in perfect condition.”
-“or—or perhaps he has given them to some one else. i have seen very little of cis lately,” polly ended. “but papa tells me that he is a good deal at the sabines. papa seemed to find him as much in the way as ... as cis found papa. and—her new kitchenmaid is the sister of our laundrywoman, and a report reached me that she had lately been wearing some magnificent pearls.... i thought nothing of it at the time, but now....”
-there was a snorting gasp from lady smithgill. all had been made clear. her double chin trembled, and her eyes went wild.
-“mary!” she cried.... “i have been blind! my boy—my infatuated boy! that woman has a positively fiendish power over men.... she will enslave—ensnare cis as she has done your father and dozens of others. oh! my dear, there are stories.... she is relentless. the sowersea’s second son, de la zouch sowersea, is now driving a cab in melbourne, and the countess attributes everything to her. at berlin—where her husband had a diplomatic appointment, and she learned to offer refined english-women rum in their tea—there were worse scandals—agitations, duels! now my son is in peril. save him, mary! do something before it is too late!”
-“i can hardly drop in at the sabines—say i have called for my property, and take cis and papa away,” said polly, her short upper lip quivering with pain and anger. “but i will think over what is best to be done. in the meantime do not worry cis. leave him to go his way. we need not be too nervous. he and papa will keep an eye upon each other,” she ended.
-“you know more of this than you have told me,” poor lady smithgill gasped. “there are scandals in the air—people are talking—about my boy and that woman! why did she ever come here?” the unhappy lady murmured. “i said from the first that she would be no acquisition to the county!”
-polly’s cob, kiss-me-quick, came round, and polly took leave. she had warm young blood in her veins, and an imperious temper of her own, and to be asked to “do something” to add a fresh access of caloric to the obviously cooling temperature of one’s betrothed is not flattering. yes, she had suspected before; yes, she had known more than she had told the proprietress of the agitated double chin and the agitated maternal feelings. sir giles had betrayed cis as unconsciously as he had betrayed himself. “really, poll, i think you ought to keep the young man better to heel,” he had said. “he means no harm, but mrs. osborne is a dangerously fascinating woman, and a woman of that type possesses advantages over a girl. and, of course, i don’t suggest anything in the nature of disloyalty to yourself—cis is the soul of honor and all that. but to see an engaged young fellow sitting on footstools, and lying on the grass at the feet of a pretty woman—who doesn’t happen to be the right one—turning up his eyes at her like a dying duck in a thunderstorm—by george!—irritates me. he is always in mrs. osborne’s pocket, and one never can get a word with her alone—i mean, nobody is allowed to usurp her attention for an instant. and here is the key to the crackle-room, since you are asking for it.”
-and sir giles handed his daughter the key in question, a slim, rusty implement belonging to the showroom of overshott, an octagonal boudoir, periodically dusted and swept by the housekeeper’s reverent hands, but otherwise untouched, since lady barbara overshott, the friend and correspondent of pope and addison, was found by her distracted husband sitting stone dead at her spinet before the newly-copied score of the “ode on saint cecilia’s day,” which had been sent her with the united compliments of the author and the composer. the furniture of the boudoir was of the reign of william and mary, the walls panelled with pink lacquer beaded with ormolu, the shelves, brackets and cabinets laden with priceless specimens of crackle ware—the joy of the connoisseur and the envy of the collector.
-“thank you,” said polly, taking the key. “i was anxious to see for myself how many of lady bab’s vases and bowls are left to us.” she looked very tall and very fair, and rather terrifying as she confronted sir giles. they were in the hall of overshott, the doors of which stood wide open to the faint september breeze and the hot september sunshine, and sir giles, who was going to luncheon at the sabines, was putting on a thin dust-coat in preparation for the drive. he jumped at the reference to the crackle.
-“i suppose mrs. brownlow has told you that i have removed a piece or two,” he said, bungling with the sleeves of his dust-coat, for lack of the daughterly hitch at the back of the collar which would have induced the refractory garment to go on.
-“mrs. brownlow has told me that a baker’s dozen of bowls and vases and plaques and teapots—the cream of the collection, in fact,” said polly, “are adorning mrs. osborne’s drawing-room.”
-“confound it!” said sir giles, as he struggled with his garment. “the crockery isn’t entailed; and if i desire to give a teapot to a friend i suppose i can do as i like with my own! and—i can’t keep the cart waiting. fanchon won’t stand.”
-“undoubtedly,” said polly, becoming cool as sir giles grew warm. “only—if you are going on giving teapots to friends, and there is a hamper of china at this moment under the seat of the cart—i think it would be advisable to change the name of the crackle-room. one might call it the ‘plundered apartment,’ or something equally appropriate.”
-“call it what you choose, my dear.” sir giles was now recovering from the shock of the unexpected onslaught. “i have said the crackle is no more entailed than overton foxshott or the lowndes square house—or anything else that at present i may call my own. if i were a younger man, i might plunder my mother and disappoint my promised wife for the pleasure of making a considerable present of jewelry to a woman ten years my senior. as it is——”
-sir giles did not finish the speech, but strode angrily out and got into the cart, and gave polly a short, gruff “good-bye,” as he drove away, leaving that puzzled young woman on the doorsteps.
-“‘plunder my mother and disappoint my promised wife.... present of jewelry ... a woman ten years his senior.’... can cis have been giving jewels to mrs. osborne?” polly wondered. the course of her love affair had run so smoothly that she was at a loss to account for the pain at her heart and the fever in her veins. sir giles’s complaint she diagnosed correctly. he was jealous ... jealous of cis! he was angry with polly. he had reminded her that he could do as he liked with his own, that the county might call her an heiress, but the county had no certain grounds for the assertion. jealous and angry, the dear, cheery dad. because cis chose to loll upon the grass at the skirts of a woman who was his senior by many more years than ten. polly ordered round kiss-me-quick, and rode over to hengs hall, pondering these things in her mind. much had been revealed to her, but it was for lady smithgill to lift the last corner of the veil and disclose to cis’s future wife the true meaning of sir giles’s reference to jewels.
-“so cis gave her the pearls, and dad has given her the crackle to recover lost ground. mrs. osborne must be a clever woman,” polly reflected, as she rode slowly home through the sunset lanes on kiss-me-quick.
-“how was it going to end, all this?
-“if dad married mrs. osborne, it will be extremely unpleasant to possess a stepmother who has been made love to by one’s husband. and should mrs. osborne succeed in marrying cis——” polly tightened the reins involuntarily, and kiss-me-quick quickened her paces. “let her, if she wants him. no; let him if he wants her. but first—oh, first—there will be a tug of war! i will not endure to be routed on my own ground by this designing charlataness,” thought polly.
-the double report of a gun in one of the heng coppices gave kiss-me-quick an excuse for more dancing, and presently, as polly looked, shading her blue eyes with her half-gauntleted right hand, cis and a keeper came plainly into view. she pulled up kiss-me-quick and waited, as the young man, leaving his gun with the keeper, crossed the hot stubbles dangling a brace of birds.
-“why, polly dear!” he tried to look natural and at ease as he lifted his leather cap from his crisp brown waves. “if you had told me you thought of riding over to see the mother, i’d have called for you and brought you over.”
-“it was a sudden idea, cis,” polly said, as she gave him her gloved hand.
-“can you tie these birds on the saddle—or shall i send them over?” asked cis, glad of an excuse that made it possible to fix his eyes below the level of hers. “they’re clean shot,” he added.
-“fasten them on—there’s a strap in the saddle pocket—and i will leave them at the sabines as i pass!” said polly cheerfully.
-cis’s jaw dropped: he turned pale under his sun tan. “leave them at the sabines!” he repeated blankly.
-“i thought,” said polly, bending a cool, amused glance upon her lover’s perturbed countenance, “that you meant them for mamma. to be sure, she is not mamma yet, but it is a pretty compliment to treat her as though she were already papa’s wife—taking the pearls to show her before you brought them to me! i call it quite sweet of you!” polly ended.
-“i—i!” the young man’s face was an extraordinary study. “i am so glad you’re pleased,” he stuttered.
-“dad is with her to-day,” went on polly, stroking kiss-me-quick’s glossy neck with her whip-lash. “he took her over a cargo of crackle china out of lady bab’s room. china is a taste one begins to cultivate at her age, dear thing, and i suppose they are having a nice, quiet, cosy afternoon, arranging the pieces. she has her fads, dad has his, and i am sure they will get on excellently together. dear me! how warm you are! come to tea to-morrow! good-bye!”
-and polly rode quickly away. sore as she was, angry and jealous as she was, she laughed as the vision of cis’s hot, astonished, indignant face rose before her. she laughed again as she turned in at the bridle-gate of the sabines. but she was grave and earnest as she dismounted at the hall-door and followed ames, the butler, down the long, cool hall to the drawing-room.
-the announcement made sir giles attempt to get up from the footstool on which he was sitting, but he did not succeed at the first attempt, thanks to his rheumatism, and his daughter’s eye lighted on him at once.
-“don’t move, dad, dearest. why should you? oh! mrs. osborne!” polly flew to the fair widow, who advanced, cool, smiling, and exquisitely clad, to greet her visitor. “oh, mrs. osborne, i am so—so glad!” polly seemed choking with joyful tears as she caught the rounded waist of melusine in her strong young embrace, and vigorously kissed the exquisitely powdered cheeks. “and i may call you mamma—mayn’t i?”
-“mamma?” echoed sir giles, sitting puzzled on the footstool.
-“mamma?” re-echoed mrs. osborne in cooing accents of surprise.
-“you see, dad has told me all,” explained polly, turning beaming, childlike eyes of happiness upon the embarrassed pair. “though cis knew before i did, and i hardly call that quite fair. but as he is to be your son, dear mrs. osborne—as i am to be your daughter——why, there is the crackle arranged upon your cabinets already! how nice it looks! but it will all be yours, presently, won’t it, mamma?” polly gave mrs. osborne another kiss, and then fluttered over to sir giles, who sat petrified upon the footstool, and gave him a couple. “you mustn’t be jealous,” she said, “you foolish old dad! and now, mamma darling, won’t you give me some tea?”
-“cis!” cried polly, realizing that the supreme moment of the tug of war was now or never. her eyes were blue fires, her cheeks red ones, as she moved swiftly and gracefully to her lover and led him forward. “kiss mamma and shake hands with dad,” she said, and added with a coquetry of which cis had never thought her capable: “and then, perhaps, you may kiss me.” bewildered, choking with the reproaches, the recriminations with which he was bursting, and which it need hardly be explained were intended for mrs. osborne’s private ear, the young man obeyed.
-“i—i congratulate you both,” he said thickly. mrs. osborne had never felt so little the niceties of a situation in her life. nonplused, angry, and perturbed, she looked every hour of her age, despite pink curtains; and the powder only served to accentuate the suddenly revealed hollows in her face. polly, as i have explained, had never worn such an air of coquetry, of brilliancy, of dare-devil, defiant mastery as she now displayed. but her final blow was to be dealt—and she dealt it.
-“mamma darling,” she cooed, taking the vacated stool at mrs. osborne’s feet—the stool contested for by both the discomfited wooers—“how cosy we are here—all together! won’t you please dad—and me—and cis—by bringing out the pearls!”
-“the—pearls!” mrs. osborne said. an electric shock went through her; she turned stabbing eyes upon the speechless cis. and sir giles, studying her face, made up his mind that he would never marry that woman—not if polly did her level best to bring the match about.
-while polly prattled on.
-“the pearls, of course. i told cis i thought it sweet of him to bring them to show you—as though i were really your daughter, don’t you know. and if you will fasten them round my neck yourself, i shall think it sweet of you. where have you hidden them? why, i believe you are wearing them now—to keep them warm for me—under your lace cravat, you dear, darling thing!”
-the affectionate daughter-elect raised a guileless hand and twitched the jewels into sight.
-mrs. osborne, ashy pale, and with medea-like eyes, unfastened the jewels from her throat.
-“here they are, dear mary. take them—and may they bring you all the happiness i wish you!” said mrs. osborne in cooing accents.
-polly could not restrain a little shudder, but she was grave.
-“now cis and i will go,” she said, when the pearls were fastened round her neck over the neat white collar. “i am sure you and dad want to be alone. come, cis dear.”
-and she kissed mrs. osborne again, and bore cis—not unwilling, strangely fascinated by the new polly so suddenly made manifest—away. they were riding slowly home to dinner at overshott foxbrush, when the sound of wheels rattling behind them, and fanchon’s well-known trot, brought a covert smile to polly’s lips.
-mrs. osborne had a headache, sir giles explained, and so he had decided not to remain to dinner.
-but father, daughter, and betrothed dined pleasantly at overshott foxbrush. and when the dazzled cis said good-night to the triumphant polly, the valediction was uttered unwillingly with as many repetitions as there were pearls in the string miss overshott wore round her firm white throat.
-there was no gas laid on at overshott. bedroom candlesticks were an unabolished institution. as sir giles gave his daughter hers, he spoke.
-“you were a little premature in your conclusions, my girl, at the sabines to-day. i won’t ask why you played that little comedy, because i know.... but you played it well ... and i don’t think cis will kick over the traces in that direction again. nor do i think”—the colonel cleared his throat rather awkwardly—“that you are going to have mrs. osborne for your second mother. she is too clever—and so are you! good-night, my dear!”
-mrs. gudrun’s season at the sceptre theatre was drawing to a finish, and the funds of the syndicate were in the same condition. teddy candelish—teddy of the cherubic smile and the golden mustache, constantly described by the theatrical piffer as the most ubiquitous of acting-managers—sat in his sanctum before an american roll-top desk, checking off applications for free seats and filing unpaid bills. gormleigh, the stage-director, balanced himself on the end of a saddle-bag sofa, chewing an unlighted cigar; de hanna, the representative of the syndicate, was going over the books at a leather-covered table, his eyeglasses growing dim in the attempt to read anything beyond deficit in those neatly kept columns. mrs. gudrun occupied the easiest chair. her feet, beautifully silk-stockinged and wonderfully shod, occupied the next comfortable; her silken draperies were everywhere, and a cigarette was between her finely cut lips. her feather boa hung from an electric-globe branch, and her flowery diaphanous hat, bristling with diamond-headed pins, crowned the domelike brow of a plaster bust of the bard of avon.
-“well,” said the manageress, making smoke-rings and looking at de hanna, “there’s no putting the bare fact to bed! we’ve not pulled off things as we had a right to expect.... we’ve lost our little pot, and come to the end of our resources, eh?”
-“in plain terms,” said de hanna, speaking through his nose, as he always did when upon the subject of money, “the syndicate has run you for all the syndicate is worth, and when we pay salaries on saturday we shall have”—he did some figuring with a lead pencil on the back of a millionaire’s request for gratuitous stalls, and whistled sadly—“something like four hundred and fifty left to carry us through until the seventeenth.”
-“we began with as nice a little nest-egg as any management could wish for,” said candelish, dropping a smoking vesta into the waste-paper basket with fatalistic unconcern. “we thought the stone age would pay. i’d my doubts of a prehistoric drama in five acts and fourteen scenes that couldn’t be produced under an outlay of four thousand pounds, but we were overruled.” he veered the tail of his eye round at mrs. gudrun. “you and the duke were mad about that piece.”
-“de petoburgh saw great possibilities for me in it,” said mrs. gudrun, throwing another cigarette-end at the fireplace and missing it. “that scene where kaja comes in dressed in woad for battle, and brains what’s-his-name with her prehistoric stone ax because he doesn’t want to fight her, always thrilled him. he said i would be greater than siddons in it, and, well—you remember the notices i got in the morning whooper. cluffer did me justice then, if he did turn nasty afterward—the beast!”
-“when i met cluffer in the vestibule on the first night after the third act,” said teddy candelish, “he said he was going home because the tension of your acting was positively too great to bear. he preferred me to describe the rest of the play to him, and jotted the chief points on his cuff before he went. and i grant you the notice was a ripper, but it didn’t seem to bring people in; and after playing to paper for three weeks, we had to put up the fortnight’s notice and jam the kiss of clytie into rehearsal.”
-“dad vos a lofely—ach!—a lofely blay!” moaned oscar gormleigh, casting up his little pig’s eyes to the highly ornamental ceiling of the managerial sanctum. “brigged from de chairman in de pekinning, as i told you, as all de goot blays are.”
-“i wish the germans had stuck to it, i’m sure,” said de hanna. “it always appeared to me too much over the heads of ordinary intelligent playgoers to pay worth a little damn.”
-“de dranscendental element——” gormleigh was beginning, when mrs. gudrun cut him short.
-“i never cared for it very much myself; but bob bolsover was dead set upon my giving the public my reading of clytie—and, well, you must recollect the effect i created in that studio scene. mullekens came round afterward, and brought his critic with him, and said that the best french school of acting must now look to its laurels, and a lot more. mullekens is the proprietor of the daily tomahawk, and so, of course, i thought we were in for a good thing. how could i imagine that the creature of a critic would go home and make game of the whole show? doesn’t mullekens pay him?”
-“ah, ja! poot dat gritic’s vife is de sister of de chairman agtress dat blayed glytie in de orichinal chairman broduction,” put in gormleigh, whose real surname was gameltzch, as everybody does not know. “did i not varn you? it vas a gase of veels vidin veels.”
-“wheels or no wheels, clytie kissed us out of three thou. odd,” said de hanna, wearily scratching his ear with his “geyser” pen, “and then we cut our throats with——”
-“with him,” put in candelish, jerking a contemptuous thumb at the hat-crowned effigy of the bard of avon.
-“you were keen on my giving the great mass of playgoers a chance of seeing my juliet,” remarked mrs. gudrun casting a parthian glance at the worm that had turned.
-“but they didn’t take the chance,” put in de hanna, “and consequently—we fizzle out.”
-“like a burst bladder ...” moaned candelish, who saw before him a weary waste of months unenlivened by paid occupation.
-“or a damp sguib,” put in gormleigh.
-“let’s have a sputter before we expire,” said de hanna, with a momentary revival of energy. “lots of manuscripts have been sent in.... isn’t there a little domestic drama of the purely popular sort, or a farce imbecile enough to pay for production, to be found among ’em?”
-“dunno,” yawled candelish, tilting his chair.
-“who is supposed to read the plays that are sent in?” asked de hanna, turning his large oriental eyes toward. mrs. gudrun.
-“i read some,” said the lady languidly, “and the dogs get the rest.”
-she stretched, and an overpowering combination of fashionable perfumes, shaken from her draperies, filled the apartment. the three men sneezed simultaneously. mrs. gudrun rose with majesty, and going to the mantel-glass, patted her transformation fringe into form, and smiled at the perennially beautiful image that smiled and patted back. suddenly there was a whining and scratching outside the door.
-“it’s billy. let him in, one of you,” ordered the manageress.
-all three men obeyed, clashing their heads together smartly at the portal. de hanna, with watering eyes, opened the door, and a brindled bull of surpassing ugliness trotted into the office, carrying a chewed brown paper parcel decorated with futile red seals and trailing loops of string. lying down in the center of the carpet and carefully arranging the parcel between his forepaws, billy proceeded to worry it.
-“vot has de beast kott dere?” asked gormleigh.
-“take it from him and see!” said mrs. gudrun carelessly. gormleigh’s violet nose became pale lavender as billy, looking up from the work of destruction, emitted a loud growl.
-“he understonds everyding vot you say!” spluttered the stage-manager.
-“try him with german,” advised de hanna.
-“or mit yiddish,” retorted gormleigh spitefully.
-as de hanna winced under the retort, candelish, who had rummaged unnoticed in a drawer for some moments, produced a biscuit. billy, watching out of the corner of his eye, pricked a ragged ear and whacked the carpet with his muscular tail.
-“hee, boy, hee, billy!” candelish said seductively. billy rose upon his powerful bow-legs and hung out his tongue expectantly.
-“koot old pillee!” uttered gormleigh encouragingly. “gleffer old poy!”
-billy vouchsafed the stage-manager not a glance; his bloodshot eyes were glued upon the biscuit as he stood over the brown paper parcel. then, as candelish, throwing an expression of eager voracity into his countenance, made believe to eat the coveted delicacy himself, billy made a step forwards.... the end of the parcel projected from between his hind-legs.... de hanna softly stepped to the fireplace and seized the tongs....
-“poo’ boy—poo’ ol’ billy, then!” coaxed the acting-manager. he broke the biscuit with one inviting snap, billy forgot the parcel, and de hanna grabbed and got it. the next moment the bull, realizing his loss, pinned the representative of the syndicate by the leg.
-“dash—dash—dash! take the dash brute off, somebody!” shrieked de hanna.
-there was a brief scene of confusion. then, as billy retired under a corner table with a mouthful of ravished tweed, “he’s torn a piece out of your trow-trows, old man,” candelish remarked sympathetically.
-“he might have torn all the veins out of my leg!” de hanna gasped.
-“den,” said gormleigh, chuckling, “you would haf been kosher.”
-but mrs. gudrun was deeply disappointed in billy. “letting you off for a bit of cloth!” she said. “why, the breed are famous for their bite. he ought to have taken a piece of flesh clean out—i shall never believe in that dog again!” she swept over to gormleigh, who was busy disentangling the lengths of chewed string and removing the tatters of brown paper from billy’s treasure-trove. it proved to be a green-covered, rather bulky volume of typescript. a red-bordered label gummed on the cover announced its title:
-“maggs at margate a seaside farce, in three whiffs of ozone.”
-“what funny fool has written this?” snorted the manageress.
-“i know the chap, or of him. he’s a business man who owns a half share in some chemical gasworks at hackney, and does comic literature in off hours. he writes the weekly theatrical page of tickles,” said de hanna, “and——”
-“dickles is a stupid halfpenny brint,” said gormleigh, “dat sdeals all its chokes from de chairman babers.”
-“really? it struck me that there must be some existing reason,” said candelish, “for the wonderfully level flow of dullness the publication manages to maintain——”
-“well, i suppose somebody is going to read this farce, since that is what he calls it, by this slump, since that is what he calls himself,” said mrs. gudrun, removing her hat from shakespeare and pinning it on.
-“certainly. de hanna, as the representative of the syndicate——” began candelish eagerly.
-“pardon me. as acting-manager,” objected de hanna, “you, candelish, have the prior claim.”
-“didn’t you say you were going out of town to-night, gormleigh?” interrupted mrs. gudrun, who had stuck in all her hatpins, and was now putting on her gloves.
-“choost for a liddle plow,” admitted gormleigh. “dere is a cheab night drain to stinkton-on-sea, sdarding from de creat northern at dwelve dirty. i shall sleep in de gorridor gombardmend, oond breakfast at a goffee and vinkle stall on de peach to-morrow morgen. by vich i haf poot von night to pay for at de hotel.” his bearded lips parted in a childlike smile of delight. “my vife goes not vid me,” he said, and smiled again.
-“then take this!” said mrs. gudrun, turning slump’s farce over. “report on it after the show on monday.” and she rustled from the office on billows of silk, attended by clouds of perfume, the despised billy, and the assiduous candelish. the stage-manager swore. de hanna, concealing the solution in the continuity of his tweeds with a bicycle trouser-clip, grinned.
-“a little solid reading will steady you down, gummy, and if my experience of slump goes for anything—you’ve got it there. but you’ll report on monday, as her nibs ordered. if you’ve not read it, look out for squalls on monday night!”
-“potstausend! hof i read dot farce!” gasped gormleigh on the night of monday. “schwerlich! i hof read him tvice. once from de beginning to de end, oond akain from de end to de beginning.” his face assumed an expression of anguish, and the veins on his bald forehead stood out as the thick drops gathered there. “i cannot make heads or dails of him.... he is gram-jam with chokes, poot i cannot lof at dem; his situations are sgreaming, poot i cannot sgream. de tears day komm instead.... dat vork is vonderful ... it should one day be broduced, poot in de kreat national school theatre for authors oond actors dot de gountry hos not yet founded, to brove to bubils vot is not a farce——”
-“yet i shouldn’t be surprised if we did the piece here,” said teddy candelish. “slump, the author, has been talking over her nibs, and as he would let maggs at margate go for nothing down, find three hundred pounds toward the production, and merely take a nominal sixty per cent., the chances are that you’ll be rehearsing before tuesday. hullo!” for the stage-manager had reeled heavily against him.
-“ich bin unwohl.... it is dose undichested chokes of slumps i haf hodd on my gonstitution since i read dot farce. oond now you komm mit anodder,” gormleigh groaned.
-“here’s her nibs with slump,” said candelish, with a grin; and mrs. gudrun, in the renaissance robes of juliet, swept into the green room with a little grinning, long-haired man in an imitation astrachan-collared overcoat over crumpled evening dress—a little man who gave a large hand, with mourning nails, familiarly to candelish, and nodded cavalierly when gormleigh was introduced. slump was to read his play to the manageress and her staff after the performance that night.
-“what do you say to that?” slump asked, quite undismayed by these signs of weariness on the part of his listeners. mrs. gudrun came back to answer him.
-“i say that it’s the longest funeral i’ve ever been at. open another bottle of the boy, teddy, and wake up, gormleigh.”
-“i hof not been asleep,” explained gormleigh.
-“i wish i had,” sighed de hanna. “the fact is,” he continued, prompted by a glance from mrs. gudrun, “that your play don’t do.”
-slump maintained, in the face of this discouragement, a smiling front.
-“won’t do, eh?”
-“won’t do for nuts,” said de hanna firmly. “nobody could possibly laugh at it,” he continued.
-“it is too tam tismal,” put in gormleigh.
-“ozone at the ball,”
-and ran thus:
-“‘will you take a little refreshment?’
-“‘thank you, i have just had a sniff of ozone.’
-“question and answer at the ball given last night in aid of the —— hospital, —— square, at the royal rooms, kensington. for, besides champagne, ozone was laid on. after every dance dr. blank, head of the hospital, wheeled about the hall an appliance in which, by electrical action, pure oxygen was converted into the invigorating element of mountain or seaside air, greatly to the purifying and enlivening of the atmosphere of the ballroom.”
-“by thunder! it’s a whacking notion!” cried candelish.
-“colossal!” exclaimed de hanna, taking fire at last.
-“poot vill de beoble loff?” asked gormleigh.
-“ah, yes! will they stand your farce even with an ozone accompaniment?” doubted mrs. gudrun.
-“i’ve a machine downstairs in the stage-door office,” said slump calmly. “will you try the first act over again—with gas?”
-gormleigh groaned, but the other three nodded acquiescence; and the men in charge of the electrical oxygen-generator received instructions to bring the machine upstairs.
-“ha, ha, ha!”
-“haw, haw, haw!”
-“ach, it is too funny for anydings!” this from gormleigh, rocking in his chair, and mopping his streaming eyes with a red silk handkerchief. “ach, ha, ha, ha!”
-mrs. gudrun held up her jeweled hands for mercy. the laughing man who worked the machine stopped pumping, the laughing author ceased to read, billy the bulldog, who had been grinning from ear to ear, wiped a wet nose on his mistress’s gown and sat down panting.
-“how the deuce,” gasped de hanna, “can oxygen make a stupid farce a funny one? i can’t understand it, for the life of me.”
-“because,” replied slump, with brevity and clearness, “that’s my trade secret, and i don’t mean to give it away. well, does maggs go on, or do i take it to another management?”
-the general assent was flattering in its unanimity. maggs at margate went into rehearsal at the “sceptre” next day, and in a week was presented to the public. we refer you to the critiques published in the daily tomahawk, the yelper, and other morning prints:
-“it seems as though the good old days were come again.... peals of irresistible laughter rang through the crowded theater as the side-splitting story of maggs was unfolded. the audience laughed, the orchestra laughed, the actors themselves were infected by the general merriment.”
-“mr. slump is a public benefactor. when ‘down,’ a dose of him will be found to act like magic. the management’s happy notion of supplying the theater with real ozone adds not a little to the pleasure of the entertainment.”
-and so forth, and so forth. booking was immense, the box-office and libraries were besieged with applicants eager to breathe the genuine sea air wafted over the footlights at the “sceptre.” the treasury boxes had to be carried to the office at night by two of the strongest commissionaires.
-“slump has a soft snap,” said de hanna, chewing his geyser pen rapturously as he went over the books. “sixty per cent. of the gross receipts in author’s fees, and we’re averaging two thousand a week since we went in for daily matinées. then the transatlantic trust is running the play in new york to phenomenal business, and we’ve planted it out for the colonies, while france and germany——”
-“id vas from chairmany dat de leading itea of de blay was orichinally sdolen,” said gormleigh, who had blossomed out in new clothes, a red necktie, and a cat’s-eye pin.
-“leading idea of the play is the ozone,” said de hanna; “and as slump’s firm holds the patent for the electro-oxygen generator, and manufactures the oxygen used in the theater——”
-“dey call it bure oxygen, poot it is not dat,” said gormleigh, laying his finger to his nose. “it is a motch cheaber gombound, i give you my vort.”
-“what?” de hanna came closer, and his oriental eyes gleamed. “if that’s true, and we could manufacture and generate it for ourselves, we—we could buy up every rotten play we come across—there’s heaps of them to be had, heaven knows—and run ’em for nuts. what is the stuff?”
-“it is nitrous oxide,” said gormleigh, “gommonly known as loffing kass—and i hof a friend, a chairman chemist—dat vill——hoosh!” he laid his finger to his nose with an air of secrecy as mrs. gudrun swept into the office, enveloped in her usual clouds of silk and perfume. candelish was not with her, but slump and billy followed at her heels.
-“oond i de blays, de sdage-management, oond de kass. de chairman chemist friend i dold you of, i hof vith him already a gontract made.”
-“perhaps it is a bit shady,” said de hanna punctiliously, “to exploit an idea that really is slump’s property....”
-“de chokes in slump’s comic baber he sdole from a chairman orichinal,” said gormleigh pachydermatously. “it is nodding poot tid for tad!”
-“sweet are the uses of advertisement.” the professional shakespeare.
-“i believe in the value of an ad.,” said mrs. gudrun one night at the paris grand opera, the sceptre theatre, london, being temporarily closed pending a new production. “sarah believes in it, too—and that’s another of the remarkable points of resemblance between us. and for the sake of a puff, i’m willing to do all that a woman can.”
-“can’t do more,” said de petoburgh, shaking his head owlishly. “can’t possibly do more.”
-“shut up, de peto. that woman’s ready to bite you for talking through her big aria,” commanded mrs. gudrun, with a slight glance of imperial indifference towards the infuriated prima donna. she dropped her opera-glasses into the orchestra with a crash, narrowly shaving the kettle-drums, and causing the cymbal-player to miss his cue, as she continued: “but, though i’m generally keen to see the pay-end of a big notion, this idea of bobby bolsover’s won’t do for macaroons. not that i’m lacking in what the americans call horse-grit—wasn’t i on de brin’s automobile when he won the paris-rouen race with his gohard cup defender in nineteen-three? that was one hairbreadth escape, from the revolver shot that started us—you remember bobby put in ball cartridge by mistake—to the three flying kilometers at the finish, which we did on one wheel, as the brakes refused to act. and i’ve hung by one coupling over a raging american river in my own drawing-room pullman saloon. but when it comes to dangling in a little basket that weighs next to nothing from a bag of gas that weighs nothing at all—i’m not taking any, and i don’t care who knows it. a captive balloon’s another thing. you’re cabled and sand-bagged and what not, and, unless you jump out, nothing can happen to you. but——do see who’s knocking at the door!”
-it was a uniformed and epauletted functionary conveying the polite intimation of the management that madame and her party must positively maintain silence during the performance, or make themselves the trouble to depart!
-“tell him we’d had enough and were just going!” commanded mrs. gudrun. she rose, and, followed by the duke, bobby bolsover, and teddy candelish—most active and ubiquitous of business managers, sailed out of the box, knocking over a fauteuil and carrying a footstool away upon the surging billows of her train. “calls herself an artist!” she said, in reference to the prima donna, upon whose trills and roulades an enraptured audience hung breathless and enthralled; “and lets herself be put about by a little thing like that! where’s her artistic absorption, i should like to know. why, i’ve studied juliet in the drawing-room where bobby and de petoburgh were having a rat-hunt under the tables and things, and what difference did it make to my conception of the part? not a sou. and she was a shrimp-seller at nice! they all have that voce squillante and those thick flat ankles and those rolling black eyes like treacle-balls. let’s go and have some supper at the café paris.”
-over american grilled lobster and quails georges sand, bobby bolsover’s grand notion for an advertisement, cropped up again. one may explain that it consisted in the suggestion that mrs. gudrun and party should electrify paris, and subsequently london, by traveling per motor-airship from st. cloud, rounding the eiffel tower in emulation of the immortal santos, and returning to the highfliers’ club airship station at the parc upon the conclusion of the feat. a friend of de petoburgh’s, a distinguished member of the highfliers’ club, would undertake to lend the airship—a newly completed vessel, with basket accommodation for three. this philanthropist did not propose to share the notoriety by joining the trip, and it was to be distinctly understood that de petoburgh was to be responsible for any expenses involved.
-and bobby bolsover, brimming, as usual, with genuine british bravery and brandy-and-soda, was ready to assume command.
-“you know the principle of a motor?” bobby demanded, as the supper proceeded, and a collection of champagne corks, gradually amassed on the corner of the table, assumed proportions favorable to purposes of demonstration.
-“candelish knows the principle of a motor,” said de petoburgh. “never could learn myshelf. too much borror!”
-“one may say that there is gasoline in a receptacle,” began teddy. “air passing through becomes charged with gas, and comes out ready to explode. then——”
-“to explode,” agreed de petoburgh; “absorutely correc’ dennifishion, by ringo!”
-“don’t mind de peto: he’s in for one of his old attacks,” said mrs. gudrun. “his legs have been all over the place since breakfast. well?”
-“you give a twirl to a crank,” said bobby bolsover.
-“down goes the piston,” continued teddy.
-“down go her pistol,” nodded de petoburgh.
-“and the dashed thing begins working automatically,” exclaimed bobby bolsover. de petoburgh balked at the six-syllabled hedge. “now, an airship is an example of——”
-“the effectiveness of an aërial propeller driven by a petrol motor,” put in teddy.
-“jusso,” said de petoburgh. “jusso.”
-“there is, practically speaking, no danger whatever,” pursued bobby bolsover, warming to the subject, “that does not attend other popular pursuits. you may be thrown from a horse, or tumble off a coach-box——”
-“did once,” said de petoburgh, smiling in sad retrospection.
-“or you may blow up in a motor,” went on bobby.
-“but in either case,” said mrs. gudrun, with point, “one is on the ground, not hanging between heaven and earth, like what’s-his-name’s coffin.”
-“brarro!” exclaimed de petoburgh. “encore! bis!”
-“permit me to put in, dear lady,” said teddy candelish, with his best professional manner, “that if you fall out of an airship, you eventually finish on the ground!”
-“under,” gloomily interpolated de petoburgh. “under.”
-“and, further,” said bobby bolsover, “the guide-rope is in connection with the ground all the time. seventy feet of it, trailing like——”
-“snakes!” said the irrepressible de petoburgh, with a glassy stare.
-“and,” went on bobby, “we will have four picked men from the highfliers’ club grounds to run beside the guide-rope all the way and back.”
-“thus combining personal advertisement,” said teddy candelish, “with physical integrity.”
-mrs. gudrun permitted her classical features to soften. “now you’re talking!” the lady said. she smiled through the bottom of her champagne-glass as teddy, bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, and the trip was arranged forthwith. thanks to the discretion of teddy candelish, the preparations were kept so profoundly secret that all paris was on the alert when the eventful morning dawned. the highfliers’ club grounds were literally besieged, and the intending sky-navigators fought their way to the aërodrome containing their vessel through a surging throng of scientists, editors, journalists, dandies, actresses, photographers, pickpockets, and politicians.
-“regular scrimmage—what?” panted bobby bolsover, as, bare-headed and disheveled, he reached the private side-door of the balloon-house.
-“we ought to have slept here,” said mrs. gudrun, straightening her hat-brim as the breathless men collected her hairpins.
-“nothing but perches to sleep on,” objected bobby bolsover, indicating the skeleton arrangements of the vast interior.
-mrs. gudrun, whose eye soared with bobby’s, would have changed color had the feat been possible.
-“do we really climb up that awful ladder to get on board?” she inquired. “i have more nerve than any woman i know; but i wasn’t educated as an acrobat. j’en suis tout baba, bobby, that you should have let us all in for a thing like this. we’re planted, however, and must go through. what crowds of smart women! what on earth has brought them out so early in the morning? it must have got about that i’m going to be killed!” she gulped and clutched teddy. “i c-can’t go on in this scene! make an apology—make an apology and say i’m ill. i am ill—horribly!”
-“i feel far from frisky,” said bobby bolsover candidly. “gout all last night in the head and eyes, and—every limb, in fact, that one relies upon in steering a motor. but, of course, i am ready to undertake the helm—unless anybody else would like to volunteer?”
-he looked at teddy, whose eye was clear, whose cheek was blooming, whose golden curls encroached upon a forehead unlined with the furrows of personal apprehension.
-“w-what do you say, teddy?” gasped mrs. gudrun.
-“i deeply regret.... it is imperatively necessary, dear lady,” said teddy glibly, “that in your absolute interests i should be at the ‘fritz’ at twelve. the paris representatives of the daily yelper, the morning whooper, and the greenroom rag, have appointed that hour to receive particulars of your start; three berlin correspondents, one from nice, and the editors of the journal rigolo and the vie patachon are to hole in ten minutes later; and there will be thousands of telegrams to open and answer. you know that the syndicate of the escurial palace of varieties have actually tendered to secure the turn. therefore, though my heart will make the voyage in your company, i—cannot.”
-blue-eyed teddy melted into thin air. mrs. gudrun, looking older than a professional beauty has any right to look, surveyed her companions with a hollow gaze of despair, while outside the aërodrome paris roared and waited. bobby, as green as jade, in a complete suit of motor armor, goggles included, leaned limply against the ladder that led upwards to the platform of the aërodrome. de petoburgh, in foul-weather yachting kit, his glass fixed in his bloodshot left eye by the little mechanical contrivance that keeps it from tumbling, looked back. that debilitated nobleman, though shaky, was game to the backbone.
-“i can’t drive a motor, bolsover,” he said quite distinctly, “but i can drive you. will you—oblige me—by climbing up that ladder? we follow. after you, dear lady!”
-and the three negotiated the giddy ascent. upon the platform they found the owner of the airship and the four workmen who, under promise of reward and threat of punishment, were to attend the guide-rope. the airship itself, a vast sausage-shaped silk bag of hydrogen, from which depended by rubber-sheathed piano wires a framework of proven bamboo supporting three baskets—one forward, one amidships, and one aft—hovered over the heads of the three depressed adventurers like a shapeless embodiment of adverse fate. and paris was growing impatient.
-“tell ’em to stick to the guide-rope, de croqueville, for their lives,” urged bobby feverishly, squeezing the hands of the owner of the machine. “give it ’em in their own lingo; my french isn’t fluent to-day. they’re not to trust to my steering, but just tow us to the tower and back.”
-de croqueville squeezed back, and embraced bobby on both cheeks. “my brave, my very dear, rely upon me. madame”—he kissed the jeweled knuckles of mrs. gudrun—“all paris is assembled to behold the most beautiful woman prove herself also to be of the most brave. m. le duc,” he saluted de petoburgh distantly, and then cordially shook hands, “i am as kin a sportsman as how you. i have plank my egg—my oof—a thousand francs you circulate the tour eiffel, in spite of the wind, which blows from the wrong quarter. adieu!”
-“blows from the wrong quarter!” gasped bobby bolsover. the eyeglass of de petoburgh turned in his direction, and he immediately climbed the forward ladder and got into the steersman’s creaking basket, and grasped the wheel with an awful sinking immediately below the heart.... the duke helped mrs. gudrun to assume the central position, and got in astern. just before the starting word was given and the great doors of the aërodrome rolled apart in their steel grooves, he leaned over to de croqueville, addressing that gentleman in his own language:
-“one supposes she”—he alluded to the vessel—“is—sea—i mean air-worthy—eh, my friend?”
-de croqueville shot up his eyebrows and spread his hands.
-the electric signal rang. the colossal doors groaned apart. the four workmen scuttled down the ladders like frightened mice, seized the guide-rope, and towed the airship out of dock. paris waved handkerchiefs, cheered. bobby bolsover, ghastly behind his goggles, pressed the pedal and manipulated the wheel. the engine throbbed, the tail-shaft screw revolved. the adventurers had started.
-“qui-quite nice,” gulped mrs. gudrun tremulously, as the keen wind toyed with her silk veil and fluttered her fur boa.
-“she pitches,” said de petoburgh briefly. “keep her head to it, bolsover.”
-there was a sickening moment as the airship mounted obliquely upward.... then a tug at the guide-rope brought her nose down, pointing to the sea of fluttering handkerchiefs beneath. mrs. gudrun groaned and clung to the sides of her padded basket. de petoburgh swore.
-“i can’t—manage her. my—my nerve has gone. let’s put about and take her back to dock again,” gasped bobby.
-“for—for heaven’s sake, do!” groaned mrs. gudrun. but again that new voice spake from the blue lips of de petoburgh, and——
-“i’ve lived like a dashed blackguard, but i’m not going to die like a cowardly cad. curtain’s up—go through with the show. bolsover, you bragging, white-livered idiot, you can steer an electric launch and drive a motor-car. if i’d ever learned to do either, i’d take your place. but as i can’t—go ahead, and keep on as i direct, or i’ll shoot you through your empty skull with this revolver”—the click of the weapon came stimulatingly to the ears of the scared helmsman—“and swear i went mad and wasn’t responsible. they—they’d believe me! mabel, if you sit tight and go through with this, i’ll stand you that thousand-guinea tiara you liked at alphonse’s, if we—when we get safe to ground. now, bolsover, drive on, or take the consequences!”
-perhaps the familiar terms employed restored bobby to the use of his suspended faculties. certain it is that the airship began to forge steadily ahead at the rate of some twenty miles an hour—but not absolutely in the direction of the vast spidery erection of metal which was its destined goal. it skimmed in the direction of the bois de boulogne, keeping at so lofty an altitude that of the end of the guide-rope merely a length of some six feet trailed upon the ground.
-“those—those men l-look so funny running after it,” said mrs. gudrun, upon whom the promise of the tiara had acted as a stimulant.
-“i hope they may keep up with it,” muttered de petoburgh as the airship sailed over the humming streets of the gay city, and tiny men and women turned white specks of faces upwards to stare. “ease her, bolsover,” he commanded.
-“oh, we’re going right up again!” gasped mrs. gudrun. then, as the airship regained the horizontal: “this isn’t half bad,” she said in a more cheerful tone, “but the housetops with their spiky chimney-pots look dreadfully dangerous. the guide-rope has knocked a row of potted geraniums off a third-floor balcony, and the old man who was reading the paper in the cane chair must be swearing awfully. but where are the men? i don’t see them; do you?”
-the four workmen were at that moment heatedly cursing the municipal council of paris at the bottom of a very long, very deep trench which had been excavated across a certain street for the accommodation of a new drain. the guide-rope pursued its course without them, now sweeping a peaceful citizen off his legs, now covering the occupants of a smart victoria with mud, now trailing over a roof or coiling serpent-wise around the base of a block of chimneys. in the distance loomed the eiffel tower, but in answer to de petoburgh’s repeated requests that he should steer thither, bobby bolsover only groaned. and the airship, after navigating gracefully over the green ocean of the bois de boulogne, continued her trip over the longchamps racecourse, veered to the south at the pleasure of a shifting current of air, and, having leaked much, began plainly to buckle and bend.
-de petoburgh, uncomfortably conscious of a misspent existence and wasted opportunities, looked at the back of mrs. gudrun’s head, and wondered whether she knew any prayers.
-“the trees are coming awfully close, aren’t they?” said the unconscious beauty.
-“awfully!” said the duke, as the capricious motor stopped.
-then mrs. gudrun screamed, and bobby bolsover, casting his goggles to the winds, huddled in the bottom of his basket, and the debilitated but plucky nobleman shut his eyes and thought of his long-dead mother as the airship hurtled downwards ... crash into the top of the tallest of the giant oaks in the magnificent park of h.s.h. prince gogonof babouine.
-the prince has the reputation of being excessively hospitable. when the three passengers recovered from the shaking, the top of a long ladder pierced the thick foliage beneath the wrecked vessel, and the prince’s major-domo, a stout personage in black with a gold chain, came climbing up with a courteous message from the prince. would madame and m. le duc and the other gentleman descend and partake of the second déjeuner, which was on the point of being served, or would they prefer to remain on board their vessel?
-“stop up here? does the man take us for angels?” snorted mrs. gudrun indignantly.
-the descent was not without danger, but with the aid of de petoburgh and the major-domo, she braved and completed it without injury either to her long celebrated limbs or her famous features. bobby followed.
-the prince entertained the shipwrecked castaways in princely fashion, and drove the party back to paris on his drag, the wonderful yellow coach with the team of curly orloffs. and he consented to dine; and that night mrs. gudrun held a reception behind the illuminated balconies of the hotel fritz, while the london newsboys were yelling her familiar name, and the evening papers containing the most ornamental particulars of her adventure went off like hot cakes.
-according to the most reliable account garnered by our special correspondent from the lovely lips of the exquisite aëronaut, she had never quailed in the moment of peril, and, indeed, upon the distinguished authority of the hon. r. bolsover: “one is never frightened while one can rely upon one’s own pluck!” nobody interviewed de petoburgh, leaning vacuously smiling against the wall. indeed, he had developed another of his attacks, and could not have responded with any coherence.
-“wonderful fellow, bolsover,” teddy candelish gushed, teddy, all smile and sparkle, “so brainy and resourceful!”
-“rath’ ...” assented de petoburgh fragmentarily.
-“and her nibs—a heroine—positively a heroine!”
-“ra’!” assented de petoburgh, as the heroine swept by, making magnificent eyes at the palpably enamored prince, while paris murmured indiscreet admiration.
-“and you, duke, eh? found it trying to your nerves, they tell me?” teddy continued, twirling his golden mustache. “such trips too costly, eh, to indulge in often?”
-“ra’!” agreed de petoburgh, with a glance at the thousand-guinea diamond fender surmounting the most frequently photographed features in the world.
-upon the conclusion of the phenomenally brief run of the poisoned kiss at the sceptre theatre, mrs. gudrun, who had sustained the heroic rôle of aldapora “with abounding verve and true histrionic inwardness” (to cull a quotation from the enthusiastic notice which appeared in the theatrical piffer), and whose sculpturesque temples throbbed no less with the weight of the dramatic laurels heaped upon them than with the heady quality of the champagne with which those laurels had been liberally drowned—mrs. gudrun left the author and the syndicate, per their business representative, exchanging poignant personalities over a non-existent percentage, and hied her to the gallic capital for recreation and repose; bearing in her train the leading man, mr. leo de boo, a young actor who had chipped the egg of obscurity in the recent production. de boo was “a splendid specimen of virile beauty,” according to the greenroom rag—all shoulders, legs, nose, and curls, without any perceptible forehead; and teddy candelish, most ubiquitous of acting-managers, came within an appreciable distance of being epigrammatic when he termed him “a chronic cad in beautiful boots.” for more exquisite foot-gloves than those de boo sported were never seen, whoever made and gave credit for them; and de boo was said to have a different pair for every day in the month and every imaginable change in the weather.
-“nearly threw up his part in the poisoned kiss,” said teddy afterwards, at the club, “when he discovered that it was to be a sixteenth-century production; took me aside, and told me in confidence afterwards, that if he’d been allowed to play hermango in gray suède tops with black pearl buttons and patent leather uppers, the piece would have been a colossal monetary, as well as artistic, success.”
-“schwerlich! who konn bretend to follow de workings of a mind like dot jung man’s,” said oscar gormleigh, “vidout de assisdance of de migroscope? und hof i not known a brima donna degline to go on for siebel begause she hodd been kifen brown insdead of violet tights? it vas a tam gonsbiracy, she svore py all her kodds! in prown legs she vould groak like von frog mit kvinsy—mit violet she always varble like de nachtigall. de choke of it vas”—the talented stage-director laid a hairy finger archly against his teutonic nose—“dat voman always groak—not never varble—tights or no tights!”
-“de boo is a rank bounder,” said candelish decidedly.
-“he has pounded from de ranks,” pronounced gormleigh, “und he vill go on pounding—each pound so motch higher dan de last von, oontil he drop splosh into de kutter akain. he who now oggupies a svell mansion-flat in biccadilly, ach ja!—he vill end vere he bekan—in de liddle krubby sit-bedding-room over de shabby shop vere dey let out segond hond boogs on hire mit segond hond furnidure.”
-mrs. gudrun would have been deeply incensed had she heard this unlicensed expression of opinion from one whom she had always kept in his place as a paid underling. for six nights and a matinée she had, in the character of aldapora, elected to poison herself in the most painful manner rather than incur the loss of de boo’s affections, and, with the “true histrionic inwardness” so belauded by the theatrical piffer, she had identified herself with the part. so she took a blazing comet flight to paris with the actor in her train, and paragraphs announcing their arrival at the hotel spitz appeared in the london papers.
-“listen to this, jane ann,” said the paternal de boo, whose name was boodie—and when i add that for twenty years the worthy father had been employed as one of the principal cutters at toecaps and heels, that celebrated firm of west-end bootmakers, it will be understood whence the son obtained his boots. “to think,” mr. boodie continued, “that alfred—our alfred, who sp’iled every particle of leather he set his knife to, and couldn’t stitch a welt or strap a seam to save his life—should ever have lived to be called a rising genius!”
-“the ways of providence are wonderful, father!” returned the said alfred’s mother dutifully. mrs. boodie was an experienced finisher herself, and had always lamented alfred’s lack of “turn” in the family direction. “an’, if i was you, i wouldn’t mention that bit in the paper to aphasia cutts. she’s dreadful jealous over our alfred, even now, though he hasn’t bin to see ‘er or wrote for two years. as good as a break off, i should a-regarded it, ’ad i bin in her place. but she’s different to what i was.”
-“so are all the gals,” said mr. boodie with conviction, bestowing upon his wife a salute flavored with russia leather and calf.
-“well, i’m sure. go along, father, do!” said mrs. boodie, with a delighted shove.
-but of course aphasia—so christened by an ambitious mother in defiance of the expostulations of a timid curate—had already seen and cried over the paragraph. she had loved alfred and stood up for him when he was a plain, stupid boy with an unconquerable aversion to work. she had been his champion when he grew up, no longer plain, but as pronounced a loafer as ever. she had given up, in exchange for his loutish affections, the love of an honest and hard-working man.
-they were, and from that hour alfred had embarked on a career. when entrusted with a line to speak, it was aphasia who held the grimy slip of paper on which it was written and aided the would-be actor with counsel and advice.
-“and ’old up your ’ead, do, as if you was proud of yourself, and don’t bend at the knees; and whether you remember your words or not, throw ’em out from your chest as if you was proud of ’em. an’ move your arms from the shoulder like as if you was swimmin’—don’t crook your elbers like a wooden doll. and throw a bit o’ meanin’ into your eye. you took me to see that frenchman, cocklin ’e calls ’imself; as played the chap with the boko ’e wouldn’t let the other chaps make game of.... french or japanese, they’re both dutch to me, but i watched cocklin’s eye, and i watched ’is ’ands, an’ i could foller the story as if it was print, an’ plainer. i’ve went to see an actor since what folks said was a great artis’, and if ’e did talk english, ’is eye was as dumb as a boiled fresh ’addock’s an’ ’s ’ands was like slices of skate. now say your bit over again.”
-and alfred said it, this time to the satisfaction of his instructress. when he got a real part aphasia coached him, and rode down from hammersmith with him on the bus, and was waiting for him at the stage-door when he came out, the tears of joy undried on her pale cheeks. and that was the night upon which she first noticed a coldness in the manner of her betrothed.
-“an’ now i’m not good enough for him to wipe his boots on,” she sobbed, sitting on her bed in the single room lodging off the roaring, clanging broadway—“the boots ’is par cut an’ welted, an’ ’is mar stitched, an’ i finished. but i won’t stand in ’is light. i’ve my pride, if i am a boot-finisher. i’ll see that mrs. what’s-her-name face to face, an’ ’ave it out as woman to woman, an’ tell ’er she’s welcome to marry ’im for me.”
-and aphasia dried her poor red eyes and took off alfred’s betrothal ring—a fifteen-carat gold circlet with three real garnets, bought in the broadway one blushful, blissful saturday night—and evicted his photographs from their gorgeous cheap frames, and made a brown-paper parcel of these things, with a yellow leather purse with a blue enamel “a” on it, and tied it up with string.
-perhaps something of her fateful mood was telepathically conveyed to mr. leo de boo at that moment, for he shivered as he sat at the feet of mrs. gudrun upon the balcony of a private suite at the hotel spitz, and turned up eyes that were large and lustrous at that imperishable image of beauty, exhaling clouds of fashionable perfume and upborne on billows of chiffon and lace. mrs. gudrun, who naturally mistook the spasms of a genuine plebeian british conscience for the pangs of love, lent him her hand—dazzlingly white, astonishingly manicured, jeweled to the knuckles, and polished by the devout kisses of generations of worshipers—and de boo mumbled it, and tried to be grateful and talk beautifully about his acting. but this bored mrs. gudrun, who preferred to talk about her own.
-“i have often felt that myself,” she said—“the conviction that a crowded audience hung upon my lips and saw only with my eyes, and that i swayed them as with a magic thingumbob, by the power of a magnetic personality.”
-“it is a mystery,” said de boo, passing his long fingers through his clustering curls, “that once in a century or so a man should be born——”
-“or a woman. marvelous!” agreed mrs. gudrun. “marvelous! the man who runs the daily tomahawk said that when i made my first appearance on the stage.”
-“genius is a crown of fire,” said de boo, who had read this somewhere. “it illuminates the world, yet scorches the wearer to the bone. he——”
-“she suffers,” said mrs. gudrun, neatly stopping the ball and playing it on her side. “you may bet she suffers. hasn’t she got the artistic temperament? the amount of worry mine has given me you would never believe. cluffer, of the morning whooper, calls me a ‘consolidated bundle of screaming nerves.’ when i’ve sat down to dinner on the eve of a first night, de petoburgh—you’ve met the duke?—has had to hold me in my chair while bobby bolsover gave me champagne and angostura out of the soup-ladle. and i believe i bit a piece out of that. and afterwards—ask ’em both if i wasn’t fairly esquinte.”
-“but the possessor of an artistic temperament—such as mine—even though the fairy gift entails the keenest susceptibility to anguish,” quickly continued de boo, “enjoys unspeakable compensation in the revelation to him alone of a kingdom which others may not enter. looking upon the high mountains in the blush of dawn, i have shouted aloud with glee——”
-“the first time i ever went into a southern italian orange-grove in full bloom,” acquiesced mrs. gudrun, “the prince of kursaal carle monto, who was with me, simply sat down flat. he said titian ought to have been alive to paint my face and form against that background.... by the way, the first act of that new play, the title of which i’ve forgotten, and which i’ve leased from a scribbling idiot whose name don’t signify, takes place in a blooming orange-grove. i’ve cast you for the leading man’s part, leo, and i hope you will be properly grateful for the chance, and conquer that nasty habit you have of standing leering at the audience in all my great moments.”
-“dearest lady,” de boo argued glibly, “does it not increase the dramatic poignancy of such moments if the spectators are enabled to read in the varying expressions pictured on my face the feelings your art inspires?”
-but mrs. gudrun was inexorable. “they can read ’em in the back of your head if they’re anxious,” said she, “or they can take the direct tip from me. i hope that’s good enough. i don’t see the cherry-bun of running a theater to be scored off by other people, and so you know! and now that’s settled, let us go and have stuffed oysters and roast ices at noel peter’s, and see sarah afterwards in her new tragedy rôle. i’m the only woman she’s really afraid of, you know, and i feel i’m bound to romp in in front of her before long. she says herself that acting like mine cannot be taught in a conservatoire, and that i constitute a complete school in myself. have you ever seen me play lady teazle?”
-“unhappily i have not. it is a loss,” said de boo, “a distinct loss. by the way, when i scored so tremendously as charles surface at mudderpool——”
-“hell is full of men who have scored as charles surface at mudderpool,” said mrs. gudrun crushingly. “that sounds like a quotation, doesn’t it? only it must be mine, because i never read. you’re a charming fellow, and a clever boy, leo, but, as a friend, let me tell you that you talk too much about yourself. it’s bad form; and the truly great are invariably the truly modest. i must save up that epigram for my next interview, i think. there’s the auto-brougham.”
-and de boo enfolded the renowned form of his manageress in a point lace and sable wrap, and they went off to noel peter’s, and saw la gr-r-ande perform.
-rehearsals of the new play, pride of race, at the sceptre had scarcely commenced when in upon teddy candelish, laboriously smoking in his sanctum and opening the morning’s mail, swept mrs. gudrun.
-“i haven’t a moment to breathe,” she said imperially, accepting the chair teddy acrobatically vacated. “come in, de petoburgh—come in, bobby; you are in the way, but i’m used to it. no, de petoburgh, that cellaret’s tabooed; remember what sir henry said to you about liqueurs before lunch. are there any letters of importance, teddy, to my cheek?”
-“several bundles of press-cuttings from different firms, thirty or forty bills, a few tenders from photographers, and—and some love-letters,” replied candelish, pointing to some neat piles of correspondence arranged on the american roll-top desk. “usual thing—declarations, proposals, and so forth.”
-“always plenty of those—hey?” chuckled de petoburgh, sucking a perfunctory peptoid lozenge in lieu of the stimulant denied.
-“plenty, b’jove!” echoed bobby bolsover.
-“not so many as there used to be,” responded candelish with tactless truthfulness, rewarded by the lady with a magnificent glare. “by the way, there’s one odd letter, from a girl or a woman who isn’t quite a lady, asking for an interview on private business. signs herself by the rummiest name—aphasia cutts.” he presented the letter.
-“aphasia?” said mrs. gudrun, extending heavily jeweled fingers for the missive. “isn’t that what de petoburgh has when he can only order drinks in one syllable and his legs take him where he doesn’t want to go? eh, bobby?”
-“yes; but remindin’ the duke of that always brings on an attack,” said bobby solicitously. “look at him twitchin’ now.... steady, peto! woa-a, old mannums!”
-“i s’pose she looks on me as the dirt under her feet, like alfred. but i won’t let that put me off makin’ the sacrifice that’s for his good—the ungrateful thing! i ’ope she’ll make ’im a nice wife, that’s all,” she sobbed, as she took from her collar-and-cuff drawer the flat brown-paper parcel containing the garnet ring, the photographs, and the letters. and she dressed herself in her best, with a large lace collar over a cloth jacket, and the once fashionable low-necked pneumonia-blouse, to which the girls of her class so fondly cling, and went to meet the lady whom, in terms borrowed from the latest penny romance, she called her “haughty rival.”
-mrs. gudrun received her with excessive graciousness. a costume rehearsal was in progress, and the lady was in the hands of her maids and dressers. “i suppose this is the first time you have ever been behind the scenes?” she inquired. “look about you as much as you like, and then you will be able to say to your friends: ‘i have been in mrs. gudrun’s dressing-room.’ you see, i am in the gown i wear in the first act. it is by babin; and if you write for a ladies’ paper, you will remember to say so, please.”
-“i don’t write for any ladies’ paper,” said aphasia. “i couldn’t spell well enough—not if they ast me ever so. but it’s a lovely gownd, and i suppose all that stuff on your face is what makes you look so young an’ ’andsome—from a long way off.”
-mrs. gudrun’s famous features assumed a look of cold displeasure. she assumed the majestic air that suited her so eminently well, and asked the young person’s business.
-“it’s quite private, and i’ll thank you to send away your maids, if you’ve no objection,” said the dauntless aphasia. “the fact is,” she continued, when the indignant menials had been waved from the apartment, “as i’ve come to make you a present—a present of a young man——”
-“look here, my good young woman,” began the incensed manageress.
-aphasia suddenly handed her the brown-paper parcel, and the wrath of mrs. gudrun was turned to trembling. she was sure this was an escaped lunatic. aphasia profited by the lull in the storm to explain. she had come to hand over her alfred—stock, goodwill, and fixtures. he had forgotten to be off with the old love before he went on with the new, but the old love bore no malice. all was now over.
-“and you may marry ’im whenever you like,” sobbed aphasia.
-“i never heard anything so indecent in the whole course of my life,” said mrs. gudrun, rising in offended majesty. “marry mr. de boo, indeed! if i had married every leading man i’ve played love-scenes with since i adopted this profession, i should be a female brigham young! ‘in love with me!’ perhaps he is; it’s rather a common complaint among the men i know. as for mr. de boo, if he has low connections and vulgar entanglements, they are nothing to me. good-day! stop! you had better take this parcel of rubbish with you. dawkins—the stage-door!”
-and aphasia found herself being ushered along the passage. bewildered and dazzled by the glaring lights, the excitement and the strangeness, she ran almost into the arms of de boo himself as he emerged from his dressing-room next the manageress’s. had he overheard? there had been a curtained-over door on that side. under his paint his handsome features were black with rage; he caught the girl’s shoulders in a furious grip, and spluttered in her ear:
-“damn you! damn you, you sneaking creature! you have made a pretty mess of things for me—haven’t you?—with your blab about my father and the boot-business, and my letters and the ring i gave you. to my dying day i’ll never speak to you again!”
-he threw her from him savagely and strode away.
-aphasia stood outside the theater and shook with sobs. it chanced—or did not chance, so queer are the vagaries of destiny—that ulick snowle, the president of the new stage-door club, happened to be passing; he had just called in at the box-office to privately book the first three rows of the upper circle on behalf of the club, the old stage-doorers having secured the gallery. both clubs were originally one, the old stage-doorers having thrown off the younger club as the cuttlefish gets rid of the supernumerary limb which in time becomes another cuttlefish. and the unwritten compact between both clubs is that if one applauds a new production, the other shall execrate the same—an arrangement which contributes hugely to the liveliness of first-nights.
-no uninitiated person beholding ulick, with his shaggy beard, aged felt-basin hat of continental make, short nautical coat, and tight-fitting sporting trousers, would suppose him to be the great personage he really is. he came up to aphasia, and bluntly asked her what was the matter, and if he couldn’t do something? in her overwhelming woe and desolation, she was like the soda-water bottle of the glass-ball-stoppered description—once push in the stopper, there is no arresting the escape of the aërated fluid. she told the sympathizing ulick all before he put her into the hammersmith bus, and when he would have handed in the fateful brown-paper parcel—“keep it,” she said, with a gesture of aversion. “burn it—chuck the thing in the dustbin. they’re no manner o’ use to me!” and away she rattled, leaving ulick snowle upon the pavement, in his hands an engine of destruction meet to be used in the extermination of the unfittest.
-for the new stage-door club did not love mr. leo de boo, whose manner to old friends—whom he had often led around street corners and relieved of half-crowns—did not improve with his worldly prospects. and ulick stood and meditated while the double torrent of the london traffic went roaring east and west; and as a charitable old lady was about to press a penny into his hand, tom glauber, the dandy president of the old stage-doorers, came along, and the men greeted cordially. von glauber seemed interested in something that ulick had to tell, and the two went off very confidentially, arm-in-arm.
-“it would be a sensation if, for once, the o.s.d.’s and the n.s.d.’s acted in unison,” agreed tom glauber.
-and on the night when pride of race was produced at the sceptre, both clubs attended in full strength, every man with a crook-handled walking-stick, and a parcel buttoned under his coat. the piece had just concluded a run of three hundred nights, and every reader is acquainted with the plot, which is of modern italy and rome of to-day, to quote the programme. we all know how the young marchese di monte polverino, in whose veins ran the bluest blood of the latin race, secretly wedded aquella guazetta, the tripe-seller, who had won his lofty affections in the guise of a bulgarian princess, and how the dread secret of aquella’s origin was revealed at the very moment when the loftiest and most exclusive of the roman nobility were about to welcome the newly made marchesa into their ranks.... aquella, her brain turned by the acuteness of her mental suffering, greets the revelation with a peal of frenzied laughter. now this laughter was a continual obstacle, during rehearsals, in the path of mrs. gudrun. said she:
-“the peculiarity and originality of my genius, as cluffer says, consists in the fact that i can’t do the things that might be expected of me—not for filberts; while i can do the things that mightn’t. if i can’t really hit off that laugh, i’ll have a woman in the wings to do it for me. but my impression is that i shall be all right at night. don’t forget, gormleigh, that you’re not to tub the chandelier altogether; i hate to play to a dark house.”
-“py vich innovation,” said gormleigh afterwards, “de gonsbirators vas enapled to garry out their blan. himmel!” he cried, dabbing his overflowing eyes with an antediluvian silk pocket-handkerchief, “shall i effer forget—no, not vile i lif—de face of dot jung man!”
-for at the moment when monte polverino’s scorn of the lovely plebeian he has wedded is expressed in words—when aquella, pierced to the heart by being called “a low-born vulgarian” and a “peasant huckster,” is about to utter her famous yell of frenzied laughter, the old stage-doorers and the new stage-doorers hung out their boots. a chevaux de frise of walking-sticks, from each of which depended a pair of these indispensable articles of attire, graced the gallery, distinguished the upper circle, and appeared upon the level of the pit. stricken to the soul, faltering and ghastly under his paint, and shaking in the most sumptuous pair of patent leathers, white kid topped, in which he had yet appeared, de boo blankly contemplated the horrid spectacle; while mrs. gudrun, to whose somewhat latent sense of humor the spectacle appealed, burst into peal upon peal of the wildest laughter ever heard beyond the walls of an establishment for the care of the mentally afflicted. “the grandeur, poignancy, and reality of the acting,” wrote cluffer, of the morning whooper, “was acknowledged by a crowded house with a deafening and unanimous outburst of applause.”
-the play was a success. even the “boo’s!” of both the clubs, united for the nonce in disapprobation, could not rob leo of his laurels. he wears them to-day, for pride of race has enjoyed a tremendous run.
-“we’ve made the beggar’s reputation instead of sending him back to the boot-shop and that poor girl,” said ulick snowle to tom glauber next day.
-“possibly,” said tom glauber, sniffing at his inseparable carnation. “but it’s all the better for the girl, i imagine, in the long run.”
-a spirit elopement
-when i exchanged my maiden name for better or worse, and dearest vavasour and i, at the conclusion of the speeches—i was married in a traveling-dress of bluefern’s—descended the steps of mamma’s house in ebury street—the belgravian, not the pimlican end—and, amid a hurricane of farewells and a hailstorm of pink and yellow and white confetti, stepped into the brougham that was to convey us to a waterloo station, en route for southampton—our honeymoon was to be spent in guernsey—we were perfectly well satisfied with ourselves and each other. this state of mind is not uncommon at the outset of wedded life. you may have heard the horrid story of the newly-wedded cannibal chief, who remarked that he had never yet known a young bride to disagree with her husband in the early stages of the honeymoon. i believe if dearest vavasour had seriously proposed to chop me into cotêlettes and eat me, with or without sauce, i should have taken it for granted that the powers that be had destined me to the high end of supplying one of the noblest of created beings with an entrée dish.
-we were idiotically blissful for two or three days. it was flowery april, and guernsey was looking her loveliest. no horrid hotel or boarding-house sheltered our lawful endearments. some old friends of papa’s had lent us an ancient mansion standing in a wild garden, now one pink riot of almond-blossom, screened behind lofty walls of lichened red brick and weather-worn, wrought-iron gates, painted yellow-white like all the other iron and wood work about the house.
-“mon désir” the place was called, and the fragrance of potpourri yet hung about the old paneled salons. vavasour wrote a sonnet—i have omitted to speak before of my husband’s poetic gifts—all about the breath of new passion stirring the fragrant dust of dead old love, and the kisses of lips long moldered that mingled with ours. it was a lovely sonnet, but crawly, as the poetical compositions of the modern school are apt to be. and vavasour was an enthusiastic convert to, and follower of, the modern school. he had often told me that, had not his father heartlessly thrown him into his brewery business at the outset of his career—sim’s mild and bitter ales being the foundation upon which the family fortunes were originally reared—he, vavasour, would have been, ere the time of speaking, known to fame, not only as a minor poet, but a minor decadent poet—which trisyllabic addition, i believe, makes as advantageous a difference as the word “native” when attached to an oyster, or the guarantee “new laid” when employed with reference to an egg.
-dear vavasour’s temperament and tastes having a decided bias towards the gloomy and mystic, he had, before his great discovery of his latent poetical gifts, and in the intervals of freedom from the brain-carking and soul-stultifying cares of business, made several excursions into the regions of the unknown. he had had some sort of intercourse with the swedenborgians, and had mingled with the muggletonians; he had coquetted with the christian scientists, and had been, until theosophic buddhism opened a wider field to his researches, an enthusiastic spiritualist. but our engagement somewhat cooled his passion for psychic research, and when questioned by me with regard to table-rappings, manifestations, and materializations, i could not but be conscious of a reticence in his manner of responding to my innocent desire for information. the reflection that he probably, like canning’s knife-grinder, had no story to tell, soon induced me to abandon the subject. i myself am somewhat reserved at this day in my method of dealing with the subject of spooks. but my silence does not proceed from ignorance.
-knowledge came to me after this fashion. though the april sun shone bright and warm upon guernsey, the island nights were chill. waking by dear vavasour’s side—the novelty of this experience has since been blunted by the usage of years—somewhere between one and two o’clock towards break of the fourth day following our marriage, it occurred to me that a faint cold draft, with a suggestion of dampness about it, was blowing against my right cheek. one of the windows upon that side—our room possessed a rather unbecoming cross-light—had probably been left open. dear vavasour, who occupied the right side of our couch, would wake with toothache in the morning, or, perhaps, with mumps! shuddering, as much at the latter idea as with cold, i opened my eyes, and sat up in bed with a definite intention of getting out of it and shutting the offending casement. then i saw katie for the first time.
-she was sitting on the right side of the bed, close to dear vavasour’s pillow; in fact, almost hanging over it. from the first moment i knew that which i looked upon to be no creature of flesh and blood, but the mere apparition of a woman. it was not only that her face, which struck me as both pert and plain; her hands; her hair, which she wore dressed in an old-fashioned ringletty mode—in fact, her whole personality was faintly luminous, and surrounded by a halo of bluish phosphorescent light. it was not only that she was transparent, so that i saw the pattern of the old-fashioned, striped, dimity bed-curtain, in the shelter of which she sat, quite plainly through her. the consciousness was further conveyed to me by a voice—or the toneless, flat, faded impression of a voice—speaking faintly and clearly, not at my outer, but at my inner ear.
-“lie down again, and don’t fuss. it’s only katie!” she said.
-“only katie!” i liked that!
-“i dare say you don’t,” she said tartly, replying as she had spoken, and i wondered that a ghost should exhibit such want of breeding. “but you have got to put up with me!”
-“how dare you intrude here—and at such an hour!” i exclaimed mentally, for there was no need to wake dear vavasour by talking aloud when my thoughts were read at sight by the ghostly creature who sat so familiarly beside him.
-“i knew your husband before you did,” responded katie, with a faint phosphorescent sneer. “we became acquainted at a séance in north-west london soon after his conversion to spiritualism, and have seen a great deal of each other from time to time.” she tossed her shadowy curls with a possessive air that annoyed me horribly. “he was constantly materializing me in order to ask questions about shakespeare. it is a standing joke in our spirit world that, from the best educated spook in our society down to the most illiterate astral that ever knocked out ‘rapport’ with one ‘p,’ we are all expected to know whether shakespeare wrote his own plays, or whether they were done by another person of the same name.”
-“and which way was it?” i asked, yielding to a momentary twinge of curiosity.
-katie laughed mockingly. “there you go!” she said, with silent contempt.
-“i wish you would!” i snapped back mentally. “it seems to me that you manifest a great lack of refinement in coming here!”
-“i cannot go until vavasour has finished,” said katie pertly. “don’t you see that he has materialized me by dreaming about me? and as there exists at present”—she placed an annoying stress upon the last two words—“a strong sympathy between you, so it comes about that i, as your husband’s spiritual affinity, am visible to your waking perceptions. all the rest of the time i am hovering about you, though unseen.”
-“i call it detestable!” i retorted indignantly. then i gripped my sleeping husband by the shoulder. “wake up! wake up!” i cried aloud, wrath lending power to my grasp and a penetrative quality to my voice. “wake up and leave off dreaming! i cannot and will not endure the presence of this creature another moment!”
-“whaa——” muttered my husband, with the almost inebriate incoherency of slumber, “whasamaramydarling?”
-“stop dreaming about that creature,” i cried, “or i shall go home to mamma!”
-“creature?” my husband echoed, and as he sat up i had the satisfaction of seeing katie’s misty, luminous form fade slowly into nothingness.
-“you know who i mean!” i sobbed. “katie—your spiritual affinity, as she calls herself!”
-“you don’t mean,” shouted vavasour, now thoroughly roused, “that you have seen her?”
-“i do mean it,” i mourned. “oh, if i had only known of your having an entanglement with any creature of the kind, i would never have married you—never!”
-“hang her!” burst out vavasour. then he controlled himself, and said soothingly: “after all, dearest, there is nothing to be jealous of——”
-“i jealous! and of that——” i was beginning, but vavasour went on:
-“after all, she is only a disembodied astral entity with whom i became acquainted—through my fifth principle, which is usually well developed—in the days when i moved in spiritualistic society. she was, when living—for she died long before i was born—a young lady of very good family. i believe her father was a clergyman ... and i will not deny that i encouraged her visits.”
-“discourage them from this day!” i said firmly. “neither think of her nor dream of her again, or i will have a separation.”
-“i will keep her, as much as possible, out of my waking thoughts,” said poor vavasour, trying to soothe me; “but a man cannot control his dreams, and she pervades mine in a manner which, even before our engagement, my pet, i began to find annoying. however, if she really is, as she has told me, a lady by birth and breeding, she will understand”—he raised his voice as though she were there and he intended her to hear—“that i am now a married man, and from this moment desire to have no further communication with her. any suitable provision it is in my power to make——”
-“you see,” she said, in the same soundless way, and with a knowing little nod of triumph, “it is no use. he is dreaming of me again!”
-“wake up!” i screamed, snatching the pillow from under my husband’s head and madly hurling it at the shameless intruder. this time vavasour was almost snappish at being disturbed. daylight surprised us in the middle of our first connubial quarrel. the following night brought a repetition of the whole thing, and so on, da capo, until it became plain to us, to our mutual disgust, that the more vavasour strove to banish katie from his dreams, the more persistently she cropped up in them. she was the most ill-bred and obstinate of astrals—vavasour and i the most miserable of newly-married people. a dozen times in a night i would be roused by that cold draft upon my cheek, would open my eyes and see that pale, phosphorescent, outline perched by vavasour’s pillow—nine times out of the dozen would be driven to frenzy by the possessive air and cynical smile of the spook. and although vavasour’s former regard for her was now converted into hatred, he found the thought of her continually invading his waking mind at the most unwelcome seasons. she had begun to appear to both of us by day as well as by night when our poisoned honeymoon came to an end, and we returned to town to occupy the house which vavasour had taken and furnished in sloane street. i need only mention that katie accompanied us.
-insufficient sleep and mental worry had by this time thoroughly soured my temper no less than vavasour’s. when i charged him with secretly encouraging the presence i had learned to hate, he rudely told me to think as i liked! he implored my pardon for this brutality afterwards upon his knees, and with the passage of time i learned to endure the presence of his attendant shade with patience. when she nocturnally hovered by the side of my sleeping spouse, or in constituence no less filmy than a whiff of cigarette-smoke, appeared at his elbow in the face of day, i saw her plainly, and at these moments she would favor me with a significant contraction of the eyelid, which was, to say the least of it, unbecoming in a spirit who had been a clergyman’s daughter. after one of these experiences it was that the idea which i afterwards carried into execution occurred to me.
-madame lived in a furtive, retiring house, situated behind high walls in endor’s grove, n.w. a long glass tunnel led from the garden gate to the street door, for the convenience of mahatmas and other persons who preferred privacy. i was one of those persons, for not for spirit worlds would i have had vavasour know of my repeated visits to endor’s grove. before these were over i had grown quite indifferent to supernatural manifestations, banjos and accordions that were thrummed by invisible performers, blood-red writing on mediums’ wrists, mysterious characters in slate-pencil, planchette, and the table alphabet. and i had made and improved upon acquaintance with simon.
-simon was a spirit who found me attractive. he tried in his way to make himself agreeable, and, with my secret motive in view—let me admit without a blush—i encouraged him. when i knew i had him thoroughly in hand, i attended no more séances at endor’s grove. my purpose was accomplished upon a certain night, when, feeling my shoulder violently shaken, i opened the eyes which had been closed in simulated slumber to meet the indignant glare of my husband. i glanced over his shoulder. katie did not occupy her usual place. i turned my glance towards the armchair which stood at my side of the bed. it was not vacant. as i guessed, it was occupied by simon. there he sat, the luminously transparent appearance of a weak-chinned, mild-looking young clergyman, dressed in the obsolete costume of eighty years previously. he gave me a bow in which respect mingled with some degree of complacency, and glanced at vavasour.
-“i have been explaining matters to your husband,” he said, in that soundless spirit-voice with which katie had first made me acquainted. “he understands that i am a clergyman and a reputable spirit, drawn into your life-orbit by the irresistible attraction which your mediumistic organization exercises over my——”
-“there, you hear what he says!” i interrupted, nodding confirmatively at vavasour. “do let me go to sleep!”
-“what, with that intrusive beast sitting beside you?” shouted vavasour indignantly. “never!”
-“think how many months i have put up with the presence of katie!” said i. “after all, it’s only tit for tat!” and the ghost of a twinkle in simon’s pale eye seemed to convey that he enjoyed the retort.
-vavasour grunted sulkily, and resumed his recumbent position. but several times that night he awakened me with renewed objurgations of simon, who with unflinching resolution maintained his post. later on i started from sleep to find katie’s usual seat occupied. she looked less pert and confident than usual, i thought, and rather humbled and fagged, as though she had had some trouble in squeezing her way into vavasour’s sleeping thoughts. by day, after that night, she seldom appeared. my husband’s brain was too much occupied with simon, who assiduously haunted me. and it was now my turn to twit vavasour with unreasonable jealousy. yet though i gloried in the success of my stratagem, the continual presence of that couple of spooks was an unremitting strain upon my nerves.
-“we should never have met upon the same plane,” remarked simon silently, “but for the mediumistic intervention of these people. of the man”—he glanced slightingly towards vavasour—“i cannot truthfully say i think much. the lady”—he bowed in my direction—“is everything that a lady should be!”
-“you are infatuated with her, it is plain!” snapped katie, “and the sooner you are removed from her sphere of influence the better.”
-“her power with me is weakening,” said simon, “as vavasour’s is with you. our outlines are no longer so clear as they used to be, which proves that our astral individualities are less strongly impressed upon the brains of our earthly sponsors than they were. we are still materialized; but how long this will continue——” he sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
-“don’t let us wait for a formal dismissal, then,” said katie boldly. “let us throw up our respective situations.”
-“i remember enough of the marriage service to make our union, if not regular, at least respectable,” said simon.
-“and i know quite a fashionable place on the outside edge of things, where we could settle down,” said katie, “and live practically on nothing.”
-i blinked at that moment. when i saw the room again clearly, the chairs beside our respective pillows were empty.
-years have passed, and neither vavasour nor myself has ever had a glimpse of the spirits whom we were the means of introducing to one another. we are quite content to know ourselves deprived for ever of their company. yet sometimes, when i look at our three babies, i wonder whether that establishment of simon’s and katie’s on the outside edge of things includes a nursery.
-the widow’s mite
-people bestowed that nickname upon little lord garlingham years ago, when he was the daintiest of human playthings ever adored by a young mother. shutting my eyes, i can recall him, all golden curls and frills, sitting on the front seat of the victoria with toto, the maltese. japanese pugs had not then come into fashion, nor the ubiquitous automobile. gar is the widow’s mite still, but for other reasons. he was a charming, irresolute, impulsive child, who invariably meant “macaroons” when he said “sponge cake.” it recurs to me that he was passionately fond of dolls, not nigger sambo dolls, or sailor dolls, or punchinelli with curved caps and bells, or policemen with large feet so cunningly weighted that it is next door to impossible to knock them over, but frilled and furbelowed dollies of the gentler sex. there was a blue princess in tulle with a glass chandelier-drop tiara, and a dancing girl in pink, and a stout, shapeless, rag lady, whose features were painted on the calico ball that represented her head, and whose hair resembled the fringe of a black woollen shawl. holding her by one leg, gar would sink to sleep upon his lace-trimmed pillows in a halo of shining curls, and lady garlingham’s last new friend or latest new adorer would be brought up to the night nursery for an after-dinner peep at “my precious in his cot.”
-“my precious” was equally charming in his eton days, when his sleepy green eyes looked up at you from under a lock of fair silky hair that was never to be kept within regulation school bounds, but continually strayed upon the fair, if freckled, expanse of a brow which might have been the home of a pure and innocent mind, and probably was not. he had a pleasant treble boy’s voice and a beautiful smile, particularly when his mother told him he might smoke just one cigarette, of her own special brand, as a great treat.
-“mother’s are hay,” he said afterwards in confidence, and added that he preferred cut cavendish, and that the best way to induce a meerschaum to color was to smoke it foul, and never to remove the dottle. but lady garlingham was never the wiser. she had the utmost faith in her boy.
-“gar will be a dab at classics,” she said with pride. “fancy his knowing that dido was a heathen goddess, and procrustes was a grecian king who murdered his mother and afterwards put out his own eyes! i must really give his tutor a hint not to bring him on too fast. he will have to make his own way in the world, poor dear, that is certain; but i don’t want him to turn out a literary genius with eccentric clothes, or anything in the scientific line that isn’t careful about its nails and doesn’t comb its hair.”
-garlingham’s clothes are always of the latest fashion and in the most admirable taste. his hair is as well groomed, his hands are as immaculate as any mother’s heart could desire, and he has not turned out a genius. during his career at oxford he did not allow his love of study to interfere with the more serious pursuit of athletic distinction. he left the university unburdened with honors, carrying in his wake a string of bills as long as a kite’s tail. relieved of this by the sacrifice of some of lady garlingham’s diamonds, the kite shot up into the empyrean in the wake of a dazzling star of the comic-opera stage.
-“but, thank heaven, the boy has principles,” breathed lady garlingham. “he never dreamed of marrying her!”
-garlingham descended from the skies ere long, tangled in a telegraphic wire, and went into the diplomatic service. he became fourth under-secretary at an imperial foreign embassy, in virtue of the marriage of his maternal aunt with prince john schulenstorff-wangelbrode (who was military attaché in the days of the pannier and the polonaise, the bustle and the fringed whip-parasol). i have not the least idea in what garlingham’s duties consisted, and the dear fellow was diplomatically reticent when sounded on the subject; but of one thing i am sure, that few young men have worn an official button and lapels with greater ease and distinction. he quite adored his mother, and made her his confidante in all his love affairs. indeed i believe lady garlingham kept a little register of these at one time on the sticks of an ivory fan—those that were going off, those that were in full bloom, and those that were just coming on; and posted up dates and set down names with the utmost regularity.
-for, like the typical butterfly, garlingham sipped every flower and changed every hour. a very mature polly has now his passion requited, and if human happiness depended on avoirdupois, and it were an established mathematical fact that the felicity of the object attracted may be calculated by the dimensions of the object attracting, then is the handsome boy i used to tip a happy man indeed.
-for gar, “that pocket edition of apollo,” as a royal personage with a happy knack at nicknames termed him—gar has married a middle-aged, not too good-looking, extremely fat widow, unknown to fame as mrs. rollo polkingham. the couple were hanover squared in june. leila and sheila polkingham made the loveliest pair of dresden china bridesmaids imaginable, and a bishop tied the knot, assisted by the brother of the bride, the reverend michael o’halloran, of mount slattery, county quare, a surpliced brogue with a trinity college b.a. hood. the hymns that were sung by the choir during the ceremony were, “the voice that breathed,” and “fight the good fight,” and the bride looked quite as bridal as might have been expected of a thirty-eight inch girth arrayed in the latest heliotrope shade. she became peony, garlingham pale blue, when the moment arrived for him to pronounce his vows, and a voice—a high, nasal voice of the penetrating, saw-edged american kind—said, several pews behind, quite audibly: “well, i call it child-stealing!”
-the owner of that voice was at the reception in chesterfield crescent. so was i, and when garlingham thanked me for a silver cigar-box i had sent him in memory of our old friendship, his hand was damp and clammy, though he smiled. the dowager lady garlingham, looking much younger than her daughter-in-law, floated across to ask me why i never came to see her now, and gar drifted away. later, i had a fleeting glimpse of the bridegroom standing in the large, cool shadow of his newly-made bride, looking helplessly from one to the other of his recently-acquired stepdaughters. then my circular gaze met and merged in the still attractive eyes of lady garlingham.
-“you heard,” she breathed in her old confidential way, “what that very outspoken person—i think a miss van something, from philadelphia—said in church?”
-“i did hear,” i returned, “and, while i deplored her candor, i could not but admit——”
-“that she had hit off the situation with dreadful accuracy—i felt that, too,” sighed gar’s mother.
-“we are old friends, or were,” said i, for people always became sentimental in the vicinity of lady garlingham. “tell me how it happened!”
-“oh, how——” lady garlingham adroitly turned a slight groan into a little cough. “indeed, i hardly know. all that seems burned into me is that i have become a dowager without adequate cause.”
-her pretty brown eyebrows crumpled; she dabbed her still charming eyes with an absurd little lace handkerchief. she wore a wonderful dress of something filmy in watteau blue, and a lamballe hat with a paradis. through innumerable veils of tulle her complexion was really wonderful, considering, and her superb hair still tawny gold.
-“don’t look at me and ask yourself why i’ve never married again,” she commanded, in the old petulant way. “for gar’s sake, is the stereotyped answer to that. and when i look at her——” she dabbed away a tear with the absurd little handkerchief. “she hasn’t had the indecency to call me ‘mother’ yet.... but she will, i know she will! if she doesn’t, she is more than human. i have said such things to her.”
-“i can quite believe it,” i agreed.
-champagne cups were going about; infinitesimal sandwiches, tabloids of condensed indigestion, were being washed down. the best man, an attaché friend of garlingham’s, brandishing a silver-handled carving-knife, was encouraging the bridling bride to attack the cake. sheila and leila hovered near with silver baskets, and garlingham, with the merest shadow of his old easy insouciance, was replying to the statute and legendary chaff of the other men.
-“you know he was engaged to the second girl, sheila, first?” went on lady garlingham plaintively.
-i had not known it, and it gave me a thrill.
-“indeed!” i said in a tone of polite inquiry.
-“when he was a very little boy, and i took him into a shop to buy a toy,” said poor lady garlingham, “he always was in raptures with it, whatever it was, until we were half-way home, and then nothing would satisfy him but the carriage being turned round and driven back, so that he might exchange the thing for something he had particularly disliked at first.”
-i recalled the trait in my own experience of my young friend.
-“ah, yes. he always took pralines when he really wanted chocolate fondants,” sighed his mother. “and then—but perhaps you have forgotten—the dolls?”
-i had forgotten the dolls. i suppose i gaped rather stupidly.
-“as you did?”
-“as i did,” admitted lady garlingham.
-“with the result that might have been expected?”
-“with the result that seems to me now to be a hateful foreshadowing of what was to be my poor darling’s fate in life,” said the poor darling’s mother.... “no, thank you, sheila dear, i positively could not touch it,” she added, as the cake-basket came our way. “not even to dream on—i have quite done with dreaming now.”
-“but how,” i asked hypercritically, “could garlingham’s subsequent choice of the blue doll, originally discarded in favor of the pink, foreshadow his ultimate fate in life?”
-“oh, don’t you understand?” quavered poor lady garlingham. “he went into the toyshop by himself, and came marching out with what the americans call a rag-baby, the most odious, distorted, shapeless horror you can imagine. it fascinated him by its sheer ugliness. he was obsessed, magnetized, compelled.... as in this case!” a burst of confidence broke down the floodgates of the poor woman’s reserve. she grasped me by the arm as she gurgled out hysterically—rocking her slight form to and fro: “my dear, she is the rag-doll, this awful widow creature garlingham has married. and to his fatal curse of indecision he owes the incubus that is crushing him to-day.”
-the bride had tripped upstairs to put on her going-away gown, attended by leila and sheila and some freshly-married women, who meant to struggle for the slippers for second choice.
-loud, explosive bursts of jeering merriment came from the dining-room, where most of the men of the party had congregated. an exhausted maid and a very obvious private detective hovered in the neighborhood of the display of wedding presents, and through the open door of the drawing-room one caught a glimpse of suspiciously new luggage piled up in the hall, and a little group of youths and maidens of the callower kind, who were industriously packing the sunshades and umbrellas in the holdalls with rice and confetti.
-“my poor, poor boy has been in and out of love hundreds of times,” moaned the despairing dowager, “without once having been actually engaged. so that when i saw gar with these three women sitting on four green chairs in the park in may, i was not seriously alarmed. georgiana bayham told me that the stout woman with too many bangles was a mrs. rollo polkingham, a widow, of whom nobody who might with truth be styled anybody had ever heard, and that she had a wild, jungly house in chesterfield crescent—(don’t those climbing peacocks in the wall-paper set your teeth on edge?)—and always asked young men to call—and wanted to know their intentions at the third visit.... ‘i would give this turquoise charm off my porte-bonheur,’ said georgiana, in her loud, bubbling voice, ‘to know which of the two daughters gar is smitten with. the girl with the eyes like black ballot-balls, or the other with the gaiety smile.’ ... my dear, it was the dark one, leila, as it happened. not that gar flirted desperately. but they went to hurlingham and lunched at prince’s, and then the mother thought my boy hooked, and struck——”
-“asked his intentions?” i hinted.
-“i knew something had happened,” said gar’s mother, “when he came in to tea with me that very afternoon. ‘mother, am i a villain?’ were his very words. ‘no, dear,’ i said, ‘do you feel like one?’ then it came out that the polkingham woman had asked his intentions with regard to leila; and never having had such a thing done to him before, poor, dear boy! gar was quite prostrated. he did not deny that he found the eldest polkingham girl attractive, but secretly he had been more closely drawn to the second, sheila.”
-“the pink doll,” i murmured.
-“he behaved with the nicest honor in the matter,” declared lady garlingham. “when he told me he was really in love with sheila, and could never be happy until he had married her—and how a young woman with such a muddy complexion could inspire such a passion i don’t pretend to know—i said: ‘very well, you have my permission to tell her so. i shall never stand in the way of your happiness, my son—although these people are not in our set.’ if you had seen his shining eyes. if you had heard the thrill in his voice as he said, ‘what a rattling good sort you are, mother!’ you would have felt with me that the sacrifice was worth it. and then he rushed off in a hansom to declare himself.” lady garlingham clutched my arm painfully.
-“to declare himself to sheila?”
-“and came back within the space of half an hour engaged to leila,” panted lady garlingham. “no, don’t laugh!”
-“the b-blue d-doll!” i gasped.
-“he was as pale as death!” said his mother. “he had found leila in the drawing-room in a becoming half-light, and been taken off his guard.”
-“and metaphorically he told the shopwoman he would prefer that one,” i said shakily. “i understand! was he very unhappy over his bargain?”
-“frightfully out of sorts and off color,” said the wooer’s mother, “until at a crisis, a month later, i nerved him to go and see the mother and explain the mistake.”
-“and did he?”
-“i will say mrs. polkingham took the revelation in good part,” said lady garlingham. “leila cried a good deal, i believe, when she turned gar over to sheila, and sheila was not disagreeably inclined to crow. i must give the girls credit for their behavior. as for gar, he was the very picture of young, ardent happiness. ‘mother,’ i can hear him saying, ‘thanks to you, i have won the dearest and loveliest girl in the world.’ (poor boy!) ‘and i’m as happy as a gardener.’”
-“did that phase last long?” i queried, with twitching facial muscles.
-“he began to flag, as it were, in about six weeks,” said garlingham’s mother mournfully. “my poor, affectionate, wobbly boy. the sky of his simple happiness was overcast. there came a day when the floodgates of his resolve to go through with everything at any cost—sacrifice himself for the sake of his duty and for the credit of his family name——”
-“noblesse oblige,” i stammered chokily. “noblesse oblige.”
-“the floodgates were broken down,” said his mother, with a tremble in her voice. “his heart reverted with a bound to the—the other—to leila.”
-“to the blue doll!” i spluttered.
-“when he entreated me,” went on lady garlingham, “begged me even with tears to be his ambassadress to leila, i grieve to say that for the first time in his life i failed to rise to the occasion of his need. i said: ‘i shall do nothing of the kind. get out of the muddle as you can—i wash my hands of it.’ and he thought me very hard and very unfeeling, i know; but even when the bouleversement was managed for the third time, i could not bring myself to regard the position from my usually philosophical point of view. it was too cruel. the retransfer of the engagement-ring, for instance——”
-“ah, true,” i murmured, “and the presents!”
-“too painful!” sighed lady garlingham. “it was ultimately arranged by gar’s buying a new ring, and sheila’s dropping the old one into the almsbag at st. baverstock’s. poor girl! i will say her demeanor in the trying circumstances was admirable.”
-“as for the other?” i hinted.
-“leila is not a refined type of girl,” said lady garlingham decidedly. “her whole expression was that of a bank holiday tripper young person who has just dismounted from one of those giddy-go-rounds. boat-swings might impart the dazed look. the mother seemed harassed. as for gar——”
-i guessed what was coming, but i would not have missed hearing lady garlingham tell it for worlds.
-“there came a day—a dreadful, dreadful day,” she said, with pale lips, “when gar told me that his life was ruined unless he changed back! we had a dreadful scene, and for the first time in my life i had hysterics. then the unhappy boy tore from the house—ventre à terre—leaving me a perfect wreck, held up by my maid pinner—you know pinner?”
-i nodded speechlessly.
-“my wretched boy tore from the house, jumped into his ‘gohard,’ which was standing at the door—hurtled to chesterfield crescent—told the painful truth——”
-“swopped dolls yet once again, and came back with the rag-baby,” i gasped.
-“and now,” groaned lady garlingham, “he has to carry it through life!”
-there was a gabbling on the upper landing. the bride was coming down in a white cut-cloth, tailor-made gown and a picture hat, leila and sheila and a bonneted maid following. the bridegroom, in immaculate tweeds, appeared at a lower door, the smug face of his valet behind him. there was a rush of women, an insane kissing and shaking of hands, a glare of red carpet, a flapping of striped awning. rice and confetti impregnated the air, the doorsteps were swamped with smartly-dressed people. the chauffeur of gar’s “gohard” with a giant favor in the buttonhole of his livery coat grinned when garlingham leaped tigerishly upon him and tore it from his chest. the automobile moved on, pursued by farewells. some one had thoughtfully attached two slippers to its rearward steps, a stout, elderly, white satin slipper and a slim masculine, evening shoe of the pump kind, almost new.
-“say!” said the saw-edged american voice i had heard in the church—“say, won’t the car-conductor allow she’s traveling with her little boy? what will folks call him, anyhow?”
-my mouth was on a level with the speaker’s back hair.
-“the widow’s mite,” i said aloud—and fled.
-susanna and her elders
-the earl of beaumaris, a worthy and imposing personage, flushed from the nape of his neck to the high summit of his cranium—premature baldness figured amongst the family heredities—paced, in creaking patent-leather boots, up and down the castle library—a noble apartment of tudor design, lined with rare and antique volumes into which none ever looked. there were other persons present beside the dowager countess, and, to judge by the strainedly polite expression of their faces, the squeaking leather must have been playing havoc with their nerves.
-“gustavus,” said the dowager at length, “you’re an english peer in your own castle, and not a pointsman on a broadway block, unless i’m considerably mistaken. sit down!”
-“mother, i will not be defied!” said lord beaumaris. “i will not be bearded by my own child—a mere chit of a girl! had susanna been a boy i should have known how to deal with this spirit of insubordination. being a girl—and moreover, motherless—i abandon her to you. she has many things to learn, but let the first lesson you inculcate be this—that i positively refuse to be defied!”
-“the child has, i gather, gone out to take the air when she ought to have stayed in and taken a scolding,” said lady beaumaris. “does anybody know of her whereabouts?”
-alaric osmond-omer, a languid, drab-complexioned, light-haired man of aristocratic appearance, never seen without the smoked eyeglass that concealed a diabolic squint, spoke:
-“i saw her in a crimson golfing-jacket and a white tam-o’-shanter crossing the upper terrace. she carried an alpenstock, and was followed by quite a pack of dogs—incorporated in the body of one extraordinary mongrel which i have occasionally observed about the stable-yards. i gathered that she was going for a climb upon the cliffs. that was about half an hour ago!”
-“alaric, you have attended every family council that i recollect since i became a member of this family, and have never before opened your lips,” said lady beaumaris, fixing the unfortunate alaric with her eye, which was still black and snappingly bright. “make this occasion memorable by offering a suggestion. you really owe us one!”
-everybody present looked at alaric, who smiled helplessly and dropped his eyeglass, revealing the physical peculiarity it concealed. the effect of the diabolic squint, in combination with his mild features and somewhat foolish expression, conveyed a general impression of reserve force. he spoke, fumbling for the missing article, which had plunged rapturously into his bosom, with long, trim fingers, encrusted with mourning rings.
-“the question at issue is—unless i have failed in my mental digest of the situation—how to bring susanna viscountess lymston—pardon me if i indulge a little my weakness for prolixity——”
-the door creaked, and alaric broke off.
-“my dear man,” said the dowager, “i never before heard you utter a sentence of more than two words’ length!”
-“—to bring susanna, who is just seventeen and fiercely virginal in her expressed aversion to, and avoidance of, ordinary, everyday man—into compliance with your paternal wishes”—alaric bowed to lord beaumaris—“where the encouragement of a suitor is concerned!”
-“i have appealed to her filial feelings—which do not appear to exist,” said lord beaumaris; “i have appealed to her reason—i doubt gravely whether the girl possesses any: ‘there is too much landed property, there are too many houses and too many heirlooms, and there is not enough ready money to keep things going,’ i said. her reply was: ‘sell some of the land and some of the houses and all of the pictures, and then there will be enough to keep up the rest.’ ‘my dear child, is it possible,’ i said, ‘that at your age, and occupying the position you occupy, you have no idea of what is meant by an entail?’ then i made her sit down here, in this library, opposite me, and laid plainly before her why it is necessary for her, as my daughter, to marry, and to marry wealth, position, and title. before i had ended she rose with a flaming face and burst into an hysterical tirade, which lasted ten minutes. i gather that she was willing to marry sir prosper le gai or the knight of the swan if either of these gentlemen proposed for her hand. neither being available, she intends, i gather, to write great poems, or paint great pictures, or go upon the stage.... go upon the stage! my blood curdled at the bare idea. it is still in that unpleasant condition.” lord beaumaris shuddered violently, and pressed his handkerchief to his nose. “if you have any advice to give, alaric,” he said bluntly, “oblige us by giving it. we are at a positive crux!”
-the drab-complexioned, light-haired alaric responded:
-“in my poor opinion—which may be crassly wrong—too much stress has been laid upon the necessity of susanna’s marrying.” at this point the contrast between the amiable vacuity of alaric’s face and the mephistophelian intelligence of his monocled eye was so extraordinary as to hold his listeners spellbound in their chairs. “i think we may take it that the principal feature of the child’s character is—call it determination amounting to obstinacy——”
-“crass obstinacy!” burst from the earl.
-“pig-headedness!” interjected the dowager.
-“i think i remember hearing that in her nursery days the sure way to make her take a dose of harmless necessary medicine,” pursued alaric, his left eye fixed upon the door, “was to prepare the potion, pill, or what-not, sweeten, and then carefully conceal it from her. were she my daughter—which heaven for—which heaven has not granted!—i should make her take a husband in the same way.”
-“an utterance possibly inspired, but as obscure as the generality. i fear, my dear alaric——” lord beaumaris began. the dowager cut him short.
-“say, gus, can’t you let him finish? that’s what i call real mean—to switch a man off just when he’s beginning to grip the track.”
-“mother, i bow to you,” lord beaumaris said, purpling with indignation. “pray continue, alaric!”
-“hum along, alaric,” encouraged the dowager.
-alaric, his countenance as the countenance of a little child, his right eye beaming with mildness, and his left eye as the eye of an intelligent fiend, went on:
-“susanna has never yet seen the duke of halcyon—her cousin, and the husband for whom you destine her. when she does see him—i think i may be pardoned for saying——”
-“she’ll raise cain,” agreed lady beaumaris. “girls think such heaps of good looks; i was like that myself, before i married your father, gus.”
-“my dear mother, granted that halcyon’s gifts, both physical and mental, are not”—the earl coughed—“not of the kind best calculated to impress and win upon a romantic, willful girl!... he is, to speak plainly——”
-“a hideous little troglodyte,” nodded the dowager, over her interminable shetland-wool knitting.
-“odd, considering that his mother, when lady flora maccodrum, was, with the sole exception of myself, the handsomest young woman presented in the spring of 1845.”
-“mother,” said lord beaumaris, “delightful as your reminiscences invariably are, alaric is waiting to resume.”
-“i had merely intended to suggest,” said alaric, twirling his eyeglass by its black ribbon and turning his demure drab-colored countenance and balefully glittering left eye upon the earl and the dowager in turn, “that the duke of halcyon, like the rhubarb of susanna’s infancy, should be rendered tolerable, agreeable, and even desirable to our dear girl’s palate, by being forbidden and withheld. ask him here in september for the partridge shooting—as i understand you think of doing—but let him appear, not in his own character as a young english peer of immense wealth and irreproachable reputation, but as one of those literary and artistic ineligibles, who are encouraged by society to take every liberty with it—short of marrying its cousins, sisters, or daughters. let him encourage his hair to grow—wear a velvet coat, a flamboyant necktie, and silk stockings in combination with tweed knickerbockers. let him pay attention to susanna—as marked as he chooses. and do you, for your part”—he fixed lord beaumaris with his gleaming left eye—“discourage those attentions, and lose no opportunity of impressing upon your daughter that she is to discourage them too. given this tempting opportunity of manifesting her independent spirit, you will find—or i know nothing of susanna—that it will be pull baker, pull devil. and i know which will pull the hardest!”
-lord beaumaris rose to his feet in superb indignation. he struck the attitude in which he had posed for his portrait, by millais, which hung at the upper end of the library, representing him in the act of delivering his maiden speech in parliament—an address advocating the introduction of footwarmers into the upper house, and opened upon alaric:
-“your proposal—i do not hesitate to say it—is audacious. you deliberately expect that i—i, gustavus templebar bloundle-abbott bloundle, ninth earl of beaumaris, and head of this ancient family—should stoop to carry out a deception—and upon my only child. that i should take advantage of her willful youth, her undisciplined temper, to——”
-“to bring about a match that will set every mother’s mouth watering, and secure your daughter’s son a dukedom, and a hundred and thirty thousand a year.... that’s so, and i guess,” said lady beaumaris, “you’ll do it, gus! you’re a representative english peer, it’s true, but on my side you’ve yankee blood in you, and the grandson of elijah k. van powler isn’t going to back out of a little bluff that’s going to pay. no, sir!” the dowager ran her knitting-needles through her wool ball, and rolled up her work briskly. “he’ll do it, alaric,” she said with conviction.
-“mother,” exclaimed the earl in desperation. “you were my father’s choice, and heaven forbid that i should fail in respect towards a lady whom he honored with his hand. but when you suggest that to bring about this most desirable union, i should wallow, metaphorically, in dirt——”
-“it’s pay dirt, gus,” said the dowager. “a hundred and thirty thousand a year, my boy!”
-“mother!” cried lord beaumaris. “if i brought myself to grovel to such infamy, do you suppose for one moment halcyon——”
-“that halcyon would tumble to the plot? there are no flies on halcyon,” said the dowager, “and you bet he’ll worry through—velvet coat, orange necktie, forehead, curls, and all!”
-“then do i understand,” said lord beaumaris helplessly, “that i am to ask him to accept my hospitality in a character that is not his own, and appear at my table in a disguise! the idea is inexpressibly loathsome, and i cannot imagine in what character he could possibly appear.”
-“as a painter—of the fashionable fresco brand—engaged if you like to decorate your new ballroom!” put in alaric in his level expressionless tones.
-“but he can’t paint!” said the dowager. “that’s where we’re going to buckle up and collapse. he can’t paint worth a cent! that takes brain, and halcyon isn’t overstocked with ’em, i must allow.”
-“get a man who has the brain and the ability to do the work,” said the imperturbable alaric.
-“deception on deception!” groaned lord beaumaris.
-“i have the very fellow in my eye,” pursued alaric: “remarkable clever a.r.a., and a kinsman of your own. perhaps you have forgotten him,” he continued, as lord beaumaris stiffened with polite inquiry, and the dowager elevated her handsome and still jetty eyebrows into interrogative arches; “perhaps—it’s equally likely—you never heard of him, but at least you remember his mother, janetta bloundle?”
-“she married a person professionally interested in the restoration of perpendicular churches,” said lord beaumaris, “and though i cannot now recall his name, i remember hearing of his death, and forwarding a brief, condolatory postcard to his widow.”
-“who joined him, wherever he is, six months ago.”
-“dear me!” said lord beaumaris, “that is quite too regrettable. however, it is too late in the day to send another postcard addressed to the surviving members of the family.”
-“there is only a son,” said alaric, “and he is the rising artist to whom i suggest that you should offer a commission. he is strong in fresco, and has just executed a series of wall cartoons for the new naval and military idiot asylum, which will carry his name down to the remotest posterity.”
-“might—i—ah!—ask his name?” said lord beaumaris.
-“wopse,” responded alaric.
-lord beaumaris shuddered.
-“and the christian prefix?” he closed his eyes in readiness for the coming shock.
-lord beaumaris opened his eyes, and the dowager uttered a slight snort of astonishment.
-“a relationship existing upon the mother’s side between young wopse and the ducal house of halcyon,” said alaric, twirling his eyeglass faster: “it is not surprising that the poor lady should have improved upon the homespun anglo-saxonism of wopse by the best means in her power. at any rate the young fellow is well-looking and well-bred enough to carry both names in a creditable fashion.”
-“you’ve taken considerable of a time about making it,” said lady beaumaris, “but i’m bound to say your suggestion ain’t worth shucks. given the real artistic and bohemian article to nibble at, is a girl like susanna likely to swallow the imitation article? i guess not!”
-“i concur entirely with my mother, alaric,” said lord beaumaris. “you propose, in the person of this young man, to introduce an element of danger into our limited september house-party.”
-“you could let this mr. wopse live in the garden châlet, and commission the keeper’s wife to attend to him,” said the dowager, “but even then, how are you to make sure that——”
-“that susanna does not associate with him? there is a simple method of divesting the young man of all attraction for a young creature of our dear girl’s temperament,” said alaric, “but for several reasons i shrink from recommending its selection.”
-“pray mention it,” said lord beaumaris, with an uneasy laugh.
-“let’s hear it!” said lady beaumaris.
-“you have only,” said alaric, with great distinctness, “to call this young fellow by his christian name; to let him take lady beaumaris in to dinner; to put him up in your best room—the indian chintz suite—and generally to foster the idea——”
-“that he is the duke of halcyon!” cried the dowager. “my stars! what a palais royal farce to be played under this respectable old roof.”
-“you suggest a double—a doubly-infamous and objectionable deception! not a word more.... i will not hear it!” lord beaumaris rapped decidedly on the table, rose in agitation, and strode on creaking patent leathers to the door. “the question is closed forever,” said he, turning upon the threshold. “let no one refer to it again in my——”
-the door, which had occasionally creaked throughout this discussion, smartly opened from without, and acting upon the earl’s offended person as a battering-ram, caused him to run forwards smartly, tripping over the edge of the worn, but still splendid turkey carpet. lord beaumaris saved himself by clinging to the high back of an ancestral chair, upon the seat of which he subsided, as the tall young figure of his daughter appeared on the threshold, her tam-o’-shanter cap, her long yellow locks, and her red golfing jacket shining with moisture, her fresh cheeks red with the cold kisses of the march winds.
-“it began to snow like happy jack,” said susanna, pulling off her rough beaver gauntlet gloves, “so i came home. well, have you all done plotting? you look like conspirators—all—with the exception of alaric.”
-this was true, for while the earl, his mother, and three other members of the family council, whom we have not found it necessary to describe, wore an air of somewhat guilty perturbation, the drab-colored, mild countenance of alaric, its diabolical left eye now blandly shuttered with its tinted eyeglass, alone appeared guiltless and unmoved.
-“we’ve been discussing the september house-party,” explained this catesby, as susanna sat upon the elbow of his chair and affectionately rumpled his sparse, light-colored locks.
-“and husbands for me!” said susanna, half throttling alaric with her strong young arm.
-“susanna!” cried her father. “i am surprised! i say no more than that i am surprised!”
-“and i say,” retorted susanna, in clear, defiant, ringing accents, as she swayed herself to and fro upon her narrow perch, “that it is beastly to be expected to marry just because money has got to be brought into the family. of course i shall marry one day—i don’t want to study law, or be a hospital nurse like that idiotic laura penglebury. but i don’t want to be a married woman until i’m tired of being a girl. i want to have lots of fun and do lots of things, and see lots of people, and make my mind up for my own self. and——”
-lord beaumaris, who had long been fermenting, frothed over. “when you form an alliance, my child, you will form it with my sanction and my approval, and the husband you honor with your hand will be a person selected and approved of by me. by me! i will choose for you——”
-“and suppose i choose for myself afterwards!” cried susanna, blue fire flashing from her defiant eyes.
-“every woman is at heart—ahem!” muttered alaric, as lord beaumaris strove with incipient apoplexy. susanna continued, with a whimper in her voice:
-“the young men you and grandmother point out to me as nice and eligible, and all that, are simply awful. they have no chins, or too much, and no teeth, or too many, and they don’t talk at all, or they gabble all the time, about nothing. they never read, they don’t care for art or poetry—they aren’t interested in anything but bridge and racing; and if you told them that beethoven composed the ‘honeysuckle and the bee,’ or that chopin wrote ‘when i marry amelia,’ they’d believe you. they like married women better than girls, and people who dance at theaters better than the married women——”
-“pet, you’d better go to mademoiselle.... ask her, with my love, to fix you up some french history to translate,” lady beaumaris suggested.
-“i should prefer a gallic verb,” lord beaumaris amended. “i marry in accordance with my parents’ wishes. thou marriest in accordance with thy parents’ wishes. he marries—and so on! and make a solid schoolroom tea while you are about it, my child,” he continued, as susanna bestowed a parting strangle upon alaric, kicked over a footstool, and rose to leave the room. “for i fear we are to be deprived of your society at dinner this evening.”
-susanna’s lovely red underlip pouted; her blue eyes clouded with tears. she flashed a resentful look at her sire, and went out.
-“she is not manageable by any ordinary methods,” said lord beaumaris, running his forefinger round the inside of his collar, and shaking his head. “in such a case contumacy must be combated with craft, and defiance met with diplomacy. alaric, regrettable as is the course you have counseled us to pursue, i feel inclined to adopt it.... i shall write to-night to make an appointment on wednesday with the duke of halcyon at the peers’ club, and—i shall be obliged if you will, at your early convenience—favor me with the address of the young man wopse.”
-the garden châlet was damp; it had been raining, and the glittering appearance of the walls betrayed the fact. “as though a bally lot of snails had been dancin’ a cotillon on ’em!” said the duke of halcyon. he yawned dismally as he opened the casement and leaned out, looking, in his gaudily-hued silken night-suit, like a tulip drooping from the window-sill. then the keeper’s wife came splashing up the muddy path carrying a tray covered with a mackintosh, and the knowledge that his breakfast would presently be set before him, and set before him in a lukewarm, flabby, and tepid condition, caused halcyon to groan. but presently, when bathed, shaved, and attired in a neat knickerbocker suit of tawny-orange velveteen, with green silk stockings and tan shoes, salmon-colored silk shirt, rainbow necktie, and panama, he issued, cigarette in mouth, from the châlet, and strolled in the direction of the newly-restored west wing, his grace’s equanimity seemed restored. he even hummed a tune, which might have been “the honeysuckle and the bee” or “god save the king,” as he mounted the short, wide, double flight of marble steps that led from the terrace, and, pushing open the glazed swing-doors, entered the ballroom, the entire space of which was filled by a bewildering maze of ropes and scaffolding, as though a giant spider had spun a cobweb in hemp and pine. a smell of turpentine and size was in the air, and a paint-table occupied a platform immediately under the skylight dome, the sides of which were already filled in with outlines, transferred from cartoons designed by the artist engaged to ornament the apartment. that gentleman, arrayed in a blue canvas blouse and wearing a deerstalker cap on the back of a well-shaped head, was actively engaged in washing in the values of a colossal nude figure-group with a bucket of sepia and a six-foot brush. he whistled rather queerly as his bright eye fell upon the intruder.
-“you’re there, are you?” said the duke unnecessarily. “shall i come up?”
-“if you can!” said halcyon wopse, with a decided smile, that revealed a very complete set of very white teeth. “but, to save time, perhaps i had better come down to you.” and the painter swung himself lightly down from stage to stage until he reached the ground-level of his august relative.
-“put what you’ve got to tell me as clearly as you can,” said the duke. “i never was a sap at eton, and the classical names of these johnnies you’re thingambobbing on the what’s-a-name rather queer me.”
-“the design outlined on the plaster in the central space on the left-hand side of the skylight dome,” said wopse, a.r.a., “is the ‘judgment of paris.’ the three figures of the rival goddesses are completely outlined, but, as you see, paris is only roughly blocked in.”
-“i don’t see a city,” said the duke with some annoyance. “i only see a bit of a man. and, as for being block-tin——”
-“paris was a man—or, rather, a youth,” said halcyon wopse, quoting—
-“‘fair and disdainfully lidded, the shepherd of ida, holding the golden apple, desired of——’”
-“hold on! when people get spouting it knocks me galley-west,” said the duke. “just tell me plainly what the beggar was to judge? goddesses? i savvy! and which of ’em took the biscuit—i mean the apple? venus? right you are! that’s as much as i can hold at one time, thanky!”
-“sorry if i’ve over-estimated the extent of the accommodation,” said halcyon wopse, smiling and lighting a cigar.
-“one of the partagas. now, hang it,” said the duke, “that is infernally stupid of my man.”
-“of my man, you mean,” corrected the painter.
-“i begin to think,” said the duke, “that i have, in falling in with the absurd plot, cooked up by that old footler, beaumaris, and swopping characters with a beg—with an artist fellow like you, in order to take the fancy of a long-haired, long-legged colt of a girl——”
-“i presume you allude to lady lymston?” put in the painter coldly.
-“of course. i say, in tumblin’ to the idea and embarkin’ in the game, i’ve made an ass of myself,” said the duke. “as for you, you’re in clover.”
-“say nettles,” sighed the painter.
-“passin’ under my name——”
-“pardon,” said the painter. “the name is my own. and let us say, simply, that in changing identities with your grace in order to enable your grace to cast a glamour of artistic romance over a very ordinary——”
-“eh?” interjected the duke.
-“situation,” continued the painter. “in doing this i have laid up for myself a considerable store of regret.”
-“regret! why, hang you! you’re chalkin’ up scores the whole bally time!” shrieked the duke, stamping his tan shoes on the canvas-protected parquet. “beaumaris’s guests—only a few purposely selected fogies and duffers, who don’t count, it’s true—believe you to be me. they flatter you and defer to you. you take the dowager in to dinner, and i’m left to toddle after with susanna’s french governess. i’m out of everything—and obliged to talk art, bally art—from mornin’ till night! while you—you’ve ridden to cub-hunts on my mounts—driven my motor-cars and bust my tires——”
-“and very bad ones they are,” said the painter.
-“you ride infernally well, and show off before the field at henworthy three gates, where the hardest riders in the county hang back. you ain’t afraid of a trappy take-off—you weren’t built for a broken neck,” screeched the incensed peer. “you play golf too, and win the coronation challenge cup for the lymston club, takin’ seven holes out of the eighteen, and holin’ the round in the score of sixty-eight.”
-“it was my duty to maintain the honor of your grace’s rank once i had consented to assume it,” said the painter with a bow.
-“and you’re a dead shot, confound you, knockin’ the birds over right and left, and getting a par. in every sportin’ newspaper for a record bag of four hundred. you’re a polo player too—hit a ball up and down the field and through the goals at each end, and look as if you didn’t care whether the ladies applauded you or not, da—hang you! and you must own to bein’ a bit of a cricketer, and consent to play in the county match on thursday, and i wouldn’t like to bet against your chances of makin’ a big score—an all-round admirable what’s-a-name of a fellow like you!”
-“perhaps you’d better not,” the painter remarked calmly, knocking off the ash of his cigar. “but i should be glad to know the reason for this display of temper on your grace’s part, all the same,” he added. “if i rode like a tailor and shot like a duffer, hit your ponies’ legs instead of the ball, and played cricket like a german governess at a girls’ boarding-school, i could understand——”
-“don’t you understand when i get back into my own skin again, i’ll have to live up to the reputation you’ve made me?” yelled halcyon. “i could pass muster before because nobody looked for anything. but now....”
-“and what of my reputation? i think i heard you telling susanna——”
-“susanna!” echoed the duke.
-“she is susanna to your grace. did i not hear you telling her that chiaroscuro was an italian painter of the cinquecento—who, you said, was a pope who patronized art! you went on to say that chiaroscuro lived on hard eggs, and designed carnival cars, and that benvenuto cellini won the gold cup at ascot race meeting in ’91.”
-“look here, we won’t indulge in mutual recriminations. it’s beastly bad form!” said the duke. “and though you can ride and all that, i never said i thought you could paint for nuts! in fact, between ourselves, i don’t half like havin’ these spooks on the ceilin’ set down to me.” he twisted his sandy little moustache, and fixed his eyeglass in his eye, and started. “here’s lady lymston comin’ over the lawn with a whole pack of dogs, to ask me how i’ve got on since yesterday.”
-“take my blouse!” the painter denuded himself of the turpentiny garment, appearing in a well-cut tweed shooting-suit.
-he had just reached it when susanna’s fresh young voice was heard outside calling to her dogs, and a moment later she appeared. her fair cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes were bright with exercise. she wore a rough gray skirt, which, if less abbreviated than of yore, still showed a slim, arched foot and suggested a charming ankle. her white silk blouse was confined by a norwegian belt, and a loose beret cap of black velvet crowned her yellow head, its silken riches being now disposed in a great coil, through which a silver arrow was carelessly thrust. she started and reddened from her temples to the edge of lace at her round throat when the tweed-clad figure of the painter caught her eye, and gave him her hand with an indifference which was too ostentatious.
-“i didn’t know you were interested in art,” she said.
-“oh yes!” responded the painter. “at least, if this can be called art,” he added modestly.
-“’ssh!” warned susanna. “he is up there, and will hear you.”
-“he?” echoed the painter, reveling in the blush.
-“did i hear my name?” called the duke sweetly, from above. “hulloa, lady lymston, that you? come to record progress? as you see, we’re going strong.” his six-foot brush menaced a juno’s draperies, a gallipot of size upset, trickled its contents through the planking; his velveteen coat-tails placed paris in peril, as he turned his back to the cartoon and resting his hands upon his knees, assumed a stooping attitude, and peered waggishly down over the edge of the scaffolding at susanna.
-“take care—you!” shouted the painter, forgetting his aristocratic rôle.
-“my foot is on my native thingumbob, ain’t it, lady lymston?” said the owner of the small, cockneyfied, grinning countenance above. “how do you like the wax-works? this is the”—he flourished the six-foot brush perilously—“this is the judgment of berlin.”
-“paris!” prompted the false duke hoarsely.
-“he is trying to joke,” said susanna, in an undertone. “don’t discourage him.”
-“i should think that would be difficult,” remarked wopse grimly.
-“papa tries to be crushing, and cousin alaric’s rudeness is simply appalling,” said susanna, in a confidential undertone. “and grandmother walks over him as though he were a beetle—no! she would run away from a thing like that—i should say an earwig or a snail, so one feels bound to be a little nice.”
-“if only out of opposition!” said the painter, with a keen look of intelligence, at which susanna blushed again.
-“he is idiotic when he tries to be funny about art—and mixes up names and dates—and tells you that titian sang in opera and rubens is a popular composer. but he can paint, and alaric orme thinks he will be president of the academy one day. these cartoons are splendidly bold and effective.”
-“you think so! wait till i’ve colored these girls up a bit,” said the duke, catching the end of the sentence. “then you’ll——” he dipped his brush and advanced it, dripping with cobalt, towards the group of goddesses.
-“don’t touch them!” shouted wopse, in agony.
-“why not?” asked susanna.
-“i don’t know. excuse me, lady lymston, i believe the smell of this size isn’t wholesome,” wopse stammered. “i’ll get out into the air.” he bolted.
-“good heavens!” he moaned, as he strode unseeing down a broad path of the dazzling west front pasture, “i can’t stand this! i’ll tell that idiot osmond-orme that the deception must come to an end....”
-“why do you walk so fast?” said the voice of susanna, behind him. “i have had to race to catch you.”
-“i am sorry,” said wopse, stopping and turning his troubled eyes upon the fair face of his young relation.
-“let us walk on”—susanna cast an apprehensive glance behind her—“or somebody——”
-“somebody will see us walking together!” said wopse acutely.
-“it is so much nicer,” susanna said demurely, “when one can keep pleasant things to oneself. and we have had a good many walks and talks since you came down here, haven’t we? and cliff scrambles—and bicycle rides—and rows on the river. and the fun of it is that, although we are such pals, really, father and grandmother and uncle alaric believe that i positively detest you.” her young laugh rang out gayly; she thrust a sprig of lavender, perfumed and spicy, under the painter’s nose. he captured the tantalizing hand.
-“do you not?”
-“detest you! you know i don’t.”
-“may i have it?” it was the sprig of lavender. but the painter looked at, and squeezed, the hand.
-“if you promise to make a big score on thursday!”
-susanna, it must be admitted, was learning coquetry.
-“i will—if you are looking at me!”
-“done! come into the beech avenue,” the painter pleaded, “just for a few moments, before that little beast follows us. you know he will!”
-“he can’t!” susanna’s golden eyelashes drooped upon crimson cheeks. “he can’t get down! i—i took away the ladder before i came away!” she owned. both hands were imprisoned, her blue eyes lifted, lost themselves in the brown ones that looked down at her.
-“was that because you wanted—to be alone with me? was it?” demanded wopse.
-“oh, hal, don’t!”
-“i’ll let you go when you have owned up, not before,” wopse said sternly.
-susanna’s reply came in a whisper: “you—know—it—was!”
-the whisper was so faint that wopse had to bend quite low to catch it. of course he need not have kissed susanna. but he did, as alaric osmond-orme and lord beaumaris appeared, walking confidentially together arm-in-arm.
-“i think my little stratagem succeeds!” lord beaumaris had just said, in reference to the preference exhibited by his daughter for the society of the pretended painter. and alaric had responded:
-“yes, as you say, my plan has proved quite a brilliant success!” when lord beaumaris clutched his cousin���s arm.
-“merciful powers! susanna and that—that young impostor!”
-alaric’s eyeglass fell with a click, and the diabolical left eye twirled and twisted fiendishly in its socket as its retina embraced the picture indicated.
-“feign not to have observed.... well, susanna! how are you, halcyon. we are strolling towards the ballroom for a glimpse of wopse’s work.”
-“we are stro——” lord beaumaris choked and purpled. alaric dragged him on.
-“do you think?...” susanna’s cheeks were white roses now. “do you think—they——”
-“saw me kiss you? not a doubt of it!”
-“oh!” susanna confronted him with blazing eyes. “you!—you did it on purpose! it was a plot——”
-she clenched her strong young hands, battling with the desire to buffet the handsome bronzed face before her. “i’ll never—never speak to you again!” she cried.
-“you will not be allowed to,” groaned the poor painter. “our walks and rides and all the rest are over.... yes, there has been a plot, but not of the kind you suspect. i am a traitor—but not the kind of traitor you think me. lady lymston, i am not the duke of halcyon. i am a poor devil—i beg your pardon!—i am a painter; my name is wopse, and i have disgraced my profession by the part i have played!” he sat down miserably on a rustic bench.
-“oh! it has been a put-up thing between you all!” susanna gasped. “oh!” she towered over wopse like an incensed young goddess.
-“if i could only paint you like that! yes—i deserve that you should hate me. never mind who planned the thing, i should have known better than to soil my hands with a deception,” said wopse. “as for the duke——”
-“the duke! do i understand that that earwig in velveteen is my cousin halcyon!” susanna’s voice was very cold.
-“yes. i am a kind of cousin, too,” said wopse.
-“but not that kind. those—those designs—the work on the ceiling. they are really yours?” susanna asked.
-“and you ride splendidly, and you’re a crack shot and polo player, and you’re going to win for the county eleven on thursday,” came breathlessly from susanna.
-“ah, you won’t care to look at me now!” said the depressed wopse.
-“won’t i?” susanna’s eyes were dancing, her cheeks were glowing, she pirouetted on the moss-grown ground of the avenue and dropped a little curtsey to the painter. “when doing it will drive father and grandmother and alaric and the earwig wild with rage.... when—when i like doing it, too! when——” she stooped, and her lips were very near wopse’s cheek—“when i love doing it!”
-“oh, susanna!” cried the painter.
-“my dear halcyon!” said lord beaumaris, peering short-sightedly upwards through a maze of scaffolding. “i think you may as well come down.”
-“in other words—the game is up!” said alaric osmond-orme mildly. “come down, my dear fellow, and resume your own rôle of hereditary legislator. allow me to replace the ladder.” he did so.
-“so that fellow’s done me! i guessed as much when that little—when susanna took away the ladder,” said the duke, preparing to descend. “and then when i saw him kiss her—there’s a remarkably good view of the gardens through the end window. i——” he pointed to some remarkable effects of color splashed upon the ground so carefully prepared by the painter. “i took it out of the beggar in the only way i could, don’t you know.”
-“take it out of him still more,” suggested alaric, his tinted eyeglass concealing a fiendish twinkle, “by playing in the county cricket match. he’s entered in your name, you know!”
-“you’re very obligin’,” said the duke, “but i don’t think i’m taking any.” he gracefully slithered to the floor as susanna and halcyon wopse entered the ballroom, radiant and hand in hand.
-“papa,” said susanna, taking the bull by the horns, “mr. wopse and i are engaged. we mean to be married as soon as possible after the county cricket match.” she kissed the perturbed countenance of lord beaumaris, nodded to the duke, and walked over to alaric. “your plan has succeeded beautifully,” she said. “ain’t you pleased—and won’t you congratulate us?”
-“i am delighted,” said the imperturbable alaric. he dropped his eyeglass and before the preternatural intelligence of his left eye even susanna quailed. “and i congratulate you both most heartily.” he smiled, and pressed the hands of susanna and her lover, and, moving away, stepped into the garden. there, unseen, he rubbed his hands, twinkling with mourning rings.
-“i loved that boy’s mother very dearly, boy as i was then ...” said alaric. “as for susanna, if she knew that i knew she was listening at the library door....” he replaced his eyeglass, and his expression became, as usual, a blank.
-lady clanbevan’s baby
-there was a gray, woolly october fog over hyde park. the railings wept grimy tears, and the damp yellow leaves dropped soddenly from the soaked trees. pedestrians looked chilled and sulky; camphor chests and cedar-presses had yielded up their treasures of sables and sealskin, chinchilla and silver fox. a double stream of fashionable traffic rolled west and east, and the rich clarets and vivid crimsons of the automobiles burned through the fog like genial, warming fires.
-a baby-bunting six horse-power petrol-car, in color a chrysanthemum yellow, came jiggeting by. the driver stopped. he was a technical chemist and biologist of note and standing, and i had last heard him speak from the platform of the royal institution.
-“i haven’t seen you,” said the professor, “for years.”
-“that must be because you haven’t looked,” said i, “for i have both seen and heard you quite recently. only you were upon the platform and i was on the ground-floor.”
-“you are too much upon the ground-floor now,” said the professor, with a shudder of a southern european at the dampness around and under foot, “and i advise you to accept a seat in my car.”
-and the baby-bunting, trembling with excitement at being in the company of so many highly-varnished electric victorias and forty horse-power auto-cars, joined the steadily-flowing stream going west.
-“i wonder that you stoop to petrol, professor,” i said, as the thin, skillful hand in the baggy chamois glove manipulated the driving-wheel, and the little car snaked in and out like a torpedo-boat picking her way between the giant warships of a channel squadron.
-the professor’s black brows unbent under the cap-peak, and his thin, tightly-gripped lips relaxed into a mirthless smile.
-“ah, yes; you think that i should drive my car by radio-activity, is it not? and so i could—and would, if the pure radium chloride were not three thousand times the price of gold. from eight tons of uranium ore residues about one gramme—that is fifteen grains—can be extracted by fusing the residue with carbonates of soda, dissolving in hydrochloric acid, precipitating the lead and other metals in solution by the aid of hydrogen-sulphide, and separating from the chlorides that remain—polonium, actinium, barium, and so forth—the chloride of radium. with a single pound of this i could not only drive an auto-car, my friend”—his olive cheek warmed, and his melancholy dark eyes grew oddly lustrous—“i could stop the world!”
-“and supposing it was necessary to make it go on again?” i suggested.
-“when i speak of the world,” exclaimed the professor, “i do not refer to the planet upon which we revolve; i speak of the human race which inhabits it.”
-“would the human race be obliged to you, professor?” i queried.
-the professor turned upon me with so sudden a verbal riposte that the baby-bunting swerved violently.
-“you are not as young as you were when i met you first. to be plain, you are getting middle-aged. do you like it?”
-“i hate it!” i answered, with beautiful sincerity.
-“would you thank the man who should arrest, not the beneficent passage of time, which means progress, but the wear and tear of nerve and muscle, tissue, and bone, the slow deterioration of the blood by the microbes of old age, for metchnikoff has shown that there is no difference between the atrophy of senility and the atrophy caused by microbe poison? would you thank him—the man who should do that for you? tell me, my friend.”
-i replied, briefly and succinctly: “wouldn’t i?”
-“ha!” exclaimed the professor, “i thought so!”
-“but i should have liked him to have begun earlier,” i said. “twenty-nine is a nice age, now.... it is the age we all try to stop at, and can’t, however much we try. look there!”
-a landau limousine, dark blue, beautifully varnished, nickel-plated, and upholstered in cream-white leather, came gliding gracefully through the press of vehicles. from the crest upon the panel to the sober workmanlike livery of the chauffeur, the turn-out was perfection. the pearl it contained was worthy of the setting.
-“look there?” i repeated, as the rose-cheeked, sapphire-eyed, smiling vision passed, wrapped in a voluminous coat of chinchilla and silver fox, with a toque of parma violets under the shimmer of the silken veil that could only temper the burning glory of her wonderful renaissance hair.
-“there’s the exception to the rule.... there’s a woman who doesn’t need the aid of science or of art to keep her at nine and twenty. there’s a woman in whom ‘the wear and tear of nerve and muscle, tissue and bone’ goes on—if it does go on—imperceptibly. her blood doesn’t seem to be much deteriorated by the microbe of old age, professor, does it? and she’s forty-three! the alchemistical forty-three, that turns the gold of life back into lead! the gold remains gold in her case, for that hair, that complexion, that figure, are,” i solemnly declared, “her own.”
-at that moment lady clanbevan gave a smiling gracious nod to the professor, and he responded with a cold, grave bow. the glow of her gorgeous hair, the liquid sapphire of her eyes, were wasted on this stony man of science. she passed, going home to stanhope gate, i suppose, in which neighborhood she has a house; i had barely a moment to notice the white-bonneted, blue-cloaked nurse on the front of the landau, holding a bundle of laces and cashmeres, and to reflect that i have never yet seen lady clanbevan taking the air out of the society of a baby, when the professor spoke:
-“so lady clanbevan is the one woman who has no need of the aid of art or science to preserve her beauty and maintain her appearance of youth? supposing i could prove to you otherwise, my friend, what then?”
-“i should say,” i returned, “that you had proved what everybody else denies. even the enemies of that modern ninon de l’enclos, who has just passed——”
-“with the nurse and the baby?” interpolated the professor.
-“with the nurse and the baby,” said i. “even her enemies—and they are legion—admit the genuineness of the charms they detest. mentioning the baby, do you know that for twenty years i have never seen lady clanbevan out without a baby? she must have quite a regiment of children—children of all ages, sizes, and sexes.”
-“upon the contrary,” said the professor, “she has only one!”
-“the others have all died young, then?” i asked sympathetically, and was rendered breathless by the rejoinder:
-“lady clanbevan is a widow.”
-“one never asks questions about the husband of a professional beauty,” i said. “his individuality is merged in hers from the day upon which her latest photograph assumes a marketable value. are you sure there isn’t a lord clanbevan alive somewhere?”
-“there is a lord clanbevan alive,” said the professor coldly. “you have just seen him, in his nurse’s arms. he is the only child of his mother, and she has been a widow for nearly twenty years! you do not credit what i assert, my friend?”
-“how can i, professor?” i asked, turning to meet his full face, and noticed that his dark, somewhat opaque brown irises had lights and gleams of carbuncle-crimson in them. “i have had lady clanbevan and her progeny under my occasional observation for years. the world grows older, if she doesn’t, and she has invariably a baby—toujours a new baby—to add to the charming illusion of young motherhood which she sustains so well. and now you tell me that she is a twenty-years’ widow with one child, who must be nearly of age—or it isn’t proper. you puzzle me painfully!”
-“would you care,” asked the professor after a moment’s pause, “to drive back to harley street with me? i am, as you know, a vegetarian, so i will not tax your politeness by inviting you to lunch. but i have something in my laboratory i should wish to show you.”
-“of all things, i should like to come,” i said. “how many times haven’t i fished fruitlessly for an invitation to visit the famous laboratory where nearly twenty years ago——”
-“i traced,” said the professor, “the source of phenomena which heralded the evolution of the röntgen ray and the ultimate discovery of the radio-active salt they have christened radium. i called it protium twenty years ago, because of its various and protean qualities. why did i not push on—perfect the discovery and anticipate sir william c—— and the x——’s? there was a reason. you will understand it before you leave my laboratory.”
-the baby-bunting stopped at the unfashionable end of harley street, in front of the dingy yellow house with the black front door, flanked by dusty boxes of mildewed dwarf evergreens, and the professor, relieved of his fur-lined coat and cap, led the way upstairs as lightly as a boy. two garret-rooms had been knocked together for a laboratory. there was a tiled furnace at the darker end of the long skylighted room thus made, and solid wooden tables much stained with spilt chemicals, were covered with scales, glasses, jars, and retorts—all the tools of chemistry. from one of the many shelves running round the walls, the professor took down a circular glass flask and placed it in my hands. the flask contained a handful of decayed and moldy-looking wheat, and a number of peculiarly offensive-looking little beetles with tapir-like proboscides.
-“the perfectly developed beetle of the calandria granaria,” said the professor, as i cheerfully resigned the flask, “a common british weevil, whose larvæ feed upon stored grain. now look at this.” he reached down and handed me a precisely similar flask, containing another handful of grain, cleaner and sounder in appearance, and a number of grubs, sharp-ended chrysalis-like things buried in the grain, inert and inactive.
-“the larvæ of calandria granaria,” said the professor, in his drawling monotone. “how long does it take to hatch the beetle from the grub? you ask. less than a month. the perfect weevils that i have just shown you i placed in their flask a little more than three weeks back. the grubs you see in the flask you are holding, and which, as you will observe by their anxiety to bury themselves in the grain so as to avoid contact with the light, are still immature, i placed in the glass receptacle twenty years ago. don’t drop the flask—i value it.”
-“professor!” i gasped.
-“twenty years ago,” repeated the professor, delicately handling the venerable grubs, “i enclosed these grubs in this flask, with sufficient grain to fully nourish them and bring them to the perfect state. in another flask i placed a similar number of grubs in exactly the same quantity of wheat. then for twenty-four hours i exposed flask number one to the rays emanating from what is now called radium. and as the electrons discharged from radium are obstructed by collision with air-atoms, i exhausted the air contained in the flask.” he paused.
-“then, when the grubs in flask number two hatched out,” i anticipated, “and the larvæ in flask number one remained stationary, you realized——”
-“i realized that the rays from the salt arrested growth, and at the same time prolonged to an almost incalculable extent,” said the professor—“for you will understand that the grubs in flask number one had lived as grubs half a dozen times as long as grubs usually do.... and i said to myself that the discovery presented an immense, a tremendous field for future development. suppose a young woman of, say, twenty-nine were enclosed in a glass receptacle of sufficient bulk to contain her, and exposed for a few hours to my protium rays, she would retain for many years to come—until she was a great-grandmother of ninety!—the same charming, youthful appearance——”
-“as lady clanbevan!” i cried, as the truth rushed upon me and i grasped the meaning this astonishing man had intended to convey.
-“as lady clanbevan presents to-day,” said the professor, “thanks to the discovery of a——”
-“of a great man,” said i, looking admiringly at the lean worn figure in the closely-buttoned black frock-coat.
-“i loved her.... it was a delight to her to drag a disciple of science at her chariot-wheels. people talked of me as a coming man. perhaps i was.... but i did not thirst for distinction, honors, fame.... i thirsted for that woman’s love.... i told her of my discovery—as i told her everything. bah!” his lean nostrils worked. “you know the game that is played when one is in earnest and the other at play. she promised nothing, she walked delicately among the passions she sowed and fostered in the souls of men, as a beautiful tigress walks among the poison-plants of the jungle. she saw that rightly used, or wrongly used, my great discovery might save her beauty, her angelic, dazzling beauty that had as yet but felt the first touch of time. she planned the whole thing, and when she said, ‘you do not love me if you will not do this,’ i did it. i was mad when i acceded to her wish, perhaps; but she is a woman to drive men frenzied. you have seen how coldly, how slightingly she looked at me when we encountered her in the row? i tell you—you have guessed already—i went there to see her. i always go where she is to be encountered, when she is in town. and she bows, always; but her eyes are those of a stranger. yet i have had her on her knees to me. she cried and begged and kissed my hands.”
-he knotted his thin hands, their fingers brown-tipped with the stains of acids, and wrung and twisted them ferociously.
-“and so i granted what she asked, carried out the experiment, and paid what you english call the piper. the giant glass bulb with the rubber-valve door was blown and finished in france. it involved an expense of three hundred pounds. the salt i used—of protium (christened radium now)—cost me all my savings—over two thousand pounds—for i had been a struggling man——”
-“but the experiment?” i broke in. “good heavens, professor! how could a living being remain for any time in an exhausted receiver? agony unspeakable, convulsions, syncope, death! one knows what the result would be. the merest common sense——”
-“the merest common sense is not what one employs to make discoveries or carry out great experiments,” said the professor. “i will not disclose my method; i will only admit to you that the subject—the subjects were insensible; that i induced anæsthesia by the ordinary ether-pump apparatus, and that the strength of the ray obtained was concentrated to such a degree that the exposure was complete in three hours.” he looked about him haggardly. “the experiment took place here nineteen years ago—nineteen years ago, and it seems to me as though it were yesterday.”
-“and it must seem like yesterday to lady clanbevan—whenever she looks in the glass,” i said. “but you have pricked my curiosity, professor, by the use of the plural. who was the other subject?”
-“is it possible you don’t guess?” the sad, hollow eyes questioned my face in surprise. then they turned haggardly away. “my friend, the other subject associated with lady clanbevan in my great experiment was—her baby!”
-i could not speak. the dowdy little grubs in the flask became for me creatures imbued with dreadful potentialities.... the tragedy and the sublime absurdity of the thing i realized caught at my throat, and my brain grew dizzy with its horror.
-“oh! professor!” i gurgled, “how—how grimly, awfully, tragically ridiculous! to carry about with one wherever one goes a baby that never grows older—a baby——”
-“a baby nearly twenty years old? yes, it is as you say, ridiculous and horrible,” the professor agreed.
-“what could have induced the woman!” burst from me.
-the professor smiled bitterly.
-“she is greedy of money. it is the only thing she loves—except her beauty and her power over men; and during the boy’s infancy—that word is used in the will—she has full enjoyment of the estate. after he ‘attains to manhood’—i quote the will again—hers is but a life-interest. now you understand?”
-i did understand, and the daring of the woman dazzled me. she had made the professor doubly her tool.
-“and so,” i gurgled between tears and laughter, “lord clanbevan, who ought to be leaving eton this year to commence his first oxford term, is being carried about in the arms of a nurse, arrayed in the flowing garments of a six-months’ baby! what an astonishing conspiracy!”
-“his mother,” continued the professor calmly, “allows no one to approach him but the nurse. the family are only too glad to ignore what they consider a deplorable case of atavistic growth-arrest, and the boy himself——” he broke off. “i have detained you,” he said, after a pause. “i will not do so longer. nor will i offer you my hand. i am as conscious as you are—that it has committed a crime.” and he bowed me out with his hands sternly held behind him. there were few more words between us, only i remember turning on the threshold of the laboratory, where i left him, to ask whether protium—radium, as it is now christened—checks the growth of every organic substance? the answer i received was curious:
-“certainly, with the exception of the nails and the hair!”
-the chance came. it was a hot, waspy august forenoon. everybody was indoors with all the doors and windows open, lunching upon the innutritive viands alone procurable at health resorts—everybody but myself, lord clanbevan, and his nurse. she had fallen asleep upon a green-painted esplanade seat, gratuitously shielded by a striped awning. lord clanbevan’s c-springed, white-hooded, cane-built perambulator stood close beside her. he was, as usual, a mass of embroidered cambric and cashmere, and, as always, thickly veiled, his regular breathing heaved his infant breast; the thick white lace drapery attached to his beribboned bonnet obscured the features upon which i so ardently longed to gaze! it was the chance, as i have said; and as the head of the blue-cloaked nurse dropped reassuringly upon her breast, as she emitted the snore that gave assurance of the soundness of her slumbers, i stepped silently on the gravel towards the baby’s perambulator. three seconds, and i stood over its apparently sleeping inmate; another, and i had lifted the veil from the face of the mystery—and dropped it with a stifled cry of horror!
-the child had a moustache!
-the duchess’s dilemma
-“a person called to see me!” repeated the duchess of rantorlie. “he pleaded urgent business, you say?”
-she glanced at the card presented by her groom-of-the-chambers without taking the trouble to lift it from the salver. “‘mr. moss rubelius.’ i do not know the name—i have no knowledge of any urgent business. you must tell him to go away at once, and not call again.”
-“begging your grace’s pardon,” remarked the official, “the person seemed to anticipate a message of the kind——”
-“did he? then,” thought her grace, “he is not disappointed.”
-“and, still begging your grace’s pardon,” pursued the discreet domestic, “he asked me to hand this second card to your grace.”
-it was rather a shabby card, and dog’s-eared as though it had been carried long in somebody’s pocket; but it was large and feminine, and adorned with a ducal coronet and the duchess’s own cipher, and scribbled upon it in pencil, in the duchess’s own handwriting, were two or three words, simple enough, apparently, and yet sufficiently fraught with meaning to make their fair reader turn very pale. she did not replace this card upon the salver, but kept it as she said:
-“bring the person to me at once.”
-and when the softly stepping servant had left the room—one of her grace’s private suite, charmingly furnished as a study—she made haste to tear the card up, dropping the fragments into the hottest part of the wood-fire, and thrusting at them with the poker until the last tremulous fragment of gray ash had disappeared. rising from this exercise with a radiant glow upon her usually colorless cheeks the duchess became aware that she was not alone. a person of vulgar appearance, outrageously attired in a travesty of the ordinary afternoon costume of an english gentleman, stood three or four feet off, regarding her with an observant and rather wily smile. not at all discomposed, he was the first to speak.
-“before burnin’ that,” he remarked, in the thick, snuffling accents of the low-bred, “your grace ought to have asked yourself whether it was any use. because—i put it to your grace, as a poker-player, being told the game’s fashionable in your grace’s set—a man who holds four aces can afford to throw away the fifth card, even if it’s a king. and people of my profession don’t go in for bluff. it ain’t their fancy.”
-“what is your profession?” asked the duchess, regarding with contempt the dark, full-fed, red-lipped, hook-beaked countenance before her.
-“money!” returned mr. moss rubelius. he rattled coin in his trousers-pockets as he spoke, and the superfluity of gold manifested in large, coarse rings upon his thick fingers, the massy chain festooned across his broad chest, the enormous links fastening his cuffs, and the huge diamond pin in his cravat, seemed to echo “money.”
-the duchess lost no time in coming to the point. she was not guided by previous experience, having hitherto, by grace as well as luck, steered clear of scandal. but, girl of twenty as she was, she asked, as coolly as an intrigante of forty, though her young heart was fluttering wildly against the walls of its beautiful prison, “how did you get that card?”
-“i will be quite plain with your grace,” returned the money-lender. “when the second lot of cavalry drafts sailed for south africa early in the year of 1900, our firm, ’aving a writ of ’abeas out against captain sir hugh delaving of the royal red dragoon guards—i have reason to believe your grace knew something of the captain?”
-“yes,” said the duchess, turning her cold blue eyes upon the twinkling orbs of mr. moss rubelius, “i knew something of the captain. you do not need to ask the question. please go on!”
-“the captain was,” resumed mr. rubelius, “for a born aristocrat, the downiest i ever see—saw, i mean. he gave our clerks and the men with the warrant the slip by being ’eaded up in a wooden packin’ case, labeled ‘officers’ stores,’ and got away to the cape, where he was killed in his first engagement.”
-“this,” said the duchess, “is no news to me.”
-“no,” said the money-lender; “but it may be news to your grace that, though we couldn’t lay our ‘ands on the captain himself, we got hold of all his luggage. not much there that was of any marketable value, except a silver-gilt toilet-set. but there was a packet of letters in a russia writin’-case with a patent lock, all of ’em written in the large-sized, square ’and peculiar to the leadin’ female aristocracy, and signed ‘ethelwyne,’ or merely ‘e.’”
-“and this discovery procures me the pleasure of this interview?” remarked the duchess. “the letters are mine—you come on the errand of a blackmailer. i have only one thing to wonder at, and that is—why you have not come before?”
-“myself and partner thought, as honorable men of business, it would be better to approach the captain first,” explained the usurer. “his mother died the week he sailed for africa, and left him ten thousand pounds. we ’astened to communicate with him, but——”
-“but he had been killed meanwhile,” said the duchess. “you would have had the money he owed—or did not owe—you, and your price for the letters, had you reached him in time; but you did not, and your goods are left upon your hands. why, as honorable men of business”—her lovely lip curled—“did you not take them at once to the duke?”
-mr. moss rubelius seemed for the first time a little nonplussed. he looked down at his large, shiny boots, and the sight did not appear to relieve him.
-“i will be quite plain with your grace.”
-“pray endeavor!” said the duchess.
-“the letters are—to put it delicately—not compromising enough. they’re more,” said mr. rubelius, “the letters a school-girl at brighton would write to her music-master, supposing him to be young and possessed of a pair of cavalry legs and a moustache. there’s fuel in ’em for a first-class connubial row,” continued mr. rubelius, “but not material for a domestic upheaval—followed by an action for divorce. as a man, no longer, but once in business—for within this last month our firm has dissolved, and myself and my partner have retired upon our means—this is my opinion with regard to these letters in your grace’s handwriting, addressed to the late captain sir h. delaving: the duke, i believe, would only laugh at ’em.”
-the duchess started violently, and seemed about to speak.
-“but, still, the letters are worth paying for,” ended mr. moss rubelius. “and your grace can have em—at my price.”
-“what is your price?” asked the duchess, trying in vain to read in the stolid physiognomy before her the secret purpose of the soul within.
-“perhaps your grace wouldn’t mind my taking a chair?” insinuated mr. rubelius.
-“do as you please, sir,” said the duchess, “only be brief.”
-“i’ll try,” said the money-lender, comfortably crossing his legs. “to begin—we’re in the london season and the month of march, and your grace has a party at rantorlie for the april salmon-fishing. angling’s my one vice—my only weakness, ever since i caught minnows in the regent’s canal with a pickle-bottle tied to a string. coarse fishing in the thames was my recreation in grub times, whenever i ’ad a day away from our office in the minories. trout i’ve caught now and then, with a worm on a stuart tackle—since i became a butterfly. but i’ve never had a slap at a salmon, and the finest salmon-anglin’ in the kingdom is to be ’ad in the haste, below rantorlie. ask me there for april, see that i ’ave the pick of the sport, even if you ’ave a royal duke to cater for, as you ’ad last year, and, the day i land my first twenty-pounder, the letters are yours.”
-the duchess burst out laughing wildly.
-“ha, ha! oh!” she cried; “it is impossible to help it.... i can’t!... it is so.... ha, ha, ha!”
-“i shan’t disgrace you,” said mr. rubelius. “my kit and turn-out will be by the best makers, and i’ll tip the ’ead gillie fifty pound. i’m a soft-hearted hass to let the letters go so cheap, but——golly! the chance of catchin’ a twenty-pound specimen of salmo salar that a royal ’ighness ’as angled for in vain!... look ’ere, your grace”—his tones were oily with entreaty—“write me the invitation now, on the spot, and you shall ’ave back the first three of those nine letters down on the nail.”
-“you have them——?”
-“with me!” said mr. rubelius, producing a letter-case attached to his stout person by a chain. “the others are—say, in retirement for the present.” he extracted from the case three large, square, gray envelopes, their addresses penned in a large, angular, girlish hand. “write me the invite now,” he said, “and these are yours to burn or show to his grace—whichever you please. the others shall be yours the day i land my twenty-pounder.”
-the duchess moved to her writing-table and sat down. she chose paper and a pen, and dashed off these few lines:
-“900, berkeley square, w.
-“dear mr. moss rubelius,
-“the duke and myself have asked a few friends to join us at rantorlie on april 1, for the salmon-fishing, and we should be so pleased if you would come.
-“sincerely yours, “ethelwyne rantorlie.”
-“the first letter i ever had, dated from berkeley square,” commented mr. rubelius, as, holding the letter very firmly down upon the blotter with her slim and white, but very strong hands, the duchess signed to him with her chin to read, “that was anything in the nature of a genial invitation.”
-he allowed the duchess to take the three letters previously referred to from his right hand, as he dexterously twitched the invitation from the blotter with his left finger and thumb. “this, your grace, will be as good as half a dozen more to me,” he observed, “when i show it about and get a par. into the papers.”
-“horrible!” cried the duchess, shuddering. “you would not do that!”
-mr. rubelius favored her with a knowing smile as he produced his shiny hat, his gloves, and a malacca cane, gold-handled, from some remote corner in which he had concealed them.
-“let us, being now on the footing of ’ostess and guest, part friendly,” he said. “your grace, may i take your ’and?”
-“i think the formality absolutely unnecessary,” said the duchess, ringing the bell.
-then the money-lender went away, and she caught up a little portrait of the duke that stood upon her writing-table and began to cry over it and kiss it, and say incoherent, affectionate things, like quite an ordinary, commonplace young wife. for, after eighteen months of marriage, she had fallen seriously in love with her quiet, well-bred, intellectual husband, and the remembrance of the silly, romantic flirtation with dead hugh delaving was gall and wormwood to the palate that had learned a finer taste. how had she fallen so low as to write those idiotic, gushing letters?
-their perfume sickened her. she shuddered at the touch of them, as she would have shuddered at the touch of the man to whom they had been written had he still lived. but he was dead, and she had never let him kiss her. she was thankful to remember that, as she put the letters in the fire and watched them blacken and burst into flame.
-“my dear ethelwyne,” asked the duke, “where did you pick up mr. rubelius? or, i should ask, perhaps, how did that gentleman attain to your acquaintance?”
-“it is rather a long, dull story,” said his wife, “but he is really an excellent person, if a little vulgar, and—— you won’t bother me any more about him, rantorlie, will you?”
-she clasped her gloved hands about her husband’s arm as they stood together on the river beach below rantorlie. the turbid flood of the haste, tinged brown by spate, raced past between its rocky banks; the pine-forests climbed to meet the mountains, and the mountains lifted to the sky their crowns of snow. there was a smell of spring in the air, and word of new-run fish in the string of deep pools below the famous falls.
-“i will not, if you particularly wish it,” said her husband. “but to banish your guest from my mind—that is impossible. for one thing, he is hung with air-belts, bottles, and canteens, as though he were starting for a tour in the wildest part of norway. i believe his equipment includes a hatchet, and i think that wad he wears upon his shoulders is a rubber tent, but i am not sure. he has never heard of prawn-baiting, his rods are of the most alarming weight and size, and his salmon-flies are as large and gaudy as paroquets, and calculated, mcdona says, to frighten any self-respecting fish out of his senses. we can’t allow such a gorgeous tyro to spoil the best water. he must be sent to some of the smaller pools, with a man to look after him.”
-“but he—he won’t be likely to catch anything there, will he?” asked the duchess anxiously.
-“a seven-pounder, if he has luck!”
-“oh, rantorlie, that won’t do at all!” cried rantorlie’s wife in dismay. “i want him to have the chance of something really big. it’s our duty to see that our guests are properly treated, and, though you don’t like mr. rubelius——”
-“dear child, i don’t dislike mr. rubelius. i simply don’t think about him any more than i think about the sea-lice on the new-run fish. they are there, and they look nasty. rubelius is here, and so does he.”
-“doesn’t he—especially in evening-dress with a red camelia and a turn-down collar?” gasped the duchess.
-the duke could not restrain a smile at the vision evoked, as mr. rubelius, panoplied in india-rubber, cork, and unshrinkables, strode into view. one of the gillies bore his rod, the other his basket. a third followed with that wobbliest of aquatic vehicles, a coracle, strapped upon his back. with a grin, the man waded into the water, unhitched his light burden, placed it on the rapid stream, and stood, knee-deep, holding the short painter, as the frisky coracle tugged at it.
-“you’re going to try one of those things?” said the duke, as rubelius gracefully lifted his waterproof helmet to the duchess. “you know they’re awfully crank, don’t you, and not at all safe for a bung—i mean, a beginner?”
-“the men, your grace,” explained mr. rubelius, “are going to peg me down in the bed of the stream, a little way out from the shore.”
-“but if your peg draws,” said his host, “do you know how to use your paddle?”
-“that will be all right, your grace,” said the affable rubelius. “i know how to punt. often on the thames at twicken’am——”
-“my dear sir, the haste in moss-shire and the thames at twickenham are two very different rivers,” said the duke, beckoning his gillies to follow, and turning away. “i hope the man may not come to any harm,” he said. “ethelwyne, will you walk down to the falls with me? i”—he reddened a little—“i sent the others on in carts by road. we see so little of each other these days.”
-and the young couple started, leaving mr. rubelius to be put into his coracle, with much splashing, and swearing on his part, by two of the gillies and a volunteer. it was a mild day for april in the north. a single cuckoo called by the riverside, and the duke and duchess did not hurry, though ethelwyne turned back before she reached the falls, below which the deepest salmon-pools were situated, and where the men, the boats, and the rest of the party waited. she had her rod and gillie, and meant to spin a little desultorily from the bank, the haste being almost in every part too deep for waders, except in the upper reaches.
-“i wonder how that horror is getting on?” she thought, as the gillie baited her prawn-tackle. then, stepping out upon a natural pier of rough stones leading well out into the turbulent whitey-brown stream, the duchess skilfully swung out her line, and, after a little manipulation, found herself fast in a good-sized fish.
-“what weight should you judge it?” she asked the attendant, when the silvery prey had been gaffed and landed.
-“all saxteen,” said the gillie briefly. “hech! what cry was that?”
-as the man held up his hand the noise was repeated.
-“it sounds like somebody shouting ‘help!’” said the duchess.
-and, rod in hand, she ran out upon the pier of bowlders, and, shading her eyes with her hand, gazed upstream, as round a rocky point above came something like a tarred washing-basket with a human figure huddled knees-to-chin inside. the coracle had betrayed the confidence of mr. rubelius, and drifted with its hapless tenant down the mile and a half of racing water which lay between rantorlie and the falls. the falls! at that remembrance the laughter died upon the duchess’s lips, and the ridiculous figure drifting towards her in the bobbing coracle became upon an instant a tragic spectacle. for death waited for mr. rubelius a little below the next bend in the rocky bed of the haste. and—if the money-lender were drowned—those letters ... yes, those letters, the proofs of the duchess’s folly, might be regained and destroyed, secretly, and nobody would ever——
-it seemed an age of reflection, but really only a second or two went by before the duchess cried out to rubelius in her sweet, shrill voice, and ran out to the very end of the pier of rocks, and with a clever underhand jerk sent the heavy prawn-tackle spinning out up and down the river. once she tried—and failed. the second time, two of the three hooks stuck firmly into the wickerwork of the coracle. it spun round, suddenly arrested in its course, but the strong salmon-gut held, and, after an anxious minute or two, the livid rubelius safely reached shore.
-“i’ve ’ad my lesson,” said he, as the gillie administered whisky. “never any more salmon-fishing for me! it’s too tryin’,” he gulped—“too ’ard upon the nerves of a man not born to it!” then he got up, and came bare-headed to the duchess. his face was very pale and flabby, and his thick lips had lost their color, as he held out a black leather notecase to her grace. “you—you saved my life,” he said, “and i’m not going to be ungrateful. here they are—the six letters. look ’em over, if you like, and see for yourself. and, my obliged thanks to his grace for his hospitality—but i leave for town to-morrow. good-by, your grace. you won’t hear of me again!” and mr. rubelius kept his word.
-he arrived late—long after the ship of his father’s fortune had been safely tugged into dock—announcing his entrance upon this terrestrial stage at a moment when people had ceased to expect him. i may say that tom and leila, having spent twelve years of married life in the propagation of theories alone, had the most definite notions upon the subject of infant rearing, training, culture, and so forth. leila intended, she informed me in confidence, to be “an advanced mother,” and tom, as father to the child of an advanced mother, could hardly help turning out an advanced father, even had he not cherished ambitions in that line.
-the boy—for, as tom reassured all sympathetic callers during the high-pressure first week of its existence, it undoubtedly was a boy—seemed on first sight rather smaller and spottier than the child of so many brilliant prospects had any right to be. they gave him the name of harold, a clanking procession of other names coupled on to it, ending in alexander eric. and they engaged and imported a professional child culturist, miss sallie cooter, of washington—pronounced wawshington—certified teacher, trained nurse, member of the ethnophysiological society of america, and one doesn’t know how many others, to rear harold on the very latest scientific plan. miss cooter, as the intimate friend and chosen disciple of the inventress of the system at which tom and leila had taken fire (a lady of literary talents and original views, who had brought up, on purely hygienic principles, a family of one, and expanded it into a multiplicity of chapters)—miss cooter might be trusted to achieve the desired result, and turn out harold, physically and mentally, a prodigy of infantile perfection. her work was purely philanthropic, and if she consented to accept the inadequate salary of two hundred a year in return for her services, leila and tom explained, she must in no sense be treated as a hireling.
-the united efforts of the brougham and the spring-cart fetched miss cooter and a mountain of saratogas from the station one spring day, and she came down to afternoon tea in the very newest of parisian tea-gowns, which, properly speaking, is not a tea-gown at all. she was decidedly pretty, being dark, slim, bright-eyed, keen-featured, and almost painfully intelligent-looking, even without her gold-framed pince-nez. we devoted the evening to sociality, as harold’s regimen of mental and physical culture was to commence upon the following day.
-“but you shall have a little peep at baby,” leila said, “when we go up to dress for dinner.”
-miss cooter agreed. “but i guess i’ve got to ask you, since the boy’s name is har’ld, to call him by it, and no other,” she said. “our society is dead against abbreviations and pet names. we hold that they act as a clog upon the expanding faculties of the child, and arrest mental progress. besides, when maturity is reached, how pyfectly absurd it is to hear middle-aged men and women addressed as ‘toto’ and ‘tiny’!”
-tom, who has a way of calling leila “mouse” when in good humor, turned rich imperial purple at this home-thrust, and leila, whose pet name for tom is “tumps,” called attention to the green-fly on the pot-roses, both silently registering a vow never again, save in camera, to use the offending appellations.
-miss cooter was formally invested with harold on the following morning. his ex-nurse, a plump, rosy-cheeked country-woman, painfully devoid of culture, and absolutely unskilled in the repression of emotion, was relegated, in floods of tears, to command of the laundry. leila, compassionating the grief of the exile, would have pleaded for mary’s reduction to the post of under-nurse; but miss cooter pronounced that mary was an obstacle in the way of progress, and an enemy to culture, and must go.
-mary went, and harold, at first too stunned by her desertion to yield to sorrow, presently proclaimed his bereavement in a succession of ear-piercing shrieks.
-“what is to be done?” queried leila, by signs.
-applying both hands to his mouth, after the fashion of a speaking-trumpet, tom vocalized the suggestion, “send—for mary—back!”
-but miss cooter sternly shook her head, and, bending over the cradle which contained harold, looked sternly in his flushed and disfigured countenance. he immediately held his breath, growing from crimson to purple and from purple to black as she delivered her inaugural address.
-“my dear har’ld,” said she, with crisp distinctness, “you are a vurry little boy——”
-“hear, hear!” i interpolated, and got a frown from leila.
-“and at three months old your reasoning fahculties are not developed enough for you to comprehend that what you don’t like may be the best thing for you. mary has gone, and mary will not come back. henceforth you are in my cayah, and you will find me fyum, but gentle. however badly you may act, i shall not punish you.”
-harold hiccoughed and stared up at the bright, intellectual face above him with round, astonished eyes and open, dribbling mouth.
-“your own sense of what is right and what is wrawng, dormant though it be at this vurry moment, i intend to awaken and——”
-harold, never before in his brief life harangued after this fashion, appeared to grasp already the idea that something was wrong. the expression of astonishment faded, his down-drooped mouth assumed the bell or trumpet-shape, and, rapidly doubling and undoubling himself with mechanical regularity, he emitted the most astonishing series of sounds we had yet heard from him. no caresses were administered for the assuagement of his woe, no broken english babbled in his infant ears. the rules of the system of child culture absolutely prohibited petting, and baby-language was denounced by miss cooter as “pynicious.”
-as she predicted, harold left off howling after a certain interval.
-but it took a long time to convince the dubious harold that the trumpet-shaped, nickel-silver-stoppered vessel tendered by his new guardian was the equivalent of his beloved and familiar “maw.” when finally convinced, he grabbed it without the slightest attempt at saying “thank you,” and, with the gloomiest scowl that i have ever beheld upon a countenance of such pulpy immaturity, applied himself to deglutition. miss cooter shook her head discouragingly.
-“this child has a strawngly developed animal nature,” pronounced she—“a throwback to the primeval savage, i should opine.”
-“delightful! do buy him a little stone ax and a baby bearskin, leila,” i pleaded. “think what light he will throw upon the tertiary period—if miss cooter happens to be right!”
-but miss cooter shook her head. “he must be environed by softening and civilizing influences,” said she, “from this vurry moment. vegetarian diet is what i should strawngly recommend.” her eye doubtfully questioned the rapidly sinking level of the sterilized milk in harold’s glass trumpet.
-“there is such a thing as a cow-tree, isn’t there?” said leila anxiously. “perhaps cope might acclimatize one in the tropical house?”
-“but while the cow-tree is being acclimatized,” i asked disturbingly, “upon what is harold to live?”
-“kindly take this,” said miss cooter. “may i trouble you? please!” she repeated sternly. but harold only screwed up his eyes and dug his pinky fists into them as his monitress took the empty trumpet away, telling us stories of an atypical and highly-cultured boy baby of her acquaintance who not only exhibited chesterfieldian politeness at four months of age, saying “please” and “thank you,” and “kindly pass the salt,” but regularly performed its own ablutions, went through breathing exercises and simple gymnastics, was familiar with the use of the abacus, and could work out sums in simple addition upon a patent hygienic slate. all these facts miss cooter put before us with convincing eloquence. her language was well chosen, her scientific knowledge and technical skill quite appalling. there was nothing about a baby that she did not understand, except, perhaps—the baby.
-from that day harold lived under the microscope. charts of his temper, as of his temperature, were regularly kept up to date; and his progress, physical and psychological, was recorded by miss cooter in a kind of ship’s log-book, in which data of meteorological disturbances appeared with distressing frequency. he was not precocious enough to be classified as abnormal, or sufficiently original to come under the heading “atypical,” or old enough to tell lies, and so be dubbed imaginative. but that tertiary ancestor from whom, according to miss cooter, he derived his temperament, must have possessed some strength of character, for from the beginning to the end, harold’s strongest prejudice was manifested towards miss cooter, his most violent attachment in the direction of the banished mary, for whom he howled at regular intervals until he forgot her, when he became reserved, distrustful, and apathetic. his intellectual qualities were not of the kind that responded to scientific forcing. he never learned that an orange was a sphere, or a rusk an irregular cube. the india-rubber letters and object-blocks possessed for him no meaning; the colored balls of the abacus only awakened in him a tepid interest. he was in texture flabby, and habitually wore an expression of languid indifference—intensified when miss cooter was delivering one of her oral lectures, to utter boredom. despite his sanitary surroundings, his day-nursery, intermediate nursery, and night-nursery, papered, carpeted, furnished, lighted, ventilated, and warmed upon the most approved scientific methods, he did not thrive, contracting complaints incidental to infancy with passionate enthusiasm, and keeping them long after another child would have done with them. and then he complicated an unusually violent attack of croup with convulsions, and miss cooter guessed she had better resign the case, which she did “right away,” in favor of some atypical, imaginative, non-atavistic young american citizen. when last i looked into the hygienic day-nursery, most of the educational objects it had contained had vanished—presumably into cupboards—and harold was lying in the cotton lap of his recovered mary, nursing a stuffed kitten, and sucking an attenuated thumb. the expression of gloomy boredom had vanished from his countenance as mary chanted a rhyme, deplorably lacking in sense and construction, about a certain baby bunting whose father went a-hunting to get a little rabbit-skin to wrap the baby bunting in. it afforded harold such undisguised delight that i felt sure the rabbit must have burrowed in tertiary strata, and that the predatory parents of baby bunting must have been the primal type from which harold hailed. but miss cooter, who could alone have sympathized with my scientific delight in this discovery, was tossing in mid-atlantic on her way to the land of the stars and stripes.
-we were, however, to meet yet once again under the spangled folds of old glory. it was a year or so later, on board a hudson river steamboat. she was prettier than ever, quite beautifully dressed, and her entourage comprised two nurses (a colored “mammy” and a pretty swiss), a perambulator with a baby, and a husband. she introduced me to the husband and the baby, a round, rosy baby, neither atypical nor atavistic, but just of the common, old-fashioned kind.
-“isn’t he cute!” she exclaimed, with rapture. “smile at momma, baby, and show um’s pretty toofs!” then she addressed the child as a “doodleum ducksey,” while i stood speechless and staring.
-my circular gaze awakened memories of the past. she asked after harold.
-“he is very well—now!” i said with point. “may i be pardoned for remarking that you do not appear to be rearing your own baby upon the system of child culture you formerly followed with such extraordinary success?”
-“no,” said the late miss cooter thoughtfully. “no-o!”
-“why not?” i asked, hot with the remembrance of harold’s sufferings.
-miss cooter considered, a beautifully manicured forefinger in a dimple that i had never observed before.
-“why not? you earnestly advocated the system—for other people’s babies.”
-“well,” said the late miss cooter, with a burst of candor, “i reckon because those were other people’s babies. this is mine!”
-a hindered honeymoon
-the coffee and liquor stage of a long and elaborate luncheon having been reached, the rubicund and puffy personage occupying the chair at the head of the table—number three against the glass partition, east end, savoy grill-room—waved a stout hand, and instantly eight of the nimblest waiters—two to a double-leaved folding-screen—closed in upon the table with these aids to privacy. the rubicund personage, attired, like each of his male guests present, in the elaborate frock-coat, with white buttonhole bouquet, tender-hued necktie, pale-complexioned waistcoat, gray trousers, and shiny patent leathers inseparable from a wedding—the rubicund personage (who was no less a personage than mr. otto funkstein, managing head of the west end theatre syndicate) got upon his legs, champagne-glass in hand, and proposed the united healths of lord and lady rustleton.
-“for de highly-brivileged nopleman who hos dis day gonferred ubon de brightest oond lofliest ornamend of de london sdage a disdinguished name oond an ancient didle i hof noding put gongradulations,” said mr. funkstein, balancing himself upon the tips of his patent-leather toes, and thrusting his left hand (hairy and adorned with rings of price) in between the jeweled buttons of his large, double-breasted buff waistcoat. “for de sdage oond de pooblic dot will lose de most prilliant star dot has efer dwinkled on de sdage of de west enf deatre i hof nodings poot gommiseration. as de manacher of dot blayhouse i feel vit de pooblic. as de friend—am i bermitted to say de lofing oond baternal friend of de late miss betsie le boyntz?”—(tumultuous applause checked the current of the speaker’s eloquence)—“changed poot dis day in de dwingling of an eye—in de hooding of a modor-horn—by de machick of a simble ceremony at de registrar’s—gonverted from a yoong kirl in de first dender ploom”—(deafening bravos hailed this flight of poetic imagination)—“de first dender ploom of peauty oond de early brime of chenius”—(the lady-guests produced their handkerchiefs)—“into a yoong vife, desdined ere long to wear upon her lofely prow de goronet of an english gountess”—(otto began to weep freely)—“a gountess of pomphrey.... potztauzend! de dears dey choke me. mine dear vriends, i gannot go on.”
-everybody patted funkstein upon the back at once. everybody uttered something consoling at an identical moment. mopping his streaming features with the largest white cambric handkerchief ever seen, the manager was about to resume, when lord rustleton—whose tragic demeanor at the registrar’s office had created a subdued sensation among the officials there, whose deep depression during the wedding banquet had been intensified rather than alleviated by frequent bumpers of champagne, and who had gradually collapsed in his chair during funkstein’s address until little save his hair and features remained above the level of the tablecloth, galvanically rose and, with a soft attempt to thump the table, cried: “order!”
-“choke him off,” murmured a smart comedian to his neighbor, “for pity’s sake. he’s going to tell us how he threw over the swell girl he was engaged to a month before their wedding—for petsie’s sake; and how he has brought his parents’ gray hairs with sorrow to the grave, and for ever forfeited the right to call himself an english gentleman. i know, bless you! i had it all from him last night at the mummers’ club, and this morning at his rooms in wigmore street.”
-“order!” yelled rustleton again.
-“order!” echoed funkstein, turning a circular pair of rather bibulous and bloodshot blue eyes upon the protestant bridegroom. “oond vy order?”
-“permimme to reminyou,” said rustleton, with laborious distinctness, “that the present head of my fammary, the rironaurable the earl of pomphrey—in poinnofac’, my fara—is at the present momen’ of speaking in the enjoymen’ of exhallent health, an’ nowistanning present painfully strained rela’ions essisting bi’ween us, i have no desire—nor, i feel convinned, has my wife, lady rustleton, any desire—to, in poinnofac’, usurp his shoes, or play leapfrog over his—in poinnofac’, his coffin. therefore, the referen’ of the distinnwished gelleman who, in poinnofac’, holds the floor, to the coronet of a countess in premature conneshion with the brow of my newly-marriwife i am compelled to regard as absorrutely ram bad form!”
-“tam bad vat?” shrieked funkstein.
-rustleton leaned over the table. his eyes were set in a leaden-hued countenance. his hair hung lankly over his damp forehead. he nerved himself for a supreme effort. “ununerrarrably ram baform!” he said, and with this polysyllabic utterance fell into a crystal dish of melted ice, and a comatose condition.
-“bad, bad boy!” said the recently-made lady rustleton, biting her notorious cherry underlip, and darting a brilliant glance at funkstein out of her celebrated eyes as rustleton was snatched from his perilous position by a strong-armed chorus beauty; and the low comedian, who had become famous since the production of the charity girl, dried the viscount’s head with a table-napkin and propped him firmly in his chair.
-“it is not de boy, but de man dat drinks it,” giggled funkstein, with recovered good temper. “ach ja, oond also de voman. how many bints hof i not seen you....”
-“that’ll do, thanks,” said the newly-made viscountess, with her well-known expression of prim propriety. “not so much reminiscing, you know; it’s what poor tonnie called ‘ahem’d bad form’ just now, didn’t you, ducky?”
-“don’t call me rucky,” said the gentleman addressed, who was now rapidly lapsing into the lachrymose stage of his complaint. “call me a mirerrable worm or a ‘fernal villain. i reserve both names. doesn’ a man who has alienarid the affeshuns of his father, blirid his mother’s fonnest hopes, and broken his pli’rid word to a fonnanloving woman—girl, by jingo——”
-“oh, do dry up about that now, darling!” said lady rustleton tartly. “i dare say she deserved what she got. what you have to remember now is that you’re married to me, and we shall be spinning away in the liverpool express in another hour, en route for the ocean wave. i always said, when i did have a honeymoon—a real one—i’d have it on the opening week of the production on a big atlantic liner. and this is the trial voyage of the regent street, and she’s the biggest thing in ships afloat to-day. do let’s drink her health!”
-the toast was drunk with enthusiasm. two waiters advanced bearing a wedding-cake upon a charger. the bride coyly cut a segment from the mass. it was divided and passed round. the ladies took pieces to dream on, the men shied at the indigestible morsels. somebody had the bright idea of sending a lump to the chauffeur of the bridal motor-car, which had been waiting in the bright october sunshine, outside in the palm-adorned courtyard, since one o’clock. a chassé of cognac went round. rustleton was shaken into consciousness of his marital responsibilities and a fur-lined overcoat; everybody kissed petsie; all the women cried, petsie included—but not unbecomingly. her bridal gown, a walking-costume of white cloth trimmed with silver braid, contained a thoroughly contented young woman; her hat, a fascinating creation, trimmed with a rose-colored bird, a marquisette, and a real lace veil, crowned a completely happy wife. tonnie possessed nothing extraordinary in the way of good looks or good brains, it was true; but tonnie’s wife was wealthy in these physical attributes. he possessed a high-nosed, aristocratic old fossil of a father, whose prejudices against a daughter-in-law taken from the lyric boards must be got over. he owned a perfectly awful mother, whose ancestral pride and whose three chins must—nay, should—be leveled with the dust. his sisters, the ladies pope-baggotte, petsie said to herself with a smile, were foewomen unworthy of such steel as is forged in the coulisses of the musical comedy theaters. yet should they, too, bite the dust. in a golden halo—partly hope, partly champagne—she saw lady rustleton sweeping, attired in electrifying gowns, onwards to the conquest of society. the greengrocer’s shop in camberwell, among whose cabbages and potatoes her infancy had been passed; the board-school, on whose benches the first-fruits of knowledge had been garnered, were quite forgotten. some other little circumstances connected with the past were blotted from the slate of memory by the perfumed sponge of gratified ambition. she bore the deluge of rice and confetti with dazzling equanimity. she hummed “buzzy, buzzy, busy bee” as the motor-car, its chauffeur sorely embarrassed by a giant wedding favor, a pair of elderly slippers tied on the rear-axle, sped to euston.
-“i’ve got there at last,” said petsie, as the express ran into the liverpool docks and toiling human ants began to climb up the ship’s gangways thrust downwards from the beetling gray sides of the biggest of all modern liners. “i’ve got there at last, i have, and in spite of billy boman. a precious little silly i must have been to take a hairdresser for a swell; but at seventeen what girl brought up in a camberwell backstreet knows a paste solitaire from a real diamond, or a ready-made suit, bought for thirty bob at a universal supply stores, from a bond street one? and if nice curly hair and a straight nose, a clear skin, and a good figure were all that’s wanted to make a gentleman, billy could have sported himself along with the best. but now he’s dead, and i’ve married again into the peerage, and i shall sit on the captain’s right at the center saloon table, not only as the prettiest woman on board his big new ship, but as a bride and a viscountess into the bargain. wake up, tonnie dear. you’ve slept all the way from euston, and there’s a plank to climb.”
-“eh?” tonnie stared with glassy eyes at the scurrying crowds of human figures, the piled-up trucks of giant trunks and dress-baskets soaring aloft at the end of donkey-engine cables, to vanish into the bowels of the marine leviathan. “eh! what! hang it! how confoundedly my head aches! funkstein must have given us a brutally unwholesome luncheon. why did i allow him to entertain us? i felt from the first it was a hideous mistake.”
-“why did you let the fellows persuade you to drink more of the boy than is good for you, you soft-headed old darling?” petsie gurgled. she smoothed the lank hair of her new-made spouse, and, reaching down his hat from the netting, crowned him with it, and bounded out of the reserved first-class compartment like a lively little rubber ball. “here’s timms, your man, with my new maid. no, thank you, simpkins. you can take the traveling-bags. i may be a woman of title, but i mean to carry my jewel-case myself. come along into the ark, tonnie, with the other couples. what number did you say belonged to our cabin, darling?”
-“the gobelin tapestry bridal suite number four,” said rustleton, with a pallid smile, as a white-capped, gold-banded official hurried forward to relieve the viscountess of her coroneted jewel-case.
-“how tweedlums!” sighed petsie, retaining firm hold of the leather repository of her brand-new diamond tiara and necklace, not to mention all the rings and brooches and bangles reaped from the admiring occupants of the orchestra-stalls at the west end theatre during the tumultuously successful run of the charity girl.
-“it costs for the trip—five days, four hours, and sixteen minutes—between queenstown and the daunts rock lightship,” said rustleton, with a heavy groan, “exactly two hundred and seventy-five guineas. ha, ha!” he laughed hollowly.
-“but why did you choose such a screamingly swell suite, you wicked, wasteful duckums?” cried the bride coquettishly, as their guide switched on the electric light and revealed a chaste and sumptuous nest of apartments in carved and inlaid mahogany, finished in white enamel with artistic touches of gold, and hung with tapestry of a greeny-blue and livid flesh-color.
-“because i can’t afford it,” said the dismal bridegroom, “and because the meals and all that will be served here separately and privately.” he sank limply upon a sumptuous lounge, and hurled an extinct cigarette-end into an open fireplace surrounded by beaten brass and crowned by a mantel in rose-colored marble. “the execrable ordeal of the first cabin dining-room, with its crowds of gross, commonplace, high-spirited, hungry feeders will thus be spared us. you need never set foot in the ladies’ drawing-room; the lounge and the smoking-room shall equally be shunned by me. exercise on the promenade deck is a necessity. we shall take it daily, and take it together, my incognito preserved by a motor-cap and goggles, your privacy ensured by a silk—two silk—veils.” he smiled wanly. “i have roughly laid down these lines, formulated this plan, for the maintenance of our privacy without making any allowance for the exigencies of the weather and the condition of the sea. but if i should be prostrated—and i am an exceedingly bad sailor at the best of times—remember, dearest, that a tumbler of hot water administered every ten minutes, alternately with a slice of iced lemon, should feverish symptoms intervene, is not a panacea, but an alleviation, as my cousin, hambridge ost, would say. i rather wonder what hambridge is saying now. he possesses an extraordinary faculty of being scathingly sarcastic at the expense of persons who deserve censure. an unpleasant sensation in my spine gives me the impression—do you ever have those impressions?—that he is exercising that faculty now—and at my expense. timms, i will ask you to unpack my dressing-gown and papooshes, and then, if you, my darling, do not object, i will lie down comfortably in my own room and have a cup of tea. if i might make a suggestion, dearest, it is that you would tell your maid to get out your dressing-gown and your slippers, and lie down comfortably in your own room and have a cup of tea.”
-“lifts to take you up and down stairs, silver-gilt and enamel souvenirs given to everybody free, turkish baths, needle baths, electric baths, hairdressing and manicuring saloons, millinery establishments, a theater with a stock company who don’t know what sea-sickness means, jewelers’ shops, florists, and fuller’s, a palmist, and a thought-reader. goodness! the gay old ship must be a floating london, with fish and things squattering about underneath one’s shoe-heels instead of ‘phone-wires and electric-light cables. and i’m shut up like a blooming pearl in an oyster, instead of running about and looking at everything. oh, simpkie’—simpkins, the new maid, had been a dresser at the west end theatre—“i’m dying for the chance of a little flutter on my own, and how am i to get it?”
-the regent street gave a long, stately, sliding dive forwards as a mammoth roller of st. george’s channel swept under her sky-scraping stern. a long, plaintive moan—forerunner of how many to come!—sounded from the other side of the partition dividing the apartments of the bride from that of her newly-wedded lord.
-“i think you’re goin’ to get it, my lady,” said the demure simpkins, as rustleton’s man knocked at his mistress’s door to convey the intimation that his lordship preferred not to dine.
-a head-wind and a heavy sea combined, during the next three days of the voyage, to render rustleton a prey to agonies which are better imagined than described. while he imbibed hot water and nibbled captain’s biscuits, or lay prone and semi-conscious in the clutches of the hideous malady of the wave, lady rustleton, bright-eyed, petite, and beautifully dressed, paraded the promenade deck with a tail of male and female cronies, played at quoits and croquet, to the delight of select audiences, and sat in sheltered corners after dinner, well out of the radius of the electric light, sometimes with two or three, generally with one, of the best-looking victims of her bow and spear. she sat on the captain’s right hand at the center table, outrageously bedecked with diamonds. she played in a musical sketch and sang at a charity concert. “buzzy, buzzy, busy bee” was thenceforth to be heard in every corner of the vast maritime hotel that was hurrying its guests westward at the utmost speed of steel and steam. fresh bouquets of malmaison carnations, roses and violets from the piccadilly florists, were continually heaped upon her shrine, dainty jeweled miniature representations of the regent street’s house-flag, boxes of choice bonbons showered upon her like rain. the celebrated orang-utan occupied the chair next hers at a special banquet, the newest modes in millinery found their way mysteriously to her apartment, if she had but tried them on, smiled, and, with the inimitable petsie wink at the reflection of her own provokingly pretty features in the shop mirror, approved.
-“i keep forgetting i’m a married woman,” she would say, with the petsie smile, when elderly ladies of the cat-like type, and middle-aged men who were malicious, inquired after the health of the invisible lord rustleton. “but he’s there, poor dear; or as much as is left of him. quite contented if he gets his milk and beef-juice, and the hot water comes regularly, and there’s a slice of lemon to suck. no; i’m afraid i can’t give him your kind message of sympathy, you know, because sympathy is too disturbing, he says.... he doesn’t even like me to ask him if he’s feeling bad, because, as he tells me, i have only to look at him to know that he is, poor darling.”
-thus prattled the bride, even ready to faire l’ingénue for the benefit of even an audience of one. the voyage agreed with petsie. her complexion, dulled by make-up, assumed a healthier tint; her eyes and smile grew brighter, even as the ruddy gold faded from her abundant hair. the end of this story would have been completely different had not the tricksy sea-air brought about this deplorable change.
-“i’m getting dreadfully rusty, as you say, simpkie; and if the man in the hairdresser’s shop on the promenade deck arcade can give me a shampoodle and touch me up a bit—quite an artist is he, and quite the gentleman? oh, very well, i’ll look in on my gentleman-artist between breakfast and bouillon.”
-petsie did look in. the artist’s studio, elegantly hung with heavy pink plush curtains, only contained, besides a shampooing-basin, a large mirror, a nickel-silver instrument of a type between a chimney-cowl and a ship’s ventilator, and a client’s chair, a young person of ingratiating manners, who offered lady rustleton the chair, and enveloping her dainty person in a starchy pink wrapper, touched a bell, and saying, “the operator will attend immediately, moddam,” glided noiselessly away. petsie, approvingly surveying her image in the mirror, did not hear a male footstep behind her. but as the head and shoulders of the operator rose above the level of her topmost waves, and his reflected gaze encountered her own, she became ghastly pale beneath her rose-bloom, and with a little choking cry of recognition gasped out:
-“bill ... boman! ... it can’t be you?”
-“the old identical same,” mr. william boman said, with a cheerful smile. “and if the shock has made you giddy, i can turn on the basin-hose in half a tick, and give you a splash of cold as a reviver. will you have it? no? then don’t faint, that’s all.”
-“you wrote to say you were dying at dieppe five years ago,” sobbed petsie, into the folds of the pink calico wrapper. “you wicked, cruel man, you know you did!”
-“and now you’re crying because i didn’t die,” said mr. boman, arranging his sable forehead-curls in the glass, and complacently twirling a highly-waxed mustache. “no pleasing you women. you never know what you want, strikes me.”
-“but somebody sent me a french undertaker’s bill for a first-class funeral, nearly thirty pounds it came to when we’d got the francs down to sovereigns,” moaned petsie, “and i paid it.”
-“that was my little dodge,” said mr. boman calmly, “to get a few yellow-birds to go on with. trouble i’d got into—don’t say any more about it, because i am a reformed character now. and now we’re talking about characters, what price yours, my lady rustleton?”
-“bigamy ain’t a pretty word, but that’s what it comes to, as i’ve said to myself many an evening as i smoked my cigar on the second-class deck promenade, and heard you singing away in there to the swells in the music-room like a—like a cage full of canaries. i shan’t make no scene nor nothing like that, says i. her hair’s getting a bit off color—see it by daylight, she’ll have to come my way before long, and then i shall tip her the ghost with a vengeance.”
-“oh, bill dear, how could you be so cruel!” pleaded petsie.
-“not so much of the ‘bill dear,’ i’ll trouble you,” said mr. boman sternly. “why don’t you produce that aristocratic corpse you’ve married, and let me have it out with him? seasick, is he? i’ll make him land-sick before i’ve done with him, and so i tell you. he’ll have to sell some of his blooming acres to satisfy me, or some of them diamonds of yours, my lady.”
-but at this juncture the delayed attack of hysteria swooped upon its victim. summoning his young lady-assistant, mr. boman, with a few injunctions, placed the patient in her care. then brushing a few bronze-hued hairs from his frock-coat, removing his dapper apron, and tidying his hair with a rapid application of the brush, he winked as one well pleased, and betook himself to gobelin tapestry bridal suite number four, in the character of a messenger of fate.
-three hours later the news had leaked out all over the regent street. the great vessel buzzed like a wasps’-nest, and the utmost resources of wireless telegraphy were taxed to communicate to sister ships upon the ocean and fellow-men upon the nearest land the astounding fact of the sudden collapse of the rustleton marriage, owing to the arrival on the scene of a previous husband of the lady.
-“ach himmel! it is klorious!” gasped funkstein, waving a pale blue paper, “i haf here petsie’s reply to de offer of de syindigate—she comes to de vest end theatre; at an advanced salary returns—and de house will be cram-jammed to de doors for anoder tree hoondred berformances. it is an ill vind dot to nopody plows goot, mark my vords!”
-lord pomphrey had just given utterance to a similar sentiment; rustleton, on the other side of the atlantic, had previously arrived at a like conclusion. mr. boman had entertained the same view from the outset of affairs. petsie—again le poyntz—realizing the gigantic advertisement that the resurrection of her first proprietor involved, was gradually becoming reconciled to the situation. when all the characters of a tale are made content, is it not time the narrative came to a close?
-“clothes—and the man—!”
-the smoking-room of the younger sons’ club, the bow-windows of which command a view of piccadilly, contained at the hour of two-thirty its full complement of habitual nicotians, who, seated in the comfortable armchairs, recumbent on the leather divans, or grouped upon the hearthrug, lent their energies with one accord to the thickening of the atmosphere.
-hambridge ost, a small, drab-hued man with a triangular face, streakily-brushed hair, champagne-bottle shoulders, and feet as narrow as boot-trees without the detachable side-pieces, invariably encased in the shiniest of patent leathers,—hambridge, from behind a large green cigar, was giving a select audience of very young and callow listeners the benefit of his opinions upon dress.
-“if i proposed to jot down the small events of my insignificant private life, dear fellers, or had the gift—supposing i did commit ’em to paper—of makin’ ’em interesting ...” said hambridge, raising his eyebrows to the edge of his carefully parted hair and letting them down again, “i don’t mind telling you, dear fellers, that the resultant volume or two would mark an epoch in autobiographical literature. but, like the violet—so to put it—i have, up to the present, preferred to blush unseen. not that the violet can blush anything but purple—or blue in frosty weather, but the simile has up to now always held good in literature. lord pomphrey—a man appreciative to a degree of the talents of his relatives—has said to me a thousand times if one, ‘confound you, hambridge, why is not that, or this, or the other, so to put it, in print?’ but pomphrey may be partial——”
-“no, no!” exclaimed, in a very deep bass, a very young man in a knitted silk waistcoat and a singularly brilliant set of pimples. “no, no!”
-“much obliged, dear fellow,” said hambridge, hoisting his eyebrows and letting them drop in his characteristic manner. “some of my views may possess originality—even freshness when expressed, as i invariably express ’em, in a perfectly commonplace manner.”
-“no, no!” again exclaimed the pimply-faced owner of the deep bass voice.
-“as to the ethics of the crinoline, now,” went on hambridge, “i observe that an energetic effort is being made—in a certain quarter and amongst a certain coterie—to revive the discarded hoops of 1855–66. they did their best to impart a second vitality to the early victorian poke-bonnet some years ago. why did the effort fail, dear fellers? because, with their accompanying garniture of modesty, blushes were considered necessary to the feminine equipment at the date i have mentioned. and because blushes—i speak on the most reliable authority—are more difficult to simulate than tears. also because, looking down the pink silk-lined tunnel of the poke-bonnet of 1855–66, it was impossible for you, as an ordinary male creature, to decide whether the rosy glow invading the features of the woman you adored—we adored women, dear fellows, at that period—was genuine or the reverse. there you have in a nutshell the reason why the poke-bonnet was not welcomed at the dawn of the twentieth century. modesty and blushes, dear fellers, are out of date.”
-hambridge leaned back in his chair with an air of mild triumph, running his movable eye—the left was rigidly fixed behind his monocle—over the faces of the listeners.
-“will the woman of the twentieth century willingly enclose her legs—they were limbs in 1855–66—once more in the steel-barred calico cage, fifteen feet in circumference, if not more, that contained the woman of the early victorian era? dear fellers, the question furnishes material for an interestin’ debate. in my young days there was no sittin’ in ladies’ pockets, no cosy-cornering, so to put it. you invariably kept at a respectful distance from the young creature whom you, more or less ardently—we could be ardent in those days—desired to woo and win, simply because you couldn’t get nearer. you didn’t approach her mother for permission to pay your addresses-her mother was encased in a similar panoply. you went to her father, because you could get at him—there you have the plain, simple reason of the custom of ‘askin’ papa.’ and if you were reprehensibly desirous of eloping with another fellow’s wife, you didn’t express your wish in words. you wrote a letter invitin’ her to fly with you—we called it flying in those days—and dropped it in the post. if the lady disapproved, she dropped you. if not, she bolted with you in a chaise with four or a pair—and even then her crinoline kept you at a distance. you were no more at liberty to put your arm round her waist than if the eye of early victorian society had been glued upon you.
-“to put forward another reason contra the reacceptance of the crinoline by the woman of to-day, dear fellers, the woman of to-day can swim. therefore, the advantage of being dressed practically in a lifebuoy, does not appeal to her as it did early in the previous reign. i could quote you an instance of an accident which occurred to the dover and calais paddle-wheel steam-packet, on board which i happened to be a passenger, which, owing to the negligence of the captain, ran ashore upon a sandbank half a mile from the pier. the first boat which was lowered was filled with lady passengers, all in crinolines. it was swamped by a wave which washed over the stern. the steersman and the sailors who were rowing were unluckily snatched to a watery grave, poor fellows. not so the women passengers of the swamped boat, dear creatures, who simply floated, keeping hold of one another’s scarves and bonnet-strings, and so forth, until they could be picked up and conveyed ashore. not one of ’em could swim a stroke—and all were saved, thanks to the crinoline in which each was attired. but, useful as under certain circumstances the birdcage may be, the twentieth century woman will never be tempted back into it. she has learned what it is to have muscles and to use ’em, dear fellers! and the era of languid inertia is over for her.
-“i will add, dear fellers, that in these drab and uncommonly dismal days of early december, the dash of color now perceptible in the clothes of the best dressed men present at social functions of the superior sort, adds largely to the cheeriness of the scene. cela me fait cet effet, dear fellers, but of course i may be wrong. and the first man to adopt and appear in the newest style in evenin’ dress—a bright blue coat of fine faced cloth, with black velvet collar, velvet cuffs, and silk facin’s, worn with trousers of the same material, braided with black down the side seams, and a v-cut vest of white irish silk poplin-has realized a fortune through it.
-“de peauchamp-walmerdale’s married sister lived next door to the rich miss shyne, who practically went nowhere, and only received her nonconformist minister, and a few whist-playin’ friends of the same denomination on certain specified evenin’s. house absolutely early victorian—walnut-wood drawing-room suite, upholstered in green silk rep, mahogany and brown leather for the dinin’-room. berlin woolwork curtains, worked by the mistress of the house, at all the front windows. three parrots, two poodles, and a pair of king charles spaniels of the obsolete miniature breed. maid-servants—all elderly, butler like a bishop, uncommon good cellar of gouty old madeiras and sherries, laid down by the defunct shyne, awful collection of pictures by smith, jones, brown, and robinson, splendid plate, too heavy to lift. and a fortune of one hundred and fifty thousand in the most reliable home rails and breweries, besides an estate of sixty thousand acres in crannshire, and the title deeds of the park lane house.
-“it came—the idea of bringing miss shyne and de peauchamp-walmerdale together—like a flash of inspiration—as the dear feller’s sister, lady tewsminster, told me yesterday when people had struggled up after the psalm, and yawned through the address, not delivered by a nonconformist, but by the bishop of baxterham; and while the choir were singin’, ‘o perfect love!’ she was frightfully cast down when she discovered through her maid, who had scraped, under orders, an acquaintance with miss shyne’s elderly confidential attendant, that her lady objected to young gentlemen—couldn’t endure the sight, so to put it, of anything masculine under fifty, or without a bulge under the waistcoat, and a bald top to its head. further inquiries elicited that miss shyne had had a disappointment in early life, and wore at the back of an old-fashioned cameo brooch, representin’ the ‘choice of paris,’ the portrait on ivory of a handsome young man with fair hair, the livin’ image of eric de peauchamp-walmerdale, in a light blue tail-coat, with a black velvet collar and gold buttons, holding a king charles spaniel of the miniature breed under his arm.
-“dear fellers, lady tewsminster, the evening upon which she received this item of information, knew no more than a newly-born infant what she was going to do with it. as happens to most of us, she mentally filed it for further reference, and getting into her gown, her diamonds, and her evening coiffure—those etruscan rolled curls are extremely becoming to a woman of pronounced outlines, and there’s only one place in london, she tells me, where they can be bought or redressed—went down to the drawing-room.
-“a small but select party had been invited for the evenin’, including, on the feminine side, an american heiress on the lookout for a husband with a title—or, at least, the next heir to one-a handsome widow with a fairly decent jointure, and a couple of marriageable girls with almost quite respectable dots. from these, carefully collected on approval by a devoted sister, de peauchamp-walmerdale might, who knows? have selected a life partner, and sunk into the obscurity of moderate means for ever, had it not occurred to him upon that particular evening—do you take me, dear fellers?—to array himself in the latest cry of modern masculine evening dress.
-“he was standing on the hearthrug when lady tewsminster entered, a tall, slim, youthful figure, fair-haired and complexioned, and quite uncommonly handsome, in his light blue coat with the black velvet collar, braided accompaniments, and pearl-buttoned, watch-chainless, white silk vest.
-“‘how do you like me, ju, old girl?’ he said, coming to kiss her. ‘i’ve come to dine in character as our great-grandfather. awful fool i feel, but my tailor insisted on my wearin’ ’em, and as i owe the brute a frightful bill i thought i’d best appease him by givin’ in.’
-“the gilded early victorian frame of the high mantel-mirror behind de peauchamp-walmerdale had the effect of being a frame, if you foller me, out of which, the figure of the dear feller had stepped. a cameo brooch shot into the mind of lady tewsminster, above it the long narrow face and dowdy black lace bonnet of the heiress, miss jane ann shyne. a plan of campaign was instantly formulated in the mind of that surprising woman. she stepped to one of the windows commandin’ park lane, drew aside the blind, and saw, paddlin’ up and down on the rainy pavement outside, the waterproofed figure of miss shyne’s confidential maid, taking the king charles spaniels and the poodles for their customary evenin’ ta-ta. instantly she touched the bell, sent for her maid and said to her in a rapid undertone, ‘johnson, ten pounds are yours if you can steal one of miss shyne’s pet king charles spaniels while their attendant is not looking. there is no risk—i shall send the creature back in ten minutes. will you undertake this? yes? very well, go and get the beast.’
-“the maid, johnson, departed swiftly, the area-gate clicked, and lady tewsminster, feverish with the great project boiling under her transformation, paced the drawing-room until she heard the second click of the gate. she swept down the stairs to meet johnson, in whose black silk apron struggled the smallest of the king charles spaniels. ‘did the woman see?’ whispered the mistress. ‘not a bit of her, my lady,’ returned the maid. ‘she was gossiping with the district police-inspector about a burglary they’ve had three doors away. so i got tottles—that’s his name, my lady-quite easy, not being on a lead.’
-“telling the maid the promised ten pounds should be hers that night, lady tewsminster snatched the struggling ‘tottles’ from the enveloping apron and swept back to her drawing-room to carry out her plan. ‘peachie dear,’ she said as she entered, ‘it would be frightfully sweet of you if you would run in next door and carry this little beast to its owner, miss shyne. insist on seeing her; do not give the animal into any other hands; do not wear your hat or an overcoat. i am firm upon this; and remember,’ she fixed her large, expressive eyes full upon her brother’s face, ‘remember, she has nearly two hundred thousand pounds, and your fate is in your own hands!... go!’
-organization. if a salesman in his house makes a good showing, he fastens him to the firm still tighter by selling to him shares of good dividend-paying stock.
-he knows one thing that too few men in business do know: that a man can best help himself by helping others!
-hearts behind the order book.
-with all of his power of enduring disappointment and changing a shadow to a spot of sunshine, there yet come days of loneliness into the life of the commercial traveler--days when he cannot and will not break the spell. there is a sweet enchantment, anyway, about melancholy; 'tis then that the heart yearns for what it knows awaits it. perhaps the wayfarer has missed his mail; perhaps the wife whom he has not seen for many weeks, writes him now that she suffers because of their separation and how she longs for his return.
-i sat one day in a big red rocking chair in the knutsford hotel, in salt lake. i had been away from home for nearly three months. it was drawing near the end of the season. the bell boys sat with folded hands upon their bench; the telegraph instrument had ceased clicking; the typewriter was still. the only sound heard was the dripping of the water at the drinking fount. the season's rush was over. nothing moved across the floor except the shadows chasing away the sunshine which streamed at times through the skylight. half a dozen other wanderers-- all disconsolate--sat facing the big palm in the center of the room. no one spoke a word. perhaps we were all turning the blue curls of smoke that floated up from our cigars into visions of home.
-the first to move was one who had sat for half an hour in deep meditation. he went softly over to the music box near the drinking fount and dropped a nickel into the slot. then he came back again to his chair and fell into reverie. the tones of the old music box were sweet, like the swelling of rich bells. they pealed through the white corridor "old kentucky home." every weary wanderer began to hum the air. when the chorus came, one, in a low sweet tenor, sang just audibly:
-"weep no more, my lady, "weep no more to-day; "we will sing one song, for my old kentucky home, "for my old kentucky home far away."
-when the music ceased he of meditation went again and dropped in another coin. out of the magic box came once more sweet strains--this time those of cayalleria rusticana, which play so longingly upon the noblest passions of the soul.
-the magic box played its entire repertoire, which fitted so well the mood of the disconsolate listeners. the first air was repeated, and the second. this was enough--too much. quietly the party disbanded, leaving behind only the man of meditation to listen to the dripping of the fount.
-not only are there moments of melancholy on the road, but those of tragedy as well. the field of the traveling man is wide and, while there bloom in it fragrant blossoms and in it there wax luscious fruits, the way is set with many thorns.
-during the holidays of 1903 i was in a western city. on one of these days, long to be remembered, i took luncheon with a young man who had married only a few months before. this trip marked his first separation from his wife since their wedding. every day there came a letter from "dolly" to "ned"--some days three. the wife loves her drummer husband; and the most loved and petted of all the women in the world is the wife of the man on the road. when they are apart they long to be together; when they meet they tie again the broken threads of their life-long honeymoon.
-"what is that they are calling out?" he said.
-we listened. we heard the words: "all about the great chicago theater fire."
-three steps at a time we bounded down stairs and bought papers. when my friend saw the head-lines he exclaimed: "hundreds burned alive in the iroquois theater. good god, man, dolly went to that theater to- day!"
-"pray god she didn't," said i.
-we rushed to the telegraph office and my friend wired to his father: "is dolly lost? wire me all particulars and tell me the truth."
-we went to the newspaper office to see the lists of names as they came in over the wire, scanning each new list with horrified anxiety. on one sheet we saw his own family name. the given name was near to, but not exactly, that of his wife.
-may a man pray for the death of his near beloved kin--for the death of one he loves much--that she may be spared whom he loves more? not that, but he will pray that both be spared.
-back to the hotel we ran. no telegram. back to the newspaper office and back to the hotel again.
-a messenger boy put his hand on the hotel door. three leaps, and my friend snatched the message from the boy. he started to open it. he faltered. he pressed the little yellow envelope to his heart, then handed it to me.
-"you open it and pray for me," he said.
-the message read: "all our immediate family escaped the horrible disaster. dolly is alive and thankful. she tried but could not get tickets. thank god."
-all do not escape the calamity of death, however, as did my friend ned. the business of the man on the road is such that he is ofttimes cut off from his mail and even telegrams for several days at a time. again, many must be several days away from their homes utterly unable to get back. when death comes then it strikes the hardest blow.
-a friend of mine once told me this story:
-"i was once opened up in an adjoining room to a clothing man's. when he left home his mother was very low and not expected to live for a great while; but on his trip go he must. he had a large family, and many personal debts. he could not stay at home because no one else could fill his place on the road. the position of a traveling man, i believe, is seldom fully appreciated. it is with the greatest care that, as you know, a wholesale house selects its salesmen for the road. when a good man gets into a position it is very hard--in fact impossible--for him to drop out and let some one else take his place for one trip even. of course you know there isn't any place that some other man cannot fill, but the other man is usually so situated that either he will not or does not care to make a change.
-"at any rate, my clothing friend was having much difficulty. he was making the best argument he could, telling the customer it mattered not what firm he dealt with, that firm was going to collect a hundred cents on the dollar when his bill was due; and that any firm he dealt with would be under obligations to him for the business he had given to it instead of his being under obligations to the firm. he was also arguing against personal friendship and saying he would very soon find out whether the man he was dealing with was his friend or not if he quit buying goods from him. he was getting down to the hard pan argument that the merchant, under all circumstances, should do his business where he thought he could do it to best advantage to himself.
-"the merchant would not start to picking out a line himself, so my friend laid on a table a line of goods and was, as a final struggle, trying to persuade the merchant to buy that selection, a good thing to do. it is often as easy to sell a merchant a whole line of goods as one item. but the merchant said no.
-"just as i started out of the room, in came a bell boy with a telegram. my clothing friend, as he read the message, looked as if he were hitched to an electric wire. he stood shocked--with the telegram in his hand--not saying a word. then he turned to me, handed me the message and, without speaking, went over, laid down on the bed, and buried his face in a pillow. poor fellow. i never felt so sorry for anybody in my life! the message told that his mother was dead.
-"i asked the stubborn customer to come into the next room, where i showed him the message.
-"'after all, a "touch of pity makes the whole world akin",' the merchant said to me:
-"'just tell your friend, when he is in shape again to talk business, that he may send me the line he picked out and that i really like it first rate."
-sometimes the tragedies of the road show a brighter side. once, an old time knight of the grip, said to me, as we rode together:
-"do you know, a touching, yet a happy thing, happened this morning down in missoula?
-"i was standing in my customer's store taking sizes on his stock. i heard the notes of a concertina and soon, going to the front door, i saw a young girl singing in the street. in the street a good looking woman was pulling the bellows of the instrument. beside her stood two girls--one of ten, another of about fourteen. they took turns at singing--sometimes in the same song.
-"all three wore neat black clothes--not a spark of color about them except the sparkling keys of the concertina. they were not common looking, poorly clad, dirty street musicians. they were refined, even beautiful. the little group looked strangely out of place. i said to myself: 'how have these people come to this?'
-"how those two girls could sing! their voices were sweet and full. i quit my business, and a little bunch of us--two more of the boys on the road having joined me--stood on the sidewalk.
-"the little girl sang this song," continued my companion, reading from a little printed slip:
-"dark and drear the world has grown as i wan-der all a-lone, and i hear the breezes sob-bing thro' the pines. i can scarce hold back my tears, when the southern moon ap-pears, for 'tis our humble cottage where it shines; once again we seem to sit, when the eve-ning lamps are lit, with our faces turned to-ward the golden west, when i prayed that you and i ne'er would have to say 'good-bye,' but that still to-gether we'd be laid to rest.
-"as she sang, a lump kind of crawled up in my throat. none of us spoke.
-"she finished this verse and went into the crowd to sell printed copies of their songs, leaving her older sister to take up the chorus. and i'll tell you, it made me feel that my lot was not hard when i saw one of those sweet, modest little girls passing around a cup, her mother playing in the dusty street, and her sister singing,--to just any one that would listen.
-"the chorus was too much for me. i bought the songs. here it is:
-"dear old girl, the rob-in sings a-bove you, dear old girl, it speaks of how i love you, the blind-ing tears are fall-ing, as i think of my lost pearl, and my broken heart is call-ing, calling you, dear old girl.
-"just as the older sister finished this chorus and started to roll down the street a little brother, who until now had remained in his baby carriage unnoticed, the younger girl came where we were. i had to throw in a dollar. we all chipped in something. one of the boys put his fingers deep into the cup and let drop a coin. tears were in his eyes. he went to the hotel without saying a word.
-"the little girl went away, but soon she came back and said: 'one of you gentlemen has made a mistake. you aimed, mama says, to give me a nickel, but here is a five-dollar gold piece.'
-"'it must be the gentleman who has gone into the hotel,' said i.
-"then i'll go find him,' said the little girl. 'where is it?'
-"well, sir, what do you suppose happened? the little girl told the man who'd dropped in the five, how her father, who had been well to do, was killed in a mine accident in colorado and that although he was considerable to the good, creditors just wiped up all he had left his family. the mother--the family was italian--had taught her children music and they boldly struck out to make their living in the streets. it was the best they could do.
-"the man who had put in the five was a jewelry salesman from new york. while out on a trip he had lost his wife and three children in the slocum disaster. he just sent the whole family,--the mother, the two sisters, and the baby--to new york and told them to go right into his home and live there--that he would see them through.
-"i was down at the depot when the family went aboard, and it was beautiful to see the mother take that man's hand in both of hers and the young girls hug him and kiss him like he was their father."
-generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org)
-note: images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/britainsdeadlype00lequrich
-britain's deadly peril
-are we told the truth?
-william le queux
-author of "german spies in england"
-london stanley paul & co 31 essex street, strand, w.c.
-the unknown to-morrow
-the following pages--written partly as a sequel to my book "german spies in england," which has met with such wide popular favour--are, i desire to assure the reader, inspired solely by a stern spirit of patriotism.
-this is not a book of "scaremongerings," but of plain, hard, indisputable facts.
-it is a demand for the truth to be told, and a warning that, by the present policy of secrecy and shuffle, a distinct feeling of distrust has been aroused, and is growing more and more apparent. no sane man will, of course, ask for any facts concerning the country's resources or its intentions, or indeed any information upon a single point which, in the remotest way, could be of any advantage to the barbaric hordes who are ready to sweep upon us.
-but what the british people to-day demand is a sound and definite pronouncement which will take them, to a certain extent, into the confidence of the government--as apart from the war office, against which no single word of criticism should be raised--and at the same time deal effectively with certain matters which, being little short of public scandals, have irritated and inflamed public opinion at an hour when every man in our empire should put forth his whole strength for his god, his king, and his country.
-germany is facing the present situation with a sound, businesslike policy, without any vacillation, or any attempt to shift responsibility from one department of the state to another. are we doing the same?
-what rule or method can be discerned, for example, in a system which allows news to appear in the papers in scotland which is suppressed in the newspapers in england? why, indeed, should one paper in england be permitted to print facts, and another, published half a mile away, be debarred from printing the self-same words?
-the public--who, since august 4th last, are no longer school-children under the head-mastership of the prime-minister-for-the-time-being--are now wondering what all this curious censorship means, and for what reason such an unreliable institution--an institution not without its own scandals, and employing a thousand persons of varying ideas and warped notions--should have been established. they can quite understand the urgent necessity of preventing a horde of war correspondents, at the front, sending home all sorts of details regarding our movements and intentions, but they cannot understand why a government offer of £100 reward, published on placards all over scotland for information regarding secret bases of petrol, should be forbidden to be even mentioned in england.
-they cannot understand why the admiralty should issue a notice warning the public that german spies, posing as british officers, are visiting government factories while at the same time the under-secretary for war declares that all enemy aliens are known, and are constantly under police surveillance. they cannot understand either why, in face of the great imports of foodstuffs, and the patriotic movement on the part of canada and our overseas dominions concerning our wheat supply, prices should have been allowed to increase so alarmingly, and unscrupulous merchants should be permitted to exploit the poor as they have done. they are mystified by the shifty shuttlecock policy which is being pursued towards the question of enemy aliens, and the marked disinclination of the authorities to make even the most superficial inquiry regarding cases of suspected espionage, notwithstanding the fact that german spies have actually been recognised among us by refugees from antwerp and other belgian cities.
-the truth, which cannot be disguised, is that by the government's present policy, and the amusing vagaries of its press censorship, the public are daily growing more and more apathetic concerning the war. while, on the one hand, we see recruiting appeals in all the clever guises of smart modern advertising, yet on the other, by the action of the authorities themselves, the man-in-the-street is being soothed into the belief that all goes well, and that, in consequence, no more men are needed and nobody need worry further.
-we are told by many newspapers that germany is at the end of her tether: that food supplies are fast giving out, that she has lost millions of men, that her people are frantic, that a "stop the war" party has already arisen in berlin, and that the offensive on the eastern frontier is broken. at home, the authorities would have us believe that there is no possibility of invasion, that german submarines are "pirates"--poor consolation indeed--that all alien enemies are really a deserving hardworking class of dear good people, and that there is no spy-peril. a year ago the british public would, perhaps, have believed all this. to-day they refuse to do so. why they do not, i have here attempted to set out; i have tried to reveal something of the perils which beset our nation, and to urge the reader to pause and reflect for himself. every word i have written in this book, though i have been fearless and unsparing in my criticism, has been written with an honest and patriotic intention, for i feel that it is my duty, as an englishman, in these days of national peril to take up my pen--without political bias--solely for the public good.
-i ask the reader to inquire for himself, to ascertain how cleverly germany has hoodwinked us, and to fix the blame upon those who wilfully, and for political reasons, closed their eyes to the truth. i would ask the reader to remember the formation in germany--under the guidance of the kaiser--of the society for the promotion of better relations between germany and england, and how the kaiser appointed, as president, a certain herr von holleben. i would further ask the reader to remember my modest effort to dispel the pretty illusion placed before the british public by exposing, in the daily telegraph, in march 1912, the fact that this very herr von holleben, posing as a champion of peace, was actually the secret emissary sent by the kaiser to the united states in 1910, with orders to make an anti-english press propaganda in that country! and a week after my exposure the emperor was compelled to dismiss him from his post.
-too long has dust been thrown in our eyes, both abroad and at home.
-let every briton fighting for his country, and working for his country's good, remember that even though there be a political truce to-day, yet the day of awakening must dawn sooner or later. on that day, with the conscience of the country fully stirred, the harmless--but to-day powerless--voter will have something bitter and poignant to say when he pays the bill. he will then recollect some hard facts, and ask himself many plain questions. he will put to himself calmly the problem whether the present german hatred of england is not mainly due to the weak shuffling sentimentalism and opportunism of germanophils in high places. and he will then search out britain's betrayers, and place them in the pillory.
-assuredly, when the time comes, all these things--and many more--will be remembered. and the dawn of the unknown to-morrow will, i feel assured, bring with it many astounding and drastic changes.
-william le queux.
-devonshire club, s.w. april 1915.
-britain's deadly peril
-the peril of "muddling through"
-has britain, in the course of her long history, ever been prepared for a great war? i do not believe she has; she certainly was not ready last august, when the kaiser launched his thunderbolt upon the world.
-perhaps, paradoxical as it may seem, this perpetual unreadiness may be, in a sense, part of britain's strength.
-we are a people slow of speech, and slow to anger. it takes much--very much--to rouse the british nation to put forth its full strength. "beware of the wrath of the man slow to anger" is a useful working maxim, and it may be that the difficulty of arousing england is, in some degree, a measure of her terrible power once she is awakened.
-twice or thrice, at least, within living memory we have been caught all unready when a great crisis burst upon us--in the crimea, in south africa, and now in the greatest world-conflict ever seen. hitherto, thanks to the amazing genius for improvisation which is characteristic of our race, we have "muddled through" somehow, often sorely smitten, sorely checked, but roused by reverses to further and greater efforts.
-the bulldog tenacity that has ever been our salvation has been aroused in time, and we have passed successfully through ordeals which might have broken the spirit and crushed the resistance of nations whose mental and physical fibre was less high and less enduring.
-we have "muddled through" in the past: shall we "muddle through" again? it is the merest truism--patent to all the world--that when germany declared war, we were quite unready for a contest. for years the nation had turned a deaf ear to all warnings. the noble efforts of the late lord roberts, who gave the last years of his illustrious life--despite disappointments, and the rebuffs of people in high places who ought to have known--nay, who did know--that his words were literally true, passed unheeded.
-lord roberts, the greatest soldier of the victorian era, a man wise in war, and of the most transcendent sincerity, was snubbed and almost insulted, inside and outside the house of commons, by a parcel of upstarts who, in knowledge and experience of the world and of the subject, were not fit to black his boots. "an alarmist and scaremonger" was perhaps the least offensive name that these worthies could find for him: and it was plainly hinted that he was an old man in his dotage. lulled into an unshakable complacency by the smooth assurances of placeholders in comfortable jobs, the nation remained serenely asleep, and never was a country less ready for the storm that burst upon us last august. i had, in my writings--"the invasion of england" and other works--also endeavoured to awaken the public; but if they would not listen to "bobs," it was hardly surprising that they jeered at me.
-i am speaking of the nation as a whole. to their eternal honour let it be said that there were nevertheless some who, for years, had foreseen the danger, and had done what lay in their power to meet it. foremost among these we must place mr. winston churchill, and the group of brilliant officers who are now the chiefs of the british army on the continent. to them, at least, i hope history will do full justice. it was no mere coincidence that just before the outbreak of war our great fleet--the mightiest armada that the world has ever seen--was assembled at spithead, ready, to the last shell and the last man, for any eventuality.
-it was no mere coincidence that the magnificent first division at aldershot, trained to the minute by men who knew their business, were engaged when war broke out in singularly appropriate "mobilisation exercises." all honour to the men who foresaw the world-peril, and did their utmost to make our pitiably insufficient forces ready, as far as fitness and organisation could make them ready, for the great day when their courage and endurance were to be so severely tested.
-but when all this is said and admitted, it is clear that our safety, in the early days of the war, hung by a hair. afloat, of course, we were more than a match for anything germany could do, and our fleet has locked our enemy in with a strangling grip that we hope is slowly choking out her industrial and commercial life. ashore, however, our position was perilous in the extreme. men's hair whitened visibly during those awful days when the tiny british army, fighting heroically every step of the way against overwhelming odds, was driven ever back and back until, on the banks of the marne, it suddenly turned at bay and, by sheer matchless valour, hurled the legions of the kaiser back to ruin and defeat. the retreat was stayed, the enemy was checked and driven back, but the margin by which disaster was averted and turned into triumph was so narrow that nothing but the most superb heroism on the part of our gallant lads could have saved the situation. we had neglected all warnings, and we narrowly escaped paying an appalling price in the destruction of the flower of the british army. with insufficient forces, we had again "muddled through" by the dogged valour of the british private.
-to-day we are engaged in "muddling through" on a scale unexampled in our history. the government have taken power to raise the british army to a total of three million men. in our leisurely way we have begun to make new armies in the face of an enemy who for fifty years has been training every man to arms, in the face of an enemy who for ten or fifteen years at least has been steadily, openly, and avowedly preparing for the day when he could venture, with some prospect of success, to challenge the sea supremacy by which we live, and move, and have our being, and lay our great empire in the dust.
-we neglected all warnings; we calmly ignored our enemy's avowed intentions; we closed our eyes and jeered at all those who told the truth; we deliberately, and of choice, elected to wait until war was upon us to begin our usual process of "muddling through." truly we are an amazing people! yet we should remember that the days when one englishman was better than ten foreigners have passed for ever.
-naturally, our preference for waiting till the battle opened before we began to train for the fight led us into some of the most amazing muddles that even our military history can boast of. when the tocsin of war rang out, our young men poured to the colours from every town and village in the country. everybody but the war office expected it. the natural result followed: recruiting offices were simply "snowed under" with men, and for weeks we saw the most amazing chaos. the flood of men could neither be equipped nor housed, nor trained, and confusion reigned supreme. we had an endless series of scandals at camps, into which i do not propose to enter: probably, with all the goodwill in the world, they were unavoidable. still the flood of men poured in. the war office grew desperate. it was, clearly, beyond the capacity of the organisation to handle the mass of recruits, and then the war office committed perhaps its greatest blunder. unable to accept more men, it raised the physical standard for recruits. no one seems to have conceived the idea that it would have been better to take the names of the men and call them up as they were needed. naturally the public seized upon the idea that enough men had been obtained, and there was an instant slump in recruiting which, despite the most strenuous of advertising campaigns--carried out on the methods of a vendor of patent medicines--has, unfortunately, not yet been overcome.
-following, came a period of unexampled chaos at the training-centres. badly lodged, badly fed, clothed in ragged odds and ends of "uniforms," without rifles or bayonets, it is simply a marvel that the men stuck to their duty, and it is surely a glowing testimony to their genuine patriotism. i do not wish to rake up old scandals, and i am not going to indulge in carping criticism of the authorities because they were not able to handle matters with absolute smoothness when, each week, they were getting very nearly a year's normal supply of recruits. confusion and chaos were bound to be, and i think the men--on the whole--realised the difficulties, and made the best of a very trying situation. but they were britons! my object is simply to show how serious was our peril through our unpreparedness. if our enemy, in that time of preparation, could have struck a blow directly at us, we must, inevitably, have gone under in utter ruin. happily, our star was in the ascendant. the magnificent heroism of belgium, the noble recovery of the french nation after their first disastrous surprise, the unexampled valour of our army, and the silent pressure of the navy, saved us from the peril that encompassed us. once again we had "muddled through" perhaps the worst part of our task.
-no one can yet say that we are safe. this war is very far indeed from being won, for there is yet much to do, and many grave perils still threaten us. it is, perhaps, small consolation to know that most of the perils we brought upon ourselves by our persistent and foolish refusal to face plain and obvious facts: by our toleration of so-called statesmen who, fascinated by the kaiser's glib talk, came very near to betraying england by their refusal to tell the country the truth, or even, without telling the country, to make adequate preparations to meet a danger which had been foreseen by every chancellory in europe for years past. it can never be said that we were not warned, plainly and unmistakably. the report of the amazing speech of the kaiser, which i have recorded elsewhere, i placed in the hands of the british secret service as early as 1908, and the fact that it had been delivered was soon abundantly verified by confidential inquiries in official circles in berlin. yet, with the knowledge of that speech before them, ministers could still be found to assure us that germany was our firm and devoted friend!
-the kaiser, in the course of the secret speech in question, openly outlined his policy and said:
-"our plans have been most carefully laid and prepared by our general staff. preparations have been made to convey at a word a german army of invasion of a strength able to cope with any and all the troops that great britain can muster against us. it is too early yet to fix the exact date when the blow shall be struck, but i will say this: that we shall strike as soon as i have a sufficiently large fleet of zeppelins at my disposal. i have given orders for the hurried construction of more airships of the improved zeppelin type, and when these are ready we shall destroy england's north sea, channel, and atlantic fleets, after which nothing on earth can prevent the landing of our army on british soil and its triumphal march to london.
-"you will desire to know how the outbreak of hostilities will be brought about. i can assure you on this point. certainly we shall not have to go far to find a just cause for war. my army of spies, scattered over great britain and france, as it is over north and south america, as well as all the other parts of the world where german interests may come to a clash with a foreign power, will take good care of that. i have issued already some time since secret orders that will at the proper moment accomplish what we desire.
-"i shall not rest and be satisfied until all the countries and territories that once were german, or where greater numbers of my former subjects now live, have become a part of the great mother country, acknowledging me as their supreme lord in war and peace. even now i rule supreme in the united states, where almost one-half of the population is either of german birth or of german descent, and where three million german voters do my bidding at the presidential elections. no american administration could remain in power against the will of the german voters, who ... control the destinies of the vast republic beyond the sea.
-"i have secured a strong foothold for germany in the near east, and when the turkish 'pilaf' pie will be partitioned, asia minor, syria, and palestine--in short, the overland route to india--will become our property. but to obtain this we must first crush england and france."
-and, in the face of those words, we still went on money-grubbing and pleasure-seeking!
-if ever the british empire, following other great empires of the past, plunges downward to rack and ruin, we may rest assured that the reason will be our reliance on our ancient and stereotyped policy of "muddling through."
-i am glad to think that in the conduct of the present campaign we have been spared those scandals of the baser type which, in the past, have been such an unsavoury feature of almost every great war in which we have been engaged. minor instances of fraud and peculation, of supplying doubtful food, etc., have no doubt occurred. human nature being what it is, it could hardly be expected that we could raise, train, equip, and supply an army numbered by millions without some unscrupulous and unpatriotic individuals seizing the opportunity to line their pockets by unlawful means. we hear occasional stories of huts unfit for human habitation, of food in camp hardly fit for human consumption. on the whole, however, it is cordially agreed--and it is only fair to say--that there has been an entire absence of the shocking scandals of the type which revolted the nation during the crimean campaign. much has been said about the war office arrangement with mr. meyer for the purchase of timber. but the main allegation, even in this case, is that the war office made an exceedingly bad and foolish bargain, and mr. meyer an exceedingly good one. indeed it is not even suggested that the transaction involved anything in the nature of fraud. it seems rather to be a plea that the purely commercial side of war would be infinitely better conducted by committees of able business men than by permanent officials of the war office, who are, after all, not very commercial.
-undoubtedly this is true. we should be spared a good deal of the muddling and waste involved in our wars if, on the outbreak of hostilities, the war office promptly asked the leading business men of the community to form committees and take over and manage for the benefit of the nation the purely commercial branches of the work. yet i suppose, under our system of government, such an obvious common-sense procedure as this could hardly be hoped for. we continue to leave vast commercial undertakings in the hands of the men who are not bred in business, with the result that money is wasted by millions, and so are lucky if we are not swindled on a gigantic scale by the unscrupulous contractors. it is usually in an army's food and clothing that scandals of this nature are revealed, and it is only just to the war office to say that in this campaign, for once, food has been good and clothing fair.
-most of our muddling, so far, has been of a nature tending to prolong the duration of the war. our persistent policy of unreadiness has simply meant that for four, five, or six long months we have not been ready to take the field with the forces imperatively necessary if the germans are to be hurled, neck and crop, out of belgium and france across the rhine, and their country finally occupied and subjugated.
-already another new and graver peril is threatening us--the peril of a premature and inconclusive peace. already the voice of the pacifist--that strangely constituted being to whom the person of the enemy is always sacred--is being heard in the land. we heard it in the boer war from the writers and speakers paid by germany. already the plea is going up that germany must not be "crushed"--that germany, who has made belgium a howling wilderness, who has massacred men, women, and even little children, in sheer cold-blooded lust, shall be treated with the mild consideration we extend to a brave and honourable opponent. sure it is, therefore, that if britain retires from this war with her avowed purpose unfulfilled, we shall have been guilty of muddling compared with which the worst we have ever done in the past will be the merest triviality.
-if this war has proved one thing more clearly than another, it has proved that the german is utterly and absolutely unfit to exercise power, that he is restrained by no moral consideration from perpetuating the most shocking abominations in pursuit of his aims, that the most sacred obligations are as dust in the balance when they conflict with his supposed interests. it has proved too, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that england is the real object of germany's foaming hate. we are the enemy! france and russia are merely incidental foes. it is england that stands between germany and the realisation of her insane dream of world dominion, and unless great britain to-day completes, with british thoroughness, the task to which she has set her hand, this generation, and the generations that are to come, will never be freed from the blighting shadow of teutonic megalomania. it is quite conceivable that a peace which would be satisfactory to russia and france would be profoundly unsatisfactory to us. happily, the allies are solemnly bound to make peace jointly or not at all, and i trust there will be no wavering on this point. for us there is but one line of safety: the germanic power for mischief must be finally and irretrievably broken before britain consents to sheathe the sword.
-against the prosecution of the war to its final and crushing end, the bleating pacifists are already beginning to raise their puny voices. i am not going to give these gentlemen the free advertisement that their hearts delight in by mentioning them by name: it is not my desire to assist, in the slightest degree, their pestilential activity. they form one of those insignificant minorities who are inherently and essentially unpatriotic. their own country is invariably wrong, and other countries are invariably right. to-day they are bleating, in the few unimportant journals willing to publish their extraordinary views, that germany ought to be spared the vengeance called for by her shameful neglect of all the laws of god and man.
-is there a reader of these lines who will heed them? surely not.
-burke said it was impossible to draw up an indictment against a nation: germany has given him the lie. our pro-german apologists and pacifists are fond of laying the blame of every german atrocity, upon the shoulders of that mysterious individual--the "prussian militarist." i reply--and my words are borne out by official evidence published in my recent book "german atrocities"--that the most shameful and brutal deeds of the german army, which, be it remembered, is the german people in arms, are cordially approved by the mass of that degenerate nation. the appalling record of german crime in belgium, the entire policy of "frightfulness" by land and sea, the murder of women and children at scarborough, the sack of aerschot and of louvain, the massacre of seven hundred men, women, and children in dinant, the piratical exploits of the german submarines, are all hailed throughout germany with shrieks of hysterical glee. and why? because it is recognised that, in the long run and in the ultimate aim, they are a part and parcel of a policy which has for its end the destruction of our own beloved empire. hatred of britain--the one foe--has been, for years, the mainspring that has driven the german machine. the germans do not hate the french, they do not hate the russians, they do not even hate the "beastly belgians," whose country they have laid waste with fire and sword. the half-crazed lissauer shrieks aloud that germans "have but one hate, and one alone--england," and the mass of the german people applaud him to the echo.
-very well, let us accept, as we do accept, the situation. are we going to neglect the plainest and most obvious warning ever given to a nation, and permit ourselves to muddle into a peace that would be no peace, but merely a truce in which germany would bend her every energy to the preparation of another bitter war of revenge?
-here lies one of the gravest perils by which our country is to-day faced, and it is a peril immensely exaggerated by the foolish peace-talk in which a section of malevolent busybodies are already indulging. it is as certain as the rising of to-morrow's sun that, when this war is over, germany would, if the power were left within her, embark at once on a new campaign of revenge. we have seen how, for forty-five long years, the french have cherished in their hearts the hope of recovering the fair provinces wrested from them in the war of 1870-1871. and the french, be it remembered, are not a nation capable of nourishing a long-continued national hatred. generous, proud, and intensely patriotic they are; malicious and revengeful they emphatically are not. as patriotic in their own way as the french, the germans have shown themselves capable of a paroxysm of national hatred to which history offers no parallel.
-they have realised, with a sure instinct, that britain, and britain alone, has stood in the way of the realisation of their grandiose scheme of world-dominion, and it is certain that for long years to come, possibly for centuries, they will, if we give them the opportunity, plot our downfall and overthrow us. are we to muddle the business of making peace as we muddled the preparations for war? if we do we shall, assuredly, deserve the worst fate that can be reserved for a nation which deliberately shuts its eyes to the logic of plain and demonstrable fact.
-germany can never be adequately punished for the crimes against god and man which she has committed in belgium and france. the ancient law of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" is the only one under which adequate punishment could be meted out, and whatever happens we know that the soldiers of the allies will never be guilty of the unspeakable calendar of pillage and arson and murder which has made the very name of "german" a byword throughout civilisation throughout all the ages that are to come. however thoroughly she is humbled to the dust, germany will never taste the unspeakable horror that she has brought upon the helpless and unoffending victims of her fury and lust in belgium and in parts of france. it may be that if they fall into our hands we should hang, as they deserve to be hanged, the official instigators of atrocities whose complicity could be clearly proved--though we, to-day, give valets to the huns at donington hall. we cannot lay the cities of germany in ruin, and massacre the civilian population on the approved german plan. what we can do, and ought to do, is to make sure that, at whatever cost of blood and treasure to us, germany is deprived of any further capacity to menace the peace of the world. it is the plain and obvious duty of the allies to see that the hateful and purely german doctrine that might is the only right shall, once and for all, be swept from the earth. it is for us to make good the noble words of mr. asquith--that britain will prosecute the war to the finish. it is for us to see that there shall be no "muddling through" when the treaty of peace is finally signed in berlin.
-when the war was forced upon us, the best business brains of this country recognised that one of the surest and speediest means of securing an efficient guarantee that germany should not be able to injure us in the future would be a strenuous effort to capture her enormous foreign trade. modern wars, it must be remembered, are not merely a matter of the clash of arms on the stricken field. the enormous ramifications of commercial undertakings, immeasurably greater to-day than at any time in history, mean that, in the conduct of a great campaign, economic weapons may be even more powerful than the sword of the big battalions. this unquestionable fact has been fully realised by our leading thinkers. thoughtless people have been heard to say that, if france and russia wish to conclude peace, england must necessarily join with them because she cannot carry on the war alone. there could be no greater mistake.
-just so long as the british fleet holds the command of the sea, germany's foreign trade is in the paralysing grip of an incubus which cannot be shaken off. in the meantime, all the seas of all the world are free to our ships and our commerce, and, though the volume of world-trade is necessarily diminished by the war, there remains open to british manufacturers an enormous field which has been tilled hitherto mainly by german firms.
-we may now ask ourselves whether our business men are taking full advantage of this priceless opportunity offered them for building up and consolidating a commercial position which in the future, when the war is ended, will be strong enough to defy even the substantial attacks of their german competitors. i sincerely wish i could see some evidence of it. i wish i could feel that our business men of england were looking ahead, studying methods and markets, and planning the campaigns which, in the days to come, shall reach their full fruition. but alas! they are not. we heard many empty words, when war broke out, of the war on germany's trade, but i am very much afraid--and my view is shared by many business acquaintances--that the early enthusiasm of "what we will do" has vanished, and that when the time for decisive action comes we shall be found still relying upon the traditional but fatal policy of "muddling through" which has for so long been typical of british business as well as official methods.
-we shall still, i fear, be found clinging to the antiquated and worn-out business principles and stiff conventionalities which, during the past few years, have enabled the german to oust us from markets which for centuries we have been in the habit of regarding as our own peculiar preserves. that, in view of the enormous importance of the commercial warfare of to-day, i believe to be a very real peril.
-king george's famous "wake up, england!" is a cry as necessary to-day as ever. i do not believe germany will ever be able to pay adequate indemnity for the appalling monetary losses she has brought upon us, and if those losses are to be regained it can only be by the capture of her overseas markets, and the diversion of her overseas profits into british pockets. shall we seize the opportunity or shall we "muddle through"?
-this is not a political book, for i am no politician, and, further, to-day we have no politics--at least of the radical and conservative type. "britain for the briton" should be our battle-cry. there is one subject, however, which, even though it may appear to touch upon politics, cannot be omitted from our consideration. if the war has taught us many lessons, perhaps the greatest is its splendid demonstration of the essential solidarity of the british empire. we all know that the german writers have preached the doctrine that the british empire was as ramshackle a concern as that of austria-hungary; that it must fall to pieces at the first shock of war. to-day the british empire stands before the world linked together, literally, by a bond of steel. from canada, from australia, from india, even--despite a jarring note struck by german money--from south africa, "the well-forged link rings true." germany to-day is very literally face to face with the british empire in arms, with resources in men and money to which her own swaggering empire are relatively puny, and with, i hope and believe, a stern determination no less strong and enduring than her own. the lesson assuredly will not be lost upon her: shall we make sure that it is not lost upon us?
-for some years past there has been a steadily growing opinion--stronger in the overseas dominions, perhaps, than here at home--that the british empire should, in business affairs, be much more of a "family concern" than it is. either at home, or overseas, our empire produces practically everything which the complexity of our modern social and industrial system demands. commerce is the very life-blood of our modern world: is it not time we took up in earnest the question of doing our international business upon terms which should place our own people, for the first time, in a position of definite advantage over the stranger? is it not time we undertook the task of welding the empire into a single system linked as closely by business ties as by the ties of flesh and blood and sentiment? that, i believe, will be one of the great questions which this war will leave us for solution.
-in the past, germany's chief weapon against us has been her commercial enterprise and activity. it should now be part of our business to prevent her harming us in the future, and, in the commercial field, the strongest weapon in our armoury has hitherto remained unsheathed. shall we, in the days that are to come, do our imperial trading on a great family scale--british goods the most favoured in british markets--or shall we here again "muddle through" on a policy which gives the stranger and the enemy alien at least as friendly a welcome as we extend to our own sons?
-perhaps, in the days that are coming, that in itself will be a question upon which the future of the british empire will depend.
-the peril of exploiting the poor
-no phenomenon of the present serious situation is more remarkable, or of more urgent and vital concern to the nation, than the amazing rise in food prices which we have witnessed during the past six months. at a time when the british navy dominates the trade routes, when the german mercantile flag has been swept from every ocean highway in the world, when the german "high seas" fleet lies in shelter of the guns of the kiel canal fortifications, we have seen food prices steadily mounting, until to-day the purchasing power of the sovereign has declined to somewhere in the neighbourhood of fifteen shillings, as compared with the period immediately preceding the outbreak of hostilities.
-now this is a fact of the very gravest significance, and unless the price of food falls it will inevitably be the precursor of very serious events. matters are moving so rapidly, at the time i write, that before these lines appear in print they may well be confirmed by the logic of events. ominous mutterings are already heard, the spectre of labour troubles has raised its ugly head, and, unless some modus vivendi be found, it seems more than probable that we shall witness a very serious extension of the strikes which have already begun.
-the most important of our domestic commodities are wheat, flour, meat, sugar, and coal. inquiries made by a committee of the cabinet have shown that, as compared with the average prices ruling in the three years before the war, the price of wheat and flour has risen by something like 66 per cent.! sugar has increased 43 per cent., coal about 60 per cent., imported meat about 19 per cent., and british meat 12 per cent. the rise in prices is falling upon the very poor with a cruelty which can only be viewed with horror. imagine, for a moment, the plight of the working-class family with an income of thirty shillings a week, and perhaps five or six mouths to feed. even in normal times their lot is not to be envied: food shortage is almost inevitable. suddenly they find that for a sovereign they can purchase only fifteen shillings' worth of food. hunger steps in at once: the pinch of famine is felt acutely, and, thanks to the appalling price to which coal has been forced, it is aggravated by intense suffering from the cold, which ill-nurtured bodies are in no condition to resist.
-i am not contending that there is any very abnormal amount of distress throughout the country, taking the working-classes as a whole. thanks to the withdrawal of the huge numbers of men now serving in the army, the labour market, for once in a way, finds itself rather under than over-stocked, and the ratio of unemployment is undoubtedly lower than it has been for some considerable time. the better-paid artisans, whose wages are decidedly above the average at the present moment, are not suffering severely, even with the high prices now ruling. but they are exasperated, and some of them are making all kinds of unpatriotic threats, to which i shall allude presently.
-the real sufferers, and there are too many of them, are the families of the labouring classes of the lower grades, whose weekly wage is small and whose families, as a rule, are correspondingly numerous. at the best of times these people seldom achieve more than a bare existence: at the present moment they are suffering terribly. yet all the consolation they get from the government is the assurance that they ought to be glad they did not live in the days of the crimean war, and the pious hope that "within a few weeks"--oh! beautifully elastic term!--prices will come down--if we, by forcing the dardanelles, liberate the grain accumulated in the black sea ports. no doubt the best possible arrangements have been made towards that issue, and we all hope for a victorious end, but our immediate business is to investigate the distress among the very poor, and to check the ominous threats of labour troubles which have been freely bandied about and have even been translated into action--or inaction--which has had the effect of delaying some of the country's preparations for carrying on the war.
-the average retail prices paid by the working-classes for food in eighty of the principal towns on march 9th and a year ago are compared in the following table issued by the president of the board of trade:
-a few more facts. though the matter was constantly referred to, yet we had been at war for five months before the government could be prevailed upon to prohibit the exportation of cocoa; with what result? in december, january, and february last our exports of cocoa to neutral countries were 16,575,017 lbs., whilst for the corresponding period for 1913 the exports were but 3,584,003 lbs.! before the war, holland was an exporter of cocoa to this country; since the war she has been the principal importer; and there is a mass of indisputable evidence to show that nearly the whole of our exports of cocoa have found their way to germany through this channel.
-the prohibition is now removed, so we may expect that the old game of supplying the german army with cocoa from england will begin again!
-the german army must also have tea. let us see how we have supplied it. during the first fortnight of war, export was restricted and only 60,666 lbs. were sent out of the country, whereas for the corresponding period of the previous year 179,143 lbs. were exported. during the next three months the restrictions were removed, when no less a quantity than 15,808,628 lbs. was sent away--the greater part of it by roundabout channels to germany--against 1,146,237 lbs. for the corresponding period in 1913. after three months a modified restriction was placed upon the export of tea, but after reckoning the whole sum it is found that during the time we have been at war we have sent abroad over 20,000,000 lbs. of tea, while in the corresponding period of the previous year we sent only a little over 2,000,000 lbs.!
-now where has it gone? in august and september last, germany received from holland 16,000,000 lbs. whereas in that period of 1913 she only received 1,000,000 lbs. tea is given as a stimulant to german troops in the field, so we see how the british government have been tricked into actually feeding the enemy!
-and again, let us see how the poor are being exploited by the policy of those in high authority. at the outbreak of war the market price of tea was 7-1/2d. per lb. as soon as exportation was allowed, the price was raised to the buyer at home to 9d. then when exports were restricted, it fell to 8-1/4d. but as soon as the restrictions on exports were removed altogether, the price rose until, to-day, the very commonest leaf-tea fetches 10d. a lb.--a price never equalled, save in the memories of octogenarians.
-who is to blame for this fattening of our enemies at the expense of the poor? let the reader put this question seriously to himself.
-when the subject was recently debated in the house of commons the voice of the labour member was heard unmistakably. mr. toothill said bluntly that if it was impossible for the government to prevent the prices of food being "forced up" unduly, then it remained for labour members to request employers to meet the situation by an adequate advance in wages. that request has since been made in unmistakable terms. mr. clynes was even more emphatic. "though the labour party were as anxious as any to keep trade going in the country," he said, "it was clear to them that the truce in industry could not be continued unless some effective relief were given in regard to the prices under discussion." in other words, the labour "organisers" will call for strikes--perhaps hold up a large part of our war preparations--unless the employers, most of whom are making no increased profit out of the price of food, are prepared to shoulder the entire burden.
-it is quite clear, to my mind, that the prices of food are being forced up by gigantic unpatriotic combines, either in this country or abroad, or both. i do not think that mere shortage of supply is sufficient to account for the extraordinary advances that have taken place. whether the government can take steps to defeat the wheat rings, as they did to prevent the cornering of sugar, is a question with which i am not concerned here. my purpose is merely to point out that the constant rise in food prices, brought about by gangs of unscrupulous speculators, is bringing about a condition of affairs fraught with grave peril to our beloved country.
-if we turn to coal we find the scandal ten times greater than in the case of flour and meat. it is at least possible that agencies outside our own country may be playing a great part in forcing up the prices of food; they can have no effect upon the price of coal, which we produce ourselves and of which we do not import an ounce. coal to-day is simply at famine prices. it is impossible to buy the best house coal for less than 38s. per ton, while the cheapest is being sold at 34s. per ton, and the very poor, who buy from the street-trolleys only inferior coal and in small quantities, are being fleeced to the extent of 1s. 11d. or 2s. per cwt. this is an exceedingly serious matter, and it is not to be explained, even under present conditions, by the ordinary laws of supply and demand. why should coal in a village on the banks of the thames be actually cheaper than the corresponding quality of coal when sold in london?
-there can be only one answer--the london supply is in the hands of the coal "ring" which has compelled all the london coal merchants to come into line. so extensive and powerful is the organisation of this ring, that the small men, unless they followed the lead of the big dealers, would be immediately faced with ruin: they would not only find it difficult to obtain coal at all, but would promptly be undersold--as the standard oil company undersold thousands of small competitors--until they were compelled to put up their shutters.
-the big coal men, the men who make the profit--and with their ill-gotten gains will purchase birthday honours later on--of course blame the war for everything. the railways, they say, cannot handle the coal; so much labour has been withdrawn for the army that production has fallen below the demand. but i am assured, on good authority, that coal bought before the war, and delivered to london depots at 16s. or 17s. per ton, is being retailed to-day at between 36s. and 40s. per ton. the big dealers know that, cost what it may, the public must have coal, and they are taking advantage of every plausible excuse the war offers them to wring from the public the very highest prices possible. "the right to exploit," in fact, is being pushed to its logical extreme in the face of the country's distress, and the worst sufferers, as usual, are the very poor, who for their pitiful half-hundred-weights of inferior rubbish pay at a rate which would be ample for the finest coal that could grace the grate of a west-end drawing-room.
-can we shut our eyes to the fact that in this shameful exploiting of the very poor by the unpatriotic lie all the elements of a very serious danger? let us not forget the noble services the working-classes of britain are rendering to our beloved country. they have given the best and dearest of their manhood in the cause of the empire, and it is indeed a pitiful confession of weakness, and an ironic commentary on the grandiose schemes of "social reform" with which they have been tempted of late years, if the government cannot or will not protect them from the human leeches--the birthday knights in the making--who suck their ill-gotten gains from those least able to protect themselves.
-the government have promised an inquiry which may, if unusual expedition is shown, make a "demonstration" with the coal-dealers just about the time the warm weather arrives. prices will then tumble, the government will solemnly pat itself upon the back for its successful interference, and the coal merchants, having made small or large fortunes as the case may be during the winter, will make a great virtue of reducing their demands to oblige the government. in the meantime, the poor are being fleeced in the interests of an unscrupulous combine. is there no peril here to our beloved country? are we not justified in saying that the machinations of these gangs of unscrupulous capitalists are rapidly tending to produce a condition of affairs which may, at any moment, expose us to a social upheaval which would contain all the germs of an unparalleled disaster?
-let the condition of affairs in certain sections of the labour world speak in answer. i have already quoted the thinly-veiled threat of mr. clynes. others have gone beyond threats and have begun a war against their country on their own account. there is an unmistakable tendency, fostered as usual by agitators of the basest class, towards action which is, in effect, helping the germans against our brave soldiers and sailors who are enduring hardships of war such as have not been equalled since the days of the crimea.
-how we supply the german army with food
-exports of cocoa to neutral countries (for the german market)
-exports of tea to neutral countries (for the german market)
-as i wrote these lines, strikes on a large scale had begun on the clyde and on the tyne, two of our most important shipbuilding centres, where great contracts--essential to the success of our arms--are being carried on, and in the london docks, where most of the food of london's teeming millions is handled. london dockers, to the number of some 25,000, are agitating for a rise in wages; between 5,000 and 6,000 of them have struck work at the victoria and albert dock on the question, forsooth, whether they shall be engaged inside the docks, or outside. in other words, the expeditious handling of london's sorely needed food is being jeopardised by a ridiculous squabble which one would think half a dozen capable business men could settle in five minutes. but here, as usual, the poorest are the victims of their own class.
-in spite of the well-meaning but idiotic young women who have gone about distributing white feathers to men who, in their opinion, ought to have joined the army, common-sense people will recognise that the skilled workers in many trades are just as truly fighting the battles of their country as if they were serving with the troops in belgium or france. if every able-bodied man joined the army to-day the nation would collapse for want of supplies to feed the fighting lines. it is not my purpose here to discuss whether the men or the masters are right in the disputes in the engineering trades. probably the authorities have not done enough to bring home to the men the knowledge that, in executing government work, they are in fact helping to fight the country's battles. none the less the men who strike at the present moment delay work which is absolutely essential to the safety of our country. we know from lord kitchener's own lips that they have done so.
-our war organisation to-day may be divided into three parts--the navy fighting on the sea, the army fighting on land, and the industrial army providing supplies for the other two. it must be brought home to the last named, by every device in our power, that their duties are just as important to our success as the work of their brothers on the storm-swept north sea, or in the mud and slush and peril of the trenches in flanders. this war is very largely a war of supplies, and our fighting must be done not only in the far-flung battle lines, but in the factory and workshop, whose outputs are essential to the far deadlier work which we ask of the men who are heroically facing the shells and bullets of the common enemy.
-now there is no disguising the fact that the industrial army at home contains far too large a percentage of "slackers."
-that is the universal testimony of men who know. there are thousands of workmen who will not keep full time, for the simple reason that they are making more money than they really need and are so lazy and unpatriotic that they will not make the extra effort which the necessities of the situation so urgently demand. what we need to-day is, above all things, determined hard work: we do not want to see our fighting forces starved for want of material caused by the shirking of the "slackers" or by unpatriotic disputes and squabbles. to-day we are fighting for our lives. the privates of the industrial army ought to realise that "slacking" or striking is just as much a criminal offence as desertion in the face of the enemy would be in the case of a soldier. it is true, as a recent writer has said, that "those who fight industrially, working long hours in a spirit of high patriotism, may not seem very heroic," but it is none the less the fact that they are fighting: they are doing the work that is essential to our national safety and welfare. do they--at least do some of them--realise this? the following extract from engineering, the well-known technical journal, shows very clearly that among certain classes of highly paid workers there is a total disregard of our national necessity which is positively appalling. as the result of a series of inquiries engineering says:
-"every reply received indicates that there is slackness in many trades. be it remembered that high wages can be earned; for relatively unskilled although somewhat arduous work, 30s. a day can be earned.
-"time-and-a-quarter to time-and-a-half is paid for saturday afternoon work, and double time for sunday work. men could earn from £7 to £10 per week--and pay no income-tax.
-"men will work on saturday and sunday, when they get handsomely paid, but will absent themselves on other days or parts of days.
-"the head of a firm, who has shown a splendid example in his work, and is most kindly disposed to all workers, states in his reply to us: 'our trouble is principally with the ironworkers, especially riveters, who appear to have a definite standard of living, and who regulate their wages accordingly; they seem to aim at making £3 per week: if they can make this in four days, good and well; but if they can make it in three days, better still.... the average working-man of to-day does not wish to earn more money, and put by something for a 'rainy day,' but is quite content to live from hand to mouth, so long as he has as easy a time as possible."
-what words are strong enough to condemn the action of such men who, safe in their homes from the perils of the serving soldier, and infinitely better paid than the man who daily risks his life in the trenches, are ready deliberately to jeopardise the safety of our empire by taking advantage of the gravest crisis in our history to levy what is nothing less than industrial blackmail? it cannot be pretended that these men are under-paid: they can earn far more than many members of the professional classes. just as truly as the coal and wheat "rings" are exploiting the miseries of the very poor, so these aristocrats of the labour world are playing with the lives of their fellows and the destinies of our empire. they are helping the enemy just as surely as the german who is fighting in his country's ranks. they are, in short, taking advantage of a national danger to demand rates of pay which, in times of safety and peace, they could not possibly secure.
-for years past we have been striving to arrive at some means of settling these unhappy labour disputes which have probably done more harm to british trade than all the german competition of which we have heard so much. in every district machinery has been set up for conciliation and settlement where a settlement is sincerely desired by both parties to a dispute. and if this machinery is not set in motion at the present moment, it is because one party or the other is so blind and self-willed that it would rather jeopardise the empire than abate a jot of its demands. could anything be more heart-breaking to the men who are fighting and dying in the trenches?
-whatever may be the merits of any dispute, there must be no stoppage of war office or admiralty work at the present moment, and if any body of men refuse at this juncture to submit their dispute to the properly organised conciliation boards, and to abide by the result, they are traitors in the fullest sense of the world. how serious the crisis is, and how grave a peril it constitutes to our country, may be judged from the fact that the government found it necessary to appoint a special committee to inquire into the production in engineering and shipbuilding establishments engaged in government work. the committee's view of the case, which i venture to think will be endorsed by every thinking man, may be judged by the following extract from their report:
-"we are strongly of opinion that, during the present crisis, employers and workmen should under no circumstances allow their differences to result in a stoppage of work.
-"whatever may be the rights of the parties at normal times, and whatever may be the methods considered necessary for the maintenance and enforcement of these rights, we think there can be no justification whatever for a resort to strikes or lockouts under present conditions, when the resulting cessation of work would prevent the production of ships, guns, equipment, stores, or other commodities required by the government for the purposes of the war."
-the committee went on to recommend that in cases where the parties could not agree, the dispute should be referred to an impartial tribunal, and the government accordingly appointed a special committee to deal with any matters that might be brought before it.
-i do not think it is possible to exaggerate the seriousness of the danger with which we must be threatened if these unhappy disputes are not brought to a close, and i know of no incident since the war began that has shown us up in so unfavourable a light as compared with our enemy. whatever we may think of germany's infamous methods; whatever views we may hold of her monstrous mistakes; whatever our opinion may be as to the final outcome of the war, we must, at least, grant to the germans the virtue of patriotism. the german socialists are, it is notorious, as strongly opposed to war as any people on earth. but they have, since the great struggle began, shown themselves willing to sink their personal views when the safety of the fatherland is threatened in what, to them, is a war of aggression, deliberately undertaken by their enemies. we have heard, since the war began, a great deal of wild and foolish talk about economic distress in germany. we have been told, simply because the german government has wisely taken timely precautions to prevent a possible shortage of food, that the german nation is on the verge of starvation. but would germany, who for seven years prepared for war, overlook the vital question of her food supply? probably it is true that the industrial depression in germany, thanks to the destruction by our navy of her overseas trade, is very much worse than it is in england. but no one has yet suggested that the krupp workmen are threatening to come out on strike and paralyse the defensive forces if their demands for higher wages are not instantly conceded. it is more than probable that any one who suggested such a course, even if he escaped the heavy hand of the government, would be speedily suppressed in very rough-and-ready fashion by his own comrades. the germans, at least, will tolerate no treachery in their midst, and unless the leaders among the english trade unionists can bring their men to a realisation of the wickedness involved in strikes at the present moment, they will assuredly forfeit every vestige of public respect and confidence.
-i am not holding a brief either for the masters or the men. let ample inquiry be made, by all means, into the subject of the dispute. if the masters raise any objection to either the sitting or the finding of the government commission, they deserve all the blame that naturally attaches to the strikers. the inquiry should be loyally accepted by both sides, and its findings as loyally respected. prima facie, men who can earn the wages mentioned in the extract from engineering which i have already quoted are well off--far better off than their comrades who are doing trench duty in france, and are free from the hourly risk to which the fighting forces are exposed. there may be, however, good and valid reasons why they should be paid even better. if there are, the government inquiry should find them out. but to stop work now, to hold up the production of the ships, guns, and materials necessary to carry on the war, is criminal, wicked, and unpatriotic in the highest degree. it is setting an evil example only too likely to be followed, and, if it is persisted in, may well be the first step of our beloved nation on the downward road which leads to utter destruction.
-mr. archibald hurd, a writer always well informed, has summed up the situation in the daily telegraph in the following words, which are worth quotation:
-"the recruiting movement has shown that the great industrial classes are not, as a whole, unconscious of the stake for which we are fighting--the institutions which we cherish and our freedom. probably if the workers at home were reminded of the importance of their labours, they would speedily fall into line--if not, well, the resources of civilisation are not exhausted, and the government should be able to ensure that not an unnecessary day, or even hour, shall be lost in pressing forward the work of equipping the new fleet and the new army which is essential to our salvation. the government is exercising authority under martial law over army and navy; cannot it get efficient control over the industrial army?
-"in france and germany these powers exist, and are employed. we are not less committed to the great struggle than france and germany."
-those are wise and weighty words, and it may be that they point the way to a solution of what may become a very grave problem.
-the peril of not doing enough
-the vast issues raised by the war make it a matter of most imperative necessity that great britain and her allies shall put forward, at the earliest possible moment, the greatest and supremest efforts of which they are capable, in order that the military power of the austro-german alliance should be definitely and completely crushed for ever.
-it must never be forgotten that the prize for which germany is fighting is the mastership of europe, the humbling of the power of great britain, and the imposition of a definitely teutonic "kultur" over the whole of western civilisation. that the free and liberty-loving british peoples should ever come under the heel of the prussian junker spirit involves such a monstrous suppression of national thought and feeling as to be almost unbelievable. yet, assuredly, that would be our fate and the fate of every nationality in europe should germany emerge victorious from this titanic struggle she has so rashly and presumptuously provoked.
-with our very existence as the ruling race at stake it is clear that our own dear country cannot afford to be sparing in her efforts. whatever the cost; whatever the slaughter; whatever the action of our allies may be in the future, when the terrific out-pouring of wealth will have bled europe white, we, at least, cannot afford to falter. for our own land, the struggle is really, and in very truth, a struggle of life and death.
-if we endure and win, civilisation, as we understand it to-day, will be safe; if we lose, then western civilisation and the british empire will go down together in the greatest cataclysm in human history. now are we doing everything in our power to avert the threatening peril? moreover--and this is of greatest importance--are our allies persuaded that we are really making the great efforts the occasion demands? this gives us to pause.
-let us admit we are not, and we have never pretended to be, a military nation in the sense that france, russia, and germany have been military nations. we have been seamen for a thousand years, and the frontiers of england are the salt waves which girdle our coasts. seeking no territory on the continent of europe, and unconcerned in european disputes unless they directly--as in the present instance--threaten our national existence, our armed forces have ever been regarded as purely defensive, yet not aggressive. for our defence we have relied on our naval power; perhaps in days gone by we have assumed, rather too rashly, that we should never be called upon to take part in land-fighting on a continental scale.
-even after the present war had broken out, it was possible for the parliamentary correspondent of a london liberal paper to write that certain liberal members of the house of commons were protesting against the sending of british troops to the continent on the ground that they were too few in number to exercise any influence in a european war! perish that thought for ever! i mention this amazing contention merely to show how imperfectly the issues raised by the present conflict were appreciated in the early days of the struggle. to-day we see the establishment of the british army raised by parliamentary sanction to 3,000,000 men without a single protest being uttered against a figure which, had it been even hinted at, a year ago would have been received with yells of derision. yet, in spite of that vast number, i still ask "are we doing enough?" in other words, looking calmly at the stupendous gravity of the issues involved, is there any further effort we could possibly make to shorten the duration of the war?
-for eight months german agents, armed with german gold, have been industriously propagating, in france and in russia, the theory that those countries were, in fact, pulling the chestnuts out of the fire for england. german agents are everywhere. we were represented as holding the comfortable view that our fleet was doing all that we could reasonably be called upon to undertake; that, secure behind our sea barriers, we were simply carrying on a policy of "business as usual" with the minimum of effort and loss and the maximum of gain through our principal competitors in the world's commerce being temporarily disabled. the object of this manoeuvre was plain. germany hoped to sow the seeds of jealousy and discord, and to thrust a wedge into the solid alliance against her. now it is, to-day, beyond all question that, to some extent at least, this manoeuvre was successful. a certain proportion of people in both france and russia, perhaps, grew restive. in the best-informed circles it was, of course, fully recognised that britain, with her small standing army, could not, by any possibility, instantly fling huge forces into the field. the less well informed, influenced by the german propaganda, began to think we were too slow. this feeling began to gather strength, and it was not until m. millerand, the french minister for war, whom i have known for years, had actually visited england and seen the preparations that were in progress, that french opinion, fully informed by a series of capable articles in the french press, settled down to the conviction that england was really in earnest. unquestionably, m. millerand rendered a most valuable service to the cause of the allies by his outspoken declarations, and he was fully supported by the responsible leaders of french thought and opinion. the cleverly laid german plot failed, and our allies to-day realise that we have unsheathed our sword in the deadliest earnest.
-in spite of this, however, the thoughtful section of the public have been asking themselves whether, in fact, our military action is not slower than it should have been. germany, we must remember, started this war with all the tremendous advantage secured by years of steady and patient preparation for a contest she was fully resolved to precipitate as soon as she judged the moment opportune. she lost the first trick in the game, thanks to the splendid heroism of belgium, the unexpected rapidity of the french and russian mobilisation, and lastly, the wholly surprising power with which britain intervened in the fray--the pebble in the cog-wheels of the german machinery.
-the end of the first stage, represented, roughly, by the driving of the germans from the marne to the aisne, temporarily exhausted all the combatants, and there followed a long period of comparative inaction, during which all the parties to the quarrel, like boxers in distress, sparred to gain their "second wind." now just as germany was better prepared when the first round opened, so she was, necessarily, more advanced in her preparations for the second stage. thanks to her scheme of training, there was a very real risk that her vast masses of new levies would be ready before our own--and this has actually proved to be the case.
-new troops are to-day being poured on to both the eastern and western fronts at a very rapid pace, probably more rapidly than our own. we know that it was, in great part, their new levies that inflicted the very severe reverse upon the russians in east prussia and undid, in a single fortnight, months of steady and patient work by our allies. it is also probably true that germany's immense superiority in fully trained fighting men is steadily decreasing, owing partly to the enormous losses she has sustained through her adherence to methods of attack which are hopeless in the teeth of modern weapons. but she is still very much ahead of what any one could have expected after seven months of strenuous war, and we must ask ourselves very seriously whether, by some tremendous national effort, it is not possible to expedite the raising of our forces to the very maximum of which the nation and the empire are capable. it is not a question of cost: the cost would be as nothing as compared with the havoc wrought by the prolongation of the war. if there is anything more that we can do, we ought, emphatically, to do it. it is our business to see that at no single point in the conduct of the war are we out-stripped by any effort the germans can make.
-now it is a tolerably open secret that we are not to-day getting the men we shall want before we can bring the war to a conclusion. why? when our men read of the utter disregard of the spy question, of the glaring untruths told by ministers in the house of commons, of how we are providing german barons with valets on prison ships--comfortable liners, by the way--of the letting loose of german prisoners from internment camps, and how german officers have actually been allowed, recently, to depart from tilbury to holland to fight against us, is it any wonder that they hesitate to come forward to do their share? let the reader ask himself. are all departments of the government patriotic? is it not a fact that the public are daily being misled and bamboozled? let the reader examine the evidence and then think.
-now, though no figures as to the progress of recruiting have been published for some months, it is practically certain that we are still very far from the three million men we still assuredly require as a minimum before victory, definite and unmistakable, crowns our effort. i have not the slightest doubt that before this struggle ends we shall see practically the entire male population of the country called to the colours in some capacity, and unfortunately that is an aspect of the case which is certainly not yet recognised by the democracy as a whole. we have done much, it is true. we have surprised our friends and our enemies alike--perhaps we have even surprised ourselves--by what has been achieved, but on the technical side of the war, under the tremendous driving energy of lord kitchener, amazing progress has been made in the provision of equipment, and the latest information i have been able to obtain suggests that before long the early shortage of guns, rifles, uniforms, and other war material will have been entirely overcome, and that we shall be experiencing a shortage, not of supplies--but alas! of men.
-that day cannot be far off, and when it dawns the problem of raising men will assume an urgency of which hitherto we have had no experience. up to now we have been content to tolerate the somewhat leisurely drift of the young men to the colours for the simple reason that we had not the facilities for training and equipping them. we cannot, and we must not, tolerate any slackness in the future. the wastage of modern war is appallingly beyond the average conception, and when our big new armies take the field, that wastage will rise to stupendous figures. it must be made good without the slightest delay by constant drafts of new, fully trained men, and when that demand rises, as it inevitably will, to a pitch of which we have hitherto had no experience, it will have to be met. can it be met by the leisurely methods with which we have hitherto been content?
-i do not think so for a moment, and i am convinced that our responsible ministers should at once take the country fully into their confidence and tell us plainly and unmistakably what the man-in-the-street has to expect. i have so profound an admiration for the men who have voluntarily come forward in the hour of their country's need that i hope, with all my heart, their example will be followed--and followed quickly--to the full extent of our nation's needs. but i confess i am not sanguine. the recent strikes in the engineering trade on the clyde have gone far to convince me that, even now, a very large proportion of our industrial classes do not even to-day realise the real seriousness of the position, for it is incredible that britons who understood that we are actually engaged in a struggle for our very existence should seriously jeopardise and delay, through a miserable industrial squabble, the supply of war material upon which the safety of our empire might depend. the strike on the clyde was, to me, the most evil symptom of apathy and lack of all patriotic instincts which the war has brought forth; it was, to my mind, proof conclusive that a section at least of our working-classes are entirely dead to the great national impulse by which, in the past, the british people have been so profoundly swayed. is the government doing enough to rekindle those impulses? has it taken the people fully and frankly into its confidence? above all, has it made it sufficiently clear to the masses that we are not getting the men we need, and that unless those men come forward voluntarily, some method of compulsory selection will become inevitable?
-no, it has not!
-we come back to the question in which, i am firmly convinced, lies the solution of many of our present difficulties--are we being told the truth about the war? has the nation had the clear, ringing call to action that, unquestionably, it needs?
-no, it has not!
-i shall try to show, in the pages of this modest work, that the country has not been given the information to which it is plainly entitled respecting the actual military operations which have been accomplished. it is certainly not too much to say that the country has not been really definitely and clearly informed as to the measure of the effort it will be called upon to make in the future. i am not in the secrets of the war office, and it is impossible to say what the policy of the government will be, or what trump cards they hold, ready to play them when the real crisis comes. but there certainly is an urgent and growing need for very plain speaking. i speak plainly and without fear. we should like to be assured that the recruiting problem, upon the solution of which our final success must depend, is being dealt with on broad, wise, and statesmanlike lines, and that the government will shrink from no measure which shall ensure our absolute military efficiency. i have no doubt that lord kitchener has a very accurate estimate of the total number of men he proposes to put into the field before the great forward movement begins, of the probable total wastage, and of the period for which, on the present basis of recruiting, that wastage can be made good.
-the country would welcome some very definite and explicit statement, either from mr. asquith or lord kitchener, as to the real position, and as to whether the government has absolute confidence that the requirements of the military authorities can be met under the existing condition of affairs. the time is, indeed, more than ripe for some grave and solemn warning to the people if, as i believe, the effort we have made up to now, great though it has undoubtedly been, has not been sufficient. we to-day need an authoritative declaration on the subject. there is far too strong a tendency, fostered by the undue reticence of the irresponsible press bureau and the screeching "victories" of the newspapers, to believe that things are going as well and smoothly as we could wish; and though i would strenuously deprecate an attitude of blank pessimism, the perils which hedge around a fatuous optimism are very great.
-my firm conviction, and i think my readers will share in it, is that the great mass of public opinion is daily growing more and more apathetic towards the war, and truly that is not the mental attitude which will bring us with safety and credit through the tremendous ordeal which lies before us. the government is not doing enough to drive home the fact that greater and still greater efforts will be required before the spectre of prussian domination is finally laid to rest: the country at large, befogged by the newspapers, and sullenly angry at being kept in the dark to an extent hitherto unheard of, is in no mood to make the supreme sacrifices upon which final victory must depend. we are, as a result, not exercising our full strength: we are not doing enough, and our full strength will not be exerted until the government takes the public into its confidence and tells them exactly what it requires and what it intends to have. that it would gain, rather than lose, by doing so, i have not the slightest doubt, while the gain to the world through the throwing into the scale of the solid weight of a fully aroused britain would be simply incalculable.
-while writing this, came the extraordinarily belated news of the decision of the government to declare a strict blockade of the german coasts. it has been a matter of supreme bewilderment to every student of the war why this decision was not taken long before. why should we have failed for so long to use the very strongest weapon which our indisputed control of the sea has placed in our hands, is one of those things which "no fellah can understand." we have been foolish enough to allow food, cotton, and certain other articles of "conditional contraband" free access to germany, and it is beyond question that in so doing we have enormously prolonged the war. and all this, be it remembered, at a time when germany was violating every law of god and man! assume a reversal of the prevailing conditions: would germany have been so foolishly indulgent towards us? would she have treated us with more consideration than she showed towards the starving population of paris in 1871? the very fact of our long inaction in this respect adds enormously to the strong suspicion that in other directions we are not doing as much as we should. lord fisher is credited with the saying, "the essence of war is violence: moderation in war is imbecility. hit first, hit hard, hit everywhere."
-i think it is safe to say that in more than one direction we have displayed an imbecility of moderation which has tended to encourage the germans in the supreme folly of imagining that they are at liberty to play fast and loose with the opinion of the civilised world. our treatment of german spies and enemy aliens in our midst is a classic example of our contemptuous tolerance of easily removable perils, just as much as is our incredible folly in neglecting to make the fullest use of our magnificent naval resources. thanks to our tolerance, the germans have been freely importing food and cotton, with probably an enormous quantity of copper smuggled through in the same ships. we have paid in the blood and lives of our gallant soldiers, husbands, brothers, lovers, while the germans have laughed at us--and not without justice--as a nation of silly dolts and imbeciles. yet we have tardily decided upon "retaliatory measures" which we were perfectly entitled to take the instant war was declared, only under the pressure of germany's campaign of murder and piracy at sea! are we doing enough in other directions?
-equally belated, and equally calculated to give the impression that we have been too slow in using our strength, is the attack upon the dardanelles. it has long been a mystery why, in view of the tremendous results involved in such a blow at germany's deluded ally, this attack was not made earlier. we do not know, and the government do not enlighten us. but the delay has helped to send the price of bread to famine prices through blocking up the russian wheat in the black sea ports; it has given the turks and the germans time to enormously strengthen the defences, and has prevented us from sending to our russian friends that support in munitions of war of which they undoubtedly stood in need. there may, of course, have been good reasons for the delay, but if they exist, they have baffled the investigation of the most competent military and naval critics. it must never be forgotten that the reopening of the dardanelles and the fall of constantinople must exercise a far more potent influence on the progress of the war than, say, the relief of antwerp--another example of singularly belated effort! it must, in fact, transform the whole position of the war and react with fatal effect through turkey upon her allies. yet the war had been in progress for seven months before a serious attempt was made at what, directly turkey joined in the war, must have been one of the primary objects of the allies. what added price, i wonder, shall we be compelled to pay for that inexplicable delay, not merely in the increased cost of the necessaries of life at home and the expenses of the war abroad, but in the lives of our fighting men? for it must not be forgotten that a decisive blow at turkey would do much to shorten the duration of the war. it would be a serious blow at germany, and would be more than likely to precipitate the entrance into the struggle, on the side of the allies, of italy and the wavering balkan states. in hard cash, the war is costing us nearly a million and a half a day. we have to pay it, sooner or later. the loss of life is more serious than the loss of wealth, and there is no doubt that both must be curtailed by any successful operation against the turks.
-the army has, beyond question, lost thousands of recruits of the very best class owing to the parsimony displayed in the matter of making provision for the dependents of men who join the fighting forces. the scale originally proposed, it will be remembered, produced an outburst of indignation, and it was very soon amended in the right direction, but when all is said and done it operates with amazing injustice. one of the most striking features of the war has been the splendid patriotism shown by men who, in social rank, are decidedly above the average standard of recruits.
-many comparatively rich men have joined the army as privates, and the roll descends in the social scale until we come down to the day labourer. we draw no distinction between the loyalty and devotion of any of our new soldiers, but it cannot be denied that the working of the system of separate allowances is exceedingly unfair to the men of the middle classes.
-financially, the family of the working-man is frequently better off through the absence of the husband and father at the front than it has ever been before--sometimes very much better off indeed. i am not complaining of that. but when we ascend a little in the scale we find a glaring inequality. the man earning, say, £250 a year, and having a wife and one child, finds, too often, that the price he has to pay for patriotism is to leave his family dependent upon the government allowance of 17s. 6d. per week. is it a matter for wonder that so many have hesitated to join? can we praise too highly the patriotism of those who, even under such circumstances, have answered the call of duty?
-the truth is that the whole system of separation allowances, framed to meet the necessity of recruits of the ordinary standard, is inelastic and unsuitable to a campaign which calls, or should call, the entire nation to arms. it is throwing a great strain on a man's loyalty to ask him to condemn his wife and family to what, in their circumstances, amounts to semi-starvation, in order that he may serve his country, particularly when he sees around him thousands of the young and healthy at theatres and picture palaces, free from any domestic ties, who persistently shut their eyes to their country's need, and whom nothing short of some measure of compulsion would bring into the ranks. i am not going to suggest that every man who joins the army should be paid the salary he could earn in civil life, but i think we are not doing nearly enough for thousands of well-bred and gently nurtured women who have given up husbands and brothers in the sacred cause of freedom.
-and now i come to perhaps the saddest feature of the war--the case of the men who will return to england maimed and disabled in their country's cause. that, for them, is supreme glory, though many of them would have infinitely preferred giving their lives for their country. they will come back to us in thousands, the maimed, the halt, and the blind: pitiful wrecks of glorious manhood, with no hope before them but to drag out the rest of their years in comparative or absolute helplessness. their health and their strength will have gone; there will be no places for them in the world where men in full health and strength fight the battle of life in the fields of commerce and industry. are we doing enough--have we, indeed, begun to do anything--for these poor victims of war's fury, much more to be pitied than the gallant men who sleep for ever where they fell on the battle-fields of france and belgium?
-too often in the past it has been the shame and the reproach of britain that she cast aside, like worn-out garments, the men who have spent their health and strength in her cause. have we not heard of crimean veterans dying in our workhouses? with all my heart i hope that, after the war, we shall never again be open to that reproach and shame. we must see that never again shall a great and wealthy empire disgrace itself by condemning its crippled heroes to the undying bitterness of the workhouse during life, and the ignominy of a pauper's grave after death. cost what it may, the future of the unhappy men "broke in our wars" must be the nation's peculiar care. i do not suggest--they themselves would not desire it--that all our wounded should become state pensioners en masse and live out their lives in idleness. the men who helped to fling back the kaiser's barbaric hordes in the terrible struggle at ypres are not the men who will seek for mere charity, even when it takes the form of a deserved reward for their heroic deeds.
-speaking broadly, the state will have the responsibility of caring for two classes of wounded men--those who are condemned to utter and lifelong disablement and those who, less seriously crippled, are yet unable to obtain employment in ordinary commercial or industrial life. as to the former class, the duty of the state is clear: they must be suitably maintained for the rest of their lives at the state's charges. with regard to the second class, i do most sincerely hope that they will not be thrown into the world with a small wounds pension and left to sink or swim as fortune and their scattered abilities may dictate. it is for us to remember that these men have given their health and strength that we might live in safety and peace, and we shall be covering ourselves with infamy if we fail to make proper provision for them.
-as i have already said, they do not want charity. they want work, and i venture to here make an earnest appeal to the public to take up the cause of these men with all its generous heart. first and foremost, such of them as are capable should be given absolute preference in government and municipal offices, where there are thousands of posts that can be filled even by men who are partially disabled. every employer of labour should make it his special duty to find positions for as many of these men as possible: there are many places in business houses that can be quite adequately filled by men of less than ordinary physical efficiency. most of all, however, i hope the government will, without delay, take up the great task of finding a way of setting these men to useful work of some kind. in the past much has been done in this direction by the various private agencies which interest themselves in the care of discharged soldiers. a war of such magnitude as the present, however, must bring in its wake a demand for work and organisation on a scale far beyond private effort; and if the disabled soldier is to be adequately cared for, only the resources of the state can be equal to the need.
-are we doing enough, i ask again, for the gallant men who have served us so well? there are those who fear that, comparatively speaking, the war has only just begun. however this may be, the tale of casualties and disablement rises day by day at a terrible pace, and there is a growing need to set on foot an organisation which, when the time comes, shall be ready to grapple at once with what will perhaps be the most terrible legacy the war can leave us.
-the peril of the censorship
-war brings into discussion many subjects upon which men differ widely in their opinions, and the present war is no exception to the general rule.
-amateur and expert alike argue on a thousand disputed points of tactics, of strategy, and of policy: it has always been so: probably it will be so for ever. but the censorship imposed by the government, on the outbreak of war, has achieved a record.
-it has earned the unanimous and unsparing condemnation of everybody. men who have agreed on no other point shake hands upon this. for sheer, blundering ineptitude, for blind inability to appreciate the mind and temper of our countrymen, in its utter ignorance of the psychological characteristics of the nation and of the empire, to say nothing of the rest of the world, the methods of the censorship, surely, approach very closely the limits of human capacity for failure.
-when i say "the censorship" i mean, of course, the system, speaking in the broadest sense. it matters nothing whether the chief censor, for the moment, be, by the circumstance of the day, mr. f.e. smith or sir stanley buckmaster. both, i make no doubt, have done their difficult work to the best of their ability, and have been loyally followed, to the best of their several abilities, by their colleagues. the faults and failures of the censorship have their roots elsewhere.
-now to avoid, at the outset, any possibility of misunderstanding, i want to make it absolutely clear that in all the numerous criticisms that have been levelled at the censorship, objection has been taken not to the fact that news is censored, but to the methods employed and to the extent to which the suppression of news has been carried.
-i believe that no single newspaper in the british isles has objected to the censorship, as such. i am quite sure that the public would very definitely condemn any demand that the censorship should be abolished. much as we all desire to learn the full story of the war, it is obvious that to permit the indiscriminate publication of any and every story sent over the wires, would be to make the enemy a present of much information of almost priceless value. early and accurate information is of supreme importance in war time, and certainly no englishman worthy of the name would desire that the slightest advantage should be offered to our country's enemies by the premature publication of news which, on every military consideration, ought to be kept secret.
-this is, unquestionably, the attitude of the great daily newspapers in london and the provinces, which have been the worst sufferers by the censor's eccentricities. they realise, quite clearly, the vital and imperative necessity for the suppression of information which would be of value to the enemy, and, as a matter of fact, the editors of the principal journals exercise themselves a private censorship which is quite rigid, and far more intelligently applied than the veto of the official bureau. it would surprise a good many people to learn of the vast amount of information which, by one channel or another, reaches the offices of the great dailies long before the press bureau gives a sign that it has even heard of the matters in question. the great retreat from mons is an excellent instance. it was known perfectly well, at the time, that the entire british expeditionary force was in a position of the gravest peril, and it is, perhaps, not too much to say that had the public possessed the same knowledge there would have been a degree of depression which would have made the "black week" of the south african war gay and cheerful by comparison, even if there had not been something very nearly approaching an actual panic.
-but the secret was well and loyally kept within the walls of the newspaper offices, as i, personally, think it should have been: i do not blame the military authorities in the least for holding back the fact that the position was one of extreme gravity. bad news comes soon enough in every war, and it would be senseless folly to create alarm by telling people of dangers which, as in this case, may in the end be averted. the public quarrel with the censorship rests on other, and totally different, grounds.
-that a strict censorship should be exercised over military news which might prove of value to the enemy will be cheerfully admitted by every one. we all know, despite official assurances to the contrary, that german spies are still active in our midst, and, even now, there is--or at any rate until quite recently there was--little or no difficulty in sending information from this country to germany. no one will cavil at any restrictions necessary to prevent the enemy anticipating our plans and movements, and if the censorship had not gone beyond this, no one would have had any reason to complain.
-what may perhaps be called the classic instance of the perils of premature publication occurred during the franco-prussian war of 1870-71. in those days there was no censorship, and france, in consequence, received a lesson so terrible that it is never likely to be forgotten. it is more than likely, indeed, that it is directly responsible for the merciless severity of the french censorship to-day.
-a french journal published the news that macmahon had changed the direction in which his army was marching. the news was telegraphed to england and published in the papers here. it at once came to the attention of one of the officials of the german embassy in london, who, realising its importance, promptly cabled it to germany. for moltke the news was simply priceless, and the altered dispositions he promptly made resulted in macmahon and his entire force capitulating at metz. truly a terrible price to pay for the single indiscretion of a french newspaper!
-it is not to be denied that to some extent certain of the "smarter" of the british newspapers are responsible for the severity of the censorship in force to-day. in effect, the censorship of news in this country dates from the last war in south africa. some of the english journals, in their desire to secure "picture-stories," forgot that the war correspondent has very great responsibilities quite apart from the mere purveying of news.
-the result was the birth of a war correspondent of an entirely new type. the older men--the friends of my youth, forbes, burleigh, howard russell, and the like--had seen and studied war in many phases: they knew war, and distinguished with a sure instinct the news that was permissible as well as interesting, from the news that was interesting but not permissible. their work, because of their knowledge, showed discipline and restraint, and it can be said, broadly, that they wrote nothing which would advantage the enemy in the slightest degree.
-in the war in south africa we saw a tremendous change. many of the men sent out were simply able word-spinners, supremely innocent of military knowledge, knowing absolutely nothing of military operations, unable to judge whether a bit of news would be of value to the enemy or not. their business was to get "word-pictures"--and they got them. in doing so they sealed the doom of the war correspondent. the feeble and inefficient censorship established at cape town, for want of intelligent guidance, did little or nothing to protect the army, and the result was that valuable information, published in london, was promptly telegraphed to the boer leaders by way of lourenço marques. many skilfully planned british movements, in consequence, went hopelessly to pieces, and by the time war was over, lord roberts and military men generally were fully agreed that, when the next war came, it would be absolutely necessary to establish a censorship of a very drastic nature.
-we see that censorship in operation to-day, but far transcending its proper function. it was established--or it should have been established--for the sole purpose of preventing the publication of news likely to be of value to the enemy. had it stopped there, no one could have complained.
-i contend that in point of fact it has, throughout the war, operated not merely to prevent the enemy getting news which it was highly desirable should be kept from him, but to suppress news which the british public--the most patriotic and level-headed public in all the world--has every right to demand. we are not a nation of board-school children or hysterical girls. over and over again the british public has shown that it can bear bad news with fortitude, just as it can keep its head in victory. those of us who still remember the terrible "black week" in south africa, with its full story of the horror of defeat at colenso, magersfontein, and stormberg, remember how the only effect of the disaster was the ominous deepening of the grim british determination to "see it through": the tightening of the lips and the hardening of the jaws that meant unshakable resolve; the silent, dour, british grip on the real essentials of the situation that, once and for all, settled the fate of kruger's ambitions.
-are britons to-day so changed from the britons of 1899 that they cannot bear the truth; that they cannot face disaster; that they are indeed the degenerates they have been labelled by boastful germans? perish the thought! britain is not decadent; she is to-day as strong and virile as of old and her sons are proving it daily on the plains of flanders, as they proved it when they fought the kaiser's hordes to a standstill on the banks of the marne during the "black week" of last autumn. why then should the public be treated as puling infants spoon-fed on tiny scraps of good news when it is happily available, and left in the bliss of ignorance when things are not going quite so well?
-from november 20th, 1914, up to february 17th, 1915--a period of three months of intense anxiety and strain--not one single word of news from the commander-in-chief of the greatest army britain has ever put into the field was vouchsafed to the british public. for that, of course, it is impossible to blame sir john french. but the bare fact is sufficient condemnation of the entirely unjustifiable methods of secrecy with which we are waging a war on which the whole future of our beloved nation and empire depends. the public was left to imagine that the war had reached something approaching a "deadlock." the ever-mounting tale of casualties showed that, in very truth, there had been, in that silent period of three months, fighting on a scale to which this country has been a stranger for a century.
-will any one outside the government contend that this absurd secrecy can be justified, either by military necessity or by a well-meant but, as i think, hopelessly mistaken regard for the feelings of the public?
-we are not germans that it should be necessary to lull us into a lethargic sleep with stories of imaginary victories, or to refrain from harrowing our souls when, as must happen in all wars, things occasionally go wrong.
-we want the truth, and we are entitled to have it!
-i do not say that we have been deliberately told that which is not true. i believe the authorities can be acquitted of any deliberate falsification of news. but i do say, without hesitation, that much news was kept back which the country was entitled to know, and which could have been made public without the slightest prejudice to our military position. at the same time, publication has been permitted of wholly baseless stories, such as that of the great fight at la bassée, to which i will allude later, which the authorities must have known to be unfounded.
-it is not for us to criticise the policy of our gallant allies, the french. we must leave it to them to decide how much or how little they will reveal to their own people. i contend, with all my heart, that the british public should not have been fobbed off with the studiously-guarded french official report, with its meaningless--so far as the general public is concerned--daily recital of the capture or loss of a trench here and there, or with the chatty disquisitions of our amiable "eye-witness" at the british headquarters, who manages to convey the minimum of real information in the maximum of words. it is highly interesting, i admit, to learn of that heroic soldier who brained four germans "on his own" with a shovel; it is very interesting to read of the "nut" making his happy and elaborate war-time toilet in the open air; and we are glad to hear all about german prisoners lamenting the lack of food. but these things, and countless others of which "eye-witness" has told us, are not the root of the matter. we want the true story of the campaign, and the plain fact is that we do not get it, and no one pretends that we get it.
-cheerful confidence is an excellent thing in war, as well as in all other human undertakings. blind optimism is a foolhardy absurdity; blank pessimism is about as dangerous a frame of mind as can be conceived. i am not quite sure, in my own mind, whether the methods of the censorship are best calculated to promote dangerous optimism, or the reverse, but i am perfectly certain that they are not calculated to evoke that calm courage and iron resolve, in the face of known perils, which is the best augury of victory in the long run. probably they produce a result varying according to the temperament of the individual. one day you meet a man in the club who assures you that everything is going well and that we have the germans "in our pocket." that is the foolishness of optimism, produced by the story of success and the suppression of disagreeable truths.
-twenty-four hours later you meet a gloomy individual who assures you we are no nearer beating the germans than we were three months ago. that is the depths of pessimism. both frames of mind are derived from the "official news" which the government thinks fit to issue.
-here and there, if you are lucky, you meet the man who realises that we are up against the biggest job the empire has ever tackled, and that, if we are to win through, the country must be plainly told the facts and plainly warned that it is necessary to make the most strenuous exertions of which we are capable. that is the man who forms his opinions not from the practically worthless official news, but from independent study of the whole gigantic problem. and that is the only frame of mind which will enable us to win this war. it is a frame of mind which the official news vouchsafed to us is not, in the least degree, calculated to produce.
-in the prosecution of a war of such magnitude as the present unhappy conflict the public feeling of a truly democratic country such as ours is of supreme importance. it is, in fact, the most valuable asset of the military authorities, and it is a condition precedent for success that the nation shall be frankly told the truth, so far as it can be told without damage to our military interests.
-mr. bonar law, in the house of commons, put the case in a nutshell when he said that--
-"he had felt, from the beginning of the war, that as much information was not being given as might be given without damage to national interests. nothing could be worse for the country than to do what the japanese did--conceal disasters until the end of the war. he did not say that there had been any concealment, but the one thing necessary was to let the people of this and other countries feel that our official news was true, and could be relied upon. he wondered whether the house realised what a tremendous event the battle of ypres, in november, was. the british losses there, he thought, were bigger than any battle in which purely english troops were engaged. it was a terrible fight, against overwhelming odds, out of which british troops came with tremendous honour. all the account they had had was sir john french's despatch. surely the country could have more than that. whoever was in charge, when weighing the possible damage which might be brought about by the giving of news, should also bear in mind the great necessity for keeping people in this country as well informed as possible."
-that, i venture to think, is a perfectly fair and legitimate criticism. the battle of ypres was fought in november. mr. law was speaking in february. who can say what the country would have gained in recruiting, in strength of determination, in everything that goes to make up the morale so necessary for the vigorous conduct of a great campaign, had it been given, at once, an adequate description of the "terrible fight against overwhelming odds" out of which the british thomas atkins came with so much honour?
-the military critics of our newspapers have, perhaps, been one of the greatest failures of the entire campaign. one of them, on the day before namur fell, assured us that the place could hold out for three months. another asserted that the russians would be in berlin by september 10th. another, just before the germans drove the russians for the second time out of east prussia, declared that russia's campaign was virtually ended! besides, all the so-called "histories" of the war published have been utter failures. personally, i do not think the nation is greatly perturbed, at the present moment, about the conduct of the actual military operations. no one is a politician to-day, and there is every desire, happily, to support the government in any measure necessary to bring the war to a conclusion. we have not the materials, even if it were desirable, to criticise the conduct or write the history of the war, and we have no wish to do so. but we desire to learn, and we have the right to learn, the facts.
-our military organisation, rightly or wrongly, is based upon the voluntary system. we cannot, under present conditions, obtain, as the conscriptionist countries do, the recruits we require merely by calling to the colours, with a stroke of the pen, men who are liable for service. we have to request, to persuade, to advertise, and to lead men to see their duty and to do it. to enable us to do this satisfactorily, public opinion must be kept well informed, must be stimulated by a knowledge of the real situation. when war broke out, and volunteers were called for, a tremendous wave of enthusiasm swept over the country. the recruiting organisation broke down, and, as i have pointed out, the government found themselves with more men on their hands than they could possibly train or equip at the moment. instead of taking men's names, telling them the exact facts, and sending them home to wait till they could be called for, the war office raised the physical standard for recruits, and this dealt a blow at popular enthusiasm from which it has never recovered. recruiting dropped to an alarming degree, and, so recently as february, mr. tennant, in the house of commons, despite the efforts that had been made in the meantime, was forced to drop a pretty strong hint that "a little more energy" was advisable.
-now the connection between the manner in which the recruiting question was handled, and the general methods adopted by the censorship, is a good deal closer than might be imagined at first sight. both show the same utter failure on the part of the military authorities to appreciate the psychology of the civilian. psychology, the science of the public opinion of the nation, must, in any democratic country, play a very large part in the successful conduct of a great war; and in sympathetic understanding of the temper of the masses, our military authorities, alike in regard to the censorship and recruiting question, have been entirely outclassed by the autocratic officials of germany. i do not advocate german methods. the gospel of hate and lies--which has kept german people at fever-heat--would fail entirely here. we need no "hymns of hate" or lying bulletins to induce britons to do their duty if the needs of the situation are thoroughly brought home to them.
-but we have to face this disquieting fact, that, whatever the methods employed, the german people to-day are far more enthusiastic and determined in their prosecution of the war than we are.
-that is a plain and unmistakable truth. i do not believe the great mass of the british public realises, even to-day, vitally and urgently, the immense gravity of the situation, and for that i blame the narrow and pedantic views that have kept the country in comparative ignorance of the real facts of the situation.
-we have been at war for eight months and we have not yet got the men we require. recruits have come forward in large numbers, it is true, and are still coming forward. but there is a very distinct lack of that splendid and enduring enthusiasm which a true realisation of the facts would inevitably evoke. priceless opportunities for stimulating that enthusiasm have been, all along, lost by the persistent refusal to allow the full story of british heroism and devotion to be told.
-we can take the battle of ypres as a single outstanding example. the full story of that great fight would have done more for recruiting in a week than all the displayed advertisements and elaborate placards with which our walls are so profusely adorned could achieve in a month!
-sir john french's despatch, as a military record, bears the hall-mark of military genius, but it is idle to pretend that it is a literary document calculated to stir the blood and fire the imagination of our countrymen. admirable in its firm restraint from the military point of view, it takes no account of the civilian imagination. that is not sir john french's business. he is a great soldier, and it is no reproach to him that his despatch is not exactly what is required by the urgency of the situation. moreover, it came too late to exercise its full effect. had the story of ypres been given to the public promptly, and in the form in which it would have been cast by a graphic writer who understood the subject with which he was dealing and the public for whom he was writing, we should probably have been better off to-day by thousands and thousands of the much-needed recruits. the failure to take advantage of such a glorious opportunity for the stimulation of enthusiasm by purely legitimate means, convicts our censorship authorities of a total failure to appreciate the mentality of the public whose supposed interests they serve.
-and as with successes, so with failures. it is the peculiar characteristic of the british people that either a great victory or a great disaster has the immediate result of nerving them to fuller efforts. we saw that in south africa: it has been seen a hundred times in our long history. let us turn for a moment to the affair at givenchy on december 20th. sir john french's despatch makes it clear that the repulse of the indian division on that occasion was a very serious matter, so serious, in fact, that it required the full effort of the entire first division, under sir douglas haig, to restore the position. yet, at the time, the british public was very far from fully informed of what had happened: much of our information, indeed, was derived from german sources; and these sources being naturally suspect, the magnitude of the operations was never realised.
-there may have been excellent military reasons for concealing, for the moment, the real position, though i strongly suspect that the germans were quite as well informed about it as we were. but there could be no possible reason for concealing the fact from the public for a couple of months, and thus losing another opportunity of powerfully stimulating our national patriotism and determination.
-the peril of the press bureau
-it is one of the curses of our parliamentary system that every piece of criticism is immediately ascribed to either party or personal motives, and politicians whose conduct or methods are impugned, for whatever reason, promptly assume, and try to make others believe, that their opponents are actuated by the usual party or personal methods.
-at the present moment, happily, we have, for the first time within our memory, no politics; the nation stands as one man in its resolve to make an end of the teutonic aggression against the peace of the world. in the recent discussion in the house of commons, however, sir stanley buckmaster, head of the press bureau, upon whom has fallen the rather ruffled and uncomfortable mantle discarded by mr. f.e. smith, seems to have interpreted the very unanimous criticism of the censorship as a personal attack upon himself. as a brilliant lawyer, of course he had no difficulty in making a brilliant reply to a fallacy originated entirely in his own brain.
-in very truth the personality of sir stanley buckmaster concerns us not at all. he is a loyal englishman. he does not originate the news which the press bureau deals out with such belated parsimony. no one blames him for the fact that the nation is kept so completely in the dark on the subject of the war. if it were possible for sir stanley buckmaster, personally, to censor every piece of news submitted to the press bureau, there would, i venture to think, be a speedy end to the system--or want of system--which permits an item of intelligence to be published in edinburgh or liverpool, but not in london; and that the speeches of cabinet ministers, reported in our papers verbatim, would be allowed free passage to the united states or to the colonies. i wish here to do the head of the press bureau the justice to say that he is an englishman who knows his own mind, and has the courage of his own convictions. yet that does not alter the fact that the press censorship as a system has worked unevenly, with very little apparent method, and with an amazing disregard of the best foreign and colonial opinion which, all along, it has been our interest to keep fully informed of the british side of the case.
-when the subject was last before the house of commons, some very caustic things were said. mr. joseph king, the radical member for north somerset, moved, and sir william byles, the radical member for north salford, seconded, the following rather terse motion:
-"that the action of the press bureau in restricting the freedom of the press, and in withholding information about the war, has been actuated by no clear principle and has been calculated to cause suspicion and discontent."
-now it will be noted that there is, in the first place, no possibility of attributing this motion to political hostility. both the mover and the seconder are supporters of the government, not merely at the present moment, as of course all englishmen are, but in the ordinary course of nightly political warfare. mr. king did not mince matters. he roundly charged the press bureau with exercising inequality, particularly in denying the publication in london of news permitted to be published in the provinces and on the continent. he pressed, too, for the issue of an official statement two or three times a week. this, of course, has since been granted, and it is a very decided improvement. mr. joynson-hicks, from the conservative benches, very truly emphasised the fact that the people of this country want the truth, even if it meant bad news, and added that they also wanted to hear about the heroism of our troops and the valorous deeds of any individual regiments.
-sir stanley buckmaster, in reply, denied somewhat vehemently that he had ever withheld, for five minutes, any information he had about the war, and asserted that nothing had ever been issued from his office that was not literally and absolutely true.
-now, as i have said, sir stanley buckmaster's hide-bound department does not originate news, and cannot be held responsible for either the fullness or the accuracy of the official statements. when sir stanley buckmaster tells us that he has never delayed news i accept his word without demur. but when he says nothing has been issued from his department which is not "literally and absolutely true," then i ask him what he means by "literally and absolutely true"? if he means that the news which his department has issued has contained no actual misstatements on a point of fact, i believe his claim to be fully justified. if he means, on the other hand, that the press bureau, or those behind it, have told the nation the whole truth, he makes an assertion which the nation with its gritted teeth to-day will decline, and with very good reason, to accept. to quote mr. bonar law's words again: "from the beginning of the war as much information has not been given as might have been given without damage to national interests." to such full information as may be given without damage to national interests the nation is entitled, and no amount of official sophistry and hair-splitting can alter that plain and demonstrable fact.
-mr. king, in the resolution i have quoted, charged the head of the bureau with exercising inequality as between different newspapers. now this amounts to a charge of deliberate unfairness which it is very difficult indeed to accept. the house of commons, in fact, did not accept it. none the less, the fact remains that not once or twice, but over and over again, news has been allowed publication in one paper and refused in another, not merely as between london and the provinces, but as between london newspapers which are, necessarily, keen rivals. in support of this assertion i will quote one of the strongest supporters of the government among the london newspapers--the daily chronicle. there will be no question of political partisanship about this.
-after quoting the views of the times and two liberal papers--the star and the westminster gazette--the daily chronicle said:
-"the methods of the censor are, certainly, a little difficult to understand. there reached this office yesterday afternoon, from our correspondent at south shields, a long story of the sinking of vessels in the north sea. it was submitted to us by the censor, who made a number of excisions in it. the telegram was returned to us with the following note by our representative at the press bureau:
-"'the censor particularly requests that south shields be not mentioned, though we can state "from our east coast correspondent."'
-"in the meantime the evening newspapers appeared with accounts of some occurrences in which most of the deletions made by the censor in the daily chronicle report were given! the censor made the following remarks and excisions in the 'copy' submitted to him by the daily chronicle representative at the press bureau:
-"thus we were free to mention the offending passage on the authority of the central news agency, but not on that of 'our own correspondent'! what can be more ridiculous than this?"
-the importance of the last portion of the daily chronicle article lies in the fact that we have here a clear case of mutilation of the french official despatch, which the french papers even were free to publish!
-the daily chronicle also mentioned another case in which its special correspondent in paris sent a long despatch giving, on the authority of m. clemenceau, a statement published in paris, that the 15th army corps gave way in a moment of panic. the censor refused permission to publish it, but another journal published a quotation under the heading: "french soldiers who wavered: officers and men punished by death."
-i ought, in fairness, to say, in passing, that the instances quoted above took place before sir stanley buckmaster assumed control of the press bureau, and that no responsibility attaches to him in respect of any of them.
-now, bad as has been the effect of the censorship on public opinion at home, it has been even worse abroad, and particularly in the united states, where the german propaganda had full play, while the british case was sternly withheld. the american press has not hesitated to say that our censors were incompetent and discriminated unfairly between one paper and another. this was untrue in the sense in which it was meant, but it was certainly unfortunate, to put it mildly, that the news of the declaration of war was allowed to be issued by one new york journal, and withheld for seven hours from the associated press, which represents 9,000 american and canadian newspapers. it was, perhaps, still more unfortunate that even the speeches of mr. asquith and sir edward grey on the subject of the declaration of war should have been similarly delayed. why? telegraphic reports of these speeches were held up for four days by the censors at cable offices and were then "censored" before they were despatched. i ask, could mischievous and bungling stupidity go farther than this?
-here is another case. in one of his speeches, mr. asquith, on a friday night in dublin, announced that the indian troops were, that day, landing at marseilles. the speech, and the statement, were reported next day in the london newspapers. after the publication of this, the press bureau forbade any mention of the landing of the indian troops!
-it is, or should be, the function of the press bureau not merely to supply the public with accurate news, but to make sure that false or misleading reports are promptly suppressed. the reason for this is obvious. we do not wish to be depressed by unfounded stories of disaster, nor do we wish to experience the inevitable reaction which follows when we learn that we have been deluded by false news of a great victory. whatever may be the raison d'être of the press bureau, it is assuredly not maintained for the purpose of assisting in the circulation of utterly futile fiction about the progress of the campaign.
-again: are we told the truth?
-early in january a report--passed of course by the censor--appeared in practically every newspaper in the country, and probably in thousands of papers in all parts of the british empire, announcing the capture by the british troops of a very important german position at la bassée. the engagement was described as a brilliant one, in which the enemy lost heavily; circumstantial details were added, and on the face of it the news bore every indication of being based on trustworthy reports from the fighting line. it is true that it was not official, but the circumstances made it so important that, inasmuch as it had been passed by the censor, it was naturally assumed by every newspaper editor to be accurate. a few days later every one was amazed to learn, from official sources, that there was not a word of truth in the whole story! yet the censor had actually passed it for publication. and so the public pay their halfpennies to be gulled!
-consider the circumstances. sir john french, on november 20th, stated that throughout the battle of ypres-armentières, the position at la bassée had defied all efforts at capture, and naturally the most intense anxiety had been felt for news of a definite success in this region. yet the public, after hearing, by official sanction, the news of a success which would clearly have resulted in the germans being driven pell-mell out of la bassée, were calmly told, a few days later, that the entire story was a lie. to my mind, and i think the reader will agree with me, we could have no stronger illustration of the utter futilities and farcical eccentricities of the censorship as it to-day exists. are we told the truth about the war? no, i declare--we are not!
-i will go a step farther. the suppression of news by the censorship is bad enough, but what are we to think of a deliberate attempt to stifle perfectly legitimate criticisms of ministers and their methods?
-as those who read these pages are aware, i have taken a prominent part in the effort to bring home to the public the dire peril to which we are exposed through the presence in our midst of hordes of uncontrolled enemy aliens. i deal with this subject elsewhere, and i should not mention it here except that it is connected in a very special way with an attempt on the part of the press bureau to stifle public discussion on a matter of the gravest importance.
-the globe newspaper has, with commendable patriotism, devoted much attention to the question of the presence of alien spies in our midst, and, on many occasions, its correspondence and editorial columns have contained valuable information and comments. on september 10th last the globe published the following letter:
-"press bureau, "40, charing cross. "september 7th, 1914.
-"mr. f.e. smith desires me to draw your attention to a letter headed 'a german's outburst,' which appeared in your issue of the 2nd instant, and a facsimile of which appeared in your issue of the 4th instant. this letter has received the notice of the home secretary, who expresses the view that 'the articles and letters in the globe are causing something in the nature of a panic in the matter of spies' and desires that they should be suppressed at once. in view of this expression of opinion by the home secretary, mr. smith has no doubt that you will refrain, in the future, from publishing articles or letters of a similar description.
-"yours very truly, "harold smith, secretary."
-very properly, the globe pointed out that, in this matter, "nothing less is at stake than the liberty of the press to defend the public interest and criticise the administrative acts of a minister of the crown." the unwarrantable attempt of the home secretary, through the press bureau, to suppress criticism of this nature, to stop the mouths of those who insisted on warning the public of a peril which he has, all along, blindly refused to see, raises a constitutional issue of the very gravest kind. the globe promptly asked the press bureau under what authority it claimed the "power to suppress the free expression of opinion in the english press on subjects wholly unconnected with military or naval movements." mr. harold smith's reply was the amazing assertion that such powers were conferred by the defence of the realm acts. he wrote:
-"press bureau, "40, charing cross. "september 8th, 1914.
-"i am instructed by mr. f.e. smith to acknowledge your letter of to-day's date. on mr. smith's direction, i wrote you a letter, which, on re-reading, you will perceive was intended to convey to you the opinion of the home office, rather than an expressed intention of censorship in this bureau. you will, of course, use your own discretion in the matter, but mr. smith thinks that a consideration of the terms of the defence of the realm acts (nos. 1 and 2), and the regulations made thereunder, will satisfy you that the secretary of state is not without the legal powers necessary to make his desire for supervision effective.
-"yours faithfully, "harold smith, secretary."
-this reads very much like a threat to try the editor of the globe by court-martial for the heinous offence of suggesting that mr. mckenna's handling of the spy-peril was not exactly what was required by the exigencies of the public safety. i must say that when i read the correspondence i was inclined to tremble for my own head! so far, however, it is still safe upon my shoulders. i, as a patriotic englishman who has dared to speak his mind, have no intention of desisting--even at the risk of being court-martialled--from the efforts i have continued for so long to arouse my countrymen to a realisation of the dangers to which we are exposed by the obstinate refusal of the government to face facts.
-the privilege of the press to criticise ministers was boldly asserted by the globe, which, in a leading article, said:
-"that correspondence ... raises issues directly affecting the independence of the press and its right to frank and unfettered criticism. at the time when we are receiving from our ever-increasing circle of readers many gratifying tributes to the sanity of our views, and the informing character of our columns, we are accused of publishing matter calculated to induce panic, and we have been called upon to suppress at once the articles and letters directing attention to the dangers arising from the lax methods of the home secretary in dealing with the alien enemy in our midst."
-after referring to a statement made by mr. mckenna in the house of commons the previous day as likely "to do something to allay public anxiety" on the subject, the globe proceeded:
-"we are content with the knowledge that the attitude of the globe has done something to convince the government of the widespread feeling that the danger from the alien enemy we harbour is real, and the fear justified. here we should be content to leave the question for the present, but for the attitude of the home secretary in seeking to prevent comment and criticism on his administrative acts, coupled with the veiled suggestion from the press bureau of power possessed under an emergency act. this attempt at pressure is made through a department set up for quite other and legitimate purposes.... if a government department, under cover of an order in council made for a wholly different purpose, is to shield itself from an exposure of its inefficiency, a dangerous precedent is set up, dangerous alike to the community and the press."
-we have to bear in mind, in this connection, that the press bureau had just been reorganised. mr. f. e. smith had resigned, on leaving for the front, and the home secretary was the minister responsible to parliament for its conduct. at his request the press bureau endeavoured to prevent the globe continuing to criticise his action, or rather inaction. well indeed might the globe say: "we must reserve to ourselves the right, at all times, to give expression to views on ministerial policy and even to dare to criticise the action of the home secretary." and i venture to say that, but for the jealousy inherent among british newspapers, the globe would have had the unanimous support of every metropolitan and provincial journal, every single one of which was vitally affected by the home secretary's preposterous claim.
-the claim of the country for fuller information has been expressed in many ways, and by many people, and it has been admitted by no less a personage than mr. asquith himself. in the house of commons early in september mr. asquith said the government felt "that the public is entitled to prompt and authentic information of what has happened at the front, and they are making arrangements which they hope will be more adequate."
-that was months ago, and, up to the present, very few signs of the "prompt and authentic information" have been perceptible.
-even more significant is the following passage from the latest despatches of sir john french, which covered the period from november 20th to the beginning of february:
-"i regard it as most unfortunate that circumstances have prevented any account of many splendid instances of courage and endurance, in the face of almost unparalleled hardship and fatigue of war, coming regularly to the knowledge of the public."
-now i do not want to read into sir john french's words a meaning that he did not intend to convey, but this passage certainly strikes me, as it has struck many others, as a very definite plea for the presence at the front of duly accredited and responsible war correspondents.
-and why not? news could be still censored so that no information of value could reach the enemy. we should not be prejudiced one iota, but, on the other hand, should get prompt and trustworthy news, written by skilled journalists in a fashion that would make an irresistible appeal to the manhood of britain. and we should be far nearer than we are to-day to learning "the truth about the war."
-it has been urged, on behalf of the press bureau, that of late matters have been very much improved. my journalistic friends tell me that so far as the actual working is concerned this is a fact. there has undoubtedly been less of the haphazard methods which were characteristic of the early days. but there is still too much of what the times very properly calls the "throttling" of permissible news, and, in spite of the fact that two despatches a week are now published from sir john french, we are still in the dark as to the real story of the great campaign. neither our successes nor our failures are adequately described. we are still not told "the truth about the war."
-and i cannot help saying that the deficiencies of the official information are not made up by the tactics of certain sections of the press. there is too much of a tendency to magnify the good and minimise the bad. there are too many "great victories" to be altogether convincing. as the morning post put it:
-"there seems to be a large section of the public which takes its news as an old charwoman takes her penn'orth of gin, 'for comfort.' and some of our contemporaries seem to cater for this little weakness. every day there is a 'great advance' or a 'brilliant victory,' and if a corporal's guard is captured or surrenders we have a flaming announcement on all the posters."
-it is very true. from the fiercest critics of the press bureau's methods we do not to-day get "the truth about the war," even so far as they know it. even the daily news has been moved to raise a protest against the present state of affairs, and as recently as march 15th declared that the mind of authority "is being fed on selected facts that convey a wholly false impression of things."
-the peril of the enemy alien
-"every enemy alien is known, and is now under constant police surveillance."--mr. tennant, under-secretary for war, in the house of commons, march 3rd.
-one of the gravest perils with which the country is still faced is that of the enemy alien.
-notwithstanding all that has been written and said upon this most serious question, ministers are still content to pursue a shuttlecock policy, in which there is very little satisfaction for any intelligent patriot.
-each time the subject is brought up in the house of commons there is an apparent intention of the government to wilfully throw dust into the eyes of the public, and prevent the whole mystery of the official protection afforded to our enemies being sifted to the bottom. a disgraceful illustration of this was given on march 3rd, when mr. joynson-hicks moved:
-"that in the opinion of this house it is desirable that the whole administration of the acts and regulations concerning aliens and suspected persons should be centred in the hands of one minister, who should be responsible to the house."
-there is an absence of vigour and an absence of system about the dealing with this source of danger, and i maintain that the national safety requires the taking of this matter more seriously, and the placing of it upon a satisfactory footing. the government admitted that, on march 3rd, seven hundred male enemy aliens were living in the east coast prohibited area, and we know that arrangements for their control are so futile as to leave, quite unmolested, some individuals whose known connections expose them to the highest degree of suspicion. of one such notorious case, mr. bonar law--who cannot, surely, be accused of spy-mania--declared that he would as soon have allowed a german army to land as allow the person in question to be at large in this country. how the arrangement has worked in another particular case was exposed in some detail by mr. butcher. the lady concerned is closely related to more than one of those in power in germany. her case was reported to the war office. the war office called upon the general officer commanding in the northern district to take action. he requested the police to make inquiries, and the chief constable of the east riding subsequently reported, "strongly recommending" the removal of the lady from the prohibited area. the general accepted this advice, and an order was made for her removal on january 25th. it was never executed; and on february 7th it was withdrawn.
-such is one illustration of the utter hopelessness of the present state of affairs. and yet, in face of it, mr. tennant, under-secretary for war, actually rose and made the definite assertion that every enemy alien was known and constantly watched!
-could any greater and more glaring official untruth be told?
-is every enemy alien known, i ask? let us examine a case in point, one in which i have made personal investigation, and to the truth of which a dozen officers of his majesty's service, and also civilians, are ready to testify.
-investigations recently made in certain german quarters in london, notably in the obscure foreign restaurants in the neighbourhood of tottenham court road, where men--many of them recently released from internment-camps--and women meet nightly and toast to the day of britain's destruction, revealed to me a startling fact. here, posing as an italian and a neutral, i learnt facts regarding the movements of german aircraft long before they were known either to our own authorities or to the press. for several weeks this fact, i confess, caused me considerable thought. some secret means of communication must, i realised, exist between the enemy's camp and london, perhaps by wireless, perhaps by the new german-laid cable, the shore-end of which is at bacton, in norfolk, and which, eighteen months ago, in company with the german telegraph-engineers, i assisted to test as it was laid across the north sea to nordeney. in the archives of the intelligence department of the war office will be found my report, together with a copy of the first message transmitted by the new cable from norfolk to germany, a telegram from one of the kaiser's sons who happened to be in scotland at the time, and addressed to the emperor, which read: "hurrah for a strong navy!"--significant indeed in the light of recent events!
-i was wondering if, by any secret means, this cable could be in operation when, on the afternoon of february 23rd, an officer of the naval armoured car squadron called upon me and invited me to assist in hunting spies in surrey. the suggestion sounded exciting. signals had been seen for a month or so past, flashed from a certain house high upon the surrey hills. would i assist in locating them, and prosecuting a full inquiry?
-within half an hour i was in a car speeding towards the point where mystery brooded, and which we did not reach till after dark. a gentleman living three miles across the valley, whose house commanded full view of the house under suspicion--a large one with extensive grounds--at once placed a room at our disposal, wherein we sat and watched. in the whole of these investigations i was assisted by an officer who was an expert in signalling and wireless, a signaller of the service, two other officers equally expert in reading the morse code, while i myself have qualified both in morse and wireless, and hold the postmaster-general's licence.
-this was certainly remarkable. the officers with me--all experts in signalling--were unanimous as to the two letters, and also to their repetition. these signals, i learned, had been seen times without number, but until the smart young officer who had called upon me had noticed them, no action had been taken.
-having established that mysterious signalling was really in progress, i set forth upon further investigation. taking my own signalling-apparatus, a very strong electric lamp with accumulators and powerful reflectors, which would show for fifteen miles or more, i got into the car with my companions--who were eager to assist--and, having consulted ordnance-maps and compass, we went to a spot high-up in an exposed position, where i anticipated the answering light from the mansion might be seen.
-we found ourselves in a private park, upon a spot which, by day, commands an immense stretch of country, and from which it is said that upon a clear day the sussex coast can be seen. here we erected our signalling-apparatus and waited in patience. the night proved bitterly cold, and as the hours crept slowly by, the sleet began to cut our faces. yet all our eyes were fixed upon that mysterious house which had previously signalled.
-for hours we waited in vain until, of a sudden, quite unexpectedly from the direction of london, we saw another intense white light shining from out the darkness. for a full half-hour it remained there, a beacon like the other. then suddenly it began winking, and this was the code-message it sent:
-"s.h.i.s. (pause) h. 5. (pause) s.h.i.s.f. (pause with the light full on for two minutes). i.s. i.e. (pause) e.s.t. (light out)."
-turning my signal-lamp in its direction, i repeated the first portion of the mysterious message, and then, pretending not to understand, asked for a repetition. at once this was given, and, with my companions, i received it perfectly clearly!
-sorely tempted as i was to signal further, i refrained for fear of arousing suspicion, and, actuated by patriotic motives, we agreed at once to prosecute our inquiry further, and then leave it to "the proper authorities" to deal with the matter.
-through the whole of that night--an intensely cold one--we remained on watch upon one of the highest points in surrey, a spot which i do not here indicate for obvious reasons--and not until the grey dawn at last appeared did we relinquish our watchfulness.
-all next day, assisted by the same young officer who had first noticed the unusual lights, i spent in making confidential inquiry regarding the mysterious house and elicited several interesting facts, one being that the family, who were absent from the house showing the lights, employed a servant who, though undoubtedly german--for, by a ruse, i succeeded in obtaining the address of this person's family in germany--was posing as swiss. that a brisk correspondence had been kept up with persons in germany was proved in rather a curious way, and by long and diligent inquiry many other highly interesting facts were elicited. with my young officer friend and a gentleman who rendered us every assistance, placing his house and his car at our disposal, we crept cautiously up to the house in the early hours one morning, narrowly escaping savage dogs, while one adventure of my own was to break through a boundary fence, only to find myself in somebody's chicken-run!
-that night was truly one of adventure. nevertheless, it established many things--one being that in the room whence the signals emanated was a three-branch electrolier with unusually strong bulbs, while behind it, set over the mantelshelf, was a mirror, or glazed picture, to act as a reflector in the direction of london. the signals were, no doubt, made by working the electric-light switch.
-the following night saw us out again, for already reports received had established a line of signals from a spot on the kent coast to london and farther north, other watchers being set in order to compare notes with us. again we watched the beacon-light on the mysterious house. we saw those mysterious letters "s.m."--evidently of significance--winked out in morse, and together we watched the answering signals. all the evening the light remained full on until at 1.30 a.m. we once more watched "s.m." being sent, while soon after 2 a.m. the light went out.
-in the fourteen exciting days and nights which followed, i motored many hundreds of miles over surrey, sussex, and kent, instituting inquiries and making a number of amazing discoveries, not the least astounding of which was that, only one hour prior to the reception of that message on the first evening of our vigil--"h. 5"--five german aeroplanes had actually set out from the belgian coast towards england! that secret information was being sent from the kent coast to london was now proved, not only at one point, but at several, where i have since waited and watched, and, showing signals in the same code, have been at once answered and repeated. and every night, until the hour of writing, this same signalling from the coast to london is in progress, and has been watched by responsible officers of his majesty's service.
-after the first nights of vigilance, i had satisfied myself that messages in code were being sent, so i reported--as a matter of urgency--to the intelligence department of the war office--that department of which mr. mckenna, on march 3rd, declared, "there is no more efficient department of the state." the result was only what the public might expect. though this exposure was vouched for by experts in signalling, men wearing his majesty's uniform, all the notice taken of it has been
-war office, whitehall, s.w.
-27th february 1915.
-the director of military operations presents his compliments to mr. w. le queux, and begs to acknowledge, with thanks, the receipt of his letter of the 25th inst. which is receiving attention.
-a mere printed acknowledgment--reproduced above--that my report had been received, while to my repeated appeals that proper inquiry be made i have not even received a reply!
-but further. while engaged in watching in another part of surrey on the night of march 3rd, certain officers of the armoured car squadron, who were keeping vigil upon the house of mystery, saw some green and white rockets being discharged from the top of the hill. their suspicions aroused, they searched and presently found, not far from the house in question, a powerful motor-car of german make containing three men. the latter when challenged gave no satisfactory account of themselves, therefore the officers held up the car while one of them telephoned to the admiralty for instructions. the reply received was "that they had no right to detain the car!" but, even in face of this official policy of do-nothing, they took off the car's powerful searchlight, which was on a swivel, and sent it to the admiralty for identification.
-this plain straightforward statement of what is nightly in progress can be substantiated by dozens of persons, and surely, in face of the observations taken by service men themselves--the names of whom i will readily place at the disposal of the government--it is little short of a public scandal that no attempt has been made to inquire into the matter or to seize the line of spies simultaneously. it really seems plain that to-day the enemy alien may work his evil will anywhere as a spy. on the other hand, it is a most heinous offence for anybody to ride a cycle without a back-lamp!
-this is the sort of proceeding that gives force to the contention of those supporting the motion of mr. joynson-hicks in the house of commons, that the whole matter of spies ought to be placed in the hands of a special authority devoted to it alone, and responsible to parliament. as things stand, the country is certainly in agreement with mr. bonar law in believing that the government "have not sufficiently realised the seriousness of this danger, and have not taken every step to make it as small as possible." most people will agree with mr. john s. scrimgeour, who, commenting upon the shuffling of the government, said:
-"let the press cease from blaming the strikers. also let 'the men in power' cease from their censuring, for very shame. can i, or any man in the street, believe that we are 'fighting for our lives' while the enemy lives contentedly among us? read the debate, and take as samples mentioned therein--'brother of the governor of liége,' 'german financial houses,' and 'baron von bissing.' don't make scapegoats of these working-men, or even of the non-enlisting ones, while such is the case. neither they, nor any one else in his senses, can believe in the seriousness of this 'life struggle' while the above state of things continues. it is laughable--or deadly."
-the intelligence department of the war office--that department so belauded by mr. mckenna--certainly did not display an excess of zeal in the case of signalling in surrey, for, to my two letters begging that inquiry be made as a matter of urgency, i was not even vouchsafed the courtesy of a reply. yet i was not surprised, for in a case at the end of january in which two supposed belgian refugees, after living in one of our biggest seaports and making many inquiries there, being about to escape to antwerp, i warned that same department and urged that they should be questioned before leaving london. i gave every detail, even to the particular boat by which they were leaving for flushing. no notice, however, was taken of my report, and not until three days after they had left for the enemy's camp did i receive the usual printed acknowledgment that my report had been received!"
-that night-signalling has long been in progress in the south of england is shown by the following. written by a well-known gentleman, it reached me while engaged in my investigations in surrey. he says:
-"the following facts have been brought to my notice, and may be of interest to you. in the first week of october six soldiers were out on patrol duty around folkestone looking for spies--always on night-duty.
-"one night they saw morse signalling going on on a hill along the sea outside folkestone. the signalling was in code. they divided into two parties of three, and proceeded to surround the place. on approaching, a shot was heard, and a bullet went through the black oilskin coat of one man (they were all wearing these over their khaki). they went on and discovered two germans with a strong acetylene lamp, one of them having a revolver with six chambers, and one discharged, also ten spare rounds of ammunition.
-"they secured them and took them to the police station, but all that happened was that they were shut up in a concentration camp! this story was told me by one of the six who were on duty, and assisted at the capture."
-to me, there is profound mystery in the present disinclination of the intelligence department of the war office to institute inquiry. as a voluntary worker in that department under its splendid chief, col. g.w.m. macdonogh--now, alas! transferred elsewhere--my modest reports furnished from many places, at home and abroad, always received immediate attention and a private letter of thanks written in the chief's own hand.
-on the outbreak of war, however, red-tape instantly showed itself, and i received a letter informing me that i must, in future, address myself to the director of military operations--the department which is supposed to deal with spies.
-i trust that the reader will accept my words when i say that i am not criticising lord kitchener's very able administration. if i felt confident that he, and he alone, was responsible for the surveillance of enemy aliens in our midst, then i would instantly lay down my pen upon the subject. but while the present grave peril continues, and while the government continue in their endeavour to bewilder and mislead us by placing the onus first upon the police, then, in turn, upon the home office--which, it must be remembered, made an official statement early in the war and assured us that there were no spies--then upon the war office, then upon the admiralty war staff, while they, in turn, shift the responsibility on to the shoulders of the local police-constable in uniform, then i will continue to raise my voice in protest, and urge upon the public to claim their right to know the truth.
-but the british public to-day are no longer children, nor are they in the mood to be trifled with and treated as such. the speeches made by mr. mckenna in the house of commons on march 3rd have revealed to us that the policy towards aliens is one of untruth and sham. the debate has aroused an uneasiness in the country which will only be restored with the greatest difficulty. to be deliberately told that the intelligence department of the war office is cognisant of every enemy alien--in face of what i have just related--is to ask the public to believe a fiction. and, surely, fiction is not what we want to-day. we want hard fact--substantiated fact. we are not playing at war--as so many people seem to think because of the splendid patriotism of the sons of britain--but we are fighting with all our force in defence of our homes and our loved ones, who, if weak-kneed counsels prevail, will most assuredly be butchered to make the kaiser a german holiday.
-that public opinion is highly angered in consequence of the refusal of the government to admit the danger of spies, and face the problem in a proper spirit of sturdy patriotism, is shown by the great mass of correspondence which has reached me in consequence of my exposures in "german spies in england." the letters i have received from all classes, ranging from peers to working-men, testify to an astounding state of affairs, and if the reader could but see some of this flood of correspondence which has overwhelmed me, he would realise the widespread fear of the peril of enemy aliens, and the public distrust of the apathy of the government towards it.
-surely this is not surprising, even if judged only by my own personal experiences.
-how the public are deluded!
-the "times," february 17th
-the secretary of the admiralty makes the following announcement:
-information has been received that two persons, posing as an officer and sergeant, and dressed in khaki, are going about the country attempting to visit military works, etc.
-they were last seen in the midlands on the 6th instant, when they effected an entry into the works of a firm who are doing engineer's work for the admiralty. they made certain inquiries as to the presence or otherwise of anti-aircraft guns, which makes it probable that they are foreign agents in disguise.
-all contractors engaged on work for h.m. navy are hereby notified with a view to the apprehension of these individuals, and are advised that no persons should be admitted to their works unless notice has been received beforehand of their coming.
-the "times," march 4th
-mr. tennant, under-secretary for war, during the debate in the house of commons upon the question of enemy aliens, raised by mr. joynson-hicks, said he could give the house the assurance that every single enemy alien was known, and was at the present moment under constant police surveillance. he wished to inform the house and the country that they had at the war office a branch which included the censorship and other services all directed to the one end of safeguarding the country from the operations of undesirable persons. it would not be right to speak publicly of the activities of that branch, but it was doing most admirable service, and he repudiated with all earnestness the suggestion that the department did not take this matter of espionage with the utmost seriousness.
-let us further examine the facts. mr. mckenna, in a speech made in the house of commons on november 26th on the subject, said: "the moment the war office has decided upon the policy, the home office places at the disposal of the war office the whole of its machinery." on march 3rd the home secretary repeated that statement, and declared, in a retort made to mr. joynson-hicks, that he was not shirking responsibility, as he had never had any! now, if this be true, why did mr. mckenna make the communiqué to the press soon after the outbreak of war, assuring us that there were no spies in england, and that all the enemy aliens were such dear good people? i commented upon it in the daily telegraph on the following day, and over my own name apologised to the public for my past offence of daring to mention that such gentry had ever existed among us. if lord kitchener were actually responsible, then one may ask why had the home secretary felt himself called upon to tell the public that pretty fairy-tale?
-now with regard to the danger of illicit wireless. early in january 1914--seven months before the outbreak of war--being interested in wireless myself, and president of a wireless association, my suspicions were aroused regarding certain persons, some of them connected with an amateur club in the neighbourhood of hatton garden. having thoroughly investigated the matter, and also having been able to inspect some of the apparatus used by these persons, i made, on february 17th, 1914, a report upon the whole matter to the director of military intelligence, pointing out the ease with which undesirable persons might use wireless. the director was absent on leave, and no action was taken in the matter.
-a month later i went to the wireless department of the general post office, who had granted me my own licence, and was received there with every courtesy and thanked for my report, which was regarded with such seriousness that it was forwarded at once to the admiralty, who have wireless under their control. in due course the admiralty gave it over to the police to make inquiries, and the whole matter was, i suppose--as is usual in such cases--dealt with and reported upon by a constable in uniform.
-here let me record something further.
-in february last i called at new scotland yard in order to endeavour to get the police to make inquiry into two highly suspicious cases, one of a person at winchester, and the other concerning signal-lights seen north-east of london in the metropolitan district. i had interviews with certain officials of the special department, and also with one of the assistant commissioners, and after much prevarication i gathered--not without surprise--that no action could be taken without the consent of the home office! how this latter fact can be in accordance with the home secretary's statement in the house of commons i confess i fail to see.
-but i warn the government that the alien peril--now that so many civil persons have been released from the internment camps--is a serious and growing one. the responsibility should, surely, not be placed upon, or implied to rest upon, lord kitchener, who is so nobly performing a gigantic task. if the public believed that he was really responsible, then they, and myself, would at once maintain silence. the british public believes in lord kitchener, and, as one man, will follow him to the end. but it certainly will not believe or tolerate this see-saw policy of false assurances and delusion, and the attempt to stifle criticism--notably the case of the globe--of which the home office have been guilty. there is a rising feeling of wrath, as well as a belief that the peril from within with which the country is faced--the peril of the thousands of enemy aliens in our midst--most of whom are not under control--together with the whole army of spies ready and daily awaiting, in impatience, the signal to strike simultaneously--is wilfully disregarded. even the police themselves--no finer body of men than whom exists anywhere in the world--openly express disgust at the appalling neglect of the mysterious so-called "authorities" to deal with the question with a firm and strong hand.
-naturally, the reader asks why is not inquiry made into cases of real suspicion reported by responsible members of the community. i have before me letters among others from peers, clergymen, solicitors, justices of the peace, members of city councils, a well-known shipowner, a government contractor, members of parliament, baronets, etc., all giving me cases of grave suspicion of spies, and all deploring that no inquiry is made, application to the police being fruitless, and asking my advice as to what quarter they should report them.
-all these reports, and many more, i will willingly place at the service of a proper authority, appointed with powers to effectively deal with the matter. at present, however, after my own experience as an illustration of the sheer hopelessness of the situation, the reader will not wonder that i am unable to give advice.
-could germany's unscrupulous methods go farther than the scandal exposed in america, in the late days of february, of how captain boy-ed, naval attaché of the german embassy at washington, and the kaiser's spy-master in the united states, endeavoured to induce the man stegler to cross to england and spy on behalf of germany? in this, germany is unmasked. captain boy-ed was looked upon as one of the ablest german naval officers. he is tall and broad-shouldered, speaks english fluently, and in order to americanise his appearance has shaved off his "prince henry" whiskers which german naval officers traditionally affect. when he took up his duties at washington he was a man of about forty-five, and ranked in the german navy as lieutenant-commander. but his career of usefulness as naval attaché, with an office in the shipping quarters of new york, has been irretrievably impaired by the charges of stegler, whose wife produced many letters in proof of the allegation that the attaché was the mainspring of a conspiracy to secure english-speaking spies for service to be rendered by german submarines and other german warships on the british side of the atlantic.
-the plot, exposed in every paper in the united states, was a low and cunning one, and quite in keeping with the methods of the men of "kultur." mrs. stegler, a courageous little woman from georgia, saw how her husband--an export clerk in new york--was being drawn into the german net as a spy, and she stimulated her husband to give the whole game away. to the united states police, stegler, at his wife's suggestion, was perfectly frank and open. he exposed the whole dastardly plot. he stated that captain boy-ed engineered the spy-plot that cost lody his life, and declared that in his dealings with the attaché the matter of going to england as a spy progressed to a point where the money that was to be paid to his wife for her support while he was in england was discussed. captain boy-ed, stegler went on to say, agreed to pay mrs. stegler £30 a month while he was in england, and furthermore agreed that if the british discovered his mission and he met the fate of lody, mrs. stegler was to receive £30 a month from the german government as long as she lived!
-stegler said he told his wife of the agreement to pay to her the amount named, and that she asked him what guarantee he could give that the money would be paid as promised. at that time mrs. stegler did not know the perilous nature of the mission that her husband had consented to undertake. when stegler reported fully to his american wife, and she got from him the entire story of his proposed trip to england, she, like a brave woman, determined to foil the conspiracy. captain boy-ed was not convincing regarding the payment to her for the services of her husband as a spy by the german government for life, and she told her husband that the german government would probably treat captain boy-ed's promise to pay as a "mere scrap of paper." having been urged to study the recent history of belgium, stegler confessed that he had his doubts. finally he resolved to reveal the existence of a plot to supply german spies from new york.
-could any facts be more illuminating than these? surely no man in great britain, after reading this, can further doubt the existence of german-american spies among us.
-there is not, i think, a single reader of these pages who will not agree with the words of that very able and well-informed writer who veils his identity in the referee under the nom-de-plume of "vanoc." on march 14th he wrote:
-"this is no question of party. i am not going to break the party truce. in the interests of the british empire, however, i ask that a list of all the men of german stock or of hebrew-german stock who have received distinctions, honours, titles, appointments, contracts, or sinecures, both inside or outside the house of commons, house of lords, and privy council, shall be prepared, printed, and circulated. also a list of frenchmen, russians, and colonials so honoured. it is also necessary for a clear understanding of the spy-question that the public should know whether it is a fact that favoured german individuals have contributed large sums to political party funds on both sides, and whether the tenderness that is shown teutons or hebrew-teutons decorated or rewarded with contracts, favours, or distinctions is due to the obvious fact that if dangerous spies were not allowed their freedom party government would be exposed, discredited, and abolished."
-this is surely a demand which will be heartily supported by every one who has the welfare of his country at heart. too long have we been misled by the bogus patriotism of supposed "naturalised" germans, who, in so many cases, have purchased honours with money filched from the poor. "vanoc" in his indictment goes on to say:
-"the facts are incredible. i know of one case of a german actually employed on secret service at the war office. this german is the son of the agent of a vast german enterprise engaged in making munitions and guns for the destruction of the sons, brothers, and lovers of the very englishwomen who are now engaged most wisely and energetically in waking the country to a sense of the spy-peril that lurks in our midst. the british public does not understand a decimal point of a tithe of the significance of the spy-peril. nonsense is talked about spies. energy is concentrated on the little spies, who don't count. much german money is wasted on unintelligent spies. the british officers to whom is entrusted the duty of spy-taking, if they are outside the political influence which is poisonous to our national life, are probably the best in the world. the big spies are still potent in control of our national life."
-are we not, indeed, coddling the hun?
-even the pampering of german officers at donington hall pales into insignificance when we recollect that, upon dr. macnamara's admission, £86,000 a month, or £1,000,000 per year, is being paid for the hire of ships in which to intern german prisoners, and this is at a time when the scarcity of shipping is sending up the cost of every necessity! the hague convention, of course, forbids the use of gaols for prisoners of war, yet have we not many nice comfortable workhouses, industrial schools, and such-like institutions which could be utilised? we all know how vilely the germans are treating our officers and men who are their prisoners, even depriving them of sufficient rations, and forbidding tobacco, fruit, or tinned vegetables. with this in view, the country are asking, and not without reason, why we should treat those in our hands as welcome guests. certainly our attitude has produced disgust in the dominions.
-how germany must be laughing at us! how the enemy aliens in certain quarters of london are jeering at us, openly, and toasting to the day of our downfall, i have already described. how the spies among us--unknown in spite of mr. tennant's amazing assertion--must be laughing in their sleeves and chuckling over the panic and disaster for which they are waiting from day to day in the hope of achieving. the signal--the appearance of zeppelins over london--has not yet been given. whether it will ever be given we know not. all we know is that an unscrupulous enemy, whose influence is widespread over our land, working insidiously and in secret, has prepared for us a blow from within our gates which, when it comes, will stagger even mr. mckenna himself.
-with the example of how spies, in a hundred guises, have been found in belgium, in france, in russia, in egypt, and even in gallant little serbia, can any sane man believe that there are none to-day in great britain? no. the public know it, and the government know it, but the latter are endeavouring to hoodwink those who demand action in the house of commons, just as they endeavour to mystify the members of the public who present reports of suspicious cases.
-the question is: are we here told the truth?
-i leave it to the reader of the foregoing pages to form his own conclusions, and to say whether he is satisfied to be further deluded and mystified without raising his voice in protest for the truth to be told, and the spy-peril to be dealt with by those fully capable of doing so, instead of adopting methods which are daily playing into germany's hands and preparing us upon the altar of our own destruction.
-i have here written the truth, and i leave it to the british public themselves to judge me, and to judge those who, failing in their duty at this grave crisis of our national history, are courting a disaster worse than that which overtook poor stricken belgium.
-the peril of deluding the public
-as showing the trend of public opinion regarding the spy-peril, i may perhaps be permitted to here give a few examples taken haphazard from the huge mass of correspondence with which i have been daily flooded since the publication of my exposure on that subject.
-many of my correspondents have, no doubt, made discoveries of serious cases of espionage. yet, as spies are nobody's business, the authorities, in the majority of cases, have not even troubled to inquire into the allegations made by responsible persons. i freely admit that many wild reports have been written and circulated by hysterical persons who believe that every twinkling light they see is the flashing of signals, and that spies lurk in houses in every quiet and lonely spot. it is so very easy to become affected with spy-mania, especially when one recollects that every german abroad is patriotic, and his first object is to become a secret agent of the fatherland. in this connection i have no more trust in the so-called "naturalised" german than in the full-blooded and openly avowed prussian. once a man is born a german he is always a german, and in taking out naturalisation papers he is only deliberately cheating the country which grants them, because, according to the imperial law of his own land, he cannot change his own nationality. so let us, once and for all, dismiss for ever the hollow farce of naturalisation, for its very act is one of fraud, and only attempted with some ulterior motive.
-as regards "unnaturalised" germans the inquirer may perhaps be permitted to ask why baron von ow-wachendorf, a lieutenant in the yellow uhlans of stuttgart, just under thirty years of age, was permitted to practise running in hyde park so as to fit himself for his military duties, and why was he on march 1st allowed to leave tilbury for holland to fight against us? again, has not mr. ronald mcneill put rather a delicate problem before the under-secretary for war in asking, in the house, whether count ergon von bassewitz and his brother, count adalbert von bassewitz, were brought to england as prisoners of war; whether either was formerly on the staff of the germany embassy in london, and well known in london society; whether one, and which, of the two brothers was recently set at liberty, and is now at large in london; whether he was released on any and what conditions; and for what reason this german officer, possessing exceptional opportunities for obtaining information likely to be useful to the enemy, is allowed freedom in england at the present time.
-the man-in-the-street who has, in the past, laughed at the very idea of spies--and quite justly, because he has been so cleverly misled and bamboozled by official assurances--has now begun to see that they do exist. he has read of a hundred cases abroad where spies have formed a vanguard of the invading german armies, and how no fewer than fifty-seven german spies were arrested and convicted in switzerland during the month of august, therefore he cannot disguise from himself that the same dastardly vanguard is already here among us. then he at once asks, and very naturally too, why do the authorities officially protect them? what pro-german influence in high quarters can be at work to connive at our undoing? it is that which is to-day undermining public confidence. compare our own methods with those of methodical matter-of-fact germany? are we methodical; are we thorough? the man-in-the-street who daily reads his newspaper--if he pauses or reflects--sees quite plainly that instead of facing the alien peril, those in authority prefer to allow us to sit upon the edge of the volcano, and have, indeed, already actually prepared public opinion to accept a disclaimer of responsibility if disaster happens. the whole situation is truly appalling. little wonder is it that, because i should have dared to lay bare the canker in britain's heart, i should be written to by despairing hundreds who have lost all confidence in certain of our rulers.
-some of these letters the reader may find of interest.
-from one, written by a well-known gentleman living in devonshire, i take the following, which arouses a new reflection. he says:
-"i may be wrong, but one important point seems to have been overlooked, viz. the daily publication of somewhat cryptic messages and advertisements appearing in the personal columns of the british press. for instance:
-"'m.--darling. meet as arranged. letter perfect. should i also write? to "the day, and kismet."--vilpar.'
-"such a message may be, as doubtless it is, perfectly innocent; but what is to prevent spies in our midst utilising this method of communicating information to the enemy. the leading british newspapers are received in germany, and even the enclosed pseudo-medical advertisement may be the message of a traitor. it seems to me that the advertisement columns of our press constitute the safest medium for the transmission of information.
-"pray do not think i am suggesting that the british press would willingly lend their papers to such an infernal use, but unless they are exercising the strictest precautions the loophole is there. i am somewhat impressed by the number of refugees to be found in these parts--ilfracombe, combe martin, lynton, etc., coast towns and villages of perhaps minor strategic importance, but situated on the bristol channel and facing important towns like swansea, cardiff, etc. i notice particularly that their daily walks abroad are usually taken along the coastal roads. i've never met them inland. apologising for the length of this letter and trusting that your splendid efforts will in due time receive their well-deserved reward."
-here my correspondent has certainly touched upon a point which should be investigated. we know that secret information is daily sent from great britain to berlin, and we also know some of the many methods adopted.
-indeed, i have before me, as i write, a spy's letter sent from watford to amsterdam, to be collected by a german agent and reforwarded to berlin. it is written upon a column of a london daily newspaper, various letters of which are ticked in red ink in several ways, some being underlined, some crossed, some dotted underneath--a very ingenious code indeed--but one which has, happily, been decoded by an expert. this newspaper, after the message had been written upon it, had been placed in a newspaper-wrapper and addressed to an english name in amsterdam. this is but one of the methods. another is the use of invisible ink with which spies write their messages upon the pages of newspapers and magazines. a third is, no doubt, the publication of cryptic advertisements, as suggested by my correspondent.
-how the government have adopted mr. le queux's suggestion
-"german spies in england," by william le queux. published february 17th, 1915.
-the first step to stop the activity of spies should be the absolute closing of the sea routes from these shores to all persons, excepting those who are vouched for by the british foreign office. assume that the spy is here; how are we to prevent him getting out?
-by closing the sea routes to all who could not produce to our foreign office absolutely satisfactory guarantees of their bona fides. the ordinary passport system is not sufficient; the foreign office should demand, and see that it gets, not only a photograph, but a very clear explanation of the business of every person who seeks to travel from england to the continent, backed by unimpeachable references from responsible british individuals, banks, or firms.
-in every single case of application for a passport it should be personal, and the most stringent inquiries should be made. i see no other means of putting an end to a danger which, whatever the official apologists may say, is still acute, and shows no signs of diminishing.
-under the best of conditions some leakage may take place. but our business is to see, by every means we can adopt, that the leakage is reduced to the smallest possible proportions.
-"daily mail," march 11th, 1915.
-holiday-makers or business men who wish to travel to holland now find that their preliminary arrangements include much more than the purchase of a rail and steamship ticket.
-new regulations, which came into force on monday, necessitate not only a passport, but a special permit to travel from the home office. application for this permit must be made in person three clear days before sailing. passport, photograph, and certificate of registration must be produced and the names and addresses of two british subjects furnished as references.
-the home office erected a special building for this department, which was opened on thursday last, the first day on which application could be made. before lunch over 250 applications had been received. by four o'clock, the official hour for closing, nearly 500 persons had been attended to, and the crowd was even then so great that the doors had to be closed to prevent any more entering. intending travellers included british, french, and dutch business men, but quite a large number of belgian refugees attended for permits to return to their country. the tilbury route was the only one open to them. not all the applications were granted. it is necessary to furnish reasonable and satisfactory evidence as to the object of the journey, and some of the applicants were unable to do this.
-of other means of communication, namely, night-signalling--of which i have given my own personal experience in the previous chapter--my correspondents send me many examples.
-the same code-signal as a prefix--the letters "s.m."--are being seen at points as far distant as herne bay and alnwick, on both the yorkshire and fifeshire coasts, above sidmouth and at ilfracombe. dozens of reports of night-signalling lie before me--not mere statements of fancied lights, but facts vouched for by three and four reliable witnesses. yet, in face of it all, the authorities pooh-pooh it, and in some counties we have been treated to the ludicrous spectacle of the civil and military authorities falling at loggerheads over it!
-belgian refugees writing to me have, in more than one instance, reported highly interesting facts. in one case an ex-detective of the antwerp police, now a refugee in england, has identified a well-known german spy who was in antwerp before the germans entered there, and who came to england in the guise of a refugee! this individual is now in an important town in essex, while my informant is living in the same town. surely such a case is one for searching inquiry, and the more so because the suspect poses as an engineer, and is in the employ of a firm of engineers who do not suspect the truth. but before whom is my friend, the belgian ex-detective, to place his information?
-true, he might perhaps lay the information before the chief constable of the county of essex, but in his letter to me he asks, and quite naturally, is it worth while? if the intelligence department of the war office--that department so belauded in the house of commons by mr. mckenna on march 3rd--refuses to investigate the case of signalling in surrey, cited in the last chapter, and vouched for by the officers themselves, then what hope is there that they would listen to the report of a mere refugee--even though he be an ex-detective?
-as i turn over report after report before me i see another which seems highly suspicious. a hard-up german doctor--his name, his address, and many facts are given--living at a kent coast town, where he was a panel doctor, suddenly, on the outbreak of war, removes to another kent coast town not far from dover, takes a large house with grounds high up overlooking the sea, and retires from practice. my informant says he has written to the home office about it, but as usual no notice has been taken of his letter.
-another correspondent, a well-known shipowner, writing me from one of our seaports in the north, asks why the german ex-consul should be allowed to remain in that city and do shipping business ostensibly with rotterdam? by being allowed his freedom he can obtain full information as to what is in progress at this very important scotch port, and, knowing as we do that every german consul is bound to send secret information to berlin at stated intervals, it requires but little stretch of one's imagination to think what happens. but the matter has already been reported to the police and found to be, as elsewhere, nobody's business. phew! one perspires to think of it!
-take another example--that of a german hotel-keeper who, living on the coast north of the firth of forth, was proved to have tapped the coast-guard telephone, and yet he was allowed to go free!
-a lady, well known in london society, writes to me requesting me to assist her, and says: "i have been working for five months to get a very suspicious case looked into, and all the satisfaction i get is that 'the party is being watched.' i know to what extent this same person has been working against my country and i should much appreciate an interview with you. i could tell you very much that would be of great benefit to the country, but it of course falls on deaf ears--officially."
-another correspondent asks why germans, naturalised or unnaturalised, are allowed to live in the vicinity of herne bay when none are allowed either at westgate or margate. in this connection it is curious that it is from herne bay the mysterious night-signals already described first appear, and are then transmitted to various parts of the country.
-in another letter the grave danger of allowing foreign servants to be employed at various hotels at plymouth is pointed out, and it is asked whether certain houses in that city are not hot-beds of german intrigue. now with regard to this aspect of affairs mr. mckenna, answering mr. fell in parliament on march 10th, said he had no power to impose conditions on the employment of waiters, british or alien, and so the suggested notice outside hotels employing aliens was not accepted.
-from tunbridge wells two serious cases of suspicion are reported, and near tenterden, in kent, there undoubtedly lives one of our "friends" the night-signallers, while in a certain village in sussex the husband of the sub-postmistress is a german, whose father, a tradesman in a neighbouring town, i hear, often freely ventilates his patriotism to his fatherland.
-that the "pirate" submarines are receiving petrol in secret is an undoubted fact. at swansea recently a vessel bound for havre was found to have taken on board as part of her stores 400 gallons of petrol. she was not a motor-boat, and the customs authorities were very properly suspicious, but the captain insisted that the petrol was wanted as stores, and that there were no means by which we could prevent that petrol going. where did it go to? there were boats no doubt in the neighbourhood which wanted petrol. they were enemy submarines!
-of isolated reports of espionage, and of the work of germany's secret agents, dozens lie before me, many of which certainly call for strictest investigation. but who will do this work if the "authorities" so steadily refuse, in order to bamboozle the public, to perform their duty?
-some of these reports are accompanied by maps and plans. one is from a well-known solicitor, who is trustee for an estate in essex where, adjoining, several men a month or so ago purchased a small holding consisting of a homestead and a single acre of land. they asserted that they had come from canada, and having dug up the single acre in question for the purpose of growing potatoes, as they say, they are now living together, their movements being highly suspicious. on more than one occasion mysterious explosions have been heard within the house--which is a lonely one, and a long way from any other habitation.
-the wife of a well-known scotch earl who has been diligent in making various inquiries into suspicious cases in scotland, and has endeavoured to stir up the authorities to confirm the result of her observations, has written to me in despair. she has done her best, alas! without avail.
-and again, in yet another case, the widow of an english earl, whose name is as a household word, has written to me reporting various matters which have come to her notice and deploring that no heed has been taken of her statements by the supine "powers-that-be."
-beside this pile of grave reports upon my table, i have opened a big file of reports of cases of espionage which reached me during the year 1909. in the light of events to-day they are, indeed, astounding.
-here is one, the name and address of my correspondent i do not here print, but it is at the disposal of the authorities. he says:
-"staying recently at north queensferry i made the acquaintance of a young german, who was there, he informed me, for quiet and health reasons. he was a man of rather taciturn and what i put down to eccentric disposition, for he spoke very little, and, from the time he went away in the morning early, he never put in an appearance until dusk. one day, as was my wont, i was sitting in the front garden when i noticed a fair-sized red morocco notebook lying on the grass. i picked it up, and on my opening it up, what was my surprise and amazement to find that it was full to overflowing with sketches and multitudinous information regarding the firth of forth. all the small bays, buoys, etc., together with depth of water at the various harbour entrances at high and low tide, were admirably set out. i also found, neatly folded up, a letter addressed to my friend which had contained an enclosure of money from the german government. i hesitated no longer, for i sent notebook, etc., to the authorities at london. three days after i had sent the letter off, a stranger called to see my friend the german. they both left together, and i have never heard any more about it since. the german's trunk still lies at north queensferry awaiting its owner's return."
-the following reached me on march 11th:
-"i note what you mention regarding weybourne in norfolk, and would trespass on your time to relate an occurrence which took place about the autumn of 1908, when i was living at overstrand. i had walked over to weybourne and was about to return by train when two men, dressed more or less as tramps, entered the station to take their tickets; they were followed by a tall, handsome man, unmistakably a german officer, who spoke to them, looked at their tickets and walked straight up the platform. the men sat down on a bench to wait for the train, and i took a seat near them with a view to overhearing their conversation. it appeared to be in german dialect and little intelligible. the officer, meanwhile, who had reached the end of the platform, turned round and, quickening his steps, came and placed himself directly in front of us: the men at once were silent, and the officer remained where he was, casting many scowls in my direction. on the following day i met him, on this occasion alone, on the pathway leading from the 'garden of sleep' to overstrand. he recognised me at once, scowled once again, and passed on to the overstrand hotel. i mentioned the subject to a gentleman resident in overstrand, who asked me to write an account of the matter to be placed before the war office, but i believe that my friend forgot to forward the paper. a retired officer in cromer informed me that the german officer in question was well known as the head of the german spies in the neighbourhood. some questions happened to be asked in the house of commons that very week as to the existence of spies in norfolk. the home secretary, the present lord gladstone, i think, replied to these in the manner which might be expected of him.
-"from the first i recognised the fact that the men were spies. i imagined that they had been surveying, at weybourne, but in the light of recent events i think a gun emplacement or a petrol store may have been their 'objective.' the two men were rather undersized, badly dressed, and more or less covered with mud, probably mechanics. one i remember had extraordinary teeth, about the size of the thickness of one's little finger. the officer, as i have said, was a fine man, broad and well-proportioned, from thirty to forty years of age. oddly enough i thought that i recognised him recently on a cinematograph film depicting the staff of the german emperor. i left the neighbourhood not long after, otherwise i should certainly have made further investigations, convinced as i was of the shady nature of these individuals. the officer, i am sure, recognised that i was a detective."
-another report is from a steward on a liner, who writes:
-yet another i pick out at haphazard. it is from an actor whose name is well known, and is, as are all the others, at the disposal of any official inquirers. he writes to me:
-"we drove to conway, stabled there, and then went for a stroll round the picturesque old castle. our friend then proposed that we adjourn for something to eat, so, as our appetites were a bit keen by this time, we went to the 'white hart hotel.' here another surprise awaited us, for dinner was all set and ready. and what a dinner! my 'pal' and i had visions of a huge bill, but on our friend squaring the amount we sat in open-mouthed surprise.
-"by this time we were anxious to know a little about our 'host,' but not until he had had a few brandy-and-sodas did he tell us much. he then said he had some estates in germany, and ultimately confessed (in strict confidence) that he held an important government appointment. after a few hours in conway we drove back to llandudno, and as our friend of the 'soap and brush' was in a hilarious mood, nothing would do but that we drive to his rooms. and what rooms! fit for a prince! we had a splendid supper followed by wine and cigars. he then proceeded to show my friend and me a great number of photographs (all taken by himself, he explained) of all the coast mountains and roads for many miles around llandudno. it was not till we mentioned the affair to some gentlemen in llandudno that we were informed that our barber friend was, in all probability, a spy in the pay of the german government!"
-here is another, from a correspondent at glasgow:
-"what excited my suspicions first regarding this personage was the fact that he was continually quizzing and putting to me questions regarding my employment of a decidedly delicate nature, and conversing freely on subjects about which i thought few people knew anything. i also noticed, when in his shop, that he was most lavish in his remarks to customers, especially to young engineers and draughtsmen who came to him from the neighbouring shipbuilding yards, leading them on to talk about matters concerning the navy and shipbuilding; their work in the various engineering shops and drawing offices; and the time likely to be taken to complete this or that gunboat, etc. indeed, with some of these young engineers and draughtsmen i have not failed to notice that he is particularly 'chummy,' and i also know, for a fact, that on several occasions he has been 'up town' with them, visiting music halls and theatres, and that they have spent many evenings together. on these occasions no doubt, under the influence of liquor, many confidences will have been exchanged, and many 'secrets' regarding work and methods indiscreetly revealed.
-"but so much for the above. on surmise alone my conclusions regarding this man might have been entirely wrong, but for the fact that i, one evening, met with a former employee of his, also a german, in another barber's shop in the city. this youngster, evidently nursing a grievance against his late employer for something or other, was quick to unburden himself to me regarding him, and gave me the following particulars. he said that his late master was not what he appeared to be, and that his barbering was all a blind to cover something else; in fact (and this he hinted pretty broadly) that his presence over here in this country was for no good. he further said that he was still a member of the german army (although in appearance he looks to be long past military service), and that regularly money was sent to him from berlin; that he was an agent for the bringing in to this country of crowds of young germans, male and female, who came over here to learn our language and study our methods; that his shop was the rendezvous for certain members of his own nationality, who met there periodically at night for some secret purpose which he had never been able to fathom; that he was often away from the shop for weeks at a time, no one knew where, the business in his absence then being looked after by a brother. in addition to the above, i may say that the walls of his shop are positively crowded with pictures of such celebrities as lord roberts, lord kitchener, general french, etc., etc., the face of the kaiser being a noticeable absentee, doubtless on purpose. he likes you, too, to believe in his affection for this country, which he openly parades, although i am told that in private he sneers at us, at our soldiers and people. from the above, i think i have established my case against this wily teuton, who, while masquerading as a barber, is yet all the time here for a totally different purpose, i.e. to spy upon us."
-how a german secret agent altered a british military message is told by another of my correspondents, who says:
-"the time of the incident was during the visit of the kaiser to the earl of lonsdale at lowther castle. i was employed at an hotel in keswick, and my duties were to look after a billiard-room. among my customers was a foreign gentleman, who was always rather inquisitive if any military matter was under discussion, and our many chats brought us on very friendly terms. well, about the last week of the emperor's visit, the earl of lonsdale arranged a drive for the emperor and the house-party for the purpose of letting them see the english lake district. the route lay via patterdale, windermere, thirlmere, then on to keswick, from there by train to penrith, and again drive the three or four miles back to lowther castle.
-"it must be remembered that, the emperor's visit being a private one, military displays would be out of place, but on the day of the above-mentioned drive a telegram was received from the officer in command of the penrith volunteers asking if permission could be granted for the volunteers to mount a guard of honour at the station on the arrival of the emperor's train at penrith. now, as i was going up home to the 'forge' i met my father coming to keswick, and as he seemed out of wind, i undertook to take his message, which was the reply to the above 'wire.' the text of the answer only contained two words, which were to the point: 'certainly not,' and signed by the commanding officer at headquarters. when i got within half a mile of keswick i was overtaken by my foreign acquaintance, who was on a bicycle, and on his asking me why i was hurrying, i told him i had a rather urgent 'wire' to send. he kindly undertook to have it despatched, as he was passing the post office, and i unsuspectingly consented. on the arrival of the royal train at penrith you may judge the surprise and disgust of the officers, some of whom had in private travelled in the royal train to see the volunteers lining the station approach! inquiries were made--the post office authorities produced the telegram, as handed in, with the word 'not' carefully erased, making the message mean the opposite. i never from that day saw my foreign friend again, but many times have wondered was it one of the kaiser's wishes to see if his agents could play a trick on the volunteers for his own eyes to see!"
-here is a curious story of a german commercial spy, the writer of which gives me his bona fides. he writes:
-"in a glucose factory where i worked, the head of the firm had a bookkeeper who went wrong. if that bookkeeper had never gone wrong, we should never have known of the german who worked hard in england for a whole year for nothing. one day the head--i'll call him mr. brown for short--received a letter from a young german saying that he would like to represent the glucose manufacturer among the merchants of this country, whose trade, he said, he could secure. he said he would be willing to postpone the consideration of salary pending the result of his services. well, brown turned the german over to the bookkeeper, who found that the german had splendid credentials from his own country. so brown told the bookkeeper to engage the german, and pay him £40 a month to start. at the end of six months the german's service had proved so satisfactory that brown told his bookkeeper to pay the german £50 a month till further notice; and three months later the salary was again raised by brown to £60. along about the time the german's year was up, he suddenly disappeared. that is, he failed one morning to put in an appearance at the office at the usual time. brown noticed that morning that his bookkeeper, who was also cashier, was extremely absent-minded and looked altogether unhappy. 'what's the matter with you?' said brown, addressing the bookkeeper. 'this is the matter,' was the reply, and thereupon the bookkeeping cashier laid before his employer a cheque for hundreds of pounds. it was made payable to the order of the absent german, and was signed with the personal signature of the bookkeeper. 'what's this mean?' asked brown. 'it means,' said the wild-eyed bookkeeper, 'that i have never paid that german his salary--not one penny in all the time he has been here. he never asked for money, always had plenty, so i pocketed from month to month the money due to him. but it's killing me. i didn't need to do it. i just couldn't resist the temptation. i had money of my own, and knew i could pay him any time. yesterday when you said that i must again raise his salary i realised for the first time the enormity of the thing i was doing. i resolved to tell the german the whole story this morning, and give him his money in full. this is the cheque for the money i have stolen from him. i have money in the bank to meet it. i want him to have it, i don't care what follows.' brown, gazing spellbound at his clerk, said: 'but i don't understand. did the german never ask for his salary?' 'no,' replied the bookkeeper. 'he always had money; he seemed only to want the situation--to be connected with this house; he has some mysterious influence over the german trade in this country.' a weather-beaten man in a sea-jacket an hour or two later unceremoniously shuffled into the office. he handed brown a note, who read it aloud: 'i am aboard ship by this time,' the letter said, 'bound for my country. receive my sincere regrets at the abrupt termination of our pleasant relations. through connection with your firm, i have found out the secret of glucose-making, and am going back to impart it to the firm which i belong to in germany. you owe me nothing."
-these few cases i print here because i think it but right to show that both before the war, and since, the public have not been so utterly blinded to the truth as the authorities had hoped.
-many of the other cases before me are of such a character that i do not propose to reveal them to the public, still hoping against hope that proper inquiry may be instituted by a reliable board formed to deal with the whole matter. and, for obvious reasons, premature mention of them might defeat the ends of justice by warning the spies that their "game" is known.
-i here maintain that there is a peril--a very grave and imminent peril--in attempting to further delude the public, and, by so doing, further influence public opinion.
-the seed of distrust in the government has, alas! been sown in the public mind, and each day, as the alien question is evaded, it takes a firmer and firmer root.
-the peril of invasion
-there are few questions upon which experts differ more profoundly than that of a possible invasion of this country by germans.
-here, in england, opinion may be roughly divided into two schools. it is understood generally that the naval authorities assert that the position of our fleet is such that even a raid by say ten thousand men, resolved to do us the greatest possible damage and cause the maximum of alarm even if the penalty be annihilation, is out of the question. on the other hand, the military authorities hold the view--a view expressed to me by the late lord roberts--that it would be quite possible for the germans to land a force in great britain which would do an enormous amount of damage, physically and morally, before it was finally rounded up and destroyed by the overwhelming numbers of troops we could fling against it.
-what we think of the matter, however, is of less importance than what the enemy thinks, and it is beyond question that, at any rate until quite recently, the german war staff regarded the invasion of england as perfectly practicable, and had made elaborate plans for carrying out their project.
-when writing my forecast "the invasion of england," in 1905, i received the greatest advice and kind assistance from the late lord roberts, who spent many hours with me, and who personally revised and elaborated the german plan of campaign which i had supposed. without his assistance the book would never have been written. i am aware of the strong views he held on the subject, and how indefatigable he was in endeavouring to bring the grave peril of invasion home to an apathetic nation. poor "bobs"! the public laughed at him and said: "yes, of course. he is getting so old!"
-old! when i came home from the last balkan war i brought him some souvenirs from the battle-fields of macedonia, and he sent me a telegram to meet him at 8 a.m. at a quiet west end hotel--where he was in the habit of staying. i arrived at that hour and he grasped my hand, welcomed me back from many months of a winter campaign with the servian headquarters staff, and, erect and smiling, said: "now, let's talk. i've already done my correspondence and had my breakfast. i was up at half-past five,"--when i had been snoring!
-roberts was a soldier of the old school. he knew our national weakness, and he knew our stubborn stone-wall resistance. after the outbreak of war he told me that he would deplore racing, football, and cricket--our national sports--while we were at death-grips with germany, because, as he put it, if we race and play games, the people will not take this world-war seriously. then he turned in his chair in my room, and, looking me straight in the face, said: "what did i tell you, le queux, when you were forecasting 'the invasion'--that the british nation will not be awakened by us--but only by a war upon them. they are at last awakened. i will never seek to recall the past, but my duty is to do my best for my king and my country."
-and so he died--cut off at a moment when he was claiming old friendship of those from india whom he knew so well. the night before he left england to go upon the journey to the front which proved fatal, he wrote me a letter--which i still preserve--deploring the atrocities which the germans had committed in belgium.
-ever since the war broke out we have heard of great concentration of troops, and ships intended to carry them, at wilhelmshaven and cuxhaven, a strong indication that something in the nature of a raid was in contemplation. it is quite possible that opinion, both in germany and in this country, has been very profoundly modified by the fate which befell the last baby-killing expedition launched against our eastern coasts, which came to grief through the vigilance of admiral beatty. the terrible mauling sustained by the german squadron, the loss of the blucher and the battering of the seydlitz and derfflinger, may have done a good deal to drive home into the german mind the conviction that in the face of an unbeaten--and to germany unbeatable--battle-fleet, the invasion of england would be, at the very best, an undertaking of the most hazardous nature which would be foredoomed to failure and in which the penalty would be annihilation.
-perhaps, however, the enemy are only waiting. we know from german writings that the plans for the invasion of england have usually postulated that our fleet shall be, for the time being, absent from the point of danger, probably out of home waters altogether, and that the attack would be sprung upon us as a surprise. we do not know, and we do not seek to know, the exact position of the british fleet, but we can be perfectly certain that, with the invention of wireless, the moment at which the germans might have sprung a surprise upon us has gone for ever. there is good reason for believing that the germans intended to strike at us without any formal declaration of war, and i have been informed, on good authority, that before war broke out, certain dispositions had actually been made which were brought to naught only by a singularly bold and daring manoeuvre on the part of our naval authorities. no doubt, in the course of time, this incident, with many others of a similar nature, will be made public. i can only say at present that when the startling truth becomes known, further evidence will be forthcoming that germany deliberately planned the war, and was ready to strike long before war was declared.
-people who say that an invasion of our shores is impossible usually do so with the reservation, expressed or implied, that the effort would be unsuccessful--that is, that it could not succeed so far as to compel britain to make peace. but, even if the germans believe this as firmly as we do, it by no means follows that they may not make the attempt.
-it is a part of the germans' theory and practice to seek, by every possible means, to create a panic, to do the utmost moral and material damage by the most inhuman and revolting means, and it is more than likely that they would hold the loss of even fifty or sixty thousand men as cheap indeed, if, before they were destroyed, they could, if only for a few days, vent german wrath and hatred on british towns and on british people.
-to say they could not do this would be exceedingly foolish. few people would be daring enough to say that it would be impossible for the germans, aided undoubtedly by spies on shore, to land suddenly in the neighbourhood of one of the big east coast towns a force strong enough to overpower, for the moment, the local defences, and establish itself--if only for a few days--in a position where it could lay waste with fire and sword a very considerable section of country. and we must never forget that, if ever the germans get the chance, their atrocious treatment of the british population will be a thousand times worse than anything they have done in france and belgium. that fact ought to sink deeply into the public mind. a german expedition into this country would be undertaken with the one definite object of striking terror and producing a panic which would force our government to sue for peace. to secure that end, the germans would spare neither young nor old--every man, woman, and child within their power would be slaughtered without mercy, and without regard for age or sex. we have heard something, though not all, of the infamies perpetrated by german troops upon the helpless belgians even before the world had realised how much belgium had done to foil their plans. and we must not overlook the fact that certain german officers--enjoying the services of valets and other luxuries at donington hall, fitted up by us at a cost of £13,000--were those who ordered the wholesale massacre of women and children. we relieve the poor belgian refugees, and caress their murderers.
-if the flood-gates of german hatred were opened upon us, what measure would the enemy mete out to us who, as they now bitterly realise, have stood between the kaiser and his megalomaniac dreams? i do not think we need be in any doubt as to what the german answer to that question would be!
-recent events have made it vividly apparent that the germans have already reached a pitch of desperation in which they are willing to try any and every scheme which, at whatever cost to themselves, offered a prospect of injuring their enemies. they feel the steel net slowly, but very surely, tightening around them; like caged wild beasts they are flinging themselves frantically at the bars, now here, now there, in mad paroxysms of rage. their wonderful military machine, if it has not absolutely broken down, is at any rate badly out of gear, though there is a huge strength still left in it. their vaunted fleet skulks behind fortifications, and whenever it ventures to poke its head outside is hit promptly and hit hard. their boasted zeppelins, which were to lay ever so many "eggs" on london, have certainly, up to the time of writing, failed utterly.
-we frequently hear the man-in-the-street jeer at the zeppelin peril, and declare that it is only a "bogey" raised to frighten us. to a certain extent i think it is, but the fact that zeppelins have not yet appeared over london is, surely, no reason why they should not come and commit havoc and cause panic as the vanguard of the raid which may be intended upon us. there is much in our apathy which is more than foolish--it is criminal. had the country, ten years ago, listened to the warnings of lord roberts and others, instead of being immersed in their own pleasure-seeking and money-grubbing, we should have had no war. the public, who are happily to-day filled with a spirit of patriotism because they have learnt wisdom by experience, now realise their error. they see how utterly foolish they were to jeer at my warnings in the daily mail; and by singing in the music halls "are we down-'earted--no!" they have gallantly admitted it--as every britisher admits where he is wrong--and have come forward to stem the tide of barbarians who threaten us.
-as one who has done all that mortal man can do to try to bring home to his country a sense of its own danger, and who, by the insidious action of "those in power," narrowly escaped financial ruin for daring to be a patriot, i cast the past aside and rejoice in the fine spirit of the younger generation of men, actuated by the fact that they are still britons.
-but, after this war, there will be men--men whose names are to-day as household words--who must be indicted before the nation for leading us into the trap which germany so cunningly prepared for us. those are men who knew, by the kaiser's declaration in 1908, what was intended, and while posing as british statesmen--save the mark!--lied to the public, and told them that germany was our best friend, and that war would never be declared--"not in our time."
-there will be a day, ere long, when the pro-german section of what britons foolishly call their "rulers"--certain members of that administration who are now struggling to atone for their past follies in being misled by the cunning of the enemy--will be arraigned and swept out of the public ken, as they deserve to be. the blood of a million mothers of sons in great britain boils at thoughts of the ghastly truth, and the wholesale sacrifice of their dear ones, because the diplomacy of great britain, with all its tinsel, its paraphernalia of attachés, secretaries (first, second, and third), its entertainments, its fine "residences," its whisperings and jugglings, and its "conversations," was quite incapable of thwarting the german plot.
-by our own short-sightedness we have been led into this conflict, in which the very lives of our dear ones and ourselves are at stake. yet, to-day, we in england have not fully realised that we are at war. illustrated papers publish fashion numbers, and the butterflies of the fair sex rush to adorn themselves in the latest mode from paris--the capital of a threatened nation! stroll at any hour in any street in london, or any of our big cities. does anything remind the thoughtful man that we are at war? no. our theatres, music halls, and picture palaces are full. our restaurants are crowded, our night-clubs drive a thriving trade--and nobody cares for to-morrow.
-why? read the daily newspapers, and learn the lesson of how the public are being daily deluded by false assertions that all is well, and that we have great imperial germany--the country which has, for twenty years, plotted against us--in the hollow of our hand.
-the public are not told the real truth, and there lies the grave scandal which must be apparent to every person in the country. but, i ask, will the malevolent influence which is protecting the alien enemy among us, and refusing to allow inquiry into spying, ever permit the truth to be told?
-let the reader pause, and think.
-despite the cast-iron censorship, and the most docile press the world has ever seen, the german people must, on the other hand, to-day be suspecting the truth. germans may be braggarts, but they are not fools, and it is safe to say that the hysterical spasms of hatred of great britain--by which the entire nation seems to be convulsed--have their origin in an ever-growing conviction of failure and a very accurate perception of where that failure lies.
-in this frame of mind they may venture on anything, and it is for this reason that i believe they may yet, in spite of all that has happened, attempt a desperate raid on these shores.
-what are we doing to meet that peril?
-the peril of apathy
-there is an apathy towards any peril of invasion that is astounding.
-of our military measures, pure and simple, i shall say nothing except that it is the bounden duty of every briton to place implicit reliance upon lord kitchener and the military authorities and, if necessary, to assist them by every means in his power. we can do no good by criticising measures of the true meaning of which we know nothing.
-there are some other points, however, on which silence would be culpable, and one of these is the amazing lack of any clear instructions as to the duties of the civil population in the event of a german attack.
-now it is perfectly obvious that one of the first things necessary in the face of a german landing would be to get the civilian population safely beyond the zones threatened by the invaders. it is simply unthinkable that men, women, and children shall be left to the tender mercies of the german hordes. yet, so far as i am able to ascertain, no steps have yet been taken to warn inhabitants at threatened points what they shall do. they have been advised, it is true, to continue in their customary avocations and to remain quietly at home. does any sane human being, remembering the treatment of belgian civilians who just did this, expect that such advice will be followed? we can take it for granted that it will not, and i contend that in all districts along the east coast, where, it is practically certain, any attempt at landing must be made, the inhabitants should at once be told, in the clearest and most emphatic manner, just what is required of them, and the best and quickest way to get out of harm's way, leaving as little behind them as possible to be of any use to the invaders, and leaving a clear field of operations for our own troops.
-a century ago, when the peril of a french invasion overshadowed the land, the most careful arrangements were made for removing the people from the threatened areas, and the destruction of food and fodder. is there any reason why such arrangements should not be taken in hand to-day, and the people made thoroughly familiar with all the conditions necessary for carrying out a swift and systematic evacuation?
-i am aware, of course, that already certain instructions have been issued to lord-lieutenants of the various counties in what may be called the zone of possible invasion. but i contend that the public at large should be told plainly what is expected of them. it is not enough to say that when the moment of danger comes they should blindly obey the local policeman. in the event of a withdrawal from any part of the coast-line becoming necessary, it ought not to be possible that the inhabitants should be taken by surprise; their course ought to be mapped out for them quite clearly, and in advance, so that all will know just what they have to do to get away with the minimum of delay and without impeding the movements of our defensive forces. whatever we may say or do, the appearance off the british coast of a raiding german force would be the signal for a rush inland, and there is every reason to take steps for ensuring that that rush shall be orderly and controlled, and in no sense a blind and panic flight which would be alike unnecessary and disastrous. it may well be, and it is to be hoped, that the danger will never come. that does not absolve us from the necessity of being ready to meet it. war is an affair of surprises, and germany has sprung many surprises upon the world since last august.
-the refusal of the war office authorities to extend any sympathetic consideration towards the new civilian corps, which are striving, despite official discouragement, to fit themselves for the duty of home defence in case the necessity should arise, is another instance of the lack of imagination and insight which has shown itself in so many ways during our conduct of the campaign. these corps now number well over a million men. all that the army council has done for them is to extend to such of them as became affiliated to the central volunteer training association the favour of official "recognition" which will entitle them to rank as combatants in the event of invasion. even that recognition is coupled with a condition that has given the gravest offence and which threatens, indeed, to go far towards paralysing the movement altogether.
-it is in the highest degree important, as will readily be admitted, that these corps should not interfere with recruiting for the regular army. that the volunteers themselves fully recognise. but to secure this non-interference the government have made it a condition of recognition that any man under military age joining a corps shall sign a declaration that he will enlist in the regular army when called upon unless he can show some good and sufficient reason why he should not do so.
-here we have the cause of all the trouble. the army council, in spite of all entreaties, obstinately refuses to state what constitutes a good and sufficient reason for non-enlistment. one such reason, it is admitted, is work on government contracts. but it is impossible for us to shut our eyes to the fact that there are many thousands of men of military age and good physique who, however much they may desire to do their duty, are fully absolved by family or business reasons from the duty of joining the regular army. many of them have dependents whom it is simply impossible for them to leave to the blank poverty of the official separation allowance; many of them are in businesses which would go to rack and ruin in their absence; many of them are engaged on work which is quite as important to the country as anything they could do in the field, even though they may not be in government employ. to withdraw every able-bodied man from his employment would simply mean that industry would be brought to a standstill, and as this country must, to some extent, act as general provider for the allies, it is, plainly, our duty to keep business going as well as to fight.
-rightly or wrongly, this particular provision is looked upon as an attempt to introduce a veiled form of compulsion. it has been pointed out that there is no power to compel men to enlist, even if they have signed such a declaration as is required. but the men, very properly, say that britain has gone to war in defence of her plighted word, and that they are not prepared to give their word and then break it.
-what is the result? many thousands of capable men, fully excused by their own consciences from the duty of joining the regular army, find that, unless they are prepared to take up a false and wholly untenable position, they are not even allowed to train for the defence of their country in such a grave crisis that all other considerations but the safety of the empire must go by the board. i am not writing of the slackers who want to "swank about in uniform" at home when they ought to be doing their duty in the trenches. i refer to the very large body of genuinely patriotic men who, honestly and sincerely, feel that, whatever their personal wishes may be, their duty at the moment is to "keep things going" at home. for men over military age the volunteer corps offer an opportunity of getting ready to strike a blow for england's sake should the time ever come when every man who can shoulder a rifle must take his place in the ranks. and it certainly argues an amazing want of sympathy and foresight that, for the lack of a few words of intelligible definition, a splendid body of men should lose the only chance offered them of getting a measure of military education which in time to come may be of priceless value.
-no one complains that the army council does not immediately rush to arm and equip the volunteers. undoubtedly, there is still much to be done in the way of equipping the regular troops and accumulating the vast reserves that will be required when the great forward move begins. much could be done even now, however, to encourage the volunteers to persevere with their training. it should not be beyond the power of the military authorities, in the very near future, to arm and equip such of the corps as have attained a reasonable measure of efficiency in simple military movements, and in shooting with the miniature rifle. at the same time some clear definition ought to be forthcoming of what, in the opinion of the army council, constitutes a valid reason, in the case of a man of military age, for not joining the regular forces. it is certain that when the time comes for the allies to take a strong offensive we shall be sending enormous numbers of trained men out of the country, and, the wastage of war being what it is, huge drafts will be constantly required to keep the fighting units up to full strength. in the meantime large numbers of territorials in this country are chained to the irksome--though very necessary--duty of guarding railways, bridges, and other important points liable to be attacked. there seems to be no good reason why a great deal, if not the whole, of this work should not be undertaken by volunteers. this would free great numbers of territorials for more profitable forms of training and would, undoubtedly, enable us to send far more men out of the country if the necessity should arise.
-if the volunteers were regarded by those in authority with the proper sympathy which their patriotism deserves, it would be seen that they provide, in effect, a class of troops closely corresponding to the german landsturm, which is already taking its part in the war. it is important to remember that, up to the present time, we have enlisted none but picked men, every one of whom has had to pass a strict medical and physical examination. we have left untouched, in fact, our real reserves. those reserves, apparently scorned by the official authorities, are capable, if they receive adequate encouragement, of providing an immense addition to our fighting forces.
-no one pretends, of course, that the entire body of volunteers whom we see drilling and route-marching day by day are capable of the exertions involved in a strenuous campaign. but a very large percentage of them are quite capable of being made fit to serve in a home-defence army, and it is a feeble and shortsighted policy to give them the official cold shoulder and nip their enthusiasm in the bud. at the present moment they cost nothing, and they are doing good and useful work. is it expecting too much to suggest that their work should be encouraged with something a little more stimulating than a scarlet arm-band and a form of "recognition" which, upon close analysis, will be found to mean very little indeed?
-there has been too strong a tendency in the past to praise, in immoderate terms, german methods and german efficiency. but, undoubtedly, there are certain things which we can learn from the enemy, and one of them is the speed and energy with which the germans, at the present moment, are turning to their advantage popular enthusiasm of exactly the same nature as that which has produced the volunteer movement here. it is a popular misconception that in a conscriptionist country every man, without distinction, is swept into the ranks for his allotted term. this is by no means the case. there are many reasons for exemption, and a very large proportion of the german people, when war broke out, had never done any military duty.
-travellers who have recently returned from germany report that the volunteer movement there has made gigantic strides. men have come forward in thousands, and the government, with german energy and foresight, has pounced upon this splendid volume of material and is rapidly licking it into shape. i don't believe, for one moment, the highly coloured stories which represent germany as being short of rifles, ammunition, and other munitions of war: she has, apparently, more than sufficient to arm her forces in the field and to permit her to arm her volunteers as well.
-whether i am right or wrong, the german government is taking full advantage of the patriotic spirit of its subjects, and there does not appear to be any good reason why our government should not take a leaf out of the enemy's book. if they would do so and help the volunteer movement by sympathy and encouragement, and the assurance that more would be done at the earliest possible moment, we should be in a better condition to meet an invasion than we are to-day, in that we should have an enormous reserve of strength for use in case of emergency. no doubt the military authorities, after the most careful study of the subject, feel convinced that our safety is assured: my point is, that in a matter of such gravity it is impossible to have too great a margin of safety. it is no use blinking the fact that, despite the efforts we have made, and are making, the time may come when the entire manhood of the united kingdom must be called upon to take part in a deadly struggle for national existence. trust-worthy reports state that the germans are actually arming something over four million fresh troops--some of them have already been in action--and if this estimate prove well founded, it is quite clear that the crisis of the world-war is yet to come. i do not think any one will deny that when it does come we shall need every man we can get.
-the submarine menace stands on another and very different footing, for the simple reason that luck, pure and simple, enters very largely into the operations of the underwater craft. it is quite conceivable that, favoured by fortune and with a conveniently hidden base of supplies--one of which, a petrol-base, i indicated to the authorities on march 15th--either afloat or ashore, submarines might do an enormous amount of damage on our trade routes.
-a few dramatic successes may, of course, produce a scare and send insurance and freight rates soaring. moreover, the submarine is exceedingly difficult to attack: it presents a very tiny mark to gunfire, and when it sights a hostile ship capable of attacking it, it can always seek safety by submerging. but, when all is said and done, the number of german submarines, given all the good fortune they could wish, is quite inadequate seriously to threaten the main body of either our commerce or our navy.
-we are told, and quite properly, nothing of the methods which the admiralty are adopting to deal with german pirates. but it will not have escaped the public attention that the submarines have scored no great success against british warships since the hawke was sunk in the channel. i think we may fairly conclude, therefore, that our admiralty have succeeded in devising new means of defence against the new means of attack. we know that at the time of writing two enemy submarines have been sunk by the navy, and it seems fairly certain that another was rammed and destroyed in the channel by the steamer thordis. whatever, therefore, may be our views on the general subject of the war, it seems clear that we can safely treat the submarine menace as the product of the super-heated teutonic imagination.
-we know of, and can guard against, the risks we run of any armed attack from germany. but there is another peril which will face us when the war is over--a renewal of the commercial invasion which we have seen in progress on a gigantic scale for years past.
-we know how the british market has, for years, been flooded with shoddy german imitations of british goods to the grave detriment of our home trade. we know, too, how the german worker, over here "to learn the language," has wormed himself into the confidence of the foolish english employer, and has abused that confidence by keeping his real principals--those in germany--fully posted with every scrap of commercial information which might help them to capture british trade. we know, though we do not know the full story, that hundreds of "british" companies have been, in fact, owned, organised, and controlled solely by germans. we know that for years german spies and agents, ostensibly engaged in business here, have plotted our downfall.
-are we going to permit, when the war is over, a repetition of all this?
-i confess i look upon this matter with the gravest uneasiness. it is all very well to say that after the war germans will be exceedingly unpopular in every civilised community. that fact is not likely to keep out the german, who is anything but thin-skinned. and, i regret to say, there are only too many british employers who are likely to succumb to the temptation to make use of cheap german labour, regardless of the fact that they will thus be actively helping their country's enemies.
-germans to-day are carrying on business in this country with a freedom which would startle the public, if it were known. i will mention two instances which have come to my knowledge lately. the first is the case of a company with an english name manufacturing certain electric fittings. up to the time the war broke out, every detail of this company's business was regularly transmitted once a week to germany: copies of every invoice, every bill, every letter, were sent over. though the concern was registered as an "english" company, the proprietorship and control were purely and wholly german. that concern is carrying on business to-day, and in the city of london, protected, no doubt, by its british registration. and the manager is an englishman who, before the war, explained very fully to my informant the entire system on which the business was conducted.
-the second case is similar, with the exception that the manager is a german, at least in name and origin, who speaks perfect english, and is still, or was very recently, conducting the business. in this case, as in the first, every detail of the business was, before war broke out, regularly reported to the head office of the firm in germany. i wonder whether english firms are being permitted to carry on business in berlin to-day!
-whether we shall go on after the war in the old haphazard style of rule-of-thumb rests solely with public opinion. and if public opinion will tolerate the employment of german waiters in our hotels in time of war, i see very little likelihood of any effort to stay the german invasion which will, assuredly, follow the declaration of peace. then we shall see again the unscrupulous campaign of commercial and military espionage which has cost us dear in the past, and may cost us still more in the future. our foolish tolerance of the alien peril will be used to facilitate the war of revenge for which our enemy will at once begin to prepare.
-the peril of stifling the truth
-ignorance of the real truth about the war--an ignorance purposely imposed upon us by official red-tape--is, i am convinced, the gravest peril by which our beloved country is faced at the present moment.
-i say it is the gravest peril for the simple reason that it is the root-peril from which spring all the rest. and this ignorance springs not from official apathy, or from the public wilfully shutting its eyes to disagreeable truths. it is born of the deliberate suppression of unpleasant facts, of the deliberate and ridiculous exaggeration of minor successes. in a word, it is the result of the public having been fooled and bamboozled under the specious plea of safeguarding our military interests. are we children to believe such official fairy-tales? the country is not being told the truth about the war. i don't say, and i do not believe, that it is being fed with false news of bogus victories. but untruths can as easily be conveyed by suppression as by assertion, and no one who has studied the war with any degree of attention can escape the impression that the news presented to us day by day takes on, under official manipulation, a colour very much more favourable than is warranted by the actual facts.
-day after day the press bureau, of course under official inspiration from higher sources, issues statements in which the good news is unduly emphasised and the bad unduly slurred over. day by day a large section of the press helps on, with every ingenious device of big type and sensational headlines, the official hoodwinking of the public. many pay their nimble halfpennies to be gulled. a naval engagement in which our immensely superior forces crush the weaker squadron of the enemy is blazoned forth as a "magnificent victory" for our fighting men, when, in sober truth, the chief credit lies with the silent and utterly forgotten strategist behind the scenes, whose cool brain worked out the eternal problem of bringing adequate force to bear at exactly the right time and in just exactly the right place.
-i say no word to depreciate the heroism of our gallant bluejackets. they would fight as coolly when they were going to inevitable death--cradock's men did in the good hope and monmouth--as if they were in such overwhelming superiority that the business of destroying the enemy was little more dangerous than the ordinary battle-practice. my whole point is that by the skilful manipulation of facts a wholly false impression is conveyed. there is, in truth, nothing "magnificent" about beating a hopelessly inferior foe, and our sailors would be the last to claim to be heroes under such conditions. it is, of course, the business of our naval authorities to be ready whenever a german squadron shows itself, to hit at once with such crushing superiority of gunfire that there will be no need to hit again at the same object. that can only be achieved by sound strategy, for which we are entitled to claim and give the credit that is due. when our navy has won a decisive success against great odds we may be justified in talking of a "magnificent" victory. to talk of any naval success of the present war as a "magnificent victory" is simply to becloud the real, essential, vital facts, and to assist in deceiving a public which is being studiously kept in the dark.
-by every means possible, short of downright lying of the german type, the public is being lulled into a false and dangerous belief that all is well--a blind optimism calculated to produce only the worst possible results, a state of mental and physical apathy which has already gone far to rob it of the energy and determination and driving force which are absolutely necessary if we are to emerge in safety from the greatest crisis that has faced our country in its thousand years of stormy history.
-as an example of what the public are told concerning the enemy, a good illustration is afforded by a well-known sunday paper dated march 7th. here we find, among other headings in big type, the following: "stake of life and death!" "germany's frantic appeal for greater efforts!" "russia's hammer blow." "german offensive from east prussia ruined: losses 250,000 in a month." "german plans foiled: enemy's 3,000,000 losses." "on reduced rations: german troops getting less to eat." "germany cut off from the seas." "germans cut in two: 15,000 prisoners and 'rich booty' taken." "killed to last man: appalling austrian losses." "the verge of famine: bread doles cut down again in germany: frantic efforts to stave off starvation."
-and yet, in the centre of the paper, next to the leader, we find a huge advertisement headed "the man to be pitied," calling for recruits, appealing to their patriotism, and urging them to "enlist to-day." surely it is the reader who is to be pitied!
-again, we have wilfully neglected the formation of a healthy public opinion in neutral countries. while germany has, by every underhand means in her power, by wireless lies, and by bribery of certain newspapers in america and in italy, created an opinion hostile to the allies, we have been content to sit by and allow the disgraceful plot against us to proceed.
-we have, all of us, read the screeches of the pro-german press in the united states, and in italy the scandal of how germany has bribed certain journals has already been publicly exposed. the italians have not been told the truth by us, as they should have been. in italy the greater section of the public are in favour of great britain and are ready to take arms against the hated tedesco, yet on the other hand we have to face the insidious work of germany's secret service and the lure of german gold in a country where, unfortunately, few men, from contadino to deputy, are above suspicion. we must not close our eyes to the truth that in neutral countries germany is working steadily with all her underhand machinery of diplomacy, of the purchase of newspapers, of bribery and corruption and the suborning of men in high places. to what end? to secure the downfall of great britain!
-i have myself been present at a private view of an amazing cinema film prepared at the kaiser's orders and sent to be exhibited in neutral countries for the purpose of influencing opinion in favour of germany. the pictures have been taken in the fighting zone, both in belgium and in east prussia. so cleverly have they been stage-managed that i here confess, as i sat gazing at them, i actually began to wonder whether the stories told of german barbarities were, after all, true! pictures were shown of a group of british prisoners laughing and smoking, though in the hands of their captors; of the kind german soldiery distributing soup, bread, etc., to the populace in a belgian village; of soldiers helping the belgian peasantry re-arrange their homes; of a german soldier giving some centimes to a little belgian child; of great crowds in berlin singing german national songs in chorus; of the marvellous organisation of the german army; of thousands upon thousands of troops being reviewed by the kaiser, who himself approaches you with a salute and a kindly smile. it was a film that must, when shown in any neutral country--as it is being shown to-day all over the world--create a good impression regarding germany, while people will naturally ask themselves why has not england made a similar attempt, in order to counteract such an insidious and clever illusion in the public mind.
-such a mischievous propaganda as that being pursued by germany in all neutral countries we cannot to-day afford to overlook. our enemy's intention is first to prepare public opinion, and then to produce dissatisfaction among the allies by sowing discord. and yet from the eyes of the british nation the scales have not yet fallen! in our apathy in this direction i foresee great risk.
-with these facts in view it certainly behoves us to stir ourselves into activity by endeavouring, ere it becomes too late, to combat germany's growing prestige among other nations in the world, a prestige which is being kept up by a marvellous campaign of barefaced chicanery and fraud.
-the dangerous delusion is prevalent in great britain that we are past the crisis, that everything is going well and smoothly, perhaps even that the war will soon be over. in some quarters, even in some official quarters, people to-day are talking glibly of peace by the end of july, not openly, of course, but in the places where men congregate and exchange news "under the rose." the general public, taking its cue from the only authorities it understands or has to rely upon, the daily papers, naturally responds, with the eager desire of the human mind to believe what it wishes to be true. hence there has grown up a comfortable sense of security, from which we shall assuredly experience a very rude awakening.
-for, let there be no mistake about it, the war is very far from ended; indeed, despite our losses, we might almost say it has hardly yet begun. for eight months we have been "getting ready to begin." to-day we see germany in possession of practically the whole of belgium and a large strip of northern france. with the exception of a small patch of alsace, she preserves her own territory absolutely intact. her fortified lines extend from the coast of belgium to the border of switzerland, and behind that seemingly impenetrable barrier she is gathering fresh hosts of men ready for a desperate defence when the moment comes, as come it must, for the launching of the allies' attack. on her eastern frontiers she has at least held back the russian attack, she has freed east prussia, and not a single soldier is to-day on german soil. i ask any one who may be inclined to undue optimism whether the situation is not one to call imperatively for the greatest effort of which the british nation and the british empire are capable?
-we are assured by the official inspirers of optimism that time is on the side of the allies, and is working steadily against the germans. in a sense, of course, this is true, but it is not the whole truth. i place not the slightest reliance upon the stories industriously circulated from german sources of germany being short of food; all the evidence we can get from neutrals who have just returned from germany condemns them in toto. the germans are a methodical and far-seeing people, and no doubt they are very rightly looking ahead and prudently conserving their resources. but that there is any real scarcity of either food or munitions of war there is not a trace of reliable evidence, and those journals, one of which i have quoted, which delight to represent our enemy as being in a state of semi-starvation are doing a very bad service to our country. the germans can unquestionably hold out for a very considerable time yet, and we are simply living in a fool's paradise if we try to persuade ourselves to the contrary. if it were true that germany is really short of food, that our blockade was absolutely effective, and that no further supplies could reach the enemy until the next harvest, it might be true to say that time was on the side of the allies. but supposing, as i believe, that the tales of food shortage have been deliberately spread by the germans themselves with the very definite object of working upon the sympathies of the united states, what position are we in? here, in truth, we come down to a position of the very deepest gravity. it is a position which affects the whole conduct and conclusion of the war, and which cannot fail to exercise the most vital influence over our future.
-speaking at the lord mayor's banquet last november, mr. asquith said:
-"we shall never sheathe the sword, which we have not lightly drawn, until belgium recovers in full measure all, and more than all, she has sacrificed; until france is adequately secure against the menace of aggression; until the rights of the smaller nationalities of europe are placed on an unassailable foundation; and until the military domination of prussia is wholly and finally destroyed."
-those noble words, in which the great soul of britain is expressed in half a dozen lines, should be driven into the heart and brain of the empire. for they are, indeed, a great and eloquent call to britain to be up and doing. four months later, mr. asquith repeated them in the house of commons, adding:
-"i hear sometimes whispers--they are hardly more than whispers--of possible terms of peace. peace is the greatest of all blessings, but this is not the time to talk of peace. those who do so, however excellent their intentions, are, in my judgment, the victims, i will not say of a wanton but a grievous self-delusion. the time to talk of peace is when the great purposes for which we and our allies embarked upon this long and stormy voyage are within sight of accomplishment."
-every thinking man must realise the truth and force of what the premier said. the question inevitably follows--are we acting with such swiftness and decision that we shall be in a position, before the opportunity has passed, to make those words good?
-there is a steadily growing volume of opinion among men who are in a position to form a cool judgment that, partly for financial and partly for physical reasons, a second winter campaign cannot possibly be undertaken by any of the combatants engaged in the present struggle. if that view be well founded, it follows that peace on some terms or other will be concluded by october or november at the latest. we, more than any other nation, depend upon the issue of this war to make our existence, as a people and an empire, safe for a hundred years to come. have we so energetically pushed on the preparations that, by the time winter is upon us again, we shall, with the help of our gallant allies, have dealt germany such a series of crushing blows as to compel her to accept a peace which shall be satisfactory to us?
-there, i believe, we have the question which it is vital for us to answer. if the answer is in the negative, i say, without hesitation, that time fights not with the allies but with germany. if, as many people think, this war must end somehow before the next winter, we must, by that time, either have crushed out the vicious system of prussian militarism, or we must resign ourselves to a patched-up peace, assistance of dick and brad, who were having their hands full.
-in the bushes, with his shoulder twisted out of the socket, bingo mccord rose, groaning, to his knees, and heard his companions shouting cries of dismay.
-merriwell and buckhart were astounded by the manner in which hoboson sailed into the two thugs. he struck mullin and sent the fellow flying. then he seized billings and hurled him through the air.
-after rising to his feet, mullin lost no time in taking to his heels, and billings was not slow in following him.
-already mccord had floundered out of the bushes, and, realizing his own helplessness, he dodged away into the darkness.
-hoboson stood with his hands on his hips, chuckling softly to himself.
-“what does this mean?” asked dick, in surprise.
-“that’s whatever i’d like to know,” said buckhart.
-“it means,” said the tramp, “that some tough characters planned to eat you up, but made a slight mistake by taking me into the game.”
-“who are you?” asked merriwell.
-“i am a knight of the road. i am a preambulator of the highways. in other words, boys, i am what is disdainfully called a hobo.”
-“i don’t understand it at all,” again declared dick.
-“and i’m brad buckhart,” muttered the texan. “was fernald behind this business?”
-“sure as shooting. he put up the job and engaged the gang to do you dirt. by chance, while pretending to take a nap in the corndike barroom, i heard him talking it over. it interested me, and i decided that i would have a finger in the fun. that explains why i am here.”
-“well, we owe you thanks!” cried dick, extending his hand. “what can we do for you?”
-“are you a ball player?”
-“am i? you bet your wealth i am! i am a wonder!”
-“sorry,” laughed dick; “but we don’t need any one just at present.”
-“can’t tell how soon you may,” said hoboson. “things are always happening, you know. i’ll be on hand to watch the game to-morrer, and if you need a substitute jest call on me. it would delight me to go behind the bat and handle the sphere in that position.”
-“are you in need of money?” asked dick, thrusting his hand into his pocket.
-hoboson held up his hand, at the same time shaking his head.
-“a little money is sufficient for my passing wants,” he said. “i couldn’t think of accepting anything from you.”
-“where are you stopping?”
-“any old place i hang my hat is home sweet home to me,” was the answer.
-“have you enough to pay for your lodging to-night?”
-“sure thing. you can’t reward me, my boy, for a little favor. i’ll see you at the game to-morrer. good night and pleasant dreams.”
-then, although they called to him, the singular tramp hurried away and quickly disappeared in the darkness.
-the dope works.
-in rockford the dinner hour came at midday, and the island boys ate heartily, all being in good spirits, for they believed, with dick on the slab, there was an excellent prospect of defeating the locals that day. being permitted to gorge himself with custard pie, obediah tubbs was unusually jolly and chipper.
-an hour later, as dick was donning his uniform in his room, buckhart appeared, having already changed his clothes.
-“pard,” said the westerner, as he came in and dropped limply on a chair, “there sure is something the matter with me. never before felt so blamed lifeless and inert in all my career.”
-“perhaps you ate too much,” suggested dick.
-“i don’t opine it was that. never had a square meal take the snap out of me this way before.”
-merriwell now observed that his friend was unusually pale.
-“i hope you’re not sick, brad!” he quickly exclaimed. “if you should fall sick now we’d be in a bad hole this afternoon.”
-never before had merriwell known his friend to be other than eager and enthusiastic in regard to a coming game, and this surprising change in buckhart was quite enough to alarm the captain of the island team.
-“that’s just what i don’t want to take,” said buckhart. “i feel more like stretching out somewhere and keeping still.”
-although he was not a little disturbed, dick said nothing more until he had finished dressing for the ball field. when he was quite ready he tucked his favorite glove into his belt, looked around to make sure garrett had sent all the bats to the field, and then called brad to follow and started for the door.
-with his hand on the knob, he paused and looked back.
-brad had not stirred. with a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes, he sat in a listless attitude, apparently quite unconscious of his surroundings or wrapped in deep thought.
-“come on, buckhart!” impatiently cried dick.
-still the other did not move.
-merriwell turned back and stepped quickly to his friend’s side, seizing him by the shoulder and giving him a shake.
-“come out of that trance! what’s the matter with you?”
-apparently with an effort, the texan pulled himself together.
-“what is it?” he inquired. “was i asleep? great horn spoon, i feel queer! kind of numb all over!”
-“are you numb?” said dick. “i should hate to see you go into a game in this condition. brace up!”
-thus adjured, buckhart rose with a great effort to his feet. he brushed a hand across his eyes, as if trying to wipe away a blurring mist.
-“all right,” he said grimly. “go ahead, partner. i’m with you.”
-although dick flung the door open and stepped outside for his friend to follow, buckhart made a strange miscalculation and ran full against the edge of the door, which caused him to recoil and very nearly upset him.
-“well, of all things!” gasped merriwell, as he sprang back into the room and seized his companion by the arm. “can’t you see?”
-“sure,” answered brad; “but that door moved just as i arrived at it. it certain did, pard?”
-“have you been drinking?” inquired dick.
-“hold on, richard merriwell!” growled the texan resentfully. “you know i reside on the sprinkler. i never lap up ardent liquors.”
-“well, this is the first time i ever saw a sober man in your condition.”
-weakly brad pushed dick off.
-“i am all right,” he muttered grimly, evidently bracing up as much as possible. “i’ll prove i’m all right.”
-he then walked out of the room, and dick followed, closing and locking the door.
-once while descending the stairs the texan stumbled and dick caught hold of him, fearing he would lose his footing.
-the boys were waiting below, and together the whole team left hurriedly.
-“all right,” muttered fernald to himself. “ripley did the job. he told me he saw buckhart drinking the glass of water into which the powder had been dropped, but i thought he might be lying. that wild and woolly young texan is doped for fair. with him in that condition fairhaven stands no show of winning.”
-not one of the boys gave fernald a glance. they started down the street, but paused at the first corner, for coming up another street that led to the water front was a large excursion party, headed by brick mclane, of fairhaven, who shouted at them and waved his hand.
-“here we are!” cried the husky lobsterman. “here we are, a hundred and fifty of us right off the island. we’re going to root for our team to-day.”
-it was the expected excursion party from fairhaven, and at least fifty of the excursionists belonged to the fair sex.
-fairhaven had adopted fardale’s colors, red and black. the girls were bearing tiny red and black banners, while the men and boys had red and black ribbons knotted to the lapels of their coats. the crowd was strung out on the sidewalk until it looked to be nearly twice as large as it really was.
-“he! he! he!” snickered obediah tubbs. “we’re going ter have some backers to-day, by jim! rockford won’t do all the hollering.”
-the face of earl gardner flushed with pleasure as he discovered grace garrett in the party.
-raymond garrett now appeared, and, directed by him, the fairhaven team marched toward the ball ground at the head of the excursionists.
-“i’ve had a whole section of seats reserved for our crowd,” he explained to dick. “i’m going to keep them together to-day. we’ll see if rockford makes all the noise.”
-“with so many rooters to encourage us, we ought to win,” declared dick.
-“oh, we’ll win!” laughed ray. “i feel it in my bones. lots of rockfordites will be poorer and wiser to-night. they are betting all kinds of money that rockford takes the game. i hear that tom fernald has put up two or three hundred dollars already, and is looking for bets now.”
-“he didn’t seem to be looking with much eagerness when we left the hotel,” retorted dick. “saw him standing in front of the corndike all by himself.”
-merriwell said nothing to garrett of buckhart’s peculiar actions, but during the march to the ball ground he continued to watch brad closely. to his relief, the texan seemed to throw off some of the peculiar stupor that had attacked him.
-when the field was reached and the islanders came pouring in at the gate, the rockford spectators greeted them in various ways, some applauding and some uttering whistles and catcalls.
-“they’ve come over to see their great team wiped off the map!” shouted a boy.
-“that’s right!” cried another. “there won’t be anything but a grease spot left of fairhaven after this game.”
-the local team was already practicing on the field. dick and his players assembled at their bench, opening their bat bags and laying out the bats. buckhart sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. in a hazy way he seemed to watch the practicing players.
-“get up here,” commanded dick, producing a ball and giving the westerner a nudge. “i’m going to toss you a few.”
-brad rose and walked out to catch the ball.
-“going to take them barehanded?” inquired dick.
-brad glanced at his left hand with an expression of surprise.
-“forgot my mitt!” he muttered. “where is it?”
-one of the boys found the big catching mitt and tossed it to brad, who failed to catch it and was struck in the stomach by it.
-dick walked briskly over to the texan and spoke to him in a low tone.
-“shake yourself together!” he sharply commanded. “get out of that trance!”
-evidently buckhart tried to obey, for he pulled on the mitt and fastened it, and then made a pretense of liveliness as he got into position.
-dick threw him a few slow ones at first, and brad handled them, although there was a deep frown on his face and he seemed under a constant strain. when merriwell used more speed the fairhaven catcher muffed the ball at intervals.
-tom fernald had followed the islanders to the field, and he watched merriwell and buckhart a few moments. having done this, he turned away and began to look after bets. when he could not find even money, he seemed willing to give odds, and in several instances he bet two to one on rockford.
-no one knew how much dick merriwell was worried. he sought to conceal his state of mind from his companions and succeeded in doing so. when he was seen talking earnestly in a low tone to buckhart, it was supposed the two were discussing the signals and speaking of the weak points of the opposing batters.
-uriah blackington was again on the ground as manager of the home team, and his appearance in that capacity apparently gave satisfaction to the better element in the rockford crowd.
-“it’ll be a struggle of giants to-day—garrett,” he laughed, approaching the manager of the island team and placing a hand on his shoulder. “the critical point in the race for the pennant has been reached. we’re compelled to take this game. sorry for you, my boy.”
-“perhaps you’re wasting your sympathy,” returned ray smilingly. “i see you have some new men on your team. evidently you picked up the best men you could get off hammerswell’s team which he released.”
-“yes, i mittened onto torrey and morrisey. torrey is in my opinion the fastest third baseman in this league, and morrisey is a great outfielder.”
-“those are not all your new men. i notice you have that jersey city battery, brodie and kennedy.”
-“sure thing! going to put them against you to-day. hammerswell didn’t give those fellows a fair show. they are itching to demonstrate what they can do, and they’ll work for their very lives this afternoon. really, garrett, i don’t believe you have one chance in ten of taking this game. you know yourself that you’ve been lucky. nothing but luck can explain the fact that a bunch of boys could keep up the pace in this league and make all the veterans hustle. now don’t you believe yourself that it was luck more than anything else?”
-“i do not, mr. blackington. it was brains, team work, and determination to win, combined with remarkable playing on the part of those boys. i confess that without merriwell it is quite likely fairhaven would not be in her present position. his spirit dominates his team. he rules those boys with a hand of iron hidden in a glove of velvet.”
-blackington laughed a little at this.
-“i fail to see the hand of iron,” he declared. “that’s an excellent metaphor, garrett, but i fancy it’s all imagination.”
-fairhaven now took the field for practice, which dick made sharp and snappy, keeping every one, with the exception of buckhart, on the move and on the qui vive the same as when playing in a game. not more than ten minutes were spent in this practice. it began with a snap and ended with a snap, every player stopping and starting for the bench at a signal given by their captain.
-the umpire walked onto the field and the home team trotted out.
-the game was about to begin.
-as earl gardner, straight, handsome, and clear-eyed, walked out to the plate with his bat in his hand, brick mclane suddenly rose in front of the fairhaven crowd, lifted both hands above his head, and made a signal. to the jerking of the lobsterman’s arms the islanders gave a cheer in concert that was surprisingly well done.
-“what’s that? what’s that?” grinned big bob singleton. “they must have worked that thing up coming over. sounds a little like fardale, dick.”
-“it sounds first-rate,” nodded merriwell. “it’s the first time i’ve heard anything like a regular cheer since hitting this part of the country.”
-gardner knew the eyes of grace garrett were on him, and, instead of making him nervous, this knowledge filled him with determination to lead off with a hit.
-on the score books the two teams were recorded as follows:
-blackington had spoken the truth when he stated to garrett that he intended to put the jersey city battery, brodie and kennedy, against fairhaven. kennedy was in the box, with brodie crouching behind the bat.
-brodie opened with a high inshoot, and a strike was called as earl missed the ball cleanly.
-back of third base at least half a hundred rockford youngsters had gathered, and they whooped in shrill derision as gardner missed.
-“he’ll never touch that pitcher!” shrieked one.
-“holes in his bat!” yelled another.
-“he’s got a crooked eye!” came from a third.
-“never could hit!” declared a fourth.
-kennedy grinned derisively at earl.
-“too speedy for yer, kid?” he inquired. “i’ll give yer an easy one.”
-but gardner refused to reach for the wide out which followed, and a ball was called.
-the pitcher then tried a drop, which was pronounced a ball, and kennedy quickly decided to force him to swing on the next one.
-earl fouled it.
-with two strikes and two balls called, the jersey city pitcher again attempted to deceive gardner, and again failed.
-“three balls!” called the umpire.
-“make him put it over, earl,” urged dick. “if he does put it over give it a ride.”
-kennedy did put it over, using all the speed he could command, without a curve.
-gardner snapped his bat round quickly and met the ball full and fair, sending it whistling over the head of the second baseman and bringing the island crowd up with a shout. it was a clean hit for fairhaven’s centre fielder.
-“that’s the way to soak ’em, dern their picters!” squealed obediah tubbs, as he danced with elephantine grace down the coaching line back of first.
-“this is a regular three-ring circus!” cried a rockford man sneeringly. “there goes the clown! say, fatty, do you know how a fool looks?”
-“yep!” promptly answered obed, turning and facing the speaker. “i noticed you when i first came onto the ground. i’ll bring you a mirror so you can see for yourself.”
-“right from the shoulder!” laughed brick mclane. “how do you like it, man?”
-the fairhaven crowd laughed heartily, and, with a very red face, the would-be funny rockfordite subsided.
-owen bold was the second batter, and he held his bat in a certain position in his left hand as he walked to the plate. gardner observed the signal and knew bold would bunt the first ball that kennedy pitched, in case it was over the plate. being thus warned, earl was on his toes and had a fair start when the batter dropped the ball down about four feet in front of the plate.
-bold dashed for first, but torrey maintained his reputation for handling bunts cleverly, and secured the ball in time to make a beautiful throw to swarton.
-“out at first!” shouted the umpire.
-“good sacrifice, owen!” piped obediah tubbs. “that’s the way to start her up!”
-bradley, the cockney lad from fardale, was the next batter, and he held his bat straight up against his shoulder, gripping it with both hands, as he walked out. this told gardner that billy would try for a hit.
-“here’s your victim, kennedy!” called brodie. “he can’t touch you in a year.”
-“’ow do you know so much?” inquired bradley. “your wisdom is hawful surprising!”
-kennedy was roused and he used all his skill in fooling bradley. billy fouled the first two balls, both of which were declared strikes.
-“you’re getting a pup-pup-pup-piece of it every time!” cried jolliby. “tut-tut-tut-take a good bite now!”
-fancying the batter was eager to hit, kennedy tried to pull him on wide ones. billy grinned at them and let them pass, with the result that three balls were swiftly called.
-brodie then signaled for a straight one.
-as billy swung to hit the next ball delivered the catcher swiftly touched the end of the bat and deflected it.
-the ball plunked into brodie’s mitt, bradley having missed it cleanly.
-“did you see ’im, umpire?” shouted billy excitedly. “’e ’it my bat! ’e bothered me!”
-“oh, go lay down!” sneered brodie. “don’t try that game! you’re out! quit your squealing!”
-in spite of billy’s protest, the umpire persisted in declaring him out, having failed to observe brodie’s action.
-“watch that catcher, mr. umpire,” urged dick. “don’t let him do any of that!”
-“i will watch him,” promised the umpire.
-big bob now stalked out to hit. as he took his position he glanced over his shoulder at brodie.
-“if you fool with my bat,” he said, in a very low tone, “i’ll land you a bunch of fives on the jaw!”
-“oh, you wouldn’t hurt anybody!” retorted brodie sneeringly. “you’re nothing but a big baby! you can’t get a hit off kennedy if you try.”
-singleton quickly convinced brodie of his mistake by smashing the first ball along the ground so swiftly that jenners was barely able to touch it with his fingers and deflect its course. had jenners failed to touch it at all gardner would have scored. as it happened stowe was able to get the ball in time to hold earl at third, although big bob reached first safely.
-it was now buckhart’s turn to hit, but he sat on the bench without seeming aware of it.
-“get your batter out!” sharply ordered the umpire. “no delays!”
-dick gave brad a punch.
-“come on, buckhart!” he exclaimed. “it’s your turn!”
-the texan rose slowly to his feet and walked toward the plate without picking up his bat. those who saw him fancied he would secure the bat dropped by bradley. this he did not do, but took his position to strike without a bat.
-quickly catching up brad’s pet stick, dick went out and handed it to him.
-“get your eyes open, buckhart!” he said, in a low tone. “wake up, old man!”
-brad seemed to give himself a shake. he struck at the first ball delivered, missing it by more than a foot. however, it seemed that this swing of his bothered brodie a little, for singleton stole second without trouble, the rockford catcher declining to throw down to the bag.
-the next ball pitched was too high, but buckhart again struck at it.
-“what’s the matter with him?” derisively cried the rockford spectators.
-tom fernald was watching everything closely, and a faint suggestion of a smile flitted over his face.
-by the merest accident, it seemed, buckhart hit the next ball a terrible crack and lined it far into the outfield. the hit seemed good for three bases at least, and it brought a shout of delight from the visiting islanders.
-a moment later this shout turned to exclamations of surprise and dismay, for instead of running toward first, buckhart turned in the wrong direction and ran toward third.
-gardner, who was trotting home and looking over his shoulder to see how far the ball went, did not observe the texan until brad collided with him.
-both were knocked down.
-in astonishment earl jumped up and seized buckhart, dragging him to his feet.
-“what’s got into you?” he cried. “what are you trying to do? where are you going?”
-brad made no answer, but endeavored to pass earl and continue toward third.
-by this time dick merriwell had reached the spot, and he seized brad by the arm, turning him around.
-“the other way, you crazy loon!” he exclaimed. “first base is on the other side!”
-realizing his blunder at last, brad started across the diamond toward first.
-“get into the base line!” cried dick.
-buckhart did not seem to hear this, for he continued toward first, without attempting to follow the base line.
-spangler had secured the ball at last, and he threw it to stowe, who promptly lined it over to bill swarton. by the time the ball reached swarton’s hands, buckhart was on first.
-swarton touched him with the ball and then called for the umpire to declare him out.
-“why, dern your picter!” cried obediah tubbs, “he’s on the base! he can’t be out!”
-“he’s out according to the rule covering base running to first,” declared swarton.
-“what is that rule?” asked the umpire.
-“it says a base runner is out if he runs more than three feet outside the line in the last half of the distance to first base, unless he does so to avoid a fielder attempting to field a batted ball,” declared swarton.
-“that’s correct!” nodded the umpire. “he was more than three feet outside the line! the man is out!”
-at this some of the fairhaven players raised a protest, but they were immediately silenced by merriwell. “swarton is right about the rule,” admitted dick. “the decision is just.”
-“well, of all hard lul-lul-lul-luck that’s the worst!” groaned chip jolliby. “it was a cuc-cuc-cuc-cuc-clean base hit. what in bub-bub-blazes is the mum-mum-mum-matter with buckhart? he must be cuc-cuc-crazy!”
-brad seemed at last to realize what he had done. he walked in toward the fairhaven bench, shaking his head and looking disgusted. he was still very pale.
-“pard,” he said, in a low tone, as dick hurried to him. “i sure am locoed. things are a whole lot twisted. never did such a fool thing before in my life. what do you suppose is the matter with me?”
-“i don’t know,” confessed dick; “but you cut us out of three runs, at least. if you can’t brace up and come out of this trance, we’re beaten at the very start.”
-“i will brace up, pard—i will brace up!” savagely declared brad. “just watch me now!”
-the tramp steps in.
-the texan went behind the bat, determined to arouse himself and do his level best.
-but dick had lost confidence in brad, and others on the team were worried, realizing that something was wrong.
-it is strange how the playing of one man on a team often affects the whole team, either for good or for bad. in this case buckhart’s blunder seemed to unman his companions.
-dick dared not let out his speed and use his best curves in the first inning, and as a result spangler hit safely. jenners drove one to bradley, which billy fumbled, and then swarton lifted a long fly to left field.
-“just like batting it into a basket!” shrilly shouted obediah tubbs. “gardner couldn’t muff it if he tried.”
-to the astonishment of every one, earl made a rank muff, and the bases were filled.
-“ha! ha! ha!” laughed swarton, dancing up and down on first. “got um going! they are up in the air!”
-“they never could play ball!” shouted a rockford man.
-“you’re another!” promptly retorted brick mclane.
-“only for fairhaven, you fellers would have the pennant nailed now! they’ve kept yer down!”
-“you dreamed it!” was the retort. “smoke up! your pipe’s going out!”
-“here’s torrey!” was the cry from the excited rockford spectators. “torrey will line it out! just watch torrey!”
-while playing on the maplewood team torrey had demonstrated the fact that he was a remarkable batter. his hitting had been commented on a great deal by patrons of the games in the trolley league.
-dick merriwell had studied this chap’s style of batting and discovered his weak spot. regardless of buckhart, merriwell now began to whistle the ball over, using curves that he knew would bother the batter. this led torrey to strike twice and miss.
-“he’ll hit it next time,” asserted many. “he never strikes out.”
-after wasting two balls the captain of the fairhaven team again sought torrey’s weak spot, and found it.
-brad’s eyes had blurred, and he seemed uncertain as he put up his hands.
-torrey swung sharply, hit the ball on the under side of the bat, and seemed to drive it straight down to the ground. it struck like a piece of lead a foot in front of the plate and lay there.
-“fair hit!” cried the umpire.
-torrey dusted toward first, while spangler, jenners, and swarton all moved up, spangler making a dash for the plate.
-in order to make a double play all brad needed to do was to pick up the ball, touch the home plate, and throw to first.
-instead of doing this, buckhart caught up the ball and threw toward first.
-spangler came romping home in safety, laughing in derisive satisfaction.
-what added to the dismay of dick and his companions was the fact that buckhart threw over first, and before smart could recover the ball and return it to the diamond, torrey had reached the initial bag, while jenners had followed spangler to the plate and swarton was well down the base line from second to third.
-fearing the boys would continue the bungling work by bad throwing, dick shouted for tubbs to hold the ball.
-“well, dern our picters!” shrilly cried the fat boy, as he stood with the ball in his hands, a look of disgust on his face. “we’re a lot of lobsters!”
-merriwell quickly ran up to brad.
-“what’s the matter with you, buckhart? you’re entirely out of gear, old man. you had a double play right in your hands. every runner was forced. had you stepped on the plate after picking up the ball you could have retired spangler.”
-“that’s right,” nodded the texan. “i know it now. never did a thing like that before.”
-“play ball! play ball!” cried the rockford crowd, as dick continued talking to buckhart in a low tone, “keep them at it, swarton.”
-“they are delaying the game, mr. umpire!” cried swarton. “make them play!”
-dick returned to his position, while buckhart again crouched behind the bat.
-on the first ball pitched, torrey darted toward second. buckhart threw to bold, who covered second base.
-swarton lost not a second in attempting to score.
-bold saw the rockford captain tearing down the third-base line toward the plate, and therefore, without attempting to tag torrey, he lined the ball back to buckhart.
-brad had covered the home plate and would have stopped the score had he caught the ball. he muffed it and swarton slid home safely.
-the rockford crowd roared its delight.
-“the game is ours in the first inning,” muttered tom fernald.
-the excursionists from the island were silent now. their faces expressed their consternation and dismay.
-morrisey danced out to the plate, eager to keep the good work up for rockford.
-his lack of confidence in buckhart led dick to pitch cautiously, and morrisey hit the second ball delivered, driving it along the ground inside the first-base line.
-big bob singleton booted the ball into the diamond, then sprang back to first, as he saw dick going after the sphere.
-by sharp running morrisey crossed first before merriwell could throw him out.
-“is this a ball game?” laughed one of the rockfordites. “it looks like a farce to me.”
-as stowe seldom hit to left field, smart moved over toward centre, playing in toward the diamond.
-after missing one, stowe hit the ball on a dead line to smart. the little fellow added to the comedy of errors by muffing the liner and throwing poorly to singleton, who was compelled to get off his sack in order to catch the ball.
-stowe crossed first before big bob could get back to the bag.
-again the bases were filled.
-crouching under the bat, buckhart peered through the wires of his cage, and to him those wires seemed as large as crowbars. just as dick delivered the first ball to randolph the fairhaven catcher snatched off his mask and flung it aside.
-immediately the umpire called time and several players gathered around brad, while a boy brought a bucket of water.
-the texan started up a little the moment the water was dashed into his face. when he was lifted to his feet, however, he seemed blinded and dizzy.
-“he’s out of this game, dick,” said big bob singleton soberly. “he’s off his feet now, and in less than three minutes he’ll have a beautiful pair of eyes. what are we going to do for a catcher?”
-dick shook his head and looked around hopelessly.
-“can you catch, bold?��� he asked.
-“sorry,” answered owen bold, “but i can’t do a thing behind the bat.”
-by this time the spectators were aware that buckhart had been knocked out of the game, and suddenly a man rose from the bleachers and attracted attention by calling in a loud voice to dick:
-“howdy, captain merriwell! i am on hand to keep my promise! told you you could depend on me if you needed me! i’ll go under the bat and surprise the gaping multitude.”
-the crowd shouted at him derisively and advised an officer to put him off the ground.
-“go back and sit down!” commanded the policeman. “if you don’t i’ll have to put you out.”
-“i want to speak with me friend, richard merriwell,” said hoboson, touching the brim of his dirty slouch hat. “jest a word, please?”
-dick saw the tramp and was seized by a queer inclination to find out what hoboson could do behind the bat. immediately he approached the officer and said:
-“it’s all right, sir; i’m going to use him in the game.”
-“that’s where your head’s level,” chuckled hoboson, pulling his hat still farther over his left eye. “we’ll paralyze this crowd with our remarkable battery work.”
-having cast off his tattered coat, the hobo adjusted the body protector and mitt, pulled a mask on, and took his place under the bat. already he had told dick what signals he would use.
-“this will be a great game!” sneered one of the rockfordites. “they must be crazy to use that dirty bummer. can’t they get any one else?”
-evidently hoboson heard these words, for he turned and wagged his mitt in the direction of the speaker.
-“wait a minute, me friend,” he advised. “don’t judge by appearances. appearances are often mighty deceiving.”
-he then signaled to dick for a rise, and randolph swung at the ball. once more the batter touched it, but this time he put up a high foul.
-without removing the mask, hoboson got under the ball and easily smothered it as it came down.
-“dern his picter, he done something, anyhow!” cried obediah tubbs, in relief.
-“this is just the beginning,” said hoboson, as he tossed the ball back to dick. “don’t be afraid of your wing, me boy. let it out. speed ’em over, and see me take care of this end of the diamond.”
-still dick was cautious, and he tried a slow bender on brodie. the rockford catcher hit the ball into the diamond and it took a high bound. merriwell leaped into the air and caught it with his left hand, having plenty of time to throw to the plate, which put torrey out, as he was forced. like a flash, and with perfect accuracy, hoboson lined the sphere into singleton’s hands for a double play, and brodie was out at first, having failed to reach the sack in time.
-for a moment the spectators seemed dazed, and then brick mclane let out a wild roar of delight. up he jumped and jerked his arms wildly as he led the cheering of the watching islanders.
-“jest as e—easy!” laughed hoboson, bowing toward the applauding crowd. “couldn’t help it if i tried!”
-although merriwell led off with a clean two-bagger, kennedy’s skill proved too much for the three batters following, and dick was left on second.
-“seems to me,” said hoboson, as he rose from the bench and stopped dick, who had trotted in to secure his glove before going into the box—“seems ter me i’ve heard that you deliver a queer curve you call the combination ball. when i want you to t’row that one i’ll give you this signal.”
-saying which, he showed dick the signal he would make.
-“better not try it,” said merriwell promptly. “you can’t hold it. it would fool you just as it fools batters. when he’s in condition buckhart can handle it, but i don’t dare use it with any one who is not accustomed to it.”
-“that’s all right,” said hoboson. “don’t you worry. jest hand it right up and see me do my duty.”
-for a pitcher kennedy was a good hitter, and he opened rockford’s half of the seventh with a pretty single.
-with spangler at bat, two strikes and three balls were called.
-then hoboson signaled for the combination ball.
-dick shook his head.
-hoboson repeated the signal, and again dick shook his head. in apparent disgust, the tramp called for a straight ball. spangler smashed it into right field, and kennedy took third on the hit.
-on the first ball pitched to jenners, spangler started for second base, thinking that with kennedy on third he had a fine opportunity to steal.
-apparently hoboson was slow about throwing. to every one it seemed that spangler had a start that would lead him safely down to second, when, after driving kennedy back to third with a fake movement, the tramp lined the ball to tubbs.
-that ball fairly whizzed through the air, and it came straight into the hands of obediah, who was a little to one side of second and in perfect position to tag the runner. spangler slid and obed put the ball on him.
-“out!” shouted the umpire.
-having seen this throw to second, kennedy started off third once more and raced toward the home plate.
-tubbs sent the ball back to hoboson, who covered the plate. it came straight into the hands of the tramp, and kennedy stopped on the line, seeing he could not reach the home plate without being tagged. he turned and ran back toward third, expecting hoboson would throw the ball. instead of throwing to bradley, the tramp ran after kennedy with the ball in his hand.
-seeing hoboson contemplated trying to run him down, kennedy let himself out and did his best to get back to third. at every jump the tramp gained on the base runner, and just as kennedy made his last leap to reach the bag the hobo struck him between the shoulder blades with the ball, using such force that the rockford pitcher was hurled past third and sent sprawling on the ground four feet beyond the bag.
-“out!” shouted the umpire once more, but his decision was drowned by the wild roar from the delighted islanders. brick mclane furiously waved his hat in the air and whooped at the top of his stentorian voice.
-laughing with satisfaction, dick ran up to hoboson and patted him on the shoulder.
-“well, you’re certainly a sprinter, old boy,” said merriwell.
-“the very next time,” promised dick.
-the opportunity came very soon, for with two strikes and two balls called on jenners, hoboson signaled for dick to use his most effective curve.
-merriwell sent in his combination, but did not get it over the plate.
-plunk!—the ball landed in the tramp’s mitt and stuck there.
-“jest as e—easy!” he chuckled.
-again he called for this ball and again dick used it. this time jenners struck and missed, and once more the ball plunked into the catcher’s mit and remained there.
-three rockfordites were out.
-“well, i guess he can catch!” whooped mclane. “he’s not a beaut, but he fills the bill!”
-“who in tut-tut-thunder is this fellow?” chattered jolliby, as he reached the bench. “he’s all right, dick. i don’t believe rockford could have scored if we’d had him in the fuf-fuf-fuf-first place.”
-no one was more delighted than dick at the work of the tramp catcher. he now sought to talk with hoboson, but to his surprise the tramp seemed strangely shy and silent. whenever dick approached him the mysterious catcher edged off and evinced a disinclination to talk.
-from that time to the finish of the game every witness was kept keyed to the highest pitch of excitement. hoboson demonstrated that he was a batter and base runner as well as a wonderful catcher. still kennedy managed to keep the islanders down until the sixth inning. in the sixth hoboson singled to right field.
-a few moments later, on dick’s hit, hoboson went racing over third with the speed of an express train and kept on to the plate.
-randolph threw to brodie, but the tramp slid under and was declared safe, thus getting the first score for fairhaven.
-dick took second on randolph’s throw, but again kennedy mowed down jolliby, tubbs, and smart in succession.
-by this time the rockfordites were aware that it was necessary to fight the thing through to the finish in order to secure the game. try as they might, however, they could not bunch hits. with hoboson handling the ball perfectly, dick merriwell pitched in a wonderful manner and prevented the enemy from making a further gain.
-ere the ninth inning began merriwell found himself puzzling over something familiar in hoboson’s style of catching. the fairhaven captain began to fancy he had seen the tramp before, although he could not remember the occasion.
-with one man out in the ninth, singleton drove a hot one through stowe and reached second by a daring run. kennedy was afraid of hoboson and tried to deceive him with curves. the tramp finally dropped the ball over the right-field fence for two bags, according to the ground rules, and singleton scored.
-with hoboson on second, another run was needed to tie the score.
-the island crowd was cheering wildly now, while the rockfordites did their best to encourage kennedy.
-merriwell picked out a good one and slammed it into the far extremity of centre field, sending hoboson home and reaching third ere the ball was returned to the diamond. some of the island spectators groaned as they saw jolliby walk out to the plate. not a hit had chip made, and they feared what would happen now.
-chip hit the ball, but popped up a little fly to torrey and was out. tubbs lifted a foul a moment later, and brodie caught it.
-“that’s the way ter do it!” cried swarton. “here’s your next victim, kennedy!”
-it was smart.
-fearing smart would strike out, dick edged off third and made a desperate dash for the plate as brodie returned the ball to kennedy after the first pitch.
-kennedy snapped the ball back to brodie, who threw a little high, and merriwell slid under safely, thus securing the run that put fairhaven ahead. no wonder brick mclane quite lost his voice from shouting. no wonder the islanders shrieked, and yelled, and waved the red and black.
-“got um now, pal!” said hoboson, in satisfaction. “let this feller strike out if he wants to. we’ll hold ’em down.”
-smart did strike out, but fairhaven was one run ahead when rockford went to bat for the last time.
-merriwell trusted fully to the tramp’s skill as a back-stop, and his speed and curves actually dazzled the batters. he retired them in one-two-three order, and brick mclane fell off the bleachers as the third man struck out and he realized fairhaven had taken the game.
-“pretty well done, wasn’t it, dick?” said hoboson, as he cast aside his battered old hat and seemed instantly to fling off a false wig at the same time. “glad to get rid of those things. they are beastly hot.”
-a second later dick shouted to his companions.
-“come here, boys—come here! take a look at our tramp! it’s bart hodge, or i’m daffy!”
-“thought you’d tumble to me long before this,” smiled hodge, as he shook dick’s hand. “it was frank’s suggestion that i play this little trick. you can blame him. he sent me down here to see how you were getting along. couldn’t come himself.”
-“well, i’m ashamed to be fooled in such a manner,” confessed dick. “if i’d ever looked you over closely in daylight i would have recognized you for all of your rags and dirt. hodge, you’re a dandy.”
-then the watching crowd was amazed to see dick merriwell hug the ragged catcher.
-brad learns the truth.
-“what’s this—what’s this, boys?” cried dick, as they were passing the office of the rockford star, on their way to the hotel. “just look at that bulletin board. maplewood defeated seaslope! take a look at the standing of the teams! did you ever before see anything like that?”
-no wonder the boys uttered exclamations of surprise and astonishment as they stood in front of the bulletin board, for by the record there it was seen that every team in the trolley league was tied. the four clubs had played forty games each, and all had won twenty and lost twenty.
-“now for the race to the finish!” exclaimed merriwell. “it will be good and hot!”
-no wonder the fairhaven crowd was enthusiastic and delighted.
-bart hodge was the hero of the day. still wearing his ragged clothes, he marched at dick’s side with the ball players, his dark eyes gleaming and a smile on his face.
-“frank will enjoy the letter i’ll write him,” he declared. “i’ll tell him how his plan worked. i didn’t think i could fool you, dick. it wasn’t so difficult last night, for we met in the dark and you could not get a good look at me. to-day you were somewhat excited and wrought up over the game, which kept you from inspecting me closely.”
-“i thought you acted mighty queer,” laughed dick. “you kept that old hat on all the time and had it pulled down over your eyes. besides that, you seemed disinclined to talk with me after we agreed on the signals we would use. whenever i spoke you turned your head away and did not answer. besides, i never dreamed of seeing bart hodge in rags and with his face and hands dirt-begrimed.”
-“it’s good, clean dirt, dick,” retorted hodge. “still i confess i’m rather anxious to wash it off now. hear that big chap whoop! he nearly broke his neck by falling off the bleachers when you struck out the last rockford batter.”
-“that’s mclane,” said dick. “he’s one of our most enthusiastic supporters.”
-the big lobsterman was marching down the street, waving his hat in the air and occasionally letting out a yell that sounded like a steam calliope.
-in the island crowd was grace garrett. without attracting the attention of his companions, earl gardner dropped back and walked at grace’s side.
-“oh, i’m so glad you won the game to-day, earl!” she exclaimed, placing her hand on his arm.
-“i didn’t win it,” he laughed. “dick and bart hodge deserve all the credit.”
-“not all the credit,” she denied. “but who is this bart hodge? is he really a tramp?”
-“hardly that!” smiled gardner. “he’s a chum and comrade of dick merriwell’s brother, frank.”
-“well, how does he happen to be here now?”
-“frank merriwell sent him. he couldn’t come himself, and so he sent hodge. it was a mighty lucky thing for us that hodge turned up just when he did. no other man could have gone behind the bat and handled dick’s pitching to-day.”
-“what was the matter with brad buckhart? he actually seemed crazy.”
-earl shook his head.
-“it was dreadful!” said grace. “it frightened all the girls. i thought he was killed.”
-“it takes something harder than a baseball to kill that texan,” declared gardner. “dick tried to induce him to go to a doctor, but he remained through the game and kept a wet handkerchief over his bruise.”
-with a handkerchief tied round his head, buckhart was plodding along at the rear of the ball players. the western lad was doing some thinking now. gradually his head seemed getting clearer, and he was trying to devise some explanation for his own remarkable actions on the ball field. he remembered very well the singular feeling of lassitude and weakness that came upon him a short time after eating dinner at the corndike hotel that day. over and over to himself buckhart put this question:
-“what did i eat that knocked me out?”
-as the ball players were passing the corndike, uriah blackington hurried out of the hotel, and called to ray garrett.
-“come here a moment, garrett,” he urged. “bring merriwell with you.”
-ray and dick joined the rockford manager.
-“i’ve just received a telephone message from hammerswell and whitcomb,” said blackington. “they urged me to call a meeting right away for the purpose of making certain changes in the schedule.”
-“why should there be any changes made?” asked garrett. “isn’t the schedule satisfactory to rockford?”
-“not exactly,” answered blackington. “we wish to make one or two changes ourselves.”
-“ten to one,” cut in dick, “this is some sort of a trick on the part of hammerswell. don’t help him out in his schemes, mr. blackington.”
-in a frank manner the rockford man placed a hand on dick’s shoulder.
-“don’t you worry about that, my boy,” he said. “i have no particular use for benton hammerswell. still, as two of the managers in the league have called for this meeting, one must be held. they demand it at once, saying they will be here within an hour and ready to transact business. mr. garrett can stop off and attend the meeting, while the rest of you may return to the island.”
-“if i stop,” said ray, “i want you to remain with me, dick. i may need your advice. we’ll not go back to fairhaven on the lady may to-night, for, according to our agreement with the captain, that boat leaves here as soon as possible after the game.”
-“wait a minute,” said merriwell. “perhaps captain jennings might be induced to wait a while if we pay him. there’ll be a moon to-night, and there are no signs of fog.”
-“the excursionists might object.”
-“let’s go down to the boat and talk it over.”
-as they started off, blackington called to them:
-“under any circumstances one of you must stay if you wish to have a finger in the alteration of the schedule.”
-when the lady may was reached garrett gathered the excursionists and told them it was necessary for dick and himself to remain in rockford two hours at least.
-“if you people say so,” said ray, “the lady may will swing off at once with you; but if you’re in no haste we’ll see if the captain can be induced to wait for us.”
-“oh, say!” cried brick mclane, “we want to take everybody back with us. there’ll be a warm time on the island when we git there.”
-“that’s right! that’s right!” cried several of the others. “if the captain will wait we’ll wait.”
-there was not a dissenting voice, and therefore ray and dick talked with captain jennings at once. he agreed to wait until nine o’clock if they desired, in case he received ten dollars extra for the delay. this amount was promised him and the excursionists were notified.
-“i’m glad of that,” said hodge. “it will give me a chance to change my clothes and cross to the island with you. i had my luggage forwarded to the corndike, and it’s there now, i suppose.”
-the baggage belonging to the ball players had been sent from the hotel to the steamer, and the boys were now given an opportunity to change their clothes in the cabin. as they were making this change it was discovered that buckhart was not with them.
-immediately dick became alarmed.
-“where is that fellow?” he exclaimed. “has any one seen him?”
-some remembered brad had marched down the street with them, but still he could not be found on the steamer.
-while dick and ray were talking with blackington, buckhart had walked into the corndike quite unobserved and taken a seat in the office near an open window at the front of the hotel. he was still puzzling over his own condition and seemed quite unaware that his friends and the excursionists proceeded to the steamer without noticing he was missing.
-“he’s some sore,” thought brad. “i opine he lost a dollar or two to-day.”
-a slender young chap approached fernald and spoke to him. this slender fellow the texan recognized as pete knox, head waiter at the corndike.
-“i need that money now,” said knox, in a low tone, “and i need it mighty bad, too.”
-“you’ll have to wait,” he retorted. “i can’t pay you.”
-“but you promised it to me right after the game. i’ve been discharged here.”
-“why? how’s that?”
-“i don’t know. i was fired this afternoon, and i’m out of a job. haven’t a dollar, either. so you see the twenty-five you agreed to pay me will come in handy.”
-“you’re no worse off than i am,” said fernald. “i am broke. lost my good money on this beastly ball game.”
-“that wasn’t my fault,” said knox. “i thought you were sure of winning if you could get that stuff into the fairhaven catcher.”
-buckhart grasped the arms of his chair and every muscle grew tense.
-“i should have won,” growled fernald. “that ragged bummer upset my calculations. he’s as good a catcher as buckhart—or better.”
-“you can’t blame me if your game miscarried,” said knox. “i followed directions, and i saw buckhart drink the water, which i brought him myself. i want my money now. i can’t help how much you lost, you’ll settle with me.”
-“and you’ll both settle with me!” roared the texan, as he leaped like a panther through the open window and lighted on the sidewalk outside.
-“here’s one for you!”
-saying which he struck knox a blow that sent the fellow spinning, wheeling instantly on fernald, who seemed electrified by the occurrence.
-“had me drugged, did you?” snarled the westerner. “you get yours next!”
-“let go, pard—let go!” grated the texan. “let me smash that cur!”
-“where are the police?” exclaimed fernald. “i’ll have him arrested!”
-“you’re crazy, brad!” said dick. “what ails you?”
-“i know what ailed me to-day!” panted the fairhaven catcher. “i was drugged! this low-down coyote paid the waiter here to get the stuff into me! stand back, pard, and let me square up the score!”
-it required all of merriwell’s strength to hold the furious lad back.
-“how do you know this, brad?” demanded dick.
-“just heard them talking right here by this window.”
-“that’s a lie!” asserted fernald. “where’s knox? he’ll say it’s a lie!”
-but the fellow who had been knocked down by buckhart was not to be found. he had picked himself up and hurried away as he saw the people gather in front of the hotel.
-finding knox had fled, fernald became still more bold.
-“let them lock me up!” hissed buckhart. “i am ready to tell the judge why i jumped on fernald.”
-“all right,” nodded dick, “go ahead and call your policemen.”
-then he turned to the crowd that had gathered.
-“gentlemen,” he said, “some of you were present at the ball game to-day, i fancy. you must remember the singular behavior of our catcher here. he complained of feeling wrong directly after dinner. yesterday tom fernald tried to bribe him—tried to induce him to throw the game to-day. deny it if you want to, mr. fernald; we have proof of it. buckhart induced fernald to make the offer in a room of this hotel, and several of us heard all the talk. if you doubt my word, ask uriah blackington; i fancy you won’t doubt him. he was present and heard it all. that’s why fernald was compelled to resign as manager of your team. evidently he has been looking for revenge. it’s my belief that no man who makes a living as a professional gambler can be on the square. i doubted the squareness of fernald from the first. he has been proved a crook. i mean it, fernald—you’re a crook!”
-the deposed manager of the rockford team was pale, but he forced a sneering laugh.
-“you will find i have some friends in this town,” he declared. “you think yourself very smart, young chap, but in time you will get what’s coming to you.”
-this speech was promptly hissed by some one in the crowd, and as if that hiss was a signal, a storm of hisses followed it.
-fernald shrugged his shoulders and snapped his fingers defiantly.
-“you go to blazes, the whole of you!” he exclaimed.
-then he turned and walked away, paying no attention to the scornful remarks of the crowd.
-“let him go, brad,” urged dick, restraining the texan. “it’s my opinion he lost enough money to-day to punish him for his dirty work.”
-changing the schedule.
-dick and ray garrett were waiting in uriah blackington’s office when hammerswell and jared whitcomb entered. the maplewood manager carried himself with an air of self-satisfaction and importance.
-“well, gentlemen,” he said, “it seems that the trolley league is ready to start afresh on a level footing. no team has an advantage now, and that’s a good thing for the league. i have the boys to make you hustle, and maplewood proposes to walk off with the pennant.”
-“what’s this business about changing the schedule?” asked garrett. “fairhaven is satisfied with the schedule as it stands.”
-“maplewood and seaslope are not,” retorted hammerswell. “i also understand that rockford would like to make one or two changes. is that right, mr. blackington?”
-“if these changes can be made without stirring up hard feelings i favor it,” nodded uriah blackington. “i don’t want to kick up strife. there’s been enough of that.”
-“you see, garrett,” said hammerswell, “three of us wish to make some changes. if you object, you will stand alone.”
-“what are the changes you wish to make?” inquired ray.
-“i have the thing all jotted down here,” said hammerswell, producing a sheet of paper. “mr. whitcomb and myself have agreed on it. just look it over, mr. blackington.”
-uriah blackington glanced over the altered schedule and nodded.
-“that’s satisfactory to me,” he said. “you have given us two friday games in place of a game thursday and a game wednesday. friday is the best day for rockford.”
-garrett waited quietly until the others had examined the newly outlined schedule. he then took it and inspected it with dick.
-“what do you think about the changes?” he asked, in a low tone.
-��see here,” said dick, pointing at the schedule, “hammerswell has shifted the game to-morrow so that it is to be in maplewood instead of fairhaven. do you see his object?”
-“i don’t know.”
-“it’s plain enough. his team is winning now. with all the teams tied, he fancies he can gain an advantage by playing the next game at home. two teams must lose to-morrow. that will place them both tied for last position. the two teams that win will be tied for first position. hammerswell is looking for first position. if he secures an advantage by winning to-morrow, he’ll have a fairly good hold on the place.”
-“then you object to that change, do you?”
-“wait a minute,” said dick. “let me run this thing over. you see he has it fixed so our final game of the season is to be played in maplewood. i object to that. if he has this game in maplewood to-morrow, fairhaven must have the last two games at home. stand firm on that, ray. if they agree to it we can afford to accept these other changes.”
-“that’s right,” nodded garrett, and immediately he announced to the meeting fairhaven’s position in the matter.
-hammerswell raised an objection, and was feebly backed by whitcomb. the maplewood man turned in appeal to uriah blackington.
-“you see there are two of us against one, mr. blackington. that ought to decide the matter.”
-“but it doesn’t,” declared the rockford manager grimly.
-“because we’ve agreed on a schedule, and unless all managers are satisfied with any changes made there can be no changes. if you want this game to-morrow at maplewood, mr. hammerswell, you will have to accept fairhaven’s terms and give them the last two games on the island.”
-in vain hammerswell argued and pleaded. with difficulty he repressed his annoyance and anger. for once he found it impossible to carry things his own way, and in the end he was compelled to acquiesce to garrett’s terms. when this final agreement was made, the altered schedule was accepted by vote in the regular manner.
-“we got the best of that, garrett,” smiled dick, as they left blackington’s office together. “the two last games on the island should be rousers for us. if we are in position to fight for first place, we will have big crowds and make a fat thing out of it.”
-“that’s right, dick,” nodded ray. “you were long-headed in demanding that change. i am sorry we have to return to fairhaven to-night. that trip across always shakes the team up some and puts it out of condition. we’ll have to return as early as possible to-morrow in order to rest up on the mainland before the game.”
-“a good suggestion!” cried garrett. “if they celebrate on the island to-night they will have to do so without us. we’ll stay right here.”
-thus it came about that the lady may returned to fairhaven without the ball team.
-that night dick merriwell and bart hodge sat up until a late hour talking. of course, dick was anxious to hear all about his brother, and therefore he plied hodge with questions.
-“why didn’t frank come himself?” he asked for the third time.
-“he wanted to,” said hodge, “but he felt that he couldn’t spare the time just now. his mining interests have kept him busy during the last few weeks.”
-“where did you leave him—in denver?”
-“no; in chicago.”
-“chicago?” exclaimed dick. “why? how was that? i didn’t suppose——”
-“are you anxious to sell your interest in the mine?” asked dick.
-“i thought,” said dick, “that there still might be some trouble over that mine, and that possibly you were willing to dispose of it for that reason.”
-“not a bit of trouble,” smiled hodge. “all that thing seems settled. frank has downed his enemies in the west, and things are moving swimmingly. his san pablo mine, in mexico, is the richest property, but the expense of packing ore a long distance to the railroad, and shipping it north to a smelter, cuts down his profits. he has a scheme now of organizing a company to build a railroad that will give him an outlet to the north. it’s likely he’ll try to push this project along while he is in chicago. if the railroad is ever constructed, it is likely he’ll be actively engaged in the work. dick, your brother is a hustler.”
-dick’s eyes gleamed and his face wore an expression of pride.
-“frank’s all right,” he declared. “not many fellows have a brother like him.”
-bart smiled and nodded.
-“those are nearly the words he used about you the night before i left chicago. we were talking of old times at fardale, and finally he fell to speaking of you. he’s pretty proud of you, dick.”
-“i don’t know of anything i have ever done to make him proud of me,” said the boy.
-“well, i rather fancy you’ve demonstrated that you have the right stuff in you. he feels certain you’ll make a good record at yale if you get there.”
-“bart,” said dick soberly, “the knowledge that my brother expects so much of me will be enough to always keep me at my best. not only does this keep me at my best, but i fancy, at times, it causes me to rise above myself. whatever i become, whatever successes i achieve, i shall owe everything to frank.”
-bart rose quickly and seized dick’s hand. his own face was glowing now.
-“my own sentiments, my boy,” he cried. “only for the influence and friendship of frank merriwell i might have gone to the dogs. i was well started on a bad road. when we first met i took a positive dislike to him, which rapidly developed into hatred. i was not above mean things at that time, and i lost no opportunity to injure him. almost any other fellow having such an enemy would have sought revenge for those injuries. instead of that, when i got into serious trouble frank gave me a helping hand. at first i thought he feared me, but after a while events demonstrated that he feared no one, and i realized that his actions came through his natural generosity and nobility.
-“then i compared myself with him, and the result filled me with shame. at first i was resentful because i realized he was so much my superior. i tried to pull off by myself and keep away from him. fate would not have it so. the course of events flung us together, and it seems to me now that in a single moment all my hatred and jealousy vanished, and i came to respect and admire him, even though i fancied he could never regard me as a friend. i had a nasty disposition, and whenever anything went wrong i was inclined to take a slump and forget whatever good resolutions i had made. time after time he lifted me over bad places and set me on the right road. ninety-nine persons out of a thousand would have lost patience with me. he proved to be one in a thousand, and his patience never failed. he fancied he saw the making of a man in me, and therefore he forgave all my slips and failings. do you wonder i swear by him, dick?
-“there came a time when my loyalty was taxed. i think i was smitten on elsie bellwood the first time i saw her; but i knew frank cared for her, and i fancied i would prove myself contemptibly disloyal if i betrayed him by showing the slightest regard for elsie. thus it was that for two or three years, at least, i smothered and repressed my feelings toward her. not until i knew beyond doubt that frank cared more for inza burrage than for elsie did i give way to my feelings. even then i didn’t dream elsie could care for me. but it has turned out all right at last.”
-a strange look came to the boy’s face.
-“if i tell you something, bart,” he said impulsively, “you mustn’t ever give it away. promise you won’t.”
-“all right,” nodded hodge. “i promise.”
-“well, had i been in frank’s place i’m sure i would have chosen elsie. don’t misunderstand me. i like inza, i admire inza.”
-hodge laughed outright.
-“dick,” he said, “you and i are much alike. i recognized that fact long ago. now tell me all about yourself and your experiences down here. i am going to write frank to-night in order to let him know how our little plan worked. he suggested the tramp business in imitation of a tramp we once met while making a tour with a ball team composed of yale men. the fellow called himself willie walker, or something of that sort, and he was a genuine hobo. i was knocked out and couldn’t go behind the bat. walker appeared on the field during practice and demonstrated that he could catch. merry put him into a game, and he proved to be a wizard. strangest part of it all was that he was a yale graduate who had once played on the varsity team. we never found out his real name. while frank and i were talking things over the night before i started east, he suggested that i should try the trick. i was certain i couldn’t make it work, but finally agreed to try it. it was lucky i did.”
-“lucky!” cried dick. “i should say so! only for you we’d lost that game.”
-“but the real luck came about when i heard fernald and this maplewood man, hammerswell, plotting downstairs in this hotel. i pretended to be asleep, but i was pretty wide-awake. all the time i was straining my ears to catch what they were saying. they kept muttering and whispering, and i could not hear much of it. however, i decided to watch fernald, and in that manner it came about that i got in with those toughs engaged by fernald to knock you and brad out. that upset fernald’s calculations somewhat, but he succeeded in drugging buckhart. fernald did not originate that plan; hammerswell was responsible for it.”
-“that miserable scoundrel has been at the bottom of all the crookedness in this league!” cried dick. “he’s a thoroughbred rascal, and he’s bound to get his just deserts in time.”
-dick then told bart all about his adventures since arriving in maplewood with his baseball team. naturally, hodge was very indignant as he listened to the recounting of benton hammerswell’s plots.
-“i congratulate you, dick!” he cried when the boy had finished. “you have done amazingly well to hold your own in this league. it’s evident all the crookedness has been aimed at you. with the teams tied as they are, and fernald dropped from the management of the rockford team, you have a chance to land in first place. it’s going to be a hard game at maplewood to-morrow.”
-“that’s right,” nodded dick. “hammerswell means to take that game, somehow.”
-“better go to bed now,” advised hodge. “the rest of the boys are snoozing ere this. i shall sit up a while to write.”
-long after dick had fallen asleep hodge sat writing to frank. he told how the tramp trick had worked, and all about dick’s gallant fight in the trolley league.
-“it’s evident, frank,” he wrote, in conclusion, “that you have a brother with the real merriwell blood in his veins. he never quits. i wish you might be here to witness the final games in this league, for, unless fairhaven is beaten by treachery and plotting, i am confident dick will land his team on top at the finish.”
-at the clubhouse.
-the following morning, shortly after breakfast, dick received a call over the telephone. it proved to be henry duncan, of maplewood, and after talking a few moments merriwell told his companions that they had been invited to maplewood as guests of the maplewood canoe club.
-“i think we’d better go, fellows,” he said. “mr. duncan wants us to come. he says the sympathy of the summer visitors at maplewood is with us, and they hope we’ll win the game to-day.”
-“where be we going to eat?” questioned obediah tubbs anxiously. “we was put out of the maple heights hotel, you know, and the only place up there where we can git anything is at that dirty little restaurant. i s’pose you might git plenty of pie there, such as it is.”
-“don’t worry about that,” laughed dick. “mr. duncan says he’ll have a spread at the clubhouse.”
-“then lul-lul-lul-let’s go!” cried jolliby.
-“yes, let’s go!” exclaimed the others.
-thus it came about that henry duncan’s invitation was accepted and the boys left rockford on the nine-o’clock car. they were in good spirits, every one of them, buckhart having fully recovered his former condition. as the car passed uriah blackington’s office, the lawyer thrust his head out of the window and waved his hand at them, crying:
-“do your best to-day, boys. we’ll take one off seaslope, and if you beat maplewood there’ll be fun the next time we meet.”
-it was a beautiful morning, and the boys sang and joked as the trolley car bore them toward the maplewood hills.
-perhaps two-thirds of the journey had been made when the car stopped to let a passenger off. it started up and proceeded slowly onto a curve of the track, where there was a high embankment on one side.
-suddenly, without warning, the car left the track, but the motorman instantly shut off the power.
-they stopped with one corner of the car lurching over the embankment.
-already some of the boys had leaped off, and there was a general scramble when the car stopped.
-“pretty near a bad accident,” said hodge, shaking his head.
-“pretty near it!” exclaimed the pale-faced motorman. “i should say so! if i hadn’t stopped to let that passenger off, i should have been driving this car at usual speed round the curve here, and we must have gone down the embankment.”
-“i’d like to know how it happened, anyway,” declared the conductor. “there was no reason why we should jump the track. we were apparently creeping along.”
-together with the motorman he made an examination, and in a few moments both men betrayed consternation and excitement. they called the passengers to look at one of the rails.
-“see here,” said the motorman, “this rail has been monkeyed with! it is loose. the rails are spread here. this was no accident! some one did the job with the deliberate intention of running this car off the track!”
-“what do you think of that, dick?” asked hodge, in young merriwell’s ear.
-“i may be mistaken,” muttered the boy; “but it looks to me like more of benton hammerswell’s work.”
-“but it doesn’t seem possible,” said bart, shaking his head. “why, many of us might have been killed had the car gone off this bank. it’s certain some of us would have been severely injured.”
-“in which case,” said dick, “maplewood would have had an easy thing this afternoon.”
-“it doesn’t seem possible,” continued hodge; “that man hammerswell must be a scoundrel of the worst type.”
-“didn’t i tell you so?”
-“but he’s the limit! he’s not only a scoundrel, but he’s crazy to try such things.”
-“you can bet he had no direct hand in it himself. i believe he was the instructor, and some of his tools did the work.”
-there was a long delay, but finally a car from maplewood picked up the passengers and carried them on to their destination.
-as they came in sight of the maple heights hotel, hodge betrayed his keen interest in the surroundings.
-“it was through me that frank came here to play baseball long ago,” he said. “i induced him to come. those were hot times, and it appears that they are just as warm nowadays. i remember old artemus hammerswell and his son herbert. artemus had money, and herbert thought himself a thoroughbred. there’s bad blood in these hammerswells. they got the worst of it in the old days, and i fancy benton hammerswell will get the worst of it now.”
-“there he is!” exclaimed brad buckhart, pointing toward the veranda of the hotel. “he’s there on the steps talking to another man. yes, by the great horn spoon, the man he’s talking with is tom fernald!”
-the texan was somewhat excited. dick clutched brad’s shoulder to prevent him from getting off the car at once.
-“what do you think you’re going to do, buckhart?” he demanded.
-“i’d just like to prance up there and put my brand on both those varmints!” declared the westerner.
-“but they’re men, and you’re only a boy,” said hodge. “they would be two to one against you.”
-“i certain don’t opine that would hold me up any. i reckon fernald got something from me last night.”
-the excited texan was restrained until the car stopped at the platform built for the passengers who wished to get off at the hotel.
-on that platform were a number of summer visitors, both ladies and gentlemen. three men stepped forward as the boys left the car. they were henry duncan, william drake, and eustace smiley. duncan clasped dick’s hand.
-“good morning, my boy!” he exclaimed heartily. “i’m glad you accepted our invitation. hammerswell found out about it, and he’s hot under the collar. i don’t know what he’s been doing, but he made a great hustle when he learned you were coming.”
-“i think we know what he was doing,” declared dick. “we’re lucky to arrive uninjured, mr. duncan.”
-he then told of their narrow escape from a serious accident.
-“do you think it possible any one actually tampered with those rails?” gasped william drake, in horror.
-“my goodness! my goodness!” cried eustace smiley, his pudgy hands uplifted. “it must have been an accident.”
-“it will be investigated,” said dick. “both motorman and conductor declared the rails had been loosened and spread.”
-“dreadful! dreadful!” said smiley.
-bart hodge now stepped forward and made himself known to duncan, who remembered him well and welcomed him once more to maplewood.
-“in order to avoid trouble with hammerswell,” said duncan, “we decided to entertain you at the clubhouse instead of at the hotel. hammerswell has been keeping his team at the hotel, and he has some sort of a pull there.”
-“we’re well aware of that,” nodded dick, smiling grimly. “he had a pull sufficient to push us from the place the day we first arrived in this town.”
-“a most disgraceful piece of business,” said smiley.
-dick refrained from mentioning the fact that on the occasion spoken of eustace smiley had supinely agreed to anything hammerswell proposed.
-led by duncan and his two companions, the boys marched down the winding road to a small, cleared grove on the shore of the lake, and there they found the cool and comfortable home of the maplewood canoe club.
-the clubhouse was built at the water’s edge, and dozens of canoes were to be seen. some were floating in the water, several were drawn up on shore, while still others were found in a part of the clubhouse built for the purpose of storing them. five or six club members were sitting on the veranda, smoking and chatting. out on the mirror-like surface of the lake a few were paddling around in canoes.
-it was a peaceful spot, and the boys eagerly sniffed the agreeable odor of the pines which grew in that vicinity.
-“well, dern my picter!” chuckled obediah tubbs. “i’d just like to come right down here and loaf through the rest of the warm weather!”
-“make yourselves at home, boys,” said mr. duncan. “everything about the place is yours as long as you stay here. use any of the canoes you wish to use.”
-there were plenty of comfortable chairs, and the boys promptly accepted the invitation to make themselves at home.
-“hey!” cried jolliby, as he discovered a set of boxing gloves hanging on the wall inside the clubhouse. “here are the articles to have fuf-fuf-fun with. come on, tubbs. i’ll just gug-gug-gug-gug-go you one.”
-“i am too tired,” said obediah, who was comfortably fanning himself in the big chair he had appropriated. “i don’t want to hit you either.”
-“dud-dud-dud-don’t you?” sneered chip, as he brought out the gloves. “you dud-dud-don’t want to hit me, hey? don’t worry about that. just juj-juj-juj-jump right up and hit me as much as you can.”
-“go away from me,” advised obediah, with an attempt at sternness. “if i ever did hit you once i’d knock a lung out of you.”
-“gug-gug-gug-get up,” cried chip immediately, as he began putting on one pair of gloves. “come right ahead and tut-tut-tut-try it.”
-the boys laughed and applauded, urging obediah to get up and show what he could do.
-in vain chip urged him, and at last, walking over to obediah, he began to tap him with the gloves.
-“get up!” cried jolliby. “if you dud-dud-don’t i’ll fuf-fuf-flatten that nose of yours all over your fuf-fuf-fuf-fuf-face!”
-“dern your picter,” squeaked obediah immediately, “if you hit me again i’ll soak you on the bugle!”
-“that’s the talk!” said earl gardner. “go for him, obediah!”
-“i jest hate to see anything like this!” said ted smart, as he forced the other pair of gloves onto tubbs. “it fills me with the utmost distress! put them on quick, obed, and sail into him. you’ll break my heart if you do it, but i think you’d better do it!”
-while tubbs was hesitating jolliby gave him a tap on the nose that brought tears into his eyes. with a wild squeal, the fat boy leaped into the air and began putting on the gloves. with difficulty he was repressed while they were tied at the wrists, and when everything was ready the two boys squared away.
-“now if you want to see science,” said the fat boy, flourishing his hands wildly, “jest you keep your optics on me. i’ll show you some kinks that will make you wink.”
-it was indeed a comical spectacle to see the tall, thin chap and the fat, rotund lad get at it. instantly at the word they made a jump at each other. jolliby shut his eyes and thrust out his long left arm. tubbs ran plumb against it and sat down heavily.
-“hold on, dern your picter!” exclaimed obed. “that ain’t fair! that ain’t no way to box! why don’t you do it right?”
-“i guess that was gug-gug-gug-good enough for you,” laughed chip, dancing around his antagonist and making some curious flourishes with his hands. “hope you ain’t going to quit as sus-soon as this.”
-having risen to his feet, tubbs began to prance round with the grace of a baby elephant. jolliby followed him up and struck at him repeatedly, but obediah managed to keep out of reach every time.
-finally the tall boy grew weary and disgusted.
-“this is no running mum-mum-mum-mum-match!” he panted, as he lowered his hands and stood glaring resentfully at obediah. “i can’t chase you all over the county.”
-“not by a juj-juj-juj-jugful!”
-“then take that!” cried the fat boy, as he delivered a swinging blow that landed in the pit of jolliby’s stomach.
-chip was doubled up like a jackknife. as he remained clasping his stomach and gasping, obediah once more danced round, waving his hands in the air and crying:
-“i guess that jarred you some!”
-“that was fuf-fuf-fuf-foul!” came quickly from jolliby.
-“didn’t nobody call time that i heard,” said obed. “i asked you if you had enough and you said you didn’t. i thought i’d give yer some more.”
-the encounter that followed convulsed every witness with laughter. both lads seemed to close their eyes whenever they got into close connection, and at least nine out of ten of their blows were wasted on the empty air. indeed, at one time they were actually back to back and still punching away with their eyes tightly closed. finally jolliby caught obediah’s head under his arm and held it thus, while he threatened to smash the fat boy with his free hand.
-“break away!” laughed dick, as he forced them apart, being compelled to drag obediah from jolliby’s clutch by main force.
-“here!” squealed the fat boy, holding out his hand to chip, “give me my ear! you raked it off! i want it!”
-“not if anybody will furnish me with a custard pie and you will wait for me to eat it. i’m hungry.”
-“you’re both pretty well used up,” said dick. “perhaps you’d better finish this after you’ve had a little rest.”
-“gentlemen!” said ted smart, rising and making a sweeping gesture toward the contestants, “i wish to call your attention to the most marvelous boxers of modern times.”
-unobserved by the boys, a tall, awkward, sandy-whiskered man and a raw-boned, muscular-looking youth had approached the clubhouse while chip and obediah were engaged. they were now standing a few feet away, and the men laughed sneeringly at smart’s words.
-“was that what you fellers call boxing?” he derisively inquired. “why, my boy, jack, here, can put on the gloves and knock the stuffing out of any of your crowd.”
-the speaker was john cole.
-the boys recognized him instantly, for cole had been on the original athletic committee at maplewood when dick and his friends arrived at that place. he had backed benton hammerswell in all hammerswell’s moves.
-jack cole was really an athlete of no mean ability. he was also a good baseball player, and had been retained on the maplewood team by hammerswell up to the time that the maplewood manager had engaged a new team throughout.
-“i tell yer,” said john cole, looking the boys over and letting his eyes rest on dick merriwell, “when jack and i heerd you fellers had come down here, we jest decided to walk over and see yer. mebbe you remember the fu’st day you came into maplewood?”
-“yes, we remember it very well,” replied dick.
-“do yer? i’m glad yer do! mebbe you remember that there was a baseball game started and that it ended in a row?”
-“yes; we remember that.”
-“do yer? well, i am glad yer do! my boy pitched in that game, and he was in the fight. he got hurt in that fight and had a black eye for a week afterward.”
-“too bad!” said ted smart. “i am so sorry for poor jack! did he really have a black eye? it’s a shame he didn’t have two black eyes.”
-“now, don’t you try ter git funny with me, you little runt!” snapped john cole. “jack ain’t looking fer no trouble with you. you ain’t wurth noticing.”
-“thanks for the compliment,” said ted.
-“there’s one feller here,” pursued cole, thrusting his fingers into his sandy beard and scratching his chin, “that my boy, jack, says he’d like to have a little settlement with.”
-“i opine i’m the party,” said buckhart, rising.
-“no, you ain’t,” denied cole. “that’s the feller right there.”
-he pointed straight at dick.
-“he’s the feller!” palpitated cole. “you’ve got the boxing gloves right here. now, jest let him put them on with my boy, and i’ll bet ten cents that jack will knock the stuffing out of him inside of two minutes.”
-“that’s right, dad,” said jack. “if he ain’t afraid of me he’ll put ’em on.”
-“step right up,” invited dick. “i can’t refuse to accept such a challenge, even if you knock me out in less than one minute. i’ll have to put the gloves on with you.”
-the boxing bout.
-in maplewood jack cole had a reputation as a fighter. in fact, the village boys regarded him as a wonder. at one time he had whipped three of them in a square fight, and it was said that nothing ever hurt him. he seemed to be able to stand punishment without feeling it.
-although old john cole was a man of some means, he was ignorant and extremely offensive in his ways. old john believed his son a wonder. it was his conviction that no one of jack’s age could get the best of him.
-this being the case, the old man had fretted and fumed over the result of his son’s early encounter with the merriwell crowd in maplewood. the fact that jack had come from that encounter with a beautiful black eye, and that neither dick nor any of his friends had shown visible marks of the conflict, was quite enough to cause the boy’s father to long for a time when his son could obtain revenge. he had repeatedly said that some day jack would “take the starch out of that merriwell feller.”
-the man looked grimly confident as jack donned the gloves.
-“sail right in, boy,” he said in a low tone, as he fastened the gloves on young cole’s hands. “jest knock him silly. if you ever land good and fair with your left, he’ll know something has struck him, you bate!”
-jack was full of confidence as he stepped out to face dick. he put up his hands after his own fashion, yet the guard was not a bad one.
-“they’re off!” cried ted smart. “will some one please lend me a handkerchief to dry my tears!”
-at first dick worked cautiously, with the object of finding out just how skillful his antagonist really was. he came forward lightly, feinted, moved swiftly to the right, and thus circled round young cole.
-cole was quick enough in his movements; but kept his face toward dick and gave no good opening for a blow. at the same time he followed young merriwell up in a deliberate manner, evidently watching for an opening himself.
-“don’t fool with him, jack!” cried old john. “jest pitch right in and soak him hard!”
-“yes; pitch right in, jack!” urged ted smart. “i’d love to see you soak him hard! it would do me no end of good to see you soak him hard! please soak him hard!”
-“dern his picter! he’ll get all that’s coming to him when he tries it!” declared obediah tubbs. “he’ll find dick ain’t no easy mark same as jolliby is.”
-“who’s an easy mum-mum-mum-mark?” exclaimed jolliby hotly. “you didn’t fuf-fuf-fuf-find it so easy.”
-“shut up, both of you!” growled big bob singleton. “you’ve played your part as clowns; now watch the heavy men.”
-after a few moments cole began to press dick harder and harder. the fact that young merriwell continued to avoid him by swift footwork convinced jack that his antagonist was afraid.
-“why don’t yer stand up and spar right?” he demanded, at last. “be you trying to wind me? is that your game? well, i guess i can stand it as long as you can. i’ll git at yer before i’m done.”
-“that’s the talk, my boy!” cried old john. “when you do git at him jest let him know it.”
-“oh, he’ll know it, all right,” grinned the maplewood boy.
-then, to his surprise, dick suddenly came in on him, feinted with his right, jabbed quick with his left, and got away.
-the blow had landed on cole’s chin, knocking his teeth together and setting his head back.
-“too bad! too bad!” sobbed smart. “i hate to see it!”
-“don’t let him hit yer that way!” shouted old john, in angered astonishment.
-“he done it when i wasn’t watching,” asserted jack. “he can’t do it again.”
-barely had he made this statement when dick once more sprang forward, dodged to one side, ducked and avoided cole’s blow, ending by smashing the maplewood lad full and hard in the short ribs. he was away like a flash, and had not been touched.
-now jack cole was aroused in earnest. he followed merriwell up and struck two or three blows, which would have been decidedly effective had they landed. they were either dodged or parried by dick.
-“if he ever plants one of them it’ll be all over,” asserted the boy’s father.
-when cole retreated he found dick after him. there was an exchange of blows at short range, and merriwell hit his antagonist at least three times. as he got away, cole tapped him lightly on the cheek.
-although merriwell’s dark eyes were flashing, there was a smile on his lips.
-“why don’t you corner him, jack?” shouted the old man, as he clawed at his whiskers. “git him inter a corner and then thump him.”
-henry duncan, together with some of the club members, watched the encounter. they knew cole’s reputation in maplewood, and duncan feared at the outset that he would prove too much for merriwell.
-“he’s a strapping, raw-boned fellow,” said duncan. “if he ever lands a fair swing on merriwell i’m afraid that will end the whole business.”
-“i understand that cole encourages his son in his fighting inclinations,” said william drake.
-“quite true! quite true!” nodded eustace smiley. “it’s reported around maplewood that jack cole aspires to become a pugilist. he thinks he can make a record in the ring when he gets old enough.”
-“i am almost sorry we permitted this,” said duncan in a low tone. “when i told the boys to make themselves at home i hardly fancied anything like this would occur. an ordinary boxing bout is harmless enough, but this seems to be an encounter for blood.”
-“two to one,” remarked drake, “this is hammerswell’s work. it’s my idea he put the cole boy up to it, with the notion that merriwell might be knocked out and injured so that he would be unable to do his best in the ball game to-day.”
-brad buckhart heard some of this talk, and at once he stepped over to the men.
-“don’t you worry any at all about my pard,” he said. “he’s just fooling with that chap now. he hasn’t tried to hit him yet. dick has touched him a few times just to get him started.”
-“there he goes!” again palpitated smiley. “my gracious! that boy’s quick as a cat on his feet!”
-again dick had closed in on cole, struck him several light blows, and escaped without a return.
-“he doesn’t seem to have much force in his blows,” observed william drake. “apparently he can hit cole almost at will, but he can’t hurt him.”
-“wait some,” advised brad. “he hasn’t made up his mind to do any damage yet. he’s enjoying this little racket a whole lot.”
-“but while he fools with cole,” said duncan, “he is exposing himself to a blow that might put him out. those are hard gloves, and a good jolt with them will count almost as much as a blow with the bare fist.”
-buckhart remained undisturbed and confident, repeating his assurance that dick could take care of himself. at length cole became exasperated at dick’s success in closing with him and getting away without harm.
-“now you’re doing it, jack!” shouted his father, as the maplewood boy followed merriwell up with a rush and succeeded in landing a spent blow. “keep him going, son, keep him going!”
-of a sudden young merriwell stopped and met his antagonist as the fellow came on. parrying two blows, dick struck once with a swinging upward movement that actually lifted cole off his feet and dropped him to the floor.
-old john gave a gasp of astonishment. with the exception of smart, dick’s friends laughed. ted pretended to shed tears.
-jack cole came up with a spring, and lost no time in getting at it again.
-and now henry duncan noted that, although cole was breathing quite heavily, merriwell seemed perfectly fresh and unwinded.
-“your friend has the staying power,” he remarked to brad.
-the texan smiled.
-“you bet your boots!” he nodded. “that’s the way he wins out. he never quits.”
-by this time old john cole was greatly excited. he pranced this way and that, calling to his son and urging him on.
-“never touched yer, boy!” he shouted. “he can’t jar you that way!”
-faster and more furious became the encounter. cole swung repeatedly with his left, trying to get in a telling blow. once he brushed dick’s cheek, and once he landed on merriwell’s chest. in return he was hit repeatedly, but did not seem to mind it.
-“i will git yer before i’m done!” he hissed. “i’ll put yer out of business!”
-dick saw vindictiveness in his opponent’s eyes, and detected hatred in the intonation of cole’s voice.
-up to this point merriwell had shown his skill as a boxer, without attempting to do his enemy any serious injury. he now saw that cole would not recognize the fact that he was outpointed unless compelled to do so by a fair knock-out.
-dick now played for jack’s wind, and several times he landed hard on the pit of his stomach.
-enraged by his failure to get in an effective blow, cole grappled and sought to throw merriwell. in a moment his feet were snapped into the air, and he was lifted and tossed across dick’s hip, being sent sprawling fifteen feet away.
-“if he tries to turn this into a wrestling match, my pard will certain show him some tricks at that,” laughed buckhart.
-with his eyes glaring and his teeth set, jack cole scrambled up and dashed at merriwell.
-dick sidestepped and struck a blow that stopped the other lad in his tracks.
-“give him the grand coup, partner!” exclaimed buckhart. “you can do it.”
-indeed, dick might have finished the encounter then and there, for cole had dropped his hands and was quite unguarded. merriwell did make a move to deliver the blow, but restrained himself.
-“perhaps he’s going to call it off,” he said.
-“not by a jugful!” roared old john. “git ter going there, jack!”
-seeming to recover in a moment, cole accepted this advice, and again pitched into dick.
-during the next few moments the boxing was so swift that the eye followed the blows with difficulty. once dick was struck, but he recovered quickly, and a moment later delivered a blow that started the blood from his opponent’s nose.
-cole did not mind a little blood. in fact, it seemed to make a fury of him, and he launched himself at dick, striking right and left with sledge-hammer force.
-“we ought to stop it, gentlemen—we ought to stop it!” palpitated eustace smiley.
-“it will be all over in a minute,” declared buckhart. “don’t worry about it.”
-he was right, for dick found his opening and gave cole a solar-plexus blow that again stopped the fellow short. then merriwell swung on jack’s jaw and the boy went “down and out.”
-old john could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes. as he stooped over his son, he continued urging him to get up and resume the fighting.
-jack tried to rise, but his strength was gone, and everything seemed to swing about him.
-“git up, boy—git up!” snarled old john. “you can do him yit!”
-then he dropped back and lay sprawled out on the floor.
-an impromptu canoe race.
-water was dashed into cole’s face, and he was given a swallow or two. it was some minutes before he could sit on a chair without threatening to pitch off to the floor.
-when he could sit up he looked around for dick.
-merriwell was there, and, as he stepped forward, he said:
-“i hope you’re not badly hurt, cole. i didn’t mean to wind it up this way, but you forced me. i had to.”
-“that’s all right,” said cole in a low tone. “it’s not wound up yet!”
-“whatever does he want, pard?” exclaimed buckhart. “is he piggish enough to be itching for any more?”
-“i hope not,” said dick. “he ought to be satisfied.”
-“i ain’t satisfied!” grated jack. “i never had nobody do me up before, and i won’t forget this!”
-“it’s an outrage!” declared old john, flourishing his fists in the air and glaring around. “i say it’s an outrage, henry duncan!”
-“you brought it on your son, sir,” said duncan coldly. “you came here and forced the encounter. merriwell was considerate with your son until he saw it was jack’s purpose to do him injury.”
-“he couldn’t do up my boy again in a year!” snapped the old man. “it was jest an accident, anyhow!”
-“you mulish old ignoramus!” exclaimed duncan, in exasperation he could not repress. “only for you at the outset we would have retained these boys here as the maplewood baseball team. you joined hammerswell and backed him up when he refused to accept them. he used you as his tool. are you satisfied with the result? when he became tired of your boy he kicked him off the maplewood team. you’re a particularly offensive nuisance, john cole. this clubhouse is on private grounds, and hereafter i wish you and your son to keep away from it. we don’t want you here. perhaps that’s plain enough for you to understand.”
-“oh, yes, it’s plain enough!” snarled old john. “i understand all about you, duncan! you think you’re mighty fine and aristocratic because you happened to get in with the summer folk who come here. you think you’re a lot better than us people who belong here.”
-“that will do!” said duncan. “i think your son is able to use his feet now. take him and walk.”
-although old john seized jack by the arm and they started away, he continued to splutter and snarl until he was quite out of hearing.
-“i congratulate you, my boy,” said mr. duncan, as he placed his hand on dick’s shoulder. “i confess i feared that strapping chap would be too much for you. you demonstrated that you knew more than he about the science of boxing, but until near the finish i didn’t fancy you could put him out. your forbearance is creditable.”
-“i thought he might quit,” said dick.
-the boys spent the rest of the afternoon lazing about on the veranda of the clubhouse or swimming in the lake. near midday one of the rooms of the clubhouse was closed and the boys heard the rattling of crockery within that room.
-this interested tubbs at once, and he immediately pricked up his ears, while a look of expectancy came to his face.
-“something doing in there,” he piped. “seems ter me i smell pie.”
-within thirty minutes mr. duncan appeared on the veranda and invited the boys to come in.
-the room had again been thrown open, and the sight they beheld caused them to gasp in astonishment. a long table was covered with a snowy cloth. this table was daintily set, and the display of food upon it made their mouths water.
-but by far the most agreeable spectacle was presented by six young girls in white, three on one side of the table and three on the other, who evidently were there to act as waitresses.
-brad buckhart stopped short and caught his breath.
-“oh, say,” he muttered, “i can’t do it! i certain can’t plant myself there with them to wait on us. they are the real swell articles, and i sure feel more like making a choice and inviting one to dine with me some.”
-the astonishment the boys could not conceal caused the girls to smile a little.
-“sit right down, boys,” laughed henry duncan. “this is not the maple heights hotel, but i fancy you will find enough here to satisfy you.”
-“to satisfy us!” said obediah tubbs, in his piping voice, which he tried to repress. “well, if anybody in this crowd isn’t satisfied with what there’s here, he ought to go drown himself, by jim!”
-“sus-sus-sus-sus-shut up!” whispered jolliby. “don’t make a fool of yourself!”
-“he couldn’t do that,” said smart. “nature got ahead of him on that job.”
-it was a jolly meal. the boys enjoyed themselves thoroughly, especially tubbs, whose liking for pie was known by the pretty girl who waited on him. she had pie of all kinds for obediah, and he sampled every variety placed before him.
-“i bet i’ll play the best game i ever played in my life this afternoon,” he chuckled.
-when the meal was finished dick made a little speech of thanks, addressed to the girls, to henry duncan, and to the maplewood canoe club.
-“for some time,” answered mr. duncan, “it has been my desire to show you in some manner that there are those in maplewood who sincerely regret what took place here on your first arrival in the town. we wished to show our friendly feeling toward you and your companions of the fairhaven baseball team. baseball properly played is a clean, manly, wholesome sport. i am sorry to say that baseball as conducted by one or two teams in this league has been anything but clean, manly, and wholesome. it was my conviction from the first that fairhaven had a team to be proud of, both as gentlemen and as ball players. never yet, on the ball field or elsewhere, have i heard anything from a fairhaven player that could offend the most sensitive and particular person. i wish to add that, with the single exception of benton hammerswell, the original maplewood baseball association regrets exceedingly that you were not all retained in maplewood to represent this town in the league. you have made a gallant struggle against seemingly overwhelming odds, and should you succeed in winning the pennant for fairhaven, be sure that many persons in maplewood will feel intensely satisfied over such a result.”
-he was heartily applauded, and again dick uttered a few words of thanks.
-the pretty waitresses smiled on the boys as they filed out of the room, and then the sliding door closed once more.
-after dinner some of the boys tried the canoes. brad was anxious to try one, and induced dick to accompany him. they were given the use of henry duncan’s own canoe, and in this they sped away over the smooth surface of the lake.
-in the bottom of the canoe lay a coil of small rope, which buckhart observed, wondering for what purpose it was generally used.
-“talk about flying!” laughed the texan. “this is the next thing to it. i say, pard, did you hear them say anything about a fine echo that can be heard at the upper end of this lake? they say the hills yonder fling back the sounds and make them wonderfully distinct. let’s paddle over there and give the echo a try-out. what do you say?”
-dick readily agreed, and they headed toward the precipitous hills near the head of the lake. as they approached the locality for which they were heading, they passed close to a small and heavily wooded island.
-suddenly dick ducked involuntarily, for over his head he heard the hum of a bullet almost simultaneously with the crack of a rifle somewhere on the island.
-“that was a little too close!” he exclaimed. “somebody is decidedly careless!”
-buckhart blazed his indignation.
-“i should say so!” he exclaimed. “it must have been a right close call, partner.”
-“don’t think he missed me by more than a foot, at most,” said dick.
-brad had paused with his paddle uplifted. a strange expression settled on his rugged face.
-“look here, dick,” he said, in a low tone, “i don’t more than half reckon that was accidental.”
-“what do you mean?”
-“somehow i fancy a whole lot that the bullet was intended for you.”
-“impossible!” exclaimed dick.
-“all the same, i’ve got it into my head that way. i say, partner, let’s land on that island and see who did the shooting.”
-immediately dick dipped his paddle into the water and headed the canoe toward the island.
-barely had they taken a stroke or two, before merriwell saw another canoe move out from the opposite side of the island and swiftly glide away. there were two persons in it, and both were plying paddles.
-“there they go, buckhart!” said dick. “one of them fired that shot.”
-“hike up, partner!” exclaimed the texan. “let’s get after the galoots good and lively.”
-without delay the pursuit began. the occupants of the strange canoe glanced back and saw they were followed. immediately they bent to their work, and this aroused both brad and dick.
-“they are a heap anxious to get away, pard,” breathed the texan. “that looks a whole lot guilty.”
-“do you know them?” asked dick.
-“haven’t taken a square squint at them yet.”
-“it’s jack cole in the stern,” merriwell declared.
-“that varmint!” grated brad. “then it’s a plenty lucky the bullet missed you at all.”
-“i don’t like to think jack cole would deliberately do a thing like that,” said dick.
-“i judge i know the other gentleman,” suddenly declared brad. “if that bullet had come my way i’d bet all my loose collateral he fired at me.”
-dick’s keen eyes surveyed cole’s companion in the canoe.
-“brad,” he said, “i believe that’s tom fernald.”
-“hit him first crack out of the box,” said the texan.
-“they’ll deny they fired at all.”
-“that’s what they will. it’s up to us to run them down and take a look into their canoe. if they have a gun with them, then they can do some explaining. bend to it, partner. we’re gaining.”
-both canoes were merrily flying now. cole and his companion were doing their best, but fernald’s skill with the paddle was not equal to that of the boy. sometimes he missed a stroke and cole was heard speaking sharply to him.
-the excitement of the race took hold of brad and dick. with the steadiness of clockwork they swung their paddles and bent to the task.
-dip and lift! dip and lift!
-on either side the smooth water seemed flying backward, while the canoe raised a slight ripple and left a broadening wake behind it.
-“we’ve got them, brad!” laughed dick exultantly.
-the faces of the boys were flushed and their eyes gleaming. they felt the breeze rush past their ears.
-before long fernald began to show signs of weariness. once more cole was heard speaking to him, and this time it was plain the boy urged him to keep at it and do his best.
-“wait some,” invited buckhart. “we want to chat with you a little.”
-“you go to thunder!” cried cole, once more glancing back.
-still the pursuers continued. fernald seemed inclined to give up, but cole would not quit.
-foot by foot the canoe in the rear drew nearer to the one in advance. the distance that separated them was cut down swiftly, and brad muttered:
-“we’ll be on top of them in less than two minutes.”
-not more than ten feet lay between the canoes when buckhart, giving an unusually heavy surge at the paddle, met with an accident.
-the handle of the paddle snapped short off.
-the texan uttered an exclamation of dismay.
-glancing back, cole saw what had happened, and again urged fernald to exert himself.
-“now wouldn’t that bump you some!” exclaimed brad. “in four seconds more i could have placed my hand on his neck.”
-dick had not ceased paddling. instead of that, he seemed to put more force into his strokes, if such a thing were possible.
-although both fernald and cole pulled away as hard as they could, the distance between the boats increased with astonishing slowness. plainly merriwell was nearly equal to the task of keeping up alone.
-suddenly an idea occurred to buckhart. he turned his body and reached backward for the coil of rope behind him.
-“keep it up, partner!” he palpitated. “just hold her as she is a minute.”
-then the texan made a running noose in one end of the rope. he did this with the skill acquired from cowboy instructors on his father’s ranch. having accomplished his object, the texan ran off some of the rope into loops, which he held in his left hand.
-“she may not work, dick,” he said. “all the same, we’ll give her a try.”
-then, as he knelt in the canoe, he swung the loop of the rope once or twice round his head and sent it writhing through the air.
-the cast was made with all the cleverness of a mexican lariat thrower. the noose fell over cole’s head and shoulders, and buckhart quickly drew it taut, pinning jack’s arms to his sides.
-had cole been aware of brad’s purpose, he might have flung the noose off by quickly lifting his arms. not being aware of it, he was taken by surprise and found himself unable to ply the paddle. not only that, but the forward motion of his canoe was checked and a steady pull by the texan drew the other canoe nearer.
-in his excitement cole made an effort to cast aside the noose. in doing this he partly rose to his feet, and a moment later the canoe shot out from beneath him, sending him with a loud splash into the water.
-it happened at that very moment that buckhart had relaxed his grip on the rope slightly as he moved forward toward the prow of the canoe, with the intention of grasping the one in advance. as cole went down, the rope was snapped from buckhart’s fingers.
-although cole had thus been projected into the lake, the canoe from which he plunged did not upset. it seemed to dart from beneath him.
-fernald turned a somewhat agitated face to look round and was amazed to find himself alone in the canoe. in a moment, nevertheless, he realized that his late companion had fallen overboard. he also saw that attention had been turned from him to cole.
-immediately the man retreated toward the middle of the canoe in order to balance it evenly, and then, without offering to aid in the rescue of jack cole, he paddled hurriedly away.
-“hold on, fernald!” cried dick. “wait and help your friend! don’t play the coward!”
-the man made no retort, but continued to pull away.
-cole rose to the surface and attempted to swim. to his horror, he found he was entangled in the rope in such a manner that he could not take a stroke.
-with a gurgling cry, he again disappeared from view.
-dick merriwell wasted no time. slipping off his shoes and speaking a word of warning to brad in order that the texan might not be taken by surprise and upset, he plunged from the canoe into the lake, thus promptly going to the assistance of his enemy.
-cole’s change of heart.
-when cole again came to the surface merriwell was near enough to make a quick, forward lunge and seized him. fortunate indeed was this for the fellow entangled in the rope, as he could make no effective efforts to keep himself afloat, and his struggle to free his limbs was sufficient to cause him to sink again only for dick’s promptness in reaching him.
-fortunately for the would-be rescuer, cole’s hands were bound to his sides by the rope which had become wound about him, and, therefore, he could not clutch merriwell.
-nevertheless, he struggled to free himself, at the same time choking and strangling as dick sought to keep his mouth and nose above the surface.
-“be still!” ordered dick. “are you anxious to drown? if you keep still we’ll get you out all right.”
-at first the helpless fellow did not seem to hear, but after a while merriwell succeeded in impressing upon him the idea that he was hindering his own rescue by his efforts, and when cole gave up struggling dick found it no great task to keep him afloat.
-by this time buckhart had brought the canoe round close to them and cautiously reached over to grasp cole by the shoulder.
-“don’t let him catch hold and upset me, dick,” warned the texan. “he’s liable to do it.”
-“not now,” answered merriwell. “not until he can use his hands.”
-by the time dick freed cole from the rope, which he finally succeeded in doing, both he and brad had impressed it upon the fellow that it would be fatal to catch hold of the side of the canoe. they induced him to wait until the stern of the canvas craft was swung round to him, and then, directed by dick, he got hold of it.
-“paddle toward the shore, buckhart!” cried merriwell. “you will have to tow him into shallow water.”
-“why can’t i git into the canoe?” asked cole. “i’m afraid i’ll let go and sink.”
-“if you attempted to get into that canoe you’d upset it, and then you would have a chance to sink or swim,” answered dick. “if you keep the hold you have we’ll get you close to shore so that you can wade out.”
-“what are you going to do?”
-“i am going to stay with you,” assured dick. “don’t be afraid of that. i’ll not try to get into that canoe.”
-“could you do it without upsetting it?”
-“then why can’t i?”
-“you don’t know the trick.”
-“is it a trick?”
-“certainly it is. not one man in a hundred who uses a canoe can do it.”
-in spite of his peril cole’s curiosity seemed to be aroused, and he asked:
-“how did you know the trick?”
-“it was taught me by an indian,” answered merriwell.
-in the meantime buckhart was carefully and slowly paddling toward the near shore. as has been stated, this shore was very rocky, and when the prow of the canoe softly touched these rocks neither cole nor dick could reach bottom with his feet and still keep his head above the surface.
-“jingoes!” exclaimed merriwell, “it must fall off almost perpendicular from the water’s edge here; but we’re close to the shore, and you can swim that far, cole.”
-“i don’t know,” answered jack doubtingly. “i’m afraid i can’t do it now. my clothes are heavy as lead, and i can’t swim much, anyhow.”
-“i opine it’s a whole lot lucky for you that my pard went into the drink to give you a hand,” said the texan. “just hang on and i’ll swing the prow round close to the rocks.”
-this he finally did, and not until jack cole could almost touch the rocks did his feet reach bottom. even then the bank seemed so precipitous that he was afraid to let go his hold on the canoe, and only with the assistance of dick did he finally succeed in dragging himself out.
-merriwell followed him.
-“there you are,” he said. “you had a pretty good bath, and you’re fortunate to get out of it so well.”
-for the first time cole seemed to think of his late companion.
-“where’s fernald?” he asked.
-“echo answers, ‘where?’” said dick.
-“what became of him?”
-“you mean that he left me to drown?”
-“he didn’t linger long after you went overboard.”
-slowly a look of anger came to jack cole’s plain face.
-“so that’s the kind of a man he is!” exclaimed the maplewood boy savagely. “left me to drown when i was all tangled up in that rope, did he? well, he’ll hear from me!”
-“in the future,” suggested buckhart, “i should advise you to be some particular in the choice of your side partners.”
-“who fired that shot from the island?” demanded dick.
-“what shot?” asked jack, in apparent surprise.
-“don’t you know anything about it?”
-“not a thing.”
-“pitch him into the drink again, partner, if he doesn’t own up!” cried the texan, in exasperation.
-cole scrambled back from the edge of the water quickly, snarling:
-“don’t you try it! don’t you touch me!”
-“don’t worry,” retorted dick. “if you haven’t learned your lesson by this time you never will. you’d better own up about the shooting.”
-“don’t know nothing about no shooting,” sullenly persisted the maplewood boy.
-“didn’t you hear the shot?”
-“now you know he’s lying, dick!” cried buckhart. “of course he heard it! i reckon he fired it himself!”
-“that’s a lie!” shouted jack excitedly. “if any one says such a thing about me he lies!”
-“it was fired from that island,” said merriwell, “and the bullet came pretty near me, too. weren’t you on the island with fernald?”
-“but we saw you leaving it.”
-“never,” denied cole. “we just paddled past the island and saw you coming after us.”
-“what made you try to get away?”
-jack hesitated, and seemed to find it difficult to answer. after a time he muttered:
-“that’s none of your business! perhaps we wanted to see if you could ketch us.”
-“well, i certain judge you found out,” said buckhart.
-“you came near drowning me!” grated cole. “if that had happened you’d been to blame.”
-“you ought to be some ashamed to talk that fashion,” said the texan; “but i don’t opine there’s anything like shame in you. come on, dick, we’ll go back and make out a complaint against him. we’ll have him arrested for firing that shot.”
-“go ahead,” sneered cole. “that’s all the good it’ll do you.”
-deciding it was useless to waste further words on the fellow, dick stepped into the canoe as buckhart again swung the prow close to the shore.
-“you’ll have time to think it over while you’re walking round the shore to maplewood,” said merriwell. “remember that tom fernald deserted you and left you to drown.”
-“and don’t forget,” suggested buckhart, “that dick merriwell jumped in and pulled you out some.”
-the texan then swung the canoe round and began paddling away.
-cole remained watching them some minutes, but finally turned and plodded off, soon disappearing from view.
-returning to the clubhouse, the boys told of their adventure, arousing the indignation of the listeners.
-“it was sheer carelessness for any one to be shooting in such a manner,” said william drake.
-“it was a whole lot more than carelessness,” averred buckhart. “i opine one of us was the target aimed at.”
-“impossible!” exclaimed drake. “i can’t believe such a thing. no, no, my boy; you must be mistaken. no one round here would do such a thing.”
-“i’m not disputing with you, sir,” retorted the texan; “but i presume you will let me hold my own opinion on that point.”
-as the only change of clothing he had with him was a baseball suit, dick soon got into that, while his wet garments were hung out to dry.
-less than an hour after the adventure on the lake the boys were surprised at the appearance of jack cole at the clubhouse. cole’s clothing still hung wet upon his limbs, and it seemed evident that he had come at once to the clubhouse after tramping round the shore of the lake.
-“i’d like to speak with you, dick merriwell,” he said.
-“all right,” said dick, rising at once and approaching cole. “here i am. go ahead.”
-“won’t you jest step out here alone with me?” invited jack. “i’d rather talk to you where there won’t nobody hear us.”
-“keep your eyes open, pard,” warned the texan.
-“don’t worry,” said dick, and he followed cole, who walked away a short distance into the little grove.
-the maplewood boy seemed hesitating and downcast as he again turned to face merriwell.
-“i’ve been thinking about that business over t’other side of the lake,” he said. “the more i thought about it the sorer i got. i ain’t seen tom fernald sence. when i do he’ll hear from me, and don’t you forgit it! i’ll tell him something he won’t like. i’ve been thinking that it was up to me to thank you for jumping in and keeping me from drowning.”
-dick was surprised, for gratitude from cole had been the last thing expected by him.
-“i couldn’t leave you to drown after you were thrown into the water in that manner,” he said.
-“i guess you’re not the kind of a feller to go off and leave anybody in such a situation. i’ve been thinking about you, too, while i was walking round here. you know i took a dislike to you the fust time i saw you. i thought your brother was coming here with a baseball team, and i was down on him even before i saw him. that was ’cause i wanted to play myself and i s’posed i wouldn’t have no chance. then when we challenged your fellers to play and you batted me out of the box it made me roaring ugly. right on top of that we sailed into you, and you got the best of the fight, which didn’t make me feel no better toward you. i kept saying i’d git even somehow, and i hoped i’d be able to do it while i was playing on the team here, but the chance never came round. then when hammerswell got his new team, he dropped me along with the others.”
-“what are you driving at?” asked dick. “i hope you didn’t fire that shot from the island, cole.”
-“no, i didn’t!” cried the maplewood boy quickly. “i’m going to tell you the truth about that. it was fernald who done it. he had a pistol. it wasn’t no gun he used. i didn’t know why he wanted to land on the island when he saw you coming over that way, but we landed and he watched until you was close. fust thing i knew i see him pull out a pistol and cock it. even then i didn’t s’pose he was goin’ ter shoot at nobody, but in a minute he lifted it, and i came near spitting my heart right out, for i saw he was pointing it at one of you fellers in the canoe. jest as he shot i gave his arm a poke and that spoiled his aim. he was mad, too, i tell yer. when i asked him what he was trying ter do he said he could tell anybody it was an accident—that we was jest firing at a mark on the island. i was all-fired skat, and i wanted to git away. we hustled into our canoe, and you know the rest. i don’t think he tried to shoot at you. it seemed to me that he was firing at the other feller. mebbe the bullet went nearer you because i poked his arm.”
-“look here, cole,” said dick earnestly, “are you ready to swear to this in court?”
-the maplewood boy betrayed evident alarm.
-“no, no!” he exclaimed. “i won’t do that! why, fernald would lay it up agin’ me, and i’d git soaked for it sometime.”
-“but if you were compelled to tell the story in court you wouldn’t perjure yourself?”
-“i don’t know for sure that he really tried to shoot at either one of you,” said cole, a crafty look coming into his eyes. “if i had to tell anything in court i’d say i didn’t know jest what he was tryin’ to shoot at; but i saw you out there and knew the bullet was going to come pretty near you, and so i poked his arm. if he said he was firing at a mark or a bird i couldn’t deny it.”
-dick saw at once that any attempt to use cole as a witness against fernald would fail.
-“i ain’t going to be your enemy no more,” declared jack. “i decided on that while i was walking round the shore. if i can help you somehow i’ll do it, too; but i won’t go into court and git into no trouble that way.”
-“i suppose you know that the trolley car that was bringing us to maplewood this afternoon jumped the track, and that the rails had been loosened and spread by some one?” questioned dick.
-“i heerd about it,” nodded cole.
-“when did you hear—in advance, or after it occurred?”
-“i ain’t going to say nothing about that, either,” declared the maplewood lad, with a show of uneasiness. “i know lots of things i won’t say nothing about.”
-although dick questioned him in the cleverest manner, cole persisted in his determination to remain silent on the subject of the trolley-car affair.
-“but i want to tell you something that may help you some,” said jack. “i want you to know it so you’ll be prepared for what you’re goin’ against this afternoon. hammerswell means to beat you somehow, and he’s made plans to do it. he’ll have a tough crowd on hand to rattle you and bulldoze you. he’s got all the fellers around him to come to help him, and paid ’em, too. then he sent for fernald, and fernald picked up a still tougher gang in rockford. they’ll all be here in a bunch, and you want to look out for a lot of trouble. i promised to help them, but i won’t do it now. no, sir! instead of helping them, i’m goin’ to holler for you. if i can do anything more than holler i’ll do it, you bet! but i’m afraid you’re goin’ ter lose the game. i’d like to see you win it now, but i don’t believe you can.”
-“well,” said dick, “i’m obliged for this warning, at least. if we get a fair deal on the field, the crowd may hoot and yell as much as it likes. i don’t believe it can rattle the boys very much. we’ll be ready for hoodlumism, and the chances are that sort of business will simply serve to make the boys play harder.”
-“i hope so, blamed if i don’t!” nodded cole. “now i guess i’ll go home and change my clothes. i wish i was goin’ ter play this afternoon, but i’m glad i ain’t going ter play agin’ you.”
-a sudden idea came to dick.
-“are you in earnest about wishing to play?” he asked. “do you really want us to win?”
-“then put on your suit and come to the field. i’ve seen you pitch, and, with a catcher who knows his business under the bat, i am sure you can do a good turn. i pitched a hard game yesterday and another the day before that. bold has rheumatism in the shoulder of his pitching arm, and he’s afraid he’ll not last through the game to-day. this climate with its fog has knocked his arm out. i shall start the game with bold in the box. if he is batted hard some one will have to take his place. i don’t wish to use my own arm up, and it’s possible i might give you a chance to hand the ball up a few innings in case you were on our bench.”
-the eyes of jack cole actually gleamed. a strange look of eagerness came to his plain face.
-“you don’t mean it?” he cried. “you wouldn’t really and truly use me to pitch for you? why, i’ve thought a hundred times that if i could pitch just one game with your fellers behind me i’d show some of the folks round here what i could do. i never dreamed i’d have the chance.”
-“i’m not promising you the chance to-day,” said dick. “i am simply promising to try you a few innings in case you’re absolutely needed; but i wish you to understand that you must say nothing of this to anybody. you’re not to let a soul know you may play with us until you reach the field and sit on our bench. i don’t want any one to get after you and make any talk to you.”
-“i will keep mum,” promised cole, “and i’ll be there, mr. merriwell. you can depend on me, you bet!”
-saying which, he hastened away.
-tricks come thick.
-never before had such a roaring crowd assembled on the maplewood ball field. special cars came rolling into town, loaded down with men and boys, who sprang off and went marching away toward the field. they were loud and boisterous in manner, and many of them announced repeatedly that they were there to see the home team win. that a great number of them were toughs could be seen at a glance.
-when the game began, however, not all the spectators assembled on the field were of this tough class. the summer visitors of maplewood were on hand in an unusually large body, and even while practice was going on some of them complained to benton hammerswell that the language of the roughs present was offensive. they asked the maplewood manager if he could not do something to keep these offensive persons quiet.
-“i am afraid it’s impossible,” he answered. “i didn’t expect such a crowd to-day or i would have had officers present. i am sorry if they are offensive in their conduct or talk, but i can’t repress them without assistance.”
-in his heart he had no desire to repress them. jack cole had not spoken a falsehood when he told dick that through hammerswell the toughs had been gathered up and brought to the field.
-no one seemed to observe cole until he was noticed batting the ball while the fairhaven team was practicing. then there were numerous expressions of surprise over the fact that jack was in a playing suit.
-hammerswell observed him and walked swiftly over to the home team’s bench, on which sat chester arlington.
-“what’s that fellow, cole, doing here?” inquired the maplewood manager.
-“you tell me,” said chester sourly. “i don’t know.”
-“he has a suit on.”
-“my eyes are all right. i see he has.”
-“what’s the matter with you? you’re crusty.”
-“it’s my turn to pitch to-day,” said chester. “are you going to put me in?”
-“sit still,” retorted hammerswell. “we have to win this game to-day, and i’m taking no chances. raymer is the best pitcher in this league, and he goes into the box.”
-instantly chester rose, savagely flinging down the ball he had been holding while sitting.
-“then i’m done!” he snarled. “this ends it for me! i quit you now, hammerswell, and i hope your old team is wiped off the map!”
-“hold on!” commanded the manager sharply. “you’ve been paid in advance. you’ve received your salary for another week.”
-“oh, forget it!” sneered arlington. “that’s all right! i’ll keep it!”
-benton exposed his teeth beneath his small, dark mustache.
-“you will cough it up if you quit,” he asserted.
-arlington faced him unhesitatingly.
-“don’t dream such a thing for a minute!” he snarled. “i’ll cough up nothing. instead of that, i may ask you to cough up a little. i know about some of the tricks arranged for this game. i know where certain balls are hidden in the outfield. do you want me to talk?”
-“you’d better keep still,” answered hammerswell, in a whisper.
-chet snapped his fingers.
-“all right. then don’t talk to me about returning any money you’ve given me. i’m going up to the hotel to get into my other clothes. i will leave this suit outside your door, as i won’t want it any more this year.”
-without another word, he turned his back on hammerswell and walked away.
-just before the game began dick called his players around him and many of the spectators observed with surprise that jack cole was one of them. with dick in their midst, they pressed close, getting their heads together and listening to him.
-“boys,” said merriwell, glancing from one to another, with his calm, dark eyes, “this is going to be a fierce old fight to-day. over there by first base you can see a lot of toughs who have been brought here to rattle us and who will do so if possible. just close your ears to howls and insults. don’t let them distract your attention from the game for a single moment. let’s go into this thing with the determination of winning out or leaving our carcasses right here on the field.
-“if we can stick to it with the right spirit we’ll stand a show of winning. it’s spirit that tells, boys. i want you to get into the mood. keep on your toes every instant. no matter where you’re playing, keep alert and wide-awake. the outfielders need to be just as watchful and alert as the infielders. seconds count in getting after the ball. the player who starts at the crack of the bat gains time. i know you want to win. if we should carry off this game we would be tied with one of the other teams for first place.
-during this talk merriwell’s players seemed to feel the spirit of undying determination that he possessed. as his eyes turned from one to another, it seemed that he poured out upon them a little of his own spirit, and when the game began every one of them was filled with it.
-the batting order of both teams follows:
-gardner walked out with a springy step and took his position at the plate. raymer whistled over a swift one, and earl promptly drove it far into left field. as the ball bounded past the fielder, who was running after it, it seemed certain that gardner would make three bases, and there was a possibility of his circling the diamond and scoring.
-“how did that happen?” exclaimed william drake. “that’s not the ball!”
-connor snapped the ball he had received to dillard at second, and gardner’s run was checked there.
-“wait a minute, mr. umpire!” cried dick, starting out onto the diamond. “that’s not the ball in play! that’s not the ball gardner hit!”
-immediately there was a terrific uproar from the crowd of hoodlums. they yelled at dick, and hurled upon him all sorts of epithets. some of them even started to follow him onto the field.
-“get off the field!” commanded the umpire. “if you crowd out here i’ll stop the game! get back behind the ropes!”
-they retreated reluctantly, still howling at dick.
-the umpire thought the ball thrown in by halligan was the one he had put in play, and therefore dick’s protest was passed over.
-“i’ll have gardner look for the right ball when he takes the field,” said merriwell, as he retreated to he bench.
-bold was the next batter, and he took a signal from dick, which led him to bunt the second ball pitched by raymer. he cleverly sent it slowly rolling along the ground just inside the first-base line.
-on this bunt gardner easily took third, while bold was thrown out at first. earl crossed third base as if contemplating dashing home, and the ball was sent across to lumley by hunston. this forced gardner to dive back to the bag: but he was off again in a twinkling as he saw the throw was a bad one.
-lumley jumped for the ball, thrust out his left hand, but barely touched it with his fingers.
-then gardner raced home with the first run for fairhaven.
-“that’s the right spirit,” assured dick, patting earl on the back. “they spoiled your homer with a trick, but you led hunston into a bad throw and scored just the same. i want you to look for that ball out there in left field. i think you will find it close to the fence.”
-“i wondered how he got it so soon and threw it in,” said earl.
-this beginning by the visitors seemed to enrage the crowd of hoodlums. as bradley strode out to hit they whooped and yelled at him as loudly as possible. some of them made references to his personal appearance, and two or three called him foul names.
-again dick started up and made a signal to the umpire.
-there was a lull, and he was heard demanding that something should be done to stop the rowdyism.
-“where is mr. hammerswell?” cried the umpire, looking around for the maplewood manager.
-but hammerswell was keeping under cover just then. he had decided to keep out of sight and could not be found.
-the umpire warned the crowd, but his warning proved ineffective. they laughed at him and invited him to “go fall off the earth.”
-bradley seemed deaf to all the racket. he missed a good one over the outside corner, then let two pass and struck under a sharp rise.
-“you can’t hit, you lobster!” whooped one of the thugs.
-“back to the fool house!” yelled another.
-“where did you get that face?” howled a third. “it’s enough to frighten a hottentot!”
-but these things were mild beside some of the language used, and the ladies were shocked by what they were compelled to hear.
-“this is the end of hammerswell’s baseball days in maplewood,” said dick to buckhart. “he may last through the season, but i’ll guarantee he never again runs a team here.”
-“the varmint ought to be hanged!” snarled the texan. “a rope and a limb is what’s coming to him.” bradley finally cracked out a clean single and easily took first.
-then buckhart walked to the plate and slammed the ball fairly against centre-field fence. it rebounded and was lost in some grass near the fence.
-nevertheless, mole lost no time in searching for it. in the midst of a tuft of grass he found a ball snugly hidden, and this he sent back into the diamond.
-ted smart was on the coaching line near third, and his signal sent bradley across that bag and onward to the plate.
-mole’s throw to dillard was swift and accurate. dillard wheeled and lined the ball to garvin, who tagged bradley the moment before billy reached the plate. buckhart had crossed second, and he made an attempt to reach third on dillard’s throw to garvin.
-the catcher snapped the ball over to lumley, who tagged brad as he was sliding, and in this manner two men were put out, which retired the islanders.
-in fact, neither bradley nor buckhart had been legally put out, for the ball returned by mole was not the one batted to the fence by the texan. dick suspected this, but was not sure of it.
-by this time bart hodge, who had thus far restrained himself with difficulty, was thoroughly aroused. his fighting blood was up, and he longed to get into the game himself.
-“this doesn’t seem much like old maplewood,” he muttered. “in the old days this was the cleanest town in the league. frank will hardly believe it when i write him about this game.”
-bold went into the box for fairhaven, and immediately the hoodlums began to yell at him. they piled on the insults thicker and thicker, but he seemed entirely unaware of their howling. at intervals he had felt a slight catch in his shoulder, but he fancied this might work out as the game progressed.
-mole was a good waiter, and in the end he secured a pass to first, as bold could not seem to locate the plate. hunston followed, and he bunted the second ball pitched, rolling it slowly down just inside the third-base line.
-as bradley came leaping in to handle this bunt, he was confused to see two balls rolling slowly along within a foot of each other.
-some one on the opposite side of the home plate had tossed out another ball, which thus rolled into the diamond beside the one hit.
-bradley caught up the wrong ball and snapped it to singleton. had it been the right ball hunston should have been declared out, for it reached big bob’s hands before the runner touched first.
-then arose an argument over which ball was in play, and the umpire confessed that he did not know. for this very reason he refused to declare hunston out.
-bart hodge seemed inclined to seek the fellow who had thrown the ball out onto the diamond, but jack cole advised him against it.
-“better keep still,” said cole. “that gang will all jump any one who starts trouble to-day.”
-“it’s about the dirtiest ball playing i ever witnessed,” said bart. “i have seen a few tricks in my day, but they are coming thick and fast here.”
-connor followed up the successes attained by the men ahead of him by dropping a little fly just over the infield, and this filled the bases.
-bold now settled down to do his best, but whenever he threw a drop there was a snapping sensation in his shoulder and his entire arm received a twinge of pain. this prevented him from using his most effective ball, and in the end halligan smashed a line drive far into the field, scoring three men and reaching second base himself.
-“i am afraid the game is lost in the very first inning,” muttered hodge regretfully.
-mclane and his peacemakers.
-the summer visitors present were fairly disgusted by the rowdyism of the tough gang. in vain they protested. they were mocked and derided and invited to “go chase themselves.” at last, unable to stand it longer, ladies began to leave the field in large numbers, accompanied by many of the gentlemen.
-“is there anything like law and order in this town?” exclaimed henry duncan. “are there no officers to stop such disgraceful conduct and arrest these ruffians?”
-“arrest nothing!” sneered one of the young toughs. “i’d like to see any officer try to pinch one of this gang! he’d get his head busted. you’d better take a sneak, mister, before something falls on you.”
-“it certainly is a shame,” nodded william drake. “those fairhaven lads will be given no show at all. already the umpire is frightened, for he knows he’ll be mobbed unless he gives everything to hammerswell’s team.”
-the departure of the summer visitors from the field left dick and his friends almost wholly without sympathizers and supporters.
-bart hodge stood near the fairhaven bench, watching and listening, a heavy cloud on his face and slumbering fire in his eyes.
-“i’d like to have frank’s terrible thirty here for about ten minutes,” he thought. “i reckon they’d clean out this mob in less time than that. this isn’t sport; it’s robbery.”
-henry duncan touched him on the shoulder.
-“it’s no use,” he said, soberly shaking his head. “the boys haven’t a chance under such conditions. i should advise you to urge dick to take his team off the field. of course the umpire will be bulldozed into forfeiting the game to maplewood, but dick can quit under protest, and i believe the game will be thrown out and not counted in the series.”
-it was bart’s turn to shake his head.
-“i don’t believe dick can be induced to leave the field,” he said. “he knew well enough what he was going against to-day, and he’ll fight it out to the finish. he has too much spirit to be a quitter.”
-“that won’t be quitting,” declared duncan. “it would be a simple demand for fair play and justice.”
-“still i’m certain dick wouldn’t hear to it.”
-“well, i’m going out and look for an officer. i’m going to see if there’s no way to keep the peace here.”
-“it would take twenty officers to quell this mob,” said hodge. “one man couldn’t do a thing.”
-nevertheless henry duncan went forth in search of the local deputy sheriff, only to find that the officer was not in town. later it was learned that he had been advised to get out of maplewood and remain away until after the game was over.
-lumley, the batter who followed halligan, tried hard to imitate the example of his predecessor in hitting, but drove a grounder to obediah tubbs, who gathered it up cleanly and whistled it to singleton for an “out” that could not be disputed. nevertheless, the hoodlums howled at obediah, big bob, and the umpire. they climbed over the ropes and crowded close to the base line on both sides of the field. in vain the umpire ordered them back.
-dillard obtained a scratch hit and reached first while halligan took third.
-farrell lifted a fly to jolliby, on which halligan scored. with two men out, garvin put up a ball that big bob easily got under near first base. just as the ball struck in singleton’s hands two of the spectators rushed at him and upset him. they were not quick enough to keep him from making the catch, and the big first baseman held fast to the ball as he went down. he sprang up instantly and held the ball in his hand as he turned toward his assailant, who had retreated beyond the base line.
-the umpire’s decision that garvin was out was greeted with howls of angry disapproval by the hoodlums.
-maplewood had secured four scores in the first inning through trickery and the disreputable behavior of the crowd.
-as the islanders came into their bench they were mocked and jeered and insulted in a manner that infuriated buckhart, who was restrained with difficulty from retorting.
-dick might have crossed first in safely with perfect ease, but as he ran down the base line one of the thugs stepped forward, thrust out a foot and tripped him. before the captain of the islanders could recover connor had secured the ball and thrown it across the diamond to hunston.
-“i swear i’ll stand no more of this!” snarled buckhart, as he started up from the bench. “i’m going to put my brand on somebody if the whole herd stampedes over me!”
-dick seized him by the arm and checked him, pointing toward the gate.
-“who are those men?” he asked.
-the texan uttered a cry of grim satisfaction and delight.
-“brick mclane, by all that’s lucky!” he shouted. “those men with him are stonecutters from the island. there’ll be something doing now.”
-with mclane and his stonecutters henry duncan had also appeared. already he had told mclane all about what was taking place, and the husky lobsterman now marched onto the field, with his backers at his heels. straight out to the home plate strode those men, and there mclane halted them.
-“gents,” cried the lobsterman, holding up one hand, “me and my friends is here to see a square deal. we understand fairhaven isn’t getting it. we understand there’s some intimidating business taking place. i guess the most of you has heard of me. i generally make good any promise, and right here i want to promise them chaps that is kicking up a disturbance that we’ll surely wade into them and give them all the fun they want unless they cool down directly. from this time on this ball game is going to be on the level. mr. umpire, you give the decisions jest as you think is correct, and i’ll guarantee you protection when the game is finished. there shan’t nobody put a finger onto yer.”
-in a surprising manner benton hammerswell had appeared from somewhere and was standing near the maplewood bench as mclane made his announcement. the maplewood manager felt a touch on his elbow, and turned to see chester arlington, in street clothes, at his side. chester smiled scornfully into hammerswell’s face.
-“perhaps you’ve stolen the game already,” said arlington. “if not, you won’t win it by your little plan. i knew last night that you intended to play crooked and keep me out of the box to-day, and i likewise heard you plan to bulldoze fairhaven out of this game. i decided to spoil the trick for you, and therefore i telephoned brick mclane and told him all about it. i advised him to bring over a fighting crowd with him, and he’s here with twenty of the toughest scrappers to be found on fairhaven island. you can thank me.”
-with an exclamation of rage, hammerswell wheeled and struck at chester’s face.
-arlington dodged like a flash and retreated, still laughing mockingly.
-mclane’s announcement had been received with a few cries of derision from the ruffians. nevertheless, every one of them knew the lobsterman was there to back up his talk, and they realized he had brought fighters with him.
-having had his say, mclane marched his force to a position back of the fairhaven bench and told the players to go on with the game.
-for a short time the hoodlums were quieted, but, being far superior to the island crowd in numbers, they soon began to hoot and jeer once more.
-when jolliby reached first on a dropped third strike, and singleton followed him on four balls, the thugs decided it was time to do something.
-with his hands on his hips, mclane was watching. he saw one of the ruffians back of third base hurl a stone at singleton. the stone struck big bob in the back of the neck and knocked him to his hands and knees.
-then the lobsterman let out a roar like that of an enraged lion. he shouted an order to his companions, and they leaped forward and caught up the bats of the fairhaven players.
-“charge!” thundered mclane.
-without a moment’s delay, the stonecutters charged at the lobsterman’s heels, and he led them into the mob of hoodlums back of the first-base line.
-the bats began to rise and fall, and thudding blows were followed with howls of pain, while the ruffians fell over one another in their desperate attempt to get away.
-“out of the gate!” shouted mclane. “get off the field or we’ll annihilate every one of yer!”
-the thugs offered little resistance. some of them were beaten down and trampled on. those who could fled toward the gate and lost no time in obeying the lobsterman’s order. like a lot of cattle the most of them were driven from the field. some were badly injured, and two or three were dragged off by their friends.
-the spectators who were not concerned in this encounter stood up and watched it breathlessly. the few ladies who remained on the field were badly frightened, and some of the men who accompanied them were alarmed.
-it was all over in a surprisingly short time. having driven the leaders of the mob off and warned them not to return unless they were seeking broken heads, mclane led his triumphant little band back to the fairhaven bench.
-“ladies and gentlemen,” he said, stepping forward a bit, “it’s a shame anything like this should happen, but we jest had to do it. don’t you be scared any more. it’s all over. there won’t be any more trouble this afternoon. this game will go on all right, and it’ll be on the level, too. jest settle down and watch the best team win.”
-after that the game did go on in a regular manner, and the spectators were thoroughly respectful in their behavior. whenever a maplewood player did an unusually clever piece of work mclane and the stonecutters led the cheering for him.
-the leaders of the hoodlums did not dare return to the field, and the most of those who belonged in rockford got away on the first trolley car after they were driven off the ball ground.
-it was a thoroughly exciting game and particularly interesting because of the fact that bold was compelled to retire from the box and jack cole filled his place. when jack succeeded in striking out two batters in the first inning he pitched and led the third man to lift an easy foul that dropped into the hands of billy bradley, john cole nearly yelled himself black in the face.
-“that’s my jack!” he shrieked, waving his old hat in the air and dancing around. “that’s the boy benton hammerswell chucked off his team! jest you watch him now and see what he can do pitching when he has good support! he’ll show you something!”
-jack could not complain of his support. from the very first it was gilt-edged. occasionally he was batted hard, but the fielding behind him held the enemy in check.
-still, as the game progressed and maplewood held a fair lead, it seemed that the trickery and ruffianism at the beginning had accomplished hammerswell’s dishonest design.
-in the eighth inning, however, by a bunching of hits, the islanders drew close to maplewood. when they were retired they were only one score behind the home team, maplewood having made seven runs and fairhaven six.
-cole seemed to rise to the occasion. again his pitching was of the highest order, and not a maplewood man reached first.
-in the first of the ninth inning fairhaven succeeded in getting one man round the bases and tying the score.
-it was necessary to play an extra inning, and the tenth opened amid the greatest excitement on the part of the witnesses.
-fairhaven didn’t score in her half.
-after striking out two men, cole put a swift one over and it was driven to the fence. it looked like a home run, but by an amazing throw jolliby caught the runner at the plate, and the tenth ended with the score still tied.
-then dick called his players close around him for an instant and tried to fill them with his own indomitable spirit.
-the result was electrifying.
-batter after batter fell on raymer’s curves, and before the hitting terminated and fairhaven was retired three runs had been secured.
-as jack cole entered the box dick paused before him a moment, placing both hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eyes, and said:
-“now is your opportunity to prove what you can do. you won’t fail. this is your day, cole, and you’re a winner.”
-somehow those words filled cole with confidence he had never felt before. although he was not aware of it, he had deserved a little of dick merriwell’s praise. again his pitching was marvelous. the best hitters of the opposing team went down before him in order, and as he struck out the third man, brick mclane and the stonecutters who accompanied him gave a yell that might have been heard a mile away.
-trickery and ruffianism had met well-merited defeat. hammerswell’s behavior had won him nothing but the scorn and contempt of all honest persons who knew him.
-after the game it was learned that fairhaven was tied with rockford for first place in the trolley league.
-the return of grimes.
-the night was still and muggy. it was the night of the day scheduled for the first maplewood-fairhaven game, but because of the fog the maplewood team had been unable to reach the island.
-long after most of the guests at the maple heights hotel had retired, a solitary man paced up and down on the lawn in front of the building.
-there was no moon, and the stars, which occasionally peeped through openings in the hazy clouds, gave forth a faint nebulous light by which objects near at hand could be seen only with indistinctness.
-in the valley the village slept, with not a solitary light gleaming from a window.
-the lonely man on the lawn was puffing at a cigar. at intervals he seemed to forget his cigar and finally it went out.
-the last guest had left the hotel veranda and disappeared within when the man realized his cigar was extinguished and threw the stump away. in a moment he brought forth another weed, tore off the end with his teeth, and paused near a clump of shrubbery to strike a match.
-the glow of the match, shaded in the hollow of his hands as he held it to the end of his cigar, distinctly revealed the features of benton hammerswell. the man’s face bore a haggard, careworn expression.
-there was a rustle amid the shrubbery.
-with a start hammerswell dropped the blazing match and clapped his hand on his hip pocket. he had reached for his revolver, but it was not there.
-forth from the shrubbery advanced the dark figure of a man.
-“who are you?” demanded hammerswell.
-“i guess you know me,” answered a voice. “i’ve been watching for you. wasn’t sure it was you till i saw your face by the light of that match.”
-hammerswell was startled and astounded by the voice.
-“is it you, luke grimes?” he demanded.
-“hit it first guess,” was the retort.
-“well, what in blazes are you doing here? i supposed you were well on your way to san francisco.”
-“think likely you did,” retorted grimes. “you reckoned i wouldn’t darst come back here. that’s why you broke your promise ter me. that’s why you didn’t send me the money you promised me when i reached montreal. i waited fer it two days, and then i decided to come back here and git it myself.”
-“you insane idiot!” snarled hammerswell, in a low tone. “you’re right in thinking i didn’t fancy you would be crazy enough to return here. if you’re seen and recognized you will be arrested instantly.”
-“i guess that’s straight,” confessed grimes coolly. “but if you didn’t want that to happen it was up to you to keep your promise. don’t be feeling in your pockets. i’ve got a gun myself.”
-“don’t worry,” said hammerswell, pulling out his handkerchief and mopping his face. “i’ve no pistol. it was stolen from my room to-day.”
-“mebbe that’s so,” chuckled grimes; “and then agin’ mebbe it ain’t. you’re such a liar no man can believe you. i’ll watch ye, and don’t yer forgit that. if you start any shooting i’ll join in. i’m pretty desperate, hammerswell, and you can’t snuff me out without getting your dose in return.”
-“oh, dry up!” growled the manager of the maplewood team. “i’m not a lunatic, if you are. i’m not anxious to face a murder charge.”
-“jest what i thought,” nodded grimes, again chuckling villainously. “that’s why i came back here. you know that i know something about you that might put you where you’d have to face a murder charge.”
-“’sh! stop that fool talk! there’s a rustic seat over yonder. come over and sit down.”
-side by side they walked toward the rustic seat, which stood near another cluster of shrubbery.
-barely had they seated themselves there when forth from the same cedars near the spot where they had met crept a form resembling a huge dog, but which was in truth a human being on hands and knees. slowly and silently this figure moved across the open space, once or twice stopping and lying flat on his stomach as he fancied one of the men had turned in his direction. at last he reached the shelter of the shrubbery not far from the bench. there he remained crouching and listening.
-“why didn’t you keep your word and send the money?” grimes was saying. “i had your promise.”
-“but i didn’t have the money to send,” declared hammerswell. “i told you once before that this baseball business has put me on the rocks. i am down to the bottom of my pile now. you were crazy enough to demand an exorbitant sum.”
-“only a thousand dollars.”
-“only a thousand!” snapped benton.
-“yes; that was the price you promised hop sullivan to close his mouth.”
-“but i didn’t pay it. i closed it in another way.”
-“that’s right,” said grimes, “and i saw you do it. i was there on high bluff at midnight when you met sullivan. i saw yer give him a package containing nothing but strips of brown paper. then, while he was tearing it open, i saw yer shift your position so that he stood between you and the edge of the bluff. jest as he ripped the package open and found it didn’t contain a dollar you jumped on him and pushed him over into the river. you knew he couldn’t swim. the river runs swift there, and the falls is close below. he went over, and of course he was drowned. have they ever found his body?”
-twice hammerswell had attempted to check his companion, and now he burst forth into a volley of low-spoken curses.
-“no need of talking to me of that!” he snarled. “yes, they found sullivan’s body two days ago. he’s buried, and his tongue is silenced forever.”
-“now look here,” said hammerswell, facing his companion on the bench, “it’s best that you should know the absolute truth. i can’t pay you that money because i haven’t got it. all my money is gone, with the exception of what i’ve bet on the final game to be played to-morrow. even if i win i can’t give you a thousand. five hundred would be the limit. i must win, and i believe i shall. i have risked everything on the result. we play two games in fairhaven.”
-“how does this baseball business stand?” asked grimes. “you oughter be on top after all your schemes and plans. i suppose you are.”
-“no. maplewood and fairhaven are tied in second position, having played forty-four games each, winning twenty-two of them. rockford and seaslope have played forty-five games each. rockford is on top, as she has won twenty-three and lost twenty-two. seaslope is at the bottom, having won twenty-two and lost twenty-three. rockford and seaslope have only one game more to play. if rockford wins she will hold first place, although maplewood may tie her. to do so we must win both games from fairhaven. if rockford loses and we win both games we’ll go into first position, while fairhaven will go plumb to the bottom.”
-“but what if rockford loses and fairhaven wins both games?” asked hammerswell’s companion.
-“it won’t happen!” savagely declared hammerswell. “it can’t happen!”
-“but what if it does?” persisted the other man.
-“why, fairhaven would win the pennant. she’d have twenty-four games to her credit.”
-“where would maplewood land?” asked grimes, with a touch of maliciousness in his voice.
-“at the bottom,” confessed hammerswell.
-“and you’d be bu’sted?”
-“wiped out! i wouldn’t have a dollar left. i’ve drawn all my money from the bank and bet it in two ways. i have found suckers who were willing to bet even money that fairhaven will win first position, or at least will be tied for first place after the games to-morrow. i have also found others who were confident maplewood will land at the bottom, and so i’ve risked everything on those two chances. i can’t lose on both bets. there’s not one chance in a hundred that i shall.”
-“if that’s the case,” said grimes, “you oughter have some boodle in your clothes to-morrer night.”
-“i will have some,” nodded benton; “but at the most it will not be enough to make good my losses this summer or come anywhere near it.”
-“well, i ain’t goin’ to be hard on you, seeing you’ve had such bad luck, but you’ll have to fork over five hundred. i’ll split my price in two and take that amount. don’t try to monkey with me if you win, hammerswell. i’m going to be on fairhaven island to-morrer.”
-“how do you expect to get there without being seen and recognized?”
-“leave that ter me. i’ll git there.”
-“stay away,” urged benton. “i’ll make an appointment and meet you somewhere on the mainland to-morrow night.”
-“oh, no, you don’t! i know you too well. i know how you keep your app’intments and your promises. i will be on hand after the game, and i’ll keep track of you, hammerswell, till you fork over. you can bet your life on that!”
-in vain hammerswell urged his companion not to attempt such a thing. grimes was determined and would not yield.
-“don’t worry,” he said. “i won’t git nabbed. i’ll take care of that. now i guess i’d better be jogging. i’ve had good luck ter-night in seein’ you all quiet by your lonesome self, and i am satisfied. but don’t forgit what i know! don’t forgit what i can tell! don’t forgit i saw you throw sullivan inter the river! don’t forgit it’s murder you will face if i peach on you! good night!”
-the speaker rose and backed off, keeping his eyes on the man he did not trust. having retreated some distance in this manner, he turned suddenly and disappeared behind the shrubbery.
-hammerswell had risen to his feet. he stood there for several moments. finally he savagely muttered:
-“i’ll find a way to fool that yelping cur! if i win to-morrow—and i must—i’ll get out of these parts in a hurry. i’ll disappear, and then luke grimes may amuse himself by trying to find me. confound it all! he set my nerves on edge talking about sullivan. people around here think sullivan was drowned by accident. this grimes is the only person living who knows the truth and can do me harm.”
-he turned and walked slowly toward the hotel, passing within four feet of the dark figure huddled close to the cedars near the rustic hedge.
-“ha! ha,” laughed a low, triumphant voice. “so you think grimes is the only person aware of your crime! you’re soon to learn you are mistaken! you’re soon to find out that the black truth is known to chester arlington!”
-a haunted man.
-after retiring to his room in the hotel, benton hammerswell found himself in a condition that was almost certain to banish slumber for some time from his eyes. flinging off his coat and removing his collar and necktie, he brought forth from a closet a bottle of whisky and some glasses. having taken a heavy drink, he lighted a fresh cigar and paced the floor of his room.
-“blazes take it!” he muttered, “why didn’t grimes wait a day or two longer before coming here? had he done so, he would have had his trip for his pains. confound him, he has set my nerves on edge! he’s the only person who can prove anything serious against me, and as long as he lives i’ll never be wholly safe. of course i may dodge him for a time, but he’s liable to turn up anywhere i go. if i could silence him in the same way i silenced sullivan!”
-somehow these words caused to rise before his mental vision a vivid picture of the meeting on high bluff. he saw hop sullivan standing at the edge of the bluff, eagerly tearing open a package that was supposed to contain a thousand dollars in banknotes. he saw the moon dive through a flotilla of clouds and burst forth to shine brightly just as sullivan ripped the package open. again he heard the man’s snarl of disappointment on discovering the contents of that package. then followed the deadly impulse that caused him to leap forward and thrust sullivan over the brink of high bluff with a terrible push.
-he saw the doomed wretch whirl over in the air and heard the splash that rose from rapid river as the man’s body struck it. then once more the moon veiled her face in horror behind a heavy cloud.
-hammerswell remembered how he had dropped on hands and knees at the edge of the bluff and stared downward into the chasm through which the swirling river hurried toward the falls below. he remembered all too plainly that, as the tiny cloud passed from the face of the moon, he caught a glimpse of a white, ghastly face rising for a moment in the current, saw two helpless hands upflung, and then saw nothing more save the triumphant water that had quenched a human life.
-but the memory of what followed was distressing and harassing. when he rose to his feet, muttering his satisfaction over his frightful deed, luke grimes had confronted him on that spot. through it all grimes had been hidden near at hand, where he could hear and see what transpired. grimes was armed with a pistol, and, fearing the man who had destroyed sullivan, he kept it cocked and ready in his hand. hammerswell remembered how he had been compelled to acquiesce to the terms proposed by the engineer. he had maintained his determination to deceive grimes, leading the fellow at last to agree to a scheme by which merriwell was to be put out of baseball. the engineer promised to break dick’s arm.
-then came the trip of grimes to fairhaven island and the burning of the naphtha launch on which he crossed from the mainland. his life had been saved by dick and brad buckhart.
-on the island the engineer was recognized as the fellow who had once made a vicious attack on young merriwell, and when he attempted to escape the villagers arose in a mob and pursued him. he was captured and dragged beneath a tree, with a noose about his neck and a rope flung over a stout limb.
-in a manner never satisfactorily explained, luke grimes escaped from the lockup while benton hammerswell was talking to the guard.
-the fugitive was hotly pursued, but made his way out of town to the north, where he was cornered in a swamp and finally found himself stuck fast in the mire.
-while grimes was in this helpless condition, hammerswell discovered him and, under pretense of offering assistance, crept nearer, club in hand, to beat down the poor wretch.
-but dick merriwell’s ability as a trailer enabled him to follow grimes, and dick reached the spot just in time to baffle hammerswell.
-later, grimes had been aided in escaping, and since that day no one in that vicinity, with the exception of benton hammerswell, had seen the fugitive engineer. hammerswell saw him and gave him some money, urging him to hasten away to canada, inducing him to start immediately by promising to send him a thousand dollars, which was to reach him at an address in montreal.
-at the time of making this promise the chief rascal had entertained no intention of forwarding the money. thinking grimes was badly frightened and would not dare return after going away, he had felt satisfied he would thus get rid of the fellow.
-now here was grimes back again and threatening to make further trouble.
-“i am a bad man to crowd!” hammerswell snarled when he had finished thinking this matter over. “how infernally hot it is!”
-with this exclamation, he flung wide open one of the windows of his room, which had hitherto been but partly raised.
-“little sleep for me to-night,” he growled. “of course i know i’m not going to be beaten on all my bets to-morrow, still i’m nervous. i have the team to win both those games, with proper pitching. yes, and i have the pitchers to win. they arrived in rockford to-day. no one but myself knows of it. slocum and bretton are a pair to draw to. slocum might be in the american league if he wished to play professional baseball, and he could command his own salary. bretton has a record that makes him well known—too well known. i’ll run both these fellows in under fake names, in order not to let fairhaven know what she’s up against. my team is onto both their pitchers. even merriwell can be batted at times, and the boys will go after him red-hot to-morrow.
-“no, it’s impossible that i should lose all my bets, and it’s quite likely i’ll win them all. if rockford defeats seaslope, fairhaven must win both games in order to be tied for first place. it’s hardly possible rockford will lose. being at the head now, she’ll fight fiercely to keep that position. if she wins to-morrow and we take one of the two games from fairhaven, i’ll win all my bets. in order for me to lose, rockford must be defeated and fairhaven must take both games from maplewood. as far as that matter goes, there’s no reason why i shouldn’t roll into bed and sleep like a baby. ah! but it’s impossible for me to sleep that way any more! the time is past when i can sleep straight through the night without my rest being broken. ever since my encounter with sullivan i’ve been troubled by bad dreams.
-“when they told me about finding him, when i knew he had been brought back here to maplewood, when i saw the wretched little funeral procession as he was being taken to the grave, it all added to the cursed disturbance that is breaking me up and making me afraid of my own shadow. hang it! i used to have nerve enough. now i awake in the night and seem to see sullivan’s eyes fastened on me! i see his white face in the darkness of my room! i started up last night and saw in yonder corner his arms upflung, just as i saw them last when he went down into the current of rapid river. resting on my elbow, i remained staring at those upheld arms until i found that it was nothing but the legs of my own trousers hanging over the back of a chair. just the same i could not sleep until daylight came creeping in at my window. there’s a nasty feeling troubling me to-night. i am a-quiver all over. i need another drink. i’ll have another drink.”
-he rose quickly and poured out a brimming glass of liquor, which he dashed off as if it had been so much water.
-“if i get enough of that into my skin i may be able to sleep,” he growled. “got to keep these windows open. don’t like it, but i’d smother with them closed. confound the luck! i’d like to know what became of my revolver! missed it to-day for the first time. if i had it i’d put it under my pillow to-night.”
-he searched the room, but did not find the weapon for which he was looking.
-after another drink, he finished undressing and slipped on a suit of pajamas. wearing this suit, he sat by the window, his light extinguished, until he had finished his cigar.
-once as he sat there, from far, far away in the night there came a low, awesome sound that was not unlike a human cry of pain and horror. it came from the direction of the little village cemetery, and benton hammerswell felt his entire body grow cold. to his excited fancy it seemed that this eerie cry had been sent forth by the spirit of hop sullivan, which could know no rest until sullivan’s murder had been avenged.
-although he listened breathlessly for a long time after that, and his cigar went out in his fingers, the sound was not repeated. the night was awesomely still, without even a breath of air stirring.
-“just my fool imagination,” he whispered. “another drink and i will get to bed.”
-after retiring he turned and twisted for nearly an hour. at last he fell into troubled slumber.
-how long he slept he did not know. in the night he was awakened by a horrible sensation, as if he were smothering.
-“who’s there?” he cried.
-then, to his unspeakable distress and agitation, a low, hollow voice answered:
-“i’m here—i, the spirit of the man you murdered!”
-out of the gloom advanced a white, ghostly figure.
-uttering a shriek, hammerswell leaped erect. as his feet touched the floor something fluttered over him. instantly he was entangled in the folds of a blanket that had been cast over his head. then a power that seemed something more than human hurled him to the floor.
-it was some seconds before the man succeeded in freeing himself from the folds of the blanket. when he finally did so, he sat up and looked around, fully expecting to again behold that ghostly figure.
-he seemed to be quite alone.
-“is it gone?” he chokingly whispered, fearing that once more it would confront him.
-having risen weakly to his feet, he found with shaking fingers the matches and struck one of them. as the flame blazed up, the match fell to the floor. three matches he struck before he succeeded in holding one of them. lifting the blazing match above his head, he stared around into all the corners, but saw nothing of an alarming nature. at last he succeeded in lighting a lamp, and with this in his hand he searched the room.
-save for the blanket lying in the middle of the floor, there was no sign of his ghostly visitor.
-“but i heard the voice!” he muttered. “i saw the thing! i felt its power! i am a haunted man!”
-toward night the heavy fog that had rested like a pall over fairhaven island all day lifted and retreated toward the open sea. at sunset the sky was bespangled with dainty clouds, which were tinted a hundred beautiful shades of such colors as no artist can reproduce. although on the mainland it was muggy and hot, out there on fairhaven island there was a gentle breeze, and twilight drew on softly and silently.
-after supper, dick and his friends sat chatting on the veranda of the central hotel. garrett was there, and bart hodge was comfortably deposited in a big rocking-chair. singleton sprawled on a seat, and taken altogether the lads presented a picture of ease and laziness.
-“dern my picter!” tubbs suddenly squealed. “i bet a good squash pie that something besides the fog kept old hammerswell from bringing his team over here to-day. said while there was such a fog he couldn’t get the bo’t he’d engaged to make the trip, but i don’t believe it.”
-“you’re tut-tut-too wise!” exclaimed chip jolliby. “what dud-dud-dud-dud-do you believe?”
-“i bet, by jim, that there was another reason why he didn’t come! i bet he’s going to have new players.”
-at this many of the boys laughed.
-“he’s had too many new players already,” declared earl gardner. “that’s what’s kept him down. he kept shifting his team round early in the season, and it’s a wonder he did as well as he did. since getting that bunch from the northeastern league he’s made no changes and had better success. it will be a hot finish, no matter how it comes out. why, if maplewood could win both games to-morrow she’d take first place! if she loses both games she’ll go to the bottom. i tell you that’s the way to have things stand near the end of the baseball season. it keeps up the excitement.”
-dick had been writing and figuring on a slip of paper. while thus engaged he was making out the standing of the various teams in the league, and this he now passed round for the boys to inspect.
-“hit’s halmost too close for comfort, don’t you know,” observed billy bradley. “hif we lose both games to-morrow—hoh, my!”
-“we won’t lose them both,” declared buckhart, suddenly starting up and swinging his fist in the air. “we’ll die right on the field before we’ll lose them both.”
-“it’s up to us, boys,” said dick, “to win both those games. it’s the only way we can be sure that rockford will not beat us out to-morrow. if we win both of them, even though rockford takes a fall out of seaslope, we’ll be tied for first place. if we win both of them and seaslope happens to defeat rockford, we’ll have the pennant to-morrow night.”
-“oh, how sad that would make me feel!” cried ted smart.
-then he dodged as chip jolliby swung a backhand blow at him with his long arm.
-“is it a sure thing,” inquired owen bold, “that we are to play two games to-morrow? has maplewood agreed to it?”
-“it’s a sure thing,” nodded dick. “i talked to hammerswell myself by phone, and he has agreed to wind up by playing both games to-morrow afternoon. how’s your wing, owen?”
-“i think it’s back in shape,” was the answer. “this fog to-day was rather bad for it, but i have it protected. i am caring for it as if it were a baby. never bothered about my arm before, but this climate is too much for it. i am going to let it out to-morrow, if i never pitch another game. your brother sent me down here to help you win the pennant, and i should hate to have him hear that you had lost it through my weakness on the slab in the last game i pitched for you.”
-“i wish frank could be here to see those games!” exclaimed bart hodge. “i know he wanted to. if you can win out, dick, we’ll wire him a cheerful message to-morrow night.”
-“we’re going to win if it’s in us to do so,” asserted young merriwell. “if we can tie with rockford for first place, we will fight it out by playing an extra game to decide things.”
-“oh, my!” said ted smart, “what a calm, quiet sort of a game that would be! i don’t believe any one would come out to see it! we’d have to play to empty benches!”
-the fairhaven team retired that night earlier than any previous night during the season.
-why arlington came.
-early the following morning, as the lobstermen were rowing off to their traps, a little naphtha launch came down the channel, rounded crown point, and entered fairhaven harbor.
-the boat contained two persons. one seemed to be a passenger, and he was recognized by brick mclane, who was rowing out of the harbor in his big dory.
-“now i wonder what’s up?” muttered mclane. “that chap setting all quiet in the bo’t is one of them maplewood fellers. he’s the one who was captain of the maplewood team before old hammerswell got his new bunch together. lemme see, what’s his name? oh, yes, it’s arlington—chester arlington. seems ter me i heerd that he came down this way with merriwell and the boys over here on the island. yes, i did hear so. he came with them to maplewood, and, arter old hammerswell refused to accept the team, he deserted and stayed right here in maplewood. he’s a kind of a traitor, and dick and t’other fellers over here don’t think but precious little of him. what is he a-coming over here for at this hour? must be something in the wind. old hammerswell is hot to win the games to-day, and he’s as full of tricks as an egg is full of meat. mebbe he sent this chap here to play some sort of a trick. perhaps i ought to let my traps go to-day and turn back. somehow i kinder think dick ought ter know this arlington feller is on the island.”
-the more mclane thought about this matter the more troubled he became. he visited some of his traps and took out a few lobsters, but wonderment over the surprising appearance of arlington finally led him to give up making the entire round, and he rowed back to fairhaven, sending the dory along with lusty strokes.
-arriving at the wharf, brick covered his lobsters with some wet sacking and left them in his boat while he hurried through town and up to the central hotel.
-in front of the hotel was a large oak tree, and as he approached mclane was surprised to see dick merriwell and chester arlington standing beneath that tree engaged in conversation.
-“he don’t need no warning from me,” muttered the lobsterman as he turned back. “he knows all about it now. i might have pulled all my traps and saved myself some trouble.”
-dick had been not a little surprised on walking into the office of the hotel after breakfast to find himself face to face with arlington, who was smoking a cigarette and lounging near the desk.
-instantly on seeing merriwell, chester turned and stepped toward him.
-“hello, dick,” he said. “i was waiting for you to finish breakfast.”
-“waiting for me?” exclaimed dick, without seeking to repress his surprise. “what are you doing over here, arlington?”
-chet glanced around.
-“can’t talk here very well,” he said. “i wish you’d come outside. i want to tell you something.”
-dick hesitated, for the thought of having anything to do with this chap, who had treated him in such a contemptible manner, was far from agreeable.
-“better come,” urged chester. “you’ll be glad to know what i’m going to tell you. it’ll be a good thing for you.”
-“what sort of a trick are you up to now?” demanded merriwell, piercing the other lad with his keen eyes.
-“no trick at all,” protested chester. “why should you suppose that i’m always up to some sort of a trick?”
-“why shouldn’t i suppose so? your record is enough to make anybody suppose such a thing.”
-“oh, i don’t know. i presume there are fellows who have worse records.”
-“in reform schools and penitentiaries,” said dick grimly.
-arlington’s face flushed, and he seemed on the verge of a burst of anger, but this he succeeded in repressing.
-“you’re pretty hard on me,” he muttered.
-“no harder than you deserve. you must acknowledge that i have been easy with you in the past—far easier than any other fellow would have been. patience and forbearance ceased to be a virtue when you betrayed me in such a contemptible manner after coming down here with us.”
-“but you don’t understand about that, merriwell. i came down here to play ball, as i have told you before. when you fellows got no chance in maplewood, i stayed there to get onto the maplewood team, not having an idea that you would come over here and get into the league.”
-“after we had been treated in a most contemptible manner at maplewood, you took up with the man who treated us thus. you have played on his team, knowing all the time that he was up to every sort of crooked game and underhand trick to down your schoolmates. no, arlington, as long as i remember your behavior this summer, i can never again have the slightest confidence in you—i can’t even hope for your reformation.”
-“well, won’t you come outside where i can tell you why i’m here this morning? i’m not going to beg you to come, but i think you’d better do so.”
-“go ahead,” said dick. “i’ll hear what you have to say.”
-he followed chester from the hotel, and they paused beneath the oak tree, where they were seen a few moments later by mclane.
-“i have quit hammerswell,” said chester. “i have been through with him for some time, but i remained in maplewood for a particular reason. a few minutes ago you accused me of sticking by the maplewood team when i knew hammerswell was plotting and scheming to down fairhaven. he never told me much of anything about his plots. i was captain of the team. as long as he kept me in that position i stuck by him. after a while i began to find out some things about his plans and plots, and i was anxious to learn still more. that led me to stay there. i thought if i could get onto his secrets i could make him cough up some good money, and i’ll need money this fall if i return to fardale. mother used to furnish me with the cash, but she’s in a sanitarium now, and i’ll not be liable to get too much dough from the old man. that’s why i stuck in maplewood and did my best to find out things about hammerswell. i thought i might squeeze him a little while i had a chance.”
-“in other words,” said dick, “you contemplated blackmailing him.”
-dick was listening quietly, his dark eyes watching arlington with a steady stare that made chester uneasy.
-“go on,” urged merriwell.
-“last night,” said arlington, “i learned something about hammerswell that made me decide right away that he ought to be sent to the jug. bad as i knew him to be before that, i never fancied he had committed murder.”
-“murder!” breathed dick, lifting his eyebrows.
-“just that,” nodded chet, “and nothing else. i was lying on the grass in front of the hotel last night, smoking a cigarette and thinking. pretty soon a man came sneaking up, dodging from one clump of shrubbery to another. his movements interested me, and i watched him. he didn’t observe me, and i took care he should not. i followed him, and saw him hide behind the shrubbery until benton hammerswell, smoking a cigar, approached the spot. then the man i had followed stepped out and spoke to hammerswell. it was luke grimes, the assistant engineer of the lady may, a chap i fancy you have good cause to remember, merriwell.”
-“i should say so!” nodded dick, “but i thought detectives had chased grimes as far as the canadian border and then lost track of him.”
-“so they did, i presume. he has been up to montreal, but is back again. hammerswell promised to send him money, which he would receive in montreal. the money was not sent, and grimes came back to demand it. i was within ten feet of them last night as they sat on the rustic seat and talked the thing over. what i heard made my blood run cold. grimes has a hold on hammerswell, and he attempted to put on the screws. you know hop sullivan was paid by hammerswell to hold up the trolley car between rockford and maplewood one day and run off your new pitcher, owen bold. sullivan was captured, but escaped. it seems that he demanded money from hammerswell, and they met by appointment one night on high bluff, near rapid river. hammerswell pushed sullivan into the river, and sullivan was drowned. grimes saw the act, and, therefore, he has hammerswell in the hollow of his hand. i found all this out last night as i listened.”
-“are you speaking the truth, arlington?” demanded dick.
-“why should i lie to you?” asked chester. “it would do me no good. of course, i am speaking the truth. grimes received no money from hammerswell because hammerswell had none to give. but grimes swore he would be on this island to-night when the ball games were finished, ready to collect from hammerswell. i decided to let you know about this. you think i’m a pretty cheap dog, merriwell; but you can see i’m giving you an opportunity to crush this man hammerswell, who has tried so many times to crush you. if you can succeed in having grimes captured, you will be able to compel hammerswell to face a murder charge. and he will be convicted, too.”
-in spite of the fact that chester arlington was speaking the truth, his manner seemed uncertain, and merriwell could not help doubting him. through it all dick was wondering what new trick it was that his enemies were seeking to play on him.
-chester saw the expression of doubt on merriwell’s face, and in exasperation he cried:
-“you think i’m lying to you now! you don’t take any stock in me, do you?”
-“i confess that i do not,” was the answer. “knowing how natural it is for you to lie and deceive, i can’t believe you, arlington. what your reason can be in coming to me like this i can’t understand, but i fancy you have some hidden object.”
-“all right!” snarled chester angrily. “fancy what you please! i don’t care a rap! i’ve given you your opportunity to get revenge on benton hammerswell, and now you may do anything you choose.”
-having said this, chester coolly lighted a fresh cigarette, after which he turned and walked away.
-at the first store he reached he made inquiry for the town officials, and was given directions for finding mayor cobb.
-cyrus cobb was at home when arlington appeared, and he listened with great incredulity to the boy’s story of benton hammerswell’s crime.
-“you dreamed it, young man—you dreamed it!” exclaimed cobb. “why, such things do not happen around here! i have seen boys like you before. i’ve seen boys who tried to kick up excitement by telling wild and improbable yarns.”
-“i have seen old fools like you before!” he snarled. “they call you the mayor of this little one-horse town, do they? well, you look it! you’re a great man for the place!”
-at first cobb had been astounded, but now his face flushed, and he shook his finger at chet.
-“you insulting young rascal!” he exclaimed. “how dare you use such language to me?”
-“bah!” said the boy, shrugging his shoulders. “who’s afraid of you? i played on the maplewood baseball team, and i know benton hammerswell. i told you the truth about him.”
-“yes, yes,” said mr. cobb, “you did play on that ball team—that’s right! you’re not on it now, are ye?”
-“yes, yes; mad with hammerswell, i take it? sore because he threw you off the team? want to make trouble for him, i see. that’s your game, boy! that’s your reason for coming to me and telling me such preposterous yarns! look here, you young reprobate, you had better take yourself out of fairhaven as quick as you can! we don’t want such chaps on the island!”
-“oh, i’ll get off your old island!” snarled chester. “certainly there are more chumps to the square yard on this island than i ever beheld before, and you’re the king of them all. good morning!”
-although the village mayor felt like rushing after the insulting chap and giving him a good caning, he contented himself in glaring at chet’s back until he disappeared.
-on board the “sachem.”
-the sun had swung into the western sky. under full steam the big white yacht sachem was headed toward the northeast. the yacht was owned by henry crossgrove, the steel magnate, and on board was gathered a large party of his friends, several of whom were enjoying the sunshine and the sea breeze on the main deck.
-of those on deck, five persons are especially interesting to us. the handsome chap in the yachting costume who frequently bent over a beautiful girl seated at his side and spoke with her in low tones was frank merriwell, dick’s brother. the girl was inza burrage.
-not far away, in a little triangular group, were bruce browning and harry rattleton, frank’s old yale comrades, and elsie bellwood.
-immediately crossgrove informed frank that his yacht lay in the harbor, and, as he was bound toward waters in the vicinity of fairhaven, he would hoist anchor without delay. frank was ready to accept the steel man’s hospitality on the sachem.
-“you and i have had some dealings in the past, mr. merriwell,” said crossgrove, “and i deem it a privilege to have you and your friends as guests.”
-“but i must arrive in fairhaven to-morrow in time to witness a game of baseball in the afternoon,” said frank. “my brother is down there running a ball team, and the game to-morrow finishes the season. i wouldn’t miss it for anything, mr. crossgrove. do you think you can land us there all right?”
-“then it’ll be yes,” laughed frank.
-in this manner it was arranged, and frank and his friends were on the sachem when the yacht steamed out of boston harbor at evening.
-the trip had proved most enjoyable, but now frank seemed somewhat worried and restless. as he stood near the rail he frequently glanced at his watch.
-inza noticed this, and in a low tone she said:
-“it will be too bad, frank, if you don’t get there in time. i know how much you want to see the game.”
-“hush!” said merry, forcing a slight smile. “if we don’t arrive in time for the game, we’ll not let crossgrove know how disappointed we are. he’s a fine gentleman and a thoroughbred, and i wouldn’t wish him to think for a moment that he had disappointed us through his generous hospitality.”
-“i say,” cried harry rattleton, “isn’t it great to be on the sounding bee—i mean the bounding sea? why, even the air out here is full of wind!”
-“so are you,” grunted browning, who was lazily sprawled on a comfortable chair and puffing away at a brierwood pipe. “the hot air you’ve been giving us for the past hour is getting a little tiresome, rattles. can’t you close your face and let me rest?”
-“why don’t you do your neeping slights—i mean your sleeping nights?” inquired harry. “i don’t believe you ever wake up any more. you’ve been in a trance for the last few hours.”
-“on the occasion when i last met him before our meeting in boston yesterday morning,” said merriwell, “he was pretty wide-awake. it was at a little railroad town down in the southwest. hodge, wiley, and i were passing through that town when we saw a chap beset by a dozen burly ruffians. evidently they were trying to lynch him. he was a big fellow, and he knocked them right and left with tremendous blows. it was hodge who recognized him, i believe. bruce browning was the fellow, and he was very wide-awake on that occasion.”
-“that’s right,” grunted browning, “but you haven’t told the story quite straight, merry. it was barney mulloy the ruffians were after. i sailed in to give him a hand, and then you folks chipped in just in time to help us both out. by george, merry, i thought you’d dropped right down from the skies! say, that’s a great country down there. mulloy is down there now, running our mine. he’s a dandy, that irishman! he’s the whitest, squarest, most reliable fellow i ever saw—present company excepted. we’ve not had your luck, merriwell; but i believe we have a valuable claim down there, and we’ll make a dollar out of it some day. you and hodge were mighty fortunate.”
-frank laughed a little over the remembrance of that transaction.
-“and they took it?”
-“not right away,” said merry. “they seemed indignant, and accused me of all sorts of craziness. they agreed to give the first price demanded. i said, ‘nay, nay; it’s fifty thousand more if you want the phantom.’ then they said, ‘all right, mr. merriwell, we don’t want your old mine; your price is ridiculous.’ says i, ‘good day, gentlemen.’ they departed, but within two hours one of them came back. it seems that he had been authorized to pay my increase of fifty thousand if there was no other way to get the property. the moment i saw him i decided on a new price. after he had talked with me a few moments and found i had not reduced my figures any, he announced that the syndicate was ready to buy on my terms, and he was there to close the deal. then i informed him that since my last quotation on the price, i had been figuring the thing over and had decided that it was folly to sell so low. i had advanced the price fifty thousand more.”
-merry laughed heartily as he recalled the incident.
-“ugh!” grunted browning. “you always did have plenty of nerve, frank.”
-“you should have seen my visitor,” chuckled merry. “he came near falling in a fit. i surely thought he was done for. then he rose up and frothed, and made a lot of wild talk. he said it was an imposition. i had named a price in the first place, and they had agreed to it.
-“i reminded him that they had not agreed to it in the first place. since naming that price i had figured the matter over a little and had gone up on my terms. i was still figuring. as i made this statement i turned to a sheet of paper at my side and began to figure. well, you should have seen that man jump on me. he was scared blue. i believe he expected me to shove her up another fifty thousand right away. he pushed a check at me to bind the bargain, and accepted my terms then and there.”
-“the property is worth it, and those men knew it,” said frank. “only for the fact that i have the queen mystery and the san pablo to look after, and they keep me very busy, i should not have been so willing to sell. hodge will be somewhat surprised when he finds out what has happened. the building of a railroad in mexico that will connect the san pablo with the outer world is going to take up much of my time and attention in the future. the san pablo is marvelously rich, or it would not pay me to pack ore more than two hundred miles over a rough and sterile country to the largest railroad, and thence ship it north to smelters in arizona. i am intensely interested in this railroad scheme, and hodge has become interested and enthused himself. the san pablo is not the only mine down in that region. others will be opened, and hodge is anxious to be on the ground.”
-as he said this frank covertly watched the face of elsie bellwood, and saw a shadow fall upon it. instantly his heart relented, and he exclaimed:
-“cheer up, elsie; i was talking to amuse myself more than anything else. bart has told me he should seek some business in the east, if you urged it.”
-“but you, frank—you are going right away into mexico?” questioned elsie.
-“it’s absolutely necessary,” nodded merry gravely. “i can’t get out of it, even should i wish to.”
-at this moment henry crossgrove, stout and florid, came toward them, mopping his face with his handkerchief.
-“the captain tells me we will reach fairhaven island within an hour,” he said. “i hope that will enable you to see the whole of the baseball game, merriwell. sorry we are not there now.”
-“oh, it’s all right,” smiled frank. “if we miss the first of the game, we may arrive in time to see the finish. we’ve had a delightful little cruise, mr. crossgrove, and we’ll not soon forget your hospitality.”
-arlington cows hammerswell.
-it was the beginning of the ninth inning of the first game in fairhaven and the home team was one score ahead.
-the visitors had made a gallant fight for the game which was not yet ended. indeed, maplewood had not given up, as soon became apparent.
-on previous occasions crowds had gathered on that field, but never before in the history of fairhaven had there been such a wonderful turnout to witness a game of baseball. not only was every seat taken, but on each side of the ground ropes had been stretched far down past first and third bases in order to keep those standing from crowding onto the field. even then it was necessary to employ four officers to hold the spectators back and prevent them from pushing into the outfield.
-through all the game the stonecutters had whooped and cheered to their satisfaction. although they were boisterous, they were not ungentlemanly in their language. indeed, they were rather generous in their applause whenever maplewood made a brilliant play. for all of that, they were intensely loyal, and, to the last one of them, were eager and anxious for fairhaven to win.
-at intervals the voice of brick mclane could be heard above the others, but sometimes it was quite drowned.
-high on the top of the bleachers, clinging to a post of the fence, was old gideon sniffmore, who occasionally waved his crooked cane in the air and shrieked until his face grew purple. all through the game he had remained standing there, apparently quite oblivious to his rheumatism, and once or twice, when he relinquished his hold on the post and flourished both arms in the air, he was in absolute danger of falling and breaking his neck.
-“we’ve got um now, by codfish!” he shrieked as owen bold struck out a man.
-this made the second man out.
-there were two runners on the bases, one having reached first through an error and the other securing a pass to the initial bag on four balls.
-“it’s all over!” roared brick mclane as the next batter stepped out. “fairhaven wins the first game!”
-then bold shot a speedy one, shoulder high, across the inside corner of the plate.
-the batter stepped back a bit and met the ball fairly. it was a terrific clout.
-chip jolliby went flying over the low rail which served as centre-field fence and splashed into the frog pond in search of the ball. he had seen it strike, and his heart was in his mouth for fear he could not find it amid the tall grass and weeds.
-however, chip secured it and turned with it dripping wet, in his hand, seeing the maplewood player who had hit it already dashing over third base.
-standing out there at that great distance, jolliby made one of the most amazing throws of his whole baseball career. he was ankle deep in the mire, yet he lined the ball straight to the plate, and buckhart put it onto the man who was endeavoring to slide home.
-this astounding throw caused the crowd to roar again, although almost every spectator realized what had been accomplished by the hit.
-the batter had driven in two runs, which placed maplewood ahead, the score being eight to seven.
-“we’ve got them now!” muttered benton hammerswell, in relief. “bretton will hold them right where they are. at the very best, they can take but one of these two games, and, therefore, i will win all my bets.”
-hammerswell was leaning on a bat as he muttered this. he felt a touch on his arm and turned to see tom fernald.
-“it was a relief to me when that fellow smashed the ball over the fence,” he said. “i’ve been betting even money that maplewood would carry off one of the games. some lobsters were foolish enough to bet that fairhaven would win both.”
-“yes, we’ve got this game now,” nodded hammerswell. “and it’s a good thing for me, too. it puts me on my feet again. i’ve risked all i could rake and scrape on the result of these games. unless the improbable happens, fairhaven will not be at the top to-night, nor will maplewood be at the bottom.”
-“have you figured the thing over?” questioned fernald. “have you considered all the possibilities? if seaslope beats rockford and fairhaven and maplewood divide honors here to-day, every team will be tied once more. it will be necessary to play other games in order to settle the matter.”
-“i know,” nodded hammerswell, with a grave smile; “but the people who bet their good money with me had not figured out that possibility. unless maplewood is at the bottom to-night, i shall win many of my bets. if fairhaven is not at the top, i shall win the rest of them. in order for fairhaven to be at the top we must lose both these games and seaslope must beat rockford. it’s all right, fernald; that can’t happen.”
-a low, snarling laugh caused hammerswell to start and turn his head. chester arlington was there, and he regarded the maplewood manager with a singular look that caused the man to be seized by a strange feeling of uneasiness and apprehension.
-“don’t think you have this game yet,” said arlington. “no game is won until it’s ended. the best batters on merriwell’s team are up now. look out for a garrison finish. it takes but one run to tie the score, and two will win the game.”
-“get away from me, you crook!” snapped hammerswell. “i don’t want you round me!”
-he gripped the bat and half lifted it in a threatening manner.
-“you’ll never frighten any one with that stick,” said chester. “put it down, hammerswell. don’t try any funny business with me.”
-“if you two are going to quarrel,” said fernald, “i will just step aside.”
-“oh, i’ll not quarrel with this treacherous smart aleck,” declared hammerswell as fernald walked away.
-“you’d better not,” said chester in a low tone. “you’re wise in not quarreling with me. i know too much about you. wait, benton hammerswell; your time is coming, and you will get what’s due you.”
-“i tell you to move on!” grated the enraged man. “i don’t like that kind of talk, and i won’t listen to it.”
-“you can’t help listening,” retorted chester. “you know i am telling the truth when i say you are a scoundrel, a fraud, a cheat, a——”
-with a muttered oath hammerswell lifted the bat.
-“why, thank you, mr. ukridge, i’m sure,” he said. “thank you very much. no hard feelings, i trust?”
-“not on my side, old horse,” responded ukridge, affably. “business is business.”
-“well, i may as well take those dogs now,” said ukridge, helping himself to a cigar from a box which he had just discovered on the mantelpiece and putting a couple more in his pocket in the friendliest way. “the sooner they’re back with me, the better. they’ve lost a day’s education as it is.”
-“why, certainly, mr. ukridge; certainly. they are in the shed at the bottom of the garden. i will get them for you at once.”
-he retreated through the door, babbling ingratiatingly.
-“amazing how fond these blokes are of money,” sighed ukridge. “it’s a thing i don’t like to see. sordid, i call it. that blighter’s eyes were gleaming, positively gleaming, laddie, as he scooped up the stuff. good cigars these,” he added, pocketing three more.
-there was a faltering footstep outside, and mr. nickerson re-entered the room. the man appeared to have something on his mind. a glassy look was in his whisker-bordered eyes, and his mouth, though it was not easy to see it through the jungle, seemed to me to be sagging mournfully. he resembled a minor prophet who has been hit behind the ear with a stuffed eel-skin.
-“the—the little dogs!”
-“the little dogs!”
-“what about them?”
-“they have gone!”
-“run away? how the devil could they run away?”
-“there seems to have been a loose board at the back of the shed. the little dogs must have wriggled through. there is no trace of them to be found.”
-ukridge flung up his arms despairingly. he swelled like a captive balloon. his pince-nez rocked on his nose, his mackintosh flapped menacingly, and his collar sprang off its stud. he brought his fist down with a crash on the table.
-“upon my sam!”
-“i am extremely sorry——”
-“upon my sam!” cried ukridge. “it’s hard. it’s pretty hard. i come down here to inaugurate a great business, which would eventually have brought trade and prosperity to the whole neighbourhood, and i have hardly had time to turn round and attend to the preliminary details of the enterprise when this man comes and sneaks my dogs. and now he tells me with a light laugh——”
-“mr. ukridge, i assure you——”
-“tells me with a light laugh that they’ve gone. gone! gone where? why, dash it, they may be all over the county. a fat chance i’ve got of ever seeing them again. six valuable pekingese, already educated practically to the stage where they could have been sold at an enormous profit——”
-mr. nickerson was fumbling guiltily, and now he produced from his pocket a crumpled wad of notes, which he thrust agitatedly upon ukridge, who waved them away with loathing.
-“this gentleman,” boomed ukridge, indicating me with a sweeping gesture, “happens to be a lawyer. it is extremely lucky that he chanced to come down to-day to pay me a visit. have you followed the proceedings closely?”
-i said i had followed them very closely.
-“is it your opinion that an action will lie?”
-i said it seemed highly probable, and this expert ruling appeared to put the final touch on mr. nickerson’s collapse. almost tearfully he urged the notes on ukridge.
-“what’s this?” said ukridge, loftily.
-“i—i thought, mr. ukridge, that, if it were agreeable to you, you might consent to take your money back, and—and consider the episode closed.”
-ukridge turned to me with raised eyebrows.
-“ha!” he cried. “ha, ha!”
-“ha, ha!” i chorused, dutifully.
-“he thinks that he can close the episode by giving me my money back. isn’t that rich?”
-“fruity,” i agreed.
-“those dogs were worth hundreds of pounds, and he thinks he can square me with a rotten twenty. would you have believed it if you hadn’t heard it with your own ears, old horse?”
-“i’ll tell you what i’ll do,” said ukridge, after thought. “i’ll take this money.” mr. nickerson thanked him. “and there are one or two trifling accounts which want settling with some of the local tradesmen. you will square those——”
-“certainly, mr. ukridge, certainly.”
-“and after that—well, i’ll have to think it over. if i decide to institute proceedings my lawyer will communicate with you in due course.”
-and we left the wretched man, cowering despicably behind his whiskers.
-it seemed to me, as we passed down the tree-shaded lane and out into the white glare of the road, that ukridge was bearing himself in his hour of disaster with a rather admirable fortitude. his stock-in-trade, the life-blood of his enterprise, was scattered all over kent, probably never to return, and all that he had to show on the other side of the balance-sheet was the cancelling of a few weeks’ back rent and the paying-off of gooch, the grocer, and his friends. it was a situation which might well have crushed the spirit of an ordinary man, but ukridge seemed by no means dejected. jaunty, rather. his eyes shone behind their pince-nez and he whistled a rollicking air. when presently he began to sing, i felt that it was time to create a diversion.
-“what are you going to do?” i asked.
-“who, me?” said ukridge, buoyantly. “oh, i’m coming back to town on the next train. you don’t mind hoofing it to the next station, do you? it’s only five miles. it might be a trifle risky to start from sheep’s cray.”
-“because of the dogs, of course.”
-ukridge hummed a gay strain.
-“oh, yes. i forgot to tell you about that. i’ve got ’em.”
-“yes. i went out late last night and pinched them out of the shed.” he chuckled amusedly. “perfectly simple. only needed a clear, level head. i borrowed a dead cat and tied a string to it, legged it to old nickerson’s garden after dark, dug a board out of the back of the shed, and shoved my head down and chirruped. the dogs came trickling out, and i hared off, towing old colonel cat on his string. great run while it lasted, laddie. hounds picked up the scent right away and started off in a bunch at fifty miles an hour. cat and i doing a steady fifty-five. thought every minute old nickerson would hear and start blazing away with a gun, but nothing happened. i led the pack across country for a run of twenty minutes without a check, parked the dogs in my sitting-room, and so to bed. took it out of me, by gosh! not so young as i was.”
-i was silent for a moment, conscious of a feeling almost of reverence. this man was undoubtedly spacious. there had always been something about ukridge that dulled the moral sense.
-“well,” i said at length, “you’ve certainly got vision.”
-“yes?” said ukridge, gratified.
-“and the big, broad, flexible outlook.”
-“got to, laddie, nowadays. the foundation of a successful business career.”
-“and what’s the next move?”
-we were drawing near to the white cottage. it stood and broiled in the sunlight, and i hoped that there might be something cool to drink inside it. the window of the sitting-room was open, and through it came the yapping of pekingese.
-“oh, i shall find another cottage somewhere else,” said ukridge, eyeing his little home with a certain sentimentality. “that won’t be hard. lots of cottages all over the place. and then i shall buckle down to serious work. you’ll be astounded at the progress i’ve made already. in a minute i’ll show you what those dogs can do.”
-“they can bark all right.”
-it seemed the moment to spring the glad news.
-“i promised him i wouldn’t mention it,” i said, “for fear it might lead to disappointment, but as a matter of fact george tupper is trying to raise some capital for you. i left him last night starting out to get it.”
-“george tupper!”—ukridge’s eyes dimmed with a not unmanly emotion—“george tupper! by gad, that fellow is the salt of the earth. good, loyal fellow! a true friend. a man you can rely on. upon my sam, if there were more fellows about like old tuppy, there wouldn’t be all this modern pessimism and unrest. did he seem to have any idea where he could raise a bit of capital for me?”
-“yes. he went round to tell your aunt about your coming down here to train those pekes, and——what’s the matter?”
-a fearful change had come over ukridge’s jubilant front. his eyes bulged, his jaw sagged. with the addition of a few feet of grey whiskers he would have looked exactly like the recent mr. nickerson.
-“my aunt?” he mumbled, swaying on the door-handle.
-“yes. what’s the matter? he thought, if he told her all about it, she might relent and rally round.”
-the sigh of a gallant fighter at the end of his strength forced its way up from ukridge’s mackintosh-covered bosom.
-“of all the dashed, infernal, officious, meddling, muddling, fat-headed, interfering asses,” he said, wanly, “george tupper is the worst.”
-“what do you mean?”
-“the man oughtn’t to be at large. he’s a public menace.”
-“those dogs belong to my aunt. i pinched them when she chucked me out!”
-inside the cottage the pekingese were still yapping industriously.
-“upon my sam,” said ukridge, “it’s a little hard.”
-i think he would have said more, but at this point a voice spoke with a sudden and awful abruptness from the interior of the cottage. it was a woman’s voice, a quiet, steely voice, a voice, it seemed to me, that suggested cold eyes, a beaky nose, and hair like gun-metal.
-that was all it said, but it was enough. ukridge’s eye met mine in a wild surmise. he seemed to shrink into his mackintosh like a snail surprised while eating lettuce.
-“yes, aunt julia?” quavered ukridge.
-“come here. i wish to speak to you.”
-“yes, aunt julia.”
-i sidled out into the road. inside the cottage the yapping of the pekingese had become quite hysterical. i found myself trotting, and then—though it was a warm day—running quite rapidly. i could have stayed if i had wanted to, but somehow i did not want to. something seemed to tell me that on this holy domestic scene i should be an intruder.
-what it was that gave me that impression i do not know—probably vision or the big, broad, flexible outlook.
-ukridge’s accident syndicate
-“half a minute, laddie,” said ukridge. and, gripping my arm, he brought me to a halt on the outskirts of the little crowd which had collected about the church door.
-it was a crowd such as may be seen any morning during the london mating-season outside any of the churches which nestle in the quiet squares between hyde park and the king’s road, chelsea.
-it consisted of five women of cooklike aspect, four nurse-maids, half a dozen men of the non-producing class who had torn themselves away for the moment from their normal task of propping up the wall of the bunch of grapes public-house on the corner, a costermonger with a barrow of vegetables, divers small boys, eleven dogs, and two or three purposeful-looking young fellows with cameras slung over their shoulders. it was plain that a wedding was in progress—and, arguing from the presence of the camera-men and the line of smart motor-cars along the kerb, a fairly fashionable wedding. what was not plain—to me—was why ukridge, sternest of bachelors, had desired to add himself to the spectators.
-“what,” i enquired, “is the thought behind this? why are we interrupting our walk to attend the obsequies of some perfect stranger?”
-ukridge did not reply for a moment. he seemed plunged in thought. then he uttered a hollow, mirthless laugh—a dreadful sound like the last gargle of a dying moose.
-“perfect stranger, my number eleven foot!” he responded, in his coarse way. “do you know who it is who’s getting hitched up in there?”
-“teddy weeks? teddy weeks? good lord!” i exclaimed. “not really?”
-and five years rolled away.
-it was at barolini’s italian restaurant in beak street that ukridge evolved his great scheme. barolini’s was a favourite resort of our little group of earnest strugglers in the days when the philanthropic restaurateurs of soho used to supply four courses and coffee for a shilling and sixpence; and there were present that night, besides ukridge and myself, the following men-about-town: teddy weeks, the actor, fresh from a six-weeks’ tour with the number three “only a shop-girl” company; victor beamish, the artist, the man who drew that picture of the o-so-eesi piano-player in the advertisement pages of the piccadilly magazine; bertram fox, author of ashes of remorse, and other unproduced motion-picture scenarios; and robert dunhill, who, being employed at a salary of eighty pounds per annum by the new asiatic bank, represented the sober, hard-headed commercial element. as usual, teddy weeks had collared the conversation, and was telling us once again how good he was and how hardly treated by a malignant fate.
-there is no need to describe teddy weeks. under another and a more euphonious name he has long since made his personal appearance dreadfully familiar to all who read the illustrated weekly papers. he was then, as now, a sickeningly handsome young man, possessing precisely the same melting eyes, mobile mouth, and corrugated hair so esteemed by the theatre-going public to-day. and yet, at this period of his career he was wasting himself on minor touring companies of the kind which open at barrow-in-furness and jump to bootle for the second half of the week. he attributed this, as ukridge was so apt to attribute his own difficulties, to lack of capital.
-“i have everything,” he said, querulously, emphasising his remarks with a coffee-spoon. “looks, talent, personality, a beautiful speaking-voice—everything. all i need is a chance. and i can’t get that because i have no clothes fit to wear. these managers are all the same, they never look below the surface, they never bother to find out if a man has genius. all they go by are his clothes. if i could afford to buy a couple of suits from a cork street tailor, if i could have my boots made to order by moykoff instead of getting them ready-made and second-hand at moses brothers’, if i could once contrive to own a decent hat, a really good pair of spats, and a gold cigarette-case, all at the same time, i could walk into any manager’s office in london and sign up for a west-end production to-morrow.”
-it was at this point that freddie lunt came in. freddie, like robert dunhill, was a financial magnate in the making and an assiduous frequenter of barolini’s; and it suddenly occurred to us that a considerable time had passed since we had last seen him in the place. we enquired the reason for this aloofness.
-“i’ve been in bed,” said freddie, “for over a fortnight.”
-the statement incurred ukridge’s stern disapproval. that great man made a practice of never rising before noon, and on one occasion, when a carelessly-thrown match had burned a hole in his only pair of trousers, had gone so far as to remain between the sheets for forty-eight hours; but sloth on so majestic a scale as this shocked him.
-“lazy young devil,” he commented severely. “letting the golden hours of youth slip by like that when you ought to have been bustling about and making a name for yourself.”
-freddie protested himself wronged by the imputation.
-“i had an accident,” he explained. “fell off my bicycle and sprained an ankle.”
-“tough luck,” was our verdict.
-“oh, i don’t know,” said freddie. “it wasn’t bad fun getting a rest. and of course there was the fiver.”
-“i got a fiver from the weekly cyclist for getting my ankle sprained.”
-“you—what?” cried ukridge, profoundly stirred—as ever—by a tale of easy money. “do you mean to sit there and tell me that some dashed paper paid you five quid simply because you sprained your ankle? pull yourself together, old horse. things like that don’t happen.”
-“it’s quite true.”
-“can you show me the fiver?”
-“no; because if i did you would try to borrow it.”
-ukridge ignored this slur in dignified silence.
-“would they pay a fiver to anyone who sprained his ankle?” he asked, sticking to the main point.
-“yes. if he was a subscriber.”
-“i knew there was a catch in it,” said ukridge, moodily.
-“lots of weekly papers are starting this wheeze,” proceeded freddie. “you pay a year’s subscription and that entitles you to accident insurance.”
-we were interested. this was in the days before every daily paper in london was competing madly against its rivals in the matter of insurance and offering princely bribes to the citizens to make a fortune by breaking their necks. nowadays papers are paying as high as two thousand pounds for a genuine corpse and five pounds a week for a mere dislocated spine; but at that time the idea was new and it had an attractive appeal.
-“how many of these rags are doing this?” asked ukridge. you could tell from the gleam in his eyes that that great brain was whirring like a dynamo. “as many as ten?”
-“yes, i should think so. quite ten.”
-“then a fellow who subscribed to them all and then sprained his ankle would get fifty quid?” said ukridge, reasoning acutely.
-“more if the injury was more serious,” said freddie, the expert. “they have a regular tariff. so much for a broken arm, so much for a broken leg, and so forth.”
-ukridge’s collar leaped off its stud and his pince-nez wobbled drunkenly as he turned to us.
-“how much money can you blokes raise?” he demanded.
-“what do you want it for?” asked robert dunhill, with a banker’s caution.
-“my dear old horse, can’t you see? why, my gosh, i’ve got the idea of the century. upon my sam, this is the giltest-edged scheme that was ever hatched. we’ll get together enough money and take out a year’s subscription for every one of these dashed papers.”
-“what’s the good of that?” said dunhill, coldly unenthusiastic.
-they train bank clerks to stifle emotion, so that they will be able to refuse overdrafts when they become managers. “the odds are we should none of us have an accident of any kind, and then the money would be chucked away.”
-“good heavens, ass,” snorted ukridge, “you don’t suppose i’m suggesting that we should leave it to chance, do you? listen! here���s the scheme. we take out subscriptions for all these papers, then we draw lots, and the fellow who gets the fatal card or whatever it is goes out and breaks his leg and draws the loot, and we split it up between us and live on it in luxury. it ought to run into hundreds of pounds.”
-a long silence followed. then dunhill spoke again. his was a solid rather than a nimble mind.
-“suppose he couldn’t break his leg?”
-“my gosh!” cried ukridge, exasperated. “here we are in the twentieth century, with every resource of modern civilisation at our disposal, with opportunities for getting our legs broken opening about us on every side—and you ask a silly question like that! of course he could break his leg. any ass can break a leg. it’s a little hard! we’re all infernally broke—personally, unless freddie can lend me a bit of that fiver till saturday, i’m going to have a difficult job pulling through. we all need money like the dickens, and yet, when i point out this marvellous scheme for collecting a bit, instead of fawning on me for my ready intelligence you sit and make objections. it isn’t the right spirit. it isn’t the spirit that wins.”
-“if you’re as hard up as that,” objected dunhill, “how are you going to put in your share of the pool?”
-a pained, almost a stunned, look came into ukridge’s eyes. he gazed at dunhill through his lop-sided pince-nez as one who speculates as to whether his hearing has deceived him.
-“me?” he cried. “me? i like that! upon my sam, that’s rich! why, damme, if there’s any justice in the world, if there’s a spark of decency and good feeling in your bally bosoms, i should think you would let me in free for suggesting the idea. it’s a little hard! i supply the brains and you want me to cough up cash as well. my gosh, i didn’t expect this. this hurts me, by george! if anybody had told me that an old pal would——”
-“oh, all right,” said robert dunhill. “all right, all right, all right. but i’ll tell you one thing. if you draw the lot it’ll be the happiest day of my life.”
-“i sha’n’t,” said ukridge. “something tells me that i shan’t.”
-nor did he. when, in a solemn silence broken only by the sound of a distant waiter quarrelling with the cook down a speaking-tube, we had completed the drawing, the man of destiny was teddy weeks.
-i suppose that even in the springtime of youth, when broken limbs seems a lighter matter than they become later in life, it can never be an unmixedly agreeable thing to have to go out into the public highways and try to make an accident happen to one. in such circumstances the reflection that you are thereby benefiting your friends brings but slight balm. to teddy weeks it appeared to bring no balm at all. that he was experiencing a certain disinclination to sacrifice himself for the public good became more and more evident as the days went by and found him still intact. ukridge, when he called upon me to discuss the matter, was visibly perturbed. he sank into a chair beside the table at which i was beginning my modest morning meal, and, having drunk half my coffee, sighed deeply.
-“upon my sam,” he moaned, “it’s a little disheartening. i strain my brain to think up schemes for getting us all a bit of money just at the moment when we are all needing it most, and when i hit on what is probably the simplest and yet ripest notion of our time, this blighter weeks goes and lets me down by shirking his plain duty. it’s just my luck that a fellow like that should have drawn the lot. and the worst of it is, laddie, that, now we’ve started with him, we’ve got to keep on. we can’t possibly raise enough money to pay yearly subscriptions for anybody else. it’s weeks or nobody.”
-“i suppose we must give him time.”
-“that’s what he says,” grunted ukridge, morosely, helping himself to toast. “he says he doesn’t know how to start about it. to listen to him, you’d think that going and having a trifling accident was the sort of delicate and intricate job that required years of study and special preparation. why, a child of six could do it on his head at five minutes’ notice. the man’s so infernally particular. you make helpful suggestions, and instead of accepting them in a broad, reasonable spirit of co-operation he comes back at you every time with some frivolous objection. he’s so dashed fastidious. when we were out last night, we came on a couple of navvies scrapping. good hefty fellows, either of them capable of putting him in hospital for a month. i told him to jump in and start separating them, and he said no; it was a private dispute which was none of his business, and he didn’t feel justified in interfering. finicky, i call it. i tell you, laddie, this blighter is a broken reed. he has got cold feet. we did wrong to let him into the drawing at all. we might have known that a fellow like that would never give results. no conscience. no sense of esprit de corps. no notion of putting himself out to the most trifling extent for the benefit of the community. haven’t you any more marmalade, laddie?”
-“i have not.”
-“then i’ll be going,” said ukridge, moodily. “i suppose,” he added, pausing at the door, “you couldn’t lend me five bob?”
-“how did you guess?”
-“then i’ll tell you what,” said ukridge, ever fair and reasonable; “you can stand me dinner to-night.” he seemed cheered up for the moment by this happy compromise, but gloom descended on him again. his face clouded. “when i think,” he said, “of all the money that’s locked up in that poor faint-hearted fish, just waiting to be released, i could sob. sob, laddie, like a little child. i never liked that man—he has a bad eye and waves his hair. never trust a man who waves his hair, old horse.”
-ukridge’s pessimism was not confined to himself. by the end of a fortnight, nothing having happened to teddy weeks worse than a slight cold which he shook off in a couple of days, the general consensus of opinion among his apprehensive colleagues in the syndicate was that the situation had become desperate. there were no signs whatever of any return on the vast capital which we had laid out, and meanwhile meals had to be bought, landladies paid, and a reasonable supply of tobacco acquired. it was a melancholy task in these circumstances to read one’s paper of a morning.
-all over the inhabited globe, so the well-informed sheet gave one to understand, every kind of accident was happening every day to practically everybody in existence except teddy weeks. farmers in minnesota were getting mixed up with reaping-machines, peasants in india were being bisected by crocodiles; iron girders from skyscrapers were falling hourly on the heads of citizens in every town from philadelphia to san francisco; and the only people who were not down with ptomaine poisoning were those who had walked over cliffs, driven motors into walls, tripped over manholes, or assumed on too slight evidence that the gun was not loaded. in a crippled world, it seemed, teddy weeks walked alone, whole and glowing with health. it was one of those grim, ironical, hopeless, grey, despairful situations which the russian novelists love to write about, and i could not find it in me to blame ukridge for taking direct action in this crisis. my only regret was that bad luck caused so excellent a plan to miscarry.
-my first intimation that he had been trying to hurry matters on came when he and i were walking along the king’s road one evening, and he drew me into markham square, a dismal backwater where he had once had rooms.
-“what’s the idea?” i asked, for i disliked the place.
-“teddy weeks lives here,” said ukridge. “in my old rooms.” i could not see that this lent any fascination to the place. every day and in every way i was feeling sorrier and sorrier that i had been foolish enough to put money which i could ill spare into a venture which had all the earmarks of a wash-out, and my sentiments towards teddy weeks were cold and hostile.
-“i want to enquire after him.”
-“enquire after him? why?”
-“well, the fact is, laddie, i have an idea that he has been bitten by a dog.”
-“what makes you think that?”
-“oh, i don’t know,” said ukridge, dreamily. “i’ve just got the idea. you know how one gets ideas.”
-the mere contemplation of this beautiful event was so inspiring that for awhile it held me silent. in each of the ten journals in which we had invested dog-bites were specifically recommended as things which every subscriber ought to have. they came about half-way up the list of lucrative accidents, inferior to a broken rib or a fractured fibula, but better value than an ingrowing toe-nail. i was gloating happily over the picture conjured up by ukridge’s words when an exclamation brought me back with a start to the realities of life. a revolting sight met my eyes. down the street came ambling the familiar figure of teddy weeks, and one glance at his elegant person was enough to tell us that our hopes had been built on sand. not even a toy pomeranian had chewed this man.
-“hallo, you fellows!” said teddy weeks.
-“hallo!” we responded, dully.
-“can’t stop,” said teddy weeks. “i’ve got to fetch a doctor.”
-“yes. poor victor beamish. he’s been bitten by a dog.”
-ukridge and i exchanged weary glances. it seemed as if fate was going out of its way to have sport with us. what was the good of a dog biting victor beamish? what was the good of a hundred dogs biting victor beamish? a dog-bitten victor beamish had no market value whatever.
-“you know that fierce brute that belongs to my landlady,” said teddy weeks. “the one that always dashes out into the area and barks at people who come to the front door.” i remembered. a large mongrel with wild eyes and flashing fangs, badly in need of a haircut. i had encountered it once in the street, when visiting ukridge, and only the presence of the latter, who knew it well and to whom all dogs were as brothers, had saved me from the doom of victor beamish. “somehow or other he got into my bedroom this evening. he was waiting there when i came home. i had brought beamish back with me, and the animal pinned him by the leg the moment i opened the door.”
-“why didn’t he pin you?” asked ukridge, aggrieved.
-“what i can’t make out,” said teddy weeks, “is how on earth the brute came to be in my room. somebody must have put him there. the whole thing is very mysterious.”
-“why didn’t he pin you?” demanded ukridge again.
-“oh, i managed to climb on to the top of the wardrobe while he was biting beamish,” said teddy weeks. “and then the landlady came and took him away. but i can’t stop here talking. i must go and get that doctor.”
-we gazed after him in silence as he tripped down the street. we noted the careful manner in which he paused at the corner to eye the traffic before crossing the road, the wary way in which he drew back to allow a truck to rattle past.
-“you heard that?” said ukridge, tensely. “he climbed on to the top of the wardrobe!”
-“and you saw the way he dodged that excellent truck?”
-“something’s got to be done,” said ukridge, firmly. “the man has got to be awakened to a sense of his responsibilities.”
-next day a deputation waited on teddy weeks.
-ukridge was our spokesman, and he came to the point with admirable directness.
-“how about it?” asked ukridge.
-“how about what?” replied teddy weeks, nervously, avoiding his accusing eye.
-“when do we get action?”
-“oh, you mean that accident business?”
-“i’ve been thinking about that,” said teddy weeks.
-ukridge drew the mackintosh which he wore indoors and out of doors and in all weathers more closely around him. there was in the action something suggestive of a member of the roman senate about to denounce an enemy of the state. in just such a manner must cicero have swished his toga as he took a deep breath preparatory to assailing clodius. he toyed for a moment with the ginger-beer wire which held his pince-nez in place, and endeavoured without success to button his collar at the back. in moments of emotion ukridge’s collar always took on a sort of temperamental jumpiness which no stud could restrain.
-“and about time you were thinking about it,” he boomed, sternly.
-we shifted appreciatively in our seats, all except victor beamish, who had declined a chair and was standing by the mantelpiece. “upon my sam, it’s about time you were thinking about it. do you realise that we’ve invested an enormous sum of money in you on the distinct understanding that we could rely on you to do your duty and get immediate results? are we to be forced to the conclusion that you are so yellow and few in the pod as to want to evade your honourable obligations? we thought better of you, weeks. upon my sam, we thought better of you. we took you for a two-fisted, enterprising, big-souled, one hundred-per-cent. he-man who would stand by his friends to the finish.”
-“any bloke with a sense of loyalty and an appreciation of what it meant to the rest of us would have rushed out and found some means of fulfilling his duty long ago. you don’t even grasp at the opportunities that come your way. only yesterday i saw you draw back when a single step into the road would have had a truck bumping into you.”
-“well, it’s not so easy to let a truck bump into you.”
-“yes, but——” said teddy weeks.
-“i’m told, what’s more, it isn’t a bit painful. a sort of dull shock, that’s all.”
-“who told you that?”
-“i forget. someone.”
-“well, you can tell him from me that he’s an ass,” said teddy weeks, with asperity.
-“all right. if you object to being run over by a truck there are lots of other ways. but, upon my sam, it’s pretty hopeless suggesting them. you seem to have no enterprise at all. yesterday, after i went to all the trouble to put a dog in your room, a dog which would have done all the work for you—all that you had to do was stand still and let him use his own judgment—what happened? you climbed on to——”
-victor beamish interrupted, speaking in a voice husky with emotion.
-“was it you who put that damned dog in the room?”
-“eh?” said ukridge. “why, yes. but we can have a good talk about all that later on,” he proceeded, hastily. “the point at the moment is how the dickens we’re going to persuade this poor worm to collect our insurance money for us. why, damme, i should have thought you would have——”
-“all i can say——” began victor beamish, heatedly.
-“yes, yes,” said ukridge; “some other time. must stick to business now, laddie. i was saying,” he resumed, “that i should have thought you would have been as keen as mustard to put the job through for your own sake. you’re always beefing that you haven’t any clothes to impress managers with. think of all you can buy with your share of the swag once you have summoned up a little ordinary determination and seen the thing through. think of the suits, the boots, the hats, the spats. you’re always talking about your dashed career, and how all you need to land you in a west-end production is good clothes. well, here’s your chance to get them.”
-his eloquence was not wasted. a wistful look came into teddy weeks’s eye, such a look as must have come into the eye of moses on the summit of pisgah. he breathed heavily. you could see that the man was mentally walking along cork street, weighing the merits of one famous tailor against another.
-“i’ll tell you what i’ll do,” he said, suddenly. “it’s no use asking me to put this thing through in cold blood. i simply can’t do it. i haven’t the nerve. but if you fellows will give me a dinner to-night with lots of champagne i think it will key me up to it.”
-a heavy silence fell upon the room. champagne! the word was like a knell.
-“how on earth are we going to afford champagne?” said victor beamish.
-“well, there it is,” said teddy weeks. “take it or leave it.”
-“gentlemen,” said ukridge, “it would seem that the company requires more capital. how about it, old horses? let’s get together in a frank, business-like cards-on-the-table spirit, and see what can be done. i can raise ten bob.”
-“what!” cried the entire assembled company, amazed. “how?”
-“i’ll pawn a banjo.”
-“you haven’t got a banjo.”
-“no, but george tupper has, and i know where he keeps it.”
-started in this spirited way, the subscriptions came pouring in. i contributed a cigarette-case, bertram fox thought his landlady would let him owe for another week, robert dunhill had an uncle in kensington who, he fancied, if tactfully approached, would be good for a quid, and victor beamish said that if the advertisement-manager of the o-so-eesi piano-player was churlish enough to refuse an advance of five shillings against future work he misjudged him sadly. within a few minutes, in short, the lightning drive had produced the impressive total of two pounds six shillings, and we asked teddy weeks if he thought that he could get adequately keyed up within the limits of that sum.
-“i’ll try,” said teddy weeks.
-so, not unmindful of the fact that that excellent hostelry supplied champagne at eight shillings the quart bottle, we fixed the meeting for seven o’clock at barolini’s.
-considered as a social affair, teddy weeks’s keying-up dinner was not a success. almost from the start i think we all found it trying. it was not so much the fact that he was drinking deeply of barolini’s eight-shilling champagne while we, from lack of funds, were compelled to confine ourselves to meaner beverages; what really marred the pleasantness of the function was the extraordinary effect the stuff had on teddy. what was actually in the champagne supplied to barolini and purveyed by him to the public, such as were reckless enough to drink it, at eight shillings the bottle remains a secret between its maker and his maker; but three glasses of it were enough to convert teddy weeks from a mild and rather oily young man into a truculent swashbuckler.
-he quarrelled with us all. with the soup he was tilting at victor beamish’s theories of art; the fish found him ridiculing bertram fox’s views on the future of the motion-picture; and by the time the leg of chicken with dandelion salad arrived—or, as some held, string salad—opinions varied on this point—the hell-brew had so wrought on him that he had begun to lecture ukridge on his mis-spent life and was urging him in accents audible across the street to go out and get a job and thus acquire sufficient self-respect to enable him to look himself in the face in a mirror without wincing. not, added teddy weeks with what we all thought uncalled-for offensiveness, that any amount of self-respect was likely to do that. having said which, he called imperiously for another eight bobs’-worth.
-“you’d better!” said teddy weeks, belligerently, biting off the end of one of barolini’s best cigars. “and there’s another thing—don’t let me hear of your coming and sneaking people’s socks again.”
-“very well, laddie,” said ukridge, humbly.
-“if there is one person in the world that i despise,” said teddy, bending a red-eyed gaze on the offender, “it’s a snock-seeker—a seek-snocker—a—well, you know what i mean.”
-we hastened to assure him that we knew what he meant and he relapsed into a lengthy stupor, from which he emerged three-quarters of an hour later to announce that he didn’t know what we intended to do, but that he was going. we said that we were going too, and we paid the bill and did so.
-teddy weeks’s indignation on discovering us gathered about him upon the pavement outside the restaurant was intense, and he expressed it freely. among other things, he said—which was not true—that he had a reputation to keep up in soho.
-“it’s all right, teddy, old horse,” said ukridge, soothingly. “we just thought you would like to have all your old pals round you when you did it.”
-“did it? did what?”
-“why, had the accident.”
-teddy weeks glared at him truculently. then his mood seemed to change abruptly, and he burst into a loud and hearty laugh.
-“well, of all the silly ideas!” he cried, amusedly. “i’m not going to have an accident. you don’t suppose i ever seriously intended to have an accident, do you? it was just my fun.” then, with another sudden change of mood, he seemed to become a victim to an acute unhappiness. he stroked ukridge’s arm affectionately, and a tear rolled down his cheek. “just my fun,” he repeated. “you don’t mind my fun, do you?” he asked, pleadingly. “you like my fun, don’t you? all my fun. never meant to have an accident at all. just wanted dinner.” the gay humour of it all overcame his sorrow once more. “funniest thing ever heard,” he said cordially. “didn’t want accident, wanted dinner. dinner daxident, danner dixident,” he added, driving home his point. “well, good night all,” he said, cheerily. and, stepping off the kerb on to a banana-skin, was instantly knocked ten feet by a passing lorry.
-“two ribs and an arm,” said the doctor five minutes later, superintending the removal proceedings. “gently with that stretcher.”
-it was two weeks before we were informed by the authorities of charing cross hospital that the patient was in a condition to receive visitors. a whip-round secured the price of a basket of fruit, and ukridge and i were deputed by the shareholders to deliver it with their compliments and kind enquiries.
-“hallo!” we said in a hushed, bedside manner when finally admitted to his presence.
-“sit down, gentlemen,” replied the invalid.
-i must confess even in that first moment to having experienced a slight feeling of surprise. it was not like teddy weeks to call us gentlemen. ukridge, however, seemed to notice nothing amiss.
-“well, well, well,” he said, buoyantly. “and how are you, laddie? we’ve brought you a few fragments of fruit.”
-“i am getting along capitally,” replied teddy weeks, still in that odd precise way which had made his opening words strike me as curious. “and i should like to say that in my opinion england has reason to be proud of the alertness and enterprise of her great journals. the excellence of their reading-matter, the ingenuity of their various competitions, and, above all, the go-ahead spirit which has resulted in this accident insurance scheme are beyond praise. have you got that down?” he enquired.
-ukridge and i looked at each other. we had been told that teddy was practically normal again, but this sounded like delirium.
-“have we got that down, old horse?” asked ukridge, gently.
-teddy weeks seemed surprised.
-“aren’t you reporters?”
-“how do you mean, reporters?”
-“i thought you had come from one of these weekly papers that have been paying me insurance money, to interview me,” said teddy weeks.
-ukridge and i exchanged another glance. an uneasy glance this time. i think that already a grim foreboding had begun to cast its shadow over us.
-“surely you remember me, teddy, old horse?” said ukridge, anxiously.
-teddy weeks knit his brow, concentrating painfully.
-“why, of course,” he said at last. “you’re ukridge, aren’t you?”
-“that’s right. ukridge.”
-“of course. ukridge.”
-“yes. ukridge. funny your forgetting me!”
-“yes,” said teddy weeks. “it’s the effect of the shock i got when that thing bowled me over. i must have been struck on the head, i suppose. it has had the effect of rendering my memory rather uncertain. the doctors here are very interested. they say it is a most unusual case. i can remember some things perfectly, but in some ways my memory is a complete blank.”
-“oh, but i say, old horse,” quavered ukridge. “i suppose you haven’t forgotten about that insurance, have you?”
-“oh, no, i remember that.”
-ukridge breathed a relieved sigh.
-“i was a subscriber to a number of weekly papers,” went on teddy weeks. “they are paying me insurance money now.”
-“yes, yes, old horse,” cried ukridge. “but what i mean is you remember the syndicate, don’t you?”
-teddy weeks raised his eyebrows.
-“syndicate? what syndicate?”
-“why, when we all got together and put up the money to pay for the subscriptions to these papers and drew lots, to choose which of us should go out and have an accident and collect the money. and you drew it, don’t you remember?”
-utter astonishment, and a shocked astonishment at that, spread itself over teddy weeks’s countenance. the man seemed outraged.
-“i certainly remember nothing of the kind,” he said, severely. “i cannot imagine myself for a moment consenting to become a party to what from your own account would appear to have been a criminal conspiracy to obtain money under false pretences from a number of weekly papers.”
-“however,” said teddy weeks, “if there is any truth in this story, no doubt you have documentary evidence to support it.”
-ukridge looked at me. i looked at ukridge. there was a long silence.
-“shift-ho, old horse?” said ukridge, sadly. “no use staying on here.”
-“no,” i replied, with equal gloom. “may as well go.”
-“glad to have seen you,” said teddy weeks, “and thanks for the fruit.”
-the next time i saw the man he was coming out of a manager’s office in the haymarket. he had on a new homburg hat of a delicate pearl grey, spats to match, and a new blue flannel suit, beautifully cut, with an invisible red twill. he was looking jubilant, and; as i passed him, he drew from his pocket a gold cigarette-case.
-it was shortly after that, if you remember, that he made a big hit as the juvenile lead in that piece at the apollo and started on his sensational career as a matinee idol.
-inside the church the organ had swelled into the familiar music of the wedding march. a verger came out and opened the doors. the five cooks ceased their reminiscences of other and smarter weddings at which they had participated. the camera-men unshipped their cameras. the costermonger moved his barrow of vegetables a pace forward. a dishevelled and unshaven man at my side uttered a disapproving growl.
-“idle rich!” said the dishevelled man.
-out of the church came a beauteous being, leading attached to his arm another being, somewhat less beauteous.
-there was no denying the spectacular effect of teddy weeks. he was handsomer than ever. his sleek hair, gorgeously waved, shone in the sun, his eyes were large and bright; his lissome frame, garbed in faultless morning-coat and trousers, was that of an apollo. but his bride gave the impression that teddy had married money. they paused in the doorway, and the camera-men became active and fussy.
-“have you got a shilling, laddie?” said ukridge in a low, level voice.
-“why do you want a shilling?”
-“old horse,” said ukridge, tensely, “it is of the utmost vital importance that i have a shilling here and now.”
-i passed it over. ukridge turned to the dishevelled man, and i perceived that he held in his hand a large rich tomato of juicy and over-ripe appearance.
-“would you like to earn a bob?” ukridge said.
-“would i!” replied the dishevelled man.
-ukridge sank his voice to a hoarse whisper.
-the camera-men had finished their preparations. teddy weeks, his head thrown back in that gallant way which has endeared him to so many female hearts, was exhibiting his celebrated teeth. the cooks, in undertones, were making adverse comments on the appearance of the bride.
-“now, please,” said one of the camera-men.
-over the heads of the crowd, well and truly aimed, whizzed a large juicy tomato. it burst like a shell full between teddy weeks’s expressive eyes, obliterating them in scarlet ruin. it spattered teddy weeks’s collar, it dripped on teddy weeks’s morning-coat. and the dishevelled man turned abruptly and raced off down the street.
-ukridge grasped my arm. there was a look of deep content in his eyes.
-“shift-ho?” said ukridge.
-arm-in-arm, we strolled off in the pleasant june sunshine.
-the début of battling billson
-it becomes increasingly difficult, i have found, as time goes by, to recall the exact circumstances in which one first became acquainted with this man or that; for as a general thing i lay no claim to the possession of one of those hair-trigger memories which come from subscribing to the correspondence courses advertised in the magazines. and yet i can state without doubt or hesitation that the individual afterwards known as battling billson entered my life at half-past four on the afternoon of saturday, september the tenth, two days after my twenty-seventh birthday. for there was that about my first sight of him which has caused the event to remain photographically lined on the tablets of my mind when a yesterday has faded from its page. not only was our meeting dramatic and even startling, but it had in it something of the quality of the last straw, the final sling or arrow of outrageous fortune. it seemed to put the lid on the sadness of life.
-everything had been going steadily wrong with me for more than a week. i had been away, paying a duty visit to uncongenial relatives in the country, and it had rained and rained and rained. there had been family prayers before breakfast and bezique after dinner. on the journey back to london my carriage had been full of babies, the train had stopped everywhere, and i had had nothing to eat but a bag of buns. and when finally i let myself into my lodgings in ebury street and sought the soothing haven of my sitting-room, the first thing i saw on opening the door was this enormous red-headed man lying on the sofa.
-“sir?” said bowles, in his fruity ex-butler way, popping up from the depths accompanied by a rich smell of finnan haddie.
-“there’s someone in my room,” i whispered.
-“that would be mr. ukridge, sir.”
-“it wouldn’t be anything of the kind,” i replied, with asperity. i seldom had the courage to contradict bowles, but this statement was so wildly inaccurate that i could not let it pass. “it’s a huge red-headed man.”
-“mr. ukridge’s friend, sir. he joined mr. ukridge here yesterday.”
-“how do you mean, joined mr. ukridge here yesterday?”
-“mr. ukridge came to occupy your rooms in your absence, sir, on the night after your departure. i assumed that he had your approval. he said, if i remember correctly, that ‘it would be all right.’”
-for some reason or other which i had never been able to explain, bowles’s attitude towards ukridge from their first meeting had been that of an indulgent father towards a favourite son. he gave the impression now of congratulating me on having such a friend to rally round and sneak into my rooms when i went away.
-“would there be anything further, sir?” enquired bowles, with a wistful half-glance over his shoulder. he seemed reluctant to tear himself away for long from the finnan haddie.
-“no,” i said. “er—no. when do you expect mr. ukridge back?”
-“mr. ukridge informed me that he would return for dinner, sir. unless he has altered his plans, he is now at a matinée performance at the gaiety theatre.”
-the audience was just beginning to leave when i reached the gaiety. i waited in the strand, and presently was rewarded by the sight of a yellow mackintosh working its way through the crowd.
-“hallo, laddie!” said stanley featherstonehaugh ukridge, genially. “when did you get back? i say, i want you to remember this tune, so that you can remind me of it to-morrow, when i’ll be sure to have forgotten it. this is how it goes.” he poised himself flat-footedly in the surging tide of pedestrians and, shutting his eyes and raising his chin, began to yodel in a loud and dismal tenor. “tumty-tumty-tumty-tum, tum tum tum,” he concluded. “and now, old horse, you may lead me across the street to the coal hole for a short snifter. what sort of a time have you had?”
-“never mind what sort of a time i’ve had. who’s the fellow you’ve dumped down in my rooms?
-“good lord! surely even you wouldn’t inflict more than one on me?”
-ukridge looked at me a little pained.
-“i don’t like this tone,” he said, leading me down the steps of the coal hole. “upon my sam, your manner wounds me, old horse. i little thought that you would object to your best friend laying his head on your pillow.”
-“i don’t mind your head. at least i do, but i suppose i’ve got to put up with it. but when it comes to your taking in lodgers——”
-“order two tawny ports, laddie,” said ukridge, “and i’ll explain all about that. i had an idea all along that you would want to know. it’s like this,” he proceeded, when the tawny ports had arrived. “that bloke’s going to make my everlasting fortune.”
-“well, can’t he do it somewhere else except in my sitting-room?”
-“you know me, old horse,” said ukridge, sipping luxuriously. “keen, alert, far-sighted. brain never still. always getting ideas—bing—like a flash. the other day i was in a pub down chelsea way having a bit of bread and cheese, and a fellow came in smothered with jewels. smothered, i give you my word. rings on his fingers and a tie-pin you could have lit your cigar at. i made enquiries and found that he was tod bingham’s manager.”
-“who’s tod bingham?”
-“my dear old son, you must have heard of tod bingham. the new middle-weight champion. beat alf palmer for the belt a couple of weeks ago. and this bloke, as opulent-looking a bloke as ever i saw, was his manager. i suppose he gets about fifty per cent. of everything tod makes, and you know the sort of purses they give for big fights nowadays. and then there’s music-hall tours and the movies and all that. well, i see no reason why, putting the thing at the lowest figures, i shouldn’t scoop in thousands. i got the idea two seconds after they told me who this fellow was. and what made the thing seem almost as if it was meant to be was the coincidence that i should have heard only that morning that the hyacinth was in.”
-the man seemed to me to be rambling. in my reduced and afflicted state his cryptic method of narrative irritated me.
-“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” i said. “what’s the hyacinth? in where?”
-“pull yourself together, old horse,” said ukridge, with the air of one endeavouring to be patient with a half-witted child. “you remember the hyacinth, the tramp steamer i took that trip on a couple of years ago. many’s the time i’ve told you all about the hyacinth. she docked in the port of london the night before i met this opulent bloke, and i had been meaning to go down next day and have a chat with the lads. the fellow you found in your rooms is one of the trimmers. as decent a bird as ever you met. not much conversation, but a heart of gold. and it came across me like a thunderbolt the moment they told me who the jewelled cove was that, if i could only induce this man billson to take up scrapping seriously, with me as his manager, my fortune was made. billson is the man who invented fighting.”
-“he looks it.”
-“splendid chap—you’ll like him.”
-“i bet i shall. i made up my mind to like him the moment i saw him.”
-“never picks a quarrel, you understand—in fact, used to need the deuce of a lot of provocation before he would give of his best; but once he started—golly! i’ve seen that man clean out a bar at marseilles in a way that fascinated you. a bar filled to overflowing with a.b.’s and firemen, mind you, and all capable of felling oxen with a blow. six of them there were, and they kept swatting billson with all the vim and heartiness at their disposal, but he just let them bounce off, and went on with the business in hand. the man’s a champion, laddie, nothing less. you couldn’t hurt him with a hatchet, and every time he hits anyone all the undertakers in the place jump up and make bids for the body. and the amazing bit of luck is that he was looking for a job ashore. it appears he’s fallen in love with one of the barmaids at the crown in kennington. not,” said ukridge, so that all misapprehension should be avoided, “the one with the squint. the other one. flossie. the girl with yellow hair.”
-“i don’t know the barmaids at the crown in kennington,” i said.
-“nice girls,” said ukridge, paternally. “so it was all right, you see. our interests were identical. good old billson isn’t what you’d call a very intelligent chap, but i managed to make him understand after an hour or so, and we drew up the contract. i’m to get fifty per cent. of everything in consideration of managing him, fixing up fights, and looking after him generally.”
-“and looking after him includes tucking him up on my sofa and singing him to sleep?”
-again that pained look came into ukridge’s face. he gazed at me as if i had disappointed him.
-“you keep harping on that, laddie, and it isn’t the right spirit. anyone would think that we had polluted your damned room.”
-“well, you must admit that having this coming champion of yours in the home is going to make things a bit crowded.”
-“don’t worry about that, my dear old man,” said ukridge, reassuringly. “we move to the white hart at barnes to-morrow, to start training. i’ve got billson an engagement in one of the preliminaries down at wonderland two weeks from to-night.”
-“no; really?” i said, impressed by this enterprise. “how did you manage it?”
-“i just took him along and showed him to the management. they jumped at him. you see, the old boy’s appearance rather speaks for itself. thank goodness, all this happened just when i had a few quid tucked away. by the greatest good luck i ran into george tupper at the very moment when he had had word that they were going to make him an under-secretary or something—i can’t remember the details, but it’s something they give these foreign office blokes when they show a bit of class—and tuppy parted with a tenner without a murmur. seemed sort of dazed. i believe now i could have had twenty if i’d had the presence of mind to ask for it. still,” said ukridge, with a manly resignation which did him credit, “it can’t be helped now, and ten will see me through. the only thing that’s worrying me at the moment is what to call billson.”
-“yes, i should be careful what i called a man like that.”
-“i mean, what name is he to fight under?”
-“why not his own?”
-“his parents, confound them,” said ukridge, moodily, “christened him wilberforce. i ask you, can you see the crowd at wonderland having wilberforce billson introduced to them?”
-“willie billson,” i suggested. “rather snappy.”
-ukridge considered the proposal seriously, with knit brows, as becomes a manager.
-“too frivolous,” he decided at length. “might be all right for a bantam, but—no, i don’t like it. i was thinking of something like hurricane hicks or rock-crusher riggs.”
-“don’t do it,” i urged, “or you’ll kill his career right from the start. you never find a real champion with one of these fancy names. bob fitzsimmons, jack johnson, james j. corbett, james j. jeffries——”
-“james j. billson?”
-“you don’t think,” said ukridge, almost with timidity, “that wildcat wix might do?”
-“no fighter with an adjective in front of his name ever boxed in anything except a three-round preliminary.”
-“how about battling billson?”
-i patted him on the shoulder.
-“go no farther,” i said. “the thing is settled. battling billson is the name.”
-“laddie,” said ukridge in a hushed voice, reaching across the table and grasping my hand, “this is genius. sheer genius. order another couple of tawny ports, old man.”
-i did so, and we drank deep to the battler’s success.
-dinner, which followed the introduction, revealed the battler rather as a capable trencherman than as a sparkling conversationalist. his long reach enabled him to grab salt, potatoes, pepper, and other necessaries without the necessity of asking for them; and on other topics he seemed to possess no views which he deemed worthy of exploitation. a strong, silent man.
-that there was a softer side to his character was, however, made clear to me when, after smoking one of my cigars and talking for awhile of this and that, ukridge went out on one of those mysterious errands of his which were always summoning him at all hours and left my guest and myself alone together. after a bare half-hour’s silence, broken only by the soothing gurgle of his pipe, the coming champion cocked an intimidating eye at me and spoke.
-“you ever been in love, mister?”
-i was thrilled and flattered. something in my appearance, i told myself, some nebulous something that showed me a man of sentiment and sympathy, had appealed to this man, and he was about to pour out his heart in intimate confession. i said yes, i had been in love many times. i went on to speak of love as a noble emotion of which no man need be ashamed. i spoke at length and with fervour.
-“r!” said battling billson.
-then, as if aware that he had been chattering in an undignified manner to a comparative stranger, he withdrew into the silence again and did not emerge till it was time to go to bed, when he said “good night, mister,” and disappeared. it was disappointing. significant, perhaps, the conversation had been, but i had been rather hoping for something which could have been built up into a human document, entitled “the soul of the abysmal brute,” and sold to some editor for that real money which was always so badly needed in the home.
-ukridge and his protégé left next morning for barnes, and, as that riverside resort was somewhat off my beat, i saw no more of the battler until the fateful night at wonderland. from time to time ukridge would drop in at my rooms to purloin cigars and socks, and on these occasions he always spoke with the greatest confidence of his man’s prospects. at first, it seemed, there had been a little difficulty owing to the other’s rooted idea that plug tobacco was an indispensable adjunct to training: but towards the end of the first week the arguments of wisdom had prevailed and he had consented to abandon smoking until after his début. by this concession the issue seemed to ukridge to have been sealed as a certainty, and he was in sunny mood as he borrowed the money from me to pay our fares to the underground station at which the pilgrim alights who wishes to visit that mecca of east-end boxing, wonderland.
-the battler had preceded us, and when we arrived was in the dressing-room, stripped to a breath-taking semi-nudity. i had not supposed that it was possible for a man to be larger than was mr. billson when arrayed for the street, but in trunks and boxing shoes he looked like his big brother. muscles resembling the hawsers of an atlantic liner coiled down his arms and rippled along his massive shoulders. he seemed to dwarf altogether the by no means flimsy athlete who passed out of the room as we came in.
-“that’s the bloke,” announced mr. billson, jerking his red head after this person.
-we understood him to imply that the other was his opponent, and the spirit of confidence which had animated us waxed considerably. where six of the pick of the merchant marine had failed, this stripling could scarcely hope to succeed.
-“i been talkin’ to ’im,” said battling billson.
-i took this unwonted garrulity to be due to a slight nervousness natural at such a moment.
-“’e’s ’ad a lot of trouble, that bloke,” said the battler.
-the obvious reply was that he was now going to have a lot more, but before either of us could make it a hoarse voice announced that squiffy and the toff had completed their three-round bout and that the stage now waited for our nominee. we hurried to our seats. the necessity of taking a look at our man in his dressing-room had deprived us of the pleasure of witnessing the passage of arms between squiffy and the toff, but i gathered that it must have been lively and full of entertainment, for the audience seemed in excellent humour. all those who were not too busy eating jellied eels were babbling happily or whistling between their fingers to friends in distant parts of the hall. as mr. billson climbed into the ring in all the glory of his red hair and jumping muscles, the babble rose to a roar. it was plain that wonderland had stamped our battler with its approval on sight.
-the audiences which support wonderland are not disdainful of science. neat footwork wins their commendation, and a skilful ducking of the head is greeted with knowing applause. but what they esteem most highly is the punch. and one sight of battling billson seemed to tell them that here was the punch personified. they sent the fighters off to a howl of ecstasy, and settled back in their seats to enjoy the pure pleasure of seeing two of their fellow-men hitting each other very hard and often.
-the howl died away.
-i looked at ukridge with concern. was this the hero of marseilles, the man who cleaned out bar-rooms and on whom undertakers fawned? diffident was the only word to describe our battler’s behaviour in that opening round. he pawed lightly at his antagonist. he embraced him like a brother. he shuffled about the ring, innocuous.
-“what’s the matter with him?” i asked.
-“he always starts slow,” said ukridge, but his concern was manifest. he fumbled nervously at the buttons of his mackintosh. the referee was warning battling billson, he was speaking to him like a disappointed father. in the cheaper and baser parts of the house enraged citizens were whistling “comrades.” everywhere a chill had fallen on the house. that first fine fresh enthusiasm had died away, and the sounding of the gong for the end of the round was greeted with censorious cat-calls. as mr. billson lurched back to his corner, frank unfriendliness was displayed on all sides.
-with the opening of the second round considerably more spirit was introduced into the affair. the same strange torpidity still held our battler in its grip, but his opponent was another man. during round one he had seemed a little nervous and apprehensive. he had behaved as if he considered it prudent not to stir mr. billson. but now this distaste for direct action had left him. there was jauntiness in his demeanour as he moved to the centre of the ring; and, having reached it, he uncoiled a long left and smote mr. billson forcefully on the nose. twice he smote him, and twice mr. billson blinked like one who has had bad news from home. the man who had had a lot of trouble leaned sideways and brought his right fist squarely against the battler’s ear.
-but once more that strange diffidence had descended upon our representative. while every other man in the building seemed to know the correct procedure and was sketching it out in nervous english, mr. billson appeared the victim of doubt. he looked uncertainly at his opponent and enquiringly at the referee.
-the referee, obviously a man of blunted sensibilities, was unresponsive. do it now was plainly his slogan. he was a business man, and he wanted his patrons to get good value for their money. he was urging mr. billson to make a thorough job of it. and finally mr. billson approached his man and drew back his right arm. having done this, he looked over his shoulder once more at the referee.
-it was a fatal blunder. the man who had had a lot of trouble may have been in poor shape, but, like most of his profession, he retained, despite his recent misadventures, a reserve store of energy. even as mr. billson turned his head, he reached down to the floor with his gloved right hand, then, with a final effort, brought it up in a majestic sweep against the angle of the other’s jaw. and then, as the fickle audience, with swift change of sympathy, cheered him on, he buried his left in mr. billson’s stomach on the exact spot where the well-dressed man wears the third button of his waistcoat.
-of all human experiences this of being smitten in this precise locality is the least agreeable. battling billson drooped like a stricken flower, settled slowly down, and spread himself out. he lay peacefully on his back with outstretched arms like a man floating in smooth water. his day’s work was done.
-a wailing cry rose above the din of excited patrons of sport endeavouring to explain to their neighbours how it had all happened. it was the voice of ukridge mourning over his dead.
-at half-past eleven that night, as i was preparing for bed, a drooping figure entered my room. i mixed a silent, sympathetic scotch and soda, and for awhile no word was spoken.
-“how is the poor fellow?” i asked at length.
-“he’s all right,” said ukridge, listlessly. “i left him eating fish and chips at a coffee-stall.”
-“bad luck his getting pipped on the post like that.”
-“bad luck!” boomed ukridge, throwing off his lethargy with a vigour that spoke of mental anguish. “what do you mean, bad luck? it was just dam’ bone-headedness. upon my sam, it’s a little hard. i invest vast sums in this man, i support him in luxury for two weeks, asking nothing of him in return except to sail in and knock somebody’s head off, which he could have done in two minutes if he had liked, and he lets me down purely and simply because the other fellow told him that he had been up all night looking after his wife who had burned her hand at the jam factory. inferanal sentimentalism!”
-“does him credit,” i argued.
-“kind hearts,” i urged, “are more than coronets.”
-“who the devil wants a pugilist to have a kind heart? what’s the use of this man billson being able to knock out an elephant if he’s afflicted with this damned maudlin mushiness? who ever heard of a mushy pugilist? it’s the wrong spirit. it doesn’t make for success.”
-“it’s a handicap, of course,” i admitted.
-“what guarantee have i,” demanded ukridge, “that if i go to enormous trouble and expense getting him another match, he won’t turn aside and brush away a silent tear in the first round because he’s heard that the blighter’s wife has got an ingrowing toenail?”
-“you could match him only against bachelors.”
-“yes, and the first bachelor he met would draw him into a corner and tell him his aunt was down with whooping-cough, and the chump would heave a sigh and stick his chin out to be walloped. a fellow’s got no business to have red hair if he isn’t going to live up to it. and yet,” said ukridge, wistfully, “i’ve seen that man—it was in a dance-hall at naples—i’ve seen him take on at least eleven italians simultaneously. but then, one of them had stuck a knife about three inches into his leg. he seems to need something like that to give him ambition.”
-“i don’t see how you are going to arrange to have him knifed just before each fight.”
-“no,” said ukridge, mournfully.
-“what are you going to do about his future? have you any plans?”
-“nothing definite. my aunt was looking for a companion to attend to her correspondence and take care of the canary last time i saw her. i might try to get the job for him.”
-and with a horrid, mirthless laugh stanley featherstonehaugh ukridge borrowed five shillings and passed out into the night.
-i did not see ukridge for the next few days, but i had news of him from our mutual friend george tupper, whom i met prancing in uplifted mood down whitehall.
-i pressed his hand. i would have slapped him on the back, but one does not slap the backs of eminent foreign office officials in whitehall in broad daylight, even if one has been at school with them.
-“congratulations,” i said. “there is no one whom i would more gladly see under-secretarying. i heard rumours of this from ukridge.”
-“oh, yes, i remember i told him it might be coming off. good old ukridge! i met him just now and told him the news, and he was delighted.”
-“how much did he touch you for?”
-“eh? oh, only five pounds. till saturday. he expects to have a lot of money by then.”
-“did you ever know the time when ukridge didn’t expect to have a lot of money?”
-“i want you and ukridge to come and have a bit of dinner with me to celebrate. how would wednesday suit you?”
-“seven-thirty at the regent grill, then. will you tell ukridge?”
-“i don’t know where he’s got to. i haven’t seen him for nearly a week. did he tell you where he was?”
-“out at some place at barnes. what was the name of it?”
-“the white hart?”
-“tell me,” i said, “how did he seem? cheerful?”
-“the last time i saw him he was thinking of giving up the struggle. he had had reverses.”
-“hallo, old horse!” said ukridge, rising as i entered. “glad to see you.”
-the din of mr. billson’s bag-punching, from which my arrival had not caused him to desist, was such as to render conversation difficult. we moved to the quieter retreat of the bar downstairs, where i informed ukridge of the under-secretary’s invitation.
-“i’ll be there,” said ukridge. “there’s one thing about good old billson, you can trust him not to break training if you take your eye off him. and, of course, he realises that this is a big thing. it’ll be the making of him.”
-“your aunt is considering engaging him, then?”
-“my aunt? what on earth are you talking about? collect yourself, laddie.”
-“when you left me you were going to try to get him the job of looking after your aunt’s canary.”
-“oh, i was feeling rather sore then. that’s all over. i had an earnest talk with the poor zimp, and he means business from now on. and so he ought to, dash it, with a magnificent opportunity like this.”
-“we’re on to a big thing now, laddie, the dickens of a big thing.”
-“i hope you’ve made sure the other man’s a bachelor. who is he?”
-“tod bingham?” i groped in my memory. “you don’t mean the middle-weight champion?”
-“that’s the fellow.”
-“you don’t expect me to believe that you’ve got a match on with a champion already?”
-“it isn’t exactly a match. it’s like this. tod bingham is going round the east-end halls offering two hundred quid to anyone who’ll stay four rounds with him. advertisement stuff. good old billson is going to unleash himself at the shoreditch empire next saturday.”
-“do you think he’ll be able to stay four rounds?”
-“stay four rounds!” cried ukridge. “why, he could stay four rounds with a fellow armed with a gatling-gun and a couple of pickaxes. that money’s as good as in our pockets, laddie. and once we’re through with this job, there isn’t a boxing-place in england that won’t jump at us. i don’t mind telling you in confidence, old horse, that in a year from now i expect to be pulling in hundreds a week. clean up a bit here first, you know, and then pop over to america and make an enormous fortune. damme, i shan’t know how to spend the money!”
-“why not buy some socks? i’m running a bit short of them.”
-“now, laddie, laddie,” said ukridge, reprovingly, “need we strike a jarring note? is this the moment to fling your beastly socks in an old friend’s face? a broader-minded spirit is what i would like to see.”
-i was ten minutes late in arriving at the regent grill on the wednesday of george tupper’s invitation, and the spectacle of george in person standing bare-headed at the piccadilly entrance filled me with guilty remorse. george was the best fellow in the world, but the atmosphere of the foreign office had increased the tendency he had always had from boyhood to a sort of precise fussiness, and it upset him if his affairs did not run exactly on schedule. the thought that my unpunctuality should have marred this great evening sent me hurrying towards him full of apologies.
-“oh, there you are,” said george tupper. “i say, it’s too bad——”
-“i’m awfully sorry. my watch——”
-“ukridge!” cried george tupper, and i perceived that it was not i who had caused his concern.
-“isn’t he coming?” i asked, amazed. the idea of ukridge evading a free meal was one of those that seem to make the solid foundations of the world rock.
-“he’s come. and he’s brought a girl with him!”
-“in pink, with yellow hair,” wailed george tupper. “what am i to do?”
-i pondered the point.
-“it’s a weird thing for even ukridge to have done,” i said, “but i suppose you’ll have to give her dinner.”
-“but the place is full of people i know, and this girl’s so—so spectacular.”
-i felt for him deeply, but i could see no way out of it.
-“you don’t think i could say i had been taken ill?”
-“it would hurt ukridge’s feelings.”
-“i should enjoy hurting ukridge’s feelings, curse him!” said george tupper, fervently.
-“and it would be an awful slam for the girl, whoever she is.”
-george tupper sighed. his was a chivalrous nature. he drew himself up as if bracing himself for a dreadful ordeal.
-“oh, well, i suppose there’s nothing to do,” he said. “come along. i left them drinking cocktails in the lounge.”
-george had not erred in describing ukridge’s addition to the festivities as spectacular. flamboyant would have been a suitable word. as she preceded us down the long dining-room, her arm linked in george tupper’s—she seemed to have taken a liking to george—i had ample opportunity for studying her, from her patent-leather shoes to the mass of golden hair beneath her picture-hat. she had a loud, clear voice, and she was telling george tupper the rather intimate details of an internal complaint which had recently troubled an aunt of hers. if george had been the family physician, she could not have been franker; and i could see a dull glow spreading over his shapely ears.
-perhaps ukridge saw it, too, for he seemed to experience a slight twinge of conscience.
-“i have an idea, laddie,” he whispered, “that old tuppy is a trifle peeved at my bringing flossie along. if you get a chance, you might just murmur to him that it was military necessity.”
-“who is she?” i asked.
-“i told you about her. flossie, the barmaid at the crown in kennington. billson’s fiancée.”
-i looked at him in amazement.
-“do you mean to tell me that you’re courting death by flirting with battling billson’s girl?”
-“my dear old man, nothing like that,” said ukridge, shocked. “the whole thing is, i’ve got a particular favour to ask of her—rather a rummy request—and it was no good springing it on her in cold blood. there had to be a certain amount of champagne in advance, and my funds won’t run to champagne. i’m taking her on to the alhambra after dinner. i’ll look you up to-night and tell you all about it.”
-we then proceeded to dine. it was not one of the pleasantest meals of my experience. the future mrs. billson prattled agreeably throughout, and ukridge assisted her in keeping the conversation alive; but the shattered demeanour of george tupper would have taken the sparkle out of any banquet. from time to time he pulled himself together and endeavoured to play the host, but for the most part he maintained a pale and brooding silence; and it was a relief when ukridge and his companion rose to leave.
-“well!——” began george tupper in a strangled voice, as they moved away down the aisle.
-i lit a cigar and sat back dutifully to listen.
-ukridge arrived in my rooms at midnight, his eyes gleaming through their pince-nez with a strange light. his manner was exuberant.
-“it’s all right,” he said.
-“i’m glad you think so.”
-“did you explain to tuppy?”
-“i didn’t get a chance. he was talking too hard.”
-“yes. he said everything i’ve always felt about you, only far, far better than i could ever have put it.”
-ukridge’s face clouded for a moment, but cheerfulness returned.
-“oh, well, it can’t be helped. he’ll simmer down in a day or two. it had to be done, laddie. life and death matter. and it’s all right. read this.”
-i took the letter he handed me. it was written in a scrawly hand.
-“read it, laddie. i think it will meet the case.” i read.
-“who on earth’s wilberforce?”
-“i told you that was billson’s name.”
-i returned to the letter.
-“i take my pen in hand to tell you that i can never be yours. you will no doubt be surprised to hear that i love another and a better man, so that it can never be. he loves me, and he is a better man than you.
-“hoping this finds you in the pink as it leaves me at present,
-“i told her to keep it snappy,” said ukridge.
-“well, she’s certainly done it,” i replied, handing back the letter. “i’m sorry. from the little i saw of her, i thought her a nice girl—for billson. do you happen to know the other man’s address? because it would be a kindly act to send him a post card advising him to leave england for a year or two.”
-“the shoreditch empire will find him this week.”
-“the other man is tod bingham.”
-“tod bingham!” the drama of the situation moved me. “do you mean to say that tod bingham is in love with battling billson’s girl?”
-“no. he’s never seen her!”
-“what do you mean?”
-ukridge sat down creakingly on the sofa. he slapped my knee with sudden and uncomfortable violence.
-“laddie,” said ukridge, “i will tell you all. yesterday afternoon i found old billson reading a copy of the daily sportsman. he isn’t much of a reader as a rule, so i was rather interested to know what had gripped him. and do you know what it was, old horse?”
-“i do not.”
-“it was an article about tod bingham. one of those damned sentimental blurbs they print about pugilists nowadays, saying what a good chap he was in private life and how he always sent a telegram to his old mother after each fight and gave her half the purse. damme, there ought to be a censorship of the press. these blighters don’t mind what they print. i don’t suppose tod bingham has got an old mother, and if he has i’ll bet he doesn’t give her a bob. there were tears in that chump billson’s eyes as he showed me the article. salt tears, laddie! ‘must be a nice feller!’ he said. well, i ask you! i mean to say, it’s a bit thick when the man you’ve been pouring out money for and watching over like a baby sister starts getting sorry for a champion three days before he’s due to fight him. a champion, mark you! it was bad enough his getting mushy about that fellow at wonderland, but when it came to being soft-hearted over tod bingham something had to be done. well, you know me. brain like a buzz-saw. i saw the only way of counteracting this pernicious stuff was to get him so mad with tod bingham that he would forget all about his old mother, so i suddenly thought: why not get flossie to pretend that bingham had cut him out with her? well, it’s not the sort of thing you can ask a girl to do without preparing the ground a bit, so i brought her along to tuppy’s dinner. it was a master-stroke, laddie. there’s nothing softens the delicately-nurtured like a good dinner, and there’s no denying that old tuppy did us well. she agreed the moment i put the thing to her, and sat down and wrote that letter without a blink. i think she thinks it’s all a jolly practical joke. she’s a light-hearted girl.”
-“it’ll give poor old billson a bit of a jar for the time being, i suppose, but it’ll make him spread himself on saturday night, and he’ll be perfectly happy on sunday morning when she tells him she didn’t mean it and he realises that he’s got a hundred quid of tod bingham’s in his trousers pocket.”
-“i thought you said it was two hundred quid that bingham was offering.”
-“i get a hundred,” said ukridge, dreamily.
-“the only flaw is, the letter doesn’t give the other man’s name. how is billson to know it’s tod bingham?”
-“why, damme, laddie, do use your intelligence. billson isn’t going to sit and yawn when he gets that letter. he’ll buzz straight down to kennington and ask flossie.”
-“and then she will give the whole thing away.”
-“no, she won’t. i slipped her a couple of quid to promise she wouldn’t. and that reminds me, old man, it has left me a bit short, so if you could possibly manage——”
-“good night,” i said.
-“and god bless you,” i added, firmly.
-the shoreditch empire is a roomy house, but it was crowded to the doors when i reached it on the saturday night. in normal circumstances i suppose there would always have been a large audience on a saturday, and this evening the lure of tod bingham’s personal appearance had drawn more than capacity. in return for my shilling i was accorded the privilege of standing against the wall at the back, a position from which i could not see a great deal of the performance.
-from the occasional flashes which i got of the stage between the heads of my neighbours, however, and from the generally restless and impatient attitude of the audience i gathered that i was not missing much. the programme of the shoreditch empire that week was essentially a one-man affair. the patrons had the air of suffering the preliminary acts as unavoidable obstacles that stand between them and the head-liner. it was tod bingham whom they had come to see, and they were not cordial to the unfortunate serio-comics, tramp cyclists, jugglers, acrobats, and ballad singers who intruded themselves during the earlier part of the evening. the cheer that arose as the curtain fell on a dramatic sketch came from the heart, for the next number on the programme was that of the star.
-a stout man in evening dress with a red handkerchief worn ambassadorially athwart his shirt-front stepped out from the wings.
-“ladies and gentlemen!”
-“’ush!” cried the audience.
-“ladies and gentlemen!”
-a voice: “good ole tod!” (“cheese it!”)
-“ladies and gentlemen,” said the ambassador for the third time. he scanned the house apprehensively. “deeply regret have unfortunate disappointment to announce. tod bingham unfortunately unable to appear before you to-night.”
-a howl like the howl of wolves balked of their prey or of an amphitheatre full of roman citizens on receipt of the news that the supply of lions had run out greeted these words. we stared at each other with a wild surmise. could this thing be, or was it not too thick for human belief?
-“wot’s the matter with ’im?” demanded the gallery, hoarsely.
-“yus, wot’s the matter with ’im?” echoed we of the better element on the lower floor.
-the ambassador sidled uneasily towards the prompt entrance. he seemed aware that he was not a popular favourite.
-“’e ’as ’ad an unfortunate accident,” he declared, nervousness beginning to sweep away his aitches wholesale. “on ’is way ’ere to this ’all ’e was unfortunately run into by a truck, sustaining bruises and contusions which render ’im unfortunately unable to appear before you to-night. i beg to announce that ’is place will be taken by professor devine, who will render ’is marvellous imitations of various birds and familiar animals. ladies and gentlemen,” concluded the ambassador, stepping nimbly off the stage, “i thank you one and all.”
-the curtain rose and a dapper individual with a waxed moustache skipped on.
-“ladies and gentlemen, my first imitation will be of that well-known songster, the common thrust—better known to some of you per’aps as the throstle. and in connection with my performance i wish to state that i ’ave nothing whatsoever in my mouth. the effects which i produce——”
-i withdrew, and two-thirds of the audience started to do the same. from behind us, dying away as the doors closed, came the plaintive note of the common thrush feebly competing with that other and sterner bird which haunts those places of entertainment where audiences are critical and swift to take offence.
-out in the street a knot of shoreditch’s younger set were hanging on the lips of an excited orator in a battered hat and trousers which had been made for a larger man. some stirring tale which he was telling held them spell-bound. words came raggedly through the noise of the traffic.
-“——like this. then ’e ’its ’im another like that. then they start—on the side of the jor——”
-“pass along, there,” interrupted an official voice. “come on, there, pass along.”
-the crowd thinned and resolved itself into its elements. i found myself moving down the street in company with the wearer of the battered hat. though we had not been formally introduced, he seemed to consider me a suitable recipient for his tale. he enrolled me at once as a nucleus for a fresh audience.
-“’e comes up, this bloke does, just as tod is goin’ in at the stage-door——”
-“tod?” i queried.
-“but surely tod bingham was run over by a truck?”
-the man in the battered hat surveyed me with the mingled scorn and resentment which the devout bestow on those of heretical views.
-“truck! ’e wasn’t run over by no truck. wot mikes yer fink ’e was run over by a truck? wot ’ud ’e be doin’ bein’ run over by a truck? ’e ’ad it put across ’im by this red-’eaded bloke, same as i’m tellin’ yer.”
-a great light shone upon me.
-“red-headed?” i cried.
-“a big man?”
-“and he put it across tod bingham?”
-“put it across ’im proper. ’ad to go ’ome in a keb, tod did. funny a bloke that could fight like that bloke could fight ’adn’t the sense to go and do it on the stige and get some money for it. that’s wot i think.”
-across the street an arc-lamp shed its cold rays. and into its glare there strode a man draped in a yellow mackintosh. the light gleamed on his pince-nez and lent a gruesome pallor to his set face. it was ukridge retreating from moscow.
-“others,” i said, “are thinking the same.”
-and i hurried across the road to administer what feeble consolation i might. there are moments when a fellow needs a friend.
-first aid for dora
-never in the course of a long and intimate acquaintance having been shown any evidence to the contrary, i had always looked on stanley featherstonehaugh ukridge, my boyhood chum, as a man ruggedly indifferent to the appeal of the opposite sex. i had assumed that, like so many financial giants, he had no time for dalliance with women—other and deeper matters, i supposed, keeping that great brain permanently occupied. it was a surprise, therefore, when, passing down shaftesbury avenue one wednesday afternoon in june at the hour when matinée audiences were leaving the theatres, i came upon him assisting a girl in a white dress to mount an omnibus.
-as far as this simple ceremony could be rendered impressive, ukridge made it so. his manner was a blend of courtliness and devotion; and if his mackintosh had been a shade less yellow and his hat a trifle less disreputable, he would have looked just like sir walter ralegh.
-the bus moved on, ukridge waved, and i proceeded to make enquiries. i felt that i was an interested party. there had been a distinctly “object-matrimony” look about the back of his neck, it seemed to me; and the prospect of having to support a mrs. ukridge and keep a flock of little ukridges in socks and shirts perturbed me.
-“who was that?” i asked.
-“oh, hallo, laddie!” said ukridge, turning. “where did you spring from? if you had come a moment earlier, i’d have introduced you to dora.” the bus was lumbering out of sight into piccadilly circus, and the white figure on top turned and gave a final wave. “that was dora mason,” said ukridge, having flapped a large hand in reply. “she’s my aunt’s secretary-companion. i used to see a bit of her from time to time when i was living at wimbledon. old tuppy gave me a couple of seats for that show at the apollo, so i thought it would be a kindly act to ask her along. i’m sorry for that girl. sorry for her, old horse.”
-“what’s the matter with her?”
-“hers is a grey life. she has few pleasures. it’s an act of charity to give her a little treat now and then. think of it! nothing to do all day but brush the pekingese and type out my aunt’s rotten novels.”
-“does your aunt write novels?”
-“the world’s worst, laddie, the world’s worst. she’s been steeped to the gills in literature ever since i can remember. they’ve just made her president of the pen and ink club. as a matter of fact, it was her novels that did me in when i lived with her. she used to send me to bed with the beastly things and ask me questions about them at breakfast. absolutely without exaggeration, laddie, at breakfast. it was a dog’s life, and i’m glad it’s over. flesh and blood couldn’t stand the strain. well, knowing my aunt, i don’t mind telling you that my heart bleeds for poor little dora. i know what a foul time she has, and i feel a better, finer man for having given her this passing gleam of sunshine. i wish i could have done more for her.”
-“well, you might have stood her tea after the theatre.”
-“not within the sphere of practical politics, laddie. unless you can sneak out without paying, which is dashed difficult to do with these cashiers watching the door like weasels, tea even at an a b c shop punches the pocket-book pretty hard, and at the moment i’m down to the scrapings. but i’ll tell you what, i don’t mind joining you in a cup, if you were thinking of it.”
-“come, come! a little more of the good old spirit of hospitality, old horse.”
-“why do you wear that beastly mackintosh in mid-summer?”
-“don’t evade the point, laddie. i can see at a glance that you need tea. you’re looking pale and fagged.”
-“doctors say that tea is bad for the nerves.”
-“yes, possibly there’s something in that. then i’ll tell you what,” said ukridge, never too proud to yield a point, “we’ll make it a whisky-and-soda instead. come along over to the criterion.”
-it was a few days after this that the derby was run, and a horse of the name of gunga din finished third. this did not interest the great bulk of the intelligentsia to any marked extent, the animal having started at a hundred to three, but it meant much to me, for i had drawn his name in the sweepstake at my club. after a monotonous series of blanks stretching back to the first year of my membership, this seemed to me the outstanding event of the century, and i celebrated my triumph by an informal dinner to a few friends. it was some small consolation to me later to remember that i had wanted to include ukridge in the party, but failed to get hold of him. dark hours were to follow, but at least ukridge did not go through them bursting with my meat.
-there is no form of spiritual exaltation so poignant as that which comes from winning even a third prize in a sweepstake. so tremendous was the moral uplift that, when eleven o’clock arrived, it seemed silly to sit talking in a club and still sillier to go to bed. i suggested spaciously that we should all go off and dress and resume the revels at my expense half an hour later at mario’s, where, it being an extension night, there would be music and dancing till three. we scattered in cabs to our various homes.
-how seldom in this life do we receive any premonition of impending disaster. i hummed a gay air as i entered the house in ebury street where i lodged, and not even the usually quelling sight of bowles, my landlord, in the hall as i came in could quench my bonhomie. generally a meeting with bowles had the effect on me which the interior of a cathedral has on the devout, but to-night i was superior to this weakness.
-“yes. he came in third, you know.”
-“so i see by the evening paper, sir. i congratulate you.”
-“thank you, bowles, thank you.”
-“mr. ukridge called earlier in the evening, sir,” said bowles.
-“did he? sorry i was out. i was trying to get hold of him. did he want anything in particular?”
-“your dress-clothes, sir.”
-“my dress-clothes, eh?” i laughed genially. “extraordinary fellow! you never know——” a ghastly thought smote me like a blow. a cold wind seemed to blow through the hall. “he didn’t get them, did he?” i quavered.
-“why, yes, sir.”
-“got my dress-clothes?” i muttered thickly, clutching for support at the hat-stand.
-“he said it would be all right, sir,” said bowles, with that sickening tolerance which he always exhibited for all that ukridge said or did. one of the leading mysteries of my life was my landlord’s amazing attitude towards this hell-hound. he fawned on the man. a splendid fellow like myself had to go about in a state of hushed reverence towards bowles, while a human blot like ukridge could bellow at him over the banisters without the slightest rebuke. it was one of those things which make one laugh cynically when people talk about the equality of man.
-“he got my dress-clothes?” i mumbled.
-“mr. ukridge said that he knew you would be glad to let him have them, as you would not be requiring them to-night.”
-“but i do require them, damn it!” i shouted, lost to all proper feeling. never before had i let fall an oath in bowles’s presence. “i’m giving half a dozen men supper at mario’s in a quarter of an hour.”
-bowles clicked his tongue sympathetically.
-“what am i going to do?”
-“perhaps if you would allow me to lend you mine, sir?”
-“i have a very nice suit. it was given to me by his lordship the late earl of oxted, in whose employment i was for many years. i fancy it would do very well on you, sir. his lordship was about your height, though perhaps a little slenderer. shall i fetch it, sir? i have it in a trunk downstairs.”
-the obligations of hospitality are sacred. in fifteen minutes’ time six jovial men would be assembling at mario’s, and what would they do, lacking a host? i nodded feebly.
-“it’s very kind of you,” i managed to say.
-“not at all, sir. it is a pleasure.”
-if he was speaking the truth, i was glad of it. it is nice to think that the affair brought pleasure to someone.
-that the late earl of oxted had indeed been a somewhat slenderer man than myself became manifest to me from the first pulling on of the trousers. hitherto i had always admired the slim, small-boned type of aristocrat, but it was not long before i was wishing that bowles had been in the employment of someone who had gone in a little more heartily for starchy foods. and i regretted, moreover, that the fashion of wearing a velvet collar on an evening coat, if it had to come in at all, had not lasted a few years longer. dim as the light in my bedroom was, it was strong enough to make me wince as i looked in the mirror.
-and i was aware of a curious odour.
-“isn’t this room a trifle stuffy, bowles?”
-“no, sir. i think not.”
-“don’t you notice an odd smell?”
-“no, sir. but i have a somewhat heavy cold. if you are ready, sir, i will call a cab.”
-moth-balls! that was the scent i had detected. it swept upon me like a wave in the cab. it accompanied me like a fog all the way to mario’s, and burst out in its full fragrance when i entered the place and removed my overcoat. the cloak-room waiter sniffed in a startled way as he gave me my check, one or two people standing near hastened to remove themselves from my immediate neighbourhood, and my friends, when i joined them, expressed themselves with friend-like candour. with a solid unanimity they told me frankly that it was only the fact that i was paying for the supper that enabled them to tolerate my presence.
-the leper-like feeling induced by this uncharitable attitude caused me after the conclusion of the meal to withdraw to the balcony to smoke in solitude. my guests were dancing merrily, but such pleasures were not for me. besides, my velvet collar had already excited ribald comment, and i am a sensitive man. crouched in a lonely corner of the balcony, surrounded by the outcasts who were not allowed on the lower floor because they were not dressed, i chewed a cigar and watched the revels with a jaundiced eye. the space reserved for dancing was crowded and couples either revolved warily or ruthlessly bumped a passage for themselves, using their partners as battering-rams. prominent among the ruthless bumpers was a big man who was giving a realistic imitation of a steam-plough. he danced strongly and energetically, and when he struck the line, something had to give.
-from the very first something about this man had seemed familiar; but owing to his peculiar crouching manner of dancing, which he seemed to have modelled on the ring-style of mr. james j. jeffries, it was not immediately that i was able to see his face. but presently, as the music stopped and he straightened himself to clap his hands for an encore, his foul features were revealed to me.
-it was ukridge. ukridge, confound him, with my dress-clothes fitting him so perfectly and with such unwrinkled smoothness that he might have stepped straight out of one of ouida’s novels. until that moment i had never fully realized the meaning of the expression “faultless evening dress.” with a passionate cry i leaped from my seat, and, accompanied by a rich smell of camphor, bounded for the stairs. like hamlet on a less impressive occasion, i wanted to slay this man when he was full of bread, with all his crimes, broad-blown, as flush as may, at drinking, swearing, or about some act that had no relish of salvation in it.
-“but, laddie,” said ukridge, backed into a corner of the lobby apart from the throng, “be reasonable.”
-i cleansed my bosom of a good deal of that perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.
-“how could i guess that you would want the things? look at it from my position, old horse. i knew you, laddie, a good true friend who would be delighted to lend a pal his dress-clothes any time when he didn’t need them himself, and as you weren’t there when i called, i couldn’t ask you, so i naturally simply borrowed them. it was all just one of those little misunderstandings which can’t be helped. and, as it luckily turns out, you had a spare suit, so everything was all right, after all.”
-“you don’t think this poisonous fancy dress is mine, do you?”
-“isn’t it?” said ukridge, astonished.
-“it belongs to bowles. he lent it to me.”
-“and most extraordinarily well you look in it, laddie,” said ukridge. “upon my sam, you look like a duke or something.”
-“and smell like a second-hand clothes-store.”
-“nonsense, my dear old son, nonsense. a mere faint suggestion of some rather pleasant antiseptic. nothing more. i like it. it’s invigorating. honestly, old man, it’s really remarkable what an air that suit gives you. distinguished. that’s the word i was searching for. you look distinguished. all the girls are saying so. when you came in just now to speak to me, i heard one of them whisper ‘who is it?’ that shows you.”
-“more likely ‘what is it?’”
-“ha, ha!” bellowed ukridge, seeking to cajole me with sycophantic mirth. “dashed good! deuced good! not ‘who is it?’ but ‘what is it?’ it beats me how you think of these things. golly, if i had a brain like yours——but now, old son, if you don’t mind, i really must be getting back to poor little dora. she’ll be wondering what has become of me.”
-the significance of these words had the effect of making me forget my just wrath for a moment.
-“are you here with that girl you took to the theatre the other afternoon?”
-“yes. i happened to win a trifle on the derby, so i thought it would be the decent thing to ask her out for an evening’s pleasure. hers is a grey life.”
-“it must be, seeing you so much.”
-“a little personal, old horse,” said ukridge reprovingly. “a trifle bitter. but i know you don’t mean it. yours is a heart of gold really. if i’ve said that once, i’ve said it a hundred times. always saying it. rugged exterior but heart of gold. my very words. well, good-bye for the present, laddie. i’ll look in to-morrow and return these things. i’m sorry there was any misunderstanding about them, but it makes up for everything, doesn’t it, to feel that you’ve helped brighten life for a poor little downtrodden thing who has few pleasures.”
-“just one last word,” i said. “one final remark.”
-“i’m sitting in that corner of the balcony over there,” i said. “i mention the fact so that you can look out for yourself. if you come dancing underneath there, i shall drop a plate on you. and if it kills you, so much the better. i’m a poor downtrodden little thing, and i have few pleasures.”
-owing to a mawkish respect for the conventions, for which i reproach myself, i did not actually perform this service to humanity. with the exception of throwing a roll at him—which missed him but most fortunately hit the member of my supper-party who had sniffed with the most noticeable offensiveness at my camphorated costume—i took no punitive measures against ukridge that night. but his demeanour, when he called at my rooms next day, could not have been more crushed if i had dropped a pound of lead on him. he strode into my sitting-room with the sombre tread of the man who in a conflict with fate has received the loser’s end. i had been passing in my mind a number of good snappy things to say to him, but his appearance touched me to such an extent that i held them in. to abuse this man would have been like dancing on a tomb.
-“for heaven’s sake what’s the matter?” i asked. “you look like a toad under the harrow.”
-he sat down creakingly, and lit one of my cigars.
-“poor little dora!”
-“what about her?”
-“she’s got the push!”
-“the push? from your aunt’s, do you mean?”
-ukridge sighed heavily.
-“most unfortunate business, old horse, and largely my fault. i thought the whole thing was perfectly safe. you see, my aunt goes to bed at half-past ten every night, so it seemed to me that if dora slipped out at eleven and left a window open behind her she could sneak back all right when we got home from mario’s. but what happened? some dashed officious ass,” said ukridge, with honest wrath, “went and locked the damned window. i don���t know who it was. i suspect the butler. he has a nasty habit of going round the place late at night and shutting things. upon my sam, it’s a little hard! if only people would leave things alone and not go snooping about——”
-“why, it was the scullery window which we’d left open, and when we got back at four o’clock this morning the infernal thing was shut as tight as an egg. things looked pretty rocky, but dora remembered that her bedroom window was always open, so we bucked up again for a bit. her room’s on the second floor, but i knew where there was a ladder, so i went and got it, and she was just hopping up as merry as dammit when somebody flashed a great beastly lantern on us, and there was a policeman, wanting to know what the game was. the whole trouble with the police force of london, laddie, the thing that makes them a hissing and a byword, is that they’re snoopers to a man. zeal, i suppose they call it. why they can’t attend to their own affairs is more than i can understand. dozens of murders going on all the time, probably, all over wimbledon, and all this bloke would do was stand and wiggle his infernal lantern and ask what the game was. wouldn’t be satisfied with a plain statement that it was all right. insisted on rousing the house to have us identified.”
-ukridge paused, a reminiscent look of pain on his expressive face.
-“and then?” i said.
-“we were,” said ukridge, briefly.
-“identified. by my aunt. in a dressing-gown and a revolver. and the long and the short of it is, old man, that poor little dora has got the sack.”
-i could not find it in my heart to blame his aunt for what he evidently considered a high-handed and tyrannical outrage. if i were a maiden lady of regular views, i should relieve myself of the services of any secretary-companion who returned to roost only a few short hours in advance of the milk. but, as ukridge plainly desired sympathy rather than an austere pronouncement on the relations of employer and employed, i threw him a couple of tuts, which seemed to soothe him a little. he turned to the practical side of the matter.
-“what’s to be done?”
-“i don’t see what you can do.”
-“but i must do something. i’ve lost the poor little thing her job, and i must try to get it back. it’s a rotten sort of job, but it’s her bread and butter. do you think george tupper would biff round and have a chat with my aunt, if i asked him?”
-“i suppose he would. he’s the best-hearted man in the world. but i doubt if he’ll be able to do much.”
-“nonsense, laddie,” said ukridge, his unconquerable optimism rising bravely from the depths. “i have the utmost confidence in old tuppy. a man in a million. and he’s such a dashed respectable sort of bloke that he might have her jumping through hoops and shamming dead before she knew what was happening to her. you never know. yes, i’ll try old tuppy. i’ll go and see him now.”
-“just lend me a trifle for a cab, old son, and i shall be able to get to the foreign office before one o’clock. i mean to say, even if nothing comes of it, i shall be able to get a lunch out of him. and i need refreshment, laddie, need it sorely. the whole business has shaken me very much.”
-it was three days after this that, stirred by a pleasant scent of bacon and coffee, i hurried my dressing and, proceeding to my sitting-room, found that ukridge had dropped in to take breakfast with me, as was often his companionable practice. he seemed thoroughly cheerful again, and was plying knife and fork briskly like the good trencherman he was.
-“morning, old horse,” he said agreeably.
-“devilish good bacon, this. as good as i’ve ever bitten. bowles is cooking you some more.”
-“that’s nice. i’ll have a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind me making myself at home while i’m waiting.” i started to open the letters by my plate, and became aware that my guest was eyeing me with a stare of intense penetration through his pince-nez, which were all crooked as usual. “what’s the matter?”
-“why,” i said, “are you looking at me like a fish with lung-trouble?”
-“was i?” he took a sip of coffee with an overdone carelessness. “matter of fact, old son, i was rather interested. i see you’ve had a letter from my aunt.”
-i had picked up the last envelope. it was addressed in a strong female hand, strange to me. i now tore it open. it was even as ukridge had said. dated the previous day and headed “heath house, wimbledon common,” the letter ran as follows:—
-“dear sir,—i shall be happy to see you if you will call at this address the day after to-morrow (friday) at four-thirty.—yours faithfully, julia ukridge.”
-i could make nothing of this. my morning mail, whether pleasant or the reverse, whether bringing a bill from a tradesman or a cheque from an editor, had had till now the uniform quality of being plain, straightforward, and easy to understand; but this communication baffled me. how ukridge’s aunt had become aware of my existence, and why a call from me should ameliorate her lot, were problems beyond my unravelling, and i brooded over it as an egyptologist might over some newly-discovered hieroglyphic.
-“what does she say?” enquired ukridge.
-“she wants me to call at half-past four to-morrow afternoon.”
-“splendid!” cried ukridge. “i knew she would bite.”
-“what on earth are you talking about?”
-ukridge reached across the table and patted me affectionately on the shoulder. the movement involved the upsetting of a full cup of coffee, but i suppose he meant well. he sank back again in his chair and adjusted his pince-nez in order to get a better view of me. i seemed to fill him with honest joy, and he suddenly burst into a spirited eulogy, rather like some minstrel of old delivering an ex-tempore boost of his chieftain and employer.
-“laddie,” said ukridge, “if there’s one thing about you that i’ve always admired it’s your readiness to help a pal. one of the most admirable qualities a bloke can possess, and nobody has it to a greater extent than you. you’re practically unique in that way. i’ve had men come up to me and ask me about you. ‘what sort of a chap is he?’ they say. ‘one of the very best,’ i reply. ‘a fellow you can rely on. a man who would die rather than let you down. a bloke who would go through fire and water to do a pal a good turn. a bird with a heart of gold and a nature as true as steel.’”
-“yes, i’m a splendid fellow,” i agreed, slightly perplexed by this panegyric. “get on.”
-“i am getting on, old horse,” said ukridge with faint reproach. “what i’m trying to say is that i knew you would be delighted to tackle this little job for me. it wasn’t necessary to ask you. i knew.”
-a grim foreboding of an awful doom crept over me, as it had done so often before in my association with ukridge.
-“will you kindly tell me what damned thing you’ve let me in for now?”
-ukridge deprecated my warmth with a wave of his fork. he spoke soothingly and with a winning persuasiveness. he practically cooed.
-“it’s nothing, laddie. practically nothing. just a simple little act of kindness which you will thank me for putting in your way. it’s like this. as i ought to have foreseen from the first, that ass tuppy proved a broken reed. in that matter of dora, you know. got no result whatever. he went to see my aunt the day before yesterday, and asked her to take dora on again, and she gave him the miss-in-balk. i’m not surprised. i never had any confidence in tuppy. it was a mistake ever sending him. it’s no good trying frontal attack in a delicate business like this. what you need is strategy. you want to think what is the enemy’s weak side and then attack from that angle. now, what is my aunt’s weak side, laddie? her weak side, what is it? now think. reflect, old horse.”
-“from the sound of her voice, the only time i ever got near her, i should say she hadn’t one.”
-“there is one.”
-“i think you’re wrong. i’ve gone over the thing very carefully. what is it?”
-“the flaw is that i’m not going anywhere near your infernal aunt. so you can trot back to your forger chum and tell him he’s wasted a good sheet of letter-paper.”
-a pair of pince-nez tinkled into a plate. two pained eyes blinked at me across the table. stanley featherstonehaugh ukridge was wounded to the quick.
-“you don’t mean to say you’re backing out?” he said, in a low, quivering voice.
-“i never was in.”
-“laddie,” said ukridge, weightily, resting an elbow on his last slice of bacon, “i want to ask you one question. just one simple question. have you ever let me down? has there been one occasion in our long friendship when i have relied upon you and been deceived? not one!”
-“everything’s got to have a beginning. i’m starting now.”
-“but think of her. dora! poor little dora. think of poor little dora.”
-“if this business teaches her to keep away from you, it will be a blessing in the end.”
-i suppose there is some fatal weakness in my character, or else the brand of bacon which bowles cooked possessed a peculiarly mellowing quality. all i know is that, after being adamant for a good ten minutes, i finished breakfast committed to a task from which my soul revolted. after all, as ukridge said, it was rough on the girl. chivalry is chivalry. we must strive to lend a helping hand as we go through this world of ours, and all that sort of thing. four o’clock on the following afternoon found me entering a cab and giving the driver the address of heath house, wimbledon common.
-my emotions on entering heath house were such as i would have felt had i been keeping a tryst with a dentist who by some strange freak happened also to be a duke. from the moment when a butler of super-bowles dignity opened the door and, after regarding me with ill-concealed dislike, started to conduct me down a long hall, i was in the grip of both fear and humility. heath house is one of the stately homes of wimbledon; how beautiful they stand, as the poet says: and after the humble drabness of ebury street it frankly overawed me. its keynote was an extreme neatness which seemed to sneer at my squashy collar and reproach my baggy trouser-leg. the farther i penetrated over the polished floor, the more vividly was it brought home to me that i was one of the submerged tenth and could have done with a hair-cut. i had not been aware when i left home that my hair was unusually long, but now i seemed to be festooned by a matted and offensive growth. a patch on my left shoe which had had a rather comfortable look in ebury street stood out like a blot on the landscape. no, i was not at my ease; and when i reflected that in a few moments i was to meet ukridge’s aunt, that legendary figure, face to face, a sort of wistful admiration filled me for the beauty of the nature of one who would go through all this to help a girl he had never even met. there was no doubt about it—the facts spoke for themselves—i was one of the finest fellows i had ever known. nevertheless, there was no getting away from it, my trousers did bag at the knee.
-“mr. corcoran,” announced the butler, opening the drawing-room door. he spoke with just that intonation of voice that seemed to disclaim all responsibility. if i had an appointment, he intimated, it was his duty, however repulsive, to show me in; but, that done, he disociated himself entirely from the whole affair.
-there were two women and six pekingese dogs in the room. the pekes i had met before, during their brief undergraduate days at ukridge’s dog college, but they did not appear to recognise me. the occasion when they had lunched at my expense seemed to have passed from their minds. one by one they came up, sniffed, and then moved away as if my bouquet had disappointed them. they gave the impression that they saw eye to eye with the butler in his estimate of the young visitor. i was left to face the two women.
-of these—reading from right to left—one was a tall, angular, hawk-faced female with a stony eye. the other, to whom i gave but a passing glance at the moment, was small, and so it seemed to me, pleasant-looking. she had bright hair faintly powdered with grey, and mild eyes of a china blue. she reminded me of the better class of cat. i took her to be some casual caller who had looked in for a cup of tea. it was the hawk on whom i riveted my attention. she was looking at me with a piercing and unpleasant stare, and i thought how exactly she resembled the picture i had formed of her in my mind from ukridge’s conversation.
-“miss ukridge?” i said, sliding on a rug towards her and feeling like some novice whose manager, against his personal wishes, has fixed him up with a match with the heavyweight champion.
-“i am miss ukridge,” said the other woman. “miss watterson, mr. corcoran.”
-it was a shock, but, the moment of surprise over, i began to feel something approaching mental comfort for the first time since i had entered this house of slippery rugs and supercilious butlers. somehow i had got the impression from ukridge that his aunt was a sort of stage aunt, all stiff satin and raised eyebrows. this half-portion with the mild blue eyes i felt that i could tackle. it passed my comprehension why ukridge should ever have found her intimidating.
-“i hope you will not mind if we have our little talk before miss watterson,” she said with a charming smile. “she has come to arrange the details of the pen and ink club dance which we are giving shortly. she will keep quite quiet and not interrupt. you don’t mind?”
-“not at all, not at all,” i said in my attractive way. it is not exaggerating to say that at this moment i felt debonair. “not at all, not at all. oh, not at all.”
-“won’t you sit down?”
-“thank you, thank you.”
-the hawk moved over to the window, leaving us to ourselves.
-“now we are quite cosy,” said ukridge’s aunt.
-“yes, yes,” i agreed. dash it, i liked this woman.
-“tell me, mr. corcoran,” said ukridge’s aunt, “are you on the staff of woman’s sphere? it is one of my favourite papers. i read it every week.”
-“the outside staff.”
-“what do you mean by the outside staff?”
-“well, i don’t actually work in the office, but the editor gives me occasional jobs.”
-“i see. who is the editor now?”
-i began to feel slightly less debonair. she was just making conversation, of course, to put me at my ease, but i wished she would stop asking me these questions. i searched desperately in my mind for a name—any name—but as usual on these occasions every name in the english language had passed from me.
-“of course. i remember now,” said ukridge’s aunt, to my profound relief. “it’s mr. jevons, isn’t it? i met him one night at dinner.”
-“jevons,” i burbled. “that’s right. jevons.”
-“a tall man with a light moustache.”
-“well, fairly tall,” i said, judicially.
-“and he sent you here to interview me?”
-“well, which of my novels do you wish me to talk about?”
-i relaxed with a delightful sense of relief. i felt on solid ground at last. and then it suddenly came to me that ukridge in his woollen-headed way had omitted to mention the name of a single one of this woman’s books.
-“er—oh, all of them,” i said hurriedly.
-“i see. my general literary work.”
-“exactly,” i said. my feeling towards her now was one of positive affection.
-she leaned back in her chair with her finger-tips together, a pretty look of meditation on her face.
-“do you think it would interest the readers of woman’s sphere to know which novel of mine is my own favourite?”
-“i am sure it would.”
-“of course,” said ukridge’s aunt, “it is not easy for an author to answer a question like that. you see, one has moods in which first one book and then another appeals to one.”
-“quite,” i replied. “quite.”
-“which of my books do you like best, mr. corcoran?”
-there swept over me the trapped feeling one gets in nightmares. from six baskets the six pekingese stared at me unwinkingly.
-“er—oh, all of them,” i heard a croaking voice reply. my voice, presumably, though i did not recognise it.
-“how delightful!” said ukridge’s aunt. “now, i really do call that delightful. one or two of the critics have said that my work was uneven. it is so nice to meet someone who doesn’t agree with them. personally, i think my favourite is the heart of adelaide.”
-i nodded my approval of this sound choice. the muscles which had humped themselves stiffly on my back began to crawl back into place again. i found it possible to breathe.
-“yes,” i said, frowning thoughtfully, “i suppose the heart of adelaide is the best thing you have written. it has such human appeal,” i added, playing it safe.
-“have you read it, mr. corcoran?”
-“and you really enjoyed it?”
-“you don’t think it is a fair criticism to say that it is a little broad in parts?”
-“most unfair.” i began to see my way. i do not know why, but i had been assuming that her novels must be the sort you find in seaside libraries. evidently they belonged to the other class of female novels, the sort which libraries ban. “of course,” i said, “it is written honestly, fearlessly, and shows life as it is. but broad? no, no!”
-“that scene in the conservatory?”
-“best thing in the book,” i said stoutly.
-a pleased smile played about her mouth. ukridge had been right. praise her work, and a child could eat out of her hand. i found myself wishing that i had really read the thing, so that i could have gone into more detail and made her still happier.
-“i’m so glad you like it,” she said. “really, it is most encouraging.”
-“oh, no,” i murmured modestly.
-“oh, but it is. because i have only just started to write it, you see. i finished chapter one this morning.”
-she was still smiling so engagingly that for a moment the full horror of these words did not penetrate my consciousness.
-“the heart of adelaide is my next novel. the scene in the conservatory, which you like so much, comes towards the middle of it. i was not expecting to reach it till about the end of next month. how odd that you should know all about it!”
-i had got it now all right, and it was like sitting down on the empty space where there should have been a chair. somehow the fact that she was so pleasant about it all served to deepen my discomfiture. in the course of an active life i have frequently felt a fool, but never such a fool as i felt then. the fearful woman had been playing with me, leading me on, watching me entangle myself like a fly on fly-paper. and suddenly i perceived that i had erred in thinking of her eyes as mild. a hard gleam had come into them. they were like a couple of blue gimlets. she looked like a cat that had caught a mouse, and it was revealed to me in one sickening age-long instant why ukridge went in fear of her. there was that about her which would have intimidated the sheik.
-“it seems so odd, too,” she tinkled on, “that you should have come to interview me for woman’s sphere. because they published an interview with me only the week before last. i thought it so strange that i rang up my friend miss watterson, who is the editress, and asked her if there had not been some mistake. and she said she had never heard of you. have you ever heard of mr. corcoran, muriel?”
-“never,” said the hawk, fixing me with a revolted eye.
-“how strange!” said ukridge’s aunt. “but then the whole thing is so strange. oh, must you go, mr. corcoran?”
-my mind was in a slightly chaotic condition, but on that one point it was crystal-clear. yes, i must go. through the door if i could find it—failing that, through the window. and anybody who tried to stop me would do well to have a care.
-“you will remember me to mr. jevons when you see him, won’t you?” said ukridge’s aunt.
-i was fumbling at the handle.
-“and, mr. corcoran.” she was still smiling amiably, but there had come into her voice a note like that which it had had on a certain memorable occasion when summoning ukridge to his doom from the unseen interior of his sheep’s cray cottage. “will you please tell my nephew stanley that i should be glad if he would send no more of his friends to see me. good afternoon.”
-i suppose that at some point in the proceedings my hostess must have rung a bell, for out in the passage i found my old chum, the butler. with the uncanny telepathy of his species he appeared aware that i was leaving under what might be called a cloud, for his manner had taken on a warder-like grimness. his hand looked as if it was itching to grasp me by the shoulder, and when we reached the front door he eyed the pavement wistfully, as if thinking what splendid spot it would be for me to hit with a thud.
-“nice day,” i said, with the feverish instinct to babble which comes to strong men in their agony.
-he scorned to reply, and as i tottered down the sunlit street i was conscious of his gaze following me.
-“a very vicious specimen,” i could fancy him saying. “and mainly due to my prudence and foresight that he hasn’t got away with the spoons.”
-it was a warm afternoon, but to such an extent had the recent happenings churned up my emotions that i walked the whole way back to ebury street with a rapidity which caused more languid pedestrians to regard me with a pitying contempt. reaching my sitting-room in an advanced state of solubility and fatigue, i found ukridge stretched upon the sofa.
-he quaffed deeply of the bowl and breathed a contented sigh. there was a silence.
-“when did you hear of this?” i asked at length.
-“yesterday afternoon,” said ukridge. “i meant to pop round and tell you, but somehow it slipped my mind.”
-the return of battling billson
-it was a most embarrassing moment, one of those moments which plant lines on the face and turn the hair a distinguished grey at the temples. i looked at the barman. the barman looked at me. the assembled company looked at us both impartially.
-“ho!” said the barman.
-i am very quick. i could see at once that he was not in sympathy with me. he was a large, profuse man, and his eye as it met mine conveyed the impression that he regarded me as a bad dream come true. his mobile lips curved slightly, showing a gold tooth; and the muscles of his brawny arms, which were strong as iron bands, twitched a little.
-“ho!” he said.
-the circumstances which had brought me into my present painful position were as follows. in writing those stories for the popular magazines which at that time were causing so many editors so much regret, i was accustomed, like one of my brother-authors, to take all mankind for my province. thus, one day i would be dealing with dukes in their castles, the next i would turn right round and start tackling the submerged tenth in their slums. versatile. at the moment i happened to be engaged upon a rather poignant little thing about a girl called liz, who worked in a fried-fish shop in the ratcliff highway, and i had accordingly gone down there to collect local colour. for whatever posterity may say of james corcoran, it can never say that he shrank from inconvenience where his art was concerned.
-the ratcliff highway is an interesting thoroughfare, but on a warm day it breeds thirst. after wandering about for an hour or so, therefore, i entered the prince of wales public-house, called for a pint of beer, drained it at a draught, reached in my pocket for coin, and found emptiness. i was in a position to add to my notes on the east end of london one to the effect that pocket-pickery flourishes there as a fine art.
-“i’m awfully sorry,” i said, smiling an apologetic smile and endeavouring to put a debonair winsomeness into my voice. “i find i’ve got no money.”
-it was at this point that the barman said “ho!” and moved out into the open through a trick door in the counter.
-“i think my pocket must have been picked,” i said.
-“oh, do you?” said the barman.
-“i had better leave my name and address,” i suggested.
-“who,” enquired the barman, coldly, “wants your blinking name and address?”
-these practical men go straight to the heart of a thing. he had put his finger on the very hub of the matter. who did want my blinking name and address? no one.
-“i will send——” i was proceeding, when things began to happen suddenly. an obviously expert hand gripped me by the back of the neck, another closed upon the seat of my trousers, there was a rush of air, and i was rolling across the pavement in the direction of a wet and unsavoury gutter. the barman, gigantic against the dirty white front of the public-house, surveyed me grimly.
-i think that, if he had confined himself to mere looks—however offensive—i would have gone no farther into the matter. after all, the man had right on his side. how could he be expected to see into my soul and note its snowy purity? but, as i picked myself up, he could not resist the temptation to improve the occasion.
-“that’s what comes of tryin’ to snitch drinks,” he said, with what seemed to me insufferable priggishness.
-those harsh words stung me to the quick. i burned with generous wrath. i flung myself on that barman. the futility of attacking such a colossus never occurred to me. i forgot entirely that he could put me out of action with one hand.
-a moment later, however, he had reminded me of this fact. even as i made my onslaught an enormous fist came from nowhere and crashed into the side of my head. i sat down again.
-i was aware, dimly, that someone was speaking to me, someone who was not the barman. that athlete had already dismissed me as a spent force and returned to his professional duties. i looked up and got a sort of general impression of bigness and blue serge, and then i was lifted lightly to my feet.
-my head had begun to clear now, and i was able to look more steadily at my sympathiser. and, as i looked, the feeling came to me that i had seen him before somewhere. that red hair, those glinting eyes, that impressive bulk—it was my old friend wilberforce billson and no other—battling billson, the coming champion, whom i had last seen fighting at wonderland under the personal management of stanley featherstonehaugh ukridge.
-“did ’e ’it yer?” enquired mr. billson.
-there was only one answer to this. disordered though my faculties were, i was clear upon this point. i said, “yes, he did hit me.”
-“’r!” said mr. billson, and immediately passed into the hostelry.
-it was not at once that i understood the significance of this move. the interpretation i placed upon his abrupt departure was that, having wearied of my society, he had decided to go and have some refreshment. only when the sound of raised voices from within came pouring through the door did i begin to suspect that in attributing to it such callousness i might have wronged that golden nature. with the sudden reappearance of the barman—who shot out as if impelled by some imperious force and did a sort of backwards fox-trot across the pavement—suspicion became certainty.
-the barman, as becomes a man plying his trade in the ratcliff highway, was made of stern stuff. he was no poltroon. as soon as he had managed to stop himself from pirouetting, he dabbed at his right cheek-bone in a delicate manner, soliloquised for a moment, and then dashed back into the bar. and it was after the door had swung to again behind him that the proceedings may have been said formally to have begun.
-what precisely was going on inside that bar i was still too enfeebled to go and see. it sounded like an earthquake, and no meagre earthquake at that. all the glassware in the world seemed to be smashing simultaneously, the populations of several cities were shouting in unison, and i could almost fancy that i saw the walls of the building shake and heave. and then somebody blew a police-whistle.
-there is a magic about the sound of a police-whistle. it acts like oil on the most troubled waters. this one brought about an instant lull in the tumult. glasses ceased to break, voices were hushed, and a moment later out came mr. billson, standing not upon the order of his going. his nose was bleeding a little and there was the scenario of a black eye forming on his face, but otherwise there seemed nothing much the matter with him. he cast a wary look up and down the street and sprinted for the nearest corner. and i, shaking off the dreamy after-effects of my encounter with the barman, sprinted in his wake. i was glowing with gratitude and admiration. i wanted to catch this man up and thank him formally. i wanted to assure him of my undying esteem. moreover, i wanted to borrow sixpence from him. the realisation that he was the only man in the whole wide east end of london who was likely to lend me the money to save me having to walk back to ebury street gave me a rare burst of speed.
-it was not easy to overtake him, for the sound of my pursuing feet evidently suggested to mr. billson that the hunt was up, and he made good going. eventually, however, when in addition to running i began to emit a plaintive “mr. billson! i say, mr. billson!” at every second stride, he seemed to gather that he was among friends.
-“oh, it’s you, is it?” he said, halting.
-he was plainly relieved. he produced a murky pipe and lit it. i delivered my speech of thanks. having heard me out, he removed his pipe and put into a few short words the moral of the whole affair.
-“nobody don’t dot no pals of mine not when i’m around,” said mr. billson.
-“it was awfully good of you to trouble,” i said with feeling.
-“no trouble,” said mr. billson.
-“you must have hit that barman pretty hard. he came out at about forty miles an hour.”
-“i dotted him,” agreed mr. billson.
-“i’m afraid he has hurt your eye,” i said, sympathetically.
-“him!” said mr. billson, expectorating with scorn. “that wasn’t him. that was his pals. six or seven of ’em there was.”
-“and did you dot them too?” i cried, amazed at the prowess of this wonder-man.
-“’r!” said mr. billson. he smoked awhile. “but i dotted ’im most,” he proceeded. he looked at me with honest warmth, his chivalrous heart plainly stirred to its depths. “the idea,” he said, disgustedly, “of a —— —— ’is size”—he defined the barman crisply and, as far as i could judge after so brief an acquaintanceship, accurately—“goin’ and dottin’ a little —— —— like you!”
-the sentiment was so admirable that i could not take exception to its phraseology. nor did i rebel at being called “little.” to a man of mr. billson’s mould i supposed most people looked little.
-“well, i’m very much obliged,” i said.
-mr. billson smoked in silence.
-“have you been back long?” i asked, for something to say. outstanding as were his other merits, he was not good at keeping a conversation alive.
-“back?” said mr. billson.
-“back in london. ukridge told me that you had gone to sea again.”
-“say, mister,” exclaimed mr. billson, for the first time seeming to show real interest in my remarks, “you seen ’im lately?”
-“ukridge? oh, yes, i see him nearly every day.”
-“i been tryin’ to find ’im.”
-“i can give you his address,” i said. and i wrote it down on the back of an envelope. then, having shaken his hand, i thanked him once more for his courteous assistance and borrowed my fare back to civilisation on the underground, and we parted with mutual expressions of good will.
-the next step in the march of events was what i shall call the episode of the inexplicable female. it occurred two days later. returning shortly after lunch to my rooms in ebury street, i was met in the hall by mrs. bowles, my landlord’s wife. i greeted her a trifle nervously, for, like her husband, she always exercised a rather oppressive effect on me. she lacked bowles’s ambassadorial dignity, but made up for it by a manner so peculiarly sepulchral that strong men quailed before her pale gaze. scotch by birth, she had an eye that looked as if it was for ever searching for astral bodies wrapped in winding-sheets—this, i believe, being a favourite indoor sport among certain sets in north britain.
-“sir,” said mrs. bowles, “there is a body in your sitting-room.”
-“a body!” i am bound to say that this phillips-oppenheim-like opening to the conversation gave me something of a shock. then i remembered her nationality. “oh, you mean a man?”
-“a woman,” corrected mrs. bowles. “a body in a pink hat.”
-i was conscious of a feeling of guilt. in this pure and modest house, female bodies in pink hats seemed to require explanation. i felt that the correct thing to do would have been to call upon heaven to witness that this woman was nothing to me, nothing.
-“i was to give you this letter, sir.”
-i took it and opened the envelope with a sigh. i had recognised the handwriting of ukridge, and for the hundredth time in our close acquaintanceship there smote me like a blow the sad suspicion that this man had once more gone and wished upon me some frightful thing.
-“my dear old horse,—
-“it’s not often i ask you to do anything for me...
-i laughed hollowly.
-“my dear old horse,—
-“it’s not often i ask you to do anything for me, laddie, but i beg and implore you to rally round now and show yourself the true friend i know you are. the one thing i’ve always said about you, corky my boy, is that you’re a real pal who never lets a fellow down.
-“the bearer of this—a delightful woman, you’ll like her—is flossie’s mother. she’s up for the day by excursion from the north, and it is absolutely vital that she be lushed up and seen off at euston at six-forty-five. i can’t look after her myself, as unfortunately i’m laid up with a sprained ankle. otherwise i wouldn’t trouble you.
-“this is a life and death matter, old man, and i’m relying on you. i can’t possibly tell you how important it is that this old bird should be suitably entertained. the gravest issues hang on it. so shove on your hat and go to it, laddie, and blessings will reward you. tell you all the details when we meet.
-“s. f. ukridge.
-those last words did wring a faint, melancholy smile from me, but apart from them this hideous document seemed to me to be entirely free from comic relief. i looked at my watch and found that it was barely two-thirty. this female, therefore, was on my hands for a solid four hours and a quarter. i breathed maledictions—futile, of course, for it was a peculiar characteristic of the demon ukridge on these occasions that, unless one were strong-minded enough to disregard his frenzied pleadings altogether (a thing which was nearly always beyond me), he gave one no chance of escape. he sprang his foul schemes on one at the very last moment, leaving no opportunity for a graceful refusal.
-i proceeded slowly up the stairs to my sitting-room. it would have been a distinct advantage, i felt, if i had known who on earth this flossie was of whom he wrote with such airy familiarity. the name, though ukridge plainly expected it to touch a chord in me, left me entirely unresponsive. as far as i was aware, there was no flossie of any description in my life. i thought back through the years. long-forgotten janes and kates and muriels and elizabeths rose from the murky depths of my memory as i stirred it, but no flossie. it occurred to me as i opened the door that, if ukridge was expecting pleasant reminiscences of flossie to form a tender bond between me and her mother, he was building on sandy soil.
-the first impression i got on entering the room was that mrs. bowles possessed the true reporter’s gift for picking out the detail that really mattered. one could have said many things about flossie’s mother, as, for instance, that she was stout, cheerful, and far more tightly laced than a doctor would have considered judicious; but what stood out above all the others was the fact that she was wearing a pink hat. it was the largest, gayest, most exuberantly ornate specimen of head-wear that i had ever seen, and the prospect of spending four hours and a quarter in its society added the last touch to my already poignant gloom. the only gleam of sunshine that lightened my darkness was the reflection that, if we went to a picture-palace, she would have to remove it.
-“er—how do you do?” i said, pausing in the doorway.
-“’ow do you do?” said a voice from under the hat. “say ‘’ow-do-you-do?’ to the gentleman, cecil.”
-i perceived a small, shiny boy by the window. ukridge, realising with the true artist’s instinct that the secret of all successful prose is the knowledge of what to omit, had not mentioned him in his letter; and, as he turned reluctantly to go through the necessary civilities, it seemed to me that the burden was more than i could bear. he was a rat-faced, sinister-looking boy, and he gazed at me with a frigid distaste which reminded me of the barman at the prince of wales public-house in ratcliff highway.
-“i brought cecil along,” said flossie’s (and presumably cecil’s) mother, after the stripling, having growled a cautious greeting, obviously with the mental reservation that it committed him to nothing, had returned to the window, “because i thought it would be nice for ’im to say he had seen london.”
-“quite, quite,” i replied, while cecil, at the window, gazed darkly out at london as if he did not think much of it.
-“mr. ukridge said you would trot us round.”
-“delighted, delighted,” i quavered, looking at the hat and looking swiftly away again. “i think we had better go to a picture-palace, don’t you?”
-“naw!” said cecil. and there was that in his manner which suggested that when he said “naw!” it was final.
-“cecil wants to see the sights,” explained his mother. “we can see all the pictures back at home. ’e’s been lookin’ forward to seein’ the sights of london. it’ll be an education for ’im, like, to see all the sights.”
-“westminster abbey?” i suggested. after all, what could be better for the lad’s growing mind than to inspect the memorials of the great past and, if disposed, pick out a suitable site for his own burial at some later date? also, i had a fleeting notion, which a moment’s reflection exploded before it could bring me much comfort, that women removed their hats in westminster abbey.
-“naw!” said cecil.
-“’e wants to see the murders,” explained flossie’s mother.
-she spoke as if it were the most reasonable of boyish desires, but it sounded to me impracticable. homicides do not publish formal programmes of their intended activities. i had no notion what murders were scheduled for to-day.
-“’e always reads up all the murders in the sunday paper,” went on the parent, throwing light on the matter.
-“oh, i understand,” i said. “then madame tussaud’s is the spot he wants. they’ve got all the murderers.”
-“naw!” said cecil.
-“it’s the places ’e wants to see,” said flossie’s mother, amiably tolerant of my density. “the places where all them murders was committed. ’e’s clipped out the addresses and ’e wants to be able to tell ’is friends when he gets back that ’e’s seen ’em.”
-a profound relief surged over me.
-“why, we can do the whole thing in a cab,” i cried. “we can stay in a cab from start to finish. no need to leave the cab at all.”
-“or a bus?”
-“not a bus,” i said firmly. i was quite decided on a cab—one with blinds that would pull down, if possible.
-“’ave it your own way,” said flossie’s mother, agreeably. “speaking as far as i’m personally concerned, i’m shaw there’s nothing i would rather prefer than a nice ride in a keb. jear what the gentleman says, cecil? you’re goin’ to ride in a keb.”
-“urgh!” said cecil, as if he would believe it when he saw it. a sceptical boy.
-it was not an afternoon to which i look back as among the happiest i have spent. for one thing, the expedition far exceeded my hasty estimates in the matter of expense. why it should be so i cannot say, but all the best murders appear to take place in remote spots like stepney and canning town, and cab-fares to these places run into money. then, again, cecil’s was not one of those personalities which become more attractive with familiarity. i should say at a venture that those who liked him best were those who saw the least of him. and, finally, there was a monotony about the entire proceedings which soon began to afflict my nerves. the cab would draw up outside some mouldering house in some desolate street miles from civilisation, cecil would thrust his unpleasant head out of the window and drink the place in for a few moments of silent ecstasy, and then he would deliver his lecture. he had evidently read well and thoughtfully. he had all the information.
-“the canning town ’orror,” he would announce.
-“yes, dearie?” his mother cast a fond glance at him and a proud one at me. “in this very ’ouse, was it?”
-“in this very ’ouse,” said cecil, with the gloomy importance of a confirmed bore about to hold forth on his favourite subject. “jimes potter ’is nime was. ’e was found at seven in the morning underneaf the kitchen sink wiv ’is froat cut from ear to ear. it was the landlady’s brother done it. they ’anged ’im at pentonville.”
-some more data from the child’s inexhaustible store, and then on to the next historic site.
-“the bing street ’orror!”
-“in this very ’ouse, dearie?”
-“in this very ’ouse. body was found in the cellar in an advanced stige of dee-cawm-po-sition wiv its ’ead bashed in, prezoomably by some blunt instrument.”
-at six-forty-six, ignoring the pink hat which protruded from the window of a third-class compartment and the stout hand that waved a rollicking farewell, i turned from the train with a pale, set face, and, passing down the platform of euston station, told a cabman to take me with all speed to ukridge’s lodgings in arundel street, leicester square. there had never, so far as i knew, been a murder in arundel street, but i was strongly of opinion that that time was ripe. cecil’s society and conversation had done much to neutralise the effects of a gentle upbringing, and i toyed almost luxuriously with the thought of supplying him with an arundel street horror for his next visit to the metropolis.
-he was in bed, but that did not remove the suspicion which had been growing in me all the afternoon that he was a low malingerer. i refused to believe for a moment in that sprained ankle of his. my view was that he had had the advantage of a first look at flossie’s mother and her engaging child and had shrewdly passed them on to me.
-“i’ve been reading your book, old man,” said ukridge, breaking a pregnant silence with an overdone carelessness. he brandished winningly the only novel i had ever written, and i can offer no better proof of the black hostility of my soul than the statement that even this did not soften me. “it’s immense, laddie. no other word for it. immense. damme, i’ve been crying like a child.”
-“it is supposed to be a humorous novel,” i pointed out, coldly.
-“crying with laughter,” explained ukridge, hurriedly.
-i eyed him with loathing.
-“where do you keep your blunt instruments?” i asked.
-“your blunt instrument. i want a blunt instrument. give me a blunt instrument. my god! don’t tell me you have no blunt instrument.”
-“only a safety-razor.”
-i sat down wearily on the bed.
-“hi! mind my ankle!”
-“your ankle!” i laughed a hideous laugh, the sort of laugh the landlady’s brother might have emitted before beginning operations on james potter. “a lot there is the matter with your ankle.”
-“sprained it yesterday, old man. nothing serious,” said ukridge, reassuringly. “just enough to lay me up for a couple of days.”
-“yes, till that ghastly female and her blighted boy had got well away.”
-pained astonishment was written all over ukridge’s face.
-“you don’t mean to say you didn’t like her? why, i thought you two would be all over each other.”
-“and i suppose you thought that cecil and i would be twin souls?”
-“cecil?” said ukridge, doubtfully. “well, to tell you the truth, old man, i’m not saying that cecil doesn’t take a bit of knowing. he’s the sort of boy you have to be patient with and bring out, if you understand what i mean. i think he grows on you.”
-“if he ever tries to grow on me, i’ll have him amputated.”
-“well, putting all that on one side,” said ukridge, “how did things go off?”
-i described the afternoon’s activities in a few tense words.
-“well, i’m sorry, old horse,” said ukridge, when i had finished. “i can’t say more than that, can i? i’m sorry. i give you my solemn word i didn’t know what i was letting you in for. but it was a life and death matter. there was no other way out. flossie insisted on it. wouldn’t budge an inch.”
-in my anguish i had forgotten all about the impenetrable mystery of flossie.
-“who the devil is flossie?” i asked.
-“what! flossie? you don’t know who flossie is? my dear old man, collect yourself. you must remember flossie. the barmaid at the crown in kennington. the girl battling billson is engaged to. surely you haven’t forgotten flossie? why, she was saying only yesterday that you had nice eyes.”
-memory awoke. i felt ashamed that i could ever have forgotten a girl so bounding and spectacular.
-“of course! the blister you brought with you that night george tupper gave us dinner at the regent grill. by the way, has george ever forgiven you for that?”
-“there is still a little coldness,” admitted ukridge, ruefully. “i’m bound to say old tuppy seems to be letting the thing rankle a bit. the fact of the matter is, old horse, tuppy has his limitations. he isn’t a real friend like you. delightful fellow, but lacks vision. can’t understand that there are certain occasions when it is simply imperative that a man’s pals rally round him. now you——”
-“well, i’ll tell you one thing. i am hoping that what i went through this afternoon really was for some good cause. i should be sorry, now that i am in a cooler frame of mind, to have to strangle you where you lie. would you mind telling me exactly what was the idea behind all this?”
-“it’s like this, laddie. good old billson blew in to see me the other day.”
-“i met him down in the east end and he asked for your address.”
-“yes, he told me.”
-“what’s going on? are you still managing him?”
-“yes. that’s what he wanted to see me about. apparently the contract has another year to run and he can’t fix up anything without my o.k. and he’s just had an offer to fight a bloke called alf todd at the universal.”
-“that’s a step up from wonderland,” i said, for i had a solid respect for this mecca of the boxing world. “how much is he getting this time?”
-“two hundred quid.”
-“two hundred quid! but that’s a lot for practically an unknown man.”
-“unknown man?” said ukridge, hurt. “what do you mean, unknown man? if you ask my opinion, i should say the whole pugilistic world is seething with excitement about old billson. literally seething. didn’t he slosh the middleweight champion?”
-“yes, in a rough-and-tumble in a back alley. and nobody saw him do it.”
-“well, these things get about.”
-“but two hundred pounds!”
-“a fleabite, laddie, a fleabite. you can take it from me that we shall be asking a lot more than a measly couple of hundred for our services pretty soon. thousands, thousands! still, i’m not saying it won’t be something to be going on with. well, as i say, old billson came to me and said he had had this offer, and how about it? and when i realised that i was in halves, i jolly soon gave him my blessing and told him to go as far as he liked. so you can imagine how i felt when flossie put her foot down like this.”
-“like what? about ten minutes ago when you started talking, you seemed to be on the point of explaining about flossie. how does she come to be mixed up with the thing? what did she do?”
-“only wanted to stop the whole business, laddie, that was all. just put the kybosh on the entire works. said he mustn’t fight!”
-“that was what she said. just in that airy, careless way, as if the most stupendous issues didn’t hang on his fighting as he had never fought before. said—if you’ll believe me, laddie; i shan’t blame you if you don’t—that she didn’t want his looks spoiled.” ukridge gazed at me with lifted eyebrows while he let this evidence of feminine perverseness sink in. “his looks, old man! you got the word correctly? his looks! she didn’t want his looks spoiled. why, damme, he hasn’t got any looks. there isn’t any possible manner in which you could treat that man’s face without improving it. i argued with her by the hour, but no, she couldn’t see it. avoid women, laddie, they have no intelligence.”
-“well, i’ll promise to avoid flossie’s mother, if that’ll satisfy you. how does she come into the thing?”
-i felt my heart warm to the future mrs. billson. despite ukridge’s slurs, a girl, it seemed to me, of the soundest intelligence.
-“so when flossie told me—with tears in her eyes, poor girl—that mother was due to-day, i had the inspiration of a lifetime. said i would take her off her hands from start to finish if she would agree to let billson fight at the universal. well, it shows you what family affection is, laddie; she jumped at it. i don’t mind telling you she broke down completely and kissed me on both cheeks. the rest, old horse, you know.”
-“yes. the rest i do know.”
-“never,” said ukridge, solemnly, “never, old son, till the sands of the desert grow cold, shall i forget how you have stood by me this day!”
-“oh, all right. i expect in about a week from now you will be landing me with something equally foul.”
-“when does this fight come off?”
-“a week from to-night. i’m relying on you to be at my side. tense nervous strain, old man; shall want a pal to see me through.”
-“i wouldn’t miss it for worlds. i’ll give you dinner before we go there, shall i?”
-“spoken like a true friend,” said ukridge, warmly. “and on the following night i will stand you the banquet of your life. a banquet which will ring down the ages. for, mark you, laddie, i shall be in funds. in funds, my boy.”
-“yes, if billson wins. what does he get if he loses?”
-“loses? he won’t lose. how the deuce can he lose? i’m surprised at you talking in that silly way when you’ve seen him only a few days ago. didn’t he strike you as being pretty fit when you saw him?”
-“yes, by jove, he certainly did.”
-“well, then! why, it looks to me as if the sea air had made him tougher than ever. i’ve only just got my fingers straightened out after shaking hands with him. he could win the heavyweight championship of the world to-morrow without taking his pipe out of his mouth. alf todd,” said ukridge, soaring to an impressive burst of imagery, “has about as much chance as a one-armed blind man in a dark room trying to shove a pound of melted butter into a wildcat’s left ear with a red-hot needle.”
-although i knew several of the members, for one reason or another i had never been inside the universal sporting club, and the atmosphere of the place when we arrived on the night of the fight impressed me a good deal. it was vastly different from wonderland, the east end home of pugilism where i had witnessed the battler make his début. there, a certain laxness in the matter of costume had been the prevailing note; here, white shirt-fronts gleamed on every side. wonderland, moreover, had been noisy. patrons of sport had so far forgotten themselves as to whistle through their fingers and shout badinage at distant friends. at the universal one might have been in church. in fact, the longer i sat, the more ecclesiastical did the atmosphere seem to become. when we arrived, two acolytes in the bantam class were going devoutly through the ritual under the eye of the presiding minister, while a large congregation looked on in hushed silence. as we took our seats, this portion of the service came to an end and the priest announced that nippy coggs was the winner. a reverent murmur arose for an instant from the worshippers, nippy coggs disappeared into the vestry, and after a pause of a few minutes i perceived the familiar form of battling billson coming up the aisle.
-there was no doubt about it, the battler did look good. his muscles seemed more cable-like than ever, and a recent hair-cut had given a knobby, bristly appearance to his head which put him even more definitely than before in the class of those with whom the sensible man would not lightly quarrel. mr. todd, his antagonist, who followed him a moment later, was no beauty—the almost complete absence of any division between his front hair and his eyebrows would alone have prevented him being that—but he lacked a certain je-ne-sais-quoi which the battler pre-eminently possessed. from the first instant of his appearance in the public eye our man was a warm favourite. there was a pleased flutter in the pews as he took his seat, and i could hear whispered voices offering substantial bets on him.
-“six-round bout,” announced the padre. “battling billson (bermondsey) versus alf todd (marylebone). gentlemen will kindly stop smoking.”
-the congregation relit their cigars and the fight began.
-bearing in mind how vitally ukridge’s fortunes were bound up in his protégé’s success to-night, i was relieved to observe that mr. todd opened the proceedings in a manner that seemed to offer little scope for any display of battling billson’s fatal kind-heartedness. i had not forgotten how at wonderland our battler, with the fight in hand, had allowed victory to be snatched from him purely through a sentimental distaste for being rough with his adversary, a man who had had a lot of trouble and had touched mr. billson’s heart thereby. such a disaster was unlikely to occur to-night. it was difficult to see how anyone in the same ring with him could possibly be sorry for alf todd. a tender pity was the last thing his behaviour was calculated to rouse in the bosom of an opponent. directly the gong sounded, he tucked away what little forehead nature had given him beneath his fringe, breathed loudly through his nose, and galloped into the fray. he seemed to hold no bigoted views as to which hand it was best to employ as a medium of attack. right or left, it was all one to alf. and if he could not hit mr. billson with his hands, he was perfectly willing, so long as the eye of authority was not too keenly vigilant, to butt him with his head. broad-minded—that was alf todd.
-wilberforce billson, veteran of a hundred fights on a hundred scattered water-fronts, was not backward in joining the revels. in him mr. todd found a worthy and a willing playmate. as ukridge informed me in a hoarse whisper while the vicar was reproaching alf for placing an elbow where no elbow should have been, this sort of thing was as meat and drink to wilberforce. it was just the kind of warfare he had been used to all his life, and precisely the sort most calculated to make him give of his best—a dictum which was strikingly endorsed a moment later, when, after some heated exchanges in which, generous donor though he was, he had received more than he had bestowed, mr. todd was compelled to slither back and do a bit of fancy side-stepping. the round came to an end with the battler distinctly leading on points, and so spirited had it been that applause broke out in various parts of the edifice.
-the second round followed the same general lines as the first. the fact that up to now he had been foiled in his attempts to resolve battling billson into his component parts had had no damping effect on alf todd’s ardour. he was still the same active, energetic soul, never sparing himself in his efforts to make the party go. there was a wholehearted abandon in his rushes which reminded one of a short-tempered gorilla trying to get at its keeper. occasionally some extra warmth on the part of his antagonist would compel him to retire momentarily into a clinch, but he always came out of it as ready as ever to resume the argument. nevertheless, at the end of round two he was still a shade behind. round three added further points to the battler’s score, and at the end of round four alf todd had lost so much ground that the most liberal odds were required to induce speculators to venture their cash on his chances.
-and then the fifth round began, and those who a minute before had taken odds of three to one on the battler and openly proclaimed the money as good as in their pockets, stiffened in their seats or bent forward with pale and anxious faces. a few brief moments back it had seemed to them incredible that this sure thing could come unstitched. there was only this round and the next to go—a mere six minutes of conflict; and mr. billson was so far ahead on points that nothing but the accident of his being knocked out could lose him the decision. and you had only to look at wilberforce billson to realise the absurdity of his being knocked out. even i, who had seen him go through the process at wonderland, refused to consider the possibility. if ever there was a man in the pink, it was wilberforce billson.
-but in boxing there is always the thousandth chance. as he came out of his corner for round five, it suddenly became plain that things were not well with our man. some chance blow in that last melee of round four must have found a vital spot, for he was obviously in bad shape. incredible as it seemed, battling billson was groggy. he shuffled rather than stepped; he blinked in a manner damping to his supporters; he was clearly finding increasing difficulty in foiling the boisterous attentions of mr. todd. sibilant whispers arose; ukridge clutched my arm in an agonised grip; voices were offering to bet on alf; and in the battler’s corner, their heads peering through the ropes, those members of the minor clergy who had been told off to second our man were wan with apprehension.
-mr. todd, for his part, was a new man. he had retired to his corner at the end of the preceding round with the moody step of one who sees failure looming ahead. “i’m always chasing rainbows,” mr. todd’s eye had seemed to say as it rested gloomily on the resined floor. “another dream shattered!” and he had come out for round five with the sullen weariness of the man who has been helping to amuse the kiddies at a children’s party and has had enough of it. ordinary politeness rendered it necessary for him to see this uncongenial business through to the end, but his heart was no longer in it.
-and then, instead of the steel and india-rubber warrior who had smitten him so sorely at their last meeting, he found this sagging wreck. for an instant sheer surprise seemed to shackle mr. todd’s limbs, then he adjusted himself to the new conditions. it was as if somebody had grafted monkey-glands on to alfred todd. he leaped at battling billson, and ukridge’s grip on my arm became more painful than ever.
-a sudden silence fell upon the house. it was a tense, expectant silence, for affairs had reached a crisis. against the ropes near his corner the battler was leaning, heedless of the well-meant counsel of his seconds, and alf todd, with his fringe now almost obscuring his eyes, was feinting for an opening. there is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; and alf todd plainly realised this. he fiddled for an instant with his hands, as if he were trying to mesmerise mr. billson, then plunged forward.
-and yet he did not seem pleased. his usually expressionless face was contorted with pain and displeasure. for the first time in the entire proceedings he appeared genuinely moved. watching him closely, i could see his lips moving, perhaps in prayer. and as mr. todd, bounding from the ropes, advanced upon him, he licked those lips. he licked them in a sinister meaning way, and his right hand dropped slowly down below his knee.
-alf todd came on. he came jauntily and in the manner of one moving to a feast or festival. this was the end of a perfect day, and he knew it. he eyed battling billson as if the latter had been a pot of beer. but for the fact that he came of a restrained and unemotional race, he would doubtless have burst into song. he shot out his left and it landed on mr. billson’s nose. nothing happened. he drew back his right and poised it almost lovingly for a moment. it was during this moment that battling billson came to life.
-to alf todd it must have seemed like a resurrection. for the last two minutes he had been testing in every way known to science his theory that this man before him no longer possessed the shadow of a punch, and the theory had seemed proven up to the hilt. yet here he was now behaving like an unleashed whirlwind. a disquieting experience. the ropes collided with the small of alf todd’s back. something else collided with his chin. he endeavoured to withdraw, but a pulpy glove took him on the odd fungoid growth which he was accustomed laughingly to call his ear. another glove impinged upon his jaw. and there the matter ended for alf todd.
-“battling billson is the winner,” intoned the vicar.
-“wow!” shouted the congregation.
-“whew!” breathed ukridge in my ear.
-it had been a near thing, but the old firm had pulled through at the finish.
-ukridge bounded off to the dressing-room to give his battler a manager’s blessing; and presently, the next fight proving something of an anti-climax after all the fevered stress of its predecessor, i left the building and went home. i was smoking a last pipe before going to bed when a violent ring at the front-door bell broke in on my meditations. it was followed by the voice of ukridge in the hall.
-i was a little surprised. i had not been expecting to see ukridge again to-night. his intention when we parted at the universal had been to reward mr. billson with a bit of supper; and, as the battler had a coy distaste for the taverns of the west end, this involved a journey to the far east, where in congenial surroundings the coming champion would drink a good deal of beer and eat more hard-boiled eggs than you would have believed possible. the fact that the host was now thundering up my stairs seemed to indicate that the feast had fallen through. and the fact that the feast had fallen through suggested that something had gone wrong.
-“give me a drink, old horse,” said ukridge, bursting into the room.
-“what on earth’s the matter?”
-“nothing, old horse, nothing. i’m a ruined man, that’s all.”
-he leaped feverishly at the decanter and siphon which bowles had placed upon the table. i watched him with concern. this could be no ordinary tragedy that had changed him thus from the ebullient creature of joy who had left me at the universal. a thought flashed through my mind that battling billson must have been disqualified—to be rejected a moment later, when i remembered that fighters are not disqualified as an after-thought half an hour after the fight. but what else could have brought about this anguish? if ever there was an occasion for solemn rejoicing, now would have seemed to be the time.
-“what’s the matter?” i asked again.
-“matter? i’ll tell you what’s the matter,” moaned ukridge. he splashed seltzer into his glass. he reminded me of king lear. “do you know how much i get out of that fight to-night? ten quid! just ten rotten contemptible sovereigns! that’s what’s the matter.”
-“i don’t understand.”
-“the purse was thirty pounds. twenty for the winner. my share is ten. ten, i’ll trouble you! what in the name of everything infernal is the good of ten quid?”
-“but you said billson told you——”
-“yes, i know i did. two hundred was what he told me he was to get. and the weak-minded, furtive, under-handed son of belial didn’t explain that he was to get it for losing!”
-“yes. he was to get it for losing. some fellows who wanted a chance to do some heavy betting persuaded him to sell the fight.”
-“but he didn’t sell the fight.”
-“i know that, dammit. that’s the whole trouble. and do you know why he didn’t? i’ll tell you. just as he was all ready to let himself be knocked out in that fifth round, the other bloke happened to tread on his ingrowing toe-nail, and that made him so mad that he forgot about everything else and sailed in and hammered the stuffing out of him. i ask you, laddie! i appeal to you as a reasonable man. have you ever in your life heard of such a footling, idiotic, woollen-headed proceeding? throwing away a fortune, an absolute dashed fortune, purely to gratify a momentary whim! hurling away wealth beyond the dreams of avarice simply because a bloke stamped on his ingrowing toe-nail. his ingrowing toe-nail!” ukridge laughed raspingly. “what right has a boxer to have an ingrowing toe-nail? and if he has an ingrowing toe-nail, surely—my gosh!—he can stand a little trifling discomfort for half a minute. the fact of the matter is, old horse, boxers aren’t what they were. degenerate, laddie, absolutely degenerate. no heart. no courage. no self-respect. no vision. the old bulldog breed has disappeared entirely.”
-and with a moody nod stanley featherstonehaugh ukridge passed out into the night.
-ukridge sees her through
-the girl from the typewriting and stenographic bureau had a quiet but speaking eye. at first it had registered nothing but enthusiasm and the desire to please. but now, rising from that formidable notebook, it met mine with a look of exasperated bewilderment. there was an expression of strained sweetness on her face, as of a good woman unjustly put upon. i could read what was in her mind as clearly as if she had been impolite enough to shout it. she thought me a fool. and as this made the thing unanimous, for i had been feeling exactly the same myself for the last quarter of an hour, i decided that the painful exhibition must now terminate.
-it was ukridge who had let me in for the thing. he had fired my imagination with tales of authors who were able to turn out five thousand words a day by dictating their stuff to a stenographer instead of writing it; and though i felt at the time that he was merely trying to drum up trade for the typewriting bureau in which his young friend dora mason was now a partner, the lure of the idea had gripped me. like all writers, i had a sturdy distaste for solid work, and this seemed to offer a pleasant way out, turning literary composition into a jolly tête-à-tête chat. it was only when those gleaming eyes looked eagerly into mine and that twitching pencil poised itself to record the lightest of my golden thoughts that i discovered what i was up against. for fifteen minutes i had been experiencing all the complex emotions of a nervous man who, suddenly called upon to make a public speech, realises too late that his brain has been withdrawn and replaced by a cheap cauliflower substitute: and i was through.
-“i’m sorry,” i said, “but i’m afraid it’s not much use going on. i don’t seem able to manage it.”
-now that i had come frankly out into the open and admitted my idiocy, the girl’s expression softened. she closed her notebook forgivingly.
-“lots of people can’t,” she said. “it’s just a knack.”
-“everything seems to go out of my head.”
-“i’ve often thought it must be very difficult to dictate.”
-two minds with but a single thought, in fact. her sweet reasonableness, combined with the relief that the thing was over, induced in me a desire to babble. one has the same feeling when the dentist lets one out of his chair.
-“you’re from the norfolk street agency, aren’t you?” i said. a silly question, seeing that i had expressly rung them up on the telephone and asked them to send somebody round; but i was still feeling the effects of the ether.
-“that’s in norfolk street, isn’t it? i mean,” i went on hurriedly, “i wonder if you know a miss mason there? miss dora mason.”
-she seemed surprised.
-“my name is dora mason,” she said.
-i was surprised, too. i had not supposed that partners in typewriting businesses stooped to going out on these errands. and i was conscious of a return of my former embarrassment, feeling—quite unreasonably, for i had only seen her once in my life, and then from a distance—that i ought to have remembered her.
-“we were short-handed at the office,” she explained, “so i came along. but how do you know my name?”
-“i am a great friend of ukridge’s.”
-“why, of course! i was wondering why your name was so familiar. i’ve heard him talk so much about you.”
-and after that we really did settle down to the cosy tête-à-tête of which i had had visions. she was a nice girl, the only noticeable flaw in her character being an absurd respect for ukridge’s intelligence and abilities. i, who had known that foe of the human race from boyhood up and was still writhing beneath the memory of the night when he had sneaked my dress clothes, could have corrected her estimate of him, but it seemed unkind to shatter her girlish dreams.
-she was a rapid talker, and it was only now that i was able to comment on the amazing statement which she had made in the opening portion of her speech. so stunning had been the effect of those few words on me that i had hardly heard her subsequent remarks.
-“did you say that ukridge insisted on finding the rest?” i gasped.
-“yes. wasn’t it nice of him?”
-“he gave you a hundred pounds? ukridge!”
-“guaranteed it,” said miss mason. “i arranged to pay a hundred pounds down and the rest in sixty days.”
-“but suppose the rest is not paid in sixty days?”
-“well, then i’m afraid i should lose my hundred. but it will be, of course. mr. ukridge told me to have no anxiety about that at all. well, good-bye, mr. corcoran. i must be going now. i’m sorry we didn’t get better results with the dictating. i should think it must be very difficult to do till you get used to it.”
-her cheerful smile as she went out struck me as one of the most pathetic sights i had ever seen. poor child, bustling off so brightly when her whole future rested on ukridge’s ability to raise a hundred pounds! i presumed that he was relying on one of those utopian schemes of his which were to bring him in thousands—“at a conservative estimate, laddie!”—and not for the first time in a friendship of years the reflection came to me that ukridge ought to be in some sort of a home. a capital fellow in many respects, but not a man lightly to be allowed at large.
-i was pursuing this train of thought when the banging of the front door, followed by a pounding of footsteps on the stairs and a confused noise without, announced his arrival.
-“i say, laddie,” said ukridge, entering the room, as was his habit, like a north-easterly gale, “was that dora mason i saw going down the street? it looked like her back. has she been here?”
-“yes. i asked her agency to send someone to take dictation, and she came.”
-ukridge reached out for the tobacco jar, filled his pipe, replenished his pouch, sank comfortably on to the sofa, adjusted the cushions, and bestowed an approving glance upon me.
-it seemed churlish to strike a jarring note after all these compliments, but it had to be done.
-“never mind about what’s going to happen to me when i’m forty,” i said. “what i want to know is what is all this i hear about you guaranteeing miss mason a hundred quid?”
-“ah, she told you? yes,” said ukridge, airily, “i guaranteed it. matter of conscience, old son. man of honour, no alternative. you see, there’s no getting away from it, it was my fault that she was sacked by my aunt. got to see her through, laddie, got to see her through.”
-i goggled at the man.
-“look here,” i said, “let’s get this thing straight. a couple of days ago you touched me for five shillings and said it would save your life.”
-“it did, old man, it did.”
-“and now you’re talking of scattering hundred quids about the place as if you were rothschild. do you smoke it or inject it with a hypodermic needle?”
-there was pain in ukridge’s eyes as he sat up and gazed at me through the smoke.
-“i don’t like this tone, laddie,” he said, reproachfully. “upon my sam, it wounds me. it sounds as if you had lost faith in me, in my vision.”
-“oh, i know you’ve got vision. and the big, broad, flexible outlook. also snap, ginger, enterprise, and ears that stick out at right angles like the sails of a windmill. but that doesn’t help me to understand where on earth you expect to get a hundred quid.”
-ukridge smiled tolerantly.
-“you don’t suppose i would have guaranteed the money for poor little dora unless i knew where to lay my hands on it, do you? if you ask me, have i got the stuff at this precise moment? i candidly reply, no, i haven’t. but it’s fluttering on the horizon, laddie, fluttering on the horizon. i can hear the beating of its wings.”
-“is battling billson going to fight someone and make your fortune again?”
-ukridge winced, and the look of pain flitted across his face once more.
-“don’t mention that man’s name to me, old horse,” he begged. “every time i think of him everything seems to go all black. no, the thing i have on hand now is a real solid business proposition. gilt-edged, you might call it. i ran into a bloke the other day whom i used to know out in canada.”
-“i didn’t know you had ever been in canada,” i interrupted.
-“of course i’ve been in canada. go over there and ask the first fellow you meet if i was ever in canada. canada! i should say i had been in canada. why, when i left canada, i was seen off on the steamer by a couple of policemen. well, i ran into this bloke in piccadilly. he was wandering up and down and looking rather lost. couldn’t make out what the deuce he was doing over here, because, when i knew him, he hadn’t a cent. well, it seems that he got fed up with canada and went over to america to try and make his fortune. and, by jove, he did, first crack out of the box. bought a bit of land about the size of a pocket-handkerchief in texas or oklahoma or somewhere, and one morning, when he was hoeing the soil or planting turnips or something, out buzzed a whacking great oil-well. apparently that sort of thing’s happening every day out there. if i could get a bit of capital together, i’m dashed if i wouldn’t go to texas myself. great open spaces where men are men, laddie—suit me down to the ground. well, we got talking, and he said that he intended to settle in england. came from london as a kid, but couldn’t stick it at any price now because they had altered it so much. i told him the thing for him to do was to buy a house in the country with a decent bit of shooting, and he said, ‘well, how do you buy a house in the country with a decent bit of shooting?’ and i said, ‘leave it entirely in my hands, old horse. i’ll see you’re treated right.’ so he told me to go ahead, and i went to farmingdons, the house-agent blokes in cavendish square. had a chat with the manager. very decent old bird with moth-eaten whiskers. i said i’d got a millionaire looking for a house in the country. ‘find him one, laddie,’ i said, ‘and we split the commish.’ he said ‘right-o,’ and any day now i expect to hear that he’s dug up something suitable. well, you can see for yourself what that’s going to mean. these house-agent fellows take it as a personal affront if a client gets away from them with anything except a collar-stud and the clothes he stands up in, and i’m in halves. reason it out, my boy, reason it out.”
-“you’re sure this man really has money?”
-“crawling with it, laddie. hasn’t found out yet there’s anything smaller than a five-pound note in circulation. he took me to lunch, and when he tipped the waiter the man burst into tears and kissed him on both cheeks.”
-i am bound to admit that i felt easier in my mind, for it really did seem as though the fortunes of miss mason rested on firm ground. i had never supposed that ukridge could be associated with so sound a scheme, and i said so. in fact, i rather overdid my approval, for it encouraged him to borrow another five shillings; and before he left we were in treaty over a further deal which was to entail my advancing him half a sovereign in one solid payment. business breeds business.
-for the next ten days i saw nothing of ukridge. as he was in the habit of making these periodical disappearances, i did not worry unduly as to the whereabouts of my wandering boy, but i was conscious from time to time of a mild wonder as to what had become of him. the mystery was solved one night when i was walking through pall mall on my way home after a late session with an actor acquaintance who was going into vaudeville, and to whom i hoped,—mistakenly, as it turned out—to sell a one-act play.
-as far as i could see in the uncertain light, he was a man of middle age, rugged of aspect and grizzled about the temples. i was able to inspect his temples because—doubtless from the best motives—he was wearing his hat on his left foot. he was correctly clad in dress clothes, but his appearance was a little marred by a splash of mud across his shirt-front and the fact that at some point earlier in the evening he had either thrown away or been deprived of his tie. he gazed fixedly at the hat with a poached-egg-like stare. he was the only man i had ever seen who was smoking two cigars at the same time.
-ukridge greeted me with the warmth of a beleaguered garrison welcoming the relieving army.
-“my dear old horse! just the man i wanted!” he cried, as if he had picked me out of a number of competing applicants. “you can give me a hand with hank, laddie.”
-“is this hank!” i enquired, glancing at the recumbent sportsman, who had now closed his eyes as if the spectacle of the hat had begun to pall.
-“yes. hank philbrick. this is the bloke i was telling you about, the fellow who wants the house.”
-“he doesn’t seem to want any house. he looks quite satisfied with the great open spaces.”
-“poor old hank’s a bit under the weather,” explained ukridge, regarding his stricken friend with tolerant sympathy. “it takes him this way. the fact is, old man, it’s a mistake for these blokes to come into money. they overdo things. the only thing hank ever got to drink for the first fifty years of his life was water, with buttermilk as a treat on his birthday, and he’s trying to make up for lost time. he’s only just discovered that there are such things as liqueurs in the world, and he’s making them rather a hobby. says they’re such a pretty colour. it wouldn’t be so bad if he stuck to one at a time, but he likes making experiments. mixes them, laddie. orders the whole lot and blends them in a tankard. well, i mean to say,” said ukridge reasonably, “you can’t take more than five or six tankards of mixed benedictine, chartreuse, kummel, crème de menthe, and old brandy without feeling the strain a bit. especially if you stoke up on champagne and burgundy.”
-a strong shudder ran through me at the thought. i gazed at the human cellar on the pavement with a feeling bordering on awe.
-“does he really?”
-“every night for the last two weeks. i’ve been with him most of the time. i’m the only pal he’s got in london, and he likes to have me round.”
-“what plans have you for his future? his immediate future, i mean. do we remove him somewhere or is he going to spend the night out here under the quiet stars?”
-“i thought, if you would lend a hand, old man, we could get him to the carlton. he’s staying there.”
-“he won’t be long, if he comes in in this state.”
-“bless you, my dear old man, they don’t mind. he tipped the night-porter twenty quid yesterday and asked me if i thought it was enough. lend a hand, laddie. let’s go.”
-i lent a hand, and we went.
-the effect which that nocturnal encounter had upon me was to cement the impression that in acting as agent for mr. philbrick in the purchase of a house ukridge was on to a good thing. what little i had seen of hank had convinced me that he was not the man to be finicky about price. he would pay whatever they asked him without hesitation. ukridge would undoubtedly make enough out of his share of the commission to pay off dora mason’s hundred without feeling it. indeed, for the first time in his life he would probably be in possession of that bit of capital of which he was accustomed to speak so wistfully. i ceased, therefore, to worry about miss mason’s future and concentrated myself on my own troubles.
-they would probably have seemed to anyone else minor troubles, but nevertheless they were big enough to depress me. two days after my meeting with ukridge and mr. philbrick in pall mall i had received rather a disturbing letter.
-there was a society paper for which at that time i did occasional work and wished to do more; and the editor of this paper had sent me a ticket for the forthcoming dance of the pen and ink club, with instructions to let him have a column and a half of bright descriptive matter. it was only after i had digested the pleasant reflection that here was a bit of badly needed cash dropping on me out of a clear sky that i realised why the words pen and ink club seemed to have a familiar ring. it was the club of which ukridge’s aunt julia was the popular and energetic president, and the thought of a second meeting with that uncomfortable woman filled me with a deep gloom. i had not forgotten—and probably would never forget—my encounter with her in her drawing-room at wimbledon.
-i was not in a financial position, however, to refuse editors their whims, so the thing had to be gone through; but the prospect damped me, and i was still brooding on it when a violent ring at the front-door bell broke in on my meditations. it was followed by the booming of ukridge’s voice enquiring if i were in. a moment later he had burst into the room. his eyes were wild, his pince-nez at an angle of forty-five, and his collar separated from its stud by a gap of several inches. his whole appearance clearly indicated some blow of fate, and i was not surprised when his first words revealed an aching heart.
-“hank philbrick,” said ukridge without preamble, “is a son of belial, a leper, and a worm.”
-“what’s happened now?”
-“he’s let me down, the weak-minded tishbite! doesn’t want that house in the country after all. my gosh, if hank philbrick is the sort of man canada is producing nowadays, heaven help the british empire.”
-i shelved my petty troubles. they seemed insignificant beside this majestic tragedy.
-“what made him change his mind?” i asked.
-“the wobbling, vacillating hell-hound! i always had a feeling that there was something wrong with that man. he had a nasty, shifty eye. you’ll bear me out, laddie, in that? haven’t i spoken to you a hundred times about his shifty eye?”
-“certainly. why did he change his mind?”
-“didn’t i always say he wasn’t to be trusted?”
-“repeatedly. what made him change his mind?”
-ukridge laughed with a sharp bitterness that nearly cracked the window-pane. his collar leaped like a live thing. ukridge’s collar was always a sort of thermometer that registered the warmth of his feelings. sometimes, when his temperature was normal, it would remain attached to its stud for minutes at a time; but the slightest touch of fever sent it jumping up, and the more he was moved the higher it jumped.
-“when i knew hank out in canada,” he said, “he had the constitution of an ox. ostriches took his correspondence course in digestion. but directly he comes into a bit of money——laddie,” said ukridge earnestly, “when i’m a rich man, i want you to stand at my elbow and watch me very carefully. the moment you see signs of degeneration speak a warning word. don’t let me coddle myself. don’t let me get fussy about my health. where was i? oh yes. directly this man comes into a bit of money he gets the idea that he’s a sort of fragile, delicate flower.”
-“i shouldn’t have thought so from what you were telling me the other night.”
-“what happened the other night was the cause of all the trouble. naturally he woke up with a bit of a head.”
-“i can quite believe it.”
-“yes, but my gosh, what’s a head! in the old days he would have gone and worked it off by taking a dose of pain-killer and chopping down half-a-dozen trees. but now what happens? having all this money, he wouldn’t take a simple remedy like that. no, sir! he went to one of those harley street sharks who charge a couple of guineas for saying ‘well, how are we this morning?’ a fatal move, laddie. naturally, the shark was all over him. tapped him here and prodded him there, said he was run down, and finally told him he ought to spend six months in a dry, sunny climate. recommended egypt. egypt, i’ll trouble you, for a bloke who lived fifty years thinking that it was a town in illinois. well, the long and the short of it is that he’s gone off for six months, doesn’t want a place in england, and i hope he gets bitten by a crocodile. and the lease all drawn out and ready to sign. upon my sam, it’s a little hard. sometimes i wonder whether it’s worth while going on struggling.”
-a sombre silence fell upon us. ukridge, sunk in gloomy reverie, fumbled absently at his collar stud. i smoked with a heavy heart.
-“what will your friend dora do now?” i said at length.
-“that’s what’s worrying me,” said ukridge, lugubriously. “i’ve been trying to think of some other way of raising that hundred, but at the moment i don’t mind confessing i am baffled. i can see no daylight.”
-nor could i. his chance of raising a hundred pounds by any means short of breaking into the mint seemed slight indeed.
-“odd the way things happen,” i said. i gave him the editor’s letter. “look at that.”
-“he’s sending me to do an article on the pen and ink club dance. if only i had never been to see your aunt——”
-“and made such a mess of it.”
-“i didn’t make a mess of it. it just happened that——”
-“all right, laddie, all right,” said ukridge, tonelessly. “don’t let’s split straws. the fact remains, whether it’s your fault or not, the thing was a complete frost. what were you saying?”
-“i was saying that, if only i had never been to your aunt, i could have met her in a perfectly natural way at this dance.”
-“done young disciple stuff,” said ukridge, seizing on the idea. “rubbed in the fact that you could do her a bit of good by boosting her in the paper.”
-“and asked her to re-engage miss mason as her secretary.”
-ukridge fiddled with the letter.
-“you don’t think even now——”
-i was sorry for him and sorrier for dora mason, but on this point i was firm.
-“no, i don’t.”
-“but consider, laddie,” urged ukridge. “at this dance she may well be in malleable mood. the lights, the music, the laughter, the jollity.”
-“no,” i said. “it can’t be done. i can’t back out of going to the affair, because if i did i’d never get any more work to do for this paper. but i’ll tell you one thing. i mean to keep quite clear of your aunt. that’s final. i dream of her in the night sometimes and wake up screaming. and in any case it wouldn’t be any use my tackling her. she wouldn’t listen to me. it’s too late. you weren’t there that afternoon at wimbledon, but you can take it from me that i’m not one of her circle of friends.”
-“that’s the way it always happens,” sighed ukridge. “everything comes too late. well, i’ll be popping off. lot of heavy thinking to do, laddie. lot of heavy thinking.”
-and he left without borrowing even a cigar, a sure sign that his resilient spirit was crushed beyond recuperation.
-the dance of the pen and ink club was held, like so many functions of its kind, at the lotus rooms, knightsbridge, that barrack-like building which seems to exist only for these sad affairs. the pen and ink evidently went in for quality in its membership rather than quantity; and the band, when i arrived, was giving out the peculiarly tinny sound which bands always produce in very large rooms that are only one-sixth part full. the air was chilly and desolate and a general melancholy seemed to prevail. the few couples dancing on the broad acres of floor appeared sombre and introspective, as if they were meditating on the body upstairs and realizing that all flesh is as grass. around the room on those gilt chairs which are only seen in subscription-dance halls weird beings were talking in undertones, probably about the trend of scandinavian literature. in fact, the only bright spot on the whole gloomy business was that it occurred before the era of tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles.
-that curious grey hopelessness which always afflicts me when i am confronted with literary people in the bulk was not lightened by the reflection that at any moment i might encounter miss julia ukridge. i moved warily about the room, keenly alert, like a cat that has wandered into a strange alley and sees in every shadow the potential hurler of a half-brick. i could envisage nothing but awkwardness and embarrassment springing from such a meeting. the lesson which i had drawn from my previous encounter with her was that happiness for me lay in keeping as far away from miss julia ukridge as possible.
-my precautions had been in vain. she had sneaked up on me from behind.
-“good evening,” i said.
-it is never any good rehearsing these scenes in advance. they always turn out so differently. i had been assuming, when i slunk into this hall, that if i met this woman i should feel the same shrinking sense of guilt and inferiority which had proved so disintegrating at wimbledon. i had omitted to make allowances for the fact that that painful episode had taken place on her own ground, and that right from the start my conscience had been far from clear. to-night the conditions were different.
-“are you a member of the pen and ink club?” said ukridge’s aunt, frostily.
-her stony blue eyes were fixed on me with an expression that was not exactly loathing, but rather a cold and critical contempt. so might a fastidious cook look at a black-beetle in her kitchen.
-“no,” i replied, “i am not.”
-i felt bold and hostile. this woman gave me a pain in the neck, and i endeavoured to express as much in the language of the eyes.
-“then will you please tell me what you are doing here? this is a private dance.”
-one has one’s moments. i felt much as i presume battling billson must have felt in his recent fight with alf todd, when he perceived his antagonist advancing upon him wide-open, inviting the knock-out punch.
-“the editor of society sent me a ticket. he wanted an article written about it.���
-if i was feeling like mr. billson, ukridge’s aunt must have felt very like mr. todd. i could see that she was shaken. in a flash i had changed from a black-beetle to a god-like creature, able, if conciliated, to do a bit of that log-rolling which is so dear to the heart of the female novelist. and she had not conciliated me. of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: it might have been. it is too much to say that her jaw fell, but certainly the agony of this black moment caused her lips to part in a sort of twisted despair. but there was good stuff in this woman. she rallied gamely.
-“a press ticket,” she murmured.
-“a press ticket,” i echoed.
-“may i see it?”
-“not at all.”
-she passed on.
-i resumed my inspection of the dancers with a lighter heart. in my present uplifted mood they did not appear so bad as they had a few minutes back. some of them, quite a few of them, looked almost human. the floor was fuller now, and whether owing to my imagination or not, the atmosphere seemed to have taken on a certain cheeriness. the old suggestion of a funeral still lingered, but now it was possible to think of it as a less formal, rather jollier funeral. i began to be glad that i had come.
-i had thought that i was finished with this sort of thing for the evening, and i turned with a little impatience. it was a refined tenor voice that had addressed me, and it was a refined tenor-looking man whom i saw. he was young and fattish, with a jovian coiffure and pince-nez attached to a black cord.
-“pardon me,” said this young man, “but are you a member of the pen and ink club?”
-my momentary annoyance vanished, for it suddenly occurred to me that, looked at in the proper light, it was really extremely flattering, this staunch refusal on the part of these people to entertain the belief that i could be one of them. no doubt, i felt, they were taking up the position of the proprietor of a certain night-club, who, when sued for defamation of character by a young lady to whom he had refused admittance on the ground that she was not a fit person to associate with his members, explained to the court that he had meant it as a compliment.
-“no, thank heaven!” i replied.
-“press ticket,” i explained.
-“press ticket? what paper?”
-there was nothing of the julia ukridge spirit in this young man, no ingrained pride which kept him aloof and outwardly indifferent. he beamed like the rising sun. he grasped my arm and kneaded it. he gambolled about me like a young lamb in the springtime.
-“my dear fellow!” he exclaimed, exuberantly, and clutched my arm more firmly, lest even now i might elude him. “my dear fellow, i really must apologise. i would not have questioned you, but there are some persons present who were not invited. i met a man only a moment ago who said that he had bought a ticket. some absurd mistake. there were no tickets for sale. i was about to question him further, but he disappeared into the crowd and i have not seen him since. this is a quite private dance, open only to members of the club. come with me, my dear fellow, and i will give you a few particulars which you may find of use for your article.”
-he led me resolutely into a small room off the floor, closed the door to prevent escape, and, on the principle on which you rub a cat’s paws with butter to induce it to settle down in a new home, began to fuss about with whisky and cigarettes.
-“do, do sit down.”
-i sat down.
-“first, about this club. the pen and ink club is the only really exclusive organisation of its kind in london. we pride ourselves on the fact. we are to the literary world what brooks’s and the carlton are to the social. members are elected solely by invitation. election, in short, you understand, is in the nature of an accolade. we have exactly one hundred members, and we include only those writers who in our opinion possess vision.”
-“and the big, broad, flexible outlook?”
-“i beg your pardon?”
-“the names of most of those here to-night must be very familiar to you.”
-“i know miss ukridge, the president,” i said.
-a faint, almost imperceptible shadow passed over the stout young man’s face. he removed his pince-nez and polished them with a touch of disfavour. there was a rather flat note in his voice.
-“ah, yes,” he said, “julia ukridge. a dear soul, but between ourselves, strictly between ourselves, not a great deal of help in an executive capacity.”
-“no. in confidence, i do all the work. i am the club’s secretary. my name, by the way, is charlton prout. you may know it?”
-he eyed me wistfully, and i felt that something ought to be done about him. he was much too sleek, and he had no right to do his hair like that.
-“of course,” i said. “i have read all your books.”
-“‘a shriek in the night.’ ‘who killed jasper bossom?’—all of them.”
-he stiffened austerely.
-“you must be confusing me with some other—ah—writer,” he said. “my work is on somewhat different lines. the reviewers usually describe the sort of thing i do as pastels in prose. my best-liked book, i believe, is grey myrtles. dunstable’s brought it out last year. it was exceedingly well received. and i do a good deal of critical work for the better class of review.” he paused. “if you think it would interest your readers,” he said, with a deprecating wave of the hand, “i will send you a photograph. possibly your editor would like to use it.”
-“i bet he would.”
-“a photograph somehow seems to—as it were—set off an article of this kind.”
-“that,” i replied, cordially, “is what it doesn’t do nothing else but.”
-“and you won’t forget grey myrtles. well, if you have finished your cigarette, we might be returning to the ballroom. these people rather rely on me to keep things going, you know.”
-a burst of music greeted us as he opened the door, and even in that first moment i had an odd feeling that it sounded different. that tinny sound had gone from it. and as we debouched from behind a potted palm and came in sight of the floor, i realised why.
-the floor was full. it was crammed, jammed, and overflowing. where couples had moved as single spies, they were now in battalions. the place was alive with noise and laughter. these people might, as my companion had said, be relying on him to keep things going, but they seemed to have been getting along uncommonly well in his absence. i paused and surveyed the mob in astonishment. i could not make the man’s figures balance.
-“i thought you said the pen and ink club had only a hundred members.”
-the secretary was fumbling for his glasses. he had an almost ukridge-like knack of dropping his pince-nez in moments of emotion.
-“it—it has,” he stammered.
-“well, reading from left to right, i make it nearer seven hundred.”
-“i cannot understand it.”
-“perhaps they have been having a new election and letting in some writers without vision,” i suggested.
-i was aware of miss ukridge bearing down upon us, bristling.
-the talented young author of grey myrtles leaped convulsively.
-“yes, miss ukridge?”
-“who are all these people?”
-“i—i don’t know,” said the talented young man.
-“you don’t know! it’s your business to know. you are the secretary of the club. i suggest that you find out as quickly as possible who they are and what they imagine they are doing here.”
-the goaded secretary had something of the air of a man leading a forlorn hope, and his ears had turned bright pink, but he went at it bravely. a serene-looking man with a light moustache and a made-up tie was passing, and he sprang upon him like a stoutish leopard.
-“excuse me, sir.”
-“will you kindly—would you mind—pardon me if i ask——”
-“what are you doing here?” demanded miss ukridge, curtly, cutting in on his flounderings with a masterful impatience. “how do you come to be at this dance?”
-the man seemed surprised.
-“who, me?” he said. “i came with the rest of ’em.”
-“what do you mean, the rest of them?”
-“the members of the warner’s stores social and outing club.”
-“but this is the dance of the pen and ink club,” bleated mr. prout.
-“some mistake,” said the other, confidently. “it’s a bloomer of some kind. here,” he added, beckoning to a portly gentleman of middle age who was bustling by, “you’d better have a talk with our hon. sec. he’ll know. mr. biggs, this gentleman seems to think there’s been some mistake about this dance.”
-mr. biggs stopped, looked, and listened. seen at close range, he had a forceful, determined air. i liked his looks.
-“may i introduce mr. charlton prout?” i said. “author of grey myrtles. mr. prout,” i went on, as this seemed to make little or no sensation, “is the secretary of the pen and ink club.”
-“i’m the secretary of the warner’s stores social and outing club,” “yes, and we can’t go out after all, because he’s just heard about that cabinet. you know—the one he ordered for the new eggs. it may arrive today, and he’s got to superintend them carrying it up if it comes. i’m rather glad. the woods are sopping and i know i’ve a cold coming on. so i’ll be able to see you off. have you looked up trains? does mrs. cloud approve? you will let us know at once, won’t you? justin said he’d write most floriferously. i knew he’d be nice. he didn’t expect the cabinet this week. he’s as excited as you are.”
-laura was excited herself—pardonably triumphant. it was a solution for so much. the difficulties with timothy—mrs. cloud—(coral, though she were fond of her, had been, she could guess, a strain upon mrs. cloud) justin’s own discomfort—coral’s unrest—all had been dispelled by justin. justin might have his ways, but underneath those ways what a truly satisfactory justin he was! she could not help rubbing it in as she drove coral to the station. she hoped coral was properly confounded—coral, with her strictures and criticisms and her knowledge of men.
-she said good-bye to her with relief and regret and triumph. her cold was worse the next day, and on the next she was in bed. it was the beginning of the week before she was about again. it was the middle of the week before she found a letter on her breakfast plate.
-she did not know the handwriting, but the deep lavender of the paper and the cheap ink had a familiar look, were in affinity with the lace blouses and the scent and the ear-rings to which she had grown accustomed. she did not even glance at the signature, so sure was she that the letter was from coral.
-i’ve got a job! got it tuesday, but i couldn’t write before—been too rushed with clothes. i went to the fleur-de-lys first thing—but no go. wouldn’t look at me. never got near any one, not even the a.s.m., let alone willy. it can’t be helped, but i am sick—because the girl who’s got it, i heard today, is just my type. if i could have only got at willy! i know she can’t walk across a stage even—just an elderly, academy flapper, because she was with me in a fit-up once. but she’s a friend of the s.m.—’nuff said! well, dearie—the end of it was i got so fed up doing the rounds—whitney asked me if i’d walk on—me! i could have slapped his face—and yet i wanted to howl—i’ve got all soft among you dears—and then coming out i barged bang into old stevenson—you know i told you how johnnie used to kick up such a fuss about him—and my dear, he’s taking out a tour—africa—a year’s job at least, and possibly india and australia afterwards, and even america. stock. and he’s offered me to share leads with phœbe desborough! she’s a good sort—decent—i’ve digged with her before now and—well, i’ve accepted it. the money’s not much, but they provide the costumes and i know most of the crowd, and stevie and i have always been pals—in fact, i shouldn’t be surprised——stop it, coral!
-but it’s something settled anyway. that wilbraham business did for me—i’d counted so. you never know your luck, do you? i expect justin did what he could—but oh, if i’d only been able to see willy!
-we start saturday—it’ll be an awful scramble. i suppose you and justin wouldn’t come and see me off? don’t bring tim. i’ve written to grannie. we talked things out, you know. and i know she won’t set him against me. i know that, else i’d never let her have him. but it’s best for him. i’m not quite a fool. the train leaves victoria 2.15. if timmy misses me—but you’d better not bring him. wish i could have got the london job. well—it’s done now. justin will get up on his hind legs and prance, but i can’t help it. grannie won’t, anyway. she’ll understand. she’s worth all the rest of you put together. that’s why i let her have timmy. you’ll look after timmy?
-laura hurried on to the immense coral cloud sprawling across the last page and smiled absently at a sudden memory of coral expatiating on the effectiveness of her stage name: “so catchy! the cherry-pie tooth-paste people were after it once! wanted a signed photo. only johnnie struck—the billy! it’s quite worth while! they don’t pay cash, of course, but you get their creams for nothing.”
-justin had been wooden as he listened.
-but her smile died away as she read the letter again. she could not understand what had happened. it had been coral’s business and coral’s alone to prove her capacity; but justin had definitely promised to write in such a way that the interview at least, would be assured her. justin was no tall talker. if he said he could do that much, laura knew that he could do it. besides, she herself had more than once met the elusive mr. wilbraham at the priory ... a nice quiet man.... she knew that he and justin were friends.... odd.... it was certainly odd.... had the letter miscarried? because of course—of course justin had written.... there was no question of that....
-she went puzzling up to the priory to find that mrs. cloud had also received a letter, carefully written and carefully spelled—poor coral at her grateful stilted best; but it was nearly all about timothy. there was no mention of the fleur-de-lys or mr. wilbraham.
-they discussed the matter with beautifully concealed uneasiness.
-“well—” laura began, and then most cheerfully, “oh well—”
-mrs. cloud drummed with her fingers.
-“after all, it’s her life,” laura argued.
-“yes. yes, of course. and she writes most sensibly about timothy.”
-“oh, coral’s very sensible,” said laura eagerly. she was glad to praise coral, to be loyal and affectionate to coral, in atonement for the vague wrong that nobody had done coral.
-“yes, she’s a dear, good girl!” mrs. cloud’s tone matched laura’s. “i wish—i wish she could have stayed in england—have kept in touch—” and then, “i suppose—that part——?”
-“oh, i expect there were hundreds of applicants,” said laura hastily, refusing to remember coral’s excitement—“a dead secret—keeping it dark—you know what willy is!”
-“most probably she wasn’t suitable,” said mrs. cloud.
-“one never knows,” laura was evasive. “is justin in? i haven’t seen him since coral left.”
-mrs. cloud’s face brightened as the sky does when a cloud has slid from the moon.
-“i know. he’s wanted you. he’s been so busy. the new cabinet came that same afternoon.”
-“oh!” said laura slowly. “oh—the cabinet came the same afternoon.” and then—“i think i’ll go up to him.”
-she went out of the room quietly, with none of her usual joyous flurry. mrs. cloud did not watch her go. indeed they had not once met each other’s eyes as they talked together.
-“here you are! good! i nearly came round for you yesterday. now look here—would you put——” he went into details.
-she spoke through them.
-“justin—you did write that letter, didn’t you?”
-“but then bellew has cases with glass tops. what letter?”
-“to mr. wilbraham. about coral.”
-“oh! no—not yet. i don’t believe i have.”
-“justin! and you promised coral.”
-“well—i did mean to. i’m going to. i’ll write tonight.”
-“you needn’t,” said laura without expression. “the part’s filled.”
-“oh, well! there’ll be another soon,” said justin comfortably. “i’m sorry. i really am sorry. but what with this arriving—isn’t it a beauty? you haven’t half looked at it, laura!—and getting things straight again—i simply hadn’t time.”
-“you hadn’t time!”
-the contempt in her voice startled them both—stung like a whip; but she hurt herself more than she hurt him. she had not realized that it was possible to feel like that to justin. she was frightened at herself.
-but justin was annoyed. he did not feel guilty, he felt injured. he was quite sure he hadn’t had time.
-“oh, shut up, laura!” he adjured her, and then, with gathering indignation—“look here, you know—shut up!” and so retired into the silence that awaits apologies.
-but something was wrong with laura that day. she too was silent, with a difference in the quality of her silence that disturbed him. where he was dignified, she was ominous. glancing across at her he found her studying him and his occupation with an impersonal, appraising air that altered her whole face: and she had grown white, so white that he noticed it—that is to say, he thought to himself that she was looking plain that morning. but when she did speak she was outrageous—
-“justin! do you know—i think you’re almost selfish.”
-that was the way, you see, that she talked to him when he was up to his eyes in work!
-“oh?” said justin, bearing with her. and then, in sudden heat—“because i forgot to write a letter!”
-“oh—you didn’t forget,” she said in her lowest voice.
-“oh?” said justin again.
-“you didn’t forget. you just put it off and put it off, because you didn’t like the bother, because you didn’t like coral.”
-“well, i don’t!” he flung at her. “she’d get on any one’s nerves.”
-“oh well, she won’t bother you any more. she’s going abroad. touring.”
-he shrugged his shoulders.
-“my dear girl! it’s her own doing. we’ve offered her a home and income. she need never see a theatre again.”
-laura looked at him in a sort of despair.
-“what’s the use of saying that? do you know what you’re saying? ‘oh, sunflower, i’ve such a nice cellar for you! if you’ll come and live in it, you never need see the sun!’”
-“you’re talking absolute nonsense,” said justin austerely.
-“i’m not. it’s you. you can no more put yourself in another person’s place——you can no more imagine how coral feels——”
-he looked at her, on that, with something of the despair with which she had looked at him.
-“look here, old girl,” he began, with heavy patience, “you mayn’t believe me, but honestly, if i’d had any idea you were so keen on coral——”
-“coral? coral? what do i care for coral?” she asked him fiercely.
-“but if you’re not upset about coral,” demanded the logical sex, “what’s all the row about? what’s the matter with you?”
-she turned away from him because she felt her lips were trembling.
-“i don’t know,” she said weakly. “i don’t know.” and then—“i know i’m very unhappy.”
-she trailed away to the window, without a glance, without, i give you my word, a glance at the new cabinet, though it half blocked her way.
-he did not know whether he should laugh or be bored by her inexplicability. he was not in the habit of translating his sensations into thoughts, but what he really wanted was that she should stop talking and be smiling and interested in his interests, and be quick about it, so that he might legitimately dispense with his quite definite discomfort. yet if, at that moment, she could have broken down completely, letting her trouble and her anxious love for him show itself in a storm of tears, i believe that she might have won him. he would have recognized tears: he would have understood tears: he would have done anything to comfort tears. can’t you foresee his horrified distress? she might have said all her say and he would have listened. it was her chance, hers for the taking!
-but she—she had learned so rigidly to repress herself in speech and still more in manner, that she found herself at such a moment not moved but frozen. she took it, with a sort of dreary triumph, as a sign that she had at last attained self-mastery, justin’s virtue—not considering that a runaway engine and an engine that has jammed are equally beyond the driver’s control. and so—governed as ever by the code, she told him that she was unhappy in the tone that she would have told him that her new shoes were tight. yet she never dreamed that he took her flippancy at its face value—he—justin—whose adamry, with the deadly injustice of pure worship, she had endowed with omniscience. if justin did not understand it was because he did not choose: and he did not choose because her emotion offended his inexorable taste. thus, merciless to him as he to her, she reasoned, and for the first time in her life was bitter against him for the hardness of his heart. yet, affected as she must always be by his each unconscious change of tone, how could she fail to respond when he laughed at this good joke of hers and, without admitting that he should or should not have written to coral, put it to her, as a woman and a collector, that it was time to change the subject.
-“unhappy? rats! come and help with the shelves. coral can look after herself. besides, of course i’ll fix up something. only leave me alone, laura! i’ve not done you any harm. don’t worry so! i can look after myself, can’t i?”
-she looked at him with great doubtful eyes.
-he laughed impatiently.
-“don’t be such a grandmother,” he insisted. “leave me alone!”
-she gave him a smile then, a half smile as doubtful as her eyes; but she shook her head.
-“i can’t,” said laura.
-“oh, stuff!” said justin.
-and then they began to discuss matters of importance.
-laura had wanted justin to come with her to see the last of coral. she knew that coral would expect it: she was of the class that could be genuinely moved in public. but she knew also that justin would shiver at the idea of coral’s farewells. she wished he did not have to be considered: she wished he could laugh and say—“oh, well, we must go through with it, i suppose,” and provide himself with chocolates and roses, and endure a farewell from his sister-in-law that might or might not culminate in an embrace. she wished he would be vulgar and human and uncritical for once. she wished——
-of course he would come if she asked him.... it would be a nuisance, naturally, with the dinner-party in the evening, but they could go up by one train and come back by the next, or start earlier and have their lunch in town.... if she suggested lunch he would surely come.... a man hates to be hurried, but with due time allowed for the importances of life he would come?... he ought to come. after coral’s message he ought to come.... she would go up again to the priory that very afternoon to ask him....
-she did. she went up to the priory on thursday, and again on friday for that express purpose, but she found when she tried that she was not able to ask him. she could not get out the words. she was afraid of his acquiescence, of his bored, impatient acquiescence that was worse than a refusal. she was afraid—it gave her a shock to realize that she was actually afraid of justin.
-she took the discovery up to town with her that saturday, setting it to the monody of the train.
-“afraid of justin? afraid of justin?”
-“absurd! absurd! afraid of justin?”
-coral, explicitly, and almost before they were in speaking distance, explanatively out of mourning, did not soothe her. coral must needs interrupt embraces, and introductions to the company, and asides to porters, and high-pitched laughter, and a rattle of news, to say—
-“you’re no relation! where’s my dear brother-in-law?”
-“he was awfully sorry. he was kept at the last moment—quite unexpectedly. he sent all sorts of messages,” said laura successfully. then, because she was an amateur, she added the touch too much: “he was sure you’d understand.”
-coral was appreciative.
-“what a liar you are! you weren’t a week ago! what’s been happening?” then, with a scream of delight. “don’t say—oh, my dear, don’t say you’ve had a row with him!” she tucked her arm into laura’s and trotted her off down the platform. “come on—come to my compartment (to myself, of course—leading lady) and tell me all about it.”
-laura, in her fright, was cruel—
-“and timothy sent messages too. such a lot. he did so want to come.”
-“you might have brought him.” coral stared in front of her.
-“but you said—you said—” began laura, distressed. but the clang of trundled milk-cans drowned the answer. when they could hear themselves again coral had found her compartment, and, settling herself and laura in it, was giving her the private and professional history of every member of the company at once till the carriage doors began to slam and laura had to jump out in a hurry.
-coral leant out of the window.
-“good-bye! you were a brick to come. give my love to grannie. i’ll write from gib, tell her. and tell justin i quite understand.”
-“oh, the message he didn’t send, and—” she raised her voice as the train began to creak—“and the letter he didn’t write, for that matter.”
-laura ran along, level with the moving window, scarlet, voluble.
-“no, no! i wanted to tell you. i forgot, talking. it was a mistake. i ought to have reminded him. he couldn’t help it. it was the eggs—the new cases—it put it all out of his head. he was awfully sorry.” she quickened her pace, panting, as the train drew away from her. but coral’s was a carrying voice.
-“take my tip, laura—smash up his old eggs! then you’ll have some peace! good-bye! kiss timmy! good-bye! good-bye!”
-the train roared out of the station.
-laura, as she muddled her way back to her own platform and settled herself for the slow return journey, had a half smile for coral and her characteristic farewell. she must tell justin ... or better not?... he was not likely to stand a joke about his collection.... he wouldn’t see anything funny.... and yet there was something comical in a grown man being so absorbed.... if he could only realize that ... join in the joke against himself.... people would laugh with him then ... but as it was—she winced—people who didn’t understand laughed at him. he made himself ridiculous....
-she wriggled her shoulders uneasily.
-“of course,” she began, talking aloud to herself in her usual fashion, “of course it’s only idiots like coral and silly little brackenhurst—and gran’papa’s always down on every one anyway—but they do laugh. i wonder—i suppose i couldn’t tell justin?” and then bitterly—“as if he’d listen! i don’t count. nothing counts with justin except the collection. queer how men get wrapped up in a toy! if i told him what they said—not that one cares a dandelion for what they say—but if i told him——they’re always saying ‘why doesn’t he get a job?’ pure envy, of course. but he’d only shrug his shoulders. ‘they say. let them say!’ justin doesn’t care a bit about people. half the time he doesn’t know they’re there. and he walks on all their corns—bless him! no wonder they get annoyed. because it is pure jealousy. why shouldn’t he play? he’s got plenty of money. besides,” she laughed aloud tenderly as she sat all by herself in the empty carriage and thought of him, “it’s so lovable. it’s like a child. he’s awfully like timothy——”
-“only a child,” she was frowning again, “a child grows out of its toys. but a man—what’s one to do with a man? a man’s so horribly careful of his toys. what’s one to do? one can’t sit still and let him be laughed at. what’s one to do with justin?”
-the brackenhurst hills shrugged their tapestried shoulders as she stared at them through the jolting windows, saying to her—
-“heaven knows! we bore him and bred him, but—what is one to do?”
-she turned fretfully in her seat.
-“how can one? what can one do with justin? how can one get at him? he’s never been unhappy, or poor, or ill. he doesn’t know what anything means. what’s the use of being angry with him about coral? besides—they’re all such little things. he’s never done anything really wrong in his life.” and then, “i only wish he had. one could talk to him, tackle him then. but if i did talk to him, what could i say? it’s such little things. he’s like the man with one talent. i always did think that man was in the right really: lo, thou hast thine own! justin’s perfectly justified. it’s i who am the fool. why can’t i leave him alone?”
-she put her hand to her aching head.
-“i believe—i believe i think too much about justin. i wish i could stop thinking——”
-but she could not. she was, for the first time in her life, in that mood which many women and all artists know, when the accumulated, unconscious thinking of many weeks, of many years sometimes, surges up and overflows the surface consciousness. it is in that naked hour that things—murders—masterpieces—happen. those who know assert that it is not an experience to encourage and that when it is over you are collapsed, hysterical, and sleepless with fatigue.
-but laura, who did not in the least understand what was happening to her, knew only with a vague discomfort that the world, the outer world, the harmonious web of sounds and shapes and colours that is the background of conscious life, had fallen apart, inexplicably and amazingly, into individual, unrelated facts. the buttons of the dusty railway cushions became important, importunate: the steeple on the sky-line, the pony’s swivel ear, were each and equally a nucleus upon which her thoughts settled like swarming bees, from which they lifted again in ominous, buzzing clouds; while the trivial sounds about her, the window straps padding against the doors, the rub-a-dub of hoofs, the unlatched gate clicketing in the wind, the hum of the twins’ voices in the next room, the very sigh and fall of her own breast, shaped themselves as the swing of the train had shaped itself, into words, into a whispering refrain of five words—
-“wake him up! wake him up! afraid? absurd!”
-“wake him up! wake him up! afraid? absurd!”
-underneath her gossip and laughter with the boys, and her altercation with aunt adela as to when the trap should be ready and her necessary appreciation of gran’papa’s concomitant and rounded jest—underneath the hurry of the dressing hour and her own delicious difficulties with hair and frock, she was nevertheless aware of that refrain. in spite of herself she listened, marked time to it, fled from it into the inmost recesses of her mind, and still listened to it as a sick woman listens to a fly roaming the room, or to a barrel-organ, devil-driven, in the street below.
-it left her at last. it left her when she reached the priory and found justin glad to see her. it left her then and she forgot it at once and as utterly as if it had never been. but as she sat at table enjoying herself, enjoying the lights and the excitement, and the feel of her new dress, and the looks of the folk she loved, she felt suddenly very tired. she supposed that she wanted her dinner. she hadn’t done anything special that day.... it was ridiculous to be so tired ... so dead tired....
-it was a very pleasant little dinner-party. everybody had been cheerful and talkative, and pleased with everybody else. the new curate was as neutral as a curate should be and as annabel moulde would let him. old mr. valentine, quoting shakespeare and criticizing the cooking, was mellow with his hostess, and merciful to his grandchildren, and even allowed aunt adela, who always expanded in the presence of ‘the gentlemen,’ to gush and flutter unreproved at his deafer ear.
-wilfred and james, reliable as electric switches, had been instantly illuminated by the advent of the two pretty cousins and by the end of the meal, were already in the stammering stage of a great devotion, though still uncertain at which shrine to pay their vows. james, singing maid of athens with equal feeling and flatness, for the ensnarement of lucy, could yet cock the eye of a connoisseur upon the proprietress of wilfred: and wilfred, after seconding his brother with one finger in the treble and a magnificent if uncertain bass accompaniment, was yet not averse, as he cushioned himself on the congratulations of rhoda, from twirling his mustachelets, so much more promising than those of james, in full view of his twin’s enchantress. indeed, laura’s experience, had she been attending to them, would have prophesied a-set-to partners before the evening was over, but a probable as-you-were by the end of the following day. she would have foreseen a matinée—two or three matinées—and probably a day on the river. she could have told you, for all her unworldly air, that rhoda (laura did not approve of rhoda) would wear entirely unsuitable clothes, yet look so garishly attractive in them that james would be once more unsettled in his mind: and that wilfred, the good comrade, and always the more puritan in his tastes, would be relievedly ready to console lucy: and that lucy of the dove-grey frocks, and neat shoes and gloves, would be demurely ready to be consoled: and that in the small hours of sunday she, laura, would be roused from sound sleep to entertain pyjamas and receive confidences, bestowed, as a dog bestows the stone he wishes you to throw for him, with circlings and shyings, and coy withdrawals, with a depositing of it at your feet, and a thinking better of it, and a hasty retreat, and an elaborate pretence of wishing to be unmolested, and of not knowing anything of any stone at all.
-laura could have anticipated her brothers’ every gambit to you, if she had not been occupied in discovering how different from the justin of relaxed waistcoat and pre-historic tweeds was the justin of evening dress and hospitable exertions, if she had not been so delightfully employed in saying how-do-you-do to his creaseless shirt-front and discreet studs and the unusually high collar that suited him better than she could have believed, and in renewing acquaintance with his deep voice and his slow sentences and his kind eyes.
-dinner-parties were rare enough for mrs. cloud to be similarly engaged. somewhere near his tie (it was a badly managed affair—the hands of both women were itching to be at it) their glances met and exchanged conviction that you might scour many more dinner-tables than england held before you found another justin.
-“he has his little faults, of course,” conceded laura’s eyes.
-“and i am the first to admit them,” returned mrs. cloud’s.
-“nobody ever pretended that he was perfect,” laura frowned.
-“at the same time——” laughed the old eyes.
-“and without partiality——” amended the young one’s—
-“have you ever seen any one like him?” they demanded triumphantly: and laura and mrs. cloud smiled at each other across the table.
-dinner was over. sugar and cream followed the mound of strawberries from plate to plate, and gran’papa was saying “doubtless——” in the unnatural voice of one about to make a quotation, when mrs. cloud lifted her finger.
-“timothy!” she said resignedly and pushed back her chair.
-“what about him?” justin was at the side-board, busy with cork-screw and a bottle.
-there was a thin piping in the air, the merest adumbration of a sound that might have been a mouse, a creak in the woodwork, a whistle of wind, or, if one were a grandmother, a child whimpering.
-“i don’t hear anything,” said mr. valentine testily. he disliked a reminder of his deafness.
-“oh, yes,” said mrs. cloud. “it’s the same every night. he likes some one to sit with him——”
-“now, mother——” justin’s hand on her shoulder would not let her rise. “you stay where you are! timothy’s all right. he gets over you. he’s got to learn to go to sleep by himself.”
-“i don’t think a child is ever too young to be trained. if you once give way——”
-“exactly!” justin nodded approval. “it’s a question of discipline. now, mother——” for mrs. cloud was gazing unhappily at the younger generation. “he’ll soon learn to be quiet if you take no notice.” he was a little impatient. it was a difficult to enjoy his strawberries while his mother worried.
-“yes, really, mrs. cloud,” laura reassured her kindly. “it’s the only way.”
-“my dear children, he’ll cry the house down.” mrs. cloud could not be annoyed with justin, or with laura who appreciated justin, but her voice was plaintive. “you don’t understand. it’s so bad for a child——”
-“that’s temper!” said laura decisively. “pure temper. he wants a lesson. if he were mine——” the sound of crying grew and died again as a maid opened and shut the door.
-“smack him,” said laura firmly. “a good sound smacking! there’s nothing like it.”
-“she’s quite right, mother, you know,” corroborated justin. but, agreeing with her as he did, he yet caught himself contrasting her pretty, resolute frown with his mother’s soft distress, and thinking that if he were timothy he knew which he should prefer. laura was a sensible girl, of course ... but rather hard, in this matter of a small kid? yes, hard.... he didn’t like a woman to be hard.... his mother now.... yet it was surprising that his mother had not put up more of a fight for timothy.... meekly letting herself be overborne by laura.... yet behind that meekness—he glanced suspiciously across the table—yes, behind it his mother was enjoying herself ... laughing at somebody or something.... he knew that quiet, delicious twinkle.... now at whom or what, he wondered, was she laughing? his uncertainty spoiled the flavour of his strawberries.
-laura also found her dessert less toothsome than usual. through the snatches of conversation she caught herself alert for the faint sound that had disturbed mrs. cloud. but mrs. cloud had apparently forgotten again.
-of course timothy was a naughty child ... but she did think mrs. cloud might after all have gone up to him ... just for a minute.... she had expected her to go in spite of protests. he was not crying now.... all quiet.... she supposed he was all right.... she played with her strawberries. she had taken far more than she wanted.... the afternoon had given her a headache—the indecisive, disappointing afternoon.... it was a pity to waste five fine strawberries.... timothy would have enjoyed them, bless his greedy little heart.... he was as quiet as a lamb now....
-“i suppose he is all right?” she said aloud to no-one in particular. she was unanswered: the table was all a-chatter. she pushed back her chair, shook out her skirts and picked up, unobtrusively, her plate of strawberries.
-“mrs. cloud! i think i’ll just run up and see if he’s all right. d’you mind?”
-a nod approved her and she slipped out of the room. the bright old eyes followed her, well-pleased.
-“where on earth has laura got to? aren’t we going to have any bridge?”
-the twins and the pretty cousins had rioted into the billiard-room, and he regarded the emptied parlour blankly enough. he looked forward to his game of bridge, with old mr. valentine and his mother safely partnered, and laura opposite himself—laura of the intelligent questions when the round was over, accepting reproofs in a proper spirit—laura, returner of leads and reserver of thirteenth cards—laura, drilled out of all audacities, but so beautifully reliable, the perfect partner whom he could pride himself on having personally distilled from such raw ingredients as a dislike of being beaten and an early passion for happy families. it occasionally occurred to him to be surprised at the acquiescence of mr. valentine in an inferior partner, never dreaming that laura playing bridge with justin was a very different person from laura playing bridge with gran’papa or anybody else. how should justin guess that she played her cards as a performing dog reads the alphabet, guided, for all her rapt air and business-like frown, by the innumerable hints her all-observant knowledge of him gave her. how should justin realize that his left hand a-fiddle with his ear meant perplexity, or that the little push back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling and an imaginary fly was a sure sign to her that the game was in her hands? how should he know that his eyebrows lifted ever so faintly when he thought her reckless, and that for him to get up and knock out his pipe against the fire-place warned her against going spades when there were four aces in his hand? but laura’s sixth or justin-sense knew it and blessed the little tricks that helped her to give him a pleasant evening. it never occurred to her that she was cheating, and that justin would have been horrified had he known.
-but she paid the price of her ill ways. she had not studied gran’papa as she had studied justin, and, dutifully playing double-dummy in the long winter evenings, she contrived without effort to make him feel unnecessarily sorry for justin.
-gran’papa, with his host and hostess and aunt adela in attendance, could dispense with his granddaughter, was mildly annoyed that justin, fidgety fellow, must go in search of her and that mrs. cloud should suggest it. mrs. cloud had been pleasantly unable to imagine what was keeping laura. she had gone up to timothy, but that was half an hour ago. justin might run up and see. mrs. cloud would set out the cards.
-justin found the nursery door ajar and, as he pushed it open, the thin spear of light upon the floor widened and sharpened so that he could not see beyond it. he spoke into the darkness—
-“i say—isn’t he asleep yet?”
-“of course. fast. don’t talk so loudly.” her undertones were tense with triumph.
-“why don’t you come down then? we’ve been waiting——”
-“oh, i’m sorry. but he wouldn’t let me. he wouldn’t let go.” there was the daintiest little chuckle of pride in her voice and justin felt his sense of injury melting. his eyes, accustomed to the half darkness, had found her at last, a splash of black draperies on the whiteness of the coverlet. timothy, nominally a-bed, had forsaken his pillow for her shoulder and there lay snug, all pink curves and inadequate nightgown—one small fist tugging at her hair. a woolly beast was on her lap, and a tipped plate that had held strawberries, for the green calyxes were sliding off its rim. her watch was on the floor, and he thought, by the ticking of it, that the lid was open. her bracelets were on timothy’s arm. he chuckled.
-“you’ve been having a high old time!”
-“i?” she countered blankly. “don’t creak so, justin. what are you looking for?”
-“the slipper. didn’t you smack him?”
-“you don’t understand children,” said laura coldly. “he was perfectly good. he only wanted managing.”
-he surveyed the evidences of management with a twinkle, but he spoke sympathetically—
-“i say, old girl, you’ll get a stiff neck. keep still. no, i won’t wake him.”
-with immense caution his big hands closed over the clutching, tiny fingers, straightened them, and unwound the tangle of bright hair. then, slipping his arm under timothy, he lifted him, warm and relaxed as a kitten, back into the identical hollow in which he had lain before. for an egg warm from the nest he could not have been more careful.
-timothy never stirred.
-laura, smoothing back her hair, watched him in silence, thinking thoughts of her own. then, as he turned, she held out her hands, smiling.
-“help me up—i didn’t know i was so stiff. he won’t wake now, will he? he was dead tired, poor little chap! i’m so sorry i forgot about the bridge—but you see—it’s so bad to let them cry.”
-“of course,” he agreed indignantly. he too had had timothy in his arms. “what was the matter?”
-“just frightened. that pig of a nurse had never put him a night-light. i shall tell mrs. cloud. it’s a sin not to give a child a night-light, with bears under every chair.”
-“bears! a bear would have been a comforting beast! i read dracula when i was seven.”
-“it was hands with me,” laura was fumbling in the wash-stand drawer. “there was a curio, a mummy’s hand, locked up in the top drawer of the wardrobe, at least somebody said so. it used to squeeze itself out and come crawling down, dropping from one drawer knob to the next, like a spider. my bed was next to the wardrobe. i used to roll myself up in the bedclothes till i nearly choked, but even then i could feel it through the blankets pawing at my face.”
-“if they’d only have let me have my kitten—but auntie always took it away last thing. here are the night-lights.”
-“but if you’d told——”
-“one doesn’t, you know. this scrap was bitterly afraid. i knew! but do you think it would tell me? not it. we discussed rumpelstiltskin; but there was a bear behind our chair all the while and our reflections in the looking-glass, and always the dark. got some matches?”
-she lit the night-light and set it afloat in its saucer. the tiny flame turned the black room grey—a ghostly, friendless grey. justin glanced thoughtfully from timothy to the swaying shadows and back again to timothy, a small enough sojourner in the desert of double bed. he coughed.
-“i say, laura——”
-“i say, laura—let’s give him two night-lights and damn the expense!”
-her voice was casual, yet there was something flame-like about her as she followed him across the room, sheltering the lighted match with closed hands, translucently scarlet, a living lamp that lit up her delicate face and laughing, passionate eyes and the duller red of her hair. and with the same flame-like restlessness she hovered about him, enjoying, a little feverishly, her brief authority.
-“no, justin—not there. put it in the dark corner, by the hanging cupboard. yes—oh, quite safe. and, justin—if you fastened the curtain back—right back—here, take my scarf—he would see at once there was nothing behind it. that’s splendid. i don’t think he’ll wake though, do you? let’s come away quietly.”
-they tiptoed out of the room.
-but before the lights of the landing laura shrank oddly, like a bright sword slipping back into its sheath. justin glanced at her more than once as they went down, and, the stairway being narrow, he made more room for them both by slipping his arm through hers. he was discovering that he did not like laura to look tired.
-yet, in spite of her quiescence and his unconsciousness, they contrived to drift past the drawing-room door, and the billiard-room door, and all the allurements of the bridge table, to agree silently to a pacing up and down of the dim terrace, with its black shadows and window-pools of light, and its hedge of larkspur and lilies, and canterbury bells that jingled hoarsely, as laura’s skirts passing and repassing set them a-sway.
-they had left time behind them in the house. the dark, quiet minutes lived and died unnoticed to the soft crunch of their feet on the dewy gravel. justin stared abstractedly before him, and laura, her step matching his, was filled with a sudden blessed sense of possession and forgot utterly all the doubt and oppression of the previous weeks. she felt herself, even as the plant-life about her, reviving, straightening, drawing strength from the night, and its peace was poured upon her like a precious ointment. she could even accept justin’s silence without anxiety, without the quick rummage of her brain to reassure herself that she had amusement stored there for him should he show signs of boredom—ideas, questions, hobby-horses for his restlessness to straddle. for he was restless: through her peace she felt it stirring in him, and longed as she always did, to content it. she slackened.
-“justin—go slower. we’re disturbing the night.” she stood still and, half impatiently, he acquiesced.
-“isn’t it big? and not a star——”
-he drew a deep breath.
-“what’s that stuff—coming across in gusts—warm gusts?”
-“sweet briar. there’s a hedge——”
-he sought awkwardly for words.
-“it’s—it’s like a woman breathing.”
-she smiled up at him.
-“why not? june’s here.”
-he was intent.
-“here——” her free arm flung out vaguely. “can’t you feel her—see her?”
-“yes, i can,” she said, low-voiced.
-he was suddenly aware of his own enormous restlessness. a muscle in his throat was throbbing hotly: he felt thirsty and unhappy, and resentful of the quiet night and the quiet woman at his side who did not help him to he knew not what. he turned impatiently.
-“no. there’s only us! june indeed! come on in. it’s getting late. how cold your fingers are——”
-from a near copse an owl hooted derisively.
-‘if’ is the pivot of existence.
-if justin had stayed in the garden with laura—if the curate had found it pleasanter to make a fourth at bridge than to flirt with annabel moulde—if laura had been a year or two older and a decade or two wiser, old enough to diagnose justin’s symptoms, wise enough to heal him at the right moment with the right word—if justin had been scientifically interested rather than humanly annoyed by this new disturbing state of mind of his—then it would not have degenerated from significant malaise into mere bad temper, he would not have been rude to aunt adela, annabel moulde would not have laughed, and you, collaborator, could have been assured your happy ending.
-if justin had stayed in the garden——
-but justin went into the house and that new-born garden-mood of his resented it, resented the lights and the voices, and the need for amenities. it shrank uncomfortably, ashamed of his own existence and, half in self-ignorance, half in self-defence, hardened, as i tell you, into temper, the harmless, unreasonable bad-temper to which men are always liable and with which women (who always know why they themselves are in a temper and how far they mean to go) have no sympathy whatever. laura tried in vain to understand what had happened. she watched him anxiously, entirely bewildered, thinking—he’s cross.... have i made him cross?... he was so different just now.... why should he be cross?... and besides——
-she was naïvely horrified, you see, that he should be in a temper when visitors were about. it upset her severe young notions of hospitality.
-that three-handed bridge was in full swing did not improve matters. aunt adela was a makeshift, but one could not turn her out. justin cut in. aunt adela partnered him.
-now to aunt adela bridge was a game. she played it in the “ah, if you could only see my hand!” manner, with giggles, and leading questions, and audible asides. she would regularly outbid the rest of the table and explain the ensuing débâcle by admitting, with modest pride, that she was afraid she had the gambling instinct. also, she thought it showed a grasping spirit not to let her take back a card when it was obvious to every one that she had put it down by mistake.
-and while she chattered (she called justin “mr. partner”) gran’papa raked in the tricks with an expression of almost religious satisfaction, and justin’s face grew so black that mrs. cloud glanced at him once uneasily. her son hardly ever lost his temper, but when he did he called every one to help him look for it. yet he was generally no more than decently morose over cards.... had he and laura bickered in the garden?...
-“having no hearts, miss adela?” justin’s voice was implacable.
-aunt adela fluttered. now that he mentioned it—to tell the truth—mrs. cloud’s candied fruits were delicious, of course, and such a good idea—so much better than chocolates to have on a card-table—less thirsty—but they certainly made one’s fingers just a little bit sticky and that was why, she supposed, her heart had got stuck behind another card. however, here it was—no harm done—her trump would come in nicely later on.
-justin breathed heavily.
-“and the odd!” announced gran’papa.
-to make matters worse the billiard players had finished their game and had gathered round to watch and comment, though justin, as laura knew, hated an audience.
-and then justin revoked.
-he had never done such a thing in his life! laura knew—his mother knew—he had never done such a thing in his life! but if people would gabble and chatter—beggar-my-neighbour—perfect farce—he had never done such a thing in his life!... he said nothing with beautiful restraint, but those were the thoughts that you could see rippling one after another over his adam’s apple. it was an awful moment.
-but even then the situation might have been saved if aunt adela, in the giddy delight of the revoke not being hers, had not been coy about it at the end of the round.
-“well, mr. partner, and what have you got to say for yourself now?” etc., etc. upon which justin—of course there is no excuse whatever for justin—looked the good lady very deliberately up and down and, without answering, turned to mr. valentine.
-aunt adela flushed, with that sudden change from caricature to quaintly pathetic dignity that an elderly spinster can sometimes achieve. laura saw it. impulsively she put out her hand (she was sitting beside him) and touched justin’s arm.
-“justin!” she breathed.
-he shook it off.
-“one diamond!” he defied them.
-it was at that moment that she looked up to find the eyes of annabel moulde fixed upon her.
-she stared back, insolent as justin a moment ago, and annabel turned away.
-but annabel had been laughing.
-an hour later, in the quiet of her own room, she tried to shrug her shoulders, wisely, tolerantly, at the pin-prick—and could not.
-if she had gone home, if she had been able to go home after that appeasing hour when justin had helped her with timothy, when they had walked together on the terrace, she knew that she should have fallen asleep happily, hopefully, though on what she based her happiness and her hope she could not have told you. but annabel had laughed, more maliciously, more discreetly, yet as coral might have laughed: and in a flash the old thoughts, the old bitterness, had overwhelmed her again. she inveighed against herself. was she such a weakling that she could be moved by what outsiders chose to think? annabel, indeed! that for annabel! but annabel had been laughing at justin ... at justin, a grown man—making a fool of himself—over a game!... at laura, unable to stop him, without the faintest influence.... a trifle? of course it was a trifle, the straw which showed so clearly to annabel, to all the world, which way the wind blew. such a trifle that if she spoke to justin.... what was the use of speaking to justin, of telling him what she thought? it would only mean a row.... he had been annoyed the other day, about the letter.... it wasn’t her business to criticize justin.... and if it were, that wasn’t the way to do it.... men must be humoured.... and after all, it wasn’t difficult to humour justin....
-she smiled to herself as she combed out her long hair, and, parting it carefully, put up her hands to plait it; but she got no further; for as she looked at the glass she realized suddenly, with a certain crisping of her skin, a certain shortening of her breath, that not only was she looking at herself, but that herself was looking at her. it moved as she moved, pursed lips with her, while its hand divided the rope of hair into three; yet all the while it stared at her with that air of critical comprehension that looking-glass faces have, and its thoughts, underneath its imitative obedience, shone in its eyes with such an odd suggestion of menace that she cried out to it at last, aloud—
-“what is it? oh, what is it? i’m afraid——”
-its lips, moving quickly, answered even while she spoke—
-“—of yourself! actually afraid of yourself. you’re afraid to be yourself, aren’t you? justin mightn’t like it.”
-she watched the shamed, conscious flush rise and die again in its looking-glass face.
-“i’m quite happy,” she said to it defiantly.
-“of course!” its narrowed eyes were merciless. “of course. it’s such fun humouring justin. it’s so easy to give in. it’s such a pleasure to oil the wheels—to be always exactly what he wants, where he wants, and when he wants. it’s the delightfullest slavery. he owns you, doesn’t he? and you’re proud of it. well, i suppose it’s worth while to you. i’m told it’s a most voluptuous sensation.”
-she winced, her head flung up in outrage.
-“i’m not like that. never for one instant!”
-but the tilted, scornful looking-glass face said only—
-“never for one instant? are you sure?”
-she had a wild gust of anger.
-“it’s not fair. we’re going to be married. it’s cruel of justin. it doesn’t happen to other people like this. it doesn’t happen in books. there was oliver—there’s robin and annabel——why should we be different? everywhere people love each other.” then, with a whimsical twist of her thought: “well, i suppose they’re satisfied.”
-“i expect they are.” the face in the glass had also its mocking smile. “they’re in love, you see.”
-“but justin’s in love——”
-“is he?” asked the looking-glass.
-and as she stared into those reflected eyes she saw rising up in their depths as if they were not eyes but pools of memory, a gleam, minute and exquisite as an enamel, of green and midday blue, and a patch of black like a sloe-bush and its scanty shadow, and herself, a tiny far-away self, lying under it listening to a tiny justin who plucked at the thyme and the golden hawksbit as he said—she heard his voice—
-“marry me—will you? then we needn’t have any upset.”
-for an instant the old bliss held her again.
-“he hasn’t grown much, has he, since then?” the looking-glass could mock her while its eyes still held the vision.
-she answered sullenly—
-“what does it matter? i like him this way.”
-“so much,” it drawled, “the worse for justin.”
-“can i help that?” she struck at the table in front of her so that the brushes clattered, and a bottle of lavender tipped, and fell, and broke. and while the sweet, domestic fume of it filled the room she heard the instant, inexorable comment—
-“what’s the use of that? what’s the use of behaving like a child?”
-“am i his keeper?” she began fiercely, but at once, with equal violence, it over-rode her—
-“aren’t you? aren’t you? haven’t you made your plans?”
-her eyes fell before the completeness of its contemptuous comprehension.
-yes—she had made her plans.... she knew—she had always known—that she could marry him, content him, and find her own happiness in doing so.... she could humour him: aid and abet him in his harmless, useless enterprises: lap him in little lies and call it management.... the tyrannous motherliness that is in every woman leaped within her at the idea. of course she could manage justin.... they would lead happy, well-fed lives.... they would die at last, placidly, and be buried, and that would be the end of them; because the spirit within them would have been stifled long ago....
-she nodded deliberately. yes, she could do that.... she knew herself capable of it.... she had killed one self already—and for that, too, she supposed, she was now being punished.... if she had stayed on in paris, learning, growing, acquiring the self-mastery that is art and the art that is self-mastery, she would have come back to brackenhurst at last, full-grown, self-possessing, of account, good enough for justin, the right woman for justin....
-but she had chosen to stultify herself.... she had sacrificed self-respect, common sense, common honesty sometimes, to what?... not even to justin, only to the mean, selfish fear of losing him.... not love but fear had guided her in all her dealings.... she had wanted him for her own, her very own: she had encouraged every tendency, every fault, that would bind him to her.... how unfair, how cruelly unfair, she had been to justin!... she pretended to love him—she did love him—but when had she lifted a finger to help him, to withstand him, as every human being needs to be withstood by those who love him best? no, for she would have been afraid—weakly, selfishly afraid of his displeasure, of his lack of comprehension, of putting herself in a position that he could misconstrue. not love—fear. if justin had his ways, his little faults—no, she would be honest with herself—the big faults that were sapping his whole character, she, and she alone, was to blame....
-and yet—the unquenchable hopefulness of her temperament stirred within her like a sparrow chirping in a storm—couldn’t things be put right, even now?... they must get out of their groove.... they must help each other, she and justin.... when two people loved each other—ah, but he did not love her! that was the reward of her folly.... he did not love her.... her days rose up before her as if she were a drowning woman, as indeed, in a sense, she was, and for moments of an agony that was almost physical she clutched at this incident or that—such a look as he had once given her, such a word as he had said—and each was proved a straw. kind he was—her friend, her ally—not her lover.... he had never been her lover.... he knew nothing of love.... yet he was so ignorant, so pitifully ignorant, that he intended to marry her, to live his life with her and his children, and his comforts, and his collections: and he would never know, not even dimly in a dream, that something had died within him unborn....
-“my fault,” she whispered to herself. “i didn’t know. i wouldn’t see. he’s clogged. it’s getting worse and worse. he’s like the deaf adder that stoppeth up her ears. and yet he’s still justin inside. i’ll never believe he’s not big really. and if i marry him——”
-what right had she to marry him? if he were a fool—oh, she cried writhing—a most blind and bitter fool—was she to build her selfish happiness upon his blindness and his loss?
-she turned on herself again—
-“it’s my fault. it was my chance. he was given to me. i’m the unprofitable servant, and from him shall be taken away——it has been taken away. he doesn’t love me. i haven’t been able to teach him. i didn’t know i had to. i thought—i thought he must too, when i loved him so. i’ve been blinder than justin. i’ve been a wicked fool.”
-“but to break with justin—what good would it do? he wouldn’t care. i don’t count. it wouldn’t even be a shock.”
-she fingered the fringe of the table-cover as she glanced up at the looking-glass, furtively.
-“and it’s a shock he wants—a shock——he wants tearing up—by the roots——” then her voice rose. “ah, but i can’t hurt him,” she cried defiantly. “i can’t. you can’t make me.”
-the eyes in the glass were alive with passion.
-“if it isn’t you it’ll be some one else—some beast of a woman who won’t care how she hurts him. it’s got to be you.”
-at that she sprang up from the table to escape the intolerable domination. but everywhere there were looking-glasses. she turned panic-stricken from herself a yard away from her in the long wardrobe, to the mantelpiece reflecting dresden figures and herself, and, caught from the wardrobe, herself again, and again, and yet again, in an unending reduplication of gay dressing-gown and ashy face. for she might turn where she would, she might crush out the candle-flames, and, flung down upon her bed, cover her eyes with her hair and her desperate, scorched hands; but she could not escape from herself, from the inquisition of her own awakened soul.
-in the half light of the third hour she rose, freshened her eyes with cold water and crept out of the creaky house into the grey midsummer world.
-the birds were half awake, chirruping, as it seemed in that stillness, loud and shrill, tuning up for the concert that was to come; but the trees had still their motionless carved night-look, and the hedges and fields were as fast as if the thick film of dew spread over them were a visible spell.
-in spite of the burning season the air was cold, with the dank cold of the smallest hours, when virtue goes out of beast and man alike, in sleep that is half at one with its exemplar death.
-laura, fever-driven, trailing through the dust-white grass that edged the high-road, wrenching as she went, with a sort of aimless cruelty, at the dripping tansy heads and trails of dewberries, felt the flying water-drops soak through her thin sleeves and spray up on to her face, and shivered and burned again, and had no good of them. yet the riot within her was dying out: her mood was as desolate as the hour. she had ceased fighting. she acknowledged her duty: was set (and therein lay her fever) upon doing it. she had only come out because in the open she could breathe more easily, think more clearly, and because ... because ... (here, if she had been speaking aloud, would have come the high note) because she could not bear her bedroom any longer. but it was not because she doubted, was questioning her duty. that was settled. that—she would not think of it—but that she had settled, with herself, last night. but that inexorable self had left to her own decision (because she knew him so well—so well) how best to hurt justin—to hurt him.
-from the bend of the road a pitter-pat and clatter of wheels warned her that the market carts would be passing, and at the next gate she turned aside into the fields that fringed the priory woods.
-she wandered through the sleeping corn, following the footways, and so came at last to the familiar unregarded notice boards and the high tarred gate, and the hurdles that held back the trees as a rope checks the straining populace at a procession. and as there the children will be always slipping under it and out into the cleared way, so ever and again there were patches of polled hazel and seedling oak and yard-high bracken running out into the no-man’s-land between the hedgerow and the plough.
-the place was thick with ghostly summer flowers—mallow, scarcely visible, foxglove and corncockle and knapweed, bled of their hearty crimsons by the vampire night, and all the little pink and yellow field flowers, dim white as the huge empty sky yawning over them.
-she stood a moment uncertainly by the padlocked gate, and then, with a vague gesture, waded through the strip of bracken and, sitting down, let herself sink backward into the deeps of the hedge. the foxgloves and the sorrel swayed and shook above her and she pulled them down to her for their freshness’ sake, and let them spring free again, and then lay back once more, her lips besmeared with dew and pollen, her hands clasped under her head, and watched the mists, not rising from the earth but thinning and vanishing where they lay, and the grey surface of the corn warming to bronze-tipped green, and the dawn-light spreading like a smile across the sky, and had no answering smile for it, but turned where she lay, stopping her ears against the riot of the birds, hiding her face from the sun, and at last falling, for very weariness, into a cramped, uneasy drowse.
-it was roaring day without a dew-drop left in the open when she woke. she lay a moment confused. vague thrills ran like ants up and down her body and soul, and her stupor thinned and vanished like the night mists two hours before. she had sunk through the yielding green stuff and her body had pressed so heavily against the damp, stony earth that she felt as if she were clamped to it. her first movement set her shivering with pain and cold. yet her linen frock was bone dry where the sunshine had beaten down on it, shiny and hot to the touch. fern-flies rose buzzing from it as she moved stiffly in her place.
-the footsteps—she realized that the sound of footsteps had awakened her—drew nearer. a labourer going to work? she pulled a fan of bracken across her face. her frock was green and the brishwood high: it would be mere ill-luck if she were seen. when he had passed she would get up and go home, out of the glare. one could not think in the glare, and she had come out to think ... to think about justin ... to plan—what was the plan?...
-she put her cold hand to her head, and then dropped it again, stiffening where she lay. she knew that step, that whistle. yet what should justin do here? unless—unless—could he, too, have had his sleepless night?...
-he had stopped a dozen yards away from her. through the bracken stalks she could see his arrested pose, his lifted head. he was shading his eyes with his hand, listening and staring about him.
-with the instant, all-adapting egoism of the lover, she arrived at the only explanation. something had happened.... some word of hers had taken root, had flowered in the night.... he wanted her.... he had come to find her.... things were going to be all right.... why not? why not?...
-in another moment she would have been on her feet, calling to him: “i’m here. i’ll get it for you. what is it you want?” but before she could scramble to her feet he had nodded to himself, and walked on again, and she watched him climb the gate and disappear among the trees.
-what a fool she was.... he had been listening to a bird in the wood.... he was out nesting.... he had said only yesterday that he wanted more blackcap eggs.... she jerked herself to her knees and listened. she could hear him moving in the undergrowth and the serene outpouring change to short, sharp cheepings, to the agonized danger note.
-he was in luck....
-“krek! krek! krek-krek!”
-she wished he wouldn’t. it was beastly....
-with sudden decision she rose to her feet and moved noiselessly and hurriedly down the path. she would get away while she could.... he might be strolling back at any moment with the warm eggs in his hand.... there would be the blow-pipe and the mess of yolk to follow.... and he would go home at last looking perfectly satisfied.... why not? didn’t he care more for his wretched eggs than for anything on god’s earth? of course! and that was why coral had said——
-here for an instant her mind stood rigid for the old order. then her thoughts, like waters when the dam breaks, overwhelmed it, came rushing and tumbling over each other, sweeping away the last remnants of opposition.
-and that was why—and that was why she was going up to the priory that very morning—up to his den—to smash up his old eggs! that would wake him up! smash up his old eggs—that would wake him up! that would wake him up!...
-we grow. we acquire. do we change?
-we talk of the formation of character, as if character were not already triumphant in the infant that defies its father and seduces its grandmother months before it can speak. we talk of character—but do we not mean habit? daily, weekly, yearly, we add to our habits, literally our habits, our garments, the joseph-coats of manner and custom, of tolerance and caution and indifference, in which we clothe and conceal ourselves, our unchanging, unchangeable selves, old as age, young as youth, sexless, amoral, unconvinced by human logic, unbound by human laws.
-and for years we—i, with a hole in my stocking, and you, collaborator, incapable of any such thing, and martha in the kitchen, and the kaiser at potsdam, train up ourselves in the way we should go and criticize our neighbours’ departure therefrom without a thought for our sleeping partner, biding his time within us. but when his time comes, in emergency, in crisis, then, as sure as you sit there knitting, collaborator, that original self wakes up, with a rending of garments, and takes charge. but, when the occasion is over and it has sunk to sleep again, it is we—our bewildered, protesting surface selves who have to take the consequences. that explains, i imagine, why it is always the most unlikely people who behave in the most incongruous way, and why john smith (condemn him or admire him as we may) remains the last person we should have expected to murder his great-uncle or marry the princess, or why laura valentine, who loved justin more deeply than even his mother did (i cannot put it higher) and had a fine sense of humour of her own, should yet be setting out at ten o’clock of the morning of the last sunday in june, convinced that by the smashing of his birds’ eggs she would save his soul alive, and that there was nothing ridiculous in the situation.
-as she walked, she argued it out with him, the old imaginary justin, in the old childish way. it was long since she had had him at her side. her common sense had recognized the danger of such make-believe, the folly of using her mind as a mere play-house in which her thoughts were actors, rehearsing each coming event with such richness of setting, such significance of detail, such completeness of result, that, in comparison, the reality must always disappoint her. she had conquered, she believed that she had at last conquered the tendency, and prided herself a little on the effort; for it had been surprisingly difficult. laura, arm-in-arm with nemesis, did not for one instant recognize her companion, did not guess that the old creative instinct that she had so conscientiously scotched a year before was not, was never killed, that if growth were denied it in one art it would be bound to appear in another, and again and again denied its body, would find a ghost-life in her very dreams. dear laura was merely pleased with herself because, as justin would have wished her to do, she had put an end to childish things, such as telling herself stories when she went to bed, deciding the colour of her eldest grandson’s eyes, and talking to justin when he was not there.
-but, as i say, she had reckoned without her sleeping partner. on that june morning she walked the long mile between green gates and the priory, unregenerate, a recusant, lips moving, eyes eloquent, rehearsing an ordeal, haranguing justin.
-he would be angry—violently angry. she conceived her act, envisaged its consequences, nor lost her head when the explosion came. she was face to face with the anger of justin and was able to ignore it. she argued: she overbore him: for once she let herself go. she had no need to stumble for words: the stinging phrases jostled for precedence upon her lips. she ranged her charges, calling this and that incident in witness: held up to ridicule his lethargy, his complacency, his lack of purpose. her passion rose, she convinced herself anew, as she sorted her sentences, flung her taunts.
-she told him that his collection typified his attitude to life and, therefore, though it had been priceless, irreplaceable, instead of the trumpery it was, she would have destroyed it just the same. he asked her how she dared stand there—? (justin’s few contributions to the discussion strike one as having a distinctly feminine flavour) how she dared—and she told him that she dared anything where he was concerned; that she knew what she was doing, what she was risking, what she was losing; but that he should not make himself a laughing-stock if she could help it; that if he could not see that he was making himself a laughing-stock, she did—she did!
-she was furiously rude to him; she——
-she began all over again.
-they sat that time. there was no striding about the room and hammering of fists upon the table; rather a statement of fact, an icy exchange of view. there was cut and thrust and cut again, and to her sore, secret triumph a justin awake at last, revealing strength, subtlety, decision, justifying her unconsciously in every estranging phrase. but human nature turned from such triumph.
-she began again, weakly, sparing herself.
-a miracle happened. she talked to him and he understood. he was kind. he was fine. he forgave her. he laughed at her and said she mattered more to him than a million birds’ eggs. and so they talked things out, friends still, watching their good future rise amid those scattered, foolish shells.
-she began again and broke off, and began again and yet again.
-she was still defying and defending and accusing and convincing him when she reached the priory’s open door, and, noiseless and unseen, slipped up the stairs and along the panelled corridor to justin’s room.
-it was empty. he had asked her to meet him there at noon and it was barely eleven o’clock. she had plenty of time.
-she began her invariable little tour of inspection. he had left his slippers as usual, toe to heel, in the middle of the floor: and the ash-tray stank. she knocked it out against the window-sill and the wind caught the ashes and dusted them back in her face. she had to trim herself in the fire-place tiles—there was no looking-glass—before she put back the tray and ranged the pipes in the rack and shook up the squashed cushions of justin’s chair—all this with a grim little smile. she loved his hopeless ways.
-but the table was neat, set out with that extreme care which is the effect of a hobby on the untidiest of men. the books of reference were stacked in two piles, one for him and one for her. he had paste and photographs and scissors, and on the floor beside his chair an empty drawer and a roll of cotton-wool. she had pen and ink, and his beautifully bound private catalogue with the thick, lined paper and blank interleaves for illustrations. between them was the cardboard box with the eggs they had not as yet classified and put away.
-she thought——he’s enjoyed himself getting things ready!...
-she drew the box towards her and stirred her hand round among the eggs; then, lifting a handful, poured them idly from one palm to the other. they rattled faintly like a woman’s high heels tapping along the pavement.
-she weighed them up and down. they were as light—as light as love.... deliberately she let them shower through her fingers on to the floor. but the carpet was thick and they took no harm.
-then, as if in spite of herself, she put out her foot and crushed them where they lay.
-she stood a moment, slurring her shoe to and fro, mechanically, to free it from the crumbs of shell, and then turned to the cabinet between the window and the door. that came next.... if you began a job, you must finish it....
-she pulled open the doors one by one, sliding out the glass, and ran her hand from hollow to hollow in the cotton-wool. a pressure was enough for the smooth, frail eggs of the finches and the tits. they crumpled like hare-bells. for the bigger specimens she had to use both hands. they would not break unless she held them sideways, and then they cracked sharply, scratching her palms.
-the business was soon done. she left the cabinet open and awry, and sat down in the window-seat.
-after a pause she discovered that she was breathing again.
-but before her mind had time to consider that phenomenon it was distracted by another. there was a sound, immense, insistent—sound of an earth rhythmically convulsed—sound as of an army, an army with banners, marching upon her to the eternal, infernal repetition of the drums, drawing nearer, entering definitely into her, and resolving itself at last into the throb of her own pulses, into the beating of her own heart, obsessed by the guilty, idiotic terror of nightmare itself.
-‘nightmare!’ the recognition of the word, of the state, brought relief. ‘nightmare!’...
-“justin—i have broken——” that was the sort of thing one did in nightmare, just before one woke.... but one always woke.... she herself would be waking in a moment with a gasp of relief.... “not true! i never did it! a dream!” and she would open her eyes and see the blessed sunshine filtering through the blinds, and hear the birds bickering in the roses, and so turn on her pillow and drowse till breakfast time. not true! thank god that even in nightmare one always knew that it was not true, although one were looking at justin’s cabinet and the door stood wide.... if justin came in ... at any moment he might come ... he would wonder why ... he would discover....
-in an instant she was across the room, thrusting back the long drawers one after another with hands that shook. her haste made her clumsy. the wood stuck and squeaked and the handles jingled so loudly that it was impossible that justin should not hear them out in the woods and come quickly and catch her in the act.
-she managed them at last, closed the doors and turned the key and stood leaning against them, breathing quickly as though she had been running.
-besides, it was only nightmare.... she would have waked before they suspected....
-what was that? that creaking stair? justin? not justin?... her feet had already carried her to the door, but at that sound she slipped back into her chair, white, speechless, waiting. but it was only the maid, restoring a waste-paper basket.
-she was instantly miss valentine, controlled, smiling.
-“thank you, mary. oh, mary, is mr. justin in?”
-the maid thought so, miss—had seen him crossing the lawn just now: and so departed, shutting the door, fastening the cage, upon a trapped creature. no escape now!... the maid had seen her, sitting in justin’s room.... no chance of an alibi.... besides, justin might come up at any moment now....
-she sat a long while, waiting for him to come.
-she was asked once—how long? an hour? half an hour? ten minutes? she said painfully——she didn’t know. a long while.
-but if you consider that justin had appointed twelve o’clock, that he was a punctual man, and that he came in at last mopping his forehead and complaining of the noon heat, it cannot have been long. half an hour, perhaps? yet she had sat so still that when he came her cramped limbs at first refused to stir, and she stayed where she was, helplessly, staring at him, till he, missing the greeting and the bustle that was his due, turned to her with a vague notion that something must be wrong.
-“why, laura, what’s up?” and then, “my dear girl, you do look white! but this heat’s enough to knock up any one.” and so disposed of his concern and turned to his prepared table, while she sought for an answer and found none upon her lips save the forgotten, petulant retort of her childhood.
-“i’m—not—your dear girl!”
-but there was neither petulance nor childishness in her voice as she said it, rather an intonation of such hopelessness, such despair, that justin must have guessed at worse trouble than the heat, had he not been talking too fast on his own account to catch a word.
-“now then—let’s get to work. but the eggs? where’s the box of eggs? why, laura, you’ve cleared away the eggs! did you sort them? i never told you to. did you put them in the cabinet?”
-she shook her head.
-still she did not speak. she was making the discovery that she had lost control of her voice, of the muscles of her throat. she swallowed once or twice. she said, her will said, two and three and four times, “they are broken. i broke them,” but she made no sound at all. the sensation was a horrible one. it confirmed, with its physical reality, the paralysis of her spirit.
-justin, watching her, guessed distortedly at the truth.
-“there’s been an accident?”
-you could not say that she shook her head, but she moved it stiffly, once, a very little.
-“laura? not smashed?” his face was tragic. “not smashed, laura? how many? which ones? not the whole lot?”
-again she opened and shut her mouth.
-he was at the cabinet.
-“where’s the key? what have you done with the key?” and then, with palpable effort—“don’t be scared, laura. i know you couldn’t help it. but what happened?”
-his generosity cut like a knife. as suddenly as it had descended upon her the dumbness passed away. her tongue was loosened. she heard her voice, her high, shaking voice, entirely independent of her, yet still her own voice—
-“i did it,” said laura’s voice, “i—i did it on purpose.”
-“what?” he wheeled, staring, while within her mind she implored this voice of hers to go on, to tell justin, to make justin understand. and at last it did say—
-“i had to, justin. justin—i had to.”
-he took a step towards her. there was a new and dangerous light in his eyes.
-“are you mad? what do you mean? are you quite mad?”
-“i had to.” her voice was growing easier to manage.
-“will you tell me why?”
-her moment was come. now she must loose her lightnings, launch her thunderbolts, harangue, arraign, convince, convict him, overwhelming him with unanswerable truths. she must take the chance that had come to her. whitening, she drew breath and spoke—
-“i—i had to,” said laura.
-“where—?” he began, then his eyes, following hers, caught sight of the mess of shell that littered the floor and he lost control. he was flushed, darkly, like a drinker. the natural man emerged in a quick, furious staccato of unintelligible words. a wave of terrified laughter swept over her as she listened.
-so that’s swearing!... so he can swear, coral! you see, he can.... and then——it’s like a cat—like a tom-cat! it’s comical! it’s horrible! it makes one sick! stop! oh, justin, stop!... she was clutching at the arms of her chair.
-but it was all over in an instant. before she realized what was happening she found him towering over her, the justin of a nightmare, huge and hazy, with glittering eyes.
-he was speaking to her.
-“will you go away, please?”
-“justin!” she implored him.
-“will you go away, please?”
-she resisted, roused at last, eloquent at last, fighting desperately—
-“justin! i must tell you——justin! wait! listen! just a minute——justin!”
-but he took her lightly by the arm, and in a moment she was in the passage, and he had shut the door against her.
-she went shaking and stumbling down the staircase and out into the sunshine.
-it seems to be a fact that love, like the camel, can live on its own resources for a length of time that amazes the less fantastic and incalculable rest of creation; but it is equally certain and a great deal more comprehensible that months of strain, followed by a spell of hot weather, salad and strawberries, nervous excitement, sleepless nights and a climax of elemental emotion, have sooner or later to be paid for; that, soothing as it may be to the soul to lie for three hours in a damp ditch without changing afterwards, it is distinctly bad for the body; and finally, that only a lover or a camel (there is certainly a likeness between them in more ways than one) could be surprised if at last even their strength goes from them, and they give their relations or their driver a deal of unnecessary trouble.
-laura, developing, for no reason that aunt adela could conceive, a feverish cold, dragged about the house for a week, refusing to go beyond the garden, saying how much better she would be in a day or two, and then collapsed. once in bed she found herself suddenly too weak and ill to struggle with the kindly, overbearing samsons who kept her there, and by the end of the day the very knowledge of them had passed, swamped, with the memory of the past and the fear of the future, in the present mercy of bodily pain.
-and here she began to laugh aloud, weakly, because she was laura herself, lying on her own bed, able to move and speak, though the bedclothes were a weight unbearable and there was a weight like bedclothes on her mind.
-she looked up at an aunt appearing miraculously out of space.
-“i’m laura!” she told her.
-“poor laura,” she said—and obeyed.
-after that she began to mend, yet so slowly that the doctor was puzzled. day ate up day and still she lay passive, taking her medicines, doing as she was told, without wishes, almost without words, but listening with grave, uncomprehending attention to aunt adela, under orders to amuse, to rouse if she could, but not to excite the invalid. aunt adela, in undisputed command of laura and the situation, now that the nurse was gone, enjoyed herself. she was conscientious, she was well-meaning: she sat by the hour at laura’s bedside in a basket chair that creaked as she turned the pages, reading her items of interest from the paper (nothing exciting, of course—oh, the doctor might depend on her) and stories and poems from the parish magazine: and would break off in the middle with chit-chat of the village, with the news that the new curate had preached last sunday, and that annabel moulde had called to enquire after laura. but every one enquired regularly—most kind—because, of course, it was an extraordinary thing to get pneumonia in such weather, and, as she had told annabel only that morning, she hoped it would be a warning to her never to be without wool next her skin, even in the height of summer. mrs. cloud had said the same thing. yes, she had called before she went to the sea—oh, about a month ago now, justin had gone on ahead, if laura remembered—but laura was looking so white that she was sure it was time for her tonic, and how often had she told laura that she must try and not talk so much?
-laura thought feebly how kind she was, and how like the bluebottle buzzing on the pane.
-but as july blazed over into august, laura noticed, with the same trance-like impersonal interest in the phenomenon, that aunt adela’s manner was changing. she looked worried, yet greatly excited. she could not be talking ten minutes without pulling herself up short. she was always changing the subject for no reason that laura could discern, for ever verging on tremendous revelations and for ever thinking better of it. she talked more than usual, too, of the twins and of how young they were, thank god—no, laura, not eighteen, seventeen and nine months—and of the need for a good supply of tinned foods in the house, and of how much she had always admired sir edward grey.
-laura, promising not to excite herself by talking to ellen, when ellen, obviously also under orders, dusted the room, did not even shrug a shoulder. aunt adela had always loved making a mystery. she was not curious. she had her own mystery to occupy her, the mystery of the dead weight upon her mind that was connected with the names that were for ever on aunt adela’s tongue—justin—mrs. cloud—familiar names that hurt her to hear spoken. it was not that she had really forgotten things, of course ... but for the moment, only for the moment, the precise significance of certain far-away actions of her own had evaded her, as well as the exact relation to herself of this justin.... justin—and mrs. cloud—who was—who, of course, was justin’s mother.... now justin—now she and justin.... but it hurt her head to remember all that she knew about justin.
-but one morning aunt adela, called out of the room to entertain callers—morning calls had never quite gone out of fashion in brackenhurst—left the paper she was reading flung down upon the bed, and laura’s eye was caught by such enormous headlines as she had never seen before, headlines that blared through the room like trumpets. england—she turned sideways that the paper might catch the light—england was at war. england had been at war three days.
-war? in the egotism of her weakness it seemed a trifling thing. war ... war.... there had been the boer war too.... she dropped the paper indifferently.
-but a thought, not of the unrealized present, but of that dreamlike far past, remained with her, stirring her mind to exertion.
-the boer war.... she could just remember the red-white-and-blue ribbons in shops and the picture buttons of redvers buller, and sir george white, and kitchener, that she used to buy with her pennies. father—that shadow of a shadow—had been killed in the boer war.... he had left his business to volunteer ... that was why they were poor.... she remembered—and the memory stabbed like a sudden light in a dark room—the beady rasp of carpet against her bare knees as she twisted round from her dolls’ house at the sound of voices, at her aunt adela’s voice—
-“pure selfishness in a married man, i call it—though he is my brother. what’s the army for?” and then—not her mother’s answer, but her mother’s soft, angry, beautiful face....
-it was like aunt adela not to realize that decent men were bound to volunteer when there was a war on, like the boer war.... the great war by conan doyle.... she had the book somewhere ... it had lasted three years—that great war.... of course, this business——
-she picked up the paper again and began to read.
-and as she read, those overworked, willing servants the body and the brain of the body, roused themselves, as in crisis they always do, to meet the demands of the shocked spirit. she felt the clogging weakness drawing away from her as a cloud draws away from a hill-side. she turned from a remembered past that had seemed the extreme of trouble to a future that made that past a childish thing.
-deliberately she put aside the emotions that she owed the event. ‘england,’ ‘right,’ ‘wrong,’ ‘victory,’ ‘sacrifice,’ ‘our fleet’—these were words that could wait: it was first necessary to comprehend its personal significance. this war meant—it meant danger: and before this danger, she saw already, one would be helpless: between this danger and justin one would not be able to interpose body or soul.... this—she tried to be very clear—this was war—man’s war—a dragon from the fairy tales come to overwhelming, incredible flesh and blood life.... it was a week old and already it was clamouring for its food.... ‘your king and country want you.’... father had volunteered—all decent men had to volunteer—always—in a war.... so justin ... if justin ... but surely justin wouldn’t have to go? at any rate, not for months and months.... why should justin go? the only son of his mother.... justin would surely understand that it was not his duty ... not yet anyhow.... he could do things at home.... no need—no need.... but if justin went.... all decent men went.... he would go—he would go—he would go in spite of all—she would have to watch him go.... and there were more ways than one, it seemed, of losing justin....
-she turned on her pillow and abandoned herself to terror—a terror beyond the decencies. she was wrenched and torn with weeping, frantic in her fear for him. he might suffer.... he might be exposed to bodily torture.... he might die ... be gone from her for ever—for ever—like a candle blown out.... in six months—in three months—there might be no justin—anywhere—any more....
-and at that she bit and tore at her wrist lest she should scream aloud.
-it was a madness that spent itself at last, as such things must, leaving her sane and heavy-eyed and ashamed. and in that desolate lull she could hear the voice, cold, disloyal, of another subtler fear—
-suppose—suppose he did not go?...
-when aunt adela came back an hour later, stuffed to bursting with gossip that must on no account be imparted to the invalid, she found laura sitting up in bed, her eyes quick and intelligent, her passivity a thing of the past.
-she acclaimed her.
-“my dear, you’re better! you’ve got quite a colour.”
-“yes.” laura touched the paper beside her. “you ought to have told me. why didn’t you tell me?”
-aunt adela looked guilty.
-“did i leave——? i never meant——my child, you weren’t fit——laura, what are you doing?”
-laura threw back the sheets.
-“oh, mrs. gedge. laura, don’t be ridiculous! cover yourself up! they’re in such trouble. they can’t hold robin. and he was to have been ordained. i’m as patriotic as any one, but i do not see——but it takes hold of the men somehow. i remember your father——extraordinary! people you’d never dream——now wouldn’t you call justin cloud the last person——?” she checked herself. “oh, laura, i didn’t mean to tell you—not yet—the doctor——now, laura, i will not have you getting up!”
-but laura, hanging on to the edge of the dressing-table, was tugging feebly at a drawer.
-“i must. i must be well. there must be things to do. d’you think i can lie here——? when did you hear?”
-aunt adela was resigned.
-“well, if you must, i’ll get you a dressing-gown. of course, dr. bradley has said all along that if you could only make the effort——”
-laura swayed where she stood.
-“i’m all right. when did you hear?”
-“about justin? i knew you’d be upset. not that he’ll get out. everybody says it can’t last six months. but i wonder he hasn’t written. i had such a nice note from mrs. cloud, apologizing for not seeing me when i called. she was at home for a few days—getting things together. she is going to town for the present to be near him, till he knows where he’s training. and her love to you. h.a.c. i wonder if he’ll get a commission? but you’ll be hearing from justin himself in a day or two, i expect. would you like some hot water?”
-she bustled out of the room.
-laura, bent and flushed over the task of putting on stockings, for the grasshopper was still a burden for all her high-handedness, wondered how she was to convey to aunt adela that there would be no letters from justin. and from that passed dully to the knowledge that if she had been patient, if she, wise in her own eyes, had not chosen to force the issue, there would have still been ‘letters’ in her life. and who, pray, was she to have doubted justin? “h.a.c.—the first week!” this was the man that she would have ruled and schooled!... “a shock—that’s what he wants—a shock.” ... her own words were a bitter taste in her mouth. for now it had come, the shock, the real thing—no crazy schoolgirl artifice—and she was justified to her own undoing. “a private—the first week!”
-justified—thank god she was justified. but there would be no letters from justin.
-the uncertainty made mrs. cloud’s unfailing kindness hard to bear.
-but it was typical of the girl and the woman alike that they never dreamed of approaching the subject in their almost daily intercourse. if either had been less occupied it is probable that their common anxiety might have loosened at least laura’s tongue. but mrs. cloud was at the head of every good work in the village and laura, as the year wore to an end, had her hands full at home. for gran’papa, testily intolerant of cinnamon or sympathy, packing off his daughter to her depôt, submitting grudgingly to his granddaughter’s ministrations, gran’papa, denying it with every difficult breath, fell ill. “nothing serious, i hope, miss valentine?” “no—only a cold. every one catches cold in winter time. gran’papa has a cold.”
-but the wet bitter weather of that first winter of war was a harvester who reaped in the camps and training grounds on behalf of death himself, more bloodily busy elsewhere—a harvester whose sickle was chill and his reaping hook pneumonia—a busy harvester who yet had time to go gleaning in the bare homes of the land for such bent and broken straws as had been left behind.
-looking back, looking down the civilian death lists for which nobody has had time these three long years, you see how abnormally the old and the half-old suffered. death after death in the ’sixties and early ’seventies—’quite suddenly’—’after a short illness’—it comes over and over again. you think of them as old limpets, wrenched from their rocks of ages, flung, too old to learn to cling again, into the sea of this war. and then, fastening on their shocked feebleness—the cold.
-in brackenhurst alone there were more deaths in that first autumn than in all the two years before.
-old mrs. whittle was the first to succumb—old mrs. whittle, the valentines’ half bed-ridden pensioner who lived in one room at the top of rickety stairs, which wilfred and james had never been induced to climb when they went with laura and nurse on sunday afternoons to carry mrs. whittle beef-tea and sixpences. it always struck laura as so unfair that because of their easy blubberings they should be allowed to wait at the foot of those witch-cottage stairs, while she, as frightened as they of the bright eyes and the hoarse whisper and the movements in the crimson shawl, always found herself following nurse without a protest into the tiny, rank room. yet, though she did not know it, it had not been nurse, but her own innate fear of causing pain, that had forced her steps. more insistent than the fear of mrs. whittle had been the fear of hurting mrs. whittle’s feelings. she had stolidly endured the dim airlessness, the fire that spat startlingly, the bedclothes-smell, and sometimes—setting her teeth—a kiss from mrs. whittle, rather then hurt the feelings of mrs. whittle who had rheumatics.
-“bless everybody, and justin, and give mother my dear love, and make mrs. whittle quite well,” had run, in the dim years, her nightly petition.
-laura hated pain.
-and now mrs. whittle was dead, needing neither sixpences nor sunday visits any more from a grown-up laura.
-old jackson, digging her water-logged grave, in an absent son’s stead, shivered and coughed in the keen wind and followed her in a week. two children from laura’s sunday-school fell sick of neglected colds and the listless, pining mother, in her dyed mourning, let laura and the doctor do as they pleased. the long lists lengthened in the church porch and for a month there had been no news of justin, not even the second-hand, meagre comfort, the ‘i am quite well’ of a field-postcard, filtering through to her by way of mrs. cloud. she had been glad to have her hands full. it helped to help people.... and the news got worse and worse.
-and then gran’papa had caught cold.
-aunt adela was inclined to blame papa. papa had insisted on going—at his age!—all the way to the station last sunday, to get a paper for laura—he, who so strongly disapproved of sunday papers. and all because laura, at lunch, before she hurried off to those wretched children, had said something about wishing for a sunday delivery! papa was very difficult to manage. she had spoken to laura seriously about it on her return. between them they might, another time, circumvent easily enough an obstinate old man—for his own good, of course. but laura, who was a peculiar girl in some ways, had merely stared at her aunt with those blank, black eyes, had merely said with a ridiculous catch in her voice—
-“do you mean to say that gran’papa——” and then, breaking off in that irritating way of hers, had gone up without another word to papa’s room. had stayed there till supper-time—had not even come down to say how do you do to the rector—had spent every spare minute of her time there since. well—she would catch papa’s cold for a certainty, and then she would see!
-but laura did not catch gran’papa’s cold. it was not one of his usual colds, the angry, vigorous, resentful colds of his healthy old age, but a feverish indisposition, a certain fading and shrinking of body that accompanied a glittering, fitful, mental activity. the change in him was so marked, so swift, that at the end of the week laura looked back to the gran’papa of last sunday as to a memory, as to a stranger.
-he would not go to bed, but sat crouched over the fire in the armchair that laura had never before realized was so much too big for gran’papa. she, when she could, sat with him, eternally knitting socks for the army that must always be to her but a multiplication of justin, thinking of him and herself, and now, with new, bewildered thoughts, of gran’papa.
-she had been touched, almost beyond her strength, by that thought of his for her—by the sight of the paper in gran’papa’s shaking hand, handed to her with a gesture that he could not, even then, prevent from being gingerly. the knowledge that he had guessed something, that he had been aware of the anxiety that showed itself in her feverish lust for news, that he, behind his reserves and absorptions, had watched her, felt for her—made her want to cry. she could be spartan, but of necessity, not from choice. there was nothing of the emily brontë in her nature: she took as generously as she gave. she had strength and pride, but though she did without it, she never pretended that sympathy would not have been sweet. in those days, though she did not know it, though she had nearly forgotten her, she wanted her mother.
-gran’papa’s look at her as she came to him that sunday, his silence, his awkward thrust of the rag he abhorred into her hand, did more than touch her—it strengthened her. she, to whom kith and kin had never meant much, had felt for the first time the comfort of the blood-tie, of the clan-love that is independent of all accidents of personality or desert. gran’papa might not love laura, but she realized at last how faithfully he loved his granddaughter.
-she had taken the paper and thanked him, and settling herself opposite him in her grandmother’s chair, had sat quietly reading the aching headlines. and in the silence that followed she had felt, through all her urgent anxiety, how the icy crust under which the quiet river of their mutual affection had always flowed imprisoned, was melting at last. they made no demonstration. it was not in his nature, even in its strength, and now he was old, enfeebled; while she had been so drilled by the necessities of her life with justin that she wore repression, like a dress, laced over her natural impulsiveness; nevertheless they had eased each other. for the first time in her life she was not on her best behaviour with him: her little ways, the occasional mannerisms, he passed over in silence, or perhaps, because she was at her entire ease, they occurred no longer.
-she nursed him, in as far as he would allow it, in her busy aunt’s stead; for his cold ran no normal course: a spell of sunshine did not brisken him: he coughed and faded.
-after a paroxysm—it was distressing to see him—he would lie exhausted in his chair, and sometimes wander a little or, rather, break into speech that was but drifting and idle thought. and laura, listening, half guiltily, as one eavesdropping, marvelled how little she knew, and yet she had thought she knew, gran’papa.
-he talked to her, of his schooldays, of his youth, of mild adventures before he married. but they all led in the end, she noticed, to grandmamma, whom she remembered vaguely as a sweet voice and a smile, in a pale-brown camel’s-hair shawl.
-he would speak of her, watching laura’s face and her beautiful, busy hands.
-“you don’t remember your grandmamma, of course?”
-“you are very like your grandmamma.”
-“you are very like my wife.”
-and once he called her “anne.”
-yet another side to gran’papa! laura, as she dusted the drawing-room, would find herself pausing thoughtfully, wasting long minutes, before the faded crayon on the bamboo easel. the youthful, slim-waisted man, with the ringlets and roman nose and serious eyes, who reminded her of david copperfield and the duke of wellington, was, not nominally but really, gran’papa: that was the strange part of it. gran’papa, behind his shell of white hair, and trembling hands, and hectorings, and fidgetiness, was—not a habit, not an institution—but a man.... there was a closer tie between them than the accident of kinship: they were knit by the common experience of their common humanity.... he was a man and she was a woman.... he knew—incredible that gran’papa should know—all that she knew.... he had loved ‘anne,’ who was her little old dead grandmother.... she remembered hints of aunt adela—scraps of stories about a courtship that had not been all plain sailing.... he, gran’papa upstairs, knew then what pain meant—knew as well as laura the sickness of uncertainty ... the unnerving hopes and fears ... knew how like a stone one’s heart could lie in one’s breast.
-she remembered again—it had been so forgotten—the day grandmamma died. gran’papa had sat all the morning in the dining-room, instead of in his room, which made it strange enough. gran’papa—cold, aloof gran’papa—had been stranger still. he had sat bowed over the fire, with his big silk handkerchief in his hand. with a sort of horror laura had watched him, had seen that he was crying. he had looked up at her then and had said—she remembered his voice and his words—“forty years—forty years—” over and over again. and then kindly, as if he knew she were frightened—“you’ve never seen a man cry, have you, child?” and aunt adela had said “papa!” in a queer, warning voice.
-that was all she remembered. but the words would not leave her as she rubbed the shining chair legs and pounded ostentatiously up and down the key-board, to assure aunt adela, if aunt adela should be on the alert, that she was dusting properly.
-“a man”—not “your grandfather.”... “a man”.... “my wife”....
-so gran’papa thought of himself as a man still.... he was a man.... the years they had passed on earth, eighteen or eighty, could alter their bodies, but not their souls.... gran’papa’s soul—if she win through this barrier of his old and dying body to it—was as young as hers.... and hers as old as his.... a soul hadn’t any age ... or reckoned its age, not by years, but by wisdom, more or less, that its years had taught it.... and so—why shouldn’t they talk to each other? gran’papa might help her.... she might ease gran’papa.... for so long he had had no one to whom to tell his thoughts....
-she would come up thoughtfully after her housework to spend the hour before lunch with him, to listen or to share his silence and to talk to him sometimes in her turn, jerkily, by fits and starts. she never knew how much he heard.
-and then one day, quite suddenly, he took out his big pocket-book and showed her, wrapped in tissue, a strand of hair, a long coil that shone like old gold in the winter sunshine.
-“she had beautiful hair,” said gran’papa.
-laura let it shower through her fingers. it was as soft and fine as her own. but grandmamma’s hair—she could just remember—had been silver, not gold.... queer.... life was queer....
-she watched him coil and fold and put away again the golden hair.
-“was grandmamma—? did grandmamma—? did you and grandmamma—ever get angry with each other?” she asked him abruptly.
-gran’papa was staring at the fire. she knew by the turn of his head that he had heard her, but he made no answer.
-they were silent for a time, each seeing what they chose in the red and black grotesques of the coal.
-“she had the gentlest face,” said gran’papa at last, his lips scarcely moving. “serene. patient. but i have known her—firm.”
-laura nodded softly.
-“he is, too——”
-there was a shadow of a smile on gran’papa’s face, the smile we keep for our thoughts and our ghosts.
-“it never lasted long,” said gran’papa. “only once—before i married her.” he was silent again.
-“it lasts—with justin,” said laura. and then—“gran’papa—justin is angry with me. we are not engaged any more.”
-“it was my fault, i do believe,��� said gran’papa to the fire.
-“oh, it was my fault,” said laura. “i think i was mad.”
-she sat silent. her thoughts were a bitter sea. its winds and waves tossed her hither and thither.
-“if i could only tell him! if i could only make him see! i mayn’t even write to him. he’s fighting. any minute may kill him. mrs. cloud and rhoda and lucy—they all write to him. and i mayn’t.”
-“anne wrote to me,” said gran’papa.
-“anne died,” said gran’papa.
-“gran’papa,” laura touched his sleeve, “it’s such misery.”
-“anne wrote to me,” repeated gran’papa.
-she moved restlessly.
-“i can’t. i’ve no right any more.”
-she stared across at him, questioning him with tired young eyes.
-“gran’papa—why is it? why have we got to be so awfully unhappy?”
-he muttered and smiled to himself, half hearing.
-“the time—out of joint—that’s it—out of joint. in my young days—april showers in april—may flowers in may. anne didn’t want a vote.”
-“there was the crimea. i suppose there were women—just the same—widows—and lovers——”
-he drummed on the arm of his chair.
-“something is rotten in the state of denmark. do you ever read shakespeare, my dear? i advise all young people——the young people have turned the world upside down.” he shivered. “it’s cold.”
-she got up quietly and shut the window, and sat down again pulling her chair a little nearer to him.
-“rain and soft weather and a little sun,” he rambled. “winter? we used to skate. but now-a-days——” he cleared his throat. his eye brightened. he was the old gran’papa, declaiming—
-“the seasons alter, hoar-headed frosts fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose—the crimson rose——”
-his voice faded. he peered at her.
-“you should go for a walk. white cheeks! white cheeks!” then—“what’s the date?”
-“ah, it fits—it always fits—
-and on old hyem’s thin and icy crown—
-read him! read him! there’s a man! and died at fifty—thirty years too young to know old hyem’s ways. but he knew!” he chuckled. “i’d like to have met him,” said gran’papa condescendingly.
-he stared across at his granddaughter, lost in her own thoughts. his expression changed. he leaned forward, touching her hot, locked hands with his cold, papery fingers.
-“these things pass,” said gran’papa.
-he shivered again and glanced over his shoulder.
-“very cold. the window——”
-laura roused herself.
-“it’s shut, gran’papa. but i’ll make up the fire.” she bent blindly over the dim hearth.
-but gran’papa, with a fretful sigh, got up shakily out of his chair. he was sure the window was open. then he remembered his birds, clustering on the roof of the drawing-room below, and that he had not fed them. his fingers rattled on the pane as he threw up the sash. very cold.... the wind slid in like a snake, striking at gran’papa, but though he shivered he threw out the crumbs and stood watching the instant, twittering turmoil, with a glance now and then at the empty cage, that swung, grazing his skull-cap, overhead. he missed his bird.... its notes ... particularly fine ... a strain of bullfinch ... inclined to be shrill, of course ... but a wonderful ear ... indeed he had had to cover the cage when he played on his fiddle for any length of time.... it had been—gran’papa smiled—jealous, positively jealous, of his fiddle.... he thought he might get out his fiddle. he must not let his fingers get stiff....
-what was that?...
-he turned sharply, holding up his finger. absurd, of course, but he had thought, for a moment, that he heard at his ear the quick ruffling of feathers, the pretty, questioning twitter, that had always been the prelude to full-throated, indignant song.... the cage——
-the cage of course was empty.
-some bird outside.... he had left the window open.... he tried, in a childish pet against the birds who had tricked his ear, to push down the sash again, but it was stiff and heavy—suddenly too stiff and heavy for gran’papa.
-he called peevishly——
-but she was adjusting the fire-irons and did not hear.
-he left it open and turned back again into the room. he was fumbling with his fiddle-case when laura straightened herself, and with a smile and a show of blackened fingers, slipped out of the room.
-“come back,” muttered gran’papa.
-she meant to come back when she had washed her hands; but aunt adela waylaid her, discovered her using the basin in her room—inconsiderate—making fresh work—when there was the bathroom! laura, undeniably in the wrong, had, by all unwritten rules, necessarily to pay forfeit to aunt adela, to attend without protest to a criticism of her untidy room, to hang up skirts under aunt adela’s eye, to dust a mantelpiece and re-adjust ornaments to the high-pitched ripple of aunt adela’s voice, and to respond cheerfully in the infrequent pauses.
-“yes, auntie. oh, of course. yes—i think you’re right.”
-that, she thought, was all aunt adela wanted.... she hated having her room overhauled.... but, after all, what did it matter—what did anything matter now-a-days, with justin away at the front ... fighting?...
-she wondered if he had liked his parcel....
-she wondered if he were still alive....
-“what did you say, auntie? oh, i see. oh—perfectly disgraceful—i should give her notice——”
-she pushed back her hair. her back ached. she felt very tired. she wanted to get back to gran’papa. she could hear the thin scrape of his bow, and the fiddle’s stray uncertain notes as he tuned it. and then, suddenly, swiftly, joyously, it broke into the thrice-familiar tune—
-duncan gray cam’ here to woo, ha, ha, the wooing o’t, on blythe yule night when we were fou, ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
-she knew the words by heart, in the unintelligent fashion in which one knows the words of a song. but today they caught her ear, rang in her mind to the staccato of the fiddle, significant, suggestive.
-she had often wondered that it should be such a favourite tune with gran’papa. today she knew why. the music, like strong sunlight shining on a palimpsest, revealed beneath her mind’s modernity an older picture, faint and faded, of a shadowy, gallant young gran’papa, quarrelling deliciously, a fiddle under his chin, with a slim girl who was called anne (like anne, the ‘elegant little woman’ in persuasion) and sat at a pianoforte fingering out the accompaniment of an old song. she had a sweet voice and wore a dress of lavender print, but her smooth golden hair, as the impression faded again, was not golden at all, but red, a dull, beautiful red, matching exactly, as laura was aware, with the beech leaves under which she sat as she bickered with justin and made it up again, one spring, not sixty springs, ago.
-“laura—you’ve shut your new skirt in the cupboard door! you never look.”
-“well, as i was saying—i went down to the kitchen directly after breakfast and i said——”
-gran’papa had been playing that day too. they could see him at his window, sawing vigorously, from where they sat.... justin had made one of his comical remarks about it.... it seemed such ages ago, now—that spring.... it had been the last of the happy times.... it was soon after that, that things began to go wrong ... badly wrong.... her thoughts roamed achingly over all the trivial, tragical wrong that she and justin had done each other in the eternity that was not two years—not two years.... gran’papa had sixty years to retrace. her thoughts hovered over gran’papa awhile and then back again to justin. he was hard.... she didn’t think she could be so cruel to her worst enemy as justin was to her.... not a word.... not a message.... and not to want a word!... yet he was essentially a kindly man. it was a queer lack of imagination, she supposed.... she supposed he never thought of her at all.... it was just—over—for him.... it never occurred to him that she loved him still ... that she lived in hell.... but it wasn’t that he wouldn’t have cared if he could have understood, she told herself in sudden passionate defence of him. he couldn’t help it—it was the way he was made....
-well—she had known all that.... that was why she had done what she had done. she had staked all she had ... failed ... so she must pay.... yet such a price for birds’ eggs! birds’ eggs! her mouth twisted sardonically. if it had happened to any one else—how justin would have laughed ... how they would have talked it over! she could hear him, laying down the law about it.... she missed that most of all—that dear, absurd solemnity of his as he laid down the law to her.... she stood, remembering, hardening her eyes and her heart against the tears she despised. how she missed him ... how unspeakably she missed him....
-what a fool she had been.... what was the use of scruples.... why hadn’t she kept what she had?... she might have been married to him at that moment.... even if he didn’t love her—half a loaf was better than no bread.... who was she to have imagined herself his keeper?... he knew his own mind.... he had asked her to marry him....
-ha, ha, the wooing o’t.
-squeaked the violin.
-“did you ever hear of such a thing? well—i said to her, quite quietly, you know, but with dignity—i said to her: ‘i think, ellen, the time has come to make a change.’ simply that. it was quite enough. she apologized at once.”
-laura murmured congratulations. she wished aunt adela would be merciful enough to stop talking, or at any rate needing answers.... it was so difficult to think of the right answers with that insistent tune ringing in one’s ears....
-it wavered and sank to a sigh as she listened against her will—
-time and chance are but a tide; ha, ha, the wooing o’t; slighted love is sair to bide——
-it slackened and jarred as gran’papa’s hand—she knew that pathetic, involuntary relaxation of his stiff fingers—mumbled the strings. but the half learnt words ran on in her head, perverted into absurd appositeness—
-she may gae to—france for me!
-but it was justin who had gone to france.... they were killing three hundred men a day in france—in the trenches ... where justin was....
-for long minutes her terrible phantasy made it all very clear to her, while the tune jangled on again to its happy ending—
-now they’re crouse and canty baith——
-she waited for the last line, impatiently, as for release, as for the breaking of a spell; but there came no sound—only a sudden silence that was louder than any sound. she roused at it, pitifully chiding herself for the selfishness of her misery and, regardless of aunt adela, bundled the rest of her clothes into the wardrobe and hurried out of the room.
-poor old gran’papa ... to leave him so long alone.... a string or something must have snapped.... she must run down and see, and get him a new one ... the dresser drawers were so heavy for him to pull out....
-she ran down the stairs in her swift, noiseless fashion and tapped at his door, and tapped again, and then, with a sudden catching of breath, opened it.
-she had been right: something had snapped indeed. a cord—a silver cord had been loosed; but it was not the g string of the little old fiddle.
-the funeral of old mr. valentine, the ‘to let’ board on green gates, and the cottage into which the miss valentines were to move at the march quarter, gave brackenhurst a pleasant change from the mad dog of europe and the soaring prices of meat and margarine. but long before the subject was exhausted it had to make way in turn for the news that justin cloud had been made a captain—“oh, three stars, i believe: it’s the majors that have the crown—” and that robin gedge had married annabel moulde at a registry office. it was brackenhurst’s first war wedding, and it divided the village into two camps, into those that were more thrilled than shocked and those that were more shocked than thrilled. annabel, of course, suffered as a pioneer does; for when rhoda cloud, six months later, married a man she had nursed a week and known a month, it was acclaimed as a most romantic affair; but brackenhurst, rallying round mrs. gedge, had few good words for annabel—and none at all for laura valentine. for it came out, as such things will, that laura valentine had been in the secret—had actually gone up to town with annabel and had seen her married. “would you believe it? such a sensible girl, and her grandfather not dead six weeks!”
-“and it wasn’t—” aunt adela wailed, “as if you’d ever been friends with annabel!”
-“i know,” said laura guiltily.
-she was as puzzled at her own conduct as brackenhurst, or as annabel moulde herself.
-for annabel, that silken skirmisher, had found herself, as she sheltered at green gates one afternoon, neither feinting, thrusting, nor awaiting attack; but, huddled over a comforting hearth, with the rain curtaining the windows, the flames dancing from her little bronze toes on the fender to laura’s knitting needles and back again to her toes, was inexplicably impelled to confidences.
-“robin—going out—simply miserable, both of us. mrs. gedge—an old beast—loathes me—always has—‘wait till the war’s over’—always the same old story.”
-it came out in jerks to the accompaniment of the crackling fire and the purring of the cat on laura’s knee.
-“if i were only married to him—it would make all the difference—i could stand it then.” then, in sudden, sullen retreat: “oh, of course, i don’t expect you to understand. you think it’s husband-hunting—like mrs. gedge.”
-again there was a silence, with the flames lighting up annabel’s face and losing laura’s in the shadows of gran’papa’s chair.
-“not that i care what you think. but if robin’s hurt—they’ll keep me out. i couldn’t even wear mourning.”
-laura’s exclamation could have meant anything—but annabel reddened, stammering a little—
-“well, but—can’t you understand? it’s true. i’d have no right——i want my right. and—and i’ve never felt like that about any of my boys. i never did about robin himself—till the war. but now——oh, laura, what am i to do?”
-“do? what can any one do?” laura’s voice was as expressionless as her face.
-“no—that’s just it. and yet——i tell you, laura, sometimes i’m ready to take robin at his word and marry him in spite of his mother.”
-“he wants that?” laura paused a moment in her work and considered the pretty, blubbered face thoughtfully.
-“well—what do you think?” annabel’s smile suited her better than tears.
-“i—see. well, why don’t you, then?” laura turned her sock with a flick.
-annabel stared at her.
-“what—d’you mean—run away? really? seriously?”
-annabel giggled nervously.
-“well—i haven’t any money to begin with. i’ve spent my next quarter already.”
-“i’d lend you some. and robin would meet you in town.”
-“but—but—how could i? mother would never get over it. mother’s terrified of mrs. gedge. i couldn’t——”
-“oh, well then——”
-laura dropped the subject indifferently.
-they sat awhile in silence.
-annabel fidgeted. her restless eyes wandered round the room.
-“i ought to be going. the rain’s stopped,” she volunteered at last.
-“oh—must you?” laura rose courteously.
-“laura—” annabel stooped to pick up the disgruntled tabby stretching itself indignantly on the hearth-rug—“laura—if i did—laura—do you honestly think it would be right?”
-“right?” the flames had found laura’s face at last, lighting up, laying bare its weakness and its strength, soft eyes and tender mouth and the new hard lines about eyes and mouth alike. “right? you’re a woman, aren’t you? you’ve a man fighting for you? you give what you can and take what you can—while you’ve the chance! right?” her voice deepened. “it’s your own two lives! don’t you let them rob you—even if they are your own people. they talk about prudence and marry in haste—and tell you to wait—and wait—and wait! it would be devilish the way they talk, if they understood. but of course—they can’t. they’re old. they’ve forgotten. they mean well. but you—you take your chance!”
-“but—but—” began annabel helplessly.
-“and there’s another thing. you talk about rights. it’s not only your right. the children—our children—they have their right to be born. well—and if he is killed and you are poor—you’ll be able to feed a child, and clothe it, and teach it to read, i suppose—if you can’t send it to eton. you give it life anyway, and love, and care. that ought to be good enough. ‘what porridge had john keats’?”
-“but—you talk,” annabel whimpered. “i only want robin.”
-laura, pulled up short, stared at her a moment. then she laughed.
-“i know. of course. of course i know. and—and—” she flushed prettily. “all i meant—i only mean, my dear—it’s no business of mine—but if you want backing, i’ll back you. there’s a telephone in the next room. he’s at maidstone, isn’t he? it’s a trunk call. aunt adela won’t be in till supper. you go and talk things over with robin.”
-and the end of it was that annabel and laura went up to town by an early train one fine morning, for a day’s shopping. and indeed they did buy various trifles, besides a white coat and skirt, and a white beaver hat, and an inconspicuous bunch of lilies of the valley with a sprig of orange blossom tucked away in the middle—but they were a present from laura. laura came home alone with a note for mrs. moulde and another for mrs. gedge in her pocket (she thrust them through the letter-boxes and fled) and, as i told you, was cold-shouldered by the vicarage long after robin and annabel had been forgiven.
-but though mrs. cloud included the vicarage set in her visitors’ list, the vicarage set could not claim the honour of including mrs. cloud. at any rate, mrs. cloud gave no sign of disapprobation: might have been thought, indeed, to be kinder of late to laura. but mrs. cloud was always kind. certainly it did laura no harm to be met at the priory more often than usual by brackenhurst: indeed, as she called in for the third day running on some small errand—a basket of early primroses, i believe, that a school child had given her, but that were so obviously grown for the great glass bowl in the yellow parlour that she had to pass them on—she thought, to herself, she would not permit herself to think, that it was like old times....
-laura handed her basket to the maid, but she had not long to wait. mrs. cloud was at home, quite eagerly at home to an opportune laura. laura wondered at the warmth of her greeting, at the gaiety of her air.
-it was the first fine day of the spring, and the sun was doing his best for an earth still wind-swept and doubtfully green, yet the light and warmth and the radiance that filled the room seemed to emanate, not from him, but from mrs. cloud herself, sitting in a glory by her windowful of half grown daffodils, her lap a tumble of telegram and envelope and laura’s primroses, young lights in her eyes, and a letter, a letter, in her hand.
-justin had got his leave, laura! justin had got his leave at last! justin was coming home—had written twice—contradictorily—and now a wire! he would be home tomorrow night. and in the meantime his letter had come, the letter he had written before he was quite sure.
-if it had arrived earlier laura might have heard less about it; but the gate at the end of the drive had barely closed on the postman before it had opened again to her, and mrs. cloud, full of her good tidings, had yielded to old custom and the comfort of a listener. so laura, though she was not allowed to read the letter herself—such privileges were hers no longer—yet heard its every word read aloud by a voice that, strengthened by excitement, was more than ever the softened, haunting shadow of justin’s.
-such a delightful letter as it was too—such a hasty, pencilled letter that yet found time to be full of problematical orderly detail of his itinerary, to be margined with instructions as to what his mother was and was not to do in the matter of coming to town and meeting trains—a letter that had been so obviously written, not by captain cloud of the kentshires, but by h. j. cloud of the lower fifth, arriving for his half-term holiday and leaving no item of the program to chance. justin could write a good letter, couldn’t he, laura?
-laura, always quiet and now quieter than ever, with controlled hands and two bright spots of colour in her tired face, made the little necessary ejaculations, steering so delicately between indifference and absorption, that mrs. cloud enjoyed her responses as she enjoyed music, as a soothing accompaniment to her own thoughts. so impersonal, indeed, could laura be, that it was not until she was left alone again that mrs. cloud realized that she had broken through her rule of avoiding the subject of justin—the rule that she had devised, half to spare and half to punish a criminal laura.
-she shrugged her shoulders. she could not be deeply disturbed. her anger, for she had had her guess-work anger on behalf of an injured but uncommunicative son, had long ago died down. it smouldered, of course, flickering up occasionally into perplexed resentment: would never, i think—though justin and laura should miraculously adjust their differences—be completely extinguished; for it was not in mrs. cloud’s nature, so sweetly oblivious of sins against herself, ever to forgive a harshness or forget a kindness rendered to those she loved; but the hot ashes of it were hidden deep in her heart—she had found herself able, in time, to be reconciled, to pretend justice to laura. she said to herself very often that she did not want to be unkind.... justin, she admitted, was not an ordinary boy.... he had needed understanding—and laura was very young.... if only they had either of them seen fit to confide the cause of their quarrel to her, she was sure that she could have helped them over it.... justin was so much her own son that his reserve could not hurt her, but she thought laura should have come to her.... she thought laura owed her that....
-mrs. cloud, you see, was hampered by being fond of laura. she missed her, for laura did not come as often as in the old days: and laura, as more than mrs. cloud had discovered, had her insidious, disconcerting way of becoming indispensable. you tolerated the harmless creature, acknowledging even a pleasant quality in it, as of unobtrusive furniture, and then, one day, when you felt yourself most free, it would turn on you, not a chair, not a table, but a laughing woman, who challenged you, with a twinkle, to try and do without her.
-but mrs. cloud did not go into that. she only knew that of all possible daughters-in-law she would have objected least to laura valentine. for she and laura had always shared, though they did not know it, their prophetic dread of the minx, rouged, gilded, and irresistible, who, if they were not extremely careful, would one day carry off justin and make him miserable. justin’s deportment at garden-parties, his invincible indifference to musical comedies and mixed tennis, might reassure them momentarily, but they never really believed that he could be trusted by himself. and now he was in uniform——for they knew, the worldly twain, cynically they knew what women were! there was that girl, for instance, that much advertised friend of rhoda’s—with the ear-rings—who had openly announced herself as dying to meet captain cloud. hussy! impassive laura, handing tea-cakes, had been so grateful to mrs. cloud for sniffing.
-but then, in spite of their differences, mrs. cloud and laura always did understand each other.
-laura said good-bye at last, and went away, leaving mrs. cloud in a happy fever of activity, bewildering herself with bradshaw, interviewing the coachman, and in defiance of her half a dozen servants, airing sheets at the drawing-room fire. master justin—captain cloud, i mean—is coming home!
-justin—captain cloud, i mean—is coming home.
-the theme was mrs. cloud’s, rang in her head in mrs. cloud’s voice, but the intricacies of its variations were laura’s own. she was utterly unable to force her mind from the subject. her brain was a like a keyboard at which her soul sat fingering out the harmonious justin, till she was ready to scream. her share of what the village called war-work had not been light, and she was besides so wearied out by the strain and the pain and the unlifting terror of the past months, that her thoughts were often able to escape her control, to weaken her still further by their irresponsibility. there were times when she could not think consecutively at all: and yet she could never stop thinking, and at a furious rate, till her mind seemed a cosmos bereft of gravity.
-into that chaos, which even mrs. cloud could never have connected with laura of the trim blue serges, and the refugee committee, and the restful, smiling ways—into that chaos of dead hopes and living fears, mrs. cloud’s news flashed like a comet, brilliant, portentous. justin was coming home.
-she tried to be blind to this new light in her sky. she told herself that it had nothing to do with her, that she must not, in pride, in decency, let her thoughts be concerned with him.... but justin was coming home!... she had no right, she reminded herself fiercely, to be sorry or glad any more for justin.... but at least he would be safe.... for a whole week he would be safe.... she might sleep sound, if she could, for a whole week.... she need not even pray.... all she might do—all she could do—for a justin safely home again, was to keep out of his way.... he would not want to see her.... she would not afford him, or herself, the embarrassment of a meeting.... she would not spoil his holiday by appearing to exist....
-she thought that she ought to go away altogether—pay some invented visit to imaginary relatives.... but that she could not do.... that—probing her soul—she could not do.... she found she had not, literally, the strength to leave brackenhurst when justin was coming home. but she would keep out of his way....
-not that it would upset justin if he did run into her.... he would pass her—she could see him—as carelessly as he might pass some futile cur that had once snapped at him.... he would have put her out of his mind by now, definitely and completely.... she knew his indifferent, inexorable way.... she had bruised herself often enough against his unimagination, his sturdy mind that was like a house with one window. oh, he saw life clearly through it—but how little he saw! but there was no use in going over that.... all she had to remember was to keep out of his way.... but she would not leave brackenhurst.... for if justin—suppose that justin—suppose that by some miracle justin had changed—had learned to forgive—to forget—to want her again! miracles did happen....
-you are right—she cannot, at the time of his leave, have been quite sane. for, all the long week, she lived, fiercely as she denied it to herself, in mad, fantastic expectation of that miracle. every passer-by on the long road, every click of the gate, every bell rung in the kitchen, every footstep on the gravel, from the paper-boy before the maids came down to the gardener going home at night, was justin—was justin! fifty times in the weary day the impossible happened, the miracle was vouchsafed, and justin came to her—justin, who never came. in the window-seat, above the white high-road, where, so many years ago, she had watched for the coming of another love, she crouched again and peered out at the passers-by, and starved and starved for him.
-yet life ran on as usual in brackenhurst, though belgium smoked to heaven and justin were home on leave: and laura had her duties. two days’ grace, or three, might be allowed her for her imaginary headache—but on the fourth brackenhurst clamoured for its indispensable miss valentine, and she must set out through by-ways to her belgians and her babies, to lunch at the other end of the village, with an afternoon’s sewing to follow, and must keep her eyes bright and her tongue wagging to amuse her world the while.
-the sun was near the edge of the earth before the depôt gates closed on her and she was her own mistress again.
-she hesitated. she was very tired, and aunt adela would be fretful if she were late for tea.... she felt that a scolding from aunt adela, the rasp of her plaintive voice, must at all costs be avoided.... she felt that she might turn tartar if aunt adela scratched her just then—which wouldn’t be fair to poor old aunt adela.... besides, she had no business to keep aunt adela waiting.... she must take the short cut....
-she had hesitated because, though it saved her a mile, it was a cut that ran across the priory woods, driving a broad grass-way through the heart of them, and rounding at one point the priory garden itself. and yet—it was ridiculous to be late for tea, to involve oneself with an irritable aunt, just because her nearest way home skirted justin’s property.... would justin be wandering in damp woods at this time o’ day—at his tea-time o’ day?... she knew justin.... besides, what should he do in the woods? he didn’t collect birds’ eggs any more....
-she turned into the shining chestnut thickets, for she knew the fox-ways of the undergrowth, and emerged again, breathless, briar-whipped, into the green, central glade, where the grass was twenty feet wide and the white violets grew. this was her undoing. laura could never resist flowers. if laura were being ferried over to hell she would still have plunged to the elbow in the styx, i think, after its blotched lilies—and these were violets, english and very sweet. and they were the first of the year. do you think there is any one too old and too sad to pick white violets when they get the chance?
-laura was sad enough, but she was only twenty. forgetting her hurry, she stooped down and began picking violets.
-there were so many of them that the ground was soon covered with tiny short-stalked bunches, tied up with aunt adela’s khaki knitting wool.
-the soft spring air was like new milk after the close, people room she had left. the scent of the violets pleased her. each flower as she picked it sent its ghost, like a little white thought, into her mind, to soothe and heal and sweeten it. she was so blessedly absorbed, and the grass was so thick and mossy, that she heard nothing, neither footsteps nor creak of boots, till a voice, a familiar voice, spoke above her.
-“why, laura!” said the voice.
-she was on her feet in an instant, but she was badly startled. for, after all her reckonings, it was justin—justin, taking like herself his short cut through the woods to his tea—justin, whom she had not seen for nearly a year—justin, who was never going to speak to her again.
-she gave him a wavering, frightened smile—a smile that deprecated its own existence, that assured him that it held no graceless hint of welcome or intimacy, that it continued merely as the only salutation that the lips on which it trembled could at the moment attempt. and with that faded again and left a white face whiter.
-“why, laura!” repeated the miraculous justin, in the kind, solemn voice that had not altered for all her wickedness, for all the war.
-she found hurried words in which to answer, excusing herself when there was no need.
-“i was going home. and i was late. so i came this way. i only stopped for a moment—to pick the violets——”
-she stooped for her basket, huddling into it all the little bunches that lay on the grass. she was thankful to have a use for her betraying hands.
-he was watching her, but she did not know what he thought, for she was afraid to look up and see. she had her basket filled too soon, and thereupon she stood like a schoolgirl, not knowing what to say or do. she moved a step or two at last, to enable him to give her good-bye and go his way. but his way was hers, it seemed: and he walked beside her in silence down the green grass lane, between the whispering, watching trees. if he thought of his tea he thought also, i suppose that mrs. cloud would keep it hot for him. he was quite right: his mother would have kept it hot for him till the crack of doom. but it is just possible that he did not think about his tea.
-laura’s eyes were decorously on the increasing circle of sky at the end of the alley; yet with quick stolen glances now and then she gleaned news of him. she thought he looked tired, older—a grey look.... she thought he did not look well.... she disliked his yellowish clothes. they did not suit him....
-well—at least she had seen him in his uniform.... she had not realized before, she thought contradictorily, how jolly the ugly uniform could look.... she thought how ordinary every other soldier she had seen would look beside him.... she tried not to be ridiculously proud of him, because she had no right, no right—to that exquisite pride.... she thought that she had not been mistaken—there was no one in the world like him....
-they came to a footpath through the hazel underwood that ran at right angles to the broad grass-way. she was sure he would make it his excuse for leaving her if he did not want to talk. and how should he possibly want to talk to her?... but justin swung past the opening with no more than a switch with his cane at the low-hanging catkins that sent the pollen in clouds into the air. the target of sky still seemed a long way off. almost she could have wished that he had left her, the silence oppressed her so. she supposed that she ought to talk to him about the war.... ridiculous phrases flitted through her head—‘how do you like the trenches?’ ‘do the guns make much noise?’—but she could think of no sensible opening.
-at last to her intense relief, for speech was always as much her protection as silence was his, he opened his mouth.
-“and how have you been rubbing along?” said justin.
-“oh, all right,” said laura. then brilliantly: “have you been all right?”
-“oh, quite all right,” said justin.
-there was an interval for meditation.
-“miss adela pretty fit?” enquired justin.
-“oh, splendid,” said laura.
-“i should have called—but it’s such a short leave—i wish you’d explain——”
-“oh, she quite understood,” said laura too readily, and felt the conversation sag in her hands like a caught cricket ball. she made an effort.
-“have a decent crossing?” she hazarded.
-“quite decent,” said justin.
-“oh—good!” said laura.
-they paused again.
-laura thought she would leave things to him: she knew by experience that if he did not want to talk nothing would make him: she did not think he was embarrassed, for he had always been too absorbed in himself to be self-conscious: therefore, if he talked, it would have some significance. she waited, passively curious; for the shock of meeting him had, for the time, numbed her. she was as calm as is the heart of a whirlwind.
-and soon, as she expected, he explained himself.
-“mother’s been looking out for you,” he told her severely. “why didn’t you come? she says you always come on tuesdays.”
-‘why didn’t you come?’ she threw up her hands over the denseness of his justinity, as she lied to him.
-“oh���i’m awfully sorry. i didn’t know—i mean i forgot. i mean—i’ve been so fearfully busy this week.”
-“what with?” he enquired.
-“oh, i don’t know,” said laura.
-“well, if you can, you might look in tomorrow,” he decided. “you see, i have to be out.”
-she glanced up at him: glanced down again. and then, suddenly, all the dry deadness of her heart broke, like the pope’s staff, into bud, into little blossoms of laughter, delicate bell-flowers that rang out in a thousand fairy carillons of healing mirth.
-dear old justin!... ‘you see—i have to be out.’ so exactly what justin might have been reckoned upon to say.... her lips quivered: her shoulders shook: she was in desperate danger of laughing aloud. she saw so clearly the absurdity of their situation that it was all at once naked of its embarrassment, of its sting. she wanted to share the joke with him, but that was impossible. he would not have been justin if he could have seen the funny side of himself.
-‘you see—i have to be out.’...
-‘yes, justin dear—yes, justin, dear—i quite understand!’ she crooned to herself with wicked, bright-eyed merriment.
-“and the next day,” continued his unconsciousness, “i go back, you know.”
-the bells stopped ringing.
-“oh!” said laura sedately.
-the circle of light had grown into an arch that was wide as the sky. they crunched off the soft grass on to the chalk of the road stretching north and south of them to green gates and the priory.
-she found that they were to shake hands.
-“well—so long!” said he.
-“so long!” said she.
-they went their ways.
-and that was the end, for laura, of justin’s first leave.
-but she felt better. if it had done her good to see him, it had done her all the good in the world, she thought, to laugh at him.
-what justin thought, history does not say.
-the spring and summer passed like one of those interminable nightmares whose horror is in the fact that it is ever about to be revealed, and never is revealed, to the dreamer. mrs. cloud and laura opened their papers at breakfast, to read and shudder and murmur mechanically, “their poor wives—god help them!” but the guilty sense of reprieve would be gone before the meal was ended. fear was to be their portion rather than fact: and mrs. cloud, for one, broke under the burden. she spoke little, never of herself; but she grew visibly older, turning under laura’s anxious eyes into a silent old woman, content to sit in the sun. but gradually laura realized that she was aware of her own failing strength, that she husbanded it of set purpose, that her very quietude was deliberate. when it was necessary she had words and counsel.
-she never missed writing to her son—quiet, cheerful letters in a firm hand. and the answers she would read aloud to laura.
-“a good boy, laura—to write so often. three nights without sleep again—but he writes!”
-laura had her secret marvel at it, at these letters, so like and so unlike justin. their frequency amazed her: their familiar matter-of-factness made her smile; but there were touches in them beyond her knowledge of him. he did not take his discomforts seriously. there was actually humour—a trifle crude, more than a trifle grim—but humour. once he made fun of himself. and he was anxious about his mother—eloquent in each letter on the absurdity, nay, the sin, of worrying. and he wanted to know how she slept. once he said, ‘tell laura to look after you!’ he said that! he trusted her, you see, in spite of everything. he trusted her.
-she lived on that phrase for weeks.
-and indeed she looked after mrs. cloud. she spent more and more of her time at the priory, bringing her war-work with her, and gradually the control of the reduced household slipped into her hands. mrs. cloud’s small ailments increased in frequency, and it was natural that the driven doctor and the anxious maid should turn to miss laura rather than to the invalid. and there was timothy. timothy, rising five, with ideas of his own (coral cropping up freakishly in the sound cloud soil) timothy, embarrassingly devoted, and a great deal too much for his grandmother, had become a problem: and until the ideal nurse who did not quarrel with mary and did not want special attention had been discovered (but they were all at munitions) he was inevitably laura’s business. she undertook, at any rate, to tire him out for a couple of hours every day, after which ‘the temporary,’ a hare-eyed child with adenoids, was supposed to be able to cope with him.
-timothy enjoyed that summer. he was always more than ready for his stern miss valentine to take him out for a little exercise. timothy’s idea of exercise was a variant of tip-and-run in the field behind the barns. timothy tipped and laura ran. but when human nature dropped at last, protesting, on a haycock, timothy was always kindly resigned to a rest. he would dig like a terrier at the next cock, till he had shaped ‘a armchair’ into which laura would be inducted with much ceremony and provided with a dock-leaf fan. these were courtesies for which stories (“true stories, not silly old fairies,” was the typical cloud proviso) were considered a graceful acknowledgement.
-laura, beautifully trained before a week was out, would accordingly parade for his criticism such desperadoes of antiquity as daniel, jack the giant killer, oliver twist, jonah, and invariably conclude the entertainment, by request, with that favourite legend of her own childhood—‘how uncle justin threw the porridge at miss beamish!’
-“well——” and timothy would squirm with excitement, “once upon a time—when uncle justin-at-the-war was quite a little boy——” and so on to the enthralling catastrophe:
-“and there was poor miss beamish with her hair all messed——”
-“he was awful—wasn’t he?”
-“awful isn’t the word!”
-“umn. go on.”
-“well—that’s about all.”
-“umn.” then, with the careful artlessness of childhood—“well—shall we play a game now?”
-“what shall we play?”
-“well—you be miss beamish and i’ll be uncle justin.”
-and when laura had been realistically pelted with hay, timothy, still devising deviltry, would be suddenly fatigued and would drop himself, like a toy he was tired of carrying, solidly into laura’s lap, and fall asleep there and then, his knobby little grass-stained knees pressed against her, his hands, at the least movement, tightening on her arm.
-and while he slept and long after he was awake again and had run into his dinner, she could feel those small hands clutching, not her arm, but her very heart, and wonder that in the touch there could be such pleasure and such pain.
-children—the very word was music.... what must it be like to have children of one’s own—one’s own?...
-but that was one of the things, she supposed, that she would have to do without—just have to do without—unless ... unless....
-and then the wild thoughts that breed in a mind grown conscious of its needs, its spiritual and bodily needs, would rise in battle against her.
-if justin didn’t want her?... she was young.... it was a big world ... must she starve?...
-and then she would shiver away again from such rescue, perceiving that justin, living or dead, was like a sword between her and any other man; that isolation, right and natural and torturing as her needs were for love and children and the warmth of a common hearth, was the price she must pay for all that he had taught her—he, who knew so little of what he taught. and perceived also that if she were not to be happy—as she reckoned happiness—it was not his fault, but the fault of her own nature. she had railed so often at his un-imagination—but how much greater was her own, that could conceive no happiness apart from him? yet knowing at last her own nature, could she wish it changed? if she were offered lethe, would she drink?
-she believed not.
-and then she would be filled with a fierce disgust at herself that she could be thus occupied with her personal affairs, with the infinitely unimportant pains and perplexities of her own toy tragedy, when, if she stood quiet and the day were still, she could hear, so far away that it was less sound than a tremor of the air, the mutter of the flanders guns.
-justin’s next leave was nominally due in june. in september he began to be hopeful of getting it: his christmas epistles were models of linguistic control: and he arrived soon after new year to laugh at his sympathetically indignant household for taking any notice of anything he might have said in a letter: and, sobering, to be angry with his mother for waiting at home for him instead of going to bournemouth like a sensible woman till the raids and the fogs were over. he could have wired! she could have got back in half a day: or he could have gone down to her, even if it were jollier, in a way, to spend his leave at home. laura ought to have packed her off long ago, instead of letting her sit day after day on that windy hill-top catching influenza!
-but mrs. cloud, sitting up in bed and coughing between her smiles, would not have laura blamed. she did not know what she and timothy should have done without laura—and would laura run down once again, dear, to see that mary understands about an early lunch? “and now, my son, let me look at you——”
-laura slipped away.
-it was a dreamlike week. it was so utterly incredible to her that circumstances should have once more established her at the priory, that she could confront the situation with comparative calmness, could even put aside her human prerogative of saying suspiciously to happiness, “yesterday you were not! tomorrow, where will you be?” and bask as complacently as a cat or a flower in the spell of sunshine. but she could not believe it to be real.
-for she found herself sitting down to meals with justin, catching scraps of his talk with his mother, making no bones about sending him out of the room when she thought mrs. cloud had had enough excitement, finding him ten minutes later, when she had pulled the blind and settled mrs. cloud for a nap and had come downstairs again, tapping the barometer, raking the bookshelves or lounging by the fire, abstractedly admiring the set of his puttees, bored by the weather, very ready to talk to her. that, you see, was what amazed her. she could understand his acceptance of her, with reserve, as a necessary evil while his mother was ill; but—he was ready to talk to her! he was himself with her, unembarrassed, friendly, apparently unconscious that he had a right to be otherwise. it was unbelievably generous. it was in every way too good to be true. she could not understand it in the least. it was the most astonishing thing that had ever happened. it took her just five minutes to become entirely accustomed to it.
-yet she found that in his talk he was gradually and unwittingly explaining himself to her. he was on a holiday: he wanted to be happy. he was unconsciously doing what she was doing consciously. he was trying to put aside all that could spoil his respite.
-how great that respite was he told her, not knowing that he told her, in a hundred tragi-comic ways. she was ready to cry over his little comfortable movements in his chair, his new, observant appreciation of the decencies of life. his extraordinary interest in the concerns of the gedges and the clouds and the mouldes, expressed as it was with all the old lordliness of manner, was so funny that, but for the lump in her throat, she could have laughed outright. dear justin—he had always been thorough!... and then her attention would be caught afresh by some unwonted gesture, some unfamiliar sentiment: and she would tell herself anxiously that her disturbance was out of all proportion to such causes. they were trifles, merest trifles ... but they pained and touched her. it struck her that he was boisterous in his laughter over very simple jokes. he moved more heavily, had acquired a nervous trick of the hands. he was patently anxious to put the war out of his mind, and it was obvious that he could not do it. they would find themselves talking of the war, he speaking as if compelled, yet with increasing unwillingness, flagging into dull silence, and then, rousing himself, beginning to talk of it again, formally, lifelessly, incessantly. bad for him—she knew that it was bad for him.... she wondered if he thought her efforts to divert him mere callousness?... yet surely he must have his holiday in peace?... it was their business—hers and his mother’s—to see that he went back to his intolerable duty with an aired and rested mind. but how?... was it, she wondered, better for him first to disburden himself as he wanted, yet did not want, to do?...
-but at that she was, again, uneasily aware of change in him, of a new reserve between them, a reserve born, not of their personal estrangement, but of an experience unshared. where she had imagined, he had seen. it was not wonderful if, subconsciously, he distrusted her capacity, the capacity of any safe and sheltered woman, to enter into his memories, see with his eyes. but she, acknowledging, not the justice, but the inevitability of his attitude, thought only, ‘what does that matter? the thing is to make him rest. i’m a poor creature if i can’t get him out of himself.’...
-and on the third day she got her opportunity.
-the second had passed in a whirl of excitement and laughter (only a little forced) and pleasure at his return, and anxiety and fondness for his mother, in silent meals that had given laura her first inkling of the cloud upon him. on the third day he had gone to town to do his necessary shopping, and, in delighted extravagance, had brought back half covent garden for mrs. cloud, and chocolates for no one in particular, and complicated mechanical toys that did not appease timothy. for timothy, playing second fiddle for the first time since his grandmother had adopted him, had a grievance against his uncle justin. timothy gave laura a bad moment as she put him to bed.
-“did you say thank-you to uncle justin when you said good-night?”
-“don’t like uncle justin.” timothy wriggled from under the towel.
-“oh, timothy, when he brought you that lovely motor-car!”
-“don’t like old motor-car. want to see the birds in uncle justin’s room.”
-“what, my duck?”
-“birds sitting on eggs in uncle justin’s room. grannie told me, only they’re locked up till uncle justin comes home.”
-“grannie said that? are you sure, timmy?”
-“yes, and said uncle justin would show me. and uncle justin wouldn’t. said—said—uncle justin said——”
-“said what, timothy?”
-timothy scowled adorably.
-“don’t like uncle justin. where’s my motor-car?”
-“want my motor-car.”
-and laura, having been acquainted with that particular tone in the cloud voice for some thirteen years, gave him his motor-car and said no more.
-but she went down to dinner and justin with bright eyes and a flushed face, and had little to say as she sat thinking across to him over the pot of daffodils.
-‘so—so you never told your mother! but you tell her everything! it was decent of you—it was good of you—not to tell your mother....’ and then, with such a pang of pride in him, ‘it was like you. any one else——it was awfully good of you not to tell your mother.’...
-and that evening, as they came down from mrs. cloud’s room (mrs. cloud hoped to get up the next day) she found herself, because that tale of timothy’s had given her the strangest courage, able to find the right words, the right silences, able to unlock him at last.
-and he spoke—to the room, to the fire, to his own hands, rather than to her—of certain things daily seen and heard and endured: spoke with a flatness of tone, a baldness of phrase, that, to her at least, underlined his facts as no eloquence could have done. he doled out horror like a school-marm teaching dull children to read.
-‘the cat ate the rat.’
-“stuck him up against a wall and shot him.”
-“wiped out forty——”
-“and after that there wasn’t much fritz left!”
-and, urged on as it were, by her quivering receptiveness, spoke finally of experiences, not (she thanked god) his own, yet of his own first-hand knowledge: and found no other way to tell her than with a hard stare, in direct and brutal sentences, as if he thought—
-‘well, if it comes to that, why shouldn’t you know? do you good—you home people!’
-she knew that his contempt was unconscious, impersonal; that she had no right to wince at it; nevertheless, it hurt. she wanted to say, ‘it’s not fair. i do understand. as if i wouldn’t cut off my hands to be there instead of you! it’s you who’ll never understand,’ and shook off that egotism to listen to him again, and had her reward when he ended, quite naturally and simply, in turning from the subject at last with that air of relief for which she had worked and hoped, with a comfortable relaxation of his whole body, and a smile that told her that he was feeling better and was ready to be amused.
-ten minutes later, with the victorious inconsistency of their race, they were shaking with laughter over the new bairnsfather drawings.
-the next day—already it was his last day but one—was a festival: mrs. cloud was to come down to tea and to stay up to dinner.
-she had no business to do either, as she and laura and the doctor knew, but—mrs. cloud was coming down!
-they bargained with the doctor.
-if it were a fine warm day—(but it was wet and cold.)
-if she kept quiet all the morning—(“then you must look after justin, laura!”)
-if she promised to go to bed again really early——
-in short——mrs. cloud was coming down.
-hard upon laura to be bothered with justin, wasn’t it? when she was so particularly busy; when she had promised the depôt more work than she knew how to get through. but she made no objection whatever: came downstairs to him with obliging readiness: sat listening with an air that might have been mistaken for satisfaction, to the windy rain thudding at the windows. no going out in such rain!
-she took up her half-finished sock and then had to put it down again to help justin. justin was raking through the bookshelves.
-“here—what can i take back? something solid. i’m sick to death of sevenpennies. mother is comical, you know. she’s got twice my brains—but the books she chooses!” he laughed: “i know she goes by the cover.”
-“you’ve read all these.” laura ran her hand along the shelves. “no good giving you poetry, i suppose?” she pulled out men and women. “remember how oliver was always spouting the italian things?”
-“he gave me that book too, poor devil!”
-she looked at him, startled.
-“didn’t you see it? artists’ rifles. shot, his first week out.”
-he looked at her with a sad enough smile.
-“brings it home a bit, doesn’t it?”
-she shook her head incredulously.
-“i never saw it. i never knew.” and then: “his poor wife——”
-justin lit his pipe.
-“i only met her once. she’s married again, i believe.”
-there was a silence, with laura whipping over page after page of the volume in her hand. suddenly she flamed out—
-“such women—such women——they make you ashamed.” her eyes were pitiless.
-justin frowned thoughtfully.
-“i don’t know. i don’t suppose he left her much to live on. and she was an awfully pretty girl.”
-but at that, after one look flashed at him, she stared the more resolutely at her book, lest he should see the amazement, the quick incredulous appreciation, in her eyes. there had been no superiority in his voice—nothing but the real tolerance of comprehension! it was not he, but she, laura, who stood reproved for a lack of common charity.... poor—young—an awfully pretty girl!... he was right.... it was not for them to judge.... but what had happened to justin that he could see it and say it?... in a bewilderment so near happiness that it frightened her, she began to talk at random.
-“yes—yes—i suppose so. well—will you take it then? there’s heaps of reading in it.”
-“too much for me. i started sordello once. pity he would try to rhyme prose instead of singing songs.” he looked over her shoulder, his eyes caught by the italics that laced the close print like birds’ voices ringing through a wood. “ah—that’s better! flower o’ the rose——what is it?”
-“lippi. you know! oliver was mad about it. oliver always said that browning was a painter spoiled himself.”
-“shouldn’t wonder. oliver generally knew what he was talking about. that now—
-flower o’ the peach, death for us all, and his own life for each!
-now that’s good. that’s likeable. that’s poetry and truth too. but the rest goes wrenching and jerking along like—like vulcan. club-foot divinity.”
-again she was astonished. it was what she had always thought—but that he should think so too—should put it into words for her—was epoch-making. she was overwhelmed by the remorseful conviction that she had always and systematically undervalued him. she was so much occupied by that discovery that she did not notice, till he called to her to “listen to this rot” that the book had slid from her hand to his, that he was settling into his chair, preparing to see-saw delightfully, abolishing browning and relenting to browning, for the rest of the morning.
-it was not quite what laura wanted; but it was very pleasant.
-and she finished her sock.
-and so, before he had more than arrived, as it seemed, justin’s last day came.
-he was to catch the four-twenty. mrs. cloud, refusing to admit fatigue after her successful evening on the sofa, was planning to be up again—down, at least, for lunch—ready to see the poor boy off. but justin decreed otherwise. justin, painfully made aware on this last visit how weak the flesh had grown of that utterly willing spirit, was firm with his mother. get up—to see him off? he would like to see her try! there was robert to see him off and old mary, wasn’t there? and laura? pack? now did his mother think he should let her pack for him? there were boots, for instance, any one of which weighed more than his mother. perhaps his mother would like to clean them for him first? no doubt!
-he outlined his ideas.
-he sat with her, as he had promised, till she fell into a light drowse, and then slipped away cautiously to his own room.
-laura, sitting in the parlour below, her eyes on a book, her ears a-prick at every sound, gave a sigh of relief as she heard his tread and the thud of his baggage on the floor. he had gone to his packing ... he would come soon now ... a matter of moments ... for he always packed as if he were cocking hay.... ah—she thought so ... his door was opening ... he was coming downstairs.... she could afford at last to ignore the clock—that stolid thief who had impoverished her, filching one by one twenty minutes of the hoarded sixty that were hers.
-he paused in the hall long enough to give her a pang. he was not going out?—to the stables? yet she was able to look up indifferently when he opened—at last—the parlour door, and came in.
-“finished?” she smiled at him pleasantly with an air of temporarily relinquishing her book, of being very ready to return to it though, if he did not want to talk. she had been well drilled.
-however, he was communicative.
-“there was hardly anything—i’m not taking much. oh, by the way—i’ve left some boots—to be re-soled—in trees—you might tell mother. at least——”
-“oh, i’ll see to it,” said laura easily. “heeled too?”
-“i think so. oh—and there are some things—in the wardrobe—want seeing to—want cleaning.” he elaborated his directions.
-a pause ensued, the inane pause that so often preludes a leave-taking. he walked about the room. she read her book. the clock ticked between them, saying ‘your turn—your turn,’ and each waited for the other to speak.
-justin bethought himself first.
-“i say—what about the trap? has somebody told robert?”
-“i told him. four o’clock. time enough?”
-“heaps. you’re fast.” he tinkered with the hands: and so—having arrived at the hearth-rug and the second armchair—sat down.
-she gave him a quick little glance of delight. he was making himself comfortable!... he had crossed his hands under his head: was leaning back: was looking at her.... that meant that he was ready to talk.... she leant back in her turn, her book closed over her hand.
-“when’s the next leave, justin?”
-“lord knows!” he laughed. “you ought to have more sense, laura. that’s the sort of insatiable thing mother says.”
-but he continued, always unconscious—
-“isn’t mother delicious about this war?—this infamous conspiracy of a europe that ought to know better against my peace and person? you know—i never knew before what claws mother had. the bloodthirsty things she says! and means too—bless her! oh, it’s all very well to laugh, laura! that’s just what mother complains of. people don’t realize how serious things are. a bullet might hit me!” he chuckled over his joke.
-laura’s laughter was an excellent imitation of the real thing.
-he grew sober again.
-“i say—i suppose influenza always does pull people down so? she doesn’t look at all fit.”
-“it’s not the influenza. it’s the war. it’s the strain—the sitting still——” she broke off.
-“from her letters you’d say she was flourishing. i didn’t realize——” he hesitated a moment. then—“i say—you might send me a line sometimes—on your own——”
-he did not see her nod. expecting an answer, he glanced up enquiringly to catch a look on her face that set him thinking. when he spoke again his tone had altered—mrs. cloud had dropped out of sight.
-“will you? don’t forget. one likes getting letters out there.”
-she flushed a sudden scarlet.
-“i will. of course i will. i would have before—if i’d thought—if i’d dreamed you wanted—if you’d said——” she tangled herself into silence. but it was a silence that was not pause but preparation, preliminary, the recession of the sea between wave and wave. here was her chance.... for this she had prayed.... he was giving her her chance!... she would take it.... she would not be cowardly, nor falsely ashamed.... she would take her chance....
-he, too, had coloured; but his eyes were kind. he uttered incredible words—
-“it’s all right, laura. don’t worry.”
-she could not comprehend. she stumbled on again.
-“—to say i’m sorry. you’ll never know how sorry i am. i’d no shadow of right to do it. i see that now.”
-she stopped abruptly, believing she saw in his quick movement—he had risen from his chair and was fidgeting with the toys on the mantel—his man’s apprehension of a scene. she watched him, absurdly occupied in piling matches, spilliken fashion: watched and waited till she could wait no longer.
-“justin——” she petitioned.
-he turned. he was smiling at her—shyly, significantly, half-laughing.
-“don’t worry, laura,” he said again.
-his meaning was obvious enough, yet she stared at him, too incredulous to feel relief or contentment or triumph—any of the emotions she had a right to feel.
-“do you mean—is it possible—you don’t mind any more?”
-“not much,” he confessed.
-“you’ve got over it—that i smashed it—your eggs—the collection—the only thing you ever cared about?”
-“oh, look here—i’m not a fool,” he protested. “i never made such a god almighty out of them as that!”
-“oh, justin, you did!” cried laura.
-it was tactless; but she was too relieved to be careful. and yet a little blank—a little sore. it was strange to feel the nightmare of two years proved dream-stuff, swept aside, nullified in a moment, with a laugh.... it had been real enough to her.... she had paid, she was still paying, it seemed, for what he had long ago forgotten.... somehow—it didn’t seem fair....
-justin’s voice recalled her thoughts, shifted them from herself to him. her soreness passed as she listened to him, grown serious again. he was explaining himself to her, slowly, with naïve interest.
-“i suppose i did go off the tracks a bit. a thing takes hold of you, somehow. not the eggs—the collecting. anything would have done as well as eggs. it just happened to be eggs. of course—now—i admit it was absurd. but the whole business—it made one’s days so full. it was ripping to feel so keen. and when you smashed them—there was a hole in the world. nothing to fill it. i felt lost—soured—i hated you. but when the war began all that dwindled. the war—but we talked about it the other day. it’s gone. blown away. and now—i don’t care any more. not a ha’penny cuss. queer, isn’t it? so you needn’t worry. i never think of it. but what i do think sometimes—what i’ve never understood——” he stopped in front of her, staring down at her with puzzled eyes—“laura, what on earth made you do it?”
-“it wasn’t temper. it wasn’t cattishness.”
-“no. i knew that, you know, all the time—really.”
-she hesitated painfully—groping for the convincing word.
-“it was——because——oh, justin, you know what you said yourself, the other day—about the war altering people—altering you, even. oh, can’t you see? i wanted to do—for you—what the war has done. i wasn’t big enough, i made an insane mess of it. but that’s what i tried to do.”
-“but why?” he said, “but why?”
-she raised her eyes to his patiently, letting him see all he chose, before she dropped them again.
-the silence that lengthened between them was heavy, but not hostile. it brooded, continued, till she imagined, she dared to believe, that he was remembering, understanding, filling in gaps.
-he gave a great restless sigh at last, and moved away.
-“we made a fine old muddle of it all,” he said.
-laura had no words.
-“didn’t we?” he appealed to her.
-she gave him a rueful little smile.
-“i suppose——” his thoughts sent him with long strides up and down and up and down the room—brought him to a standstill at last before laura in her chair, thought-bound too, yet more at peace than he.
-“i suppose——” he began again: and then, “laura, what do you think?”
-she laughed at him then, openly—a little fearless laugh of pure amusement. here was a novel gambit! “i think,” he would begin, deceptively deprecatory; but he had never before said, “what do you think?”
-he ignored her laughter, absently, as a nothing, a drift of down, a puff of smoke from the wind-teased fire. he was more deeply engaged. she had set him pondering—wondering—and now, with an amazing, wise simplicity that honoured him and her, he showed her where she had led him, stated his difficulty.
-“do you think it’s right to marry as people do abroad—arranged—you know, without falling in love?”
-she was slow in answering. she had her hope to strangle—her hope, the child of her love. she had to bury it deep, to disown it utterly, as a crazed and shameful bastard. but she did answer at last, faithfully, as she would have had him answer her.
-“it’s the unforgivable sin,” said laura.
-and he was not content. it was what he expected, what he wanted. it confirmed him, justified him, was his own definite belief. but it disappointed him. he had wanted opposition, that he might overcome it. her certainty disconcerted him, caused him to feel curiously aggrieved. how could she be so sure?... one laid down hard and fast rules; but there would always be exceptional cases.... was there, after all, no middle way?...
-as if she had known his thoughts she began to speak her own, freely and easily, as they came to her. for she had gained something in the last minute, and she knew it. beggared she might be—but she was free—free at last to be herself with justin—hoping nothing—fearing nothing.
-“after all,” she meditated, “you say ‘falling in love.’ but what do you mean? where will you draw the line? what is love? are there two people alive who mean precisely the same thing? and yet it is the same thing. just as all the gods—are god. manifested,” she smiled over her long words—“in endless diversity. lancelot and guinevere—darby and joan. but it’s all love.”
-he half listened, her words interlacing his thought like woof threading a web. what, after all, did he mean—did he want?... yesterday’s half forgotten verses flickered upon his mind—
-flower o’ the broom? maybe....
-flower o’ the pine? not that, at least!... but what did he want?... romance, he supposed.... yes, he asked of life romance.... and she tossed him—laura!... with such an air, too, of knowing what was good for him!... other men adventured as they chose ... over hell—under heaven ... but life had always grandmothered him, he thought, with a new resentful flash of insight.
-romance ... the ideal woman ... with mystery in her eyes.... yet would he after all find a position of perpetual adoration comfortable?... would romance darn his trousers when they rubbed through at the knees?... he smiled. laura would.... yes—one came back to laura.... and if there were no mystery in laura’s eyes, whose was the fault?...
-laura—laura—a singing name.... he wished he could make up his mind.... he wished she would say something to him....
-but laura sat silent. knowing him as she knew her bible, she was generally aware of the trend of his thoughts, for his simplicity was always naïvely defeating his reserve. she felt, she knew, how easily because unconsciously, a word from her, a glance, a gesture even, might weigh down, at that moment, the balanced scales. and two years ago she would have had no scruples: would have snatched at happiness as a child snatches at a robin, curious, friendly, hopping closer and closer. but now she could sit quiet, light-breathing, letting it query and advance, and retreat and advance again, letting it flit from knee to hand, from hand to shoulder, to perch there singing its song to her, to stay with her or fly away again at its own will.
-no—she would not appeal.... he must be free, as she had learned to be free.... in her garden she had flowers for him—thornless roses, fruits to satisfy a man’s hunger and thirst.... but he must pluck them for himself.... she would proffer nothing....
-yet she felt his intensity of unrest as if it were her own. in that hour a sixth sense was love-lent to her, so that she saw his mind, with its crowded, conflicting thoughts that ran hither and thither like ants, with stumblings and bewilderments, with futile crossings and re-crossings, yet always with a definite surge forward in one direction, in her direction. his turmoil affected her strangely: she found herself watching him placidly, with a sort of amused sympathy. she knew how indignantly he disliked not being sure about everything in the world. poor justin! it must be maddening to him not to be sure about himself....
-all this on the surface of her mind: underneath, her whole soul was crying out to him, “justin!—justin!” calling his name, passionately, with insistent iteration, as a bird calls to its delaying mate.
-and he, as if he heard, turned to her—
-after all, he was very fond of her.... she belonged in.... the war had swept away so much ... only the bare verities survived—duty—sleep—home—and laura.... surely he meant laura too, when he thought, out there, of coming home? suppose he came home one day and found her gone?...
-his keen annoyance at the notion was queerly familiar. he had utterly forgotten the incidents of their engagement-day, and that she had ever told him that she might leave brackenhurst; but he was certainly aware of an old annoyance, and of something newer, stronger than annoyance—a chill, snaky pang that was very like fear.
-flower o’ the quince.... how the catches rang in his head!
-flower o’ the quince, i let lisa go, and what good in life since?
-oh, if it came to that!
-he must have spoken aloud, for she lifted her eyes. she was startled to see him coming to her across the room, hard-pressed, in desperate fashion, like a man who would shake off his own shadow. she half rose. she was suddenly frightened. she put out her hands, fending him off.
-she fell back in her chair because he was so near.
-“justin—wait. be sure. be very, very sure.” her lips trembled childishly. “you must be sure. if you found out, afterwards——i couldn’t stand it—twice.”
-it was so unlike her that he was shocked. he thought she must have suffered beyond belief to say such a thing to him. sure? he would show her!... for an instant he was a man enlightened—forgetting all himself in an impulse of pure tenderness. he would show her!...
-‘one! two! three! four!’ the clock chimed in—sweet, icy, maliciously sedate. ‘and your train, justin? and your train?’ its echoes were lost in the crunch of the punctual wheels on the drive.
-his hands dropped again, between impatience and relief.
-laura rose hastily. it was pitiful to watch martha ousting mary in her face. she was the old laura, the wistful, anxious laura again, full of words and plannings and solicitudes.
-“you must go. i had forgotten. i had forgotten the war. it isn’t the time. you mustn’t lose your train, justin. will you go quickly to your mother? your bag—your mackintosh—i’ll see to your things. i’m coming with you. i want to come with you. your umbrella——of course! soldiers don’t have umbrellas.”
-she followed him into the hall, and while he ran upstairs, went out on to the steps where old robert and the dog-cart awaited him. she spoke quickly.
-“you can get down, robert. i am driving mr. justin.”
-robert, with a tall fighting son of his own, was tenacious of his crack with the young master. he expostulated respectfully. there had never been so fresh a mare as the mare between the shafts of the dog-cart.
-but miss laura—courteous, thoughtful miss laura—cut inexorably through his suggestions.
-“i’m driving mr. justin, robert. he won’t be a moment.”
-she took the reins from his unwilling hand and springing up, settled herself quickly in his rightful place. he might have been a chauffeur, a hired chauffeur, from her tone. he retired to the back seat, outraged.
-they said nothing at all during their short drive. laura’s eyes, and for all justin knew her thoughts, were on the mare’s ears, a-prick for an excuse to shy. and his thoughts had travelled ahead of him. he was wondering where he should find his men, and how.... in a way he shouldn’t be sorry to get back.... one never knew what might happen when one left the show to other people.... yet how he hated leaving it all ... his mother ... and the quiet ... and his own den ... and laura.... as for laura—he was glad—he was sorry—that their talk had broken where it had.... but laura was right.... it wasn’t the time.... he had seen, as in a crystal, a blurred glimpse of what the future might hold for him—fair haven or fata morgana—but which he could not tell ... he had not time to tell....
-fair haven ... his home—his wife—his children, his own children—a slip of a daughter, maybe—a fierce, rain-drenched imp with eyes like diamonds—with eyes like laura’s....
-fair haven? fata morgana? how was he to know? good lord, how was he to know?...
-and then, resentfully——why couldn’t laura—no, that wasn’t fair—she wasn’t that sort—but why couldn’t life leave him alone? he was doing his job—he was fighting. why couldn’t life leave it at that?... life, oblivious of wars and peaces, sitting like a spider in her great web, spinning entanglements.... but he would not be involved in her cobwebbery of commingling lives.... why shouldn’t he be on his own?...
-flower o’ the peach, death for us all, and his own life for each!
-his own life for each!... there—there was common sense at last, behind the fever and the glamour!... his own life for each....
-and yet—one was lonely sometimes....
-oh, well—he must think things out.... but not now.... laura was right—it wasn’t the time. he clung to the comfortable phrase. that was the best of laura.... she was a reasonable woman ... never worried you.... it was worth while to be at peace with laura....
-how the week had flown! he wished he had had time to go to london again.... there was that play he had wanted to see.... it must wait for his next leave.... his next leave! he was as bad as laura! and he had forgotten to order—but he had given laura the list.... laura would see to all that.... it would be a great relief to be able to write to laura again ... he hated worrying his mother.... and laura didn’t mind the bother.... it was comical—he really believed she enjoyed it.... women were amazing creatures....
-they were none too soon at the station. laura had barely time to settle him in a carriage with his ticket and his paper and his pipe, when a black and burly voice interposed between her and the carriage door—
-“stand back, please—stand back now, please!”
-the train began to move.
-justin thrust out a friendly hand.
-she kept pace for a moment with the gathering speed of the train.
-he laughed at that. she could do so little for him, but at least she could always make him laugh.
-the train carried away justin laughing.
-she watched it dwindle to a toy and vanish in the tunnel, and still stood watching till the track wavered and danced, as she fought her blinding tears and petitioned the skies for justin.
-“keep him safe, god. o god, keep him safe. let him come back to me. o god, let him come back to me.”
-one voice of a thousand thousand, uplifted daily, hourly, in that cry—how shall it be preferred?
-yet i believe, i cannot help believing, that in the fulness of time he will come back to her.
-well, collaborator—do you like it? you are sitting so silently in your big chair, and your knitting has dropped to the floor——
-collaborator, don’t look so solemn! they’re not real people! they’re not real troubles! only marionettes that we have set a-jig-jigging up and down our mantelpiece to make us laugh o’ nights, and forget the unending war. and now we will send them jigging up and down printed pages, to do the same, if they can, for other poor folk.
-do you know how late it is, collaborator? rake out the fire, if you please, and come to bed.
-what is the matter? you feel cheated? we have seen the completion of laura, you say—but only the beginning of justin? but that is the story! it was to be a comedy of growth—not a drama of maturity. first the blade, then the ear—i never promised you the full corn.
-still you are not satisfied? you protest that you are a practical person who calls a spade a spade, and you want to know, and you want to know, and you want to know——?
-why, then you must go on with the book by yourself, collaborator, and in your own way. i’m at the end of my inventions. i’m tired. i want to go to bed. i know no more of justin cloud and laura valentine.
-february 1916-october 1917.
-printed in the united states of america
-the following pages contain advertisements of books by the same author or on kindred subjects.
-regiment of women
-by clemence dane
-“a striking novel ... its descriptive and psychological brilliancy equals that of the best work offered in modern fiction.”—american review of reviews.
-“its types are so individually alive, its psychology is so well dramatized and so little dissected, and its tragedy dissolves so naturally into a glad denouement, that its ‘too much’ is distinctly that of a good thing.”—life.
-“‘regiment of women’ is a remarkable novel. it places the author immediately among the leading fiction writers of england.”—new york globe.
-“‘regiment of women’ introduces a very remarkable character ... one of the most powerfully drawn figures in contemporary literature. miss dane has made a vivid story, well calculated to hold the reader’s attention from the very beginning and to command his praise at the end.”—morning telegraph.
-“the author has been daring in confining her tale so long to women, but she has succeeded.... she has a distinct sense of style and much of the value of the novel, which is interesting because of its perverseness, is due to the entire adequacy of its diction.”—boston transcript.
-“written in an exceedingly graphic and vital way ... done with a fine restrained, always significant touch that reveals in the author an artist of power, taste, knowledge and skill.”—new york times.
-the tree of heaven
-by may sinclair
-“thoughtful, dramatic, vivid, always well and at times beautifully written, full of real people skilfully analyzed and presented, “the tree of heaven” is one of the few great books which have as yet come out of the war.”—new york times.
-“miss sinclair’s genius consists in being able to combine great art with a popular story-telling gift. all her detail, the many little miracles of observation and understanding, are not dead nor catalogued, but are merged into the living body of her continuously interesting narrative.”—new york globe.
-“genius illumines every page of one of the most impressive works of fiction of today. it is a novel of extraordinary power and worth ranking assuredly among the novels of our time which will make a lasting mark on literature and upon human thought and life.”—new york tribune.
-“miss sinclair has written nothing that so perfectly represents the chaotic spirit of england during the past twenty years. the story contains much of matters that have nothing to do with the war and in all of them she has portrayed the english character to the life.”—boston transcript.
-“the book of the day is ‘the tree of heaven.’ it is a war novel—a gripping one. the story does not take us out of england except in a few letters written from the battlefields towards the close of the book, but it shows powerfully the effect of war on england, as represented by a typical group of people, a most loveable family, and their varied connections and friends.”—philadelphia telegraph.
-“stands out at once, and emphatically, from the common run of books because it is a work of art.... a work of sheer artistry, well worth the doing, and done at the full strength and compass of skilled workmanship, it ranks fairly among the best work of its kind in modern fiction; among the very best.”—new york sun.
-the martial adventures of henry and me
-by william allen white author of “a certain rich man,” etc.
-what happened to these two when the work of the red cross took them from their quiet newspaper offices in kansas, and suddenly plunged them into the turmoil of the war makes a fascinating narrative.
-there is an irresistible humor in the adventures of the two fat, bald middle aged, inland americans, as they go through war-ridden europe, watching the romance of the “eager soul” and the “gilded youth” and the “young doctor.” and there is much keenness and sympathy in the description of the cities they visit and the people they talk to.
-● transcriber’s notes: ○ some text was illegible in the scan used to produce this book. it was replaced by the correct text from another source. ○ missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. ○ typographical errors were silently corrected. ○ inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book. ○ text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (italics). ○ the use of a caret (^) before a letter, or letters, shows that the following letter or letters were intended to be a superscript, as in s^t bartholomew or 10^{th} century.
-generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org)
-note: images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/greekimperialism00ferg
-william scott ferguson
-professor of ancient history harvard university
-boston and new york houghton mifflin company the riverside press cambridge
-copyright, 1913, by william scott ferguson
-all rights reserved
-to my mother
-this book contains seven lectures, six of which were delivered at the lowell institute in boston during february, 1913. in the first of them the main lines of imperial development in greece are sketched. in the others i have tried to characterize, having regard rather to clearness than to novelty or completeness, the chief imperial growths which arose in greece during the transformance of city-states from ultimate to constituent political units. i hope that these discussions of the theory and practice of government in the empires of athens, sparta, alexander, the ptolemies, seleucids, and antigonids will be found useful by the general reader, and especially by the student of politics and history. the idea i wish particularly to convey, however, is that there was continuity of constitutional development within the whole period. the city-state, indeed, reached its greatest efficiency in the time of pericles, but the federation of city-states was being still perfected two hundred years afterwards. in government, as in science, the classic period was but the youthful bloom of greece, whereas its vigorous maturity--in which it was cut down by rome--came in the macedonian time.
-briefly stated, my thesis is this: the city-states of greece were unicellular organisms with remarkable insides, and they were incapable of growth except by subdivision. they might reproduce their kind indefinitely, but the cells, new and old, could not combine to form a strong nation. thus it happened that after athens and sparta had tried in vain to convert their hegemonies over greece into empires, a cancerous condition arose in hellas, for which the proper remedy was not to change the internal constitutions of city-states, as plato and aristotle taught, but to change the texture of their cell walls so as to enable them to adhere firmly to one another. with a conservatism thoroughly in harmony with the later character of the greek people, the greeks struggled against this inevitable and salutary change. but in the end they had to yield, saving, however, what they could of their urban separateness, while creating quasi-territorial states, by the use of the federal system and deification of rulers. these two contrivances were, accordingly, rival solutions of the same great political problem. nothing reveals more clearly the limitations of greek political theory than that it takes no account either of them or of their antecedents.
-cambridge, mass., june, 1913.
-i. imperialism and the city-state
-1. of empire, 1.
-2. of emperor, 3.
-3. of imperialism, 4.
-1. its origin, 6.
-2. its characteristics, 9.
-a. fusion of agricultural, trading, industrial, and commercial classes, 9.
-b. theory of common descent of citizens, 13.
-c. so-called worship of the dead, 14.
-d. educative power of the laws, 16.
-e. municipality and nation in one, 17.
-1. symmachia the basis of the peloponnesian league, 20.
-a. support of oligarchies, 21.
-2. stasis, or civil war, 22.
-3. symmachia the basis of the athenian empire, 23.
-a. support of democracies, 23.
-b. maintenance of the union, 24.
-1. the idea of proportionate representation, 27.
-1. grant of polity, or citizenship, 30.
-2. grant of isopolity, or reciprocity of citizenship, 31.
-3. grant of sympolity, or joint citizenship, 32.
-1. deification of kings, 35.
-ii. athens: an imperial democracy
-1. themistocles, 39.
-2. pericles, 41.
-1. ecclesia and heliæa; their conjoined activity, 49.
-2. the council of the 500 and the committees of magistrates, 51.
-a. the ten prytanies, 52.
-b. election by lot; annual tenure of office; rotation, 52, 53, 55.
-3. the ecclesia an assembly of high-class amateurs, 57.
-a. its use of experts, 58.
-b. its choice of a leader: ostracism, 60.
-4. the economic basis of democracy, 61.
-a. the place of slavery: simply a form of capital, 61.
-b. the object of indemnities: political equality, 64.
-1. the advantages of sea power, 66.
-2. the demands of the fleet, 68.
-3. the complaints made against athens, 70.
-a. misuse of tribute money, 71.
-b. misuse of judicial authority, 72.
-c. seizure of land in subject territory, 73.
-d. extirpation of the best, 74.
-4. the destruction of the empire, 75.
-iii. from sparta to aristotle
-1. crushing of early spartan culture, 81.
-2. the military life of the spartans, 84.
-3. the effect of the perioec ring-wall, 85, 88.
-a. the peloponnesian league: 550-370 b.c., 88.
-b. the hellenic league: 405-395 b.c., 89.
-4. the hollowness of the spartan hegemony, 90-95.
-a. cinadon, 91.
-5. the age of reaction, 96, 97.
-a. urban particularism, 96.
-b. the ancestral constitution, 96.
-1. plato, 99-107.
-a. neglect of history, 99.
-b. plato's hatred of democracy, 102.
-c. his idealization of sparta, 107.
-2. aristotle, 107-114.
-a. relation to history, 108.
-b. aristotle's hatred of imperialism, 110, 113.
-c. comparison of his politics with the prince of machiavelli, 111.
-d. aristotle's failure to let "strength" operate in international politics, 114.
-a. alexander and philip, 116.
-b. alexander and aristotle, 119, 135, 147.
-1. the destruction of thebes, 123.
-2. the visit to troy, 124.
-3. the gordian knot, 125.
-4. the visit to the oasis of siwah, 126, 139.
-5. the burning of the palace of the persian kings, 129.
-6. the discharge of the greek contingents, 130.
-7. proskynesis, 131.
-8. the great marriage at susa, 136.
-9. the proskynesis of the city-states, 147.
-1. third period of ptolemaic history: 80-30 b.c., 151.
-a. ptolemy the piper, 152.
-b. cleopatra the great, 152.
-2. first period of ptolemaic history: 323-203 b.c., 155.
-a. ptolemy i. soter: 323-283 b.c., 150, 155.
-b. ptolemy ii. philadelphus: 285-246 b.c., 156.
-c. ptolemy iii. euergetes: 246-222 b.c., 159, 179.
-1. grounds of the imperial policy of the early ptolemies, 160.
-a. pride of possession, 160.
-b. checkmating enemies, 161.
-c. commercial advantages, 161.
-d. domestic policy, 162.
-2. triple theory of ptolemaic state, 162.
-a. for egyptians, 162.
-b. for greek city-states, 163.
-c. for macedonians, 166.
-3. the ptolemaic army, 167.
-a. origin, 168.
-b. distribution of, in egypt, 172.
-c. influence of, upon natives, 176.
-d. becomes immobile, 242-222 b.c., 179.
-e. opened to egyptians, 180.
-4. second or domestic period of ptolemaic history, 200-80 b.c., 180.
-a. absorption of greek by native population, 181.
-vi. the seleucid empire
-1. antigonus the one-eyed, creator of the realm, 183.
-2. century and a half of progress, 184-190.
-a. seleucus i: 312-281 b.c., 184.
-b. antiochus i, soter: 281-262 b.c., 185.
-c. antiochus ii, theos: 262-246 b.c., 185.
-d. seleucus ii, callinicus: 246-226 b.c., 186.
-e. seleucus iii, soter: 226-223 b.c.
-f. antiochus iii, the great: 223-187 b.c., 187.
-g. seleucus iv: 187-175 b.c.
-h. antiochus iv, the god manifest: 175-164 b.c., 190, 213.
-3. century of decline: 164-163 b.c., 190.
-4. external agents of destruction, 190.
-a. rome disarms seleucids, incites revolt, and keeps alive dynastic struggles, 190.
-b. indo-scythians (yue tchi) occupy east iran, 192.
-5. internal agencies: revolt of jews, parthians, armenians, 191, 192.
-1. seleucus i, heir of alexander's ideas, 195.
-2. founding of city-states, 196.
-3. priestly communities and feudal states, how treated, 197.
-4. royal villages, how managed, 203, 205.
-5. land either property of king or of city-states, 204.
-6. city-states, how far they hellenized asia, 206.
-7. relations of king to city-states, 208.
-8. comparison of syria and italy, 210.
-9. policy of antiochus iv: conflict with jews; submission to rome, 212.
-vii. the empire of the antigonids
-1. war, 215.
-2. government--a constitutional and not an absolute monarchy, 216.
-3. culture, 216.
-1. antigonus i--the exponent of unity in græco-macedonian world, 218.
-2. demetrius poliorcetes--the adventurer, 219.
-3. antigonus and demetrius not really kings of macedon, 220.
-1. training got in greece and macedon, 222.
-2. peace with asia and egypt, 223.
-a. inroad of pyrrhus, 223.
-3. protected greece from northern barbarians, 224.
-4. governs greece by "tyrannies," 224.
-5. stoic justification of "tyranny," 225.
-6. ptolemy philadelphus opposes antigonus in greece, 226.
-7. rise of the ethne, 228.
-8. struggle with egypt for sea power, 229.
-a. aratus seizes sicyon: alexander rebels, 230.
-b. the laodicean war saves antigonus, 231.
-c. possessions of antigonus at end of struggle, 233.
-1. ethne become leagues, 236.
-2. the city-state the federal unit, 237.
-3. the league lacks an hegemon, 238.
-4. monarchical traits, 239.
-5. relation of federal to local authorities, 239.
-1. war with achæans and ætolians, 241.
-1. treachery of the ætolians, 241.
-2. desertion of egypt, 242.
-3. policy of antigonus doson, 242.
-4. cleomenes of sparta, 242.
-1. leagues, not cities, the units, 243.
-2. macedon a unit, 243.
-3. league assemblies recognized as sovereign authorities, 244.
-4. military weakness, 244.
-1. the social war, 246.
-2. the roman peril: speech of agelaus of naupactus, 246.
-3. end of hellenic independence, 248.
-imperialism and the city-state
-it is my purpose in this opening chapter to define some terms which i shall have to use repeatedly in the book; to make a somewhat detailed examination of the character of the greek states whose political integrity was threatened by imperialism; to trace the development of imperialism to its culmination in the divine monarchy of alexander the great and his successors; and, at the same time, to arrange a general political setting for the topics to be discussed in the six succeeding chapters.
-an empire is a state formed by the rule of one state over other states. it is immaterial in this connection what form of government the ruling people prefers. power may be exercised there by a monarchy, an oligarchy, or a majority without altering in any essential the relation of the sovereign to its dependencies. still less does it matter whether the subject people is governed by the one, the few, or the many; for all kinds of governments may exist, and have existed, in dependencies.
-naturally, an empire is compatible with any kind of an administrative service among both governors and governed. the suzerain may attend to its affairs with the aid of professional and specially trained officials, as in a bureaucracy; and a vassal may entrust the details of its public business to successive fractions of its citizens, as in some republics: no imperial relation is established unless separate states or parts of states are involved. but when these are related in a whole as superiors and inferiors, an empire at once arises.
-the relation of inferiority and superiority is, however, essential in any empire. in modern times this is acknowledged with the utmost frankness. upon the higher capacity for government claimed by the christian peoples, the western cultures, or the anglo-saxons, as the case may be, modern pride, greed, or conscience bases its right to control inferior races. "take up the white man's burden" is the modern substitute for the ancient commandment, "go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." the possession of a better rule of public life imposes--it is affirmed--a missionary obligation no less weighty than the possession of a special rule of eternal life.
-less exasperating, perhaps, than this assumption of moral and political superiority is the candid profession of the right of the stronger. the right of conquest gives a title which is valid in international law when every other right is lacking. when superiority is stipulated to be absent, the product is a federation or something similar from which the name empire is withheld. when, in course of time, superiority dies out till a common right eventually embraces subject and sovereign alike, a new state arises, to which, as in the case of the present-day british world, the title empire is applied with some impropriety.
-there is, however, still another kind of empire. in it the superior authority is not a people, but an individual. he is called an emperor, and his family a dynasty. his authority is bestowed, as the present german emperor said at königsberg in 1910, not by "parliaments, and meetings, and decisions of the peoples, but by the grace of god alone." he is "a chosen instrument of heaven," to speak with the same high authority, and "goes his way without regard to the views and opinions of the day." an emperor, thus defined, is not properly a part of his state at all. he stands outside of it, and is equal or superior to it. he is a state unto himself; and his jurisdiction is not domestic but imperial, in that he exercises dominion over another state. l'état c'est moi is an imperfect definition of this kind of empire, however; for it presumes the absence of political organization and activity among the subjects of the emperor. it presumes the permanency of the condition of absolute surrender (deditio) which, with the romans, prefaced the work of restoration--the reëstablishment of civil rights within an enlarged state. in actual experience, moreover, a complete autocracy never exists. the will of every emperor is bound by the legislation which he has himself enacted, or accepted with the throne from his predecessor. if responsible to nothing else, he is responsible to his own past. he may withdraw his charters: he cannot violate them with impunity.
-the policy by which a people or an autocrat acquires and maintains an empire, we call imperialism. the term is, of course, a legacy from rome--a mute witness to the peculiar importance of the roman empire in the history of state-building. and, i suppose, it is the policy of rome that we think of most instinctively when we allude to imperialism. this is by no means an accident. for not simply the type, but also many of the most noteworthy varieties of this kind of policy, are found in the experience of the romans; and the course of political progress has been such that in the triumph of rome imperialism reached its logical issue more closely than either before or since in the history of the world.
-transcendent as is the imperial achievement of the romans, and unrivaled as is the political sagacity with which they consolidated their power and made it enduring, it must still be recognized that they were the heirs, in war, diplomacy, and government, of the greeks, their predecessors. they worked with greater power and with larger units than did the spartans and the athenians. they benefited by the brilliant inventions and the costly errors of the macedonians whose kingdoms they destroyed. but their success simply brought to a culmination the imperial movement in which sparta, athens, and macedon were worthy co-workers. it is our task in this series of essays to examine in turn the imperial experiments by which the greeks not only won a field for the display of their own talents, but also prepared the way for the unification of the ancient world in the empire of rome.
-i alluded a moment ago to the smallness of the units with which the imperial policy of sparta and athens had to deal. before proceeding in the latter part of this chapter to trace the development of the forms by which imperialism was obscured, evaded, and ultimately justified in greece, i should like to try to make clear the qualities which rendered the little hellenic communities so hard for imperial digestion. in classic greece, as in renascence italy, the city was the state. it had not always been so; for in the past the land had been at one time in the possession of rudimentary nations, called ethne. but in the classic epoch these loose organisms persisted only in certain backward regions in the west and north. elsewhere city-states had everywhere made their appearance as early as the sixth century b.c.
-the circumstances in which these city-states arose are shrouded in the mystery which surrounds most beginnings. they, accordingly, present all the better opportunity for the construction of a theory; and perhaps the theory which had once the greatest vogue is that enunciated by fustel de coulanges in his brilliant book on the ancient city. of its main propositions, however,--that each city-state came into being at a single moment; that it was an artificial structure deliberately modeled on the preëxistent family; that the family was a religious association created and organized for the worship of ancestors; that the spirits of ancestors were the first gods, or, indeed, were gods at all,--not one has stood the test of a searching inquiry. on the contrary, it seems established that the city-state was the result of a natural growth, and that the incidents which accompanied its development, while varied and numerous, were all manifestations of political progress. growth in the direction of a large number of distinct states was natural in greece in view of the well-known physical features of the country; but the study of geography does not explain why these states were cities. for the true explanation of this phenomenon we must not confine our observation to greece. broadly speaking, high culture is everywhere city-bred, and the cities have regularly been the leaders in political development. in babylonia that was the case, though the urban centres there were dominated from a very early date by semitic tribes from the desert. free cities, like tyre and sidon, were the prime sources of phoenician enterprise. the home of roman law and government was a city, and when italy led the world a second time, she was a complex of city-states. the hanse towns and the flemish communes, the chartered cities of england and france, acquired political liberty or political rights long before the rest of central europe. where, in fact, the cities have not been the mother, and the territorial states simply the foster-mother, of freedom and culture, exceptional conditions have existed--such as the need of regulating the nile's overflow in egypt, and the model and influence of the roman empire in mohammedan and christian europe.
-the city enables men to coöperate easily. in it ideas and feelings spread quickly. life, property, and privileges are there protected by walls, and, if need be, by street barricades. "two voices are there," wrote wordsworth in 1807, his vision limited by the peril of england and switzerland,--
-"one is of the sea, one of the mountains; each a mighty voice: in both from age to age thou didst rejoice, they were thy chosen music, liberty."
-the voice of a city mob--that of rome, alexandria, constantinople, florence, or paris, for example--was generally raucous and often cruel. but it made tyrants tremble and limited absolutism when the fear of assassination was powerless.
-fortunately, it is not with the origins, but with the characteristics, of the greek city-states that we have to do mainly when we seek to discover the grounds of their hatred of all imperialistic projects. let us, therefore, try to form a concrete impression of the salient features of the hundreds of little states with which the progressive parts of greece were honeycombed at the beginning of the classic period, in the sixth century b.c. each political cell, so to speak, had its nucleus in a walled town and its substance in a small circuit of grain, pasture, and garden land which the inhabitants of the town owned and cultivated. most of the towns were simply hives of farmers. whether the farmers were landlords, small proprietors, or peasants; however much they were divided by lines of social cleavage, they were all able to meet on the common ground of a single occupation. and every day from march to november, from the out-cropping of the grass and foliage in the spring, through the season of the grain harvest, the vintage, and the picking of the olives, to the fall planting and seeding, the ebb and flow of agricultural life carried the population of the city to the country in the morning and back to the city again in the evening.
-there were few towns in greece whose land did not touch the sea; and from the sea another harvest was gathered. fishing existed, of course; but that was not all. transmarine commerce is never wholly absent in any maritime country. in greece it was especially favored by the difficulties of land transit, and by the excellence of the highways which the sea laid while carving the country up into a myriad of islands, head-lands, and estuaries. hence, by the opening of the sixth century b.c. a second town had generally appeared on the coast of each little state when the chief town had developed, as was commonly the case, a few miles inland. in the new settlement the tone was set by the sailor-folk and the traders; in the old centre by the landed proprietors and the peasants. but the landlords were frequently merchants, and the peasants could easily attach work-places (ergasteria) to their houses--which, though in the towns, were really farmhouses--and become manufacturers in a small way; while it was regularly the ambition of a trader or seaman to crown a successful career by buying a farm, a ranch, or an orchard. there was, accordingly, a very close connection between urban and agrarian pursuits and interests.
-in a mild way the chagres may lay claim to being a scenic stream, and perhaps in future days when the excellence of its climate in the winter becomes known in our united states, and the back waters of the lake have made its upper reaches navigable, excursion launches may ply above cruces and almost to alhajuela. near the latter point is a spot which should become a shrine for progressive republican pilgrims. a low cliff of white limestone, swept clear of vegetation and polished by the river at high water describes an arc of a circle hollowed out by the swift river which rushes underneath. springs on the bluff above have sent out little rivulets which trickling down the face of the stone have scarred it with parallel vertical grooves a foot or two apart. seen from the further side of the stream it bears a startling likeness to a huge human upper jaw with glistening teeth. with a fine sense of the fitness of things the river men have named it “boca del roosevelt”--roosevelt’s mouth.
-some of the fluviograph stations are located far beyond the limits of the canal zone, but by the terms of the treaty with the republic of panama the canal commission has over such headwaters and reaches of the chagres such jurisdiction as may be necessary for the protection and regulation of gatun lake. we went to one of these stations some 20 miles of poling up the chagres beyond alhajuela. the keeper was a native of the canary islands who had mastered english sufficiently to make his reports over the ’phone. his wife, who greeted us in starched cotton with a pink hair ribbon, pink shoes and a wealth of silver ornaments, was a native, dark of complexion as a jamaica negress, but her sister who was there on a visit was as white as a caucasian. doctors on the zone say that these curious variations in type in the same family are so common that they can never foretell within several shades, the complexion of a baby about to be born.
-the keeper of this station was paid $65.50 monthly and the commission supplied his house, which was of the native type and cost about $85. though many children, pickaninnies, little canaries or whatever clustered about his door, his living expenses were practically nothing. expense for clothing began only when the youngsters had reached 11 or 12 years of age and thereafter was almost negligible--as indeed were the clothes. the river furnished fish, the jungle iguanas, wild pigs and birds; the little garden patch yams, bananas, mangoes and other fruits. he was far removed from the temptations of matachin, or other riotous market places and he saved practically all of his pay. his ambition was to get enough to return to his native isles, buy a wine-shop and settle down to a leisurely old age--though no occupation could much outdo for laziness the task of watching for the rising of the chagres in the dry season.
-returning from the upper waters of the chagres one reaches gatun lake at gamboa where the railway bridge crosses on seven stone piers. a little above is a fluviograph station fitted with a wire cable extending across the stream and carrying a car from which an observer may take measurements of the crest of any flood. indeed the river is watched and measured to its very sources. it long ago proved itself unfit for trust, and one who has seen it in flood time, 40 feet higher than normal, bearing on its angry, tawny bosom houses, great trees, cayucas stolen from their owners, and dead animals, sweeping away bluffs at bends and rolling great boulders along its banks, will readily understand why the builders of the canal stationed scouts and spies throughout the chagres territory to send ample and early warning of its coming wrath.
-leaving the chagres, turning into gatun lake and directing our course away from the dam and toward the pacific end of the canal, we traversed a broad and placid body of water interspersed with densely wooded islands, which very soon narrows to the normal width of the canal. in midsummer, 1913, when the author conducted his inspection, a broad dyke at bas obispo cut off gatun lake and its waters from the canal trench, then dry, which here extends in an almost straight line, 300 feet wide, through steadily rising banks to the continental divide at culebra. the railroad then crossed upon this dyke to the western side of the canal and passed through several construction towns and villages, abandoned later when the canal was filled and the railroad moved to the other side. tourists with an eye for the spectacular used to stand on this dyke and speculate upon the thrilling sight when a huge blast of dynamite should rend the barrier, and in a mighty wave the waters of gatun lake should rush down the broad channel betwixt the eternal hills to make at last the long desired waterway from orient to occident. but unhappily col. goethals and his associates unsentimentally put the picturesque aside for the practical. no dynamite blast, no surging charge of waters through the cut, entered into their program. instead with mighty siphons the water was to be lifted over the barrier and poured into the canal for days until the two bodies of water were nearly at a level. then by the prosaic use of floating dredges the dyke would be removed and the canal opened from gatun locks to the locks at pedro miguel.
-the culebra cut.
-technically what is known as the culebra cut extends from bas obispo to the locks at pedro miguel, a distance of nine miles. to the general public understanding, however, the term applies only to the point of greatest excavation between gold hill and contractor’s hill. but at bas obispo the walls of the canal for the first time rise above the water level of gatun lake. at that point the cutting begins, the walls rising higher and higher, the canal pressing stubbornly onward at a dead level, until the supreme height of the continental divide is attained at gold hill. thenceforward on the line toward panama city the hills grow lower until at the entrance to the locks at pedro miguel the banks sink practically to the water level. out of this nine mile stretch there had been taken up to january 1, 1913, just 88,531,237 cubic yards of material and it was then estimated that there then remained to be excavated 5,351,419 cubic yards more. but the later estimate was destined to be largely increased for, after the date at which it was made, the number and extent of “slides” in the deepest part of the cut increased to staggering proportions. col. d. d. gaillard, member of the commission and division engineer in charge of the culebra cut, estimated in 1912 that in all 115,000,000 cubic yards would have to be removed.
-to the general public the slides seemed to menace the very existence and practicability of the canal, though the engineers knew that they began even with the superficial excavating done by the french, and had therefore made allowance for them in their estimates. not sufficient allowance however was made, and as month after month brought tidings of new slides, with terrifying details of such incidents as whole forests moving, vast cracks opening in the earth, large buildings in imminent danger of being swept into the cut, the bottom of the canal mysteriously rising ten to fifteen feet in the air, while smoke oozed from the pores of the adjacent earth--when such direful reports filled the newspapers the public became nervous, almost abandoning hope of the success of the great enterprise.
-this attitude of apprehension on the part of the public is scarcely surprising. if the capitol park at washington, with the national capitol cresting it, should suddenly begin to move down into pennsylvania avenue at the rate of about three feet a day the authorities of the city would naturally feel some degree of annoyance. and if the smooth and level asphalt of that historic thoroughfare should, over night, rise up into the air 18 feet in spots those responsible for traffic might not unreasonably be somewhat worried.
-such a phenomenon would not be so startling in mere magnitude as the slides which added so greatly to the work of the engineers on the canal, and made tourists, wise with the ripe fruits of five days’ observation, wag their heads knowingly when col. goethals calmly repeated his assertion that the water would be turned in by august. the colonel, however, had not withdrawn or even modified this prophecy so late as june 10, 1913. despite the almost daily news of increased activity of the slides he clung with tenacity to his purpose of putting a ship through in october.
-the original culebra slide
-if these slides were an entirely new and unexpected development for which no allowance of either time or money had been made in the estimates of the canal builders they would of course justify the apprehension they have awakened in the non-professional mind. but the slides were in fact anticipated. the first slide recorded during our work on the isthmus was in 1905; the others have only been bigger, and have been bigger only because the canal being dug deeper has weakened the bases of even bigger hills along the banks. all the same, the proportions of the slides are terrifying and the chief geologist declared that they would not cease until the angle of the canal bank became so gentle that gravity would not pull the crest down.
-as the slide moves slowly downward, its colossal weight applied at points where nature had made no provision for it, forces the earth upward at the point where it can offer the least resistance, namely the bed of the canal. sometimes this upheaval, so mysterious to the non-technical mind, attains a height of eighteen feet. again, the friction of this huge mass of stone and gravel creates heat, which turns into steam the rills of water that everywhere percolates through the soil. the upheaval of the canal bed, and the occasional outpourings of steam have led at times to exaggerated and wholly unfounded reports in the newspapers of volcanic action being one of the new problems with which the canal builders had to grapple.
-the story told about the extent of the slides is sufficiently alarming, but the calmness with which col. goethals and his lieutenants meet the situation is reassuring. according to the official report there were twenty-six slides and breaks in culebra cut to january 1, 1913 with a total area of 225 acres. since that date many others have occurred. it is estimated that because of slides between 21,000,000 and 22,000,000 cubic yards of material in excess of the original estimate will have been taken out of the cut before completion. this is just about one-fifth of the total amount of excavation, dry and wet, estimated originally for the whole canal. but the attitude of the engineers toward this addition to their labors was merely one of calm acceptance of the inevitable and a dogged determination to get the stuff out of the way. the slides were an obstacle; so was the whole isthmus for that matter. but all that was necessary was to keep the shovels working and the slides would be removed and the isthmus pierced.
-to my mind one of the finest evidences of the spirit animating the canal force was the fashion in which this problem of the slides has been approached. it was at first disappointing, almost demoralizing, to find over night the work of weeks undone and the day when “finis” could be written to the volume put far over into the future. but the only effect was a tighter grip on the pick and the shovel, a new determination to force through the canal. culebra was approached as grant approached vicksburg. to reduce it and to open the canal to traffic, as grant opened the mississippi to the steamboats of the nation, took more time than was at first expected, but it had to be done. the dirt could not always slide in faster than it could be carted out, for in time there would be no dirt left to slide. and so, undismayed and intent upon success, the whole force from col. goethals to the youngest engineer moved on culebra and the doom of that stubborn block to progress was sealed.
-to the unscientific mind the slides are terrifying in their magnitude and in the evidence they give of irresistible force. man can no more check their advance than he can that of a glacier which in a way they resemble. when i was on the isthmus the great cucaracha slide was in progress, and had been for that matter since 1907. it had a total area of 47 acres and extended up the east bank of the canal for about 1900 feet from the axis of the canal. when it began its progress was disconcertingly rapid. its base, foot, or “toe”--these anatomical terms in engineering are sometimes perplexing--moved across the canal bed at the rate of 14 feet a day. all that stood in its path was buried, torn to pieces or carried along with the resistless glacier of mud. not content with filling the canal from one side to the other, the dirt rose on the further side to a height of about 30 feet. not only was the work of months obliterated, but work was laid out for years to come. indeed in 1913 they were still digging at the cucaracha slide and the end was not in sight. this slide was wholly a gravity slide, caused by a mass of earth slipping on the inclined surface of some smooth and slippery material like clay on which it rests. the nature of the phenomenon is clearly shown by the diagram printed on the next page in which the slide marked c is of the type just described.
-on the west bank of the canal occurred a slide of the second type caused by the crushing and squeezing out of underlying layers of soft material by the prodigious pressure of the high banks left untouched by the steam shovels. this slide is usually accompanied by the uprising of the bed of the canal sometimes to a height of thirty feet. col. gaillard tells of standing on the bed of the canal, observing the working of a steam shovel, when it gradually dawned upon him that he was no longer on the level of the shovel. at first he thought that the shovel must have been placed upon a bit of boggy land and was slowly sinking, but on investigation he discovered that the point on which he was standing had been slowly rising until within five minutes he had been lifted six feet without jar and with no sensation of motion. a perfectly simple illustration of the way in which this elevation of the bed of the canal is caused may be obtained by pressing the hand upon a pan of dough. the dough will of course rise at the side of the hand. on the “big job” the towering hills furnished the pressure, the bed of the canal rose like the dough. in the diagram already referred to, the slide to the right marked “b” is of the type here described. to cope with it, the work of the shovels and dirt trains in the canal carrying the débris away is supplemented by others above removing the crest of the slide and thus lightening the pressure. in the diagram shovels are shown thus working on two levels, but i have seen four terraces of the same slide bearing steam shovels and rumbling dirt trains hurrying the débris away to where it will no longer be a menace.
-a rock slide near empire
-the culebra slide possessed a certain remorselessness which was not manifested by any of the others in quite so picturesque a way. for this slide, with apparently human malice, attacked not only the work done on the canal proper, but like a well directed army moved on the headquarters of its foe. its first manifestation appeared in the form of a wide crack in the earth at the crest of the hill on which sits the town of culebra, and directly in front of the building used by col. gaillard as division headquarters for the engineers. retreat was the only course possible in the face of such an enemy and the building was sacrificed. the culebra y. m. c. a. clubhouse too was a point of attack for the remorseless foe. it stood on the very crest of the hill, a beautiful building on a most beautiful site. the serpent of culebra cut--the word “culebra” means snake--saw this pleasant place of rest and marked it for his own. nothing remained but to rally a force of men and tear the building down for reërection at some other point. it was probably the largest and most attractive clubhouse on the zone, but where it once stood there was a nearly sheer drop of about sixty feet, when first i visited the scene of the slide. before the spot, too, on which the engineering headquarters had stood, there was a patch of lawn that had slid some eighty feet down into the cut. with it traveled along a young eucalyptus tree waving its leaves defiantly in the face of the enemy that was bearing it to irrevocable disaster. whether the culebra slide had attained its fullest proportions in 1913 could not be told with certainty though the belief was current that it had. while the crest of the hill had not been fully reached, the top of the slide began at the edge of a sort of jog or terrace that extended away from the cut some distance on a level before the ground began to slope upward again. should it extend further a very considerable and beautiful part of the town would be destroyed, but as it is to be abandoned in any event on the completion of the canal, this phase of the matter does not give the commission much concern.
-a third slide, of lesser proportions which seriously complicated the work of the engineers, occurred near empire in august, 1912. here about 400,000 cubic yards of rock slipped into the cut, wrecking cars, destroying tracks and machinery and flooding the canal with water from the obispo diversion. it is not generally known that parallel to the canal at various points are dug smaller canals, or big ditches, for the purpose of catching and carrying off the heavy annual rainfall on the canal watershed. these diversion ditches cost much in time and labor. one was constructed by the french. another, 5¹⁄₄ miles long, known as the obispo diversion, cost $1,250,000 and was absolutely essential to the construction of the canal. the rock slide, above referred to, broke down the barrier between the canal cut and the diversion ditch and filled the former with an untimely flood which it took time to stay and pump out.
-from all parts of the united states citizens interested in the progress of the canal--and only those at the work can tell how widespread and patriotic that interest is--have sent suggestions for checking these slides. practically all have been impracticable--a few only indeed have been thought worthy of being put to the test. one that for a time seemed worth trying was the suggestion that the wall of the cut be plastered with concrete, binding its surface together in a solid mass. but upon that being done it was demonstrated that the slides were not superficial but basic, and concrete face and all went down to one general destruction when the movement began. one curious fact about the slides is that they do not invariably slide down throughout their entire course. occasionally they take a turn upward. one tree at cucaracha was pointed out to me which after moving majestically down for a space was carried upward over a slope for 100 feet, and then having passed the crest of the hill started down again.
-the slides are by no means wholly in the wet season despite the popular impression to that effect, though it was in the height of that season that the one at cucaracha began. yet i have seen a slide moving slowly in january when the shovels digging fiercely at its base were enshrouded in clouds of dust. curiously enough though tracks have been torn up, machinery engulfed and wrung into indistinguishable tangles of steel, no man was caught in any of these avalanches prior to may, 1913, when three were thus lost. the tax they have put upon time and labor however has been heavy enough. within the 8⁴⁄₅ miles of the culebra cut fully 200 miles of track have been covered up, destroyed or necessarily rebuilt because of slides, and at one point tracks had to be maintained for nearly two years on ground moving from three or four inches to several feet a day. of course this necessitated the constant work of repair gangs and track layers. when the canal is completed nearly 22% of the excavation will have been of material put in the way by slides--a fact which seems to give some belated support to the prophecy of the early spanish theologians that god would not permit the isthmus to be pierced, but would array new and unexpected forces against so blasphemous an effort to interfere with his perfect work.
-one feature of the slides which would surely have awed the pious prophets of the spanish day, and which did indeed considerably perplex our more prosaic engineers, was the little wisps of smoke that arose from the slowly moving soil. that this was volcanic few believed, except some newspaper correspondents in eager search for sensations. the true explanation that heat generated by friction working upon the water in the earth caused the steam was all very well and complete as an explanation of that particular phenomenon. but it left a certain worried feeling in the minds of the men who spent their days in putting hundreds of plugs of dynamite into holes drilled in the rock which the scientists declared superheated. dropping a dynamite cartridge into a red-hot rock is apt to create a menace to the continued life and health of the dropper which even the excellent sanitary brigade of col. gorgas could scarcely control successfully. for a time there was a halt in the blasting operations and indeed two blasts were fired prematurely by this natural heat, but fortunately without loss of life. finally the scheme was devised of thrusting an iron pipe into the drill hole and leaving it there a few minutes. if it was cool to the touch on withdrawal all was well; if hot a stream of water was kept playing in the hole while the charge was inserted and tamped down.
-dynamite has been man’s most useful slave in this great work, but like all slaves it now and then rises in fierce and murderous revolt. “though during the past three and one-quarter years, in work under the writer’s charge”, writes col. gaillard, “over 20,000,000 pounds of dynamite were used in blasting, but eight men have been killed, three of whom failed to go to a safe distance and were killed by flying stones, and two by miscounting the number of shots which had gone off in a ‘dobe’ group, and approaching the group before the last shot had exploded”.
-how tourists see the cut
-something like 12,000,000 pounds of dynamite a year was imported from “the states” to keep the job going, over 6,000,000 pounds a year being used in culebra cut alone, and many an unsuspecting passenger danced over the tossing atlantic waves with a cargo beneath him explosive enough to blow him to the moon. on the zone the stuff is handled with all the care that long familiarity has shown to be necessary, but to the uninitiated it looks careless enough. it is however a fact that the accidents are continually lessening in number and in fatalities caused. the greatest accident of all occurred december 12, 1908, when we had been only four years on the job. it was at bas obispo, and in order to throw over the face of a hill of rock that rose from the west bank of the canal at that point nearly 44,000 pounds of dynamite had been neatly tamped away in the holes drilled for that purpose. actually the last hole of this prodigious battery was being tamped when it exploded and set off all the others. a colossal concussion shook all the face of the earth. the side of the hill vanished in a cloud of smoke and dust from which flying rocks and trees rose into the air. when the roar of the explosion died away cries of anguish rose on the trembling air. about the scene of the explosion an army of men had been working, and of these 26 had been killed outright and a host more wounded. no such disaster has ever occurred again though there have been several small ones, and many narrow escapes from large ones.
-one day at matachin an engineer with whom i was talking called a spaniard and sent him off on an errand. i noticed the man walked queerly and commented on it. “it’s a wonder that fellow walks at all”, said my friend with a laugh. “he was sitting on a ledge once when a blast below went off prematurely and miguel, with three or four other men, and a few tons of rock, dirt and other débris went up into the air. he was literally blown at least 80 feet high. the other men were killed, but we found signs of life in him and shipped him to the hospital where he stayed nearly eight months. i’d hesitate to tell you how many bones were broken, but i think the spine was the only one not fractured and that was dislocated. his job is safe for the rest of his life. he loves to tell about it. wait ’till he gets back and i’ll ask him”.
-presently miguel returned, sideways like a crab, but with agility all the same. “tell the gentleman how it feels to be blown up”, said the engineer.
-incidents of heroic self-sacrifice are not unknown among the dynamite handlers. here is the story of angel alvarez, an humble worker on the big job. he was getting ready a surface blast of dynamite and all around him men were working in calm assurance that he would notify them before the explosion. happening to glance up he saw a great boulder just starting to slip down the cut into the pit where he stood with two open boxes of dynamite. he knew that disaster impended. he could have jumped from the pit and run, saving himself but sacrificing his comrades. instead he shouted a frantic warning, and seizing the two boxes of dynamite thrust them aside out of the way of the falling boulder. there was no hope for him. the rock would have crushed him in any event. but one stick of dynamite fell from one of the boxes and was exploded--though the colossal explosion that might have occurred was averted. they thought that alvarez was broken to bits when they gathered him up, but the surgeons patched him up, and made a kind of a man out of him. not very shapely or vigorous is angel alvarez now but in a sense he carries the lives of twenty men he saved in that moment of swift decision.
-he who did not see the culebra cut during the mighty work of excavation missed one of the great spectacles of the ages--a sight that at no other time, or place was, or will be, given to man to see. how it was best seen many visits left me unable to determine. from its crest on a working day you looked down upon a mighty rift in the earth’s crust, at the base of which pigmy engines and ant-like forms were rushing to and fro without seeming plan or reason. through the murky atmosphere strange sounds rose up and smote the ear of the onlooker with resounding clamor. he heard the strident clink, clink of the drills eating their way into the rock; the shrill whistles of the locomotives giving warning of some small blast, for the great charges were set off out of working hours when the cut was empty; the constant and uninterrupted rumble that told of the dirt trains ever plying over the crowded tracks; the heavy crash that accompanied the dumping of a six-ton boulder onto a flat car; the clanking of chains and the creaking of machinery as the arms of the steam shovels swung around looking for another load; the cries of men, and the booming of blasts. collectively the sounds were harsh, deafening, brutal such as we might fancy would arise from hell were the lid of that place of fire and torment to be lifted.
-but individually each sound betokened useful work and service in the cause of man and progress as truly as could the musical tinkle of cow bells, the murmur of water over a village millwheel, or the rude melody of the sailors’ songs as they trim the yards for the voyage to the distant isles of spice. the hum of industry that the poets have loved to tell about loses nothing of its significance when from a hum it rises to a roar. only not all the poets can catch the meaning of its new note.
-so much for the sounds of the culebra cut on a work day. the sights are yet more wonderful. one who has looked upon the grand canyon of the colorado will find in this man-made gash in the hills something of the riot of color that characterizes that greatest of natural wonders, but he who has had no such preparation will stand amazed before the barbaric wealth of hues which blaze forth from these precipitous walls. reds predominate--red of as deep a crimson as though mother earth’s bosom thus cruelly slashed and scarred was giving up its very life’s blood; red shading into orange, tropical, hot, riotous, pulsing like the life of the old isthmus that is being carved away to make place for the new; red, pale, pinkish, shading down almost to rose color as delicate as the hue on a maiden’s cheek, typifying perhaps the first blush of the bride in the wedding of the atlantic to the pacific. yellow too from the brightest orange to the palest ochre, and blue from the shade of indigo which columbus hoped to bring across this very isthmus from the bazaars of cathay; purple as royal as ferdinand and isabella ever wore, or the paler shades of the tropic sky are there. as you look upon the dazzling array strung out before you for miles you may reflect that imbedded in those parti-colored rocks and clays are semi-precious stones of varied shades and sorts--beryls, moss agates, bloodstones, moonstones which the workmen pick up and sell to rude lapidaries who cut and sell them to tourists. but in all this colossal tearing up of the earth’s surface there has been found none of the gold for which the first white men lusted, nor any precious stone or useful mineral whatsoever.
-perhaps the most impressive view of the cut in the days of its activity was that from above. it was the one which gave the broadest general sense of the prodigious proportions of the work. but a more terrifying one, as well as a more precise comprehension of the infinity of detail coupled with the magnitude of scope of the work was to be obtained by plodding on foot through the five miles where the battle of culebra was being most fiercely fought. the powers that be--or that were--did not encourage this method of observation. they preferred to send visitors through this death’s lane, this confusing network of busy tracks, in an observation car built for the purpose, or in one of the trim little motor cars built to run on the railroad tracks for the use of officials. from the fact that one of the latter bore the somewhat significant nickname “the yellow peril” and from stories of accidents which had occurred to occupants of these little scouts among the mighty engines of war, i am inclined to think that the journey on foot, if more wearisome, was not more perilous.
-put on then a suit of khaki with stout shoes and take the train for culebra. that will be as good a spot as any to descend into the cut, and we will find there some airy rows of perpendicular ladders connecting the various levels up and down which an agile monkey, or col. gaillard or any of his assistants, can run with ease, but which we descend with infinite caution and some measure of nervous apprehension. probably the first sound that will greet your ears above the general clatter, when you have attained the floor of the canal will be a stentorian cry of “look out, there! look out”! you will hear that warning hail many a time and oft in the forenoon’s walk we are about to take. i don’t know of any spot where edward everett hale’s motto, “look out and not in; look up and not down; look forward and not back” needs editing more than at culebra. the wise man looked all those ways and then some. for trains are bearing down upon you from all directions and so close are the tracks and so numerous the switches that it is impossible to tell the zone of safety except by observing the trains themselves. if your gaze is too intently fixed on one point a warning cry may call your attention to the arm of a steam shovel above your head with a five-ton boulder insecurely balanced, or a big, black jamaican a few yards ahead perfunctorily waving a red flag in token that a “dobe” blast is to be fired. a “dobe” blast is regarded with contempt by the fellows who explode a few tons of dynamite at a time and demolish a whole hillside, but the “dobes” throw fifty to one hundred pound stones about in a reckless way that compels unprofessional respect. they tell a story on the zone of a negro who, not thinking himself in range, was sitting on a box of dynamite calmly smoking a cigarette. a heavy stone dropped squarely on his head killing him instantly, but was sufficiently deflected by the hardness of the ethiopian skull to miss the box on which the victim sat. had it been otherwise the neighboring landscape and its population would have been materially changed.
-it is no wonder that we have trains to dodge during the course of our stroll. there are at the moment of our visit 115 locomotives and 2000 cars in service in the cut. about 160 loaded trains go out daily, and, of course about 160 return empty. three hundred and twenty trains in the eight-hour day, with two hours’ intermission at noon, means almost one train a minute speeding through a right of way 300 feet wide and much cluttered up with shovels, drills and other machinery. in march, 1911, the record month, these trains handled 1,728,748 cubic yards of material, carrying all to the dumps which average 12 miles distant, the farthest one being 33 miles. the lay mind does not at first think of it, but it is a fact that it was no easy task to select spots for all this refuse in a territory only 436 square miles in area, of which 164 square miles is covered by gatun lake and much of the rest is higher than the cut and therefore unsuited for dumps. the amount of material disposed of would create new land worth untold millions could it have been dumped along the lake front of chicago, or in the hackensack meadows near new york.
-let us watch one of the steam shovels at work. you will notice first that it requires two railroad tracks for its operation--the one on which it stands and one by the side on which are the flat cars it is to load. if the material in which it is to work is clay or sand, the shovel track is run close to the side of the hill to be cut away; otherwise the blasters will have preceded it and a great pile of broken rock lies by the side of the track or covering it before the shovel. perched on a seat which revolves with the swinging arm a man guides the great steel jaws to the point of excavation. a tug at one lever and the jaws begin to bite into the clay, or root around in the rock pile until the toothed scoops have filled the great shovel that, closed, is rather bigger than a boarding house hall bedroom. a tug at another lever and they close. a third lever causes the arm to swing until it comes to a stop above the flat car, then with a roar and a clatter the whole load is dumped. perhaps then the trouble is just beginning. once in a while a boulder of irregular shape rolls about threatening to fall to the ground. with almost human intelligence the great rigid arm of the shovel follows it, checking it as it approaches the edge of the car, pushing it back, buttressing it with other stones, so that when the train gets under way it may by no chance fall off. sometimes you see all this done from a point at which the directing man is invisible and the effect is uncanny.
-the culebra cut
-travelers in burmah are fond of telling how the trained elephants pile teak lumber, pushing with tusk and pulling with trunk until the beams lie level and parallel to an inch. but marvelous as is the delicacy with which the unwieldy animals perform their work, it is outdone by the miraculous ingenuity with which the inventive mind of man has adapted these monsters of steel to their appointed task. we shall see on the zone many mechanical marvels, but to my mind the sight of a man, seated placidly in a comfortable chair, and with a touch on levers making a twenty foot steel arm, with a pair of scoops each as big as a hogshead at the end, feel up and down a bit of land until it comes upon a boulder weighing five tons, then pick it up, deposit it on a flat car, and block it around with smaller stones to hold it firm--this spectacle i think will rank with any as an illustration of mechanical genius. it is a pity old archimedes, who professed himself able to move the world with a lever if he could only find a place for his fulcrum, could not sit a while in the chair of an isthmian steam shoveler. these men earn from $210 to $240 a month and are the aristocracy of the mechanical force in a society where everybody is frankly graded according to his earnings. they say their work is exceedingly hard upon the nerves, a statement which i can readily credit after watching them at it. once in a great while they deposit the six-ton load of a shovel on top of some laborer’s head. incidents of this sort are wearing on their nerves and also upon the physique of the individual upon whom the burden has been laid. on several occasions i timed steam shovels working in the cut on various sorts of material and found the period occupied in getting a load, depositing it on the car and getting back into position for another bite to be a fraction less than two minutes. according to my observations from five to eight shovel loads filled a car. the car once filled, a big negro wig-wagged the tidings to the engineer who pulled the train ahead the length of one car. the jamaica negro wig-wagging is always a pleasing spectacle. he seems to enjoy a job as flagman which gives from five to fifteen minutes of calm reflection to each one minute of wagging. far be it from me to question the industry of these sable britons by whom the canal is being built. their worth in any place, except that of waiters at the tivoli hotel, must be conceded. but their specialty is undoubtedly wig-wagging.
-if we climb upon one of the empty flat cars we will see that upon the floor of the whole train, usually made up of about 20 cars, is stretched a stout cable attached to a heavy iron wedge like a snow plow which, while the train is loading, is on the end car. hinged sheets of steel fall into place between the cars, making the train floor continuous from end to end. if we should accompany the train to the dump--say at the great fill at balboa about twelve miles from the cut--we shall find that when it has reached its assigned position a curious looking car on which is an engine which revolves a huge drum, or bull wheel, is attached in place of the locomotive. the end of the steel cable buried under hundreds of tons of rock and dirt is fastened to the bull wheel, the latter begins to revolve and the steel plow begins to travel along the train thrusting the load off to one side. one side of the flat cars is built up and the plow is so constructed that the load is thrown to the other side only. it takes from 7 to 15 minutes to unload a train by this device which is known as the lidgerwood unloader.
-now it is apparent that after a certain number of trains have thus been unloaded the side of the track on which the load falls, unless it be a very deep ravine, will presently be so filled up that no more loads can be dumped there. to smooth out this mound of dirt along the track another type of snow plow is used, one stretching out a rigid steel arm ten or twelve feet from the side of the locomotive which pushes it into the mass of débris. this is called a spreader and as may well be imagined requires prodigious power. the dump heap thus spread, and somewhat leveled by hand labor, becomes a base for another track.
-in the early days of the work this business of shifting tracks required the services of hundreds of men. but it grew so steadily under the needs of the service--they say the panama railway runs sideways as well as lengthwise--that the mechanical genius of american engineers was called into play to meet the situation. wherefore behold the track-shifter, an engine operating a long crane which picks up the track, ties, rails and all, and swings it to one side three feet or more according to the elasticity of the track. it takes nine men to operate a track shifter, and it does the work which took 500 men pursuing the old method of pulling spikes, shifting ties and rails separately and spiking the rails down again. it is estimated that by this device the government was saved several million dollars, to say nothing of an enormous amount of time. while the panama railroad is only 47 miles long it has laid almost 450 miles of rails, and these are continually being taken up and shifted, particularly those laid on the bed of the canal in culebra cut. it is perfectly clear that to keep the steam shovels within reaching distance of the walls they are to dig away, the track on which they operate and the track on which their attendant dirt trains run must be shifted laterally every two or three days.
-looking up from the floor of the canal one had in those days of rushing construction a prospect at once gigantic, brilliant and awe inspiring. between gold hill and contractors hill the space open to the sky is half a mile wide and the two peaks tower toward the sky 534 feet to the one side and 410 on the other. we see again dimly through the smoke of the struggling locomotives and the fumes of exploding dynamite the prismatic color of the stripped sides of the hill, though on the higher altitudes untouched by recent work and unscarred by slides the tropical green has already covered all traces of man’s mutilations. in time, of course, all this coloring will disappear and the ships will steam along betwixt two towering walls of living green.
-one’s attention, however, when in the cut is held mainly by its industrial rather than by its scenic features. for the latter the view from above, already described, is incalculably the better. but down here in the depths your mind is gripped by the signs of human activity on every side. everything that a machine can do is being done by machinery, yet there are 6000 men working in this narrow way, men white and black and of every intermediate and indeterminate shade. men who talk in spanish, french, the gibberish of the jamaican, in hindoo, in chinese. one thinks it a pity that col. goethals and his chief lieutenants could not have been at the tower of babel, for in that event that aspiring enterprise would never have been halted by so commonplace an obstacle as the confusion of tongues.
-to us as we plod along all seems to be conducted with terrific energy, but without any recognizable plan. as a matter of fact all is being directed in accordance with an iron-clad system. that train, the last cars of which are being loaded, on the second level must be out of the cut and on the main line at a fixed hour or there will be a tie-up of the empties coming back from the distant dumps. that row of holes must be drilled by five o’clock, for the blast must be fired as soon as the cut is emptied of workers. the very tourists on the observation car going through the cut must be chary of their questions, for that track is needed now for a train of material. if they are puzzled by something they see, it will all be explained to them later by the guide in his lecture illustrated by the working model at the tivoli hotel.
-so trudging through the cut we pass under a slender foot bridge suspended across the canal from towers of steel framework. the bridge was erected by the french and will have to come down when the procession of ships begins the passage of the canal. originally its towers were of wood, but a man idly ascending one thought it sounded hollow beneath his tread and, on examination, found the interior had been hollowed out by termite ants leaving a mere shell which might give way under any unaccustomed strain. this is a pleasant habit of these insects and sometimes produces rather ludicrous results when a heavy individual encounters a chair that has engaged their attention.
-the activity and industry of the ant are of course proverbial in every clime, but it seems to me that in the isthmus particularly he appears to put the sluggard to shame. as you make your way through the jungle you will now and again come upon miniature roads, only about four inches wide it is true, but vastly smoother and better cleaned of vegetation than the paths which the panamanians dignify with the name of roads. along these highways trudges an endless army of ants, those going homeward bearing burdens of leaves which, when buried in their subterranean homes, produce fungi on which the insects live. out on the savanna you will occasionally find a curious mound of hard dirt, sometimes standing taller than a man and rising abruptly from the plain. it is an ant’s nest built about a shrub or small tree, which usually dies off so that no branches protrude in any direction. a large one represents long years of the work of the tiny insects. col. goethals has made a great working machine of the canal organization but he can teach the ants nothing so far as patient and continuous industry is concerned.
-we come in due time to the upper entrance of the pedro miguel lock. here the precipitous sides of the canal have vanished, and the walls of the lock have in fact to be built up above the adjacent land. this is the end of the central division--the end of the culebra cut. the 8.8 miles we have left behind us have been the scene, perhaps, of the most wonderful exercise of human ingenuity, skill and determination ever manifested in any equal space in the world--and i won’t even except wall street, where ingenuity and skill in cutting things down are matter of daily observation. but nowhere else has man locked with nature in so desperate a combat. more spectacular engineering is perhaps to be seen on some of the railroads through our own sierras or on the trans-andean lines. such dams as the roosevelt or the shoshone of our irrigation service are more impressive than the squat, immovable ridge at gatun. but the engineers who planned the campaign against the cordilleras at culebra had to meet and overcome more novel obstacles, had to wrestle with a problem more appalling in magnitude than any that ever confronted men of their profession in any other land or time.
-as no link in a chain is of less importance than any other link, so the pacific division of the panama canal is of equal importance with the other two. it has not, however, equally spectacular features. its locks at pedro miguel and at miraflores are merely replicas of the gatun locks with different drops, and separated into one step of two parallel locks at the former point, and two steps, with four locks in pairs at miraflores. between the two locks is an artificial lake about 54²⁄₃ feet above sea level and about a mile and a half long. the lake is artificial, supplied partly by small rivers that flow into it and partly by the water that comes down from the operation of the locks above. in fact it was created largely for the purpose of taking care of this water, though it also served to reduce somewhat the amount of dry excavation on the canal. one advantage which both the gatun and miraflores lakes have for the sailor, that does not at first occur to the landsman, is that being filled with fresh water, as also is the main body of the canal, they will cleanse the bottoms of the ships passing through of barnacles and other marine growths. this is a notable benefit to ships engaged in tropical trade, for in those latitudes their bottoms become befouled in a way that seriously interferes with their steaming capacity.
-the name pedro miguel is given to this lock because the french began operations there on the feast day of st. peter michael, whose name in spanish is applied to the spot. an omniscient gentleman on the train once assured me that the name came from a spanish hermit who long lived on the spot in the odor of sanctity--and divers other odors if the haunts of the hermits i have visited elsewhere were any criterion.
-errors of fact, however, are common on the zone. they still laugh about a congressman who, on gatun dam, struck an attitude and exclaimed with feeling--“at last then i stand in the far-famed culebra cut”! which spot was a trifle more than thirty miles away.
-from the lower lock at miraflores the canal describes a practically straight course to the pacific ocean at balboa, about 4¹⁄₂ miles. the channel is continued out to sea about four miles further. all the conditions of the pacific and oriental trade give assurance that at balboa will grow the greatest of all purely tropical ports. to it the commerce of the whole pacific coast of north america, and of south america as far south at least as lima, will irresistibly flow. to it will also come the trade of japan, northern china and the philippines, seeking the shortest route to europe or to our own atlantic coast. it is true that much of this trade will pass by, but the ships will enter the canal after long voyages in need of coal and in many cases of refitting. the government has anticipated this need by providing for a monster dry dock, able to accommodate the 1000 foot ships yet to be built, and establishing repair shops fit to build ships as well as to repair them. in 1913, however, when this trip through the canal under construction was made, little sign of this coming greatness was apparent. the old dock of the pacific mail and a terminal pier of the panama railroad afforded sufficient dockage for the steamships of which eight or ten a week cleared or arrived. the chief signs of the grandeur yet to come were the never-ceasing dirt trains rumbling down from culebra cut and discharging their loads into the sea in a great fan shaped “fill” that will afford building sites for all the edifices of the future balboa, however great it may become. looking oceanward you see the three conical islands on which the united states is already erecting its fortifications.
-here then the canal ends. begun in the ooze of colon it is finished in the basaltic rock of balboa. to carry it through its fifty miles the greatest forces of nature have been utilized when possible; fought and overcome when not. it has enlisted genius, devotion and sacrifice, and has inflicted sickness, wounds and death. we can figure the work in millions of dollars, or of cubic yards, but to estimate the cost in life and health from the time the french began until the day the americans ended is a task for the future historian, not the present-day chronicler.
-the city of panama.
-for an american not too much spoiled with foreign travel the city of panama is a most entertaining stopping place for a week or more. in what its charm consists it is hard to say. foreign it is, of course, a complete change from anything within the borders, or for that matter close to the bounds of the united states. but it is not so thorough a specimen of latin-american city building as cartagena, its neighbor. its architecture is admittedly commonplace, the cathedral itself being interesting mainly because of its antiquity--and it would be modern in old spain. the latin gaiety of its people breaks out in merry riot at carnival time, but it is equally riotous in every town of central america. withal there is a something about panama that has an abiding novelty. perhaps it is the tang of the tropics added to the flavor of antiquity. anyhow the tourist who abides in the intensely modern and purely united states hotel, the tivoli, has but to give a dime to a panama hackman to be transported into an atmosphere as foreign as though he had suddenly been wafted to madrid.
-latter-day tourists complain that the sanitary efforts of the isthmian commission have robbed panama of something of its picturesqueness. they deplore the loss of the streets that were too sticky for the passage of venetian gondolas, but entirely too liquid for ordinary means of locomotion. they grieve over the disappearance of the public roulette wheels and the monotonous cry of the numbers at keno. they complain that the population has taken to the practice of wearing an inordinate quantity of clothes instead of being content with barely enough to pique curiosity concerning the few charms concealed. but though the city has been remarkably purified there is still enough of physical dirt apparent to displease the most fastidious, and quite sufficient moral uncleanliness if one seeks for it, as in other towns.
-the entrance by railway to panama is not prepossessing, but for that matter i know of few cities in which it is. rome and genoa perhaps excel in offering a fine front to the visitor. but in panama when you emerge from the station after a journey clear across the continent, which has taken you about three hours, you are confronted by a sort of ragged triangular plaza. in the distance on a hill to your right is set the tivoli hotel looking cool and inviting with its broad piazzas and dress of green and white. to your left is a new native hotel, the international, as different from the tivoli as imaginable, built of rubble masonry covered with concrete stucco, with rooms twice as high as those of the usual american building. it looks cool too, in a way, and its most striking feature is a pleasingly commodious bar, with wide open unscreened doors on the level of the sidewalk. the tivoli hotel, being owned and managed by the united states government, has no bar. this statement is made in no spirit of invidious comparison, but merely as a matter of helpful information to the arriving traveler undecided which hotel to choose.
-the plaza is filled with panama cabs--small open victorias, drawn by stunted wiry horses like our cow ponies and driven by panama negroes who either do not speak english, or, in many cases, pretend not to in order to save themselves the trouble of explaining any of the sights to their fares. there is none of the bustle that attends the arrival of a train in an american city. no raucous cries of “keb, sir? keb”! no ingratiating eagerness to seize upon your baggage, no ready proffer of willingness to take you anywhere. if the panama cabby shows any interest at all in getting a fare out of an arriving crowd it seems to be in evading the one who beckons him, and trying to capture someone else. one reason perhaps for the lethargy of these sable jehus is that the government has robbed their calling of its sporting feature by fixing their fare at ten cents to any place in town. opportunity to rob a fare is almost wholly denied them, hence their dejected air as compared with the alert piratical demeanor of the buccaneers who kidnap passengers at the railway stations of our own enlightened land. the only way the panama driver can get the best of the passenger is by construing each stop as the end of a trip, and the order to drive on as constituting a new engagement involving an additional dime. tourists who jovially drew up to the curbstone to greet acquaintances met en route several times in a half-hour’s ride are said to have been mulcted of a surprising number of dimes, but in justice to the panama hackman--who really doesn’t have the air of rioting in ill-gotten wealth--i must say that i never encountered an instance of this overcharge.
-your first introduction to the beauty of panama architecture comes from a building that fronts you as you leave your train. three stories high it has the massive strength of a confectioner’s creations, and is tastefully colored a sickly green, relieved by stripes of salmon pink, with occasional interludes of garnet and old gold. the fact that it houses a saloon, the proportions of which would be generous on the bowery or south clark street, does not explain this brilliant color scheme. it is merely the expression of the local color sense, and is quite likely to be employed to lend distinction to a convent school or a fashionable club indiscriminately.
-from the railway plaza--originality has not yet furnished a more attractive name--the avenida centrale stretches away in a generally southerly direction to the seawall at the city’s end. what broadway is to new york, the corso to rome, or main street to podunk, this street is to panama. it is narrow and in time will be exceedingly crowded, for the rails of a trolley line are laid on one side, and some time in the leisurely panamanian future the cars will run through the old town and so on out to balboa where the americans are building the great docks at the entrance to the canal. just now however it is chiefly crowded with the light open carriages which toward eventide carry up and down the thoroughfare olive-complexioned gentlemen who look smilingly at the balconies on either side whence fair ones--of varying degrees of fairness with a tendency toward the rich shade of mahogany--look down approvingly.
-panama is an old city, as american cities run, for it was founded in 1673 when the bishop marked with a cross the place for the cathedral. the bishop still plays a notable part in the life of the town, for it is to his palace in cathedral plaza that you repair sunday mornings to hear the lucky number in the lottery announced. this curious partnership between the church and the great gambling game does not seem to shock or even perplex the panamanians, and as the state turns over to the church a very considerable percentage of the lottery’s profits it is perhaps only fair for the bishop to be thus hospitable. if you jeer a well-informed panamanian on the relations of his church to the lottery he counters by asking suavely about the filthy tenement houses owned by old trinity in new york. as a vested right under the colombian government the lottery will continue until 1918, then expire under the clause in the panama constitution which prohibits gambling. drawings are held each sunday. ten thousand tickets are issued at a price of $2.50 each, though the custom is to buy one-fifth of a ticket at a time. the capital prize is $7500 with lesser prizes of various sums down to one dollar. the americans on the zone buy eagerly, but i could not learn of any one who had captured a considerable prize. one official who systematically set aside $5 a week for tickets told me that, after four years’ playing, he was several hundred dollars ahead “beside the fun”.
-though old historically, panama is modern architecturally. it was repeatedly swept by fires even before the era of overfumigation by the canal builders. five fires considerable enough to be called “great” are recorded. most of the churches have been burned at least once and the façade of the cathedral was overthrown by an earthquake. the san domingo church, the church and convent of san francisco, and the jesuit church still stand in ruins. in italy or england these ruins would be cared for, clothed by pious, or perhaps practical, hands with a certain sort of dignity. not so in panama. the san domingo church, much visited by tourists because of its curious flat arch, long housed a cobbler’s bench and a booth for curios. now its owner is utilizing such portions of the ruin as are still stable as part of a tenement house he is building. when reproached for thus obliterating an historic relic he blandly offered to leave it in its former state, provided he were paid a rental equal to that the tenement would bring in. there being no society for the preservation of historic places in panama his offer went unheeded, and the church is fast being built into the walls of a flat-house. as for the church of the jesuits its floor is gone, and cows and horses are stabled in the sanctuary of its apse.
-the streets of panama look older than they really are. the more substantial buildings are of rubble masonry faced with cement which quickly takes on an appearance of age. avenida centrale is lined for all but a quarter of a mile of its length with shops, over which as a rule the merchant’s family lives--for the panamanians, like other latins, have not yet acquired the new york idea that it is vulgar to live over your own place of business but perfectly proper to live two miles or more away over someone else’s drug store, grocery, stationery store, or what not. there might be an essay written on the precise sort of a business place above which it is correct for an american to live. of course the nature of the entrance counts, and much propriety is saved if it be on the side front thus genteelly concealing from guests that there are any shops in the building at all. these considerations however are not important in panama, and many of the best apartments are reached through dismal doors and up winding stairways which seldom show signs of any squeamishness on the part of the domestics, or intrusive activity by the sanitary officers.
-often, however, the apartments reached by such uninviting gateways are charming. the rooms are always big, equivalent each to about three rooms of our typical city flat. great french windows open to the floor, and give upon broad verandas, from which the life of the street below may be observed--incidentally letting in the street noises which are many and varied. the tendency is to the minimum of furniture, and that light, so as to admit easy shifting to the breeziest spots. to our northern eyes the adjective “bare” would generally apply to these homes, but their furnishings are adapted to the climate and to the habits of people living largely out of doors. rents are high for a town of 35,000 people. a five-room flat in a fairly good neighborhood will rent for from $60 to $75 gold a month, and as the construction is of the simplest and the landlord furnishes neither heat nor janitor service, it seems a heavy return on the capital invested.
-it seemed to me, as the result of questioning and observation rather than by any personal experience, that living expenses in panama city must be high, and good living according to our north american ideas impossible. what the visitor finds in the homes of the people on the canal zone offers no guide to the conditions existing in the native town. for the zone dwellers have the commissary to buy from, and that draws from all the markets of the world, and is particularly efficient in buying meats, which it gets from our own beef trust and sells for about half of what the market man in chicago or new york exacts. but the native panamanian has no such source of supply. his meats are mainly native animals fresh killed, and if you have a taste for sanguinary sights you may see at early dawn every morning numbers of cattle and hogs slaughtered in a trim and cleanly open air abattoir which the panamanians owe to the canal authorities. however the climate tends to encourage a fish and vegetable diet, and the supplies of these staples are fairly good. the family buying is done at a central market which it is well worth the tourists’ time to visit.
-every day is market day at panama, but the crowded little open-air mart is seen at its best of a saturday or sunday in the early morning. all night long the native boats, mostly cayucas hewn out of a single log and often as much as 35 feet long, and with a schooner rig, have been drifting in, propelled by the never-failing trade wind. they come from the bayano river country, from chorrera, from taboga and the isles of pearls, from the bay of san miguel and from the land of the san blas indians. great sailors these latter, veritable vikings of the tropics, driving their cayucas through shrieking gales when the ocean steamers find it prudent to stay in port.
-nature helps the primitive people of the jungle to bring their goods to the waiting purchasers. the breeze is constant, seldom growing to a gale, and the tide rising full 20 feet enables them to run their boats at high tide close to the market causeway, and when the tide retires land their products over the flats without the trouble of lighterage. true the bottom is of mud and stones, but the soles of the seamen are not tender, nor are they squeamish as to the nature of the soil on which they tread.
-the market is open at dawn, and the buyers are there almost as soon as the sellers, for early rising is the rule in the tropics. along the sidewalks, on the curbs, in the muddy roadway even, the diverse fruits and food products of the country are spread forth to tempt the robust appetites of those gathered about. here is an indian woman, the color of a cocoanut, and crinkled as to skin like a piece of chinese crepe. before her is spread out her stock, diverse and in some items curious. green peppers, tomatoes a little larger than a small plum, a cheese made of goat’s milk and packed to about the consistency of brie; a few yams, peas, limes and a papaya or two are the more familiar edibles. something shaped like a banana and wrapped in corn husks arouses my curiosity.
-“what is it”? “five cents”. “no, no! i mean what is it? what’s it made of”? “fi centavo”!
-in despair over my lack of indo-spanish patois, i buy it and find a little native sugar, very moist and very dark, made up like a sausage, or a tamale in corn husks. other mysterious objects turn out to be ginseng, which appeals to the resident chinese; the mamei, a curious pulpy fruit the size of a large peach, with a skin like chamois and a fleshly looking pit about the size of a peach-stone; the sapodilla, a plum colored fruit with a mushy interior, which when cut transversely shows a star-like marking and is sometimes called the star apple. it is eaten with a spoon and is palatable. the mamei, however, like the mango, requires a specially trained taste.
-while puzzling over the native fruits a sudden clamor attracts us to a different part of the market. there drama is in full enactment. the market place is at the edge of the bay and up the water steps three exultant fishermen have dragged a tuna about five feet long, weighing perhaps 175 pounds. it is not a particularly large fish of the species, but its captors are highly exultant and one, with the inborn instinct of the latin-american to insult a captive or a fallen foe, stands on the poor tuna’s head and strikes an attitude as one who invites admiration and applause. perhaps our camera tempted him, but our inclination was to kick the brute, rather than to perpetuate his pose, for the poor fish was still living. it had been caught in a net, so its captors informed us. on our own florida and california coasts the tunas give rare sport with a rod and line.
-like most people of a low order of intelligence the lower class native of panama is without the slightest sense of humanity to dumb animals. he does not seem to be intentionally cruel--indeed he is too indolent to exert himself unless something is to be gained. but he never lets any consideration for the sufferings of an animal affect his method of treating it. the iguana, ugliest of lizards, which he eats with avidity, is one of his chief victims. this animal is usually taken alive by hunters in order that he may undergo a preliminary fattening process before being committed to the pot. in captivity his condition is not pleasant to contemplate. here at the market are eight or ten, living, palpitating, looking out on the strange world with eyes of wistful misery. their short legs are roughly twisted so as to cross above their backs, and the sharp claws on one foot are thrust through the fleshy part of the other so as to hold them together without other fastening. a five-foot iguana is fully three feet tail, and of that caudal yard at least two feet of its tapering length is useless for food, so the native calmly chops it off with his machete, exposing the mutilated but living animal for sale.
-to our northern eyes there is probably no animal except a serpent more repulsive than the iguana. he is not only a lizard, but a peculiarly hideous one--horned, spined, mottled and warty like a toad. but loathsome as he is, the wanton, thoughtless tortures inflicted upon him by the marketmen invest him with the pathetic dignity which martyrs bear.
-fish is apparently the great staple of the panama market, as beseems a place which is practically an island and the very name of which signifies “many fishes”. yet at the time i was there the variety exposed for sale was not great. the corbina, apparently about as staple and certain a crop as our northern cod, the red snapper, mullet and a flat fish resembling our fresh water sunfish, were all that were exhibited. there were a few west indian lobsters too, about as large as our average sized lobsters, but without claws, having antennae, perhaps 18 inches long, instead. shrimps and small molluscs were plentifully displayed. as to meats the market was neither varied nor pleasing. if the assiduous attentions of flies produce any effect on raw meats prejudicial to human health, the panama market offers rich field for some extension of the sanitary powers of col. gorgas.
-avenida b. panama city
-in one notable respect this panama market differs from most open air affairs of the sort. the vendors make no personal effort to sell their goods. there is no appeal to passing buyers, no crying of wares, no “ballyhoo,” to employ the language of coney island. what chatter there is is chiefly among the buyers; the sellers sit silent by their wares and are more apt to receive a prospective customer sulkily than with alert eagerness. indeed the prevalent condition of the panamanian, so far as observable on the streets, seems to be a chronic case of sulks. doubtless amongst his own kind he can be a merry dog, but in the presence of the despised “gringo” his demeanor is one of apathy, or contemptuous indifference. perhaps what he was doing to the tuna and the iguana the day of our visit to the market was only what he would like to be doing to the northern invaders of his nondescript market place.
-if you view the subject fairly the panamanian in the street is somewhat entitled to his view of the american invasion. why should he be particularly pleased over the independence of panama and the digging of the canal? he got none of the ten million dollars, or of the $250,000 annual payment. that went to his superiors who planned the “revolution” and told him about it when it was all over. the influx of americans brought him no particular prosperity, unless he drove a hack. they lived in commission houses and bought all their goods in their own commissary. it was true they cleaned up his town, but he was used to the dirt and the fumes of fumigation made him sneeze. doubtless there was no more yellow fever, but he was immune to that anyway.
-but way down in the bottom of his heart the real unexpressed reason for the dislike of the mass of panamanians for our people is their resentment at our hardly concealed contempt for them. toward the more prosperous panamanian of social station this contempt is less manifested, and he accordingly shows less of the dislike for americans that is too evident among the masses of the people. but as for the casual clerk or mechanic we americans call him “spiggotty” with frank contempt for his undersize, his lack of education and for his large proportion of negro blood. and the lower class panamanian smarting under the contemptuous epithet retorts by calling the north americans “gringoes” and hating them with a deep, malevolent rancor that needs only a fit occasion to blaze forth in riot and in massacre.
-“spiggotty”, which has not yet found its way into the dictionaries, is derived from the salutation of hackmen seeking a fare--“speaka-da-english”. our fellow countrymen with a lofty and it must be admitted a rather provincial scorn for foreign peoples--for your average citizen of the united states thinks himself as superior to the rest of the world as the citizen of new york holds himself above the rest of the united states--are not careful to limit its application to panamanians of the hackdriving class. from his lofty pinnacle of superiority he brands them all, from the market woman with a stock of half a dozen bananas and a handful of mangoes to the banker or the merchant whose children are being educated in europe like their father as “spiggotties”. whereat they writhe and curse the yankees.
-from a panama balcony
-“gringo” is in the dictionaries. it is applied to pure whites of whatever nation other than spanish or portuguese who happen to be sojourning in spanish-american lands. the century dictionary rather inadequately defines it thus: “among spanish americans an englishman or an anglo-american; a term of contempt. probably from greico, a greek”. the dictionary derivation is not wholly satisfactory. another one, based wholly on tradition, is to the effect that during the war with mexico our soldiers were much given to singing a song, “green grow the rashes, oh”! whence the term “gringoes” applied by the mexicans. the etymology of international slang can never be an exact science, but perhaps this will serve.
-whatever the derivation, whatever the dictionary definitions, the two words “spiggotty” and “gringo” stand for racial antagonism, contempt and aversion on the part of the more northern people; malice and suppressed wrath on that of the spanish-americans.
-you will find this feeling outcropping in every social plane in the republic of panama. it is, however, noticeably less prevalent among the more educated classes. into the ten mile wide canal zone the americans have poured millions upon millions of money and will continue to do so for a long time to come. much of this money finds its way, of course, into the hands of the panamanians. the housing and commissary system adopted by the commission have deprived the merchants and landowners of colon of their richest pickings, but nevertheless the amount of good american money that has fallen to their lot is a golden stream greater than that which flowed over the old royal road in its most crowded days. few small towns will show so many automobiles as panama and they have all been bought since the american invasion.
-nevertheless the americans are hated. they are hated for the commissary system. the french took no such step to protect their workers from the rapacity of panama and colon shopkeepers, and they are still talking of the time of the french richness. they hate us because we cleaned their towns and are keeping them clean--not perhaps because they actually prefer the old filth and fatalities, but because their correction implies that they were not altogether perfect before we came. for the strongest quality of the panamanian is his pride, and it is precisely that sentiment which we north americans have either wantonly or necessarily outraged.
-without pretension to intimate acquaintance with panamanian home life i may state confidently that this attitude toward the yankees is practically universal. the ordinary demeanor of the native when accosted is sulky, even insolent. the shop-keeper, unless he be a chinese, as most of the better ones are, makes a sale as if he were indifferent to your patronage, and throws you the finished bundle as though he were tossing a bone to a dog. one sunday morning, viewing the lottery drawing at the archbishop’s palace, i saw a well-dressed panamanian, apparently of the better class, roused to such wrath by a polite request that he remove his hat to give a lady a better view, that one might have thought the best blood of all castile had been enraged by some deadly insult.
-this smoldering wrath is ever ready to break out; the brutal savagery which manifests itself in the recurrent revolutions of spanish-america is ever present in panama. on the fourth of july, 1912, the americans resident on the zone held patriotic exercises at ancon. after the speeches and the lunch a number of the united states marines wandered into the city of panama and, after the unfortunate fashion of their kind, sought out that red-lighted district of infamy which the panama authorities have thoughtfully segregated in a space between the public hospital and the cemeteries. the men were unarmed, but in uniform. naturally their holiday began by visits to a number of panamanian gin mills where the liquid fuel for a fight was taken aboard. in due time the fight came. a panama policeman intervened and was beaten for his pains. other police came to his rescue. somebody fired a shot and soon the police, running to their station, returned with magazine rifles and began pumping bullets into the unarmed marines. the latter for a time responded with stones, but the odds were too great and they broke and ran for the american territory of the canal zone. meantime of course the noise of the fusillade had alarmed the american authorities. at ancon, separated from panama city only by an imaginary boundary line, the zone police were mustered for service in case of need, and at camp otis, an hour away by rail, the 10th infantry, u. s. a., was drawn up under arms, and trains made ready to bring the troops to the riotous city at command. but the order never came, though the 10th officers and men alike were eager for it. it could come only through the american minister, and he was silent, believing that the occasion did not warrant the employment of the troops on the foreign soil of panama. so the marines--or as many of them as their officers could gather up--were sent to their post, camp elliott, by train while those arrested by the panamanians were taken to the chiriqui jail, or to the panama hospitals. in jail the unarmed captives were beaten and tortured after the fashion of the average latin-american when he has a foe, helpless in his power. the day ended with three american marines killed and many wounded; the americans, soldiers and civilians, both gritting their teeth and eager to take possession of panama; and the panamanians, noisy, insolent, boastful, bragging of how they had whipped the “yankee pigs” and daring the whole united states to attempt any punishment.
-the united states seems to have supinely “taken the dare”, as the boys would say, for though the affray and the murders occurred in july, 1912, nothing has yet been done. in answer to a formal query in april, 1913, the department of state replied that the matter was “still the subject of diplomatic correspondence which it is hoped will have a satisfactory termination”.
-americans on the zone are depressed over the seeming lack of vigor on the part of the home government. they say that the apparent immunity enjoyed by the assailants of the marines has only enhanced the contemptuous hatred of the natives for the americans. “let them step on our side of the line”, says the swashbuckling native with a chip on his shoulder, “and we’ll show ’em”. among the americans on the zone there is almost universal regret that the troops were not marched into panama on the day of the riot. authority existed under the treaty with the republic of panama. the troops were ready. the lesson need not have been a severe one, but it was deserved and would have been lasting. furthermore those best equipped to judge say that the event is only deferred, not averted. “spiggotty” and “gringo” will not continue long to make faces over an imaginary line without a clash.
-despite the feeling against the americans, all classes of panamanians must admit receiving a certain amount of advantage from the activities of the canal builders. moreover the $10,000,000 paid over by the united states for the canal zone has not been squandered, nor has it been dissipated in graft. we are inclined to laugh because one of the first uses to which it was put was to build a government theater, which is opened scarce thirty days out of the year. but it is fair to take the latin temperament into consideration. there is no latin-american republic so impoverished as not to have a theater built by the public. the republic of panama, created overnight, found itself without any public buildings whatsoever, barring the jail. obviously a national capitol was the first need and it was speedily supplied. if one wing was used to house a theater that was a matter for local consideration and not one for cold-blooded yankees to jeer about. the republic itself was a little theatrical, rather reminiscent of the papier-mâché creations of the stage carpenter, and might be expected to vanish like a transformation scene. at any rate with the money in hand the panamanians built a very creditable government building, including a national theater, and an imposing building for the national institute as well. they might have done worse. it showed that the revolution was more of a business affair than most central-american enterprises of that sort. the average leader of so successful an enterprise would have concealed the greater part of the booty in a paris bank account to his own order, and used the rest in building up an army for his own maintenance in power. panama has her needed public buildings--let us wink at the theater--and $7,500,000 invested in new york against a time of need.
-the panama national institute
-the three government buildings in the city of panama are all creditable architecturally, and from a superficial standpoint structurally as well. whenever you are shown a piece of government work in a latin-american country your guide always whispers “graft”--as for that matter is the practice in new york as well. but panama seems to have received the worth of its money. the government palace, which corresponds to our national capitol, stands facing a little plaza open toward the sea. it is nearly square, 180 by 150 feet, surrounding a tasteful court or patio after the south american manner. built of rubble masonry it is faced with white cement, and is of a singularly simple and effective architectural style for a latin-american edifice. the building houses the assembly hall, the government theater and the public offices. the interior of the theater, which seats about 1000, is rather in the european than the north american style with a full tier of boxes, large foyers decorated with paintings by panama artists, and all the appurtenances of a well-appointed opera house.
-next to the government palace the most ambitious public building in panama is the home of the national institute, or university, which nestles at the foot of ancon hill. this is a group of seven buildings surrounding a central court. the institute is designed in time to become a true university, but its accommodations are at present far in advance of its needs. equipped with an excellent faculty it will for some time to come--it was opened only in 1911--suffer from a lack of pupils, because the public schools in the republic are not yet fitted to equip pupils for a university course. the population of panama is largely illiterate. the census in 1911 showed 60,491 children of school age, and only 18,607 enrolled in schools of all classes. of those more than 16,000 were enrolled in the primary schools. the government however is doing all it can to encourage education among the masses, and the national institute will offer to all who fit themselves to enter its classes not only free tuition, but free board and lodging as well.
-the third considerable public building in panama is the municipal building which stands at one corner of the cathedral plaza. it contains, beside the council chamber and usual offices, the columbus library of about 2500 books, including many rare volumes on the ancient history of the isthmian land and its people.
-to return however to the physical aspects of the city of panama. it is recorded of a certain king of spain that when certain bills for the fortification of panama city were presented to him he gazed into vacancy with the rapt eyes of one seeing visions.
-“methinks i behold those walls from here”, quoth he to the suppliant treasurer, “they must be so prodigious”!
-it is little wonder that even the remnants of panama’s wall are impressive. the new city was decreed by the queen of spain in 1672, or about a year after morgan had despoiled and destroyed old panama. the site was chosen largely because of the opportunity it afforded for defense, and the good bishop had scarcely selected the site for the cathedral when the military officials began staking out the line of the walls. though almost 250 years have since passed a great part of these fortifications is still intact, and the plan of the whole is still easily traceable amid the narrow streets of the crowded little city. most notable of the sections still standing is the sea wall, sometimes called las bovedas, from which on the one hand one looks down on the inmates of the flowery little chiriqui prison, and on the other out to sea--past the shallow harbor with its army of pelicans, past the tossing little native fishing and market boats, past the long balboa fill where the canal builders have thrown a mountain into the sea and made a vast plain, and so on to the three little islands, rising craggy from the ocean where the great republic of the north is mounting the cannon that shall guard the entrance of the canal from any invader. very different from the old spanish fort of the 17th century are these military works of the 20th and not nearly so picturesque. such as they are must be left to the imagination, for the military authorities rigidly bar the camera from the post.
-the original city stood on a peninsula, and three sides of this were bounded by the sea wall, rising from about high water mark to a height of from twenty to thirty feet. about half way between the present plazas of the cathedral and santa ana the wall turned inward with a great frowning bastion at each corner and crossed the isthmus. a moat was dug on its landward side, shutting off all communication with the mainland save over the drawbridge and through the sally-port on the line of the avenida centrale. with drawbridge up and sally-port closed the old town was effectually shut off from attack by land, while its guns on the landward wall effectually commanded the broad plain on which now stands the upper part of the town, and the declivities of ancon hill where now are the buildings of the zone hospital and the tivoli hotel.
-a good bit of construction and of military engineering was the wall of panama--our own engineers on the canal have done no better. round the corner from la mercedes church a salient bastion crops out among fragile frame tenements and jerry-built structures. the angle is as sharp as though the storms of two and a half centuries had not broken over it. climb it and you will find the top level, grassy, and broad enough for a tennis court full thirty feet above the level of the town. the construction was not unlike that of the center walls of the locks designed by the best american engineers. two parallel walls of masonry were built, about forty to fifty feet apart and the space between filled in with dirt, packed solidly. on this part of the wall were no bomb proofs, chambers or dungeons. the guns were mounted en barbette, on the very top of the wall and discharged through embrasures in the parapet. rather let it be said that they were to have been fired, for the new panama was built after the plague of the pirates had passed and the bane of the buccaneers was abated. no foe ever assaulted the city from its landward side. in the frequent revolutions the contending parties were already within the town and did their fighting in its streets, the old walls serving no more useful purpose than the ropes which define a prize ring. only the sea-wall has heard the thunder of cannon in deadly conflict. there during the brief revolution which gave the united states the whip hand in panama a colombian gunboat did indeed make a pretense of shelling the city, but was driven away by machine guns mounted on the wall.
-within the walls, or the portion of the town the walls once surrounded, live the older families of native panamanians, or those of foreign birth who have lived so long upon the isthmus as to become identified with its life. the edifices along the streets are more substantial, the shops more dignified than in the newer quarter without. there are few, if any, frame structures and these evidently patched in where some fire has swept away more substantial predecessors. this part of panama is reminiscent of many small towns of spain or portugal. the galleries nod at each other across streets too narrow to admit the burning sun, or to permit the passage of more than one vehicle at a time. the older churches, or their ruins, diversify the city streets, and the cathedral plaza in the very center with the great open café of the historic hotel centrale at one side has a distinctly foreign flavor. here as one sits in the open listening to the native band and sipping a drink--softer, if one be wise, than that the natives thrive upon--and watches the native girls of every shade and in gayest dress driving or loitering past, one feels far from the bustling north american world, far from that snap and ginger and hustle on which americans pride themselves. and then perhaps the music is suddenly punctuated by heavy dull “booms”, like a distant cannonade, and one knows that only a few miles away dynamite is rending rock and man is grappling fiercely with nature.
-carnival occupies the four days preceding ash wednesday, the period known in all catholic countries as the mardi gras. for years its gaiety has been preceded by a vigorous political contest for the high honor of being queen of the carnival, though it is said that in later years this rivalry has been less determined than of yore. at one time, however, it was contended for as strenuously as though the presidency of the republic was at stake and the two political parties--liberal and conservative--made it as much a stake of political activity as though the destiny of the state was involved. happy the young woman who had a father able and willing to foot the bills, for no corrupt practices act intervened to save candidates from the wiles of the campaign grafter, or to guard the integrity of the voter from the insidious temptations of the man with a barrel.
-it would be chivalric to say that the one issue in the campaign is the beauty of the respective candidates, but alas for a mercenary age! the sordid spirit of commercialism has crept in and the panamanian papa must look upon the ambitions of his beauteous daughter as almost as expensive as a six cylinder automobile, a trip to europe, or a yearning for a titled husband. but sometimes there are compensations. it is whispered that for one in retail trade in a large way it is no bad advertisement to have a carnival queen for a daughter.
-“loudly the cracked bells overhead of san francisco ding with santa ana, la merced, felipe answering. banged all at once, and four times four morn, noon and night the more and more, clatter and clang with huge uproar, the bells of panama”.
-señoritas of sundry shades look down sweetly from the balconies, and shower confetti on gallant caballeros who stalk along as giant chanticleers, or strive to entangle in parti-colored tapes the lances of a gay party of toreadors. at night some of the women enmesh giant fireflies in their raven locks with flashing effect. king license rules supreme, and some of the horseplay even in the brightly lighted cafés of the centrale and metropolitan rather transcends the limits of coldly descriptive prose. the natives will tell you that the cathedral plaza is the center of propriety; the plaza santa ana a trifle risqué. after observation and a return at daybreak from the carnival balls held at the centrale and metropolitan hotels you can meditate at your leisure upon the precise significance of the word propriety in panama at mardi gras.
-the clause in the treaty which grants to the united states authority to maintain order in the republic might very readily be stretched to include police power over panama. this has not been done however and the city has its own police force, an exceedingly numerous one for a town of its size. undoubtedly, however, diplomatic representations from the united states have caused the panamanians to put their police regulations somewhat in accord with north american ideas. there are no more bull fights--“we never had very good bull-fights anyway”, said a panama gentleman plaintively acquiescing in this reform. cock-fights however flourish and form, with the lottery drawing, the chief sunday diversion. a pretty dismal spectacle it is, too, with two attenuated birds, often covered with blood and half sightless, striking fiercely at each other with long steel spurs, while a crowd of a hundred or so, blacks and whites, indiscriminately yell encouragement and shriek for bets from the surrounding arena. the betting in fact is the real support of the game. the jamaicans particularly have their favorite cocks and will wager a week’s pay on their favorites and all of their wives’ laundry earnings they can lay hands upon as well. one or two gamecocks tethered by the leg are as common a sight about a jamaican’s hut as “houn’ dawgs” around a missouri cabin.
-shopping in panama is a decidedly cosmopolitan enterprise. the shopkeeper of whom i bought a panama hat, made in ecuador, did business under a spanish name, was in fact a genoese and when he found i could speak neither spanish nor italian coaxed me up to his price in french. most of the retail prices are of so elastic a sort that when you have beaten them down two-thirds you retire with your package perfectly confident that they would have stood another cut. nevertheless the chinese merchants, who are the chief retail dealers in the tropics, compel respect. they live cleanly, are capable business men, show none of the sloth and indifference of the natives, and seem to prosper everywhere. the chinese market gardens in the outskirts of panama are a positive relief for the neatness of their trim rows of timely plants. the panamanian eats yams and grumbles that the soil will grow nothing else; the chinaman makes it produce practically all the vegetables that grow in our northern gardens.
-avenida centrale ends its arterial course at the sea wall of the city, or at least at that part of the sea wall which is the best preserved and retains most of its old-time dignity. it is here something like the battery at charleston, s. c., though the houses fringing it are not of a like stateliness, and the aristocracy of the quarter is somewhat tempered by the fact that here, too, is the city prison. into the courtyards of this calaboose you can gaze from sundry little sentry boxes, the little sentries in which seem ever ready to step out to let the tourist step in and afterward pose for his camera, with rifle, fixed bayonet and an even more fixed expression. the greater part of one of the prison yards is given over to flower beds, and though sunken some twenty feet or more below the crest of the wall, is thoughtfully provided with such half-way stations in the way of lean-to sheds, ladders and water butts that there seems to be no reason why any prisoner should stay in who wants to get out. but perhaps they don’t often yearn for liberty. a wire fence cuts off the woman’s section of the jail and the several native women i observed flirting assiduously with desperate male malefactors from whom they were separated only by this fence, seemed content with their lot, and evidently helped to cultivate like resignation in the breasts of their dark adorers. a white-clad guard, machete at side and heavy pistol at belt, walks among them jingling a heavy bunch of keys authoritatively but offering no interruption to their tender interludes.
-on the other side of the row of frame quarters by which the prison yard is bisected you can see at the normal hours the prisoners taking their meals at a long table in the open air. over the parapet of the sea wall above, an equally long row of tourists is generally leveling cameras, and sometimes exchanging lively badinage with some criminal who objects to figuring in this amateur rogues’ gallery. to the casual spectator it all savors of opera bouffe, but there are stories a-plenty that the panama jail has had its share of brutal cruelty as have most places wherein men are locked away from sight and subject to the whims of others not so very much their superiors. once the chiriqui prison was a fortress, the bank of quarters for the prisoners formed the barracks, and the deep archways under the sea wall were dungeons oft populated by political prisoners. miasma, damp and the brutality of jailers have many a time brought to occupants of those dungeons their final discharge, and a patch of wall near by, with the bricks significantly chipped, is pointed out as the place where others have been from time to time stood up in front of a firing squad at too short a range for misses. the latin-american lust for blood has had its manifestations in panama, and the old prison has doubtless housed its share of martyrs.
-but one thinks little of the grimmer history of the chiriqui prison, looking down upon the bright flower beds, and the gay quadroon girls flirting with some desperate character who is perhaps “in” for a too liberal indulgence in rum last pay day. indeed the guard wards off more sanguinary reminiscences by telling you that they used to hold bull baitings--a milder form of bull-fight--in the yard that the captives in the dungeons might witness the sport, and perhaps envy the bull, quien sabe?
-the market for shell fish
-the present town of panama does not impress one with the air of being the scene of dark crimes of covetousness, lust and hate. its police system, viewed superficially, is effective and most of the malefactors in the chiriqui jail are there for trivial offenses only. one crime of a few years ago however bids fair to become historic. one of the banks in the town was well known to be the repository of the funds needed for the payroll of the canal force. it was the policy of the commission to pay off as much as possible in gold and silver, and to a very great extent in coins of comparatively small denomination in order to keep it on the zone. the money paid out on pay drafts comes swiftly back through the commissary to the banks which accordingly accumulate a very considerable stock of ready cash as a subsequent pay day approaches. now the banks of panama do not seem to even the casual observer as strongholds, and probably to the professional cracksman they are positive invitations to enterprise. accordingly, three men, only one of whom had any criminal record or was in any sense an habitué of the underworld, set about breaking into one of the principal banks. they laid their plans with deliberation and conducted their operations with due regard for their personal comfort. their plan was to tunnel into the bank from an adjoining building, in which they set up a bogus contracting business to account for the odds and ends of machinery and implements they had about. the tunnel being dark they strung electric lights in it. being hot, under that tropic air, they installed electric fans. all the comforts of a burglar’s home were there.
-from a strictly professional standpoint they made not a single blunder. their one error--almost a fatal one--was in not being good churchmen. for they had planned to enter the bank late on a saturday night. tuesday was to be pay day and on monday the full amount of the pay roll would be drawn out. but saturday night it would all be there--several hundred thousand dollars--and they would have all day sunday to pack it securely and make their getaway. midnight, then, saw them creeping into the bank. the safe yielded readily to their assaults, but it disgorged only a beggarly $30,000 or so. what could be the trouble? just then the knowledge dawned on the disappointed bandits that monday was a saint’s day, the bank would be closed, therefore the prudent zone paymaster had drawn his funds on saturday. the joke was on the cracksmen.
-with the comparatively few thousands they had accumulated the disappointed outlaws took a motor boat and made for colombia. had they secured the loot they expected they would have been made welcome there, for colombia does not recognize her run-away child panama, and no extradition treaty could have been appealed to by the panamanians against their despoilers. as it was they quarreled over the booty. one of the three was killed; the other two were arrested for the murder, but soon went free. their complete immunity from prosecution calls attention to the fact that a few hours’ trip in a motor boat will take any one guilty of crime in panama to a land where he will be wholly free from punishment.
-churches in panama, or the ruins of them, are many, and while not beautiful are interesting. everybody goes to see the famous flat arch of the san domingo church, and its disappearance will be a sore blow to guides and post-card dealers. aside from its curious architectural quality the arch derives interest from a legend of its construction by a pious monk. twice it fell before the mortar had time to set. the third time its designer brought a stool and sat himself down below the heavy keystone. “if it falls”, he said, “i go with it”. but that time the arch stood firm, and it has withstood the assaults of centuries to come at last to the ignoble end of incorporation in a tenement house. the arch, which certainly looks unstable, is often pointed to as an evidence of the slight peril on the isthmus from earthquake shocks. such convulsions of nature are indeed not unknown but are usually feeble. that great shock that overthrew san francisco was not even registered by the seismograph on the canal zone.
-practically all the churches are of the same plan--two towers at the front corners with the façade built between. the towers of the cathedral rise high above the roof and the tapering steeples are covered with slabs of mother-of-pearl, which make a brave spectacle from the bay when the rosy rays of the setting sun play upon them. within all the churches are poor and barren of ornament. they have been stripped of their funds by various authorities beginning with spain itself, one of the spanish generals in the revolutionary days having seized all the available funds to pay for transportation for his army. perhaps the church resented this, for in later days it voluntarily contributed largely out of its remaining treasure to the revolutionary cause. later still its gold and silver ornaments and altar pieces were confiscated by some faction temporarily in power. indeed the church has been the football of politics, always entangled with the state and thus far suffering in prestige and pocket by the association.
-the cathedral owes its completion to a negro bishop, the son of a charcoal burner who had determined that his boy should rise to higher station. by hard study the lad secured admittance to the priesthood and ultimately rose to be bishop of panama, the first native to fill that post. out of his own salary he paid much of the cost of building the great church, the corner-stone of which had been laid when the city was founded, and by his zeal in soliciting funds secured its completion.
-a systematic tour of the churches of panama is well worth the visitor’s time. more that is curious will be found than there is of the beautiful, and to the former class i am inclined to consign a much begrimed painting in the cathedral which tradition declares to be a murillo. perhaps more interesting than the cathedral is the church of san francisco, in the plaza bolivar. the present structure dates back only to 1785, two former edifices on the same site having been burned. the ruins of the beautiful cloister of the franciscan convent adjoin it, but are concealed from view by an unsightly board fence which the tourist, not having a guide, will not think of passing through. the ruins, however, are well worth seeing.
-the cathedral plaza is socially the center of town, though geographically the old french plaza of santa ana is more near the center. directly opposite the cathedral is the hotel centrale, built after the spanish fashion, with four stories around a central court. in the blither days of the french régime this court was the scene of a revelry to which the daily death roll formed a grim contrast. however the occasional gaiety of the centrale patio did not end with the french. even in the prosaic yankee days of the last carnival the intervention of the police was necessary to prevent a gentleman from being wholly denuded, and displayed to the revelers in nature’s garb as a specimen of the superior products of panama.
-bust of lieut. napoleon b. wyse
-on a nearby corner of the plaza is the old french administration building, afterward occupied by the isthmian canal commission. in 1905 it was a central point of infection for the yellow-fever epidemic, and though repeatedly fumigated was finally abandoned by the american engineers who moved their headquarters out to culebra.
-life in panama city is mainly outdoor life, in the dry season at any rate, and even in the wet season the panamanians move about in the open like a lot of damp and discontented flies. the almost continuous line of balconies shields the sidewalks from the rain, and nobody in panama is too busy to stop a half hour or so at street crossings for the downpour to lessen. sunday nights the band of the republic plays in the plaza, and there all the people of the town congregate to listen to the music, promenade and chat. it is the scene of that curious latin-american courtship which consists of following the adored one with appealing eyes, but never by any possibility speaking to her. the procession of girls and women is worth watching, whether the eyes be adoring or not, and the costumes have a sort of strangeness befitting the scene. the practice has grown up of leaving the outer walk for the negro and negroid people, the inner paths being kept for the whites--but as the walks merge into each other so too do the colors. if one wearies of the moving crowds without, a step will bring him into the patio of the hotel centrale where an excellent orchestra plays, and a gathering chiefly native sips tropical drinks and disposes of the political issues of the day with much oratory and gesticulation.
-as you make your way back to the hotel at night--if it is after eleven, the driver will lawfully charge you twenty cents--you will vainly try to recall any north american town of 40,000 people which can present so many objects of interests to the visitor, and a spectacle of social life so varied, so cosmopolitan and so pleasing.
-the night life of the streets is as a rule placid, however, rather than boisterous, nor is panama an “all night town”. the rule of the tropics is “early to rise” in any event and as a result those parts of the city which the visitor sees usually quiet down by midnight and presently thereafter the regions about the cathedral plaza are as quiet and somnolent as wall street after dark. but in a more sequestered section of the town, where the public hospital looks down significantly on the spectacle from one side, and the cemeteries show sinister on the other, revelry goes on apace until the cool dawn arises. there the clatter of pianolas which have felt the climate sorely mingles with the clink of glasses in cantinas that never close, and the laughter of lips to which, in public at least, laughter is a professional necessity. under the red lights at midnight panama shows its worst. men of varied voyages, familiar with the slums of singapore and the purlieus of paris declare that this little city of a hybrid civilization outdoes them in all that makes up the fevered life of the underworld. scarcely a minute’s walk away is the american town, quiet and restful under the tropic moon, its winding streets well guarded by the zone police, its houses wrapped in vines and fragrant with flowers all dark in the hours of repose. but in the congested tangle of concrete houses between the hospitals and the cemetery madness and mirth reign, brains reel with the fumes of the strange drinks of the tropics, and life is worth a passing pleasure--nothing more. men of many lands have cursed the chagres fever and the jungle’s ills, but the pest place of panama has been subjected to no purging process with all the efforts of the united states to banish evil from the isthmus.
-the sanitation of the zone
-the seal of the canal zone shows a galleon under full sail passing between the towering banks of the culebra cut, with the motto, “the land divided; the world united”. sometimes as i trudged about the streets of colon or panama, or over the hills and through the jungle in the zone, i have thought a more significant coat-of-arms might be made up of a garbage can rampant and a gigantic mosquito mordant for verily by the collection and careful covering of filth and the slaughter of the pestilential mosquito all the work done on the zone has been made possible. as for the motto how would this do--“a clean country and a salubrious strait”?
-it is the universal opinion of those familiar with the canal work that if we had approached the task with the lack of sanitary knowledge from which the french suffered we should have failed as they did. no evil known to man inspires such dread as yellow fever. leprosy, in the individual, does indeed, although well-informed people know that it is not readily communicated and never becomes epidemic. cholera did strike the heart of man with cold dread, but more than one generation has passed since cholera was an evil to be reckoned with in civilized countries. yellow fever is now to be classed with it as an epidemic disease, the spread of which can be absolutely and unerringly controlled.
-the demonstrated fact that yellow fever is transmitted only by the bite of a stegomyia mosquito which has already bitten, and been infected by, a human being sick of the fever has become one of the commonplaces of sanitary science. yet that knowledge dates back comparatively few years, and was not available to mankind at the time the french began their struggle with tropical nature. over the honor of first discovering the fact of the malignant part played by the mosquito there has been some conflict, but credit is generally given to dr. donald ross, a scotchman in the indian civil service. his investigations however were greatly extended and practical effect was given them by surgeons in the united states army engaged in the work of eliminating pestilence from havana. to majors walter reed, jesse w. lazear and james carroll the chief credit is due for testing, proving and applying the theory in havana. lazear bravely gave up his life to the experiment, baring his arm to the bite of a mosquito, and dying afterward of yellow fever in terrible agony.
-col. w. c. gorgas
-the fact of this earlier application of the mosquito theory does not in the slightest degree detract from the great honor due to col. w. c. gorgas for his work in changing the isthmus of panama from a pest-hole into a spot as fit for human habitation as any spot on the globe. unfortunately, as the impending success of the canal enterprise became apparent, rivalry for the prime honor grew up between the followers of the two chief figures, col. goethals and col. gorgas. that either of these gentlemen shared in this feeling is not asserted, but their friends divided the isthmus into two hostile camps. rivalry of this sort was unfortunate and needless. in the words of admiral schley after the battle of santiago: “there was glory enough for all”. but the result was to decry and to depreciate the work of col. gorgas in making the isthmus habitable. as a matter of fact no historian will for one moment hesitate to state that only by that work was it made possible to dig the canal at all. col. goethals himself in his moments of deepest doubt as to the size of the appropriations for sanitation purposes would hardly question that statement. that some other man than gorgas might have done the work with the experience of the french and the discovery of the malignant quality of the mosquito to guide him is undoubtedly true. that some other man than goethals might have dug the canal with the experience of two earlier engineers, as well as of the french to serve as warnings, is equally true. but these two finished the work and to each belongs the glory for his part.
-dredging a colon street
-col. gorgas first visited the isthmus in 1904. in a little pamphlet which i have before me he then described simply the essence of the problem he had to meet. he found camped on a hill, perfectly drained and supplied with good water, 450 marines--who of course were men of exceptionally good physique, robust and vigorous. yet in four months 170 out of the 450 were infected with malaria, and col. gorgas said, “if these men were our laborers, working daily in culebra cut, exposed to the sun and weather, many of these cases would be severe in type and at the end of the year we would be approaching the mortality of the french”. the cause for the infection was apparent. though the marines’ camp was clean and sanitary there was at the foot of the hill, on which it was perched, a village of 400 or 500 jamaica negroes. examination of the people showed that all suffered from chronic malaria. the marine strolling in the village would be bitten by a mosquito--the anopheles which is partial to malaria--which had already bitten an infected negro. the result was the spread of the infection among the marines. as col. gorgas put it, “the condition is very much the same as if these four or five hundred natives had the smallpox and our marines had never been vaccinated”. to correct this condition he proposed, “to take this village, put it under a systematic scheme of inspection, whereby we will be able to control all water barrels and deposits of water, so that no mosquitoes will be allowed to breed, look after its street cleaning and disposal of night soil, etc., so as to get it in good sanitary condition, then have the population examined and recorded, so that we will have on a card a short history of each individual and keep track of them in this way. those suffering from malaria will be put under treatment, and watched as long as the malarial parasite is found in the blood. i hope, in this way, to decrease to the smallest limit the number of anopheles, the malarial-bearing mosquito, and, at the same time, to gradually eliminate the human being as a source of infection, so that at the end of a year it will be entirely safe for an unacclimated man to live in this village”.
-being appointed chief sanitary officer col. gorgas put this plan into effect not only in that village but in every part of the canal zone, particular attention being given to the cities of panama and colon. in these cities the visitor will be impressed with the comparative cleanliness of the streets and sidewalks and the covering of all garbage receptacles. no other central american city shows so cleanly a front. screening, however, is little in evidence. how great the mortality had been under the french it is impossible to tell. their statistics related almost wholly to deaths in their hospitals and very largely to white patients. men who died out on the line, natives who worked a day or two and went back to their villages to die were left unrecorded. in the hospitals it was recorded that between 1881 and 1889, 5618 employees died. the contractors were charged a dollar a day for every man sent to the hospitals, so it may be conjectured that not all were sent who should have been. col. gorgas estimates the average death rate at about 240 per 1000 annually. the american general death rate began with a maximum of 49.94 per 1000 sinking to 21.18, at or about which point it has remained for several years. among employees alone our death rate was 7.50 per 1000. the french with an average force of 10,200 men employed, lost in nine years 22,189 men. we with an average force of 33,000 lost less than 4000 in about an equal period.
-when col. gorgas came to the isthmus the two towns panama and colon were well fitted to be breeding places for pestilence. neither had sewers nor any drainage system. the streets of panama were paved after a fashion with cobblestones and lined with gutters through which the liquid refuse of the town trickled slowly or stood still to fester and grow putrescent under the glowing rays of the tropic sun. colon had no pavement whatsoever. neither town had waterworks and the people gathered and stored rainwater in cisterns and pottery jars which afforded fine breeding places for the mosquito. as a matter of fact, the whole isthmus, not the towns alone, furnishes plenty of homes for the mosquito. with a rainy season lasting throughout eight months in the year much of the soil is waterlogged. the stagnant back waters of small streams; pools left by the rains; the footprints of cows and other animals filled up with rain water quickly breed the wrigglers that ultimately become mosquitoes. mr. a. h. jennings, the entomologist of the commission, has identified 125 varieties of the mosquito, of which, however, the anopheles and the stegomyia are the ones peculiarly obnoxious to man. the others are merely the common or summer resort variety of mosquito with a fondness for ankles and the back of one’s hand, which can be observed any time on long island or in new jersey without the expense of a trip to panama. a careful study of literary authorities indicates to me that at this point in the description of the mosquito plague on the isthmus it is proper to indulge in humorous reflections upon the fact that the bite of the female only is dangerous. but, given the fact, the humorous applications seem so obvious that the reader may be trusted to draw them for himself--it would be idle to say “herself”, for the women will not see anything humorous about it at all.
-panama bay from ancon hospital
-the fight then against disease on the isthmus resolved itself largely into a war of extermination upon the two noxious varieties of mosquitoes. it involved first a cleaning up, paving and draining of the two towns. curiously enough bad smells are not necessarily unhygienic, but they betoken the existence of matter that breeds disease germs, and flies and other insects distribute those germs where they will do the most harm. colon and panama therefore were paved and provided with sewage systems, while somewhat stringent ordinances checked the pleasant panama practice of emptying all slops from the front gallery into the street. it is fair to the panamanians to note that in the end they will pay for the vigorous cleaning and refurbishing of their towns by the americans. our sanitary forces did the work and did it well, by virtue of the clause in the treaty which grants the united states authority to prosecute such work in the two cities and collect from the householder its cost by means of water and sewage rates.
-sanitary work in a village
-this work was completed in 1908 and the final report of the division of municipal engineering which conducted it showed that nearly $6,000,000 had been expended, of which about $2,250,000 was for pavements, sewers and waterworks in the two cities, and about $3,500,000 for work in the canal zone. nearly a million more was subsequently expended in the towns.
-the first thing to do with the towns was to fumigate them. the panamanians did not like this. neither would we or any other people for that matter, for the process of fumigating necessarily interrupts the routine of life, invades domestic privacy, inevitably causes some loss by the discoloring of fabrics, interrupts trade in the case of stores and is in general an infernal nuisance. that much any people will say against wholesale fumigation. but to the panamanians it was peculiarly offensive because they were immune from yellow fever anyway, and to some extent from malaria as well, so to their minds the whole thing was an imposition by which the americans alone would profit. if the gringoes weren’t able to live in panama without smoking people out of house and home, they had better stay away was the generally expressed public opinion of panama.
-here the peculiar personality of col. gorgas came into play. had that gentleman not been a great health officer he would have made a notable diplomat, particularly in these new days when tact and charm of manner are considered more essential to an american diplomat than dollars. he went among the people of the two towns, argued, jollied and cajoled them until a work which it was thought might have to be accomplished at the point of the bayonet was finished with but little friction. the bayonet was always in the background, however, for the treaty gives the united states unqualified authority to enforce its sanitary ordinances in the cities of colon and panama. we can send a regiment if necessary to compel a man to keep his yard clean--which is perhaps more than we could do in some benighted towns of our own united states.
-the tone of the man in the street toward these american innovations is partly surly, partly jocular. in panama he will show you a very considerable section of the town which is not yet fully rebuilt and insist that the fire which started it was caused by the “fool fumigators”. there is some difference of opinion as to the origin of this blaze, and the matter of damages is, as i write, in the hands of arbitrators, but the native opinion is solidly against the fumigating torch bearers. on the subject of the extermination of mosquitoes the native is always humorous. he will describe to you col. gorgas’s trained bloodhounds and old sleuths tracking the criminal stegomyia to his lair; the corps of bearers of machetes and chloroform who follow to put an end to the malevolent mosquito’s days; the scientist with the high-powered microscope who examines the remains and, if he finds the deceased carried germs, the wide search made for individuals whom he may have bitten that they may be segregated and put under proper treatment.
-in reality there is a certain humor in this scientific bug hunting. you are at afternoon tea with a hostess in one of the charming tropical houses which the commission supplies to its workers. the eyes of your hostess suddenly become fixed in a terrified gaze.
-“goodness gracious”! she exclaims, “look there”!
-“what? where”? you cry, bounding from your seat in excitement. perhaps a blast has just boomed on the circumambient air and you have visions of a fifty-pound rock about to fly through the drawing-room window. life on the zone abounds in such incidents.
-the mosquito chloroformer at work
-“there”! dramatically. “that mosquito”!
-“i’ll swat it”, you cry valorously, remembering the slogan of “swat the fly” which breaks forth recurrently in our newspapers every spring, though they are quite calm and unperturbed about the places which breed flies faster than they can be swatted.
-“goodness, no. i must telephone the department”.
-speechless with amazement you wonder if the police or fire department is to be called out to cope with this mosquito. in due time there appears an official equipped with an electric flash-light, a phial and a small bottle of chloroform. the malefactor--no, the suspect, for the anopheles malefactor does no evil despite his sinister name--is mercifully chloroformed and deposited in the phial for a later post mortem. with his flash-light the inspector examines all the dark places of the house to seek for possible accomplices, and having learned that nobody has been bitten takes himself off.
-it does seem a ridiculous amount of fuss about a mosquito, doesn’t it? but since that sort of thing has been done on the zone death carts no longer make their dismal rounds for the night’s quota of the dead, and the ravages of malaria are no longer so general or so deadly as they were.
-nowadays there are no cases of yellow fever developing on the zone, but in the earlier days when one did occur the sanitary officials set out to find the cause of infection. when the french seek to detect a criminal they follow the maxim “cherchez la femme” (look for the woman). when pursuing the yellow-fever germ to its source the panama inspectors look for the stegomyia mosquito that bit the victim--which is a little reminiscent of hunting for a needle in a haystack.
-a drunken man picked up on the street in panama was taken to the hospital and there died of yellow fever. he was a stranger but his hotel was looked up and proved to be a native house occupied only by immunes, so that he could not have been infected there. nobody seemed to care particularly about the deceased, who was buried as speedily as possible, but the sanitary department did care about the source of his malady. looking up his haunts it was discovered that he was much seen in company with an italian. thereupon all the italians in town were interrogated; one declared he had seen the dead man in company with the man who tended bar at the theater. this worthy citizen was sought out and was discovered hiding away in a secluded lodging sick with yellow fever. whereupon the theater was promptly fumigated as the center of infection.
-clearing up and keeping clean the two centers of population was, however, the least of the work of sanitation. the whole isthmus was a breeding place for the mosquitoes. obviously every foot of it could not be drained clear of pools and rivulets, but the preventive campaign of the sanitation men covered scores of square miles adjacent to villages and the canal bed, and was marvelously effective in reducing the number of mosquitoes. away from the towns the campaign was chiefly against the malarial mosquito--the anophelinæ. the yellow fever mosquito, the stegomyia, is a town-bred insect coming from cisterns, water pitchers, tin cans, fountains in the parks, water-filled pans used to keep ants from the legs of furniture and the like. it is even said to breed in the holy-water fonts of the multitudinous churches of panama, and the sanitary officials secured the co-operation of the church authorities in having those receptacles kept fresh. the malarial mosquito however breeds in streams, marshes and pools and will travel sometimes a mile and a half from his birth-place looking for trouble.
-as you ride in a train across the isthmus you will often see far from any human habitation a blackened barrel on a board crossing some little brook a few inches wide. if you have time to look carefully you will see that the edges of the gully through which the brook runs have been swept clear of grass by scythe or fire or both, and that the banks of the rivulet are blackened as though by a tar-brush while the water itself is covered by a black and greasy film.
-this is one of the outposts of the army of health. of them there are several hundred, perhaps thousands, scattered through the zone. the barrel is filled with a certain fluid combination of oil and divers chemicals called larvacide. day and night with monotonous regularity it falls drop by drop into the rivulet, spreads over its surface and is deposited on the pebbles on the banks. the mosquito larvæ below must come to the surface to breathe. there they meet with the noxious fluid and at the first breath are slain. automatically this one barrel makes that stream a charnel house for mosquito larvæ. but up and down throughout the land go men with cans of the oil on their backs and sprinklers in their hands seeking for pools and stagnant puddles which they spray with the larvacide. so between the war on the larva at its breeding point and the system of screening off all residences, offices and eating places the malarial infection has been greatly reduced. it has not been eradicated by any manner of means. the panama cocktail (quinine) is still served with meals. in one year 2307.66 pounds of the drug were served out. but if not wholly obliterated the ailment has been greatly checked. dr. a. j. orenstein, of the department of sanitation, says in summing up the results of the policy:
-“the campaign against malaria was inaugurated on the following plan: (1) treatment with adequate doses of quinine (about 30 grains a day for adults) of all cases of malaria. first, because this treatment is curative; and, second, because unless so treated, each case of malaria constitutes a focus from which malaria spreads. in malarial regions there are many persons who have what is often spoken of as chronic malaria. such individuals frequently do not suffer any serious inconvenience. they more often suffer from occasional headaches, anemia or slight fever. these are the people most dangerous from the standpoint of the sanitarian. it is in the blood of these individuals that the malaria-causing parasite has attained the form in which, if taken by a female anopheline, it develops within this mosquito into the form capable of causing malaria in the individual whom the anopheline may bite a week or so thereafter. (2) protecting dwelling with copper wire gauze against the ingress of mosquitoes. all houses occupied by americans and most of the others are screened. (3) catching and killing mosquitoes within the dwellings. this is done by negro “mosquito catchers”, and is of great value in preventing malaria where other prophylactic measures cannot be inaugurated. (4) destroying the breeding places of anophelinæ by filling, draining, and training the banks of streams. (5) destroying the anophelinæ in the larval and pupal stages by oiling the water in which they are found, or applying a special larva poison to this water. (6) clearing the rank vegetation in the immediate vicinity of dwellings and settlements, so as to destroy the shelter for such mosquitoes as may find their way to the vicinity of the houses; to hasten evaporation and the drying of small water collections and marshy places; to expose to view small breeding places and to remove the temptation to throw water containers into the vegetation.
-“these measures, conscientiously and painstakingly carried out, resulted in reducing the number of malaria cases treated in the hospitals from 6.83 per cent of the working force per month in 1906 to 1.53 per cent of the working force per month in 1911, and the death from malaria among employees from 233 in 1906 to 47 in 1911”.
-“the malaria sick rate for 1906, if continued to 1911, would give, on the basis of the number of employees in 1911, about 40,000 cases of malaria sick in the hospitals for the year, or a loss in labor of about 200,000 days of work. the total number of employees sick in hospitals with malaria in 1911 was 8946--or a loss of 44,730 days of work. a gain of about 155,000 days was, therefore, made. placing the loss to the government for each day’s labor, plus treatment, at the rather low figure of $3 per man, the gain in this one item of saving more than offset the cost of sanitation proper. these figures do not include malarial cases treated in the dispensaries and in homes. among this class of patients the gain has undoubtedly been proportionate to the gain in hospital cases, and in addition it must not be forgotten that malaria is a disease that undermines a man’s health insidiously and lowers his working efficiency to an extent not approached by any disease with the possible exception of hook-worm. the less malaria the fewer inefficient workers in an organization”.
-of course the screening system was vital to any successful effort to control and check the transmission of fever germs by insects. but the early struggles of col. gorgas to get enough wire netting to properly protect the labor quarters were pathetic. “why doesn’t he screen in the whole isthmus and let it go at that”? inquired one congressman who thought it was all intended to put a few more frills on houses for already highly paid workers. the screening has indeed cost a pretty penny for only the best copper wire will stand the test of the climate. at first there was reluctance on the part of disbursing officers to meet the heavy requirements of col. gorgas. but the yellow-fever epidemic of 1905 stopped all that. thereafter the screening was regarded as much of an integral part of a house as its shingling.
-the efforts that were put forth to make the canal zone a liveable spot have not been relaxed in keeping it so. a glance at the report of the chief sanitary officer for any year shows something of his continued activity. you find records of houses fumigated for beriberi, diphtheria, malaria, leprosy, and a dozen other evils. the number of rats killed is gravely enumerated--during the year 1911 for example there were nearly 13,000. it may be noted in passing that the rats distribute fleas and fleas carry the germs of the bubonic plague, hence the slaughter. incidentally guests of the native hotels in panama city say that the destruction was far from complete.
-two large hospitals are maintained by the canal commission at colon and at ancon, together with smaller ones for emergency cases at culebra and other points along the line. the two principal hospitals will be kept open after the completion of the canal, but not of course to their full capacity. ancon alone has accommodations for more than 1500 patients, and when the army of labor has left the zone there can be no possible demand for so great an infirmary. both of these hospitals were inherited from the french, and the one at colon has been left much in the condition they delivered it in, save for needed repairs and alterations. its capacity has not been materially increased. the ancon hospital however has become one of the great institutions of its kind in the world. the french gave us a few buildings with over 300 patients sheltered in tents. the americans developed this place until now more than fifty buildings are ranged along the side of ancon hill. when the french first established the hospital they installed as nurses a number of sisters of st. vincent with sister rouleau as sister superior. the gentle sisters soon died. the yellow fever carried them off with heart-rending rapidity. sister marie however left a monument which will keep her fair fame alive for many years yet to come. she was a great lover of plants, and the luxuriance of the tropical foliage was to her a never-ending charm. to her early efforts is due the beauty of the grounds of the ancon hospital, where one looks between the stately trunks of the fronded royal palms past a hillside blazing with hibiscus, and cooled with the rustling of leaves of feather palms and plantains to where the blue pacific lies smooth beneath the glowing tropic sun. beside the beauty of its surroundings the hospital is eminently practical in its plan. the many separate buildings permit the segregation of cases, and the most complete and scientific ventilation.
-making the hospital attractive was one of the points insisted upon by col. gorgas. some of the doctors think that possibly it has been a wee bit overdone. some of the folks along the zone look on a brief space spent in the hospital as a pleasant interlude in an otherwise monotonous life. as they have thirty days’ sick leave with pay every year they are quite prone to turn to the pleasant slopes of ancon hill, with a week at the charming sanitarium on taboga island as a fitting close--a sort of café parfait to top off the feast. surgery even seems to have lost its terrors there. “why, they even bring their friends to be operated on”, said one of the surgeons laughingly when talking of the popularity of the hospital among the zone dwellers.
-charity cases have numbered as many as 66,000 a year and the records show that during the period of greatest activity on the zone as many as 70 different nationalities were ministered to. the question of color was often an embarrassing one. the gradations of shades between pure white to darkest african is so exceedingly delicate in panama that there is always difficulty in determining whether the subject under consideration belongs to the “gold” or the “silver” class, for the words black and white are tactfully avoided in the zone in their reference to complexions. “this is my plan”, said col. mason in charge of the hospital. “on certain days the patients are allowed visitors. when the color of the inmate is problematical, as is usually the case with women, i ask if she wants her husband to visit her. if she does and he proves to be a negro, she goes into the colored ward. if she still insists that she is white, she can go into the white ward, but must dispense with his visits”.
-under our treaty the zone sanitary department takes charge of the insane of colon and panama, and a very considerable share of the grounds at ancon is divided off with barbed wire for their use. the number of patients runs well into the hundreds, with very few americans. most are jamaica negroes and the hospital authorities say that they are mentally unbalanced by the rush and excitement of life on the zone. i never happened to see a jamaica negro excited unless it happened to be a tivoli hotel waiter confronted with the awful responsibility of an extra guest at table. then the excitement took the form of deep melancholy, exaggerated lethargy, and signs of suicidal mania in every facial expression.
-beside the hospital service the sanitary department maintains dispensaries at several points on the line, where necessary drugs are provided for patients in the commission service free. patent medicines are frowned upon, and such as are purveyed must be bought through the commissary. medical service is free to employees and their families. all doctors practicing on the zone are on the gold payroll for wages ranging from $1800 to $7000 a year. i could not find upon inquiry that the fact that they were not dependent upon the patient for payment made the doctors less alert or sympathetic. at least no complaints to that effect were current.
-to my mind the most notable effect upon the life of the zone of this system of free medical attendance was that it added one more to the many inducements to matrimony. infantile colic and measles are shorn of much of their terror to the young parent when no doctor’s bill attends them. incidentally, too, the benevolent administration looks after the teeth of the employees as a part of its care of their general health. one effect of this is to impress the visitor with the remarkable number of incisors gleaming with fresh gold visible where zone folk are gathered together.
-the annual vacations of the workers during the construction period may properly be considered in connection with sanitation work on the zone, for they were not permitted to be mere loafing time. the man who took a vacation was not allowed to stay on the isthmus. if he tried to stay there col. goethals found it out in that omniscient fashion of his and it was a case of hike for a change of air or go back to work. for, notwithstanding the fact that col. gorgas pulled the teeth of the tropics with his sanitary devices and regulations, an uninterrupted residence in that climate does break down the stamina and enfeeble the energy of men from more temperate climes. every employee was given 42 days’ vacation with full pay, but he had to quit the zone for some country which would afford a beneficial climatic change. of course most went back to the united states, being encouraged thereto by a special rate on the steamship of $30--the regular rate being $75. but beside this vacation each employee was entitled to 30 days’ sick leave. it was not an exceedingly difficult task to conjure up enough symptoms to persuade a friendly physician to issue a sick order. the favorite method of enjoying this respite from work was to spend as little of the time as possible at ancon, and the rest at the sanitarium on the island of taboga.
-that garden spot in the bay of panama where the french left the sanitarium building we now use is worth a brief description. you go thither in a small steamboat from balboa or panama and after about three hours’ steaming a flock of little white boats, each with a single oarsman, puts out from the shore to meet you like a flock of gulls as you drop anchor in a bay of truly mediterranean hue. to the traveled visitor the scene is irresistibly reminiscent of some little port of southern italy, and the reminder is all the more vivid when one gets ashore and finds the narrow ways betwixt the elbowing houses quite neapolitan for dirt and ill odor. but from the sea one looks upon a towering hill, bare toward its summit, closely covered lower down by mango, wild fig, and ceiba trees, bordered just above the red roofs of the little town by a fringe of the graceful cocoanut palms. then come the houses, row below row, until they descend to the curving beach where the fishing boats are drawn up out of reach of the tide which rises some 20 feet.
-from the bay the village with its red-tiled roofs and yellow-white walls looks substantial, a bit like villefranche, the port of nice, but this impression is speedily dispelled when one lands in one of the boats, propelled by the oarsman standing and facing the bow--a fashion seldom seen save in italian waters. for seen near at hand the houses are discovered to be of the flimsiest frame construction, save for a few clustering about the little church and sharing with it a general decrepitude and down-at-the-heels air that makes us think they have seen better days. as indeed they have and worse days too, for taboga once shared in the prosperity of the early spanish rule, and enjoyed the honor of having entertained for a few weeks sir henry morgan, that murderous pirate, who later became a baronet and a colonial governor, as a fine finish after his deeds of piracy and rapine. taboga must have treated the buccaneer well, for not only did he forbear to sack the town, but so deep was the devotion paid by him and his men to certain tuns of excellent wine there discovered that they let a spanish galleon, deep-laden with gold and silver, slip through their fingers rather than interrupt their drinking bout.
-tradition has it that the galleon was sunk nearby to save it and its cargo from the pirates, and treasure seekers have been hunting it ever since with the luck that ordinarily attends aspirants for dead men’s gold.
-just now the wine and wassail of taboga is limited to about six grog shops, which seems an oversupply for the handful of fishermen who inhabit its tumble-down hovels. each bar, too, has its billiard table and one is reminded of mark twain’s islands in the south sea where the people earned an honest living by taking in each other’s washing. one wonders if the sole industry of the tabogans is playing billiards. there is indeed little to support the town save fishing, and that, if one may judge from specimens carried through the lanes, must be good. some of the boats at anchor or drawn up on the beach attest to some prosperity amongst them that go down to the sea in ships. one that i saw rigged with a fore-and-aft sail and a jigger was hewn out of a single log like a river cayuca and had a beam exceeding four feet. before many of the houses were lines hung with long strips of fish hanging out to dry, for it is a curious property of this atmosphere that despite its humidity it will cure animal tissues, both fish and flesh, quickly and without taint.
-agriculture in taboga is limited to the culture of the pineapple, and the local variety is so highly esteemed in the panama markets that some measure of prosperity might attend upon the tabogans would they but undertake the raising of pines systematically and extensively. but not they. their town was founded in 1549 when, at the instance of las casas, the king of spain gave freedom to all indian slaves. taboga was set apart as a residence for a certain part of these freedmen. now what did the freedom from slavery mean but freedom from work? this view was probably held in the 16th century and certainly obtains in taboga today, having been enhanced no doubt by the liberal mixture of negro blood with that of the native indians. if the pineapples grow without too much attention well and good. they will be sold and the grog shops will know that real money has come into town. but as for seriously extending the business--well, that is a thing to think of for a long, long time and the thought has not yet ripened. it is a wonder that the chinese who hold the retail trade of the island and who are painstaking gardeners have not taken up this industry.
-we may laugh at the easy-going tabogan if we will, but i do not think that anyone will come out of his church without a certain respect for his real religious sentiment. ’tis but a little church, of stuccoed rubble, fallen badly into decay, flanked by a square tower holding two bells, and penetrated by so winding and narrow a stair that one ascending it may feel as a corkscrew penetrating a cork.
-but within it shows signs of a reverent affection by its flock not common in latin-american churches. we may laugh a little at the altar decorations which are certainly not costly and may be a little tawdry, but they show evidences of patient work on the part of the women, and contributions by the men from the slender gains permitted them by the harsh land and the reluctant sea. about the walls hang memorial tablets, not richly sculptured indeed, but showing a pious desire on the part of bygone generations to have the virtue of their loved ones commemorated within hallowed walls. standing in a side aisle was an effigy of christ, of human size, bearing the cross up the hill of gethsemane. the figure stood on a sort of platform, surrounded by six quaint lanterns of panes of glass set in leaded frames of a design seen in the street lamps of the earlier spanish cities. the platform was on poles for bearers, after the fashion of a sedan chair, and we learned from one who, more fortunate than we, had been there to see, that in holy week there is a sort of passion play--rude and elementary it is true, but bringing to the surface all the religious emotionalism of the simple people. the village is crowded with the faithful from afar, who make light of any lack of shelter in that kindly tropic air. the taboga young men dress as roman soldiers, the village maidens take their parts in the simple pageant. the floats, such as the one we saw, are borne up and down the village streets which no horse could ever tread, and the church is crowded with devotional worshipers until easter comes with the joyous tidings of the resurrection.
-as to the part of taboga in the economy of the canal work, we have there a sanitarium inherited from the french, and used as a place of convalescence for almost recovered patients from the hospitals of the zone. after breathing the clear, soft air, glancing at the comfortable quarters and enjoying to the fullest a lunch costing fifty cents that would put broadway’s best to the test, and make the expensive tivoli dining-room seem unappetizing in comparison, we could well understand why every employee with thirty days’ sick leave to his credit gets just such a slight ailment as needs a rest at taboga for its cure.
-near taboga is the leper hospital and the steamer stops for a moment to send ashore supplies in a small boat. always there are about 75 victims of this dread and incurable disease there, mostly panamanians with some west india negroes. a native of north america with the disease is practically unknown. the affliction is horrible enough in itself, but some cause operating for ages back has caused mankind to regard it with more fear than the facts justify. it is not readily communicable to healthy persons, even personal contact with a leper not necessarily causing infection unless there be some scratch or wound on the person of the healthy individual into which the virus may enter. visitors to the isthmus, who find interest in the spectacle of hopeless human suffering, frequently visit the colony without marked precautions and with no reported case of infection.
-to what extent the sanitation system so painstakingly built up by col. gorgas and his associates will be continued after the seal “complete” shall be stamped upon the canal work, and the workers scattered to all parts of the land, is not now determined. panama and colon will, of course, be kept up to their present standards, but whether the war against the malarial mosquito will be pursued in the jungle as it is today when the health of 40,000 human beings is dependent upon it is another question. the plan of the army authorities is to abandon the zone to nature--which presumably includes the anopheles. whether that plan shall prevail or whether the united states shall maintain it as an object lesson in government, including sanitation, is a matter yet to be determined. in a hearing before a congressional committee in 1913 col. gorgas estimated the cost for a system of permanent sanitation for the zone, including the quarantine, at $90,000 a year. as his total estimates for the years 1913-14 amounted to $524,000, this is indicative of a very decided abandonment of activity in sanitary work.
-at all times during his campaign against the forces of fever and infection col. gorgas has had to meet the opposition charge of extravagance and the waste of money. it has been flippantly asserted that it cost him $5 to kill a mosquito--of course an utterly baseless assertion, but one which is readily met by the truth that the bite of a single infected mosquito has more than once cost a life worth many thousand times five dollars. to fix precisely the cost of bringing the zone to its present state of healthfulness is impossible, because the activities of the sanitary department comprehended many functions in addition to the actual work of sanitation. col. gorgas figures that the average expenses of sanitation during the whole construction period were about $365,000 a year and he points out that for the same period chicago spent $600,000 without any quarantine or mosquito work. the total expenditures for sanitation when the canal is finished will have amounted to less than one per cent of the cost of that great public work and without this sanitation the canal could never have been built. that simple statement of fact seems sufficiently to cover the contribution of col. gorgas to the work, and to measure the credit he deserves for its completion.
-the republic of panama
-the republic of panama has an area of from 30,000 to 35,000 square miles, roughly approximating that of the state of indiana. no complete survey of the country has ever been made and there is pending now a boundary dispute with costa rica in which the united states is arbitrator. the only other boundary, not formed by the sea, is that at which panama and colombia join. but colombia says there is no boundary at all, but that panama is one of her provinces in a state of rebellion. so the real size and bounds of the republic must be set down as somewhat indeterminate.
-the circumstances under which panama became an independent nation have been set forth in an earlier chapter. it is safe to say that with the heavy investment made by the united states in the canal zone, on the strength of a treaty with the infant republic, the sovereignty of panama will be forever maintained against all comers--except the united states itself. there are political philosophers who think that the isthmus state may yet be the southern boundary of the great republic of the north. for the present however uncle sam is quite content with the canal zone and a certain amount of diplomatic influence over the government of panama.
-panama is divided into seven provinces, bocas del toro, cocle, colon, chiriqui, los santos, panama and veragua. its total population by the census of 1911 was 386,749, a trifle more than the district of columbia which has about one five-thousandth of its area, and almost precisely the same population as montana which has less than half its size. so it is clearly not over-populated. of its population 51,323 are set down by its own census takers as white, 191,933 as mestizo, or a cross between white and indian, 48,967 as negro; 2313 mongol, and 14,128 indian. the census takers estimated that other indians, living in barbarism remote from civilization and unapproachable by the enumerators, numbered 36,138.
-all these figures have to be qualified somewhat. the mestizos are theoretically a cross between whites and indians, but the negro blood is very generally present. it is doubtful, too, whether those classed as white are not often of mixed blood.
-a singularly large proportion of the population lives in the towns. in 12 towns, exceeding 7000 inhabitants each, are more than 150,000 people. more than one-third of the people therefore are town dwellers, which is to say they are unproductive citizens. meanwhile more than five-eighths of the arable land in the country is not under cultivation.
-the five chief towns of panama with their population in 1911 are:
-of these towns david is the capital of the chiriqui province, the portion of the republic in which cattle growing and agriculture have been most developed. bocas del toro is a banana port, dependent upon that nutritious fruit for its very existence, and the center of the business of the united fruit company in panama. at present the former town is reached by a 300 mile water trip from panama city; the latter by boat from colon. the government has under way plans for a railroad from panama to david which give every indication of being consummated.
-the soil of the republic differs widely in its varying sections, from the rich vegetable loam of the lowlands along the atlantic coast, the outcome of years of falling leaves and twigs from the trees to the swamp below, to the high dry lands of the savannas and the hillsides of the chiriqui province. all are undeniably fertile, that is demonstrated by the rapid and rank growth of the jungle. but opinions differ as to the extent to which they are available for useful agriculture. some hold that the jungle soil is so rich that the plants run to wood and leaves to the exclusion of fruits. others declare that on the hillsides the heavy rains of the rainy seasons wash away the surface soil leaving only the harsh and arid substratum. this theory seems to be overthrown by the fact that it is rare to see a hillside in all panama not covered with dense vegetation. a fact that is well worth bearing in mind is that there has never been a systematic and scientific effort to utilize any part of the soil of panama for productive purposes that has not been a success. the united fruit company in its plantations about bocas del toro has developed a fruitful province and created a prosperous town. in the province of cocle a german company has set out about 75,000 cacao trees, 50,000 coffee bushes and 25,000 rubber trees, all of which have made good progress.
-the obstacles in the path of the fuller development of the national resources of panama have sprung wholly from the nature of its population. the indian is, of course, not primarily an agriculturist, not a developer of the possibilities of the land he inhabits. the spanish infusion brought to the native population no qualities of energy, of well-directed effort, of the laborious determination to build up a new and thriving commonwealth. spanish ideals run directly counter to those involved in empire building. such energy, such determination as built up our great northwest and is building in british columbia the greatest agricultural empire in the world, despite seven months annually of drifting snow and frozen ground, would make of the panama savannas and valleys the garden spot of the world. that will never be accomplished by the present agrarian population, but it is incredible that with population absorbing and overrunning the available agricultural lands of other zones, the tropics should long be left dormant in control of a lethargic and indolent people.
-benjamin kidd, in his stimulative book, “social evolution”, says on this subject:
-“with the filling up to the full limit of the remaining territories suitable for european occupation, and the growing pressure of population therein, it may be expected that the inexpediency of allowing a great extent of territory in the richest region of the globe--that comprised within the tropics--to remain undeveloped, with its resources running largely to waste under the management of races of low social efficiency, will be brought home with ever-growing force to the minds of the western (northern) peoples. the day is probably not far distant when, with the advance science is making, we shall recognize that it is in the tropics and not in the temperate zones we have the greatest food-producing and material-producing regions of the earth; that the natural highways of commerce in the world are those which run north and south; and that we have the highest possible interest in the proper development and efficient administration of the tropical regions, and in an exchange of products therewith on a far larger scale than has yet been attempted or imagined.... it will probably be made clear, and that at no distant date, that the last thing our civilization is likely to permanently tolerate is the wasting of the resources of the richest regions of the earth through lack of the elementary qualities of social efficiency in the races possessing them”.
-at the cattle port of aguadulce
-some of the modern psychologists who are so expert in solving the riddles of human consciousness that they hardly hesitate to approach the supreme problem of life after death may perhaps determine whether the indolence of the panamanian is racial, climatic, or merely bred of consciousness that he does not have to work hard in order to get all the comforts of which he has knowledge. the life-story of an imaginary couple will serve as the short and simple annals of tens of thousands of panama’s poor:
-miguel lived on the banks of the chagres river, about half way between cruces and alhajuela. to him cruces was a city. were there not at least thirty huts of bamboo and clay thatched with palmetto like the one in which he lived? was there not a church of sawn boards, with an altar to which a priest came twice a month to say mass, and a school where a gringo taught the children strange things in the hated english tongue? where he lived there was no other hut within two or three hours poling up the river, but down at cruces the houses were so close together you could almost reach one while sitting in the shade of another. at home after dark you only heard the cry of the whippoorwill, or occasionally the wail of a tiger cat in the jungle, but at cruces there was always the loud talk of the men in the cantina, and a tom-tom dance at least once a week, when everybody sat up till dawn dancing to the beat of the drums and drinking the good rum that made them all so jolly.
-but greater than cruces was the yankee town of matachin down on the banks of the river where the crazy americans said there was going to be a lake that some day would cover all the country, and drown out cruces and even his father’s house. they were paying all the natives along the river for their lands that would be sunken, and the people were taking the pesos gladly and spending them gaily. they did not trouble to move away. many years ago the french too said there would be a lake, but it never came and the french suddenly disappeared. the americans would vanish the same way, and a good thing, too, for their thunderous noises where they were working frightened away all the good game, and you could hardly find an iguana, or a wild hog in a day’s hunting.
-once a week miguel’s father went down to market at matachin, and sometimes the boy went along. the long, narrow cayuca was loaded with oranges, bananas and yams, all covered with big banana leaves, and with miguel in the bow and his father in the stern the voyage commenced. going down stream was easy enough, and the canoists plied their paddles idly, trusting chiefly to the current to carry them along. but coming back would be the real work, then they would have to bend to their poles and push savagely to force the boat along. at places they would have to get overboard and fairly carry the boat through the swift, shallow rapids. but miguel welcomed the work for it showed him the wonders of matachin, where great iron machines rushed along like horses, drawing long trains of cars; where more people worked with shovels tending queer machines than there were in ten towns like cruces; where folk gave pesos for bananas and gave cloth, powder and shot, things to eat in cans, and rum in big bottles for the pesos again. it was an exciting place this matachin and made miguel understand what the gringoes meant when they talked about new york, chicago and other cities like it.
-when he grew older miguel worked awhile for the men who were digging away all this dirt, and earned enough to buy himself a machete and a gun and a few ornaments for a girl named maria who lived in another hut near the river. but what was the use of working in that mad way--picking up your shovel when a whistle blew and toiling away until it blew again, with a boss always scolding at you and ready with a kick if you tried to take a little siesta. the pesos once a week were good, that was true. if you worked long enough you might get enough to buy one of those boxes that made music, but quien sabe? it might get broken anyway, and the iguanas in the jungle, the fish in the river and the yams and bananas in the clearing needed no silver to come to his table. besides he was preparing to become a man of family. maria was quite willing, and so one day they strolled off together hand in hand to a clearing miguel had made with his machete on the river bank. with that same useful tool he cut some wooden posts, set them erect in the ground and covered them with a heavy thatch of palmetto leaves impervious to sun or rain. the sides of the shelter were left open during the first months of wedded life. later perhaps, when they had time they would go to cruces at the period of the priest’s regular visit and get regularly married. when the rainy season came on and walls were as necessary as a roof against the driving rain, they would build a little better. when that time came he would set ten stout uprights of bamboo in the ground in the shape of an oblong, and across the tops would fasten six cross pieces of girders with withes of vine well soaked to make them pliable. this would make the frame of the first floor of his house. the walls he would make by weaving reeds, or young bamboo stalks in and out betwixt the posts until a fairly tight basketwork filled the space. this was then plastered outside with clay. the dirt, which in time would be stamped down hard, formed the floor. for his second story a tent-shaped frame of lighter bamboo tightly tied together was fastened to the posts, and cane was tied to each of the rafters as we nail laths to scantling. thus a strong peaked roof, about eight feet high from the second floor to the ridgepole was constructed, and thatched with palm leaves. its angle being exceedingly steep it sheds water in the fierce tropic rain storms. the floor of the second story is made of bamboo poles laid transversely, and covered heavily with rushes and palmetto. this is used only as the family sleeping apartment, and to give access to it miguel takes an 8-inch bamboo and cuts notches in it, into which the prehensile toes of his family may fit as they clamber up to the land of nod. furniture to the chamber floor there is none. the family herd together like so many squirrels, and with the bamboo climbing pole drawn up there is no danger of intrusion by the beasts of the field.
-in the typical indian hut there is no furniture on the ground floor other than a rough hewn bench, a few pieces of pottery and gourds, iron cooking vessels and what they call a kitchen, which is in fact a large flat box with raised edges, about eight square feet in surface and about as high from the floor as a table. this is filled with sand and slabs of stone. in it a little fire is built of wood or charcoal, the stones laid about the fire support the pots and pans and cooking goes on as gaily as in any modern electric kitchen. the contrivance sounds primitive, but i have eaten a number of excellent meals cooked on just such an apparatus.
-now it will be noticed that in all this habitation, sufficient for the needs of an indian, there is nothing except the iron pots and possibly some pottery for which money was needed, and there are thousands of families living in just this fashion in panama today. true, luxury approaches in its insidious fashion and here and there you will see a $1.25 white iron bed on the main floor, real chairs, canned goods on the shelves and--final evidence of indian prosperity!--a crayon portrait of the head of the family and a phonograph, of a make usually discarded at home. but when miguel and maria start out on the journey of life a machete, a gun and the good will of their neighbors who will lend them yams until their own planting begins to yield forms a quite sufficient capital on which to establish their family. therefore, why work?
-a typical native hut
-it is beyond doubt to the ease with which life can be sustained, and the torpidity of the native imagination which depicts no joys to spur one on to effort that the unwillingness of the native to do systematic work is due. and from this difficulty in getting labor follows the fact that not one quarter of the natural resources of panama are developed. whether the labor problem will be solved by the distribution throughout the republic of the caribbean blacks who have worked so well on the zone is yet to be seen. it may be possible that because of this the fertile lands of panama, or the savannas so admirably fitted for grazing, can only be utilized by great corporations who will do things on so great a scale as to justify the importation of labor. today the man who should take up a large tract of land in the chiriqui country with a view to tilling it would be risking disaster because of the uncertainty of the labor supply.
-with the lack of labor, and the uncertainty of land titles, the final impediment to the general development of the interior of panama is to be found in the lack of roads. it is not that the roads are bad--that is the case in many of our own commonwealths. but in a great part of panama there are literally no roads at all. trails, choked by the jungle and so washed by the rains that they are merely lanes floored with boulders, are the rule. the heavy ox-cart is the only vehicle that will stand the going, and our light american farm wagons would be speedily racked to pieces. in the canal zone the commission has built some of the best roads in the world, utilizing the labor of employees convicted of minor offenses. stimulated by this example the panama government has built one excellent road from the chief city across the savannas to old panama and thence onward into the interior. it is hoped that the spectacle of the admirable roads in the zone will encourage the authorities of the republic to go into road building on a large scale in their own country. in no other way can its possibilities be realized. at present the rivers afford the surest highways and land abutting them brings higher prices.
-david, the largest interior town of panama, is the central point of the cattle industry. all around it are woods, or jungles, plentifully interspersed with broad prairies, or llanos, covered with grass, and on which no trees grow save here and there a wild fig or a ceibo. cattle graze on the llanos, sleek reddish beasts with spreading horns like our texas cattle. there are no huge herds as on our western ranges. droves of from ten to twenty are about the average among the small owners who rely on the public range for subsistence. the grass is not sufficiently nutritious to bring the cattle up to market form, so the small owners sell to the owners of big ranches who maintain potreros, or fattening ground sown with better grasses. a range fed steer will fetch $15 to $18, and after six or eight months on the potrero it will bring $30 to $35 from the cattle shipper at david. since the cost of feeding a beeve for that period is only about one dollar, and as the demand is fairly steady the profit of the ranchman is a good one. but like all other industries in panama, this one is pursued in only a retail way. the market is great enough to enrich ranchmen who would go into the business on a large scale, but for some reason none do.
-passing from llano to llano the road cuts through the forest which towers dense and impenetrable on either side, broken only here and there by small clearings made by some native with the indispensable machete. these in the main are less than four acres. the average panamanian farmer will never incur the scriptural curse laid upon them that lay field unto field. he farms just enough for his daily needs, no more. the ambition that leads our northern farmer to always covet the lands on the other side of his boundary fence does not operate in panama. one reason is, of course, the aggressiveness of the jungle. stubborn to clear away, it is determined in its efforts to regain the land from which it has been ousted. such a thing as allowing a field to lie fallow for two or three years is unknown in panama. there would be no field visible for the new jungle growth.
-agriculture therefore is conducted in a small way only, except for the great corporations that have just begun the exploitation of panama. whether the country affords a hopeful field for the individual settler is at least doubtful. its climate is excellent. the days are warm but never scorchingly hot as are customary in washington and frequent in new york. the nights are cool. from december to may a steady trade wind blows over the isthmus from north to south, carrying away the clouds so that there is no rain. in this dry season the fruits mature, so that it corresponds to the northern summer; on the other hand such vegetation as sheds its leaves, or dies down annually, does so at this season, giving it a seeming correspondence to the northern winter. in a temperature sense there is neither summer nor winter, and the variation of the thermometer is within narrow limits. the highest temperature in years at culebra, a typical inland point, was 96 degrees; the lowest 61.
-the list of natural products of the isthmus is impressive in its length and variety, but for most of them even the home demand is not met or supplied by the production. only where some stimulating force from the outside has intervened, like the united fruit company with the banana, has production been brought up to anything like its possibility. in the chiriqui country you can see sugar cane fields that have gone on producing practically without attention for fifteen seasons. cornfields have been worked for half a century without fertilizing or rotation of crops. the soil there is volcanic detritus washed down during past ages from the mountainsides, and lies from six to twenty feet thick. it will grow anything that needs no frost, but the province supports less than four people to the square mile, nine-tenths of the land is unbroken and panama imports fruit from jamaica, sugar from cuba and tobacco and food stuffs from the united states.
-the fruits of panama are the orange, which grows wild and for the proper cultivation of which no effort has been made, which is equally the case with the lemon and the lime; the banana, which plays so large a part in the economic development of the country that i shall treat of it at length later; the pineapple, cultivated in a haphazard way, still attains so high an order of excellence that taboga pines are the standard for lusciousness; the mango, which grows in clusters so dense that the very trees bend under their weight, but for which as yet little market has been found, as they require an acquired taste; the mamei, hard to ship and difficult to eat because of its construction but withal a toothsome fruit; the paypaya, a melon not unlike our cantaloupe which has the eccentricity of growing on trees; the sapodillo, a fruit of excellent flavor tasting not unlike a ripe persimmon, but containing no pit. with cultivation all of these fruits could be grown in great quantities in all parts of the republic, but to give them any economic importance some special arrangement for their regular and speedy marketing would have to be made, as with the banana, most of them being by nature extremely perishable.
-northern companies are finding some profit in exploiting such natural resources of panama as are available in their wild state. of these the most promising is rubber, the tree being found in practically every part of the country. one concern, the boston-panama company, has an estate approximating 400 square miles on which are about 100,000 wild rubber trees, and which is being further developed by the planting of bananas, pineapples, cocoanuts and other tropical fruits.
-coffee, sugar and cacao are raised on the isthmus, but of the two former not enough to supply the local demand. the development of the cacao industry to large proportions seems probable, as several foreign corporations are experimenting on a considerable scale. cocoanuts are easily grown along both coasts of the isthmus. a new grove takes about five years to come into bearing, costing an average of about three dollars a tree. once established the trees bring in a revenue of about one dollar each at present prices and, as the demand for panama cocoanuts is steady, the industry seems to offer attractive possibilities. the groves must be near the coast, as the cocoanut tree needs salt air to reach its best estate. given the right atmospheric conditions they will thrive where no other plant will take root. growing at the edge of the sea, water transportation is easy.
-there is still much land available for cocoanut planting, though but little of it is government land. both coasts are fit for this industry, unlike the banana industry, which thrives only on the atlantic shore. panama is outside of the hurricane belt, which gives an added advantage to the cocoanut planter. elsewhere in the caribbean the trees suffer severely from the high winds.
-the lumber of panama will in time come to be one of its richest assets. in the dense forests hardwoods of a dozen varieties or more are to be found, but as yet the cost of getting it out is prohibitive in most sections. only those forests adjacent to streams are economically valuable and such activity as is shown is mainly along the bayano, chucunaque, and tuyra rivers. the list of woods is almost interminable. the prospectus of one of the companies with an extended territory on the bayano river notes eighteen varieties of timber, commercially valuable on its territory. among those the names of which are unfamiliar are the espavé (sometimes spelled espevé), the cocobolo, the espinosa cedar, the zoro and the sangre. all are hard woods serviceable in cabinet making. the espavé is as hard as mahogany and of similar color and marking. the trees will run four to five feet thick at the stump with saw timber 60 to 70 feet in length. espinosa trees are of the cedar type, growing to enormous size, frequently exceeding 16 feet in circumference. the cocobolo is a hard wood, but without the beauty to fit it for cabinet work. the sangre derives its name from its red sap which exudes from a gash like blood. it takes a high polish, and is in its general characteristics not unlike our cherry.
-for the casual tourist the lumber district most easy of access is that along the bayano river reached by a motor boat or steam launch in a few hours from panama. the trip is frequently made by pleasure seekers, for perhaps nowhere in the world is the beauty of a phosphorescent sea at night so marvelously shown, and few places easily found by man show such a horde of alligators or crocodiles, as are seen in crocodile creek, one of the affluents of the bayano. this river, which empties into the gulf of panama, is in its lower reaches a tide-water stream and perhaps because of the mingling of the salt and the fresh the water is densely filled with the microscopic infusoria which at night blaze forth in coldly phosphorescent gleams suggestive of the sparkling of a spray of diamonds. put your hand into the stream, lift it and let the water trickle through your fingers. every drop gleams and glistens as it falls with a radiance comparable with nothing in nature unless it be the great fire-flies of the tropics. even diamonds have to pass through the hands of the cutter before they will blaze with any such effulgence as the trickling waters of this tropical stream. one who has passed a night upon it may well feel that he has lived with one of the world’s marvels, and can but wonder at the matter-of-fact manner in which the natives go about their tasks unmoved by the contact with so much shining glory.
-there is always controversy on the isthmus over the question whether the gigantic saurians of crocodile creek are in fact crocodiles or alligators. whether expert scientific opinion has ever been called upon to settle the problem i do not know, but i rather suspect that crocodile was determined upon because it gave to the name of crocodile creek in which they are so plentifully found “apt alliteration’s artful aid” to make it picturesque. whatever the precise zoological classification given to the huge lizards may be is likely to be relatively unimportant before long, because the greatest joy of every tourist is found in killing them. the fascination which slaughter possesses for men is always hard to understand, but just what gives the killing of alligators its peculiar zest i could never understand. the beasts are slow, torpid and do not afford a peculiarly difficult test of marksmanship, even though the vulnerable part of their bodies is small. they are timid and will not fight for their lives. there is nothing of the sporting proposition in pursuing them that is to be found in hunting the tiger or the grizzly. they are practically harmless, and in the bayano region wholly so, as there are no domestic animals upon which they can prey. it is true their teeth and skins have a certain value in the market, but it is not for these the tourist kills them. most of those slain for “sport” sink instantly and cannot be recovered.
-however if you visit crocodile creek with a typical party you will be given a very fair imitation of a lively skirmish in actual war. from every part of the deck, from the roof of the cabin, and from the pilot house shots ring out from repeating rifles in a fierce desire to kill. the emersonian doctrine of compensation is often given illustration by the killing of one of the hunters in the eagerness to get at the quarry. in fact that is one of the commonest accidents of the tourist season in panama.
-crocodile creek is a deep, sluggish black stream, almost arched over by the boughs of the thick forest along the shores. here and there the jungle is broken by a broad shelving beach on which the ungainly beasts love to sun themselves, and to which the females resort to deposit their eggs. at the sound of a voice or a paddle in the stream the awkward brutes take to the water in terror, for there are few animals more timid than they. when in the water the crocodile floats lazily, displaying only three small bumps above the surface--the nostrils and the horny protruberances above the eyes. once the pool in which they float is disturbed they sink to the bottom and lurk there for hours. alligator hunting for business purposes is not as yet generally pursued on the isthmus, though one hunter and trapper is said to have secured as many as 60,000 in a year. but as the demand for the skins, and to a lesser degree for the teeth, of the animals is a constant one, it is probable that with the aid of the tourists they will be exterminated there as thoroughly as they have been in the settled parts of florida. while on the subject of slaughter and the extermination of game it may be noted that the canal commission has already established very stringent game laws on the zone, particularly for the protection of plumed birds like the egret, and it is seriously proposed to make of that part of gatun lake within the zone a refuge for birds in which no shooting shall be permitted. such action would stop mere wanton slaughter from the decks of passing steamers, and in the end would greatly enhance the beauty and interest of the trip through the lake which would be fairly alive with birds and other animal life.
-the bayano river region beside being the center of such lumbering activities as the zone knows at present is the section in which are found the curious vegetable ivory nuts which, though growing wild, have become one of the principal products of panama. only a few years ago they were looked upon merely as curiosities but are now a useful new material. they are gathered by the natives and sold to dealers in panama who ship them north to be made into buttons and other articles of general use. nobody has yet experimented with the cultivation of the tree, and there is reason to believe that with cultivation larger nuts could be obtained, and, by planting, considerable groves established. the trees grow well in every part of the darien, and the demand, with the rapid diminution in the supply of real ivory, should be a growing one.
-indeed, the more one studies panama and its resources the more one is convinced that all that is necessary to make the country a rich and prosperous one, or at any rate to cause it to create riches and prosperity for investors, is the application of capital, labor and systematic management to the resources it already possesses. in its 400 years of spanish and mestizo control these three factors have been continuously lacking. there are men in panama, of native birth and of spanish origin, who have undertaken to develop certain of the land’s resources and have moderately enriched themselves. but the most striking evidence of the success to be obtained from attacking the industrial problem in panama systematically and in a big way is that furnished by the operations of the united fruit company, the biggest business fact in the tropics.
-panama is, of course, only one link in the colossal chain of the operations of this company in the tropics. the rapidly increasing prosperity of many of the central republics is due largely to the sweeping scope of the united fruit company, and its impress is in evidence all along the north coast of south america and throughout the west indies. its interests in jamaica are enormous. cuba put jamaica off the sugar map, but the united fruit company came to her rescue with an offer to purchase all the bananas her planters could furnish, and jamaica now leads the american tropics with 17,000,000 bunches annually, of which the united fruit company obtains nearly half, the balance being handled by its competitors. the company also owns the famous titchfield hotel of port antonio, and operates the myrtle bank hotel of kingston. in cuba the company owns 60,000 acres of sugar plantations and its two great sugar mills will this year add to the world’s product an amount with a market value in excess of $10,000,000. its scores of white steamships, amazingly well contrived and fitted for tropical service, constitute one of the pleasantest features of travel on these sunlit seas.
-the united fruit company is by far the greatest agricultural enterprise the world has ever known. its fruit plantations constitute a farm half a mile wide and more than seven hundred miles long. all of its farm lands exceed in area the 1332 square miles which constitute the sovereign state of rhode island. on these farms are more than 25,000 head of live stock. this agricultural empire is traversed by nearly 1000 miles of railroad. to carry the fruits from the plantations to the seaports there are employed 100 locomotives and 3000 freight cars. an army of nearly 40,000 men is employed in this new and mammoth industry. the republics of central america were inland nations before the united fruit company made gardens of the low caribbean coast lands and created from the virgin wilderness such ports as barrios, cortez, limon and bocas del toro.
-this yankee enterprise has erected and maintains at its own expense many of the lighthouses which serve its own great fleet and the ships of all the world. it has dredged new channels and marked them with buoys. it has installed along the central and south american coasts a wireless telegraph service of the highest power and efficiency. it has constructed hundreds of miles of public roads, maintains public schools, and in other ways renders at its own expense the services which are presumed to fall on governments. the american financiers associated with it are now pushing to completion the pan-american railroad which soon will connect new york with panama by an all-rail route, and thus realize what once was esteemed an impractical dream.
-but it is the united fruit company’s activities in panama only that are pertinent to this book. they demonstrate strikingly how readily one natural opportunity afforded by this land responded to the call of systematic effort, and there are a dozen products beside the banana which might thus be exploited.
-on the atlantic coast, only a night’s sail from colon, is the port of bocas del toro (the mouths of the bull), a town of about 9000 inhabitants, built and largely maintained by the banana trade. here is the largest and most beautiful natural harbor in the american tropics, and here some day will be established a winter resort to which will flock people from all parts of the world. almirante bay and the chiriqui lagoon extend thirty or forty miles, dotted with thousands of islands decked with tropical verdure, and flanked to the north and west by superb mountain ranges with peaks of from seven to ten thousand feet in height.
-the towns of bocas del toro and almirante are maintained almost entirely by the banana trade. other companies than the united fruit raise and buy bananas here, but it was the initiative of the leading company which by systematic work put the prosperity of this section on a firm basis. lands that a few years ago were miasmatic swamps are now improved and planted with bananas. over 4,000,000 bunches were exported from this plantation in 1911, and 35,000 acres are under cultivation there. a narrow gauge railway carries bananas exclusively. the great white steamships sail almost daily carrying away little except bananas. the money spent over the counters of the stores in bocas del toro comes from natives who have no way of getting money except by raising bananas and selling them, mostly to the united fruit company. it has its competitors, but it invented the business and has brought it to its highest development. at this panama town, and for that matter in the other territories it controls, the company has established and enforces the sanitary reforms which col. gorgas applied so effectively in colon and panama. its officials proudly claim that they were the pioneers in inventing and applying the methods which have conquered tropical diseases. at bocas del toro the company maintains a hospital which lacks nothing of the equipment of the ancon hospital, though of course not so large. it has successfully adopted the commissary system established on the canal zone. labor has always been the troublesome factor in industrial enterprises in central america. the fruit company has joined with the isthmian commission in the systematic endeavor to keep labor contented and therefore efficient.
-probably it will be the policy which any corporation attempting to do work on a large scale will be compelled to adopt.
-to my mind the united fruit company, next to the panama canal, is the great phenomenon of the caribbean world today. some day some one with knowledge will write a book about it as men have written the history of the british east india company, or the worshipful company of hudson bay adventurers, for this distinctly american enterprise has accomplished a creative work so wonderful and so romantic as to entitle it to equal literary consideration. its coöperation with the republic of panama and the manner in which it has followed the plans formulated by the isthmian commission entitles it to attention in a book treating of panama.
-the banana business is the great trade of the tropics, and one that cannot be reduced in volume by new competition, as cane sugar was checked by beet sugar. but it is a business which requires special machinery of distribution for its success. from the day the banana is picked until it is in the stomach of the ultimate consumer the time should not exceed three weeks. the fruit must be picked green, as, if allowed to ripen on the trees, it splits open and the tropical insects infect it. this same condition, by the way, affects all tropical fruits. all must be gathered while still unripe. the nearest wholesale market for bananas is new orleans, five days’ steaming. new york is seven days away. that means that once landed the fruit must be distributed to commission houses and agents all over the united states with the utmost expedition lest it spoil in transit. there can be no holding it in storage, cold or otherwise, for a stronger demand or a higher market. this means that the corporation must deal with agents who can be relied upon to absorb the cargoes of the ships as regularly as they arrive. from its budding near the panama canal to its finish in the alimentary canal of its final purchaser the banana has to be handled systematically and swiftly.
-from officials of the company i learned that they would welcome the opportunity to transfer their ships to american registry, except for certain requirements of the navigation laws which make such a change hazardous. practically all the ownership of the ships is vested in americans, but to fly the british flag is for them a business necessity. chief among the objections is the clause which would give the united states authority to seize the vessels in time of war. it is quite evident that this power might be employed to the complete destruction of the fruit company’s trade; in fact to its practical extinction as a business concern. a like power existing in england or germany would not be of equal menace to any single company flying the flag of that nation, for there the government’s needs could be fully supplied by a proper apportionment of requisitions for ships among the many companies. but with the exceedingly restricted merchant marine of the united states the danger of the enforcement of this right would be an ever-present menace. it is for this reason that the fruit company steamers fly the british flag, and the american in colon may see, as i did one day, nine great ocean ships in the port with only one flying the stars and stripes. the opening of the canal will not wholly remedy this.
-in all respects save the registry of its ships, however, the fruit company is a thoroughly american concern and to its operations in the caribbean is due much of the good feeling toward the united states which is observable there. in 1912 it carried 1,113,741 tons of freight, of which 359,686 was general freight, carried for the public in addition to company freight. this is a notable public service, profitable no doubt but vital to the interests of the american tropics. it owns or holds under leases 852,650 acres, and in 1912 carried to the united states about 25,000,000 bunches of bananas, and 16,000,000 bunches to great britain and the continent. viewed from the standpoint of the consumer its work certainly has operated to cheapen bananas and to place them on sale at points where they were never before seen. the banana has not participated in the high cost of living nor has one company monopolized the market, for the trade statistics show 17,000,000 bunches of bananas imported by rival companies in 1912. as for its stimulation of the business of the ports of new orleans, galveston and mobile, and its revivifying of trade along the caribbean, both are matters of common knowledge.
-the banana thrives best in rich soil covered with alluvial deposits and in a climate of great humidity where the temperature never falls below 75 degrees fahrenheit. once established the plantation needs little attention, the plant being self-propagating from suckers which shoot off from the “mat,” the tangled roots of the mother plant. it begins to bear fruit at the age of ten or eleven months, and with the maturing of one bunch of fruit the parent plant is at once cut down so that the strength of the soil may go into the suckers that succeed it. perhaps the most technical work of the cultivator is to select the suckers so that the plantation will not bring all its fruit to maturity in one season, but rather yield a regular succession of crops, month after month. it was interesting to learn from a representative of the united fruit company at bocas del toro, that the banana has its dull season--not in production but in the demand for it which falls off heavily in winter, though one would suppose that summer, when our own fruits are in the market, would be the period of its eclipse.
-while most of the fruit gathered in the neighborhood of bocas del toro is grown on land owned and tilled by the company, there are hundreds of small individual growers with plantations of from half an acre to fifty acres or even more. all fruit is delivered along the railway lines, and the larger growers have tramways, the cars drawn by oxen or mules, to carry their fruit to the stipulated point. notice is given the growers of the date on which the fruit will be called for, and within twelve to eighteen hours after it has been cut it is in the hold of the vessel. it is subjected to a rigid inspection at the docks, and the flaws for which whole bunches are rejected would often be quite undiscernible to the ordinary observer.
-the banana is one of the few fruits which are free from insect pests, being protected by its thick, bitter skin. if allowed to ripen in the open, however, it speedily falls a prey to a multitude of egg-laying insects. the tree itself is not so immune. lately a small rodent, something like the gopher of our american states, has discovered that banana roots are good to eat. from time immemorial he lived in the jungle, burrowing and nibbling the roots of the plants there, but in an unlucky moment for the fruit companies he discovered that tunneling in soil that had been worked was easier and the roots of the cultivated banana more succulent than his normal diet. therefore a large importation of scientists from europe and the united states to find some way of eradicating the industrious pest that has attacked the chief industry of the tropics at the root, so to speak.
-baron humboldt is said to have first called the attention of civilized people to the food value of the banana, but it was one of the founders of the united fruit company, a new england sea captain trading to colon, who first introduced it to the general market in the united states. for a time he carried home a few bunches in the cabin of his schooner for his family and friends, but, finding a certain demand for the fruit, later began to import it systematically. from this casual start the united fruit company and its hustling competitors have grown. the whole business is the development of a few decades and people still young can remember when bananas were sold, each wrapped in tissue paper, for five or ten cents, while today ten or fifteen cents a dozen is a fair price. the fruit can be prepared in a multitude of fashions, particularly the coarser varieties of plantains, and the fruit company has compiled a banana cook book but has taken little pains to circulate it, the demand for the fruit being at times still in excess of the supply. there seems every indication that the demand is constant and new banana territory is being steadily developed.
-several companies share with the united fruit company the panama market. the methods of gathering and marketing the crop employed by all are practically the same, but the united fruit company is used as an illustration here because its business is the largest and because it has so closely followed the isthmian canal commission in its welfare work.
-the banana country lies close to the ocean and mainly on the atlantic side of the isthmus. the lumber industry nestles close to the rivers, mainly in the bayano region. cocoanuts need the beaches and the sea breezes. native rubber is found in every part of the republic, though at present it is collected mainly in the darien, which is true also of vegetable ivory. the only gold which is mined on a large scale is taken from the neighborhood of the tuyra river in the darien. but for products requiring cultivation like cacao and coffee the high lands in the chiriqui province offer the best opportunity.
-david is really the center of this territory. it is a typical central american town of about 15,000 people, with a plaza, a cathedral, a hotel and all the appurtenances of metropolitan life in panama. the place is attractive in its way, with its streets of white-walled, red-tiled dwellings, with blue or green doors and shutters. it seems to have grown with some steadiness, for though the panama census for 1912 gave it 15,000 inhabitants, travelers like mr. forbes lindsay and albert edwards, who visited it only a year or two earlier, gave it only from 5000 to 8000 people. its growth, however, is natural and healthy, for the country round it is developing rapidly. you reach david now by boats of the pacific mail and the national navigation company from panama. the quickest trip takes thirty hours. when the government railroad is built, about which there is some slight doubt, the whole country will be opened and should be quickly settled. the road in all probability will be continued to bocas del toro on the atlantic coast.
-while the cattle business of the chiriqui region is its chief mainstay, it is far from being developed to its natural extent. the commissary officials of the canal organization tried to interest cattle growers to the extent of raising enough beef for the need of the canal workers, but failed. practically all of the meat thus used is furnished by the so-called “beef trust” of the united states. it is believed that there are not more than 50,000 head of cattle all told in panama. i was told on the isthmus that agents of a large chicago firm had traveled through chiriqui with a view to establishing a packing house there, but reported that the supply of cattle was inadequate for even the smallest establishment. yet the country is admirably adapted for cattle raising.
-the climate of this region is equable, both as to temperature and humidity. epidemic diseases are practically unknown among either men or beasts. should irrigation in future seem needful to agriculture the multitude of streams furnish an ample water supply and innumerable sites for reservoirs.
-westward from david the face of the country rises gently until you come to the caldera valley which lies at the foot of the chiriqui peak, an extinct volcano perhaps 8000 feet high. nowhere in panama do the mountains rise very high, though the range is clearly a connection of the cordilleras of north and south america. the chiriqui peak has not in the memory of man been in eruption, but the traces of its volcanic character are unmistakable. its crater is a circular plain about half a mile in diameter surrounded by a densely wooded precipitous ridge. as the ascent is continued the woods give way to grass and rocks. while there is a distinct timber line, no snow line is attained. at the foot of the mountain is el bouquette, much esteemed by the panamanians as a health resort. thither go canal workers who, not being permitted to remain on the zone during their vacations, wish to avoid the long voyage to north american ports.
-this neighborhood is the center of the coffee-growing industry which should be profitable in panama if a heavy protective tariff could make it so. but not even enough of the fragrant berries are grown to supply home needs, and the industry is as yet largely prosecuted in an unsystematic and haphazard manner. it is claimed that sample shipments of coffee brought high prices in new york, but as yet not enough is grown to permit exportation. cacao, which thrives, is grown chiefly by english and german planters, but as yet in a small way only. cotton, tobacco and fiber plants also grow readily in this region but are little cultivated.
-a curious industry of the chiriqui country, now nearly abandoned, was the collection of gold ornaments which the guaymi indians formerly buried with their dead. these images sometimes in human form, more often in that of a fish, sometimes like frogs and alligators, jointed and flexible, were at one time found in great quantities and formed a conspicuous feature of the panama curiosity shops. in seeking these the hunters walked back and forth over the grounds known to be indian burial places, tapping the ground with rods. when the earth gave forth a hollow sound the spade was resorted to, and usually a grave was uncovered. jars which had contained wine and food were usually found in the graves, which were in fact subterranean tombs carefully built with flat stones. the diggers tell of finding skulls perfectly preserved apparently but which crumbled to pieces at a touch. evidently the burial places which can be identified through local tradition have been nearly exhausted, for the ancient trinkets cannot longer be readily found in the panama shops.
-another panamanian product which the tourists buy eagerly but which is rapidly becoming rare is the pearl. in the gulf of panama are a group of islands which have been known as las islas des perlas--the pearl islands. this archipelago is about thirty miles long, with sixteen big islands and a quantity of small ones, and lies about sixty miles south of panama city. balboa saw them from the shore and intended to visit them but never did. pizarro stopped there on his way to peru and plundered them to his heart’s content. otherwise their history has been uneventful. saboga on the island of the same name is a beautiful little tropical village of about 300 huts, on a high bluff bordering a bay that affords excellent anchorage. whales are plentiful in these waters and pacific whalers are often seen in port. san miguel, the largest town of the archipelago, is on rey island and has about 1000 inhabitants. the tower of its old church is thickly inlaid with glistening, pearly shell.
-the pearl fisheries have been overworked for years, perhaps centuries, and begin to show signs of being exhausted. nevertheless the tourist who takes the trip to the islands from the city of panama will find himself beset by children as he lands offering seed pearls in quantities. occasionally real bargains may be had from “beach combers” not only at rey island, but even at taboga, where i knew an american visitor to pick up for eleven dollars three pearls valued at ten or twelve times as much when shown in the united states. there are stories of lucky finds among divers that vie with the tales of nuggets among gold prospectors. once a native boy diving for sport in one of the channels near naos island brought up an oyster in which was a black pearl that was sold in panama for $3000. the report does not say how much of this the boy got, but as the pearl was afterward sold in paris for $12,000 it is quite evident that the share of the middleman, of whom political economists just now talk so much, was heavy. the panama pearls are sometimes of beautiful colors, green, pale blue and a delicate pink. on the chiriqui coast a year or two ago a pearl weighing about forty-two carats, about the size and shape of a partridge egg, greenish black at the base and shading to a steel gray at the tip, was found. it was sold in paris for $5000.
-it is a curious fact that the use of mussels from our western rivers is one cause for the decadence of the panama pearl industry. for years the actual expense of maintaining these fisheries was met by the sale of the shell for use in making buttons and mother-of-pearl ornaments. the pearls represented the profit of the enterprise, which was always therefore more or less of a gamble--but a game in which it was impossible to lose, though the winnings might be great or small according to luck. now that the demand for pearl oyster shells has fallen off, owing to the competition of mussels, the chances in the game are rather against the player and the sport languishes.
-the authorities of the republic are making some effort to establish a system of industrial schools which may lead to the fuller utilization of the natural resources of the country. every tourist who visits the isthmus is immediately taught by one who has been there a day or two longer than he that panama hats are not made in panama. this seems to be the most precious information that anyone on the zone has to impart. most of the hats there sold are indeed made in ecuador and the name “panama” was first attached to them years ago, because their chief market was found in panama city, whence they were distributed to more northern countries. the palm of which they are made however grows generally in panama and the government has established in the chiriqui province a school in which native boys are taught the art of hat making. in the national institute at panama city there is also a government trades school where boys are given a three years’ course in the elements of the carpenters’ and machinists’ trades. indeed the rulers of the republic, which was so abruptly created, deserve great credit for the steps they are taking for the creation of a general system of public education, both literary and practical. the school system is not yet on a par with that of states of longer existence, nor will it in all probability ever quite conform to more northern ideas of an educational establishment. for example, the national institute is closed to girls, who for their higher education are limited to the schools maintained by the church. a normal school, however, in which girls are prepared for teaching in the primary grades is maintained with about 125 students. the school system of panama must be regarded merely as a nucleus from which a larger organism may grow. yet when one recalls the state of society which has resulted from revolutions in other central american states, one is impelled to a certain admiration for the promptitude with which the men who erected the republic of panama gave thought to the educational needs of people. they were suddenly put in authority over an infant state which had no debt, but, on the contrary, possessed a capital of $10,000,000 equivalent to about $30 for every man, woman and child of its population. instead of creating an army, buying a navy and thus wasting the money on mere militarism which appeals so strongly to the latin-american mind, they organized a civil government, equipped it with the necessary buildings, established a university and laid the foundation of a national system of education.
-the thoughtful traveler will concede to the republic of panama great natural resources and a most happy entrance to the family of nations. it is the especial protégé of the united states and under the watchful care of its patron will be free from the apprehension of misuse, revolution or invasion from without which has kept other central american governments in a constant state of unrest. about the international morality of the proceedings which created the relations now existing between the united states and panama perhaps the least said the better. but even if we reprobate the sale of joseph by his brethren, in the scripture story, we must at least admit that he did better in egypt than in his father’s house and that the protection and favor of the mighty pharaoh was of the highest advantage to him, and in time to his unnatural brethren as well.
-at present the republic suffers not only from its own checkered past, but from the varied failings of its neighbors. its monetary system affords one illustration. the highest coin of the land is the peso, a piece the size of our silver dollar but circulating at a value of fifty cents. if a man should want to pay a debt of $500 he would have to deliver 1000 pesos unless he was possessed of a bank account and could settle by check. no paper money is issued. “who would take paper money issued by a central american republic?” ask the knowing ones scornfully when you inquire about this seeming lack in the monetary system. yet the republic of panama is the most solvent of nations, having no national debt and with money in bank.
-probably the one obstacle to the progress of the republic to greatness is the one common to all tropical countries on which benjamin kidd laid an unerring finger when he referred to the unwisdom of longer permitting the riches of the tropics to “remain undeveloped with resources running to waste under the management of races of low social efficiency”. the panamanian authorities are making apparently sincere endeavors to attract new settlers of greater efficiency. in proportion to the success that attends the efforts the future of panama will be bright.
-vendor of fruit and pottery
-the indians of panama
-while that portion of the panama territory that lies along the border of colombia known as the darien is rather ill-defined as to area and to boundaries, it is known to be rich in timber and is believed to possess gold mines of great richness. but it is practically impenetrable by the white man. through this country balboa led his force on his expedition to the unknown pacific, and was followed by the bloodthirsty pedrarias who bred up in the indians a hatred of the white man that has grown as the ages passed. no expedition can enter this region even today except as an armed force ready to fight for the right of passage. in 1786 the spaniards sought to subdue the territory, built forts on both the atlantic and pacific coasts and established a line of trading posts connecting them. but the effort failed. the posts were abandoned. today the white man who tries to enter the darien does so at the risk of his life.
-in 1854 a navy exploring expedition of twenty-seven men, under command of lieutenant isaac c. strain, entered the jungle of the darien at caledonia bay, on the atlantic side, the site of patterson’s ill-fated colony. they purposed crossing the isthmus and making a survey for a canal route, as an english adventurer not long before had asserted--falsely as it proved--that he had discovered a route by which a canal could be built with but three or four miles of cutting. the party carried ten days’ provisions and forty rounds of ball cartridge per man. they expected to have to traverse about forty or fifty miles, for which the supply of provisions seemed wholly adequate. but when they had cut their way through the jungle, waded through swamps and climbed hills until their muscles were exhausted and their clothing torn to tatters, they found themselves lost in the very interior of the isthmus with all their food gone. diaries kept by members of the party show that they lived in constant terror of the indians. but no attack was made upon them. the inhabitants contented themselves with disappearing before the white men’s advance, sweeping their huts and fields clear of any sort of food. the jungle not its people fought the invaders. for food they had mainly nuts with a few birds and the diet disturbed their stomachs, caused sores and loosened their teeth. the bite of a certain insect deposited under the skin a kind of larva, or worm, which grew to the length of an inch and caused the most frightful torments. despairing of getting his full party out alive, after they had been twenty-three days fighting with the jungle, strain took three men and pushed ahead to secure and send back relief. it was thirty-nine days before the men left behind saw him again.
-trapping an aborigine
-death came fast to those in the jungle. the agonies they suffered from starvation, exposure and insect pests baffle description. “truxton in casting his eyes on the ground saw a toad”, wrote the historian. “instantly snatching it up, he bit off the head and, spitting it away, devoured the body. maury looked at him a moment, and then picked up the rejected head, saying, ‘well, truxton, you are getting quite particular. something of an epicure, eh’? with these words he quietly devoured the head himself.”
-nine of the twenty-seven men who entered the darien with strain died. when the leader returned with the relief party they were found, like greely at camp starvation, unable to move and slowly dying. those who retained life never fully regained strength. every condition which brought such frightful disaster upon the strain party exists in the darien today. the indians are as hostile, the trails as faintly outlined, the jungle as dense, the insects as savage. only along the banks of the rivers has civilization made some little headway, but the richest gold field twenty miles back in the interior is as safe from civilized workings as though it were walled in with steel and guarded by dragons. every speculative man you meet in panama will assure you that the gold is there but all agree that conditions must be radically changed before it can be gotten out unless a regiment and a subsistence train shall follow the miners.
-the authorities of panama estimate that there are about 36,000 tribal indians, that is to say aborigines, still holding their tribal organizations and acknowledging fealty to no other government now in the isthmus. the estimate is of course largely guesswork, for few of the wild indians leave the jungle and fewer still of the census enumerators enter it. most of these indians live in the mountains of the provinces of bocas del toro, chiriqui and veragua, or in the darien. their tribes are many and the sources of information concerning them but few. the most accessible and complete record of the various tribes is in a pamphlet issued by the smithsonian institution, and now obtainable only through public libraries, as the edition for distribution has been exhausted. the author, miss eleanor yorke bell, beside studies made at first hand has diligently examined the authorities on the subject and has presented the only considerable treatise on the subject of which i have knowledge.
-of life among the more civilized natives she says:
-“the natives of the isthmus in general, even in the larger towns, live together without any marriage ceremony, separating at will and dividing the children. as there is little or no personal property, this is accomplished amicably as a rule, though should disputes arise the alcalde of the district is appealed to, who settles the matter. this informal system is always stoutly defended by the women, even more than by the men, for, as among all people low in the scale of civilization, it is generally held that the women receive better treatment when not bound and therefore free to depart at any time. recently an effort has been made to bring more of the inhabitants under the marriage laws, with rather amusing results in many instances. the majority of the population is nominally catholic, but the teachings of the church are only vaguely understood, and its practices consist in the adoration of a few battered images of saints whose particular degree of sanctity is not even guessed at and who, when their owners are displeased with them, receive rather harsh treatment, as these people have usually no real idea of christianity beyond a few distorted and superstitious beliefs. after the widespread surveys of the french engineers, a sincere effort was made to re-christianize the inhabitants of the towns in darien as well as elsewhere, for, until this time, nothing had been done toward their spiritual welfare since the days of the early jesuits. in the last thirty years spasmodic efforts have been made to reach the people with little result, and, excepting at penonome, david, and santiago, there are few churches where services are held outside of panama and the towns along the railroad.
-“the chief amusements of the isthmian are gambling, cock-fighting, and dancing, the latter assisted by the music of the tom-tom and by dried beans rattled in a calabash. after feasts or burials, when much bad rum and whisky is consumed, the hilarity keeps up all night and can be heard for miles, increased by the incessant howls of the cur dogs lying under every shack. seldom does an opportunity come to the stranger to witness the really characteristic dances, as the natives do not care to perform before them, though a little money will sometimes work wonders. occasionally, their dancing is really remarkably interesting, when a large amount of pantomime enters into it and they develop the story of some primitive action, as, for instance, the drawing of the water, cutting the wood, making the fire, cooking the food, etc., ending in a burst of song symbolizing the joys of the new prepared feast. in an extremely crude form it reminds one of the old opera ballets and seems to be a composite of the original african and the ancient spanish, which is very probably the case.
-“the orientals of the isthmus deserve a word in passing. they are chiefly chinese coolies and form a large part of the small merchant class. others, in the hill districts, cultivate large truck gardens, bringing their produce swinging over the shoulders on poles to the city markets. their houses and grounds are very attractive, built of reed or bamboo in the eastern fashion and marked everywhere by extreme neatness, contrasting so strikingly with the homes and surroundings of their negro neighbors. many cultivate fields of cane or rice as well, and amidst the silvery greens, stretching for some distance, the quaint blue figures of the workmen in their huge hats make a charming picture. through the rubber sections chinese ‘middlemen’ are of late frequently found buying that valuable commodity for their fellow countrymen in panama city, who are now doing quite a large business in rubber. these people live much as in their native land, seldom learning more than a few words of spanish (except those living in the towns), and they form a very substantial and good element of the population”.
-to enumerate even by names the aboriginal tribes would be tedious and unavailing. among the more notable are the doracho-changuina, of chiriqui, light of color, believing that the great spirit lived in the volcano of chiriqui, and occasionally showing their displeasure with him by shooting arrows at the mountain. the guaymies, of whom perhaps 6000 are left, are the tribe that buried with their dead the curious golden images that were once plentiful in the bazaars of panama, but are now hard to find. they have a pleasant practice of putting a calabash of water and some plantains by a man they think dying and leaving him to his fate, usually in some lonesome part of the jungle. the cunas or caribs are the tribes inhabiting the darien. all were, and some are, believed still to be cannibals. eleven lesser tribes are grouped under this general name. as a rule they are small and muscular. most of them have abandoned their ancient gaudy dress, and so far as they are clothed at all wear ordinary cotton clothing. painting the face and body is still practiced. the dead often are swung in hammocks from trees and supplied with fresh provisions until the cords rot and the body falls to the ground. then the spirit’s journey to the promised land is held to be ended and provisions are no longer needed. sorcery and soothsaying are much in vogue, and the sorcerers who correspond to the medicine men of our north american indians will sometimes shut themselves up in a small hut shrieking, beating tom-toms and imitating the cries of wild animals. when they emerge in a sort of self-hypnotized state they are held to be peculiarly fit for prophesying.
-all the indians drink heavily, and the white man’s rum is to some extent displacing the native drink of chica. this is manufactured by the women, usually the old ones, who sit in a circle chewing yam roots or cassava and expectorating the saliva into a large bowl in the center. this ferments and is made the basis of a highly intoxicating drink. curiously enough the same drink is similarly made in far-away samoa. the dutiful wives after thus manufacturing the material upon which their spouses get drunk complete their service by swinging their hammocks, sprinkling them with cold water and fanning them as they lie in a stupor. smoking is another social custom, but the cigars are mere hollow rolls of tobacco and the lighted end is held in the mouth. among some of the tribes in comagre the bodies of the caciques, or chief men, were preserved after death by surrounding them with a ring of fire built at a sufficient distance to gradually dry the body until skin and bone alone remained.
-the indians with whom the visitor to panama most frequently comes into contact are those of the san blas or manzanillo country. these indians hover curiously about the bounds of civilization, and approach without actually crossing them. they are fishermen and sailors, and many of their young men ship on the vessels touching at colon, and, after visiting the chief seaports of the united states, and even of france and england, are swallowed up again in their tribe without affecting its customs to any appreciable degree. if in their wanderings they gain new ideas or new desires they are not apparent. the man who silently offers you fish, fruits or vegetables from his cayuca on the beach at colon may have trod the docks at havre or liverpool, the levee at new orleans or wandered along south street in new york. not a word of that can you coax from him. even in proffering his wares he does so with the fewest possible words, and an air of lofty indifference. uncas of the leather-stocking tales was no more silent and self-possessed a red-skin than he.
-courtesy national geographic magazine
-a choco indian in full costume
-in physiognomy the san blas indians are heavy of feature and stocky of frame. their color is dark olive, with no trace of the negro apparent, for it has been their unceasing study for centuries to retain their racial purity. their features are regular and pleasing and, among the children particularly, a high order of beauty is often found. to get a glimpse of their women is almost impossible, and a photograph of one is practically unknown. if overtaken on the water, to which they often resort in their cayucas, the women will wrap their clothing about their faces, rather heedless of what other portions of their bodies may be exposed, and make all speed for the shore. these women paint their faces in glaring colors, wear nose rings, and always blacken their teeth on being married. among them more pains is taken with clothing than among most of the savage indians, many of their garments being made of a sort of appliqué work in gaudy colors, with figures, often in representation of the human form, cut out and inset in the garment.
-it was the ancestors of these indians who made welcome patterson and his luckless scotchmen, and in the 200 years that have elapsed they have clung to the tradition of friendship for the briton and hatred for the spaniard. dr. pittier reports having found that queen victoria occupied in their villages the position of a patron saint, and that they refused to believe his assertion that she was dead. his account of the attitude of these indians toward outsiders, recently printed in the national geographic magazine, is an authoritative statement on the subject:
-“the often circulated reports of the difficulty of penetrating into the territory of the cuna-cuna are true only in part”, he says. “the backwoods aborigines, in the valleys of the bayano and chucunaque rivers, have nourished to this day their hatred for all strangers, especially those of spanish blood. that feeling is not a reasoned one: it is the instinctive distrust of the savage for the unknown or inexplicable, intensified in this particular case by the tradition of a long series of wrongs at the hands of the hated spaniards.
-“so they feel that isolation is their best policy, and it would not be safe for anybody to penetrate into their forests without a strong escort and continual watchfulness. many instances of murders, some confirmed and others only suspected, are on record, and even the natives of the san blas coast are not a little afraid of their brothers of the mountains.
-“of late, however, conditions seem to have bettered, owing to a more frequent intercourse with the surrounding settlements. a negro of la palma, at the mouth of the tuyra river, told me of his crossing, some time ago, from the latter place to chepo, through the chucunaque and bayano territories, gathering rubber as he went along with his party. at the headwaters of the canaza river he and his companions were held up by the ‘bravos’, who contented themselves with taking away the rubber and part of the equipment and then let their prisoners go with the warning not to come again.
-courtesy of national geographic magazine
-“the narrative of that expedition was supplemented by the reflection of an old man among the hearers that twenty years ago none of the party would have come out alive.
-the village of playon grand, eighty-five miles east of the canal
-courtesy nat’l geographic magazine
-“among the san blas indians, who are at a far higher level of civilization, the exclusion of aliens is the result of well-founded political reasons. their respected traditions are a long record of proud independence; they have maintained the purity of their race and enjoyed freely for hundreds of years every inch of their territory. they feel that the day the negro or the white man acquires a foothold in their midst these privileges will become a thing of the past. this is why, without undue hostility to strangers, they discourage their incursions.
-courtesy nat’l geographic magazine
-“their means of persuasion are adjusted to the importance of the intruder. they do not hesitate to shoot at any negro of the nearby settlements poaching on their cocoanuts or other products; the trader or any occasional visitor is very seldom allowed to stay ashore at night; the adventurers who try to go prospecting into indian territory are invariably caught and shipped back to the next panamanian port”.
-among the men of the san blas tribe the land held by their people is regarded as a sacred trust, bequeathed to them by their ancestors and to be handed down by them to the remotest posterity. during the early days of the canal project it was desired to dig sand from a beach in the san blas country. a small united states man-of-war was sent thither to broach the subject to the indians, and the captain held parley with the chief. after hearing the plea and all the arguments and promises with which it was strengthened the old indian courteously refused the privilege:
-“he who made this land”, said he, “made it for cuna-cuna who live no longer, for those who are here today and also for the ones to come. so it is not ours only and we could not sell it”.
-to this decision the tribe adhered, and the wishes of the aborigines have been respected. it has been the policy of the united states to avoid any possibility of giving offense to the native population of the isthmus, and even a request from the chief that the war vessel that brought the negotiator on his fruitless errand should leave was acceded to. it is quite unlikely, however, that the indians will be able to maintain their isolation much longer. already there are signs of its breaking down. while i was in panama they sent a request that a missionary, a woman it is true, who had been much among them, should come and live with them permanently. they also expressed a desire that she should bring her melodeon, thus giving new illustration to the poetic adage, “music hath charms to soothe the savage breast”. perhaps the phonograph may in time prove the open sesame to many savage bosoms. among this people it is the women who cling most tenaciously to the primitive customs, as might be expected, since they have been so assiduously guarded against the wiles of the world. but catholic missionaries have made some headway in the country, and at narganá schools for girls have been opened under auspices of the church. it is probably due to the feminine influence that the san blas men return so unfailingly to primitive customs after the voyages that have made them familiar with civilization. if the women yield to the desire for novelty the splendid isolation of the san blas will not long endure. perhaps that would be unfortunate, for all other primitive peoples who have surrendered to the wiles of the white men have suffered and disappeared.
-courtesy national geographic magazine
-daughter of chief don carlos
-in their present state the san blas are relatively rich. all the land belongs to all the people--that is why the old chief declined to sell the sandy beach. there is a sort of private property in improvements. a banana plantation, a cocoanut grove or an orange tree planted and cared for, becomes a positive possession handed down to descendants of the owner through the female line. perhaps one reason for keeping the women so shut off from the world is that they are the real owners of all individual property. ownership does not, however, attach to trees or plants growing wild; they are as much communal as the land. so the vegetable ivory, balata and cocoanuts which form the marketable products are gathered by whomsoever may take the trouble. land that has been tilled belongs to the one who improved it. if he let it lapse into wilderness it reverts to the community. the san blas indians have the essence of the single tax theory without the tax.
-they have a hazily defined religious system, and have curiously reversed the position held by their priests or sorcerers. these influential persons are not representatives of the spirit of good, but of the bad spirit. very logically the san blas savages hold that any one may represent the good spirit by being himself good, and that the unsupported prayers of such a one are sure to be heard. but to reach the devil, to induce that malicious practitioner of evil to rest from his persecutions and to abandon the pursuit of the unfortunate, it is desirable to have as intermediary some one who possesses his confidence and high regard. hence the strong position of the sorcerers in the villages. the people defer to them on the principle that it is well to make friends with “the mammon of unrighteousness”.
-polygamy is permitted among these indians, but little practiced. even the chiefs whose high estate gives them the right to more than one wife seldom avail themselves of the privilege. the women, as in most primitive tribes, are the hewers of wood and drawers of water. dress is rather a more serious matter with them than among some of the other indians, the chocoes for example. they wear as a rule blouses and two skirts, where other denizens of the darien dispense with clothing above the waist altogether. their hair is usually kept short. the nose ring is looked upon as indispensable, and other ornaments of both gold and silver are worn by both sexes. americans who have had much to do with the indians of the darien always comment on the extreme reticence shown by them in speaking of their golden ornaments, or the spot whence they were obtained. it is as though vague traditions had kept alive the story of the pestilence of fire and sword which ravaged their land when the spaniards swept over it in search of the yellow metal. gold is in the darien in plenty. everybody knows that, and the one or two mines near the rivers now being worked afford sufficient proof that the region is auriferous. but no indian will tell of the existence of these mines, nor will any guide a white man to the spot where it is rumored gold is to be found. seemingly ineradicably fixed in the inner consciousness of the indian is the conviction that the white man’s lust for the yellow metal is the greatest menace that confronts the well-being of himself and his people.
-the san blas are decidedly a town-dwelling tribe. they seem to hate solitude and even today, in their comparatively reduced state, build villages of a size that make understandable balboa’s records of the size and state of the chief with whom he first fought, and then made friends. at narganá are two large islands, fairly covered with spacious houses about 150 feet long by 50 broad. the ridge pole of the palm-thatched roof is 30 to 40 feet from the ground. a long corridor runs through the house longitudinally, and on either side the space is divided by upright posts into square compartments, each of which is supposed to house an entire family. the side walls are made of wattled reeds caked with clay. one of these houses holds from sixteen to twenty families, and the edifices are packed so closely together as to leave scarce room between for a razor-back hog to browse. the people within must be packed about as closely and the precise parental relationship sustained to each other by the various members of the family would be an interesting study.
-courtesy national geographic magazine
-guaymi indian man
-the choco indians are one of the smaller and least known tribes of the darien. prof. pittier--who may without disrespect be described as the most seasoned “tropical tramp” of all central america--described them so vividly that extracts from his article in the national geographic magazine will be of interest:
-“never, in our twenty-five years of tropical experience, have we met with such a sun-loving, bright and trusting people, living nearest to nature and ignoring the most elementary wiles of so-called civilization. they are several hundred in number and their dwellings are scattered along the meandrous sambu and its main reaches, always at short distance, but never near enough to each other to form real villages. like their houses, their small plantations are close to the river, but mostly far enough to escape the eye of the casual passer-by.
-“dugouts drawn up on the beach and a narrow trail breaking the reed wall at the edge of the bank are the only visible signs of human presence, except at the morning hours and near sunset, when a crowd of women and children will be seen playing in the water, and the men, armed with their bows and long harpooned arrows, scrutinizing the deeper places for fish or looking for iguanas and crabs hidden in the holes of the banks.
-“physically the chocoes are a fine and healthy race. they are tall, as compared with the cuna-cuna, well proportioned, and with a graceful bearing. the men have wiry limbs and faces that are at once kind and energetic, while as a rule the girls are plump, fat, and full of mischief. the grown women preserve their good looks and attractiveness much longer than is generally the case in primitive peoples, in which their sex bears the heaviest share of every day’s work.
-“both males and females have unusually fine white teeth, which they sometimes dye black by chewing the shoots of one of the numerous wild peppers growing in the forests. the skin is of a rich olive-brown color and, as usual, a little lighter in women and children. though all go almost naked, they look fairer than the san blas cunas, and some of the women would compare advantageously in this respect with certain mediterranean types of the white race.
-“the hair is left by all to grow to its natural length, except in a few cases, in which the men have it cropped at the neck. it is coarse and not jet black, as reported of most indians, but with a reddish hue, which is better noticed when the sun is playing through the thick mass.
-“in young children it decidedly turns at times to a blond color, the only difference from the caucasian hair being the pronounced coarseness of the former. as there are no white people living within a radius of fifty miles, but only negroes, mulattoes and zambos, this peculiarity cannot be explained by miscegenation, and may therefore be considered as a racial feature of the choco tribe.
-“in men the every-day dress consists of a scanty clout, made of a strip of red calico about one foot broad and five feet long. this clout is passed in front and back of the body over a string tied around the hips, the forward extremity being left longer and flowing like an apron. on feast days the string is replaced by a broad band of white beads. around the neck and chest they wear thick cords of the same beads and on their wrists broad silver cuffs. hats are not used; the hair is usually tied with a red ribbon and often adorned with the bright flowers of the forest.
-“the female outfit is not less simple, consisting of a piece of calico less than three feet wide and about nine feet long, wrapped around the lower part of the body and reaching a little below the knees. this is all, except that the neck is more or less loaded with beads or silver coins. but for this the women display less coquetry than the men, which may be because they feel sufficiently adorned with their mere natural charms. fondness for cheap rings is, however, common to both sexes, and little children often wear earrings or pendants.
-courtesy national geographic magazine
-“the scantiness of the clothing is remedied very effectually by face and body painting, in which black and red colors are used, the first exclusively for daily wear. at times men and women are painted black from the waist down; at other times it is the whole body or only the hands and feet, etc., all according to the day’s fashion, as was explained by one of our guides. for feast days the paintings are an elaborate and artistic affair, consisting of elegantly drawn lines and patterns--red and black or simply black--which clothe the body as effectually as any costly dress.
-“from the above one might conclude that cleanliness and modesty are not the rule among the chocos. as a matter of fact, the first thing they do in the morning is to jump into the near-by river, and these ablutions are repeated several times in the course of the day.
-“the kitchen utensils are always thoroughly washed before using, and, contrary to our former experience, their simple dishes, prepared mostly in our presence, looked almost always inviting. during our stay among these good people nothing was noticed that would hurt the most delicate sense of decency.
-“the chocoes seem to be exclusively monogamist, and both parents surround their babies with tender care, being mindful, however, to prepare them early for the hard and struggling life ahead of them. small bows and arrows, dexterously handled by tiny hands, are the favorite toys of the boys, while the girls spend more time in the water playing with miniature dugouts, washing, and swimming. the only dolls seen among them were imported ones, and they seemed to be as much in favor among grown women as among children. these latter go naked until they are about five years old, when the girls receive a large handkerchief to be used as a ‘paruma’, or skirt, and the boys a strip of some old maternal dress for an ‘antia’ or clout.
-“the chocoes are very industrious. during the dry spells their life, of course, is an out-of-door one, planting and watching their crops, hunting, fishing and canoeing. but when the heavy rains come they stay at home, weaving baskets of all kinds--a work in which the women are proficient--making ropes and hammocks, carving dishes, mortars, stools, and other objects out of tree trunks”.
-in the country which will be traversed by the panama-david railroad are found the guaymies, the only primitive people living in large numbers outside the darien. there are about 5000 of them, living for the most part in the valley of mirando which lies high up in the cordilleras, and in a region cut off from the plains. here they have successfully defended their independence against the assaults of both whites and blacks. to remain in their country without consent of the great chief is practically impossible, for they are savage fighters and in earlier days it was rare to see a man whose body was not covered with scars. it is apparent that in some ways progress has destroyed their industries and made the people less rather than more civilized, for they now buy cloth, arms, tools, and utensils which they were once able to make. at one time they were much under the influence of the catholic missionaries, but of late mission work has languished in wild panama and perhaps the chief relic of that earlier religious influence is the fact that the women go clothed in a single garment. this simple raiment, not needed for warmth, seems to be prized, for if caught in a rainstorm the women will quickly strip off their clothing, wrap it in a large banana or palm leaf that it may not get wet, and continue their work, or their play, in nature’s garb.
-it is said, too, that when strangers are not near clothes are never thought of. the men follow a like custom, and invariably when pursuing a quarry strip off their trousers, tying their shirts about their loins. trousers seem to impede their movements, and if a lone traveler in chiriqui comes on a row of blue cotton trousers tied to the bushes he may be sure that a band of guaymies is somewhere in the neighborhood pursuing an ant bear or a deer.
-courtesy national geographic magazine
-choco indian of sambu valley
-as a rule these indians--men or women--are not pleasing to the eye. the lips are thick, the nose flat and broad, the hair coarse and always jet black. yet the children are not infrequently really beautiful. any traveler in panama who forsakes the beaten track up and down the canal zone will be impressed by the wide extent to which beauty is found among the children, whatever their race or combination of races. but the charm soon fades. it is seldom that one sees a mature woman who is attractive to caucasian eyes. among the women of the guaymies face painting is practiced only on great occasions, black, red and white being the usual colors. the men go painted at all times, the invariable pattern being a sort of inverted v, with the apex between the eyes, and the two arms extending to points, half an inch or so from the corners of the mouth. the lips are colored to make them seem thicker than normal, and heavy shadows are painted in under the eyes.
-among some tribes the wealth of a man is reckoned by the number of his cattle; among the guaymies by the number of his wives. for this reason, perhaps, the attainment of marriageable age is an occasion of much festivity for children of both sexes. the boy is exposed to tests of his manly and war-like qualities, and, in company with his fellows of equal age, is taken by the wisemen of the tribe into the solitude of the forest that by performing tasks assigned to him he may prove himself a man. there, too, they learn from the elders, who go masked and crowned with wreaths, the traditions of their tribes told in rude chants like the norse sagas. until this ceremony has been fulfilled the youth has no name whatsoever. after it he is named and celebrates his first birthday.
-the ceremonies in which the girls play the chief part are less elaborate, but one would think rather painful, since they include the breaking of a front tooth in sign that they are ready for marriage. they marry young and mothers at twelve years are not uncommon.
-once a year the guaymies have a great tribal feast--“balceria” the spaniards call it. word is sent to all outlying huts and villages by a mystic symbol of knotted rags, which is also tied to the branches of the trees along the more frequented trails. on the appointed day several hundred will gather on the banks of some river in which a general bath is taken, with much frolicking and horseplay. then the women employ several hours in painting the men with red and blue colors, following the figures still to be seen on the old pottery, after which the men garb themselves uncouthly in bark or in pelts like children “dressing up” for a frolic. at night is a curious ceremonial dance and game called balsa, in which the indians strike each other with heavy sticks, and are knocked down amid the pile of broken boughs. the music--if it could be so called--the incantations of the wisemen, the frenzy of the dancers, all combine to produce a sort of self-hypnotism, during which the indians feel no pain from injuries which a day later often prove to be very serious.
-there seems to have been no written language, nor even any system of hieroglyphics among the tribes of panama, a fact that places them far below our north american indians in the scale of mental development. on the other hand in weaving and in fashioning articles for domestic use they were in advance of the north american aborigines. their domestic architecture was more substantial, and they were less nomadic, the latter fact being probably due to the slight encouragement given to wandering by the jungle. the great houses of the san blas indians in their villages recall the “long houses” of the iroquois as described by parkman.
-courtesy national geographic magazine
-thus far what we call civilization has dealt less harshly with the indians of the isthmus than with our own. they have at least survived it and kept a great part of their territory for their own. the “squaw-man” who figures so largely in our own southwestern indian country is unknown there. unquestionably during the feverish days of the spaniards’ hunt for gold the tribes were frightfully thinned out, and even today sections of the country which writers of balboa’s time describe as thickly populated are desert and untenanted. yet much land is still held by its aboriginal owners, and unless the operation of the canal shall turn american settlement that way will continue so to be held. the panamanian has not the energy to dislodge the indians nor to till their lands if he should possess them.
-many studies of the panama indians as a body, or of isolated tribes, have been made by explorers or scientists, and mainly by french or spanish students. the smithsonian institution catalogues forty-seven publications dealing with the subject. but there is an immense mine of anthropological information yet to be worked in the isthmus. it is not to be acquired readily or without heavy expenditure of energy, patience and money. a thoroughly scientific exploring expedition to unravel the riddle of the darien, to count and describe the indian tribes of the isthmus, and to record and authenticate traditions dating back to the spanish days, would be well worth the while of a geographical society, a university or some patron of exploring enterprises.
-social life on the canal zone
-from ocean to ocean the territory which is called the canal zone is about forty-three miles long, ten miles wide and contains about 436 square miles, about ninety-five of which are under the waters of the canal, and miraflores and gatun lakes. it is bounded on the north by the caribbean sea, on the south by the pacific ocean, and on the east and west by the republic of panama. it traverses the narrowest part of panama, the waist so to speak, and has been taken out of that body politic by the diplomatic surgeons as neatly as though it had been an obnoxious vermiform appendix. its territory does not terminate at low water-mark, but extends three marine miles out to sea, and, as i write, a question of jurisdiction has arisen between the two republics--hardly twin republics--of panama and the united states concerning jurisdiction over three malefactors captured by the zone police in a motor boat out at sea. it may be noted in passing that panama is properly tenacious of its rights and dignity, and that cases of conflicting jurisdiction are continually arising when any offender has only to foot it a mile or two to be out of the territory in which his offense was committed. the police officials of the zone affect to think that the panama authorities are inclined to deal lightly with native offenders who commit robbery or murder on the zone and then stroll across the line to be arrested in their native state.
-there was a quarrel on while i was on the zone over the custody of a panamanian who killed his wife, with attendant circumstances of peculiar brutality, and then balked the vengeance of the zone criminal authorities by getting himself arrested in panama. “we want to show these fellows”, remarked a high police official of the zone, “that if they do murder in our territory we are going to do the hanging”. that seemed a laudable purpose--that is if hanging is ever laudable--but the panama officials are quite as determined to keep the wheels of their criminal law moving. the proprietors of machines like to see them run--which is one of the reasons why too many battleships are not good for a nation.
-to return, however, to the statistics of the zone. its population is shifting, of course, and varies somewhat in its size according to the extent to which labor is in demand. the completion of a part of the work occasionally reduces the force. in january, 1912, the total population of the zone, according to the official census, was 62,810; at the same time, by the same authority, there were employed by the canal commission and the panama railroad 36,600 men. these figures emphasize the fact that the working force on the zone is made up mainly of unmarried men, for a working population of 36,600 would, under the conditions existing in the ordinary american community, give a population of well over 100,000. though statistics are not on hand, and would probably be impossible to compile among the foreign laborers, it is probable that not more than one man in four on the zone is married. from this situation it results that the average maiden who visits the zone for a brief holiday goes rushing home to get her trousseau ready before some young engineer’s next annual vacation shall give him time to go like a young lochinvar in search of his bride. indeed, the life of the zone for many reasons has been singularly conducive to matrimony, and as a game preserve for the exciting sport of husband-hunting, it has been unexcelled.
-probably it was more a desire for experience and adventure than any idea of increased financial returns that led young jack maxon to seek a job in engineering on the canal. graduated from the engineering department of a state university, with two years or so of active experience in the field, jack was a fair type of young american--clean, wholesome, healthy, technically trained, ambitious for his future but quite solicitious about the pleasures of the present, as becomes a youth of twenty-three.
-the job he obtained seemed at the outset quite ideal. in the states he could earn about $225 a month. the day he took his number on the canal zone he began to draw $250 a month. and that $250 was quite as good as $300 at home. to begin with he had no room-rent to pay, but was assigned comfortable if not elegant quarters, which he shared with one other man; carefully screened and protected from all insects by netting, lighted by electricity, with a shower-bath handy and all janitor or chambermaid service free. instead of a boarding-house table or a cheap city valid marriage and entitled the woman to dower.
-though they proceeded in different ways, practically all of the states arrived at the same result. if slaves were married according to the custom, if they lived as husband and wife both before and after emancipation, their union was considered a valid marriage to all intents and purposes and the children thereof might inherit. where the procurement of a certificate or remarriage was required, if one of the parties took advantage of the opportunity to be freed from the early alliance, as happened in several amusing instances, and took another spouse, the second marriage was the valid one, and the children of the slave union could not inherit their parents’ property.
-it scarcely needs to add that, at present, the marriage requirements as to license, age, etc., are in all states precisely the same both for white and colored people.
-art. ii, sec. 5, par. 5.
-art. xii, sec. 27.
-chapter vi intermarriage and miscegenation
-one race distinction, which has not been confined to the south, and which has, in a large measure, escaped the adverse criticism heaped upon other race distinctions is the prohibition of miscegenation between the caucasian and the colored races. the term “miscegenation” includes both intermarriage and all forms of illicit intercourse between the races. twenty-six states and territories, including all the southern states, have laws forbidding the admixture of the races; applying not only to negroes, but also to indians and mongolians in states where the latter races are present in considerable numbers.
-intermarriage during reconstruction
-present state of the law against intermarriage
-to whom the laws apply
-in the interpretation of these statutes against intermarriage, it is necessary, at the outset, to determine just who are included. if the statutes had simply enacted that there should be no intermarriage between caucasians, on the one side, and negroes, indians, or mongolians, on the other, they would have left the great body of mixed-blooded people to miscegenate as they pleased. most of the states avoided this difficulty by stating clearly to whom the laws apply. virginia and louisiana are the only states simply to enact in general terms that there shall be no intermarriage between white persons and persons of color; and even in virginia judicial decisions clearly define the term “person of color,” so there is no difficulty in knowing who is meant by the statute. arkansas, colorado, delaware, idaho, and kentucky prohibit intermarriage between white persons and negroes or mulattoes. georgia, texas, and oklahoma place within the prohibition of their statutes persons of african descent; west virginia, negroes; and florida, negroes, expressly including every person with one-eighth or more of negro blood. alabama makes its law apply to negroes and their descendants to the fifth generation, though one ancestor of each generation was white. the indiana and missouri statutes extend to all persons having one-eighth or more negro blood; maryland to negroes or persons of negro descent to the third generation inclusive. tennessee includes within the prohibition negroes, mulattoes, or persons of mixed blood descended from a negro to the third generation inclusive. the nebraska law applies to persons of one-fourth or more negro blood.
-effect of attempted intermarriage
-the other states which prohibit intermarriage simply declare that marriage between white persons and negroes is illegal and prescribe a punishment for the violation of the statute against miscegenation, but do not further define the legal effect of such a marriage contract. but whether the marriage is declared “void” or “null and void” or “absolutely void” or only “illegal,” the result is the same.
-punishment for intermarriage
-punishment for issuing licenses
-with no less severity do the states punish those who issue licenses to persons of one race to marry those of another. alabama declares that anyone knowingly issuing a license for the marriage of a white and colored person shall be fined not less than one hundred dollars nor more than one thousand dollars and may also be imprisoned in the county jail or sentenced to hard labor for the county for not more than six months. colorado makes it a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of one hundred dollars. florida punishes it by imprisonment not exceeding two years or a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars. north carolina simply declares it to be a misdemeanor without prescribing any punishment different from that for other misdemeanors. oklahoma makes it a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of not less than one hundred nor more than five hundred dollars, or imprisonment in the county jail not less than thirty days nor more than one year, or both.
-punishment for performing the ceremony
-a heavy penalty is laid also upon one who performs the ceremony for those who marry in violation of the laws against miscegenation. alabama provides that any justice of the peace, minister, or other person, who knowingly performs the marriage ceremony between a white and colored person, shall be fined not less than one hundred dollars nor more than one thousand and, at the discretion of the court, imprisoned in the country jail or sentenced to hard labor for the county for not more than six months. arkansas makes anyone performing such a ceremony guilty of a high misdemeanor punishable by a fine of not less than one hundred dollars. colorado declares that to perform the ceremony is a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of between fifty dollars and five hundred dollars or imprisonment between three months and two years, or both. in delaware, it is a misdemeanor, and the punishment is a one hundred dollar fine. florida either imprisons the person performing the ceremony not over one year or imposes a fine on him not exceeding one thousand dollars. north carolina simply defines it as a misdemeanor. indiana declares that one who knowingly counsels or assists in such a marriage shall be fined not less than one hundred dollars nor more than one thousand dollars. nevada makes one who performs the ceremony guilty of a misdemeanor and subjects him to imprisonment in the state prison not less than one year nor more than three years. oklahoma makes it a misdemeanor and imposes a fine of between one hundred dollars and five hundred dollars, or imprisonment between three months and a year, or both. the law of oregon declares that one who wilfully and knowingly performs such marriage ceremony shall be imprisoned in the penitentiary or county jail from three months to one year and fined from one hundred dollars to one thousand dollars. south carolina provides that one who knowingly and willingly unites persons of different races in the bonds of matrimony shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and punished by a fine of not less than five hundred dollars nor more than twelve months’ imprisonment, or both. virginia declares that he shall forfeit two hundred dollars, of which the informant shall get one-half; and west virginia provides that the one who knowingly performs the ceremony shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and fined not over two hundred dollars.
-cohabitation without intermarriage
-the most interesting feature about these statutes is that they impose a heavier penalty for cohabitation between a white and a colored person than between two members of the same race. yet they have been held to comply with the constitution of the united states. the reasons why such statutes are held to be constitutional will be considered later.
-states repealing laws against intermarriage
-marriages between the negro and non-caucasian races
-effect given to marriages in other states
-if, on the other hand, the parties leave a state which prohibits intermarriage and go to another state which allows it, solely for the purpose of evading the laws of the former state, the authority is practically unanimous that the marriage is not valid in the state the laws of which they attempted to evade. this point is covered both by statute and by judicial decision. a delaware statute, for instance, declares that the negro and white person are equally guilty if they are married in another state and move into delaware as if they had been married in delaware. mississippi, also, punishes parties attempting to evade its laws by marrying out of the state and returning to mississippi, to the same extent as if they had attempted to intermarry in mississippi. the georgia statute, which is typical, is as follows: “all marriages solemnized in another state by parties intending at the time to reside in this state shall have the same legal consequences and effect as if solemnized in this state. parties residing in this state cannot evade any of the provisions of its laws as to marriage by going into another state for the solemnization of the ceremony.” statutes to the same effect are in force in arizona, virginia, west virginia, and possibly other states. in the absence of statute, the point is covered with the same result by judicial decision. in the tennessee case, to which reference has already been made, the court said: “each state is sovereign, a government within, of, and for itself, with the inherent and reserved right to declare and maintain its own political economy for the good of its citizens, and cannot be subjected to the recognition of a fact or act contravening its public policy and against good morals, as lawful, because it was made or existed in a state having no prohibition against it or even promoting it.”
-efforts have been made to prohibit intermarriage in the district of columbia. at the last session of the sixtieth congress, senator milton, of florida, introduced a bill to make intermarriage between white persons and negroes a crime punishable by imprisonment for ten years and a fine of one thousand dollars, providing that one with one-eighth or more negro blood should come within the prohibition, declaring such marriages to be null and void and the issue resulting from them illegitimate and so incapable of inheritance. this bill apparently died in the committee room. a resolution in the senate to recall it from the committee on the judiciary was tabled on march 1, 1909, by a vote of 43 to 21.
-intermarriage and the federal constitution
-the constitutionality of state statutes and judicial decisions which have refused to recognize marriages between negroes and white persons celebrated in other states or in the district of columbia have been attacked on two grounds: first, that they are in violation of article one, section ten, of the constitution of the united states, which says, in part, that no state shall pass any law impairing the obligation of contracts; and, secondly, that they contravene that part of the fourteenth amendment which says that no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges and immunities of citizens of the united states.
-twenty-six states and territories prohibit intermarriage between the white and other races. they recognize as valid such marriages when contracted in a state which allows them, unless the parties are trying to evade the laws of the state of their domicile or of their intended matrimonial residence. the states prescribe a heavier penalty for illicit intercourse between white persons and persons of another race than for the same offence between two persons of the same race; they inflict heavy punishments upon ministers and other officials who perform a marriage ceremony between a white person and one of another race, and upon those who issue licenses for such a marriage; and they declare the offspring of such marriages illegitimate and incapable of inheritance. in each of these positions, the courts, federal as well as state, have upheld the twenty-six states and territories.
-twenty-four states and territories do not prohibit intermarriage between the white and other races. it is not within the province of this study to consider the actual amount of admixture that is going on in these states. but inasmuch as boston has often been cited as the city in which the number of marriages between white persons and negroes is very large (estimated by senator money, of mississippi, at 2,000 in 1902), the report of the registry department of boston for the years 1900–1907 is here added:
-intermarriages in boston
-from this it appears that the number, never appreciably large, has been steadily decreasing.
-“for this reason, although there are no laws in most northern states against mixed marriages, and although the negro population has been increasing, the number of intermarriages is not only not increasing, but in many cities, as in boston, it is decreasing. it is an unpopular institution.”
-art. i, sec. 11.
-art. i, par. 18.
-const., 1885, art. xvi, sec. 24.
-const., 1890, art. xiv, sec. 7.
-const., 1875, art. xiv, sec. 8.
-const., 1895, art. iii, sec. 33.
-const., 1870, art. xi, sec. 14.
-code, 1907, iii, sec. 7421.
-revised stat., 1901, secs. 3092 and 3094.
-kirby’s digest, 1904, secs. 5174, 5177, and 5183.
-civil code, 1906, sec. 60.
-revised stat., 1908, secs. 4163 and 4165.
-general stat., 1906, secs. 2579, 3529, and 3531–32.
-code, 1895, ii, secs. 2422–25.
-revised code, 1908, i, secs. 2616 and 2619.
-annotated stat., 1908, secs. 2641, 2642, 8360, and 8367.
-statutes, 1909, secs. 4615 and 4619.
-merrick’s revised civil code, 1900, art. 94.
-code, 1906, secs. 1031 and 3244.
-annotated stat., 1906, ii, sec. 2174.
-compiled stat., 1907, sec. 4275.
-compiled laws, 1861–1900, secs. 4851–52.
-pell’s revisal of 1908, i, secs. 2083 and 3369–70.
-general stat., 1908, secs. 3260 and 3262.
-bellinger and cotton’s codes and stat., i, secs. 1999–2001 and ii, sec. 5217.
-code, 1902, i, sec. 2664.
-code, 1896, secs. 4186–87.
-sayles’s civil stat., i, art. 2959.
-compiled laws, 1907, sec. 1184.
-pollard’s code, 1904, sec. 2252.
-kinney’s case, 1878, 30 grat. (va.) 858, 861.
-code of criminal procedure, 1902, sec. 293.
-ex parte francois, 1879, fed. case no. 5,047.
-ex parte kinney, 1879, fed. case no. 7,825.
-16 mass. 157 (1819).
-36 ind. 389 (1871).
-58 ala. 190 (1877).
-chapter vii civil rights of negroes
-the thirteenth amendment to the federal constitution, prohibiting slavery or involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime, was proposed to the legislatures of the thirty-six states on february 1, 1865, a little over two months before the surrender of lee at appomattox, and was declared to have been ratified by twenty-seven states, the requisite three-fourths, by december 18, 1865. the latter date marked the negro’s final freedom from physical bondage. his body could no longer be owned as chattel property. but there is a vast difference between being able to say “no man owns my body,” and “i have the same rights, privileges, and immunities as other free men.” this difference the thirty-ninth congress—that of 1865–1866—fully realized, and grappled with.
-the first ten amendments were passed soon after the adoption of the constitution to satisfy the demands of those who were jealous of the power of the federal government. these, in brief, guaranteed to the citizens of the united states (1) freedom of religion, speech, press, assembly, and of petition for redress of grievances; (2) the right to keep and bear arms; (3) the right not to have soldiers quartered in one’s house in time of peace without one’s consent; (4) freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures; (5) the right not to be denied life, liberty, or property without due process of law; (6) the right to trial by jury; (7) the right of the accused to be confronted by his accuser; (8) the right not to have one’s property taken for public use without compensation; and (9) the right not to be subjected to cruel or unusual punishment, and not to have excessive bail required. these were limitations upon the power of congress, the states themselves having guaranteed such rights to their own citizens by their bill of rights. after the war, the federal government was fearful that the states, particularly those lately in rebellion, would not grant these rights or privileges to the freedmen, who, according to the dred scott decision, were not citizens. all the power that congress had over the states, it seems, was to enforce the thirteenth amendment by appropriation legislation. but it proceeded to make the most of the power it had, biding its time when another amendment to the constitution would give it more power over the states.
-federal civil rights legislation
-it is not the purpose here to discuss the civil rights bill as it was regarded by the people, but rather as it was interpreted by the courts. although it stood scarcely more than two years before it was eclipsed and practically superseded by the fourteenth amendment, nevertheless it stood long enough to be tested by the courts.
-as interesting as it would be to trace this bill and the subsequent federal enactments through congress, it would take one too far afield. he must accept the products as they came from the crucible of debate, and interpret their effect upon the rights of negroes.
-the civil rights bill of 1866 was practically superseded by the first section of the fourteenth amendment, ratified by thirty-six states and declared operative july 28, 1868. this section reads as follows: “all persons born or naturalized in the united states, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the united states and of the state wherein they reside. no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the united states; nor shall any state deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law, or deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”
-the effect of this decision is that the federal government cannot prevent the curtailment of the civil rights of negroes by individuals unless such individuals are acting under sanction of state statutes, and in that case, the federal court can only declare that the state statute is unconstitutional.
-the civil rights bill of 1875 was the last effort of congress to guarantee to negroes their civil rights. it is well now to turn back in point of time, and trace the action of the state legislatures on the subject. it has been deemed advisable to let the year 1883 be the dividing point in the history of the latter legislation. before that time the states were moving in conjunction with the nation; after, the impotence of the nation having been declared by its supreme court, the burden of defining and securing civil rights to negroes devolved upon the states. moreover, it is well to treat the southern states and the states outside the south separately, because of the abnormal conditions in the former occasioned by reconstruction.
-in states outside of south
-between 1865 and 1883 there was comparatively little legislation in the northern, eastern, and western states as to civil rights. this was naturally so because these states were waiting to see what the federal government meant to do. a brief examination of what little legislation there was will be made.
-“that the members of this general assembly, for the people they represent, and for themselves, jointly and individually, do hereby declare uncompromising opposition to a proposed act of congress, introduced by hon. charles sumner at the last session, and now on file in the senate of the united states, known as the ‘supplemental civil rights bill,’ and all other measures intended or calculated to equalize or amalgamate the negro race with the white race, politically or socially, and especially do they proclaim unceasing opposition to making negroes eligible to public offices, to sit on juries, and to their admission into public schools where white children attend, and to the admission on terms of equality with white people in the churches, public conveyances, places of amusement, or hotels, and to any measure designed or having the effect to promote the equality of the negro with the white man in any of the relations of life, or which may possibly conduce to such result.
-“that our senators in congress be instructed, and our representatives requested to vote against and use all honorable means to defeat the passage by congress of the bill referred to in the foregoing resolution, known as the ‘supplemental civil rights bill,’ and all other measures of a kindred nature, and any and every attempt to make the negro the peer of the white man.”
-one would naturally expect that most of the legislation in the south guaranteeing civil rights to negroes would have come during the period that their governments were in the hands of the reconstructionists, and such is the case.
-the constitutionality of the tennessee and delaware statutes has not been tested, as far as is known. therefore, in the absence of authority, an opinion on the matter is of little value, but the following suggestion is ventured: originally, hotels and inns were no more public places than a man’s dwelling, and one could choose his patrons just as he could choose the guests he would entertain, and might exclude anyone without giving his reasons for it, as a merchant might refuse to sell goods to anyone he chose. for historical reasons, which need not be discussed here, the courts held that an inn-keeper should not be allowed to refuse an applicant for entertainment unless he had some valid reason for it. the common law thereafter considered hotels, etc., public places. it has been seen that the civil rights cases held that the federal government cannot prohibit a hotel-keeper from refusing to receive an applicant, but that the regulation of such domestic relations is within the exclusive control of the state. if the state sees fit to pass a statute abrogating the common law, as tennessee and delaware did, and making hotels, etc., private places, as they were originally, there seems to be no valid constitutional objection. the reasoning that applies to hotels will apply to other places now considered public, possibly even to public conveyances.
-“whereas, in the providence of god, the colored people have been set free, and this is their country and their home, as well as that of the white people, and there should be nothing to prevent the two races from dwelling together in the land in harmony and peace;
-“whereas, we recognize the duty of the stronger race to uphold the weaker, and that upon it rests the responsibility of an honest and faithful endeavor to raise the weaker race to the level of intelligent citizenship; and
-“whereas, the colored people have been erroneously taught that legislation under democratic auspices would be inimical to their rights and interests, thereby causing a number of them to entertain honest fears in the premises,
-“the general assembly of north carolina do resolve, that, while we regard with repugnance the absurd attempts, by means of ‘civil rights’ bills, to eradicate certain race distinctions, implanted by nature and sustained by the habits of forty centuries; and while we are sure that good government demands for both races alike that the great representation and executive offices of the country should be administered by men of the highest intelligence and best experience in public affairs, we do, nevertheless, heartily accord alike to every citizen, without distinction of race or color, equality before the law.
-“resolved, that we recognize the full purport and intent of that amendment to the constitution of the united states which confers the right of suffrage and citizenship upon the people of color, and that part of the constitution of north carolina conferring educational privileges upon both races: that we are disposed and determined to carry out in good faith these as all other constitutional provisions.”
-in states outside of south
-a clearer idea of what the various state statutes mean and how they differ from the civil rights bill of 1875 may be got from the accompanying table. the list contains the names of places where all citizens, without regard to race, color, or previous condition of servitude are guaranteed equality of accommodation. it will be noticed that none of the southern states have civil rights bills and, therefore, depend upon the courts to determine the rights of citizens in public places, and in addition the following states have no such statute: delaware, idaho, maine, maryland, missouri, montana, nevada, new hampshire, north dakota, oregon, south dakota, utah, vermont, west virginia, and wyoming.
-analysis of the state civil rights bills
-x indicates states in which equal accommodations are guaranteed to all without regard to race.
-penalty for violating the law
-1. california: fine not less than $50.
-2. colorado: forfeiture between $50 and $500; misdemeanor, fine between $10 and $300, or imprisonment not over one year.
-3. connecticut: double damages to person injured.
-4. illinois: forfeiture between $25 and $500; misdemeanor, fine not over $500, or imprisonment not over one year.
-5. indiana: forfeiture not over $100; misdemeanor, fine not over $100, or imprisonment not over thirty days, or both.
-6. iowa: misdemeanor.
-7. kansas: misdemeanor, fine between $10 and $1,000, and suit for damages.
-8. massachusetts: forfeiture between $25 and $300; misdemeanor, fine not over $300, or imprisonment not over one year, or both.
-9. michigan: misdemeanor, fine not over $100, or imprisonment thirty days, or both.
-10. minnesota: forfeiture of $500 to aggrieved party; gross misdemeanor.
-11. nebraska: misdemeanor, fine between $25 and $100 and costs.
-12. new jersey: forfeiture of $500 to aggrieved party and costs; misdemeanor, fine between $500 and $1,000, imprisonment between thirty days and one year.
-13. new york: forfeiture between $100 and $500 to aggrieved party; misdemeanor, fine between $100 and $500, imprisonment between thirty days and ninety days, or both.
-14. ohio: forfeiture between $50 and $500 to aggrieved party; misdemeanor, fine between $50 and $500, imprisonment between thirty days and ninety days.
-15. pennsylvania: misdemeanor, fine between $50 and $100.
-16. rhode island: fine not over $100.
-17. washington: misdemeanor, fine between $50 and $300, imprisonment between thirty days and six months.
-18. wisconsin: not less than $5 to aggrieved party; fine not over $100, or imprisonment not over six months.
-the wording of all the statutes is essentially the same. each provides that all citizens within the jurisdiction of the state, without regard to race, color, or previous condition of servitude, are entitled to the full and equal accommodations, advantages, facilities, and privileges of the various places mentioned. the offending party may be either indicted and fined or imprisoned, or he may be sued by the aggrieved party. in some states, an action by the state is a bar to an action by the party and vice versa. one who aids or abets in a discrimination against a person on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude is punished to the same extent as the one actually committing the act.
-heretofore only legislative enactments, state and federal, as to the civil rights of negroes have been considered. it is well now to turn to the courts to see how the laws have been interpreted as regards various public places.
-only six states expressly forbid race distinctions in hotels. but it may be assumed that the sixteen states which mention inns mean to include hotels.
-“whereas, on the twenty-ninth day of january, eighteen ninety-six, the reverend benjamin w. arnett, d.d., of wilberforce, ohio, senior bishop of the african methodist episcopal church, president of the board of trustees of wilberforce university, and member of many learned societies, was refused entertainment at certain reputable hotels in the city of boston, because he was a colored man, in spite of the statute laws against discrimination on account of color; therefore,
-“resolved, that the senate and house of representatives of the commonwealth of massachusetts, in general court assembled, successors of those bodies which repeatedly elected charles sumner to the senate of the united states, and for four years received messages from john a. andrew, hereby express their severest reprobation of such discrimination and their firm conviction of the truth of the clause of the declaration of independence wherein all men are declared to be created equal; and it is further
-“resolved, that still more to be reprobated is the sentiment of any part of the public against any class of our fellow citizens whereby such discrimination is rendered possible, and that a vigorous campaign for statute rights by the persons most aggrieved will meet the hearty approval and coöperation of the two branches of the general court.” this is very significant as showing the actual attitude of the hotels of boston toward receiving negroes. whether the “vigorous campaign” was conducted one cannot tell; certainly no case appears to have reached the courts. and there is in boston at present a negro hotel.
-race discrimination in restaurants is prohibited by thirteen states; in taverns, by one; in eating-houses, by eleven; in boarding-houses, by one; in cafés, by one; in chop-houses, by one; and at lunch-counters, by one. these will be considered under the general head of restaurants.
-thirteen states provide that barbers must serve all persons without regard to race or color.
-it may be added here that most of the cases have involved the point as to what are places of public accommodation or amusement or resort. if the place is mentioned in the civil rights bill, it is, of course, within the prohibition, and it is a violation of the statute even to require separate accommodations, although equal in every other respect. but a vast deal of litigation has arisen out of instances of negroes being denied accommodation in places considered public in their nature but which are not mentioned in the civil rights bill of the state wherein the case arises.
-the raleigh, n. c., news and observer of february 20, 1906, quotes the germantown, pa., guide as calling on the people to provide a cemetery where negroes may be buried, saying that “unless something is done, the bodies of the colored poor will be denied the right of decent burial, for their disposal, of necessity, will be by means of the dissecting rooms of anatomical boards.”
-the civil rights bills of the eighteen states have now been analyzed, and the judicial decisions arising therefrom have been considered. it is noticeable that, if one excepts the theatre cases of the reconstruction period, not a case has come from a southern state. the explanation must be that those states have never undertaken to require hotel-keepers, etc., to offer accommodations without regard to color: the negroes have taken for granted that they would not be admitted to such places, except upon condition that they would accept the accommodations set apart for their race, and consequently have not applied for admission upon any other terms. in the other states the courts have, as a rule, interpreted the civil rights bills very strictly. if a place is not specifically mentioned in the statute, courts have been very slow to include it under the general head of “other places of amusement or accommodation.” in other words, this phrase, which is, in substance, tacked on to every statute, is a dead letter. the courts are chary, as they should be, of invading individual liberty and freedom of business. but if a place is specifically mentioned in the statute, the law is not satisfied by offering separate accommodations to negroes, even though such accommodations are equal for both races in every respect; they must be identical.
-race discrimination by insurance companies
-some allied topics may be properly discussed under the general head of civil rights.
-the connecticut statute enacts that any condition or stipulation in the policy, inserted because of the color or race of the insured, shall be void. ohio provides that any corporation, or officer or agent of such corporation, violating the provisions of its statute, shall be fined for each offence not less than one hundred dollars nor more than two hundred dollars, but that nothing in the act shall be construed as to require any agent or company to take or receive the application for insurance of any person. new york makes the violation of the law a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of from fifty dollars to five hundred dollars. michigan goes a step further and declares that anyone violating the law shall forfeit to the state five hundred dollars, to be recovered by the attorney general, and that any officer or agent who violates it shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and punished by imprisonment in the county jail not over one year or by a fine of from fifty dollars to five hundred dollars, or both.
-there must have been instances of discrimination by life insurance companies against negroes, else these states would not have thought it necessary to enact such statutes. the explanation of this discrimination is probably not so much race prejudice as the general belief, based upon statistics, that the negro, particularly in the colder climate of the north and west, has not the same hope of longevity as the white man, being more subject to pulmonary and other mortal diseases. if the risk of mortality of the negro is greater, the insurance company argued that it was justified in seeking compensation for assuming this increased risk by charging a higher premium. no case has been found arising under these statutes.
-race discriminations by labor unions
-colorado is the only state that has undertaken by legislation to guarantee to negroes full and equal accommodations in churches. the rest have left it to the churches themselves to decide the matter.
-it is generally known that during slavery the negroes, for the most part, attended the white churches, where galleries were set apart for them, were members thereof, and were served by white ministers. after emancipation, the negroes withdrew from the white churches and built places of worship of their own. to-day, in all parts of the country, where negroes live in considerable numbers, they have their own churches. in such cities as boston, where the doors of all churches are in theory open to every race, negro churches are found in the negro districts.
-negroes in the militia
-the brownsville affair—that is, the dismissal without honor, through the order of president roosevelt, of a whole regiment of negro soldiers because of the misconduct of some of them and the refusal of the others to testify against the guilty ones, and the championship of the cause of the negroes by senator foraker—has brought into much prominence the question of the negro as a soldier.
-separation of state dependents
-fed. case no. 16,151 (1866).
-fed. case no. 14,247 (1867).
-fed. case no. 18,258 (1875).
-fed. case no. 18,260 (1875).
-9 baxter, 584.
-annotated code, 1897, sec. 5008.
-burns’s annotated stat., 1908, ii, secs. 3863–65.
-general stat., 1905, secs. 2507–08.
-nashville, tenn., weekly journal and tribune, feb. 2, 1907.
-fed. case no. 18,260 (1875).
-revision, 1902, sec. 3535.
-raleigh, n. c., news and observer, april 6, 1906.
-norfolk, va., landmark, may 27, 1906; raleigh, n. c., news and observer, may 29, 1906.
-raleigh, n. c., news and observer, june 3, 1908.
-ibid., may 19 and 26, 1907.
-ibid., oct. 9 and 20, 1907.
-ibid., march 18, 1906.
-richmond, va., news-leader, aug. 3, 1906.
-raleigh, n. c., news and observer, july 21, 1907.
-code, 1907, ii, secs. 1949–52.
-code, 1901, ii, sec. 4598.
-chapter viii separation of races in schools
-berea college affair
-three incidents, occurring during the past six years under widely varying circumstances and in far separated localities, have brought the question of the separation of the white and colored races in schools into much prominence.
-“sec. 1. that it shall be unlawful for any person, corporation or association of persons to maintain or operate any college, school or institution where persons of the white and negro races are both received as pupils for instruction; and any person or corporation who shall operate or maintain any such college, school or institution shall be fined one thousand dollars, and any person or corporation who may be convicted of violating the provisions of this act shall be fined one hundred dollars for each day they may operate said school, college or institution after such conviction.
-“sec. 2. that any instructor who shall teach in any school, college or institution where members of said two races are received as pupils for instruction shall be guilty of operating and maintaining same and fined as provided in the first section hereof.
-“sec. 3. it shall be unlawful for any white person to attend any school or institution where negroes are received as pupils or receive instruction, and it shall be unlawful for any negro or colored person to attend any school or institution where white persons are received as pupils, or receive instruction. any persons so offending shall be fined fifty dollars for each day he attends such institution or school: provided, that the provisions of this law shall not apply to any penal institution or house of reform.
-“sec. 4. nothing in this act shall be construed to prevent any private school, college or institution of learning from maintaining a separate and distinct branch thereof, in a different locality, not less than twenty-five miles distant, for the education exclusively of one race or color.
-“sec. 5. this act shall not take effect, or be in operation before the fifteenth day of july, nineteen hundred and four.”
-“friends and fellow-students: as we meet for the first time under new conditions to enjoy the great privileges of berea college, we think at once of you who are now deprived of these privileges. our sense of justice shows us that others have the same rights as ourselves, and the teaching of christ leads us to ‘remember them that are in bonds as bound with them.’
-“we realize that you are excluded from the class rooms of berea college, which we so highly prize, by no fault of your own, and that this hardship is a part of a long line of deprivations under which you live. because you were born in a race long oppressed and largely untaught and undeveloped, heartless people feel more free to do you wrong, and thoughtless people meet your attempts at self-improvement with indifference or scorn. even good people sometimes fear to recognize your worth, or take your part in a neighborly way because of the violences and prejudices around us.
-exclusion of japanese from public schools of san francisco
-“that the board of education is determined in its efforts to effect the establishment of separate schools for chinese and japanese pupils, not only for the purpose of relieving the congestion at present prevailing in our schools, but also for the higher end that our children should not be placed in any position where their youthful impressions may be affected by association with pupils of the mongolian race.” on october 1, 1906, the board took the next step and adopted this resolution: “that in accordance with article x, section 1662, of the school law of california, principals are hereby directed to send all chinese, japanese or korean children to the oriental public school, situated on the south side of cary street between powell and mason streets, on and after monday, october 15, 1906.”
-during the last session of the california legislature, that of 1909, several bills concerning the japanese were introduced, one of which was as follows: “every school, unless otherwise provided by law, must be open for the admission of all children between six and twenty-one years of age residing in the district, and the board of school trustees or city board of education have power to admit adults and children not residing in the district whenever good reasons exist therefor.
-“trustees shall have the power to remove children of filthy or vicious habits or children suffering from contagious or infectious diseases, and also to establish separate schools for indian children and for children of mongolian or japanese or chinese descent.
-dr. charles w. eliot on separation of races in schools
-these conservative and guarded words of the head of the university which has, above all other american institutions of learning, preserved and encouraged the “open-door policy” toward students of all races, struck consternation to the radicals of both the white and colored races in the north and east, and gladdened the hearts of many of the south and west who are facing their own race problems. one side felt that it had lost an illustrious standard-bearer; the other, that it had won a strong ally.
-these three incidents show that the separation of the races in schools is a live question, worthy of an investigation. it is probable that there are many private and public schools outside of the south which do not, in fact, admit colored students. probably there are schools which would close their doors to white applicants. it may be that there are actual discriminations against one or the other race in those schools which claim to make no distinction on account of race or color. but many such matters as these have not come under the eye of the law, and so have no place here.
-although one need not consider in detail the laws separating the races in schools before the civil war, because the public school system then was poorly developed, as a rule, and the negro had not attained the rights of a citizen in many states, still it is well to look into some of the antebellum statutes and decisions to find precedents for later statutes and rulings of the courts upon this subject.
-“in 1846, george putnam and other colored citizens of boston petitioned the primary school committee that exclusive schools for colored children might be abolished, and the committee, on the 22d of june, 1846, adopted the report of a sub-committee, and a resolution appended thereto, which was in the following words:
-“‘resolved, that in the opinion of this board, the continuance of the separate schools for colored children, and the regular attendance of all such children upon the school, is not only legal and just, but is best adapted to promote the education of that class of our population.’”
-at the time of this case, there were one hundred and sixty primary schools in boston, of which two were set apart for colored children. the facts of the case were these: a colored child applied for admission to a white school on the ground that the colored primary school was one-fifth of a mile farther from her home. the general school committee refused her admission, and the colored girl, through her father, sued the city of boston. the supreme court upheld the power of the committee to provide separate schools for colored children and prohibit their attendance at other schools. the court also said: “it is urged, that this maintenance of separate schools tends to deepen and perpetuate the odious distinction of caste, founded in a deep-rooted prejudice in public opinion. this prejudice, if it exists, is not created by law, and probably cannot be changed by law. whether this distinction and prejudice, existing in the opinion and feelings of the community, would not be as effectually fostered by compelling colored and white children to associate together in the same schools, may well be doubted; at all events, it is a fair and proper question for the committee to consider and decide upon, having in view the best interests of both classes of children placed under their superintendence, and we cannot say, that their decision upon it is not founded on just grounds of reason and experience, and in the results of a discriminating and honest judgment.” this line of argument is familiar to those who have studied the decisions of southern courts upon the separation of the races in schools, in public conveyances, hotels, theatres, and other public places.
-present extent of separation in public schools
-(a) in south
-it is a matter of general knowledge that white and colored children are not permitted to attend the same public schools in the south. the separation is required both by state constitutions and statutes.
-(b) in states outside of south
-the separation of the races in public schools is required by the constitutions of alabama, florida, georgia, kentucky, louisiana, mississippi, north carolina, oklahoma, south carolina, tennessee, texas, virginia, and west virginia. complete separation is required by statute in all of the above-named states and, besides those, also in arkansas, maryland, and delaware. a discretionary power is given to the school boards to establish separate schools in arizona; in indiana; in california, as to schools for indians, chinese, and mongolians; in kansas, in cities of over 150,000 inhabitants; and in wyoming, in districts having fifteen or more colored pupils. the following states that once had separate schools now prohibit them: illinois, massachusetts, nevada, new jersey, new york, ohio, and pennsylvania. in addition to these, separate schools are not allowed in colorado, idaho, iowa, michigan, minnesota, new mexico, and rhode island. there are other states which have never seen fit to make any mention one way or the other of race distinctions in schools, either in statutes or court reports; so one is warranted in inferring that the schools are open to all. they are connecticut, maine, montana, new hampshire, north dakota, oregon, south dakota, utah, vermont, wisconsin, and washington.
-“that it shall be the duty of said commissioners to provide suitable and convenient houses or rooms for holding schools for colored children....” the commissioner might impose a tax of fifty cents per capita upon the patrons of the school to aid in its support, but no child should be excluded because its parents or guardians could not pay the tax. the school fund was to be divided in proportion to the number of school children, regardless of race.
-separation in private schools
-florida, kentucky, oklahoma, and tennessee are the only states that expressly prohibit the teaching of white and colored persons in the same private school. other states—as georgia and texas—declare that, if a school admits both races, it shall have none of the public school fund, saying, by implication, that one may operate a school for both races if he will give up his claim to state aid. on the other hand, minnesota has enacted a statute to the effect that, if a school refuses to admit pupils of both races, it shall have none of the public school fund, thus saying, by implication, that it is not unlawful to conduct a private school exclusively for one race. the recent decision of the supreme court of michigan to the effect that a private school may exclude negroes even though the law of the state requires public schools to be open to all, regardless of race or color, has been considered.
-equality of accommodations
-in general, where separate schools are required, it is said that they must be equal for both races; but it has been held that it is not an unjust discrimination to build more imposing school-houses for the many white children than for the few colored children; to require the children of one race to walk farther to school than the other, or to maintain high schools for one race without doing so for the other. only a very few states have escaped altogether the question of the separation of the races in schools. even where the state statutes have declared point-blank by statute that there shall be no distinction on account of race or color, the suits that have arisen in those states show that the school boards have tried to evade the law.
-division of public school fund
-thus, one sees that, here and there, particularly in kentucky, there are precedents for a division of the school fund in proportion to the taxes paid by each race, but there has not been any general movement in this direction. one is justified in concluding that, although the southern states stand steadfastly for race separation in both public and private schools, they do not desire a division of the public school funds except in proportion to the number of children of school age. it is true that there have been some local legislative acts looking in that direction, and a few sporadic political movements to the same effect; nevertheless, the fact that the local legislation has not become general since the negro has been practically eliminated from politics and that the political movements have met with such scanty popular support show that the people are satisfied with the present arrangement as to the division of the school fund.
-94 s. w. 623 (1906).
-pol. code, 1906, sec. 1662.
-president roosevelt’s message to congress, december 18, 1906, with secretary metcalf’s report.
-art. vi, par. 2.
-raleigh, n. c., news and observer, feb. 13, 1909.
-boston evening transcript, feb. 18, 1910.
-59 mass. (5 cushing) 198 (1849).
-art. xiii, sec. 1.
-art. xiv, sec. 256.
-art. xii, sec. 12.
-art. viii, sec. 1.
-art. vi, sec. 187.
-title vii, art. 135.
-pub. gen. laws, ii, art. 77, secs. 124–27.
-code, 1906, sec. 4562.
-art. ix, sec. 2.
-art. ix, sec. 2.
-art. ix, sec. 2.
-revisal of 1905, ii, sec. 4086. see pell’s revisal of 1908, sec. 4086.
-statutes, 1890, secs. 6464–72.
-art. xiii, sec. 3.
-art. x, sec. 10.
-art. xi, sec. 12.
-art. vii, sec. 7.
-sec. 140. see pollard’s code, 1904, sec. 1492.
-deering’s code and statutes, i, secs. 1669–71.
-233 ill. 542 (1908).
-letter from the superintendent of schools of kansas to the superintendent of schools of north carolina. raleigh, n. c., news and observer, aug. 24, 1906.
-raleigh, n. c., news and observer, feb. 18, 1906.
-art. xii, sec. 8.
-revised stat., 1887, sec. 3947.
-revised stat., 1901, secs. 2179 and 2231.
-art. ix, sec. 8.
-art. ix, sec. 6.
-revised laws, 1905, sec. 1403.
-175 u. s. 528 (1899).
-raleigh, n. c., news and observer, sept. 25 and oct. 10, 1909. see also the world’s work, july, 1909.
-code, 1896, secs. 3607–08.
-code, 1907, i, sec. 1858.
-gesture which earthmen had never lost. gilbert told arnaud wenzi was there, told arnaud wenzi was a girl.
-"so there are three of us now," arnaud said.
-they returned to the trail, plodded through the hot darkness. they walked for three hours and reached high ground as gilbert had expected. "we can sleep here," he said. "but we'll have to be up before the sun. and we'll have to hunt for our food, too. mulveen has provisions."
-"do you hate mulveen?" wenzi asked.
-"for his proposition? no, why should i?"
-"for his arrogance--"
-"he is an outworlder," arnaud said.
-"for what he wanted of you," gilbert told wenzi, "yes. but only for that."
-"do you have any plans?" arnaud asked as they settled on the hillock.
-gilbert thought about it. they would need a plan, all right. it was what the animals of earth lacked. the ability to plan, to rationally pursue their survival. and so the animals of earth never had a chance.
-"mulveen will probably stalk us in the morning," gilbert said. "we'll have to move fast. we'll be able to move faster than mulveen because he'll be tracking us. we can circle around behind him--while he still believes himself behind us."
-"it might work," wenzi said, but not too optimistically.
-gilbert was tired all at once. he felt the fatigue crawl through his muscles, dull his senses. he'd been on the go all day, and walking half the night. he drifted quickly into sleep and dreamed of a faudi reptile with the face of the hunter mulveen, chasing them with tail-supported forty yard leaps....
-he awoke in dim light. like any experienced hunter, he awoke knowing exactly where he was and what was happening. the first thing he did was reach for his rifle. he had placed it at his side.
-it was gone.
-"wenzi?" he called. no answer.
-"wenzi! arnaud!" he shouted. he stood up quickly. he had the hillock of high, dry ground all to himself.
-distantly, he heard a scream. wenzi's voice? he thought it was.
-"wenzi!" he shouted again, at the top of his voice.
-the scream was faint. she might have been calling his name. it might have been pure terror.
-arnaud, he thought. arnaud has taken wenzi. but why? why? he was only a tracker, a beater. he couldn't provide for her. he wouldn't dare ravish her, for while there was no penalty for an outworlder, the penalty for an earthman was severe.
-mulveen, he thought.
-mulveen's idea. arnaud had never left mulveen. arnaud had come following gilbert--as mulveen's man. mulveen knew wenzi was gone. mulveen reasoned she had gone to gilbert, further reasoned that gilbert would protect her. mulveen had sent arnaud for her. and for gilbert's rifle.
-gilbert was weaponless.
-five thousand credits, he thought. and my life.
-i can forget about her. i don't know her. until last night i thought she was a boy, he told himself. i can flee and find a weapon somewhere.
-even while he told himself this, he was walking back along the trail. wenzi had trusted him. wenzi had fled to him at once. she had faith in him. a blind, almost childish faith, even if she hadn't put it in words. she had come, and that was enough.
-for the first time in his life, gilbert felt anger. and a burning, consuming hate.
-he loped with ground-consuming strides along the trail.
-an hour later, he heard the beaters. they were coming. they were coming for him.
-beaters. yesterday, his men. now, he was their quarry.
-he crouched. in a moment he became part of the jungle, a shadow barely seen in the dim swamp, insubstantial, soundless. the beaters came on. if he were hunting a man-sized and weaponless animal, gilbert thought, he would send the beaters through with staves and machetes....
-he watched them come. he could name them, they came so close. they beat the undergrowth and the hanging creepers, vines and lianas with their clubs. here and there he caught the gleam of a machete blade. if they spotted him they would make a rush, cutting off his retreat, surrounding him on three sides and forcing him back along the trail toward where mulveen was waiting, probably in a comfortable blind, with an atomic rifle.
-unless, right now, mulveen was too busy with wenzi....
-no, he told himself. it wouldn't be that way. mulveen would want his triumph first. wenzi would wait, a prisoner, for nightfall. but could he be sure?
-gilbert stood up, stretching his stiff muscles. he waited an agonizing five more minutes, then set out along the trail.
-a laggard beater materialized abruptly in his path. the machete blurred overhead, blade gleaming. the man's face showed recognition, but neither pity nor regret. he wouldn't kill gilbert, naturally. he wanted gilbert to run--back toward mulveen.
-gilbert ducked under the upswinging arm. he drove his shoulder into the beater's midsection and felt the hard wall of muscle hold for a split-second, then yield. the beater jackknifed over. gilbert let himself drop, grasped the beater's ankles and heaved. the beater sailed, yelling, over his head. the beater landed face-first in the swamp and gilbert dove after him. he found the machete-haft, twisted. the big-bladed weapon came free in his hand, but the beater lifted his head from the mud and cried:
-"mulveen! mulveen, sir! mulveen!"
-gilbert struck with the side of the machete blade, using it as a club. the beater subsided face-down in the mud. gilbert looked down at him, then scowled and turned him face-up in the swamp so he wouldn't drown.
-just then mulveen's rifle cracked. the swamp-water swallowed the flat sound: there was no echo.
-mulveen heard the cry--he was close. perhaps close enough to see the white sheen of frothing water where the beater had fallen....
-quickly gilbert slipped with his machete among the mangrove roots. he made his way through the thick tangle of gnarled roots and the slime of the swamp back in the direction from which the beater had come. behind him he heard the clubs and machetes of the other beaters, returning now toward the rifle fire.
-up ahead somewhere unseen in the swamp mulveen was waiting with his atomic rifle. behind gilbert, the beaters were coming.
-wenzi screamed, close by. with mulveen? gilbert crashed through the mangroves in that direction. mulveen would hear him--but wouldn't see him. the mangroves were a thick tangle of twisted trunks and roots. mulveen would have no chance for a clear shot until almost the last moment.
-suddenly, gilbert stopped dead in his tracks. wenzi--was she part of it? she could have fled to him, pretending. she could have been in league with arnaud and mulveen. there was no reason to believe otherwise. the trackers and beaters knew no loyalties. they were hardly more than animals. but somehow, wenzi seemed different. as gilbert thought himself different.
-the thoughts raced through his mind. there were the continents of earth, but the continents were game-reserves. the men were hardly more than game themselves. but there were the offshore islands, which had not been stocked with animals. it was rumored that another brand of men lived there, men who had fled from the continents, men determined to preserve their heritage and one day when they were strong enough return with it to the mainlands....
-with his five thousand credits, gilbert could buy a boat, sail to the islands....
-wenzi screamed again.
-mulveen's rifle roared. he was closer now. wood splintered from the mangrove roots, peppering gilbert. heedless, he plunged on, impelled by the shouts of the beaters behind him. grimly he thought: i'm giving mulveen his money's worth. but that wasn't quite true. mulveen would not really get his money's worth until gilbert was dead.
-his senses swam. he heard a splashing, floundering sound. mulveen. mulveen was coming for him. he ducked behind a mangrove, waiting. miraculously he still held the machete. he felt blood on his shoulder and chest, realized that he had probably fallen sideways across the blade.
-gilbert came charging at them with his machete. with one swift stroke he parted the rope and shouted: "run, wenzi! run!"
-the rifle pointed down at him. he reached up, tugging at the muzzle, pulling himself upright. mulveen stumbled, cursing. gilbert pulled the rifle-barrel into the mud and mulveen came down with it on top of him. the beaters had reached them now, but the beaters were indifferent. mulveen was the hunter: mulveen had given his orders. but gilbert was their chief guide and now it was a question of who was hunter and who hunted. their loyalty would belong to the victor....
-mulveen's great weight came down on top of him. mulveen had discarded the water-filled rifle. his hands closed on gilbert's throat. his weight held gilbert pinned.... in seconds--certainly no more than minutes--gilbert would lose consciousness, the last air used up and self-poisoned and burning in his lungs, mulveen's triumphant shouts ringing in his ears.
-but it wasn't merely for himself.
-and it wasn't merely for wenzi.
-it was for gilbert of lewsanna--earthman. and for a dream of the islands, and of earthmen claiming their heritage again, if not in gilbert's generation then in the one which followed....
-he scooped a handful of mud and brought his hand, ooze and all, against mulveen's face. he found the eyes and clawed at them. he heard mulveen bellowing for the beaters. but the beaters were impartial.
-his thumbs were pressing on mulveen's eyes now, but mulveen's strong fingers were still on his throat. he felt something give. mulveen went on bellowing, but also slowly choking the life out of him.
-he shifted his hands to mulveen's mouth. he pulled at the lips. he yanked with all his remaining strength and there was suddenly a pure animal scream of pain and a quick flow of hot blood across his hand and a release of the terrible pressure around his throat.
-"i could kill you," gilbert said.
-mulveen whined: "don't! please, you've earned the money. the money is yours!"
-he could kill mulveen, yes--but would one of the earthmen of the islands, the real earthmen, have done that? they would have been content with victory--and with shaming the outworlder mulveen in front of the beaters and trackers.
-"don't come back to earth," gilbert said. "ever. we don't want you here. put that in writing too."
-"i will. i will, i swear!" mulveen was cowering.
-arnaud came to them, smiling. "great work, gil--" he began. gilbert hit him and the tracker went sprawling in the mud. he came up snarling but looked at gilbert and muttered a curse and did nothing.
-later, a completely beaten mulveen, his face swathed in bandages, counted out the credits. "make it ten thousand," gilbert told him. "five thousand for wenzi."
-mulveen counted out ten thousand credits. "but you'll have to lead us back to civilization," he said.
-gilbert looked at arnaud. "he will," gilbert told mulveen. "i'm not a guide now. i'm a man. an earthman."
-mulveen looked at him. mulveen did not smile. something in mulveen's face, in his eyes, spoke clearly of the day when earthmen would regain their heritage. mulveen was afraid.
-this troubled world
-this troubled world
-mcmxxxviii h. c. kinsey & company, inc. new york
-copyright, 1938, by anna eleanor roosevelt
-printed in the u.s.a. by j. j. little & ives, n.y.
-to mrs. carrie chapman catt who has led so many of us in the struggle for peace
-this troubled world
-the case as it stands
-the newspapers these days are becoming more and more painful. i was reading my morning papers on the train not so long ago, and looked up with a feeling of desperation. up and down the car people were reading, yet no one seemed excited.
-to me the whole situation seems intolerable. we face today a world filled with suspicion and hatred. we look at europe and see a civil war going on, with other nations participating not only as individual volunteers, but obviously with the help and approval of their governments. we look at the far east and see two nations, technically not at war, killing each other in great numbers.
-every nation is watching the others on its borders, analyzing its own needs and striving to attain its ends with little consideration for the needs of its neighbors. few people are sitting down dispassionately to go over the whole situation in an attempt to determine what present conditions are, or how they should be met.
-it is not a question today of the “free” interchange of goods. if standards of living were approximately the same, throughout the world, competition would be on an equal basis and then there might be no need for tariffs. however, standards of living vary. the nations with higher standards have set up protective barriers which served them well when they were self-contained, but not so well when they reached a point where they either wished to import or export.
-when you take all these things into consideration, the size of this problem is apt to make you feel that even an attempt to solve it in the future by education is futile. faint heart, however, ne’er won fair lady, nor did it ever solve world problems!
-peace plan after peace plan has been presented to me; most of them, i find, are impractical, or not very carefully thought out. in nearly all of them some one can find a flaw. i have come to look at them now without the slightest hope of finding one full-fledged plan, but i keep on looking in the hope of finding here and there some small suggestion that may be acceptable to enough people to insure an honest effort being made to study it and evaluate its possible benefits.
-for instance, one lady of my acquaintance brought me a plan this past spring which sounded extremely plausible. her premises are: we never again wish to send our men overseas; we wish to have adequate defense; we do not need a navy if we do not intend to go beyond our own shores; submarines and airplanes can defend our shores, with guns along our coasts as an added protection. therefore, we do not need an army, for our men are going to stay at home. with our coast defenses strong, nobody will land here, so why go to the expense of an army? we do not need battleships or, in fact, any navy beyond submarines because we do not intend to own any outlying possessions.
-in this way, said the lady, we will save vast sums of money which can be applied to all the social needs of the day--better housing, better schools, old age pensions, workmen’s compensation, care of the blind and crippled and other dependents. there is no limit to what we might do with this money which we now spend on preparation for destruction.
-it is a very attractive picture and i wish it were all as simple as that, but it seems to be fairly well proved that guns along our coasts are practically useless. no one, as far as i know, has ever devised an adequate defense by submarines and airplanes, or calculated whether the cost of the development of these two forces would really be any less than what we spend at present on our army and navy.
-the greatest defense value of the navy is that its cruising radius is great enough to allow it to contact an attacking force long before that force reaches our shores. if we trusted solely to submarines and airplanes we would have to have them in sufficient number really to cover all our borders, and this type of defense would seem to be almost prohibitive in cost for a nation with a great many miles of border to defend.
-has any one sounded out the people of this country as to their willingness to wait until an attacking enemy comes within the cruising radius of our planes and submarines? have we faced the fact that this would mean allowing an attacking enemy to come unmolested fairly near to our shores and would make it entirely possible for them to land in a nearby country which might be friendly to them, without any interference on our part? have our citizens been asked if they are willing to take the risk of doing without trained men? we have always had a small trained army forming the first line of defense in case somebody does land on our borders, or attempts to approach us by land through a neighboring country. our army has not been thought of as an attacking force; do we want to do away with it?
-are all the people in this country willing also to give up the outlying islands which have come into our possession? some of them cost us more than they bring in, but others bring certain of our citizens a fair revenue. can we count on those citizens to accept the loss of these revenues in the interests of future peace?
-perhaps this is part of what we will have to make up our minds to pay some day as the price of peace; but has any one as yet put it in concrete form to the american people and asked their opinion about it?
-one of the things that is most frequently harped upon is the vast sums of money spent for war preparation in this country. very frequently the statements are somewhat misleading. it is true that in the past few years we have spent more than we have for a number of preceding years because we had fallen behind in our treaty strength but, in a world which is arming all around us, it is necessary to keep a certain parity and these expenditures should be analyzed with a little more care than is usual.
-for instance, few people realize that in the army appropriation is included all the work done under the army engineers on rivers and harbors, on flood control, etc. one other consideration which is frequently overlooked is that, because of the higher wages paid for labor in this country, whatever we build costs us more than it does in the other nations. one significant fact is that we only spend twelve percent of our national income on our army and navy, as against anywhere from thirty-five to fifty-five percent of the national income spent by nations in the rest of the world. it is well for us to realize these facts and not to feel that our government is doing something that will push us into a position which is incompatible with a desire for peace. we are the most peace loving nation in the world and we are not doing anything at present which would change that situation.
-one very intelligent friend of mine developed an idea the other day which seems to me common sense for the present time, at least. “why do we talk,” she asked, “about peace? why don’t we recognize the fact that it is normal and natural for differences to exist? almost every family, no matter how close its members may be, is quarrelsome at times.” quarrelsome may be too strong a word, so we might better say that differences of opinion arise in the family as to conduct or as to likes and dislikes. why should we expect therefore, that nations will not have these same differences and quarrels? why do we concentrate on urging them not to have any differences? why don’t we simply accept the fact that differences always come up and concentrate on evolving some kind of machinery by which the differences may be recognized and some plan of compromise be worked out to satisfy, at least in part, all those concerned? compromises, of course, have to be made; they are made in every family. there are usually some members of a family, who, by common consent, are the arbitrators of questions that arise, and who hold the family together, or bring them together if relationships become strained.
-the league of nations was an effort to find for the nations of the world, a method by which differences between nations would automatically be brought before the court of public opinion. some kind of compromise would be made and those involved would feel that substantial justice had been done, even though they might not at any one time achieve all of their desires.
-many of us have become convinced that the league of nations as it stands today cannot serve this purpose. the reason for this is unimportant. the important thing now is that we should concentrate on finding some new machinery or revamping what already exists so that every one will function within it and have confidence in its honesty.
-the people of the united states have congratulated themselves on the fact that they had made a beginning towards the development of this machinery in their conferences with the representatives of the other american governments.
-perhaps we have a right to feel a sense of satisfaction for as a nation we have made a small beginning. we were cordially disliked throughout south america for years because we were the strongest nation on this continent. we took the attitude of the big brother for a long time and constituted ourselves the defender of all the other nations. we were not only the defender, however, we also considered it our duty to set ourselves up as the judge, and the only judge, of what should happen in the internal as well as the external affairs of our various neighbors.
-to them it seemed a bullying, patronizing attitude. as they grew stronger, they resented it, but we went right on regardless of their feelings. during the past few years we have put ourselves imaginatively into their situation. the final result is that we have reached an amicable understanding and actually are in a fair way to get together and discuss subjects of mutual interest with little or no sense of suspicion and fear being involved in the discussion. this can, of course, be spoiled at any time by the selfishness of individual citizens who may decide that, as individuals, they can exploit some other nation on the north or south american continents. the restraint of these individuals will not be a question of government action, but of the force of public opinion which, it is to be hoped, will be able to control and exert a potent influence because of the sense of responsibility acquired by our citizens.
-this is satisfactory, but there is still much to be done before we can feel that even here in the americas we have a thoroughly sound working basis for solving all misunderstandings. we cannot be entirely satisfied with anything, however, which does not include the world as a whole, for we are all so closely interdependent today that we can only operate successfully when we all cooperate.
-we have had the experience and can profit by the mistakes and the difficulties through which the league of nations has passed. every nation in the world still uses policemen to control its unruly element. it may be that any machinery set up today to deal with international difficulties may require policemen in order to function successfully, but even a police force should not be called upon until every other method of procedure has been tried and proved unsuccessful.
-we have some economic weapons which can be used first and which may prove themselves very efficient as the guardians of peace.
-what are our ultimate objectives and how shall we achieve them? first, the most important thing is that any difficulties arising should automatically go before some body which will publish the facts to the world at large and give public opinion an opportunity to make a decision. then, a group of world representatives will have to decide with whom the fault lies. if their decision is not accepted by the nations involved and either nation attempts to use force in coercing the other nation, or nations--in opposition to what is clearly the majority opinion of the world--then and then only, it seems to me, the decision will be made that the nation using force is an aggressor nation. being an aggressor, the majority of nations in opposition would be obliged to resort to some method designed to make that nation realize that they could not with impunity flout the public opinion of the majority.
-we need to define what an aggressor nation is. we need to have a tribunal where the facts in any case may be discussed, and the decision made before the world, as to whether a nation is an aggressor or not. then the steps decided upon could be taken in conjunction with other nations.
-first of all, trade should be withdrawn from that nation and they should be barred as traders in the countries disagreeing with them. it would not seem probable that more than this economic weapon would have to be used but, if necessary in the end, the police force could be called upon.
-in the case of a clearly defined issue where the majority of nations agreed, the police force would simply try to prevent bloodshed and aggression, and it would be in a very different position from an army which was attempting to attack a country and subjugate it. even the use of a police force, which so many think of as tantamount to war, would really be very different and there would be no idea of marching into a country or making the people suffer or taking anything from them. it would simply be a group of armed men preventing either of the parties to a quarrel from entering into a real war.
-of course, i can imagine cases in which the police force might find itself in an unenviable position, with two countries engaged in a heated quarrel trying to do away with the police so they could get at each other!
-all we can hope is that this situation will not arise and that the non-aggressor party to the quarrel, at least, may be willing to sit peacefully by and see the police force repulse the enemy without wishing to turn into aggressors themselves.
-with all our agitation about peace, we lose sight of the fact that with the proper machinery it is easier to keep out of situations which lead to war than it is to bring about peace once war is actually going on.
-i doubt very much whether peace is coming to us either through plans, even my own as i have outlined it, or through any of the theories or hopes we now hold. what i have outlined is not real peace, just a method of trying to deal with our difficulties a little better than we have in the past, in the world as it is today. we may, of course, be wiped off the face of the earth before we do even this. our real ultimate objective must be a change in human nature for i have, as i said, yet to see a peace plan which is really practical and which has been thought through in every detail. therefore, i am inclined to believe that there is no perfect and complete program for bringing about peace in the world at the present moment.
-i often wonder as i look around the world whether any of us, even we women, really want peace. women should realize better than any one else, that the spirit of peace has to begin in the relationship between two individuals. they know that a child alone may be unhappy because he is alone, but there will be no quarreling until another child appears on the scene, and then the fur will fly, if each of them desires the same thing at the same time.
-women have watched this for generations and must know, if peace is going to come about in the world, the way to start is by getting a better understanding between individuals. from this germ a better understanding between groups of people will grow.
-in spite of this knowledge, i am sure that women themselves are among the worst offenders when it comes to petty quarrels. mrs. j---- will refuse to speak to mrs. c---- because mrs. c----’s dog came through the hedge and mussed up mrs. j----’s flowerbed. no one will deny that occurrences of this kind are irritating in the extreme, but is it worth a feud between two neighbors, perhaps old friends or even acquaintances who must live next door to each other and see each other almost every day?
-at the moment we, as a nation, are looking across the atlantic and the pacific, patting ourselves on the back and saying how fortunate we are to be away from all their excitements. we feel a little self-righteous, and forget that we ourselves have been engaged in a war on the average of every forty years since our nation was founded. we even fought a civil war, complicated by the alignment of other nations with one side or the other, though no foreign soldiers actually came to fight on either side.
-the people who settled in new england came here for religious freedom, but religious freedom to them meant freedom only for their kind of religion. they were not going to be any more liberal to others who differed with them in this new country, than others had been with them in the countries from which they came. this attitude seems to be our attitude in many situations today.
-very few people in any nation today are inclined to be really liberal in allowing real freedom to other individuals. like our forebears we want freedom for ourselves, but not for those who differ from us. to think and act as we please within the limits, of course, caused by the necessity for respecting the equal rights which must belong to our neighbors, would seem to be almost a platitudinous doctrine, yet we would frequently like to overlook these limits and permit no freedom to our neighbors. if this is our personal attitude, it is not strange that our national attitude is similar. we are chiefly concerned with the rights and privileges of our own people and we show little consideration for the rights and privileges of others. in this we are not very different from other nations both in the past and in the present.
-i can almost count on the fingers of one hand the people whom i think are real pacifists. by that i mean, the people who are really making an effort in their personal lives to bring about an atmosphere which will be conducive to a solution of all our difficulties in a peaceful manner.
-the first step towards achieving this end is self-discipline and self-control. the second is a certain amount of imagination which will enable us to understand situations in which other people find themselves. we may learn to be less indignant at any slight or seeming slight, and we may try to find some way by which to remove the cause of the troubles which arise between individuals, if we become disciplined and cultivate our imaginative faculties. once we achieve a technique by which we control our own emotions, we certainly will be better able to teach young people how to get on together. they may then find some saner way of settling questions under dispute than by merely punching each other’s noses!
-when we once control ourselves and submit personal differences to constituted authorities for settlement, we can say that we have a will to peace between individuals. before we come to the question of what may be the technique between nations, however, we must go a step farther and set our national house in order. on every hand we see today miniature wars going on between conflicting interests. as the example most constantly before us, take capital and labor. if their difficulties are settled by arbitration and no blood is shed, we can feel we have made real strides towards approaching our international problems. we are not prepared to do this, however, when two factions in a group having the same basic interests cannot come to an agreement between themselves. their ability to obtain what they desire is greatly weakened until they can reach an understanding and work as a unit. the basis of this understanding should not be hard to reach if the different personalities involved could forget themselves as individuals and think only of the objectives in view, and of the best way to obtain them.
-granted that they are able to do this, then we can approach our second problem with the knowledge that more deeply conflicting interests are at stake but that those with common interests can state their case so the public may form their opinion. here again, if you could take it for granted that on both sides a real desire existed amongst those representing divergent interests to consider unselfishly ultimate goals and benefits for the majority, rather than any individual gain or loss, it would undoubtedly be possible to reach a peaceful agreement.
-human beings, however, do not stride from peak to peak, they climb laboriously up the side of the mountain. the public will have to understand each case as it comes up and force divergent interests to find a solution. the real mountain climber never gives up until he has reached the highest peak and the lure of the climb to this peak is always before him to draw him on.
-that should be the way in human progress--a peaceful, quiet progress. we cannot follow this way, however, until human nature becomes less interested in self, acquires some of the vision and persistence of the mountain climber, and realizes that physical forces must be harnessed and controlled by disciplined mental and spiritual forces.
-when we have achieved a nation where the majority of the people is of this type, then we can hope for some measure of success in changing our procedure when international difficulties arise.
-what we have said really means that we believe in one actual way to peace--making a fundamental change in human nature. over and over again people will tell you that that is impossible. i cannot see why it should be impossible when the record of history shows so many changes already gone through.
-only the other day i heard it stated that there are only two real divisions which can be made between people--the people who have good intentions, and the people who have evil intentions. the same man who made this distinction between people, made the suggestion that eventually there should be in the government, a department where business--the business that wishes to be fair and square--could lay its plans before a chosen group of men representing business, the public and the government. they could ask for advice as to whether the plans proposed were according to the best business interests of the country and the majority of the people and receive in return a disinterested, honest opinion. immediately the remonstrance was made that this would be impossible because it would be difficult for an advisory group to know if the plans laid before them were honestly stated, and people of evil intentions could use such a group to promote plans for selfish interests rather than for the general welfare. this is undoubtedly true, and we are up against exactly the same situation in trying to obtain peace between groups within nations as we are on the international fronts.
-human beings either must recognize the fact that what serves the people as a whole serves them best as individuals and, through selfish or unselfish interests, they become people of good intentions and honesty. if not we will be unable to move forward except as we have moved in the past with recourse to force, and constant, suspicious watchfulness on the part of individuals and groups towards each other. the preservation of our civilization seems to demand a permanent change of attitude and therefore every effort should be bent towards bringing about this change in human nature through education. this is a slow way and, in the meantime, we need not sit with folded hands and feel that no steps can be taken to ward off the dangers which constantly beset us.
-we can begin, and begin at once, to set up some machinery. our international difficulties will then automatically be taken up before they reach the danger point. one of our great troubles is that it is nobody’s business to try to straighten out difficulties between nations in the early stages. if they are allowed to continue too long, they grow more and more bitter and little things, which might at first have been easily explained or settled, take on the proportions of a bitter and important quarrel.
-we do not scrap our whole judicial machinery just because we are not sure that the people who appear before the bar are telling the truth. we go ahead and do our best to ascertain the truth in any given case, and substantial justice seems to be done in a majority of situations. this same thing would have to satisfy us for a time at least in the results achieved by whatever machinery we set up to solve our international difficulties.
-i am not advocating any particular machinery. the need seems fairly obvious. to say that we cannot find a way is tantamount to acknowledging that we are going to watch our civilization wipe itself off the face of the earth.
-for those of us who remember the world war, there is little need to paint a picture of war conditions, but the generation that participated in that war is growing older. to the younger group what they have not seen and experienced themselves actually means little.
-i heard a gentleman who loves adventure say the other day that he could recruit an army of young people at any time to go to war in any part of the world. they would believe that the danger was slight, and the fun and comradeship and adventure would be attractive. i protested violently that youth today was not so gullible, but down in the bottom of my heart i am a little apprehensive. therefore, it seems to me that one of our first duties is constantly to paint for young people a realistic picture of war. you cannot gainsay the assertion that war brings out certain fine qualities in human nature. people will make sacrifices which they would not make in the ordinary course of existence. war will give opportunities for heroism which do not arise in every-day living, but this is not all that war will do.
-it will place men for weeks under conditions which are physically so bad that years later they may still be suffering from the effects of this “period of adventure” even though they may not have been injured by shot or shell during this time of service. upon many people it will have mental or psychological effects which will take them years to overcome. in many countries of the world there are people to attest to the changed human beings who have returned to them after the world war. men who could no longer settle down to their old work, men who had seen such horrors that they could no longer sleep quietly at night, men who do not wish to speak of their experiences. it is a rather exceptional person who goes through a war and comes out unscathed physically, mentally or morally.
-secondly, it is one’s duty to youth to point out that there are ways of living heroically during peace times. i do not imagine that monsieur and madame curie ever felt the lack of adventure in their lives, for there is nothing more adventurous than experimentation with an unknown element. their purpose was to find something of benefit to the human race. they jeopardized no lives but their own.
-i doubt if father damien ever felt that his life lacked adventure; and i can think of a hundred places in our own country today where men or women might lead their lives unknown or unsung beyond the borders of their own communities and yet never lack for adventure and interest. those who set themselves the task of making their communities into places in which the average human being may obtain a share, not only of greater physical well-being, but of wider mental and spiritual existence, will lead an active and adventurous life to reach their goal.
-this will need energy, patience and understanding beyond the average, qualities of leadership to win other men to their point of view, unselfishness and heroism, for they may be asked to make great sacrifices. to reach their objectives they may have to hand over their leadership to other men, their characters may be maligned, their motives impugned, but they must remain completely indifferent if only in the end they achieve their objectives. moral courage of a rare kind will be required of them.
-in the wars of the past, deeds of valor and heroism have won decorations from governments and the applause of comrades in arms, but the men who lead in civic campaigns may hope for none of these recognitions. the best that can happen to them is that they may live to see a part of their dreams come true, they may keep a few friends who believe in them and their own consciences may bring them inner satisfactions.
-making our every-day living an adventure is probably our best safeguard against war. but there are other steps which we might well take.
-let us examine again, for example, the ever-recurring question of the need for armaments as a means of defense and protection and see if something cannot be done immediately. many people feel the building of great military machines lead us directly into war for when you acquire something it is always a temptation to use it.
-it is perfectly obvious, however, that no nation can cut down its army and navy and armaments in general when the rest of the world is not doing the same thing.
-we ourselves have a long unfortified border on the north which has remained undefended for more than a hundred years, a shining example of what peace and understanding between two nations can accomplish. but we also have two long coast lines to defend and the panama canal, which in case of war must be kept open, therefore it behooves us to have adequate naval defense. just what we mean by adequate defense is a point on which a great many people differ.
-innumerable civilians have ideas as to what constitutes adequate military preparedness and the people most concerned, our military forces, have even more definite ideas. many people in the united states feel that we are still rendered practically safe by the expanse of water on our east and west coasts. some people even feel, like mr. william jennings bryan, that if our nation needed to be defended a million men would spring to arms over night. they forget that a million untrained, unarmed men would be a poor defense. we must concede that our military establishments have probably made a more careful, practical study of the situation than any one else, for they know they would have to be ready for action at once.
-whether we accept the civil or the military point of view on preparedness, we can still move forward. we can continue to try to come to an understanding with other nations on some of the points which lead to bad feeling. we can begin first, perhaps, with the central and south american nations and continue later with other nations, to enter into agreements which may lead to the gradual reduction of armaments. if we only agree on one thing at a time, every little step is something to the good. simply because we have so far not been able to arrive at any agreement is no reason for giving up the attempt to agree. no one has as yet discovered a way to make any of the methods of transportation by which we all travel around the world, absolutely safe, but nobody suggests that we should do away with ships and railroads and airplanes. i feel that the people of various nations can greatly influence their governments and representatives and encourage action along the lines of reduction in arms and munitions.
-every international group that meets must bear in mind that they have an opportunity to create better feeling, but to move forward along this particular front also requires the backing of public opinion at home. this opinion may be formed in many little groups all over the world and may be felt in an ever widening circle of nations until it becomes a formidable force in the world as a whole.
-then there is the matter of private interests involved in the manufacture of arms and munitions. i know there are many arguments advanced against government ownership of the factories making arms and munitions. when you know the story of the part played by certain families in europe whose business it has been to manufacture arms and munitions, however, you wonder if the arguments advanced against this step are not inspired in large part by those whose interests lie in this particular business?
-it is true that a government can lose its perspective for a number of reasons. the need for employment may push them to over-production, as well as fear of their neighbors, and they may manufacture so much that the temptation to use it may be great. some governments today manufacture practically all they need for peace-time purposes and this is a safeguard, but for war-time use, all governments would have to fall back on private manufacturers who could convert their plants easily for the manufacturing of war materials. some governments today encourage private manufacturers to produce arms and munitions needed in peace time by buying from them, but the great danger lies in the uncontrolled private production which is used for export. the element of private profit is a great incentive towards the increase of this business just as it is in any other business. governments are not tempted in the same way, for they do not manufacture for export or for profit.
-it seems to me that we must trust some one and i think perhaps it is wiser to trust a government than the more vulnerable and easily tempted individual. besides which, a democracy has it within its power to control any government business and, therefore, the idea that our government should control the manufacture of arms and munitions fills me with no great trepidation.
-this control of the manufacture of arms and munitions is a measure which could be undertaken by one government alone. it does not have to wait for all the other governments to concur, and so i believe either in complete government ownership or in the strictest kind of government supervision, allowing such manufacture as will supply our own country but which will not create a surplus for exportation, thus removing the incentive for constantly seeking and creating new markets.
-the next step will be the mutual curtailment, very gradually i am sure, of the amount of armaments the world over. this is a difficult step, because it requires not only an agreement on the part of all the nations, but sufficient confidence in each other to believe that, having given their word, they will live up to the spirit of the agreement as well as to the letter of it, and not try cleverly to hide whatever they have done from possible inspectors.
-they will not, for instance, destroy a battleship and add a half dozen airplanes, telling the other members to the agreement that they have carried out the promised reduction, but forgetting to mention the additions to some other arm of their military service.
-this lack of integrity, or perhaps we should call it more politely the desire to be a little more clever than one’s neighbor, is what promotes a constant attitude of suspicion amongst nations. this will exist until we have accomplished a change in human nature and that is why for the present it seems to me necessary to have inspection and policing as well as an agreement.
-the objection will be made that in the nations which are not democracies a government might build up a great secret arsenal; but in those countries this could be done today for most of them control the press and all out-going information with an iron hand.
-outside of the democracies, government ownership is a much more serious danger on this account. if all nations were obliged to report their military strength to some central body, and this body was allowed to inspect and vouch for the truth of their statements, then all governments could feel secure against that hidden danger which is now part of the incentive for a constant increase in the defense machinery of every nation.
-here again we are confronted with the need of some machinery to work for peace. i have already stated that i doubt if the present league of nations could ever be made to serve the purpose for which it was originally intended. this does not mean that i do not believe that we could get together. we might even begin by setting up regional groups in different parts of the world which might eventually amalgamate into a central body. it seems to me almost a necessity that we have some central body as a means of settling our difficulties, with an international police force to enforce its decisions, as long as we have not yet reached the point everywhere of setting force aside.
-joint economic action on the part of a group of nations will undoubtedly be very effective, but it will take time to educate people to a point where they are willing to sacrifice, even temporarily, material gains in the interests of peace, so i doubt whether we can count at once on complete cooperation in the use of an economic boycott. to be a real weapon against any nation wishing to carry on war, it must be well carried out by a great number of nations.
-another small and perhaps seemingly unimportant thing might be done immediately. it might be understood that in war time every one should become a part of the military service and no one should be allowed to make any profit either in increased wages or in increased interest on their capital investment. this might bring about a little more universal interest in peace, and more active interest in the efforts to prevent war whether a man were going to the front or staying at home.
-of course, when we talk of “the front” in connection with future wars, we are taking it for granted that future wars will be much like those of the past, whereas most people believe that future wars will have no fronts. what we hear of spain and china makes this seem very probable. gases and airplanes will not be directed only against armed forces, or military centers, they may be used for the breaking of morale in the opposing nation. that will mean shelling of unfortified cities, towns and villages, and the killing of women and children. in fact this means the participation in war of entire populations.
-one other element must be considered, namely, the creating of public opinion today. wars have frequently been declared in the past with the backing of the nations involved because public opinion had been influenced through the press and through other mediums, either by the governments themselves or by certain powerful interests which desired war. could that be done again today in our own country or have we become suspicious of the written word and the inspired message? i think that as a people we look for motives more carefully than we did in the past but whether issues could be clouded for us is one of the questions that no one can answer until the test comes.
-i am inclined to think that if a question as serious as going to war were presented to our nation we would demand facts unvarnished by interpretation. whether we even in our free democracy could obtain them is another question. who controls the dissemination of news? is the press totally, uncompromisingly devoted to the unbiased presentation of all news insofar as possible? is it possible for groups with special interests to put pressure on the press and on our other means of disseminating information, such as the radio and the screen, and to what extent?
-this is an interesting study in every country where people are really interested in good will and peace. if these sources of information are not really free should not the people insist that this be one of our first reforms? without it we can have no sound basis on which to form our opinions.
-these are things we can work for immediately, but some of my friends consider that one point transcends all others and epitomizes the way to “peace.”
-we can establish no real trust between nations until we acknowledge the power of love above all other power. we cannot cast out fear and therefore we cannot build up trust. perfectly obvious and perfectly true, but we are back again to our fundamental difficulty--the education of the individual human being, and that takes time. we cannot sit around a table and discuss our difficulties until we are able to state them frankly. we must feel that those who listen wish to get at the truth and desire to do what is best for all. we must reach a point where we can recognize the rights and needs of others, as well as our own rights and needs.
-i have a group of religious friends who claim that the answer to all these difficulties is a great religious revival. they may be right, but great religious revivals which are not simply short emotional upheavals lifting people to the heights and dropping them down again below the place from which they rose, mean a fundamental change in human nature. that change will come to some people through religion, but it will not come to all that way, for i have known many people, very fine people, who had no formal religion. so the change must come to some, perhaps, through a new code of ethics, or an awakening sense of responsibility for their brothers, or a discovery that whether they believe in a future life or not, there are now greater enjoyments and rewards in this world than those which they have envisioned in the past.
-i would have people begin at home to discover for themselves the meaning of brotherly love. a friend of mine wrote me the other day that she wondered what would happen if occasionally a member of congress got up and mentioned in the house the existence of brotherly love. you laugh, it seems fantastic, but this subject will, i am sure, have to be discussed throughout the world for many years before it becomes an accepted rule. we will have to want peace, want it enough to pay for it, pay for it in our own behavior and in material ways. we will have to want it enough to overcome our lethargy and go out and find all those in other countries who want it as much as we do.
-some time we must begin, for where there is no beginning there is no end, and if we hope to see the preservation of our civilization, if we believe that there is anything worthy of perpetuation in what we have built thus far, then our people must turn to brotherly love, not as a doctrine but as a way of living. if this becomes our accepted way of life, this life may be so well worth living that we will look into the future with a desire to perpetuate a peaceful world for our children. with this desire will come a realization that only if others feel as we do, can we obtain the objectives of peace on earth, good will to men.
-this book contained no real illustrations. there were some simple decorations, and they appear in the html version of this ebook.
-the century science series
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-his life and work
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-humphry davy, poet and philosopher.
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-michael faraday: his life and work.
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-his life and work
-principal of and professor of physics in the city and guilds of london technical college, finsbury
-on a portrait of faraday.
-was ever man so simple and so sage, so crowned and yet so careless of a prize! great faraday, who made the world so wise, and loved the labour better than the wage.
-and this you say is how he looked in age, with that strong brow and these great humble eyes that seem to look with reverent surprise on all outside himself. turn o’er the page,
-recording angel, it is white as snow. ah god, a fitting messenger was he to show thy mysteries to us below. child as he came has he returned to thee. would he could come but once again to show the wonder-deep of his simplicity.
-shortly after the death of faraday in 1867, three biographies of him--each admirable in its own line--were published. the “life and letters of faraday,” by dr. bence jones, secretary of the royal institution, which was issued in 1868 in two volumes, has long been out of print. “faraday as a discoverer,” written in 1868 by professor tyndall, which, though slighter as a record, brings out many points of character into striking relief, is also now exhausted. dr. gladstone’s “michael faraday,” published in 1872, so rich in reminiscences, and so appreciative of the moral and religious side of his character, is also out of print. other and briefer biographies exist; the “éloge historique” of m. dumas; the article “faraday” in the “encyclopædia britannica” by professor clerk maxwell; and the chapter on faraday in dr. w. garnett’s “heroes of science.” but there seems room for another account of the life and labours of the man whose influence upon the century in which he lived was so great. for forty years he was a living and inspiring voice in the royal institution, beyond all question the greatest scientific expositor of his time. throughout almost the whole of that time his original researches in physics, and chiefly in electricity, were extending the boundaries of knowledge and laying the foundations not only for the great developments of electrical engineering of the last twenty years but for those still greater developments in the theories of electricity, magnetism, and light which are every year being extended and made fruitful. were there no other reason than these developments in practice and theory, they would amply justify the effort to review now, after so many years, the position of faraday amongst the eminent men of the century now drawing to its close.
-those who were intimately acquainted with him are a fast dwindling band. in the recollection of such as have survived him, his image lives and moves, surrounded with gracious memories, a vivid personality instinct with rare and unselfish kindliness. but the survivors are few, and their ranks grow thinner with each succeeding year. and so it comes about that the task of writing of his life and work has been entrusted to one who never ceases to regret that he never met faraday.
-thanks to the permission of the managers of the royal institution, a number of short extracts from faraday’s notebooks, hitherto unpublished, are now printed for the first time. much more remains which it is to be hoped, for the benefit of science, may be published ere long. the author desires further to acknowledge the kindness of messrs. longmans & co. in allowing the reproduction of the illustrations on pages 3 and 258, which are taken from bence jones’s “life and letters of faraday,” published in 1868. mr. elkin mathews has kindly permitted the insertion of the sonnet by mr. cosmo monkhouse which follows the title-page. the author is also indebted to dr. j. hall gladstone, f.r.s., for many valuable notes and suggestions, and to miss m. k. reynolds for photographs used in preparing fig. 14. most of all he is indebted to miss jane barnard for access to faraday’s private papers, and for permission to print certain extracts from them.
-list of illustrations
-early life, training, and travel.
-on the 22nd of september, 1791, was born, at newington butts, then an outlying surrey village, but since long surrounded and swallowed up within the area of greater london, the boy michael faraday. he was the third child of his parents, james and margaret faraday, who had but recently migrated to london from the little yorkshire village of clapham. clapham lies under the shadow of ingleborough, on the western border of the county, midway between settle and kirkby lonsdale. the father, james faraday, was a working blacksmith; the mother, daughter of a farmer of mallerstang, the romantic valley which runs past pendragon castle to kirkby stephen. james faraday was one of the ten children of a robert faraday, who in 1756 had married elizabeth dean, the owner of a small homestead known as clapham wood hall, since pulled down. all robert faraday’s sons appear to have been brought up to trades, one being a shoemaker, another a grocer, another a farmer, another a flax-worker, and another a shopkeeper. descendants of some of these still live in the district.
-after michael’s birth, his parents moved to the north side of the thames, living for a short time in gilbert street, but removing in 1796 to rooms over a coach-house in jacob’s well mews, charles street, manchester square, where they lived till 1809. in that year, young michael being now nearly eighteen years old, they moved to 18, weymouth street, portland place. here in the succeeding year james faraday, who had long been an invalid, died; his widow, who for some years remained on at weymouth street, maintaining herself by taking in lodgers until her sons could support themselves and her, survived till 1838. though a capable woman and a good mother, she was quite uneducated. in her declining years she was wholly supported by her son, of whom she was very proud, and to whom she was devoted.
-michael received very little schooling. one of his nephews tells the following tale of his boyhood. he was at a dame’s school; and, either from some defect in his speech or because he was too young to articulate his r’s properly, he pronounced his elder brother’s name “wobert.” the harsh schoolmistress, bent on curing the defect by personal chastisement, sent the aforesaid “wobert” out with a halfpenny to get a cane, that young michael might be duly flogged. but this refinement of cruelty reacted on itself; for robert, boiling with indignation, pitched the halfpenny over a wall, and went home to tell his mother, who promptly came down to the scene of action and removed both boys from the school. from the age of five to thirteen michael lived at jacob’s well mews, spending his out-of-school hours at home or in the streets playing at marbles and other games with the children of the neighbourhood.
-walking near fleet street, he saw displayed a bill announcing that evening lectures on natural philosophy were delivered by mr. tatum at 53, dorset street, salisbury square, e.c., price of admission one shilling. with his master’s permission, and money furnished by his elder brother robert, who was a blacksmith and (later) a gasfitter, michael began to taste scientific teaching. between february, 1810, and september, 1811, he attended some twelve or thirteen lectures. he made full and beautiful notes of all he heard: his notebooks, bound by himself, being still preserved. at these lectures he fell in with several thoroughly congenial comrades, one of them, by name benjamin abbott, being a well-educated young quaker, who was confidential clerk in a mercantile house in the city. of the others--amongst whom were magrath, newton, nicol, huxtable, and richard phillips (afterwards f.r.s. and president of the chemical society)--several remained lifelong friends. happily for posterity, the letters--long and chatty--which the lad wrote in the fulness of his heart to abbott have been preserved; they are published in bence jones’s “life and letters.” they are remarkable not only for their vivacity and freshness but for their elevated tone and excellent composition--true specimens of the lost art of letter-writing. the most wonderful thing about them is that they should have been written by a bookbinder’s apprentice of no education beyond the common school of the district. in his very first letter he complains that ideas and notions which spring up in his mind “are irrevocably lost for want of noting at the time.” this seems the first premonition of that loss of memory which so afflicted him in after life. in his later years he always carried in his waistcoat pocket a card on which to jot down notes and memoranda. he would stop to set down his notes in the street, in the theatre, or in the laboratory.
-he submitted his notes to the criticism of his friend abbott, with whom he discussed chemical and electrical problems, and the experiments which they had individually tried. out of this correspondence, one letter only can be given; it was written september 28, 1812, ten days before the expiry of his apprenticeship:--
-dear a----, ... i will hurry on to philosophy, where i am a little more sure of my ground. your card was to me a very interesting and pleasing object. i was highly gratified in observing so plainly delineated the course of the electric fluid or fluids (i do not know which). it appears to me that by making use of a card thus prepared, you have hit upon a happy illustrating medium between a conductor and a non-conductor; had the interposed medium been a conductor, the electricity would have passed in connection through it--it would not have been divided; had the medium been a non-conductor, it would have passed in connection, and undivided, as a spark over it, but by this varying and disjoined conductor it has been divided most effectually. should you pursue this point at any time still further, it will be necessary to ascertain by what particular power or effort the spark is divided, whether by its affinity to the conductor or by its own repulsion; or if, as i have no doubt is the case, by the joint action of these two forces, it would be well to observe and ascertain the proportion of each in the effect. there are problems, the solution of which will be difficult to obtain, but the science of electricity will not be complete without them; and a philosopher will aim at perfection, though he may not hit it--difficulties will not retard him, but only cause a proportionate exertion of his mental faculties.
-i had a very pleasing view of the planet saturn last week through a refractor with a power of ninety. i saw his ring very distinctly; ’tis a singular appendage to a planet, to a revolving globe, and i should think caused some peculiar phenomena to the planet within it. i allude to their mutual action with respect to meteorology and perhaps electricity....
-royal institution, december 23, 1829.
-my dear sir,--you asked me to give you an account of my first introduction to sir h. davy, which i am very happy to do, as i think the circumstances will bear testimony to his goodness of heart.
-when i was a bookseller’s apprentice, i was very fond of experiment and very adverse to trade. it happened that a gentleman, a member of the royal institution, took me to hear some of sir h. davy’s last lectures in albemarle street. i took notes, and afterwards wrote them out more fairly in a quarto volume.
-my desire to escape from trade, which i thought vicious and selfish, and to enter into the service of science, which i imagined made its pursuers amiable and liberal, induced me at last to take the bold and simple step of writing to sir h. davy, expressing my wishes, and a hope that, if an opportunity came in his way, he would favour my views; at the same time, i sent the notes i had taken of his lectures.
-the answer, which makes all the point of my communication, i send you in the original, requesting you to take great care of it, and to let me have it back, for you may imagine how much i value it.
-you will observe that this took place at the end of the year 1812, and early in 1813 he requested to see me, and told me of the situation of assistant in the laboratory of the royal institution, then just vacant.
-at the same time that he thus gratified my desires as to scientific employment, he still advised me not to give up the prospects i had before me, telling me that science was a harsh mistress; and in a pecuniary point of view but poorly rewarding those who devoted themselves to her service. he smiled at my notion of the superior moral feelings of philosophic men, and said he would leave me to the experience of a few years to set me right on that matter.
-finally, through his good efforts i went to the royal institution early in march of 1813, as assistant in the laboratory; and in october of the same year went with him abroad as his assistant in experiments and in writing. i returned with him in april, 1815, resumed my station in the royal institution, and have, as you know, ever since remained there.
-i am, dear sir, very truly yours, m. faraday.
-the following is davy’s note:--
-december 24, 1812.
-sir,--i am far from displeased with the proof you have given me of your confidence, and which displays great zeal, power of memory, and attention. i am obliged to go out of town, and shall not be settled in town till the end of jan^y i will then see you at any time you wish. it would gratify me to be of any service to you; i wish it may be in my power.
-i am sir your obt. humble servt. h. davy.
-accordingly, faraday called on davy, who received him in the anteroom to the lecture theatre, by the window nearest to the corridor. he advised him then to stick to bookbinding, promising to send him books from the institution to bind, as well as other books. he must have been agreeably impressed, otherwise he would not, when disabled, have sent for faraday to write for him. early in 1813 the humble household, in which faraday lived with his widowed mother in weymouth street, was one night startled by the apparition of sir humphry davy’s grand coach, from which a footman alighted and knocked loudly at the door. for young faraday, who was at that moment undressing upstairs, he left a note from sir humphry davy requesting him to call next morning. at that interview davy asked him whether he was still desirous of changing his occupation, and offered him the post of assistant in the laboratory in place of one who had been dismissed. the salary was to be twenty-five shillings a week, with two rooms at the top of the house. the minute appointing him is dated march 1, 1813:--
-sir humphry davy has the honour to inform the managers that he has found a person who is desirous to occupy the situation in the institution lately filled by william payne. his name is michael faraday. he is a youth of twenty-two years of age. as far as sir h. davy has been able to observe or ascertain, he appears well fitted for the situation. his habits seem good, his disposition active and cheerful, and his manner intelligent. he is willing to engage himself on the same terms as those given to mr. payne at the time of quitting the institution.
-there have come down several additions to the story. one, probably apocryphal, says that faraday’s first introduction to davy was occasioned by davy’s calling at riebau’s to select some bookbinding, and seeing on the shelves the bound volume of manuscript notes of his own lectures. the other was narrated by gassiot to tyndall, as follows:--
-clapham common, surrey, november 28, 1867.
-my dear tyndall,--sir h. davy was accustomed to call on the late mr. pepys in the poultry, on his way to the london institution, of which pepys was one of the original managers; the latter told me that on one occasion sir h. davy, showing him a letter, said, “pepys, what am i to do?--here is a letter from a young man named faraday; he has been attending my lectures, and wants me to give him employment at the royal institution--what can i do?” “do?” replied pepys, “put him to wash bottles; if he is good for anything he will do it directly; if he refuses, he is good for nothing.” “no, no,” replied davy, “we must try him with something better than that.” the result was, that davy engaged him to assist in the laboratory at weekly wages.
-davy held the joint office of professor of chemistry and director of the laboratory; he ultimately gave up the former to the late professor brande, but he insisted that faraday should be appointed director of the laboratory, and, as faraday told me, this enabled him on subsequent occasions to hold a definite position in the institution, in which he was always supported by davy. i believe he held that office to the last.
-during this spring magrath and i established the mutual-improvement plan, and met at my rooms up in the attics of the royal institution, or at wood street at his warehouse. it consisted perhaps of half-a-dozen persons, chiefly from the city philosophical society, who met of an evening to read together, and to criticise, correct, and improve each other’s pronunciation and construction of language. the discipline was very sturdy, the remarks very plain and open, and the results most valuable. this continued for several years.
-he writes, after a week of work at the royal institution, to abbott:--
-royal institution, march 8, 1813.
-it is now about nine o’clock, and the thought strikes me that the tongues are going both at tatum’s and at the lecture in bedford street; but i fancy myself much better employed than i should have been at the lecture at either of those places. indeed, i have heard one lecture already to-day, and had a finger in it (i can’t say a hand, for i did very little). it was by mr. powell, on mechanics, or rather on rotatory motion, and was a pretty good lecture, but not very fully attended.
-as i know you will feel a pleasure in hearing in what i have been or shall be occupied, i will inform you that i have been employed to-day, in part, in extracting the sugar from a portion of beetroot, and also in making a compound of sulphur and carbon--a combination which has lately occupied in a considerable degree the attention of chemists.
-with respect to next wednesday, i shall be occupied until late in the afternoon by sir h. davy, and must therefore decline seeing you at that time; this i am the more ready to do as i shall enjoy your company next sunday, and hope to possess it often in a short time.
-in september, 1813, after but six months of work in the laboratory, a proposition came to him from sir humphry davy which resulted in a complete change of scene. it was an episode of foreign travel, lasting, as it proved, eighteen months. in the autobiographical notes he wrote:--
-in the autumn sir h. davy proposed going abroad, and offered me the opportunity of going with him as his amanuensis, and the promise of resuming my situation in the institution upon my return to england. whereupon i accepted the offer, left the institution on october 13, and, after being with sir h. davy in france, italy, switzerland, the tyrol, geneva, &c., in that and the following year, returned to england and london april 23, 1815.
-before he left england, on september 18, 1813, at the request of his mother, he wrote to an uncle and aunt the following account of himself:--
-i was formerly a bookseller and binder, but am now turned philosopher, which happened thus:--whilst an apprentice, i, for amusement, learnt a little of chemistry and other parts of philosophy, and felt an eager desire to proceed in that way further. after being a journeyman for six months, under a disagreeable master, i gave up my business, and, by the interest of sir h. davy, filled the situation of chemical assistant to the royal institution of great britain, in which office i now remain, and where i am constantly engaged in observing the works of nature and tracing the manner in which she directs the arrangement and order of the world. i have lately had proposals made to me by sir humphry davy to accompany him, in his travels through europe and into asia, as philosophical assistant. if i go at all i expect it will be in october next, about the end, and my absence from home will perhaps be as long as three years. but as yet all is uncertain. i have to repeat that, even though i may go, my path will not pass near any of my relations, or permit me to see those whom i so much long to see.
-to faraday, who was now twenty-two years old, foreign travel meant much more than to most young men of equal age. with his humble bringing up and slender resources, he had never had the chance of seeing the outside world; he had never, to his own recollection, even seen the sea. when on wednesday, october 13, he started out on the journey to plymouth, in order to cross to the port of morlaix, he began his journal of foreign travel thus:--
-this morning formed a new epoch in my life. i have never before, within my recollection, left london at a greater distance than twelve miles.
-this journal he kept with minute care, with the sole purpose of recalling events to his mind. it gives full details as to davy’s scientific friends and work, intermingled with graphic descriptions of scenery; and is remarkable also for its personal reticence. as with many another, so with faraday, foreign travel took in his life the place of residence at a university. in france, in italy, he received enlarged ideas; and what he saw of learned men and academies of science exercised no small formative effect upon one then at the most impressionable age. he comments gaily on the odd incidents of travel; the luminescence of the sea at night; the amazing fuss at the custom house; the postilion with his jack-boots, whip, and pouch; the glow-worm (the first glow-worm he had ever seen); and the slim pigs of normandy. at paris he visits the louvre, where his chief comment on its treasures is, that by their acquisition france has made herself “a nation of thieves.” he goes to the prefecture of police for his passport, in which he is described as having “a round chin, a brown beard, a large mouth, a great nose,” etc. he visits the churches, where the theatrical air pervading the place “makes it impossible to attach a serious or important feeling to what is going on.” he comments on the wood fires, the charcoal used in cooking, the washerwomen on the river bank, the internal decorations of houses, the printing of the books. then he goes about with davy amongst the french chemists. ampère, clément, and désormes come to davy to show him the new and strange substance “x,” lately discovered by m. courtois. they heat it, and behold it rise in vapour of a beautiful violet colour. ampère himself, on november 23rd, gives davy a specimen. they carefully note down its characters. davy and his assistant make many new experiments on it. at first its origin is kept a profound secret by the frenchman. then it transpires that it is made from ashes of seaweed. they work on it at chevreul’s laboratory. faraday borrows a voltaic pile from chevreul. with that intuition which was characteristic of him, davy jumps almost at once to a conclusion as to the nature of the new body, which for nearly two years had been in the hands of the frenchmen awaiting elucidation. when he leaves paris, they do not wholly bless his rapidity of thought. but faraday has seen--with placid indifference--a glimpse of the great napoleon “sitting in one corner of his carriage, covered and almost hidden by an enormous robe of ermine, and his face overshadowed by a tremendous plume of feathers, that descended from a velvet hat”; he has also met humboldt, and he has heard m. gay lussac lecture to about two hundred pupils.
-dumas has recorded in his “éloge historique” a reflection of the impressions left by the travellers. after speaking of the criticism to which davy was exposed during his visit, he says:--
-his laboratory assistant, long before he had won his great celebrity by his works, had by his modesty, his amiability, and his intelligence, gained most devoted friends at paris, at geneva, at montpellier. amongst these may be named in the front rank m. de la rive, the distinguished chemist, father of the illustrious physicist whom we count amongst our foreign associates. the kindnesses with which he covered my youth contributed not a little to unite us--faraday and myself. with pleasure we used to recall that we made one another’s acquaintance under the auspices of that affectionate and helpful philosopher whose example so truly witnessed that science does not dry up the heart’s blood. at montpellier, beside the hospitable hearth of bérard, the associate of chaptal, doyen of our corresponding members, faraday has left memories equally charged with an undying sympathy which his master could never have inspired. we admired davy, we loved faraday.
-it is december 29 when the travellers leave paris and cross the forest of fontainebleau. faraday thinks he never saw a more beautiful scene than the forest dressed in an airy garment of crystalline hoar frost. they pass through lyons, montpellier, aix, nice, searching on the way for iodine in the sea-plants of the mediterranean. at the end of january, 1814, they cross the col de tende over the snow at an elevation of 6,000 feet into italy, and find themselves in the midst of the carnival at turin. they reach genoa, and go to the house of a chemist to make experiments on the raia torpedo, the electric skate, trying to ascertain whether water could be decomposed by the electrical discharges of these singular fishes. from genoa they go by sea to lerici in an open boat, with much discomfort and fear of ship-wreck; and thence by land to florence.
-at florence he goes with davy to the accademia del cimento. he sees the library, the gardens, the museum. here is galileo’s own telescope--a simple tube of paper and wood, with lenses at each end--with which he discovered jupiter’s satellites. here is the great burning glass of the grand duke of tuscany. and here is a numerous collection of magnets, including one enormous loadstone supporting a weight of 150 pounds. they make “the grand experiment of burning the diamond” in oxygen by the sun’s heat concentrated through the grand duke’s burning glass. they find the diamond to be pure carbon. then early in april they depart for rome.
-from rome faraday wrote to his mother a long chatty letter summarising his travels, and sending messages of kindly remembrance to his old master riebau and others. he tells how, in spite of political troubles, sir humphry davy’s high name has procured them free admission everywhere, and how they have just heard that paris has been taken by the allied troops.
-at rome they witness unconvinced some attempts of morichini to impart magnetism to steel needles by the solar rays. they pass the colosseum by moonlight, making an early morning start across the campagna, on the road to naples, with an armed guard for fear of brigands. twice, in the middle of may, they ascend vesuvius, the second time during a partial eruption rendered all the more vivid by the lateness of the hour--half-past seven--at which the edge of the crater was reached. in june they visit terni, and note the nearly circular rainbow visible in the spray of the cataract; and so across the apennines to milan.
-at milan occurs the following entry:--
-he does not record how the ceremonious old count, who had specially attired himself in his court uniform to welcome the illustrious chemist, was horrified at the informal manners and uncourtly dress of the tourist philosopher.
-so, travelling by como and domo d’ossola, they come to geneva, and here remain a long time; and faraday writes again to his mother and to abbott. he can even find time to discuss with the latter the relative merits of the french and italian languages, and the trend of civilisation in paris and in rome. twice he sends messages to riebau. one of his letters to abbott, in september, contains passages of more than transient interest:--
-some doubts have been expressed to me lately with respect to the continuance of the royal institution; mr. newman can probably give a guess at the issue of them. i have three boxes of books, &c., there, and i should be sorry if they were lost by the turning up of unforeseen circumstances; but i hope all will end well (you will not read this out aloud). remember me to all friends, if you please. and “now for you and i to ourselves.”...
-in passing through life, my dear friend, everyone must expect to receive lessons, both in the school of prosperity and in that of adversity; and, taken in a general sense, these schools do not only include riches and poverty, but everything that may cause the happiness and pleasure of man, and every feeling that may give him pain. i have been in at the door of both these schools; nor am i so far on the right hand at present that i do not get hurt by the thorns on my left. with respect to myself, i have always perceived (when, after a time, i saw things more clearly) that those things which at first appeared as misfortunes or evils ultimately were actually benefits, and productive of much good in the future progress of things. sometimes i compared them to storms and tempests, which cause a temporary disarrangement to produce permanent good; sometimes they appeared to me like roads--stony, uneven, hilly, and uncomfortable, it is true--but the only roads to a good beyond them; and sometimes i said they were clouds which intervened between me and the sun of prosperity, but which i found were refreshing, reserving to me that tone and vigour of mind which prosperity alone would enervate and ultimately destroy....
-you talk of travelling, and i own the word is seducing, but travelling does not secure you from uneasy circumstances. i by no means intend to deter you from it; for though i should like to find you at home when i come home, and though i know how much the loss would be felt by our friends, yet i am aware that the fund of knowledge and of entertainment opened would be almost infinite. but i shall set down a few of my own thoughts and feelings, &c., in the same circumstances. in the first place, then, my dear b., i fancy that when i set my foot in england i shall never take it out again; for i find the prospect so different from what it at first appeared to be, that i am certain, if i could have foreseen the things that have passed, i should never have left london. in the second place, enticing as travelling is--and i appreciate fully its advantages and pleasures--i have several times been more than half decided to return hastily home; but second thoughts have still induced me to try what the future may produce, and now i am only retained by the wish of improvement. i have learned just enough to perceive my ignorance, and, ashamed of my defects in everything, i wish to seize the opportunity of remedying them. the little knowledge i have gained in languages makes me wish to know more of them, and the little i have seen of men and manners is just enough to make me desirous of seeing more; added to which, the glorious opportunity i enjoy of improving in the knowledge of chemistry and the sciences continually determines me to finish this voyage with sir humphry davy. but if i wish to enjoy those advantages, i have to sacrifice much; and though those sacrifices are such as an humble man would not feel, yet i cannot quietly make them. travelling, too, i find, is almost inconsistent with religion (i mean modern travelling), and i am yet so old-fashioned as to remember strongly (i hope perfectly) my youthful education; and upon the whole, malgré the advantages of travelling, it is not impossible but that you may see me at your door when you expect a letter.
-you will perceive, dear b., that i do not wish you hastily to leave your present situation, because i think that a hasty change will only make things worse. you will naturally compare your situation with others you see around you, and by this comparison your own will appear more sad, whilst the others seem brighter than in truth they are; for, like the two poles of a battery, the ideas of each will become exalted by approaching them. but i leave you, dear friend, to act in this case as your judgment may direct, hoping always for the best.
-sir humphry works often on iodine, and has lately been making experiments on the prismatic spectrum at m. pictet’s. they are not yet perfected, but from the use of very delicate air thermometers, it appears that the rays producing most heat are certainly out of the spectrum and beyond the red rays. our time has been employed lately in fishing and shooting; and many a quail has been killed in the plains of geneva, and many a trout and grayling have been pulled out of the rhone.
-i need not say, dear ben, how perfectly i am yours,
-rome, february 23, 1815.
-dear b----,--in a letter of above twelve pages i gave answers to your question respecting my situation. it was a subject not worth talking about, but i consider your inquiries as so many proofs of your kindness and the interest you take in my welfare, and i thought the most agreeable thanks i could make you would be to answer them. the same letter also contained a short account of a paper written by sir humphry davy on ancient colours, and some other miscellaneous matters.
-i am quite ashamed of dwelling so often on my own affairs, but as i know you wish it, i shall briefly inform you of my situation. i do not mean to employ much of this sheet of paper on the subject, but refer you to the before-mentioned long letter for clear information. it happened a few days before we left england, that sir h.’s valet declined going with him, and in the short space of time allowed by circumstances another could not be got. sir h. told me he was very sorry, but that, if i would do such things as were absolutely necessary for him until he got to paris, he should there get another. i murmured, but agreed. at paris he could not get one. no englishmen were there, and no frenchman fit for the place could talk english to me. at lyons he could not get one; at montpellier he could not get one; nor at genoa, nor at florence, nor at rome, nor in all italy; and i believe at last he did not wish to get one: and we are just the same now as we were when he left england. this of course throws things into my duty which it was not my agreement, and is not my wish, to perform, but which are, if i remain with sir h., unavoidable. these, it is true, are very few; for having been accustomed in early years to do for himself, he continues to do so at present, and he leaves very little for a valet to perform; and as he knows that it is not pleasing to me, and that i do not consider myself as obliged to do them, he is always as careful as possible to keep those things from me which he knows would be disagreeable. but lady davy is of another humour. she likes to show her authority, and at first i found her extremely earnest in mortifying me. this occasioned quarrels between us, at each of which i gained ground, and she lost it; for the frequency made me care nothing about them, and weakened her authority, and after each she behaved in a milder manner. sir h. has also taken care to get servants of the country, ycleped lacquais de place, to do everything she can want, and now i am somewhat comfortable; indeed, at this moment i am perfectly at liberty, for sir h. has gone to naples to search for a house or lodging to which we may follow him, and i have nothing to do but see rome, write my journal, and learn italian.
-but i will leave such an unprofitable subject, and tell you what i know of our intended route. for the last few weeks it has been very undecided, and at this moment there is no knowing which way we shall turn. sir h. intended to see greece and turkey this summer, and arrangements were half made for the voyage; but he has just learned that a quarantine must be performed on the road there, and to do this he has an utter aversion, and that alone will perhaps break up the journey.
-since the long letter i wrote you, sir h. has written two short papers for the royal society--the first on a new solid compound of iodine and oxygen, and the second a new gaseous compound of chlorine and oxygen, which contains four times as much oxygen as euchlorine.
-the discovery of these bodies contradicts many parts of gay-lussac’s paper on iodine, which has been very much vaunted in these parts. the french chemists were not aware of the importance of the subject until it was shown to them, and now they are in haste to reap all the honours attached to it; but their haste opposes their aim. they reason theoretically, without demonstrating experimentally, and errors are the result.
-i am, my dear friend, yours ever and faithfully, m. faraday.
-the equivocal position thus forced upon faraday by the hauteur of lady davy nearly caused a contretemps during the stay at geneva, which lasted from the end of june, 1814, to about the middle of september. bence jones’s account, derived from faraday himself, is as follows:--professor g. de la rive, undazzled by the brilliancy of davy’s reputation, was able to see the true worth of his assistant. davy was fond of shooting, and faraday, who accompanied them, used to load davy’s gun for him, while de la rive loaded his own. entering into conversation with faraday, de la rive was astonished to find that the intelligent and charming young man whom he had taken hitherto for a domestic was really préparateur de laboratoire in the royal institution. this led him to place faraday, in one respect, on an equality with davy. whilst they were staying in his house, he wished them to dine together at his table. davy, it is said, declined, because faraday acted in some things as his servant. de la rive expressed his feelings strongly, and ordered dinner in a separate room for faraday. a rumour spread years after that de la rive gave a dinner in faraday’s honour: this is not so, however.
-of that geneva visit faraday says, in 1858, to m. a. de la rive:--
-i have some such thoughts (of gratitude) even as regards your own father, who was, i may say, the first who personally at geneva, and afterwards by correspondence, encouraged and by that sustained me.
-this correspondence, which began with the father and was continued with the son, lasted altogether nearly fifty years.
-from geneva the travellers went northward, by lausanne, vevay, bern, zürich, and schaffhausen, across baden and würtemburg to munich. after visiting this and other german towns, they crossed tyrol southwards to vicenza, halting in the neighbourhood of the pietra mala to collect the inflammable gas which there rises from the soil. they spent a day in padua, and three days in venice; and on by bologna to florence, where davy completed his analysis of the gas collected at pietra mala. early in november they were again in rome. he writes once and again to his mother, while his anxiety about the royal institution makes him send inquiries to abbott as to what is going to happen there, and to charge him, “if any change should occur in albemarle street,” not to forget his books which are lying there. “i prize them now more than ever.”
-to his former master, riebau, he wrote from rome as follows:--
-rome, jan. 5th, 1815.
-it is with very peculiar but very pleasing and indeed flattering sentiments that i commence a letter intended for you, for i esteem it as a high honour that you should not only allow but even wish me to write to you. during the whole of the short eight years that i was with you, sir, and during the year or two that passed afterwards before i left england, i continually enjoyed your goodness and the effects of it; and it is gratifying to me in the highest degree to find that even absence has not impaired it, and that you are willing to give me the highest proof of (allow me to say) friendship that distance will admit. i have received both the letters that you have wrote to me, sir, and consider them as far from being the least proofs of your goodwill and remembrance of me. allow me to thank you humbly but sincerely for these and all other kindness, and i hope that at some future day an opportunity will occur when i can express more strongly my gratitude.
-i beg leave to return a thousand thanks to my kind mistress, to mr. and mrs. paine and george for their remembrances, and venture to give mine with respect in return. i am very glad to hear that all are well. i am very much afraid you say too much of me to mr. dance, mr. cosway, mrs. udney, etc., for i feel unworthy of what you have said of me formerly, and what you may say now. since i have left england, the experience i have gained in more diversified and extended life, and the knowledge i have gained of what is to be learned and what others know, have sufficiently shown me my own ignorance, the degree in which i am surpassed by all the world, and my want of powers; but i hope that at least i shall return home with an addition to my self-knowledge. when speaking of those who are so much my superiors, as mr. dance, mr. cosway, and mrs. udney, etc., i feel a continual fear that i should appear to want respect, but the manner in which you mention their names in your letter emboldens me to beg that you will give my humblest respects to those honored persons, if, and only if (i am afraid of intruding) they should again speak of me to you. mr. dance’s kindness claims my gratitude, and i trust that my thanks, the only mark that i can give, will be accepted.
-since i have been abroad, my old profession of books has oftentimes occurred to my mind and been productive of much pleasure. it was my wish at first to purchase some useful book at every large town we came to, but i found my stock increase so fast that i was obliged to alter my plan and purchase only at capital cities. the first books that i wanted were grammars and dictionaries, but i found few places like london where i could get whatever i wanted. in france (at the time we were there) english books were very scarce, and also english and french books; and a french grammar for an englishman was a thing difficult to find. nevertheless the shops appeared well stocked with books in their own language, and the encouragement napoleon gave to arts and sciences extended its influence even to the printing and binding of books. i saw some beautiful specimens in both these branches at the bibliothèque impériale at paris, but i still think they did not exceed or even equal those i had seen in london before. we have as yet seen very little of germany, having passed rapidly through switzerland and stopping but a few days at munich, but that little gave me a very favorable idea of the booksellers’ shops. i got an excellent english and german dictionary immediately i asked for it, and other books i asked for i found were to be had, but e. and g. grammars were scarce, owing to the little communication between the two empires, and the former power of the french in germany. italy i have found the country furnished with the fewest means--if books are the means of disseminating knowledge, and even venice which is renowned for printing appeared to me bare and little worthy of its character. it is natural to suppose that the great and most estimable use of printing is to produce those books which are in most general use and which are required by the world at large; it is those books which form this branch of trade, and consequently every shop in it gives an account of the more valuable state of the art (i.e.) the use made of it. in italy there are many books, and the shelves of the shops there appear full, but the books are old, or what is new have come from france; they seem latterly to have resigned printing and to have become satisfied with the libraries their forefathers left them. i found at florence an e. and i. grammar (veneroni’s), which does a little credit to leghorn; but i have searched unsuccessfully at rome, naples, milan, bologna, venice, florence, and in every part of italy for and e. and i. dictionary, and the only one i could get was rollasetti in 8vo. e. f. and i. a circumstance still more singular is the want of bibles; even at rome, the seat of the roman catholic faith, a bible of moderate size is not to be found, either protestant or catholic. those which exist are large folios or 4tos and in several volumes, interspersed with the various readings and commentaries of the fathers, and they are in the possession of the priests and religious professors. in all shops at rome where i ask for a small pocket bible the man seemed afraid to answer me, and some priest in the shop looked at me in a very inquisitive way.
-i must now, kind sir, put an end to this letter, which i fear you will think already too long. i beg you will have the goodness to send to my mother and say i am well, and give my duty to her and my love to my brother and sisters. i have wrote four or five times lately from rome to various friends. remember me, if you please, to mr. kitchen, and others who may enquire after me. i thank you for your concluding wishes and am, sir,
-your most dutifully, faraday.
-tuesday, march 7th.--i heard for news that bonaparte was again at liberty. being no politician, i did not trouble myself much about it, though i suppose it will have a strong influence on the affairs of europe.
-he went with sir humphry to explore monte somma, and ventured to make another ascent of the cone of vesuvius, with the gratification of finding the crater in much greater activity than during the visits of the preceding year.
-then, for reasons not altogether clear, the tour was suddenly cut short. naples was left on march 21st, rome on 24th, mantua was passed on 30th. tyrol was recrossed, germany traversed by stuttgardt, heidelberg, and cologne. brussels was reached on 16th april, whence london was regained viâ ostend and deal. a letter written from brussels to his mother positively overflows with the joy of expected return. he does not want his mother to be inquiring at albemarle street as to when he is expected:--
-you may be sure that my first moments will be in your company. if you have opportunities, tell some of my dearest friends, but do not tell everybody--that is, do not trouble yourself to do it. i am of no consequence except to a few, and there are but a few that are of consequence to me, and there are some whom i should like to be the first to tell myself--mr. riebau for one. however, let a. know, if you can...
-adieu till i see you, dearest mother; and believe me ever your affectionate and dutiful son,
-a fortnight after his return to london, faraday was re-engaged, at a salary of thirty shillings a week, at the royal institution as assistant in the laboratory and mineralogical collection. he returned to the scene of his former labours; but with what widened ideas! he had had eighteen months of daily intercourse with the most brilliant chemist of the age. he had seen and conversed with ampère, arago, gay-lussac, chevreul, dumas, volta, de la rive, biot, pictet, de saussure, and de stael. he had formed a lasting friendship with more than one of these. he had dined with count rumford, the founder of the royal institution. he had gained a certain mastery over foreign tongues, and had seen the ways of foreign society. though it was many years before he again quitted england for a foreign tour, he cherished the most lively recollection of many of the incidents that had befallen him.
-life at the royal institution.
-as for the lectures at the royal institution, they may be divided under three heads: the afternoon courses; the juvenile lectures at christmas; the friday night discourses. the afternoon lectures are thrice a week at three o’clock, and consist usually of short courses, from three lectures to as many as twelve, by eminent scientific and literary men. invariably one of these courses during the season, either before or after easter, is given by one of the regular professors; the remaining lecturers are paid professional fees in proportion to the duration of their course. the christmas lectures, always six in number, are given, sometimes by one of the professors, sometimes by outside lecturers of scientific reputation. but the friday night discourses, given at nine o’clock, during the season from january till june, are unique. no fee is paid to the lecturer, save a contribution toward expenses if applied for, and it is considered to be a distinct honour to be invited to give such a discourse. there is no scientific man of any original claim to distinction; no chemist, engineer, or electrician; no physiologist, geologist, or mineralogist, during the last fifty years, who has not been invited thus to give an account of his investigations. occasionally a wider range is taken, and the eminent writer of books, dramatist, metaphysician, or musician has taken his place at the lecture-table. the friday night gathering is always a brilliant one. from the salons of society, from the world of politics and diplomacy, as well as from the ranks of the learned professions and of the fine arts, men and women assemble to listen to the exposition of the latest discoveries or the newest advances in philosophy by the men who have made them. every discourse must, so far as the subject admits, be illustrated in the best possible way by experiments, by diagrams, by the exhibition of specimens. not infrequently, the person invited to give a friday evening discourse at the royal institution will begin his preparations five or six months beforehand. at least one instance is known--the occasion being a discourse by the late mr. warren de la rue--where the preparations were begun more than a year beforehand, and cost several hundreds of pounds. and this was to illustrate a research already made and completed, of which the bare scientific results had already been communicated in a memoir to the royal society. a mere enumeration of the eminent men who have thus given their time and labours to the royal institution would fill many pages. it is little cause for wonder then that the lecture-theatre at albemarle street is crowded week after week in the pursuit of science under conditions like these; or that every lecturer is spurred on by the spirit of the place to do his subject the utmost justice by the manner in which he handles it. there are no lectures so famous, in the best sense of the word so popular, certainly none sustained at so high a level, as the lectures of the royal institution.
-but it was not always thus. davy’s brilliant but ill-balanced genius had drawn fashionable crowds to the morning lectures which he gave. brande proved to be a much more humdrum lecturer; and though with young faraday at his elbow he found his work of lecturing a task “on velvet,” he was not exactly an inspiring person. during davy’s protracted tour abroad things had not altogether prospered, and his return was none too soon. faraday threw himself whole-heartedly into the work of the institution, not only helping as lecture assistant, but giving a hand also in the preparation of the quarterly journal of science, which had been established as a kind of journal of proceedings.
-but now faraday was to take a quiet step forward. he appears at the city philosophical society in the character of lecturer. he gave seven lectures there, in 1816, on chemistry, the fourth of them being “on radiant matter.” extracts are given from most of these lectures in bence jones’s “life and letters of faraday”; they show all that love of accuracy, that philosophic suspense of judgment in matters of hypothesis, which in after years were so characteristic of the man.
-he also kept a commonplace book filled with notes of scientific matters, with literary excerpts, anagrams, epitaphs, algebraic puzzles, varieties of spelling of his own name, and personal experiences, including a poetical diatribe against falling in love, together with the following more prosaic aphorism:--
-what is love?--a nuisance to everybody but the parties concerned. a private affair which every one but those concerned wishes to make public.
-it also includes a piece in verse, by a member of the city philosophical society--a mr. dryden--called “quarterly night,” which is interesting as embalming a portrait of the youthful faraday as he appeared to his comrades:--
-at this date there were no evening duties at the royal institution, but faraday found his evenings well occupied, as he explains to abbott when rallied about his having deserted his old friend. monday and thursday evenings he spent in self-improvement according to a regular plan. wednesdays he gave to “the society” (i.e. the city philosophical). saturdays he spent with his mother at weymouth street; leaving only tuesdays and fridays for his own business and friends.
-and well might davy be grateful. with all his immense ability, he was a man almost destitute of the faculties of order and method. he had little self-control, and the fashionable dissipations which he permitted himself lessened that little. faraday not only kept his experiments going, but made himself responsible for their records. he preserved every note and manuscript of davy’s with religious care. he copied out davy’s scrawled researches in a neat clear delicate handwriting, begging only for his pains to be allowed to keep the originals, which he bound in two quarto volumes. faraday has been known to remark to an intimate friend that amongst his advantages he had had before him a model to teach him what he should avoid. but he was ever loyal to davy, earnest in his praise, and frank in his acknowledgment of his debt to his master in science. still there arose the little rift within the lute. the safety lamp, great as was the practical advantage it brought to the miner, is not safe in all circumstances. davy did not like to admit this, and would never acknowledge it. examined before a parliamentary committee as to whether under a certain condition the safety lamp would become unsafe, faraday admitted that this was the case. not even his devotion to his master would induce him to hide the truth. he was true to himself in making the acknowledgment, though it angered his master. one friday evening at the royal institution--probably about 1826--there was exhibited an improved davy lamp with a eulogistic inscription; faraday added in pencil the words: “the opinion of the inventor.”
-at this time he began to give private lessons in chemistry to a pupil to whom he had been recommended by davy. his lectures at the city society in dorset street were continued in 1818, and at the conclusion of those on chemistry he delivered one on “mental inertia,” which has been recorded at some length by bence jones.
-in 1818 he attended a course of lessons on oratory by the elocutionist mr. b. h. smart, paying out of his slender resources half a guinea a lesson, so anxious was he to improve himself, even in his manner of lecturing. his notes on these lessons fill 133 manuscript pages.
-his other notes now begin to partake less of the character of quotations and excerpts, and more of the nature of queries or problems for solution. here are some examples:--
-“do the pith balls diverge by the disturbance of electricity in consequence of mutual induction or not?”
-“distil oxalate of ammonia. query, results?”
-“query, the nature of the body phillips burns in his spirit lamp?”
-the phillips here mentioned was the chemist richard phillips (afterwards president of the chemical society), one of his city friends, whose name so frequently occurs in the correspondence of faraday’s middle life. phillips busied himself to promote the material interests of his friend who--to use his own language--was “constantly engaged in observing the works of nature, and tracing the manner in which she directs the arrangement and order of the world,” on the splendid salary of £100 per annum. the following note in a letter to abbott, dated february 27, 1818, reveals new professional labours:--
-i have been more than enough employed. we have been obliged even to put aside lectures at the institution; and now i am so tired with a long attendance at guildhall yesterday and to-day, being subpœnaed, with sir h. davy, mr. brande, phillips, aikin, and others, to give chemical information on a trial (which, however, did not come off), that i scarcely know what i say.
-shortly afterwards davy again went abroad, but faraday remained in england. from rome davy wrote a note, the concluding sentence of which shows how faraday was advancing in his esteem:--
-rome: october, 1818.
-mr. hatchett’s letter contained praises of you which were very gratifying to me; for, believe me, there is no one more interested in your success and welfare than your sincere well-wisher and friend,
-in the next year davy wrote again, suggesting to faraday that he might possibly be asked to come to naples as a skilled chemist to assist in the unrolling of the herculaneum manuscripts. in may he wrote again, from florence:--
-it gives me great pleasure to hear that you are comfortable at the royal institution, and i trust that you will not only do something good and honourable for yourself, but likewise for science.
-i am, dear mr. faraday, always your sincere friend and well-wisher,
-the wish that davy expressed that faraday might “do something” for himself and likewise for science was destined soon to come to fulfilment. but in the case of one who had worked so closely and had been so intimately associated as an assistant, it must necessarily be no easy matter always to draw a distinction between the work of the master and that of the assistant. ideas suggested by one might easily have occurred to the other, when their thoughts had so long been directed to the same ends. and so it proved.
-reference to chapter iii. will show that already, beginning in 1816 with a simple analysis of caustic lime for sir humphry davy, faraday had become an active worker in the domain of original research. the fascination of the quest of the unknown was already upon him. while working with and for davy on the properties of flame and its non-transmission through iron gauze, in the investigation of the safety lamp, other problems of a kindred nature had arisen. one of these, relating to the flow of gases through capillary tubes, faraday had attacked by himself in 1817. the subject formed one of the six original papers which he published that year. in the next two years he contributed in all no fewer than thirty-seven papers or notes to the quarterly journal of science. in 1819 began a long research on steel which lasted over the year 1820. he had already given evidence of that dislike of half-truths, that aversion for “doubtful knowledge” which marked him so strongly. he had exposed, with quiet but unsparing success, the emptiness of the claim made by an austrian chemist to have discovered a new metal, “sirium,” by the simple device of analysing out from the mass all the constituents of known sorts, leaving behind--nothing.
-and now, faraday being twenty-nine years of age, a new and all-important episode in his life occurred. amongst the members of the little congregation which met on sundays at paul’s alley, red cross street, was a mr. barnard, a working silversmith of paternoster row, an elder in the sandemanian body. he had two sons, edward barnard, a friend of faraday’s, and george, who became a well-known water-colour artist; and three daughters; one who was already at this time married; sarah, now twenty-one years of age; and jane, who was still younger. edward had seen in faraday’s note-book those boyish tirades against falling in love, and had told his sister sarah of them. nevertheless, in spite of all such misogynistic fancies, faraday woke up one day to find that the large-eyed, clear-browed girl had grown to a place in his heart that he had thought barred against the assaults of love. she asked him on one occasion to show her the rhymes against love in his note-book. in reply he sent her the hitherto unpublished poem:--
-r. i. oct. 11th, 1819.
-you ask’d me last night for the lines which i penn’d, when, exulting in ignorance, tempted by pride, i dared torpid hearts and cold breasts to commend, and affection’s kind pow’r and soft joys to deride.
-if you urge it i cannot refuse your request: though to grant it will punish severely my crime: but my fault i repent, and my errors detest; and i hoped to have shown my conversion in time.
-remember, our laws in their mercy decide that no culprit be forced to give proof of his deed: they protect him though fall’n, his failings they hide, and enable the wretch from his crimes to receed (sic).
-the principle’s noble! i need not urge long its adoption; then turn from a judge to a friend. do not ask for the proof that i once acted wrong, but direct me and guide me the way to amend.
-what other previous passages between them are hinted at in the letter which he sent her, is unknown; but on july 5, 1820, he wrote:--
-you know me as well or better than i do myself. you know my former prejudices, and my present thoughts--you know my weaknesses, my vanity, my whole mind; you have converted me from one erroneous way, let me hope you will attempt to correct what others are wrong.
-again and again i attempt to say what i feel, but i cannot. let me, however, claim not to be the selfish being that wishes to bend your affections for his own sake only. in whatever way i can best minister to your happiness either by assiduity or by absence, it shall be done. do not injure me by withdrawing your friendship, or punish me for aiming to be more than a friend by making me less; and if you cannot grant me more, leave me what i possess, but hear me.
-sarah barnard showed the letter to her father. she was young, and feared to accept her lover. all her father would say by way of counsel was that love made philosophers say many foolish things. the intensity of faraday’s passion proved for the time a bar to his advance. fearing lest she should be unable to return it with equal force, miss barnard shrank from replying. to postpone an immediate decision, she went away with her sister, mrs. reid, to ramsgate. faraday followed to press his suit, and after several happy days in her company, varied with country walks and a run over to dover, he was able to say: “not a moment’s alloy of this evening’s happiness occurred. everything was delightful to the last moment of my stay with my companion, because she was so.”
-of the many letters that faraday wrote to his future wife a number have been preserved. they are manly, simple, full of quiet affection, but absolutely free from gush or forced sentiment of any kind. extracts from several of them are printed by bence jones. one of these, written early in 1821, runs as follows:--
-i tied up the enclosed key with my books last night, and make haste to return it lest its absence should occasion confusion. if it has, it will perhaps remind you of the disorder i must be in here also for the want of a key--i mean the one to my heart. however, i know where my key is, and hope soon to have it here, and then the institution will be all right again. let no one oppose my gaining possession of it when unavoidable obstacles are removed.
-ever, my dear girl, one who is perfectly yours, m. faraday.
-faraday obtained leave of the managers to bring his wife to live in his rooms at the institution; and in may, 1821, his position was changed from that of lecture assistant to that of superintendent of the house and laboratory. in these changes sir humphry davy gave him willing assistance. but his salary remained £100 a year.
-obstacles being now removed, faraday and miss barnard were married on june 12. few persons were asked to the wedding, for faraday wished it to be “just like any other day.” “there will,” he wrote, “be no bustle, no noise, no hurry ... it is in the heart that we expect and look for pleasure.”
-his marriage, though childless, was extremely happy. mrs. faraday proved to be exactly the true helpmeet for his need; and he loved her to the end of his life with a chivalrous devotion which has become almost a proverb. little indications of his attachment crop up in unexpected places in his subsequent career; but as with his religious views so with his domestic affairs, he never obtruded them upon others, nor yet shrank from mentioning them when there was cause. tyndall, in after years, made the intensity of faraday’s attachment to his wife the subject of a striking simile: “never, i believe, existed a manlier, purer, steadier love. like a burning diamond, it continued to shed, for six and forty years, its white and smokeless glow.”
-in his diploma-book, now in possession of the royal society, in which he carefully preserved all the certificates, awards, and honours bestowed upon him by academies and universities, there may be found on a slip inserted in the volume this entry:--
-25th january, 1847.
-amongst these records and events, i here insert the date of one which, as a source of honour and happiness, far exceeds the rest. we were married on june 12, 1821.
-and two years later, in the autobiographical notes he wrote:--
-on june 12, 1821, he married--an event which more than any other contributed to his earthly happiness and healthful state of mind. the union has continued for twenty-eight years, and has nowise changed, except in the depth and strength of its character.
-when near the close of his life, he presented to the royal institution the bookcase with the volumes of notes of davy’s lectures and of books bound by himself, the inscription recorded that they were the gift of “michael and sarah faraday.”
-every saturday evening he used to take his wife to her father’s house at paternoster row, so that on sunday they should be nearer to the chapel at paul’s alley. and in after years, when he was away on scientific work, visiting lighthouses, or attending meetings of the british association, he always tried to return for the sunday.
-one month after his marriage faraday made his profession of faith before the sandemanian church, to which his wife already belonged, and was admitted a member. to his religious views, and his relations to the body he thus formally joined, reference will be found later.
-faraday now settled down to a routine life of scientific work. his professional reputation was rising, and his services as analyst were being sought after. but in the midst of this he was pursuing investigations on his own account. in the late summer of this year he made the discovery of the electro-magnetic rotations described in chapter iii.--his first important piece of original research--and had in consequence a serious misunderstanding with dr. wollaston. on september 3rd, working with george barnard in the laboratory, he saw the electric wire for the first time revolve around the pole of the magnet. rubbing his hands as he danced around the table with beaming face, he exclaimed: “there they go! there they go! we have succeeded at last.” then he gleefully proposed that they should wind up the day by going to one of the theatres. which should it be? “oh, to astley’s, to see the horses.” and to astley’s they went. on christmas day he called his young wife to see something new: an electric conducting-wire revolving under the influence of the magnetism of the earth alone. he also read two chemical papers at the royal society, announcing new discoveries; one of them in conjunction with his friend phillips. in july, 1822, he took his wife and her mother to ramsgate, whilst he went off with phillips to swansea to try a new process in vivian’s copper works. during this enforced parting, faraday wrote his wife three letters from which the following are extracts:---
-i perceive that if i give way to my thoughts, i shall write you a mere love-letter, just as usual, with not a particle of news in it: to prevent which i will constrain myself to a narrative of what has happened since i left you up to the present time, and then indulge my affection.
-yesterday was a day of events--little, but pleasant. i went in the morning to the institution, and in the course of the day analysed the water, and sent an account of it to mr. hatchett. mr. fisher i did not see. mr. lawrence called in, and behaved with his usual generosity. he had called in the early part of the week, and, finding that i should be at the institution on saturday only, came up, as i have already said, and insisted on my accepting two ten-pound bank-notes for the information he professed to have obtained from me at various times. is not this handsome? the money, as you know, could not have been at any time more acceptable; and i cannot see any reason, my dear love, why you and i should not regard it as another proof, among many, that our trust should without a moment’s reserve be freely reposed on him who provideth all things for his people. have we not many times been reproached, by such mercies as these, for our caring after food and raiment and the things of this world? on coming home in the evening, i.e., coming to paternoster row home, i learned that mr. phillips had seen c., and had told her we should not leave london until monday evening. so i shall have to-morrow to get things ready in, and i shall have enough to do. i fancy we are going to a large mansion and into high company, so i must take more clothes. having the £20, i am become bold....
-and now, how do my dear wife and mother do? are you comfortable? are you happy? are the lodgings convenient, and mrs. o. obliging? has the place done you good? is the weather fine? tell me all things as soon as you can. i think if you write directly you get this it will be best, but let it be a long letter. i do not know when i wished so much for a long letter as i do from you now. you will get this on tuesday, and any letter from you to me cannot reach swansea before thursday or friday--a sad long time to wait. direct to me, post office, swansea; or perhaps better, to me at -- vivian esq., marino, near swansea, south wales....
-and now, my dear girl, i must set business aside. i am tired of the dull detail of things, and want to talk of love to you; and surely there can be no circumstances under which i can have more right. the theme was a cheerful and delightful one before we were married, but it is doubly so now. i now can speak, not of my own heart only, but of both our hearts. i now speak, not with any doubt of the state of your thoughts, but with the fullest conviction that they answer to my own. all that i can now say warm and animated to you, i know that you would say to me again. the excess of pleasure which i feel in knowing you mine is doubled by the consciousness that you feel equal joy in knowing me yours.
-marino: sunday, july 28, 1822.
-my dearly beloved wife,--i have just read your letter again, preparatory to my writing to you, that my thoughts might be still more elevated and quickened than before. i could almost rejoice at my absence from you, if it were only that it has produced such an earnest and warm mark of affection from you as that letter. tears of joy and delight fell from my eyes on its perusal. i think it was last sunday evening, about this time, that i wrote to you from london; and i again resort to this affectionate conversation with you, to tell you what has happened since the letter which i got franked from this place to you on thursday i believe.
-we have been working very hard here at the copper works, and with some success. our days have gone on just as before. a walk before breakfast; then breakfast; then to the works till four or five o’clock, and then home to dress, and dinner. after dinner, tea and conversation. i have felt doubly at a loss to-day, being absent from both the meeting and you. when away from london before, i have had you with me, and we could read and talk and walk; to-day i have had no one to fill your place, so i will tell you how i have done. there are so many here, and their dinner so late and long, that i made up my mind to avoid it, though, if possible, without appearing singular. so, having remained in my room till breakfast time, we all breakfasted together, and soon after mr. phillips and myself took a walk out to the mumbles point, at the extremity of this side of the bay. there we sat down to admire the beautiful scenery around us, and, after we had viewed it long enough, returned slowly home. we stopped at a little village in our way, called oystermouth, and dined at a small, neat, homely house about one o’clock. we then came back to marino, and after a little while again went out--mr. phillips to a relation in the town, and myself for a walk on the sands and the edge of the bay. i took tea in a little cottage, and, returning home about seven o’clock, found them engaged at dinner, so came up to my own room, and shall not see them again to-night. i went down for a light just now, and heard them playing some sacred music in the drawing-room; they have all been to church to-day, and are what are called regular people.
-the trial at hereford is put off for the present, but yet we shall not be able to be in town before the end of this week. though i long to see you, i do not know when it will be; but this i know, that i am getting daily more anxious about you. mr. phillips wrote home to mrs. phillips from here even before i did--i.e. last wednesday. this morning he received a letter from mrs. phillips (who is very well) desiring him to ask me for a copy of one of my letters to you, that he may learn to write love-letters of sufficient length. he laughs at the scolding, and says that it does not hurt at a distance....
-it seems to me so long since i left you that there must have been time for a great many things to have happened. i expect to see you with such joy when i come home that i shall hardly know what to do with myself. i hope you will be well and blooming, and animated and happy, when you see me. i do not know how we shall contrive to get away from here. we certainly shall not have concluded before thursday evening, but i think we shall endeavour earnestly to leave this place on friday night, in which case we shall get home late on saturday night. if we cannot do that, as i should not like to be travelling all day on sunday, we shall probably not leave until sunday night; but i think the first plan will be adopted, and that you will not have time to answer this letter. i expect, nevertheless, an answer to my last letter--i.e. i expect that my dear wife will think of me again. expect here means nothing more than i trust and have a full confidence that it will be so. my kind girl is so affectionate that she would not think a dozen letters too much for me if there were time to send them, which i am glad there is not.
-give my love to our mothers as earnestly as you would your own, and also to charlotte or john, or any such one that you may have with you. i have not written to paternoster row yet, but i am going to write now, so that i may be permitted to finish this letter here. i do not feel quite sure, indeed, that the permission to leave off is not as necessary from my own heart as from yours.
-with the utmost affection--with perhaps too much--i am, my dear wife, my sarah, your devoted husband,
-when my paper was written, it was, according to a custom consequent upon our relative positions, submitted to sir h. davy (as were all my papers for the “philosophical transactions” up to a much later period), and he altered it as he thought fit. this practice was one of great kindness to me, for various grammatical mistakes and awkward expressions were from time to time thus removed, which might else have remained.
-in point of fact, davy on this occasion added a note (which was duly printed) saying precisely how far he had any share in suggesting the experiment, but in no wise traversing any of faraday’s claims. although he thus acted generously to the latter, there can be no question that he began to be seriously jealous of faraday’s rising fame. the matter was the more serious because some who did not have a nice appreciation of the circumstances chose to rake up a charge which had been raised two years before against faraday by some of dr. wollaston’s friends--in particular by dr. warburton--about the discovery of the electro-magnetic rotations, a charge which faraday’s straightforward action and wollaston’s frank satisfaction ought to have dissipated for ever. and all this was doubly aggravating because faraday was now expecting to be proposed as a candidate for the fellowship of the royal society, of which sir humphry was president.
-at that time, as now, the proposal paper or “certificate” of a candidate for election must be presented, signed by a number of influential fellows. faraday’s friend phillips took in hand the pleasant task of drawing up this certificate and of collecting the necessary signatures. the rule then was that the certificate so presented must be read out at ten successive meetings of the society; after which a ballot took place. faraday’s certificate bears twenty-nine names. the very first is that of wollaston, and it is followed by those of children, babington, sir john herschel, babbage, phillips, roget, and sir james south.
-on the 5th of may, 1823, faraday wrote to phillips:--
-a thousand thanks to you for your kindness--i am delighted with the names--mr. brande had told me of it before i got your note and thought it impossible to be better. i suppose you will not be in grosvenor street this evening, so i will put this in the post.
-our best remembrances to mrs. phillips.
-yours ever, m. faraday.
-the certificate was read for the first time on may 1st. the absence of the names of davy and brande is accounted for by the one being president and the other secretary. bence jones gives the following account of what followed:--
-that sir h. davy actively opposed faraday’s election is no less certain than it is sad.
-many years ago, faraday gave a friend the following facts, which were written down immediately:--“sir h. davy told me i must take down my certificate. i replied that i had not put it up; that i could not take it down, as it was put up by my proposers. he then said i must get my proposers to take it down. i answered that i knew they would not do so. then he said, i as president will take it down. i replied that i was sure sir h. davy would do what he thought was for the good of the royal society.”
-faraday also said that one of his proposers told him that sir h. davy had walked for an hour round the courtyard of somerset house, arguing that faraday ought not to be elected. this was probably about may 30.
-faraday also made the following notes on the circumstance of the charge made by wollaston’s friends:--
-1823. in relation to davy’s opposition to my election at the royal society.
-sir h. davy angry, may 30.
-phillips’ report through mr. children, june 5.
-mr. warburton called first time, june 5 (evening).
-i called on dr. wollaston, and he not in town, june 9.
-i called on dr. wollaston, and saw him, june 14.
-i called at sir h. davy’s, and he called on me, june 17.
-on july 8 dr. warburton wrote that he was satisfied with faraday’s explanation, and added that he would tell his friends that “my objections to you as a fellow are and ought to be withdrawn, and that i now wish to forward your election.”
-bence jones adds:--
-on june 29, sir h. davy ends a note, “i am, dear faraday, very sincerely your well wisher and friend.” so that outwardly the storm rapidly passed away; and when the ballot was taken, after the certificate had been read at ten meetings, there was only one black ball.
-the election took place january 8, 1824.
-the jealousy thus manifested by davy is one of the most pitiful facts in his history. it was a sign of that moral weakness which was at the bottom of much of his unpopularity, and which revealed itself in various ways as his physical strength decayed....
-faraday allowed himself in after days no shade of resentment against davy; though he confessed rather sadly that after his election as f.r.s. his relations with his former master were never the same as before. if anyone recurred to the old scandal, he would fire with indignation. dumas in his “éloge historique” has given the following anecdote:--
-dr. thorpe in his life of davy adds:--
-in 1823 the athenæum club was started by j. wilson croker, sir h. davy, sir t. lawrence, sir f. chantrey, and others, as a resort for literary and scientific men. faraday was made club secretary; but he found the duties totally uncongenial, and in 1824 resigned the post to his friend magrath.
-down to the year 1830 faraday continued to undertake, at professional fees, chemical analyses and expert work in the law-courts, and thereby added considerably to the very slender emolument of his position; but, finding this work to make increasing demands on his time, which he could ill spare from the absorbing pursuit of original researches, he decided to abandon a practice which would have made him rich, and withdrew from expert practice. the following letter to phillips was written only a few weeks before this determination:--
-royal institution, june 21, 1831.
-my dear phillips,--i have been trying hard to get time enough to write to you by post to-night, but without success; the bell has rung, and i am too late. however, i am resolved to be ready to-morrow. we have been very anxious and rather embarrassed in our minds about your anxiety to know how things were proceeding, and uncertain whether reference to them would be pleasant, and that has been the cause why i have not written to you, for i did not know what character your connexion with badams had. i was a little the more embarrassed because of my acquaintance with mr. rickard and his family, and, of course with his brother-in-law, dr. urchell, of whom i have made numerous enquiries to know what mr. rickard intended doing at birmingham. he (expressed a) hope it would be nothing unpleasant to you, but was not sure. our only bit of comfort in the matter was on hearing from daniell about you a little; he was here to-day, and glad to hear of you through me. but now that i may write, let me say that mrs. faraday has been very anxious with myself, and begs me earnestly to remember her to mrs. phillips. we have often wished we could have had you here for an hour or two, to break off what we supposed might be the train of thoughts at home.
-with regard to the five guineas, do not think of it for a moment. whilst i supposed a mercantile concern wanted my opinion for its own interested uses, i saw no reason why it should not pay me; but it is altogether another matter when it becomes your affair. i do not think you would have wished me to pay you five guineas for anything you might have done personally for me. “dog don’t eat dog,” as sir e. home said to me in a similar case. the affair is settled.
-i have no doubt i shall be amused and, as you speak of new facts, instructed by your letter to dr. reid, as i am by all your letters. daniell says he thinks you are breaking a fly upon the wheel. you know i consider you as the prince of chemical critics.
-pearsall has been working, as you know, on red manganese solutions. he has not proved, but he makes out a strong case for the opinion, that they owe their colour and other properties to manganesic acid. this paper will be in the next number of the journal.
-with regard to the gramme, wine-pint, etc., etc., in the manipulation i had great trouble about them, for i could find no agreement, and at last resolved to take certain conclusions from capt. kater’s paper and the act of parliament, and calculate the rest. i think i took the data at page 67, paragraph 119, as the data, but am not sure, and cannot go over them again.
-my memory gets worse and worse daily. i will not, therefore, say i have not received your pharmacopœia--that of 1824 is what i have at hand and use. i am not aware of any other. i have sent a paper to the r. s., but not chemical. it is on sound, etc., etc. if they print it, of course you will have a copy in due time.
-i am, my dear phillips, most faithfully and sincerely yours, m. faraday.
-is it right to ask what has become of badams? i suppose he is, of course, a defaulter at the r. s.
-this sacrifice for science was not small. he had made £1,000 in 1830 out of these professional occupations, and in 1831 would have made more but for his own decision. in 1832 some excise work that he had retained brought him in £155 9s.; but in no subsequent year did it bring in so much. he might easily have made £5,000 a year had he chosen to cultivate the professional connection thus formed; and as he continued, with little intermission, in activity till 1860, he might have died a wealthy man. but he chose otherwise; and his first reward came in the autumn of 1831, in the great discovery of magneto-electric currents--the principle upon which all our modern dynamos and transformers are based, the foundation of all the electric lighting and electric transmission of power. from this work he went on to a research on the identity of all the kinds of electricity, until then supposed to be of separate sorts, and from this to electro-chemical work of the very highest value. of all these investigations some account will be found in the chapters which follow.
-during the long vacation of 1832 pusey had plenty of work on hand. the british association had held its first meeting in oxford during the month of june, and on the 21st the honorary degree of d.c.l. was bestowed on four of its distinguished members: brewster, faraday, brown, and dalton. keble, who was now professor of poetry, was angry at the “temper and tone of the oxford doctors”; they had “truckled sadly to the spirit of the times” in receiving “the hodge-podge of philosophers” as they did. dr. l. carpenter had assured dr. macbride that “the university had prolonged her existence for a hundred years by the kind reception he and his fellows had received.”
-it is not without significance, perhaps, that all the four men thus contemptuously labelled by keble as the “hodge-podge of philosophers” were dissenters. brewster and brown (the great botanist and discoverer of the “brownian” motion of particles) belonged to the presbyterian church of scotland, dalton was a member of the society of friends, and faraday a sandemanian. newman appears to have been equally discomposed by the circumstance, for he got his friend mr. rose to write an article--a long and weary diatribe--against the british association, which he inserted in the british critic for 1839. its slanders, assumptions, suppressions, and suggestions are in a very unworthy temper.
-faraday’s devotion to the royal institution and its operations was marvellous. he had already abandoned outside professional work. from 1838 he refused to see any callers except three times a week. his extreme desire was to give himself uninterruptedly to research. his friend a. de la rive says:--
-every morning faraday went into his laboratory as the man of business goes to his office, and then tried by experiment the truth of the ideas which he had conceived overnight, as ready to give them up if experiment said no as to follow out the consequences with rigorous logic if experiment answered yes.
-he had in 1827 declined the appointment of professor of chemistry in the university (afterwards called university college) of london, giving as his reason the interests of the royal institution. he wrote:--
-i think it a matter of duty and gratitude on my part to do what i can for the good of the royal institution in the present attempt to establish it firmly. the institution has been a source of knowledge and pleasure to me for the last fourteen years; and though it does not pay me in salary what i now strive to do for it, yet i possess the kind feelings and goodwill of its authorities and members, and all the privileges it can grant or i require; and, moreover, i remember the protection it has afforded me during the past years of my scientific life. these circumstances, with the thorough conviction that it is a useful and valuable establishment, and the strong hopes that exertions will be followed with success, have decided me in giving at least two years more to it, in the belief that after that time it will proceed well, into whatever hands it may pass.
-in 1829, however, he was asked to become lecturer on chemistry at the royal academy at woolwich. as this involved only twenty lectures a year he agreed, the salary being fixed at £200 a year. these lectures were continued until 1849.
-in 1836 the whole course of his scientific work was changed by his appointment as scientific adviser to trinity house, the body which has official charge of the lighthouse service in great britain. to the deputy-master he wrote:--
-i consider your letter to me as a great compliment, and should view the appointment at the trinity house, which you propose, in the same light; but i may not accept even honours without due consideration.
-in the first place, my time is of great value to me; and if the appointment you speak of involved anything like periodical routine attendances, i do not think i could accept it. but if it meant that in consultation, in the examination of proposed plans and experiments, in trials, etc., made as my convenience would allow, and with an honest sense of a duty to be performed, then i think it would consist with my present engagements. you have left the title and the sum in pencil. these i look at mainly as regards the character of the appointment; you will believe me to be sincere in this when you remember my indifference to your proposition as a matter of interest, though not as a matter of kindness.
-in consequence of the goodwill and confidence of all around me, i can at any moment convert my time into money, but i do not require more of the latter than is sufficient for necessary purposes. the sum, therefore, of £200 is quite enough in itself, but not if it is to be the indicator of the character of the appointment; but i think you do not view it so, and that you and i understand each other in that respect; and your letter confirms me in that opinion. the position which i presume you would wish me to hold is analogous to that of a standing counsel.
-as to the title, it might be what you pleased almost. chemical adviser is too narrow, for you would find me venturing into parts of the philosophy of light not chemical. scientific adviser you may think too broad (or in me too presumptuous); and so it would be, if by it was understood all science.
-he held the post of scientific adviser for nearly thirty years. the records of his work are to be found in nineteen large portfolios full of manuscripts, all indexed with that minute and scrupulous attention to order and method which characterised all his work.
-faraday’s hope, expressed in 1827, that in two years the royal institution might be restored to a financially sound position, was not realised. he worked with the most scrupulous economy, noting down every detail of expenditure even in farthings. “we were living on the parings of our own skin,” he once told the managers. in 1832 the financial question became acute. at the end of that year a committee of investigation reported as follows:--
-the committee are certainly of opinion that no reduction can be made in mr. faraday’s salary--£100 per annum, house, coals, and candles; and beg to express their regret that the circumstances of the institution are not such as to justify their proposing such an increase of it as the variety of duties which mr. faraday has to perform, and the zeal and ability with which he performs them, appear to merit.
-a hundred a year, the use of two rooms, and coals! such was the stipend of the man who had just before been made d.c.l. of oxford, and had received from the royal society the highest award it can bestow--the copley medal! true, he made £200 by the woolwich lectures; but he had a wife to maintain, his aged mother was entirely dependent upon him, and there were many calls upon his private exercise of charity.
-drayton manor, may 3, 1835.
-my dear ashley,--you do me but justice in entertaining the belief that had i remained in office one of my earliest recommendations to his majesty would have been to grant a pension to mr. faraday, on the same principles precisely upon which one was granted to mr. airy. if there had been the means, i would have made the offer before i left office.
-i was quite aware of mr. faraday’s high eminence as a man of science, and the valuable practical service he has rendered to the public in that capacity; but i was to blame in not having ascertained whether his pecuniary circumstances made an addition to his income an object to him.
-i am sure no man living has a better claim to such a consideration from the state than he has, and i trust the principle i acted on with regard to the award of civil pensions will not only remove away impediments of delicacy and independent feeling from the acceptance of them, but will add a higher value to the grant of a pension as an honourable distinction than any that it could derive from its pecuniary amount.
-ever, my dear ashley, most faithfully yours, robert peel.
-sir james south still endeavoured to bring about the grant thus deferred, and wrote to the hon. caroline fox, asking her to put the historiette of faraday in the hands of lord holland, for him to lay before melbourne. faraday at first demurred to sir james south’s action, but on the advice of his father-in-law, barnard, withdrew his demurrer. later in the year he was asked to wait on lord melbourne at the treasury. he has left a diary of the events of the day, october 26th. according to these notes it appears that faraday first had a long talk with melbourne’s secretary, mr. young, about his first demurring on religious grounds to accept the pension, about his objection to savings’ banks, and the laying-up of wealth. later in the day he had a short interview with the first lord of the treasury, when lord melbourne, utterly mistaking the nature of the man before him, inveighed roundly upon the whole system of giving pensions to scientific and literary persons, which he described as a piece of humbug. he prefixed the word “humbug” with a participle which faraday’s notes describe as “theological.” faraday, with an instant flash of indignation, bowed and withdrew. the same evening he left his card and the following note at the treasury:--
-to the right hon. lord viscount melbourne, first lord of the treasury.
-my lord,--the conversation with which your lordship honoured me this afternoon, including, as it did, your lordship’s opinion of the general character of the pensions given of late to scientific persons, induces me respectfully to decline the favour which i believe your lordship intends for me; for i feel that i could not, with satisfaction to myself, accept at your lordship’s hands that which, though it has the form of approbation, is of the character which your lordship so pithily applied to it.
-faraday’s diary says:--
-did not like it much, and, on the whole, regret that friends should have placed me in the situation in which i found myself. lord melbourne said that “he thought there had been a great deal of humbug in the whole affair. he did not mean my affair, of course, but that of the pensions altogether.”... i begged him to understand that i had known nothing of the matter until far advanced, and, though grateful to those friends who had urged it forward, wished him to feel at perfect liberty in the affair as far as i was concerned.... in the evening i wrote and left a letter. i left it myself at ten o’clock at night, being anxious that lord melbourne should have it before anything further was done in the affair.
-however, the matter did not end here. faraday’s friends were indignant. a caustic, and probably exaggerated, account--for which faraday disclaimed all responsibility--of the interview appeared in fraser’s magazine, and was copied into the times of november 28th, with the result that, had it not been for the personal intervention of the king, the pension might have been refused. the storm, however, passed away, and the pension of £300 per annum was granted on december 24th. years afterwards, writing to mr. b. bell, faraday said, “lord melbourne behaved very handsomely in the matter.”
-here you have him in his glory--not that his position was inglorious when he stood before melbourne, then decorated with a blue velvet travelling cap, and lounging with one leg over the chair of canning!--and distinctly gave that illustrious despiser of “humbug” to understand that he had mistaken his lad. no! but here you have him as he first flashed upon the intelligence of mankind the condensation of the gases, or the identity of the five electricities.
-after a lively summary of his career, and the jocular suggestion that, as the successor of sir humphry davy, far-a-day must be near-a-knight the article continues:--
-the future baronet is a very good little fellow ... playing a fair fork over a leg of mutton, and devoid of any reluctance to partake an old friend’s third bottle. we know of few things more agreeable than a cigar and a bowl of punch (which he mixes admirably) in the society of the unpretending ex-bookbinder....
-well, although young got broderip to write a sort of defence of his master, and “justice b----”--mirabile dictu!--got hook to print it in the john bull, the current of public feeling could not be stopped: regina spoke out--william rex, as in duty bound, followed--melbourne apologised--and “michael’s pension, michael’s pension” is all right.
-in one of his note-books of this period is found the following entry:--
-15 january, 1834.
-within the last week have observed twice that a slight obscurity of the sight of my left eye has happened. it occurred on reading the letters of a book held about fourteen inches from the eye, being obscured as by a fog over a space about half an inch in diameter. this space was a little to the right and below the axes of the eye. looking for the effect now and other times, i cannot perceive it. i note this down that i may hereafter trace the progress of the effect if it increases or becomes more common.
-“physically,” says tyndall, “faraday was below the middle size, well set, active, and with extraordinary animation of countenance. his head from forehead to back was so long that he had usually to bespeak his hats.” in youth his hair was brown, curling naturally; later in life it approached to white, and he always parted it down the middle. his voice was pleasant, his laugh was hearty, his manners when with young people, or when excited by success in the laboratory, were gay to boyishness. indeed, until the end of the active period of his life he never lost the capacity for boyish delight, or for unbending in fun after the stress of severe labour.
-scientific researches: first period.
-from first to last the original scientific researches of faraday extend over a period of forty-four years, beginning with an analysis of caustic lime, published in the quarterly journal of science in 1816, and ending with his last unfinished researches of 1860 to 1862, on the possible existence of new relations between magnetism and gravity and between magnetism and light. the mere list of their titles fills several pages in the catalogue of scientific papers published by the royal society.
-for convenience of description, these forty-four years may be divided into three periods: the first lasting from 1816 to 1830, a period of miscellaneous and in some respects preliminary activity; the second from 1831 to the end of 1839, the period of the classical experimental researches in electricity down to the time when they were temporarily suspended by the serious state of his health; the third from 1844, when he was able to resume work, down to 1860, a period which includes the completion of the experimental researches on electricity, the discovery of the relations between light and magnetism, and that of diamagnetism.
-faraday’s first research was an analysis for sir humphry davy of a specimen of caustic lime which had been sent to him by the duchess of montrose from tuscany. the quarterly journal of science, in which it appeared, was a precursor of the proceedings of the royal institution, and was indeed edited by professor w. f. brande. faraday frequently wrote for it during these years, and took editorial charge of it on more than one occasion during brande’s holidays. the paper on caustic lime was reprinted by faraday in the volume of his “experimental researches on chemistry and physics,” prefaced by the following note:--
-i reprint this paper at full length; it was the beginning of my communications to the public, and in its results very important to me. sir humphry davy gave me the analysis to make as a first attempt in chemistry, at a time when my fear was greater than my confidence, and both far greater than my knowledge; at a time also when i had no thought of ever writing an original paper on science. the addition of his own comments, and the publication of the paper, encouraged me to go on making, from time to time, other slight communications, some of which appear in this volume. their transference from the quarterly into other journals increased my boldness, and now that forty years have elapsed, and i can look back on what successive communications have led to, i still hope, much as their character has changed, that i have not either now or forty years ago been too bold.
-for the next two or three years faraday was very closely occupied in the duties of assisting sir humphry davy in his researches, and in helping to prepare the lectures for both davy and brande. yet he found time still to work on his own account. in 1817 he had six papers and notes in the quarterly journal of science, including one on the escape of gases through capillary tubes, and others on wire-gauze safety lamps and davy’s experiments on flame. in 1818 he had eleven papers in the journal; the most important being on the production of sound in tubes by flames, while another was on the combustion of the diamond. in 1819 he had nineteen papers in the quarterly journal, chiefly of a chemical nature. these related to boracic acid, the composition of steels, the separation of manganese from iron, and on the supposed new metal, “sirium” or “vestium,” which he showed to be only a mixture of iron and sulphur with nickel, cobalt, and other metals.
-this discovery, which showed what was the geometrical relation between the magnet and the current, also showed why the earlier attempts had failed. it was requisite that the electricity should be in a state of steady flow; neither at rest as in the experiments with electric charges, nor yet in capricious or oscillatory rush as in those with spark-discharges. faraday, adverting a quarter of a century later to oersted’s discovery, said: “it burst open the gates of a domain in science, dark till then, and filled it with a flood of light.”
-the very day that oersted’s memoir was published in england, davy brought a copy down into the laboratory of the royal institution, and he and faraday at once set to work to repeat the experiments and verify the facts.
-it is a matter of history how, on the publication of oersted’s discovery, ampère leaped forward to generalise on electromagnetic actions, and discovered the mutual actions that may exist between two currents, or rather between two conducting wires that carry currents. they are found to experience mutual mechanical forces urging them into parallel proximity. biot and laplace added to these investigations, as also did arago. davy discovered that the naked copper wire, while carrying a current, could attract iron filings to itself--not end-ways in adherent tufts, as the pole of a magnet does, but laterally, each filing or chainlet of filings tending to set itself tangentially at right angles to the axis of the wire.
-this curious right-angled relation between electric flow and magnetic force came as a complete paradox or puzzle to the scientific world. it had taken centuries to throw off the strange unmechanical ideas of force which had dominated the older astronomy. the epicyclic motions of the planets postulated by the ptolemaic system were in no way to be accounted for upon mechanical principles. kepler’s laws of planetary motion were merely empirical, embodying the results of observation, until newton’s discovery of the laws of circular motion and of the principle of universal gravitation placed the planetary theory on a rational basis. newton’s laws required that forces should act in straight lines, and that to every action there should be an equal and opposite reaction. if a attracted b, then b attracted a with an equal force, and the mutual force must be in the line drawn from a to b. the discovery by oersted that the magnet pole was urged by the electric wire in a direction transverse to the line joining them, appeared at first sight to contravene the ideas of force so thoroughly established by newton. how could this transversality be explained? some sought to explain the effect by considering the conducting wire to operate as if made up of a number of short magnets set transversely across the wire, all their north poles being set towards the right, and all their south poles towards the left. ampère took the alternative view that the magnet might be regarded as equivalent to a number of electric currents circulating transversely around the core as an axis. in neither case was the explanation complete.
-i am much flattered and encouraged to go on by your good opinion of what little things i have been able to do in science, and especially as regards the chlorides of carbon.
-you partly reproach us here with not sufficiently esteeming ampère’s experiments on electromagnetism. allow me to extenuate your opinion a little on this point. with regard to the experiments, i hope and trust that due weight is allowed to them; but these you know are few, and theory makes up the great part of what m. ampère has published, and theory in a great many points unsupported by experiments when they ought to have been adduced. at the same time, m. ampère’s experiments are excellent, and his theory ingenious; and, for myself, i had thought very little about it before your letter came, simply because, being naturally sceptical on philosophical theories, i thought there was a great want of experimental evidence. since then, however, i have engaged on the subject, and have a paper in our “institution journal,” which will appear in a week or two, and that will, as it contains experiment, be immediately applied by m. ampère in support of his theory, much more decidedly than it is by myself. i intend to enclose a copy of it to you with the other, and only want the means of sending it.
-i find all the usual attractions and repulsions of the magnetic needle by the conjunctive wire are deceptions, the motions being not attractions or repulsions, nor the result of any attractive or repulsive forces, but the result of a force in the wire, which instead of bringing the pole of the needle nearer to, or further from the wire, endeavours to make it move round it in a never ending circle and motion whilst the battery remains in action. i have succeeded not only in showing the existence of this motion theoretically, but experimentally, and have been able to make the wire revolve round a magnetic pole, or a magnetic pole round the wire, at pleasure. the law of revolution, and to which all the other motions of the needle and wire are reducible, is simple and beautiful.
-conceive a portion of connecting wire north and south, the north end being attached to the positive pole of a battery, the south to the negative. a north magnetic pole would then pass round it continually in the apparent direction of the sun, from east to west above, from west to east below.
-reverse the connections with the battery, and the motion of the pole is reversed; or if the south pole be made to revolve, the motions will be in the opposite directions, as with the north pole.
-i have no doubt that electricity puts the circles of the helix into the same state as those circles are in, that may be conceived in the bar magnet, but i am not certain that this state is directly dependant on the electricity, or that it cannot be produced by other agencies; and therefore, until the presence of electrical currents be proved in the magnet by other than magnetical effects, i shall remain in doubt about ampère’s theory.
-wishing you all health and happiness, and waiting for news from you,
-i am, my dear sir, your very obliged and grateful
-the reference at the beginning of this letter to the chlorides of carbon has to do with his discovery communicated to the royal society. later in the year, a joint paper on another compound of carbon and chlorine, by himself and his friend richard phillips, was sent in. both were printed together in the philosophical transactions of 1821.
-the following is an extract from faraday’s laboratory book relating to the discovery. the account is incomplete, a leaf having been torn out:--
-1821, sept. 3.
-the effort of the wire is always to pass off at a right angle from the pole, indeed to go in a circle round it, so when either pole was brought up to the wire perpendicular to it and to the radius of the circle it described, there was neither attraction nor repulsion, but the moment the pole varied in the slightest manner either in or out, the wire moved one way or the other.
-the poles of the magnet act on the bent wire in all positions and not in the direction only of any axis of the magnet, so that the current can hardly be cylindrical or arranged round the axis of a cylinder?
-from the motion above a north magnet pole in the centre of one of the circles should make the wire continually turn round. arranged a magnet needle in a glass tube with mercury about it, and by a cork, water, &c., supported a connecting wire so that the upper end should go into the silver cup and its mercury, and the lower move in a channel of mercury round the pole of the needle. the battery arranged with the wire as before. in this way got the revolution of the wire round the pole of the magnet. the direction was as follow, looking from above down:--
-very satisfactory, but make more sensible apparatus.
-tuesday, sept. 4.
-apparatus for revolution of wire and magnet. a deep basin with bit of wax at bottom and then filled with mercury. a magnet stuck upright in wax so that pole just above the surface of mercury. then piece of wire floated by cork at lower end dipping into merc^y and above into silver cup as before:--
-the research on the electromagnetic rotations, which was published in the quarterly journal of science for october, 1821 (and reprinted in the second volume of the “experimental researches in electricity”), was the occasion of a very serious misunderstanding with dr. wollaston and his friends, which at one time threatened to cause faraday’s exclusion from the royal society. faraday’s prompt and frank action in appealing to dr. wollaston saved him in a very unpleasant crisis; and the latter came three or four times to the laboratory to witness the experiments. on christmas day of the same year, faraday succeeded in making a wire through which an electric current is passing move under the influence of the earth’s magnetism alone. his brother-in-law, george barnard, who was in the laboratory at the time, wrote:--“all at once he exclaimed, ‘do you see, do you see, do you see, george?’ as the wire began to revolve. one end i recollect was in the cup of quicksilver, the other attached above to the centre. i shall never forget the enthusiasm expressed in his face and the sparkling in his eyes!”
-in 1822 little was added to faraday’s scientific work. he had a joint paper with stodart on steel before the royal society, and in the quarterly journal two short chemical papers and four on electromagnetical motions and magnetism. he had long kept a commonplace book in which he entered notes and queries as well as extracts from books and journals; but this year he began a fresh manuscript volume, into which he transferred many of the queries and suggestions of his own originating. this volume he called “chemical notes, hints, suggestions, and objects of pursuit.” it contains many of the germs of his own future discoveries, as the following examples show:--
-convert magnetism into electricity.
-do pith balls diverge by disturbance of electricities in consequence of induction or not?
-general effects of compression, either in condensing gases, or producing solutions, or even giving combinations at low temperatures.
-light through gold leaf on to zine or most oxidable metals, these being poles--or on magnetic bars.
-transparency of metals. sun’s light through gold leaf. two gold leaves made poles--light passed through one to the other.
-whenever any query found an answer, he drew his pen through it and added the date. in front of the book--probably at some later time--he wrote these words:--
-i already owe much to these notes, and think such a collection worth the making by every scientific man. i am sure none would think the trouble lost after a year’s experience.
-a striking example had already occurred of similar suggestive notes in the optical queries of sir isaac newton.
-in another manuscript notebook occur the following entries under date of september 10, 1821:--
-2 similar poles though they repell at most distances attract at very small distances and adhere. query why....
-could not magnetise a plate of steel so as to resemble flat spiral. either the magnetism would be very weak and irregular or there would be none at all.
-these are interesting as showing how faraday was educating himself by continual experiment. the explanation of each of these paradoxes has long passed into the commonplace of physics; but they would still puzzle many who have learned their science bookishly at second-hand.
-it will be noted that amongst the entries cited above there are two of absolutely capital importance, one foreshadowing the great discovery of magneto-electric induction, the other indicating how the existence of electro-optical relations was shaping itself as a possibility in faraday’s mind. an entry in his laboratory book of september 10 is of great interest:--
-it may be added that no such optical effect of electrolytic conduction as that here looked for has yet been discovered. the experiment, unsuccessful at that day, remains still an unsuccessful one. a singular interest attaches to it, however, and it was repeated several times by faraday in subsequent years, in hope of some results.
-in 1823 faraday read two papers to the royal society, one on liquid chlorine, the other on the condensation of several gases into liquids. no sooner was the work completed than he dashed off a letter to de la rive to tell him what he had accomplished. under date march 24, 1823, he writes:--
-i have been at work lately, and obtained results which i hope you will approve of. i have been interrupted twice in the course of experiments by explosions, both in the course of eight days--one burnt my eyes, the other cut them; but fortunately escaped with slight injury only in both cases, and am now nearly well. during the winter i took the opportunity of examining the hydrate of chlorine, and analysing it; the results, which are not very important, will appear in the next number of the quarterly journal, over which i have no influence. sir h. davy, on seeing my paper, suggested to me to work with it under pressure, and see what would happen by heat, &c. accordingly i enclosed it in a glass tube hermetically sealed, heated it, obtained a change in the substance, and a separation into two different fluids; and upon further examination i found that the chlorine and water had separated from each other, and the chlorine gas, not being able to escape, had condensed into the liquid form. to prove that it contained no water, i dried some chlorine gas, introduced it into a long tube, condensed it, and then cooled the tube, and again obtained fluid chlorine. hence what is called chlorine gas is the vapour of a fluid....
-i expect to be able to reduce many other gases to the liquid form, and promise myself the pleasure of writing you about them. i hope you will honour me with a letter soon.
-i am, dear sir, very faithfully, your obedient servant,
-the work of liquefying the gases had been taken up by faraday during his hours of liberty from other duties. it was probably his characteristic dislike to “doubtful knowledge” which prompted him to re-examine a substance which had at one time been regarded as chlorine in a solid state, but which davy in 1810 had demonstrated to be a hydrate of that element. the first work was, as narrated above, to make a new analysis of the supposed substance. this analysis, duly written out, was submitted to sir humphry, who, without stating precisely what results he anticipated might follow, suggested heating the hydrate under pressure in a hermetically sealed glass tube. this faraday did. when so heated, the tube filled with a yellow atmosphere, and on cooling was found to contain two liquids, one limpid and colourless like water, the other of an oily appearance. concerning this research a curious story is told in the life of davy. dr. paris, davy’s friend and biographer, happened to visit the laboratory while faraday was at work on these tubes. seeing the oily liquid, he ventured to rally the young assistant upon his carelessness in employing greasy tubes. later in the day, faraday, on filing off the end of the tube, was startled by finding the contents suddenly to explode; the oily matter completely disappearing. he speedily ascertained the cause. the gas, liberated from combination with water by heat, had under the pressure of its own evolution liquefied itself, only to re-expand with violence when the tube was opened. early the next day dr. paris received the following laconic note:--
-the oil you noticed yesterday turns out to be liquid chlorine.
-yours faithfully, m. faraday.
-later he adopted a compressing syringe to condense the gas, and again succeeded in liquefying it. davy, who added a characteristic note to faraday’s published paper, immediately applied the same method of liquefaction by its own pressure to hydrochloric acid gas; and faraday reduced a number of other gases by the same means. these researches were not without danger. in the preliminary experiments an explosion of one of the tubes drove thirteen fragments of glass into faraday’s eye. at the end of the year he drew up a historical statement on the liquefaction of gases, which was published in the quarterly journal for january, 1824. a further statement by him was published in the philosophical magazine for 1836; and in 1844 his further researches on the liquefaction of gases were published in the philosophical transactions.
-in 1824 faraday again brought to the royal society a chemical discovery of first importance. the paper was on some new compounds of carbon and hydrogen, and on certain other products obtained during decomposition of oil by heat. from condensed oil-gas, so obtained, faraday succeeded in separating the liquid known as benzin or benzol, or, as he named it at the time, bicarburet of hydrogen. it has since its discovery formed the basis of several great chemical industries, and is manufactured in vast quantities. prior to the reading of this paper he had, as we have already related, been elected a fellow of the royal society, an honour to which he had for some years aspired, and which stood alone in his regard above the scientific honours of later years.
-in this year he tried, amongst his unsuccessful experiments, two of singular interest. one was an attempt to find whether two crystals (such as nitre) exercised upon one another any polar attractions like those of two lodestones. he suspended them by fibres of cocoon silk, and, finding this material not delicate enough, by spider-lines. the other was an attempt to discover magneto-electricity. for various reasons he concluded that the approximation of the pole of a powerful magnet to a conductor carrying a current would have the effect of diminishing the amount of that current. he placed magnets within a copper wire helix, and observed with a galvanometer whether the current sent through the circuit of the helix by a given battery was less when the magnet was absent. the result was negative.
-in this year also began the laborious researches on optical glass, which though in themselves leading to no immediate success of commercial value, nevertheless furnished faraday with the material essential at the time for the making of the most momentous of all his discoveries. a committee had been appointed by the president and council of the royal society for the improvement of glass for optical purposes, and faraday was amongst those chosen to act upon it.
-in 1825 the royal society committee delegated the investigation of optical glass to a sub-committee of three, herschel (afterwards sir john), dollond (the optician), and faraday. the chemical part, including the experimental manufacture, was entrusted to faraday. dollond was to work the glass and test its qualities from the instrument maker’s point of view, whilst herschel was to examine its refraction, dispersion, and other physical properties. this sub-committee worked for nearly five years, though by the removal of herschel from england its number was reduced to two. in 1827 the work became more arduous. faraday thus writes:--
-the president and council of the royal society applied to the president and managers of the royal institution for leave to erect on their premises an experimental room with a furnace, for the purpose of continuing the investigation on the manufacture of optical glass. they were guided in this by the desire which the royal institution has always evinced to assist in the advancement of science; and the readiness with which the application was granted showed that no mistaken notion had been formed in this respect. as a member of both bodies, i felt much anxiety that the investigation should be successful. a room and furnaces were built at the royal institution in september, 1827, and an assistant was engaged, sergeant anderson, of the royal artillery. he came on the 3rd of december.
-i cannot resist the occasion that is thus offered me of mentioning the name of mr. anderson, who came to me as an assistant in the glass experiments, and has remained ever since in the laboratory of the royal institution. he assisted me in all the researches into which i have entered since that time; and to his care, steadiness, exactitude, and faithfulness in the performance of all that has been committed to his charge, i am much indebted.--m. f.
-tyndall, who had a great admiration for anderson, declared that his merits as an assistant might be summed up in one phrase--blind obedience. the story is told of him by benjamin abbott:--
-sergeant anderson ... was chosen simply because of the habits of strict obedience his military training had given him. his duty was to keep the furnaces always at the same heat, and the water in the ashpit always at the same level. in the evening he was released, but one night faraday forgot to tell anderson he could go home, and early next morning he found his faithful servant still stoking the glowing furnace, as he had been doing all night long.
-the research on optical glass was viewed askance by several parties. the expenditure of money which it involved was one of the “charges” hurled against the council of the royal society by sir james south in 1830. nevertheless it was deemed sufficiently important to receive powerful support, as the following letter shows:--
-admiralty, 20 dec., 1827.
-i hereby request, on behalf of the board of longitude, that you will continue, in the furnace built at the royal institution, the experiments on glass, directed by the joint committee of the royal society and the board of longitude and already sanctioned by the treasury and the board of excise.
-i am, sir, your obedient servant, thomas young, m.d., sec. bd. long.
-michael faraday, esq., royal institution.
-in february, 1825, faraday’s duties towards the royal institution were somewhat modified. hitherto he had been nominally a mere assistant to davy and brande, though he had occasionally undertaken lectures for the latter. now, on davy’s recommendation, he was, as we have seen, appointed by the managers director of the laboratory under the superintendence of the professor of chemistry. he was relieved, “because of his occupation in research,” from his duty as chemical assistant at the lectures.
-the research on optical glass was not concluded till 1829, when its results were communicated to the royal society in the bakerian lecture of that year--a memoir so long that it is said three sittings were occupied in its delivery. it is printed in extenso in the philosophical transactions of 1830. it opens as follows:--
-when the philosopher desires to apply glass in the construction of perfect instruments, and especially the achromatic telescope, its manufacture is found liable to imperfections so important and so difficult to avoid, that science is frequently stopped in her progress by them--a fact fully proved by the circumstance that mr. dollond, one of our first opticians, has not been able to obtain a disc of flint glass 4½ inches in diameter, fit for a telescope, within the last five years; or a similar disc, of 5 inches, within the last ten years.
-this led to the appointment by sir h. davy of the royal society committee, and the government removed the excise restrictions, and undertook to bear all the expenses as long as the investigation offered a reasonable hope of success.
-the experiments were begun at the falcon glass works, three miles from the royal institution, and continued there in 1825, 1826, and to sept., 1827, when a room was built at the institution. at first the inquiry was pursued principally as related to flint and crown glass; but in september, 1828, it was directed exclusively to the preparation and perfection of peculiar heavy and fusible glasses, from which time continued progress has been made.
-in 1830 the experiments on glass-making were stopped.
-in 1831 the committee for the improvement of glass for optical purposes reported to the royal society council that the telescope made with mr. faraday’s glass had been examined by captain kater and mr. pond. “it bears as great a power as can reasonably be expected, and is very achromatic. the committee therefore recommend that mr. faraday be requested to make a perfect piece of glass of the largest size that his present apparatus will admit, and also to teach some person to manufacture the glass for general sale.”
-in answer to this faraday sent the following letter to dr. roget, sec. r.s.:--
-royal institution, july 4, 1831.
-dear sir,--i send you herewith four large and two small manuscript volumes relating to optical glass, and comprising the journal book and sub-committee book, since the period that experimental investigations commenced at the royal institution.
-with reference to the request which the council of the royal society have done me the honour of making--namely, that i should continue the investigation--i should, under circumstances of perfect freedom, assent to it at once; but obliged as i have been to devote the whole of my spare time to the experiments already described, and consequently to resign the pursuit of such philosophical inquiries as suggested themselves to my own mind, i would wish, under the present circumstances, to lay the glass aside for a while, that i may enjoy the pleasure of working out my own thoughts on other subjects.
-if at a future time the investigation should be renewed, i must beg it to be clearly understood i cannot promise full success should i resume it: all that industry and my abilities can effect shall be done; but to perfect a manufacture, not being a manufacturer, is what i am not bold enough to promise.
-i am, &c., m. faraday.
-the optical glass was a failure, so far as concerned the original hope that it would lead to great improvements in telescopes. nevertheless it furnished scientific men with a new material, the “heavy glass” consisting essentially of boro-silicate of lead, for which sundry uses in spectroscopy and other optical instruments have since been found.
-in 1845 faraday added this note:--
-i consider our results as negative, except as regards any good that may have resulted from my heavy glass in the hands of amici (who applied it to microscopes) and in my late experiments on light.
-these were the famous experiments on magneto-optics and diamagnetism. incidentally the research had led also to the permanent engagement of sergeant anderson as assistant to faraday.
-the year 1830 may be regarded as the close of the first period of faraday’s researches, during which time, though much of his labour had been of a preparatory and even desultory kind, it had been a training for the higher work to come. he had made three notable discoveries in chemistry, the new substances benzol and butylene, and the solubility of naphthalene in sulphuric acid forming the first of a new class of bodies, the sulpho-acids. he had also made an important discovery in physics, that of the electromagnetic rotations. he had already published sixty original papers, besides many notes of lesser importance, nine of these papers being memoirs in the philosophical transactions. he had already begun to receive from learned societies, academies, and universities the recognition of his scientific attainments, and he had established firmly both his own reputation as a lecturer, and the reputation of the royal institution, which was the scene of his lectures.
-scientific researches: second period.
-with the year 1831 begins the period of the celebrated “experimental researches in electricity and magnetism.” during the years which had elapsed since his discovery of the electromagnetic rotations in 1823, faraday, though occupied, as we have seen, with other matters, had not ceased to ponder the relation between the magnet and the electric current. the great discoveries of oersted, ampère, and arago had culminated in england in two results: in faraday’s discovery that the wire which carries an electric current tends to revolve around the pole of a neighbouring magnet; and in sturgeon’s invention of the soft-iron electromagnet, a core of iron surrounded by a coil of copper wire, capable of acting as a magnet at will when the electric current is transmitted to the coil and so caused to circulate around the iron core.
-this production of magnetism from electricity, at will, and at a distance, by the simple device of sending the electricity to circulate as a current around the central core of iron was then, as now, a cause of much speculation. the iron core which is to be made temporarily into a magnet stands alone, isolated. though surrounded outwardly by the magnetising coil of copper wire, it does not touch it; nay, must be screened from contact with it by appropriate insulation. the electric current entering the copper coil at one end is confined from leaving the copper wire by any lateral path: it must circulate around each and every convolution, nor be permitted to flow back by the return-wire until it has performed the required amount of circulation. that the mere external circulation of electric current around a totally disconnected interior core of iron should magnetise that core; that the magnetisation should be maintained so long as the circulation of electricity is maintained; and that the magnetising forces should cease so soon as the current is stopped, are facts, familiar enough to every beginner in the science, but mysterious enough from the abstract point of view. faraday was firmly persuaded that, great as had been these discoveries of the production of magnetism and magnetic motions from electricity, there remained other relations of no less importance to be discovered. again and again his mind recurred to the subject. if it were possible to use electricity to produce magnetism, why should not the converse be true? in 1822 his notebook suggestion was, as we have seen, “convert magnetism into electricity.” yes, but how?
-he possessed an intuitive bent of mind to inquire about the relations of facts to one another. convinced by sheer converse with nature in the laboratory, of the correlation of forces and of the conservation of energy long before either of those doctrines had received distinct enunciation as principles of natural philosophy, he seems never to have viewed an action without thinking of the necessary and appropriate reaction; never to have deemed any physical relation complete in which discovery had not been made of the converse relations for which instinctively he sought. so in december, 1824, we find him experimenting on the passage of a bar magnet through a helix of copper wire (see quarterly journal for july, 1825), but without result. in november, 1825, he sought for evidence that might prove an electric current in a wire to exercise an influence upon a neighbouring wire connected to a galvanometer. but again, and yet again in december of the same year, the entry stands “no result.” a third failure did not convince him that the search was hopeless: it showed him that he had not yet found the right method of experimenting. it is narrated of him how at this period he used to carry in his waistcoat pocket a small model of an electromagnetic circuit--a straight iron core about an inch long, surrounded by a few spiral turns of copper wire--which model he at spare moments would take out and contemplate, using it thus objectively to concentrate his thoughts upon the problem to be solved. a copper coil, an iron core. given that electricity was flowing through the one, it evoked magnetism in the other. what was the converse? at first sight it might seem simple enough. put magnetism from some external source into the iron core, and then try whether on connecting the copper coil to a galvanometer there was any indication of an electric current. but this was exactly what was found not to result.
-faraday knew of all the discussions which had arisen respecting arago’s rotations. they may have been the cause of his unsuccessful attempts of 1824 and 1825. in april, 1828, for the fourth time he tried to discover the currents which he was convinced must be producible by the magnet, and for the fourth time without result. the cause of failure was that both magnet and coil were at rest.
-the summer of 1831 witnessed him for the fifth time making the attack on the problem thus persistently before him. in his laboratory note-book he heads the research “experiments on the production of electricity from magnetism.” the following excellent summary of the laboratory notes is taken from bence jones’s “life and letters”:--
-charged a battery of ten pairs of plates four inches square. made the coil on b side one coil, and connected its extremities by a copper wire passing to a distance, and just over a magnetic needle (three feet from wire ring), then connected the ends of one of the pieces on a side with battery: immediately a sensible effect on needle. it oscillated and settled at last in original position. on breaking connection of a side with battery, again a disturbance of the needle.
-in the seventeenth paragraph, written on the 30th of august, he says, “may not these transient effects be connected with causes of difference between power of metals at rest and in motion in arago’s experiments?” after this he prepared fresh apparatus.
-as was his manner, he wrote off to one of his friends a letter telling what he was at work upon. on this occasion the recipient of his confidences was his friend phillips:--
-royal institution. sept. 23, 1831.
-my dear phillips,
-i write now, though it may be some time before i send my letter, but that is of no great consequence. i received your letter to dr. reid and read it on the coach going to hastings, where i have been passing a few weeks, and i fancy my fellow passengers thought i had got something very droll in hand; they sometimes started at my sudden bursts, especially when i had the moment before been very grave and serious amongst the proportions. as you say in the letter there are some new facts and they are always of value; otherwise i should have thought you had taken more trouble than the matter deserved. your quotation from boyle has nevertheless great force in it.
-i shall send with this a little thing in your own way “on the alleged decline of science in england.” it is written by dr. moll of utrecht, whose name may be mentioned in conversation though it is not printed in the pamphlet. i understand the view taken by moll is not at all agreeable to some. “i do not know what business moll had to interfere with our scientific disputes” is however the strongest observation i have heard of in reply.
-we think about you all very much at times, and talk over affairs of nelson square, but i think we dwell more upon the illnesses and nursings and upon the sudden calls and chats rather than the regular parties. pray remember us both to mrs. phillips and the damsils--i hope the word is not too familiar.
-i am dear phillips, most truly yours, m. faraday.
-r. phillips, esq., &c., &c., &c.
-september 24 was the third day of his experiments. he began (paragraph 21) by trying to find the effect of one helix of wire, carrying the voltaic current of ten pairs of plates, upon another wire connected with a galvanometer. “no induction sensible.” longer and different metallic helices (paragraph 22) showed no effect; so he gave up those experiments for that day, and tried the effects of bar magnets instead of the ring magnet he had used on the first day.
-in paragraph 33 he says:--
-an iron cylinder had a helix wound on it. the ends of the wires of the helix were connected with the indicating helix at a distance by copper wire. then the iron placed between the poles of bar magnets as in accompanying figure (fig. 5). every time the magnetic contact at n or s was made or broken, there was magnetic motion at the indicating helix--the effect being, as in former cases, not permanent, but a mere momentary push or pull. but if the electric communication (i.e. by the copper wire) was broken, then the disjunction and contacts produced no effect whatever. hence here distinct conversion of magnetism into electricity.
-the fourth day of work was october 1. paragraphs 36, 37, and 38 describe the discovery of induced voltaic currents:--
-36. a battery of ten troughs, each of ten pairs of plates four inches square, charged with good mixture of sulphuric and nitric acid, and the following experiments made with it in the following order.
-37. one of the coils (of a helix of copper wire 203 feet long) was connected with the flat helix, and the other (coil of same length round same block of wood) with the poles of the battery (it having been found that there was no metallic contact between the two); the magnetic needle at the indicating flat helix was affected, but so little as to be hardly sensible.
-38. in place of the indicating helix, our galvanometer was used, and then a sudden jerk was perceived when the battery communication was made and broken, but it was so slight as to be scarcely visible. it was one way when made, the other when broken, and the needle took up its natural position at intermediate times.
-hence there is an inducing effect without the presence of iron, but it is either very weak or else so sudden as not to have time to move the needle. i rather suspect it is the latter.
-the fifth day of experiment was october 17. paragraph 57 describes the discovery of the production of electricity by the approximation of a magnet to a wire:--
-a cylindrical bar magnet three-quarters of an inch in diameter, and eight inches and a half in length, had one end just inserted into the end of the helix cylinder (220 feet long); then it was quickly thrust in the whole length, and the galvanometer needle moved; then pulled out, and again the needle moved, but in the opposite direction. this effect was repeated every time the magnet was put in or out, and therefore a wave of electricity was so produced from mere approximation of a magnet, and not from its formation in situ.
-the cause of all the earlier failures was, then, that both magnet and coil were at rest. the magnet might lie in or near the coil for a century and cause no effect. but while moving towards the coil, or from it, or by spinning near it, electric currents were at once induced.
-the ninth day of his experiments was october 28, and this day he “made a copper disc turn round between the poles of the great horse-shoe magnet of the royal society. the axis and edge of the disc were connected with a galvanometer. the needle moved as the disc turned.” the next day that he made experiments, november 4, he found “that a copper wire one-eighth of an inch drawn between the poles and conductors produced the effect.” in his paper, when describing the experiment, he speaks of the metal “cutting” the magnetic curves, and in a note to his paper he says, “by magnetic curves i mean lines of magnetic forces which would be depicted by iron filings.”
-we here come upon those “lines of force” which played so important a part in these and many of faraday’s later investigations. they were known before faraday’s time--had, in fact, been known for two hundred years. descartes had seen in them evidence for his hypothetical vortices. musschenbroek had mapped them. but it was reserved to faraday to point out their true significance. to the very end of his life he continued to speculate and experiment upon them.
-brighton: november 29, 1831.
-dear phillips,--for once in my life i am able to sit down and write to you without feeling that my time is so little that my letter must of necessity be a short one and accordingly i have taken an extra large sheet of paper intending to fill it with news and yet as to news i have none for i withdraw more and more from society, and all i have to say is about myself.
-but how are you getting on? are you comfortable? and how does mrs. phillips do; and the girls? bad correspondant as i am, i think you owe me a letter and as in the course of half an hour you will be doubly in my debt pray write us, and let us know all about you. mrs. faraday wishes me not to forget to put her kind remembrances to you and mrs. phillips in my letter.
-the lenten fast was drawing to a close when i arrived. for the first week it is strictly observed, meat, fish, eggs, milk, cheese, and even olive-oil being prohibited, so that the ordinary diet is reduced to bread and water, to which is sometimes added a nauseous soup made from dried cuttle-fish or octopus; for these along with shellfish are not reckoned to be animal food, as being bloodless. during the next four weeks some relaxation is allowed; but no one with any pretensions to piety would even then partake of fish, meat, or eggs; the last-mentioned are stored up until easter and then, being dyed red, are either eaten or--more wisely--offered to visitors. then comes ‘the great week’ (ἡ μεγάλη ἑβδομάδα), and with it the same strict regulations come into force as during the first week of lent. it was not hard to perceive that for most of the villagers the fast had been a real and painful abstinence. work had almost ceased; for there was little energy left. leisure was not enjoyed; for there was little spirit even for chatting. everywhere white, sharp-featured faces told of real hunger; and the silence was most often broken by an outburst of irritability. in a few days time i could understand it; for i too perforce fasted; and i must own that a daily diet of dry bread for déjeuner and of dry bread and octopus soup for dinner soon changed my outlook upon life. little wonder then if these folk after six weeks of such treatment were nervous and excitable.
-such was the condition of body and mind in which they attended the long service of good friday night. service i have said, but drama were a more fitting word, a funeral-drama. at the top of the nave, just below the chancel-step, stood a bier and upon it lay the figure of the christ, all too death-like in the dim light. the congregation gaze upon him, reverently hushed, while the priests’ voices rise in prayer and chant as it were in lamentation for the dead god lying there in state. hour after hour passes. the women have kissed the dead form, and are gone. the moment has come for carrying the christ out to burial. the procession moves forward--in front, the priests with candles and torches and, guarded by them, the open bier borne shoulder-high--behind, a reverent, bare-headed crowd. the night is dark and gusty. it rains, and the rugged, tortuous alleys of the town are slippery. it is late, but none are sleeping. unheeding of wind and rain, the women kneel at open door or window, praying, swinging censers, sprinkling perfume on the passing bier. slowly, haltingly, led by the dirge of priests, now in darkness, now lighted by the torches’ flare and intermittent beams from cottage doorways, groping at corners, stumbling in ill-paved by-ways, the mourners follow their god to his grave. the circuit of the town is done. all have taken their last look upon the dead. the sepulchre is reached--a vault beneath the church from which the funeral started. the priests alone enter with the bier. there is a pause. the crowd waits. the silence is deep as the darkness, only broken here and there by a deep-drawn sigh. is it the last depth of anguish, or is it well-nigh relief that the long strain is over? the priests return. in silence the crowd have waited, in silence they disperse. it is finished.
-but there is a sequel on the morrow. soon after dark on easter-eve the same weary yet excited faces may be seen gathered in the church. but there is a change too; there is a feeling abroad of anxiety, of expectancy. hours must yet pass ere midnight, and not till then is there hope of the announcement, ‘christ is risen!’ the suspense seems long. to-night there is restlessness rather than silence. some go to and fro between the church and their homes; others join discordantly in the chants and misplace the responses; anything to cheat the long hours of waiting. midnight draws near; from hand to hand are passed the tapers and candles which shall light the joyful procession, if only the longed-for announcement be made. what is happening there now behind those curtains which veil the chancel from the expectant throng? midnight strikes. the curtains are drawn back. yes, there is the bier, borne but yesternight to the grave. it is empty. that is only the shroud upon it. the words of the priest ring out true, ‘christ is risen!’ and there behind the chancel, see, a second veil is drawn back. there in the sanctuary, on the altar-steps, bright with a blaze of light stands erect the figure of the christ who, so short and yet so long a while ago, was borne lifeless to the tomb. a miracle, a miracle! quickly from the priest’s lighted candle the flame is passed. in a moment the dim building is illumined by a lighted taper in every hand. a procession forms, a joyful procession now. everywhere are light and glad voices and the embraces of friends, crying aloud the news ‘christ is risen’ and answering ‘he is risen indeed.’ in every home the lamb is prepared with haste, the wine flows freely; in the streets is the flash of torches, the din of fire-arms, and all the exuberance of simple joy. the fast is over; the dead has been restored to life before men’s eyes; well may they rejoice even to ecstasy. for have they not felt the ecstasy of sorrow? this was no tableau on which they looked, no drama in which they played a part. it was all true, all real. the figure on the bier was indeed the dead christ; the figure on the altar-steps was indeed the risen christ. in these simple folk religion has transcended reason; they have reached the heights of spiritual exaltation; they have seen and felt as minds more calm and rational can never see nor feel.
-and the ancient greeks, had not they too the gift of ecstasy, the faculty to soar above facts on the wings of imagination? when the drama of demeter and kore was played before the eyes of the initiated at eleusis, were not they too uplifted in mind until amid the magic of night they were no longer spectators of a drama but themselves had a share in demeter’s sorrow and wandering and joy? for the pagan story is not unlike the christian story in its power to move both tears and gladness. as now men mourn beside the bier of christ, so in old time may men have shared demeter’s mourning for her child who though divine had suffered the lot of men and passed away to the house of hades. as now men rejoice when they behold the risen christ, so in old time may men have shared demeter’s joy when her child returned from beneath the earth, proving that there is life beyond the grave. but the old story taught more than this. not only did kore live in the lower world, but her passing thither was not death but wedding. therefore just as now the resurrection of christ, who though divine is the representative of mankind, is held to be an earnest of man’s resurrection, so the wedded life of kore in the nether world may have been to the initiated an assurance of the same bliss to be vouchsafed to them hereafter.
-but the mere fact that a scene of rape should form any part of a religious rite, was to the christians a stumbling-block. this was their insurmountable objection to the mysteries, and they were only too prone to exaggerate a ceremony, which with reverent and delicate treatment need have been in no way morally deleterious, into a sensual and noxious orgy. the story, how demeter’s beautiful and innocent daughter was suddenly carried off from the meadow where she was gathering flowers into the depths of the dark under-world, spoke to them only of the violence and lust of her ravisher aïdoneus. but the legend might bear another complexion. kore, as representative of mankind or at least of the initiated among mankind, suffers what seems the most cruel lot, a sudden departure from this life in the midst of youth and beauty and spring-time; and demeter searches for her awhile in vain, and mourns for her as men mourn their dead. yet afterward it is found that there is no cruelty in kore’s lot, for she is the honoured bride of the king of that world to which she was borne away; and demeter is comforted, for her child is not dead nor lost to her, but is allowed to return in living form to visit her. what then must have been the ‘happier hopes’ held out to those who had looked on the great drama of eleusis? what was meant by that prospect of being ‘god-beloved and sharing the life of gods’? how came it that the assembly of the initiated believed their salvation to lie in the union of hades and persephone, represented in the persons of hierophant and priestess, in the subterranean nuptial-chamber? what was the bearing of the legend dramatically enacted upon these hopes and prospects and beliefs? surely it taught that not only was there physical life beyond death, but a life of wedded happiness with the gods.
-nor did the cults of demeter and kore monopolise these hopes and beliefs. in the religious drama of aphrodite and adonis, in the sabazian mysteries, in the holiest rites of dionysus, in the wild worship of cybele, the same thought seems ever to recur. it matters little whether these gods and their rites were foreign or hellenic in origin. if they were not native, at least they were soon naturalised, and that for the simple reason that they satisfied the religious cravings of the greek race. the essential spirit of their worship, whatever the accidents of form and expression, was the spirit of the old pelasgian worship of demeter; and therefore, though dionysus may have been an immigrant from northern barbarous peoples, the greeks did not hesitate to give him room and honour beside demeter in the very sanctuary of eleusis. similar, we may well believe, was the lot of other foreign gods and rites. whencesoever derived, they owed their reception in greece to the fact that their character appealed to certain native religious instincts of the greek folk. once transplanted to hellenic soil, they were soon completely hellenized; those elements which were foreign or distasteful to greek religion were quickly eradicated or of themselves faded into oblivion, while all that accorded with the hellenic spirit throve into fuller perfection; for the character of a deity and of a cult depends ultimately upon the character of the worshippers.
-there is good reason then to suppose that in old time death may have been even inflicted as the means of effecting wedlock between men and gods; and that the mystic rite of union between dionysus and the wife of the athenian magistrate was based on the same fundamental idea as the mysteries of demeter and persephone or of aphrodite. though in this instance, when once human sacrifice had been given up, all suggestion of death was, so far as we know, removed from the solemnity, yet the repetition year by year of a ceremony of marriage between the god and a mortal woman representing his worshippers might still keep bright in their minds those ‘happier hopes’ of the like bliss laid up for themselves hereafter.
-thus our examination of the mysteries, so far as they are known to us, tends to prove that the doctrines revealed in them to the initiated were simply a development of certain vaguer popular ideas which have been prevalent among the greek folk from the classical age down to our own day. the people entertained hopes that this physical life would continue in a similar form after death; the mysteries gave definite assurance of that immortality by exhibiting to the initiated persephone or adonis or attis restored from the lower world in bodily form; and though that exhibition was in fact merely a dramatic representation, yet to the eyes of religious ecstasy it seemed just as much a living reality as does the risen christ in the modern celebration of easter. the people again were wont to think and to speak of death as a marriage into the lower world; the mysteries showed to the initiated certain representatives of mankind who by death, or even in life, had been admitted to the felicity of wedlock with deities, and thereby confirmed the faithful in their happier hopes of being in like manner themselves god-beloved and of sharing the life of gods.
-since then there is good reason to believe that this was in effect the secret teaching of the mysteries, it would naturally be expected that human marriage should have been reckoned as it were a foretaste of that union with the divine which was promised hereafter, and also that death should have been counted the hour of its approaching fulfilment; in other words, if my view of the mysteries is correct, it would almost inevitably follow that the mysteries should have been brought into close association both with weddings and with funerals. this expectation is confirmed by the facts.
-thus then the evidence for the intimate association of the mysteries, or of the main idea which runs through them, with human weddings is complete and, i hope, convincing; and the custom of the water-pitcher, which concludes it, fitly introduces at the same time the evidence for the association of the same idea with funerals. this is equally plentiful. the vague conception of death as a wedding, which as i have shown was elaborated in the mysteries, has of course already been exemplified in all those passages of ancient literature and modern folk-songs which i have adduced, and i have found in it also the motive for the assimilation of funeral-customs to the customs of marriage. but the evidence that the actual doctrines of the mysteries, in which more definite expression was given to that vague idea, were closely associated with death and funeral-custom is to be found rather in epitaphs and sepulchral monuments. the tone of the epitaphs may be sufficiently illustrated by a single couplet:
-considered collectively, such epitaphs would suggest a distinctly offensive conception of persephone; but in each taken separately, as it was composed, it will be allowed, i think, that if there is supreme audacity, there is equal sublimity. it is just these qualities which give pungency to a blasphemous parody of such epitaphs, in which the wit of ausonius exposes the worst possible aspect of a religious conception which to the pure-minded was wholly pure. my apology for quoting lines which i will not translate must be the fact that a caricature is often no less instructive than a true portrait. the mock epitaph concludes as follows:
-ausonius in jest bears an unpleasant resemblance to clement in earnest; both perverted to their uttermost a doctrine which commanded nothing but reverence from faithful participants in the mysteries.
-‘out of the pure i come, pure queen of them below, eukles and eubouleus and the other gods immortal. for i also avow me that i am of your blessed race, but fate laid me low and the other gods immortal ... starflung thunderbolt. i have flown out of the sorrowful weary wheel. i have passed with eager feet to the circle desired. i have sunk beneath the bosom of despoina, queen of the underworld. i have passed with eager feet from the circle desired. happy and blessed one, thou shalt be god instead of mortal. a kid i have fallen into milk.’
-the gist of the document which the dead man takes with him is then briefly this. he claims to have been pure originally and of the same race as his gods; but as a man he was mortal and exposed to death, and in this respect differed from his gods. he states however that he has performed certain ritual acts which entitle him to be re-admitted to the pure fellowship of the gods now that death is passed. and the answer comes, ‘thou shalt be god instead of mortal.’
-even more abundant evidence is furnished by sepulchral monuments; and in support of my views i cannot do better than quote two high authorities who coincide in their verdict upon the meaning of the scenes represented. in reference to those scenes ‘in which death is conceived in the guise of a marriage’ furtwängler writes: ‘the monuments belonging to this class are extraordinarily numerous, and exhibit very different methods of treating the idea which they carry out. a relief upon a sarcophagus from the villa borghese shows the god of the dead in the act of carrying down the fair kore to be his bride in the lower world. above the steeds of his chariot, which are already disappearing into the depths of the earth, flies eros as guide. the bride however appears to be going only under compulsion and after some struggle; the look of the bridegroom expresses sternness rather than gentleness; and the mother who sits with face averted seems to exclude all thoughts of the daughter’s return. only in the torches which the guide carries in his hand, in the snakes which are looking upward, and in the observant attitude of hecate, can a suggestion of the return be found.
-‘on another sarcophagus--from nazzara--which represents the same marriage-journey, eros is not merely the guide of the steeds, but aids the bridegroom in carrying off kore, so that in this case the struggle with death takes purely the form of a struggle with love. at the same time the mother is driving along with her chariot, thereby signifying the renewal of life, which is yet more clearly betokened in the ploughman and the sower at her side.
-‘in a yet gentler spirit we see the same journey conceived in a vase-painting from lower italy. here there is a look of gentleness on hades’ face; the bride accompanies him gladly, and even takes an affectionate farewell of her mother, who appears to acquiesce in her departure. in this case too eros is flying above the horses, and is turned towards the lovers, while in front of him there flies a dove, the bird sacred to the goddess of love. hecate with torches guides the steeds; near at hand waits hermes to escort the procession; and above the whole scene the stars are shining, as if to indicate the new life in the region of death.
-to sum up briefly: we have seen alike in the literature of ancient greece and in the folk-songs of modern greece that death has commonly been conceived by the hellenic race in the guise of a wedding; a review of marriage-customs and funeral-customs both ancient and modern has re-affirmed the constant association of death and marriage, and has shown how deep-rooted in the minds of the common people that idea must have been which produced a deliberate assimilation of funeral-rites to the ceremonies of marriage. next we investigated the connexion of the mysteries with the popular religion, and saw reason to hold that, far from being subversive of it or alien to it, they inculcated doctrines which were wholly evolved from vaguer popular ideas always current in greece. finally we traced in many of those legends, on which the dramatic representations of the mysteries are known to have been based, a common motif, the idea that death is the entrance for men into a blissful estate of wedded union with their deities. and this religious ideal not only satisfies the condition of agreement with, and evolution from, those popular views in which death figured somewhat vaguely as a form of wedding, but also proves to be the natural and necessary outcome of two religious sentiments with which earlier chapters have dealt; first, the ardent desire for close communion with the gods, and secondly, the belief that men’s bodies as well as their souls survived death and dissolution; for if the body by means of its disintegration rejoined the soul in the nether world, and the human entity was then complete, enjoying the same substantial existence, the same physical no less than mental powers, which it had enjoyed in the upper world, and which the immortal gods enjoyed uninterrupted by death, then, since the same rite of marriage was the consummation both of divine life and of human life, men’s yearning for close communion with their gods required for its ideal and perfect satisfaction the full union of wedlock; and the sacrament which assured men of this consummation was the highest development of the whole greek religion, the mysteries.
-‘out of the pure i come, pure queen of them below, eukles and eubouleus and the other gods immortal. for i also avow me that i am of your blessed race, but fate laid me low....’
-so far with pindar. but the dead man’s claims do not end there: ‘i was admitted to the embrace of despoina, queen of the underworld’; already had he received a foretaste of that divine wedlock which implied equality with the gods; and so there comes the answer, ‘happy and blessed one, thou shalt be god instead of mortal.’
-thus even the highest aspirations of the most spiritually-minded of pagan thinkers owed much to the purely popular religion. the orphic tablet links up the popular conception of death as a wedding with the platonic conception of the deification of the soul. ‘i was admitted to the embrace of despoina, queen of the underworld’: ‘happy and blessed one, thou shalt be god instead of mortal.’
-this is not platonic philosophy but popular religion. phrase after phrase reveals the origin of this conception of love. the hopes most high were the hopes held forth by the mysteries; the blessedness and the loving fellowship with gods were the fulfilment of those hopes. in such language did men ever hint at the joys to which their mystic sacraments gave access. and plato here ventures yet further. the author of those high hopes, the founder of that blessedness, he proclaims, is none other than love--love that appealed not to the soul only of the initiated, but to the whole man, both soul and body--love that meant not only the yearning after wisdom and holiness and spiritual equality with the gods, but that same passion which drew together man and woman, god and goddess--the passion of mankind for their deities, fed in this life by manifold means of communion and even by sacramental union, satisfied hereafter in the full fruition of wedded bliss.
-absolution, and dissolution, 401; of the dead, 396 ff.
-achaeans, religion of, 521 f.
-alastores, 462 ff.; not originally deities, 467 ff.
-allatius, on vrykolakes, 364 ff.
-artemidorus, on death and marriage, 553 ff.
-ass-centaurs, 235 and 237 f.
-augury (see auspices)
-beast-dances, 224 ff.
-bells, worn at popular festivals, 224 ff.
-bones of the dead, how treated after exhumation, 540 f.
-bridal customs (see wedding, marriage)
-‘bridge of arta,’ the, 262 f.
-carnival, celebrations of, 224 ff.
-centaurs (see callicantzari), 190-255; and lapithae, 242; as wizards, 248 f.; compared with callicantzari, 253; general character of, 246; heracles’ fight with, 253; how represented in art, 247; in hesiod, 242; in homer, 243; in pindar, 241; popular conception of, how affected by art, 252; prof. ridgeway’s view of, 244 ff.; various species of, 235, 237; whether human or divine in origin, 241 ff.; why called ‘beasts,’ 245 ff.
-character of modern greeks, 28 ff.
-charon’s obol, 108, 285; as charm to prevent soul from re-entering body, 434; custom of, how interpreted, 405 f.
-chiron, 241 ff., 248; as magician and prophet, 248 f.
-church, influenced by paganism, 572 f.
-‘constantine and areté’ (ballad), 391 f.
-corpse, re-animation of, 112 (see re-animation, resuscitation)
-cremation (see also funeral-rites), 485 ff.; ceremonial, 496, 512; ceremonial substitute for, 491; christian attitude towards, 501; combined with inhumation, 494; disuse of, 501 f.; for disposing of revenants in ancient greece, 416; for disposing of vrykolakes, 411; in theory preferable to inhumation, 488 f.; in recent times, 503; introduced by achaeans, 491; motives for, 502 f.; preferred to inhumation, 500 f.; revival of, 502; serving same religious end as inhumation, 491 ff.
-curses, 387 ff., 409; diagnosed by their effects, 396; executed by demonic agents, 448; fixity of, 417; in euripides, 418; in sophocles, 419; operation of, 447; parental, 391 ff.; revoking of, 388 f.
-daemons, plutarch’s theory of, 583 f.
-dead persons, as messengers to the other world, 344 ff.; what kinds of food presented to, 533 f.
-deadly sins, 425 ff.
-decomposition (see dissolution)
-disintegration (see dissolution)
-dissolution, and absolution, 401; best secured by cremation, 502; desire for, a feature of pelasgian religion, 524; distinguished from annihilation, 525, 538; summary of ancient views concerning, 526; time required for, 486 ff.; why desired, 515 ff.
-dragons, as guardians of buried treasure, 281; in folk-story, 82; popular conception of, 280; story of, 281 f.
-easter, 575 f.; celebration of, 572 ff.
-eleusinian mysteries (see mysteries of demeter)
-ephialtes, 21 (note 2)
-erinyes (see furies)
-excommunication (see also ‘binding’ and ‘loosing’), 401; causing non-dissolution, instances of, 398 ff.; effects of, 386, 396 ff.; origin of, 406; pagan influence on doctrine of, 401 f.
-execration (see curses, imprecations)
-festivals, popular, 34, 35; survival of pagan, 221 ff.
-five, ominous number, 307 (note 1)
-fortieth day after death, customs and beliefs concerning, 486 ff.
-funeral-customs, 345 ff., 496 ff.; assimilated to marriage-customs, 560; compared with marriage-customs, 554 ff.; in relation to the mysteries, 593 f.
-funeral-feasts (see also memorial feasts), 532 f.
-funeral-meats, 533 f., 535 f.
-funerals, solon’s regulations concerning, 346 ff.
-funeral-usage, summary of conclusions concerning, 513 f.
-furies, as agents of clytemnestra, 448; as personified curses, 448; in homer, 522; origin of aeschylus’ conception of, 460 f.
-garlands, at weddings and at funerals, 557 f.
-genii, 255-291; confused with victims offered to them, 267, 271 ff., 276 f.; definition of, 256; how related to the place or object which they inhabit, 259; in form of bulls, 261 f., 277; in form of dragons, 262, 280; in form of snakes, 258, 259, 272 f.; in homer, 269; in human shape, 275; mating with lamiae, 276; of air, 283 ff.; of bridges, 262; of buildings, 259-275; of churches, 261; of houses, 259; of human beings, 287 ff.; of mountains and caves, etc., 280 ff.; of water, 275 ff.; offerings to, 260, 274; sacrifice to, 262 ff.; sacrifice to, in ancient greece, 269 ff.
-gifts to the dead, 493, 528 ff.; how regarded by the church, 531 f.; in form of clothing, 536 f.; in form of drink, 536; in form of food, 533 ff.; in modern greece, 532; in the classical-period, 530 f.; in the dipylon-period, 530; in the homeric age, 529; in the mycenaean age, 529; motive for, 531, 537; on what days presented, 530 f.; until what date continued, 539 f.
-goat-skins, worn at certain popular festivals, 223 ff.
-godhead, ancient view of, 65; attainable by men, 604 f.
-gods, character of greek, 526; greek conception of, 292 f.
-good friday, 572 ff., 574 f.
-holy week, 572 ff.
-immortality, doctrine of, 350 f.
-imprecations (see also curses), 387 ff.
-initiated, future happiness of the, 563 f.; hopes of the, 578 f.
-interment (see inhumation)
-ker, 289 f.
-kore (see also persephone); as representative of the initiated, 578; story of, how represented on sepulchral monuments, 597 f.
-lamp, in prytaneum, 513; ‘the unsleeping,’ 508; thrown into grave at funeral, 512; why placed in graves, 505 f.
-leprosy, penalty for eating pig’s flesh, 87; why named by aeschylus among penalties of blood-guilt, 453 f.
-masks worn at popular festivals, 222 ff.
-messages to the dead, 344 ff.
-metamorphosis (see transformation)
-metempsychosis, plato’s theory of, 604 f.
-miastores, 462 ff.
-mumming, a survival of dionysiac festivals, 229 ff.
-murdered men as avengers (see avengers, revenants)
-murderers, future punishment of, 434 ff.; penalties incurred by, 453 ff.
-nether world (see under-world)
-nomocanon concerning vrykolakes, 365, 402 f.
-non-dissolution (see also vrykolakes), 366; ancient imprecations of, 417 ff.
-olive, foliage or wood used in funerals, 498 f.
-oracles, 305, 331 ff.
-orphic tablets, 595 f.
-pelasgians, religion of, 522 f.
-peleus (see thetis)
-pharmakos, 355 ff.
-phlegon, story of revenant narrated by, 412 ff.
-pomegranate, symbolic usage of, 558 ff.
-punishment after death, 419 ff.
-quince, symbolic usage of, 558 f.
-re-animation (see also resuscitation, vrykolakes), 384; of corpses left unburied, 449; of dead body by the soul, 432 ff.
-revenants (see also vrykolakes); ancient names for, 462 ff.; ancient greek instances of, 412 ff.; as avengers of blood, 434 ff.; as avengers of blood, summary of ancient belief concerning, 461; as avengers of blood, their traits transferred to the furies, 460; called up by sorcerers, 404; contrasted with ghosts, 427; different species of, 384; distinguished from ghosts, 416; exacting their own vengeance, in ancient literature, 438; greek conception of, 394; harmless type of, 394 f.; hellenic conception of, 412; in ancient literature, 430, 438 f.
-salt, dissolving of, as magical ceremony, 388 f.
-shoulder-blade of sheep, used for divination, 321 ff.
-sins, deadly, 409 f., 425 ff.
-slavonic immigrations, 26; influence on belief in vampires, 376 ff.
-snake-form, assumed by genii (see genii)
-souls (see ghosts)
-torches, at funerals, 505 ff.
-transmigration of souls, plato’s theory of, 604 f.
-unburied (see burial, lack of)
-vampires (see vrykolakes); characteristics of slavonic, 387; modern greek conception of, 363 ff.; slavonic treatment of, 410 f.
-vampirism, causes of, 375, 407 ff.; imprecations of, 387; instances of, 367 ff.; widespread belief in, 371 ff.
-vendetta, 440 ff.
-vengeance for blood-guilt, extended to whole communities, 459; for homicide, delphic tradition concerning, 444 ff.
-vengeance for murder, effected by a curse, 446 f.; effected by demonic agents, 448; exacted by murdered person, 435 ff.; incumbent on next-of-kin, 440; legally incumbent on next-of-kin, 443 f.; methods of, 453 ff.
-vrykolakas, greek equivalents for word, 381 f.; how originally employed in greek, 378; occasionally used in sense of ‘were-wolf,’ 379 f.; origin of word, 377; original meaning of word, 377 f.; slavonic forms of word, 377 (note 2)
-water, immortal, 281; miraculous, 60; oracular property of, 334; pouring out of, as magic rite, 520; salt, bars passage of supernatural beings, 368 (note 1), 372; ‘speechless,’ 304, 331; spilling of, as omen, 328 supplied daily to the dead, 539;
-‘water-bearer,’ the, 556, 592 f.
-wedding-customs (see marriage-customs)
-wedding-scenes on funeral-monuments, 597 f., 601 f.
-winter festivals, 221 ff.
-zalmoxis, 350 f.
-index of greek words and phrases
-ἀλάστωρ (see alastor), 462 f., 465 ff.
-ἀνασκελᾶδες, 205 (note 1)
-βιστυρι̯ά, 9 (note 2)
-καταχύσματα, 535 (note 4)
-λυκοκάντζαρος, 239 f.
-μιάστωρ (see miastor), 462 ff.
-μοῖραις, 120, 122, etc.
-μυρολόγια (see dirges)
-ξεφτέρι, 317 (note 1)
-ὀνοκένταυροι, 235, 237 f.
-προστροπαῖος, 462 f., 479 ff.
-ῥἱζικάς, ὁ, 304 (note 3)
-σαραντάρια, σαρανταρίκια, 488 (notes 1 and 2)
-φανιστής, ὁ, 304 (note 3)
-χαμοδράκι, 281 (note 2)
-χελιδόνιον, meaning of, 161 (note 2)
-cambridge: printed by john clay, m.a. at the university press.
-the following apparent errors have been corrected:
-inconsistent or archaic spelling, hyphenation and punctuation have otherwise been kept as printed.
-little miss dorothy
-the story of the wonderful adventures of two little people
-by martha james
-with many illustrations by j. watson davis
-a. l. burt, publisher, 52-58 duane street, new york
-copyright, 1901, by a. l. burt.
-little miss dorothy.
-o the wonderful journeys the children take in fairy boats o’er sunset lake: a drowsy fleet with captain snore, who lands them safely on slumber shore! and little boy blue is waiting there to show them the road to dreamland fair.
-over the road they float away, meeting their friends of every day, heroes of “once-upon-a-time” and magic scenes of ev’ry clime; playthings and friends the same until they reach dear topsy-turvy hill. and fairies nightly frolic there all on the road to dreamland fair.
-dorothy may was a dear little girl, whose soft eyes met yours with a twinkle in their brown depths. she was very fond of cousin ray, a bright-haired boy all curves and dimples, who lived quite near and often came to play with her.
-these two little people wondered about the great world around them; about the trees and flowers, the birds and the blue sky.
-of course the fairies loved them, because fairies love all children, and hover around them to whisper strange sounds in their childish ears and picture wonderful sights for their innocent eyes. at least aunt polly said so, and told beautiful stories to prove it. but there, if i am going to tell you about the adventures of these two little folks, i must begin with the funny pudding.
-little miss dorothy.
-the funny pudding.
-dorothy and ray were making mud pastry on aunt polly’s back steps. “get me a little more water, please; this paste is too thick,” said dorothy, and ray brought the water from aunt polly’s bright kitchen. they made mud pies and mud cakes and took tiny sticks, with which they traced lines, circles, and faces on them.
-“wouldn’t it be nice to make real pies and cakes?” said dorothy.
-“yes,” answered ray, “if you knew how.”
-“why, anybody can make them!” exclaimed dorothy. “it’s just raisins and things!”
-“if i could make real pies and cakes i’d eat them all the time,” said ray.
-“so would i!” exclaimed dorothy.
-“o no! you wouldn’t,” said a wee voice behind them. the children turned and there stood a little old woman about as high as your twelve-inch rule. she wore a white cap and blue apron and carried a tiny spoon in her hand.
-“you couldn’t eat sweets all the time,” cried the little old woman.
-“just try us,” said ray. “i think i could.”
-“i know i could,” cried dorothy. “i love tarts, i could live on tarts.”
-“and pudding,” said ray; “i could eat it all day long.”
-“so could i,” replied dorothy; “i wish i had some pudding now.”
-“you shall have all the pudding you want,” said the old woman, “if you do as i say. sit close together; close your eyes and when i say ‘salt’ open them.”
-the children did as the old woman said and sat very still with their eyes closed while she sang these words:--
-“listen, children, while i tell how to make a pudding well: sift your flour fine and white, and a quart will be all right; sugar, just a cup--no more; eggs, well beaten--put in four; lump of butter melt, and--halt! don’t forget a pinch of--salt.”
-the children opened their eyes at the magic word. the old woman had disappeared, and instead of aunt polly’s back steps they were in the kitchen of a great castle.
-“how funny you look, ray,” said dorothy, “with that cap and apron on just like a baker.”
-“well, you look funny too,” replied ray; “there’s a big daub of flour on your nose.”
-dorothy tried to brush it off and asked, “is it off?”
-“no,” replied ray; “it looks bigger than ever.”
-“never mind it,” said dorothy, “let’s go to work and make a pudding, a sweet, juicy, delicious pudding.”
-“good,” cried ray; “my mouth waters already. what can i do?”
-“you can help,” said his cousin; “first of all, we’ll get a large pan to mix things in.”
-over the fireplace in the great kitchen hung shining pans of all sorts and sizes.
-“i’ll have that large one,” said dorothy, pointing to one, and ray started to get it. but imagine their surprise when a round face appeared on the pan that grinned at them, and all at once the pan jumped down from its place and began to waltz around the floor. it looked so funny with its round body and short legs that the children laughed aloud. all of a sudden it gave a jump on to the table, where it remained quiet, like any sensible pudding pan.
-“now for the flour,” said dorothy; and no sooner did she say the words than a barrel of flour came dancing into the kitchen on long spindle legs with the funniest face you ever saw, and with its hands folded on its great stomach. the children laughed so heartily at this droll sight that the tears rolled down their cheeks; and when the funny barrel made a low bow in the middle of the floor, dorothy was laughing so hard that she could not speak, but ray went to the barrel and took out a quart of flour. then the barrel made another bow and walked with a swagger out of the kitchen.
-“eggs next,” said dorothy, “and here they are.”
-four eggs appeared walking on stilts into the kitchen. all at once they jumped off the stilts and began to chase each other. the children gave peals of laughter as they watched the activity of the four eggs: at last ray cried out, “let’s catch them.” the children began to run after the eggs. dorothy caught one and broke it in the pan, and then the three other eggs scrambled in as fast as they could. “this is the funniest pudding i ever heard of,” said dorothy. “i wonder what comes next.” just then a voice sang--
-“listen, children, while i tell how to make a pudding well: sift your flour fine and white, and a quart will be all right; sugar, just a cup--no more; eggs, well beaten--put in four; lump of butter melt, and--halt! don’t forget a pinch of--salt.”
-“get the sugar and salt, and i’ll melt the butter,” said dorothy; and no sooner did she say the words than sugar, salt, and butter dropped into the pan before their eyes.
-then a great spoon walked up to the pan and began to mix the pudding while dorothy and ray looked on in wonder.
-“i forgot raisins,” said dorothy; and just then a shower of raisins fell into the pudding. the children watched the wonderful pudding making itself. “i wonder whose castle this is,” said ray; “let us walk around and see if we can find out who lives here.”
-“and when we come back the pudding will be all made,” exclaimed dorothy.
-they walked out of the kitchen and came to a great dining-room where a table was spread with all sorts of good things. there were two chairs at the table, and it did not take the children a minute to sit in them and sample the goodies. ray passed dorothy a plate that was heaped with flaky jam tarts, and in a very few minutes there wasn’t a tart left on the plate.
-they ate plum cake and mince pies, and when these were disposed of a great steaming pudding appeared in the center of the table.
-“perhaps it’s our pudding all cooked,” said ray, “how good it smells.”
-when everything on the table was eaten they arose and walked into another room. they found a table filled with fruit, candies and bon-bons.
-in a short time these were all eaten up and another room in the castle explored.
-“suppose we go outside,” cried dorothy. “i couldn’t eat any more, could you?”
-“no,” said ray; “i don’t feel very well.”
-“i don’t either,” said the little girl, and they took each other’s hands and went outside into a garden.
-there was a beautiful fountain playing in the sunlight, but the children never noticed it. to tell the truth they had eaten so much that they did not feel happy at all, and could not enjoy the lovely garden.
-“i shan’t go another step,” said ray, with a frown; “i’m going to rest on this bench.”
-“don’t be so cross,” cried dorothy. “i’m going to sit down too.”
-just as dorothy sat down there was a loud noise, and in the distance the children saw a great giant approaching.
-“let’s hide,” said dorothy, and quick as a flash the children got behind the bench before the giant had seen them.
-there was a hole in the back of the bench and they could peek through. the giant walked right over to the bench and sat down, while close behind it, the children were hiding as frightened as could be.
-they didn’t dare speak, but they thought that the giant was the ugliest monster they had ever seen.
-after a while he put up his great arms and yawned. the bench groaned and creaked with his immense weight, and all at once it broke down and the giant lay sprawling on the ground. the children jumped from their hiding-places, but not before the giant had seen them.
-“what are you doing in my garden?” roared the giant, getting on his feet.
-“if you please, we got here by mistake,” said ray.
-“we were in the castle,” explained dorothy, “where we ate so many tarts and things that we had to come out here.”
-“so ho!” roared the giant. “did you know that whoever enters my castle belongs to me?”
-the children trembled, and the monster continued: “this is the kingdom of the greedy, and i am the ruler; henceforth and forever you belong to me.”
-“oh, please let us go home,” said dorothy; “we don’t like your castle.”
-the children were very quiet after that terrible threat and did not dare raise their eyes to look at the giant. they felt very badly. dorothy had a pain in her stomach and ray’s head ached.
-suddenly a great bell rang and the giant jumped saying: “there’s the dinner-bell, come with me.”
-“please, sir giant, we don’t want any dinner,” said ray, timidly.
-poor sick, surfeited children! they followed the giant into the castle and sat at the very table where they had eaten so much.
-the table was all piled high with a fresh supply of pastry and the great greedy giant soon devoured everything in sight. the table of goodies made ray frown, and dorothy’s head ache. when the greedy monster had eaten everything in sight, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and in a few minutes began to snore.
-“now is our chance,” whispered ray, and he took dorothy’s hand and they stole on tiptoe out of the room. just as they reached the door a voice sang out, “i’m all ready.”
-the children turned and there stood their great pudding that had made itself. they started to run away, but the pudding ran after them calling:
-“come back, come back!” on and on ran the children, and every now and then a slice of pudding struck them on the back as they ran.
-down the long garden, through winding paths, over hedges the children fled from the funny pudding and the kingdom of the greedy.
-at last they reached a gate and when they were outside the very first person they met was the little old woman with the white cap and blue apron. “what!” she exclaimed, “you are not running away from all the good things in the castle, are you?”
-“yes, we are,” cried ray, “we want to go home.”
-“but think of all the pies and tarts and puddings in there!” cried the little woman.
-“i would rather have my nice bread and milk than all the tarts in the world,” said dorothy.
-“but you said you could live on sweets and eat pudding all day long,” said the old woman.
-“we didn’t mean it,” replied ray. “we don’t want any more pudding and we do want to get away from the kingdom of the greedy and this terrible giant.”
-“well, well!” said the old woman; “i don’t blame you for that; he is certainly a very ugly giant, and little boys and girls ought not to belong to his kingdom.”
-“never,” said ray.
-“you know,” continued the old woman, “when little boys and girls are greedy and want more than mamma thinks is good for them, they belong to the kingdom of the greedy and this giant is their ruler.”
-“he is such a horrid giant, too,” said dorothy, “so ugly and impolite.”
-“yes,” cried ray, rubbing his stomach, “he gives me a pain.”
-then the little old woman touched them lightly with her spoon and vanished with a smile and the children found themselves on aunt polly’s back steps in the midst of their dear mud pies.
-the little rosebud calendar.
-when ray was only a baby he would hold the woolly lamb that grandma had brought him in his chubby little fists, saying, “i love oo, lamb,” and there was a great colored ball that he liked to roll across the floor and say, “oo ball, tum back, tum back.” then he would run and catch it and hold it up to his dear little dimpled chin.
-but when he grew to be quite a little man and could walk from room to room it pleased him to sit in the big chairs, look at the pictures and talk to them all by himself. there was one small picture card on his papa’s desk that ray liked very much. it was the picture of a golden-haired girl standing beside a large vase, with a bunch of roses in her hand and a wreath of rosebuds on her head.
-“i think she looks just like my cousin dorothy,” said ray, “only she wears her dress right down to her slippers and dorothy’s dress is short.”
-his mamma had told him that the picture girl was little miss calendar, but ray liked to call her rosebud.
-one afternoon ray was feeling rather tired. he sat all curled up in his papa’s easy-chair at the desk.
-“please, rosebud, i wish you would talk to me,” said ray wistfully, looking at little miss calendar with tired eyes.
-the picture-girl smiled at him and whispered, “how do you do, ray?”
-“i’m very well, thank you,” answered the little boy; “but i didn’t know that you knew me.”
-“didn’t you?” replied rosebud. “i know you very well indeed.”
-“that seems strange,” said ray; “how do you know me so well?”
-“i see you every day and hear your mamma talking to you,” was the answer.
-“yes, of course you do, i never thought of that,” said ray. “perhaps you see everything i do.”
-“i do indeed,” replied the picture-girl; “that is, i see everything you do in this room.”
-“you must excuse me for throwing all the books on top of you when i was putting my papa’s desk in order. i hope it did not hurt you.”
-“of course i don’t like to have books thrown at me, it hurts my feelings,” said rosebud sweetly.
-“i wouldn’t do that for anything and i shall be more careful,” added ray.
-“do you ever play?” asked the little boy thinking what a sweet little playmate rosebud would be.
-“o yes, when i’m not busy.”
-“what do you do when you are busy?” asked ray with curiosity.
-“well, you see,” said rosebud, “all the days of the year are numbered right under my feet, and when people come in to see my calendar i smile and hold up my roses, so that they may know that it is a beautiful day and smile also.”
-“but suppose it isn’t a beautiful day,” said the boy; “suppose it happens to be dark and rainy.”
-“but every day is beautiful and if it is a little dark i try to look all the brighter.”
-“i don’t like rainy days very well,” said ray, “but perhaps they are nice.”
-“indeed they are,” answered rosebud; “how bright the flowers look after a shower! and the dear rain washes everything, you know.”
-“rainy days are good, i forgot about the flowers and things,” said ray and then added quickly, “if you were not busy now you might play with me.”
-“i’ll tell you a story,” said rosebud, “if you would like to hear me.”
-ray was delighted to hear a story and sat very still while rosebud began:--
-once upon a time there was a little brown mouse whose name was nibble. he built himself a snug house not far from the coal-bin in a nice warm cellar. every day he attended to his household duties, called at his grocery store (the pantry up-stairs) and then went out for a quiet walk. one day he met mrs. ratt, who lived across the street, and he stopped to have a friendly chat with her.
-“how do you like your tenants?” asked mrs. ratt.
-“very much indeed,” replied nibble. “they are so exclusive that they won’t even tolerate a cat. of course that shows their good sense, because of all creatures i do dislike cats, they are so----”
-“grasping,” sneered mrs. ratt.
-“yes,” assented nibble, “and nosy, if i may use a vulgar expression.”
-“and sly,” quoth mrs. ratt, shaking her head.
-“yes, indeed,” replied nibble, “if those horrid cats had their way they would drive us out of existence.”
-“well, thank goodness, i’m not annoyed by the ill-bred creatures,” he added with a satisfied blink.
-“no,” sighed mrs. ratt, “you are rich and prosperous while i have to scratch for a bite to eat.”
-nibble gloried in his good fortune, so he told mrs. ratt about all the good things he had to eat, and to crown this air of plenty he invited mrs. ratt and all her family to a party the following night. then they parted and nibble went home to arrange his house in neat order for his guests.
-he had some fine old cheese and was going to make a rarebit for his friends, but he got so hungry that he ate it all up, and on the night of the party he found that he had but one cracker and a piece of an old shoe. he was disappointed, because he wanted to impress mrs. ratt with his abundance. he had just made up his mind to go to the grocery store before she came when he heard a little squeal outside his house, and on opening the door there stood mrs. ratt and all her children.
-“good evening,” said mrs. ratt, “i’m afraid we are a little late, but the fact is i’m rather timid, you know, and waited until it was quite safe.”
-“you did perfectly right,” said nibble. “i’m afraid you live in a very dangerous locality.”
-“i should say so,” replied mrs. ratt, and she raised her eyes in horror. “there have been no less than five hold-ups within the last week, all my relations too,” she added with a squeal.
-“who is the desperado?” asked nibble.
-“who should it be but our ancient enemy,” groaned mrs. ratt, shaking her head. “a precious pair of rascals by name thomas and maria, they are the terror of our peaceful community.”
-“horrors!” exclaimed nibble, “those two midnight prowlers!”
-“yes,” sighed mrs. ratt, “not only committing deeds of violence, but disturbing the whole neighborhood with their orgies.”
-“well, well,” said nibble, “there’ll be an end to it some time,” and mrs. ratt added quickly, “yes, if there isn’t an end to us first.”
-“i wonder people put up with their behavior!” exclaimed nibble.
-“put up with it!” echoed mrs. ratt, with scorn, “they like it and encourage those cats in their evil doing. why, only the other day i happened to be peeking through the blinds and there stood a man stroking this same notorious maria and calling her pet names.”
-“the idea!” said nibble, “and what did she do, the pampered thing?”
-“why, even then, she had her back up about something,” was the answer.
-“suppose we think of something more pleasant to talk about,” ventured nibble, in his sweetest tones, “these cats grate on my nerves.”
-just then the baby rat cried out, “i’m hungry,” and nibble had to give him the only cracker to eat.
-“now, what shall i do?” thought nibble; “there isn’t a thing in my house except that old shoe, and that will only sharpen their appetites.”
-all at once a new thought struck him and he said, “i have a little surprise in store for you, my dear mrs. ratt; instead of having the party in my humble place, i thought we might go up-stairs where there is more light and air.”
-“how delightful!” exclaimed mrs. ratt, while nibble added, “of course we will be just as quiet as possible to show the folks that we do not hold our gatherings after the manner of those ill-bred cats.”
-“certainly,” assented all the rats, and they followed their host out of the cellar and up the stairs so quietly that you would never have heard them.
-they had supper in the pantry, and a most tempting repast it was! crackers, cheese, apples, lump sugar and a delicious morsel of mince pie.
-“how thoughtful your tenants must be!” said mrs. ratt, “this pie is really good.”
-“just like mother used to make,” said nibble with a wink.
-“but what have we here?” cried mrs. ratt, smelling a stone jug.
-she got the stopper off and after taking a deep whiff exclaimed: “elderberry wine as i live!” then she raised her eyes and said: “ah, nibble, you are indeed blessed with the good things of this life!” nibble waved one of his front feet as much as to say, “this is really nothing at all, you know,” when all at once those young rats knocked over the jug of wine. it made a terrible noise and very soon footsteps were heard approaching the pantry. in a second nibble had started with all his friends behind him and never stopped running until he reached his house in the cellar quite breathless with excitement.
-no sooner did he get in bed than he heard a terrible squeal in the street and he knew that something dreadful had happened to mrs. ratt and her family.
-as he never saw them again he had strong suspicions that thomas and maria had added another crime to their long list of misdeeds.
-whether it was owing to the elderberry wine or the hasty flight, nibble slept very sound that night and all the next day.
-after that he felt better, and one morning he ventured to peep out.
-imagine his surprise when there sat a bold, bad cat looking at him.
-“good morning,” said maria, pleasantly.
-“how do you do?” returned nibble with great dignity.
-“o, won’t you come and play with me?” asked maria in her most coaxing tones.
-“no, thank you,” said nibble, “i’m too busy.”
-“how doth the little busy mouse improve each shining minute. she softly travels through the house and gets the best that’s in it.”
-thus sang maria, and then laughed long and loud, but even this little serenade would not tempt nibble from his cosy house.
-“you are the handsomest mouse in these parts,” said the cat.
-nibble pricked up his ears; he did love to be flattered, and whispered, “think so?”
-“i’m sure of it,” answered maria; “and if it was not for the fact that you’ve lost your tail you’d be the prince of fine fellows.”
-“but i haven’t lost my tail,” declared nibble; “it is very long indeed.”
-“i can hardly believe that,” said maria, “because the other day when you went up-stairs to the pantry i could not see any tail.”
-“did you see me the other day going into the pantry?” asked nibble in surprise.
-“o yes, indeed!” answered the cat.
-now this statement of maria’s was not true, as she had never seen nibble until that moment, but the foolish little mouse believed it, and thought if the cat did not hurt him on that other day she would not now.
-“i’ll just run across the cellar and then you can see for yourself what a nice tail i have,” said the vain nibble.
-that was all the cat wanted. she caught nibble and that was the last that was seen of him.
-when rosebud had finished this story she danced all around on her dainty toes. then she glided slowly forward and backward, making low courtesies to the little boy. after a while her steps became faster and faster. she shook her pretty curls and beckoned to ray, and before he knew it he was dancing too.
-rosebud took his hand, and together they danced all around the room.
-the strangest part of it was that they danced over chairs and tables as lightly as if they were not there. o it was delightful, and ray felt that if there had been a window open they would have danced right out and up to the blue sky. at last they stopped a minute, and just then there was a step in the hall and somebody opened the door.
-it was ray’s dear mamma who had missed her little boy and had come to find him.
-“o mamma!” exclaimed ray, “i want you to meet my little playmate.”
-ray turned to find rosebud, but she was not there. then he looked behind the chairs and in every corner but he could not find her.
-he was just beginning to feel very much disappointed when he happened to looked on his papa’s desk. there was rosebud in her old place on the picture standing with her bunch of roses and smiling at him.
-the boy in the teapot.
-on aunt polly’s table stood a blue china teapot. such a pretty little teapot it was, with strange leaves and figures all over it, and right in the center was a queer little boy with two great birds, one on each side of him. he was dressed queerly too, not at all like the little boys you know. he wore a loose sack with very wide sleeves and a broad sash that went under his arms. his trousers were very wide and he had on the dearest little slippers with curled up toes.
-ray liked to look at ah lee (that was the teapot boy’s name) and wondered about him. and as our little boy often visited aunt polly he became very well acquainted with the strange little boy in the teapot.
-one afternoon his auntie had company and ray was among the guests. after having a cup of delicious tea, made in the blue china teapot, everybody looked at ray and then stole softly into the parlor.
-he was lying on his back on an old-fashioned lounge, his hands under his head, thinking about the teapot boy.
-imagine his surprise when all at once somebody said, “i think i’ll go home this afternoon.”
-“excuse me,” said ray, who was not quite sure, “did you speak, ah lee?”
-“yes,” answered the boy in the teapot, “i’m going to take a flying trip home. would you like to come?”
-“thank you,” said ray, “i would like it very much, if you don’t stay too late.”
-“come along then,” replied ah lee, stepping down from the teapot and the two great birds with him. he jumped on the back of one of the birds and said to ray, “follow me,” and almost before he knew it, ray was on the back of the other bird flying through the air behind the teapot boy. they flew over houses and high church steeples, over the tree-tops and telegraph poles, over deep woods and open green meadows. at last they came to a very large lake.
-“let us fly down here and water our birds,” said ah lee, beginning to descend on his great bird. ray did the same, and when they were near enough to the water the birds put their long bills into it and took a deep drink. then they rose into the air again and continued their journey over the land and over the sea.
-“is it very far?” asked ray, as they flew along faster and faster all the time.
-“we are almost there,” answered ah lee, and in a very few minutes they began to descend down, down, down, until they touched the ground.
-by bishop frodsham
-“good wine needs no bush.” those who know and love “a gloucestershire lad” would resent any lengthy attempt to praise the quality of lieutenant harvey’s verses. some of the poems from a german prison camp may reach a far higher standard of lyric excellence than any in the earlier volume. the two ballades on war and “the bugler” grip one by the throat. but all the verses have a sweetness and beauty entirely their own.
-the poems are all short--too short. lieutenant harvey sings like the wild birds of his own dear gloucestershire because he cannot help doing so. he stops short--as they do--and like them begins again. what can we do but take what he gives us, wondering that he can write so well, mewed as he is in a cage--and such a cage! an agony of inarticulate longing shrills in a feathered cageling’s song: the man simply and unaffectedly lays bare his heart, his love, his faith, his hope, his sense of loneliness, of ineffectiveness, of baffled purposes and incompleted manhood.
-memory is at once the joy and torment of all who are forced to think. memory tears the heart-strings of those who are in captivity. it makes some hopeless and weak, others bitter and savage, according to their natures. beneath all the music of this man’s words there is an undertone of fierce anger that sweeps him away at times, but is this not characteristic of many other young englishmen who laugh so well, and “woo bright danger for a thrilling kiss”? his memories sweep along the great gamut of his own tremendous experiences, and yet they never lose the melodies of home. perhaps because of the objects of his heart’s desire he is so kindly withal, so modest, so humorous, and, to use his own words of another, “so worldly foolish, so divinely wise.” herein is the fascination of these verses.
-the manuscript was sent on by the prison authorities of crefeld without any obliteration or excision. this must be counted unto them for literary righteousness. yet it would be difficult to imagine what the most stony-hearted german censor could resent in any one of lieutenant harvey’s poems, unless it might be a deep love for england and an overwhelming desire to be with his love again.
-many unfortunates who have had dear ones imprisoned at gütersloh, where most of these poems were written, and at other centres, are looking forward eagerly to the publication of this little book. if they expect to read descriptions of the life of the camp, or reflections upon the conduct of german gaolers, they will be disappointed. the circumstances of the case have made such revelations impossible. if they had been possible, it is still doubtful if they would have been made here. but it will be strange if such readers do not find better things than they expected. transpose any other county of this land for gloucestershire, or any other home for the tree-encircled house at minsterworth, then they will learn what the best of england’s captive sons are thinking, and so take heart of grace from the true love-songs of a gloucestershire soldier, written first and foremost for his mother.
-you clouds that with the wind your warden flying toward the channel go, or ever the frost your fruit shall harden to hail and sleet and driving snow, go seek one sunny old sweet garden-- an english garden that i know.
-therein perchance my mother, straying among her dahlias, shall see your rainy gems in sunlight swaying on flower of gold and emerald tree. then in her heart feel suddenly old love and laughter, like sunshine playing through tears of memory.
-oh where’s the use to write? what can i tell you, dear? just that i want you so who are not near. just that i miss the lamp whose blessèd light was god’s own moon to shine upon my night, and newly mourn each new day’s lost delight: just--oh, it will not ease my pain-- that i am lonely until i see you once again, you--you only.
-autumn in prison
-here where no tree changes, here in a prison of pine, i think how autumn ranges the country that is mine.
-there--rust upon the chill breeze-- the woodland leaf now whirls; there sway the yellowing birches like dainty dancing girls.
-oh, how the leaves are dancing with death at lassington! and death is now enhancing beauty i walked upon.
-the roads with leaves are littered, yellow, brown, and red. the homes where robins twittered lie ruin; but instead
-gaunt arms of stretching giants stand in the azure air, cutting the sky in pattern so common, yet so fair.
-the heart is kindled by it, and lifted as with wine, in lassington and highnam-- the woodlands that were mine.
-what we think of
-walking round our cages like the lions at the zoo, we think of things that we have done, and things we mean to do: of girls we left behind us, of letters that are due, of boating on the river beneath a sky of blue, of hills we climbed together--not always for the view.
-walking round our cages like the lions at the zoo, we see the phantom faces of you, and you, and you, faces of those we loved or loathed--oh every one we knew! and deeds we wrought in carelessness for happiness or rue, and dreams we broke in folly, and seek to build anew,-- walking round our cages like the lions at the zoo.
-comrades of risk and rigour long ago who have done battle under honour’s name, hoped (living or shot down) some meed of fame, and wooed bright danger for a thrilling kiss,-- laugh, oh laugh well, that we have come to this!
-laugh, oh laugh loud, all ye who long ago adventure found in gallant company! safe in stagnation, laugh, laugh bitterly, while on this filthiest backwater of time’s flow drift we and rot, till something set us free!
-laugh like old men with senses atrophied, heeding no present, to the future dead, nodding quite foolish by the warm fireside and seeing no flame, but only in the red and flickering embers, pictures of the past:-- life like a cinder fading black at last.
-my undevout yet ardent sacrifice did god refuse, knowing how carelessly and with what curious sensuality the coloured flames did flicker and arise. half boy, half decadent, always my eyes sparkle to danger: oh it was joy to me to sit with death gambling desperately the borrowed coin of life. but you, more wise, went forth for nothing but to do god’s will: went gravely out--well knowing what you did and hating it--with feet that did not falter to place your gift upon the highest altar. therefore to you this last and finest thrill is given--even death itself, to me forbid.
-the hateful road
-oh pleasant things there be without this prison yard: fields green, and many a tree with shadow on the sward, and drifting clouds that pass sailing above the grass.
-all lovely things that be beyond this strong abode send comfort back to me; yea, everything i see except the hateful road; the road that runs so free with many a dip and rise, that waves and beckons me and mocks and calls at me and will not let me be even when i close my eyes.
-english flowers in a foreign garden
-snapdragon, sunflower, sweet-pea, flowers which fill the heart of me with so sweet and bitter fancy: glowing rose and pensive pansy, you that pierce me with a blade beat from molten memory, with what art, how tenderly, you heal the wounds that you have made!
-thrushes, finches, birds that beat magical and thrilling sweet little far-off fairy gongs: blackbird with your mellow songs, valiant robin, thieving sparrows, though you wound me as with arrows, still with you among these flowers surely i find my sweetest hours.
-once, i remember, when we were at home i had come into church, and waited late, ere lastly kneeling to communicate alone: and thinking that you would not come.
-then, with closed eyes (having received the host) i prayed for your dear self, and turned to rise; when lo! beside me like a blessed ghost-- nay, a grave sunbeam--you! scarcely my eyes could credit it, so softly had you come beside me as i thought i walked alone.
-thus long ago; but now, when fate bereaves life of old joys, how often as i’m kneeling to take the blessed sacrifice that weaves life’s tangled threads, so broken to man’s seeing, into one whole; i have the sudden feeling that you are by, and look to see a face made in fair flesh beside me, and all my being thrills with the old sweet wonder and faint fear as in that sabbath hour--how long ago!-- when you had crept so lightly to your place. then, then, i know (my heart can always tell) that you are near.
-how should i sing you?--you who dwell unseen within the darkest chamber of my heart. what picturesque and inward-turning art could shadow forth the image of my queen, sweet, world aloof, ineffably serene like holy dawn, yet so entirely part of what am i, as well a man might start to paint his breathing, or his red blood’s sheen.
-nay, seek yourself, who are their truest breath, in these my songs made for delight of men. oh, where they fail, ’tis i that am in blame, but, where the words loom larger than my pen, be sure they ring glad echoes of your name, and love that triumphs over life and death.
-a christmas wish
-i cannot give you happiness: for wishes long have ceased to bring the fortune which to page and king they brought in those good centuries, when with a quaint and starry wand witches turned poor men’s thoughts to gold and cinderella’s carriage rolled through moonlight into fairyland.
-i may but wish you happiness: not pleasure’s dusty fruit to find, but wines of mirth and friendship kind, and love, to make with you a home. but may our lord whose son has come now heed the wish and make it true, even as elves were wont to do when wishing could bring happiness.
-to kathleen, at christmas
-k ings of the east did bring their gold a nd jewels unto the cattle fold. t he angel’s song was heard by men “h oly! holy! holy!” then. l ittle and weak in the manger he lay e ven as you in a cradle to-day; e ven as you did the christ-child rest n estling warm in his mother’s breast.
-gütersloh, december 1916.
-christmas in prison
-outside, white snow and freezing mire. the heart of the house is a blazing fire!
-even so whatever hags do ride his outward fortune, withinside the heart of a man burns christmastide!
-to the old year
-old year, farewell! much have you given which was ill to bear: much have taken which was dear, so dear: much have you spoken which was ill to hear; echoes of speech first uttered deep in hell.
-pass now like some grey harlot to the tomb! yet die in child-birth, and from out your womb leap the young year unsullied! he perchance shall bring to man his lost inheritance.
-bodies of comrade soldiers gleaming white within the mill-pool where you float and dive and lounge around part-clothed or naked quite; beautiful shining forms of men alive, o living lutes stringed with the senses five for love’s sweet fingers; seeing fate afar, my very soul with death for you must strive; because of you i loathe the name of war.
-but o you piteous corpses yellow-black, rotting unburied in the sunbeam’s light, with teeth laid bare by yellow lips curled back most hideously; whose tortured souls took flight leaving your limbs, all mangled by the fight, in attitudes of horror fouler far than dreams which haunt a devil’s brain at night; because of you i loathe the name of war.
-mothers and maids who loved you, and the wives bereft of your sweet presences; yea, all who knew you beautiful; and those small lives made of that knowledge; o, and you who call for life (but vainly now) from that dark hall where wait the unborn, and the loves which are in future generations to befall; because of you i loathe the name of war.
-prince jesu, hanging stark upon a tree crucified as the malefactors are that man and man henceforth should brothers be; because of you i loathe the name of war.
-you dawns, whose loveliness i have not missed, making so delicate background for the larches melting the hills to softest amethyst; o beauty never absent from our marches; passion of heaven shot golden through the arches of woods, or filtered softly from a star, nature’s wild love that never cloys or parches; because of you i love the name of war.
-i have seen dawn and sunset, night and morning, i have tramped tired and dusty to a tune of singing voices tired as i, but scorning to yield up gaiety to sweltering june. o comrades marching under blazing noon who told me tales in taverns near and far, and sang and slept with me beneath the moon; because of you i love the name of war.
-but you most dear companions life and death, whose friendship i had never valued well until that battle blew with fiery breath over the earth his message terrible; crying aloud the things peace could not tell, calling up ancient custom to the bar of god, to plead its cause with heaven and hell ... because of you i love the name of war.
-prince jesu, who did speak the amazing word loud, trumpet-clear, flame-flashing like a star which falls: “not peace i bring you, but the sword!” because of you i love the name of war.
-no mortal comes to visit me to-day, only the gay and early-rising sun who strolled in nonchalantly, just to say, “good morrow, and despair not, foolish one!” but like the tune which comforted king saul sounds in my brain that sunny madrigal.
-anon the playful wind arises, swells into vague music, and departing, leaves a sense of blue bare heights and tinkling bells, audible silences which sound achieves through music, mountain streams, and hinted heather, and drowsy flocks drifting in golden weather.
-lastly, as to my bed i turn for rest. comes lady moon herself on silver feet to sit with one white arm across my breast, talking of elves and haunts where they do meet. no mortal comes to see me, yet i say “oh, i have had fine visitors to-day!”
-douai, august 20th, 1916.
-a rondel of gloucestershire
-big glory mellowing on the mellowing hills, and in the little valleys, thatch and dreams, wrought by the manifold and vagrant wills of sun and ripening rain and wind; so gleams my country, that great magic cup which spills into my mind a thousand thousand streams of glory mellowing on the mellowing hills and in the little valleys, thatch and dreams.
-o you dear heights of blue no ploughman tills, o valleys where the curling mist upsteams white over fields of trembling daffodils, and you old dusty little water-mills, through all my life, for joy of you, sweet thrills shook me, and in my death at last there beams big glory mellowing on the mellowing hills and in the little valleys, thatch and dreams.
-the little road
-i will not take the great road that goes so proud and high, like the march of roman legions that made it long ago; but i will choose another way, a little road i know. there no poor tramp goes limping, nor rich poor men drive by, nor ever crowding cattle, or sheep in dusty throng before their beating drovers drift cruelly along: but only birds and free things, and ever in my ear sound of the leaves and little tongues of water talking near.
-the great roads march on boldly, with scarce a curve or bend, from some huge smoky nothing, to nothing at their end; they march like cæsar’s legions, and none may them withstand, but whence, or whither going, they do not understand, but oh, the little twisty road, the sweet and lover’s-kiss-ty road, the secret winding misty road, that leads to fairyland!
-christ god, who died for us, now turn thy face! behold not what men do, lest once again thou should’st be crucified, and die of pain. look not, o lord, but only of thy grace do thou let fall on this accursed place, where the poor starve and labour in disdain of blinded greed and all its vulgar train, a single thread of heaven that we may trace some way to right! and since “great men” stand by, heedless of women and men that hunger, lord, give thou to common men the vision splendid. take (and if need be break) them, like a sword; take them, and break them till their lives be ended; here are a thousand christs ready to die!
-england in memory
-sweet motherland, what have i done for thee, what suffered, what of lasting beauty made? i who ungratefully and undismayed drank from thy breast the milk which nourished me in childhood, which until my death must be the life within my veins. lo, from that shade wherein they rest, thy dead and mine, arrayed in honour’s robes, come clear and plaintively voices for ever to my listening ear which cry, “not yet is finished england’s fight! still, still must poets strive and martyrs bleed to overthrow the enemies of light, armies of dullness, cruelty, lust, and greed!” yet what have i done for thee, england dear?
-you never crept into the night that lurks for all mankind! joyous you lived and loved, and leapt into that gaping dark, where stept our fathers all, to find old honour--jest of fools, yet still the soul of all delight.
-a battered roof where stars went tripping with silver feet, a broken roof whence rain came dripping, yet rest was sweet.
-a dug-out where the rats ran squeaking under the ground, and out in front the poor dead reeking! yet sleep was sound.
-no longer house or dug-out keeping, within a cell of brown and bloody earth they’re sleeping; oh they sleep well.
-thrice blessed sleep, the balm of sorrow! thrice blessed eyes sealed up till on some doomsday morrow the sun arise!
-comrades o’ mine
-comrades o’ mine, that were to me more than my grief and gaiety, more than my laughter or my pain: comrades, we shall not walk again the road whereon we went so free-- the old way of humanity. but you are sleeping peacefully till the last dawn, heroic slain, comrades o’ mine.
-to r. e. k.
-dear, rash, warm-hearted friend, so careless of the end, so worldly-foolish, so divinely-wise, who, caring not one jot for place, gave all you’d got to help your lesser fellow-men to rise.
-swift-footed, fleeter yet of heart. swift to forget the petty spite that life or men could show you; your last long race is won, but beyond the sound of gun you laugh and help men onward--if i know you.
-oh still you laugh, and walk, and sing and frankly talk (to angels) of the matters that amused you in this bitter-sweet of life, and we who keep its strife, take comfort in the thought how god has used you.
-ballad of army pay
-in general, if you want a man to do a dangerous job:-- say, swim the channel, climb st. paul’s, or break into and rob the bank of england, why, you find his wages must be higher than if you merely wanted him to light the kitchen fire. but in the british army, it’s just the other way, and the maximum of danger means the minimum of pay.
-you put some men inside a trench, and call them infantrie, and make them face ten kinds of hell, and face it cheerfully; and live in holes like rats, with other rats, and lice, and toads, and in their leisure time, assist the r.e.’s with their loads. then, when they’ve done it all, you give ’em each a bob a day! for the maximum of danger means the minimum of pay.
-there are men who make munitions--and seventy bob a week; they never see a lousy trench nor hear a big shell shriek; and others sing about the war at high-class music-halls getting heaps and heaps of money and encores from the stalls. they “keep the home fires burning” and bright by night and day, while the maximum of danger means the minimum of pay.
-i wonder if it’s harder to make big shells at a bench, than to face the screaming beggars when they’re crumping up a trench; i wonder if it’s harder to sing in mellow tones of danger, than to face it--say, in a wood like trone’s; is discipline skilled labour, or something children play? should the maximum of danger mean the minimum of pay?
-to the devil on his appalling decadence
-satan, old friend and enemy of man; lord of the shadows and the sins whereby we wretches glimpse the sun in virtue’s sky guessing at last the wideness of his plan who fashioned kid and tiger, slayer and slain, the paradox of evil, and the pain which threshes joy as with a winnowing fan:
-satan, of old your custom ’twas at least to throw an apple to the soul you caught robbing your orchard. you, before you wrought damnation due and marked it with the beast, before its eyes were e’en disposed to dangle fruitage delicious. and you would not mangle nor maul the body of the dear deceased.
-but you were called familiarly “old nick”-- the devil, yet a gentleman you know! relentless--true, yet courteous to a foe. man’s soul your traffic was. you would not kick his bloody entrails flying in the air. oh, “krieg ist krieg,” we know, and “c’est la guerre!” but satan, don’t you feel a trifle sick?
-at afternoon tea
-we have taken a trench near combles, i see, along with the french. we have taken a trench. (oh, the bodies, the stench!) won’t you have some more tea? we have taken a trench near combles, i see.
-to the unknown nurse
-moth-like at night you flit or fly to where the other patients lie; i hear, as you brush by my door the flutter of your wings, no more.
-shall i now call you in and see the phantom vanish instantly? perhaps some sixteen stone or worse, suddenly falling through my verse!
-nay, be you sour, or be you sweet, i’d see you not. life’s wisdom is to keep one’s dreams. oh never quiz the lovely lady in the street!
-i knew a man who went large-eyed and happy, till he bought pince-nez and saw things as they were. he died --a pessimist--the other day.
-my father bred great horses, chestnut, grey, and brown. they grazed about the meadows, and trampled into town.
-they left the homely meadows and trampled far away, the great shining horses, chestnut, and brown, and grey.
-gone are the horses that my father bred. and who knows whither?... or whether starved or fed?... gone are the horses, and my father’s dead.
-mother and son
-“bow-wow! bow-wow!” see how he bounds and prances, “wow!” races off, returns again and dances-- a little wave of sunshine and brown fur-- about his old rheumatic mother-cur. look how she gives him back his baby bite tenderly as a human mother might.
-now, poor old thing--she gazes quaintly up to laugh dog-fashion at me. “what a pup, master!” she seems to say: then, like a wave, he’s down on her again--“oh, master, see, i’m growing old.... what spirits youngsters have!” her old eyes blink as they look up at me.
-1. timmy taylor and the rats
-it was a spell of sultry weather, there’d been no rain for weeks together, and little timmy taylor, a mouse of a man, walked down the road with a big milk-can, walked softly down the road at night when the stars were thick and the moon was bright.
-hard by the road a spring came up to glimmer in a rare bright cup of green-sward, burnt elsewhere quite dry. to this he came--we won’t ask why-- little timmy taylor, the mouse of a man, with a big milk-can.
-then, as he turned, so goes the story-- came trooping through the moonlight glory hundreds and scores of--what do you think? rats! rats a-coming down to drink from granary and barn and stack, grey and tawny, brown and black, tails cocked up and teeth all gleaming, beady eyes light-filled, and seeming that moony-mad and hunger-fierce. little timmy taylor, the mouse of a man, dropped the milk-can, and giving a shriek--’twas fit to pierce the ear o’ the dead--he ran away, and the can was found in the road next day.
-2. willum accounts for the price of lamprey
-3. the oldest inhabitant hears far off the drums of death
-sometimes ’tis far off, and sometimes ’tis nigh, such drummerdery noises too they be! ’tis odd--oh, i do hope i baint to die just as the summer months be coming on, and buffly chicken out, and bumble-bee: though, to be sure, i cannot hear ’em plain for this drat row as goes a-drumming on, just like a little soldier in my brain.
-and oh, i’ve heard we got to go through flame and water-floods--but maybe ’tisn’t true! i allus were a-frightened o’ the sea. and burning fires--oh, it would be a shame and all the garden ripe, and sky so blue. such drummerdery noises, too, they be.
-4. seth bemoans the oldest inhabitant
-we heard as we wer passing by the forge: “’er’s dead,” said he. “’tis providence’s doing,” so said george. “he’s allus doing summat,” so i said, “you see this pig; we kept un aal the year fatting un up and priding in un, see, and spent a yup o’ money--food so dear! i wish ’twer ’e; i’d liefer our fat pig had died than she.”
-5. a river, a pig, and brains
-last fall, to sell his oldest perry, old willum fry did cross the ferry, and thur inside of an old sty ’a seed a leanish pig did lie: a rakish, active beast ’a was as ever rooted up the grass: eager as bees on making honey to stuff his self. bill did decide to buy un with the cider money and fat un up for easter-tide.
-he bought un, but no net ’ad got to kip thic pig inside the boat. “the’ll drown wi’ pig and all at ferry!” cried one. said fry, “go, bring some perry, and this old drinking-horn you got, lying inside the piggery cot!”
-he poured a goodish swig and soon --as lazy as a day o’ june-- piggy lay boozed, and so did bide snoring, while him and fry were taken ’cross severn: and ’a didn’t waken until the boat lay safely tied up to a tree on t’other side.
-6. martha bazin on marriage
-this is the fourth ’un, miss, and if so be as he do die out like the t’other three, i’ll take another man (if one do ask). woman and man apart be like a cask without a bung, letting life’s cider out, the almighty made to drink withouten doubt. i never could abode the thought o’ waste whether of life or cider, fit for taste. but love him, miss, you ask?--why, that i can, and thank the lord i could love any man.
-1. little abel goes to church
-and this is what he heard and saw at church: oh, a great yellow bird upon a perch-- quite still upon a perch.
-and then a man in white got up and walked to it, and talked to it for a long while (he said); but the yellow bird (although it must have heard!) never turned its head, or did anything at all but look straight at the wall! (a true tale.)
-small marjorie in an apple-tree looks down upon the world with glee.
-her brother ted, so he has said, loves best to see the chickens fed.
-and little charlie likes to see the thresher working hard, when he hums like a dreadful bumble-bee.
-but ann and martha sit together reading, however gold the weather.
-3. the boy with little bare toes
-he ran all down the meadow, that he did, the boy with the little bare toes. the flowers they smelt so sweet, so sweet, and the grass it felt so funny and wet and the birds sang just like this--“chereep!” and the willow-trees stood in rows. “ho! ho!” laughed the boy with the little bare toes.
-now the trees had no insides--how funny! laughed the boy with the little bare toes. and he put in his hand to find some money or honey--yes, that would be best--oh, best! but what do you think he found, found, found? why, six little eggs all round, round, round, and a mother-bird on the nest, oh, yes! the mother-bird on her nest.
-he laughed, “ha! ha!” and he laughed, “he! he!” the boy with the little bare toes. but the little mother-bird got up from her place and flew right into his face, ho! ho! and pecked him on the nose, “oh! oh!” yes, pecked him right on the nose. “boo! boo!” cried the boy with the little bare toes.
-the wind in town trees
-what is it says the breeze in london streets to-day unto the troubled trees whose shadows strew the way, whose leaves are all a-flutter?
-“you are wild!” the rascal cries. the green tree beats its wings and fills the air with sighs. “wild! wild!” the rascal sings. “but your feet are in the gutter!”
-men pass beneath the trees walking the pavement grey, they hear the whisperings tease and at the word he utters their hearts are green and gay.
-then like the gay, green trees, they beat proud wings to fly, but, like the fluttering trees, their footprints mark the gutters until the beggars die.
-flower-like and shy, you stand, sweet mortal, at the river’s brim: with what unconscious grace your limbs to some strange law surrendering which lifts you clear of our humanity!
-now would i sacrifice your breathing, warmth, and all the strange romance of living, to a moment. ere you break the greater thing than you, i would my eyes were basilisk to turn you into stone. so should you be the world’s inheritance. and souls of unborn men should draw their breath from mortal you, immortalised in death.
-so is thy music unto me, as the bright moon which tides obey, as the white moon upon the sea.
-and like a wind that scatters free the petals of an april day, so is thy music unto me.
-it falleth light and quietly and sweet as summer’s petals--nay, as the white moon upon the sea.
-as moonlight falling silvery on waves of wild and surging grey, so is thy music unto me.
-as o’er each white and ebon key i watch thy silver fingers play, as the white moon upon the sea, on headlands of eternity my soul is hurled, and dashed in spray!
-so is thy music unto me as the bright moon which tides obey, as the white moon upon the sea.
-from this sweet nest of peace and summer blue-- england in june--a sea-bird’s nest indeed guarded of waves, and hid by the sea-weed from envious hunter’s eye, we send to you our flying thoughts and prayers, our treasure too, poor though it be to bandage wounds that bleed for country dear beloved. there the seed of homely loves and occupations grew to wither in the flame of godless might kindled by hands of treachery, yet reeking with blood of friends and neighbours. serbia, thou hast thought us careless and far off; know now thy name to us is sudden drums outspeaking and tortured trumpets crying in the night!
-note.--this poem was sent from crefeld, but was written in england just before the author left for the front.
-only in pages of men’s books i find swart villain and fair knight closing in fight. not piebald is mankind. the soul is hued to such swift varying as flying hornet’s sunshine-smitten wing.
-therefore, dear brother men (where’er ye be), who strive for right with such short sight, ’tis wise for little folk like you and me neither too much to praise nor yet to blame, since in our different ways we’re all the same.
-“must ever i be so --yellow and old?” you asked, “with living overtasked, ugly, and racked with pains?” i answered, “even so, dearest; yet love remains.”
-by him who made you sweet and set your eyes so wide, who suffered us to meet despite of woman’s pride,
-and willed that we should know, despite of man’s gross sense, the wonder and dawn-glow of love’s omnipotence,--
-by all of this i swear, and by god’s self i vow, we have met (i know not how) loving (i know not where):
-perhaps in heaven above, perhaps in deep perdition. and so this present love is but a recognition.
-on over bridge at evening
-faint grow the hills, but yet the night delays to blot them utterly. below their ridge of shadow lies the city in blue haze. i watch its lamps awaken, from the bridge whereunder, running strongly to the sea, water goes fleeting softly in a brown wild loveliness. in heaven two or three small stars awaken and gaze shyly down....
-white and alluring runs the dusty road into the country, and with yellow eyes a hastening car comes purring with its load: like some great owl it hoots, and then it flies past, and is swallowed up in dusk. and, singing, a country girl with basket homeward wends --sweet as the dusty roses that are clinging around the cottage where her journey ends.
-night deepens, and the stars with strengthening rays thicken and go upon their lovely ways. where are the voices that have vexed us so? dear god, how quiet has thy day become! the clamorous tongues of earth are smitten dumb, awed with the beauty that thy work doth show.
-all life from passion springs. in holy ecstasy ’midst whir of angel-wings, did god decree the golden stars that shine: the flaming morn, and that this flesh of mine should once be born.
-and all the works of men that live indeed: joyance of sword or pen, high thought or deed, are in such primal fashion contrived and wrought. god grant me fire of thought to work thy will--with passion!
-a common petition
-i crave not of the wonder of thy full plan to see; no secret would i plunder of guarded destiny; this only grant to me:
-to hear the rolling thunder of life--be man alive: yet through no body’s blunder to drag the bright soul under --drowned where it needs must dive.
-keeping against all fate that thou hast given me-- the dual mystery of man--inviolate.
-an adventure with god
-far worse than pain, unutterable weariness of blood and brain-- intolerable dreariness of days god gave me. and i bethought the first fresh flood of youth that rose to leave me, and how in those brave days-- virgin of lust and spot-- i had forgot to render any praise. then, as i thus looked upward through the net wherein both soul and flesh lay cunningly caught, god (’twas like springtime calling from the earth the flowers to birth!) smiled down and did restore all that i had before.
-it happened in a blood-red hell ringed round with golden weather; walking in khaki through a trench he came, when life was death, and wounded men and great shells screamed together: i did not know his name. but so white-faced and wan, we talked a little while together amongst dead men, and timbers black with flame.
-“what would you do with life again,” asks he, “if one could give it?” “no use to talk when life is done,” i say. “but, by the living god, if he should grant me life i’d live it kinder to man, truer to god each day.”
-flame and the noise of doom devoured the words, and for a while senseless i lay.... then, oh, then as in a dream i saw the stranger with a smile moving towards me over the dead men.
-red, red were his hands and feet and a great hole in his side, yet glory seemed to blaze about his head; “kinder to man, truer to god,” he whispered, and then died; falling down, arms outspread. ere darkness fell upon me with the faintness and the pain, i saw a mangled body lying prone upon the earth beside me. but what i can’t explain is--the stretcher-bearers found me quite alone.
-but, howsoe’er it happened, it matters not at last, since god’s dear son came down to earth and died in bloodshed, and the darkness of clouds that groaned aghast; with pierced hands and a great wound in his side.
-it is not in my heart to hate the pleasant sins i leave. earth’s passion flames within me fierce and strong. but this is like a shadow ever rising up to thieve sin’s pleasures, and the lure of every pattern lust can weave, and charm of all things that can do him wrong.
-god dreamed a man; then, having firmly shut life like a precious metal in his fist, withdrew, his labour done. thus did begin our various divinity and sin. for some to ploughshares did the metal twist, and others--dreaming empires--straightway cut crowns for their aching foreheads. others beat long nails and heavy hammers for the feet of their forgotten lord. (who dare to boast that he is guiltless?) others coined it: most did with it--simply nothing. (here, again, who cries his innocence?) yet doth remain metal unmarred, to each man more or less, whereof to fashion perfect loveliness.
-for me, i do but bear within my hand (for sake of him our lord, now long forsaken) a simple bugle such as may awaken with one high morning note a drowsing man: that wheresoe’er within my motherland the sound may come, ’twill echo far and wide like pipes of battle calling up a clan, trumpeting men through beauty to god’s side.
-printed by hazell, watson and viney, ld., london and aylesbury.
-guide to the norris geyser basin
-norris geyser basin
-the norris geyser basin was named for philetus w. norris who served as yellowstone’s second superintendent from 1877 until 1882. although he did not discover it, his explorations and reports were largely responsible for calling attention to that area.
-norris is considered to be the hottest and most active geyser basin in yellowstone. here geysers and hot springs exhibit greater change in activity over a short span of time than elsewhere in the park. it is not unusual for a new hot spring to come into existence literally overnight. the new feature may last for just a few days or perhaps a month or so; upon occasion some have endured for many years.
-because of constant change in the thermal features, the ground here is unstable and hazardous in many locations. therefore, you are required to stay on designated trails and boardwalks at all times. this not only protects you from possible serious burns but also helps preserve the features as well. remember also not to throw any objects into thermal features. debris of any kind in a hot spring or geyser could clog the vent and destroy the feature. because many scalding hot pools and run-off channels are near trails and boardwalks, pets are not permitted on the trails.
-the fact that thermal features change may come as a surprise, but remember that geysers, hot springs and other thermal phenomena are subject to natural stresses just like plant and animal communities. of course the changes in thermal activity result from a different set of factors than those affecting plants and animals. can you guess what they might be?
-shifts in the earth’s crust (earthquakes) result in movements along cracks and fissures in the ground. these tremors usually cause changes in the underground “plumbing systems” of thermal features, thus altering activity patterns. look for signs of recent activity variations as you walk along the trails, or ask a naturalist if there have been some recent changes.
-as you explore, look closely at the often intricate formations around the edges of a few hot pools, geysers and in some thermal runoff channels. you will notice a mineral called sinter or geyserite (a form of silicon dioxide, sio₂) being deposited like tiny spines. these rather prickly formations result when geyserite is deposited from slightly acid water, a characteristic of most thermal water in the norris area. this is in contrast to the bead-like structures that result when geyserite forms from slightly alkaline water found in thermal features in the old faithful area.
-notice too the variety of colors staining the basins. the refraction (breaking up) of light, mineral deposits and living organisms, algae and bacteria, all add their hues. the assortment of colors reflects variations in water temperature and chemistry.
-as you enjoy your walk remember that norris is a great natural preserve where nature is constantly at work designing and redesigning one of its most unusual displays. we are only visitors here and must not spoil it in any way. it also serves as a great natural research laboratory where scientists from all over the world learn more about geothermal energy. help us preserve this unique area so that the next generation and those who follow can come and enjoy it in the same grandeur you did.
-thermal features in porcelain basin
-valentine geyser—located at the base of a large pear-shaped alcove, valentine is a typical cone type geyser that first erupted on valentine’s day, 1907. its activity has varied considerably—being dormant some seasons, erratic during others, yet showing a high degree of regularity at times. during the past several seasons, it has erupted from a minimum of once every two days to a maximum of once a day. an eruption lasts 5-7 minutes and reaches a height of 20-50 feet (6-15 m.) above the seven foot cone. the eruption is followed by a steam phase lasting an hour.
-ledge geyser—the largest geyser in the porcelain basin, changed dramatically after an earthquake that occurred june 30, 1975. in 1974 it had been erupting about twice a day, but after the quake ledge was dormant for nearly two years. then during the summer of 1977 it had but two eruptions. check the prediction board at the museum to see if ledge geyser is active this year.
-africa geyser—named for the spring that preceded it which was roughly the shape of the continent. the spring became a geyser in february of 1971. at first it was intermittent but as time passed the periods between eruptions grew shorter until it became a constant geyser. in 1977 it was always powerful—sometimes emitting a mixture of steam and water; other times just steam.
-the whirligigs and constant geysers—these three features seem to be interconnected. constant geyser, dormant for several years, reactivated in the early ’70’s and now erupts up to 30 feet (9 m.) once or twice an hour; often prior to an eruption of one of the whirligigs. in recent years, big and little whirligig have traded active periods. when one is more active, the other is less. watch for the 15 foot (4 m.) angled plume from little whirligig’s orange vent or listen to the distinctive chugging produced during big whirligig’s splashing eruption. as with many geysers, the water level rises in these pools prior to an eruption.
-ebony and bear den geysers—are another set of related features. in the ’60’s bear den geyser first appeared and as it increased in activity, ebony geyser became dormant. today bear den geyser erupts in bursts, arcing up to 40 feet (12 m.) from the den-like vent, four to six times daily. the death of ebony geyser may have been hastened by objects thrown into its vent by thoughtless visitors. this debris is cemented into place by the silica deposited from the water, choking off the vent. minute geyser in the back basin may have suffered a similar fate.
-thermal features in back basin
-emerald spring—the colors in and around thermal features are often created by several kinds of algae that grow in hot water. however, the deep green color of this spring is a result of a combination of the yellow color from the sulphur lining the edge of the pool with the blue that is refracted (“scattered”) from the clear water in the pool. the bowl of this feature is about 27 feet (8 m.) deep and the temperature normally varies between 194 and 200 degrees f. (90-93° c.)
-steamboat geyser—the world’s largest geyser, steamboat has eruptions of more than 300 feet (91 meters). it was largely dormant for nine years, then startled observers in march 1978 with a full-scale eruption. the water phase lasted approximately 20 minutes, followed by bellowing steam for over 40 hours. this spectacular display inundated the immediate area. at this writing, march 30, 1978, it is not known if steamboat’s eruptions will follow any pattern. between 1961 and march 1969, it had a total of 103 major eruptions, none of which could be predicted. you can still see the effects of downpouring water on the landscape which killed trees and scoured away soil. the nine-year respite allowed new lodgepole pines to gain a foothold. we hope you are fortunate enough to witness steamboat geyser and share in the excitement. remember—protect camera and eye glass lenses from the spray as it can scratch glass after drying.
-echinus geyser (ē-kī′-nŭs)—although not as well known as some other geysers, erupts in a display that surpasses many of them. the name comes from the sinter spine-covered rocks surrounding the pool which bear a fanciful resemblance to spiny sea urchins. echinus was the greek name for these tide-pool dwellers. stop and watch the water fill the basin and begin to boil. soon it will be propelled skyward in great explosive bursts of steam and water, some reaching heights of over 75 feet (23 m.). usually the eruptions last three to six minutes but in 1977 echinus was erupting for up to twelve minutes. after erupting the pool drains and begins to refill. intervals between eruptions may be as short as 45 minutes or better than 75 minutes. listen for the peculiar gurgling sound produced as the vent drains after each eruption.
-vixen geyser—although its usual eruptions are small compared to others (5-15 feet every few minutes), the geyser is unique in that water comes from a circular tub-like vent. during normal activity little water is ejected. occasionally vixen may have major eruptions of considerable water, lasting 5 to 50 minutes and playing up to 30 feet. listen for the peculiar gurgling sound produced as the vent drains after each eruption.
-today’s geyser predictions
-back basin phillip’s caldron grey lakes green dragon spring yellow funnel spring palpitator spring pearl geyser vixen geyser black hermit’s caldron minute geyser mt. holmes (10,336 feet—3160 meters) visible to the northwest veteran geyser monarch geyser crater emerald spring bathtub spring porcelain basin ebony geyser bear den geyser crackling lake whale’s mouth dark cavern geyser arch steam vent cistern spring norris museum steamboat geyser valentine geyser lodge geyser little whirligig geyser sieve lake africa geyser pinwheel geyser echinus geyser hurricane vent colloidal pool congress pool ragged spouter blue geyser feisty geyser carnegie drill site parking porcelain terrace springs nuphar lake legend trails and boardwalk described thermal features other thermal features roads and parking to madison—16 miles—26 km to mammoth hot springs—22 miles—35 km to campground—½ mile—⅘ km to canyon village—12 miles—19 km
-dangerous thermal area boiling water—thin crusts always stay on constructed walkways
-—silently corrected a few typos.
-—retained publication information from the printed edition: this ebook is public-domain in the country of publication.
-—in the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by underscores.
-by j. frank hanly
-cincinnati: jennings and graham new york: eaton and mains
-copyright, 1912, by jennings and graham
-dedication of the indiana monuments at vicksburg, mississippi december 29, 1908 j. frank hanly
-mr. chairman and gentlemen of the indiana-vicksburg monument commission:
-to you this is no new stage. its remotest confines were once familiar. you looked upon it, front and rear. you stood before its footlights. you knew its comedy—its tragedy. you had honorable and distinguished cast in the great drama that gave it fame in every land beneath the sun and place in the country’s every annal—a drama real as human life in tensest mood—in which every character was a hero, every actor a patriot, and every word a deed—a drama, the memory of which is enduring, fadeless, and the scenes of which take form and color even now and rise before you vivid as a living picture. how clear the outline is:
-time: the nation’s natal day, forty-five years ago.
-place: this historic field; yon majestic river; that heroic city there—a beleaguered fortress, girdled with these hills.
-scene: the river’s broad expanse; admiral porter’s fleet—grim engines of war, with giant guns and floating batteries, facing deep-mouthed and frowning cannon on terraced heights; the intrepid army of the tennessee, with camp and equipage, occupying a line of investment twelve miles in length, with sap and mine, battery and rifle pit, marking a progress that would not be stayed, fronting a system of detached works, redans, lunets, and redoubts on every height or commanding point, with raised field works connected with rifle pits, numerous gullies and ravines, nature’s defenses, impassable to troops; all in all more impregnable than sevastopol; with here and there ensanguined areas where brave men met death in wild, mad charge against redoubt and bastion; or fell, in the delirium of frenzied struggle, on parapets, where torn and ragged battle flags borne by valorous arms, leaped and fluttered for a moment amid cannon’s smoke and muskets’ glare, only to fall from nerveless hands, lost in the chagrin and grief of repulse, crushing and disastrous.
-denouement: fortifications sapped and mined! a city wrecked, subdued by want! an army in capitulation! a mighty host, surrendered! flags furled! arms stacked! one hundred and seventy-two captured cannon! sixty thousand rifles taken! twenty-nine thousand four hundred and ninety-one men prisoners of war—hungry, emaciated, broken, dejected men, worn by sleepless vigil, the ordeal of war, the alarm of siege—men who suffered and endured, but would not yield till dire distress compelled—men whose gallant valor challenges admiration and respect, and gives them equal claim to fame with their invincible captors, whose iron grip and ever-tightening hold they could not break! victory complete and splendid! and over all—river, field, and city—where crash of musketry, roar of cannon, scream of shell, and all the tumultuous din of war had reigned—the hush and awe of silence, unbroken by cheer or shout or cry of exultation!
-result: the fall of port hudson, an impregnable fortress, two hundred and fifty miles below; the disenthrallment of the mississippi—unvexed by war, its waters free to seek the sea in peace; the bisecting of the confederacy—cut in two—severed completely—its doom decreed—its fate forever sealed—all thereafter dying in its defense going hopeless and in vain to sacrificial altars; the establishment of the union’s indissolubility—its power made manifest east and west—faith in its ultimate triumph, though the pathway led through toil and blood, became assured—the nation saw the end, distant but sure—it found itself and it found a man, and that man had found himself, and had found others, too—sherman, mcpherson, logan, hovey, osterhaus, mcginnis—a quiet, silent man, of grim determination, who “looked upon side movements as a waste of time”—a man of immovable purpose, who went to his object unswerving as a bullet—a man of sublime courage, who wanted “on the same side of the river with the enemy”—a man of calm confidence, who relied upon himself and the disciplined, hardy men who followed him, who, under him, knew no defeat and who were unwilling to learn what it was—a man who knew the trade of war, its science and its rules, but who dared ignore its long-accepted axioms when occasion required; who, when he could not protect his communications with his base without delay and the diminution of his force, could cut loose from all communications and have no base, though moving in the heart of the enemy’s country—a man of daring brilliancy, who could fight in detail a force superior in the aggregate to his own and defeat in turn its scattered fragments before they could consolidate—who had no rear, whose every side was front—who knew that “time was worth more than re-enforcements,” and that delay only gave “the enemy time to re-enforce and fortify”—whose strategy, celerity, and rapidity of movement threw confusion into the councils of opposing generals, in a land strange to him and filled with his enemies—a land with which they were familiar and where every denizen was an ally—a man who could keep two governments guessing for weeks both as to his purpose and his whereabouts—who could refuse to obey an order that had been so long in transmission as to be obsolete when it reached him, and ride away to victory and to fame—whose blows fell so thick and hard and fast that his foe had neither time nor rest nor food nor sleep—a man who was gentle and considerate enough when his foes surrendered to forbid his men to cheer lest they should wound the sensibilities of their captives—who, in the hour of supreme and final triumph, could speak for peace and give back to his captured countrymen their horses that crops might be put in and cultivated.
-time, place, scene, denouement, and result, taken together, and all in all, have no parallel in all the six thousand years of human history.
-it was, therefore, inevitable and in accord with man’s nobler self, that this spot—the place where the great drama was staged and played—should become hallowed ground to those who struggled here to retain or to possess it; that it should be held forever sacred by the blue and the gray—the victors and the vanquished—by the blue because of what was won, by the gray because of what was lost—by both because of heroic effort and devoted sacrifice made and endured; because of the new national life begun, the new birth of freedom had, through their spilled blood.
-vicksburg was the most important point in the confederacy and its retention the most essential thing to the defense of the confederacy. after the safety of washington, its capture was the first necessity of the federal government. it commanded the mississippi river, and “the valley of the mississippi is america.” the control of this great central artery of the continent was necessary to the perpetuation of the confederacy and indispensable to the preservation of the union. to lose it was death to the one. to gain it was life to the other. the campaign for its capture was, therefore, the most important enterprise of the civil war. its importance was understood and appreciated by the authorities at both capitals, and no one in authority in either capital understood it more clearly or appreciated it more fully than the commanders of the two opposing armies—grant and pemberton. both knew the stake and its value and both were conscious that the fight to possess it by the one and to retain it by the other would be waged to the last extremity. and each was resolved that the great issue should be with him. they commanded armies equally brave and well disciplined, efficiently officered, and equally devoted to them and to the respective cause for which they fought.
-strength of position, natural and artificial, was with pemberton. his task was defensive—to hold what he had. grant’s was offensive—to possess what he did not have. but the initiative was with him, and to genius that itself is an advantage.
-pemberton knew the ground—the scene of the campaign. its every natural adaptation of advantage or defense was to him as a thing ingrained in his consciousness and every denizen of the country about him was the friend of his army and his cause.
-grant was in a strange land, without accurate knowledge of its topography or of its natural difficulties of approach or opportunities of defense, and concerning which such knowledge could be acquired only by the exercise of infinite patience, by unremitting toil, and constant investigation. its inhabitants looked upon him as an invader come to despoil their country—to lay waste their homes. among them all, his army had no friend, his cause no advocate.
-but, while position and natural advantage was with pemberton, the ability to command armies, the genius of concentration, to decide quickly and accurately, to design with daring boldness and to execute with celerity and rapidity; the tenacity of purpose that, come what will, can not be bent or turned aside, and the grim determination that rises in some men—god’s chosen few—supreme above every let or hindrance—were with grant. and it was this ability to command, more than all other things, that finally enabled him to wrest the great prize from the hands of pemberton and the confederacy, and give it into the keeping of the union.
-the campaign was grant’s—his alone—in conception and in execution, from the beginning to the end. its details his government did not know. for a time even its immediate object was unknown in washington. its design was without successful military precedent. his most trusted general was opposed to it. but grant saw and understood. the day he crossed his army at bruinsburg he was “born again.” he caught a vision that inspired him. he was transformed. there came to him a confidence that thenceforth was never shaken—a faith in which there was no flaw. less than two years before he had doubtfully asked himself whether he could hope ever to command a division, and if so, whether he could command it successfully. now he knew he could command an army; that he could plan campaigns, and that he could execute them with high skill and matchless vigor. he had found himself.
-general banks, with a substantial force, was at port hudson, two hundred and fifty miles down the river. the two armies were expected by the authorities at washington to co-operate with each other in an attack upon pittsburg or port hudson. grant had heard from banks that he could not come to him at grand gulf for weeks. instantly his purpose crystallized. his resolve was made. he would not go to banks at port hudson nor would he wait for him at grand gulf. waiting meant delay. delay meant strengthened fortifications and a re-enforced enemy. he would move independently of banks. his army was inferior in numbers to the aggregate forces of the enemy, but he would invade mississippi, fight and defeat whatever force he found east of vicksburg, and invest that city from the rear. and he would not wait a day. he would move at once. he would go now—go swiftly to jackson, destroy or drive away any force in that direction, and then turn upon pemberton and drive him into vicksburg. he would keep his own army a compact force—“round as a cannon ball,” and he would fight and defeat the enemy in detail before his forces could be concentrated. the concept was worthy of napoleon in his best moments. it was remarkably brilliant, audaciously daring. it was the turning point in grant’s career—a momentous hour, big with destiny for him, his army, and his country. in its chalice was vicksburg—chattanooga—spotsylvania—appomattox—national solidarity—and deathless personal fame. the decision was made without excitement, without a tremor of the pulse, in the calmness of conscious power. john hay fancifully compares his action at this time “to that of the wild bee in the western woods, who, rising to the clear air, flies for a moment in a circle, and then darts with the speed of a rifle bullet to its destination.”
-a long-established and universally accepted axiom of war—one that ought in no case to be violated—required any great body of troops moving against an enemy to go forward only from an established base of supplies, which, together with the communications thereto, should be carefully covered and guarded as the one thing upon which the life of the movement depended. the idea of supporting a moving column in the enemy’s country from the country itself was regarded as impractical and perilous, if not actually impossible. the movement he had determined upon would uncover his base and imperil his communications. defeat meant irremediable failure and disgrace. the hazard seemed so great, and the proposal so contrary to all the accepted maxims of war and military precedents, that sherman, seeing the danger, urged grant “to stop all troops till the army is partially supplied with wagons, and then act as quickly as possible, for this road will be jammed as sure as life.”
-grant knew the difficulty and the peril, but he was not afraid. he knew the military and the political need of the country. he knew his officers. he knew the army he commanded. and, knowing all, he assumed the responsibility and took the hazard; cut loose from his base, severed his communications, went where there was no way, and left a path that will shine while history lasts.
-having decided his course, he telegraphed the government at washington: “i shall not bring my troops into this place (grand gulf), but immediately follow the enemy, and if all promises as favorably as it does now, not stop until vicksburg is in our possession.” here was the first and the only intimation of his purpose given the government. the execution of his purpose was immediately begun and pressed with personal energy, attention, and vigor without parallel in the life of a commanding general of an army. sherman, who of all men had the best opportunity to know and was best qualified to weigh the extent and character of his work, declares: “no commanding general of an army ever gave more of his personal attention to detail, or wrote so many of his own orders, reports, or letters. i still retain many of his letters and notes in his own handwriting, prescribing the route of march of divisions and detachments, specifying the amount of food and tools to be carried along.”
-washburn wrote: “on this whole march of five days he has had neither a horse nor an orderly or servant, a blanket or overcoat, or clean shirt or even a sword. his entire baggage consists of a tooth brush.”
-john hay says of him: “all his faculties seemed sharpened by the emergency. there was nothing too large for him to grasp; nothing small enough for him to overlook.” he gave “direction to generals, sea-captains, quartermasters, commissaries, for every incident of the opening of the campaign, then mounted his horse and rode to his troops.” and then, for three weeks, in quick and dazzling succession, came staggering, stunning blows, one after the other—raymond—jackson—champion’s hill—the big black—until he stood with his army at the very gates of vicksburg!
-the government, hearing that he had left grand gulf for the interior of mississippi without supplies or provision for communication with his base, telegraphed him in concern and alarm to turn back and join banks at port hudson. the despatch reached him days after at the big black bridge, while the battle there was in progress. the message was handed him. he read it; said it came too late, that halleck would not give it now if he knew his position. as he spoke the cheering of his soldiers could be heard. looking up he saw lawler, in his shirt sleeves, leading a charge upon the enemy, in sight of the messenger who bore the despatch. wheeling his horse, he rode away to victory and to vicksburg, leaving the officer to ruminate as long as he liked upon the obsolete message he had brought.
-i have spoken much of grant. there is reason that i should. no campaign of the war is so insolubly linked with the personality of the commanding general as the vicksburg campaign.
-for three weeks he was the army of the tennessee. he dominated it absolutely. his personality, with its vigor and its action, was in all, through all, over all. his corps and divisions were commanded by great men, but, with a single exception, they were loyal and devoted and reflected his will, and sought the achievement of his purpose in every act and movement. during these days sherman was his right arm, mcpherson his left, and neither ever failed him. the whole army, officers and men, caught his spirit and shared his indomitable purpose. nothing could daunt it or turn it aside. there was no service it did not perform, no need it did not meet. it had capacity for everything. grant justly said: “there is nothing which men are called upon to do, mechanical or professional, that accomplished adepts can not be found for the duty required in almost every regiment. volunteers can be found in the ranks and among the commanding officers to meet any call.” every obstacle was overcome; every difficulty surmounted. when bridges were burned, new ones were built in a night, or the streams forded. in every event the light of the morning found his soldiers on the same side of the river with the enemy. if rains descended and floods came, they marched on though the roads were afloat with water. they fought and marched, endured and toiled, but they did not complain or even murmur. they, as well as their officers, understood the value of the stake for which they struggled. they knew they were marching and fighting and toiling under the eye of a great commander, one who knew where he was going and how to go; that there was no hardship which he did not share, no task from which he shrunk. weary from much marching, they marched on; worn from frequent fighting, they fought on; all but exhausted from incessant toil, they toiled on, in a hot climate, exposed to all sorts of weather, through trying and terrible ordeals, watching by night and by day, until they stood in front of the rifle pits and of the batteries of the city, and even here they would not be content until they were led in assault upon the enemy’s works and had stood upon their parapets in a vain but glorious struggle for their possession.
-what a story it is! how it stirs the blood! how it inspires to love of country! how it impels to high endeavor! and what a valorous foe they met! they were, and are, thank god, our countrymen—besiegers and besieged. in their veins flowed kindred blood—blood that leaps and burns in ours to-day. they differed. differed until at last the parliament of debate was closed, and then, like men, they fought their differences out, in open war—on the field of battle—sealing the settlement with their blood and giving the world a new concept of human valor.
-there were wounds. there was suffering. there was heartache. there were asperities. there was death. there was bereavement. these were inevitable. but there was a nobility about it all, that, seen through the intervening years, silences discord, softens hate, and makes forgiveness easy. to-day we laugh and weep together. wounds are healed; asperities are forgotten; the past is remembered without bitterness; glory hovers like a benediction over this immortal field and guards with solemn round the bivouac of all the dead, giving no heed to the garb they wore. their greatness is the legacy of all—the heritage of the nation. reconciliation has come with influences soft and holy. the birds build nests in yonder cannon. the songs of school children fill the air.
-indiana has come to mississippi to dedicate monuments erected by her to the memory of her soldiers, living and dead, who struggled here; but she comes with malice toward none, with love for all. with you, sir, the governor of this commonwealth, and with your people she would pour her tribute of tears upon these mounds where sleep sixteen thousand of our uncommon common dead. her troops were here with grant. one of her regiments, the 6th, sought out the way for the army beyond the river yonder. they were the “entering wedge.” they were in every battle. at champion’s hill, hovey’s division bore for hours the battle’s brunt. fighting under the eye of the great general himself, they captured a battery, lost it, and recaptured it, and at night slept upon the field wet with their blood.
-this gray-haired general here (general mcginnis) was with them. he is a member of the commission that erected these granite tributes, and has in charge these ceremonies. he has come to lend the benediction of his presence to this occasion, and to look again upon the ground where so many dramatic and tragic scenes were enacted—scenes in which he had honorable share—scenes that were burned into the very fiber of his young manhood’s memory, and which he would not forget if he could. his days have been long lengthened. we are glad and grateful that he is here. his associates on the commission were here; and so were these battle-scarred veterans standing here round about you. they give character and purpose to this occasion and a benediction to this service. through them and their comrades, and the great army in gray with whom they contended, both we and you are beginning to understand the message and the meaning of the war. they have taught us charity and forgiveness. we are coming “to know one another better, to love one another more.” here upon these hills and heights was lighted the torch of a national life, that to-day is blessing, enlightening, and enriching the peoples of the earth. our prayer—a prayer in which we are sure your hearts are joined with ours—is, that this mighty nation, grown great and powerful, may know war no more, forever; that it may walk uprightly, deal justly with its own people and with all nations; that its purpose may be hallowed, its deeds ennobled, its glory sanctified, by the memories of the crucible through which it came, and that in the future if war must come, its sword may be drawn only in freedom’s cause, and that its soldiery in such case may acquit themselves as nobly as did those who struggled here.
-mr. chairman and gentlemen of the commission, in the name of the state of indiana and on her behalf, i accept these splendid monuments and these markers you have erected and which you have so eloquently tendered me, and in the name of the state and on behalf of her people, captain rigby, i now present them to you, as the representative of the national government, and give them through you into its keeping, to be held and kept forever as a sacred trust—a reminder to the countless thousands that in the gathering years may look upon them, of the share indiana had in the great campaign that ended here july 4, 1863.
-—silently corrected a few typos.
-—retained publication information from the printed edition: this ebook is public-domain in the country of publication.
-—in the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by underscores.
-dead men tell tales
-by harry rimmer, d. d., sc. d.
-with 37 plate illustrations in the text
-wm. b. eerdmans publishing co. grand rapids, michigan
-dead men tell tales by harry rimmer, d.d., sc.d.
-copyright 1939 by research science bureau, incorporated printed in the united states of america all rights in this book are reserved no part of the book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. for information address the publishers.
-in an older generation, especially among the writers of the more lurid types of fiction, it was an accepted axiom that “dead men tell no tales!” but this was before the great era of modern archeology had impressed its findings on the general public, and indeed before most of those discoveries had been made.
-our generation knows better. dead men do tell tales, and marvelous and wonderful are the stories they bring to us. by means of an archeological resurrection, the great men of antiquity are with us again. once more we hear the accounts of their fascinating lives and adventures, and read again the records of their culture. the tongueless tombs of the distant past have suddenly become vocal, and this mighty chorus of the dead great has forced us to revise many of our once cherished opinions.
-nowhere is this more strikingly true than in the case of the coincidence of these old ages with the page of the holy bible. the richest finds of archeology come to us from the very periods of history that are dealt with in the pages of holy writ, and names that were known only from the record of the scripture are now the common possession of the scholarly world. so much is this the case, that we have a new technique of bible study in our day. just as the microscope is the instrument for the study of biology, and the spectroscope has become the means of study in physics, so the bible is best read today in the light that is reflected upon its pages from the blade of a spade! this, of course, is intended to apply to the historical sections of the book, and refers to the problem of its authenticity and historicity. it still remains true that spiritual understanding of its message can be derived only from study that is supervised and directed by the holy spirit.
-this volume, the fourth in the promised series to be known as the
-“john laurence frost memorial library”
-will deal with some of those fascinating discoveries that bear particularly on the problem of the old testament. the succeeding and companion volume, which will be entitled “crying stones,” will deal in like manner with the records of the new testament.
-the material contained in this apologetic is derived from various sources. much of it came from records in the famed british museum, in london, england. this marvelous storehouse of treasure from the most remote antiquity is the greatest collection of evidence bearing upon these questions, that is at present in the possession of man. there is scarcely a section of the bible that does not receive some authentication from the limitless wealth of this noble treasury.
-a great deal of the remainder of this information and proof has been derived from other museums, such as the egyptian museum at cairo, egypt, and the museum of the university of pennsylvania. much of the contents of this book has come from the excavations now in progress in egypt, and from the ruins at sakkara, luxor, karnak, iraq, and other centers of present activity. the earth seems eager indeed to offer its treasures of proof concerning the word of god.
-the author is especially grateful for the help accorded to him in egypt by mr. and mrs. erian boutros of cairo, and by certain officials of the egyptian government, chief of whom in helpfulness was m. abdul nabi, and the egyptian tourist bureau, whose gracious efforts on our behalf won us many privileges from the department of antiquities.
-the illustrations used in this volume are largely from the author’s own photographs of exhibits and evidences, made by him and presented with the assurance that they are not retouched or altered in any manner. in the course of his studies and travels in search of this material, he made hundreds of negatives, only a few of which appear in this work. the exceptions to this are noted where they appear. the zinc etchings are made from original drawings by miss elizabeth elverhoy from our photographs, and are authentic in all details.
-we hand you now tales of dead men, rendered by men long dead, as they unconsciously accredit the sacred page of the word of god. if you have a tithe of the pleasure and profit in the reading of these pages that we have experienced in the gathering of their contents, we shall be repaid for the labor involved.
-list of illustrations
-chapter i the premise stated
-in the romantic vocabulary of the twentieth century few words are more potent to arouse the interest of the average man than the fascinating word “archeology.” a flood of volumes has come forth from the press of our generation covering almost every phase of this now popular science. after one hundred years of steady plodding and determined digging, this school of research has at last come into its own and today occupies deserved prominence in the world of current literature. this science, which deals exclusively with dead races and the records of their conduct is, to many, the most fascinating field of investigation at present open to the inquiring mind of man. nothing is of such interest to the human as is humanity. the study of the life and record of our own kind rightly means more to us than can most other subjects.
-but the true appreciation of the value of the contribution of archeology to our modern learning can be appreciated only by those who grasp an outstanding fact that should be self-apparent, but is so often overlooked: namely, these records derived from musty tombs and burial mounds constitute the daily events in the lives of human beings! the folks who left these records were ordinary people such as make up the nations of the earth today. they are not merely names on tablets or faces carved in stone. they were actual flesh-and-blood individuals with all that this implies. in hours of merriment they laughed, and they shed tears in moments of sorrow. they hungered, and ate for satisfaction; they drank when they were thirsty. they loved and they hated; they lived and they died. pleasure and pain were their alternating companions, while ambition, aspiration, and hope drove them on the endless round of their daily tasks.
-in a word, they were real. their life was as important to them as is your life, and they lived it in much the same way. therefore, the records written by humans and studied by their kind, who now live these thousands of years later, constitute the source of the most human science with which our generation has to deal.
-the contributions of archeology have reached almost every branch of study, but to no particular group of people have they been more timely and valuable than to students of the bible. the hoary antiquity of the book which has been received in every generation by the intelligent and the discerning as the word of god, has its roots in the same generations that archeology is investigating today. it is inevitable that much of the material being recovered by modern excavations shall have important bearing upon the various questions skepticism may raise concerning the text of the scripture.
-to the open-minded scholar who approaches this subject without prejudice, the science of archeology has a twofold contribution to make. some of the evidences derived from digging are (a) of incalculable value in illuminating the text of the scripture, and are (b) equally priceless when viewed as a body of indisputable evidence. under this latter heading the proofs would come into four classifications:
-1. the historicity of the text 2. the accuracy of the account 3. the authenticity of the record 4. the inspiration of the whole
-by way of illustrating the manner in which the scripture may be illumined by the findings of archeology, we would introduce a semi-humorous and partially tragic event that occurred in the dim and distant days of our own earlier studies. during a short term spent at a well known california college, we were specializing in the field of history. the teacher of this course, professor rosenberger, was one of the ablest pedagogues who ever wasted her life in the more or less important task of teaching a rising generation how to think! at the end of the first few weeks in a class in english history, she informed the student group that the following day we would be privileged to have a test in this particular subject. when the class gathered for the happy event, there were twenty questions written on the board which were to constitute our examination.
-the first question was something like this, “what new treaty had just been signed between france and spain at this particular period?”
-the next question had to do with the political commitments of the holy roman empire.
-the third question took us into the germanic states, and in all of the twenty questions not one word concerning england was mentioned!
-as the class sat with the usual and habitual expression of vacuity which generally adorns the countenance of a college student facing a quiz, the professor said, “you may begin.”
-some hapless wight procured the courage to protest, by saying, “but you said this was to be an examination in english history!”
-the professor replied, “quite so! this is english history!”
-then leaning forward over the desk she said, in impressive tones, “how can you expect to know what england is doing, and why, if you do not know the pressure upon her of her enemies and friends at that particular period?”
-a long distance back in our mental vacuum a dim light began to glow, and we never were caught that way again! when the teacher said french history, we read everything else! when she said german history, we specialized on the surrounding countries. one day as we were thinking over this helpful technique of understanding, the idea began to grow that if this was the proper way to study secular history, it ought to apply to bible study as well!
-the prophet isaiah, who was a strong force and exercised a vital influence in the policies of judah, began to object most strenuously. in the light of this background, we can understand such outbursts of isaiah as are found in the thirtieth chapter of his prophecy, verses one to three:
-“woe to the rebellious children, saith the lord, that take counsel, but not of me; and that cover with a covering, but not of my spirit, that they may add sin to sin:
-“that walk to go down into egypt, and have not asked at my mouth; to strengthen themselves in the strength of pharaoh, and to trust in the shadow of egypt!
-“therefore shall the strength of pharaoh be your shame, and the trust in the shadow of egypt your confusion.”
-his protest seems to reach a climax in the thirty-first chapter in that magnificently written plea for faith in god which we find in these graphic words:
-“woe to them that go down to egypt for help; and stay on horses, and trust in chariots, because they are many; and in horsemen, because they are very strong; but they look not unto the holy one of israel, neither seek the lord!
-“yet he also is wise, and will bring evil, and will not call back his words: but will arise against the house of the evil doers, and against the help of them that work iniquity.
-“now the egyptians are men, and not god; and their horses flesh, and not spirit. when the lord shall stretch out his hand, both he that helpeth shall fall, and he that is holpen shall fall down, and they all shall fail together.”
-all through this period of prophecy, isaiah’s voice is aggressively raised against the folly of trusting egypt. his protest is, “since god redeemed us once from bondage in that land, why put ourselves back again under their yoke?”
-the princes replied in some such terms as this: “the objection is o. k. in principle; as a basic thesis we will admit that it is safe to trust in god. but right now we need real help and we need it in a hurry.”
-the prophet cried out in response, “god will send the help that you need!”
-the natural question was “whence? syria and egypt are the only two powers near us. one is arrayed against us and the help of the other you forbid us to seek. whence then is the aid that god will send?”
-the prophet’s reply was short and terse, “god will send aid from very far off.”
-the reluctant court agreed to take a chance on isaiah’s insistence, and so to trust their cause to the god of israel. quickly, then, upon the heels of this decision, as we learn from the records of archeology, there came one of the earlier battles that were fought at charchemish.
-the rising power of assyria first made itself felt in that engagement. as a result, syria was shattered and israel made captive. the help that god had promised did come, and now the definite prophecy of isaiah, in chapters seven and eight, may be correlated into this simple summary; and against this background we can understand the vehemence of isaiah in crying out against an alliance with egypt.
-it is not too much to say, as we shall later show in detail, that in our present possession there is sufficient knowledge derived from the monuments and records of antiquity to authenticate every prophecy that isaiah made concerning egypt, israel, syria, and assyria. thus the text of the old testament is illumined, and a floodlight of understanding thrown upon its prophetic utterance by the findings in this field.
-even more striking is the contribution of archeology in the second field, that of evidence in defense of the accepted text. the museums, monuments, and libraries of the world are teeming with such evidences, and it shall be the purpose of this volume to condense, epitomize, and present much of that evidence in a simple and readable form, divorced from technical obscurities. right here, however, we offer just one simple illustration under each of the subdivisions suggested in the paragraph above.
-to demonstrate the evidence of the bible’s historicity, we shall offer the illustration made famous by the late dr. robert dick wilson, as to the record of the forty-seven kings of antiquity. it is probably known to the reader that the historical sections of the old testament contain the names of forty-seven kings, aside from the rulers of israel and judah. these foreign, or gentile kings, have been known by name for many centuries to every reader of the old testament.
-the odd thing is that until comparatively recent times, these names had been dropped out of secular history. mighty as these men had each been in his day, they were completely forgotten by posterity and for some twenty-three hundred years their names were unknown to the scholars of secular events. for this reason the learned leaders of “higher criticism” relegated these forty-seven monarchs to the columns of mythology. they were grouped among “the fables and folklore of the old testament” which this deluded school mistakenly taught was one of the basic weaknesses of the text. then one after another these disputed monarchs began to rise from the dead in an archeological resurrection. in some cases a burial mound was uncovered; in others, an annalistic tablet, a boundary marker, or a great building inscribed with the monarch’s name. now, all forty-seven of these presumably fabulous characters have been transferred from the columns of “mythology” to the accepted records of established history.
-in forty-seven specific instances, as these kings rose from the dead past, they were recognized, as their names were not strange to true historians. each was remembered from his appearance in the page of the old testament which had preserved his memory with accuracy. thus, in this simple instance there are forty-seven definite and specific evidences of the complete historicity of the text.
-to stress this point, the accuracy of the record, we shall cite a semi-humorous illustration. the great greek historian, herodotus, who is supposed to be the “father of history,” wrote some more or less accurate observations concerning the land of egypt. among other things, he said that the egyptians grew no grapes and drank no wine.
-however, one of the murals depicted an egyptian party gathered around the banquet board, making merry with the juice of the grape (see plate 1). the incidental evidences show very clearly that the juice was fermented. off in the corner, the picture depicts a noble lady who is portrayed with her slave holding a silver bowl, while she gave up the excess fluids that had evidently disagreed with the more commendable parts of the banquet! another of these murals showed the morning light coming into such a banqueting hall, as the slaves were all carrying their masters home; with the exception of one inebriate who had slid under the table and had evidently been overlooked in the excitement!
-did the egyptians grow grapes and drink wine?
-herodotus said “no.”
-moses said “yes.”
-the critics, to their later embarrassment, lined up solidly with herodotus.
-but since archeology has accredited the accuracy of moses, this argument is no longer heard in the halls of learning.
-when we come to the question of authenticity, we shall later give many evidences that none of the records of the bible, either the old testament or the new, are, in any sense of the word, forgeries. they are uniformly authentic in that they were written by the men whose names they bear.
-a classical illustration of this is found in the fact that sir william ramsay, one of the greatest archeologists of our generation, began his work in his early days under the bias of the critical position that luke was not the author of either the gospel that bears his name or the book of the acts of the apostles. after forty years of research in asia minor, sir william ramsay himself discovered the evidence that converted him personally to the orthodox and historical view, and demonstrated conclusively that luke unquestionably wrote the two books that are accredited to him. as we shall deal with this matter more extensively in the fifth volume of this series, we pass on to the present cause of modern controversy, namely, the inspiration of the text.
-the fact of inspiration is stated so often by the writers of the scripture that we must accept their explanation of the origin of these pages, or else classify them as the most consistent liars that humanity has ever produced. they claim a supernatural guidance by the holy ghost which has kept their records free from error or discrepancy. for one who has examined and analyzed the scripture in the unprejudiced light of archeology, this claim is vindicated at every turn of the spade.
-a simple illustration of the manner in which our science does show the inspiration of the scripture, may be found from the prophetic sections of the old testament. in the days of isaiah and his fellow prophets, the capital of egypt was the city of no. it is also called amon, and sometimes, no-amon. it was a populous city of wealth and culture, being the center of learning, as well as the seat of government. in a day when egypt dominated the world and no-amon was the mistress of antiquity, obscure hebrew prophets raised their voices in denunciation of no in such arbitrary and extreme statements as are found in the thirtieth chapter of ezekiel. denouncing the sin of egypt and their repeated betrayals of israel, ezekiel warns egypt that her land shall be overrun with fire and sword, and that no-amon shall be desolate and forsaken.
-there must have been a strong element of humor in all of this outcry to the proud mind of the egyptian of that day! no-amon, also called thebes, spreading out on both banks of the nile, in complacent, serene command of the ancient world, apparently had nothing to fear from the bitter cries of a prophet of israel. yet today the visitor to the site of thebes, or no-amon, to use the more ancient name, is faced with a scene of desolation that is utterly devoid of any human habitation.
-since it is impossible for the human mind to pick up the curtain of time and peer ahead into future events, prophecy can derive only from the holy spirit. the work of archeologists in identifying the bleak and barren site of no-amon portrays the inspiration of the scripture. the proud city is forgotten except for its inscriptions on records of antiquity and the denunciations to be found in the word of god. thus we have simply illustrated how this dignified and sober science is bringing to us illumination of the text, together with the evidences of the historicity, accuracy, authenticity, and inspiration of the bible.
-this is eminently fitting, since this peculiar science is most intimately concerned with the problem of the credibility of the bible. the unique and heavenly nature of the book is in itself a divisive factor. multitudes of men and women love it and would die for its preservation. indeed, it is no exaggeration of fact to say that multitudes have died in its defense. there are others who hate the book and would go to any length to discredit it, except the extreme length of martyrdom. it is very natural for men to die for what they believe, but few men will surrender their lives for what they disbelieve!
-this division is decidedly fitting and proper. men and women who are saved by the grace of god recognize the supernatural nature of the book that is the means of their redemption. men and women who are lost, resent the honesty of that book in that it condemns their sin and iniquity.
-in our day and age, infidelity has, under the guise of an attempted scientific refutation, directed its chief argument against the integrity of the scripture. living in an age of science, when all things are again evaluated in the light of man’s technical knowledge, it is inevitable that the bible should come in for this type of investigation. no exponent of scripture would wish it otherwise. if the bible is honestly examined without prejudice, under any system of truth, it will maintain its integrity and establish its own supernatural character.
-the so-called scientific investigation of the scripture, however, has not been made on the basis of credible science. rather, the prejudiced enemies have sought to gather from pseudo-scientific claims such help and hope for their opinions as would bolster their failing school. we frankly admit that the text of the bible does refute the fallacies of men of science. there is a great deal of theoretical speculation indulged in by men who call themselves scientists, and who march under the banner of technical learning. in every age, when such fallacious theories are current, the bible is necessarily repudiated by the exponents of those false ideas. few such men, however, know the bible, and their opposition has no lasting effect. this book does not stand in any age by human consent, but has been able to maintain itself in every age by the inherent power of its supernatural character.
-the science of archeology has played a great and leading role in demolishing these fallacies of a pseudo-scientific generation.
-as an instance of this, we may note that the theory of organic evolution is unquestionably incompatible with the record of the scripture. in the “dark ages” of biology which began to draw to a close at the beginning of this present decade, the thoughts of men were so darkened by the general acceptance of the baseless and unscientific theory of man’s animal origin, as sadly to handicap capable research and frustrate the pursuit of real knowledge. we see again, however, that truth, though crushed to the earth, will rise again. for certainly no one who is within ten years of being up to date in the facts of biology and the discoveries of archeology, will contend any longer for the animal origin of the human species.
-the theory cannot be harmonized with the record of the scripture. therefore, in the days of blindness, when this particular theory possessed the imagination of men, it was used as an argument against the integrity of the text of the word of god. this whole problem simmers down to a simple illustration. in dealing with the origin of man, there are two horses. the problem of every man is to decide which one he shall ride. one horse is known by the name of “specific creation,” and the other is called “organic evolution.”
-it is impossible to ride them both at once. in riding two horses at one time, it is necessary to keep them close together and both going in the same direction. there is no record of anyone who successfully rode two horses simultaneously when they were headed in opposite directions!
-these two premises are irreconcilable. the first is that man was created in perfection. in the moment of his fiat origin, he was formed by the hand of god, gifted with all the arts and cultures by a process of involution. the word “involution” simply means “to come down into.” that is to say, all of the graces and abilities possessed by man were imparted by creation.
-the second theory is that “man has himself consummated a gradual ascent from a brutish state to our present high and civilized condition.” (if there were room in such a work as this for sarcasm, we might say that this is another way of noting that we have left the arrow and the club for heavy artillery, poison gas and aerial bomb. if one were to wax facetious, one might be tempted to suggest that if the present condition of international hatred, mass murder, violated treaties, forgotten honor, and civilian extermination in the holy name of war, are the best that evolution can accomplish, we should hand the whole mess back to the monkeys and ask them to stir up another batch!)
-but to remain upon the sober grounds of scientific inquiry, it is not too much to say that the archeologist speaks upon this problem with absolute finality. there is nothing theoretical about archeology. what you dig up with your own hands, you are inclined to believe.
-some years ago we had a college lad on one of our expeditions who was strongly addicted to the theory of organic evolution. at the beginning of the work the lad showed some disposition to argue, and was somewhat disappointed that we refused to enter into debate with him upon our differing theories. as day followed day, however, and we got into the rich contents of burial mounds containing a fabulous amount of ossi, this lad became deeply concerned with the discrepancies between his textbook learning and what he saw in his own personal recoveries of ancient skeletons.
-at the end of that one summer, this student returned to the campus an ardent and bitter anti-evolutionist, denouncing the false teachings which had misled him by means of the printed page.
-in a word, other sciences may speculate, theorize and deduce, but archeology delves and demonstrates. some of these demonstrations will be seen in the contents of the following pages. we say some: for if all the evidence from the realm of archeology were massed into one great volume, no derrick ever built by man could lift its tremendous bulk and weight. in such a work as this one we are handicapped and embarrassed, not by the paucity of evidence, but rather by its over-abundance.
-it shall be the purpose of the following pages to cull and summarize some of the striking facts of archeology, which demonstrate beyond question that the book which men call the bible is historically credible, scientifically accurate, and has been derived by inspiration from the spirit of god.
-chapter ii the tides of culture
-in almost every branch of this fascinating science, archeology has been the handmaid of revelation. even more, it has acted as a beacon to illuminate the pathway to god, which men call the bible. the problem of the antiquity and culture of man was the battleground of infidelity which the skeptical chose to demonstrate the fallacy of the bible’s claims to supernatural origin.
-if it can be proved by the aid of science that the human race is older than is implied by the genesis account of creation, and if it can be shown that man has ascended from a dim and brutish ancestry, instead of being created perfect by the hand of god, the foundation would admittedly be swept from beneath the scripture, and the entire structure of revelation collapses. however, this unwarranted attempt to confuse the issue and refute the scripture, is manifestly unfair to science. it is not too much to say that this is a debasing of the highest labors of human mentality. research, in the exact sense of the word, cannot be used legitimately to establish a pet theory to which the advocate clings without regard to evidence in the case. the attempt to demonstrate the organic evolution of man belongs in the realm of philosophy and not of science. the work of science is the correlation of facts. the sphere of philosophy is the interpretation of facts. in all of this controversy, we are not debating the facts of humanity, but are at odds concerning the application of those facts. the real issue then is not the antiquity of man, but the origin of man!
-in the hope of obscuring the manner of origin, the enemy of our faith has sought to raise the dust storm of antiquity. it is here more than anywhere else, that archeology has been such a tremendous aid to the establishment of the truth. this science has demonstrated the premise of the scripture, namely, the fixity and origin of our species. as far back as the spade has been able to thrust the history of humanity, we find the same types and varieties of the human family that exist upon the earth today. since we are covering this problem of antiquity and origin in the sixth volume of this series, we will hasten on with this brief statement of the issue involved. we will later show that all of the statements made in the text of the scripture concerning the degeneration and moral collapse of humanity have been abundantly demonstrated in the realm of archeology. further, the claims that we make as to the historicity of the bible can be demonstrated satisfactorily in one single field; namely, the recording of the story of man and the care used by the scripture writers in the exactness of their statements. in this display of historical accuracy, the writers of the bible have incidentally repudiated the entire philosophy of organic evolution. it is not too much to say that no single evidence derived in the entire realm and history of archeology has sustained the theory of organic evolution. remember that we are dealing specifically with evidence. if the evidence is rightly interpreted and honestly implied, item by item and in the aggregate mass, it refutes the entire fallacy of this weird philosophy.
-since it deals with the realm of human history, archeology is the final voice as to the antiquity and culture of man. no race of man has ever lived upon the face of this earth and failed to leave some relics or evidences of its existence and culture.
-the science of anthropology postulates the beginning of the human family somewhere in mesopotamia. the bible is a little more specific, in that it states that it was in that portion of mesopotamia which lies between the two rivers, the tigris and the euphrates. the oldest relics of man, however, are not found in mesopotamia. this is due to the climatic conditions in certain parts of that ancient land. the rainfall is heavy. we have ourselves suffered great inconvenience, delay, and loss by being isolated from our objective in mesopotamia by floods that filled the wadies and gullies and made travel impossible. also, the outlying country is underlaid to a great extent by water. when excavators dig but a short way into the strata of that land, they are handicapped and hindered by seepage. because of this excess moisture, some of the oldest relics of our race have been destroyed by the ravages of time and the power of the elements.
-the situation in egypt, however, is quite the opposite. in most of that land there is no rain and in no part of that bleak country do we experience frost. the climate is dry to the utmost extreme, and the soil is largely sand. due to this natural condition, the oldest records of the human race are found in egypt. the oldest records of man and the most complete records so far recovered of his early existence have been preserved for us by this combination of climate and soil. since the egyptians buried in sand or in stone tombs, the deposits being protected from the elements, man was the only destroyer. even though there has been a sad record of vandalism, as ruthless hands of the ignorant have despoiled magnificent tombs of priceless records and information, there is much that remained undisturbed. the people of egypt built for endurance. the mighty pyramids, from sakkara to the great pyramid; the colossi at luxor and the awe-inspiring ruins of karnak, are present evidences of the durability of their labors. (see plates 2, 3 and 4.) because of the strange beliefs concerning the life after death, these people also buried for eternity. we shall later consider, in the light of their customs and religious practices, the tremendous value that modern civilization has derived from this ancient fact. we have mentioned this fact now merely to note that the greatest treasure trove of preserved antiquity is found in the land of egypt.
-strangely, in view of the consistent demands of the evolutionary school, we find no evidence of human evolution in the land of egypt. more than this, the doctrine that man began with a brutish intellect and gradually developed his high and peculiar culture, is refuted by the evidences from this country. in fact, the contrary is strikingly the case. instead of proving a process of evolution, the history of man as found in the archeology of egypt is a consistent record of degeneration.
-the eminent sayce, one of the ablest archeologists in the whole history of that great science, expressed his wonder and amazement at the high stage of culture met with in the very earliest records of the egyptian people. other authorities, such as baikie, have written voluminously upon this subject. it had been hoped that when excavators finally reached undisturbed tombs of the first dynasty, they would find themselves in the dawn of egyptian culture. it was our fortunate privilege to be at sakkara a year ago when the first complete and unmolested tombs of the first dynasty were uncovered. it was our privilege to keep a close check and watch upon all that was done at that time, and the conclusions and postulations of hopeful theorists were utterly shattered in such discoveries as were made.
-indeed, we can no longer start egyptian culture with the beginning of the dynastic ages. through the first tombs, we peer back into an older preceding culture that dazzles and amazes the human understanding. instead of finding the dawn of a developing humanity, we see mankind already in the high noon of cultural accomplishments. instead of nomadic dwellers in shaggy tents, we look upon works of enduring stone. instead of brutish, egyptian ancestral artifacts, we find a pottery culture that is really superb. it almost seems that the farther back we go into egyptian antiquity, the more perfect was their culture and learning. the art of writing was the common possession of the egyptian in the pre-dynastic period.
-it is true that there was a so-called stone age in egypt, which preceded the first dynasty. we are showing here, however, a photograph of one of the most ancient open burials ever discovered in egypt. this is accompanied by various heads of mummies, to show the state of preservation. (see plate 5.) before the art of embalming was invented and the dead were mummified, they were buried by intrusion in the dry sands. you will note the perfection of the culture of this people as depicted by the pottery undisturbed in this grave. in contrast to this type of burial, the mummies shown in this same plate are no better preserved than the earlier burial. indeed, there is no evidence to show that these cultures were consecutive rather than contemporary. in various sections of egypt it is quite probable that different burial customs prevailed simultaneously, and it is a pure speculation to say that the more primitive type of burial is ages older than the advanced style.
-there are many anomalies and mysteries in this so-called stone age in egypt. in the museum at cairo there will be found some of the most remarkable specimens of stone flaking to be seen on the face of this earth. others may be seen in the british museum, in the various exhibits of egyptian culture. one of these knives is equipped with two points, and all of them are equally sharpened on both edges. in the author’s own gatherings from the various stone cultures of mankind, there are something over 25,000 artifacts. we have seen every important collection of stone implements in the present world, but these specimens from ancient egypt are unquestionably the most magnificent types of stone culture we have ever been privileged to observe.
-the significant and startling fact is that these stone knives have handles of beaten gold. at once we are impressed with the anomalous fact that the stone age was thus synonymous with an age of metal. furthermore, it was an artistic age. the golden handles on these stone weapons are engraved with scenes common to the life of the people. on one side of the stone dagger with the double points, there is a sailing vessel typical of the pleasure craft that were common to all ages of egyptian life. on the raised deck of this boat, dancing maidens were entertaining the circle of spectators. this work was not crude and brutish, but showed a high development of the engraver’s art. the reverse side of the handle was even more interesting in that it contained, in beautifully incised characters, the cult sign of the owner.
-here is, indeed, a weird super-imposition of ages and cultures. the body of the weapon is of a stone age; the handle of the weapon is of an age of metal; the engravings upon that metal show an age of art and the possession of written characters. there is no comfort for the evolutionary hypothesis in the antiquity of egypt. the contrary rather is the case. there is a strange tide sweeping through the record, portraying an ebb and flow of culture that is fascinating to observe.
-the culture of egypt starts on a magnificently high level and is later reduced to a tremendous degree by a consistent record of degeneration. it might be said that by the end of the fourth dynasty, the people had reached the high peak of egyptian art and learning. but after the sixth dynasty had well begun, a definite decline and retrogression had set in. we find ourselves then groping in a dark age wherein were no arts and no written history. no great monuments come from that period, and no great buildings were begun, repaired, or finished. writing became extremely scarce and in many sections of the land the art seems to have been completely forgotten. as in the dark ages of medieval europe, learning was in eclipse and the mental life of man degenerated. just when the renaissance began, it is impossible to say, but in the eleventh dynasty we are suddenly back into the light again.
-egypt emerges from those dark ages, ruled by powerful feudal lords, with the pharaohs appearing to be mere figure-heads. these great barons left voluminous records, which depict their conquests and their powers, and tell of their own individual greatness. they constructed magnificent tombs for their eternal rest, and the land blossomed culturally under their dominion.
-these conditions prevailed until the coming of the hyksos dynasty. these conquering kings were of semitic origin and they seem to have come from the region of ur. after this conquest, egypt suddenly became an unlimited monarchy. the great lords became landless, stripped of their power and robbed of all authority. the people literally passed into the possession of the crown, and egypt became a nation of slaves who owed their very existence to the royal head of the government. the reason for this change will be made manifest later in this present work. we are now interested only in presenting these strange cycles of culture as shown by archeology.
-it would take many volumes to give a detailed picture of the early golden age in egypt. as an illustration of the art and development of that culture, we refer the reader to the tomb of a court official at the dawn of the sixth dynasty. buried with this minor official were certain small wooden effigies depicting customs, trades, and tools of his day. there were porters laden with their heavy burdens. there were scribes bearing stylus and plaque. certain tradesmen were found in these brilliant statuettes, each man’s craft being shown by the tools that he carried in his hand. priests appeared clad in their pontifical robes. perhaps the most interesting of all were the statuettes of candy vendors, each man equipped with his tray of sweets, and a horsehair tail wherewith to fan the flies. some of these statues were so perfect in their execution that the eminent phidias might well have envied their perfection. when we compare this art and culture with the so-called pictures of brutish cave-dwellers, we have one more failure in the collapsing chain of evidences that was supposed to show man’s constantly advancing culture.
-we might also give, by way of illustration, the magnificent statue of kephren. this memorial was exquisitely carved from stone so hard that it would blunt most modern tools. kephren constructed one of the pyramids at giza. this latter work was notable in that there were evidences that some of the stones had been cut with what appeared to be tubular drills. since this is possible in our modern culture with the use of diamond-pointed instruments, there is food for considerable thought and speculation as to the culture and learning of kephren’s age! as a general statement, it is not too much to say that the farther back we go into egyptian antiquity, the more perfect the arts and culture in general seem to be.
-when we compare, for instance, the brilliant workmanship of the priceless pectoral of the daughter of usertesen (or usertsen) with the crude and amateurish workmanship of the jewelry of the later queen abhotep, it is evident that the centuries brought retrogression. the reign of usertesen may be correlated with the early period of the patriarchal age, which fact has an important bearing upon our study. the hopeful critics of the book of genesis have postulated for the age of abraham a barbaric lack of culture comparable to the nomadic tribes of arabia in the middle ages. we now see, however, that the entire age of the patriarchs was a period of exquisite culture and high learning. to refer again to usertsen, he seems to have been a capable strategist, and his system of working out his plan of battle was something like the game of chess. his artists had made for him models of the various kinds of soldiers that made up his variegated corps. the bowmen were armed with exquisite miniature weapons that had, to our delight and wonder, been preserved against all the passing centuries. the black troops that he used, of whatever origin, were carved from a wood like our ebony, and the tiny features were negroid in faithful representation of the difference between the races of men employed in his army. these model soldiers could be moved about a board which depicted the terrain of battle, and his strategy thus wrought out. our present point, however, is the artistic perfection of the models of the soldiers that he used. the art of his age was as nearly perfect as one could wish.
-then there came another cycle of retrogression and decay which climaxed in a period of cultural darkness that reigned too long over that ancient people. it is highly significant, for instance, that the best glass of egypt is dug from the more ancient sites. there came a time when the art of making glass was forgotten by the people of egypt and had later to be rediscovered by other races.
-if there is one voice that can be heard in archeology, and one lesson that can be specifically learned, it is the certainty of the fallacy of the theory of evolution. egypt, as elsewhere, shows us no dim, brutish beginning, but a startling emergence of this people in a high degree of culture. no gradual ascent up the ladder of learning, but cycles of retrogression and advancement, followed by decay: then a new dawning of art and science. the entire record of archeology is thus a complete vindication of the premise and basic contention of the inspired record of god’s word. no greater voice may be heard in our day than this definite, adamant cry from egypt, which depicts cycles of culture that begin with a crest of learning. it must not be presumed that this condition is unique in egypt, or peculiar to any one race or country. the same queer discrepancy between the fallacious theories of the philosophy of organic evolution and the facts of human history is observed wherever archeology has been able to hold the torch of discovery over a given area.
-we have illustrated, for instance, in plates number 6 and 7, one of the most interesting of the exhibits in the british museum. this is a stone weapon from the archaic ages of the chaldeans. it consists of a mace head, made of limestone. incidentally, this was a very common type of weapon among those people in their warlike culture. the particular one that is illustrated is typical of its time. note that it is a stone age weapon.
-a note of wonder is caused in our inquiring minds by the odd and utterly incompatible fact that it is engraved clearly in high relief, thus testifying to the fact that in the archaic stone age of babylon, men who wrought in a time when the evolutionary advocates demand a dim and brutish stage of development were already gifted in the art of sculpture!
-to complicate the case still further, they were possessed as well with a highly developed written language! their stone implements are in some instances crude, as they did not spend time polishing and decorating rude tools that were used for a base purpose. others of their artifacts, like this stone mace head, are not only covered with finely sculptured figures but are also inscribed with written characters that are clear and well executed. a “stone age” with a written culture, scholars, and books, is an anomaly, indeed!
-where, then, in the light of these archeological facts, is the evidence of the slow development of the human mentality and the emergence of primitive man from his “brutish” state? unfortunately for the high-priests of the dying sect of organic evolution, the science which delineates the true condition of ancient races offers them no help or proof whatever. the opposite is the case in archeology, as all the evidence that has come to us from the honest attempt to see man as he was, and not as he was reported to have been, has proved conclusively that organic evolution is a false religion. it is inevitable that this fact should some day come to light; for although it may be that science moves with leaden feet, when it does finally overtake error, it smites with an iron fist!
-thus the false theory that man has struggled upward from a valley of brutish darkness is refuted by archeology, and the premise of specific creation, as set forth in the bible, is established by the discoveries in the realm of this science. in every land that man has occupied for a long period of time, the tide of culture has ebbed and flowed from that hour to this present moment of writing. just as the night follows the day, and the next day dawns only to be succeeded by the darkness in turn, so the learning and progress of man has been a cycle, rather than a steady climb up a ladder of learning, from level to level, until the heights of present civilization were reached. the old error must now be abandoned, or else we must close our eyes to the entire record of archeological discovery, and frankly confess that we are not interested in facts which refute erroneous, but accepted theories.
-chapter iii converging streams
-in a systematic presentation of the evidences in the field of christian apologetics, it is necessary to review the egyptian and chaldean records as they bear upon the text of the scripture, and illumine its meaning. for it is here that the streams of history and revelation converge, to continue their flow in mingled harmony throughout all the centuries which follow this original conjunction.
-the events of the garden of eden and the subsequent history are not such as would leave archeological material for the exact enlightenment of later generations. there is, however, a manner in which the study of antiquity can bring a tremendous light to shine upon the dark problem of the credibility of these records. it is generally conceded by ethnologists that when races of people hold a strongly developed idea or belief, in common, there must have been an historical incident as the basis of that universal tradition. thus, among the very earliest traditions of ancient egypt, there is a record of the creation of man that bears a valuable relationship to the account in genesis.
-the mosaic record states that god stooped and created the body of man out of the dust of the earth. life was imparted to that body by the very breath of god.
-the earliest egyptian record recounts how the god khnum took a slab of mud, and placing it upon his potter’s wheel, moulded it into the physical form of the first man. the illustration facing this page shows the entire process, with thoth standing behind khnum, and marking the span of man’s years upon a notched branch. here then is a coincidence of traditional belief in the manner of creation of man that is of tremendous significance.
-we also note that the earliest records of sumeria have this same incidental bearing upon certain portions of the old testament text.
-all of the records of antiquity begin the history of man in a garden. this is of considerable significance in view of the account of eden that is so prominently given in the record of genesis.
-among the seals to which we shall occasionally refer and which are shown in plate 8, there is one from an early period in sumeria from which we have derived considerable understanding of sumerian beliefs. this seal shows adam and eve on opposite sides of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and can be nothing less than a direct reference to the event that is recorded in the book of genesis.
-one of the most constantly cited documents of antiquity, is the so-called gilgamesh epic. the high antiquity of the original form in which this occurs may be seen from the fact that many of the seals that go as far back as the year 3,000 b. c. are made of illustrations of the various episodes that are contained in this valuable document. the original home of gilgamesh seems to have been at erech. the city was evidently besieged by an army led by gilgamesh, who, after a three-year war, became the king of the city. so harsh was the despotic rule of the conquering monarch that the people petitioned the goddess aruru to create a being strong enough to overthrow gilgamesh and release them from his sway.
-some of the gods joined in with this prayer and as a result a mythical being, partly divine, partly human, and partly animal, was created and dispatched to erech for the destruction of gilgamesh. this composite hero bears a great many different names, but the earliest accepted form in the babylonian account was enkedu. gilgamesh, learning that an enemy had been created for his destruction, exercised craft and lured enkedu to the city of erech. the two became fast friends and set out finally to do battle with a mighty giant named khumbaba. when they arrived at his castle, they besieged and captured the stronghold of the giant, whom they slew. they carried off his head as a trophy and returned to erech to celebrate their victory.
-the plan of the gods being thus frustrated, the goddess ishtar besought her father anu to create a mighty bull to destroy gilgamesh. the bull being formed and dispatched upon its duty, also failed of its purpose when enkedu and gilgamesh vanquished the animal after a tremendous battle. and so on, the story goes with episode after episode, culminating with a crisis in the account of the deluge.
-in this climax, in a notable and fascinating manner, we see again the coincidence of tradition with a record of the scripture. in the babylonian account of the deluge, every major premise of the mosaic record is sustained in its entirety. the gilgamesh account tells of the heavenly warning, it depicts the gathering of material and the building of an ark. in the ark was safely carried the hero, his wife and his family with certain beasts of the earth for seed. the ark of the gilgamesh episode was made water tight with bitumen exactly as was the ark of noah in the record in the book of genesis. entering this ark, the babylonian account tells how the boat came under the direct supervision of the gods. on the same night a mighty torrent fell out of the skies. the cloudburst continued for six days and nights, until the tops of the mountains were covered. the sea arose out of its banks and helped to overflow the land. after the seventh day, the storm abated and the sea decreased. by that time, however, the whole human race had been destroyed with the exception of the little company who had been within the babylonian ark.
-the goddess ishtar was so pleased with the sacrifice of the godly remnant that she hung in the heavens a great bow, which anu, the father of the gods, had made for the occasion. she swore by the sacred ornaments that hung about her neck that mankind should not again be destroyed by a flood, and this heavenly bow was the sign of that covenant.
-the incidental details which are found in this hoary manuscript coincide too closely with the record of genesis to admit of coincidence. archeology has brought no stronger testimony to the historicity of the mosaic record of the deluge than this great account in the gilgamesh epic, although interspersed with mythological characters and deviating from the simplicity of the genesis account.
-one of the most valuable publications of the british museum is their monograph on the gilgamesh legend, which contains a fine and scholarly translation of the deluge tablet in an unabridged form. our own copy of this publication has been of great value to many students who have sought its aid in their detailed studies of the old testament.
-another one of the disputed portions of the old testament text which brought great comfort to the habitually hopeful among the destructive critics, is that section of genesis which deals with the record of nimrod and the tower of babel.
-modern archeology not only has failed to bring any aid to the critics in this particular incident, but has robbed them of all their carefully erected structure of argument which was predicated upon the assumption that the tower of babel was entirely mythological. among the recent excavations in mesopotamia was the work in the region which bore the oriental name of birs-nimroud. when the excavators had finished their enormous task, they had laid bare a magnificent ziggurat of tremendous antiquity which was the largest so far discovered. at the time these ruins were first seen, this enormous tower covered an area of 1,444,000 square feet. it towered to the height of a bit more than 700 feet. time has, of course, ravished this monument to some extent, but enough of its grandeur and glory remains to show it forth as the most ancient as well as the most magnificent of the babylonian ziggurats.
-according to the description given by herodotus, in the middle of the fifth century, b. c., the structure then consisted of a series of eight ascending towers, each one recessed in the modern fashion of cutting-back that is used in certain types of sky-scraper architecture. the famous step pyramid at sakkara is another ancient example of this type of structure, each successive and higher tower being smaller than the one upon which it rests. a spiral roadway, according to herodotus, went around the entire ziggurat, mounting rapidly from level to level. he states that at each level a resting place was provided in this spiral roadway. at the top of the structure was a magnificent temple in which the religious exercises of the day were observed.
-that this was the tower of nimrod is generally accepted by the authorities of our present day. the name of nimrod which in the sumerian ideographs is read “ni-mir-rud” is found on a number of artifacts and records of high antiquity, and reference is made as well to the great monument that he built.
-so as we read our way through the episodes which constitute the earlier records of genesis, we also dig our way into the older strata of humanity and find ourselves walking hand in hand with the twins of revelation and scientific vindication! they coincide in all their utterances, teaching us that all that the word of god has to say to men may be accepted without question or doubt.
-the late melvin grove kyle has written extensively of his own researches at sodom and gomorrah, so that it is unnecessary to recapitulate the results of his lifetime of labor. the sulphurous overburden and the startling confirmation of the book of genesis derived from the work of dr. kyle and his associates would vindicate the scriptural claims to historical accuracy even if they stood by themselves.
-in the general argument and discussion that long has clustered about the record of abraham, the starting point of critical refutation has generally been the fourteenth chapter of genesis. it is stated that the battle of the kings that occurred in this disputed portion of holy writ, was in the days of amraphel, king of shinar. since a contemporary is named as ched-or-la-o-mer, a storm of argument has swept over and about that one opening verse of this important chapter. the allies of ched-or-la-o-mer are well known from his own records, and amraphel was not to be found among them. it was a tremendous blow to criticism when the discovery was made that amraphel is the hebrew name of the sumerian form, khammurabi.
-the brilliant ability of this mighty ruler is one of the high points of far antiquity. the king-lists of antiquity, derived from many sources, were compiled by order of several of the kings of assyria and constitute another of the many valuable records to be found in the british museum. a recent publication of the museum entitled “the annals of the kings of assyria” is well worth many times the price of one pound sterling which is demanded for the volume. this scholarly and brilliant piece of work contains the original assyrian text transliterated and translated with historical data that the careful scholar cannot be without. it settles the question of khammurabi. this khammurabi, whom we shall now call by his hebrew name amraphel, has left us a long series of tablets, monuments, letters, and a code of laws which stands engraved upon a great monument preserved also in the british museum.
-it is a long way back to that twentieth century before christ, but neither time nor distance prevents our hearing the clamoring voices of men long dead, who shout to us their vindication of the nature, character, and integrity of these testimonies which are the word of god!
-it is a matter of common knowledge in our day that the word, or name, pharaoh, may be applied either to a person or to an office. exactly as our modern word “president” may be applied to the function of the office, or to the possessor of it in person, so the ruler of egypt could be known simply as the pharaoh, or shorter still, as pharaoh. as every president, emperor or king, however, has his own proper name, so each pharaoh also is designated by his personal name. fortunately for our purpose, many pharaohs are mentioned in the pages of holy writ under the clear identification of their proper names. many of them, however, are not identified by their personal name but are referred to only by the title of their kingly office. thus, for instance, the pharaoh of the exodus is not named personally in the text. such attempts at identification of this pharaoh as are made, must be made from external sources. however, there can be no question of the identity of the rulers of egypt, who are specifically named in the word of god. such men as the pharaoh shishak, the pharaoh zera and the pharaoh so, are identified beyond any possibility of question.
-it is a happy circumstance for the student of apologetics that each of the pharaohs who is so named in person by the writers of the bible, has been discovered and identified in the records of archeology. no more emphatic voice as to the credibility and the infallible nature of the historical sections of the scripture can be heard than that which is formed by the chorus of these pharaohs.
-to note the background of this record, may we remind the reader that in early times, egypt was a divided kingdom. it was known as upper egypt and lower egypt, and a separate monarch reigned over each section. it happens that in the period of the divided kingdom, there were fourteen dynasties in each section of the land. the egyptian, like all eastern people, highly prized ancestral antiquity. the farther back into antiquity a man’s family could be traced in his genealogy, the more the honour that accrued to him. we are not without modern counterparts, even in our present democracy.
-therefore, when the two kingdoms were united, the first kings of the united kingdom added together the fourteen dynasties of upper and lower egypt, making them consecutive instead of contiguous. thus they built a spurious antiquity of twenty-eight dynasties to enhance their greatness.
-the earlier archeologists fell into this trap, and consequently erected an antiquity phantom which obscured the problem of chronology for some considerable time. when it was discovered that these dynasties were concurrent, a great deal of the fallacious antiquity of egypt was abandoned. this fictional antiquity, which doubled the factor of time for that period, had been used to discredit the text of the bible by the critical scholars, so-called. now, in the light of our present learning, we find no discrepancy between the antiquity of egypt, properly understood, and the chronology of the scripture, when it is divorced from the errors of ussher. incidentally, the chronology and antiquity demands of both archeology and revelation coincide beautifully with the demands of sane anthropology.
-to delineate this background so necessary to the proper understanding of the record of the pharaohs, it is necessary to introduce the first occasion of the coincidence of the text of the scripture with the land and the people of egypt, as it is here that the streams of revelation and history begin to converge. this beginning is made, of course, in the flight of abraham into egypt at the time of a disastrous famine. overlooking for the moment the reprehensible conduct of abraham concerning the denial of his wife sarah, and the consequent embarrassment of the pharaoh, we digress to make a brief survey of the incidents that lead up to the kindness of pharaoh to abraham.
-there had been previous semitic invasions of egypt. the first reason for these forays, of course, was famine. due to the unfailing inundation by the river nile, the fertile land of egypt was a natural storehouse. the land of egypt is fertile, the sun is benevolent, and wherever water reaches the land, amazingly prodigious crops are the inevitable result. so in the ancient days, whenever there was drought in the desert countries surrounding egypt, the hungry hordes looked on the food supplies of their neighboring country, and, naturally, moved in that direction. thus the pressure of want was the primary reason for these early semitic invasions.
-the secondary cause was conquest. these people of antiquity were brutal pragmatists, as are certain nations in our present twentieth century. the theme song of antiquity undoubtedly was, “i came, i saw, i conquered.” the motive for living in those stern days seems to have been, “he takes who can, and keeps who may.”
-the activating motive of much past history is simply spoils. here now is a case in point. a family of kings ruled in syria, who counted their wealth by flocks and herds. driven by a combination of circumstances, they descended upon egypt. they were pressed by the lack of forage in their own land, due to the drought, and they also lusted after the treasure and wealth of the neighboring country. so, without need for any other excuse, they descended with their armed hordes and conquered egypt. there they ruled, established a dynasty and possessed the land for themselves. since their principal possessions were their flocks and herds, they were known as the shepherd kings. they have come down in history as the hyksos dynasty. they unified syria and egypt, and it is intriguing to study the development of this unification as that process is seen in the pottery of that period. the work of egyptian artisans began to take on certain characteristics of syrian culture until, finally, the characteristic egyptian line and decoration disappeared and the pottery became purely syrian. the shepherd kings established commerce between the two halves of their empire and prosperity followed their conquest. these kings imported artists from their native syria, together with musicians and dancers innumerable.
-this intrusion of a foreign culture so changed the standards of egypt that for generations the ideal of beauty was a syrian ideal. later, when the syrian kings were expelled by tahutmas the 2nd, the situation was reversed and egypt, now governed by an egyptian, kept syria as her share of the spoils.
-four hundred years later another semitic invasion swept over the land from ur. it is quite probable that these conquerors were sumerians. they established the sixteenth dynasty and brought with them also their treasure in the form of livestock. thus, when abraham entered egypt, he found that it was ruled by his relatives! thus we have an explanation of the cordial welcome that a sumerian from ur received from a pharaoh in egypt. this contact is well established through the arts of that day, by pottery, by frescoes, and by means of the records of ancient customs. we know these things to be facts.
-so when we read of the record of abraham, we have at our disposal a vast and overwhelming source of evidence as to the credibility of this section of the record. the statements that are made in genesis could have been written only by one who was intimately familiar with the egypt of that day and time.
-the second contact of egypt and the genesis record is found in the experience of joseph. although harsh and unkind, the action of the brothers in selling the youngest into slavery was perfectly legal under the code of that day. the younger brethren were all subject to the elders, and the law of primogeniture gave to the elder almost unlimited power over the life of the younger. the brutality and envy of this act are far from unparalleled in the secular records of that day. nor was joseph’s phenomenal rise to power unusual in the strange culture of that day and time. we must remember that joseph was a semite at a semitic court. there is an unconscious introduction of a collateral fact in the simple statement of genesis, chapter thirty-nine, verse one. after being told that joseph was sold to a man named potiphar, the statement is made that potiphar was an egyptian.
-at first thought it would seem to be expected that a trusted officer in the court of a pharaoh would naturally be an egyptian. the contrary is the case here, however. the pharaoh himself being an invader, he had surrounded himself with trusted men of his own race and family. as far as may now be ascertained, potiphar was the only egyptian who had preserved his life and kept his place at the court. he seems to have been the chief officer of the bodyguard of pharaoh, and as such was entrusted with the dubious honor of executing the pharaoh’s personal enemies. this, then, is a simple and passing statement that gives us an unexpected means of checking the scrupulous accuracy of the genesis record.
-joseph was comely, attractive, and faithful. with an optimistic acceptance of his unfortunate circumstances, which seem much harder to us in our enlightened generation than would actually be the case to one accustomed to such vicissitudes of fortune, he set himself to serve with fidelity and industry. but above all this, the blessing of god rested upon him and upon all that he did. since he was in the line of the promised seed, and was under the direct blessing of that promise, it was inevitable that he should prosper.
-there is a flood of illumination that shines upon this period from the frescoed tombs, the ancient papyri, and the records crudely inscribed upon walls and pillars. particularly is this true of the entire section of genesis that begins with the fortieth chapter and continues to the end of that book.
-among the quaint frescoes of antiquity, there is one that has no word of explanation. there are many such murals in egyptian tombs, and the cattle also figure often in the pictures on the papyri. (see plate 9.) this fresco, however, was quite unique. across the scene there parade fourteen cattle. the first seven are round, fat and in fine condition. they are followed by seven of the skinniest cows that ever ambled on four legs! no word of explanation is needed to clarify this scene for those who are familiar with the history of that time.
-there is another mural showing the chief baker of pharaoh, followed by his servants and porters. in his hand he holds a receipt for the one hundred thousand loaves that were daily delivered to the palace of pharaoh. these “loaves” were in the nature of large buns.
-the multiplicity of these paintings would require a volume to delineate carefully, but there is information here that cannot be passed over in silence. they bring to us the solution of one of those mysteries of egyptian history, which is found in the collapse of the feudal system and the consequent complete possession of the land by the crown. we can now read from the secular evidences thus derived, that in a time of plenty a trusted lieutenant of the king built granaries to store the surplus left over from the time of plenty. of course, to our enlightened times or in the culture of this generation, that is the height of ignorance. the proper thing to do in a time plenty is to destroy the surplus and plow under the excess. we sometimes wonder what would have happened in egypt if our modern culture had prevailed in the seven years of plenty, in the light of the famine that followed!
-we now find that when the whole land hungered, the lords ceded their real estate to the crown for grain to keep themselves and their families alive. the people sold themselves to pharaoh and became slaves, on condition that he feed them as he would his cattle. when this time of famine was ended, egypt was so absolute a monarchy that pharaoh owned even the bodies of those who had been his subjects.
-as an illuminating collateral incident, we now learn that a sumerian name was given to joseph, the trusted lieutenant. to him was accorded the title “zaph-nath-pa-a-ne-ah.” the sumerian meaning is “master of hidden learning,” and was a title of honour and distinction which was conferred because of his wisdom and forethought in providing for the future. to him also was accorded the royal honour. he was to be preceded by a herald who called upon the people to bow down as joseph passed by. herein there comes the explanation of a slight philological difficulty in the text of genesis. they have tried to make this title of honour to mean “little father.” this difficulty, however, disappears when we understand that it is not a hebrew word that is found in the text, but an ancient egyptian phrase. the common form of the word is “ah-brak” and literally it means “bending the knee.” the babylonian form of the word is “abarakhu.” in some parts of the ancient world the term “ah-brak” is still used by cameliers to make their beasts of burden kneel to receive their load. thus when joseph, the master of the hidden learning, went abroad throughout the land the herald preceded him crying, “bend the knee,” and all the populace bowed in homage to him in acknowledgment of his distinguished accomplishments.
-against this background of understanding, we now turn our thoughts to one of the most stirring dramas in all human history. again there was a famine in the entire land of sumeria, and the people turned, as was customary, to the land of egypt for succor and relief. had this epic been invented by some literary genius of antiquity, the arrival of the brothers of joseph to buy grain for their starving clan would be deemed one of the most melodramatic episodes ever conceived by the human mind. therein we see again how god overruled the evil deed of the brethren, and by that very deed saved the guilty. in a time of world oppression and bitter famine, the family of abraham was reunited in the shelter of egypt.
-as the story unfolds, we see the significance of joseph’s instructions to his brethren. these semitic kings were shepherds who highly prized their flocks and herds. the egyptians, however, despised husbandry, and thus the monarchs were in great distress because of the want of capable herdsmen. the brethren of joseph were distantly related to the reigning pharaoh. they were of the same race of people, and their father abraham had been a prince in that land of sumeria. so when the pharaoh asked them what their occupation was, recognizing them as distant relatives, they were canny enough to reply, “we be shepherds; to sojourn in the land are we come.” with great delight, the pharaoh employed them to be the personal overseers of his treasured animals.
-goshen, which consisted of two hundred square miles of fertility, and was the finest province and the juiciest plum in egypt, was turned over to them for a pasture! they entered into a life of comparative ease, of absolute security, and of importance in the court of their day.
-so there came into egypt that group which was to constitute the spring that gave rise to the historic stream of the hebrew people. the tribes were there in the persons of their founders, and the long contact of israel and egypt began through the pressure and want occasioned by a time of famine.
-one further interesting and collateral evidence of the accuracy of these records is found in the various texts and sections of the books of the dead, and in the records of the customs and practices of the ancient art of embalming. in egypt the general rule was to allow seventy days for the embalming of a dead body, the burial, and the mourning for the dead. but the fiftieth chapter of genesis dealing with the death and burial of joseph tells us, in the third verse, “and forty days were fulfilled for him; for so are fulfilled the days of those which are embalmed: and the egyptians mourned for him threescore and ten days.”
-these statements could be true only in the days of a hyksos or sumerian dynasty. the manner of embalming introduced by these syrian conquerors, required forty days for the complete process and the burial. seventy days was their custom for mourning, thus making a total of one hundred ten days. only in these exact periods of egyptian history could this record of genesis be thus established and accredited.
-it is a fascinating experience for the student of archeology to wend his way through the mass of evidence derived from these generations and now in the possession of the great museums of our earth. a pilgrimage begun in the british museum, at london, continuing through the egyptian museum at cairo, passing by way of sakkara to culminate at karnak, will enable the fascinated student to read this entire book of genesis from the sources of antiquity. thus in the very beginning of the convergence of the two streams, revelation and history, we see that dead men indeed tell tales; and their stories vindicate the record of the word of god!
-much of this evidence is, in the very nature of the case, inductive, and is valuable largely because of the light it sheds on dark places in the text of the scripture. the customs of the people of antiquity were in many ways so different from those of our day, we have lost the comprehension of their conduct that is dependent upon mutual experience. there are thus certain obscurities in the pages of the bible that have baffled modern man for a long time, but which are now clearly understood in the light of fresh understanding of the beliefs and practices of the times that are dealt with in the scriptures. this is by no means the least of the benefits of archeological investigation.
-one such field will be found in the record of the exodus of the hebrews from egypt, and the manner in which god shook the power of the conquering pharaoh and devastated egypt for the relief of the oppressed. the entire record has been repudiated point by point by the various critics and the varying schools of criticism, until their limited opinions leave no grounds for belief in the very fact of the event itself. these objections, when analyzed carefully, are all predicated upon the personal ignorance of the individual critic concerning some phase of the proceedings that climaxed with the departure of israel from servitude.
-one of the commonest objections to the credibility of the old testament history was the oft-repeated assertion that though the children of israel were in bondage for a long period in egypt and left that land in the most dramatic exodus antiquity had known, there is no record from egyptian sources of the people or history of israel. such is not now the case, but had it been so this would not necessarily have diminished the value of the historical statements to be found in the record of the book of exodus.
-very few of the races of antiquity recorded in detail their defeats! certainly no nation that prided itself upon its greatness and power ever suffered a more complete overthrow than did egypt in the redemption of israel. it is only natural to presume that they would make very little reference to the crushing blow that they suffered at that time. there is even today a strong tendency on the part of the egyptians to hush up all evidence of this event as far as it is possible to do so. in the great egyptian museum at cairo, for instance, we find a record of one of these texts that does refer to the israelites.
-exhibit 599 in this aforesaid museum is a large stele in dark gray granite, which is beautifully engraved on both sides. on one side there is an extensive inscription in which amenophis the third gives a categorical list of his gifts and offerings for the temple of amon. the other side of the stele has been appropriated by amenpthah. he gives a highly dramatic account of his battles and victories over the libyans, and then alludes to the assault of ascalon, of gezer, and of yanoem in palestine. in the course of this later record, the inscription reads, “israel is crushed. it has no more seed.”
-in the egyptian museum this exhibit is accompanied by the following ingenious statement: “this is the sole mention of the israelites in the egyptian texts known up to the present day.”
-this is not exactly the truth. the egyptian museum itself at cairo has a number of the tablets containing the correspondence between the egyptian court and the kings and governors who were vassals to egypt in palestine and syria. these communications make urgent demands upon the crown of egypt for military help against the invasion of an armed horde who are called in the text, hebiru. the word “hebiru” is commonly identified with the modern term hebrew.
-again, the late director general of the department of antiquity of egypt and the great founder of the cairo museum, maspero, has left us an interesting note of this monument of menepthah. maspero points to the fact that in comparison to egypt, chaldea and assyria, israel was a very insignificant race. if this was true when the nation was ruled by her greatest and most glorious dynasty, that of david and solomon, it would be more so when the nation consisted of a slave company lodged in a corner of the delta.
-the later ravages undergone by the temples of egypt, when they suffered incalculable harm through the vandalism of the darker ages, makes it indeed extraordinary that any record of those earlier times has remained.
-in the very nature of the case, these details could not have been comprehended by the scholars of the past generation, as they dealt with customs and ideas that were lost to our age. the insatiable curiosity of the archeologist, combined with the care with which the egyptians preserved their records, can be credited with the recovery of this lost information, the possession of which so wonderfully establishes our faith in this more enlightened age.
-chapter iv the ten plagues
-the prosecutors of the old charge of “folklore and mythology” so constantly directed against the faith of those who hold to the credibility of our present scripture text, found some of their keenest shafts in the biblical account of the exodus from egypt. scrutinizing the record of that notable event under the microscope of prejudice, the critics claimed to have found many outstanding weaknesses in the text. particularly was this so in that section of the story which dealt with the plagues with which almighty god smote the land and broke down the resistance of pharaoh.
-there is, therefore, a manifestation of a sardonic humor in the present situation. after denying for generations that these plagues ever occurred, the critics now seek to rob the account of any value by their new technique of acquiescence. the really modern method of discrediting the scripture is to admit that there is some truth in the record and then subtly twist the meaning of the text out of all harmony with the general plan of revelation. as a noteworthy example of this modern technique of criticism, we submit a leading article which appeared in the london express of sunday, september 6, 1936.
-professing to accept the historical record of the ten plagues, the writer of this article then craftily proceeds to offer a peculiarly human and mechanistic theory to account for the disaster. in reading this news item, we are at once struck by the fact that every element of a supernatural nature is deleted from the strange series of events, and the credit for the entire victory of israel is ascribed to the human genius of the man moses. this news item appeared in the following form:
-the plagues of egypt show that moses anticipated by 3,000 years the greatest fear of modern science
-science has been inquiring into one of the greatest catastrophes that befell a nation—the ten plagues of egypt.
-they have found that modern theories are in accord with the bible story.
-the plagues were brought upon the egyptians by moses in the days of israel’s captivity. dr. charles j. brim, a new york authority on public health, says that moses must have anticipated by 3,000 years modern science’s greatest fear—the use of disease germs, water pollution and other attacks on sanitation as war weapons—in short, bacteriological warfare.
-moses, states dr. brim, in addition to being the founder of the science of hygiene, showed that germ warfare could annihilate man and beast more effectively than arms and man power. with it he bent the mighty egyptians to his will and thus brought about the exodus, the release of the israelites from egyptian slavery. with it he so undermined their man power and morale that it became impossible for them to face the hardships of war.
-the ten plagues, in their order, were:
-changing the water into blood; the frogs; the lice; the flies; the murrain of cattle; the boils on the egyptians; hail; the locusts; the darkness; the death of the first-born.
-“the first step in this carefully planned attack,” says dr. brim in a newly published book, “medicine in the bible,” “was the pollution of egypt’s water supply.”
-this had two results: first, it attacked the god of egypt—the nile; secondly, it sapped the very fountain of the country.
-egyptian legend said that the nile sprang from the blood of the god osiris. hence, “the waters of the nile were turned into blood.”
-egypt depended on the nile for its drinking water, on its yearly inundations for the irrigation of the fields.
-a polluted nile was a smashing blow at the water supply and at the crops and cattle. nobody could wash or drink.
-the fish—one of the staple foods—died. frogs were forced to leave their natural haunts in the river banks and invaded the streets, fields and houses in their millions.
-swarms of frogs, with no water or food, died and rotted over the countryside. cartloads were burned, but not before the germs of pollution had time to multiply.
-the air became filled with the disease germs bred in this ideal forcing-ground. people and animals became infected.
-flies descended in swarms greater than people had ever seen, bringing more germs with them. cattle died in their thousands.
-dust, in a naturally dusty country, became infected, spreading more disease and death. nature took a turn. a terrific hailstorm shrieked over egypt. the few crops that were left standing were flattened and destroyed. animals were killed by the force of the hailstones. next came the locusts, dropping in their millions on the fields, eating everything the hail had left.
-when they passed, a dust storm, caused probably by the hot, electrical wind known as the hamsin, blew up and darkened the sky for days on end, as sandstorms still do in that part of the world. the tenth and last plague, the death of the first-born, was a natural consequence of all that had happened since the day the water became polluted.
-the bible does not say explicitly that only the first-born died in this plague.
-what it does say is:
-and it came to pass that at midnight the lord smote all the first-born in the land of egypt, from the first-born of pharaoh that sat on his throne to the first-born of the captive that was in the dungeon.
-the epidemic killed many others, but in the death of the first-born lay the greatest calamity, for the first-born son was chief in every egyptian household.
-dr. brim does not explain how the first plague was brought about, but if moses did pollute the nile it must have been done when the water was low.
-it is certain that moses was a medical genius, as his laws of health prove, and knew the certain effects of water pollution.
-it is perhaps an inaccuracy to talk about “modern” attempts to thwart and deny the word of god! there is nothing modern about this entire propaganda, popular as it may be in our own day. the error is ancient, as is the attitude of mind that would set aside the element of the supernatural in holy writ, and oppose the time-honored revelation of god’s will by the modern self-satisfaction with human learning. indeed, this common and basic sin of our generation is so far from being modern, that the very first recorded case of denial of god’s word comes from the garden of eden, man’s first and original home.
-even before sin had reared its ugly head, to shatter the sweet communion and spoil the fair harmony that was the basis of man’s fellowship with his creator, this error appeared. it was satan who, encroaching upon the beauty of eden’s fair content, first said, “hath god said?” the denial of the truth of god’s spoken word originated with the enemy of man: and it would behoove us all to remember that any man who has questioned his written word from that hour to this, is also an enemy, and an emissary of the original foe of mankind! do we owe satan so great a debt of gratitude for the deep and dark pit of woe into which he has lured our race, that we must lend slavish attention to the same old error when he sponsors it today?
-for this “modern” attempt to discredit the scripture is but a recrudescence of his ancient and simple strategy for the hurt of mankind. well does he know that if he can but shake the faith of our generation in the integrity of the bible, faith in god must soon be lost as well. once more pedantic scoffers, professors of this and of that, arise solemnly to refute the truth of the only “map” that can ever guide men back to the paradise we lost when the first man rejected god’s revelation.
-it is interesting to see that this old error is in no new guise, in the article referred to above. this is nothing new, it is just an original approach to the same old mess of satanic whispering. indeed, paul warned us of the possibility of this very article and method in ii timothy 3:8, when he said:
-now as jannes and jambres withstood moses, so do these also resist the truth: men of corrupt minds, reprobate concerning the faith.
-he introduces the very age of egyptian history, and the events connected with the exodus in speaking thus of the false teachers of the apostate days that should precede the time of our lord’s return. and lo! the event transpires in this year of grace, as the press of the twentieth century casts doubt upon the ten plagues in this subtle manner.
-it is subtle. also dishonest to the nth degree. professing to accept the historicity of the events, the article then proceeds to demolish the credibility of the record, by ascribing all the plagues to natural forces, directed by the genius of a human being, namely, moses. god is ruled out, the supernatural denied, and common sense prostituted to infidelity in a manner that the shallowest thinker could not countenance. for a man of medicine, or a scholar in any realm of science, to foster such a contemptible evasion of plain fact, passes understanding.
-a few years ago it was customary for criticism to deny that these plagues ever happened. classifying them among the reputed folklore of the hebrews, and relegating them to the realm of the purely mythological, the critic calmly and boldly denied that they ever occurred at all. but these past years of research and study have so established the historicity of the record, that this procedure is no longer possible; so the new attack is made, on the basis of naturalism.
-it is plainly stated that moses himself brought about these plagues upon the egyptians, and that he did so by the use of his own superior knowledge. in a word, he was a bacteriologist, three and a half thousand years before pasteur! that in itself is a greater miracle than the plagues could ever have been! no microscope, no instruments of research, yet he not only anticipated the discoveries of lister and pasteur, but he also applied germ warfare to the redemption of israel, and “bent the egyptians to his will.”
-more marvelous than all this, he did it by simply polluting the nile river, the source of the life of egypt. this of course was a simple task! the nile is a mighty river. if we follow its course just from the first cataract at assuan to the mouth, it is over five hundred miles as the river twists and bends round and about.
-now all moses had to do was to impregnate those five hundred miles of winding river with some deadly form of disease germs, that would affect the egyptians but not the israelites! any nice germ would do! of course, he had also to keep those five hundred miles of flowing stream polluted, in spite of the rushing current that swept fresh water down day by day! let us not forget, that he did all this while pharaoh was looking on: and that for seven days the condition continued, then to end as suddenly as it had begun. we should like to know something of his technique!
-then, after the river had cleared its waters, moses boldly announced that the lord would overrun the land with frogs! this was done, not as a result of a polluted river, but rather after the river was clear. pollution with disease germs might have driven the frogs out of the river: but how did moses get them to go back, as pharaoh entreated him to do?
-most conveniently, the author of the above cited article does not mention how the lice were spread over the land by moses! did he personally catch them and spread them all around, or had he been breeding and storing them for years in advance? the flies may have increased in the rotting piles of frogs, but what kept this pest of flies out of the small section of egypt called the land of goshen, where the children of israel were? given the conditions that caused the flies to breed, why did they refrain from the particular portion of the land where moses and his people were camping?
-so also for the murrain on the cattle, and the boils on the egyptians. none of israel were affected by these disasters. did moses have some kind of salve or prophylactic serum that he used, he being the great medical genius that this article makes him to be? even that will not account for the fact that when the hail came, it, also, avoided the camp of moses and his three and a half million compatriots!
-but even a great medical genius and an accomplished meteorologist could not have foreseen the coming of the locusts that darkened the sky and the land as well. nor could this great medical genius, even had he also been an able entomologist, have seen to it that the locusts ate only egyptian vegetation, as goshen greenery would have been just as acceptable to hungry locusts! and who ever saw any other kind?
-passing over the supernatural darkness with the simple observation that it was not an ordinary phenomenon such as a sandstorm (which left the houses of the israelites unaffected), we will hasten to the conclusion of the matter, the death of the first-born. the article we are quoting makes a terribly strained attempt to prove that others died as well as the first-born, but the text of the scripture does not so state or imply. indeed, the text very clearly sets forth the fact that it was only the first-born who died. they died dramatically; all at the same hour.
-at midnight, simultaneously, death smote a certain restricted class.
-the prince in the palace, and the felon in the dungeon; the cattle as well.
-but the first-born of israel did not die! they were all under the blood!
-quaint epidemic, was it not? it came as a result of disease germs in the river nile, it killed all its victims out of just one class, the first-born, and it passed over any home that had lamb’s blood on the door posts!
-is it necessary for a man to believe such arrant nonsense, and accept such utterances of folly before he can qualify as an educated man, or a scientist?
-most fortunately, it is not!
-to show the truth of this matter, we can indeed study these ten plagues in the light of modern science. not by the flickering rays of the lamp of human speculation can understanding be achieved. only in the full illumination of the sunshine of historical fact can the truth be discerned. so, we will turn to the great and truly modern science of archeology to study the ten plagues of egypt, and see what the truth of the matter really is.
-in the first place, thanks to the vast amount of research in the archeology of egypt, we now know that these ten plagues were a contest between the lord god of the israelites, and the pantheon of egypt.
-the genesis of the contest is given in exodus 3:18. here moses is instructed by god to ask pharaoh for a three-day furlough for the entire company of the twelve tribes, that they might go three days’ journey into the wilderness, and sacrifice to jehovah. this initial request was to be the first step in a campaign that would result in the redemption of israel from their long bondage, and the apparently reasonable request was made with the certainty that it would be refused. indeed, the request was such that pharaoh could not grant it!
-as we shall later see, the egyptians were the most polytheistic nation that ever lived. in their pantheon of deities there were more than twenty-two hundred gods and goddesses, and each of them had a particular theophany. that is to say, these gods and goddesses had certain animals that were sacred to them, and in which animal form the particular god or goddess occasionally manifested a personal presence. so very often the deities of egypt are depicted in stone and painting as having a human body, but an animal head. thus thoth might be seen with the head of an ibis, while hathor sometimes has a human head, but more often she is portrayed with the head of a cow.
-so there was no animal that the hebrews could sacrifice to their god, jehovah, that would not be sacred to some egyptian deity. this sacrifice would constitute blasphemy in the eyes of the egyptian masters, and trouble would eventuate immediately! indeed, when pharaoh, worn out by the troubles brought upon him by the plagues, suggested to moses that the people sacrifice to jehovah without going to the wilderness, moses simply replied in the language that is recorded in exodus 8:26:
-“what shall we sacrifice, that will not be an abomination in the eyes of the egyptians? will they not stone the people if they sacrifice in the land?”
-the justice of the reply was so self-apparent that the ruler did not press his suggestion, as the text shows. thus god forced the issue and provoked the conflict that not only freed his people from slavery and eventually established them in the land that he had promised them through abraham, but also showed his supremacy over the gods of egypt. even more than that, in the resultant series of events, the lord god brought such glory to his own name, and showed such omnipotence that the world has never forgotten this drama, even to our own day and time. witness the very article that is the subject of this present comment!
-the clear statement of god’s attitude toward the conflict is seen in exodus 4:23, 24. the figure of speech used there is a divine choice, therefore we use it just as god himself expressed his own mind to moses. the “first-born” was the chief object of interest in every egyptian household, for two reasons. the law of primogeniture ruled in that day and land, even as it does in england and other countries today. also, the first-born of every species, animal or human, was dedicated to the gods, and was a sacred object, in a very strong sense of that word. so later, we hear the law of israel as set forth by god, that the first-born of man or beast in the land is to be sacred to jehovah: not to the gods of egypt.
-now then, as moses was sent to pharaoh, to carry the demands of god for the release of the people, he was instructed to tell the ruler that israel was, in god’s sight, as prized and beloved a group as the “first-born” was in an egyptian household. in a figure of speech that egypt as a whole could most clearly grasp, god said: “israel is my son, my first-born: and i have said unto thee, let my son go that he may serve me; and thou hast refused to let him go; behold, i will slay thy son, thy first-born.”
-with this introduction, we can see clearly the genesis of the conflict. it is most clearly stated in exodus 5:1-3. when moses said to pharaoh, “thus saith jehovah, the god of israel, let my people go, that they may hold a feast unto me in the wilderness:” the ruler of the land said, in just so many words, “who is jehovah? i never heard of him!” not only did the mighty king reject the word and the commands of god, but he also denied him in no uncertain terms. this upstart jehovah, who was he to give orders to pharaoh the mighty? he was the god of an humbled and captive people, therefore the king reasoned that his own gods must be far mightier! so the proud and haughty monarch said, “i’ll stick by the gods of egypt; i know not this jehovah, and i will not obey his words.”
-moses left with the clearly expressed warning that the king might not then know jehovah, but that he was certainly destined to find out about him! the call to arms, the challenge to combat, and the prophecy of god’s victory are all expressed in the single verse in exodus the seventh chapter, where god tells moses that “the egyptians shall know that i am jehovah, when i stretch out my hand upon egypt....” this, then, was the primary reason for the ten plagues. god would teach the egyptians a lesson through judgments that the land would never forget! when he finished with them, none were ever again able to say, “and who is this jehovah? the gods of egypt are stronger.”
-thus we see that the contest was primarily between the monotheism of israel and polytheism of egypt. we would emphasize the fact that the egyptians were perhaps the most polytheistic race the world has so far known. it is impossible to say just how many deities existed to the egyptian mind, but “their name was legion”! two hundred separate deities are named in the pyramid text, and four hundred and eighty more are named in the theban recension of the book of the dead. altogether, archeologists have recovered the names of over two thousand two hundred different gods and goddesses that were worshipped by the egyptians! is it any wonder that jehovah must start his laws to his people with the commandment: “thou shalt have no other gods before me!”?
-a word about these objects of egyptian worship will be necessary to clear up the necessary later references to the practices and the beliefs of the egyptians. while these ancient folks never had the idea of an immanent, pervasive god, in the monotheistic sense, they still had a dim conception of a super-god principle, behind and over the various individual gods and goddesses. there was first of all the grouping of gods into triads, which was a widely accepted custom. since each triad consisted of a god, a wife, and a son, this grouping is less a degeneration of the principle of the trinity than might seem to be suggested at first thought. rather, it was a glorification of the family principle.
-thus we see that at thebes, the principal triad of deities consists of amon-ra, the king of all the gods, mut, his wife, and khons, their son.
-all the gods had human bodies, but some of them had animal heads. sometimes a god who customarily had a human head would appear wearing the animal head of his theophany, as in the case of hathor, cited above. thus when hathor appears with a cow’s head upon a human body, she appears with the solar disk between her horns; and when she appears with the human head, she wears as a headdress the bonnet of the goddess mut, the wife of amon-ra, the horns of the cow, the solar disk which shows her relationship to horus, and the feather of the goddess maat.
-we have previously asserted that each plague was a direct blow at one of these celestial beings, and it might be profitable to demonstrate this fact with a few concrete illustrations.
-... thou art the lord of the poor and needy. if thou wert overthrown in the heavens, the gods would fall upon their faces, and men would perish....
-this deified river, then, the source of life and blessing in egypt, was smitten by god, and its waters turned to blood. frantically the egyptians sought to dig shallow wells by the banks of the stream, as their water supply failed them for the first time in the memory of man! truly, jehovah was greater than the nile! and not only greater than the river itself, there was more than this involved. there were many issues involved, and many deities suffered “loss of face” that day!
-there was the mighty osiris, who was himself the cause and source of the resurrection and of everlasting life. greatest of all the gods of the underworld, he has an important part in the text of the book of the dead. the nile was supposed to be his bloodstream! when god smote the nile, he laid the mighty osiris low in the dust! with him fell hapi—who was the nile-god, and also satet, the wife of khnemu, the goddess of the annual inundation. her divine sister, anqet, bit the dust that day, as she was the personification of the nile waters, which turned into an offense and a stench when moses stretched out his staff. time will not permit the presentation of the characters of isis-sothis, isis-hathor, ament, menat, renpit and at least two score more, all of whom met defeat in the first plague. none of them could sustain their prestige and power in the face of the action of jehovah, and he emerged victorious in the first trial of strength.
-they got enough of this quaint object of reverence when god flooded their land with myriads of the beastly things! they were in the bread-trough, and got tangled up in the dough, thus adding a rather quaint flavor to the bread! the bread could not be baked, however, as the baking ovens crawled with frogs, and the fires could not be lighted. they hopped all over the master of the house, and when he sought his bed in disgust they were there before him.
-like a blanket of filth the slimy, wet monstrosities covered the land, until men sickened at the continued squashing crunch of the ghastly pavement they were forced to walk upon. if a man’s feet slipped on the greasy mass of their crushed bodies, he fell into an indescribably offensive mass of putrid uncleanness, and when he sought water to cleanse himself, the water was so solid with frogs, he got no cleansing there. in sheer desperation the mighty king was forced to beg, “call off your frogs, and i will let the people go!” read exodus 8:1-15.
-and with that cry, the prestige of heqt and khnum was gone forever, drowned out in the tidal wave of disgust that rolled up in protest at too much of her theophany!
-it is a bit difficult to imagine that generation of egyptians ever worshipping the frog again.
-plagues three and four are a bit more difficult to deal with at the present writing, because of the personal ignorance of the writer. by that he means to say that more light is required here as he does not know definitely the exact god that was meant to suffer in the estimation of the people, with the plague of lice. there can be no question, however, that the people themselves were hard hit, as any veteran of the a. e. f. will be only too glad to testify! this unclean parasite must have been a source of misery that was well-nigh insuperable, when it became as numerous as the very dust of the ground! it must have made the egyptians somewhat envious to see the israelites basking in peace and bodily comfort, while they, the lords of the land, itched and scratched and suffered the misery of this vicious pest! how much better to trust the god jehovah who demonstrated his ability to keep his followers free from even such a plague as this.
-as for the flies, there is this suggestion, at least: one of them was sacred to the name of uatchit. what variety of fly is intended in the text we cannot definitely say, as there are numerous species of flies. but the ichneumon fly is a symbol of this god, and their figures in tiny statues and on papyri are well known to the modern archeologist. they are a brilliant and beautiful insect, somewhat prized by the entomologists of our day as specimens, but they can be a pest when they come in too numerous companies!
-some years ago we were encamped in mexico, with a company who were digging for archeological treasure. the site was pleasant, the camp was near a clear, meandering stream, and the shade trees were enjoyable. there was just “one fly in the ointment” and that fly was the ichneumon. every time food was placed upon the camp table, this gorgeous insect responded with enthusiasm and delight. they came in regiments and companies, bringing all their relatives and friends with them! so we could say from experience, that anyone who had to fight with a swarm of ichneumon flies for his own share of the lunch, would soon come to revile the god to whom this symbol was sacred! not only jehovah, but any god would seem preferable to uatchit after an invasion of his particular pets. or should we turn this last word around and make it pest, instead?
-when we come to the fifth plague, we are again on solid and assured territory. once more firm archeological ground supports the theme of this chapter. when god smote the cattle of egypt, he dealt most definitely and drastically with egyptian polytheism. there were many of the supreme objects of egyptian worship that met their waterloo in the murrain on the cattle.
-chief of these is the mighty and venerated hathor. she was the “cow-goddess” that was universally worshipped in all the land, and was to the human race of that day the “mother” principle of deity. her most common name in the egyptian language is het-hert, which literally means “the house of horus.” the house of horus is that portion of the sky where horus lives and is daily born, namely, the east. hathor is depicted in antiquity in many forms. always she appears with a human body, and may sometimes have a human head as well. but more often she has a cow’s head on a human body, as the cow was her symbol. she often walked the land in the theophany of a cow, and one could tell when a calf was born, whether hathor had come to earth, or not.
-when this great goddess is pictured with a human head, she wears an impressive headdress. this is composed of the spreading horns of a cow, between which are seen the bonnet of mut, the divine wife of amon-ra, the king of the gods. above this is seen the solar disk, as hathor was of “the great company” and was associated with all the beneficence of the glorious and life-giving sun. the book of the dead teaches that hathor provides nourishment for the soul in the other-world, and as such a provider she excels all the minor gods. so in all the forms in which she is carved or drawn, she wears the sacred uraeus, to show her exalted power.
-when god smote the cattle, her especial symbol, he struck a mighty blow at the tottering system for which pharaoh had confidently expressed his preference. the other forays were but skirmishes: this was a real and decisive battle! this shrewd and telling victory was the beginning of the end of the conflict. if the divine hathor could not protect her faithful following from the power of jehovah, who could?
-for not only hathor was thus challenged and defeated, but other important members of the heavenly company met defeat and disgrace in the plague that smote the cattle. a common object in the egypt of that day was the sacred bull, apis, whose power was vast indeed. his temples dotted the land, and the priests of his cult were many and their power was impressive in the extreme. on the forehead of apis appears the sacred triangle of eternity, and on his back is always seen the sacred scarab, with spread wings.
-apis was the theophany of the god whose name was ptah-seker-asar, and he also was one of the triune resurrection gods. the living worshipped him that they might live again in the world to come, and the dead, of course, all worshipped him because he had made them to live again. now, alas, for those who trusted in him against jehovah! he could not even defend his own earth-form from the blight that his new enemy, jehovah, had sent on all that represented the great and powerful ptah-seker-asar. thus god humbled the sacred apis in the same stroke that crushed the cult of hathor.
-to this record must also be added the name of nut, the goddess of the sky, and the wife of geb. she it was who produced the egg out of which the sun hatched, so in reality she preceded horus and even amon-ra, even though they ascended to a higher power and authority later. she is depicted with a female human body, and the head of a cow. however, she does not wear the solar disk, nor the headdress of hathor, as she was a little lower in the social company of the weird organization of nonsense and mysticism that was the religion of egypt.
-the simple summary of the whole record is just this: all the gods of egypt were not able to defend the cattle, when the lord god jehovah stretched out his hand to smite them! this the people of egypt were forced to concede, as their cattle died by the thousand before their bewildered eyes, while not one of the herds of israel lost so much as one head of cattle by the murrain.
-the sixth and seventh plagues are simple to deal with, as the record of egypt gives valuable aid to the unprejudiced student here. imhotep was the god of medicine, and the guardian of all the healing sciences. prayers were made to him for protection as well as for cures, and he was greatly revered. in like manner, reshpu and qetesh were the gods of storm and of battle, and they controlled all the natural elements except the light. so the noisome and painful boils struck the devotees of imhotep and left him powerless to aid his praying following, and their plight was pitiful indeed. how little it helped to see that the followers of the god jehovah, at whom pharaoh had sneered with ridicule, were comfortable, and with unblemished skins! no suppurating sores advertised the pain of the hebrews; the good hand of their god was upon them, to protect them from the very disaster that came upon all the egyptians for israel’s sake!
-the medical man of the twentieth century, whose article we are now considering, attributes all this painful consequence to the bacteriological pollution of the nile, which was accomplished by the skill and wisdom of moses. the present writer of this refutation is not utterly ignorant of the science of bacteriology, but he humbly confesses that he does not know of any pathogenic micro-organism that would bite everybody except a hebrew! we would like to know the name and the nature of such a bacterium or bacillus! the hebrews were exposed to the same flies, the same germs, the same stench of the dead frogs, the same epidemic that was consequent upon this chain of events, unless moses vaccinated or inoculated them all, some three and a half millions in number. truly the natural explanations of the supernatural cause reason to totter on her throne!
-but if god was at war with imhotep, reshpu and the gods of healing, and desired to scatter their following and to open their eyes to the folly of idol worship, we can see how he might protect his own, while smiting the followers of the false religion. in that case also, moses would not need to be the only man in antiquity who could call up a devastating hail storm at the dictate of his own will. moses could leave it to god to shame reshpu and the other gods of the elements in the eyes of their devotees.
-the eighth plague, that of the locusts, is the easiest of all to comprehend. this was a direct blow at the egyptian conception of providence, and a sweeping victory over all that was holy in the eyes of this idolatrous people. these ancient people ascribed the fertility of their fields and the abundance of the harvests to certain specific deities. the modern scholar establishes this fact by studying the hymns of praise and the votive records of the egyptians. but after the hail had hammered their lovely ripening crops flat on the ground, and even while they mourned their loss, swarms of locusts descended like a cloud, and swept the land as clean of vegetation as a forest fire could have done.
-to see god’s purpose in this act, we need only consider the prophecy of joel. with a fidelity to detail that arouses the admiration of the modern entomologist, this prophet of israel portrays the devastation of the land by a swarm of locusts, as a judgment from god upon his own people. when famine and want stare men in the face, and they are beyond the hope of other aid, then they turn back to god in sorrow and in repentance. for where can men turn except to god, when the land lies barren and devastated, and famine stalks the earth?
-thus in egypt, when god would teach an unforgettable lesson to the proud and haughty king whose impertinent comment had been, “who is this jehovah?”, he punctuated his answer to pharaoh’s question with a swarm of locusts. it is reasonable to conclude that long after the starving egyptians had forgotten the pangs of hunger that came inevitably on the heels of that visitation of consuming insects, the lesson of that visitation remained.
-all these disasters, following one after the other, had struck telling blows at the very foundation of egypt’s religion. but a worse was to follow.
-the ninth plague struck at the very apex and head of all the great company of the pantheon. the most essential thing in all the physical realm is light, and the egyptians seemed to realize this fact. the darkness of the ninth plague was a supernatural darkness. this much is evident from the record, which says that it covered the land so grossly, the people sought refuge in bed! evidently artificial light would not penetrate that fearful gloom; but the children of israel had light in their dwellings!
-of course they had it!
-they are the people who later sang: “jehovah is my light and my salvation.”
-but the songs of the egyptians were directed to different gods entirely. here, then, was a golden opportunity to test the might of these conflicting ideas of deity. is jehovah able to maintain his superiority over the hosts of the egyptian gods? they were indeed mighty in the hearts of the people, and the contest was long and grim.
-first of all to consider, there was the incomparable thoth who had worked out the system of placing all the stars, the sun and the moon in the heavens. he had arranged also the seasons, as they had been decreed by ra. although inferior to ra and to horus, nevertheless thoth gave light by night, and on those days that the sun was not visible. he also gave isis the power needed to raise the dead, and to offend him was to suffer eternal loss. remembering that the hebrews had lived under this culture and psychology for generations, and considering that they all must have been tinctured somewhat with these beliefs, many of them must have trembled indeed when jehovah calmly engaged in battle with thoth! so the lord god not only smote the god of egypt in this part of the conflict, but he also established his personal superiority in the minds of his own despairing people. certainly, when this plague ended, the hebrews hastened to follow his next commands without hesitancy, even though those commands laid them in danger of the death penalty under egyptian law.
-a lesser deity, but also a powerful one who suffered grievously in loss of prestige while the darkness reigned, was the fire-goddess sekhmet. she was the divinity of fire, and thus also of artificial light. this darkness that covered the land during this plague was called “thick” darkness, and it was so impenetrable that for three days and nights, the egyptians stayed in bed! they saw the face of no man in those dark days and dense nights, and it is evident that artificial light was useless. only in the houses of israel did any light shine, but in each dwelling in goshen the light was undimmed. so it was demonstrated in the case of sekhmet, the lioness-headed goddess of artificial light, that she was powerless when jehovah invaded her realm.
-with what delight did moses remember all this, when later he wrote the words of the first chapter of genesis. how his heart must have thrilled as he spoke of god commanding the light to shine on the first day of creation, and recorded the obedience of the light to the spoken word of israel’s god. he had seen that when god commanded darkness all the gods of egypt were powerless before jehovah, and that it was therefore simple for god to reverse the process, and bring light to alleviate the darkness of the chaos.
-the section of the pantheon that crumbled in the regard of the devoted egyptians that hour was a broad and numerous company. no divinity of all the polytheistic company was very much more reverenced than horus, the hawk-headed. he was called “the eye of ra,” and was the god of the noontime sun. when the flaming heat of ra was just overhead at the hour of midday, and when its light and heat were the most intense, horus was in the ascendancy. when the deep darkness of the ninth plague hit the land, the hearts of the people were sick with fright. believing that the sun was born anew every morning, and having an intense and well-thought-out system of deities connected with this rite, they must have thought that there had been wholesale slaughter and failure among the heavenly beings. but there still would smoulder in their deepest thinking, the dim hope that at noon the incomparable horus would glow, as ra was the omnipotent, and his eye could not be dimmed. but not only did the noon pass in the same awful darkness, but two more noons followed each other in slow succession, and the feebleness of the once-revered horus could no longer be doubted. so when they said, “who is mightier than horus?” the children of israel could reply with grateful hearts, “jehovah is; see, we have light in our dwellings!”
-but like many other heathen and idolatrous people, the chief object of egyptian worship was the sun itself. the natural mind can comprehend this, and there is a little of the parsee in most modern men. so to the ancients the sun was a personification of beneficence and providence. the worship of the sun took many forms in egypt, but the oldest and most general form of that worship was in the person of the god ra, who appears in ancient records in many guises, and under many names. perhaps the most common of these names is amon-ra. he was unquestionably the chief form of deity to the egypt of moses’ generation.
-as far as it can be said that the egyptians conceived of a god-principle, this was expressed in the person of ra. he was the creator of earth and of heaven, and of all things therein. all other gods were parts of his person, and members of his body and substance. the pantheon was headed by ra, and after him came the gods and goddesses who were parts of his body. one was his eye, another his ear, while still another was his foot. this quaint conception was carried out for every known section of the anatomy, which the egyptians seemed to have known fairly well.
-seeing, then, that ra was immanent, pervasive, and the principle back of all deities, he was the chief object of jehovah’s enmity, and the real subject of the contest and conflict. in all the other plagues the parts of ra were defeated, and now at last the two ideas are locked in the final struggle. it was preposterous to the egyptians that any god or power could be superior to ra, as the sun is the source and seat of all power. but the plague of darkness left him shorn of power and greatness, and prostrated him before the feet of jehovah forever. three theophanies had ra, and god desecrated every one of them!
-ra appeared in the form of the sun: so that was blotted out of the sky for three days. sometimes he walked the earth in the form of the first-born of a cow, if that first-born was a bull. so the first-born of all the cattle died, and ra was covered with shame. occasionally he was supposed to visit men in the form of a ram. the first-born were all sacred to him and dedicated to him from birth: yet when all the first-born of egypt died, the babes of israel, with their cattle and flocks were all safe, because they were under the shed blood of what was ra’s chief theophany, next to the sun! the application of the blood to the lintel and the doorpost was an act of blasphemy against ra, yet in that very defiance the hebrews were acknowledging at last that jehovah should be their god forever, in that he had proved his power.
-the tenth plague intrudes into the sphere of the ninth. the death of the first-born was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, as far as the egyptian resistance to jehovah was concerned. this is still aimed primarily at ra, although there were notable deities other than he that suffered defeat in this last and awful skirmish. when the children of israel left egypt, bribed to depart by a people who were prostrated with grief, the mourning egyptians pressed upon them the cattle and the flocks, the gold and the jewels requested. anything to get rid of the devotees of the awful being who left every home in egypt bowed in sorrow, and who had slain, as well, every particle of faith the people had in the once-powerful gods of the land of captivity!
-to name many of these gods would be to weary the reader. but we cannot refrain from naming meskhemit, who was the goddess of birth. she was also the companion of hathor, and overshadowed the first-born of the land. to what avail, when all died who were under her divine protection! and even stronger than she, was the mighty min, the god of virility and generation. closely related to amon-ra, being the means of extending the power of ra to those who worshipped him, he too, fell with a resounding crash, when the hand of the-only-god-that-there-is swept all the idols of egypt off their pedestals, in what might be called the greatest “ten rounds” ever fought! not only did jehovah win the battle and the crown, he also won every round! the victory was complete and crushing.
-many centuries later, paul the apostle recalled all that is implied and stated here, when he wrote the ninth chapter of romans and the seventeenth verse. here it is stated that god dealt so with pharaoh, that the name of god should be advertised throughout all the earth.
-is it so advertised?
-witness this article, cited above! thirty-five hundred years have come and gone since these things transpired, but the mind of man has not been able to escape from the demonstration of god’s power that he gave in that far-off day. and all we can say about this latest attempt to explain the victory of god in the land of egypt by attributing it all to the smartness and genius of a learned man, is, it just will not stand up! for the god who smashed the pantheon of egypt evidently knew that this attempt was due, and he raised from the dead, in an archeological resurrection, the witnesses to the facts at issue. and we have done nothing in this simple reply but review their evidence! but in so doing, we note again that modern science, whenever her voice may be heard, establishes the scripture and vindicates its claim, that “holy men of old spake as they were moved by the spirit of god.”
-chapter v sources
-one of the many questions that are frequently asked of the archeologist, and one that is most difficult to answer in a few brief words, concerns the source of his material. there is a sort of mystery that hovers over this modern calling which intrigues the fancy of the average layman. when an archeologist begins to dig in some barren waste of sand and comes upon a buried city that has been missing from the history of men for multiplied centuries, it impresses the casual observer as magic of the blackest kind. there is, however, nothing supernatural or uncommon about these discoveries, although the element of chance does enter in to a minor extent. some of the greatest and most prolific fields we personally have investigated were brought to our attention when the plow of a farmer cast up a human skull and focussed attention upon that particular field. generally, however, the sources of archeology are uncovered by hard, patient, painstaking labor.
-when an able prospector starts out in his search for gold, he is guided by certain known factors that have been derived from the experience of generations. panning his way up a stream-bed, the keen-eyed hunter of fortune tests every spot that previous experience had taught him might be profitable. he may labor at one thousand barren sites before he strikes gold. if he is in a mountainous country and the placer deposits are not rich enough to pay him to tarry on the spot where the first discovery was made, he will work his way on up the stream, testing site after site for increasing values. if the show of color in his pan suddenly ceases, he knows that he has passed the sources of these wandering fragments. he then goes back to the last point where he found traces of gold and then begins to search the side canyons and branch streams that lead into the main channel. in this way he traces his path step by step to the ledge from which the gold originally came. after laboring weary months, or even years, with heart-breaking disappointment and grim, hard work, if he is fortunate he announces a discovery. the thoughtless immediately credit his good fortune to the goddess of luck and wonder why they also could not be blessed that way.
-this illustration is an exact picture of the manner in which archeologists go about their business. there are certain sites that experience has taught us should be profitable to investigate. the region is carefully combed for surface indications. these may be such things as shards of pottery, arrowheads, fragmentary bones, or any of the ordinary debris that indicates a site of human habitation or burial. when the surface indications suggest the probability of a real find, then the digging commences. most of our great discoveries are made only after months, and even years, of painstaking survey. these surveys must be made by men who are expert in the interpretation of surface indications and fragmentary evidences. thus it is at once apparent that there is really nothing supernatural or magical about this sober craft; it is scientific in its procedure. there is no “doodle-bug” for archeology such as is sometimes used by those who are found around the fringe of geology.
-it must be remembered that the orientals differed greatly in their building methods from the occidentals. it is customary among us to excavate to bed rock before we lay the foundation for a building. the orientals, however, began to build right on the surface of any site that suited their fancy. for instance, a wandering tribe of nomads desiring to settle either temporarily or permanently, would pick out a hill that was more easily defended than a level site would be. upon its crest, they built their houses and generally fenced the scene for the purposes of defense. within these fortifying walls they dwelt in more or less security until they became rich enough to be robbed. it would not be long, however, under the brutal law of might that prevailed in those ancient days, before some marauding band would overrun that site with fire and sword. the walls would be breached or cast down and the inhabitants put to sword or carried away into slavery. usually fire would sweep the homes of this once contented people and their memory would soon be forgotten.
-to one who has seen the sand storms of the east, the rest of the story is self-evident. even in our own times and in our own land, we have seen what can happen when drought and wind begin to move the surface of a country and make the efforts of man fruitless and unavailing. when men lived in these sites of antiquity and kept the encroaching sands swept and shoveled out, they were able to maintain their position of security. as soon, however, as the site was deserted, the sand would begin to drift over the deserted ruins. in a very few years the remains of the ruined city would be lost from the sight of men. perhaps a century or two would pass by, during which this abandoned region would be devoid of habitation.
-then another company of people looking for a permanent dwelling place would chance upon this hill. finding it suited to their requirements they would immediately start building upon the surface. with no knowledge whatever that a previous group of people had made this hill their habitation, the new dwellings and walls would rise high upon the covered ruins of the earlier period. within a comparatively short time they also would be the victims of some wandering conqueror, and once again the wrecked habitations of men would be repossessed by the drifting sands of the desert. it is not uncommon that in the course of a thousand years such an experience would be repeated from three or four to a dozen times upon the same site.
-when the archeologist finds such a mound or hill, he has a treasure indeed. by excavating this deposit one stratum at a time, he builds up a stratographical record which is highly important in reconstructing a consecutive history of this region. the date factors of the various strata are generally established by the contents of each horizon of dwelling, in turn. if the archeologist depends upon facts instead of his imagination, a credible chronology for the entire region can thus be constructed.
-in such a recovery the common life of the people of antiquity is revealed in amazing detail. we learn their customs of living, something of their arts and crafts and their manner of labor. their knowledge of architecture is clearly portrayed through such ruins as remain, and the general picture of the incidental events that made up their living is clearly developed as the work proceeds.
-since the destruction of such a city was usually catastrophic, the record suddenly breaks off at the point of the tragedy. the abruptness wherewith the life and activity ceased, leaves all of the valuable material undisturbed in situ. this circumstance, though unfortunate for the ancients, is a happy one for the archeologist who thus is enabled to rebuild their times and lives.
-these sites yield many types of material. in establishing chronology, the most important of all of these is probably the pottery. there is no age of men so ancient that it does not yield proof of human ability in the ceramic art. without aluminum cooking utensils or iron skillets, the folk of antiquity depended upon clay for the vessels of their habitation. dishes, pots, jars, and utensils of a thousand usages were all made of this common substance. before the invention of paper, clay was also the common material for preserving written records. as each race of people had its own peculiarities in the use of clay, the pottery that is found on a given site is one of the finest indications of a date factor that the site can contain.
-even after the invention of papyrus or parchment, these types of writing material were too costly for the average person to use. requiring some cheap, common, readily accessible material upon which to write, the poor of antiquity laid hold upon the one source of supply that was never wanting. this consisted of shards of pottery. by the side of every dwelling in ancient times might be found a small heap of broken utensils of clay. the ingenuity of man suggested a method of writing on these fragments. in every home there was a pen made of a reed and a pot of homemade ink. with these crude tools, the common people corresponded and made notes on pieces of clay vessels. when a fragment of pottery was thus inscribed, it was called an ostracon.
-these ostraca are among the most priceless discoveries of antiquity. they were written in the vernacular and dealt with the common daily affairs that made up the lives of the humble. they shed a flood of light upon the customs and beliefs of the mass of the people. some of the wall inscriptions of great conquerors, if taken by themselves, would give an impression of grandeur and splendor to their entire era, if we believed such record implicitly. but for every king or conqueror there were multiplied thousands of poor. these were the folks who made up the mass of humanity and whose customs and lives paint the true picture of ancient times. therefore, these ostraca, being derived from the common people, are the greatest aid in the reconstruction of the life and times wherewith the bible deals.
-another source of evidence is found in tools and artifacts which show the culture of any given time and region. knowing how the people worked and what they wrought, has been of priceless value to the biblical archeologist. since the critics made so great a case out of the alleged culture of the people in every age, it is eminently fitting that the refutation of their error should come from the people themselves.
-still another source of archeological material is to be found in the art of antiquity. it seems that from the time of adam to the present hour the desire to express our feelings and emotions in the permanent form of illustration has been common to man. the sites of antiquity testify to this fact in unmistakable terms.
-in the art of the days of long ago many subjects were covered. much of the painting and sculpture had to do with the religion of the time. thus we can reconstruct the pantheon of egypt very largely from the illustrations that come to us from monuments and papyri.
-another large section of ancient art dealt with the history of the time in which the artists lived and wrought. since the work of such artists was generally intended to flatter and please the reigning monarch, most of this illustrated history is military in nature. thus we are able to confirm much of the old testament history through the recovery of ancient art.
-other artists, in turn, dealt with the human anatomy, the style of dress and the industries of old. when we gather together all of this illuminating material, it is safe to say that ancient artists have brought to us a source of material which is not the least of the treasures of antiquity.
-a final source of material is found upon the walls that made up the actual dwellings of old. this business of scribbling names and dates upon public buildings or objects of interest is not unique to modern men. deplorable as the custom may be, this ancient vulgarity has, nevertheless, proved a great boon to the archeologist of our day. for instance, many of the scribes and officials of antiquity, traveling about the country upon the business of their lords, would visit one of the tombs of a former age. prompted by curiosity and interest in the grandeur of antiquity, they came to stare and to learn. their emotions being aroused they desired some expression. this desire they sometimes satisfied by inscribing upon the wall of a certain tomb or temple their names and the fact that at such a date they visited and saw this wonder. since they generally dated their visit by the reign of the king under whom they lived and served, a chronology may be builded for antiquity from this source of material alone.
-it has been more or less customary in our era for the itinerant gentry to leave valuable information for fellows of their fraternity who come along after them. this custom also is a survival of an ancient day. a man journeying from one region to another would stop by the side of a blank wall and inscribe road directions for any who might follow after him. sometimes he would add his name and the year of the reign of a given monarch. it was not unusual also for such an amateur historian to make some caustic and pertinent comments upon the country, the officials, or the people. these spontaneous records are priceless. they are the free expression of an honest opinion and are not constructed with the idea of deluding posterity with a false standard of the grandeur of some conquering king.
-it is rather amusing now to look back to the long battle that was fought between criticism and orthodoxy in this very field. with a dogmatic certainty which was characteristic of the assumptions of the school of higher criticism, these mistaken authorities assured us that the age of moses was an age of illiteracy. in fact, the extreme scholars of this school asserted that writing was not invented until five hundred years after the age of moses. we have ourselves debated that question with living men.
-one such occasion occurred recently, when we were delivering a series of lectures at grand rapids, michigan. the subject had to deal with archeology and the bible, and the men in attendance seemed to appreciate the opening lecture extremely. therefore, we were the more surprised when a gentleman, clad in clerical garb, came forward and in the most abrupt and disagreeable manner demanded,
-“by what authority do you state that moses wrote the pentateuch? your dogmatic assertion is utterly baseless!”
-in some surprise we replied, “i am sorry to sound dogmatic, as i try never to dogmatize. all that i mean to imply is that i am absolutely certain that he did write it!”
-our humor, which was intended as oil on troubled waters, turned out to be more like gasoline on raging fires! the exasperated gentleman exclaimed with considerable more heat than he had previously manifested, “you can’t prove that moses wrote the pentateuch!”
-“i don’t have to,” i replied, “as the boot is on the other foot! may i quote to you a section from greenleaf on evidence? here is the citation: ‘when documents purporting to come from antiquity, and bearing upon their face no evident marks of forgery, are found in the proper repository, the law presumes such documents to be authentic and genuine, and the burden of proof to the contrary devolves upon the objector.’ now, my dear brother, these documents do come from antiquity. they bear no evidence of forgery, and have thus been accepted and accredited in all of the ages that make up three millenniums of time. you face a problem if you are going to repudiate all the evidence and tradition of their credibility. just how are you going to prove that moses did not write these books ascribed to him?”
-“that is easy,” the scholarly brother retorted. “moses could not have written the first five books of the bible, because writing was not invented until five hundred years after moses died!”
-in great amazement i asked him, “is it possible that you never heard of the tel el armana tablets?”
-he never had!
-so we took time to tell him of the amazing discovery of this great deposit of written records from the library of amenhetep the third, and their bearing upon the great controversy. then we told him also of the older records of ur, that go all the way back to the days of the queen shub ab, and manifest a vast acquaintance with the art of writing as far back of abraham as this patriarch in turn preceded the lord jesus christ! he frankly confessed his total ignorance of this entire body of accumulated knowledge, and then closed the debate by stating,
-fully as important as its educational work was the research or investigational work carried on. the office was able to secure the services of several young men of scientific attainment and the bulletins put out by l. w. page, prévost hubbard, a. s. cushman and their successors have commanded world-wide recognition. laboratories were erected to test road materials, and experimental roads were built to demonstrate the actual use of the same according to various methods. in this manner careful studies were made of a vast number of materials, including oils, asphalts, tars, concrete, brick, crushed stone and gravel. in connection with practical road men and research committees of such organizations as the american society of civil engineers, and the american society for testing materials many useful standards have been adopted for road materials and road construction. the effect of traffic on various types of roads has also been a profitable subject for study. the organization of the bureau may be best shown by the chart.
-the department having adopted a rule to the effect that the rural delivery service would only be established along reasonably good roads, and that a carrier need not go out unless the roads were in fit condition spurred the inhabitants up to better attention of the roads for after a man once got in the habit of receiving his mail daily he wanted it regularly.
-rural delivery has now been sufficiently tried to measure its effects.... it stimulates social and business correspondence, and so swells the postal receipts. its introduction is invariably followed by a large increase in the circulation of the press and of periodic literature. the farm is thus brought into direct daily contact with the currents and movements of the business world. a more accurate knowledge of ruling markets and varying prices is diffused, and the producer, with his quicker communication and larger information, is placed on a surer footing. the value of farms, as has been shown in many cases, is enhanced. good roads become indispensable, and their improvement is the essential condition of the service. the material and measurable benefits are signal and unmistakable.
-but the movement exercises a wider and deeper influence. it becomes a factor in the social and economic tendencies of american life. the disposition to leave the farm for the town is a familiar effect of our past conditions. but this tendency is checked, and may be materially changed by an advance which conveys many of the advantages of the town to the farm. rural free delivery brings the farm within the daily range of the intellectual and commercial activities of the world, and the isolation and monotony which have been the bane of agricultural life are sensibly mitigated. it proves to be one of the most effective and powerful of educational agencies. wherever it is extended the schools improve and the civil spirit of the community feels a new pulsation; the standard of intelligence is raised, enlightened interest in public affairs is quickened, and better citizenship follows.
-with all these results clearly indicated by the experiment as thus far tried, rural free delivery is plainly here to stay. it cannot be abandoned where it has been established, and cannot be maintained without being extended.
-© underwood and underwood
-© underwood and underwood
-an act to provide for the more permanent improvement of the public roads of this state.
-whereas public roads in this state have heretofore been built and maintained solely at the expense of the respective townships in which they are located; and
-whereas such roads are for the convenience of the citizens of the counties in which they are located, and of the entire state as well as of said townships; and
-whereas the expense of constructing permanently improved roads may be reasonably imposed in due proportions, upon the state and upon the counties in which they are located: therefore, ...
-and be it enacted, that whenever there shall be presented to the board of chosen freeholders of any county a petition signed by the owners of at least two-thirds of the lands and real estate fronting or bordering on any public road ... praying the board to cause such road ... to be improved under this act, and setting forth that they are willing that the peculiar benefits conferred on the lands fronting or bordering on said road ... shall be assessed thereon, in amount not exceeding ten per centum of the entire cost of the improvement, it shall be the duty of the board to cause such improvements to be made: provided, that the estimated cost of all improvements ... in any county in any one year shall not exceed one-half of one per centum of the ratables of such county for the last preceding year....
-and be it enacted, that one-third of the cost of all roads constructed ... shall be paid for out of the state treasury: provided, that the amount so paid shall not in any one year exceed the sum of seventy-five thousand dollars....
-it will be seen that under this law the property owners pay one-tenth, the state one-third and the county the remaining 56²⁄₃ per cent. except for the 10 per cent paid by the abutting property holders the burden borne by all citizens of the county is the same.
-the friends of the movement demanded its enforcement; the opponents were equally determined which resulted in an appeal to the courts and the mandatory features were sustained. as it was first enacted the total expenditure was $20,000 and a commissioner of agriculture was to supervise its disbursement. but as there was no such officer the next legislature, at the suggestion of the governor, authorized the president of the state board of agriculture to perform these duties; this he did until the office of the commissioner of public roads was created. the first money paid out under the act was december 27, 1892, $20,661.85, and this was the first money paid in the united states for state aid for the construction of roads. with slight amendments the law remains to the present and has been emulated by nearly all the states in the union.
-the state aid principle has been adopted by all states in the union; many before federal aid came, the remainder since. connecticut was third in 1895 and new york fourth in 1898.
-the report speaks of the economic importance of good roads, the constitutionality of federal aid and gives data to show the public sentiment in favor of federal aid. of 10,000 replies to inquiries received from every state in the union, 97 per cent favored federal aid and 3 per cent opposed.
-the title of the bill as amended is “an act to provide that the united states shall aid the states in the construction of rural post roads, and for other purposes.” in brief it authorizes the secretary of agriculture to coöperate with the states through their respective highway departments in the construction of rural post roads. in order to keep state sovereignty intact no money apportioned under the act could be expended in any state until the legislature of that state shall have assented to the provisions of the act. the secretary of agriculture and the state highway department agree upon the roads to be constructed therein and the character and method of construction. by providing that all roads constructed under the provisions of the act shall be free from tolls of all kinds congress avoided the objection raised by president monroe in his veto of the national road bill in 1822. a most liberal definition of post roads is also given in the bill, namely, “the term ‘rural post road’ shall be construed to mean any public road over which the united states mails now are or may hereafter be transported, excluding every street and road in a place having a population, as shown by the latest available federal census, of two thousand five hundred or more, except that portion of any such street or road along which the houses average more than two hundred feet apart.”
-for the purpose of carrying out the provisions of the act there was appropriated for the fiscal years ending june 30, 1917, the sum of $5,000,000; 1918, $10,000,000; 1919, $15,000,000; 1920, $20,000,000; 1921, $25,000,000. after deducting the amount necessary for administration not exceeding 3 per cent, the remaining amount available was to be distributed as follows: “one-third in the ratio which the area of each state bears to the total area of all the states; one-third in the ratio which the population of each state bears to the total population of all the states as shown by the latest available federal census; one-third in the ratio which the mileage of rural delivery routes and star routes in each state bears to the total mileage of rural delivery routes and star routes in all the states.” the secretary of agriculture is to approve only projects which are substantial in character. items of engineering, inspection and unforeseen contingencies may not exceed 10 per cent of the estimated cost. the share paid by the government shall not exceed 50 per cent of the total cost.
-the same act appropriated $10,000,000 for the survey, construction and maintenance of roads and trails within the national forests when necessary to develop the resources upon which communities within and adjacent to the national forests are dependent.
-a state, county or district making application for aid must present a project statement “to enable the secretary to ascertain (a) whether the project conforms to the requirements of the act; (b) whether adequate funds, or their equivalent, are or will be available by or on behalf of the state for construction; (c) what purpose the project will serve and how it correlates with other highway work of the state; (d) the administrative control of, and responsibility for, the project; (e) the practicability and economy of the project from an engineering and construction standpoint; (f) the adequacy of the plans and provisions for proper maintenance of roads; and (g) the approximate amount of federal aid desired.” also there must be submitted for approval forms of contract, with documents referred to in them, and the contractor’s bond. likewise maps of surveys, plans, specifications and estimates, showing quantity and cost shall have the approval of the secretary. the state shall provide the rights of way and railroad grade crossings shall be avoided where practicable. a project agreement between the state highway department and the secretary is executed. it must also be shown that adequate means either by advertising or other devices were employed, prior to the beginning of construction, to insure economical and practical expenditures, and rules for submitting and tabulating bids are given. samples of the materials to be used must be submitted for approval whenever requested, and all materials, unless otherwise stipulated, must be tested prior to use by the standard methods of the office of public roads. supervision shall include adequate inspection. reports of progress, records and cost accounts must be kept in approved manner.
-many states in order to take advantage of the federal aid within the time stipulated by the act have, as has been shown, issued long-time bonds. others have relied on increased taxation, and many require abutting property to pay a special tax for improvements.
-“bonds for highway improvement,” office of public roads bulletin no. 136, u. s. dept of agr.
-boston transcript, letter by a foreign visitor giving her opinion of american roads. aug. 10, 1892.
-burrough, edward, “state aid to road building in new jersey,” office of public road inquiry bulletin no. 9, 1894. dept. of agriculture, washington.
-federal aid road law, history of, congressional record, vol. liii, 1916. the federal aid road bill, the one that was finally passed and became the most effective road law the world has ever known, had a history in congress that would make a large volume in itself. the pages of the congressional record where it may be found follow: house roll 7617--to provide that the united states shall aid the states in the construction of rural post roads, and for other purposes--was introduced by mr. dorsey w. shackleford, of missouri, january 6, 1916 and referred to the committee on roads, 637.--reported back (h. rept. 26), 746.--debated, 1131, 1165, 1234, 1269, 1285, 1353-1368, 1373-1408, 1451-1480, 1516-1537 (appendix, 21, 36, 141, 157, 160, 162, 172, 177, 178, 188, 203, 207, 208, 209, 211, 213, 214, 216, 218, 593, 1273, 2247).--amended and passed house january 25, 1916, ayes 283, noes 81, present 3, not voting 67, 1536, 1547.--referred to senate committee on agriculture and forestry, 1551.--motion for change of reference debated, 2049-2057, 2329-2335.--reference changed to committee on post offices and post roads, 2334, 2335.--reported with amendments (s. rept. 250), 3460, 3881.--debated, 6425-6433, 6494-6504, 6532-6549, 6565-6585, 6731, 6782-6785, 6840-6849, 6897-6899, 7119-7127, 7225-7228, 7291-7300, 7414, 7451, 7456-7465, 7499-7518, 7560-7571.--amended and passed senate unanimously, may 8, 1916, 7571.--referred to house committee on roads--reported back (h. rept. 732), 8357.--house disagrees to senate amendments and asks for a conference, 8749.--senate insists on its amendments and agrees to a conference, 8783.--conference appointed, 8749, 8783.--conference report (s. doc. no. 474) made in senate, 9964.--conference report unanimously agreed to in senate june 27, 1916, 10086.--conference report (no. 856) made in house. 10171.--conference report debated in house, 10162-10173 (appendix, 1316, 1318, 1334, 1340, 1360, 1361, 1647, 1719, 1724, 1793, 1860, 2082).--conference report agreed to in house, june 28, 1916, by a vote of 181 ayes to 53 noes, 10173.--examined and signed, 10348, 10371.--presented to the president, 10446.--approved (public statutes no. 156, july 11, 1916), 10836.
-“federal aid road act, regulations for carrying out,” office of public roads circular no. 65. u. s. dept. of agriculture.
-funk and wagnalls’ encyclopaedia, article “cycling.”
-good roads meetings.--“iowa highway meeting,” engineering record, august 27, 1892; national highway association at portland, oregon, the morning oregonian, june 22, 1905; office of the public roads bulletins, nos. 15, 17, 19, 21-26.
-greathouse, charles h., “the delivery of rural mails,” year book, 1917. u. s. dept. of agriculture.
-“highway bonds,” the american year book, 1919, 1920. d. appleton & co., new york.
-house document no. 1510, “federal aid to good roads,” being vol. 99 of the house documents.
-iowa code of 1851, “road laws.”
-new york times, good roads department, sept. 11, 1892.
-nye, bill, “on good roads,” good roads, september, 1892.
-post roads.--the constitution of the united states on, section 8.
-potter, i. b., “the gospel of good roads,” league of american wheelmen.
-interrelation between highway and other kinds of transportation
-too true that the great railroad corporations have not always acted in a manner suitable to the man in the street, that they have often taken too much toll, that they have become rich and arrogant, that they have frequently manipulated the political machinery of government in their own favor, that they have exploited where they should not, that they have shown favoritism to prominent shippers, and that they have often borne down heavily on the laboring man; but, this country would never have been developed to its present state of civilization and prosperity without some powerful and efficacious method of transportation. the railroads, proving themselves to be more efficient than either the public highways or the waterways, without perhaps intending any maliciousness, put them practically out of business. now that improved roads and automobiles and motor trucks are giving the railroads a race for their life some unthinking persons are gloating over the fact and shouting “to the victor belongs the spoils.” the evolutionary law that the “fittest will survive” does not necessarily mean that what is best for the world, for government, for society, for business will always survive. weeds will often choke out the corn unless prevented by outside influence. a beautiful elm stands on the corner. every spring it sheds an abundance of seeds; soon these germinate and there springs up throughout the lawn, flower and vegetable gardens, myriads of young elm trees. now elm trees in their proper place are desirable, are useful, are ornamental and furnish pleasure, but when they become weeds they should be rooted up that the lawn, the vegetables, and the flowers may persist. here the fittest for society survives only because of artificial regulation. the railroads, steam and electric, the waterways and the highways all have spheres of usefulness; let each perform its function and there need be no incongruity or discord.
-experience has proved time and again that any machine has a particular capacity at which it can be most efficiently operated. a simple stone crusher kept half full is running at a loss; if crowded and speeded up it will wear and break unduly. it would be foolish to run continually a 50 horse-power engine to serve a 2 horse-power motor. an electric light plant is most economical when operated at its “capacity.” horse and wagons, motor trucks, railways, canals, and ships, are but machines, and the law holds with all of them that they are most efficient when operated at their proper capacity.
-another economic truth is that the unit cost of production is usually lowest when the output is great. quantity production is the goal of practically all successful manufacturing enterprises. automatic and near-automatic machines replace the human hand. one person by the aid of mechanical and electrical devices produces as much in the same time as could a score or even a hundred without such help formerly. the chief reason why quantity production is cheaper than individual production is that it allows for a division of labor, a separation of the preparing processes into several operations or occupations. growing the grain, transporting it to market, grinding it into flour, baking it into bread, and selling the bread, indicate some of the several occupations, that arise in the simple preparation of “our daily bread.” the meat-packing industry affords an excellent example of the principle: the animal is surveyed and “laid off like a map”; and each workman as the carcass passes him has one operation to perform. one man sticks the pig, another scalds it, another pulls the hair from a particular portion of the body, one cuts the slits for the gambols, another inserts the sticks, still others hoist the body to the hanger, and so on as it proceeds along its course scores of persons are each doing a very limited portion of the work until the entire animal is prepared and packed for shipment. the workmen are classified and the highest paid are put to the most delicate or important parts while for the less delicate and less important duties the pay is very much lower. but each workman having only a small variety of work to perform soon becomes adept and can do a much greater amount than if he attempted the entire round of labor. the building of automobiles wherein materials start from different places and eventually coalesce as they proceed on their journey through the shops by each workman as they pass adding one thing or performing one operation until the whole emerges a complete machine ready to run away under its own power, is another case in point.
-mr. james j. hill, when president of the great northern, northern pacific and chicago burlington & quincy railroad companies, applied the principle of quantity production to railroad transportation. under his supervision locomotives and cars increased in size; this necessitated heavier rails and more substantial track; trains were not allowed to leave the terminals until a full load had been accumulated; regular schedules were of course done away with except for passenger and a few local freight trains. other trains were to be run only at the full capacity of the locomotive. this was not conducive to speed, but the unit cost of hauling a ton of freight one mile was very materially reduced. the same crew with comparatively small increase in costs may operate a train of many cars about as easily as one of few cars.
-the same principle underlies the efforts of motor transport companies. they are increasing the size of trucks and loads to decrease cost. they have not used discretion, however, in this and their heavy trucks have ground to powder high-cost roadways with the result that public sentiment is reacting against them and regulatory laws are being passed by many legislatures.
-the railroads are also complaining that the automobile is cutting into their passenger earnings. this is no doubt true. what else can be expected with approximately 11,000,000 machines now in operation? thousands of tourists are daily traversing the country. they find the outing pleasant and when several occupy one car it is cheaper than railroad travel. free camping along the way avoids hotel bills which have grown inordinately during the past few years. if these rates continue, simple inns as in the olden days may grow up and cut into the business of the high-priced hotels. lower charges for both railroads and hotels will mitigate but not entirely eliminate the automobile competition. the motor car is here to stay and automobile travel will continue to increase. it is no longer a theory but a condition which exists, and the railroads and hotels should adopt the policy of the wily politician,--who said, “if you can’t lick ’em, jine ’em,”--meet the automobile half way and make the most of it.
-in roger w. babson’s weekly comment dated september 30, 1922, we read:
-we shall live to see great highways built by the state exclusively for truck use. railroads are destined ultimately to lose all of their short haul business and hence the roads which are in comparatively small and compact territories are sure to suffer. the only hope for some roads ... is to sell certain of their rights of way to the state in order that the tracks may be removed and concrete highways laid in their place. many roads have parallel lines to-day under their control. the wise railroad company will develop one of these for itself and will sell the other at a good price to the state for a concrete truck highway.
-if the steam railroads are feeling the competition of the motor, the interurban trolley lines and the street-car companies are harder hit. the interurban lines are most of them short and depend upon local traffic. their cars stopped at any cross-road along the way to pick up passengers and freight. but the motor transport is going them one better; it picks up its load at the front gate, saving the trouble of even a short walk, or in the case of freight, of loading and unloading and a short haul to the track.
-the case of street-car lines is slightly different. so many persons are purchasing and daily using automobiles to go to and from business that the street-car people have complained bitterly. many lines are running behind and one at least, des moines, iowa, entirely stopped operation (august, 1917). the moment they found their revenues decreasing they ran to the railway commissions and city councils with requests for permits to increase rates of fare. the increase when allowed not only failed to alleviate but aggravated the trouble. even old-fashioned persons who formerly traveled home for luncheon and back afterward began patronizing cafeterias and clubs. the habit of eating noon luncheon down town was soon formed. others emulated their example, resulting in the loss of hundreds and even thousands of fares per week. riding to and from work in an automobile has a fascination for most men, and every one in a street car who sees his neighbor whizzing along by the side vows that he, too, will drive a car as soon as he can save enough money to make the first payment. useless for the street car managers to try to prove to him that the expenses of a car--gas, oil, tires, repairs and depreciation--are vastly greater than street car fares; everybody knows that, but he must be in the style. farmers, as the implement dealers have found to their sorrow, will do without or tinker up old harvesters and plows in order to enjoy the pleasure of owning an automobile. the mechanic may change his seven-passenger for a light-four as wages go down but he still insists on riding his own car. the merchant while complaining that others should give up their machines and pay their bills, hangs on to his own with the grip of death. women, even, are willing to give up pretty dresses and wear khaki overalls at least half the time. it looks as though many will hereafter live a nomadic life using their cars and garages more than their one- and two-room apartments. stop the people from using motors and force them back to the street cars? never, until the hardships of living reach the state of starvation and nakedness.
-© underwood and underwood
-© underwood and underwood
-gasoline locomotive and trailer
-there is a legitimate field for these buses in the smaller cities and on streets in large cities not easily reached by, or upon which it is desirable not to have street-car tracks. but they should not be free lances--they should be under regulations as street cars are under regulations, they should make scheduled trips, they should be backed by capital or insurance sufficient to pay indemnities in cases of accident and upon payment of license fees are entitled to protection and possibly monopoly in their prescribed territory.
-a cheap form of transportation, either electric trolley, with or without track, or buses, is absolutely necessary. buses and individual jitneys cannot, where the business is heavy, carry passengers as cheaply as the electric street car, but for a more limited traffic the buses may take their place, and for still less traffic jitneys can find a useful occupation. if buses and jitneys are allowed absolute freedom without restrictions as to schedule or route they will skim the cream from the street transportation business and so reduce the revenues of the street cars that they will have to discontinue operation. a thing so undesirable that the public will have to subsidize the street cars and guarantee a certain percentage of earnings or take over their ownership, run them at a nominal fare and let the taxpayer take care of the deficit. by these means those persons who ride their own automobiles, the heavier taxpayers, who are, or should be, most vitally interested in maintaining cheap transportation for the unfortunate residue who cannot possibly afford automobiles, yet whose labor is absolutely essential to the industrial and commercial prosperity of the city, will be required to pay a portion of the upkeep of street-car transportation. if a subsidy be adopted it would be better that it should not be a direct guaranty of a fixed percentage of earnings for in that manner there is no premium on efficiency as our government found to its cost in dealing with the railroads during the recent war. it would be better if some sort of a sliding scale could be worked out whereby the lines should be relieved of occupational taxes or license fees in proportion as they lowered fares, and such that the lower the fares the greater the percentage of profit they might earn.
-the contract or charter might provide that all earnings above a specified percentage, due allowance having been made for operation, repairs, and upkeep, on bona fide capital invested should be turned over to the city as a license for the use of the streets. for example with a fare of three cents the city might guarantee a 5 per cent income, but allow, by reduction of taxes and all payments to the city an earning of 10 per cent; on a five cent fare guarantee 3 per cent and allow earnings of 8 per cent; and so on as shown by the accompanying table the figures of which are merely illustrative:
-to make a workable contract of this sort there would first have to be an agreement as to the corporation capital upon which earning percentages are to be based. if this could be made equal to the real investment it would be absolutely just to both the public and the corporation. however, the so-called unearned increment would in some cases have to be considered. publicity in accounting, capitalization, bonded indebtedness and earnings, and the feeling engendered that the public is in a sense a co-partner with the corporation would add to more harmonious relations between the two.
-similar contracts might be arranged between bus lines and the city, or between bus lines and the state where rural roads are used, and between railroad and other transportation corporations and the federal government for interstate lines.
-objection may be raised to this plan on the ground that it violates usury laws. nearly every state in the union provides by law for a maximum rate of interest. laws of this kind have existed almost since the beginning of history and are so imbedded in the minds of the people that they believe 6 or 7 per cent is all a public service corporation should be allowed to make on its investment, when as a matter of fact all sorts of private businesses are making profits many times that amount without hindrance by law or public sentiment. people who risk money in adventures which are in general for the good of the public should be allowed returns fully as high as those suggested, even though they do go beyond the customary 7 percent. whatever the right figures are careful accounting and publicity will have a tendency to establish, and once established they ought to be as stable and permanent as life insurance rates and thus encourage the investment of funds in such enterprises.
-there seems to be no doubt but what the railroads can and do transport large quantities long distances quicker, better, and more efficiently than can be done on the highways. highways may be considered as feeders of the railways. with good roads the zone from which the railway can profitably draw products for long distance or quantity transportation is widened, and again widened very materially when better roads allow the use of motors in place of horses. this, if no other railway interferes, means a larger grand total of traffic hauled. again the character of the farming along the zone served by a railroad will depend upon the facilities for marketing as well as soil and climate. those products ordinarily called perishable may be raised if the roads are good so that they may be marketed quickly and cheap enough to compete with other localities. such produce yield a larger net return per acre than the staple grain products. intensive farming is usually necessary in such cases so that a smaller farm will support a family allowing an increase in rural population, a thing most highly desirable in this country. the railroad benefits again, then, because of the increased produce raised by intensive farming brought about by quick marketing facilities, and by increased freight and passenger traffic necessary to supply the greater population.
-furthermore, if roads were good throughout the year marketing would be spread over the entire period and there would not at times be a glut with corresponding scarcity of cars, and other facilities for handling. if cars, warehouses and elevators were sufficient to care for these periods there would be an over supply of facilities at other times and capital would be unnecessarily tied up producing larger overhead charges. with good roads there would likewise be less need for large quantities of money at particular periods of the year as uniform marketing would allow a smaller capital to be turned oftener. moreover, unproductive branch lines would by the increased traffic brought to them by the improved highways be either made productive or they could be dispensed with altogether. the unproductive short-haul traffic would then be cared for by electric railways, motor trucks or even by horse wagons.
-a tabulation of the respective fields is as follows:
-minimum headways, 3 min. or less; rail cars.
-minimum headways, 3 to 6 min.; rail cars or trolley bus.
-minimum headways, 6 to 60 min.; trolley bus.
-minimum headways, 60 min. or more; gasoline bus.
-this does not mean that existing lines with headways of 7¹⁄₂ to 10 minutes should be scrapped and replaced with the newer forms of transportation. it would not pay to do this until a headway greater than 15 or 20 minutes has been reached.
-a formula might be worked out this way.
-thus motor charge for x miles is mx and railroad charge for same distance is rx + t, equating these,
-solving for the distance traveled,
-with mr. cabot’s figures this formula gives
-using the cost 25 cents per ton mile made up by actual averages compiled by the motor truck association of america and 5.5 cents used by mr. cabot as the railroad cost charge, there results
-it will be noticed that this formula contemplates no terminal charge for the motor truck as it is expected to pick up and deliver the freight at the doors of the consignor and consignee and that the cost of doing this is absorbed in the cost per mile. the dividing distance between profitable rail and freight transportation, x, is seen by the formula to vary directly with the terminal charge and indirectly with the difference between motor and rail cost per mile. to lessen this distance is in the interest of the railroads and can be accomplished by decreasing the terminal charges and the cost of transportation per ton-mile. express companies have for years accomplished this by employing the system of free collection and delivery, and railways in england do likewise. the motor transport companies will have to decrease their cost per ton-mile in order to increase the distance that it is profitable for the shipper to utilize motor trucks. if the difference in cost per ton-mile could be reduced to twelve cents with terminal costs at $6 per ton, and doubtless this may be done under favorable circumstances, the distance would be lengthened to 50 miles. this is probably the maximum motor truck haul which can in general profitably compete with rail transportation. with better roads, larger trucks, trailers, or, in special cases, with certain classes of goods and commodities, longer hauls will be profitable.
-the distances which it seems profitable to do trucking are continually being lengthened. forrest crissey, writing in the saturday evening post of december 16, 1922, relates a case in which household goods were hauled from boston to cleveland at a saving over rail rates and expenses incurred by delays of $417.50 on the shipment.
-his figures summarized are as follows:
-it should be remembered that certain kinds of goods, such as household, lend themselves readily to truck shipments. with this class of goods expensive packing and several handlings are eliminated. such is true of much merchandise which can be delivered directly from the store of the seller to the door of the buyer; to many varieties of manufactured goods which are sold within comparatively short distances of the factory. each case should be worked out for itself and all the various kinds of transportation used that prove to be practical and economical. where large concerns like packing houses are supplied with railway tracks right to their doors, shipping in car load and train load lots is not only more economical but absolutely necessary where such large quantities are transported in refrigerator cars. but for distribution to towns near-by the truck is much more convenient and economical. it is impossible to say for so-many-miles it is cheaper to ship by truck, because each commodity must be considered individually in connection with the character of the roads, the conditions of weather and climate, and the time of delivery. while the case of shipping household goods alluded to above proved very successful the next one might meet inclement weather, the truck might have to remain out in the rain and some of the goods become damaged, as was the case of one such shipment that came under the writer’s observation. a single swallow does not make a summer, but the trend is no doubt toward much longer truck trips. and as the roads and vehicles become stabilized and standardized this will be even more evident. for example, milk collected at stations 50 and 60 miles from the large cities can be hauled in to market in large tank cars which are built somewhat on the thermos or vacuum bottle principle, the milk arriving at its destination cooler and in every way better than if hauled in small containers. the truck has a large field open for its especial qualities. let it confine its operations to these and rail competition will not injure it.
-enough has been said to intimate a firm belief that the railways as purveyors of secondary transportation will persist. on economic grounds if for no other reason, for no cheaper method of transportation, except by water, has been devised; and secondary transportation over canals and rivers ought, for the good of the country, to be revived. there is a large class of freight that could with proper management travel at a slow rate of speed without any detriment or inconvenience whatsoever to the public.
-this condition is not peculiar to the eastern states, but applies to the grower of perishable products near every large market; it also applies to the raiser of live stock. during the congested period mentioned there was difficulty to get stock cars in which to ship hogs, sheep, and cattle. motor trucks were seized upon and last year there came to the omaha stock yards in them more than 200,000 head of live stock, st. joseph, missouri, yards are said to be receiving 2500 head of live stock per day by motor truck. sioux city, st. paul and other markets report similar receipts. the record day at indianapolis is given as 6800 head of live stock delivered to the stock yards in 500 motor trucks from a radius of 50 miles. hogs delivered by truck to the early market at omaha are said to be in much better condition than those received by train.
-in some sorts of transportation light automobile delivery wagons will give best service; this is especially true where the distance between stops is such that considerable time may be saved by rapid transit. in still other lines a horse and wagon may be most efficient; this is especially true where the stops are continuous or nearly continuous along a street like a milk or ice route, and where a trained team can be started and stopped by the attendant from the street by word of mouth.
-it seems then that there is room in this country for various kinds of transportation. the horse and wagon; the light motor and the heavy motor; the waterways; the electric railroad and the steam railroad. all should work together in harmony for the good of the nation. the little handwheel that opens and closes the throttle valve is of as much importance to the big corliss engine as the large and more spectacular flywheel; the black iron foundation, grimy with grease, as the bright highly polished brass band around the cylinder lagging darting and reflecting beams of light into the eyes of the beholder. each has its own work to perform and if done well is deserving of equal honor.
-agricultural inquiry, report of joint commission on, published by order of congress, 1922, washington, d. c.
-babson, roger w., “weekly comment” of september 30, 1922, syndicated.
-banham, w. j. l., “motor truck and railroad freighting,” address delivered at highway transport conference, 1920, published as a bulletin by the national automobile chamber of commerce, new york.
-brosseau, a. j., “is highway transport an aid to railroads?” commercial vehicle, jan. 15, 1922. also published in bulletin form by the national automobile chamber of commerce.
-crissey, forrest, “our new transportation system,” saturday evening post, december 16, 1922.
-graham, george m., “highway transportation,” proceedings of the eighth annual meeting of the united states chamber of commerce. “the motor vehicle--competitor or ally?” national automobile chamber of commerce.
-green, g. a., “motor bus transportation,” society of automotive engineers, journal, 1920.
-johnson, emery r., “elements of transportation,” d. appleton & company, new york.
-macdonald, thomas h., “federal aid highways,” proceedings of the 8th annual meeting of the chamber of commerce of the united states.
-riggs, henry e., “report of the committee on interrelation of highway, railway, and waterway transport,” national traffic association of chicago, n. a. c. c., 1920.
-white, windsor t., “benefits of war experience,” proceedings of the eighth annual meeting of the chamber of commerce of the united states.
-1. modernizing locomotives.--gross reparable deficiencies are pointed out which it is claimed might be avoided by the applications of improvements such as superheaters, brick arches, mechanical stokers, feed-water heaters, there would result an annual saving of at least $272,500,000.
-2. locomotive operation.--the magnitude of the railways’ coal bill is considered and certain of the larger wastes calculated, and it is concluded that by use of better methods of coal purchase, coal inspection, careful receipt, and efficient firing of the locomotives, an annual saving could be effected of at least $50,000,000.
-3. shop organization improvements.--the sad and almost incredible inadequacy and out-of-date equipment of the railway shops is reviewed, and defenseless wastes considered, and it is conservatively estimated that by a proper shop organization an annual saving could be effected of at least $17,000,000.
-4. power-plant fuel savings.--the obsolete and wasteful condition of the power plants in the railway shops is considered, and it is estimated that in this field the possible saving of fuel would by itself amount to an annual total of $10,000,000.
-5. water-consumption savings.--the railroads’ expenditure in maintenance of way and structure is reviewed, necessary wastes noted, and it is estimated that easily attainable savings in the consumption of water alone would amount annually to $12,600,000.
-6. service of supply savings.--the expenditure of the railways for supplies has been inquired into and the avoidable losses surveyed, and it is estimated that the wastes and abuses amount annually to not less than $75,000,000.
-7. shop accounting savings.--attention has been given to the matter of uniform railroad statistics and the use of efficient methods of cost accounting. an annual saving would be feasible to the amount of $10,900,000.
-8. labor turn-over savings.--the industrial losses due to unnecessary labor turn-over and to inadequate training of personnel have been reviewed, and it is estimated that the avoidable wastes incident to labor turn-over alone amount to more than $40,000,000.
-9. loss and damage savings.--inquiry has been made into the amount of the annual damage account of the railways and into preventable causes of such losses, and it is estimated that an annual saving might be effected to the amount of $90,000,000.
-other alleged losses, he says, would bring the total waste to over a billion.
-automotive transportation is a matter of such recent growth that only a few of the elements entering it have as yet become fixed or standardized--the whole question is still in the experimental or growing stage. the next few years will probably see as many, if not as radical, changes in equipment and operation as have the past few. the law of evolution seems to include a period of slow growth or sort of weak feeling-out; then a period of very rapid growth, developing usually along several lines; and finally a ripening or fixing period in which standardization is reached. the automotive industries are now beginning the third period. revolutionary changes are not to be expected, but there will be many minor ones seeking efficiency or economy. the machinery of transportation, the motor car and the roadway, are, perhaps, in a later stage of standardization than are the social and legal phases of the subject. the relative rights of the people on the street and driver of the car have yet to be determined. the relation between automotive transportation and the older forms of transportation is still in a very formative stage. plans and organizations for operating systems of highway transport and methods of accounting which shall be fair to owner and patron have in a large measure yet to be developed.
-these things must necessarily be true in a new and growing industry. why, encyclopedias published in the ’eighties make no mention whatever of the motor car or automobile. in fact, the first practical automobiles were put on the market after 1893, and trucks were not sold as such until 1903, ten years later. this was about the period when automobiles were being made over by change of body into “business wagons.” but so rapidly has the use of the motor car grown, automobile registrations increasing from about one million in 1912 to more than eleven millions in 1922, that, so it is stated, 80 per cent of all cars manufactured are still in use.
-automotive transportation may be considered to include all conveyance from one place to another by means of motor vehicles. a motor vehicle is one which carries within itself the source of mechanical power which propels it providing that source be not muscular. this definition would include the tractor, the road roller, the torpedo, and the locomotive, which are ordinarily excluded. for the purposes of this discussion an automobile or motor car may be considered as a self-propelled vehicle which transports a burden other than itself as a weight upon its own wheels. this will exclude the tractor and the locomotive, which though self-propelled, are intended to draw other vehicles rather than to carry the load; also the road roller and the torpedo, which have no burden to transport other than their own weights. some definitions would confine a motor vehicle to one designed to move on common roads or highways. however, motor cars are now being used on railroad tracks; they are entitled to and should be allowed the use of the name. the automobile may have as the source of power internal-combustion engines using such fuel as gasoline, kerosene, benzol, and alcohol; it may use steam generated by these fuels; or an electric storage battery charged by sources outside the engine may furnish the propelling force. the load transported will either be passenger or freight. passenger traffic may be classified as business or pleasure. if a vehicle is used mostly for business, first cost and economy of operation may play a more important part in the purchase of the car than if used for pleasure, in which case appearance and luxurious appointments may be the deciding factor.
-1. the cugnot steam carriage--1770. 2. the trevithick & vivian steam carriage--1801. 3. the gurney steam carriage--1827. 4. the church automobile carriage (steam)--1833. 5. gaillardit’s steam carriage--1894.
-jitney and taxi-cab traffic are of vast importance in the cities and are of real economic use in furnishing a rapid means of transit from point to point. the jitney is usually a privately owned vehicle not especially constructed for the business, which plies with more or less regularity over a route that may or may not be set out in the owner’s license. in early days the price of a ride was a “nickel” or “jitney” hence the name.
-taxi-cabs are regularly licensed automobiles that carry passengers for hire, usually making the charge dependent more or less upon the distance traveled, which is registered by a taximeter. for example, the charge may be 25 cents plus 15 cents per mile or fraction thereof. this would make the charge for distances less than 1 mile, 40 cents; from 1 mile to 2 miles, 55 cents; from 2 to 3 miles, 70 cents; and so on. the driver usually turns the taximeter up to the fixed charge plus 1 mile, if fractions are counted as full miles, when the passenger enters, and the instrument adds on as the cab travels. of course the taximeter may be made to register every quarter, every fifth, or every tenth of a mile, or even continuously. a special waiting charge is made if the cab is held by the passenger. taxicabs are variable in form, from “flivvers” to limousines. many of the larger cities are supplied with cabs owned in quantity by substantial companies which put on a line of cars usually all alike and painted with some striking feature or color. the larger ones are limousines seating five or seven passengers in the tonneau and one on the seat with the driver. some of these cars are almost luxuriously fitted with fine cushions and special lighting. they have speaking tubes or electrical devices to signal the driver. the drivers for the large companies wear the livery of the company. taxis, as may be inferred, have no established routes, but go wherever the passenger may desire.
-© underwood and underwood
-a new york city “stepless bus”
-buses are made both single and double deck. the latter are in demand where traffic is large and also where sight-seeing is an important item, the upper deck being usually open to the weather.
-there seems to be another feasible and legitimate use for the motor bus which may help the street car companies as well. that is extensions by means of buses at the ends of the car lines or into territory not well served by them. the bus might collect passengers from an outlying district and bring them to the car line where the trolley can take them on to the heart of the city. thus motor buses will become feeders rather than competitors of the regularly established traction lines. the car companies should attempt to take advantage of this sort of thing, using either the trackless trolley or gasoline motor, as may be thought the more suitable for the situation in hand.
-cross-country motor service has proven quite feasible and scores of buses now leave every large city for the surrounding smaller towns. the bus seems to negotiate a 50-mile trip very easily at a speed of approximately 20 miles per hour including stops. these buses or stages carry from 12 to 20 passengers and are operated by one man; they are well sprung and equipped with pneumatic tires. for country traffic seats cross ways of the car are much more comfortable to the rider than lengthwise seats. their usefulness seems to lie in suburban traffic or as feeders to railroads.
-such buses are also largely used as carriers of children to and from consolidated schools. the little red school house, wherein began the educational training of so many of our great men, of which silver tongues have orated, whose virtues have been painted in poetry, and praises commemorated in song, cannot stand against the superior advantages of the consolidated graded school brought near to the pupils by the advent of the automobile. since each consolidated school with about five teachers replaces eight to ten ungraded schools, and since it is easier and cheaper to maintain and heat one consolidated school than eight ungraded schools, the advantage is economical as well as educational.
-another place where the motor bus seems extremely well adapted is in the transfer of travelers from one railroad terminal to another. railroads contract with transfer companies to do this and a coupon, a portion of the traveler’s ticket, is detached by the bus-man when the transfer is made. to one who is not used to the city this is a great convenience. in the city of chicago, through which many long-distance tourists pass and through which no or at least few railroads extend in both directions, hundreds of such transfers take place daily. passengers and baggage are thus taken care of on a through ticket with despatch and little inconvenience.
-for these reasons then, if for no other, the use of automobiles to cater to the pleasure propensities of the people will continue. there are very few persons who do not enjoy an automobile ride--they are only the timid who fear accident. the recreational and pathological benefits to be derived cannot be overestimated. during the recent war the government gave much attention to the entertainment of the soldiers and endeavored in many, many ways to divert their minds from the serious side of war. so with the people generally. they are much better off for pleasurable diversions and the automobile furnishes these in a very high degree.
-1. panhard & levassor carriage--1895. 2. duryea motor wagon--1895. 3. the benz motocycle. 4. hertel’s gasoline carriage--1896. 5. the olds horseless carriage. 6. winton’s racing machine.
-if, then, there be included under the head of pleasure passenger traffic all not purely business it may with propriety be estimated that three-fourths of all automobile travel is for pleasure. considering ten million automobiles in use in the united states, that they average 4000 miles per year and carry two passengers each, there results a total passenger mileage of
-in very congested districts motor trucks are at a great disadvantage because they cannot be used at their most efficient speed. if the congestion can be eliminated or at least relieved by such means as one-way traffic, paving parallel streets, removing buildings which obstruct passage, widening driveways, elevating railroads and street cars, supplying overhead crossings, making subways, or by careful rearrangement and planning of terminal facilities, warehouses, and other accommodations, the cost of transportation in the large cities may be materially reduced. in many such cities public service commissions are studying these questions and applying remedies which will allow motor trucks to operate at a greater rate of speed and much more efficiently.
-accurate observations of motor truck performance in city trucking business has shown that a large part of the day is given up to loading and unloading, that the truck stands still so much of the time that the cost is more nearly proportional to time than to mileage. since certain charges such as interest and insurance go on whether the truck is idling or not, it is better to keep it moving. to do this effectively depots, warehouses, and other terminal facilities are provided to lessen the time of loading and unloading. it may be wise to hire an extra stevedore or two to assist with these operations, or mechanical devices may be installed where the saving will justify it. usually there is not only a saving in time when a mechanical device is used but the amount of expensive manual labor is decreased.
-among the practical devices used are removable bodies. the whole body of the truck may be swung by means of a crane from the chassis to a platform where it is loaded or unloaded while the truck with another body is proceeding on its way. other bodies are so arranged on rollers that they may be readily rolled from the chassis to the platform. railways are also taking advantage of removable bodies for the shipment of less than car-load lots. these bodies are made to fit a truck and also of proper sizes so that several of them may be nested or interlocked upon a flat car. one of these units or containers may be left for any length of time for loading then rolled upon the truck and off it to the steam train. at the other end of its journey it is rolled from the car to the truck and from that to the unloading platform with a great saving of time at each terminal. the new york central railway places nine containers of 6000 pounds capacity on one flat car. these are unloaded by means of a crane in less than five minutes for each container, or the whole car in approximately forty minutes. by this means the railroad is able to take advantage of what has been called store-door delivery. instead of the consignor hauling its goods to the station and unloading them on the platform to be loaded into cars by stevedores, transported, unloaded into the warehouse, and the consignee notified to come for them, the railway leaves a container which when filled is hauled by truck to the railway yard and in five minutes’ time placed upon the car, which upon reaching its destination is placed upon a truck and hauled to the consignee. goods shipped in these containers which may be made of steel and securely locked are considered just as safe from predacious hands and the weather as in a way car, and possibly are safer.
-the demountable container which is rapidly coming into general use, and which has for some time been used by the new york central railroad and the interurban railways of australia, consists of a large steel box or safe, the doors of which can be locked. when it is placed upon a steel flat-car with sides two feet high it cannot possibly be opened as the doors are on the side of the container. and it cannot be removed from the car without the use of a derrick, the top corners of the container being equipped with hooks for this purpose. the containers have a capacity of 438 cubic feet and will hold from 6000 to 8000 pounds of package freight. when the packages are locked and sealed within the containers they are safe from fire and rain as well as marauders. one flat-car will accommodate from 4 to 9 containers, depending upon their size.
-in addition to the safety furnished by these containers they are economical in saving time of transportation. re-handling is unnecessary. the transfer of the entire container from truck to car and from car to truck is very quickly made. the mileage of the flat cars is thus greatly increased--with mail cars it is claimed to be doubled. expensive packing and crating is avoided and the checking at each rehandling of parcels is eliminated.
-mass loading or unloading, whether the whole truck body is swung off by a crane, rolled off, or even if trailers and semi-trailers are left to be worked upon after the truck has gone, save little in the way of manual labor. on the other hand they require the installment at each end of the route of special arrangements to facilitate their use.
-another class of devices are those connected with the truck itself. for example it may have a winch on it to draw up an inclined plane at its rear such heavy articles as pianos, safes, and large castings. it may have a crane with a pulley running along a central beam over it to facilitate loading and unloading heavy boxes or other things. a swinging crane is also used with some trucks. on others, hoists are arranged to tip the body backward for unloading building and road materials, grain, and so on. many of these devices make use of the truck power for their operation. pumps with suction hoses empty catch basins, cess-pools, stopped-up sewers and flooded cellars, pumping the fluid to a tank body of the truck, whence it can be hauled away and dumped by elevating the front end of the tank and opening a gate in its rear. devices for lifting and dumping coal truck bodies directly into the bin save much time over hand shoveling.
-still another class of devices are entirely separate from the truck and may or may not be connected with the warehouse. for example a chain conveyor which can be rolled up to the back of a truck elevates barrels and boxes, sand and stone, and is operated by a small electric motor the lead wires of which are plugged into a suitable socket, up to the floor at the rear of the truck from which place they can be easily pushed or shoveled to proper position. elevated bins are utilized to store road materials from which the materials run by gravity into the body of a small motor-car which then goes to the mixer where it is grabbed by a device that empties the body into the mixer, thus saving much handling of material.
-many special types of bodies are made for peculiar purposes. these often facilitate loading and unloading, for example tank ears for hauling water, milk, gasoline or other fluids; or trucks fitted with shelves on which are placed trays containing fruits and so forth. as the motor truck enters newer fields of usefulness multiple devices will be developed to lessen the time of loading and unloading. the financial importance to both the owner and the public of keeping the truck moving will no doubt lead to the adoption of these devices providing they are practical and will accomplish the desired result.
-it would seem to be the duty, therefore, of public service commissions to grant licenses to truck and bus lines, to establish routes and equitable rates, to require careful and complete accounting and to make public from time to time such items as the people may be interested in.
-the railway commission of the state of nebraska was, perhaps, the first public service commission to exercise the right of regulating highway transport (1918). colorado, california, and other states soon followed. in california the matter came upon a complaint that adequate service was not given by the railway and the decision was:
-“we are of the opinion that the public deserving transportation of freight and express ... is entitled to a more expeditious service than that at present being given by the southern pacific and american railway express.”
-it went on further to state that notwithstanding their ability to give service the evidence was to the effect that it was not given, hence motor highway transport was licensed.
-the first highway transport freight rates established by the railway commission of nebraska placed the freight under four classes, describing 103 items. the rates were:
-1st class 20 c. plus (1¹⁄₂ c. per mile per 100 pounds).
-2d class 85 per cent of the 1st class.
-3d class 70 per cent of the 1st class.
-4th class 60 per cent of the 1st class.
-in addition they established rules and regulations, standard bills of lading, etc. these rates have since been rescinded.
-in colorado two sets of rules were adopted, one for the prairie and one for the mountain division. for the prairie division the minimum charge was 25 c. and the mountain 30 c. per 100 pounds. the rates for motor truck hauling was made, for the prairie division, 30 c. per 100 pounds for 5 miles and for distances up to 100 miles graduated 5 or 10 c. for each additional 5 miles until they reached $1 per 100 miles. for the mountain division, the rate for 100 pounds carried 5 miles is 36 c., graduated to $1.20 per 100 miles.
-just what may be the outcome of this traffic is problematical. can the buses compete with other forms of transportation in fares and speed? if so, they will survive; otherwise they will gradually discontinue. some writers seem to think they will not only live but will eventually kill the older forms of transportation. although they will no doubt take over very much of that transportation it seems highly improbable that all transportation can be taken care of by motors.
-no single development since the railroads were first constructed has had so marked an economic and sociological effect upon productive life as the motor vehicle. previous to its appearance the economic zone of transportation was sharply defined by the haulage range of the horse and the cost of such transportation.
-there is the evidence of no less a person than secretary of commerce herbert hoover that the farm motor truck will be of vast importance to the agricultural interests of the country. here is his statement:
-fifty per cent of our perishable foodstuffs never reach the consumer because the farms on which they are raised are too remote from the market at which they are sold.... forty to 60 per cent of our potato crop is lost each year by rotting in the ground owing to poor transportation to market because of inadequate transportation over long distance.... by motor trucks the farmer will be able to reach better markets farther away than now by horse and wagon. he will be able to spend more time actually producing on his farm and be able to sell food more cheaply by eliminating the present tremendous waste. by use of the motor truck the farmer will be able to produce more and sell at less cost.
-some of the arguments advanced in favor of the farm truck are:
-while there may be some question as to the validity of all these assumptions they are no doubt, in the main, correct. the united states department of agriculture, bureau of crop estimates, collected data showing that in 1918, the hauling in wagons from farm to shipping point cost on the average for wheat 30 cents per ton-mile; for corn, 33 cents; for cotton, 48 cents. for hauling by motor truck the average costs were: wheat, 15 cents; corn, 15 cents; and cotton, 18 cents. these unit costs were, consequently, reduced to less than half by the use of the truck. the same bulletin gives the average length of wagon haul for these products to be 9 miles, and of motor truck haul, 11.3 miles; furthermore the average number of round trips by wagon per day was 1.2 while by truck it was 3.4.
-whether or not the truck on the farm will release any horses will depend on what determines the number of horses kept. to do his hauling does the farmer keep more than is necessary for farm operations alone? the passenger automobile, no doubt, did release many driving and riding horses, but will the truck release many more? the thoughtful, foresighted farmer usually plans his yearly work so that he may do his hauling when the horses are not otherwise busy. this of course limits his farm operation to products which, like wheat and corn, can be stored indefinitely. this limits also diversified cropping which farmers find in the long run to be very much safer than “putting all eggs in one basket” by raising a single product. it is seldom that a wheat crop, a corn crop, a beet crop, a hay crop, an apple crop, and gardening crops all fail by drought, wet weather, hail, or other untoward events during the same season. good roads, trucks or anything else which will lend assistance to diversified cropping are without doubt beneficial to the farmer.
-intensive farming of perishable crops can be done only where the roads allow daily contact with the market. the truck, because of its more rapid speed, will widen the zone of such farming very much over the old zone when the horse-drawn vehicle was in vogue. because of the risk involved and the labor necessary the net returns per acre for this sort of farming are high, allowing small parcels of land to keep a family. as the distance, or rather time, the “fourth dimension,” from market increases the less intensive the farming operations and the less net returns per acre. the community as a whole is deeply interested in widening the zone of intensive farming in order that more people may profitably make a living upon this land.
-persons who are not familiar with stockyard activities will be surprised on visiting them early in the morning at any one of the packing-house industries to see the large number of hogs and other farm animals arriving for the early market in motor trucks. these animals have been brought from distances up to 60 miles, but have been on the way less than three or three and one-half hours. careful stockyard figures show that in 1921 more than 6,000,000 cattle and very many more hogs were transported in motor trucks. these animals upon arrival are very much fresher and show less shrinkage than those that have been driven to their home station and loaded into stock cars the day previous. other things being equal, the top of the market is accorded to the fresher animals. also for short hauls, say up to 60 miles, the transportation costs are in favor of the trucks.
-the farmer may obtain the benefits of motor transportation in at least four different ways: (a) he may own and operate his own truck. this pays when the farm is of sufficient size to keep the truck reasonably busy. (b) two or more neighbors may coöperate in the ownership of a truck. this is applicable to small and medium-sized farms. (c) by patronizing truck lines privately owned which haul products, freight, and express upon a charge basis. (d) by the trucks of the united states postal service.
-the parcel-post service has been very successful in handling packages of produce even as large as a case of eggs. the post-office department allows its carriers to pick up and deliver packages along the route the same as letter mail. privately owned rural motor express vehicles are also operated successfully which pick up and deliver all sorts of express packages, farm produce in small quantities, fruit, butter, eggs, and cream. trucks which haul nothing but milk and cream are quite common. the farmer leaves his full cans of milk or cream at a specified place, usually a platform at a level with the truck floor, on the roadway. the driver of the milk truck picks up the full cans, leaving empties in their place. or he may pick up the full on his way to the market, creamery, or railway station, and leave the empties on his return. such routes are both privately owned and coöperatively owned by the several farmers patronizing them. often these trucks deliver the milk and cream to the railway in time to catch a special milk train into the city.
-if the farmer, or several farmers, desire to purchase a truck it would be well first carefully to consider the question with an idea of finding out the character and amount of trucking at hand and then purchase a machine best adapted for the purpose. the kind of bodies available should be studied, remembering that he may wish to haul grain on one trip, hogs or sheep on another, then cream and vegetables. he will want, probably, to haul back groceries, flour, feed, lumber, hardware, implements, fertilizer, cement, and gravel. in looking ahead he should estimate the increase in the quantity of hauling that more rapid transportation, the going to more distant markets, and the possible raising of different products which may come about through the owning of a truck, will bring to his farm. in this connection the reader is referred to the chapters on “highway transport surveys” and “effects of the ease and cost of transportation on production and marketing,” given later.
-the terminal building may be arranged, if desired, so that it can be used jointly for a passenger station, a freight depot and a storage warehouse. if for a passenger station there would be need for the agent’s office, waiting rooms, and toilet accommodations for men and women. the freight depot is a place for the collection of freight and should be arranged for convenience and rapid loading and unloading of the trucks. the installation of devices for this purpose may become advisable as the amount of traffic increases. storage room should be provided for those articles which are to wait some little time for shipment. a check stand to care for parcels is a convenience to passengers and furnishes the company some revenue.
-an editorial in the nebraska state journal of august 31, 1921, puts the matter piquantly, at least:
-the savage determination with which the american is sticking to his automobile despite the drop in his income is an occasion for wonderment and no little irritation with a lot of us. for the sake of economy we may have to exchange our seven passenger for a light six or one of the little fours. beyond this we need not go. but the farmer, yelling his head off at the fall in corn prices, what does he mean by sticking to his car? your mechanic resisting the inevitable fall in wages, would be well enough off if only he would give up trying to ride like a millionaire. these merchants, claiming they aren’t making a living, don’t give up their cars, you will observe. why pity them, then?
-thus does the general assumption that the automobile is a super-luxury impinge upon the fact that the automobile has become a prime necessity. you laugh. well, go inquire what are the other things the people will sacrifice before yielding up their speed machines. a sharp automobile manufacturer assured a gloomy harvester manufacturer the other day that not only would the men do without harvesters rather than lose their cars, but the women would yield up their very chewing gum. yea, more than that, their pretty clothes. food is, of course, a superior necessity, but even that can be reduced and simplified in favor of gasoline.
-as to houses, we like to be conservative, but there is a perfectly obvious disposition to put house shelter second to automobile shelter. that is why the house shortage isn’t hurting us as we expected it to hurt. the people are in automobile camps. observe the sudden energy in developing automobile camps. they are wise. it looks now as if half the population will have deserted houses and flats for their automobile tent within another year or two.
-in winter time a corner of the garage will do well enough for a living room during the few minutes at a time we are at home. if we insist on a separate house, then the tendency is toward a very small one. what is the sense in maintaining a big house not to live in? that is the way our minds run now. this will help the lumber men to understand why building doesn’t pick up as it should. and that is how we manage to keep the car while incomes fail. it is done by cutting out such unnecessaries as houses and furniture and clothes and heavy dinners.
-america has been living at a fast gait on its nerves. isn’t that which we see now the natural reaction from the nervous overstrain of fixed habitation and the relaxing ways of the nomad? the automobile came along in the nick of time to furnish the transportation, and off we go. the universal gypsy is breaking out in us. this isn’t more than half moonshine. it is at least half solid fact, with economic and social consequences which, whatever they prove to be, will be important.
-the above editorial indicates that people are beginning to notice the social changes being brought about by the automobile, and more, they are ascribing them to the automobile. changes usually come about so gradually that, like the hands on a watch, the movement can be noticed only by comparing what is with what was some time previous.
-rapid transportation and rapid communication has extended broadway clear across the continent. one writer by taking an automobile tour found the american world extends from ocean to ocean, that the hat she purchased in new york had its duplicate in every millinery window all the way across to los angeles. she further found that the people between were not all “hicks,” and that farmers did not go around with alfalfa on their chin and straws in their mouths as shown in the cartoons of the funny section. some farmers play golf on their own pastures. the fact that the sack containing their clubs is often tied with binding twine is of no consequence.
-high wages and profits during and following the war led the average citizen to purchase some of those luxuries which before then he was unable to afford. he has had a taste of a “higher standard” of living. no wonder he objects to a return to pre-war conditions, no wonder he objects to giving up his automobile, the thing which has furnished him with more pleasure than his previous humdrum life believed possible. no, he will fight to maintain the new standard and new living conditions. a social revolution has taken place, and in traveling about the spiral the world is one step higher.
-and while some will for a short time be content to live in one corner of the garage, as the editorial writer opines, the natural longing for a home will assert itself. by the aid of the automobile property will be bought in farther-out district where lots are cheaper, where taxes are not so high, where there is more breathing space, and healthful conditions are more likely to prevail. men of wealth can build suburban estates, and men of less means comfortable homes leaving the downtown apartments and tenements to those who cannot yet afford motor cars, and many there be, more’s the pity.
-it will be a good thing to have the farms near large centers of population divided into smaller tracts whereon by intensive cultivation can be supported many families. here there is always a demand for garden products which by means of a small car, or through the agency of motor express lines, can be marketed daily. it does not require a very great deal of land to support a poultry farm from which there will be a continuous income. by diversifying crops something will be coming in at all seasons.
-good roads and the automobile not only make it possible to diversify farming but make the home life in the country less monotonous. no trouble to go after supper 12 or 15 miles to the town to take part in civic affairs, to attend a lecture, watch the movies or go to church. no extra horses need to be kept for these purposes, neither are the farm horses deprived of their rest. while the swift ride through bracing air rests the weary farmer after his day’s toil in the fields and gives new life to his faithful spouse upon whom the lonesomeness of isolation lies the much more heavily.
-salesmen have in great numbers provided themselves with automobiles large enough to carry their samples. with these they can make many more towns than when they were compelled to depend upon trains and the small-town livery stables. the result is either a wider territory or more frequent calls upon customers.
-mention has been made of the country people going to the larger cities to market their products and purchase goods wanted. it is not considered at all unusual for country and small town people to auto 30 miles to patronize the large department stores in the city. if a trade which satisfies both trader and tradee is beneficial and of economic importance to both then this would seem to be a good thing. the selling of the goods is beneficial to the store-keeper because he makes his profit. the trader has a large variety to select from and having made a voluntary selection is satisfied, because he or she may secure exactly what the city cousin gets.
-but what is to become of the business of the country store-keeper? how is he to get along? the best thing he can do is to put upon his shelves goods of a standard quality. his rents and overhead are less than those of the city competitor; he, therefore, can sell at a less profit. this is so true that the writer has known of city dwellers going to the country store for these standard articles. such interchange while of economical importance is also sociological in differentiating between city and country merchandising and in bringing together in a new way the city and country dwellers.
-an illustration of what the public schools may do for the preservation of the country can be drawn from the history of the great war, the worst and the fiercest the world has ever seen. during that war the patriotism of the people shone forth with undiminished luster. the response to the president by the citizenry of the country, whether of his own or opposite political faith, by every honest organization, public or private, by business and professional men, by congress and legislatures, was all but unanimous. this surprising unanimity was, no doubt, due to the influence of the public schools. the public schools have always inculcated patriotism and loyalty, and these lessons were potent as was evident because even before the draft many young men with teutonic names took their places with others whose forebears were of other nationalities as well as with those of long-standing american descent. therein went astray one of the guesses of the enemy, namely, that our teutonic citizens with their children would prove more loyal to the “fatherland” than to democratic america. the lessons of patriotism the children brought home from school, the stories of valley forge and yorktown, of gettysburg and appomattox, were communicated to their parents and penetrated deep, so that only a moiety of our foreign born element could be classed with the enemy. thus have the public schools in this great melting pot of the world been the conservators of liberty.
-the effect of the public school upon the ideals of peace is no less than that upon their state of mind during war. every day examples are so plentiful they need not here be mentioned. suffice it to say that it should be made possible for all the young people to come under the influence of the public school learn the american’s creed, and be steeped in the symbolism of the flag that stands for true democracy.
-but all cannot have automobiles, pity ’tis, ’tis true, but all may have the benefit of fresh air and the style for an open air life set by those who can afford to drive the “red flyers,” the “quivering arrows,” the “bear cats” or the “poodle dogs,” have been followed by the less fortunate hoi polloi. thus outdoor exercises and amusements have been popularized.
-while motoring may not be the best form of exercise, may not bring into play as many muscles as walking, horseback riding, or rowing, say, it must be remembered that not many can have horses to ride or boats to row and walking is too slow. gymnasium exercises or even home gymnastics are not exciting enough to keep one practicing, so that the outdoor life of the present day, brought about largely by the automobile, has had a more wholesome effect on the people generally than perhaps any other measure.
-styles of clothing have kept close pace, and the garments now worn by both men and women are both comfortable and sanitary, allowing freedom of bodily movement. it is to be hoped that the same influences which induced such hygienic clothing will continue and that never more may the autocratic demands of style force people into close-fitting uncomfortable, unsanitary wearing apparel. for years hygienists, health reformers, and physicians preached against tight lacing for women without results until the automobile came to their assistance. until very recent years women’s long skirts have swept clouds of germ-laden dust into the air from sidewalks to be breathed by all passers-by. all men know that their present dressing, while it might be bettered, is so much more comfortable than formerly that they have much reason for rejoicing. formal dressing except for an occasional party has almost disappeared. in the summer time men may be comfortable on the streets without coats. but the women, though more responsive to style changes, now go the men one better and abandon long sleeves and high collars.
-medical science, always alert to adopt modern improvements, was one of the first to take advantage of the time-saving benefits of the automobile. its universal use by physicians and surgeons, allowing them to reach the bedside of sick patients more quickly and allowing them to visit more patients in the same time, is certainly a pathological asset of great value. automobile ambulances called in emergency cases save the lives of many injured persons by getting them quickly to the hospitals and under the care of competent medical and surgical attention.
-from a purely sanitary point of view good roads have been great agencies for health. clean streets, clean pavements, and clean roads are much more wholesome than the mud puddles and quagmires that formerly served as passageways for man and beast. in order to get better roadways drainage was resorted to. ponds and standing water along the side of the road were done away with, at the same time obliterating the breeding places of the myriads of mosquitoes that always abounded in summer time. since mosquitoes are carriers, as is well known, of such diseases as malaria and yellow fever, the consequence has been a very great reduction, almost elimination, of these ailments.
-again just as the use of the horse on the highways has diminished, so has the summer pest of flies grown less. the favorite breeding place of the housefly is horse dung. when nearly every house in both city and country had its stable with a pile of horse manure by the door flies bred abundantly. the fly has been convicted of being a most energetic distributor of typhoid and other bowel complaints, hence the distruction of its breeding places will be the most effective means for its extermination, and with it one of the most virile sources of contagion.
-thus, upon analysis, it may be seen that the influence of the automobile extends throughout the whole domain of life, changing and modifying nearly all social customs. it is called into use at the birth of the babe to bring the physician to the bedside of the prospective mother. it is the correct equipage at the wedding and starts the bride and groom upon their honey-moon and, it is to be hoped, a happy journey through life. and finally, it bears the remains to their last resting place in the silent city of the dead.
-here the results of robbery may lead to interesting possibilities. for instance if the trucks above mentioned as robbed in new jersey were owned by the shipper the $120,000 is a dead loss to him unless he had insurance. even if the trucks were owned by a small capitalist he would probably not be able to recompense the shipper. had it been lost on a railway it would have been paid for. if motor shipping is to continue shipments must be covered by bonds or insurance. even then there is a loss to the public when outlaws seize a loaded truck and drive it into wilds whence its contents can be disposed of at leisure. shall truckers, like the ancient caravans of the deserts maintain guards with long guns to fight off marauding bedouins? the western stages of some years ago furnished employment as guards to the quickest shots in the world. is it the duty of the community to make its highways safe for transportation or must the shipper take the risk and employ guards and machine guns?
-on sunday one dare not leave one’s farm or country place unwatched or unprotected for a moment. the whole countryside is aswarm with nature lovers from the near by city. first come the makers of forbidden beverages, trooping across fields and lawns, picking the once despised dandelion and anything else that happens to be loose; then the happy motorists in long procession, embowering their cars in the spoil of orchards, woodlands, and wayside shrubberies. if there are no flowers near the road these free-and-easy visitors will penetrate one’s garden and break off the blooming branches of the rhododendrons or lilacs or whatever other bush happens to engage their fancy. with trowel and spade the woods are looted and sometimes, if it looks safe, an unwatched garden. following come shy maidens, in twos and threes, daintily pulling up the woodland flowers by the roots--arbutus, azalea, and a hundred little blossoms that wilt in the hand that picks them; and everywhere are bands of half-grown hoodlums helping in the spoiling of the countryside.
-the bolder spirits are usually those who come in motors. they can destroy more, steal more, and get away faster than the man on foot. they meet remonstrance with effrontery and resent the notion that a hick has any rights of property and privacy that they are bound to respect. the flowers, the shrubs, the orchards, and occasionally the unguarded gardens are their prey. they camp beside the woodland brook or the shaded spring, hack the trees, trample the flowers, and turn the spot into a garbage hole with their greasy papers, tin cans, bottles and refuse food. then up and away to the snug flat in the big town, throwing out the wilted flowers as they go.
-spooning in automobiles parked along the roadways is a subject of regulation in the city of omaha. an ordinance makes it a misdemeanor subject to fine.
-however, the motor car will not be discarded or outlawed because unscrupulous persons put it to illegal and immoral purposes. a net cast into the sea gathers fishes of every kind, and among the wheat there will always spring up tares.
-manifestly, we have need to begin on plans to coördinate all transportation facilities. we should more effectively connect up our rail lines with our carriers by sea. we ought to reap some benefit from the hundreds of millions expended on inland waterways, proving our capacity to utilize as well as to expend. we ought to turn the motor truck into a rail feeder and distributor instead of a destroying competitor.
-it would be folly to ignore that we live in a motor age. the motor car reflects our standard of living and gauges the speed of our present-day life. this transportation problem cannot be waived aside. the demand for lowered costs on farm products and basic materials cannot be ignored....
-government operation does not afford the cure. it was government operation which brought to us the very order of things against which we now rebel, and we are still liquidating the costs of that supreme folly.
-surely the genius of the railway builders has not become extinct among the railway managers. new economies, new efficiencies in coöperation must be found. the fact that labor takes 50 to 60 per cent of total railway earnings makes limitations within which to effect economies very difficult but the demand is no less insistent on that account.
-when a president of the united states takes up so much of his annual message with transportation and the relationship which the different forms bear to each other, when he argues for harmony between them and between them and their employees, there is certainly reason for study and legislation which will bring about just and adequate methods of administration, operation and regulation.
-agricultural inquiry, report of joint commission on, part iii deals with transportation, washington, d. c., 1922.
-blum, h., “transportation of bulk freight,” kali, halle, germany.
-development of the automobile:
-hiscock, gardner d., “horseless vehicles,” norman w. henley & co., new york, 1901.
-homans, james e., “self-propelled vehicles,” theo. audel & company, new york, 1902.
-firestone ship by truck bureau, bulletin no. 6, “consolidated rural schools and the motor truck”; bulletin no. 7, “the motor truck terminal.” akron, ohio.
-facts and figures, 1922. “motor bus aids rural education,” national automobile chamber of commerce, new york.
-johnson, emory r., “elements of transportation,” d. appleton & co., new york, 1909.
-lane, f. van zant, “motor truck transportation,” d. van nostrand company, new york, 1922.
-motor rail cars:
-national automobile chamber of commerce.--graham, george h., “the motor vehicle--competitor or ally,” 1920.
-power wagon.--various articles march, july, october, november, and december, 1921, and during the year 1922.
-the cost is about 9 cents per car mile. if an average of two passengers ride that is 4¹⁄₂ cents per passenger mile. the above is merely an illustration and cannot be applied generally.
-planning highway systems: selection of road types
-the object of a road is to provide a way for transportation. it goes without saying, therefore, that its situation should be such that it can perform this function most efficiently, and a system of highways should perform the same function for the public in the same manner. efficiency here includes the ideas of economy and satisfaction combined.
-1. those used chiefly related to agriculture.
-2. those which are recreational in character.
-3. those which are commercial.
-4. those which are military.
-agricultural roads comprise those leading from farm to town and are used chiefly for marketing, and for social, educational, and religious activities.
-recreational roads are either local, upon which driving is done for pleasure, or through, those followed by tourists in traveling over the country. either of which may lead to places of interest within or without the state. the national park roads and forest highways can be classified under the head of recreational.
-commercial highways comprise those exclusive of agricultural, upon which the haul is chiefly of a business nature such as freight and express and bus traffic.
-the war department of the united states during the war refused to designate any roads as special military highways, saying a road which would adequately serve the agricultural; recreational, and commercial interests would serve the military. however, it might be well to keep in mind this possible use of the highways. a classification of roads into national, state, county and town has frequently been suggested. since national roads do not exist as such in the united states the most densely traveled routes and those used largely for through traffic are usually designated state roads, and all others local roads.
-keeping the cost and use of the roads in view the problem before the road planner is:
-the system will ordinarily consist of one or more trunk lines to be laid down first and several branch lines connecting with the trunk lines. some of the essentials to be considered are:
-highway efficiency adaptability of road to carrier road capacity width of road pressure capacity impact capacity seasonal limitations tractive resistance grades route curves and corners adaptability of carrier to road dimensions capacity and weight speed climbing ability accelerating ability stopping ability turning radius tractive effort transport efficiency adaptability of carrier to volume and character of load total load units to be carried range of load units to be hauled average load units to be hauled density of load length of haul route number and probable duration of stops comparative adaptability of motor transport horse transport highway efficiency transport efficiency vehicle efficiency public health railway transportation including trolley express transport efficiency economy haulage cost packing cost adaptability of carrier to traffic legal restrictions on equipment and operation possible average running speed bridges and ferries vehicle efficiency operation moving factor loading delays unloading delays waiting for loads clerical delays loafing traffic delays load factor body capacity special deliveries return loads outside hauling (custom work) pickups deliveries trailers maintenance active factor disability layups chassis repairs body repairs accessory repairs tire repairs and replacements overhaul and painting driver’s disability requirement layups seasonal fluctuations off-peak period shut downs labor troubles economy earning factor unit miles packing cost loading cost unloading cost time in transit marketability insurance interest on value shrinkage and breakage perishability tracing and follow up advertising value goodwill of trade increased radius of trade increased business turnover cost factor operating cost fixed charges maintenance charges running charges overhead loading devices shipping room devices office and clerical expenses telephone labor loaders watchmen clerks supervisors accountants traffic department miscellaneous
-on this side of the ocean the trunk line roads during the war supplemented the railways, which were badly congested at the eastern terminals, by hauling large quantities of men, materials and munitions. it is said that 16,000 trucks were engaged in this work.
-the state system should cover a greater per cent of the roads than a national system can hope to do. the effort seems to be to take over about 10 per cent of the established roads as state highways. such roads, if carefully selected and located, can accommodate from 90 to 95 per cent of the inhabitants of the state.
-the remaining roads would continue under local--county and town--authorities. a county system might be laid out and money expended upon its roads about in proportion to their use.
-again there is a feeling on the part of many that the first expense of improving a road (that would include grading, bridging, and paving, even if the latter should be done some time subsequent to the former) should be borne by the state and the abutting property, that the maintenance should be under the direction of the local authorities, and paid for by local taxation and by a portion of the state automobile license and gasoline taxes to be returned to the county for this purpose.
-good maps must of course be obtained. government contour maps when available will assist materially in selecting roads that will come within a ruling grade. on these maps will first be noted the trunk line terminals and other ruling points. the trunk lines should be as direct as practicable from one ruling point to the next. an endeavor should be made to have the roads with the greatest travel upon them the straightest, so that the total future haul may be a minimum. the roads having the greatest travel will usually be those connecting the largest cities of the state or articulating with roads leading to large cities of other states. then will be drawn in branch lines and detours so that when the plan is complete every county seat, every village of more than 1000 inhabitants, and every manufacturing, scenic, and pleasure resort of importance will have been reached, as well as connections with the main roads of adjacent states.
-a few simple surveying instruments will be useful in the work of reconnoitering. a steel 100-foot tape, a hand level and inclinometer, a pedometer, a pocket compass, a small aneroid barometer in mountainous countries, a pioneer ax for blazing, and a small spade may be mentioned.
-after the reconnaissance, hearings should be held, usually at county seats, notice of such hearings having been given ahead of time. at these hearings the maps are shown and a statement made relative to the procedure. after which an invitation for suggestions and constructive criticism and even complaints is given. from these people who are locally interested in the roads many valuable suggestions will be received, and if they cannot be followed the reasons therefor may be stated. the people will thus know the investigation and the location of the road have been fairly made and that any suggestions that cannot be settled offhand will be duly considered before final location.
-the final location will usually be arrived at or at least influenced by the following considerations: alignment and distance, population served, grades, amount and character of haulage, other kinds of transportation available, character of soil (sand, clay, gumbo, loam), structures, bridges, railroad grade crossings and their possible avoidance, discovery of entirely new routes, topography, geological formation, and other natural features and numerous local conditions, including availability and freight charges of road materials. these are not intended to be in the order of importance, for no two roads may have the same determining factors. the character of the road surface to be used in construction may greatly affect the location. for example it does not pay to use steep grades with hard smooth pavements. but steeper grades may be used with earth and gravel roads without material loss in efficiency.
-it will seldom be necessary to resort to preliminary or complete survey to lay out the plan. sometimes further viewing of alternative roads may be desirable and many times compromises will have to be made. a traffic census on the several routes would be extremely valuable for it would determine to which class, agricultural, commercial, or recreational, the road belongs, and also the character of the traffic and what type of construction is best suited. especially where there are alternative roads, as is usually the case in midwestern states where the roads were established along the section lines of the u. s. land survey, it is very difficult to determine which is the important highway without a traffic census. it must be remembered, however, in this connection that the improvement of a road will often draw to it much traffic from an equally short competing line. it is quite likely that if 10 per cent of all roads, provided they are properly selected, should be well improved they would carry 90 per cent of all traffic.
-while the first cost of the road or the road system is of very great importance and will probably be the greatest influencing factor for any particular improvement or layout, the continued cost or cost covering a series of years approximating the life of the road surface should also have consideration.
-the alignment will be affected by the quantity of traffic, for the cost of haulage depends, though not proportionally, upon the length of haul. no less will the alignment be affected by the class of traffic. with horse-drawn vehicles curves of 40-foot radius were perfectly acceptable, but with the automobile a 200-foot radius is none too great. the new road systems now being adopted by states quite generally endeavor to make all curves to have radii greater than 200 feet except in mountainous regions, with a preference of 500 to 800 feet.
-© underwood and underwood
-the longer radii allow the turns to be made without slowing up the traffic, providing there is proper superelevation of the outer edge. the longer the radius, that is, the flatter the curve, the less superelevation is required, and the less the tipping sensation experienced by slow-moving vehicles on the turn. moreover, on short curves a considerable widening of the pavement is required in order that the inner and outer edges, and therefore all traffic lanes, may have the same degree of curvature. also, clear vision for the longer distances necessary for fast-moving traffic is easier to obtain on flat than on sharp turns.
-the minimum grade of a roadway is usually a question of drainage, but the character and quantity of traffic is a determining factor in the establishment of steeper grades. passenger cars can more easily negotiate grades than can commercial trucks. the average passenger car shifts to second gear at about a 7 per cent grade and there is very little shifting necessary on a long 6 per cent grade, hence for such cars 6 per cent may be considered a maximum for the high-speed gears. this same car will have to drop into low at about 10 per cent. hence from the standpoint of the convenience of operating a passenger car there is no justification in going to great expense to cut a 10, or a 9, or an 8 per cent grade to a 7 per cent grade. for the average 5-ton truck 4 per cent and 8 per cent are the maximum grades for convenient running in high and intermediate. there may and possibly are many other reasons for cutting grades wherever possible. where time is an element economy is effected by the possible speeds on grades.
-the width of the roadway will likewise be influenced by the quantity and character of traffic. with slow-going wagons a width of 8 feet was sufficient for one lane of traffic, but with the automobile safety demands 10, and the good roads conference of 1922 voted that no road should be less than 22.
-the best type of foundation and surface is a factor of quantity and class of traffic, and while as yet all engineers do not agree, the numerous experiments now being made may lead to standardization. just as an example may be mentioned the change that has taken place in the effect of vehicles on waterbound macadam. under horse-drawn, iron-wheeled wagons and carriages this was considered an ideal pavement. the horses’ shoes and the iron tires wore off of the stones a sufficient amount of dust to keep the road crust well cemented. the rubber tires of the automobile do not do that; furthermore, what dust is on the road is picked up and scattered to the winds. the force of the drive wheels also is sufficient to loosen the stones and roll them from their bed, causing the roadway to ravel and disintegrate rapidly.
-these arguments might be multiplied indefinitely, but enough has been given to demonstrate the value to the road planner and the road designer of a traffic census.
-some of the latest censuses, namely iowa and connecticut, placed scales on the highways and actually weighed the vehicles. in connecticut road scales were used which weighed the individual wheel loads.
-the observers are supplied with cards on which is printed the classified list of vehicles and animals likely to pass with columns for tallying them during the separate hours. the in-and-out-of-town vehicles are recorded separately, and, if actual weights are not taken, whether loaded or unloaded. information relative to the weather and condition of the roads is also noted, and there are blank spaces for the station, the date, and the signature of the observer.
-the station, or stations, should be so placed that the road or district will be fairly represented, since it will not be practicable to get exact data on every portion of a highway, for every turn-out, branch line, or tributary will alter results. each station should be established in some place where a good view of the road for some little distance may be had, and where the observers may be reasonably comfortable. the number of observers will depend upon the amount of traffic and the detailed information desired. with considerable traffic it may be necessary to divide up the work, giving one set of observers the in-traffic and another the out-traffic, one man to observe passenger automobiles another trucks and delivery wagons, or one man to jack up and weigh front wheels and another rear. system will result in more accurate results, and in less loss of time for the drivers, and less congestion of traffic. it is customary to take the census over the entire system on the same days although that is not absolutely necessary.
-maximum wheel loads are required, primarily, to see if state regulations regarding them are being complied with. in the connecticut census it was found that a majority of trucks were loaded beyond their rated capacity and many of them beyond the legal maximum wheel loads.
-the french unit of traffic is technically known as the “collar,” a draft animal harnessed to a wagon being counted as 1.0. the metric ton, 1000 kg., is also sometimes used. the french, feeling that the dead weight of a vehicle or animal did not truly measure its effect as to wear on a road surface, classified the traffic and assigned importance factors to the several classes. from 1882 to 1903 the classification consisted of: 1st, trucks and farm wagons, loaded; 2d, public vehicles designed for transporting passengers and their baggage; 3d, light vehicles, such as private vehicles, and empty farm wagons; 4th, larger animals, such as horses, mounted or not, mules, and large cattle; 5th, small beasts, such as sheep, goats, and pigs. in 1903 motor vehicles were separately listed; they were divided into five classes: 1st, metallic-tired automobiles, “which in general are heavily loaded, have a slow movement and produce the effect of wearing away the road surface”; 2d, elastic tired automobiles licensed to make a speed of not more than 30 km. per hour; 3d, automobiles whose speed was less than 30 km. per hour; 4th, bicycles or velocipedes propelled by the feet of the rider; and 5th, motor cycles, whether having two, three, or four wheels. the report of the second international road congress further states that “it is necessary to attribute to each element of the traffic an importance which belongs to it from the viewpoint of the destructive effect exercised on the road crust.” consequently the numbers of vehicles or animals in the several classes were modified by multiplying them by importance factors arbitrarily assumed.
-from this it was possible to reduce all traffic to the unit “collar,” which was used as a comparative measure of the use of the several roadways. the tonnage was calculated by multiplying the numbers by average weights obtained by weighing a sufficiently large number of the units in each class.
-consideration was also made of the weight of the useful load as separate from the weight of the vehicle itself. animals not harnessed were considered as a part of the useful load.
-in italy traffic censuses followed practically the same classification and methods as in france.
-in the united states some of the states have used coefficients of reduction, or importance factors, while many others have contented themselves with a count of vehicles only.
-in 1910 maryland used the following:
-the new york state highway department took a census in 1909 in which the following classification and reduction coefficients were used:
-the massachusetts highway commission, 1912 report, say, “after all it is not numbers which tell the story, it is weight, and it is not weight alone, but the vehicle by which it is transported, whether by horses or by motor.... all these considerations are probably not so important on many road surfaces as the actual weight imposed upon the road per inch width of tire resting upon the road.” there was used in this census the following weights:
-james and reeves, with the united states bureau of public roads, recommend the ton-mile basis and give the following weights:
-in a traffic census taken by the borough of brooklyn, new york, the weights were reduced to traffic units per minute per foot width of roadway which was called density. by this rule, “the number of vehicles passing a given point in eight hours times the traffic unit divided by 8 times 60 times the width of the roadway equals the density.” the weights and traffic units used were:
-steel-tired vehicles ranged in weight from 1 to 7¹⁄₂ tons and in traffic value from 2 to 10.
-suggested form of traffic census sheet
-traffic census sheet county number....... station no...... county..... state highway department of new jersey........................ 192 ... ................................ road at.............................. exact location........................................................ count taken.............from.......to.........from........to..........
-of above motor vehicles....carried foreign licenses as follows........ ...................... weather........................................ type of pavement.................. condition of pavement.............. width of roadway....... width of pavement....... traffic... narrow ... tires............ special........ inspector........................... notes.............................. checked by........................
-road surfaces must be considered as bodies acted upon by forces. some day the stresses produced by these forces will have been analyzed, then will it be possible to standardize the importance of the several vehicle loads. at present it is known that the weight of the load and the weight of the pavement itself are under some circumstances sufficient to produce cracks in the pavement and disruption of the road crust. bearing tests and bending tests are being devised to measure the effects of such loads. road crusts, earth, gravel, macadam, asphalt, brick, concrete, are to varying degrees elastic bodies and when loaded they give, as an elastic band stretches, a spring shortens, or a bow bends, until the internal stresses reach a limiting point where the crust is broken or permanently distorted. it is well known that the effect on an elastic body of a suddenly applied load is twice as destructive as the same load gradually applied. and when the action is an impact the destructive effect may be very great indeed, depending on the physical properties of the impinging bodies. but however the load is applied, whenever the internal stresses reach the limiting strength of the material of which the road crust is composed it will go to pieces. the sudden application of the load by fast driving is a sort of impact. the stresses produced by this impact are now being studied. much good is expected to come toward the solution of the problem of destructive vehicle influence from these researches.
-another effect of speed is noted on the more or less viscous materials of which road surfaces are composed. the pushing of the wheels against the surface causes wrinkles which continue to grow until the wrinkles become waves entirely across the pavement. such waves may also be produced by expansion and contraction due to changes in temperature, but are probably always accentuated by wheel pressure. side thrust of wheels often produces longitudinal waves in viscous road crusts.
-in the classifications given no one seems to have considered the proportion of sprung and unsprung weight in the motor car. there can be no doubt but that the resiliency of the springs relieves the pavement of very much of the shock of impact. this is illustrated by an attempt to drive a nail into a springy board. it can hardly be done because the springiness of the board uses up, absorbs, the work of impact. a mechanical statement is, the work of impact equals the change in kinetic energy, or algebraically stated
-when the entire energy has been absorbed. here f is the acting force and s the distance through which it acts, fs, is the work done by the force f. w is the weight of the ram or moving body (vehicle, wheel load), v the velocity of impact and g the acceleration of gravity, a factor that enters the equation in the expressing of mass in terms of weight. solving this equation for f there results,
-which shows that the smaller s is the greater the force of impact f. when s is made long by means of a spring the force f becomes smaller. this is illustrated by the old method of catching a baseball without gloves--the hands were allowed to go backward so that the work of stopping the ball was spread over a greater distance, the impact force thus becoming so small it did not sting the hands.
-the effect upon the road, and also the vehicle, is like that of the hammer which hits a nail on the anvil. the nail is flattened, pounded to pieces very soon. but if the nail were not placed upon the solid anvil but upon a slab of springy steel, it might be pounded all day without doing it much harm, the spring at all times absorbing the shock. so with the weight of the vehicle largely sprung the damage to the roadway is comparatively small. therefore, it would seem, as though a fair classification would take into account the springs of the vehicle.
-the pneumatic tire, and the cushion tire and wheel, each act as springs and shock absorbers in varying degrees. in some of the censuses, pneumatic or solid tires were noted, and very many of the earlier noted whether rubber or steel tires were used.
-just how far all these things should be taken into account is questionable. whether or not just as good results would not come for even a simpler classification is not yet determined. it might be that only the heavy loads and their frequency is all that need be considered if the destructive effect of traffic alone is aimed at.
-the great amount of pleasure riding and the tremendous desire for such riding should be considered in laying out a system of roads and in the selection of a type of road, therefore all passenger cars and motor cycles should be counted and given an influence number.
-dividing t by the number of working days per year (usually taken as 300) gives the average daily haul into the market. the average length of haul may be taken as ²⁄₃r. the haul over any zone whose edges are concentric with the circle is considered to be all that originating in the area outside the zone plus that originating within the zone times the mean distance from the inner edge of the zone. the result of the analysis gives this equation, for the haul over any zone having an outer radius a, and an inner radius b,
-2a² - ab - b² -------------------(t{a} - t{b}), 3(a + b)
-where t{r}, t{a} and t{b} represent the tonnage originating on the sectors of radius r, a and b respectively.
-for the first mile,
-for the eighth mile,
-his analysis assumes the lay of the country makes all roads equally traversable and that the traffic seeks the nearest highway thence to the main traveled road east and west or north and south through the market center. this analysis shows that 4.8 per cent of the total mileage carry 39.3 per cent of the traffic; that 9.5 per cent of the roads carry 71 per cent of the traffic. in his opinion this analysis corroborates the observation of engineers to the effect that 20 per cent of the roads carry 80 per cent of the traffic. of course the most important roads, measured in traffic, are the ones nearest the market, 15-22, 15-16, 16-21, 21-22. following these naming only one of the four symmetrical roads, in the order of importance are 14-23, 14-13, 13-24, 13-x, 14-15, 11-12, 12-x, 12-13, 1-x, 11-14, and 1-12.
-the same objections to this method hold as to the preceding. local conditions always affect the travel on roads; hills, valleys, soil, drainage, nearness to other cities, railways, streams, and location of farmhouses, schoolhouses, churches, and factories, all enter into the estimate. a reconnaissance and the good judgment of the observer must supplement any method of formal procedure.
-it will be well, nevertheless, for the engineer to suggest a type, or types, of roadway with his reasons for its or their suitability. if he can show that one type is superior to another the tax-payer will usually follow his advice, and agree to the type suggested. the final decision must rest with the road officials. they should know the requirements of the road, whether, for example, it is to be largely commercial or used largely for pleasure; whether durability or noiselessness is a determining factor; or whether a pleasing appearance and convenience to the inhabitants living along the way are of greater importance than directness and low grades. the decision must be made after taking all things into consideration even to the whims of the property-holders. the best road for a given location is the one which at a reasonable cost will give over a long period of time a service which is most satisfactory to the majority of its users. what is a reasonable cost and what is satisfactory service are debatable questions and usually must be compromised to a greater or less extent.
-an ideal road is one that is cheap to construct and maintain, one that is durable, presents light resistance to traffic but is not slippery, is comfortable to travel and not annoying to users or dwellers along its side, and one that is easily cleaned and is sanitary. no road can contain all these qualities to the same degree, neither are they all of equal importance, but each should be given some weight in the selection.
-perhaps the first and most important item to be considered is the economic one of cheapness in construction and maintenance. in making a decision between two types of pavement the first cost will probably have more weight than will the ultimate cost. the fact that a higher priced article will last longer and in the end prove to be a saving has little charm for the man who has not the ready money to pay for the article. he will content himself with the cheaper until he can afford the better. if a community cannot pay for a certain type of road, no matter how desirable that may be, that type cannot be used. types of roads must be selected which will utilize the materials most available. it would seem to be unwise for brick to be shipped from the middle west to new england, or granite blocks from new england to the middle west. gravel, being plentiful in many states, is being used, and rightly so, more than any other road material notwithstanding the durability of a gravel roadway is less than that of many other types.
-durability is an important factor from an economical standpoint, as it enters vitally in the long-run cost of a pavement. it is also of importance on account of the infernal nuisance of having a roadway full of pot holes and rough places, to say nothing of the inconvenience to users of frequent repairs. road officers are no more given to regarding the adage “a stitch in time saves nine,” than are other people, consequently non-durable roads are usually more or less out of order.
-durability depends upon the materials used in construction and their manipulation, proportioning, and other treatment; the character weight and density of traffic; system or lack of system in making repairs; the opening up of pavements for water, gas, and sewer or other purposes; building operations along the street; cleanliness; the absence or presence of street-car tracks; climate and possibly other factors.
-© underwood and underwood
-giving a macadam road an application of tarvia binder
-© underwood and underwood
-the effect of character, weight, and density of traffic has been frequently mentioned and will again be referred to in what follows. there is no doubt a relationship between materials and design and the character and amount of traffic. a cinder road may be perfectly acceptable for a park drive where the traffic is light, but absolutely worthless under heavy commercial trucking.
-resistance to traffic varies with different road surfaces. a smooth hard surface offers a very great deal less resistance than does a rough or soft surface. to illustrate, a horse is said to be able to pull directly on the traces one-tenth his own weight without being overworked. with a resistance of 100 pounds per ton (earth road in medium condition) a team of horses weighing 1200 pounds each could draw over a level road
-on a concrete, asphalt or brick pavement having a tractive resistance of 30 pounds per ton the team could draw
-therefore a truck of 20 effective horse-power will haul over a road whose tractive resistance is 100 pounds per ton at a speed of 10 miles per hour a load of
-and on a smooth road with a tractive resistance of 30 pounds per ton at the same speed, 25 tons, or the same load 7.5 tons may be drawn at a speed of 33¹⁄₃ miles per hour.
-it must be remembered that when the speed is increased the tractive resistance is likewise increased. the air resistance is in about the ratio of the square of the velocity, so that 33 miles per hour would be too great in the last case.
-experiments to determine the tractive resistance due to the surface vary considerably, for it is impossible to secure like conditions of surface smoothness and cleanliness, to say nothing of hardness. the tractive resistance will with some materials vary with the temperature. that of sheet asphalt, for example, may be twice as much in summer as in winter. the tractive resistance may not be directly proportional to the load although it is customary to express it in pounds per ton. it is conceivable that a heavy load because it sinks into the road crust may require a greater number of pounds to move it than a light load that does not greatly sink in. this also leads to the effect of width of tire and diameter of wheel. many experiments have shown the tractive force to be less with wide than narrow tires, due, no doubt, to the unequal sinking into the road crust. likewise wheels ought, for the same reason, to show less resistance for large diameters; in fact some engineers give it as varying inversely as the diameter of the wheel.
-the results of tests, while varying much, show in a general way, the direct pull necessary to draw a load at slow speed on the level in well-lubricated wagons to be approximately as follows:
-for a tractor,
-for an automobile or truck,
-equation (3) indicates that the load, including its own weight, that a truck or an automobile can draw varies directly as the horse-power exerted effectively, and inversely as the velocity. also it decreases as the coefficient of road resistance, μ, and the gradient g increases.
-the resistance coefficient, μ may include axle or internal resistance of the vehicle plus road surface resistance plus air resistance. the axle resistance is nearly a constant, the road resistance likewise, but the air resistance depends upon the speed v, varying approximately as the square of the velocity. w. s. james, in the journal of the society of automotive engineers, june, 1921, uses the formula
-his researches show that the available engine effort p of equation (3) or horse power h is not quite constant but varies with the speed. his table follows:
-this would indicate that in the belief of the committee slipperiness is about in the inverse ratio of the grades. those on which the steepest grades are allowed being the least slippery.
-climatic conditions affect slipperiness. roads which are non-slippery in dry weather may be very slippery in wet weather. pavements having a small amount of clay or earth on them are quite slippery when dampened, but after a hard rain may be much less slippery. earth roads that have been thoroughly dragged are much more slippery immediately after a small shower than after a hard or soaking rain. stone blocks and brick are worse after they have worn turtle-backed. ice and sleet render all pavements slippery, but some more than others.
-© underwood and underwood
-sand-clay roads.--the good and poor qualities are about the same as for earth roads. in fact they are earth roads with a selected mixture of sand and clay. they are more durable, harder and smoother than the ordinary earth road. they are appropriate for a light or medium traffic and are especially adaptable for sandy stretches or over clay or gumbo soils. the cost will depend upon the availability of materials; the cost of maintenance should be no more or very little more than earth roads. they should be good up to 800 vehicle-tons per day.
-gravel roads.--the good qualities are: moderately hard, compact, and smooth, not slippery, noiseless, easy on horses’ feet, and not very hard on tires, not muddy, are comfortable, and low in first cost. poor qualities: rut rather easily and require constant attention to keep them in first-class condition, dusty in dry weather. gravel sometimes becomes loose on top and rolls under fast moving vehicles, causing skidding. when not thoroughly compacted gravel roads have high tractive resistance. they are particularly well adapted to country roads under medium traffic, especially where gravel may be obtained at a reasonable cost near at hand. at the present time more miles of gravel roads than of any other type of surface are being constructed in the united states. this is because of their low first cost and general satisfactory character for medium traffic.
-macadam roads.--moderate first cost and when well compacted smooth but not slippery. they require new dust continually to keep the stones cemented together. under rubber tires the dust is not worn off the stones and what little there is on the roadway is picked up and spread to the winds. if covered with tar or asphaltic oil the stones cement together and form excellent roadways under medium traffic, where there are no extremely heavy trucks to cut through the surface. traffic up to 1200 vehicle-tons per day is accommodated well by these roads.
-bituminous macadam roads are ordinary macadam roads impenetrated with bituminous materials. when well made they are excellent roadways, and unless extremely heavy trucking comes upon them ought to prove satisfactory for medium to moderately heavy traffic.
-bituminous concrete roads are made of broken stone mixed with a bituminous cement before laying and rolling. they, like bituminous macadam, are smooth, non-slippery, easy riding, have small tractive resistance and the first cost and cost of maintenance are moderate. such roads have proven very satisfactory where the traffic is dense but not composed of real heavy units. on account of their dustlessness and general sanitary character as well as for their durability they are deservedly popular.
-brick roads.--vitrified paving brick give a hard durable surface, reasonably smooth and not slippery. the cost of maintenance is low and the appearance is good. brick roads are expensive as a heavy concrete foundation is necessary, and they are noisy. they are well adapted for heavy hauling.
-concrete roads.--this type of roadway is rapidly forging to the front. with the exception of gravel it leads in mileage of hard-surfaced roads. when made of good concrete sufficiently thick it has proven itself to be durable, hard, smooth, of small tractive resistance, comfortable, and not particularly expensive in first cost or maintenance.
-with horse-drawn iron-tired vehicles it is doubtful if it would prove as durable as some other types but for rubber tired motorized vehicles it seems to be extremely well adapted. there is no doubt but that this type will continue to be popular. it has a tendency to crack under the action of temperature and moisture. it is customary to fill these cracks with tar, pitch or asphalt, giving an appearance which some people think not pleasing. the pavement is rigid and noisy, therefore objectionable for some localities.
-creosoted wood block roads.--wood blocks treated with creosote to preserve them from decay make an excellent pavement. they are smooth, durable, noiseless and sanitary, have small tractive resistance and are comfortable to ride upon. the principal objection is their habit of “bleeding” in the summer time. the sticky oil tar that oozes out is very objectionable, as it adheres to shoes and is tracked into houses. the first cost is considerable, but maintenance is low for many years after laying. wood block roadways seem well adapted for bridge floors, for stable and shop floors, and for heavy teaming when placed on a substantial concrete foundation. they seem to last better for a moderate or semi-heavy use; when left idle they are more subject to decay.
-asphalt block roads have proven satisfactory for both country and city roads where the traffic is reasonably heavy. they are laid on both cement concrete and asphaltic concrete bases. they are smooth, easy riding, have light tractive resistance, are not very noisy, and are sanitary. the dark color is rather pleasing.
-sheet asphalt roads and streets, considering their cost, durability, smoothness, ease of riding, low tractive resistance, and general acceptability, are among the most popular roads. what has been said of sheet asphalt will apply to asphaltic concrete of the topeka specification and bitulithic types. the road is better for use. the asphalt and sand surface has the habit of swelling and cracking when not used. the proportioning and laying of a sheet asphalt surface is a particular job and requires a person of technical knowledge and experience to do it properly. sheet-asphalt pavements seem well adapted for city streets and roads where there is a medium or dense traffic. with a firm foundation it stands up well under the heaviest traffic. its popularity is truly deserved. the pavement under some conditions of moisture is inclined to be slippery but when dry is not. neither is it very noisy.
-miscellaneous.--there are numerous other types of roads that have their proper uses in many localities. burned clay, shell, furnace slag, coal slack, cinders, plank, corduroy, hay, bagasse, and possibly other materials have and will continue to be used with more or less success. the proper places for their use will depend upon local conditions which every good engineer always takes into account before deciding upon a type of roadway.
-comparative table of several types of roadway for some particular locality
-tilson gives the following weights for city pavements having heavy author has nothing good to say about anything irish, country doctors and priests being especially attacked.
-scene: waterford and london. has been well described by the athenæum as a pamphlet in guise of a story, the thesis being that the refusal of the right of divorce in the catholic church may lead in practice to results disastrous to morality. this is conveyed in the story of a girl who leaves an unworthy irish husband, and goes to london, where, being obliged to refuse an offer of marriage from an honourable protestant, she takes to the streets. contains strange misconceptions of catholic doctrine and morality.
-sub-t.: “being the love story of an ugly man”—viz., bellairs, a confirmed bachelor, who tells his own story. overhears in restaurant conversation of a young man, from which he learns that the latter is about to marry a young west indian girl named clarissa, but cares only for her money. bellairs is struck with pity for her, and determines to tell clarissa of the worthlessness of harry. he goes to the w. of ireland, where harry had left her in charge of two maiden aunts. she will not believe him, and goes to london with harry. he betrays and deserts her: she comes back forlorn to bellairs, and they are married. the writer has a keen feeling for nature, and there is much description. the character study is careful and the style is full of pleasant whimsicalities. the “cruikshank” and “bellwattle” of the patchwork papers reappear here.
-short stories reproduced from magazines. three of the thirteen are little bits of irish—wexford—life:—“the little sisters of mercy,” “an idyll of science,” and “holy ann.” the rest deal with london. there is sentimentality and mannerism, but the literary craftsmanship is very good.
-⸺ the gambler. (hutchinson). 6s., and 6d. n.d. (1906). (n.y.: harper). 1.50.
-a psychological study of an irish woman’s character. treats of protestant upper middle class society, but questions of creed do not enter into the book. the scene for about the first third of the book is laid in ireland, in an out-of-the-way country district. then it shifts to venice, and afterwards to london. in both places the heroine moves in a smart set, whose empty life and petty follies are well drawn. there is a problem of pathetic interest centering in two ill-assorted marriages. the part about irish life, showing the foolish pride of some of the irish gentry, is skilfully and sympathetically done.
-middle class catholic society in waterford, pictured, without satire, in its exterior aspects by one quite familiar with them. the heroine is an impulsive, self-willed girl in revolt against conventionality. with her stephen carey, a middle-aged man, conventionally married, falls in love and is loved in return. the theme on the whole is treated with restraint, yet there are passionate scenes. the complication is ended by the intervention of a priest, whose character is very sympathetically drawn. the end of all is the suicide of the girl.
-⸺ ravensdale. three vols. (tinsley). 1873.
-an attempt to represent the men and motives of the emmet insurrection. point of view unionist. free from caricature, vulgarity, patois, and conventional local colour. scene at first in england, but mainly dublin and co. wicklow. deals with fortunes of a family named featherstone—loyalists, with one exception, leslie, who is a friend of emmet. michael dwyer, emmet, lord kilwarden, &c., figure in the tale. love, hatred, murder, incidents of 1803, emmet’s trial, escape of leslie and his ultimate restoration keep up the interest to the end, when the real murderer confesses.
-begins with sale, in encumbered estates court, of mrs. delany’s property in the west. the family then emigrate to melbourne, where the rest of the story takes place. most of the characters, however, are irish, from sergeant doolan to mr. brabazon. there are various love-affairs, ending some brightly, others sadly; and there are pictures of life in the gold-diggings. eventually the estate is restored, and the family comes back to ireland.
-a tale of the land league and the plan of campaign, written from the landlord’s point of view. the estate is placed near the curragh of kildare. the chief characters are nearly all drawn from the protestant middle and upper classes. there is also a fanatical land league priest, and a peacemaking one, of whom a favourable portrait is drawn. “more cruel,” says the hero, “more selfish, more destructive than our fathers’ loins is the little finger of this unwritten law of the land—this juggernaut before which the people bow, and are crushed.” the question is ably argued out in many places in the book. the author seems to identify the land league with the worst secret societies, such as the invincibles. the tone is not violent; there is no caricaturing, and no brogue.
-an exciting tale of australian life in the fifties. one of the characters is a stage-irishman of the earlier lever type, who in one chapter relates his experiences with the ribbonmen.
-a political novel, “the last of a trilogy of irish disaffection.”—(pref.). j. t. is an anglican clergyman who becomes a catholic and, later, a priest. he comes to ireland, where he finds the priests immersed in politics and using the confessional for political purposes. he is involved in circumstances of a tragic kind, and to escape from a disagreeable situation he goes to s. africa, where he reverts to protestantism. dwells much on boycotting, moonlighting and murder. describes the phœnix park murders, the subsequent trial, and the murder of the informer. the interest is exclusively political.
-⸺ terence mcgowan, the irish tenant. two vols. (smith, elder). 1870.
-depicts, from the landlord’s point of view, the land struggle in the sixties. this view-point is, in general, that “poor backward, barbarous, benighted ireland” owed whatever good it possessed to the landlord class: the influence of the priest was evil: and ireland’s troubles due mainly to the lawlessness and unreasonableness of the people and the weakness of the government. but the writer is not without knowledge of the people, and his pictures of life are probably true enough in the main. the story is well told, and the love story of terence and kathleen o’hara and their sad fate is feelingly related. the book brings out well the evil results of the rule of a thoroughly unsympathetic landlord in the person of the english mr. majoribanks. an idea is given of how elections were conducted at the time. this author wrote also harry egerton, harcourt, and other novels.
-the young nugents, two boys and a girl, go to visit their aunt in her tumbledown old family place near cork. the children get into touch with the fairies, and as a result family papers are recovered and fortune smiles once more on the nugents.
-⸺ ierne. (longmans). two vols. 1871.
-“a study of agrarian crime ... in which the author used material collected for a history of ireland, which he refrained from publishing owing to the feeling occasioned by the controversy over the irish land bill. he endeavours ... to show the causes of the obstinate resistance by the irish to measures undertaken for their benefit, and to show the method of cure.”—(baker).
-scene: co. leitrim. chief characters: the members of a broken-down catholic county family. miss macdermott is engaged to a sub-inspector of police. this latter, because of certain difficulties that stand in the way of their marriage, attempts to elope with her. her brother comes on the scene, and there is an affray, in which the sub-inspector is killed. young macdermott is tried and publicly hanged. this is the mere outline. more interesting is the background of irish rural life, seen in its comic and quaint aspect, by an observant and not wholly unsympathetic englishman. the portrait of the grand old father john m’grath is most life-like and engaging, but the pictures of low life in the village and among the illicit stills is vulgar in tone and the humour somewhat coarse. the book is spoken of by a competent critic, sir g. o. trevelyan, as in some respects the author’s best. the author himself considers this his best plot. it has been spoken of as “one of the most melancholy books ever written.”
-scene: dunmore, co. galway, at the time of o’connell’s trial, 1844. mainly a love story of the upper classes. some clever portraits, e.g., martin kelly, the widow kelly, and the hero, frank o’kelly, lord ballindine. picture of hard-riding, hard-drinking, landlord class. a much more cheerful story than the preceding. it is fresh and genuinely humorous, and the human interest is very strong. the seventh london ed. appeared in 1867.
-scene: co. cork during the famine years, 1847, and following, with which it deals fully. tale of two old irish families. the plot is commonplace enough but redeemed by great skill in the treatment, by admirable delineation of character, and by the drawing of the background. absolutely cool and free from partisanship, he yet draws such a picture of those dreadful times as, in days to come, it will be difficult to accept as free from exaggeration. it is a graphic and terrible picture. the noble character of owen fitzgerald is finely drawn. there are touches of pleasant humour and of satire.
-⸺ phineas finn, the irish member. (bell). 1866.
-⸺ phineas redux. (bell). 1874.
-a study of political personalities. the scene is london, and the story is little, if at all, concerned with ireland.
-⸺ the land leaguers. three vols. (chatto & windus). 1883.
-story of an english protestant family who buy a property and settle in galway. the book was never finished, and has, perhaps, little interest as a novel. but the life and incidents of the period are well rendered, notably the trials of people who are boycotted. much sympathy with the people is displayed by the author, and, on the whole, fair views of the faults and misunderstandings on both sides are expressed. the plot turns on the enmity of a peasant towards his landlord, whom he tries to injure in every way. the landlord’s little son is the only witness against the peasant. the child is murdered for telling what he knows. there is some harsh criticism of catholic priests.
-⸺ stories for calumniators. two vols. (dublin: fitzpatrick). 1809.
-“interspersed with remarks on the disadvantages, misfortunes, and habits of the irish.” dedicated to lord holland. a remarkable book in many ways. through the medium of three stories, largely based on fact, the author sets forth instances of the sad aftermath of the rebellion, illustrating the tragic consequences that may ensue if those in authority listen to the voice of slander and condemn on suspicion. the stories are told to a mr. fitzmaurice by persons related to the victims, and mr. f.’s own romance is interwoven with the tale. incidentally the author gives his own views on irish politics, views full of the most kindly tolerance and of true patriotic feeling without ráiméis. he seems not a catholic, but is most friendly towards catholics. he is strongly in favour of the irish language, of land reform, and of the higher education of women—astonishing views considering the period.
-“it has a somewhat sensational plot; but it certainly displays the deep piety, patriotism, and christian charity of erin’s sons and daughters.”—(publ.).
-seventeen short sketches written for english periodicals. subject: daily life of the peasantry—the village “characters,” a spoilt priest, the migrating harvesters, and a pathetic picture of a poor old village priest. charming descriptions of scenery, not too long drawn out. much tender and unaffected pathos.
-fifteen short pieces collected out of various english periodicals. the scene of about half of them is an unnamed island off the west coast. the scene of the other is achill. the title does not cover the rest. sketches chiefly of peasant life, in which narrative (sometimes told in dialogue) predominates. the stories are very varied. there are pathetic sketches of young girls: “mauryeen,” “katie,” “how mary came home”; tales of the supernatural, such as “the death spancel”; “a rich woman,” a racy story of legacy hunting; while heroic self-sacrifice is depicted in “the man who was hanged” and “a solitary.” the last two pieces in the book are not stories: they are musings or subjective impressions.
-domestic and social life in coolevara, a typical irish country town, chiefly among catholic middle class folk. it is a simple and pleasant story of love and marriage with a happy ending.
-the land i love best is another series of eight tales issued by the same publishers about 1898. 200 pages.
-⸺ the dear irish girl. (smith, elder). 6s. (chicago: mcclurg). 1.50.
-motherless, and an only child, biddy o’connor brings herself up in a big, lonely dublin house. dr. o’connor lives amid his memories and his books. biddy is a winsome girl, and keeps the reader’s heart from the time we first meet her with the homeless dogs of dublin as her favourite companions to the day when she weds the master of coolbawn. the chief charm of the book lies in the picture of life amid the splendid scenery of connaught. the book has a pleasant atmosphere of bright simplicity and quick mirthfulness. the spectator calls it “fresh, unconventional, and poetic.”
-three delightful girls of a class which the author delights to picture—impoverished gentry and their love affairs. the minor characters, servants, village people, &c., are very humorous and true to life. in this story the course of true love is by no means smooth, but all is well at the last. the scene varies between “carrickmoyle” and london.
-⸺ a girl of galway. (blackie). 5s. handsome gift-book binding. 1900.
-she stays with her grandfather, a miserly old recluse living in the wilds of connemara, seeing nobody but his agent, an unscrupulous fellow, in whom he has perfect confidence. a love affair is soon introduced. it seems hopeless at first, but turns out all right owing to a strange unlooked for event. pleasant and faithful picture of connemara life.
-the three daughters of sir jasper burke are of the reduced county family class, about which the author loves to write. the expedient of receiving paying guests results in matrimony for the three girls. with this simple plot there are all the things that go to make katharine tynan’s works delightful reading: insight into character, impressions of irish life, lovable personalities of many types.
-⸺ a daughter of the fields. (smith, elder). 6s. (chicago: mcclurg). 1900.
-“another gracious irish girl. well educated, and brought up to a refined and easy life, she applies herself to the drudgery of farm work rather than desert her toiling mother; but the novelist finds her a husband and a more fortunate lot.”—(baker).
-a typical example of mrs. hinkson’s stories. the main plot is a simple, idyllic love-story. the hero, much idealized, is an englishman who tries to do good to his irish tenants in his own way, and hence incurs their hatred, for a time. the heroine is an heiress come of a good old stock. several of the characters are cleverly sketched: old miss lucy considine and her antiquarian brother, in particular. scenes of peasant life act as interludes to the main action, which lies in county family society. all the chief persons are protestants, but the religious element is quite eliminated from the book.
-⸺ that sweet enemy. (constable). 6s. (philadelphia: lippincott). 1.50. 1901.
-“a sentimental story of two irish girls, children of a decayed house; their love affairs, the hindrance to their happiness, and the matrimonial dénouement.”—(baker).
-told by penelope fayle, a young quaker gentlewoman, a loyalist or king’s woman, but sympathetic to the irish. scene: a leinster country house in 1798. no descriptions of the fighting, but glimpses of the cruelty of ancient britons, yeomanry, &c., and of the dark passions of the time. racy, picturesque style, with exciting incidents and dramatic situations.
-eighteen exquisite little stories and sketches dealing, nearly all, with the lives of the poorest peasantry. they have all the author’s best qualities.
-the scene varies between the west of ireland and dublin. a love-story, in which the central figures are phillippa featherstonhaugh and her sister, colombe: a contrast in character, but each lovable in her own way. the plot turns on the unselfish devotion of the former, who, believing that her lover has transferred his affections to her sister, heroically stands aside. we shall not reveal the dénouement. the minor characters are capital, all evidently closely copied from life. there are the elderly spinsters, miss finola and miss peggy, and quite a number of charming old ladies, the country priest and the sisters’ bustling, philanthropic mother, always in a whirl of correspondence about her charities, and others equally interesting.
-⸺ a daughter of kings. (nash). 6s. (n.y.: benziger). 1.25. 1903.
-the daughter of a broken-down aristocratic county family is obliged to take service as chaperon in an english family. careful study of girl’s lovable character. contrast between the pride and poverty of witches’ castle, co. donegal, and opulence of english home.
-the honourable molly is of mixed anglo-irish aristocratic (her father was a creggs de la poer) and scoto-irish middle class origin (her mother’s people were o’neills and sinclairs). she has two suitors, one is from her mother’s people, the other is the heir to castle creggs and the title. both are eminently worthy of her hand. she finally chooses one, after having accepted the other. has all the sweetness and femininity of katherine tynan’s work. is frankly romantic but not mawkish. there is no approach to a villain. there is some quiet and good-natured satire of old-fashioned aristocratic class-notions. the portraits of the two old maiden aunts are very clever.
-how a baseless slander nearly ruined the life of julia, the cinderella of her family, how she was nearly lost to her lover, and by what strange turns of fortune she was restored. the chief characters belong to two branches of a kerry family, whose history is that of many another in ireland. julia’s mother is a splendid type of the old-fashioned irish matron. there is touching pathos in the picture of the grace family (minor personages of the tale)—a mother’s absolute devotedness to a pair of thankless and worthless daughters. the old parish priest, too, is well drawn.
-⸺ the adventures of alicia. (white). 6s. 1906.
-“a characteristically winning story of a poor young irish girl, who had to serve english employers, but, in spite of all temptations, remained true to her irish lover.”—(press notice).
-one of the author’s prettiest stories. family of high standing falls into the meshes of money-lender. the daughter consents to marry him—but the plot need not be revealed. the scene appears to be co. kerry in the early ’sixties, but there seem to be some anachronisms.
-lady anne chute is mistress of a vast estate in co. kerry. from the moment of her succession to the property she resolves to act the part of providence in her people’s lives. she sets about improving their condition, founding industries, &c., and with full success. this is the background to a love-story. old miss chenevix, once a “lady,” but now living almost on the verge of starvation in an obscure quarter of dublin, is a pathetic figure. pathetic also is the devotion of her old servant to the fallen fortunes of the family. then there is the picture, drawn with exquisite sympathy, of the poor girl dying of consumption, and of how her religion exalted and brightened her last days. the descriptions or rather impressions of nature which brighten the story are peculiarly vivid.
-⸺ the house of the crickets. (smith, elder). 1908.
-a story of irish peasant farmer life. the heroine lives, with her brothers and sisters, a life of abject slavery, ruled by a tyrannical and puritanical father. in this wretched home she and her brother, richard, develop noble qualities of character and mind. the members of the family are very life-like portraits, and the picture of irish life is drawn with much care and skill.
-a collection of short stories, chiefly thoroughly romantic love-stories. “a big lie” is, however, of a different character, and the author has hardly ever written a more delightful story.
-a romance of ireland in early victorian days. a young spendthrift nobleman, a widower, runs away with priscilla, a quakeress, and also an heiress. the description of the pursuit is exciting and dramatic. the penalty of his deed is a long imprisonment, from which he issues a sadder and wiser man. priscilla’s care of his little daughter, peggy, in the meantime is a pathetic story. the plot suggested by the attempted abduction by sir h. b. hayes of the quakeress, miss pike, of cork.
-eleven stories. the title story, the longest (there are nine chapters) tells how a shabby branch of an old irish family finally won recognition by means of a marriage with the supposed heir and by the finding of certain old family papers. contains some goodnatured satire on the snobbishness of irish county society. one of the remaining stories is irish in subject. all show the author’s best qualities—freshness, charm, and cheerful optimism.
-⸺ the handsome brandons. (blackie). 3s. 6d. new ed. illustr. by g. demain hammond.
-how a marriage between scions of two ancient irish houses heals a long-standing feud.
-the story of maeve standish’s self-sacrifice in the sorrow-shadowed home of her father’s old friend, miss henrietta o’neill, of her ultimate good fortune, and finally of her happy marriage. the setting is entirely irish.—(press notice).
-story of how cushla macsweeney and her sister, left as orphans, are carried off from their tumbled-down irish home and brought up at tunbridge wells. how cushla returns at twenty-one full of dreams for the improvement of ireland, and is aided in her plans by a young man whom she afterwards marries. full of the author’s interesting character-studies.
-scene: kerry and dublin. two stories, of mother and daughter, ciss and cecilia, interwoven. ciss’s fiancé is reported killed. she loses her reason and persuades herself that a dr. grace, who is of peasant extraction, is her lover come back. to save her from the asylum lord dromore, her cousin and guardian, has to consent unwillingly to the marriage. the absent lover returns, but she does not meet him for twenty years. meanwhile ciss’s mésalliance is causing trouble in the course of cecilia’s love for lord kilrush. but all ends happily. the characters are mainly drawn from the denationalised irish upper classes. the story is told with much charm.
-a girl educated much above her mother’s condition in life and mixing in upper class society.
-the story of lady sarah lennox (1745-1826) in the form of fiction. a good many irish members of the beau monde appear in the tale. it is not for young readers. see the life and letters of lady sarah lennox, edited by the countess of ilchester and lord stavordale. two vols. (murray).
-“katharine tynan, in her gentle way, puts before us the growing up of the boy pat in ignorance of the disgrace (a jewel robbery) of his mother and the suicide of his father, and the effect upon him of the disclosure. a lovable and spiritual father peter plays a leading part in it all.”—(t. litt. suppl.). pat finds his mother in time to comfort her deathbed, and in the end marries an old friend. somewhat vague, and not free from inconsistencies.
-a volume of stories and sketches, very varied in its contents, from well-told but rather unconvincing little melodramas like “the fox hunter” and “john ’a dreams” to very vivid glimpses of life, choses vues et vécues. these show various sides of irish life and character; an unpleasant side in “the ruling passion” (a woman discussing her own funeral with her daughter), as well as the pleasant and lovable aspects. “the mother” and “the mother of jesus” are little studies of exquisite tenderness. several of the sketches are humorous, for instance the weird episode, “per istam sanctam unctionem,” related by a priest. the scene of several seems to be the neighbourhood of dublin.
-the turloughmores are overshadowed by a curse made long ago by an old woman wounded to death by the hounds of a former lord t. when hunting. according to the curse, every head of the house must die a violent death, in forewarning of which foxes will be seen in twos and threes about the house for some time before. the actual lord t. is expected home from his yachting cruise, his wife ever in dread of the doom. he is wrecked and apparently lost, but meg hildebrand, who is staying at the castle, discovers the almost dying lord in mysterious circumstances. he dies in his bed, his heir is married into a lucky house, and the curse is said to be lifted. founded on a legend (still current) of a well-known irish family. many threads of various interest are woven into the tale.
-dainty stories, healthy and pleasant in tone, not weakly sentimental, definitely catholic in character. laid in various countries—england, france, switzerland, as well as ireland. sympathetic studies of priests.
-⸺ pixie o’shaughnessy.
-scene: first, a fashionable english girls’ school, afterwards a half-ruined castle in the west of ireland. the book is taken up with the amusing scrapes and other adventures of a wild little irish girl, and with the love affairs of her sisters. gives a good, if somewhat overdrawn, picture of irish character, especially of traditional irish hospitality.
-⸺ more about pixie. (r.t.s.). 6d. 1910.
-thrilling adventures of a penniless soldier, who goes about don quixote-wise rescuing distressed damsels—each more beautiful than the last—fighting duels, and so forth. a good story of its class, and free from anything objectionable.
-⸺ old times in ireland. three vols. (chapman & hall). 1873.
-the author was commandant of the limerick city artillery militia and son of lord gort. chiefly heavy light-comedy, with conventional characters and an air of unreality about the whole. the humour, the dialect, the characteristics of the various personages, all are highly exaggerated. a lord lieutenant, a duke, the absurd mr. and mrs. o’rafferty, the still more absurd love-sick schoolmaster, ruffianly terry alts, figure, among many others, in the tale.
-the very varied and often exciting adventures of a poor waif. rescued from a travelling showman at westport, co. mayo, he is sent to a poor school in galway, resembling the workhouse in oliver twist. further adventures bring him to limerick, and then to tralee, and afterwards to many other parts of ireland. the book is written in thorough sympathy with ireland, and in particular with the sufferings of the poor under iniquitous land laws, though at times with a little exaggeration. there is a vivid description of an eviction. other aspects of irish life are touched on, and with considerable knowledge. dublin, belfast, killarney, bray, are some of the places described. the spirit is catholic: witness the kindly words on page 8 about irish priests.
-⸺ miss peggy o’dillon; or, the irish critic. (gill). 1890.
-⸺ golden hills. (r.t.s.). 1865.
-in the biographical note prefixed to this story we are told that the author was all her life interested and actively engaged in evangelical work. she was born in limerick, 1835, died 1868. the story tells how a family of protestant landowners succeeded in distributing among their catholic tenantry copies of the bible in irish, and thereby converted a number of them to protestantism. the converts afterwards emigrate and settle in america. scene: apparently west connaught. throughout, “romanism” and “romish” practices are contrasted with protestantism, greatly to the disadvantage of the former. the book is well and interestingly written.
-domestic life, with glimpses of religious and political strife in ulster at close of eighteenth century truthfully delineated. scene: lough erne and antrim, the scenery of dunluce and the causeway described, and some real incidents introduced. sympathetic towards the people, and does not disparage the ’98 insurgents.
-the story told by a little lame girl of fourteen of a proud irish family reduced to a cheap flat, and living in discomfort and anxiety without losing their cheerfulness of heart. there is both humour and pathos. we are introduced to some pleasant and lovable children.
-⸺ the fairy-faith in celtic countries: its psychica origin and nature. (rennes: imprimerie oberthur). 1909.
-doings of a family of irish children left with an aunt in london during their father’s absence in india. with all their fun and pranks the children pine in london and long for the meadows and the woods of their home in kilbrannan.
-story of an abortive rising in kerry in reign of george i., with exciting situations and a love interest. style clear and vigorous. irish characters nearly all vacillating, treacherous, and fanatical. generally considered as giving an unreal idea of the times.
-⸺ a sea queen’s sailing. (nelson). 3s. 6d. 1907.
-the vikings about a.d. 935, time of hakon the good. adventures of, among others, an irish prince with the vikings. scene: northern and irish coasts. juvenile.
-⸺ a prince errant. (nelson). 2s. 6d. 1908.
-s.w. wales, cornwall, and ireland about a.d. 792. saxon, briton, norseman, and dane. juvenile.
-contains two tales—(1) “the black channel of cloughnagawn;” (2) “the lovers of ballyvookan.” dr. small goes to the west as a dispensary doctor, and meets the various types of character. the pursuit of a slave ship is well described, as are the men who man the western hookers, and know every turn of the dangerous black channel. the second deals with the wreck of h.m.s. wasp and the love story of norah flynn. both are exciting stories. the brogue is fairly good.
-⸺ tales of irish life. two vols. 12mo. (london: robins). six illustr. by cruikshank. 1824.
-a racy story of sportsmen and soldiers. opens in ireland and scene shifts to london. the talk of grooms and trainers fairly well done. the fate of the heroine and the famous black mare, both called “satanella,” is tragic.
-a collection of fairy stories, legends, descriptions of superstitious practices, medicals cures and charms, robber stories, notes on holy wells, &c., taken down from the peasantry, some in gaelic, some in english. the legends, &c., are preceded by a learned essay on the origin and history of legend, and the book concludes with chapters on irish art and ethnology and a lecture by sir w. wilde on the ancient races of ireland. contains a vast amount of matter useful to the folk-lorist, to the general reader, and even to the historian. the stories are rather pathetic and tender than humorous. wrote also ancient cures, charms, and superstitions of ireland, driftwood from scandinavia, the american irish, &c.
-⸺ the love that kills. three vols. (tinsley). 1867.
-⸺ britain long ago: stories from old english and celtic sources. (harrap: told through the ages series).
-⸺ my lords of strogue. three vols. (bentley). 1879.
-“a chronicle of ireland from the convention to the union.” history and romance curiously intermingled, e.g., robert emmet’s insurrection is purposely ante-dated by two years and a half. “the prominence given to such unpleasant personages as mrs. gillin makes the book unsuitable at least for the lending libraries of convents.”—(i.m.). the author is fair-minded and not anti-national.
-a clever and interesting psychological study of the relations between swift and the two esthers, johnson and vanhomrigh, the latter being the chief centre of interest. the scene: partly in ireland, partly in england. the political events and questions of the time are scarcely touched upon, but the atmosphere, language, and costume of the time have evidently been carefully studied, and are vividly reproduced. swift’s relations to these two women are represented in a convincing and sympathetic manner. there is nothing objectionable in the tone of the book.
-the strange adventures of patrick dillon, an officer in the spanish army, in the course of his attempt to set free ferdinand vii. of spain, imprisoned in france by napoleon i. its pictures of catholic life in spain are not always flattering, though doubtless not intentionally offensive.
-⸺ andré besnard. (cork). 1889.
-a tale of old cork, giving good descriptions of its people, buildings, &c. period: that preceding the times of the volunteers. a tale of courtship and adventure. one of the chief characters is paul jones, the celebrated american admiral. published under pen-name “g. o’c.”
-adventures of a young yorkshireman who, about the ’98 period, sails for ireland and lands at island magee, in antrim. exciting episodes—love-making, smuggling, &c. not concerned with the rising. for boys.
-⸺ the surprising adventures of my friend patrick dempsey. (sealy, bryers). 6d. 1910.
-scene laid in rathlin island, but the book cannot be said to depict the life of the place with fidelity to real conditions. by same author: the lily and the devil, 1908.
-the king is “edward vii. of england and i. of ireland” (sic). nearly half the book is composed of minute descriptions of his reception in various parts of ireland. the rest is chiefly made up of long discussions (mostly by the hero and heroine) on religion, divorce, loyalty, irish history, the position of the church of ireland, and landlords. the author seems to be strongly “loyal,” a high-church member of the c. of i., an ardent home-ruler, and a gaelic enthusiast. but no bias is displayed against any class or creed, though the author does not seem partial to the landlord class, unpleasant specimens of whom are introduced. written with obvious sincerity and earnestness.
-a romance of the thrilling and popular type. full of wonderful coincidences and the still more wonderful escapes of the heroes from the clutches of their enemies. the story is little concerned with historical events and persons. the earl of desmond, archbishop o’hurley, dowdall, and zouch are introduced occasionally. the tone is healthy, the standpoint irish and catholic.
-scene: cork city, and the neighbourhood of kenmare. adventures of hugh graham, a scotchman, in recruiting for the irish brigade in company with morty oge o’sullivan, a gay, reckless, debonnair type of irish chieftain. on the other side are the brainless whig fop, sir henry morton, and o’callaghan, a spy in king george’s pay. the unfortunate love-story of o’callaghan’s beautiful sister and the happier love of the sister of morty are interwoven with the narrative. the author’s sympathies are irish and jacobite.
-relates how miss sybil marchant, a young english lady, succeeded in converting to protestantism some members of a poor family of joyces in connemara. is concerned chiefly with the trials of the new converts at the hands of friends and the clergy. tone not bitter towards catholicism, which however, is regarded from the low church, strongly protestant, standpoint. the story is pleasantly told.
-scene: wicklow, whose scenery is well described. rebellion seen from protestant and loyalist standpoint. rebels appear as recklessly brave savages. battles of new ross and hacketstown described. characters well brought out. some aspects of the life of the times described, notably stage-coach travelling and illicit distilling. brogue not well reproduced. based, says the pref., chiefly on lecky, but also on maxwell, musgrave, and hay. there is a good deal about gold-mining in co. wicklow.
-introd. and notes by ed. the tales, sixty-four in number, are selected from previously published collections (croker, lover, kennedy, wilde, &c.), including several examples of poetry about the fairies. they are classed under these heads:—the trooping fairies, the solitary fairies, ghosts, witches, tir na-n-óg, saints and priests, the devil, giants, &c. each class is introduced by some general remarks. there is nothing objectionable but it is hardly a book for children. the weird and grotesque element largely predominates.
-⸺ irish fairy and folk-tales. twelve full page illustr. by james torrance. (w. scott). 3s. 6d.
-a dainty little volume, very popular with children. none of the stories included in it are to be found in the same author’s irish fairy and folk-tales.—(w. scott).
-wild, formless tales, altogether from the land of dreams, told with the author’s accustomed magic of word and expression, but to the ordinary reader well-nigh meaningless. in one of these tales some monks solemnly crucify a wandering gleeman because he had dared complain of the filthy food and lodging which they had given him. this tale may fairly be taken as typical of much that is in the book.
-disconnected fragments of dim beliefs in a supernatural world of fairies, ghosts, and devils, still surviving among the peasantry. told in a style often beautiful, but vague and elusive, by a latter-day “pagan,” who would fain share these beliefs himself. the talk of half-crazy peasants, the author tells us, is set down as he heard it. to the ordinary reader the book cannot but seem full of puerilities. the peasants of whom the author speaks are chiefly those of north-eastern sligo.
-⸺ the coming of lugh. (maunsel). 6d. net. 1909.
-“a celtic wonder-tale retold” for the young. a dainty little volume in which is prettily told the story of lugh lamh fada’s sojourn in tir-na-nog and his return to erin with the sword of light to drive out the fomorians. the illustrations by madame gonne-macbride are very well done.—(press notice).
-tales of the ancient days of de danaan gods and heroes—of angus and midyir and lugh and the gobhaun saor. told in rhythmic and musical language and with much beauty of expression, but most of the tales are altered quite out of their antique and primitive form by a strong flavour of modern mysticism and symbolism of the school of yeats and a. e. “conary mor,” the finest (we think) of the tales, is perhaps freest from this. the first two or three are most influenced by it. tales like “a good action,” “the sheepskin,” strike a different and, as it seems to us, a discordant note, viz., broadly comical episodes, in which the actors are gods. includes the children of lir and the children of turann (under title “the eric fine of lugh”), and the coming of lugh. original and artistic celtic cover design, head-pieces, and tail-pieces. four coloured illustr. the first two are mystic and symbolic. most catholics would consider them very much out of place here. the book is beautifully produced.
-some useful works of reference.
-originally published by john d. morris & co. afterwards taken over by the de bower elliot co., chicago, and brought out in 1904.
-scope and object: to give a comprehensive, if rapid, view of the whole development of irish literature from its earliest days. in the words of the editor, it is “an illustrated catalog of ireland’s literary contributions to mankind’s intellectual store.”
-the choice of extracts is determined by two canons: literary value and human interest. the library gives examples of “all that is best, brightest, most attractive, readable, and amusing,” in the writings of irish authors. there is no dry-as-dust. the extracts comprise mythology, legend, folklore, poems, songs, street-ballads, essays, oratory, history, science, memoirs, fiction, travel, drama, wit, and humour. the vast majority are chosen as being specially expressive of irish nationality. choice is made both from the gaelic and the anglo-irish literatures, but the ancient gaelic literature is given solely in translation. a volume (the tenth) is given to modern gaelic literature, the irish text and english translation being given on opposite pages. this volume also contains brief biographies of ancient gaelic authors. the extracts are never short and scrappy, but nearly always complete in themselves.
-other special features: three hundred and fifty irish authors are represented by extracts. of these one hundred and twenty are contemporaries, the great modern intellectual revival being thus very fully represented.
-the extracts are given under the name of the authors, and these names are arranged alphabetically, beginning in vol. i. with mrs. alexander, and ending with w. b. yeats in vol. ix.
-to the extracts from each author there is prefixed a biographical notice, including, in many cases, a literary appreciation by a competent authority, and a fairly full bibliography.
-each volume contains an article, by a distinguished writer, on some special department of irish literature. thus, the editor-in-chief gives a general survey of the whole subject. w. b. yeats writes on irish poetry, douglas hyde on early irish literature, dr. sigerson on ireland’s influence on european literature, maurice francis egan on irish novels, charles welsh on fairy and folk tales, j. f. taylor, k.c., on irish oratory, stephen gwynn on the irish theatre, &c.
-publisher’s work: 1. illustrations, over 100 (several in colour), consisting of facsimiles of ancient irish mss., and of ancient prints and street-ballads, portraits of irish authors, views of places, objects, scenery and incidents of irish interest.
-2. letterpress—large and clear type.
-3. binding—cloth, and half-morocco.
-4. price—has varied a good deal since first publication.
-scope, arrangement, &c.: the authors are arranged chronologically. there is first a sketch (full and carefully done) of each author’s life and works; then follow extracts, as a rule very short, from his works. the principle of selection is to give such extracts as would best illustrate the author’s style, to avoid anything hackneyed, and “anything that would offend the taste of any class or creed.”
-in the original edition there was, perhaps inevitably, little of irish ireland, still less of gaelic ireland. that has been to a certain extent remedied in the new edition. but the old edition had the advantage of containing a mass of information about little known writers and of extracts from curious and rare books.
-intended for teachers of secondary and elementary schools. chronological order with author- and title-indexes. neatly arranged for ready reference. full notes on each novel. a good many irish novels are included.
-the author is a professor of columbia university.
-scope of work: a survey and criticism of the leading irish novelists of the first half of the nineteenth century in so far as give us a picture of the national life and character.
-treatment: wholly free from bias. marked by broad-minded, judicial spirit, thorough interest in and sympathy with the subject, wide knowledge, and a remarkable gift of literary characterization. on the whole a work which i can scarcely praise too highly.
-⸺ the study of a novel. (heath). 1906.
-it is “the result of practical experience in teaching the novel, and its aim is primarily pedagogical.”—(pref.). contents:—external structure, consecutive structure, plot, the settings, the dramatis personæ, characterization, subject matter, style, influence, rhetoric, æsthetics, analysis.
-10. the irish book-lover. published by salmond & co. monthly. 2s. 6d. per annum, post free.
-this excellent little periodical, edited by dr. j. s. crone, kensal lodge, kensal green, london, n.w., is entirely devoted to irish books and their authors, and is the only publication of the kind. beginning in august, 1909, and appearing monthly since then, its six volumes are a most valuable storehouse of irish book lore of all kinds. as regards fiction, it reviews most of the irish novels that appear, has many articles on irish novelists past and present, and supplies a quarterly classified bibliography of current irish literature, in which there is a section for fiction. the obligations of the present work towards it are very great.
-publishers and series.
-1. the principal irish publishers:—
-note.—none of these publishers, with the exception of messrs. maunsel, has a london house. the london address of messrs. maunsel is 40 museum street, w.c.
-by lady morgan (o’briens and o’flahertys), j. banim (the anglo-irish), e. e. crowe (yesterday in ireland), thomas colley grattan (tales of travel), &c. this series is occasionally to be met with on sale at second hand.
-o’donnel. by lady morgan. biography by mrs. cashel hoey.
-ormond. by maria edgeworth. biography by mrs. cashel hoey.
-fardorougha the miser. by w. carleton. biography by d. j. o’donoghue.
-the epicurean. by thomas moore. biography by e. downey.
-rory o’more. by samuel lover. biography by mrs. cashel hoey.
-the collegians. by gerald griffin. biography by e. downey.
-the o’donoghue. by charles lever. biography by e. downey.
-torlogh o’brien. by j. sheridan lefanu. biography by e. downey.
-downey & co. issued, 1902, paper-covered, well printed, on good paper, a sixpenny library of novels, many of which were by irish authors such as lever, banim, lady morgan, lover, and carleton. irish novels were included in several other series published by this firm.
-the green and the red; or, historical tales and legends of ireland. picture boards, 1s.
-gerald and augusta; or, the irish aristocracy: a novel, 1s.
-the mistletoe and the shamrock: a national tale. 1s.
-billy bluff and the squire: a picture of ulster in 1796. 6d.
-the irish girl; or, the true love and the false. 6d.
-owen donovan, fenian. by graves o’mara. a tale of the ’67 rising.
-captain harry. by j. h. lepper. a tale of the royalist wars.
-a sower of the wind. by cahir healy. a tale of the land league.
-olaf the dane. by john denvir. a story of donegal.
-frank maxwell. by j. h. lepper. a royalist tale of 1641.
-paul farquhar’s legacy. by j. g. rowe. a thrilling tale of mining life in south africa.
-only a lass. by ruby m. duggan. a tale of girl school life.
-the strike. by t. j. rooney. a tale of the dublin liberties.
-bully hayes, blackbirder. by j. g. rowe. an adventure tale of the south seas.
-the enchanted portal. by mary lowry. a tale of the giant’s causeway.
-stormy hall. by m. l. thompson. a thrilling tale of adventure.
-told in the twilight. by robert cromie. a romance of the norwegian fjords.
-by the stream of kilmeen. by seamas o’kelly. exquisite sketches of irish life.
-the machinations of cissy. by mrs. pierre pattison. a tale of a sister’s jealousy.
-when strong wills clash. by annie collins. a tale of love and pride.
-the humours of a blue devil in the isle of saints. by alan warrener. a tale of the love escapades of a certain captain.
-the honour of the desboroughs. by rita richmond. concerns the love affairs of honor desborough, and a fight for an estate.
-the luck of the kavanaghs. by c. j. hamilton. relates the extraordinary adventures of an emigrant irish boy.
-the doctor’s locum-tenens. by lizzie c. read.
-lady greville’s error. by mrs. watt.
-sweet nellie o’flaherty. by t. a. brewster.
-this excellent popular periodical, the circulation of which in england and abroad as well as in ireland is very considerable, is bringing out cheap reprints of stories and other features that have appeared in its pages. the following is a list of the library to date:—
-red rapparee. by desmond lough.
-barney the boyo. by l. a. finn.
-the black wing. by desmond lough.
-ireland’s own song book.
-the league of the ring and torn apart. by morrough o’brien.
-each price 6d. address:—“the people” printing and publishing works, wexford; or, 11 sackville place, dublin.
-this firm (originally mcglashan, then mcglashan & gill) has behind it a long history of publication, most of the books issued by it being irish in subject. at present the catalogue of its publications contains various popular series or “libraries” at more or less uniform prices. none of these consist exclusively of fiction. the “green cloth library” is one of them.
-the main object of this society is religious and moral propaganda, but it aims also at fostering among the people an interest in their country—its history, antiquities, ruins, scenery, &c. cheap popular fiction is one of the chief vehicles of this propaganda, and it has published in the fifteen years of its existence—it was founded in 1899—upwards of a hundred penny booklets, besides the shilling series mentioned below. nearly all these stories are irish in subject. most of them are distinctively catholic in tone, and a number of them aim directly or indirectly at religious instruction. but there are a fairly considerable number which simply tell tales of ancient ireland in pagan as well as in christian times. the importance of the work of this society may be gathered from the fact that since its start it has distributed over seven million copies of its publications. all that can be done here is to give a list of the stories published by the c.t.s.i., indicating the nature of the contents of some of them.
-t. b. cronin.—the colleen from the moor.
-⸺ the boy from over the hill.
-these are two stories of kerry life, deservedly popular.
-mary maher.—the irish emigrant’s orphan.
-lady gilbert (rosa mulholland).—a mother of emigrants.
-nano tobin.—nancy dillon’s choice and from texas to inchrue.
-a. cunningham.—passage tickets.
-four emigration stories.
-e. f. kelly.—kevin o’connor.
-religious persecutions in 17th cent. at home and in convict settlements.
-alicia golding.—ellen ryan.
-patricia dillon.—in the wake of the armada.
-home life of native irish chiefs and their intercourse with continent, end of 16th century.
-mary t. mckenna.—maureen doherty: the story of a trinket.
-s. sligo in ’98.
-alice dease.—on the broad road.
-a story of the white slave traffic.
-k. m. gaughan.—sheelah: the story of a mixed marriage.
-⸺ the house of julianstown; or, a flight for the faith.
-days of the volunteers. historically true.
-m. sullivan.—the deserter and other stories.
-very nicely told.
-macdonagh (mary l.), née burroughs parker.—three tipperary boys.
-one of whom, a minister’s son, is converted and marries delia.
-a waif cast up by the sea on the island of inishglas, and his life among the islanders.
-⸺ the ghost in the rath.
-⸺ mrs. blake’s next of kin.
-delia gleeson.—where the turf fires burn.
-others by lucy m. curd, nora f. degidon, s. a. turk, &c., and a series of thirteen stories entitled the emerald library.
-for m. j. o’mullane’s stories, see in the body of the book under his name.
-the strike; or, the drunkard’s fate.
-the broken heart and the miser’s death.
-reaping the whirlwind. by molly malone.
-helena’s son. by nora f. degidon.
-the child of his heart. by mary t. mckenna.
-mike hanlon’s mother-in-law. by k. gaughan.
-more temperance stories. by alice dease.
-the coming of the king. a jacobite romance. by arthur synan.
-hiawatha’s black robe. father marquette, s.j. by e. leahy.
-peggy the millionaire. by mary costello.
-earl or chieftain? the romance of hugh o’neill. by patricia dillon.
-isle of columbcille. a pilgrimage and a sketch. by shane leslie.
-the golden lad. a story of child life. by molly malone.
-a life’s ambition. ven. philippine duchesne. by m. t. kelly.
-the making of jim o’neill. a story of seminary life. by m. j. f.
-the sorrow of lycadoon. by mrs. thomas concannon, m.a.
-the emperor marcus aurelius. a study in ideals. by john c. joy, s.j.
-address, 69 southwark bridge rd., london, s.e. this is the original society, founded in 1884, on the model of which the irish, scottish, and australian bodies were founded. it has on its lists a few irish stories. lady gilbert has written a certain number for it, e.g., penal days, nellie. her sister clara mulholland has published through it a little shilling volume: some stories (also in penny parts); katharine tynan another shilling volume: the land i love best; alice dease: some irish stories, 6d. (and in penny parts); and “m. e. francis” has also some stories.
-the office of the little periodical the irish messenger of the s. heart, gt. denmark st., dublin, publishes penny booklets of a kind similar to those of the catholic truth societies. here are some of the titles:—
-joe callinan. (in its 20th thousand).
-no. 18 blank st. (85th thousand).
-the trail of the traitor. (35th thousand). a story of cromwell’s sack of wexford.
-kathleen’s pilgrimage. (25th thousand). a tale of lough derg.
-temperance stories. by m. a. c. (15th thousand).
-the fiction in the irish messenger itself and in the madonna is almost always of an irish complexion. the circulation of the former of these is over 170,000 a month.
-a new (autumn, 1915) enterprise of the talbot press, 89 talbot street, dublin. the aim is to bring out in a cheap (2s. 6d.) but worthy form both well-known works by irishmen about ireland and new works. the editors-in-chief are mr. alfred percival graves, prof. william magennis, and dr. douglas hyde. it hopes to include every department of irish literature—poetry, fiction, oratory, sport and travel, history, wit and humour, essays and belles lettres, politics, biography, art, music and the drama. each book is in the hands of a competent editor, so that none of the books in the series are mere reprints. the volumes have been designed, printed, and bound (cloth, celtic design in green and gold) in ireland. the publication has been greatly interfered with by the war. the first six volumes, which are as follows, do not include a work of fiction, but griffin’s “collegians” and carleton’s stories will be in the next batch.
-thomas davis. selections from his prose and poetry. edited by t. w. rolleston, m.a.
-wild sports of the west. by w. h. maxwell. edited by the earl of dunraven.
-legends of saints and sinners. from the irish. edited by douglas hyde, ll.d.
-humours of irish life. edited by charles l. graves, m.a. (oxon.).
-irish orators and oratory. edited by professor t. m. kettle, national university of ireland.
-the book of irish poetry. edited by alfred perceval graves, m.a.
-has in course of publication two series of novels and stories by irish writers, viz.:—
-the northern iron. by george a. birmingham.
-ballygullion. by lynn doyle.
-the glade in the forest. by stephen gwynn.
-the prisoner of his word. by louie bennett.
-cambia carty. by william buckley.
-mrs. martin’s man. by st. john g. ervine.
-the blind side of the heart. by f. e. crichton.
-countrymen all. by katharine tynan.
-the one outside. by mary fitzpatrick.
-there is a wealth of irish fiction buried in the volumes of long extinct irish periodicals and others still existing. most people will have pleasurable recollections of stories read by them in one or other of the magazines which they were accustomed to read in youth—recollections which are only occasionally confirmed on a second reading in after life. i can still recall with delight many stories of irish and even of alien characters which appeared in the shamrock, young ireland, the lamp, and other periodicals—not to speak of the numerous tales, serial and otherwise, which were a feature of the weekly editions of the ordinary irish newspapers. perhaps in some future edition of “a guide to irish fiction” it may be possible to appraise some of the more notable of these stories and their authors. meanwhile, it is worth recalling that in the old dublin and london magazine, 1825-7, there is much admirable irish fiction, chiefly by michael james whitty and denis shine lawlor. the same may be said, in a more restricted sense, of that in the dublin penny journal, the dublin journal of temperance, science, and literature, the irish penny journal, the irish penny magazine, and, above all, in the dublin university magazine, which in its forty odd years of existence added enormously to the general body of irish literature. a good word must also be said for duffy’s hibernian and fireside magazines, which carried on the work down to about the seventies. the irish monthly, most valuable of all in its services to the literature of the country, encouraged a host of clever novelists and sketch writers, though, as in the case of the dublin university magazine, much of its output has been gathered into volumes, there is still much to be gleaned. much of the work already referred to is partly accessible in the libraries, but where is one to consult the stores of fiction—often charming and mostly interesting—which appeared first (and last) in the pages of the shamrock, young ireland, the irish fireside, the lamp (especially during john f. o’donnell’s editorship), the irish emerald, and other more recent magazines? so far as i know, there are no complete sets of these in any library. but some of our best writers began their literary career by writing for these humble periodicals, and even authors who had arrived did not deem it beneath their dignity to contribute their maturer work. but it is a large question how much of this fiction is of permanent value. i have no doubt myself that a judicious collector could make many discoveries if an enterprising publisher could be found to give the results to the public. but perhaps that is not even worth discussing in these stormy days.
-d. j. o’donoghue.
-i should have liked to include in this work the fiction, at least the serial fiction, that lies buried in the back numbers of irish periodicals. i was obliged to make up my mind, regretfully enough, that this was impossible. all that i have found practicable is to insert here a general note giving the names and dates, with occasional remarks, of some of the more noteworthy of irish periodicals, omitting of course such as contain no fiction.
-of the eighteenth century literary periodicals, such as droz’s literary journal (1744-8) and walker’s hibernian magazine (1771-1811), it is unnecessary to say much, as the little fiction they contain is not of a very irish character. but in watty cox’s famous irish magazine, which began in 1807 and ran to 1815, there are excellent irish stories. to the dublin and london magazine (1825-27) m. j. whitty and denis shine lawlor, both noteworthy writers, contributed irish tales of a sympathetic and national character. whitty collected his into a volume, which is noted in the body of this work. a serial about robert emmet and another entitled “the orangeman” ran in this periodical. bolster’s quarterly (1826-31) and the dublin monthly magazine (1830), afterwards revived in 1842-3 as the citizen or dublin monthly magazine, call for no special comment though they contain a certain amount of fiction. the latter, for instance, had a story of 1641, “lord connor of innisfallen,” and, in the 1842 revival, “gerald kirby, a tale of ’98.” some of carleton’s traits and stories first saw the light in this magazine. the dublin penny journal (1832-6), first edited by philip dixon hardy, contains a large proportion of carleton’s stories, and many others signed mcc., s. w., j. h. k., e. w., &c. in fact, it is full of matter interesting from an irish point of view.
-then there was the irish penny journal, the irish penny magazine, and the irish metropolitan magazine, 1857 sqq. this last was not very irish in tone; its eyes were upon the ends of the earth, but an occasional irish story such as “life’s foreshadowings” is to be found in it.
-other ventures of duffy’s were the illustrated dublin journal (1862) and duffy’s fireside magazine.
-in the fifties came a periodical whose title seems a faint premonition of the irish revival—the celt, 1857 sq. it had a curious series of articles on ireland’s temptations, failings, and vices. there were sketches of the south of ireland by aymer clington, and c. m. o’keeffe’s “knights of the pale” ran in it as a serial.
-the sixties were, as we have seen, catered for by some of duffy’s ventures. in the middle of the seventies appeared the illustrated monitor, afterwards the monitor, published by dollard, a catholic magazine which ran for about eight volumes. vol. i. contains two serials, “the moores of moore’s court,” by d. f. hannigan, and “high treason,” which is not of irish interest. other serials that ran in subsequent volumes were “julia marron, a tale of irish peasant life,” by “celt,” and “the false witness; or, the martyr of armagh,” by a. m. s.
-in 1877 the dublin university magazine reached its 89th volume and became the university magazine, losing thereby its distinctively irish character. in the forty odd years of its existence this magazine collected a great body of first-rate irish literature.
-then there was young ireland, the irish fireside, and the lamp (especially during the editorship of john f. o’donnell). in these and others such some of the best of our irish writers began their literary careers.
-as we near our own times the number of periodicals of all kinds that have appeared and disappeared—most of them after a very brief career—becomes bewildering. but the fact that they have run their course within our own memory makes detailed reference to them the less necessary. it is not many years since the irish packet closed its career, an excellent little popular periodical that was edited by judge bodkin. the irish literary movement produced several periodicals, for the most part perhaps somewhat exotic—dana, samhain, beltaine, &c., &c. their latest successor, and to our way of thinking much the best of them—the irish review—is only just deceased. the gaelic movement, too, has produced its periodicals, but naturally most, if not all, of the fiction they contain is in the national language. the two best of these, the gaelic journal and gadelica, have most unhappily come to an end, the former after quite a considerable career, the latter after a short one.
-it would be impossible to give here even a bird’s-eye view of the fiction of the irish-american press. i may, however, mention a very fine review, the gael, of new york, which reached its twenty-third and last volume in 1904. it has contributions from all our leading present day irish writers.
-the irish rosary is in its nineteenth volume. it is one of the very few irish periodicals that has succeeded in maintaining itself as a well illustrated magazine, and it has done so at the exceptionally low price of fourpence. fiction forms a large proportion of its contents, which are never stodgy nor yet what is called goody-goody.
-then there are innumerable little periodicals which, unlike the three just mentioned, contain stories of an almost exclusively religious or moral character, such as the annals of st. antony, the messenger of the sacred heart, &c.
-the excellent ireland’s own, a popular weekly on the lines of answers and tit-bits, deserves a word of mention. its library of reprints is referred to elsewhere.
-besides these there are the weekly numbers of the daily papers already referred to and the periodicals devoted to gaelic literature, a list of which will be found in the section of this appendix, entitled gaelic epic and romantic literature.
-in america many periodicals publish irish fiction from time to time, but practically the only periodicals the contents of which are predominantly irish are of an almost exclusively political character. the catholic world has published irish serials, e.g., in the seventies, “the home rule candidate: a tale of new ireland,” by the author of “the little chapel at monamullin.” several of canon sheehan’s novels first appeared in american periodicals.
-i.—irish historical fiction.
-the following is a select list: it does not aim to include all the historical novels mentioned in the body of this work. but many novels that, as literature, are of very little value have been included in order to cover periods not otherwise dealt with in fiction.
-the invasion and after.
-the heiress of kilorgan. mrs. j. sadlier.
-the desmond wars.
-grania ni mhailie (grace o’malley).
-the war of the earls.
-ireland under james i. and charles i.
-the confederation and the parliamentary wars.
-the williamite wars.
-the eighteenth century.
-the irish brigade.
-grattan’s parliament and the union.
-ninety-eight in the north.
-the insurgent chief. james mchenry. o’hara. w. h. maxwell. the northern iron. george a. birmingham. the green cockade. mrs. m. t. pender. strong as death. mrs. charles m. clarke. the northerns of ’98. eyre evans crowe. a prisoner of his word. louie bennett. ninety-eight and sixty years after. “andrew james.” betsy gray. w. g. lyttle. the pikemen. s. r. keightley.
-ninety-eight in wexford.
-humbert in the west.
-the united irishmen.
-the nineteenth century.
-the famine and young ireland.
-home rule, &c.
-ii.—gaelic epic and romantic literature.
-i have thought it well to set apart from the mass of anglo-irish fictional literature and to put together in a list that portion of our national fiction which draws its inspiration from ancient gaelic sources. to do this with any sort of completeness, it would be necessary, of course, to deal with the whole body of fiction that has been written in the irish language. reasons have been given in the preface stating why this task was not undertaken. a further reason presented itself some two years ago, viz., the appearance of the magnificent work published in 1913 by the national library—bibliography of irish philology and of printed irish literature (price 5s.). in this scholarly work the literature of gaelic epic, saga, and romance is scientifically classified and described with the greatest bibliographical accuracy. for me to attempt that task over again would be little better than an impertinence. it might even be thought, and not unnaturally, that the present list is wholly superfluous. yet perhaps it may not be without its utility, owing to the fact that in the work just referred to descriptive notes are not provided. this list, then, is practically an excerpt from that work, with the addition of some notes that may be useful. the notes will be found in the body of the book.
-o’grady, standish hayes. silva gadelica.
-faraday, winifred, m.a. the cattle raid of cuailnge.
-meyer, kuno. the voyage of bran, son of ferbal, to the land of the living.
-⸺ liadain and cuirithir.
-⸺ the vision of macconglinne.
-gregory, lady. cuchulain of muirthemne.
-⸺ gods and fighting men.
-o’mullane, m. finn maccoole: his life and times, and other pamphlets published by the c.t.s. of ireland. see under name o’mullane.
-hull, eleanor. the cuchullin saga in irish literature.
-⸺ cuchulain the hound of ulster.
-rolleston, t. w. the high deeds of finn, and other bardic romances of ancient ireland.
-⸺ myths and legends of the celtic race.
-russell, violet. heroes of the dawn (stories of finn and the fianna).
-o’grady, standish. finn and his companions.
-⸺ the coming of cuchulainn.
-⸺ the gates of the north.
-⸺ history of ireland: heroic period.
-leahy, a. h. the courtship of ferb.
-⸺ ancient heroic romances of ireland.
-squire, charles. the boy hero of erin.
-⸺ celtic myth and legend.
-o’byrne, w. lorcan. children of kings.
-⸺ a land of heroes.
-macleod, fiona. the laughter of peterkin, etc.
-carbery, ethna. in the celtic past.
-hopper, nora; mrs. w. h. chesson. ballads in prose.
-dease, alice. old-time stories of erin.
-buxton, e. m. wilmot. old celtic tales retold.
-young, ella. the coming of lugh.
-⸺ celtic wonder tales.
-simpson, john hawkins. poems of oisin, bard of erin.
-carmichael, alexander. deirdre and the lay of the children of uisne.
-thomas, edward. celtic stories.
-chisholm, louey. celtic tales.
-furlong, alice. tales of fairy folks, queens, and heroes.
-campbell, j. f. the celtic dragon myth.
-henderson, george. the feast of bricriu.
-hyde, douglas. adventures of the lad of the ferule.
-⸺ adventures of the children of the king of norway.
-macalister, r. a. s. two irish arthurian romances.
-stokes, whitley. the destruction of dá derga’s hostel.
-bugge, a. cathreim cellachain caisil.
-thurneysen, rudolf. sagen aus dem alten irland.
-dottin, georges. contes et légendes d’irlande.
-d’arbois de jubainville. cours de littérature celtique.
-⸺ táin bo cualnge.
-dunn, joseph. the ancient irish epic, táin bo cualnge.
-many of our heroic legends and ancient sagas have been retold in english verse. though fiction in verse does not come within the scope of the present guide, yet it may be of interest to mention here a few of these poetic renderings of ancient gaelic tales. sir samuel ferguson’s congal, conary, lays of the red branch, and lays of the western gael; aubrey de vere’s foray of queen maeve; robert dwyer joyce’s blanid and deirdre; john todhunter’s three irish bardic tales; douglas hyde’s three sorrows of story-telling; herbert trench’s the quest; katharine tynan’s “diarmuid and gráinne” in her shamrocks; mrs. hutton’s stately blank verse translation of the táin; and, last year, dr. geo. sigerson’s the saga of king lir; also the red branch crests, a trilogy by charles l. moore; the death of oscar by alice sargant. hector maclean has collected in the highlands and presented in english verse ultonian hero ballads, which, as the title implies, are of irish origin. for notes and bibliographical particulars of the above see a guide to books on ireland, part i. (hodges & figgis), 1912.
-for an introduction to gaelic literature the reader may be referred to:—
-douglas hyde. story of early gaelic literature.
-miss hull. pagan ireland.
-⸺ text-book of irish literature.
-matthew arnold. introduction to the study of celtic literature.
-it may be useful to subjoin here a list of publications (periodical and other) which contain, generally along with other matter, ancient gaelic tales. i can give here only a bare list, but it will serve to give an idea of what has already been accomplished in this field.
-the gaelic society. 1808. one volume.
-the ossianic society. six big volumes concerned exclusively with the fenian cycle. 1854-1861.
-the irish archæological society and the celtic society, afterwards united as the irish archæological and celtic society. twenty-seven volumes.
-the royal historical archæological association. nine volumes.
-the irish texts society. thirteen volumes; five or six more in preparation.
-the gaelic league. oireachtas publications, &c., &c.
-the society for the preservation of the irish language.
-the celtic society. 1847-55. six volumes.
-the iberno celtic society. 1820. one volume.
-the royal irish academy. transactions. 1786-1907.
-” ” proceedings, 1836-1915, in progress.
-” ” todd lecture series, 1889-1911.
-the gaelic journal.
-eriu. organ of the school of irish learning; in progress.
-the celtic review of edinburgh. seven volumes; in progress.
-la revue celtique. collected in thirty-six volumes; in progress.
-zeitschrift fur celtische philologie. collected in eight or nine volumes; in progress.
-the celtic magazine. thirteen volumes. 1876-88.
-the gael (n.y.).
-gadelica. three or four volumes.
-guth na mbliadhna (highland gaelic and english); in progress.
-kuno meyer’s anecdota oxoniensia.
-o’curry: manuscript materials of ancient irish history.
-⸺ manners and customs of the ancient irish (appendices).
-de jubainville: l’epopée celtique en irlande.
-iii.—legends and folk-tales.
-croker, thomas crofton. fairy legends and traditions of the south of ireland.
-⸺ killarney legends.
-⸺ legends of the lakes.
-wilde, lady; “speranza.” ancient legends of ireland.
-kennedy, patrick. legendary fictions of the irish celts.
-⸺ the fireside stories of ireland.
-⸺ fictions of our forefathers.
-⸺ the bardic stories of ireland.
-⸺ legends of mount leinster.
-o’hanlon, canon john; “lageniensis.” irish folk lore: traditions and superstitions of the country, with humorous tales.
-⸺ irish local legends.
-blake-forster, charles ffrench. a collection of the oldest and most popular legends of the peasantry of clare and galway.
-joyce, robert dwyer. legends of the wars in ireland.
-⸺ fireside stories of ireland.
-bardan, patrick. the dead-watchers.
-curtin, jeremiah. myths and folk-lore of ireland.
-⸺ hero tales of ireland.
-⸺ tales of the fairies and of the ghost world.
-hyde, douglas. beside the fire. gaelic folk-stories.
-⸺ an sgéalaidhe gaedhealac.
-⸺ legends of saints and sinners.
-larminie, william. west irish folk-tales and romances.
-yeats, w. b. the celtic twilight.
-⸺ the secret rose: irish folk-lore.
-⸺ fairy and folk-tales of the irish peasantry.
-gregory, lady. a book of saints and wonders.
-deeney, daniel. peasant lore from gaelic ireland.
-dunbar, aldis. the sons o’ cormac; an’ tales of other men’s sons.
-m’anally, d. r., jr. irish wonders.
-⸺ legends and fairy tales of ireland.
-o’connor, barry. turf fire stories and fairy tales of ireland.
-lover and croker. legends and tales of ireland.
-anon.; c. j. t., ed. folk-lore and legends (ireland).
-o’neill, john. handerahan, the irish fairy man, and legends of carrick-on-suir.
-brueyre, loys. contes populaires de la grande bretagne.
-rhys, prof. john. celtic folk-lore, welsh and manx.
-wentz, walter yeeling evans. the fairy-faith in celtic countries: its psychical origin and nature.
-hunt, b. folk tales from breffni.
-andrews, elizabeth. ulster folklore.
-crawford, m. g. legends of the carlingford lough district.
-doyle, j. j. cathair conroi, &c.
-henderson, geo. survivals in belief among the celts.
-drohojowska, countess. récits du foyer.
-keegan, john. legends and poems.
-rodenberg, julius. die harfe von irland.
-seymour, st. john d. irish witchcraft and demonology.
-⸺ true irish ghost stories.
-it may be of interest to mention, as specimens, some of the chief collections of scottish gaelic folk-lore, for it is, at bottom, identical with that of gaelic ireland.
-campbell, j. f., of islay. popular tales of the west highlands.
-waifs and strays of celtic tradition. a series initiated and directed by lord archibald campbell. it comprises four volumes:—
-ferguson, r. m. the ochil fairy tales.
-mckay, j. g. the wizard’s gillie.
-mackenzie, d. a. finn and his warrior band.
-graves, alfred perceval. the irish fairy book.
-bayne, marie. fairy stories from erin’s isle.
-hannon, john. the kings and the cats: munster fairy tales.
-grierson, elizabeth. the children’s book of celtic stories.
-macmanus, seumas. donegal fairy stories.
-⸺ in chimney corners.
-leamy, edmund. the fairy minstrel of glenmalure.
-⸺ irish fairy tales.
-yeats, w. b. irish fairy tales.
-irish fairy tales. illustr. by geoffrey strahan (gibbings).
-downey, edmund; “f. m. allen.” the little green man.
-furlong, alice. tales of fairy folks, queens, and heroes.
-o’neill, moira. the elf errant.
-irwin, madge. the diamond mountain; or, flowers of fairyland.
-preston, dorothea. paddy.
-thomson, c. l. the celtic wonder world.
-jacob, joseph. celtic fairy tales.
-⸺ more celtic fairy tales.
-banim, michael. father connell.
-banim, john. the nowlans.
-neville, e. o’reilly. father tom of connemara.
-carleton, william. the poor scholar, and other tales.
-⸺ denis o’shaughnessy going to maynooth. (in traits and stories).
-⸺ father butler.
-mccarthy, m. j. f. gallowglass.
-moore, george. the lake.
-mcnulty, edward. misther o’ryan.
-hinkson, h. a. father alphonsus.
-buchanan, robert. father anthony.
-fremdling, a. father clancy.
-⸺ luke delmege.
-⸺ the spoiled priest, and other stories.
-⸺ the blindness of dr. gray; or, the final law.
-most of canon sheehan’s books deal directly or indirectly with the priestly life.
-⸺ the soggarth aroon.
-⸺ the island parish.
-and, in fact, practically all his books.
-thurston, e. temple. the apple of eden.
-o’donovan, gerald. waiting.
-⸺ father ralph.
-anon. the protestant rector.
-⸺ the roman catholic priest.
-⸺ the irish priest.
-⸺ father john; or, cromwell in ireland.
-⸺ priests and people.
-fuller, j. franklin. culmshire folk (“father o’flynn”).
-jay, harriett. the dark colleen.
-⸺ the priest’s blessing.
-archdeacon, matthew. shawn na soggarth.
-stacpoole, h. de vere. father o’flynn.
-it would be easy to extend this list, as many novelists introduce irish priests, at least incidentally.
-the word “humour” is used here in a wide sense to cover wit and comicality or broad comedy, as well as humour in the strict sense of the word. the present list is not a selection of the best samples of irish humour. it merely brings together a number of books which are entirely or mainly of a humorous character. humour of a greatly superior order is often to be found here and there in books of a predominantly serious purpose—in my new curate, for instance, or in knocknagow.
-o’donoghue, d. j. the humour of ireland.
-macdonagh, michael. irish life and character.
-harvey, w. irish life and humour.
-kennedy, patrick. the book of modern irish anecdotes.
-lever, charles. a day’s ride.
-⸺ the dodd family abroad.
-the rollicking novels of lever’s earlier manner might all be included here.
-lover, samuel. handy andy.
-⸺ further stories of ireland.
-macmanus, seumas. the leadin’ road to donegal.
-⸺ the humours of donegal.
-⸺ ’twas in dhroll donegal.
-⸺ doctor kilgannon.
-downey, edmund. through green glasses.
-⸺ green as grass.
-⸺ from the green bag.
-bodkin, m. m’d. pat o’ nine tales.
-⸺ poteen punch.
-⸺ patsy the omadhaun.
-“heblon.” studies in blue.
-archer, patrick. the humours of shanwalla.
-doyle, lynn. ballygullion.
-mcilroy, archibald. the humour of druid’s island.
-moran, j. j. irish stew.
-⸺ irish drolleries.
-birmingham, g. a. spanish gold.
-⸺ the major’s niece.
-crane, stephen, and barr, robert. the o’ruddy.
-o’donovan, michael. mr. muldoon.
-wright, r. h. the surprising adventures of my friend patrick dempsey.
-gill, m. h. & co., publ. irish pleasantry and fun.
-lyttle, w. g.; “robin.” robin’s readings.
-maginn, wm. miscellanies.
-⸺ fits and starts.
-harkin, hugh. the quarterclift.
-blenkinsop, a. paddiana.
-rogers, r. d. the adventures of st. kevin.
-roche, hon. alexis. journeyings with jerry the jarvey.
-langridge, rosamund. imperial richenda.
-jebb, horsley. sport on irish bogs.
-⸺ the irish bubble and squeak.
-there are some humorous stories in lefanu’s “purcell papers” that make us regret that he did not give us more in the same vein. carleton’s “stories” are a miscellany containing episodes of the wildest fun amid much that is gloomy, and scenes of pleasant and kindly humour interspersed with traits of savagery and of fanaticism.
-this is, in the main, an index of titles. some selected subjects have also been indexed, viz., the more important of those occurring in the notes. subjects dealt with in the classified lists (appendix d) have not been indexed here.
-abbey of innismoyle, the; 40.
-absentee, the; 81.
-across an irish bog, 107.
-adventurer, the; 1.
-adventurers, the; 1.
-adventures of a bashful irishman, 69.
-adventures of an irish gentleman, 180.
-adventures of alicia, the; 248.
-adventures of capt. blake, the; 175.
-adventures of capt. o’sullivan, the; 176.
-adventures of count o’connor, the; 239.
-adventures of felix and rosarito, the; 1.
-adventures of hector o’halloran, the; 176.
-adventures of mr. moses finegan, 1.
-adventures of st. kevin, and other irish tales, the; 220.
-adventures of the children of the king of norway, 118.
-against the pikes, 239.
-agitator von irland, der; 226.
-agnes arnold, 154.
-agrarian agitation, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 18, 20, 24, 26, 27, 33, 36, 37, 48, 49, 59, 67, 102, 123, 129, 136, 140, 148, 152, 154, 156, 169, 178, 194, 195, 210, 211, 212, 215, 220, 221, 227, 242, 243, 244, 245.
-aileen alannah, 96.
-aileen aroon, 215.
-ailey moore, 195.
-albion and ierne, 1.
-aliens of the west, 79.
-all for prince charlie, 237.
-all on the irish shore, 233.
-amazing conspiracy, an; 110.
-ambush of young days, 135.
-america, irish in; 10, 11, 13, 40, 41, 43, 51, 55, 64, 73, 77, 79, 82, 110, 114, 144, 171, 189, 191, 196.
-amusing irish tales, 46.
-anchor watch yarns, 75.
-ancient heroic romances of ireland, 137.
-ancient irish epic tale, the táin, an; 78.
-ancient legends of ireland, 254.
-andré besnard, 256.
-anglo-irish of the nineteenth century, the; 19.
-anna reilly, the irish girl; 1.
-anne cosgrave, 46.
-another creel of irish stories, 24.
-antrim, 6, 19, 27, 60, 63, 65, 68, 86, 87, 101, 115, 119, 150, 160, 161, 173, 184, 188, 189, 207, 210, 215, 236, 256.
-apple of eden, the; 241.
-armagh, 94, 127, 205.
-arran islands, 20, 70, 136, 146, 233.
-arrival of antony, the; 56.
-arthurian romances, two irish; 153.
-art maguire, 48.
-arthur o’leary, 142.
-art macmurrough o’kavanagh, 198.
-at the back of the world, 177.
-at the door of the gate, 216.
-at the rising of the moon, 173.
-attila and his conquerors, 52.
-auld meetin’ hoose green, the; 160.
-aunt jane and uncle james, 56.
-australia, 5, 28, 43, 88, 112, 116, 129.
-autobiography of a child, 151.
-awkward squads, the; 38.
-bad times, the; 27.
-baldearg o’donnell, 45.
-ballads in prose, 116.
-ballybeg junction, 76.
-banker’s love story, a; 161.
-banks of the boro, the; 128.
-banshee’s warning and other tales, the; 218.
-barbaric tales, 163.
-bardic stories of ireland, the; 128.
-barney mahoney, 62.
-barney the boyo, 88.
-barry lyndon, memoirs of; 240.
-barrys, the; 39.
-barrys of beigh, the; 103.
-battle of connemara, the; 206.
-beckoning of the wand, the; 69.
-before the dawn in erin, 72.
-beggar on horseback, a; 126.
-belfast, 33, 27, 74, 84, 102, 108, 119, 161, 195, 216, 218, 251.
-belfast boy, the; 33.
-bell barry, 132.
-bend of the road, the; 166.
-benedict kavanagh, 27.
-berna boyle, 218.
-beside the fire, 118.
-bessy conway, 224.
-betsy gray, 153.
-bewitched fiddle and other irish tales, the; 166.
-beyond the boundary, 107.
-beyond the pale, 61.
-bird of passage, a; 61.
-bit o’ writing, the; 21.
-bits of blarney, 162.
-black abbey, 63.
-black baronet, the; 49.
-black monday insurrection, 1.
-black prophet, the; 48.
-black wing, the; 148.
-blakes and flanagans, the; 224.
-blind larry, 168.
-blind maureen and other stories, 126.
-blindness of dr. gray, the; 230.
-blind side of the heart, the; 60.
-bob norberry, 2.
-boffin’s find, 243.
-bog of stars, the; 202.
-bonnie dunraven, 213.
-book of ballynoggin, the; 15.
-book of gilly, the; 137.
-book of modern irish anecdotes, the; 128.
-book of saints and wonders, a; 99.
-boycotted household, a; 156.
-boyne water, the; 19.
-boy hero of erin, the; 234.
-boy in eirinn, a; 54.
-boy in the country, a; 236.
-boy, some horses, and a girl, the; 56.
-boys of baltimore, the; 235.
-bracknells, the; 216.
-bramleighs of bishop’s folly, the; 146.
-branan the pict, 209.
-brandons, the; 71.
-bridal of dunamore, the; 219.
-brides of ardmore, the; 232.
-bridget considine, 64.
-bridget sullivan, 2.
-brigade, irish; 15, 31, 50, 81, 105, 112, 122, 126, 138, 149, 163, 165, 204, 215, 253, 257.
-briseur de fers, le; 72.
-britain long ago, 255.
-broken sword of ulster, the; 66.
-“bruce reynall, m.a.”; 59.
-bryan o’regan, 201.
-bunch of shamrocks, a; 30.
-bundle of rushes, a; 42.
-buried lady, the; 204.
-burnt flax, 211.
-burtons of dunroe, the; 35.
-by a hearth in eirinn, 205.
-by beach and bogland, 23.
-by lone craig linnie burn, 161.
-byrnes of glengoulah, the; 2.
-by shamrock and heather, 75.
-by the barrow river and other stories, 138.
-by the brown bog, 2.
-by the stream of kilmeen, 206.
-by thrasna river, 38.
-cabin conversations and castle scenes, 40.
-calling of the weir, the; 134.
-cambia carty and other stories, 38.
-cameron and ferguson’s publications. append. b., 265.
-candle and crib, 213.
-captain harry, 140.
-captain lanagan’s log, 76.
-captain latymer, 181.
-captain o’shaughnessy’s sporting career, 201.
-“capture of killeshin, the”; 86.
-card drawing, 100.
-carroll o’donoghue, 85.
-carrow of carrowduff, 129.
-castle chapel, the; 220.
-castle daly, 125.
-castle omeragh, 181.
-castle rackrent, 81.
-castle richmond, 244.
-cathair conroi, 77.
-catholic truth societies. append. b.
-cathreim cellachain caisil, 38.
-cattle raid of cualnge, the; 85.
-cavan, 38, 39, 118.
-cavern in the wicklow mountains, the; 3.
-celt and saxon, 178.
-celtic dragon myth, the; 44.
-celtic fairy tales, 120.
-celtic fireside, a; 90.
-celtic folk-lore, welsh and manx, 217.
-celtic stories, 240.
-celtic tales, 52.
-celtic myth and legend poetry and romance, 234.
-celtic twilight, the; 258.
-celtic wonder tales, 259.
-celtic wonder world, the; 240.
-chain of gold, the; 203.
-chances of war, the; 87.
-changeling, the; 20.
-chapters of college romance, 42.
-characteristic sketches of ireland and the irish, 3.
-charles mowbray, 3.
-charles o’malley, 141.
-charming of estercel, the; 217.
-charwoman’s daughter, the; 235.
-children of kings, 199.
-children of nugentstown, the; 243.
-children of sorrow, 43.
-children of the abbey, the; 219.
-children of the dead end, 159.
-children of the gael, 70.
-children of the hills, 197.
-children’s book of celtic stories, the; 99.
-christian physiologist, the; 100.
-christy carew, 109.
-chronicles of castle cloyne, 35.
-clare, 21, 74, 99, 101, 124, 129, 136, 181, 196, 206.
-clare nugent, 186.
-clongowes wood college, 53, 123, 127, 172.
-cluster of nuts, a; 246.
-cluster of shamrocks, a; 41.
-clutch of circumstances, the; 227.
-cock and anchor, the; 139.
-collection of the oldest and most popular legends of the peasantry of clare and galway, a; 31.
-collegians, the; 100.
-colonel ormsby, 3.
-columbanus the celt, 138.
-coming of cuchulainn, 203.
-coming of lugh, the; 259.
-coming of the king, the; 53.
-conan the wonderworker, 70.
-con cregan, 144.
-confederate chieftains, the; 224.
-confessions of a whitefoot, 67.
-confessions of con cregan, 144.
-confessions of harry lorrequer, 141.
-confessions of honor delany, 35.
-confessors of connaught, 177.
-conformists, the; 19.
-connal ou les milesiens, 174.
-connaught, a tale of 1798; 17.
-connemara, 5, 20, 26, 57, 70, 71, 92, 125, 136, 143, 193, 200, 218, 233, 247.
-connor d’arcy’s struggles, 26.
-con o’regan, 225.
-conquered at last, 205.
-considine luck, the; 114.
-contes et légendes d’irlande, 74.
-contes irlandais traduits du gaëlique, 73.
-contes populaires de la grande bretagne, 37.
-conversion of con cregan, the; 56.
-convict no. 25, 192.
-corby macgillmore, 86.
-cork, 1, 2, 5, 6, 11, 13, 16, 20, 25, 26, 29, 31, 32, 38, 56, 71, 92, 93, 100, 104, 113, 118, 124, 135, 141, 155, 177, 180, 191, 196, 198, 203, 113, 229, 232, 233, 243, 244, 249, 256, 257.
-corner in ballybeg, a; 193.
-corrageen in ’98, 208.
-cottage life in ireland, 206.
-countrymen all, 250.
-country quarters, 32.
-court of rath croghan, the; 198.
-courtship of ferb, the; 137.
-cousin isabel, 16.
-cousins and others, 249.
-cousin sara, 190.
-crackling of thorns, the; 55.
-craignish tales, 158.
-creel of irish stories, a; 24.
-crescent moon, the; 72.
-crimson sign, the; 125.
-crock of gold, the; 235.
-crohoore of the billhook, 20.
-croppies lie down, 37.
-croppy, the; 20.
-cross and shamrock, the; 214.
-cubs, the; 39.
-cuchulain of muirthemne (gregory), 99.
-cuchulain of muirthemne (skelly), 231.
-cuchullin saga in irish literature, 117.
-cuchulain, the hound of ulster, 117.
-culmshire folk, 93.
-curate of kilcloon, the; 102.
-cynthia’s bonnet shop, 190.
-daffodil’s love affairs, 129.
-daft eddie, 153.
-d’altons of crag, the; 196.
-daltons, the; 144.
-dalys of dalystown, the; 195.
-dame noire de doona, la; 175.
-dan russell, the fox, 234.
-dan the dollar, 40.
-darby o’gill and the good people, 239.
-dark colleen, the; 121.
-dark lady of doona, the; 175.
-dark monk of feola, the; 111.
-dark rosaleen, 92.
-daughter of erin, a; 88.
-daughter of kings, a; 248.
-daughter of the fields, a; 247.
-daughter of tyrconnell, the; 225.
-davenport dunn, 145.
-david maxwell, 64.
-days of fire, the; 62.
-day’s ride, a; 145.
-dead-watchers, the; 22.
-dearforgil, the princess of breffny, 96.
-dear irish girl, the; 246.
-death flag, the; 66.
-deirdre and the lay of the children of uisne, 51.
-demi-gods, the; 236.
-denis o’shaughnessy going to maynooth, 48.
-denis trench, 211.
-denounced, the; 19.
-dernier irlandais, le; 26.
-derry, 39, 45, 82, 83, 87, 92, 101, 108, 128, 125, 143, 158, 212, 238.
-desborough’s wife, 177.
-desmond o’connor, 122.
-desmond rourke, 110.
-destruction of dá derga’s hostel, the; 237.
-diamond lens and other stories, the; 195.
-diamond mountain, the; 119.
-dick massey, 223.
-dimpling’s success, 187.
-doctor kilgannon, 167.
-doctor whitty, 29.
-dodd family abroad, the; 145.
-doings and dealings, 24.
-dominick’s trials, 194.
-dominion of dreams, the; 163.
-donalds, the; 171.
-donal dun o’byrne, 115.
-donal kenny, 182.
-donegal, 17, 30, 34, 36, 45, 51, 66, 74, 85, 90, 98, 103, 110, 133, 146, 159, 165, 166, 167, 172, 184, 187, 193, 213, 216, 248.
-donegal fairy stories, 166.
-dooley books, 79.
-down, 25, 60, 63, 86, 90, 108, 115, 119, 126, 152, 153, 181, 201, 215, 218.
-downey & co. appendix, 265.
-downfall of grabbum, the; 209.
-down west, and other sketches of irish life, 70.
-doyen de kellerine, le; 213.
-drama in muslin, a; 182.
-dramatic scenes from real life, 185.
-dr. belton’s daughters, 106.
-drink (see temperance), 8, 11, 21, 48, 181.
-druidean the mystic and other irish stories, 194.
-druidess, the; 95.
-dublin, 1, 9, 10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 24, 34, 42, 51, 54, 61, 69, 75, 85, 89, 95, 106, 109, 116, 118, 123, 124, 126, 139, 144, 146, 156, 171, 173, 190, 191, 193, 194, 197, 201, 208, 219, 222, 235, 242, 246, 248, 250.
-dublin statues “at home,” the; 150.
-dublin university, see trinity college.
-duchess, the; 17.
-duffy and sons. appendix, 266.
-duke of monmouth, the; 101.
-dunferry risin’, the; 183.
-dunmara (mulholland), 188.
-dust of the world, 108.
-earl of effingham, the; 158.
-earl or chieftain, 72.
-early gaelic erin, 3.
-edmond of lateragh, 3.
-edmund o’hara, 4.
-edward o’donnell, 222.
-eight o’clock and other stories, 84.
-eily o’hartigan, 221.
-eldergowan and other tales, 188.
-election, the; 36.
-elf errant, the; 207.
-elizabeth, betsy, and bess, 227.
-ellmer castle, 4.
-england, irish in; 12, 30, 33, 34, 57, 80, 92, 107, 114, 115, 116, 119, 122, 134, 171, 177, 186, 206, 227.
-emerald gems, 4.
-emergency men, the; 122 (jessop).
-emigrants of ahadarra, the; 48.
-enchanted portal, the; 150.
-enlèvement du taureau divin, 125.
-escapades of condy corrigan, the; 110.
-essence of life, the; 14.
-esther vanhomrigh, 255.
-eva, or buried city of bannow, 107.
-eva. daunt (alice o’neill), 68.
-eva. maturin (c.r.), 174.
-eveline wellwood, 210.
-evelyn clare, 24.
-evenings in the duffrey, 128.
-eve’s paradise, 35.
-evil eye, the; 49.
-exiled from erin. doyle (m.), 77.
-exile of erin, the; 68.
-faery land forlorn, a; 211.
-fair emigrant, a; 189.
-fairies and folk of ireland, 93.
-fair irish maid, the; 156.
-fair maid of connaught, 116.
-fair noreen, 191.
-fair saxon, a; 155.
-fairy and folk tales of the irish peasantry, 258.
-fairy-faith in celtic countries, the; 252.
-fairy legends and traditions of the south of ireland, 62.
-fairy minstrel of glenmalure, the; 138.
-fairy stories from erin’s isle, 25.
-faithful ever and other tales, 72.
-falcon family, the; 226.
-falcon king, the; 199.
-family of glencarra, the; 182.
-fancy o’brien, 164.
-fan fitzgerald, 114.
-fardorougha the miser, 47.
-farewell to garrymore, 223.
-fate of father sheehy, the; 224.
-father alphonsus, 113.
-father anthony, 37.
-father butler, 4, 46.
-father clancy, 93.
-father connell, 21.
-father john, 4.
-father o’flynn, 235.
-father ralph, 200.
-father tim, 191.
-father tom of connemara, 193.
-favourite child, the; 4.
-fawn of springvale, etc., 47.
-feast of bricriu, the; 111.
-felix o’flanagan, an irish-american, 209.
-fenian nights’ entertainments, 154.
-fenians, 11, 13, 27, 50, 51, 59, 89, 92, 106, 109, 115, 119, 132, 146, 150, 154, 155, 162, 170, 183, 189, 194, 196, 206, 215, 230, 231.
-fermanagh, 13, 38, 40, 164, 169, 212.
-fetches, the; 18.
-fians, the; 44, 94.
-fictions of our forefathers, 127.
-fight of faith, the; 105.
-finn and his companions, 202.
-finn and his warrior band, 162.
-finn maccoole, 207.
-fireside stories of ireland, the; 128.
-fits and starts, 89.
-fitzgerald family, the; 169.
-fitzgerald, the fenian; 170.
-flame and flood, the; 134.
-flight from the cliffs, the; 192.
-flight of the eagle, 203.
-flitters, tatters and the counsellor, 109.
-florence macarthy, 184.
-florence o’neill, 237.
-flynns of flynnville, the; 106.
-fly on the wheel, the; 242.
-folk-lore and legends. append. d. iii.
-folk of furry farm, the; 214.
-folk tales, see folk-lore.
-folk and hero tales (macdougall), 94, 158.
-folk and hero tales (macinnes), 161.
-folk tales of breffny, 118.
-following darkness, 216.
-for charles the rover, 257.
-for church and chieftain, 257.
-ford family in ireland, 4.
-forge of clohogue, the; 192.
-for the old land, 131.
-for charles the rover, 257.
-for three kingdoms, 64.
-fortunes of col. torlogh o’brien, the; 139.
-fortunes of glencore, the; 145.
-fortunes of maurice cronin, the; 130.
-fortunes of maurice o’donnell, the; 192.
-fortunes of the farrells, the; 251.
-fortune-teller’s intrigue, the; 212.
-foster brothers of doon, the; 252.
-foster sisters, the; 148.
-founding of fortunes, the; 23.
-foundling mick, 251.
-four feathers, the; 172.
-frank blake, 195.
-frank maxwell, 140.
-frank o’donnell, 57 (conyngham).
-frank o’meara, 5.
-frieze and fustian, 91.
-friends though divided, 112.
-from the east unto the west, 23.
-from the green bag, 76.
-from the land of the shamrock, 23.
-fugitive, the; see wild scenes among the celts.
-fun o’ the forge, 205.
-further experiences of an irish r.m., 233.
-further stories of ireland, 149.
-gaels of moondharrig, the; 72.
-galloping o’hogan, 19.
-galway, 20, 24, 31, 51, 69, 90, 112, 125, 141, 146, 151, 158, 159, 160, 190, 196, 226, 227, 231, 232, 244, 245.
-gambler, the; 242.
-game hen, the; 109.
-gap of barnesmore, the; 42.
-garden of resurrection, the; 241.
-gates of the north, the; 203.
-general john regan, 29.
-gentle blood, 201.
-gentleman in debt, the; 69.
-gentleman’s wife, a; 138.
-geoffrey, austin, student, 228.
-gerald and augusta, 5.
-gerald fitzgerald. (kemble), 127.
-gerald fitzgerald. (lever), 147.
-gerald ffrench’s friends, 122.
-geraldine, a; 132.
-gerald marsdale, 46.
-geraldine of desmond, 65.
-ghost stories, irish; 14, 16, 153, 166, 227.
-ghost hunter and his family, the; 21.
-giannetta: girl’s story of herself, a; 190.
-girl of galway, a; 247.
-girl’s ideal, a; 190.
-girls of banshee castle, the; 190.
-glade in the forest, the; 103.
-glen of silver birches, the; 30.
-glimpses of english history, 76.
-glimpses of glen-na-mona, 205.
-gods and fighting men, 99.
-golden bow, the; 63.
-golden guard, the; 63.
-golden hills, 252.
-golden lad, the; 171.
-golden lads and girls, 112.
-golden morn, 114.
-golden spears and other fairy tales, 138.
-good men of erin, 70.
-grace o’donnell, 154.
-grace o’halloran, 236.
-grace o’malley, princess and pirate, 160.
-grace wardwood, 108.
-grania waile, 211.
-graves at kilmorna, the; 230.
-green as grass, 76.
-green cockade, the; 210.
-green country, the; 179.
-green tree, a; 157.
-grey life, a; 219.
-guide to british historical fiction, a; 263.
-hamper of humour, a; 5.
-handrahan, the irish fairy man, 94, 207.
-handful of days, a; 68.
-handsome brandons, the; 249.
-handsome quaker, the; 247.
-handy andy, 149.
-harfe von erin, die; 220.
-harry lorrequer, 141, 144.
-harry o’brien, 5.
-hate flame, the; 24.
-haunted church, the; 191.
-hazel grafton, 60.
-heart of the peasant and other stories, the; 195.
-heart of erin, the; 31.
-heart of a monk, the; 14.
-heart o’ gold, 249.
-heart o’ the peat, the; 176.
-hearts of steel, the; 160.
-heart of tipperary, the; 223.
-heiress of carrigmona, the; 75.
-heiress of kilorgan, the; 225.
-heir and no heir, 45.
-heir of liscarragh, the; 213.
-here are ladies, 236.
-her ladyship, 248.
-her majesty’s rebels, 152.
-hermite en irland, l’; 5.
-hermit of the rock, the; 225.
-heroes of the dawn, 223.
-hero tales. append. d. ii.
-hero tales of ireland, 66.
-hester’s history, 188.
-hibernian nights’ entertainments, 86.
-high deeds of finn and other bardic romances of ancient ireland, the; 221.
-history in fiction, 87.
-history of ireland, heroic period, 202.
-history of jack connor, the; 52.
-history of ned evans, the; 253.
-homespun yarns, 89.
-honor o’hara, 212.
-hon. miss ferrard, the; 109.
-honor o’more’s three homes, 5.
-honourable molly, the; 248.
-honour of the desboroughs, the. appendix b.
-house by the churchyard, the; 139.
-house in the rath, the; 192.
-house of a thousand welcomes, the. see didy, 147.
-house of lisronan, the; 15.
-house of the crickets, the; 249.
-house of the foxes, the; 250.
-house of the secret, the; 249.
-hugh bryan, 5.
-hugh roach the ribbonman, 192.
-hugh talbot, 69.
-humour, irish. append. d. vi.
-humour of druids island, the; 161.
-humours of donegal, the; 166.
-humours of shanwalla, the; 17.
-hunger, the; 179.
-husband and lover, 218.
-husband hunter, the; 97.
-ierne o’neal, 45.
-island of sorrow, the; 97.
-island parish, the; 102.
-illustrious o’hagan, the; 155.
-ill-won peerages, 198.
-imperial richenda, 135.
-in a glass darkly, 139.
-in chimney corners, 166.
-in a roundabout way, 187.
-in cupid’s wars, 96.
-in mr. knox’s country, 234.
-innisfoyle abbey, 97.
-in one town, 75.
-in re garland, 208.
-in sarsfield’s days, 165.
-inside passenger, the; 193.
-in the celtic past, 46.
-in the days of goldsmith, 33.
-in the devil’s alley, 214.
-in the irish brigade, 112.
-in the kingdom of kerry, 61.
-in the king’s service, 35.
-in the valleys of south down, 108.
-in the wake of king james, 203.
-inside passenger, the; 193.
-insurgent chief, the; 160.
-invasion, the; 100.
-invasion of cromleigh, the; 100.
-inviolable sanctuary, the; 28.
-ireland: its humour and pathos, 37.
-ireland, a tale, 172.
-ireland; or, the montague family, 84.
-ireland’s dream, 152.
-ireland’s own library, 68, 88, 105, 148, 195, 213.
-irish bar sinister, the; 170.
-irish bubble and squeak, 6.
-irish coast tales, 253.
-irish chieftain, the; 174.
-irish chieftain and his family, the; 178.
-irish chieftains, the; 31.
-irish coquette, the; 6.
-irish cousin, an; 232.
-irish decade, an; 194.
-irish diamonds. (smith, john), 232.
-irish diamonds. (bowles, emily), 33.
-irish dove, the; 211.
-irish drolleries, 183.
-irish excursion, the; 6.
-irish fairy book, the; 98.
-irish fairy tales. (yeats), 258.
-irish fairy and folk tales, 258.
-irish fairy tales. (strahan), 6.
-irish fairy tales. (leamy), 138.
-irish fireside stories, tales and legends, 6.
-irish fireside tales, 124.
-irish folk-lore, 204.
-irish girl, the; 6.
-irish guardian, the; 6.
-irish heirs, 149.
-irish heiress, the; 210.
-irish holidays, 243.
-irish idylls, 22.
-irish life and character, 157.
-irish life in irish fiction, 87.
-irish life in court and castle, 42.
-irish life and humour, 110.
-irish local legends, 204.
-irish lover, an; 43.
-irish love tales, 6.
-irishman at home, the; 7.
-irishman, the; 7.
-irishman’s luck, an; 97.
-irishmen and irish women, 36.
-irishmen, the; 7.
-irish militia officer, the; 201.
-irish national tales and romances, 264.
-irish neighbours, 23.
-irish orphan boy in a scottish home, the; 21.
-irish parish, its sunshine and shadows, an; 57.
-irish pastorals, 39.
-irish pearl, the; 7.
-irish police officer, the; 67.
-irish pleasantry and fun, 7.
-irish priest, the; 7.
-irish priests and english landlords, 35.
-irish rebels, 154.
-irish scripture reader, the; 54.
-irish stew, 183.
-irish town and country tales, 71.
-irish utopia, an; 80.
-irish ways, 23.
-irish widow, the; 8.
-irish widow’s son, the; 206.
-irish witchcraft and demonology, 227.
-irish wonders, 153.
-island of sorrow, the; 97.
-island parish, the; 102.
-isle in the water, an; 246.
-ismay’s children, 109.
-jabez murdock, 90.
-jack hazlitt, 195.
-jack hinton, 141.
-jane sinclair, 49.
-jennie gerhart, 78.
-jessamy bride, the; 181.
-jeune irlandais, le; 174.
-jim eagan, 8.
-job, the; 164.
-john doe, 18.
-john marmaduke, 52.
-john maxwell’s marriage, 103.
-john needham’s double, 109.
-john thaddeus mackay, 254.
-johnny derrivan’s travels, 36.
-john orlebar, clk.; 93.
-john sherman, and dhoya, 258.
-john townley, 243.
-joint venture, the; 90.
-journeyings with jerry the jarvey, 219.
-jubainville, d’arbois de, 44, 68.
-just stories, 208.
-kate geary, 172.
-kate kavanagh, 8.
-kathleen clare, 156.
-kathleen mavourneen. (mulholland), 187.
-kathleen mavourneen. (m’donnell, randal william), 158.
-katty the flash, 94.
-keena karmody, 130.
-kellys and the o’kellys, the; 244.
-kerrigan’s quality, 22.
-kerry, 8, 61, 85, 94, 97, 101, 106, 129, 148, 156, 177, 211, 229, 248, 250.
-kilboylan bank, 151.
-kilkenny, 18-21, 72, 83, 96, 140, 162.
-killarney, 3, 8, 36, 54, 78, 84, 100, 124, 178, 212.
-killarney legends, 62.
-killarney poor scholar, the; 237.
-kiltartan wonder-book, the; 99.
-king of claddagh, the; 90.
-kings and the cats, the; 107.
-kings and vikings, 199.
-king and viking, 232.
-king’s coming, the; 256.
-king’s co., 156.
-king’s deputy, the; 113.
-king’s kiss, the; 129.
-king’s revoke, the; 256.
-king’s signet, the; 212.
-king’s woman, a; 247.
-kinsmen’s clay, 64.
-kish of brogues, a; 34.
-kitty o’donovan, 177.
-knight of gwynne, the; 143.
-knight of the cave, the; 199.
-knights of the pale, the; 205.
-knights of the white rose, the; 101.
-knockinscreen days, 53.
-lad of the ferule, the; 118.
-lad of the o’friels, a; 167.
-lady of mystery, the; 70.
-lady of the reef, the; 181.
-lake, the; 182.
-lake of killarney, the; 212.
-lalage’s lovers, 28.
-lally of the brigade, 165.
-land i love best, the; 242 (tynan).
-land league, 10, 27, 31, 59, 110, 112, 135, 136, 139, 170, 182, 183, 189, 210, 211, 215, 220, 222, 223, 227, 242.
-land leaguers, the; 245.
-land of bondage, the; 41.
-land of heroes, a; 199.
-land of mist and mountain, a; 246.
-land-smeller, the; 76.
-lanty riordan’s red light, 59.
-last drop of ’68, the; 8.
-last earl of desmond, the; 96.
-last forward, the; 161.
-last hurdle, the; 116.
-last king of ulster, the; 96.
-last monarch of tara, the; 221.
-last of the catholic o’malleys, the; 239.
-last of the corbes, 256.
-last of the irish chiefs, 210.
-last of the o’mahonys, the; 8.
-last recruit of clare’s, the; 126.
-last struggles of the irish sea smugglers, the; 44.
-laughter of peterkin, the; 163.
-lays and legends of ireland, 193.
-leading lights all, 51.
-leadin’ road to donegal, the; 165.
-league of the ring, the; 195.
-le briseur de fers, 72.
-left-handed swordsman, a; 194.
-legendary fictions of the irish celts, 128.
-legendary stories of the carlingford lough district, 60.
-légendes irlandaises, 78.
-legend of m’donnell and the norman de borgos, the; 169.
-legends and poems, 125.
-legends and stories of ireland, 149.
-legends and fairy tales of ireland, 8.
-legends and tales of ireland, 150.
-legends of connaught, 16.
-legends of mount leinster, 127.
-legends of saints and sinners, 119.
-legends of the lakes, 62.
-legends of the wars in ireland, 124.
-legends, tales and stories of ireland, 108.
-leitrim, 118, 244.
-leigh of lara, 157.
-leixlip castle, 198.
-let erin remember, 257.
-liadain and cuirithir, 180.
-life and acts of the renowned and chivalrous edmund of erin, the; 210.
-life in the irish militia, 8.
-life’s hazard, a; 85.
-light and shade, 194.
-lights and shadows of irish life, 104.
-lily lass, 155.
-limerick, 1, 2, 13, 19, 31, 51, 57, 87, 100, 101, 112, 126, 134, 139, 158, 165, 193, 198, 210, 215, 251.
-limerick veteran, 237.
-linda’s misfortunes and little brian’s trip to dublin, 187.
-lion’s whelp, the; 119.
-little black devil, the; 82.
-little bogtrotters, the; 187.
-little green man, the; 76.
-little irish girl, a; 43 (callwell).
-little irish girl, 118 (hungerford).
-little merry face and his crown of content, 186.
-little ones of innisfail, the; 54.
-little snowdrop and other stories, 187.
-lloyd pennant, 193.
-lloyds of ballymore, the; 220.
-london, irish in; 5, 19, 29, 30, 39, 42, 75, 81, 82, 89, 98, 107, 129, 134, 148, 154, 156, 172, 175, 176, 187, 191, 218, 229, 242, 245.
-lord clandonnell, 52.
-lord clangore, see the anglo-irish, 5.
-lord edward fitzgerald, 32.
-lord kilgobbin, 146.
-lord roche’s daughters of fermoy, 198.
-lost angel of a ruined paradise, 229.
-lost land, the; 64.
-lost on dhu corrig, 203.
-louth, 34, 65.
-love is life, 129.
-love of comrades, 173.
-love of sisters, 248.
-love that kills, the; 255.
-love, the atonement, 43.
-love, the player, 226.
-if only the wind rose the fog would move and all might yet be well. his clothes were torn, his hands bleeding, his hat gone. he crawled into a sitting position, shook his fist in the air, and cried:
-"you old devil, you're there, are you! it's your game all this. you're seeing whether you can finish me. but i'll be even with you yet." and it did indeed seem to him that he could see through the mist that red head sticking out like a furze bush on fire. the hair, the damp pale face, the melancholy eyes, and then the voice:
-"it's only a theory, of course, mr. harkness. my father, who was a most remarkable man. . . ."
-the thought of crispin enraged him, and the rage drove him on to his feet. he was standing up and moving forward quite briskly. he moved like a blind man, his hands before him as though he were expecting at every moment to strike some hard, sharp substance, but whereas before the fog had seemed to envelope him, strangling him, penetrating into his very heart and vitals, now it retreated from before him like a moving wall. the incline was now less sharp, and now less sharp again. little pebbles rolled from beneath his feet, and he could hear them fall over down into distant space, but he had no longer any fear. he was on level ground. he knew that the down was spreading about him. he called out, "hesther! hesther!" not realising that this was the first time he had spoken her name. he called it again, "hesther! hesther!" and again and again, always moving as he fancied forward.
-then, as though it had been hurled at him out of some gigantic distance, the rugged wall of the cottage pierced the sky. he saw it, then herself patiently seated beneath it. in another moment he was kneeling beside her, both her hands in his, his voice murmuring unintelligible words.
-she was so happy to see him. his face was close to hers and for the first time he could really see her, her large, grave, questioning eyes, her child's face, half developed, nothing very beautiful in her features, but to him something inexpressibly lovely for which all his life he had been waiting.
-she was damp with the fog, and the first thing he did was to take off his coat and try to put it around her. but she stood up resisting him.
-"oh no, i'm not cold. i'm not really. and do you think i'll let you? why, you! what have you done? your hands are all torn and your face!"
-she was very close to him. she put up her hand and touched his face. it needed to muster everything that he had in him not to put his arms around her. he conquered himself. "that's nothing," he said; "i had some trouble climbing up from the cliff. i was just half-way up when the fog came on. it wasn't much of a path in any case."
-she stood with her hand on his arm. "oh, what shall we do? we shall never find the boat now. the fog will clear and we will be caught. we can't move from here while it lasts."
-"no," he said firmly, "we can't move. this is the place where dunbar will expect us. he'll turn up here at any moment. meanwhile, we must just wait for him. is the pony all right?"
-"i don't know what i'd have done without the pony," she said. "when the fog came up i was terrified. i didn't know what i'd better do. i called your names, but, of course, you didn't hear. and then it got colder and colder and i kept thinking that i was seeing them. his red hair. . . ."
-she suddenly, shivering, put her hand on his arm. "oh, don't let them find us," she said; "i couldn't go back to that. i would rather kill myself. i would kill myself if i went back. what they are--oh! you don't know!"
-he took her hand and held it firmly. "now see here, we don't know how long dunbar will be, or how long the fog will last, or anything. we can't do anything but stay here, and it's no good if we stay here and think of all the terrible things that may happen. the fog can't last for ever. dunbar may come any minute. what we have to do is to sit down on this stone here and imagine we are sitting in front of our fire at home talking like old friends about--oh well, anything you like--whatever old friends do talk about. can your imagination help you that far?"
-he saw that she was at the very edge of her nerves; a step further and she would topple over into wild hysteria; he knew enough already about her character to be sure that nothing would cause her such self-scorn and regret as that loss of self-control. he was not very sure of his own control; everything had piled up upon him pretty heavily during the last hour; but she was such a child that he had an immense sense of responsibility as though he had been fifteen years older at least.
-"i haven't very much imagination," she said, in a voice hovering between laughter and tears. "father always used to tell me that was my chief lack. and we are old friends, as we said a while ago, even though we have just met."
-"that's right," he said. "now we will have to sit rather close together. there's only one stone and the grass is most awfully wet. every three minutes or so i'll get up and shout dunbar's name in case he is wandering about quite close to us."
-he stood up and, putting his hands to his mouth, shouted with all his might: "dunbar! dunbar! dunbar!"
-he waited. there was no answer. only the fog seemed to grow closer. he turned to her and said:
-"don't you think the fog's clearing a little?"
-when he thought of how nearly he had missed his way for ever and ever he trembled. he mustn't let his thoughts wander in those paths; he was here to make her feel happy and safe until dunbar came. they sat down on the stone together, and he put his arm around her to hold her there and to keep her warm.
-"now what shall we talk about?" she asked him.
-"ourselves," he answered her. "we have a splendid opportunity. here we are, cut off by the fog, away from every one in the world. we know nothing about one another, or almost nothing. we can scarcely see one another's faces. it is a wonderful opportunity."
-"well, you tell me about yourself first."
-"ah! there's the trouble. i'm so terribly dull. i've never been or thought or said anything interesting. i'm like thousands and thousands of people in this world who are simply shadows to everybody else."
-"remember we're to tell the truth," she said. "no one ever honestly thinks that about themselves--that they are just shadows of somebody else. every one has their own secret importance for themselves--at least, every one in our village had. people you would have supposed had nothing in them, yet if you talked to them you soon saw that they fancied that the world would end if they weren't in it to make it go round."
-"well, honestly, that isn't my opinion of myself," harkness answered. "i don't think that i help the world to go round at all. of course, i think that there have to be all the ordinary people in it like myself to appreciate all the doings and sayings of the others, the geniuses--to make the audience. there are so many things i don't care for."
-"what do you care for?"
-"oh, different things at different times--not permanently for much. pictures--especially etchings--music, travel. but never very deeply or urgently, except for the etchings. . . . until to-night," he suddenly added, lowering his voice.
-"yes, ever since i left paddington--let me see--how many hours ago? it's now about two o'clock, i suppose." he looked at his watch. "ten minutes to two. nearly nine hours. ever since nine hours ago. i've felt a new kind of energy, a new spirit, the thrill, the excitement that all my life i've wanted to have but that never came until now. being really in life instead of just watching it like a spectator."
-she put her hand on his. "i am so glad you're here. do you know i used to boast that i never could be frightened by anything? but these last weeks--all my courage has gone. oh, why has this fog come? we were getting on so well, everything was all right--and now i know they'll find us, i know they'll find us. i'm sure he's just behind there, somewhere, hiding in the fog, listening to us. and perhaps david is killed. i can't bear it. i can't bear it!"
-she suddenly clung to him, hiding her face in his coat. he soothed her just as he would his own child, as though she had been his child all her life. "hesther! hesther! you mustn't. you mustn't break down. think how brave you've been all this time. the fog can clear in a moment and then we'll still have time to catch the train. anyway the fog's a protection. if crispin were after us he'd never find us in this. don't cry, hesther. don't be unhappy. let's just go on talking as though we were at home. you're quite safe here. no one can touch you."
-"now i'll tell you about myself. it will be soon over. i grew up in a place called baker in oregon in the united states. it is a long way from anywhere, but all the big trains go through it on the way out to the pacific coast. i grew up there with my two sisters and my father. i lost my mother when i was very young. we had a funny ramshackle old house under the mountains, full of books. we had very long winters and very hot summers. i went to a place called andover to school. then my father died and left me some money, and since then--oh! since then i dare not tell you what a waste i have made of my life, never settling anywhere, longing for europe and the old beautiful things when i was in america and longing for the energy and vitality of america when i was in europe. that's what it is to be really cosmopolitan--to have no home anywhere.
-"the only intimate friends i have are the etchings, and i sometimes think that they also despise me for the idle life i lead."
-he could see that she was interested. she was quietly sitting, her head against his shoulder, her hand in his just as a little girl might listen to her elder brother.
-"and that's all?" she asked.
-he felt that she was looking up at him. he looked down at her. their eyes stared at one another. his heart beat riotously, and behind the beating there was a strange pain, a poignant longing, a deep, deep tenderness.
-"i don't understand everything you say," she replied at last. "except that i am sure you are doing an injustice to yourself when you give such an account. but what you say about unselfishness i don't agree with. how is one unselfish if one is doing things for people one loves? i wasn't unselfish because i worked for the boys. i had to. they needed it."
-"tell me about your home," he said.
-she sighed, then drew herself a little away from him, as though she were suddenly determined to be independent, to owe no man anything.
-"mother died when i was very young," she said. "i only remember her as some one who was always tired, but very, very kind. but she liked the boys better. i remember i used to be silly and feel hurt because she liked them better. but the day before she died she told me to look after them, and i was so proud, and promised. and i have tried."
-"were they younger than you?"
-"yes. one was three years younger and the other five. i think they cared for me, but never as much as i did for them."
-she stopped as though she were listening. the fog was now terribly thick and was in their eyes, their nostrils, their mouths. they could see nothing at all, and when he jumped to his feet and called again, "dunbar! dunbar! dunbar!" he knew that he vanished from her sight. he could feel from the way that she caught his hand and held it when he sat down again how, for a moment, she had lost him.
-"it's always that way, isn't it?" she went on, and he could tell from an undertone in her voice that this talking was an immense relief to her. she had, he supposed, not talked to any one for weeks.
-"always what way?" he asked.
-"that if you love some one very much they don't love you so much. and then the same the other way."
-"very often," he agreed.
-"i'm sure that's what i did wrong at home. showed them that i cared for them too much. the boys were very good, but they were boys, you know, and took everything for granted as men do." she said this with a very old world-wise air. "they were dear boys--they were and are. but it was better before they went to school, when they needed me always. afterwards when they had been to school they despised girls and thought it silly to let girls do things for them. and then they didn't like being at home--because father drank."
-she dropped her voice here and came very close to him.
-"do you know what it is to hate and love the same person? i was like that with father. when he had drunk too much and broke all the things--when we had so few anyway--and hit the boys, and did things--oh, dreadful things that men do when they're drunk, then i hated him. i didn't love him. i didn't want to help him--i just wanted to get away. and before--before he drank so much he was so good and so sweet and so clever. do you know that my father was one of the cleverest doctors in the whole of england? he was. if he hadn't drunk he might have been anywhere and done anything. but sometimes when he was drunk and the boys were away at school, and the house was in such a mess, and the servant wouldn't stay because of father, i felt i couldn't go on--i couldn't!--and that i'd run down the road leaving everything as it was, into the town and hide so that they'd never find me. . . . and now," she suddenly broke out, "i have run away--and see what i've made of it!"
-"it isn't over yet," he said to her quietly. "life's just beginning for you."
-"well, anyway," she answered, with a sudden resolute calm that made her seem ever so much older and more mature, "i've helped the boys to start in life, and i won't have to go back to all that again--that's something. it's fine to love some one and work for them as you said just now, but if it's always dirty, and there's never enough money, and the servants are always in a bad temper, and you never have enough clothes, and all the people in the village laugh at you because your father drinks, then you want to stop loving for a little while and to escape anywhere, anywhere to anybody where it isn't dirty. love isn't enough--no, it isn't--if you're so tired with work that you haven't any energy to think whether you love or not."
-she hesitated there, looking away from him, and said so softly that he with difficulty caught her words: "i will tell you one thing that you won't believe, but it's true. i wanted to go to crispin."
-he turned to look at her in amazement.
-"you wanted to go?"
-"yes. i know you thought that i went for the boys and father. i know that david thinks that too. of course that was true a little. he promised me that they should have everything. it was a relief to me that i needn't think of them any more. but it wasn't only that. i wanted to go. i wanted to be free."
-"to be free!" harkness cried. "my god! what freedom! i can understand your wanting to escape, but with such men. . . ."
-she turned round upon him eagerly. "you don't know what he can be like--the elder crispin, i mean. and to a girl, an ignorant, conceited girl. yes, i was conceited, that was the cause of everything. father had all sorts of books in his room, i used to read everything i could see--french and german in a kind of way, and secretly i was very proud of myself. i thought that i was more learned than any one i knew, and i used to smile to myself secretly when i overheard people saying how good i was to the boys, and how unselfish, and i would think, 'that's not what i am at all. if you only knew how much i know, and the kind of things, you'd be surprised.'
-"i was always thinking of the day when i would escape and marry. i fancied i knew everything about marriage from the books that i had read and from the things that father said when he was drunk. i hadn't a nice idea of marriage at all. i thought it was old-fashioned to fall in love, but through marriage i could reach some fine position where i could do great things in the world, and always in my mind i saw myself coming one day back to my village and every one saying: 'why, i had not an idea she was like that. fancy all the time she was with us we never knew she was clever like this.'"
-she laughed like a child, a little maliciously, very simply and confidingly. he saw that she had for the moment forgotten her danger, and was sitting there in the middle of a dense fog on a lonely moor at a quarter-past two in the morning with an almost complete stranger as though she were giving him afternoon tea in the placid security of a london suburb. he was glad; he did not wish to bring back her earlier terror, but for himself now, with every moment that passed, he was increasingly anxious. time was flying; now they could never catch that train. and above all, what could have happened to dunbar? he must surely have found them by now had some accident not come to him. perhaps he had slipped as harkness had done and was now lying smashed to pieces at the bottom of that cliff. but what could he, harkness, do better than this? while the fog was so dense it was madness to move off in search of any one. and if the fog lasted were they to sit there until morning and be caught like mice in a kitchen?
-and beneath his anxiety, as his arm held the child at his side, there was that strange mixture of triumph and pain, of some odd piercing loneliness and a deep burning satisfaction. meanwhile her hand rested in his, soft and warm like the touch of a bird's breast.
-"when mr. crispin came--the elder, the father--and talked to me i was flattered. no one before had ever talked to me as he did about his travels and his collections and the grand people he knew, just as though i were as old as he was. and then david--mr. dunbar--was always asking me to marry him. i'd known him all my life, and i liked him better than any one else in the whole world; but just because i'd always known him he wasn't exciting. he was the last person i wanted to marry. then mr. crispin made father drink and i hated him for that, and i hated father for letting him do it. i went up to mr. crispin's house and told him what i thought of him, and he talked and talked and talked, all about having power over people for their good and hurting them first and loving them all afterwards. i didn't understand most of it, but the end of it was that he said that if i would marry his son he would leave father alone and would give me everything. i should see the world and all life, and that his son loved me and would be kind to me.
-"after that it was the strangest thing. i don't say that he hypnotised me. i knew that he was bad. every one in the place was speaking about him. he had done some cruel thing to a horse, and there was a story, too, about some woman in the village. but i thought that i knew better than all of them, that i would save father and the boys and be grand myself--and then i would show david that he wasn't the only one who cared for me.
-"and so--i consented. from the moment i promised i was terrified. i knew that i had done a terrible thing. but it was too late. i was already a prisoner. that is a hysterical thing to say, but it is true. they never let me out of their sight. i was married very quickly after that. i won't say anything about the first week of my marriage except that i didn't need books any more to teach me. i knew the sin i'd committed. but i was proud--i was as proud as i was frightened. i wasn't going to let any one know what a terrible position i was in--and especially david. when we went to treliss, david came too and waited. in my heart i was so glad he was there.
-"you don't know what went on in that house. the younger crispin wasn't unkind. he was simply indifferent. he thought of nothing and nobody but his father. his father mocked him, despised him, scorned him, but he didn't care. he follows his father like a dog. at first you know i thought i could make a job of it, carrying it through. and then i began to understand.
-"first one little thing, then another. the elder crispin was always talking, floods of it. he was always looking at me and smiling at me. after two days in the house with him i hated him as i hadn't known i could hate any one. when he touched me i trembled all over. it became a kind of duel between us. he was always talking nonsense about making me love him through pain--and his eyes never said what his mouth said. they were like the eyes of another person caught there by mistake.
-"don't stay here! don't stay here! they can find us here! we're going to be caught again. oh, please come! please! please!"
-she was suddenly crazy with terror. had he not held her with all his force she would have rushed off into the fog. she struggled in his arms, pulling and straining, crying, not knowing what she said. then suddenly she relaxed, would have tumbled had he not held her, and murmuring, "i can't any more--oh, i can't any more!" collapsed, so that he knew she had fainted.
-he sat down on the stone, laying her in his arms as though she were his child. he was, himself, not strongly built, but she was so slight in his hold that he could not believe that she was a woman. he murmured words to her, stroked her forehead with his hand; she stirred, turning towards him, and resting her head more securely on his breast. then her hand moved to his cheek and lay against it.
-there began for him then, sitting there, staring out into the unblinking fog, his hardest test. as surely as never before in his life had he known what love truly was, so did he know it now. this child in her ignorance, her courage, her hard history, her contact with the worst elements in human nature, her purity, had found her way into the innermost recesses of his heart. he saw as he sat there, with a strange almost divine clarity of vision, both into her soul and into his own. he knew that when she faced life again he would be the first to whom she would turn. he knew that with one word, one look, he could win her love. he knew that she had also never felt what love was. he knew that the circumstances of this night had turned her towards him as she would never have been turned in ordinary conditions. yes, he knew this too--that had they met in everyday life she would never have loved him, would not indeed have thought of him twice.
-he was not a man about whom any one thought twice. with the exception of his sisters no woman had ever loved him; this child, driven to terrified desperation by the horrors of the last weeks had been wakened to full womanhood by those same horrors, and he had happened to be there at the awakening. that was all. and yet he knew that so honest was she, and good and true, that did she once go to him she would stay with him. he saw steadily into the future. he saw her freedom from the madman to whom she was married, then her union with himself. his happiness, and her gradual discovery of the kind of man that he was. not bad--oh no--but older, far older than herself in many other ways than years, tired so easily, caring nothing for all the young things in life, above all a man in the middle state, solitary from some elemental loneliness of soul. it was true that to-night had shown him a new energy of living, a new happiness, a new vigour, and he would perhaps after to-night never be the same man as he was before. but it was not enough. no, not enough for this young girl just beginning life, so ignorant of it, so trustful of him that she would follow the path that he pointed out. and for himself! how often he had felt like nejdanov in virgin soil that "everything that he had said or done during the day seemed to him so utterly false, such useless nonsense, and the thing that ought to be done was nowhere to be found . . . unattainable . . . in the depths of a bottomless pit." well, of to-night that was not true. what he had done was useful, was well done. but to-morrow how would he regard it? would it not seem like senseless melodrama, the mad crispins, his fall from the cliff, this eternal fog? how like his history that the most conclusive and eternal acts of his life should take place in a fog! and this girl whom he loved so dearly, if he married her and kept her for himself would not his conscience, that eternal tiresome conscience of his, would it not for ever reproach him, telling him that he had spoilt her life, and would not he be for ever watching to catch that moment when she would realize how dull, how old, how negative he was? no, he could not . . . he could not . . .
-then there swept over him all the fire of the other impulse. why should he not, at long last, be happy? could any man in the world be better to her than he would be? after all he was not so old. had he not known when he shared in that dance round the town that he could be part of life, could feel with the common pulse of humanity? did young dunbar know life better than he? with him she had lived always and yet did not love him.
-and then he knew with a flash like lightning through the fog that at this moment, when she was waking to life and was trusting him, he could by only a few words, lead her to love dunbar. she had always seen him in a commonplace, homely, familiar light, but he, harkness, if he liked, could show her quite another light, could turn all this fresh romantic impulse that was now flowing towards himself into another channel.
-but why should he? was that not simply sentimental idealism? dunbar was no friend of his, he had never seen him before yesterday, why should he give up to him the only real thing that his life had yet known?
-but it was not sentimental, it was not false. youth to youth. in years he was not so old, but in his hesitating, quixotic, undetermined character there were elements of analysis, self-questioning, regret, that would make any human being with whom he was intimately related unhappy.
-sitting there, staring out into the fog, he knew the truth--that he was a man doomed to be alone all his days. that did not mean that he could not make much of his life, have many friends, much good fortune--but in the last intimacy he could go to no one and no one could go to him.
-he bent down and kissed her forehead. she stirred, moved, sat up, resting back against him, her feet on the ground.
-"where am i?" she whispered. "oh yes." she clung to his arm. "no one has come? we are still alone?"
-"no," he answered her gently, "no one has come. we are still alone."
-"what time is it?" she asked.
-he looked at his watch. "half-past two."
-"we have missed that train now."
-"i don't know. and anyway there's probably another."
-"he's lost his way in the fog. he'll turn up at any moment." he stood up and shouted once again:
-"dunbar! dunbar! dunbar!"
-he stood over her looking down at her as she sat with drooping head. she looked up at him. "i'm ashamed at the way i've behaved," she said, "fainting and crying. but you needn't be afraid any more. i shan't give in again."
-indeed, he seemed to see in her altogether a new spirit, something finer and more secure. she put out her hand to him.
-"come and sit down on the stone again as we were before. it's better for us to talk and then we don't frighten ourselves with possibilities. after all, we can't do anything, can we, so long as this horrid fog lasts? we must just sit here and wait for david."
-he sat down, put his arm around her as he had done before. the moment had come. he had only now to speak and the result was certain--the whole of his future life and hers. he knew so exactly what he would say. the words were forming on his lips.
-"hesther dear, i've known you so short a time, but nevertheless i love you with all my heart and being. when you are rid of this horrible man will you marry me? i will spend all my life in making you happy----"
-and she, oh, without an instant's doubt, would say "yes," would hide in his arms, and rest there as though secure, yes, utterly secure for life. but the battle was over. he would not begin it again. he clipped the words back and sat silent, one hand clenched on his knee.
-it was as though she were waiting for him to speak. their silence was packed with anticipation. at last she said:
-"what is the matter? is there something you're afraid of that you don't like to tell me? you needn't mind. i'm through my fear."
-"no, there's nothing," he answered. at last he said: "there is one thing i'd like to say to you. i suppose i've no right to speak of it seeing how recently i've known you, but i guess this night has made us friends as months of ordinary living never would have made us."
-"yes, you're right in that," she answered. he knew what she was expecting him to say.
-"well, it's about dunbar." he could feel her hand jump in his. "he loves you so much--so terribly. he isn't a man, i should think, to say very much about his feelings. i've only known him for an hour or two, and he wouldn't have said anything to me if he hadn't had to. but from the little he did say i could see what he feels. you're in luck to have a man like that in love with you."
-she took her hand out of his, then, very quietly but very stiffly, answered:
-"but i've known him all my life, you know."
-"that's just why i'm speaking about him," harkness answered.
-"it's rather strange to have the friend of your life explained to you by some one who has known him only for an hour or two." she laughed a little angrily.
-"but that's just why i'm speaking," he answered. "when you've known some one all your life you can't see them clearly. that's why one's own family always knows so little about one. you can't see the wood for the trees. in the first minutes a stranger sees more. i don't say that i know dunbar as well as you do--i only say that i probably see things in him that you don't see."
-they had been so close to one another during this last hour that he felt as though he could see, as through clear water, deep into her mind.
-he knew that, during those last minutes, she had been struggling desperately. she came up to him victorious and, smiling and putting her hand into his, said:
-"tell me what you think about him."
-"simply that he seems to me a wonderful fellow. he seems to you, i expect, a little dull. you've always laughed at him a bit, and for that very reason, and because he's loved you for so long, he's tongue-tied when you're there and shy of showing you what he really thinks about things. he has immense qualities of character--fidelity, honesty, devotion, courage--things simply beyond price, and if you loved him and showed him that you did you'd probably see quite new things--fun and spontaneity and imagination--things that he had always been afraid to show you until now."
-her hand trembled in his.
-"you speak," she said, "as though you thought that you were so much older than both of us. i don't feel that you are. can't you----" she broke off. he knew what she would say.
-"my dear," and his voice was eloquently paternal, "i am older than both of you--years and years older. not physically, perhaps, so much, but in every other kind of way. i am an old fogey, nothing else. you've both of you been kind to me to-night, but in the morning, when ordinary life begins again, you'll soon see what a stuffy old thing i am. no, no. think of me as your uncle. but don't miss--oh, don't miss!--the love of a man like dunbar. there's so little of that unselfish devoted love in the world, and when it comes to you it's a crime to miss it."
-"but you can't force yourself to love any one!" she cried, sharply.
-"no, you can't force yourself, but it's strange what seeing new qualities in some one, looking at some one from another angle, will do. try and look at him as though you'd met him for the first time, forget that you've known him always. i tell you that he's one in a million!"
-"yes, he's good," she answered softly. "he's been wonderful to me always. if he'd been less wonderful perhaps--i don't know, perhaps i'd have loved him more. but why are we talking about it? aren't i married as it is?"
-"oh that!" he made a little gesture of repulsion. "we must get rid of that at once."
-"it won't be very difficult," she answered, dropping her voice to a whisper. "he hasn't been faithful to me--even during these weeks."
-he put his arm round her and held her close as though he were truly her father. "poor child!" he said, "poor child!"
-she trembled in his arms.
-"you----" she began. "you----? don't you----?" she could say no more.
-"i'm your friend," he answered, "to the end of life. your old avuncular friend. that's my job. think of your young friend freshly. see what a fellow he is. i tell you that's a man!"
-she did not answer him, but stayed there hiding her head in his coat.
-there was a long silence, then, stroking her hair, he said:
-"hesther dear. i'm going to try once again." he got up and, putting his hands trumpet-wise to his mouth, shouted through the fog:
-"dunbar! dunbar! dunbar!"
-this time there was an answer, clear and definite. "hallo! hallo! hallo!" he turned excitedly to her. she also sprang to his feet. "he's there! i can hear him!"
-the answer came more clearly: "hallo! hallo! hallo!"
-they continued to exchange cries. sometimes the reply was faint. once it seemed to be lost altogether. then suddenly it was close at hand. a ghostly figure was shadowed.
-dunbar came running.
-he caught their hands in his. he was breathless. he sank down on the stone beside them:
-"give me a minute. . . . i'm done. lord! this filthy fog. . . . where haven't i been?" he panted, staring up at them with wide distracted eyes.
-"do you realize? i've failed. it's no use our crossing in that boat now even if we could find it. we've missed that train. we're done."
-"nonsense," harkness broke in. "why, man, what's happened to you? this isn't like you to lose your courage. we're not done or anything like it. in the first place we're all together again. that's something in a fog like this. besides so long as we stick together we're out of their power. they can't force us, all of us, back into that house again. so long as we're out of that house we're safe."
-"oh, are we?" said dunbar. "little you know that man. i tell you we're not safe--or hesther's not safe--until we're at least a hundred miles away. but forgive me," he looked up at them both, smiling, "you're quite right, harkness. i haven't any right to talk like this. but you don't know what a time i've had in that fog."
-"i had a little bit of a time myself," said harkness.
-"well in the first place," went on dunbar, "i was terrified about you. i knew that you didn't know these cliffs well. when the fog started i called to you to come back, but you didn't hear me, of course. i was an idiot to let you start out at all.
-"and then, when it came to myself climbing them i wasn't very successful. i was nearly over the edge fifty times at least. but at last when i did get to the top the ridiculous thing was that i started off in the wrong direction. there i was only five minutes from the cottage and the pony and hesther; i know the place like my own hand, and yet i went in the wrong direction.
-"god knows where i got to. i was nearly over into the sea twice at least. i kept calling your names, but the only thing i heard in answer was that beastly bell. i never went very far, i imagine, because when i heard your voice at last, harkness, i was quite close to it. but just to think of it! every other emergency in the world i'd considered except just this one! it simply never entered my head."
-"well now," said harkness, "let's face the facts. it's too late for that train. is there any other that we can catch?"
-"there's one at six, but i don't see ourselves hanging about here for another three hours, nor, if the fog doesn't lift, can hesther get down into that cove. i'm not especially anxious to try it myself as a matter of fact."
-"no, nor i," said harkness, smiling. "then we count the boat out. there aren't many other things we can do. we can take the pony and follow him. he'll lead us straight back to treliss to whatever stables he came from--a little too close to the crispin family, i fancy. secondly, we can wait here until the fog clears; that may be in three minutes time, it may be to-morrow. you both know more about these sea-fogs down here than i do, but, from the look of it, it's solid till christmas."
-"a heat fog this time of year," said dunbar, "within three miles of the sea can last for twenty-four hours or longer--not as thick as this though--this is one of the thickest i've ever seen."
-"well then," continued harkness, "it isn't much good to wait until it clears. the only thing remaining for us is to walk off somewhere. the question is, where? is there any garage within a mile or two or any friend with a car? it isn't three o'clock yet. we still have time."
-"yes," said dunbar, "there is. i've had it in my mind all along as an alternative. indeed it was the first thing of all that i thought of. three miles from here there's a village, cranach. the rector of cranach is a sporting old man called banting. during the last week or two we've made friends. he's sixty or so, a bachelor, and he's got a car. not much of a car, but still it's something. i believe if we go and appeal to him--we'll have to wake him up, of course--he'll help us. i know that he disapproves strongly of the crispins. i thought of him before, as i say, but i didn't want to involve him in a row with crispin. however, now, as things have gone, it's got to be. i can think of no other alternative."
-"good," said harkness, "that settles it. our only remaining difficulty is to find our way there through this fog."
-"i can start straight," said dunbar. "left from the cottage and then straight ahead. soon we ought to leave the downs and strike some trees. after that it's across the fields. i don't think i can miss it."
-"what about the pony?" asked hesther.
-"we'll have to leave him. he must be there for jabez in the morning or jabez will have to pay for both the pony and the cart."
-they started off. the character of the fog seemed now slightly to have changed. it was certainly thicker in some places than in others. here it was an impenetrable wall, but there it seemed to be only a gauze covering hanging before a multitude of changing scenes and persons. now it was a multitude of armed men advancing, and you could be sure that you heard the clang of shield on shield and a thousand muffled steps. now it was horses wheeling, their manes tossing, their tails flying, now secret furtive figures that moved and peered, stopped, bending forward and listening, then moved on again.
-all the world was stirring. a breeze ran along the ground, rustling the short thin grass. sea-gulls were circling the mist crying. a ship at sea was sounding its horn. figures seemed to press in on every side.
-they walked forward. suddenly hesther pulled back, crying. "look out! look out!" another instant and they would have walked forward into space. the mist here twisted up into thinning spirals as though to show them what they had escaped; they could just see the sharp black line of the cliff. far, far beneath them the sea purred like a cat.
-they stopped where they were as though fixed like images into the wall of the fog.
-dunbar whispered: "that's awful. another moment. . . ."
-it was hesther who pulled them together again. "let's turn sharp about," she said, "and walk straight in front of us. at least we escape the sea."
-they turned as she had said and then walked forward, but in the minds of all of them there was the same thought. some one was playing with them, some one like an evil will-o'-the-wisp was leading them, now here, now there. almost they could see his red poll gleaming through the fog and could hear his silvery voice running like music up and down the scale of the mist.
-they were, three of them, worn with the events of the night. they were beginning to walk somnambulistically. harkness found in himself now a strange kind of intimacy with the fog.
-yes, spell it with a capital letter. the fog. the fog. some emanation of himself, rolling out of him, friendly and also hostile. he and crispin were of the fog together. they had both created it, and as they were the good and evil of the fog so was all life, shapeless, rolling hither and thither, but having in its elements good and evil in eternal friendship and eternal enmity.
-every part of his body was aching. his legs were so weary that they dragged with him, protesting; his eyes were for ever closing, his head nodding. he stumbled as he walked, and at his side, step by step in time the fog accompanied him, a mountainous grey-swathed giant.
-he was talking, words were for ever pouring from him, words mixed with fog, so that they were damp and thick before ever they were free. "in life there are not, you know, enough moments of clear understanding. between nations, between individuals, those moments are too often confused by winds that, blowing from nowhere in particular, ruffle the clear water where peace of mind and love of soul for soul are reflected. . . . now the waters are clear. let us look down."
-yes, he had read that somewhere. in one of galleon's books perhaps? no matter. it meant nothing. "a fine sentiment. what it means. . . . well, no matter. don't you smell roses? roses out here on the moor. if it wasn't for the fog you'd smell them--ever so many. and so he tore the 'orvieto' into shreds. little scraps flying in the air like goose feathers. what a pity! such a beautiful thing. . . ."
-"hold up," cried dunbar. "you're asleep, harkness. you'll have us all down."
-he pulled together with a start, and opening his eyes wide and staring about him saw only the disgusting fog.
-"this fog is too much of a good thing. don't you think so? i guess we could blow it away if we all tried hard enough? you think americans always say 'i guess,' don't you? the english books always make them. but don't you believe it. we only do it to please the english. they like it. it satisfies their vanity."
-he seemed to be climbing an enormous endless staircase. he mounted another step, two, and suddenly was wide awake.
-"by jove, you're right," dunbar cried; "these are trees."
-and they were. a whole row of them. crusoe was not more glad to see the footprint on the sand than were those three to see those trees. "now i know where we are!" dunbar cried triumphantly. "here's the bridge and here's the lane. what luck to have found it!"
-the trees seemed to step forward and greet them, each one tall and dignified, welcoming them to a happier country. they were on a road and had no longer the turf beneath their feet. the fog here was truly thinner so that very dimly they could see the mark of the hedge like a clothes-line in mid-air.
-they moved now much more rapidly, and in their hearts was an intense, an eager relief. the fog thinned until it was a wall of silver. nothing was distant, but it was a world of tangible reality. they could kick pebbles with their feet, could hear sheep moving on the farther side of the hedge.
-"this is better," said dunbar. "we'll get out of this yet. cranach is only a mile or so from here. i know this lane well. and the fog's going to lift at last."
-even as he spoke it swept up, thick and grey deeper than before. the trees disappeared, the hedges. they had once more to grope for one another's hands and walk close.
-harkness could feel from the way that hesther leaned against him, and the drag of her feet, that she was near the end of her endurance. she said nothing. only walked on and on.
-they were all now silent. they must have walked it seemed to them, for miles. an endless walk that had no beginning and no end. and then harkness was strangely aware--how, he never knew--that dunbar and hesther were drawing closer together.
-they walked and walked and walked. they did not know where they were walking, but in their minds they were sure it was straight to cranach.
-suddenly, after, as it seemed, hours of silence in a dead world, dunbar cried:
-"we're there. oh, thank god! we're there. this is the rectory wall."
-a wall was before them and an open gate. they walked through the gate, only dimly seen, stumbled where the lawn rose from the gravel, then forward again, down on to the gravel again. the door was open.
-like somnambulists they walked forward. the door closed behind them.
-like somnambulists awakened they saw lights, a dim hall where flags waved.
-for harkness there was something familiar--quite close to him, the chatter-chatter of a clock, like a coughing dog. familiar? he stared.
-some one was standing, looking at him and smiling.
-with sudden agony in his voice, as a man cries in a terrible dream, harkness shouted:
-"out, dunbar! back! back! run for your life!"
-but it was too late.
-that voice of exquisite melody greeted them:
-"i had no idea that of your own free will you would return. my son only a quarter of an hour ago departed in search of you. i welcome you back."
-part iv: the tower
-with an instinctive movement both harkness and dunbar closed in upon hesther.
-the three stood just in front of the heavy locked door facing the dim hall. on the bottom stair was crispin senior, and on the floor below him, one on either side, the two japanese servants.
-a glittering candelabrum, hanging high up, was fully lit, but it seemed to give a very feeble illumination, as though the fog had penetrated here also.
-crispin was wearing white silk pyjamas, brown leather slippers, and a dressing-gown of a rich bronze-coloured silk flowered with gold buds and leaves. his eyes were half-closed, as though the light, dim though it was, was too strong for him. his face wore a look of petulant rather childish melancholy. the two servants were statues indeed, no sign of life proceeding from them. there was, however, very little movement anywhere, the flags moving in the draught the chief.
-hesther's face was white, and her breath came in little sharp pants, but she held her body rigid. harkness after that first cry was silent, but dunbar stepped forward shouting:
-"you damned hound--you let us go or you shall have this place about your ears!" the hall echoed the words which, to tell the truth, sounded very empty and theatrical. they were made to sound the more so by the quietness of crispin's reply.
-"there is no need," he said, "for all those words, mr. dunbar. it is your own fault that you interfered and must pay for your interference. i warned you weeks ago not to annoy me. unfortunately you wouldn't take advice. you have annoyed me--sadly, and must suffer the consequences."
-"if you touch a hair of her head-----" dunbar burst out.
-"as to my daughter-in-law," crispin said, stepping down on to the floor, and suddenly smiling, "i can assure you that she is in the best possible hands. she knows that herself, i'm sure. what induced you, hesther," he said, addressing her directly, "to climb out of your window like the heroine of a cinematograph and career about on the seashore with these two gentlemen is best known only to yourself. at least you saw the error of your ways and are in time, after all, to go abroad with us to-day."
-he advanced a step towards them. "and you, mr. harkness, don't you think that you have rather violated the decencies of hospitality? i think you will admit that i showed you nothing but courtesy as host. i invited you to dinner, then to my house, showed you my few poor things, and how have you repaid me? is this the famous american courtesy? and may i ask while we are on the question, what business this was of yours?"
-"it was anybody's business," said harkness firmly, "to rescue a helpless girl from such a house as this."
-"indeed?" asked crispin, "and what is the matter with this house?"
-here hesther broke in: "look back two nights ago," she cried, "and ask yourself then what is the matter with this house and whether it is a place for a woman to remain in."
-"for myself," said crispin. "i think it is a very nice house, and i am quite sorry that we are leaving it to-day. that is, some of us--not all," he added, softly.
-"if you are going to murder us," dunbar cried, "get done with it. we don't fear you, you know, whatever colour your hair may be. but whether you murder us or no i can tell you one thing, that your own time has come--not many more hours of liberty for you."
-"all the more reason to make the most of those i have got," said crispin. "murder you? no. but you have fallen in very opportunely for the testing of certain theories of mine. i look forward to a very interesting hour or two. it is now just four o'clock. we leave this house at eight--or, at least, some of us do. i can promise all of us a very interesting four hours with no time for sleep at all. i have no doubt you are all tired, wandering about in the fog for so long must be fatiguing, but i don't see any of you sleeping--not for an hour or two, at least."
-hesther said then: "mr. crispin, i believe that i am chiefly concerned in this. if i promise to go quietly with you abroad i hope that you will free these two gentlemen. i give you that promise and i shall keep it."
-"no, no," dunbar cried, springing forward. "you shan't go with him anywhere, hesther, by heaven you shan't. not while there's any breath in my body----"
-"and when there isn't any breath in your body, mr. dunbar," said crispin, "what then?"
-"a very good line for an adelphi melodrama, mr. crispin," said harkness, "but it seems to me that we've stayed here talking long enough. i warn you that i am an american citizen, and i am not to be kept here against my will----"
-"aren't you indeed, mr. harkness?" said crispin. "well, that's a line of adelphi drama, if you like. how many times in a secret service play has the hero declared that he's an american citizen? which only goes to show, i suppose, how near real life is to the theatre--or rather how much more theatrical real life is than the theatre can ever hope to be. but you're all right, mr. harkness--i won't forget that you're an american citizen. you shall have special privileges. that i promise you."
-dunbar then did a foolish thing. he made a dash for the farther end of the hall. what he had in mind no one knows--in all probability to find a window, hurl himself through it and escape to give the alarm. but the alarm to whom? that was, as far as things had yet gone, the foolishness of their position. a policeman arriving at the house would find nothing out of order, only that there two gentlemen had broken in, barbarously, at a midnight hour to abscond with the married lady of the family.
-dunbar's effort was foolish in any case; its issue was that, in a moment of time, without noise or a word spoken, the two japanese servants had him held, one hand on either arm. he looked stupid enough, there in the middle of the hall, his eyes dim with tears of rage, his body straining ineffectively against that apparently light and casual hold.
-but it was strange to perceive how that movement of dunbar's had altered all the situation. before that the three were at least the semblance of visitors demanding of their host that they should be allowed to go; now they were prisoners and knew it. although hesther and harkness were still untouched they were as conscious as was dunbar of a sudden helplessness--and of a new fear.
-harkness watched crispin who had walked forward and now stood only a pace or two from dunbar. harkness saw that his excitement was almost uncontrollable. his legs, set widely apart, were quivering, his nostrils panting, his eyes quite closed so that he seemed a blind man scenting out his enemy.
-"you miserable fellow," he said--and his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "you fool--to think that you could interfere. i told you . . . i warned you . . . and now am i not justified? yes--a thousand times. within the next hour you shall know what pain is, and i shall watch you realise it."
-then his body trembled with a sort of passionate rhythm as though he were swaying to the run of some murmured tune. with his eyes closed and the shivering it was like the performance of some devotional rite. at least dunbar showed no fear.
-"you can do what you damn well please," he shouted. "i'm not afraid of you, mad though you are."
-"mad? mad?" said crispin, suddenly opening his eyes. "that depends. yes, that depends. is a man mad who acts at last when given a perfectly just and honourable opportunity for a pleasure from which he has restrained himself because the opportunity hitherto was not honourable? and madness? a matter of taste, my friends, decides that. i like olives--you do not. are you therefore mad? surely not. be broad-minded, my friend. you have much to learn and but little time in which to learn it."
-harkness perceived that the man was savouring every moment of this situation. his anticipations of what was to come were so ardent that the present scene was coloured deep with them. he looked from one to another, tasting them, and his plans for them on his tongue. his madness--for never before had his eyes, his hands, his whole attitude of body more highly proclaimed him mad--had in it all the preoccupation with some secret life that leads to such a climax. for months, for years, grains of insanity, like coins in a miser's hoard, had been heaping up to make this grand total. and now that the moment was come he was afraid to touch the hoard lest it should melt under his fingers.
-he approached harkness.
-"mr. harkness," he said quite gently, "believe me i am sorry to see this. you took me in last evening, you did indeed. i felt that you had a real interest in the beautiful things of art, and we had that in common. all the time you were nothing but a dirty spy--a mean and dirty spy. what right had you to interfere in the private life of a private gentleman who, twenty-four hours ago, was quite unknown to you, simply on the word of a crazy braggart boy? have you so little to do that you must be poking your fingers into every one else's business? i liked you, mr. harkness. as i told you quite honestly last evening i don't know where i have met a stranger to whom i took more warmly. but you have disappointed me. you have only yourself to thank for this--only yourself to thank."
-harkness replied firmly. "mr. crispin, i had every right to act as i have done, and i only wish to god that it had been successful. it is true that when i came down to cornwall yesterday i had no knowledge of you or your affairs, but, in the treliss hotel, quite inadvertently, i overheard a conversation that showed me quite plainly that it was some one's place to interfere. what i have seen of you since that time, if you will forgive the personality, has only strengthened my conviction that interference--immediate and drastic--was most urgently necessary.
-"thanks to the fog we have failed. for dunbar and myself we are for the moment in your power. do what you like with us, but at least have some pity on this child here who has done you no wrong."
-"very fine, very fine," said crispin. "mr. harkness, you have a style--an excellent style--and i congratulate you on having lost almost completely your american accent--a relief for all of us. but come, come, this has lasted long enough. i would point out to you two gentlemen that, as one of you has already discovered, any sort of resistance is quite useless. we will go upstairs. one of my servants first--you two gentlemen next, my other servant following, then my daughter-in-law and myself. please, gentlemen."
-he said something in a foreign tongue. one japanese started upstairs, harkness and dunbar followed. there was nothing else at that moment to be done. only at the top of the stairs dunbar turned and cried: "buck up, hesther. it will be all right." and she cried back in a voice marvellously clear and brave: "i'm not frightened, david; don't worry."
-harkness had a momentary impulse to turn, dash down the stairs again and run for the window as dunbar had done; but as though he knew his thought the japanese behind him laid his hand on his arm; the thin fingers pressed like steel. at the upper floor dunbar was led one way, himself another. one japanese, his hand still on his arm, opened a door and bowed. harkness entered. the door closed. he found himself in total obscurity.
-he did not attempt to move about the room, but simply sank down on to the floor where he was. he was in a state of extreme physical weariness--his body ached from head to foot--but his brain was active and urgent. this was the first time to himself that he had had--with the exception of his cliff climbing--since his leaving the hotel last evening, and he was glad of the loneliness. the darkness seemed to help him; he felt that he could think here more clearly; he sat there, huddled up, his back against the wall, and let his brain go.
-at first it would do little more than force him to ask over and over again: why? why? why? why did we do this imbecile thing? why, when we had all the world to choose from, did we find our way back into this horrible house? it was a temptation to call the thing magic and to have done with it, really to suggest that the older crispin had wizard powers, or at least hypnotic, and had willed them back. but he forced himself to look at the whole thing clearly as a piece of real life as true and as actual as the ham-and-eggs and buttered toast that in another hour or two all the world around him would be eating. yes, as real and actual as a toothbrush, that was what this thing was; there was nothing wizard about crispin; he was a dangerous lunatic, and there were hundreds like him in any asylum in the country. as for their return he knew well enough that in a fog people either walked round and round in a circle or returned to the place that they had started from.
-at this point in his thoughts a tremor shook his body. he knew what that was from, and the anticipation that, lying like a chained animal, deep in the recesses of his brain, must soon be loosed and then bravely faced. but not yet, oh no, not yet! let his mind stay with the past as long as it might.
-in the past was crispin. he looked back over that first meeting with him, the actual moment when he had asked him for a match, the dinner, the return to the hotel when, influenced then by all that dunbar had told him, he had seen him standing there, the polite gestures, the hospitable words, the drive in the motor. . . . his mind stopped abruptly there. the door swung to, the lock was turned.
-in that earlier crispin there had been something deeply pathetic--and when he dared to look forward--he would see that in the later crispin there was the same. so with a sudden flash of lightning revelation that seemed to flare through the whole dark room he saw that it was not the real crispin with whom they--hesther, dunbar and he--were dealing at all.
-no more than the ravings of fever were the real patient, the wicked cancerous growth the real body, the broken glass the real picture that seemed to be shattered beneath it.
-they were dealing with a wild and dangerous animal, and in the grip of that animal, pitiably, was the true struggling suffering soul of crispin. not struggling now perhaps any more; the disease had gone too far, growing through a thousand tiny almost unnoticed stages to this horrible possession.
-he knew now--yes, as he had never known it, and would perhaps never have known it had it not been for the sudden love for and tenderness towards human nature that had come to him that night--what, in the old world, they had meant by the possession of evil spirits. what it was that christ had cast out in his ministry. what it was from which david had delivered king saul.
-quick on this came the further question. if this were so might he not perhaps when the crisis came--as come he knew it would--appeal to the real crispin and so rescue both themselves and him? he did not know. it had all gone so far. the animal with its beastly claws deep in the flesh had so tight a hold. he realised that it was in all probability the personality of hesther herself that had urged it to such extremes. there was something in her clear-sighted simple defiance of him that had made crispin's fear of his powerlessness--the fear that had always contributed to his most dangerous excesses--climb to its utmost height. he had decided perhaps that this was to be the real final test of his power, that this girl should submit to him utterly. her escape had stirred his sense of failure as nothing else could do. and then their return, all the nervous excitement of that night, the constant alarm of the neighbourhoods in which they had stayed so that, as the younger crispin had said, they had been driven "from pillar to post," all these things had filled the bowl of insanity to overflowing. could he rescue crispin as well as themselves?
-once more a tremor ran through his body. because if he could not---- once more he thrust the anticipation back, pulling himself up from the floor and beginning slowly, feeling the wall with his hand like a blind man, to walk round the room.
-his eyes now were better accustomed to the light, but he could make out but little of where he was. he supposed that he was on the second floor where were the rooms of hesther and the younger crispin. the place seemed empty, there was no sound from the house. he might have been in his grave. fantastic stories came to his mind, poe-like stories of walls and ceilings growing closer and closer, of floors opening beneath the foot into watery dungeons, of fiery eyes seen through the darkness. he repeated then aloud:
-"i am charles percy harkness. i am thirty-five years of age. i grew up in baker, oregon, in the united states of america. i am in sound mind and in excellent health. i came down to cornwall yesterday afternoon for a holiday, recommended to do so by sir james maradick, bart."
-this gave him some little satisfaction; to himself he continued, still walking and touching the wall-paper with his hand: "i am shut up in a dark room in a strange house at four in the morning for no other reason than that i meddled in other people's affairs. and i am glad that i meddled. i am in love, and whatever comes out of this i do not regret it. i would do over again exactly what i have done except that i should hope to do it better next time."
-he felt then seized with an intense weariness. he had known that he was, long ago, physically tired, but excitement had kept that at bay. now quite instantly as though a spring in the middle of his back had broken, he collapsed. he sank down there on the floor where he was, and all huddled up, his head hanging forward into his knees, he slept. he had a moment of conscious subjective rebellion when something cried to him: "don't surrender. keep awake. it is part of his plan that you should sleep here. you are surrendering to him."
-and from long misty distances he seemed to hear himself reply:
-"i don't care what happens any more. they can do what they like. . . . they can do what they like. . . ."
-and almost at once he was conscious that they were summoning him. a tall thin figure, like an old german drawing, with wild hair, set mouth, menacing eye like baldung's "saturnus," stood before him and pointed the way into vague misty space. other figures were moving about him, and he could see as his eyes grew stronger, that a vast multitude of naked persons were sliding forward like pale lava from a volcano down a steep precipitous slope.
-as they moved there came from them a shuddering cry like the tremor of the ground beneath his feet.
-"not there! not there!" harkness cried, and saturnus answered, "not yet! you have not been judged."
-almost instantly judgment followed--judgment in a narrow dark passage that rocked backward and forward like the motion of a boat at sea. the passage was dark, but on either side of its shaking walls were cries and shouts and groans and piteous wails, and clouds of smoke poured through, as into a tunnel, blinding the eyes and filling the nostrils with a horrible stench.
-no figure could be seen, but a voice, strong and menacing, could be heard, and harkness knew that it was himself the voice was addressing. his naked body, slippery with sweat, the acrid smoke blinding him, the voices deafening him, the rocking of the floor bewildering him, he felt desperately that he must clear his mind to answer the charges brought against him.
-the voice was clear and calm: "on february 2, 1905, your friend richard hentley was accused in the company of many people during his absence, of having ill-treated his wife while in florence. you knew that this was totally untrue and could have given evidence to that effect, but from cowardice you let the moment pass and your friend's position was seriously damaged. what have you to say in your defence?"
-the thick smoke rolled on. the walls tottered. the cries gathered in anguish.
-"on march 13, 1911, you wired to your sisters in america that you were ill in bed when you were in perfect health, because you wished to stay for a week longer in london in order to attend some races. what have you to say in your defence?"
-"on october 3, 1906, you grievously added to the unhappiness of mrs. harrington-adams by asserting in mixed company that no one in new york would receive her and that all americans were astonished that she should be received at all in london."
-here at any rate was an opportunity. through the smoke he cried:
-"there at least i am innocent. i have never known mrs. harrington-adams. i have never even seen her."
-"no," the voice replied. "but you spoke to mrs. phillops who spoke to miss cator who then cut mrs. adams. other people followed miss cator's example, and you were quoted as an authority. mrs. adams's london life was ruined. she had never done you any harm."
-"on december 14, 1912, you told your sisters that you hated the sight of them and their stuffy ways, that their attempts at culture were ridiculous, and that, like all american women, they were absurdly spoilt."
-through the smoke harkness shouted: "i am sure i never said----"
-the voice replied: "i am quoting your exact words."
-"in a moment of pique i lost my temper. of course i didn't mean----"
-"on june 3, 1913, you went secretly into the library of a friend and stole his book of rembrandt drawings. you knew in your heart that you had no intention of returning it to him, and when, some months later, he spoke of it, wishing to lend it to you and wondered why he could not find it you said nothing to him about your own possession of it."
-harkness blushed through the rolling smoke. "yes, that was shameful," he cried. "but i knew that he didn't care about the book and i----"
-"what have you to say against these charges?"
-"they are all little things," harkness cried, "small things. every one does them. . . ."
-"judgment! judgment! judgment!" cried the voice, and suddenly he felt himself moving in the vast waters of human nudity that were slipping down the incline. he tried to stay himself, he flung out his hands and touched nothing but cold slimy flesh.
-faster and faster and faster. colder and colder and colder. darker and darker and darker. despair seized him. he called on his friends. others were calling on every side of him. thousands and thousands of names mingled in the air. the smoke came up to meet them--vast billowing clouds of it. he knew with a horrible consciousness that below him a sea of upturned swords, were waiting to receive them. soon they would be impaled. . . . with a shriek of agony he awoke.
-he had not been asleep for more, perhaps, than ten minutes, but the dream had unnerved him. when he rose from the ground he tottered and stood trembling. he knew now why it was that his enemy had designed that he should sleep; he knew now that he could no longer ward off the animal that on padded feet had been approaching him--the pain! the pain! the pain!
-the sweat beaded his forehead, his knees gave way and he sank yet again upon the floor. he was murmuring: "anything but that. anything but that. i can't stand pain. i can't stand pain, i tell you. don't you know that i have always funked it all my life long? that i've always prayed that whatever else i got it wouldn't be that. that i've never been able to bear to see the tiniest thing hurt, and that in all my thought about going to the war, although i didn't try to escape it, it was even more the pain that i would see than the pain that i would feel.
-"and now to wait for it like this, to know that it may be torture of the worst kind, that i am in the power of a man who can reason no longer, who is himself in the power of something stronger and more evil than any of us."
-then dimly it came through to him that he had been given three tests to-night, and as it always is in life the three tests especially suited to his character, his strength and weakness, his past history. the dance had stripped him of his aloofness and drawn him into life, his love for hesther that he had surrendered had taken from him his selfishness--and now he must lose his fear of pain.
-but that? how could he lose it? it was part of the very fibre of his body, his nerves throbbed with it, his heart beat with it. he could not remember a time when it had not been part of him. when he had been five or six his father had decided that he must be beaten for some little crime. his father was the gentlest of human beings, and the beating would be very little, but at the sight of the whip something had cracked inside his brain.
-he was not a coward; he had stood up to the beating without a tear, but the sense of the coming pain had been more awful than anything that he could have imagined. it was the same afterwards at school. he was no coward there either, shared in the roughest games, stood up to bullies, ventured into the most dangerous places.
-but one night earache had attacked him. it was a new pain for him and he thought that he had never known anything so terrible. worse than all else were the intermissions between the attacks and the warnings that a new attack was soon to begin. that approach was what he feared, that terrible and fearful approach. he had said very little, had only lain there white and trembling, but the memory of all those awful hours stayed with him always.
-any thought of suffering in others--of poor women in childbirth, of rabbits caught in traps, of dogs poisoned, of children run over or accidentally wounded--these things, if he knew of them, produced an odd sort of sympathetic pain in himself. the strangest thing had been that the war, with all its horrors, had not driven him crazy as he might have expected from his earlier history. on so terrible a scale was it that his senses soon became numbed? he did the work that he was given to do, and heard of the rest like cries beyond the wall. again and again he had tried to mingle, himself, in it; he had always been prevented.
-a dog run over by a motor car struck him more terribly than all the agonies of ypres.
-but these things, what had they to do with his present case? he could not think at all. his brain literally reeled, as though it shook, tried to steady itself, could not, and then turned right over. his body was alive, standing up with all its nerves on tiptoe. how was he to endure these hours that were coming to him?
-"i must get out of this!" some one, not himself, cried. it seemed to him that he could hear the strange voice in the room. "i must get out of this. how dare they keep me if i demand to be let out? i am an american citizen. let me out of this. can't you hear? bring me a light and let me out. i have had enough of this dark room. what do you mean by keeping me here? you think that you are stronger than i. try it and see. let me out, i say! let me out!"
-he tottered to his feet and ran across the room, although he could not see his way, blundering against the opposite wall. he beat upon it with his hands.
-"let me out, do you hear! let me out!"
-he was not himself, harkness. he could no longer repeat those earlier words. he was nobody, nothing, nothing at all. they could not hurt him then. try as they might they could not hurt him, harkness, when he was not harkness. he laughed, stroking the wall gently with his hand as though it were his friend.
-"it's all right, do you see? you can't hurt me because you can't find me. i'm hiding, i don't know where to find myself, so that it isn't likely you will find me. you can't hurt nothing, you know. you can't indeed."
-he laughed and laughed and laughed--gently enjoying his own joke. there was a sudden knocking at the door.
-"come in!" he said in a whisper. "come in!"
-his heart stood still with fear.
-the door opened, splashing into the darkness a shower of light like water flung from a bucket. in the centre of this the two japanese were standing.
-"master says please come. if you ready he ready."
-at sight of the japanese a marvellous thing had happened. all his fear had on the instant left him, his beastly physical fear. it fell from him like an old suit of clothes, discarded. he was himself, clear-headed, cool, collected, and in some strange new way, happy.
-harkness followed them.
-harkness followed, conscious only of one thing, his sudden marvellous and happy deliverance from fear. he could not analyse it--he did not wish to. he did not consider the probable length of its duration. enough that for the present crispin might cut him into small pieces, skin him alive, boil him in a large pot like a lobster, and he would not care. he followed the sleek servants like a schoolboy.
-the tower? then at last he was to see the interior of this mysterious place. it had exercised, all through this adventure, a strange influence over him, standing up in his imagination white and pure and apart, washed by the sea, guarded by the woods behind it, having a spirit altogether of its own and quite separate from the man who for the moment occupied it. this would be perhaps the last building on this world that would see his bones move and have their being, he had a sense that it knew and sympathised with him and wished him luck.
-meanwhile he walked quietly. his chance would still come and with dunbar beside him. or was he never to see dunbar again? some of his newfound courage trembled. the worst of this present moment was his loneliness. was the final crisis to be fought out by himself with no friends at hand? was he never to see hesther again? he had an impulse to throw himself forward, attack the servants, and let come what will. the silence of the house was terrible--only their footsteps soft on the thick carpet--and if he could wring a cry or two from his enemies that would be something. no, he must wait. the happiness of others was involved with his own.
-the men stopped before a dark-wooded door.
-they went through and were met by a white circular staircase. up this they passed, paused before another door, and crossed the threshold into a high circular brilliantly-lit room. for the moment harkness, his eyes dimmed a little by the shadows of the staircase, could see nothing but the gayness, brightness of the place papered with a wonderful chinese pattern of green and purple birds, cherry-coloured pagodas and crimson temples. the carpet was a soft heavy purple, and there was a number of little gilt chairs, and, in front of the narrow barred window, a gilt cage with a green and crimson macaw.
-all this, standing by the door shading his eyes from the dazzling crystal candelabra, he took in. then suddenly saw something that swept away the rest--hesther and dunbar standing together, hand in hand, by the window. he gave a cry of joy, hurrying towards them. it was as though he had not seen them for years; they caught his hand in theirs; crispin was there watching them like a benevolent father with his beloved children.
-"that's right," he said. "make the most of your time together. i want you to have a last talk."
-he sat down on one of the gilt chairs.
-"won't you sit down? in a moment i shall leave you alone together for a little while. in case you have any last words. . . ." then he leaned forward in that fashion so familiar now to harkness, huddled together, his red hair and little eyes and pale white soft hands alone alive. "well, and so--in my power, are you not? the three of you. you can laugh at my ugliness and my stupidity and my bad character, but now you are in my hands completely. i can do whatever i like with you. whatever . . . the last shame, the last indignity, the uttermost pain. i, ludicrous creature that i am, have absolute power over three fine young things like you, so strong, so beautiful. and then more power and then more and then more. and over many finer, grander, more beautiful than you. i can say crawl and you will crawl, dance and you will dance. . . . i who am so ugly that every one has always laughed at me. i am a little god, and perhaps not so little, and soon god himself. . . ."
-he broke off, making the movement of music in the air with his hands.
-"you a little overestimate the situation," said harkness, quietly. "for the moment you can do what you like with our bodies because you happen to have two servants who, with their jiu-jitsu and the rest of their tricks, are stronger than we are. it is not you who are stronger, but your servants whom your money is able to buy. i guess if i had you tied to a pillar and myself with a gun in my hand i could make you look pretty small. and in any case it is only our bodies that you can do anything with. ourselves--our real selves--you can't touch."
-"is that so?" said crispin. "but i have not begun. the fun is all to come. we will see whether i can touch you or no. and for my daughter-in-law"--he looked at hesther--"there is plenty of time--many years perhaps."
-nothing in all his life would ever appeal more to harkness than hesther then. from the first moment of his sight of her what had attracted him had been the exquisite mingling of the child and of the woman. she had been for him at first some sort of deserted waif who had experienced all the cruelty and harshness of life so desperately early that she had known life upside down, and this had given her a woman's endurance and fortitude. she was like a child who has dressed up in her mother's clothes for a party and then finds that she must take her mother's place.
-and now when she must, after this terrible night, be physically beyond all her resources she seemed, in her shabby ill-made dress, her hair disordered, her face pale, her eyes ringed with grey, to have a new courage that must be similar to that which he had himself been given. she kept her hand in dunbar's, and with a strange dim unexpected pain harkness realised that new relation between the two of which he had made the foundation had grown through danger and anxiety the one for another already to a fine height. then he was conscious that hesther was speaking. she had come forward quite close to crispin and stood in front of him looking him calmly and clearly in the eyes.
-"please let me say something. after all i am the principal person in this. if it hadn't been for me there would not have been any of this trouble. i married your son. i married him, not because i loved him, but because i wanted things that i thought that you could give me. i see now how wrong that was and that i must pay for doing such a thing. i am ready to do right by your son. i never would have tried to run away if it had not been for you--the other night. after that i was right to do everything i could to get away. i begged your son first--and he refused. you have had me watched during the last three weeks--every step that i have taken. what could i do but try to escape?
-"we've failed, and because we've failed and because it has been all my fault i want you to punish me in any way you like but to let my two friends go. i was not wrong to try to escape." she threw up her head proudly, "i was right after the way you had behaved to me, but now it is different. i have brought them into this. they have done nothing wrong. you must let them go."
-"you must let all of us go." dunbar broke in hotly, starting forward to hesther's side. "do you think we're afraid of you, you old play-acting red-haired monkey? you just let us free or it will be the worse for you. do you know where you'll be this time to-morrow? beating your fancy coloured hair against a padded cell, and that's where you should have been years ago."
-"no, no," hesther broke in. "no, no, david. that's not the way. you don't understand. don't listen to him. i'm the only one in this, i tell you--can't you hear me?--that i will stay. i won't try to run away, you can do anything to me you like. i'll obey you--i will indeed. please, please-- don't listen to him. he doesn't understand. but i do. let them go. they've done no harm. they only wanted to help me. they didn't mean anything against you. they didn't truly. oh! let them go! let them go!"
-in spite of her struggle for self-control her terror was rising, her terror never for herself but now only for them. she knew, more than they, of what he was. she saw perhaps in his face more than they would ever see.
-but harkness saw enough. he saw rising into crispin's eyes the soul of that strange hairy fetid-smelling animal between whose paws crispin's own soul was now lying. that animal looked out of crispin's eyes. and behind that gaze was crispin's own terror.
-"this is very comforting for me. i have waited for this moment." then harkness came over to him and stood very close to him.
-"crispin, listen to me. it isn't the three of us who matter in this, it is yourself. whatever you do to us we are safe. whatever you think or hope you can't touch the real part of us, but for yourself to-night this is a matter of life or death.
-"i may know nothing about medicine and yet know enough to tell you that you're a sick man--badly sick--and if you let this animal that has his grip on you get the better of you in the next two hours you're finished, you're dead. you know that as well as i. you know that you're possessed of an evil spirit as surely as the man with the spirits that cleared the gadarene swine into the sea. it isn't for our sakes that i ask you to let us go to-night. let us go. you'll never hear from any of us again. in the morning, in the decent daylight, you'll know that you've won a victory more important than any you've ever won in your life.
-"you talk about mastering us, man. master your own evil spirit. you know that you loathe it, that you've loathed it for years, that you are miserable and wretched under it. it is life or death for you to-night, i tell you. you know that as well as i."
-for one moment, a brief flashing moment, harkness met for the first and for the last time the real crispin. no one else saw that meeting. straight into the eyes, gazing out of them exactly as a prisoner gazes from behind iron bars, jumped the real crispin, something sad, starved and dying. one instant of recognition and he was gone.
-"that is very kind of you, mr. harkness," crispin said. "i knew that i should enjoy this quarter of an hour's chat with you all and truly i am enjoying it. my friend dunbar shows himself to be quite frankly the young ruffian he is. it will be interesting to see whether in--say an hour's time from now--he is still in the same mind. i doubt it; quite frankly i doubt it very much. it is these robust natures that break the easiest. but you other two--really how charming. all altruism and unselfishness. this lady has no thought for anything but her friends, and mr. harkness, like all americans, is full of fine idealism. and you are all standing round me as though you were my children listening to a fairy story. such a pretty picture!
-"and when you come to think of it here i am quite alone, all defenceless, one to three. why don't you attack me? such an admirable opportunity! can it be fear? fear of an old fat ugly man like me, a man at whom every one laughs!"
-dunbar made a movement. harkness cried: "don't move, dunbar. don't touch him. that's what he wants."
-"the time is nearly up," he said. "i am going to leave you alone together for a little last talk. you'll never see one another again after this, so you had best make the most of it. you see that i am not really unkind."
-"it is hopeless." harkness turned round to the window. "god help us all."
-"yes, it is hopeless," crispin said gently. "at last my time has come. do you know how long i have waited for it? do you know what you represent to me? you have done me wrong, the two of you, broken my hospitality, betrayed my bread and salt, invaded my home. i have justice if i punish you for that. but you stand also for all the others, for all who have insulted me and laughed at me and mocked at me. i have power at last. i shall prick you and you shall bleed. i shall spit on you and you shall bow your heads, and then when you are at my feet stung with a thousand wounds i will raise you and care for you and love you, and you shall share my power----"
-he jumped suddenly from his gilt chair and stuttered, waving his hands as though he were commanding an army, towards the macaw who was asleep with his head under his crimson wing. "i shall be king in my own right, king of men, emperor of mankind, then one with the gods, and at the last i will shower my gifts. . . ."
-he broke off, looking up at a red lacquer clock that stood on a little round gilt table. "time--time--time nearly up!" he swung round upon the three of them.
-dunbar burst out:
-"don't flatter yourself that you'll get away to-morrow. when we're missed----"
-"you won't be missed," crispin answered with a sigh, as though he deeply regretted the fact. "the hotel will receive a note in the morning saying that mr. harkness has gone for a coast walk, will return in a week, and will the hotel kindly keep his things until his return? of course the hotel most kindly will. for mr. dunbar--well, i believe there is only an aunt in gloucester, is there not? it will be, i imagine, a month at least before she makes any inquiry. possibly a year. possibly never. who knows? aunts are often extraordinarily careless about their nephew's safety. and in a week. where can one not be in a week in these modern days? very far indeed. then there is the sea. anything dropped from the garden over the cliff so completely vanishes, and their faces are so often--well, spoilt beyond recognition. . . ."
-"if you do this," hesther cried, "i will----"
-"i regret to say," interrupted crispin, "that after eight this morning you will not see your father-in-law of whom you are so fond for six months at least. ah, that is good news for you, i am sure. that is not to say you will never see him again. dear me, no. but not immediately. not immediately!"
-harkness caught hesther's hand. he saw that she was about to make some desperate movement. "wait," he said; "wait. we can do nothing now."
-for answer she drew him to her and flung out her hand to dunbar. "we three. we love one another," she cried. "do your worst."
-crispin looked once more at the clock. "melodrama," he said. "i, too, will be melodramatic. i give you twenty minutes by that clock--a situation familiar to every theatre-goer. when that clock strikes six i shall, i'm afraid, want the company of both of you gentlemen. make your adieus then to the lady. your eternal adieus."
-he smiled and gently tip-toed from the room.
-"and so the curtain falls on act three of this pleasant little drama," said dunbar, huskily, turning towards the window. "there will be a twenty minutes' interval. but the last act will be played in camera. if only one wasn't so beastly tired--and if only it wasn't all my fault. . . ." his voice broke.
-harkness went up to him, put his arm around him and drew him to him. "look here. i'm older than both of you. i might almost be your father, so you've got to obey my orders. i'll be best man at your wedding yet, david, yours and hesther's. there's nobody to blame. nothing but the fog. but don't let's cheat ourselves either. we're shut up here at half-past five in the morning miles from any help, no way out, no telephone, and two damn japs who are stronger than we are, in the power of a man who's as mad as a hatter and as bloodthirsty as a tiger.
-"it's going to be all right, i tell you. i know it. i feel it in my bones. but we've got to behave for these twenty minutes--only seventeen of them now--as though it won't be. it's of no use for us to make any plan. we'll have to do something on the spur of the moment when we see what the old devil has up his sleeve for us----"
-"meanwhile, as i say, make the best of these minutes."
-he put out his arm and drew hesther in.
-"i tell you that i love you both. i've only known you a day, but i love you as i've never loved any one in my life before. i love you as father and brother and comrade. it's the best thing that has happened to me in all my life."
-the three, body to body, stood looking out through the gilded bars at the sky, silver grey, and washed with shifting shadows.
-"after all," he went on, "if our luck doesn't hold, and we are going to die in the next hour or so, what is it? it's only what millions of fellows passed through in the war and under much more terrible conditions. imagination is the worst part of that i fancy, and i suggest that we don't think of what is going to happen when this time is over--whether it goes well or ill--we'll fill these twenty minutes with every decent thought we've got, we'll think of every fine thing that we know of, and every beautiful thing, and everything that is of good report."
-"all i pray," said dunbar, "is that i may have one last dash at that lunatic before good-bye. he can have a hundred japs around him but i'll get at him somehow. harkness, you're a brick. i brought you into this. i had no right to, but i'm not going to apologise. we're here. the thing's done, and if it hadn't been for that rotten fog----but you're right, harkness. we'll think of all the ripping things we know. with me it's simple enough. because the beginning and the middle and the end of it is hesther. hesther first and hesther second and hesther all the time."
-he didn't look at her, but stared out of the window.
-"by jove, the sun's coming. it's been up round the corner ever so long. it will just about hit the window in another ten minutes. it seems kind of stupid to stand here doing nothing."
-he stepped forward and felt the bars. "take hours to get through that, and then there's a drop of hundreds of feet. no, you're about right, harkness. there's nothing to be done here but to say good-bye as decently as possible."
-he sighed. "i didn't want to kick the bucket just yet, but there it is, it can happen to anybody. a fellow can be as strong as a horse, forget to change his socks and next day be finished. this is better than pneumonia anyway! all the same i can't help feeling we missed our chance just now when we had him alone in here----"
-"no," said harkness, "i was watching him. that's what he wanted, for us to go for him. i am sure that he had the japs handy somewhere, and i think he wanted to hurt us in front of hesther. but his brain works queerly. he's formulated a kind of book of rules for himself. if we take such and such a step then he will take such and such another. a sort of insane sense of justice. he's worked it all out to the minute. half the fun for him has been the planning of it, and then the deliberate slowness of it, watching us, calculating what we'll do. really a cat with mice. there's nothing for deliberate consecutive thinking like a madman's brain."
-hesther broke in:
-"we're wasting time. i know--i feel as you do--that it's going to be all right, but however he fails with you he can carry me off somewhere, and so it is very likely that i don't see either of you again for some time. and if that's so--if that's so, i just want to say that you've been the finest men in the world to me.
-"and i want you to know that whatever turns up for me now--yes, whatever it is--it can't be as bad as it was before yesterday. i can't ever again be as unhappy as i was now that i've known both of you as i've known you this night.
-"i didn't realise, david, how i felt about you until mr. harkness showed me. i've been so selfish all these years, and i suppose i shall go on being selfish, because one doesn't change all in a minute, but at least i've got the two best friends a woman ever had."
-"hesther," dunbar said, turning towards her, "if we get free of this and you can get rid of that man--i ask you as i've asked you every week for the last ten years--will you marry me?"
-"yes," she said. but for the moment she turned to harkness. he was looking through the bars out to the sky where the mist was now very faintly rose like the coloured smoke of far distant fire. she put her hand on his shoulder, keeping her other hand in dunbar's.
-"i don't know why you said you were so much older than we are. you're not. do you promise to be the friend of both of us always?"
-"yes," he said. something mockingly repeated in his brain, "it is a far better thing that i do----"
-he burst out laughing. the macaw awoke, put up his head and screamed.
-"you are both younger by centuries than i," he said. "i was born old. i was born with the old man of europe singing in my ears. i was born to the inheritance of borrowed culture. the gifts that the fairies gave me at my cradle were michael angelo's 'david,' rembrandt's 'goldweigher's field,' the 'temples at pæstum,' the da vinci 'last supper,' the breughels at vienna, the view of the jungfrau from mürren, the grand canal at dawn, hogarth's prints, and the quintet of the meistersinger. yes, the gifts were piled up all right. but just as they were all showered upon me in stepped the wicked fairy and said that i should have them all--on condition that i didn't touch! never touch--never. at least i've known that they were there, at least i've bent the knee, but--until last night--until last night. . . ."
-he suddenly took hesther's face between his two hands, kissed her on the forehead, on the eyes, on the mouth:
-"i don't know what's coming in a quarter of an hour. i don't like to think. to tell you the truth i'm in the devil of a funk. but i love you, i love you, i love you. like an uncle you know or at least like a brother. you've taken a match and set fire to this old tinder-box that's been dry and dusty so long, and now it's alight--such a pretty blaze!"
-he broke away from them both with a smile that suddenly made him look young as they'd never seen him:
-the macaw screamed again and again, beating at the cage with its wings.
-"hesther, never lose courage. remember that he can't touch you, that no one can touch you. you're your own immortal mistress."
-the red-lacquered clock struck the quarter, and at the same moment the sun hit the window. strange to see how instantly that room with the coloured pagodas, the fantastic temple, the gilt chairs and the purple carpet shivered into tinsel. the dust floated on the ladder of the sun: the blue of the early morning sky was coloured faintly like a bird's wing.
-the sun flooded the room, wrapping them all in its mantle.
-"let's sit down," said dunbar, pulling three of the gilt chairs into the centre of the room where the sun shone brightest. "i've a kind of idea that we'll need all the strength we've got in a few minutes. that's fine what you said, harkness, about being alive, although i didn't follow you altogether.
-"i'm not very artistic. a man who's been on the sea since he was a small kid doesn't go to many picture galleries and he doesn't read books much either. to tell you the truth there's always such a lot to do, and when i've finished the daily mail there doesn't seem time for much more, except a shocker sometimes. the sort of mess we're in now wouldn't make a bad shocker, would it? only you'd never be able to make crispin convincing. all i know is, if i wrote a book about him i'd have him tortured at the end with little red devils and plenty of pincers. however, i get what you mean, harkness, about being alive.
-"i felt something of the same thing in the war sometimes. at jutland, although i was in the devil of a funk all the time, i was sort of pleased with myself too. life's always seemed a bit unreal since the armistice, until last night. and it's a funny thing, but when i was helping hesther climb out of that window and expecting crispin junior to poke his head up any minute i had just that same pleased-all-over feeling that i had at jutland. so that's about the same as you feel, harkness, only different, of course, because of your education. . . . hesther, if we win out of this and you marry me i'll be so good to you--so good to you--that----"
-he beat his hands desperately on his knees. "here's the time slipping and we don't seem to be doing anything with it. it's always been my trouble that i've never been able to say what i mean--couldn't find words, you know. i can't now, but it's simple enough what i mean----"
-hesther said: "if we only have ten minutes like this it's so hard to choose what you would say, but i'd like you to know, david, that i remember everything we've ever done together--the time i missed the train at truro and was so frightened about father, and you said you'd come in with me, and father hadn't even noticed i'd been away; and the time you brought me the pink fan from madrid; and the time i had that fever and you sat up all night outside my room, those two days father was away; and the day billy fell over the bring rock and you climbed down after him; and the time you brought me that sealyham and father wouldn't let me have him; and the time just before you went off to south africa and i wouldn't say good-bye. i've hurt you so many times and you've never been angry with me once--or only that once. do you remember the day i struck you in the face because you said i was more like a boy than a girl? i thought you were laughing at me because i was so untidy and dirty and so i hit you. and do you remember you sprang on me like a tiger, and for a moment i thought you were going to kill me? you said no one had ever struck you without getting it back. then suddenly you pulled yourself in--just like going inside and shutting your door.
-"i've never seen you until to-night, david. i've been blind to you. you've been too close to me for me to see you. it will be all right. we'll come out of this and then we'll have such times--such wonderful times----"
-she came up to him, drew his head to her breast. he knelt on the floor at her feet, his arms round her, his head on her bosom. she stroked his hair, looking out beyond him to the blue of the sky.
-harkness felt a mad wildness of impatience. he went to the window and tugged at the bars. in despair his hands fell to his side.
-"the only chance, dunbar, is to go straight for him the moment we're out of this room, even if those damned japs are with him. we can't do much, but we may smash him up a bit first. then there's jabez. we've forgotten jabez. where's he been all this time?"
-"no, he'll think we got safely off."
-"yes, i suppose he will. my god, it's five to six. look here, stand up a moment."
-"let's take hands. let's swear this. whatever happens to us now, whether some of us survive or none, whether we die now or live happily ever afterwards, we'll be friends forever, nothing shall ever separate us, for better or worse we're together for always."
-they swore it.
-"and see here. if i don't come out of this don't have any regrets either of you. don't think you brought me into this against my will. don't think that whichever way it goes i regret a moment of it. you've given me the finest time."
-dunbar laughed. "i sort of feel we're going to have a chance yet. after all, he's been probably playing with us, trying to frighten us. there'll be nothing in it, you see. anyway i'll get a crack at his skull, and now that i've got you, hesther, i wouldn't give up this night for all the wealth of the indies. i don't know about life or death. i've never thought much about it, to tell you the honest truth, but i bet that any one who's as fond of any one as i am of you can't be very far away whatever happens to their body."
-"there goes six."
-the red lacquer clock struck. hesther flung her arms around harkness and kissed him, then dunbar.
-they all stood listening. just as the clock ceased there was a knock at the door.
-harkness went to the door and opened it; not crispin, as he had expected, but one of the japanese.
-for the first time he spoke:
-"beg your pardon, sir. the master would be glad you see him upstairs." harkness did not look back. he knew that dunbar and hesther were clasped tightly in one another's arms. he walked out closing the door behind him. he stood with the japanese in the small space waiting. it was a dim subdued light out here. you could only see the thick stone steps of the circular staircase winding upwards out of sight. harkness's brain was working now with feverish activity. whatever crispin's devilish plan might be he would be there to watch the climax of it. if harkness and dunbar were quick enough they could surely have crispin throttled before the japanese were in time; without crispin it was likely enough that the japanese would be passive. this was no affair of theirs. they simply obeyed their master's orders.
-he wondered why he had not attempted something in that room just now, why, indeed, he had prevented dunbar; but some instinct had told him then that crispin was longing to shame them in some way before hesther. he had then an almost overpowering impulse to turn back, run into that room, fling his arms about hesther and hold her until those devils pulled them apart. it was an impulse that rose blinding his eyes, deafening his ears, stunning his brain. he half turned. the door opened and dunbar came out. harkness sighed with relief. at the sight of dunbar the temptation left him.
-they mounted the stairs, one japanese in front of them, the other behind. at the next break in the flight the japanese turned and opened a door on the left.
-"in here, gentlemen, if you please," he said, bowing.
-they entered a small room with no windows, quite dark save for one dim electric light in the ceiling, and without furniture save for two wicker chairs.
-they stood there waiting. "the master," said the japanese, "he much obliged if you gentlemen will kindly take your clothes off."
-for a moment there was silence. they had not realised the words. then dunbar broke out: "no, by god, no! strip for that swine! harkness come on! you go for that fellow, i'll take this one!" and instantly he had hurled himself on the japanese nearest the door.
-harkness flung at the one who had spoken. he was conscious of his fingers clutching at the thin cotton stuff of the clothes, and, beneath the clothes, the cold hard steel of the limbs. his arms gripped upwards, caught the cloth of the shirt, tore it, slipped on the smooth hairless chest. then in his left forearm there was a pain, sharp as though some ravenous animal had bitten him there, then an agony in the middle of his back, then in his left thigh.
-against his will he cried out; the pain was terrible--awful. every nerve in his body was rebelling so that he had neither strength nor force. he slipped to the floor, writhing involuntarily with the agony of the twisted muscle and, even as he slipped, he saw sliding down over him, impervious, motionless, fixed like a shining mask, the face of the japanese.
-he lay on the floor; panic flooded him. his helplessness, the terror of what was coming next, the fright of the dark--it was all he could do at that moment not to burst into tears and cry like a child.
-he was lying on the floor, and the japanese, kneeling beside him, had one arm under him as though to make his position more comfortable.
-"very sorry," the japanese murmured in his ear; "the master's orders."
-as the pain withdrew he felt only an intense relief and thankfulness. he did not care about what had gone before nor mind what followed. all he wished was to be left like that until the wild beating of his heart softened and his pulse was again tranquil.
-then he thought of dunbar. he turned his head and saw that dunbar also was lying on the floor, on his side. not a sound came from him. the other japanese was bending over him.
-"dunbar!" harkness cried in a voice that to his own surprise was only a whisper, "wait. it's no good with these fellows. we'll have our chance later."
-dunbar replied, the words gritted from between his teeth: "no--it's no good--with these devils. it's all right though. i'm cheery."
-harkness saw then that the japanese had been stripping dunbar, and he noticed with a curious little wonder that his clothes had been arranged in a neat tidy pile--his socks, his collar, his braces, on his shirt and trousers. he saw the japanese move forward as though to help dunbar to his feet; there was a movement as though dunbar were pushing him away. he rose to his feet, naked, strong, his head up, swung out his arms, pushed out his chest.
-"no bones broken with their monkey tricks. hurry up, harkness. we may as well go into the sea together. i bet the water's cold."
-but no. the japanese said something. dunbar broke out:
-"i'm damned if i will." then, turning to harkness: "he says i've got to go on by myself. it seems they're going to separate us. rotten luck, but there's no fighting these two fellows here. well, cheerio, harkness. you've been a mighty fine pal, if we don't meet again. only that rotten fog did us in."
-harkness struggled to his knees. "no, no, dunbar. they shan't separate us. they shan't----" but there was a touch of a hand on his arm and instantly, as though to save at all costs another pressure of that nerve, he sank back.
-dunbar went out, one of the japanese following him. the door closed.
-now indeed harkness needed all his fortitude. he had never felt such loneliness as this. from the beginning of the adventure there had been an element so fantastic, so improbable, that except at certain moments he had never believed in the final reality of it. there was something laughable, ludicrous about crispin himself; he had been like a child playing with his toys. now absolutely harkness was face to face with reality.
-crispin did mean all that he had threatened. and what that might be----!
-the japanese was beginning to take off his clothes, very lightly and gently pulling his coat from under him. harkness sat up and assisted him. this did not matter. of what significance was it whether he had clothes or no? what mattered was that he should be out of this horrible room where there was neither space nor light nor company. anything anywhere was better. the japanese' cool hard fingers slipped about his body. he himself undid his collar and mechanically dropped his collar-stud into the right-hand pocket of his waistcoat, where he always put it when he was undressing. he bent forward and took off his shoes.
-the japanese gravely thanked him. there was a small hole in his right sock and he slipped it off quickly, covering it with his other hand. he was ashamed for the japanese to see it.
-his clothes were piled as neatly as dunbar's. he stood up feeling freshened and cool.
-then the japanese, bowing, moved to the door. harkness followed him.
-they climbed the stairs once more, the stone striking cold under harkness's bare feet. they must now be reaching the very top of the tower. there was a sense of space and height about them and a stronger light.
-the japanese paused, pushed back a door and sharply jerked harkness forward. harkness nearly fell, but was caught by some one else, closed his eyes involuntarily against a flood of light into which he seemed, with a curious sensation as though he had dived from a great height, to be sinking ever deeper and deeper, then to be struggling up through bursting bubbles of colour. his eyes were still closed against the sun that pressed like a warm palm upon the lids.
-he felt hands moving about him. then that he was held back against something cold, then that he was being bound, gently, smoothly; the bands did not hurt his flesh. there was a pause. he still kept his eyes closed. was this death then? the sun beat upon his body warm and strong. the cool of the pillar to which he was bound was pleasant against his back. there were boards beneath his feet, and on their dry, friendly surface his toes curled. a delicious soft lethargy wrapped him round. was this death? one sharp pang like the pressure of an aching tooth and then nothing. sinking into dark silence through this shaft of deep and burning sunlight. . . .
-he opened his eyes. he cried aloud with astonishment. he was in what was plainly the top room of the tower, a high white place with a round ceiling softly primrose. one high window went the length from floor to ceiling, and this window, which was without bars, blazed with sun and shone with the colours of the early morning blue. the room was white--pure virgin white--round, and bare of furniture. only--and this was what had caught the cry from harkness--three pillars supported the ceiling, and to these three pillars were bound by white cord, first himself, then dunbar, then, naked as they, jabez.
-the fisherman stood there facing harkness--a gigantic figure. yesterday afternoon on the hill, last night in the garden harkness had not recognised the man's huge proportions under his clothes. now, bound there, with his black hair and beard, his great chest, the muscle of his arms and thighs, the sunlight bathing him, he was mighty to see.
-his eyes were mild and puzzled like the eyes of a dog who has been chained against reason. he was making a strange restless motion from side to side as though he were testing the white cords that held him. his face above his beard, his neck, the upper part of his chest, his hands, his legs beneath the knees, were a deep russet brown, the rest of him a fair white, striking strangely with the jet blackness of his hair.
-he smiled as he saw harkness's astonishment.
-"aye, sir," he said. "it wasn't me you was expectin' to see here, and it wasn't myself that was expectin' to be here neither."
-they were alone--no japanese, no crispin.
-"i've been in here half an hour before you come," he went on. "and i can tell you, sir, i was mighty sorry to see them bringin' both you gentlemen in. whatever happens to me, i said, they've got clear away. it never kind of struck me that the fog was going to worry you."
-"why didn't you get away yourself, jabez?" harkness asked him.
-"they was down on me about an hour after. the fog had come on pretty thick and i was walkin' up and down out there thinkin'. i hadn't no more than another hour of it and pleasin' myself to think how mad that old devil would be when he'd found out what had happened and me safe in my own house with the mother, when all of a sudden i hear the car snortin'. 'somethin' up,' i says, and three seconds later, as you might say, they was on me. if it hadn't been for that fog i might of got clear, but they was on me before i knew it. i had a bit of a struggle with they dirty stinkin' foreigners, but they got a lot of dirty tricks an englishman would be ashamed of using. anyway they had me down on the ground pretty quick and hurt me too.
-"they trussed me up like a fowl, carried me into the hall, and didn't the old red-headed devil spit and curse? you've never seen nothing like it, sir. sure raving mad he was that time all right. and he came and kicked me on the face and pulled my beard and spat in my eyes. i don't know what's coming to us right now, but i pray the almighty father to give me just one turn with my fist. i'll land him.
-"then, sir, they carried me upstairs and tumbled me into a dark room. there i was for i wouldn't like to say how long. then they came in and took my things off me, the dirty foreigners. it's only a foreigner would think of a thing like that. i struggled a bit, but what's the use? they put their thumb in your back and they've got you. then they tied me up here. i had to laugh, i did really. did you ever see such a comic picture as all three of us without a stitch between us tied up here at six in the morning?
-"when i tell mother about it she'll laugh all right. like the show down to st. ives when they have the boxing. i suppose we'll be getting out of this all serene, sir, won't we?"
-"of course we will," said dunbar. "don't you worry, jabez. he's been doing all this to frighten us. he daren't touch us really. why, he'll have the county about his ears as it is. don't you worry."
-"thank you, sir," said jabez, still moving from side to side within the bands, "because you see, sir, i wouldn't like anything to happen to me just now. mother's expectin' an addition to the family in a month or so and there's six on 'em already, an' it needs a bit of doing looking after them all. i wouldn't have been working for this dirty blackguard here if it hadn't been for there being so many of us--not that i'd have one of them away if you understand me, sir."
-"you needn't be afraid, jabez," dunbar said. "when we get out of this mr. harkness and i will see that you never have any anxiety again. you've been a wonderful friend to us to-night and we're not likely to forget it."
-"oh, don't you mistake me, sir," said jabez. "it wasn't no help i was asking for. i'm doing very well with the boat and the potatoes. it was only i was thinking i wouldn't like nothing exactly to happen to me along of this crazy lunatic here if you understand me, sir. . . . i'm not so sure if they give me time i couldn't get through these bits of rope here. i'm pretty strong in the arm, or used to be--not so dusty even now. if i could work at them a bit----"
-the door opened and crispin came in.
-he appeared to harkness as he stepped in, quietly closing the door behind him, like some strange creature of a dream. he seemed himself, in the way that he moved with his eyes nearly closed, somnambulistic. he was wearing now only his white silk pyjamas, and of these the sleeves were rolled up showing his fat white arms. his red hair stood on end like an ill-fitting wig. in one hand he carried a curved knife with a handle of worked gold.
-in the room, blazing with sunlight, he was like a creature straight from the boards of some neighbouring theatre, even to the white powder that lay in dry flakes upon his face.
-he opened his eyes, staring at the sunlight, and in their depths harkness saw the strangest mingling of terror, pathos, eager lust, and a bewildered amazement, as though he were tranced. the gaze with which he turned to harkness had in it a sudden appeal; then that appeal sank like light quenched by water.
-he was wrung up on the instant to intensest excitement. his whole body trembled. his mouth opened as though he would speak, then closed again.
-he came close to harkness. he put out his hand and touched his neck.
-"we are alone," he said, in his soft beautiful voice. he stroked harkness's neck. the soft boneless fingers. harkness looked at him, and, strangely, at that moment their eyes were very close to one another. they looked at one another gently. in harkness's eyes was no malice; in crispin's that strange mingling of lust and unhappiness.
-harkness only said: "crispin, whatever you do to us leave that girl alone. i beg you leave her. . . ."
-he closed his eyes then. god helping him he would not speak another word. but a triumphant exultation surged through him because he knew that he was not afraid.
-there was no fear in him. it was as though the warm sun beating on his body gave him courage.
-standing behind the safeguard of his closed eyes his real soul seemed to slip away, to run down the circular staircase into the hall and pass happily into the garden, down the road to the sea.
-his soul was free and crispin's was imprisoned.
-he heard crispin's voice: "will you admit now that i have you in my hand? if i touch you here how you will bleed--bleed to death if i do not prevent it. do you remember shylock and his pound of flesh? 'oh! upright judge!' but there is no judge here to stay me!"
-the knife touched him. he felt it as though it had been a wasp's sting--a small cut it must be--and suddenly there was the cool trickle of blood down his skin. then his right shoulder--a prick! now a cut again on his arm. stings--nothing more. but the end had really come then at last? his hands beneath the bonds moved suddenly of their own impulse. it was not natural not to strive to be free, to fight for his life.
-he opened his eyes. he was bleeding from five or six little cuts. crispin was standing away from him. he saw that dunbar, crimson in the face, was struggling frantically with his cords and was shouting. jabez, too, was calling out. the room, hitherto so quiet, was alive with movement. crispin now stood back from him watching him. the sight of blood had completed what these weeks had been preparing.
-with that first touch of the knife on harkness's body crispin's soul had died. the battle was over. there was an animal here clothed fantastically in human clothes like a monkey or a dog at a music-hall show. the animal capered, stood on its hind legs, mowed in the air with its hands. it crept up to harkness and, whining like a dog, pricked him with the knife point now here, now there, in a hundred places.
-harkness looked out once more at the great window with its splash of glorious sky, then ceased to struggle with his cords. his lips moved in some prayer perhaps, and once more, surely now for the last time, he closed his eyes. he had a strange vision of all the moving world beyond that window. at that moment at the hotel the maids would be sweeping the corridors, people would be stirring and rubbing their eyes and looking at their watches; in the town family breakfasts would be preparing, men would be sauntering down the narrow streets to their work; the connection with the london train would be running in with the london papers, already the men and women would be in the fields, the women would be waiting perhaps for the fishing-fleet to come in, mrs. jabez would be at the cottage door looking up the road for her husband. . . .
-his heart pounded into his mouth, with a mighty impulse he drove it back. crispin was laughing. the knife was raised. his face was wrinkled. he was running round the room, round and round, making with the knife strange movements in the air. he was whispering to himself. round and round and round he ran, words pouring from his mouth in a thick unending stream. they were not words, they were sounds, and once and again a strange sigh like a catch of the breath, like a choke in the throat. he ran, bending, not looking at the three men, bending low as though as he ran he were looking for something on the floor.
-then quite suddenly he straightened himself, and with a growl and a snarl, the knife raised in one hand, hurled himself at jabez.
-all followed then quickly. the knife flashed in the sunlight. it seemed that the hands caught at jabez's eyes, first one and then another, but there had been more than the hands because suddenly blood poured from those eyes, spouting over, covering the face, mingling with the beard.
-with a great cry jabez put forth his strength. stung by agony to a power that he had never known until then his body seemed to rise from the ground, to become something superhuman, immortal. the great head towered, the limbs spread out, it seemed for a moment as though the pillar itself would fall.
-the cord that tied him to the pillar snapped and his hands were free. he tottered, the blood pouring from his face. he moved, blindly, staggering. not a sound had come from him since that first cry.
-his hands flung out, and in another moment crispin was caught into his arms. he raised him. the little fat hands fluttered. the knife flashed loosely and fell to the ground. the giant swung into the middle of the room blinded, but holding to himself ever tighter and ever tighter the short fat body.
-crispin, his head tossed back, his legs flung out in an agony now of terror, screamed with a strange shrill cry like a rabbit entrapped.
-jabez turned, and now he had crispin's soft chest against his bleeding face, the arms fluttering above his head. as he turned his shoulder touched the glass of the window. he pushed backward with his arm and the window swung open, some of the broken glass tinkling to the ground. there was a great rush of air.
-that strange thing, like no human body, the white silk, the brown slippers, the red hair, swung. for one second of time, suspended as it were on the thread of that long animal scream, so shrill and yet so thin and distant, the white face, its little eyes staring, the painted mouth open, hung towards harkness. then into the air like a coloured bundle of worthless junk, for a moment a dark shadow across the steeple of sunlight, and then down, down, into fathomless depths of air, leaving the space of sky stainless, the morning blue without taint. . . .
-jabez stood for a moment facing them, his chest heaving in convulsive pants. then crying, "my eyes! my eyes!" crumpled to the floor.
-first harkness was conscious of a wonderful silence. then into the silence, borne in on the back of the sea breeze, he heard the wild chattering of a multitude of birds. the room was filled with their chatter, up from the trees, crowding the room with their life.
-straight past the window, like an arrow shot from a bow, flashed a sea-gull. then another more slowly wheeled down, curving against the blue like a wave released into air.
-he recognized all these things, and then once again that wonderful blessed stillness. all was peace, all repose. he might rest for ever.
-after, it seemed, an infinity of time, and from a vast distance, he caught dunbar's voice:
-". . . jabez! jabez! jabez, old fellow! the man's fainted. harkness, are you all right? did he hurt you?"
-"no," harkness quietly answered. "he didn't hurt me. he meant to, though. . . ." then a green curtain of dark thick cloth swept through the heavens and caught him into its folds. he knew nothing more. the last thing he heard was the glorious happy chattering of the birds.
-he had been walking with his eyes closed because it was cooler that way. then a bee stung him. then another. on the chest. now on the arm. now a whole flight. he cried out. he opened his eyes.
-he was lying on a bed. people were about him. he had been climbing those stairs naked. it would never do that those strangers should see him. he must speak of it. his hand touched cloth. he was wearing trousers. his chest was bare, and some one was bending over him touching places here and there on his body with something that stung. not bees after all. he looked up with mildly wondering eyes and saw a face bending over him--a kindly bearded face, a face that he could trust. not like--not like--that strange mask face of the japanese. . . . that other. . . .
-he struggled on to his elbow crying: "no, no. i can't any more. i've had enough. he's mad, i tell you----"
-a kind rough voice said to him: "that's all right, my friend. that's all over. no harm done----"
-my friend! that sounded good. he looked round him and in the distance saw dunbar. he broke into smiles holding out his hand.
-"dunbar, old man! that's fine. so you're all right?"
-dunbar came over, sat on his bed, putting his arm around him.
-"all right? i should think so. so are we all. even jabez isn't much the worse. that devil missed his eyes, thank heaven. he'll have two scars to the end of his time to remind him, though."
-then he saw hesther.
-"oh, thank god!" he whispered to himself. "nunc dimittis. . . ."
-she came to him. the three sat together on the sofa, the bearded man (the doctor from the village under the cliff, harkness afterwards found) standing back, looking at them, smiling.
-"now tell me," harkness said, looking at dunbar, "the rest that i don't know."
-"there isn't much to tell. we were only there another ten minutes. when you fainted off i felt a bit queer myself, but i just kept together, and then heard some one running up the stairs.
-"i thought it was one of the japs returning, but there was a great banging on the door and then shouting in a good old cornish accent. i called back that i was tied up in there and that they must break in the door. that they did and burst in--two fishermen and old possiter the policeman from duntrent. he's somewhere about the house now with two of the treliss policemen. well, it seems that a fellow, jack curtis, was going up the hill to his morning work in the creppit fields above the wood here when he heard a strange cry, and, turning the corner of the road, finds on the path above the rocks, crispin--pretty smashed up you know. he ran--only a yard or two--to the possiters' cottage. possiter was having his breakfast and was up here in no time. they got into the house through a window and saw the two japanese clearing off up the back garden. curtis chased them but they beat him and vanished into the wood. they stopped two other men who were passing and then came on hesther tied up in the library. she sent them to the tower."
-"well--and then?" said harkness.
-"there isn't much more. except this. they got up the doctor, had poor old jabez's face looked to and cleared him off down to his cottage, were examining your cuts--all this down here. suddenly a car comes up to the door and in there bursts--young crispin! the two treliss policemen had turned up three minutes earlier in their car and were here alone except for possiter examining crispin senior--who was pretty well smashed to pieces i can tell you.
-"crispin junior breaks through, gives one look at his father, shouts out some words that no one can understand, puts a revolver to his temple and blows the top of his head off before any one can stop him. topples right over his father's body. the end of the house of crispin!
-"no one knows where he'd been. to truro, i imagine, looking for all of us. he must have cared for that madman, cared for him or been hypnotised by him--i don't know. at least he didn't hesitate----"
-"and now, sir, would you mind telling me . . .?" said the stout red-faced treliss policeman, advancing towards them.
-he was free; it was from the moment that the red-faced policeman, smiling upon him benevolently, had informed him that, for the moment, he had had from him all that he needed, his one burning and determined impulse--to get away from that hall, that garden, that house with the utmost possible urgency.
-he had not wished even to stay with hesther and dunbar. he would see them later in the day, would see them, please god, many many times in the years to come.
-what he wanted was to be alone--absolutely alone.
-the cuts on the upper part of his body were nothing--a little iodine would heal them soon; it seemed that there had come to him no physical harm--only an amazing all-invading weariness. it was not like any weariness that he had ever before known. he imagined--he had had no positive experience--that it resembled the conditions of some happy doped trance, some dream-state in which the world was a vision and oneself a disembodied spirit. it was as though his body, stricken with an agony of weariness, was waiting for his descent, but his soul remained high in air in a bell of crystal glass beyond whose surface the colours of the world floated about him.
-he left them all--the doctor, the policeman, dunbar and hesther. he did not even stop at jabez's cottage to inquire. that was for later. as half-past seven struck from the church tower below the hill he flung the gate behind him, crossed the road, and struck off on to the downs above the sea.
-by a kind of second sight he knew exactly where he would go. there was a path that crossed the downs that ran slipping into a little cove, across whose breast a stream trickled, then up on to the downs again, pushing up over fields of corn, past the cottage gardens up to the very gate of the hotel.
-it was all mapped in his mind in bright clear-painted colours.
-the world was indeed as though it had only that morning been painted in green and blue and gold. while the fog hung, under its canopy the master-artist had been at work. now from the shoulder of the downs a shimmer of mist tempered the splendour of the day. harkness could see it all. the long line of sea on whose blue surface three white sails hovered, the bend of the downs where it turned to deeper green, the dip of the hill out of whose hollow the church spire like a spear steel-tipped gesticulated, the rising hill with the wood and the tall white tower, the green downs far to the right where tiny sheep like flowers quivered in the early morning haze.
-all was peace. the rustling whisper of the sea, the breeze moving through the taller grasses, the hum of tiny insects, a lark singing, two dogs barking in rivalry, a scent of herb and salt and fashioned soil, all these things were peace.
-harkness moved a free man as he had never been in all his life as yet. he was his own master and god's servant too. life might be a dream--it seemed to him that it was--but it was a dream with a meaning, and the events of that night had given him the key.
-his egotism was gone. he wanted nothing for himself any more. he was, and would always be, himself, but also he had lost himself in the common life of man. he was himself because his contact with beauty was his own. beauty belonged to all men in common, and it was through beauty that they came to god, but each man found beauty in his own way, and, having found it, joined his portion of it to the common stock.
-he had been shy of man and was shy no longer; he had been in love, was in love now, but had surrendered it; he had been afraid of physical pain and was afraid no longer; he had looked his enemy in the eyes and borne him no ill-will.
-but he was conscious of none of these things--only of the freshness of the morning, of the scents that came to him from every side, and of this strange disembodied state so that he seemed to float, like gossamer, on air.
-he went down the path to the little cove. he watched the ripple of water advance and retreat. the stream of fresh water that ran through it was crystal clear and he bent down, made a cup with his hands and drank. he could see the pebbles, brown and red and green like jewels, and thin spires of green weed swaying to and fro.
-he buried his face in the water, letting it wash his eyes, his forehead, his nostrils, his mouth.
-he stood up and drank in the silence. the ripple of the sea was like the touch on his arm of a friend. he kneeled down and let the fine sand run, hot, through his fingers. then he moved on.
-he climbed the hill: a flock of sheep passed him, huddling together, crying, nosing the hedge. the sun touched the outline of their fleece to shining light. he cried out to the shepherd:
-"a fine morning!"
-"aye, a beautiful morning!"
-"a nasty fog last night."
-"aye, aye--all cleared off now though. it'll be a warm day."
-the dog, his tongue out, his eyes shining, ran barking hither, thither. they passed over the hill, the sheep like a cloud against the green.
-he pushed up, the breeze blowing more strongly now on his forehead.
-he reached the cottage gardens, and the smell of roses was once more thick in his nostrils. the chimneys were sending silver skeins of smoke into the blue air. bacon smells and scent of fresh bread came to him.
-he was at the hotel gates. oh, but he was weary now! weary and happy. he stumbled up the path smelling the roses again. into the hall. the gong was ringing for breakfast. children, crying out and laughing, raced down the stairs, passed him. he reached his room. he opened the door. how quiet it was! just as he had left it.
-ah! there was the tree of the "st. gilles," and there the grave friendly eyes of strang leaning over the etching-table to greet him.
-just as they were--but he!--not as he had been! he caught his face in the glass smiling idiotically.
-he staggered to his bed, flung himself down still smiling. his eyes closed. there floated up to him a face--a little white face crowned with red hair, but not evil now, not animal--friendly, lonely, asking for something. . . .
-he smiled, promising something. lifted his hand. then his hand fell, and he sank deep, deep, deep into happy, blissful slumber.
-the end. and the online distributed proofreading team.
-the little nugget
-in which the little nugget is introduced to the reader, and plans are made for his future by several interested parties. in which, also, the future mr peter burns is touched upon. the whole concluding with a momentous telephone-call.
-the little nugget
-if the management of the hotel guelph, that london landmark, could have been present at three o'clock one afternoon in early january in the sitting-room of the suite which they had assigned to mrs elmer ford, late of new york, they might well have felt a little aggrieved. philosophers among them would possibly have meditated on the limitations of human effort; for they had done their best for mrs ford. they had housed her well. they had fed her well. they had caused inspired servants to anticipate her every need. yet here she was, in the midst of all these aids to a contented mind, exhibiting a restlessness and impatience of her surroundings that would have been noticeable in a caged tigress or a prisoner of the bastille. she paced the room. she sat down, picked up a novel, dropped it, and, rising, resumed her patrol. the clock striking, she compared it with her watch, which she had consulted two minutes before. she opened the locket that hung by a gold chain from her neck, looked at its contents, and sighed. finally, going quickly into the bedroom, she took from a suit-case a framed oil-painting, and returning with it to the sitting-room, placed it on a chair, and stepped back, gazing at it hungrily. her large brown eyes, normally hard and imperious, were strangely softened. her mouth quivered.
-'ogden!' she whispered.
-the picture which had inspired this exhibition of feeling would probably not have affected the casual spectator to quite the same degree. he would have seen merely a very faulty and amateurish portrait of a singularly repellent little boy of about eleven, who stared out from the canvas with an expression half stolid, half querulous; a bulgy, overfed little boy; a little boy who looked exactly what he was, the spoiled child of parents who had far more money than was good for them.
-as mrs ford gazed at the picture, and the picture stared back at her, the telephone bell rang. she ran to it eagerly. it was the office of the hotel, announcing a caller.
-'yes? yes? who?' her voice fell, as if the name was not the one she had expected. 'oh, yes,' she said. 'yes, ask lord mountry to come to me here, please.'
-she returned to the portrait. the look of impatience, which had left her face as the bell sounded, was back now. she suppressed it with an effort as her visitor entered.
-lord mountry was a blond, pink-faced, fair-moustached young man of about twenty-eight--a thick-set, solemn young man. he winced as he caught sight of the picture, which fixed him with a stony eye immediately on his entry, and quickly looked away.
-'i say, it's all right, mrs ford.' he was of the type which wastes no time on preliminary greetings. 'i've got him.'
-mrs ford's voice was startled.
-'stanborough, you know.'
-'oh! i--i was thinking of something else. won't you sit down?'
-lord mountry sat down.
-'the artist, you know. you remember you said at lunch the other day you wanted your little boy's portrait painted, as you only had one of him, aged eleven--'
-'this is ogden, lord mountry. i painted this myself.'
-'er, yes,' he said.
-'fine manly little fellow--what?' he continued.
-'yes, isn't he?'
-his lordship stealthily resumed his former position.
-'i recommended this fellow, stanborough, if you remember. he's a great pal of mine, and i'd like to give him a leg up if i could. they tell me he's a topping artist. don't know much about it myself. you told me to bring him round here this afternoon, you remember, to talk things over. he's waiting downstairs.'
-'oh yes, yes. of course, i've not forgotten. thank you so much, lord mountry.'
-'rather a good scheme occurred to me, that is, if you haven't thought over the idea of that trip on my yacht and decided it would bore you to death. you still feel like making one of the party--what?'
-mrs ford shot a swift glance at the clock.
-'i'm looking forward to it,' she said.
-'well, then, why shouldn't we kill two birds with one stone? combine the voyage and the portrait, don't you know. you could bring your little boy along--he'd love the trip--and i'd bring stanborough--what?'
-this offer was not the outcome of a sudden spasm of warm-heartedness on his lordship's part. he had pondered the matter deeply, and had come to the conclusion that, though it had flaws, it was the best plan. he was alive to the fact that a small boy was not an absolute essential to the success of a yachting trip, and, since seeing ogden's portrait, he had realized still more clearly that the scheme had draw-backs. but he badly wanted stanborough to make one of the party. whatever ogden might be, there was no doubt that billy stanborough, that fellow of infinite jest, was the ideal companion for a voyage. it would make just all the difference having him. the trouble was that stanborough flatly refused to take an indefinite holiday, on the plea that he could not afford the time. upon which his lordship, seldom blessed with great ideas, had surprised himself by producing the scheme he had just sketched out to mrs ford.
-he looked at her expectantly, as he finished speaking, and was surprised to see a swift cloud of distress pass over her face. he rapidly reviewed his last speech. no, nothing to upset anyone in that. he was puzzled.
-she looked past him at the portrait. there was pain in her eyes.
-'i'm afraid you don't quite understand the position of affairs,' she said. her voice was harsh and strained.
-'you see--i have not--' she stopped. 'my little boy is not--ogden is not living with me just now.'
-'at school, eh?'
-'no, not at school. let me tell you the whole position. mr ford and i did not get on very well together, and a year ago we were divorced in washington, on the ground of incompatibility, and--and--'
-she choked. his lordship, a young man with a shrinking horror of the deeper emotions, whether exhibited in woman or man, writhed silently. that was the worst of these americans! always getting divorced and causing unpleasantness. how was a fellow to know? why hadn't whoever it was who first introduced them--he couldn't remember who the dickens it was--told him about this? he had supposed she was just the ordinary american woman doing europe with an affectionate dollar-dispensing husband in the background somewhere.
-'er--' he said. it was all he could find to say.
-'and--and the court,' said mrs ford, between her teeth, 'gave him the custody of ogden.'
-lord mountry, pink with embarrassment, gurgled sympathetically.
-'i'm afraid it knocks that scheme on the head,' said lord mountry mournfully.
-'i don't want to make plans yet, but--it is possible that ogden may be with us after all. something may be--arranged.'
-'you think you may be able to bring him along on the yacht after all?'
-'i am hoping so.'
-lord mountry, however willing to emit sympathetic gurgles, was too plain and straightforward a young man to approve of wilful blindness to obvious facts.
-'i don't see how you are going to override the decision of the court. it holds good in england, i suppose?'
-'i am hoping something may be--arranged.'
-'oh, same here, same here. certainly.' having done his duty by not allowing plain facts to be ignored, his lordship was ready to become sympathetic again. 'by the way, where is ogden?'
-'he is down at mr ford's house in the country. but--'
-she was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone bell. she was out of her seat and across the room at the receiver with what appeared to lord mountry's startled gaze one bound. as she put the instrument to her ear a wave of joy swept over her face. she gave a little cry of delight and excitement.
-'send them right up at once,' she said, and turned to lord mountry transformed.
-'lord mountry,' she said quickly, 'please don't think me impossibly rude if i turn you out. some--some people are coming to see me. i must--'
-his lordship rose hurriedly.
-'of course. of course. certainly. where did i put my--ah, here.' he seized his hat, and by way of economizing effort, knocked his stick on to the floor with the same movement. mrs ford watched his bendings and gropings with growing impatience, till finally he rose, a little flushed but with a full hand--stick, gloves, and hat, all present and correct.
-'good-bye, then, mrs ford, for the present. you'll let me know if your little boy will be able to make one of our party on the yacht?'
-'yes, yes. thank you ever so much. good-bye.'
-he reached the door and opened it.
-'by jove,' he said, springing round--'stanborough! what about stanborough? shall i tell him to wait? he's down below, you know!'
-'yes, yes. tell mr stanborough i'm dreadfully sorry to have to keep him waiting, and ask him if he won't stay for a few minutes in the palm room.'
-inspiration came to lord mountry.
-'i'll give him a drink,' he said.
-'yes, yes, anything. lord mountry, you really must go. i know i'm rude. i don't know what i'm saying. but--my boy is returning to me.'
-the new-comers were a tall, strikingly handsome girl, with a rather hard and cynical cast of countenance. she was leading by the hand a small, fat boy of about fourteen years of age, whose likeness to the portrait on the chair proclaimed his identity. he had escaped the collision, but seemed offended by it; for, eyeing the bending peer with cold distaste, he summed up his opinion of him in the one word 'chump!'
-lord mountry rose.
-'i beg your pardon,' he said for perhaps the seventh time. he was thoroughly unstrung. always excessively shy, he was embarrassed now by quite a variety of causes. the world was full of eyes--mrs ford's saying 'go!' ogden's saying 'fool!' the portrait saying 'idiot!' and, finally, the eyes of this wonderfully handsome girl, large, grey, cool, amused, and contemptuous saying--so it seemed to him in that feverish moment--'who is this curious pink person who cumbers the ground before me?'
-'i--i beg your pardon.' he repeated.
-'ought to look where you're going,' said ogden severely.
-'not at all,' said the girl. 'won't you introduce me, nesta?'
-'lord mountry--miss drassilis,' said mrs ford.
-'i'm afraid we're driving lord mountry away,' said the girl. her eyes seemed to his lordship larger, greyer, cooler, more amused, and more contemptuous than ever. he floundered in them like an unskilful swimmer in deep waters.
-'no, no,' he stammered. 'give you my word. just going. good-bye. you won't forget to let me know about the yacht, mrs ford--what? it'll be an awfully jolly party. good-bye, good-bye, miss drassilis.'
-he looked at ogden for an instant, as if undecided whether to take the liberty of addressing him too, and then, his heart apparently failing him, turned and bolted. from down the corridor came the clatter of a dropped stick.
-cynthia drassilis closed the door and smiled.
-'a nervous young person!' she said. 'what was he saying about a yacht, nesta?'
-mrs ford roused herself from her fascinated contemplation of ogden.
-'oh, nothing. some of us are going to the south of france in his yacht next week.'
-'what a delightful idea!'
-there was a certain pensive note in cynthia's voice.
-'a splendid idea!' she murmured.
-mrs ford swooped. she descended on ogden in a swirl and rustle of expensive millinery, and clasped him to her.
-it is not given to everybody to glide neatly into a scene of tense emotion. ogden failed to do so. he wriggled roughly from the embrace.
-'got a cigarette?' he said.
-he was an extraordinarily unpleasant little boy. physically the portrait standing on the chair did him more than justice. painted by a mother's loving hand, it flattered him. it was bulgy. he was more bulgy. it was sullen. he scowled. and, art having its limitations, particularly amateur art, the portrait gave no hint of his very repellent manner. he was an intensely sophisticated child. he had the air of one who has seen all life has to offer, and is now permanently bored. his speech and bearing were those of a young man, and a distinctly unlovable young man.
-even mrs ford was momentarily chilled. she laughed shakily.
-'how very matter-of-fact you are, darling!' she said.
-cynthia was regarding the heir to the ford millions with her usual steady, half-contemptuous gaze.
-'he has been that all day,' she said. 'you have no notion what a help it was to me.'
-mrs ford turned to her effusively.
-'oh, cynthia, dear, i haven't thanked you.'
-'no,' interpolated the girl dryly.
-'you're a wonder, darling. you really are. i've been repeating that ever since i got your telegram from eastnor.' she broke off. 'ogden, come near me, my little son.'
-he lurched towards her sullenly.
-'don't muss a fellow now,' he stipulated, before allowing himself to be enfolded in the outstretched arms.
-'tell me, cynthia,' resumed mrs ford, 'how did you do it? i was telling lord mountry that i hoped i might see my ogden again soon, but i never really hoped. it seemed too impossible that you should succeed.'
-'this lord mountry of yours,' said cynthia. 'how did you get to know him? why have i not seen him before?'
-'i met him in paris in the fall. he has been out of london for a long time, looking after his father, who was ill.'
-'he has been most kind, making arrangements about getting ogden's portrait painted. but, bother lord mountry. how did we get sidetracked on to him? tell me how you got ogden away.'
-'it was extraordinarily easy, as it turned out, you see.'
-'ogden, darling,' observed mrs ford, 'don't go away. i want you near me.'
-'oh, all right.'
-'then stay by me, angel-face.'
-'oh, slush!' muttered angel-face beneath his breath. 'say, i'm darned hungry,' he added.
-it was if an electric shock had been applied to mrs ford. she sprang to her feet.
-'my poor child! of course you must have some lunch. ring the bell, cynthia. i'll have them send up some here.'
-'i'll have mine here,' said cynthia.
-'oh, you've had no lunch either! i was forgetting that.'
-'i thought you were.'
-'you must both lunch here.'
-'really,' said cynthia, 'i think it would be better if ogden had his downstairs in the restaurant.'
-'want to talk scandal, eh?'
-'ogden, dearest!' said mrs ford. 'very well, cynthia. go, ogden. you will order yourself something substantial, marvel-child?'
-'bet your life,' said the son and heir tersely.
-there was a brief silence as the door closed. cynthia gazed at her friend with a peculiar expression.
-'well, i did it, dear,' she said.
-'yes. it's splendid. you're a wonder, darling.'
-'yes,' said cynthia.
-there was another silence.
-'by the way,' said mrs ford, 'didn't you say there was a little thing, a small bill, that was worrying you?'
-'did i mention it? yes, there is. it's rather pressing. in fact, it's taking up most of the horizon at present. here it is.'
-'it's very kind of you, nesta,' said cynthia. 'they were beginning to show quite a vindictive spirit about it.'
-she folded the cheque calmly and put it in her purse.
-'and now tell me how you did it,' said mrs ford.
-she dropped into a chair and leaned back, her hands behind her head. for the first time, she seemed to enjoy perfect peace of mind. her eyes half closed, as if she had been making ready to listen to some favourite music.
-'tell me from the very beginning,' she said softly.
-cynthia checked a yawn.
-'very well, dear,' she said. 'i caught the 10.20 to eastnor, which isn't a bad train, if you ever want to go down there. i arrived at a quarter past twelve, and went straight up to the house--you've never seen the house, of course? it's quite charming--and told the butler that i wanted to see mr ford on business. i had taken the precaution to find out that he was not there. he is at droitwich.'
-'rheumatism,' murmured mrs ford. 'he has it sometimes.'
-'the man told me he was away, and then he seemed to think that i ought to go. i stuck like a limpet. i sent him to fetch ogden's tutor. his name is broster--reggie broster. he is a very nice young man. big, broad shoulders, and such a kind face.'
-'yes, dear, yes?'
-'i told him i was doing a series of drawings for a magazine of the interiors of well-known country houses.'
-'he believed you?'
-'he believed everything. he's that kind of man. he believed me when i told him that my editor particularly wanted me to sketch the staircase. they had told me about the staircase at the inn. i forget what it is exactly, but it's something rather special in staircases.'
-'so you got in?'
-'so i got in.'
-'and saw ogden?'
-'only for a moment--then reggie--'
-'mr broster. i always think of him as reggie. he's one of nature's reggies. such a kind, honest face. well, as i was saying, reggie discovered that it was time for lessons, and sent ogden upstairs.'
-'by himself! reggie and i chatted for a while.'
-mrs ford's eyes opened, brown and bright and hard.
-'mr broster is not a proper tutor for my boy,' she said coldly.
-'i suppose it was wrong of reggie,' said cynthia. 'but--i was wearing this hat.'
-'well, after a time, i said i must be starting my work. he wanted me to start with the room we were in. i said no, i was going out into the grounds to sketch the house from the east. i chose the east because it happens to be nearest the railway station. i added that i supposed he sometimes took ogden for a little walk in the grounds. he said yes, he did, and it was just about due. he said possibly he might come round my way. he said ogden would be interested in my sketch. he seemed to think a lot of ogden's fondness for art.'
-'mr broster is not a proper tutor for my boy.'
-'well, he isn't your boy's tutor now, is he, dear?'
-'what happened then?'
-'did he believe that?'
-'certainly he believed it. he was most kind and sympathetic. we had a nice chat. he told me all about himself. he used to be very good at football. he doesn't play now, but he often thinks of the past.'
-'but he must have seen that you couldn't sketch. then what became of your magazine commission story?'
-'well, somehow the sketch seemed to get shelved. i didn't even have to start it. we were having our chat, you see. reggie was telling me how good he had been at football when he was at oxford, and he wanted me to see a newspaper clipping of a varsity match he had played in. i said i'd love to see it. he said it was in his suit-case in the house. so i promised to look after ogden while he fetched it. i sent him off to get it just in time for us to catch the train. off he went, and here we are. and now, won't you order that lunch you mentioned? i'm starving.'
-mrs ford rose. half-way to the telephone she stopped suddenly.
-'my dear child! it has only just struck me! we must leave here at once. he will have followed you. he will guess that ogden has been kidnapped.'
-'believe me, it takes reggie quite a long time to guess anything. besides, there are no trains for hours. we are quite safe.'
-'are you sure?'
-'absolutely. i made certain of that before i left.'
-mrs ford kissed her impulsively.
-'oh, cynthia, you really are wonderful!'
-she started back with a cry as the bell rang sharply.
-'for goodness' sake, nesta,' said cynthia, with irritation, 'do keep control of yourself. there's nothing to be frightened about. i tell you mr broster can't possibly have got here in the time, even if he knew where to go to, which i don't see how he could. it's probably ogden.'
-the colour came back into mrs ford's cheeks.
-'why, of course.'
-cynthia opened the door.
-'come in, darling,' said mrs ford fondly. and a wiry little man with grey hair and spectacles entered.
-'good afternoon, mrs ford,' he said. 'i have come to take ogden back.'
-there are some situations in life so unexpected, so trying, that, as far as concerns our opinion of those subjected to them, we agree, as it were, not to count them; we refuse to allow the victim's behaviour in circumstances so exacting to weigh with us in our estimate of his or her character. we permit the great general, confronted suddenly with a mad bull, to turn and run, without forfeiting his reputation for courage. the bishop who, stepping on a concealed slide in winter, entertains passers-by with momentary rag-time steps, loses none of his dignity once the performance is concluded.
-in the same way we must condone the behaviour of cynthia drassilis on opening the door of mrs ford's sitting-room and admitting, not ogden, but this total stranger, who accompanied his entry with the remarkable speech recorded at the close of the last section.
-she was a girl who prided herself on her carefully blase' and supercilious attitude towards life; but this changeling was too much for her. she released the handle, tottered back, and, having uttered a discordant squeak of amazement, stood staring, eyes and mouth wide open.
-on mrs ford the apparition had a different effect. the rather foolish smile of welcome vanished from her face as if wiped away with a sponge. her eyes, fixed and frightened like those of a trapped animal, glared at the intruder. she took a step forward, choking.
-'what--what do you mean by daring to enter my room?' she cried.
-the man held his ground, unmoved. his bearing was a curious blend of diffidence and aggressiveness. he was determined, but apologetic. a hired assassin of the middle ages, resolved to do his job loyally, yet conscious of causing inconvenience to his victim, might have looked the same.
-'i am sorry,' he said, 'but i must ask you to let me have the boy, mrs ford.'
-cynthia was herself again now. she raked the intruder with the cool stare which had so disconcerted lord mountry.
-'who is this gentleman?' she asked languidly.
-'my name is mennick,' he said. 'i am mr elmer ford's private secretary.'
-'what do you want?' said mrs ford.
-'i have already explained what i want, mrs ford. i want ogden.'
-cynthia raised her eyebrows.
-'what does he mean, nesta? ogden is not here.'
-mr mennick produced from his breast-pocket a telegraph form, and in his quiet, business-like way proceeded to straighten it out.
-'i have here,' he said, 'a telegram from mr broster, ogden's tutor. it was one of the conditions of his engagement that if ever he was not certain of ogden's whereabouts he should let me know at once. he tells me that early this afternoon he left ogden in the company of a strange young lady'--mr mennick's spectacles flashed for a moment at cynthia--'and that, when he returned, both of them had disappeared. he made inquiries and discovered that this young lady caught the 1.15 express to london, ogden with her. on receipt of this information i at once wired to mr ford for instructions. i have his reply'--he fished for and produced a second telegram--'here.'
-'i still fail to see what brings you here,' said mrs ford. 'owing to the gross carelessness of his father's employees, my son appears to have been kidnapped. that is no reason--'
-'i will read mr ford's telegram,' proceeded mr mennick unmoved. 'it is rather long. i think mr ford is somewhat annoyed. "the boy has obviously been stolen by some hireling of his mother's." i am reading mr ford's actual words,' he said, addressing cynthia with that touch of diffidence which had marked his manner since his entrance.
-'don't apologize,' said cynthia, with a short laugh. 'you're not responsible for mr ford's rudeness.'
-mr mennick bowed.
-'he continued: "remove him from her illegal restraint. if necessary call in police and employ force."'
-'charming!' said mrs ford.
-'practical,' said mr mennick. 'there is more. "before doing anything else sack that fool of a tutor, then go to agency and have them recommend good private school for boy. on no account engage another tutor. they make me tired. fix all this today. send ogden back to eastnor with mrs sheridan. she will stay there with him till further notice." that is mr ford's message.'
-mr mennick folded both documents carefully and replaced them in his pocket.
-mrs ford looked at the clock.
-'and now, would you mind going, mr mennick?'
-'i am sorry to appear discourteous, mrs ford, but i cannot go without ogden.'
-'i shall telephone to the office to send up a porter to remove you.'
-'i shall take advantage of his presence to ask him to fetch a policeman.'
-in the excitement of combat the veneer of apologetic diffidence was beginning to wear off mr mennick. he spoke irritably. cynthia appealed to his reason with the air of a bored princess descending to argument with a groom.
-'can't you see for yourself that he's not here?' she said. 'do you think we are hiding him?'
-'perhaps you would like to search my bedroom?' said mrs ford, flinging the door open.
-mr mennick remained uncrushed.
-'quite unnecessary, mrs ford. i take it, from the fact that he does not appear to be in this suite, that he is downstairs making a late luncheon in the restaurant.'
-'i shall telephone--'
-'i may add that, when i came up here, i left mrs sheridan--she is a fellow-secretary of mine. you may remember mr ford mentioning her in his telegram--i left her to search the restaurant and grill-room, with instructions to bring ogden, if found, to me in this room.'
-the door-bell rang. he went to the door and opened it.
-'come in, mrs sheridan. ah!'
-a girl in a plain, neat blue dress entered the room. she was a small, graceful girl of about twenty-five, pretty and brisk, with the air of one accustomed to look after herself in a difficult world. her eyes were clear and steady, her mouth sensitive but firm, her chin the chin of one who has met trouble and faced it bravely. a little soldier.
-she was shepherding ogden before her, a gorged but still sullen ogden. he sighted mr mennick and stopped.
-'hello!' he said. 'what have you blown in for?'
-'he was just in the middle of his lunch,' said the girl. 'i thought you wouldn't mind if i let him finish.'
-'say, what's it all about, anyway?' demanded ogden crossly. 'can't a fellow have a bit of grub in peace? you give me a pain.'
-mr mennick explained.
-'your father wishes you to return to eastnor, ogden.'
-'oh, all right. i guess i'd better go, then. good-bye, ma.'
-mrs ford choked.
-'kiss me, ogden.'
-ogden submitted to the embrace in sulky silence. the others comported themselves each after his or her own fashion. mr mennick fingered his chin uncomfortably. cynthia turned to the table and picked up an illustrated paper. mrs sheridan's eyes filled with tears. she took a half-step towards mrs ford, as if about to speak, then drew back.
-'come, ogden,' said mr mennick gruffly. necessary, this hired assassin work, but painful--devilish painful. he breathed a sigh of relief as he passed into the corridor with his prize.
-at the door mrs sheridan hesitated, stopped, and turned.
-'i'm sorry,' she said impulsively.
-mrs ford turned away without speaking, and went into the bedroom.
-cynthia laid down her paper.
-'one moment, mrs sheridan.'
-the girl had turned to go. she stopped.
-'can you give me a minute? come in and shut the door. won't you sit down? very well. you seemed sorry for mrs ford just now.'
-'i am very sorry for mrs ford. very sorry. i hate to see her suffering. i wish mr mennick had not brought me into this.'
-'nesta's mad about that boy,' said cynthia. 'heaven knows why. i never saw such a repulsive child in my life. however, there it is. i am sorry for you. i gathered from what mr mennick said that you were to have a good deal of ogden's society for some time to come. how do you feel about it?'
-mrs sheridan moved towards the door.
-'i must be going,' she said. 'mr mennick will be waiting for me.'
-'one moment. tell me, don't you think, after what you saw just now, that mrs ford is the proper person to have charge of ogden? you see how devoted she is to him?'
-'may i be quite frank with you?'
-'well, then, i think that mrs ford's influence is the worst possible for ogden. i am sorry for her, but that does not alter my opinion. it is entirely owing to mrs ford that ogden is what he is. she spoiled him, indulged him in every way, never checked him--till he has become--well, what you yourself called him, repulsive.'
-'oh well,' she said, 'i only talked that mother's love stuff because you looked the sort of girl who would like it. we can drop all that now, and come down to business.'
-'i don't understand you.'
-'you will. i don't know if you think that i kidnapped ogden from sheer affection for mrs ford. i like nesta, but not as much as that. no. i'm one of the get-rich-quick-wallingfords, and i'm looking out for myself all the time. there's no one else to do it for me. i've a beastly home. my father's dead. my mother's a cat. so--'
-'please stop,' said mrs sheridan. i don't know why you are telling me all this.'
-'yes, you do. i don't know what salary mr ford pays you, but i don't suppose it's anything princely. why don't you come over to us? mrs ford would give you the earth if you smuggled ogden back to her.'
-'you seem to be trying to bribe me,' said mrs sheridan.
-'in this case,' said cynthia, 'appearances aren't deceptive. i am.'
-'don't be a little fool.'
-the door slammed.
-'i'm very sorry, nesta,' she said.
-mrs ford went to the window and looked out.
-'i'm not going to break down, if that's what you mean,' she said. 'i don't care. and, anyhow, it shows that it can be done.'
-cynthia turned a page of her paper.
-'i've just been trying my hand at bribery and corruption.'
-'what do you mean?'
-'oh, i promised and vowed many things in your name to that secretary person, the female one--not mennick--if she would help us. nothing doing. i told her to let us have ogden as soon as possible, c.o.d., and she withered me with a glance and went.'
-mrs ford shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
-'oh, let her go. i'm sick of amateurs.'
-'thank you, dear,' said cynthia.
-'oh, i know you did your best. for an amateur you did wonderfully well. but amateurs never really succeed. there were a dozen little easy precautions which we neglected to take. what we want is a professional; a man whose business is kidnapping; the sort of man who kidnaps as a matter of course; someone like smooth sam fisher.'
-'my dear nesta! who? i don't think i know the gentleman.'
-'he tried to kidnap ogden in 1906, when we were in new york. at least, the police put it down to him, though they could prove nothing. then there was a horrible man, the police said he was called buck macginnis. he tried in 1907. that was in chicago.'
-'good gracious! kidnapping ogden seems to be as popular as football. and i thought i was a pioneer!'
-something approaching pride came into mrs ford's voice.
-'i don't suppose there's a child in america,' she said, 'who has had to be so carefully guarded. why, the kidnappers had a special name for him--they called him "the little nugget". for years we never allowed him out of our sight without a detective to watch him.'
-'well, mr ford seems to have changed all that now. i saw no detectives. i suppose he thinks they aren't necessary in england. or perhaps he relied on mr broster. poor reggie!'
-'which, incidentally, does not make your chance of getting him away any lighter.'
-'oh, i've given up hope now,' said mrs ford resignedly.
-'i haven't,' said cynthia.
-there was something in her voice which made her companion turn sharply and look at her. mrs ford might affect to be resigned, but she was a woman of determination, and if the recent reverse had left her bruised, it had by no means crushed her.
-'cynthia! what do you mean? what are you hinting?'
-'you despise amateurs, nesta, but, for all that, it seems that your professionals who kidnap as a matter of course and all the rest of it have not been a bit more successful. it was not my want of experience that made me fail. it was my sex. this is man's work. if i had been a man, i should at least have had brute force to fall back upon when mr mennick arrived.'
-mrs ford nodded.
-'which is impossible,' said mrs ford dejectedly.
-'not at all.'
-'you know a man?'
-'i know the man.'
-'cynthia! what do you mean? who is he?'
-'his name is peter burns.'
-mrs ford shook her head.
-'i don't know him.'
-'i'll introduce you. you'll like him.'
-'but, cynthia, how do you know he would be willing to help us?'
-'he would do it for me,' cynthia paused. 'you see,' she went on, 'we are engaged to be married.'
-'my dear cynthia! why did you not tell me? when did it happen?'
-'last night at the fletchers' dance.'
-mrs ford's eyes opened.
-'last night! were you at a dance last night? and two railway journeys today! you must be tired to death.'
-'oh, i'm all right, thanks. i suppose i shall be a wreck and not fit to be seen tomorrow, but just at present i feel as if nothing could tire me. it's the effect of being engaged, perhaps.'
-'tell me about him.'
-'well, he's rich, and good-looking, and amiable'--cynthia ticked off these qualities on her fingers--'and i think he's brave, and he's certainly not so stupid as mr broster.'
-'and you're very much in love with him?'
-'i like him. there's no harm in peter.'
-'you certainly aren't wildly enthusiastic!'
-'oh, we shall hit it off quite well together. i needn't pose to you, nesta, thank goodness! that's one reason why i'm fond of you. you know how i am situated. i've got to marry some one rich, and peter's quite the nicest rich man i've ever met. he's really wonderfully unselfish. i can't understand it. with his money, you would expect him to be a perfect horror.'
-a thought seemed to strike mrs ford.
-'but, if he's so rich--' she began. 'i forget what i was going to say,' she broke off.
-'dear nesta, i know what you were going to say. if he's so rich, why should he be marrying me, when he could take his pick of half london? well, i'll tell you. he's marrying me for one reason, because he's sorry for me: for another, because i had the sense to make him. he didn't think he was going to marry anyone. a few years ago he had a disappointment. a girl jilted him. she must have been a fool. he thought he was going to live the rest of his life alone with his broken heart. i didn't mean to allow that. it's taken a long time--over two years, from start to finish--but i've done it. he's a sentimentalist. i worked on his sympathy, and last night i made him propose to me at the fletchers' dance.'
-mrs ford had not listened to these confidences unmoved. several times she had tried to interrupt, but had been brushed aside. now she spoke sharply.
-'you know i was not going to say anything of the kind. and i don't think you should speak in this horrible, cynical way of--of--'
-she stopped, flushing. there were moments when she hated cynthia. these occurred for the most part when the latter, as now, stirred her to an exhibition of honest feeling which she looked on as rather unbecoming. mrs ford had spent twenty years trying to forget that her husband had married her from behind the counter of a general store in an illinois village, and these lapses into the uncultivated genuineness of her girlhood made her uncomfortable.
-'i wasn't going to say anything of the kind,' she repeated.
-cynthia was all smiling good-humour.
-'i know. i was only teasing you. "stringing", they call it in your country, don't they?'
-mrs ford was mollified.
-'i'm sorry, cynthia. i didn't mean to snap at you. all the same ...' she hesitated. what she wanted to ask smacked so dreadfully of mechanicsville, illinois. yet she put the question bravely, for she was somehow feeling quite troubled about this unknown mr burns. 'aren't you really fond of him at all, cynthia?'
-the magic word took mrs ford's mind off the matrimonial future of mr burns, and brought him into prominence in his capacity of knight-errant. she laughed happily. the contemplation of mr burns as knight-errant healed the sting of defeat. the affair of mr mennick began to appear in the light of a mere skirmish.
-'you take my breath away!' she said. 'how do you propose that mr burns shall help us?'
-'it's perfectly simple. you heard mr mennick read that telegram. ogden is to be sent to a private school. peter shall go there too.'
-'but how? i don't understand. we don't know which school mr mennick will choose.'
-'we can very soon find out.'
-'but how can mr burns go there?'
-'nothing easier. he will be a young man who has been left a little money and wants to start a school of his own. he goes to ogden's man and suggests that he pay a small premium to come to him for a term as an extra-assistant-master, to learn the business. mr man will jump at him. he will be getting the bargain of his life. peter didn't get much of a degree at oxford, but i believe he was wonderful at games. from a private-school point of view he's a treasure.'
-'but--would he do it?'
-'i think i can persuade him.'
-mrs ford kissed her with an enthusiasm which hitherto she had reserved for ogden.
-'my darling girl,' she cried, 'if you knew how happy you have made me!'
-'i do,' said cynthia definitely. 'and now you can do the same for me.'
-'anything, anything! you must have some more hats.'
-'i don't want any more hats. i want to go with you on lord mountry's yacht to the riviera.'
-'of course,' said mrs ford after a slight pause, 'it isn't my party, you know, dear.'
-'no. but you can work me in, darling.'
-'it's quite a small party. very quiet.'
-'crowds bore me. i enjoy quiet.'
-mrs ford capitulated.
-'i fancy you are doing me a very good turn,' she said. 'you must certainly come on the yacht.'
-'i'll tell peter to come straight round here now,' said cynthia simply. she went to the telephone.
-in which other interested parties, notably one buck macginnis and a trade rival, smooth sam fisher, make other plans for the nugget's future. of stirring times at a private school for young gentlemen. of stratagems, spoils, and alarms by night. of journeys ending in lovers' meetings. the whole related by mr peter burns, gentleman of leisure, who forfeits that leisure in a good cause.
-peter burns's narrative
-i am strongly of the opinion that, after the age of twenty-one, a man ought not to be out of bed and awake at four in the morning. the hour breeds thought. at twenty-one, life being all future, it may be examined with impunity. but, at thirty, having become an uncomfortable mixture of future and past, it is a thing to be looked at only when the sun is high and the world full of warmth and optimism.
-this thought came to me as i returned to my rooms after the fletchers' ball. the dawn was breaking as i let myself in. the air was heavy with the peculiar desolation of a london winter morning. the houses looked dead and untenanted. a cart rumbled past, and across the grey street a dingy black cat, moving furtively along the pavement, gave an additional touch of forlornness to the scene.
-i shivered. i was tired and hungry, and the reaction after the emotions of the night had left me dispirited.
-i was engaged to be married. an hour back i had proposed to cynthia drassilis. and i can honestly say that it had come as a great surprise to me.
-why had i done it? did i love her? it was so difficult to analyse love: and perhaps the mere fact that i was attempting the task was an answer to the question. certainly i had never tried to do so five years ago when i had loved audrey blake. i had let myself be carried on from day to day in a sort of trance, content to be utterly happy, without dissecting my happiness. but i was five years younger then, and audrey was--audrey.
-i must explain audrey, for she in her turn explains cynthia.
-i have no illusions regarding my character when i first met audrey blake. nature had given me the soul of a pig, and circumstances had conspired to carry on nature's work. i loved comfort, and i could afford to have it. from the moment i came of age and relieved my trustees of the care of my money, i wrapped myself in comfort as in a garment. i wallowed in egoism. in fact, if, between my twenty-first and my twenty-fifth birthdays, i had one unselfish thought, or did one genuinely unselfish action, my memory is a blank on the point.
-it was at the height of this period that i became engaged to audrey. now that i can understand her better and see myself, impartially, as i was in those days, i can realize how indescribably offensive i must have been. my love was real, but that did not prevent its patronizing complacency being an insult. i was king cophetua. if i did not actually say in so many words, 'this beggar-maid shall be my queen', i said it plainly and often in my manner. she was the daughter of a dissolute, evil-tempered artist whom i had met at a bohemian club. he made a living by painting an occasional picture, illustrating an occasional magazine-story, but mainly by doing advertisement work. a proprietor of a patent infants' food, not satisfied with the bare statement that baby cried for it, would feel it necessary to push the fact home to the public through the medium of art, and mr blake would be commissioned to draw the picture. a good many specimens of his work in this vein were to be found in the back pages of the magazines.
-a man may make a living by these means, but it is one that inclines him to jump at a wealthy son-in-law. mr blake jumped at me. it was one of his last acts on this earth. a week after he had--as i now suspect--bullied audrey into accepting me, he died of pneumonia.
-his death had several results. it postponed the wedding: it stirred me to a very crescendo of patronage, for with the removal of the bread-winner the only flaw in my cophetua pose had vanished: and it gave audrey a great deal more scope than she had hitherto been granted for the exercise of free will in the choice of a husband.
-this last aspect of the matter was speedily brought to my notice, which till then it had escaped, by a letter from her, handed to me one night at the club, where i was sipping coffee and musing on the excellence of life in this best of all possible worlds.
-it was brief and to the point. she had been married that morning.
-to say that that moment was a turning point in my life would be to use a ridiculously inadequate phrase. it dynamited my life. in a sense it killed me. the man i had been died that night, regretted, i imagine, by few. whatever i am today, i am certainly not the complacent spectator of life that i had been before that night.
-i crushed the letter in my hand, and sat staring at it, my pigsty in ruins about my ears, face to face with the fact that, even in a best of all possible worlds, money will not buy everything.
-i remember, as i sat there, a man, a club acquaintance, a bore from whom i had fled many a time, came and settled down beside me and began to talk. he was a small man, but he possessed a voice to which one had to listen. he talked and talked and talked. how i loathed him, as i sat trying to think through his stream of words. i see now that he saved me. he forced me out of myself. but at the time he oppressed me. i was raw and bleeding. i was struggling to grasp the incredible. i had taken audrey's unalterable affection for granted. she was the natural complement to my scheme of comfort. i wanted her; i had chosen and was satisfied with her, therefore all was well. and now i had to adjust my mind to the impossible fact that i had lost her.
-her letter was a mirror in which i saw myself. she said little, but i understood, and my self-satisfaction was in ribbons--and something deeper than self-satisfaction. i saw now that i loved her as i had not dreamed myself capable of loving.
-and all the while this man talked and talked.
-i have a theory that speech, persevered in, is more efficacious in times of trouble than silent sympathy. up to a certain point it maddens almost beyond endurance; but, that point past, it soothes. at least, it was so in my case. gradually i found myself hating him less. soon i began to listen, then to answer. before i left the club that night, the first mad frenzy, in which i could have been capable of anything, had gone from me, and i walked home, feeling curiously weak and helpless, but calm, to begin the new life.
-three years passed before i met cynthia. i spent those years wandering in many countries. at last, as one is apt to do, i drifted back to london, and settled down again to a life which, superficially, was much the same as the one i had led in the days before i knew audrey. my old circle in london had been wide, and i found it easy to pick up dropped threads. i made new friends, among them cynthia drassilis.
-i liked cynthia, and i was sorry for her. i think that, about that time i met her, i was sorry for most people. the shock of audrey's departure had had that effect upon me. it is always the bad nigger who gets religion most strongly at the camp-meeting, and in my case 'getting religion' had taken the form of suppression of self. i never have been able to do things by halves, or even with a decent moderation. as an egoist i had been thorough in my egoism; and now, fate having bludgeoned that vice out of me, i found myself possessed of an almost morbid sympathy with the troubles of other people.
-i was extremely sorry for cynthia drassilis. meeting her mother frequently, i could hardly fail to be. mrs drassilis was a representative of a type i disliked. she was a widow, who had been left with what she considered insufficient means, and her outlook on life was a compound of greed and querulousness. sloane square and south kensington are full of women in her situation. their position resembles that of the ancient mariner. 'water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.' for 'water' in their case substitute 'money'. mrs drassilis was connected with money on all sides, but could only obtain it in rare and minute quantities. any one of a dozen relations-in-law could, if they had wished, have trebled her annual income without feeling it. but they did not so wish. they disapproved of mrs drassilis. in their opinion the hon. hugo drassilis had married beneath him--not so far beneath him as to make the thing a horror to be avoided in conversation and thought, but far enough to render them coldly polite to his wife during his lifetime and almost icy to his widow after his death. hugo's eldest brother, the earl of westbourne, had never liked the obviously beautiful, but equally obviously second-rate, daughter of a provincial solicitor whom hugo had suddenly presented to the family one memorable summer as his bride. he considered that, by doubling the income derived from hugo's life-insurance and inviting cynthia to the family seat once a year during her childhood, he had done all that could be expected of him in the matter.
-he had not. mrs drassilis expected a great deal more of him, the non-receipt of which had spoiled her temper, her looks, and the peace of mind of all who had anything much to do with her.
-it used to irritate me when i overheard people, as i occasionally have done, speak of cynthia as hard. i never found her so myself, though heaven knows she had enough to make her so, to me she was always a sympathetic, charming friend.
-ours was a friendship almost untouched by sex. our minds fitted so smoothly into one another that i had no inclination to fall in love. i knew her too well. i had no discoveries to make about her. her honest, simple soul had always been open to me to read. there was none of that curiosity, that sense of something beyond that makes for love. we had reached a point of comradeship beyond which neither of us desired to pass.
-yet at the fletchers' ball i asked cynthia to marry me, and she consented.
-looking back, i can see that, though the determining cause was mr tankerville gifford, it was audrey who was responsible. she had made me human, capable of sympathy, and it was sympathy, primarily, that led me to say what i said that night.
-but the immediate cause was certainly young mr gifford.
-i arrived at marlow square, where i was to pick up cynthia and her mother, a little late, and found mrs drassilis, florid and overdressed, in the drawing-room with a sleek-haired, pale young man known to me as tankerville gifford--to his intimates, of whom i was not one, and in the personal paragraphs of the coloured sporting weeklies, as 'tanky'. i had seen him frequently at restaurants. once, at the empire, somebody had introduced me to him; but, as he had not been sober at the moment, he had missed any intellectual pleasure my acquaintanceship might have afforded him. like everybody else who moves about in london, i knew all about him. to sum him up, he was a most unspeakable little cad, and, if the drawing-room had not been mrs drassilis's, i should have wondered at finding him in it.
-mrs drassilis introduced us.
-'i think we have already met,' i said.
-he stared glassily.
-i was not surprised.
-at this moment cynthia came in. out of the corner of my eye i observed a look of fuddled displeasure come into tanky's face at her frank pleasure at seeing me.
-i had never seen her looking better. she is a tall girl, who carries herself magnificently. the simplicity of her dress gained an added dignity from comparison with the rank glitter of her mother's. she wore unrelieved black, a colour which set off to wonderful advantage the clear white of her skin and her pale-gold hair.
-'you're late, peter,' she said, looking at the clock.
-'i know. i'm sorry.'
-'better be pushing, what?' suggested tanky.
-'my cab's waiting.'
-'will you ring the bell, mr gifford?' said mrs drassilis. 'i will tell parker to whistle for another.'
-'take me in yours,' i heard a voice whisper in my ear.
-i looked at cynthia. her expression had not changed. then i looked at tanky gifford, and i understood. i had seen that stuffed-fish look on his face before--on the occasion when i had been introduced to him at the empire.
-'if you and mr gifford will take my cab,' i said to mrs drassilis, 'we will follow.'
-mrs drassilis blocked the motion. i imagine that the sharp note in her voice was lost on tanky, but it rang out like a clarion to me.
-'i am in no hurry,' she said. 'mr gifford, will you take cynthia? i will follow with mr burns. you will meet parker on the stairs. tell him to call another cab.'
-as the door closed behind them, she turned on me like a many-coloured snake.
-'how can you be so extraordinarily tactless, peter?' she cried. 'you're a perfect fool. have you no eyes?'
-'i'm sorry,' i said.
-'he's devoted to her.'
-'what do you mean?'
-'sorry for her.'
-'oh!' she said at last. her voice quivered. she was clutching at her self-control as it slipped from her. 'oh! and what is my daughter to you, mr burns!'
-'a great friend.'
-'and i suppose you think it friendly to try to spoil her chances?'
-'if mr gifford is a sample of them--yes.'
-'what do you mean?'
-'i see. i understand. i am going to put a stop to this once and for all. do you hear? i have noticed it for a long time. because i have given you the run of the house, and allowed you to come in and out as you pleased, like a tame cat, you presume--'
-'presume--' i prompted.
-'you come here and stand in cynthia's way. you trade on the fact that you have known us all this time to monopolize her attention. you spoil her chances. you--'
-the invaluable parker entered to say that the cab was at the door.
-we drove to the fletchers' house in silence. the spell had been broken. neither of us could recapture that first, fine, careless rapture which had carried us through the opening stages of the conflict, and discussion of the subject on a less exalted plane was impossible. it was that blessed period of calm, the rest between rounds, and we observed it to the full.
-when i reached the ballroom a waltz was just finishing. cynthia, a statue in black, was dancing with tanky gifford. they were opposite me when the music stopped, and she caught sight of me over his shoulder.
-she disengaged herself and moved quickly towards me.
-'take me away,' she said under her breath. 'anywhere. quick.'
-it was no time to consider the etiquette of the ballroom. tanky, startled at his sudden loneliness, seemed by his expression to be endeavouring to bring his mind to bear on the matter. a couple making for the door cut us off from him, and following them, we passed out.
-neither of us spoke till we had reached the little room where i had meditated.
-she sat down. she was looking pale and tired.
-'oh, dear!' she said.
-i understood. i seemed to see that journey in the cab, those dances, those terrible between-dances ...
-it was very sudden.
-i took her hand. she turned to me with a tired smile. there were tears in her eyes ...
-i heard myself speaking ...
-she was looking at me, her eyes shining. all the weariness seemed to have gone out of them.
-i looked at her.
-there was something missing. i had felt it when i was speaking. to me my voice had had no ring of conviction. and then i saw what it was. there was no mystery. we knew each other too well. friendship kills love.
-she put my thought into words.
-'we have always been brother and sister,' she said doubtfully.
-'you have changed tonight? you really want me?'
-did i? i tried to put the question to myself and answer it honestly. yes, in a sense, i had changed tonight. there was an added appreciation of her fineness, a quickening of that blend of admiration and pity which i had always felt for her. i wanted with all my heart to help her, to take her away from her dreadful surroundings, to make her happy. but did i want her in the sense in which she had used the word? did i want her as i had wanted audrey blake? i winced away from the question. audrey belonged to the dead past, but it hurt to think of her.
-was it merely because i was five years older now than when i had wanted audrey that the fire had gone out of me?
-i shut my mind against my doubts.
-'i have changed tonight,' i said.
-and i bent down and kissed her.
-i was conscious of being defiant against somebody. and then i knew that the somebody was myself.
-i poured myself out a cup of hot coffee from the flask which smith, my man, had filled against my return. it put life into me. the oppression lifted.
-and yet there remained something that made for uneasiness, a sort of foreboding at the back of my mind.
-i had taken a step in the dark, and i was afraid for cynthia. i had undertaken to give her happiness. was i certain that i could succeed? the glow of chivalry had left me, and i began to doubt.
-audrey had taken from me something that i could not recover--poetry was as near as i could get to a definition of it. yes, poetry. with cynthia my feet would always be on the solid earth. to the end of the chapter we should be friends and nothing more.
-i found myself pitying cynthia intensely. i saw her future a series of years of intolerable dullness. she was too good to be tied for life to a battered hulk like myself.
-i drank more coffee and my mood changed. even in the grey of a winter morning a man of thirty, in excellent health, cannot pose to himself for long as a piece of human junk, especially if he comforts himself with hot coffee.
-my mind resumed its balance. i laughed at myself as a sentimental fraud. of course i could make her happy. no man and woman had ever been more admirably suited to each other. as for that first disaster, which i had been magnifying into a life-tragedy, what of it? an incident of my boyhood. a ridiculous episode which--i rose with the intention of doing so at once--i should now proceed to eliminate from my life.
-i went quickly to my desk, unlocked it, and took out a photograph.
-and then--undoubtedly four o'clock in the morning is no time for a man to try to be single-minded and decisive--i wavered. i had intended to tear the thing in pieces without a glance, and fling it into the wastepaper-basket. but i took the glance and i hesitated.
-the girl in the photograph was small and slight, and she looked straight out of the picture with large eyes that met and challenged mine. how well i remembered them, those irish-blue eyes under their expressive, rather heavy brows. how exactly the photographer had caught that half-wistful, half-impudent look, the chin tilted, the mouth curving into a smile.
-in a wave all my doubts had surged back upon me. was this mere sentimentalism, a four-in-the-morning tribute to the pathos of the flying years, or did she really fill my soul and stand guard over it so that no successor could enter in and usurp her place?
-i had no answer, unless the fact that i replaced the photograph in its drawer was one. i felt that this thing could not be decided now. it was more difficult than i had thought.
-when i woke my last coherent thought was still clear in my mind. it was a passionate vow that, come what might, if those irish eyes were to haunt me till my death, i would play the game loyally with cynthia.
-the telephone bell rang just as i was getting ready to call at marlow square and inform mrs drassilis of the position of affairs. cynthia, i imagined, would have broken the news already, which would mitigate the embarrassment of the interview to some extent; but the recollection of my last night's encounter with mrs drassilis prevented me from looking forward with any joy to the prospect of meeting her again.
-cynthia's voice greeted me as i unhooked the receiver.
-'hullo, peter! is that you? i want you to come round here at once.'
-'i was just starting,' i said.
-'i don't mean marlow square. i'm not there. i'm at the guelph. ask for mrs ford's suite. it's very important. i'll tell you all about it when you get here. come as soon as you can.'
-my rooms were conveniently situated for visits to the hotel guelph. a walk of a couple of minutes took me there. mrs ford's suite was on the third floor. i rang the bell and cynthia opened the door to me.
-'come in,' she said. 'you're a dear to be so quick.'
-'my rooms are only just round the corner.' she shut the door, and for the first time we looked at one another. i could not say that i was nervous, but there was certainly, to me, a something strange in the atmosphere. last night seemed a long way off and somehow a little unreal. i suppose i must have shown this in my manner, for she suddenly broke what had amounted to a distinct pause by giving a little laugh. 'peter,' she said, 'you're embarrassed.' i denied the charge warmly, but without real conviction. i was embarrassed. 'then you ought to be,' she said. 'last night, when i was looking my very best in a lovely dress, you asked me to marry you. now you see me again in cold blood, and you're wondering how you can back out of it without hurting my feelings.'
-i smiled. she did not. i ceased to smile. she was looking at me in a very peculiar manner.
-'peter,' she said, 'are you sure?'
-'my dear old cynthia,' i said, 'what's the matter with you?'
-'you are sure?' she persisted.
-'absolutely, entirely sure.' i had a vision of two large eyes looking at me out of a photograph. it came and went in a flash.
-i kissed cynthia.
-'i've been thinking.'
-'out with it. something has gone wrong.' an idea flashed upon me. 'er--has your mother--is your mother very angry about--'
-'mother's delighted. she always liked you, peter.'
-i had the self-restraint to check a grin.
-'then what is it?' i said. 'tired after the dance?'
-'nothing as simple as that.'
-'it's so difficult to put it into words.'
-she was playing with the papers on the table, her face turned away. for a moment she did not speak.
-'i've been worrying myself, peter,' she said at last. 'you are so chivalrous and unselfish. you're quixotic. it's that that is troubling me. are you marrying me just because you're sorry for me? don't speak. i can tell you now if you will just let me say straight out what's in my mind. we have known each other for two years now. you know all about me. you know how--how unhappy i am at home. are you marrying me just because you pity me and want to take me out of all that?'
-'my dear girl!'
-'you haven't answered my question.'
-'i answered it two minutes ago when you asked me if--'
-'you do love me?'
-all this time she had been keeping her face averted, but now she turned and looked into my eyes with an abrupt intensity which, i confess, startled me. her words startled me more.
-'peter, do you love me as much as you loved audrey blake?'
-in the instant which divided her words from my reply my mind flew hither and thither, trying to recall an occasion when i could have mentioned audrey to her. i was convinced that i had not done so. i never mentioned audrey to anyone.
-there is a grain of superstition in the most level-headed man. i am not particularly level-headed, and i have more than a grain in me. i was shaken. ever since i had asked cynthia to marry me, it seemed as if the ghost of audrey had come back into my life.
-'good lord!' i cried. 'what do you know of audrey blake?'
-she turned her face away again.
-'her name seems to affect you very strongly,' she said quietly.
-i recovered myself.
-'if you ask an old soldier,' i said, 'he will tell you that a wound, long after it has healed, is apt to give you an occasional twinge.'
-'not if it has really healed.'
-'yes, when it has really healed--when you can hardly remember how you were fool enough to get it.'
-she said nothing.
-'how did you hear about--it?' i asked.
-'when i first met you, or soon after, a friend of yours--we happened to be talking about you--told me that you had been engaged to be married to a girl named audrey blake. he was to have been your best man, he said, but one day you wrote and told him there would be no wedding, and then you disappeared; and nobody saw you again for three years.'
-'yes,' i said: 'that is all quite true.'
-'it seems to have been a serious affair, peter. i mean--the sort of thing a man would find it hard to forget.'
-i tried to smile, but i knew that i was not doing it well. it was hurting me extraordinarily, this discussion of audrey.
-'a man would find it almost impossible,' i said, 'unless he had a remarkably poor memory.'
-'i didn't mean that. you know what i mean by forget.'
-'yes,' i said, 'i do.'
-she came quickly to me and took me by the shoulders, looking into my face.
-'peter, can you honestly say you have forgotten her--in the sense i mean?'
-'yes,' i said.
-again that feeling swept over me--that curious sensation of being defiant against myself.
-'she does not stand between us?'
-'no,' i said.
-i could feel the effort behind the word. it was as if some subconscious part of me were working to keep it back.
-there was a soft smile on her face; as she raised it to mine i put my arms around her.
-she drew away with a little laugh. her whole manner had changed. she was a different being from the girl who had looked so gravely into my eyes a moment before.
-'oh, my dear boy, how terribly muscular you are! you've crushed me. i expect you used to be splendid at football, like mr broster.'
-i did not reply at once. i cannot wrap up the deeper emotions and put them back on their shelf directly i have no further immediate use for them. i slowly adjusted myself to the new key of the conversation.
-'who's broster?' i asked at length.
-'he used to be tutor to'--she turned me round and pointed--'to that.'
-i had seen a picture standing on one of the chairs when i entered the room but had taken no particular notice of it. i now gave it a closer glance. it was a portrait, very crudely done, of a singularly repulsive child of about ten or eleven years old.
-was he, poor chap! well, we all have our troubles, don't we! who is this young thug! not a friend of yours, i hope?'
-'that is ogden, mrs ford's son. it's a tragedy--'
-'perhaps it doesn't do him justice. does he really squint like that, or is it just the artist's imagination?'
-'don't make fun of it. it's the loss of that boy that is breaking nesta's heart.'
-i was shocked.
-'is he dead? i'm awfully sorry. i wouldn't for the world--'
-'no, no. he is alive and well. but he is dead to her. the court gave him into the custody of his father.'
-'mrs ford was the wife of elmer ford, the american millionaire. they were divorced a year ago.'
-cynthia was gazing at the portrait.
-'this boy is quite a celebrity in his way,' she said. 'they call him "the little nugget" in america.'
-'oh! why is that?'
-'it's a nickname the kidnappers have for him. ever so many attempts have been made to steal him.'
-she stopped and looked at me oddly.
-'i made one today, peter,' she said. i went down to the country, where the boy was, and kidnapped him.'
-'cynthia! what on earth do you mean?'
-'don't you understand? i did it for nesta's sake. she was breaking her heart about not being able to see him, so i slipped down and stole him away, and brought him back here.'
-i do not know if i was looking as amazed as i felt. i hope not, for i felt as if my brain were giving way. the perfect calmness with which she spoke of this extraordinary freak added to my confusion.
-'no; i stole him.'
-'but, good heavens! the law! it's a penal offence, you know!'
-'well, i did it. men like elmer ford aren't fit to have charge of a child. you don't know him, but he's just an unscrupulous financier, without a thought above money. to think of a boy growing up in that tainted atmosphere--at his most impressionable age. it means death to any good there is in him.'
-my mind was still grappling feebly with the legal aspect of the affair.
-'but, cynthia, kidnapping's kidnapping, you know! the law doesn't take any notice of motives. if you're caught--'
-she cut through my babble.
-'would you have been afraid to do it, peter?'
-'well--' i began. i had not considered the point before.
-'i don't believe you would. if i asked you to do it for my sake--'
-'but, cynthia, kidnapping, you know! it's such an infernally low-down game.'
-'i played it. do you despise me?'
-i perspired. i could think of no other reply.
-'peter,' she said, 'i understand your scruples. i know exactly how you feel. but can't you see that this is quite different from the sort of kidnapping you naturally look on as horrible? it's just taking a boy away from surroundings that must harm him, back to his mother, who worships him. it's not wrong. it's splendid.'
-'you will do it for me, peter?' she said.
-'i don't understand,' i said feebly. 'it's done. you've kidnapped him yourself.'
-'they tracked him and took him back. and now i want you to try.' she came closer to me. 'peter, don't you see what it will mean to me if you agree to try? i'm only human, i can't help, at the bottom of my heart, still being a little jealous of this audrey blake. no, don't say anything. words can't cure me; but if you do this thing for me, i shall be satisfied. i shall know.'
-she was close beside me, holding my arm and looking into my face. that sense of the unreality of things which had haunted me since that moment at the dance came over me with renewed intensity. life had ceased to be a rather grey, orderly business in which day succeeded day calmly and without event. its steady stream had broken up into rapids, and i was being whirled away on them.
-'will you do it, peter? say you will.'
-a voice, presumably mine, answered 'yes'.
-'my dear old boy!'
-she pushed me into a chair, and, sitting on the arm of it, laid her hand on mine and became of a sudden wondrously business-like.
-'listen,' she said, 'i'll tell you what we have arranged.'
-it was borne in upon me, as she began to do so, that she appeared from the very beginning to have been extremely confident that that essential part of her plans, my consent to the scheme, could be relied upon as something of a certainty. women have these intuitions.
-looking back, i think i can fix the point at which this insane venture i had undertaken ceased to be a distorted dream, from which i vaguely hoped that i might shortly waken, and took shape as a reality of the immediate future. that moment came when i met mr arnold abney by appointment at his club.
-till then the whole enterprise had been visionary. i gathered from cynthia that the boy ogden was shortly to be sent to a preparatory school, and that i was to insinuate myself into this school and, watching my opportunity, to remove him; but it seemed to me that the obstacles to this comparatively lucid scheme were insuperable. in the first place, how were we to discover which of england's million preparatory schools mr ford, or mr mennick for him, would choose? secondly, the plot which was to carry me triumphantly into this school when--or if--found, struck me as extremely thin. i was to pose, cynthia told me, as a young man of private means, anxious to learn the business, with a view to setting up a school of his own. the objection to that was, i held, that i obviously did not want to do anything of the sort. i had not the appearance of a man with such an ambition. i had none of the conversation of such a man.
-i put it to cynthia.
-'they would find me out in a day,' i assured her. 'a man who wants to set up a school has got to be a pretty brainy sort of fellow. i don't know anything.'
-'you got your degree.'
-'a degree. at any rate, i've forgotten all i knew.'
-'that doesn't matter. you have the money. anybody with money can start a school, even if he doesn't know a thing. nobody would think it strange.'
-it struck me as a monstrous slur on our educational system, but reflection told me it was true. the proprietor of a preparatory school, if he is a man of wealth, need not be able to teach, any more than an impresario need be able to write plays.
-'well, we'll pass that for the moment,' i said. 'here's the real difficulty. how are you going to find out the school mr ford has chosen?'
-'i have found it out already--or nesta has. she set a detective to work. it was perfectly easy. ogden's going to mr abney's. sanstead house is the name of the place. it's in hampshire somewhere. quite a small school, but full of little dukes and earls and things. lord mountry's younger brother, augustus beckford, is there.'
-i had known lord mountry and his family well some years ago. i remembered augustus dimly.
-'mountry? do you know him? he was up at oxford with me.'
-she seemed interested.
-'what kind of a man is he?' she asked.
-'oh, quite a good sort. rather an ass. i haven't seen him for years.'
-'he's a friend of nesta's. i've only met him once. he is going to be your reference.'
-'you will need a reference. at least, i suppose you will. and, anyhow, if you say you know lord mountry it will make it simpler for you with mr abney, the brother being at the school.'
-'does mountry know about this business? have you told him why i want to go to abney's?'
-'nesta told him. he thought it was very sporting of you. he will tell mr abney anything we like. by the way, peter, you will have to pay a premium or something, i suppose. but nesta will look after all expenses, of course.'
-on this point i made my only stand of the afternoon.
-'no,' i said; 'it's very kind of her, but this is going to be entirely an amateur performance. i'm doing this for you, and i'll stand the racket. good heavens! fancy taking money for a job of this kind!'
-she looked at me rather oddly.
-'that is very sweet of you, peter,' she said, after a slight pause. 'now let's get to work.'
-and together we composed the letter which led to my sitting, two days later, in stately conference at his club with mr arnold abney, m.a., of sanstead house, hampshire.
-mr abney proved to be a long, suave, benevolent man with an oxford manner, a high forehead, thin white hands, a cooing intonation, and a general air of hushed importance, as of one in constant communication with the great. there was in his bearing something of the family solicitor in whom dukes confide, and something of the private chaplain at the castle.
-'the duke of devizes,' he said in an undertone. 'a most able man. most able. his nephew, lord ronald stokeshaye, was one of my pupils. a charming boy.'
-i gathered that the old feudal spirit still glowed to some extent in mr abney's bosom.
-we came to business.
-'so you wish to be one of us, mr burns, to enter the scholastic profession?'
-i tried to look as if i did.
-'well, in certain circumstances, the circumstances in which i--ah--myself, i may say, am situated, there is no more delightful occupation. the work is interesting. there is the constant fascination of seeing these fresh young lives develop--and of helping them to develop--under one's eyes; in any case, i may say, there is the exceptional interest of being in a position to mould the growing minds of lads who will some day take their place among the country's hereditary legislators, that little knot of devoted men who, despite the vulgar attacks of loudmouthed demagogues, still do their share, and more, in the guidance of england's fortunes. yes.'
-he paused. i said i thought so, too.
-'you are an oxford man, mr burns, i think you told me? ah, i have your letter here. just so. you were at--ah, yes. a fine college. the dean is a lifelong friend of mine. perhaps you knew my late pupil, lord rollo?--no, he would have been since your time. a delightful boy. quite delightful ... and you took your degree? exactly. and represented the university at both cricket and rugby football? excellent. mens sana in--ah--corpore, in fact, sano, yes!'
-he folded the letter carefully and replaced it in his pocket.
-'your primary object in coming to me, mr burns, is, i gather, to learn the--ah--the ropes, the business? you have had little or no previous experience of school-mastering?'
-'then your best plan would undoubtedly be to consider yourself and work for a time simply as an ordinary assistant-master. you would thus get a sound knowledge of the intricacies of the profession which would stand you in good stead when you decide to set up your own school. school-mastering is a profession, which cannot be taught adequately except in practice. "only those who--ah--brave its dangers comprehend its mystery." yes, i would certainly recommend you to begin at the foot of the ladder and go, at least for a time, through the mill.'
-'certainly,' i said. 'of course.'
-my ready acquiescence pleased him. i could see that he was relieved. i think he had expected me to jib at the prospect of actual work.
-'as it happens,' he said, 'my classical master left me at the end of last term. i was about to go to the agency for a successor when your letter arrived. would you consider--'
-i had to think this over. feeling kindly disposed towards mr arnold abney, i wished to do him as little harm as possible. i was going to rob him of a boy, who, while no moulding of his growing mind could make him into a hereditary legislator, did undoubtedly represent a portion of mr abney's annual income; and i did not want to increase my offence by being a useless assistant-master. then i reflected that, if i was no jowett, at least i knew enough latin and greek to teach the rudiments of those languages to small boys. my conscience was satisfied.
-'i should be delighted,' i said.
-'excellent. then let us consider that as--ah--settled,' said mr abney.
-there was a pause. my companion began to fiddle a little uncomfortably with an ash-tray. i wondered what was the matter, and then it came to me. we were about to become sordid. the discussion of terms was upon us.
-and as i realized this, i saw simultaneously how i could throw one more sop to my exigent conscience. after all, the whole thing was really a question of hard cash. by kidnapping ogden i should be taking money from mr abney. by paying my premium i should be giving it back to him.
-i considered the circumstances. ogden was now about thirteen years old. the preparatory-school age limit may be estimated roughly at fourteen. that is to say, in any event sanstead house could only harbour him for one year. mr abney's fees i had to guess at. to be on the safe side, i fixed my premium at an outside figure, and, getting to the point at once, i named it.
-it was entirely satisfactory. my mental arithmetic had done me credit. mr abney beamed upon me. over tea and muffins we became very friendly. in half an hour i heard more of the theory of school-mastering than i had dreamed existed.
-we said good-bye at the club front door. he smiled down at me benevolently from the top of the steps.
-'good-bye, mr burns, good-bye,' he said. 'we shall meet at--ah--philippi.'
-when i reached my rooms, i rang for smith.
-'smith,' i said, 'i want you to get some books for me first thing tomorrow. you had better take a note of them.'
-he moistened his pencil.
-'a latin grammar.'
-to hail the coming centuries-- to ease the steps and lift the load of souls that falter on the road. the perilous music that he hears falls from the vortice of the spheres.
-he presses on before the race, and sings out of a silent place. like faint notes of a forest bird on heights afar that voice is heard; and the dim path he breaks to-day will some time be a trodden way. but when the race comes toiling on that voice of wonder will be gone-- be heard on higher peaks afar, moved upward with the morning star.
-o men of earth, that wandering voice still goes the upward way: rejoice!
-the whirlwind road
-the muses wrapped in mysteries of light came in a rush of music on the night; and i was lifted wildly on quick wings, and borne away into the deep of things. the dead doors of my being broke apart; a wind of rapture blew across the heart; the inward song of worlds rang still and clear; i felt the mystery the muses fear; yet they went swiftening on the ways untrod, and hurled me breathless at the feet of god.
-i felt faint touches of the final truth-- moments of trembling love, moments of youth. a vision swept away the human wall; slowly i saw the meaning of it all-- meaning of life and time and death and birth, but can not tell it to the men of earth. i only point the way, and they must go the whirlwind road of song if they would know.
-the desire of nations
-and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called wonderful, counsellor, the mighty god, the ever-lasting father, the prince of peace.--isaiah.
-earth will go back to her lost youth, and life grow deep and wonderful as truth, when the wise king out of the nearing heaven comes to break the spell of long millenniums-- to build with song again the broken hope of men-- to hush and heroize the world, beneath the flag of brotherhood unfurled. and he will come some day: already is his star upon the way! he comes, o world, he comes! but not with bugle-cry nor roll of doubling drums.
-nay, for he comes to loosen and unbind, to build the lofty purpose in the mind, to stir the heart’s deep chord.... no rude horns parleying, no shock of shields; nor as of old the glory of the lord to half-awakened shepherds in the fields, looking with foolish faces on the rush of the great splendor, when the pulsing hush came o’er the hills, came o’er the heavens afar where on their cliff of stars the watching seraphs are.
-nor as of old when first the strong one trod, the power of sepulchers--our risen god! when on that deathless morning in the dark, he quit the garden of the sepulcher, setting the oleander boughs astir, and pausing at the gate with backward hark.-- nay, nor as when the hero-king of heaven came with upbraiding to his faint eleven, and found the world-way to his bright feet barred, and hopeless then because men’s hearts were hard.
-nor will he come like carnal kings of old, with pomp of pilfered gold; nor like the pharisees with pride of prayer; nor as the stumbling foolish stewards dream in tedious argument and fruitless creed, but in the passion of the heart-warm deed will come the man supreme. yea, for he comes to lift the public care-- to build on earth the vision hung in air. this is the one fulfillment of his law-- the one fact in the mockeries that seem. this is the vision that the prophets saw-- the comrade kingdom builded in their dream.
-no, not as in that elder day comes now the king upon the human way. he comes with power: his white unfearing face shines through the social passion of the race. he comes to frame the freedom of the law, to touch these men of earth with feeling of life’s oneness and its worth, a feeling of its mystery and awe.
-and when he comes into the world gone wrong, he will rebuild her beauty with a song. to every heart he will its own dream be: one moon has many phantoms in the sea. out of the north the norns will cry to men: “balder the beautiful has come again!” the flutes of greece will whisper from the dead: “apollo has unveiled his sunbright head!” the stones of thebes and memphis will find voice: “osiris comes: o tribes of time, rejoice!” and social architects who build the state, serving the dream at citadel and gate, will hail him coming through the labor-hum. and glad quick cries will go from man to man: “lo, he has come, our christ the artisan-- the king who loved the lilies, he has come!”
-he will arrive, our counselor and chief. and with bleak faces lighted up will come the earth-worn mothers from their martyrdom, to tell him of their grief. and glad girls caroling from field and town will go to meet him with the labor-crown, the new crown woven of the heading wheat. and men will sit down at his sacred feet; and he will say--the king-- “come, let us live the poetry we sing!” and these, his burning words, will break the ban-- words that will grow to be, on continent, on sea, the rallying cry of man....
-he comes to make the long injustice right-- comes to push back the shadow of the night, the gray tradition full of flint and flaw-- comes to wipe out the insults to the soul, the insults of the few against the whole, the insults they make righteous with a law.
-yea, he will bear the safety of the state, for in his still and rhythmic steps will be the power and music of alcyone, who holds the swift heavens in their starry fate. yea, he will lay on souls the power of peace, and send on kingdoms torn the sense of home-- more than the fire of joy that burned on greece, more than the light of law that rose on rome.
-the elf child
-i am a child of the reef and the blowing spray, and all my heart goes wildly to the sea. i am a changeling: can you follow me through hill and hollow on the wind’s dim way? yes, at the break of a tempestuous day they bore me to the land through starless storm, and laid me in the pillow sweetly warm and broken by the first one’s little stay.
-the elf kings found me on an ocean reef, a lyric child of mystery and grief. then need i tell you why the trembling start-- why in my song the sound of ocean dwells-- why the quick gladness when the billow swells, as though remembered voices called the heart?
-the goblin laugh
-when i behold how men and women grind and grovel for some place of pomp or power, to shine and circle through a crumbling hour, forgetting the large mansions of the mind, that are the rest and shelter of mankind; and when i see them come with wearied brains pallid and powerless to enjoy their gains, i seem to hear a goblin laugh unwind.
-and then a memory sends upon its billow thoughts of a singer wise enough to play, who took life as a lightsome holiday: oft have i seen him make his arm a pillow, drink from his hand, and with a pipe of willow blow a wild music down a woodland way.
-she comes as hush and beauty of the night, and sees too deep for laughter; her touch is a vibration and a light from worlds before and after.
-softly she came one twilight from the dead, and in the passionate silence of her look was more than man has writ in any book: and now my thoughts are restless, and a dread calls them to the dim land discomforted; for down the leafy ways her white feet took, lightly the newly broken roses shook-- was it the wind disturbed each rosy head?
-god! was it joy or sorrow in her face-- that quiet face? had it grown old or young? was it sweet memory or sad that stung her voiceless soul to wander from its place? what do the dead find in the silence--grace? or endless grief for which there is no tongue?
-the little pool, in street or field apart, glasses deep heavens and the rushing storm; and into silent depths of every heart, the eternal throws its awful shadow-form.
-a leaf from the devil’s jest-book
-beside the sewing-table chained and bent, they stitch for the lady, tyrannous and proud-- for her a wedding-gown, for them a shroud; they stitch and stitch, but never mend the rent torn in life’s golden curtains. glad youth went, and left them alone with time; and now if bowed with burdens they should sob and cry aloud,-- wondering, the rich would look from their content.
-and so this glimmering life at last recedes in unknown, endless depths beyond recall; and what’s the worth of all our ancient creeds, if here at the end of ages this is all-- a white face floating in the whirling ball, a dead face plashing in the river reeds?
-there is a sacred something on all ways-- something that watches through the universe; one that remembers, reckons and repays, giving us love for love, and curse for curse.
-the last furrow
-the spirit of earth, with still restoring hands, ’mid ruin moves, in glimmering chasm gropes, and mosses mantle and the bright flower opes; but death the ploughman wanders in all lands, and to the last of earth his furrow stands. the grave is never hidden; fearful hopes follow the dead upon the fading slopes, and there wild memories meet upon the sands.
-when willows fling their banners to the plain, when rumor of winds and sound of sudden showers disturb the dream of winter--all in vain the grasses hurry to the graves, the flowers toss their wild torches on their windy towers; yet are the bleak graves lonely in the rain.
-in the storm
-i huddled close against the mighty cliff. a sense of safety and of brotherhood broke on the heart: the shelter of a rock is sweeter than the roofs of all the world.
-after reading shakspere
-blithe fancy lightly builds with airy hands or on the edges of the darkness peers, breathless and frightened at the voice she hears: imagination (lo! the sky expands) travels the blue arch and cimmerian sands,-- homeless on earth, the pilgrim of the spheres, the rush of light before the hurrying years, the voice that cries in unfamiliar lands.
-men weigh the moons that flood with eerie light the dusky vales of saturn--wood and stream; but who shall follow on the awful sweep of neptune through the dim and dreadful deep? onward he wanders in the unknown night, and we are shadows moving in a dream.
-the hidden valley
-i stray with ariel and caliban: i know the hill of windy pines--i know where the jay’s nest swings in the wild gorge below: lightly i climb where fallen cedars span bright rivers--climb to a valley under ban, where west winds set a thousand bells ablow-- an eerie valley where in the morning glow i hear the music of the pipes of pan.
-mysterious horns blow by on the still air-- a satyr steps--a wood-god’s dewy notes come faintly from a vale of tossing oats.-- but ho! what white thing in the canyon crossed? gods! i shall come on dian unaware, look on her fearful beauty and be lost.
-some cry of sappho’s lyre, of saadi’s flute, comes back across the waste of mortal things: men strive and die to reach the dead sea fruit-- only the poets find immortal springs.
-love will outwatch the stars, and light the skies when the last star falls, and the silent dark devours; god’s warrior, he will watch the allotted hours, and conquer with the look of his sad eyes: he shakes the kingdom of darkness with his sighs, his quiet sighs, while all the infernal powers tremble and pale upon their central towers, lest, haply, his bright universe arise.
-all will be well if he have strength to wait, till his lost pleiad, white and silver-shod, regains her place to make the perfect seven; then all the worlds will know that love is fate-- that somehow he is greater even than heaven-- that in the cosmic council he is god.
-two at a fireside
-i built a chimney for a comrade old, i did the service not for hope or hire-- and then i traveled on in winter’s cold, yet all the day i glowed before the fire.
-o wingèd brother on the harebell, stay-- was god’s hand very pitiful, the hand that wrought thy beauty at a dream’s demand?
-yea, knowing i love so well the flowery way, he did not fling me to the world astray-- he did not drop me to the weary sand, but bore me gently to a leafy land: tinting my wings, he gave me to the day.
-oh, chide no more my doubting, my despair! i will go back now to the world of men. farewell, i leave thee to the world of air, yet thou hast girded up my heart again; for he that framed the impenetrable plan, and keeps his word with thee, will keep with man.
-to william watson
-after reading “the purple east.”
-that hour you put the wreath of england by to shake her guilty heart with song sublime, the mighty muse that watches from the sky laid on your head the larger wreath of time.
-often of that last hour i lie and think; i see thee, keats, nearing the deathway dim-- see severn in his noiseless hurry, him who leaned above thee fading on the brink.
-what is that wild light through the window chink? is it the burning feet of cherubim? or is it the white moon on western rim-- saint agnes’ moon beginning now to sink?
-how did death come--with sounds of water-stir? with forms of beauty breaking at the lips? with field pipes and the scent of blowing fir? or came it hurrying like a last eclipse, sweeping the world away like gossamer, blotting the moon, the mountains, and the ships?
-out of the deep and endless universe there came a greater mystery, a shape, a something sad, inscrutable, august-- one to confront the worlds and question them.
-the twilight is the morning of his day, while sleep drops seaward from the fading shore, with purpling sail and dip of silver oar, he cheers the shadowed time with roun-delay, until the dark east softens into gray. now as the noisy hours are coming--hark! his song dies gently--it is growing dark-- his night, with its one star, is on its way!
-faintly the light breaks o’er the blowing oats-- sleep, little brother, sleep: i am astir, we worship song, and servants are of her-- i in the bright hours, thou in shadow-time; lead thou the starlit night with merry notes, and i will lead the clamoring day with rhyme.
-in high sierras
-there at a certain hour of the deep night, a gray cliff with a demon face comes up, wrinkled and old, behind the peaks, and with an anxious look peers at the zodiac.
-the wharf of dreams
-strange wares are handled on the wharves of sleep: shadows of shadows pass, and many a light flashes a signal fire across the night; barges depart whose voiceless steersmen keep their way without a star upon the deep; and from lost ships, homing with ghostly crews, come cries of incommunicable news, while cargoes pile the piers, a moon-white heap--
-budgets of dream-dust, merchandise of song, wreckage of hope and packs of ancient wrong, nepenthes gathered from a secret strand, fardels of heartache, burdens of old sins, luggage sent down from dim ancestral inns, and bales of fantasy from no-man’s land.
-to louise michel
-i cannot take your road, louise michel, priestess of pity and of vengeance--no: down that amorphous gulf i cannot go-- that gulf of anarchy whose pit is hell. yet, sister, though my first word is farewell, remember that i know your hidden woe; have felt the grief that rends you blow on blow; have knelt beside you in the murky cell.
-you never followed hate (let this atone) nor knew the wrongs of others from your own: wild was the road, but love has always led, so i am silent where i cannot praise; and here now at the parting of the ways, i lay a still hand lightly on your head.
-shepherd boy and nereid
-ah, once of old in some forgotten tongue, forgotten land, i was a shepherd boy, and you a nereid, a wingèd joy: on through the dawn-bright peaks our bodies swung and flower-soft lyrics by immortals sung fell from their unseen pinnacles in air: god looked from heaven that hour, for you were fair, and i a poet, and the star was young.
-you’d heard my woodland pipe and left the sea-- your hair blown gold and all your body white-- had left the ocean-girls to follow me. we joined the hill-nymphs in their joyous flight, and you laughed lightly to the sea, and sent quick glances flashing through me as i went.
-a song at the start
-oh, down the quick river our galley is going, with a sound in the cordage, a beam on the sail: the wind of the canyon our loose hair is blowing, and the clouds of the morning are glad of the gale.
-around the swift prow little billows are breaking, and flinging their foam in a glory of light; now the shade of a rock on the river is shaking, and a wave leaps high up growing suddenly white.
-the weight of the whole world is light as a feather, and the peaks rise in silence and westerly flee: oh, the world and the poet are singing together, and from the far cliff comes a sound of the sea.
-i never build a song by night or day, of breaking ocean or of blowing whin, but in some wondrous unexpected way, like light upon a road, my love comes in.
-and when i go at night upon the hill, my heart is lifted on mysterious wings: my love is there to strengthen and to still, for she can take away the dread of things.
-a lyric of the dawn
-alone i list in the leafy tryst; silent the woodlands in their starry sleep-- silent the phantom wood in waters deep: no footfall of a wind along the pass startles a harebell--stirs a blade of grass. yonder the wandering weeds, enchanted in the light, stand in the gusty hollows, still and white; yonder are plumy reeds, dusking the border of the clear lagoon; far off the silver clifts hang in ethereal light below the moon; far off the ocean lifts, tossing its billows in the misty beam, and shore-lines whiten, silent as a dream: i hark for the bird, and all the hushed hills harken: this is the valley: here the branches darken the silver-lighted stream.
-hark-- that rapture in the leafy dark! who is it shouts upon the bough aswing, waking the upland and the valley under? what carols, like the blazon of a king, fill all the dawn with wonder? oh, hush, it is the thrush, in the deep and woody glen! ah, thus the gladness of the gods was sung, when the old earth was young; that rapture rang, when the first morning on the mountains sprang: and now he shouts, and the world is young again!
-carol, my king, on your bough aswing thou art not of these evil days-- thou art a voice of the world’s lost youth: oh, tell me what is duty--what is truth-- how to find god upon these hungry ways; tell of the golden prime, when men beheld swift deities descend, before the race was left alone with time, homesick on earth, and homeless to the end, when bird and beast could make a man their friend; before great pan was dead, before the naiads fled; when maidens white with dark eyes shy and bold, with peals of laughter on the peaks of gold, startled the still dawn-- shone in upon the mountains and were gone, their voices fading silverly in depths of forests old.
-sing of the wonders of their woodland ways, before the weird earth-hunger of these days, when there was rippling mirth, when justice was on earth, and light and grandeur of the golden age; when never a heart was sad, when all from king to herdsman had a penny for a wage. ah, that old time has faded to a dream-- the moon’s fair face is broken in the stream; yet shout and carol on, o bird, and let the exiled race not utterly forget; publish thy revelation on the lawns-- sing ever in the dark ethereal dawns; sometime, in some sweet year, these stormy souls, these men of earth may hear.
-but hark again, from the secret glen, that voice of rapture and ethereal youth now laden with despair. forbear, o bird, forbear: is life not terrible enough forsooth? cease, cease the mystic song-- no more, no more, the passion and the pain: it wakes my life to fret against the chain; it makes me think of all the agèd wrong-- of joy and the end of joy and the end of all-- of souls on earth, and souls beyond recall. ah, ah, that voice again! it makes me think of all these restless men, called into time--their progress and their goal; and now, oh now, it sends into my soul dreams of a love that might have been for me-- that might have been--and now can never be.
-tell me no more of these-- tell me of trancèd trees; (the ghosts, the memories, in pity spare) show me the leafy home of the wild bees; show me the snowy summits dim in air; tell me of things afar in valleys silent under moon and star: dim hollows hushed with night, the lofty cedars misty in the light, wild clusters of the vine, wild odors of the pine, the eagle’s eyrie lifted to the moon-- high places where on quiet afternoon a shadow swiftens by, a thrilling scream startles the cliff, and dies across the woodland to a dream.
-ha, now he springs from the bough, it flickers--he is lost! out of the copse he sprang; this is the floating briar where he tossed: the leaves are yet atremble where he sang. here a long vista opens--look! this is the way he took, through the pale poplars by the pond: hark! he is shouting in the field beyond. ho, there he goes through the alder close! he leaves me here behind him in his flight, and yet my heart goes with him out of sight! what whispered spell of faëry calls me on from dell to dell? i hear the voice--it wanders in a dream-- now in the grove, now on the hill, now on the fading stream.
-lead on--you know the way-- lead on to arcady, o’er fields asleep; by river bank abrim; down leafy ways, dewy and cool and dim; by dripping rocks, dark dwellings of the gnome, where hurrying waters dash their crests to foam. i follow where you lead, down winding paths, across the flowery mead, down silent hollows where the woodbine blows, up water-courses scented by the rose. i follow the wandering voice-- i follow, i rejoice, i fade away into the age of gold-- we two together lost in forest old.-- o ferny and thymy paths, o fields of aidenn, canyons and cliffs by mortal feet untrod! o souls that weary and are heavy laden, here is the peace of god!
-lo! now the clamoring hours are on the way: faintly the pine tops redden in the ray; from vale to vale fleet-footed rumors run, with sudden apprehension of the sun; a light wind stirs the filmy tops of delicate dim firs, and on the river border blows, breaking the shy bud softly to a rose. sing out, o throstle, sing: i follow on, my king: lead me forever through the crimson dawn-- till the world ends, lead me on! ho there! he shouts again--he sways--and now, upspringing from the bough, flashing a glint of dew upon the ground, without a sound he drops into a valley and is gone!
-joy of the morning
-i hear you, little bird, shouting aswing above the broken wall. shout louder yet: no song can tell it all. sing to my soul in the deep still wood: ’tis wonderful beyond the wildest word: i’d tell it, too, if i could.
-oft when the white, still dawn lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, i’ve felt it like a glory in my heart-- (the world’s mysterious stir) but had no throat like yours, my bird, nor such a listener.
-youth and time
-once, i remember, the world was young; the rills rejoiced with a silver tongue; the field-lark sat in the wheat and sang; the thrush’s shout in the woodland rang; the cliffs and the perilous sands afar were softened to mist by the morning star; for youth was with me (i know it now!), and a light shone out from his wreathèd brow. he turned the fields to enchanted ground, he touched the rains with a dreamy sound.
-but alas, he vanished, and time appeared, the spirit of ages, old and weird. he crushed and scattered my beamy wings; he dragged me forth from the court of kings; he gave me doubt and a bloom of beard, this spirit of ages, old and weird. the wonder went from the field of corn, the glory died on the craggy horn; and suddenly all was strange and gray, and the rocks came out on the trodden way.
-i hear no more the wild thrush sing: he is silent now on the peach aswing. something is gone from the house of mirth-- something is gone from the hills of earth. time hurries me on with a wizard hand; he turns the earth to a homeless land; he stays my life with a stingy breath, and darkens its depths with foreknowledge of death; calls memories back on their path apace; sends desperate thoughts to the soul’s dim place.
-time murders our youth with his sorrow and sin, and pushes us on to the windowless inn.
-a satyr song
-i know by the stir of the branches the way she went; and at times i can see where a stem of the grass is bent. she’s the secret and light of my life, she allures to elude; but i follow the spell of her beauty whatever the mood.
-a cry in the night
-wail, wail, wail, for the fleering world goes down: into the song of the poet pale mixes the laugh of the clown.
-grim, grim, grim, is the road we go to the dead; yet we must on, for a something dim pushes the soul ahead.
-where, where, where, through the dust and shadow of things will the fleeing fates with their wild manes bear these tribes of slaves and kings?
-one secret night, i stood where ocean pours eternal waters on the yellow shores, and saw the drift of fays that prosper saw: (their feet had no more sound than blowing straw.) and little hands held light in little hands they chased a fleeing billow down the sands, but turned in the nick o’ time, and mad with glee raced back again before the swelling sea.
-in death valley
-there came gray stretches of volcanic plains, bare, lone and treeless, then a bleak lone hill, like to the dolorous hill that dobell saw. around were heaps of ruins piled between the burn o’ sorrow and the water o’ care; and from the stillness of the down-crushed walls one pillar rose up dark against the moon. there was a nameless presence everywhere; in the gray soil there was a purple stain, and the gray reticent rocks were dyed with blood-- blood of a vast unknown calamity. it was the mark of some ancestral grief-- grief that began before the ancient flood.
-just then the branches lightly stirred.... see, out o’ the apple boughs a bird bursts music-mad into the blue abyss: rothschild would give his gold for this-- the wealth of nations, if he knew: (and find a profit in the business, too.)
-o friend, we never choose the better part, until we set the cross up in the heart. i know i can not live until i die-- till i am nailed upon it wild and high, and sleep in the tomb for a full three days dead, with angels at the feet and at the head. but then in a great brightness i shall rise to walk with stiller feet below the skies.
-in poppy fields
-here the poppy hosts assemble: how they startle, how they tremble! all their royal hoods unpinned blow out lightly in the wind. here is gold to labor for; here is pillage worth a war.
-men that in the cities grind, come! before the heart is blind.
-the joy of the hills
-i ride on the mountain tops, i ride; i have found my life and am satisfied. onward i ride in the blowing oats, checking the field-lark’s rippling notes-- lightly i sweep from steep to steep: over my head through the branches high come glimpses of a rushing sky; the tall oats brush my horse’s flanks; wild poppies crowd on the sunny banks; a bee booms out of the scented grass; a jay laughs with me as i pass.
-i ride on the hills, i forgive, i forget life’s hoard of regret-- all the terror and pain of the chafing chain.
-grind on, o cities, grind: i leave you a blur behind. i am lifted elate--the skies expand: here the world’s heaped gold is a pile of sand. let them weary and work in their narrow walls: i ride with the voices of waterfalls!
-i swing on as one in a dream--i swing down the airy hollows, i shout, i sing! the world is gone like an empty word: my body’s a bough in the wind, my heart a bird!
-the invisible bride
-the low-voiced girls that go in gardens of the lord, like flowers of the field they grow in sisterly accord.
-their whispering feet are white along the leafy ways; they go in whirls of light too beautiful for praise.
-and in their band forsooth is one to set me free-- the one that touched my youth-- the one god gave to me.
-she kindles the desire whereby the gods survive-- the white ideal fire that keeps my soul alive.
-now at the wondrous hour, she leaves her star supreme, and comes in the night’s still power, to touch me with a dream.
-sibyl of mystery on roads beyond our ken, softly she comes to me, and goes to god again.
-i know a valley in the summer hills, haunted by little winds and daffodils; faint footfalls and soft shadows pass at noon; noiseless, at night, the clouds assemble there; and ghostly summits hang below the moon-- dim visions lightly swung in silent air.
-the climb of life
-there’s a feel of all things flowing, and no power of earth can bind them; there’s a sense of all things growing, and through all their forms a-glowing of the shaping souls behind them.
-and the break of beauty heightens with the swiftening of the motion, and the soul behind it lightens, as a gleam of splendor whitens from a running wave of ocean.
-see the still hand of the shaper, moving in the dusk of being: burns at first a misty taper, like the moon in veil of vapor, when the rack of night is fleeing.
-in the stone a dream is sleeping, just a tinge of life, a tremor; in the tree a soul is creeping-- last, a rush of angels sweeping with the skies beyond the dreamer.
-so the lord of life is flinging out a splendor that conceals him: and the god is softly singing and on secret ways is winging, till the rush of song reveals him.
-oh, the fret of the brain, and the wounds and the worry; oh, the thought of love and the thought of death-- and the soul in its silent hurry.
-but the stars break above, and the fields flower under; and the tragical life of man goes on, surrounded by beauty and wonder.
-can it be the master knows how the cosmic blossom blows?
-yes, at times the lord of light breaks forth wonderful and white, and he strikes a corded lyre in a rush of whirlwind fire; and he sees before him pass souls and planets in a glass; and within the music hears all the motions of all spheres, all the whispers of all feet, cries of triumph and retreat, songs of systems and of souls, circling to their mighty goals.
-so the lord of light beholds how the cosmic flower unfolds.
-yonder a workman, under the cool bridge, resting at mid-day, watches the glancing midge, while twinkling lights and murmurs of the stream pass into the dim fabric of his dream. the misty hollows and the drowsy ridge-- how like an airy fantasy they seem.
-one life, one law
-what do we know--what need we know of the great world to which we go? we peer into the tomb, and hark: its walls are dim, its doors are dark.
-be still, o mourning heart, nor seek to make the tongueless silence speak: be still, be strong, nor wish to find their way who leave the world behind-- voices and forms forever gone into the darkness of the dawn.
-what is their wisdom, clear and deep?-- that as men sow they surely reap,-- that every thought, that every deed, is sown into the soul for seed. they have no word we do not know,-- nor yet the cherubim aglow with god: we know that virtue saves,-- they know no more beyond the graves.
-the rains of winter scourged the weald, for days they darkened on the field: now, where the wings of winter beat, the poppies ripple in the wheat.
-and pitiless griefs came thick and fast-- life’s bough was naked in the blast-- till silently amid the gloom they blew the wintry heart to bloom.
-an old road
-a host of poppies, a flight of swallows; a flurry of rain, and a wind that follows shepherds the leaves in the sheltered hollows, for the forest is shaken and thinned.
-over my head are the firs for rafter; the crows blow south, and my heart goes after; i kiss my hands to the world with laughter-- is it aidenn or mystical ind?
-oh, the whirl of the fields in the windy weather! how the barley breaks and blows together! oh, glad is the free bird afloat on the heather-- oh, the whole world is glad of the wind!
-two swallows--each preening a long glossy feather; now they gossip and dart through the silvery weather; oh, praise to the highest--two lovers together-- free, free in the fathomless world of air.
-no fate to oppose and no fortune to sunder; blue sky overhead--green sky breaking under; and their home on the cliff in the midst of the wonder, hung high beyond fear on the gray granite stair.
-it is the last appeal to man-- voice crying since the world began; the cry of the ideal--cry to aspirations that would die. the last appeal! in it is heard the pathos of the final word.
-voice tender and heroical-- imperious voice that knoweth well to wreck the reasonings of years, to strengthen rebel hearts with tears.
-my life is a dream--a dream in the moon’s cool beam; some day i shall wake and desire a touch of the infinite fire. but now ’tis enough that i be in the light of the sea; enough that i climb with the cloud when the winds of the morning are loud; enough that i fade with the stars when the door of the east unbars.
-the old earth
-how will it be if there we find no traces-- there in the golden heaven--if we find no memories of the old earth left behind, no visions of familiar forms and faces-- reminders of old voices and old places? yet could we bear it if it should remind?
-at times a youth (so whispered legend tells), like hylas, stoops to drink by forest-hidden brink, and fair hands draw him down to darkened wells; fair hands that hold him fast with laughter at the last have power to draw him lightly down to be in elfin chambers under the gray sea.
-and i, o men of earth, i too, when dawn was at the dew, was drawn as hylas downward and beheld spirits of youth and eld-- was swung down endless caverns to the deep, saw fervid jewels sparkle in their sleep, saw glad gnomes working in the dusty light, saw great rocks crouching in the primal night. i was drawn down, and after many days returned with stiller feet to walk the upper ways.
-song made flesh
-i have no glory in these songs of mine: if one of them can make a brother strong, it came down from the peaks of the divine-- i heard it in the heaven of lyric song.
-the one who builds the poem into fact, he is the rightful owner of it all: the pale words are with god’s own power packed when brave souls answer to their buglecall.
-and so i ask no man to praise my song, but i would have him build it in his soul; for that great praise would make me glad and strong, and build the poem to a perfect whole.
-to high-born poets
-there comes a pitiless cry from the oppressed-- a cry from the toilers of babylon for their rest.-- o poet, thou art holden with a vow: the light of higher worlds is on thy brow, and freedom’s star is soaring in thy breast. go, be a dauntless voice, a bugle-cry in darkening battle when the winds are high-- a clear sane cry wherein the god is heard to speak to men the one redeeming word. no peace for thee, no peace, till blind oppression cease; the stones cry from the walls, till the gray injustice falls-- till strong men come to build in freedom-fate the pillars of the new fraternal state.
-let trifling pipe be mute, fling by the languid lute: take down the trumpet and confront the hour, and speak to toil-worn nations from a tower-- take down the horn wherein the thunders sleep, blow battles into men--call down the fire-- the daring, the long purpose, the desire; descend with faith into the human deep, and ringing to the troops of right a cheer, make known the truth of man in holy fear; send forth thy spirit in a storm of song, a tempest flinging fire upon the wrong.
-their blind feet drift in the darkness, and no one is leading; their toil is the pasture, where hyens and harpies are feeding; in all lands and always, the wronged, the homeless, the humbled till the cliff-like pride of the spoiler is shaken and crumbled, till the pillars of hell are uprooted and left to their ruin, and a rose-garden gladdens the places no rose ever blew in, where now men huddle together and whisper and harken, or hold their bleak hands over embers that die out and darken. the anarchies gather and thunder: few, few are the fraters, and loud is the revel at night in the camp of the traitors. say, shelley, where are you--where are you? our hearts are a-breaking! the fight in the terrible darkness--the shame--the forsaking!
-the leaves shower down and are sport for the winds that come after; and so are the toilers in all lands the jest and the laughter of nobles--the toilers scourged on in the furrow as cattle, or flung as a meat to the cannons that hunger in battle.
-on the gulf of night
-the world’s sad petrels dwell for evermore on windy headland or on ocean floor, or pierce the violent skies with perilous flights that fret men in their palaces o’ nights, breaking enchanted slumber’s easeful boat, with shudderings of their wild and dolorous note; they blow about the black and barren skies, they fill the night with ineffectual cries.
-there is for them not anything before, but sound of sea and sight of soundless shore, save when the darkness glimmers with a ray, and hope sings softly, soon it will be day. then for a golden space the shades are thinned, and dawn seems blowing seaward on the wind. but soon the dark comes wilder than before, and swift around them breaks a sullen roar; the tempest calls to windward and to lea, and--they are seabirds on the homeless sea.
-a harvest song
-the gray bulk of the granaries uploom against the sky; the harvest moon has dwindled--they have housed the corn and rye; and now the idle reapers lounge against the bolted doors: without are hungry harvesters, within enchanted stores.
-lo, they had bread while they were out a-toiling in the sun: now they are strolling beggars, for the harvest work is done. they are the gods of husbandry: they gather in the sheaves, but when the autumn strips the wood, they’re drifting with the leaves. they plow and sow and gather in the glory of the corn; they know the noon, they know the pitiless rains before the morn; they know the sweep of furrowed fields that darken in the gloom-- a little while their hope on earth, then evermore the tomb.
-i remember how i lay on a bank a summer day, peering into weed and flower: watched a poppy all one hour; watched it till the air grew chill in the darkness of the hill; till i saw a wild bee dart out of the cold to the poppy’s heart; saw the petals gently spin, and shut the little lodger in. then i took the quiet road to my own secure abode. all night long his tavern hung; now it rested, now it swung; i asleep in steadfast tower, he asleep in stirring flower; in our hearts the same delight in the hushes of the night; over us both the same dear care as we slumbered unaware.
-the man under the stone
-the silent struggle goes on and on, like two contending in a dream.
-come, mighty mother, from the bright abode, lift the low heavens and hush the earth again; come when the moon throws down a shining road across the sea--come back to weary men.
-but if the moon throws out across the sea too dim a light, too wavering a way, come when the sunset paves a path for thee across the waters fading into gray.
-dead nations saw thee dimly in release-- in aphrodite rising from the foam: some glimmer of thy beauty was on greece, some trembling of thy passion was on rome.
-for ages thou hast been the dim desire that warmed the bridal chamber of the mind: come burning through the heavens with holy fire, and spread divine contagion on mankind.
-come down, o mother, to the helpless land, that we may frame our freedom into fate: come down, and on the throne of nations stand, that we may build thy beauty in the state.
-come shining in upon our daily road, uphold the hero heart and light the mind; quicken the strong to lift the people’s load, and bring back buried justice to mankind.
-shine through the frame of nations for a light, move through the hearts of heroes in a song: it is thy beauty, wilder than the night, that hushed the heavens and keeps the high gods strong.
-i know, supernal woman, thou dost seek no song of man, no worship and no praise; but thou wouldst have dead lips begin to speak, and dead feet rise to walk immortal ways.
-yet listen, mighty mother, to the child who has no voice but song to tell his grief-- nothing but tears and broken numbers wild, nothing but woodland music for relief.
-his song is but a little broken cry, less than the whisper of a river reed; yet thou canst hear in it the souls that die-- feel in its pain the vastness of our need.
-i would not break the mouth of song to tell my life’s long passion and my heart’s long grief, but thou canst hear the ocean in one shell, and see the whole world’s winter in one leaf.
-so here i stand at the world’s weary feet, and cry the sorrow of the world’s dumb years: i cry because i hear the world’s heart beat weary of hope, weary of life and tears.
-for ages thou hast breathèd upon mankind a faint wild tenderness, a vague desire; for ages stilled the whirlwinds of the mind, and sent on lyric seers the rush of fire.
-and yet the world is held by wintry chain, dead to thy social passion, holy one: the dried-up furrows need the vital rain, the cold seeds the quick spirit of the sun.
-some day our homeless cries will draw thee down, and the old brightness on the ways of men will send a hush upon the jangling town, and broken hearts will learn to love again.
-come, bride of god, to fill the vacant throne, touch the dim earth again with sacred feet; come build the holy city of white stone, and let the whole world’s gladness be complete.
-come with the face that hushed the heavens of old-- come with thy maidens in a mist of light; haste for the night falls and the shadows fold, and voices cry and wander on the height.
-the flying mist
-i watch afar the moving mystery, the wool-shod, formless terror of the sea-- the mystery whose lightest touch can change the world god made to phantasy, death-strange. under its spell all things grow old and gray as they will be beyond the judgment day. all voices, at the lifting of some hand, seem calling to us from another land. is it the still power of the sepulcher that makes all things the wraiths of things that were?
-it touches, one by one, the wayside posts, and they are gone, a line of hurrying ghosts. it creeps upon the towns with stealthy feet, and men are phantoms on a phantom street. it strikes the towers and they are shafts of air, above the spectres passing in the square. the city turns to ashes, spire by spire; the mountains perish with their peaks afire. the fading city and the falling sky are swallowed in one doom without a cry.
-it tracks the traveler fleeing with the gale, fleeing toward home and friends without avail; it springs upon him and he is a ghost, a blurred shape moving on a soundless coast. god! it pursues my love along the stream, swirls round her and she is forever dream. what hate has touched the universe with eld, and left me only in a world dispelled?
-from the hand of a child
-one day a child ran after me in the street, to give me a half-blown rose, a fire-white rose, its stem all warm yet from the tight-shut hand. the little gift seemed somehow more to me than all men strive for in the turbid towns, than all they hoard up through a long wild life. and as i breathed the heart-breath of the flower, the youth of earth broke on me like a dawn, and i was with the wide-eyed wondering things, back in the far forgotten buried time. a lost world came back softly with the rose: i saw a glad host follow with lusty cries diana flying with her maidens white, down the long reaches of the laureled hills. above the sea i saw a wreath of girls, fading to air in far-off poppy fields. i saw a blithe youth take the open road: his thoughts ran on before him merrily; sometimes he dipped his feet in stirring brooks; at night he slept upon a bed of boughs.
-this in my soul. then suddenly a shape, a spectre wearing yet the mask of dust jostled against me as he passed, and lo! the jarring city and the drift of feet surged back upon me like the grieving sea.
-at the meeting of seven valleys
-at the meeting of seven valleys in the west, i came upon a host of silent souls, seated beside still waters on the grass. it was a place of memories and tears-- terrible tears. i rested in a wood, and there the bird that mourns for itys sang-- itys that touched the tears of all the world. but climbing onward toward the purple peaks, i passed, on silent feet, white multitudes, beyond the reach of peering memories, lying asleep upon the scented banks, their bodies burning with celestial fire. a mighty awe came on me at the thought-- the strangeness of the beatific sleep, the vision of god, the mystic bread of rest.
-pausing he leans upon his sledge, and looks-- a labor-blasted toiler; so have i seen, on shasta’s top, a pine stand silent on a cliff, stript of its glory of green leaves and boughs, its great trunk split by fire, its gray bark blackened by the thunder-smoke, its life a sacrifice to some blind purpose of the destinies.
-these songs will perish
-these songs will perish like the shapes of air-- the singer and the songs die out forever; but star-eyed truth (greater than song or singer) sweeps hurrying on: far off she sees a gleam upon a peak. she cried to man of old to build the enduring, glad fraternal state-- cries yet through all the ruins of the world-- through karnack, through the stones of babylon-- cries for a moment through these fading songs.
-on wingèd feet, a form of fadeless youth, she goes to meet the coming centuries, and, hurrying, snatches up some human reed, blows through it once her terror-bearing note, and breaks and throws away. it is enough if we can be a bugle at her lips, to scatter her contagion on mankind.
-the serenade of a thousand years ago the song of a hushed lip lives forever in the glass of today wherein we see the reflection of it if we but brush away the cobwebs of a doubting faith.
-published by macfadden publications, inc. new york
-copyright, 1923 by rudolph valentino
-printed in u. s. a.
-to j. c. n. g. my friends here and there
-i can not tell a rondelay in words of yesterday i can not tell a couplet for words come as they may. i’ll do my best--i’ll try a bit of ultra-modern rhyme and cast aside the shackles binding “once upon a time.”
-to you, my gentle reader, i wish to say a foreword of warning before you peruse the contents of this book. i am not a poet nor a scholar, therefore you shall find neither poems nor prose. just dreams--day dreams--a bit of romance, a bit of sentimentalism, a bit of philosophy, not studied, but acquired by constant observation of that greatest of masters!... nature!
-while lying idle, not through choice, but because forcibly kept from my preferred and actual field of activity, i took to dreams to forget the tediousness of worldly strife and the boredom of jurisprudence’s pedantic etiquette.
-happy indeed i shall be if my day dreams will bring you as much enjoyment in the reading as they brought to me in the writing.
-new york--may 29th, 1923.
-the gift book
-a book is a kindly gracious thing. each has a particular gift to bring.
-it may be the wealth of a wonderful life, or the thrilling adventure of jungle strife. perhaps it’s a present of orient gold, tales of aladdin enchantingly told. maybe a view of olden days, knighthood--romance, flowery ways. and again a journey to lands afar, where strange things happen, and wonders are.
-all of them--gift books but plainly i see, not one of them holds the gift for me. i want a book that will lazily roam down the dear pathway to folks back home.
-nature is the open book wherein the truths of the world are found nature is an endless story of never changing glory when you study nature your teacher is god so always let your reference be this greatest of masters.
-the love child
-don juan roamed the summer sky a shady cloud of gray but this dull attire hid a heart of fire in quest of romance stray.
-a lovely golden sunbeam shining from above came radiant by and caught the eye of this vagabond of love.
-in wild tempestuous wooing he kissed her heart away all in a jest it was the quest of the cloud on a summer’s day.
-through tears the sunbeam glimmered then happily she smiled the tempest passed alone at last with a little rainbow child.
-dawn runs in a crimson streak across a leaden sky-- just like a pulsing vein of life an artery of love not strife and it livens the heavens high.
-so in our sky today it seems, no sign of life we see. do we not know, night’s bound to go, dawn follows instantly.
-if it were not for the showers, where would the rainbows be?
-o lovely rose within whose chalice lies the heart of my true love, did not the gods in benediction stoop to bless thee from above? and place within thy roseate lips the rubies counterpart. i found it there a jewel rare the flower of thy heart.
-your eyes, mystic pools of beauteous light. golden brown in color deep, yet, amber clear. unshadowed by a frown, fathomless, wherein my senses drown. your eyes.
-your lips, twin silken petals of a dewy rose. altar of the heart where love kindling desire worships unafraid. crucible of passion. the rose in masquerade. your lips.
-your kiss, a flame of passion’s fire the sensitive seal of love in the desire, the fragrance of your caress; alas, at times i find exquisite bitterness in your kiss.
-yesterday--in contemplation we dreamed of love to be, and in the dreaming, wove a tapestry of love.
-today--we dream our dream awake; realization, coloring our romance with all the glory of a flaming rose.
-tomorrow--what awakening lies before us: our tapestry in shreds perchance, or mellowed--glorified by love’s reflection? i wonder--
-there crossed the path of my dream of you a gossamer web of gray, so soft its sheen, almost unseen, but it stopped me on my way.
-like a cold, gray granite battlement it walled me all about, for a cruel steel, was in the feel of the silken web of doubt.
-o gladness shining bravely from out the eyes of youth, be strong in your belief of good, of valor and of truth. for soon enough, too soon enough-- the gladdest light meets doubt, then flickers, flutters, just a bit, but, doesn’t quite go out.
-o sadness peering divinely from out the eyes of age, be strong in your belief of good. to youth--still be the sage. for soon enough, too soon enough, the saddest light in doubt, flickers, flutters, flickers, and finally goes out.
-i am the ingrate morphia, you hold the brimming cup of your life to me, athirst am i, and drink my fill of strength, until the cup is drained dry.
-then, satisfied, i care no more. the cup, i cast away, crunch ’neath my heel. its doom i seal, as i walk on my way.
-passion’s cloak, an ashy thing to wear, covering the shroud of love that once was fair.
-what gruesome imagery does this convey to me. grim death--itself no ghastlier a thing than this could ever be.
-o sphinx--a monument to man! built by his hands of clay, you symbolize the power of might used in an earthy way. yesteryear, you stood for man’s symbolic strength sublime, today, you all but buried are beneath the sands of time.
-o wondrous mountain--living sphinx! built by the hand of god, you symbolize the power of love used with the lowly sod. yesteryear, a symbol of divinity sublime, today, you lift your rugged head untouched by hands of time.
-o sphinx--a monument to man! built by his hand of clay, you symbolize the power of might used in an earthy way. yesterday, you in grandeur stood alone. today, you’re mingling with the sand a rotting mass of stone.
-o wondrous mountain--living sphinx! built by the hand of god, you symbolize the power of love used with the lowly sod, e’er yesterday, you stood a monument of love, today unchanged, your glorious face, in worship turned above.
-if power were only given me, to paint the tone picture that arises from the soul of that sanctuary of sound--your violin, where would i find pigment worthy of such a use, save in the fleeting splendour of some sky. where a brush--save in a snowy feather from the shining wing of an archangel. where the canvas--save across the dream memory of one who heard and was blessed by the hearing.
-extravaganza! the very word is vulgar. still vulgarity is necessary to development, for even a weed growing in a swamp can sometimes be cultivated into a hot house plant. take an orchid not under its own surroundings, but dress it by putting it in a proper receptacle, and what a difference! but, outside of beauty what have you? if we could only combine the beauty of an orchid with the soul of a weed we would get an improvement in the orchid, for real weeds are grateful enough to spring up between cobblestones, even to be trampled upon.
-rather be a blade of grass that knows the heart beats of mother earth, than the potted plant which is pampered and only restored to a semblance of life.
-happiness--you wait for us just beyond, just beyond.
-we know not where, nor how we shall find you. we only know you are waiting, waiting, just beyond.
-the arms of the earth broke through the sod and clenched his fist in derision, for clay knows not the might of god, it has but earthy vision.
-the finger of god wrote in the sky a sign of mighty fire: “reach up to me for i am life” but earth could reach no higher.
-with strength of muscle, with might and main, earth struggled and then defied, but god stretched forth his hand of love and earth was glorified.
-an infant memory, a tiny fragile thing, called into being by the brush of a colored wing across the canvas of my tired mind. it grows, a lovely picture of the past i find, you! grown to fullest stature of the perfect soul, the tiny sheltered memory has reached at last its goal.
-three generations of kisses
-a mother’s kisses are blessed with love straight from the heart of heaven above. love’s benediction, her dear caress, the sum of all our happiness.
-till we kiss the lips of the mate of our soul we never know love has reached its goal. caress divine, you reign until a baby’s kiss seems sweeter still.
-that beloved blossom a baby’s face seems to be love’s resting place. and a million kisses tenderly linger there in ecstacy.
-were i told to select just one kiss a day; oh! what a puzzle i would say. still a baby’s kiss i’d choose, you see, for in that wise choice i’d gain all three.
-a baby’s skin
-texture of a butterfly’s wing, colored like a dawned rose, whose perfume is the breath of god. such is the web wherein is held the treasure of the treasure chest the priceless gift--the child of love.
-the oleander blooms for me, in dawning splendrous beauty, i planted it so tenderly, and love has done its duty.
-all in a garden of the earth, all in a plot of ground, wherein i found no bit of worth, the seed i planted in the ground.
-o tiny seed almost unworthy to be cherished for thy looks, but deep within the heart of you was wisdom never found in books.
-you are the spirit of the good, the joy, the beauty of all things, you are the melody of life--the song that mother nature sings.
-and so to that sweet lullaby you, in your perfumed cradle, rest safe in the arms of mother earth, held closely to her loving breast.
-until one happy wondrous day when love so tenderly drew nigh, lifted your tiny hand of green and turned your face toward the sky.
-the oleander blooms for me, in dawning splendrous beauty, i planted it so tenderly and love has done its duty.
-shadows--gray symbol of a broken faith. we cling to hope--in hope we find the symbol of a broken heart. shadows--gray bleak gossamer web of what once was woven ’round my heart. we slink within thy domain--the land of shadows. for still we hope. but knowing always, that a broken faith can never be restored to more than it was--a shadow.
-out of a shadowed corner comes a phantom of the past, to confuse me and accuse me for a vain iconoclast. to chide me and deride me in a seething scornful blast. to cheat me and defeat me, conscience, crucifies at last.
-i sing a song to the sapphire sky that curtains a sleeping earth. i sing a song to the stars on high that mark a jewel’s worth.
-my feeble voice, so weak it sounds, a puny earthy cry, yet when its echo comes to me, angelic voice in harmony, i know it is not i.
-it was belief that gave it wing, that weakling voice of mine, and carried it where angels sing god’s melody divine.
-little gypsies of the city, little sparrows--more’s the pity, homeless, heedless of the weather, happy, banding all together, never giving thought to trouble, never seeing evil double, would that we who proudly mention every honorable intention to the world with trumpet blaring, could, like sparrows, take uncaring all the little earthly struggles, cast them gypsy-like aside and fly happily, and gladly all about earth’s countryside.
-why do the birds chant the psalm of glory?
-only because they alone are free throated and unafraid. do they realize the danger in the sling-shot of civilization? no--they are only conscious of the joy within.
-why sing of joy-- if joy is to be unheard. why sing of faith, if faith is to be barred. for all that is good is forever alive, and all that is bad is dead before it be born.
-a poor little messenger clad in gray, sent as a go-between--they say. took a betrayal under its wing and guarded and cherished the slimy thing.
-we speak of glory, and trust, and men, but that is all forgotten when we send this softly feathered bird with messages best left unheard.
-oh! what a mockery ’cross the sky the dove is sent to act as spy.
-the school of life
-lives are classes--we are pupils with excellent teachers. experience should tutor us, but we so often shirk school. school can be made happy and we delight in making a higher grade--but through not heeding experience’s teaching we often are left back in the old class, and sometimes, sad to relate, are put several grades lower.
-but, happily, there is always the opportunity of skipping many grades upward. it’s a poor rule that doesn’t work both ways.
-the mind is the grade we work in. we can have majestic thoughts, living in a hermit’s hut, or we can think as a swine in a palace on a throne of gold--let us choose our station--kingly children, or swineherds. eternity is the empire.
-to love, save that which mockery was, no heart, save that of stone. a multitude forever hers, alas--not one--alone!
-cradled in the arms of many, not where to lay her weary head. fortune smiled--held out her hand and struck the wanton dead.
-love i am a slave, yet free as birds above, sold into bondage by the tender kiss of love.
-lust i am a slave in the rat trap of disgust, sold into bondage by the lurid kiss of lust.
-hate i am a slave prisoned by the walls of fate, sold into bondage by the cruel kiss of hate.
-crime i am a slave behind the bars of time, sold into bondage by the leprous kiss of crime.
-death i am a slave no longer in my breath, given sight of freedom through the graciousness of death.
-still am i a slave in the hand of destiny, thought alone enslaved me and thought alone can free.
-within a wall
-once in a time when skies were gray i chanced to walk in a cloistered way, i saw the ones who closed the door on all the world had spread before. their eyes--that were closed to the joy of good, they thought the god’s law they understood. o pity, pity, for such as they who only look on skies of gray, from cloistered windows sad of eye, when all about is glorious sky. it was but the tiny patch of gray, the shadowed thing that happened to play behind the back of the glorious earth. alas, they thought it was all the worth of the whole wide world, the glorious world. but the folded wings were not unfurled and closed to use they lost the call, and so they lost to them their all.
-the chalice of a lily cup is indeed the sacrament that mother nature uses when she communes with god.
-on the sands of a happy shore, walked two lovers, hand in hand, leaving all that’s gone before. they mark each footstep in the sand, knowing well that every foot print will be trod by their own blood, therefore, let each couple ponder o’er their footsteps for future good.
-(to d. k.)
-man is the word of the story, woman is the inspiration, god is the book that binds, none other can be what is now the finished book.
-you are the history of love and its justification. the symbol of devotion. the blessedness of womanhood. the incentive of chivalry. the reality of ideals. the verity of joy. idolatry’s defense. the proof of goodness. the power of gentleness. beauty’s acknowledgment. vanity’s excuse. the promise of truth. the melody of life. the caress of romance. the dream of desire. the sympathy of understanding. my heart’s home. the proof of faith. sanctuary of my soul. my belief of heaven. eternity of all happiness. my prayers. you.
-at sunrise tomorrow
-o love, when you leave me do not say: “tomorrow we meet at twilight” for that is the time of the darkening hour, the ending of the day. all is glowing, gleaming in our love, all is pulsing, breathing in the light of understanding--it is not symbolic of twilight, nor yet of dawning, for it has reached the zenith of love’s day. so when you leave me, dearest, do not say: “tomorrow we meet at twilight.” rather, beloved of my heart, “we meet at sunshine tomorrow.”
-possessing the jewels of the earth, holding within my grasp the sceptre of the universe, all these would but make me more the pauper-- were i beggared of your love.
-just a packet of letters tied with a bit of blue, just a packet of letters that once were sent by you to one who proved unworthy of the love inscribed within. the tiny packet of letters, a witness of my sin.
-just a packet of letters, but they are not mine own. i dare not claim one thought in them not even as a loan, for to the one you thought i was in all sincerity you bared the secrets of your soul. now i send them back to thee.
-just a packet of letters a monument of love. you lie within the fireplace, in smoke you’ll rise above the sordidness of all deceit, the grime of earthly thought, yet, in this flash of living fire, the flame of love is caught.
-just a packet of letters a while ago you were, now in vaprous symphony of gray i send you back to her, for the spirit of true love that’s penned, must rise to meet her soul in pearly glory ’round her head. love’s halo--is its goal.
-to rake over the dead ashes of a burnt out love one must use the pen point of poetry.
-the lute, a barrier to song of soul. for none save god can music charm from out a thing man-made. a bowl of wood, a string or two to arm the troubadour with weapon strong.
-when i see a look of sadness, in the eyes of you, thoughts of grief akin to madness surge my being through.
-am i then so weak and helpless, that i can not send even shadowings of sorrows to their deserved end.
-garden of delight wherein the jewels of earth do lie! tell me, in your vault of gold, will the flowers ever die? nothing of so fair a mien could return to earthly dust. even if the earth do say, “it is finished,” trust we must in the god who tells of light that will lift to heaven above every perfumed flower that blows symphonies on wings of love.
-cap and bells
-in life’s masquerade the disguises are many: here’s a man masquerading as wealth, wears a million of gold, but a pauper, i’m told, he hasn’t a penny of health.
-here comes a beggar, in tatters and rags, masking as poverty old. he may look the part, but the wealth in his heart, makes him richer than croesus in gold.
-the costumes are varied disguises beguiling that cover the true man beneath one wears learned looks, that he’s borrowed from books and a co-operative laurel wreath.
-and still another pretending a clown, in make-up the silliest fool, but his knowledge of men, is beyond the ken of a sage of the orthodox school.
-there are millions of others in life’s motley masque who follow the art of mime. they mimic and play at mockery today, but they never fool old father time.
-a patchwork quilt, industrious name. once it was not quite the same. a different fame, a “crazy quilt,” same foolish dame entitled you. it was sorry fame. life is like that, we do not see how little bits make harmony-- it’s up to man to take each bit of happiness and make it fit. but if he takes and doesn’t dwell upon the pattern--well, it’s hell! a crazy quilt the name’s o. k. but start a patchwork quilt today.
-(to a. m.)
-the sky is the mirror that reflects all phases of life. the clouds of doubt bring showers, but there is always the “silver lining” promise.
-moral: if the sky is the limit better fix it clear in your mind to begin with.
-the philosophy of a pessimist
-i do not care for money made easily, it is not lasting--i know. i do not care for friends made easily, they are not lasting--i know. i do not care for anything that comes easily, it never lasts--i know. but i fell in love with you easily, but, not lastingly--i know.
-gems of thought
-diamonds--scintillating wit of sharpest ray
-emeralds--philosophy, growth in words today
-pearls--are the hymns of pity
-sapphires--songs of the skies
-rubies--are poems of passion and love that never dies.
-(to c. f.)
-the curtain is raised on the first act--the overture is over. we can play our parts. they say life’s a stage, but what a sad thing we have so few good stage managers. our productions have more in the way of costume and lack, so often, the right lines. lines do count, not always words, but sympathy of thought is quite as necessary.
-sympathy is just as essential to the world as any other great attribute of good, but it must be sympathy in the right place.
-sympathy of thought has been the greatest lever in the machinery of mankind, but to sympathize with a weak nature sometimes breaks up his foundation. know your subject.
-never withhold sympathy in loving one, but rather than sympathy, use encouragement as a tonic to tone up a weakling.
-kindly sympathetic interest is only another name for encouragement.
-never take away a prop without putting a stronger one in its place.
-on a stretch of sandy beach i see naught of human presence, but upon looking closer, a remembrance of the past. i sit upon a rock and meditate upon what once was. i see myself in all the splendor of my youth. i see my boon companion--hope, and one other one, whose name i’d best forget. we walked--hope and i--but ever the unnamed one stalked by my side. i turned to gaze in fascination at my companion who speaks not, but forever stalks silently beside me. i finally forget my hope to gaze in interest at the other. hope, neglected, lags behind until we walk alone--myself and the unnamed one. we walk forever, but the walk brings us to the abyss of the world. what name has that one whose identity i fail to know? o, eternity, thou art my sight and knowledge. it was doubt, whose companion i became.
-on whose shoulders are the crosses held, none can liken a laborer to him who bears the heavy-hearted thoughts. what can i say--it is more laborious than many tasks, yet--’tis not task-- for task is given to be done and ye are the cross bearers if ye will.
-treasures in the lowly casket that we call a brain, can jewels of the earth compare with all that man finds hidden there?
-the wealth of knowledge, that will lead a willing soul into a land of untold wonder, where will be the lasting goal of every seeking thought--
-maris of the golden eyes, you in all innocence looked upon a lovely world in wondering shyness. beauty beckoned, then turned the corner of another day leaving in her stead an unknown one, the stranger to light.
-maris of the saddened eyes, in your pity, looking from another world have compassion on beauty who thoughtlessly turned away, leaving another in her place the stranger to light.
-i have journeyed toward the city on the long, long road of life, i have learned how little pity plays a speaking part in life.
-i have learned that only money is the voice that’s heard today, calling for god’s milk and honey, even hunger has no say.
-i have reached the city’s center by the crooked road of hell, for starvation’s been my mentor and has taught her lesson well.
-money--you harlequin of the great masquerade of life. you wear the dollar sign as your mask. it may hide you--yes, for a time, but when at last grim reality stalks into the midst of the festivities, the mask is ruthlessly torn away, and then--is seen the true expression hidden behind it--the cruel visage of discordant greed.
-words are jewels rare-- if need be words are sometimes fair you heed me, but our choosing makes them seem the reflection of a dream.
-let us, therefore, choose in reason, whereby all that good is ours, and by knowing rightful season pass forever--happy hours.
-the earth is earth--that is its worth, to men who walk below. but to the soul that seeks its goal, each land is all they know. one calls it home, another heart, another property, but to the one who loves the sun he calls it italy.
-the green sod is red now-- rebellion the green sod is white now-- purity the green sod is blue now, with truth and the green sod is ever green, it is growth--none can stop natural growth erin--land of dreams--awaken.
-the air is alive with buzzing bees the little workers of destinies. we grasp and strive to make our way, each life a hive and so our day is fraught with honey sweet, if we know all is good in destiny.
-(to m. t.)
-a certain lad had a long way to go, so he sat still and waited until--well, another lad also had a long way to go--so he hurried along and before long he received several gifts not to be sneezed at. no, they were not to be sneezed at, though i must say they made his eyes water a bit. the gifts were lovely little blisters on his pedal extremities, so he had to sit down and take care of his poor feet and in pain tarried, looking at his poor feet. ah, yes, our other little lad took it very slowly, almost like the proverbial snail, but kept on the lookout and pretty soon a nice, comfortable wagon came along, and took the slow little boy for a nice ride, and the good little slow boy rode merrily by the poor little fast boy, who still sat nursing his blisters. he had really gone stepping on some little brimstones,--though he said they were pebbles. the good little slow boy turned back and put his hand to the poor little fast boy, but i regret to say he raised his digits to his nose--o, world where is thy sting.
-note--this is not a moral, it is only something that happens every day on our best trafficked roads.
-oh, mirror--most ungrateful ruler man has ever had. we trembling bow to your decree, but oh! ’tis very sad for all our great devotion and concern in your behalf, no matter how we worship you, you just give us the laugh.
-though we may claim democracy, you hold us like a slave. the tyrant ruler of the world, from cradle to the grave. pa adam’s prize apollos look to you (it is to laugh) their reward for faithful service, is methuselah’s epitaph.
-radio of romance, you broadcasting to the universe all that is most blessed in all things, but to me alone the melody of your love flows through the artery of time and space, for unity, can never know division.
-the kaleidoscope of love
-synonyms and antonyms
-a--adoration--anticipation--affinity--arguments. b--beauty--bliss--bitterness--bondage. c--caresses--circumstances--confidences--charm. d--desire--delusion--dreams--divorce. e--ecstacy--engagement--ego--end. f--fascination--forgetfulness--flattery--faith. g--gossip--gratitude--gift--goodbye. h--happiness--honor--heartache--hell. i--intuition--irony--idolatry--integrity. j--jealousy--joy--justice--june. k--kisses--keepsakes--knowledge--kismet. l--lips--loneliness--logic--longing. m--marriage--morality--money--man. n--no--nearest--novelty--never. o--opposition--own--offering--opulence. p--passion--promise--pride--proposal. q--quality--quest--queries--quarrels. r--romance--reveries--realization--remembrance. s--sympathy--sacrifice--shame--settlement. t--thoughts--truth--temper--tears. u--unkindness--understanding--uncertainty--unfaithfulness. v--virtue--vanity--vows--vengeance. w--wisdom--wishes--wedlock--woman. x--the unknown--love. y--youth--yearning--yes--yawn. z--zenith--zest--zeal--zero.
-a saint in a stained glass window, to the memory of one who “lived the life,” in sin and strife, is the epitome of fun.
-a bit of colored crockery, a picture wrought in glass, his memory’s mockery ’tis best to let it pass.
-a saint in a stained glass window, a blest memorial true, when it reflects the beauty of the memory of you.
-dust to dust
-i take a bone--i gaze at it in wonder--you, o bit of strength that was. in you today i see the whited sepulchre of nothingness--but you were the shaft that held the wagon of life. your strength held together the vehicle of man until god called and the soul answered.
-cradle a thought on a bough of a tree, where it will swing so lazily, where it will gather to its heart all in nature’s lovely mart. for every lovely living thing stops to talk by a tree and sing, of what has gone on that very day in fields and forests far away.
-if little thoughts hear happily all that’s said about a tree, they’ll grow to be so wise and true, they’ll come back to the heart of you much stronger, grown in beauty free, because their cradle was a tree.
-happy childhood knows no sting that the age of stealth doth bring. stealing hours from the day takes the joys of strength away. stealing hours from the night taking all--for rest is might. when we steal away a trust, nothing ever can we give back to him and so we must never steal, but give to live.
-a dog is the nearest approach to the sweet submissive spirit god would have in us, faithfulness in the highest form. he only is faithful because he believes in you, as god would have us believe in him.
-reflections at random
-sing a song to the moon or sing a song to the sun but just as long as you sing a song your day or night is well begun.
-woman, the unreasonable reason for the great reason, which the sages call life--others not so knowing call it love.
-faith--the engagement--repartee of love. hope--marriage--maybe its reply, but charity--divorce--is the retort courteous.
-punishment is seldom unmerited, though we may not always see the cause.
-it is unwise to doubt others when you are not sure of yourself.
-scientists are fools in some respects, i mean the so-called ones, for they ignore the science of all important things.
-friend is symbolical of heaven, but some play hell with it.
-fun is a healthy disease and is very contagious.
-“may i intrude” is often substituted for “do i intrude"--bores are not connoisseurs in the selection of verbs.
-make the best of what comes, for the best is coming.
-the great divide is the division of thought which separates the wise from the fools.
-whatever has in it the element of restlessness is like the poison ivy plant; it causes rash and spasmodic movements, and after all the scratching the victim is worse off than before.
-worlds, and worlds to live in, and so few do.
-care is helpful if we carefully care, but when we carelessly care, be careful.
-gossip--never related in the same way.
-when you eat hash you do not always recognize the different kinds of meat in it, do you? so it is with twice told tales.
-we always prefer the most difficult way. it seems so much more important, but once we realize it, truth is always simplest when it is truth.
-it takes a hero to accuse no one, but take another’s accusation to his heart.
-love’s greatest expression is service.
-eyes are living windows.
-into the garden we all go, but most are looking for the worm in the bud and never see the promise of the flower.
-art the very mockery of it in a painted mask we sometimes call a face, alas, that pigment be so badly used and artistry brought to much sad disgrace.
-take freedom but take care lest it take your liberty from you.
-to be a humorist one must be concise, witty, but short-lived, for the good die young.
-cleverness--word most useful to the bard who finds his pathway all beset with doubt, for if we find his hidden meanings hard, we call him “clever"--then he knows what we’re about.
-publicity is the keystone in the arch of triumph.
-money--pretender to the throne of all we most desire.
-doubt is the opposing influence of our lives.
-happiness, some never know as a lasting friend, but only as a bowing acquaintance.
-wifehood is a profession, but womanhood is the expression.
-faith is the oasis in our desert of lost hope.
-given a chance to run in the great race, even a weakling can win if he wears the armor of courage.
-purpose in doing is the cornerstone of success.
-did anything ever build itself over night that was worthy the name great structure?
-loving service is more helpful than scholarly advice.
-friend--most lovely word, akin to love, its dearest relation--might i say.
-we dream of greatness in humility, only to awaken to the greatness of humility.
-o just and mighty army of the world of living things march on into the open heart of man, he needs a touch of nature with the sympathy it brings in order to work out life’s perfect plan.
-in the rockies with kit carson
-by john t. mcintyre
-illustrations by ralph l. boyer and a. edwin kromer
-copyright 1913 by the penn publishing company
-in the rockies with kit carson
-the trapper of taos and santa fé
-late one afternoon when the sunlight was slanting through the trees and wavering upon the adobe walls of the pueblo of los angeles, when the only sounds were the whispering winds in the higher boughs, and the thrumming of a stringed instrument from the soldiers’ quarters, a tall spanish mule came clattering into the village with two boys astride its back. they were bronzed, sinewy looking youngsters; each held a long barreled rifle.
-a barefooted sentry, his piece over his shoulder, looked up at the sudden sound; and as the mule was abruptly checked beside him, and the two lads slipped from its back, he whipped his weapon about and with a brown thumb upon the trigger, cried:
-the elder of the two lads wiped his forehead with his sleeve; then to the other he said:
-“hold tight to that old chap, joe; we may have further use for him, you know.”
-“i hope not,” declared joe, ruefully. “he’s got a back like a buck-saw, and a gait like a dromedary. and between the two he’s the worst thing i ever rode.”
-the elder boy saluted the sentinel.
-“we are strangers,” he said, in good spanish. “we belong to the trading schooner ‘gadfly’ now off the coast; and we are in pursuit of a man named lopez who ran away.”
-the sentry grinned.
-“he is. but we don’t object to that so much as we do the fact that he’s a thief as well. he robbed us, swam ashore, and the last seen of him he was heading toward this village.”
-the sentry placed the butt of his musket upon a stone and leaned socially upon the barrel.
-“there are some strangers in the pueblo now,” he said. “but they are americans. and they are not sailors, but trappers. they came from taos in new mexico,” wonderingly; “they crossed the desert where they might have died of thirst. and all to trap beaver.”
-“lopez is a half-breed,” said the youth. “and he has a scar, made by the slash of a knife, across his left cheek.”
-the sentry shook his head.
-“i saw no such man,” said he. “it may be that he went with the hudson bay men who i hear were at work on the streams not far from here about a week ago.”
-“the man we are after left the schooner only this morning,” said the boy.
-“the señor captain may have seen him,” spoke the soldier, helpfully. “it is his duty to ask all strangers for their passports.”
-“where is the señor captain to be found?” asked the boy.
-the soldier shook his head, shouldered his piece and prepared to resume his tramp up and down.
-joe frazier, from his post at the tall mule’s head, laughed.
-“the habit is a bad one,” said he in reply to an inquiring look from his friend. “and i think the quicker the señor captain is broken of it the better. so i think, dave, it’s your plain duty to do it.”
-dave johnson turned soberly to the sentry. in careful spanish he said:
-the sentry stared.
-“wake the señor captain! never! he would beat me!”
-dave considered, still gravely.
-“that would be awkward,” he decided. “and i wouldn’t care to see it done. so to save you trouble, i will awaken him myself.”
-and before the astonished soldier could prevent him, he strode to the door of the adobe dwelling and began thundering upon the door. a sleepy muttering was the answer.
-“take care!” cried the dismayed sentry, apparently at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. “he has an evil temper, señor!”
-“and so,” said he, “you will come knocking, will you, my brave fellow! nothing will do but i must be disturbed, eh? not a wink must i get after all the labors of the day. very well, señor; we shall see.”
-he spoke quietly, but there was a menace in his tone which did not escape joe frazier.
-“careful there, dave,” he called in english. “i think he���s up to something.”
-the little eyes of the mexican officer now went to the sentry.
-“and my commands are worth nothing, are they, my man? i waste my breath telling you that i must not be disturbed, and you allow the first rascally americano who comes along to come thundering at my door. very well! it will be your turn later!”
-again his glance shifted to dave. the young american saluted in stiff military fashion.
-“pardon me, señor,” he said. “it is my misfortune that i had to break in upon your slumbers. the fact is----”
-but the man stopped him sharply.
-“enough!” said he. “who are you?”
-“we belong to the schooner ‘gadfly.’”
-“what are you doing here?”
-dave related in a few words the same story he had told the sentry. the officer listened, all the time prodding the sun-baked earth before the door with the point of his sword; there was a scowl upon his heavy face, and the small angry eyes looked red and threatening.
-“a pretty story,” said he. “your passports!”
-“they are on board the schooner. in our hurry to pursue lopez we forgot them.”
-the captain showed his teeth in what was meant for a smile. unquestionably this fact pleased him.
-“give the sentry your arms,” he said. “you are under arrest.”
-dave fell back a step or two.
-“he means business,” he called over his shoulder to his friend in english. “and once he gets our guns there’s no knowing what will happen.”
-“well, we don’t give them up until we’re sure,” answered joe promptly, throwing his weapon forward as he spoke, and covertly preparing for any action that might be forced upon them. “talk to him, old boy; maybe you can bring him around.”
-the mexican had followed dave with cat-like tread; his sword was now held at arm’s length, the point not more than a foot from the lad’s chest.
-“halt!” commanded he. and as dave turned his face toward him once more, the man went on: “i have met with impudent americanos before this. and i know the way to deal with them. lay down your rifles!”
-instead of doing so, dave’s grip tightened about the stock of his weapon; the officer saw this and without another word his arm drew back for a swinging cut. dave threw up the barrel of his rifle to guard his head; the barefooted sentry saw the motion and read in it peril for his officer, for his musket lifted instantly, pointing at dave. but joe, in his turn, saw this, leaped forward and grasped the sentry’s arm; the muzzle of his piece was thrown up just as it exploded; and the captain went staggering back, fear in his face.
-“guard! guard!” he shouted. “help! would you see me murdered! guard!”
-from the soldiers’ quarters straggled the guard, as unkempt a lot as one would wish to see; each grasped a musket, and each was much excited by the shot and the sudden alarm. a horde of indians, men, women and children, also made their appearance and pressed toward the scene of action. there was an excited hubbub of voices; the musket barrels shone in the sun; and the tattered soldiery eagerly fingered the locks as though anxious to take up their duties at once. at a word from the excited captain they formed a slovenly line.
-“disarm those americanos!” directed the officer. “and put them under a close guard. we shall see if our lives are to be threatened by intruders in this way.”
-the grim mouths of the mexican guns were turned upon the two lads who now stood with their backs to an adobe wall; for a moment or two things looked very bad for them; but then a new element showed itself which put a new face upon things.
-through the press of indians, who made no offer to take a part in the proceedings, a half dozen buckskin-clad men shouldered their way. from their coonskin caps to their moccasined feet they looked a hardy lot; and in their faces was that resolution which comes in time to all those who are accustomed to face danger.
-each carried a rifle in the hollow of his arm; and silently they placed themselves between the two boys and the soldiery. one of them, a rather small young man with sandy hair and mild gray eyes, stepped toward the captain.
-“just a moment, señor,” said he, in spanish. “if you’d like to listen, we’ve got a word or two to say for the boys, before your men carry the matter further.”
-for a moment it seemed as though the mexican officer would order his guard to fire upon the intruders; but the cool, resolute air of the men in buckskin caused him to alter his mind. holding up a hand in a gesture which bid his men await his further commands, he said surlily:
-“well, señor, and who are you?”
-the young spokesman of the party smiled.
-“what! and is it possible that you’ve forgotten me so soon?” said he.
-“are you the hudson bay man?”
-a light seemed to break upon the mexican.
-“you are of young’s band of trappers,” said he with a smile which held an under-current of cunning. “to be sure. i had all but forgotten you.”
-the young spokesman nodded, good-humoredly.
-“that you’d done so, señor, shows that we’ve been giving you little trouble,” said he. “and now,” with a certain bluntness of manner, “let us come to the present matter. as it happened, we saw the affair between you and these lads. as far as i can see they are in no way to blame. it was your sentry who fired the shot, and----”
-“wait!” interrupted the commander of the village. to the sentry he said: “rascal, did you fire your piece?”
-“my officer,” replied the man, “i thought you were----”
-“enough!” snapped the captain. “i will see to you later.”
-with a wave of the hand he dismissed the guard; the men went straggling back to their quarters; the group of indians, puzzled and disappointed, also melted away; then the captain turned to the spokesman of the trappers.
-“you see, señor, i am fair. i want to do only what is right. please so inform your comrades, for i see they know little spanish. and then----” here he leaned forward, with a cunning look in his eyes, and whispered the remainder of the sentence into the young trapper’s ear.
-but the latter, a frown wrinkling his forehead, cut him short.
-“no,” said he, “nothing like that.”
-the young man paid no heed; to his comrades he said:
-the two lads, joe with his arm through the bridle rein of the tall mule, trudged along at their new friend’s side.
-“i’m a thousand times obliged to you,” said dave johnson. “there’s no telling what might have happened to us if you hadn’t come along.”
-the trapper smiled boyishly.
-“well,” said he, with a little drawl in his voice, “i reckon the captain was a trifle anxious about you two.” then inquiringly, “know much about these parts?”
-the other nodded.
-“i thought it was something like that,” he said. “if you had known the lay of the land, you’d not have been so ready to tackle the captain. he’s just the very person you’d ’a’ fought shy of. you see, the mexican government has these pueblos, or indian villages all along here, and they don’t like americans to come prowling around and finding out things. if you haven’t a passport they’ll arrest you, steal everything you’ve got and drive you out of the country. or it might even be worse.”
-“we knew that passports were needed, but we left the schooner in a hurry, and never gave them a thought. and,” added dave, “they were very difficult to get in the first place.”
-the trapper chuckled.
-“i don’t know much about getting them,” said he. “fact is, i never tried. none of young’s men have ’em, and the captain back there’s been walking on thorns ever since we’ve been here trying to find a way of arresting us.” seeing the boys’ inquiring look, he added, quietly, “there’s eighteen of us in all, and each one knows a trifle about shooting. so you see, the captain hasn’t found the job an easy one.”
-they had walked on some little distance, when he continued:
-“a couple of days ago the captain hit on a neat little plan. you see some of our men,” and his voice lowered a trifle so that the trappers in advance might not hear, “are a kind of a rough lot, and they’ll drink if they get the chance. the captain’s plan is to give them liquor, and then when they’re helpless, take away their rifles and hatchets and knives, and pen them up somewhere. young got wind of it, and we’re keeping our eyes skinned until we’re ready to take the trail back to taos.”
-about a mile south of the pueblo of los angeles they came upon the trappers’ camp, a row of huts made of boughs, sod and bark. a number of buckskin-clad men lay about upon blankets or buffalo robes; others were cooking the evening meal at the camp-fire; while others again were cleaning their rifles or honing their broad-bladed hunting knives.
-“there’s young, the trader who took out this expedition,” said the young trapper. “what are your names, boys? i’ll introduce you.”
-“mine’s dave johnson; i’m from boston,” announced that young gentleman.
-“and i’m joe frazier, from charleston,” said the other. then, curiously: “what’s yours?”
-“my name’s kit carson,” the trapper informed them; “once of kentucky, later of missouri, but now of taos and santa fé.”
-around the camp-fire
-the two lads were warmly greeted by mr. ewing young, the taos trader and leader of the trapper band.
-“a rather narrow squeak,” was his comment, when told of their misadventure; “the captain back there at the pueblo is anxious to get his revenge upon an americano because of the trouble he’s had with us, and you lads would have pleased him well enough.”
-ewing young was a very well-known trader and trapper. some time before he had sent out a company in search of fur from santa fé toward the colorado river country. on their way they were attacked by an indian war party; after a desperate fight against great odds, the hunters were forced to fall back and make their way toward new mexico once more.
-“but that just made me fighting mad,” said the trapper chief to the boys, “so i got together a party of forty americans, canadians and frenchmen. at about the head of the salt river we came on that identical war party which had so roughly handled my first company.”
-kit carson laughed as though at some amusing reminiscence.
-“i never saw any parsel of humans so tickled as those redskins were,” said he. “they had licked us once, and they figured they’d do it the second time even quicker than the first.”
-the boys were seated upon a bearskin which one of the men had thrown upon the ground for them; night was settling and the camp-fires blazed cheerily; strips of venison, from the tenderest portions of bucks which had fallen before the rifle that day, were being roasted at each fire, and the savory smell filled the air. the horses and mules belonging to the outfit were safely picketed a little distance off; the adventurers laughed and chatted and performed the duties of the camp in high good humor.
-“i reckon, cap’n,” said one old grizzled fellow with a wrinkled, weather-beaten face and the clear eyes of a boy, “that them thar reds hadn’t any idee how many there was of us. if they had they’d not been in such a precious hurry to come to hand grips.”
-“i counted fifteen braves who’ll never draw another bow ’cept in the happy hunting grounds,” said the grizzled old trapper. “and besides that, there were the wounded. that’s the way to hit at the varmints; and it’s the only way to make it safe for a white man to set his traps along the streams in this region. teach ’em a lesson, says i; and make it one that they’ll not forget, while you’re about it.”
-but while the savages were defeated they were not altogether discomfited; for they doggedly held to the trail of the trappers. along the salt to the san francisco river, they had pursued them, and all the way along this stream to its very head waters; their depredations were secret and under cover of darkness; the men learned to avoid the camp-fires, for at any moment a deadly arrow might come hissing from the darkness; horses and mules were killed and maimed; traps were stolen constantly.
-“the loss of the traps crippled us,” said kit, “and at the head of the san francisco, mr. clark split the party in two; only what you see here continued on through the desert; the others took what pelts we’d trapped and turned face about for new mexico.”
-during all the talk of the company’s adventures and through the supper which shortly followed, kit carson noticed that the two boys were strangely silent. now and then they showed an interest in what was said by the trappers about them; but for the most part they sat looking into the fire or talking in a low tone. but when the meal was done and the men broke up into small knots about the fires, the two approached the young trapper. they talked for a space upon different topics, and finally, after some little hesitation, dave johnson said:
-“being from taos, you might know a half-breed mexican named lopez.”
-kit carson smiled.
-“well,” said he, “seeing that half the mexicans down that way are half-breeds, it would be a hard way to pick a man. but the name lopez is not the same as smith or jones,” he added thoughtfully. “what kind of a man is your half-breed for looks?”
-“rather well made, wears rings in his ears and has a knife cut across his left cheek.”
-a gleam of surprise came into kit carson’s face.
-“has the man anything to do with your being here?” he asked.
-“he has,” said joe frazier. “we are in search of him.”
-“i thought something was wrong from the way he acted when i saw him at noon.”
-“you saw him!” both lads came to their feet, their rifles in their hands. “where?”
-“sit down,” said the trapper, quietly. “don’t get excited. it’ll do you no good, for you couldn’t go looking for him to-night, anyway.”
-and as the boys resumed their seats on the bearskin, he went on.
-“i didn’t know this breed by the name of lopez. i’d seen him often at the trading posts and the indians called him spotted snake. to-day as i was riding back to camp here, with some small game that i’d been after, i met him on a badly winded horse. i was surprised to see him so far away from his usual hunting grounds.
-“‘hello, spotted snake,’ says i to him. ‘what are you doing here?’
-“at first he set out to make believe he didn’t know me and that i must have made some kind of a mistake. but in a couple of minutes he saw that it wouldn’t do, and climbed down to real facts.
-“‘you with some trappers?’ says he.
-“‘young’s crowd,’ says i.
-“‘does he want another man?’ he says.
-“now i know that spotted snake is a good trapper, so i says to him:
-“‘good,’ says he. and then: ‘going away from here soon?’
-“‘not for a week,’ says i.
-“and with that,” said kit carson, his eyes on the boys, “he lost all interest in joining us. a few hours later i saw him headed south with a band of pueblos and mexicans who had been making ready for a big hunt.”
-there was a moment’s silence; then dave johnson asked:
-“what sort of a country is it to the south?”
-“fine country if you stick to the water-courses. lots of game; and,” as an afterthought, “lots of redskins.”
-“to-morrow,” said dave to his friend, “we’ll send the mule back to the man we borrowed it from. then we’ll each buy a horse and some other things that we need, and we’ll be off to the southward after lopez.”
-kit carson regarded the lads quizzically.
-“it seems to me,” said joe, sturdily, “every person we’ve met to-day has to listen to our troubles. but i guess,” comically, “we’ll have to saddle you with the story, too, mr. carson, if you’re to understand how we came here and what we’re after.”
-“it has been all of six months ago,” spoke dave, “though i’ve about lost track of the time, that we left new orleans in the bark ‘gloria santos.’ she traded all along the coast until we came to rio janeiro; then we shifted to the english square rigger ‘north star,’ which carried us around the horn and to valparaiso. at that city we got passage on the trader ‘gadfly,’ which worked along until we reached the mouth of the los angeles river.”
-“you came alone on this trip?” asked the trapper.
-“no,” replied joe.
-“that’s what i thought,” said kit. “but go on.”
-“my father’s been thinking of making the voyage for the past five years,” said joe. “and he thought he’d wait until dave and i were old enough to join him. dave and i are cousins, you see.”
-“but we never knew what his object was until we reached this coast,” said dave. “then we found that he had a sort of map or plan of a particular place on a california river, which had been given him by an old seaman for whom he had done an important service while they served under macdonough on the lakes in the last war with england.”
-“plan of a place on a river, eh?” spoke kit. “well, i’ve trapped along all these streams and while they’re good for beaver and other fur bearing critters, still i don’t see anything about them that would take a man all that way a-looking for them.”
-dave glanced about at the groups of trappers as though to make sure that he was not overheard; bending forward he whispered something in kit carson’s ear.
-“no!” exclaimed the trapper, incredulously.
-both boys nodded a vigorous affirmative.
-“the old seaman who gave my uncle the map,” said dave, “had visited the country years ago. he was sure that there were great quantities of gold in the beds of all the streams. he was very old when my uncle met him, and that is why he didn’t make the venture himself. the map was made by him on a spot where he had seen the indians washing out gold to make ornaments.”
-“it may be so,” said kit, slowly. “they find it just that way, i’m told; so why not in california as well as any other place?”
-“the captain of the ‘gadfly’ was short handed when we got to a village down the coast, and he hired a mexican and this half-breed, lopez, to help work the schooner. the mexican deserted at the next stop, but lopez remained with us. in a little while we found why this was. things began to be missed. two nights ago as i came on deck i found him lying on his stomach looking down the open skylight into my uncle’s cabin. there was a light burning in the cabin and my uncle sat at a table with a small metal box before him, going over its contents. it was in this box that he kept the map and his other valuables. i spoke to lopez; he got up, muttered something and walked away. this morning the half-breed was missed; a half hour later the box was also discovered to have disappeared. it took us only a moment to put the two things together; then joe and i put out on board the mule, looking for him.”
-“your father didn’t join in the hunt?” said kit to joe, and there was an inquiring note in his voice.
-“my father,” said joe, “isn’t able to ride. he’s a cripple; lost his right leg by a cannon shot at the engagement on lake champlain.”
-“i see,” said kit. “and if the map was to be recovered, it was for you two boys to do it.” there was a short silence; then the trapper spoke again. “i see now why spotted snake was so anxious to get away from this section as soon as he could.” then inquiringly, “is it your idea that he took the box just because of the money value of the things in it?”
-“he couldn’t have known of the map----” began joe breathlessly. but the trapper interrupted him.
-“don’t be too sure of that,” said he. “you are never sure of what a fellow like that knows. he goes sneaking about, peeping and listening, and often he finds out more than he’s given credit for.”
-dave was about to make a reply to this, when suddenly there was a commotion in the darkness. the voice of one of the trappers posted to the north of the camp as a guard was heard calling sharply:
-“halt! stand where you are!”
-instantly the groups about the fires melted; each man seized the ever ready rifle and fell back out of the red glow. the chief of the trappers, mr. young, went forward, and voices were heard in a sort of parley. then the two boys saw the captain of the pueblo advancing, a half dozen of his soldiers at his back.
-the trappers take the trail
-“pardon!” cried the mexican, jovially, as he advanced. “i hope i do not intrude, gentlemen.”
-the chief of the trappers, who had approached the fires with him, bid him welcome.
-“sit down,” said mr. young. “glad to see you.”
-the officer did so; and his men squatted within the circle of light, blinking like so many owls and holding their muskets across their knees.
-“soon you will be leaving the pueblo,” said the captain. “i am sorry. not once have you accepted my hospitality.”
-the grizzled old trapper who had spoken to the boys when the company’s venture was being related, laughed at this declaration when it was translated.
-“trouble with that greaser is that he is too public in his invitations,” grinned he. “if he wants to treat us so consarned bad, why don’t he do it privately? i reckon nobody here’d refuse.”
-there was a laugh at this; and one of the americans who spoke some spanish called to the captain across the firelight:
-“very well, señor, if you want to be sociable, we’ll not discourage you.”
-the mexican smiled in an oily fashion and rubbed his thick, strong hands. he spoke english very badly, but at once entered into a conversation with some of the men.
-kit carson, who, with the two boys, had not returned to the camp-fire at the officer’s approach, stood leaning upon his rifle, watching the strangers.
-“up to some of his games,” the lads heard him mutter. then to them he said: “move quietly and follow me; i reckon i’ll be able to show you the reason for the captain’s visit.”
-softly he stole away westward from the camp, the boys following in his steps; when about two hundred yards distant he made a détour toward the south and after some little time paused.
-“i think the greasers took this way when they approached,” said he.
-then slowly he stepped along in the direction of the distant firelight; the night was a moonless one, but the stars twinkled in the light-colored sky and they were enabled to see without difficulty. quietly they paced along among the trees, until at length the trunk of a giant cottonwood reared itself a little to one side.
-“ah!” said the trapper, “i think i noticed that tree before.”
-they approached it; upon the far side it showed a large hollow at the base. the long rifle barrel was poked into this and struck something that gave out an unusual sound.
-“i thought so,” said kit, and with that he put down his gun, reached into the crevice and rolled out a heavy looking keg.
-“what is it?” asked the boys, in a breath.
-“liquor!” replied the trapper. “and put here by that greaser a while ago. and before he leaves camp to-night he’ll see to it that our men know where the stuff is hidden.”
-“but what is his object?” asked joe, puzzled.
-there was a little pause; the trapper’s moccasined feet prodded the keg; then he said:
-“you see, all this region is claimed by the mexican government. a license is needed to hunt and trap hereabout. and they refused to grant one to an american. when we reached here the captain undertook to arrest us, but we showed fight. ever since then he’s been trying to get our fellows intoxicated; once let him succeed, and the rest will be easy for him.”
-he drew a heavy, short-handled hatchet from his belt. with one blow the head of the keg was stove in; the strong liquor rushed out and sank into the ground.
-“and so,” said kit, humorously, replacing the hatchet in his belt, “there’s that to set against the captain’s little game. there’s not enough left to make even a tarantula feel lively.”
-they took the same way back to camp; no one had missed them; and they found the mexican officer all smiles and ready to leave.
-“good-night, señor young,” he was saying to the leader of the trappers, as he shook his hand. “good-night and pleasant dreams. to-morrow, in the morning, i will come again.” he said this with an unpleasant smile which made kit carson nudge dave johnson meaningly. “in the morning i will come again; and from then on, señor, i hope to see much more of you.”
-“good-night,” said young.
-the mexican hitched his sword belt into a more comfortable position.
-“good-night, gentlemen,” said he, with a wave of his hand to the trappers. “you are all brave fellows; and like brave fellows the whole world over, you accept all that circumstances put in your hands.”
-as this was put into english for them by the comrade who knew spanish, the men laughed and exchanged mysterious nods and winks.
-with a final wave of the hand, the mexican officer strode away followed by his men; and no sooner had he disappeared than kit was at the side of his employer telling of the plot. mr. young’s face grew dark with anger.
-“i’d like to repay him for that,” said he. “but,” with a gesture, “what’s the use? i suppose, after all, it’s his way of doing his duty.” then with sudden resolve, “there will be a constant danger of that kind all the time we are here; so at sunrise to-morrow we break camp and head for the gila river.”
-as the leader turned away, kit carson turned swiftly to the boys.
-“but my father,” cried joe, as he caught his breath.
-“we’ve got an indian boy here that’s been hanging around camp,” said kit. “he’s to be trusted. send him back with your mule, and also write a message to your father. tell him to come ashore and hire a couple of pueblo indians to carry him in to the mission of san gabriel. the priests will look after him; they have good food and he’ll be safe.”
-“but,” said dave, “couldn’t we start for the coast now and make arrangements with him in person? it’s only a little more than thirty miles there and back. we could make camp again by sunrise.”
-this seemed to strike kit as a good notion; he sought out mr. young and put the case of the boys before him. the chief trapper nodded, slowly.
-“i don’t like the idea of greenhorns,” said he. “and then we’re out to catch fur, and not to trail thieving half-breeds. but if the thing’s important and there’s no other way of doing it, all right.”
-“well,” said kit, to the boys, “as there isn’t any time to lose, let’s see to your mounts.” he led them to the place where the horses were picketed; the animals lifted their heads at the approach of the trapper; some snorted and pawed the ground as though anxious to be off on the trail once more. mr. young pointed to a pair of fair sized mustangs which stood side by side.
-“they ought to do,” said he. “they are sound, not excitable and have speed.”
-“couldn’t have made a better pick if you’d gone over the entire lot,” said kit, approvingly.
-“but won’t we be depriving some one of a mount?” asked joe.
-“horses are plenty in this country; and cheap, too. you can have these for the price we pay for the ones we buy to replace them.”
-this was eagerly agreed to; there was little more said; the mustangs were led out, bridled and saddled; and the boys, good riders both, swung themselves upon their backs.
-“by daylight,” cried dave, as he waved his hand.
-“and if we’re a little late,” called joe, his impatient mount prancing under him, “we’ll try and pick up your trail.”
-“good lads,” laughed kit carson; and then with another salute they were gone into the darkness.
-a strong guard of trusty men was kept about the trappers’ camp that night; mr. young was an experienced frontiersman and so took no chances with an enemy of the mexican captain’s type. no one was permitted to leave camp for fear that the keg discovered by kit was not the only one “planted” by the cunning official. at the first streak of dawn the trappers were astir; breakfast was cooked, traps and other equipment packed upon the horses used for that purpose, and everything was ready for the start.
-“looks as though our young friends were going to fail us,” spoke mr. young. “if they do, i’m out the price of two good ponies.”
-“they’ll not fail unless something happened them on the way,” said kit carson, who had taken a fancy to the cousins. “they are a clean-looking pair, and i think i’d back them to do more than hold to a bargain.”
-the trappers, with their packhorses in the center of the column, moved off down the indian trail; they had gotten entirely out of sight of the pueblo of los angeles, when a distant shout caught the ear of kit carson; his sharp eye swept the hills which rose about them; across a ridge to the north two horsemen were coming like the wind.
-the trapper wheeled his mustang and dashed back; the newcomers were dave and joe, weary and sore from the unaccustomed labor of the night, but both game and willing, for all.
-“it was all right,” proclaimed joe, delightedly. “dad didn’t take to the thing at first, but we had him talked over in half an hour. the captain of the schooner knows a priest at san gabriel; they are going to get a party of the mission indians with ponies and a litter as you suggested; and he’ll stay at the mission till we return, or he hears from us.”
-kit carson earned the friendship of a young pueblo, loafing on the steps of the mission building, by presenting him with a small trinket.
-“some mexicans and indians went through here yesterday,” said he.
-“trap!” said the youthful savage, laconically. “much hunt on gila river.”
-“a man was with them--much cut on face,” and the trapper illustrated the character of the scar.
-the young indian nodded.
-“big cut!” agreed he. “long time ago.”
-kit nodded to the boys as they turned and rode after their party.
-“we’re right behind them! if we have good luck, lopez, or spotted snake, as we called him in taos, will be where we can get our hands on him by sundown to-morrow.”
-indian signs--and indians!
-that night the trappers camped upon the banks of a small stream; their supper was of game shot during the day and corn-cakes made from the meal in one of the packs.
-both boys noticed that much care was taken as to the picketing of the horses, also a guard was placed over them. the camp was laid out with a plain regard for defense as well as for comfort.
-“you never can tell in the wilderness just what is going to happen,” said kit carson, in answer to a question of joe’s. “the pueblo indians are mostly a mild lot, and never go upon the war-path; and the other redskins are too well fed around the mission to make trouble. but war parties of one nation or another are apt to be met with any time.”
-the trappers placed their saddle pads on the ground and threw their blankets over them; these, with saddles at one end for pillows, were their bed. the boys followed their example.
-at dawn on the following day the camp was astir; breakfast was cooked and eaten, packs were adjusted and made fast; then the party mounted and began the day’s journey. it was a picturesque cavalcade; each man led or rode beside a packhorse or mule; across his back was slung his rifle, in his belt was his hunting knife, his whetstone and his hatchet; his clothing was of soft buckskin, fringed and ornamented with porcupine quills, dyed in many and brilliant colors.
-the country through which they passed was an ever changing one; streams were crossed; paths were forced through green ravines; mountainsides were conquered; thick woods were encountered everywhere.
-“the signs say that a company of trappers went over this route not long ago,” he said to his chief. “and i think it might be spotted snake and the party he engaged with.”
-“like as not,” replied the other, his eyes searching the ground.
-“the trail leads away to the left a little piece on,” observed kit. “i think i’ll have a look at it with the boys. we’ll bring up with you in a little while.”
-upon a nod from mr. young he rode forward, the two eager lads at his side; they also studied the ground; hoof marks there were to a certainty; but what told kit they had been made by a trapping party, they were puzzled to know.
-“it’s plain enough,” said the young man when joe had put the question to him. “each man in the party rode a pony and led a pack-mule; no other party but a trapper’s is ever made up like that.”
-off to the left they turned, following the trail as it led toward a distant range of hills.
-“it’s rather a peculiar move,” spoke kit after a time; “and no direction for a company to take which aims to trap on the gila river.”
-for a full hour they rode in the track of the strange preceding expedition; they had reached a section covered by small knolls or hillocks, some crowned by growths of dwarfed trees, others bald and desolate. suddenly kit carson reined in his pony and swung himself from the saddle; without waiting to be told, both boys did the same. they quickly led their mounts behind one of the knolls; and when the trapper halted, dave johnson asked:
-“what is it?”
-“tie up your mustangs,” was the only reply.
-the boys did so; then, following the cautious example of the trapper, they scrambled up the steep sides of the hillock; it was one of those upon which the dwarf trees grew so thickly; they lay among these and looked toward the east.
-“take a steady look now, off toward the southeast,” said kit, one hand pointing in that direction. “do you see a hill which looks something like a horse’s head--right against the sky?”
-the thick mass of dark growth which topped a distant knoll was unmistakable; and both lads replied in a breath.
-“well, strike a line to the left again--on a hill farther away--a bald hill something higher than the others.”
-joe frazier was the first to catch the object indicated.
-“a horseman,” said he.
-“an indian!” cried dave johnson, an instant later, and with a keener vision.
-“an indian it is,” spoke the trapper, his eyes holding to the distant figure.
-there was something in his manner which caught the attention of the boys.
-“there were indians a-plenty back at san gabriel and at the pueblo,” said joe, “but you did not pay much attention to them.”
-kit carson smiled.
-“no,” said he, quietly. “those redskins didn’t call for much attention. but this is one of a very different kind. you never catch his sort planting or plowing or tending cattle; he’s a warrior, and if you were close enough to him i think you’d find that he is armed with lance, bow and arrow and tomahawk.”
-the savage horseman was so far away that he made but a tiny speck against the sky; but for all that he was an ominous figure in that desolate land, a sort of symbol of the danger it held for the intruding paleface and an unspoken threat of what would befall if he dared to press further into a region never meant for him.
-for some time the warrior sat his horse in perfect stillness; it was as though he were surveying the country round about for signs of danger, or, more probably, for signs of prey. then he suddenly turned his horse and disappeared from the summit of the knoll.
-the three mounted once more and continued in the trail they had been following; the boys noted that the trapper looked at the priming of his rifle, and they did the same. they had no notion of what to expect ahead; but that their guide considered it more or less serious was plain. another hour went by; then they reached the bald hillock upon which they had seen the solitary brave. in a hollow about a hundred yards away was the remains of a large camp, the fires of which were still smouldering; all about it the ground was trampled by the hoofs of hundreds of horses. from the top of the hillock kit carson studied the scene.
-“there must have been four or five hundred redskins camped here up to a few hours ago,” said he. “the brave we saw was about the last to leave.”
-but the trapper shook his head.
-“there were indians and half-breeds in that company of trappers,” he said, “and they are mostly on good terms with the others of their kind. and the fact that they left the track that would have taken them to their hunting grounds, and took one leading straight to the big redskin camp, shows that they knew of it and made for it of their own accord.”
-“but why?” asked dave.
-the trapper shook his head.
-“i don’t know,” said he. “there may be a thousand reasons for it; but we’d never guess one of them, like as not, if we tried for a month.”
-they spent a few minutes examining the indian camp; then they rode back at a smart pace until they struck the trail of their own party. when this was overtaken it was found to be encamped for the night.
-after supper, dave and joe noticed kit in earnest conversation with the chief trapper. the two men talked in low tones, but now and then the boys caught a disconnected word. “indian” was one of frequent occurrence, “war party,” “trail,” and such fragments gave them something of the color of the conversation.
-“they seem to think that there’s danger in the air,” said joe in a whisper.
-“i suppose it’s the size of the indian party,” spoke dave to joe. “here there’s only a score of us; what chance should we have against, say five hundred, if they made up their minds to attack us?”
-“not much, i guess,” replied joe, soberly. “but, after all,” with a hopeful note in his voice, “it’s not likely that the redskins know we’re around. and their trail as they left their camp led directly away from us. i noticed that particularly.”
-however, the trappers’ camp was one of precautions that night; the horses were not only picketed, but hobbled as well to prevent a stampede.
-“that’s a fav’rite little game with the reds,” the grizzled old trapper, whose name was matthews, informed dave. “you see, we couldn’t get along without horses to carry our camp stuff and traps and pelts; so if they can scare the critters and set ’em off wild with fright, they’ve broke up our trip and got us at their mercy.”
-but the night passed peacefully enough, as did the next and the next. nine days after leaving los angeles, the company sighted the colorado river. all thought, or all fear at least, of redskins had left the trappers; a camp was pitched near the river and the traps were made ready for an operation against the beaver.
-“right,” said kit carson, quietly.
-next morning the parties, taking a few of the horses, set out to range the river according to the leader’s plans. when they had gone, kit, with the help of old matthews, the boys and the two other men left behind, picketed the horses upon one side of the camp; the small bales of fur were built up in a complete circle, forming a sort of breastwork.
-“an arrow would never get through these bundles of pelts,” said kit as he regarded the “walls” of the camp with critical approval. “even a bullet would have something of a job doing it.”
-everything belonging to the expedition, except the horses, was brought into the circle of hides. this had scarcely been done when the camp was startled by a sudden shout from old zeke matthews. he had been seeing to the mules, and now ran toward the enclosure, his rifle ready in his hands.
-“injuns!” he shouted. “a whole tribe of them!”
-startled, the little party leaped upon the rampart of hides. advancing at a slow, swinging gallop across the soft turf that stretched away from the river was a perfect cloud of redskins.
-white versus red on the colorado
-the feathered head-dress of many colors waved gaily above the advancing braves; the streamers of their long lances danced in the breeze; their lithe ponies covered the ground in cat-like leaps.
-“not a war party!” said kit carson, as he eyed the horde keenly. “but that makes little difference in this country; they use the mexicans they come upon much as they please--rob them--make them prisoners, or turn them adrift unarmed. sometimes even worse has happened.”
-“well,” said old zeke, grimly, as he looked to the priming of his rifle, “we ain’t mexicans, and i reckon there’ll be nothing like that happen here.”
-with one accord, as they reached a point within a hundred yards of the camp, the indians threw their mounts back upon their haunches and leaped to the ground; then about a dozen of them came forward, signaled the whites, and with much ostentation laid aside knife and tomahawk, long bow and quivers of arrows. then with upraised hands and every gesture of good-will used by the red men upon such occasions, they came toward the fort. as no protest came from kit carson, old zeke matthews looked at him with eyes of wonder.
-“i say, kit,” said he, “when do you reckon it’ll be time to wave them varmints back?”
-the other shook his head.
-“i’m thinking of letting them come in,” said he.
-the old trapper’s eyes grew bigger than ever.
-“wal,” said he, “i’ve lived most of my life with injuns near at hand; but i ain’t never got so as i could trust ’em. these braves look as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths; but give ’em a chance and they’ll have their scalping knives at work amongst us, quicker’n you could say jack robinson.”
-the half dozen or so redskins who formed the “talk” party were now close at hand; kit called to them to halt, and spoke to them in one of the several indian dialects which he knew. in after years this great frontiersman could hold a conversation in their own language with any of the nations which roamed the plains. he was but twenty years of age during the trapping venture of ewing young to the californias, and so had not become as familiar with the red men as was the case later.
-and so when the “talk” party failed to understand him, he tried them in another tongue. this too failed; and so he invited them within the enclosure so that he might converse with them in the sign language which almost all indians know. a tall brave, evidently a chief, was the first to enter the fort; he was a sullen-browed fellow enough, flat nosed, and with a face pitted by smallpox. but he gestured his perfect good-will, as did his companions, holding out their empty hands to show that they were unarmed.
-curiously they inspected the enclosure; the great quantity of furs plainly interested them; the pack-mules, the arms and camp equipment excited nods and grunts of appreciation.
-kit was engaged with the chief, endeavoring to make him understand his signs; the savage comprehended slowly, his mind apparently being more given to the treasures of the camp than what the trapper was saying to him. as kit was asking for information with regard to spotted snake, both joe and dave were eagerly interested, watching the signs and trying to interpret the chief’s replies.
-in a little while the trapper felt a hand placed upon his fringed sleeve; looking around he saw zeke matthews at his side.
-“judging from the indications,” spoke the old trapper, “i reckon this here chief don’t know english. and that being the case, i make bold to tell you in that language that there’s about forty more of them come inside the fort since you began to talk.”
-that the men would admit any more of the savages to the enclosure, or even allow them to approach the wall, had never occurred to kit; however, now that he was aware that they had done so, he showed no signs of haste or alarm. his quiet gray eyes ran around among the indians who had adroitly wormed their way within the circle of pelts; coolly he took in all the details of the scene; calmly he gauged its possibilities.
-the savages, grinning and with growing aggressiveness, were thronging up and down within the little enclosure; a second glance showed the trapper that though the “talk” party may have entered unarmed, the others had only made the appearance of doing so. under their clothes they carried hatchet and knife, sure testimony of their intentions. the swift, cool brain of the young trapper took in this fact and valued it properly in an instant; and almost as quickly his plans were made to meet the peril.
-the odds were overwhelming; within the fort there were ten redskins to each white man; in all, the savages outnumbered the hunters almost a hundred to one. but this fact had little effect upon kit carson; his arrangements were as quiet and methodical as they would have been had the numbers been equal.
-“go quietly among the men,” said he to old zeke. “get them over here with all their arms; but, whatever you do, don’t let the bucks get an idea of what’s going on.”
-the veteran trapper nodded and leisurely made his way through the throng of savages.
-“it looks bad,” said dave johnson. “there’s enough of them to crush us into the ground just by sheer weight.”
-kit carson nodded.
-“if they were white men,” said he, “there wouldn’t be anything to do but wait till we were sure of what they were going to do--and then surrender. but, they being indians, the thing’s something different. redskins will never take a chance with death, and that’s a fact that’s saved the lives of many a band of trappers. let them be sure that some of them are to die, and they’ll begin to play ’possum. their style of fighting is to always have the upper hand. otherwise there’s no fight.”
-old zeke passed the word calmly to his comrades; and one at a time the men sauntered across the circle and joined kit and the boys. it was as though they had no object in the movement except to dawdle about, talk, and encourage their visitors to make themselves at home. when all six of the whites were finally together, rifles in hand, alert and ready for the desperate chance which meant life or death to them all, kit carson said quietly:
-“now, boys, when i give the word, each pick out a head man and cover him with your rifle. i’ll take the chief with pock-marked face. at the slightest movement that looks like resistance--fire!”
-the men nodded; the steady gripping of the rifle stocks alone told of their purpose; their thumbs were on the triggers; their eyes were upon the redskins. then kit’s soft, drawling voice said:
-as he spoke his rifle came to a level, the muzzle within a few feet of the stalwart chief; the three trappers and the two boys followed his example; each of the grim black tubes stared a savage in the face.
-with dismay the indians fell back into a huddled mass at one side; not for an instant did the long rifles waver; in the barrel of each was a messenger which meant death; they knew the deadly aim of the palefaces of the border and that they seldom missed their mark. the chief with the pitted face now found a fund of halting spanish, and he addressed the trappers.
-“we come as friends! are not the white men our brothers?”
-with his cheek against the stock of his rifle and his gray eye glancing down the barrel, kit carson replied:
-“leave this camp! and leave it at once. stay and you are all dead men.”
-there was an instant’s pause--an instant full of suspense; then the chief spoke to his braves. they made no answer, but gathered their gay colored robes about them and sullenly filed out of the little fort; and they never paused or looked behind until they were safely out of rifle shot.
-“there will be a grand pow-wow,” said kit, as they watched the great band of savages join those just expelled from the fort. “and if the chief who spoke has the say, i wouldn’t wonder if we had a little fight on our hands before sunrise. he had fire in his eye as he left.”
-one by one a chief or head man harangued the redskins; suddenly there was a chorus of shrill yells and a scattering for their ponies; then, mounted, they formed a half circle, and with lances held high and bows ready for deadly work, they sat facing the camp of the whites like so many graven images.
-two nights of danger
-at sight of the great array of armed and mounted savages facing the little fort, the two lads from the east felt that sinking sensation which usually comes to those not bred to physical danger. at the crisis within the camp neither had felt the slightest fear; the thing was so sudden and so desperate that they had no time to think of themselves.
-but this new situation was different; their minds had time to grasp the consequence of the attack and they felt uneasy. it is probable that kit carson understood something of what they were feeling; more than likely he had once gone through it himself; at any rate, he said:
-“this doesn’t mean much, lads; the reds are going to run rings around us, maybe, and do a little fancy shooting. but they’ll keep out of range of our guns, and so, of course, we’ll be out of reach of their bows. they are great fellows for that kind of exhibition.”
-but kit was mistaken. instead of making the attack expected, a man rode out the half circle of horsemen and approached the camp--one hand uplifted, the palm toward the whites.
-“it seems to me,” said kit, his eyes upon the horseman, “i know that gentleman.”
-dave johnson uttered a cry.
-“it’s lopez!” exclaimed he.
-“down, lads, behind the wall; don’t let him see you; i’ll palaver him and maybe strike some kind of a bargain for your property.”
-“well, spotted snake,” said kit carson, leaning upon his rifle and quietly surveying the half-breed, “how is it i find you in company with a band of hostiles?”
-spotted snake grinned more widely than ever.
-“they are not hostiles,” he said, in spanish. “very good indians. mean no harm. you got frightened.”
-“they may be very good redskins, as you say,” replied kit; “but good or bad i’d rather not have many of them around with hatchets and scalping knives hidden in their blankets.”
-the half-breed laughed.
-“they didn’t know you’d take anything they did in bad part,” said he. “they are not used to dealing with white men, and so don’t know their ways.”
-“i suppose that, too, is a sign of good-will,” said he.
-“red cloud is a big chief,” said the half-breed, “and he is very angry at the way you’ve treated him. he’s mounted his men and put them in fighting formation just to show you what he would look like if he really wanted to do you harm. he told me to tell you that his five hundred braves would dash over you as the waters of a mountain stream dash over the rocks in the time of freshets.”
-“you’ve lived long enough among whites and have enough white blood in you, spotted snake, to know that talk of that sort won’t carry very far. if red cloud wants to see how far his young men can dash over us let him have them try it on. we can guarantee him twenty-five dead, and himself among them.”
-the half-breed grinned and nodded.
-“i’ve told him that already,” said he. “but he was bound to have me come and ‘make talk.’ if he could have scared you in the first place your furs, traps, horses and rifles would have satisfied him, i think. he’s not a half bad sort of fellow when you come to know him.”
-“a while ago i asked you how you came to be in company with this band,” said kit. “i don’t think you answered me.”
-another annoying circumstance was that until they had a solid sheet of ice around them they could neither set up the meteorological screen, nor, in short, carry out any of the routine scientific work which was such an important object of the expedition.
-at this time scott was eager to make one more sledding effort before the winter set in. the ostensible reason was to layout a depôt of provisions to the south in preparation for the spring, but 'a more serious purpose was to give himself and those who had not been away already a practical insight into the difficulties of sledge traveling. but as this party would have to include the majority of those on board, he was forced to wait until the ship was firmly fixed, and it may be said that the discovery was as reluctant to freeze-in as she was difficult to get out when once the process had been completed.
-on march 28, however, scott was able to write in his diary: 'the sea is at last frozen over, and if this weather lasts the ice should become firm enough to withstand future gales. we have completed the packing of our sledges, though i cannot say i am pleased with their appearance; the packing is not neat enough, and we haven't got anything like a system.'
-later on scott learned that it was a bad plan to combine men and dogs on a sledge, because the dogs have their own pace and manner of pulling, and neither of these is adapted to the unequal movement caused by the swing of marching men. and on this occasion another reason for the inefficiency of the dogs was that they were losing their coats, and had but little protection against the bitterly cold wind. 'as a matter of fact, our poor dogs suffered a great deal from their poorly clothed condition during the next week or two, and we could do little to help them; but nature seemed to realize the mistake, and came quickly to the rescue: the new coats grew surprisingly fast, and before the winter had really settled down on us all the animals were again enveloped in their normally thick woolly covering.
-but in a sense even these failures were successful, for everyone resolved to profit by the mistakes that had been made and the experience that had been gained, and the successful sledge journeys subsequently made in the spring were largely due to the failures of the autumn.
-the polar winter
-the cold ice slept below, above the cold sky shone, and all around with a chilling sound from caves of ice and fields of snow the breath of night like death did flow beneath the sinking moon.--shelley.
-the sun was due to depart before the end of april, and so no time could be wasted if the outside work, which had been delayed by the tardy formation of the ice-sheet, was to be completed before the daylight vanished.
-besides establishing the routine of scientific work many preparations had to be made for the comfort and well-being of the ship during the winter, and long before the sun had disappeared the little company had settled down to a regular round of daily life.
-later in the year scott wrote in his diary: 'the day's routine for the officers gives four clear hours before tea and three after; during these hours all without exception are busily employed except for the hour or more devoted to exercise.... it would be difficult to say who is the most diligent, but perhaps the palm would be given to wilson, who is always at work; every rough sketch made since we started is reproduced in an enlarged and detailed form, until we now possess a splendid pictorial representation of the whole coastline of victoria land.... at home many no doubt will remember the horrible depression of spirit that has sometimes been pictured as a pendant to the long polar night. we cannot even claim to be martyrs in this respect; with plenty of work the days pass placidly and cheerfully.'
-this spirit of good-fellowship and give-and-take was a remarkable feature of life during the time spent in the discovery, and the only man scott had a word to say against was the cook. 'we shipped him at the last moment in new zealand, when our trained cook became too big for his boots, and the exchange was greatly for the worse; i am afraid he is a thorough knave, but what is even worse, he is dirty--an unforgivable crime in a cook.'
-under such circumstances it is obvious that tempers might have been overstrained, and apart from the sins of the cook the weather was unexpectedly troublesome. almost without exception the north polar winter has been recorded as a period of quiescence, but in the antarctic the wind blew with monotonous persistency, and calm days were very few and far between. nevertheless scott had little reason to change his original opinion about his companions, all of whom were prepared to put up with some unavoidable discomforts, and to make the best of a long job.
-on sunday a different garment was put on, not necessarily a newer or a cleaner one, the essential point being that it should be different from that which had been worn during the week. by 9.30 the decks had been cleared up, the tables and shelves tidied, and the first lieutenant reported 'all ready for rounds.' a humble imitation of the usual man-of-war walk-round sunday inspection followed, and scott had the greatest faith in this system of routine, not only because it had a most excellent effect on the general discipline and cleanliness of the ship, but also because it gave an opportunity to raise and discuss each new arrangement that was made to increase the comfort of all on board.
-after this inspection of both ship and men, the mess-deck was prepared for church; harmonium, reading-desk and chairs were all placed according to routine, and the bell was tolled. scott read the service, koettlitz the lessons, and royds played the harmonium.
-on june 23 the festival of mid-winter was celebrated, and the mess-deck was decorated with designs in coloured papers and festooned with chains and ropes of the same materials. among the messes there was a great contest to have the best decorations, and some astonishing results were achieved with little more than brightly coloured papers, a pair of scissors and a pot of paste. on each table stood a grotesque figure or fanciful erection of ice, which was cunningly lighted up by candles from within and sent out shafts of sparkling light. 'if,' scott wrote in his diary, 'the light-hearted scenes of to-day can end the first period of our captivity, what room for doubt is there that we shall triumphantly weather the whole term with the same general happiness and contentment?'
-there was, however, a still brighter illuminant within their reach in the shape of acetylene, but not until it became certain that they would have to spend a second winter in the antarctic, did their thoughts fly to the calcium carbide which had been provided for the hut, and which they had not previously thought of using. 'in this manner the darkness of our second winter was relieved by a light of such brilliancy that all could pursue their occupations by the single burner placed in each compartment. i lay great stress on this, because i am confident that this is in every way the best illuminant that can be taken for a polar winter, and no future expedition should fail to supply themselves with it.'
-'i find that after my labours at the wash-tub and the pleasing supper that follows, i can safely stretch myself out in a chair without fear of being overcome by sleep, and so, with the ever-soothing pipe and one's latest demand on the library book-shelves, one settles down in great peace and contentment whilst keeping an eye on the flying hours, ready to sally forth into the outer darkness at the appointed time.
-'the pleasure or pain of that periodic journey is of course entirely dependent on the weather. on a fine night it may be quite a pleasure, but when, as is more common, the wind is sweeping past the ship, the observer is often subjected to exasperating difficulties, and to conditions when his conscience must be at variance with his inclination.
-at the end of july a most unpleasant fact had to be faced in a mishap to the boats. early in the winter they had been hoisted out to give more room for the awning, and had been placed in a line about a hundred yards from the ice-foot on the sea-ice. the earliest gale drifted them up nearly gunwale high, and thus for the next two months they remained in sight. but then another gale brought more snow, and was so especially generous with it in the neighborhood of the boats, that they were afterwards found to be buried three or four feet beneath the surface. with no feelings of anxiety, but rather to provide occupation, scott ordered the snow on the top of them to be removed, and not until the first boat had been reached was the true state of affairs revealed. she was found lying in a mass of slushy ice with which she was nearly filled, and though for a moment there was a wild hope that she could be pulled up, this soon vanished; for the air temperature promptly converted the slush into hardened ice, and so she was stuck fast.
-the hut was scarcely 200 yards from the ship, and the latter was not only a comparatively big object but was surrounded by guide-ropes and other means of direction, which if encountered would have informed the wanderers of their position. additionally bernacchi and skelton could be trusted to take the most practical course in any difficulty, and so it seems the more incredible that they could actually have been lost for two hours. both of them were severely frostbitten about the face and legs, but bitter as their experience was it served as yet another warning to those who were to go sledding in the spring that no risks could be taken in such a capricious climate. had not royds been rehearsing his troupe on this occasion the results to bernacchi and skelton must have been more disastrous than they were; consequently the idea of using the large hut as a place of entertainment was fortunate in more ways than one.
-this play was entitled 'the ticket of leave,' 'a screaming comedy in one act,' and was produced with unqualified success. 'i for one,' scott says, 'have to acknowledge that i have rarely been so gorgeously entertained.'
-'there is no doubt,' scott says in reference to this performance, 'that sailors dearly love to make up; on this occasion they had taken an infinity of trouble to prepare themselves.... "bones" and "skins" had even gone so far as to provide themselves with movable top-knots which could be worked at effective moments by pulling a string below.... to-night the choruses and plantation-songs led by royds were really well sung, and they repay him for the very great pains he has taken in the rehearsals.'
-in making these preparations for long journeys in the south, there was no previous experience to go upon except that which had been gained in the north; indeed it was necessary to assume that southern conditions would be more or less similar to those of the north, and in so far as they proved different the sledding outfit ran the risk of failure. experience taught scott that in many respects the sledding conditions of the south were different from those of the north, and so it is only fair to consider the sledge journeys taken by the discovery expedition as pioneer efforts. these differences are both climatic and geographical. for instance, the conditions in the south are more severe than those in the north, both in the lowness of the temperatures and in the distressing frequency of blizzards and strong winds. and the geographical difference between the work of the northern and the southern sledge-traveler is as great as the climatic, if not greater, for the main part of northern traveling has been and will be done on sea-ice, while the larger part of southern traveling has been and will be done over land surfaces, or what in this respect are their equivalents.
-the main differences between the sledges used by the discovery expedition and those used by other explorers were a decrease in breadth and an increase in runner surface. measured across from the center of one runner to the center of the other scott's sledges were all, with one exception, 1 foot 5 inches. the runners themselves were 3-3/4 inches across, so that the sledge track from side to side measured about 1 foot 8-3/4 inches. the lengths varied from 12 feet to 7 feet, but the 11-foot sledges proved to be by far the most convenient--a length of 12 feet seeming to pass just beyond the limit of handiness.
-the weights of a party naturally divide themselves under two headings: the permanent, which will not diminish throughout the trip, and the consumable, including food, oil, &c. the following is a list of the permanent weights carried on scott's journey to the west, and it will give some idea of the variety of articles, exclusive of provisions. the party numbered six.
-again, speaking very roughly, this amount is about six weeks' food for a party of six, but as such a short period is often not long enough to satisfy sledge-travelers, they are compelled to organize means by which their journey can be prolonged. this can be done in two ways; they may either go out earlier in the season and lay a depôt at a considerable distance towards their goal, or they may arrange to receive assistance from a supporting party, which accompanies them for a certain distance on the road and helps their advance party to drag a heavier load than they can accomplish alone.
-both of these plans were adopted by scott on the more important journeys, and his parties were able to be absent from the ship for long periods and to travel long distances.
-the start of the southern journey
-hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit to its full height...
-...shew us here that you are worth your breeding, which i doubt not. for there is none so mean or base that have not noble lustre in your eyes. i see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. --shakespeare.
-during the later months of the dark season all thoughts had been turned to the prospects of the spring journeys, and many times the advantages and disadvantages of dogs for sledding were discussed. this question of the sacrifice of animal life was one on which scott felt strongly from the time he became an explorer to the end of his life. argue with himself as he might, the idea was always repugnant to his nature.
-when the spring campaign opened in 1902 the original team of dogs had been sadly diminished. of the nineteen that remained for the southern journey, all but one--and he was killed at an earlier period--left their bones on the great southern plains. this briefly is the history of the dogs, but the circumstances under which they met their deaths will be mentioned later on.
-on september 10, royds and koettlitz started off to the south-west with evans, quartley, lashly and wild. and of this party scott wrote: 'they looked very workmanlike, and one could see at a glance the vast improvement that has been made since last year. the sledges were uniformly packed.... one shudders now to think of the slovenly manner in which we conducted things last autumn; at any rate here is a first result of the care and attention of the winter.'
-armitage and ferrar with four men left for the west on the following day, but owing to the necessity of making fresh harness for the dogs and to an exasperating blizzard, scott was not able to start on his southern reconnaissance journey until september 17.
-the sledges carried a fortnight's food for all concerned, together with a quantity of stores to form a depôt, the whole giving a load of about 90 lbs. per dog; but this journey was destined to be only a short and bitter experience.
-the reason was that on the night of the 17th the travelers were so exhausted that they did not heap enough snow on the skirting of the tent, and when scott woke up on the following morning he found himself in the open. 'at first, as i lifted the flap of my sleeping-bag, i could not think what had happened. i gazed forth on a white sheet of drifting snow, with no sign of the tent or my companions. for a moment i wondered what in the world it could mean, but the lashing of the snow in my face very quickly awoke me to full consciousness, and i sat up to find that in some extraordinary way i had rolled out of the tent.'
-after this accident the dog teams were joined, and reluctant to give up they advanced again; but very soon the last of the four sledges disappeared, and was found hanging vertically up and down in an ugly-looking chasm. to the credit of the packing not a single thing had come off, in spite of the jerk with which it had fallen. it was, however, too heavy to haul up as it was, but, after some consultation, the indefatigable feather proposed that he should be let down and undertake the very cold job of unpacking it. so he was slung with one end of the alpine rope, while the other was used for hauling up the various packages; and at last the load was got up, and the lightened sledge soon followed.
-the depôt, leaving six weeks' provision for three men and 150 lbs. of dog-food, was made on the morning of october 1, and besides marking it with a large black flag, scott was also careful to take angles with a prismatic compass to all the points he could see. then they started home, and the dogs knowing at once what was meant no longer required any driving. on the homeward march the travelers went for all they were worth, and in spite of perpetual fog covered eighty-five statute miles in less than three days.
-on returning to the ship scott admits that he found it a most delightful place. the sense of having done what he wanted to do had something to do with this feeling of satisfaction, but it was the actual physical comfort after days of privation that chiefly affected him. the joy of possessing the sledding appetite was sheer delight, and for many days after the travelers returned from their sledding-trips, they retained a hunger which it seemed impossible to satisfy.
-this outbreak had occurred during armitage's journey, and when he, after much anxiety, had got his men back to the ship, wilson's medical examination proved that ferrar, heald and cross were all attacked, while the remainder of the party were not above suspicion.
-very soon, however, symptoms of the disease began to abate, but the danger lurking around them was continually in scott's thoughts, and he was determined not to give the dreaded enemy another chance to break out.
-this attack of scurvy came as a great surprise to everyone, for when the long winter was over and all of them were in good health and high spirits, they had naturally congratulated themselves on the effectiveness of their precautions. the awakening from this pleasant frame of mind was rude, and though the disease vanished with astonishing rapidity, it was--quite apart from the benefit lost to medical science--very annoying not to be able to say definitely from what the evil had sprung.
-but although the seriousness of this outbreak was not underrated, and every precaution was taken to prevent its recurrence, preparations for the various journeys were pushed on with no less vigour and enthusiasm. the game to play was that there was nothing really to be alarmed about, and everyone played it with the greatest success.
-on friday, october 24, royds, who had left the ship three weeks before with skelton, lashly, evans, quartley and wild, returned with the good news that he had been able to communicate with the 'record' post at cape crozier. if a relief ship was going to be sent out, scott now had the satisfaction of knowing that she had a good prospect of being guided to the winter quarters of the expedition. it was also a great source of satisfaction to find that although royds and his party had left almost immediately after the outbreak of scurvy, they had all returned safe and with no symptom of the disease.
-the names of the dogs were:
-each of them had his peculiar characteristics, and what the southern party did not already know concerning their individualities, they had ample opportunities of finding out in the course of the next few weeks.
-day after day relay work continued, the only relief from the monotony of their toil being that land was sighted on the 21st, and as the prospects of reaching a high latitude were steadily disappearing, it was decided to alter their course to s. s. w. and edge towards it. then the surface over which they were traveling showed signs of improvement, but the travelers themselves were beginning to suffer from blistered noses and cracked lips, and their eyes were also troubling them. appetites, however, were increasing by leaps and bounds. 'the only thing to be looked to on our long marches is the prospect of the next meal.'
-on november 24 a new routine was started which made a little variation in the dull toil of relay work. after pushing on the first half-load one of the three stopped with it, and got up the tent and prepared the meal while the other two brought up the second half-load. and then on the following day came one of those rewards which was all the sweeter because it had been gained by ceaseless and very monotonous toil.
-a blizzard followed upon this success, but the dogs were so exhausted that a day's rest had been thought of even if the weather had not compelled it. wilson, to his great discomfort, was always able to foretell these storms, for when they were coming on he invariably suffered from rheumatism; so, however reluctant, he could not help being a very effective barometer.
-after the storm had passed an attempt was made on the morning of the 27th to start with the full load, but it took next to no time to discover that the dogs had not benefited by their rest, and there was nothing to do except to go on with the old routine of relay work. as the days passed with no signs of improvement in the dogs, it became more and more necessary to reach the land in hopes of making a depôt; so the course was laid to the westward of s. w., which brought the high black headland, for which they were making, on their port bow. 'i imagine it to be about fifty miles off, but hope it is not so much; nine hours' work to-day has only given us a bare four miles.'
-by december 3 they were close enough to the land to make out some of its details. on their right was a magnificent range of mountains, which by rough calculations scott made out to be at least fifty miles away. by far the nearest point of land was an isolated snow-cape, an immense, and almost dome-shaped, snow-covered mass. at first no rock at all could be seen on it, but as they got nearer a few patches began to appear. for one of these patches they decided to make so that they might establish a depôt, but at the rate at which they were traveling there was little hope of reaching it for several days.
-by this time the appetites of the party were so ravenous that when the pemmican bag was slung alongside a tin of paraffin, and both smelt and tasted of oil, they did not really mind. but what saddened them more than this taste of paraffin was the discovery, on december 5, that their oil was going too fast. a gallon was to have lasted twelve days, but on investigation it was found on an average to have lasted only ten, which meant that in the future each gallon would have to last a fortnight. 'this is a distinct blow, as we shall have to sacrifice our hot luncheon meal and to economize greatly at both the others. we started the new routine to-night, and for lunch ate some frozen seal-meat and our allowance of sugar and biscuit.'
-at last, on december 14, they arrived, when they were almost spent, at a place where dog-food could be left. in their march they had only managed to do two miles after the most strenuous exertions, for the snow became softer as they approached the land, and the sledge-runners sank from three to four inches. on any particularly soft patch they could do little more than mark time, and even to advance a yard was an achievement.
-supper was the best meal, for then they had a hoosh which ran from between three-quarters to a whole pannikin apiece, but even this they could not afford to make thick. while it was being heated in the central cooker, cocoa was made in the outer, but the lamp was turned out directly the hoosh boiled, and by that time the chill was barely off the contents of the outer cooker. of course the cocoa was not properly dissolved, but they were long past criticizing the quality of their food. all they wanted was something to 'fill up,' but needless to say they never got it. half an hour after supper was over they were as hungry as ever.
-wilson's examination of shackleton on december 24 was not encouraging, but they had reached a much harder surface and under those conditions scott and wilson agreed that it was not yet time to say 'turn.' besides, christmas day was in front of them, and for a week they had all agreed that it would be a crime to go to bed hungry on that night. in fact they meant it to be a wonderful day, and everything conspired to make it so.
-the sun shone gloriously from a clear sky, and not a breath of wind disturbed the calmness of the morning, but entrancing as the scene was they did not stay to contemplate it, because for once they were going to have a really substantial breakfast, and this was an irresistible counter-attraction.
-'i am writing,' scott says, 'over my second pipe. the sun is still circling our small tent in a cloudless sky, the air is warm and quiet. all is pleasant without, and within we have a sense of comfort we have not known for many a day; we shall sleep well tonight--no dreams, no tightening of the belt.
-'we have been chattering away gaily, and not once has the conversation turned to food. we have been wondering what christmas is like in england... and how our friends picture us. they will guess that we are away on our sledge journey, and will perhaps think of us on plains of snow; but few, i think, will imagine the truth, that for us this has been the reddest of all red-letter days.'
-how many weary steps of many weary miles you have o'ergone, are numbered to the travel of one mile. shakespeare.
-some days passed before the pleasing effects of christmas day wore off, for it had been a delightful break in an otherwise uninterrupted spell of semi-starvation, and the memories lingered long after hunger had again gripped the three travelers. by this time they knew that they had cut themselves too short in the matter of food, but the only possible alteration that could now be made in their arrangements was to curtail their journey, and rather than do that they were ready cheerfully to face the distress of having an enormous appetite, and very little with which to appease it.
-apart, however, from the actual pangs of hunger, there was another disadvantage from this lack of food, for try as they would it was impossible not to think and talk incessantly of eating. before they went to sleep it was almost certain that one of them would give a detailed description of what he considered an ideal feast, while on the march they found themselves counting how many footsteps went to the minute, and how many, therefore, had to be paced before another meal.
-but if, during these days of hunger, thoughts of what they could eat if only the chance was given to them kept constantly cropping up, there were also very real compensations for both their mental and physical weariness. day by day, as they journeyed on, they knew that they were penetrating farther and farther into the unknown. each footstep was a gain, and made the result of their labours more assured. and as they studied the slowly revolving sledge-meter or looked for the calculated results of their observations, it is not surprising that above all the desires for food was an irresistible eagerness to go on and on, and to extend the line which they were now drawing on the white space of the antarctic chart.
-from the point of view of further exploration their position on december 26 was not very hopeful. on their right lay a high undulating snow-cap and the steep irregular coast-line, to the south lay a cape beyond which they could not hope to pass, and to all appearances these conditions were likely to remain to the end of their journey. but on that night they had christened a distant and lofty peak 'mount longstaff,' in honour of the man whose generosity had alone made the expedition possible, and although they thought that this was the most southerly land to which they would be able to give a name, they were in no mood to turn back because the outlook was unpromising. arguing on the principle that it was impossible to tell what may turn up, they all decided to push on; and their decision was wise, for had they returned at that point one of the most important features of the whole coast-line would have been missed.
-wilson, in spite of his recent experiences, did not mean to miss this, and however much his eyes had to suffer the scene had to be sketched. fortunately a glorious evening provided a perfect view of their surroundings, for very soon they knew that the limit of their journey would be reached, and that they would have but few more opportunities to increase their stock of information.
-after a day that had brought with it both fine weather and most interesting discoveries, they settled down in their sleeping-bags, full of hope that the morrow would be equally kind. but instead of the proposed advance the whole day had to be spent in the tent while a strong southerly blizzard raged without, and when they got up on the following morning they found themselves enveloped in a thick fog.
-the next day, however, saw an improvement in the surface, and a fairly good march was done. by this time only four dogs were left, nigger, jim, birdie and lewis, and poor nigger was so lost out of harness that he sometimes got close to the traces and marched along as if he was still doing his share of the pulling. but this more or less ordinary day was followed on the 10th by a march in a blizzard that exhausted scott and wilson, and had even a more serious effect upon shackleton. with the wind behind them they had gained many miles, but the march had tired them out, because instead of the steady pulling to which they were accustomed they had been compelled sometimes to run, and sometimes to pull forwards, backwards, sideways, and always with their senses keenly alert and their muscles strung up for instant action.
-in five minutes everything was packed on the sledges, but though the work was as heavy as before the workers were in a very different mood to tackle it. to reach those distant specks as quickly as possible was their one desire and all minor troubles were forgotten as they marched, for before them was the knowledge that they were going to have the fat hoosh which would once more give them an internal sense of comfort. in two hours they were at the depôt, and there they found everything as they had left it.
-on that same morning they had stripped off the german silver from the runners of one of their sledges, and now fortified by the fat hoosh of their dreams they completed the comparison between the two sledges, which respectively had metal and wood runners. having equalized the weights as much as possible they towed the sledges round singly, and found that two of them could scarcely move the metalled sledge as fast as one could drag the other.
-on that day they made a fairly good march, but at the end of it wilson had to warn scott that shackleton's condition was really alarming. commenting on this scott wrote: 'it's a bad case, but we must make the best of it and trust to its not getting worse; now that human life is at stake, all other objects must be sacrificed.... it went to my heart to give the order, but it had to be done, and the dogs are to be killed in the morning.
-'one of the difficulties we foresee with shackleton, with his restless, energetic spirit, is to keep him idle in camp, so to-night i have talked seriously to him. he is not to do any camping work, but to allow everything to be done for him.... every effort must be devoted to keeping him on his legs, and we must trust to luck to bring him through.'
-during the part of the return journey which was now beginning, they had promised themselves an easier time, but instead of that it resolved itself into days of grim struggle to save a sick companion. the weather also added to their troubles, because it was so overcast that steering was extremely difficult. for nearly ten consecutive days this gloomy weather continued to harass them, but on the 20th it cleared as they were on their march, and on the following day with a brisk southerly breeze and their sail set they traveled along at a fine rate. the state of shackleton's health was still a source of acutest anxiety, but each march brought safety nearer and nearer, and on the 23rd scott was able to write in a much more hopeful spirit. next day a glimpse of the bluff to the north was seen, but this encouraging sight was accompanied by a new form of surface which made the pulling very wearisome. an inch or so beneath the soft snow surface was a thin crust, almost, but not quite, sufficient to bear their weight. the work of breaking such a surface as this would, scott says, have finished shackleton in no time, but luckily he was able to go on ski and avoid the jars. 'in spite of our present disbelief in ski, one is bound to confess that if we get back safely shackleton will owe much to the pair he is now using.'
-another day and a half of labour brought them to the depôt, and the land of plenty. 'directly,' scott wrote on the 28th, 'our tent was up we started our search among the snow-heaps with childish glee. one after another our treasures were brought forth: oil enough for the most lavish expenditure, biscuit that might have lasted us for a month, and, finally, a large brown provision-bag which we knew would contain more than food alone. we have just opened this provision-bag and feasted our eyes on the contents. there are two tins of sardines, a large tin of marmalade, soup squares, pea soup, and many other delights that already make our mouths water. for each one of us there is some special trifle which the forethought of our kind people has provided, mine being an extra packet of tobacco; and last, but not least, there are a whole heap of folded letters and notes--billets-doux indeed. i wonder if a mail was ever more acceptable.'
-on the next morning they awoke to find a heavy blizzard, and the first thought of pushing on at all hazards was abandoned when shackleton was found to be extremely ill. everything now depended upon the weather, for should the blizzard continue scott doubted if shackleton would even be well enough to be carried on the sledge. 'it is a great disappointment; last night we thought ourselves out of the wood with all our troubles behind us, and to-night matters seem worse than ever. luckily wilson and i are pretty fit, and we have lots of food.' by great luck the weather cleared on the morning of the 30th, and as shackleton after a very bad night revived a little it was felt that the only chance was to go on. 'at last he was got away, and we watched him almost tottering along with frequent painful halts. re-sorting our provisions, in half an hour we had packed our camp, set our sail, and started with the sledges. it was not long before we caught our invalid, who was so exhausted that we thought it wiser he should sit on the sledges, where for the remainder of the forenoon, with the help of our sail, we carried him.'
-shackleton, it is true, had lately shown an improvement, but his companions placed but little confidence in that, for they knew how near he had been, and still was, to a total collapse. and both scott and wilson knew also that their scurvy had again been advancing rapidly, but they scarcely dared to admit either to themselves or each other how 'done' they were. for many a day wilson had suffered from lameness, and each morning had vainly tried to disguise his limp, but from his set face scott knew well enough how much he suffered before the first stiffness wore off. 'as for myself, for some time i have hurried through the task of changing my foot-gear in an attempt to forget that my ankles are considerably swollen. one and all we want rest and peace, and, all being well, tomorrow, thank heaven, we shall get them.'
-then the tent was put up, and while cocoa was made they listened to a ceaseless stream of news, for not only had all the other travelers returned safe and sound with many a tale to tell, but the relief ship, the morning, had also arrived and brought a whole year's news.
-though still held fast in her icy prison the discovery looked trim and neat, and to mark the especial nature of the occasion a brave display of bunting floated gently in the breeze, while as they approached, the side and the rigging were thronged with their cheering comrades.
-a second winter
-as cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country. proverbs.
-in a very short time scott discovered that the sledding resources of the ship had been used to their fullest extent during his absence, and that parties had been going and coming and ever adding to the collection of knowledge.
-on november 2 royds had gone again to cape crozier to see how the emperor penguins were faring, and in the meantime such rapid progress had been made in the preparations for the western party that november 9, being king edward's birthday, was proclaimed a general holiday and given up to the eagerly anticipated athletic sports.
-perhaps the most promising circumstance of all was that among the rock specimens brought back were fragments of quartz-grits. these, with other observations, showed the strong probability of the existence of sedimentary deposits which might be reached and examined, and which alone could serve to reveal the geological history of this great southern continent. at all hazards scott determined that the geologist of the expedition must be given a chance to explore this most interesting region.
-the extensive preparations for the western journey had practically stripped the ship of sledge equipment, and those who went out on shorter journeys were obliged to make the best of the little that remained. this did not, however, balk their energies, and by resorting to all kinds of shifts and devices they made many useful expeditions.
-long before his departure to the south, scott had given instructions that the discovery should be prepared for sea by the end of january. consequently, after the boats had been freed, there was still plenty of employment for everybody, since 'preparations for sea' under such circumstances meant a most prodigious amount of labour. tons and tons of snow had to be dug out from the deck with pick-axes and shoveled over the side; aloft, sails and ropes had to be looked to, the running-gear to be re-rove, and everything got ready for handling the ship under sail; many things that had been displaced or landed near the shore-station had to be brought on board and secured in position; thirty tons of ice had to be fetched, melted, and run into the boilers; below, steam-pipes had to be rejointed, glands re-packed, engines turned by hand, and steam raised to see that all was in working order.
-not doubting that the ice would soon break up and release the ship, this work was carried on so vigorously that when the southern travelers returned all was ready for them to put to sea again.
-long before the discovery had left new zealand the idea of a relief ship had been discussed, and although scott saw great difficulties in the way, he also felt quite confident that if the thing was to be done sir clements was the man to do it. obviously then it was desirable to leave as much information as possible on the track, and the relief ship was to try and pick up clues at the places where scott had said that he would attempt to leave them. these places were cape adare, possession islands, coulman island, wood bay, franklin island and cape crozier.
-on january 8 a landing was effected at cape adare, and there colbeck heard of the discovery's safe arrival in the south. the possession islands were drawn blank, because scott had not been able to land there, and south of this the whole coast was so thickly packed that the morning could not approach either coulman island or wood bay.
-on board the discovery the idea had steadily grown that a relief ship would come. for no very clear reason the men had begun to look upon it as a certainty, and during the latter part of january it was not uncommon for wild rumors to be spread that smoke had been seen to the north. such reports, therefore, were generally received without much excitement, but when a messenger ran down the hill on the night of the 23rd to say that there was actually a ship in sight the enthusiasm was intense. only the most imperturbable of those on board could sleep much during that night, and early on the 24th a large party set out over the floe. the morning was lying some ten miles north of the discovery, but it was far easier to see her than to reach her. at last, however, the party, after various little adventures, stood safely on deck and received the warmest of welcomes.
-by a curious coincidence colbeck chose the night of the southern party's return to make his first visit to the discovery, and soon after scott had come out of his delicious bath and was reveling in the delight of clean clothes, he had the pleasure of welcoming him on board. 'in those last weary marches over the barrier,' scott says, 'i had little expected that the first feast in our home quarters would be taken with strange faces gathered round our festive table, but so it was, and i can well remember the look of astonishment that dawned on those faces when we gradually displayed our power of absorbing food.'
-a week later he was clearly alive to the situation. 'the morning must go in less than a week, and it seems now impossible that we shall be free by that time, though i still hope the break-up may come after she has departed.' some time previously he had decided that if they had to remain the ship's company should be reduced, and on the 24th he had a talk with the men and told them that he wished nobody to stop on board who was not willing. on the following day a list was sent round for the names of those who wanted to go, and the result was curiously satisfactory--for scott had determined that eight men should go, and not only were there eight names on the list, but they were also precisely those which scott would have put there had he made the selection. shackleton also had to be told that he must go, as in his state of health scott did not think that any further hardships ought to be risked; but in his place scott requisitioned mulock who by an extraordinary chance is just the very man we wanted. we have now an immense amount of details for charts... and mulock is excellent at this work and as keen as possible. it is rather amusing, as he is the only person who is obviously longing for the ice to stop in, though of course he doesn't say so. the other sporting characters are still giving ten to one that it will go out, but i am bound to confess that i am not sanguine.'
-but characteristically the greater part of this long letter refers not to his own doings, but to the admirable qualities of those who were with him. wilson, royds, skelton, hodgson, barne and bernacchi are all referred to in terms of the warmest praise, and for the manner in which colbeck managed the relief expedition the greatest admiration is expressed. but in some way or other scott discovered good points in all the officers he mentioned, and if they were not satisfactory in every way his object seemed to be rather to excuse than to blame them. he was, however, unaffectedly glad to see the last of the cook, for the latter had shown himself far more capable at talking than at cooking, and had related so many of his wonderful adventures that one of the sailors reckoned that the sum total of these thrilling experiences must have extended over a period of five hundred and ninety years--which, as the sailor said, was a fair age even for a cook.
-while, however, the situation as regards the future was not altogether without anxiety, they sturdily determined to make the best of the present. to ward off any chance of scurvy, it was determined to keep rigidly to a fresh-meat routine throughout the winter, and consequently a great number of seals and skuas had to be killed. at first the skua had been regarded as unfit for human food, but skelton on a sledding trip had caught one in a noose and promptly put it into the pot. and the result was so satisfactory that the skua at once began to figure prominently on the menu. they had, however, to deplore the absence of penguins from their winter diet, because none had been seen near the ship for a long time.
-of the months that followed little need be said, except that scott's anticipations were fully realized. in fact the winter passed by without a hitch, and their second mid-winter day found them even more cheerful than their first. hodgson continued to work away with his fish-traps, tow-nets and dredging; mulock, who had been trained as a surveyor and had great natural abilities for the work, was most useful, first in collecting and re-marking all the observations, and later on in constructing temporary charts; while barne generally vanished after breakfast and spent many a day at his distant sounding holes.
-the western journey
-path of advance! but it leads a long steep journey through sunk gorges, o'er mountains in snow.--m. arnold.
-in the south it was evident that without dogs no party could hope to get beyond the point already reached. but scott's journey had been made a long way from land, and consequently had left many problems unsolved, chief among which were the extraordinary straits that had appeared to run through the mountain ranges without rising in level. it was therefore with the main object of exploring one of them that the second supported party, under the leadership of barne and mulock, was to set out.
-the credit in arranging the direction in which the unsupported party should go belongs to bernacchi, who was the first to ask scott what proof they had that the barrier surface continued on a level to the eastward; and when scott began to consider this question, he discovered that there was no definite proof, and decided that the only way to get it was to go and see.
-finally, one important factor was to dominate all the sledding arrangements, for although the discovery was mainly at the mercy of natural causes, scott made up his mind that everything man could do to free her from the ice should be done. as soon as they could hope to make any impression upon the great ice-sheet around them, the whole force of the company was to set to work at the task of extrication, and so all sledding journeys were to start in time to assure their return to the ship by the middle of december.
-the fact thus discovered, and which was amply supported by further observations, was that invariably in the antarctic regions where glaciers run more or less east and west, the south side will be found to be much broken up and decayed, while the north side will be comparatively smooth and even. the reason of this, of course, is simple enough, for the sun achieves its highest altitude in the north, and consequently its warmest and most direct rays fall on the south side of a valley. here, therefore, the greater part of the summer melting takes place, and a wild chaos of ice disturbance is caused.
-scott's party, by taking a different route, laid a depôt at a spot which armitage had taken three weeks to reach, and was back again at the ship in less than a fortnight.
-september 21 brought with it a grievous disappointment, as on that day the nautical almanac announced that nine-tenths of the sun would be obscured. for this event bernacchi had made the most careful preparations, and everyone was placed under his orders during the day. telescopes and the spectroscopic camera were trained in the right direction, magnetic instruments were set to run at quick speed, and observers were told off to watch everything on which the absence of sun could possibly have the smallest effect. everything, in short, was ready except the sun itself which obstinately refused to come out. 'there may,' scott says, 'have been an eclipse of the sun on september 21, 1903, as the almanac said, but we should none of us have liked to swear to the fact.'
-scott guessed rightly that in many respects this was going to be the hardest task he had yet undertaken, but he knew also that experience would be a thing to be reckoned upon, and that it would take a good deal to stop the determined men whom he had chosen. at the start their loads were a little over 200 lbs. per man, but most of the party were by this time in thoroughly good condition, and by hard marching they covered the forty-five miles to new harbour and reached the snow-cape early on the 14th.
-this snow-cape in future was to be known as butter point, for here on their return journey they could hope to obtain fresh seal-meat, and in preparation for this great event a tin of butter was carried and left at the point for each party.
-from start to finish of the ferrar glacier about ninety miles of hard ice were to be expected, and the problem that immediately arose was how to get the sledges over this without damage.
-five days after their flying return they were off again, and although the material for repairing sledges was very scanty, one sound 11-foot sledge had been made and also a 7-foot one for ferrar's glacier work. trouble, however, almost at once began with the runners, and on the 29th ferrar's sledge gave out and caused a long delay. but in spite of being held up by wind for two days, they reached their depôt on november 1, and thought at first that everything was safe. on examination, however, they discovered that a violent gale had forced open the lid of the instrument box, and that several things were missing, among which scott found to his dismay was the 'hints to travelers.'
-in traveling to the west, scott expected to be--as indeed he was--out of sight of landmarks for some weeks. in such a case as this the sledge-traveler is in precisely the same position as a ship or a boat at sea: he can only obtain a knowledge of his whereabouts by observation of the sun or stars, and with the help of these observations he finds his latitude and longitude, but to do this a certain amount of data is required. 'hints to travelers' supplies these necessary data, and it was on this book that scott had been relying to help him to work out his sights and fix accurately the position of his party. unless he went back to the ship to make good his loss, he was obliged to take the risk of marching into the unknown without knowing exactly where he was or how he was to get back. 'if,' he says, 'the loss of our "hints to travelers" did not lead us into serious trouble it caused me many a bad half-hour.'
-having, however, decided to push on, they wasted no time about it, and although the sledge-runners continued to need constant attention they arrived at the base of the upper glacier reach on the 2nd, and on the following day gained a height of 7,000 feet.
-at last a white patch was seen and a rush was made for it, but the snow discovered was so ancient and wind-swept that it was almost as hard as the ice itself. nevertheless they knew it was this or nothing, and scott seized a shovel for his own tent-party, and dug for all he was worth without making the least impression. at this moment feather, the boatswain, luckily came to help him, and being more expert with the shovel managed to chip out a few small blocks. then they tried to get up a tent, but again and again it and the poles were blown flat, and at least an hour passed before the tents were erected. 'nothing,' scott wrote, 'but experience saved us from disaster to-day, for i feel pretty confident that we could not have stood another hour in the open.'
-in scott's tent there was one book, darwin's 'cruise of the beagle,' and first one and then another would read this aloud, until frozen fingers prevented the pages from being turned over. only one piece of work were they able to perform, and this on the first day when, thinking the storm would soon blow over, they hauled the sledges beneath one of the tents and stripped the german silver ready for the onward march.
-by the fifth day of their imprisonment sleep began to desert them, and scott, realizing that the long inactivity was telling on the health of the party, determined that whatever the conditions might be he would try to start on the following morning.
-this attempt, however, resulted in complete failure. in ten minutes both of scott's hands were 'gone,' skelton had three toes and the heel of one foot badly frost-bitten, and feather lost all feeling in both feet. 'things are looking serious,' scott wrote after this unsuccessful effort to be up and doing, 'i fear the long spell of bad weather is telling on us. the cheerfulness of the party is slowly waning; i heard the usual song from lashly this morning, but it was very short-lived and dolorous.... something must be done to-morrow, but what it will be, to-morrow only can show.'
-but during the succeeding days fortune was with them, and by the night of the 13th the fight was won and the summit reached. with five weeks' provisions in hand, and the prospect of covering many miles before a return to the glacier would be necessary, they were, as they camped at the elevation of 8,900 feet, a very different party from the one which had struggled out of 'desolation camp' on the morning of the 11th.
-'i do not think,' scott wrote, 'that it would be possible to conceive a more cheerless prospect than that which faced us at this time, when on this lofty, desolate plateau we turned our backs upon the last mountain peak that could remind us of habitable lands. yet before us lay the unknown. what fascination lies in that word! could anyone wonder that we determined to push on, be the outlook ever so comfortless?'
-something like a climax was reached on the 20th, when handsley more or less broke down. not for a moment, however, did he mean to give up, and when he was relieved of some part of his work he begged scott not again to make an example of him. in handsley's opinion his breakdown was a disgrace, and no arguments would make him change it. small wonder then that scott wrote in his diary: 'what children these men are, and yet what splendid children! the boatswain has been suffering agonies from his back; he has been pulling just behind me, and in some sympathy that comes through the traces i have got to know all about him, yet he has never uttered a word of complaint, and when he knows my eye is on him he straightens up and pretends he is just as fit as ever. what is one to do with such people?'
-what scott did was to try for another day to go on as before, but on november 22 he had to tell skelton, feather, and handsley that they must turn back, and though 'they could not disguise their disappointment, they all seemed to understand that it had to be.'
-regularly each night the temperature fell to -40° or below, while during the marching hours it rarely rose much above -25°, and with this low temperature there was a constant wind. in fact the wind was the plague of their lives and cut them to pieces. so cracked were their faces that laughing hurt horribly, and the first half-hour of the morning march, before they were warmed up to the work, was dreadful, as then all their sore places got frost-bitten. in short the last week of their outward march was a searching test of endurance, but they had resolved to march on until november 30, and in spite of the miserable conditions there was no turning back before the month had ended.
-the return from the west
-ceaseless frost round the vast solitude bound its broad zone of stillness.--shelley.
-'we are all,' scott wrote in his diary, 'very proud of our march out. i don't know where we are, but i know we must be a long way to the west from my rough noon observation of the compass variation.' but not for anything in the world did he want again to see the interior of victoria land. writing two years after this great march he says: 'for me the long month which we spent on the victoria land summit remains as some vivid but evil dream. i have a memory of continuous strain on mind and body, lightened only by the unfailing courage and cheerfulness of my companions.'
-on the afternoon of the 9th the surface became so abominably bad, that by pulling desperately they could not get the sledge along at more than a mile an hour. oil was growing short, and in view of the future scott had to propose that marching hours should be increased by one hour, that they should use half allowance of oil, and that if they did not sight landmarks within a couple of days their rations should be reduced. 'when i came to the cold lunch and fried breakfast poor evans' face fell; he evidently doesn't much believe in the virtue of food, unless it is in the form of a hoosh and has some chance of sticking to one's ribs.'
-land was sighted on the 10th, 11th, and 12th, but the weather was as overcast as ever, and scott was still in dreadful uncertainty of their whereabouts, because he was unable to recognize a single point. ten hours' pulling per day was beginning to tell upon them, and although apart from the increasing pangs of hunger there was no sign of sickness, scott remarks, on the 12th, that they were becoming 'gaunt shadows.'
-prospects, when they started to march on the next morning, were at first a little brighter, but soon a bitterly cold wind was blowing and high ice hummocks began to appear ahead of them. in this predicament scott realized that it was both rash to go forward, as the air was becoming thick with snow-drift, and equally rash to stop, for if they had to spend another long spell in a blizzard camp, starvation would soon be staring them in the face. so he asked evans and lashly if they were ready to take the risk of going on, and promptly discovered that they were. then they marched straight for the ice disturbance, and as the surface became smoother and the slope steeper their sledge began to overrun them. at this point scott put evans and lashly behind to hold the sledge back, while he continued in front to guide its course, and what happened afterwards is described most graphically in the diary of the 15th.
-'at length we gave a huge leap into the air, and yet we traveled with such velocity that i had not time to think before we came down with tremendous force on a gradual incline of rough, hard, wind-swept snow. its irregularities brought us to rest in a moment or two, and i staggered to my feet in a dazed fashion, wondering what had happened.
-'as soon as i could pull myself together i looked round, and now to my astonishment i saw that we were well on towards the entrance of our own glacier; ahead and on either side of us appeared well-remembered landmarks, whilst behind, in the rough broken ice-wall over which we had fallen, i now recognized at once the most elevated ice cascade of our valley....
-'i cannot but think that this sudden revelation of our position was very wonderful. half an hour before we had been lost; i could not have told whether we were making for our own glacier or any other, or whether we were ten or fifty miles from our depôt; it was more than a month since we had seen any known landmark. now in this extraordinary manner the curtain had been raised... and down the valley we could see the high cliffs of the depôt nunatak where peace and plenty awaited us.'
-fortune favored them in descending the second cascade, and quite unsuspicious of any further danger they joined up their harness to their usual positions in front of the sledge. this brought scott in the middle and a little in advance, with lashly on his right and evans on his left. presently the sledge began to skid, and scott told lashly to pull wide to steady it. scarcely had this order been obeyed when scott and evans stepped on nothing and disappeared, while lashly miraculously saved himself from following and sprang back with his whole weight on the trace. the sledge flashed by him and jumped the crevasse down which scott and evans had gone, one side of the sledge being cracked by the jerk but the other side mercifully holding. 'personally,' scott says, 'i remember absolutely nothing until i found myself dangling at the end of my trace with blue walls on either side and a very horrid looking gulf below; large ice-crystals dislodged by our movements continued to shower down on our heads. as a first step i took off my goggles; i then discovered that evans was hanging just above me. i asked him if he was all right, and received a reassuring reply in his calm, matter-of-fact tones.'
-'all this had occupied some time, and it was only now that i realized what had happened above us, for there, some twelve feet over our heads, was the outline of the broken sledge. i saw at once what a frail support remained, and shouted to lashly to ask what he could do, and then i knew the value of such a level-headed companion; for whilst he held on grimly to the sledge and us with one hand, his other was busily employed in withdrawing our ski. at length he succeeded in sliding two of these beneath the broken sledge, and so making our support more secure.'
-but having arrived at the top he was completely out of action for several minutes, for his hands were white to the wrists, and not until their circulation came back could he get to work. with two on top and only one below the position, however, was very different, and presently evans, badly frost-bitten, was landed on the surface. for a minute or two they could only stand and look at one another. then evans said, 'well, i'm blowed,' which was the first sign of surprise he had shown.
-from this time onward their camp-life was wholly, pleasant, except to lashly who had an attack of snow-blindness. apart from that they were in the best of condition for the hard marching in front of them, and when on the night of the 20th they reached their second depôt and could look out towards the sea, they did not care how far round they might have to walk if only that stubborn sheet of ice had broken away. but it was too evident that their homeward track might be as straight as they chose, as only in the far distance was open water to be seen, and with sorrow they realized that there must still be many miles of ice between it and the discovery.
-ferrar's survey and skelton's photographic work had added materially to the value of the western journey; the party led by barne and mulock to the south had met with ill-fortune from the start, but throughout the journey mulock used the theodolite indefatigably, with the results that this stretch of coast-line was more accurately plotted than any other part of victoria land, and that the positions and height of over two hundred mountain peaks were fixed. barne also obtained a very good indication of the movement of the great barrier ice-sheet. during royds' journey, on which the party went on very short food allowance, bernacchi took a most interesting series of magnetic observations. and although to bernacchi himself belongs the greatest credit, some reflected glory, at any rate, fell upon his companions, because they had to stay shivering outside the tent while he was at work inside it.
-in short during scott's absence his companions had been working strenuously to increase the supply of information; so when the second sledding-season ended, they could with reason congratulate themselves that the main part of their work was done.
-and thor set his shoulder hard against the stern to push the ship through... ...and the water gurgled in and the ship floated on the waves and rock'd. m. arnold.
-thirty people were in the camp when scott arrived, and though at first the work had been painful both to arms and backs they were all in splendid condition and spirits. fortunately this was a land of plenty, penguins and seals abounded, and everyone agreed that, apart from the labour, they were having a most enjoyable time, though no one imagined that the work would be useful.
-briefly the reasons for the sending of the two ships instead of one were these. scott's report taken by the morning had left the strong impression that the relief ship must again be sent to the south in 1903. the 'morning' fund, however, was inadequate to meet the requirements of another year, and there was not time enough to appeal to the public and to explain the full necessities of the case. in these circumstances there was nothing for the societies to do but to appeal to the government, and eventually the latter agreed to undertake the whole conduct of the relief expedition, provided that the morning, as she stood, was delivered over to them. the government naturally placed the management of affairs in the hands of the admiralty, and once having taken the responsibility it was felt that two ships must be sent, in order that there should be no risk of the pledge being unfulfilled.
-thus it happened that, much to every one's surprise, two ships arrived off the edge of the fast ice on january 4, 1904. it was not, however, the arrival of the terra nova, whose captain from the first was anxious to help in every way, but quite another matter that made scott so sad--and naturally sad--at this time.
-in england the majority of those competent to judge the situation had formed the opinion that the discovery was stuck fast in the ice for all time. whether the admiralty held this opinion or not is of no consequence, because in any case it was their duty to see that the expense of another relief expedition should be avoided. consequently there was no other course open to them except to tell scott to abandon the discovery, if she could not be freed in time to accompany the relief ships to the north. but necessary as this order was, it placed scott and his companions in a very cruel position. under the most ordinary conditions a sailor would go through much rather than abandon his ship, but the ties which bound scott and his company to the discovery were very far beyond the ordinary; indeed they involved a depth of sentiment not in the least surprising when their associations with her are remembered.
-it was from this passably contented frame of mind that they were rudely awakened. now they were obliged to face the fact that unless a twenty-mile plain of ice broke up within six weeks, they must bid a long farewell to their beloved ship and return to their homes as castaways. so with the arrival of the relief ships there fell the first and last cloud of gloom which was ever allowed on board the discovery. and as day followed day with no improvement in the ice conditions, the gloom deepened until anyone might easily have imagined that an antarctic expedition was a most dismal affair.
-on january 10 scott wrote: 'reached the ship this morning, and this afternoon assembled all hands on the mess-deck, where i told them exactly how matters stood. there was a stony silence. i have not heard a laugh in the ship since i returned.'
-for some time a flagstaff had been erected on tent islet, ten miles to the north, and a system of signals had been arranged to notify any changes in the ice, but day after day the only signal was 'no change in the ice conditions.'
-after a long spell at cape royds camp, wilson returned to the ship on the night of the 21st with news that was all the more welcome at such an anxious time. strolling over the beach one day to inspect what he thought was a prodigiously large seal he saw that it was quite different from any of the ordinary seals, and went back to the camp for his gun. two of the morning officers were in camp with him, and all three of them proceeded to stalk this strange new beast. their great fear was that they might only succeed in wounding it and that it might escape into the sea; so in spite of the temperature of the water they waded round it before they attacked. these tactics were successful, but their quarry when dispatched was far too heavy for them to move, or for wilson to examine where it lay. on the following day, however, colbeck came over in the morning, and with the aid of boats and ropes the carcass was landed on his decks. then wilson came to the conclusion that the animal was a sea-elephant commonly found at macquarie island, but never before seen within the antarctic circle.
-days of hope and anxiety followed, until the 14th of february arrived and brought the best of news with it. during the day nothing unusual happened, and it was not until scott was at dinner that the excitement began. then he heard a shout on deck, and a voice sang out down the hatchway, 'the ships are coming, sir!'
-'there was no more dinner, and in a moment we were racing for hut point, where a glorious sight met our view. the ice was breaking up right across the strait, and with a rapidity which we had not thought possible. no sooner was one great floe borne away. than a dark streak cut its way into the solid sheet that remained and carved out another, to feed the broad stream of pack which was hurrying away to the north-west.
-but fast as the ice was breaking, it was not fast enough for the relief ships. evidently there was a race between them to be the first to pass beyond the flagstaff round which the small company of spectators had clustered; although the little morning, with her bluff bows and weak engines, could scarcely expect to hold her own against such a powerful competitor. by half-past ten those on shore could see the splintering of the ice as the ships crashed into the floes, and the shouts of the men as with wild excitement they cheered each fresh success, could be distinctly heard.
-scarcely half a mile of ice remained and the contest became keener and keener. on came the terra nova, but in spite of all her mighty efforts the persistent little morning, dodging right and left and seizing every chance opening, kept doggedly at her side, and still seemed to have a chance of winning the race.
-meanwhile the spectators, in their nondescript tattered garments, stood breathlessly watching this wonderful scene.
-'and so to-night the ships of our small fleet are lying almost side by side; a rope from the terra nova is actually secured to the discovery. who could have thought it possible? certainly not we who have lived through the trying scenes of the last month.'
-the small wedge of sea-ice that still remained in the bay was cracked in many places, and would doubtless have departed of its own accord in a few days; but scott, naturally impatient to get away, decided to hasten matters by explosions. consequently at 1 a.m. on february 16 there was an explosion which shook the whole bay, and rudely disturbed not only the ice but also the slumbers of those who were not members of the explosion party.
-on the 15th a large wooden cross, bearing a simply carved inscription to the memory of poor vince, was erected on the summit of hut point, and on the following day the small company landed together and stood bareheaded round this memorial, while scott read some short prayers.
-the water was oily calm and the sky threatening as they pulled back to the ship after paying this last tribute of homage to their shipmate, but weather of this kind had been too common to attract attention. on that night captain mackay was dining in the discovery for the first time, and a great effort had been made to show him how good an antarctic feast could be. in the middle of dinner, however, word came down to scott that the wind had sprung up, and although he expected nothing serious he went up to see what was happening. then he saw they were in for a stiff blow, and reluctantly had to inform his guests of the fact. one glance at the sky satisfied mackay, who was over the rail like a shot, and in a few minutes the terra nova was steaming for the open and lost in the drift.'
-'i knew,' he wrote on the night of that eventful day, 'that in spite of our heavy anchor the holding ground was poor, and i watched anxiously to see if the ship dragged.
-'it came at last, just as skelton sent a promise of steam in half an hour. the sea was again breaking heavily on the ice-foot astern and i walked up and down wondering which was coming first, the steam or this wave-beaten cliff. it was not a pleasant situation, as the distance grew shorter every minute, until the spray of the breaking waves fell on our poop, and this was soon followed by a tremendous blow as our stern struck the ice. we rebounded and struck again, and our head was just beginning to falloff and the ship to get broadside on (heaven knows what would have happened then) when steam was announced.'
-then the ship just held her own and only just; the engines alone would not send her to windward in the teeth of the gale. once around hut point, scott knew that they would be safe with open sea before them; and the end of the point was only a quarter of a mile out, though off the end there was a shallow patch which had to be cleared before safety could be reached. so finding that no headway was being made he began to edge out towards the point, and all seemed well until, nearly opposite to the point itself, he saw to his alarm that a strong current was sweeping past.
-'we took the shore thus at about 11 a.m., and the hours that followed were truly the most dreadful i have ever spent. each moment the ship came down with a sickening thud which shook her from stem to stern, and each thud seemed to show more plainly that, strong as was her build, she could not long survive such awful blows.'
-hour after hour passed while the ship quivered and trembled and crashed again and again into her rocky bed. nothing more could be done for her until the gale abated, but seeing the impossibility of doing anything at the time, scott recognized that the next best thing was to be prepared to act promptly when the weather moderated. then he discovered once more how absolutely he could rely on the support and intelligence of his companions. skelton already had made a list of weights by the removal of which the ship could be lightened, and when the boatswain was summoned to discuss the manner in which the anchors could be laid out he also had his scheme cut and dried.
-in record time scott reached the bridge, and found that both wind and sea had dropped in the most extraordinary manner. but what surprised him even more was that the current, which had been running strongly to the north, had turned and was running with equal speed to the south. each time that the ship lifted on a wave she worked two or three inches astern, and though she was still grinding heavily she no longer struck the bottom with such terrific force. scarcely, however, had these facts been observed when skelton rushed up to say that the inlets were free again.
-none too soon were they clear of the shoal, for in a very short time the wind was again blowing from the south; but as, on the 18th, the wind though still blowing strong had gone round to the southeast and brought smoother water in the sound, it was decided to make for the inlets of the glacier tongue to the north, and complete the coaling operations.
-on occasions when haste was necessary there was, by mutual consent, no distinction between officers and men. and scott mentions 'as a sight for the gods' the scene of biologists, vertebrate zoologists, lieutenants, and a.b.'s with grimed faces and chafed hands working with all their might on the coaling whips.
-the morning handed over twenty-five tons of coal, and this was all the more a generous gift since it reduced colbeck to the narrowest margin, and compelled him to return directly homeward without joining in any attempt at further exploration. 'his practical common sense told him he could be of little use to us, and with his usual loyalty he never hesitated to act for the best, at whatever sacrifice to his own hopes and wishes.'
-february 20 saw the discovery speeding along a stretch of coast that had been quite unknown until she had two years previously made her way south along it, and at that time she had been obliged to keep a long distance out on account of the pack-ice. but now gaps which had been missed could be filled in; and even more than this was done, for mulock remained on deck night and day taking innumerable angles to peaks and headlands, while wilson, equally indefatigable, transferred this long panorama of mountain scenery to his sketch-book.
-from the 6th to the 14th continuous gales brought conditions of greater physical discomfort than had ever been experienced on board the discovery, for she was in very light trim and tossed about the mountainous seas like a cork. it was, therefore, the greatest relief to furl their sails off the entrance of ross harbour on the 15th, and to steam into the calm waters of the bay.
-neither the terra nova nor the morning had yet arrived, and the days of waiting were spent in making their ship as smart as possible before the eyes of the multitude gazed upon her. thus, in a few days, the discovery looked as though she had spent her adventurous years in some peaceful harbor.
-on march 19 the terra nova hove in sight, and was followed on the next day by the morning. both ships had experienced the most terrible weather, and everyone on board the little morning declared that she had only been saved from disaster by the consummate seamanship of captain colbeck.
-'new zealand,' scott said, 'welcomed us as its own, and showered on us a wealth of hospitality and kindness which assuredly we can never forget, however difficult we may have found it to express our thanks. in these delightful conditions, with everything that could make for perfect rest and comfort, we abode for two full months before we set out on our last long voyage.'
-june 8, however, found them at sea again, and a month or so later they anchored in port stanley (falkland islands), where they replenished their stock of coal and took the last series of magnetic observations in connection with their southern survey. and from the falkland islands, scott wrote a letter which is yet another testimony of the admiration he felt for his companions. 'the praise,' he wrote, 'for whatever success we have had is really due to the ship's company as a whole rather than to individuals. that is not very clear, perhaps; what i mean is that the combination of individual effort for the common good has achieved our results, and the absence of any spirit of self-seeking. the motto throughout has been "share and share alike," and its most practical form lies, perhaps, in the fact that throughout our three years there has been no distinction between the food served to officers and men.
-'but it is good news to hear that the admiralty are sympathetic, for i feel that no effort should be spared to gain their recognition of the splendid qualities displayed by officers and men.'
-early on the morning of september 9 the homeland was sighted, and for those who gazed longingly over the bulwarks and waited to welcome and be welcomed, there was only one cloud to dim the joy of their return. for with the happiness came also the sad thought that the end had come to those ties, which had held together the small band of the discovery in the closest companionship and most unswerving loyalty.
-by sir clements r. markham, k.c.b.
-fourteen years ago robert falcon scott was a rising naval officer, able, accomplished, popular, highly thought of by his superiors, and devoted to his noble profession. it was a serious responsibility to induce him to take up the work of an explorer; yet no man living could be found who was so well fitted to command a great antarctic expedition. the undertaking was new and unprecedented. the object was to explore the unknown antarctic continent by land. captain scott entered upon the enterprise with enthusiasm tempered by prudence and sound sense. all had to be learnt by a thorough study of the history of arctic traveling, combined with experience of different conditions in the antarctic regions. scott was the initiator and founder of antarctic sledge-traveling.
-the great discoverer had no intention of losing touch with his beloved profession though resolved to complete his antarctic work. the exigencies of the naval service called him to the command of battleships and to confidential work of the admiralty; so that five years elapsed before he could resume his antarctic labours.
-'if i cannot write to sir clements, tell him i thought much of him, and never regretted his putting me in command of the discovery.'
-then naval assistant to second sea lord of the admiralty. appointed to h.m.s. president for british antarctic expedition june 1, 1910.
-on september 13, 1909, captain scott published his plans for the british antarctic expedition of the following year, and his appeal resulted in £10,000 being collected as a nucleus fund. then the government made a grant of £20,000, and grants followed from the governments of australia, new zealand, and south africa.
-nine days after the plans were published arrangements were made to purchase the steamship terra nova, the largest and strongest of the old scottish whalers. the original date chosen for sailing was august 1, 1910, but owing to the united efforts of those engaged upon the fitting out and stowing of the ship, she was able to leave cardiff on june 15. business, however, prevented captain scott from leaving england until a later date, and in consequence he sailed in the saxon to south africa, and there awaited the arrival of the terra nova.
-through stormy seas
-the ice was here, the ice was there, the ice was all around: it cracked and growled, and roared and howled, like noises in a swound.--coleridge.
-no sooner was it known that scott intended to lead another antarctic expedition than he was besieged by men anxious to go with him. the selection of a small company from some eight thousand volunteers was both a difficult and a delicate task, but the fact that the applications were so numerous was at once a convincing proof of the interest shown in the expedition, and a decisive answer to the dismal cry that the spirit of romance and adventure no longer exists in the british race.
-on june 15, 1910, the terra nova left cardiff upon her great mission, and after a successful voyage arrived, on october 28, at lyttelton. there an enormous amount of work had to be done before she could be ready to leave civilization, but as usual the kindness received in new zealand was 'beyond words.'
-'the ship a queer and not altogether cheerful sight under the circumstances.
-'below one knows all space is packed as tight as human skill can devise--and on deck! under the forecastle fifteen ponies close side by side, seven one side, eight the other, heads together and groom between--swaying, swaying continually to the plunging, irregular motion.'
-outside the forecastle and to leeward of the fore hatch were four more ponies, and on either side of the main hatch were two very large packing-cases containing motor sledges, each 16 x 5 x 4. a third sledge stood across the break of the poop in the space hitherto occupied by the after winch, and all these cases were so heavily lashed with heavy chain and rope lashings that they were thought to be quite secure. the petrol for the sledges was contained in tins and drums protected in stout wooden packing-cases, which were ranged across the deck immediately in front of the poop and abreast the motor sledges.
-the wind freshened with great rapidity on thursday evening, and very soon the ship was plunging heavily and taking much water over the lee rail. cases of all descriptions began to break loose on the upper deck, the principal trouble being caused by the loose coal bags, which were lifted bodily by the seas and swung against the lashed cases. these bags acted like battering rams, no lashings could possibly have withstood them, and so the only remedy was to set to work and heave coal sacks overboard and re-lash the cases. during this difficult and dangerous task seas continually broke over the men, and at such times they had to cling for dear life to some fixture to prevent themselves from being washed overboard. no sooner was some appearance of order restored than another unusually heavy wave tore away the lashings, and the work had to be done allover again.
-as the night wore on the sea and wind continued to rise, and the ship to plunge more and more. 'we shortened sail to main topsail and staysail, stopped engines and hove to, but to little purpose.'
-from oates and atkinson, who worked through the entire night, reports came that it was impossible to keep the ponies on their legs. but worse news was to follow, for in the early morning news came from the engine-room that the pumps had choked, and that the water had risen over the gratings.
-the ship was very deeply-laden and was in considerable danger of becoming waterlogged, in which condition anything might have happened. the hand pump produced nothing more than a dribble and its suction could not be reached, for as the water crept higher it got in contact with the boiler and eventually became so hot that no one could work at the suctions. a great struggle to conquer these misfortunes followed, but williams had at last to confess that he was beaten and must draw fires.
-all that could be done for the time being was to organize the afterguard to work buckets, and to keep the men steadily going on the choked hand-pumps, which practically amounted to an attempt to bale out the ship! for a day and a night the string of buckets was passed up a line from the engine-room; and while this arduous work was going on the officers and men sang chanteys, and never for a moment lost their good spirits.
-meanwhile bowers and campbell had worked untiringly to put things straight on deck, and with the coal removed from the upper deck and the petrol re-stored, the ship was in much better condition to fight the gales. 'another day,' scott wrote on tuesday, december 6, 'ought to put us beyond the reach of westerly gales'; but two days later the ship was once more plunging against a stiff breeze and moderate sea, and his anxiety about the ponies was greater than ever. the dogs, however, had recovered wonderfully from the effects of the great gale, their greatest discomfort being that they were almost constantly wet.
-during sunday they lay tight in the pack, and after service at 10 a.m. all hands exercised themselves on ski over the floes and got some delightful exercise. 'i have never thought of anything as good as this life. the novelty, interest, colour, animal life, and good fellowship go to make up an almost ideal picnic just at present,' one of the company wrote on that same day--an abundant proof that if delays came they brought their compensations with them.
-with rapid and complete changes of prospect they managed to progress--on the monday--with much bumping and occasional stoppages, but on the following day they were again firmly and tightly wedged in the pack. to most of them, however, the novelty of the experience prevented any sense of impatience, though to scott the strain of waiting and wondering what he ought to do as regards the question of coal was bound to be heavy.
-over and over again when the end of their troubles seemed to be reached, they found that the thick pack was once more around them. and what to do under the circumstances called for most difficult decisions. if the fires were let out it meant a dead loss of two tons of coal when the boilers were again heated. but these two tons only covered a day under banked fires, so that for anything longer than twenty-four hours it was a saving to put out the fires. thus at each stoppage scott was called upon to decide how long it was likely to last.
-christmas day came with the ice still surrounding the ship, but although the scene was 'altogether too christmassy,' a most merry evening was spent. for five hours the officers sat round the table and sang lustily, each one of them having to contribute two songs to the entertainment. 'it is rather a surprising circumstance,' scott remarks, 'that such an unmusical party should be so keen on singing.'
-by this time, although the ice was still all around them, many of the floes were quite thin, and even the heavier ice appeared to be breakable. so, after a consultation with wilson, scott decided to raise steam, and two days later the ship was once more in the open sea.
-but a great disappointment awaited them, for after one of the whale boats had been lowered and scott, wilson, griffith taylor, priestley, and e. r. evans had been pulled towards the shore, they discovered that the swell made it impossible for them to land.
-'no good!! alas! cape crozier with all its attractions is denied us.'
-the discovery's post-office was still standing as erect as when it had been planted, and comparisons between what was before their eyes and old photographs showed that no change at all seemed to have occurred anywhere--a result that in the case of the barrier caused very great surprise.
-in the meantime all hands were employed in making a running survey, the program of which was:
-bruce continually checking speed with hand log.
-bowers taking altitudes of objects as they come abeam. nelson noting results.
-pennell taking verge plate bearings on bow and quarter. cherry-garrard noting results.
-evans taking verge plate bearings abeam. atkinson noting results.
-campbell taking distances abeam with range finder. wright noting results.
-rennick sounding with thomson machine. drake noting results.
-very early on wednesday morning they rounded cape bird and came in sight of mount discovery and the western mountains. 'it was good to see them again, and perhaps after all we are better this side of the island. it gives one a homely feeling to see such a familiar scene.' scott's great wish now was to find a place for winter quarters that would not easily be cut off from the barrier, and a cape, which in the discovery days had been called 'the skuary,' was chosen. 'it was separated from old discovery quarters by two deep bays on either side of the glacier tongue, and i thought that these bays would remain frozen until late in the season, and that when they froze over again the ice would soon become firm.'
-fortunately the weather was gloriously calm and fine, and the landing began under the happiest conditions. two of the motors were soon hoisted out, and in spite of all the bad weather and the tons of sea-water that had washed over them the sledges and all the accessories appeared to be in perfect condition. then came the turn of the ponies, and although it was difficult to make some of them enter the horse box, oates rose to the occasion and got most of them in by persuasion, while the ones which refused to be persuaded were simply lifted in by the sailors. 'though all are thin and some few looked pulled down i was agreeably surprised at the evident vitality which they still possessed--some were even skittish. i cannot express the relief when the whole seventeen were safely picketed on the floe.'
-the motor sledges were running by the afternoon, day managing one and nelson the other. 'it is early to call them a success, but they are certainly extremely promising.' before night the site for the hut was leveled, and the erecting party was encamped on shore in a large tent with a supply of food for eight days. nearly all the timber, &c., for the hut and a supply of food for both ponies and dogs had also been landed.
-despite this most strenuous day's labour, all hands were up again at 5 a.m. on thursday.
-'of course, we have known well that killer whales continually skirt the edge of the floes and that they would undoubtedly snap up anyone who was unfortunate enough to fall into the water; but the facts that they could display such deliberate cunning, that they were able to break ice of such thickness (at least 2-1/2 feet), and that they could act in unison, were a revelation to us. it is clear that they are endowed with singular intelligence, and in future we shall treat that intelligence with every respect.'
-with ponies, motor sledges, dogs, and men parties working hard, the transportation progressed rapidly on the next two days, the only drawback being that the ice was beginning to get thin in the cracks and on some of the floes. under these circumstances the necessity for wasting no time was evident, and so on the sunday the third motor was got out and placed on the ice, and scott, leaving campbell to find the best crossing for the motor, started for the shore with a single man load.
-a good solid road was formed right up to the ship, and again the work of transportation went on with the greatest energy. in this bowers proved 'a perfect treasure,' there was not a single case he did not know nor a single article on which he could not at once place his hand, and every case as it came on shore was checked by him.
-on tuesday night, january 10, after six days in mcmurdo sound, the landing was almost completed, and early in the afternoon of thursday a message was sent from the ship that nothing remained on board except mutton, books, pictures, and the pianola. 'so at last we really are a self-contained party ready for all emergencies. we are landed eight days after our arrival--a very good record.'
-depôt laying to one ton camp
-and the deed of high endeavour was no more to the favoured few. but brain and heart were the measure of what every man might do. rennell rodd.
-while the landing was being carried out, the building party had worked so rapidly that, if necessity had arisen, the hut could have been inhabited by the 12th; at the same time another small party had been engaged in making a cave in the ice which was to serve as a larder, and this strenuous work continued until the cave was large enough to hold all the mutton, and a considerable quantity of seal and penguin. close to this larder simpson and wright were busy in excavating for the differential magnetic hut.
-in every way indeed such good progress had been made that scott could begin to think about the depôt journey. the arrangements of this he discussed with bowers, to whose grasp of the situation he gives the highest praise. 'he enters into one's idea's at once, and evidently thoroughly understands the principles of the game.'
-on that same afternoon scott and meares took a sledge and nine dogs, some provisions, a cooker and sleeping-bags, and started to hut point; but, on their arrival at the old discovery hut, a most unpleasant surprise awaited them, for to their chagrin they found that some of shackleton's party, who had used the hut for shelter, had left it in an uninhabitable state.
-'there was something too depressing in finding the old hut in such a desolate condition.... to camp outside and feel that all the old comfort and cheer had departed, was dreadfully heartrending. i went to bed thoroughly depressed. it seems a fundamental expression of civilized human sentiment that men who come to such places as this should leave what comfort they can to welcome those who follow, and finding that such a simple duty had been neglected by our immediate predecessors oppressed me horribly.'
-'the word "hut,"' scott wrote, 'is misleading. our residence is really a house of considerable size, in every respect the finest that has ever been erected in the polar regions. the walls and roof have double thickness of boarding and seaweed insulation on both sides of the frames. the roof with all its coverings weighs six tons. the outer shell is wonderfully solid therefore and the result is extraordinary comfort and warmth inside, whilst the total weight is comparatively small. it amply repays the time and attention given to its planning.
-'if you can picture our house nestling below this small hill on a long stretch of black sand, with many tons of provision cases ranged in neat blocks in front of it and the sea lapping the ice-foot below, you will have some idea of our immediate vicinity. as for our wider surroundings it would be difficult to describe their beauty in sufficiently glowing terms. cape evans is one of the many spurs of erebus and the one that stands closest under the mountain, so that always towering above us we have the grand snowy peak with its smoking summit. north and south of us are deep bays, beyond which great glaciers come rippling over the lower slopes to thrust high blue-walled snouts into the sea. the sea is blue before us, dotted with shining bergs or ice floes, whilst far over the sound, yet so bold and magnificent as to appear near, stand the beautiful western mountains with their numerous lofty peaks, their deep glacial valley and clear-cut scarps, a vision of mountain scenery that can have few rivals.
-'i have told you of the surroundings of our house but nothing of its internal arrangements. they are in keeping with the dignity of the mansion.
-'the officers (16) have two-thirds of the interior, the men (9) the remaining third; the dividing line is fixed by a wall of cases containing things which suffer from being frozen.
-'in the officers' quarters there is an immense dark room, and next it on one side a space devoted to the physicist and his instruments, and on the other a space devoted to charts, chronometers and instruments generally.
-'i have a tiny half cabin of my own, next this wilson and evans have their beds. on the other side is a space set apart for five beds, which are occupied by meares, oates, atkinson, garrard and bowers. taylor, debenham and gran have another proportional space opposite. nelson and day have a little cabin of their own with a bench. lastly simpson and wright occupy beds bordering the space set apart for their instruments and work. in the center is a 12-foot table with plenty of room for passing behind its chairs....
-thus scott wrote on the 20th, but the following day brought a serious suspense with it; for during the afternoon came a report that the terra nova was ashore, and scott, hastening to the cape, saw at once that she was firmly fixed and in a very uncomfortable position.
-the only possible remedy seemed to be an extensive lightening of the ship with boats, as the tide had evidently been high when she struck. scott, with two or three companions, watched anxiously from the shore while the men on board shifted cargo aft, but no ray of hope came until the ship was seen to be turning very slowly, and then they saw the men running from side to side and knew that an attempt was being made to roll her off. at first the rolling produced a more rapid turning movement, and then she seemed again to hang though only for a short time. meanwhile the engines had been going astern and presently a slight movement became apparent, but those who were watching the ship did not know that she was getting clear until they heard the cheers on board. then she gathered stern way and was clear.
-'the relief was enormous. the wind dropped as she came off, and she is now securely moored off the northern ice-edge, where i hope the greater number of her people are finding rest. for here and now i must record the splendid manner in which these men are working. i find it difficult to express my admiration for the manner in which the ship is handled and worked under these very trying circumstances... pennell has been over to tell me about it to-night; i think i like him more every day.'
-early on tuesday, january 24, a boat from the ship fetched scott and the western party; and at the same time the ponies were led out of the camp, wilson and meares going ahead of them to test the track. no sooner was scott on board than he was taken to inspect lillie's catch of sea animals. 'it was wonderful, quantities of sponges, isopods, pentapods, large shrimps, corals, &c. &c.; but the pièce de résistance was the capture of several bucketsful of cephalodiscus of which only seven pieces had been previously caught. lillie is immensely pleased, feeling that it alone repays the whole enterprise.' in the forenoon the ship skirted the island, and with a telescope those on board could watch the string of ponies steadily progressing over the sea-ice past the razor back islands; and, as soon as they were seen to be well advanced, the ship steamed on to the glacier tongue, and made fast in the narrow angle made by the sea-ice with the glacier.
-after this experience the other five ponies were led farther round to the west and were got safely out on the floe; a small feed was given to them, and then they were started off with their loads.
-the dogs in the meantime were causing some excitement for, starting on hard ice with a light load, they obviously preferred speed to security. happily, however, no accident happened, and scott, writing from glacier tongue on january 24, was able to say: 'all have arrived safely, and this evening we start our sledges south. i expect we shall have to make three relays to get all our stores on to the barrier some fifteen miles away. the ship is to land a geologising party on the west side of the sound, and then to proceed to king edward's land to put the eastern party on short.'
-on the night of the 24th scott camped six miles from the glacier and two miles from hut point, he and wilson having driven one team of dogs, while meares and e. evans drove the other. but on the following day scott drove his team to the ship, and when the men had been summoned aft he thanked them for their splendid work.
-how completely scott's hopes were realized in the case of campbell's party is now well known. nothing more miraculous than the story of their adventures has ever been told. the party consisted of campbell, levick, priestley, abbott, browning, and dickason, and the courage shown by the leader and his companions in facing endless difficulties and privations has met with the unstinted admiration that it most thoroughly deserved.
-in three days he hoped that all the loads would be transported to complete safety, and on friday, the 27th, only one load remained to be brought from hut point. the strenuous labour of this day tired out the dogs, but the ponies worked splendidly. on the next day, however, both keohane's and bowers' ponies showed signs of breaking down, and oates began to take a gloomy view of the situation. in compensation for these misfortunes the dogs, as they got into better condition, began to do excellent work. during sunday they ran two loads for over a mile past the stores on the barrier to the spot chosen for 'safety camp,' the big home depôt. 'i don't think that any part of the barrier is likely to go, but it's just as well to be prepared for everything, and our camp must deserve its distinctive title of "safety."'
-writing on wednesday, february 1, from 'safety camp, great barrier,' scott said: 'i told you that we should be cut off from our winter station, and that i had to get a good weight of stores on to the barrier to provide for that contingency. we are safely here with all requisite stores, though it has taken nearly a week. but we find the surface very soft and the ponies flounder in it. i sent a dog team back yesterday to try and get snow-shoes for ponies, but they found the ice broken south of cape evans and returned this morning. everyone is doing splendidly and gaining the right sort of experience for next year. every mile we advance this year is a help for next.'
-then came another triumph for the snow-shoes, which were put on bowers' pony, with the result that after a few minutes he settled down, was harnessed to his load, and brought in not only that but also another over places into which he had previously been plunging. again scott expressed his regret that such a great help to their work had been left behind at the station, and it was all the more trying for him to see the ponies half engulfed in the snow, and panting and heaving from the strain, when the remedies for his state of affairs were so near and yet so impossible to reach.
-'the pace is still brisk, the light bad, and at intervals one or another of us suddenly steps on a slippery patch and falls prone. these are the only real incidents of the march--for the rest it passes with a steady tramp and slight variation of formation. the weaker ponies drop a bit but not far, so that they are soon up in line again when the first halt is made. we have come to a single halt in each half march. last night it was too cold to stop long and a very few minutes found us on the go again.
-'meanwhile the dog drivers, after a long cold wait at the old camp, have packed the last sledge and come trotting along our tracks. they try to time their arrival in the new camp immediately after our own, and generally succeed well. the mid-march halt runs into an hour to an hour and a half, and at the end we pack up and tramp forth again. we generally make our final camp about 8 o'clock, and within an hour and a half most of us are in our sleeping-bags.... at the long halt we do our best for our animals by building snow walls and improving their rugs, &c.
-a softer surface on the 11th made the work much more difficult, and even the dogs, who had been pulling consistently well, showed signs of exhaustion before the march was over. early on sunday morning they were near the 79th parallel, and exact bearings had to be taken, since this camp, called bluff camp, was expected to play an important part in the future. by this time three of the ponies, blossom, james pigg, and blucher, were so weak that scott decided to send e. evans, forde and keohane back with them.
-no doubt remained on the thursday that both weary willy and bowers' pony could stand very little more, and so it was decided to turn back on the following day. during the last march out the temperature fell to -21° with a brisk south-west breeze, and frost-bites were frequent. bowers with his ears still uncovered suffered severely, but while scott and cherry-garrard nursed them back he seemed to feel nothing but surprise and disgust at the mere fact of possessing such unruly organs. 'it seems as though some of our party will find spring journeys pretty trying. oates' nose is always on the point of being frost-bitten; meares has a refractory toe which gives him much trouble--this is the worse prospect for summit work. i have been wondering how i shall stick the summit again, this cold spell gives ideas. i think i shall be all right, but one must be prepared for a pretty good doing.'
-the depôt was built during the next day, february 17, lat. 79° 29' s, and considerably over a ton of stuff was landed.
-sorry as scott was not to reach 80°, he was satisfied that they had 'a good leg up' for next year, and could at least feed the ponies thoroughly up to this point. in addition to a flagstaff and black flag, one ton camp was marked with piled biscuit boxes to act as reflectors, and tea-tins were tied on the top of the sledges, which were planted upright in the snow. the depôt cairn was more than six feet above the surface, and so the party had the satisfaction of knowing that it could scarcely fail to show up for many miles.
-...yet i argue not against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer right onward. milton.
-on the return journey scott, wilson, meares and cherry-garrard went back at top speed with the dog teams, leaving bowers, oates and gran to follow with the ponies. for three days excellent marches were made, the dogs pulling splendidly, and anxious as scott was to get back to safety camp and find out what had happened to the other parties and the ponies, he was more than satisfied with the daily records. but on tuesday, february 21, a check came in their rapid journey, a check, moreover, which might have been a most serious disaster.
-in a moment the whole team were sinking; two by two they vanished from sight, each pair struggling for foothold. osman, the leader, giant firecracker he had scared several of the servants half to death, thinking he was going to blow up the kitchen of the house in which he lived.
-it was an ideal summer day and the boys sat by the windows enjoying the scenery as it rushed past them. all were in the best of humor.
-“this isn’t like going out to big horn ranch,” said fred, a bit wistfully. “i’m afraid we’ll miss the cattle and the cowboys and all that.”
-“i’d like to get a crack at a bear,” came from fred. “gee, wouldn’t it be a feather in our cap to bring down a big fellow!”
-“how about it if the bear came along and brought you down by hugging you to death?” questioned jack dryly.
-“pooh! who’s afraid of bears?” answered the stout young rover.
-the boys had left new york after an early breakfast and one o’clock found them at the south station of the hub. as they came forth from the smoky train shed, suitcases and bundles in hand, gif and spouter rushed forward to meet them.
-“well, i see you’ve got here safe and sound!” cried gif.
-“now we can catch the two o’clock train for rocky run,” put in spouter. “come ahead. we can get a couple of taxicabs right outside.”
-“i thought maybe you’d want to stay in boston all night and start for rocky run in the morning,” remarked randy, who had not visited the hub many times and who would have liked to look around the city.
-“oh, come ahead! we want to get to rocky run as soon as we can!” cried spouter. “don’t you say so too, jack?”
-“it’s up to gif,” answered jack. “we’re his guests, you know.”
-“oh, stow that, jack,” answered gif quickly. “we’re going up to big bear lake on an equal footing. nobody is to be boss. this is a free-for-all,” and he gave a happy little laugh.
-having piled into two taxicabs, it did not take gif and his guests long to reach the north station. here they procured tickets for rocky run and then found they had still half an hour to wait for a train.
-the boys procured a number of newspapers and magazines and some packages of candy, and in a little while the train for rocky run rolled into the station. all this while gif was looking around anxiously.
-“what’s up, gif? are you expecting somebody?” questioned jack.
-“i am. but it looks as if he wasn’t coming,” answered gif. “it’s just like him. he’s the slowest fellow i know. but dad said we might as well take him along. there’s nothing much for him to do at home just now.”
-“who are you talking about?”
-“i’m talking about jeff, our hired man. dad said we might as well take him up to the bungalow to do the cooking and some of the other work.”
-“gee! a colored man, eh?” exclaimed andy. “we’re to go up there in style!”
-“i’d rather not have him along,” answered gif. “but dad said we might as well take him and make him earn his salary. you see the folks are not at home a great deal, and that doesn’t leave jeff much to do.”
-as gif was speaking a tall, ungainly-looking colored man, wearing a pepper and salt suit and a light derby hat, shuffled into view, carrying a valise in one hand and a bundle done up in a newspaper in the other. as he came closer he began to smile languidly.
-“i thought you wouldn’t get here, jeff,” answered gif. “get aboard. the train is about to start. boys, this is jefferson adams lincoln wilson, always called jeff for short. jeff, this is sir spouter and these are the mr. rovers, number one, two, three and four.”
-“yes, sir! yes, sir!” responded the lanky colored man, bowing profoundly all around. “yes, sir! one, two, three, four! that’s easy, yes, sir,” and then he followed the boys as they boarded the train.
-“how far is it to rocky run?” questioned fred, after the crowd had seated themselves with jeff just behind them.
-“it will take us about four hours to get there on this train,” answered gif. “we run as far as hammingwood on the main line and then switch off to rocky run.”
-“in that case we won’t reach rocky run until almost dark,” answered jack. “do you think we can get to the bungalow to-night?”
-“dad said if we couldn’t we were to ask old mose mumbleton if he couldn’t put us up all night. he said he was almost certain mose could accommodate us, for he often accommodates fishing parties.”
-“then that’s all right. we wouldn’t want to get lost on the lake in the darkness,” put in randy.
-“why not? it would be a barrel of fun,” added his twin carelessly.
-“has jeff ever been up there?” asked fred in a low tone.
-“oh, yes. he’s been up there several times. that’s one reason dad wanted us to have him along. he said jeff could show us where the best fishing places were and all that sort of thing. besides, jeff has quite a reputation when it comes to serving fish. that’s his specialty.”
-“well, we’ve got to catch the fish before we have ’em served,” remarked jack dryly.
-“there’s only one trouble with jeff. he’s very lazy, and apt to go to sleep if you give him half a chance. otherwise, he isn’t a half bad sort.”
-the rover boys and spouter soon had evidence of jeff’s failing, for the train had been traveling for less than half an hour when, on glancing back, the boys saw that jeff was leaning back in the seat with eyes closed, evidently sleeping soundly.
-“i’ll bet he isn’t of a worrying disposition,” was fred’s comment.
-“i don’t believe he ever worried about anything,” answered gif.
-“i think i’ll give him a little bit to worry about,” murmured andy, tearing a long slip of transparent paper from one of the candy packages the boys had purchased. taking the slip, andy rolled it into a long taper with a pointed end. then he walked down the aisle and took a place in a vacant seat directly behind the sleeping colored man. reaching over, he began to tickle jeff in his ear. the colored man paid no attention for a few seconds. but then, very slowly, his hand came up and he brushed his ear. this operation was repeated several times, and caused all of the boys to snicker. then andy reached over and tickled jeff in the nose.
-ker choo! ker choo! jeff suddenly awoke with a start and began to sneeze vigorously. as he did this, andy dropped out of sight while the others pretended to be busy with their papers and magazines.
-again the end of the pointed taper came in contact with his ear, and again jeff slapped not once but several times at an imaginary fly. then once more andy applied the pointed paper to his nose.
-this time the sneezing that followed brought more results than had been expected. poor jeff bobbed up suddenly, and then his head came down violently in contact with the seat in front of him.
-“my land sakes!” he wailed. “what am the mattah with my nose?” and then he sneezed again.
-“you sure are catching a cold, jeff. better take another seat where there’s less draft,” suggested gif.
-“i knowed yeste’day i was ketchin’ cold,” answered the colored man slowly. “i was in the kitchen at your house workin’ and they had the window open. i was sure i was goin’ to ketch cold. i can’t stand no draft nohow,” and he shuffled away to another seat in the extreme corner of the car.
-“some fun, andy, i’ll say,” remarked randy, with glistening eyes, as his twin rejoined him. “i think jeff is going to give us many a pleasant time while we’re up at big bear lake.”
-“i’ll say so,” was the quick reply.
-“you take care that jeff doesn’t discover what you’re up to,” admonished jack. “he may not like it a bit.”
-“oh, jeff is too lazy to notice most things,” answered gif. “just the same, i wouldn’t stir him up too much,” he added, after a moment’s reflection.
-quickly the afternoon wore away, and a little after six o’clock the boys arrived at the little station of rocky run. here they alighted, followed by jeff, who had all he could do to carry his own baggage and did not attempt to assist any of the others.
-the lads found that rocky run consisted of nothing more than half a dozen houses, a general store and post-office, the railroad station, and half a dozen boathouses. over the store was the sign:
-general merchandise laundry agency rocky run post-office justice of the peace notary public boats to hire orders taken for cord wood
-“looks as if mose did a little bit of everything,” was jack’s comment, with a grin.
-“he’s about the whole shooting match up here, i guess,” answered gif. “come on! let’s leave our baggage here in a heap and go over to the store.”
-with gif and jack in advance, the six boys left the railroad station and walked across a broad roadway to where the general store was located. this was in a long and broad two-story wooden building with a one-story addition in the rear. in front was a piazza with two steps, a broad double door, and two show windows filled with various goods which had evidently been there on exhibition for some time.
-as the boys entered the establishment it was so dark inside they could for the moment make out but little. then they saw an elderly man with a heavy gray beard leaning on a broad counter in the rear talking earnestly to two young fellows who were evidently customers.
-“well, that’s the price,” the man behind the counter was saying. “i can’t sell those goods for any less.”
-“it’s a fierce price, i’ll say,” remarked one of the would-be customers.
-“we could get those things much cheaper in the city,” put in the other youth standing at the counter.
-at the sound of the two voices jack clutched gif by the arm.
-“what do you know about this, gif!” he gasped. “am i dreaming, or is that really tommy flanders?”
-“it’s flanders all right enough,” answered gif. “and paul halliday is with him. now what in the world brought those two fellows up here?”
-on big bear lake
-as the colby hall cadets came closer, tommy flanders and paul halliday looked around at them.
-“hello! what do you know about this?” cried flanders.
-“what brought you fellows up here?” put in halliday.
-“haven’t we a right to be here if we want to?” questioned jack coolly. he did not like the tone of voice in which the boys from longley academy had addressed them.
-“oh, i suppose you have a right to come to big bear lake,” answered tommy flanders. “just the same, i don’t give you any credit for following us.”
-“as a matter of fact, we’re not following you,” retorted gif. “we didn’t even know you were here. have you come to stay?”
-“have we come to stay!” burst out halliday. “that’s a good one! you know well enough we came to stay.”
-“you can’t pull the wool over our eyes,” growled flanders. “if you have come up to big bear lake for a vacation, you simply came to follow us.”
-by this time the others had come into the general store, adding to the surprise of the cadets from longley, who glared at them darkly.
-“if it isn’t tommy flanders and paul halliday!” burst out randy. “what do you know about this!”
-“they must be staying up here,” returned spouter. “otherwise it isn’t likely that they would be at the store.”
-“where are you fellows stopping?” questioned halliday, as he approached fred.
-“we’re not stopping anywhere just yet. we just got off the train,” answered fred.
-“but you’re going to stay at the lake, aren’t you?”
-“yes, if you want to know.”
-“on the east shore?”
-“no; on the west shore.”
-“huh! you didn’t dare to come over to where we are located, did you?” sneered halliday.
-“then you’re located over on the east shore, are you?” questioned gif.
-“your bunch?” demanded jack, with interest. “how many of you?”
-“ten so far; and three or four others are coming later.”
-“henry stowell is coming to-morrow to join us,” remarked halliday. “he’s quitting colby, you know, and coming to longley this fall.”
-“well, you’re welcome to codfish,” announced randy quickly.
-“oh, he’s all right if only you didn’t tease him too much,” answered the youth who had at one time been randy’s fellow cadet.
-in the midst of the talk two other boys arrived, billy sands and a youth named ted maxwell, who was a captain at longley. maxwell was a tall, quiet fellow and quite gentlemanly in contrast to his schoolmates.
-“yes, about a dozen or fifteen of us are to spend the summer at the lake,” said maxwell to jack, as he shook hands. “ten of us came up three days ago, and the others are coming the beginning of next week. we have hired the old willoughby place, which, as perhaps you know, has two little bungalows on it and a little boathouse. we hope to have a dandy time.”
-“we won’t have such a good time if we know these fellows are going to be up here,” growled halliday.
-“oh, i don’t know,” answered ted maxwell cheerfully. “we might get up some rowing and swimming contests and things like that.”
-“i didn’t come up here to go into any contests,” broke in tommy flanders. “i came up to take it easy and have a good time.”
-“that’s me, too,” put in billy sands. “i’m just going to take it easy every day.”
-“well, a little exercise won’t hurt anybody,” answered maxwell. “i don’t want to go stale, and neither do you fellows, if any of you expect to make the football team this fall.”
-maxwell asked the colby cadets where they were going to locate, and gif and the others told him about the old fishing club bungalow and of their plans for a grand outing.
-“that fishing club outfit is directly across the lake from our camp,” said maxwell. “we were rowing over that way only yesterday.”
-“i hope the camp is in good condition,” said gif anxiously, wondering if flanders and his cronies had visited the place and possibly done some harm.
-“it seemed to be. we didn’t land.”
-“this is a fine state of affairs,” grumbled gif. “i don’t know whether we’ll have a good time or not with those fellows around.”
-“oh, well, they’ll be on the other side of the lake,” answered fred. “how much of a distance between the two places?”
-“the lake is about half a mile wide where our camp is located, and midway between the two places there are a number of small islands which my father used to call the cat and kittens.”
-mose mumbleton had listened with interest to what all the boys had had to say. now he shook hands cordially with gif, who speedily introduced the others. in the meantime jeff had calmly proceeded to make himself at home on the piazza of the general store, nodding peacefully as he sat with his back against one of the posts.
-“i thought you might know that flanders boy,” said the old storekeeper. “he goes to a military academy, too.”
-“yes, we know the whole bunch; but we didn’t know they were coming up here.”
-“the folks around here don’t like mr. flanders any too well,” continued the storekeeper. “you see, flanders bought the old micwic factory on flat rock creek, and they say he is going to put it in operation again. the bungalow colony is up in arms against such a move. they don’t want any factory around here, nor do they want any factory hands locating along the lake.”
-“where is that factory located?” questioned fred.
-“it’s just below where those boys have their camp――about halfway between the camp and this place,” answered the storekeeper.
-“see here,” said gif, motioning jack and spouter to one side. “now that we know that crowd is across the lake from our bungalow, don’t you think it would be better if we went up to the camp without further delay? i want to be certain that they haven’t visited the place and upset things. i wouldn’t put it past them to do it. we can come down here to-morrow and get our supplies. of course, we could take up a few things now, just enough for breakfast and maybe lunch.”
-“that suits me,” answered jack.
-“yes, let’s get to the camp, by all means. i want to see what kind of place it is,” answered spouter.
-as a consequence of this, gif asked the old storekeeper about their boats.
-“i got ’em all ready for you just as soon as i received your letter,” said mr. mumbleton. “they’re locked up in my boathouse, and i can get ’em out in a few minutes.”
-“then let us have a few groceries and things like that and we’ll be off,” returned gif. “we’ll come back to-morrow for our regular supplies. we have a list all made out, and i’ll leave it with you.”
-thereupon the boys obtained some bread, coffee, sugar, condensed milk, eggs, bacon and a few other things which were placed in a couple of empty boxes. then all went back to the railroad station for their baggage.
-“here’s a sample of what we can expect from those other fellows,” growled andy, as he pointed to the railroad platform. on their baggage had been piled some dirty brushwood and leaves.
-“well, let’s be thankful they didn’t do anything worse,” was randy’s comment. “they might have hidden the stuff from us, or something like that.”
-“i guess they didn’t dare!” burst out jack. “they knew we’d be after them in a jiffy if they did anything like that.”
-brushing off the baggage, the boys, followed by jeff, made their way to mose mumbleton’s boathouse. the old storekeeper was already on hand and had brought forth three rowboats with six pairs of oars.
-“i went over each one of the boats carefully,” said the storekeeper. “you’ll find ’em in apple-pie condition.”
-gif was right about the darkness, because the sun was already sinking behind the forest to the westward, casting long shadows across the bosom of big bear lake.
-“wonder if we’ll see any bears on our way up,” came from andy, as he took his seat in one of the boats.
-“sure! we’ll see a dozen of them,” returned his twin, with a grin. “they’ll all be lined up on the shore bidding us welcome.”
-“don’t forget, jeff, you’re to row one of the boats,” cried gif gayly.
-“does you want me to row that boat all alone?” questioned the colored man doubtfully.
-“why, of course! you’re to row the boat and you are to pull the other two boats, too.”
-“what! me pull the boat all alone and tow the two other boats too?” questioned jeff, in consternation. “i can’t do it, nohow! no man could!”
-“oh, gif is only fooling, jeff,” put in spouter. “we can do the rowing just as well as not. we’ll let you cook supper for us when we land.”
-there had been little wind during the day, but now it seemed to spring up, sighing drearily through the trees lining the shore. then the sun suddenly sank behind a heavy bank of clouds.
-“doesn’t look as if we’d have any moonlight to-night,” remarked andy.
-“seems to me we’re going to have quite a blow,” answered fred, as he glanced through the tree-tops at the clouds.
-“come on, fellows! everybody on the job!” cried gif.
-he and fred, along with jeff, were in the first boat to get off. quickly andy and jack followed, and then came randy and spouter.
-the course lay along the lakeshore and then past a broad cove where there was a string of small islands. as they passed the last of these islands they found the wind increasing and suddenly saw some whitecaps ahead.
-“we’re in for a regular blow!” cried gif.
-“how far have we still to row?” called out randy.
-“about a mile.”
-“oh, that isn’t so bad.”
-“we’ve got to go slow around here,” called back gif. “the lake is shallow and there are a great number of snags. don’t hit any of them and upset.”
-as the boys continued to row the wind increased in violence, and soon whitecaps surrounded them.
-“maybe we’d bettah pull in closer to shore,” suggested jeff, as one of the whitecaps came over the side of the rowboat, covering them with spray.
-“oh, we’ll head straight for the bungalow,” answered gif. “come on, fred, bend to it!” and they began to row with a will and the others followed.
-a quarter of a mile more was covered when the wind seemed suddenly to descend on the three boats with added violence.
-“gee! we can’t make any headway against this,” gasped fred.
-“hadn’t we better turn toward shore?” called out andy, from the second boat, which was close behind.
-“perhaps we’d better,” was the answer. “i don’t believe this blow will last any great length of time.”
-the third boat had dropped a little behind and was almost lost to view in the fast-gathering darkness.
-“they’re turning to shore,” said spouter to randy. “we might as well do the same thing.”
-to turn the craft in that heavy wind was not easy. a wave came dashing over the side, wetting them from the knees down. then the boat whirled around and all at once slid up on a snag.
-“look out! we’re going over!” cried spouter, and the next instant the rowboat upset and he and randy were floundering in the lake.
-to the rescue
-“help! help!” the cry came from spouter, who was floundering around in the semi-darkness of the fast-increasing storm. he had been pitched overboard so suddenly that he had had no time in which to protect himself. consequently he had scraped his arm on the fallen tree which had caused the overturning of the rowboat.
-“what’s that cry?” came from gif.
-“somebody calling for help,” answered andy. “look! one of our boats has upset!”
-“it’s the boat that had spouter and randy in it,” came from jack.
-“they must have struck one of the snags gif told us about,” remarked fred. “come! we’d better turn back and see what’s doing.”
-in spite of the violence of the wind and the whitecaps on the lake none of the others imagined that spouter and randy were in any great danger. in fact, they were inclined to look at the affair as a joke. they knew that both of the cadets who had gone overboard could swim well.
-“help! help!” came again from spouter. “help! quick!”
-“what is it, spouter?” called back jack. “are you hurt? how about randy?”
-“randy’s in trouble. he’s caught on a snag! come quick!”
-“randy in trouble?” the cry came from several of the boys, and as quickly as possible those in the first two boats turned around and made for the spot where the upsetting had taken place.
-what spouter had said about randy was true. when the boat upset randy had gone under and then come to the surface. he had attempted to strike out for either the boat or the shore, and had then been caught by a limb of the submerged tree. then, because of this and because the boat was pounding against it, the submerged tree had in some way turned over, carrying the upper part of randy’s body under the surface of the lake. his feet were in the air, and he was kicking around vigorously trying to extricate himself from his perilous position.
-it took those in the two remaining boats but a few seconds to reach the scene of the catastrophe. they beheld spouter working frantically, trying to pull randy to the surface.
-“what is it?” came from jack.
-“he’s caught! i can’t bring him up!” gasped spouter. “he’s caught on a tree limb, i guess.”
-“shove that boat back!” ordered gif, and then reached out with his oar to hold the craft in check, for the upturned boat was being driven by the wind directly over the spot where randy and spouter were struggling.
-it was certainly a critical moment, and no one understood it better than did jack. the tree had bobbed around, and for a few seconds randy’s head had come to the surface, giving him a chance for fresh air. then the tree had settled once more and poor randy’s head had disappeared as before. jack hesitated only an instant, and then sprang into the lake beside spouter.
-“what is it, spouter? can you make out?” he questioned quickly. “is his arm or part of his body caught, or is it only his clothing?”
-“it’s his arm. it’s twisted around one of the tree limbs,” gasped the other.
-taking a deep breath, jack allowed himself to sink down. he felt around in the darkness under water and found randy’s free arm. the boy was doing his best to liberate the other arm, which was held tightly in a crotch of the submerged tree. close beside the limb was a sharp rock, and the force of the overturning tree was holding randy against this.
-“i’ve got to get him out somehow,” thought the young major, and, pressing himself against the rock, he pushed with all his might on the tree limb, trying to force it back. then he gave his cousin’s body a shove. then, unable to hold his breath longer, he came to the surface.
-as jack did this the body of randy appeared two yards away. he was all but overcome when spouter went to the rescue, followed by fred. between them they managed to hoist the gasping youth into one of the boats. then they got into another craft, and jack did likewise.
-by this time the wind was blowing more furiously than ever and the cadets found it all they could do to get to shore. fortunately they found a small inlet where, among the bushes, it was comparatively quiet. in the meanwhile the upturned boat drifted away and was lost to sight in the darkness.
-“is randy all right?” questioned gif anxiously, flashing a searchlight he carried.
-“he’s pretty well used up,” returned fred. “but i think he’ll come around.”
-by this time it had begun to rain and the boys could see that they were in for a sudden summer storm. at first the rain came down gently, but soon there was a heavy downpour and all were glad to seek the shelter of some overhanging trees.
-in the meanwhile several of the boys did what they could for poor randy. he felt rather weak from his thrilling experience, and had little to say. but they knew he would get over it, and for this they were exceedingly thankful.
-“gee! if he’d been drowned i don’t know what we should have done,” jack said, with a shudder.
-“please don’t mention it, jack!” returned andy. “if anything like that had happened to randy i’d never have been able to go home and face mother and father.”
-“it shows how careful we’ve got to be when we’re out on this lake,” came from fred. “gif warned us about those snags.”
-“this is the only part of the lake where those snags exist,” said gif. “the rest of the lake is perfectly clear and deep enough for any ordinary boat. father used to warn us against coming up along this shore. he always said it was much safer to go outside, even if one rowed around some of those islands.”
-“and i’ll say your father was right!” returned spouter. “i think if we’d taken the outside route we’d have been perfectly safe even in the wind.”
-“if you young gen’lemen wants to walk to the bungalow there’s a path through the woods jest behind here,” announced jeff presently. the accident had scared him very much. “of course it would be a wet walk, but you could make it. it ain’t more’n a mile at the most.”
-“well, we’ll either have to do that or else stay here all night,” said gif.
-“what about that lost boat?” questioned jack.
-“we can’t do anything about that in the wind and the darkness, jack. we’ll have to wait until the storm is over and it grows light.”
-“and what about my suitcase and that one belonging to randy? they both went overboard when the boat upset,” put in spouter mournfully.
-“maybe we can fish them up if the lake isn’t too deep,” suggested fred. “but we’ll want to do it in good weather and when it is light. we don’t want to take any more chances with those snags.”
-“what about you, randy? do you think you can walk to the bungalow?” questioned jack kindly.
-“i can try,” was the brave response. “i think i can walk part of the way, anyhow.”
-“we can carry you the rest of the way if we have to,” answered jack. “in fact, i can start to carry you right now,” he added.
-but randy would not submit to this, and so the whole crowd started off through the woods on foot, jeff and gif leading the way. they carried their suitcases with them, but left the bundles behind.
-by the aid of the searchlight it was comparatively easy to find the path through the woods, and once on this they found walking not so bad. toward the end of the journey randy lagged a little, and thereupon jack insisted that his cousin get on his back.
-when they finally reached the bungalow they found the long, low, one-story building in absolute darkness. the front door had two padlocks upon it, and gif produced the keys given to him by his father and unlocked the portal and threw it open. then he threw the rays of the searchlight into the living room. at once came a scurry of little feet and then several dark objects scuttled through an open doorway toward the rear of the building.
-“what were they?” questioned spouter quickly.
-“i don’t know. either rats or squirrels. anyway, they’re gone,” answered gif. “come on in out of the rain,” for the wind was blowing the rain well under the wide porch of the bungalow.
-by the illumination afforded by the flashlight the boys could see that the living room of the bungalow was plainly but neatly furnished with a big square table, several chairs and two long benches. to one side was a large fireplace on which some wood had been placed ready for lighting.
-“we’ll soon have this place looking more comfortable,” said gif. “we’ll get a good fire started, and then we can dry our clothing. in the meantime jeff can go into the kitchen and stir things up there.”
-“how are you going to get a meal with the grub left behind?” questioned andy.
-“oh, there’s always something of some sort here, isn’t there, jeff?”
-“was last time i was here,” answered the colored man. “we always left some stuff in the tin canisters and in some glass jars, so that the mice and rats and squirrels couldn’t get at ’em.”
-two lamps were lit, and then they lighted the fire in the big chimneyplace. soon the flames were roaring merrily, and then the lads began to take off some of their clothing. randy was glad to disrobe and wrap himself in a blanket from one of the beds.
-“i can’t help but think how close i was to drowning,” he whispered to fred. “it makes me shiver every time i think of it!”
-“don’t mention it!” was the reply. “we’ve got to be awfully careful after this, randy.”
-as soon as his guests had been made as comfortable as circumstances permitted in the living room, gif went out into the kitchen to learn what jeff was doing. he found the colored man building a fire in an old-fashioned cookstove which had been in use in the bungalow for many years.
-“ain’t very much to eat, i’ll tell you that,” said the colored man. “got a little coffee and sugar and some canned corn and some sardines.”
-“well, i brought a big loaf of bread along and some crackers from that box we had,” answered gif. “we’ll have to make out somehow. it’s better than nothing. i’m thinking the storm will clear away by morning, and if it does we can get out early and rescue that stuff we left behind.”
-“ain’t no way to do,” grumbled jeff. “we ought to’ve stayed down to mr. mumbleton’s place. if we’d have done that there wouldn’t have been no accident nor nothin’.”
-“well, we’re here, and we’ve got to make the best of it, jeff,” answered gif briefly. he was by no means pleased to think that the colored man had been “wished on them” by his father.
-gif returned to the living room, leaving jeff to prepare the evening meal as best he could. he proceeded to take off more of his garments, hanging them where they might dry before the open fire. in the meanwhile all could hear the wind sighing mournfully through the trees that surrounded the big bungalow and hear the rain coming down on the roof as steadily as ever.
-“well, we’re much better off here than if we had stayed in the woods, that’s sure,” said jack, as he stretched out on a bench in front of the fire. “this will be fine when once we get settled and have everything to work with.”
-“i wonder if those other fellows got back to the willoughby camp,” mused fred.
-“i don’t see why not. they started long before we did, and they don’t have any snags on that side of the lake,” answered gif.
-the boys could hear jeff moving around the kitchen and they heard the clatter of kettles and pans as the colored man was preparing the evening meal. then, of a sudden, they heard jeff let out a wild yell.
-“hi! hi! i’s killed! i’s killed!” roared the colored man. “save me! save me! i’s killed!”
-at the bungalow
-the uproar in the kitchen was so terrific that all the boys in the living room of the bungalow leaped to their feet in alarm.
-“i’s killed! i’s killed!” roared jeff. “i’s stung to death!” and, with a clattering of a kettle on the floor, the colored man came dashing into the living room flourishing a frying pan in one hand.
-“what is it, jeff? what has happened?” questioned gif.
-“it’s a snake! a great big long snake! right on the shelf over the stove!” wailed jeff. he dropped the frying pan on the floor. “he done stung me on the hand and on the arm! i’s a dead man!” and he began to moan pitifully.
-“what kind of a snake was it, jeff?”
-“did he rattle?”
-“was it a blacksnake?”
-“i don’t know what he was! he was behind some old newspapers and magazines! i done put my hand up there to get down a salt-shaker and he pushed his head out and stung me――stung me twice, right on the hand and on the wrist. i’s a dead man! somebody run for a doctor. if i don’t gets a doctor i’ll be dead before mornin’,” and jeff began to move around the living room, swinging his injured hand and moaning and groaning loudly.
-of course all of the boys were alarmed. they had had several adventures with snakes, some of them poisonous, and they knew that all that jeff said might be true. on the other hand, they realized that the snake might be almost harmless.
-although they had left a large part of their luggage behind when starting on the walk through the woods, they had brought with them a shotgun and a pistol. grabbing up the shotgun, jack walked to the kitchen door.
-“flash your light in, gif,” he said, for the illumination made by the kerosene lamp in the kitchen was rather dim. “if that snake is still on the shelf a dose of shot at such close quarters will soon finish him.”
-with caution the two boys advanced into the kitchen of the bungalow. at first gif flashed the light all over the floor, and especially in the corners.
-“what about that thing over there, jack?” he exclaimed suddenly.
-“only a dirty dishcloth,” answered the rover boy.
-having made sure that no snake was lurking on the floor of the kitchen, gif picked up a broom that was handy.
-“i’ll shove the stuff off the shelf with this,” he said. “if you see anything of the snake, blaze away.”
-“i sure will,” answered jack, raising the double-barreled shotgun and placing his finger on one of the triggers.
-the others had crowded to the doorway to see what was taking place, leaving jeff still moaning and groaning in the living room. the colored man was sure that he was going to die――that he had been poisoned.
-holding up the searchlight so that the rays fell full upon the kitchen shelf, gif elevated the end of the broom, and then, with a quick motion, sent the newspapers and magazines flying to the floor at one side of the stove.
-as the mass of reading matter came down some dirt and a small wiggling object not over two feet long came with it. jack was ready to fire, but suddenly thought better of it and, leaping forward, placed his foot on the object.
-“just a plain little garter snake,” he said, with a laugh. “if i had shot it there wouldn’t have been enough left to show jeff.”
-“maybe the big snake is among the papers,” suggested fred, who stood just behind gif.
-“we’ll soon see,” returned gif, and with the broom he scattered the papers and magazines in every direction and with it a quantity of dust and cobwebs. but nothing in the way of a reptile appeared.
-“here, give me that snake,” said gif, after they had looked around the floor carefully. and catching the little reptile by the tail he snapped it into the air, almost severing the head from the body. then, still holding the snake, he went into the other room.
-“here’s the thing that stung you, jeff,” he said coolly. “those stings won’t hurt you any more than the sting from a good big mosquito. you ought to be ashamed of yourself for getting so scared over nothing,” he added, a bit more sternly.
-jeff was crouched before the fire, rocking to and fro and moaning. now he looked up with staring eyes at the little snake gif was holding.
-“tha――tha――that ain’t the snake what stung me,” he faltered.
-“yes, it is, jeff. we just got it out of that bunch of papers on the shelf. there isn’t another snake anywhere around. how this little thing got in and on the shelf, i don’t know. must have crawled in through some little hole in the floor or the wall.”
-“i――i――i’m certain sure it was a big snake what stung me,” mumbled the colored man.
-“oh, jeff, you’re full of tacks!” answered jack. “go on back into the kitchen and look for yourself.”
-“a little snake like that couldn’t harm anybody,” came from andy. “why, a hundred of ’em wouldn’t be any worse than a bunch of mosquitoes!”
-jeff looked rather sheepish. he examined his hand and his wrist, and then moved rather slowly toward the kitchen.
-“i never did like no snakes,” he said. “i had a cousin once down south got bit by a moccasin and he didn’t live no time at all. when snakes is dangerous they’s dangerous, and i don’t want none of ’em around me.”
-“if you’re afraid to go into the kitchen and get us something to eat, i’ll go in there myself,” said gif sharply.
-“oh, i’s goin’! i’s goin’!” answered the colored man hastily. “we’ll have supper in a few minutes. ain’t much to cook, as i done told you before.” then he resumed his preparations for the repast.
-even when it was ready the supper did not amount to a great deal. however, the boys managed to make it do, and, thoroughly tired out, were glad enough to go to bed early.
-as gif had told them, the bungalow was a low, rambling affair. on each side of the big living room were three bedrooms and there were more bedrooms in the rear. behind the bungalow was a long, low shed which, gif explained, had occasionally been used for “the overflow” of visitors to the fishing club resort.
-the boys decided that they would bunk together, two in a room, thus occupying two rooms on one side of the big living apartment and one room on the other. jeff was to use a small room directly off of the kitchen.
-“i’s goin’ to make sure there ain’t no snakes in my bed,” he announced when getting ready to retire.
-the two fires had dried out the bungalow thoroughly, and, utterly worn out with their day’s exertions, the rover boys and their chums slept soundly until nearly eight o’clock the next morning. when they arose they found that the storm had cleared away and that the sun was shining as brightly as ever.
-“this is something like!” declared fred, as he went out on the porch of the bungalow and stretched himself. “my, what a pretty view!”
-it was all of that, and the other boys came out to gaze upon the scene before they finished their toilets. they could look up and down the long lake for miles. in front of them were the pretty little islands known as the cat and kittens, all covered thickly with brushwood.
-“if it wasn’t for the islands we could look right over to the willoughby camp,” said gif. “it’s right in that direction,” and he pointed with his hand.
-“looks to me as if we were going to have rival camps,” was jack’s comment.
-“i hope those longley fellows keep their distance,” came from fred. “we didn’t come up here to have our outing spoiled by flanders, sands and that bunch.”
-there was very little to eat for breakfast, and this being so, the lads resolved to go back along the path through the woods without delay and bring in the remainder of their luggage and other stuff left behind.
-“you can come with us, jeff,” said gif. “i want you to help us with the boxes of provisions.”
-“don’t you want me to stay at the bungalow and clean up a little?” asked the colored man, who had no desire for anything in the way of strenuous work.
-“no, you come along. you can clean up after we get back.”
-“have you a long boathook handy, gif?” asked spouter. “you know, randy and i want to rescue our handbags if we can.”
-“sure! we’ll take a couple of them along,” was the answer.
-it did not take the party long to reach the place where the two rowboats and their supplies had been left. they had covered the supplies with a raincoat and with some tree branches, and now found them in fairly good condition.
-“what do you say, fred, if you and i go back with jeff and carry all we can,” said gif to the stout young rover. “jack and andy can help spouter and randy look for the lost baggage and the missing rowboat. then, when they get back, we’ll have a good meal ready for them.”
-“suits me,” said fred, and in a little while he and gif set off in company with jeff, each loaded down with all he could carry. this work did not suit the colored man at all, but gif paid scant attention to his grumbling.
-the other boys found it no easy task to locate the missing suitcases. they paddled around in both boats for the best part of a quarter of an hour without success. then jack suggested that he undress and look around as best he could under water.
-“well, you take care that you don’t get stuck the same as i was,” said randy.
-“i’ll be careful, don’t fear,” was jack’s answer. “i’ll take one of the poles down with me.”
-he was soon in the water, and after diving several times managed to locate spouter’s baggage and fasten it to the boathook. then this was hoisted up, and jack went down again, and after another long search found the rest of the baggage.
-“you’ll certainly have to do over your neckties, and maybe your shirts,” said andy, with a grin.
-“oh, well, a little thing like that doesn’t count,” answered his cousin.
-having recovered the things from the bottom of the lake, the four boys set out on a search for the missing rowboat.
-“the wind was blowing toward the east shore,” said jack. “maybe we’ll find it along there somewhere under the overhanging bushes.”
-they pulled around in one of the boats for the best part of half an hour, but without sighting the missing craft. by this time the sun was mounting in the sky and they were beginning to feel hungry.
-“guess we’d better get the other boat and go back to the bungalow and come out again after we’ve had something to eat,” suggested spouter. “it may take a whole day or more to locate that missing boat.”
-they were about to turn toward the other shore of great bear lake when they saw a rowboat coming out of a cove just below them. the rowboat contained four young fellows, two of whom were rowing and the others taking it easy in the bow and stern.
-“must be some of the fellows from the longley camp!” exclaimed spouter.
-“more than likely,” answered jack. and then, as the distant boat swung further out of the cove, he added: “and look! they’re dragging an empty rowboat behind them!”
-a quarrel over a rowboat
-“that’s our boat!”
-“i think so myself. come on. let’s row over to them before they have a chance to reach their camp!” cried jack.
-“that’s the talk!” returned spouter.
-“i wonder if they got the oars,” said randy. “the pair i was using was dandy.”
-“it isn’t likely,” answered andy. “you let them fall overboard, didn’t you, when the boat upset?”
-“sure! everything went out, as far as i know.”
-with each cadet at an oar, the four lads sent the rowboat through the water with good speed, and in less than five minutes were hauling up alongside of the other craft. those at the oars proved to be tommy flanders and billy sands. the fellow in the stern, who was smoking a cigarette, was paul halliday, while the fourth lad was a stranger to the boys from colby hall, although they had seen him in the longley contingent at the ball games.
-“hello! so you found our boat, did you?” exclaimed spouter.
-“your boat?” demanded tommy flanders. “who said it was your boat?”
-“i say it,” answered randy. “that boat got away from us yesterday in the storm.”
-“did you find the oars?” questioned jack.
-“no. we didn’t find anything but the boat,” said halliday. “and you’ve got to prove it’s your property before we give it up,” he went on suddenly and with a wink at his companions.
-“that boat belongs to mr. garrison,” declared jack. “we got it from mose mumbleton only yesterday.”
-“well, you’ll have to prove that before we give it up,” came from tommy flanders. “don’t you say so, fellows?”
-“sure we do,” put in billy sands readily.
-“of course if it’s their boat they ought to have it,” came somewhat slowly from the fourth boy.
-“nothing doing, fiddler!” cried halliday. “we wouldn’t take their word for anything. we’re going to take this boat to our camp and they can’t have it until they prove it belongs to them. for all we know, they saw us pick the boat up and now want a chance to get it for themselves, even if it doesn’t belong to them.”
-“halliday, you ought to be punched for that!” cried randy angrily.
-“you know well enough we wouldn’t claim the boat if it wasn’t ours,” added his brother.
-“i don’t know anything about it. if this boat belongs to mr. garrison he’s got to prove property. besides that, he ought to pay for having it brought back. if it hadn’t been for us the boat might never have been found.”
-“oh, so you’re out for a reward, are you?” remarked spouter sarcastically. “how much do you think you ought to have――a quarter or fifty cents?”
-“i don’t want any of your funny talk, powell,” roared halliday, in a rage. “i’m not looking for any reward, nor am i going to turn this boat over to somebody it doesn’t belong to.”
-“there is the name on the stern!” cried randy. “comet! that’s the name of the boat we were in yesterday when we got upset on a snag. that’s our boat, and no question about it.”
-“great tomcats! we’re not going to let them get away with our boat, are we?” gasped andy. “why, i’d fight ’em first!”
-“so would i,” declared spouter. “that boat belongs to us, and they know it as well as we do. it’s only a trick to keep us from having the use of the craft.”
-“let’s pull after them and cut the boat adrift,” said jack. “andy, you get in the stern and have your knife ready. we’ll show those fellows a trick or two.”
-“right-o,” answered his cousin, and without letting those in the other craft see what they were doing andy got out his pocketknife and opened the largest of the blades. the others fell to rowing, and in a few seconds more were alongside of the rowboat which was being towed.
-“hi! let go of that!” cried billy sands suddenly, and, reaching out over the stern, he tried to pull the second boat closer.
-andy, however, was too quick for sands, and in a twinkling he reached over and cut the line. the loose end he caught in his hand and in a moment more the empty rowboat was tied fast to the stern of the craft occupied by the rovers and spouter. then andy dropped back in his seat and grabbed his oar.
-“away we go, boys!” he chuckled. “i don’t believe they can catch us even if we have got to drag the other boat behind us.”
-“stop! stop!” roared tommy flanders. “stop, or we’ll have the law on you!”
-“you go to grass, flanders,” answered andy.
-“don’t you dare to follow us,” called back spouter. “if you do you’ll be sorry for it.”
-“oh, let ’em go. it’s probably their boat, anyhow,” said the boy who had been called fiddler, in a low tone. “we don’t want that boat. we’ve got all the boats we need.”
-“what a nerve they had!” remarked randy, as he and the others let up a little in their rowing.
-“i’ll bet if we hadn’t spotted them they would never have said a word about the rowboat. that is, if they found out we had lost it,” came from jack.
-“just shows how mean that bunch is,” declared andy.
-“they’ll be meaner than ever after this, andy. they’ll want to square up with us for getting the best of them in this affair.”
-as the other boat was now well on its way to the camp on the east shore of big bear lake, the boys from colby hall determined to turn back once more and take a look around for the missing oars. this they did, and spent an hour in rowing slowly up and down the shore and around several small islands. they were rewarded by finding two of the oars. what had become of the other pair was a mystery.
-it was well toward noon when they got back to camp, and it must be confessed that their arms were tired and they were glad to rest a bit before partaking of the dinner prepared by jeff under the directions and with the aid of gif and fred.
-“what gall those fellows had,” remarked fred, when he heard the story the others had to tell.
-“if they had kept that boat my father could have made it hot for them,” remarked gif.
-“oh, they wouldn’t dare to keep it. they only thought they were going to make us a lot of trouble,” answered jack. “it was just a little meanness on their part, that’s all.”
-all the boxes and bundles had been brought in; and as soon as they had rested and had dinner randy and spouter set about emptying their suitcases and drying out their contents. fortunately, nothing had been permanently injured, for which the lads were thankful.
-several days passed, the boys doing little except to go in bathing and lie around outdoors enjoying themselves. the bungalow boasted of several hammocks, and these were stretched between convenient trees, some of them quite close to the water. the lads went fishing, catching a fine mess of pickerel and perch, which they had jeff fry for supper and for the following breakfast.
-“well, jeff certainly knows how to fry fish,” remarked jack, after he had eaten his supper. “i never ate fish that tasted better.”
-“that’s the one thing that jeff can do,” answered gif. “otherwise, i think he’s about as lazy and worthless as any nigger i ever met. privately, i wish we could get rid of him.”
-“you’d better pile more work on him, gif. maybe then he’d get tired of the job and make an excuse for going home,” suggested spouter.
-“i’m certainly going to do something unless he wakes up,” answered the other.
-on monday, following a quiet sunday in camp, all the boys rowed up to rocky run to purchase some additional supplies from mose mumbleton. the old storekeeper was glad to see them and had some news to impart.
-“three more young fellows came for that other camp yesterday,” he said. “a fellow named smith, another named mason and a third chap with a big wide mouth, named stowell.”
-“that was codfish!” exclaimed andy. “they said he was coming up here.”
-“did they buy anything from you, mr. mumbleton?” questioned jack.
-“is he staying up at the camp?” asked andy.
-“oh, no. he was going up to a farmhouse that’s quite close to the old factory. i think he wants to look the property over. he’s thinking of opening it up again, you know.”
-“what sort of factory is it?” questioned fred.
-“why, it used to be a paint works. what they’re going to do with it now though, i don’t know. it’s a pretty good building, and i suppose it could be used for most anything.”
-after the storekeeper had supplied them with the things they wanted he told them they had better hang around a little longer as the train would soon be in with the mail. they waited as directed and were rewarded with a number of letters which, of course, they read eagerly.
-one communication received by jack was from ruth. in it the girl declared that she was having a fine time with the other girls at valley brook farm, but that she was very much worried over her father’s business affairs.
-“the loss of the book of formulas is worrying dad a great deal,” she wrote. “not only because he spent so much money on it, but because he got some of the money from uncle barney and because he signed an agreement to purchase a place where he could manufacture those artists’ colors. and worst of all, the loss of the money seems to have revived that old quarrel between dad and uncle barney. mother is terribly worried, especially as dad doesn’t seem to be nearly as well as he was before that aeroplane accident.”
-the reading of this communication worried jack not a little. he could see that ruth was much downcast over the state of affairs.
-“everything all right, jack?” questioned fred. “here’s a letter from dad if you’d like to read it. everything is o. k. down their way.”
-“oh, they’re all well enough up at the farm,” answered the young major. “but ruth has her troubles,” and then he told of what the girl had written.
-“it’s too bad,” remarked his cousin. “i wonder why mr. stevenson doesn’t try to get on the track of those two men, norris and lemrech, the workmen who were interested in getting such formulas. don’t you remember they said lemrech was of a shady reputation and not above stealing the formulas and that the other fellow, who was his cousin, was the same kind of man?”
-“well, mr. stevenson is probably trying to locate those fellows. but maybe they know enough to keep out of sight.”
-“if he shouldn’t get the formulas back, jack, it might bankrupt him.”
-“that’s just what i have been thinking,” answered the young major soberly.
-at the rival camp
-several days passed and the rover boys and their chums began to feel thoroughly at home in the camp at big bear lake. the weather since the storm when they had arrived had been ideal, and they slept with all the doors and windows wide open. this aired the bungalow thoroughly.
-because of jeff’s constant worrying concerning snakes they had made a thorough search in and around the bungalow for such reptiles. their only discovery was a nest of half a dozen garter snakes, not one of them over two feet long, under some rocks near the shed behind the house.
-“i half wish we could find a snake three or four feet long and scare jeff almost to death,” grumbled gif. “then maybe he’d pack up and go home.”
-“what a pity i didn’t bring that paper snake along――the one we used to scare codfish with,” answered andy. “i might try that big imitation firecracker on him, only he saw it the other day and saw that i was using it for a collar and necktie box.”
-“i guess they’re going down there for their supplies instead of getting them of mose mumbleton,” was jack’s comment. “i suppose they have an idea that mumbleton is a special friend of yours, gif, and that’s why some of those fellows, especially flanders and his bunch, don’t want to trade with him.”
-“well, i’m sorry to have mumbleton lose the money,” answered gif.
-“oh, he won’t lose very much,” put in randy. “don’t you remember he said they were very close at driving a bargain for what they wanted? they would probably like to have him sell his goods without any profit.”
-“i’d like to have a look at their camp,” said andy. “what’s the matter with rowing over to that side of the lake to-morrow?”
-the others were willing, and they left directly after lunch on the following day, gif first instructing jeff as to what he was to do during their absence.
-“i want you to clean up the living room thoroughly, jeff,” said he. “and then i want you to get a first-class dinner ready for us. we’ll be back about six o’clock. have those fish we caught this morning and some fried potatoes, corn, and see if you can’t turn out some kind of nice cake or a pie. there are plenty of apples on hand for a pie.”
-“all right, i’ll ’tend to everything,” mumbled the colored man, but he looked anything but pleased at the prospect. he had come to the camp hoping that the boys would do most of the work and that he could take it easy.
-one of the rowboats was considerably larger than the others, and the six boys piled into this, taking two pairs of oars with them.
-“let’s row in and out among the cat and kittens,” suggested jack. “i’ve been wanting to land on those islands ever since we came to the bungalow.”
-“you won’t find much of a landing place, jack. every one of the islands is covered with brushwood to the water’s edge, as you can see.”
-the boys rowed around the larger island and then in and out among the four which were smaller. as gif had said, they found each of them heavily wooded and did not see a single place where a good landing could be made.
-“if anybody wanted to build on any of these islands he’d have a job clearing the ground,” was spouter’s comment. “not a single spot where a fellow could run a boat ashore. you’d have to fairly fight your way through the bushes.”
-“that’s what makes them so beautiful,” said fred. “i never saw prettier islands anywhere――not even over at lake george.”
-having gone around all the cat and kittens, they set out for the eastern shore of big bear lake, heading for the cove into which the recovered rowboat had drifted.
-“we might possibly pick up one or both of the oars we lost,” said randy. “i’d like to get them back.”
-“oh, randy, you mustn’t worry about those oars,” put in gif. “they were not worth a fortune, and we’ve got several extra pairs up at the bungalow, as you know.”
-nevertheless, with plenty of time on hand, the boys spent the best part of an hour skirting the cove and looking into every corner where they thought the oars might have drifted. once they thought they saw one of the oars, but the object proved to be nothing more than a sunken log.
-“i suppose we might as well give it up,” said randy, after a while. “let’s go around to the willoughby camp and see what those fellows are doing.”
-a row of less than ten minutes brought them in sight of the camp occupied by the cadets from longley academy. the little dock and the two small bungalows behind it seemed to be deserted, not a soul being anywhere in sight.
-“must have all gone off for the day,” said jack. “well, i don’t blame them for wanting to get away when the weather is so fine. plenty of time to stick around camp when it rains.”
-“shall we go ashore?” questioned fred.
-“better not,” came from spouter. “if we landed and anything was found to be wrong afterwards they’d say we did it.”
-“listen! i hear somebody calling!” cried andy suddenly.
-“it’s a cheer! somebody is cheering!” exclaimed jack.
-“i believe they’re having some sort of a game,” said gif. “they’re out in that cleared spot up the lake a bit.”
-“come on! let’s row in that direction!” cried randy.
-they were soon at a point on the lakeshore where only a thin fringe of bushes and trees separated them from what had once been a pasture lot belonging to a small farm. here they discovered half a dozen of the longley cadets enjoying a game of baseball with two boys batting and the others in the field.
-“there is tommy flanders,” said fred, in a low tone as they brought their rowboat to a standstill. “he’s at the bat!”
-“and there is billy sands on first, and halliday is pitching.”
-“codfish is in the field. there is the fellow they called fiddler, too.”
-flanders, who had just had two strikes called on him, now knocked a ball well out in the field and began to run to first base, and then back to home. codfish tried to catch the ball, but missed it and went sprawling on the grass.
-“good work, tommy!” cried one of the boys, as the runner came in.
-“hello! what are you fellows doing here?” came a sudden cry from the brushwood. “if it isn’t the fellows from colby hall! what do you know about that?”
-the speaker was a longley boy named bob mason whom jack and gif knew fairly well. he had been tramping along the shore looking for a good place to fish. he carried a fishing pole in one hand and a can of bait in the other.
-“oh, we just thought we’d take a little row,” answered gif pleasantly. “we get tired of sticking in one place.”
-“i don’t blame you,” answered the longley cadet. then he set up a shout: “hi, you fellows! come over and see who’s here!”
-“what’s that?” questioned billy sands, as the baseball game came to an abrupt halt.
-“here are the fellows from colby hall!” called back mason.
-“colby hall!” exclaimed billy sands. “what are they doing here?” and then he and the others forsook the improvised diamond and came crowding down to the lakeshore.
-“have you fellows been up to our bungalows?” demanded tommy flanders before the visitors could say a word.
-“no. we haven’t been ashore. we’re just rowing around the lake,” answered jack.
-“huh! spying around our camp, eh?”
-“we have a right to look at it, haven’t we?” demanded gif sharply.
-“oh, you don’t have to get on any high horse, gif garrison, just because your father owns that bungalow on the other side of the lake,” cried paul halliday. “this is our side, and we want you to keep away from it.”
-“oh, say, halliday! what’s the use of acting that way?” put in bob mason. “they aren’t doing any harm. the lake is free to anybody.”
-“you can’t tell me anything about that crowd, mason. i know them better than you do,” answered paul halliday sullenly. “i didn’t leave colby hall for nothing.”
-“we left it as much as anything to get rid of that bunch,” put in billy sands.
-“they always want to pick on a fellow,” came from codfish. “they’re as mean as dirt. i think all of the fellows here ought to make them keep away.”
-“we won’t come near your camp if you don’t want us to,” answered jack. “you can keep to your side of the lake and we’ll keep to ours.”
-by this time several other of the longley boys had appeared, including ted maxwell. most of the crowd were of the flanders stripe and apt to take sides against the rover boys and their chums. but maxwell and mason, on the other hand, wanted to be friendly.
-“no use of getting hot about it, tommy,” said maxwell to flanders. “why not have some good-natured rivalry? we might have some rowing races, some swimming races, and we might even get up a baseball game, six on a side――that is, if they would care to play with six men.”
-“you’ve got the right spirit, maxwell,” answered jack promptly. “we’ll go into any contest against you that you suggest. we’ll row you or swim you or play baseball against you. or we’ll even shoot against you if you say so,” he added, with a smile.
-“that’s the talk!” cried mason. “let’s get up a few contests. this outing is getting awfully stale, anyhow.”
-“we don’t want any contests with them,” grumbled flanders.
-“sounds as if you were afraid,” put in fred.
-“oh, i’m not afraid. but i like to pick my opponents.”
-“well, we’ll be ready for you any time you say,” called out gif, after a few whispered words with his companions. and thereupon he and his chums rowed away.
-the big bear
-“i wonder if we’ll hear from them again,” remarked spouter, after the rowboat had gotten out of the hearing of the longley cadets.
-“we’ll hear from them if maxwell and mason have their say,” answered jack. “those two chaps seem to be pretty decent fellows.”
-“maybe they’ll shame the others into some sort of a contest,” was randy’s comment.
-“if they don’t offer to do something it will show they’re afraid,” came from andy.
-“i’d like to play a game of baseball with them,” said jack. he had been very sorry not to be able to get in the games held during the school term.
-“gee! but wouldn’t we give it to ’em though?” murmured fred. “i’d just love to knock tommy flanders out of the box again!”
-“they’d want us to get a full nine together, and i don’t know how we’d manage it,” said gif. “with only six fellows, we’d have no outfielders at all.”
-“oh, maybe we could pick up three fellows at rocky run or at beldane,” suggested spouter.
-“well, we wouldn’t need any outside fellows if we went into a rowing race or a swimming contest,” said fred. “they would be lots of fun, too.”
-“and we might get up some running races,” suggested gif. “there is a footpath all the way around the lake, so we could arrange to run to rocky run and back or to beldane and back or any other place. it would be lots of sport――a race along a footpath through the woods!”
-“fine chance to trip over a tree root and break your neck,” chuckled andy. “just the same, i wouldn’t mind going into such a race myself,” he added quickly.
-the boys continued to talk the matter over as they rowed slowly along the lake front in the direction of beldane. then, when it was almost five o’clock, they turned to cross the lake at a point considerably below where the garrison bungalow was located.
-“there’s a wide cove up yonder,” said gif, pointing with his hand. “some day we’ll have to go and explore it. the old hunters used to call it big bear cove.”
-“that must be, then, where the bears hold out,” cried randy.
-“i don’t know much about that, randy. nowadays names don’t seem to count for much. you’ll go to a place called rosedale and not find a rose in it.”
-“yes, i once went to a place called cherryville,” said spouter, “and so far as i could find out there wasn’t a cherry tree anywhere around.”
-“how about rocky run?” questioned jack. “did any of you see any unusual amount of rocks around that place? i didn’t.”
-“well, let’s take a look at big bear cove, anyway,” suggested fred. “we’ve got lots of time. you can bet jeff won’t be in any great hurry about dinner to-night.”
-“more than likely he’ll just be starting it when we get back,” said gif, his face clouding. “that coon certainly takes the medal for laziness. i wish dad would get rid of him.”
-still taking their time, the boys followed the shore of the lake for a quarter of a mile more and then turned into the opening known as big bear cove. here there were a number of small islands, all as well wooded as the cat and kittens.
-“seems to me this ought to be a lumberman’s paradise,” remarked andy.
-“not such a paradise as you would think, andy,” answered gif. “you see, the growth is so thick none of the trees have much of a chance. consequently, only a few of them are of a size to meet a lumberman’s approval. many of them, too, are all twisted out of shape. there is one place back of our bungalow that is so thick it’s known locally as the barrier because the lumbermen and hunters have found it impossible to get through the thickets.”
-“dandy place to get lost in, i’ll say,” remarked randy dryly.
-“what a grand――oh, what a sublime spectacle!” murmured spouter, who was standing up in the stern of the rowboat looking around. “what a picture for a painter! can’t you see what wonderful water colors an artist could paint here? just think of the inspiration he could get from yonder pretty inlet with those stately trees and those beautiful overhanging bushes. and then――great scott, boys, look!”
-spouter’s flowery oration came to a sudden close, and, giving a gasp, he pointed up the cove to where a series of rocks jutted out into the water. on the rocks was a huge form which suddenly came up on its hind legs the better to get a view of what was beyond.
-“it’s a bear! a big black bear!” ejaculated fred.
-“a bear! a bear!” was the cry, and all of the boys fairly glued their eyes on the bear that still remained reared on its hind legs looking out toward the lake.
-“oh, what a shot!” murmured jack. “if only we had a gun!”
-“and we didn’t even bring a pistol!” groaned fred.
-“nor a camera,” put in spouter. “talk about a picture! wouldn’t it be a dandy?”
-so far the bear had not seen the rowboat nor the boys. but now the gaze of the big creature suddenly shifted just as randy and fred dropped their oars into the water to row closer. there was a sudden snort of astonishment. the bear came down on all fours and in a second more the creature had leaped from the rocks and plunged out of sight into the brushwood behind.
-“wasn’t he a big one?”
-“no wonder they call this big bear lake!” exclaimed jack. “he was as big as any bear i ever saw in the zoo.”
-“and just to think we didn’t have a gun!” murmured randy. “oh, what rotten luck!”
-“it’s the old story of seeing the biggest game when you haven’t got a gun,” remarked randy. “what do you think, gif?” he went on. “would it be worth while to row to the bungalow and get our guns and go after that bear?”
-“i don’t think so,” was the ready reply. “we scared him so that he’s probably a mile or more away by this time.”
-“just the same, i think we ought to come up and hunt for him some time,” said jack. “we might be able to trail him through the brushwood.”
-“oh, yes! let’s hunt for him, by all means,” cried fred.
-“what if the bear does a little hunting on his own account?” questioned andy.
-“you’re not afraid, are you, andy?”
-“oh, no, fred. but when we go bear hunting we’ve got to be mighty careful. you know it isn’t like hunting rabbits or squirrels.”
-“oh, i know that.”
-the boys could not resist the temptation to row to the point of rocks where they had seen the bear, and they even went ashore to take a look around. they soon satisfied themselves that bruin was no longer in that vicinity.
-“my! but didn’t he look big when he sat up?” cried fred. “i’ll bet he was eight feet high.”
-“oh, i wouldn’t say that, fred,” answered jack. “just the same, he was pretty big for a black bear.”
-“i’d hate to have him rise up in front of me and hug me,” said spouter.
-“i wonder if there are any other bears around here,” remarked fred.
-“more than likely. it’s very seldom that you’ll find a bear traveling entirely alone. most likely the mate of the bear is somewhere around.”
-at last the boys turned away from the rocky point and rowed out of the cove in the direction of their bungalow. they had spent more time than they had expected, and now found the sun setting over the trees to the westward.
-“gee, this rowing has made me as hungry as any bear!” announced randy.
-“same here,” answered spouter. “i do hope jeff has dinner ready.”
-“some fried fish and fried potatoes won’t go half bad,” put in jack.
-“i told him to have it ready at six o’clock, and it’s now half past,” came from gif. “i hope he hasn’t burnt any of the stuff waiting for us.”
-the lads were soon in sight of the bungalow. as they came closer a smell of cooking mingled with a smell of something burning greeted their nostrils.
-“he’s got supper ready, all right enough,” announced gif.
-“but what’s that burning?” cried jack.
-“must be something on the stove,” returned spouter. “maybe he spilled something.”
-“we’ll soon see,” cried gif, and as soon as the boat reached the little dock he leaped ashore, followed by the others.
-as they hurried to the bungalow they found black smoke pouring from the open doorway. rushing inside, they saw that smoke was coming from the kitchen.
-“hi, jeff! what’s the matter?” cried gif.
-to this question there was no response, and a glance around showed that the colored man was nowhere in sight. on the stove rested a large pan of fried fish and another pan containing fried potatoes. both the fish and the potatoes were much overdone, and each pan was sending forth a volume of smoke.
-“confound him!” cried gif. “he’s let the fish and the potatoes burn! what do you know about that?”
-“better get them outside, gif,” answered jack, who was close by his chum. “here, give me that pan!” and, catching up a cloth, he caught hold of the pan of fried potatoes and carried it outside. gif followed with the pan of fish. other things were on the back of the stove, and these were likewise beginning to burn.
-it must be confessed that gif was thoroughly angry, and so were all the other boys. they had returned to the bungalow, each with a hearty appetite, and now the expected dinner was burnt and worthless.
-“i wonder where jeff went?” questioned jack, glancing around.
-“he ought to have his neck wrung!” growled gif.
-“maybe something happened to him,” returned spouter.
-hastily the six cadets started on a search around the bungalow. it came to an end almost immediately as andy set up a low cry.
-“here he is! he’s asleep!”
-“asleep!” snorted gif. “the idea! i’ve half a mind to use a horsewhip on him!”
-andy had found jeff lying in one of the hammocks. the colored man, bedecked in his big kitchen apron and wearing his cook’s cap, was fast asleep and snoring lustily.
-“i’ll fix him, the black rascal!” began gif, and started to rush forward when andy suddenly stopped him.
-“wait a minute, gif,” said the fun-loving rover, in a low voice. “wait a minute! we’ll give that coon the surprise of his life.”
-the departure of jeff
-as has been mentioned before, some of the hammocks which the boys had slung were close to the water’s edge. one hammock, put up by randy, hung across a small stream that at that point flowed into big bear lake. it was this hammock into which jeff had thrown himself, probably while waiting for the lads to return.
-“what are you going to do, andy?” questioned jack.
-“let him down into the brook. it will do him good,” returned the fun-loving rover.
-“now you are talking!” came from gif. “souse him good! he deserves it!”
-everyone of the boys was willing to teach jeff a lesson, and the others watched with interest while andy brought forth his pocketknife and commenced to saw away at the rope that held the hammock in place. all unconscious of what was going on, jeff snored away as lustily as ever.
-“it’s going!” whispered andy, a few seconds later. “watch him, boys, but get out of sight.”
-the others understood and quickly sprang behind the neighboring trees. then andy gave a final slash.
-crack! the rope parted. splash! the hammock with jeff in it struck the brook, sending the water flying in every direction. then the colored man rolled over and the next instant was floundering around vigorously.
-“hi! hi! save me! i’s drownin’! i’s drownin’!” he bellowed. “save me!” and then he began to flounder around worse than ever.
-the boys could not resist the temptation to laugh, and suddenly they burst out in a roar, in the midst of which jeff suddenly stopped his struggling and arose to his feet in about two feet of water and mud. he gazed at the broken-down hammock ruefully, and then his eyes wandered in the direction of those who were taking in the scene.
-“wha――wha――what’s dis?” he stammered. “who――who―― how――how did i come in dat brook?”
-“jeff, what were you doing in that hammock?” demanded gif.
-“i――i jest been restin’, mr. gif. jest been restin’ a minute waitin’ for you young gen’lemen to get back,” answered the colored man lamely.
-“just been resting for a minute!” stormed gif. “you were sleeping as soundly as a rock and snoring to beat the band.”
-“and you let the supper burn up!” put in jack.
-“all those fine fish we caught, worthless!” added spouter.
-“burnt up! who says they’re burnt up?” cried the colored man, walking out of the brook and stamping the mud from his feet. “i didn’t burn nothin’.”
-“yes, you did. everything is burnt,” answered gif. “just go and see for yourself. what are we going to do for dinner?”
-jeff started toward the back of the bungalow and then saw the pan of burnt fish and the other pan of burnt potatoes, both resting on the ground near the doorway. his face fell, but then, of a sudden, he turned around savagely.
-“i don’t care! i didn’t mean to burn that supper up! you was so long comin’ i jest thought i’d rest a minute. you didn’t have no call to flop me into the water.”
-“let him go,” answered jack. “we can do the work between us. we’ve done such work before.”
-“i don’t like it up here nohow,” said the colored man. “they’s too much to do with so many young fellows around. i’d rather go back.”
-“then you go,” answered gif. “but remember, i’m going to write to my father and let him know just how lazy and worthless you’ve been here; and i’ll get the other boys to write too, so he’ll know the truth of the matter.”
-“when do you want me to go back?” questioned the colored man, after a pause. he was now just a little bit scared.
-“you can go back to-night if you want to, or otherwise to-morrow. but if you stay here to-night you clean up this muss and clean those frying pans. and you get busy and cook us something worth eating, and be quick about it,” returned gif.
-to this the colored man did not reply, but, taking up the frying pans, he disappeared into the kitchen. presently the boys heard him clattering around among the kettles and pans and knew he was doing what he could to prepare another meal for them.
-it took jeff the best part of an hour to prepare another meal, and even then it was not as good as the boys would have wished. the colored fellow was very sullen, and they could see that he was on the point of breaking out. gif, however, gave him no chance, and suggested that he take the morning train at rocky run for home.
-“how is i goin’ to get to rocky run with my baggage?” asked jeff.
-“i’ll row you over directly after breakfast,” answered gif.
-“i’ll go with you, gif,” said jack.
-during the night jeff must have thought the matter over and come to the conclusion that he was in wrong, for he was up early in the morning and had an excellent breakfast awaiting the boys when they arose. he suggested in a roundabout way to gif that he remain at the camp as originally intended.
-“no, jeff, i’ve made up my mind we’re going to do without you,” said gif. “you’re too lazy and shiftless. you get your things together and jack and i will row you over to rocky run where you can get the train and go home.”
-the boys were ready at the appointed time, and much against his will jeff proceeded to get his baggage into shape and then came down and got into the rowboat. in silence gif and jack rowed him to rocky run, arriving there some ten minutes before train time.
-“now there’s your ticket, jeff,” said gif, after he had procured it. “and that’s all.” and thereupon he and jack left the colored man at the railroad station waiting for the train.
-“it ain’t right,” said jeff sullenly. “it ain’t right nohow. i came up here to have a job for the rest of the summer. it ain’t right to send me off. you’ll be sorry for it some day.”
-to this neither of the boys made answer. they wished a few things from mose mumbleton’s store and they also wanted to know if any mail matter had come in the day before.
-there were half a dozen letters, one from home, two from valley brook farm, and several from their school chums.
-“hello, here’s news!” cried gif, as he read one of the communications. “this is from dan soppinger, and he says he and fatty hendry and ned lowe and walt baxter are on an auto tour and expect to pass through beldane in a couple of days, and if we’ll come there and show ’em the way they might visit our bungalow.”
-“say, jack! if those fellows would only stay over a few days it would give us a chance to get up a baseball match against the longley bunch.”
-“so it would! we’d have our six fellows here and dan, walt and ned. i don’t suppose fatty hendry would care to play. he never was much at baseball.”
-“he could be one of the umpires. we’d probably want two――one from each side. that is, unless we could get some outsider.”
-“it would be better to have an outsider, gif. they wouldn’t be satisfied with our man’s decisions and probably we wouldn’t be satisfied with the decisions from their side.”
-“well, anyway, we’ll have to go down to beldane and meet them. then we can talk the matter over. maybe, after all, longley won’t give us a match. you know how tommy flanders felt about it.”
-“yes. but i think ted maxwell has more influence with the crowd than tommy flanders.”
-as before, jack had a letter from ruth. the girls were talking of returning to new york and then the crowd were to visit may powell. ruth wrote that her father was still somewhat sick and greatly worried over his business affairs and over the loss of his book of formulas.
-“that certainly is a mystery, jack,” said gif, when the young major mentioned the matter to him. “i don’t see why he doesn’t get some first-class detectives on the trail of those thieves.”
-“i suppose he has somebody on the case,” answered jack. “it’s pretty hard, though, to do anything if you haven’t got some sort of clue to work on.”
-“i think i’d follow up the germans who sold the formulas in the first place.”
-“as for that, he is convinced that they were perfectly honest in the matter. i think the thing to do is to follow up those two other men they mentioned, lemrech and norris.”
-having finished reading their letters and placing the letters for the other lads in their pockets, gif and jack procured such supplies as the camp needed, paid for them, and started down toward their rowboat. as they were stowing their supplies away they glanced along the lakeshore and were somewhat surprised to see one of the boats from the willoughby camp tied up there. then they saw halliday, sands and the youth called fiddler talking earnestly to jeff. they had been told that the morning train was late and would not arrive for a good half hour.
-“i wonder what those fellows want of jeff. they don’t know him,” said jack curiously.
-the boys from colby were on the point of rowing back to the bungalow when suddenly billy sands came running forward, hailing them.
-“i want to ask you something about this colored man,” answered sands. “he worked for you, didn’t he?”
-“is he honest and all that sort of thing?”
-“he’s honest so far as we know.”
-“pretty good cook, too, isn’t he?”
-“sometimes. what do you want to know for?”
-“well, you’re welcome to jeff if you want him. we’re through with him. we prefer to do our own work.”
-“i see.” sands paused for a moment. “you say he’s perfectly honest?”
-“as far as we know.”
-“and he’s a fairly good cook?”
-“hum!” sands rubbed his chin reflectively. “well, i think maybe we’ll give him a chance. it’s awfully hard to get anybody up here.” and thereupon rather abruptly he started to walk back to his cronies.
-deep in the woods
-of course the other boys were greatly interested in the news that gif and jack had to impart when they returned to the bungalow. they found the other lads cleaning up not only the living room and the bedrooms, but likewise the kitchen.
-“now that jeff has gone we’re going to have everything in apple-pie order,” said fred. “of course, we’ll have to take turns at getting the meals and all that sort of thing.”
-“you can’t imagine where jeff is going,” cried jack, and thereupon related what had occurred at rocky run.
-“well, as far as i am concerned those longley fellows are welcome to jeff,” was randy’s comment.
-“i’ll bet they get sick of him pretty quick,” came from spouter. “they won’t like his laziness any more than we did.”
-then gif and jack told about the possible visit from the other colby hall cadets and passed over the letters received.
-“on a tour!” cried andy. “what do you know about that? some style, i’ll say! i suppose they’ll want to put up at the best hotel in beldane.”
-“we’ll have to have ’em over here, by all means,” cried his twin.
-“sure, we’ll have to have them over,” answered gif. “the bungalow is plenty big enough. and besides we were thinking we might get up a baseball game against the longley bunch.”
-“right-o!” cried fred.
-“and we’ll wallop them good and plenty,” said spouter.
-“why can’t we challenge ’em right away?” asked andy impatiently.
-“no, we’d better wait until the other fellows get here. they may not want to stay that long and they may not want to play in a match.”
-“oh, nonsense! they’ll play quick enough.” nevertheless, it was decided that no challenge should be issued until the other boys were on hand.
-now that jeff was gone, the boys felt more at home than ever. they could do exactly as they pleased with no older person to interfere.
-“gif, you’ll have to make out a regular schedule for us to follow,” said jack. “you’re at the head of the camp, you know.”
-just the same a schedule was made out, the boys taking turns in pairs at cooking while the others took turns at making beds and cleaning up generally. this schedule worked out very well, and while some of the things may not have been cooked as well as if the colored man had served them, nobody complained.
-the boys had not forgotten about the big black bear, and on the following day all set out on a hunt. each carried firearms of some sort, and they likewise took with them a substantial lunch, for there was no telling when they would get back to the bungalow.
-“now that jeff is gone, i guess we’d better lock up the bungalow,” said gif. “we don’t want any tramps or wild animals to get into it.”
-“what about the boats?” questioned spouter.
-gif was acquainted with the path that ran along the lakeshore, and he led the way with the others following close behind. they passed through some heavy brushwood, and then made their way around and over a series of rough rocks.
-“say, this puts me in mind of some of the climbing we did when we located that cave where those fellows had the german submarine,” remarked fred, referring to a time which has been described in detail in the volume entitled “the rover boys under canvas.”
-“gee, but those were exciting times!” said jack.
-“oh, we’ve had some other exciting times since then,” came from randy. “don’t forget our days down in texas and out at big horn ranch.”
-the six lads pressed on, gif and jack somewhat in advance and the others following more slowly. spouter brought up the rear, for he was very apt at times to stop to view the situation.
-“i never saw more beautiful views,” said he, as he came to a halt at a point where the path overlooked the sparkling lake. “every turn is beautiful enough to drive an artist crazy. i wish i could paint. i’d like to spend the whole summer doing some of these scenes.”
-“we’ve got to pay more attention to taking pictures, spouter,” answered randy. “a nice collection of photos will give us something to remember this outing by.”
-as they walked through the woods they started up some small game, but did not attempt to do any shooting, not being certain in regard to the game laws. besides, they knew that a shot would frighten the bear if it was anywhere in that vicinity. they had small cameras along and occasionally stopped to snap a picture or two.
-presently they reached the rocky point where the bear had been seen. they approached cautiously, thinking that bruin might possibly be in sight. but nothing came to view.
-“i bet this is a good cove for fishing,” remarked fred. “i’m quite sure i saw some fish stirring around over there just now.”
-“well, we’re not out for fish now,” answered gif. “we want to get on the trail of mr. bear if we can.”
-leaving the point of rocks, the six cadets plunged into the woods, following a trail which they knew must have been made by wild animals. as they advanced they spread out a little to the right and to the left, always, however, keeping within sight of each other.
-“we’ve got to do that,” cautioned jack. “otherwise some of us may get lost, and it would be a serious business to get lost in such a thick woods as this is.”
-“it certainly is an ideal spot for wild animals,” said spouter. “i wonder if there are any deer here?”
-“sure!” answered gif. “but whether we’ll see any or not is another story.”
-“it wouldn’t do us any good if we did see some deer,” said randy. “it’s out of season to shoot them.”
-on and on went the six boys, deeper and deeper into the forest. the trail which was fairly well defined led up a small hill, and here they came to an opening from which they could see for several miles around.
-“here is a pretty good view of the lake,” observed spouter. “and see! there are some rowboats!”
-“wonder if they are the rowboats belonging to the longley boys,” remarked jack.
-“there is a motor-boat off to the north,” said randy. “i suppose that’s one of the boats belonging to beldane. i understand they have several of them up at the hotel.”
-having rested for a short while on the hill, they took up the trail once more and plunged down into the forest on the other side. here, after only a few rods had been covered, they found the trail spreading into three forks.
-“now, then, which fork shall we follow?” questioned jack.
-“don’t ask me,” answered gif. “you know as much about it as i do.”
-the six lads examined the three forks as best they could, and after a brief discussion decided to follow that leading southward.
-“there is no use of getting too far from home,” said gif. “as it is, we’ll be pretty tired by the time we get back.”
-by noon the six boys were tired and hungry and perfectly willing to rest for the midday lunch. they had brought sandwiches, crackers and cake with them, and washed this food down with some water from a nearby spring. they took their time over the meal, and then rested for another half hour before resuming their hunt.
-“looks as if we were going to be skunked,” remarked randy presently, after they had climbed up the side of a rough hill and then down again.
-“don’t say anything about skunks,” retorted gif. “that’s one animal we don’t care to hit.”
-“oh, a skunk skin is quite valuable in these days,” said spouter. “just the same, i think we’ll leave those animals alone.”
-several times they stirred up some rabbits and squirrels, and often came across some birds. once they heard a covey of partridges whirring upward, but they were almost out of sight behind the trees.
-“there must be some pretty good hunting here in the late fall,” remarked fred. he was sorry that they could not bring down some of the small game.
-“yes, it would be great to come up here when the season is open,” answered gif.
-all this time the boys were keeping their eyes wide open for the possible appearance of a bear. but either there were no bears in that vicinity or the animals knew enough to keep out of sight.
-“gee! i’m getting dog tired,” remarked andy, about the middle of the afternoon. “if you’ll ask me, i’ll say let’s head back for the bungalow.”
-“i second the motion,” said his twin promptly.
-all were tired, even though they did not care to admit it, and, coming to a small watercourse, they decided to follow this until they could once more reach the lakeshore.
-“i think it will bring us close to the bungalow,” said gif. “in fact, i’m of the opinion it’s the brook that flows into the lake right beside the house.”
-“you mean the brook that jeff got his bath in?” asked andy.
-“that’s it. of course i may be mistaken, but i think it’s the same brook.”
-it was no easy matter to follow the watercourse, because the bushes were rather thick on either side and they did not wish to get their feet wet if it could be avoided. however, they kept on steadily, and soon came to an open spot where going was a bit easier.
-“what’s the matter with one of us shinning up a tree to see just where the lake is located?” remarked jack presently.
-“that’s the idea!” called out fred. “andy, you’re the best monkey of the bunch. let me give you a boost up this tree.”
-andy was willing to go up the tree mentioned, and in a moment several of the others had given him a lift to the lower branches, and up he went hand over hand until he was almost at the top of the tree.
-“we’re heading in the right direction,” he called down. “the lake isn’t more than half a mile off.”
-“can you see the bungalow?” questioned gif.
-“i can see something in the trees, but whether it’s the bungalow or not i’m not sure.”
-“look! look!” burst suddenly from spouter. “andy, take care of yourself!” he shouted.
-“what’s the trouble?” came from the top of the tree.
-“some animal is there, on one of the branches just below you! i don’t know what it is,” was spouter’s quick reply.
-six boys and a wildcat
-all of the other boys were much surprised by spouter’s declaration that there was some sort of animal in the branches of the tree andy had just ascended.
-“what is it, spouter?”
-“are you sure you saw it?”
-“was it a squirrel?”
-“couldn’t be a bear, could it?”
-“no, it wasn’t a bear. it wasn’t large enough for a bear,” answered spouter. “it was just about the size of a great big tomcat.”
-“maybe it was a wildcat!” exclaimed gif. “wildcats have been shot more than once around here.”
-all of the boys rushed to pick up the firearms which had been dropped when they had boosted andy up the tree. then they began to circle the tree, looking up in all directions for a sight of the wild beast.
-“what is it?” yelled andy. and then he added quickly: “if you shoot, don’t shoot me!”
-“we can’t see anything,” answered jack.
-the boys on the ground were alarmed, but this was as nothing compared to the alarm felt by andy. his weapon had been left behind, and so he was practically defenseless.
-“there he is! i see him!” came suddenly from randy. “there!” and he pointed to a branch on one side of the tree. there was a flash of a hairy body, a quivering of some of the leaves, and then all became quiet again.
-“it was a wildcat!”
-“that’s just what it was!”
-“where did he go to?”
-“hi, you fellows!” cried andy. “if it’s a wildcat don’t drive it up here!”
-“can’t you break off a tree limb and use it for a club, andy?” called out jack. “maybe you can keep the wildcat from reaching you, anyway.”
-the words had scarcely been uttered when with a catlike scream the wildcat suddenly sprang from one side of the tree to the other. as it passed through midair all of those below saw it plainly. it was full grown and had a pair of glaring greenish eyes and claws that looked exceedingly formidable.
-bang! it was spouter’s weapon that spoke, but the charge of shot passed below the limb on which the wildcat now rested. the youth had been afraid to aim his weapon too high for fear of hitting andy.
-as the shotgun blazed forth the wildcat leaped to another branch of the tree. this brought the beast in full view of where gif and jack were standing. simultaneously both boys raised their weapons and blazed away.
-“he’s struck! he’s struck!” cried randy, and as he uttered the words the wildcat came tumbling down out of the tree into some brushwood. here the beast thrashed around for an instant and then crouched low as if for a leap at the boys.
-“look out!” yelled jack. “he’s going to spring!”
-“is he dead?” questioned randy, after the wildcat had fallen quiveringly on the dead leaves of the forest.
-“i guess so,” answered fred. “but don’t go too near, he may be only wounded.”
-all of the boys had been taught to load up immediately after firing, and now their first attention was given to their weapons.
-“how about it? did you hit him?” questioned andy.
-“yes. he’s as dead as a doornail,” announced gif, after a gingerly examination.
-“any more wildcats in the trees?”
-“i don’t know. but you keep your eyes open.”
-in a few minutes andy was on the ground beside the others, and all surveyed the wildcat with interest. it was a full grown creature and had it had the chance might have done great damage.
-“what shall we do with it?” questioned fred. “i don’t know that i care for it particularly.”
-“we might take it to the bungalow, anyway,” answered gif. “if we could take it down to beldane we could get a bounty on it.”
-“a bounty?” queried andy.
-“sure! they pay five or ten dollars a head for wildcats in this state. and they pay a bounty on bears, too,” he added.
-“would we have to take the whole animal to beldane?” questioned spouter.
-“i don’t think so. i think the head and skin would be plenty. in some places all they ask for is the ears or the tail, or something like that.”
-the boys had learned how to take care of the game brought down, and now, after taking several pictures of the animal, they speedily skinned the wildcat, bringing the head with the pelt. the carcass they threw into the bushes.
-“well, we got something, anyhow,” said fred with satisfaction, as they continued to follow the watercourse toward the lake.
-“one fine shot you made, fred,” answered randy.
-“fred, i don’t know what i should have done if you hadn’t brought him down,” put in andy. “he might have come to the top of the tree after me.”
-“oh, i guess he was more scared than we were,” answered the stout rover boy modestly. yet, behind it all, he felt quite proud of the shot he had made. it had been at close range and he had had to think and act quickly.
-the relaxation from the intensity of the situation was felt by all of the lads, and long before the bungalow was reached they were in a merry humor, singing, joking and whistling loudly.
-“i’ll tell you what we might have done,” said gif. “we might have set a bear trap and used that wildcat for a bait.”
-“would the bear go into such a trap?” questioned jack. “i thought they didn’t care very much for meat, especially in the summer time. i thought they liked roots and things like that better.”
-“we might have put some maple sugar in the trap with the meat,” answered gif. “bears like sweets, you know.”
-the boys arrived at the bungalow about sundown. all were too tired for a while to do more than sit around and rest. finally, however, they prepared themselves a simple evening meal, and almost as soon as this was disposed of one after another shoved off to bed.
-“my dad always said that it made a new man of him to spend a week or two up here in the woods,” answered gif.
-in the morning the boys took their usual plunge in the lake and after breakfast decided to take one of the rowboats and go up to big bear cove and try their hand at fishing. fred had noted a certain hole under some large overhanging trees where he was certain they would be able to get some pickerel of good size.
-“we’ll have fish enough for several days,” said gif.
-“if only we can keep some of them alive,” answered randy.
-“oh, i think we can. i’ve been fixing up that pound in the brook, you know.”
-the day was not without its surprises. once randy was standing on a small point of rocks and had what he thought was a magnificent catch. suddenly the fish whisked around and before the lad could save himself he lost his balance and went into the lake with a big splash.
-“hurrah! randy’s gone in swimming with all his clothes on!” cried andy.
-“don’t let the fish pull you away,” called out fred gayly.
-“catch the pole! catch the pole!” called randy, as he came up to his feet and scrambled out on the rocks. “there goes the fish with my pole!”
-jack handed his own pole to spouter and made a leap for the rowboat. getting in, he sculled rapidly after the pole, which was being jerked along the surface of the lake. as he caught the pole there was a snap, and the empty line came flying toward him. what became of the fish they never learned.
-after that things went along quietly for half an hour. then, of a sudden, spouter let out a yell.
-“hannibal’s ghost!” he called out. “i’ve got the biggest fish yet! gee, i can hardly budge him!”
-“play him, spouter! play him!” called out gif. “don’t let him get away from you.”
-“i knew some whopping big fish were down in that hole,” cried fred. “play him for all you’re worth, spouter!”
-“i can’t budge him,” gasped spouter. “gee, what a catch!”
-spouter was so excited that all the others pulled in their lines and ran to where he stood close to the bent-over trees which lined the edge of that side of the cove. spouter was trying his best to haul in, but without avail.
-“maybe your line is caught,” suggested gif.
-“no, it’s a fish. i’m sure of it,” answered spouter. “i felt it pull.”
-all crowded closer to give spouter whatever advice and assistance they could. even gif tried to pull in on the line, but without avail. finally, however, spouter twisted the line a little to one side, and then up came the hook and attached to it what looked like the remains of an old hunting boot.
-“well, what do you know about that!” cried spouter, in disgust. “nothing but an old boot!”
-“and i’ll bet it was caught in between the loose roots of the trees,” said jack. and then there was a general laugh, in which even spouter joined.
-it was nearly five o’clock before the boys got into the rowboat again and started to return to the bungalow. they had fifteen perch and seven pickerel to their credit, and of this catch they were justly proud.
-“we’ll have one dandy fish supper to-night,” said randy, smacking his lips. “and we won’t have jeff here to burn it up for us, either.”
-“yum, yum! i can smell the frying fish already,” murmured gif.
-the boys took turns at rowing and soon reached the lake proper and then sent the craft flying in the direction of the bungalow. as they came close to the dock spouter, who was looking ahead, set up a sudden shout of wonder.
-“hello! what do you know about this? the other boats are gone!”
-“the boats gone!” cried gif. “are you sure?”
-“look for yourself, gif. we left them tied to the dock, didn’t we?”
-“we sure did.”
-the two boats that had been left at the bungalow dock were certainly missing, and much mystified the six boys landed, to gaze around in bewilderment. but gaze as hard as they might, they could see nothing of the missing craft.
-“do you suppose tommy flanders and his crowd took them away?” questioned jack.
-“i wouldn’t put it past them,” answered gif.
-fred and randy had turned toward the front door of the bungalow. the key to this was hanging on a nail, and taking it down they unlocked the door and threw it open. as they passed into the house a cry of astonishment broke from them.
-“did you ever see anything like it before?”
-“who did this?”
-“what’s the matter in there?” called out gif.
-“matter? everything’s the matter,” answered fred.
-“they’ve smashed up the whole house!” added randy.
-what the rivals did
-the other lads lost no time in following fred and randy into the bungalow. they too gazed around in astonishment which readily turned to dismay and anger.
-and the lads had good cause to be angry. someone had crawled through a window and “rough-housed” the bungalow thoroughly. hardly a thing had been left untouched. all the bedding was scattered around on the floor, some in the living room and some in the kitchen, and on top of this had been piled the furniture and all the cooking utensils. to add to the mess, books and papers were scattered in every direction, along with all their canned goods and such fruit and vegetables as they happened to have on hand. a side of bacon rested on one of the bunks and a ham was in the woodbox under some kindlings. at one end of the center table, which had been shoved into a corner, rested in a heap their supply of coffee and at the other end in another heap their supply of sugar. all of their plates, cups and saucers were missing, as were also the knives, forks and spoons. all their extra underwear had been tied together and in knots.
-“the longley bunch did this――that’s as sure as sure!” cried jack, as he surveyed the scene.
-“i think so myself,” returned gif. “some muss, and no mistake.”
-“they ought to be hammered good if they really did it,” cried spouter.
-“i’d like to take a horsewhip over them,” came from fred. “look at that sugar, will you? and look at the coffee!”
-“well, anyhow, they didn’t dare scatter it on the floor,” put in randy.
-“that proves one thing to me,” came quickly from jack. “tommy flanders and his bunch didn’t do this alone. if it was the flanders crowd alone they wouldn’t hesitate to make all our grub worthless to us. they would have scattered everything on the floor or thrown it into the brook, or something like that.”
-“i believe you there, jack,” answered randy quickly. “some of the better class of fellows must have been in this. they did it just to be funny.”
-it was all the boys could do to make their way from one room to another of the bungalow since each of the doorways had been cluttered up by chairs and benches.
-“nothing to do but to straighten things out,” remarked gif. “some job, i’ll say.”
-“do you suppose they took the boats away?” questioned spouter.
-“i hardly think so, spouter,” answered jack. “the fellows who did this acted half decently about it; otherwise a lot of the stuff would have been actually ruined. and that being so, i don’t believe they really took the boats away. probably they’re only hidden.”
-“we ought to look around for the boats before it gets too dark,” suggested gif. “we can fix up things indoors any time.”
-“suppose we divide the work,” suggested jack. “i and some of the others can fix up the house while you and the rest look for the boats.”
-this plan was carried out, and jack and the twins remained indoors to do what they could toward straightening out the bungalow while the others went outside to hunt for the missing rowboats.
-to rearrange the interior of the bungalow was no mean matter, for a large part of the furniture was heavy and they had to be careful first of all that they did not damage some of the canned goods which were scattered in all directions.
-“we’ll pick up the apples and potatoes and onions first,” ordered jack. “and then we can go at the canned stuff and the meat and things like that.”
-“we’ll have to find the lamps first,” said andy. “it’s getting dark.”
-the hunt for the three lamps took some time. they were finally located, minus the chimneys, in the oven of the stove. the chimneys they discovered on the back of a pantry shelf.
-“fine thing to put those lamps in the oven!” snorted randy. “suppose we had built a fire there! that kerosene might have exploded.”
-“yes. and anyway we’ll have to clean that oven out. otherwise it may have a kerosene smell to it when we try to bake something,” added his brother.
-lighting the lamps and placing them where they might not be knocked over, the three boys set to work with a will and inside of half an hour had salvaged all of the eatables. then they commenced to place the furniture in shape and picked up the bedding and their clothing.
-“we’ll have to air the blankets out and dust them off,” said jack. “they got rather dirty on the floor, i’m afraid. and the underwear will have to be washed――that is after we untie the knots.”
-“it’s queer what became of all the tableware and knives and that truck,” remarked andy.
-“did you look in the woodbox?” questioned jack.
-“i did,” came from randy. “that’s where i found the ham.”
-the boys took the bedding out on the bungalow porch and shook it vigorously. then they left it on chairs to air while they made another search around the building for the missing table stuff.
-they were still on the hunt when they heard a shout from outside. running to the rear of the bungalow they heard voices up the little brook that at this point flowed into big bear lake, the same watercourse they had followed when they had encountered the wildcat.
-“hello!” shouted jack. “have you found the boats?”
-“yes!” came from gif.
-“they’re tied up in the trees!” explained spouter.
-jack and the twins ran in the direction of the voices and presently came upon the other lads standing at the foot of a tall tree. swinging from one of the branches of this tree were the two missing rowboats.
-“some job they must have had, to tie them up there,” remarked andy.
-“yes. and we’re going to have a job to get ’em down,” answered gif. “i think we’d better let it go over until to-morrow.”
-“i’m willing,” said jack.
-“now you’ve found the boats perhaps you can find the dishes and knives and forks and spoons,” said andy. “we can’t get a trace of ’em.”
-all of the lads returned to the bungalow feeling that the boats would be safe where they were for the night. they straightened out the rest of the furniture and made up the beds and then started to get supper ready.
-“i don’t know what we’re going to eat off of,” remarked gif. “we’ll have to use tin pans and basins and kettle tops and whatever is handy.”
-“and we’ll have to eat with our pocketknives and the kitchen fork,” added randy, with a grin.
-“well, anyway, i’m glad the grub isn’t missing,” broke in spouter. “i’m hungry enough to eat a meal with my fingers.”
-they soon had some potatoes on to boil. then they cleaned some of the fish and started to fry them and also made themselves a large pot of coffee. to the hungry lads the aroma from the coffee and the smell of frying fish were exceedingly appetizing.
-“makes a fellow feel like home――a smell like that,” was fred’s comment. he was slicing some bread which had been brought from rocky run on the last visit to the store.
-it was a comical sight to see the boys try to eat their supper without any of the tableware. one used a pie plate, another a saucepan and still another an old frying pan. andy used an overturned teakettle cover and his twin had to get along with the glazed bottom of a jardiniere which someone had once left at the bungalow. all used their pocketknives but gif and spouter, who managed to get possession of the bread knife and the smaller article used for peeling potatoes.
-“this must be like life in the trenches,” remarked randy, while they were eating.
-“i guess we’re better off than that,” responded jack quickly. “lots of times those poor fellows had to eat out of their bare hands.”
-in spite of the trick that had been played upon them all of the boys slept soundly that night. they felt that they would be perfectly safe in retiring without leaving a guard.
-“those fellows won’t dare show themselves around here for a while,” remarked gif. “they’d be too afraid we’d pitch into ’em.”
-“they wouldn’t hang around very long, anyway, if they saw us with our guns,” added fred.
-“we’ll have to pay ’em back for this little joke, fred,” said andy.
-“of course. just give me the chance and i’ll show ’em what we’ll do!”
-“i think the best we can do is to say nothing at all about it,” said jack. “don’t let on that anything unusual has happened. that will keep them guessing.”
-in the morning the lads took their usual plunge in the lake and then spouter and fred prepared breakfast, it being their turn for so doing. while they were at this the others went outside, first to indulge in a little horseplay in the way of boxing and wrestling, and then to throw themselves into the hammocks which were handy.
-jack was resting in one of the hammocks and gazing upward when suddenly his eyes rested upon a couple of potato sacks swinging from ropes tied to the tree limbs above him. at once he set up a shout.
-“hi, boys! here is some more of the stuff, i guess!”
-“maybe the dishes are in those sacks!” exclaimed gif, as he came to view the suspended bags.
-“we’ll soon find out,” was the reply, and jack began to climb the tree while the other boys gathered underneath. soon he was at the sacks and felt of them carefully.
-“the tableware, all right enough,” he announced. “i guess the knives and forks and spoons are here too,” he added, after feeling around some more.
-a long boat-line was procured and with this the sacks were lowered carefully to the ground. as jack had surmised, they contained all the crockeryware, as well as the knives, forks and spoons. not a single thing seemed to be missing.
-“quite a stunt, i must admit,” said spouter, “to hang those things and the boats up in the trees. we might have hunted around a long while if jack hadn’t spotted those sacks.”
-directly after breakfast the boys made their way to where the boats had been suspended, and inside of an hour had the craft safe once more at the lake front.
-“now i guess we’re all fixed,” announced gif. “i’m glad it was no worse,” he added, with a sigh of relief.
-“they certainly gave us enough work to do,” grumbled fred.
-“but not as much as it might have been,” answered jack. “if flanders, sands and halliday were in this they must certainly have been held back by some of the other longley boys. otherwise they would have smashed up stuff and scattered it in all directions.”
-“maybe jeff came over with ’em!” cried andy suddenly.
-“possibly. but i think this is only the boys’ trick.”
-the six lads were taking it easy that day after supper when they discerned a motor-boat coming up the lake in their direction. as the craft came closer several persons in the boat stood up and waved their hands frantically.
-“hello! who can that be?” cried jack, leaping to his feet. and then he ran down to the dock, followed by the others.
-as the motor-boat came closer there was a cry from across the water.
-“colby hall, ahoy!”
-“why, it’s dan and his crowd!” ejaculated fred. “what do you know about that!”
-the baseball game
-the coming of dan soppinger and his crowd filled the rover boys and their chums with pleasure, and they did all they could to make the new arrivals feel at home.
-“we got to beldane quicker than we thought,” explained dan. “and there was a boatman at the hotel who said he knew where your bungalow was, so we thought we’d come right up instead of staying in the town over night.”
-“and you did just right!” answered gif. “and we want you to stay here for a few days at least.”
-“and we want you to help out in a baseball game. that is, if we can have our challenge accepted,” put in jack. and thereupon the other boys were told about the rival camp on the other shore of big bear lake.
-“gee, that will suit me!” cried walt baxter.
-“i’d like to stay here. but don’t ask me to play ball,” puffed fatty hendry. “you know that exercise is too violent for me. i’m willing to root, but that’s all.”
-“i’ll be glad to play,” came from ned lowe. “it’ll be a change from touring. i get rather cramped sitting in the car all day. since we started we’ve done nothing but ride, making a hundred and fifty miles or more a day.”
-“maybe we can get the motor-boat fellow to take a challenge across the lake before he goes back to baldane,” suggested gif. the man was still at the dock awaiting orders from the lads he had had for passengers.
-“that’s the talk! we’ll send the challenge right away!”
-the boatman was consulted and readily consented to leave the challenge at the willoughby camp before returning to the beldane hotel.
-“we want you to put our baggage on check in the cloakroom until we get back,” said dan. “and take good care of our auto, too. you can come back for us next monday,” he added, after consulting gif. and so it was all arranged.
-in the letter to the longley boys gif explained about the arrival of the other lads and challenged their rivals to a game of baseball on their own grounds on the coming saturday afternoon. if the challenge was accepted the cadets from both schools were to go to beldane and there select an umpire.
-“i didn’t come here to play ball. i came to take it easy,” growled flanders.
-“i don’t want anything more to do with them,” put in halliday.
-“you were willing enough to go over there and rough-house the place,” came from maxwell. “why not be a real sport? if we don’t play them, when we get back to school they’ll tell everybody we were afraid.”
-a hot discussion lasting fully an hour followed. then a vote was taken and eight of the longley boys were found to be in favor of the game while only three were openly opposed. thereupon flanders and his cronies finally said they would play.
-“and remember,” said ted maxwell, “if you do play you’ve got to do your best.”
-“oh, don’t worry! we’ll wipe ’em off the face of the earth,” growled halliday.
-“you let me pitch and i won’t let ’em get in a single run,” added flanders.
-“i’ve got an idea,” went on maxwell. “we might make this game quite an affair. they’ve got a regular ball grounds down at beldane, and this week they’re holding a drive for a hospital that’s to be located there. why can’t we arrange to play at beldane for the benefit of the hospital? that ought to give us a good audience.”
-“you’ll have to talk to gif garrison’s crowd first,” said bob mason.
-then came the question of getting an answer back to gif. on account of what they had done at the bungalow scarcely any of the lads wished to go over to the other shore. they were much surprised, however, when they landed to find that not a word was mentioned regarding the “rough-housing” that had taken place.
-“it would be a splendid scheme to play at beldane for the benefit of the hospital!” cried jack. “that suits me exactly.”
-“let’s do it, by all means,” put in fred.
-and thereupon three boys from each camp set out in a rowboat for the lower end of the lake to make the necessary arrangements.
-as luck would have it, the ball grounds were not to be used on the following saturday, and the local authorities were only too glad to have the exhibition game take place for the hospital’s benefit. no admission fee was to be charged, but it was understood that during the game a silver collection would be taken for the benefit of the proposed institution. “and a silver collection doesn’t mean that you can’t drop a bill in the basket,” added one of the committee.
-some of the boys had their baseball uniforms with them, while others managed to either borrow or rent uniforms, so that on the day set apart for the game both sides made quite a creditable appearance. they had new balls and bats, and the rover boys and their chums had spent all their spare time in practice.
-as in years gone by, jack was to pitch for the colby hall team, as it was called, while tommy flanders was to fill the box for longley academy. fred was to be first baseman, with randy at third and andy in center field. gif went to second and also captained the nine.
-���you’ll have to act as a substitute, fatty, whether you want to or not,” said gif.
-“all right,” answered the stout cadet. “but please don’t call on me. finish the game among yourselves. i’ll be a high and mighty rooter,” and he grinned.
-it was advertised around the lake that two well-known military academies would play a game of ball for the benefit of the new hospital and this brought to the grounds a large number of people, including quite a few automobile tourists. when the boys trotted out on the field they were greeted with applause.
-“there are the colby hall boys.”
-“and there are the cadets from longley academy.”
-“looks as if we might see a pretty good game.”
-the manager of the local ball team had consented to act as umpire, and promptly on time the game started. longley was first at the bat and in a second more jack found himself facing mason.
-“now then, bob, knock it over the fence!” cried one of the longley boys.
-“that’s it, bob! bring in a homer first clap!”
-although he had not been on the colby nine since the new rule concerning officers had gone into effect, jack had not given up his baseball practice and he felt himself in excellent condition when he caught the ball that the umpire tossed to him. then came the command, “play ball!” and he gave a warm up-swing and threw the ball over the plate. mason was on the alert and promptly knocked the sphere down to center field where it was stopped by andy and quickly sent to first.
-“hurrah! first blood for colby hall!”
-it was a splendid beginning, but such a fine showing could not last. before the inning came to an end the longley boys had scored two runs, much to their delight.
-“now, colby, show ’em what you can do!”
-although the left-handed pitcher who had battled against colby hall during the games at the schools was at the camp, tommy flanders had insisted upon filling the box and now he came forward with his usual confident air.
-“go at ’em, tommy! eat ’em up!” cried codfish, who had been playing center field.
-flanders was on his mettle and it must be confessed that he did very well――so well, indeed, that the colby boys were retired in that first inning without getting further than first base.
-“hurrah! that’s the way we’ll do ’em up!” shouted one of the longley supporters.
-after this the game went along without either side scoring until the fifth inning. then andy managed to get a single, followed by a double from gif, and then came another single by walt, and when the inning came to an end the score was a tie, 2 to 2.
-“fine young pitchers, both of them,” said his gentleman friend.
-after that the game seesawed along until the eighth inning, when the score stood 4 to 4. both jack and tommy flanders had pitched well, and the support on each side had been almost flawless.
-“some game, i’ll say,” remarked fred, as he came in to the players’ bench. “why can’t all of us put up a game like this when we’re at home?”
-the only flaw in the proceedings had been when flanders had been cautioned by the umpire for stepping out of the box when about to deliver the ball.
-“you’re mistaken. i didn’t step out,” growled flanders, and became quite angry.
-“you heard the warning,” was all the umpire said, but the tone of voice was such that the longley pitcher knew he must pay attention to what was told him.
-when the longley boys came to the bat for the last time their best stick men were to the front, and as a result they managed to get in two more runs, much to their delight.
-“hurrah! six to four!” cried one of the longley boys enthusiastically. “now then, hold ’em down to another goose egg and the game is ours!”
-“we’ve got to do something, fellows,” said gif earnestly. “who is at the bat?”
-“i am,” answered fred.
-“well, do your best.”
-“i certainly will,” responded the stout young rover, as he grasped the ashen stick and walked to the plate.
-two balls and a strike were called on fred. then the sphere came in just where he wanted it. crack! went the bat, and the ball went sailing between first and second base. away flew fred, reaching the bag in a cloud of dust.
-“hurrah! a single! now then, pile up a few more, fellows!”
-randy was to the bat next, and it must be confessed that he was just a bit nervous, for he realized that their chances of winning the game were slim. nevertheless, after having a strike and two balls called upon him, he managed to land on the horsehide for another single, which took fred safely to second.
-spouter now came forward and managed to dribble the ball down close to first base. he was put out, but fred managed to slide to third while randy reached second.
-the next fellow to the bat was ned lowe. he knocked a pop fly, which the second baseman gathered in with ease.
-“two out! now hold ’em down and the game is ours!”
-“hit it, jack, hit it for all you’re worth!” whispered gif, as jack came forward with his bat.
-the major of the colby hall battalion did not answer. but he set his teeth and took a firm grip on the ashen stick as he faced tommy flanders. a ball was called and then a strike, and then another ball and a strike. all those in the grandstand seemed to hold their breath for what might be coming. the game might be won or lost in a few seconds more. tommy flanders wound up with care and the ball came in just a trifle low. crack! went the bat, and the horsehide sailed upward far into the left field.
-“run, boys, run! it’s a two-bagger!”
-“no, it isn’t! it’s a home run! run!”
-fred, playing well off third, came in with ease and randy followed almost immediately. jack was racing down to second, and as he did this he saw that the fielder was still running to gather the bouncing ball. up he tore to third and there hesitated for an instant.
-“go in! go in!” yelled gif. “you can make it, jack! run! run!” and with leaps and bounds jack came in over the home plate.
-“three runs! colby hall wins the game!”
-a squall on the lake
-of course the longley boys were keenly disappointed, especially as they had thought they had the game “sewed up,” as some of them expressed it. yet the contest had been a fair one and they could not find fault over the result.
-“you win,” said ted maxwell, coming up and shaking hands with gif. “a good clean game.”
-“i was a little out of practice,” grumbled tommy flanders. “i bet you couldn’t beat us again,” and he walked off in disgust.
-“now we’ve had a ball game, why can’t we have a few races on the lake, or things like that?” suggested spouter.
-“i’m willing,” put in bob mason.
-“maybe we’ll send you a challenge to a boat race,” added maxwell.
-“all right, anything you say,” returned gif.
-after the ball game matters ran along smoothly at the bungalow for a week or more. dan and the others who were touring left after having had “the time of their lives,” as walt baxter expressed it.
-there were three rowing matches arranged, a match between two of the boys from longley and two from colby hall, then a match for singles, and finally a match in which the six boys in the camp were pitted against six of their rivals.
-“i hope we manage to do something in those boat races,” remarked fred one day, when the boys were tramping through the woods on another look for the black bear they had seen.
-“well, i think we’ll have a good chance to win,” answered gif. “we won before, didn’t we?” he went on, with a smile.
-“i’ll bet it made them sore to lose that ball game,” came from jack.
-“we sort of paid ’em back for rough-housing the bungalow,” remarked randy.
-“oh, we’ve got to fix ’em for that yet,” said his brother quickly.
-from mr. mumbleton the boys had heard that a black bear had been seen on the lower eastern shore of the lake and they had rowed over in that direction.
-“i think this is somewhere around the place where tommy flanders’ father bought that factory,” remarked gif, after they had come to a halt to rest for a few minutes. “they said it was on flat rock creek, and, unless i’m mistaken, this is the creek,” and he pointed to a broad and somewhat muddy watercourse.
-“i don’t think we care to visit any factories,” answered spouter. “i don’t see why a fellow should build such a thing up here. it just spoils the scenery.”
-the boys spent the best part of the day in the woods. they had, as before, brought their lunch along and rested for nearly an hour after eating it. then they concluded that they might as well go back to where they had left their rowboat and go home.
-“what’s the matter with rowing past the longley camp? if we see any of the fellows we can ask them if they’re all ready for the boat races,” suggested fred.
-the others were willing, and in a short while came close to the camp of their rivals. strange to say, no one was in sight, not even jeff.
-“maybe they’ve gotten rid of that darkey already,” remarked gif.
-“well, i wouldn’t blame ’em for doing it.”
-“let’s go ashore and take a look around,” suggested andy, thinking there might be a chance to play some trick on the boys who had “rough-housed” the bungalow.
-“you want to be careful that they don’t spot you, andy,” warned jack.
-they pulled into a little cove under some overhanging trees and then approached the camp very cautiously. not a soul seemed to be about either of the small bungalows nor at the shed in the rear, and, growing bolder, the lads entered the nearest structure.
-“quick! let’s give ’em a dose of their own medicine!” exclaimed andy, and in a twinkling they were all hard at work disarranging the furniture, clothing and the bedding and the entire contents of the kitchen. then they hurried to the other bungalow.
-“let’s cart the bedding out into the woods. we can hang it over some bushes,” suggested randy, and this was done with all possible speed.
-then andy took all the spoons in the place and jammed them down out of sight into a big pot of salt. the forks he jammed down into a pot of sugar.
-“i think that’ll keep ’em guessing a little while,” he chuckled.
-only one boat belonging to the longley camp was to be seen, and after surveying the situation the boys managed to push this under the dock completely out of sight.
-“they’ll have to go in swimming to get that boat out,” said jack, with a laugh.
-having disarranged the entire camp to their satisfaction, the boys hurried back to where they had left their boat and pulled away toward their own shore.
-“here come a couple of boats now!” cried jack presently. “i think they’re the longley fellows coming from rocky run.”
-they kept on rowing and presently the other boats came close enough to be hailed.
-“we’ve been taking your friend jeff down to the railroad station,” explained ted maxwell. “we found he was no good――too lazy――so we shipped him.”
-“i don’t blame you, maxwell!” exclaimed gif. “i thought you’d get enough of him before long!”
-“how about the races?” called out jack. “all ready for them?”
-“we’ll be ready when the time comes,” answered another one of the longley boys.
-“how are you going to keep house without jeff?” questioned andy.
-“oh, we’ll get along all right enough,” replied paul halliday. “we made him put everything in apple-pie order before he left.”
-“and you’ll find it in apple-pie order when you get back――i don’t think,” muttered randy in a low tone, and then the boats separated.
-“i’d give a dollar to be on hand when they arrive home,” said spouter, with a laugh. “won’t they be mad?”
-“well, it’s tit for tat,” returned jack. “they mustn’t think they can trick us and get away with it.”
-at last came the day for the boat races. the rover boys and their chums had practiced constantly under gif’s directions and felt that they had done all they possibly could to win.
-“if only the girls were here to see these races,” remarked fred.
-“yes. and if only they had been on hand to see the ball game,” returned jack. and then his mind went back to ruth and to her father and he wondered how mr. stevenson was making out about the stolen paint-making formulas.
-in the singles fred was victorious over billy sands and jack came in ahead of paul halliday. in the doubles spouter and andy lost to ted maxwell and another of the longley boys, while gif and randy won with ease over the lad known as fiddler and codfish.
-of course the six-oared race, which took place three hours later, was the big event. for this purpose two boats which were almost alike were chosen and a course around a number of the islands was mapped out. some men in motor-boats from beldane were asked to act as judges and in the end the event took on quite a look of importance, many coming from all around the lake to witness the contest.
-“here is where we have got to win!” declared one of the longley boys. “it will even up for losing that ball game.”
-“well, we’re going to win!” cried another, who was one of the best oarsmen at the academy. “if you’ll follow my directions we can’t lose.”
-for this race both crews had practiced carefully, and when they came out to the starting line each looked to be in the pink of condition.
-the race proved a great surprise in more ways than one. the sun was shining, but there were heavy clouds in the sky and just as the race started it began to rain. then the wind blew up sharply.
-“row, boys, row!” cried gif, who was setting the stroke.
-“gee, feel the rain!” murmured andy. “we’re in for a ducking.”
-“never mind; pull!” answered jack.
-all had caught the stroke perfectly and were doing very well. they did not hurry, for the course was over two miles and a half long and they did not wish to tire themselves out before the finish.
-less than half of the race was over when the sudden summer storm broke in all its fury. there was a vivid lightning flash across the sky followed by a terrific crash of thunder and then came little less than a deluge, which sent many of the observation boats to the shore in a hurry.
-“gee, we’re going to catch a squall!” exclaimed spouter. and he was right, the heavy gusts of wind soon sending the whitecaps bobbing up and down all around them.
-“don’t give up, boys!” shouted gif, to make himself heard above the sudden roar of the elements. “we’ve got to win this race, storm or no storm.”
-“here come the longley boys!” exclaimed jack, as they were rounding one of the islands. “great scott! did you ever see it blow so hard?”
-the squall seemed to grow stronger by the instant, and the boys had all they could do to keep the boat from foundering. nevertheless, they kept to their oars and soon saw the finishing line but a short distance ahead. only the motor-boat with the judges was nearby, all other craft having hurried away to seek shelter.
-anxious to win the race, the longley crew also kept on. but they had swerved somewhat from their course, and now in trying to regain the proper position they suddenly shipped a big wave.
-“hi! we can’t stand this!” cried one of the lads in sudden alarm.
-“pull! pull!” yelled another. “we’ve got to win, i tell you! pull!”
-then came another vivid flash of lightning over the lake, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. the shock was so terrific that several of the lads in the longley boat were seen to throw up their hands and let their oars go. then wind and waves hit the rowboat a smashing blow on the side and over it went, hurling the six occupants into the lake!
-an important discovery
-the rowboat containing the colby hall cadets had just crossed the finishing line of the race when the wind and waves hit the longley craft, turning it over.
-“hurrah! we win!” shouted andy, in keen satisfaction.
-“look! look!” exclaimed jack. “the longley fellows are in trouble. their boat has turned over on them!”
-in spite of the wind and whitecaps, the six boys managed to turn the rowboat around and sent it in the direction of the other craft. they could see one of the boys clinging to the upturned boat while the other five were floundering around in the lake.
-the catastrophe was witnessed only by those in the rowboat and the judges and others aboard the motor-boat, for the downfall of rain was now so heavy it cut out completely the view from the shore.
-the motor-boat started to the rescue also, and arrived at the scene of the disaster several seconds ahead of the colby boys. the motor-boat people managed to pick up three of the lads in the lake.
-“save me! save me!” yelled one of the boys, and those in the rowboat saw it was billy sands. he was throwing up his arms frantically. evidently the race had all but exhausted him.
-as the rowboat came closer jack reached over and caught sands by the arm, and then he and gif pulled the dripping cadet over the gunwale. they then rowed up beside bob mason and assisted him aboard.
-“my gracious! did you ever see such a storm?” spluttered mason. “i never saw so much lightning in my life. i wish i was ashore.”
-“help! help! i don’t want to be struck by lightning!” came in a bellow from the overturned rowboat, and now the colby hall boys saw that the fellow clutching the craft was tommy flanders.
-another flash of lightning now lit up the scene and the thunder rolled along from one end of the lake to the other. in the midst of this those on the motor-boat hauled in flanders and then came beside the craft occupied by the colby hall cadets and those they had rescued.
-“shall we pull you in?” questioned the man who had the motor-boat in charge.
-“perhaps it would be as well,” answered gif. “we’re pretty well tired out from the race, and that wind is fierce.”
-“all right. we’ll take you over to your dock. here’s a rope. tie it fast.”
-“what of our boat?” questioned ted maxwell.
-“we can either pick that up coming back or let it drift. i don’t think you’ll lose it.”
-some floating oars were picked up and then the craft belonging to mr. garrison was hauled over to its dock.
-“well, you fellows win the race,” said the judge of the contest, with a smile. “some finish, i’ll say.”
-“won’t all of you come into the bungalow?” asked gif politely. “no use of starting out in this terrible downpour. it will probably let up in a little while.”
-“i think we might as well,” said one of the men present, and everybody marched into the bungalow. here fire was started, both in the living room and in the kitchen, so that those who wished to do so might dry themselves. then several pots of hot coffee were made and passed around.
-“that touches the spot!” said ted maxwell gratefully. “i was quite chilled by that sudden bath after being all overheated from the race.”
-“we’ll take you over there as soon as the storm lets up a little,” said the man who had the motor-boat in charge.
-“well, i guess you got paid back for that,” put in andy.
-“we sure did,” replied mason, with a grin. and then he added in a whisper: “several of our fellows wanted to destroy your stuff, but maxwell and i wouldn’t stand for that.”
-the sudden summer storm stopped as quickly as it had begun, and before long the motor-boat departed, carrying the longley boys to their own side of the lake. on the way the overturned rowboat was picked up and also another one of the floating oars.
-after the races the rover boys and their chums settled down to enjoy themselves thoroughly. they felt that in the future the longley boys would leave them alone so far as “rough-housing” the place was concerned.
-the six lads were still anxious to get on the trail of the bear they had seen, and went out several times, but without success.
-“we must have scared mr. bear out of his wits,” said jack. “otherwise we’d find some trace of him.”
-“oh, let’s try it again!” cried fred. and eagerly they set out one monday morning after a quiet sunday in and around the bungalow.
-they started in the rowboat, going again to the eastern shore of the lake in the vicinity of flat rock creek, for mose mumbleton had again told them that the bear had surely been seen somewhere in that vicinity.
-“maybe it’s a different bear from the one we saw on our side of the lake,” remarked spouter.
-“well, i don’t care if it is,” answered fred. “one bear is as good as another as far as i am concerned if only we can bring him down.”
-the boys tramped around the best part of the morning and then sat down to rest in the shade of some trees and bushes while partaking of the lunch they had brought along. they were close to a footpath running along the edge of the creek that flowed into big bear lake, and while resting after eating saw two men coming along the path talking earnestly.
-“i won’t take a cent less than five thousand dollars,” one of the men was saying. “flanders has got to pay that much or he don’t get the formulas.”
-“if i had my say, carl, i’d charge him more than five thousand,” said the second man, a tall, thin individual with a heavy moustache.
-“well, five thousand is quite a sum, tex,” answered the fellow called carl, who spoke with something of a german accent. then the two men left the vicinity of the creek and took to a trail leading through the woods.
-the six boys had heard every word spoken, and they gazed at each other in surprise.
-“they’re going to try to sell flanders something for five thousand dollars!” observed gif.
-“did you hear the names carl and tex?” ejaculated jack. “those fellows must be carl lemrech and tex norris, the fellows suspected of stealing that book of formulas!”
-“exactly!” cried randy.
-“i wonder if they’ve got the book of formulas with ’em,” came from fred.
-“let’s follow them,” put in andy, in excitement.
-“we will, andy,” answered jack readily. “but listen! perhaps it will be as well if we keep out of sight.”
-with caution the six lads followed the two men through the woods until they reached an old cabin which had long since seen its best days. they found the men inside smoking and drinking from a flask one carried. they were talking earnestly.
-“this is monday,” said lemrech. “i’ll fix it so we can see flanders here by wednesday noon. we’ll leave the book of formulas hidden right where it is and he sha’n’t have a sight of it until he shows us his money. i wouldn’t trust him to pay up if he had the book. he knows well enough we couldn’t sue him.”
-“oh, yes, you want to get your money first,” answered tex norris.
-after this the men talked the matter over for a quarter of an hour longer. then there came a hail from the distance.
-“there’s that farmer who said he might give us board,” remarked lemrech. “come ahead.”
-“we don’t want to fix up the deal with flanders at a boarding house,” complained norris.
-“what do you think we ought to do, jack?” questioned fred, when the two men had departed.
-“don’t you think we ought to search the cabin and see if that book of formulas is anywhere around?” questioned andy.
-“we might do that. but the chances are the men have hidden the book where we couldn’t very well find it. i think the best thing we can do is to hurry to beldane and send mr. stevenson a telegram to come at once.”
-the boys knew they could not telegraph from rocky run, as no regular office was located there. they hurried down to the lake and set off for beldane without delay.
-“i’ll bet mr. stevenson will be surprised when he gets our message,” said jack, after the yellow slip had been passed in and paid for at the beldane telegraph office.
-“going to wait for a reply?” questioned gif.
-“i think we might as well.”
-the boys hung around for three hours. then came a message from mr. stevenson. it was to the effect that he would start for big bear lake on the first train in the morning.
-jeff brings news
-the rover boys and their chums knew that mr. stevenson could not arrive at the camp before tuesday evening. he would take the train to beldane and would probably come up to the bungalow in a motor-boat. after breakfast on tuesday time hung heavily with all of the lads. they took their morning bath and then knew hardly what to do, being somewhat excited over the prospect ahead.
-“maybe mr. stevenson will have a regular fight to get that book of formulas back,” was randy’s comment.
-“when he goes after those men and after mr. flanders he’d better go armed,” said fred.
-“i intend to go with him if he’ll let me,” put in jack.
-“i guess we’d all like to go along,” said gif, with a laugh.
-not knowing what else to be at, andy and randy took a walk up the brook back of the bungalow. they were gone about half an hour when they came rushing back wild with excitement.
-“we saw the bear!” gasped andy, who was all but winded from running.
-“he’s stretched out on some rocks sunning himself!” put in his brother.
-“the bear! where is he? let’s get a shot at him!” exclaimed fred, and, leaping up, ran for his gun.
-all of the others did likewise, and in less than a minute the six campers, fully armed, were moving cautiously up the brook in the direction where the twins had said the bear had been located.
-“we don’t want to make any noise,” whispered jack.
-“is everybody’s gun in good condition?” questioned gif, in an equally low tone. “we can’t take any chances, you know; that bear may be a real fighter when he’s aroused.”
-at this each of the lads examined his weapon, to find it in good order and ready for use. they moved forward in a bunch, each straining his eyes to be the first to catch sight of bruin.
-“now take it easy,” said randy presently. “those rocks where we saw the bear are not over a hundred yards away.”
-“come on! let us circle a little to the south,” cautioned jack. “we don’t want the wind to carry our scent. some of those bears have a nose as keen as a deer, so i’ve been told.”
-as they advanced between the trees and around the rocks and brushwood the six lads carried their guns ready for instant use. if the truth must be told, each was anxious to get the first shot at the game.
-“there he is!”
-“he’s coming this way!”
-“where’d he go?”
-“look out! he may jump out at you!”
-reloading hastily, the six lads circled the brushwood cautiously, each straining for another sight of the black bear. they could hear a low growl and saw some of the bushes suddenly move.
-“give him another dose just for luck,” suggested gif, and the six firearms sounded almost as one as all the lads fired at the spot where they thought the black bear might be.
-how many of the shots reached the mark they were never to ascertain. but evidently the bear was hit again, and with a fearful roar of rage and pain it suddenly burst from the brushwood and lumbered in the direction where fred and spouter were standing.
-“shoot him! shoot him quick!”
-crack! went jack’s rifle and bang! came a report from the shotgun gif carried. then one after another the other weapons rang out and the black bear was halted when less than three yards away from fred and spouter. the huge creature, now on its hind legs, tottered from side to side and then came down with a crash at the foot of a big tree.
-“hurrah! we’ve got him!” cried randy.
-“be careful! maybe we’ll have to give him a shot or two more,” cautioned jack.
-“i’m going to finish him,” cried fred, and before any one could stop the stout young rover, he had run forward and sent a charge of buckshot directly into the bear’s ear. at once the huge creature rolled over on its back, gave a few spasmodic jerks, and then lay still.
-for a moment after the end came the boys could scarcely understand what had happened. then, as they realized that they had laid the big black bear low, their faces broke out into smiles and they shook each other by the hand.
-“we got him! we got him!” exulted fred, dancing around. “and look at the size of him!”
-“some bear rug there, i’ll say,” was randy’s comment.
-“no bare floor with a bear rug like that,” chuckled andy, who even in such a moment of excitement had to have his little joke.
-“now the question is, how are we going to get this bear down to camp?” said gif, after they had made certain the creature was dead.
-“we might as well skin it right here,” suggested spouter. “no need of carting the whole carcass along. why, it must weigh five or six hundred pounds!”
-“we’ve got to have a picture of him,” cried fred. and several snap shots were taken without delay.
-“we want some bear steaks for supper,” said jack. “we’ll treat mr. stevenson to a surprise.”
-fred and spouter were trying their hand at broiling some bear steaks when they heard a shout from the other lads. thinking that mr. stevenson had arrived, they ran to the front of the bungalow, to behold a rowboat coming in containing a single occupant.
-“it’s jeff come back! what do you know about that?” cried gif, in disgust.
-“i suppose he’d like you to give him another trial, gif,” said jack.
-“not unless he promises to do much better than he did,” was gif’s reply.
-“well, to have somebody to do the cooking and dishwashing would help out a whole lot,” said spouter, with a sigh. secretly he and the others were all tired of doing the housework.
-“good afternoon, gen’leman,” said jeff, as he bowed politely to the six boys. “kind o’ surprised to see me, i suppose?”
-“we certainly are, jeff,” answered gif.
-“i’s got a few days’ work with mr. mumbleton, cleanin’ up around his store and warehouse and doin’ odd jobs at the boathouse,” explained the colored man.
-“i see,” answered gif briefly.
-“thought maybe you might be tired of doin’ the work ’round the house,” went on jeff uneasily. “wouldn’t you like me to cook a first-class dinner for you? i’m jest achin’ to do it.”
-“it’s only your confounded laziness, jeff, that made us send you off,” answered gif. “if you could get over that you’d be all right.”
-“it wasn’t laziness, mr. gif. ’twas the misery in my back. but that misery is done gone now, and i don’t think it’ll come back. and besides, i come here to tell you somethin’,” went on the colored man earnestly. “i wants to tell you somethin’ about some of them boys over to that camp yonder,” and he pointed to the eastern shore of the lake.
-“what have you got to tell us, jeff?” questioned randy.
-“i thought it might be of importance to you young gen’lemen. it’s about somethin’ that happened at colby hall while you was there. but say, mr. gif, how about it? don’t you want me to get supper ready and clean up around the place?” questioned the colored man eagerly. “i don’t like it nohow down to that mr. mumbleton’s store. i’d ruther be workin’ for real quality people.”
-“no, sir! no, sir! nothin’ like that no more. that misery in my back is gone, and you’ll find me wide awake,” answered jeff earnestly.
-“now what have you got to tell us about those fellows over in the other camp?” asked spouter, impatiently.
-“it’s about a fire what done took place at the colby hall boathouse,” answered jeff, much to the astonishment of all the lads.
-at the cabin――conclusion
-“what do you know about that fire?” questioned jack.
-“that fire was sot by three of them longley boys,” answered jeff. “i done heard them talkin’ about it one night.”
-“you did!” exclaimed fred. “who were the boys?”
-“they was that flanders boy and them two other fellows named sands and halliday.”
-“tell us all about this, jeff!” cried andy eagerly.
-thereupon, sitting on the bungalow porch with the boys around him, the colored man gave the particulars. he said that he had caught the three boys behind the shed at the willoughby camp smoking and playing cards. they were talking about old times and did not notice him when he went into the shed. he heard them mention a fire at the colby hall boathouse and, listening, found that it had been caused by flanders and his two cronies.
-“i ain’t sure that they done it on purpose,” went on jeff. “they went there to rough-house the place, same as when they done come here and rough-housed this bungalow. they had a lantern with ’em, and sands said the lantern got knocked over accidental like. but flanders didn’t act much like it was accidental like and halliday didn’t neither.”
-“i guess if it was accidental they were glad it happened,” cried jack. “and one thing is certain, they didn’t try to put out the fire. they just skipped out and let the place take care of itself.”
-“we ought to let colonel colby know about this,” said spouter. “it’s too serious a matter to let go by. of course, we could accuse flanders and those other fellows, but what good would it do us?”
-“let’s put it all down in writing and get jeff to sign it,” suggested gif.
-this was agreed upon, and the boys lost no time in taking down the colored man’s statement. then they read it to him and he signed it, and they put their names on the paper as witnesses to the signature. then jeff shuffled off into the kitchen of the bungalow to get ready for supper.
-“i’ll surprise you young gen’lemen, you see if i don’t,” said the colored man. “and i’ll surprise that mr. stevenson, too.”
-“all right, jeff,” said gif, “you can remain here just as long as you make good. the minute you fail in your duties you’ll have to leave.”
-it was growing dark when the boys heard the put-put of a motor-boat coming from the lake, and soon the craft rounded a point of the shore and glided up to the bungalow dock.
-“hello, mr. stevenson! glad to see you!” cried jack, as he ran down to the dock.
-“and i’m glad to get here,” answered ruth’s father, as he leaped from the boat and shook hands. “great news you fellows sent me.”
-“i certainly hope it proves all right,” returned the young major.
-“i’m impatient to learn the details,” continued frederic stevenson. and then he went on: “how about it, gif? can you take care of the man who has the motor-boat? i thought we might be able to use that craft in getting around the lake.”
-“sure, we can,” answered gif readily. “there are empty rooms galore in this place and we have plenty on hand to eat. we can give you a real treat to-night. we have some bear steaks.”
-“good gracious! did you shoot a bear?” came from the man who ran the motor-boat.
-“we sure did!” answered fred proudly, while the others were shaking hands with the new arrival. “a great big black bear! and we got a wildcat, too!” he continued.
-while jeff was preparing supper the boys gave ruth’s father the particulars of the interview they had overheard at the old cabin on the other side of big bear lake. of course, the gentleman was tremendously interested and listened to every word with close attention.
-“i believe you’ve solved the mystery of that disappearance,” said he, after they had finished. “now the only thing to do is to get hold of that book of formulas.”
-“don’t you want to catch mr. flanders when he tries to buy the book from those rascals?” asked spouter. “it seems to me a man who would be mean enough to do that ought to be exposed.”
-“it’s just possible that mr. flanders may be innocent in the matter,” suggested mr. stevenson. “the other men may claim that they brought the book of formulas from germany direct and that they have a right to it. however, it won’t do any harm to listen to what the men have to say when flanders appears.”
-during the evening the boys related what had taken place during their outing at big bear lake and in return mr. stevenson told them something of what ruth and the other girls had been doing, and of how matters were going with himself and uncle barney.
-“if i can only get hold of that book of formulas i’ll be all right,” said the gentleman. “otherwise everything will be at sixes and sevens.”
-it was an impatient crowd that went to bed that night, and they were equally impatient after breakfast in the morning, all wanting to see how the affair concerning the book of formulas would terminate. it was not until about ten o’clock that they started for the other side of the lake. they landed at the spot where the boys had been two days before and, leaving the boatman behind, followed the same trail leading to the cabin in the woods.
-“now i suppose we had better hide,” said mr. stevenson. “if those men catch sight of us they may run away and we may never be able to catch them.”
-with great care they concealed themselves behind some brushwood and there waited for a long time in silence. some of the boys were just about thinking that the men would never come when they heard voices in the distance.
-“here they are, i think,” whispered gif. and then mr. stevenson put his finger over his lips and all became silent.
-peering through the brushwood, jack saw that two of the men were carl lemrech and tex norris. the third individual was short and stocky and his face bore a strong resemblance to that of tommy flanders.
-“oh, you needn’t be disturbed, flanders,” said carl lemrech, in his german accent. “we got the goods. it’s the same book that was sold to that man stevenson.”
-“you’d better not mention names around here, lemrech,” grumbled mr. flanders.
-“oh, this is a very lonely place. nobody ever comes here,” put in tex norris.
-thus talking, the three men entered the cabin, leaving the door, however, wide open. there were two windows on one side of the building, and these were open also.
-“i’m going forward to investigate,” whispered mr. stevenson. “if i give the signal, jump out and point your guns at them. i don’t want any of them to get away.”
-“gee, this is getting real exciting!” murmured randy. all the boys had brought their weapons with them, but more for a show of arms than for any thought of actually using them.
-mr. stevenson crawled up toward one of the open windows and jack and fred could not resist the temptation to crawl up to the other. the three heard the men inside talking earnestly. lemrech had made a demand for five thousand dollars and flanders tried to cut this amount in half.
-“no, sir, it’s five thousand dollars or nothing,” growled lemrech. “isn’t that so, tex?”
-“it sure is! five thousand!” answered norris. “and we want it in cold cash, too! no checks or anything like that!”
-“how do you know i’ve got so much cash with me?” demanded tommy flanders’ father.
-“well, i told you to bring cash,” answered carl lemrech.
-“let me see the book, so that i know it’s all right,” answered flanders.
-“you’ll pay the five thousand in cash?”
-carl lemrech paused for a moment and then, going to a corner of the cabin, removed a couple of boards in the flooring. from an opening below he took a heavy tin box. this he unlocked and brought forth a package wrapped in a newspaper.
-“here’s the book,” he said, as he unwrapped the package. “and i want to tell you, flanders, it contains the best formulas for making artists’ paints that i ever heard of. you ought to make a fortune out of these formulas. you can manufacture those paints for artists in that old factory up on flat rock creek and very few people will be the wiser. you can capture the market with that sort of artists’ material.”
-the book was passed over to flanders and he began to study it carefully.
-“seems to be all right,” he said slowly. “of course, i don’t―― hello! what’s that? give me that book!”
-“this book is mine, mr. flanders,” said ruth’s father coolly.
-“stevenson!” muttered carl lemrech, and turned pale.
-“a fine piece of business you’re in,” went on frederic stevenson. “about to buy a book of formulas that was stolen by those men from me!”
-“jump him! get the book away from him!” yelled tex norris, and made a leap forward.
-but frederic stevenson had anticipated such a move, and as norris came on he backed out of the doorway, stuffing the book of formulas into his pocket.
-“up with your hands, every one of you!” he called sternly, as he produced a pistol. then, turning to the boys, he added: “don’t let any of them get away.”
-all of those in the cabin had come to the doorway, and now they gazed around in bewilderment to find six young fellows in sight and each armed with either a shotgun or a rifle.
-“i guess you understand the game is up,” said mr. stevenson quietly. “all those young men attend colby hall military academy and they all know how to shoot. you’ll be safer if you keep your hands up,” and thereupon every hand in the cabin doorway was elevated.
-it had been a quick victory, and now that it was over mr. stevenson and the boys hardly knew what to do with the three men. in the end, however, each of them was searched and disarmed, and then each had to submit to having his hands bound behind him. in this fashion all were marched down to the lakeshore and made to step into the motor-boat.
-“see here, stevenson, let us settle this matter,” said mr. flanders eagerly. “it’s all a mistake, i tell you. these fellows said you were trying to do them out of something that rightfully belonged to them. i’ll give you a thousand dollars to drop the whole matter.”
-“nothing doing, flanders,” answered mr. stevenson briefly. “you can tell your story to the officers of the law.”
-the three men were taken to beldane where a complaint was lodged by ruth’s father. then lemrech and norris were placed in jail, flanders being let out on bail.
-it may be mentioned here that later on lemrech and norris were tried for the theft of the book of formulas and each received a long term in prison. then tommy flanders’ father was tried for his part in the transaction, and it was only by the shrewdness of his lawyers that he finally managed to escape imprisonment. as it was, many felt that he was guilty and refused after that to have anything to do with him.
-in the meanwhile, colonel colby took up the matter concerning the burning of the boathouse. tommy flanders, as well as paul halliday and billy sands, were terror stricken when confronted with the evidence against them. they, however, insisted that the fire had been an accidental one――that they had simply come to the place to “rough-house” it and perhaps to damage some of the shells. when the lantern had been broken and the scattered oil had blazed up, they had become frightened and run away. their parents paid for all the damage that had been done and there the matter rested. none of the three boys returned to the camp on big bear lake, and maxwell, mason and a number of the others were glad to get rid of them.
-“they are altogether too rough for our crowd,” was ted maxwell’s comment. “i wish they would leave longley academy.”
-after the excitement attending the capture of the three men and the exposure of tommy flanders and his cronies the rover boys and their chums put in several weeks more boating and fishing, as well as hunting. they brought down another wildcat, and randy had the satisfaction of bringing in the biggest fish ever caught in the lake.
-“some adventures we’re having,” declared jack. but still more stirring times were in store for the boys, and what some of them were will be related in another volume, to be called, “the rover boys shipwrecked; or, a thrilling hunt for pirates’ gold.”
-during those days jack got another letter from ruth in which she said she was very thankful that matters were being straightened out for her father and her uncle barney.
-then one day came a surprise for the boys. two motor-boats came in from beldane and on them were all the girls, accompanied by mrs. stevenson, mrs. dick rover, and mr. and mrs. garrison.
-“we’ve come to stay a week!” cried martha rover.
-“and we expect you to entertain us royally,” came from her cousin mary.
-“we’ll do that, all right enough,” answered jack quickly, and with his eyes full on ruth.
-“we’ll give you the best times ever!” exclaimed fred.
-“when you go away you’ll say big bear lake is as nice a spot as you ever visited,” put in randy.
-“and you’ll want to come here every year,” finished his twin.
-and here while the rover boys and their chums are getting ready to give the girls a glorious time, we will say good-by.
-this isn’t all!
-would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in this book?
-would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author?
-on the reverse side of the wrapper which comes with this book, you will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same store where you got this book.
-don’t throw away the wrapper
-use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. but in case you do mislay it, write to the publishers for a complete catalog.
-the famous rover boys series
-by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer)
-no stories for boys ever published have attained the tremendous popularity of this famous series. since the publication of the first volume, the rover boys at school, some years ago, over three million copies of these books have been sold. they are well written stories dealing with the rover boys in a great many different kinds of activities and adventures. each volume holds something of interest to every adventure loving boy.
-a complete list of titles is printed on the opposite page.
-famous rover boys series
-by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer)
-over three million copies sold of this series.
-the rover boys at school the rover boys on the ocean the rover boys in the jungle the rover boys out west the rover boys on the great lakes the rover boys in the mountains the rover boys on land and sea the rover boys in camp the rover boys on the river the rover boys on the plains the rover boys in southern waters the rover boys on the farm the rover boys on treasure isle the rover boys at college the rover boys down east the rover boys in the air the rover boys in new york the rover boys in alaska the rover boys in business the rover boys on a tour the rover boys at colby hall the rover boys on snowshoe island the rover boys under canvas the rover boys on a hunt the rover boys in the land of luck the rover boys at big horn ranch the rover boys at big bear lake the rover boys shipwrecked the rover boys on sunset trail the rover boys winning a fortune
-grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york
-western stories for boys
-by james cody ferris
-thrilling tales of the great west, told primarily for boys but which will be read by all who love mystery, rapid action, and adventures in the great open spaces.
-the manly boys, roy and teddy, are the sons of an old ranchman, the owner of many thousands of heads of cattle. the lads know how to ride, how to shoot, and how to take care of themselves under any and all circumstances.
-the cowboys of the x bar x ranch are real cowboys, on the job when required but full of fun and daring――a bunch any reader will be delighted to know.
-the x bar x boys on the ranch the x bar x boys in thunder canyon the x bar x boys on whirlpool river the x bar x boys on big bison trail the x bar x boys at the round-up the x bar x boys at nugget camp the x bar x boys at rustler’s gap the x bar x boys at grizzly pass the x bar x boys lost in the rockies
-grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york
-――printer’s, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
-――archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
-――variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
-the right thing
-by ray cummings
-the girl stood quiet in the cabin doorway looking out at the brilliant, frosty night. over sugar loaf the cold, glittering moon shone full; the big fir on its summit stood stark and black against the vivid blue of the star-studded sky behind, like a giant sentinel watching over the silent valley.
-below her, at the bottom of the little pass, the winding trail with its single strand of telephone wire beside it, showed plainly in the moonlight. up the mountain a wolf began howling. the girl turned back into the cabin abruptly and closed the door behind her.
-the supper she had been preparing was almost ready. the little board table near the fireplace was set for one; over in a corner from a large, wood-burning stove came the odor of steaming coffee.
-the girl put a lighted kerosene lamp upon the table and served herself with a single plateful of food from the frying-pan. once she stood still, listening, but only the muffled noise of the brook and the lone wolf baying broke the silence. for a brief instant her glance rested on the telephone instrument fastened to the wall beside the fireplace; then, as though reassured, she sat down and began her solitary meal.
-a knock upon the door made her leap to her feet and stand for an instant trembling. she put her hand into the pocket of her gingham apron, her fingers gripping a little revolver that lay there. the knock was repeated. the girl withdrew her hand—empty—and with a trembling smile that seemed to belittle her fear, she crossed the room swiftly and flung open the door.
-a man stood on the threshold—a slim young man in a short heavy coat, blue flannel shirt, corduroy trousers, and neat, incongruous leather puttees. he was bareheaded. he stood wavering with a hand against the doorway to steady himself, all his weight on one foot and the toe of the other just touching the ground.
-“you!” cried the girl. her tone held amazement, but it was tender, too, with love. then as she saw the pallor of his face in the lamplight, and his lips pressed together in a thin straight line of pain, she cried again:
-“tom, you’re hurt!”
-her arms went around him, and leaning heavily on her, he hobbled across the room. the pain made him moan, and he sank back in the chair and closed his eyes. the girl knelt on the floor beside him, and began gently to unstrap one of his puttees. after a moment he seemed to recover a little. he sat up and wiped the sweat of weakness from his forehead with his coat sleeve.
-“i know i shouldn’t have stopped, beth, but i—i knew you were alone tonight.” for an instant the drawn lines of pain left his face; his eyes looked into the girl’s tenderly.
-beth looked up into his face, brushing back a wisp of hair that had fallen forward over her eyes. that he had come here frightened her. but she was glad that he had come, and the sight of his pale face with the look of pain on it made her eyes fill with tears of love and sympathy.
-“what happened, tom?” she asked.
-the boy shook himself together. “i wouldn’t have stopped, honest, beth—only my horse threw me—a mile back toward rocky gulch.” he winced as the girl withdrew the puttee and began unlacing his shoe.
-“only sprained, i guess,” he added. “but it hurts like the devil—and i’m bruised all over from the fall.” he laughed a little in boyish apology for showing his pain to a girl.
-“it was about an hour ago. i wasn’t going to stop—i wanted to get to vailstown tonight. the horse shied at something, and bolted, and left me lying there. i don’t know—i guess i’m a rotten rider.” he grinned sheepishly.
-he had come to her! of course, it was all he could do then, without a horse and with a sprained ankle at night on the vailstown road. at the thought of having him here with her when he was hurt and needed her help, the girl’s heart grew very loving and tender.
-“i’ve been an hour coming,” he went on quietly—he brushed her hair lightly with his fingers and smiled—“and now i’m here, beth, i’m—i’m sort of glad the accident happened.”
-she made no answer, but went on taking off his shoe and the heavy woolen sock; his ankle was red and swollen. she raised his foot to a low wooden bench, and he watched her silently while she filled a pail with hot water. then he noticed the food on the table.
-“finish eating, beth,” he said. “this can wait—it doesn’t hurt much when i hold it still.”
-again she did not reply, but held his foot and ankle in the water a moment, and then, wrapping it in an improvised bandage, replaced the sock. she was very tender and gentle. once the boy made as if to kiss her, but she pulled away, effectually but without resentment. wonderment was in his eyes as he followed her swift, deft movements.
-“why don’t you say something, beth?” he asked after a moment. “what’s the matter with you?”
-“now you can eat with me,” she said. she had made him as comfortable as possible, and returned to the stove.
-he took the plate of food she handed him. “i know i shouldn’t have stopped, beth—but i couldn’t do anything else, could i?”
-“how did you know i was alone?” she knew what he was going to answer, and it frightened her.
-“i saw your stepfather in rocky gulch this afternoon—no, wait, listen beth—i’d tell you, wouldn’t i, if anything had happened?”
-he went on impetuously, as though to dispel her rising fear.
-“he was drunk, beth, and he’s too old a man. look at that”—he clenched his fist, and the muscles of his bared forearm rose up in knots—“i could have twisted his neck with that for what he said about me and you. but i promised i wouldn’t lift a hand to him, and i didn’t, no matter what he said. i didn’t mean to meet him—and then—when he said what he did i—well, i just listened and beat it, that’s all.”
-the boy shoved his food away from him untouched, and looked across the table to meet beth’s frightened eyes.
-“don’t you worry, kid,” he added reassuringly, “i won’t hurt him, and he can’t hurt me—except with his gun.” the girl shuddered, and he hastened to add:
-“he wouldn’t do that, beth. don’t you think it for a minute! even when he’s drunk he wouldn’t do that—he’s too much of a coward—he knows he’d swing for it.”
-“he said he would, tom.”
-“he said he would if i come up here again. i didn’t come, did i?”
-it was a month now since her stepfather in drunken rage had ordered tom from the house and threatened to shoot him if he ever came there again. but after all, he had to come tonight, as things happened. and her stepfather was away—the first time he had been away in months—and he need never know that tom had been here.
-“he won’t be back until tomorrow—you’ll be gone then,” said beth, voicing her thoughts.
-her words seemed to rouse the boy to sudden anger. “why should he forbid my seeing you, anyway?” he went on, resentfully. “i love you, beth, and you love me. and i want to marry you!” his tone changed abruptly. “you do love me, beth?”
-he held out his arms appealingly, and in answer the girl rose silently and kissed him. “you know that, tom,” she said simply.
-“then why do i have to sneak away like a thief? just because we love each other, what’s that he’s got against me?”
-“you know why he said it was, tom.” she crossed the room again to attend to the stove.
-“because i haven’t got any money. i know—that’s what he said. but i’ve got enough to keep you as well as he does—and better.” he glanced around the cabin contemptuously. “you know that isn’t the reason. it’d be the same, anyway—unless maybe i had a fortune and would give him some of it.”
-beth winced. it hurt, somehow, to have him say things like that. but she knew it was true. and she knew, too, just how he felt—how he resented the way he had been treated.
-“besides, why shouldn’t i marry you?” the boy went on. “i’m from the east, same as you. i’ve been to college—my family’s as good as yours—for all his drunken talk—better than his, if you ask me. what he wants is to get you a rich husband back east if he can’t stake a big-paying claim out here. and i don’t fit into that scheme. that’s what’s the matter, and you know it.”
-beth laid the coffee cups on the table and sat down again, facing him.
-“you mustn’t talk that way, tom,” she remonstrated. “you just mustn’t. i won’t listen. i’ve told you that before. i can’t listen to such things. why were you going to vailstown tonight?”
-he ignored her question. “well, i’m right, and you know it. i love you, and i’d make you happy. he’s the only thing in the way. so far as your happiness is concerned, he’d be better off dead, and i wish he was. oh, i know it’s a rotten thing to say, but i do. look at that.”
-he leaned forward suddenly, and gripped her by the shoulder, pulling her toward him.
-“your neck’s bruised black and blue. you think i don’t notice things like that, don’t you? i know how he treats you when he’s crazy drunk—and i’m the only one who does. and i can’t do anything about it because you won’t let me.”
-“and because he’s your stepfather, you won’t let anybody say a word against him. but you know he’s no good to himself, or anybody else. he’d be better off dead, and you know it. somebody’ll get him one of these days, too—the way he acts down there at the gulch when he’s drunk—you wait and see. some day they’ll find him lying in a gully or something, where somebody’s pushed him. he hasn’t got a decent friend in the world—only the bums are good enough for him. and that damn one-eyed charlie he pals around with.”
-beth sighed hopelessly.
-“some day they’ll find him dead down there,” the boy went on. “charlie’ll do it, maybe—he’s a rattlesnake anyway. and when he talks to me like he did today, and i see your neck horribly bruised the way it is now, i feel as if i could do it myself, sometimes—if i had a good chance.”
-his words shocked her, perhaps even more because some little whispering devil inside said it would be better that way—better for all three of them. she rose abruptly, and bending down, put her hands on the boy’s shoulders, looking him squarely in the face.
-“tom, you didn’t mean that,” she said evenly.
-his eyes shifted and avoided her own, and she felt her heart leap with sudden fear.
-“well, i feel as if i could, anyway,” he answered, sullenly. “and you wouldn’t be sorry—deep down in your heart.”
-“tom, you can’t talk this way. i won’t listen. don’t you understand—i won’t listen.”
-she pulled her chair close beside him. he put his arm about her shoulders and drew her to him hungrily.
-“tom, why were you going to vailstown tonight?” she asked again, when he had released her.
-“i—i—” he seemed to make a sudden decision. “i wasn’t going to tell you, beth, till i was sure.” he met her searching gaze squarely. “i think i’ve struck it, beth—over there on cedar creek. it looks good—pans richer than anything around the gulch. i wanted to get it recorded in vailstown tonight. then, if everything was all right, i was going to phone you.”
-his face was flushed and eager now, and very boyish. she leaned forward and kissed him.
-“i’m so glad. tom. at last—you deserve it. you’ve worked hard.”
-“i think i’ve got it, beth—got it for you, just like i said i would.”
-beth rose, and went to the window. “its clouding over,” she said. “we’ll have snow by morning.”
-she came back to the fireside, and glancing at his bandaged ankle, smiled. “you’ll have to stay here tonight. in the morning i’ll walk over to simpson’s—it’s only three miles back around sugar loaf—and get you a horse. you can make it to vailstown then.”
-she rose to her feet, trembling. the sound of the horseman approaching grew steadily louder. then her glance fell upon the little tin clock over the fireplace. she smiled with the relief of sudden comprehension.
-“nine o’clock, tom. i’d forgotten. it’s only the mail rider for vailstown.”
-she went to the window. “it’s snowing, tom,” she added.
-tom was sitting up in his chair, tense. she wondered vaguely why he did not seem relieved at her words.
-“it is the mail,” she cried, after a moment. she opened the door a little and stood looking out.
-the boy started from his chair, standing upon his injured ankle without thought of it. “he may stop, beth. he mustn’t see me here. it wouldn’t look right, don’t you see—it—”
-she wheeled on him sharply. “he isn’t going to stop,” she said. then she flung the door wide open and stepping outside, waved her hand to the passing rider on the trail below.
-“sit down, tom.” she came back into the room and closed the door. “you mustn’t stand on that ankle.”
-he sank back into the chair, his face white. “god!” he exclaimed, “i shouldn’t be up here with you alone tonight after—after what—”
-beth sat down again beside him. the thoughts that came to her mind frightened her. she tried to dispel them, but couldn’t. she put her hand upon his arm.
-“i’m glad you’ve struck it, tom,” she said. “i knew you would. and some time—”
-“i’m going to have you for my wife,” he finished. “and take you back east, maybe, where you belong.”
-suddenly he flung his arms about her again and kissed her upon the lips roughly. “it’s the right thing—the right thing, beth.” he repeated the words a little bitterly.
-she disengaged herself gently.
-“you say ‘the right thing,’ tom,” she returned quietly, “and you mean to be cynical. because i’ve said that to you sometimes—and—you never quite understood, did you?”
-“but why shouldn’t you marry me if we love each other?” he protested again.
-he had never understood, of course. and hadn’t he the right to understand?
-“i’ll tell you what i meant, tom—what you have never understood—never realized.” her face was very earnest, very serious. “you say my stepfather is—is no good. well, you’re right. he is no good as the world judges those things—and maybe as god judges them, too. but he’s the man my mother loved—there’s no getting away from that, tom—she loved him; and she died loving him, and with the whisper on her lips telling me to help him and care for him as long as he lived.” she laughed—a curious little laugh that seemed to catch in her throat.
-“i never told you that, did i, tom? i was only fourteen then—but that day, talking there with mother, i thought out my creed—my religion. to do the right thing always. tom—that’s it—that’s all there is to it. not the thing that may look best for me at the time or even right for me—but the just thing—the right thing in the eyes of god.”
-her delicate little face grew wistful with the memories the words evoked. she had never spoken to tom—or to any one—like this before. she had hardly realized until now as she put it into words, how much this simple creed of hers had come to mean to her—how unconsciously she had used it as her guiding star, through all these dreary, mournful years that followed her mother’s death.
-she had been unhappy, she knew; and yet not unhappy, either, since happiness came with the knowledge that she was doing the right thing.
-and then tom had come—tom with his love that had awakened hers, with the promised fulfilment of all her girlish dreams. it was hard for tom—hard for her, too, when now the right thing made them deny love. but still, she had gone on trusting—hoping, blindly hoping—just waiting for god to work it out in his own way—the way that would be right for them all. and she was sorry now—and a little frightened—that she had never let tom understand.
-her eyes were dim and soft with tenderness as she leaned forward toward him.
-“that you can understand, tom. it’s very simple, isn’t it? and don’t you see, that’s just what father never has done. it has always been the right thing as he saw it, yes—but the right thing for himself—always the right thing for himself.
-“and somehow, tom, it doesn’t seem to work out, when you only figure the right thing for yourself. i don’t just mean that it hurts or sacrifices others—but somehow, some way, it don’t work out for you—yourself. it looks all right—you can’t see why it isn’t all right. but there’s something working against it—some law of nature—or god maybe—or something—and it just don’t work out. i believe that, tom—i believe it absolutely—and—and no matter how hard it is, i’m trying to live up to it. i promised mother that.”
-tom moistened his dry lips. “then so long as he lives you—you—”
-she put her hand over his mouth.
-“don’t, tom, don’t. it isn’t only that way—it’s in everything. the right thing always—even if it looks wrong and bad for me. and i believe in the end it will work out best—something we don’t understand will make it work out.”
-suddenly she slipped from her chair onto his lap, with her arms about him, her head on his shoulder.
-“but i do love you, tom, so very, very much.” all the yearning tenderness of love was in her voice. “i do want to be your wife—some day—when it’s the right thing to do.”
-the telephone bell rang, startlingly loud in the silence of the little cabin. beth pulled away from the boy and rose to her feet. that nameless apprehension—the vague presentiment she had felt before—came back to her now as she stood looking at the instrument, hesitating. the ring was repeated—a slightly different call this time, abruptly stilled.
-“what is it, beth? is it for us?” the telephone was silent now.
-she lifted the receiver. a voice in conversation sounded in her ear; instinctively she did not speak, but listened with an eager attention.
-“dead,” said the voice, ���lying there dead, with marks on his throat—murder, all right.”
-the little cabin room went suddenly black for beth. the noise of the brook down by the trail seemed roaring in her ears; out beyond she heard the wolf still howling. she knew she must not faint—whispered it bravely, despairingly to herself.
-“beth! beth, what is it?” the boy had started to his feet.
-at the sound of his voice her head suddenly cleared. she let go of the telephone box she had clutched for support, and raised her hand in warning for silence. the voice in her ear was still sounding. she recognized the voice now—the sheriff of rocky gulch.
-“—hell of a scrap this afternoon,” the voice was saying. “it’s him all right—only circumstantial evidence, but damn strong. and he’s gone—you know him—tom hawley—that slim young feller from the east over at ransome’s.”
-the man in vailstown made some answer.
-“you send some men down the trail,” the sheriff went on. “he might come along any time. probably won’t. and phone centerville—or whatever else you think best. you’ll hear from me later-morning probably. i gotta ride way over now and tell his daughter—i dassent phone her, with her all alone out there. hell of a job, too. then in the morning we’ll get busy right.”
-again the man in vailstown spoke—some question this time about one-eyed charlie—and the conversation then continued.
-but beth heard no more. the shock of this abrupt news of her stepfather’s death, and then the suggestion of murder—murder done by tom hawley, the man she loved—the man whose wife some day she wanted to be—all whirled through her confused brain.
-tom hawley, standing there now by the fireplace watching her wonderingly—tom hawley was a murderer?
-the shock of it caused a sudden revulsion in the girl’s heart. her fingers gripped the little revolver that lay in her apron pocket. the sheriff’s voice was still sounding in her ear; her lips were at the mouthpiece—she had only to speak to give tom up—a murderer whom the law demanded.
-and then something within her—some tiny voice of nature—whispered to the girl that she loved tom hawley. and that he had thought it was the right thing to do—only because he loved her—because he wanted her for his wife—wanted to make her happy. if she gave him up he might be sentenced and hung. the man she loved, to be killed by the law.
-the right thing! the words of her creed came back to her. which was the right thing now? her tired brain groped at the question wearily. the right thing! the words she had said to tom flashed through her mind: “not the thing that may look best for me, but the right thing in the eyes of god. and something—some law we don’t understand—will make it work out all right.”
-beth dropped the telephone receiver to the end of its dangling cord and put her hand over the mouthpiece. then she whirled to face the boy who still stood watching her expectantly.
-“they’ve found it out, tom.” her voice came low, but vibrant and tense. in the hand she held outstretched a bit of polished steel glistened in the lamplight. “they know it’s you.”
-at sight of the revolver she pointed at him the boy started forward. amazement, incredulity were on his face.
-“beth! why, beth, what—”
-“we’re going to do the right thing, tom—the right thing in the eyes of god.”
-he was hobbling forward, and her voice rose suddenly:
-“tom—tom hawley. don’t you hear me? don’t you understand?” she waved the revolver toward the wall nearer the telephone. “stand over there—over there against the wall. no, i mean it”—as he continued coming forward. “not a word now, tom, or i’ll shoot. don’t you understand? can’t you see i mean it?” she ended almost with a sob.
-the boy hesitated; stared into her gleaming eyes an instant, and then drew himself up against the wall, silent. holding the revolver leveled, beth took her hand from the mouthpiece and lifted the receiver again to her ear. the sheriff was still speaking in the phone.
-“this is beth—beth rollins,” she interrupted. her voice sounded almost casual. she heard the sheriff’s gasp of astonishment, his profane exclamation, and went on evenly:
-“i’ve been listening, sheriff williams. i—you’re looking for tom hawley—well, he’s here—here with me now. he’s—he’s going to stay here until you come.” she waited through an instant of silence, and then the sheriff’s voice said with seeming contrition:
-“i’m mighty sorry, miss beth. i was coming over to see you tonight—i clean forgot you were on this line in the excitement. your stepfather—he—”
-“tom hawley’s here with me,” she heard her own voice repeating. “he—he’ll wait for you here.”
-and then the sheriff’s voice said:
-“hell, ma’m, your stepfather—it didn’t happen only a few minutes ago. if tom hawley’s there with you now that’s all the alibi i want—it’s a cinch he wasn’t here. i’m mighty glad you happened to tell me tonight, miss beth, or it would of gone hard for him. you let me speak with him, ma’m, if he’s there—it must have been one-eyed charlie did it.”
-the man higher up
-trant substituted for the photograph the bent wire given him by miss rowan. then for the last time he swung to the instrument, and as his eyes caught the wildly vibrating pencils, they flared with triumph.
-the man higher up
-by edwin balmer and william b. macharg authors of “the eleventh hour” and “the hammering man”
-this excellent detective scientifiction story is the first of a series to appear in amazing stories. these romances depict the achievement of luther trant, psychological detective.
-while the results of psychic evidence have not as yet been accepted in our courts, there is no doubt that at a not-distant date such evidence will be given due importance in the conviction of our criminals. the authors of this tale are experts in their science and the series cannot fail to arouse your interest to the highest degree. a second story will appear in an early issue of amazing stories.
-the first real blizzard of the winter had burst upon new york from the atlantic. for seventy-two hours—as rentland, chief clerk in the broadway offices of the american commodities company, saw from the record he was making for president welter—no ship of any of the dozen expected from foreign ports had been able to make the company’s docks in brooklyn, or indeed, had been reported at sandy hook. and for the last five days, during which the weather bureau’s storm signals had stayed steadily set, no steamer of the six which had finished unloading at the docks the week before had dared to try for the open sea except one, the elizabethan age, which had cleared the narrows on monday night.
-on land the storm was scarcely less disastrous to the business of the great importing company. since tuesday morning rentland’s reports of the car-and train-load consignments which had left the warehouses daily had been a monotonous page of trains stalled. but until that friday morning, welter—the big, bull-necked, thick-lipped master of men and money—had borne all the accumulated trouble of the week with serenity, almost with contempt. only when the chief clerk added to his report the minor item that the 3,000-ton steamer, elizabethan age, which had cleared on monday night, had been driven into boston, something suddenly seemed to “break” in the inner office. rentland heard the president’s secretary telephone to brooklyn for rowan, the dock superintendent; he heard welter’s heavy steps going to and fro in the private office, his hoarse voice raised angrily; and soon afterwards rowan blustered in. rentland could no longer overhear the voices. he went back to his own private office and called the station master at the grand central station on the telephone.
-“the seven o’clock train from chicago?” the clerk asked in a guarded voice.
-“it came in at 10:30, as expected? oh, at 10:10! thank you.” he hung up the receiver and opened the door to pass a word with rowan as he came out of the president’s office.
-“they’ve wired that the elizabethan age couldn’t get beyond boston, rowan,” he cried curiously.
-“the —— —— —— hooker!” the dock superintendent had gone strangely white; for the imperceptible fraction of an instant his eyes dimmed with fear, as he stared into the wondering face of the clerk, but he recovered himself quickly, spat offensively, and slammed the door as he went out. rentland stood with clenching hands for a moment; then he glanced at the clock and hurried to the entrance of the outer office. the elevator was just bringing up from the street a red-haired, blue-gray-eyed young man of medium height, who, noting with a quick, intelligent glance the arrangement of the offices, advanced directly toward president welter’s door. the chief clerk stepped forward quickly.
-“you are mr. trant?”
-“i am rentland. this way, please.” he led the psychologist to the little room behind the files, where he had telephoned the moment before.
-“your wire to me in chicago, which brought me here,” said trant, turning from the inscription “chief clerk” on the door to the dogged, decisive features and wiry form of his client, “gave me to understand that you wished to have me investigate the disappearance, or death, of two of your dock scale checkers. i suppose you were acting for president welter—of whom i have heard—in sending for me?”
-“no,” said rentland, as he waved trant to a seat. “president welter is certainly not troubling himself to that extent over an investigation.”
-“then the company, or some other officer?” trant questioned, with increasing curiosity.
-“no; nor the company, nor any other officer in it, mr. trant.” rentland smiled. “nor even am i, as chief clerk of the american commodities company, overtroubling myself about those checkers,” he leaned nearer to trant, confidentially, “but as a special agent for the united states treasury department i am extremely interested in the death of one of these men, and in the disappearance of the other. and for that i called you to help me.”
-“as a secret agent for the government?” trant repeated, with rapidly rising interest.
-“yes; a spy, if you wish so to call me, but as truly in the ranks of the enemies to my country as any nathan hale, who has a statue in this city. to-day the enemies are the big, corrupting, thieving corporations like this company; and appreciating that, i am not ashamed to be a spy in their ranks, commissioned by the government to catch and condemn president welter, and any other officers involved with him, for systematically stealing from the government for the past ten years, and for probable connivance in the murder of at least one of those two checkers so that the company might continue to steal.”
-“to steal? how?”
-“customs frauds, thefts, smuggling—anything you wish to call it. exactly what or how, i can’t tell; for that is part of what i sent for you to find out. for a number of years the customs department has suspected, upon circumstantial evidence, that the enormous profits of this company upon the thousand and one things which it is importing and distributing must come in part from goods they have got through without paying the proper duty. so at my own suggestion i entered the employ of the company a year ago to get track of the method. but after a year here i was almost ready to give up the investigation in despair, when ed. landers, the company’s checker on the docks in scale house no. 3, was killed—accidentally, the coroner’s jury said. to me it looked suspiciously like murder. within two weeks morse, who was appointed as checker in his place, suddenly disappeared. the company’s officials showed no concern as to the fate of these two men; and my suspicions that something crooked might be going on at scale house no. 3 were strengthened; and i sent for you to help me to get at the bottom of things.”
-“is it not best then to begin by giving me as fully as possible the details of the employment of morse and landers, and also of their disappearance?” the young psychologist suggested.
-“i have told you these things here, trant, rather than take you to some safer place,” the secret agent replied, “because i have been waiting for some one who can tell you what you need to know better than i can. edith rowan, the stepdaughter of the dock superintendent, knew landers well, for he boarded at rowan’s house. she was—or is, if he still lives—engaged to morse. it is an unusual thing for rowan himself to come here to see president welter, as he did just before you came; but every morning since morse disappeared his daughter has come to see welter personally. she is already waiting in the outer office.” opening the door, he indicated to trant a light-haired, overdressed, nervous girl twisting about uneasily on the seat outside the president’s private office.
-“welter thinks it policy, for some reason, to see her a moment every morning. but she always comes out almost at once—crying.”
-“this is interesting,” trant commented, as he watched the girl go into the president’s office. after only a moment she came out, crying. rentland had already left his room, so it seemed by chance that he and trant met and supported her to the elevator, and over the slippery pavement to a neat electric coupé which was standing at the curb.
-“it’s hers,” said rentland, as trant hesitated before helping the girl into it. “it’s one of the things i wanted you to see. broadway is very slippery, miss rowan. you will let me see you home again this morning? this gentleman is mr. trant, a private detective. i want him to come along with us.”
-the girl acquiesced, and trant crowded into the little automobile. rentland turned the coupé skillfully out into the swept path of the street, ran swiftly down fifth avenue to fourteenth street, and stopped three streets to the east before a house in the middle of the block. the house was as narrow and cramped and as cheaply constructed as its neighbors on both sides. it had lace curtains conspicuous in every window, and with impressive statuettes, vases, and gaudy bits of bric-a-brac in the front rooms.
-“he told me again that will must still be off drunk; and will never takes a drink,” she spoke to them for the first time, as they entered the little sitting room.
-“‘he’ is welter,” rentland explained to trant. “‘will’ is morse, the missing man. now, miss rowan, i have brought mr. trant with me because i have asked him to help me find morse for you, as i promised; and i want you to tell him everything you can about how landers was killed and how morse disappeared.”
-the trail which they were following led steadily inland, and constantly climbed above the level of the sea. after a few miles had been covered all signs of habitation disappeared, the country was bleak and barren of cultivation. at first they had passed through groves of cocoanut, banana and many varieties of tropical fruit trees and afterward the velvety green of rice fields lay on either hand, but now the earth was scorched and brown, the high jungle bush lay thick on either side of the trail. the americans realized the hardships of a campaign in such a country against a wild and determined foe. they had marched for about four hours without a rest when a signal of warning was given from scouts in front. the leader stopped, giving a low order to a soldier at his elbow.
-“what is it?” phil breathed, forcing his pony forward eagerly.
-“they’ve seen something,” o’neil whispered; “probably a company of our soldiers on a ‘hike.’”
-the americans were ordered to dismount, and a dozen riflemen quietly surrounded them. colonel martinez spurred ahead while the entire band dissolved in the jungle, leaving the trail clear. scarcely twenty feet from the trail the americans were roughly seized, their hands secured tightly behind their backs and gags were forced into their mouths. they submitted peaceably. suddenly, scarcely fifty yards away, a column of khaki-clad soldiers appeared marching down the trail. phil caught a glimpse through a vista in the dense brush of these men, swinging lightly along, ignorant of the presence, so near them, of over two hundred armed enemies. his pulse beat fast and his heart seemed ready to burst within him. were these americans walking innocently into an ambush? he tried to scream a warning, but he emitted no sound save a faint gurgle, which his guards heard, and for his pains struck him down with their knees until he lay with his face pressed close to the prickly earth. he could hear the tramp of shod feet and an occasional snatch of a song. once he heard a sharp command in english and at another time a jest which called forth local laughter. it seemed an age since he had seen the head of this column appear, and yet the earth trembled under the tread of a multitude of feet. finally the sounds died away. the soldiers had passed, and no attack had been made. after a long hour of waiting their guards brought out the americans and unbound their hands, taking out the cruel gags from their mouths. colonel martinez appeared, still mounted upon his small gray pony.
-“i am very sorry,” he said politely, “but i could not run the risk of detection. that was colonel bane with two battalions of the seventy-eighth infantry. i had been warned that he was in the neighborhood. i was not strong enough to attack him.”
-phil could have cried aloud at the utter uselessness of this warfare. their movements heralded far and wide whenever a column moved, in a country well-nigh impenetrable, how were the americans ever to put down this ugly rebellion?
-“we shall remain here until my messenger returns,” phil overheard colonel martinez say to the girl. “will you wait until your father sends for you, or will you accept an escort from me?”
-“i shall remain here,” she said; “the morning should bring my own people.”
-shortly afterward the girl took her brother’s hand and led him away to the part of the camp that had been set aside for her own use, and colonel martinez joined the disconsolate americans.
-“the señorita,” he said as he sat down on the ground near phil, “has told me of the brave conduct of my prisoners, and i wish it were in my power to set you free. i have known many american navy men before this war began and my treatment by them has always been courteous and considerate. i have the power to take your parole, and knowing the hardships which you must undergo as prisoners among our soldiers i advise you to give it. to-morrow morning you can be on your way to palilo.”
-it was certainly a grave temptation, but the midshipmen knew that in giving their parole all hopes of taking part in the war would vanish; and then, the insurgents not being recognized as belligerents, the navy department might even see fit to order them to break their parole.
-“thank you, señor,” phil finally replied. “we shall take our chances as your prisoners. we shall always remember your considerate treatment of us, and if by the chances of war the situation is reversed you can count on us to repay our obligations to a chivalrous enemy.”
-“if you and your companions were to remain in my keeping,” the filipino answered, a pleased smile on his face at phil’s subtle compliment, “i should have no concern, but i must give you over to the mercies of general diocno; he is a tagalo, and has known nothing but war since his youth; he would never surrender to the spaniards, and for years a price has been upon his head; he is said to be cruel to those who fall into his hands.”
-phil shuddered at the frank words of his captor. he saw in the earnestness of his face that this gruesome information was being given for the americans’ own good.
-“your friends,” the colonel continued, “will doubtless attempt a rescue, and that will only add to your danger.”
-after colonel martinez had said good-night phil told his companions of the unpleasant and disquieting reports concerning their future captor, but nothing could shake o’neil’s good spirits.
-“it’s all in the game, mr. perry,” he said philosophically. “they can’t do more than kill us, and as we’ve got to die some day, it might just as well be in kapay as any other place. but as long as we’ve got our senses and our strong arms, there are going to be some little brown men hurt before i give up my mess number.
-“what i’ve been trying to study out,” the sailor continued, seeing the two lads still silent, “is how all those american soldiers could pass along that trail and not find out that this band of natives had just left it. where are all the old indian fighters we used to have in the army?”
-phil and sydney both raised their heads, a look of surprise in their faces.
-“i hadn’t thought of that,” sydney exclaimed. “our trail must have been there; the native soldiers all go barefooted and leave but indistinct tracks on this hard soil, but our pony tracks must have been in plain sight.”
-“the solution is,” phil broke in sadly, “those men were volunteers, the seventy-eighth infantry, the colonel said; there probably wasn’t an old soldier among them. they fight like demons when they see the enemy, but are as helpless as children against a savage foe skilled in woodcraft. if that had been a battalion of regulars there’d have been a fight and we would now be free, or,” he added with an unconscious shiver, “dead there in the jungle, for the native guarding me would have been only too happy to stick his bolo into me.”
-o’neil had already rolled himself in his blanket, apparently resigned to the tricks of fate, and the midshipmen, realizing, after their long day’s ride in spite of their troubled minds, that they were in need of rest, were soon comfortably settled on the bundles of dry grass given them to lie upon. as phil dropped into a troubled sleep, he was conscious of the four native guards, pacing to and fro just outside of ear-shot. these four men were all that stood between them and liberty; for once they had escaped, he felt confident that o’neil could be depended upon to follow the track of those half a thousand soldiers who had marched past so carelessly only a few hours before.
-a twig snapped close by, sending the blood coursing through his veins while his hand shook from the sudden start. terrified he cast his startled eyes into the jungle behind him. the dim shadow of a man stood scarcely a hundred yards away, silently watching him. in the dim light the figure seemed of heroic size. he retreated toward it and back to his sleeping companions, the rifle clasped in his hand. then suddenly the silence was broken by a volley of rifle-shots and the hiss of bullets sounded everywhere about him. stunned, unable to explain the meaning of this, he dropped to the ground and lay silent, his face in the straw of his bed. the next second a line of shouting, excited khaki-clad men streamed past, firing their rifles as they charged upon their hidden native foes.
-captain blynn marches
-as night fell, captain blynn led his battalion of regulars from their barracks, across the bridge and on to the trail leading to the northward of palilo. the american officer rode in the lead, the filipino presidente at his side. the soldiers behind him, eight full companies, each under its own officer, swung along with the long, untiring step of the american soldier. they each knew that before the night was over and the sun had lifted its fiery head above the misty mountains to the eastward twenty miles of rough trail must be covered, and then they had been promised to be brought face to face with an enemy whose shadows they had chased during these many long, tiresome months.
-espinosa, as he rode in silence by the side of the big american, chuckled inwardly at the fruitlessness of this expedition. “these childlike american dogs,” he thought, “they will arrive in time to see the smouldering fires where our men have cooked their morning rice, while they will be high in the hills, looking down on them derisively, and possibly will fire a few shots at long range to show their contempt.”
-captain blynn’s restless gaze contemplated his companion from time to time as the native signaled the right trail. they were now in a narrow defile between two hills that rose precipitously to a height of over a thousand feet. captain blynn, as he contemplated his surroundings with a soldier’s eyes, drew his revolver from its holster and laid it gently across the pommel of his saddle.
-“a nice place for an ambush,” he said in a low, insinuating voice. “i suppose, señor, you are prepared to stand before your maker.”
-the native shuddered. he saw only too clearly the accusation and threat in this terrible american’s words. if there was to be an ambush, he knew nothing of it, but if a single hostile shot was fired, he would pay the penalty with his life.
-the filipino forced an uneasy laugh. “as far as i know, señor capitan, there are no insurgents this side of banate.”
-“for your sake, i hope you are right,” the american replied. “as you see, i am taking no chances. you are our guide; if you get us into trouble, you pay, that’s all.”
-captain blynn ordered a halt and called a lieutenant from the leading company.
-“take ten men, simpson,” he said, “and act as the point. if you are attacked, retreat and fall back on the main body.”
-lieutenant simpson picked his men quickly and disappeared quietly down the trail. captain blynn watched them until swallowed up in the darkness, and then set the long line in motion again. every soldier took, instinctively, a tighter grip upon his musket, and loosened the sharp sword bayonet from its scabbard. each knew that when “black jack” blynn took precautions there was reason to scent trouble.
-half-way through the defile a guarded whistle of warning came to blynn’s ears from the point. as one man the long column halted; the soldiers’ heavy breathing was distinctly audible above the tremor of the metallic rattling of accoutrements. each soldier sought his neighbor’s face for a key to the solution of the problem. blynn, motioning espinosa to follow, rode silently forward. in the trail a hundred paces ahead he saw lieutenant simpson bending over a dark object.
-“what is it?” blynn asked in a harsh whisper.
-“a dead native,” simpson answered shortly. espinosa was off his horse instantly; bending down quickly he struck a match, illuminating the native’s dead face. he started, turning a sickly yellow. his heart stopped beating, and his knees shook under him, but captain blynn was too much occupied with the silent figure to notice the peculiar behavior of his guide. they turned the dead man over, revealing the terrible havoc accomplished in but a few hours by the tropical scourge.
-“poor chap!” blynn exclaimed. “only a common ‘tao’ stricken by cholera and dead before he knew what had hit him.”
-they moved the body off the trail, and again the command was set in motion.
-in the flash of the match espinosa had recognized his messenger although his face was horribly disfigured by his last mortal suffering. he shuddered at the consequences of this man’s death--martinez would not get his warning message and would fall into the trap set for him. he, espinosa, could never explain his actions. he would doubtless pay for this treachery with his life. but his cruel mind was instantly made up as to his future actions. he feared this american too thoroughly not to take them to the place where the tagalos under martinez were encamped; above all else captain blynn must be made to believe that he was sincere; all depended upon that. everything must be sacrificed for his final great ambition. martinez would not be taken alive. that was a necessity, he would see to that. once he was killed his part in the night’s expedition must remain a secret among the americans.
-casting from him his first fears he straightened his slight frame and rode boldly, with head erect, beside the american leader.
-under the guardianship of espinosa the command moved forward, straight up through the high clutching brush; the men were so close to each other that their neighbors on each side were always in sight. captain blynn and one company marched fearlessly up the trail. a few feet from where the round top hill had been cleared he halted and waited for the remainder of his men to join him. his enemy’s camp was silent, but his keen eyes could discern shadowy forms lying prone on the ground. he searched for a sentry, but no movement could be seen. were they all asleep, believing themselves secure in their surroundings? no! there directly in front of him he saw a white figure standing upright beside a dark form on the ground. this must be an officer, for the native soldiers do not wear white--something familiar in the pose and cut of the uniform struck him. could it be possible, was it a navy uniform? at that instant the soldiers on both sides reached the edge of the clearing. as yet the enemy were unaware of their presence. not a moment must be lost; they must attack at once. firing his revolver, captain blynn plunged forward, straight toward the white-clad figure. several of his men passed him while he stopped to find why the figure had thrown itself face downward in the grass at the discharge of his revolver.
-the next moment he was shaking hands with three almost tearfully joyful fellow countrymen.
-as soon as phil realized that they were again free his thoughts were for the filipino girl and her little brother. was she in danger? with the rifle he had taken from the sentry in his hands, he rushed anxiously in the direction that he believed she might be found. he recognized some of her belongings on the ground at his feet, but the girl had vanished. fearful at the thought of finding them killed by his own people, he sought her everywhere, repeatedly risking his life as the terrified natives, finding themselves trapped, flung at him with their long, sharp knives or discharged their weapons almost in his face. he gave them but little heed, not giving a thought to the reason why he had not been killed, although a faithful sailor at his elbow was the only tangible cause. a score of times o’neil had saved his young officer at the risk of his own life.
-a small group of struggling men on the right near the edge of the jungle suddenly caught his restless eye and desperately he plunged downward toward them. on the ground two men struggled in a death embrace, while the girl and her brother stood wild-eyed with fright, unwilling spectators to the fierce duel. phil gave a gasp of relief as he stood beside the girl. the two combatants uttered no sound save their sharp gasps for breath while they struggled for supremacy. phil saw with wonder that the men were both natives and then for the first time realized that they were alone; no soldier was within a hundred yards of them. behind them the soldiers were relentlessly, stubbornly herding the natives into a mass of flashing, frenzied humanity at the top of the hill.
-in the next second espinosa leaped toward him. phil was stunned by a stinging blow; but before it could be repeated o’neil interposed and espinosa had measured his length on the ground.
-“where did colonel martinez go?” phil asked quietly.
-“i didn’t see,” o’neil answered, his face as solemn as that of a judge.
-phil smiled and put out his hand. the two men exchanged clasps. “i believe he would have done as much for us,” phil said.
-before the sun had risen above the sea to the eastward, the fight was over. but few of the enemy had escaped. asking no quarter, fighting to the last man, they had died as they had lived. two hundred rifles were the spoils of the fight.
-captain blynn and the midshipmen were seated after their victory on the bloody battle-field, while the lads gave a hurried account of their capture.
-suddenly from the grass a horribly disfigured face confronted them. it was espinosa. his cunning gave him counsel that he must control his ungovernable temper. he could gain nothing by accusing these americans of wilfully aiding martinez in his escape. “i am sorry to inform you, señor captain, that colonel martinez escaped. these gentlemen can tell you the details. i was about to kill him. they doubtless had good reasons for permitting him to escape.”
-captain blynn turned quickly to the midshipmen, a surprised look on his face at the words of his guide.
-“is this true?” he asked angrily.
-phil felt as he had before the court-martial that had tried him for disobeying orders.
-“i alone am to blame, captain,” the lad replied quietly, after an effort. “i saw these two men on the ground and separated them, seeing they were both natives. this man attacked me afterward, so of course he was knocked down.”
-“but it was colonel martinez! his capture is worth far more than all these men and rifles,” the captain exclaimed angrily, pointing to the heaps of slain being laid side by side in the narrow trench dug by the soldiers.
-“he escaped,” phil said, his throat dry, but his eyes looking fearlessly into those of the enraged officer.
-“you will have to explain this, sir,” captain blynn cried hoarsely, cutting short any explanation. “you are under my command here. if you have deliberately allowed this man to escape, i shall prosecute you to the utmost of my power, and you know the articles of war sufficiently to understand the penalty for such an unauthorized act.”
-phil was stunned; but his conscience had acquitted him of all guilt.
-captain blynn rested his tired soldiers until the cool of the evening and then the march was begun back to palilo, carrying with them the spoils of the fight.
-the judge-advocate general, in spite of the complete victory, was not friendly to the americans whom he had rescued from a torturing captivity. the escape of the filipino leader, colonel martinez, was indeed a severe blow to his pride. both sydney and o’neil, while giving the officer their gratitude for their deliverance, were hurt at his stern attitude toward phil.
-“why did you allow him to escape?” sydney asked as they were riding side by side along the back trail which the soldiers had taken the night before.
-phil looked at his friend, a hurt expression in his eyes.
-“he was armed,” phil said quietly, a catch in his voice which he could not control, “and i knew he would not be taken alive. i couldn’t kill him,” he added, “before the girl’s eyes, and there seemed no other way. something tells me that there is a strong blood tie between those two. i can’t explain, syd,” he cried in confusion. “it may sound sentimental, but the look in the girl’s eyes when she realized what might happen made me lower the muzzle of the rifle to the ground.”
-sydney was silent. he believed implicitly in phil and if opportunity had offered he was sure that he would have acted the same.
-“but why didn’t you give captain blynn your reasons for allowing this insurgent to escape? you must see how he now views the occurrence and a word from you would have set matters straight.”
-a sudden anger came into phil’s face. “i would have told him all, but you saw how he cut off my explanation and arraigned me before that despicable spy espinosa. after that a mule team couldn’t drag the story from me. i’ll tell it in good time, but not to captain blynn. syd,” he added confidingly, “i don’t like that fellow espinosa’s looks. he reminds me of a domesticated coyote. he will bite the hands that feed him some day. you see if he doesn’t!”
-“i haven’t any use for these men who are traitors to their own countrymen,” o’neil joined in as he rode up alongside of phil, the trail having widened to allow three abreast. “the soldiers tell me he is the white-haired old boy with captain blynn. it was he that betrayed the tagalos. how he gets his information no one seems to know. did you notice,” he asked suddenly, “the expression on his face when i dragged him away from the insurgent colonel? he wanted that man’s life the worst kind, and the girl’s too, i guess. we’ve made an enemy, mr. perry,” the sailor added decidedly, “and one who won’t soon forget us.”
-phil gave a mirthless laugh.
-“i don’t mind making that sort of an enemy,” he said, “but we shall have to keep our eyes open hereafter, i suppose, for señor espinosa.”
-it was broad daylight before the expedition arrived in palilo and after a formal parting from the other americans, which o’neil described as “the frozen mit,” the naval men separated from the soldiers and took the street leading to the water-front. there in front of the quartermaster’s depot they saw the gunboat “mindinao” moored snugly to the stone jetty.
-a wave of pride swept through phil’s body as he took in the trim outlines of his command, one of which any lad would be proud to be captain.
-a score of curious faces peered at them from the gunboat as they drew rein at the gangway and dismounted.
-an exclamation of surprised inquiry met their ears from the quarter-deck of the vessel and a second later ensign marshall was wringing their hands warmly.
-“well, if this isn’t luck,” he cried. “i am partly packed and there’s a steamer for manila this afternoon. but,” and he stopped, precipitously gazing with frank astonishment at their soiled and mud-stained uniforms, “where did you come from? i expected you by boat.”
-while the chinese servants set before their hungry eyes a tempting breakfast, phil and sydney in turn gave marshall the exciting incidents of their journey from manila. o’neil meanwhile had turned forward and was at once the centre of an admiring crowd of sailors; his big voice and hearty laugh sounded distinctly over the quiet water-front.
-“if you aren’t the luckiest lambs i’ve ever seen,” marshall laughed admiringly; “you’re a regular lodestone, the three of you. everything you touch turns to excitement. now i’ve been here for three months, most of the time cooling my heels at the dock with no one to talk to except a lot of hayseed volunteers who haven’t even been to sea, and now you come along and relieve me and i suppose, ‘presto,’ there’ll be something doing at once.”
-“well,” marshall said as he pushed back his chair and arose from the table, “i’ll be finished packing in an hour, and then you can read your orders and take command. i don’t want to miss that boat, for she makes easy connections with the transport for home. think of it, perry, home! doesn’t it sound fine?” then, seeing that the name had not stirred his listeners to a great degree of enthusiasm, he exclaimed, “well, if you’d been living by yourself for nearly a year and hadn’t seen anything but these natives, home would sound good to you, too.”
-the lads were soon asleep in steamer chairs under the quarter-deck awning, while marshall busied himself with his packing. the chinese servants moved about noiselessly and with deft hands quickly filled the two open trunks. finally marshall remade his toilet and appeared spick and span in a fresh and spotless white uniform.
-refreshed by even this short nap the midshipmen opened their trunks, which had been carried over nearly sixty miles of rough country on the shoulders of stalwart native carriers, and in an incredibly short time appeared on deck as fresh in appearance as if they had both stepped from the proverbial band-box.
-a shrill whistle sounded on the gunboat followed by the call, “lay aft, everybody.”
-the men filed aft on the miniature quarter-deck, lining themselves obediently on each side, and there waited.
-in a graceful speech marshall bade farewell to his small crew and then he unfolded the paper in his hand signed by no less a personage than the admiral commanding the asiatic fleet.
-“you are, upon the reporting of your relief, midshipman philip perry, u. s. navy, detached from the command of the u. s. s. ‘mindinao’ and will proceed immediately to manila, reporting your arrival, for passage to your home, to the senior officer present.”
-as soon as marshall’s voice died away, phil began to read his own orders, which he had kept safely pinned to the inside of his breast-pocket during the last few exciting days.
-“you are hereby detached from the u. s. s. ‘phœnix’ and will proceed to palilo, island of kapay, philippine islands, and upon your arrival assume command of the u. s. s. ‘mindinao’ as the relief of ensign charles marshall, u. s. navy.”
-for a moment there was complete silence, broken in an instant by a hoarse voice.
-“three cheers for captain marshall.”
-from twenty-five strong chests the cheers were given, while the happy man honored blushed with pleasurable pride and manly tears welled to his eyes. and then phil’s turn came to blush and look confused, and as he said afterward, foolish, when the same loud voice proposed, “three cheers for captain perry.”
-immediately the cheering was over the boatswain’s mate’s pipe sounded shrilly and the men, touching their caps respectfully, returned to their quarters forward.
-“think of it, syd. if i want to get under way all i have to do is to tell the machinist to get up steam and off we go. it’s like having your own yacht,” phil exclaimed contentedly, leaning back luxuriantly in his chair and cocking his feet up comfortably on the rail. “let me see,” he added banteringly, “i am the captain; you are the executive officer, navigator, ordnance officer, all the watch officers and the chief engineer. don’t you feel heavy with all those titles?”
-sydney smiled happily. “well, if the ‘old man’ doesn’t expect too much of a poor midshipman, i’ll do my best to uphold the dignity of them all,” he replied.
-after they had settled themselves in their new homes and had inspected every foot of the clean, trim little craft, admired the powerful battery of six long three-pounder guns, with auxiliaries of two one-pounders and a much sinned-against colt gun, they started over the gangway bent upon paying their respects to the general commanding the troops in the military district of kapay.
-it was with a decided feeling of uneasiness that phil sent his card by the orderly to the general. he knew that captain blynn had before this given his superior officer a full account of his expedition and he felt sure that the escape of martinez with his consequent blame had not been forgotten in the telling. however, his high spirits could not be easily dampened by even these sinister thoughts. his greatest ambition had been achieved. was he not the commander of an american man-of-war? he was not even under the command of that awe-inspiring figure he could see dimly at the desk, on whose shoulders the direction of an army rested.
-in spite of this feeling of independence the lad’s pulse beat faster as the orderly beckoned him to enter the general’s office.
-a short, sharp-featured officer, whose hair and beard were as white as his spotless clothes, arose from his chair and gave a welcoming hand to the visitors in turn, inviting them in silence to be seated.
-phil fidgeted restlessly in his chair, while the general paced slowly toward the open window and back again to his desk. phil was on the point of speaking several times, but each time he waited, seeing in the army man’s face that he was about to speak.
-“captain blynn has made his report,” came in metallic tones from the old campaigner, “and i am deeply distressed to hear that you, captain perry, deliberately allowed a prisoner to escape; one whom above all i wished to lay my hands on. blynn is for asking the admiral to court-martial you at once; but i am sure you must have some good reason for your action.”
-he ended and glanced questioningly at the abashed phil.
-“my reason was,” the lad blurted out, his feelings much hurt at the severe arraignment, “that in order to capture colonel martinez, i would have had to kill him in cold blood. i couldn’t bring myself to do it for he had behaved handsomely toward us while we were his prisoners.”
-“but,” the general retorted, “señor espinosa would have saved you the trouble if you had not interfered.”
-phil’s wrath blazed forth.
-“how did i know that the man who was about to murder martinez was a traitor to his own people? i saw the two natives on the ground, one with a knife upraised to bury it in the body of a man lying helplessly beneath him, and then when i had separated them with the help of a sailor, i saw that martinez was armed, and i knew by a glance at his face that he could not be taken alive.” the lad stopped suddenly, the girl’s face coming suddenly before his eye. did the general know of her? he remembered that her presence at the scene had not been mentioned. had espinosa failed to discover her presence? if not, why had he failed to mention her in his report to captain blynn?
-general wilson’s parchment-like face betrayed a suspicion of a smile while he listened patiently to the midshipman’s impetuous defense of his own actions.
-“captain perry,” he said slowly, “after you have been fighting these natives longer your sensibilities will become more blunted. the excuse of allowing an enemy to escape simply because you did not wish to kill him would be laughed at by those who have been through these six months of fighting. but,” he added, “i respect the delicacy of the situation and shall tell captain blynn that i approve of your actions.”
-phil’s gratitude was fully expressed in the look he gave the officer as he murmured his thanks.
-“i do not wish you to believe,” the general added hastily, “that i approve of useless bloodshed, but in a warfare such as has been forced upon us the higher instincts of generosity to a fallen foe have but small place. it is an eye for an eye with us now.”
-as the general finished speaking the adjutant-general, major marble, entered and greeted the newcomers warmly. both the lads had known him in their annapolis days.
-“major marble will give you the situation,” the general said as the midshipmen shook his hand in parting. “i suppose you are ready to get under way on summons.”
-phil answered promptly in the affirmative.
-the major took the lads to his own comfortable quarters, facing the plaza, and then told them briefly of the perplexing conditions under which the general was struggling.
-“the insurgents will only fight,” the major told them earnestly, “when they can surprise us, and with these untrained volunteers that has been very frequent of late.”
-the midshipmen told him how the american troops had marched unsuspectingly past colonel martinez’s party the day before captain blynn attacked them.
-major marble shook his head sadly.
-“colonel bane is not a soldier and never will be. he has blundered into more traps than any officer in the island.”
-a heavy footfall sounded on the stairs. major marble stopped talking suddenly, and walked quickly to the door as captain blynn’s stalwart figure emerged from the stairway. “come here, blynn,” he called.
-the judge-advocate general approached; upon his face was a good-natured smile which changed suddenly to an ugly frown as he caught sight of his brother officer’s guests. he would have turned sullenly away, but major marble put out a restraining hand. the lads had risen to their feet. phil felt his own face suffuse with blood as he caught the glint of annoyance in captain blynn’s eyes. the midshipman turned his back quietly and looked out the window. a moment later he heard the captain’s heavy tread in the hall and a door slam loudly. when he turned major marble’s face was pale and his blue eyes flashed angrily.
-after leaving major marble’s quarters the lads took a turn around the small spanish town, loitering before the many shops and gazing admiringly up at the great churches, gray with age. they finally hired a carramata, the native cab, and drove through the city and out on the military road, begun by the spaniards years before but, as was the custom of the country, never finished. as they drove into the plaza on their return they came face to face with señor espinosa, riding a blooded horse which was prancing and pawing the earth, and making vain attempts to unseat its rider. espinosa drew rein and bowed pointedly and courteously to the americans.
-“señores,” he called eagerly, “may i have a word with you?”
-phil ordered his cochero to stop, while espinosa dismounted, throwing his reins to a small native gamin near by. the native advanced to the carriage hat in hand and with as much ceremony as if he were about to speak to some exalted personage.
-“i am extremely mortified at my actions of yesterday,” he exclaimed in his fluent and grandiloquent spanish. “i have just seen the general. i abjectly apologize for my rudeness. may i count upon the friendship of the señores?” he asked in a suave, appealing voice.
-phil flinched unconsciously. he felt as if some reptile was drawing him toward him against his will. espinosa’s eyes were mild and his smile was urbane; yet he felt that treachery was hidden behind this mask of friendliness. espinosa read the struggle in the lad’s eyes and for an instant the mildness died in his own and a savage gleam took its place, but phil’s gaze had wandered, and this vision of the true man was lost.
-“i don’t bear you any ill will for that,” phil replied, his voice unconsciously accenting the last word. “i suppose you felt you had been cheated of your victory over colonel martinez.” then the lad stopped suddenly, a question trembling on his lips. why should he not ask it? wherein was the harm? “who was the girl with him?” phil suddenly questioned.
-espinosa’s face paled and in his eyes fear crept. “the girl,” he gasped, “was there a girl?”
-phil nodded. “yes, and her small brother; they came on the steamer with us.”
-“and escaped with martinez,” espinosa exclaimed excitedly. “i didn’t see her; it was too dark. while i was struggling i thought i heard a woman’s scream, but afterward i saw only martinez.”
-phil saw the native was unduly agitated. what did it mean? how and why had the presence of this woman so greatly excited him?
-as the midshipmen drove toward their ship this question was still in phil’s thoughts.
-“is espinosa playing a double game?” he asked sydney suddenly. “does he fear detection by his own people? does he believe that martinez did not recognize him and that his identity as a traitor is safe?”
-sydney shook his head over the mystery.
-the gunboat coöperates
-as the two midshipmen stepped over the gangway of the “mindinao” a figure arose from a seat on the quarter-deck and hurried eagerly toward them.
-“i’ve been waiting an hour for you,” major marble exclaimed excitedly. “the general wants you to start as soon as possible for binalbagan. baker’s men have had a fight; we got some news, and then the wire was cut; our signal corps men have already gone out to find the break. tillotson and fifty men will be on board inside of an hour.”
-the midshipmen’s eyes opened wide with excitement.
-“we’re getting up steam, sir,” o’neil volunteered. “i thought something was in the wind when i seen the major come aboard, so i asked him and he told me what we was to do.”
-“good for you,” phil exclaimed, throwing an appreciative glance at the trusty boatswain’s mate.
-“baker is in the field and a sergeant and twenty men are holding the post,” major marble continued, “but if the natives are in great force such a handful cannot last long.”
-an hour later, lieutenant tillotson, a thin, blonde-haired youngster, marched his khaki-clad men on board and joined the little group of officers about the table on the quarter-deck.
-“and a regular, too,” he thought.
-“good luck,” major marble cried as he passed over the gangway on to the dock while the gunboat heaved up its anchor from the muddy bottom of the river and steamed swiftly for the outer harbor.
-phil studied carefully the chart in his miniature wheel house forward. “ninety miles,” he mused as he stepped off the distance to binalbagan. “at this speed we’ll be in by daylight.”
-the three sat long over their dinner on the cool quarter-deck, while the gunboat sped rapidly along the coast of kapay. forward, the soldiers and sailors fraternized, speculating upon the morrow’s work.
-“what’s the chance for a fight?” sydney asked the army man.
-tillotson shook his head. “none,” he replied, “unless we can catch them by surprise. this gunboat would scare off an army of insurgents. they don’t like them.”
-tillotson shook his head. he was non-committal. “news travels fast in this country, and it’s only twenty-five miles by road to binalbagan,” he said.
-“have you been there?” phil asked, all interest.
-“no,” tillotson replied carelessly.
-“what is your plan?” phil inquired quickly.
-tillotson eyed the lad, his blue eyes wide with astonishment, while a superior smile curved the corners of his mouth.
-“plan?” he asked. “why, just to land, that’s all; isn’t that enough?”
-“yes, but,” phil urged, “it’ll be dark, and if fighting is going on, we may get between the two fires. i got myself in that fix once, and i know how it feels.”
-tillotson’s eyes opened wider. he took a closer look at this young midshipman.
-“what does he know of being under fire?” he thought. tillotson was a first lieutenant; he had served in cuba and in the philippines, but his active duty until his assignment to the regiment whose number he now wore on his collar had been only at a desk at headquarters.
-“what service have you seen?” he inquired of phil in a patronizing voice. “were you in the battle of santiago, or manila bay, perhaps?”
-“no--not those,” phil answered quickly, awe in his voice; “only a few skirmishes, that’s all,” he added sheepishly, “in south america and in china.”
-“have we then had trouble in those places recently?” tillotson inquired in mild surprise, and in a voice calculated to annoy his listeners.
-“not very lately,” phil answered; “the south american trouble was over a year ago and in china about six months ago. they were only small rumpuses. i dare say you didn’t hear about them.” phil’s pride was touched, for he knew that many papers had given full and even exaggerated accounts of both fights, and his name and sydney’s had been glowingly mentioned.
-“i suppose i must have been out in the field at the time,” tillotson explained indifferently, “so i didn’t see the papers.”
-“hadn’t we best make up a plan of just how we’re going to do this thing?” phil urged, returning to his point and being guided by his training at the naval academy, which had taught him to be methodical in all things.
-lieutenant tillotson regarded the lad coldly. “you can plan for yourself,” he replied. “i’ve been fighting these insurgents for some months and my men know my plans by heart: they comprise just one word: ‘forward.’”
-after the lieutenant had gone to his cot and was sound asleep, the midshipmen adjourned to the brightly lighted chart house to discuss the situation.
-“this rank business is what is hurting the army and navy too,” phil exclaimed testily. “just because a man has one more stripe on his sleeve he thinks he knows more than every one below him, and considers a suggestion from a subordinate unpardonable insubordination, almost akin to mutiny. well, mr. tillotson can keep his own plan, but, syd, i am going to work out our end of it.” while phil spoke he drew the chart toward him and glanced carefully at the land in the neighborhood of binalbagan.
-“do you see that marsh behind the town?” he exclaimed suddenly to sydney whose eyes were upon the chart. “that’s probably mangrove, and they can’t get through that, so if they’re attacking, it’ll be from the side. if tillotson lands his men to the northward and we take a position to the southward we ought to make a big haul. i told o’neil to have the colt gun ready and if it comes out as i hope it will, we’ll land it there,” pointing to a spot on the chart showing a low hill to the left of the town.
-sydney agreed heartily with phil’s plans, and berated soundly the attitude of the army man.
-“i suppose,” phil said in apology for him as they parted, one to turn in, the other to keep watch until midnight, “that he’s had so much fighting he’s grown careless.”
-at midnight phil was awakened, and relieved sydney on the bridge, while the latter went below to get a few hours’ sleep before he would be needed in the work to be accomplished. phil gazed through the darkness ahead of the gunboat; the dim outline of the land along which they were traveling could be seen on the port hand. the coast was bald and he knew he could without danger run as close as he desired to its precipitous cliffs. the more he thought of the scornful carelessness of the young lieutenant the angrier he became. what right had he to consider such an expedition one to require no plans? what if he landed in an ambush?
-“he should consider the lives of his men,” he exclaimed hotly.
-the midshipman already knew that a large part of the garrison were not at binalbagan, having gone on an expedition to the north coast; a sergeant and twenty men had remained to guard the men’s barracks and supplies, to say nothing of the natives who had professed friendship to the americans and lived close under their protection. these poor souls, phil knew, were between two fires; if the soldiers were defeated they would be killed by their enraged countrymen, while if their countrymen claimed and received aid from them they would at once be put in prison by the americans, and yet if they refused to subscribe to the cruel demands of the insurgents their lives would pay for their rashness as soon as they wandered outside of their village.
-he paced restlessly the silent bridge. his men he could see sleeping under the awning just below him. the man at the wheel, his eyes on the compass, and the lookout on the forecastle were alone awake and alert. the hours dragged by. a faint blush of dawn was visible on the eastern horizon when phil through his powerful night-glass could recognize the chief landmark near the town of binalbagan, a deep notch in the rugged coast hills through which the river in the season of rains flowed to the sea. it was as yet too dark to discover the town, and phil knew that the hull of the gunboat could not be seen from shore until the sun had almost risen above the horizon. the last point of land was rounded, and the gunboat’s bow was directed toward the locality where he knew the town was even then in the throes of an attack from a savage enemy. his heart rose in his throat as his mind dwelt upon the gruesome possibilities if the handful of soldiers had been overpowered by their numerous foe. it was almost with a sigh of relief that, as the gunboat approached nearer the shore, he indistinctly recognized the faint flashes of flame from rifle fire. at least the soldiers, or some of them, were still alive.
-all hands had been called, and on the deck of the “mindinao” there was a scene of great activity. boats were cast loose and supplied with the accessories of war. a grim colt gun was mounted on its tripod ready to be carried ashore to hurl its five hundred shots a minute at the foe.
-lieutenant tillotson, after a rapid inspection of his men, approached the two midshipmen on the bridge. phil had slowed the gunboat. with a leadsman in the chains, calling out the depth of water, he was now steering directly for the small, serpent-like flashes showing distinctly against the dark background of the hills.
-“it looks like a big fight,” phil exclaimed excitedly as the lieutenant reached his side.
-“these people make a lot of noise,” the latter replied nervously. “i am not afraid of their rifles; the bolo is their weapon. by jove!” he exclaimed, after taking another long look at the scene. “it is a big fight. i’d no idea they had so many rifles on the island. my fifty men won’t be a drop in the bucket.” he turned upon phil, alarm in his eyes. “i shan’t land under that fire. our men are doubtless intrenched in the convent and can hold out till daylight, then when it gets light enough to see, you can easily drive the insurgents off with your guns.”
-phil gazed at the army man in undisguised surprise. what did he mean? was this the same tillotson whose only order was “forward”? here they were, undiscovered, with fifty soldiers, a colt gun and a gunboat. it was a chance a landing party seldom had to deal its enemy a severe blow.
-“there must be five hundred riflemen surrounding the town,” tillotson continued, with more assurance, believing from phil’s silence that he had agreed with his plan of attack. “it would be foolhardy to risk my men against such odds.”
-“he does think of his men, then,” phil thought contemptuously.
-the gunboat had now stopped and lay motionless on the quiet sea. without orders four boats fully manned with ready sailormen were noiselessly lowered from the davits. stalwart arms lifted the colt gun and placed it in the bow of a cutter. phil gave a last careful search through his glass at the shore line, scarce a thousand yards away. he could see the shadowy form of the big white cathedral from which tongues of flame darted incessantly. to the right the long, low convent building was silent. the soldiers had seized the church and inside its shelter they were making their last stand. phil was assured that they would be safe until their ammunition was exhausted, and his experience had taught him that soldiers in such straits, unless there was an officer to control them, would use up their last cartridge before thinking of the dire consequences. to husband ammunition was not their concern. even as the lad gazed the enemy’s flashes appeared closer to the cathedral. they were closing in; a final rush might land these savages under the very walls of the church. his hand shook violently and almost a sob escaped him as a bright flame suddenly appeared on the convent roof.
-“they have set the convent on fire,” phil exclaimed in an awed whisper. then he turned fiercely on the army man.
-“what are your plans now?” he asked almost roughly.
-lieutenant tillotson drew himself up stiffly.
-“at sunrise all will be clear,” he angrily insisted. “it would be worse than murder to land now; as you said last night,” he added, seemingly grasping at a straw, “we would be between two fires.”
-phil gave him an impatient glance. “come on, syd!” he exclaimed eagerly, leading the way down from the bridge.
-o’neil had his four boats ready at the gangway; two for the soldiers and the others for the men of the gunboat who could be spared from the guns.
-the lads gripped each other’s hand in silence as phil stepped on the gangway ladder leading to the boat. the soldiers by one accord had crowded aft, their rifles in hand and cartridge belts bulging with extra ammunition. some had even filled the inside of their blue flannel shirt with more precious cartridges.
-“aren’t we going, sir?” the sergeant asked, gazing through the darkness for his lieutenant.
-phil shook his head. he was too angry to speak. then suddenly without command the soldiers filed, at first hesitatingly, casting anxious glances behind them, into the awaiting boats.
-“syd,” phil said in a low, tense voice, “you know the plan. keep those cordite shells away from our own men. get as close in as you can; don’t hesitate to run her ashore if necessary. if i am not mistaken we’ve got these natives in the closest box they’ve ever been in.”
-the four boats waited in silence at the gangway. phil had taken his place with o’neil in the boat carrying the colt gun.
-“tell lieutenant tillotson we’re ready,” phil said in his natural voice to sydney on the gangway.
-lieutenant tillotson strolled aft slowly, his eyes on the streak of dawn ever increasing in the eastern sky.
-“come on, tillotson,” phil said harshly; “we’ve wasted too much time already.”
-lieutenant tillotson stopped on the gangway and glared angrily at the composed midshipman below him.
-“i’d like to know,” he sneered, “what business a midshipman has to give orders to his superior officer.”
-“i’ll give you one more chance, tillotson,” phil said in a stern, tense whisper; he did not wish the men to hear. he could see even in the dim light the surprised, incredulous look on the faces of his sailors. “will you please get aboard?”
-the lieutenant remained motionless, a dark scowl on his face.
-“shove off,” phil ordered harshly.
-the boats cleared the gangway. the sailors dipped their oar blades, ready to follow the leading boat in which was phil and the trusty colt.
-“come back here,” the lieutenant cried, seeing he had gone too far. but phil’s jaw was set and he turned to him a deaf ear.
-“it’s his own fault,” phil confided to o’neil at his side. “i didn’t order his men in the boats; they got in without orders, as any decent men would do. what is it, o’neil, just pure cold feet?” he asked suddenly.
-“partly that, sir,” o’neil answered, “but lieutenant tillotson is not a coward; he’s just overcautious and a bit of a braggart. he didn’t like attacking in the dark.”
-the four boats pulled with oars muffled in toward the dim shore. phil steered his boat for a point behind the long fringe of flashes, where the insurgent firing line was established, creeping ever closer to the handful entrenched behind walls that would soon be too hot to hold them. he had abandoned his first plan and now was landing all of his mixed command to the left of the town. if he could land without discovery, the first the enemy would know of his presence would be the horrifying, crackling report of the machine gun.
-“there, steer for that,” phil breathed as a mound-like hill took shape out of the darkness.
-with eyes straining and faculties alert for the first premonition of danger, phil directed his boat forward. the gunboat had been swallowed up in the night astern. the shore grew more distinct. the church now stood out prominently, silhouetted against the background of flames from the burning convent. even as he gazed the gun fire from the church seemed to slacken and against the bright glow he could see indistinctly natives swarming toward the burning building. their number seemed myriad; surely those could not be all riflemen. then he turned cold as he suddenly grasped the sinister meaning--they were bolo-men. for each rifleman, at least four natives armed with bolos are assigned. they are the guardians of the precious rifle. to obtain an insurgent gun, five men must be slain. these men, armed with weapons in the use of which every native is proficient, were advancing to rush upon the trapped men when the heat of the fire and the smoke had driven them from the shelter of the church’s protecting walls.
-so intent had phil been that the boat, before he realized it, had grounded on the sandy beach and the men had jumped overboard into the shallow water. once on the beach, he superintended the securing of the boats and then led the way toward the point he had selected for the first position to be occupied. the enemy were only a few hundred yards away, but so intent were they on the accomplishment of their cruel purposes, that the shadowy forms of the men from the sea, stealing quietly through the short grass and against a background of darkness, were not discovered.
-phil’s quick eyes suddenly discovered some one approaching from a direction away from the enemy. he gripped his revolver firmly, not knowing how many more men might be behind the figure discovered. as the americans approached the newcomer, a native suddenly raised his hand and called loudly:
-a blow from o’neil’s revolver butt was the answer, while phil grasped the letter which had been held in the stricken man’s hand, placing it carefully in his breast-pocket. then a warning cry rang out, followed by a rifle-shot, the hot blast of which almost burned phil’s cheek, while a wiry form struck boldly right and left with his keen blade in the very midst of the startled americans.
-the privileges of rank
-“there was two of ’em, captain,” the infantry sergeant exclaimed, in that purely official calm voice for which the army non-commissioned officers are noted even under the most trying and hazardous circumstances, while he pushed away the body from beneath his feet, after making sure the native was not shamming. “they was messengers, telling the gugus of the coming of the gunboat, i reckon.”
-the small band of soldiers and sailors moved cautiously through the rank grass and sparse cocoanut palms. the enemy before the town had been too much occupied to discover the disturbance in their rear.
-phil saw that the fire had grown apace and now the conflagration threatened the entire town, but the greatest danger was to the church, for the dawn breeze was carrying the hot, stifling smoke and flame high on the church walls. it would be but a matter of minutes before the church itself would be on fire. the sun was slowly approaching the horizon; phil saw the broad white band of light stretching across the eastern sky. out on the water to the right of the town the lofty spars and smoke-stack of the “mindinao” were indistinctly visible; sydney was ready to begin his allotted work when the day had broken so that he could recognize friend from foe.
-“if that fellow tillotson hadn’t funked,” the midshipman whispered fiercely, his teeth set firmly, “and we could have had his men to the right of the town, we could have flayed ’em alive. now they’ll all escape past the gunboat--unless we let the gunboat open the ball and drive them all this way.--i’ll do it,” he cried determinedly.
-they had now reached the grassy-topped mound, the colt gun placed in battery, and the first string of cartridges fed into its steel maw.
-“sergeant,” phil commanded tersely, “deploy your men to the right and left, and take shelter. don’t fire without orders.”
-the sergeant saluted and gave a quick, sharp command. the soldiers melted from sight. this was a new experience for them. six months in the islands and the only real fights they had seen were included in a few shots at the disappearing brown men after they had fired their volley from ambush, killing and wounding several of their comrades. now here were over five hundred yelling natives worked up to the wildest pitch of savage triumph before their eyes, within range of their trusty guns, and as yet no orders to fire.
-“stop your grumbling,” o’neil overheard the sergeant tell one of his soldiers in language more forceful than polite. “this is something that your thick skulls can’t savvy. it’s naval strategy. wait till the ball opens and every mother’s son of you can prove his claim to a sharpshooter’s medal.”
-when all was ready, phil could only wait patiently for the sun to give sydney enough light for his gunners to see to shoot, but meanwhile he saw with ever-increasing impatience that the enemy was gradually closing in about the church and convent. if the dawn were too long coming! if the terrible, irresistible rush came before sydney had opened fire, then their attack would have failed, for the loss of twenty american soldiers could not be repaid by the death or capture of the whole insurgent army. it seemed to the awaiting midshipman that hours must have passed since his men had entrenched themselves on this small hillock. surely the sun had stopped in its movement around the earth! the flames in the town became higher and the smoke arose in greater volume while the crackling of burning bamboo added its sinister sound to the discharges of the rifles, ever drawing nearer the besieged garrison. with heart beating rapidly and youthful indecision stamped on his face, he gazed anxiously at the “mindinao.” he breathed a sigh of partial relief as he saw she was close inshore and was clearly visible. surely it was light enough to see, or if not yet the enemy must soon discover the presence of the unwelcome and much-feared visitor. when they fled, their retreat would be toward where he and his machine-gun and sixty-five american rifles were awaiting them.
-moisture stood out on the youngster’s forehead in great beads and his tongue lay like cotton against the roof of his mouth.
-“i couldn’t have stood it another second,” he breathed, as a jet of flame shot out from the gunboat’s bow and a sharp report followed by thunderous reverberations awakened for the first time an unknown terror in the hearts of the savage attackers, and brought courage and joy to the hopeless men inside the stifling walls of the church.
-the little gunboat belched flame from her three-pounders and the eager and delighted watchers on the mound of earth, clustered about the colt gun, gazed with admiration and awe as the high explosive shells tore great gaps in the earth, scattering the demoralized natives in all directions. the avenue of escape to the right was closed; the enemy dared not approach nearer that death-dealing war-ship, and with one accord, an uncontrolled, terrified mob of human beings, without method or leaders, they turned and retreated directly toward the mound on which phil and his men were impatiently awaiting them.
-o’neil had taken his place at the colt gun. seated in the bicycle saddle, he squinted carefully down the massive rifle barrel, while the seething mass of brown came ever closer. when the insurgents had arrived at a distance of two hundred yards, phil gave the order “open fire,” in a voice scarcely recognizable as his own, it trembled so with excitement.
-bang--bang--bang, faster than one could count, resembling the explosions in the cylinders of a high power touring car, only infinitely louder and more sonorous, the colt gun hurled a solid leaden stream of bullets into the charging mass.
-as coolly as if he were merely steering a boat, o’neil played the leaden hose on the startled enemy. they went down like chaff before the reaper; while from behind urging them onward, the cordite shells of the gunboat, which had followed them, burst with terrific havoc.
-throwing down their rifles--it did not enter their heads to ask for the quarter which the americans would have been only too willing to give--they turned inland directly toward the burning town.
-“cease firing,” phil cried out in alarm, as he saw suddenly appear, almost in the path of the routed natives, the small band of men who had come so near death at their hands. rifles in hand, the relieved soldiers advanced toward the now terrified insurgents and poured a deadly fire into their already mortally stricken ranks.
-the sun was now above the horizon and the light of day showed a gruesome sight to phil’s eyes. many hundreds of natives lay dead or in their death agonies on the sandy soil. the doctor from the garrison and his assistants attempted to help the sufferers, but after one hospital man had been maimed for life by a wounded native to whom he was administering, there could be little more to do. graves were at once dug in the little cemetery back of the church and there they were placed one on top of the other in long rows and then the earth was thrown on top and covered with rock to keep out the hungry mongrel dogs, more savage even than their masters.
-“well, sergeant,” he cried in an insolent harsh voice, “make your report to me; i am in command here; this man has no standing.”
-phil was so stunned at the words that he didn’t understand or at least realize its meaning.
-then his righteous anger and loathing welled into his throat.
-“how dare you talk of me that way before your men?” he cried, his face pale as death, and his strong fists clinched.
-“well, who are you, anyway?” tillotson exclaimed swaggeringly. “a midshipman!--ashore you have no status, so from now on please mind your own business.”
-“come on, sir,” o’neil whispered, grasping firmly but respectfully phil’s arm. the sailor felt the lad’s muscles standing out like whip-cords. he foresaw that something was about to happen. “don’t spoil all our fun, sir. if you hit him, which he richly deserves, you’ll lose your ship, and where will mr. monroe and jack o’neil be then?”
-in spite of his anger and mortification the remark of his favorite brought a faint smile to phil’s face.
-“i guess you’re right, jack,” he replied, his voice shaking with emotion, calling him unconsciously by the name which he always used in his thoughts, and allowed himself to be led away.
-the midshipman called his men together and walked quietly toward the beach, while lieutenant tillotson took entire charge of gathering up the spoils.
-“the lieutenant’s compliments, sir,” spoke an orderly at phil’s side as he was about to step into his boat to go to the “mindinao,” where at least he did have some status. “and he says, he orders you to send your men to report to him to put things in order.”
-phil turned on the messenger fiercely, and then in time remembered the soldier was but the innocent bearer of this insolent command.
-“come on, o’neil,” the lad said with a tone of humiliation in his voice, leading the way back toward the burning town. “i suppose i must pocket my pride. i am only a midshipman, after all, and on shore here i am under his orders.”
-after sydney had anchored the gunboat he hailed a boat from the shore and soon stood by phil’s side. the fire was quite beyond their control and inside of a few hours a great part of the nipa town was in ashes. by almost superhuman efforts most of the supplies and ammunition of the garrison were rescued, and piled in the little plaza in front of the church, where tents were pitched and all preparations made to receive the soldiers of captain baker when they returned from their expedition to the northward. in interrupted and fragmentary sentences phil told sydney of the insults offered him by the army man. sydney’s eyes blazed in anger.
-“the dastardly coward,” he exclaimed after the story had been unfurled before him. “while you were risking your life, he was sitting on the quarter-deck apparently glad to be in a place of safety, and now he comes and wants to reap all the reward. i don’t see how he has the face to appear before his men.”
-“he’s not a regular, anyway,” phil exclaimed in a relieved voice. “o’neil says the sergeant told him he was some rich politician’s son, a black sheep, appointed in a regular regiment. that explains him somewhat.”
-“he’s a yellow dog, that’s what he is,” sydney exploded, “and i’d like to tell him so to his face, and i will, the first chance i get.”
-“no, you won’t, syd,” phil said firmly; “remember ashore here we’re under his orders. don’t give him an opportunity to make it unpleasant. it’s bad enough as it stands.
-“there’s where we can be of service,” he suddenly exclaimed as his eye followed the trailing end of a wire. “the telegraph instruments were saved and are over there in the grass; we’ll connect up and see if we can get palilo.”
-after a half hour’s work with the help of the single signal corps man, the instrument had been remounted inside of a tent and the lads watched eagerly as the operator endeavored to call up headquarters. the instrument clicked rhythmically for a fraction of a minute and as it ceased the receiving relay clicked loudly in return.
-“the line’s o. k., sir,” the soldier said as his hand rested on the sending key, and he looked up for orders. “shall i tell palilo that we’re all right?”
-phil was about to answer when he suddenly remembered the stinging words of the lieutenant. pocketing his pride once more he shook his head. “report to the lieutenant that the line is through,” he said as the two lads turned away.
-a few moments afterward, while they stood outside the tent they heard the clicks of the sending key. each listened intently; not with any idea of eavesdropping but because on board ship it had been a custom formed in their annapolis days to read all signals. in this way they both had perfected themselves in all forms of signaling and could read in all codes.
-“to adjutant-general, palilo:
-“i attacked insurgents besieging garrison at daylight. placing the gunboat on one flank, i sent guard with colt gun on the other. attack was a perfect success. we have captured nearly two hundred rifles. we have no casualties. baker still away.
-the midshipmen read the message, their eyes opening wide with wonder as the busy little instrument proceeded.
-“well, of all the nerve!” phil exclaimed as the signature was reached. “i attacked, i placed the gunboat, i sent guard. but where was he?--he doesn’t say, does he!”
-at noontime the midshipmen found themselves unwilling guests at lieutenant tillotson’s table for the midday meal. phil had asked permission to withdraw his men on board ship but the lieutenant had curtly refused.
-napkins were a luxury not supplied, and after finishing his dinner, consisting of wholesome army rations, phil drew out of his pocket his handkerchief to use in place of the missing square of linen. the letter taken from the dead native fell at his feet. the excitement and worry of the last few hours had driven the knowledge of its presence from his mind.
-tillotson’s keen eye was upon the letter and he stretched out his hand for it in stony silence. phil gave it up instantly. the lieutenant broke the seal and ran his eyes quickly over its contents. his face showed keen interest as he read; then he put the letter carefully into his own pocket. the midshipmen regarded him with interest, half expecting to hear the purport of its contents; but were disappointed, for in a few minutes he arose and left them without a word.
-“the rest of the garrison are returning, captain,” o’neil announced, joining the midshipmen after his dinner with the soldiers. “you can see their dust down the beach.”
-the lads watched with ill-concealed delight, much to tillotson’s discomfiture, the arrival of captain baker and his eighty dust-covered soldiers. as they swung into the plaza, apparently for the first time, they realized that something extraordinary had happened, for they quickened their pace and captain baker, unable to control his anxiety further, shouted eagerly to ask what had happened.
-tillotson, assurance in his every motion, walked out to meet him.
-phil could not refrain from comparing these two figures--one that of captain baker, alert, muscular, tanned by the sun, his uniform dirty and stained by travel, with grime on his soldierly countenance, while the other, slender, his clothes neat and of a dandified cut, seemed more in place in a drawing-room than in the jungles of the philippines.
-“i saw the gunboat when we struck the beach below there,” captain baker exclaimed, his anxiety relieved after tillotson had assured him all was safe, and he advanced hand outstretched, a hearty smile of greeting on his strong face. “is this the new captain of the ‘mindinao’? i am glad to meet you both,” he said as he shook the hands of the midshipmen in turn. “i suppose we are once more indebted to the navy.”
-tillotson frowned. “i have fifty men with me,” he exclaimed protestingly. “of course the gunboat was useful in bringing us here and shelling the beach.”
-“what’s become of all the town natives?” captain baker asked suddenly.
-“they all left town yesterday morning,” the sergeant replied. “that’s how we knew that all was not going just right.”
-“the cowardly beggars!” captain baker exclaimed. “you’d have thought we were their best friends. well, i suppose they’ve got to look out for themselves. have you buried all the bodies?” he asked suddenly.
-“yes, sir,” tillotson replied, “but your sergeant has the names of all those he recognized; apparently there were some of the town people in the attack.”
-captain baker nodded his head, a sorrowful expression on his face. “who can we trust among these people?” he said in a low voice as he scanned the list handed him. “even my own servant against us. pedro might have stuck a knife in me any night he wished.”
-“a telegram, sir,” the captain’s orderly announced handing him a sheet of paper.
-“send gunboat ‘palilo.’ if desirable retain tillotson and men.”
-captain baker read the message aloud, then his soldier eye gazed intently at the lieutenant. the inspection from the expression on the captain’s face had not been reassuring; however, in a second he turned a smiling face to phil.
-“captain perry, i am sorry i am not to have the pleasure longer; however, i am deeply grateful to you and the navy for saving my men. tillotson, you can return; i’ll keep your men.”
-lieutenant tillotson’s face, which had become sorely troubled as the telegram had been read, suddenly cleared. phil felt that he would have died if a soldier of captain baker’s standing and reputation had even hinted at his uselessness, as he had at this hard-skinned, self-satisfied lieutenant.
-after a night’s run the “mindinao” was again tied up to the dock at palilo. on the trip down the lads had left their unpleasant passenger severely alone, while he had spent his evening writing, filling sheet after sheet of paper with closely spaced lines.
-“official report of a spectator,” sydney whispered loud enough purposely for tillotson to hear. the latter looked up and scowled.
-after breakfast the next morning phil reported at the general’s office. major marble received him with a grave face.
-“for the land’s sake, perry! what have you done to tillotson? he denounces you in scathing terms in his official report to the general; accuses you of weakening his authority before his men; humiliating him on your own ship; deliberately shoving off from the ship without him because he did not approve of the entire plan which you devised without his concurrence, and lastly reports you for insubordination when under his orders ashore and treating your superior officer with contempt. in fact,” major marble ended, “he has started at the top and gone to the bottom of all the military offenses.”
-phil gasped in astonishment. major marble stood gazing compassionately at his young friend, apparently hoping to hear him clear up the mystery. but phil was silent. he must have time to think.
-the katipunan society
-after phil had reached his ship he scarcely remembered how he had behaved to his anxious and sympathetic friend, major marble. the boy’s mind was dazed. he had not believed that tillotson would dare make charges against him, but now that they had been made, how should he act? the mere words of each charge were only too true but phil felt that he had had strong and sufficient reasons for acting as he did. but now he must refute these charges or else go before a court-martial. but how could he refute them? there was but one way and that was to go to general wilson and tell his story, which would be corroborated by sydney. it would be tantamount to telling the general that one of his officers was an arrant coward and unfit to be trusted with hazardous expeditions. and even then the charges would still hold. they were true in substance, every one of them. as commanding officer of a gunboat phil was within his rights when he laid his plans as to where the attack of the gunboat should be and the locality to land his own men; but he could only advise the army man from his nautical experience as to where the best place would be to land the soldiers in order that their coöperation might be harmonious. lieutenant tillotson was free to accept his suggestions or refuse them as he saw fit. so long as they were both afloat the army officer could give no orders to him, nor could phil give orders to his superior in rank. to the anxious lad it was certainly a perplexing situation. his conscience was quite clear upon the soundness of the plan he had proposed, and he felt that in carrying it out they had struck a severe blow at the insurrection and had saved the beleaguered garrison. the lieutenant’s action might in feeble minds be excused through the plea of caution, but no strong man would hesitate to say that it was a case where caution should not have been considered.
-sydney was beside himself with indignation when he learned of the spiteful charges of the lieutenant and was for seeking him out and bestowing personal vengeance, but phil dissuaded him from any such rash act.
-“i should have ordered his men out of the boats,” phil said bitterly, “when i saw tillotson was not coming. we might have won without them, although they were a great comfort, and if the colt gun had gone back on us they would have been a necessity.”
-“what will you do?” sydney asked, exasperated at the apparent indecision of his friend. “tell the straight story to the general and he’ll make it hot for that dandified gentleman soldier.”
-“the worst of it is,” phil replied gravely, “tillotson is the son of an influential man in the philippine government, and if he takes our part the general will incur the father’s displeasure, for a father will never believe wrong of a son. a general has been suspended for less, and that would ruin his army career. i think our best plan is to try to compromise with tillotson, and if he won’t listen to reason then ask the general to send us to another part of the island.”
-major marble, as much as he disliked the task, was in duty bound to hand this report to the general through his judge-advocate general. captain blynn believed he was a fair man and was proud of his reputation of being scrupulously honest, yet when he read this arraignment of the young midshipman, a smile, almost of pleasure, passed over his face. here was a case in which he took the greatest delight. the captain instinctively disliked tillotson. he saw that he did not have the making of a soldier, and this expedition had been one of the few with which he had been entrusted. on another occasion his command had suffered severely from an ambush of bolo-men, and there had been vague rumors that tillotson had not behaved as it was traditional a ----th infantry officer should, but there had been nothing official, thanks doubtless to his father’s influence. as captain blynn read he recognized the work of a law graduate. each charge was described at length in an enclosed letter. undoubtedly the circumstances were true.
-“queer youngster, that fellow perry,” captain blynn exclaimed almost in admiration as he finished and folded the communication preparatory to laying it before his chief. “he’s got grit, but i fear bad judgment. i could never see why he allowed that martinez to escape. espinosa says it was deliberate. well, he must pay for his ill-judged acts. i don’t want any one about here who’s going to have qualms of conscience about killing a filipino who won’t surrender. he handled that attack at binalbagan splendidly, though,” he thought. “but i am afraid we’ve got to make an example of him.”
-as captain blynn approached the general’s office, he caught the sound of voices from within, and soon saw that the midshipman himself was talking earnestly with the general. captain blynn was not deterred; with him business was business and here was the officer charged with a grave offense.
-“i have a letter here, sir,” he said in his cold, official voice addressing his chief, “written by lieutenant tillotson, making very serious charges of misconduct against midshipman perry.”
-“captain perry has just told me that he had heard of these charges,” the general replied in an annoyed voice. “it seems to me, perry, you have stirred up quite a hornet’s nest in the few days you have been in kapay.”
-phil blushed furiously, and his eyes flared forth his indignation at such an unfair remark. especially as he could make no answer to an officer of such rank.
-the general adjusted his glasses and read from beginning to end the report placed on his desk by the captain; then he glanced up, a puzzled look on his deeply lined face.
-“this is a very ugly business,” he said sharply. “we have no time to investigate such matters. we are busy putting down this rebellion. yet such conduct as charged in this report, mr. perry, cannot go unheeded. there’s but one thing to do,” he continued after a moment’s thought. “wire to the admiral at manila and request your detachment for private reasons.”
-“that would be a tacit acknowledgment that i am in the wrong,” phil cried out, his voice trembling with anger at the injustice in the general’s words.
-“read this letter,” the general said brusquely, “and if you can clear yourself do so before captain blynn and myself.”
-phil took the letter and read page after page of incriminating evidence against him. it told of the disagreement as to the plan of landing and the time of landing. then of the departure of the expedition from the gunboat, when the accuser claimed that phil had deliberately shoved off without him, “doubtlessly jealous of being outranked,” the report read. then of his insubordination ashore after the attack when he, tillotson, had taken charge of the work of clearing up the battle-field. of the withdrawal of the sailors and their refusal to help until an imperative order had been sent the midshipman not to go to the gunboat, but to return and give aid to the soldiers.
-phil’s heart thumped as he read. the report was untrue in so far as the imputations on his reasons were concerned, but the incidents were only too true, and except by bringing a charge of cowardice and calling soldiers and sailors to corroborate him, he could not deny the report. tillotson’s report stated further that both midshipmen had during the return trip acted toward him in a manner which lessened the respect of the sailors for him. that one of them had made remarks derogatory to his character as a soldier.
-phil handed the report back, his eyes swimming. his anger was rife within him and he dared not speak.
-“this is a case for a court of inquiry,” captain blynn said to the general, “but i cannot see how an army court can decide on the case of a naval officer. mr. perry apparently cannot deny these charges, so if he is disinclined to wire the admiral, i suggest that you send a message asking to have him relieved.”
-the general nodded his head in the affirmative and captain blynn withdrew to prepare the fatal telegram.
-“i am sorry, mr. perry,” the general said, his face softening. “i have heard of your fight, and it was a masterpiece. i believe you have the stuff in you; but insubordination cannot be condoned. you must learn to obey and be respectful to officers higher in rank.”
-“why couldn’t he tell the general just how everything had happened?” he thought as he listened to the kindly voice, “not to ask that he might retain his ship but simply to clear his name of this cloud.”
-captain blynn appeared, telegram in hand, which he laid before the general for his signature.
-“before i send this,” the latter said turning to phil, “see lieutenant tillotson yourself, and if he is willing to withdraw this report i shall forget the incident.”
-phil left the office, knowing that it was but a respite. he had passed tillotson on the street when on the way to the general’s office and had saluted and spoken, but his greeting had been ignored.
-stepping cautiously to the side of the awaiting vehicle, he heard his name called in a familiar woman’s voice. it was the unknown girl of the “negros.”
-“señor perry, may i speak to you?” she inquired excitedly in spanish.
-phil took her outstretched hand eagerly, forgetting for the moment his own trouble.
-“what is it, señorita?” he asked eagerly.
-“come to-night to the northeast corner of the plaza, at nine o’clock; bring some of your men with you. maria rodriguez will show her gratitude to the brave american officers.” he would have detained her, to learn more, but her sharp command to the alert driver had come before he could recover from the startling summons and the next moment the calesa was racing madly up the street.
-full of his news, he boarded the gunboat and confided to sydney the girl’s message.
-“maria rodriguez,” sydney exclaimed. “she’s the daughter of juan rodriguez, the wealthiest filipino in kapay. i wonder what’s up? her father, you know, refuses to join the insurgents, and yet will not aid the americans, and the general will not molest him. he lives on his estates just beyond the city on the river.”
-o’neil was summoned and told to make up a party of five good men to accompany them and then the midshipmen sat down to dinner; but neither had an appetite for food.
-phil told sydney of the outcome of his visit to the general and the latter was cast down with gloom.
-“i shan’t stay without you,” he asserted. “can’t something be done? is there no way to make this man tillotson back down?”
-phil shook his head. “i shan’t try. i’ll just take my medicine. it’s bitter, but every one who was there knows that he was in the wrong.”
-nine o’clock saw the small party at the northeast corner of the plaza. the city seemed deserted. there was no one on the streets. suddenly the clanking of a sword was heard and the sailors slunk quietly out of sight into the shadow of a near-by doorway.
-“it’s lieutenant tillotson,” phil whispered, “inspecting sentries; he’s officer of the guard to-night.”
-after the officer had passed, the party waited anxiously for several minutes and then a native appeared walking slowly toward them from a cross street. he stopped fifty yards away and beckoned; then turned quickly and walked away.
-phil and sydney leading, they followed the vanishing figure ahead of them. he guided them through street after street, leading farther and farther away from the occupied part of the city. suddenly the native stopped, beckoned with his hand, and entered a doorway of a pretentious filipino dwelling.
-“your men must wait here, señor; it is the señorita’s order,” the native told the lads. “the officers are to come with me.” he raised his finger to his lips to caution silence. “if we are discovered it will mean death, señor.”
-“what’s the game, sir?” o’neil asked eagerly, not having heard the whispered words of the native.
-“you’re to stay here out of sight,” phil explained quietly. “if we need help i’ll fire my revolver.”
-with a parting caution the midshipmen stealthily followed their guide up the street, hugging the dark shadow of the houses, and entered the wide archway of a large native building. inside was total darkness, and it needed all their confidence in the girl who had invited them to come to still their awakening suspicions.
-the guide gave a low whistle and the slight sound caused their hearts to beat faster amid the profound silence within.
-“señores, you have come,” a woman’s musical voice dispelled their fears. “please step this way; i am sorry there can be no light.”
-phil quietly led the way in the direction of the voice, and his eyes soon discerned the figure of the girl, a darker object among the surrounding gloom. he felt a warm, confiding hand in his, and allowed himself to be led deeper into the blackness of the building.
-the midshipmen followed blindly; their eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, could see nothing. they knew from an occasional contact with a wall that they were in a narrow passage and from the damp odor they knew it must be some depth below the ground. several times their heavily shod feet slipped on the muddy floor, and occasionally they could hear the tinkly drip of water. the passageway led gradually downward, the dampness increasing.
-finally the girl stopped and the sound of the heavy breathing of the four people filled the narrow limits of their surroundings.
-“these are underground passages, built years ago during a threatened uprising of the natives against the spaniards,” señorita rodriguez whispered. “this passage leads to the secret chamber of the ‘sociedad de katipunan.’ to be present at a meeting the penalty for a non-member is to take the oath or suffer death. only the direst necessity has brought me here to-night. i have no right to ask you, señores,” she said pleadingly, “to take this great risk for my sake, and if you so decide we can now turn back. lopez, my father’s trusted patron, will go with me.”
-“we will go with you, señorita,” phil answered without a second’s hesitation. “what are we to see?” he asked, unable to control his curiosity at the mystery of it all.
-“come, you shall discover for yourself,” she said as she moved forward, her hand still in phil’s, while sydney held his companion by the coat sleeve and lopez, as noiseless as an apache, brought up the rear. “the meeting will not take place for some time, and meanwhile we shall have time to talk.”
-silently they moved forward until presently, from the sound of their footfalls, phil knew that the walls had receded and that they had entered a large chamber.
-“the stairs, señor,” maria whispered, and the lads found themselves mounting earthen steps. again their feet struck wooden boards and they knew that they had ascended from the passage and were in a large room directly over the one which they had just left.
-“this is the old spanish inquisition room,” the girl said in a low voice, “and a fitting meeting-place for the katipunan murderers. but come, they may be here any moment.”
-phil admired the daring of this frail girl. she had led them into the very nest of these traitorous outlaws, for it now dawned upon him what was the true meaning of these meetings.
-“do they enter the same way as we have come?” he asked anxiously, casting an apprehensive glance behind him.
-“no,” maria answered, a smile on her face as she felt the lad’s hand tremble imperceptibly on her own. “we are not in the room; it is beyond us, as you shall see soon. we are in a covered gallery which is secret and known to but few even of the society. the passage through which we came has not been used for years, and until last night was closed with earth. lopez has spent all day with some of his most trusty men clearing it in order that we might pass.”
-phil cautiously peered about him, but his eyes could not penetrate the darkness. he knew that his feet were on boards, and that his hand rested upon a wall which was rough and dry. then suddenly as if by a flash of lightning a vivid picture of his surroundings was shown him.
-“they are coming,” maria whispered in a startled voice. “lie down and for your life do not speak.” the next second all was again blackness. the lads and their companions had noiselessly thrown themselves down on the floor and were holding their breath in an agony of suspense. the cool handle of phil’s revolver, which he had unconsciously drawn from its holster, brought back his confidence. at least they would not die without some injury to their enemy.
-again came the flash of light; it flickered and seemed on the point of extinction, and then continued dimly. phil recognized that this time the match had not gone out in the room over which their gallery looked, and that a candle was dimly burning. then another and another candle was lighted and little by little the great room was exposed to their view.
-figures of men could be seen clustered about a table in the far end of the hall, some seated in chairs, but most of them on the ground in native fashion, while beyond the table was a niche in which an image glittered. the midshipmen soon discovered that it was an exaggerated emblem of the katipunan society which they had seen on insurgent flags; the sun within a flaming triangle, all of pure silver.
-a noise of feet and guarded voices came to their ears as the room slowly filled with men. as the light from the many candles shone upon their faces the anxious watchers saw that each man was masked.
-after an interminable interval of time all was hushed and a man arose from a seat near the symbol of the society and beckoned one of the others to approach.
-phil felt the girl beside him tremble violently, and give a sharp gasp of pain.
-“garcia,” she breathed, “my father’s trusted friend.”
-“our unknown brother,” the leader said in spanish, which phil was to learn was the accepted language of the society, “has been summoned to join our society; his name is recorded secretly in the recording book; his number is one thousand and ten.” the leader then drew from his scabbard a sharp glistening bolo and circled it with the adroitness of a juggler about the head of the newly enrolled member. gradually one after another of the masked natives arose, their keen-bladed bolos held aloft, while in single file they moved slowly with a rhythmical dancing step toward the silent “one thousand and ten.” as they advanced a weird chant broke from twoscore throats. it was not loud, but the volume filled the high vaulted chamber and lent an uncanny air to the mysterious initiation. it seemed to phil as he watched, his eyes fairly bulging from their sockets, that the unfortunate man would surely be severed into a thousand pieces by these fierce, savage fanatics, but he stood silent, his arms folded across his breast, while his eyes gleamed in exultant excitement.
-slowly the members danced by their new comrade and returned to their seats.
-then the new member, by sign from the leader, advanced and prostrated himself before the emblem.
-“the sign of giving his life to the cause,” maria whispered. then she stiffened and a stifled sob broke from between her clenched lips as the voice of the speaker filled the room.
-“rodriguez has refused the summons. he is no longer our friend. he has gone over to the despised americans. through him our men were attacked and killed at banate, and also at binalbagan. he holds his servants from joining our cause only through fear. once he is removed they will all join us.”
-“it is all untrue!” maria’s voice, clear, low, and distinct, sounded through the room, and at once the assemblage was on its feet, gazing distrustfully at each other. phil’s hand had grasped the girl’s arm with a grip of steel, fearing that in her indignation and anger she would expose herself to the view of these twoscore traitors.
-in the shadow of a suspicion
-phil’s heart beat tumultuously as he laid a restraining hand on maria’s arm to prevent her from rising up from the floor of the gallery. the instant the girl’s indignant, vibrating voice was heard an uncanny silence fell upon the masked men. each looked fearfully at the other. every man mistrusted his neighbor. the girl’s heavy breathing sounded ominously loud in the lad’s ears, and he was dumb with apprehension that she would sacrifice them all by a second outburst of passionate denial. they dared not move. there was naught to do but wait. if the society determined upon a search then their one chance was to make a dash for the passageway, and hold the angry men at bay with their revolvers. o’neil and his five men were near the entrance, and phil felt sure that their cause was not altogether desperate.
-after an interval that seemed hours the leader’s voice broke the heavy silence.
-“who dared deny that rodriguez has betrayed his people?” he cried.
-phil’s strong fingers pressed firmly the girl’s arm and his eyes begged obedience.
-the masked men sat as if turned to stone. no sound broke the stillness.
-a loud knock on the door behind the speaker brought the assemblage to their feet in sudden fear. phil saw that many had drawn their bolos, while others stood ready to extinguish the long rows of candles.
-a challenge was called and answered, and the next second the door was opened from within and a native entered. phil beheld in admiration the air of grace and fearlessness while he advanced boldly toward the startled leader.
-a smothered exclamation from maria caused the lad’s eyes to travel quickly to her face. she was staring, a horrible dread stamped on her face, while she murmured in a trembling voice: “mi padre!”
-so this was juan rodriguez, who had been denounced but a moment since by the terrible katipunan society, come to answer in person to the charge!
-another native followed him closely; neither were masked, and phil recognized, in startled wonder, colonel martinez.
-“fellow countrymen,” rodriguez exclaimed in a loud, commanding voice, “i have obeyed your summons, but i shall not join the society. i shall never take sides in this war until i feel in my heart that to do so will better my countrymen. you who are deceiving the americans, pretending that you are loyal and yet aiding your countrymen to kill them, doubtless believe that you are doing your country a service, but i know that in the end you will bring terrible suffering on our people. take the field and fight openly and honorably, and you will be treated by your enemy as a brave antagonist, but fight with a knife, stabbing your enemy in the back, under the guise of friendship, and the end is surely the gallows tree.”
-a murmur of harsh voices filled the room as rodriguez stopped speaking.
-all eyes were turned to this striking figure, as the light from many candles revealed the finely moulded face, flashing eyes and firmly chiseled lips and chin.
-as phil watched, his eyes opened wider in dread. the leader had edged, during the long speech, nearer and yet nearer to rodriguez. martinez was standing silently on the other side. phil’s anxious gaze caught the flash of brightly polished steel in the hands of this masked native, now but a few feet from his intended victim. maria saw, but her voice was frozen within her. phil gauged the distance to the would-be murderer, for his intention was only too evident. it was not over fifty paces. surely it was possible; he had often practiced at that distance. his revolver was now pointing at the katipunan leader, whose hand could be seen to be stealthily rising. phil steadied one shaking hand with the other and pulled the trigger. the loud report of the discharge was deafening, and below in an instant all was the wildest confusion. swiftly all lights were extinguished and the room was plunged into inky darkness.
-“come,” phil urged excitedly, “we must get o’neil and save juan rodriguez.”
-blindly they felt for the stairs and quickly descended; then hand in hand they ran along the dark, slippery tunnel. reaching the street phil gave a low whistle, which soon brought o’neil and his men.
-“did you fire a shot?” the sailor asked anxiously. “we thought we heard one, but it seemed a long ways off.”
-“yes,” phil replied, “but follow us; there’s work to be done; the señorita’s father is in danger.”
-led by the native, lopez, each sailor with his revolver drawn sped down the narrow street. at the corner they saw a small band of men approaching. phil halted his party and waited ready to attack if they turned out to be enemies. the next moment maria had thrown herself into her father’s arms, and was sobbing hysterically, while his native followers withdrew to some distance and stood on guard in respectful silence.
-phil and sydney wrung the hand of their former captor martinez.
-“what would captain blynn say now?” phil exclaimed laughingly as o’neil too squeezed the colonel’s hand until the latter winced. “he’d shoot us for traitors sure.”
-sydney smiled. “it would be rather difficult to explain the situation,” he replied, the drollness of the meeting suddenly striking him.
-“you saved my life, señor,” rodriguez exclaimed suddenly, as maria led him to the americans. “my daughter has told me all. i do not know how she could have gone where she did, or how she found out that i had been summoned, but bringing you there has shown that often one’s greatest enemy lives in one’s house and eats his bread. i came this evening bringing with me my own men, for i know these blackguards too well to trust myself alone. as all were masked i recognized no one, but i have suspicions as to many and especially he who you probably have killed, for he fell limply at my feet just before the lights were extinguished.”
-a sudden pang of remorse came into phil’s thoughts.
-“colonel martinez came with me as my friend and protector,” said rodriguez, “and although he is an enemy within your lines i ask that he be allowed to withdraw in safety. you see,” he added with a smile, “we had no idea of meeting those who would recognize him.”
-phil as the leader of the americans gave a ready assent. he well knew that a strict interpretation of his duty required that he arrest colonel martinez on the spot and take him prisoner before the general, but intuitively he realized that to do so would hurt the american cause. he felt that rodriguez had reached a crisis in his avowed intention of neutrality. by arresting martinez after this appeal phil might lose the government a valuable friend, now wavering between his loyalty to his own people and the more earnest duty of fighting against them to protect them from the domination of this treacherous band of murderers.
-“good-bye, señores,” maria cried eagerly, as her father signified his intention to depart. “i can never thank you enough for what you have done to-night. if your bullet,” she added earnestly, “has silenced forever that terrible leader of the katipunan society, my father will be in no further danger.”
-“can you pass through the lines?” sydney asked, “or shall we vouch for you?”
-“if it is not too much trouble,” rodriguez replied gratefully. “my carriage is just there, and we are then near the last patrol. the general has allowed me free conduct always, but this disturbance may have aroused suspicion, so i shall be grateful for your services.”
-the mixed party of sailors and natives walked briskly through the silent streets. the carriage drawn by two fast horses was reached, and maria, her father, and martinez entered, while lopez mounted the box and drove slowly forward followed by the americans on foot.
-a loud american challenge suddenly brought the horses on their haunches.
-“halt! who comes there?”
-“officer,” answered phil.
-“advance one, and be recognized,” the sentry called.
-phil walked slowly forward until he was within ten paces of the alert soldier.
-phil stopped in his tracks.
-“yes, sentry, i am captain perry of the gunboat.”
-“sure, sir, you can pass me, any time,” the soldier exclaimed gladly. “that was certainly great work you done in binalbagan. all the boys is talking about you two officers and jack o’neil. i’d like to meet him; he must be a corker.” the sentry had grounded his rifle and now stood at ease talking sociably, very much at home with the young midshipman.
-“he is here,” phil replied. “if i may pass my party, i’ll call him.”
-“certainly, captain, anything you say goes with me,” the sentry returned enthusiastically.
-the carriage, followed by the band of a dozen natives, drove down the street away from the city. phil caught a wave of a hand from the window as he turned and started for the gunboat and his bunk, for it was near midnight.
-o’neil had stopped to shake hands with the admiring sentry and he soon overtook them.
-the next morning while phil and sydney were at breakfast on the small quarter-deck of the “mindinao” captain blynn crossed the gangway from the dock. he walked to where the lads had risen from their chairs to greet him. refusing their offer of breakfast with an impatient movement of his hand he sat down in the proffered seat held for him by the attentive chinese steward. both lads saw in his grave face that something unpleasant had happened to account for this early morning visit. the army man did not keep them long in suspense, and had his say with his usual directness.
-“lieutenant tillotson, the officer of the guard yesterday, is missing. his bed shows that he did not sleep in it at all last night. i have investigated the case as far as i have been able, and i find that no one passed through the sentries except a closed carriage and a squad of filipinos. this sentry says that you and mr. monroe vouched for them. tillotson was last seen an hour before this time by a sentry at the bridge whom he visited. as soon as i heard of the carriage episode i cautioned the sentry to say nothing. i wanted to see you and clear up that part before i investigated further.”
-phil sat speechless in his seat while the judge-advocate general talked on earnestly. tillotson had disappeared! how could he have been forcibly carried past the numerous guards stationed at every outlet of the garrisoned city? he must surely still be within the town.
-“do you suspect foul play?” phil questioned. “would the enemy have the daring to make way with him inside the town? why should he alone be molested? and, besides, he carried his revolver, and could not be struck down without being able to fire a warning shot.”
-“one sentry,” the captain replied quickly, “reported having heard a shot from the part of town near the sea, but he said it was very indistinct, and after all he was not sure.”
-phil and sydney exchanged glances and the captain looked up sharply, a faint suspicion entering his thoughts.
-“what i’d like to know,” he added coldly, “is who was in that closed carriage; the sentry says there were four people.”
-phil flushed as he read the insinuation in the captain’s voice.
-“juan rodriguez, his daughter and a filipino overseer by the name of lopez,” he answered promptly, but he lowered his eyes before the direct, searching gaze of the judge-advocate general. the presence of colonel martinez need not be told. it would but complicate the case and not aid in the search for tillotson; but the army officer knew human nature too accurately, and phil was too poor a hand at telling less than the truth.
-“there was besides a filipino with the driver?” he questioned pointedly.
-phil shook his head in the negative.
-“was this lopez within the carriage with señor rodriguez and his daughter?” the captain asked curtly, and phil felt as if he were on the witness stand having the whole truth dragged from him. he might just as well make a clean breast of it. before those piercing black eyes, he found that he was not good at dissembling.
-“lopez was driving,” phil said blushing furiously in mortification at being so easily tripped in his testimony. “the other occupant of the carriage was colonel martinez!”
-if a bombshell had exploded at captain blynn’s feet he could not have appeared more astounded.
-“and you passed this insurgent officer out of our lines?” he asked incredulously.
-phil nodded, his throat dry and his mind stunned with a sudden fear.
-“this is certainly a queer proceeding!” the army man exclaimed. “i cannot fathom it. do you realize what you have done? can you not see that lieutenant tillotson’s disappearance will be laid at your door? but surely,” he added, “there is some explanation which you can make? you could hardly be so foolish as to plot against the life or even the liberty of a brother officer.”
-phil gave a sudden exclamation of surprised indignation, and with flashing eyes he turned angrily on his accuser.
-captain blynn rose hurriedly from his chair, his dark face swollen with passion; his black eyes flashed, while his strong hands clutched his chair nervously. he was about to speak, but phil cut him short, pointing his finger toward the exit to the deck.
-“i hope, captain blynn,” he said quietly though his lips were trembling, “that you will see the uselessness of further talk and will go ashore as i have bid you.”
-“you confounded little whipper-snapper!” the captain exploded wrathfully. the stern judge-advocate was unused to such treatment; he had always bullied those under him and in a measure by the very force of his will, many of those senior to him in rank. but angry as he was he realized that the midshipman was quite within his rights. he was on board his own ship, and there he was supreme.
-“captain blynn, i hope it will not be necessary for me to have you escorted across the gangway,” phil reiterated, his voice showing perfect control of temper. the lad glanced forward meaningly to where many of the crew had collected, intently listening to the heated colloquy between their young captain and this big, blustering army officer.
-then a voice from the dock made both the combatants turn suddenly and gaze in surprise at the general, who, unobserved, had stopped abreast them and had been an amused spectator of the discomfiture of his judge-advocate.
-“i’ll tear up that telegram as soon as i get to the office,” he exclaimed chuckling gleefully; “and, blynn, you’d better come ashore here before captain perry pitches you over the gangway.”
-captain blynn had but one great fault and that was his inability to consider that anything mattered outside of his beloved work. ruthlessly he would trample over those in the way of success. once he was on the trail of a wrong-doer, he would follow it fearlessly until the culprit was behind bars.
-doubtless if captain blynn had stopped for just a moment and considered the young officer before him, he would not have cut him to the quick by an insinuation so cruel. to do the brusque captain justice, he had regretted his words immediately he had spoken and seen the look of injured innocence and anger in phil’s face, but the masterful way in which phil had turned the tables on him was too much for the army man’s temper and hence the invective. in his heart he did not really believe that phil was guilty of plotting against tillotson. without the interruption from the dock he might even have apologized to the spirited young navy man, but the general’s words injected a salutary humor into this dramatic situation and made him see how untenable and cruel was the attitude he had assumed. his face softened and an apology of a smile struggled for place on his sun-tanned countenance. “you’re dead game, youngster,” he exclaimed impetuously. “i believe you’re on the level, only you’re a bit too reticent; anyway, here’s my hand, and from now on we’ll work together instead of at cross purposes.” he took the surprised midshipman’s hand and shook it heartily.
-“come up to the office at ten o’clock,” he added as he walked toward the gangway, the smile having disappeared and the alert business expression taking its place on his face.
-the midshipmen watched him cross the gangway and join the general, who had been taking his usual morning exercise before going to his office, and as the two walked along apparently deep in conversation an orderly stopped them, handing a telegram to the general. the lads saw him open it and read and then pass it to captain blynn. both turned as if by a mutual impulse and glanced toward the gunboat, then changing their minds apparently, they again turned and walked briskly toward the headquarters building.
-“something in the telegram concerns us in some way,” exclaimed the analytical sydney. “i wonder what it said?” but phil’s mind was too much occupied in thinking of the chameleon character of his new friend to give more than a passing thought to the contents of the telegram.
-a traitor unmasked
-“how dared he accuse me of knowing about tillotson’s disappearance?” phil exclaimed as he sought unsuccessfully a solution to the mystery.
-“i don’t believe he really suspected us,” sydney replied deprecatingly, “but it must have struck him as odd to say the least that you should pass an insurgent officer through the guards. you didn’t tell him why you did it or even give him any of the circumstances. i think it was natural that he should act as he did.”
-“i didn’t realize,” phil said half laughing, “how queer it must have seemed to him. well, i’m going up and make a clean breast of it.
-“have you any suspicion as to the identity of the man i shot?” phil suddenly asked.
-“i thought at once of espinosa,” sydney answered, “but i’m not sure; he talked in a voice that was not familiar, but that may have been feigned. think of it,” he exclaimed, “those masked men are all in the employ of our government. they have taken the oath of allegiance and yet they are plotting to massacre our soldiers.”
-“it seems queer,” phil exclaimed in a puzzled voice, “that the meeting and tillotson’s disappearance should happen the same evening. do you suppose it was only a coincidence?”
-sydney shook his head.
-“let’s get captain blynn to unravel that,” he answered. “he’s not half as clever as some believe, not to have discovered in six months what we have in less than two days. but remember, we promised señorita maria to say nothing of her share in the work.”
-an hour later the lads had laid their startling discoveries before the judge-advocate.
-“how many of these men did you count?” he asked excitedly, after he had listened with rising indignation to the account of the katipunan meeting and the accusation against rodriguez.
-“about forty, i should say,” phil answered.
-“i don’t understand,” the captain exclaimed aloud, “why espinosa has not told me of the existence of this society. of course i knew it was active elsewhere, but i had no idea they would dare plot against us within our lines.”
-“have you never suspected espinosa?” phil asked quietly.
-“yes, once,” the captain answered, after a moment’s hesitation, “but i found i was mistaken. he would not have led us against this fellow martinez if he had been a traitor. i have the note here which i took from espinosa that gives the information. it is in visayan but i have translated it.” he handed the scrap of paper to phil, who read it and passed it back.
-“colonel martinez and two hundred men encamp to-night at barotoc hill near banate en route to join diocno.”
-phil pondered over the words of the message. then he remembered the terrible personal attack of espinosa against martinez. was this a clue to his betrayal? were martinez and espinosa personal enemies?
-“no,” the captain continued assuredly. “espinosa has aided us in every way. it was through him that we sent captain gordon to the north to prevent more of these deserters from aguinaldo’s army landing. he has kept us well posted on the movements of our enemy.”
-“but still,” phil insisted, “there have been no big fights and we’ve lost a number of men cut up through surprise.”
-“that’s due in a great measure to the country and the inexperience of our volunteer officers,” the captain explained readily.
-“are you so sure of the honesty of rodriguez?” he asked suddenly. “i have heard it insinuated that he aspires to the leadership if diocno were removed.”
-phil was about to cry out his assured belief that rodriguez was sincere, but with the words on his lips he hesitated. he had seen rodriguez but once, and to be convinced of his honesty after such a short acquaintance would sound ridiculous. he saw that maria’s part would have to be told if captain blynn was to be convinced.
-“i have every reason to believe in his sincerity,” phil said instead. “i can understand spanish and i heard the leader denounce him as a traitor to the natives. then i heard rodriguez’s eloquent appeal to the men against their two-faced dealings. he surely had the courage of his convictions, for every hand there was against him.”
-“yes, the general had him down here the other day,” the captain said, “and he was impressed the same way. he’s a power among the lower classes, although he has many enemies among the educated ones.”
-captain blynn had been holding a telegram in his hand while the above conversation was taking place and now he passed it over in silence for phil to read.
-“colonel martinez is not the name of insurgent officer that left manila about the time of sailing of steamer ‘negros.’ our secret service men are sure that he is the noted outlaw ‘remundo.’”
-“so you see,” the captain said not unkindly, “you have twice allowed this desperado to escape.
-“but now,” the captain continued, “what we’ve got to do is to break up this secret society and find poor tillotson if he is still alive. i can hardly believe that they have been able to carry him away unless it was by water. however, espinosa should know of this. i will send for him to come here at once.”
-the captain rang his bell and sent the orderly who answered for the filipino.
-the midshipmen sat silently waiting while the judge-advocate returned to his interrupted office work.
-the orderly soon returned, reporting that señor espinosa was not at his house, and that his servant reported that he had not been home since the evening before.
-the midshipmen exchanged knowing glances. was espinosa then the leader whom phil had shot?
-“come!” captain blynn exclaimed, starting up from his chair. he led the lads down to his carriage at the door and motioned them to enter. then giving an address to the driver they went whirling through the narrow streets.
-after a ten minutes’ drive the carriage stopped in front of a large filipino house. without knocking the army man pushed open the door intruding his great bulk into the room.
-a half dozen natives arose from the floor, sudden fear in their faces as they saw the officers.
-“señor cardero,” the captain said in a quiet voice, “where has señor espinosa gone?”
-“i do not know,” the native replied sullenly.
-the captain glared fiercely at the small brown man before him; then he reached out a strong hand and caught the native fiercely by the neck, shaking him as a dog would a rat. the little man turned a sickly color and his teeth chattered, but the bullying american held him closely while his eyes flashed angrily as he questioned him. “tell me, where is señor espinosa?”
-“he is hurt, señor commandante,” the native cried out finally in a terrified voice after he had regained his breath. “it was an accident. i do not now know where he is, but he is not in the city.”
-the midshipmen were overjoyed at this news. so espinosa was the katipunan leader and spy. phil glanced at the surprised judge-advocate, a light of triumph in his eyes.
-“captain perry,” the captain ordered hurriedly, “you and mr. monroe stay here and guard these rats; i am going to have every native of prominence in the town arrested at once. thanks to you, we have at last found the leak.”
-throwing the cringing native from him, he strode out of the door, and the lads heard the rumble of his carriage wheels as he drove rapidly away.
-after the captain’s menacing presence had been removed the half dozen captive filipinos showed signs of restlessness, and once or twice phil surprised a covert glance toward a dark corner of the large living-room. both lads felt the responsibility of their position. they knew that they were outside of the line of sentries, almost beyond the sound of firearms. it seemed to phil that the captain was over-reckless in coming with only themselves into the haunts of a probable enemy. both lads were armed, their revolvers were held ready in hand and their prisoners knew full well that americans were dangerous shots.
-the inside of the room was but dimly lighted by a single oil wick, and the darkness became blacker toward that part of the house where no windows had been cut. phil had heard the captain give instructions to his orderly as he left headquarters to have a guard follow the carriage. but would the guard be sent here to aid them, or would captain blynn send them elsewhere to make arrests?
-“let’s get out of this trap,” phil whispered anxiously to sydney at his side, his idea being to order the men at the point of his revolver to pass out to the street.
-suiting the action implied in his words, phil opened the door leading from the living-room. he saw by the aid of the additional light from outside that the five men had cautiously and stealthily moved backward toward the wall nearest them, and were apparently supporting their weights upon it. suddenly he felt a jar and read in the eyes of the filipino nearest him revenge battling with fear. then the floor shook, and grasping sydney by the shoulder phil threw himself bodily through the open door as the floor of the building crashed down twenty feet into the cellar below. the natives, he could see, were hung on the wall like so many old coats, while through the bamboo floor on which he and sydney had just stood numberless bamboo spears bared their sharp, venomous points. the lad shuddered as he realized the murderous trick which had failed. if they had fallen with the floor, heavily weighted as it was with stones at the side, and resting on supports, which had been dislodged by a rope in the hands of one of the villains now hanging on the wall of the room, they would at this moment be lying pierced through and perhaps dying before the eyes of their cruel enemy.
-he raised his revolver and covered the nearest cringing native, a terrible anger in his eyes. in another second he would have pulled the trigger, but sydney’s hand closed firmly over his wrist, forcing his revolver upward and the ball sped harmlessly over the terrified native’s head.
-“they are more valuable alive,” sydney exclaimed to phil’s angry cry of protest. “come, let’s get outside before more of this hinged floor is loosened. we can better prevent their escape in that way.”
-phil followed his companion down the bamboo stairs and into the street, where a crowd of curious natives had gathered on hearing the startling shot. the lads moved their weapons menacingly, not knowing or trusting the temper of the crowd which backed away cringingly from the americans. a glance down the street brought a glad cry from the midshipmen as they saw a squad of soldiers advancing from the direction of headquarters. a loud voice in the visayan tongue from the building they had just left was answered by many excited voices in the gathered crowd, and then several women advanced slowly, holding up their hands in sign of peace, their bodies close together as if for mutual protection. the lads scarcely noticed the approach of the women, so occupied were they in watching the building in which were imprisoned five of the traitors who had been biting the hand of the master that fed them. a swift glance over his shoulder showed phil that the advancing women were scarce ten paces away from sydney, who was guarding one corner of the house, while he was some thirty feet away, guarding the other three sides. the soldiers were not over a block away and hastening toward him; he could hear the rattle of their gun slings, and the thud of their heavy shoes on the hard road-bed. then again as he cast an uneasy glance at this line of women his heart froze within him while his voice failed, for he had caught a fleeting glimpse of a savage face peering over their shoulders.
-“look out for yourself,” phil cried, directing his revolver at the line of women and firing blindly. in that second his disgust and wrath were so great at the dastardly strategy under the guise of friendship that he would not have felt a qualm of conscience if one of these unnatural women had fallen before his bullet.
-the women halted, sudden fear on their faces, while from between them dashed a half dozen savage natives armed with bolos. as they charged on the surprised midshipmen they cried out lustily in their guttural language the war-cry of the bolo-man who has received the charm of the anting-anting which to his superstitious mind makes him invulnerable against the americans’ bullets. they came boldly on while sydney jumped backward quickly to phil’s side and the two lads emptied the contents of their revolvers into the mass of naked brown men flourishing their keen blades above their heads in an endeavor to close with their hated foe. the women had run screaming with terror back to the safety of the crowd, taking refuge within the densely packed houses.
-with their revolvers empty and but three of their half dozen assailants writhing in the road, the plucky midshipmen faced the onrush of the fanatics. converting their revolvers into clubs, they awaited what seemed to them certain death. their one hope for safety lay in running away from the charging bolo-men and toward the soldiers now scarce two hundred yards away, but turn their backs on an enemy they could not.
-within ten feet of the midshipmen the fanatics suddenly stopped and a fear crept into their superstitious faces. the next second, to the lads’ astonishment, their sharp swords dropped from nerveless fingers, and the three natives prostrated themselves in the dust of the road.
-the lads gazed in startled wonder, scarcely believing their eyes.
-the midshipmen reconnoitre
-the midshipmen were so utterly astonished at the actions of their fanatical enemies that they could only gasp out their surprise in one heartfelt word of relief. then a familiar voice at their elbow awoke them from their stupefied inactivity. it was in visayan and they turned to gaze into the impassive face of rodriguez.
-“i have ordered them to escape,” he added in spanish, casting a quick glance toward the squad of soldiers. “poor fellows, it would be a pity to kill them, for they are but acting under orders.”
-the lads were too grateful to their rescuer for saving their lives to make useless inquiries as to why his influence could be exerted over the acts of their enemy. phil’s first thought was for the men whom the captain had left them to guard.
-“surround this house,” he commanded, and the sergeant in charge gave a short command and led the way himself to the rear of the large native building.
-“it is too late, señor commandante,” rodriguez said shaking his head; “they have all escaped through the rear door and are by now safely away.”
-the midshipmen ran quickly up the steps and gazed disappointedly into the gloom beyond. the floor still lay at the bottom of the cellar, the bamboo spears sticking half-way through, but the natives had gone. the back door stood open and to the ground was a jump of twenty feet. they had safely escaped while the lads were engaged defending themselves against the attack of the bolo-men.
-“i am on my way to see general wilson,” rodriguez announced after a search had failed to disclose any signs of the fugitives, “and offer my services.”
-“do you mean that you will fight with us against the insurgents?” phil asked in glad surprise.
-“yes, from now on i shall aid the americans to restore order in the island of kapay,” rodriguez replied, pleased at the cordial reception given him by the two midshipmen.
-together the party made their way back to headquarters in search of captain blynn.
-“it was providential that i happened along,” rodriguez said after they had passed through the sentries; “those bolo-men knew me and obeyed my sign. i see,” he added smilingly, “that you are already arresting the traitors.”
-“we were not very successful with señor cardero and his friends yonder,” sydney exclaimed ruefully, “but i suppose we should be thankful to have gotten off so easily.”
-“cardero is one of the craftiest of our outlaws,” rodriguez returned. “it is a marvel to me how he could have remained unmasked so long. of course,” he added, “i have known of this intrigue for some months, but until they deliberately plotted against my life i could not betray them.”
-“have you discovered who is the katipunan leader who tried to murder you last night?” sydney asked excitedly.
-“yes,” rodriguez replied. “you have doubtless guessed that he was espinosa. i know it now for sure. he has gone to matiginao, where there is a strong fort, and is in command of all the insurgent forces there. the bullet only crippled him last night, and i hear he is rapidly recovering. general diocno was murdered last night in his bed and no doubt i should have shared the same fate.”
-they were by this time at the headquarters building, and were glad to find that captain blynn had returned. the midshipmen informed the army man of their luckless adventure and stood in silence expecting to hear his harsh rebuke for allowing such important prisoners to escape, but he only grasped their hands and congratulated them upon their rare good fortune.
-“by george,” he exclaimed excitedly, “we’ve been contentedly living over an active volcano. it’s a marvel we haven’t all been massacred long ago.
-“every native of any consequence in the town has departed,” he added sadly.
-“rodriguez with you, and wishes to aid us?” he cried gladly, as phil told of the intention of the wealthy native. “well, that certainly is cheering news.”
-rodriguez came into the office and stood with dignified bearing before the big judge-advocate.
-“so you are tired of being neutral?” the army officer said pointedly in spanish. “do you wish to occupy the position just vacated by our mutual friend espinosa?”
-rodriguez drew himself up proudly while the midshipmen gasped at this harsh arraignment.
-“i do not blame you, señor,” the native answered, no evidence of anger on his placid face. “i know that you can have but little reason to trust the honesty of the men of my race. but i do not desire a position. i am now ready to take the field with my men, heretofore neutral. i have three hundred rifles.”
-“you are ready then to take the oath of allegiance?” captain blynn asked in official tones.
-“yes, señor, and keep it,” rodriguez returned, his eyes unflinching.
-“have you any news that will lead to our knowing the whereabouts of lieutenant tillotson?” blynn asked.
-“ah, i have,” the native answered eagerly. “i was about to ask you--my spies report a captive with espinosa.”
-the americans gave sighs of relief. at least tillotson was alive.
-general wilson received señor rodriguez with marked courtesy and appointed him on the spot a colonel in command of his own men whom he offered to enlist as native troops, rationing and feeding them from army funds, but rodriguez declined the latter, agreeing to defray all expenses.
-the midshipmen insisted that their new ally should go down to the dock and inspect the gunboat, so after explaining to general wilson that they would like to be absent for a few days on reconnaissance work, the three strolled leisurely down the street.
-“where is colonel martinez?” phil asked after they had arrived on board and the chinese servant had brought refreshments.
-rodriguez shrugged his shoulders and pointed toward the interior of the island.
-“will he serve under espinosa as leader?” sydney asked incredulously.
-“who knows?” rodriguez answered evasively.
-the lads saw that their friend had reasons for being non-committal and tactfully ceased their interrogation, yet inwardly they were consumed with curiosity. espinosa had attempted to kill colonel martinez on the morning of blynn’s attack, and now would they serve amicably side by side against a common enemy?
-the hour for lunch arrived, and as rodriguez was not leaving for several hours to return to his home up the river he gladly accepted the midshipmen’s pressing invitation to eat with them.
-phil had made up his mind to explore the river, though this idea was unformed in his mind when he left headquarters.
-during the meal the midshipmen questioned their guest about espinosa’s impregnable stronghold and of its approach by water.
-“there is a trail from my ranch to the foot of the mountain,” rodriguez replied thoughtfully, “but it will be filled with traps, and will be dangerous if espinosa hears an attack is to be attempted. the river flows through a narrow gorge at matiginao, and from the cliffs huge boulders can be dropped into the river many hundred feet below.
-“the gunboat!” he exclaimed in amazement, after phil had questioned in regard to the depth of water. “if it were possible!” rodriguez glanced admiringly at the heavy cannon mounted near him. “yes, with this gunboat in the river the tops of the cliffs could be swept, and soldiers could scale the difficult trail unopposed, and once through the narrows the trail leading from the stronghold could be commanded by the cannon to cut off the retreat of the insurgents. it is wonderful! but the bridge, señor perry,” he ended, his voice betraying his sudden disappointment; “it is strongly built and a gunboat cannot pass.”
-“if i find there’s water enough to float the ‘mindinao,’” phil replied assuredly, “the bridge will not stand in the way long.
-“does your daughter know the country?” phil asked earnestly.
-rodriguez gazed a full minute at his questioner before he answered.
-“every foot of it,” he added; “she was born near the stronghold. but what is your intention, señor? this is no work for a woman.”
-phil would willingly have bitten off his tongue for having led him into such an embarrassing situation. he could not tell rodriguez that he wanted maria because she alone would he trust as a guide on the perilous mission which he had made up his mind to make.
-major marble fortunately arrived at this moment and saved the lad from becoming more deeply involved. he gave them the latest news.
-“tillotson’s father is keeping the wires hot,” he told them. “we are ordered to spare nothing to recapture him, but of course we shall do that anyway. the general has wired back the good news the señor has brought, that tillotson is believed to be a prisoner and alive.”
-before the party dispersed, phil confided to his hearers his plan to explore the river and his intention to start that very night.
-“then you will visit me on my ranch?” rodriguez exclaimed gladly. “everything i have is at your service,” he added with the grandiloquent air of a spanish gentleman.
-phil nodded gratefully, realizing that unlike the spaniard, whose form of address the native copied, rodriguez made no empty offer.
-“i believe,” the lad continued, a spark of enthusiasm in his voice, “that a gunboat of the tonnage of this vessel is capable of reaching the insurgent stronghold.”
-“if you can accomplish that,” major marble exclaimed excitedly, “you and your ‘mindinao’ will make an enviable name for yourselves, for once that stronghold is taken we shall have many surrenders throughout the island.”
-“why not force the insurgents to concentrate on matiginao,” phil asked earnestly, “and attack them there?”
-“the general has already sent out orders,” major marble told them, smiling at the lad’s eagerness, “to attack the insurgents wherever they can be located and for all the troops to concentrate on palilo, leaving small garrisons in the towns to guard the peaceful natives. he is working up a big plan to attack this stronghold with a large force, and will undoubtedly take the field in person. he is determined to rescue tillotson, and will give espinosa no rest until he is captured or killed.”
-the midshipmen listened in delight to this plan, which fitted in so well with their own ideas.
-the major soon departed, promising short work in destroying the bridge if the lads discovered the river to be navigable above the house of rodriguez.
-o’neil was ordered to have a boat’s crew of four men ready to leave the gunboat at one o’clock at night. the distance to rodriguez’s ranch was somewhat over fifteen miles and the lads did not desire to be seen, so they would pass at night and be safely within friendly land by sunrise. rodriguez left them soon after to return by land and promised a hearty welcome on their arrival up the river.
-promptly at one o’clock the expedition started. o’neil had provided the usual gear for surveyors; a compass, a lead line, and also a rifle for each man and a revolver for himself.
-silently they shoved off and rowed with muffled oars up the river, and under the bridge, built substantially in the days of the spaniards. “a few charges of dynamite would settle it,” phil thought.
-already o’neil had uncoiled his lead line and was sounding in the channel of the river.
-“it’ll be a cinch, sir,” the boatswain’s mate exclaimed after several soundings had given him no less than four fathoms of water. “seven feet is all we need and we can carry that for miles until the mountains commence to go up steep; then there’ll be rocks to look out for.”
-mile after mile was pulled in silence except for the light dip of the oars and the dull, almost soundless splash of the lead as it was heaved a short distance forward of the boat.
-the midshipmen gazed with apprehension at the forbidding banks of the river. the rank tropical foliage would conceal an army. riflemen might lie concealed and fire without the slightest fear of discovery.
-gradually the river narrowed, but the depth of water did not grow less.
-it was just before dawn when the boat arrived at the bend behind which, by the description given them, would be the landing pier of the rodriguez ranch.
-in a half hour the boat was being cared for by one of the many willing attendants and the sailors were escorted to the palatial residence of señor rodriguez.
-it was the señorita who came first to meet her old friends.
-phil thought that nothing so far had deterred her. she had seen as much fighting as most men and had withstood it bravely, and he said so to her.
-“you might be valuable, señorita, to put courage in men’s hearts,” sydney added smiling, “but you would not be very formidable as a soldier.”
-maria bit her lips vexedly.
-“i can shoot as well as a man,” she cried half angrily, “and i can ride a horse and paddle a canoe. what more is needed?”
-“something which is not in your makeup,” phil answered admiringly. “you are not vindictive and are not cruel. but you can do us a favor, if you will. we want to explore the country between here and matiginao.”
-maria clapped her hands with joy.
-“i know every foot of the country,” she cried eagerly. “you couldn’t have better guides than my little brother and i. but,” she added, her voice becoming lower and a fear in her eyes, “my father is now an enemy to the ladrones and insurgents, and it is unsafe to wander away on the lonely trails.”
-phil and sydney exchanged glances as much as to say, “there is your woman’s argument. one moment she wants to fight and the next she speaks of danger.”
-señor rodriguez welcomed the midshipmen, and together all sat down to a large table where a delicious breakfast was served.
-phil saw his men were provided for, as he intended leaving them behind, and after breakfast maria led the party out where five finely bred horses were held by native grooms.
-maria and juan, who sat his pony as gracefully as if he were a part of the animal, led the way across the open fields surrounding the ranch houses. then they plunged into a path cleaving the giant trees of the tropical jungle. limbs of trees brushed their faces and great care was necessary to prevent themselves from being unhorsed.
-phil’s idea was for the boat to wait until dark, and then row up the river as far as possible and return by morning, in order that the general could be informed of the feasibility of the plan and the work of destroying the bridge started. his party, meanwhile, were bent on following this trail toward matiginao, to reach the ranch before the boat and wait for it. he realized that they were running a great risk, but he believed the necessity for the information was worth the risk run. the trail led mostly within sight of the snake-like river. they passed many dwellings, most of them deserted of all save hungry mongrels and starving pigs.
-“this seems to be a fine trail,” sydney said surprisedly, as they walked their horses two abreast.
-“it leads but five miles further,” maria replied, “and from where it ends, all other trails are those made by animals, and followed seldom by men.”
-at a brisk trot maria started ahead. the jungle bent away from the road, leaving a high arched canopy over the heads of the travelers, through which the tropical sun shone with sullen impotence.
-“there is a small bungalow up here,” the girl announced in pleasurable anticipation. “we shall have our lunch there. before the big house was built we lived there.”
-“how long has it been since you were there?” sydney asked in sudden anxiety, the fear entering his mind that it might now have other occupants.
-the house soon appeared through the thick grove of cocoanut palms with its unkept lawn sloping gently to the river. the grass in front of the house was overhead high, and everything had grown wild and in luxuriant profusion. the house itself was in ruins.
-while maria and little juan had taken charge of the horses and tethered them amid a good repast of alfalfa, the two lads strolled down to the river.
-“hello, here are some canoes!” phil exclaimed; “and they’ve been tied here recently,” he added anxiously, as he saw clearly the fresh footprints and the grass trodden down near the landing.
-the lads’ intention had been to investigate the depth of the water in the river, but their startling discovery made them forget all else save the visible evidence that a small body of men had recently landed at this very spot and had taken the almost obliterated trail to the abandoned house. maria and her brother might even now be prisoners among their enemy. the two midshipmen gazed at each other through eyes wide with apprehension. what was to be done?
-“we can’t desert the girl,” sydney declared, gazing at the trodden grass. “otherwise we might reach the horses and escape before they discover us.”
-“come,” phil exclaimed, “there are not many of them, and maybe,” he added reassuringly, “they are not all armed.”
-the two lads walked noiselessly toward the house along the dim trail.
-the building was now in plain sight. the wide porch with its profusion of clinging vines was deserted. the long flight of bamboo steps was half in ruins. to the right not a hundred yards distant their horses were standing, their noses deep in the rich grass.
-at the foot of the steps the midshipmen halted. there was a mysterious silence in the air about them and they imagined that from the deserted building unfriendly eyes were peering down upon them.
-phil gave a sigh of relief as he saw maria, leading little juan, come slowly through the tall grass toward them from the neighborhood of the horses. he made up his mind quickly. nothing further could be gained here, and the evidence that others had been on this spot very recently was too strong not to take the warning. he caught sydney’s arm and wheeled him away from the house. the lads had not taken a half dozen steps before a shrill cry from maria riveted them in their tracks. over their shoulders they saw that now the porch was filled with natives who were pointing their rifles at them menacingly.
-“come on, we might as well face them,” phil whispered, his teeth tightly clenched and with his hand on his pistol.
-turning, phil led the way back to the steps, and there he halted, glancing inquiringly at the unfriendly guns covering him.
-a native, apparently an officer, dressed in a dull gray cotton uniform, walked slowly toward him down the rickety steps.
-“how dare you insult me and my friends on my own door-step?” maria’s voice was high pitched in anger. “these gentlemen are my guests. by what right are you here?”
-the filipino officer had stopped half-way on the steps in surprise, his revolver held in front of him. unconsciously he dropped its muzzle toward the ground and regarded the girl in unfeigned admiration.
-“pardon, señorita,” he said apologetically, using the spanish of the higher classes of filipinos. “you, then, are señorita rodriguez, and i ask your forgiveness for my rudeness. i thought these señores,” indicating the two midshipmen with a nod of his head, “were americans and my enemies.”
-phil’s ears were startled by a loud peal of laughter, and he gazed in almost horror at the girl, believing that she had become hysterical. but a glance at her smiling face showed that her nerves were well in hand. an angry flush suffused his face as it crossed his mind that this was a trap of her own laying. but he blamed himself instantly for even entertaining such a thought. what would she say? she must acknowledge that he and sydney were americans, naval officers, though they were not in uniform, having on khaki riding suits. phil’s hand slowly drew out his revolver from its holster, while his eyes were turned now on the averted face of the native officer.
-“from what part of the island have you come?” maria asked quickly, the smile of superiority still on her face and phil saw that to the native the smile was disconcerting.
-“i am just from matiginao,” he replied. “i came for fresh meat. to forage on your father’s land.”
-the smile died on maria’s face, but luckily the native had withdrawn his eyes and was regarding closely the young men before him.
-maria felt that the filipino officer must know of her father’s enmity to his new leader, espinosa. then as the native’s eyes again traveled to her face the smile reappeared.
-“i see all white men are to you americans. these señores are my guests. i vouch for them,” she told him in a confiding voice. “it was a natural mistake for you to make, señor----” she stopped questioningly, and he supplied the name. “salas, colonel in the filipino army, señorita, at your service,” he said bowing gallantly.
-maria had not guessed at the officer’s identity although she knew most of the important leaders, having known them as a girl at her father’s house before the war had begun. now the mention of his name almost made her heart stop beating. this frail creature, with the face and figure of a boy, was feared by all who had fallen under his control. he had won the unenviable reputation of being the most cruel of the insurgent leaders, first in luzon under aguinaldo and then on the island of kapay. he was scarcely older than phil, and yet he held the rank of colonel.
-“your name, señor,” she smiled, “is one well known throughout kapay. in appearance you are not the ogre that you are painted.”
-colonel salas’ white, even teeth gleamed between his thin lips. he felt himself the master of the situation. here was the proud daughter of rodriguez complimenting him. his small soul was nourished by the thought that he was feared by all.
-“then, señorita,” he said, “if you do not consider me an ogre, will you and your english friends accept the offer of a share in my frugal meal? it is now ready inside.”
-the midshipmen had watched with beating hearts this plucky girl’s brave fence with the subtle native and as he pronounced the word english he glanced at the silent lads. phil thought he saw a gleam of joy in his cruel eyes.
-“they do not speak spanish?” he asked, shrugging his shoulder expressively as much as to answer the question himself in the negative. it was better so; one could play the game better than two and the lads now knew that maria was an adept in diplomacy, and could be depended upon to make a better and intelligent fight for their lives. that their lives were in danger was but too evident to the lads. the native soldiers still covered them with their rifles, and colonel salas had moved to maria’s side as they had talked, leaving the line of fire quite clear. a word from him and a score of bullets would be tearing through their bodies. did the officer believe that they were english? had he already seen through the deception, and made up his mind to maneuver so as to kill them at the least risk to himself and men? phil gauged the distance between himself and the insolent face of this young colonel and resolved that the word of command to his men to fire should be a dear one for the smiling colonel.
-the lads indeed found themselves in an awkward predicament. just the faintest thread really bound them to life, for they saw in the cruel expression in the eyes of the filipino officer that nothing would delight him so much as to have these white men shot. phil very much feared that in spite of his cordial words this boyish native had before now guessed the truth. however there was nothing to do but remain silent and inactive. phil had a great desire to speak to sydney in english, but he feared this dapper little filipino might have learned enough of that language to understand what he might say.
-with his cold eye on the midshipmen the native officer gave a gruff command to his men behind him on the porch. phil’s hand moved a hair’s breadth, and the revolver muzzle on his hip pointed squarely at the body of colonel salas, while his finger pressed ever so slightly the trigger. for the fraction of a second their eyes met. then the lad saw with relief that the soldiers had lowered their guns and were filing through the door into the house. with a deft motion he allowed his revolver to slip noiselessly back into its holster.
-colonel salas had already turned and was leading the way up the steps, maria and her brother following, and the midshipmen bringing up the rear.
-“do you think he suspects us?” sydney whispered.
-“he must,” phil answered hurriedly. “be careful, syd,” he added anxiously. “we’ve got to fight our way out. there seems no other way. there are twenty of them against us two.”
-at the top of the steps salas turned and looked questioningly at the midshipmen. phil dared not meet his eye for fear that the little native would see the anxiety which he strove to hide.
-on the floor of the big room a cloth had been spread and a repast set out.
-with a graceful wave of his thin hands colonel salas made a sign for all to be seated and took, himself, the place beside maria. phil sat on the other side of maria, while sydney and little juan were placed opposite.
-their brisk ride had given them all an appetite, but the terrible predicament in which they now found themselves had quite taken away their relish for food. the lads did their best to appear undisturbed, but any one with half an eye could have seen the restlessness behind their forced tranquillity.
-it is not the filipino custom to talk while eating, and it was not until his dish was emptied that colonel salas broke the awkward silence.
-“your english friends are very fond of adventure,” he said suddenly. “our camp is only a league up the river, and would be well worth a visit. i did not intend to return so soon, but i shall be glad to take you there. you can return to-day or remain until to-morrow morning. it is the strongest fortified camp in the islands, and has never been successfully attacked. you can see where three spanish regiments were annihilated by having rocks rolled down upon them.”
-phil’s heart beat faster. here was the very opportunity he had wished for. if they could only see this camp with their own eyes; photograph the surroundings in their minds; test the depth of the water and the width of the channel, would it not be worth the fearful risk they would run? then the thought of espinosa drove the possibility of such a hazardous undertaking from his mind. they would then surely be recognized even if they had not been already, and he shuddered to think of the penalty. what was his astonishment when maria agreed gladly to the plan.
-“that would be fun, wouldn’t it?” she cried in english, appealing to the utterly bewildered lads.
-“bueno! we can ride to ‘el salto de diablo’ (the devil’s leap), and there i shall have ‘bankas’ ready to take us to the foot of the trail,” salas returned delightedly as he left them to instruct his men sleeping on the shady porch at the back of the house.
-“do you realize what you are doing?” phil muttered excitedly. “at any moment he may discover who we really are. suppose word should come to him from the city? we must not accept his invitation,” he ended hurriedly.
-“i fear,” maria whispered, “that he already suspects who you are, and for that reason i have accepted. if i refused we are already in his hands, and what can we do against his twenty rifles?
-“we must act it out, and, if opportunity offers, escape. above all, don’t show by sign or word that you suspect him and don’t show how much spanish you know,” she ended fearfully, as she saw salas approaching with several of his men.
-phil’s heart beat like a trip-hammer at this disquieting belief of maria. she was certainly keen. by what system of argument had she arrived at such a conclusion? to phil salas had appeared to believe the story told by the girl. sydney and juan had listened attentively to her words.
-in a short time the party were in motion. a horse had been captured from the herd of those that had run wild during the absence of their owner, and salas sat it well. phil thought he had never seen such a graceful horseman. the wild horse reared and plunged in its efforts to unseat the rider, but he could not be disturbed. the native followers formed about them, and the party moved slowly along the uneven road.
-after a half hour’s ride, salas ordered a halt at the base of a bluff several hundred feet high. the midshipmen gazed with inward emotion at the towering cliffs ahead of them, through which ran like a torrent the muddy tubig river.
-“from here we must go by banka,” the outlaw explained. “my men will go on foot, for they are accustomed to the rough trail; but for the señorita it would be impossible.”
-one of the natives approached his chief timidly, and spoke a few short sentences in a frightened voice.
-“he tells me that there is but one banka ready,” he explained apologetically; “the other bankas are at the foot of the trail two miles up the river. the ones we used this morning i left at the ranch. i am sorry, but as only five can go in this boat some of the party must walk. who shall it be?” he asked abruptly.
-“there are just five of us,” maria suggested enthusiastically. “my brother and i are at home with a paddle and surely the señor colonel has often propelled his own boat.”
-salas glanced keenly at the girl’s face. he saw nothing there save youthful eagerness for adventure.
-“as you wish,” he replied carelessly. “it’s a tedious journey: two miles against the swift current. my men are used to it.”
-but maria’s mind was set upon their going together. phil pondered upon what her plan might be. the river was now narrow and the colonel’s men would always be within hail.
-“what shall we do with our horses?” phil questioned. “are we to return here?”
-“i shall leave some men here with them,” the filipino leader assured him. “we shall either return by the way we came or else over the trail.
-“vamos,” he concluded, waving his hand toward the large canoe which two of the natives were holding close up to the steep river bank.
-maria took her place in the bow while the others distributed themselves evenly upon the frail low seats, grasping their paddles ready to balance the boat when it was cast adrift in the swift current.
-salas stood undecided upon the bank; his men had gone over the trail leading through the almost impenetrable jungle between them and the high palisade upon which was the outlaw’s stronghold.
-“leave the horses here,” he said finally to his two men, “and go back to the palm grove and bring up one of the canoes we left there this morning.”
-phil from his seat in the stern of the banka caught a significant look flung to him out of the eyes of the girl who was seated in the bow, her head bent gracefully backward regarding the filipino leader. in the rear of maria was little juan, his small hands grasping a paddle, much too large for his strength.
-“give the señor your paddle, juan,” the girl ordered, then turning to salas she added persuasively, “sit behind juan, señor. i’m afraid he might fall overboard and i don’t know what my father would do if anything should happen to him.”
-the outlaw smiled and took the empty seat, taking from the boy’s unwilling hands the large paddle.
-“bueno,” he exclaimed, while the two men released the boat, pushing it gently away out into the stream.
-under the strong strokes of four paddles, for the midshipmen were both expert, having owned canoes at the naval academy, the native boat swept swiftly through the water. to avoid the strength of the current the canoe was steered close in to the steep bank under the protecting shade of the overhanging trees. great crocodiles basking on the muddy banks were passed, the animals slinking away as the boat approached, their long tails lashing furiously in their haste. monkeys filled the trees, whistling and jabbering fearlessly as the boat passed under them.
-while phil exerted himself manfully at his paddle, his thoughts busily sought a plan to escape the enforced hospitality of salas. a great fear filled his mind as he dwelt upon the horrors of imprisonment among these lawless men. to sydney and him it would eventually mean death, and to maria and her little brother a long and dangerous imprisonment and harsh treatment. but why had not salas made them prisoners at once if he suspected their real identity? phil did not guess that the outlaw had read defiance and action in the midshipmen’s eyes, and alert as the outlaw’s faculties had become to scent danger even though carefully concealed, he had detected the stealthy motion of phil’s hand when he had been confronted by his men. salas was not a coward, but he had realized instantly that if he ordered his men to open fire, unless the first shots killed the americans, he himself would fall the victim of their vengeance. so he was biding the time when he would have them safe without danger to himself.
-the boat had now covered nearly half the distance. phil wondered what he could do. the slight figure of the outlaw, seated upon the low thwart just in front of him, was so temptingly close and apparently so unconscious of any threatening danger. the native’s revolver lay in its holster just within reach of the lad’s hand, the flap securely buttoned upon its polished handle. phil realized that when salas expected treachery his first act would be to capsize the canoe. being a strong swimmer the native doubtless believed he could reach the bank first and have at his mercy those still struggling in the water. to attempt to unbutton the flap of the holster and take the revolver without the owner’s knowledge was impossible. phil needed both of his hands to wield the heavy paddle and if he stopped paddling salas would at once suspect treachery. his heart rose in his throat and his pulses throbbed painfully as a bold plan flashed suddenly into his thoughts. it seemed the one chance of escape. at the rate the boat was going it would soon be at the foot of the trail to the stronghold where salas’ men would be waiting in force to escort them up the steep incline to the top of the mountain. a huge crocodile lay asleep about a hundred yards ahead and this sight had awakened the plan to action in phil’s mind.
-“go slowly,” he whispered loud enough to be heard by all in the boat. “let’s see if we can’t get a shot at that big crocodile over there.”
-as salas’ hand slowly drew his revolver from its holster, phil’s right hand with the speed of a mongoos seizing its prey clutched the slender wrist of the outlaw; the lad’s left hand had moved deftly to the slack of the native’s strong khaki trousers, and the next second he had raised the surprised filipino from off his seat and held him for an instant balanced in the air.
-“turn her down-stream,” the midshipman ordered in a hoarse voice, as he flung the struggling man into the water clear of the rocking boat.
-maria by a well-timed stroke had instantly spun the canoe about, and all four bent desperately to their paddles. phil saw the broad-brimmed sombrero of their enemy floating on the surface and a fear instantly filled his thoughts that salas might not swim. the next second he was reassured; the head of the native covered with thick black hair could be plainly seen swimming toward the far shore; the menacing presence of the crocodile had deterred him from attempting to reach the land but a few strokes away. every second the lad expected to hear a loud call for help from the outraged officer. phil, over his shoulder, measured the distance yet to be gained by the struggling native. why had he not cried out a warning to his men? surely they were within hearing; the trail over which they had gone must be but a short distance from the river.
-under the straining muscles of the midshipmen, helped by the swiftness of the current, the canoe sped toward the grassy slope where their horses were waiting. a bend in the river, and the swimmer disappeared from sight.
-“why hasn’t he given the alarm?” phil demanded nervously. “what does it mean?”
-“he will as soon as he reaches shore,” maria gasped breathlessly. “the monkeys when they fall in the water always scream, so salas knows better than to signal to all the crocodiles within hearing.”
-little juan, try as he would, could not keep up with the furious pace set him by his companions, and he lay quietly balancing himself in the boat and gazing about him with frightened eyes.
-the skiff was run full speed against the steep bank of the river, and the midshipmen clutched eagerly the loose earth until maria and her brother had gained the shore. then to their expectant ears there came a loud halloo! from up the river.
-“there’s no time to be lost,” phil urged excitedly as he darted ahead to where their horses had been tied. a sickening fear took possession of him until he had climbed to the top of the slope.
-“they’re here!” he cried joyfully, as he saw the five horses grazing contentedly.
-the midshipmen lifted maria and her brother upon the backs of their horses, cutting loose the hempen lariats with which they had been tethered.
-“lead the way, señorita,” he cried hurriedly; “we must not spare ourselves.”
-for one second phil lingered. the fifth horse, if he left it there, would afford the means of catching other horses to pursue them; for he knew that a single outlaw would not dare attempt to follow. with a few swift strokes of his knife he severed the bridle and then with his open hand struck the restless animal across the flanks. as he swung himself into his saddle he saw it plunge eagerly away into the dense jungle, happy to be again free of its domestic yoke.
-as the lad dashed ahead after his companions, he heard the low moaning note of the concha (a shell bugle), a signal of warning used by the ladrones of the mountains. the sound was insidious. it seemed to come from a long way off. yet phil knew the operator could not be a mile away. the low tones were known to travel many miles, even farther than the high notes of a bugle. to those whose ears had not been trained to listen to the warning note, the sound might be mistaken for the coo of a wood pigeon. the lad’s heart leaped as he foresaw that the two men who had gone to bring the missing canoe were between them and the only avenue of escape and their trained ears had already heard the warning sound. if they had started back in the boat when they heard the warning, they would remain concealed until the fugitives had drawn within close range and then would open fire upon them. even though the persons of the party might escape the hastily aimed shots, the great bulk of a horse could never escape and the crippling of one animal would mean at the least their recapture, and probably death to all four.
-with the energy of despair he drove his horse forward to join those in the lead. breathlessly, trembling with his terrible anxiety, he reached maria’s side.
-“do you know of any other road?” he gasped. “there!” he exclaimed hopelessly, as a low coo came from the direction of the bungalow, “they have answered.”
-“i know of a road,” the girl returned breathlessly, “but it is across the river, and is very narrow and uneven.”
-phil gazed frantically at the swift current as it appeared intermittently through vistas in the trees while they sped along. once across undiscovered they would be safe.
-“but juan, he cannot swim; he will be afraid,” he cried hoarsely.
-“never fear for him. it was necessary colonel salas should think so in order to persuade him to sit in front of you. he fell into my trap very obligingly,” she returned, a half smile curving the corners of her mouth.
-“the river then is our only chance,” phil declared decidedly. “it will be death for us all to attempt to pass the two armed outlaws.”
-“these horses are all good swimmers,” maria answered hurriedly. “just hold on to the saddle and give them their heads. i know where we can land, so follow me. look out for juan,” she ended in sisterly fear.
-as maria, followed by the midshipmen and juan, forced her horse to enter the forbidding river, a fusillade of rifle-shots sounded from a point in the river some thousand yards above them, and the smack of bullets struck the water close to the horses’ forefeet. a new danger now confronted the fugitives. those above them had discovered their intention to cross the river. fortunately as yet they were beyond the effective range of rifles, but if the two men at the ranch should discover the move they were making to put the river between them and their enemies, they could quickly cross in their canoe and locate themselves in the path of escape.
-the horses drew back at first, erecting their ears and neighing timidly, doubtless scenting the huge crocodiles hidden in the rank growth upon the banks.
-phil heaved a relieved sigh as he saw maria’s horse emerge from the water on the far side, and scramble up the steep bank, the dripping girl clutching securely the saddle.
-little juan behaved like a veteran, guiding his horse with a gentle hand across the current until the animal’s feet took the bottom on the other side and when the horse’s back emerged, he was sitting again securely in the saddle.
-just as phil, the last to reach the shore, gained the steep ascent, a sharp crack of a rifle, followed by a loud smack as the bullet dug itself into the muddy soil, announced that those at the ranch had also discovered their presence. as phil drew himself into the saddle shaking free his reins, a single swift glance down the river showed him the two natives running toward the palm grove where the canoe was tied. a few swift strokes and they would again bar the way.
-“come, syd, we must ride ahead,” phil cried in a fever of dread, as he dashed by maria and her brother. “never mind what happens, señorita, you ride on as fast as you can go,” he continued earnestly as sydney spurred ahead to join him. “we’ve got to turn those fellows back,” he explained breathlessly. “if they succeed in getting across they will be able to stop us completely.”
-as the midshipmen galloped madly down the rough trail toward a clearing in the trees from which they could get a clear view of their enemy, both drew their revolvers and held them in readiness.
-“look out for your horse, syd,” phil continued; “he’ll probably balk when we fire and to be unseated now would mean the end.”
-as the two horsemen came into view of the boat the two natives, half-way across the river, suddenly dropped their paddles. two flashes of flame and a light, filmy smoke told that their bullets had been sent speeding in the midshipmen’s direction. but fortunately the rocking canoe had spoiled their aim. the missiles sang harmlessly above the lads’ heads.
-on a mad gallop the two midshipmen rushed out upon the clearing, revolvers in hand. as if on drill, the two horses were drawn back upon their haunches and the americans’ weapons spoke furiously--shot after shot struck about the panic-stricken natives. they first attempted to paddle away, but the close hiss of the bullets became more than their waning courage could stand. forgetting their rifles in their mad fear, they jumped overboard and dived below the surface of the water, while the empty canoe, in the grasp of the current, went sailing swiftly down-stream, forever beyond their reach.
-with wild exultation the midshipmen turned and raced after their fleeing friends.
-darkness overtook them long before they could again recross the river and take the wide trail on which it was possible to ride with greater speed.
-it was after midnight before the great house of señor rodriguez loomed up ahead, and after they had been stopped a number of times by the vigilant sentries they gained the hospitable roof.
-after a hearty supper, which maria insisted upon their eating, phil declared his wish to return to palilo.
-“but your boat has not returned,” maria insisted. “you must sleep here to-night, then you can return in the morning.”
-phil knew that o’neil would not return until he had reached a depth of water in the river too shallow for the gunboat to pass. how far would he have to go? maybe to the cañon beneath the insurgent stronghold. in that case he could scarcely expect them before morning. a slight uneasiness filled his thoughts, but he tried to put it aside, for o’neil’s ready resourcefulness could get them out of almost any difficulty.
-“it is important, señorita,” phil declared firmly, “that i should return to-night. i will leave a message for my men to follow down on their return. may i have a boat or a couple of horses?” he asked.
-maria spoke a few words to an attendant.
-“lopez will guide you,” she answered. “i am sorry you will not stay, but you, of course, know best.”
-señor rodriguez, after he had been told of the miraculous escape of the explorers, shook the lads warmly by the hand, and thanked them for taking care of his two children.
-“it was the other way around,” sydney cried in admiration. “your daughter really saved us and herself, too. if it had not been for her we should have blundered into a fight with the ladrones and been killed for our pains.”
-the old man shook his head thoughtfully.
-“salas, eh? so he is with espinosa. the two blackest rogues we have in the islands. you are lucky to be free of them.”
-“how many men have you guarding your plantation?” phil inquired, his mind bent upon the possibility of an attack.
-“i have five hundred men, but only three hundred rifles,” rodriguez replied. “captain blynn will send sufficient guns to arm all the men by to-morrow. i do not fear an attack until after espinosa is more recovered. my spies report that he is still suffering from his wound. i suppose i must expect an attack eventually,” he added sadly, gazing lovingly at his daughter and little son.
-within the hour, lopez appeared and reported all was ready for the trip to palilo.
-“if you want more men,” phil suggested, “i can speak to major marble, the adjutant-general. but i, myself, hope soon to be anchored off your house in the ‘mindinao.’”
-lopez’s old eyes opened wide. “a gunboat has not been for many years up this river,” he said gravely. “the spaniards built the bridge after the bloody fight at matiginao over thirty years ago. it is said that many rocks were placed in the channel by the natives at that time, and after the spaniards found the river was blocked for their gunboats they built that bridge to endure. it is all of stone and iron. a steam-launch can barely pass through the archway.”
-phil’s heart sank. the channel blocked with rock! if this was true only a careful survey could assure safety for the gunboat. the lead might easily miss the shallow places while the gunboat would discover the obstruction for the first time with its frail bottom.
-the lad shook hands with the dignified old man. they regarded him almost with reverence. had they not seen him stand bravely before a score of his countrymen, who he knew would like nothing better than to murder him, and tell them boldly that he was for the right even if to be so would cause him to be called a traitor! now he had declared for the american cause and almost every influential native’s hand was against him.
-maria went with them to where the grooms held their horses.
-“señorita, we can never thank you enough,” phil declared gladly. “you are forever putting us in your debt.”
-“ah, you have forgotten the night you saved colonel martinez,” she said softly, and phil imagined in the moonlight that her eyes shone brighter.
-“by jove, phil!” sydney exclaimed eagerly a moment later, after they and lopez had swung themselves into their saddles and were trotting down the broad roadway, “i didn’t believe it was in any girl to have such grit, least of all one of her race. how on earth did you come to think of such a trick as you played on that dapper little colonel?”
-phil smiled deliciously.
-“that was planned telepathically between the señorita and me,” he replied. “she purposely sat in front of salas and i was placed behind him; reason one. she knew that i knew if salas remained in that canoe we would all be made prisoners, and as espinosa would be our jailer--well! the crocodile was sent by a kind providence, but if not one way it would have been another. the idea occurred to me and i firmly believe that she divined what i was about to do, for did you see her spin the canoe about so as to get out of the colonel’s reach when he was sent floundering in the water? she first induced him against his caution and better judgment to trust himself alone with us in one canoe.”
-“but why didn’t he disarm us?” sydney questioned perplexedly.
-“i dare say he wonders why he didn’t too, by now,” phil laughed. “maria threw him quite off the scent, apparently. these brown fellows are very keen on dramatic scenes, and he doubtless thought it would be a fine situation to spring the fact that we were prisoners when we had arrived in espinosa’s presence.”
-“two o’clock!” he exclaimed. “not much sleep for us to-night.” then a look in lopez’s face caused him alarm. he saw the native, eyes intent on the horizon from which they had come and his hands pressing forward his ears, apparently trying to intercept a sound which he had either heard or imagined.
-phil was about to ask an eager question but before he could speak he was answered by a distant rumble from the direction of the ranch. again and again the slight sound trembled on the still night. like statues silhouetted against the sky, for a second or more the three men sat transfixed with apprehension. then as one man they whirled their horses about and galloped madly back over the road in the direction from which they had come. that far-distant sound could have but one interpretation;--the rodriguez ranch was being attacked, and they might be needed.
-a night of alarm
-after the midshipmen had ridden away maria returned to the large living-room to bid her father good-night. a new pleasure had come into her life, and what was more natural than that she should wish to share it with him? these frank, young americans had proved themselves to be of a quality which she had not thought existed outside of the story-books of her childhood. she believed that in their friendship her father’s difficulties would melt away. juan rodriguez, interested as he had always been in the political trials of his country together with the management of his vast estates, from which he had reaped great riches, like most filipinos of the upper class, had treated his only daughter more as a heaven-sent treasure rather than as a daughter to confide in and in whom to seek womanly sympathy in his perplexities. her principal care had been for her brother, juan, the pride of the old man’s life. upon this seven-year-old boy the greater part of his affection was centred. maria was not at all sleepy, and, seeing a light in her father’s bedroom, she slipped in quietly to pour out her heart to the stern but kindly parent.
-on the threshold she stopped in startled amazement. her slippered feet had made no sound and the door as she pushed it open caused him to glance up in annoyed surprise. she saw her father on his knees in the corner before several heavy iron-bound chests, and their opened covers displayed to her anxious eyes a great wealth of gold and silver coins. more money than her young imagination had ever dreamed of.
-as rodriguez’s eyes encountered the startled look in his daughter’s face, an expression of stern annoyance came into his own as he snapped the huge lids shut and rose to his feet.
-“why do you keep all that money here?” she asked anxiously.
-her father looked worried at the question.
-“all the money i have is in those chests, daughter,” he answered in a low voice. “it has been buried, but when garcia deserted me, lopez and i dug it up and brought it in here. i fear these native banks, and if i should be robbed by the insurgents i would leave you and juan penniless. my lands are valuable, but these,” pointing to the chests, “contain the most of my wealth. my ambition is to take my children abroad, away from this turmoil and strife where they can see the world and be educated in a way befitting the blood in their veins.”
-maria put her arms about the old man’s neck and kissed him fondly. “father,” she began, her eyes smiling with happiness, “i came in to speak to you of the two young men who have just left us. tell them of your troubles and i know they will be able to solve the difficulty.”
-rodriguez smiled sadly.
-“your knights, child, i see have already been endowed with magic powers,” he answered lovingly, patting her smooth black hair, “but we have a cruel and unscrupulous enemy against us, and i am sure by now he knows of the existence of this treasure. garcia and i were the only ones who knew where it was buried, and i trusted him as a brother but he has deserted and betrayed me. lopez is from the people, but his honesty and loyalty are beyond doubt. captain blynn knows that this money is here and has promised to send a company of soldiers to take it to safety in the government vaults at palilo. i had hoped he would be here before now,” he ended in a worried tone.
-“why bury it?” maria exclaimed. “our american friends would gladly take it on the gunboat, where it will be perfectly safe.”
-“i will ask them to-morrow,” she added as she kissed her father in parting, “and now don’t lose any sleep over your troublesome gold.” she turned, a happy smile on her face, and glided noiselessly to the door, to enter her own room; she stopped and the smile froze on her face and the fear within her made her faint; she clutched reeling at the door and steadied herself. the face of a man had been pressed against the dark glass of the window in her room, and she knew instantly that he had seen through the opened door the three coveted chests of treasure. she passed her hands across her face in horror, hoping that it was but a trick of the imagination, conjured up by her anxiety. but no, the face had been too vividly distinct. as she had entered the darkness of her room, for an instant the light from her father’s lamp had been reflected on the intruder’s face, and in that terrible moment she had recognized her father’s former confidant, but now his enemy, garcia. she stood panic-stricken, at a loss how to act. to give the alarm might insure her father’s death. perhaps the enemy had made their way within and were at that very moment concealed in the great vacant rooms, lying hidden in the darkness waiting until the household were all asleep, and then murder and robbery would be their aim. if she told her father now, she knew that he would fearlessly and at once give the alarm and call for his armed men to protect him. then a thought made the blood freeze in her veins, as her active mind sought for the means garcia had employed to pass her father’s sentries. there could be but one solution. garcia had sowed dissension among her father’s retainers. how many of his men could now be trusted? while she stood in terrified silence, a loud knock on the outside door caused her young body to tremble in mortal terror. what could it mean? who would come at this hour in the morning? she saw her father make ready to answer, for the servants all slept in a house adjoining.
-“i’ll open it,” she cried, trying to disguise the tremble in her voice, and with shaking limbs she crept down the stairs. holding her breath, she listened. then she drew back the bolts in trembling haste and threw wide the door.
-o’neil and his tired companions, the boat’s crew, stood in open-eyed wonder as this wild-eyed but now joyous girl dragged them inside and again barred the door.
-“what’s the trouble, señorita?” o’neil asked in calm surprise.
-she put her finger to her lips and led them into the dining-room, where the remnants of the midshipmen’s supper still remained. the five men fell upon the food ravenously while maria stood by, fear and hope in turns showing in her dark eyes.
-she told them of the trip up the river and the escape from the ladrone leader, then of the valuable treasure in her father’s room and the face she had seen at the window. after she had finished she watched o’neil’s face as if it were an oracle and she a petitioner before it. the boatswain’s mate ate for several minutes in silence.
-“where are your men posted?” he asked suddenly.
-“they are divided into four companies, one at each of the outposts,” she answered.
-“does any one except your father and colonel martinez know of garcia’s treachery?” he asked.
-“yes, two, lopez and lukban,” she replied, “and they are both away from the ranch. lopez has just gone to palilo with our friends.”
-“that’s bad,” the sailor exclaimed, a cloud on his otherwise expressionless face. “then your men believe that garcia is still their friend? he has, of course, accomplices among them and his object surely must be the treasure. he has discovered that it has been dug up, and now knows it is in your father’s room. i do not believe there is any immediate danger unless at the same time the insurgents are to make an attack in force.”
-the girl listened eagerly, nodding her head in agreement with the wise words of this cool and calm american. o’neil’s companions, understanding no spanish, had finished their meal and were dozing contentedly in their chairs.
-“have you a servant you can trust?” o’neil asked after a moment’s thought.
-“my maid, inez,” she answered.
-“all right; give her a revolver and tell her to go to each company and quietly wake the men and tell them to get ready immediately to repel an attack. if she is in danger of being captured by a lurking enemy tell her to use the revolver. i’ll leave two men with you and your father, while i’ll take two to try to bag this garcia.”
-she took hold of inez’s arm and shook her into wakefulness. the old woman, who had nursed maria as a baby, sat up rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
-“keep quiet,” maria whispered in a commanding voice. “we are all in danger of being murdered. i want you to take this revolver and go to each outpost, tell the officer on guard that it is señor rodriguez’s order to form his men to repel an attack at once. if you fail fire the revolver as a signal to us.”
-the old woman rose to her feet trembling violently. she counted her beads, murmuring her prayers, but there was never a word of fear or hesitancy.
-“good, inez,” maria whispered, kissing the old wrinkled face. the girl saw it was set determinedly, yet a great and unknown terror looked out of her appealing eyes. but the girl knew that she would be the safest messenger. no one else could be depended upon like inez, and she would sacrifice her old life willingly to help her beloved master.
-when maria again entered the dining-room o’neil had turned out the lamp and was ready to carry out his daring plan.
-“two of my men will remain here with you, señorita,” he told maria as she held open the door. “we’ll soon bag this fellow garcia, if he’s still hanging about.”
-o’neil, followed cautiously by his two men, walked slowly about the great house. as noiselessly as indians they crept within its shadow, straining their eyes toward the portico and covered porches above their heads. there still remained the light in the room above where the girl and her two protectors were doubtless now guarding her father and his treasure. while o’neil stood listening eagerly, a shadow crossed the windows; it moved slowly inch by inch. the house was silent. off to his left o’neil could hear a babble of excited voices and the rattle of military accoutrements. inez’s warning had been given and the native soldiers were hastening to their stations to repel an enemy. the shadow slowly crossed and disappeared and then the light was suddenly extinguished. o’neil was about to seek further when a noise from above arrested his attention. he recognized at once that a sash was being opened slowly. then as he watched a dark figure appeared and dropped noiselessly to the porch roof a few feet below the window. quietly it lowered itself to the edge of the roof and then with the agility of an acrobat or a sailor climbed down the post near which the boatswain’s mate and his men were standing. the next moment two powerful arms enfolded it and a cry of fear was promptly stifled.
-then from the dark shadow of the woods to the northward came a volley of musketry, followed by the war-cry of the bolo-man.
-hastily binding their prisoner with their neckerchiefs, the sailors flung him on to the porch and rushed to join the defenders scarcely four hundred yards away. rodriguez had carefully laid out his plan of defense, and before the attacking enemy could come to a hand to hand fight, over three hundred yards of cleared land must be traversed. as o’neil and his men reached the trenches where the native soldiers were excitedly firing blindly into the night, he could see a bobbing line of men rapidly running across this open space, firing as they advanced. hastily surveying his surroundings, he saw that on one flank was the river defended by a company of men and on the flank away from the river was still another company. the excited native officers were shouting orders to their men, the purport of which o’neil could but guess. the bobbing figures seemed in vast numbers and they advanced rapidly in spite of the fire from the trenches. suddenly the company from the river bank left its post and came at double time to the middle of the line of defense. o’neil and his men had seized a rifle each from lifeless hands and were elbow to elbow--vociferously haranguing the men, cautioning them to aim at the constantly moving enemy. before they could realize its significance, a line of men arose suddenly from the short grass, only a few score of yards in front of the trenches, to which point they had crawled unobserved, while the defenders had been firing at the visible enemy. the next second this avalanche of naked humanity had cleared the intervening yards and were hacking at the surprised defenders with their sharp bolos. their friends in their rear still kept up a brisk fire and many of the bolo-men suffered by it. o’neil suddenly found himself occupied by three fanatics bent upon his destruction, while his companions near him were in as perilous a position. throwing away his empty rifle he drew his revolver and fired unerringly at the nearest native. then seizing the fallen man’s bolo he rushed upon his other two assailants. so fierce had been the onslaught of the bolo-men that they had surged into and even beyond the rifle-pits, leaving a trail of destruction in their path.
-the bolo-men, now at close quarters with those in the trenches, made good use of their keen-bladed knives, but rodriguez’s men, familiar with the method of attack of these fanatics, appeared to flee, and then turning shot their would-be pursuers down by the score. o’neil and his companions were in these few exciting minutes many times in peril of their lives but soon the last of the attacking horde lay gasping on the grass behind the intrenchment and the sailors and their dusky allies were again in comparative security awaiting grimly the final attack of the bobbing figures some hundreds of yards in their front, from whose direction a hail of bullets whistled incessantly. o’neil felt himself all over hardly believing that he had escaped unscathed. the sailor during his many years of service had never seen a fight more desperate. he had frequently heard of the insurgent method of employing bolo-men; using their riflemen as a screen, the practically unarmed horde, who believed that their “anting-anting” charms rendered them invulnerable, crawling snake-like, unobserved beyond their firing line until they reached the rifle-pits of their enemy. now he felt sure the attack on the ranch would fail. rodriguez’s natives had successfully weathered the bolo rush, which they had learned to fear most. he did not know the numbers of the attackers, but if they could be held off until morning the soldiers who had been promised from palilo to guard rodriguez’s treasure would surely be there to turn the tide in their favor. by the fire from the trenches surrounding the ranch house on all sides except that covered by the river, beyond which was an impenetrable swamp, he knew that their line had not been broken. with a lighter heart he counseled the natives near him to be careful of their ammunition, setting them an example by firing deliberately only when a target native exposed himself in the clearing in front of them. so much occupied were those in the trenches that they failed to see several great canoes land near the pier, and their occupants in single file noiselessly steal toward the ranch house.
-again and again the insurgents made their onslaught, but each time were received unflinchingly and driven back in confusion across the cleared ground, many being left dead or dying on the field.
-a disheveled, terrified figure came running from the house toward the trenches; it glanced about wildly seeking some one and then threw itself at o’neil’s feet, clasping his legs tightly, almost upsetting him among the stiffening bodies of the dead on the floor of the trench. in the dim light he recognized the woman inez who had courageously spread the alarm among the native soldiers and her incoherent words filled the sailor’s heart with dire forebodings.
-“oh, señor, save my master,” she cried; “he is in mortal danger.”
-o’neil bent down and unclasped the woman’s hands and lifted her to her feet, but her body crumpled and the american saw with a sob of horror that inez had done her last service to the rodriguez family; a bolo cut on her old body had claimed her among the victims slain in this unnecessary war.
-the boatswain’s mate laid the woman’s body aside and with a score of willing men started on a run for the house. half-way there they stopped precipitously, hardly believing their eyes, a great fear in their hearts, for from the river there came a noiseless band of men, dim shadows under the gloom of the trees. o’neil counted them as their silhouettes crossed a vista in the trees, and his hopes died within him. here was a new enemy, striking from the rear. the men in the trenches could not leave their positions; to do so would allow many hundreds of the insurgents to sweep the ranch.
-“forward!” he cried; “we must reach the ranch house first.”
-he saw that this was their only hope to save the inmates.
-then a cry of joy leaped from his lips as tongues of flame leaped from the vicinity of the house, directed upon the advancing men from the river. he heard an order given sharply in the english tongue and a volley shattered the darkness asunder.
-“american soldiers!” he cried jubilantly.
-o’neil and his men had meanwhile circled away from the river in hopes of making a rush for an entrance; now with sudden consternation o’neil saw that the appearance of the soldiers from the river would place him in the line of retreat of those now surrounding the ranch house. selecting the protection of a tree trunk he called upon his men to do likewise. he heard the order “charge” given in the silvery peals of a bugle and the next moment the terrified natives were fleeing directly toward him, the hindmost slashing with their bolos those in front of them in their mad haste to seek safety. then the drumming of hoof-beats was heard and three horsemen appeared suddenly from the night, emptying their revolvers as they came into the fleeing savages.
-a woman’s scream pierced the night and the figure of a man silently dropped from the roof and disappeared in the darkness.
-a filipino martyr
-phil and sydney were hard pushed to keep up with the native as he spurred his horse forward over the dark road.
-“the ranch is being attacked!” lopez cried in a voice of fear. “my poor master will surely be killed!”
-phil’s thoughts were only for the frail girl whom he had begun to look upon as his own especial charge. he knew the cruelty of the filipinos when once their anger was aroused and he believed that her part in espinosa’s betrayal must now be known to that treacherous leader. probably colonel salas himself formed a part of the attacking force, and the lad thought fearfully of the vengeance he would take upon the helpless girl if she fell into his hands. as they approached the ranch, the volume of fire increased alarmingly.
-“they are in force!” phil exclaimed, his heart sinking within him as he urged his tired mount forward.
-the ranch with its surrounding orchard of fruit trees now lay just below them and the white road winding down the hill glistened in the dim moonlight. tongues of flame darted here and there from the shadows of trees and shrub, even close to the house itself, while further in the background toward the river a line of flame resembling fireflies on a summer evening told him the soldiers of rodriguez were stubbornly resisting the main attack from their solidly built trenches. as they plunged madly down the hill road, his alert eyes tried to disentangle the situation. he saw many moving figures flitting through the trees, the moonlight glinting on their bright bladed bolos, while toward the river a long line of flashing rifles told of a rescue party approaching, from whom the flitting figures were fleeing.
-three white figures appeared suddenly from behind a tree close to the retreating bolo-men and the lad’s heart gave a great leap of joy as he recognized even in the dim light the stalwart figure of o’neil.
-then as he charged forward with his companions close beside him, maria’s cry made his heart sink and at the same instant he saw the figure of a man emerge from the house and dart away after the retreating bolo-men.
-“where are we needed?” a familiar voice shouted from the company which had now halted at the house, and the anxious lads, after firing their revolvers in vain at the fleeing figure, were shaking captain blynn’s hand.
-“in the trenches, sir,” o’neil volunteered eagerly. “they are hard pushed, sir.”
-captain blynn gave a hurried order and his company of american soldiers rushed eagerly toward the thick of the firing, followed by o’neil and his men. all were eager to again try conclusions with the elusive foe.
-phil and sydney followed the anxious lopez to the house. as they entered the hall they were horrified to find everything in confusion. the furniture was wrecked in many places, and there were blood-stains on floor and wall, showing there had been a terrible struggle. a light was burning dimly in an alcove. in the corner lay the white form of an american sailor mutilated and dead. further up the stairs they saw the other poor sailor breathing his last. clearing the body with a bound the lads gazed with sinking heart upon the dead face of señor rodriguez, lying on the floor of his bedroom, while all about him was confusion and ruin.
-“where is the girl?” sydney asked in a faint, fearful voice.
-“señorita!” phil called hopelessly.
-a faint sob came to their ears from an inner room. rushing in they found the girl on the floor, her hands and feet securely bound. about her mouth a gag had been placed, but it had fallen, leaving the mouth free.
-they quickly released her and placed her tenderly on the bed.
-“she managed to get off the gag and scream,” phil whispered with admiration, “before she fainted. bring that light, syd, she may be hurt.”
-the light was soon brought, and the lads were relieved to find that she was unharmed.
-lopez meanwhile had stayed at the bedside of his dead master, moaning piteously. the noise caught the girl’s ear as she awaked from her stupor under the administration of the midshipmen.
-“it was espinosa himself,” she exclaimed in an anguish of sorrow. “they forced the door and killed the brave sailors. my father defended himself but he is no match for five men. espinosa struck him down from behind. i ran to guard little juan, but they caught me and bound me.”
-“the money is gone too,” groaned lopez. this to him seemed as great a sorrow as the death of his master.
-“they lowered it out the window,” maria said. she entered her father’s room, walking unsteadily between the two midshipmen, and knelt in prayer before her father’s couch.
-phil’s eyes fell before those of the girl as she arose dry-eyed and calm. he saw the anguish in her face, however, and vowed that he would lighten her task wherever it lay in his power.
-“is juan safe?” lopez asked suddenly, his mind at last grasping the horrible calamity which had fallen on his master’s house and realizing that his first duty was with the living.
-the girl nodded.
-“inez brought the alarm that the house was surrounded. she hid the boy and herself. espinosa searched for him and his intention was to carry us both away as his prisoners.” then a sudden fear came into her voice and her eyes flashed with excited terror. “he said that colonel martinez had been killed. is it so?”
-the lads shook their heads.
-“we have no news, maria,” phil said kindly. “no, it cannot be so. it was but prompted by this cruel man to taunt you.”
-she sighed hopefully.
-“if he had known of this attack and was alive he would have prevented it,” she exclaimed suddenly, her hope turning to dejection.
-while they were talking the fusillade slowly diminished and soon ceased altogether and in a short time captain blynn’s voice was heard in the hall below.
-“she must not be overexcited. she is outwardly calm but her heart acts queerly. it may snap at any moment,” he had told the lads.
-“i have received a long letter from your friend, colonel martinez,” the captain exclaimed to the midshipmen after disposing of a steaming cup of coffee. “he said he would willingly surrender to general wilson if the price on his head were removed, and he sent me papers and documents which i have already sent to the governor-general in manila which prove martinez’s innocence of certain crimes committed in luzon and implicate a filipino now high in the good graces of the government.”
-phil thoughtfully sent lopez to maria to tell her of captain blynn’s news and then gave captain blynn the story of the recent tragedy on the floor above.
-“poor rodriguez,” the captain murmured. “if he had taken the other side he would now be alive. the money,” he added, his face troubled--“i am too late. i promised him i would come, but i was delayed by important matters with the general.”
-“a search at once,” phil exclaimed rising hastily from his chair; “they can’t have gone far with those heavy chests.”
-lopez smiled grimly.
-“señor, it would be impossible to follow them. by now the treasure is either carefully hidden or else in a banka hurrying up the river to espinosa’s stronghold. we must capture espinosa; where he is the money will be also.”
-“some of our friend espinosa’s plotting, in the light of this affair, is now quite plain. rodriguez was in his way, and so is martinez, but i don’t exactly see why; and this attack was made easy through his winning of garcia, the trusted friend of rodriguez. but how did he learn of this money?”
-“why,” phil exclaimed, a scowl on his face, “lopez tells me that garcia alone knew of its existence and coveted it, and readily persuaded espinosa to help him obtain it and share it. with that amount of money they can make this war very difficult for us or they can escape with their booty to hongkong.”
-“we’re going to have the biggest fight in the history of the war,” he added in a sleepy voice as he lay full length on the wicker lounge. “by the way, old man tillotson promises all kinds of rewards to any one who will rescue his son. he’s coming down himself--sailed from manila the day after he got the news.”
-although the midshipmen and their men would have liked nothing better than to follow captain blynn’s example for a few hours’ nap, they felt that the startling news that the entire rebel army was collecting upon matiginao made it imperative for them to leave the situation at the rodriguez ranch in the hands of captain blynn and return to their gunboat. so far their work had not been crowned with success. true, they had exposed a traitor, but in doing so the american soldiers had acquired a new and sagacious enemy in espinosa. the remaining members of the katipunan society had taken flight, and had fled before the vengeance of captain blynn whom they all hated and feared. rodriguez had been killed, and enough gold to continue the war indefinitely had been taken almost before their eyes, and they had been powerless to prevent it. this was not a pleasant retrospective dream in which to indulge as they watched in silence the even breathing of the complacent army man.
-“we seem so powerless against them,” sydney complained. “our enemies are everywhere. one moment the natives about us seem friendly, and the next they are sticking us in the back with knives. when we start on an expedition the enemy know just how many men we have and where we are going, so there can be no surprise, while they always take us unawares.”
-“but now, it’s different since espinosa and the katipunans have been forced to leave palilo,” phil exclaimed. “in the last few days captain blynn says our soldiers in the provinces have surprised several bands of insurgents. so you see they have ceased to be kept posted by spies at headquarters.
-“espinosa is collecting all his men in matiginao with the idea of safety and a hope of being able to capture palilo before the two extra regiments arrive, but general wilson will checkmate him by withdrawing half his men to surround him in his mountain stronghold. now we have some chance; before, they simply knew when we were coming, and if they couldn’t meet us with three times our number they kept out of the way. but come,” he added suddenly jumping to his feet, “we are wasting time.”
-the americans returned down the river in their cutter, this time the midshipmen taking turns at the oars, and it was nearly eight o’clock before they stood once more on the deck of the “mindinao.” the bodies of the dead sailors were sent at once to the army hospital for burial.
-“major marble has been here twice to see you, sir,” the quartermaster informed phil; “he said he’d return again in an hour.”
-“breakfast first,” phil shouted to the chinese steward, who came aft, smiling blandly at the return of his officers, steaming coffee in hand.
-while they were still at table major marble arrived, and was told all the news of the river.
-“the audacity of those beggars,” he exclaimed, “attacking in force within ten miles of headquarters. it’s a shame, the few men we are allowed to cover this entire country. the general sees now that what is needed is concentration, but if we withdraw our entire garrisons from the towns it will mean that the innocent people there who have befriended us will suffer.”
-“i suppose you are right, major,” phil said thoughtfully, “but in war it seems to me that one can’t stop to consider the feelings of innocent people where the success of the cause is concerned. espinosa has twice as many troops as the general, and they are fighting on their home soil. they know every footpath. some are not armed with a rifle but are far more dangerous to us with their bolos and fanatical bravery. we did not see his stronghold, i am glad to say,” he smiled grimly at the words, “but we know that one thousand men held it successfully against five times that number of spaniards a generation ago. from what i have seen i say concentrate every available man and crush this fellow espinosa before he gets any stronger.”
-major marble nodded his head in agreement with the views of the young navy man.
-“if we could always do what our military training dictates,” he answered sadly, “this war might not have begun.”
-“i shall go up the river in an hour,” phil announced, “and if the general wishes i shall be honored to have him on board.”
-“the general is waiting anxiously to know that,” the major replied promptly; “that was my mission here, but your exploits so interested me i had nearly forgotten my mission.”
-within the hour the “mindinao,” flying the blue flag with one white star at her main truck in honor of her distinguished passenger, general wilson, cast off from the dock and steamed up the river.
-“that was a fine piece of work,” phil exclaimed in admiration, as he examined the cleverly constructed drawbridge built within the twenty-four hours by the army engineers. its width was just sufficient to admit the “mindinao.”
-phil stood on the bridge beside the man at the wheel, piloting the gunboat through the ever-changing shoals, while o’neil in person heaved the lead in the chains, calling out the depth in feet.
-after leaving the town the river ran through several miles of nipa swamp land, the home of the carnivorous land crab, the crocodile and the bandit filipino. the gunboat continued cautiously, phil keeping the sharp bow within the deep water, sometimes so close to the thickly wooded shore that he could have reached out and touched with his hand the overhanging trees.
-before noon the “mindinao” had anchored off rodriguez’s ranch and the general and party were landed to view the scene of the recent fight. the shore was lined with curious and excited natives, those of rodriguez’s men, who had been spared from the fierce attack. to them the presence of the gunboat so far up the river was almost a miracle. they pointed knowingly at the big guns and clapped their hands in savage joy at the thought of what they could do against the enemy.
-captain blynn had taken the situation in hand and had distributed the soldiers of his company to reinforce the native companies. a feeling of relief was now manifested by all. they were confident that no attack would be attempted while the gunboat’s guns frowned menacingly out there in the river.
-“that’s worth a regiment,” captain blynn exclaimed as he saluted the general and helped him from the “mindinao’s” cutter to the bamboo pier, pointing to the graceful white ship, standing sharply against the dark background of jungle grass and banana trees. as they walked toward the house captain blynn dropped behind and took phil’s arm confidingly.
-“after you had gone my men found a native tied up in all sorts of sailor knots with silk neckerchiefs, just under rodriguez’s window. señorita rodriguez recognized him at once as a former friend of her father who she said had betrayed him. he was pretty well frightened and to save his skin, for he believes we are going to kill him, he has offered to show us the trail to espinosa’s stronghold.”
-phil shook his head in mystery.
-“i don’t know how he got there, unless----” he turned and called o’neil from the boat. “o’neil, do you know anything about a native securely bound with sailor neckerchiefs?”
-“sure, sir. it was the one that crawled out of the window,” he explained hastily; “the young lady saw his face spying on her father. his name is garcia.”
-“do you know,” the captain said knowingly, “that he is the only prisoner captured? there wasn’t a single wounded man in sight this morning. it isn’t the custom of the country, you see.”
-phil involuntarily shuddered. “how callous one becomes,” he thought, “in war time. think of maybe a hundred wounded men cruelly butchered by brother natives.”
-before they reached the house the party was startled by a rifle-shot from behind them. glancing about quickly they saw a large canoe manned by natives appear from behind the trees and paddle directly for the gunboat; a large white flag flew prominently from the bow of the boat. phil and captain blynn walked quickly back and sent o’neil and his cutter out to learn the meaning of the flag of truce. the general and the rest of the party halted and waited, eager to see what this strange move might mean.
-the boat came quickly back and phil took a letter from a native’s hand scanning it with beating heart. “for the general,” he said.
-all watched the general break the seal and fumble with his glasses. it seemed ages before he finished the few short lines and handed the letter to captain blynn.
-“lieutenant tillotson is my prisoner. i will surrender him safely in exchange for the deserter colonel martinez. if you attack me i shall have him shot.
-a daring plan
-phil stood silently by, his mind occupied over the details of a daring plan.
-the exchange proposed by espinosa was out of the question, even if colonel martinez had surrendered, which he had not done up to the present time; and until his sins in luzon were forgiven phil knew that he preferred his liberty. but this threat against tillotson’s life worried phil. espinosa was sufficiently cruel to carry it out, he was sure.
-leaving the group of officers, who were still pondering over the contents of espinosa’s communication, phil went in search of maria. there were points in his plan which she could throw light upon.
-he found her in the house, heavy-eyed with sorrow and loss of sleep, but she greeted him with a smile and waited patiently until the room was empty before signing him to speak, for she saw that he had something of importance to communicate.
-“how much dependence can we put upon garcia as a guide?” he asked eagerly. “i have a plan, and all depends upon whether he can be trusted to lead us against espinosa, if not willingly, then under intimidation.”
-“before they killed my father and carried away the treasure,” the girl answered, a spark of excitement entering her dull eyes, “espinosa and salas got the information necessary for their work from garcia, bound and helpless where your sailors had left him. they refused to liberate him and hoped he would be killed by the americans. you can be sure,” she added, “that he will take keen pleasure in running his enemies to earth.”
-the girl gave a low exclamation of surprised horror, regarding phil fixedly, half believing the lad was out of his mind.
-“i mean it,” he exclaimed earnestly. “it’s the only chance we have of saving tillotson’s life. your men must pretend to have deserted after the death of their master,” he dropped his voice as he saw the look of pain in maria’s eyes at the mention of her father’s sad fate. “lopez will claim to have taken us prisoners and then deserted to the insurgents. it’s a good plan,” he cried enthusiastically, “and is sure to be successful.”
-maria paled at the mere thought of such rashness, but seeing phil could not be moved from his avowed intention, she gave her consent grudgingly.
-the general was not so easily convinced. his natural and inherent cautiousness could not be changed even under the combined persuasion of the midshipman and his staff officers, major marble and captain blynn, who were both enthusiastic over the conception of such a daring strategy.
-“the very impertinence of it will make it successful,” major marble exclaimed. “they will not believe that one could be so rash as to willingly place his life in danger.”
-“you’ll have to stay with the gunboat,” phil explained to sydney, who was visibly put out that he too could not be allowed to go. “i shall take only o’neil. the general has ordered that all the soldiers who can be spared from the garrisons throughout the island be despatched to rendezvous here and will need the ‘mindinao’ to carry troops and shell the stronghold from the river. if you find it possible take her through the cañon; there is a trail on the other side from the westward. if you are successful we shall have them between our two parties.”
-that evening maria and her small brother followed their father’s body to his grave in the family cemetery. the general himself read the solemn burial service and a company of american infantry fired three volleys over the grave of the murdered patriot.
-general wilson established his field headquarters in the house of mourning and before three o’clock of the next day the first of the detachments of soldiers arrived and went into camp on the river slope.
-“we shall have about one thousand rifles for the attack,” captain blynn told the midshipmen, after phil had unfolded to him and major marble the details of his plan to rescue lieutenant tillotson, “and by to-morrow afternoon they should all be assembled here. the general,” he added, “is very much worked up over espinosa’s threat, and realizes that it is not an empty one, but he still refuses to allow you to take this terrible chance.”
-within a short time phil was summoned to the general’s room.
-“i cannot allow you to take this risk,” he said kindly, a light of admiration in his eyes. “why should two american lives be jeopardized to save one? and perhaps some will say that lieutenant tillotson does not deserve such a sacrifice at your hands.”
-“that makes me more anxious to take the risk,” phil urged. “we did not part friends, and i can’t help feeling that our quarrel has had some part in his misfortune.”
-under the confiding influence of the general’s manner, phil told of his affair with tillotson, doing his best to make a good case for his one time enemy.
-the general shook his head thoughtfully.
-“it is very hard for me to allow you to undertake such a rash adventure,” he answered, putting his hand affectionately on the midshipman’s shoulder, “but war is war, and if pluck will bring success, tillotson’s life will be saved. tell me now,” he added, seating himself and motioning phil to a chair, “how far you have worked out the details of your plan, for every point must be covered; there must be no loophole for failure. can you expect that each of your twenty-five men will keep the secret after they have mixed with the enemy?”
-phil outlined each step as he had thought it out during the last anxious twenty-four hours, while the general listened, his face grave and thoughtful.
-they would start after nightfall, and by sending men ahead to announce their coming would be received by the insurgents with acclamation. they would spend the next day at the camp and lopez would endeavor to keep his men from mixing with the enemy, and the next night the gunboat and as many troops as the general could muster would lay siege to the stronghold. the remainder phil had not thought out. chance alone must decide the outcome, but he hoped to save lieutenant tillotson’s life and their own, and maybe by lopez and his men commanding the top of the trail they could aid the american troops in their fight for the stronghold. when the attack was made he would use lopez’s men to prevent espinosa from carrying out his threat against tillotson’s life. the gunboat must use its fire against the fortifications, but be careful to direct its shell to the left of the stronghold, for he hoped that his own men would be at the right near the trail leading down the precipice.
-“there are a great many chances for failure,” the general said thoughtfully as phil finished, “but with your energy and perseverance i believe you will win.” he shook the lad’s hand warmly in parting.
-“i wish i could go with you,” maria said sadly as phil bade her good-bye; “but you can put your full trust in lopez. it was he who betrayed the katipunan society to me to save my father’s life. how he got the information i do not know, but if his act were known his life would be forfeited.”
-without ceremony phil and o’neil, their hands tied securely with ropes made fast to their bodies and held in the hands of the make-believe deserting natives, filed along the narrow trail leading parallel to the fast flowing river. two messengers had been sent ahead to notify the insurgent leader of the joyful tidings of the important captures. their progress was rapid, and inside of three hours the house which had been the scene of phil’s and maria’s strategy was reached. there the party waited.
-after what seemed an interminable time to the anxious prisoners, a challenge suddenly broke the stillness of the dismal woods and phil’s old enemy, colonel salas, stood before him. a great joy shone from his dark vengeful eyes as he beheld the bound prisoners.
-“my chief will be delighted to receive such distinguished visitors,” he laughed, kicking phil viciously as he lay helpless upon the ground. “that is for your cleverness of yesterday,” he snarled. “we’ll see you are kindly treated. we shall give you all the refined initiations that we can think of to make your stay with us pleasant and then----” he stopped with a significant gesture.
-“o’neil,” phil whispered after colonel salas had left him to join lopez, who had assembled his men ready to advance, “i am afraid we are in for a pretty bad time of it. but if i ever get the opportunity i’ll make that little brown piece of pomposity pay for that kick he gave me.”
-“well, sir,” o’neil replied evasively, “i may have been in worse situations--no doubt i have--but this one seems rather more complicated. i think we’ll have many kicks and worse to pay back before we can call our bodies our own and not footballs for these little brown brothers to score with.”
-after a rapid parley the party were again in motion. phil and o’neil were roughly seized by two natives and forced ahead up the trail. two or three times phil’s foot slipped into yawning holes at either side of the trail, but each time he was dragged back to safety by the natives behind him.
-“this whole place is trapped,” o’neil whispered, pointing to where his foot had uncovered the top of a square hole some six feet deep, the lantern carried by a man in front betraying to view the green bamboo spears at the bottom.
-phil shivered as he gazed down on the pointed sticks as sharp as a needle, and poisoned, he knew, with a deadly vegetable sap that would kill within the hour.
-“be careful, mr. perry,” o’neil cautioned in a low, anxious voice. “these men know where the traps are, and will try to catch you if you make a misstep--but they might fail,” he added with a shudder.
-a halt was called suddenly as they moved through a densely wooded section of the level trail, while several of colonel salas’ men moved cautiously ahead and appeared to work quietly in the jungle. after a few minutes they reappeared and signaled for the column to proceed.
-“spring traps,” o’neil informed the midshipman. “they’ve detached them from their springs. if we hadn’t known they were there one of us would have caught his foot in a piece of innocent looking vine which would have pulled a trigger and sent twenty or more spears across the trail with force sufficient to penetrate a pine board.”
-phil half wished that he had not volunteered for this nerve-racking ordeal. after all what did he owe tillotson? had not the army man tried to injure him in every way? yet the lad knew for that very reason he had asked to be allowed to risk his own life to rescue him. then he thought suddenly of o’neil. his stalwart form was just ahead of him, dimly outlined in the darkness. had he acted generously to this brave and willing sailor?
-“o’neil, i am mighty sorry i brought you along,” he exclaimed suddenly.
-o’neil stopped in his tracks so suddenly that the two brown men bumped their heads with some force against his back and cried out with surprise.
-“why, sir!” he answered in an aggrieved tone. “have i done anything to displease you, sir?”
-phil laughed outright, only to be prodded by the sharp bayonets of his captors for his incautiousness.
-“if that’s the way you feel about it,” he said, “i am glad you are here.”
-inside of ten minutes, conversation was impossible, for they needed all their breath for the precipitous climb up the face of the cliff leading to the top of the mountain. the natives on each side of the prisoners pulled and pushed them up the jagged and rocky trail until their bodies were bruised and their skin torn in many places by the cruel cactus and “spanish bayonet,” which seemed to have been planted by nature as a further difficulty for those who dared to ascend the secret trail to the insurgent stronghold.
-after many rests, out of breath, footsore, bleeding and tired, the top was reached and with scant courtesy o’neil and phil were thrown into a nipa shack, where they fell unceremoniously on top of a sleeping human being who awakened with a cry of alarm and fear, striking at them with his manacled hands.
-“it’s lieutenant tillotson,” o’neil exclaimed gladly, as he rolled away to the farthest side of the small hut, to put himself out of reach of the startled prisoner.
-“who are you?” came from the figure, in a weak voice. “yes, i am lieutenant tillotson. tell me i’m not dreaming. didn’t i hear a white man’s voice?”
-phil could see him dimly by the light of the camp-fire outside. the man had been completely cowed. what terrible torture had been inflicted to cause him to become such an abject figure, groveling before them, his voice hollow, and in his eyes a light of unreasonable fear?
-“it is midshipman perry and o’neil from the gunboat, tillotson,” the lad whispered. “we hope to save you if you will keep quiet and do just what we tell you.” phil could have wept in pity at the sight of the physical wreck before him. he was shocked at the sight. tillotson’s eyes were dull and the face empty of hope.
-“you don’t know what you are saying,” he answered in a monotonous voice. “no one can be saved who is brought to this place. death is the one avenue of escape. oh! no one knows of the tortures i have endured from that fiend’s hands.” then his face lit up for a second as he raised himself from the ground and stared at phil, who had approached and stood looking down pityingly upon him. “how can you save me? oh, tell me the truth. are you not prisoners also?”
-phil seated himself by the side of the unnerved man and begged him to be calm and reserve his strength. after a few moments he told him of the plan and his hopes for success.
-“let us pray for success,” the captive cried weakly. “i had determined to throw myself off the cliff rather than undergo another day’s torture.”
-tillotson talked for an hour, gruesomely dwelling on the details of his horrible treatment by espinosa. he told of his mission to the spy, with the letter which phil had taken from the dead messenger at binalbagan. the message was in espinosa’s own handwriting, and warned the attackers of the gunboat’s approach.
-“i see now that i have been repaid for my stupidity,” he moaned. “i believed that i could unmask him and earn the thanks of the general, but first i wished to get from him a full confession and implicate his accomplices. i showed him the letter and told him i would call at his house after visiting the sentries.” the overwrought officer broke down and sobbed for several minutes before continuing. “i was a child in his hands; i did not know his power. his followers trapped me and carried me away by water, bringing me to this awful place. every day some new torture is devised for me. to-day i was suspended by my neck with only my toes on the ground. that was the worst so far. i don’t know what it will be to-morrow,” he ended with a shudder.
-phil tried to console him as best he could, but a great fear had entered his thoughts. if this terrible punishment had been meted out to tillotson, what would the treacherous and cruel espinosa devise for him? surely something many, many times more horrible.
-a river expedition
-after phil and his party had gone on their hazardous mission, sydney went aboard the gunboat to make ready for the work which had been left in his hands. he felt it keenly that he could not share this dangerous expedition, but there was some consolation in the knowledge that o’neil was with phil.
-another detachment, footsore and tired from its forced march from a distant post, had arrived at the ranch, and the two staff officers were untiringly arranging all the details for the attack in force.
-sydney, upon his arrival on the gunboat, gave orders that all obstructions be cleared away from the guns, and directed the placing of iron sheeting to protect the officers and men who would be, with him, exposed on the gunboat’s bridge.
-the plan of attack was to divide the force of soldiers; the gunboat to carry as many of the men as her limited deck space would accommodate, and the remainder were to go by trail, guided by garcia. a sufficient force would remain to guard the ranch, to which point supplies were on their way up the river from palilo.
-general wilson would command the expedition in person from on board the gunboat.
-at sunrise sydney was awake, and already the camp ashore was alive and the lad saw the companies drawn up, their rifles stacked, eating their morning meal. hurriedly dressing he was rowed ashore, but before leaving he had ordered all his boats to be lowered for transporting the soldiers to the gunboat.
-“major lukban, one of rodriguez’s officers, will go with you as a guide,” captain blynn informed the lad as he stepped ashore. “he was wounded in the attack on the ranch, but he is well enough to go on the gunboat, and he knows the navigation of the river. he is now questioning an insurgent officer who was brought in by one of our companies; they captured him in a village several miles from here.
-“lukban is like a wild beast; they have just told him of rodriguez’s murder by espinosa and salas, so i suppose we had best keep an eye on this unfortunate prisoner.”
-captain blynn led sydney down to the basement of the ranch house. the midshipman, when his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, gave an exclamation of surprised horror as he saw a half-strangled native on the floor with several others astride his heaving chest. sydney noticed the wounded major in a chair, looking down upon his victim, a savage smile on his face.
-“it’s not strictly orthodox,” captain blynn whispered as he saw the horror in sydney’s eyes, “but it’s effective.”
-“a little more,” major lukban ordered in a cold voice, after nodding a welcome to the newcomers.
-sydney saw the native at the prisoner’s head slowly pour the water which he held in a bamboo cup between the prisoner’s teeth. the unfortunate man choked, while the veins in his neck stood out like whip-cords. his eyes turned glassy and staring, while his colorless face became a sickly blue.
-“you’ll kill him,” sydney cried aghast. “it shouldn’t be allowed, captain,” he appealed, turning to the army man.
-“don’t you worry, monroe,” the captain answered calmly, “he knows within a few drops of how much the man can stand--watch!” he added quietly, as the natives raised the prone captive to a sitting position and struck him smartly on the back with their open hands. the native coughed and sputtered; gradually his color returned and he drew great gasping breaths.
-after the prisoner had returned to a comparatively normal condition, the inquisitor reached out his hand and struck him smartly across the cheek. where his hand had fallen, a white imprint was left, dying out gradually, as the sluggish blood flowed back again.
-“this is the ‘water cure,’” captain blynn observed as major lukban fired question after question at the thoroughly cowed and now tractable prisoner. “he will exact a confession from him which will give us all the information we need. if you or i did this we would be court-martialed and maybe dismissed but----” he ended with an expressive shrug.
-sydney turned sick at the sight of a human being tortured beyond endurance and a fear rose in his mind as he thought of poor phil in espinosa’s hands. as he watched, the native appeared to hesitate in answering a question, but a wave of lukban’s hand, bringing the attending natives and the water cup nearer, caused him to answer the question immediately. once the native refused to answer and then despite his cries of fear and struggles almost superhuman, he was forced back upon his back, and his jaws pried rudely open with a stick, while the bamboo cup was poised menacingly above his open mouth.
-the next moment the cup was sent spinning from the native’s hand and sydney had jerked the captive to his feet, and stood flushed with anger and excitement between him and his torturer.
-“i shan’t stand by and see any more of this torture,” he exclaimed forcefully. “it’s a disgrace for us to allow it.”
-captain blynn shrugged his shoulders, while lukban glared angrily at the indignant champion.
-“but, señor, i must have that question answered,” he declared. “it will not injure him, and it may save us many lives.”
-“what was the question?” captain blynn asked.
-“whether there is a third trail from the stronghold and how it may be reached,” he answered. “you see, captain, if there is we must guard it, for otherwise all will escape us.”
-captain blynn nodded, glancing amusedly at sydney’s excited face.
-“i am afraid, major, that question must remain unanswered,” he said in a level tone, turning and leading the way out.
-sydney turned the half-drowned prisoner over to one of captain blynn’s soldiers with orders to guard him carefully and to allow no interference by their native allies.
-by nine o’clock two hundred men had been embarked on the gunboat and five hundred more had started under the command of captain blynn along the trail leading up the river; garcia as leader was at their head.
-in the party on the gunboat were general wilson, major marble and major lukban; the latter, still sullen and angry with sydney for his unwarranted presumption in making him discontinue his torture, stood with his former victim on the bridge of the “mindinao.”
-sydney headed the vessel into the narrow channel, cautiously picking his way through the numerous shoals; one minute the gunboat clung closely to the steep river bank on one side and the next it was scraping the overhanging trees on the other side.
-from the masthead the lookout kept the soldiers on shore in sight, and sydney regulated his speed to just keep pace with them. he thought often and with grave concern of phil. what luck had he had? his heartbeats quickened as he vaguely wondered if he were alive! he realized the terrible cruelty of the filipino leader, and espinosa had reason to hate the young naval man!
-the small house, where the midshipmen had unexpectedly met colonel salas, flashed into view as they rounded a bend in the river, and from the bridge sydney could discern with his glasses far in the distance the enemy’s stronghold, matiginao, “the impregnable.”
-as the gunboat swept slowly by close inshore the soldiers waved their campaign hats in silent salute to their formidable navy ally.
-“this, from here on, is unknown river, sir,” sydney reported to the general, sitting calmly talking with his adjutant-general.
-the general nodded and answered with a smile.
-“all right, admiral, i am entirely satisfied to rely upon your judgment.”
-major lukban had during the gunboat’s progress up the river stood by sydney’s side, showing his appreciation of the lad’s navigation at intervals by a silent nod, while at the same time he kept one guarding eye upon his captive, whose crafty, sullen eyes roved incessantly along the wooded slopes of the narrowing river.
-“this is not new to you then, major?” sydney asked suddenly, as he directed the ship’s head toward a large dead tree which stood out a lone sentinel on a rocky point ahead.
-“as a boy i was brought up on this river,” the native replied sadly. “then many thousand of my people lived in plenty and happiness along its banks.”
-“where have they all gone?” the lad inquired interestedly, his eyes gazing about for the signs of a deserted population.
-lukban pointed to the tall mountains ahead of them.
-“time and again the spaniards have endeavored to drive out the outlaws from yonder stronghold, and the poor people who made their living on the river were mercilessly preyed upon by the war parties of the contending factions, until none were left. juan rodriguez alone has managed to remain, but only by his fearless courage and the devotion of his followers. neither side cared to provoke him in his security until espinosa coveted his lands and his money and, who can say, maybe his beautiful daughter.”
-“maria!” sydney exclaimed.
-the native lowered his voice to a whisper.
-“espinosa has had but one ambition all his life; to marry the daughter of rodriguez; but she scorned him, and to save her from his persistent attention, señorita maria was sent away to manila to school. now he has robbed her of her father and stolen the treasure which had been hoarded for her. for many years espinosa has been the head of the outlaws of kapay. holding positions of trust under spanish rule, he directed the rebel movements and prevented their annihilation by the spanish columns. this identical work he has attempted under the american rule, but his treachery has at last been exposed. until he openly threatened the life of rodriguez, none of us dared to thwart him. his murderers are everywhere, and his society of the katipunan is far-reaching. nowhere in the archipelago is one safe from their vengeance. maria, woman as she is, has been marked for the assassin’s knife if she continues to refuse to become the wife of its leader. garcia, rodriguez’s trusted friend and overseer, was lured by terrible threats of vengeance and hopes of reward to betray his benefactor. he had been chosen by the society to commit the repulsive crime of murdering his friend. he came to the rodriguez house intending to kill the father and carry away the daughter into captivity, which would have been for her a living death. through the administering of the water and the voluntary confessions of garcia, i have found out every motive which has actuated both espinosa and garcia. the would-be murderer entered the room of his victim, but in the light of the lamp could not bring himself to murder his lifelong friend. he at least had remaining some of the kindlier feelings in his heart. turning out the light he was about to despatch him with a swift dagger thrust as he lay innocently sleeping; then hearing a noise on the stairs he withdrew into the darkness of an adjoining room. it was señorita maria and the two americans who had remained to protect her. seeing that to stay would mean discovery, he escaped by a window, intending to meet espinosa and his men as they stole through the uproar of the bolo attack and tell him of the locality of the treasure. espinosa is a leader of no mean order. his attack on the ranch was masterfully executed. even though wounded, he came unhindered through the thick of the attack, with his body-guard of twenty faithful men. these were the ones who entered the house and carried away the treasure chests.
-“when garcia, escaping, reached the ground, your trusty boatswain’s mate, o’neil, was on the spot.”
-major lukban’s eyes were on his restive captive as he talked in low tones to sydney.
-“we must keep an eye on him,” he continued. “he has given me so much information that he would be killed if he fell into espinosa’s hands. knowing the danger he runs, acting as our guide, he may attempt to escape.” "you see," mother rabbit went on, "it was this way: once he returned to his burrow below the hill over there and discovered, by means of his keen sense of smell, that a terrier dog was in the burrow. he immediately called for a friend, and together they closed up the entrance to the burrow and smothered the dog to death. that's what i call bravery. and that's the kind of father you had. the world will expect much of children of your parentage.
-"your father and i first met on the hillside one evening, and we liked each other at once. every evening after, we would meet out there to play hide-and-seek in the grass and sand. perhaps he will come to see you some day, and i want you to be smart and handsome, so that he will be proud of you.
-"but i have said enough, dear jacks, and now i must teach you some of the wise things he knew. he learned at an early age that each rabbit must procure his own food, and has many foes to shun. to do these things one must have a sharp wit.
-"always sleep during the day while other animals are prowling about, and come out only evenings when it is cool, to seek your food. young wheat, fresh onions, lettuce and cabbages make splendid food for rabbits. of course, it is rather dangerous to cultivate such expensive tastes, for lettuce and onions usually grow only in gardens and people are apt to set traps to catch you. so be careful never to go near a trap, or bite at anything that looks as though man had placed it there for you. it is said that your father prided himself on destroying traps.
-"our family is blessed by being both watchful and swift. just watch me how i can run."
-mother rabbit sprang to her feet, and over the field she sped like lightning. the children stared in wonderment, and then shouted for glee at their mother's rapidity. finally mrs. rabbit returned as quickly as she had departed.
-"now, that is the way you must learn to run. and the next most necessary thing for you to acquire is the ability to stand on your hind legs like this."
-to their amusement, mother rabbit stood up like a walking dog or a bear.
-"an enemy can be seen at a long distance from such a position," she explained; "and it is well never to run until you have taken in the situation. many rabbits have lost their lives by failing to observe that simple precaution. once your uncle cotton heard a dog coming, and turned to run in the opposite direction without having stood up to survey the land. as a result, we found only his bones on the hillside the next day. it is supposed that he ran right into the jaws of another dog. dogs are clever and often hunt together.
-"but that's enough for the first lesson," she concluded. "some evening we'll come again and i'll teach you to dance, and we'll play till the moon goes down in the west."
-they jumped up, skimmed through the fence, and ran after their mother, who had them home and tucked them in bed almost before they knew it.
-the mice and baby stork
-"i find it very hard," said the learned watchdog, "to speak well of the rats and the mice."
-he was talking with his visitor, professor screech owl, who perched on the peak of the kitchen roof and was engaged with him in a pleasant exchange of views and ideas. the moon was clear and everything was very still. all the world seemed asleep but the owl and the dog, and they were talking of many matters. for professor screech owl was a knowing bird and he had, moreover, the most learned relatives.
-"of course, you know more than i do," collie dog hastened to add.
-professor screech owl nodded.
-"and you may have heard in your travels of something which credits the mice with being other than thieves and rogues. but for my part, i am skeptical of all the good i hear of them."
-"there are mice, and there are mice," said the professor. for this is one of the best ways to open a subject and draw a distinction. "i have rarely inquired into their morals, preferring to take them as i find them. in the matter of one's living one must not be too squeamish. probably i have eaten moral mice and immoral mice, with indifference. but i have heard that the mice in belgium are the gentlest and sweetest of creatures. have you heard of the belgium mice, mr. dog?"
-this was the point to which collie dog had drawn his visitor with intent. for no matter what subject you brought up, if you passed it over to professor screech owl and showed him the respect and patience which is due to scholarly persons, he would refresh your mind with wonderful facts and you would be vastly improved and informed when he finished. so collie dog admitted that he was no book dog, and knew precious little about anything. this was not so, for he knew a great deal about sheep, the pasturing of cows, and the time for getting the mail, and he knew that the buggy meant business, and the surrey meant church, and he knew where his mistress kept the chocolate creams. also he knew why the cook left, but he never told. but he pretended that blankness of mind which is a humility pleasing to superior students.
-screech owl stared at the moon as though to recall what he could from his vast store of learning.
-"the dates have escaped me," he began, "but it is the nature of the event, not the time which is important.
-"once long ago, as i was told by the great arctic owl, who is a sort of cousin of mine, the mice in the city of ghent entered into a sort of league with the storks. ghent, as you know, is in belgium."
-this was news to collie dog, but he wagged his tail as if to approve. he was glad to know that ghent was in belgium, and he wished to seem pleased.
-"don't wag your tail!" screech owl spat out at him. "i'm telling you history; i'm not asking you to have a bone. that's no way to act when i'm lecturing!"
-poor collie dog wished to laugh, but he only sat still and looked humbly at the conceited little owl on the peak of the barn.
-professor screech owl suddenly grew quite himself again, apologized for his agitation, and resumed:
-"the storks are a noble lot, and have been renowned in egypt and on the continent. they dwell on the chimney-pots, i'm told, or build on the edges of steeples and such. very proud they are, and given to the practise of medicine. the cranes in the country make great pretense of being cousins of the stork. but we all know the difference,--we who have traveled. ha! ha!"
-"in ghent, long ago," the professor went on, "the mice that lived in the barn of the mayor's place were many. they overran it and lived under the very eaves as well as in the cellars. and those nearest the roof became great friends of the storks who dwelt on the gables and chimneys.
-"now, so the story runs, the mayor's barn caught fire. the good lady stork had but just left her nest. the storks, you know, go far out into the country to get their food. i think it very foolish of them to live in the cities. but mrs. stork took her chances, as all mothers do when they leave their young ones for any length of time.
-"dr. stork, the father of this particular family, was away on medical matters, and so the baby was alone. you can imagine what mrs. stork felt when she came flying toward the city and saw smoke pouring from the roof of the mayor's barn."
-collie dog scented the drift of the story, and grew suddenly impatient for the slow professor to reach the point.
-"and was the baby stork burned to death?" he interrupted.
-professor screech owl only looked down and cleared his throat.
-"the mice," he said, "are credited with singular humanity. they scrambled all around and in and out of the nest, and at last they grabbed the baby stork and dragged him down to the edge of the roof."
-"and then?" exclaimed collie dog, now really excited. "what then? did he fall off and get killed after all?"
-"since then the storks give all the feathers they can spare to the mice; and now these frisky creatures sleep on down. that is, the mice in belgium do."
-professor screech owl came to a sudden stop and watched collie dog. seeing his audience was profoundly impressed, he then went on:
-"those who were witnesses to this rescue say that mrs. stork's excitement was terrible. she went to egypt for a year to recover her nerves--"
-an unearthly screech pierced the night. the professor and collie dog jumped in surprise. old tom cat, who had listened to all this as he sat on the door-step in the dark, was trying to laugh. he was also making remarks about owls and mice in general. but just then the master of the house threw open the window and expressed his views.
-collie dog retired quickly to his kennel to think over this wonderful chapter of history; and wise professor screech owl flew silently from the peak of the barn to his nest in the hickory woods.
-mrs. bob-white and the hunting dog
-at the very peep of day collie dog and setter pup started out on a hunting trip of their own. collie dog called the place "my farm" and he had told his friend of all the wonderful sights there were to be seen on the place by a dog who could travel alone and do as he wanted. it was his habit, he said, to be abroad very early; sometimes, indeed, he would run over the fields and along the shore, or back into the woodland, for miles and miles before breakfast.
-"and what do you do that for?" setter pup asked. for this youngster was just from the city, and he was not used to these country ways. "we never get up until long after the man with the milk cans has gone by the door, and the postman has come and gone," he yawned. "that's the proper thing in town."
-collie dog laughed in a courteous way.
-"and we get up before the milk cans start for town," he said. "that is, some of us do. but they'll take you out early enough when the hunting begins. and you'll be pointing birds all day in the fields and the swamps."
-setter pup waved his tail proudly, for he meant to be a great hunter. that was why they had him in the country now--to teach him all sorts of things about guns and what to do when he smelt a covey of birds.
-but collie dog was no hunter, being more of a scholar and a poet. his master, at any rate, had read him a great deal of poetry. and much of the poetry had been of a nature to discourage hunting; which was just what the doggie's master liked to do. he was thoroughly in sympathy with his pet, who couldn't endure a gun, either the sight or the sound of it. but, much as the gentleman knew about the fields and the woods, he would have known more could he have understood what collie dog would have loved to tell him. for that gentle dog was on the best of terms with every living creature for miles around. his early morning expeditions were always but so many rounds of visits.
-consequently, the newcomer, this eager and noisy young setter, was to make many new acquaintances on this daybreak excursion with collie dog.
-down the lane from the barn to the pasture they romped, the dew drenching their flanks as they brushed the tall weeds and bushes. setter pup, with his ears flapping in excitement, was plunging heedlessly ahead when collie dog called him back.
-"go easy here! we are sure to hear something," collie dog whispered.
-and suddenly, while they walked almost on tip-toe, there came from the very edge of the field, a clear, ringing call:
-"bob! bob! bob!"
-"why, who can be down here in the hayfield at this time of the morning?" setter pup asked in surprise.
-"just wait!" laughed collie dog, delighted.
-"bob, bob, bob-white!"
-the voice was as clear as a boy's.
-"that's my best friend out here," collie dog explained. "it's little mr. partridge."
-then very quickly the beautiful, trim little mr. partridge hopped clear of the tangled grass and stood gaily on the fence-rail. he was speckled and shapely and his eyes were full of wonderful humor. but he caught sight of the strange dog, and was gone in a second. then, to setter pup's great astonishment, there were many little voices, and wild scuttlings in the very path ahead of him. and two beautiful partridges, their wings apparently broken, were hobbling along almost before his very nose. they were dying, as it seemed.
-setter pup was all for seizing them. two such crippled creatures were easy prey. but his instincts were, after all, of another sort; for, although he had never done it before, he stood stock still and pointed his nose straight at the birds, his tail stretched out like a long plume behind him.
-collie dog shook with laughter.
-"well, that gun shooting master of yours would be proud of you if he could see you now," he said. "you're pointing straight as a weather vane. but we're not out hunting birds this morning. come here, and i'll show you something."
-setter pup dropped his tail and stepped back. then collie dog came softly up to the little birds that were cowering in the path. they knew him well enough. even if he was a dog, he was a friend; and if there is a creature who knows a friend and would be on terms of friendship with the whole world it is mr. bob-white.
-they were even pleased to meet young setter pup, when they found out that he was staying at the farm. they could not believe that a personal friend of their wonderful collie dog could be ill-disposed to such as the partridge family.
-and mr. bob-white talked about "our farm" exactly as though it were his own. he said that he and his family could surely keep down the potato bugs that year; and that if it could only be known what his intentions were in this matter of eating up the pests that canker and destroy, he was sure no one would want to kill him.
-"you always say that, poor mr. bob-white, and how i pity you," the gentle collie dog replied. for he was as quick to weep as to laugh, being so refined a dog. "and it's a shame. my master reads to me all about you. and we get very indignant when we think of how you are the one thing that these farmers can depend upon to eat up more bugs than anybody else could ever devour. you're so much better than poison and all the rest of the truck they sprinkle around."
-"yes; the poison just washes off in the rain. my family, if only we could be let alone, would do it all. didn't you tell me that my cousin down in texas ate up all the boll weevils in a county full of cotton?"
-"that's the truth," answered collie dog. "master read it to me. but you're safe enough on this farm anyway. you know that. my friend setter pup is not going to hunt here at all."
-"and i shall never hunt partridges--never!" declared setter pup, who was sadly distressed. "i wish i had never been born"--he was crying now--"if i have to hunt down such folks as mr. partridge." for poor setter pup had found that he possessed a heart; and that discovery is the most distressing one in the world.
-"oh, you'll get over that," collie dog comforted him. "you'll have to. your master will attend to you. but i'm sorry for you. and just look at these baby partridges."
-one by one, as mrs. partridge had clucked to them, in a little voice like the ticking of a tiny clock, they had crept up to her. ten little chicks there were, of a light brown, and nothing but fluffy down and beady eyes. one of them hopped right out from in front of setter pup, where it had hidden under a leaf.
-"good gracious!" he exclaimed. "there was that chicken, and i never saw it at all!"
-"no," collie dog replied; "you would never guess where they go to when their mother gives the alarm. and then she runs off and tempts you to kill her. she hobbles and cries and lies down to die right at your feet. my own mother, who was a scottish noblewoman, being an argyle, used to say that she never saw such a wonderfully devoted mother as mrs. bob-white."
-with a gay farewell to mr. partridge, the sprightly dog was off. and setter pup went racing after him. for there was much to see, and the sun was already clear and golden. the grass shone in waves of green, and as the dew dried there came the loveliest odors of wild honeysuckle and clover. it was a time to be gay, and collie dog did not want to have his young friend depressed. there were some wonderful mud-holes to visit, where they could get just as cool and as dirty as they pleased.
-"and when the mud dries off," collie dog explained, as they plunged through the bushes, "your coat will shine as though it had been brushed."
-it was a wonderful romp that they had in the mud-hole, deep in the swampy meadow, under the blackberry vines. and when they came out, disgracefully dirty, to dry themselves under a china-berry tree, they were rolling over and over on the grass, when a funny little voice called out from the branches overhead:
-"hello, mr. dog!"
-setter pup jumped to his feet; but collie dog only looked up into the tree.
-"'morning, friend 'possum; and how's your family to-day?"
-then he laughed; a squeaky little laugh it was; and collie dog seemed to enjoy the joke too, for he sat up with a smile.
-"come on down and let's see you die," he requested. "my friend has never seen a 'possum play dead."
-"no, indeed, mr. collie. i don't know your friend--and i don't think i care to. he's a hunting dog. but i'll die right here on this branch, if that will amuse you."
-"how queer!" setter pup exclaimed. "i suppose he's satisfied that nobody but a buzzard would touch him now. what a dandy trick!"
-"it fools 'em, all right," said collie dog, who always delighted in this performance.
-then mr. 'possum winked a sly wink and slid like a big rat along the branch to a hollow place in the tree.
-"he's gone in. probably his wife wanted him."
-and then collie dog was off again, bounding and racing across the field, with setter pup keeping beside him.
-miles they went, through the country. young setter pup saw more than he ever had guessed could be seen. there was mr. blacksnake, who raced like mad over the leaves, making an astonishing noise. he carried his head very high and went such a zigzag course that the dogs lost sight of him.
-"he's an ugly fellow, too, but he can't hurt you. he makes a funny noise with his tail, rattling it on the leaves if you corner him. he wants you to think he's a rattlesnake. but it's only a clever trick," said collie dog. "sometimes on that sandy piece of road we've just passed, we'll come across mr. hognose. he's a queer little snake. he can scare you terribly by puffing and blowing, so that you would think he was very dangerous. but he can't bite at all, nor hurt you as much as a cat. he plays off at being dead too, just like mr. 'possum. but he never crawls out till the sun is high. he likes the heat. i've met him a great many times, but always when it was hot."
-by this time it was a glorious morning, and as the two dogs trotted down the wood road and along the river bank, the birds were calling from every side.
-"i like to come this way," collie dog went on. "there's a redbird, a very aristocratic cardinal, who flies ahead of me every time. he's had a whole story written about himself. master's read it aloud to me. does your master read aloud to you?"
-setter pup was somewhat embarrassed.
-"we read about guns and cartridges and canadian guides, and fishing tackle," he admitted.
-"h'm!" mused his companion. "destructive, of course. right in your line. but not my style. we prefer the other kind, my master and i. but not everybody can be a poet, of course."
-just then the cardinal-bird darted out of the honeysuckle and flew ahead of them, and in an instant a brilliant bluebird followed him.
-"they fly together just that way. master says they must like each other's color. aren't they beautiful?"
-and then, before they knew it, the birds were gone; and setter pup was surprised to see that this river path had been the way home, for they were almost at the farm door.
-"if i could only go hunting with you instead of with those guides and guns," setter pup began; for evidently there was something on his mind and he wanted to talk.
-but collie dog just wagged his tail. he understood. there was nothing to be said, for a dog owes everything to his master, and there are many kinds of masters. besides, the door was open and there were voices upstairs. setter pup's owner was calling across the hall to his host.
-"he ought to make a fine pointer. his mother was a prize bird dog, you know."
-poor setter pup looked wistfully at collie dog as they flopped down on the floor.
-and collie was truly distressed. but, then, as he often asked himself:
-"what could a poor dog do?"
-mrs. polar bear's adventure
-the long, dark winter was on the wane. months of cold starlight and terrific winds, with numberless storms of heavy snow, had gone by. little by little the streak of light on the horizon, the thin shadows which it cast over the snowfields, and the gentler quality of the air increased; so that every one who lived in this far arctic region stirred in his winter sleep and there was preparation for a short and very busy summer.
-some of the animals had been abroad, indeed, throughout the whole dark night of the polar winter; such of them for instance as the lovely white fox and the great polar bear. for it was not their custom to crawl away, as many did, into the deep snow-banks, there to sleep it out; for they knew that even this season of blackness and appalling cold had plenty of food for them, and they were always insatiably hungry.
-but mr. bear's wife was of a different turn of mind, and although she knew that her husband would not provide for her quite as she would like to be fed, she was willing to go deep into the snow and dig out for herself a warm bed away beneath the surface. there she had stayed, never so much as venturing to the opening after the real night had set in.
-and there her cubs were born. two of them there were. the good mrs. bear was so delighted with their beauty that she was impatient for the warm days to come when she could take them out and show them to her relatives and friends.
-"perhaps, too, their father will be back by the time summer comes," she thought.
-and then she was suddenly glad that he was not around just now; for he was very quick-tempered, and if the babies annoyed him at all, he would be pretty sure to cuff them. and one blow of mr. bear's paw would finish the career of any baby bear in the world.
-so the two little creatures, clad in the whitest of fur from head to foot, their claws as black as ebony, and their wide eyes as yellow as amber, lay snuggled against the great warm body of their mother for all the weeks of the departing winter.
-suddenly, as they rolled over and looked upward through the snow cavern, they saw for the first time what seemed to them a great big eye staring down at them.
-"that's only the hole in the roof," mrs. bear explained. "and pretty soon you will see that it is all blue and beautiful above that window--and then we will go out and away."
-what that meant they did not know; for life so far as they had known it consisted of meals and sleep and endless playtime on the icy floor of their cavern. but they were to know more about it very soon. a white wing flashed by one morning, and a land voice called down the depths of their cave.
-it was mr. burgomaster, the good-natured gull. he had come purposely to call on mrs. bear, for he had two stirring pieces of information to give her.
-he perched by the edge of her skylight, and wasted no words in relating the news.
-"there's a whale being driven ashore; and the mists have hidden the birds."
-he was gone before mrs. bear could so much as thank him for coming; and she was, indeed, deeply obliged. no one but good mr. burgomaster would ever have taken such pains.
-what he said sounded strange enough, but it meant everything to mrs. bear. when a whale was disabled in the far depths of the sea, or had been caught in the currents and gales in such a way that he must surely drift to shore, he was as good as dead and devoured. for in shallow water he would be helpless and once his enormous bulk was stranded on the rocks or the jagged capes of ice he could only give himself up to his enemies.
-mrs. bear, however, would have been very cautious about venturing to the scene of the banquet, if the great flocks of birds, which were sure to be on hand, were not hidden from view as they hovered above it. clouds of excited gulls that came nearer and nearer to the shore were a signal of what was about to happen. and the bears, the foxes, and the wolves were not the only ones who knew it. men, with their ferocious packs of dogs, their long lassos of walrus hide, and their terrible spears, knew well enough what the noisy birds were announcing.
-but all would be well if the fogs hung low, and the gathering flocks of sea-birds were thereby hidden.
-mrs. bear explained the situation to her cubs.
-with that mrs. bear rose to her hind feet and reached upward along the snow walls of her house. then, balancing herself on a ridge of the ice which was for all the world like a side shelf, she made a ponderous leap through the opening into broad daylight. for at last it was the real day, and a glorious glimmer of sunlight behind the fogs showed that summer was coming.
-it was good to breathe the free air, and mrs. bear shook herself violently to straighten out the creases of her heavy coat. she would have liked to roar, loud and long, but she was trained by experience never to speak in a fog.
-"you can't tell who's hearing you," her own mother used to say.
-so she only trundled her mighty bulk downward across the ice and snow, to its very edge, where it suddenly broke off and formed an embankment. below this there was a narrow beach, or what appeared to be one--a strip of confused and tumbled blocks of ice and jagged rocks.
-there was a sudden whizzing of wings above her head, and the wailing cries of a hundred little gulls and the many crowds of birds that were hurrying to eat of whale fat. mrs. bear broke off in their direction; and soon the sound of snarling voices, the yelps of the quarrelsome foxes, and the vicious bark of the wolves met her ears. yes, she was none too early, for evidently the assemblage of animals, all as famished as herself, were fighting over the repast.
-they were not so polite to mrs. bear as they might have been, for they begrudged her any share of the whale's body. but she paid little attention to any one, and went to work lustily on her first meal of the season.
-after the first mouthfuls, however, she felt wonderfully good-humored; for such is the effect of a meal, and it is pleasant to stop and talk a bit when you know there is more to follow.
-"i must thank you, mr. burgomaster," was her first remark. "you were kind to call me in time. this is a good beginning to the summer."
-the white-winged gull, largest of all the birds that were present, and by far the best mannered, only begged mrs. bear to remember that they had been friends for many years.
-"and i propose to name my children," mrs. bear announced, as this delicious dinner began to increase her fine spirits, "i propose to name the babies after you and your wife: odin and olga. that's what they shall be."
-mr. burgomaster was at a loss how to express his gratitude for this compliment. but he needed to say little, for such a generous tribute is not repaid in words.
-something he said later on, however, in which he quoted dr. penguin, brought forth her assent on the subject of eating too much, for she added, "true, true, it is not wise to overeat at your first meal of the year. a relative of mine did that once, and was unable to climb over the path to his door."
-so, taking as goodly an amount of provender with her as she could carry away, mrs. bear went home to feed her babies. they were far more interested in this new and appetizing breakfast than in the names which she gave them, you may be sure; and from then until the whale was used up and only his bones were left to dry in the winds, mrs. bear was continually carrying meals to her cave.
-by this time the winter was gone, and the roof of the snowhouse fell in. the melting drifts drenched every ledge and cranny of their home, and it was time to be wandering.
-"you must do exactly as i tell you," mrs. bear kept saying, "and you must never stray from me a minute. for we are going to start on our journey, and there will be a great many dangers to guard against."
-when little odin and olga trotted along beside their mother, with the whole world before them, and a keen appetite with them, they were as alert and excited as any two bears in the world could be.
-the great rolling, blue water, the ice that floated on its surface and shone like white ivory in the sun, the patches of green grass on the sides of the hills, and the rocks black with snow water, made a dazzling scene.
-their long day began with a wonderful feat on the part of mother bear. after they had swum to a low, wide ice floe, which was a little way from shore, and odin and olga were just learning to use the hairy pads of their feet in climbing the sides of the small iceberg, mrs. bear gave a sudden plunge into the water, and disappeared from view. she swam far out, her nose barely coming to the surface, and the rest of her body entirely concealed. then, rising to the surface, she brought back with her a huge fish which she had stunned with a blow of her mighty paw.
-"it's all in the way you slide into the water," she said; and then, as they ate greedily of this morsel, she told them of diving for sea-lions and of capturing them by coming up from under the prey.
-"you will swim under water great distances, as soon as you learn to hunt," she said, "and you will learn to make no noise about it."
-this was the truth, as not only the seals and the sea-lions, but plenty of the great fish, could bear witness.
-but, as events of the day were to turn, little odin and olga were near to never growing up at all; for the very danger which their mother most dreaded was speedily approaching. while they were playing first on the ice cakes and then on the shore, and mrs. bear had about made up her mind that they would stay that night at a point not far distant, where she saw many sea-birds fluttering, and where, she reasoned, the fishing and seal hunting might be good, the hunters with their trained dogs were fast approaching the very spot.
-for your eskimos have their own way of reading the signs; and as many birds had been flocking in this direction, the men had steadily pursued the trail. day after day they had traveled, and they felt sure that they were coming upon at least a herd of seals or of walruses. and they hoped, of course, to bag a great white bear.
-but odin's mother had assured herself that there was no danger, or it would have been revealed during the time that the whale had attracted such crowds of her brother animals. she did not perceive that her enemies knew exactly how prone the well-fed bear is to linger near the spot of her recent feedings.
-"that is just the place to spend the night, out there," she said; "for on those points that reach out into the sea, you can escape by land or by water, as you have to. remember that, too, children."
-little olga stopped to rub her head at this. she was trying to remember so many things! mrs. bear told her it was nothing, and that learning things was the whole of life anyway.
-when mrs. bear and her twins reached the icy point, there were the friendly penguins to meet them and to exclaim over the children. they were having a fine visit when suddenly a dull roar far below them on the shore made every one sit up and listen.
-it came again and lasted longer. it was a new sound to the children, but mrs. bear recognized it.
-"that's an iceberg breaking up," she said at last. "not a pleasing sound, but one you'll soon get used to."
-night came and they curled up, all three, in a snug corner under the ice shelves of the point. the wind was high and the sea was noisy, but they were too well tucked away to care.
-and they little dreamed of what was going on around them.
-for scarcely had the sun gone down, when the eskimos with their teams of wolfish dogs were on the spot. little by little they had crept to the end of the point, and one by one they stationed themselves at intervals to wait, like so many sentinels, for the morning.
-mrs. bear would never reach the water alive; and escape back to the mainland was impossible. there were enough dogs and men on hand to cover the avenues of escape.
-before little odin and olga were awake sufficiently to see anything at all, mrs. bear had faced her first ambushed enemies. from where the cubs cowered in their corner, they saw their mother rear on her hind legs and then drop with a terrible force, hitting the dogs right and left as she landed among them. there were thunderous noises, and her own mighty roars were almost drowned by the snarling of the dogs and the shouting of the men, who were fast closing in. she was bleeding already and several of the dogs were lying dead around her.
-mrs. bear stood truly at bay. one man, more courageous than the rest, came running up with his pointed spear, ready to take aim. a terrific noise arrested him--a noise in which all else was nothing. the land seemed to reel and topple; the great ice shelves came crashing down.
-men and dogs ran for their lives; and to save themselves they plunged bodily into the sea. for the whole point of ice had broken from the mainland and, like a ship that is rocking and righting itself, it was sending up mighty waves and eddies on every side.
-the motions were less gigantic after a while, and the new iceberg had found itself. already it was moving forward, and the wind was driving it foot by foot into the outgoing tide.
-mrs. bear knew precisely what to do. twice in her life she had traveled on ice floes, though never on so large a one as this.
-"here we are, and here we stay," she said. "by and by we'll come to islands, or so close to shore that we can swim back to land. it will be a long time before we are carried out beyond this gulf, and we're sure to escape before then."
-she was a little too cheerful, perhaps, for some of her own kin had gone that way so far into the great southerly current that they were never seen again. but mrs. bear was one of those happy beings who always look for the best, not the worst; and she was too joyous over this sudden deliverance to heed any new perplexity.
-"all things, mr. burgomaster," said wonderful mother bear, as she crawled out of the water and shook her shaggy fur, "all things happen for the best!"
-creatures that once were men
-by g. k. chesterton.
-this hypothesis, like the hypothesis mentioned before it, is highly disputable, and is at best a suggestion. but there is one broad truth in the matter which may in any case be considered as established. a country like russia has far more inherent capacity for producing revolution in revolutionists than any country of the type of england or america. communities highly civilised and largely urban tend to a thing which is now called evolution, the most cautious and the most conservative of all social influences. the loyal russian obeys the czar because he remembers the czar and the czar's importance. the disloyal russian frets against the czar because he also remembers the czar, and makes a note of the necessity of knifing him. but the loyal englishman obeys the upper classes because he has forgotten that they are there. their operation has become to him like daylight, or gravitation, or any of the forces of nature. and there are no disloyal englishmen; there are no english revolutionists, because the oligarchic management of england is so complete as to be invisible. the thing which can once get itself forgotten can make itself omnipotent.
-gorky is pre-eminently russian, in that he is a revolutionist; not because most russians are revolutionists (for i imagine that they are not), but because most russians--indeed, nearly all russians--are in that attitude of mind which makes revolution possible and which makes religion possible, an attitude of primary and dogmatic assertion. to be a revolutionist it is first necessary to be a revelationist. it is necessary to believe in the sufficiency of some theory of the universe or the state. but in countries that have come under the influence of what is called the evolutionary idea, there has been no dramatic righting of wrongs, and (unless the evolutionary idea loses its hold) there never will be. these countries have no revolution, they have to put up with an inferior and largely fictitious thing which they call progress.
-the interest of the gorky tale, like the interest of so many other russian masterpieces, consists in this sharp contact between a simplicity, which we in the west feel to be very old, and a rebelliousness which we in the west feel to be very new. we cannot in our graduated and polite civilisation quite make head or tail of the russian anarch; we can only feel in a vague way that his tale is the tale of the missing link, and that his head is the head of the superman. we hear his lonely cry of anger. but we cannot be quite certain whether his protest is the protest of the first anarchist against government, or whether it is the protest of the last savage against civilisation. the cruelty of ages and of political cynicism or necessity has done much to burden the race of which gorky writes; but time has left them one thing which it has not left to the people in poplar or west ham. it has left them, apparently, the clear and childlike power of seeing the cruelty which encompasses them. gorky is a tramp, a man of the people, and also a critic and a bitter one. in the west poor men, when they become articulate in literature, are always sentimentalists and nearly always optimists.
-it is no exaggeration to say that these people of whom gorky writes in such a story as this of "creatures that once were men" are to the western mind children. they have, indeed, been tortured and broken by experience and sin. but this has only sufficed to make them sad children or naughty children or bewildered children. they have absolutely no trace of that quality upon which secure government rests so largely in western europe, the quality of being soothed by long words as if by an incantation. they do not call hunger "economic pressure"; they call it hunger. they do not call rich men "examples of capitalistic concentration," they call them rich men. and this note of plainness and of something nobly prosaic is as characteristic of gorky, the most recent and in some ways the most modern and sophisticated of russian authors, as it is of tolstoy or any of the tolstoyan type of mind. the very title of this story strikes the note of this sudden and simple vision. the philanthropist writing long letters to the daily telegraph says, of men living in a slum, that "their degeneration is of such a kind as almost to pass the limits of the semblance of humanity," and we read the whole thing with a tepid assent as we should read phrases about the virtues of queen victoria or the dignity of the house of commons. the russian novelist, when he describes a dosshouse, says, "creatures that once were men." and we are arrested, and regard the facts as a kind of terrible fairy tale. this story is a test case of the russian manner, for it is in itself a study of decay, a study of failure, and a study of old age. and yet the author is forced to write even of staleness freshly; and though he is treating of the world as seen by eyes darkened or blood-shot with evil experience, his own eyes look out upon the scene with a clarity that is almost babyish. through all runs that curious russian sense that every man is only a man, which, if the russians ever are a democracy, will make them the most democratic democracy that the world has ever seen. take this passage, for instance, from the austere conclusion of "creatures that once were men."
-petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror and went back into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. at the door facing him stood an old man with a stick in his hand and a large bag on his back, a horrible odd man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony figure. he bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant.
-"what are you? who are you?" shouted petunikoff.
-"a man ..." he answered, in a hoarse voice. this hoarseness pleased and tranquillised petunikoff, he even smiled.
-"a man! and are there really men like you?" stepping aside he let the old man pass. he went, saying slowly:
-"men are of various kinds ... as god wills ... there are worse than me ... still worse ... yes ..."
-here, in the very act of describing a kind of a fall from humanity, gorky expresses a sense of the strangeness and essential value of the human being which is far too commonly absent altogether from such complex civilisations as our own. to no western, i am afraid, would it occur when asked what he was to say, "a man." he would be a plasterer who had walked from reading, or an iron-puddler who had been thrown out of work in lancashire, or a university man who would be really most grateful for the loan of five shillings, or the son of a lieutenant-general living in brighton, who would not have made such an application if he had not known that he was talking to another gentleman. with us it is not a question of men being of various kinds; with us the kinds are almost different animals. but in spite of all gorky's superficial scepticism and brutality, it is to him the fall from humanity, or the apparent fall from humanity, which is not merely great and lamentable, but essential and even mystical. the line between man and the beasts is one of the transcendental essentials of every religion; and it is, like most of the transcendental things of religion, identical with the main sentiments of the man of common sense. we feel this gulf when theologies say that it cannot be crossed. but we feel it quite as much (and that with a primal shudder) when philosophers or fanciful writers suggest that it might be crossed. and if any man wishes to discover whether or no he has really learnt to regard the line between man and brute as merely relative and evolutionary, let him say again to himself those frightful words, "creatures that once were men."
-g. k. chesterton.
-creatures that once were men.
-in front of you is the main street, with two rows of miserable looking huts with shuttered windows and old walls pressing on each other and leaning forward. the roofs of these time-worn habitations are full of holes, and have been patched here and there with laths; from underneath them project mildewed beams, which are shaded by the dusty-leaved elder-trees and crooked white willows--pitiable flora of those suburbs inhabited by the poor.
-the dull green time-stained panes of the windows look upon each other with the cowardly glances of cheats. through the street and towards the adjacent mountain, runs the sinuous path, winding through the deep ditches filled with rain-water. here and there are piled heaps of dust and other rubbish--either refuse or else put there purposely to keep the rain-water from flooding the houses. on the top of the mountain, among green gardens with dense foliage, beautiful stone houses lie hidden; the belfries of the churches rise proudly towards the sky, and their gilded crosses shine beneath the rays of the sun. during the rainy weather the neighbouring town pours its water into this main road, which, at other times, is full of its dust, and all these miserable houses seem, as it were, thrown by some powerful hand into that heap of dust, rubbish, and rain-water. they cling to the ground beneath the high mountain, exposed to the sun, surrounded by decaying refuse, and their sodden appearance impresses one with the same feeling as would the half-rotten trunk of an old tree.
-at the end of the main street, as if thrown out of the town, stood a two-storied house, which had been rented from petunikoff, a merchant and resident of the town. it was in comparatively good order, being further from the mountain, while near it were the open fields, and about half-a-mile away the river ran its winding course.
-this large old house had the most dismal aspect amidst its surroundings. the walls bent outwards and there was hardly a pane of glass in any of the windows, except some of the fragments which looked like the water of the marshes--dull green. the spaces of wall between the windows were covered with spots, as if time were trying to write there in hieroglyphics the history of the old house, and the tottering roof added still more to its pitiable condition. it seemed as if the whole building bent towards the ground, to await the last stroke of that fate which should transform it into a chaos of rotting remains, and finally into dust.
-the gates were open, one half of them displaced and lying on the ground at the entrance, while between its bars had grown the grass, which also covered the large and empty court-yard. in the depths of this yard stood a low, iron-roofed, smoke-begrimed building. the house itself was of course unoccupied, but this shed, formerly a blacksmith's forge, was now turned into a "dosshouse," kept by a retired captain named aristid fomich kuvalda.
-in the interior of the dosshouse was a long, wide and grimy board, measuring some 28 by 70 feet. the room was lighted on one side by four small square windows, and on the other by a wide door. the unpainted brick walls were black with smoke, and the ceiling, which was built of timber, was almost black. in the middle stood a large stove, the furnace of which served as its foundation, and around this stove and along the walls were also long, wide boards, which served as beds for the lodgers. the walls smelt of smoke, the earthen floor of dampness, and the long wide board of rotting rags.
-before renting this house, aristid kuvalda had kept a registry office for servants in the town. if we look further back into his former life, we shall find that he once owned printing works, and previous to this, in his own words, he "just lived! and lived well too, devil take it, and like one who knew how!"
-he was a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty, with a rawlooking face, swollen with drunkenness, and with a dirty yellowish beard. his eyes were large and grey, with an insolent expression of happiness. he spoke in a bass voice and with a sort of grumbling sound in his throat, and he almost always held between his teeth a german china pipe with a long bowl. when he was angry the nostrils of his big crooked red nose swelled, and his lips trembled, exposing to view two rows of large and wolf-like yellow teeth. he had long arms, was lame, and always dressed in an old officer's uniform, with a dirty, greasy cap with a red band, a hat without a brim, and ragged felt boots which reached almost to his knees. in the morning, as a rule, he had a heavy drunken headache, and in the evening he caroused. however much he drank, he was never drunk, and so was always merry.
-in the evenings he received lodgers, sitting on his brickmade bench with his pipe in his mouth.
-"whom have we here?" he would ask the ragged and tattered object approaching him, who had probably been chucked out of the town for drunkenness, or perhaps for some other reason not quite so simple. and after the man had answered him, he would say, "let me see legal papers in confirmation of your lies." and if there were such papers they were shown. the captain would then put them in his bosom, seldom taking any interest in them, and would say:
-"don't you sell tea, bread, or anything to eat?"
-"i trade only in walls and roofs, for which i pay to the swindling proprietor of this hole--judas petunikoff, merchant of the second guild--five roubles a month," explained kuvalda in a business-like tone. "only those come to me who are not accustomed to comfort and luxuries .... but if you are accustomed to eat every day, then there is the eating-house opposite. but it would be better for you if you left off that habit. you see you are not a gentleman. what do you eat? you eat yourself!"
-for such speeches, delivered in a strictly business-like manner, and always with smiling eyes, and also for the attention he paid to his lodgers the captain was very popular among the poor of the town. it very often happened that a former client of his would appear, not in rags, but in something more respectable and with a slightly happier face.
-"good-day, your honour, and how do you do?"
-"alive, in good health! go on."
-"don't you know me?"
-"i did not know you."
-"do you remember that i lived with you last winter for nearly a month .... when the fight with the police took place, and three were taken away?"
-"my brother, that is so. the police do come even under my hospitable roof!"
-"my god! you gave a piece of your mind to the police inspector of this district!"
-"wouldn't you accept some small hospitality from me? when i lived with you, you were ..."
-"gratitude must be encouraged because it is seldom met with. you seem to be a good man, and, though i don't remember you, still i will go with you into the public-house and drink to your success and future prospects with the greatest pleasure."
-"you seem always the same ... are you always joking?"
-"what else can one do, living among you unfortunate men?"
-they went. sometimes the captain's former customer, uplifted and unsettled by the entertainment, returned to the dosshouse, and on the following morning they would again begin treating each other till the captain's companion would wake up to realise that he had spent all his money in drink.
-"your honour, do you see that i have again fallen into your hands? what shall we do now?"
-"the position, no doubt, is not a very good one, but still you need not trouble about it," reasoned the captain. "you must, my friend, treat everything indifferently, without spoiling yourself by philosophy, and without asking yourself any question. to philosophise is always foolish; to philosophise with a drunken headache, ineffably so. drunken headaches require vodki and not the remorse of conscience or gnashing of teeth ... save your teeth, or else you will not be able to protect yourself. here are twenty kopecks. go and buy a bottle of vodki for five kopecks, hot tripe or lungs, one pound of bread and two cucumbers. when we have lived off our drunken headache we will think of the condition of affairs ..."
-as a rule the consideration of the "condition of affairs" lasted some two or three days, and only when the captain had not a farthing left of the three roubles or five roubles given him by his grateful customer did he say:
-"you came! do you see? now that we have drunk everything with you, you fool, try again to regain the path of virtue and soberness. it has been truly said that if you do not sin, you will not repent, and, if you do not repent, you shall not be saved. we have done the first, and to repent is useless. let us make direct for salvation. go to the river and work, and if you think you cannot control yourself, tell the contractor, your employer, to keep your money, or else give it to me. when you get sufficient capital, i will get you a pair of trousers and other things necessary to make you seem a respectable and hard-working man, persecuted by fate. with decent-looking trousers you can go far. now then, be off!"
-then the client would go to the river to work as a porter, smiling the while over the captain's long and wise speeches. he did not distinctly understand them, but only saw in front of him two merry eyes, felt their encouraging influence, and knew that in the loquacious captain he had an arm that would assist him in time of need.
-and really it happened very often that, for a month or so, some ticket-of-leave client, under the strict surveillance of the captain, had the opportunity of raising himself to a condition better than that to which, thanks to the captain's co-operation, he had fallen.
-"now, then, my friend!" said the captain, glancing critically at the restored client, "we have a coat and jacket. when i had respectable trousers i lived in town like a respectable man. but when the trousers wore out, i too fell off in the opinion of my fellow-men and had to come down here from the town. men, my fine mannikin, judge everything by the outward appearance, while, owing to their foolishness, the actual reality of things is incomprehensible to them. make a note of this on your nose, and pay me at least half your debt. go in peace; seek, and you may find."
-"how much do i owe you, aristid fomich?" asks the client, in confusion.
-"one rouble and 70 kopecks.... now, give me only one rouble, or, if you like, 70 kopecks, and as for the rest, i shall wait until you have earned more than you have now by stealing or by hard work, it does not matter to me."
-"i thank you humbly for your kindness!" says the client, touched to the heart. "truly you are a kind man....; life has persecuted you in vain.... what an eagle you would have been in your own place!"
-the captain could not live without eloquent speeches.
-"what does 'in my own place' mean? no one really knows his own place in life, and every one of us crawls into his harness. the place of the merchant judas petunikoff ought to be in penal servitude, but he still walks through the streets in daylight, and even intends to build a factory. the place of our teacher ought to be beside a wife and half-a-dozen children, but he is loitering in the public-house of vaviloff. and then, there is yourself. you are going to seek a situation as a hall porter or waiter, but i can see that you ought to be a soldier in the army, because you are no fool, are patient and understand discipline. life shuffles us like cards, you see, and it is only accidentally, and only for a time, that we fall into our own places!"
-such farewell speeches often served as a preface to the continuation of their acquaintance, which again began with drinking and went so far that the client would spend his last farthing. then the captain would stand him treat, and they would drink all they had.
-a repetition of similar doings did not affect in the least the good relations of the parties.
-the teacher mentioned by the captain was another of those customers who were thus reformed only in order that they should sin again. thanks to his intellect, he was the nearest in rank to the captain, and this was probably the cause of his falling so low as dosshouse life, and of his inability to rise again. it was only with him that aristid kuvalda could philosophise with the certainty of being understood. he valued this, and when the reformed teacher prepared to leave the dosshouse in order to get a corner in town for himself, then aristid kuvalda accompanied him so sorrowfully and sadly that it ended, as a rule, in their both getting drunk and spending all their money. probably kuvalda arranged the matter intentionally so that the teacher could not leave the dosshouse, though he desired to do so with all his heart. was it possible for aristid kuvalda, a nobleman (as was evident from his speeches), one who was accustomed to think, though the turn of fate may have changed his position, was it possible for him not to desire to have close to him a man like himself? we can pity our own faults in others.
-this teacher had once taught at an institution in one of the towns on the volga, but in consequence of some story was dismissed. after this he was a clerk in a tannery, but again had to leave. then he became a librarian in some private library, subsequently following other professions. finally, after passing examinations in law he became a lawyer, but drink reduced him to the captain's dosshouse. he was tall, round-shouldered, with a long sharp nose and bald head. in his bony and yellow face, on which grew a wedge-shaped beard, shone large, restless eyes, deeply sunk in their sockets, and the corners of his mouth drooped sadly down. he earned his bread, or rather his drink, by reporting for the local papers. he sometimes earned as much as fifteen roubles. these he gave to the captain and said:
-"it is enough. i am going back into the bosom of culture. another week's hard work and i shall dress respectably, and then addio, mio caro!"
-"very exemplary! as i heartily sympathise with your decision, philip, i shall not give you another glass all this week," the captain warned him sternly.
-"i shall be thankful! .... you will not give me one drop?"
-the captain heard in his voice a beseeching note to which he turned a deaf ear.
-"even though you roar, i shall not give it you!"
-"as you like, then," sighed the teacher, and went away to continue his reporting. but after a day or two he would return tired and thirsty, and would look at the captain with a beseeching glance out of the corners of his eyes, hoping that his friend's heart would soften.
-the captain in such cases put on a serious face and began speaking with killing irony on the theme of weakness of character, of the animal delight of intoxication, and on such subjects as suited the occasion. one must do him justice: he was captivated by his role of mentor and moralist, but the lodgers dogged him, and, listening sceptically to his exhortations to repentance, would whisper aside to each other:
-"cunning, skilful, shifty rogue! i told you so, but you would not listen. it's your own fault!"
-"his honour is really a good soldier. he goes first and examines the road behind him!"
-the teacher then hunted here and there till he found his friend again in some corner, and grasping his dirty coat, trembling and licking his dry lips, looked into his face with a deep, tragic glance, without articulate words.
-"can't you?" asked the captain sullenly.
-the teacher answered by bowing his head and letting it fall on his breast, his tall, thin body trembling the while.
-"wait another day ... perhaps you will be all right then," proposed kuvalda. the teacher sighed, and shook his head hopelessly.
-the captain saw that his friend's thin body trembled with the thirst for the poison, and took some money from his pocket.
-"in the majority of cases it is impossible to fight against fate," said he, as if trying to justify himself before someone. but if the teacher controlled himself for a whole week then there was a touching farewell scene between the two friends, which ended as a rule in the eating-house of vaviloff. the teacher did not spend all his money, but spent at least half on the children of the main street. the poor are always rich in children, and in the dirt and ditches of this street there were groups of them from morning to night, hungry, naked and dirty. children are the living flowers of the earth, but these had the appearance of flowers that have faded prematurely, because they grew in ground where there was no healthy nourishment. often the teacher would gather them round him, would buy them bread, eggs, apples and nuts, and take them into the fields by the river side. there they would sit and greedily eat everything he offered them, after which they would begin to play, filling the fields for a mile around with careless noise and laughter. the tall, thin figure of the drunkard towered above these small people, who treated him familiarly, as if he were one of their own age. they called him "philip," and did not trouble to prefix "uncle" to his name. playing around him, like little wild animals, they pushed him, jumped upon his back, beat him upon his bald head, and caught hold of his nose. all this must have pleased him, as he did not protest against such liberties. he spoke very little to them, and when he did so he did it cautiously as if afraid that his words would hurt or contaminate them. he passed many hours thus as their companion and plaything, watching their lively faces with his gloomy eyes. then he would thoughtfully and slowly direct his steps to the eatinghouse of vaviloff, where he would drink silently and quickly till all his senses left him.
-almost every day after his reporting he would bring a newspaper, and then gather round him all these creatures that once were men.
-then appeared pavel solntseff, a man of thirty years of age, suffering from consumption. the ribs of his left side had been broken in a quarrel, and the sharp, yellow face, like that of a fox, always wore a malicious smile. the thin lips, when opened, exposed two rows of decayed black teeth, and the rags on his shoulders swayed backwards and forwards as if they were hung on a clothes pole. they called him "abyedok." he hawked brushes and bath brooms of his own manufacture, good strong brushes made from a peculiar kind of grass.
-then followed a lean and bony man of whom no one knew anything, with a frightened expression in his eyes, the left one of which had a squint. he was silent and timid, and had been imprisoned three times for theft by the high court of justice and the magisterial courts. his family name was kiselnikoff, but they called him paltara taras, because he was a head and shoulders taller than his friend, deacon taras, who had been degraded from his office for drunkenness and immorality. the deacon was a short, thick-set person, with the chest of an athlete and a round, strong head. he danced skilfully, and was still more skilful at swearing. he and paltara taras worked in the wood on the banks of the river, and in free hours he told his friend or any one who would listen, "tales of my own composition," as he used to say. on hearing these stories, the heroes of which always seemed to be saints, kings, priests, or generals, even the inmates of the dosshouse spat and rubbed their eyes in astonishment at the imagination of the deacon, who told them shameless tales of lewd, fantastic adventures, with blinking eyes and a passionless expression of countenance. the imagination of this man was powerful and inexhaustible; he could go on relating and composing all day, from morning to night, without once repeating what he had said before. in his expression you sometimes saw the poet gone astray, sometimes the romancer, and he always succeeded in making his tales realistic by the effective and powerful words in which he told them.
-there was also a foolish young man called kuvalda meteor. one night he came to sleep in the dosshouse and had remained ever since among these men, much to their astonishment. at first they did not take much notice of him. in the daytime, like all the others, he went away to find something to eat, but at nights he always loitered around this friendly company till at last the captain took notice of him.
-"boy! what business have you here on this earth?"
-the boy answered boldly and stoutly:
-"i am a barefooted tramp ...."
-the captain looked critically at him. this youngster had long hair and a weak face, with prominent cheek-bones and a turned-up nose. he was dressed in a blue blouse without a waistband, and on his head he wore the remains of a straw hat, while his feet were bare.
-"you are a fool!" decided aristid kuvalda. "what are you knocking about here for? you are of absolutely no use to us ... do you drink vodki? ... no? ... well, then, can you steal?" again, "no." "go away, learn, and come back again when you know something, and are a man ..."
-the youngster smiled.
-"no. i shall live with you."
-"just because ..."
-"oh you ... meteor!" said the captain.
-"i will break his teeth for him," said martyanoff.
-"and why?" asked the youngster.
-"and i will take a stone and hit you on the head," the young man answered respectfully.
-martyanoff would have broken his bones, had not kuvalda interrupted with:
-"leave him alone.... is this a home to you or even to us? you have no sufficient reason to break his teeth for him. you have no better reason than he for living with us."
-"well, then, devil take him! ... we all live in the world without sufficient reason.... we live, and why? because! he also because ... let him alone...."
-"but it is better for you, young man, to go away from us," the teacher advised him, looking him up and down with his sad eyes. he made no answer, but remained. and they soon became accustomed to his presence, and ceased to take any notice of him. but he lived among them, and observed everything.
-the above were the chief members of the captain's company, and he called them with kind-hearted sarcasm "creatures that once were men." for though there were men who had experienced as much of the bitter irony of fate as these men, yet they were not fallen so low. not infrequently, respectable men belonging to the cultured classes are inferior to those belonging to the peasantry, and it is always a fact that the depraved man from the city is immeasurably worse than the depraved man from the village. this fact was strikingly illustrated by the contrast between the formerly well-educated men and the mujiks who were living in kuvalda's shelter.
-the representative of the latter class was an old mujik called tyapa. tall and angular, he kept his head in such a position that his chin touched his breast. he was the captain's first lodger, and it was said of him that he had a great deal of money hidden somewhere, and for its sake had nearly had his throat cut some two years ago: ever since then he carried his head thus. over his eyes hung greyish eyebrows, and, looked at in profile, only his crooked nose was to be seen. his shadow reminded one of a poker. he denied that he had money, and said that they "only tried to cut his throat out of malice," and from that day he took to collecting rags, and that is why his head was always bent as if incessantly looking on the ground. when he went about shaking his head, and minus a walking-stick in his hand, and a bag on his back--the signs of his profession--he seemed to be thinking almost to madness, and, at such times, kuvalda spoke thus, pointing to him with his finger:
-"look, there is the conscience of merchant judas petunikoff. see how disorderly, dirty, and low is the escaped conscience."
-tyapa, as a rule, spoke in a hoarse and hardly audible voice, and that is why he spoke very little, and loved to be alone. but whenever a stranger, compelled to leave the village, appeared in the dosshouse, tyapa seemed sadder and angrier, and followed the unfortunate about with biting jeers and a wicked chuckling in his throat. he either put some beggar against him, or himself threatened to rob and beat him, till the frightened mujik would disappear from the dosshouse and never more be seen. then tyapa was quiet again, and would sit in some corner mending his rags, or else reading his bible, which was as dirty, worn, and old as himself. only when the teacher brought a newspaper and began reading did he come from his corner once more. as a rule, tyapa listened to what was read silently and sighed often, without asking anything of anyone. but once when the teacher, having read the paper, wanted to put it away, tyapa stretched out his bony hand, and said, "give it to me ..."
-"what do you want it for?"
-"give it to me ... perhaps there is something in it about us ..."
-"about the village."
-they laughed at him, and threw him the paper. he took it, and read in it how in the village the hail had destroyed the cornfields, how in another village fire destroyed thirty houses, and that in a third a woman had poisoned her family,--in fact, everything that it is customary to write of,--everything, that is to say, which is bad, and which depicts only the worst side of the unfortunate village. tyapa read all this silently and roared, perhaps from sympathy, perhaps from delight at the sad news.
-he passed the whole sunday in reading his bible, and never went out collecting rags on that day. while reading, he groaned and sighed continually. he kept the book close to his breast, and was angry with any one who interrupted him or who touched his bible.
-"oh, you drunken blackguard," said kuvalda to him, "what do you understand of it?"
-"nothing, wizard! i don't understand anything, and i do not read any books ... but i read ..."
-"therefore you are a fool ..." said the captain, decidedly. "when there are insects in your head, you know it is uncomfortable, but if some thoughts enter there too, how will you live then, you old toad?"
-"i have not long to live," said tyapa, quietly.
-once the teacher asked how he had learned to read.
-"in prison," answered tyapa, shortly.
-"have you been there?"
-"i was there...."
-"just so.... it was a mistake.... but i brought the bible out with me from there. a lady gave it to me.... it is good in prison, brother."
-"is that so? and why?"
-"it teaches one.... i learned to read there.... i also got this book.... and all these you see, free...."
-when the teacher appeared in the dosshouse, tyapa had already lived there for some time. he looked long into the teacher's face, as if to discover what kind of a man he was. tyapa often listened to his conversation, and once, sitting down beside him, said:
-"i see you are very learned.... have you read the bible?"
-"i have read it...."
-"i see; i see.... can you remember it?"
-"yes.... i remember it...."
-then the old man leaned to one side and gazed at the other with a serious, suspicious glance.
-"there were the amalekites, do you remember?"
-"where are they now?"
-"disappeared ... tyapa ... died out ..."
-the old man was silent, then asked again: "and where are the philistines?"
-"these also ..."
-"have all these died out?"
-"yes ... all ..."
-"and so ... we also will die out?"
-"there will come a time when we also will die," said the teacher indifferently.
-"and to what tribe of israel do we belong?"
-the teacher looked at him, and began telling him about scythians and slavs....
-the old man became all the more frightened, and glanced at his face.
-"you are lying!" he said scornfully, when the teacher had finished.
-"what lie have i told?" asked the teacher.
-"you mentioned tribes that are not mentioned in the bible."
-he got up and walked away, angry and deeply insulted.
-"you will go mad, tyapa," called the teacher after him with conviction.
-then the old man came back again, and stretching out his hand, threatened him with his crooked and dirty finger.
-"god made adam--from adam were descended the jews, that means that all people are descended from jews ... and we also ..."
-"tartars are descended from ishmael, but he also came of the jews ..."
-"what do you want to tell me all this for?"
-"nothing! only why do you tell lies?" then he walked away, leaving his companion in perplexity. but after two days he came again and sat by him.
-"you are learned ... tell me, then, whose descendants are we? are we babylonians, or who are we?"
-"we are slavs, tyapa," said the teacher, and attentively awaited his answer, wishing to understand him.
-"speak to me from the bible. there are no such men there."
-then the teacher began criticising the bible. the old man listened, and interrupted him after a long while.
-"stop ... wait! that means that among people known to god there are no russians? we are not known to god? is it so? god knew all those who are mentioned in the bible ... he destroyed them by sword and fire, he destroyed their cities; but he also sent prophets to teach them. that means that he also pitied them. he scattered the jews and the tartars ... but what about us? why have we prophets no longer?"
-"well, i don't know!" replied the teacher, trying to understand the old man. but the latter put his hand on the teacher's shoulder, and slowly pushed him backwards and forwards, and his throat made a noise as if he were swallowing something....
-"tell me! you speak so much ... as if you knew everything. it makes me sick to listen to you ... you darken my soul.... i should be better pleased if you were silent. who are we, eh? why have we no prophets? ha, ha! ... where were we when christ walked on this earth? do you see? and you too, you are lying.... do you think that all die out? the russian people will never disappear.... you are lying.... it has been written in the bible, only it is not known what name the russians are given. do you see what kind of people they are? they are numberless.... how many villages are there on the earth? think of all the people who live on it, so strong, so numerous! and you say that they will die out; men shall die, but god wants the people, god the creator of the earth! the amalekites did not die out. they are either german or french.... but you, eh, you! now then, tell me why we are abandoned by god? have we no punishments nor prophets from the lord? who then will teach us?" tyapa spoke strongly and plainly, and there was faith in his words. he had been speaking a long time, and the teacher, who was generally drunk and in a speechless condition, could not stand it any longer. he looked at the dry, wrinkled old man, felt the great force of these words, and suddenly began to pity himself. he wished to say something so strong and convincing to the old man that tyapa would be disposed in his favour; he did not wish to speak in such a serious, earnest way, but in a soft and fatherly tone. and the teacher felt as if something were rising from his breast into his throat ... but he could not find any powerful words.
-"what kind of a man are you? ... your soul seems to be torn away--and you still continue speaking ... as if you knew something ... it would be better if you were silent."
-"ah, tyapa, what you say is true," replied the teacher, sadly. "the people ... you are right ... they are numberless ... but i am a stranger to them ... and they are strangers to me ... do you see where the tragedy of my life is hidden? ... but let me alone! i shall suffer ... and there are no prophets also ... no. you are right, i speak a great deal ... but it is no good to anyone. i shall be always silent ... only don't speak with me like this ... ah, old man, you do not know ... you do not know ... and you cannot understand."
-and in the end the teacher cried. he cried so easily and so freely, with such torrents of flowing tears, that he soon found relief.
-"you ought to go into a village ... become a clerk or a teacher ... you would be well fed there. what are you crying for?" asked tyapa, sadly.
-but the teacher was crying as if the tears quieted and comforted him.
-from this day they became friends, and the "creatures that once were men," seeing them together, said: "the teacher is friendly with tyapa ... he wishes his money. kuvalda must have put this into his head ... to look about to see where the old man's fortune is ..."
-probably they did not believe what they said. there was one strange thing about these men, namely, that they painted themselves to others worse than they actually were. a man who has good in him does not mind sometimes showing his worse nature.
-when all these people were gathered round the teacher, then the reading of the newspaper would begin.
-"well, what does the newspaper discuss to-day? is there any feuilleton?"
-"no," the teacher informs him.
-"your publisher seems greedy ... but is there any leader?"
-"there is one to-day.... it appears to be by gulyaeff."
-"aha! come, out with it. he writes cleverly, the rascal."
-"'the taxation of immovable property,'" reads the teacher, "'was introduced some fifteen years ago, and up to the present it has served as the basis for collecting these taxes in aid of the city revenue ...'"
-"that is simple," comments captain kuvalda. "it continues to serve. that is ridiculous. to the merchant who is moving about in the city, it is profitable that it should continue to serve. therefore it does continue."
-"the article, in fact, is written on the subject," says the teacher.
-"is it? that is strange, it is more a subject for a feuilleton..."
-"such a subject must be treated with plenty of pepper...."
-then a short discussion begins. the people listen attentively, as only one bottle of vodki has been drunk.
-after the leader, they read the local events, then the court proceedings, and, if in the police court it reports that the defendant or plaintiff is a merchant, then aristid kuvalda sincerely rejoices. if someone has robbed the merchant, "that is good," says he. "only it is a pity they robbed him of so little." if his horses have broken down, "it is sad that he is still alive." if the merchant has lost his suit in court, "it is a pity that the costs were not double the amount."
-"that would have been illegal," remarks the teacher
-"illegal! but is the merchant himself legal?" inquires kuvalda, bitterly. "what is the merchant? let us investigate this rough and uncouth phenomenon. first of all, every merchant is a mujik. he comes from a village, and in course of time becomes a merchant. in order to be a merchant, one must have money. where can the mujik get the money from? it is well known that he does not get it by honest hard work, and that means that the mujik, somehow or other, has been swindling. that is to say, a merchant is simply a dishonest mujik."
-"splendid!" cry the people, approving the orator's deduction, and tyapa bellows all the time, scratching his breast. he always bellows like this as he drinks his first glass of vodki, when he has a drunken headache. the captain beams with joy. they next read the correspondence. this is, for the captain, "an abundance of drinks," as he himself calls it. he always notices how the merchants make this life abominable, and how cleverly they spoil everything. his speeches thunder at and annihilate merchants. his audience listens to him with the greatest pleasure, because he swears atrociously. "if i wrote for the papers," he shouts, "i would show up the merchant in his true colours ... i would show that he is a beast, playing for a time the role of a man. i understand him! he is a rough boor, does not know the meaning of the words 'good taste,' has no notion of patriotism, and his knowledge is not worth five kopecks."
-abyedok, knowing the captain's weak point, and fond of making other people angry, cunningly adds:
-"yes, since the nobility began to make acquaintance with hunger, men have disappeared from the world ..."
-"you are right, you son of a spider and a toad. yes, from the time that the noblemen fell, there have been no men. there are only merchants, and i hate them."
-"that is easy to understand, brother, because you, too, have been brought down by them ..."
-"i? i was ruined by love of life ... fool that i was, i loved life, but the merchant spoils it, and i cannot bear it, simply for this reason, and not because i am a nobleman. but if you want to know the truth, i was once a man, though i was not noble. i care now for nothing and nobody ... and all my life has been tame--a sweetheart who has jilted me--therefore i despise life, and am indifferent to it."
-"you lie!" says abyedok.
-"i lie?" roars aristid kuvalda, almost crimson with anger.
-"why shout?" comes in the cold sad voice of martyanoff.
-"why judge others? merchants, noblemen ... what have we to do with them?"
-"seeing that we are" ... puts in deacon taras.
-"be quiet, abyedok," says the teacher, goodnaturedly.
-"why do you provoke him?" he does not love either discussion or noise, and when they quarrel all around him his lips form into a sickly grimace, and he endeavours quietly and reasonably to reconcile each with the other, and if he does not succeed in this he leaves the company. knowing this, the captain, if he is not very drunk, controls himself, not wishing to lose, in the person of the teacher, one of the best of his listeners.
-"i repeat," he continues, in a quieter tone, "that i see life in the hands of enemies, not only enemies of the noble but of everything good, avaricious and incapable of adorning existence in any way."
-"but all the same," says the teacher, "merchants, so to speak, created genoa, venice, holland--and all these were merchants, merchants from england, india, the stroyanoff merchants ..."
-"i do not speak of these men, i am thinking of judas petunikoff, who is one of them...."
-"and you say you have nothing to do with them?" asks the teacher, quietly.
-"but do you think that i do not live? aha! i do live, but i suppose i ought not to be angry at the fact that life is desecrated and robbed of all freedom by these men."
-"and they dare to laugh at the kindly anger of the captain, a man living in retirement?" says abyedok, teasingly.
-"very well! i agree with you that i am foolish. being a creature who was once a man, i ought to blot out from my heart all those feelings that once were mine. you may be right, but then how could i or any of you defend ourselves if we did away with all these feelings?"
-"now then, you are talking sense," says the teacher, encouragingly.
-"we want other feelings and other views on life.... we want something new ... because we ourselves are a novelty in this life...."
-"doubtless this is most important for us," remarks the teacher.
-"why?" asks kanets. "is it not all the same whatever we say or think? we have not got long to live ... i am forty, you are fifty ... there is no one among us younger than thirty, and even at twenty one cannot live such a life long."
-"and what kind of novelty are we?" asked abyedok, mockingly.
-"since nakedness has always existed ..."
-"yes, and it created rome," said the teacher.
-"yes, of course," says the captain, beaming with joy. "romulus and remus, eh? we also shall create when our time comes ..."
-"violation of public peace," interrupts abyedok. he laughs in a self-satisfied way. his laughter is impudent and insolent, and is echoed by simtsoff, the deacon and paltara taras. the naive eyes of young meteor light up, and his cheeks flush crimson.
-kanets speaks, and it seems as if he were hammering their heads.
-"all these are foolish illusions ... fiddle-sticks!"
-it was strange to see them reasoning in this manner, these outcasts from life, tattered, drunken with vodki and wickedness, filthy and forlorn. such conversations rejoiced the captain's heart. they gave him an opportunity of speaking more, and therefore he thought himself better than the rest. however low he may fall, a man can never deny himself the delight of feeling cleverer, more powerful, or even better fed than his companions. aristid kuvalda abused this pleasure, and never could have enough of it, much to the disgust of abyedok, kubar, and others of these creatures that once were men, who were less interested in such things.
-politics, however, were more to the popular taste. the discussions as to the necessity of taking india or of subduing england were lengthy and protracted. nor did they speak with less enthusiasm of the radical measure of clearing jews off the face of the earth. on this subject abyedok was always the first to propose dreadful plans to effect the desired end, but the captain, always first in every other argument, did not join in this one. they also spoke much and impudently about women, but the teacher always defended them, and sometimes was very angry when they went so far as to pass the limits of decency. they all, as a rule, gave in to him, because they did not look upon him as a common person, and also because they wished to borrow from him on saturdays the money which he had earned during the week. he had many privileges. they never beat him, for instance, on these occasions when the conversation ended in a free fight. he had the right to bring women into the dosshouse; a privilege accorded to no one else, as the captain had previously warned them.
-"no bringing of women to my house," he had said. "women, merchants and philosophers, these are the three causes of my ruin. i will horsewhip anyone bringing in women. i will horsewhip the woman also.... and as to the philosopher i'll knock his head off for him." and notwithstanding his age he could have knocked anyone's head off, for he possessed wonderful strength. besides that, whenever he fought or quarrelled, he was assisted by martyanoff, who was accustomed during a general fight to stand silently and sadly back to back with kuvalda, when he became an all-destroying and impregnable engine of war. once when simtsoff was drunk, he rushed at the teacher for no reason whatever, and getting hold of his head tore out a bunch of hair. kuvalda, with one stroke of his fist in the other's chest sent him spinning, and he fell to the ground. he was unconscious for almost half-an-hour, and when he came to himself, kuvalda compelled him to eat the hair he had torn from the teacher's head. he ate it, preferring this to being beaten to death.
-besides reading newspapers, fighting and indulging in general conversation, they amused themselves by playing cards. they played without martyanoff because he could not play honestly. after cheating several times, he openly confessed:
-"i cannot play without cheating ... it is a habit of mine."
-"habits do get the better of you," assented deacon taras. "i always used to beat my wife every sunday after mass, and when she died i cannot describe how extremely dull i felt every sunday. i lived through one sunday--it was dreadful, the second i still controlled myself, the third sunday i struck my asok.... she was angry and threatened to summon me. just imagine if she had done so! on the fourth sunday, i beat her just as if she were my own wife! after that i gave her ten roubles, and beat her according to my own rules till i married again!" ...
-"you are lying, deacon! how could you marry a second time?" interrupted abyedok.
-"ay, just so... she looked after my house...."
-"did you have any children?" asked the teacher.
-"five of them.... one was drowned ... the oldest ... he was an amusing boy! two died of diphtheria ... one of the daughters married a student and went with him to siberia. the other went to the university of st. petersburg and died there ... of consumption they say. ye--es, there were five of them.... ecclesiastics are prolific, you know." he began explaining why this was so, and they laughed till they nearly burst at his tales. when the laughter stopped, aleksei maksimovitch simtsoff remembered that he too had once had a daughter.
-"her name was lidka ... she was very stout ..." more than this he did not seem to remember, for he looked at them all, was silent and smiled ... in a guilty way. those men spoke very little to each other about their past, and they recalled it very seldom and then only its general outlines. when they did mention it, it was in a cynical tone. probably, this was just as well, since, in many people, remembrance of the past kills all present energy and deadens all hope for the future.
-on rainy, cold, or dull days in the late autumn, these "creatures that once were men" gathered in the eatinghouse of vaviloff. they were well known there, where some feared them as thieves and rogues, and some looked upon them contemptuously as hard drinkers, although they respected them, thinking that they were clever.
-the eating-house of vaviloff was the club of the main street, and the "creatures that once were men" were its most intellectual members. on saturday evenings or sunday mornings, when the eating-house was packed, the "creatures that once were men" were only too welcome guests. they brought with them, besides the forgotten and poverty-stricken inhabitants of the street, their own spirit, in which there was something that brightened the lives of men exhausted and worn out in the struggle for existence, as great drunkards as the inhabitants of kuvalda's shelter, and, like them, outcasts from the town. their ability to speak on all subjects, their freedom of opinion, skill in repartee, courage in the presence of those of whom the whole street was in terror, together with their daring demeanour, could not but be pleasing to their companions. then, too, they were well versed in law, and could advise, write petitions, and help to swindle without incurring the risk of punishment. for all this they were paid with vodki and flattering admiration of their talents.
-the inhabitants of the street were divided into two parties according to their sympathies. one was in favour of kuvalda, who was thought "a good soldier, clever, and courageous," the other was convinced of the fact that the teacher was "superior" to kuvalda. the latter's admirers were those who were known to be drunkards, thieves, and murderers, for whom the road from beggary to prison was inevitable. but those who respected the teacher were men who still had expectations, still hoped for better things, who were eternally occupied with nothing, and who were nearly always hungry.
-the nature of the teacher's and kuvalda's relations towards the street may be gathered from the following:
-once in the eating-house they were discussing the resolution passed by the corporation regarding the main street, viz., that the inhabitants were to fill up the pits and ditches in the street, and that neither manure nor the dead bodies of domestic animals should be used for the purpose, but only broken tiles, etc., from the ruins of other houses.
-"where am i going to get these same broken tiles and bricks? i could not get sufficient bricks together to build a hen-house," plaintively said mokei anisimoff, a man who hawked kalaches (a sort of white bread) which were baked by his wife.
-"where can you get broken bricks and lime rubbish? take bags with you, and go and remove them from the corporation buildings. they are so old that they are of no use to anyone, and you will thus be doing two good deeds; firstly, by repairing the main street; and secondly, by adorning the city with a new corporation building."
-"if you want horses get them from the lord mayor, and take his three daughters, who seem quite fit for harness. then destroy the house of judas petunikoff and pave the street with its timbers. by the way, mokei, i know out of what your wife baked to-day's kalaches; out of the frames of the third window and the two steps from the roof of judas' house."
-when those present had laughed and joked sufficiently over the captain's proposal, the sober market gardener, pavlyugus asked:
-"but seriously, what are we to do, your honour? ... eh? what do you think?"
-"i? i shall neither move hand nor foot. if they wish to clean the street let them do it."
-"some of the houses are almost coming down...."
-"let them fall; don't interfere; and when they fall ask help from the city. if they don't give it you, then bring a suit in court against them! where does the water come from? from the city! therefore let the city be responsible for the destruction of the houses."
-"they will say it is rain-water."
-"does it destroy the houses in the city? eh? they take taxes from you but they do not permit you to speak! they destroy your property and at the same time compel you to repair it!" and half the radicals in the street, convinced by the words of kuvalda, decided to wait till the rain-water came down in huge streams and swept away their houses. the others, more sensible, found in the teacher a man who composed for them an excellent and convincing report for the corporation. in this report the refusal of the street's inhabitants to comply with the resolution of the corporation was so well explained that the corporation actually entertained it. it was decided that the rubbish left after some repairs had been done to the barracks should be used for mending and filling up the ditches in their street, and for the transport of this five horses were given by the fire brigade. still more, they even saw the necessity of laying a drain-pipe through the street. this and many other things vastly increased the popularity of the teacher. he wrote petitions for them and published various remarks in the newspapers. for instance, on one occasion vaviloff's customers noticed that the herrings and other provisions of the eating-house were not what they should be, and after a day or two they saw vaviloff standing at the bar with the newspaper in his hand making a public apology.
-"it is true, i must acknowledge, that i bought old and not very good herrings, and the cabbage ... also ... was old. it is only too well known that anyone can put many a five-kopeck piece in his pocket in this way. and what is the result? it has not been a success; i was greedy, i own, but the cleverer man has exposed me, so we are quits ..."
-this confession made a very good impression on the people, and it also gave vaviloff the opportunity of still feeding them with herrings and cabbages which were not good, though they failed to notice it, so much were they impressed.
-this incident was very significant, because it increased not only the teacher's popularity, but also the effect of press opinion.
-it often happened, too, that the teacher read lectures on practical morality in the eating-house.
-"i saw you," he said to the painter yashka tyarin, "i saw you, yakov, beating your wife ..."
-yashka was "touched with paint" after two glasses of vodki, and was in a slightly uplifted condition.
-the people looked at him, expecting him to make a row, and all were silent.
-"did you see me? and how did it please you?" asks yashka.
-the people control their laughter.
-"no; it did not please me," replies the teacher. his tone is so serious that the people are silent.
-"you see i was just trying it," said yashka, with bravado, fearing that the teacher would rebuke him. "the wife is satisfied.... she has not got up yet to-day...."
-the teacher, who was drawing absently with his fingers on the table, said, "do you see, yakov, why this did not please me? ... let us go into the matter thoroughly, and understand what you are really doing, and what the result may be. your wife is pregnant. you struck her last night on her sides and breast. that means that you beat not only her but the child too. you may have killed him, and your wife might have died or else have become seriously ill. to have the trouble of looking after a sick woman is not pleasant. it is wearing, and would cost you dear, because illness requires medicine, and medicine money. if you have not killed the child, you may have crippled him, and he will be born deformed, lop-sided, or hunch-backed. that means that he will not be able to work, and it is only too important to you that he should be a good workman. even if he be born ill, it will be bad enough, because he will keep his mother from work, and will require medicine. do you see what you are doing to yourself? men who live by hard work must be strong and healthy, and they should have strong and healthy children.... do i speak truly?"
-"yes," assented the listeners.
-"but all this will never happen," says yashka, becoming rather frightened at the prospect held out to him by the teacher. "she is healthy, and i cannot have reached the child ... she is a devil--a hag!" he shouts angrily. "i would ... she will eat me away as rust eats iron."
-"i understand, yakov, that you cannot help beating your wife," the teacher's sad and thoughtful voice again breaks in. "you have many reasons for doing so ... it is your wife's character that causes you to beat her so incautiously ... but your own dark and sad life ..."
-"you are angry with your life, but your wife is patient; the closest relation to you--your wife, and you make her suffer for this, simply because you are stronger than she. she is always with you, and cannot get away. don't you see how absurd you are?"
-"that is so.... devil take it! but what shall i do? am i not a man?"
-"just so! you are a man.... i only wish to tell you that if you cannot help beating her, then beat her carefully and always remember that you may injure her health or that of the child. it is not good to beat pregnant women ... on their belly or on their sides and chests.... beat her, say, on the neck ... or else take a rope and beat her on some soft place ..."
-the orator finished his speech and looked upon his hearers with his dark, pathetic eyes, seeming to apologise to them for some unknown crime.
-the public understands it. they understand the morale of the creature who was once a man, the morale of the public-house and much misfortune.
-"well, brother yashka, did you understand? see how true it is!"
-yakov understood that to beat her incautiously might be injurious to his wife. he is silent, replying to his companions' jokes with confused smiles.
-"then again, what is a wife?" philosophises the baker, mokei anisimoff. "a wife ... is a friend ... if we look at the matter in that way. she is like a chain, chained to you for life ... and you are both just like galley slaves. and if you try to get away from her, you cannot, you feel the chain ..."
-"wait," says yakovleff; "but you beat your wife too."
-"did i say that i did not? i beat her... there is nothing else handy... do you expect me to beat the wall with my fist when my patience is exhausted?"
-"how hard and difficult our life is, my brothers! there is no real rest for us anywhere!"
-"and even you beat your wife by mistake," some one remarks humorously. and thus they speak till far on in the night or till they have quarrelled, the usual result of drink or of passions engendered by such discussions.
-the rain beats on the windows, and outside the cold wind is blowing. the eating-house is close with tobacco smoke, but it is warm, while the street is cold and wet. now and then, the wind beats threateningly on the windows of the eating-house, as if bidding these men to come out and be scattered like dust over the face of the earth. sometimes a stifled and hopeless groan is heard in its howling which again is drowned by cold, cruel laughter. this music fills one with dark, sad thoughts of the approaching winter, with its accursed short, sunless days and long nights, of the necessity of possessing warm garments and plenty to eat. it is hard to sleep through the long winter nights on an empty stomach. winter is approaching. yes, it is approaching... how to live?
-these gloomy forebodings created a strong thirst among the inhabitants of the main street, and the sighs of the "creatures that once were men" increased with the wrinkles on their brows, their voices became thick and their behaviour to each other more blunt. and brutal crimes were committed among them, and the roughness of these poor unfortunate outcasts was apt to increase at the approach of that inexorable enemy, who transformed all their lives into one cruel farce. but this enemy could not be captured because it was invisible.
-then they began beating each other brutally, and drank till they had drunk everything which they could pawn to the indulgent vaviloff. and thus they passed the autumn days in open wickedness, in suffering which was eating their hearts out, unable to rise out of this vicious life and in dread of the still crueller days of winter.
-kuvalda in such cases came to their assistance with his philosophy.
-"don't lose your temper, brothers, everything has an end, this is the chief characteristic of life. the winter will pass, summer will follow ... a glorious time, when the very sparrows are filled with rejoicing." but his speeches did not have any effect--a mouthful of even the freshest and purest water will not satisfy a hungry man.
-deacon taras also tried to amuse the people by singing his songs and relating his tales. he was more successful, and sometimes his endeavours ended in a wild and glorious orgy at the eating-house. they sang, laughed and danced, and for hours behaved like madmen. after this they again fell into a despairing mood, sitting at the tables of the eating-house, in the black smoke of the lamp and the tobacco; sad and tattered, speaking lazily to each other, listening to the wild howling of the wind, and thinking how they could get enough vodki to deaden their senses.
-and their hand was against every man, and every man's hand against them.
-all things are relative in this world, and a man cannot sink into any condition so bad that it could not be worse. one day, towards the end of september, captain aristid kuvalda was sitting, as was his custom, on the bench near the door of the dosshouse, looking at the stone building built by the merchant petunikoff close to vaviloff's eatinghouse, and thinking deeply. this building, which was partly surrounded by woods, served the purpose of a candle factory.
-yesterday, ivan andreyevitch petunikoff was in the dosshouse yard with his son and an architect. they measured the yard and put small wooden sticks in various places, which, after the exit of petunikoff and at the order of the captain, meteor took out and threw away. to the eyes of the captain this merchant appeared small and thin. he wore a long garment like a frock-coat, a velvet cap, and high, well-cleaned boots. he had a thin face with prominent cheekbones, a wedge-shaped greyish beard, and a high forehead seamed with wrinkles from beneath which shone two narrow, blinking, and observant grey eyes ... a sharp, gristly nose, a small mouth with thin lips ... altogether his appearance was pious, rapacious, and respectably wicked. "cursed cross-bred fox and pig!" swore the captain under his breath, recalling his first meeting with petunikoff. the merchant came with one of the town councillors to buy the house, and seeing the captain asked his companion:
-"is this your lodger?"
-and from that day, a year and a half ago, there has been keen competition among the inhabitants of the dosshouse as to which can swear the hardest at the merchant. and last night there was a "slight skirmish with hot words," as the captain called it, between petunikoff and himself. having dismissed the architect the merchant approached the captain.
-"what are you hatching?" asked he, putting his hand to his cap, perhaps to adjust it, perhaps as a salutation.
-"what are you plotting?" answered the captain in the same tone. he moved his chin so that his beard trembled a little; a non-exacting person might have taken it for a bow; otherwise it only expressed the desire of the captain to move his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. "you see, having plenty of money, i can afford to sit hatching it. money is a good thing, and i possess it," the captain chaffed the merchant, casting cunning glances at him. "it means that you serve money, and not money you," went on kuvalda, desiring at the same time to punch the merchant's belly.
-"isn't it all the same? money makes life comfortable, but no money," ... and the merchant looked at the captain with a feigned expression of suffering. the other's upper lip curled, and exposed large, wolf-like teeth.
-"with brains and a conscience, it is possible to live without it. men only acquire riches when they cease to listen to their conscience ... the less conscience the more money!"
-"just so; but then there are men who have neither money nor conscience."
-"were you just like what you are now when you were young?" asked kuvalda simply. the other's nostrils twitched. ivan andreyevitch sighed, passed his hand over his eyes and said:
-"oh! when i was young i had to undergo a great many difficulties ... work! oh! i did work!"
-"and you cheated, too, i suppose?"
-"people like you? nobles? i should just think so! they used to grovel at my feet!"
-"you only went in for robbing, not murder, i suppose?" asked the captain. petunikoff turned pale, and hastily changed the subject.
-"you are a bad host. you sit while your guest stands."
-"let him sit, too," said kuvalda.
-"but what am i to sit on?"
-"on the earth ... it will take any rubbish ..."
-"you are the proof of that," said petunikoff quietly, while his eyes shot forth poisonous glances.
-and he went away, leaving kuvalda under the pleasant impression that the merchant was afraid of him. if he were not afraid of him he would long ago have evicted him from the dosshouse. but then he would think twice before turning him out, because of the five roubles a month. and the captain gazed with pleasure at petunikoff's back as he slowly retreated from the courtyard. following him with his eyes, he noticed how the merchant passed the factory and disappeared into the wood, and he wished very much that he might fall and break all his bones. he sat imagining many horrible forms of disaster while watching petunikoff, who was descending the hill into the wood like a spider going into its web. last night he even imagined that the wood gave way before the merchant and he fell ... but afterwards he found that he had only been dreaming.
-and to-day, as always, the red building stands out before the eyes of aristid kuvalda, so plain, so massive, and clinging so strongly to the earth, that it seems to be sucking away all its life. it appears to be laughing coldly at the captain with its gaping walls. the sun pours its rays on them as generously as it does on the miserable hovels of the main street.
-"devil take the thing!" exclaimed the captain, thoughtfully measuring the walls of the factory with his eyes. "if only ..."
-trembling with excitement at the thought that had just entered his mind, aristid kuvalda jumped up and ran to vaviloff's eating-house, muttering to himself all the time.
-vaviloff met him at the bar, and gave him a friendly welcome.
-"i wish your honour good health!" he was of middle height, and had a bald head, grey hair, and straight moustaches like tooth-brushes. upright and neat in his clean jacket, he showed by every movement that he was an old soldier.
-"egorka, show me the lease and plan of your house," demanded kuvalda, impatiently.
-"i have shown it you before." vaviloff looked up suspiciously and closely scanned the captain's face.
-"show it me!" shouted the captain, striking the bar with his fist and sitting down on a stool close by.
-"but why?" asked vaviloff, knowing that it was better to keep his wits about him when kuvalda got excited.
-"you fool! bring it at once."
-vaviloff rubbed his forehead, and turned his eyes to the ceiling in a tired way.
-"where are those papers of yours?"
-there was no answer to this on the ceiling, so the old sergeant looked down at the floor, and began drumming with his fingers on the bar in a worried and thoughtful manner.
-"it's no good your making wry faces!" shouted the captain, for he had no great affection for him, thinking that a former soldier should rather have become a thief than an eating-house keeper.
-"oh! yes! aristid fomich, i remember now. they were left at the high court of justice at the time when i came into possession."
-"get along, egorka! it is to your own interest to show me the plan, the title-deeds, and everything you have immediately. you will probably clear at least a hundred roubles over this, do you understand?"
-vaviloff did not understand at all; but the captain spoke in such a serious and convincing tone that the sergeant's eyes burned with curiosity, and, telling him that he would see if the papers were in his desk, he went through the door behind the bar. two minutes later he returned with the papers in his hand, and an expression of extreme astonishment on his face.
-"here they are; the deeds about the damned houses!"
-"ah! you ... vagabond! and you pretend to have been a soldier, too!" and kuvalda did not cease to belabour him with his tongue, as he snatched the blue parchment from his hands. then, spreading the papers out in front of him, and excited all the more by vaviloff's inquisitiveness, the captain began reading and bellowing at the same time. at last he got up resolutely, and went to the door, leaving all the papers on the bar, and saying to vaviloff:
-"wait! don't lift them!"
-vaviloff gathered them up, put them into the cash-box, and locked it, then felt the lock with his hand, to see if it were secure. after that, he scratched his bald head, thoughtfully, and went up on the roof of the eating-house. there he saw the captain measuring the front of the house, and watched him anxiously, as he snapped his fingers, and began measuring the same line over again. vaviloff's face lit up suddenly, and he smiled happily.
-"aristid fomich, is it possible?" he shouted, when the captain came opposite to him.
-"of course it is possible. there is more than one short in the front alone, and as to the depth i shall see immediately."
-"the depth ... seventy-three feet."
-"what? have you guessed, you shaved ugly face?"
-"of course, aristid fomich! if you have eyes you can see a thing or two," shouted vaviloff, joyfully.
-a few minutes afterwards they sat side by side in vaviloff's parlour, and the captain was engaged in drinking large quantities of beer.
-"and so all the walls of the factory stand on your ground," said he to the eating-house keeper. "now, mind you show no mercy! the teacher will be here presently, and we will get him to draw up a petition to the court. as to the amount of the damages you will name a very moderate sum in order not to waste money in deed stamps, but we will ask to have the factory knocked down. this, you see, donkey, is the result of trespassing on other people's property. it is a splendid piece of luck for you. we will force him to have the place smashed, and i can tell you it will be an expensive job for him. off with you to the court. bring pressure to bear on judas. we will calculate how much it will take to break the factory down to its very foundations. we will make an estimate of it all, counting the time it will take too, and we will make honest judas pay two thousand roubles besides."
-"he will never give it!" cried vaviloff, but his eyes shone with a greedy light.
-the captain's eyes were alight with happiness, and his face red with excitement. he worked upon vaviloff's greed, and urging upon him the importance of immediate action in the matter, went away in a very joyful and happy frame of mind.
-for a fortnight the inhabitants of the dosshouse awaited the further development of events, but petunikoff never once visited the building. it was known that he was not in town and that the copy of the petition had not yet been handed to him. kuvalda raged at the delays of the civil court. it is improbable that anyone had ever awaited the merchant with such impatience as did this bare-footed brigade.
-"he isn't even thinking of coming, the wretch! ..."
-"that means that he does not love me!" sang deacon taras, leaning his chin on his hand and casting a humorous glance towards the mountain.
-at last petunikoff appeared. he came in a respectable cart with his son playing the role of groom. the latter was a red-checked, nice-looking youngster, in a long square-cut overcoat. he wore smoked eyeglasses. they tied the horse to an adjoining tree, the son took the measuring instrument out of his pocket and gave it to his father, and they began to measure the ground. both were silent and worried.
-"aha!" shouted the captain, gleefully.
-all those who were in the dosshouse at the moment came out to look at them and expressed themselves loudly and freely in reference to the matter.
-"what does the habit of thieving mean? a man may sometimes make a big mistake when he steals, standing to lose more than he gets," said the captain, causing much laughter among his staff and eliciting various murmurs of assent.
-"take care, you devil!" shouted petunikoff, "lest i have you in the police court for your words!"
-"you can do nothing to me without witnesses ... your son cannot give evidence on your side" ... the captain warned him.
-"look out all the same, you old wretch, you may be found guilty too!" and petunikoff shook his fist at him. his son, deeply engrossed in his calculations, took no notice of the dark group of men, who were taking such a wicked delight in adding to his father's discomfiture. he did not even once look in their direction.
-"the young spider has himself well in hand," remarked abyedok, watching young petunikoff's every movement and action. having taken all the measurements he desired, ivan andreyevitch knit his brows, got into the cart, and drove away. his son went with a firm step into vaviloff's eating-house, and disappeared behind the door.
-"ho, ho! that's a determined young thief! ... what will happen next, i wonder ...?" asked kuvalda.
-"next? young petunikoff will buy out egor vaviloff," said abyedok with conviction, and smacked his lips as if the idea gave him great pleasure.
-"and you are glad of that?" kuvalda asked him, gravely.
-"i am always pleased to see human calculations miscarry," explained abyedok, rolling his eyes and rubbing his hands with delight. the captain spat angrily on the ground and was silent. they all stood in front of the tumble-down building, and silently watched the doors of the eating-house. more than an hour passed thus. then the doors opened and petunikoff came out as silently as he had entered. he stopped for a moment, coughed, turned up the collar of his coat, glanced at the men, who were following all his movements with their eyes, and then went up the street towards the town.
-the captain watched him for a moment, and turning to abyedok said, smilingly:
-"probably you were right after all, you son of a scorpion and a wood-louse! you nose out every evil thing. yes, the face of that young swindler shows that he has got what he wanted... i wonder how much egorka has got out of them. he has evidently taken something... he is just the same sort of rogue that they are ... they are all tarred with the same brush. he has got some money, and i'm damned if i did not arrange the whole thing for him! it is best to own my folly... yes, life is against us all, brothers ... and even when you spit upon those nearest to you, the spittle rebounds and hits your own face."
-having satisfied himself with this reflection, the worthy captain looked round upon his staff. every one of them was disappointed, because they all knew that something they did not expect had taken place between petunikoff and vaviloff, and they all felt that they had been insulted. the feeling that one is unable to injure anyone is worse than the feeling that one is unable to do good, because to do harm is far easier and simpler.
-"well, why are we loitering here? we have nothing more to wait for ... except the reward that i shall get out--out of egorka,..." said the captain, looking angrily at the eating-house. "so our peaceful life under the roof of judas has come to an end. judas will now turn us out.... so do not say that i have not warned you."
-kanets smiled sadly.
-"what are you laughing at, jailer?" kuvalda asked.
-"where shall i go then?"
-"that, my soul, is a question that fate will settle for you, so do not worry," said the captain, thoughtfully, entering the dosshouse. "the creatures that once were men" followed him.
-"we can do nothing but await the critical moment," said the captain, walking about among them. "when they turn us out we shall seek a new place for ourselves, but at present there is no use spoiling our life by thinking of it ... in times of crisis one becomes energetic ... and if life were fuller of them and every moment of it so arranged that we were compelled to tremble for our lives all the time ... by god! life would be livelier and even fuller of interest and energy than it is!"
-"that means that people would all go about cutting one another's throats," explained abyedok, smilingly.
-"well, what about it?" asked the captain, angrily. he did not like to hear his thoughts illustrated.
-"oh! nothing! when a person wants to get anywhere quickly he whips up the horses, but of course it needs fire to make engines go ..."
-"well, let everything go to the devil as quickly as possible. i'm sure i should be pleased if the earth suddenly opened up or was burned or destroyed somehow .. only i were left to the last in order to see the others consumed ..."
-"ferocious creature!" smiled abyedok.
-"well, what of that? i ... i was once a man .. now i am an outcast ... that means i have no obligations. it means that i am free to spit on everyone. the nature of my present life means the rejection of my past ... giving up all relations towards men who are well fed and well dressed, and who look upon me with contempt because i am inferior to them in the matter of feeding or dressing. i must develop something new within myself, do you understand? something that will make judas petunikoff and his kind tremble and perspire before me!"
-"ah! you have a courageous tongue!" jeered abyedok.
-"yes ... you miser!" and kuvalda looked at him contemptuously. "what do you understand? what do you know? are you able to think? but i have thought and i have read ... books of which you could not have understood one word."
-"of course! one cannot eat soup out of one's hand ... but though you have read and thought, and i have not done that or anything else, we both seem to have got into pretty much the same condition, don't we?"
-"go to the devil!" shouted kuvalda. his conversations with abyedok always ended thus. when the teacher was absent his speeches, as a rule, fell on the empty air, and received no attention, and he knew this, but still he could not help speaking. and now, having quarrelled with his companion, he felt rather deserted; but, still longing for conversation, he turned to simtsoff with the following question: "and you, aleksei maksimovitch, where will you lay your grey head?"
-the old man smiled good-humouredly, rubbed his hands, and replied, "i do not know ... i will see. one does not require much, just a little drink."
-"plain but honourable fare!" the captain said. simtsoff was silent, only adding that he would find a place sooner than any of them, because women loved him. this was true. the old man had, as a rule, two or three prostitutes, who kept him on their very scant earnings. they very often beat him, but he took this stoically. they somehow never beat him too much, probably because they pitied him. he was a great lover of women, and said they were the cause of all his misfortunes. the character of his relations towards them was confirmed by the appearance of his clothes, which, as a rule, were tidy, and cleaner than those of his companions. and now, sitting at the door of the dosshouse, he boastingly related that for a long time past redka had been asking him to go and live with her, but he had not gone because he did not want to part with the company. they heard this with jealous interest. they all knew redka. she lived very near the town, almost below the mountain. not long ago, she had been in prison for theft. she was a retired nurse; a tall, stout peasant woman, with a face marked by smallpox, but with very pretty, though always drunken, eyes.
-"just look at the old devil!" swore abyedok, looking at simtsoff, who was smiling in a self-satisfied way.
-"and do you know why they love me? because i know how to cheer up their souls."
-"do you?" inquired kuvalda.
-"and i can make them pity me.... and a woman, when she pities! go and weep to her, and ask her to kill you ... she will pity you--and she will kill you."
-"i feel inclined to commit a murder," declared martyanoff, laughing his dull laugh.
-"upon whom?" asked abyedok, edging away from him.
-"it's all the same to me ... petunikoff ... egorka ... or even you!"
-"and why?" inquired kuvalda.
-"i want to go to siberia ... i have had enough of this vile life ... one learns how to live there!"
-"yes, they have a particularly good way of teaching in siberia," agreed the captain, sadly.
-they spoke no more of petunikoff, or of the turning out of the inhabitants of the dosshouse. they all knew that they would have to leave soon, therefore they did not think the matter worth discussion. it would do no good, and besides the weather was not very cold though the rains had begun ... and it would be possible to sleep on the ground anywhere outside the town. they sat in a circle on the grass and conversed about all sorts of things, discussing one subject after another, and listening attentively even to the poor speakers in order to make the time pass; keeping quiet was as dull as listening. this society of "creatures that once were men" had one fine characteristic--no one of them endeavoured to make out that he was better than the others, nor compelled the others to acknowledge his superiority.
-the august sun seemed to set their tatters on fire as they sat with their backs and uncovered heads exposed to it ... a chaotic mixture of the vegetable, mineral, and animal kingdoms. in the corners of the yard the tall steppe grass grew luxuriantly.... nothing else grew there but some dingy vegetables, not even attractive to those who nearly always felt the pangs of hunger.
-the following was the scene that took place in vaviloff's eating-house.
-young petunikoff entered slowly, took off his hat, looked around him, and said to the eating-house keeper:
-"egor terentievitch vaviloff? are you he?"
-"i am," answered the sergeant, leaning on the bar with both arms as if intending to jump over it.
-"i have some business with you," said petunikoff.
-"delighted. please come this way to my private room."
-they went in and sat down, the guest on the couch and his host on the chair opposite to him. in one corner a lamp was burning before a gigantic icon, and on the wall at the other side there were several oil lamps. they were well kept and shone as if they were new. the room, which contained a number of boxes and a variety of furniture, smelt of tobacco, sour cabbage, and olive oil. petunikoff looked around him and made a face. vaviloff looked at the icon, and then they looked simultaneously at one another, and both seemed to be favourably impressed. petunikoff liked vaviloff's frankly thievish eyes, and vaviloff was pleased with the open, cold, determined face of petunikoff, with its large cheeks and white teeth.
-"of course you already know me, and i presume you guess what i am going to say to you," began petunikoff.
-"about the lawsuit? ... i presume?" remarked the ex-sergeant, respectfully.
-"exactly! i am glad to see that you are not beating about the bush, but going straight to the point like a business man," said petunikoff, encouragingly.
-"i am a soldier," answered vaviloff, with a modest air.
-"that is easily seen, and i am sure we shall be able to finish this job without much trouble."
-"good! you have the law on your side, and will, of course, win your case. i want to tell you this at the very beginning."
-"i thank you most humbly," said the sergeant, rubbing his eyes in order to hide the smile in them.
-"but tell me, why did you make the acquaintance of your future neighbours like this through the law courts?"
-vaviloff shrugged his shoulders and did not answer.
-"it would have been better to come straight to us and settle the matter peacefully, eh? what do you think?"
-"that would have been better, of course, but you see there is a difficulty ... i did not follow my own wishes, but those of others ... i learned afterwards that it would have been better if ... but it was too late."
-"oh! i suppose some lawyer taught you this?"
-"someone of that sort."
-"aha! do you wish to settle the affair peacefully?"
-"with all my heart!" cried the soldier.
-petunikoff was silent for a moment, then looked at him, and suddenly asked, coldly and drily, "and why do you wish to do so?"
-vaviloff did not expect such a question, and therefore had no reply ready. in his opinion the question was quite unworthy of any attention, and so he laughed at young petunikoff.
-"that is easy to understand. men like to live peacefully with one another."
-"but," interrupted petunikoff, "that is not exactly the reason why. as far as i can see, you do not distinctly understand why you wish to be reconciled to us ... i will tell you."
-the soldier was a little surprised. this youngster, dressed in a check suit, in which he looked ridiculous, spoke as if he were colonel rakshin, who used to knock three of the unfortunate soldier's teeth out every time he was angry.
-"you want to be friends with us because we should be such useful neighbours to you ... because there will be not less than a hundred and fifty workmen in our factory, and in course of time even more. if a hundred men come and drink one glass at your place, after receiving their weekly wages, that means that you will sell every month four hundred glasses more than you sell at present. this is, of course, the lowest estimate ... and then you have the eating-house besides. you are not a fool, and you can understand for yourself what profitable neighbours we shall be."
-"that is true," vaviloff nodded, "i knew that before."
-"well, what then?" asked the merchant, loudly.
-"nothing ... let us be friends!"
-"it is nice to see that you have decided so quickly. look here, i have already prepared a notification to the court of the withdrawal of the summons against my father. here it is; read it, and sign it."
-vaviloff looked at his companion with his round eyes and shivered, as if experiencing an unpleasant sensation.
-"pardon me ... sign it? and why?"
-"there is no difficulty about it ... write your christian name and surname and nothing more," explained petunikoff, pointing obligingly with his finger to the place for the signature.
-"oh! it is not that ... i was alluding to the compensation i was to get for my ground."
-"but then this ground is of no use to you," said petunikoff, calmly.
-"but it is mine!" exclaimed the soldier.
-"of course, and how much do you want for it?"
-"well, say the amount stated in the document," said vaviloff, boldly.
-"six hundred!" and petunikoff smiled softly. "you are a funny fellow!"
-"the law is on my side... i can even demand two thousand. i can insist on your pulling down the building ... and enforce it too. that is why my claim is so small. i demand that you should pull it down!"
-"very well. probably we shall do so ... after three years, and after having dragged you into enormous law expenses. and then, having paid up, we shall open our public-house and you will be ruined ... annihilated like the swedes at poltava. we shall see that you are ruined ... we will take good care of that. we could have begun to arrange about a public-house now, but you see our time is valuable, and besides we are sorry for you. why should we take the bread out of your mouth without any reason?"
-egor terentievitch looked at his guest, clenching his teeth, and felt that he was master of the situation, and held his fate in his hands. vaviloff was full of pity for himself at having to deal with this calm, cruel figure in the checked suit.
-"and being such a near neighbour you might have gained a good deal by helping us, and we should have remembered it too. even now, for instance, i should advise you to open a small shop for tobacco, you know, bread, cucumbers, and so on... all these are sure to be in great demand."
-vaviloff listened, and being a clever man, knew that to throw himself upon the enemy's generosity was the better plan. it was as well to begin from the beginning, and, not knowing what else to do to relieve his mind, the soldier began to swear at kuvalda.
-"curses be upon your head, you drunken rascal! may the devil take you!"
-"do you mean the lawyer who composed your petition?" asked petunikoff, calmly, and added, with a sigh, "i have no doubt he would have landed you in rather an awkward fix ... had we not taken pity upon you."
-"ah!" and the angry soldier raised his hand. "there are two of them ... one of them discovered it, the other wrote the petition, the accursed reporter!"
-"why the reporter?"
-"he writes for the papers ... he is one of your lodgers ... there they all are outside ... clear them away, for christ's sake! the robbers! they disturb and annoy everyone in the street. one cannot live for them ... and they are all desperate fellows ... you had better take care, or else they will rob or burn you ..."
-"and this reporter, who is he?" asked petunikoff, with interest.
-"he? a drunkard. he was a teacher but was dismissed. he drank everything he possessed ... and now he writes for the papers and composes petitions. he is a very wicked man!"
-"h'm! and did he write your petition, too? i suppose it was he who discovered the flaws in the building. the beams were not rightly put in?"
-"he did! i know it for a fact! the dog! he read it aloud in here and boasted, 'now i have caused petunikoff some loss!'"
-"ye--es... well, then, do you want to be reconciled?"
-"to be reconciled?" the soldier lowered his head and thought. "ah! this is a hard life!" said he, in a querulous voice, scratching his head.
-"one must learn by experience," petunikoff reassured him, lighting a cigarette.
-"learn ... it is not that, my dear sir; but don't you see there is no freedom? don't you see what a life i lead? i live in fear and trembling ... i am refused the freedom so desirable to me in my movements, and i fear this ghost of a teacher will write about me in the papers. sanitary inspectors will be called for ... fines will have to be paid ... or else your lodgers will set fire to the place or rob and kill me ... i am powerless against them. they are not the least afraid of the police, and they like going to prison, because they get their food for nothing there."
-"but then we will have them turned out if we come to terms with you," promised petunikoff.
-"what shall we arrange, then?" asked vaviloff, sadly and seriously.
-"tell me your terms."
-"well, give me the six hundred mentioned in the claim."
-"won't you take a hundred roubles?" asked the merchant, calmly, looking attentively at his companion, and smiling softly. "i will not give you one rouble more," ... he added.
-after this, he took out his eye-glasses, and began cleaning them with his handkerchief. vaviloff looked at him sadly and respectfully. the calm face of petunikoff, his grey eyes and clear complexion, every line of his thickset body betokened self-confidence and a well-balanced mind. vaviloff also liked petunikoff's straightforward manner of addressing him without any pretensions, as if he were his own brother, though vaviloff understood well enough that he was his superior, he being only a soldier. looking at him, he grew fonder and fonder of him, and, forgetting for a moment the matter in hand, respectfully asked petunikoff:
-"where did you study?"
-"in the technological institute. why?" answered the other, smiling:
-"nothing. only ... excuse me!" the soldier lowered his head, and then suddenly exclaimed, "what a splendid thing education is! science--light. my brother, i am as stupid as an owl before the sun ... your honour, let us finish this job."
-with an air of decision he stretched out his hand to petunikoff and said:
-"well, five hundred?"
-"not more than one hundred roubles, egor terentievitch." petunikoff shrugged his shoulders as if sorry at being unable to give more, and touched the soldier's hairy hand with his long white fingers. they soon ended the matter, for the soldier gave in quickly and met petunikoff's wishes. and when vaviloff had received the hundred roubles and signed the paper, he threw the pen down on the table and said, bitterly:
-"now i will have a nice time! they will laugh at me, they will cry shame on me, the devils!"
-"but you tell them that i paid all your claim," suggested petunikoff, calmly puffing out clouds of smoke and watching them float upwards.
-"but do you think they will believe it? they are as clever swindlers if not worse ..."
-vaviloff stopped himself in time before making the intended comparison, and looked at the merchant's son in terror. the other smoked on, and seemed to be absorbed in that occupation. he went away soon, promising to destroy the nest of vagabonds. vaviloff looked after him and sighed, feeling as if he would like to shout some insult at the young man who was going with such firm steps towards the steep road, encumbered with its ditches and heaps of rubbish.
-in the evening the captain appeared in the eating-house. his eyebrows were knit and his fist clenched. vaviloff smiled at him in a guilty manner.
-"well, worthy descendant of judas and cain, tell us ..."
-"they decided" ... said vaviloff, sighing and lowering his eyes.
-"i don't doubt it; how many silver pieces did you receive?"
-"four hundred roubles ..."
-"of course you are lying ... but all the better for me. without any further words, egorka, ten per cent. of it for my discovery, four per cent. to the teacher for writing the petition, one 'vedro' of vodki to all of us, and refreshments all round. give me the money now, the vodki and refreshments will do at eight o'clock."
-vaviloff turned purple with rage, and stared at kuvalda with wide-open eyes.
-"this is humbug! this is robbery! i will do nothing of the sort. what do you mean, aristid fomich? keep your appetite for the next feast! i am not afraid of you now ..."
-kuvalda looked at the clock.
-"i give you ten minutes, egorka, for your idiotic talk. finish your nonsense by that time and give me what i demand. if you don't i will devour you! kanets has sold you something? did you read in the paper about the theft at basoff's house? do you understand? you won't have time to hide anything, we will not let you ... and this very night ... do you understand?"
-"why, aristid fomich?" sobbed the discomfited merchant.
-"no more words! did you understand or not?"
-tall, grey, and imposing, kuvalda spoke in half whispers, and his deep bass voice rang through the house. vaviloff always feared him because he was not only a retired military man, but a man who had nothing to lose. but now kuvalda appeared before him in a new role. he did not speak much, and jocosely as usual, but spoke in the tone of a commander, who was convinced of the other's guilt. and vaviloff felt that the captain could and would ruin him with the greatest pleasure. he must needs bow before this power. but, nevertheless, the soldier thought of trying him once more. he sighed deeply, and began with apparent calmness:
-"it is truly said that a man's sin will find him out ... i lied to you, aristid fomich, ... i tried to be cleverer than i am ... i only received one hundred roubles."
-"go on!" said kuvalda.
-"and not four hundred as i told you ... that means ..."
-"it does not mean anything. it is all the same to me whether you lied or not. you owe me sixty-five roubles. that is not much, eh?"
-"oh! my lord! aristid fomich! i have always been attentive to your honour and done my best to please you."
-"drop all that, egorka, grandchild of judas!"
-"all right! i will give it you ... only god will punish you for this...."
-"silence! you rotten pimple of the earth!" shouted the captain, rolling his eyes. "he has punished me enough already in forcing me to have conversation with you.... i will kill you on the spot like a fly!"
-he shook his fist in vaviloff's face and ground his teeth till they nearly broke.
-after he had gone vaviloff began smiling and winking to himself. then two large drops rolled down his cheeks. they were greyish, and they hid themselves in his moustache, whilst two others followed them. then vaviloff went into his own room and stood before the icon, stood there without praying, immovable, with the salt tears running down his wrinkled brown cheeks....
-deacon taras, who, as a rule, loved to loiter in the woods and fields, proposed to the "creatures that once were men" that they should go together into the fields, and there drink vaviloff's vodki in the bosom of nature. but the captain and all the rest swore at the deacon, and decided to drink it in the courtyard.
-"one, two, three," counted aristid fomich; "our full number is thirty, the teacher is not here ... but probably many other outcasts will come. let us calculate, say, twenty persons, and to every person two-and-a-half cucumbers, a pound of bread, and a pound of meat ... that won't be bad! one bottle of vodki each, and there is plenty of sour cabbage, and three watermelons. i ask you, what the devil could you want more, my scoundrel friends? now, then, let us prepare to devour egorka vaviloff, because all this is his blood and body!"
-they spread some old clothes on the ground, setting the delicacies and the drink on them, and sat around the feast, solemnly and quietly, but almost unable to control the craving for drink that shone in their eyes.
-the evening began to fall, and its shadows were cast on the human refuse of the earth in the courtyard of the dosshouse; the last rays of the sun illumined the roof of the tumble-down building. the night was cold and silent.
-"let us begin, brothers!" commanded the captain. "how many cups have we? six ... and there are thirty of us! aleksei maksimovitch, pour it out. is it ready? now then, the first toast... come along!"
-they drank and shouted, and began to eat.
-"the teacher is not here... i have not seen him for three days. has anyone seen him?" asked kuvalda.
-"it is unlike ... let us drink to the health of aristid kuvalda ... the only friend who has never deserted me for one moment of my life! devil take him all the same! i might have had something to wear had he left my society at least for a little while."
-"you are bitter ..." said abyedok, and coughed.
-the captain, with his feeling of superiority to the others, never talked with his mouth full.
-having drunk twice, the company began to grow merry; the food was grateful to them.
-paltara taras expressed his desire to hear a tale, but the deacon was arguing with kubaroff over his preferring thin women to stout ones, and paid no attention to his friend's request. he was asserting his views on the subject to kubaroff with all the decision of a man who was deeply convinced in his own mind.
-the foolish face of meteor, who was lying on the ground, showed that he was drinking in the deacon's strong words.
-martyanoff sat, clasping his large hairy hands round his knees, looking silently and sadly at the bottle of vodki and pulling his moustache as if trying to bite it with his teeth, while abyedok was teasing tyapa.
-"i have seen you watching the place where your money is hidden!"
-"that is your luck," shouted tyapa.
-"i will go halves with you, brother."
-"all right, take it and welcome."
-kuvalda felt angry with these men. among them all there was not one worthy of hearing his oratory or of understanding him.
-"i wonder where the teacher is?" he asked loudly.
-martyanoff looked at him and said, "he will come soon ..."
-"i am positive that he will come, but he won't come in a carriage. let us drink to your future health. if you kill any rich man go halves with me ... then i shall go to america, brother. to those ... what do you call them? limpas? pampas? i will go there, and i will work my way until i become the president of the united states, and then i will challenge the whole of europe to war and i will blow it up! i will buy the army ... in europe that is--i will invite the french, the germans, the turks, and so on, and i will kill them by the hands of their own relatives... just as elia marumets bought a tartar with a tartar. with money it would be possible even for elia to destroy the whole of europe and to take judas petunikoff for his valet. he would go... give him a hundred roubles a month and he would go! but he would be a bad valet, because he would soon begin to steal ..."
-"now, besides that, the thin woman is better than the stout one, because she costs one less," said the deacon, convincingly. "my first deaconess used to buy twelve arshins for her clothes, but the second one only ten... and so on even in the matter of provisions and food."
-paltara taras smiled guiltily. turning his head towards the deacon and looking straight at him, he said, with conviction:
-"i had a wife once, too."
-"oh! that happens to everyone," remarked kuvalda; "but go on with your lies."
-"she was thin, but she ate a lot, and even died from over-eating."
-"you poisoned her, you hunchback!" said abyedok, confidently.
-"no, by god! it was from eating sturgeon," said paltara taras.
-"but i say that you poisoned her!" declared abyedok, decisively. it often happened, that having said something absolutely impossible and without proof, he kept on repeating it, beginning in a childish, capricious tone, and gradually raising his voice to a mad shriek.
-the deacon stood up for his friend. "no; he did not poison her. he had no reason to do so."
-"but i say that he poisoned her!" swore abyedok.
-"silence!" shouted the captain, threateningly, becoming still angrier. he looked at his friends with his blinking eyes, and not discovering anything to further provoke his rage in their half-tipsy faces, he lowered his head, sat still for a little while, and then turned over on his back on the ground. meteor was biting cucumbers. he took a cucumber in his hand without looking at it, put nearly half of it into his mouth, and bit it with his yellow teeth, so that the juice spurted out in all directions and ran over his cheeks. he did not seem to want to eat, but this process pleased him. martyanoff sat motionless on the ground, like a statue, and looked in a dull manner at the half-vedro bottle, already getting empty. abyedok lay on his belly and coughed, shaking all over his small body. the rest of the dark, silent figures sat and lay around in all sorts of positions, and their tatters made them look like untidy animals, created by some strange, uncouth deity to make a mockery of man.
-"there once lived a lady in suzdale, a strange lady, she fell into hysterics, most unpleasantly!"
-sang the deacon in low tones embracing aleksei maksimovitch, who was smiling kindly into his face.
-paltara taras giggled voluptuously.
-the night was approaching. high up in the sky the stars were shining ... and on the mountain and in the town the lights of the lamps were appearing. the whistles of the steamers were heard all over the river, and the doors of vaviloff's eating-house opened noisily. two dark figures entered the courtyard, and one of them asked in a hoarse voice:
-"are you drinking?" and the other said in a jealous aside:
-"just see what devils they are!"
-then a hand stretched over the deacon's head and took away the bottle, and the characteristic sound of vodki being poured into a glass was heard. then they all protested loudly.
-"oh this is sad!" shouted the deacon. "krivoi, let us remember the ancients! let us sing 'on the banks of the babylonian rivers.'"
-"but can he?" asked simtsoff.
-"he? he was a chorister in the bishop's choir. now then, krivoi! ... "on the r-i-v-e-r-s--" the deacon's voice was loud and hoarse and cracked, but his friend sang in a shrill falsetto.
-"stop howling, you dogs!" ... said the captain to the singers, raising his head from the ground to listen. "some one is passing ... in a droshky...."
-a droshky at such a time in the main street could not but attract general attention. who would risk crossing the ditches between it and the town, and why? they all raised their heads and listened. in the silence of the night the wheels were distinctly heard. they came gradually nearer. a voice was heard asking roughly:
-"well, where then?"
-someone answered, "it must be there, that house."
-"i shall not go any further."
-"they are coming here!" shouted the captain.
-"the police!" someone whispered in great alarm.
-"in a droshky! fool!" said martyanoff, quietly.
-kuvalda got up and went to the entrance.
-"is this a lodging-house?" asked someone, in a trembling voice.
-"yes. belonging to aristid kuvalda ..." said the captain, roughly.
-"oh! did a reporter, one titoff, live here?"
-"aha! have you brought him?"
-"that means he is very drunk. ay, teacher! now, then, get up!"
-"wait, i will help you ... he is very ill ... he has been with me for the last two days ... take him under the arms ... the doctor has seen him. he is very bad."
-tyapa got up and walked to the entrance, but abyedok laughed, and took another drink.
-"strike a light, there!" shouted the captain.
-"do you suppose he has a home anywhere else?" asked kuvalda, roughly, looking at his friend. "tyapa, fetch me some cold water."
-"i fancy i am of no more use," remarked the man in some confusion. the captain looked at him critically. his clothes were rather shiny, and tightly buttoned up to his chin. his trousers were frayed, his hat almost yellow with age and crumpled like his lean and hungry face.
-"no, you are not necessary! we have plenty like you here," said the captain, turning away.
-"then, good-bye!" the man went to the door, and said quietly from there, "if anything happens ... let me know in the publishing office... my name is rijoff. i might write a short obituary... you see he was an active member of the press."
-"h'm, an obituary, you say? twenty lines forty kopecks? i will do more than that. when he dies i will cut off one of his legs and send it to you. that will be much more profitable than an obituary. it will last you for three days... his legs are fat. you devoured him when he was alive. you may as well continue to do so after he is dead ..."
-the man sniffed strangely and disappeared. the captain sat down on the wooden board beside the teacher, felt his forehead and breast with his hands and called "philip!"
-the sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the dosshouse and died away.
-"the water is not necessary," and the captain shook his head.
-"but we must try to revive him," said the old ragcollector.
-"nothing is needed," said the captain, decidedly.
-they sat silently looking at the teacher.
-"let us go and drink, old devil!"
-"can you do him any good?"
-tyapa turned his back on the teacher, and both went out into the courtyard to their companions.
-"what is it?" asked abyedok, turning his sharp nose to the old man. the snoring of those who were asleep, and the tinkling sound of pouring vodki was heard... the deacon was murmuring something. the clouds swam low, so low that it seemed as if they would touch the roof of the house and knock it over on the group of men.
-"ah! one feels sad when someone near at hand is dying," faltered the captain, with his head down. no one answered him.
-"he was the best among you ... the cleverest, the most respectable... i mourn for him."
-"re-s-t with the saints... sing, you crooked hunchback!" roared the deacon, digging his friend in the ribs.
-"be quiet!" shouted abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet.
-"i will give him one on the head," proposed martyanoff, raising his head from the ground.
-"you are not asleep?" aristid fomich asked him very softly. "have you heard about our teacher?"
-martyanoff lazily got up from the ground, looked at the line of light coming out of the dosshouse, shook his head and silently sat down beside the captain.
-"nothing particular... the man is dying ..." remarked the captain, shortly.
-"have they been beating him?" asked abyedok, with great interest.
-the captain gave no answer. he was drinking vodki at the moment.
-"they must have known we had something in which to commemorate him after his death!" continued abyedok, lighting a cigarette. someone laughed, someone sighed. generally speaking, the conversation of abyedok and the captain did not interest them, and they hated having to think at all. they had always felt the teacher to be an uncommon man, but now many of them were drunk and the others sad and silent. only the deacon suddenly drew himself up straight and howled wildly:
-"and may the righteous r--e--s--t!"
-"you idiot!" hissed abyedok. "what are you howling for?"
-"fool!" said tyapa's hoarse voice "when a man is dying one must be quiet ... so that he may have peace."
-silence reigned once more. the cloudy sky threatened thunder, and the earth was covered with the thick darkness of an autumn night.
-"let us go on drinking!" proposed kuvalda, filling up the glasses.
-"i will go and see if he wants anything," said tyapa.
-"he wants a coffin!" jeered the captain.
-"don't speak about that," begged abyedok in a low voice.
-meteor rose and followed tyapa. the deacon tried to get up, but fell and swore loudly.
-when tyapa had gone the captain touched martyanoff's shoulder and said in low tones:
-"well, martyanoff ... you must feel it more than the others. you were ... but let that go to the devil ... don't you pity philip?"
-"no," said the ex-jailer, quietly, "i do not feel things of this sort, brother ... i have learned better ... this life is disgusting after all. i speak seriously when i say that i should like to kill someone."
-"do you?" said the captain, indistinctly. "well ... let's have another drink ... it's not a long job ours, a little drink and then ..."
-the others began to wake up, and simtsoff shouted in a blissful voice: "brothers! one of you pour out a glass for the old man!"
-they poured out a glass and gave it to him. having drunk it he tumbled down again, knocking against another man as he fell. two or three minutes' silence ensued, dark as the autumn night.
-"what do you say?"
-"i say that he was a good man ... a quiet and good man," whispered a low voice.
-"yes, and he had money, too ... and he never refused it to a friend ..." again silence ensued.
-"he is dying!" said tyapa, hoarsely, from behind the captain's head. aristid fomich got up, and went with firm steps into the dosshouse.
-"don't go!" tyapa stopped him. "don't go! you are drunk! it is not right." the captain stopped and thought.
-"and what is right on this earth? go to the devil!" and he pushed tyapa aside.
-on the walls of the dosshouse the shadows were creeping, seeming to chase each other. the teacher lay on the board at full length and snored. his eyes were wide open, his naked breast rose and fell heavily, the corners of his mouth foamed, and on his face was an expression as if he wished to say something very important, but found it difficult to do so. the captain stood with his hands behind him, and looked at him in silence. he then began in a silly way:
-"philip! say something to me ... a word of comfort to a friend ... come.... i love you, brother! ... all men are beasts.... you were the only man for me ... though you were a drunkard. ah! how you did drink vodki, philip! that was the ruin of you! you ought to have listened to me, and controlled yourself.... did i not once say to you ...?"
-the mysterious, all-destroying reaper, called death, made up his mind to finish the terrible work quickly, as if insulted by the presence of this drunken man at the dark and solemn struggle. the teacher sighed deeply, and quivered all over, stretched himself out, and died. the captain stood shaking to and fro, and continued to talk to him.
-"do you want me to bring you vodki? but it is better that you should not drink, philip ... control yourself or else drink! why should you really control yourself? for what reason, philip? for what reason?"
-he took him by the foot and drew him closer to himself.
-he went out to his friends, followed by the deep silence, and informed them:
-"whether he is sleeping or dead, i do not know.... i am a little drunk."
-tyapa bent further forward than usual and crossed himself respectfully. martyanoff dropped to the ground and lay there. abyedok moved quietly, and said in a low and wicked tone:
-"may you all go to the devil! dead? what of that? why should i care? why should i speak about it? it will be time enough when i come to die myself.... i am not worse than other people."
-"that is true," said the captain, loudly, and fell to the ground.
-"the time will come when we shall all die like others.... ha! ha! how shall we live? ... that is nothing.... but we shall die like every one else, and this is the whole end of life, take my word for it. a man lives only to die, and he dies ... and if this be so what does it matter how or where he died or how he lived? am i right, martyanoff? let us therefore drink ... whilst we still have life!"
-this morning the sky was of a uniform grey. up there hung the damp, cold mist of dawn, almost extinguishing the sun, hiding the unknown vastness behind and pouring despondency over the earth. tyapa crossed himself, and leaning on his elbow, looked round to see whether there was any vodki left. the bottle was there, but it was empty. crossing over his companions he looked into the glasses from which they had drunk, found one of them almost full, emptied it, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and began to shake the captain.
-the captain raised his head and looked at him with sad eyes.
-"we must inform the police... get up!"
-"of what?" asked the captain, sleepily and angrily.
-"what, is he not dead? ..."
-"the learned one...."
-"did you forget? ... alas!" said tyapa, hoarsely. the captain rose to his feet, yawned and stretched himself till all his bones cracked.
-"well, then! go and give information..."
-"i will not go ... i do not like them," said the captain, morosely.
-"well, then, wake up the deacon... i shall go, at any rate."
-"all right! ... deacon, get up!"
-the captain entered the dosshouse, and stood at the teacher's feet. the dead man lay at full length, his left hand on his breast, the right hand held as if ready to strike some one.
-the captain thought that if the teacher got up now, he would be as tall as paltara taras. then he sat by the side of the dead man and sighed, as he remembered that they had lived together for the last three years. tyapa entered holding his head like a goat which is ready to butt.
-he sat down quietly and seriously on the opposite side of the teacher's body, looked into the dark, silent face, and began to sob.
-"so ... he is dead ... i too shall die soon..."
-"it is quite time for that!" said the captain, gloomily.
-"it is," tyapa agreed. "you ought to die too... anything is better than this..."
-"but perhaps death might be worse? how do you know?"
-"it could not be worse. when you die you have only god to deal with ... but here you have to deal with men ... and men--what are they?"
-"enough! ... be quiet!" interrupted kuvalda, angrily.
-and in the dawn, which filled the dosshouse, a solemn stillness reigned over all. long and silently they sat at the feet of their dead companion, seldom looking at him, and both plunged in thought. then tyapa asked:
-"will you bury him?"
-"i? no, let the police bury him!"
-"you took money from vaviloff for this petition ... and i will give you some if you have not enough." ...
-"though i have his money ... still i shall not bury him."
-"that is not right. you are robbing the dead. i will tell them all that you want to keep his money...." tyapa threatened him.
-"you are a fool, you old devil!" said kuvalda, contemptuously.
-"i am not a fool ... but it is not right nor friendly."
-"enough! be off!"
-"how much money is there?"
-"twenty-five roubles, ..." said kuvalda, absently.
-"so! ... you might gain a five-rouble note...."
-"you old scoundrel! ..." and looking into tyapa's face the captain swore.
-"well, what? give ..."
-"go to the devil! ... i am going to spend this money in erecting a monument to him."
-"what does he want that for?"
-"i will buy a stone and an anchor. i shall place the stone on the grass, and attach the anchor to it with a very heavy chain."
-"why? you are playing tricks ..."
-"well ... it is no business of yours."
-"look out! i shall tell ..." again threatened tyapa.
-aristid fomich looked at him sullenly and said nothing. again they sat there in that silence which, in the presence of the dead, is so full of mystery.
-"listen ... they are coming!" tyapa got up and went out of the dosshouse.
-then there appeared at the door the doctor, the police inspector of the district, and the examining magistrate or coroner. all three came in turn, looked at the dead teacher, and then went out, throwing suspicious glances at kuvalda. he sat there, without taking any notice of them, until the police inspector asked him:
-"of what did he die?"
-"ask him... i think his evil life hastened his end."
-"what?" asked the coroner.
-"i say that he died of a disease to which he had not been accustomed ..."
-"h'm, yes. had he been ill long?"
-"bring him over here, i cannot see him properly," said the doctor in a melancholy tone. "probably there are signs of ..."
-"now, then, ask someone here to carry him out!" the police inspector ordered kuvalda.
-"go and ask them yourself! he is not in my way here ..." the captain replied, indifferently.
-"well! ..." shouted the inspector, making a ferocious face.
-"phew!" answered kuvalda, without moving from his place and gnashing his teeth restlessly.
-"the devil take it!" shouted the inspector, so madly that the blood rushed to his face. "i'll make you pay for this! i'll--"
-"good morning, gentlemen!" said the merchant petunikoff, with a sweet smile, making his appearance in the doorway.
-he looked round, trembled, took off his cap and crossed himself. then a pompous, wicked smile crossed his face, and, looking at the captain, he inquired respectfully:
-"what has happened? has there been a murder here?"
-"yes, something of that sort," replied the coroner.
-petunikoff sighed deeply, crossed himself again, and spoke in an angry tone.
-"by god! it is just as i feared. it always ends in your having to come here... ay, ay, ay! god save everyone. times without number have i refused to lease this house to this man, and he has always won me over, and i was afraid. you know... they are such awful people ... better give it them, i thought, or else ..."
-he covered his face with his hands, tugged at his beard, and sighed again.
-"they are very dangerous men, and this man here is their leader ... the attaman of the robbers."
-"but we will make him smart!" promised the inspector, looking at the captain with revengeful eyes.
-"yes, brother, we are old friends of yours ..." said kuvalda in a familiar tone. "how many times have i paid you to be quiet?"
-"gentlemen!" shouted the inspector, "did you hear him? i want you to bear witness to this. aha, i shall make short work of you, my friend, remember!"
-"don't count your chickens before they are hatched ... my friend," said aristid fomich.
-the doctor, a young man with eye-glasses, looked at him curiously, the coroner with an attention that boded him no good, petunikoff with triumph, while the inspector could hardly restrain himself from throwing himself upon him.
-the dark figure of martyanoff appeared at the door of the dosshouse. he entered quietly, and stood behind petunikoff, so that his chin was on a level with the merchant's head. behind him stood the deacon, opening his small, swollen, red eyes.
-"let us be doing something, gentlemen," suggested the doctor. martyanoff made an awful grimace, and suddenly sneezed on petunikoff's head. the latter gave a yell, sat down hurriedly, and then jumped aside, almost knocking down the inspector, into whose open arms he fell.
-"do you see," said the frightened merchant, pointing to martyanoff, "do you see what kind of men they are?"
-kuvalda burst out laughing. the doctor and the coroner smiled too, and at the door of the dosshouse the group of figures was increasing ... sleepy figures, with swollen faces, red, inflamed eyes, and dishevelled hair, staring rudely at the doctor, the coroner, and the inspector.
-"where are you going?" said the policeman on guard at the door, catching hold of their tatters and pushing them aside. but he was one against many, and, without taking any notice, they all entered and stood there, reeking of vodki, silent and evil-looking.
-kuvalda glanced at them, then at the authorities, who were angry at the intrusion of these ragamuffins, and said, smilingly, "gentlemen, perhaps you would like to make the acquaintance of my lodgers and friends? would you? but, whether you wish it or not, you will have to make their acquaintance sooner or later in the course of your duties."
-the doctor smiled in an embarrassed way. the coroner pressed his lips together, and the inspector saw that it was time to go. therefore, he shouted:
-"sideroff! whistle! tell them to bring a cart here."
-"i will go," said petunikoff, coming forward from a corner. "you had better take it away to-day, sir, i want to pull down this hole. go away! or else i shall apply to the police!"
-the policeman's whistle echoed through the courtyard. at the door of the dosshouse its inhabitants stood in a group, yawning, and scratching themselves.
-"and so you do not wish to be introduced? that is rude of you!" laughed aristid fomich.
-petunikoff took his purse from his pocket, took out two five-kopeck pieces, put them at the feet of the dead man, and crossed himself.
-"god have mercy ... on the burial of the sinful ..."
-"what!" yelled the captain, "you give for the burial? take them away, i say, you scoundrel! how dare you give your stolen kopecks for the burial of an honest man? i will tear you limb from limb!"
-"your honour!" cried the terrified merchant to the inspector, seizing him by the elbow. the doctor and the coroner jumped aside. the inspector shouted:
-"sideroff, come here!"
-"the creatures that once were men" stood along the wall, looking and listening with an interest, which put new life into their broken-down bodies.
-kuvalda, shaking his fist at petunikoff's head, roared and rolled his eyes like a wild beast.
-"scoundrel and thief! take back your money! dirty worm! take it back, i say ... or else i shall cram it down your throat.... take your five-kopeck pieces!"
-petunikoff put out his trembling hand towards his mite, and protecting his head from kuvalda's fist with the other hand, said:
-"you are my witnesses, sir inspector, and you good people!"
-"we are not good people, merchant!" said the voice of abyedok, trembling with anger.
-the inspector whistled impatiently, with his other hand protecting petunikoff, who was stooping in front of him as if trying to enter his belly.
-"you dirty toad! i shall compel you to kiss the feet of the dead man. how would you like that?" and catching petunikoff by the neck, kuvalda hurled him against the door, as if he had been a cat.
-the "creatures that once were men" sprang aside quickly to let the merchant fall. and down he fell at their feet, crying wildly:
-"murder! help! murder!"
-martyanoff slowly raised his foot, and brought it down heavily on the merchant's head. abyedok spat in his face with a grin. the merchant, creeping on all-fours, threw himself into the courtyard, at which everyone laughed. but by this time the two policemen had arrived, and pointing to kuvalda, the inspector said, pompously:
-"arrest him, and bind him hand and foot!"
-"you dare not! ... i shall not run away... i will go wherever you wish, .." said kuvalda, freeing himself from the policemen at his side.
-the "creatures that once were men" disappeared one after the other. a cart entered the yard. some ragged wretches brought out the dead man's body.
-"i'll teach you! you just wait!" thundered the inspector at kuvalda.
-"how now, attaman?" asked petunikoff, maliciously, excited and pleased at the sight of his enemy in bonds. "what, you fell into the trap? eh? you just wait ..."
-but kuvalda was quiet now. he stood strangely straight and silent between the two policemen, watching the teacher's body being placed in the cart. the man who was holding the head of the corpse was very short, and could not manage to place it on the cart at the same time as the legs. for a moment the body hung as if it would fall to the ground, and hide itself beneath the earth, away from these foolish and wicked disturbers of its peace.
-"take him away!" ordered the inspector, pointing to the captain.
-kuvalda silently moved forward without protestation, passing the cart on which was the teacher's body. he bowed his head before it without looking. martyanoff, with his strong face, followed him. the courtyard of the merchant petunikoff emptied quickly.
-petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror, and went back into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled. at the door facing him stood an old man with a stick in his hand and a large bag on his back, a horrible old man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony figure. he bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant.
-"what are you? who are you?" shouted petunikoff.
-"a man ..." he answered in a hoarse voice. this hoarseness pleased and tranquillised petunikoff, he even smiled.
-"a man! and are there really men like you?" stepping aside he let the old man pass. he went, saying slowly:
-"men are of various kinds ... as god wills... there are worse than me ... still worse ... yes ..."
-the cloudy sky hung silently over the dirty yard and over the cleanly-dressed man with the pointed beard, who was walking about there, measuring distances with his steps and with his sharp eyes. on the roof of the old house a crow perched and croaked, thrusting its head now backwards, now forwards. in the lowering grey clouds, which hid the sky, there was something hard and merciless, as if they had gathered together to wash all the dirt off the face of this unfortunate, suffering, and sorrowful earth.
-by henry kuttner
-writing under the pseudonym hudson hastings
-john weston balks death—but not destiny—when he tries to save serena, mindless perfect woman, from the flame blossom!
-when he looked up from the pool, the garden was—different. in the water weston had seen the reflection of blue sky and sunset clouds, and the shape of a plane going over. the deep buzzing of the engines had suddenly died. it had been sunset; now it was noon—and he was no longer in versailles.
-it had taken months. but the miracle was that it had happened at all. people who search for miracles seldom find them. yet john weston, perhaps because he was idle and footloose and wealthy enough to indulge his impulses, had come searching for a phantom, and had found it. dunne had been right, and the theory of serial time could be right, and the authenticated tales of temporal apparitions in the versailles garden were more than merely tales.
-the first day he had come here he had sensed a shifting and a strangeness, but it had passed quickly. still, it was enough to anchor him here, strolling through the old paths, not quite believing that he would ever again see that face he had glimpsed momentarily through a shimmer of spray. time-traveling was nothing you could weigh and balance. it either happened or it didn’t.
-and now it happened.
-weston stood without moving, looking around. the trees had moved and changed, and not far away were low blue buildings with conical roofs. underfoot was a thick, soft moss instead of grass. the pool was still at his feet.
-after the initial shock of incredulous amazement had passed, he began to walk toward the cone-roofed buildings.
-then the second miracle happened. three people came out of one of the structures and began to walk toward him. one of them was the girl whose face he had already seen. the others were young men, thin, wearing tunics of shining bronze-green, like the girl’s, and a curious vitality seemed to shimmer from them as they walked.
-weston opened his mouth. the impossibility of communication occurred to him. but they were waiting.
-“hello,” weston stuttered almost at random.
-the three smiled at him and repeated his greeting. it might have been merely a friendly echo. weston, slightly stunned, tried again.
-“where am i?” he asked. “what place is this?”
-“this is jekir’s,” the girl answered.
-“oh. w-what year is this?”
-but this time they looked at him, still smiling, but waiting for something. it was very quiet; leaves rustled somewhere.
-one of the men turned and walked softly away.
-“he has work to do,” the girl said. “have you finished yours for a while? my name is—”
-it sounded something like serena.
-weston had not expected this placid acceptance. he began to explain and question, but the girl interrupted him.
-“i must get back to my work, too.” she turned, and weston, hesitating, glanced helplessly at the other man.
-there was no help there.
-weston went after serena, feeling baffled. she had gone into one of the buildings. it was an amazing place, weston found. there were corridors and little irregular rooms and floors like balconies, and all the partitions were translucent, like the walls. lights came in green, deep blue, and ocean-purple.
-when weston caught up with the girl, he saw that she was carrying a globe of glass. not until they emerged in the daylight did he see that it was apparently full of smoke, a trickle of it escaping through an opening in the top and drifting back as serena walked.
-she put the sphere down on the moss and began her work, totally ignoring weston. she made fires spring up—weston was completely puzzled by the method—and simply sat, and looked at the flames. that seemed to be all there was to it.
-twice weston spoke to her, but she did not answer. he finally began to explore the buildings. in the end, he was no wiser than when he began, and he had not encountered either of the two men. whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this.
-he thought: why aren’t they surprised? had time-traveling become common or was there another answer?
-the noon passed into afternoon and the beginnings of blue evening, while weston moved like a ghost through that strange, incomprehensible place that was too alien for him to understand. finally he saw serena and the men sitting on the moss before one of the buildings. he went out to them, and saw that they were eating. he joined them.
-it was the strangest meal weston had ever had. the earth served him! a little pool opened in the lawn at his feet, exactly like an opening mouth. it was full of something like jelly. weston, watching the others, scooped up some of the stuff in his palms and tried it. it was palatable enough.
-then, around the pool, a ring of small green plants pushed themselves up, budded without blossoming, and put out round fruits like little balloons which swelled as he watched. serena plucked one and ate it. weston closed his mind temporarily to questions and—had dinner!
-when they finished, the pool closed, and the tiny plants fell to bright pink dust that sifted into the moss. the three aliens sat back, paying little attention to weston, and talked.
-“the fires were burning well today,” serena said. “it was easy to handle the clay.”
-“i had a little trouble,” one of the young men murmured.
-“will you finish soon?” weston asked, and they looked at him with odd eagerness.
-“i shall. i think i shall,” serena answered. “how far along are you?”
-“that isn’t my job,” weston found himself saying. “i’m from a different time. this isn’t my world at all. i—i—”
-he stopped, because they were looking at him with polite inattention. then they went on with their talk as though he hadn’t spoken.
-it grew darker. time in that world was different. weston had left versailles at sunset and stepped into noon. finally serena stood up and led the way back into a grove of tall trees. four branches were hanging low, and at the end of each branch was an enormous folded flower. the flowers opened slowly.
-serena stepped into the soft trough of the nearest and stretched out. the petals folded about her, and the branch rose. the two men also relaxed in similar fantastic hammocks. one flower remained.
-weston hesitated, alone in the gathering darkness. he had not had a single question answered satisfactorily since he came here. he had met only acceptance. even this world accepted him without an inquiry. there were now four flowers—perhaps last night there had been only three.
-serena and the men were invisible in their blossom-hammocks above weston’s head. he drew a long breath and turned away. he went to the pool that was that gateway back to his own time, but something stopped him from making any definite move toward return. this opportunity might never come again. he had what he had wanted. he was in another time-world—but such a world! how could he find out?
-in the end, he returned to the fourth flower and lay down. the petals folded around him. there was a sweet, cool scent in his nostrils, a warm rocking—and that was the last thing he remembered. the next day—
-the next day the two men tried to kill him.
-the flowers opened at dawn, and the four bathed in a pool of glowing water that felt like silk. and another tiny crater opened in the moss to feed them all. afterwards, ignoring weston’s futile questions, serena went away to her work. the two men watched weston follow her, their eyes coldly interested.
-“you must ask the knowledge about that.” and she gave weston directions.
-perhaps it was merely to get rid of his annoying presence.
-at any rate, he followed serena’s instructions, feeling like an ignorant child in a place of inconceivable maturity. yet the knowledge sounded very helpful. a library of talking books or pictures, or a radio-atomic brain. weston began to feel rising excitement as he searched in the building serena had indicated.
-at first he couldn’t find it. the room looked ordinary, insofar as any of those rooms of deep, cool light and color could ever seem ordinary. but after a while one of the men brushed past weston in the doorway and crossed the floor to stand before the far wall.
-in the wall an oval of shining light dawned. the man seemed to listen. then he turned and went softly out by another door. the bright oval faded.
-when weston stepped in front of it, the panel came to life again. it was the knowledge, all right. and it was the equivalent of a super-library. a machine—yes, a radio-atomic brain, a mechanical colloid that was the culmination of the thinking machines of weston’s own time. it could answer questions. serena’s race had come to need a radio-atomic brain, because they had lost a certain human factor, over the long, long ages.
-they had lost intelligence.
-they had initiative. so has a plant. so has a flower. and their’s was the force that activates unreasoning things. the knowledge explained that, in answer to weston’s silent questioning.
-but it was only a machine—it didn’t know all weston wanted to learn. he found himself looking for some human understanding to go with the more than human wisdom it seemed to have—some friendliness!—behind that shining panel, and of course there was nothing like that at all. a radio-atomic brain, keyed to perform certain functions, but without initiative, to give the humans knowledge as they needed it.
-weston got his answers at last.
-after a time he stepped outside to get some fresh air. he felt stifled. he could see serena and the others working away at their unearthly fires, and overhead was the burning sunlight of mankind’s long noon.
-yes, it was noon. it had been noontide for a millennium!
-what weston had expected to find in the future was problematical. but he had not expected this—what the knowledge had told him. he stood there, sweating and curiously unwilling to move. around him were tiny rustlings in the moss. he could hear the flames roar up, and twice he heard a very deep sighing, like a giant drawing the first breaths of life.
-it was noon. that was the answer. a noon that might have lasted for a million years. weston tried to comprehend it. but he was used to flux. he found it hard to realize that when you reach perfection, by the definition of that term you can’t go up or down.
-serena’s race had achieved perfection. it had stopped at mankind’s midday. there would never be afternoon or twilight but, weston thought coldly, in the end, there would be night!
-it had happened before, he knew. ants and bees were found in fossil form a million years old, exactly like ants and bees today. and the ordinary cockroach is a hundred million years old in its form. when it achieved perfection, absolute adaptation to its environment—it stopped. as the human race had stopped, too.
-weston looked for serena. he still couldn’t quite believe that she was—what she was. he saw her working with the two men, and amid the fires a giant figure stood motionless. weston called to the girl.
-he knew now the kind of work they did, and why it absorbed them so utterly. he knew that they were creating—life. creating it endlessly, hopelessly, in unstable forms that flickered out or were destroyed as they sprang flawed from the fires. he knew a little of the myriad experiments they had tried and found useless. and perhaps, in a way, he guessed why they worked, and why they failed.
-it was clear to him too, by analogy, what had happened to the human race in the interval between his own time and this. he went looking for serena presently. he wanted to gaze on her strange, vibrant, otherworldly brightness and try to convince himself that she was—what she was.
-for already he was finding something almost hypnotic about the girl. such brilliance, such dazzling perfection, such incredible sureness in all she did, without a wasted motion or a moment of indecision. of course that was possible to her—as it is impossible in ordinary humans—because she was what she was. still, he had to look at her.
-he found her working with the two men and among the fires he saw a giant figure stand motionless, looming above them.
-“serena!” he called.
-he thought: if i could tell her, make her believe what has happened, perhaps she’ll really notice me.
-she came forward, wiping the flames from her hands like water. there was a look even brighter than usual on her glowing face.
-“we will succeed this time,” she said, and weston went cold. “now that you’ve come, a new factor is made available for us. you! we need you. the knowledge has just told us that if we use your mind-factor, we have a better chance to succeed.”
-he looked into her eyes and read the emptiness there. her hand was suddenly on his arm, tightening. and she was strong—terribly strong. the two men had left their fires and the giant figure, and were moving toward weston.
-he tore free and went running across the moss, running as hard as he could toward the time-door by the pool, under the bright, timeless noonday sky.
-then out of the moss a subtle rustling stirred again, and suddenly weston felt his feet caught and held. he pitched forward and slid along the ground.
-when he sat up, he was looking around at a ring of incredible tiny beings—not human or insect or animal. brightly tinted little beings that shimmered around their edges with an unreal glimmer. as he looked, two of them seemed to dissolve and vanish upon the air. the others, low down in the moss, stood watching with hard, jewel-bright eyes.
-experiments. the failures ... he closed his mind to the thought. serena and the two men stood above him, looking down with polite, waiting eagerness—waiting, he thought, to feed him into the flames and remould his flesh into—
-serena smiled and held out her hand.
-if he could make her understand! deep panic chilled him. he must play for time!
-it could be done. they were not really intelligent. he knew that now.
-they came quite willingly. the flock of tiny bright things rolled after them, unreal, shimmering. weston thought of eden.
-the oval window opened in the wall. weston asked a question, and in his mind and in the minds of the others an unexpected answer took shape.
-“yes,” said the knowledge, “you have a factor of the mind that could mean success. a factor i have sensed in the golden light itself, which is the essence of perfection. but the woman here has more. it is recessive in her brain, but far stronger than the dominant factor in yours.”
-weston spoke to gain time.
-“the golden light? what is that?”
-“i am not capable of answering. that is unknown.”
-serena had not listened.
-“will we succeed if i use myself as material in the work?” she said tranquilly.
-“serena, you can’t do that,” weston said.
-she didn’t hear. she turned and went out, the men after her. one of the men looked back briefly at weston, and the cool deadliness was gone from his eyes. for weston didn’t matter any more. not to them.
-he could tell that the personal danger to him had passed. and now that he could have made his way to the time-door without hindrance, he did not. he had to see what was happening to serena. so he followed the three.
-this time he had a better look at the figure being moulded in the flames. it was a man, a giant, more than eight feet high, beautiful as a god and quivering with half-sentient life. but its eyes were blank.
-the three humans were busy around a new fire they had kindled. weston stood watching. they completed their preparations. serena steadied herself on one of the men’s arms and prepared to step into the fire. weston found himself lunging forward—in time.
-“serena, you can’t!” weston said. “i won’t let you!”
-she didn’t answer. his words meant nothing. he could feel the continuous steady pressure of her body as she leaned toward the fire, ready to enter it the moment he let her go.
-one of the men seized his wrist and tried to free her. weston was glad for an excuse for explosion; he was on surer ground there. he swung around and struck once at the man, very hard, hitting him on the corner of the jaw. the man was lightly built. he went down in a heap and lay there looking at weston without surprise or anger, but with a clear intent in his eyes.
-weston swung serena off her feet and started away at a heavy run, carrying her. when he reached the corner of the buildings he paused to look back. the men had returned to the other fire where the giant figure stood, and they were working on that, deftly and fast, wasting no motions. twice they pointed after weston.
-he put serena down, keeping hold of her wrist. she didn’t resist, though once when his grip slipped she turned instantly and began walking back toward the fires. weston caught her again and hurried her away toward the time-door that led to versailles and the twentieth century.
-he couldn’t find it. and, quite soon, around one of the domed buildings the giant came walking, unsteadily, tentatively, his eyes fixed on serena. he was tremendous. he was unsteady, because he had just been created, weston knew, but he came on relentlessly.
-the enormous hands gripped serena gently, pulled her free and started to carry her back to the waiting men.
-weston jumped on the giant’s back and got a judo hold. serena fell free, but weston found he couldn’t hurt his opponent. the giant didn’t try to fight; he merely strove to escape, and he was tremendously strong. it was even possible to feel, under that satiny, pallid skin, that the muscles weren’t normal human tissue; they were tougher, like heart-muscle. the only reason weston could cope with him at all was that the monster was so new. he hadn’t learned to coordinate yet. he had only that single drive, weston thought—to get serena. nothing in the world could turn him from that.
-and serena was walking back toward the fires. it was a nightmare. weston let go of the giant and ran after her, lifting her in his arms. she lay there lax. there was no use trying to find the time-door now; he simply ran. and the giant came slowly after them.
-weston knew that he had to increase his lead fast, so that he could circle back and hunt for the time-door before the giant learned to coordinate. it was burning noon. time seemed to be playing queer tricks. he let serena down after a while, but he kept tight hold of her wrist. she had a sort of homing instinct, though the fires were out of sight by now.
-after a few hours weston lost his bearings completely. the world of that time was a park. nothing changed. the whole world, indeed, seemed to be a highly developed machine for the support of the human race....
-when he was hungry, the moss fed weston. when he was thirsty, pools opened. and in all that desperate flight, with the giant looming sometimes on the horizon and sometimes out of sight beyond it, there was nothing except the undulating mossy hills, and one other thing.
-the golden light. weston hadn’t understood when he saw it. that happened later, when he was exhausted. serena was untiring. he tried to talk to her. she answered when he touched the right chord and she had a response to give, but it didn’t mean anything. but weston couldn’t put away the thought that if he could only make her understand, force her to comprehend the fantastic motivations behind her life, she might awaken.
-the giant was gaining. he wasn’t half a mile behind them now. the sun was dropping. it would be dark soon.
-there’s no twilight here, weston thought. only burning daylight, and then the darkness. as it will be for man!
-he talked to her.
-“serena. listen to me. the knowledge told me—listen! i know you’re not—not intelligent; you have a different instinct. but if i could make you realize that—”
-they plodded on. he kept glancing at her placid, lovely face.
-“call it tropism, serena. tropism that makes plants turn toward light. or taxis, that guides insects. insects have a perfect life, in a way. instinct tells them exactly what to do and they can no more resist doing it than they can help being alive. a stimulus registers, on them, and they act as their taxis commands. listen!
-“that’s what’s happened to the human race—your race! you haven’t any powers of reason. you can respond only to certain stimuli, like automata. like the knowledge itself. if i ask you questions you’re geared to answer, you’ll answer. ask you anything else, and you won’t even hear. do you hear me now?”
-it was growing dark. there was no moon. but far away was a golden glimmer of light on the horizon. weston turned toward it. he didn’t know, in the darkness, how close the giant was. but he could still make speed, for there were no obstacles and the moss was resilient and level. the golden shining brightened as they neared it. but weston was exhausted. his mind went around in circles. after a time he began to talk to serena again.
-“you’re not human. you lost that a million years ago. absolute perfection—yes, your race achieved that, at the cost of humanity. now you don’t need machines. a long while ago you learned to harness natural dynamics, the force of growing things. and eventually the technique of mastering that power was born in you. you have it, don’t you, serena? i’ve seen you use it.
-“so you didn’t need reason. you got yourself a paradise and tailored your very minds to fit. so the answer was stagnation—mindlessness—tropism. serena, don’t you see the race wasn’t ready yet for perfection? it still had a job to do. i don’t know what. but it must have had. idleness in paradise must have seemed horrible to your race, or they wouldn’t have had to sacrifice intelligence to endure it.”
-he glanced again at her calm, half-visible profile. no response stirred there.
-“you’ve got to understand. somebody understood once, a long time ago. the knowledge told me that. a great scientist. i suppose psychological biogenetics would have been his field. he saw that the race was accepting paradise before it had earned it, and so—well, he knew the race was doomed, but he hoped that the search might go on.
-“he set them a job to do. he gave them the job of creating life. that’s your tropism—that’s your taxis. your own race is lost and damned, serena, but you’re trying, by instinct now, to create a new race, a race that will carry on where your forefathers lost the way. with natural dynamics, and those life-fires you kindle, trying for a thousand years to create a greater race than your own—driven by the impulse born in you, serena.
-“ants or bees. alien. i can’t understand you or your race or your world. i have only—intelligence!
-“but that’s the answer, serena. i can’t let you commit suicide. you’d go back to the fires and walk right into them, like a moth. the tropism would make you do that. serena, serena!”
-he had been walking in a dream. and suddenly he saw that the light rose directly before them.
-it was a tall flower of cool pale flame, swaying a little. the shower of gold that came to danae—it was like that. there were ruins embedded in the moss, as though once a temple had risen around the light. perhaps it had once been worshipped. it was tall as a man, and it glimmered, and seemed to wait.
-weston was ineffably tired. but he knew that a last struggle still lay before him. or, rather, behind him, for heavy footsteps came out of the dark, and the resilient ground quivered a little, and out of the blackness strode the newest life-form the last men had created.
-weston pushed serena behind him. he stood there, waiting, watching the reflections of the light glimmer on the magnificent pallid body of the giant as he marched forward.
-ignoring weston and serena, the giant moved forward toward the light!
-weston stood gaping. the monster never glanced aside. he was trying to touch the light with big, uncertain hands that seemed to strike an invisible barrier between him and the flame. he kept on trying futilely—ignoring weston.
-serena slipped free and went calmly away in the dark, following her homing instinct toward the faraway fires. weston was dizzy with fatigue. he went after her, watching the giant across his shoulder. the titan was staring at the light, hypnotized, trying in vain to touch it with his hands.
-he did not follow.
-weston never remembered much about the trip back. he must have slept on his feet, stumbling toward the moss, holding serena’s wrist as she led the way toward the fires that waited for her. they went slowly; her patience was fathomless and somehow terrible.
-late in the morning they reached the blue buildings again. the men looked up from their work briefly, and then bent again over the figure they were moulding. “almost ready now,” serena murmured. “no time was lost, after all. soon—soon, perhaps!”
-then nightmare. weston had to exert constant effort simply to keep his fingers locked around her wrist. he was looking for the time-gate. but his eyes kept closing and sleep washed up exactly like a tide rising, so that twice he snapped awake in time to see serena walking toward the fires. he caught her scarcely in time.
-perhaps the gateway had moved with the time-flow. perhaps he had simply forgotten its exact location. he searched and searched, in a dull, grinding interval of aching exhaustion, all through that terrible noontide of a race that would soon move on into its night, searching for its own destruction.
-a dreamy sort of horror grew slowly upon him. the men seemed to be working so fast. their blind tropism, their ancient, inbred instinct drove them. weston stumbled on around the little pool, dragging serena—
-then he was in the versailles garden, by the pool, again, and a plane was droning overhead, and he still gripped serena’s wrist. he had brought her back through time, from noon to morning.
-and that was his damnation—and hers.
-south of suva a coral island stands in the empty seas. once there were natives there, kanaka boys, but not now. there is a walled garden, and a deserted house; already pandanus grows wild, and the lichen and the swift tropical vines are beginning to devour them both. and there is something else, eternal and alien, that stands on the island untouched by the hurricanes that roar yearly along the trades and loose their fury on the islet.
-the skippers of a few trading ships know that john weston once lived there. they used to bring supplies, food and equipment and the luxuries a wealthy man need not be deprived of, even though he lives in the middle of the south pacific. but no ships anchor there any more. as for the kanaka boys, no one pays attention to their drunken stories. and they will not go back. they are afraid.
-weston lived on the island for nearly thirty years.
-he was in love with serena, you see. she was the ultimate perfection of the human race. as man strives for perfection, so in his own way he wanted serena—to keep her with him always—to bask in that shining, vital glow she radiated.
-he couldn’t understand her. but he couldn’t stay away from her. she had never known grief or indecision or despair. so, after versailles, after he had found that nothing else was possible, he took her to the pacific island. he built her a walled garden there. she knew how to make the moss and the trees grow; the power to control natural dynamics was inbred in her race. she kindled her life-fires—and she began to work again.
-the man lived on the island, too—watching serena, worshipping her. watching her create life and destroy it. year after year he watched her follow that single taxis. she answered when weston asked the right questions, but there was never any real contact. the gulf between them was too vast. she was perfection—and all he had was intelligence.
-sometimes he thought of taking her back to her own world. but he knew he could never do that. the two men would be waiting, and the fires would be waiting, and serena would be ready to sacrifice herself to create the new race that would supersede mankind....
-nearly thirty years. she did not seem to age. but weston did. and then, one day, the end came at last.
-he unlocked the door of the garden and went in, calling serena’s name. she had always answered before. but this time only silence greeted him.
-he went down the winding path, and at its end he saw the flame, burning like an unearthly flower, tall, pale gold, swaying in the uprush of its own fire. it lived and burned and waited. he knew, then, instantly. serena was still in the garden. but she was beyond answering.
-it was success. it was what serena and her race had been trying, for so long, to achieve. the new race. she, herself, had possessed whatever quality it was that had been required—she had, at last, found the right formula for the new life. she was the life. or part of it.
-weston stood there, watching. he remembered what he had seen so far away in the future, burning in that wilderness of mossy hills. this, then, was why the giant had forgotten serena and turned to the golden light. the golden light was serena. it was the new race. she had used herself to create the next step beyond mankind. she had brought it into being a million years before she, herself, had been born!
-and all through those eons, her people were spending their energies striving to accomplish what serena had already achieved far in their past!
-there had been a barrier guarding the light—in the future. but now? had it developed yet?
-in green twilight the flame burned on. it was new. this was the first night it would illumine—but the mind could not grasp the concept of the countless nights to come through which it would burn. millions upon millions upon millions of nights and days, while the seas shrank and the tides of time rolled relentlessly over the planet. while mankind found paradise and sank into the long, terribly perfect noontide of the human race.
-and after that somehow, sometime, it must waken, for it was the first of its superhuman, alien race. after man it would come. and part of it was serena.
-“serena!” weston breathed.
-and then he was moving forward, his face bright, his eyes eager, into the alien heart of that living fire.
-the garden was empty, except for the tremendous flame. its shining enigma glowed through the night. no man would ever know the secret of its power or the nature of the alien life that burned in its heart, dormant, sleeping—not yet ready to waken and inherit the earth, to waken from man’s eternal, doomed noon into the bright morning of its unimaginable future.
-the garden lay silent. no human foot moved through it. only the golden fire burned like a flower against the darkness.
-now there would be a million years to wait.
-don’t look now
-by henry kuttner
-that man beside you may be a martian. they own our world, but only a few wise and far-seeing men like lyman know it!
-the man in the brown suit was looking at himself in the mirror behind the bar. the reflection seemed to interest him even more deeply than the drink between his hands. he was paying only perfunctory attention to lyman’s attempts at conversation. this had been going on for perhaps fifteen minutes before he finally lifted his glass and took a deep swallow.
-“don’t look now,” lyman said.
-the brown man slid his eyes sidewise toward lyman; tilted his glass higher, and took another swig. ice-cubes slipped down toward his mouth. he put the glass back on the red-brown wood and signaled for a refill. finally he took a deep breath and looked at lyman.
-“don’t look at what?” he asked.
-“there was one sitting right beside you,” lyman said, blinking rather glazed eyes. “he just went out. you mean you couldn’t see him?”
-the brown man finished paying for his fresh drink before he answered. “see who?” he asked, with a fine mixture of boredom, distaste and reluctant interest. “who went out?”
-“what have i been telling you for the last ten minutes? weren’t you listening?”
-“certainly i was listening. that is—certainly. you were talking about—bathtubs. radios. orson—”
-“not orson. h. g. herbert george. with orson it was just a gag. h. g. knew—or suspected. i wonder if it was simply intuition with him? he couldn’t have had any proof—but he did stop writing science-fiction rather suddenly, didn’t he? i’ll bet he knew once, though.”
-“about the martians. all this won’t do us a bit of good if you don’t listen. it may not anyway. the trick is to jump the gun—with proof. convincing evidence. nobody’s ever been allowed to produce the evidence before. you are a reporter, aren’t you?”
-holding his glass, the man in the brown suit nodded reluctantly.
-“then you ought to be taking it all down on a piece of folded paper. i want everybody to know. the whole world. it’s important. terribly important. it explains everything. my life won’t be safe unless i can pass along the information and make people believe it.”
-“why won’t your life be safe?”
-“because of the martians, you fool. they own the world.”
-the brown man sighed. “then they own my newspaper, too,” he objected, “so i can’t print anything they don’t like.”
-“i never thought of that,” lyman said, considering the bottom of his glass, where two ice-cubes had fused into a cold, immutable union. “they’re not omnipotent, though. i’m sure they’re vulnerable, or why have they always kept under cover? they’re afraid of being found out. if the world had convincing evidence—look, people always believe what they read in the newspapers. couldn’t you—”
-“ha,” said the brown man with deep significance.
-lyman drummed sadly on the bar and murmured, “there must be some way. perhaps if i had another drink....”
-the brown suited man tasted his collins, which seemed to stimulate him. “just what is all this about martians?” he asked lyman. “suppose you start at the beginning and tell me again. or can’t you remember?”
-“of course i can remember. i’ve got practically total recall. it’s something new. very new. i never could do it before. i can even remember my last conversation with the martians.” lyman favored the brown man with a glance of triumph.
-“when was that?”
-“i can even remember conversations i had last week,” the brown man said mildly. “so what?”
-“you don’t understand. they make us forget, you see. they tell us what to do and we forget about the conversation—it’s post-hypnotic suggestion, i expect—but we follow their orders just the same. there’s the compulsion, though we think we’re making our own decisions. oh, they own the world, all right, but nobody knows it except me.”
-“and how did you find out?”
-“well, i got my brain scrambled, in a way. i’ve been fooling around with supersonic detergents, trying to work out something marketable, you know. the gadget went wrong—from some standpoints. high-frequency waves, it was. they went through and through me. should have been inaudible, but i could hear them, or rather—well, actually i could see them. that’s what i mean about my brain being scrambled. and after that, i could see and hear the martians. they’ve geared themselves so they work efficiently on ordinary brains, and mine isn’t ordinary any more. they can’t hypnotize me, either. they can command me, but i needn’t obey—now. i hope they don’t suspect. maybe they do. yes, i guess they do.”
-“how can you tell?”
-“the way they look at me.”
-“how do they look at you?” asked the brown man, as he began to reach for a pencil and then changed his mind. he took a drink instead. “well? what are they like?”
-“okay, okay,” the brown man said patiently. “how do they look, dressed up?”
-“just like anybody, almost. they dress up in—in human skins. oh, not real ones, imitations. like the katzenjammer kids zipped into crocodile suits. undressed—i don’t know. i’ve never seen one. maybe they’re invisible even to me, then, or maybe they’re just camouflaged. ants or owls or rats or bats or—”
-“or anything,” the brown man said hastily.
-“thanks. or anything, of course. but when they’re dressed up like humans—like that one who was sitting next to you awhile ago, when i told you not to look—”
-“that one was invisible, i gather?”
-“most of the time they are, to everybody. but once in a while, for some reason, they—”
-“wait,” the brown man objected. “make sense, will you? they dress up in human skins and then sit around invisible?”
-“only now and then. the human skins are perfectly good imitations. nobody can tell the difference. it’s that third eye that gives them away. when they keep it closed, you’d never guess it was there. when they want to open it, they go invisible—like that. fast. when i see somebody with a third eye, right in the middle of his forehead, i know he’s a martian and invisible, and i pretend not to notice him.”
-“uh-huh,” the brown man said. “then for all you know, i’m one of your visible martians.”
-“oh, i hope not!” lyman regarded him anxiously. “drunk as i am, i don’t think so. i’ve been trailing you all day, making sure. it’s a risk i have to take, of course. they’ll go to any length—any length at all—to make a man give himself away. i realize that. i can’t really trust anybody. but i had to find someone to talk to, and i—” he paused. there was a brief silence. “i could be wrong,” lyman said presently. “when the third eye’s closed, i can’t tell if it’s there. would you mind opening your third eye for me?” he fixed a dim gaze on the brown man’s forehead.
-“sorry,” the reporter said. “some other time. besides, i don’t know you. so you want me to splash this across the front page, i gather? why didn’t you go to see the managing editor? my stories have to get past the desk and rewrite.”
-“i want to give my secret to the world,” lyman said stubbornly. “the question is, how far will i get? you’d expect they’d have killed me the minute i opened my mouth to you—except that i didn’t say anything while they were here. i don’t believe they take us very seriously, you know. this must have been going on since the dawn of history, and by now they’ve had time to get careless. they let fort go pretty far before they cracked down on him. but you notice they were careful never to let fort get hold of genuine proof that would convince people.”
-the brown man said something under his breath about a human interest story in a box. he asked, “what do the martians do, besides hang around bars all dressed up?”
-“i’m still working on that,” lyman said. “it isn’t easy to understand. they run the world, of course, but why?” he wrinkled his brow and stared appealingly at the brown man. “why?”
-“if they do run it, they’ve got a lot to explain.”
-“that’s what i mean. from our viewpoint, there’s no sense to it. we do things illogically, but only because they tell us to. everything we do, almost, is pure illogic. poe’s imp of the perverse—you could give it another name beginning with m. martian, i mean. it’s all very well for psychologists to explain why a murderer wants to confess, but it’s still an illogical reaction. unless a martian commands him to.”
-“you can’t be hypnotized into doing anything that violates your moral sense,” the brown man said triumphantly.
-lyman frowned. “not by another human, but you can by a martian. i expect they got the upper hand when we didn’t have more than ape-brains, and they’ve kept it ever since. they evolved as we did, and kept a step ahead. like the sparrow on the eagle’s back who hitch-hiked till the eagle reached his ceiling, and then took off and broke the altitude record. they conquered the world, but nobody ever knew it. and they’ve been ruling ever since.”
-“take houses, for example. uncomfortable things. ugly, inconvenient, dirty, everything wrong with them. but when men like frank lloyd wright slip out from under the martians’ thumb long enough to suggest something better, look how the people react. they hate the thought. that’s their martians, giving them orders.”
-“look. why should the martians care what kind of houses we live in? tell me that.”
-lyman frowned. “i don’t like the note of skepticism i detect creeping into this conversation,” he announced. “they care, all right. no doubt about it. they live in our houses. we don’t build for our convenience, we build, under order, for the martians, the way they want it. they’re very much concerned with everything we do. and the more senseless, the more concern.
-“take wars. wars don’t make sense from any human viewpoint. nobody really wants wars. but we go right on having them. from the martian viewpoint, they’re useful. they give us a spurt in technology, and they reduce the excess population. and there are lots of other results, too. colonization, for one thing. but mainly technology. in peace time, if a guy invents jet-propulsion, it’s too expensive to develop commercially. in war-time, though, it’s got to be developed. then the martians can use it whenever they want. they use us the way they’d use tools or—or limbs. and nobody ever really wins a war—except the martians.”
-the man in the brown suit chuckled. “that makes sense,” he said. “it must be nice to be a martian.”
-“why not? up till now, no race ever successfully conquered and ruled another. the underdog could revolt or absorb. if you know you’re being ruled, then the ruler’s vulnerable. but if the world doesn’t know—and it doesn’t—
-“take radios,” lyman continued, going off at a tangent. “there’s no earthly reason why a sane human should listen to a radio. but the martians make us do it. they like it. take bathtubs. nobody contends bathtubs are comfortable—for us. but they’re fine for martians. all the impractical things we keep on using, even though we know they’re impractical—”
-“typewriter ribbons,” the brown man said, struck by the thought. “but not even a martian could enjoy changing a typewriter ribbon.”
-lyman seemed to find that flippant. he said that he knew all about the martians except for one thing—their psychology.
-“then you’ve got nothing much to worry about.”
-lyman paid no attention. he was off again on a list of his grievances.
-“when i hear the water running in the tub and a martian splashing around, i pretend i don’t hear a thing. my bed’s too short and i tried last week to order a special length, but the martian that sleeps there told me not to. he’s a runt, like most of them. that is, i think they’re runts. i have to deduce, because you never see them undressed. but it goes on like that constantly. by the way, how’s your martian?”
-the man in the brown suit set down his glass rather suddenly.
-“now listen. i may be just a little bit drunk, but my logic remains unimpaired. i can still put two and two together. either you know about the martians, or you don’t. if you do, there’s no point in giving me that, ‘what, my martian?’ routine. i know you have a martian. your martian knows you have a martian. my martian knows. the point is, do you know? think hard,” lyman urged solicitously.
-“no, i haven’t got a martian,” the reporter said, taking a quick drink. the edge of the glass clicked against his teeth.
-“nervous, i see,” lyman remarked. “of course you have got a martian. i suspect you know it.”
-“what would i be doing with a martian?” the brown man asked with dogged dogmatism.
-“what would you be doing without one? i imagine it’s illegal. if they caught you running around without one they’d probably put you in a pound or something until claimed. oh, you’ve got one, all right. so have i. so has he, and he, and he—and the bartender.” lyman enumerated the other barflies with a wavering forefinger.
-“of course they have,” the brown man said. “but they’ll all go back to mars tomorrow and then you can see a good doctor. you’d better have another dri—”
-he was turning toward the bartender when lyman, apparently by accident, leaned close to him and whispered urgently,
-“don’t look now!”
-the brown man glanced at lyman’s white face reflected in the mirror before them.
-“it’s all right,” he said. “there aren’t any mar—”
-lyman gave him a fierce, quick kick under the edge of the bar.
-“shut up! one just came in!”
-and then he caught the brown man’s gaze and with elaborate unconcern said, “—so naturally, there was nothing for me to do but climb out on the roof after it. took me ten minutes to get it down the ladder, and just as we reached the bottom it gave one bound, climbed up my face, sprang from the top of my head, and there it was again on the roof, screaming for me to get it down.”
-“what?” the brown man demanded with pardonable curiosity.
-“my cat, of course. what did you think? no, never mind, don’t answer
-“let bygones be bygones, jerry,” advised his brother reporters. “you cannot bring back your friend john dinsmore, and there is little use in letting him spill your blood, too.”
-“no matter what you say, my friends, there will be a reckoning between me and challoner at no distant day. i will hound his footsteps night and day, until i find an opportunity which suits my purpose, and then--well, john dinsmore’s difference with that man will be avenged. it will be either raymond challoner’s life or mine.”
-“i, too, imagine that i have seen his face somewhere before,” said one of the other reporters, slowly, “but, like you, gaines, my memory baffles me, for the time being, to place him, but it will assuredly come to me sooner or later.”
-raymond challoner had not been talking to the trio five minutes before it suddenly dawned upon him who two of them were--the one, john dinsmore’s second in that midnight duel on the sands of newport; and the other one--well, that reporter had been on hand when he had been arrested for a crime which would have landed him on the gallows if he had not made his escape in a manner challenging the daring of claude duval himself.
-he had made haste to leave them the instant their identity had dawned upon him, and he felt reasonably sure that they had failed to recognize him--a fact for which he thanked his stars.
-“now for pretty jess and a speedy marriage with her,” he ruminated, as the carriage rolled down the avenue. “i see i must hurry matters and shake the dust of new york off my feet speedily.”
-“i know not now, nor never knew, why lives so linked were rent apart! but this i know, that only you, can claim a place within my heart; it may be that you do forget, and think it is the same with me, that olden love is dead, and yet we once both said it could ne’er be!”
-when queenie found herself alone, after the departure of raymond challoner, she gave full vent to the bitter grief she had kept pent up in her breast, upon learning from him of the death of the only man whom she had ever loved, though the knowledge of that love had come to her too late.
-she could hardly bring herself to believe he was really dead, lying a mass of charred remains, he who had been such a strong, active, handsome man but a few short weeks ago. how could fate have severed the golden cord of his noble existence at the very height of his success and glorious fame!
-she brushed at length the burning tear drops from her eyes, muttering:
-“if he is indeed dead, then my past and my future are dead--there is no hope of happiness for me hereafter.”
-but even in the midst of her grief she realized that the worst possible thing that she could do would be to give way to it so utterly.
-all at once every hope upon which she had built her expectation of a roseate future lay in ruins at her feet. she was not even the wealthy widow that she had expected to be.
-then she fell to thinking of all that raymond challoner had promised if she would aid him in his schemes of urging this girl jess to a speedy marriage, in order that he might gain the dinsmore millions.
-queenie’s curiosity over the girl made her forget her sorrow for the time being, in realizing the fact, that even had john dinsmore lived, this was the girl whom he would have been in duty bound to wed. this was the girl who would have lived in the sunshine of his presence.
-“he would never have loved her, for his love was mine--all mine!” she cried, clutching both of her hands convulsively over her heart. “such a man loves once in a lifetime--no more!”
-she lost no time in sending for jess to come to her, and she was agreeably surprised to see the girl return with the messenger.
-queenie had expected to see a shy little southern rosebud; instead, she beheld a glorious young creature of such rare beauty that for a moment she held her breath in astonishment as she gazed upon her; and even in that moment the thought ran through queenie’s mind:
-“despite john dinsmore’s assurances that he would never love any one else but me, he would have been hardly human not to have fallen in love with this peerless little jess at first sight had he but seen her.”
-queenie’s reverie was cut short by the girl advancing with outstretched hands toward her, saying:
-“i am jess--and you are queenie trevalyn! i--i beg your pardon, mrs. brown. dear me, how funny the thought of your being even married, let alone being a--widow--seems,” she rattled on, breathlessly. “i love you already, you are so sweet. won’t you let me kiss you, and won’t you say: ‘welcome, jess?’”
-“i was just about to say that, and offer not one, but as many kisses as you like,” said queenie, opening out her arms to the graceful little figure that bounded into them.
-that was the beginning of the friendship which was to end so disastrously for poor jess.
-queenie was a thorough woman of the world, versed in its arts, its deceits, while jess was but a child of nature, with a heart as open as the day, and free from guile or knowledge of falsity; therefore it was little wonder that she quite believed her welcome genuine.
-“i am so glad that you came to me just when you did, dear jess,” murmured queenie, “for i was feeling my grief so keenly that i thought my poor heart would surely break.”
-jess crossed the room and stood in front of the picture of the late departed mr. brown, studying the wrinkled face it represented; the bald head, smooth as a billiard ball; the shrunken mouth and chin, and almost sightless eyes, and her thoughts broke into words, and quite before she considered what she was about to utter, she said, impulsively:
-“how could you ever have loved so old and withered a human being, queenie, let alone marrying him; and you so young and fair? i thought when i first saw the picture hanging here that he was your great-grandfather.”
-a flush stained queenie’s face from neck to brow for a moment, and her heart gave a great strangling throb. it was fully a moment ere she replied, then she said slowly:
-“i will not tell you an untruth, jess; it was not because i loved my husband that i married him. he saved my father from financial ruin, and i married him because he demanded my hand as the price of it. there was no question of love between us.”
-“i should never marry a man i could not love, no matter what the consequences of my refusing were,” declared jess.
-“you have never been placed in such a position; you can hardly tell what you would do or would not do, dear,” murmured queenie, thinking that that remark was a fine opening for jess to make a confidant of her in regard to the lover who was to have been forced upon her by the dinsmore will.
-in this surmise she was quite correct. jess wheeled about from the picture, and flinging herself on a hassock at queenie’s feet, she buried her young face in her false friend’s lap, exclaiming:
-“ah! but i have had a most thrilling experience, i assure you, queenie. may i tell you all about it?”
-“if you like, dear,” was the answer, and she lowered her white lids over her eyes that jess might not see the hard, steely glitter in them should she chance to look up suddenly.
-“i did throw over a lover and a fortune into the bargain, because i could not like, let alone love the man whom i would have had to wed to gain the money, though the loss of it made me--a pauper!”
-“it is romantic,” said jess, slowly. “i doubt if any other young girl in the whole wide world ever had such a strange experience as mine has been.” and, glad enough to find so attentive and sympathetic a listener, jess, with the confiding innocence of youth, proceeded to narrate to her new-found friend the story of her life; how, from the first recollection she had had, she had been a part and parcel of blackheath hall, yet had lived a life wholly apart from its inmates.
-if queenie had not conceived, down deep in her heart, a deadly hatred of this girl whom fate had decreed for john dinsmore, the man she loved, she would have been moved to pity by jess’ recital.
-“i have no recollection of a home, or a mother,” continued jess, resting her dimpled chin on her pink palms, her elbows on queenie’s knee, and her large, dark, soulful eyes gazing up into the wine-dusk eyes looking down into her own. “the knowledge of that was my earliest grief. i seemed to be like topsy--‘just growed there, nobody knowed how,’ as that waif and stray expressed it.
-“i was there on sufferance, as it were. i belonged to nobody, and nobody belonged to, or took the least interest, in me. i roamed where i would, as neglected a specimen of humanity as one would wish to see. i had no friends save the birds in the deep woods, and the wild animals i had trained and made comrades of.
-“my one passion was reading. i scarcely know how i ever managed to learn how to decipher the stories that i was so fond of. one of the old colored mammies about the plantation had learned to read and write, and taught me as much as she knew--my education ended there. once a year the cast-off clothing of the housekeeper was made over for me--that was all the interest ever exhibited in me. nobody ever took the trouble to ask if i were sick or well, satisfied with my strange lot, or lonely, if i had a heart within my bosom that longed for companionship and sympathy, or how i even existed.
-“no one knew how i would throw myself down in the long grass in the depths of the silent wood, for the birds never told my secret, and cry out to the pitying skies to send me from heaven just one wish, grant me one prayer, and that was for some human being to love, some one who would love me in return; for some one to hold my hands, and ask me in a kind and gentle voice if i were weary, and if i were, to pillow my head on a kindly breast and soothe me while i wept out my woe there. the young girls i read of had happy homes, tender mothers, kind fathers, sisters dear, brothers, and--lovers; why, then, was this height of human happiness beyond my reach? i longed for companionship, and girl friends.”
-“had you no thought of--a lover?” queried queenie, ever so softly.
-“yes,” whispered jess, almost shyly. “i had my ideal of the kind of a man who would captivate my heart; a girl who reads much has her ideal, you know. i often said to myself: ‘if there is a prince charming in this world for me, he must be tall, and grave, and handsome, with blue eyes, and chestnut hair waving above a broad, white brow, and----’ why, what in the world is the matter, queenie? you look as though you were dying.”
-the girl sprang to her feet, looking at queenie in great affright.
-“you were about to faint. you are ill?” cried jess, in alarm.
-“it was only a momentary faintness, dear,” murmured queenie.
-but the truth of the matter was that jess had described john dinsmore so accurately, just as she had seen him when she had parted from him on the golden sands at newport, that never-to-be-forgotten evening when she had flung from her the heart and the love in it that she would have afterward given worlds, had she possessed them, to recall.
-she wondered if jess could by any possible means have ever met the real john dinsmore; but in the next breath she told herself that it could not have been; the girl was just conjuring up this mental photograph of the hero who could win her heart purely from her imagination, never dreaming that there had been a man in existence who had fitted that description exactly.
-thus, assured that queenie’s indisposition was but momentary, and that she really cared for her to go on with her narrative, jess continued:
-“my life might have gone on for long years more in just that dreary fashion, had not a singular event happened. a lawyer--your parent’s friend, lawyer abbot, suddenly appeared at the plantation one day, and asked for the housekeeper of blackheath hall. i overheard the conversation between them, and his mission there, which was to tell her that the master of blackheath hall had just died abroad, and to inform her as to the conditions of his will, which was, that the girl jess (meaning me) who was then on the plantation, and who had made it her home there, for many years, was to receive half of his entire fortune, providing she married, within the ensuing twelve months, his heir, and nephew, john dinsmore.
-“to cut a long story short, queenie, this john dinsmore soon came down to blackheath hall for the purpose of ‘looking me over,’ as he wrote the housekeeper that he would do. from the first moment we met, i took a most terrible dislike to him, although he was the greatest dandy imaginable.
-“there was something about him which seemed to warn me not to trust him, and to fly from him--i cannot explain what it was. as was expected of him, he asked me to marry him; and by dint of persuasion from the housekeeper, i, at length, reluctantly consented, although every throb of my heart seemed to speak and tell me that if i married him i would rue it--rue it--rue it! i felt so terribly about it that it seemed to me i must get away amidst new scenes to get up courage to take the fatal plunge into the turbulent sea of matrimony.
-“for a wonder, mrs. bryson, the old housekeeper of blackheath hall, did not oppose my strange notion, as she termed it; instead, she consulted with lawyer abbot, and the result was that they concluded to send me to visit you in new york.”
-at this point in her narrative jess stopped confusedly, turning from red to white, her heart throbbing so tumultuously that queenie could not help hearing it.
-“go on, my dear,” she said, sweetly. “you cannot tell how interested i am; it is better than reading a love story from a novel.”
-“you would think so if you knew what happened next,” thought jess, but she dared not put that thought into speech. she said, instead:
-“as you may have heard, my visit to you was intercepted on the very morning i was to take the train in company with lawyer abbot, for new york, by a telegram informing us that you were away, and would not return for a few weeks.
-“my disappointment was so keen that, to assuage my great grief and dry my tears, lawyer abbot proposed that i should go somewhere, now that i was all ready to go, and proposed sending me to a relative of his, on a farm.
-“i hailed this eagerly--anything to get away from blackheath hall. well, i was kindly received by the good farmer, and his wife and daughter, and there i spent the happiest days that i had ever known. i was loath to tear myself away from the place even when i received a letter from lawyer abbot, stating that you were now at home, in new york, and that he was coming to conduct me there at once. ah, queenie, when i left that farm, i left all the happiness that i had ever known behind me. i wrote to the man to whom i had betrothed myself that i wished to break the engagement; that it was impossible to ever marry him now, for i found that we were as wide apart as though we had never met, and that i had never had any love for him, and that he was to consider the matter irrevocably settled.
-“that is all my story, queenie,” she concluded, and the girl that bent over her never dreamed that the most thrilling chapter in little jess’ life history had been omitted from the tale. no one in the wide world would have guessed that little jess had left--a husband on that lonely farm whom she had learned to love with all the strength of her young heart.
-she had obeyed his instructions to the letter, not to let any human being know of her marriage until he gave her permission to do so.
-“so there little jess’ romance seems to end,” murmured queenie. the girl nodded and hid her face, painful with rosy blushes, upon the shoulder of her false friend.
-“now i am going to tell you a little romance which will no doubt surprise you very much, jess,” declared queenie, “and i will begin with the statement that i know john--john dinsmore, the lover whom you have so foolishly discarded--very well.”
-“you know him?” gasped jess, opening her great, dark, velvety eyes very wide and wonderingly.
-queenie nodded assent, adding: “i knew all about his courtship, for he made a confidant of me, writing me all about it, as we were such very old friends.”
-before jess could speak she went on hurriedly: “you are making the greatest mistake of your life, dear, in attempting to break your engagement with him, for he loves you so passionately that he can never live without you--he said that in his letter to me--that if anything happened to part you, that he would shoot himself, and put an end to his sorrow and despair.”
-“i am greatly surprised that you know him, and like him so well,” cried jess, impatiently.
-“i like him so well i have asked him to visit us at my country seat to which i am going next week, bearing you with me. he was more than surprised to hear that you were coming to new york to visit me, of all people, and accepted the invitation by return mail.
-“i suppose i am telling tales out of school when i also tell you that the dear fellow was well-nigh heartbroken because you had bound those whom you left behind you with a solemn promise not to divulge to him your destination. strange how he found it out, wasn’t it?”
-jess had sprung to her feet trembling like a leaf. “i cannot see him, indeed i cannot, queenie,” she cried in an agitated voice, “and i assure you, oh, so earnestly, that the marriage can never, never take place!”
-“fie, fie!” cried queenie, “i will not listen to anything like that. you have taken an aversion to him, but that is certain to wear off when you know him better. you know, dear, that there is a whole world of truth in the old saying that ‘the course of true love never does run smooth.’ you are sure to have your little differences at first--love tiffs, as some call them--but it will all come out all right in the end. i am sure you are too sensible a girl, jess, to want to back out now, after your fiancé has made every arrangement for his wedding with you. it would be the height of impropriety, dear.”
-“will you believe me that i can never, never marry him now, queenie?” whispered the girl, earnestly. “do not let him come. i do not want to see him. i will not see him.”
-“do not be so willful, jess,” exclaimed her friend, gathering her arched brows into a decided frown. “i have asked him to come, and i cannot recall the invitation without hurting my old friend and playfellow to the very depths of his honest, loving heart. i could not be so cruel when you have no just cause to offer as to why you do not wish to meet him again, save a prejudice which should not exist. surely you cannot find so much fault with him for loving you so devotedly; that is a trait to recommend, not one to blame. as you go through life, jess, you will learn one of its greatest lessons, and that is, never to despise an honest, true love, for indeed there is little enough of it to be met with.”
-“all that you say is true from your point of view, queenie,” returned the girl, in a distressed, husky voice, “but i repeat, i can never marry him now--never!”
-“you would rather see a splendid fortune flung to the winds!” said queenie, impatiently, and with something very like a covert sneer in her voice. “remember, if you throw him over, you make not only a beggar of yourself for life, but a beggar of him, and that you have no right to do.
-“he has always looked upon himself as his uncle’s heir, and you, by your action, would change that, willfully and pitilessly. you would wreck him for life, not only in his heart’s affection, but in his worldly prospects. and last, but by no means least, you would defy the will and the wish of the man who gave you shelter at blackheath hall all these years, instead of having you sent to some foundling’s home. surely your gratitude to him deserves compliance with his wise decree.”
-queenie had used all her weapons of argument, and she stopped short, looking at jess to see the effect of her words upon her. jess was as pale as a snowdrop, and great tears trembled on her long, curling lashes.
-“it can never be,” she reiterated in a trembling voice. “i beg of you to say no more about it, queenie. only let me have my way in not seeing him, if you would be kind to me.”
-“i refuse to wound the man who loves you so dearly by giving him such a cruel message,” replied queenie, coldly and harshly.
-chapter xxxvi. the web of fate.
-“if fate should let us meet, what should we do? would each our hearts their olden love renew? or would the clouds that o’er us loom remain unmoved, with all their gloom, if we should meet--if we should meet?”
-at this juncture of our story, it is most imperative that we should return to john dinsmore, whom we left standing, cold and taciturn, on the porch, waving his child-bride good-by as she went from him in company with lawyer abbot.
-he did not go into the house, as lucy caldwell ardently hoped he would do, but instead started off at a swinging pace toward the orchard.
-he wanted to be alone, where he could have the luxury of undisturbed thoughts, and where he could get away from the presence of lucy caldwell and her love-lit glances and blushing face, all of which were most annoying to him, as they disclosed the fact that the girl was learning to care for him, a fact which troubled him, as he had given her no encouragement to become infatuated with himself; on the contrary, had taken every possible means on every occasion to discourage it, and dissipate any hopes which she might be indulging in.
-his long strides soon brought him to the orchard. walking to the farthest end of it, he flung himself down under one of the gnarled old trees, and gave himself up to grim reflections. had he done a wise action in marrying the girl from whom he had just parted in such cold, angry pride?
-over and over again he asked himself that question, and tried to answer it satisfactorily to his troubled mind.
-he acknowledged most freely to himself that he did not love her, and never could; that he had wedded her through a principle of honor which urged him to give the girl his name that she might inherit the wealth that his uncle had intended for her, and that he had lost every atom of respect that he had entertained toward her at the acknowledgment from her lips that she had been betrothed to another, and had thrown that other lover over--to marry himself.
-“had she confessed that before the marriage took place, i would have cut my right hand off sooner than have married her,” he muttered, grimly.
-the lesson he had received at the hands of the one girl he had loved, in this regard, had taught him to despise a jilt as he would the deadliest of cobras.
-before he had met queenie trevalyn, he had believed in women much as he believed in angels--that they were incapable of deceit, or treachery, and could do nothing wrong.
-and now his experience with jess strengthened the conviction that his theory concerning the fair sex had been radically wrong. now he believed from the very depths of his heart that they were incapable of feeling a true affection, and were ready to jilt one lover, at the very altar if need be, if they found some one else more eligible--that they were mercenary to the heart’s core.
-he did his best to dislike little jess, but, do what he would, his heart seemed to warm to her in spite of himself.
-“she is young, and has had no one to tell her, no one to warn her, of the sin of trifling with an honest man’s affections, and breaking his heart,” he ruminated, passing his hand thoughtfully over his brow.
-“there is only one thing to be done, and that is, to set her free as soon as it can be lawfully accomplished, that she may wed the man who held her plighted troth at the time she came here three weeks ago.”
-all that would take time. he felt sorry for the poor fellow, whoever he might be, because of that. he would see that jess was free from the bonds that bound her to himself at the earliest possible day; that was the best he could do for his unknown rival.
-john dinsmore thus settled the matter in his own mind, and tried to feel duly happy over the result of his decision, but somehow he felt a vague regret, he could not have told why.
-he had promised jess that she should hear from him in the course of a week, or two weeks at the most. now, after much reflection, he concluded to go to new york, and see her there, and tell her plainly the course he proposed to adopt.
-she could certainly find no fault with his action when he revealed to her the astonishing information that he, whom she had wedded as plain mr. moore, was in reality john dinsmore, co-heir with her to all the dinsmore millions.
-her marriage with him had entitled her to her half of the vast estate, and he was willing to sign over the balance of it. he cared nothing for wealth, although it had poured in upon him from the sale of his famous book.
-true, he had not communicated with his publishers since the day he left newport to go south, and had met with the accident which laid him up at caldwell farm; but for all that, he knew the money had accumulated, and was ready for him whenever he chose to call for it.
-and once again he told himself bitterly that fame and fortune had come to him too late.
-had he possessed it in that bitter hour upon the newport sands, when he laid his heart at the dainty feet of the proud queenie trevalyn, she might have accepted, and married him, and his blood ran riot for an instant through his veins at the bare thought of it. but he put her away from his thoughts most resolutely, telling himself that he must not allow his mind to dwell upon her for an instant, for she was now, of course, the bride of raymond challoner.
-he had no thought that she would be in new york; indeed, he fancied that she would be spending her honeymoon abroad.
-“why should i yearn for you still, my queen?” he murmured hoarsely, stretching out his arms toward empty space with a great, tearless sob that he strangled fiercely in his throat rather than give it utterance. “god only knows; and i add: god help me!”
-he had gained his self-possession, and was his usual calm self when at length he retraced his steps to the farmhouse. he went directly to the low-roofed kitchen, where he was sure of finding lucy and her mother preparing the midday meal.
-the girl looked up brightly and shyly as the long shadow that fell across the floor told her that he was near. indeed, some subtle instinct would have told her of his near presence, even had there been no sunshine, no light, and the darkness of erebus had shrouded the earth.
-“i am making something you like, mr. moore,” she said, holding up a great dish of golden-brown crullers before him. “and mother has made an apple pie, and you are also to have johnny-cake and honey.”
-“you and your mother are very thoughtful, and very considerate of my likes--regarding the good things you are preparing--but i fear i will not be able to enjoy them for the reason that i am come to tell you that i am going to take the next train that leaves for new york, which will leave me scarcely more than time to get from here down to the depot in the village.”
-glancing carelessly enough from the mother to the daughter, he saw the laughter die from lucy’s face, and the light from her eyes. she laid down the dish of golden-brown crullers on the table, still looking at him piteously, it almost seemed to him. he did not understand the expression of her face. it was as one who awaits a sentence of life or death.
-“what is the matter, lucy; are you ill?” cried mrs. caldwell in alarm, seeing how white her daughter’s face had grown, but before she could reach her side, lucy had fallen in a dead swoon to the kitchen floor.
-for an instant the young man standing in the doorway was dazed with amazement, but in the next he sprang forward to raise the girl.
-“do not go near my lucy! do not touch her!” cried the unhappy mother, distractedly. “this is all your work, sir--all your work!”
-john dinsmore drew back in much distress. never by word, act or deed, had he given the girl encouragement to bestow her affections upon himself. he was touched deeply. he remembered his own hopeless love for queenie trevalyn, and could sympathize from the very bottom of his heart with any human being who loved in vain.
-his eyes filled with tears; he who had been drawn on by dimpling smiles and coquettish glances until his whole heart had been drawn from his bosom, only to be ruthlessly cast aside when he acknowledged, while he pleaded for the heart of the girl he loved, that he had not wealth to offer her.
-“you will at least allow me to carry her into the other room and place her on the settee for you?” he asked, gently, noting that the slender form, light as the burden was, would certainly be beyond the strength of the mother’s arms.
-again she waved him away.
-“living or dead, you shall not lay a finger on my child,” she said, bitterly, adding, with a burst of grief: “i am sorry, sorry that you ever darkened the farmhouse door; but i never dreamed you would lure my girl’s heart from her, and then coolly inform us that you were going away.”
-he made the irate mother no answer; indeed, of what use would it be to defend his actions? nothing that he would say would mend matters. he must go at once. it was very sad; very pitiful; but all the same he must go.
-he said good-by to mrs. caldwell, and turned sorrowfully away, when she turned stolidly in another direction, refusing to take any notice of him. it was better that he should go ere lucy returned to consciousness.
-an hour later he was speeding on toward new york, leaving the farm and its occupants far behind him, to see them never again. he meant to see jess at once, and have the parting over with her without unnecessary delay, and after that--well, it mattered little enough to him what became of him.
-chapter xxxvii. a great surprise.
-“like some lone bird, without a mate, my weary heart is desolate; i look around, and cannot trace one friendly smile, one welcoming face; and e’en in crowds, i’m still alone, because--i cannot love--but one.”
-john dinsmore experienced quite a change of climate when he reached new york from that which he had just left behind him in the sunny south. a violent snowstorm was raging, and it was bitter cold.
-busy as the streets of the great metropolis always were there seemed to be more than the usual throng surging to and fro, and then john dinsmore remembered what he came very near forgetting, that it was thanksgiving eve.
-how happy were the faces of all who passed him, as though there were no such things in the world as sorrow, desolation, and heartaches. he smiled a bitter smile, telling himself that he had little enough to give thanks for, in the way of happiness. he hesitated a moment on the corner of broadway, wondering if it were best to go to a hotel, or to the room of his old friends, jerry gaines and ballou.
-“i do not feel equal to seeing and talking with even the trinity to-night,” he muttered. “they would want an account of all that transpired since i saw them last, and i am not equal to it just yet. how surprised they will be, and pleased to know that i escaped the wreck under which the papers had me buried, and still more pleased to learn that i married the girl that uncle dinsmore selected for me; but they will do their best to argue me out of my firm resolve to divorce the girl. but nothing that they can say or do will shake me in my purpose. i will set the girl free in the shortest possible time, that she may wed the man to whom she was engaged when i came upon the scene and married her, never dreaming she was in love with another, and that the reports of my wealth had tempted her to prove false to him. i know but too well what the poor fellow must have suffered.”
-finding himself in the vicinity of the home of the trevalyns, that is, the address queenie had given him when they were at newport, he concluded that there was no time like the present to discharge the unpleasant task. he therefore turned his steps in that direction at once.
-a brisk walk of scarcely three minutes brought him to the number he was in search of, no. -- fifth avenue.
-the obsequious servant who answered the summons at the door bowed low to the tall, distinguished-looking gentleman whom he found there.
-it was then that john dinsmore made the fatal mistake of his life. he called for miss trevalyn, instead of mrs. trevalyn.
-“evidently the gentleman doesn’t know that our young lady is married,” thought the servant, and he answered with a smile:
-“the lady has changed her address, sir. you will find her at no. -- fifty-second street.”
-the man would have given him additional information in the next breath, but at that instant john dinsmore turned swiftly, and with a courteous bow descended the steps.
-“probably an old beau of our young lady’s,” thought the servant, gazing thoughtfully after the tall, commanding form. “i should say also that he is not a new yorker, or he would have known all about miss queenie’s marriage to the old millionaire, who turned out on his death to be almost a pauper. that ought to be a warning to all young girls who would marry old men for their supposed wealth.”
-meanwhile john dinsmore was making his way with long, swinging strides to the address given, which he knew could be scarcely more than a couple of blocks or so away.
-he could not see much of the exterior of the house, for, although scarcely five in the afternoon, it was already dark.
-once again he asked for miss trevalyn, instead of inquiring for mrs. trevalyn, his thoughts were, alas! so full of the girl he had loved so madly, so deeply--and lost so cruelly.
-the servant stared for an instant blankly, but in the next he remembered that that was the name of his young mistress before her marriage, and with a low bow invited the gentleman to enter, throwing open the drawing-room door for him.
-john dinsmore knew that she would recognize the name his card bore at the first glance.
-after much consideration he had thought it best to acquaint mrs. trevalyn with the true state of affairs before seeing jess--she being the girl’s hostess, and the one whom she would seek advice from--after he had had his interview with her.
-he seated himself in the nearest chair and awaited her coming.
-he had scarcely seated himself ere his eyes fell upon a picture of queenie, a life-size painting, hanging upon the opposite wall. his heart was in his eyes as he gazed.
-the old sorrow that he thought he had strangled to death by main force of indomitable will seemed to have sprung instantly into new life. the old sorrow was crying aloud. what vain, wild passion; what deep regret, there was still in his heart! he tried to withdraw his eyes from the fatal beauty of that pictured face, which was, ah! so lifelike, but it seemed impossible for him to do so.
-a mad desire which he could not repress seemed to draw him toward it, and mechanically he allowed himself to cross the room and stand before it. and he could hardly keep from falling on his knees before it, touching the little hands that seemed so lifelike; and, god help him, to restrain himself from kissing passionately the beautiful lips that he had hungered so to caress from the first moment that he and queenie trevalyn had met.
-the temptation mastered him. “just once; no one in the wide world will ever know,” he muttered, hoarsely, “and what can it matter; it can do no harm to the soulless canvas,” and, raising his feverish face, he kissed passionately the lips of the picture, not once, but many times. then he turned away with his heart on fire, and flung himself down into the depths of the great armchair again, burying his face in his trembling hands.
-“a love such as mine can never die,” he groaned, and he wondered how he should ever be able to meet queenie face to face, and live through it, if it was such an effort to gain anything like composure when he came suddenly upon her picture in her mother’s drawing-room.
-he thought of the few happy weeks in which he had sunned himself in the presence of his idol without a care or a thought of how it was to end, although he should have realized the great gulf more clearly that lay between them at that time--she being rich, and he poor as it is the fate of most authors to be.
-and lines of his own composing, lines which appeared in his book, came to his mind:
-“’tis no easy matter, as most authors know, to coin pleasant thoughts from the mind’s full mint; and then, after all, he must ask no pay, but be satisfied merely to see it in print.”
-he wished with all his heart that the girl he loved so well had married some man more worthy of her than raymond challoner, the libertine and gambler.
-he turned the chair around. he had always imagined himself a brave man; now he knew that he had not the control over himself that he had imagined.
-“fool that i am, i would give ten years of my life to live those three blissful weeks at newport over again,” he muttered sadly and hoarsely. “i feel so unnerved that i almost wish that i could find some excuse for leaving this house without seeing jess; but that cannot be, i suppose, for that must be mrs. trevalyn’s step which i hear in the corridor.”
-with a heavy sigh he crushed back the unhappiness that had swept over his heart, and summoned by a mighty effort the calm expression which had become habitual to his face, and the coldness to his eyes.
-it was not an instant too soon, however, for at that moment the portières before the door were swept back by a white, jeweled hand.
-chapter xxxviii. at his feet.
-“can i behold thee, and not speak my love? e’en now, thus sadly, as thou standst before me, thus desolate, dejected, and forlorn, thy softness steals upon my yielding senses, until my soul is faint from grief and pain.” --rowe.
-when the servant took mr. john dinsmore’s card to his mistress, he found that lady sitting moodily alone before the sea-coal fire which burned brightly in the grate.
-“a caller, on such a day, and at such an hour,” she muttered quite below her breath, as she took the card from the silver tray.
-one glance at the superscription which the bit of pasteboard bore, and she fell back in her chair, almost fainting from sheer terror.
-the question of the servant, who was regarding her critically, aroused her to her senses. he was saying:
-“are you out, or in, my lady?”
-the color rushed back to her face, and the lifeblood to her heart.
-“what a fool i am,” she told herself, a frown gathering upon her face. “it is raymond challoner, of course, as he is now masquerading under the name. of course i might have expected this, but, nevertheless, it shocked me.’ but aloud she said:
-“i will see the gentleman.”
-when the man had departed she arose slowly to her feet, ruminating: “as he is impatient, i will not keep him waiting; but he will not relish the message which i bring him from the obstinate little jess, that she positively refuses to see him, despite all my pleading with her. raymond challoner is not quite the lady-killer that he imagines himself to be.”
-despite the fact that she prided herself upon her beauty, and always looking her best on every occasion, she did not even glance at the long french mirror as she swept past it.
-she walked slowly down the stairway and along the broad corridor, pausing before the door of the drawing-room, which was ajar.
-she swept back the heavy velvet portières with her white, jeweled hand, pausing on the threshold for an instant.
-one glance at the tall, commanding figure of the gentleman who had arisen hastily from his seat, and a low cry, half terror, and half joy, broke from her lips.
-great god! was her brain turning? was she mad? or did her eyes deceive her? instead of the slender, dapper form of raymond challoner, she beheld the tall form that she had mourned over as having long since mingled with the dust. john dinsmore it was, standing, alive and well, before her, in the flesh, surely--not a ghost, a phantom, a delusion.
-john dinsmore reeled back as though some one had struck him a heavy blow, and one word fell from his white lips--“queenie!”
-with an impetuous cry she sprang forward, holding out both of her hands, sobbing:
-“john, have you found it in your heart to forgive me? surely it must be so, or--or you would not be here, you, whom i mourned as dead, believing the newspaper accounts which described the terrible wreck of the train on which you were a passenger.”
-she advanced to his side and touched his hand, murmuring in the old, sweet voice which had haunted him both night and day for long, weary months:
-“john, speak to me. surely you are here to tell me that you forgive me.” and before he could divine her intention, she had flung herself on her knees before him.
-for half an instant he almost believed that he was the victim of a mad, wild nightmare. the woman he loved so madly, the woman who so cruelly deceived him, the woman whom he had tried in his heart to scorn, to hate, kneeling before him, asking his forgiveness! he almost fancied that he did not hear, or see aright.
-his first impulse is to gather her in his arms and rain all the passionate love that has been locked up in his almost broken heart upon her, but, just in the nick of time, he remembers that they are no longer lovers--that a barrier is between them. his face flushes, and his arms, that had stretched forth involuntarily to clasp her, fall heavily to his side.
-his teeth shut tightly together. he is angry with himself for showing his weakness.
-a hot flush mantles his brow. he folds his arms tightly over his chest and looks down at the beautiful girl kneeling before him, wondering vaguely where raymond challoner, her husband, is.
-at that moment he catches sight of her dress, which he had not noticed before--black crape, the emblem of widowhood--and his heart gives a spasmodic twitch.
-“rise, madam,” he says, hoarsely. “why should you kneel to me?”
-“here i shall remain until you tell me that you forgive me,” she answers, beginning to weep bitterly, and going on through her sobs: “listen to me, john. i will die if i cannot speak and tell you all. do not look at me with those eyes of scorn. if you knew all you would pity instead of scorn me. they made me marry him--my parents, i mean--because of his wealth.”
-john dinsmore’s lips twitch. he essays to speak, but the words he would utter refuse to come from his lips. he is like one suddenly stricken dumb.
-“john,” she goes on in that same sweet, piteous voice that reaches down through his heart to the farthest depths of his soul, “you loved me with all the strength of your nature once, but that you had the power to cast me so utterly from your thoughts, from the moment you discovered my unworthiness, i never for a moment doubted. oh, heaven! it was the thought that you had utterly forgotten me, while i, bound to another, loved you more than ever, that caused me so much misery. bound to a man i hated, and loving you, alas, too late! with all the strength of my heart! think of it, john dinsmore, and if a heart still beats in your bosom, you cannot withhold your forgiveness. when my husband died i--i felt as though i had begun a new life, with the fetters thus removed from me.”
-“your husband is dead, queenie?” gasps john dinsmore.
-she flushes deeply, and answers with deep agitation:
-“you might have known my--my--husband was dead, or i would never have made the confession to you which i have just now made.”
-“i had not heard of raymond challoner’s death,” he answered, trying in vain to steady his voice.
-“you are in grave error if you think i married raymond challoner,” answered queenie, quietly. “i--i married his uncle--an old man of three score years and ten--at the urgent request of my parents, who would give me no peace day or night. i--i married him to save my father from financial ruin, believing him to be a millionaire. when he died, a few days ago, i learned that he was on the verge of bankruptcy. it is a just punishment to me--a just punishment. but i have gained more than the wealth of the world could purchase--my freedom. oh, my love of other days, do you understand that i am free now to be wooed and wed? surely you still care for me, john dinsmore. you are only trying my love not to tell me this and set my heart at rest.”
-as she utters the words she clasps both of her hands tightly about his arm and looks up into his face, which has grown strangely pale.
-“hush! hush!” he whispers, tearing himself free from the light hold of those lovely white hands. “i cannot suffer you to utter another word, madam. i will forget what you have said, for i ought not to have listened to it. it is my turn to ask you now to listen, and what i would say is this: there is an impassable barrier between you and me, queenie.”
-“a barrier!” she gasped. “surely there is nothing in this world that can separate us two a second time.”
-“it is you who are mistaken,” he said in a very unsteady voice. “there is an impassable barrier between us, i repeat, in the shape of--my wife. i am now married.”
-queenie’s eyes almost start from their sockets, the shock and the horror of his words affect her so terribly. he is married! she wonders that those words did not strike her dead. she stands for a moment looking at him like one bidding a last farewell to life, hope, and the world.
-“you are married?” she gasps again. “oh, my god! my punishment is more than i can bear!” and she sinks on the floor at his feet with a piteous moan, burying her face in her hands and weeping as women seldom weep in a lifetime.
-it was not in human nature to see the woman whom he still loved so madly lying there weeping for love of him, without his heart being stirred to its utmost, and john dinsmore was human enough to feel the warm blood dashing madly through his veins and his heart, beating violently with all the old love reawakening.
-he turns and walks excitedly up and down the length of the long drawing-room, his arms folded tightly over his heaving chest.
-“then, if you did not come here to see me, and did not know i was now a widow, why are you here?” cried queenie, at length, standing before him with a death-white face, a strange suspicion dawning in her breast.
-“i am here to see my wife, who is beneath this roof,” he answered, huskily. “my wife is little jess, but as she was bound to secrecy concerning it, i can see that she has not told you.”
-chapter xxxix. a test of love.
-“let no one say that there is need of time for love to grow. ah, no, the love that kills, indeed, dispatches at a blow.”
-“jess is your wife!” repeated queenie, in a voice so hollow and deathlike that it might have come from the tomb.
-john dinsmore bowed his head in assent, and as he did so, his companion detected a shadow of bitterness in his eyes, and a whitening of his face.
-“what to you seems so strange can be explained in a very few words, if you care to hear that explanation,” he said, slowly.
-queenie bowed her head eagerly. like him, words seemed to fail her. she sank into the nearest chair, pointing to one opposite her, but he declined the proffered seat, remarking that, “with her permission, he would prefer standing.”
-for some moments he stood leaning against the marble mantel ere he could control himself sufficiently to tell his story.
-then he began almost abruptly:
-“when you knew me at newport, i told you that i was simply john dinsmore, author, bohemian. i did not add that i was the last of kin of a wealthy uncle who had always told me that i should be his heir, for i despise men who live in expectancy of falling into dead men’s shoes, and getting the good out of fortunes which other men have toiled for. i depended upon myself and my own achievements for getting along in the world.
-“well, to make a long narrative brief, scarcely two days had passed after you and i had parted that night on the sands, ere the intelligence was brought to me that my uncle had just died abroad, and that i was his heir. but there was a condition to it, however, in the shape of a codicil, declaring, that in order to inherit this fortune, i was to become the husband of a maiden whom he had selected for me, to wit: a young girl named jess, who lived on his plantation, blackheath hall, down in louisiana. the will also added, should i fail to do this, the girl, jess, like myself, would be disinherited.”
-“and you, whom i thought the soul of honor, beyond the power of being bought by sordid gold, wedded this girl for the dinsmore millions!” cried queenie, bitterly.
-he looked at her reproachfully, and his firm lips quivered ever so slightly. the accusation was galling to him.
-“no,” he said, sharply; “not so. fate, if there indeed be such a condition, forged link after link of the chain, and i was”--he was going to add--“drawn into it,” but he bit his lip savagely, keeping back the words. but queenie’s quick wit supplied just what he withheld.
-after a brief pause he continued:
-“i was on my way down south to tell the girl that the wedding could never take place, when that railway accident occurred which held me prisoner, as it were, at the farm of the caldwells for many weeks. not wishing the information to get into the newspapers, i gave those good people the name of moore. imagine my amazement when fate, as i call it again, brought the girl, jess, to that very farmhouse.”
-“and you fell in love with her and married her out of hand?” broke in queenie again, trembling with agitation.
-“again you are in error,” he retorted, with a deep-drawn sigh. “looking on the girl, i pitied her, for the reason that my failure to fall in love with and wed her would cost her one-half of the dinsmore fortune, just as it would cost me the other half. my action would make her homeless, penniless. the more i brooded over that the more i pitied her, and one day a path out of the dilemma seemed to suddenly open out before me. something seemed to say to me: ‘why not marry the girl, and thus secure the fortune to her which should be hers?’
-“at first my heart rebelled at the notion, but the more i turned it over in my mind, the more it seemed my solemn duty to do so. i put the plan into execution at once, lest my resolution should fail me, and still calling myself mr. moore, i asked jess to marry me, and her answer was ‘yes.’
-“i meant to tell her who i was after the marriage ceremony, and add ‘now that i have secured to you the fortune that is yours through my uncle’s desire, i leave it with you to fulfill your marriage vows, or bid me depart,’ and to also tell her that i intended to make over my share of the dinsmore millions to her.
-“before we reached the farmhouse again, after the marriage, which i need scarcely add was a secret one, i exacted a promise from the lips of jess that she would not reveal what had taken place until i gave her permission to do so.
-“instead you find me a widow,” murmured queenie, looking up into his face with eager shining eyes and her breath coming and going swiftly with every palpitation of her heaving bosom.
-“too late, too late!” he muttered in a low voice almost under his breath, but not so low but what his companion caught the words.
-“no, no!” she cried, vehemently, “it is not too late, john dinsmore. this girl is nothing to you, less than nothing since you do not love her. give her half of the dinsmore millions, since it must be hers, and divorce her, as you had planned, and then--then----”
-“good heavens! what are you saying, mrs.----”
-john dinsmore stops short, and queenie knows that he cannot call her by that name--that it sticks in his throat.
-queenie has the grace to blush, and then she covers her crimson face with her hands! surely he must understand what she has left unsaid--and he does, and gives a great start of surprise. hitherto queenie has occupied a pedestal high as an angel in his heart. is this the girl whom he has worshiped so madly, this girl who is coolly counseling him to divorce the girl who is his wedded wife? all in an instant of time the mad, passionate love he has had for queenie dies a tragic death.
-it was his intention to divorce little jess, but now that it is proposed to him by another--oh, strange perversity of human nature!--he seems to recoil from it, he knows not why.
-queenie’s quick intuition tells her that she has lost ground with john dinsmore in making such a cool, calculating, unwomanly proposition, but before she can utter another word to mend matters, in his opinion, she hears the voice of jess calling to her from the corridor outside:
-“queenie, queenie, where in the world can you be? i have looked everywhere for you.”
-another instant and she will reach the drawing-room.
-queenie darts to the door to intercept her. she must not enter that room in which her husband is standing.
-but as queenie flies from the apartment by one door, jess enters it by another.
-for one instant she stands fairly transfixed, as her gaze encounters the tall, commanding figure standing there.
-in the next she has reached his side with such a cry of intense delight that in spite of himself it has gone straight to his heart.
-“my husband! oh, my husband!” and almost before he is aware of what is happening, two soft, white arms have been flung about his neck and a pair of rosy lips is pressed to his, and a world of ardent kisses is showered upon him, in a way which fairly takes his breath away.
-“how delightful of you to come and take me by surprise like this,” jess was crying, breathlessly and delightedly. “i was thinking of you just this minute, and that i would give anything in this world to see you.”
-he feels that he must make some retort, but he is at a loss for words, and he can only articulate:
-“are you so very glad to see me again, little girl? why is it--why?”
-“why?” echoes jess, with a melodious little laugh like liquid sunshine. “why, because i love you so. i have loved you more and more every hour and day that we have been apart, until i felt that i could not stand being away from you much longer, and now you are here, and i am so glad--so glad!”
-“little jess,” exclaims john dinsmore, holding the girl off at arm’s length, “child, do you know what you are saying?” and his face grows deathly white as he looked down into the fair, dimpled, flushed young face gazing so fondly up at him.
-“my god!” bursts from john dinsmore’s lips, as jess reiterates her love for him over again in impulsive, childish fashion. “i never dreamed of this!”
-“you have forgotten to kiss me, and say that you are as glad to see me as i am to see you,” she goes on, breathlessly, in a headlong fashion, as she falls to kissing him in her impulsive way over and over again, fairly smothering him with the intense love she is showering upon him--a love that he knows wells up from the very depths of her young heart--a love which she is too innocent to attempt to try to conceal from him. no wonder he looks at her askance--wondering how in the world he is ever to utter the words that he has come to tell her--that he is there to bid her an eternal farewell!
-chapter xl. the first love.
-“oh, love, poor love, avail thee nothing now thy faiths, thy braveries? there is no sun, no bloom; a cold wind strips the bitter foam from off the wave where dips no more thy prow; thy eyes are hostile eyes; the gold is hidden; vain thy tears and cries; oh, love, poor love, why didst thou burn thy ships?”
-john dinsmore holds the girl off at arm’s length and looks down into the sweet, innocent young face with troubled eyes.
-“you love me!” he repeated, as though he were not quite sure that he heard aright.
-jess pushes back the soft black curls from her face and laughs gayly, and the sound of her voice is like the music of silver bells. she does not answer his question in words, but nods her dark, curly head emphatically.
-his hands fall from her; he turns abruptly and takes one or two turns up and down the length of the long drawing-room.
-how shall he utter the words to her which he has come here to say? how shall he tell her that he is there to say good-by to her forever?
-“do you know what i have been thinking ever since i came to this house?” she asked, as he paused an instant by her side, with the deep, troubled look on his face which so mystified her.
-“no,” he answered, hoarsely, glad that she was about to say something, for it would give him a moment or two longer in which to come to a conclusion.
-“i was thinking how very stupid i am, and how wonderful it was that you married a little simpleton like me.”
-that was the very opening he needed, to utter that which was weighing heavily on his mind; but without giving him the opportunity, although his lips had opened to speak, she went on, blithely:
-“i am going to study hard and become very wise, like the lady i am visiting here. but, oh, i forgot; you do not know queenie--mrs. brown, i mean; but, dear me, it seems so odd to call her mrs. anybody, she is so much more like an unmarried girl. oh, she is so lovely, and graceful, and sweet. do you know, it occurred to me only yesterday that had you seen her first, even though she is a widow, you might have fallen in love with her instead of me.”
-this was becoming almost unendurable. who knew better than he the charms of queenie?
-“i am going to be stately and dignified like she is, and i am going to be wise and womanly. do you think you will love me quite as much then as you do now?”
-he could safely answer “yes,” for he did not love her at all.
-“thank you so much for assuring me of it,” she murmured, seizing his white hands and covering them with kisses. “now i shall begin with a will.”
-the girl did not seem to notice the shadow that was growing each moment still deeper on his face, and the look of despair that was gathering in his troubled eyes, and the gravity, almost to sternness, that had settled about his mouth.
-each moment this bright, gay child, who loved him so dearly, and was telling him so in every word, act and deed, was making the task before him but the harder.
-how would she take it when he told her that she need make no sacrifices, or study, on his account, for he never intended to see her again?
-“you do not know how much i have thought about you since i left you that day on the farm,” she went on. “when you faded from my sight in the distance, though i strained my eyes hard to look back at you, standing there on the old porch, i bowed my head and wept so piteously that poor old lawyer abbot was in great fear lest my heart should break. i never knew until then what love, that they talk about, really was.
-“all in a moment it seemed to take a deeper root in my heart--my life seemed to merge into yours--and i lived with but one thought in my mind, of the time when you should come for me, and i should never have to leave you again---never, never, never! and every moment since my heart has longed for you, cried out for you. you were the last thought i had when i closed my eyes in sleep; and then i dreamed of you; and my first thought on awakening was of you--always of you. is not that the kind of love which the poets tell about, and which you feel toward me?”
-this is the opportunity which he has been waiting for, and he attempts to grasp it, and get the disagreeable task over. it is the golden chance he has been so eager for.
-slowly he puts his hands on both of the girl’s shoulders, and looks down into her beaming, dimpled, happy face, and in a low, trembling voice he says:
-“my little wife”--it is the first time he has called her wife. he has never before addressed her by an endearing term. it has always been “child,” or “little jess,” before, and every fiber of the young wife’s being responds to that sweetest of names--“my little wife.”
-as john dinsmore utters these words he sinks down in the chair opposite her, but the words he is trying to speak rise in his throat and choke him.
-in an instant two soft, plump arms are around his neck, a pair of soft, warm lips are kissing his death-cold cheek, and a pair of little hands are caressing him. his child-wife has flung herself into his lap, exclaiming:
-“that is the first time you ever called me wife, and, oh, how sweet it sounded to my ears.”
-john dinsmore’s heart smote him. he could not utter the words which would hurl her down from heaven to the darkest of despair just then.
-“let her live in the paradise of her own creating at least another day,” he ruminated; and then a still brighter thought occurred to him, to write to jess, telling her all. if she wept then, or fainted, or went mad from grief, he would not be there to witness it. he was not brave enough to give her her death wound, with the cruel words that they must part, while she was clinging to him in such rapturous bliss, covering his face with kisses.
-and that was the sight that met queenie’s gaze as she returned to the drawing-room a few moments later.
-jess in her husband’s lap, her face pressed close to his.
-for a moment queenie stood as though rooted to the threshold. she had purposely remained out of the apartment, seeing jess enter, until he had time enough to tell her his errand there, and the picture that met her startled eyes went through her heart like the sharp thrust of a sword.
-“my god! is it possible that he has changed his mind about parting from her? does he love her?” was queenie’s mental cry.
-at the sight of the beautiful vision in the doorway, john dinsmore springs to his feet, putting his young wife hastily from him.
-jess is blushing like a full-blown rose in june.
-“oh, mrs. brown--queenie--don’t be so terribly shocked, please,” she cries, dancing to her side and flinging her arms around her. “i am going to explain something about this gentleman which will surprise you dreadfully. he is my husband!” and as she utters the words triumphantly, she steps back and looks at queenie, cresting her pretty head sideways, like a young robin.
-it is a most embarrassing moment for dinsmore. he stands pale and silent, between them, wondering if ever mortal man was placed in such a wretched predicament. on one side stands the girl he loves, the girl he wooed and lost on that never-to-be-forgotten summer by the murmuring sea, and on the other side the girl who loves him, the girl to whom he is bound fast by marriage bonds, and to whom he owes loyalty and protection. from deathlike paleness his face flushed hotly.
-he longed to seize his hat and rush from the house. in his dilemma fate favored him. there is a ring at the bell, and the next instant callers are announced in the sonorous voice of the servant.
-john dinsmore seized this opportunity to make his adieus. he never afterward remembered just how it was accomplished, or what he said. he only remembered telling jess that she should hear from him on the morrow. the next instant the cold air of the street was blowing on his face.
-he had gone without kissing the quivering mouth of his young girl-bride. he had not even seen that it was held up to him for a parting caress.
-queenie noted that fact in triumph.
-“it would not take so long to get a divorce from her, and then---- ah, heaven! the one longing of her life would be granted. she would be his wife.”
-queenie was so carried away with her own thoughts and anticipations that she was barely conscious that the girl-wife’s arms were once more thrown about her, and jess was whispering in her ear:
-“now you know why i could not marry the other one, and did not wish to see him again. i was already a wife. what do you think of my--my husband? is he not adorable?”
-chapter xli. “was it all a dream?”
-“mine is an unchanging love, higher than the heights above, deeper than depths beneath, free and faithful, strong as death.”
-many a long hour, while the great city was sleeping that night, queenie paced the floor of her boudoir, deeply absorbed in her own turbulent thoughts.
-it had been an exciting day to her, being brought face to face with her old lover whom she had mourned as dead, and more exciting still to learn of the barrier which fate had raised between them in the shape of john dinsmore’s bride--jess, the girl who had been living under her own roof as her guest.
-what would raymond challoner do, and say, she wondered, when she informed him that the real john dinsmore was alive, and more astounding still, was wedded to the girl whom he was laying his plans to win, because of her fortune?
-what vengeance would the arch-plotter take when he found his grand scheme for millions lying in ruins at his feet? queenie feared that he would not lose an instant in putting john dinsmore out of the way most securely, and still have the effrontery to attempt to carry out his scheme, should it become known to him that the little bride, jess, did not know the real identity of the man whom she had wedded. should she tell him that john dinsmore lived, and that jess was his wife, or not? that was the troublous question she asked herself over and over again.
-“he must not harm one hair of john dinsmore’s head,” she muttered fiercely. “for he will be mine as soon as he can free himself from the ties which now bind him.”
-then her thoughts took another turn. a scheme came to her worthy of the arch-fiend himself. yes, it was feasible, and it should be carried out.
-it was almost dawn when queenie threw herself upon her couch. she fell into a deep sleep, and it was almost noon when she awoke the next day, tired still, and unrefreshed.
-“was it all a dream?” she muttered, as she rubbed her eyes and gazed at jess, who stood by the window in her room, patiently waiting for her to awaken--jess, with the happiest smile she had ever seen on that dimpled young face, a smile as bright as the morning itself.
-“you lazy, beautiful queen!” cried the girl, springing to her side, “how long you are sleeping to-day, and i longing to talk with you. i felt like awakening you with a shower of kisses.”
-queenie drew back from her embrace with repellent coldness.
-down in the depths of her heart she hated with a deadly hatred this girl who had the right to kiss the face of the man whom she loved, and who bore his name.
-“what is the matter, queenie? are you not well?” exclaimed jess, with earnest solicitude. “why, your hands are like ice; even your lips are cold.”
-“i have a headache. if you don’t mind, i’d rather be alone for a little while,” she replied, abruptly.
-without another word jess turned slowly and quitted the boudoir, wondering greatly at the change of manner of her new-found friend, and wondering if she had possibly done anything to offend her.
-but upon reaching her own room jess forgot very quickly all about queenie and her grievance, in giving herself up to her delicious daydreams of the future that awaited her with the reappearance of her handsome, dignified husband.
-“oh, how i love him,” the girl murmured, resting her dimpled cheek against her pink palms. “it seems as though i had only just commenced to live to-day. he ought to be here soon now. he said he would come on the morrow, and then----”
-her thoughts were rudely interrupted by the entrance of queenie, who came direct to the window where she sat, and laid a white hand lightly on the girl’s arm.
-“you are come to tell that he--my husband--is here!” cried jess, tremulously, her face flushing with unconcealed delight.
-queenie bent over and raised the dimpled chin in her hand, looking searchingly down into the fair, happy young face, and then she answered, slowly:
-“i wish to heaven i could tell you so, my poor dear.”
-“why, what can you mean, queenie?” cried jess, springing to her feet, a premonition of coming evil rushing over her heart.
-“can you bear a great shock, my love?” murmured queenie, in a low voice, tightening her hold of the girl’s arm. “are you brave enough to hear something that will be a great blow, a great sorrow to you?”
-jess looked at her in affright. her two little hands clutch at queenie’s skirts, while her eyes, like two burning flames, seem to devour the face of the false friend.
-“if it is something about my--husband, tell me quick!” she breathes hoarsely, “for the suspense is killing me.”
-“i would to heaven that it was not my lot to break the pitiful news to you, jess, but perhaps i can do it better than any one else.”
-“yes, yes; go on, go on. i am sure it is something about my husband,” whispers jess in intense excitement.
-queenie nods, and clasps the two ice-cold hands of jess in her own, while she prepares to utter the death-warrant to the girl standing so innocent and so helpless before her--at her mercy.
-“little jess, i pity you with all my heart,” she begins, “and my heart bleeds for you. i cannot keep the truth back from you an instant longer. something has happened to your husband.”
-“he is hurt!” shrieked jess, wildly, clutching at her heart as she gulps out the choking words.
-“he met with an accident as he was leaving here, and he is--dead!” whispers queenie.
-the words have scarcely left her lips ere jess falls like a log at her feet.
-dead! queenie thinks at first, but as she bends over her, she finds to her disappointment that is but a swoon.
-for a moment she stands gazing down at her evil work with a fiendish smile curling her lips.
-“this is the first step i have taken in the plot to part this girl most effectually from the man i love, and have set myself to win,” she muttered in a hard voice, adding: ��why should i not? for he loves me--not her.”
-she hears the maid’s step along the corridor, and hurries to the door to intercept her.
-“the same gentleman who called yesterday,” thought the maid under her breath, as she presented mr. john dinsmore’s card to her mistress, saying aloud: “the gentleman asked to see miss jess.”
-“very well,” returned the beautiful young widow, her hand trembling in spite of her apparent calmness, as she took the bit of pasteboard.
-“she will lie there, in just that condition until long after my interview with him is ended,” she muttered. “still it is always wise to take every possible precaution.”
-so saying, as she glided from the apartment, she turned and locked the door noiselessly, and slipped the key into her pocket.
-on her way down to the drawing-room she paused long enough in her own apartment to secure a letter which she had spent long hours the night before in writing.
-in the drawing-room below john dinsmore was pacing up and down impatiently enough at the delay, for he was sure his little wife would fairly fly down to his arms upon learning he was there.
-jess’ reception of him the day before, and her acknowledgment of her love for himself, had fairly carried his heart by storm. he could not doubt but that other love affair had been brought about by a mistaken fancy on the girl’s part, and that her affection for himself was true love, the first and only time she had really loved.
-the peep he had had into her heart had been a revelation to him, and then, and then only, he realized an amazing truth, that his own heart answered that love--responded to it with an intenseness that startled him with its power.
-“thank heaven that i did not tell her yesterday that the object of my visit was to inform her that we must part; that i intended to divorce her. great god! i must have been mad to think of flinging aside so ruthlessly a heart of such pure gold,” he ruminated. “i am thankful, indeed, that i knew my own heart in time. instead of telling her that we must part, i will tell her that i am come to take her away with me, and that we shall never be parted more, and that i love her even more fondly than she loves me, and that henceforth our lives shall be one long, sweet dream of bliss, that her happiness shall be my care, and a lifetime of fond devotion shall repay her for giving her sweet, bright self to my keeping.”
-would she never come to him? oh, how the moments seemed to drag, he longed so to clasp jess in his arms, and give her the first kiss of love, burning, passionate love, that he had ever pressed upon her lips--and she his bride.
-he almost believed that his love had developed into idolatry for jess, his sweet girl-bride.
-chapter xlii. the plot thickens.
-“i believe love, pure and true is to the soul a sweet, immortal dew that gem life’s petals in its hours of dusk. the waiting angels see and recognize the rich crown-jewels, love, of paradise, when life falls from us like a withered husk.”
-as john dinsmore instinctively turned toward the door, the silk portières were swept aside with a white, jeweled hand, but his disappointment was great, for, instead of beholding jess, he saw queenie, in her long, trailing robes of black, standing on the threshold.
-he greeted her constrainedly, for he noticed the heightened color that flashed into her face, crimsoning it from brow to chin, and the dazzling smile of welcome on her lips.
-queenie swept into the room and up to his side with the graceful, gliding motion peculiar to her, and which he had always admired so greatly.
-then he noticed that she held something in her hand--a letter.
-“you expected to see your wife,” she began, and then hesitated as though at a loss how to proceed.
-“yes,” he answered, and she saw him give a sudden start and turn pale, as he quickly asked:
-“is she not--well?”
-a sudden fire leaped into queenie’s eyes at his solicitude over jess, and it hardened her heart toward him for being so interested in any human being save herself. she felt no remorse for what she was about to do; no sorrow for the blow her hand was about to inflict.
-no one would have dreamed that the sympathy she assumed in the expression of her face as she looked up at him was far from being the real state of her feelings. no one would ever have imagined that beneath her calm demeanor her heart was rent with a war of dark, angry passions, the outcome of a love which she realized was hopeless, by the cold, distant greeting he had given her. she felt within her heart and soul that he was there to claim jess and take her away with him to happiness and love, instead of being there to inform her that he wished to part from her. queenie’s keen intuition, her knowledge of men and the world, told her that.
-slowly she held up her white, jeweled hand with the letter in it, saying, gently:
-“the bearers of unwelcome messages often share the fate of the messages they bring. do not let me be so unfortunate, joh--mr. dinsmore.”
-still he did not answer; his eyes were riveted on the letter she held, which he could see bore his name.
-“this is for you,” she said, gently, “but ere you open it, let me say a few words to you.”
-again he bowed his fine, handsome head, wondering what she could have to say to him, and also what jess could have written to him about, for he believed he recognized the handwriting upon the envelope, and his heart was on fire to tear it open and devour its sweet contents.
-“last evening jess had a caller--a gentleman,” began queenie, slowly, pretending not to notice the violent start john dinsmore gave. “he remained an hour or more, and after he left, and jess had returned to her own room, which is opposite mine, i saw that she was strangely agitated, and yet extremely jubilant--hilariously so.
-“she did not come into my boudoir to chat, as has been her custom since she has been my guest here, saying she had a letter to write. that was the last i saw of her, as i kissed her good-night and left her.
-“this morning one of the servants handed me this letter, saying that miss jess, as they called her, had given this to them the night before at a late hour, requesting that it should be given to me to place in your hands when you should come to-day. i will retire into the library while you read it at your leisure.”
-the next moment john dinsmore found himself standing alone in the luxurious drawing-room with jess’ letter in his hand.
-“why should his little bride write to him, instead of telling him anything she had to say in person?” he wondered, vaguely, and with the letter still held unopened in his hand he asked himself who jess’ caller of the previous evening could have been. but quite as soon as the thought shaped itself in his mind, he came to the conclusion that it must have been lawyer abbot. no doubt the letter was to inform him that she had confessed her marriage to the old lawyer, and begged him to send her word that he was not so very angry, ere she ventured to come to him.
-he broke the seal and drew forth the letter. he had seen but one of jess’ letters before, the one which had reached him when he was lying sick unto death from the outcome of the duel at newport, consequently he could not recollect the chirography very clearly, save that it was in an unformed, straggling, girlish hand--the same as this appeared to be.
-as john dinsmore’s eyes ran rapidly over the first few lines, the blood in his veins turned as cold as ice, and a blood-red mist seemed to sweep across his vision.
-the letter ran as follows:
-“my husband: when you are reading what i am now writing, i shall be flying far away from you. i will tell you now by the medium of pen and paper what i was too much of a coward to tell you yesterday in person, and that is, that our marriage was a terrible mistake, and i am rueing it most bitterly, especially since last evening.
-“at that time some one came to call upon me. i might just as well tell you frankly who that some one was--the lover with whom i broke faith when i so thoughtlessly, on the spur of the moment, sealed a bitter fate for myself by marrying you. we had quarreled, and i, well, to be truthful, i married you just to make him suffer, but the words were scarcely uttered which bound me to you ere i rued it most bitterly, though i did not betray my grief to you by word or act.
-“well, my old lover came, and i--i do not ask your pity for my weakness, for i realize fully that i do not deserve it. i knew that i could not live my life out if he went from me again, though i knew i was bound to you. well, he felt the same toward me that i felt toward him, and we both agreed to brave the world for love--and each other.
-“i gathered my few articles together, and--as i have said, by the time you are reading these lines i will be far away with the man i love.
-“i should not blame you if you were to get a divorce from me at once. i realize that this admission from me gives you the proper grounds for it. indeed, i should be thankful if you would, for then i shall be free to marry the man who already has my heart. i hope you will find forgiveness for me in that big, noble heart of yours.
-“forget me, and that i ever came into your life, and be happy, as i feel sure you will be, in some other girl’s love.
-“i have nothing more to say, except that i hope you will not search for me, for it will be useless. you can never, never find me. all that i ask from you is to be let alone. i have followed the dictates of my own heart, and that must be my reason for the step i am to take.
-“again i urge that you make no attempt to discover my whereabouts. thanking you in advance for complying with my earnest request in this respect, i sign myself for the first and last time.
-“your wife jess.”
-for some moments after he had finished this cruel epistle, john dinsmore sat staring at it like one suddenly bereft of reason. little jess gone! eloped with a former lover! he could scarcely believe that he had read the written lines aright. he told himself that he must be laboring under some mad delusion.
-over and over again he read the fatal words, until every line was burned in letters of fire indelibly into his brain.
-he passed his cold, trembling hands over his brow. great beads of perspiration were standing out on it, and his veins were like knotted whipcords.
-little jess, who only yesterday had clung to him with loving words and kisses, awakening all the love that had lain dormant in his heart and soul, had fled from him. he could almost as easily have looked for the world to come suddenly to an end, and all time, light, hope and life to be suddenly blighted and turned into chaos and darkness!
-in that moment of bitter pain he thought of lines he had read only the day before in a book which he had seen on the drawing-room table, while he was awaiting the coming of jess. they recurred to him now with crushing force:
-“i met a kindred heart, and that heart to me said: ‘come;’ mine went out to meet it, but was lost in sudden gloom. whither wander all these fair things, to some land beyond life’s sea? is there nothing glad and lasting in this weary world for me?”
-never until that moment did john dinsmore realize how deeply he had learned to love the girlish bride who had just fled from him, crushing his heart and wrecking his life so cruelly.
-for the second time in his life he had been ruthlessly hurt by the woman to whom he had allowed his honest heart to go out in abounding love.
-he heard a rustle beside him, and raising his death-white face quickly, he saw queenie standing before him.
-“i know all, john--mr. dinsmore,” she murmured, “and i pity you from the depths of my heart. if i could give my life to bring her back to you, if you love her, i would gladly do it. and yet, she’s not worthy of such terrible grief as you are enduring.”
-alas! in that hour of his bitter woe, how sweet was queenie’s sympathy, which was indeed balm to his wounded, bleeding heart.
-chapter xliii. the love that will not die.
-“oh, answer, love, my pleading! the precious moments pass; and i long these waters o’er may come no more, alas! ah, while to-night is left us, it should not fly in vain. come forth this once, lest fate decrees we never meet again! i wait, my heart’s adored one, beneath the moon’s bright beams. come--come, it is the hour that brings the time for lovers’ dreams!”
-in after years, when john dinsmore looked back at that moment, it always seemed like a memory of a hideous nightmare, standing there with jess’ letter in his shaking hand; the letter in which she told him that she, his wife, had eloped with a former lover. in that hour the sympathy of queenie seemed like balm to his bleeding heart.
-“mr. dinsmore,” she said, in that sweet, smooth, silvery voice of hers, that had always had the power to thrill him to the heart’s core, “my heart is bleeding for you. what can i say, what can i do to comfort you?”
-he sank into the nearest seat, covering his face with his shaking hands. queenie advanced a step nearer, and her soft, white hands, cool and white as lily leaves, fell on his bowed head lightly.
-“i know, i can understand how deeply your pride is wounded,” she went on, hurriedly. “but instead of wasting one thought over her, you should be rejoicing at getting rid of her so easily--remembering that her action sets you free from the bond which galled you, leaves you free to woo and wed one whom you can love. do you not realize it?
-“she was never a fit companion for you,” continued queenie, eagerly; “you knew that. you should never have expected anything else from a girl such as she was--a wild, gypsyish creature, without even a name to face the world with. of course she came from a source where her parents dared not own her, and one should not be surprised that she has developed evil tendencies; it is easy to surmise that they are bred in the bone, and she acted upon them at the first opportunity which presented. i predict that she will reach the lowest level that such a low-born creature----”
-the sentence never was finished. with a bound john dinsmore sprang to his feet, his face white as death, his eyes blazing like coals of fire.
-“stop, madam!” he cried, in a hoarse voice. “not another word, i command you. remember it is my wife whom you are reviling so cruelly!” and he towered before her, the incarnation of cold, stern, haughty anger.
-for a moment only queenie loses her self-possession, the next instant her face is wreathed in a cruel sneer, as she answers, defiantly:
-“am i mad, or do my ears deceive me? are you really championing the cause of the girl who has betrayed you so shamefully? made your name, of which you were so proud, a byword for the sensational press when they learn what has happened? most men would resent her action with all the pride in their natures, and despise her accordingly; being glad to be rid of such a----”
-“again i cry hold!” cut in john dinsmore, in ringing, sonorous tones. “i will not hear another disparaging word of the girl who bears my name!”
-“i suppose that you will search for her, and when you have found her, you will forgive her freak of mad folly, take her back to your heart and home, and be happy ever afterward, as the story-books say.”
-“that is precisely my intention,” announced john dinsmore, coolly, and in a determined voice. “the fault was mine. i alone am to blame for what has transpired. i wedded her, and instead of cherishing the impulsive child as i should have done, i sent her from me--cast her out a prey to just such vipers as the one who has crossed her path, and led her from the right path. she was young, and craved and needed love and protection, neither of which she received from me; the lesson i have learned is a most bitter one. i will spend my life in trying to find my little jess, and when i have found her, i will atone to her for my fatal mistake in sending her from me.”
-as queenie listened, all in a moment the realization that he meant that he would never be anything to herself swept with full force over her heart.
-“john dinsmore,” she cried, pantingly, “you must not search for her; let her go where she will!” and with a flame of crimson rushing over her face from chin to brow, she whispered: “if you will you shall have me--and my love! fate parted us two, who were intended for each other, once before; let us not let her part us a second time!”
-“i am sorry to speak harshly to a lady,” he returned; “but you force the words from my lips, and therefore you must hear them; and not only hear, but heed them.
-“you can never be any more to me than you are at the present moment, madam. i acknowledge that there was a time when such words as you have just uttered would have filled me with the keenest rapture; but that time has long since passed; for you no longer fill the remotest niche in my heart. my love died for you long ago, and to-night my respect goes with it; for the woman who would counsel me to turn from my wedded wife, no matter what she has done, and find consolation with her, is one whom i do not desire even to know.”
-as he uttered these words he strode from the room, leaving queenie staring after him, the very picture of a fiend incarnate, with her eyes blazing like two coals of yellow fire, and her face and lips bloodless.
-“foiled!” she shrieked. “foiled! and i had set my heart and soul upon winning him, and the way seemed so easy!”
-but one thought occurred to her; if it was indeed so, she would take a terrible vengeance upon him, a vengeance that he would never forget, or get over to his dying day.
-she made up her mind that she would strike at his heart through jess, for whom he was going to search the wide world over.
-“you may search, but you will never find her, john dinsmore!” she cried, hoarsely, beating her breast fiercely with her clinched hands. “i will look to that. you are parted as truly as though the grave yawned between you!”
-when she reached her boudoir, and a little later looked in at jess, she found her still lying in the same dead faint upon the floor.
-she bent over the girl, gazing long and bitterly at the lovely, upturned young face, her eyes glowing luridly as she noted how perfect was the loveliness of her every feature.
-“yes, he has learned that he loves you, when it is too late!” she muttered, catching her breath hard. “i will strike his heart through you!”
-she was not long in maturing her plans; she set to work to revive the girl without calling any of the servants to assist her in the operation, believing what they did not know they could never repeat to any one.
-her labors were soon rewarded by seeing jess open her large, dark eyes slowly.
-“what is it, queenie?” she murmured, vaguely; then, in the next breath, before her companion could vouchsafe a reply, she cried bitterly: “oh, father in heaven, i remember all now--the awful intelligence you brought me, that my darling husband, to whom i was to go to-morrow, is dead--killed by an awful accident! oh, god pity me, how can i ever bear it? i had loved him so well, with all the strength of my heart and soul!”
-to an enemy less relentless than the beautiful fiend who bent over her, the ghastly change in the lovely young face, looking so appealingly up into her own, would have drawn forth pity.
-if she had had her own way, she would have let the girl die then and there of a broken heart; but that was not a part of the programme she had laid out for herself. it seemed that she was not to win john dinsmore and his fortune, and her funds were running terribly low; the only way that she knew of to gain a share of the dinsmore millions, which had slipped by her, was to aid raymond challoner to wed this girl, jess, just as soon as her grief was sufficiently assuaged to allow her to be talked--even coerced--into it.
-what the outcome of the affair would be she did not know or care. they would have a lively time recovering her share of the wealth, if the nefarious scheme ever came to light.
-she resolved that it would never do to tell raymond challoner that john dinsmore was alive, and had been in new york; and, furthermore, to acquaint him with the startling information that jess had met and wedded john dinsmore under the name of mr. moore.
-she would keep all that from raymond challoner; what he did not know would not worry him.
-and last, but by no means least, as soon as jess was in a fit condition to be prevailed upon by argument, or persuasion, to keep the past a profound secret, and marry the man to whom she was engaged, to secure the dinsmore millions from going to waste, it should be accomplished.
-queenie determined that if she could not wed john dinsmore and secure his fortune one way, it should be done in another manner.
-there was another thing of which queenie was equally convinced, and that was that the safest place for jess, for the present, was beneath her own roof. john dinsmore would, of course, never dream of looking for her there.
-she knew full well that he would not come near her home, therefore, she did not fear a meeting between raymond challoner and him.
-queenie was not surprised when raymond challoner presented himself at her home the following afternoon, impatient to know what progress she was making with her arguments to induce jess to reconsider her dismissal of himself and his suit; and very anxious to have an interview with the girl.
-“that will be impossible for the present,” declared queenie; “for she has worked herself up into a state bordering almost on hysteria; indeed, she is so bad that i was obliged to call in a doctor to attend her, and his instructions were that she must be kept perfectly quiet; nothing whatever of an exciting nature must disturb her, or the result would be a serious case of brain fever.”
-raymond challoner bit his lip with the most intense vexation.
-“by the eternal, luck seems to be working dead against me!” he cried. “i am almost strapped as to cash--i must marry that confounded contrary girl, and without delay, too, to secure that fortune. you know delays are dangerous!”
-“am i not equally as anxious? i am in the same position financially as yourself; my funds are horribly low, and your marrying this girl, and securing the dinsmore fortune, which you have promised to divide with me as compensation for my services, is everything i have to depend upon; so why should i not expedite matters to the fullest extent of my power?” she demanded.
-“with your woman’s wit, you ought to be able to arrange matters somehow,” he persisted, doggedly.
-“i will do the very best i can; that is all that i can say,” she responded, and he was obliged to let matters rest in that way. he took a reluctant leave, with the understanding that he was not to call again until he was sent for, which queenie declared should be the first moment in which she had jess’ promise that she would see him.
-and queenie meant what she said. for decency’s sake she allowed a week to pass since she had informed jess of her husband’s tragic death, ere she put her scheme in motion.
-at the end of that week queenie took the girl in hand.
-“this will never do, my dear,” she said. “you must take the punishment which has been meted out to you meekly.”
-“punishment!” echoed jess, putting her dark curls back from her tear-stained face with her little, trembling hands. “what have i ever done to offend heaven, that i should deserve punishment? that is the wrong word for it, you meant affliction.”
-“i meant exactly what i said, my dear,” returned queenie, softly. “it is my firm belief that the lord meant to punish you for flinging aside so ruthlessly the solemn wishes of the dead!” she added, solemnly and impressively.
-jess looked up into her face with bewildered, tear-stained eyes, murmuring faintly:
-“still i do not comprehend.”
-“you certainly ought not to need me to refresh your memory in regard to the fact that you were in solemn duty bound to wed him whom the man who thought enough of you to leave half of his fortune to desired you to marry.”
-“but i did not love him, queenie,” sobbed the girl, piteously, “and i did love the man whom i married.
-“go where i would, his face was always before me; it smiled up at me from the hearts of the flowers over which i bent, it looked at me from the dancing waves of the rippling brook. i saw it framed in the fleecy clouds when i looked up at the blue sky, and from the golden stars when the night fell, shrouding the world in impenetrable darkness.
-“oh, queenie, i often wonder if any other girl in this whole wide world has ever loved as fondly and as dearly as i loved the handsome, noble gentleman to whom god seemed to consecrate me when i became his bride. ah, why should god punish me, and desire me to marry another when i loved my husband as devotedly as that?”
-“god’s motives are not for us to question; it seems that he did,” replied queenie, tersely, adding, after a seemingly thoughtful pause: “do you know that i think his anger can only be assuaged by your carrying out his design yet?”
-she knew by the bewildered look in jess’ eyes that she did not in the least comprehend the hint she had just given her.
-“i consider it my duty to speak plainly to you, jess,” she said. “i am quite sure that your husband was removed for the purpose of your carrying out yet the provisions of that will.”
-“oh, no, no, no!” cried the girl, wildly. “i would not marry the best man that ever walked the earth; for me there is but one love, and therefore but one husband!”
-“there is another matter to be considered,” said queenie. “do you want to go out into the world penniless, and earn your own living, which you surely must do if you persist in refusing the rich gifts the gods offer you? it is a question which you must not decide rashly.”
-“i do not care for the dinsmore millions!” sobbed the girl. “i can get along without them. please do not say any more to me on the subject, queenie, my poor heart is so sore.”
-“there is just one thing more that i must call your attention to, which you seem to have forgotten entirely,” queenie went on, pitilessly; “and that is, even if you are perfectly indifferent in the matter, you still should remember that in pursuing the course you persist in adopting, you are not only injuring your own prospects, but you are consigning to a life of misery and toil another, the man whom the elder mr. dinsmore intended should enjoy half of his great fortune.
-“think long and seriously, jess, ere you consign one whose only fault is loving you too well to a life of poverty and misery. it would be better far to give your life up to the noble purpose of making another happy, even though your heart is not in what you do.
-“in a fortnight he will come here to see you, and will ask for your final answer. i repeat, think long and earnestly ere you say him nay. he need never know what took place while you were at the farm those few weeks. in fact, i would counsel that you keep it carefully from his knowledge. let that part of your book of life be a sealed chapter, which no human eyes may scan. why tell him, and make him miserable, when silence is wisest and best, since it tends to his contentment and peace of mind for all time?
-“i leave you to think it over carefully, jess. surely you are too noble to consign the one who loves you so well to the bitterest of poverty. he does not know how to cope with it; he has always looked upon the dinsmore fortune as his, some day; therefore he is not equipped to fight for his daily bread during the remainder of his life. if life and love are all over for you, consecrate your future to doing good deeds, and surely this is one.”
-so saying, she left the girl to her own pitiful reflections. can it be wondered at, by dint of constantly holding this aspect of the case up before the girl’s troubled eyes, that slowly but surely she began to influence the girl, who was scarcely more than a child in her ideas, that it was her duty to sacrifice herself to save the man who was co-heir to blackheath hall from a life of poverty.
-it was with many bitter tears that at length jess sobbed out that she would do exactly what queenie advised. life, hope and love were all over for her, it did not matter much what her future was.
-“your lover of the old days will be here to-morrow,” announced queenie, at length, “and shall i make his heart glad by telling him that you relent, and that matters will be between you as they were when you were down on the plantation in louisiana; that you will meet him as your affianced husband?”
-jess covered her face with her two little hands, which shook like aspen leaves, and nodded dumbly. she could not have said “yes” to have saved her life; she tried to utter the word, but it stuck in her throat and choked her.
-raymond challoner lost no time in acting upon queenie’s advice. the very next afternoon he presented himself at her home, and queenie herself went to fetch jess at once.
-“how shall i ever go down to the drawing-room to see him!” cried jess, distractedly, as she clung to her false friend with death-cold hands; “if he speaks to me of love, or marriage, i am sure i shall fall in a swoon at his feet.”
-“that is not being brave,” retorted queenie, impatiently, “you promised me faithfully that you would put the past from you, and try to believe that it was but a dream; this is not carrying out your word.”
-raymond challoner advanced to greet her in his jaunty, inimitable, graceful manner.
-“little jess!” he cried, holding out both hands in greeting, “words fail to express to you how glad i am to see you.”
-her white lips parted, and her large, dark, startled eyes looked away from the eager blue ones in much trepidation. she murmured some faint words which he could not quite catch.
-“why, how changed you are, little jess!” he cried, holding her off at arm’s length and looking in puzzled wonder down at her fair, marvelously beautiful face. “new york and the society of our mutual friend queenie seem to have metamorphosed you completely. you left me a romp of a girl, i find you a woman; there is something in your eyes, in your face, that i have never seen there before, and i am puzzled to know what it is.”
-he saw her flush and then turn deadly pale under his keen, searching scrutiny.
-“you are a thousand times more beautiful, and therefore more lovable than when we last met,” he cried, enthusiastically. “i regretted from the bottom of my heart that they had let you slip off to new york without my knowledge, or approval, but i am obliged to confess that it has done wonders for you, my jess--wonders.”
-“how could you leave me in that reckless fashion?” he went on, reproachfully. “you struck a cruel blow at my heart by doing so, and a still more cruel blow when you wrote me that you intended to break our engagement. why, little girl, i was sick for weeks from the effects of it, praying to die, i fought bitterly against allowing them to cure me; that will show you how completely i was wrapped up in your sweet self.
-“the bitterest drop in my cup of woe was that they would not tell me where you had gone, in accordance with some foolish promise given. it seemed like a stroke of fate that i should come to new york, and in coming to visit an old friend stumble directly into the house where you were visiting. do you not agree with me that it was indeed fate? if it had not been intended that we should be reunited, i would not have been able to discover where my pearl had hidden herself.
-“but, dear me, come and sit down in this sunshiny bay window, my little jess, that i may have a better look at my newly recovered treasure; you are now so royally, regally beautiful, that i can scarcely believe you are one and the same little jess whom i met in the wilds of louisiana that eventful september morning, which seems long months ago, though it is in reality not so very long ago.”
-during the call, which seemed long and tedious to jess, who was wondering if he would never, never go, her companion did all the talking, the girl barely answering in monosyllables, but he attributed this to bashfulness, though that was a trait in her character that he had not discovered during his brief sojourn at blackheath hall.
-“with your permission, jess,” he said at length, “i should like to talk about our wedding; when shall it take place, my own love?”
-“oh, i don’t know!” cried the girl, distractedly, “do not mention it to me--until the very last moment--and let it be as far off as you possibly can.”
-his brow darkened.
-“that is not a very kind speech, jess,” he remarked, with considerable pique, “and does not speak very well for the depths of love you shall bear the man to whom you have plighted your troth.”
-she looked up at him appealingly. it seemed to her if he uttered another word on the subject she would go mad. how could she listen to words of love or marriage from another’s lips when her heart lay buried in the grave of the man she had loved so passionately, with all the strength of her nature?
-but she knew if she made the sacrifice which queenie had impressed upon her was her solemn duty, she must make no outcry, utter no word of protestation against the marriage, or when it was to take place.
-“i know that you spoke in jest, my sweetheart,” ray challoner went on, smoothly, “to think otherwise would be to drive me mad, my heart is so entirely yours.”
-“forgive me,” answered jess, bravely, choking down a great sob that threatened to break forth and betray the state of her feelings.
-she listened like one in a far-off troubled dream while he talked to her of his plans for the future, and ended by praying her to name the day when he should claim her as his own.
-“i--do not know,” murmured the girl, wearily; “i--i will leave everything to you, mr. dinsmore,” and if he had not been so jubilant over the victory and the fortune so near his grasp, he would have noticed the suspicion of tears in her lovely, dark, mournful, despairing eyes.
-“then i say, let it take place at once, my own,” he declared, “the sooner the better, say a week from to-day!”
-jess shuddered, as with a sudden chill, but she kept control of her nerves by a great effort. he must not see how obnoxious the very thought of marriage with him was to her.
-she wondered vaguely how she was to pass the rest of her life with him when she found a few hours so intolerable as to almost drive her mad.
-“your silence gives sweet consent, my own charming little bride to be,” he cried, exultantly, and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself from embracing her then and there.
-he took his leave soon after with that matter settled completely to his satisfaction, the ceremony was to be performed just a week from that day. he would have named the morrow, but that he was sure jess would be suspicious that there was something wrong in his intense eagerness to claim her. of all things he must avoid raising her suspicions.
-he was anxious to get away from her, and celebrate his victory over the outcome of his desperate and daring plan for a fortune, by indulging in as much champagne as he could stand, for once in his life; for there would soon be an end to reckless indulgence, at least for a time. until the dinsmore fortune was within his grasp, and he had turned it into cash, he would be obliged to play the part of a model husband.
-“she is a thousand times more beautiful than ever,” he muttered, as he walked briskly down the avenue, “but her every action shows me that she abhors me, simply that and nothing else. and because of that, i feel the demon that is in me rising to the surface. i hate her for her coldness toward me and her pride, which will ever be an insurmountable barrier between us. i will marry you, my proud, haughty jess, and after the knot is tied which makes me your lord and master, i will set my heel upon your white neck, crush that heart of yours, without mercy, and make life itself a torture to you. i will take a glorious revenge upon you for all the indignities you have heaped upon me, i promise you that.”
-finding himself opposite a fashionable café he entered it, and soon finished the bottle of champagne they brought him, another bottle was as quickly dispatched; and in the best of humor with himself and the world, he began to look about him, as to who made up the fashionable throng filing into the place, in hopes that he might discover some boon companion of other days, who would share with him another bottle of the shining, sparkling beverage which had already gone to his brain.
-he was getting jovial, and that was the danger signal which should have warned raymond challoner to desist then and there from indulging in any more of his dearest foe--sparkling champagne. already he had begun to see two waiters filling his glass instead of one.
-“not a soul i know in the entire room,” he muttered, staring around disconsolately, “now that is annoying; i would like some one to keep me company.”
-suddenly his attention was drawn to a gentleman who, with two companions, was watching him furtively from a convenient point across the room.
-“wonder where i have seen that face!” muttered challoner, “can’t think to save my neck.”
-his memory refused to aid him.
-the gentleman was--john dinsmore.
-chapter xlvi. old friends meet.
-when john dinsmore had left the home of queenie, after learning of the supposed flight of jess, his bride, his avowed intention was to shake the dust of new york from his feet forever, and to wander on the face of the earth until he should find her whom he had learned, all too late, was dearer to him than his very heart’s blood.
-so intent was he upon his own bitter, despairing thoughts, he failed to notice the two young men who had stopped short at sight of him, astonishment and delight depicted on their faces. he would have passed them by unheeded, they both saw, and with one accord, each sprang forward, laying a detaining hand on his shoulders, which brought him to an unceremonious standstill.
-“john dinsmore, and in the flesh, by all that is wonderful!” they cried, simultaneously.
-with an exclamation of joy dinsmore drew back and looked into the faces of his two devoted friends, jerry gaines and ballou, the artist. and john was certainly as much overjoyed to see them as they were to once more behold him.
-“i almost imagine i shall wake up on the morrow and find this encounter but a wild delusion of the overwrought brain, as you novelists put it,” laughed gaines, with tears in his blue eyes as he still continued to wring john’s hand, “but come into this restaurant around the corner, and we will have a rousing reunion, and you shall tell us what you have been doing with yourself, and why you allowed your tried and true old friends to spend so much grief over you, mourning you as dead.”
-“yes,” said ballou; “you must come, john; it is not possible that you are contemplating refusing jerry’s request. we must get somewhere out of the teeth of this howling storm. i don’t possess fur-lined garments, consequently it is going through me like a knife. are you with us?”
-“as you will, boys,” replied john dinsmore, and they proceeded at once to the place designated, a restaurant where the “trinity” had been in the habit of dining in the past, and where gaines and ballou still came to get the most for their spare change.
-“it is my turn to pay the bill to-night,” said john, the first smile that his face had known for months lighting up his grave face. “you remember the day i left new york last--it would have been my turn to put up for the spread.”
-“not so, my boy,” laughed gaines. “i have had a streak of luck to-day, and i insist upon paying the bill. if you feel so very liberal, you shall do the pretty act to-morrow night.”
-it was during the meal that john dinsmore recounted to his two old friends all that had taken place since the memorable day they packed his valise for him, and sent him south, from newport, with the double object of regaining his health and looking at the little louisiana heiress at blackheath hall.
-“why, your meeting the little jess, after all, and marrying her out of hand, without going near blackheath hall, and she not dreaming of your real identity, sounds like a chapter from a novel. by george! what a capital story it would make!”
-“the climax to it is quite unsavory, though,” replied john dinsmore, and in answer to the looks of astonishment on his companions’ faces, he drew forth the letter from his breast pocket, into which he had crushed it, and in a low, husky voice read its contents slowly aloud to them.
-“eloped with an old lover!” echoed ballou, amazedly, while jerry gaines asked in a tone which he strove not to appear excited: “what was the address you read, of the house where she was visiting, john?”
-he re-read the address, giving the street and number.
-both gaines and ballou turned and looked at each other fixedly.
-“isn’t that the address of the young widow who married the supposedly rich old miser brown for his millions, and got beautifully left for her pains--finding herself next door to a pauper on the reading of the will?”
-“it appears so,” replied gaines, knitting his brows in deep thought, then suddenly he leaned over and touched ballou on the arm, saying:
-“do you know i have a very odd idea? you remember the young fellow whom we afterward recognized as he was coming out of that house, just as we were about to enter to learn the particulars of that will, and get a chance to talk with and sketch the beautiful young widow?”
-“yes; i have every reason to remember him,” nodded ballou, in a peculiar voice, adding: “well, what of him?”
-“i believe that he is the infernal scoundrel who has eloped with john’s little bride--for the reason that i went past the place the following afternoon, and saw him at the drawing-room window talking to just such a young girl as i now remember little jess to be from the picture she sent to john while he lay ill at newport, and which we saw.”
-“you know the villain!” exclaimed john, springing from his seat trembling with excitement. “for heaven’s sake tell me, and quickly, who he is, that i may follow him and shoot him down like the cur that he is, or rather pit my life against his to wipe out this stain with which he has dared to smirch the honor of my name.”
-“give me until to-morrow this time to locate him and find whether i am right or wrong, john,” asked jerry gaines. “this is a matter into which no man can rush headlong. i will find out beyond a doubt if my suspicions be true. if they are, you shall be put on his track, and when you meet him, you shall deal with him as you see best. is that satisfactory?”
-“i suppose it must be, if you say so,” replied john dinsmore, sinking back into his chair, his face ghastly pale, every nerve in his entire body quivering with the deep agitation he was undergoing.
-his two friends prevailed upon him to remain in new york a week at least, pending their investigation, and to go to the old humble room which he used to share with them in the days when money was at a premium with him.
-the next morning his two tried and true friends parted early from him, arranging to meet him at the same hour, and at the same restaurant, suggesting that they might have something of importance to communicate.
-to john dinsmore it seemed as though six o’clock, the hour appointed, would never come; he spent the time in walking up and down the streets, vainly searching for jess, even in the face of the fact that her letter had said that she intended going far away from the metropolis.
-never before had he realized how intensely he loved little jess, and what a blank his life would be without her.
-and then and there it occurred to him how utterly devoid of good judgment he must have been in those days to allow himself to be carried away with so shallow and utterly false and heartless a creature as queenie trevalyn, whom he now abhorred, and whom he knew as she really was--at last.
-he said to himself that sometimes god blesses us in denying us that which we believe our greatest good, but which would only have turned out to be our greatest misfortune.
-all that day the two friends, spurred on by john dinsmore’s recital, worked zealously over the plan which they had mapped out for themselves to discover the whereabouts of jess, the fair young bride.
-on the occasion of their former visit to the house of the old miser’s widow, the young artist had made quite a favorable impression upon one of the maids of the household; they decided to make use of that state of affairs now. and under pretext that the paper wanted another statement of the facts, they again presented themselves at the home of young mrs. brown.
-to their relief that lady was out; but that did not prevent them from lingering and having nearly an hour’s chat with the loquacious maid.
-a few ingenious remarks led the conversation around to the beautiful young girl, who had until so lately been a guest beneath that roof, as they phrased it.
-“gone from here!” echoed the girl. “why, it is strange that i did not hear something of it; still, it may be, as i have been away--calling upon a sick relative--since late yesterday afternoon. i just came back less than ten minutes before you came. i had not even had time to take my bonnet upstairs when you rang the bell.”
-jerry gaines was for not prolonging the interview, though they had gleaned many startling facts from this casual conversation, but something seemed to impel the young artist to question her still further on the subject of the beautiful stranger guest of young mrs. brown--if she had a lover, and if he ever called, and how often?
-it was then that a remark fell from the maid’s lips that caused both of them to start violently, and to exchange covert glances of dismay with each other, taking great care that the maid should not notice this secret telegraphing between them.
-when there was absolutely nothing more to learn, they took their leave, promising to call again soon; but the next time it should not be upon business, but upon her fair self.
-when the two friends got around the first corner they stopped short--gazing long and fixedly into each other’s eyes.
-“it will never do to disclose what we have learned to john dinsmore to-night,” said jerry gaines, huskily, and in this opinion ballou heartily concurred.
-“no, it will be best to await developments on the morrow,” he declared.
-chapter xlvii. a moment of terror.
-the first question that john dinsmore asked of them, when they met at the restaurant an hour later, was what success they had met with, adding that he could hardly contain himself and control his nerves, his anxiety was so intense.
-“rome was not built in a day, my dear fellow,” responded ballou, adding: “by this time to-morrow we hope to answer you more satisfactorily.”
-“you mean to say that you have found trace of her?” cried john dinsmore. “do not keep me in suspense, tell me at once.”
-“on or before this time to-morrow, we hope to bring you face to face with your little jess--mind, i use the word ‘hope.’ that must suffice for the present, my boy,” repeated ballou.
-just as dinsmore was about to make a response, his attention was attracted by a young man who had just entered, and who had deposited himself in a seat at an opposite table.
-one glance at his face, and john dinsmore recognized him instantly as raymond challoner, his foe of those other days, when they had fought that duel for the favor of fair, false, fickle queenie trevalyn.
-as challoner’s eyes met his own, john dinsmore saw there was no gleam of recognition in them. raymond challoner did not know him, and he was quite as well satisfied with this turn of affairs.
-following the direction of their friend’s earnest gaze, both the artist and the reporter beheld raymond challoner at the selfsame moment.
-“it must be that fate is playing directly into our hands!” whispered jerry gaines to ballou, when john dinsmore’s attention was directed in another direction.
-john had noticed that his two friends recognized challoner; but, save a meaning half smile, he took no other notice of the other’s near presence, and was glad that they seemed to ignore him.
-underneath their nonchalant manner, both jerry gaines and ballou were intensely excited; and when raymond challoner arose to quit the place, some half an hour or so later, gaines made a hurried excuse to leave his two friends, and passed out hurriedly in challoner’s wake; and ballou was thankful that john dinsmore had not the slightest suspicion that there was anything on foot in that direction.
-at that selfsame hour, little jess was sobbing her heart out in queenie’s boudoir.
-she had promised to wed the man who represented himself to her to be john dinsmore on the morrow--ay, had promised to link her fate for weal or for woe with a man whom she detested more and more each time she saw him.
-“if it were not a sin for which god would never, never forgive me, i would end it all by taking my life here and now!” she moaned, clinching her hands together so tightly that the pink nails cut the tender flesh; but the pain in her heart was so severe, she never even felt the pain of the self-inflicted wound.
-queenie was purposely keeping out of her way, for she did not care to go over the ground that the marriage-to-be was all wrong--“all wrong and terrible,” as jess would pitifully express it. she had given her consent, that was enough for queenie; she never stopped to ask herself how it was to end.
-by this marriage, raymond challoner, masquerading under the name of john dinsmore, would gain possession of the dinsmore millions, would turn them into cash within a week’s time, and hand her over her share of the cash for her share in bringing the marvelously daring scheme about. further than this she did not care to look.
-of course, there would be a terrible reckoning between the real and the false heir, when the former turned up; but queenie was content to let them fight it out as they saw fit, as long as she had her share of the money. she would go abroad, and in the mad whirl of parisian life would try to drown her fatal love for john dinsmore, who had flung her proffered love back into her face with such scorn.
-by parting him effectually from the girl he loved, and bringing the girl within prison walls on the grave charge of bigamy, when at last he should find her, was revenge enough for even as sinister an arch plotter as herself.
-she realized that there would be a stormy scene between challoner and herself on account of her not telling him of the sudden appearance of john dinsmore, whom he confidently believed dead, and therefore out of his way; and, most of all, that he had a legal claim upon the little heiress of blackheath hall.
-she had not even a spark of pity in her hardened heart for the wretched young girl who was weeping her eyes out in her boudoir upstairs. she gloated, rather, over the misery of the girl who had won the love of the only man on earth whom she would ever care for.
-“let her cry!” muttered queenie, hoarsely, as she paced up and down; “all the grief she could know in a lifetime could not equal the poignant misery i endured in the one moment john dinsmore spurned me from him, declaring that he would not divorce that girl and wed me for all the wealth of the indies--ay, to save his life, even, if it came to that. some day he shall learn that it was my hand that shaped this affair, and brought the matter to a climax, and then he may, perhaps, recall the lines of the poet who has said--and, ah, how truly:
-“‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!’”
-queenie did not seek her boudoir until a late hour, feeling sure that jess would not be there by that time, a surmise which proved to be quite correct. the poor child had gone slowly to her own apartment, feeling wretched beyond words, and yet the morrow would usher in her wedding day.
-she dreamed she was roaming through the meadows fragrant with odorous blossoms, by the side of him whom she loved; she stepped across a tiny thread of a purling brook to gather blossoms which grew upon the other side of it, when suddenly the little stream widened between them, becoming a mighty cataract of water, a roaring river, which no one could ford; and they were driven farther and farther asunder by the oncoming waters, until they were lost to each other’s sight in the darkness of the night which fell about them.
-and, holding out her arms, and calling upon his name with mighty, piercing cries, which should have rent the very vault of heaven which bent above her, jess awoke, to find the maid standing beside her couch, with uplifted hands and an expression of horror on her face.
-“what! seek your couch like this!” the girl was exclaiming, in amazement. “oh, miss, why did you not call me to aid you, if you were too tired to disrobe? and this your wedding day! why, you look worn out! let me fetch you a cup of coffee, and help you to arrange your toilet. why, your hands are as cold as the snow outside! are you ill?”
-jess looked up at her with her great, dark, troubled eyes.
-“yes--no!” she muttered, incoherently.
-“do let me help you, miss!” entreated the maid. “do not send me from you; you actually look as though you were going to have a spell of sickness. it is time to dress for the ceremony--that is the message of my mistress sent me to tell you. you will have barely time to eat your breakfast and get into your wedding gown ere the bridegroom and the coach will be at the door.”
-“i wish it were for the grave that i am about to robe myself,” thought jess; but she said no more to the maid, who insisted on remaining with her and assisting her.
-jess pushed away the tempting little repast of bird on toast, fresh rolls, fruit and fragrant coffee which was set before her; she could not eat a morsel, or swallow a drop had her very life depended upon it.
-“take it away, marie,” she said. “it seems as though i could never eat anything again.”
-“what a wonderful thing love is, when it makes a girl feel like that--nervous and all broken up--on her wedding day,” mused the maid, wondering when the handsome young artist and his pleasant companion would make good their promise to call. one thing she had noticed and thought long and earnestly about, and that was that they only cared to linger while she was talking to them about her mistress’ guest, miss jess; when she persisted in changing the conversation, they had taken sudden leave.
-“everybody who sees her goes wild over her beauty,” mused the maid, gazing at the girl sitting before her, with eyes that were certainly jealous ones, “and, somehow, i shall be very glad when she marries and goes away from here. who knows but what my two new friends were enamored of her, too? the more i come to look back over their questions and words, the more it looks like that to me.”
-she had little time to follow up the train of her reflections, however, for time was fleeting. it wanted but fifteen minutes now to the time when the handsome, fair-haired gentleman whom jess was to wed would come for her.
-“ah, here he is now!” she exclaimed, as the sound of a peal at the front doorbell fell upon her ear.
-an instant later jess recognized the voice of her bridegroom-to-be in the lower corridor, and at that instant queenie, gowned and bonneted, fluttered into the room, exclaiming:
-“all is in readiness, jess, except yourself. hurry, my love. it is unlucky to delay the marriage ceremony a moment beyond the appointed time.”
-chapter xlviii. what is to be will be.
-jess looked helplessly at her false friend.
-“if the wedding must take place, i--i am ready!” she answered, in a low voice, which threatened to break into sobs ere she finished the sentence.
-“come along, then, my dear,” returned queenie, ignoring the first part of the remark. “your bridegroom-to-be is most impatient; i can hear him pacing up and down the drawing-room.”
-jess allowed queenie to wrap the long fur cloak about her, and lead her down to the corridor below.
-“do not let him come near me, or touch my hand, or i shall surely faint!” whispered jess, hoarsely, as she shrank behind queenie.
-the latter bit her lips fiercely, to keep back the sneering retort that sprang to them. she concluded, however, that discretion was the better part of valor, and that it would not do to seem to go against her, lest jess should refuse to allow the marriage to take place at all, and thus upset all of their well-laid plans and her own hope of getting a good slice of the dinsmore inheritance.
-low as jess had uttered the words, raymond challoner’s quick ear had caught the words distinctly, and he crushed back an imprecation most fierce behind his white teeth.
-“ye gods! how the girl detests me!” he thought; “and by the eternal, i’ll give her good cause to do so before i am through with her. she is expecting me to rush up and embrace her, while i feel more like making her ears tingle with a thorough boxing. i have no patience whatever with that kind of a girl--they arouse all the hatred and antagonism in my nature. when we turn from the altar, i will show her who is lord and master, confound her!”
-but the suave, graceful manner in which he came forward, with his inimitable bow and smile, gave no warning of what was passing in his treacherous heart.
-“jess,” he murmured, making not the slightest attempt to offer her a caress, but simply offering her his arm, “this is the happiest day of my life. come, the carriage is in waiting.”
-out into the bitter cold air he led her, and adown the marble steps, from which every vestige of the snow had been brushed away.
-the drive to the church seemed like a dream to the girl. queenie sat beside her, and the man whom she was to wed sat opposite. no attempt was made to keep up a conversation. raymond challoner was congratulating himself that he had reached the point where it was quite unnecessary.
-the church was quickly reached, and the bridal party hastily entered.
-“how bitter cold it is in here!” exclaimed the bridegroom-to-be, in an angry tone of voice, addressing the remark to queenie, whom he had intrusted with the making of the hurried arrangements. “they might have had some semblance of a fire, heating up this old barn of a place. and then, again, there are half a score of people sitting about, while i ordered it to be strictly private.”
-“no doubt they are the caretakers; you cannot prevent them from entering if they choose,” returned queenie, indifferently.
-it did not attract the particular attention of the bridegroom-to-be that all of the men present wore their coats turned high up around their necks, and their hats pulled well down over their faces, for he would have considered it only the usual precaution to fortify themselves against the bitter cold which permeated the edifice in great draughts.
-they need have little fear of being recognized, for the light that flickered in through the stained-glass windows was unusually dim on this day, which had been ushered in so dark and dismal, with leaden skies, over which black, ominous stormclouds scudded.
-“there isn’t even the sign of a minister to greet us! i hope there is to be no hitch over this affair,” he remarked to queenie, his brows darkening perceptibly.
-“he is in the pulpit, awaiting our coming; he has just entered by the side door yonder,” queenie replied.
-jess uttered no word; she was trembling like a veritable aspen leaf; whether it was from cold, or fear, or both, raymond challoner could not determine, nor did he trouble himself to inquire.
-it ever afterward seemed like a weird dream to jess, whether she walked or was carried down the long, dark, cold aisle, until at length she found herself in front of the altar, where the minister stood, with his open book in his hand.
-she felt as though she must turn and fly from the place, her fear was so great; but this, she feared, would be hard to accomplish, with her bridegroom on one side of her and queenie on the other. in that moment it struck her as an evil omen that queenie should have accompanied her to the altar, draped in crape and mourning attire.
-she had little time to think of this, however, for the marriage ceremony had already begun, and the man beside her was repeating after the minister:
-“i, john dinsmore, do take thee, jess, to be my lawful, wedded wife, to have and to hold, to cherish----”
-the sentence never was finished. up from a nearby pew sprang a tall form, and with swinging strides he came down the aisle toward the altar, crying, in a deep, sonorous voice, that struck terror to two of those hearts before the altar:
-“hold! let not this ceremony proceed! i forbid the banns!”
-as he spoke, he threw back the collar of his coat, and took off his hat.
-there was a piercing cry of joy, and in an instant jess had sprung from the side of the man at the altar and into the arms of the tall stranger.
-“what is the meaning of this, sir?” cried the good minister, staring in bewildered amazement from the one to the other.
-“it looks, parson, as though the game were up, and that the marriage is off, and that a more formidable game is on!” exclaimed ray, hoarsely, as he beheld a brace of officers making for the spot where he stood, while as many more guarded each aisle, cutting off every avenue of escape.
-“i did not have quite time enough to carry out my ingenious scheme,” he added, quickly, “or i should have been far away from here by this time; anyhow, i shall not give the real john dinsmore, as he is waiting to proclaim himself, the joy and the fortune he is looking forward to. he shall take a trip with me!”
-as he spoke, ere any one could spring forward to prevent the action, he pulled a small, silver-mounted revolver from his breast pocket, and pointing it at john dinsmore, fired quickly. a second shot followed in less time than it takes to record it, and the second time the instrument of death was pointed against his own heart.
-for the next few moments all was confusion: in the mêlée jess had fainted, and queenie, taking in all the situation at a glance, fled ignominiously from the scene, no one attempting to bar her exit, as it was understood by all present that this would probably be the course she would pursue.
-when the smoke had cleared away, it was found that john dinsmore was uninjured; for once the practiced hand of raymond challoner had fired wide of its mark. in challoner’s own case, the result was fatal. he had met death instantly, with that sneering laugh yet lingering on his lips.
-to the bewildered minister they explained all in a few words--the dastardly scheme the dead man and the woman who had just left the edifice had planned and almost executed, to rob the gentleman who stood, pale and anxiously bending over jess, of name, wife and fortune; how his tried and true two friends had learned, through the young widow’s maid, of the marriage which was about to take place at that hour between her mistress’ pretty, young guest and the young man whom they had met emerging from the house on a former visit, and that his name was john dinsmore. of how fate played into their hands, when they began their search for him, by meeting in the restaurant, after which they had not lost sight of him for a moment. and, furthermore, that his death brought to an untimely end the business of the officers of the law, who had trailed him down by the triangular diamond ring he wore; and who were there to arrest him for a murder done at saratoga some months before, and for which he would have had to pay the penalty with his life, for his guilt was assured.
-ere jess returned to consciousness, john dinsmore had her conveyed to a nearby hotel, and here she found herself when her thoughts became clear and her dark eyes opened to life again. she almost believed it to be a wild, delusive dream to behold him whom she loved so well--not dead, but kneeling beside her, holding her hands, and calling upon her name by every sweet word in love’s vocabulary.
-one instant more and she was in his arms, her head pillowed on john dinsmore’s sturdy breast. that was their joyful reunion; and clasped thus, heart to heart, mutual explanations followed. and to jess, the most amazing of them all was that fate had had her own way, in spite of her willfulness, in wedding her to john dinsmore, the co-heir of blackheath hall, after all.
-her husband would not allow her to talk of that scene at the church. all he would say was:
-“raymond challoner--that was his real name--is dead; you must forget that you ever knew him, and you must also forget that false friend, queenie, who would have lured you to a fate worse than death if i had not come in the nick of time to frustrate her designs. she kept from me the knowledge that raymond challoner was attempting to palm himself off for me and gain the dinsmore fortune by marrying you.”
-he was even more amazed at her crafty villainy when jess whispered to him that she had made a confidant of queenie, telling her of her former marriage, and how queenie had informed her of her husband’s death through an accident, which she was too ignorant of the world’s ways to inquire into.
-“let us think of the arch plotters no more, my darling!” declared john dinsmore, fondly clasping his beautiful, little bride the more closely in his arms, and covering her lovely, blushing, dimpled face with passionate kisses, while her white arms clung more tightly around his neck.
-never were two men more happy than were jerry gaines and hazard ballou over the happy ending of john dinsmore’s trials and tribulations, and the joy he entered into at last, in being reunited with the bride he loved better than his own life.
-“i shall never know how to do enough for you hereafter, boys!” he exclaimed that evening, holding the hands of each, while tears which were no disgrace to his noble manhood stood in his eyes.
-“i am going to make you both acknowledge my true friendship in a very practical way. when i receive my share of the dinsmore millions i am going to buy out a new york paper, and take you both in as equal partners.”
-“do you mean as artist and reporter, as we have been for years?” laughed ballou.
-“as equal partners in the enterprise,” repeated john, slowly and emphatically; and the day came, soon after, in which he kept his word; and to-day “the trinity,” as they are still called, own and publish one of the most successful of all the great dailies in the great metropolis.
-they are both constant visitors at john’s happy home, and at the end of john’s first happy year of married life, when the twin boys came, he named them after his tried and true friends, jerry gaines dinsmore and hazard ballou dinsmore, much to their delight. the handsome artist is still a bachelor, but at the end of the first year after john married, jerry gaines took to himself a bride. guess who she was, reader mine? no less a person than lucy caldwell, the farmer’s daughter, whom he met while she was on a visit to jess.
-queenie, the dashing, young widow, soon after wedded another aged man for his wealth, but she was not a happy woman, because, as she often said to herself, through her fickleness she had missed the one joy that makes life worth living--love.
-she lived and died envying jess, and the great love her husband lavished upon her, to the end of her life. and the only time her proud eyes ever shed a tear was when the thought crossed her mind:
-“it might have been!”
-... the ... eagle series of popular fiction
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-this is a popular line of famous fiction by the world’s most famous authors. herein is contained the very cream of american, english and french literature, including works of nathaniel hawthorne, oliver w. holmes, thomas hardy, william black, george eliot, alexandre dumas, alphonse daudet, etc., etc. the stories are of such high literary merit and entrancing interest, that it is a pleasure to read them. these books are of a kind to make many a leisure hour pleasant, that ordinarily would be dull. glance over the list given herewith and select any one title. purchase and read it carefully and you will vote it the best story you ever read.
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-the dr. jack series
-every author’s work appeals to a particular class of readers. only a few writers, however, have the happy faculty of interesting all classes. mr. st. george rathborne is one of these. his tales are full of exciting adventure and interesting incident, while throughout there are pretty love scenes strongly depicted.
-realizing what a great favorite this author has become, we have contracted with him to write a large number of new stories.
-these new tales, together with some of the author’s most popular works, we will publish in a series by themselves and call it the dr. jack series.
-every reader cannot fail to like these most meritorious tales from the pen of one of america’s most prolific authors. the following is a list of the stories already published and those scheduled for early publication:
-by st. george rathborne.
-1. dr. jack. 2. a filibuster in tatters. 3. dr. jack’s wife. 4. the witch from india. 5. dr. jack’s paradise mine. 6. captain tom. 7. dr. jack’s widow. 8. kinkaid from peking.
-street & smith, publishers, 238 william street, new york city.
-a weekly publication devoted to good literature. august 5, 1903.
-public records will show that there have been more women restored to health and strength, and more lives saved by
-lydia e. pinkham’s vegetable compound
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-it therefore must be the best medicine in the world for woman’s special ills.
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-punctuation has been made consistent.
-variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
-to be published shortly
-fifty contemporary one-act plays
-edited by frank shay and pierre loving
-this volume contains fifty representative one-act plays of the modern theatre, chosen from the dramatic works of contemporary writers all over the world.
-the contents are
-austria: schnitzler (arthur)--
-belgium: maeterlinck (maurice)--the intruder
-bolivia: more (federico)--interlude
-france: ancey (george)--m. lamblin porto-riche (georges)--francoise’s luck
-germany: ettlinger (karl)--altruism von hofmansthal (hugo)--madonna dianora wedekind (frank)--the tenor
-great britain: bennett (arnold)--a good woman calderon (george)--the little stone house cannan (gilbert)--mary’s wedding dowson (ernest)--the pierrot of the minute ellis (mrs. havelock)--the subjection of kezia hankin (st. john)--the constant lover
-india: mukerji (dhan gopal)--the judgment of indra
-ireland: gregory (lady)--the workhouse ward
-holland: speenhoff (j. h.)--louise
-hungary: biro (lajos)--the grandmother
-italy: giacosa (giuseppe)--the rights of the soul
-russia: andreyev (leonid)--love of one’s neighbor tchekoff (anton)--the boor
-spain: benevente (jacinto)--his widow’s husband quinteros (serafina and joaquin alvarez)--a sunny morning
-sweden: strindberg (august)--the creditor wied (gustave)--autumn fires
-united states: beach (lewis)--brothers cowan (sada)--in the morgue crocker (bosworth)--the baby carriage cronyn (george w.)--a death in fever flat davies (mary carolyn)--the slave with two faces day (frederic l.)--the slump flanner (hildegarde)--mansions glaspell (susan)--trifles gerstenberg (alice)--the pot boiler helburn (theresa)--enter the hero hudson (holland)--the shepherd in the distance kemp (harry)--boccaccio’s untold tale langner (lawrence)--another way out millay (edna st. vincent)--aro da capo moeller (philip)--helena’s husband macmillan (mary)--the shadowed star o’neill (eugene)--ile stevens (thomas wood)--the nursery maid of heaven stevens (wallace)--three travelers watch a sunrise tompkins (frank g.)--sham walker (stuart)--the medicine show wellman (rita)--for all time wilde (percival)--the finger of god
-yiddish: ash (sholom)--night pinski (david)--forgotten souls
-stewart kidd modern plays edited by frank shay
-hearts to mend
-stewart kidd modern plays
-edited by frank shay
-to meet the immensely increased demands of the play-reading public and those interested in the modern drama, stewart & kidd company are issuing under the general editorship of frank shay a series of plays from the pens of the world’s best contemporary writers. no effort is being spared to secure the best work available, and the plays are issued in a form that is at once attractive to readers and suited to the needs of the performer and producer.
-from time to time special announcements will be printed giving complete lists of the plays. those announced thus far are:
-sham, a social satire in one act.
-by frank g. tompkins.
-originally produced by sam hume, at the arts and crafts theatre, detroit.
-the shepherd in the distance, a pantomime in one act. by holland hudson.
-originally produced by the washington square players.
-mansions, a play in one act.
-by hildegarde flanner.
-originally produced by the indiana little theatre society.
-hearts to mend, a fantasy in one act.
-by h. a. overstreet.
-originally produced by the fireside players, white plains, n. y.
-others to follow. bound in art paper. each net 50 cents.
-hearts to mend
-a fantasy in one act
-by harry a. overstreet
-hearts to mend was first produced by the fireside players, white plains, n. y., in april, 1919, with the following cast:
-cincinnati stewart & kidd company publishers
-stewart & kidd company
-all rights reserved
-copyrighted in england
-this play is fully protected by the copyright law, all requirements of which have been complied with. no performance, either professional or amateur, may be given without the written permission of the author or his representative, who may be addressed in care of the publishers, stewart & kidd company, cincinnati, ohio.
-hearts to mend
-the scene is the living room, dining room and kitchen--all in one--of pierrot and pierrette. it has the diminutive look of a toy house, and the immaculate spick-and-spanness. there are copper kettles and pots on shelves and blue and white plates and cups and saucers. there is a crib in the corner, left, with a screen that can be drawn about it. a table is at the right, front, by the side of which sits pierrot, head in hands, elbows on knees, very gloomy. a door, left, leads to an inner room; a door, right, to the street.
-hearts to mend
-(pierrette is heard singing a lullaby in the next room.)
-old mister moon is sinking to rest-- sleep, kittikins, sleep! the whispery winds have died in the west-- sleep--kittikins--sleep!
-up in the sky are the firefly stars-- sleep, kittikins, sleep! father will catch them in crystal jars-- sleep--kittikins--sleep!
-oh--i guess so.
-and famished, isn’t that it?
-kettle not boiling, and table unset; and hungry man waiting for slow pierrette!
-it’ll all be on the table, dear, in just the littlest minute.
-oh, it’s not supper.
-you haven’t caught cold, pierrot? you know i told you to wear your woolen muffler and put on your rain shoes. for a man of your superior intelligence, you are so careless!
-oh, let me alone, pierrette! you wouldn’t understand. get some supper for yourself. i don’t want any.
-oh yes you have! don’t deny it! and worrying yourself to death about expenses. but pierrot--things aren’t nearly as bad as you think they are. i’m doing all my own work--even the washing and the ironing--and pierrot!--i’ve got a scheme! we’ll take a boarder!
-why not, sweetheart? of course, we’d have to talk to him at mealtimes, i suppose. and you couldn’t kiss me across the table as you used to.... (suddenly, with a catch) do you know, pierrot, you haven’t kissed me across the table for--oh--ever so long!
-pierrot (struggling with himself)
-pierrot (trying to get it out--then in despair)
-oh, what’s the use. i can’t tell it to you.
-why, what is it, pierrot? you’ve lost something?
-yes--that’s it. i’ve lost something--the only thing i had, pierrette--my song!
-ah, the silly people didn’t laugh to-day--that’s it?
-silly, silly people, staring at a steeple;--
-and you’re all in the dumps, pierrot? isn’t that the trouble?
-they didn’t laugh to-day, pierrette; and they didn’t laugh yesterday. they haven’t laughed for a long time--not as they used to. (most gloomily) and three of my songs have come back from the editors!
-pierrette (defending him)
-but who cares for editors, pierrot? they’re such stupid creatures! some day you’ll write a great song that everybody’ll love; and then you’ll see all the foolish little editors bringing you velvets and gold.
-pierrot (in gloom)
-no. the editors are right. the people are right. something’s gone out of me. i’m not the same as i was before--before--how long have we been married, pierrette?
-just three tiny years!
-only three years! (then bitterly--to pierrette) here!--i’ll give you a sign. look! (he walks with flat, listless feet up and down the room; then speaks, with a hopeless sob in his voice) i no longer walk on my toes! see! flat--like that! no songs ever walked that way! songs? no--here’s the way--
-oh, a merry, merry fellow, and a sweet, fair maid, danced on the meadow in the gypsy time-- said the merry, merry fellow to the sweet, fair maid--
-no--i can’t do it. it’s gone out of me. (desperately) pierrette--i’ve come to a conclusion. i ought never to have married!
-pierrette (suddenly stabbed)
-oh, pierrot, it’s been the most beautiful thing in all the world!
-that’s because you’re a woman, pierrette, and not an artist.
-but you said it was the most beautiful thing in all the world, pierrot.
-so you want to go away, pierrot?
-i want to capture it again--the power, the thrill, the fire of song!
-and you would capture it if--if i--(looking toward the screen which hides the crib) if we--were not here?
-pierrot (flinging out his arms in despair)
-oh, i’m a brute, pierrette! i don’t know. i’m gone stale--that’s the trouble. i’m done for--all these worries and things. i’ll sit at home, i guess, and darn socks!
-pierrette (handing him his cup)
-there, sweetheart. your tea.
-pierrot (stirring himself)
-aren’t you going to have some, too?
-pierrette (controlling her voice and with her back half turned to him as she goes to the other room)
-“tins to mend! tins to mend!”
-man (taking off his cap, half humorously, half apologetically)
-any tins to mend, sir?
-nothing as easy as that in this house. it’s hearts to mend here!
-man (slinging off his pack)
-hearts to mend?--oho--i do that, too! truth is (confidentially), it’s come to be my main business. for if you’d believe it, there’s more hearts to mend and souls to mend than pots and kettles to mend in this old world of ours. fact, my dear sir, fact! (sits down) and you can’t throw hearts away when they begin to show wear--now can you?--like you throw away an old pot? no siree! (impressively) you got to mend ’em. and there’s tricks about mendin’ them, sir--tricks in all trades, say i. you can mend ’em so’s they’s worse’n they was in the beginning. and you can mend ’em so careful and so clever, you can’t tell they was ever mended at all. in fact, i’ve mended some of them so they was better that way than they was in the beginning. seems curious, but it’s true. if there was a kettle now you wanted me to work on while i was talkin’, it’d keep me busy.
-there! bang away at that!
-i can’t sing any more.
-lost your voice, sir?
-no--worse than that--i’m married!
-that’s bad, sir; that’s bad--if you’re not married right. they take it out of a man, them wicked ones!
-pierrot (firing up)
-who said she was a wicked one?
-but if she’s good--
-ah, that’s the trouble. she’s good. a man can’t live on goodness alone. it gets on his nerves.
-and what else should he live on?
-thrills--passions--longings! the kisses that make dreams--the touches of hands that make the songs come tumbling out of you--
-oho, but it ought to be easy enough for a handsome young master like you to get those things!
-it’d break her heart.
-man (lifting his eyes)
-then you’re fond of her, sir?
-man (looking at him quizzically)
-did you ever think, sir, why the night was made--with them stars you talk of?
-why was the night made?
-or why there’s settin’ o’ the sun and risin’ o’ the sun?
-why is there setting of the sun and rising of the sun?
-well--i don’t exactly know myself. but i seem to figger it out this way. think of what it’d be, i says to myself, if there was all just one long day. always day and day and day. always the same glary light starin’ y’ in the eye--borin’ into your brain--so’s y’ couldn’t shut it out from y’; so’s y’ couldn’t get away from it; so’s y’ couldn’t watch the shadders come stealin’ along, the sun a-settin’ and the twinklin’ stars a-comin’ out--and so’s y’ couldn’t stretch yourself out and sleep--and so’s y’ couldn’t all of a sudden wake and hear the birds chirpin’ and a new day come! ah, it’s that, sir--it’s the comin’ of the new day that makes life the grand thing it is--the comin’ of the new day every day!
-the coming of the new day every day?
-just that. it’s a grand plan, sir! keeps the world young. you try it.
-try it? what do you mean? i’m not the sun.
-ah, but you can be--and starlight and moonlight! how long was it--now tell me--since the thought came to you in the morning--i’ll bring her--i’ll bring her a vi’let? oho--i know--(sings)
-sweet was the honeymoon, swift it passed away-- now we’re steady married folk-- day after day.
-it’s only for a short time--in the beginning--that every day’s a new day. after that it’s just always the same--always the same--and no risin’ o’ the sun in the mornin’--no chirp of birds--and no singin’ in the heart.
-man (roguishly, bending to his task)
-i mean there’s a good way to mend kettles and a bad way, sir; and when the kettles are singin’ and the fires are burnin’ under them--oho--but there’s more hearts than kettles!
-pierrot (to himself)
-i used to bring her things--a little red cloak i once brought her. oh, she was happy! i remember that day. i made a song about it.
-man (hammering away--sings)
-tins to mend, and hearts to tend; hearts and tins have outs and ins!
-pierrot (continuing--to himself)
-it was one of my very best songs. and she was so happy! (suddenly) why--i’ve forgotten all about her lately! even her birthday! she had to remind me of it! poor pierrette!
-outs and ins; outs and ins; that’s where the trouble of life begins!
-pierrot (rising to his toes--running to the tins-to-mend man)
-i have it, old fellow--i have it! there’s a shop--just a step away. i know something she wants there. i’m going to get it for her!
-my purse it is lean; my purse it is lank; but who cares a flip for the state of my bank!
-man (looking up smiling--handing him the kettle)
-it’s mended. better than it ever was!
-come now, come!
-man (gathering up pack)
-i’m coming. (sings)--
-life’s a joy when turned about; in to in and out to out.
-pierrot (putting on cloak)
-if i hurry now, i’ll have it here before she’s through with her work; it’s a beauty--it’s a beauty (dances exultant).
-my pockets are slimpsy as pockets can be; and short is the space twixt the poorhouse and me; but while there’s a copper that hasn’t been spent, i’ll mortgage my shoes for the price of the rent!
-after a moment, pierrette opens the inner door softly, and seeing that no one is there, steps in. she has on a cloak and a hood over her head. she is very sad.
-she first takes the tea things from the table. then, hesitating, she goes to the screen, pulling it softly aside. she leans over the crib for a merest moment. then she pulls the screen to again, whispering:
-up in the sky are the firefly stars; sleep, kittikins, sleep! father will catch them in crystal jars--
-yes, kittikins, we must let father. father can make such beautiful songs. we must not stand in his way, kittikins--we love him so.
-we’ll just write this: “mother merle--will--take--kittikins.--she-- loves--her.--good-bye--sweetheart.” we’ll leave it here.
-love comes in, a-tip-toe, laughing; love trails out with leaden feet-- love that’s here to-day may leave us, banished in a windy street.
-i shall love you always, always-- sweetheart, through the endless years; i shall love you with my heartaches; i shall love you with my tears.
-she’ll use that to-night when she warms kittikins’ milk. a great idea! oh, she’ll be surprised! and i’ll just pretend i know nothing about it! i’ll be reading in my book--or writing--making faces at my paper--and i’ll see her out of the corner of my eye--
-hi, hi-- pierrette, hot!-- peep behind the pewter pot!
-she’ll take the pot away. she’ll find the package! she’ll open it! then she’ll just go all red and white--i can see her in my mind’s eye--and she’ll run over to me--
-pierrette! (he runs to the door of the inner room) pierrette! (he runs to the street door) pierrette! (then he runs back for his hat; but just as he makes to follow her, the meaning of it comes over him. he drops his hat. he goes slowly to the table, dropping into his chair) it’s right. it’s what ought to be. she was a wisp of sunlight--a night of stars--she was birds singing and summer winds. she was pierrette!--(with a sob) and i drove her away!
-pierrot (catching her in his arms)
-oh, pierrot, i just came back for the littlest look. i couldn’t help it. i’ll go now.
-but pierrette, look! (he dances about) it’s all come back again! i’ve got a new song singing in me, pierrette! it’s the best song yet. it’ll make me famous!
-the editors will flock to me, exactly as you said-- a-bringing gold and velvets and a-swelling of my head!
-pierrette, please stay!
-no, no--it was because i went away, don’t you see? that’s how you found your song. you’re right, pierrot--wives ought to go away.
-but they ought to come back again, too, pierrette!
-only for a tiny look, pierrot. they’d like--oh yes, they’d like to stay. but if they’re wise--ah no--good-bye!
-pierrette--if you must go--wait--(mysteriously)--there’s something here for you.
-something for me?
-something for you.
-where is it?
-perhaps it’s on the ceiling, perhaps it’s on the floor; perhaps it’s gone to visit the moon, and won’t be back till four!
-oh, pierrot, don’t tease! where is it?
-pierrot (more teasingly)
-is it--is it--behind the screen?
-is it--is it--under the clock?
-is it--is it--under your hat?
-is it--is it--ah--i know where it is. it’s behind the pewter pot!
-pierrot (making believe to consider)
-well, that depends. i thought it was for you. but if you’re going away--
-but why did you get it for me?
-do you want to know, sweetheart?
-old mister pierrot went to a shop; then he came back again-- hop--skip--hop!
-but that isn’t the reason, pierrot. be sensible.
-old mister pierrot was blue, blue, blue-- along came a tinker-man and showed him what to do!
-pierrette, i’ve come to a conclusion!
-not another conclusion, pierrot?
-yes. i’m great on conclusions. it’s this: that most husbands, with adorable wives, are donkeys!
-oh, but i knew that long ago--ever since i married you.
-you knew it all that time?
-then how were you able to put up with me?
-oh, i knew you’d discover it some day; and when you did discover it, you’d be such a nice donkey. pierrot, i’ve come to a conclusion myself!
-you, too, pierrette? what is it?
-that most wives, with clever husbands, are silly geese!
-why, i’ve known that, pierrette, ever since i married you. i didn’t think i ought to tell you, though.
-and i don’t blame you, pierrot--not for a minute--for wanting me to go away.
-i want you back, now!
-but i am going away, pierrot!
-not now, pierrot--but some time!
-four plays of the free theater:
-“the fossils,” “the serenade,” “francoise’ luck,” “the dupe.”
-authorized translation with introduction by barrett h. clark
-the contents of this volume are:
-preface by----brieux antoine and the free theater, by barrett h. clark.
-the fossils, by francois de curel. rather short three-act play, first produced in 1892. time, the present. a problem play of family pride and desire to perpetuate itself. characters: the duke de chartmelle, robert de chartmelle, nicolas, a farmer, a country neighbor, a servant, claire de chartmelle, helen vatrin, a nun.
-the serenade, by jean jullien, a bourgeois study in three rather short acts; first produced in 1887. characters: theodore cottin, calixte poujade, maxine champanet, prosper poujade, dumoulin, fournier, nathelie cottin, genevieve cottin, celina roulard, leocadie, dumoulin, clemma, dodo.
-francoise’ luck, by georges de porto-riche. medium length, one-act comedy; first produced in 1888. characters: marcel desroches, guerin, jean, francois, maseleine.
-the dupe, by georges ancey, a comedy in five short acts; first produced in 1891. characters: albert, madame viot, adele, marie.
-handsomely bound and uniform with s. & k. dramatic series, net, $2.50. ¾ turkey morocco, net, $8.50.
-by mary macmillan
-to fill a long-felt want. all have been successfully presented. suitable for women’s clubs, girls’ schools, etc. while elaborate enough for big presentation, they may be given very simply.
-this volume contains ten plays:
-the shadowed star has six women, one boy; may all be taken by women. time, present. scene, in a tenement christmas eve. one act, 45 minutes.
-the ring. costume play. time, days of shakespeare. three women, seven men. scene, interior. one act, 45 minutes.
-the rose. one woman, two men. time, elizabethan. scene, castle interior. one act, 30 minutes. song introduced.
-luck. four short acts. time, present. interior scene. seven women, six men. comedy.
-entre’ acte. costume play. time, present. scene, interior. two women, one man. contains a song. one act.
-a woman’s a woman for a’ that. time, present. interior scene. one act, 45 minutes. three women, two men. comedy.
-a fan and two candlesticks. costume play, colonial times. scene, interior. two men, one woman. one act, 20 to 30 minutes. written in rhymed couplets.
-a modern masque. time, present. scene, outdoors. fantastic, written in prose and verse. costume play in one act, 30 minutes or more. four women, three men.
-the futurists. one-act farce, of the first woman’s club of the early eighties. interior. forty-five minutes. eight women.
-the gate of wishes. one-act fantasy. outdoors. half hour. one girl, one man. singing voices of fairies.
-handsomely bound and uniform with s. & k. dramatic series. 12mo. cloth, net, $2.50; ¾ turkey morocco, net, $8.50.
-more short plays
-by mary macmillan
-plays that act well may read well. miss macmillan’s plays are good reading. nor is literary excellence a detriment to dramatic performance.
-this volume contains eight plays:
-his second girl. one-act comedy, just before the civil war. interior, 45 minutes. three women, three men.
-at the church door. fantastic farce, one act, 20 to 30 minutes. interior. present. two women, two men.
-honey. four short acts. present, in the southern mountains. same interior cabin scene throughout. three women, one man, two girls.
-the dress rehearsal of hamlet. one-act costume farce. present. interior. forty-five minutes. ten women taking men’s parts.
-the pioneers. five very short acts. 1791 in middle-west. interior. four men, five women, five children, five indians.
-in mendelesia, part i. costume play, middle ages. interior. thirty minutes or more. four women, one man-servant.
-in mendelesia, part ii. modern realism of same plot. one act. present. interior. thirty minutes. four women, one maid-servant.
-the dryad. fantasy in free verse, one act. thirty minutes. outdoors. two women, one man. present.
-these plays, as well as short plays, have been presented by clubs and schools in boston, new york, buffalo, detroit, cleveland, new orleans, san francisco, etc., and by the portmanteau theatre, the chicago art institute theatre, the denver little art theatre, at carmel-by-the-sea in california, etc.
-handsomely bound and uniform with s. & k. dramatic series. 12mo. cloth. net, $2.50; ¾ turkey morocco, net, $8.50.
-a notable achievement
-european theories of the drama
-an anthology of dramatic theory and criticism from aristotle to the present day, in a series of selected texts, with commentaries, biographies and bibliographies
-by barrett h. clark
-“contemporary french dramatists,” “the continental drama of today,” “british and american drama of today,” etc., etc.
-a book of paramount importance. this monumental anthology brings together for the first time the epoch-making theories and criticisms of the drama which have affected our civilization from the beginnings in greece down to the present day. beginning with aristotle, each utterance on the subject has been chosen with reference to its importance, and its effect on subsequent dramatic writing. the texts alone would be of great interest and value, but the author, barrett h. clark, has so connected each period by means of inter-chapters that his comments taken as a whole constitute a veritable history of dramatic criticism, in which each text bears out his statements.
-nowhere else is so important a body of doctrine on the subject of the drama to be obtained. it cannot fail to appeal to anyone who is interested in the theater, and will be indispensable to students.
-the introduction to each section of the book is followed by an exhaustive bibliography; each writer whose work is represented is made the subject of a brief biography, and the entire volume is rendered doubly valuable by the index, which is worked out in great detail.
-prof. brander matthews, of columbia university, says: “mr. clark deserves high praise for the careful thoroughness with which he has performed the task he set for himself. he has done well what was well worth doing. in these five hundred pages he has extracted the essence of several five-foot shelves. his anthology will be invaluable to all students of the principles of playmaking; and it ought to be welcomed by all those whose curiosity has been aroused by the frequent references of our latter-day theorists of the theater to their predecessors aristotle and horace, castelvetro and scaliger, sidney and jonson, d’aubignac and boileau, lessing and schlegel, goethe and coleridge.”
-wm. lyon phelps, of yale university, writes: “mr. clark’s book, ‘european theories of the drama,’ is an exceedingly valuable work and ought to be widely useful.”
-large 8vo, 500 pages. net, $5.00; ¾ turkey morocco, net, $12.
-the portmanteau plays
-by stuart walker
-edited and with an introduction by edward hale bierstadt
-vol. 1--portmanteau plays introduction the trimplet of the flower, i saw the sweetest little fellow in creation.
-“in spite of the fact that he had been disturbed in a nap—for he woke up the very moment i espied him—his face instantly wreathed itself in smiles, and he waved his tiny hand at me in the friendliest greeting imaginable. of a truth his whole attitude and bearing were so pleasant and affable that i was greatly taken with him, and felt an immediate desire to have him tell me something of his history, and his work. indeed, so strongly was my curiosity aroused, that, almost before i was aware of it, i said: ‘who are you, and what is your story?’
-“and this is what he said in answer to my question:—
-“‘my name is clover perfume, and i am one of a very numerous family. to tell you the truth, i have brothers and sisters and all manner of other relatives all over the world. everybody knows me,’ he continued, ‘except those who cannot smell, and they would nearly give their noses to make my acquaintance!’
-“here he laughed so merrily that for the life of me i couldn’t help laughing too, though what it was all about i really couldn’t say.
-“‘but,’ said he, ‘although i am so widely known and, i think, very well liked, i have never before been asked to tell my story. i have just been accepted as a matter of course, and nobody has been the least little bit interested to know anything about my origin or history.’
-“here he heaved a very great sigh, and the breath that he expelled from his lungs was so divinely sweet that it filled my senses with delight.
-“instantly recovering himself, however, he brightly added: ‘still, i am very, very glad that you have asked me to tell you my story, and if you will listen, it will be a pleasure to let you hear it from beginning to end.’
-“‘go on!’ said i, encouragingly; ‘you will find in me a very patient listener.’
-“‘well,’ he commenced, ‘as you are probably very well aware, when god first made man he was nothing more than a lifeless image; he could neither move nor speak! but having fashioned him so much like himself, and being pleased with his work, god breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul! this was the greatest of all gifts. on no other created thing was anything like so remarkable and wonderful a gift bestowed.
-“‘but, what you do not know is that, whilst the making of man was in progress, the trees and flowers were looking on—silent, still, and breathless with amazement and surprise. indeed, so astonished were they, so overpowered at the miracle they were privileged to see, that they temporarily ceased to grow, and might easily have died.
-“‘but this was not to be; for, seeing what had happened, god caused them to revive, and knowing that he had already fixed for them their stations and their modes of life, out of his great compassion, and because of the awe and reverence with which they had looked upon his work, said to them: “behold i give unto you a further gift. beauty and symmetry thou hast! in addition, take from me all those who will, the gift of sweetness, that ye may forever bear witness to the airs of heaven and the glory of your creator!”
-“‘so saying, into the soft and balmy air he breathed one glorious breath, which, spreading and falling, was, in the process, disintegrated or broken up into a myriad marvellous atoms. these ineffably sweet and fertilising atoms the trees and flowers immediately and eagerly in-breathed—some more, some less, each according to its mode and manner, but all with rapturous delight.
-“‘and one tiniest atom there was that, falling lower than the rest, fell upon a pale white clover blossom, who, when she drew in the impregnating life-giving breath of the almighty, blushed to rosy redness, and in perpetual remembrance of that great occasion, has ever since retained her beauteous colouring....
-“‘later on i was born, and, even as i lay in the soft and delicate arms of my roseate mother, she began to whisper to me little portions of this wondrous story.
-“‘as i grew in strength, and my mind acquired a better grasp of things, i finally got to understand the meaning of it all, and to appreciate to the full how remarkably lucky i was to have been blessed with so fortunate a mother.
-“‘when, at last, she saw that i was fully awake to all these things, she began to confide in me the set ambition of her life, the dearest wishes of her heart. and those wishes i am proud and happy to execute, for they not only serve to indicate the loving and the gracious nature of my mother, but they are in themselves so pleasing that i have no other aim in life except to carry them out.
-“‘as to what they are, you, perhaps, may guess.
-“‘in a few words, my mother desired above all other things in the world, that some portion of the boon which had been so marvellously bestowed upon her, might in turn be given to all her kith and kin; and as i had been endowed from birth with the peculiar faculty of being able to transfer to others some small part of the gift of sweetness she had been enabled to transmit to me, she naturally and properly taught me how to exercise and use my talent to the utmost of my capacity.
-“‘so it is then that, like a bee, i am engaged in flitting from flower to flower in order to place in the heart of each a tiniest drop of that miraculous god-given essence which, as you have learned, was intended to be an eternal reminder of the fact, that, like the sweet odours of heaven, the perfume of the flowers and trees is of divine origin.’”
-as soon as the story was over it immediately became apparent that something was about to take place which was unknown to prince waratah, and quite outside the plan that he had in mind when the evening’s amusement was begun; for, just as he was rising to intimate what the next item was to be, king acacia whispered something in his ear, and he sat down again.
-what had been said to the prince nobody knew; but as afterwards appeared, it must have been a request to be permitted to communicate to the guests a most important piece of information. that this was the case found instant confirmation in the fact that with a nod to king eucalyptus, they both rose in their places, and king acacia, addressing the assembled company, said:—
-“we have almost come to the end of the evening’s fixture. before the last item is called, however, there is a ceremony to be performed which king eucalyptus and i have agreed should now take place. we therefore ask the official recorder, who has already been secretly informed of what is to take place, whether he is ready to proceed?”
-and the official recorder answered: “ready, your majesties—and at your service!”
-“then,” said king acacia, “we have to announce that, in recognition of the almost miraculous service performed by prince waratah in the building of the fairy city, and the erection of the glorious palace in which we are all met, as well as to fittingly mark this great occasion, it has been decreed and determined that from this day forth prince waratah shall be king waratah, and princess wattle blossom shall be queen wattle blossom!”
-this altogether unexpected announcement naturally came as a surprise to everybody, the prince included, but when the nature of it was fully grasped, it was followed by cheer after cheer until the room rang with their reverberations.
-proceeding again, when silence was restored, king acacia turned to the official recorder and said:
-“take notice, that we, king acacia and king eucalyptus, in pursuance of the powers conferred upon us all by the kings of fairyland, do require you to set down in golden letters, in the ‘official archives,’ the fact that we, this day, in the presence of his people name the prince waratah, king! and in token of his kingship we here and now invest him with the symbols of his authority!”
-he then lightly touched king waratah upon the shoulder to indicate that he was to stand up, and, as he did so, king eucalyptus placed about his shoulders a magnificent carmine coloured robe embroidered with gold, whilst king acacia placed upon his head a splendid crown, so fashioned that it was easy to distinguish the design of eucalyptus leaves which adorned the band about his brow, and the several sets of blood-red rubies set in the shape and form of waratah blooms, which rose therefrom.
-without an instant’s pause, however, king eucalyptus then spoke to the official recorder as follows:—
-“take notice that we, king eucalyptus and king acacia, in pursuance of the powers conferred upon us by all the kings of fairyland, do require you to set down in letters of gold, in the ‘official archives,’ the fact that we this day, in the presence of her lord and of his people, name the princess wattle blossom, queen! and in token of her queenly rights, subject to her husband, king waratah, we invest her with the symbols of her authority!”
-he then lightly touched the queen upon the shoulder to indicate that she was to stand up; and, as she did so, king acacia placed about her shoulders a violet coloured robe embroidered with silver, whilst king eucalyptus placed upon her head a lovely crown, so fashioned that it was easy to distinguish the design of wattle leaves which adorned the band about her brow, and the several sets of yellow topazes, set in the shape and form of sprays of wattle blossom, which rose therefrom.
-thus were both proclaimed and crowned, and the official recorder, in accordance with his duty, closed the ceremony by saying:
-“take notice, that i have this day officially recorded in letters of gold, in the official archives, the proclaiming and the crowning of king waratah and queen wattle blossom! so be it! praise be to god!”
-led by the band, the whole company then joined in singing—
-the fairies’ national anthem.
-praise to god, the king of kings, lord of all created things! prince of love, and master mind, still direct us, lest we find that for lack of thine assistance evil meet with scant resistance. that in service we, to thee, may thy gracious kindness bring back in splendid blossoming! shelter, lord, our noble king, safely underneath thy wing. grant him health, and strength, and skill, aye to do thy sovereign will!
-when the last notes of the anthem had died away, at a sign from king waratah everybody except himself sat down.
-raising his right hand straight above his head, forefinger pointing to the heavens, he took the fairy oath of allegiance as follows: “i, king waratah, in the presence of the official recorder, and of you all, do solemnly and sincerely undertake that, to the best of my ability and strength, i will justly and truly administer the affairs of my kingdom. so help me god!” to which everybody added: “so be it!” as the king resumed his seat.
-a moment later he smilingly said: “to bring this glorious evening’s pleasures to a close, i will now call upon the fifth of ‘the five story tellers’ to tell us a tale.”
-in response “hearing” immediately stood forth, and this is what he said:—
-“once upon a time, a long while ago, i was standing on the rounded shore of the world, gazing into space. as i stood there, lost in thought, my attention was eventually called to a long, slow succession of sounds like sighs, infinitely sad, but inexpressibly sweet.
-“whilst i was wondering what these sounds might mean, and from whence they came, at my feet i suddenly perceived a very extraordinary-looking little person, who appeared to be all head and no body. he was looking up at me with such a wistful expression on his face that i felt impelled to ask him, ‘who are you, and what is your story?’ and by way of answer, in a very slow and somewhat hesitating way, this is what he said:—
-“‘my name is music, though my parents call me breve. for untold ages i have lived upon the outer edge of the earth with my father, harmony, and my mother, concord. both my parents have quite an exalted opinion of me; but so far i have not come up to their expectations. i am very sorry that this should be the case, for nothing would please me better than to justify their hopes.
-“‘the truth is, however, that they are so wrapped up in each other and their mutual affairs, that they will not listen to what i have to say, and so i make no progress. i am but a single sound sighing in a wilderness! if by chance i could persuade them, or, for that matter, anyone else, to do what i know in my mind is the right thing to be done, i am certain i should be a success. i know, though they do not, that my head is as full of dainty melodies as a pomegranate is full of pretty seeds, and that if only my poor tongue-tied condition were remedied, so that i might use that organ as it should be used, i could release an octave, eight little fellows who beneath my tongue are now held captive; but who, if they were only free, are possessed of such astounding and never-ending ability, as to be able to produce a succession of the most musical notes, the like of which have never before been heard.’
-“here he sighed most mightily, and then it was that i saw he rested in the opening of a shell that is called a ‘conch.’
-“‘but,’ said i, ‘how am i to loose your tongue? i am no surgeon, neither have i a knife or other cutting instrument wherewith to perform the operation. besides, would you not die if such an unpractised hand as mine attempted so delicate a task?’
-“‘not at all!’ he replied, in his soft, slow tone; ‘i should certainly die away just as an echo does when fleeing into space; but it really would not hurt me, i assure you!’
-“still feeling very puzzled, however, i sought for further information, and so said to him, ‘but where and how did you become possessed of all these sweet-sounding notes which you claim your octave can produce with such never-ending brilliance and variety? and further, supposing i were willing to assist you in the direction you desire, having no knife, as i told you before, is there any other way in which i could safely render you the service that you seek?’
-“instantly he brightened, and, speaking as fast as his poor tongue-tied condition would permit, this is what he replied:
-“‘these notes that i am simply yearning to release i have carefully gathered together over millions of years! they have come to me from the ocean and the breeze, and, as they came, i classified and arranged them. over me, throughout those infinite ages, the tumbling seas have tossed and the careless winds have blown! but always, whenever a new note i heard, i promptly seized upon it and stored it with the rest, and as it is tens of thousands of years since last i added to my collection, i am now fully satisfied that there are no fresh notes to be obtained.
-“‘as to the way in which you can assist me, please hold me up to face the wind, or, better still, blow upon me strongly with your breath, and all will be well.’
-“so, obedient to his desire, i picked him up in my two hands, and holding him firmly, blew sharply and strongly upon him with my breath, and, true enough, just as he had predicted, out came eight little fellows who called themselves ‘semi-breves,’ dancing and jumping about on my hands in the utmost glee!
-“all at once they started singing, ‘blow again! blow again!’ and so amused was i with their caperings and cries that i blew upon them just as i had blown upon breve, whom i thereupon let fall.
-“in the flash of an eye my hands filled to overflowing with any number of other little fellows, who called themselves ‘minims,’ ‘crotchets,’ ‘quavers,’ and ‘semi-quavers,’ and i know not what beside. and they laughed such pretty rippling laughter that i felt constrained to join them. yet, almost before i could utter a sound, some of them popped into my mouth, and to my utter astonishment, i found my hard, dry laughter had become almost as musical as their own.
-“whilst still more or less amazed at this delightful discovery, a skylark and a nightingale, attracted by the sweet sounds, came up to listen to what was taking place. ‘here,’ said i, ‘take some of these for yourselves!’ and i threw to each of them a few of the notes just as they started to speak. both were nearly choked as the notes went flying down their throats, but when they next essayed to speak they sang instead, and the music in their voices was of such a quality as to leave the listeners spellbound with delight.
-“these extraordinary happenings gave me a great idea. calling to my aid the idling winds, i said to them, ‘take from me these glorious notes; spread them far and wide; leaving some where’er you sink to rest, and giving some to all who care to take them. be swift, and see to it that your task is well performed!’
-“happily the winds were willing to obey my orders; and so, to the uttermost ends of the universe there was taken a measure of music’s notes. and to every class and kind of living thing was offered a share. a very few refused the munificent gift, and so spend their lives in stony silence.
-“but the great majority accepted, some, the singers, to improve their voices; others, the players upon instruments, to add to the deftness of their fingers and the delicacy of their touch; others, again, such as the nightingale, the bul-bul, and the skylark, to fill the night or morning with their glorious mother melodies, to the great delight of all who pause to hear!”
-thus ended the story, and so was brought to a happy conclusion the ceremonies and the entertainments connected with the marriage festivities.
-the band then struck up the fairies’ national anthem, and as all stood up whilst king waratah and queen wattle blossom passed slowly and smilingly down the room, there began for the royal couple such a wonderful career of love and happiness that even to this day it is the pride and joy of austral fairyland!
-the moon’s garden party
-in the days before to-day, ere the stars were made to stay in the places where, since then, they shed their light! they, the children of the sky, full of fun, but coy and shy, to the moon, their mother, came one happy summer night! came they seeking right disposal of a sweet but strange proposal; which was, that to earth they should be taken, and upon its sward so green, meet the creatures they had seen the sun, with his spears, each morning waken! thus it was, their eyes alight, round her knees they clustered tight,— clamant for the new delight! and the moon, dear mother moon! smilingly inclined her head, and in whispers softly said: “we shall go there very soon, very soon!” so, without a shred of doubt, it was thus it came about that her majesty, the moon, in her silver gown and shoon, held a revel one high noon in a large and lovely garden with a lawn! and such a lawn! it was wide and smooth and ordered, and with shady trees ’twas bordered all around! in the centre, there were beds, full of plants; all greens and reds, and a lake that mirrored them till dawn! and about the lake so fair there was wavy maiden-hair that from out its rocky edges shyly grew! but, above the mignonette, where the other blossoms met, there were whisperings of apprehensions new; and the flowers, bathed in light, seemed to tremble, as with fright, when the straying autumn breezes gently blew! for the fingers of the wind caught them playfully behind, and so doing, shook their fragrance on the air! threw it broadcast on the undulating air! out beyond the garden fences, through the paddocks, there commences the unbroken bushland prime; in its sheltering recesses nature nurtures and caresses all that’s native to this clime! there, man’s ruthless usurpation stops, and peaceful occupation is conceded, unimpeded, to all who make it their abode or habitation! yet this spot of earth primeval, with its denizens coeval, does not always peace contain; and the hushed and restful stillness oft is broken by the shrillness of some cry of fear or pain! goshawks grey, or red, or white, and the tense black-shouldered kite, soar and strike the livelong day! and at night the marbled owl, swiftest of night’s hunting fowl, swoops upon its startled prey! still, not all is black disaster; death is fleet, but life is faster, and its numbers aye o’ermaster death’s invading arms! o’er a gum-tree, lightning-blasted,— (where once honey-bees repasted!) see the forest queen her creamy mantle throw; or upon a bank of rubble barely clothed with ferny stubble, watch the purple smilax dainty blossoms blow! or again, where “bottle brushes,” peopled are by singing thrushes,— from whose throats a chorus rushes, note the forest’s charms! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . now within the garden grand a great summerhouse did stand; and its doors were very wide and extra high; for within it, tree-ferns tall, spread their fronds from wall to wall, and so thickly, that they quite shut out the sky. this, the stars banked up with flowers— culled from all the aerial bowers that behind the clouds are hid from mortal sight! and they then with loving care decked the whole with colours rare, brought to beauty by their own resplendent light! viands, too, they brought and spread on a table that with bread and all delicatest dainties was agleam! this they did, that guests to leave, might, ere going, each receive from the hostess queen a gift on which to dream! in the meantime, there was sent through the garden’s wide extent,— a most kindly note to all who therein delve, to attend an evening fete, when the moon, in robes of state, would receive and entertain them, just at twelve! then excitement grew intense, for a problem so immense had not ever met the garden folk before! how were they to meet the queen, who, ere this, had not been seen, save above them, as a goddess to adore? who among them all should lead? what new dresses would they need? would they want an introduction, or just pass like the troops upon parade when a demonstration’s made, and the king himself reviews them in the mass; these, and nicer questions all, at a conference or call, in discussion, were determined and agreed! so it fell that at long last, all their worries overpast, there was nought to do save gather and proceed! but talk about a clatter! speak about a row! why a black’s corroboree, or an indian pow-wow are as nothing, simply nothing, to the rattle and the roar that all other sounds defied,— when the guests began to pour through the gate at a rate that a shepherd could not state if to count them he had tried! for, like little dolly varden, all the dwellers in the garden, all the beetles and the other tiny things; all the spiders and the aphis, with the “kooka,” and the mavis, came a-hopping and a-flopping on their little legs and wings! and the cries that they emitted! made one think that they were fitted for a zoo, perhaps two!— by the way they carried on! but to silence all were bidden, when from out the cornflowers hidden came a mantis, with his hands outspread and high; and in tones that each could hear, full and round, yet sweet and clear, simply cried: “stand aside! for the mower and his lady now draw nigh!” then to places all were hurried; some were late, and so were flurried, but the marshal set them right! marshal spider!— splendid rider!— mounted on a magpie proud;— set to order, quelled disorder, closed the lines and kept the crowd! for the stakes, to which the roses in the summer-time were tied; with their sharp and pointed noses stood the carriage drive beside! each was held by some tall froggy, who upon a falcon black, seemed to wish that it were foggy so that he might cool his back! but to duty they were bound, and not e’en so sweet a sound as the lapping of the wavelets on the lake. could have caused them to forsake, the especial posts to which they were assigned. theirs the task to guard the drive, so that each one to arrive, might not stray beyond the line of the driveway’s broad incline; but would join with all the rest. into proper order pressed, in the way the marshal had designed! when at length, in silence standing, in a voice of power commanding spake the marshal to the rapt, expectant throng: “let each gallant pair be ready, to advance in order, steady, when the mower and his lady move along; for the mower is our king, and behind him we will bring to her majesty the moon and to her court, such a wealth of garden lore as may never, never, more be attempted or projected e’en in thought!” scarcely had the marshal ended ere the mower’s train extended, fell into its place and moved towards the lawn! first, of course, the heralds royal, clothed in all the colours loyal: gaudy butterflies, with banner-wings outspread. next the soldier-ants, so sprightly, stepping gaily, straightly, lightly, with what seemed a most determined martial tread! followed on the king’s retainers: busy bees in brown and gold; then the bravos and maintainers; hardy beetles, brave and bold. after these the knights and consuls with their ladies fair and fine: all the birds that seek the garden when the golden wattles shine! in their midst the mower stately, king of all the garden race,— and his queen the water-sprinkler, tall and slender, full of grace, but as shy and quickly startled as a fawn! thus, in order, as directed,— none were otherwise detected, on they moved to meet the queen! on the spacious, trim, and flower-surrounded lawn! and not least among the party were the mower’s henchmen hearty: all the tools, which he rules with a blade both swift and keen! rake and hoe and pick and shovel; fork and spade and knife and can; hammer, saw, and sieve and level; nails and screws all spick and span; seccateurs and shears and spanner; nuts and bolts and augers fine; each according to its manner,— rule and rod and folded line. e’en the old green garden barrow, on whose forefront perched a sparrow, bobbed along on shaky legs! then there came the refuse-bin, on whose lid of rusty tin danced a group of clothes-pegs! after these the yard-broom strode, gruff and grim with seeming ire; and from out his dark abode rolled a coil of fencing wire! then emerged the “steps” a-striding,— on their top a cat was riding,— tail erect and back all arched! right behind, its white face gleaming, from beneath its banner streaming,— bravely on the flagpole marched! and, not wishing to be listed from a gathering so strange, came the scythe all bent and twisted, with the axe, well out of range! other things were there in dozens! little folk the garden cozens,— such as round the lattice play! snails and slugs and red-spot spiders! thrifty ants (those rare providers!) and the slaters clothed in grey! churchmen, too: the green-robed mantis, praying for the lost atlantis,— or at least they seemed to be! lawyers, clad in black and white: magpies properly bedight, and the lark of minstrelsy! parrot politicians, too, talking, talking, as they do,— of the scarcity of corn! when the spring lambs should be shorn! what would happen without rain— would the farmers sow again? but by far the rarest sight, of that wondrous autumn night, were three lovely kittens white;— who, within a basket sleeping, as, ’twas thought, in safest keeping, woke to find that, all undone, their pink ribbons, one by one, had been knotted to their basket tightly as a sailor’s gasket! and, as if by magic brought, the basket to a carriage wrought! ‘twas all so very, very queer, no kitten outside fairy-land could ever, ever understand what made the basket disappear, and, in the twinkling of a star, be turned into a basket car! but a bright-eyed little mouse, watching from within the house, saw exactly what took place! four brown spiders spun the wheels round about four cotton reels. two red robins wove the hood out of grass and chips of wood. two jays built the driver’s place jutting from the basket’s face. two blue wrens, so spry and neat, fixed behind a “dicky” seat! for the lamps, two glow-worms bright, shed their lustre on the night! two woodpeckers made the pole from a slender wattle, whole! then, the basket car to draw, four white gulls, in ropes of straw, to the carriage firmly tied, with each other proudly vied, as they paced along! a whip-bird drove the willing team, by the star-light’s silver gleam! at his side a soldier-ant, (sort of footman-adjutant!) care-free quite of war’s alarms sat with loosely folded arms! four more soldier-ants beside, lent an air of splendid pride to the kittens shy inside! two to ride postillion-wise; two to guard and supervise from the seat behind! thus to meet the queen they fared; nothing wanting, nothing spared to please the eye and mind! but, before they reached the queen, there was quite a little scene—— that a temporary stoppage did entail; for, with not a warning note, from the rosary remote,— came a sound that made the anxious marshal quail! it was due to some field crickets, who, on coming through the pickets, had been told to be quite ready to play something soft and steady when her majesty the moon,— (who conferred on them the boon!) should come forth to meet her guests upon the lawn! but the band, at its stand, should have waited the command to begin the music mystic, with its summer strain artistic,— ere it broke at a stroke into tunings that the sleeping echoes woke! so, the worried marshal spider, sent a swallow-scout outrider with most mandatory orders to retire behind the borders, and await the time propitious to begin the strain ambitious, which should tell in martial bars that the queen and court of stars, with attendant satellites, and the page boy stellar sprites were in waiting on the lawn! on the smooth and spacious lawn! when the episode was ended, and a like mistake forfended, forward went the line extended down the carriage drive! turning, where the beds give entry, past a robin redbreast sentry, without haste, as do the gentry, on the lawn did they arrive! and the moon that moment walking, with her starry daughters, talking, from the summer-house came forth! on the instant, came the crashing of the cricket music dashing, swift as pallid lightning flashing from the far-off sombre north! stood aside the heralds then, stepped behind attendants ten, and the mower and his lady met the queen!! what a scene! surely ne’er before was seen so much majesty serene, so much graciousness and light as graced the lawn that autumn night! for, as each made due obeisance, with polite and sweet complaisance,— and passed on; into scattered knots and groups, into merry little troups they fell; and the swell of the mingled conversations, and the witty observations; the soft requests and whispered jests, with the laughter that came after, to the queen and all her court was music rare! and the supper fine that followed! oh! what quantities they swallowed of the dainties and the delicacies rare! black ants’ milk and box-tree honey; manna flakes, the shapes of money; all the richest kinds of berries, currants, bush-grapes and wild cherries! grains and seeds and sugar-beet such as field birds love to eat! dew, in cups the gum-trees make for their lovely blossoms sake. these and other things galore that the ants and spiders store! ev’ry sort of tasty dish such fastidious folk could wish! ne’er before was served such fare; full and plenty and to spare! supper over, oh, what fun, was upon the lawn begun! dances, jigs, and turkey-trots round about forget-me-nots,— whose sweet eyes of tender blue with amazement changed their hue, when a hammer and a spanner underneath the queen’s own banner, in a rather awkward manner danced a sort of highland fling! and a lanky adjutant,— with the red-legged crane, his aunt, winked his eye, and said, “i can’t say i like this kind of thing!” but the augers straight and strong, with their own peculiar song drowned his voice their chords among,— as they sang: “come along! oh, come along! join the happy gladsome throng! games that everyone can play; now’s your chance, so come away!” ring-a-rosy! twos and threes— which the bees ‘mid the trees, played with such consummate ease, that the ladybirds they chased tripped and stumbled as they raced, quite outpaced by those honey-hunter bees! and the sly and subtle chaffing of the lovers, who, since quaffing each the other’s health, had by stealth, sought out places where they might woo delight, free from all the tauntings light of the merry-makers bright! but, of course, no resource of the sweethearts, could perforce any sort of quietude enforce. so they had to just submit to the things that stung or hit as do lovers everywhere! here and there amid the crowd could be seen the elegant or proud; whilst some, alas, (but let that pass,) were what is known as “loud.” the rake and hoe, a wicked pair: knight bachelors are they, with easy style, true debonair, went strolling ‘mid the ladies fair, the gayest of the gay! the spade went prinking round the lawn, miss shears was on his arm! the hay-fork pitched about till dawn forgetful of the farm! the fern-tubs frowned upon the scene, the lattice glared its grief; the bulbs, in pots, though quite serene, displayed a sad belief that all this freakish capering must bring its own relief! and so it chanced! for, with scarce a warning sound, straightly stepping o’er the ground where the fence was broken, found, came the bush-folk forth to greet the queen! from the forest they came ranging, all in order, never changing, in a stream across the paddocks green! at their head, twelve ibis slender, hid from view a kind of tender borne upon the backs of iguanas strong! this, first strewn with sweet wild clover, was with bush flowers covered over; one fair bloom for ev’ry member of the throng! these, as tribute was intended for the queen moon great and splendid, whom to honour and to serve without question or reserve was a duty that they loved to pay! and their sacred emblem-flowers, choicest of the forest dowers,— were their gracious queen to show, that among her folk below, nothing could their true allegiance sway! thus enhanced, through the garden they advanced making for the lawn! on they came! the emus stately, proudly, quietly, sedately; followed by the herons fine! wombats, wallabys and dingoes; grey companion-flamingoes;— ‘keets and lories line on line! woolly bears and ‘possums grey; singing birds and birds of prey; platypuses; blue-tongued lizards; mallee hens, and bower-bird wizards,— hiding all they find away! cockatoos, white, black and pink; kestrels, kites and shrikes and bats; flying foxes; native cats; plovers from the marsh’s brink! kangaroos, like tall men walking; cassowaries gravely stalking; falcons black, and wedge-tailed eagles,— strongest of the feathered beagles! and the egrets all too rare! black-necked storks with wings so spacious; lyre-birds beautiful and gracious, and the magpie lark so spare! honeyeaters, red-capped robins; (in and out like fiery bobbins!) wrens of ev’ry sort and hue, and the great kingfisher blue! whipbirds, rails and orioles; bronzewing pigeons; pratincoles; every austral bird of note, from the owl to pardalote! soarers, perchers, coursers, waders, like an army of invaders, on they came towards the lawn! the spacious, cool, green lawn! presently, as they drew nearer, forms and faces growing clearer; silence fell, like a spell, on the guests who just before had not dreamed there was in store, a sight so passing strange! e’en the queen herself, ’twas plain, looked for someone to explain, at and on whose word they came! but, as soon as on the lawn the new arrivals all were drawn; forward stepped a cockatoo, in his milk-white plumage new; and in accents somewhat high, said they thus had ventured nigh, that they might their homage yield, to their sovereign and their shield, for whose sake they’d gladly die. then, without undue premise, like a statesman, very wise,— craved the queen’s most sweet permission, to present, without omission, all the several little groups that in eager anxious troupes waited on her word! and the queen, it was seen, smiled so gracious a consent, that they all, with one intent, as in passing, down they bent, flung their flowers about her feet! ringed her round with posies sweet! this fair ceremony ended, everyone who there attended, as their way about they wended, met and fraternised! filling out the pleasures light of that most historic night! thus, as in a lover’s passion, passed the time in wondrous fashion; full of such excitements new, that the moments simply flew,— on, and on, towards the dawn! then, ere the sun had begun to ope his golden portals,— or awake were sleepy mortals; all by common impulse moved, turned towards the queen they loved, and bending low, gave salutation! yet, ere moving finally away, “farewell! a fair farewell!” to each they say; resolved through work or play, to keep that night of nights, like some green growing thing, the symbol of eternal spring, in sweet and fondest memory for aye! and the moon and starry court, that the wonderment had wrought, faded slowly out of sight in a blaze of newer light; so strong and bright that it swept away the night, and to the wakened world a new day brought!
-obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. variations in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
-the volume of illustrations referred to in the book is not available.
-italics are represented thus italic.
-charcoal and crayon
-for the use of
-students and schools
-author of “oil painting,” “a hand-book,” etc., etc.
-cassell publishing company 104 & 106 fourth avenue, new york
-copyright 1885 by o. m. dunham
-this little volume, with accompanying plates, is designed to prepare students for the interesting study of drawing from life. the general demand for a work of this kind is the occasion of its appearance.
-drawing in charcoal and crayon.
-charcoal and crayon drawing.
-in learning to draw, charcoal is the most available material that can be used, as, with it, large and striking effects are so easily and quickly produced, while it is also adapted to the most careful work, and may be carried on to any degree of finish. another quality which renders charcoal especially of value as a medium for beginners in drawing is that it is so easily erased.
-charcoal is used for drawing from the cast and from the human figure in all the large art schools of europe as well as in our own country, and is especially adapted to sketching from nature, as by its use most charming landscape and marine effects may be obtained.
-two different methods.
-there are two methods of working in charcoal—one, in which the charcoal point is used alone, the shading being put in with lines which are not blended, no stump, or rubbing together of any kind being allowed.
-this style of drawing is principally used in illustrating, as it is more easily reproduced than those in which the stump is used. full details of working in this manner will be given later.
-the other method is that in which the charcoal is blended with a stump, no lines being visible in the modeling.
-this manner of drawing is that most generally employed in art schools, and is susceptible of higher finish than the other.
-it is also in this way that charcoal and crayon portraits are managed, such drawings being generally finished with crayon, and the two materials worked together. this subject also will be treated at length further on.
-as we are writing for the benefit of those who have no knowledge whatever of charcoal drawing, we will begin at the very beginning, and shall endeavor to omit nothing that can be of practical use to the student.
-outfit necessary for charcoal and crayon drawing.
-the first thing to be provided is an easel, which is used now entirely for drawing, it being considered much better practice to work in an upright position than in the old-fashioned way of leaning over a table.
-this easel may be of the simplest character, and is made of three straight bars of pine wood jointed so as to stand upright, with holes perforated through two of the bars about two or three inches apart. through these holes pegs are stuck upon which to hold a narrow wooden tray. upon this the stretcher, drawing-board, or portfolio is placed.
-this board is made from any light wood, and should measure about 20×24 inches square, and be as thin as it can be made without warping.
-in place of the drawing-board, many artists prefer to use a large pasteboard portfolio made with covers stiff enough to serve as a foundation in drawing, while its convenience as a receptacle for the reserve sheets of paper and finished work is obvious.
-the portfolio which is now most in use, is generally covered with smooth mottled paper outside, and should be large enough to hold without folding the regular sheets of charcoal paper; 20×24 inches will be sufficient for this.
-there are a great many varieties of charcoal and crayon paper, some smooth, some rough. for ordinary purposes, such as making studies and life drawings, the rough french charcoal paper is the best. that used in the french schools is of two kinds; the roughest is called the “michelet” paper, and the other is known as “lalanne.” they are, however, very similar in texture, and either one will serve the purpose. these come in sheets of uniform sizes, costing from three to six cents each.
-for more careful drawings, such as finely finished portraits in charcoal and crayon, a more expensive paper is to be preferred. this comes in much larger sheets and should be stretched before using.
-whatman’s rough crayon paper is among the best for this purpose. in all cases, both for studies and finished portraits, the white paper, generally a yellow-white, being preferable to blue-white.
-how to stretch paper.
-paper is stretched and mounted for this work in the following manner: a simple frame of wood is made an inch or two wide and three-quarters of an inch or more in thickness, according to the size of the drawing to be made. this is covered with cotton cloth stretched as tight as possible and tacked all along the four sides. the cloth is turned over and tacked on the outside of the stretcher, not on the face of it, which should present a perfectly smooth, flat surface.
-the paper having been cut the proper size, that is, large enough to turn over nearly an inch all around, is dampened on the wrong side. to do this take a clean cloth dipped in cold water, lay the paper flat upon a table and pass the cloth rapidly all over the surface, wetting it evenly.
-have ready some good flour paste and put this all around the edge of the paper for about an inch. now begin to spread the paper while still damp upon the cloth-covered stretcher, starting at the bottom and working upward, carefully smoothing out with the hands all creases or air bubbles. turn over and press down the edges of the paper which have been covered with the paste, holding them till they stick to the cloth, and cut a v-shaped piece from each corner of the paper, so that it will fold over neatly.
-this takes time and experience to do well, but is worth the trouble, for crayon portraits especially.
-for ordinary studies and drawings, the michelet or lalanne paper fastened to the portfolio or drawing-board with thumb tacks is quite sufficient.
-there are many different kinds of charcoal offered by dealers. all that is necessary, however, is a medium quality of imported charcoal, such as the fusains venitians, costing 30 cts. a box of fifty sticks. finer and more expensive kinds are the conte and rouget charcoal.
-among the various manufactures of crayons that most generally preferred by artists is the french crayon conté. this comes in several numbers, and is to be had in two forms. first, the wooden pencils, which are very convenient, and again, the short sticks of black crayon, which are sold by the dozen. these are much cheaper than the pencils, and are fastened in a holder while using. the conté crayon no. 2 is sufficient for all purposes, therefore it is unnecessary to have the several different numbers so often recommended.
-another kind of crayon is also used by some artists in addition to the stick crayon. this is a fine, black, powdered crayon, called the “sauce crayon,” and comes put up in little tin cases. it is very useful when large masses of dark are necessary, and is rubbed on with a stump, while the stick crayons and charcoal sticks are sharpened to a point before using.
-stumps are made variously of leather, chamois-skin and paper. the most useful in charcoal and crayon drawing are the paper stumps, which will be found to answer every purpose. the paper stumps come in two forms; first, the gray, rough paper stumps with points on both ends; these are made in various sizes, from the smallest, which measures only about one fourth of an inch in diameter, up to those measuring an inch and more.
-the other form of paper stump, known as the tortillon, is made of strips of paper rolled to a point like spills, and sold in bundles of a dozen for a few cents. some artists prefer these, but for general purposes, the double-pointed paper stump is the best. about six of these are necessary: two large, two medium, and two very small ones; for it is always better to have a clean duplicate of each size.
-a supply of the soft part of home-made, if possible, or good ordinary baker’s bread, one day old, is indispensable. this should not have any butter, or even milk, in its composition, otherwise it will grease the paper, which naturally should be avoided, as grease spots are most difficult to overcome.
-the bread is used for rubbing out charcoal or crayon, erasing mistakes, and for taking out lights from a mass of dark. the soft crumb is rolled between the fingers until a point is formed, and then applied to the paper. it is surprising what brilliant effects can be obtained by means of this simple process; its full resources can only be understood by practice.
-this consists of a long, narrow bar of fine artist’s rubber, ground to a point on each end. it is used for rubbing out small spots in places where the bread can not be so easily managed, and where a firmer point is needed.
-it is also useful in modeling fine details of the features, and in places where, the surface of the paper being worn by rubbing, the bread will not act satisfactorily.
-these cost from five to ten cents each, according to size.
-a fine, soft cotton rag is one of the most important adjuncts to our outfit, as it is impossible to work without one. the rag is used sometimes to dust off charcoal from the paper, and if the charcoal has not been very heavily used, the rag is often sufficient, neither bread nor rubber being necessary.
-a rag is also useful when too much charcoal or crayon has been rubbed on a tone.
-let us say, for instance, a shadow appears too black. a soft rag is passed gently over the surface, taking care not to rub too hard, and the superfluous charcoal or crayon will come off, leaving a beautiful soft tone of much lighter quality behind.
-this tone can of course be darkened somewhat, or worked over in any manner desired.
-the rag is often used in sketching landscapes, to spread a smooth, even tint for the sky. many artists prefer it to a stump for this purpose. a fine, soft cotton rag is rolled in a long, smooth roll, and applied lightly to the surface of the paper.
-the charcoal may be powdered in such a case if preferred, or for crayon drawing the “sauce crayon” is used.
-to “fix” drawings.
-charcoal will of course rub off, and drawings become smeared and defaced if left unprotected. for that reason it is customary to “fix” the drawing by the application of some preparation to its surface.
-this should be done with much care, and only the very best materials should be used for this purpose. amateurs and students sometimes endeavor to manufacture fixative for themselves out of shellac and alcohol. this may succeed in fixing the drawing, but will be very liable to turn the paper yellow in time. artists, therefore, prefer to buy an imported fixative, which is made by a reliable manufacturer. that most generally in use, and which we have found by experience to be in every way satisfactory, is the fixatif rouget, which comes in good-sized glass bottles, costing at retail fifty cents each.
-there are two methods of fixing drawings. first, that in which the fixative is applied to the back of the drawing. this is preferred by some artists; and the french students, who are only anxious to preserve their drawings, without regard to the changing of color in the paper, use milk, with which they wash over the back of the drawing.
-in cases where a large design or cartoon is made in charcoal for temporary use, this way will answer perfectly, being very much less expensive than the other. the fixative meusnier, which is imported by all dealers, is also applied to the back of the paper with a large brush.
-the other method, and that generally preferred, is to apply the fixative to the front or surface of the drawing.
-this process should of course be managed with care, as too much fixative will cause the charcoal to run down in streaks, while too little will cause it to come off in spots.
-the fixative for applying to the surface of the drawing is sprayed through a glass atomizer by blowing through one tube while the other rests in the bottle containing the liquid.
-these atomizers are now sold by all art dealers, and may be had from the simplest and most inexpensive kind up to those represented by quite a costly apparatus. the cheapest consist of two small tubes of glass, pointed at one end and straight at the other. these are connected by two bands of metal, which in turn are fastened together by a small hinge or pivot.
-this is so arranged that the two tubes of glass meet at a right angle, the small pointed ends coming in contact, but so as to leave both orifices open.
-one end, as already mentioned, is now placed in the fixative, while through the other the breath is blown. this causes the liquid to mount in the lower tube and dissolve in a cloud of spray which is so light as not to dislodge the delicate particles of the charcoal and yet will attach them firmly to the paper, so that ordinary rubbing will not efface the drawing.
-great care should be taken in blowing through an atomizer to make the breath as steady as possible, avoiding short, unequal puffs. the atomizer must not be held too near to allow the particles to vaporize sufficiently, or else the fixative will run down in streams and ruin the drawing. again, if held too far off, it will vaporize too much, and will fail to fix the charcoal at all.
-the more expensive vaporizers, while conducted on the same principle, are supplied with air from one or sometimes two rubber globes or balls, which have the advantage of transmitting the air in a regular stream, and one is thus saved the fatigue of blowing with the mouth, which, in case of a large drawing, becomes very tiresome.
-these atomizers are generally made with metal tubes, which will become clogged and useless unless washed out after using each time, with warm water. the simple glass atomizers must also be kept clean in this way, for they are very easily broken if a pin is used to clean the openings, and the slightest break at the joints renders them useless.
-outfit for sketching.
-charcoal is used by artists for sketching out of doors in preference to any other material, as by its means such quick results are obtained and large effects produced with comparative ease.
-as one never knows how long a tramp will be necessary before the proper subject or view appears, it is well to make every thing as compact as possible.
-a small sketching easel which can be reduced to a thin bundle of sticks is considered indispensable by some, but as this is rather awkward to carry, most artists prefer a block.
-the block, or pad.
-this consists of a number of sheets of charcoal paper, cut exactly the same size, laid together and pressed so as to greatly reduce the bulk of the paper in its ordinary shape. these form a block or table of sufficient substance and firmness to be held comfortably upon the knees while sketching.
-the upper leaf is used for the drawing, and is then loosened with a penknife passed around the edges, which are held together with a band of paper. this leaf is then easily detached from the block, and being fixed is laid aside while another drawing is commenced on the clean sheet exposed on the top of the block.
-these blocks can be bought already prepared at any good art dealers at reasonable prices, which vary according to the size and quality of the paper.
-a block made of ordinary french charcoal paper measuring 4½×6 inches costs at retail, 25 cents. a small block like this is only good for pocket sketches and notes. a more useful size is 6×9, which may be obtained for 35 cents.
-a still larger one, measuring 10×14, can be procured for 70 cents. any thing beyond this must be made to order, and will in that case be more expensive in proportion.
-some are even to be found combined with the sketching easel. these are very convenient, being made in so compact a form as to occupy very little more space than either an easel or camp stool separately.
-such an apparatus costs $5.50 at retail. the small, light folding easel for sketching, which is only 4½ feet high, costs $2.50, while a stool which stands upon three legs when open and folds into the shape of a thick cane can be bought for $1.00.
-a sketch can not be truthful to nature and carefully studied, with the sun shining in one’s eyes or upon the paper; it is therefore well to be provided with an umbrella.
-the sketching umbrella is generally of creamy white or very light gray cotton. it is so constructed as to be separated from the long stick upon which it is arranged when in use, this stick itself being divided into two or more parts, according to its length. these are arranged to fit into each other firmly, the lower end terminating in a long, sharp iron point which is to be planted in the ground.
-the umbrella itself is furnished with a rather short handle, and is attached to the long staff by a movable screw joint which permits of its being arranged at any angle necessary to protect the sketcher from the sun.
-the whole outfit complete with a waterproof gingham umbrella costs $8.00.
-the long folding stick is sold separately. this is 6 ft. high with an adjustable joint to which any ordinary umbrella can be fastened. these cost about $3.00.
-a long and narrow tin box with compartments completes the outfit. this holds the charcoal, crayon, stumps, bread, rag and rubber. the charcoal and crayon must always be kept shut up in their separate compartments, or failing that, in respective boxes, as, if allowed to knock around loosely in the box, they will soil the stumps, rubber and rags.
-the paper generally used in sketching blocks is the ordinary grade of french charcoal paper with a rough surface already mentioned. this paper comes in a variety of tints, the most popular being the cream-white and the gray. the white paper is generally preferred for serious studies involving careful drawing and correctness of value.
-some artists, however, prefer to use gray or light brown paper in sketching, as if one is skillful a very effective result may be obtained with little labor by using the local tone of the paper for the half tints, quickly rubbing in the shadow with charcoal or crayon, both being sometimes used.
-the high lights are then cleverly touched in with white chalk or pastel. chinese white water-color paint is sometimes substituted for the chalk in putting in such lights. it has the advantage of being more permanent in one way as the chalk rubs off, but in the course of time this white paint so used has a tendency to turn yellow, especially if the sketch is shut up in a book or kept from the air.
-on the other hand, the white chalk will turn yellow if fixed, so that the high lights must not be put in the sketch until it is all finished and fixed, which is of course a disadvantage to the artist who wishes to study the relations of his tones as he proceeds. this method will be explained at length later on.
-to those who have never had any experience whatever in drawing, it is best to begin with straight lines. this is especially necessary in the case of children, who must first be taught to control the hand before proceeding further.
-the next step is to draw curved lines representing half of a circle.
-from this proceed to draw angles, circles, squares, and other such simple forms in outline, until the muscles of the hand have learned to obey the will.
-the system we wish to teach is first to begin in this way, then to advance gradually by copying some simple drawings, executed in the modern method, until the use of charcoal and crayon is thoroughly understood.
-these drawings should be progressive, commencing with the features in different positions, and leading gradually to the full head, feet, hands, torso, etc., until the full length figure is reached.
-by this time sufficient proficiency will have been attained to enable the student to put aside copying and proceed to drawing from the cast, when the same progressive studies should be observed until a sufficiently thorough foundation in drawing is acquired to warrant the final step of drawing from life, which is the most difficult though the most interesting of all.
-in view of these necessities, a series of studies in charcoal and crayon have been prepared to accompany this volume. these should be carefully copied, according to the directions given.
-arrangement of light.
-before beginning to draw, whether from copies, from the cast, or from life, it is most important that the room be properly lighted.
-if possible a north light should be selected, although that is not absolutely necessary, it is, however, most generally preferred by artists, as the light is more steady, and less influenced by the direct rays of the sun. there should be no cross light, the light coming from one direction only; therefore, if there are several windows on different sides of a room, all should be darkened while working except those on one side.
-this light should so be arranged as to come from above rather than from below, and if the window is a long one, curtain off the lower part, so that the light begins about six feet from the floor. if more than one person is working in the same room, several windows on the same side are admissible. if, however, a studio were being built expressly for the purpose, the ideal light would be one large, high side window, extending from six to ten feet along the wall, beginning at the floor and reaching to the ceiling, where it is joined by a skylight, which is arranged with an adjustable curtain, so that it may only be uncovered when needed. in the same way the lower half of the window should be curtained off up to a height of six feet for ordinary purposes. the whole length of the window is sometimes useful in simulating an out-of-door effect of light.
-some famous painters have had studios built entirely of glass, so that they could have all the advantages of working in the open air without the exposure. adjustable curtains would turn the glass-house into an ordinary in-door studio, with conventional light. few of us are so fortunate as to command these conveniences, and truth compels us to admit that they are not strictly necessary to good work.
-as we have already stated, the easel is now universally adopted for drawing, as well as painting, instead of the old methods, which necessitated leaning over a table. the plate to be copied is also placed upright, in the same upright position that would be occupied by a cast or live model, so that, even in this elementary training, the eye becomes accustomed to look naturally from the object or study being copied to the paper on the easel.
-when preparing to draw, the easel should be placed in front of the window and so arranged that the light will come from behind, and fall over the left shoulder of the worker.
-two or three sheets of charcoal paper are now firmly fastened to the portfolio or drawing-board, which should in no case be smaller than the paper, but even larger, projecting at least half an inch beyond the regular-sized “lalanne” or “michelet” sheets.
-this arrangement is of great importance, and should never be neglected.
-for the benefit of the actual beginners, we will commence with the drawing of straight lines, which is not nearly so easy as might be supposed.
-the foundation of technical skill in drawing of many kinds, notably the charcoal and crayon point, pen and ink, and pencil, depends upon the power of making lines with correctness and dexterity; and though later on, in drawing and painting, we learn to see only by form, almost entirely discarding the line per se, yet this early training of the hand often gives firmness and surety of touch to the painter’s brush which might otherwise be wanting, and is in many ways felt to be valuable.
-to begin the practice of drawing straight lines, first make two dots of several inches apart, let us say, about three inches from one point to the other. let these dots at first be perpendicular, one being directly above the other.
-sharpen the charcoal to a point and draw it slowly from the upper to the lower point several times, at first without actually touching the paper, to accustom the eye to the distance; then make the actual line between the two, bearing lightly upon the paper and making a line of uniform thickness.
-make these lines in rows parallel to each other and about an inch apart, continuing the exercise until you are able to make perfectly straight upright lines.
-the next exercise consists of drawing horizontal lines in the same manner. after this, oblique lines should be practiced, inclining in different directions.
-remember that no ruling, measuring or mechanical aids of any kind are to be made use of, the object being to train eye and hand.
-curved lines are of course more difficult than straight for those who are entirely untrained. begin to draw these by making the two dots at first as for the straight line; connect these dots with a very light line, and then through the center draw another line at right angles, dividing the first exactly in two. this line, projecting from one side only, must be exactly the same length as half the first line thus
-now connect the extremity of these lines with a curved line extending from one end to the middle and thence to the other end. when practice has enabled the student to draw these curves correctly, the straight lines are omitted and the curves drawn only from point to point.
-after this, simple forms should be drawn in outline, using such copies as 120 studies in freehand, called “how to draw,” by chas. ryan, costing 25 cents, published by cassell & company.
-a box of blocks should next be procured, which are sold by art dealers for the purpose, and the student should begin with the simplest forms and draw them from nature, in outline at first, progressing gradually to more complicated forms.
-the next step is shading, which is done at first in the simplest manner. the outline sketched in, the proportions are ascertained to be correct and the shadow and light are divided into two great masses without detail and blocked in as broadly as possible, according to the method given in the following pages.
-learn to begin a drawing properly and the finishing will be easy enough, being merely a matter of practice when once the manner of working is understood. how often we see exposed for sale and on exhibition drawings and paintings elaborately finished of which the drawing is so faulty as to render them worthless.
-students, therefore, who are thoroughly in earnest must be content to postpone all idea of finishing at first, occupying themselves in the preliminary studies with correctness of outline and proportion only. for this reason when the shadows are blocked in broadly and the drawing appears to be as nearly right as you can make it, put it aside and take up something a little more difficult and carry it on to the same stage without endeavoring to elaborate it. thus continue your practice, always progressing until you feel fitted to begin the study of the human face and form, which is, as we have said, the most difficult thing in art.
-manner of working.
-those who have already had sufficient practice in the elementary drawing indicated in the first part, can of course omit the foregoing pages, and begin at once with the preparatory studies of the face and figure, which are necessary before proceeding to drawing from the cast.
-these studies consist of eight plates, carefully prepared by the author, according to the modern methods of charcoal and crayon drawing now employed in all large art schools both in europe and our own country.
-by carefully copying these plates in their regular order, the student learns the method of using charcoal and crayon, so as to be perfectly acquainted with these materials and their resources before beginning to work from nature; the design also being to familiarize the eye with the constructional drawing and proportion of the human figure beforehand, thus materially lessening the difficulties of drawing from life. the general manner of working is as follows:—
-arrange the light, place the easel in position, and fasten the charcoal paper to the drawing board or portfolio in the way already described. we will suppose the subject to be drawn is a head. first make a small mark or dot on the paper with your charcoal, to show where the top of the head will come. a corresponding dot will indicate the bottom of the face or chin, while a mark on each side will show the width of the head.
-before beginning to draw a line, these marks will suggest whether the head be properly placed on the sheet. see that there be not too much space on either side, and that the head is not too high or too low.
-if these preliminary precautions be neglected the head may be placed most awkwardly; too much to one side or otherwise wrong, and the mistake not be noticed until the drawing be nearly finished. the importance, therefore, of properly placing the head at first can not be overestimated.
-the position being decided, the outlines are lightly sketched in with long, sweeping lines, following the general direction of the head without any attention at first to details of any kind. let these lines next determine the oval described by the face, sketching at the same time the lines of the throat, and ascertaining the action of the body in relation to the head by one or more long, sweeping lines across the bust from shoulder to shoulder.
-next draw a line with the charcoal point across the oval of the face where the hair meets the forehead, one through the middle of the eyes, one at the base of the nose, through the center of the mouth and the lowest point of the chin.
-these lines determine the proportions of the face, and are drawn very lightly with the charcoal, sharpened to a fine point, as they are erased when the features are drawn in. next proceed to place the features on these lines, blocking them in only in their general forms at first with very little detail, and draw these forms as squarely as possible, seeking for angles and avoiding curves.
-it is easy to turn angles into curves in finishing a drawing, but if we begin with curves we have nothing to depend upon, and the drawing loses strength, becoming soft and weak in the end.
-having ascertained that the features are in the right place, go back to the outline and bring that into shape, though without trying to finish it carefully as yet.
-the next step is to block in the shadows in their general forms, dividing the whole head into two distinct masses of light and shade. to do this, make a faint outline of the exact form of the shadows where they meet the light; now fill in with charcoal all the mass of shadow within the outline, making one flat, even tone of dark without variation of shade. to do this draw the charcoal in straight parallel lines slightly oblique, almost touching each other, until the whole shadow is covered. no special care need be taken in putting in these lines, as the main object is to get the paper sufficiently covered with the charcoal. the largest paper stump is now used, to unite these charcoal lines into one flat tone of dark.
-the stump is held in the fingers, so that about an inch of the point lies on the paper, not merely the tip end. with this the charcoal is rubbed in until no lines appear, only one simple even tone of dark filling the outline of the shadow.
-when the principal shadows are thus laid in, look at the head from a distance and see if the proportions are correct. any mistake will be easily seen in this stage, and should be corrected at once before proceeding further.
-to correct a line or erase the charcoal in any way, use the crumb or soft part of stale bread. this is done by taking a small piece between the fingers, and rolling it into a little ball, then shaping it to a point. be sure the bread is not too fresh or made with butter, as greasy bread will ruin the paper, so that it is impossible to work nicely on it. if, however, such a grease spot becomes evident when the drawing is somewhat advanced, it can be remedied in the finishing, by touching carefully with a sharp-pointed crayon, and rubbing with a pointed rubber stump; working with both alternately, making fine, small touches, until the spot is even in tone with the rest.
-in laying in a mass of shadow, if too much charcoal gets on the paper, so as to become inconvenient, wipe it off lightly and evenly with a soft cotton rag, and if then the tone is too light, work on it again with charcoal, as before, using the stump in the same way until it becomes the right tone.
-in working heads, life studies, etc., in charcoal it is the practice in all the large art schools to finish them with black crayon. the crayon is not touched, however, until the shadows are all put in and the proportions found to be correct. the whole effect being blocked in the way already described, the crayon is taken up and the two materials used together at first, as required, in the following manner:
-the outline, which has been sketched in with charcoal, is now very carefully drawn with a finely pointed conté crayon no. 2. first dust off the charcoal a little with a rag until the outline is quite light, though easily seen, and do not make the crayon outline too dark and thick.
-next proceed to block in the hair with charcoal. do this at first in the simple masses of light and shade, rubbing in the charcoal in close lines at first, so as to well cover the paper, and then using the stump to make one flat, even tone.
-if the hair is dark, cover the light mass with a general tone of light gray, using the charcoal very lightly and rubbing it flat with the stump as before. if the hair is light, put in a fainter tone for the dark mass and a very delicate tone over the light mass. do not attempt to see any reflected lights or small details as yet.
-having the head now well started, we proceed to carry it on by putting in the half tints which connect the masses of light and shadow all over the face. do this with a clean, medium-sized paper stump by dragging the charcoal from the shadow over the light. do not put any new charcoal on for the half tints, as it is very important that they be kept light at first. keep a clean stump always at hand for delicate half tints, and never use an old one.
-the face now begins to model and look round, and is further carried on by putting in the dark accents of shadow and taking out reflected lights with bread.
-at this stage the crayon is taken up permanently and the charcoal laid aside.
-the conté crayon no. 2 sharpened to a fine point is rubbed all over the mass of shadow already laid in with charcoal and is then softened with the stump in the manner already described, the charcoal and crayon together producing a beautiful quality of tone.
-let me here mention that some artists prefer to use the sauce crayon for putting in large masses of dark, such as shadows, hair, drapery, etc. the student should try both methods and use either or both, as he may prefer.
-the sauce crayon should be rubbed off on a small piece of charcoal paper and tacked on one side of the drawing so as to be convenient for use.
-the point of the large stump is now rolled around in the sauce or powdered crayon thus prepared, and is then rubbed into the shadow until the whole is covered with the crayon and presents an even dark tone.
-the sauce crayon is only to be employed for large spaces, and is useful in saving time, as it takes longer to cover the surface with lines made by the crayon point. still many prefer the latter.
-the crayon point is always used in finishing up the drawing, which is carried on by degrees. the dark accents are put in the eyes, nose, mouth and ears, and the small stump is used to soften the marks of the crayon, but should not be rubbed too much.
-if the head be rather dark in its general effect, a very delicate gray tint should be put all over the light mass of the face. this is done with a clean stump which has been used for half tints, and the tone is put on in the same manner, the crayon point not being used here.
-in drawing hair, do not attempt to put in too much detail. the deepest shadows and the highest lights should always be kept simple. the most detail is generally seen in the half tint, but should be very carefully studied only in the most prominent parts, the rest being left in a suggestive way.
-in working thus with charcoal and crayon, there are one or two things that should be always kept in mind.
-in the first place, the charcoal and crayon must always be kept sharpened while drawing, a fine point being most necessary. a sharp knife should always be at hand, and also a piece of sandpaper, as it is very difficult to sharpen the crayons with a knife, they break so easily.
-always buy the best materials, and always keep plenty on hand. have a box of charcoal, and at least half a dozen crayons, and keep one or two clean stumps in reserve no matter how many you have already in use.
-in rubbing on charcoal, and before using the stump, be sure to cover the paper well, so that very little rubbing will spread the tone into an even mass. no matter how much charcoal you get on at first, you can always take off the superfluity with a rag; but if there is not enough one is tempted to rub the paper too hard, and if the surface of the paper gets roughened by too much rubbing at first, you can never do any thing with it afterward.
-in putting on the crayon, however, we must be more careful.
-put on a little and try it with the stump; if it does not spread well, add more, and so on. even when dispensing entirely with the sauce crayon and using only the pointed sticks, it is well to rub off some of the crayon on a small piece of paper and pin it up on one side of the drawing, for using in very light tones where the point must not be employed. for instance, in covering the light side of the face with a delicate tone, the stump is rubbed on this, and tried first on a piece of paper before using it on the drawing.
-never let the hand rest directly upon the drawing itself. if not convenient to rest it upon the margin, have a sheet of clean writing paper to place underneath the hand.
-in sketching in, or drawing long, sweeping lines, do not steady the hand upon the paper at all, as one does in writing, but try to acquire freedom of handling by practice, resting the hand upon the paper only when absolutely necessary, as in drawing fine details, or when great precision is required.
-measurement, actual and comparative.
-by actual measurement is meant the measurement of the object itself by holding against it a ruler or straight strip of paper, and marking off the number of inches or exact distance from one given point to another. these measurements are then compared with the drawing, and the same distances are marked off on the paper.
-in mechanical and architectural drawing this system of measurement is in constant use, but in freehand drawing, and in the method practiced by artists, actual measurement is not allowed. never measure in any way when beginning a drawing, but strike out bravely, resolving to depend upon the eye only, if possible.
-after the first outlines are put in, and the proportions are as nearly correct as you can make them, it is perfectly legitimate to “prove” a drawing by actual measurement, if it is a copy. if one is drawing from a cast, or from life, and it is necessary that the head be exactly the same size, a measurement may be taken from the top of the head to the chin, and compared with the sketch you have made. beyond this no actual measurement should be allowed.
-this is a very important thing in drawing from nature, or objects of any kind, and must be thoroughly understood by the student, as without it no drawing can be made absolutely correct.
-comparative measurements are entirely proportional. the manner of taking them is as follows:
-place yourself opposite the object to be measured, at the same distance from which your drawing is taken. let us say you are drawing the bust of apollo, and wish to discover just the exact height of the whole, also the width across the shoulders.
-extend your arm in a perfectly straight line at right angles to the cast, holding in your hand a long lead-pencil. the pencil must be held parallel to the general direction of the cast, neither end being allowed to swerve the slightest.
-now, closing one eye to concentrate the vision, measure off with your thumb upon the pencil, which is held crosswise, the apparent distance from the outside of one shoulder in a direct line to the outside of the other. keep your thumb tightly upon the pencil at the place measured, and slowly turn the hand around, keeping the arm extended at the same distance from the body, and the eye in the same position as before.
-the pencil is now held straight up and down, and your object is to see how many times the distance measured off on the pencil will go into the whole length of the cast, beginning at the top of the head and measuring down to the foot of the bust, slowly moving the pencil downward and checking off with the eye each time the measurement is repeated.
-in this way we can find out exactly whether the cast is just twice as long as it is wide, or less—in other words, the comparative proportions.
-this kind of measurement is invaluable in out-of-door sketching, and the eye soon becomes so trained by practice that relative proportions are compared instinctively, and one scarcely needs to use the pencil.
-the plumb line.
-another most valuable adjunct in drawing from life and from the cast is the plumb line. this consists of a piece of strong twine with a weight on one end, which serves to keep the string perfectly straight and steady when suspended from the hand. a straight line is thus simulated which is dropped from a given point to one directly underneath, forming one side of a triangle, which will ascertain for us the different positions that certain other parts assume in relation to this line.
-for instance, we hold the plumb line so as to make a straight line from the chin of a standing figure to the ground. the top and bottom of the line form two points of a triangle, the third to be represented by the man’s heel.
-imaginary lines are now drawn through these points, forming the triangle, whose base determines the direction of the heel in relation to the center-line of the body. in this way the balance of a figure can be accurately ascertained, and the most difficult action correctly suggested.
-in the actual drawing the real lines may be sketched in charcoal from point to point at the same angle determined by the plumb, and the corrections made accordingly, these straight lines being of course erased afterward.
-the term “value,” as understood by artists, is used to express the comparative relation of tones to each other, irrespective of color. there may be many different colors before us all of the same value; also, there may be only one color used in a drawing, yet many different values are seen, which goes to show that we are to compare tones and not colors.
-for example, in drawing or painting a landscape we look at the tone of the trees against the sky and observe which is the darker. if a stormy, heavy sky is seen behind light, feathery, green trees we see that the sky is darker in value.
-if, on the contrary, trees with dark, rich foliage are observed to be strongly relieved against a bright, sunny sky, we perceive at once that the sky is lighter in value than the trees. in like manner we compare the rocks with the water, the fence with the road, and so on, according to the different objects to be regarded in the picture.
-in drawing a head in charcoal or crayon it is well to establish at once the darkest value in the whole, selecting the deepest spot of shadow with which all the other tones of dark may be compared.
-look for instance, at the shadow over the eye or under the nose, which are generally very dark, and compare it with the shadow on the cheek, behind the ear, or under the chin. in the same way decide upon the highest light in the face. say it is found upon the forehead or on the cheek bone. be sure that it is the brightest spot in the face, and then compare all the other degrees of light with this.
-by studying in this way, and observing the comparative variety of these tones, we arrive at correct values.
-this is a most important quality in art and can not be overestimated, for upon a just appreciation of the values in a picture depends its truth. this also serves to illustrate the necessity of making studies directly from nature whenever possible.
-crayon is especially adapted to portraiture, on account of the brilliant effects which it is capable of producing, as well as the great softness and delicacy of finish which may be obtained by its use.
-portraits should, of course, always be taken from life if possible, though if the person be an invalid or is for any other reason unable to give many sittings, a photograph may be used for the beginning. the portrait is carried on from this until well advanced; if one or two sittings from life can then be had in finishing, it will be a great advantage, especially in regard to the expression.
-in portraits of children a photograph is frequently a great assistance, particularly if the artist has not had much experience.
-in all such cases, however, it is best to decide upon the pose, and sketch it from life, and then have the photograph taken in the pose you have selected.
-in this way, the light and shade are arranged to suit the artist, and the pose being decided upon by him, the portrait will have the effect of being drawn from life instead of being merely a copy from a conventional photograph.
-in general the effect of light used by photographers is exactly the reverse of that chosen by artists. it will be noticed that ordinary photographs have the greater part of the face either in shadow or covered by strong half-tints.
-an artist, on the contrary, in posing a head for a portrait, prefers exactly the opposite arrangement, selecting broad and simple effects of light with only enough shadow to give the necessary variety and relief to the features.
-when arranging the preliminaries for a portrait, there are several things to be considered.
-in the first place, study the head carefully and see which view is most agreeable. sometimes features in the same face look differently when seen from opposite directions. some noses or mouths look well on one side and distorted on the other.
-a very broad face should not be given a full front pose, but would look better seen in three-quarter.
-a very retreating chin must not be seen in a profile view.
-this same pose, however, for a person with a cast in the eyes is preferable, and so on. after all such matters have been considered, see that the head is not thrown up too high, as it will make the nose look short, while lowering the chin too much will make the nose look long. a good rule is that the eyes of the sitter should be on a line with those of the artist as he sits or stands at his work.
-the method most generally in use for crayon portraits is that described in the preceding pages, in which the stump is used. all the old-fashioned ways of stippling and hatching are seldom resorted to, and not considered artistic.
-in drawing a life-sized head the artist must not be too far from his subject, the easel being placed about four or five feet distant. it is well to get up and walk back occasionally, looking at the work from a distance so as to see the general effect.
-there are several different kinds of paper used for crayon portraits, some artists preferring one make, some another. the ordinary “lalanne” and “michelet” papers used for charcoal and crayon studies are a little too rough in texture to please every body, and do not produce quite so fine a finish as is desirable. they come in too small-sized sheets for a large portrait head, for which one wants plenty of room.
-this, however, is merely a matter of taste, that can be indulged when one has become sufficiently proficient in the work to judge for himself. we will suggest that whatman’s crayon paper is one of the most satisfactory; this comes in large sheets, and should be stretched before using in the manner already described. a good sized stretcher for an ordinary portrait is 20×24.
-if more of the figure than the shoulders is to be seen, a larger size would be better.
-the portrait is first lightly sketched in with charcoal, and if the student is not very proficient in drawing from life it is better to make the first sketch upon an ordinary sheet of charcoal paper.
-when all corrections are made, and the general proportions of the face appear to be right, the outline is transferred to the stretcher in the following manner:—
-take the sheet of charcoal paper on which the sketch is made, and with a stick of charcoal “scribble,” so to speak, all over the back, so that the paper is entirely covered behind your sketch.
-now lay this sheet with the face upward on the clean stretcher, placing it so that the head will come in exactly the right place, neither too high nor too low.
-fasten it with pins at the top and bottom, so that the paper will not slip, and then with a sharp, hard lead-pencil carefully go over the outline, and every important part of the face and head. if the paper should move in the least the whole thing is spoiled, therefore it is best in transferring to lay the drawing upon a table till finished. remember not to rest the hand heavily upon any portion of the paper except the line to be traced, as every touch leaves a black spot beneath.
-on removing the sketch a perfect outline will be found upon the stretcher, which will be a sufficient guide to the proportions and general likeness. now, with a sharply pointed charcoal stick begin to draw in the head, following the outline, block in the features, massing the shadows in the face and hair.
-do not begin to use the crayon until the general likeness is assured, for the paper must not be roughened by too much erasing.
-use the soft cotton rag for dusting off charcoal whenever you can, instead of bread, as too much rubbing with bread will grease the paper; for very large spaces, where erasing is necessary, use faber’s india rubber.
-when the crayon is put on, advance slowly, remembering that in a portrait there is much more careful work than in an ordinary life study, and that there are many more things to be considered than merely the drawing. the likeness is to be secured, which is sometimes a difficult thing even for those with experience.
-this is accomplished gradually; the student must not always expect to see the likeness in the first sketch; it comes by degrees, as the drawing progresses, and it is a good rule to draw the head in exactly as you see it, emphasizing the salient points, no matter how ugly it may appear. do not attempt to improve and modify until the drawing and general likeness are secured.
-the expression comes last of all, and with it the beauty. if you attempt to make the face pretty at first, you will weaken the drawing and lose the character. for this reason, many artists make it a rule never to show their portraits until finished. the sitter does not understand the methods of working and is tempted to criticise, which renders the worker timid.
-after the head is put in with the crayon and modeled with the stump, in the manner described in a previous chapter, the finishing is carried on with the crayon point, the small stump, and the pointed rubber stump, which is found more useful than bread at the last.
-the animated expression is put in the eyes by dark touches in the pupil and under the lids, while sharp lights are accented in the iris and on the eyeball.
-the form of the under lid must be carefully studied.
-the nose, also, has much to do with the expression; especially the shape of the nostrils, and the direction of the lines at the side of the nose running down to the mouth. observe whether the nostrils droop downward at the outward edge; this gives a serious expression; if, on the contrary, the line is elevated, it tends to give a bright and animated appearance to the face.
-the mouth, of course, is of great importance, and influences the expression more than any other feature; when smiling, the corners are turned upward, and the lines or dimples are curved in an outward direction. in a sad face the corners of the mouth drop downward and the lines grow straight.
-if the student learns to look for such indications in many faces, he will find more suggestions of importance to aid him in developing the expression. without such knowledge, he may accidentally reverse these conditions, and work on blindly, puzzling himself vainly to find out where he is wrong and why the expression is just the opposite of what it should be.
-in drawing the hair, no matter how elaborate its arrangement, it must be blocked in at first in simple flat masses of light and shade without any attempt at detail. try, however, to give the general character of the hair in putting in the form of the shadows where they meet the light. in smooth, black hair, the effect will be large masses of black with sharp, clearly-defined high lights.
-light curly hair will have much lighter tone in the shadow and much less brilliant lights.
-the half tints are studied and the deep accents of dark put in the shadows, always following the outline of the form of each shadow very carefully.
-avoid putting in a number of lines to represent hair, as this destroys the effect and means nothing. all details are expressed by carefully rendered light and shade.
-in finishing, the high lights are taken out with bread rolled to a point, or if more convenient, the india-rubber stump is used.
-soften the hair where it touches the face, never leaving a hard, dark line. when a tone is too dark, it is not always necessary to use either bread or rubber, but first try rubbing with the stump, which may be found sufficient.
-a background gives relief and importance to the head, and should be managed with judgment.
-in the first place, never make the background exactly the same value as the head. if the hair is light and the general effect of the face fair and delicate, the background should be darker than the head, though not too dark.
-everything must be harmonious, and a spotty appearance is to be avoided.
-for instance, a very light effect of hair and face with a moderately dark dress and a jetty-black background is very bad. also, a head with black hair, white dress and very light background. all violent contrasts should be avoided.
-put the background in at first with charcoal only, using parallel lines in one direction, then crossing them diagonally. after this take the large stump and rub these lines into one tone, yet leaving a slight suggestion of the lines to show through.
-put in this tone only around the shoulders and lower part of the head, leaving the upper part of the paper bare, or nearly so.
-in this way try the effect, working slowly and adding more charcoal as the tone needs to be darker.
-when you have decided that the background has the right effect in relation to the head, use the crayon point in the same way as the charcoal, putting in crossed lines and rubbing them together again with the stump until a transparent effect is achieved, which will give atmosphere and relieve the head.
-if you get on too much crayon rub it all over with a soft rag. this is an excellent thing to do occasionally, as it softens and unites the whole while making the tone lighter.
-remember that hardly any appearance of lines must be seen. when all is done they must be so softened with stump and rag as to present almost the appearance, at a little distance, of an even tone.
-in some cases the background may be carried up higher than the middle of the head, but it is very rarely necessary to surround the whole head with it.
-sometimes a very light tone may be put all over the paper with the large stump and rag.
-in this case the lines are only used at the darkest part around the shoulders. these matters must be determined by individual taste, and the composition of the portrait, as it is impossible to make general rules for every case.
-never attempt to make landscape backgrounds or effects of drapery and still-life behind a simple portrait head. every thing should be kept subordinate to the face, which is the most important thing of all. never use white chalk or crayon with the black in such portraits; take all lights out with bread, or leave the paper clean.
-all drapery in a crayon portrait must be treated as simply as possible, being regarded only as secondary in importance to the head, which is, of course, the main object of interest.
-all elaborate trimmings or pronounced fashions should be avoided.
-different kinds of material are interpreted by carefully studying the different forms of the lights and shadows in each. for instance, black satin is rendered by large masses of black, as black as crayon can be made with sharp, narrow high lights, so light as to be almost white.
-in black silk, the masses of dark are lighter in their general tone, and the lights less sharp and brilliant.
-the different colors are represented by lighter or darker tones, as the case may be.
-in black velvet, the masses of dark are softer than in satin and not so jetty black, while the lights are less brilliant and more diffused in effect, leaving more half tints than are seen either in silk or satin. in black cloths the lights are quite low in tone and the darks are not very black, no sharp high lights are seen at all, both light and shade taking large and simple forms.
-white stuffs, such as lace, muslin, etc., are also kept simple in effect, and are laid in with a very delicate tone all over the mass of light, and the high lights are taken out with bread.
-the shadows should also be delicate and transparent and not too dark. white hair is treated in this way also, the character of the hair being indicated by the form of the lights.
-when there is a white cap upon the head or lace of any kind, do not make it too prominent, but carefully study its value in relation to the face.
-charcoal and crayon drawing with the point; landscapes, proportions, etc.
-this method is principally used by artists in making drawings for illustration, as stump drawings can not well be reproduced. the manner of working is as follows:—
-sketch in the outline with the charcoal stick, sharpened to a point, and then proceed to block in the shadows, which must be drawn in with careful attention to the form, for the reason that it is best to make a distinct outline of each mass of shadow where it meets the light. these shadows are now filled in with the pointed charcoal, used in close parallel lines until a flat, even tone is obtained. it is not necessary that these lines should be distinct, or of exact regularity, as in the very darkest shadows no lines at all should be seen. the half tints are managed in the same way with the point, which may be used in the direction of the features to some extent.
-the main thing to be remembered is that no stump must be used, nor the charcoal rubbed in any way. for erasing, bread is the best, though rubber is sometimes found useful.
-the crayon point is employed in exactly the same way as the charcoal, the directions applying equally to both. all drawings should be fixed as soon as finished.
-proportions of the figure.
-a few conventional rules for the general proportions of the face and figure may be found useful to the student in drawing from life, and are regulated according to the standard of beauty as determined by the greek statues. such proportions will naturally vary in individual cases, yet are valuable as a foundation, which may be modified when necessary.
-the height of a well developed man is eight heads or eight times the length of his own head.
-the height of a woman, seven heads.
-the human figure may be divided into four parts of equal length, viz.: from the top of the head to the arm-pit, thence to the middle of the body, thence to the knees, thence to the soles of the feet.
-the arms extended straight out at right angles to the body will measure from finger-tip to finger-tip the length of the figure from crown of head to sole of foot.
-the face may be divided into three parts. from the top of the forehead to the root of the nose; from there to the bottom of the nose, thence to the bottom of the chin. the ear is the length of the nose, and its general direction is parallel to it.
-from the top of the shoulder to the elbow measures twice the length of the face, or one head and a half.
-from the elbow to the wrist one head.
-the hand measures three-quarters of a head from the tip of the middle finger to the wrist.
-the foot measures one-sixth of the whole length of the body.
-charcoal is a favorite medium with many artists for landscape subjects, and it is, as before stated, especially useful in sketching from nature.
-in beginning to draw a landscape in charcoal, first sketch in lightly the horizon line, the outlines of the trees and different objects, in their general aspect.
-it is always well to select a subject where there is a good effect of light and shade and sufficient variety to give interest.
-after the composition is sketched in, look for the large masses of shadow, and divide the whole into two distinct masses of light and shade, as in figure drawing. the sky is covered with a light tone, at first, and even the masses of light are also covered with a delicate half-tint.
-the whole drawing may be made entirely with the point if it is desired, but the french artist allongé, who is celebrated for his charcoal landscapes, prefers the use of the stump, with the point in finishing.
-if in place of the stump the finger sometimes is used to blend the charcoal, and for rapid sketches, this is very effective.
-after the general masses are put in, the details are drawn with the point, being somewhat softened with the stump, though in trunks of trees, dark branches, rocks, etc., the marks of the point are left unsoftened to give strength.
-the lights are taken out with bread or rubber; sometimes a piece of chamois skin is found useful in lightening a tone. the light clouds are taken out with bread from the sky which has been covered with a half-tint, and the dark clouds are put in with the stump or point, according to the method employed.
-in sketching from nature out of doors, it is always well to adopt some prominent object as a standard of measurement; for instance, take a house or tree in the middle distance, and compare this in height with objects in the background and foreground. in this way your perspective, if simple, may be made correct without any elaborate rules.
-objects in the distance are naturally smaller than those in the foreground, and the exact proportions can be determined by comparative measurement.
-in drawing a road or path, notice that it will become narrower as it recedes into the distance. for those who have never studied perspective such suggestions are useful.
-it is very important also that the values should be carefully studied; it is a good thing to establish the darkest spot of shadow in the whole sketch, and compare all the other darks with it, as already suggested in figure drawing. determine also the brightest light, and let the other lights be in their proper relation to it.
-either crayon or charcoal, or both, may be used for landscapes; it is always better to sketch in the drawing with charcoal, even if crayon is used afterward.
-some very good effects are produced by using crayon or charcoal on tinted paper, either gray, blue, or light brown, and, leaving the tone of the paper for the half-tint, put in the high lights with white chalk.
-in such drawings the stump must not be used, nor should the tones be rubbed or blended in any way. use the crayon or charcoal point in the manner already described, and put the lights in at the last with crisp, strong touches.
-as the student continues his practice he will find out the resources of these most interesting materials, and will develop new possibilities for himself as he becomes more adept, but it must be remembered that there is no “royal road to learning,” and to succeed in acquiring proficiency in drawing of any kind, requires patience and perseverance, with constant practice.
-explanation of the plates.
-the intention of the author in presenting these plates is that the student, by copying a series of progressive drawings, may be prepared to study from the cast and from life. for those who are entirely inexperienced, it is much easier to learn this method from such flat copies at first, as it not only teaches the use of the materials, but familiarizes the student with the forms of the different features, so that when confronted with nature he finds his difficulties considerably lessened.
-this plate is intended to show the drawing of the human eye and mouth in different positions, as well as to familiarize the student with the general form of these important features. only charcoal sharpened to a point is necessary for these outlines, which should be carefully practiced before proceeding to plate ii.
-this study is intended for those who have never drawn from the cast, and have had no practice in using charcoal. a. represents the manner of beginning a drawing. make a dot on the paper for the top, and one for the bottom of the fragment to ascertain where to place the lines, and then with a sharply pointed charcoal stick, draw the general form of the outline in the manner shown in the plate, without attempting any detail. the shadows are then blocked in squarely with the point. when the proportions are thus ascertained to be correct, proceed to finish the drawing as is seen in b.
-to do this, rub the shadows with the stump till one flat, even tone is obtained, and carefully draw the outline, turning the angles into curves.
-this plate is for the most elementary practice in drawing, and no further degree of finish than this should be attempted, until the student has learned to do this much well.
-this represents a simple study of the hand, drawn from a cast. a. indicates the manner of laying in the study, the curved lines being drawn to show the direction and movement of the fingers.
-in b. the stump is used in the shadows, and the modeling is carried on further than in plate ii., the half-tint being added. the outline is carefully finished with the pointed crayon, which is also used in the shadows.
-the part drawn from the cast here represented, is laid in with charcoal, as in fig. a., and then carried on in crayon as in fig. b. the outline is carefully drawn and the shadows blocked in squarely at first as usual, and then changed with great care into the necessary correct forms.
-it will be noticed that this study is a little further advanced than those already given, more detail being shown, as well as a little greater variety in the half-tints. the straight lines across the base and ends of the toes serve to direct the eye to the difference between their general direction and a perfectly horizontal line.
-in this plate the whole profile view of a face is given, fig. a. representing the way to lay in a head. the straight lines outside may be ruled, as they have nothing to do with the drawing, but are merely mechanical aids by which the angle of the features is determined.
-in b. the modeling of the features is carried on still further than in any of the preceding studies, the half-tints and shadows, however, being still kept flat.
-this plate gives a more difficult study in the three-quarter view of a male head. in laying in the drawing, as in fig. a., be careful to get the proportions as perfectly correct as possible before proceeding to carry the modeling further, as in fig. b.
-this head, though more finished than any other yet given, purposely stops short of the final extent to which such drawings may be carried, as the object of the author is to familiarize the student with each step by the way. in the smaller touches about the eyes, nose, etc., the pointed rubber stump will be found more available than bread. for the large masses of shadow it would be well to rub off some sauce crayon on a small piece of drawing paper and fasten it one side of the easel, or, if preferred, rub the pointed crayon on the rough paper until a sufficient quantity adheres. the stump is rolled around in this until sufficient is taken up to cover the large mass of shadow. the more careful work is carried on with the pointed conté crayon, small stump, and pointed rubber, or bread, as before explained.
-plate vii. is intended to prepare the student for drawing the full length figure from the cast, and should be carefully copied. an excellent exercise would be to draw fig. a. several times first, in order to practice the manner of beginning such a drawing; then when this is fully mastered proceed to finish as in fig. b., which in this plate shows a fully completed drawing from the cast.
-this plate represents a study of the male figure taken directly from life, and is a most carefully finished drawing in every respect. fig. a. shows the manner of beginning such a figure; the outline is sketched in with long, sweeping lines at first, to determine the direction of the pose; the proportions are noted and the outline corrected, though drawn in angles, the general masses of shadow being blocked in as usual.
-in fig. b. the crayon and stump are taken up and the drawing is carefully carried on as shown by the plate, until completed.
-the prey of the strongest
-london: hurst and blackett, limited, paternoster house, e.c.
-to archer baker, european manager of the canadian pacific railroad
-my dear baker,
-i have seen many countries, as you know, but none can ever be to me what b.c. was when i worked there. it fizzed and fumed and boiled and surged. it was in a roar: it hummed: it was like the cañon when the grey fraser from the north comes down to lytton and smothers the blue thompson in its flood. we lived in those days: we worked in those days: we didn't merely exist or think or moon or fool around. we were no 'cultus' crowd. we lit into things and dispersed the earth. some day, it may be, i shall do another book to try and recall the odours of the majestic slain forests and the outraged hills when your live locomotives hooted in the passes and wailed to see the great pacific. in the meantime i offer you this, which deals only incidentally with your work, and takes for its subjects a sawmill and the life we lived who worked in one on the lower fraser, when we and the river retired from the scene that to-day ends in busy vancouver and yet spreads across the seas.
-it is possible that you will say that there is too much violence in this story, seeing that it is laid in british columbia and not south of the forty ninth parallel. well, i do not hold you responsible for the violence. even in law-abiding b.c. man will at times break out and paint the town red without a metaphor. there is a great deal of human nature in man, even when suppressed by judge begbie: and siwashes will be siwashes, especially when "pahtlum," or drunk, as they say in the elegant chinook with which i have adorned a veracious but otherwise plain story. take it from me that there is not an incident, or man, or woman in it who is not more or less painted from real life. that amiable contractor for whom we all had quite an affection, whom i have thinly veiled under the name of vanderdunk, is no exception. he will, i feel sure, forgive me, but some of the others might not and they are veiled rather more deeply. this i owe to myself, for i may revisit b.c. again and i cannot but remember that, for some things i said of folks out there many years ago, i was threatened with the death, so dear to the western romancer, which comes from being hung by the neck from a cottonwood. if ever i do see that country again, i hope it will be with you. as my friend chihuahua would have said, "quien sabe?" my best regards to you, tilikum! here's how!
-your sincere friend, morley roberts.
-the prey of the strongest
-as pitt river pete spoke he entered the humming fraser mill by the big side door chute down which all the heavier sawed lumber slid on its way to the yard. he had climbed up the slope of the chute and for some moments had stayed outside, though he looked in, for the sun was burning bright on white sawed lumber and the shining river, so that the comparative gloom of the mill made him pause. but now he entered, and seeing skookum charlie helping the wedger-off, he spoke, and skookum, who could not hear in the uproar, knew that he said "klahya."
-the mill stretched either way, and each end was open to the east and the west. it was old and grimed and covered with the fine meal of sawdust. great webs hung up aloft in the dim roof. in front of pete was the pony saw which took the lumber from the great saws and made it into boards and scantling, beams and squared lumber. to pete's right were the great saws, the father and mother of the mill, double, edge to edge, mighty in their curved inset teeth, wide in gauge and strong whatever came to them. as they sang and screamed in chorus, singing always together, the other saws chimed in: the pony saw sang and the great trimmer squealed and the chinee trimmer whined. every saw had its note, its natural song, just as naturally as a bird has: each could be told by the skilled hearer. pete listened as he stepped inside and put his back against the studs of the wall-plates, out of the way of the hive of man, he only being a drone that hour. and the big hoes, father and mother of the mill, droned in the cut of logs and said (or sang) that what they cut was douglas fir, and that it was tough. but the pony saw said that the last big log had been spruce. the smell of spruce said "spruce" just as the saw sang it. and the trimmers screamed opposing notes, for they cut across the grain. beneath the floor where the chorus of the saws worked was the clatter of the lath-mill and the insistent squeal of the shingle saw, with its recurrent shriek of pride, "i cut a shingle, phit, i cut a shingle, phit!"
-the whole mill was a tuned instrument, a huge sounding board. there was no discord, for any discord played its part: it was one organic harmony, pleasing, fatiguing, satisfying; any dropped note was missed: if the lath mill stayed in silence, something was wanting, when the shingler said nothing, the last fine addition to the music fell away. and yet the one harmony of the mill was a background for the soloes of the saws, for the great diapason of the hoes, for the swifter speech of the pony, for the sharp cross note of the trimmers. the saws sang according to the log, to its nature, to its growth: either for the butt or the cleaner wood. in a long log the saws intoned a recitative: a solemn service. and beneath them all was the mingled song of the belts, which drove the saws, hidden in darkness, and between floors. against the song of the mill the voice of man prevailed nothing.
-when any man desired to speak to another he went close to him and shouted. they had a silent speech for measurements in feet; the hand, the fingers, the rubbed thumb and finger, the clenched hand with thumb up, with thumb down, called numbers for the length of boards, of scantling, what not.
-"eleven feet!" said the rubbing thumb and forefinger.
-if any spoke it was about the business of the mill.
-"fine cedar this," said mac to jack, "fine cedar--special order--for----" a lost word.
-but for the most part no one spoke but the saws. men whistled with pursed lips and whistled dumbly: they sang too, but the songs were swallowed in the song of the saws. they began at six and ran till noon unless a breakdown happened and some belt gave way. but none had given this day and it was ten o'clock. the men were warm and willing with work, their muscles worked warm and easy. it was grand to handle the lever and to beat in the iron dogs: to use the maul upon the wedges as the saws squealed. they worked easy in their minds. they looked up and smiled unenvious of idle pitt river pete. they knew work was good, their breath felt clean: their hearts beat to the rhythm of the mill.
-as mills go it was a small one. it could not compete with the giants of the inlet and the sound who served australia, which grows no good working wood, or south america. it sent no lumber to brisbane, no boards to callao or valparaiso. it served the town of new westminster and the neighbouring ranches: the little growth of townships on the river up to hope and yale. sometimes it sent a cargo to victoria or 'squimault. a schooner even now lay alongside the wharf, piled high with new sawed stuff, that the saws had eaten as logs and spewed as lumber.
-as logs! aye, in the pool below, in the boom, which is a chained log corral for swimming logs, a hundred great logs swam. paul (from nowhere, but a tall thin man) was the keeper and their herder. he chose them for the slaughter, and went out upon them as they wallowed, and with a long pike stood upon the one to be sacrificed and drove it to the spot whence it should climb to the altar: a long slope with an endless cable working above and below it. he made it fast with heavy dogs, with chains may be, and then spoke to one above who clapped the friction on the bull-wheel and hove the log out of the water, as if it were a whale for flensing. it went up into the mill and was rolled upon the skids, and waited. it trembled and the mill trembled.
-"now, now, that log, boys. hook in, drive her, roll her, heave and she's on! drive in the dogs and she goes!"
-oh, but it was a good sight and the roar was filling. pete's eyes sparkled: he loved it: loved the sound and the song and itched to be again on the log with the maul. those who speak of sport--why, let them fell a giant, drive it, boom it, drag it and cut it up! to brittle a monarch of the forest and disembowel it of its boards: its scantlings: its squared lumber: posts, fences, shingles, laths, pickets, oho! pete knew how great it was.
-"oh, klahya, tilikum, my friend the log."
-he spoke not now to skookum, but strong charlie, and lazy charlie, understood him. at one hour of the day even the lazy surrendered to the charm of the song of the work and did their damnedest. so skookum understood that his old friend (both being sitcum siwashes, or half breeds) loved the mill and the work at that hour.
-white, the chief sawyer, the red beard, was at his lever and set the carriage for a ten inch cant when the slabs were off and hurtling to the lath mill. ginger white no one loved, least of all his wedger-off, simmons (a man, like silent paul of the boom, from nowhere), for he too was gingery, with a gleam of the sun in his beard and a spice of the devil in his temper. he was the fierce red type, while white was red but lymphatic, and also a little fat under the jowl and a liar by nature, furtive, not very brave but skilled in saws. simmons took a wedge and his maul and waited for the log to come to him. the carriage moved: the saws bit: the sawdust squirted and spurted in a curve with strips of wood which were not sawdust, for they use big gauges in the soft wood of the west and would stare at a sixteenth gauge, to say nothing of less. now simmons leapt upon the log and drove in the wedge to keep the closing cut open for the saws. the lengthening cut gave opening for another and another. simmons and skookum played swiftly, interchanging the loosened wedge and setting it to loosen the last driven in. the wedgers-off on the six-foot log were like birds of prey upon a beast.
-"oh, give it her," yelled skookum. it was a way of his to yell. but ginger drove her fast, hoping to hear the saws nip a little and alter their note so that he could complain. simmons knew it, skookum knew it. but they played quickly and sure. they leapt before the end of the cut and helped to guide the falling cant upon the skids. chinamen helped them. the cant thundered on the skids and was thrust sideways over to the pony saw.
-"kloshe kahkwa," said pete. "that's good!"
-and as he sent the carriage backward for another cut, ginger white looked up and saw pete standing with his back to the wall. ginger's dull eye brightened, and he regarded simmons with increased disfavour. pete he knew was a good wedger-off, a quick, keen man very good for a siwash, as good as any man in the mill at such work. he had seen pete work at the inlet. oh, he was good, "hyas kloshe," said white, but as for simmons, damn! he was red-headed, and ginger hated a red man for some deep reason.
-it was a busy world, but even in the rhythm of the work hatred gleamed and strange passions worked as darkly as the belts, deep in the floor, that drove the saws. quin, the manager (and part owner), came in at the door by the big saws, and he saw pete standing by the open chute. he smiled to himself.
-"back again, and asking for work. where's his wife, pretty jenny?"
-she was pretty, toketie klootchman, a pretty woman: not a half breed: perhaps, if one knew, less than a quarter breed, tenas sitcum siwash, and the blood showed in the soft cheeks. she was bright and had real colour, tender contours, everything but beautiful hands and feet, and they not so bad. as for her face, and her smile (which was something to see), why, said quin, as he licked his lips, there wasn't a white woman around that was a patch on her. jenny had smiled on him. but pete kept his eye on her and so far as it seemed she was true to him. but quin----
-in the busy world as it was quin's mind ran on jenny.
-"yes, sir," he used to say, "we're small but all there. we run for all we're worth, every cent of it, every pound of beef. if you want to see bigger, try the inlet or port blakeley. but we cut here to the last inch. thirty thousand feet a day ain't a hell of a pile, but it's all we can chew. and, sir, we chew it!"
-he was a broad heavy man, dark and strong and much lighter on his feet than he looked. if there hadn't been skookum charlie it might have been skookum quin. he was as hard as a cant-log.
-"we're alive," said quin the manager. they worked where he was, and, hard as they had worked before, white set a livelier pace and made his men sweat. quin smiled and understood that ginger white was that kind of a man. now mac at the pony saw always took a breather when quin came in. just now he walked from his saw, dropped down through a trapdoor into a weltering chaos of sudden death and threw the tightener off his saw's belt. the pony saw ceased to hum and whined a little and ran slow and died. the blurred rim of steel became separate teeth. long mac stood over the saw and tightened a tooth with his tools and took out one and replaced it with a better washleather to keep it firm. he moved slow but again descended and let the tightener fall upon the belt. the pony saw sprang to valiant life and screamed for work. quin smiled at mac, for he knew he was a worker from "way back," and the further back you go the worse they get! by the lord, you bet!
-so much for quin for the time. the stick moola, as the chinook has it, is the theme.
-it was a beast by the water, that lived on logs. it crawled into the river for logs, and reached out its arms for logs. it desired logs with its sharp teeth. it hungered for cedar (there's good red cedar of sorts in the ranges, and fine white cedar in the selkirks), and for spruce (the fine tree it is!) and douglas fir and hemlock or anything to cut that wasn't true hardwood. it could eat some of the soppy slope maple but disdained it. it was greedy and loved lumber. men cut its dinner afar off and towed it around to the mill, to the arms, the open arms of the boom with paul helping as a kind of great kitchen boy.
-at early dawn its whistle blew, for in the dark (or near it) the underlings of the engineer stirred up the furnaces and threw in sawdust and woke the steam. at "half after five" the men turned out, came tumbling in for breakfast in the boarded shack by the store and fed before they fed the mill. the first whistle sounded hungry, the second found the men hungry no more, but ready to feed the beast.
-there were british canadians:
-and americans: from wisconsin, michigan, texas, iowa and the lord knows where.
-and spaniards: one a man of castile, and one from mexico.
-there were two kanucks of the old sort from the east or there was one at any rate.
-there were englishmen. well, there was one jack mottram and he a seaman.
-there was one swede, hans anderssen, in the mill. there were two finns outside it.
-and one lett (from lithuania, you understand).
-there was a scotchman of course, and, equally of course, he was the engineer.
-there was a french canadian, not by any means of the habitant type but very much there, and he knew english well, but usually cursed in french as was proper.
-there were two germans. one was as meek as one german usually is unless he is drunk. but one was not meek. more of him anon.
-it was an odd crowd, a mixed crowd at meal times in the mill hash house. to add to everything chinamen waited: chinamen cooked.
-"now then, sing, chuck the chow on!"
-"sing-sing (that's where you ought to be), where's the muckamuck?"
-"by the great horn spoon----"
-"oh, where's the grub, the hash--the muckamuck, you canton rats! kihi, kiti, mukha-hoilo!"
-and the hash was slung and the slingers thereof hurried.
-the hash-eaters talked english (of sorts), american (north and south), swinsk, norsk, dansk, true spanish (with the lisp), mexican spanish (without it and soft as silk). they interlarded the talk (which was of mills, lumber, and politics, and indian klootchmen, and the weather, and of horses and dogs and the devil and all) with scraps of chinook. and that is english and french and different sorts of indian fried and boiled and pounded and fricasseed and served up in one jargon. it's a complete and god-forsaken tongue but easy, and easiness goes. it is as it were brother to pidgin english.
-the grub was "muckamuck" and luckily was "kloshe." but as it happened (it usually did happen) there was salmon.
-"cultus slush, i call it," said one. "cultu muckamuck."
-"that's ned quin's nickname up to kamloops," said jack mottram.
-"our man's brother?"
-"him," said jack. he picked his teeth with a fork and long mac eyed him with disgust.
-"i know ned, he's tough."
-but jack was tough himself: he had been salted in all the seas and sun-dried on all the beaches of the rough round world. he made short stays everywhere: passages not voyages: skippers were glad to give him his discharge, for after sixty days at sea he sickened for the land and became hot cargo.
-"oh, i'm tough enough," he would prelude some yarn with.
-now shorty gibbs spoke, he of the shingle mill. lately the shingle mill had annexed half a thumb of his as it screamed out to him. "he's a son of a----"
-he completed the sentence in the approved round manner.
-they all admitted that quin the manager was tough, but that ned quin of kamloops was tougher admitted not a doubt.
-they swept the food from the table. just as the logs were divided by the saws and fell into various chutes and disappeared, so the food went here. most of the men ate like hogs (the better americans least like): they yaffled, they gurgled, they sweated over the chewing and got over it.
-"i'm piled up," said tenas billy of the lath mill. he too was minus a thumb and the tops of some fingers, tribute to the saw. especially do the shingle saw and lath saw take such petty toll. when the hoes ask tribute or the pony saw it's a different matter.
-as to being piled up, that was a sawmill metaphor.
-"you've put the tightener on your belt!"
-to be sure they all had.
-but as to piling up, when things were booming and men were warm and feeling the work good, and when nothing went wrong with the belts or with the engines and the logs came easy and sweet, it was the ambition of the chief sawyer to pile up the skids of long mac who had the pony saw. then it was long mac's desire to pile up the skids for the chinee trimmer (not run by a chinee) and it was that trimmer's desire to pile up the man opposing. to be piled up is to have bested one's own teeth, when it comes to chewing.
-"my skids are full," said the metaphorical.
-at six the whistle blew again, with a bigger power of steam in its larynx. the mill said:--
-the hash-room emptied till noontime, when next hash-pile was proclaimed, and the men streamed across the sawdust road and the piled yard to the open mill. some went in by the door, some by the engine-room, some climbed the chutes. the sun was aloft now and shining over the pitt river mountains (where pete came from) and over sumach. the river danced and sparkled: scows floated on its tide: the gem steamer got up steam. the canneries across the big river gleamed white. the air was lovely with a touch of the breath of the mountains in it. the smell of the lumber was good.
-the men groaned and went to work.
-they forgot to groan in twenty minutes.
-it was good work in an hour and good men loved it for a while.
-but it was work that pitt river pete saw as he leant against the wall. it wasn't an english pretence, or a spanish lie, or an irish humbug: it was pacific slope work, where men fly. they work out west!
-"i wonder if i can get a jhob," said pete. and the job worked up for him under his very eyes, for quin had a quick mind to give him work and get pretty jenny near, and ginger white was sore against simmons.
-yes, pitt river pete, you can get "a jhob!" devil doubt it, for you've a pretty wife, and white drove the carriage fast and faster still, drove it indeed faster than the saw could take it, meaning to hustle simmons and have present leave to burst out into blasphemy. things happen quick in the mill, in any mill, and of a sudden white stopped the carriage dead and yelled to simmons on the log:
-"can't you keep her open, damn you? are you goin' to sleep there? oh, go home and die!"
-simmons, on the log on his knees, looked up savagely. though the big hoes were silent there was row enough with the pony saw and the big trimmer and chinee trimmer and the lath mill and the shingle saw and the bull wheel and the groaning and complaining of the planing machines outside. so simmons heard nothing. he saw ginger's face and saw the end had come to work. he knew it. it had been coming this long time and now had come. but simmons said nothing: he grinned like a catamount instead, and then looked round and saw quin. he also saw pete.
-"to hell," said simmons.
-as he spoke he hurled his maul at white, and ginger dodged. the head missed him but the handle came backhanded and smote ginger on the nose so that the blood ran.
-"oh, oh," said ginger as sick as any dog. simmons leapt off into the very arms of quin.
-"i'll take my money, mr. quin," said simmons.
-"take your hook," said quin. "look out, here's white for you with a spanner!"
-white came running and expected simmons to run. but simmons' face was red where white's was white. he snatched a pickareen from the nearest chinaman, and a pickareen is a useful weapon, a sharp half pick, and six inches of a pick.
-"you----" grinned simmons, "you----"
-and white stayed.
-"yah!" said simmons, with lips set back. and ginger white retreated.
-"here, sonny, take your pick," said the wedger-off that had been to the chinaman; "fat chops don't care to face it."
-he turned to quin.
-"shall i go to the office, mr. quin?"
-"aye," said quin carelessly enough.
-he beckoned to pete, whose eyes brightened. he came lightly.
-"you'll take the job, pete?"
-would he take it?
-"nawitka," said pete, "yes, indeed, sir."
-nawitka! he took the job and grinned with skookum, who fetched the maul and gave him the wedges with all the pleasure in the world, for skookum had no ambition to be chief wedger-off. white came forward, dabbing at a monstrous tender nose with a rag.
-"i've seen you at the inlet?" he asked.
-"yes," said pete, "at granville."
-"you'll do," said white. he dabbed at his huge proboscis and went back to the lever. pete leapt upon the log and drove in the first wedge.
-"hyas, hyas! oh, she goes!"
-she went and the day went, and pete worked like fire on a dry spruce yet unfelled. he leapt on and off and handled things with skill. but when he looked at white's growing nose he grinned. simmons had done that.
-"if he ever talk to me that away," said pete, "i'll give him chikamin, give him steel!"
-he didn't love white, at the first glance he knew that. but it was good to be at work again, very good.
-at twelve o'clock the whistle called "hash," and the engine was shut down. the saws slackened their steady scream, they grew feeble, they whined, they whirred, they nearly stopped, they stayed in silence. men leapt across the skids: they slid down the chutes: they clattered down the stairs: they opened their mouths and could hear their voices. they talked of white (he grubbed at home, being married), and of simmons and of pete (he being a siwash, even if not married, would not have grubbed in the hash house) and heard the story. on the whole they were sorry that simmons had not driven the pickareen through white. however, his nose was a satisfaction.
-"like a beet----"
-"a water melon----"
-a prodigious nose after contact with the maul handle.
-"i knew mr. white," said jenny to pete, "mr. white bad man, hyu mesahchie."
-"sling out the muckamuck," said pete calmly.
-he fell to with infinite satisfaction, and jenny came and sat on his knee as he smoked his pipe.
-"she is really devilish pretty," said quin, who had no one to sit on his knee.
-the whistle suddenly said that it was half after twelve and that it would be infinitely obliged if all the working gentlemen from everywhere would kindly step up in a goldarned hurry and turn to.
-"turn to, turn too--toot," said the whistle as brutally as any western ocean bo'sun.
-the full fed reluctant gentlemen of the mill went back into the battle, waddling and sighing sorely.
-"wish to god it was six o'clock," they said. there's no satisfying everybody, and going to work full of food is horrid, it really is.
-what happened in the morning happened in the afternoon, and all the saws yelled and the planers complained and the men jumped till six, when the engines let steam into the whistle high up against the smoke stack and made it yell wildly that work was over for the day. mr. engine-man played a fantasia on that pipe and hooted and tooted and did a dying cadenza that wailed like a lost soul in the pit and then rose up in a triumphant scream that echoed in the hills and died away across the waters of the fraser shining in the peaceful evening sun.
-and night came down, the blessed night, when no man works (unless he be in a night shift, or is a night watchman or a policeman or, or--). how blessed it is to knock off! but there, what do you know about it, if you never played with lumber in a stick moola? nothing, i assure you. go home and die, man.
-there were times when the mill ate wood all night long, but such times were rare, for now the city of the fraser was not booming. she sat sombrely by her bright waters and moaned the bitter fact that the railway was not coming her way, but was to thrust out its beak into the waters of the inlet. the city was a little sad, a little bitter, her wharves were deserted, dank, lonely. she saw no great future before her: houses in her precincts were empty: men spoke scornfully of her beauty and exalted granville and the forests whence vancouver should spring.
-but for such as worked in the mill the city was enough. they lived their little lives, strove manfully or poorly, thinking of little things, of few dollars, of a few days, and of saturdays, and of sundays when no man worked. and each night in sawmill town, in sawdust territory, was a holiday, for then toil ceased and the shacks lighted up and there was opportunity for talk. work was over. 'halo mamook,' no work now, but it might be rye, or other poison and gambling and debauchery. the respectable workers (note that they were mostly american) went off up town, to the farmers' home or some such place, or to the city library, or to each other's homes, while the main body of the toilers of the mill 'played hell' in their own way under the very shadow of the mill itself. for them the end of the week was a big jamboree, but every night was a little one.
-pete was back among his old tilikums, his old partners and friends, and it was an occasion for a jamboree, a high old jamboree of its order, that is; for real red paint, howling, shrieking, screaming jamborees were out of order and the highly respectable rulers of the city saw to it that the place was not painted red by any citizen out on the loose with a gun. british columbia, mark you, is an orderly spot: amazingly good and virtuous and law-abiding, and killing is murder there. this excites scorn and derision and even amazement in american citizens come in from spokane falls, say, or elsewhere, from such spots as seattle, or even snohomish.
-but even without red paint, or guns, or galloping cayuses up and down a scandalised british city, cannot a man, and men and their klootchmen, get drink and get drunk and raise cain in sawdust town? you bet they can, tilikums! nawitka, certainly! oh, shucks--to be sure!
-pete and jenny (being hard up as yet) lived in a room of indian annie's shack, and had dirt and liberty. in sawdust town, just across the road and on the land side of the mill, were squads of disreputable shacks in streets laid down with stinking rotten sawdust and marked out with piles of ancient lumber. all this had one time been a swamp, but in the course of generations sawdust filled it to the brim. sawdust rots and ferments and smells almost as badly as rice or wheat rotting in a ship's limbers, and the odour of the place in a calm was a thing to feel, to cut, even with an axe. it was a paying property to quin and quin's brother, for lumber costs next door to nothing at a mill, and the rent came in easily, as it should when it can be deducted from wages. it was a good clean property as some landlords say in such cases, meaning that the interest is secure. life wasn't; and as to morality, why, what did the quin brothers care about their renters of the shacks, shanties, and keekwilly holes? they cared nothing about their morals or their manners or the sanitation.
-chinamen lived there: they were canton wharf-rats mostly, big men, little men, men who lived their own odd secret racial lives hidden away from the eyes of whites. white boys yelled--
-"oh, chinkie, kihi, kiti mukhahoilo----"
-and it was supposed to be an insult. the chinkies cursed the boys by their gods, and by buddha and by the christians' gods. "oh, ya, velly bad boy, oh, damn." stones flew, chunks of lumber, and boys or chinamen ran. the orientals chattered indignantly on doorsteps. if a boy had disappeared suddenly, who would have wondered?
-it was a splendid locality for nature, the nature of man, not for the growth of other things. there were few conventions green in the neighbourhood, a man was a man, and a hound a hound there, and a devil a devil without a mask. it had a fascination.
-the chinamen mostly worked in the yard: handling lumber as it came out, stacking it, wheeling it, carrying it. but there were others than chinky chinamen about. there was spanish joe in one shack which he shared with chihuahua, who was a mexican. be so good as to pronounce this word cheewawwaw and have done with it. skookum charlie and his klootchman (he was from s'kokomish and was a puyallop and she from snohomish and was a muckleshoot) lived in another. there's no word for wife in chinook but only klootchman, woman, so though there's one for marry, malieh, the ceremony is not much thought of. when a man's klootchman is mentioned it leaves the question of matrimony open for further inquiry, if necessary. but is it worth while?
-about nine o'clock that night, the night of pete's getting a job, it was wonderful at indian annie's. if you don't believe it come in and see, tilikum! there are tons of things you don't know, tilikum, the same as the rest of us.
-oh, hyah, oho, they were enjoying themselves!
-such a day it had been, clear, clean-breathed, splendid, serene, and even yet the light lingered in the cloudless heavens, though the bolder stars came like scouts over the eastern hills and looked down on mill and river.
-but shucks, what of that in indian annie's? the room that was kitchen, dining room, hall and lumber room was reeking full. a wood fire smouldered on the hearth: a slush lamp smoked in the window against the dying heavenly day. pete was there and annie, and jack mottram, an english sailorman. he lived next door with a half-breed ptsean (you can't pronounce it, tilikum) who was scarcely prettier than annie, till she was washed. then she was obviously younger at any rate.
-everyone was so far very happy.
-"hyu heehee," said indian annie. by which she meant in her short way that it was all great fun, and that they were jolly companions everyone. besides annie there were three other klootchmen in the room and their garments were not valuable. but it was "hyu heehee" all the same, for jack mottram brought the whisky in; indians not being allowed to buy it, as they are apt, even more apt than whites, the noble whites, to see red and run "amok."
-"here two dollah, you buy mo' whisky, jack," said pete, who was almost whooping drunk by now and as happy as a chipmunk in a deserted camp, or a dog at some killing, perhaps.
-"righto," hiccupped jack, and away he went. pete sang something. there's bawdry in chinook even.
-pete was a handsome boy if one likes or does not dislike the indian cheekbones. for the features of the sitcum-siwash were almost purely indian; his colour was a memory of his english father. he was tall, nearly five foot ten, lightly and beautifully built. he was as quick on his feet as a bird on the wing. his hands, even, were fine considering he was one who would work. his eyes were reddish brown, his teeth ivory: his moustache was a scanty indian growth. not a doubt of it but that pete was the best-looking "breed" round about westminster. and he wasn't as lazy as most of them.
-take his history on trust. it is easy to imagine it. he had half learnt to read at an anglican mission. his english was not bad when he talked to white men. in truth it was better and heaps cleaner than jack mottram's. but talk on the american side of the water is always cleaner. "if you don't like bawdry, we'll have very little of it," said lucio to the friar, who was perhaps american. pete was a nice boy of twenty-three. but he had a loose lip and could look savage. his mind was a tiny circle. he could reach with his hand almost as far as his mind went. he had a religion once, when he left the fathers of the mission. he then believed in the saghalie tyee, the chief of heaven: in fact, in the head boss. now he believed in the head boss of the mill and in whisky and in his wife: all of them very risky beliefs indeed.
-so far jenny, pete's little klootchman (and a sweet pretty creature she was) hadn't yet showed up in the shebang. she had been out somewhere, the lord alone knows where (quin would have wished he knew), and she was now in the inside room, dressing or rather taking off an outside gown and putting on a gorgeous flowered dressing-gown given her by a lady at kamloops. now she came out.
-she was a beauty, tilikum, and you can believe it or leave it alone. she was little, no more than five feet three say, but perfectly made, round, plump, most adequate, which is a mighty good word, seeing that she was all there in some ways. she had a complexion of rosy eve, and teeth no narwhal's horn could match for whiteness, and her lips were red-blooded, her ears pink. she had dimples to be sworn by: and the only sign of her indian blood (which was obviously hydah) came out in her long straight black hair, that she wore coiled in a huge untidy mass. but for that she was white as far as her body went. as for her soul--but that's telling too soon.
-now she came out of the inner chamber in her scarlet gown, which was flaming with outrageous tulips, horribly parodying even a dutch grower's nightmare, and she looked like a rosebud, or a merry saint in a flaming san benito with flower flame devils on it in paint. and not a soul of her tilikums knew she was lovely. they envied her that san benito!
-jenny was sober enough this time (and so far), and if no one knew she was lovely she knew it, and she eyed some of the drunken klootchmen disdainfully. this was not so much that they were pahtlum but because they had but ten cents worth of clothes and were not toketie or pretty.
-"fo!" said jenny, stepping lightly among the recumbent and half-recumbent till she squatted on her hams by the fire.
-"where you bin, jenny?" asked pete, already hiccupping. and jenny said she had been with mary, or alice, or someone else. may be it was true.
-"have a drink," said her man, handing her a bottle. she tilted it and showed her sweet neck and ripe bosom as she drank and handed it back empty.
-then jack mottram, english sailorman and general rolling stone and blackguard, came in hugging two bottles of deadly poison, one under each arm.
-"kloshe," said the crowd, "kloshe, good old jack!"
-the "shipman" dropped his load into willing claws and claimed first drink loudly.
-"s'elp me, you see, pardners, i bro't 'em in fair and square: never broached 'em. i know chaps as'd ha' squatted under the lee of a pile o' lumber and ha' soaked the lot. s'elp me i do!"
-it was felt on all hands that he was a noble character. indian annie patted him on the back.
-"'ands off, you catamaran," said jack. in spite of being a seaman he believed the word was a term of abuse.
-he was a seaman, though--and a first-class hand anywhere and anywhen. to see him now, foul, half-cocked, bleary, and to see him when three weeks of salt water had cleaned and sweetened him, would surprise the most hopeful. he went passages, not voyages, and skipped ashore every time he touched land. there wasn't a country in the round world he didn't know.
-"i know 'em all from chile to china, from rangoon to hell," said jack, "i know 'em in the dark, by the stink of 'em!"
-now he jawed about this and that, with scraps of unholy information in his talk. no one paid attention, they talked or sucked at the whisky. the more indian blood the more silence till the blood is diluted with alcohol. every now and again some of them squealed with poisonous happiness; outside one might hear the sound of the screams and singing and the unholy jamboree. the noise brought others. someone knocked at the door. the revellers were happy and pleased to see the world and they yelled a welcome.
-"come in, tilikum!" they cried, and chihuahua opened the door against one klootchman's silent body and showed his dark head and glittering eyes inside.
-"where my klootchman? you see my klootchman? ah, i see!"
-she was half asleep by the fire, and nodded at him foolishly. he paid no attention for he was after liquor and saw that the gathering welcomed him. he knew them all but pete, but he had heard of the row in the mill and had seen the head that simmons put on ginger and he knew that a tilikum of skookum's had been made wedger-off.
-"you pete, ah, i tinks."
-"nawitka, tilikum, that's me, pitt river pete. you have a drink. ho, jenny, you give me the bottle. she's my klootchman."
-chihuahua took the bottle and drank. he looked at jenny and saw that she was beautiful.
-"muchacha hermosa," he said. she knew what he meant, for she read his eyes.
-"your little klootchman hyu toketie, mister pete, very peretty, oh, si," said chihuahua.
-"mor'n yours is," hiccupped jack mottram. "but--'oo's got a smoke?"
-the beady-eyed man from mexico had a smoke: a big bag of dry tobacco and a handful or pocket full of papers. he rolled cigarettes for them all, doing it with infinite dexterity. drunk or sober chihuahua could do that. his own klootchman clawed him for one of them and without a word he belted her on the ear and made her bellow. she sat in the corner by the fire and howled as lugubriously as if her dog or her father had just died.
-"halo kinootl, halo kinootl, mika tiki cigalette!"
-"oh, give the howler one," said jack, as she kept on howling that she had no tobacco and that her man was angry with her. pete gave her his, which was already lighted. she giggled and laughed and began crooning a chinook song:--
-"konaway sun hyu keely annawillee!"
-it was a mournful dirge: she sang and smoked and wept and giggled and tried to make eyes at jack who must love her or he could never have given her a "cigalette." he was heaps nicer than chihuahua.
-she set them off singing and more drink was brought in, and still annawillee said she was very "keely" or sad. indeed, she was weeping drunk and no one paid any attention to her, least of all chihuahua. jack sang a chanty about dandy rob of the orinoco and a pleasing meal of boiled sawdust and bullock's liver, "blow, my bully boys, blow!" and wept to think of whitechapel. an encore resulted in "my rorty carrotty sal, who kems from w'itechapal," and then jack subsided amid applause, and slept the sleep of great success.
-but pete was now "full" and could speak to chihuahua and to spanish joe and skookum charlie who had come in together.
-"why you come here, pete?" asked skookum. "they say you have a good jhob up to kamloops."
-"i tell you, tilikum," said pete. "me and jenny here was with ned quin, cultus muckamuck we call him up alound the dly belt. ain't he a son of a gun, jenny?"
-jenny nodded and took a cigarette from chihuahua with a heavenly smile. they were all lying around the fire but pete and jenny. the other klootchmen were mostly fast asleep: indian annie was insensible. pete went on talking in a high pitched but not unpleasant voice. his english was by no means so bad though not so good as jenny's.
-"mary, my sister, she's ned quin's klootchman," said pete, "and has been with him years, since his white woman died. i forget how long: nika kopet kumtuks, it's so long. so me and jenny work there: she with mary, me outside with the moos-mooses, wagon, plowin', harrowin', and scraper team. oh, i work lika hell all one year, dollar a day and muckamuck: and old ned he was cultus muckamuck, oh, you bet, tilikums: mean as mud. him and me don't hit it off, but i lika the place, not too wet, good kieutans to ride, and, when i get sick and full up of cultus, jenny here she fond of my sister and when she was full up of mary i just happen to pull with cultus, so that's why we stay. sometime the old dog he allow a dollar a day too much for me, and me workin' lika a mule. oh, i work alla time, by god, velly little dlunk only sometime in kamloops. and i say 'look here, cultus, i not care one damn, i can go. i can quit:--you pay me!' but when it came to pay out dolla he very sick, for sure. so i say, 'you be damn,' and he laughed and went away, for i had a neck-yoke in my hand, ha!"
-pete showed his teeth savagely, and the others grinned.
-"we do that often: he damn me, i damn him, and mebbe jenny and me would be there yet if he had not hit mary with a club while i was away over to nikola bringin' in the steers that was over the range. i come back, and i find jenny cryin' and mary sick and cryin', and sore all over, and cultus hyu drunk. so i ups and say to cultus, 'you swine, you hit my poor sister once mo' and i quit.' then he began to cry and fetch mo' whisky and we both get drunk and very much friends, and i go to sleep, and he get ravin' and fetch a long-handled shovel and frighten jenny here to death and he hit mary with the flat of the shovel, and say, 'you damn klootchman, next time i give you the edge and cut hell out of you.'"
-"he say those same words," said jenny.
-"and when i wake up," pete went on, "they tell me, and i say it no good to stay for if i stay i kill cultus and no taffy about it. so next day i say 'give me my money,' and he give me an order on smith over to kamloops, and we came down here, and now i get the job wedging-off again and that's better'n workin' for old cultus. gimme the bottle, skookum, you old swine."
-they all had another drink.
-"george quin heap berrer'n cultus," said skookum.
-"'e lika peretty girls," said chihuahua, leering at jenny. "'e look after klootchman alla day, eh, joe?"
-spanish joe said that was so. "spanish" was a real castilian, as fair as any swede and had golden hair and lovely skin and the blue eyes of a visigoth, and he was a murderous hound and very good at songs and had a fine voice and could play the guitar. he had no klootchman, but there was a white woman up town who loved him and robbed her husband to give him money.
-"all klootchman no good," said joe scornfully.
-"you're a liar," said jenny, "but men are no good, only pete is good sometimes, ain't you, pete?"
-"i shan't," said jenny, sulkily.
-so he beat her very severely, and blacked her eye, and dragged her by the gorgeous dressing-gown into the next room. as he dragged her she slipped out of the gown and they saw her for an instant white as any lily before he slammed the door on her and came out again. joe and chihuahua yelled with laughter, and even skookum roused up to chuckle a little. he had been asleep, lying with his head on the insensible body of an unowned klootchman, who was a relative of annie's. his own klootchman still sat in the corner, every now and again chanting dismally of the woes of annawillee. joe and chihuahua spoke in spanish.
-"she's a beauty, and george quin will want her," said chihuahua.
-"and he'll have her too, by the mother of god," said joe. "but klootchmen are no good. my woman up town she cries too much. and as for her husband----"
-he indulged in some spanish blasphemy on the subject of that poor creature's man.
-they slapped pete on the back when he sat down again, and said he knew how to serve a saucy muchacha. and joe sang a beautiful old spanish love song with amazing feeling and then went away. but the melancholy of the song haunted poor pete's heart, and he went to his wife and found her crouched on the floor sobbing and as naked as when she was born. and pete cried too and said that he loved her.
-but she still cried, for he had torn the lovely dressing-gown with its gorgeous garden of tulips. she hugged it to her beautiful bosom as if it were a child.
-in the outer room they all slept, and even annawillee ceased moaning.
-the night was calm and wonderful and as silent as death.
-nah siks, ho, my friend, let me introduce you to george quin: manager and part owner of the mill, of the stick moola which ate logs and turned out lumber and used (even as sawdust) the lives and muscles of high-toned high binders from kowloon and the back parts of canton, and hidalgos from spain with knives about them, and gentlemen from whitechapel who knew the ways of the sea, and many first-class americans from the woods, to say nothing of letts, lapps and finns and our tilikums the indians from the coast.
-quin was two hundred pounds weight, and as solid as a cant of his fir, and his mind was compact, a useful mind when dollars were concerned. he was a squaw-man and was always in with one of them, for there are men who don't care for white women (though indeed he had cared very much for one) and so run after klootchmen just as water runs down hill. it is explicable, for the conduct of (or the conducting of) a white woman for the most part takes a deal of restraint. quin hated any form of it: he was by nature a kind of savage, though he was born in vermont and bred up in lower canada. he went west early (even to china, by the way) and only kept so much restraint as enabled him to hang on and make dollars and crawl up a financial ladder--with that wanting he might have been:--
-a hobo, a blanket stiff or a mere gaycat,
-and have ended as a "tomayto-can vag!" these are all species of the genus tramp, or varieties of the species, and the essence of them all is letting go. we who are not such vagabonds have to hold on with our teeth and nails and climb. but the blessedness of refusing to climb and the blessedness of being at the bottom are wonderful. we all know it as we hang on. now quin, for all his force and weight and power of body and of mind was a tramp in his heart, but a coward who was afraid of opinion, where want of dollars was concerned. he turned himself loose only with the women. he hated respectable ones. you had to be civil and gentlemanly and a lot of hogwash like that with ladies.
-"oh, hell," said quin. "great scott, by the holy mackinaw, not me!"
-the devil of it all is that we are pushed on by something that is not ourselves, and for what? it's by no means a case of "sic vos non vobis" but "sic nos non nobis," and that's a solid fact, solid enough to burst the teeth out of any hoe that can cut teak or mahogany, to say nothing of the soft wood of the coast.
-quin compromised with the mournful spirit of push and gave his soul to dollars on that behalf, and his body to the klootchmen.
-it wasn't often that he slung work and took a holiday, but in latitude 49.50 n. and longitude 122 w., which is about the situation of new westminster, so far as i can remember, mills themselves take holidays in frost time, and when the mill was shut down the christmas before, he had taken a run up to kamloops to see his brother ned or cultus muckamuck.
-there he saw jenny, the sweet little devil, who hadn't been married to pete for more than six months and was just nineteen. he made up his mind about her then, but there were difficulties. for one thing ned was always wanting him, and indian mary, ned's klootchman, was a good woman and heartily religious in her own way, and she had a care for the pretty little girl when the panther, or hyas puss-puss, called george quin, came nosing around. and pete was but newly wed and hadn't beaten jenny yet. and jenny, the pretty dear, was fond of her sitcum siwash and loved to see him on horseback, all so bold and fine with one hand on his hip and a quirt in the other. given favourable circumstances and enforced sobriety there's no knowing what the two might have been.
-i shall have to own it wasn't all george quin after all: i couldn't help liking george somehow. it's the most mixed kind of a world, and though the best we know, it might have been improved by a little foresight one would think. there's always something pathetically good in blackguards, something that redeems the worst. what a pity it is!
-george quin loved one woman who lived in far off vermont. she was his mother. he sent her dollars and bear skins more than twice a year. he had his portrait taken in his best clothes for her. he looked so like a missionary that the good old lady wept.
-there was something good in george one sees. but he kissed jenny behind ned's old shack before he went away. it might look like a coincidence for pete to come down to the mill to work for george after getting the grand bounce by ned, if it hadn't been for the kiss. women are often deceitful.
-"i'll tell pete," said jenny in the clutches of the panther.
-hyas puss-puss laughed.
-"you tell him, you sweet little devil, and i'll blow a hole through him with a gun!" said he.
-if he played up, that is! sometimes they don't, you know.
-"not for two dolla," said jenny, hiding her mouth with the back of her hand, with her nails out claw fashion.
-"three then," said hyas puss-puss. he was as strong as the very devil, said jenny's mind inside, three times, four times, ever so many times stronger than pete.
-"oh, no, not for three, nor four, nor five," said jenny, laughing.
-he got it for nothing. but he got no more. indian mary came outside and called--
-george sat down on a log and filled his pipe while jenny went back. she ran fast so that her colour and her tousled appearance might be accounted for. george quin saw it.
-"the deceitful little devil, but i kissed her!"
-he got no more chances. when he had hold of her with that immense strength of his she was as weak as water, as was only natural, but she wanted to be good (mary and the missionary had told her it was right to be good, and mary said that ned was going to marry her some day, so she was all right) and she was really fond of pete.
-however, when quin was going down to the coast again he got a moment with her.
-"if you want to come down my way, i'll always give a first-class job to pete, my dear. don't forget. he's a good man in a mill. i saw him over at the inlet before he married you. i wish i'd seen you before that, you little devil. ah, tenas, nika tikegh mika! oh, i want you, little one!"
-when she and pete pulled out from cultus muckamuck's six months afterwards, they naturally went on a howling jamboree in kamloops, and it ended in their being halo dolla, or rather, with no more than jenny had secreted for a rainy day. she was a little greedy about money, it must be owned. some wanted pete to go up to the landing at eagle pass as the railroad was getting there from east and west, though he wasn't a railroad man by nature, but a lumber man. the railroader is always one and so is the lumber man. jenny suggested the coast and new westminster.
-in the meanwhile pete had beaten her several times and many had told her she was very pretty. she wasn't quite the little girl she had been at cultus muckamuck's ranche. she missed mary, and her morals did, too. she remembered all about george quin's, "i'll give you two dollars for a kiss!" for a kiss only, mind. she could take care of herself, she said. but they went to the coast by way of the only way, savona and the cañon. at savona, jenny's eyes got a pass to yale out of mr. vanderdunk, who had beautiful blue eyes and was a very good chap, take him all round. jenny lied to him like sixty and said her mother was dying at yale. her mother was as dead as washington long years before. she died, poor thing, because jenny's father became respectable and renounced her and married a white woman in virginia. he was a shining light in a church at that very time, and was quite sincere.
-"give the pair a pass down," said vanderdunk, "of course they're lying but----"
-eyes did it as they always will. so they went down to yale and by the fraser steamboat to new westminster, and they put up at indian annie's as aforesaid and the row in the mill happened and quin saw pete and he knew jenny had come, and he smiled and licked his lips.
-the very next day after pete's swift acceptance of that noble position in the hierarchy of the mill, the wedger-off-ship, and after the drunken jamboree at indian annie's, pete and mrs. pete moved the torn dressing-gown, etc., into simmons' vacated shack. for simmons had gone to victoria in the s.s. teaser, that old scrap-heap known to every one on the sound, or in the straits of georgia or san juan de fuca, by her asthmatic wheezing. pete's and mrs. pete's etc. comprised one bundle of rags, and a tattered silk of jenny's, and two pairs of high-heeled shoes (much over at the heel) and a bottle of embrocation warranted to cure everything from emphysema to a compound fracture of the femur, and a bible. pete had knocked jenny over with that on more than one occasion.
-the traps that simmons left in his shack he sold to pete for one dollar and two bits, and they were well worth a dollar, for they comprised two pairs of blankets of the consistency of herring-nets and a lamp warranted to explode without warning. he threw in all the dirt he hadn't brushed out of the place during a tenancy of eight months, and made no extra charge for fleas. but jenny was pleased. it was her first home, mark you, and that means much to a countess or a klootchman. pete had wedded her at kamloops and taken her to cultus muckamuck's right off, for there were no other men around there but old cultus, and his mary looked after him if he needed it.
-so now jenny grew proud for a while, and felt that to have a whole house to herself and her man was something. she forgave him her black eye, the poor dear, and she mended the tulips carefully in a way that would have given the mistress of a sewing school a fatal attack of apoplexy. she worked the rent together with gigantic herring-boning like the tacking of a schooner up some intricate channel with a shifting wind.
-then she swept the shack and set out her household goods the boots and the bible. the boots had been given her by a mrs. alexander, sister to the donor of the dressing-gown, and the bible (it had pictures in it) was the gift of a methodist missionary who saw she was very pretty. so did his wife, so everything was safe there.
-the bed belonged to the shack, that is, to the mill, to the quins, and as it was summer there was no need to get better blankets. jenny laid the precious tulips on it and the bed looked handsome enough for helen, she thought, or would have thought if she had ever heard of her, and pete admired it greatly.
-they set out to be happy as people will in this world. jenny had a piece of steak cooked for pete's dinner and she laid the newspaper cloth very neatly, and put everything, beer, bread and so on, as well as some prunes, quite handy.
-"by gosh, i'm hungry, old girl," said pete, as he marched in at noon.
-"it's all ready, pete," she said, smiling. the smile was a little sideways, owing to last night. "sit down and be quick."
-there was need, for the mill only let up for the half hour.
-"this is work here, jenny," said pete, "by the holy mackinaw, i almos' forgot what work was at old cultus'. now she goes whoop!"
-but he felt warm and good and kind.
-"i'm sorry i hurt you, gal," he said, "but you was very bad las' night. drink's no good. i won't drink no more."
-"you very good to me," said jenny meekly. "whisky always makes me mad. i'm glad we're here. indian annie's bad, pete."
-"cultus' ole cow," said pete, with his mouth full, "but now we have our home, jenny, my gal, and plenty work and forty dollar a month. i'm going to be a good man to you, my dear, and buy you big shelokum, lookin' glass."
-jenny's eyes gleamed. there was only a three-cornered fragment of glass nailed up against the wall, and it was hardly big enough to see her pretty nose in.
-"oh, pete, that what i like. oh, yes, pete, a big one."
-"high and long," said pete firmly.
-"very high," screamed jenny joyfully.
-"so you see all your pretty self," smiled pete. "i see one two yard high. i wonder how much."
-"one hundred dolla, i tink," said jenny, and pete's jaw dropped.
-"never min', we get a good one for five dolla," said jenny, and she kissed pete for that five "dolla" one just as he filled his pipe. then the whistle of the mill squealed "come out, come out, come out o' that, pete, pe--etc!" and pete gave his klootchman a hug and ran across the hot sawdust to the mill.
-"pete very good man, i won't kiss no one but pete," said jenny. "i almos' swear it on the bible."
-she was a human little thing, and pete was human, poor devil. and so was george quin, alas! and the worst of it is that we all are.
-"i almos' swear it on the bible!"
-the sun burned and the water glared, and the mill, the stick moola, howled and groaned and devoured some twenty thousand feet of logs that afternoon, and over the glittering river rose the white cone of mount baker and up the river shone the serrated peaks of the pitt river mountains, where pete came from, and all the world was lovely and beautiful.
-and that poor devil of a quin sat in his office and tried to work, and had the pretty idea of jenny in his aching mind.
-"i almos' swear it on the bible!"
-even george wanted to do the square thing, very often. but jenny's "almos'" was hell, eh? tilikum, we both know it!
-but for the fact that there was too muchee pidgin for everyone, as the chinaman said, or hyu hyu mamook as the siwashes said, many might have run after jenny.
-"one piecee litty gal velly hansum, belongy pitt liber pete," said wong, who was the helper at the chinee trimmer. he said it with a grin, "velly nicee klootchman alla samee tenas yingling gal my know at canton, consoo's litty waifo."
-she was as pretty as any consul's little wife, that's a solid mahogany hard wood fact. but with twelve hours work of the sort of work that went on in the mill who could think of running after the "one litty piecee hansum gal" but the man who didn't work with his hands?
-wong was a philosopher, and, like all real philosophers, not a good patriot--if one excepts hegel, who was a conservative pig, and a state toady and hateful to democrats. wong had fine manners and was a gentleman, so much so that the white men really liked him and never wanted to plug him, or jolt him on the jaw or disintegrate him, as they did most of the chinkies. he returned the compliment, and sometimes quarrelled with his countrymen about the merits of the whites, as one might with americans and others about the children of the flowery kingdom.
-"my likee melican man and yingling man," said wong. "velly good man melican: my savvy. some velly bad, maskee oders velly good. if chinaman makee bobbely and no can do pidgin, melican man say 'sonny pitch'; maskee my can do, my savvy stick-mula mamook, so melican man and yingling man say, 'good wong, no sonny pitch, velly good.' melican gentleman velly good all plopa. what ting you tinkee?"
-wong was an enigmatic mask of a man, wrinkled wondrously and looking sixty, though nothing near it, as hard as solid truth, fond of singing to a mandolin, great at fan tan, but peaceable as a tame duck.
-he had a kind heart, "all plopa that one piecee man" from canton, and one day (not yet) he has his place here, all out of kindness to the "litty hansum gal belongy pitt liber pete." may his ashes go back to china in a nice neat "litty piecee box" and be buried among his ancestors who ought to be proud of him. blessed be his name, and may he rank with konfutse! i preferred him to hegel. and if any of you want to know why i refer to him, you must draw conclusions.
-but, as we were saying, who could have full time to run after the "litty gal" but quin?
-to make another excursion, and explain, it may be as well to let pappenhausen talk. there were two germans in the mill, and both worked in the planing shed. one was a man of no account, a shuffling, weak-kneed, weak-eyed, lager-beer hans, with as much brains as would have qualified him to be heir apparent to some third-rate teutonic opera-house kingdom. but pappenhausen was a man, that is to say, he didn't compromise on lager or weep because he drank too much. and he could work like three, and he wasn't the german kind as regards courage. german courage is very fine and fierce when the teutons are in a majority, but when they aren't their courage ranks as the finest discretion, that is, as cowardice nine times out of ten. pappenhausen would fight anyone or any two any time and any where. he could fight with fists or a spanner, or a pickareen or a club, and he took some satisfying. he was an amazing man, had been in america thirty years. he said he was a "galifornian" and fought you if you didn't believe it. once he stood up to quin and was knocked galley-west, for besides long mac there wasn't a man in saw-mill town that could tackle the boss. quin got a black eye, but papp had two and lay insensible for an hour. quin was so pleased with that, that he put him to work again and stood him drinks. he actually did. after that papp, as he was called, stood up for, and not to, george quin, and said he was a man, and he asked what it mattered if he did run after the klootchmen?
-"dat's der teufel," grunted the native "galifornian," "dat's der teufel, we all run avder der klootchmen, if we don'd avder trink. i'm a philozopher, i, and i notizzes dat if it arn'd one ding it's anoder. and no one gan help it, boys. one man he run avder dollars, screamin' oud for dollars, and if you zay a dollar ain'd wort' von 'ondred cents of drubble he tink you grazy. i zay one dollar's wort' of rest wort' a dollar and a half any day. on'y i cain'd help workin'. if i don'd i feel i braig somedings mit mein hands. oders run avder klootchmen; if dey don'd dey feels as if dey would also braig somedings. i tinks the welt a foolish blace, but in shermany (where my vater game from) i dinks it most foolish. and misder guin he run avder pete's klootchman and bymby pete gill her as like as nod and then mr. guin very sorry he spoke. i dell you i knows. life is a damn silly choke, boys."
-but it was (and is) only a joke to a democritus of papp's type. even papp said:--
-"bymby i ged a new sood of glose and fifdy dollars and i go back home to california."
-he said it and had said it.
-it was no joke to jenny presently that "misder guin" ran after her. but then it is no joke at any time to be the acknowledged belle of any place, even if it is a saw-mill sawdust town, and the truth is that jenny shone even among the white women, gorgeous in their pride and occasional new frocks from san francisco, the paris of the coast. there wasn't a white "litty gal" in the city who was a patch on her: she was the "slickest piece of caliker" within long miles. folks who were critical and travelled, said that there was her equal over at victoria, but that was far off, and much water lay between. from the mighty white-peaked summit of the rockies, and the wonders of the selkirks, down through the landing and kamloops and yale at the end of the cañon away to westminster, she was the prettiest.
-think of it and consider that she lived in a two-roomed shack with a decent-looking wedger-off who was a sitcum siwash! she got compliments on the street as she went up and down town.
-"great scott, she's a daisy!"
-"by the great horn spoon, and also by the tail of the sacred bull, she knocks spots off of the hull crowd."
-such things said openly have their effect. but the tulips on the dressing-gown did even more, and the high-heeled shoes. she hankered after things in the streets to which the dressing-gown was but a faded flower. quin spoke to her once as she glared into a window.
-"you like that, jenny?"
-"oh, my," said little greedy jenny.
-quin didn't care a hang if he spoke to the little klootchman in public. he wasn't in society, for even in the river city there was society. they drew the line at squaw-men who went to dance-houses and so on. but for that, the manager and owner of a mill (or half one or even a quarter) could have had entrance to the loftiest gaieties and the dullest on earth. he didn't "give a damn," not a "continental," for the "hull boiling," said quin. jenny was his mark, you can take your oath.
-she was worth it in looks only, that's the best and worst of it.
-"oh, my," said jenny.
-"i'll give it you: it's my potlatsh," said the manager, who cared little for dollars when the girls came in.
-it was a "potlatsh," a gift indeed! to get jenny, quin would have done "a big brave's potlatsh" and given away all he owned, horses, mill, house, and all. that's a fact, and it must be remembered as papp said, that "dey also veels as if dey would braig somedings!"
-she got the gorgeous silk of tartan stripes that flared in the window like a light lightening the darkness, for quin went in and bought what is known as a dress length and sent it down to her by his chinese "boy." when he met pete in the road at noon that day he stopped him.
-"sir," said pete respectfully, for the tyee was so big and strong besides being a tyee, which always counts.
-"i have given your wife some stuff to make a dress. she was very good to my brother and to mary," said quin. "she's a very good little girl."
-he nodded and walked on. he wished pete would get killed on the top of a log, but his face was inscrutable and calm as that of any full-blooded siwash. pete was as innocent and as unsuspicious as any child. if he feared anyone it was spanish joe, with his guitar and his songs. he went home as pleased as punch by the condescension of the boss, and found jenny laying out dinner.
-the trouble came as quick as it could come. it came right there and then, when both were as happy as they could be. jenny fairly shivered with pleasure to think of the silk she had hidden inside the inner room. real silk it was and new, not a cast-off rag from mrs. alexander, of the kamloops hotel. the tulips of the dressing-gown faded clean out of sight: they died down in their monstrous array. she saw the dress, saw it made up, saw the world admire it: heard the other klootchmen clicking envious admiration. but how was she to account for it to pete? she had been kissed by quin, and she knew he liked her, wanted her. the big man flattered her senses, he was a white man, rich and strong. she wouldn't have almost sworn on the bible that she wouldn't lass him, now that this silk filled earth and heaven for her gaudy little mind. she would have to think how to tell pete.
-so in came pete in excitement.
-"show me what mr. quin give you," he demanded. and her unlucky lie was ready. it fell from her lips before she had a moment to think.
-"he give me nothing; why you say that?"
-pete's jaw fell and his eyes shut to a thin line.
-"you damned liar, kliminiwhit," he said. "i know."
-"it's not true, you dam' liar you'self," said jenny. "what for you tink the tyee give me tings? you tink me a cultus klootchman like indian annie?"
-on his oath he would have sworn one happy moment before that he had never thought so. now he thought too much.
-"you show it me or i kill you," said pete. "i know mr. quin he give you some stuff to make a dless."
-in his rage his words grew more indian, and his taught english failed, his r's became l's. so did hers.
-"damn lie, i have no dless," screamed jenny. "you no give me no'ting, you make kokshut my dlessing-gown. i dless like one cultus klootchman, in lags."
-he ran at her and she fled round the table. the newspaper and the dinner went on the floor, and she screamed. then she slipped on the steak, and went down. as chance had it the table came over on top of her and she held it tight, so that he could not get at her to hurt her much. but he kicked her legs hard and then went into the inner room.
-"no, pete, no," she screamed. she knew that he must find the dress, the precious silk, and she forgot all else in her great desire that it should not be harmed. "i tell you the trut', pete."
-she crawled from under the table: her hair was down to her waist, her wretched every-day gown torn from her back: her bosom showed.
-"oh, pete, oh, pete!"
-"you damn klootchman, you," said pete. "what for quin he give you this?"
-he kicked the roll with his foot. the stuff unrolled more and jenny cried aloud as though it was her papoose that her savage man ill-used.
-"i don' know why he give it me," she squealed.
-"him velly kin' man always. oh, don' tear it, pete, oh, oh!"
-with his hands he ripped the silk in fragments.
-"you damn bad woman, mesahchie klootchman," he roared. "you no take such a ting from mr. quin! you look at him lika you look at spanish joe the other day: i see you."
-"you no see me do anyting wrong," jenny cried, weeping bitterly. "i don' lika spanish joe. 'tis a lie, pete. and i no can help if mr. quin give me tings. i a very good woman, on the bible i swear it. i quite virtuous; mr. quin he no touch me, i swear it. don' tear it no more. pete, oh, don'!"
-he set his foot on the silk and ripped full twenty yards into fragments. the room was full of shining stuff, of red and yellow and green: the floor was gorgeous with colour, and as he exhausted his rage upon what he had found and was quite pitiless, her little flower of love for him seemed to die in her outraged heart, which loved beautiful things so much. now she had nothing left, her visions passed from her. she sat down on the floor and howled aloud, keening over the death of the beautiful dress. she was no longer full of pride, and conscious of her beauty: she was no more than a poor dirty ill-used, heart-broken little klootchman, no more thought of than dirty old annie and annawillee, who mourned so sadly the other happy night.
-"aya, yaya, hyaalleha," she cried aloud. "hyas klahowyam nika, very miser'ble, aya!"
-and pete ran out of the shack leaving her moaning.
-"that make her know what, eh?" said pete. he worked furiously at the mill, without any food, and was very unhappy, of course, though he knew he had done quite right in tearing the silk to pieces, and in knocking thunder out of his klootchman. he didn't believe she had been "real wicked," but when it came to taking presents from mr. quin, and lying about them, it was time to look out.
-"i teach her," said pete; "give her what for, eh?"
-but he wasn't mad with quin. it was quite natural for quin to want jenny. pete knew all the men did. she was so pretty. even the chinamen knew it and said so. pete was proud of that. "velly hansum litty klootchman," said wong. why should a man be angry because another man wants his "litty gal?" no need to "makee bobbely 'bout that" surely. but the litty girl had to be taught, nawitka!
-"i give her the stick by-by," said pete, and he used the wedges and the maul as if he were giving poor wretched jenny the stick then. he worked that day though he hadn't an ounce of muckamuck inside him. ginger white said he was as quick as the devil: worth ten of that swine simmons. white's nose was gradually resuming its natural shape, but when he thought of simmons his hand went up to it.
-oho, but they all worked, worked like the bull-wheel, like gwya-gwya and "him debble-debble," said wong.
-"no joss in british columbia," said wong; "spose wantee catchee joss catchee debble-debble. bymby blitish columbia-side an' californee-side him allo blong china, then joss he come, galaw!"
-the "debble-debble"' was in pete's heart for hours, but there's nothing like work to get him out, and by four o'clock he was getting sorry he had kicked jenny and torn up the "dless." the little klootchman had been good, he was sure, and she cooked for him nicely and didn't get drunk often. if she did get too much, it was his own fault, he knew that.
-"i tell her i'm sorry," he said.
-aya, yaya, what a cruel world it is, pitt river pete!
-the little klootchman was "dying" now and telling the old hag indian annie all about it. and it's only four o'clock and the mill runs till six.
-poor jenny, with bare shoulders and bare bosom, howled upon the gorgeous floor of silken rags for a long hour after pete ran out in a rage.
-"aya, yaya, nika toketie dless kokshut, no good. pete him wicket man, aya!"
-it was quiet enough in shack-town in the afternoon and a continual aya, yaya-ing soon attracted the attention of indian annie when she came from begging up-town past pete's shack.
-"aha, oho," said the bundle of wicked rags, once a beautiful klootchman and a white sea-captain's darling, and yet another's and another's, ay de mi, as chihuahua said when he was sad, and others still in a devil of a long diminuendo and degringolade and a sad, sad fall, just as if she had been an improper white. "oho, why jenny cly, kahta she cly?"
-in she went, for she knew pete was wedging-off, and in the inner room she found a pretty one half naked on the silken rag carpet.
-"oh, my toketie jenny, kahta cly? oh, lejaub, the pretty stuff all tole up, yaya? who done it, jenny, real kloshe silk all assame white klootchman have in chu'ch? who give him, aya?"
-she was down on her knees gathering up the silk in whole armfuls.
-"dis pete? eh, pete, pelton pete, fool pete, eh?"
-jenny sobbed out it was pete who had torn it all up, and annie nodded cunningly as she stuffed a good bundle of it into her rags.
-"aha, pelton pete mamook si'k kokshut, but klaksta potlatsh mika, nika toketie, who give him you, my pretty?"
-"mr. quin give him, and my bad man he say i mesahchie, no good, a cultus klootchman alla same you!" howled jenny open-mouthed.
-annie showed her yellow fangs in a savage grin.
-"cultus, alla same nika? oho, pelton pete, fool pete!"
-"and he say," roared jenny like any baby, "that i no good, not virtuous, and he beat me, and taka silk and tearum lika so! and i think i make a dless so pretty and now the pretty dless is all lags, all lags!"
-she roared again and shook with sobs, and annie got her by the shoulder.
-"pete is lejaub, the devil of a bad man, my pretty. i get you ten new dlesses for that. i hear pete no go to mamook but go up town and dlink whisky at spanish joe's white woman's. by-by he come back and beat you, jenny."
-jenny clutched her.
-"oh, he kick me bad, see, nanitch!"
-she showed her pretty knee with a black bruise on it.
-"that nothin', tenas toketie, by-by pete come back pahtlum and knock hell out of you, jenny," said annie. then she bent and whispered in jenny's ear.
-"oh, no, no," said jenny. she clutched at annie's skirt as the old wretch got upon her feet. but annie turned on her and twitched her rags away.
-"you pelton, too? much better be live and with rich good man than dead with pete and pete with a lope on him neck. i go tell mr. quin, him very good man, kloshe man."
-but jenny implored her not to go to him. and as she sobbed that she was afraid of quin the old hag gathered up more and more of the silk until she had nearly all that poor jenny wasn't sitting on.
-"you stay. i go see, go think what i do for you. i no go to mr. quin, i promise, tenas toketie."
-and she got away and went straight to the office in which quin was to be found, and asked to see him.
-"quit, you old devil," said the young clerk, "pull your freight out of this. no klootchmen wanted here."
-she had her ugly old face inside the door and the boy threw the core of an apple at her.
-"i want see mr. quin," she cried, as she dodged the missile.
-"i want see him. you no kumtuks. mr. quin see me, i tell you he want see me. ya, pelton!"
-the boy knew very little chinook and missed half the beauty of what she went on to say to him. but she told him much about his parents and a great deal about his sisters that would have been disagreeable even if translated with discretion. by the time she came to a climax, her voice rose to a shriek that might have been audible in the mill itself, and quin came out in a rage.
-"get to thunder out of this, you old fool," said quin, "or i'll have you kicked off the place!"
-she looked at him steadily and held up a long fragment of the silk before him.
-"mika kumtuks okook, you know him?" she asked with a hideous leer.
-and quin came off the step and went up to her.
-"where you get it, annie?"
-"you know," said annie. "tenas toketie have him, you give him, ah. but who tear him, makum kokshut?"
-"pete?" asked quin with the devil of a face on him. but annie walked a little away and beckoned him to follow. she got him round the corner and he went with her like a child. he thought he understood. annie put out her claw and took his coat.
-"i give you klootchman often, now you give me tukamonuk dolla, one hundred dolla, and i give you pretty jenny."
-quin blew out his breath and bent down to her.
-"you old devil," he said with a wavering grin.
-"me lejaub? halo, no, i give you pretty young squaw, that not like lejaub. you give me one hundred dolla, see."
-quin sighed and opened his mouth.
-"i give it. how you do it, annie?"
-"now she hate pete, him pelton," said the witch; "he beat her, kick her knee, kick her back, kick her belly too, and tear up si'k in tenas bits, mr. quin. she cly like any papoose, she scleam and make gleat latlah. he tear up si'k and tear her dless, now she half-naked on the floo'. that bad, and she pretty and say mr. quin give me dless, kloshe mr. quin. she love you, she tikegh mika, cly kahkwa the si'k yours. you come: she go with you. i make so no one know tings, if you take her yo' house."
-his house was on the hill above them. there he lived with not a soul but his chinese boy.
-"how you make no one know?" he asked.
-"kloshe, i do it," said annie. "i say to pete she say to me she lun away, and not come back, eh?"
-but as quin explained to her, the first person pete would think of would be the man who had given her the dress.
-"oh, ya, i know," said annie. "kloshe; i very clever klootchman, i know evelything. she lun away with shipman jack this very day and came tell me so i tell pete. how that do, mr. quin? you tink, eh?"
-but quin was doubtful. annie urged her scheme on him and still drew him further down the road.
-"pete him once jealous, hab sick tumtum about jenny with shipman jack, because jack pinch her behind and she cly out and pete hear it. that the other night. i know, i know evelything. i tell him mo'. i say she often meet jack befo'. now you have fire jack, and he goes away this day and he now go in teaser piah-ship to victolia, i see him. ah, velly good, she go with him. i say klahowya to them. i get annawillee for a dolla say she say klahowya to them. and alla time jenny in yo' house. i bling her this night. you see, all light. you give me one dolla now?"
-"you'll get drunk, you old harridan," said quin, who was all of a shake, "and if you do you'll mamook pelton of me and no get the hundred dolla. no, i give you all to-night."
-and knowing that it was true that she might get drunk if she had that dollar she went away without it, back to jenny.
-it was true enough that jack mottram, "shipman" or sailorman, had been fired that day a little before noon. to be "fired" is to get the grand bounce, and to get that is to get what everyone understands when the sack is spoken of. another way of saying it is to mention that "he got his time," or perhaps his walking ticket. so now it is understood. before getting all these qualifications as a free unemployed seaman he had got drunk early in the morning. this is nearly always a fatal error and brings trouble anywhere. in a stick-moola running at full time it is liable to bring death. for death stands handy with his scythe, or perhaps his pickareen, uplifted in a mill. indeed, jack the shipman very nearly sent back to bouddha, or maybe to posa, one poor native of the flowery kingdom by landing him one on the "ear-hole." poor fan tang (or something like it) up-ended and disappeared down a chute, and was so sadly disgruntled that he limped to the office and denounced jack to quin in a fine flow of pidgin english and mixed chinook.
-"muchee bad bad man belong tlimmer pukpuk my! my fallee down chute allo same lumber. my muchee solly, you look see bluise!"
-he exposed his awful injuries to quin's view. he had parted with many patches of cuticle in his tumble down the chute.
-"dat shipman bad man, muchee dlunk," said fan tang spitefully, and when quin went over to the mill he found that jack was indeed "muchee dlunk," and full of insolence and whisky.
-"all ri', mr. quin, i quit. i'm full up of this work. you give me my money and i'm off to sea. what the 'ell i ever came ashore for, i dunno! what ho!"
-tom willett, a young englishman, went from the chinee trimmer to the big trimmer, and wong the philosopher took the chinee trimmer.
-"out of this," said quin, "or i'll smash your jaw."
-that was to jack, who wasn't so drunk as to take up the challenge. he went to the office quite meekly after all. he was almost as meek as one "dutchman" among ten english.
-"righto, i'm off to victoria this very day," said jack. he drew fifteen dollars and three bits, rolled up his dunnage, and went to the wharf where the teaser steamboat, or "piah-ship," was lying. he bade farewell to sawmill town with much contempt. but indian annie saw him go. he goes out of this history on his way to hong kong with lumber. he got well man-handled by an american mate and lost much insolence before he sighted mount stenhouse.
-annie went back to jenny, now moaning sadly with a dirty face, striped with tear-channels, and told the poor pretty dear a dreadful tale. pete was up-town, having got drink in spite of his being a siwash, and was ready to kill, said annie.
-"aya, i'm very much flightened," said poor jenny. "what shall i do, annie?"
-the procuress stole a little more silk and dragged at jenny's arm.
-"you klatawa, go away, chahco with me. i hide you, toketie. pete wicked, bad man, and get hang if he see you. come hyak, hyak!"
-she got her into her own den, and hid her in the inner room. then she hobbled off to annawillee, while jenny sobbed herself to sleep on the dirty bed. annie and annawillee were old friends, for annie liked her. when chihuahua beat annawillee too much she took refuge at annie's till her man calmed down. for love of annie and a dollar annawillee would do anything.
-"i say i see jenny klatawa in piah-ship with jack the shipman. nawitka, i say it, and you give me dolla?"
-"ha, one dolla, and one dlink, annawillee," said annie, grinning. "pete he much solly, and get pahtlum to-night, for i take jenny away to mista quin. by-by i ask mo' dolla. nanitsh?"
-oh, but indeed annawillee was no fool and saw quick enough. to get money for helping quin to jenny and to get more for not telling was a fine business! "what you tink, eh?"
-at five o'clock, jenny dressed in a horrid yellow dress belonging notoriously to annawillee, and with her head bound up as if she were indeed annawillee after chihuahua had booted thunder out of her in a jamboree, crawled with annie up the hill, and sat behind a big stump close to quin's house, which stood alone. poor jenny was scared to death by now, for annie said terrible things of a drunken pete, who was supposed to be sharpening a knife for a pretty throat.
-"you very good klootchman to pete," said annie, "and he bad, oh, bad to you, tenas toketie. mista quin him good man, rich and very skookum. pete kwass, afraid of mista quin. you alla same white klootchman, good dlesses, very pretty. you no forget poor annie: you give her dless and dolla when you alla same white woman in chu'ch, in legleese."
-jenny wept bitterly. she still thought she loved pete, and she was conscious that she was no beauty in her dirt and the dreadful yellow rags of annawillee.
-"i wicked klootchman," said jenny, "no mo' virtuous, i have shem see bible. and i not toketie now, very dirty. how i look now, annie?"
-"you always toketie, tenas," said the old witch truly enough. "i do up yo' hair, tenas. by-by you mamook wash yo' face, and be very pretty. mista quin mamook wash every day, him gleat man, skookum man, very lich, very lich, plenty dolla. him love you mo' than one hundred dolla."
-she did up jenny's mass of tumbled black hair, and wiped her face with a rag. she wetted it in her mouth.
-"now you clean," said annie. "what time mista quin come to him house?"
-she peered from behind her stump, and presently saw quin come up the hill. as he passed her she called to him in a low voice.
-"yahkwa, here, mista quin."
-and quin came across the brush to them. jenny buried her face in her hands and her shoulders troubled.
-"i bling her," said annie. "she much aflaid, hyu kwass, of pete. he say he makee her mimaloose, kill her dead, she muchee aflaid, and she tikegh you, love you always."
-jenny shook and trembled like a beaten dog.
-"she now very dirty and bad dless, but you mamook wash, and she hyu toketie. no klootchman here like jenny. now, tenas, you klatawa in house quick."
-she dragged the trembling child to her feet, and then held out her hand to quin.
-"you give me the dolla?"
-and quin gave her the money in notes. she knew well enough what each one was worth.
-"now i tell pete she klatawa with shipman jack to victoly, ha!"
-she scrambled down the hill and quin took jenny by the arm.
-"come, tenas," he said in a shaking voice.
-but it was a kind voice after all, and jenny burst into a torrent of sobs and clung to him.
-"i have much shem," she said, "i have much shame."
-even quin had some too, poor devil.
-they went into the house.
-by the time that the evening sun, slanting westwards to the pacific, which roared on wild beaches sixteen miles away, shone into the western end of the mill, pete had worked the anger out of his heart as healthy children of the earth must do. the song of the mill was no longer angry or menacing: it became a harmony and was even sweet. work went beautifully: the logs were sweet-cutting spruce for the most part, or splendid pine, or odorous red cedar, and one precious log of white cedar. the saws ran easy and their filed teeth were sharp: the hoes said "we can do, we can do," and the pony saw piped cleanly and clear, while the trimmers, though they cut across the grain, cut most swiftly, and said, "gee whiz, gee whiz." young willett was pleased to get the big trimmer and wong most proud to run the chinee one, which by its name certainly belonged of old to some chinaman, perhaps now in the country of green tea and bamboos, and forgetful of his ancient toil in alien lands. the engines, too, ran well and the sawdust carriers did not break down, and no belt parted, and nobody but ginger white said much that was uncivil, and if he went no further than that no one minded him any more than they minded the weather or the wind.
-so as things went sweetly, pete's heart grew sweet and he was sorry he had kicked at jenny's legs as she lay under the table, and sorry he had torn up the pretty silk. after all it was natural enough that quin should give her something, and it was natural he wanted her. but of course he couldn't get her, for she was virtuous and had a bible, and knew religion, and believed that lejaub, or the diable, would take anyone who was not virtuous. both the catholic and the english priests said that, so it must be true. and, if she had denied having the dress, he owned that he had often frightened her and it was natural for her to say she hadn't got it, poor toketie jenny. he nobly determined to forgive her and say no more about it.
-and then the exultant whistle declared with a hoot that the work was over for the day, and the engines stopped and the saws whirred and whined and drawled and yawned and stood still while the workers clattered out, laughing and quite happy.
-oh, but it's good to be strong and well and to have work, but to have none and thereby to get to cease to love it is very bad, oh, very bad indeed. let the wise know this, as the unwise and ignorant who labour know it in their hearts and in their hands.
-"oho," said pete as he strode across the yard, "oho!"
-he was nobly determined to forgive. he would go in to jenny and say, "look here, jenny, i forgive you because you tell that lie, that kliminwhit. i forgive you, but you be good, kloshe, tell your man no more kliminwhit."
-he came to his silent shack and didn't notice that no smoke, no cooking smoke, came from its low chimney. he marched in bent on forgiveness, and found the front room empty.
-"she still cly about that silk," said pete uneasily. he hesitated a moment before he opened the inner door and called to her.
-silence answers you, pete, silence and two empty rooms with a table upset, and some few rags of dirtied silk still left by the predaceous fingers or claws of the vulturine annie.
-"she velly closs, go out with some other klootchman," said pete. "damn, i beat her again."
-it was very hard indeed that he, the man, should come in ready for forgiveness and good advice with regard to future lies, and should find no one meekly ready to accept pardon and to promise rigid truth in future: it was very hard indeed, and pete's brows contracted and his heart was outraged.
-"now i not forgive," said pete. "she not here, no muckamuck ready and i so olo, so hungry."
-he saw the steak that poor jenny had cooked for his dinner. it lay upon the floor, as she had lain on it. it was trodden and filthy and pete kicked it spitefully. he saw an old rag of a dress that was jenny's. it was the one she had discarded for annawillee's horrid yellow rag of quarantine, which said, "i'm annawillee, be wise and don't come near me." she had changed at annie's, but annie brought it back and put it in sight. for she was a spiteful devil.
-"what for?" said pete. a dull fear entered his heart which did not dispossess his anger. "what for: kahta she leave dless?"
-it was a "dless" indeed. but she did not need it then. there were certain beautiful garments at quin's house, and there would be more.
-"i'll kick her when i find her," said pete. he ran out and went straight to the next shack, to indian annie's den.
-he found her and annawillee, and both were drunk, but not yet too drunk for speech, or for the discretion of the arranged lie.
-"you see jenny?" he demanded.
-annie lifted her claws to heaven and moaned.
-"i so sorry, pete, jenny bad klootchman!"
-"what you mean, you old devil?" roared pete, in horrid fear.
-"i tell you delate, i tell you, pete. she klatawa with--with----"
-his jaw dropped.
-"she go with shipman jack to victoly in piah-ship," said annie, hiccupping. "i see her, annawillee see her."
-"i see, nika nanitsh jenny klatawa with jack," puked annawillee. "she klatawa in piah-ship, she go victoly."
-she was hugging a bottle to her pendant breasts as she told her lie. but she believed it by now, and kept on repeating "to victoly, an' to california in piah-ship with shipman jack, inati chuck; acloss water."
-"oh, god," said pete. he was a dirty white colour. his lips hung down.
-"she tikegh jack velly much," said annie, "love him very much, and cly and say him good man, not beat her and tear her dless. she much aflaid of you, pete. she cly and go away."
-"she cly and go away," chimed in annawillee, weeping tears of awful alcohol. she was so sorry for everyone, and for herself and jenny and pete and all the world. "i cly, i cly!"
-she sobbed and drank, and still pete stood there, very sick at heart.
-"my pretty tenas klootchman," he murmured, "oh, hell, what i do?"
-"you hab dlink," said annie, holding him up the bottle. he took it, put it to his mouth, and drank half a pint of fiery stuff that nearly skinned his throat. he dropped the empty bottle on the floor and turned away back to his empty shack.
-"i will kill jack," he said, "i, i, kill jack!"
-he saw the world in a haze: the mill danced darkly before his eyes, dark against a golden sunset, his brain reeled, and when he came to his own door he fell inside and lay insensible.
-"pete dlink too much, he gleedy beast," said annie. but annawillee nursed her empty bottle to her bosom and said foolishly--
-"i see--nika nanitsh jenny klatawa, oh, hyu keely annawillee."
-and the night presently came down, and as the shacks lighted up it was told among all the siwashes and the chinkies and the white men of ten nations that jenny, pretty jenny, tenas toketie jenny, had "scooted" with shipman jack across the water to victoria, to california, to china, oh, to hell-an'-gone somewhere!
-"to hell and gone out of this," they said. and spanish joe sang to the guitar a bitter little song about someone's señora who fled across the sea, and chihuahua grinned at jack's luck (annawillee did not tell him the truth), and the whites, long mac, and shorty gibbs and tenas billy and even young tom willett, who knew nothing about klootchmen, though some had their eye on him hopefully, said there was no knowing what any woman would do. they understood that men would do what they had a mind to.
-"anyhow," said shorty, "she was a dern sight too pretty for a golderned siwash like pete. someone wuz sure to kapswalla her sooner or later. if i wuz given to klootchmen, which i ain't, thank the lord, i'd ha' put in for her myself."
-but to think of such a coyoté as jack mottram picking up the pearl of the river!
-"it would sicken a hog," said shorty gibbs.
-quin might be a squaw-man (as indeed he was in his irregular way) but he lived in comfort, and sam, his "boy," aged twenty-five, was a wonder, worth more dollars by far than the days of the longest months and all he could steal as well. sam was good-looking and as clean as a fresh-run quinnat, and he had the most heavenly and ingratiating smile, and the neatest ways, and a heaven-sent gift of cooking. he was pleasant to the world and to himself, and he sang little chinese songs as he worked and made quin's house as clean as heaven after rain. he didn't "hit the pipe," which wong did, of course, and he only smoked cigars. they were quin's and good ones. not that opium is so bad as liquor, by the way, though the missionaries say it is. it is better to "hit the pipe" than to "dlinkee for dlunk," and that's an all-solid fact.
-sam was discreet, and he let no one rob quin but himself. indeed, he almost loved quin, for quin had good qualities. for example, he rarely swore in his own house, and he had a way of making little presents to sam which were very encouraging.
-"boss he makee allo tim' litty cumshaw my," said sam. "he givee my cigar: he givee my dolla. he givee my close: makee stlong cutsom givee me all ting he no wantshee. my catchee allo tim' good close, boot, tlouser, and he speakee my velly good: neber makee bobbely. massa quin velly good boss, no can catchee better. supposee klootchman no good, makee bobbely, he say 'hyack klatawa:' supposee klootchman good klootchman allo same wifo dat velly good: massa quin velly good and makee mo' cumshaw my."
-and now there was a new klootchman.
-"ho," said sam lung, "ho, he bling 'nodder klootchman. my tinkee 'bout time he catchee new klootchman. he velly lestless, like he got water topside, clazy. what she like this new klootchman?"
-he put his eye to the key-hole, and then drew up in disgust.
-"fo, velly dirty, cly allo tim'. she velly litty young gal. after las' wun he likee catchee young gal. ha, my tinkee bymby she catchee wash and look velly pletty. she whitee gal my tinkee when she catchee washee."
-but poor jenny was on the floor, still crying as if her little heart would break. she was not yet able to look up and see the wonder of a nice clean house, such as she had never been in, in all her life.
-"you're all right, jenny, my dear," said quin, "don't you cry. no one shall hurt you, my girl. i'll give you a good time, my dear. now get up, jenny, and look at your home, and then i'll take you into another room and find you a new dress. come, tenas jenny."
-he spoke quite tenderly and touched jenny's heart.
-"oh, but i have shem," she said.
-“i mean exactly what i say. did marjorie tell you she was discharged by admiral lawrence?”
-the quakeress laid down her needles. “no.”
-“ah, i thought she would not dare.”
-“explain thyself, rebekah.”
-“i met admiral lawrence this morning; he asked me to acquaint you with the fact that he discharged marjorie for stealing”--madame yvonett’s hand sought her heart as if to still its sudden throb, and her face went gray--“for stealing a codicil to his wife’s will in which mrs. lawrence disinherited chichester barnard,” finished miss rebekah, her small triumph blinding her to the agony she had inflicted on her aged kinswoman. had not marjorie’s “going wrong” fulfilled her prophecy? she had always been jealous of madame yvonett’s affection for her greatniece, and had treasured each careless action and thoughtless word marjorie had been guilty of to her, the better to nurse her spite against the young girl. but admiral lawrence, in asking her to break the news of the codicil’s loss, his suspicions, and proposed legal action to madame yvonett, had placed a double-edged sword in her hand. ever ready to believe evil of her fellowmen and women, the spinster never doubted that madame yvonett would instantly credit admiral lawrence’s charge against marjorie.
-“thee is mad; quite mad!” gasped the quakeress, as soon as she recovered her breath. “i am surprised thee dares to come to me with such lies!”
-“lies? do you doubt admiral lawrence’s word?” miss rebekah’s eyes were round with wonder.
-“of course i doubt it. does thee think for one moment i would believe ill of my marjorie?” her fine voice trembled with passionate intentness. “thee is madder than i first supposed, rebekah.” the spinster quailed before her scorn. “answer the front door, the bell has been ringing for some moments; then thee can go to thy room and pack thy trunk.”
-confused by the way her news had been received, the spinster backed hastily out of the room, tears streaming down her face. but madame yvonett did not weep; the wound her cousin had inflicted was too deep to be healed so easily. with tightly compressed lips and flashing eyes she sat straight in her high back chair, listening to a spirited argument that was taking place in the hall. suddenly the portières parted and a handsome young woman, dressed in the extreme of fashion, stepped into the room, followed by the protesting spinster.
-“are you madame yvonett?” she inquired of the quakeress. “i am miss calhoun-cooper. i called to see your niece, marjorie langdon. this person”--indicating miss rebekah with a rude tilt of her head, “informs me she is not here.” the spinster’s face was a study as she glared at pauline.
-“thee has been told the truth,” answered the quakeress, inspecting her visitor with interest. “my niece is not here.”
-“ah, it’s as i suspected; she’s made a quick get-away!” exclaimed pauline.
-“thy manners leave much to be desired, and thy speech more so,” replied madame yvonett with gentle dignity. “if thee will express thyself in correct english, i may be able to understand thee and answer thy remark.”
-“indeed?” sneered pauline, her desire to hurt stirred by the merited rebuke. “then, in plain english--your niece is a thief, and she has run away with my mother’s pearl necklace.”
-madame yvonett sat immovable under the blow; not by the flicker of an eyelash did she show the agony she was enduring. miss rebekah, quite unaware that she had left the front door wide open, stood enthralled, watching the scene.
-“thee has made a statement which i can both understand and refute,” said madame yvonett slowly. “my niece would never stoop to such dishonorable actions as thee accuses her of----”
-“she will have a chance to clear herself of the charge in a criminal court, if she can,” broke in pauline with brutal frankness. “my mother and i are quite determined to push the matter to the end.”
-“thy determination is as nothing compared to mine,” retorted madame yvonett. “marjorie’s innocence will be proved, and those who have traduced her shall suffer.”
-“threats don’t bother me,” pauline shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. “janet fordyce saw marjorie langdon steal the necklace from mother”--madame yvonett swayed backward; then by a supreme effort, recovered from the deadly faintness which threatened to overcome her. “the fordyces acknowledge her guilt, and have turned her out of their house.”
-“the more shame to them.” the quakeress rose abruptly to her feet, her eyes blazing with pent-up wrath. “i care not who accuses my niece--she is innocent of all wrong-doing; and so i will contend with my feeble strength and wit before the world”--in spite of every effort, she was trembling from head to foot. “my feet are already turned toward eternity, but god will spare me to right so monstrous an injustice against an upright, honorable girl, whose only crime is poverty.”
-pauline’s unpleasant laugh was checked by the sudden entrance of a tall man who brushed her unceremoniously to one side.
-“madame yvonett,” said duncan clearly. “i share your faith in marjorie----” a low cry burst from the quakeress, and tears, which no jeer of pauline’s had been able to call forth, rushed to her eyes. blindly she caught duncan’s strong hand and held it close in her trembling fingers. “marjorie was not turned out of my father’s house, but left of her own accord,” continued duncan. “why this young lady should maliciously distort facts”--pauline changed color as she met his contemptuous gaze--“she alone can explain.”
-“you are very unjust,” protested pauline. “i was but quoting janet; i did not realize your sister’s word was--unreliable.”
-but the gibe passed unnoticed except by paul potter, who had entered a few minutes before with duncan, and remained standing in the hall. on their arrival they had found the front door wide open, and had been unintentional listeners to pauline’s charges against marjorie; the girl’s penetrating voice having carried each word to them with absolute distinctness.
-“i hoped, madame yvonett, that this misunderstanding in which your niece is involved, would not reach your ears,” said duncan. “i am sure if miss calhoun-cooper pauses to reflect, she will say nothing further on the subject to anyone.”
-pauline had indeed been thinking rapidly. it was one thing to brow-beat madame yvonett, quite another to antagonize so influential a family as the fordyces. her social ambitions might easily be nipped in the bud if duncan pursued his quixotic course and persuaded his parents to drop the calhoun-coopers from their acquaintance. quickly she decided to modify her tone.
-“of course i will not mention the matter to outsiders,” she said. “but mother and i will listen to no compromise unless the pearl necklace is given back.”
-“thee must go elsewhere for thy pearls,” declared madame yvonett undauntedly. tom’s account of the loss of his coin flashed into her mind. “why does thee not question thy brother about the pearls?”
-“what need?” but pauline’s fingers clenched in her muff as she put the contemptuous question. “miss fordyce’s testimony is most convincing--she saw miss langdon steal the necklace.”
-“one moment,” interrupted duncan. “my mother, miss calhoun-cooper, will make good your loss, if necessary; but first,” his voice deepened--“i shall take steps to clear miss langdon of this preposterous charge, and bring the real thief to book.”
-madame yvonett’s expressive look thanked him; then she faced pauline.
-“thee came uninvited to my house; thee has shown me more discourtesy than i have ever met with before--considering the source i am hardly surprised.” pauline shrank back as she met the beautiful, scornful eyes. “thee has dared to besmirk my niece’s character; for that i will never forgive thee. thee may go.”
-“oh, very well,” and tossing her head, pauline left the room and house, banging the front door shut with a violence that shook windowpanes and pictures.
-there was a moment’s silence; then madame yvonett turned back to duncan. “how can i ever thank thee?” she murmured brokenly.
-“by letting me see miss langdon,” taking her out-stretched hand.
-“but marjorie is not here--i have not seen her since yesterday.”
-duncan gazed incredulously at her, then a worried expression crossed his face. “do you mean she has not been here at all today?”
-“but she told me when i met her she was coming straight here,” he protested. “she left me, for some unknown reason, at the portland drug store and, i supposed, returned here.”
-“at what hour was that?” demanded madame yvonett, growing a shade paler.
-“about twenty minutes past one.”
-“did she have any clothes with her?”
-“no, she only carried a hand-bag. janet told me before i left the house that her things were still in her room.”
-“did marjorie seem distraught?” madame yvonett moistened her dry lips, a new terror tugging at her heart-strings.
-“no, only nervous.” the answer was reassuring, but duncan’s manner was not, and with a low moan of anguish madame yvonett sank unconscious to the ground.
-paul potter sprang to duncan’s assistance, and the two men, under miss rebekah’s frightened guidance, carried madame yvonett to her room. once there the skilled physician took entire charge, and to duncan’s immense relief, the quakeress soon revived under his treatment. potter followed duncan as he tiptoed out into the upper hall.
-“don’t wait around any longer,” he whispered. “i’ll stay here with madame yvonett until her regular physician arrives and the trained nurse you sent for. do you still wish me to dine with you tonight?”
-“i will,” promised potter, and disappeared inside the sick-room.
-miss rebekah was sitting disconsolately in the lower hall as duncan made his way to the front door.
-“how is madame yvonett?” she asked eagerly.
-“she has regained consciousness and is resting quietly”--the spinster’s face lighted with relief. “you can trust absolutely to dr. potter,” added duncan. “he will remain until madame yvonett’s family physician arrives.”
-“thank you, thank you both,” stammered miss rebekah incoherently. “what should i have done without you!”
-“that’s all right,” replied duncan soothingly. “will you do me a very great kindness, miss graves?”
-“then telephone me the instant miss langdon returns. my number is”--drawing out his visiting-card and writing the figures upon it. “you won’t forget?”
-“no, indeed,” and miss rebekah sped upstairs as duncan opened the front door.
-barely glancing at the children and nurses in the park, he strode through franklin square and along k street absorbed in dismal reflections. after discovering marjorie’s disappearance from the drug store that morning, he had returned at once to his home deeply puzzled by her behavior. on his arrival his father had called him into the library and recounted the charge made against marjorie by the calhoun-coopers, janet’s damning testimony, and marjorie’s flight. he had listened in stony silence, refusing to make any comment, and after luncheon had retired to his room. harassed by conflicting theories, he finally rebelled against submitting longer to discouraging idleness, and seizing the telephone, had sent an urgent message to paul potter to meet him at the metropolitan club and go with him to madame yvonett’s. he felt an overwhelming desire to see marjorie, to make her face the issue squarely and refute, if she could, the damning evidence against her. anything was better than the uncertainty he was undergoing.
-duncan stopped dead in his tracks. should he go to the police and report marjorie’s disappearance? pshaw! he was a fool; the girl could have come to no harm in broad daylight in peaceful washington. she was probably sitting in some hotel, or walking the streets trying to make up her mind to go home and tell madame yvonett that she had been accused of being a thief. surely any girl might be excused for putting off breaking such a piece of news to a delicate old lady? and yet, would it not be natural for her to rush to a near and dearly-loved relative for consolation and advice? duncan shook his head in deep bewilderment. flight was usually tacit admission of guilt. he was so deep in thought that he never observed an older man approaching down the street who, on seeing him, quickened his footsteps.
-“well, duncan,” and admiral lawrence paused in front of him. “so you received my note.”
-“note?” duncan shook his head. “no, sir, i’ve had no note from you.”
-“oh, i thought you were on your way to see me in answer to it,” replied the admiral thoughtfully. “i have filed suit to break the will.”
-“you are very unwise, sir,” duncan’s eyes expressed his indignation.
-“that remains to be seen. do you still propose to defend miss langdon?”
-“i do,” with quiet finality. “who is residuary legatee?”
-“then you benefit by the signing of that codicil?”
-“certainly; what then?”
-“chichester barnard can easily retaliate by charging you with using undue influence in persuading his aunt to revoke her bequest to him.” the admiral choked with wrath. “one hundred thousand dollars--um!--men have done much to gain that sum. how do i know you haven’t trumped up this codicil charge against marjorie langdon as a means to break the will?”
-“d--mn my soul!” stormed the admiral, getting back his breath. “d’ye think i’m a dirty blackguard? my lawyer, alvord, who drew up the codicil on october 31, is waiting to see me; come on in and interview him now.”
-“where do you live?”
-“in that house on the corner.” as duncan’s gaze swept over the unpretentious red-brick, stone-trimmed residence, his eyes encountered those of a darky butler who was anxiously regarding them from the open doorway. the chords of memory were touched, and a mental picture rose before duncan’s eyes. abruptly he swung back to the admiral.
-“you say the codicil was drawn and signed on october 31; when did you first discover its loss?”
-“the morning of november first....”
-“let us go in and see alvord,” interrupted duncan, a strange light in his eyes. without further words the admiral led the way to the english basement house.
-“mr. alvord’s been awaitin’ mos’ an hour, suh,” explained the butler, assisting them off with their overcoats. “he axed me ter watch out an’ ax yo’ ter hurry, ’cause he’s awful busy.”
-“very well, sam; where is mr. alvord?”
-“in de lib’ry, suh.”
-“this way, duncan,” and the admiral piloted his guest to the pleasant room where marjorie had spent so many hours. an elderly man rose on their entrance. “sorry to have kept you, alvord,” apologized the admiral. “this is mr. duncan fordyce. kindly tell him in detail of the signing of the codicil to my wife’s will.”
-alvord glanced in some astonishment at his client; then followed his request, and duncan listened with close attention as he described having marjorie typewrite the codicil, making two copies, and the signing of the original copy by mrs. lawrence.
-“admiral lawrence requested me to leave the signed codicil here, and instructed miss langdon to place it in the safe,” he ended. “i gave her the paper....”
-“could you take your solemn oath that you gave her the signed copy?”
-“i am willing to swear that to the best of my recollection i gave her the signed codicil....”
-“that’s an equivocation,” challenged duncan promptly.
-“well, what difference does it make? only the unsigned codicil turned up next morning. i left a codicil, signed or unsigned, on this desk--she could have stolen it a deal easier from the desk.”
-“exactly where did you place the paper?” questioned duncan.
-“on this side of the desk nearest the window,” alvord indicated the spot with his hand.
-“you dare not swear that you handed miss langdon the signed codicil because you fear you gave her the unsigned one,” taunted duncan. “wait,” as the harassed lawyer started to interrupt him. “you did hand miss langdon the unsigned copy, however, which was found in the safe--therefore her responsibility in the matter ends.”
-“hold hard,” broke in the admiral heatedly. “as alvord says, marjorie could have stolen the signed codicil off the desk; she was the last person to leave this room that evening, and i the first to enter in the morning--and the codicil was not on the desk.”
-“you were not the first person to enter this room that morning,” contradicted duncan. “ask your butler to step here a moment.”
-the admiral hesitated, but duncan’s earnest manner solved his doubt, and he rang for his servant.
-“come in, sam,” he directed as the butler rapped on the door.
-“sam,” began duncan slowly. “why have you never told admiral lawrence that you knocked a valuable paper off his desk with your feather duster and out of the open window?”
-“fo’ gawd! boss, how’d yo’ know ’bout dat?” sam turned ashy.
-“i was passing the house and saw the paper sail through the window into the gutter where the water carried it down the sewer. this was the morning of my arrival in washington, admiral--november first.”
-the admiral stared speechlessly at duncan, then wheeled on his frightened servant. “why did you never tell me of this?”
-“’cause yo’ never axed me ’bout de paper; ef yo’ had i’d a telled yer,” protested sam. “when yo’ didn’t say nuffin’ i thought de paper wasn’t no ’count.”
-“go downstairs, you rascal!” thundered the admiral, and sam, glad to escape, disappeared from the room. “well, alvord, what d’ye think?”
-the lawyer tugged at his mustache. “what is your theory, mr. fordyce?” he asked, passing on the admiral’s question.
-“that you gave the unsigned codicil to miss langdon who, following instructions, placed it in the safe where the admiral found it the next morning. sam knocked the signed paper into the gutter, and it went down the sewer.”
-“could you make out any writing on the paper as it fell, mr. fordyce?”
-“unfortunately, no; the paper resembled an ordinary letter size typewriting sheet, folded three times. it spread open and fell writing down.”
-“the codicil was written on ordinary typewriting paper such as you describe,” admitted alvord. “it was the only kind miss langdon had here. still, that’s slim proof to back your theory, mr. fordyce.”
-“but it will hold,” duncan’s elation could be read in his animated expression and excited manner. “i’m willing to face any court, and i’ll win my case....”
-“and that scamp, chichester barnard, will win his hundred thousand after all,” groaned the admiral.
-“toujours sans tache”
-on leaving duncan sitting in his roadster before the apartment house, marjorie had every intention of slipping into the portland through the drug store. once safely inside the building she would take refuge in a friend’s apartment and there fight out her problems alone. the desire to confide in duncan, to beg his assistance was overmastering. she dared not trust herself longer in his presence. in her doubt and agony, and longing for his sympathy, she might betray her passionate love for him. a touch of his hand ... one look from his dear eyes.... marjorie resolutely kept her face turned toward her goal. duncan’s affection for his sister was deep and abiding ... he would never believe evil of janet.
-marjorie strangled a sob as she stumbled into the drug store, and for a second she struggled gamely for composure, but the close atmosphere of the room combined with her overstrung state, upset her completely. she stepped appealingly toward the clerk to ask him for a glass of water, but he was busy with some drugs and did not observe her half-fainting condition. swinging dizzily about, she made blindly for the door, her one instinct to get away from duncan. with her last remaining strength she pulled open the heavy door and stepped outside. the cold fresh air revived her somewhat, but her confusion of mind was added to by discovering she was standing in busy fourteenth street instead of the quiet lobby of the apartment-hotel. she had walked out of the wrong door. before she could retrace her footsteps, chichester barnard stepped to her side.
-“what good fairy sent you here?” he exclaimed gaily. “i was just going back to my office.” his smile was very winning, but marjorie was too spent to attempt reply. her silence claimed his attention, and his startled eyes swept her livid face in consternation. “good heavens! marjorie, what are you doing in the street in this condition?” he turned and hailed a livery carriage from which a passenger had just alighted. “engaged?” he inquired of the negro driver.
-“jump in, marjorie,” but she hung back, striving to articulate, then the world turned black, and she hung limp upon his arm.
-some hours later marjorie stirred, sat more erect, and rubbed her eyes and forehead vigorously. the shadows of the late afternoon were lengthening, and she had some difficulty in focusing the objects about her, and eyed her unfamiliar surroundings in complete mystification.
-“where--where--am i?” she demanded. not pausing for an answer she picked up a tumbler of cold water standing on a table at her elbow, and drank thirstily. her throat felt parched and dry.
-“in my rooms,” replied barnard easily. the tumbler slipped and broke on the polished floor, as marjorie faced him.
-“how dare you bring me here? have you no regard for my reputation?” he changed color at her tone and words, but curbed his own temper admirably.
-“in bringing you here i forgot everyone but the person for whom you show the greatest consideration--madame yvonett,” he replied gently, and a low cry escaped her. “how could i take you to your home looking more dead than alive? the shock might have killed your aunt.”
-“i had not thought of that,” she conceded. “i have a dim recollection of driving on and on.”
-“so we did. i put you in the cab intending to go at once to your home; then a glimpse of your face convinced me that while you looked frightfully ill, you were really only suffering from collapse. i told the coachman to drive up and down the back streets, forced you to drink a little whiskey which i had in my flask, and that, and the cold wind, gradually brought you around. these rooms of mine are on the ground floor, and i slipped you in here unnoticed.”
-marjorie studied him covertly as the events of the morning slowly recurred to her. had he been in the fordyce house when janet testified before the calhoun-coopers and mr. fordyce that she had seen her steal the pearl necklace?
-“why did you not take me back to the fordyces?” she asked.
-“that occurred to me,” admitted barnard, “but to be quite frank i thought that your arriving there with me in the condition you were in would cause adverse criticism. the same consideration deterred me from taking you to a hospital.”
-“i see,” slowly. “perhaps you acted for the best, but----”
-“i may not have been wise,” he broke in, “but i was greatly alarmed. i at first feared that you were dead as you lay there in the carriage. at the thought my whole world crumbled to dust,” his voice vibrated with emotion. “i never realized how much you were to me until i thought i had lost you....” he faltered and broke down, moved beyond himself by his passion. he dropped on his knee beside her--“best beloved!”
-she shrank back under his touch. “don’t, don’t chichester,” she implored. “i am not strong enough for more scenes,” and hysterical sobs wracked her from head to foot. barnard stood up and watched her in growing concern until she regained some semblance of self-control. “it’s a relief to cry,” she stammered.
-“my own sweetheart,” he murmured fondly. “would to heaven i could bear your sorrows for you. won’t you tell me what is troubling you?”
-marjorie paused; would barnard take her word against janet’s? her loyal trust in him had made her at first slow to believe he was seriously courting janet, but once convinced of his double dealing, indignation and contempt had supplanted all warmer feeling for him. barnard still kept up the pretense of his affection for her, but was it likely he would take her part against janet? she rose and moved unsteadily across the room that she might get a better look at him, and study his expression.
-“sit, here, marjorie,” barnard patted the sofa invitingly, but she declined, and he stepped to her side. “how often have i pictured you here,” he said softly, glancing about the comfortable room. “little girl, i long for you always.”
-“don’t chichester,” she threw out her hand beseechingly. “drop this sham--be honest with me....”
-“you doubt me?” in hurt surprise. “you, my darling, for whom i would sacrifice so much to win!”
-“all that is past....”
-“it is not,” he broke in vehemently. “i have learned my lesson this afternoon; i shall never give you up, never.” he spoke as if making an unalterable vow with himself, and she watched him uneasily. “give me a little encouragement, take back your harsh words,” he whispered and with a movement so swift that she could not avoid it, he slipped his arm about her waist. swayed by his physical charm, she permitted him to draw her closer, but before his lips touched hers, duncan’s face leaped out of the shadows of memory, and she pushed barnard from her.
-“stop!” in her endeavor to render her voice steady, she made it hard. “i am in no mood for love scenes, chichester.”
-a gleam of fury lighted barnard’s eyes as he seized her arm.
-“has duncan fordyce come between us?” he demanded. “answer!”
-“have you lost your senses?” her cold fury matched his blazing wrath. “i took you for a gentleman; no gentleman browbeats a woman!”
-“will you answer my question?” paying no attention to her gibe.
-“what if i say yes?” marjorie had seldom looked so beautiful; cheeks pink and eyes bright with feverish excitement. tall and slim and graceful, she faced the jealous man with undaunted spirit.
-“if i thought you meant it----?” barnard’s husky whisper barely reached her ears, but his look of agony smote her, angry as she was.
-“are you the only one who can--flirt?” she asked, half drawn by his personal magnetism, and half repelled by his manner.
-“is that all?” eagerly. “are you merely trying to tease me? oh, it must be that”--answering his own impetuous question in his anxiety to trample down his doubts. “a girl must love a man when she steals for him.”
-marjorie stood frozen; every vestige of color stricken from her face. “explain your meaning.” the words were little more than a whisper.
-“you destroyed the signed codicil in which aunt margaret lawrence revoked her bequest to me....”
-“chichester!” her voice was poignant with outraged feeling. “you dare to think me a thief!”
-“no, no, my darling, only a loyal woman--a woman who has the courage of her affections--how i love you, marjorie!” his voice lingered on her name.
-“how you insult me, you mean!” with a violent wrench marjorie tore herself free from his grasp, and turning, gathered up her belongings. “let me pass,” as he planted himself in front of her.
-“that is no longer your business.”
-“suppose i won’t let you go?”
-marjorie flinched; it was a new barnard confronting her. gone was the suave courtly lover, and in his place stood the primeval man, his baser passions roused. and she had once believed she cared for him. the thought stung.
-“drop this melodrama, chichester,” she said cuttingly. “your conduct has effectually killed whatever affection or respect i had for you.”
-“you are wrong; i have been too patient with your whims and fancies. hereafter i take what i want.” barnard laughed recklessly. “women do not usually refuse me; they like masters.”
-“and your reputation will be ruined if you are found here with me,” mockingly. “think it over.” she remained silent. “is it worth the risk?”
-“risk? i am not hesitating on that score,” proudly.
-“i forgot your family motto, ‘toujours sans tache’,” he taunted.
-“and no bar sinister,” she said, glancing significantly at the coat-of-arms hanging above the mantel. barnard winced, she had touched the vulnerable point in his family history; a history of which he was inordinately proud except for that single blemish. he threw out his hands imploringly.
-“think, my darling, before it is too late; can you afford to break with me?”
-“i fail to understand you,” she retorted hotly. “our so-called engagement was at an end days ago; i have repeatedly returned your ring....”
-“i decline to accept your refusal,” with forced calmness, and his expression altered. “marjorie, i have been mad! forget all that i have said; remember only that i love you and you alone. take back my ring, my darling.”
-“no, never!” she shrank away as he offered it to her. “i will go!”
-barnard stepped instantly aside. “i implore your forgiveness,” he pleaded desperately. “i deserve all the harsh things you said of me, dear; but you have never truly loved”--marjorie’s face changed, ever so slightly, and she avoided his gaze--“you have never loved,” he repeated stubbornly, “never known what it is to be tempted. give me a chance to win back your good opinion; it is all that i ask--now.”
-“it is useless;” marjorie walked over to the door leading to the outer hall, and from that safe haven, turned and faced him. “i never wish to see you again,” she announced with passionate fervor, and opening the door, dashed into the hall.
-barnard started to follow her, then thinking better of it, returned to his seat on the sofa and gazed blankly about the room. it seemed strangely empty without marjorie, and cursing his lack of self-control and temper which had frightened her away, he picked up a letter lying on the table which had escaped his earlier notice. it proved to be a curt note from alvord and alvord informing him that rear admiral lawrence had brought suit to break his wife’s will. for a long time barnard sat inarticulate with rage; two stumbling blocks were in his way to winning marjorie for his wife; one, of his own making, and the other, a law contest. with settled determination to win both he picked up the evening paper and began to read it.
-once in the street marjorie set out in the direction of washington but she was so unutterably exhausted by all that she had gone through, that her footsteps lagged and her progress was slow. she was not very familiar with georgetown, but had a general idea of the direction she should take, and keeping an outlook for a passing cab, she staggered rather than walked along, her heart filled with bitter and hopeless anguish. she had kept the faith and had been loyal to her benefactress, but when the guilt of others had been fastened upon her shoulders not one friend had believed in her innocence. she had still to face madame yvonett. she shivered involuntarily, paused, walked on, paused again, then turned and staggered off in the direction of the potomac river.
-the hearing ear
-janet, coming swiftly along the hall toward her mother’s bedroom, met a white-capped nurse advancing toward her.
-“how is mother?” she demanded.
-“resting more easily now, miss fordyce; the medicine gave her almost immediate relief.”
-“thank heaven!” janet moved forward a few steps intending to enter her mother’s bedroom, but the nurse detained her.
-“i beg your pardon; your brother and dr. potter are with mrs. fordyce just now. seeing so many together might overexcite her. could you not come in a little later?”
-“i suppose so,” but janet looked troubled. “you are sure she is better, nurse?”
-“yes, indeed,” with a reassuring smile.
-“then please ask my brother and dr. potter to stop in the chinese room when they leave mother. i would like to talk to them privately before our guests arrive for dinner.”
-“i will tell them,” promised the nurse, and turned to go.
-“just a moment,” janet gazed perplexedly at the pretty woman standing just under the hall light. “haven’t i seen you before?”
-“i don’t think so, miss fordyce,” kathryn allen’s smile was most engaging. “i am sure i should not have forgotten.” and the subtle admiration of janet’s good looks and pretty gown conveyed by her intonation, caused the young girl to flush warmly. “do not distress yourself on your mother’s account; dr. potter and dr. mclane both declare her attack comes from overexertion. rest and absolute quiet are all that she needs to effect a complete recovery.”
-“oh, thank you, nurse,” and janet, much relieved, ran down the staircase.
-a disagreeable smile spoiled kathryn allen’s good looks as she watched janet disappear from view; then with an impatient sigh, she continued her interrupted trip down the hall toward the bedroom which had been assigned to her. as she reached the elevator shaft the door opened and a man stepped out into the hall.
-“you, joe!” though startled out of her usual calm, kathryn was careful to keep her voice lowered. “what are you doing here? how dare you take such a risk?”
-“the risk is small,” he answered cautiously. “i pushed the wrong button and never discovered my mistake until the lift stopped at this floor,” a satisfied smile completed the short explanation. “i had to see you, kathryn. why did you come here?”
-“i gave up my other case yesterday, as you know,” tartly. “i can’t afford to be idle. at the hospital i found dr. mclane’s call for a nurse to take a light case, and came here. money is money, dear boy.” she did not think it necessary to add that she had considered the opportunity of becoming an inmate of the fordyce household a god-given chance.
-“you should have consulted me first,” fumed joe, displeased at the lightness of her manner. “i only found out by chance from mclane that you were here. have you seen the evening paper?”
-the urgency of his tone impressed her. from above came the sound of advancing footsteps.
-“quick, this way,” she muttered, and pulled him into the deep shadows afforded by a bow window and its curtains.
-downstairs in the chinese room janet waited for her brother and paul potter with ever growing impatience. the thick soft carpet deadened the sound of her restless trampling back and forth. she could not keep still. she fingered the rich oriental hangings, scanned the valuable jade and carved ivory ornaments in the glass cabinets; then turned her attention to the collection of chinese armor occupying its allotted space, and traced with curious fingers the beautiful handiwork on the scabbards and daggers and carefully inspected the naked blades themselves. the atmosphere of the room was heavy with the incense of the east. mrs. fordyce had selected the room as her own private sanctum in preference to the larger library, and spent all her evenings there in the absence of janet and duncan. her fondness for things oriental had been indulged by her husband, who had spent a small fortune collecting costly furniture, curios, paintings, and silks from china to gratify her whim.
-tired of contemplating the armor janet stepped over to the inlaid teakwood desk, and seating herself before it, idly opened one of the numerous magazines which her mother had left there. suddenly her attention was arrested by a photograph of tom nichols, and she turned eagerly to the printed page, to find that the article was descriptive of fort myer and other army posts. she took a second look at tom’s picture. it was a good likeness. janet’s eyes grew very tender, and impulsively she stooped and kissed the picture. she jerked herself erect as the hall door opened, and a hot blush dyed her cheeks, but the question on her lips remained unspoken. marjorie langdon was confronting her.
-shutting the door softly behind her, marjorie advanced into the room and quietly seated herself opposite janet. the contrast between the two girls was noticeable in the extreme. janet made a dainty picture of fresh young beauty in her perfectly fitting, expensive low-neck evening dress, while marjorie, her white crêpe de chine waist and walking skirt covered by a heavy driving coat and minus her hat, looked spent and weary. she had aged in the last few tortured hours, and the hands she rested on the flat-top desk were trembling from fatigue and nervousness.
-“you?” janet’s agitation was perceptible in her voice and manner. “what--what do you want? what are you doing here?”
-“i came, janet, hoping that you had thought better of your extraordinary behavior to me this morning,” answered marjorie looking quietly at her, but janet did not flinch before her direct gaze.
-“don’t make things harder for me, marjorie,” she said sadly. “i was--we all were--very fond of you; why did you abuse our trust? mother would gladly have helped you out of any pressing money difficulties.”
-marjorie’s incredulous stare deepened suddenly into horror.
-“janet! janet!” she gasped. “does your moral obliquity blind you to all sense of honor?”
-janet stiffened and her manner hardened. “you forget yourself.”
-marjorie’s hardly tried self-control snapped, and leaning back in her chair she gave way to wild laughter which ended in sobs. janet regarded her in increasing alarm.
-“go! go at once!” she ordered.
-the sharp command restored marjorie to some semblance of composure. “no, i shall not go,” she said more quietly. “you are right, janet, i have forgotten myself--to an absurd extent; but i’ll do so no longer. your father shall learn the truth tonight.”
-“he will turn you out of the house as a common adventuress.”
-marjorie leaned across the desk and contemplated janet in silence.
-“janet,” she began at length. “i have never shown you anything but kindness; i have tried in every way to see that you had a good time and were enjoying yourself. in heaven’s name, what has aroused your animosity? why should you hound me in this manner?”
-“i’m not hounding you,” protested janet, tears springing to her eyes. “i have tried very hard to blind myself to your--your----”
-“my what?” a dangerous light in her eyes.
-but janet dodged the question. “you must go,” she said, her words tumbling over each other in her haste. “my guests will arrive here in a few minutes. pauline must not find you here--there will be another scene----” janet fairly wrung her hands--“people will talk so.”
-“quite right, they will,” but the significant emphasis passed completely over janet’s head. “i have no objection to confronting pauline again, and particularly do i wish to see tom nichols.”
-“ah, indeed; and what do you wish to see him about?”
-“i desire his advice,” calmly. “i started to go to fort myer this afternoon and got as far as the aqueduct bridge in georgetown when i recollected he was to dine here----”
-“and so decided to come here yourself,” janet laughed recklessly. “your motives are not so pure as you would lead me to suppose.”
-“stop!” marjorie’s imperious tone made even the jealous girl pause. “i think you have taken leave of your senses.”
-“you are welcome to your opinion,” retorted janet defiantly. “but i insist on your leaving this house. do you wish to be turned out again?”
-“i have never been turned out.” marjorie was struggling to keep her temper within bounds. “i left this house of my own accord this morning. my clothes are still here, and here i shall remain until i am dismissed by your mother.”
-janet’s eyes were dark with passion. “you dare to stay on as my chaperon?”
-“yes. your behavior to me tonight has made me reconsider my quixotic effort to shield you; from now on i shall strive to clear myself of your lying testimony against me.”
-“you leave me but one alternative....”
-“and that is----?” as janet paused.
-“to have the servants put you out of the house.”
-“janet!” marjorie gazed at the young girl in stupefaction, and the latter’s eyes wavered and fell as she caught the keen reproach and pain which marjorie’s face betrayed. for a second she battled with her better self.
-“i will give you just three minutes to leave this room and house of your own accord,” she said clearly. “at the end of that time i shall ring for the servants.” and she picked up the hammer belonging to the beautiful chinese gong which her mother used to summon her maid.
-in the stillness the ticking of the dock on the desk was plainly audible. slowly, very slowly marjorie rose and walked with deliberation over to the door opening on the private staircase which led to mrs. fordyce’s suite of rooms on the floor above. janet followed her movements with distended eyes; then the chamois-covered hammer in her hand rose and fell, stroke on stroke, until the room vibrated with the mellow tones of the chinese gong.
-out in the wide hall a man, partly concealed by the heavy portières, jumped nervously back from the keyhole of the door as the sound of the gong reached him, and turning, scuddled down the hall just as dr. paul potter came down the broad winding staircase. the latter paused as the clear bell-like vibrations of the gong drifted to his ears, bringing with them a note of urgency and appeal which he was quick to answer.
-locating the sound, he made for the chinese room and rapped sharply on the panels of the closed door. he waited an appreciable instant, then, receiving no response, turned the knob and walked into the room. as he crossed the threshold his foot struck a small object and sent it spinning ahead of him. his eyes followed the bright silver, and he was about to advance and pick up the pencil when, looking up, he spied janet sitting in front of the desk. her attitude arrested his attention. crossing the intervening space at a bound, he felt her pulse and heart; then stepped back, and his keen gaze swept the room. convinced that they were alone, he again bent over her and laid his hand lightly on her bare neck.
-“feeling better?” he inquired some moments later.
-“yes,” janet shivered and pulled her scarf up about her shoulders. “the incense here always makes me feel deadly faint. i don’t see how mother stands it.”
-“it is trying; suppose i open the window,” moving toward it.
-“please don’t,” she shivered again. “i am quite cold enough already. i would like a glass of water,” pointing to a carafe and tumblers standing on a small table near the window. potter quickly got it for her and watched the warm color return gradually into her pale cheeks. “that tastes so good. you kept me waiting an awfully long time, doctor.”
-“i am sorry; your father and i were reminiscing. i thought duncan was here with you.”
-“duncan here?” he wondered at the alarm in her tone. “no, he hasn’t been near me. how is mother?”
-“very much improved.”
-“i am so glad,” in a relieved voice. “i felt such a pig to have the dinner tonight, but mother positively refused to let me call it off. father said it was better to humor her.”
-“he’s quite right; your mother must not be excited by discussions or dissensions.”
-“we never have them,” she laughed saucily. “we are a united family ruled by mother.”
-“i have a great regard for mrs. fordyce,” replied potter gravely, not liking her flippant tone.
-“have you just come from her room?”
-“no, your father and i were talking in the boudoir.”
-“did you see----” a knock on the hall door interrupted her. “come in.”
-“miss swann is in the drawing-room, miss janet,” announced the footman.
-“gracious! i must run,” janet gathered up her scarf, fan, and handkerchief. “if you see duncan, doctor, please ask him to hurry,” and she departed.
-as the door closed behind her potter walked over and picked up the silver pencil. he was still examining it when duncan entered the room.
-“where’s janet?” he demanded.
-“gone into the drawing-room,” potter slipped the silver pencil inside his white waistcoat pocket. “whom do the initials ‘j. c. c.’ stand for?”
-“‘j. c. c.’,” echoed duncan reflectively. “let me see. oh, i guess j. calhoun-cooper.”
-“a friend of yours?”
-“an acquaintance,” shortly. “his sister was at madame yvonett’s this afternoon.”
-“oh!” potter’s fingers sought the lobe of his right ear. “i believe you said they were dining here tonight.”
-“yes. i asked janet to recall their invitations, but she refused to do so.”
-“quite right; unless you wish to declare war on them.”
-“i’m willing to do it,” duncan scowled savagely. “the way pauline dared to address madame yvonett made my blood boil. janet promised to see that i did not sit next to her. joe, pauline’s brother, made a mistake in the dinner hour and arrived here some time ago; he sent word to me by henderson not to hurry, he’d wait in the billiard-room. the poor fool must be tired of knocking the balls about by himself.”
-potter looked irresolutely at duncan, but before he could make up his mind to a definite course, the telephone bell in the library across the hall rang insistently, and with a hasty word of excuse duncan dashed to answer it. picking up the evening paper from the chair where janet had dropped it, potter read it hurriedly while awaiting duncan’s return.
-“come on in the drawing-room, paul,” called the latter from the doorway a few minutes later. “janet has sent a hurry call for us,” and as he joined him the physician saw the butler’s broad back disappearing in the distance.
-“any news from madame yvonett?” he asked, as they started for the ballroom.
-“miss graves has just telephoned no word has been received from marjorie,” duncan looked as anxious as he felt. “i wish to heaven she was here.”
-“so do i; not only on your account, duncan, but to settle one point once for all,” the physician paused doubtfully.
-“what are you driving at?” growled duncan.
-“your father has just told me that he has purchased the famous maharajah ruby, and now has it in his possession....”
-“yes, he bought it to give to mother on their wedding anniversary tomorrow; goodness knows why she hates ostentatious display in jewels as in everything else.”
-“has your father spoken of his intention to buy the ruby?”
-“um!” a dry smile twisted potter’s lips. “the jeweler who conducted the sale must have talked. the evening paper gives a full account of your father’s valuable purchase, and a description of the ruby. now, if only miss langdon were here we would soon find out how disinterested are her thieving propensities.”
-“i have a great mind to punch your head!” said duncan furiously. “heaven only knows where the poor girl is tonight; and you stand there and dare insinuate---- oh, come into the drawing-room and meet----” his voice died in his throat.
-standing receiving the guests, looking extremely beautiful in her low-cut evening dress, was marjorie langdon.
-the kingdom of the blind
-marjorie saw them at the same instant and for a second faltered, then stepped quietly forward to meet them.
-“good evening,” she said. “janet, here are the truants. i think you are to take me out to dinner, dr. potter,” and the hand she placed on the physician’s arm was steady.
-duncan, collecting his scattered wits, offered his arm to the pretty girl janet had assigned to him, and followed the others out to the dining-room. judging from appearances his father and janet had accepted marjorie’s return without audible comment. janet, confused by the rapid trend of events, had quickly decided to let well enough alone. she feared to precipitate a disastrous scene if she asked marjorie to withdraw. her father, a complete man of the world, had quickly made up his mind to accept the situation, and postponed questioning marjorie as to her disappearance and return until after the dinner was over.
-inwardly cursing his luck that he was not seated next to marjorie so that he could question her and tell her of his discovery as to how the lawrence codicil was lost, duncan took the chair next his companion with an ill grace. there was some confusion in seating the guests, owing to janet’s having changed her father’s accustomed seat at the end to one side of the long table. paul potter seized the opportunity to draw his host to one side.
-“has janet had any return of----” he lowered his voice discreetly----“of the old trouble about which you consulted me when she was at boarding-school?”
-fordyce started. “not to my knowledge,” he whispered. “what do you....” but potter had slipped into his chair between janet and marjorie, and cogitating deeply, fordyce made his way to his own place.
-leisurely unfolding his napkin, potter looked with interest about the table.
-“take pity on a stranger, miss langdon, and tell me the names of my fellow guests,” he said. “i came into the drawing-room too late to meet them.”
-“captain nichols is on janet’s right; next to him is miss pauline calhoun-cooper; the girl on mr. calderon fordyce’s right is miss swann, of baltimore. isn’t she pretty?” added marjorie. “the others are miss marsh, miss dodge, and my neighbor here, mr. calhoun-cooper,” indicating joe with a motion of her hand.
-“you have skipped the man sitting opposite you,” prompted potter. the table, a recent purchase of mr. fordyce’s who never tired of haunting antique shops, was wide enough to permit two seats being placed side by side at either end, and as marjorie’s eyes traveled down the long expanse of damask and its load of silver and glass she encountered barnard’s fixed stare. she acknowledged his low bow with a slight inclination of her head, and turned again to potter.
-“chichester barnard,” she said briefly. “have you met mr. calhoun-cooper, dr. potter,” she added as joe, catching his name, wheeled toward her and through several courses the two men talked with her.
-janet absorbed tom nichols’ attention to the exclusion of others, and pauline calhoun-cooper, who also had much to occupy her thoughts, gave up trying to make conversation with mr. calderon fordyce and sat back in her chair and watched marjorie. she had heard through janet of marjorie’s departure that morning, and madame yvonett’s statement that her niece had not returned home had convinced pauline that, as she vulgarly put it, marjorie had made a “quick get-away.” she was at a loss to understand why the fordyces championed marjorie’s cause. that they did so, she never doubted; marjorie’s very presence indicated that fact. on discovering marjorie in the drawing-room, pauline, considering it a personal affront that a girl whom she charged with being an ordinary thief should be an honored guest under the same roof with her, had confided to joe that she was leaving immediately and he was to accompany her. but joe, for once obdurate to his sister’s commands and entreaties, roughly refused to budge, and inwardly furious, she had made the best of the awkward situation and remained also. with exemplary patience she bided her time.
-janet’s feverishly gay chatter gave tom nichols little opportunity to broach a serious topic. he was deeply puzzled and perturbed over the loss and return of the bracelet to the calhoun-coopers, and the theft of mrs. calhoun-cooper’s pearl necklace had added to his bewilderment. he had spent the past twenty-four hours trying to unravel the mystery. while janet had not said in so many words, that the bracelet was hers, her manner had clearly indicated that fact. representative j. calhoun-cooper claimed the bracelet as his, and it had been returned to him. janet’s special delivery note hinted broadly that marjorie had received the bracelet after he left it at her house. and yet how did marjorie know janet was wearing a bracelet which belonged to j. calhoun-cooper, and why did she return it anonymously to the representative without first mentioning her intentions to janet? tom shrank from the answer which reason dictated.
-“why so solemn?” challenged janet, not getting an immediate answer to her former question. all through the dinner she had carefully refrained from glancing in barnard’s direction. under the stimulus of tom’s presence, she had cast prudence to the winds.
-“solemn? far from it; a nonsense rhyme is bothering me to death. i wonder if you can tell me where it came from,” and he quoted hurriedly:
-“‘i gave her one, they gave him two you gave us three or more. they all returned from him to you though they were mine before.’”
-“alice in wonderland!” janet clapped her hands and laughed in open amusement. “to think of an artillery officer being ‘up’ in nursery rhymes.”
-“so that’s where the lines are from! my niece and nephew are responsible for my knowledge of lewis carroll’s masterpiece.”
-“do you remember the next verse?” asked janet. “it goes:
-“‘if i or she should chance to be involved in this affair, i trust to you to set me free exactly as we were.’”
-tom had a retentive memory. was janet intentionally misquoting? did she mean him to take the nonsense rhyme seriously? he glanced sharply at her, but her head was partly turned as she helped herself to the vol-au-vent. he waited for her full attention before answering.
-“it sounds like the unutterable tread of unsearchable circumstances,” he said.
-it was janet’s turn to be mystified. “i don’t at all understand what you mean,” she admitted plaintively, wrinkling her pretty forehead in wonder. “i don’t even know you are really my friend....”
-“janet, don’t for a moment doubt me,” tom lowered his voice so that it reached her ear alone. “i am yours, heart and soul.”
-her eyes fell before his, unable to bear the worship which kindled his plain features almost into beauty, and the carmine mounted her cheeks.
-“you’ll never believe anything people may say against me?” she pleaded.
-“never,” with reassuring vehemence.
-“will you promise to stand by me----?”
-“always; through thick and thin.”
-“then, tom, save me from myself,” and a little cold hand slipped into his under cover of the table.
-tom was white under his tan. he was in deadly earnest, but was janet equally so? his clasp tightened on her hand until her ring cut into the tender flesh.
-“tell me, janet,” and the very repression of his voice showed the tension he was laboring under. “is there a chance for me?”
-“you are very blind, dear,” and the love-light in her eyes was unmistakable.
-paul potter scanned janet and tom quizzically for a second, then turned back to marjorie.
-“it’s no use,” he said. “i’ve tried repeatedly to break into their conversation; but it’s a close corporation. behold, you still have me on your hands.”
-“that is no hardship but good fortune,” marjorie spoke with truthfulness. joe was not particularly interesting at any time; and feeling as she did that night, anything which interrupted a tête-à-tête with a member of the calhoun-cooper family was in the nature of a relief. she had held a three-cornered conversation with potter and joe most of the evening, and joe, usually unobserving, had not failed to note the physician’s intent gaze and finally turning restive under the ceaseless espionage, was glad to present his back to his right-hand neighbors and talk to his dinner partner, miss dodge.
-“tell me more of your adventures when you accompanied duncan fordyce to china, doctor,” continued marjorie, after a short pause.
-“that’s so, he only purchased the ruby today. i believe i’m letting out state secrets,” potter laughed ruefully. “don’t betray me, even to janet.”
-“i promise not to, but....”
-“are you and marjorie speaking of the ruby?” questioned janet. pauline had finally interrupted her conversation with tom by claiming the latter’s undivided attention, and janet had overheard potter’s remarks. “that’s no secret, doctor; it is in the evening papers. i teased father to show it to me just before you came in”--marjorie’s heart sank like lead with forebodings of more trouble. “it’s the most beautiful stone i’ve ever seen,” went on janet enthusiastically. “a real pigeon-blood ruby. i could hardly put it down.”
-marjorie lost potter’s reply; her attention being centered on perkins. the butler was bending over and speaking confidentially to mr. calderon fordyce. as the whispered colloquy progressed calderon fordyce’s face grew set and stern. with a quiet word of apology to the two girls sitting on either side of him, he pushed back his chair and left the room.
-“do you suppose mrs. fordyce is worse, doctor?” questioned marjorie.
-potter looked troubled as he beckoned to perkins. “does mr. fordyce wish me to go to his wife?” he inquired, as the butler stopped behind him.
-“no, sir. mr. fordyce has gone to answer a telephone message, sir. champagne, miss langdon?” and before she could stop him, he had refilled her glass.
-“have you seen mrs. fordyce, doctor?” asked marjorie, as perkins passed on.
-“yes, just before dinner. she seemed immensely improved.”
-“do you think i could see her later?” she tried hard to suppress all anxious longing, but it crept into her voice, and potter examined her white face with keen intentness.
-“i don’t think it would be wise,” and marjorie’s sensitive nerves quivered under the peculiar intonation of his voice. were they all in league to keep her from confiding her troubles to mrs. fordyce, her one friend?
-to duncan fordyce the dinner was interminable. fortunately the very young girls who had fallen to his share were so taken up with talking of their affairs that his part in the conversation sank to monosyllables, to his great relief. he was not in the mood to make small talk. his father had motioned to him to keep his seat when he rose on receiving perkins’ message, and much against his will he had done so. he did not like his father’s expression; it betokened bad news. his thoughts instantly sped to his mother, but perkins’ hurried whisper relieved that anxiety, and he was just starting to enjoy his untasted salad when, happening to look down the table, he caught marjorie’s eyes. their expression of dumb despair stirred him out of himself.
-his impulse was to go to her at once, but cooler counsel prevailed. such a course would instantly draw attention to marjorie; he would not mind, but she might seriously resent being made conspicuous. with inward fervor he consigned the cook who invented long menus to a warm climate; the table had to be cleared and the ices served before he would be free to go to marjorie. he glanced at his neighbors: miss marsh was holding an animated three-cornered conversation with chichester barnard and miss swann, and miss dodge, on his left, was deeply engrossed with joe calhoun-cooper. he was the only person at the table not busily talking. taking up his place card and drawing out a gold pencil, he wrote a few lines under cover of the table, and beckoning to perkins, slipped the card inside his hand with a whispered direction.
-a second later marjorie’s elbow was gently jogged by perkins and a card was placed in her lap unseen by her neighbors. surprised and somewhat alarmed, she waited until potter and janet were engaged in a warm argument; then glanced down, and under the shelter of her napkin read the few words written in duncan’s distinctive writing on the back of his place card:
-i love you. will you marry me? answer yes, by raising your champagne glass.
-janet turned back again to tom, and potter, left to himself, addressed several remarks to marjorie. not getting any reply, he looked at her in surprise and discovered her eye-lashes were wet with tears. before he could think of anything to say or do, she glanced up, her face transfigured.
-“w--what did you say?” she stammered. her eyes, alight with new-born happiness and hope traveled past potter to duncan. a moment’s hesitation; then she raised her champagne glass to him, and duncan’s blood coursed hotly through his veins as he pledged her in tender silence across the table. “i did not catch what you said, dr. potter,” she added softly, her eyes never leaving duncan’s radiant face.
-phantoms of the night
-kathryn allen, taking care that her starched white nurse’s uniform made no crinkling sound, bent over mrs. fordyce and listened to her regular breathing. satisfied that her patient was at last asleep, she arranged the night-light, placed several bottles and glasses on the bedstand, and left the room. her rubber-soled shoes made no sound, and she passed through the empty rooms and halls in ghostly silence. first, she paid a lengthy visit to marjorie’s old room, and when she emerged into the hall her white gown was covered by a dark coat-sweater which mrs. fordyce had given to marjorie at christmas, and the becoming white nurse’s cap nestled in one of the pockets of the sweater. finally, reaching the drawing-room floor, she paused to listen to the distant hum of voices and gay laughter coming faintly from the dining-room, then she peeped into the ballroom. it was empty, and the drawing-room likewise.
-convinced that the way was clear she entered the library and was about to make herself comfortable in mr. fordyce’s own easy-chair, when the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps startled her, and she darted behind the long silken window curtains which effectually concealed her from view.
-the curtains had barely fallen back into place when the hall door opened and calderon fordyce came in and walked over to the telephone. he was in much too great a hurry to observe his surroundings closely, and becoming absorbed in his conversation over the wire, never heard the faint rustle of the curtains as kathryn allen peered out between them into the room, drinking in every word she could overhear. she jerked her head out of sight as fordyce hung up the receiver.
-“well, i’m blessed!” he exclaimed aloud. “i don’t want any more scenes; where in thunder did janet put the evening paper?” but his search was unavailing, and he left the library still grumbling.
-kathryn allowed several minutes to elapse before she stirred from behind the curtains. finally convinced that calderon fordyce was not likely to return at once, she went directly to his desk, and selecting pen and paper, scribbled rapidly:
-they know, and have telephoned calderon fordyce. get a taxi and wait for me around the corner. don’t fail.
-she reread what she had written, then drawing out a folded paper from the same pocket which contained her nurse’s cap, she picked out a long envelope stamped with calderon fordyce’s house address, and wrote above it marjorie langdon’s name; then straightening out the folded paper, enclosed it in the envelope which she sealed and addressed, and making free with calderon fordyce’s stamp-book, soon had it ready for the mail.
-“i think my ‘find’ will square accounts with both marjorie langdon and chichester barnard,” she murmured, with malicious fury. “he won’t marry me, and he shan’t marry her. god! how i--i--love him”--and the unhappy woman bowed her head in anguish. the fact that her habit of self-deception had magnified barnard’s attentions to her did not soften the realization that he cared nothing for her. it was but another version of the moth and the flame, and pretty kathryn, her wings singed, turned with sore heart to joe as her haven of refuge. but even so she could neither forgive barnard nor forget him.
-replacing the envelope in her pocket, she rearranged the displaced desk ornaments, and picking up the note addressed to joe, left the room. no one saw her make her way into the men’s cloakroom on the ground floor, but once there she stuck joe’s note on the mantel in plain view and sped into the hall. not wishing to encounter any servant she entered the lift and shot up to the drawing-room floor. she made certain the way was clear before venturing down the hall to the chinese room. mrs. fordyce had sent her there earlier in the evening to get the evening star, and she had used the private staircase to go and return. it would be the quickest way to reach her patient undetected.
-but the contents of the chinese room fascinated her, and she lingered on, examining with growing interest the many beautiful curios. so absorbed was she that she never heard the opening and closing of the hall door.
-“oh, ho, kathryn!” said a well-known voice, and with a stifled cry she faced about.
-barnard laughed softly as he observed her confusion. “pretty, pretty, kathryn!” he mocked. “why so far from your patient, my dear?”
-“what business is that of yours?”
-“my general interest in your welfare prompts the question.”
-“rot!” bitterly. “you have already shown me that you care nothing for me.”
-“interest does not necessarily mean affection, my dear kathryn. you are so emotional you confuse the terms.”
-“i don’t want your interest,” she replied sullenly, her resentment rising.
-“oh, yes, you do,” with a provoking smile. “suppose i lost interest in you and reported your neglect of mrs. fordyce to her husband. is your reputation as a reliable nurse of no value to you?”
-“indeed. found a bonanza?”
-“no; a man who respects me.”
-barnard laughed again. “poor fool!”
-kathryn’s cheeks turned as red as her hair as her smoldering wrath kindled under his look and words. “you are the pitiful fool; wasting your love on a girl who betrays you,” she snapped, and meeting his blank stare, added: “marjorie langdon has other intentions since being thrown with duncan fordyce. you don’t believe me? well, i have proof she’s off with the old love. i found out tonight that she plans to ruin you.”
-“bosh!” but barnard paled. “i am in no woman’s power....”
-“then why should marjorie langdon write to admiral lawrence?” she supplemented.
-“why shouldn’t she?” he countered.
-“put it down to a change of heart,” she taunted. “perhaps marjorie wants her old secretaryship back again, perhaps conscience prompts her to make restitution. the envelope was long, it could easily have held a legal document ... for instance, a codicil to a will.”
-“where did you make this interesting discovery?”
-“among marjorie’s belongings.”
-“while playing hide-and-seek,” he jeered. “well, did you leave it there?”
-“for you to steal?” the sneer cost her dearly, for barnard’s quick wits grasped the situation.
-“no, of course you didn’t; an unscrupulous woman would not leave capital behind. give it to me.”
-“give me the letter!” barnard shook her violently. for answer she sank her teeth in his hand. “you devil!” he gasped, and she reeled backward under his blow. as her weight fell on the unlatched door leading to the private staircase, it opened and precipitated her into the short passage way. in an instant barnard was by the fallen woman’s side, but before he could search her for the letter he supposed she had, janet fordyce stepped into the chinese room. the passage way was fortunately dark, and she did not observe barnard kneeling by kathryn. with a swift movement barnard pushed the door to, leaving however, a crack through which he could peer into the chinese room.
-humming a gay tune janet paused by the electric droplight, then sitting down before the desk she opened the left-hand drawer and putting in her hand felt about until her lingers found a spring which she pressed. instantly the panel between the two drawers, which usually looked as solid as the rest of the desk, flew out, and janet, bending down slipped her hand inside the opening and pulled out a jewel-box. with leisurely movement she opened the case and held it directly under the lamp, and the light fell on a superb ruby set as a pendant. she gazed at it admiringly and taking the jewel out of the case carefully inspected the exquisite workmanship of the pendant. she fondled the jewel for a moment, then replaced it in its case, and laid the latter back in the secret drawer. but before closing the drawer she evidently thought better of it and again lifted out the ruby pendant, replaced the empty case, closed the drawer, and unhurriedly left the room.
-through the crack of the door barnard, with eyes almost starting from his head, watched janet’s every movement; so intent was he that he failed to notice kathryn. taking advantage of his absorption, she had risen to her knees and was also peering into the chinese room. as janet disappeared, she sprang to her feet, intending to run upstairs, but barnard pulled her back and stared at her in horror. she was shaking with noiseless mirth which threatened to break out into hysterical weeping.
-“the girl’s a thief, a common thief,” she gasped faintly. “trust you to find it out, and use your knowledge to bend her to your will. well, you may make her your wife, but she loves tom nichols.” she blanched before his furious expression. “i tell you, janet fordyce loves tom nichols,” she repeated stubbornly. “i’ve just read the young fool’s diary.”
-“your inordinate curiosity will be your ruin,” said barnard, with ominous quietness. “give me the paper you found in marjorie langdon’s room,” folding his handkerchief around his bruised hand.
-“hush!” a murmur of voices sounded down the hall, and kathryn seized on the interruption. “go in there,” she directed, “unless you wish to be caught out here with me.” barnard hesitated; the voices were most certainly drawing nearer; it would be one thing to be found waiting in the chinese room alone, and quite a different matter to be discovered apparently hiding in a back passage with a trained nurse. he dared not risk another struggle with kathryn, they most certainly would be overheard. with a muttered oath he laid his hand on the door knob.
-“you send that paper to admiral lawrence at your own peril,” he whispered. “i know of certain escapades which will forfeit any man’s respect for you--you understand. don’t push me too far,” and jerking open the door he stepped back into the chinese room.
-he had been there but a moment when calderon fordyce entered with representative j. calhoun-cooper. with a hasty word of greeting to the latter, barnard backed toward the hall door, eager to be gone.
-“stop a second, barnard,” exclaimed calhoun-cooper. “i am glad to have you here. perhaps you can help me in a legal way.”
-“anything i can do, sir,” barnard was careful to remain in the shadow as much as possible, keeping his bandaged hand in his pocket. “i am entirely at your service.”
-“thanks,” calhoun-cooper turned his attention to his host, to barnard’s relief. “have you sent for joe?”
-“yes,” replied fordyce shortly. “look here, cooper, can’t you contrive to settle this affair without a scene?”
-“i’ll try. barnard, here, will help me.” barnard looked wonderingly at the two men. “what is the legal age for marriage in the district, barnard?”
-“with or without the consent of parents?”
-before barnard could reply, the hall door opened and pauline stepped into the room.
-“what’s to pay, father?” she inquired. “i saw you arrive, and overheard the footman tell joe to come to this room. is mother ill?”
-“no, go back to the drawing-room, pauline, and hurry joe in here.”
-“he won’t come.” pauline, scenting excitement, was reluctant to leave.
-“won’t he?” calhoun-cooper’s temper was aroused. stepping past the others, he jerked open the hall door just in time to see joe dash by. “stop him!” he commanded. tom nichols, who happened to be returning from the smoking-room, instinctively tripped up the running man, and not until he helped him to his feet, did he recognize joe.
-“go back into that room,” ordered calhoun-cooper, and joe quailed before the look in his eyes. “come with us, nichols; no, there’s no use trying to run away again,” as joe made a sideways motion to duck by them.
-much astounded tom followed the father and son into the chinese room. janet, getting out of the elevator, saw the little procession, and moved by curiosity, also entered the room. calderon fordyce glanced vexedly at the increasing group around him, his request that there should be no scene was not to be granted. calhoun-cooper was about to speak when duncan opened the hall door.
-“what do you mean by running off and leaving your guests, janet?” he demanded. “they are saying good-bye, and marjorie....” he stopped abruptly as his eyes fell on the others. “go back to the drawing-room, dear,” and he pushed janet through the door and closed it behind her.
-“tell me the truth, joe,” commanded calhoun-cooper. “have you taken out a marriage license?”
-“yes,” answered joe sullenly.
-“what?” screamed pauline. “who are you going to marry?”
-“none of your business,” retorted her brother.
-“it is very much my business,” broke in calhoun-cooper, who had been holding a hurried conversation with barnard. “considering you are not of legal age to marry in the district without your parent’s consent.”
-“we can be married in rockville,” replied joe heatedly. “i suppose you read the marriage license published in the star tonight.”
-“your mother read it after dinner, and at once notified me at the capitol.”
-“it’s rotten luck!” complained joe bitterly. “i didn’t know they’d publish it. why should you withhold your consent, father? kathryn allen is worthy of respect and love.”
-“kathryn allen!” pauline’s face turned red with mortification and rage. “you propose marrying that girl of questionable repute? you dare to think of bringing her into our family!”
-“my family is quite as good as yours,” retorted a voice from the other side of the room, and kathryn allen, who had been an interested listener in the passageway, stepped to joe’s side. she had discarded marjorie’s sweater, and straightened her dress. she looked a model trained nurse in her simple white uniform. for a moment the others were too astounded to speak.
-“are you kathryn allen?” asked calhoun-cooper.
-“yes,” proudly. “and your son has the honor to be engaged to me.” she flashed a triumphant look at pauline whose indignation prevented speech on her part.
-“where have you been most of the evening, nurse?” questioned calderon fordyce sternly. “my wife informed me, when i went to see how she was, that you had been absent for over an hour.”
-“i came downstairs to do an errand for her,” lied kathryn. “your wife was asleep when i left her.”
-“i do not like such conduct,” said fordyce curtly. “i have already telephoned to the hospital for another nurse. you may leave at once.”
-kathryn’s eyes blazed with wrath. “you--you--send me away,” she paused to gain control of her trembling voice. “you, whose own daughter is a thief!”
-“how dare you?” both calderon fordyce and duncan moved toward the enraged woman. no one paid the slightest attention to marjorie and paul potter who entered at that moment, and stood regarding the tableau too surprised to speak.
-“i am telling the truth,” shrieked kathryn. “mr. barnard and i both watched her take your ruby pendant.”
-there was dead silence as all eyes turned to barnard. quickly he decided; helped by the promise he read in kathryn’s eyes: she would give him the codicil if he backed up her charge against janet. utterly unscrupulous himself, he never doubted that marjorie, on impulse, had stolen the codicil; his intense egoism making him believe her past friendship for him had prompted the theft. with that codicil once safely in his possession he stood to win one hundred thousand dollars. he could depend on kathryn’s dog-like fidelity if he showed her the slightest affection. janet? well, janet could go in the discard. he cleared his throat nervously.
-“the nurse’s story is quite true,” he acknowledged sorrowfully.
-calderon fordyce staggered into the nearest chair, and duncan paused irresolute, as remembrances crowded upon him.
-“we saw miss fordyce go over to that desk, press a spring, open the middle part, and take out the case,” went on kathryn vindictively, after casting a grateful look on barnard. he had not failed her. “she removed the ruby pendant, replaced the case, and left the room.”
-“it’s all a rotten lie!” gasped tom. “it must be,” turning appealingly to marjorie. but she stood silent. she had done her loyal best, she could do no more. the inevitable had happened.
-“did you tell your daughter that you had the pendant, fordyce?” asked calhoun-cooper, forgetting for the moment joe’s prospective matrimonial plans.
-“yes, i showed it to her.”
-“anyone who reads the star knew father had the ruby,” said duncan slowly.
-“but no outsider knew where your father kept the jewel,” interrupted kathryn.
-“suppose you look and see if it is gone,” suggested duncan, and calderon fordyce rose and opened the secret drawer. a groan of horror escaped him on seeing the empty case.
-“janet saw me place the case in there,” he gasped. “her mother uses the secret drawer for many private documents and sometimes for her jewelry. janet, my own dear daughter, a thief!” his agony was unconcealed.
-“do not condemn janet so soon,” said paul potter quietly. “the girl was acting under auto-suggestion.”
-marjorie and the others gazed at the physician in stupefied silence.
-“i mean exactly what i said,” he went on. “the girl was hypnotized.”
-“she wasn’t asleep,” protested kathryn. “her eyes were wide open, and her manner was perfectly natural. she knew what she was about.”
-“that is not surprising or unusual,” answered potter. “in cases of animal magnetism the subject is awake; has returned to what may be called her normal state, is able to reflect, reason, and direct her conduct; and yet under these conditions, she is influenced by the auto-suggestion. the real thief is the person who hypnotized janet.”
-“i tell you she was alone in this room,” declared kathryn stubbornly.
-“i am not denying it,” the physician spoke with quiet force. “at the will of the hypnotist the act of stealing may be accomplished several hours, or even two days after the date of auto-suggestion. such suggestion can only be realized at the given hour, and cannot be realized until that hour arrives.”
-“all very fine,” scoffed kathryn. “but if janet fordyce was a poor girl she would be in jail by now. do you think you’d put up such a bluff for--miss langdon, for instance?”
-a light broke on duncan and he stepped toward marjorie. “have you known janet stole?”
-“yes,” she answered huskily. “i feared it was kleptomania. i first saw her take a diamond sunburst from mrs. walbridge’s dressing-table on christmas eve.”
-“and you never told?” both voice and gesture showed duncan’s unbounded admiration and love as he addressed marjorie. “you let others think you the thief!” his look repaid her for the suffering she had endured.
-“i watched janet,” she confessed. “and whenever i found anything in her possession which i knew did not belong to her, i returned it to the rightful owner.”
-“how about my wife’s pearl necklace?” broke in calhoun-cooper. “did miss fordyce take that also?”
-“i fear so,” faltered marjorie. “but i have never seen the necklace in her possession.”
-“have you any objection to sending for your daughter, fordyce, and asking her to return the necklace to me?”
-before fordyce could reply to calhoun-cooper’s question, potter interrupted him.
-“it will do little good,” he began. “janet is herself again, and all is forgotten; the crime, the impulse, and the instigator.”
-“do you mean to say we cannot learn the name of the fiend who has used my daughter as a puppet to accomplish his villany?” cried fordyce unbelievingly.
-“not unless we hypnotize janet anew, when her loss of memory will return. she can then probably tell us the author of the suggestion, the time, the place, and the manner.”
-“a witness cannot be constrained to undergo hypnotism,” put in pauline, breaking her long silence. “it is against the law.”
-“and how do you know that?” asked potter.
-“a friend, who attended janet’s boarding-school, told me that a young teacher, who took a number of pupils to see keller, discovered that janet was susceptible to hypnotism. the magician used her as a subject in the audience. afterwards the teacher often demonstrated her power over janet. mr. fordyce found it out”--calderon fordyce drinking in every word nodded affirmatively, “and wished to prosecute the teacher, but her lawyer refused to permit janet to be hypnotized so that she might testify against her.”
-“and how many people have you told that janet was a sympathetic subject for hypnotism?” asked potter. pauline made no answer. “your brother, for instance?” she fidgeted uncomfortably, but again refused to answer. “just before dinner,” continued the physician quietly, “i saw a man running down the hall from this room; on coming in here i found janet in a hypnotic trance....”
-“did you recognize the man?” questioned duncan swiftly.
-“i did not; but he dropped this in his flight,” taking out the silver pencil. “the initials engraved on it are ‘j. c. c.’”
-“i know nothing about the whole business,” protested joe vehemently. “i thought i heard raised voices in here, and stopped to investigate....”
-“through the keyhole?” with sarcastic significance, and joe flushed.
-“if i was on the other side of the door how did i hypnotize janet fordyce?” he asked, avoiding his father’s look.
-potter paid no attention to joe’s remark, but continued to address the others. “there is nothing which suggestion cannot accomplish with a sensitive subject. with a suggested act are connected sentiments, emotions, passions, voluntary action, and all the phenomena constituting the psychology of movement. the suggestion which persists during the waking state presents one interesting characteristic; it appears to the subject to be spontaneous.”
-“do you mean that janet was consciously a thief?” exclaimed fordyce aghast.
-potter evaded a direct reply. “the subject generally supposes it to be a spontaneous act, and sometimes she even invents reasons to explain her conduct,” he said. “it is owing to this former fact that it is not necessary for the hypnotist to indicate in what way the crime is to be committed. hurried on by this irresistible force, the subject feels none of the doubts and hesitations of a real criminal, but acts with a tranquility and security which insures the success of the crime.”
-“your theory illustrates spinoza’s remark that ‘the consciousness of free-will is only ignorance of the cause of our acts’,” said calhoun-cooper reflectively. “as my son seems to be involved in this affair, i must ask you to examine your daughter; and the sooner the better, for we are losing valuable time.”
-“miss marjorie,” began calderon fordyce. “tell me who janet has been with most frequently since coming to washington, and who are her confidential friends.”
-“miss langdon comes under that heading better than anyone else,” interpolated pauline, and her spiteful manner made her meaning plain, but marjorie did not flinch under the attack. she was about to speak when potter answered for her.
-“that is a matter of no moment,” he broke in. “if janet voluntarily alienated her free-will to a magnetizer, though the latter may be only a casual acquaintance, she is at his or her mercy; and by the law of habit and repetition the control of a subject becomes more easy and complete.”
-“but is not a long interval required in which to hypnotize a person?” asked pauline doubtfully.
-“no. hypnotic sleep can be produced and terminated in the time it takes a subject to traverse a short passage from door to door, and an auto-suggestion can be made in fifteen seconds and affected in all places and at any hour of the day.”
-fordyce glanced at the physician appalled. “what a frightful power for evil in unscrupulous hands. surely janet will be able to tell us who has gained so fearful a hold over her.”
-potter shook his head. “a suggestion will destroy all recollection of what occurred during hypnotism. as a rule the process which produced the auto-suggestion leaves no trace of its symptoms, and the subject does not remember the way it was produced, and is altogether ignorant of the original source of the impulse she has received.”
-“are we to sit here and do nothing, paul?” demanded duncan hotly. the opening of the hall door interrupted him.
-“why are you all staying in here?” asked janet, from the doorway. “our other guests have left....” a stricken silence prevailed as she advanced into the room, and she was just becoming aware of their concentrated attention when potter leaned forward, picked up the chamois-covered hammer and struck the chinese gong until the vibrations filled the room. thunderstruck, the others looked at him, but he only saw janet.
-“janet, where did you put the ruby pendant?” he asked, authoritatively.
-a crash broke the tense stillness as a statuette toppled to the floor, but the interruption came too late. janet was deaf to her surroundings. she was obsessed with but one idea.
-“i couldn’t find your coat,” she pleaded. “i had to bring the pendant direct to you, chichester.”
-barnard dashed the jewel out of her extended palm and sprang for the door. but he was too late. tom nichols, with murder in his heart, was there before him, and he went down under the officer’s blow.
-“let me finish him, duncan,” begged tom, frantically, as the men dragged him off barnard. “let me kill the dastardly hound!”
-“control yourself, nichols,” commanded potter sternly. “think of janet.”
-the admonition had the desired effect, and tom, much against his will, permitted marjorie to lead him away from the prostrate man.
-“is janet in a hypnotic trance?” asked duncan, staring at his sister.
-“yes,” replied the physician. “barnard hypnotized her by means of sensorial excitement. i suspected as much because earlier this evening, i found janet in a trance in the chinese room, and before entering that room i heard the sound of a gong.”
-“she struck the gong herself,” gasped marjorie.
-“unconscious self-hypnotism,” commented potter. “probably barnard used musical instruments, or perhaps the regular ticking of a clock to magnetize her so frequently that the law of repetition had its way when she heard the vibrations. i brought her back to her normal condition by placing my hand to the nape of her neck. tell me,” he walked over and planted a hearty kick in the small of barnard’s back. “what means did you use to awaken janet?”
-“breathed on her forehead and eyes,” mumbled the half-conscious man.
-quickly potter aroused janet. she shivered, and turned and stretched out her hands to tom.
-“take me away,” she said. “oh, tom, i asked you at dinner to protect me from myself. i’m not well--i tell you, i’m not well,” and she shook as with an ague.
-utterly regardless of the others’ presence, tom gathered her in his strong arms. “i shall always guard you, my darling,” he promised tenderly. “no one shall come between us, and you will never be tormented again. come with me.”
-barnard staggered to his feet and tried to intercept the lovers. janet cowered back at his approach.
-“don’t let him touch me,” she pleaded piteously. “he says i’m a kleptomaniac, and that i must steal, steal----” a shudder of repulsion shook her. “he threatened to tell, he threatened to tell. am i a kleptomaniac, tom, dear tom, am i a kleptomaniac?” her eyes were alight with horror.
-“no, no, my darling; you are only the dearest and best sweetheart in the whole world”--tom’s voice quivered, and he held her close.
-“but, tom, i did find other people’s jewelry in my possession sometimes, and how did i get it unless i was a kleptomaniac?” janet raised both hands to her throbbing temples and burst into a storm of tears.
-“go in the library with nichols, janet,” broke in potter. “he will explain away your--nightmare.” tom nodded understandingly as he caught the physician’s warning glare, and he gently led janet out of the room. barnard tried to slide after them, but duncan pulled him back and closed the hall door.
-“state what you have to say to us,” he ordered, “and be brief.”
-“and suppose i refuse to make a statement?” replied barnard sullenly, nursing his bruised and bleeding face.
-“you will have plenty of time to think it over in jail.”
-“ah, then you intend to prosecute?”
-“did you doubt it?” duncan’s eyes hardened; it was only by exerting the utmost self-restraint that he kept his hands off barnard, so great was his fury at the latter’s treatment of his sister.
-“have you counted the cost of publicity?” inquired barnard, with cool effrontery. some of his habitual composure was returning to him.
-“whatever the cost you shall suffer the full penalty of the law. father, call up the nearest precinct and tell the sergeant to send here and arrest a thief....”
-“and hypnotizer,” sneered barnard, as calderon fordyce stepped toward the door.
-joe, who had divided his time looking out of the window and watching his companions, sidled up to kathryn, who stood next barnard, and, while pretending to pick up her handkerchief, whispered:
-“i found your note. my taxi’s waiting outside. you slip out there the first chance you get, and i’ll follow.”
-she nodded understandingly as her eyes and barnard’s crossed, but joe did not see their by-play.
-“be quiet, duncan,” commanded potter. “finish your statement, barnard.”
-“there is very little to add,” said the latter, placing the desk carefully between himself and duncan. “sometimes janet passed me the jewelry, sometimes she lost it before she could get it to me. your wife’s necklace was a rich haul”--j. calhoun-cooper smiled wryly. “i realized that if janet was caught stealing, she would only be thought a kleptomaniac. she was tractable enough until i tried to make her turn against tom nichols; then she grew stubborn.”
-“hypnotic subjects often rebel against injuring those they love,” remarked potter thoughtfully.
-“she would have obeyed me in the end,” and barnard’s dark eyes flamed in sudden baffled rage. “we might have gone on indefinitely, but i grew to hate the influence you, duncan fordyce, exerted over marjorie”--barnard’s manner betrayed genuine emotion. “i planned to get her away from here. miss pauline had told me when i accompanied her home from the charity ball, that she suspected marjorie of stealing her mother’s pearl necklace, and i suggested that she call here and charge marjorie with the theft, and also told her to ask janet what she knew of the theft. she said she would go and see mrs. fordyce this morning, so i made an appointment to see janet before miss pauline got here. i saw janet alone, and by auto-suggestion forced her to testify against marjorie.” a horrified gasp escaped marjorie, and for the first time he turned and looked fully at her. “i loathed poverty and i loved you,” he said, and there was infinite pathos in his charmingly modulated voice. “no other woman counted,” he stumbled in his speech, his passion mastering him. “my punishment lies in losing you. have you no word for me?” stretching out his hands imploringly. but marjorie bowed her head, unable to speak. potter, watching her closely, saw she was on the point of collapse.
-“go and call the police, duncan,” he began, then stopped speaking as the room was plunged in darkness.
-barnard, taking his hand from the electric light switch, sprang noiselessly out of the room and raced down the hall, duncan at his heels. he gained the front steps by a narrow margin, and one leap carried him through the open door of the waiting taxi-cab. duncan stood watching the disappearing rear lights of the taxi-cab with mixed emotions, then turned on his heel and re-entered the house. he met the three older men in the hall, and they accompanied him back to the chinese room. joe turned from the open window on their appearance.
-“did kathryn go with barnard?” he asked in a voice he strove to make steady.
-“yes,” answered duncan.
-j. calhoun-cooper stepped forward at the sight of his son’s grief-stricken face, and laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder.
-“come home with me, my boy,” he said, and his tone gave joe some ray of comfort. “i need you,” and shoulder to shoulder, father and son stepped from the room. without speaking to the fordyces, pauline followed her father and brother out into the hall.
-potter slipped his arm inside calderon fordyce’s. “let us see them off the premises,” he suggested, and paused only long enough to carefully close the hall door behind them.
-left by themselves duncan walked swiftly over to marjorie. he had not seen her alone since his long-distance proposal at the dinner table. at his approach marjorie faltered and drew back, embarrassment tinging her white cheeks a delicate pink. desperately she controlled an impulse to turn and fly; then as she met the yearning tenderness of his regard she half conquered her shyness and her hand stole toward him in pleading surrender. intuitive knowledge guided duncan as he laid his cheek against her soft palm; she had been sorely tried that day, her composure was at the breaking point.
-“what have you there?” he asked gently, pointing to a long envelope which marjorie clutched in one nervous hand.
-“i don’t know,” she steadied her voice with an effort, and handed him the envelope. “my name is written over your house address in the upper left-hand corner, and it is addressed to admiral lawrence. i found the envelope in the pocket of my sweater which was lying on the floor behind this door leading to your mother’s private staircase. i have no idea how it got there.”
-“we’ve had enough mysteries.” duncan thrust an impatient finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open; then drew out a folded typewritten sheet and glanced hastily over it. “jove! it’s the signed codicil to mrs. lawrence’s will. i thought i had solved that mystery.”
-his surprise was reflected in marjorie’s face. “i know nothing about it,” she protested hotly. “i did not address this envelope to admiral lawrence, nor write my name in the corner....”
-“but the person who stole the codicil inscribed it for you,” exclaimed duncan triumphantly. “and also made free with your sweater. what else is in the pockets?” thrusting his hand inside them. from the last one he pulled out a piece of white linen. “why, it’s a nurse’s cap, and the initials ‘k. a.’ are stamped inside it----” turning the cap over in his hand.
-“kathryn allen!” exclaimed marjorie. “she was mrs. lawrence’s nurse, and was desperately in love with chichester barnard....”
-“ah, that is the key to the riddle. she stole the codicil after you left that afternoon; it was lying conveniently to her hand on the desk where alvord had left it. she undoubtedly hoped that barnard would marry her and they would inherit mrs. lawrence’s legacy.”
-“but why should my name be on this envelope--it looks as if i had sent the codicil back to admiral lawrence.”
-“that is obviously what she intended; probably hoped to involve you in further trouble. jove! now she’s with barnard, she’s probably longing to have this codicil back in her possession,” as he spoke, duncan thrust the codicil inside the secret drawer. “it can rest there for tonight; in the morning i’ll take it to the admiral, and then, good-bye to chichester barnard’s inheritance. to think of his eloping with a poor woman after all! i believe he knew or suspected she had the codicil--what an awakening for them both when they find she left the codicil here.” duncan shut the drawer, and turned to his silent companion. “marjorie, have you nothing to say to me?”
-marjorie’s eyes fell before his ardent look. “i have so much that i do not know where to begin. ah, how can i thank you for your faith....”
-“it was more than faith, marjorie, it was the master hand of love.”
-and as his arms closed around her, she knew, oh, happy marjorie, that she had won her woman’s paradise at last.
-on page 13, swivil has been changed to swivel.
-on page 13, amenuensis has been changed to amanuensis.
-on page 24, consin has been changed to cousin.
-on page 66, to-day has been changed to today.
-on page 69, elipse has been changed to ellipse.
-on page 95, dinner dance has been changed to dinner-dance.
-on pages 136 and 139, to-morrow has been changed to tomorrow.
-on page 175, insistance has been changed to insistence.
-on page 175, ice-water has been changed to ice water.
-on page 186, calhourn has been changed to calhoun.
-on page 211, valkenburg has been changed to valkenberg.
-on page 224, sun-lit has been changed to sunlit.
-on page 233, armchair has been changed to arm-chair.
-illustrations occurring in the middle of a paragraph have been moved to avoid interrupting the reader’s flow.
-other spellings, hyphenation and non-english dialogue have been retained as typeset.
-a novel by george o. smith
-illustrated by virgil finlay
-over the hubbub and chatter came the brief warning wail of a small siren. the noise died as the people in the vast waiting room stopped talking.
-"your attention, please!" boomed the loud-speaker. "passengers for spaceflight seventy-nine, departing for castor three and pollux four, will proceed to gate seven for ground transportation to the take-off block. spaceflight seventy-nine, waiting for passengers at gateway seven!"
-among these was a tall man, impressive in his blue-black uniform. a space commodore, no less. he carried the light bag of the woman who was beside him, proud and happy and eager-looking. but traces of some internal storm clouded the man's features, and as they approached gateway seven, the man's perturbation worked closer and closer to the surface until finally it broke through.
-"you could still back out," he said.
-"no, i couldn't," she said. her own face clouded a bit.
-"yes, you could," he snapped.
-she stopped ten or fifteen feet from gateway seven and turned to face him. she was pert and pretty in a traveling suit of gray; brand-new for this occasion. her name was alice hemingway, but she would have swapped it in a minute to become mrs. theodore wilson, even on a commodore's salary.
-"look, ted," she said slowly. "we've been back and forth over this argument for a couple of months now. can't you forget it?"
-"no, i can't," replied ted wilson. "i don't like the idea of you taking to space."
-"i do," she said simply. "i want to see these places you are always telling me about. i want to see 'em before i'm sixty. it's no fun listening to your stories, then having you trot off for three or four months on another jaunt while i sit home alone and wonder where you are and what's doing."
-"but we--" he paused, thinking. "alice," he said suddenly, "will you marry me?"
-a welling of tears came then, but alice blinked them back. "if you'd asked me that a month ago i would have said 'yes,' with no stipulations, but right now i'll say 'yes, as soon as i come back, if you still want me.' understand?"
-"i want you to be dead certain that the reason you want to marry me is not to keep me from taking this spaceflight."
-ted looked down at her. "i'd really like to know if you accepted this trip just to force me into asking you," he said slowly.
-"you'll never know," she said with a bright smile.
-he swore under his breath. "i still don't like the idea of you trotting off to castor three with that old goat."
-"mr. andrews? old goat? why ted! you're jealous."
-"good. stay jealous. but don't be an imbecile. mr. andrews is merely my boss, not my lover. he has never so much as watched me walk, let alone made a pass at me. i couldn't think of him as anything but a boss."
-"but up there--"
-alice shook her head. "forget it, ted. i'm still your girl, and i intend to stay that way. even though it's smart for a girl to have a lover or two before she marries, i'm the old-fashioned one-man type. virgin. no hits, no runs, no errors, and no one left on first base."
-"okay," he said sullenly.
-she smiled up at him again. "ted," she said seriously, "don't you see i have to go a-space? you've ducked marriage because you can't see two people living on a commodore's salary, and also with you flitting off and leaving me home alone. so you want to wait until you get your next boost. but that will get you stationed on some planetary post. i'll get one flight to base, then be set down for years. well, until that time i'm going to travel and see the interstellar sights. i want to see the dark column on procyon five, i want to visit the golden rainbow on castor three, and toss a penny into the bottomless pit on pollux four, and.... well, i can do these things so long as mr. andrews wants me to travel."
-"oh, ted--please!" she cried.
-she clutched at him and buried her face in his shoulder. he held her, then put a hand under her chin and lifted her face. he kissed her, not tenderly, but with more of a frantic striving for something beyond reach.
-the siren wail lifted again and the loud-speaker boomed:
-"last call for spaceflight seventy-nine at gateway seven. will miss alice hemingway please proceed to gateway seven!"
-reluctantly she withdrew herself from her sweetheart's arms and turned to the gateway. ted picked up her small bag and followed her.
-as they reached the gate a smallish, nervous, wiry man with a clipped gray mustache eyed alice crisply.
-"ah, miss hemingway, you're just in time," he said. he smiled thinly as he looked at ted wilson. "however, i presume the delay was justified. commodore, i think the use of your handkerchief is essential."
-before ted could reply, mr. andrews had walked through the gateway to the waiting spaceport bus. alice turned back to ted and held up her face. this time their kiss was less frantic, but also less personal. it was chaste, and brief, and proper. it promised for the future, but it did not give any part of that future warmth or passion as a down payment.
-then alice came out of his arms and went through the gateway to climb into the bus beside her boss.
-as commodore wilson turned away, the bus drove off along the road to the waiting spacecraft.
-commodore wilson entered the base commander's office and smiled glumly. the commander, space admiral leonard f. stone, a man of about forty-five and as lithe and as hard as a man of that age could be, looked expectant. his command was exacting and just, but he was also human.
-he said, "what's troubling you, wilson?"
-"admiral," ted wilson said, "i know it is against the unwritten rules to discuss the matter of increase in rank, but i wonder if we mightn't break them for a minute or two."
-"we might if there were proper justification. why?"
-"a commodore's salary is just a bit meager for marriage," said wilson unhappily.
-stone's face clouded a bit and he nodded seriously. "i know," he said. "but there's a reason, ted. we do prefer to keep our commodores single so long as they're in active flight service. so long as you are well-fed, well-clothed, and well-housed yourself, the monetary payment is sufficient to take care of your personal needs. i know it is not enough to provide for a wife on top of that. of course, some men do. and others manage to marry well-to-do women."
-"mine is not well-to-do, but i don't want to make her do with less."
-"then how about this rank business? i'm about due."
-"then when can i expect it?" asked wilson.
-admiral stone looked at him determinedly. "you can hasten that process yourself, wilson. by acting a bit more for the benefit of the service than you have in the past."
-"why, what do you mean?"
-"there's more to rank than merely following orders to the letter. now, you've never disobeyed orders, and it has been obvious that when orders coincide with your personal ideas, you act eagerly and swiftly. but when orders are opposed to your pleasure you act at the last moment and follow them reluctantly along the thin outer edge."
-"for instance last november. you had front line tickets to the finish post of the armstrong classic, but you were ordered on a training flight around and through the centaurus system, to last no less than ten days and no more than thirty, at your discretion. you returned in ten days and four hours, even though you couldn't see the end of the armstrong affair. then, last may you were ordered to eridanus seven, which is a remarkably interesting place as i recall from my early days. you got home barely under the wire. twenty-nine days, twenty-three hours, forty minutes, and a few seconds. follow?"
-ted nodded slowly. "i felt that my crew would appreciate my attitude," he said.
-"certainly. they did. both times. they also appreciate your stalling in a stack-circle, waiting for that last half-hour to expire so they'd draw overtime flight pay. but you've got to remember, wilson, that we are running the space service for the public weal, not for the benefit of the spacemen. a parent does not bring up a child knowing only the pleasant things of life. a balanced program of work and play is essential. i know that the centaurian run is no picnic, but it is a fine training for spacemen. now, that'll be all. i'm not criticizing you wilson. i recall doing similar things myself years ago. it does draw a crew closer to their commander when he gives them consideration. but making them work makes them efficient, and they will also love a commander who mixes well his periods of pleasure with hours of hard work. agree?"
-"yes. of course."
-"fine," said admiral stone. "so now that you know, we'll watch you for a bit. if you come through, you'll get your increase in rank--and your girl." he smiled. "you're a good commodore, wilson. but with a little work and application you could be brilliant. we need brilliant men. remember that. good-by and good luck, commodore wilson...."
-his name translated from his native tongue, was viggon sarri. in medieval times he might have been called "sarri the conqueror" for his exploits, his conquests. but of course then it was the king, emperor, or caesar who led his own troops.
-in these days the ruler sends out men of military might to fight his battles, and viggon sarri was not a ruler. his position was the equivalent of space admiral in the interstellar service, and though devoted to his own service, he was only a paid hand.
-his home was far across the galaxy from sol and the sprinkling of stellar systems colonized by human beings. viggon sarri had never met a human, he did not know that this section of the universe had any trace of sentient life. he was just out looking for new worlds to exploit, perhaps to conquer. a new district to colonize, perhaps, or a world of beings advanced at least to the point where the produce and manufacture of his homeland could be sold for metal.
-naturally, viggon sarri explored space at the head of several hundred ultra-fast and ultra-hard-boiled fighting spacecraft--fourteen big battle wagons, two fighter carriers each providing a hundred one-man space attack craft, and one hunter, a detecting craft. it was loaded to the astrodome with every device for locating evidences of anything from advanced races to enemy spacecraft.
-sarri rode in his flagship, one position ahead of the hunter. and so, when the detecting equipment in the hunter registered that some race in this sector of the galaxy was advanced enough to be using the power of the atomic nucleus, viggon sarri gave orders for his fleet to spread out in a big, flat dishlike formation, flatwise toward this section of the sky.
-it came to as near a halt as anything can approach in deep space, and viggon sarri called a conference.
-he sat at the head of the table, his two second officers at his left and right. they were equal in rank, regin naylo and faren twill. this irked them both, and for a long time they had been striving to rise above one another. but only viggon sarri knew which was listed in the sealed orders, to be opened only in the case of the death of the supreme commander.
-at the far end of the table sat linus brein, commander-mathematician of the hunter spacecraft.
-viggon said, "linus, what do we know about these people?"
-brein thought, then said, "very little, actually. they use atomic power. they have discovered interstellar flight. they seem to have some interstellar commerce. they use the infrawave bands for communication across space. i would say, off-hand, that they may have colonized no more than a dozen planets, and are exploring perhaps a dozen more. i would also guess that their exploration is done by sheer go-out-and-look techniques."
-"why do you suggest that?" asked viggon.
-"analogy. their use of the infrawave is not highly developed. i doubt that they have planet-finding equipment. i have not noticed any attempt to use the infrawave as a detecting and locating means. only for communication is the infrawave employed by them."
-"i see. any more?"
-"not at present," said linus brein. "we will collect more as our men pick up information and our analyzers compile data."
-"keep me posted," ordered viggon sarri.
-he sat there in silence, a tall man with a thin face that looked wolfish. his ears were flat and distorted, to the human point of view. his eyes were glittery bright, having that shiny cornea characteristic of the nocturnal animal of terra. he had six stubby strong fingers on each hand and a long double-jointed thumb. each hand had two palms, fore and back so that the fingers could curl either inward or outward. his elbows were double, one bent in or locked straight, the other bent out or locked straight, as he moved.
-viggon stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. his eyes, roaming independently gave his features a bizarre look which his own race thought quite natural.
-finally he said, "has anybody any suggestions?"
-regin naylo said, "i say we attack as soon as we know more about them."
-he felt confident. he believed that his admiral enjoyed swift and decisive action, and by suggesting it he hoped to show that his thoughts ran in the same channels as those of his commander.
-faren twill said, "it might be better to make allies of them, rather than enemies."
-twill held the notion that viggon sarri's main motivation was to build and expand in the easiest, and most profitable manner. and he felt that careful negotiations might pay off better than invasion and strong conquest.
-but in truth viggon sarri himself did not know which course to take. he was not above the use of force, if force were needed. nor was he against the idea of peaceful negotiation, even the formation of an alliance. which course he would take depended entirely upon what sort of culture this was, how the people reacted, and what they favored. for such knowledge he would rely on data collected by linus brein and analyzed by the mathematician's vast bank of computers.
-regin naylo grunted in a superior tone. "they sound like an inferior race. inept and primitive. let's not waste time."
-faren twill shook his head. "you want to barge in there with the projectors flaming and conquer them by force. that would be easy, but would it leave enough to make the conquest economically sound?"
-"can you sell anything to mice?"
-faren twill grinned. "cheese," he suggested. "besides, an angry gang of rats can do in an elephant, you know."
-"chicken," sneered regin naylo.
-of course none of them had ever seen a mouse, a rat, an elephant, or a chicken. but on their homeland, a planet called "brade," there were myriad life forms, just as on any inhabitable planet. the forms of animal life mentioned were similar enough to permit a free transliteration. "chicken" also existed in its completely alien form.
-but until the native tongue of brade becomes common to earthmen, this loose transliteration of their speech characteristics suffices to convey their meaning. since their grammar bears no relation to any solarian tongue, it must be converted rather than translated, or even transliterated. so if they sound like people of earth instead of extra-solar aliens, that is the only way to convey their meaning.
-"we are working on it now. it is not difficult to connect the sound forms with the meaning, under known conditions and situations. but it is extremely difficult to make such analysis when we have not the foggiest notion of what situation is being described by the sounds. i--"
-a winking light on the wall called his attention. linus brein touched a stud on an armlet. the tiny communicator said, in a thin, tinny voice:
-"commander brein? analyst hogar speaking. the space-strain detectors have just picked up a violent response. the computer-analyzer bands report the following probability to at least three nines: that a space craft has foundered due to the failure of the warp-generator. have you any orders as to our next moves?"
-"yes, hogar. record everything. analyze everything!" he let the stud snap back into place, then said to viggon sarri:
-"an ill wind blows, admiral sarri. their misfortune may be our gain."
-"it might indeed." viggon nodded.
-"i suggest that we send a fleeter out to seek survivors," said regin naylo.
-"no," said faren twill. "we will learn more by listening to their communications and watching how they face this problem."
-"what's better than a being able to interpret his own sounds?" snapped naylo.
-"taking a little longer by doing it ourselves, and not giving them any warning that there stands another intelligent race not far offside. why forearm them?"
-"right," interposed viggon sarri. "we watch from a distance."
-"we'll all leave. this conference is over until more detailed information is at hand. my orders are: take no action, but observe closely and critically. dismissed, gentlemen. we'll all drink to success!"
-viggon sarri pressed the stud on his armlet and ordered a tray of refreshments. linus brein did not stay for his share.
-spaceflight seventy-nine took off, lifted on schedule by pilot jock norton. norton was a big man, rather on the lazy side, but a good pilot. if he had had any ambition at all, he would have owned his spacecraft, maybe a string of several, instead of being a paid space jockey.
-but jock norton lacked the drive, or perhaps had never seen anything he actually wanted. he was a love-em-and-leave-em kind of guy who spent everything he earned on good times and luxuries. he spent no time seeking out the better pay loads as other pilots did, and so did not collect any of the fancy commissions for being a good businessman. he had gravitated to a standard contract type of job and with this he was satisfied.
-his cargoes were invariably bid-basis job lots, instead of valuable merchandise with a delivery factor. he ran mail loads mostly--mail that could not, for legal reasons, be micro-microfilmed, transmitted by facsi-wave, or recomposed by infrawave at the receiving end. legal contracts, documents, and the like, the one-and-only original of which must bear the bona fide signature of both parties.
-norton took the spacecraft up, fired the warp-generator, and headed for castor three at about forty parsecs per hour. then, with the control room on the full automatic, he went down to the salon, because it had been a couple of months of sundays since he had been pilot-host to anyone as young and attractive as miss alice hemingway. most of his passengers had been businessmen. the few women had been wives of such businessmen, a bit on the dowager side, and therefore more boring than interesting.
-but miss alice hemingway was interesting. not that jock norton favored her ash-blond and dark-eyed attractiveness more than he would have admired a redhead or an olive-skinned brunette. he favored all women under thirty who were properly rounded here and there--especially there--and who had clear-skinned faces with regular features.
-that alice hemingway, secretary, was traveling with her boss made her even more interesting. norton had cased mr. charles andrews carefully and put him down as a napoleon type, peppery and active, and probably well-to-do, but not personally attractive to the opposite sex. it was money, decided norton, that bought a reasonable facsimile of affection to mr. charles andrews.
-it would be masculine virility, thought jock norton, that would offset the money of charles andrews and really bring a proper emotional response from the girl.
-"good morning," he greeted them from the last step of the ladder that led down from the control room.
-"how do you do, pilot norton," responded andrews.
-"my goodness!" exclaimed alice. "isn't that dangerous?"
-"isn't what dangerous?" asked norton, with a wide, lazy smile.
-"your leaving the ship to run itself."
-"not at all." norton showed his superior knowledge. "our auto-pilot is the best that money can buy and maintain. and after all, miss hemingway, there is little a pilot can do while we are in transit. the auto-pilot does the job from after take-off to before landing. in between, the human pilot relaxes and enjoys his space travel. so--may i build you a cocktail? or maybe you'd prefer a highball."
-"at this hour in the morning?"
-norton laughed and inspected his watch. "i admit that it is ten o'clock by chicago time. but it is past midnight on polaris two at minervatown. it's three a.m. in leyport, procyon five. it's even three o'clock in london, terra."
-"besides," said charles andrews curtly, "we're hard at work."
-"work?" exploded norton loftily. "you're hard at work in deep space?"
-"certainly. deep space or hard planet, work must go on. i did not get where i am by goofing off, pilot norton."
-jock norton grinned. "all work and no play, you know."
-"all play and no work is worse."
-"it's more fun," said jock, with a feeling that he was coming off second-best in this fool argument. "look," he said, "everybody relaxes in deep space. it's customary. it's holiday."
-"it's damn foolish." andrews turned to alice. "miss hemingway, what do you think?"
-"i'm half-inclined to agree with you, mr. andrews. but you must know i'm thrilled to be a-space. i've never been off earth before."
-"oh. then i capitulate. pilot norton, will you give miss hemingway a space tourist's run of the ship, please?"
-"be happy to." norton nodded.
-he looked around the salon, from face to face. there were four others there, all of them watching with a blank sort of interest. norton took a deep breath of inner cheer for his luck. all the rest looked as though nothing could be as boring as a tourist's run of a spacecraft. he made the gesture of asking, but all shook their heads.
-"any way you say," she told him.
-andrews got to his feet. "i think i'll tag along."
-norton swore below his breath.
-alice walked between them as norton explained the workings of the spacecraft. she found norton a good talker, and his lazy manner of speech somehow managed to convey a lot of information that a more intense man would have flubbed, because of a greater preoccupation with facts.
-even mr. andrews seemed interested, although he had been a-space many times before, as a matter of business.
-then norton worked them aloft slowly, up through the room filled with water for the reaction mass, and hurled out from the throat of the driver tubes as a molecular-atomic gas so highly energized that it was not water, but nascent hydrogen and oxygen, completely ionized. the coronal flare below, he explained, was the recombination of the nuclei with their electrons in shells, and the partial recompositions of the gases into water.
-he showed them the warp-generator that created the extra space field around the ship, nullifying every physical attribute of matter. neither mass nor inertia remained, so that the thrust of the flare had no resistance against which to exert its force, resulting in a drive that violated the einstein equations. forward velocity reached terminal when the interstellar matter provided a tenuous medium against which the velocity of the ship found resistance.
-he showed them the magnetic-mass detector that protected them against meteors, and explained that while the thing was primitive, it was the best that mankind had. the infrawave was hopeless because it had an instantaneous velocity of propagation and was also nondirectional, and therefore neither direction-finding nor ranging could be accomplished with the infrawave.
-but the magnetic-mass detector was not as hopeless as it looked.
-he said casually, "there were a lot of tall stories back in the early twentieth century about spacecraft filled with course-computing gear that measured the course of meteorites, then directed the spacecraft. a more practical study of any such device shows that any extraneous object that does not change its aspect angle is necessarily on a collision course. ergo, any target that does not move causes the alarm to ring, and the auto-pilot to swerve aside." he grinned and added in a low voice, "we're as safe as if we were all in bed."
-as his arm touched alice's she realized that jock norton had been entertaining the idea of bed ever since this tourist's run had started. she smiled because it amused her. jock norton had made a snap judgment, probably because he had seen a lot of such shenanigans as man and woman playing employer and secretary before. she almost laughed at norton, realizing that he was displaying all of his knowledge and his virility in the hope of convincing her that he was probably more fun in bed than the elderly napoleon type with whom she was traveling.
-she stole a look at andrews, comparing the two men. she wondered whether andrews had cottoned onto norton's play and if he had, whether her boss found it funny or irritating.
-as they walked along a curved corridor, she saw with some surprise that twice mr. andrews had lagged back a bit, then had come forward behind them to walk by her side instead of on the far side of jock norton. and both times norton had quietly lagged back to circle her and step forward between them, explaining quietly that mr. andrews could hear his explanation better if he, norton, walked between.
-alice was still wondering whether charles andrews actually held any off-trail notions about his traveling secretary when all hell broke loose.
-first came the wild clangor of an alarm, and the automatic cry of a recorded order:
-"your undivided attention, please! this is urgent! you have eleven minutes from the end of this announcement to follow these directions. there has been a partial failure of the warp-generator. if this failure becomes complete, and the space field collapses, the effect will be that of precipitating intrinsic mass into the real universe while traveling at some high multiple of the velocity of light. the spacecraft then will drop instantly below the speed of light but in doing so will radiate all the energy-mass equivalent to those multi-light speeds, according to the einstein equation of mass and energy. it is therefore expedient that you repair to the lifeship locks and prepare to debark. the partial failure may or may not continue. if not, there will be no more danger. but in case of continued breakdown--"
-the recorded announcement stopped abruptly as a louder alarm bell rang briefly. then another voice from the squawk-box shouted:
-"the warp-generator is failing! you have--"
-a third voice came in automatically saying, "eleven minutes," after which the second voice continued neatly, "to make your way to a lifeship and debark. please do not panic. you have plenty of time."
-"it's this way," norton said anxiously.
-"we'll find it," said andrews. "i know this spacecraft type. hadn't you better take care of your other passengers?"
-norton wanted to swear. it would have been so neat if andrews hadn't insisted upon coming along on this tourist's run of the spacecraft. as it was, norton couldn't quite bring himself to suggest that andrews take care of the other customers while norton himself took care of the girl. on the other hand, norton had no intention of rushing off to take care of the others when they were probably being taken care of right now by the engineer-technician. he said that, and repeated it to give it force.
-"this way," he said.
-the announcer bawled, "you now have ten minutes!"
-"couldn't i get my bag?" pleaded alice.
-"anything of real value in it?" asked norton.
-"then we'd best leave it." norton breathed a sigh of relief. now she wouldn't find it more expedient to travel with the bunch upstairs.
-he led them up a flight of curved stairs and around another curved corridor as the announcement howled:
-the squawk-box said, in a more natural voice, "jock? look, i've got this section under control. how're you doing?"
-"i'm doing fine, limey. we're almost at the below-station lock."
-"be seein' you. luck."
-the announcement yelled:
-"eight minutes! you all have plenty of time. remember, safety is more important that blind speed! listen!"
-the tremolo of an organ filled the spacecraft--vibrant, thrilling, brilliant music rising over the throb, throb, throb of heavy bass, beating time just fast enough to keep feet moving briskly, but nowhere fast enough to cause panic or fumbled steps.
-"seven minutes!" came the cry.
-norton's hands closed on the space lock and he twisted the emergency handles. the inner door swung open ponderously and they walked past the portal. the lock swung behind them and the dogs went home.
-"six minutes!" came a less resonant call from a smaller loud-speaker in the lock.
-jock norton handed alice through the small space lock of the lifeship, boosted andrews in after her, then climbed in himself.
-"five minutes!" was almost cut off as the lifeship space lock swung shut.
-"four minutes!" came as the big outer space lock was cracked.
-norton's hands on the lifeship controls moved and the little spacer leaped out of the doorway.
-on the infrawave they heard the call of "three minutes!" then "two!" and finally the announcement, "you are now all debarked and are in places of safety. the distress call has been sent constantly from the moment of danger. sit tight and make no foolish moves until help comes. do not look to the rear, as the explosion of a collapsed field generator is brilliant enough to sear the eyes--"
-the voice stopped abruptly as there came a wave of sheer heat. the ports on the side of the lifeship flared blue-white, and the spacecraft bucked as though it were being driven into a heavy gas cloud.
-"what was that?" blurted andrews, picking himself up off the heaving deck.
-norton shrugged. "that was spaceflight seventy-nine going to hell in a wicker basket," he said.
-"but why? we weren't hit by anything."
-"you can bet not," norton said cheerfully. "don't you know about spaceflight factors? the einstein equation?"
-andrews eyed the pilot coldly. for several hours the younger man had been explaining all sorts of things in a condescending manner, showing off his knowledge in a field that he knew far better than any one else present. this was galling to the financier, who was used to paying mathematicians and physicists small change.
-"i don't have time to clutter up my mind with equations," he told norton coldly. "i usually pay people to have them explain these things to me. so go right ahead."
-norton's thick hide sloughed off the insult because he was still the bright one.
-he said, "the original einstein equation of mass and energy shows that as the speed of light is reached, the mass reaches infinite mass. this is an obvious impossibility, since even the total mass of the universe is not an infinite mass. so when a body traveling at faster-than-light is hurled into the real universe by the collapse of the warp-generator, for the barest instant it is actually traveling beyond light. this causes it to assume some unknown factor of mass that no physicist has been able to theorize yet, but must be the impossible infinity-plus. at any rate, the fabric of space is twisted, as if by a gravitational field so powerful that the field wraps up around itself and forces the mass into a universe of its own."
-"you're talking gibberish."
-"sure i am. but you find me someone who can explain this effect without talking like an imbecile and i'll buy you a good cigar."
-"all right--go on. what is supposed to happen?"
-andrews said coldly, "all right. so now what do we do?"
-"we sit it out," norton said cheerfully.
-"decelerating to a velocity below light. we still have our ship's intrinsic to get rid of, you know."
-"why don't we keep on?"
-"it will? and why are you so happy about it?"
-jock norton smiled, then said the one thing that removed all and any chance of alice hemingway ever looking upon him as a desirable character, virile or not.
-andrews said, "i suppose you've spent half of your time a-space hoping for some disaster so you could collect a neat pile."
-"not quite that bad. this is likely to be sure rough before we're collected. but it does pay off. so let's relax, huh?"
-alice was breathing a silent prayer to commodore wilson that he make it a quick run. she was sick and tired of spacing already....
-admiral stone said, "these are your orders, wilson. you are to take your squadron out to cube x-z-fifty-nineteen, district forty-seven. you'll have to comb it inch by inch."
-"i'll comb it millimeter by millimeter," asserted wilson. "miss hemingway was on that spacer."
-"don't do anything foolish," warned the space admiral. "just remember that you're a flight commodore and not a full squadron commander yet. you have your orders."
-"i have. and i'll bring them back. both lifeship loads."
-"then get going. remember that every hour decreases their chances of a safe rescue. luck, wilson. spaceman's luck!"
-"correct, admiral stone."
-less than a quarter-hour later, ted wilson's flight of twenty-five swift light spacecraft went barreling up out of chicago spaceport and into that region of the sky called gemini....
-"oh, yes indeed." brein nodded. "of course our interpretations of their speech is only symbolic at this point. but this much we know. this series of sounds--" he snapped a switch on the side of his desk and a wall speaker delivered a series of what sounded to them like sheer gibberish--"connotates as follows: voice a has called for contact with any receiving station. voice b has responded, informing a that he is ready to receive. voice a then delivers a running account of the disaster, delivering his computed position, vector of travel, and space coordinates. i've untangled some of their tongue." brein replayed the recording and stopped it after the first passage. he parroted the gibberish, "'spaceflight seventy-nine calling distress.' that, viggon, is interpreted in our tongue as 'identification number so-and-so calling to announce disaster.'"
-he let the recording run a bit then said, again parroting the gibberish, "'chicago spaceport, interstellar service to spaceflight seventy-nine. we read you five by five, go ahead. what is your distress?' we interpret the reply as, 'base of operations has received your distress call. please elucidate.' what follows defies identification, admiral sarri. until we can meet one of these people and learn more of their physiognomy, we cannot hope to unravel their numerical system. damn it, we don't even know how many fingers they have."
-"or," suggested sarri drily, "whether they might have stopped counting on their hands."
-"indeed." linus brein nodded thoughtfully. "however, not long after the reception of this distress signal, the entire infrawave band seemed to fill up with all sorts of signals, all of them repeating the sounds that we assume are the space coordinates of this foundered spacecraft."
-"indicating that this is not a completely anarchistic or communal, insect-type culture. the individual is important."
-"i would say so."
-regin naylo smiled. it would have been an odd-looking facial grimace to an earthman, for it turned the corners of his pencil-thin lips down and furrowed the skin of his head between the gleaming eyes and the low, ragged hairline.
-viggon sarri said, "what do you find so amusing?"
-regin replied, "if they are individually important, then the culture finds the individual important, as opposed to the insect-type which wouldn't mind losing a few billions so long as the inner hive is intact, or the anarchistic culture where the loss of a unit is not even noticed, because every one of them is so preoccupied with his own affairs that he can take no time to consider the next man."
-"right. so what?"
-"i say let's hit 'em while they're all occupied in tracking down the survivors of this wreck."
-faren twill grunted sourly, "ever try to interfere with a dog and her pups? you get bitten whether you mean good or ill. if you care for my opinion you'll ... or do you give a damn?"
-"i say we just slide in there quietly and collect the lifeships. then, later, we can go in boldly and establish our superior position."
-regin naylo shook his head superciliously. "i say we should hit 'em with all we've got and establish our physical superiority. look, faren, either way this gang of subhumans is going to end up in some form of servitude to us. let's make it the quick and dirty way and save manpower. besides, what can they possibly have that we want?"
-twill shrugged. "any subject race is a good market."
-naylo laughed. "i'd rather shove it down their throats by taxation. then we'd collect without having to give them a string of uranium beads for exchange."
-faren twill asked viggon sarri for his opinion.
-viggon said, without changing expression, "there are races that will not abide the idea of collaboration, and there are races that either revolt or die under any superior government. it has been my lifework to expand the bradian culture, one way and another, across the galaxy. when we finish with this problem here, another world--in this case another series of colonized worlds--will enter one of the forms of economic relationships with brade. whether we blast in and smash them, or ooze in and coerce them quietly; take them over, or hail them as an ally."
-"ally?" roared regin naylo scornfully. "this bunch of primitives who haven't even got an infrawave detector?"
-"ally?" snarled faren twill disgustedly. "this people who cannot protect their spacecraft from warp failure?"
-viggon sarri held up his doubly-prehensile hand. "either of you may be right," he said. "but remember that we do have time. so we'll wait until we know more about their basic character before we take any course. go consult linus brein. watch his computations and his evaluations. come back when you have more complete data for your own evaluation."
-naylo and twill left together.
-viggon sarri called brein on the ultra-infrawave.
-"linus? my headstrong youths are coming over to look at your data. like any other kids they know everything, but dammit, like a lot of kids one of them may be right. maybe i'm overcautious. so give them all the data you have, and let them evaluate it. i'll happily pin a medal on one of them if he's right and i'm wrong. okay?"
-linus brein agreed.
-toby manning, master computer for the squadron, sympathized when wilson showed the latest sheaf.
-wilson grunted, "this is no damn good at all. it sort of says that the lifeships will be wherever we find them."
-manning nodded. "like the problem of catching a lion on the sahara desert. you get a lion cage with an open door, electronically triggered to close at the press of a distant button. then the laws of probability state that at any instant there exists a mathematical probability the lion is in the region of the cage. at this instant you shut the door. the lion lies within the cage, trapped."
-"stop goofing off. this is no picnic. have you any idea of how many square light years we have to comb?"
-"cubic light years, commodore wilson."
-"yeah, within a light year. maybe two."
-"and we know that the lifeship will reduce its velocity below light as soon as possible."
-"so somewhere on that vector cone, or within it, is a lifeship--two lifeships--traveling on some unknown course at some velocity considerably lower than the speed of light."
-"we've located 'em before. we'll locate 'em again."
-wilson shook his head worriedly. "that's a lot of vacant space out there. even admitting that we have the place pinpointed, the pinpoint is a couple of light years in diameter, and will grow larger as time and the lifeship course continues. or," he added crisply, "shall we take a certain volume of space and assert that a definite mathematical probability exists that the survivors lie within that volume?"
-"sorry, commodore. i didn't mean to be scornful."
-"well, then, you'd better set up your space grid in the coordinate tank and we'll start combing it cube by cube."
-"correct," said toby manning.
-even looking at the thing required some training. the plotters and watchers wore polaroid glasses to provide the stereo effect. through the special glasses, the tank looked like a small scale model of this section of the sky. castor and pollux and other nearby stars were no longer pinpoints on a flat black surface, but tiny points of light that seemed to hang in space, some in front of and some behind the position of the screen itself.
-behind the glass screen, a technician was carefully laying a curve down on a drawing table with a pantagraph instrument. as he moved the pencil point along the curve, a thin green line appeared in stereo, starting close by and abruptly, and leading towards the dot labeled castor.
-the loud-speaker said, "this green line is the computed course of spaceflight seventy-nine."
-a red knot was placed on the line.
-"this is the approximate point of explosion."
-wilson asked, "is that nominal or is that placed on the minus side?"
-"the spot is placed to give the maximum factor of safety."
-"now, after considering the probable velocity of escape from seventy-nine, which would be a lifeship leaving the mother vessel at a ninety-degree relative course at full lifeship speed, we find a vector combination of velocities and courses that diverge from the main course."
-from the red knot another line went out at a small angle to the original course, thin and red.
-"but because we have no way of knowing what the axial attitude of seventy-nine was at the moment of escape, the volume of probability now becomes a cone."
-the angled red line revolved about a green course line describing a thin cone, its base pointed toward the star, castor. as the line revolved about the axis of the cone, it left a faint residue behind it, which became a thin, transparent cone.
-manning said, "our field of operations lies within this cone."
-someone running the projector went to work. the scene expanded until the thin red cone filled the screen and seemed to project deep into the room, its apex almost at the eyes of the watchers. then a polar pattern appeared across the cone near the apex, a circular grid marked off in thin white lines, each line numbered, each area or segment, marked with a letter.
-down the room where the cone was larger, another grid appeared similarly marked.
-manning went on, "we cannot tell, of course, at what point in the collapse the survivors made their escape. we know that the automatic circuits begin deceleration as soon as the warp-generator shows signs of failure, the hope being that the spacecraft will fall to a safe velocity before the field collapses completely. therefore escape could be made at any velocity between forty parsecs per hour, if they escaped before the deceleration began, or at normal under-light velocity, which might take place if the spacecraft had succeeded in dropping to safety before the field collapsed. however, in that case, there would have been no explosion and our space wreck victims would have remained in the spacecraft, or returned to it as soon as they saw it was safe. therefore, integrating the probabilities outlined here, the survivors must lie between the planes of maxima and minima, representing escape at maximum forward velocity and minimum forward velocity. here, gentlemen, is your search grid."
-the rest of the stereo-field went out, leaving the white lines of the grids. lateral lines now appeared to connect intersections of the fore grid with the corresponding intersection of the aft grid.
-"we are here."
-tiny discs of purple dotted space before the small end grid. the discs were flat-on to the grid and represented the maximum distance for space detection of matter.
-wilson felt something touch him on the arm. he turned. a tech-operator standing there had a bewildered look on his face.
-"yes?" said wilson.
-"i'm puzzled, commodore. suppose we don't find them in a long time. won't that far grid have to be pushed back?"
-"no," wilson explained wearily. "the function of a lifeship is to get its occupants down below the velocity of light and then coast. since that grid represents a total distance of about ten light years, they'd have to be floating for ten years at the velocity of light to make it. any normal speed, over a period of weeks, would hardly appear long enough to cover the thickness of one of the grid lines."
-"ten light years!"
-wilson nodded and repeated. "this is no picnic." he turned from the tech-operator to the planning table. "unless someone has a better suggestion, we'll set up a hexagonal flight pattern with a safe detector overlap and start by cutting a hole down through this grid volume along the prime axis. anybody got any other suggestions?"
-space captain frank edwards shook his head. "not unless someone has improved on the manual of flight procedures," he said.
-"okay then. here we go."
-commodore wilson leaned back and watched the grid as edwards got on the ship-to-ship and gave the operational orders. the little discs rearranged themselves slowly into a hexagonal lattice with their edges overlapping, then the flight began to move forward into the grid, running down the line of axis.
-somewhere inside of the cage made by the white lines a lifeship was drifting, a sub-sub-microscopic mote alone in a volume of space so large that light would take ten years to traverse the volume from top to bottom.
-wilson shook his head and took off his polaroids to brush his eyes. the stereo-field collapsed flat against the glass screen and became a meaningless jumble of lines. wilson put his glasses back on hastily.
-captain edwards said softly, "take it easy, ted. we'll find her."
-wilson nodded. "i know. but i can't help thinking how rough it must be."
-"it will be an experience she'll never forget, but it shouldn't be too hard on her. it isn't as though she were completely alone, you know."
-"no, i suppose not. she probably got out with anywhere from two to eight others. a lot of those were--well, not real spacemen, but at least they were regular space trippers. i--"
-a detector alarm rang and everybody jumped to the alert. edwards barked an order and one of the flight-techs darted off toward the launching deck. there was no point in stopping the whole flight, for any detection of matter would be investigated by one-man scooters. if a lifeship should be found, an infrawave call would bring the search flight hurrying back.
-this was not it. the flight-tech reported a small clutter of pebbles and frozen gas. probably a comet on its long, cold, dead swing near aphelion.
-and the search went on....
-charles andrews snorted angrily and growled, "it's damned inefficient, that's all i have to say."
-pilot jock norton shrugged. "we're alive."
-"but why can't we pack on some power and get going somewhere?"
-"because this is a lifeship and not an interstellar spacecraft. i told you that before. d'ye expect a lifeship to be as big as the carrier?"
-"don't be an imbecile."
-norton towered over andrews. "don't be too bright, andrews. ships don't founder once in a green-striped moon. the function of a lifeship is to protect the customers until help can arrive. our storage bank held enough quick-power to counteract the speed of the lifeship, with a safety factor. we've a small accumulator cell for temporary storage. it ain't pheasant under glass and brandy, but we'll neither starve nor die of asphyxiation. we're alive and healthy. so just wait it out. i told you that, too."
-"i don't like it."
-"do i sound as though i did?"
-"you seem to," alice said reproachfully.
-norton gave her a bland smile. "i didn't intend to imply that i was in love with this clambake. sure, it's a rough situation, but there's little point in looking at the black side."
-"how long will this take?" she asked.
-"maybe a couple of days," he said easily. "maybe as long as a week. maybe even more. but we'll be all right."
-"at a hundred dollars per hour," sneered andrews.
-"it ain't hay."
-andrews pulled a long pale cigar out and lit it with a flourish. "norton, tell you what i think of a hundred dollars per hour. i'll take that week you mentioned as an outside limit and if you can do something to get us home before that date, i'll pay you one thousand dollars for every hour under that week."
-andrews said firmly, "miss hemingway, witness this, please. do something brilliant right this moment, norton, and you'll collect seven times twenty-four times one thousand dollars. now that's what i call not-hay."
-norton growled angrily, "if there was anything i could do, i'd take you up on that."
-"there probably is, if you'd only try to think."
-"i'm the space pilot," norton pointed out. "and i'm telling you there is nothing we can do about it."
-"all right. forget it. let's have something to eat."
-"we don't eat for an hour, andrews."
-charles andrews puffed on his cigar. "why not?" he asked softly.
-"because we've got to conserve. it's in the book of rules."
-"rules are made to be broken."
-"not space rules. and i'm still skipper, you know."
-"no matter how--" andrews was going to say "incompetent" but he stopped short as norton got lazily up out of his chair and came forward. andrews realized he could push norton just so far, then the pilot would lose his laziness and begin getting violent. andrews could not stand up to violence. he was not big enough. he was not young enough.
-alice said calmly, "stop it, both of you! you'll just make trouble for all of us."
-norton sat down again. doggedly he said, "we'll eat in an hour."
-andrews turned to alice. "miss hemingway, are you, perhaps, a bit hungry?"
-she shook her head quickly. "frankly, i couldn't get it down and keep it."
-"then perhaps in an hour," said andrews. "i was only thinking of your comfort."
-alice squirmed. both of them were, in their own way, fighting to control the situation. andrews had just oozed out of the indignity of having an order or request countermanded. norton had just ignored an implied insult.
-so long as they struggled, quietly, nothing would result but well-rubbed nerves. but if open conflict broke out it might get rough indeed.
-faren twill looked across the table at regin naylo. they were alone, and finally twill voiced the thought uppermost in both of their minds:
-"this waiting is ridiculous, regin."
-"i agree. in fact, the only point upon which we disagree is the method. i say hit them hard, and with finality. you want to make an equal-to-equal alliance with them."
-faren shook his head. "not really," he said. "no real alliance can ever be possible between stellar races. the alliance i had in mind would be patterned on the relationship between mother state and protectorate. we supervise their laws, control their commerce, and apply a small but adequate taxation to pay us for our service to them. tariffs and duties to be set up for a beneficial economy in our favor, and yet low enough so that they can continue operating, only mildly limited. that sound sensible to you?"
-"i think it can be carried out more efficiently than that," regin naylo objected thoughtfully. "first we collect the lifeship nearest us, maybe both of them. we sweep down along the line of search and wait in battle pattern. why, we can probably collect their entire fleet without firing more than a couple of batteries. then we have the survivors broadcast on the blanketing infrawave that we are applying the rules of space salvage and that redemption of their fleet is to cost some nominal fee--er--say ten metric tons of uranium, nine-nines pure. after which we take their captured fleet to the seat of their government and take over. then we are in a real position to make demands. none of this simple taxation and commerce control. none of this mother state and protectorate. this will be conqueror and vanquished."
-"suppose they fight back?"
-"with what?" asked naylo sarcastically. "guided torpedoes and a-heads? faugh!"
-"they may have--"
-"bet you a hat. if they haven't been able to use the infrawave bands for space locating and detecting, they wouldn't get to first base discovering the magnus forces."
-"you realize," said twill, "that you're setting up a pattern of violence that may never be resolved?"
-"no matter how you set up the meeting of cultures, you've started a pattern of violence that can never be resolved. i say make 'em realize right now that they are clobbered. and if they want fight, we'll give it to 'em."
-twill growled, "not too long ago you were cautiously admitting that elephants can be beaten by a pack of determined rats."
-"until they put out more than that squadron of twenty-five spacecraft, they're no real pack, compared to our task force."
-"you may be.... hush!"
-the door opened. viggon sarri looking refreshed and alert, greeted, "good morning. you've heard the latest?"
-"we've probably located the destination-star. from one of the large stars along the flight path of the original spacecraft there has formed a second search squadron of twenty-five spacecraft. the infrawaves are filled with calls back and forth, coordinating the search pattern."
-"how are they doing?"
-"depends," replied viggon sarri, with a grin. "poorly, if you mean that their success looks imminent. but excellently, if you mean their technique. they're really covering space like a blanket, slice by slice. but they started on the wrong slice."
-viggon's armlet buzzed tinnily and he said, "yes? go ahead."
-"this is linus brein. we have more of their language analogued."
-"i'll be right over." to his second officers viggon said, "want to come along? this may be interesting."
-naylo shook his head. "we've a bit of a problem to haggle over. we'll be over to brein's bailiwick later."
-"you might be missing something, but it's your decision."
-as soon as the door was closed behind viggon, naylo said, "i wonder if he is getting chicken."
-"don't let him hear you say that."
-"i won't. but haven't you wondered?"
-"maybe," said twill. "but it figures. viggon sarri has had a long and successful career. he has expanded our realm more than any other one man in history. he will go down in history as a valiant hero. he does not care to spoil a good record."
-"hah! you agree, then."
-twill nodded soberly. he sneered, "valiant! hero! sarri, the victorious! eyewash. what's so glorious about conquering races that fight back with slings and spears? what's so heroic about mowing down a flight of airplanes or turning a-heads back on the senders? but now that we have come upon a race that really has space travel developed to a fine art--even though they have not exploited it much--viggon wants to wait. he's been pushing over children. now that he's come up against a half-baked adolescent, he's afraid."
-"what do you suggest?"
-twill eyed naylo soberly. "one of us is due to succeed the great viggon sarri," he said flatly. "it may be you and it may be me. it will, however, be the one who decides properly how to handle this race."
-"all right, then," naylo grunted. "but it may be neither of us." he scowled. "unless you or i can talk the venerable gentleman into action at once."
-"right. let's get started."
-naylo grinned. "i hope you won't mind working as my second officer, faren."
-"you should see the day, regin. i'll have you reporting to me before we get home."
-but beneath the banter was an undertone of dead seriousness....
-commodore ted wilson eyed the search grid unhappily. out of the center one thin hexagonal hole had been taken. it left such a lot of space to be combed.
-the infrawave receiver in the information center was alive, and chattering with data and information and orders. finally came a call for wilson, from flight commander hugh weston from castor.
-"weston here, ted. how's it coming?"
-"we've completed our first crossing. nothing but a comet and a rather insignificant gas cloud."
-"we're approaching you. any suggestions?"
-"let's make contact and carry this out together instead of running at cross-purposes."
-"no independent searching."
-"i think you're wrong," said weston.
-"but we can do a better job of coverage if we combine all forces into one big comb."
-"we could," replied weston. "but do you realize that you'll probably leave huge holes in your search grid?"
-"that's the point. i know we will. after about the fourth pass, we'll not be too sure of where we are. god, how i wish we had some method of pinpointing this absolute nothing! i wish the infrawave could be used as detecting and ranging."
-"make that double. but since we haven't got it, i suggest that we form behind you. there'll be a third squadron from pollux as soon as wally wainright can get into space with his gang. i expect there'll be more, too. we'll need 'em all. out in this featureless void, we don't really know where we are to any degree of accuracy. at least not the kind of accuracy needed to find a thing as small as a spacecraft."
-"lifeship, spacecraft, both godawful minute when lost in a few cubic light years of space."
-"i still say we should combine."
-"i still think you should clean out one channel and let us take the next."
-"can't see it, weston."
-"okay, ted. you're running this exercise. you're the boss. we combine. we'll meet you where you are and reform before we make the return pass. right?"
-"right, hugh. i don't want to argue, but our master computer feels we've a better chance at the laws of probability if we all comb along the same line than if each takes a different course and we try to correlate our positions by sheer stellar astrogation."
-poised in space, wilson and his squadron waited. while they waited, the astro-techs made star sightings and the computer mulled over their readings and delivered opinions of several probable enclosures of position. these volumes were horribly vast compared with the mote of a spacecraft. they were spherical, indicating the margin of error in precision-pinpointing their position in deep space. and as the astro-techs delivered more and more angle sightings on the known stars, the computer delivered smaller and smaller enclosures as their true position.
-the problem was a matter of parallax, a matter of angular measurement against the more distant, or "fixed" stars. now, it may seem an easy job to measure the angle of a star with respect to another star. but it must be remembered that the parallax of the nearer stars, as measured across the orbit of the earth, is a matter of seconds of arc.
-parallax is not measured directly with a protractor. it is measured by comparing the position of the star on a plate against a similar photograph taken six months ago, using the fixed stars as the frame of reference.
-in deep space, position is pinpointed by solid triangulation. this can be represented by a pyramid suspended in space, the corners of which end at the fixed stars. take a pyramid of certain solid angles, depended by points in space, and the apex can be satisfied for only one spacial position. repeat these solid-angle measurements and there are several pyramids pointing their apexes toward the true position.
-but if the orbit of the earth produces only a second or so of parallax-arc, any error in angular measurement of such magnitude produces an error of a thousand light seconds. and the greater the error in measurement, the larger is the volume of uncertain position.
-this, then, was their problem. to cover, like a blanket, a volume of space so vast as completely to defy description. all that can be said of it is in comparison with a number of cubic light years. and who can grasp the fathomless distance of a light year? it is just a meaningless statement.
-eventually the second squadron came up and the ships milled around until a larger space pattern was formed. then the two squadrons began to return along the search grid, on a line overlapping that area covered in the first pass along the computed line of flight....
-alice hemingway woke up from a fitful doze at the noise of the infrawave receiver. charles andrews was listening to the rapid chatter back and forth from one squadron to the next. he looked around, and when he caught her eyes, he said cheerfully, "they're really out looking for us."
-"i heard," she murmured.
-"three squadrons, now. and a fourth is just heading out from procyon. we'll be picked up--"
-jock norton came awake with a cry. "shut that damned thing off!" he roared.
-"why?" demanded andrews belligerently.
-"it's a waste of power."
-"this thing?" sneered andrews.
-"look," suggested andrews, "why don't we call back and have 'em pick us up?"
-andrews shut off the infrawave receiver. "it was interesting," he said. "but i suppose we can always assume that they are on the search." he shivered. "is it getting cold in here, or am i getting exhausted?"
-norton smiled thinly. "probably both. this space can isn't collecting any heat. we're too far from any sun. and there aren't enough people in it to keep it hot."
-"the average human puts out an average of about a thousand b.t.u. per hour over a twenty-four hour day. it rises in activity and falls with relaxing. but this can needs about five people to keep up the heat against the black body radiation from the hull."
-"what do we do? freeze?"
-"one thing we can do. we can use the pedal generator."
-"two things. one is to charge up the energy cells. the other is that a human body in vigorous work can deliver as high as two thousand b.t.u. per hour. although i doubt if any human body can keep up that kind of vigor for a full hour. if you're cold, you can easily warm up, andrews."
-"why doesn't this tin can have a small pile?"
-"why doesn't a steamship lifeboat have a turbine?"
-"i've seen some very small piles and generating gear."
-norton shook his head. "a lifeship is aimed at providing the maximum protection for a maximum number of people, under a minimum of luxury. stop whining. we're still alive, i keep telling you."
-"at," sneered andrews, "a hundred bucks an hour."
-"are you going to argue, or do you want to try some vigor for that bad temper of yours?"
-"we've got some power left over from the bank," suggested andrews. "let's use that."
-"not on your life. that's reserve. sooner or later we're going to use it for radio pulses."
-"for fine control direction-finding and locating."
-andrews snorted. "how are they going to pick up radio pulses when they're going thirty or forty parsecs an hour?"
-"they use gravitic mass detectors. as soon as someone gets a register, they send one of the scouts out to drop below light and listen for radio pulses. if he hears any, then the whole search squadron stops and starts really to comb the neighborhood with radar."
-andrews shivered again. "i'll try that generator," he said. "could we pedal enough juice to run the drivers?"
-norton laughed. "sure. like you could row a battleship with a rusty broom handle. have you got the remotest idea of how far we are from anything?"
-"neither have i."
-"all right. where's your damned exercising machine?"
-"below. i'll show you. i want to cut the paragrav generator by half, anyway."
-"pseudo-gravity," said norton crisply. "you've noticed there's still an up and down? that's it. but the damned thing radiates heat like mad, along with producing its gravitic field. i want to conserve all the heat we can. with a full complement of survivors, this space can stay more than comfortably warm. but with only three, it radiates more than is comfortable. come on, andrews. i'll show you this crate, too."
-alice shivered. "just a little. is this going to get worse?"
-"probably, but not too much. if we all exercise heavily, keep the pedal generator going, and eat heartily, we'll not fight too losing a battle against radiation."
-she shivered again. jock put a large but gentle hand on her shoulder. "let me warm you a bit," he said softly.
-alice looked at him cynically. "i'm not that cold," she told him. she did not move, but the tone of her voice made him remove his hand from her shoulder.
-he smiled at her. "you're likely to be eventually."
-"maybe. but there are blankets, and i'm not above taking a turn on that pedal generator myself, you know."
-"it's no job for a woman, alice."
-she sniffed contemptuously. "this is no place for woman or man," she said. "but i can pull my own weight, mr. norton."
-"you're a solid character," he said.
-"i've always thought so."
-"this is going to get rougher, alice. can't we be a little more friendly?"
-"meaning what?" she snapped icily.
-"meaning only that you deserve better than that napoleon type down there."
-alice laughed in a brittle tone. "and you're it?"
-"i'll be a lot more fun."
-"no doubt. and nothing but fun. what do you expect to do when the fun becomes hollow?"
-"it hasn't yet."
-"it will some day. you can't go on being a slightly irresponsible loafer all your life."
-"look," said jock norton angrily, "i'm still running this lifeship the way it's supposed to be run."
-"at a hundred an hour."
-"maybe so. but let me ask you, which one of us would you rather have around right now? the trained spaceman or the captain of industry?"
-"that's a fool question," said alice. "loaded to the gills. you know the answer to that. but once we get back home, then?"
-"you're not hoping to marry that dried-up little--"
-alice laughed, almost hysterically.
-"this will kill you, but until you assumed that i was sleeping with him as well as taking his dictation, i hadn't really looked upon charles andrews as anything but an employer. sure, he's male. so is my uncle ned, my brother, and my nephew. not to mention my father and grandfather. but mr. andrews is not my idea of a lover."
-jock norton nodded soberly. he took a deep breath of satisfaction. alice underwent a swift revision in his mental classification of her. she changed from a luxury-bought mistress to be seduced by the offer of real fun and passion into a woman with no emotional connections, to be seduced for the fun of it. both, in norton's mind, were fair game.
-"what's wrong with me?" he asked.
-"nothing much, jock norton, except that you're essentially lazy."
-"lazy," she repeated. "want it both barrels, or will you take it with sugar?"
-"hard. what's wrong with me?"
-harshly he said, "what would you have me do--take a swing at napoleon when he sits on those short hind legs of his and objects or demands?"
-"i don't know. i'm not a spaceman, responsible for the lives of three people--at a hundred clams an hour."
-"some day i'm going to shove those hundred fish down your throat."
-"do. and i'll spit 'em back at you!"
-norton roughly took her shoulders in his hands. he twisted her to face him, clamped down on her soft shoulders until she turned her face up to complain with welling eyes. he put his lips on hers and tried to force some warmth into them. she submitted calmly, and when he found no response and opened his eyes, she was staring at him vacantly.
-abruptly he let her go. she relaxed in the seat.
-"i'm not afraid to work," he said in a hollow voice.
-"prove it," she replied flatly.
-he got up, left her there, and went below.
-wilson sat in the information center and eyed the search grid glumly. it stretched stereoscopically out in the room, a lot of its vacant network of gleaming white lines frosted over with white shading, to mark where the search had covered.
-there were a lot of untouched spaces--a horde, a myriad. on the side wall was a chart, showing that nine squadrons of twenty-five spacecraft each were patrolling back and forth through the uncharted wastes, seeking the space-wrecked lifeships.
-the maddening part was the hourly report from both lifeships. it was like someone hiding in the dark and calling for aid, invisible and alone. and not really calling for aid, but only making whimpering noises. for the signaling equipment on the lifeships was not equipped with the complicated infrawave phone, but only with the simple signal-emitter, coded to transmit the identification call of the unit.
-on the hour they came in, calling three times, "lifeship seventy-nine, seventy-nine, number three." number two had not been heard from. presumably it was not in use, or hadn't made the grade.
-wilson chewed his fingernails and fretted. was alice on number one or number three, or was she on number two and it had foundered?
-if she were still alive, what kind of fellow survivors were with her?
-but wilson, if willing to face such transient loving at all, would have preferred that alice have her chance to pick and choose, rather than have the matter thrust upon her in the middle of a threatening situation. the passion that comes with the shadow of death is only the instinct of racial preservation, and it mates men and women unsuited to one another during subsequent peace and quiet.
-above all, he did not want alice to emerge from this moment of personal danger morally bound to some unsuitable mate because of a child conceived under the shadow of the sword!
-hourly, after the coded signals came in, ted wilson took the microphone himself and called out into space in the infrawave. he called messages of hope, and explained how many spacecraft were scouring the deep black void. he could only pray that he would be heard, that his voice would give alice some firm foundation for hope.
-he could not be sure the passengers from the wrecked spaceship even had their receivers turned on, because infrawave receivers drink up a lot of power and lifeships are not equipped with any vast reserve. there just was not the room in a lifeship for anything more than the bare necessities of living.
-the search grid was a truncated cone, and the whitened areas of finished search had finally filled the smaller end of the cone. there was the flared skirt of the cone yet to be combed, and this provided more volume than the cylinder taken out of the middle. it also provided a shorter search path as the searching spacecraft built out the volume, ring after ring around the first pass along the line of flight.
-far, far to one side a detector registered, and brought every man in the fleet to the alert. then they relaxed unhappily again as the scooter returned with another report of a small gas cloud. wilson thought glumly that they had discovered enough space meteors, gas clouds, and unawakened comets to make up a small sun.
-then his attention was taken from his own personal troubles by the arrival of another squadron from centauri. he found himself busy readjusting the search pattern to accommodate this new contingent.
-he eyed the pattern in the stereo and hoped it was good enough.
-there was the basic aggregate of nine full squadrons spread out flat in a space lattice that ran back and forth from narrow end to wide end of the cone of probability. there was one full squadron of roving ships that went aimlessly back and forth across the pattern, just to cope with the happenstance factor.
-one squadron was parked at either end of the search grid as space markers, with a computer ship at either end to maintain a constant check on their space coordinates. the big search pattern shuttled from one end to the other, and if they came back to miss the marker ships, they retraced their path so that no space went uncombed.
-the infrawave chattered and space admiral stone was calling for commodore theodore wilson.
-"how're you coming?"
-wilson replied, "we're still at it, admiral. so far we haven't seen her."
-"don't forget, wilson, there's more lost out there than the woman you want."
-ted wanted to snap back angrily, but all he said was, "you don't mind if i take this search personally, do you, admiral stone? i'm not overlooking any bets, but i do admit that miss hemingway is a bit more important to me than any of the rest."
-"no, i suppose no one could blame you for that. just keep it up, wilson."
-"sure," ted said wearily. "after all, this is a black and white job i'm on. either we'll be successful--or we won't."
-"spaceman's luck, admiral."
-wilson went back to his brooding....
-charles andrews came back into the salon with a brisk air. he flexed his arms, took a deep breath, and mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. he sat down beside alice and smiled at her warmly.
-"that thing is a wonder worker," he said, breathing deeply. "nothing like exercise to make a man feel fine and fit."
-alice looked up at him with some amusement. "mr. andrews, tell me. are you the kind of man who opens the window on a winter morning about six o'clock, and takes deep lungsful of icy air?"
-"not quite that bad, my dear. not quite. but brisk living does keep a man sharp and hard. i daresay i acquitted myself well on that pedal generator despite my fifty years."
-andrews chuckled. "i'll do better than our young pilot friend. the man is big, and should be muscular, but he is soft from lack of exercise. yet he'll attempt to stay there longer than i did, i guess."
-he eyed her sharply, not missing her repetitious dry reply.
-"which, incidentally," he said, "gives me my first chance to speak with you alone since we took off from earth."
-"that's so. but--"
-"miss hemingway, you are an exceedingly brisk young woman, attractive and intelligent. may i ask if you have ever taken a lover?"
-"never considered it?"
-she smiled thinly. "naturally. all women think about it. most do. i--er--"
-alice let her voice trail away uncertainly. the direct, frontal attack had put her off-balance, but she realized that this was andrews' direct way.
-he had smiled at her uncertainty, and said swiftly, "then may i be the first--" when he noted the fading amusement in her face and glibly ad libbed--"to congratulate you on your choice of young men? the space commodore to whom you bade farewell in chicago was an up and coming man, i'd assume."
-"i rather imagine he's out here somewhere in the search group," she said.
-"he may even be directing it," andrews said carefully.
-one thing he knew well--never run down a rival. it always brought on a defensive attitude. build the rival up, and the return might be sympathetic. a clever course could be traveled between build-up and tear-down.
-looking at alice thoughtfully, andrews got up and began to rummage through a few lockers. eventually he found a blanket and brought it to her.
-"i'm not too familiar with these life cans," he told her, with a disarming smile. "i hope i remain in ignorance of them. but i found what i was after. now, miss hemingway, if you'll stretch out, i'll tuck you in, and you can get some shut-eye."
-"that i can use," she said honestly.
-the blanket felt good. so did his hands, smoothing out the blanket, but being carefully tender and proper. andrews was a smooth operator of many years' experience.
-eventually she slept.
-andrews found another cigar, and smoked it languidly, his eyes roaming around the metal walls of the cabin. he was thinking that he disliked jack norton immensely, although he knew that chances of survival were better with norton's boorish, interfering presence than without. he was bored, he was angry, he was above all resentful of the time wasted in this spacewreck business....
-an orderly tapped commodore wilson on the shoulder. "message from terra," he said.
-wilson groaned and reached for the telephone beside his bunk. "wilson here," he said. "go ahead!"
-"admiral stone. wilson, a new ship is on the way. i want you to get into this thing fully, so i'm briefing you now."
-"new type of ship?"
-"well, not a new ship, but some new equipment. the infrawave section of the space department radiation laboratory has some experimental gear they want to try in actual service."
-"sheer experiment, wilson. it's supposed to be an infrawave detecting and ranging device. it's shown low grade response so far, and it may be entirely useless to you. but radiation feels that even something incomplete and erratic may be better than going it blind."
-wilson sat up, interested. "how does it work?"
-"darned if i know. it took a whole cruiser class to carry the junk that makes it tick. it's piled in with twine and baling wire, and when the crate took off the advanced techs were still connecting cables and adjusting the guts. er--how're you feeling?"
-"tired and frustrated."
-"mind a bad joke?"
-"go on and have a laugh, wilson. this gizmo reminded me of the new machine that made shoes so fast that it put twelve shoemakers out of work--and it took only eighteen men to run it."
-a silence ensued. then stone said:
-"well, wilson, i thought you'd like to know we're pouring the best we've got into space for you. ship should be along in another hour or two."
-wearily commodore ted wilson climbed out of his bunk and began to dress....
-viggon sarri said, "now we know more about this race. they definitely are of the class where the individual is of extreme importance to the whole. this belies both the communal, or insect type and the anarchistic, or individualistic type. the quantity of men and machinery they are pouring into this search is amazing."
-"they aren't much closer to success," offered regin naylo. "and we're wasting time."
-"you think so?"
-"we both think so," faren twill said firmly.
-"oh?" viggon sarri looked at them in surprise. "then maybe i have the wrong idea. let me hear your suggestions."
-twill and naylo looked at one another, fencing with their eyes. finally twill nodded and said, "you say it, regin."
-"it's already been said." regin naylo looked pointedly at linus brein. "a day or so ago you claimed that you'd picked up some primitive infrawave emission that looked as though someone might be trying to develop a detecting and ranging device."
-"then it is my contention that any moves we make against this race should be made before anybody down there gets such a detector and ranger working."
-"why?" demanded viggon sarri.
-regin naylo looked at his commander. "we're losing a technical advantage. whether we go in with a benign and peaceful-looking air and show them how big and fast we are, or whether we plunge in and hit 'em with every battery we've got and reduce 'em to submission, we've got to do it before anybody succeeds in making an infrawave space detector. understand?"
-viggon sarri looked from one to the other, grimly. "you believe i'm wasting time? is that it?"
-the two aides answered together, "yes!" and "absolutely!"
-viggon sarri said, "i am still in command of this force. we'll continue to observe until i am satisfied. you two officers have one common idea--that of moving in fast. you have differing ideas of how we are to move in. until you can settle your difference and provide me with a good logical basis for your decision--whichever way--then we'll follow my plan. and my plan is to move in just as soon as we have enough data on the character and strength of this race to provide us with the correct way to take them."
-"then you are going to continue stalling?" demanded naylo.
-"yes, if you wish to call it stalling. maybe another man might call it planning."
-"we'll be just wasting time, as i've already said. we have enough stuff to take 'em right now."
-viggon sarri shrugged. "yes. we could swoop in and take them like mowing down a wheat field. tell me, young men, what happens when you mow down a wheat field."
-they looked at him blankly.
-viggon smiled in a superior manner. "one of two things, depending upon how you operate. if you mow it down and let it lay, you drop seeds and next year it comes up thicker. if you mow it down, remove the seeds, sow it with salt and kill the field, you have a useless plot of land, a worthless territory. then some day up comes weed and briar--which then must be removed root and branch before the land is plantable again. just remember, we are after a profitable exchange of economy, not another stellar system to list as a conquest for the sake of history our children will read. i want my reward now, or next week. having my name on a monument does not have much appeal."
-he was half standing with his hands closed into fists, his knuckles on the table supporting him as he leaned forward to drive his facts home.
-"or," he added scathingly, "are you two firebrands so youthful that you don't know that a man has only one single lone chance at this business of living? and that your finest reward at eventide is knowing you have lived a full and eventful life without screwing it up somewhere along the line by making a lot of idiotic moves?"
-viggon sarri turned on a heel and walked out.
-naylo and twill turned to linus brein.
-"what do you think?" twill asked.
-linus brein shrugged. "he is undoubtedly right. besides, we don't know all there is to know about the strange race out there yet."
-"oh, faugh! what else--"
-linus brein smiled. he said slowly. "we don't even know whether or not they are oxygen-breathing."
-"we can assume from the stellar type of their primaries that they are."
-linus nodded. "probably, but not positively."
-regin naylo said, "and what's second, linus?"
-"they may be contraterrene."
-linus brein nodded. "in which case from both sides we must watch our steps. get involved with a seetee race the wrong way and you have two cultures with absolutely nothing in common but a life-factor, busy tossing chunks of their own kind of matter at one another in a fight to exterminate. so before either of you start making half-baked plans, you'd better get your heads together and plan something that sounds reasonable to the big boss. right?"
-commodore wilson eyed the spacecraft full of hastily assembled instruments with a grimace. the ship was swarming with techs who were peering into oscilloscopes, watching meters, and tinkering with signal generators. a huge concave hemispherical dome above was a splatter of little flickering green pinpoints and dark patches.
-"this idea is hopelessly haywire," wilson said unhappily.
-"it sure is," said space-tech maury allison. "but everything is, at first."
-"you hope to make something out of it?"
-"we hope," replied allison. "we can't be sure."
-"but surely this pile of junk has been tested before?"
-"some. we've had as much as five minutes of constant operation out of it."
-as he spoke, the hemisphere over their heads flashed a full bright green, then went black. a bell tinkled somewhere and a couple of techs dropped their tools and headed for the back room on the double. a couple of others stood up from their work and lit cigarettes because their instruments had gone dead. some of the rest continued to nurse their particular circuits because that section was still running.
-after scanning the operation to see which section had gone blooey, allison went on. "we've never tested this outfit under anything but ideal conditions. we've had spacecraft sent out to specified distances, fired up the gizmo and found fragments of response right where there should be a response."
-"that's hardly fair, is it?" commented wilson.
-"it's a start. you have to start somewhere. radio--know its start? the first message was sent across the ocean a few hundred years ago from one man to the other after they had made a complete plan as to time, date, location and frequency, and also the transmitted message. sure enough, they got through. that, too, was under the ideal test conditions. so when we finally assembled the half-a-hundred separate circuits and devices that made it look as though we might have a space detector, we put up targets, aimed our equipment, and looked for a response where there should be one."
-"we don't know where our target is," objected wilson.
-"and we haven't yet fired up this equipment to seek a target of unknown position and range," admitted allison. "but this gear is better than nothing."
-again the green spots flickered in the dome over their heads.
-"what do all those spots mean?" asked wilson.
-"those are false targets, probably caused by background noise. although the infrawave is noiseless, we still seem to be getting it. dr. friedrich disagrees. he claims this is not noise, but interferences. however, the good doctor is not at all certain that the so-called interferences come from localized conditions within the equipment or from external sources."
-wilson shrugged. "i don't see how it's done with a radiation type that has neither a directional quality nor a velocity of propagation."
-"do you understand accum?"
-"i stopped shortly before matrix. accumulative math is so much pothooks on a sheet of paper to me."
-"um. then i'd find it hard to explain. the theory seems to be demonstrable, and the accumulative mathematics upholds the experimental evidence. but there hasn't yet been an acceptable verbal description of what happens."
-"i've often wondered, leaving the nondirectional quality out of it, why we couldn't cut our emitting power and somehow compute range by observing the incoming power from a distant infrawave transmitter."
-allison shook his head. "oddly enough, the matrix mathematics that deal with radiation shows that for any hypothetical radiation with an infinite velocity of propagation, there can be no attenuation with distance."
-"meaning that we should be able to transmit all the way from here to hell and back."
-"not exactly. infrawave radiation comes in quanta, you know. a kilowatt covers two point one, seven nine three six plus parsecs. two kilowatts covers twice that distance minus the ninth root of two point, seven nine three six plus. three kilowatts covers three times two point et cetera, minus two times the ninth root." allison shrugged and spread his hands.
-"and so on it goes," he said, "indicating that at some devilish distance--i've forgotten the figure but we had the master computer chew it out on the big machine at radiation once--an additional kilowatt just shoves the signal coverage distance out by a micron. but if you don't put in your honest kilowatt, you don't excite the infraspace that carries infrawaves. and if you put in a kilowatt and a half, you have to dissipate the half."
-wilson grunted. "nice to have things come out even. who'd have thunk that the creator wanted the terran kilowatt to equal one quanta of infrawave distance?"
-allison laughed. "poor argument, commodore wilson. actually, the figure is point nine, eight three four plus. close, but no cigar. we've just come to accept the figure as a kilowatt, just as for everyday calculation we accept the less refined figure of two point, one eight parsecs, or even two point, two. at any rate--"
-there was a puff of something, and a sound like the puncture of a tire. the green speckles on the dome merged with one another and became a riot of flaming green. there were shouts and cries and a lot of haphazard orders and several techs scrambled to snap toggle switches.
-down the room one of the techs went head-first into a rack with a pair of pliers and a soldering iron. he backed out carrying a smoking little shapeless thing that had lost any character it once possessed. the tech picked up a nice, shiny new doodad from a small box and went into the rack again. when he came out this time he gave a hoarse cheer. toggles were snapped back and the spreckles reappeared.
-one of the techs came up to allison and said, "see that spot up there, sir? the one just this side of the eighty-one degree longitude circle, and a little below the forty-five latitude ring?"
-it was a small round disc no more than an inch in diameter.
-"we think that may be a response."
-wilson said, "you mean a target? possibly one of the lifeships?"
-"i'll have a scooter go out and see. what's its spacial position?"
-the tech took another look. "i'd say eighty-one plus longitude and forty-three latitude."
-"from what?" demanded wilson.
-"from ship's axis, sir."
-"oh, about half a parsec."
-wilson groaned. "haven't you determined any spacial attitude?"
-"the angle of the ship's axis with respect to the stellar positions. so you've a blotch out there at half a parsec. it's an inch or so in diameter. have one of your juniors run off some trig on the calculator and then tell me how much probable space volume that so-called response represents."
-the tech thought a minute. "we've never run this gear anywhere but at radiation, right at mojave labs, on earth. our spacial coordinates--well, i'm afraid we--" his voice trailed away unhappily.
-wilson picked up the interphone and barked a call.
-he listened to hugh weston's reply.
-"yeah," he said then. "we know where the target is with respect to the ship, but we don't know the spacial attitude of the ship with respect to the galactic check points. right over? good."
-as wilson hung up the dome flickered, then went into a regular flash-flash-flash until something else came unglued and the dome went blank. there was shouting and rather heart-felt cussing, and some running around again before the dome light came back.
-a tech--not the one that had come up before--moved into place alongside the commodore.
-"mr. wilson, sir," he said, "i wonder if--er--that is, sir--er--"
-"take it easy," said wilson, half-smiling.
-"well, sir, we've been getting a lot of interference."
-wilson looked up at the flickering dome. he merely nodded.
-"well, sir--er--i was wondering if you could issue some--er--order to have the other ships move away? i'm sure we could find those lifeships if the rest of space were clear. but you've got three hundred--"
-wilson stared the youngster down coldly. "somewhere out there," he said sourly, "are two lifeships in which men, and a woman, are waiting for us to come and collect 'em. i'm combing space almost inch by inch. i can hardly give up my squadron for a half-finished flash in the dome like this, can i?"
-"no sir--ah--i suppose not."
-"then you live with the responses tossed back by my squadron. it'll be good training for you. er--get the hell out of my way!"
-the junior tech melted out of sight and went back to his control panel.
-weston came over within the hour. ted wilson explained the situation and told hugh to set up and measure the coordinates with respect to the stellar centers. then he told him to send a space scooter out to investigate that spot.
-wilson went back to his own flagship wondering whether that fancy infrawave detector would turn out to be anything. an untried doodad. but now and then--
-wearily again, commodore wilson called commander hatch, who skippered one of the scout carriers. he told hatch to make himself available either to hugh weston or maury allison, to investigate infrawave response targets as they saw fit.
-then wilson hit the sack to finish his off-duty.
-he dozed fitfully, but he did not sleep worth a damn. he would have been better off if he could have taken the controls of one of the spacers and gone out himself. then, at least, he would have something to fill his mind and idle hands....
-alice hemingway awoke from a rather pleasant dream that had something to do with either ice skating or skiing, or it might have been tobogganing--the dream had faded so fast she could not be sure--to face the fact that she was feeling on the chill side.
-her blanket had slipped. she caught it around her, and in minutes felt fairly warm again. it was not so much, she thought, the actual temperature in the lifeship, but the whole damned attitude of people, and everything else that was so chilling.
-the lights were running all right, and from deep below she could hear the ragged throb of the pedal generator. she wondered which of the two men was pumping it this time.
-when jock norton came in, she knew. he was mopping his face with a towel. he looked clean and bright, freshly shaved.
-she looked at him and wished she could have a hot shower herself, and a change of clothing. she wanted a ten-hour sleep in a nice soft bed with clean sheets, too, and wearing a silk-soft nightgown.
-"awake, alice?" norton asked brightly.
-"awake again," she said unhappily. "for.... what is it? the ninth day?"
-"eighth," he said. "can't go on much longer."
-"i hope not."
-"you look all in," he said softly. he sat down on the edge of the divan, beside her, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "take it easy, m'lady. they're really scouring space for us. we'll be all right. you'll see."
-unexpectedly he bent and kissed her chastely on the forehead. alice tensed at first, but relaxed almost immediately because the warmth of that honest affection made her feel less alone and cold, in the depths of uncharted space. some of the worry and concern was erased, at least. she stretched warmly as he rubbed her forehead with his cheek.
-then he sat up and looked down at her. he put his hand on her cheek gently and said, "we'll be all right, kid."
-"eight days," she said in a hoarse whisper.
-he nodded solemnly. "every hour means they must be coming closer and closer. every lonely hour means that it can't be many more, because they've covered all the places where we weren't. follow me, alice?"
-she shook her head unhappily.
-doggedly he tried to explain. "they know that we must lie within a certain truncated conical volume of space. they comb this space bit by bit and chart it. since the volume is known, and since it takes so many hours of work to comb a given volume, that means that at the end of a given time all the predicted volume of space has been covered. since we must lie within that, we are bound to be picked up before they cover the last cubic mile."
-"but how long?" she breathed.
-"i wouldn't know," he told her honestly. "i have no possible way of computing it. they've got the best of computers and plotters, and they've got the law of probabilities on their side. but it's dead certain we'll be found."
-"i know," he said.
-"you've changed, jock norton."
-"you looked on this as a lark, before."
-"not exactly," he objected.
-"but you did."
-slowly he shook his head. "not exactly," he repeated. "i don't think i've changed at all. i still think that when you're faced with something inevitable you might as well look at it from the more cheerful side. after all, there was the chance that we might not have made it this far, you know. now, tell me honestly, does it make sense getting all worried-up by thinking of how horrible it would have been if we'd been caught back there when seventy-nine blew up?"
-"i suppose not."
-"well, then," he said in a semi-cheerful tone, "since we did make it out safely, and are still waiting after eight days, we might as well expect to be collected soon."
-charles andrews said, from behind him, "at a hundred dollars an hour, norton?"
-norton turned around angrily. "so it's the hundred clams per," he snapped back. "that's damned poor payment for having to live with the likes of you in a space can this cramped."
-andrews eyed the pilot with distaste. "tell me," he said smoothly, "did my last effort on the pedal generator go for power storage, or for a couple of gallons of hot water for that shave and shower you've enjoyed?"
-"you're a cheap, chiseling--"
-"easy, andrews! easy. there's a lady present. besides, i might forget my easy-going nature and take a swing at you."
-andrews said scornfully, "without a doubt, a man of your age and build could wipe up the lifeship with me."
-norton chuckled. "don't count on your age being good protection, andrews. you may push me far enough to make me forget that you're a decrepit old man who has to buy what your physique can't get you."
-"now see here!" roared andrews.
-he was stopped short by norton who took one long step forward to grasp him by the coat lapels. andrews' face went white, because he was looking into the face of dark anger. norton's other hand was clenched in a large, tight fist. he eyed the older man sourly for a minute, then shoved him backward to collapse in a chair.
-"what are you trying to do?" sneered norton. "make me mad enough to clip you so you can yell 'foul!'? i know as well as you do that the law doesn't even recognize taunts and tongue-lashings as contributory to assault."
-alice got up from her couch and stood between them. "stop it, both of you!" she cried. "stop it!"
-norton's anger subsided. "all right," he said to andrews. "now that we've all had our lungs exercised, i'll go below and pedal that generator. alice, you can have the bathroom first. andrews, you take it with what she leaves. is that okay?"
-"aren't you the hard-working little boy scout?"
-"sure." norton grinned. "i am that." he disappeared down the ladder towards the generator room.
-andrews turned to alice. "you're not going to go for that fancy routine, are you?" he demanded crossly.
-alice shrugged. "he's the spaceman," she said simply. "if he thinks we can spare the power for a bath, i could certainly use one."
-"how can you trust the likes of him?"
-"we've got to," she said. "we've got to."
-"i wouldn't," said andrews. "i can't."
-she looked at her employer seriously. "we've both got to trust him," she said quietly. "because, right or wrong, he is the only one who knows anything about space and what's likely to happen next."
-"at a hundred an hour," andrews said for the ninetieth time or so, scathingly.
-alice nodded soberly. "but you mustn't forget that isn't going to do him any good unless he gets us all home so that he can use it."
-reluctantly, andrews nodded. "i suppose you're right."
-then alice added, "and even if it weren't for the hundred per, he isn't the kind to kill himself."
-andrews grunted, "no, he isn't. but alice, i'm not at all sure that norton knows whether he's doing the right thing or not."
-she shook her head. there was no answer to that argument. furthermore, it was the kind of unresolvable argument that could go on and on until the answer was supplied from the outside. there could be no end to it until they were either picked up safely or died in lonely space.
-she decided to drop the discussion as pointless, so headed for the bathroom. a hot shower and a quick tubbing of her underclothing were on her mind. her garments, of course, would dry instantly. she had to smile a little. to think that a hundred years ago women thought something they called nylon was wonderful because it was fairly quick-drying! not instantaneous, of course, as was the material of which her lingerie was made.
-anyhow, getting it clean now, and having a bath herself would make her feel better. and she would be better equipped to face the nerve-gruelling business of just sitting there watching the clock go around and around, with nothing to do but wait.
-regin naylo faced his superior with a scowl. "that rips it wide open," he said.
-viggon sarri smiled confidently. he glanced at linus brein and asked, "just how competent do you think this new thing is?"
-linus shrugged. "we've analyzed the infrawave pattern they've developed. it is obvious that this is their first prototype of an infrawave space detector. the pattern is of the primitive absorptive type, which is both inefficient as a detector and is also inclined to produce spurious responses. from our observations, their equipment must be extremely complex too. it must be loaded to the scuppers with fragile circuits and components, because the search pattern keeps breaking down, or becoming irregular. an efficient detector cannot be made of the infrawave bands until the third order of reflective response is discovered. i doubt that any research team, no matter how big, can start with the primitive absorption phase of the infrawaves and leap to the higher orders of infrawave radiation in less than a lifetime of study."
-"so, gentlemen?" asked viggon of his two aides. "can you predict whether or not their new detector will deliver the goods?"
-all looked expectantly at linus brein.
-"and the other?" prompted viggon sarri, with interest.
-viggon snorted. "i call ten to the minus ten chances rather hopeless. but go on, linus."
-viggon waved a hand to indicate he had heard enough.
-"gentlemen," he said quietly. "i've been criticized for waiting, but what one man calls study the other man calls timidity. we'll continue to wait for the final factor. then we'll know...."
-the stereo pattern in the information center of commodore ted wilson's flagship was slowly being filled with the hazy white that indicated that these volumes had been combed carefully. as he watched, he could see how the search was progressing, and it was painfully obvious that the search was not going good at all.
-the flights of spacecraft in set patterns back and forth through the stereo had covered nearly all of the truncated space cone. the random search ships were slowly cutting secondary lines through the regions already covered. there was a green sphere combing the stereo pattern now, indicating the new infrawave detector ship and its expected volume of detector coverage.
-space was filled to overflowing with the fast patter of the communications officers, using infrawave for talks between flights, and ordinary radio for talks between ships of the same flight.
-wilson had appointed chief communications officer haggerty to police the bands. haggerty had done a fine job, removing the howling confusion and interference caused from too many calls on the same channel. but the result was still a high degree of constant call and reply and cross talk. most of the chatter came from the infrawave detector ship, sending the scout craft flitting hither and thither on the trail of spurious responses.
-it was almost impossible to grasp the extent of the operation. only in the stereo pattern could anybody begin to follow the complex operation, and those who watched the stereo knew that their pattern was only an idealized space map of what they hoped was going on.
-it was worse than combing the area of an ocean from maps that contained a neat grid of cross rules. much worse. for the uncharted ocean is gridded with radio location finders so accurate that the position of two ships a hundred yards apart shows a hundred yards of difference in absolute position in the loran.
-some day in the distant future space would be solid-gridded with infrawave navigation signals. then the space coordinates of any spacecraft could be found to a fine degree of precision. but now all that wilson and his nav-techs could do was to keep sighting the fixed stars, and from them compute their position.
-this sort of space navigation was good enough to keep a ship on course, but far from precise enough to pinprick a true position. but, after all, a crude positioning in the middle of interstellar space is good enough. one literally has cubic light years to float around in. once the spacecraft begins to approach a destination, the space positioning can be made.
-again, few spacecraft pause in mid-flight between stars long enough to care about their interstellar position. after all, space flight does provide a mode of travel where the destination lies within eyesight. or rather, it has lain within eyesight ever since it became commonly accepted that these ultimate destinations were places, instead of holes poked in an inverted ceramic bowl.
-then, in the middle of the communications confusion, came a call from one of commander hatch's scout flights.
-"pilot logan, flight eighteen, to commander hatch. report."
-"hatch to logan. go ahead. find something, will?"
-will logan said, "solid target detected on radar, commander. approached and found. i am now within five thousand yards of what appears to be lifeship one."
-allison asked, "was that our target, logan?"
-the habits of a lifetime which keeps the mind clear and the nerve firm. lois went on quietly preparing some sandwiches, which in all probability would never be eaten, and mrs. carmichael resigned martial occupation for the cutting-out of a baby's pinafore for an east-end child whom she had under her special patronage. but her mind was active and, stern, self-opinionated martinet that she was, she could not altogether crush the regrets that swarmed up in this last reckoning up of her life's activity. better had her charity and interest been centered on the dirty little children whom she had indignantly tolerated on her compound! better for them all would it have been had each one of them sought to win the love and respect of the subject race! then, perhaps, they would not have been deserted in this last hour of peril.
-"no, thank you," she whispered, glancing down at the flushed, sleeping face. "we have done each other so little real service that i am glad to be able to do even this much. i don't suppose it will be for long. how quiet everything is!"
-mrs. carmichael looked at the clock on the writing-table.
-"it is not yet midnight," she said. "probably the rajah is keeping his promise." her expression relaxed a little. "don't tire yourself," she added bruskly to mrs. berry, who had been fanning the unconscious woman's face with an improvized paper fan. "i don't think she feels the heat."
-the missionary's wife continued her good work with redoubled energy. it was perhaps one of the few really unselfish things which she had ever done in the course of a pious but fundamentally selfish life, and it gave her pleasure and courage. the knowledge that some one was weaker than herself and needed her was new strength to her new-born heroism.
-"it is so frightfully hot," she said half apologetically. "why isn't the punkah-man at work?"
-"the 'punkah-man' has bolted with the rest of them," mrs. carmichael answered. "i dare say i could work it, though i have never tried."
-"it is hardly worth while to begin now," beatrice observed, and this simple acknowledgment that the end was at hand received no contradiction.
-once again the silence was unbroken, save for the soft swish of the fan and mrs. cary's heavy, irregular breathing. yet the five women who in the full swing of their life had been diametrically opposed to one another were now united in a common sympathy. death, far more than a leveler of class, is the melting-pot into which are thrown all antagonisms, all violent discords of character. the one great fact overshadows everything, and the petty stumbling-blocks of daily life are forgotten. more than that still--it is the supreme moment in man's existence when the innermost treasures or unsuspected hells are revealed beyond all denial. and in these five women, hidden in two cases at least beneath a mass of meanness, selfishness and indifference, there lay an unusual power of self-sacrifice and pity. death was drawing near to them all, and their one thought was how to make his coming easier for the other. when the silence grew unbearable, it was mrs. carmichael who had the courage to break it with a trivial criticism respecting the manner in which lois was making the sandwiches.
-"you should put the butter on before you cut them," she said tartly, "and as little as possible. i'm quite sure it has gone rancid, and then george won't touch them. he is so fussy about the butter."
-"and, please, would you mind making one or two without butter?" she said. "percy says all indian butter is bad. of course, it's only an idea of his, but men are such faddy creatures, don't you think?"
-"they wouldn't be men if they weren't--" mrs. carmichael had begun, when she broke off, and the scissors that had been snipping their way steadily through the rough linen jagged and dropped on the table. she picked them up immediately and went on with an impatient exclamation at her own carelessness. but the involuntary start had coincided with a loud report from outside in the darkness, and a smothered scream.
-lois put down her knife.
-"won't you come and help me?" she said to beatrice. "your mother will not notice that you have gone."
-beatrice nodded, and letting the heavy head sink back among the cushions, came over to lois' side.
-"how brave you are!" she said in a whisper. "you seem so cool and collected, just as though you believed your sandwiches would ever be eaten!"
-"i am not braver than you are. look how steady your hand is--much steadier than mine."
-beatrice held out her white hand and studied it thoughtfully.
-"i am not afraid," she said, "but not because i am brave. there is no room for fear, that is all." she paused an instant, and then suddenly the hand fell on lois'. the two women looked at each other. "lois, i am so sorry."
-"for you and every one. i have hurt so many. it has all been my fault. i would give ten lives if i had them to see the harm undone. but that isn't possible. oh, lois, there is surely nothing worse than helpless remorse!"
-"is it ever helpless, though?"
-"i can't give the dead life--i can't give back a man's faith, can i?"
-the light of understanding deepened in lois' eyes.
-"beatrice--i believe i know!"
-"yes, i see you do. do you despise me? what does it matter if you do? it has been my fear of the world and its opinion that helped to lead me wrong. isn't it a just punishment? i have ruined both our lives. lois, i couldn't help hearing what captain nicholson said to you. it explained what you said to me about building on the ruins of the past. that was what he did--he built a beautiful palace on me--and i wrecked it. i failed him."
-"have you really failed him?"
-"lois, i don't know--i am beginning to believe not. but it is too late. i meant to clear away the rubbish--and build. but there is no time."
-"you have done your best."
-"oh, if i could only save him, lois! he was the first man i had ever met whom i trusted, the first to trust me. i owe him everything, the little that is good in me. it had to come to life when he believed in it so implicitly. and he owes me ruin, outward and inward ruin."
-lois made no answer. with a warm, impulsive gesture she put her arms about the taller woman's neck and, drawing the beautiful face down to her own, kissed her. beatrice responded, and thus a friendship was sealed--not for life but for death, whose grim cordon was with every moment being drawn closer about them.
-the sound of firing had now grown incessant. one report followed another at swift, irregular intervals, and each sounded like a clap of thunder in the silent room. mrs. cary stirred uneasily in her sleep, a low, scarcely audible groan escaped the parted lips, as though even in her dreams she was being pursued by fear's pitiless phantom. her self-appointed nurse continued to fan her with the energy of despair, the poor livid face twitching at every fresh threatening sound. mrs. carmichael still pretended to be absorbed in her pinafore, but the revolver lay on the table, ready to hand, and there was a look in the steady eyes which boded ill for the first enemy who should confront her. lois and beatrice continued their fruitless task.
-a woman's courage is the supreme victory of mind over matter. it is no easy thing for a hero to sit still and helpless while death rattles his bullet fingers against the walls and screams in voices of hate and fury from a distance which every minute diminishes. for a woman burdened with the disability of a high-strung nervous system, it is a martyrdom. yet these women, brought up on the froth of an enervating, pleasure-seeking society, held out--held out with a martyr's courage and constancy--against the torture of inactivity, of an imagination which penetrated the sheltering walls out into the night where fifty men writhed in a death-struggle with hundreds--saw every bleeding wound, heard every smothered moan of pain, felt already the cold iron pierce their own breasts. the hours passed, and they did not yield. they had ceased from their incongruous tasks, and stood and waited, wordless and tearless.
-as the first grey lights of dawn crept into the stifling room they heard footsteps hurrying across the adjacent room, and each drew herself upright to meet the end. mrs. carmichael's hand tightened over the revolver, but it was only mr. berry who entered. the little missionary, a shy, society-shunning man, noted for doing more harm than good among the natives by his zealous bigotry and ignorance of their prejudices, stood revealed in a new light. his face was grimed with dirt and powder, his clothes disordered, his weak eyes bright with the fire of battle.
-"do not be afraid," he said quickly. "there is no immediate danger. i have only been sent to warn you to be ready to leave the bungalow. the front wall is shot-riddled, and the place may become indefensible at any moment. when that time comes, you must slip out to the old bungalow. nicholson believes he can hold out there."
-"my husband--?" interrupted mrs. carmichael.
-"your husband is safe. in fact, all three were well when i left. if i wasn't against such things, i should say it was a splendid fight--and every man a hero. the rajah--"
-mr. berry looked in stern surprise at the pale face of the speaker.
-"the rajah has a charmed life," he said somberly. "he is always in the front of his men--we can recognize him by his dress and figure--he is always within range, but we can't hit him. not that i ought to wish his death, though it's our only chance." he put his hands distractedly to his head. "heaven knows, it's too hard for a christian man! every time i see an enemy fall, i rejoice--and then i remember that it is my brother--" he stopped, the expression on his face of profound trouble giving way to active alarm. "hush! some one is coming!"
-a second time the door opened, and travers rushed in. lois saw his face, and something in her recoiled in sick disgust. fear, an almost imbecilic fear, was written on the wide-open, staring eyes, and the hand that held the revolver trembled like that of an old man.
-"quick--out by the back way!" he stammered incoherently. "i will lock the door--so. that will keep them off a minute. they are bound to look for us here first. nicholson is retiring with his men--they are going to have a try to bring down the rajah. it's our one chance. it may frighten the devils--they think he's a god. i believe he is, curse him!" all the time, he had been piling furniture against the door with a mad and feverish energy. "help me! help me!" he screamed. "why don't you help? do you want to be killed like sheep?"
-lois drew him back by the arm.
-"you are wasting time," she said firmly. "come with us! why, you are hurt!"
-he looked at the thin stream which trickled down the soiled white of his coat. a silly smile flickered over his big face.
-"oh, yes, a scratch. i hardly feel it. it isn't anything. it can't be anything. there's nothing vital thereabouts, is there, berry?"
-the missionary shrugged his shoulders. he had flung open the glass doors which led on to the verandah, and the brightening dawn flooded in upon them.
-"come and help me carry this poor lady," he said. "we have not a minute to lose."
-travers tried to obey, but he had no strength, and the other thrust him impatiently on one side.
-"mrs. carmichael, you are a strong woman," he appealed. between them they managed to bring mrs. cary's heavy, unconscious frame down the steps. it was a nerve-trying task, for their progress was of necessity a slow one, and the sound of the desperate fighting seemed to surround them on every side. it was with a feeling of intense relief that the little party saw nicholson appear from amidst the trees and run toward them.
-"that's right!" he cried. "only be quick! they are at us on all sides now, but my men are keeping them off until you are out of the bungalow. the old ruin at the back of the garden is our last stand. carmichael is there already with a detachment, and is keeping off a rear attack. i shall remain here."
-"alone?" berry asked anxiously.
-"yes. i believe they will ransack the bungalow first. when they come, the rajah is sure to be at their head, and--well, it's going to be diamond cut diamond between us two when we meet. i know the beggars and their superstition. if i get in the first shot, they will bolt. if he does--"
-"you are going to shoot him down like a rat in a trap!" beatrice burst out passionately.
-the others had already hurried on. with a gentle force he urged her to follow them.
-"or be shot down myself," he said. "leave me to do my duty as i think best."
-she met his grave eyes defiantly, but perhaps some instinct told her that he was risking his life for a poor chance--for their last chance, for without a word she turned away, apparently in the direction which her companions had already taken.
-as soon as she was out of sight, nicholson recharged his smoking revolver, and stood there quietly waiting. his trained ear heard the firing in front of the bungalow cease. he knew then that his men were retiring to join colonel carmichael, and that he stood alone, the last barrier between death and those he loved. the sound of triumphant shouting drew nearer; he heard the wrenching and tearing of doors crashing down before an impetuous onslaught, the cling of steel, a howl of sudden satisfaction. his hand tightened upon his revolver; he stood ready to meet his enemy single-handed, to fight out the duel between man and man. but no one came. a bewildering silence had followed upon the last bloodthirsty cry. it was as though the hand of death had fallen and with one annihilating blow beaten down the approaching horde in the high tide of their victory. but of the two this strange stillness was the more terrible. it penetrated to the little waiting group in the old bungalow and filled them with the chill horror of the unknown. something had happened--that they felt.
-lois crept to the doorway and peered out into the gathering daylight. here and there, half hidden behind the shelter of the trees, she could see the khaki-clad figures of the gurkhas, some kneeling, some standing, their rifles raised to their dark faces, waiting like statues for the enemy that never came. a dead, petrified world, the only living thing the sunshine, which played in peaceful indifference upon the scene of an old and a new tragedy! lois thought of her mother. by the power of an overwrought imagination she looked back through a quarter of a century to a day of which this present was a strange and horrible repetition. for a moment she lived her mother's life, lived through the hours of torturing doubt and fear, and when a stifled cry called her back to the reality and forced her to turn from the sunlight to the dark room, it was as though the dead had risen, as though her dreams had taken substance. she saw pale faces staring at her; she saw on the rusty truckle-bed a figure which rose up and held out frantic, desperate arms toward her. but it was no dream--no phantom. mrs. cary, wild-eyed and distraught, struggled to rise to her feet and come toward her.
-"where is beatrice?" she cried hysterically. "where is beatrice? i dreamed she was dead!--it isn't true! say it isn't true!"
-lois hurried back. in the confusion of their retreat she had lost sight of beatrice, and now a cold fear froze her blood. she called her name, adding her voice to the half-delirious mother's appeal; but there was no answer, and as she prepared to leave the shelter of the bungalow to go in search of the lost girl, a pair of strong hands grasped her by the shoulders and forced her back.
-"lois, stand back! they are coming!"
-colonel carmichael thrust her behind him, and an instant later she heard the report of his revolver. there was no answering volley. a dark, scantily-clad figure sprang through the trees, waving one hand as though in imperative appeal.
-"don't fire--don't fire! it's me!"
-the colonel's still smoking revolver sank, and the supposed native swayed toward him, only to sink a few yards farther on to the ground. carmichael ran to his side and lifted the fainting head against his shoulder.
-"good god, geoffries! don't say i've hit you! how on earth was i to know!"
-"that's all right, colonel. only winded--don't you know--never hurried so much in life. have been in the midst of the beggars--just managed to slip through. o lor', give me something to drink, will you?" colonel carmichael put his flask to the parched and broken lips. "thanks, that's better. we got your message, and are coming on like fun. the regiment's only an hour off. you never saw saunders in such a fluster--it's his first big job, you know." he took another deep draft, and wiped his mouth with the corner of his ragged tunic. "i say--don't look at me, miss lois. i'm not fit to be seen." he laughed hoarsely. "these clothes weren't made in bond street, and webb assured me that the fewer i had the more genuine i looked. i say, colonel, this is a lively business!"
-colonel carmichael nodded as he helped the gasping and exhausted man into the bungalow.
-"too lively to be talked about," he said. "i doubt if the regiment isn't going to add itself to the general disaster."
-"oh, rot!" was the young officer's forgetful lapse into disrespect. "the regiment will do for the beggars all right. they didn't expect us so soon, i fancy. just listen! i believe i've frightened them away already. there isn't a sound."
-colonel carmichael lifted his head. true enough, no living thing seemed to move. a profound hush hung in the air, broken only by mrs. cary's pitiful meanings.
-"oh, beatrice, beatrice, where are you?"
-geoffries turned his stained face to the colonel's.
-"beatrice! that's miss cary, isn't it? anything happened to her?"
-colonel carmichael shrugged his shoulders with the impatience of a man whose nerves are overstrained by anxiety.
-"i don't know--we've lost her," he said. "we must do something at once. heaven alone knows what has happened."
-no one indeed knew what had happened--not even the lonely man who waited, revolver in hand, for the final encounter on whose issue hung the fortunes of them all.
-only one knew, and that was beatrice herself as she stood before the shattered doorway of the colonel's drawing-room, amidst the debris of wrecked, shot-riddled furniture, face to face with nehal singh.
-once before she had placed herself in his path, trusting to her skill, her daring, above all, her beauty. with laughter in her heart and cold-blooded coquetry she had chosen out the spot before the altar where the sunlight struck burnished gold from her waving hair and lent deeper, softening shades to her eyes. with cruel satisfaction, not unmixed with admiration, she had seen her power successful and the awe-struck wonder and veneration creep into his face. in the silence and peace of the temple she had plunged reckless hands into the woven threads of his life. amidst the shriek of war, face to face with death, she sought to save him. it was another woman who stood opposite the yielding, cracking door, past whose head a half-spent bullet spat its way, burying itself in the wall behind her,--another woman, disheveled, forgetful of her wan beauty, trusting to no power but that which her heart gave her to face the man she had betrayed and ruined. yet both in an instantaneous flash remembered that first meeting. the drawn sword sank, point downward. he stood motionless in the shattered doorway, holding out a hand which commanded, and obtained, a petrified, waiting silence from the armed horde whose faces glared hatred and the lust of slaughter in the narrow space behind. whatever had been his resolution, whatever the detestation and contempt which had filled him, all sank now into an ocean of reborn pain.
-"why are you here?" he asked sternly. "why have you not fled?"
-"we are all here," she answered. "none of us has fled. did you not know that?"
-he looked about him. a flash of scorn rekindled in his somber eyes.
-"you are alone. have they deserted you?"
-"they do not know that i am here. i crept back of my own free will--to speak with you, nehal."
-both hands clasped upon his sword-hilt, erect, a proud figure of misfortune, he stood there and studied her, half-wonderingly, half-contemptuously. the restless forces at his back were forgotten. they were no more to him than the pawns with which his will played life and death. he was their god and their faith. they waited for his word to sweep out of his path the white-faced englishwoman who held him checked in the full course of his victory. but he did not speak to them, but to her, in a low voice in which scorn still trembled.
-"you are here, no doubt, to intercede for those others--or for yourself. you see, i have learned something in these two years. it is useless. no one can stop me now."
-he smiled, and for the first time she saw a sneer disfigure his lips.
-"not even you, miss cary. you have done a great deal with me--enough perhaps to justify your wildest hopes--but you have touched the limits of your powers and of my gullibility. or did you think there were no limits?"
-"i do not recognize you when you talk like that!" she exclaimed.
-"that is surprising, seeing that you have made me what i am," he answered. then he made a quick gesture of apology. "forgive me, that sounded like a reproach or a complaint. i make neither. that is not my purpose."
-"and yet you have the right," she said, drawing a deep breath, "you have every right, nehal. it does not matter what the others did to you. i know that does not count an atom in comparison to my responsibilities. you trusted me as you trusted no one else, and i deceived you. so you have the right to hate me as you hate no one else. and yet--is it not something, does it not mitigate my fault a little, that i deceived myself far, far more than i ever deceived you?" he raised his eyebrows. there was mockery in the movement, and she went on, desperately resolute: "i played at loving you, nehal. i played a comedy with you for my own purposes. and one day it ceased to be a comedy. i did not know it. i did not know what was driving me to tell the truth, and reveal myself to you in the ugliest light i could. i only knew it was something in me stronger than any other impulse of my life. i know what it is now, and you must know, too. can't you understand? if it had been no more than a comedy, you must have found me out--months ago. but you never found me out. it was i who told you what i had done and who i was--"
-"why did you tell me?" he took an involuntary step toward her. something in his face relaxed beneath the force of an uncontrollable emotion. he was asking a question which had hammered at the gates of his mind day after day and in every waking hour. "why?" he repeated.
-"i have told you--because i had to. i had to speak the truth. i couldn't build up my new life on an old lie. you had to know. i had won your love by a trick. i had to show you the lowest and worst part of myself before the best in me could grow--the best in me, which is yours."
-"you are raving!"
-"i am not raving. you must see i am not. look at me. i am calmer than you, though i face certain death. i knew when i came here that the chances were i should be killed before i even saw you, but i had to risk that. i had to win your trust back somehow, honestly and fairly. i can not live without your trust."
-"beatrice!" the name escaped him almost without his knowledge. he saw tears spring to her eyes.
-"it is true. your love and your trust have become my life. then i was unworthy of both. i tried to make myself worthy. i did what i could. i told you the truth--i threw away the only thing that mattered to me. i could not hold your love any longer by a lie--i loved you too much!"
-for that moment the passionate energy of her words, the sincerity and eloquence of her glance, swept back every thought of suspicion. he stood stupefied, almost overwhelmed. mechanically his lips formed themselves to a few broken sentences.
-"you can not know what you are saying. you are beside yourself. once, in my ignorance, i believed it possible, but now i know that it could never be. your race despises mine--"
-"i do not care what you are nor to whom you belong!" she broke in, exulting. "you are the man who taught me to believe that there is something in this world that is good, that is worthy of veneration; who awoke in me what little good i have. i love you. if i could win you back--"
-"i would follow you to the world's end!"
-"as my wife?"
-"as your wife!"
-he held out his arms toward her, impulse rising like the sun high and splendid above the mists of distrust. it was an instant's forgetfulness, which passed as rapidly as it had come. his arms sank heavily to his side.
-"have you thought what that means? if you go with me, you must leave your people for ever."
-"i would follow you gladly."
-he shook his head.
-"you do not understand. you must leave them now--now when i go against them."
-"no!" she broke in roughly. "you can't, nehal, you can't. you have the right to be bitter and angry; you have not the right to commit a crime. and it would be a crime. you are plunging thousands into bloodshed and ruin--" he lifted his hand, and the expression in his eyes checked her.
-"so it is, after all, a bargain that you offer me!" he said. "you are trying to save them. you offer a high price, but i am not a merchant. i can not buy you, beatrice."
-"it is not a bargain!" for the first time she faltered, taken aback by the pitiless logic of his words. "can't you see that? can't you see that, however much i loved you, i could not act otherwise than implore you to turn back from a step that means destruction for those bound to me by blood and country? could i do less?"
-"no," he said slowly.
-she held out her hands to him.
-"oh, nehal, turn back while there is yet time! for my sake, for yours, for us all, turn back from a bloody, cruel revenge. the power is yours. be generous. if we have wronged you, we have suffered and are ready to atone. i am ready to atone. i can atone, because i love you. i have spoken the truth to you. i have laid my soul bare to you as i have done to no other being. won't you trust me?"
-his eyes met hers with a somber, hopeless significance which cut her to the heart.
-"i can't," he said. "i can't. that is what you have taught me--to distrust you--and every one."
-she stood silent now, paralyzed by the finality of his words and gesture. it was as though the shadow of her heartless folly had risen before her and become an iron wall of unrelenting, measured retribution against which she beat herself in vain. he lifted his head higher, seeming to gather together his shaken powers of self-control.
-"i can not trust you," he said again, "nor can i turn back. but there is one thing from the past which can not be changed. i love you. it seems that must remain through all my life. and because of that love i must save you from the death that awaits your countrymen." he smiled in faint self-contempt. "it is not for your sake that i shall save you; it is because i am too great a coward, and can not face the thought that anything so horrible should come near you." he turned to two native soldiers behind him and gave an order. when he faced beatrice again he saw that she held a revolver in her hand.
-"you do not understand," she said. "you say you mean to save me, but that is not in your power. it is in your power to save us all, but not one alone. i know what my people have resolved to do. there are weak, frightened women among them, but not one of them will fall into your hands alive. whatever happens, i shall share their fate."
-though her tone was quiet and free from all bravado, he knew that she was not boasting. he knew, too, that she was desperate.
-"you can not force me to kill you," he said sternly.
-"i think it possible," she answered. she was breathing quickly, and her eyes were bright with a reckless, feverish excitement. but the hand that held the revolver pointed at the men behind him was steady--steadier than his own.
-nehal singh motioned back the two natives who had advanced at his order.
-"you play a dangerous game," he said, "and, as before, your strength lies in my weakness--in my folly. but this time you can not win. my word is given--to my people."
-"i shall not plead with you," she returned steadily, "and you may be sure i shall not waver. i am not afraid to die. i had hoped to atone for all the wrong that has been done you with my love for you, nehal. i had hoped that then you would turn away from this madness and become once more our friend. to this end i have not hesitated to trample on my dignity and pride. i have not spared myself. but you will not listen, you are determined to go on, and i"--she caught her breath sharply--"surely you can understand? i love you, and you have made yourself the enemy of my country. death is the easiest, the kindest solution to it all."
-nehal singh's brows knitted themselves in the anguish of a man who finds himself thwarted by his own nature. he tried not to believe her, and indeed, in all her words, though they had rung like music, his ear, tuned to suspicion, had heard the mocking undercurrent of laughter. she had laughed at him secretly through all those months when he had offered up to her the incense of an absolute faith, an unshared devotion. even now she might be laughing at him, playing on that in him which nothing could destroy or conceal--his love for her. and yet--! behind him he heard the uneasy stir of impatient feet, the hushed clash of arms. he stood between her and a certain, terrible death. one word from him, and it would be over--his path clear. but he could not speak that word. treacherous and cruel as she had been, the halo of her first glory still hung about her. he saw her as he had first seen her--the golden image of pure womanhood--and, strange, unreasoning contradiction of the human heart, beneath the ashes of his old faith a new fire had kindled and with every moment burned more brightly. unquenchable trust fought out a death struggle with distrust, and in that conflict her words recurred to him with poignant significance: "death is the easiest, the kindest solution to it all." for him also there seemed no other escape. he pointed to the revolver.
-"for whom is that?" he asked.
-"i do not know--but i will make them kill me."
-"why do you not shoot me, then?" he demanded, between despair and bitterness. "that would save you all. if i fell, they would turn and fly. they think i am vishnu. haven't you thought of that? i am in your power. why don't you make yourself the benefactress of your country? why don't you shoot her enemy?"
-she made no answer, but her eyes met his steadily and calmly. he turned away, groaning. in vain he fought against it, in vain stung himself to action by the memory of all that she had done to him. his love remained triumphant. in that supreme moment his faith burst through the darkness, and again he believed in her, believed in her against reason, against the world, against the ineffaceable past, and against himself. and it was too late. he no longer stood alone. his word was given.
-"have pity on me!" he said, once more facing her. "let me save you!"
-"i should despise myself, and you would despise me--even more than you do now. i can not do less than share the fate of those whose lives my folly has jeopardized."
-"at least go back to them--do not stay here. beatrice, for god's sake!--i can not turn back. you have made me suffer enough--." he stood before her now as an incoherent pleader, and her heart burned with an exultation in which the thought of life and death played no part. she knew that he still loved her. it seemed for the moment all that mattered.
-"i can not," she said.
-"beatrice, do not deceive yourself. though my life is nothing to me--though i would give it a dozen times to save you--i can not do otherwise than go on. i may be weak, but i shall be stronger than my weakness. my word is given!"
-he spoke with the tempestuous energy of despair. the minutes were passing with terrible swiftness, and any moment the sea behind him might burst its dam and sweep her and him to destruction. already in the distance he heard the dull clamour of voices raised in angry remonstrance at the delay. only those immediately about him were held in awed silence by the power of his personality. again beatrice shook her head. she stood in the doorway which opened out into the garden where the besieged had taken refuge. there was no other way. he advanced toward her. instantly she raised her revolver and pointed it at the first man behind him.
-"if i fire," she said, "not even you will be able to hold them back."
-it seemed to her that she stood like a frail wall between two overwhelming forces--on the one side, nehal with his thousands; on the other, nicholson--alone, truly, but armed with a set and pitiless resolve. a single sentence, which had fallen upon her ears months before, rose now out of an ocean of half-forgotten memories: "nicholson is the best shot in india," some one had said: "he never misses." and still nehal advanced. his jaws were locked, his eyes had a red fire in them. she knew then that the hour of hesitation was over, and that in that desperate struggle she had indeed lost. uncontrollable words of warning rushed to her lips.
-"nehal--turn back! turn back!"
-he did not understand her. he thought she was still pleading with him.
-"i can not--god have pity on us both!"
-then she too set her lips. she could not betray the last hope of that heroic handful of men and women behind her. he must go to his death--and she to hers. she fired,--whether with success or not, she never knew. in that same instant another sound broke upon their ears--the sound of distant firing, the rattle of drums and the high clear call of a trumpet. nehal singh swung around. she caught a glimpse of his face through the smoke, and she saw something written there which she could not understand. she only knew that his features seemed to bear a new familiarity, as though a mask had been torn from them, revealing the face of another man, of a man whom she had seen before, when and where she could not tell. she had no time to analyze her emotions nor the sense of violent shock which passed over her. she heard nehal singh giving sharp, rapid orders in hindustani. the room emptied. she saw him follow the retreating natives. at the door he turned and looked back at her. at no time had his love for her revealed itself more clearly than in that last glance.
-"the english regiment has come to help you," he said. "fate has intervened between us this time. may we never meet again!"
-he passed out through the shattered doorway, but she stood where he had left her, motionless, almost unconscious. it was thus nicholson and the colonel found her when, a moment later, they entered the room by the verandah. colonel carmichael's passionate reproaches died away as he saw her face.
-"you must not stop here," he said. "you have frightened us all terribly. the regiment has come and is attacking. there will be some desperate fighting. we must all stick together."
-she caught nicholson's eyes resting on her. she thought she read pity and sympathy in their steady depths, and wondered if he guessed what she had tried to do. but he said nothing, and she followed the two men blindly and indifferently back to the bungalow.
-they had no light. they talked in whispers, and now and again, when the darkness grew too oppressive, they stretched out groping hands and touched each other. they did this without explanation. though none complained or spoke of fear, each needed the consolation of the other's company, and a touch was worth more than words. mrs. cary alone needed nothing. she lay on the rough truckle-bed and slept. thus she had been for a week--a whole week of nerve-wrecking struggle against odds which marked hope as vain. bullets had beaten like rain upon the walls about her, the moaning of wounded men on the other side of the hastily constructed partition mingled unceasingly with the cries of the ever-nearing enemy. and she had lain there quiet and indifferent. martins, the regiment's doctor, had looked in once at her and had shaken his head. "in all probability she will never wake," he had said. "perhaps it is the kindest thing that could happen to her." and then he had gone his way to those who needed him more.
-mrs. berry knelt by the bedside. her hands were folded. she had been praying, but exhaustion had overcome her, and her quiet, peaceful breathing contrasted strangely with the other sounds that filled the bungalow. mrs. carmichael and beatrice sat huddled close together, listening. they could do nothing--not even help the wounded men who lay so close to them. everything was in pitch darkness, and no lights were allowed. they could not go out and help in the stern, relentless struggle that was going on about them. they bore the woman's harder lot of waiting, inactive, powerless, fighting the harder battle against uncertainty and all the horrors of the imagination.
-"i am sorry the regiment has come," mrs. carmichael whispered. "there is no doubt they will be massacred with the rest of us. what are a few hundreds against thousands? it is a pity. they are such fine fellows."
-her rough, tired voice had a ring of unconquerable pride in it. she was thinking of the gallant charge her husband's men had made only two weeks before; how they had broken through the wall of the enemy, and, cheering, had rushed to meet the besieged garrison. that had been a moment of rejoicing, transitory and deceptive. then the wall closed in about them again, and they knew that they were trapped.
-"perhaps we can hold out till help comes," beatrice said.
-she tried not to be indifferent. for the sake of her companions she would gladly have felt some desire for life, but in truth it had no value for her. she could think of nothing but the evil she had done and of the atonement that had been denied her. it was to no purpose that she worked unceasingly for the wounded. the sense of responsibility never left her. each moan, each death-sigh brought the same meaning to her ear: "you have helped to do this--this is your work."
-"no help will come," mrs. carmichael said, shaking her head at the darkness. "when a whole province rises as this has done, it takes months to organize a sufficient force, and we shan't last out many days. i wonder what people in england are saying. how well i can see them over their breakfast cups! oh, dear, i mustn't think of breakfast cups, or i shall lose my nerve." she laughed under her breath, and there was a long silence.
-presently the door of the bungalow opened, letting in a stream of moonlight. it was closed instantly, and soft footfalls came over the boarded floor.
-"who is it?" mrs. carmichael whispered.
-"i--lois," was the answer. the new-comer crept down by beatrice's side and leaned her head against the warm shoulder. "i am so tired," she said faintly. "i have been with archibald. he has been moaning so. mr. berry says he is afraid mortification has set in. it is terrible."
-"poor little woman!" beatrice put her arm about the slender figure and drew her closer. "lay your head on my lap and sleep a little. you can do no good just now."
-"thank you. i will, if you don't mind. you will wake me if anything happens, won't you?"
-"yes, i promise." it gave beatrice a sense of comfort to have lois near her. very gently she passed her hand over the aching forehead, and presently lois fell into a sleep of absolute exhaustion.
-by mutual consent, mrs. carmichael and beatrice ceased to talk, but when suddenly there was a movement close to them, and a dim light flashed over the partition, they exchanged a glance of meaning.
-"that is my husband," mrs. carmichael whispered. "something is going to happen. listen!"
-she was not wrong in her supposition. the colonel had entered the next room, followed by nicholson and saunders, and had closed the door carefully after him. all three men carried lanterns. they glanced instinctively at the wooden partition which divided them from the four women, but carmichael shook his head.
-he came back to the table, where the others waited, and drew out a paper from his pocket.
-"give me your light a moment, nicholson," he said.
-"geoffries has just given me this," carmichael said. "it is a list of our provisions. we have enough food, but there is no fresh water. the enemy has cut off the supply. we could not expect them to do otherwise." he waited, and then, as neither spoke, he went on: "i have spoken with the others. you know, gentlemen, we can not go on another twenty-four hours without water. we have made a good fight for it, but this is the end. we must look the fact in the face."
-"surely they must know at headquarters what a state we are in--" saunders began.
-the colonel shrugged his shoulders.
-"when do you propose to make the start, colonel?" nicholson asked.
-"within an hour. the night favors us. the women must be kept in the center as much as possible. i have given geoffries special charge over them. they will be told at the last moment. there is no use in spoiling what little rest they have had." he drew out a pencil and began to scribble a despatch on the back of an old letter. "i advise you gentlemen to do likewise," he said. "very often a piece of paper gets through where a man can not, and it is our bounden duty to supply the morning periodicals with as much news as possible."
-for some minutes there was no sound save that of the pencils scrawling the last messages of men with the seal of death already stamped upon their foreheads. all three had forgotten travers, and yet from the moment they had begun to speak he had been awake and listening. he sat up now, leaning upon his elbow.
-"nicholson!" he said faintly.
-nicholson turned and came to his side.
-"hullo!" he said. "awake, are you? how are you?"
-travers made no immediate answer; he took nicholson's hand in a feverish clasp and drew him nearer.
-"i am in great pain," he said. "you don't need to pretend. i know. the fear of death has been on me all day. just now i am not afraid. is there no hope?"
-"you mean--for us? none."
-"i heard you talking, but i wanted to make sure. it has all been my fault--every bit of it. it's decent of you not to make me feel it more. you are not to blame--her. you know i tempted her, i made her help me. she isn't responsible. at any rate, she made a clean breast of it--that's something to her credit. i didn't want to--i never meant to. i am not the sort that repents. but this last week you have been so decent, and lois such a plucky little soul--she ought to hate me--and perhaps she does--but she has done her best. nicholson, are you listening? can you hear what i say? it's so damned hard for me to talk."
-"i can hear," nicholson said kindly. "don't worry about what can't be helped." in spite of everything, he pitied the man, and his tone showed it.
-travers lifted himself higher, clinging to the other's shoulder. his voice began to come in rough, uneven jerks.
-"but it can be helped--it must be helped! don't you see--i came between you and lois purposely. from the first moment you spoke of her i knew that you loved her--and i wanted her. i never gave your message. i didn't dare. you are the sort of man a woman cares for--a woman like lois. i couldn't risk it. but now--well, i'm done, and afterward she will be free--"
-nicholson drew back stiffly.
-"you are talking nonsense," he said, in a colder tone. "no one wants you to die--and in any case, you know very well we have no chance of getting through this alive."
-travers seized his arm. his eyes shone with a painful excitement.
-"yes--yes!" he stammered. "you have a chance--a sure hope. i can save you; i can--atone. that's what i want. only you must help me. i am a dying man. i want you to bring me to the rajah--at once. only five minutes with him--that will be enough. then he will let you go--he must!"
-nicholson freed himself resolutely from the clinging hands.
-"you exaggerate your power," he said, "and, besides, what you ask is an impossibility."
-he turned away, but travers caught his arm and held him with a frantic, desperate strength.
-"then if you will not help me--send miss cary to me," he pleaded. "i must speak to her."
-nicholson looked down into the dying face with a new interest. he had no suspicion of the burden with which travers' soul was laden, and yet he was conscious now that the matter was urgent and of an importance which he could not estimate.
-"i will tell her," he said. "stay quiet a minute. we have no time to lose."
-travers nodded and fell back on to his rough couch. his eyes closed and he seemed to sleep, but as beatrice knelt down by his side he roused himself and looked at her with the intensity of a man who has gathered his last strength for a last great purpose.
-"i am dying," he whispered thickly; "i know it and i don't care. i am past caring. but before i die i want to atone; i want, if i can, to save lois. i care for her in my poor way, and i would like her to be happy. are you listening?"
-"i am listening," beatrice answered gravely. "do you think i could close my ears when you speak of atonement?"
-he clutched her hand.
-"you would be glad to atone for all the mischief we have done?"
-"i would give my life."
-"is the colonel there? i can't see clearly. colonel, i want you to hear what i have to say."
-colonel carmichael turned.
-"this is no time," he said sternly, "and it is too late for atonement. our account with this world is closed."
-"it need not be. colonel--in the name of those whose lives lie in your hands, i beg of you to listen to me."
-there was a moment's hesitating silence. travers' glazed eyes were fixed on the elder man's face with a hypnotizing power. the colonel drew nearer--reluctantly knelt down.
-"be quick then!" he said.
-travers nodded. his head was thrown back against beatrice's shoulder. with fumbling, trembling fingers he drew a plain gold ring from his pocket and thrust it into the colonel's hand.
-"look at that!" he whispered. "look at the inscription."
-carmichael turned to the feeble light. no one spoke or moved. they watched him and waited with a reasonless, breathless suspense.
-"my god!" he whispered, "how did you come by this?"
-travers drew himself upright. the shadows of death were banished in that last moment; his voice was clear and steady as he answered.
-"listen," he said. "i will tell you--and then act before it is too late!"
-in the hour of need
-nehal singh pulled aside the curtains over the window and stepped out on to the balcony. the air in the great silent room behind him stifled him, and even the night breeze, as it touched his cheeks, seemed to burn with fever. he stood there motionless, his arms folded, gazing fixedly into the half-darkness. a pale, watery moonlight cast an unearthly shimmer over the shadowy world before him, brightened every here and there by the will-o'-the-wisp fire points which marked the presence of the camped thousands waiting silently for his word. only one spot--it seemed like a black stain--remained in absolute gloom, and it was thither the rajah's eyes were turned. every night he had come to the same place to watch it. every night he had tortured himself with the thought of all it contained.
-for he knew now, with the clear certainty of a man who has searched down to the bottom of his soul, that in that silent area his whole life, his one hope of happiness was bound up, and waited, with those who were fighting stubbornly, heroically, against the end--its destruction beneath his own sword. he was fighting against himself. with his own hands he was tearing down that which seemed an inseparable, incorporate part of himself. anger and contempt were dead. in their place the old love had rekindled and grown brighter before the sight of a courage, dignified and silent, which had held back the tide of furious fanaticism and thwarted his own despair. he had seen, with eyes which burned with an indescribable emotion, a regiment of wearied, weakened men, led by a man he had once despised, burst through the densest squares of his own soldiers; he had heard their cheers as they had clasped hands with the defenders; he had looked aghast into his own heart, afire with admiration, aching with a strange, broken-hearted gratitude to god who had made such men. it was in vain that, lashing himself with the knowledge of his own weakness and of his disloyalty to those who followed him, he had flung himself against the defenses of the little garrison.
-day after day they drove him back, fighting hand to hand in the earthworks they had thrown up in a few hours of miraculous labor. he fought against them like a man possessed of an unquenchable hatred; but at night, when he was at last alone, he had slipped out on to his balcony and held out his hands toward them in an unspeakable wordless greeting. once more they had become for him the world's great people, the giants of his boyhood's imagination, the heroes of his man's ideal. at the point of the sword they had proved the truth of nicholson's proud boast, and hour by hour the man who had turned from them in a moment of bitter disillusion saw the temple he had once built to their honor rise from its ashes in new and greater splendor.
-thus two weeks had passed, and to-night was to see the end. nehal knew that, brave though they were, they could do no more. they had no water, and his forces hugged them in on every side. one last attack and it would be over--marut would be cleared from the enemy, his victory complete. his victory! it was his own ruin he was preparing, the certain destruction of that which seemed linked invisibly but surely to his own fate. and, knowing that, he knew also that there was no turning back for him, no retreat. his word was given. his people, the people who claimed him by the right of blood, clamored for him to lead them as he had sworn. it made no difference if on the path he had chosen he trampled on every hope, every wish, every rooted instinct. there was no turning back. he knew it--the knowledge that his own words bound him came to him with pitiless finality as he stood there watching the silent, lightless stretch which was soon to be the scene of a last tragic struggle; and if indeed there are such things as tears of blood, they rose to his eyes now.
-with lips compressed in an agony he could neither analyze nor conquer, he turned slowly back into the dimly lighted room. two torches burned on either side of the throne and threw unsteady shadows among the glittering pillars. they lit up his face and revealed it as that of a man who has cast his youth behind him for ever. only a few months had passed since he had sat there with travers in the full noon of his hope and enthusiasm. he remembered the scene with a clearness which was a fresh torture. the hopes that had been built up in that hour lay shattered, the woman for whom they had been built was lost. he thought of her now as he always thought of her, as he knew he would think of her to the end. for this love, save that it had grown and deepened into a wider understanding, had remained unchanged. as there had been cowards and tricksters among his heroes, so in that one woman evil and good had stood side by side and fought out their battle. and the good had won--had won because he alone of all men had believed in it. he believed in it still--in the same measure as he had learned to love her--with a deeper understanding of temptation and failure. it was the one triumph in the midst of seeming ruin, the one firm rock in the raging torrent of his fate, beaten as it was between the contending streams of desire and duty. she was indeed lost to him, but not as in the first hour of his shaken trust. he had regained his memory of her as a good woman, striving upward and onward; and already he had invested her with the glory of those whom death has already claimed from us.
-nehal singh started from his painful reverie, conscious that some one had entered the room and was watching him. he turned and saw his chief captain standing respectfully before him, and, though it was a man he liked and trusted, it seemed to him that the gaunt, soldierly figure had taken on the form of an ugly, threatening destiny.
-"all is ready, great prince," the native said, salaaming. "every man is at his post. we do but await thy orders."
-nehal did not answer. his hands clasped and unclasped themselves in the last agony of hesitation. the moment had come, the inevitable and irretrievable moment which had loomed so long upon his horizon. even now he hardly knew what it was to bring him. the forces warring in his blood were locked in a death struggle. at last he nodded and his lips moved.
-"it is well. in half an hour--i will come to them. in half an hour--the attack will begin."
-"sahib--is it good to wait? the dawn cometh, and with the dawn--"
-nehal singh lifted his hand peremptorily.
-"in half an hour," he repeated.
-the man salaamed and was gone. nehal singh stood there like a pillar of stone. it was over. in half an hour! and yet, at the bottom of his heart, he knew that he had delayed--purposely, but to no end but his own increased suffering. with a sigh of impatience he turned, and in the same instant became once more aware that he was not alone.
-for a moment he perceived nothing save the shadows and the unsteady flickering of the yellow torchlight. then his vision cleared and he saw and understood, and an exclamation burst from his horrified lips. it was a woman who stood out against the darkness, her body clothed in rags, the hair, grey and thin, hanging unkempt about her shoulders, the face turned to his that of some being risen from a tomb. there seemed to be no flesh upon the high cheek-bones nor upon the hands that were stretched toward him; only the eyes were alive with an unquenchable fire which burned upon him with a power that was unearthly. she staggered a few steps and then sank slowly to his feet, her hands still outstretched. he knelt down and supported the sinking head upon his shoulder.
-"who art thou?" he whispered in hindustani. "where hast thou come from? tell me thy history."
-a look of intense pain passed over her features. slowly and with a great effort her lips parted.
-"i am english--let me speak in english. i have only a few minutes--i am dying."
-he looked about him, seeking something with which to moisten her dry lips, but she clung to him with an incredible strength.
-"no, no, i must speak with you. up to now i have lived in an awful nightmare--amidst ghastly phantoms who pursued and tortured me. but when i heard your voice--when i heard you give that order, i awoke. the dreams vanished, i heard and understood--and remembered!" she drew herself upright and, for a moment spoke with a penetrating clearness. "not in half an hour--never! withdraw that order! if you go against them you are accursed. lay down your arms! you must--you know you must! you dare not--" she clung to his arm and her eyes seemed to burn their way into his very soul. "i tell you--to turn traitor is to inherit an endless hell--"
-"a traitor!" he echoed. something clutched at his heart, a sort of numb suspense which became electrified as he saw a new expression flash into her face.
-"yes, a traitor!" she whispered. "that was what i was. i was english--yes, english in spite of all, but in my bitterness i turned from my people. i let myself be taken alive. i would not share the fate of those who had once been dear to me. my whole life has been the punishment. they tortured me and then came the dreams--the awful, hideous dreams. i was always looking for you, always calling for you. and they laughed and mocked at me. only one man did not laugh--" her voice grew doubtful and hesitating, as though she were groping in the shadows of her memory. "he did not laugh. he promised to help me but he never came again--and i died--yes, i died--but i saw your face, i heard your voice--and i came back from death--to save you!" once more her vision cleared and her voice grew steadier. "go back to them! they are your friends. if you do not go, you will break your heart--as mine is broken. swear to me--you must, because--"
-he bent closer to her to catch every sound that fell from her lips. his pulses were beating with a suffocating violence. somewhere a veil was lifting. it was as if the sunlight were at last breaking through a mist of strange dreams, strange longings, strange forebodings. the confused voices that had called to him throughout his life grew clearer.
-"because--?" he whispered.
-but she did not answer. her head was thrown back. her open eyes were fixed intently on his face. suddenly she smiled. it was a smile that chilled his blood with its hideous distortion. and yet behind it lurked the possibility of a long-lost beauty and sweetness.
-"steven!" she whispered. "steven!"
-closer and closer she drew his face to hers. her icy lips rested on his cheek. pity and a strange, as yet unformed, foreboding made him accept that dying caress and speak to her with an urgent, pleading gentleness.
-"you have something to tell me," he murmured, "something i must know. tell me before it is too late."
-but her eyes had closed and she did not answer him.
-"rouse yourself!" he insisted. "rouse yourself!" it seemed to him that she smiled. her face had undergone a change. it was younger, and in the flickering light his imagination brightened it with the glories whose dim traces still touched the haggard, emaciated features. one last time her eyes opened and she looked at him. the frenzy of despair was gone. he felt that she was looking beyond him to a future he could not see.
-"go back!" she whispered. "go back!"
-he pressed her to him, seeking to pour something of his own seething vitality into her dying frame. with her life the threads of his fate seemed to be slipping through his fingers.
-"help me!" he implored. "do not leave me!"
-but he knew that she would never answer. she lay heavy in his arms, and the hand that clasped his relaxed and fell with a soft thud upon the marble. he rose to his feet and stood looking down upon her. it was not the first time he had seen death. in these last weeks he had met it in all its most hideous, most revolting forms; but none had moved him, awed him as this did. he knew that she had once been beautiful. who had made her suffer till only a shadow of that beauty remained? what had she endured? who was she? what did she know of him? why did she call him by a name which rang in his ears with a vague familiarity? what was it in her poor dead face which stirred in him a memory which had no date nor place in his life?
-outside he heard the uneasy stirring of the thousands who awaited him. he looked up and through the open windows, saw the camp-fires and that one dark spot which was to be swept clear of all but death. what had she said? "go back! lay down your arms! you must--you know you must! to turn traitor is to inherit an endless hell!" a traitor? a traitor to whom--to what? to some blind instinct that had called him in those english voices, that had beaten out an answering cry of thankfulness from his heart when their cheers proclaimed his own defeat?
-a soft step roused him from his troubled thoughts. he looked up and saw a servant standing in the curtained doorway. the man's eyes were fixed on the outstretched figure at nehal's feet, and there was an expression on the dark face so full of fear and horror that the rajah involuntarily drew back.
-"who was this woman?" he demanded. "whence comes she?"
-"lord sahib, she was a mad-woman whom the lord behar singh kept out of mercy. she must have escaped her prison. more i know not."
-the man was trembling as though in the shadows there lurked a hidden threatening danger, and nehal turned aside with a gesture of desperate impatience.
-"why hast thou come before the time?" he asked.
-"lord sahib, outside there are two english prisoners. they demand to be brought before thee. what is thy will?"
-"bring them hither."
-nehal singh stood where the bowing servant left him, at the side of the poor dead woman, his hands crossed upon his sword-hilt, his eyes fixed on the parted curtains. there he waited, motionless, passive, as a man waits who knows that he has become the tool of destiny.
-a moment later, beatrice stood before him.
-his own people
-she was not alone, but in that first moment he saw nothing but her face. it seemed to him that the whole world was blotted out and that only she remained, grave, fearless, supreme in her wan beauty, a tragic figure glorified by a light of unconquerable resolution. he looked at her but he did not greet her; no muscle of his set and ashy features betrayed the thrill of passionate recognition which had passed like a line of fire through his veins. to move was to awake from a dream to a hideous, terrible reality.
-she came slowly toward him. the thin wrap about her head slipped back and he saw the light flash on to the fair disheveled hair. his eyes were dazzled, but it seemed to him that there were grey threads where once had been untarnished gold. yet he could not and would not speak, and she came on till she stood opposite him, the dead woman lying there between them. then for the first time she lowered her eyes and he awoke with a start of agonizing pain.
-"why have you come?" he said. "have you come to plead again? have you come to torture me again? was not that once enough? in a few minutes i shall sweep your people to destruction. shall i save you?--is that what you have come to tell me?"
-he waited for her answer, his teeth clenched, his brows knitted in the old terrible struggle. all his energy, all his determination sank paralyzed before her and before his love, and yet he knew he must go on--go on with the destruction of himself, of her, of all that was dearest to him.
-she knelt down and touched the dead face with her white hand, closing the glazed, staring eyes with a curious tenderness and pity. there was no surprise or horror in her expression as she at last rose and faced him--rather a mysterious knowledge which held him bound in wordless expectation.
-"i have come to tell you that woman's history, steven caruthers," she said. "i have not come to plead with you but to tell you the truth--to lay before you the two paths between which you must choose once and for all. will you listen to me?"
-"beatrice!" he stammered. "why have you given me a name which is not mine--which she gave me with her last breath? what do you know that you have risked your life--"
-"it was no risk," she said. "my life was forfeited and it was our last hope. oh, if i can turn you from all this ruin, then i shall have atoned for the evil i have done you!"
-the note of mingled entreaty, despair and hope stirred him to the depths of his being, but he made no response. he could only point to the white face and repeat the question which had beaten in pitiless reiteration against his tortured brain.
-"who was she?"
-"she was your mother."
-it was not beatrice who this time answered. a figure stepped forward out of the shadows and faced the rajah. it was carmichael, pale, deeply moved, but erect and steadfast. his eyes were fixed on nehal's features with a curious, hungry eagerness which changed as he spoke into a growing recognition.
-"let me tell you," he said. "i will be brief, for every minute is precious and full of danger for us all. this poor woman was margaret caruthers, the wife of my dearest friend, and your mother. until an hour ago i believed that she had been butchered with her husband and with all those others who paid the penalty of one man's sin. no doubt you know why your supposed father, behar singh, rose against us?"
-"his honor--his wife had been stolen from him by a treacherous englishman," nehal answered hoarsely.
-"yes, by stafford, john stafford's father. the issue of that act of infidelity was a child, lois, who afterward was adopted by caruthers, partly out of friendship for stafford, partly because he had no children of his own. so much, at least, i surmise. i surmise, too, that that adoption cost him his wife's love and trust. perhaps, ignorant of the child's real parentage, she believed the worst, perhaps there were other causes--be it as it may, in the hour of catastrophe she refused to share the general fate. she chose to throw herself upon the mercy of her mother's people."
-"her mother's people!" nehal echoed blankly.
-"there was native blood in her veins. it was on that account that behar singh spared her. she bitterly learned to regret her change of allegiance. she was kept close prisoner, and six months after the murder of her husband she bore him a son--you--steven caruthers. behar singh, himself without an heir, took the child from her, and from that hour the unfortunate woman became insane. long years she was kept a secret and wretched captive, and then one day she escaped, and in her wanderings met a man--an englishman who was then your friend."
-"travers!" nehal exclaimed.
-"yes, travers. by means of bribes and threats he obtained her whole history, partly from her own lips, partly from her gaolers. but he told no one of his discovery."
-"why not? how dared he keep silence?"
-"it is very simple. he wished to marry my ward, lois caruthers, and he wished to have her money. as i have said, caruthers had adopted her when her mother, the reni ona, returned to her own people, and had made her his heir in the case that he should have no children of his own. had your existence been known lois would have been penniless. travers knew this and kept his secret from every one save stafford."
-"why did he tell stafford?"
-"he had to. stafford and lois loved each other--with a love which was all too natural and explicable in the light of our present knowledge. it was necessary that he should be made aware that marriage between them was impossible--that they were, in fact, the children of the same father."
-"stafford kept silence--"
-"he had promised. and, moreover, he believed it kinder to hide the truth from lois. only at the last he determined to speak at all costs. but it was too late. you know--he was murdered on the steps of travers' house."
-nehal singh nodded. an even deadlier pallor crept over his features.
-"i know," he said. "it was behar singh's last vengeance. god knows, my hands are clean."
-"that i know. you are your father's son."
-"and the proof of all this?"
-"this ring. take it. it was your mother's. travers gave it to me when he made his confession. he took it from the poor mad woman at their first meeting. look at the inscription. it bears your mother's and father's names."
-"and travers--?" the rajah lifted his hand in a stern, threatening gesture.
-"--is dead," was the grave answer. "he died an hour ago, in his wife's arms."
-for a moment a profound hush hung over the great, dimly lighted hall. the rajah knelt down by his mother's side and gently replaced the ring upon the thin lifeless finger.
-"she called herself a traitor," he said, half to himself. "a traitor to whom--to what?"
-he held out his hand and there was a silence of tense expectation. the rajah's head was bowed. he did not seem to see the colonel's movement.
-"you can not think i am pleading with you to save our lives," carmichael went on with grave dignity. "we have fought for them. an hour ago we were prepared to lay them down without complaint. we are not the less prepared now. it is not for us i am speaking, but for you. your day as rajah is over--your claim to rule in india void. i offer you instead your father's name, your father's people, your father's heritage. the other road--well, you have trodden it, you know it. you must choose. your mother chose--twenty-five years ago, in the same hour of crisis, blinded by the same bitterness. she chose to tear the bonds of love and duty; she ignored the true voice of her instinct. it broke her heart. the same crisis stands to-night before you, her son. what will you do--steven caruthers?"
-the rajah lifted his head. the struggle was written in his dark, sunken eyes and on the compressed lips.
-"i can not desert them," he said wearily. "they trust me--my people trust me."
-"who are your people?" was the swift question. "you must choose."
-again the same silence, the same waiting while the hand of fate seemed to hover above them in the darkness. beatrice left her place at the dead woman's side. with a firm, proud step she came to the rajah and took his hand in both her own. he started at her touch, and for a long minute his gaze seemed to sink itself in hers, but she never wavered. when she spoke an immeasurable tenderness rang in her voice, a boundless understanding and sympathy.
-"steven--have you forgotten? long ago in the old temple? don't you remember what you told me then--how you loved and admired us? you called us the world's great people, and when you spoke of our heroes there was something in your voice which thrilled me. was it only your books, was it your teachers--behar singh--who made you feel as you did? when you came among us, what led you? the face of a woman? was it only that? or was it something more?--the call of a great, wonderful instinct?"
-his eyes were riveted on her face, but for that moment he did not see her. he did not see the tears that glistened on her cheeks. he was looking straight through the long vista of the past, right back to the first hours of his memory, when he had wandered alone amidst strange faces, a ruler in a palace which had never ceased to be his prison, an exile whose home lay only in strange, fantastic dreams. and in this final moment he seemed to stand high above the past, and ever swifter and surer to trace through every incident of his life one same guiding power. through the snares of behar singh's hate-filled temptations it had led onward; it had borne him to the temple--to the feet of the woman he was to love through every torture of bitter deception; it had swept him on a wave of impulse beyond his prison walls out into a world which he at last hailed as his; and now, in the hour of fiercest despair, of deepest loss, it was drawing him surely and swiftly homeward. the past vanished. he saw again the face lifted to his--he saw the tears--the colonel's hand outstretched, waiting to clasp his own. he heard the title that she gave him as a man hears a long-forgotten watchword.
-"you are english, steven. you are english--you belong to us!"
-he unfastened the sword at his side. for a moment he held it as though in farewell. but there was no grief on his face as he laid the jeweled weapon in the colonel's hand.
-"i have chosen," he said. "i can not go against my people."
-with the surrender of one man the great marut rising came to an end. it had been built up by him and on him, and with him it collapsed. as the news reached the armed thousands encamped about the ruined station, consternation fell upon them. there was no attempt at organization or resistance. they believed simply that heaven had turned against them and vishnu joined hands with the englishman, and they waited to hear no more. what had seemed an overwhelming force melted away as though it had been a shadow, and in the jungle, slinking along the lightless highways, or huddling in the lonely hovels outside marut, the remnant of behar singh's great army hid from the hand of the destroyer. they had followed their god, and their god had deserted them. all hope was lost, and with the fatalism of their race they flung their weapons from them as they fled.
-pending the decision of the government, nehal singh, now steven caruthers, was held prisoner in the club-house he had built two years before. part of the returned regiment was encamped about the surrounding gardens, in order to prevent all attempt at rescue, but the precaution was a mere formality. visitors came constantly. there was not a man in all the station who was not anxious to help bury the past and to hold out the hand of friendship to one whom at the bottom of their hearts they had once wronged and slighted. among them carmichael and nicholson were the chief. they passed many hours of each day with him, and worked steadily and enthusiastically for his pardon and release. he was touched and grateful, but beneath his gratitude there still lurked the demon of unrest. she had not come--the one being for whom he waited--she had sent no word. he knew that her mother lay dying--above all things he knew that on the great day of the attack she had stood resolutely between him and death--but nothing, no explanation or assurance, calmed the hidden trouble of his mind. after all, it had been pity--or remorse--not love.
-thus three weeks passed. the colonel had spent the day with him discussing the future, arranging for the transference of lois' fortune into his unwilling hands, and now, toward nightfall, he was once more alone, wearied in body and soul. for the first time since his surrender his sense of quiet and release from an immense burden was gone. he was still alone. he felt now that he would always be alone, for there was but one who could fill the blank in his life. and she had not come. he did not and could not blame her. who was he that a woman should join her lot to his? an englishman truly, but one over whose birth and youth there hung a shadow, perhaps a curse such as had darkened his mother's life and the life of all those in whose veins there flows an alien blood. she must not even think that any link from the past bound her. she must be free--quite free to choose. wearily he seated himself at his table and took his pen.
-"you have been the great guiding light of my life," he wrote to her. "you will always be, because i can not learn to forget. but for you it would be easier and better to forget. you will be happier--" and then he heard the door open, and she stood before him. the words that he had meant to write rushed to his lips, but no further. moved by a common impulse, they advanced to meet each other, and the next moment she was in his arms. neither spoke. it seemed as though, once face to face, there could be no doubts, no misunderstandings between them. their love was wordless, but it had spoken in a silence more eloquent, more complete than words could ever have been.
-"i could not come before," she said, after a little. "i could not leave her. she was only at peace when i held her hand. she was very happy at the last--now it is all over."
-he held her closer to him, and she clung to him, not sadly or wearily, but like a strong woman who had fought and won the thing she fought for.
-"it was fate after all," he said, under his breath. "she meant us for each other."
-she looked up at him. though suffering, physical and mental, had drawn its ineffaceable lines upon her face, it had also added to her beauty the charm of strength and experience.
-"i knew long ago that it was fate," she answered. "do you remember that first evening? you told me that people do not drift aimlessly into each other's lives. even then, against my will, i felt that it was true. afterward i was sure. i had entered into your life in a moment of frivolous recklessness, but you had entered into mine with another purpose, and i could not rid myself of you. your hold upon me was strong. it grew stronger, do what i would, and the farce became deadly earnest."
-"for me it was always deadly earnest," he said. "when i first saw you standing before the idol, it was as though a wall which had surrounded my life had been overthrown, and that you had come to be my guide and comrade in a new and unknown world."
-"and then i failed you."
-his eyes met hers thoughtfully.
-"did you? now i look back, i am not sure. i had to believe you when you said you had deceived me and played with me. i had to force myself to despise you. yet, when you confronted me in the bungalow, i felt suddenly that you needed to explain nothing. i understood."
-"did you understand that i had only deceived myself? i told myself that it was a farce played at your expense. but--heaven knows--i believe it ceased to be a farce from the first hour i saw you. you believed in me so. no one had believed in me before--i had never believed in myself or in man, or in god, either. but i had to believe in you, and afterward--the rest came." she drew herself upright and looked him full in the dark eyes. "steven, do you trust me?" he nodded. "as you did on that day when you told me that you owed me all that you were and ever would be?"
-"as then, beatrice."
-she smiled gravely.
-"you do right to trust me. you have made me worthy of your trust."
-he put his arm about her shoulder, and led her gently on to the verandah. the night had fallen dark and starless. through the black veil they saw the gleam of bivouac fires and heard the voices of men calling to one another, and the clatter of piled arms. they remained silent, after the storm and stress of the past, content to be together and at peace. they knew that the long night was over and that the dawn had broken.
-when the colonel entered they did not hear him, and without speaking he turned back and closed the door after him. in his hand he held a telegram ordering the deposition of nehal singh, rajah of marut, and the recognition, pardon and release of one steven caruthers, englishman. but he crept away with the long-hoped-for message.
-"time enough," he thought. "they are happy."
-and if beneath his heartfelt rejoicing there lurked the shadow of bitterness, who shall blame him? there was one dearer to him than his own child could have been, for whose wounded heart there seemed as yet no balsam. and yet, unknown to him, for her also the dawn was breaking. for even as he crept away with knitted brows, sharing her burden with her by the power of love and sympathy, she held in her hands the first herald of a happier future.
-"what you have told me i accept--for now," adam nicholson had written. "you are wise to travel with the carmichaels. it will do you good. i, who was prepared to wait my whole life for you, can have patience for a little longer. i know that you suffer and as yet i may not help you. your pride separates us, but your pride is a little thing compared to my love. what is your birth or parentage to me? you say it would overshadow my whole life, darken my career? it might try. that would be one thing more to fight against. we have come to india to sweep away its prejudices; let us first sweep away our own. we have come to bring freedom; let us first make ourselves free. it will be a good battle, but it will not darken my life, lois. do you think opposition and struggle could darken my life? surely you know me better. do but stand at my side, and there will be no darkness. i am not a boy. i am a man who sees before him long years of labor, and who needs the one woman who can help him. is our cathedral forgotten? i do not believe it. you are not the woman to forget. the time is not far off when we will crown our cathedral hand in hand. only when your love dies can the barrier between us become insurmountable. if your love lives, then, as surely as there is a god in heaven, i will come and fetch you, lois--my wife."
-and the tears that filled her eyes as she read the boldly written words were no longer the tears of grief. her love for him had been the rock upon which her life was built. it was imperishable. she knew thus that she would not have long to wait until his coming.
-and the online distributed proofreading team.
-the diary of a u-boat commander
-with an introduction and explanatory notes by etienne
-18 illustrations on art paper by frank h. mason.
-books by etienne
-strange tales from the fleet
-a naval lieutenant
-"in collaboration with navallus.
-five songs from the grand fleet."
-list of illustrations
-"we rammed a destroyer, passing through her like a knife through cheese"
-"...they are so black and swift i don't go near them"
-"steering north-westerly ... to lay a small minefield off newcastle"
-"he had suddenly seen the bow waves of a destroyer approaching at full speed to ram"
-"we were put down by a trawler at dawn"
-"the torpedo had jumped clean out of the water a hundred yards short of the steamer and had then dived under her"
-"a moment later there was a severe jar; we had struck the bottom"
-"as the dim lights on the mole disappeared, the ceaseless fountain of star-shells, mingling with the flashing of guns, rose inland on our port beam"
-"we hit her aft for the second time...."
-"the track met our ram"
-"in the flash i caught a glimpse of his conning tower"
-"the 1,000 kilogrammes of metal crashed down"
-"good-bye! steer west for america!"
-"it is a snug anchorage, and here i intend to remain"
-"a trapdoor near her bows fell down, the white ensign was broken at the fore, and a 4-inch gun opened fire from the embrasure that was revealed on her side"
-"i sighted two convoys, but there were destroyers there...."
-"... when there was a blinding flash and the air seemed filled with moaning fragments"
-"when i put up my periscope at 9 a.m. the horizon seemed to be ringed with patrols"
-"i would ask you a favour," said the german captain, as we sat in the cabin of a u-boat which had just been added to the long line of bedraggled captives which stretched themselves for a mile or more in harwich harbour, in november, 1918.
-i made no reply; i had just granted him a favour by allowing him to leave the upper deck of the submarine, in order that he might await the motor launch in some sort of privacy; why should he ask for more?
-undeterred by my silence, he continued: "i have a great friend, lieutenant-zu-see von schenk, who brought u.122 over last week; he has lost a diary, quite private, he left it in error; can he have it?"
-i deliberated, felt a certain pity, then remembered the belgian prince and other things, and so, looking the german in the face, i said:
-"i can do nothing."
-i shook my head, then, to my astonishment, the german placed his head in his hands and wept, his massive frame (for he was a very big man) shook in irregular spasms; it was a most extraordinary spectacle.
-it seemed to me absurd that a man who had suffered, without visible emotion, the monstrous humiliation of handing over his command intact, should break down over a trivial incident concerning a diary, and not even his own diary, and yet there was this man crying openly before me.
-it rather impressed me, and i felt a curious shyness at being present, as if i had stumbled accidentally into some private recess of his mind. i closed the cabin door, for i heard the voices of my crew approaching.
-he wept for some time, perhaps ten minutes, and i wished very much to know of what he was thinking, but i couldn't imagine how it would be possible to find out.
-i think that my behaviour in connection with his friend's diary added the last necessary drop of water to the floods of emotion which he had striven, and striven successfully, to hold in check during the agony of handing over the boat, and now the dam had crumbled and broken away.
-it struck me that, down in the brilliantly-lit, stuffy little cabin, the result of the war was epitomized. on the table were some instruments i had forbidden him to remove, but which my first lieutenant had discovered in the engineer officer's bag.
-on the settee lay a cheap, imitation leather suit-case, containing his spare clothes and a few books. at the table sat germany in defeat, weeping, but not the tears of repentance, rather the tears of bitter regret for humiliations undergone and ambitions unrealized.
-we did not speak again, for i heard the launch come alongside, and, as she bumped against the u-boat, the noise echoed through the hull into the cabin, and aroused him from his sorrows. he wiped his eyes, and, with an attempt at his former hardiness, he followed me on deck and boarded the motor launch.
-next day i visited u.122, and these papers are presented to the public, with such additional remarks as seemed desirable; for some curious reason the author seems to have omitted nearly all dates. this may have been due to the fear that the book, if captured, would be of great value to the british intelligence department if the entries were dated. the papers are in the form of two volumes in black leather binding, with a long letter inside the cover of the second volume.
-internal evidence has permitted me to add the dates as regards the years. my thanks are due to k. for assistance in translation.
-the diary of a u-boat commander
-one volume of my war-journal completed, and i must confess it is dull reading.
-i could not help smiling as i read my enthusiastic remarks at the outbreak of war, when we visualized battles by the week. what a contrast between our expectations and the actual facts.
-months of monotony, and i haven't even seen an englishman yet.
-our battle cruisers have had a little amusement with the coast raids at scarborough and elsewhere, but we battle-fleet fellows have seen nothing, and done nothing.
-so i have decided to volunteer for the u-boat service, and my name went in last week, though i am told it may be months before i am taken, as there are about 250 lieutenants already on the waiting list.
-but sooner or later i suppose something will come of it.
-i shall have no cause to complain of inactivity in that service, if i get there.
-i am off to-night for a six-days trip, two days of which are to be spent in the train, to the verdun sector.
-it has been a great piece of luck. the trip had been arranged by the military and naval inter-communication department; and two officers from this squadron were to go.
-there were 130 candidates, so we drew lots; as usual i was lucky and drew one of the two chances.
-it should be intensely interesting.
-i arrived here last night after a slow and tiresome journey, which was somewhat alleviated by an excellent bottle of french wine which i purchased whilst in the champagne district.
-long before we reached the vicinity of verdun it was obvious to the most casual observer that we were heading for a centre of unusual activity.
-hospital trains travelling north-east and east were numerous, and twice our train, which was one of the ordinary military trains, was shunted on to a siding to allow troop trains to rumble past.
-the country here is very different from the mud flats of flanders, as it is hilly and well wooded. the meuse, in the course of centuries, has cut its way through the rampart of hills which surround verdun, and we are attacking the place from three directions. on the north we are slowly forcing the french back on either river bank--a very costly proceeding, as each wing must advance an equal amount, or the one that advances is enfiladed from across the river.
-we are also slowly creeping forward from the east and north-east in the direction of douaumont.
-i am attached to a 105-cm. battery, a young major von markel in command, a most charming fellow. i spent all to-day in the advanced observing position with a young subaltern called grabel, also a nice young fellow. i was in position at 6 a.m., and, as apparently is common here, mist hides everything from view until the sun attains a certain strength. our battery was supporting the attack on the north side of the river, though the battery itself was on the south side, and firing over a hill called l'homme mort.
-von markel told me that the fighting here has not been previously equalled in the war, such is the intensity of the combat and the price each side is paying.
-i could see for myself that this was so, and the whole atmosphere of the place is pregnant with the supreme importance of this struggle, which may well be the dying convulsions of decadent france.
-his imperial majesty himself has arrived on the scene to witness the final triumph of our arms, and all agree that the end is imminent.
-once we get verdun, it is the general opinion that this portion of the french front will break completely, carrying with it the adjacent sectors, and the french armies in the vosges and argonne will be committed to a general retreat on converging lines.
-but, favourable as this would be to us, it is generally considered here that the fall of verdun will break the moral resistance of the french nation.
-the feeling is, that infinitely more is involved than the capture of a french town, or even the destruction of a french army; it is a question of stamina; it is the climax of the world war, the focal point of the colossal struggle between the latin and the teuton, and on the battlefields of verdun the gods will decide the destinies of nations.
-when i got to the forward observing position, which was situated among the ruins of a house, a most amazing noise made conversation difficult.
-the orchestra was in full blast and something approaching 12,000 pieces of all sizes were in action on our side alone, this being the greatest artillery concentration yet effected during the war.
-we were situated on one side of a valley which ran up at right angles to the river, whose actual course was hidden by mist, which also obscured the bottom of our valley. the front line was down in this little valley, and as i arrived we lifted our barrage on to the far hill-side to cover an attack which we were delivering at dawn.
-nothing could be seen of the conflict down below, but after half an hour we received orders to bring back our barrage again, and grabel informed me that the attack had evidently failed. this afternoon i heard that it was indeed so, and that one division (the 58th), which had tried to work along the river bank and outflank the hill, had been caught by a concentration of six batteries of french 75's, which were situated across the river. the unfortunate 58th, forced back from the river-side, had heroically fought their way up the side of the hill, only to encounter our barrage, which, owing to the mist, we thought was well above and ahead of where they would be.
-under this fresh blow the 58th had retired to their trenches at the bottom of the small valley. as the day warmed up the mist disappeared, and, like a theatre curtain, the lifting of this veil revealed the whole scene in its terrible and yet mechanical splendour.
-i say mechanical, for it all seemed unreal to me. i knew i should not see cavalry charges, guns in the open, and all the old-world panoply of war, but i was not prepared for this barren and shell-torn circle of hills, continually being freshly, and, to an uninformed observer, aimlessly lashed by shell fire.
-not a man in sight, though below us the ground was thickly strewn with corpses. overhead a few aeroplanes circled round amidst balls of white shell bursts.
-during the day the slow-circling aeroplanes (which were artillery observing machines) were galvanized into frightful activity by the sudden appearance of a fighting machine on one side or the other; this happened several times; it reminded me of a pike amongst young trout.
-after lunch i saw a spad shot down in flames, it was like lucifer falling down from high heavens. the whole scene was enframed by a sluggish line of observation balloons.
-sometimes groups of these would hastily sink to earth, to rise again when the menace of the aeroplane had passed. these balloons seemed more like phlegmatic spectators at some athletic contest than actual participants in the events.
-i wish my pen could convey to paper the varied impressions created within my mind in the course of the past day; but it cannot. i have the consolation that, though i think that i have considerable ability as a writer, yet abler pens than mine have abandoned in despair the task of describing a modern battle.
-i can but reiterate that the dominant impression that remains is of the mechanical nature of this business of modern war, and yet such an impression is a false one, for as in the past so to-day, and so in the future, it is the human element which is, has been, and will be the foundation of all things.
-five minutes later the barrage ceased, the smoke drifted away and not a man was to be seen. grabel told me that it had probably cost them 750 casualties. what an amazing and efficient destruction of living organism!
-another most interesting day, though of a different nature.
-to-day was spent witnessing the arrangements for dealing with the wounded. i spent the morning at an advanced dressing station on the south bank of the river. it was in a cellar, beneath the ruins of a house, about 400 yards from the front line and under heavy shell-fire, as close at hand was the remains of what had been a wood, which was being used as a concentration point for reserves.
-the cover afforded by this so-called wood was extremely slight, and the troops were concentrating for the innumerable attacks and counter-attacks which were taking place under shell fire. this caused the surgeon in charge of the cellar to describe the wood as our main supply station!
-i entered the cellar at 8 a.m., taking advantage of a partial lull in the shelling, but a machine-gun bullet viciously flipped into a wooden beam at the entrance as i ducked to go in. i was not sorry to get underground. a sloping path brought me into the cellar, on one side of which sappers were digging away the earth to increase the accommodation.
-the illumination consisted of candles set in bottles and some electric hand lamps. the centre of the cellar was occupied by two portable operating tables, rarely untenanted during the three hours i spent in this hell.
-the atmosphere--for there was no ventilation--stank of sweat, blood, and chloroform.
-by a powerful effort i countered my natural tendency to vomit, and looked around me. the sides of the cellar were lined with figures on stretchers. some lay still and silent, others writhed and groaned. at intervals, one of the attendants would call the doctor's attention to one of the still forms. a hasty examination ensued, and the stretcher and its contents were removed. a few minutes later the stretcher--empty--returned. the surgeon explained to me that there was no room for corpses in the cellar; business, he genially remarked, was too brisk at the present crucial stage of the great battle.
-the first feelings of revulsion having been mastered, i determined to make the most of my opportunities, as i have always felt that the naval officer is at a great disadvantage in war as compared with his military brother, in that he but rarely has a chance of accustoming himself to the unpleasant spectacle of torn flesh and bones.
-this morning there was no lack of material, and many of the intestinal wounds were peculiarly revolting, so that at lunch-time, when another convenient lull in the torrent of shell fire enabled me to leave the cellar, i felt thoroughly hardened; in fact i had assisted in a humble degree at one or two operations.
-i had lunch at the 11th army medical headquarters mess, and it was a sumptuous meal to which i did full justice.
-after lunch, whilst waiting to be motored to a field hospital, i happened to see a battalion of silesian troops about to go up to the front line.
-it was rather curious feeling that one was looking at men, each in himself a unit of civilization, and yet many of whom were about to die in the interests thereof.
-their faces were an interesting study.
-some looked careless and debonair, and seemed to swing past with a touch of recklessness in their stride, others were grave and serious, and seemed almost to plod forward to the dictates of an inevitable fatalism.
-the field hospital, where we met some very charming nurses, on one of whom i think i created a distinct impression, was not particularly interesting. it was clean, well-organized and radiated the efficiency inseparable from the german army.
-back at wilhelmshaven--curse it!
-yesterday morning, when about to start on a tour of the ammunition supply arrangements, i received an urgent wire recalling me at once!
-there was nothing for it but to obey.
-i was lucky enough to get a passage as far as mons in an albatross scout which was taking dispatches to that place.
-from there i managed to bluff a motor car out of the town commandant--a most obliging fellow. this took me to aachen where i got an express.
-the reason for my recall was that witneisser went sick and arnheim being away, this has left only two in the operations ciphering department.
-my arrival has made us three. it is pretty strenuous work and, being of a clerical nature, suits me little. the only consolation is that many of the messages are most interesting. i was looking through the back files the other day and amongst other interesting information i came across the wireless report from the boat that had sunk the lusitania.
-it has always been a mystery to me why we sank her, as i do not believe those things pay.
-arnheim has come back, so i have got out of the ciphering department, to my great delight.
-i have received official information that my application for u-boats has been received. meanwhile all there is to do is to sit at this ---- hole and wait.
-2nd june, 1916.
-i have fought in the greatest sea battle of the ages; it has been a wonderful and terrible experience.
-all the details of the battle will be history, but i feel that i must place on record my personal experiences.
-we have not escaped without marks, and the good old könig brought 67 dead and 125 wounded into port as the price of the victory off skajerack, but of the english there are thousands who slept their last sleep in the wrecked hulls of the battle cruisers which will rust for eternal ages upon the jutland banks.
-sad as our losses are--and the gallant lutzow has sunk in sight of home--i am filled with pride.
-two of the great ships had been sunk by our battle cruisers, and we had hopes of destroying the remainder, when at 6.55 the mist on the northern horizon was pierced by the formidable line of the british battle fleet.
-jellicoe had arrived!
-three battle cruisers became involved between the lines, and in an instant one was blown up, and another crawled west in a sinking condition. sudden and terrible are events in a modern sea-battle.
-confronted with the concentrated force of britain's battle fleet we turned to east, and for twenty minutes our high seas fleet sustained the unequal contest.
-it was during this period that we were hit seventeen times by heavy shell, though, in my position in the after torpedo control tower, i only realized one hit had taken place, which was when a shell plunged into the after turret and, blowing the roof off, killed every member of the turret's crew.
-from my position, when the smoke and dust had blown away, i looked down into a mass of twisted machinery, amongst which i seemed to detect the charred remains of bodies.
-at about 7.40 we turned, under cover of our smoke screen, and steered south-west.
-our position was not satisfactory, as the last information of the enemy reported them as turning to the southward; consequently they were between us and heligoland.
-ten minutes later we underwent the first of five destroyer attacks.
-the british destroyers, searching wide in the night, had located us, and with desperate gallantry pressed home the attack again and again. so close did they come that about 1.30 a.m. we rammed one, passing through her like a knife through a cheese.
-it was a wonderful spectacle to see those sinister craft, rushing madly to their destruction down the bright beam of our powerful searchlights. it was an avenue of death for them, but to the credit of their service it must stand that throughout the long nightmare they did not hesitate.
-the surrounding darkness seemed to vomit forth flotilla after flotilla of these cavalry of the sea.
-and they struck us once, a torpedo right forward, which will keep us in dock for a month, but did no vital injury.
-when morning dawned, misty and soft, as is its way in june in the bight, we were to the eastward of the british, and so we came honourably home to wilhelmshaven, feeling that the young navy had laid worthy foundations for its tradition to grow upon.
-we are to report at kiel, and shall be six weeks upon the job.
-back on seventeen days' leave, and everyone here very anxious to hear details of the battle of skajerack.
-it is very pleasant to have something to talk to the women about. usually the gallant field greys hold the drawing-room floor, with their startling tales from the western front, of how they nearly took verdun, and would have if the british hadn't insisted on being slaughtered on the somme.
-it is quite impossible in many ways to tell that there is a war on as far as social life in this place is concerned.
-there is a shortage of good coffee and that is about all.
-arrived back on board last night.
-they have made a fine job of us, and we go through the canal to the schillig roads early next week.
-we are to do three weeks' gunnery practices from there, to train the new drafts.
-1916 (about august).
-at last! thank heavens, my application has been granted. schmitt (the secretary) told me this morning that a letter has come from the admiralty to say that i am to present myself for medical examination at the board at wilhelmshaven to-morrow.
-what joy! to strike a blow at last, finished for ever the cursed monotony of inactivity of this high seas fleet life. but the u-boat war! ah! that goes well. we shall bring those stubborn, blood-sucking islanders to their knees by striking at them through their bellies.
-when i think of london and no food, and glasgow and no food, then who can say what will happen? revolt! rebellion in england, and our brave field greys on the west will smash them to atoms in the spring of 1917, and i, karl schenk, will have helped directly in this! great thought--but calm! i am not there yet, there is still this confounded medical board. i almost wish i had not drunk so much last night, not that it makes any difference, but still one must run no risks, for i hear that the medical is terribly strict for the u-boat service. only the cream is skimmed! well, to-morrow we shall see.
-passed! and with flying colours; it seemed absurdly easy and only took ten minutes, but then my physique is magnificent, thanks to the physical training i have always done. i am now due to get three weeks' leave, and then to zeebrugge.
-i have wired to the little mother at frankfurt.
-at zeebrugge, or rather bruges.
-i spent three weeks at home, all the family are pleased except mother; she has a woman's dread of danger; it is a pleasing characteristic in peace time, but a cloy on pleasure in days of war. to her, with the narrowness of a female's intellect, i really believe i am of more importance than the fatherland--how absurd. whilst at frankfurt i saw a good deal of rosa; she seems better looking each time i meet her; doubtless she is still developing to full womanhood. moritz was home from flanders. he had ten days' leave from ypres, and, though i have a dislike for him, he certainly was interesting, though why the english cling to those wretched ruins is more than i can understand.
-i felt instinctively that in a sense moritz and i were rivals where rosa was concerned, though i have never considered her in that light--as yet. one day, perhaps? these women are much the same everywhere, and i could see that having entered the u-boat service made a difference with rosa, though her logic should have told her that i was no different. but is that right? after all, it is something to have joined this service; the guards themselves have no better cachet, and it is certainly cheaper.
-here we live in billets and in a commandeered hotel. the life ashore is pleasant enough; the damned belgians are sometimes sulky, but they know who is master. bissing (a splendid chap) sees to that.
-as a matter of fact we have benefited them by our occupation, the shops do a roaring trade at preposterous prices, and shamefully enough the german shopkeepers are most guilty. these pot-bellied merchants don't seem to realize that they exist owing to our exertions.
-i was much struck with the beautiful orderliness of the small gardens which we have laid out since 1914, and, in fact, wherever one looks there is evidence of the genius of the german race for thorough organization. yet these belgians don't seem to appreciate it. i can't understand it.
-i find here that social life is very much gayer than at that mad town of wilhelmshaven. at the high seas fleet bases there was the strictness and austerity that some people seem to consider necessary to show that we are at war, though heaven knows there was precious little war in the high seas fleet; perhaps that was why the "blood and iron" régime was in full order ashore. here, in bruges, at any rate as far as the submarine officers are concerned, the matter is far different. when the boats are in, one seems to do as one likes, with a perfunctory visit to the ship in the course of the day.
-i nearly felled him to the ground; can one never get away from england and things english? i'll see his account waits a bit before i settle it.
-there are several fellows i know here. karl müller, who was 3rd watchkeeper in the yorck, and adolf hilfsbaumer, who was captain of g.176, are the two i know best. they are both doing a few trips as second in commands of the later u.c. boats, which are mine-laying off the english coasts. this is a most dangerous operation, and nearly all the u.c. boats are commanded by reserve officers, of whom there are a good many in the mess.
-excellent fellows, no doubt, but somewhat uncouth and lacking the finer points of breeding; as far as i can see in the short time i have been here they keep themselves to themselves a good deal. i certainly don't wish to mix with them. unfortunately, it appears that i am almost bound to be appointed as second in command of one of the u.c. boats, for at least one trip before i go to the periscope school and train for a command of my own. the idea of being bottled up in an elongated cigar and under the command of one of those nautical plough-boys is repellent. however, the von schenks have never been too proud to obey in order to learn how to command.
-i have been appointed second in command to u.c.47. her captain is one max alten by name. beyond the fact that i saw him drunk one night in the mess i know nothing of him.
-i reported to him and he seems rather in awe of me. his fears are groundless.
-i shall make it as easy as possible for him, for it must be as awkward for him as it is unpleasant for me.
-to celebrate my proper entry into the u-boat service, i gave a dinner party last night in a private room at "le coq d'or." i asked karl and adolf, and told them to bring three girls. my opposite number was a lovely girl called zoe something or other. i wore my "smoking" for the first time; it is certainly a becoming costume.
-we drank a good deal of champagne and had a very pleasant little debauch; the girls got very merry, and i kissed zoe once. she was not very angry. i think she is thoroughly charming, and i have accepted an invitation to take tea at her flat. she is either the wife or the chère amie of a colonel in the brandenburgers, i could not make out which. luckily the gallant "cockchafer" is at the moment on the la bassée sector, where i was interested to observe that heavy fighting has broken out to-day. i must console the fair zoe!
-both karl and adolf got rather drunk, adolf hopelessly so, but i, as usual, was hardly affected. i have a head of iron, provided the liquor is good, and i saw to that point.
-we were sailing, or rather going down the canal to zeebrugge on friday, but the starting resistance of the port main motor burnt out and we were delayed till sunday, as they will fit a new one.
-i must confess the organization for repair work here is admirable, as very little is done by the crews in the u-boats, all work being carried out by the permanent staff, who are quartered at bruges docks. taking advantage of the delay i called on zoe stein, as i find she is named.
-it appears she is not married to colonel stein. she told me he was fat and ugly, and laughed a good deal about him. she showed me his photograph, and certainly he is no beauty. however, he must be a man of means, as he has given her a charming flat, beautifully decorated with water-colours which the colonel salved from the french château in the early days--these army fellows had all the chances.
-i bade an affectionate farewell to zoe, and i trust stein will be still busily engaged at la bassée when i return in a fortnight's time! i am greatly obliged to karl for the introduction, and told him so; he himself is running after a little grass widow whose husband has been missing for some months. i think karl finds it an expensive game; luckily zoe seems well supplied with money--the essential ingredient in a joyous life.
-on friday night we had an air-raid--a frequent event here, but my first experience in this line. unpleasant, but a fine spectacle, considerable damage done near the docks and an unexploded bomb fell in a street near our headquarters.
-we are alongside the mole in one of the new submarine shelters that has been built.
-the boat is under a concrete roof over three feet thick, which would defy the heaviest bomb.
-we have much improved the port since our arrival. the port, so-called, is purely artificial, and actually consists of a long mole with a gentle curve in it, which reaches out to seaward and protects the mouth of the canal. the tides are very strong up and down the coast, and constant dredging is carried out to keep 20 feet of water over the sill at the lock gates.
-on arrival last night we went straight into no. 11 shelter, as an air-raid was expected, but nothing happened, so i went up to the "flandre," which seems to be the best hotel here, full of submarine people, and i heard many interesting stories. there seems no doubt this u-boat war is dangerous work; i find the u.c. boats are beginning to be called the suicide club, after the famous english story of that name, which, curiously enough, i saw on the kinematograph at frankfurt last leave. we germans are extraordinarily broad-minded; i doubt if the works of german authors are seen on the screens in england or france.
-the news from the west is good, the english are hurling themselves to destruction against our steel front. we are now to load up with mines. i must stop writing to superintend this work.
-at sea. near the south dogger light.
-we loaded up the ten mines we carry in an hour and five minutes. they were lifted from a railway truck by a big crane and delicately lowered into the mine tubes, of which we have five in the bows.
-the tubes extend from the upper deck of the ship to her keel, and slope aft to facilitate release. having completed with fuel at bruges, we took in a store of provisions and alten went up to the commodore's office to get our sailing orders.
-the sea is quite calm and everything is very pleasant. our mission is to lay a small minefield off newcastle in the east coast war channel. i have, of course, never been to sea for any length of time in a u-boat, and it is all very novel.
-i find the roar of the diesel engine very relentless, and last night slept badly in a wretched bunk, which was a poor substitute for my lovely quarters in the barracks at wilhelmshaven. one thing i appreciate, and that is the food; it is really excellent: fresh milk, fresh butter, white bread and many other luxuries.
-i have spent most of the day picking up things about the boat. her general arrangement is as follows:
-starting in the bows, mine tubes occupy the centre of the boat, leaving two narrow passages, one each side. in the port passage is the wireless cabinet and signal flag lockers, with store rooms underneath. in the starboard passage are one or two small pumps and the kitchen.
-the next compartment contains four bunks, two each side, these are occupied by alten, myself, the engineer, and the navigating warrant officer. proceeding further aft one enters the control room, in which one periscope is situated, and the necessary valves and pumps for diving the boat.
-the next compartment is the crew space; ten of the company exist here.
-overhead on each side is the gear for releasing the torpedoes from the external torpedo tubes, of which we carry one each side. i think we borrowed this idea from the russians.
-then comes the engine-room, an inferno of rattling noises, but excellent engines, i believe. at the after end of the engine-room are the two main switchboards, of whose manner of working i am at present in some ignorance.
-the two main sets of electric motors are underneath the boards, in the stern, where we have a third torpedo tube.
-i had hardly written the above words when a message came that the captain would like me to come to the bridge.
-i went up in a leisurely fashion, through the conning tower, which is over the control room, and reported myself. he indicated a low-lying patch of smoke on the horizon far away on the starboard bow. i was obliged to confess that it conveyed nothing to me, when he aroused my intense interest by stating that it was, without doubt, being emitted from a british submarine, who are known to frequent these waters. he was proceeding away from us, and was, even then, six or seven miles away, so an attack was out of the question. the engineer, who had joined us, drew my attention to the thin wisp of almost invisible blue-grey smoke from our own stern. the contrast was certainly striking!
-over dinner i gave it as my opinion that the british boats were pretty useless. alten would not agree, and stated that, though in certain technical aspects they were in a position of inferiority, yet in personnel and skill in attacking they were fully our equals. he seemed to hold them in considerable respect, and he remarked that, when making a passage, he was more anxious on their account than in any other way. he informed me that, on the last passage he made, he was attacked by a british boat which he never saw, the only indication he received being a torpedo which jumped out of the water almost over his tail. luckily it was very rough at the time, which made the torpedo run erratically, otherwise they would undoubtedly have been hit.
-what appeared to astonish him was the fact that the british boat had been able to make an attack in such weather. we are now charging on one engine, 500 amperes on each half-battery.
-our trip was quite successful, but not without certain excitements.
-on the night of the 23rd we passed fairly close to a fishing fleet on the dogger bank, and saw the lights of several steamers in the distance. as our first business was to lay our mines in the appointed place, we did not worry them.
-we burnt usual navigation lights, or rather side lights which appear to be usual, except that, by a little fitting which alten has made himself, the arcs of bearing on which the lights show can be changed at will. his idea is that, should we appear to be approaching a steamer which he wishes to avoid, in many cases, by shining a little more or less red and green light, we can make her think that we are a steamer on such a course that it is her duty by the rules of the road to keep clear of us.
-he tells me it has worked on several occasions, and he has also found it useful to have two small auxiliary side lights fitted which are the wrong colours for the sides they are on. it is, of course, only neutral shipping which carry lights nowadays, though alten says that many british ships are still incredibly careless in the matter of lights.
-however, to resume my account of what happened. we reached our position at dawn or slightly after, the weather was beautifully calm and the sea like glass. as we were only three miles from the english coast, and close to the mouth of the tyne, we were extraordinarily lucky to have nothing in sight, if one excepts a long smudge of smoke which trailed across the horizon to the southward.
-the land itself was obscured by early morning banks of mist, yet everything was so still that we actually faintly heard the whistle of a train. i could hardly restrain from suggesting to alten that we should elevate the 10-cm. gun to fifteen degrees and fire a few rounds on to "proud albion's virgin shores," but i did not do so as i felt fairly certain that he would not approve, and i do not wish to lay myself open to rebuffs from him after his behaviour concerning the smoking incident. i boil with rage at the thought, but again i digress.
-the fact that the land was obscured was favourable from the point of view that we were not worried by coast watchers, but unfavourable from the standpoint that we were unable to take bearings of anything and so ascertain our exact position.
-the importance of this point in submarine mine-laying is obvious, for, owing to our small cargo of eggs, it is quite possible that we may be sent here again, to lay an adjacent field, in which case it is highly desirable to know the exact position of one's previous effort.
-we were somewhat assisted in our efforts to locate ourselves by the fact that a seven-fathom patch existed exactly where we had to lay. we picked up the edge of this bank with our sounding machine, and steering north half a mile, laid our mines in latitude--no! on second thoughts i will omit the precise position, for, though i shall take every precaution, there is no saying that through some misfortune this journal might not get into the wrong hands.
-i am very glad i decided to keep these notes, as i shall take much pleasure in reading them when victory crowns our efforts and the joys of a peaceful life return.
-i found it a delightful sensation being so close to the enemy coast, in his territorial waters, in fact. for the first time since the skajerack battle i experienced the personal joys of war, the sensation of intimate and successful contact with the enemy, and the most hated enemy at that.
-we had hardly finished laying our eggs when a droning noise was heard. with marvellous celerity we dived, that damned fellow alten, who, under these circumstances leaves the bridge last, treading on my fingers as he followed me down the conning tower ladder.
-the engineer endeavoured to sympathize with me, and made some idiotic remark about my being quicker when i had had more practice. i bit his head off. i can't stand this hail-fellow-well-met attitude in these u.c. boats, from any lout dressed in an officer's uniform. they wouldn't be holding commissions if it wasn't for the war, and they should remember that fact. i suppose they think i'm stand-offish. well, if they had my family tree behind them they would understand.
-we dived to sixty feet, and then came up to twenty. alten looked through the periscope, and then invited me to look. curiosity impelled me to accept this favour and, putting the focussing lever to "skyscrape" i swept round the sky.
-at last i saw him; he was a small gas-bag of diminutive size, beneath which was suspended a little car, the most ridiculous little travesty of an airship i have ever seen. he was nosing along at about 800 feet and making about 40 knots.
-suddenly he must have seen the wake of our periscope, for he turned towards us. simultaneously alten, from the conning tower (i was using the other periscope in the control room), ordered the boat to sixty feet, and put the helm hard over.
-inside the boat one felt a slight jar as each bomb went off.
-we gradually came round to our proper course, and cruised all day submerged at dead slow speed. every time we lifted our periscope he was still hanging about sufficiently close to make it foolish for us to come to the surface.
-towards noon a group of trawlers, doubtless summoned by wireless, appeared, and proceeded to wander about. these seemed to concern alten far more than the airship, and he informed me that from their, to me, aimless movements he deduced they were hunting for us by hydroplanes. occasionally we lay on the bottom in nineteen fathoms.
-everyone was in high spirits, as always on the return journey, when the mind turns to the fatherland and all it holds.
-alten has just come down from the bridge, and we chatted for some moments; it is evident that he wishes to apologize for his rudeness over the smoking incident.
-i was in error, i admit it frankly; at the same time i did not know that the battery was on charge, and to dash a match from my hand! i could have shot him where he stood. however, i am not vindictive, and as far as i am concerned the incident is ended.
-one thing i find trying in this small boat, and that is that i can find no space in which to do half my müller exercises, the leg-and-arm-swinging ones. i must see whether i can't invent a set of u-boat exercises!
-good! in two hours we reach the mole-end light buoy.
-submarine mess, bruges.
-it is midnight, and as i write in my room at the top of the house the low rumble of the guns from the south-west vibrates faintly through the open window, for it is extraordinarily warm for the time of year, and i have flung back the curtains and risked the light shining.
-we spent the night at zeebrugge and came up to the docks here next day. we shall probably be in for a week, and i am on four days' "extended absence from the boat," which practically means that i can go where i like in the neighbourhood provided i am handy to a telephone.
-after a short inward struggle i rang zoe up on the telephone; fortunately i did not call first.
-a man's voice answered, and for a moment i was dumbfounded. i guessed at once it was the colonel, and i had counted so confidently on his being still away at the front.
-for an instant i felt speechless, an impulse came to me to ring off without further ado, but i restrained myself, and then a fine idea came into my head.
-"who is that?" i said.
-"colonel stein!" replied the voice, and my fears were confirmed, but my plan of campaign held good.
-"i am speaking," i continued, "on behalf of lieutenant von schenk----"
-"ah, yes!" growled the voice, and for an instant a panic seized me, but i resumed:
-"he met madame stein at dinner some days ago, and she kindly asked him to call; he has asked me to ring up and inquire when it would be convenient, as he would like to meet you, sir, as well. he has been unable to ring up himself, as he was sent away from bruges on duty early this morning."
-i smiled to myself at this little lie and listened.
-"your friend had better call to-morrow then, for i leave to-morrow evening for the somme front; will you tell him?"
-i replied that i would, and left the telephone well satisfied, but cursing the fates that made it advisable to keep clear of no. 10, kafelle strasse for thirty-six hours. needless to say next day i rang up again in order to tell the colonel that lieutenant schenk had apparently been detained, as he was not yet back in bruges, and how i felt sure that he would be sorry at missing the colonel, etc., etc., but all this camouflage was unnecessary, as she herself came to the 'phone. i could have kissed the instrument when i told her of my stratagem and heard her silvery laughter in my ear.
-"it is arranged that to-morrow, starting at 10.30, we motor for the day to the forest of meten, taking our lunch and tea with us--pray heaven the weather holds."
-to-night in the mess it is generally considered that u.b.40 has been lost; she is ten days overdue and was operating off havre, she has made no signal for a fortnight. such is the price of victory and the cost of war--death, perhaps, in some terrible form, but bah! away with such thoughts, to-morrow there is love and life and zoe!
-once more it is night, still the guns rumble on the same old dismal tones, and as it is raining now it must be getting bad up at the front. except for the rain it might have been last night, but much has happened to me in the meanwhile.
-to-day in the forest by ruysslede i found that i loved zoe, loved her as i have never yet loved woman, loved her with my soul and all that is me.
-the day was gloriously fine when we started, and an hour's run took us to the forest. we left the car at an inn and wandered down one of the glades.
-i carried the basket and we strolled on and on until we found a suitable place deep in the heart of the forest.
-i have the sailor's love for woods, for their depths, their shadows, their mysteries, which are so vivid a contrast to the monotony of the sea, with the everlasting circle of the horizon and the half-bowl of the heavens above.
-in the forest to-day, though the leaves had turned to gold and red and brown, the beeches were still well covered, and overhead we were tented with a russet canopy.
-i say, at last we found a spot, or rather zoe, who, with girlish pleasure in the adventure, had run ahead, called to me, and as i write i seem to hear the echoes of "karl! karl!" which rang through the wood. when i came up to her she proudly pointed to the place she had found.
-it was ideal. an outcrop of rock formed a miniature matterhorn in the forest, and beneath its shelter with the old trees as silent witnesses we sat and joked and laughed, and made twenty attempts to light a fire.
-after lunch, a little incident happened which had an enormous effect on me; zoe asked me whether i would mind if she smoked.
-how many women in these days would think of doing that? and yet, had she but known it, i am still sufficiently old-fashioned to appreciate the implied respect for any possible prejudices which was contained in her request.
-after lunch, i asked her a question to which i dreaded the answer.
-i asked her whether, now that the old colonel had gone to the somme, whether that meant that she would be leaving bruges.
-she laughed and teasingly said: "quien sabe, señor," but seeing my real anxiety on this point, she assured me that she was not leaving for the present. the colonel, she said, had a strange belief that once a man had served on the flanders front, and especially on the ypres salient, he always came back to die there.
-it appears that the colonel has done fourteen months' service on the salient alone, and is firmly convinced he will end his career on that great burial ground. as we were talking about the colonel i longed to ask her how she had met him, and perhaps find out why she lives with him, for i cannot believe she loves him, but i did not dare.
-strangely enough i found that a curious shyness had taken hold of me with regard to zoe.
-i said to myself, "fool! you are alone with her, you long to kiss her; you have kissed her, first at the dinner-party, secondly when you said good-bye at her flat," and yet to-day it was different.
-then i was kissing a pretty woman, i was on the eve of a dangerous life, and i was simply extracting the animal pleasures whilst i lived.
-to-day it was a case of zoe, the personality i loved; i still longed to kiss her, but i wanted to have the unquestioned right to kiss her, as much as i wanted the kisses.
-i wanted to have her for my own, away from the contaminating ownership of the old colonel, and i determined to get her.
-i think she noticed the changed attitude on my part, and perhaps she felt herself that a subtle change in our relationship had taken place, and whilst i meditated on these things she fell into a doze at my side.
-she is of average height, for i am just over six feet and she reaches to just above my shoulder. her hair is gloriously thick and of a deep black colour, and lies low on her forehead. her complexion is of the purest whiteness beyond compare, which but accentuates the red warmth of the lips which encircle her little mouth. her figure is slight and her ankles are my delight, but her crowning glories, which i have purposely left till last, are her eyes.
-i feel i could lose my soul; i have lost it, if i have one, in the violet depths of those eyes, which were veiled as she slept by the long black eyelashes which curled up delicately as they rested on her cheeks. i have re-read this description, and it is oh, so unsatisfying; would i had the pen of a goethe or a shakespeare, yet for want of more skill the description shall stand.
-how i long for her to be mine, and yet, unfortunate that i am, i cannot for certain declare that she loves me.
-a thousand doubts arise. i torment myself with recollections of her behaviour at the dinner-party, when within two hours of our first meeting she gave me her lips.
-yet did i not first roughly kiss her as we danced?
-i find consolation in the fact that, though she has said nothing, yet her conduct to-day was different. she was so quiet after tea as we wandered back through the forests with the setting sun striking golden beams aslant the tree trunks.
-before we left i sang to her tchaikowsky's beautiful song, "to the forest," and i think she was pleased, for i may say with justice that my voice is of high quality for an amateur, and the song goes well without an accompaniment, whilst the atmosphere and surroundings were ideal.
-there was only one jarring note in a perfect day; when we returned to the car the chauffeur permitted himself a sardonic grin. zoe unfortunately saw it and blushed scarlet.
-i could have struck him on his impudent mouth, but for her sake i judged it advisable to notice nothing.
-the guns rumble steadily in the south-west, and the sky is lit by their flashes; may the fighting on the somme be bloody these coming days.
-we leave to-night, having had a longer spell than usual. i am in a distracted state of mind. since our glorious day in the forest i have seen her nearly every afternoon, though twice that swine alten has kept me in the boat in connection with some replacements of the battery.
-i have found out that, like me, she is intensely musical. she plays beautifully on the piano, and we had long hours together playing chopin and beethoven; we also played some of moussorgsky's duets, but i love her best when she plays chopin, the composer pre-eminent of love and passion.
-she has masses of music, as the colonel gives her what she likes. we also played a lot of debussy. at first i demurred at playing a living french composer's works, but she pouted and looked so adorable that all my scruples vanished in an instant, so we closed all the doors and she played it for hours very softly whilst i forgot the war and all its horrors and remembered only that i was with the well-beloved girl.
-the colonel writes from thiepval, where the british are pouring out their blood like water. he writes very interesting letters, and has had many narrow escapes, but unfortunately he seems to bear a charmed life. his letters are full of details, and i wonder he gets them past the field censorship, but i suppose he censors his own.
-she laughs at them and calls them her colonel's dispatches; she says he is so accustomed to writing official reports that the poor old man can't write an ordinary letter.
-i told her that i thought the way he mentioned regiments and dispositions rather indiscreet, and she agrees, but she says he has asked her to keep them, with a view to forming a collection of letters written from the front whilst the incidents he describes are vivid in his mind. i suppose the old ass knows his own business, and one day the collection may be completed by a telegram "regretting to announce, etc. etc." the sooner the better.
-so the days passed pleasantly enough, and never by a gesture or word of mouth did she show that i was more to her than any other pleasant young man.
-on ordinary subjects she would chatter vivaciously enough and she can talk in a fascinating manner on every subject i care to bring up, but as soon as i drew the conversation round to a personal line she gradually became more silent and a far-away and distant look came into those wonderful eyes.
-i have found out nothing about her beyond the fact that she has travelled all over europe. i don't even know how old she is, but i should guess twenty-six.
-i tried to find out a few details by means of discreet remarks at the club and elsewhere.
-she simply arrived here about a year ago--as a singer, and met the colonel--beyond that, all is mystery. everything about her attracts me powerfully, and this mystery adds subtleties to her charms.
-this afternoon i went to say good-bye; i told her we were leaving "shortly," and she gently reproved me for disobeying the order which forbids discussion of movements, but i could see she was not greatly displeased.
-after tea she played to me, music of the modern russian school--arensky, sibelius and pilsuki; a storm was brewing and we both felt sad.
-she played for an hour or so, and then came and sat by me on a low divan by the fire. we were silent for a long while in the gathering gloom, whilst a thousand thoughts chased each other swiftly through my brain, as i endeavoured to summon up courage to say what i had determined i must say before i left her, perhaps for ever.
-at last, when only her profile was visible against the glow of the logs, i spoke.
-i told her quietly, calmly and almost dispassionately that i had grown to love her and that to me she was life itself. i told her that i had tried not to speak until i could endure no longer.
-she sat very still as i spoke, and when i had finished there was a long silence and i gently stretched out my hand and stroked her lovely black hair. at last she rose and with averted face walked across the room, and stood looking at the storm through the big bow windows. i watched her, but did not dare follow.
-at length she returned to me, and i saw what i had instinctively known the whole time--that she had been crying. i could not think why.
-she put her arms round my neck, kissed me on the forehead and murmured, "poor karl."
-i felt crushed; i dared not move for fear of breaking the magic of the moment, yet i longed to know more; i felt overwhelmed by some colossal mystery that seemed to be enveloping me in its folds. why did she pity me? why did she weep? why didn't she answer my avowal? why didn't she tell me something? such were some of the problems that perplexed me.
-it was thus when the clock chimed seven. i told her that my leave was up at seven o'clock, and that at 7.15 i had to be back on board the boat. she remembered this, and in an instant the past quarter of an hour might never have existed. she was all agitation and nervousness lest i should be late on board--though at the moment i would have cheerfully missed the boat to hear her say she loved me.
-i tried to protest, but in vain. with feminine quickness she utilized the incident to avoid a situation she evidently found full of difficulty, and at 7.10, with the memory of a light kiss on my lips and her god-speed in my ears i was in a taxi driving to the docks in a blinding rain-storm--and we sail to-night.
-for five, six, seven, perhaps ten days at the least, and at the most for ever, i am doomed to be away from her and without news of her. and i don't even know whether she loves me!
-i think i can say she cares for me up to a certain point, but i want more.
-"oh zoe! of the violet eyes, and hair of blackest night thy lips are brightest crimson, thy skin is dazzling white.
-"oh! lay your head upon my breast, and lift your lips to mine; then murmur in soft breathings, drink deep from what is thine.
-"then let the war rage onward, let kingdoms rise and fall; to each shall be the other, their life, their hope, their all."
-we are bound for the same old spot as last time.
-alten must have been drinking like a fish lately; his breath smells like a distillery; he is apparently partial to schnapps, which he gets easily in bruges.
-i can't help admiring the man, as he is a rigid teetotaller at sea, though he must find the strain well nigh intolerable, judging from the condition he was in when he came on board last night. he was really totally unfit to take charge of the boat, and i virtually took her down the canal, though with sottish obstinacy he insisted on remaining on the bridge.
-this morning, though his complexion was a hideous yellow colour, he seems quite all right. i shall play a little trick on him at dinner to-night.
-i have begun to get to know some of the crew by now; they are a fine lot of youngsters with a seasoning of half a dozen older men. the coxswain, schmitt by name, is a splendid old petty officer who has been in the u-boat service since 1911.
-his favourite enjoyment is to spin yarns to the younger members of the crew, who know of his weakness and play up to it.
-he has a favourite expression which runs thus:
-"his majesty the kaiser said germany's future lies on the sea; i say germany's future lies under the sea."
-he is inordinately fond of this statement, and the youngsters continually say: "what made you take to u-boat work, schmitt?" and the invariable reply is as above. when he has been asked the question about half a dozen times in the course of a day, he is liable to become suspicious, and if his questioner is within range schmitt stares at him for a few seconds in an absent-minded way, then an arm like that of a gorilla shoots out, and the quizzer (untersucher) receives a resounding box on the ears to the huge delight of his companions. the old man then permits his iron-lipped mouth to relax into a caustic smile, after which he is left in peace for some time.
-at the wheel he is an artist, for he seems to divine what the next order is going to be, or if he is steering her on a course he predicts the direction of the next wave even as a skilful chess player works out the moves ahead.
-i am rather weary and ought to go to bed, but before i lose the savour i must record the splendid fun i had with alten at dinner.
-we were dining alone, as the navigator was on the bridge, and the engineer was busy with a slight leak in the cooking water service. i have said that, though a heavy drinker by nature, alten is a strict abstainer at sea. accordingly i produced a small flask of rum, half-way through dinner, and helped myself to a liberal tot, placing the liquor between us on the table. as the sight met his eyes and the aroma greeted his nostrils, a gleam of joy flashed across his face, to be succeeded by a frown.
-with an amiable smile i proffered the flask to him, remarking at the same time: "you don't drink at sea, do you?"
-in a thick voice he muttered, "no! yes--no! thank you."
-with an air of having noticed nothing, i resumed my meal, but out of the corner of my eye i watched his left hand on the table near the flask. it was most interesting, all the veins stood out like ropes, and his knuckles almost burst through the skin.
-this went on for about thirty seconds, when he choked out something about needing a breath of fresh air. as he got up his face was brick red, and i almost thought he'd have a fit.
-whether by accident or design he pulled the cloth as he got out from between the settee and the table and upset the flask.
-he was apparently incapable of apologizing, for he rushed up on deck.
-a few minutes later the navigating officer came down and asked what was up?
-i said: "what do you mean?"
-he said: "well, the captain came up just now, swearing like a trooper, and told me to get to the devil out of it; it didn't seem advisable to question him, so i got out of it and came down."
-i expressed my opinion that the captain must be feeling sea-sick and was ashamed to say so. i also suggested to the navigator that he should take the captain a little brandy in case he was not feeling well, but the navigator declared he was going to stay down in the warmth till he was sent for. alten is a great coarse brute. fancy allowing a material substance such as alcohol to grip one's mentality.
-thank heaven i have nerves of iron; nothing would affect me!
-and now to bed, though i must just read my account of our day in the forest. darling girl, may i dream of thee.
-we laid our mines without trouble at 5 a.m. this morning, though at midnight we had a most unpleasant experience.
-i was asleep, as it was my morning watch, when i was awakened by the harsh rattle of the diving alarms.
-the diesel subsided with a few spasmodic coughs into silence, and as i jumped out of my bunk and groped for my short sea boots, the navigator and helmsman came tumbling down the conning tower, with the navigator shouting, "take her down," as hard as you like.
-the men at the planes had them "hard-to-dive" in an instant.
-the vents had been opened as the hooters sounded, and alten, who had jumped into the control room, immediately rang down, "all out on the electric motors."
-in thirty seconds from the original alarm we were at an angle of twenty degrees down by the bow, and i had sat down heavily on the battery boards, completely surprised by the sudden tilt of the deck.
-it occurred to me that the air was escaping through the vents with a strangely loud noise, but before i could consider the matter further or even inquire the reason for this sudden dive, the noise increased to a terrifying extent, and whilst i prepared myself for the worst it culminated into a roar as of fifty express trains going through a tunnel, mingled with the noise of a high-powered aeroplane engine.
-the roar drummed and beat and shook the boat, then died away as suddenly as it came; a moment later there was a severe jar. we had struck the bottom, still maintaining our angle.
-i painfully got to my feet and then discovered from the navigator that he had suddenly seen two white patches of foam 800 yards on the starboard bow, which resolved themselves into the bow waves of a destroyer approaching at full speed to ram.
-we had dived just in time, and her knife-edged bow, driven by 30,000 horse power, had slid through the water a very few feet above our conning tower.
-luckily he had not dropped any depth charges. we were not, however, completely free of our troubles, though we had cheated the destroyer.
-examination of the chart, showed the bottom to be mud, and on attempting to move the foremost hydroplanes, the plane motor fuses blew out. this showed that the boat was buried in the mud right up to her foremost planes, which were immovable.
-we then pumped out "q" and "p," leaving "w" full, and adjusted our trim to give her only three tons negative buoyancy, just enough to keep us on the bottom if she came out of the mud.
-in this position we went full speed astern on the motors, 1,500 amps on each, and all the crew in the after-compartment. no result. we then pumped the outer diving tanks on the port side to give her a list to starboard. still she remained fixed.
-so at 2 a.m. we decided to risk it and we put a slow blow on all tanks.
-when she had about fifty tons positive buoyancy she suddenly bucketed up, and, as the motors were running full speed astern at the time, we came up and broke surface stern first. in a few seconds we were trimmed down again, and as a precautionary measure we proceeded for a couple of miles at twenty metres, when, coming up to periscope depth, we surfaced, and finding all clear we proceeded. we were put down by a trawler at dawn, though she never saw us. after half an hour's hanging about she moved off, which was lucky, as she was right on our billet.
-we ought to start business to-morrow morning.
-we should be in to-night, then for my little zoe!
-but i must record what we have done. already i am getting much pleasure from reading my diary. strange how it amuses one to see little bits of oneself on paper, and the less garnished and franker the truths the more entertaining it is.
-the hours here are so long and boring at times that i feel i want to talk intimately with someone. failing zoe i turn to my notebooks.
-the first steamer we sighted raised high hopes, at least her smoke did, for we saw enough smoke on the horizon to make us think we were to see the grand fleet, and we promptly dived. we cruised towards her for about half an hour, and then hung about where we were, as we found that her course would take the ship close to us.
-i found it most irritating, standing in the control room (my action station) and not knowing what was going on.
-there is only one good job in a submarine and that is the captain's. he knows and decides everything. the rest of us are in his hands and take things on trust. i object on principle to my life being held in alten's hands. it is all very well for the crew, for, to start with, they have no imagination, and to most of them their mental horizon stops at the walls of the boat. secondly, they have the consolation of mechanical activities; they make and break switches and open and close valves--they work with their hands. an officer has imagination, and only works with his head.
-as we attacked the steamer, all one heard was murmurs from alten, such as: "raise!" "lower!" "take her down to ten metres!" "half speed!" "slow!" "bring her up to five metres!" "raise!" "lower!"
-i endeavoured to simulate an air of unconcern which i was far from feeling.
-not that i was a prey to physical fear; i flatter myself it is so far unknown to me, and there was no great danger, but simply that i longed to know what was happening. at length i heard the welcome order:
-"starboard tube. stand by!"
-which was followed almost immediately by the order: "fire!"
-there was a kind of coughing grunt, and the starboard torpedo proceeded on its errand of destruction.
-every ear was strained for the sound of the explosion, but all we were vouchsafed was a torrent of blasphemy from alten.
-the torpedo had jumped clean out of the water a hundred yards short of the steamer, and had then evidently dived under the ship; so i gathered later when alten had calmed down somewhat. we were about to surface and give her the gun, when luckily alten took a good sweep round with the skyscraper and discovered one of those wretched little airships about a mile away, coming towards the steamer, which was wailing piteously, on her syren.
-as the chart showed forty metres we decided to bottom and have lunch.
-over lunch we discussed the misadventure. alten was loud in his curses of tanzerman (the torpedo lieutenant at bruges), from whom he had got the torpedo in guaranteed good condition only forty-eight hours before we sailed. he launched forth into a tirade against the torpedo staff at bruges, and, warming to his subject, he roundly abused the whole of the depot personnel, whom he stigmatized as a set of hard-drinking, shore-loafing ruffians, who were incapable of realizing that they existed for the benefit of the boats' personnel and "material."
-and are these external tubes water-tight? theoretically, yes, but what of practice? we have been down to forty metres several times during this trip, and not once have we had a chance on the surface of getting at the two external tubes; add to which our depth gear, with the pivots of the weight exposed to water if the tube does flood and then you have rust, corrosion and heaven knows what complications.
-i saw a british mark 11.50 torpedo at the torpedo shop at bruges the other day, and i was much struck with their deep depth gear, which is of the unrestrained uhlan type, i.e., weight and valve interdependent. but then the main feature is that the whole gear is contained in a separate water-tight chamber.
-our system is certainly a great saving in space, and is much neater in design, whilst i prefer the uhlan principle of valve conjuncting with weight, but it would be interesting to know whether the british have much trouble with the depth-keeping of their torpedo.
-i have written quite a disquisition on depth gears; i must get on with my record of events.
-after lunch we had a good look round, but the small airship was still hanging about, flying slowly in large circles.
-we were rather surprised to meet one of these despicable little sausages or "zeppelin's spawn," as the navigator calls them, so far from land, and at dark we surfaced and proceeded on one engine on an easterly course, charging the battery right up with the other engine.
-dawn revealed a blank horizon, not a vestige of mast, funnel or smoke in sight.
-we ambled along in fine though cold weather, and i took advantage of the peacefulness of everything to do a really good series of müller on the upper deck, stripped to the waist, and allowed the keen air to play its invigorating currents on my torso.
-alten silently watched me from the conning tower, with a sneering expression on his face. the navigator, who is quite a decent youngster, though of no family, was, i could plainly see, struck by my development, and asked to be initiated into the series of exercises. i agreed willingly enough to show them to him. i will confess i wish zoe could have seen me as i perspired with healthy exercise.
-at about 11 a.m. a couple of masts, then two more, then another, appeared above the horizon. the visibility was extreme, so we at once dived and proceeded at full speed, ten metres.
-we had been going thus for perhaps half an hour when alten remarked that he would have another look at the convoy. we eased speed, came up to six metres, and alten proceeded up into the conning tower to use "a" periscope.
-he had hardly applied his eye to the lens when he sharply ordered the boat to ten metres, accompanying this order with another to the motor room demanding utmost speed (ausserste kraft). i went up to the conning tower and found him white with excitement.
-"look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the periscope, entirely forgetful of the fact that we were at ten metres. i looked, and of course saw nothing; furious at the trick i considered he had played on me i turned on him, to be disarmed by his apology.
-"sorry! i forgot! the whole british battle cruiser force is there."
-it was now my turn to be excited, and i rushed down to the motor room determined to give her every amp she would take. the port foremost motor was sparking like the devil, rings of cursed sparks shooting round the commutator, but this was no time for ceremony. i relentlessly ordered the field current to be still further reduced.
-we thus passed a quarter of an hour full of strain, the tension of which was reflected in the attitude of all the men. alten had announced his intention of using the stern torpedo tube after his failure in the morning, and the crew of this tube were crouched at their stations like a gun's crew in the last few seconds preparatory to opening fire. the switchboard attendants gripped the regulating rheostatts as if by their personal efforts they could urge the boat on faster. old schmitt, at the helm, never lifted his eyes from the compass repeater.
-at length: "slow both!" "bring her to six metres!" came from the conning tower, to which place i proceeded to hear the news.
-slowly the periscope was raised and i held my breath; a groan came from alten and he turned away. for a fraction of a second i was almost pleased at his obvious pain, then, sick with disappointment, i took his place.
-yes! it was all over. there they were, and with hungry eyes and depressed heart i saw five great battle cruisers, of which i recognized the tiger with her three great funnels, the princess royal, lion and two others, zigzagging along at 25 knots, at a distance of 12,000 metres, across our bow.
-they were surrounded by a numerous screen of destroyers and light cruisers, the former at that range through the periscope appearing as black smudges.
-it is not often one is permitted such a spectacle in modern war, and i could not tear myself away from the sight of those great brutes, whom i had fought when in the derflingger at dogger bank and again when in the könig at jutland. so near and yet so far, and as they rapidly drew away so did all the visions of an iron cross. as soon as they were out of sight, we surfaced in order to report what we had seen to zeebrugge and heligoland.
-everything seemed against us. i had gone on the bridge with the navigator; alten, with a face as black as hell, had gone to the wardroom. about ten minutes elapsed when i heard a fearful altercation going on below. i stepped down to find the young wireless operator trembling in front of alten, who was overwhelming him with a flood of abuse. as i reached the wardroom, alten shook his fist in the man's face and bellowed:
-"make the d---- thing work, i tell you."
-"impossible, captain, the main condenser----" the man began.
-purple with rage, alten seized a heavy pair of parallel rulers, and before i could check him hurled them full in the operator's face. bleeding copiously, the youth fell to the deck in a stunned condition.
-it was then, for the first time, that i noticed a half-empty bottle of spirits on the table, which colossal quantity he must have consumed in about a quarter of an hour.
-turning to me, this semi-madman pointed to the wireless operator with his foot and growled:
-"have him removed."
-i discovered him with his face to the ship's side, and upon my reporting myself he ordered me, firstly to throw that blasted bottle overboard (an unnecessary proceeding, as it was empty), and secondly to surface and shape course for zeebrugge.
-at midnight he relieved me, apparently perfectly normal.
-the wireless operator has been laid up all day and has a nasty cut on the head. the navigator, a great scandal-monger, has heard from the engineer that alten was speaking to him alone this morning, and the engineer believes that alten has given him five hundred marks to say he fell down a hatch.
-hooray! blankenberg buoy has just been reported in sight! soon i shall see my zoe!
-with what high hopes did i write the last few lines a few hours ago, and how they were dashed to the ground, for on going into the mess at bruges i found amongst my letters a note from her, which was terrible in its brevity. she simply said:
-"i am going away for some days, and as i shall be travelling it is no good giving you an address. to our next meeting!
-i feel i could do anything to-night; any mad, evil thing would appeal to me.
-there is a most fearful uproar coming from the guest-room, where a large and rowdy party are entertaining the chorus of a travelling revue company. i saw them when they arrived, horribly common-looking women, with legs like mine tubes.
-another day and still no news; i don't know how i shall stick it. she might have had the softness of heart to write to me. she knows my address.
-this evening a letter from the little mother, who asks whether i can find time to go to frankfurt when i have leave; at the end of the letter she mentions that rosa has joined the women's voluntary auxiliary corps of army nurses. i suppose she thought she'd like her photograph taken in some fancy uniform as "rosa freinland, one of our frankfurt beauties, now on war work!" holding the patient's hand is about the only work she intends doing.
-women as a class are the same the world over. we are well supplied with english papers in the mess here; they come regularly from amsterdam, and in their pages i see, just as in ours, pictures of the countess this and the lord that, photographed in becoming attitudes doing war work. it seems agricultural pursuits are the fashion in england at present--wait till our u-boat war gets its knife well into their fat guts, it will be more than fashionable to work in the fields then.
-the british empire is undeniably a great creation, or rather not so much a creation as a thing arrived at accidentally, but it lacks solidarity. it sprawls, a confused mass of races and creeds, around the world. its very immensity lays it open to attack, it has a dozen achilles heels from ireland to egypt and south africa to india.
-i met a man only yesterday who was recently at the propaganda department of the foreign office, and without going into details he gave me a very good idea of the good work that is going on in britain's canker spots.
-ireland is considered particularly promising to those in the know.
-now for an agitated night! to think that a girl should disturb me so!
-two days have passed, or, rather, dragged their interminable lengths away, for there is still not a vestige of news. i have been twice to the flat with no result, except to receive a piece of impertinence from the porter the last time i was there.
-still no news, and we sail in forty-eight hours.
-at sea, off the isle of wight.
-it is some days since i turned for solace and enjoyment, amidst the discomforts of this life, to my pen and notebook.
-what strange tricks fate plays with us, and how lucky it is that one cannot foresee the future.
-here i am in u.39--but i must start at the beginning. my last entry was the depressing one of still no news. well, i have had news, but it was like a drop of water in the mouth of a parched-up man. another agonizing twenty-four hours passed, and i was sitting in my room about ten o'clock, trying to resign myself to the idea that the next night i should be starting out for my third trip without news of her, when the telephone bell rang. i lifted the receiver and to my amazed joy heard a voice that i could have recognized in a thousand. it was zoe!
-i was quite incapable of any remark, and my confusion was further increased when, after a few "hello's," which i idiotically repeated, her clear, level tones said: "is that you, karl? how are you?" how was i? what a question to ask! i wanted to tell her that i was bubbling with joy, that a thousand-kilogramme load had been lifted from my chest, that my blood was coursing through my veins, that i, usually so cool, was trembling with excitement, that i could have kissed the mouthpiece of the humble instrument that linked us together. yet i was quite incapable of answering her simple question! i can't imagine what i expected her to say, for upon reflection her remark was a very ordinary one, and indeed under the circumstances quite natural, but, as i say, in actual fact i was tongue-tied.
-i suppose i must have said something, for i next remember her saying: "well, you might ask how i am;" and to my horror i realized that she thought i was being rude!
-my abject apologies were cut short by her tantalizing laugh, and i understood that the adorable one was teasing me. when at length i made myself believe that i really was talking to this most elusive and delightful woman i wasted no time in suggesting that, late though it was, i might be permitted to go round and see her. she would not permit this, as she said it would create grave scandal, and the colonel might hear about it upon his return. i pleaded hard and urged my departure in twenty-four hours.
-she was firm and reproved me for discussing movements over the telephone. she was right; i was a fool to do so; but zoe destroys all my caution. however, she said that i might lunch with her next day, and that she had some new music to play to me. i ventured to ask where she had been, but this question was plainly unpleasing to my lady, so i dropped the subject. i blew her a goodnight kiss over the telephone, to which i think i caught an answer, and then she rang off.
-ten minutes had not elapsed, when a messenger entered and informed me that i was wanted at the commodore's office at once.
-a strange feeling of uneasiness and that of impending misfortune overcame me. i felt like a naughty school-boy about to interview the headmaster.
-i followed the messenger into the commodore's office, and found myself alone with the great man. he was seated at a huge roll-top desk, which was the only article of furniture in a room which was to all intents and purposes papered with large scale charts of the east and south coasts of england and of the channel and north sea.
-the commodore was sealing an envelope as i came in; he looked up and saw me, then, without taking any further notice of me, he resumed his business with the envelope. i felt that i was in the presence of a personality, and i was, for "old man max" is one of the ten men who count in the naval administration. he had a reading lamp on his desk, and i remember noticing that the light shining through its green shade imparted a yellow parchment-like effect to the top of his old bald head. with dainty care he finished sealing the envelope, then, picking up a telephone transmitter, he snapped "admiralty!" in about a minute he was connected, and to my astonishment i realized that he was talking to the duty captain of the operations department in berlin.
-his words chilled my heart, for he said: "commodore speaking! u.39 sails at 2 a.m. for operation f.q.h.--repeat."
-his words were apparently repeated to his satisfaction, for while i was vainly endeavouring to convince myself that i was unconnected with the sailing of u.39, he banged the receiver into place (old man max does everything in bangs) and snapped at me.
-"you lieutenant von schenk?"
-i admitted i was, and then heard this disgusting news.
-"kranz, 1st lieutenant u.39, reported suddenly ill, zeebrugge, poisoning--you relieve him. ship sails in one hour forty minutes from now--my car leaves here in forty minutes and takes you to zeebrugge. here are operation orders--inform von weissman he acknowledges receipt direct to me on 'phone. that's all."
-he handed me the envelope and i suppose i walked outside--at least i found myself in the corridor turning the confounded envelope round and round. for one mad moment i felt like rushing in and saying: "but, sir, you don't understand i'm lunching with zoe to-morrow!"
-then the mental picture which this idea conjured up made me shake with suppressed laughter and i remembered that war was war and that i had only thirty-five minutes in which to collect such gear as i had handy--most of my sea things being in u.c.47--and say goodbye to zoe.
-i ran to my room and made the corridors echo with shouts for my faithful adolf. the excellent man was soon on the scene, and whilst he stuffed underclothing, towels and other necessary gear into a bag he had purloined from someone's room, i rang up zoe. i wasted ten minutes getting through, but at last i heard a deliciously sleepy voice murmur, "who's that?"
-i told her, and added that i was off; to my secret joy, an intensely disappointed and long-drawn "oooh!" came over the wire. so she does care a bit, i thought. mad ideas of pretending to be suddenly ill crossed my mind--anything to gain twenty-four hours--but the fatherland is above all such considerations, and after some pleasant talk and many wishes of good luck from the darling girl, with a heavy heart i bade her good-night.
-the old man's car, which is a sixty horse-power benz, was waiting at the mess entrance, and once clear of the sentries we raced down the flat, well-metalled road to zeebrugge in a very short time. the guard at bruges barrier had 'phoned us through to the zeebrugge fortified zone, and we were admitted without delay. in three-quarters of an hour from my interview with old max i was scrambling across a row of u-boats to reach my new ship, u.39.
-i went down the after hatch, reported myself to von weissman and delivered his orders to him, of which he acknowledged receipt direct to the commodore according to instructions. von weissman is a very different stamp of man to alten; of medium height, he has sandy-coloured hair, steel-grey eyes and a protruding jaw. he is what he looks, a fine north prussian, and is, of course, of excellent family, as the weissmans have been settled in grinetz for a long period.
-he struck me as being about thirty years of age, and on his heart he wore the cross of the second class. i have heard of him before as being well in the running towards an ordre pour le mérite.
-an interesting chart is hanging in the wardroom, on which is marked the last resting-place of every ship he has sunk. he puts a coloured dot, the tint of which varies with the tonnage, black up to 2,000, blue from 2,000-5,000, brown 5,000-8,000, green 8,000-11,000, and a red spot with the ship's name for anything over 11,000. he has got about 120,000 tons at present. he opposes the arnauld de la perrière school of thought, which pins faith on the gun, and weissman has done nearly all his work with the good old torpedo.
-altogether, undoubtedly a man to serve with.
-i must say it worked very well last night. we shaped a course to pass five miles west of gris nez, and when that light, which for some reason the french had commodiously lit that night, was abeam, we sighted a black object, probably a trawler or destroyer, about half a dozen miles away right ahead. weissman immediately dived and, without deviating a degree from his course, held on at three-quarters speed on the motors. some time later the hydrophone watchkeeper reported the sound of propellers in his listeners, and that he judged them to be close at hand, so i imagine we passed very nearly directly underneath whatever it was.
-after an hour's submerging we rose, and found dawn breaking over a leaden and choppy sea. nothing being in sight, we continued on the surface for an hour, charging batteries with the starboard engine (500 amps on each), but at 9 a.m., the clouds lying low and an aerial patrol being frequent hereabouts, we dived and cruised steadily down channel at slow speed, keeping periscope depth.
-as i write we are on the surface about ten miles east of the isle of wight, still steering down channel. to-night at midnight we report our position to zeebrugge, up till now we have maintained wireless silence for fear of the british and french directional stations picking up our signals and fixing our position.
-after supper this evening von weissman explained to me the general plan of our operations for the next eight days. our cruising billet is about 150 miles south-west of the scillys, at the focal point where trade for liverpool and bristol and the up-channel trade diverges. von weissman says that this is a plum billet and we should do well.
-i feel this is going to be better than those piffling little mine-laying trips, and though we shall be away ten days, it will qualify me for four days' leave in belgium.
-there was nearly an awkward moment last night, or, rather, there was an awkward moment, and nearly an awkward accident. i relieved the navigator at midnight (the pilot is an unassuming individual called siegel) and took on the middle watch. it was blowing about force 4 from the south-west, and a nasty short, lumpy sea was running which caught us just on the port bow. about once every ten seconds she missed her step with the waves and, dipping her nose into it, shovelled up tons of water, which, as the bow lifted, raced aft and, breaking against the gun, flung itself in clouds of spray against the bridge. in a very few minutes every exposed portion of me was streaming with water.
-at about 2 a.m. i had turned my back to the sea for a moment, and my thoughts were for an instant in bruges, when, on facing forward once again i saw a sight which effectually brought me back to earth.
-this was the spectacle of two black shapes, evidently steamers, one on either bow, distant, i should estimate, 600 or 700 metres. i had to make a quick decision, and i decided that to fire a torpedo in that sea with any hope of a hit, especially with the boat on surface, was useless; furthermore, that at any moment either of the steamers might sight us from their high bridge and turn and ram.
-these thoughts were the work of an instant, and i at once rang the diving bell, and, pushing the look-out before me, in five seconds i was in the conning tower and had the hatch down. i at once proceeded down into the boat, and the first thing that struck my eye was the diving gauge with the needle practically stationary at two metres.
-the boat was not going down properly! and for an instant i was rudely shaken, until a cool voice from the wardroom remarked, "helm hard a-port," an order that was instantly obeyed, and as she began to turn the moving needle on the depth gauge began its journey round the dial. it was the captain who had spoken. as soon as he heard the diving alarm he was out of his bunk, and a glance at the gauge he has fitted in the wardroom told him we were not sinking rapidly. in an instant he had put his finger on the trouble, which was that we were almost head on to the sea, with the result that he had given the order as stated above, which, bringing us beam on to the sea, had caused her to dive with ease. he is efficiency itself!
-as i explained to him what had happened, the noise of propellers at varying distances from us overhead led him to state his belief that we had run into a convoy homeward bound to southampton from the atlantic.
-he approved of my actions in every particular, save only in my omission to bring the boat away from the sea as i began to dive.
-this morning we are beginning to get the full force of what is evidently going to be a south-westerly gale of some violence. the seas are getting larger as we debouch into the atlantic. this looks bad for business.
-at the moment we are practically hove to on the surface, with the port engine just jogging to keep her head on to sea and the starboard ticking round to give her a long, slow charge of 200 amps.
-the wind is force 7-8 and a very big sea is running which makes it entirely impossible to open the conning tower hatch; the engine is getting its air through the special mushroom ventilator, which is apparently not designed to supply both the boat's requirements and those of the engine; the whole ventilator gets covered with sea every now and then, during which period until the baffle drains get the water away no air can get in, so the engine has a good suck at the air in the boat, the result of all this being a slight vacuum in the boat. it is a very unpleasant sensation, and made me very sick. this is really a form of sickness due to the rarefied air.
-i had a great surprise when i looked at the barograph this morning as the needle had gone right off the paper at the bottom, and at first glance i thought we had struck a tropical depression of the first magnitude, which, flouting all the laws of meteorology, had somehow found its way to the english channel; but the engineer explained to me that, as i have already stated, the low atmospheric pressure in the boat was due to the conning-tower hatch being shut down.
-i have discovered that von weissman is a martyr to sea-sickness--all day he has been lying down as white as a sheet and subsisting on milk tablets and sips of brandy; yet such is the man's inflexibility of will that he forces himself to make a tour of inspection right round the boat every six hours, night and day. it is this will to conquer which has made germans unconquerable, though "come the four corners of the world in arms" against us, as the great poet says.
-we are, of course, keeping watch from inside the conning tower; it is, at all events, dry, but as to seeing anything one might as well be looking out through a small glass window from inside a breakwater! to bed till 4 a.m.
-a most unprofitable day. i grudge every day away from zoe on which we do nothing. this morning about noon the gale blew itself out, but a heavy confused sea continued to run.
-i had a good look at her through the foremost periscope in between the waves, and it maddened me to see all that oil, doubtless from tampico for the grand fleet, going safely by. the destroyers were having a bad time of it, crashing into the sea like porpoises, their funnels white with salt, and their bridges enveloped in sheets of water and spray. they little thought that, barely a mile away, amidst the tumbling, crested waves a german eye was watching them!
-there is no doubt these damned british have pluck, for it was the last sort of weather in which one would have expected to find destroyers at sea, and yet i suppose they do this throughout the winter.
-after all, one would expect them to be tough fellows--they are of teutonic stock--though by their bearing one might imagine that the creator made an englishman and then adam.
-let's hope we get some decent weather to-morrow. i have just been refreshing my memory by reading of what i wrote in the book, concerning the day in the forest with the adorable girl. there is an exquisite pleasure in transporting the mind into such memories of the past when the body is in such surroundings as the present, if only i could will myself to dream of her!
-a fine day in every sense of the word. the weather has been and remains excellent, and i have been present at my first sinking. it was absurdly commonplace. at 10 a.m. this morning a column of smoke crept upwards from the southern horizon.
-von weissman steered towards it on the surface until two masts and the top of a funnel appeared. we dived and proceeded slowly under water on a southerly course.
-half an hour passed and von weissman brought the boat up to periscope depth and had a look. he called to me to come and see, an invitation i accepted with alacrity.
-she was a steamer (british) of about 4,000 tons, slugging home at a steady ten knots, but she was destined to come to her last mooring place ahead of schedule time!
-we dipped our periscope and i went forward to the tubes. five minutes elapsed and the order instrument bell rang, the pointer flicking to "stand by." i personally removed the firing gear safety pin and put the repeat to "ready." a breathless pause, then a slight shake and destruction was on its way, whilst i realized by the angle of the boat that weissman was taking us down a few metres.
-that shows his coolness, he didn't even trouble to watch his shot.
-anxiously i watch the second hand of my stop watch. weissman had told me the range would be about 500 metres--30 seconds--31--32--33--has he missed?--34--35--3--a dull rumble comes through the water and the whole boat shakes. hurra! we have hit, and the order "surface" comes along the voice pipe.
-the cheerful voice of the blower is heard, evacuating the tanks; i run to the conning tower and closely follow weissman up the ladder. at last i am on the bridge. there she is! what a sight!
-i feel that i shall never forget what she looked like, though, if all goes well, i shall see many another fine ship go to her grave.
-but war has little use for sentimentality! and in my usual wandering manner i see that i have meandered from the point and quite forgotten what she did look like.
-what i saw was this:
-i saw that the steamer had been hit forward on the starboard side. the upper portion of the stem piece was almost down to the water level, her foremost hold was obviously filling rapidly. her stern was high out of water, the red ensign of england flapping impotently on the ensign staff. her propeller, which was still slowly revolving, thrashed the water, and this heightened the impression that i was watching the struggles of a dying animal. the propeller was revolving in spasmodic jerks, due, i imagine, to the fast failing steam only forcing the cranks over their dead centres with an effort.
-a boat was being lowered with haste from the two davits abreast the funnel on one side, but when she was full of men and, due to the angle of the ship, well down by the bow, someone inboard let go the foremost fall or else it broke, for the bows of the boat fell downwards and half a dozen figures were projected in grotesque attitudes into the sea. for a few seconds the boat swung backwards and forwards, like a pendulum.
-when she came to rest, hanging vertically downwards from the stern, i noticed that a few men were still clinging like flies to her thwarts. truly, anything is better than the atlantic in winter. meanwhile the ship had ceased to sink as far as outward signs went.
-i mentioned this to von weissman, who was at my side with a slight smile on his face, amused doubtless at the eagerness with which i watched every detail of this, to me, novel tragedy. he answered me that i need not worry, that she was being supported by an air lock somewhere forward, that the water was slowly creeping into her and her boilers would probably soon go.
-this remarkable man was absolutely correct.
-no! i am wrong, there were two other things: a u-boat, representing the might of germany, and a whaler with perhaps twenty men in it, representing the plight of england!
-as she went i felt hushed and solemn, it was an impressive moment; a slight chuckle came from imperturbable weissman; he had seen too many go to think much of it, and he gave an order for the helm to be put over, so that we might approach the whaler.
-they were horribly overcrowded, and were engaged in trying to sort themselves into some sort of order. we passed by them at 50 yards and weissman, seizing his megaphone, shouted in english: "goodbye! steer west for america!" a cold horror gripped my heart. it was an awful moment. i dare not write the thoughts that entered my head.
-i turned away my head and faced aft, that he should not see my face; looking back i saw the whaler rocking dangerously in our wash, and then a commotion took place in her stern, from which a huge bearded man arose and, shaking his fist in our direction, shouted something or other before his companions pulled him down.
-von weissman heard and his lips narrowed in. i held my breath in suspense, but he evidently decided against what he had been about to do, for with the order, "course north! ten knots," he went below.
-i remained on deck watching the rapidly receding whaler through my glasses until she was a mere speck--alone on the ocean, 150 miles from land, then the navigator came up, and with strangely mixed feelings of exultant joy and depressing sorrow i went below.
-von weissman was in the wardroom. i watched him unobserved. he was humming a tune to himself and had just completed putting a green dot on the chart. this done he lay back on the settee and closed his eyes--strange, insoluble man!
-for long hours i could not forget that whaler; i see it now as i write. i suppose i shall get used to it all. what would zoe say?
-the most wonderful thing about man is that he can stand the strain of his own invention of modern war!
-i am rather tired to-night, but must just jot down briefly what has taken place to-day, as there is never any time in the daylight hours.
-soon after dawn, at about 8 a.m., we sighted a fair-sized steamer of about 3,000 tons, which we sunk, but i cannot say what she looked like, or whether anyone escaped, as we never came to the surface at all, von weissman sighting smoke on the western horizon just as he hit her. we accordingly steered in that direction. however, i think she went almost at once as von weissman put a dot (black) on the chart as we made towards number 3.
-i very much wanted to know whether there were any survivors, but i did not like to ask him at the time and he has been in such an infernal temper ever since that i haven't had a suitable opportunity.
-the cause of his rage was as follows:
-steamer number 3 turned out to be a fine fat chap (of the clan line, von weissman said, when we first sighted her). we moved in to attack and fired our port bow tube. i waited in vain by the tubes for the expected explosion--nothing happened, but after a couple of minutes a snarl came down the voice pipe: "surface, gun action stations!"
-i ran aft, and found the captain white with rage.
-"missed ahead!" he said, with intense feeling, "i'll have to use that confounded gun."
-in about three minutes the captain and myself were on the bridge and the crew were at their stations round the gun.
-for the first time i saw the ship; she was stern on and apparently painted with black and white stripes. as i examined her through glasses--she was distant about 3,000 yards--i saw a flash aboard her and a few seconds later a projectile moaned overhead and fell about 6,000 yards over. so she is armed, thought i, and she has actually opened fire on us first.
-the effect of this unexpected retort on the part of the englishman was to throw weissman into a paroxysm of rage.
-"why don't you fire? what the devil are you waiting for?" etc., etc., were some of the remarks he flung at the gun crew.
-i did not consider it advisable to mention to him that they were probably waiting his order to fire, and also his orders for range and deflection, as i had imagined that, here as everywhere else, an officer controls the gun-fire. apparently in this boat it is not so, as weissman takes so little interest in his gun that he affects to be, or else actually is, ignorant of the elements of gun control.
-at any rate, under the lash of his tongue, the gun's crew soon got into action, the gun-layer taking charge. our first shot was short, very considerably so, as was also the second. meanwhile the steamer had been keeping up a very creditably controlled rate of fire, straddling us twice, but missing for deflection, as was natural considering that we were bows on to her.
-i felt thoroughly in my element listening to the significant wail of the enemy's shell, punctuated by the ear-splitting report of our own gun. weissman, gripping the rail with both hands, and to my surprise ducking when one went overhead, watched the target with a fixed expression, but made no attempt to control our gun-fire, which was far from creditable, as is inevitable when it is left to the mercy of the inferior intellect of a seaman.
-however, at the tenth or eleventh round we hit her in the upper works, as was shown by a bright red and yellow flash near her funnel. this did not check her firing or speed in the least, in fact she seemed to be gaining on us. she also began to zigzag slightly and throw smoke bombs overboard, which were not so effective from her point of view as i had thought they would be.
-matters were thus for some minutes. we had just hit her aft for the second time, though the shooting was so disgustingly bad that i was about to ask whether i might do the duties of control officer, when there was a blinding flash and the air seemed filled with moaning fragments. when i had recovered from my relief from finding that i was personally uninjured, i observed that two of the gun's crew were wounded and one was lying, either killed or seriously wounded, on the casing. we had been hit in the casing, well forward, and, as was subsequently proved when we dived, little material damage was caused to the boat.
-this enemy success caused a temporary cessation of fire. the two wounded men were cautiously making their way aft to the conning tower, and i called for a couple of stokers to come up and carry away the third, when von weissman suddenly gave the order to dive. the gun's crew at once made a rush for the conning tower, and were down the hatch in a trice, one of the wounded men fainting at the bottom.
-i was unaware as to the reason of this order to dive, and thought that perhaps the captain had sighted a periscope. as i was turning to precede him down the conning tower hatch i distinctly saw the man lying by the gun lift his hand. i felt i could not leave him there, and instinctively cried, "he is still alive!" but von weissman, who was urging the crew to hurry down the hatch, pressed the diving alarm as soon as the last sailor was half in the hatch.
-i knew that this meant that the boat would be under in 30 to 40 seconds, so i had no alternative but to get down the hatch as quickly as possible.
-i did so with reluctance, and i was followed by von weissman, who joined me in the upper conning tower.
-i forced myself not to look out of the conning tower scuttles during the few seconds that elapsed as the casing slowly went under, until at last nothing but waving green water showed at each little window. i feared that, if i had looked, i would have seen a wounded man, stung into activity by the cold touch of the atlantic. perhaps von weissman read my thoughts, or else he remembered my remark concerning the man, for he turned to me and in level tones said:
-"have you any doubt that he was dead?"
-i hesitated a moment, and he continued:
-"by my direction you have no doubt. he was!"
-how brutal war is, and what a perfect exponent of the art the captain proves himself to be! to me a life is a life, a particle of the thing divine; to him a life is a unit, and a half-maimed and probably dying seaman is as nothing in the scales when the safety of a u-boat is at stake. the seamen are numbered in their tens of thousands, the u-boats in their tens. the steamer had hit us once, luckily only in the casing, a second hit might well have punctured the pressure hull, and our fate in these waters would have been certain. therefore, having summed these things up and balanced them in his mind, he dived and the sailor died.
-once below water von weissman seemed more his imperturbable self, and unless i am mistaken he is never really happy on the surface, at least when in action. he is a true water mole.
-a day full of interest, though once again i have had to force myself to absorb the horrors of war. i imagine that i am now going through the experiences of a new arrival on the western front, who feels a desire to shudder at the sight of every corpse.
-at 10 a.m. this morning we sighted the topsails of a sailing boat to the southwest. closing her on the surface, we approached to within about 6,000 metres, when suddenly von weissman ordered "gun action stations."
-the gun crew came tumbling up, but not quick enough to suit him, for as they were mustering at the gun he gave the order to dive, only, however, taking her down to periscope depth before instantly ordering surface and then "gun action stations" again. this time we opened fire on the ship, which was a norwegian barque and, being in the barred zone, liable to destruction.
-this action on their part had no influence with von weissman, who had taken personal charge of the helm, and, with the engines running at three-quarter speed, he was zigzagging about, to make it harder for the gun's crew. every now and then he flung a gibe at the crew, such as suggesting that they should go back to the high seas fleet and learn how to shoot.
-the sailing ship was soon on fire, for, considering the circumstances, the shooting was very fair, though had i been controlling it i could have confidently guaranteed better results. when she was blazing nicely fore and aft, von weissman ordered the practice to cease, and sent the crew below. he then ordered course south, speed ten knots, and i took over the watch.
-an hour and a half later, when the navigator gave me a spell, a black cloud on the northern horizon marked the funeral pyre of another of our victims. when i went below, the captain had just finished playing with his precious old chart.
-we received a message at 2 a.m. last night from heligoland to return forthwith; it is now 2 a.m. and we are approaching the redoubtable dover barrage. we had no trouble coming up channel to-day, which seems singularly empty, at any rate in mid-channel, where we were.
-we got back about three hours ago, and as i was appointed temporary to the boat, von weissman kindly allowed me to leave her and come up to bruges as soon as we got into the shelters at zeebrugge.
-i got up here just, in time for a late dinner. hunger satisfied, i retired to my room and, needless to say, at once rang up my darling zoe.
-by the mercy of providence she was in, but imagine my sensations when i heard that that accursed swine of a colonel was also back from the front, and expected in at the flat at any moment, being then, she thought, engaged in his after dinner drinking bouts at the cavalry officers' club. i could only groan.
-a laugh at the other end stung me to furious rage, appeased in an instant by her soothing tones as she told me that i should be glad to hear that he was only up from the somme on a four-days leave, and was returning next morning by the 8 a.m. troop train. glad! i could have danced for joy. i breathed again.
-as the colonel was expected back at any moment she thought it advisable to terminate the conversation, which was done with obvious reluctance on her part, or so i flatter myself.
-he goes to-morrow, so far so good, but what of the intervening period?
-could any more refined torture be imagined than that i, who love her as i love my own soul, should have to sit here, whilst scarcely a mile away, probably at this very moment as i write, that gross brute is privileged to kiss her, to look at her, to--oh! it's unbearable. when i think of that hog, for though i've never seen him, i've seen his photograph, and i know instinctively that he is gross, fresh, as she says, from a drinking bout, should at this moment be permitted to raise his pigs' eyes and look into those glorious wells of violet light; when i think that his is the privilege to see those masses of black hair fall in uncontrolled splendour, then i understand to the full the deep pleasures of murder.
-i would give anything to destroy this man, and could shake the englishman by the hand who fires the delivering bullet!
-steady! steady! what do i write? no! i mean it, every word of it. yet of all the mysteries, and to me zoe is a mass of them, surely the strangest of all is contained in the question: why does she live with him?
-she doesn't love him, she's practically told me so. in fact, i know she doesn't. let me reason it out by logic. she lives with him, whether voluntarily or involuntarily. suppose it be voluntarily, then her reasons must be (a) love; (b) fascination; (c) some secret reason. if she is living with him involuntarily it must be: (d) he has a hold on her; (e) for financial reasons.
-i strike out at once (a) and (e), for in the case of (e) she knows well that i would provide for her, and (a) i refuse to admit, (b) is hardly credible--i eliminate that. i am left with (c) and (d) which might be the same thing. but what hold can he have on her; she can't have a past, she is too young and sweet for that.
-i must find out about this before i go to sea again.
-three days ago, i was racking my brains for the solution of a problem, and, as i see from what i wrote, i was somewhat outside myself. in the interval things have taken an amazing turn. i am still bewildered--but i must put it all down from the beginning.
-the colonel left as she said he would, and i went round to lunch with her.
-we had a delightful tête-à-tête, and after lunch she played the piano. i was feeling in splendid voice and she accompanied me to perfection in tchaikowsky's "to the forest," always a favourite of mine. as the last chords died away, zoe jumped up from the piano and, with eyes dancing with excitement, placed her hands on my shoulders and exclaimed:
-"karl! i have an idea! i shall make a prisoner of you for two or three days."
-i laughed heartily and almost told her that she had already made me a prisoner for life, only i can never get those sort of remarks out quick enough.
-but when she said, "no! i am not joking, i mean it," i felt there was more meaning in her sentence than i had at first thought. i begged to be enlightened, and she then unfolded her scheme.
-she told me for the first time, that in a forest not far from bruges she had a little summer-house, to which she used to retreat for week-ends in the hot weather when the colonel was away. he knew nothing of this country house (she was very insistent on that point), so i imagined she paid for it out of her dress allowance or in some other way. the idea that had just struck her was that she had a sudden fancy to go and spend two days there, and i was to go with her.
-i was ready to go to africa with her if my leave permitted, and it so happened that i was due for four days' overseas leave (limited to belgian territory) so that this fitted in very well, and i told her so.
-she was delighted, then, with one of those quick intuitions which women are so clever at, she read the half-formed thought in my mind, and said: "you mustn't think it's not going to be conventional; old babette will be with us to chaperon me." old babette is an aged female whom she calls her maid. i think she is jealous of me.
-i agreed at once that of course i quite understood it was to be highly conventional, etc., though i smiled to myself as i visualized my mother's shocked face and uplifted hands had she heard my zoe's ideas on the conventions.
-i was trying to fathom what was at the bottom of it all when she remarked: "of course, as my prisoner you will have to obey all my orders."
-i replied that this was certainly so.
-"and one of the first things," she continued, "that happens to a prisoner when he goes through the enemy lines is that he is blindfolded, and in the same way i shan't let you know where you are going."
-seeing a doubtful look in my eyes as i endeavoured to keep pace with the underlying idea, if any, of this truly feminine fancy, she suddenly came up to me and, lifting her eyes to mine, murmured: "don't you trust me?"
-in a moment my passion flared up, and rained hot kisses on her face as she struggled to release herself from my arms.
-she had told me of an address in bruges which she said would forward on any telegram if i was recalled, and i had to be satisfied with that, for i may as well say here that i never discovered where i went to, and i don't know to this moment in what part of belgium i spent the last two nights.
-i tried to find out at first, but as she obviously attached some importance to keeping the locality of her woodland retreat a secret, probably to circumvent the colonel, i soon gave up trying to get the secret from her, and contented myself with taking things as they came.
-zoe was excited and the flat was in a turmoil, as apparently she had only just begun to pack her dressing-case.
-soon after six we went down and got into a large mercédès car which i had noticed standing outside when i arrived. we were soon on our way, and left bruges by the eastern barrier; we showed our passes and proceeded into the darkened country-side. we had been running for about a mile when she remarked, "prisoners will now be blindfolded!" and, to my astonishment, slipped a little black silk bag over my head.
-i was so startled i didn't know whether to be angry, or to laugh, or what to do. eventually i did nothing, and, entering into the spirit of the game, declared that even a wretched prisoner had the right not to be stifled, whereupon she lifted the lower portion of the bag and uncovered my mouth. shortly afterwards i was electrified to feel a pair of soft lips meet mine, a sensation which was repeated at frequent intervals, and, as i whispered in her ear, under these conditions i was prepared to be taken prisoner into the jaws of hell.
-this pleasant journey had lasted for about three-quarters of an hour when my mask was removed and i was informed that i was "inside the enemy lines!" through the windows of the car i could dimly see that an apparently endless mass of fir trees were rushing past on each side. this state of affairs continued for a kilometre or so, when we branched to the right and soon entered a large clearing in the forest, at one side of which stood the house. babette, zoe and myself entered the building, and the car disappeared, presumably back to bruges.
-the house, built of logs, was of two stories; on the ground floor were two living rooms, and the domains of babette, who amongst her other accomplishments turned out to be not only a most capable valet, but a first-class cook. on the second story there were two large rooms. the whole house was furnished after the manner of a hunting lodge, with stags' heads on the walls, and skins on the floors. in the drawing-room there was a piano and a few etchings of the wild boar by schaffein.
-i dressed for dinner in my "smoking," though under ordinary circumstances i should have considered this rather formal, but i was glad i did, for she appeared in full evening tenue. she wore a violet gown, and across her forehead a black satin bandeau with a z in diamonds upon it. it must have cost two thousand marks, and i wondered with a dull kind of jealousy whether the colonel had given it to her.
-i cannot remember of what we talked during dinner. we have a hundred subjects in common, and we look at so many aspects of the world through the same pair of eyes; i only know that when i have been talking to her for a period--there is no exact measurement of time for me when i am with her--i leave her presence feeling "completed." i feel that a sort of gap within my being has been filled, that a spiritual hunger has been satisfied, that i have got something which i wanted, but for which i could not have formulated the desire in words. i had resolved that on this first night i would bring matters between us to a head and end this delicious but intolerable uncertainty as to how we stood; yet, when old babette had served us with coffee in the drawing-room, as i call the second living-room, and we were alone together, i could not bring up the subject. partly because i think she prevented me so doing by that skilful shepherding of the conversation into other paths with an artfulness with which god endows all women, and also partly because i could not screw myself up to the pitch. i could not, or rather would not, put my fate to the touch. i had a presentiment that in reaching for the summit i might fall from the slope. alas! how true was this foreboding in some senses--but i will keep all things in their right order.
-let it only be recorded that when she kissed me good-night (with the tenderness of a mother) and left me to smoke a final cigar i had said nothing, and i could only wonder at the strange fate that had placed me practically alone with a girl whom i had grown to love with a deep emotion, and who appeared to love me, yet often behaved as if i was her brother.
-the next day we were like two children. the snow was deep on the ground, and the fir trees stood like thousands of sentinels in grey uniform round the clearing. once during the afternoon, as with zoe's assistance i was furiously chopping wood for the fire, a droning noise made me look up, and thousands of metres overhead a small squadron of aeroplanes, evidently bound for the western front, sailed slowly across the sky. i thought how awkward it would be for them if they experienced an engine failure whilst over the forest, though they were up so high that i imagine they could have glided ten kilometres, and as i think (but i am not certain, and i have pledged myself not to try and find out) we were in the forest of montellan, which is barely fifteen kilometres broad, i suppose they could have fallen clear of the trees.
-as a matter of fact i imagine they would have used our clearing--i'm glad they didn't.
-that night after dinner she played to me, first beethoven and then chopin. i can see her as i write; she had just finished the 14th prelude and, resting her chin on her hand, she smiled mysteriously at me.
-the hour had come, and, driven by strong impulses, i spoke. i told her that i loved her as i had never thought that a man could love a woman; i told her that i longed to shield her and protect her, and above all things to remove her from the clutches of that bestial colonel, and as i bent over her and felt my senses swim in the subtleties of her perfume, i begged her passionately to say the word that would give me the right to fight the world on her behalf.
-when i had finished she was silent for a long while, and i can remember distinctly that i wondered whether she could hear the thump! thump! thump! of my heart, which to my agitated mind seemed to beat with the strength of a hammer.
-at length she spoke; two words came slowly from her lips:
-i was not discouraged. i could see, i could feel, that a tremendous struggle was raging, the outward signs of which were concealed by her averted head.
-at length i asked her point-blank whether she loved me. her silence gave me my answer, and i took her unresisting body into my arms and kissed her to distraction. oh! these kisses, how bitter they seem to me now, and yet how i long to hold her once again. for, freeing herself from my embrace and speaking almost mechanically, she said:
-"karl! i must tell you. i cannot marry you."
-i pleaded, i prayed, i argued, i demanded. it was in vain; i always came up against the immovable "i cannot."
-and then i crashed over the precipice towards whose edge i had been blindly going. i had said for the hundredth time, "but you know you love me," when with a sob she abandoned all reserve, and, flinging her arms round my neck, implored me to take her. then, as i caught my breath, she quickly said, as if frightened that she had gone too far, "but i cannot marry you."
-i looked down into those beautiful eyes, and for the first time i understood. for perhaps ten seconds i battled for my soul and the purity of our love; then, tearing my sight from those eyes which would lure an archangel to destruction, i was once more master of my body. as my resolution grew, i hated her for doing this thing that had wrecked in an instant the hopes of months, the ideals on which i had begun to build afresh my life.
-she felt the change, and left me.
-as she went out by the door she gave me one last look, a look in which love struggled with shame, a look which no man has ever earned the right to receive from any woman.
-but i was as a statue of marble, dazed by this calamity.
-as the door closed upon her, i started forward--it was too late.
-had she waited another instant--but there, i write of what has happened and not what might have been.
-i did not sleep that night, until the dawn began to separate each fir tree from the black mass of the forest. twice in the night, with shame i confess it, i opened my door and looked down the little passage-way; and twice i closed the door and threw myself upon my bed in an agony of torment. it was ten o'clock when a knock at the door aroused me, and the sunlight through the window-pane was tracing patterns on the floor.
-there was a note on the breakfast table, but before i opened it i knew that, save for babette, i was alone in the house.
-the note was brief, unaddressed and unsigned. i have it here before me; i have meant to tear it up but i cannot. it is a weakness to keep it, but i have lost so much in the last few days, that i will not grudge myself some small relic of what has been. the note says:
-"i am leaving for bruges at half-past eight, when the car was ordered to fetch us back. i go alone. babette will give you breakfast. the car will return for you at eleven o'clock. i rely on your honour in that you will not observe where you have been. come to me when you want me--till then, farewell."
-it was as she said, and i honourably acceded to her request. this afternoon just before lunch i arrived in bruges, and since tea-time i have tried to write down what has happened since i left the day before yesterday. oh! how could she do it, how can it be possible that she is a woman like that? i could have sworn that she was not like this--and yet how can i account for her life with the colonel? there must be some reason, but in heaven's name, what?
-meanwhile i am to go to her when i want her! and that will be when i can give her my name. but oh! zoe, i want you now, so badly, oh! so badly!
-i saw her once to-day in the gardens, walking by herself.
-i have told max's secretary that i want to get to sea; to be here in bruges and not to see her is more than i can bear.
-i sail at dawn to-morrow. shall i see her? no, it is best not.
-a frightful noise over the new year celebrations to-night. champagne flowing like water in the mess. i feel the year 1917 opens badly for me.
-weissman also went to sea again for a short trip in the channel, and has not reported for five days. perhaps he has despised the dover barrage once too often. if this is so, it is a great loss to the service: he was a man of iron resolution in underwater attack.
-i feel i ought to despise zoe, but i can't. i love her too much; after all, am i not perhaps encasing myself in the robe of a pharisee?
-she offered me all she had, save only the one thing i asked, without which i will take nothing. i cannot reconcile her behaviour with her character; why can't she trust me? why can't she be frank with me? i will not believe she is that sort.
-i feel i cannot go out again without a sign--i may not return, and i will not leave her, perhaps for ever, with this bitterness between us.
-at sea in u.c.47 again. alten as surly as ever.
-i decided finally to write to zoe, but found it difficult to know what to say. eventually i said more than i had intended. i told her frankly that i experienced a shock, but that i had not meant to seem so cold, and that what i had done had been done for both our sakes. i told her that i still loved her, and i implored her once more to leave the colonel and come to me as my wife.
-already i long to know what message awaits me on my return.
-this will not be for three days. we left at dawn this morning to lay mines off the channel to harwich harbour; a nest from which submarines, cruisers and destroyers buzz in and out like wasps. it will be ticklish work.
-on the bottom.
-our mines are still with us, but so are our lives, which is something.
-we were approaching the appointed spot at 6 a.m. this morning, when without the slightest warning the track of a torpedo was seen streaking towards us about 50 yards on the starboard bow.
-before alten (who was on the bridge with me) could do more than press the diving alarm, the track met our ram. i breathed again, and was then reminded by an oath from alten that the boat was diving.
-it was evident that we had only been saved by the torpedo running deep under the cut-away part of our bow, otherwise!--well, the tangle of my affairs would have been easily straightened.
-further procedure on the surface was suicidal, and we kept hydrophone patrol, twice hearing the motors of the enemy submarine. at the moment we are on the bottom waiting to come up and charge to-night, and lay our mines at dawn to-morrow.
-on the bottom in 28 metres and feeling none too comfortable, as there would appear to be about a dozen destroyers overhead.
-last night, or rather early this morning, i participated in one of the most extraordinary incidents that i have ever heard of.
-it was pitch-black dark when i took over at 4 a.m., and a fresh breeze had raised a lumpy sea, which covered the bridge with spray. we were charging 400 amps on each, with the intention of laying one mine directly there was sufficient light to get a fix from some of the buoys which the english stick down all over the place here in the most convenient manner possible. if only one could believe they never shifted them. alten says it never occurs to an englishman to do a thing like that, but i'm not so sure. however, we were proceeding along at about five knots, crashing into the sea rather badly, when out of the black beastliness of the night i saw a shape close aboard on the port hand.
-as i hesitated for a second as to my course of action, i was astounded to see a large submarine which must have been british, on an opposite course, not more than 25 metres away!
-this sounds absurd, but it really wasn't further. i'm not ashamed to confess that i was completely disorganized; it did not seem possible that the enemy was literally alongside me.
-i don't know how it struck the officer in the british boat, but i must give him credit for doing something first, for he fired a very's white light straight at me as the two boats passed. it impinged on the hull, and in the flash i caught a photographic glimpse of his conning tower, on which was painted the letter e, followed by two numbers, of which one was a two i think, and the other a nine.
-by this time he was on my port quarter and rapidly disappearing; in a frenzy of rage i managed to get my revolver out, and whilst with the left hand i pressed the diving alarm, with the right hand i emptied the magazine in his direction. when we were down, alten practically refused to believe me, which made me very pleased that in descending i had trod on a pair of hands which turned out to be his, as he had started up the ladder to the upper conning tower when he first heard the alarm.
-i presume our opponent dived as well, but evidently he had put two and two together and used his aerial at some period, for when at dawn we poked a periscope up, a flotilla of destroyers appeared to be looking for something, which "something" was us, unless i am much mistaken; so we bottomed, where we have been ever since. the hydroplane operator keeps up a monotonous sing-song to the effect that "fast running propellers are either receding or approaching." the crew are collected round the mine-tubes as i write, and are singing a lugubrious song, the refrain of which runs:
-"death for the fatherland! glorious fate, this is the end that we gladly await."
-why will the seamen always become morbid when possible? and there is not a man amongst them who is not inwardly thinking of some beer-hall in bruges, though i suppose that like their betters they have their romances of a tenderer kind.
-it got steadily worse all night, and at midnight we lost our foremost wireless mast overboard; we have now (10 a.m.) been 48 hours without communication. at dawn we could see nothing to fix by; not a buoy in sight, nothing but an expanse of foam-topped short steep waves of dirty neutral-tinted water; how different to the great green and white surges of the broad atlantic.
-under these circumstances alten decided to risk it and return without laying our mines; for once in a way i agreed with him, as it is better not to lay a minefield at all than dump one down in some unknown position which one may have to traverse oneself in the course of a month or so. we are now slowly, very slowly, struggling back to zeebrugge.
-a green sea came down the conning tower to-day, and everything in the boat is damp and smelly and beastly. the propellers race at frequent intervals and the whole boat shudders--i feel miserable.
-alten has started to drink spirits; he began as soon as we decided to go back. he will be incapable by to-night, and it means that i shall have to take her in.
-what hell this is, sitting in sodden clothes, with the stench of four days' living assaulting the nostrils, and a motion of the devil; the glass is very low and is slowly rising, so that i suppose it will blow harder soon, though it is about force eight at present.
-i heard the voice of the helmsman querulously maintain that he was steering his course by anschutz, so i got up and gingerly clawed my way into the control room, where i found by comparing anschutz with magnetic that the former had gone to hell, the reason being obvious, as the stabilizer was exerting a strongly biased torque. i stopped the anschutz and asked the pilot to give the helmsman a steady by magnetic.
-as we staggered back to our course i heard a thud in the wardroom, and on returning to my settee found that alten had rolled out of his bunk, where he was lying in a drunken stupor, and that he was face downwards, sprawling on the deck, half his face in the broken half of a dirty dish which had fallen off the table whilst i was having tea. as i couldn't let the crew see him like this, i was obliged to struggle and get him back into his bunk. he was like a log and absolutely incapable of rendering me any assistance, though he did open his eyes and mutter once or twice as i lifted him up, trunk first and then his legs. he stank of spirits and i hated touching him. lord! what a truly hoggish man he is; yet i cannot help envying him his oblivion to these surroundings.
-arrived in, this afternoon.
-alten quite slept off his drink, and was offensively sarcastic as i worked on the forepart with wires, getting her into the shelters alongside the mole.
-i hastened up to bruges, and in the mess heard several items of news
-iii the holding of the business
-iv the development of the art
-vi notable users of the telephone
-vii the telephone and national efficiency
-viii the telephone in foreign countries
-ix the future of the telephone
-the history of the telephone
-chapter i. the birth of the telephone
-for an instant he was stunned. he had been expecting just such a sound for several months, but it came so suddenly as to give him the sensation of surprise. his eyes blazed with delight, and he sprang in a passion of eagerness to an adjoining room in which stood a young mechanic who was assisting him.
-"snap that reed again, watson," cried the apparently irrational young professor. there was one of the odd-looking machines in each room, so it appears, and the two were connected by an electric wire. watson had snapped the reed on one of the machines and the professor had heard from the other machine exactly the same sound. it was no more than the gentle twang of a clock-spring; but it was the first time in the history of the world that a complete sound had been carried along a wire, reproduced perfectly at the other end, and heard by an expert in acoustics.
-that twang of the clock-spring was the first tiny cry of the newborn telephone, uttered in the clanging din of a machine-shop and happily heard by a man whose ear had been trained to recognize the strange voice of the little newcomer. there, amidst flying belts and jarring wheels, the baby telephone was born, as feeble and helpless as any other baby, and "with no language but a cry."
-no discovery has ever been less accidental. it was the last link of a long chain of discoveries. it was the result of a persistent and deliberate search. already, for half a year or longer, bell had known the correct theory of the telephone; but he had not realized that the feeble undulatory current generated by a magnet was strong enough for the transmission of speech. he had been taught to undervalue the incredible efficiency of electricity.
-not only was bell himself a teacher of the laws of speech, so highly skilled that he was an instructor in boston university. his father, also, his two brothers, his uncle, and his grandfather had taught the laws of speech in the universities of edinburgh, dublin, and london. for three generations the bells had been professors of the science of talking. they had even helped to create that science by several inven-tions. the first of them, alexander bell, had invented a system for the correction of stammering and similar defects of speech. the second, alexander melville bell, was the dean of british elocutionists, a man of creative brain and a most impressive facility of rhetoric. he was the author of a dozen text-books on the art of speaking correctly, and also of a most ingenious sign-language which he called "visible speech." every letter in the alphabet of this language represented a certain action of the lips and tongue; so that a new method was provided for those who wished to learn foreign languages or to speak their own language more correctly. and the third of these speech-improving bells, the inventor of the telephone, inherited the peculiar genius of his fathers, both inventive and rhetorical, to such a degree that as a boy he had constructed an artificial skull, from gutta-percha and india rubber, which, when enlivened by a blast of air from a hand-bellows, would actually pronounce several words in an almost human manner.
-the third bell, the only one of this remarkable family who concerns us at this time, was a young man, barely twenty-eight, at the time when his ear caught the first cry of the telephone. but he was already a man of some note on his own account. he had been educated in edinburgh, the city of his birth, and in london; and had in one way and another picked up a smattering of anatomy, music, electricity, and telegraphy. until he was sixteen years of age, he had read nothing but novels and poetry and romantic tales of scottish heroes. then he left home to become a teacher of elocution in various british schools, and by the time he was of age he had made several slight discoveries as to the nature of vowel-sounds. shortly afterwards, he met in london two distinguished men, alexander j. ellis and sir charles wheatstone, who did far more than they ever knew to forward bell in the direction of the telephone.
-ellis was the president of the london philological society. also, he was the translator of the famous book on "the sensations of tone," written by helmholtz, who, in the period from 1871 to 1894 made berlin the world-centre for the study of the physical sciences. so it happened that when bell ran to ellis as a young enthusiast and told his experiments, ellis informed him that helmholtz had done the same things several years before and done them more completely. he brought bell to his house and showed him what helmholtz had done--how he had kept tuning-forks in vibration by the power of electro-magnets, and blended the tones of several tuning-forks together to produce the complex quality of the human voice.
-now, helmholtz had not been trying to invent a telephone, nor any sort of message-carrier. his aim was to point out the physical basis of music, and nothing more. but this fact that an electro-magnet would set a tuning-fork humming was new to bell and very attractive. it appealed at once to him as a student of speech. if a tuning-fork could be made to sing by a magnet or an electrified wire, why would it not be possible to make a musical telegraph--a telegraph with a piano key-board, so that many messages could be sent at once over a single wire? unknown to bell, there were several dozen inven-tors then at work upon this problem, which proved in the end to be very elusive. but it gave him at least a starting-point, and he forthwith commenced his quest of the telephone.
-as he was then in england, his first step was naturally to visit sir charles wheatstone, the best known english expert on telegraphy. sir charles had earned his title by many inventions. he was a simple-natured scientist, and treated bell with the utmost kindness. he showed him an ingenious talking-machine that had been made by baron de kempelin. at this time bell was twenty-two and unknown; wheatstone was sixty-seven and famous. and the personality of the veteran scientist made so vivid a picture upon the mind of the impressionable young bell that the grand passion of science became henceforth the master-motif of his life.
-from this summit of glorious ambition he was thrown, several months later, into the depths of grief and despondency. the white plague had come to the home in edinburgh and taken away his two brothers. more, it had put its mark upon the young inventor himself. nothing but a change of climate, said his doctor, would put him out of danger. and so, to save his life, he and his father and mother set sail from glasgow and came to the small canadian town of brantford, where for a year he fought down his tendency to consumption, and satisfied his nervous energy by teaching "visible speech" to a tribe of mohawk indians.
-by this time it had become evident, both to his parents and to his friends, that young graham was destined to become some sort of a creative genius. he was tall and supple, with a pale complexion, large nose, full lips, jet-black eyes, and jet-black hair, brushed high and usually rumpled into a curly tangle. in temperament he was a true scientific bohemian, with the ideals of a savant and the disposition of an artist. he was wholly a man of enthusiasms, more devoted to ideas than to people; and less likely to master his own thoughts than to be mastered by them. he had no shrewdness, in any commercial sense, and very little knowledge of the small practical details of ordinary living. he was always intense, always absorbed. when he applied his mind to a problem, it became at once an enthralling arena, in which there went whirling a chariot-race of ideas and inventive fancies.
-he had been fascinated from boyhood by his father's system of "visible speech." he knew it so well that he once astonished a professor of oriental languages by repeating correctly a sentence of sanscrit that had been written in "visible speech" characters. while he was living in london his most absorbing enthusiasm was the instruction of a class of deaf-mutes, who could be trained to talk, he believed, by means of the "visible speech" alphabet. he was so deeply impressed by the progress made by these pupils, and by the pathos of their dumbness, that when he arrived in canada he was in doubt as to which of these two tasks was the more important--the teaching of deaf-mutes or the invention of a musical telegraph.
-at this point, and before bell had begun to experiment with his telegraph, the scene of the story shifts from canada to massachusetts. it appears that his father, while lecturing in boston, had mentioned graham's exploits with a class of deaf-mutes; and soon afterward the boston board of education wrote to graham, offering him five hundred dollars if he would come to boston and introduce his system of teaching in a school for deaf-mutes that had been opened recently. the young man joyfully agreed, and on the first of april, 1871, crossed the line and became for the remainder of his life an american.
-for the next two years his telegraphic work was laid aside, if not forgotten. his success as a teacher of deaf-mutes was sudden and overwhelming. it was the educational sensation of 1871. it won him a professorship in boston university; and brought so many pupils around him that he ventured to open an ambitious "school of vocal physiology," which became at once a profitable enterprise. for a time there seemed to be little hope of his escaping from the burden of this success and becoming an inventor, when, by a most happy coincidence, two of his pupils brought to him exactly the sort of stimulation and practical help that he needed and had not up to this time received.
-for the next three years this cellar was his favorite retreat. he littered it with tuning-forks, magnets, batteries, coils of wire, tin trumpets, and cigar-boxes. no one outside of the sanders family was allowed to enter it, as bell was nervously afraid of having his ideas stolen. he would even go to five or six stores to buy his supplies, for fear that his intentions should be discovered. almost with the secrecy of a conspirator, he worked alone in this cellar, usually at night, and quite oblivious of the fact that sleep was a necessity to him and to the sanders family.
-"often in the middle of the night bell would wake me up," said thomas sanders, the father of georgie. "his black eyes would be blazing with excitement. leaving me to go down to the cellar, he would rush wildly to the barn and begin to send me signals along his experimental wires. if i noticed any improvement in his machine, he would be delighted. he would leap and whirl around in one of his `war-dances' and then go contentedly to bed. but if the experiment was a failure, he would go back to his workbench and try some different plan."
-the second pupil who became a factor--a very considerable factor--in bell's career was a fifteen-year-old girl named mabel hubbard, who had lost her hearing, and consequently her speech, through an attack of scarlet-fever when a baby. she was a gentle and lovable girl, and bell, in his ardent and headlong way, lost his heart to her completely; and four years later, he had the happiness of making her his wife. mabel hubbard did much to encourage bell. she followed each step of his progress with the keenest interest. she wrote his letters and copied his patents. she cheered him on when he felt himself beaten. and through her sympathy with bell and his ambitions, she led her father--a widely known boston lawyer named gardiner g. hubbard--to become bell's chief spokesman and defender, a true apostle of the telephone.
-hubbard first became aware of bell's inventive efforts one evening when bell was visiting at his home in cambridge. bell was illustrating some of the mysteries of acoustics by the aid of a piano. "do you know," he said to hubbard, "that if i sing the note g close to the strings of the piano, that the g-string will answer me?" "well, what then?" asked hubbard. "it is a fact of tremendous importance," replied bell. "it is an evidence that we may some day have a musical telegraph, which will send as many messages simultaneously over one wire as there are notes on that piano."
-later, bell ventured to confide to hubbard his wild dream of sending speech over an electric wire, but hubbard laughed him to scorn. "now you are talking nonsense," he said. "such a thing never could be more than a scientific toy. you had better throw that idea out of your mind and go ahead with your musical telegraph, which if it is successful will make you a millionaire."
-then, in the early summer of 1874, while he was puzzling over this harp apparatus, the dim outline of a new path suddenly glinted in front of him. he had not been forgetful of "visible speech" all this while, but had been making experiments with two remarkable machines--the phonautograph and the manometric capsule, by means of which the vibrations of sound were made plainly visible. if these could be im-proved, he thought, then the deaf might be taught to speak by sight--by learning an alphabet of vibrations. he mentioned these experiments to a boston friend, dr. clarence j. blake, and he, being a surgeon and an aurist, naturally said, "why don't you use a real ear?"
-such an idea never had, and probably never could have, occurred to bell; but he accepted it with eagerness. dr. blake cut an ear from a dead man's head, together with the ear-drum and the associated bones. bell took this fragment of a skull and arranged it so that a straw touched the ear-drum at one end and a piece of moving smoked glass at the other. thus, when bell spoke loudly into the ear, the vibrations of the drum made tiny markings upon the glass.
-it was one of the most extraordinary incidents in the whole history of the telephone. to an uninitiated onlooker, nothing could have been more ghastly or absurd. how could any one have interpreted the gruesome joy of this young professor with the pale face and the black eyes, who stood earnestly singing, whispering, and shouting into a dead man's ear? what sort of a wizard must he be, or ghoul, or madman? and in salem, too, the home of the witchcraft superstition! certainly it would not have gone well with bell had he lived two centuries earlier and been caught at such black magic.
-what had this dead man's ear to do with the invention of the telephone? much. bell noticed how small and thin was the ear-drum, and yet how effectively it could send thrills and vibrations through heavy bones. "if this tiny disc can vibrate a bone," he thought, "then an iron disc might vibrate an iron rod, or at least, an iron wire." in a flash the conception of a membrane telephone was pictured in his mind. he saw in imagination two iron discs, or ear-drums, far apart and connected by an electrified wire, catching the vibrations of sound at one end, and reproducing them at the other. at last he was on the right path, and had a theoretical knowledge of what a speaking telephone ought to be. what remained to be done was to construct such a machine and find out how the electric current could best be brought into harness.
-then, as though fortune suddenly felt that he was winning this stupendous success too easily, bell was flung back by an avalanche of troubles. sanders and hubbard, who had been paying the cost of his experiments, abruptly announced that they would pay no more unless he confined his attention to the musical telegraph, and stopped wasting his time on ear-toys that never could be of any financial value. what these two men asked could scarcely be denied, as one of them was his best-paying patron and the other was the father of the girl whom he hoped to marry. "if you wish my daughter," said hubbard, "you must abandon your foolish telephone." bell's "school of vocal physiology," too, from which he had hoped so much, had come to an inglorious end. he had been too much absorbed in his experiments to sustain it. his professorship had been given up, and he had no pupils except georgie sanders and mabel hubbard. he was poor, much poorer than his associates knew. and his mind was torn and distracted by the contrary calls of science, poverty, business, and affection. pouring out his sorrows in a letter to his mother, he said: "i am now beginning to realize the cares and anxieties of being an inventor. i have had to put off all pupils and classes, for flesh and blood could not stand much longer such a strain as i have had upon me."
-while stumbling through this slough of despond, he was called to washington by his patent lawyer. not having enough money to pay the cost of such a journey, he borrowed the price of a return ticket from sanders and arranged to stay with a friend in washington, to save a hotel bill that he could not afford. at that time professor joseph henry, who knew more of the theory of electrical science than any other american, was the grand old man of washington; and poor bell, in his doubt and desperation, resolved to run to him for advice.
-then came a meeting which deserves to be historic. for an entire afternoon the two men worked together over the apparatus that bell had brought from boston, just as henry had worked over the telegraph before bell was born. henry was now a veteran of seventy-eight, with only three years remaining to his credit in the bank of time, while bell was twenty-eight. there was a long half-century between them; but the youth had discovered a new fact that the sage, in all his wisdom, had never known.
-"you are in possession of the germ of a great invention," said henry, "and i would advise you to work at it until you have made it complete."
-"but," replied bell, "i have not got the electrical knowledge that is necessary."
-"get it," responded the aged scientist.
-"i cannot tell you how much these two words have encouraged me," said bell afterwards, in describing this interview to his parents. "i live too much in an atmosphere of discouragement for scientific pursuits; and such a chimerical idea as telegraphing vocal sounds would indeed seem to most minds scarcely feasible enough to spend time in working over."
-by this time bell had moved his workshop from the cellar in salem to 109 court street, boston, where he had rented a room from charles williams, a manufacturer of electrical supplies. thomas a. watson was his assistant, and both bell and watson lived nearby, in two cheap little bedrooms. the rent of the workshop and bedrooms, and watson's wages of nine dollars a week, were being paid by sanders and hubbard. consequently, when bell returned from washington, he was compelled by his agreement to devote himself mainly to the musical telegraph, although his heart was now with the telephone. for exactly three months after his interview with professor henry, he continued to plod ahead, along both lines, until, on that memorable hot afternoon in june, 1875, the full twang of the clock-spring came over the wire, and the telephone was born.
-from this moment, bell was a man of one purpose. he won over sanders and hubbard. he converted watson into an enthusiast. he forgot his musical telegraph, his "visible speech," his classes, his poverty. he threw aside a profession in which he was already locally famous. and he grappled with this new mystery of electricity, as henry had advised him to do, encouraging himself with the fact that morse, who was only a painter, had mastered his electrical difficulties, and there was no reason why a professor of acoustics should not do as much.
-the telephone was now in existence, but it was the youngest and feeblest thing in the nation. it had not yet spoken a word. it had to be taught, developed, and made fit for the service of the irritable business world. all manner of discs had to be tried, some smaller and thinner than a dime and others of steel boiler-plate as heavy as the shield of achilles. in all the books of electrical science, there was nothing to help bell and watson in this journey they were making through an unknown country. they were as chartless as columbus was in 1492. neither they nor any one else had acquired any experience in the rearing of a young telephone. no one knew what to do next. there was nothing to know.
-for forty weeks--long exasperating weeks--the telephone could do no more than gasp and make strange inarticulate noises. its educators had not learned how to manage it. then, on march 10, 1876, it talked. it said distinctly--
-"mr. watson, come here, i want you." watson, who was at the lower end of the wire, in the basement, dropped the receiver and rushed with wild joy up three flights of stairs to tell the glad tidings to bell. "i can hear you!" he shouted breathlessly. "i can hear the words."
-on his twenty-ninth birthday, bell received his patent, no. 174,465--"the most valuable single patent ever issued" in any country. he had created something so entirely new that there was no name for it in any of the world's languages. in describing it to the officials of the patent office, he was obliged to call it "an improvement in telegraphy," when, in truth, it was nothing of the kind. it was as different from the telegraph as the eloquence of a great orator is from the sign-language of a deaf-mute.
-other inventors had worked from the standpoint of the telegraph; and they never did, and never could, get any better results than signs and symbols. but bell worked from the standpoint of the human voice. he cross-fertilized the two sciences of acoustics and electricity. his study of "visible speech" had trained his mind so that he could mentally see the shape of a word as he spoke it. he knew what a spoken word was, and how it acted upon the air, or the ether, that carried its vibrations from the lips to the ear. he was a third-generation specialist in the nature of speech, and he knew that for the transmission of spoken words there must be "a pulsatory action of the electric current which is the exact equivalent of the aerial impulses."
-bell knew just enough about electricity, and not too much. he did not know the possible from the impossible. "had i known more about electricity, and less about sound," he said, "i would never have invented the telephone." what he had done was so amazing, so foolhardy, that no trained electrician could have thought of it. it was "the very hardihood of invention," and yet it was not in any sense a chance discovery. it was the natural output of a mind that had been led to assemble just the right materials for such a product.
-as though the very stars in their courses were working for this young wizard with the talking wire, the centennial exposition in philadelphia opened its doors exactly two months after the telephone had learned to talk. here was a superb opportunity to let the wide world know what had been done, and fortunately hubbard was one of the centennial commissioners. by his influence a small table was placed in the department of education, in a narrow space between a stairway and a wall, and on this table was deposited the first of the telephones.
-bell had no intention of going to the centennial himself. he was too poor. sanders and hubbard had never done more than pay his room-rent and the expense of his experiments. for his three or four years of inventing he had received nothing as yet--nothing but his patent. in order to live, he had been compelled to reorganize his classes in "visible speech," and to pick up the ravelled ends of his neglected profession.
-but one friday afternoon, toward the end of june, his sweetheart, mabel hubbard, was taking the train for the centennial; and he went to the depot to say good-bye. here miss hubbard learned for the first time that bell was not to go. she coaxed and pleaded, without effect. then, as the train was starting, leaving bell on the platform, the affectionate young girl could no longer control her feelings and was overcome by a passion of tears. at this the susceptible bell, like a true sir galahad, dashed after the moving train and sprang aboard, without ticket or baggage, oblivious of his classes and his poverty and of all else except this one maiden's distress. "i never saw a man," said watson, "so much in love as bell was."
-as it happened, this impromptu trip to the centennial proved to be one of the most timely acts of his life. on the following sunday after-noon the judges were to make a special tour of inspection, and mr. hubbard, after much trouble, had obtained a promise that they would spend a few minutes examining bell's telephone. by this time it had been on exhibition for more than six weeks, without attracting the serious attention of anybody.
-when sunday afternoon arrived, bell was at his little table, nervous, yet confident. but hour after hour went by, and the judges did not arrive. the day was intensely hot, and they had many wonders to examine. there was the first electric light, and the first grain-binder, and the musical telegraph of elisha gray, and the marvellous exhibit of printing telegraphs shown by the western union company. by the time they came to bell's table, through a litter of school-desks and blackboards, the hour was seven o'clock, and every man in the party was hot, tired, and hungry. several announced their intention of returning to their hotels. one took up a telephone receiver, looked at it blankly, and put it down again. he did not even place it to his ear. another judge made a slighting remark which raised a laugh at bell's expense. then a most marvellous thing happened--such an incident as would make a chapter in "the arabian nights entertainments."
-accompanied by his wife, the empress theresa, and by a bevy of courtiers, the emperor of brazil, dom pedro de alcantara, walked into the room, advanced with both hands outstretched to the bewildered bell, and exclaimed: "professor bell, i am delighted to see you again." the judges at once forgot the heat and the fatigue and the hunger. who was this young inventor, with the pale complexion and black eyes, that he should be the friend of emperors? they did not know, and for the moment even bell himself had forgotten, that dom pedro had once visited bell's class of deaf-mutes at boston university. he was especially interested in such humanitarian work, and had recently helped to organize the first brazilian school for deaf-mutes at rio de janeiro. and so, with the tall, blond-bearded dom pedro in the centre, the assembled judges, and scientists--there were fully fifty in all--entered with unusual zest into the proceedings of this first telephone exhibition.
-a wire had been strung from one end of the room to the other, and while bell went to the transmitter, dom pedro took up the receiver and placed it to his ear. it was a moment of tense expectancy. no one knew clearly what was about to happen, when the emperor, with a dramatic gesture, raised his head from the receiver and exclaimed with a look of utter amazement: "my god--it talks!"
-next came to the receiver the oldest scientist in the group, the venerable joseph henry, whose encouragement to bell had been so timely. he stopped to listen, and, as one of the bystanders afterwards said, no one could forget the look of awe that came into his face as he heard that iron disc talking with a human voice. "this," said he, "comes nearer to overthrowing the doctrine of the conservation of energy than anything i ever saw."
-then came sir william thomson, latterly known as lord kelvin. it was fitting that he should be there, for he was the foremost electrical scientist at that time in the world, and had been the engineer of the first atlantic cable. he listened and learned what even he had not known before, that a solid metallic body could take up from the air all the countless varieties of vibrations produced by speech, and that these vibrations could be carried along a wire and reproduced exactly by a second metallic body. he nodded his head solemnly as he rose from the receiver. "it does speak," he said emphatically. "it is the most wonderful thing i have seen in america."
-so, one after another, this notable company of men listened to the voice of the first telephone, and the more they knew of science, the less they were inclined to believe their ears. the wiser they were, the more they wondered. to henry and thomson, the masters of electrical magic, this instrument was as surprising as it was to the man in the street. and both were noble enough to admit frankly their astonishment in the reports which they made as judges, when they gave bell a certificate of award. "mr. bell has achieved a result of transcendent scientific interest," wrote sir william thomson. "i heard it speak distinctly several sentences.... i was astonished and delighted.... it is the greatest marvel hitherto achieved by the electric telegraph."
-until nearly ten o'clock that night the judges talked and listened by turns at the telephone. then, next morning, they brought the apparatus to the judges' pavilion, where for the remainder of the summer it was mobbed by judges and scientists. sir william thomson and his wife ran back and forth between the two ends of the wire like a pair of delighted children. and thus it happened that the crude little instrument that had been tossed into an out-of-the-way corner became the star of the centennial. it had been given no more than eighteen words in the official catalogue, and here it was acclaimed as the wonder of wonders. it had been conceived in a cellar and born in a machine-shop; and now, of all the gifts that our young american republic had received on its one-hundredth birthday, the telephone was honored as the rarest and most welcome of them all.
-chapter ii. the building of the business
-after the telephone had been born in boston, baptized in the patent office, and given a royal reception at the philadelphia centennial, it might be supposed that its life thenceforth would be one of peace and pleasantness. but as this is history, and not fancy, there must be set down the very surprising fact that the young newcomer received no welcome and no notice from the great business world. "it is a scientific toy," said the men of trade and commerce. "it is an interesting instrument, of course, for professors of electricity and acoustics; but it can never be a practical necessity. as well might you propose to put a telescope into a steel-mill or to hitch a balloon to a shoe-factory."
-poor bell, instead of being applauded, was pelted with a hailstorm of ridicule. he was an "impostor," a "ventriloquist," a "crank who says he can talk through a wire." the london times alluded pompously to the telephone as the latest american humbug, and gave many profound reasons why speech could not be sent over a wire, because of the intermittent nature of the electric current. almost all electricians--the men who were supposed to know--pronounced the telephone an impossible thing; and those who did not openly declare it to be a hoax, believed that bell had stumbled upon some freakish use of electricity, which could never be of any practical value.
-even though he came late in the succession of inventors, bell had to run the gantlet of scoffing and adversity. by the reception that the public gave to his telephone, he learned to sympathize with howe, whose first sewing-machine was smashed by a boston mob; with mccormick, whose first reaper was called "a cross between an astley chariot, a wheelbarrow, and a flying-machine"; with morse, whom ten congresses regarded as a nuisance; with cyrus field, whose atlantic cable was denounced as "a mad freak of stubborn ignorance"; and with westinghouse, who was called a fool for proposing "to stop a railroad train with wind."
-the very idea of talking at a piece of sheet-iron was so new and extraordinary that the normal mind repulsed it. alike to the laborer and the scientist, it was incomprehensible. it was too freakish, too bizarre, to be used outside of the laboratory and the museum. no one, literally, could understand how it worked; and the only man who offered a clear solution of the mystery was a boston mechanic, who maintained that there was "a hole through the middle of the wire."
-people who talked for the first time into a telephone box had a sort of stage fright. they felt foolish. to do so seemed an absurd performance, especially when they had to shout at the top of their voices. plainly, whatever of convenience there might be in this new contrivance was far outweighed by the loss of personal dignity; and very few men had sufficient imagination to picture the telephone as a part of the machinery of their daily work. the banker said it might do well enough for grocers, but that it would never be of any value to banking; and the grocer said it might do well enough for bankers, but that it would never be of any value to grocers.
-as bell had worked out his invention in salem, one editor displayed the headline, "salem witchcraft." the new york herald said: "the effect is weird and almost supernatural." the providence press said: "it is hard to resist the notion that the powers of darkness are somehow in league with it." and the boston times said, in an editorial of bantering ridicule: "a fellow can now court his girl in china as well as in east boston; but the most serious aspect of this invention is the awful and irresponsible power it will give to the average mother-in-law, who will be able to send her voice around the habitable globe."
-there were hundreds of shrewd capitalists in american cities in 1876, looking with sharp eyes in all directions for business chances; but not one of them came to bell with an offer to buy his patent. not one came running for a state contract. and neither did any legislature, or city council, come forward to the task of giving the people a cheap and efficient telephone service. as for bell himself, he was not a man of affairs. in all practical business matters, he was as incompetent as a byron or a shelley. he had done his part, and it now remained for men of different abilities to take up his telephone and adapt it to the uses and conditions of the business world.
-the first man to undertake this work was gardiner g. hubbard, who became soon afterwards the father-in-law of bell. he, too, was a man of enthusiasm rather than of efficiency. he was not a man of wealth or business experience, but he was admirably suited to introduce the telephone to a hostile public. his father had been a judge of the massachusetts supreme court; and he himself was a lawyer whose practice had been mainly in matters of legislation. he was, in 1876, a man of venerable appearance, with white hair, worn long, and a patriarchal beard. he was a familiar figure in washington, and well known among the public men of his day. a versatile and entertaining companion, by turns prosperous and impecunious, and an optimist always, gardiner hubbard became a really indispensable factor as the first advance agent of the telephone business.
-no other citizen had done more for the city of cambridge than hubbard. it was he who secured gas for cambridge in 1853, and pure water, and a street-railway to boston. he had gone through the south in 1860 in the patriotic hope that he might avert the impending civil war. he had induced the legislature to establish the first public school for deaf-mutes, the school that drew bell to boston in 1871. and he had been for years a most restless agitator for improvements in telegraphy and the post office. so, as a promoter of schemes for the public good, hubbard was by no means a novice. his first step toward capturing the attention of an indifferent nation was to beat the big drum of publicity. he saw that this new idea of telephoning must be made familiar to the public mind. he talked telephone by day and by night. whenever he travelled, he carried a pair of the magical instruments in his valise, and gave demonstrations on trains and in hotels. he buttonholed every influential man who crossed his path. he was a veritable "ancient mariner" of the telephone. no possible listener was allowed to escape.
-further to promote this campaign of publicity, hubbard encouraged bell and watson to perform a series of sensational feats with the telephone. a telegraph wire between new york and boston was borrowed for half an hour, and in the presence of sir william thomson, bell sent a tune over the two-hundred-and-fifty-mile line. "can you hear?" he asked the operator at the new york end. "elegantly," responded the operator. "what tune?" asked bell. "yankee doodle," came the answer. shortly afterwards, while bell was visiting at his father's house in canada, he bought up all the stove-pipe wire in the town, and tacked it to a rail fence between the house and a telegraph office. then he went to a village eight miles distant and sent scraps of songs and shakespearean quotations over the wire.
-there was still a large percentage of people who denied that spoken words could be transmitted by a wire. when watson talked to bell at public demonstrations, there were newspaper editors who referred sceptically to "the supposititious watson." so, to silence these doubters, bell and watson planned a most severe test of the telephone. they borrowed the telegraph line between boston and the cambridge observatory, and attached a telephone to each end. then they maintained, for three hours or longer, the first sustained conversation by telephone, each one taking careful notes of what he said and of what he heard. these notes were published in parallel columns in the boston advertiser, october 19, 1876, and proved beyond question that the telephone was now a practical success.
-after this, one event crowded quickly on the heels of another. a series of ten lectures was arranged for bell, at a hundred dollars a lecture, which was the first money payment he had received for his invention. his opening night was in salem, before an audience of five hundred people, and with mrs. sand-ers, the motherly old lady who had sheltered bell in the days of his experiment, sitting proudly in one of the front seats. a pole was set up at the front of the hall, supporting the end of a telegraph wire that ran from salem to boston. and watson, who became the first public talker by telephone, sent messages from boston to various members of the audience. an account of this lecture was sent by telephone to the boston globe, which announced the next morning--
-"this special despatch of the globe has been transmitted by telephone in the presence of twenty people, who have thus been witnesses to a feat never before attempted--the sending of news over the space of sixteen miles by the human voice."
-this globe despatch awoke the newspaper editors with an unexpected jolt. for the first time they began to notice that there was a new word in the language, and a new idea in the scientific world. no newspaper had made any mention whatever of the telephone for seventy-five days after bell received his patent. not one of the swarm of reporters who thronged the philadelphia centennial had regarded the telephone as a matter of any public interest. but when a column of news was sent by telephone to the boston globe, the whole newspaper world was agog with excitement. a thousand pens wrote the name of bell. requests to repeat his lecture came to bell from cyrus w. field, the veteran of the atlantic cable, from the poet longfellow, and from many others.
-as he was by profession an elocutionist, bell was able to make the most of these opportunities. his lectures became popular entertainments. they were given in the largest halls. at one lecture two japanese gentlemen were induced to talk to one another in their own language, via the telephone. at a second lecture a band played "the star-spangled banner," in boston, and was heard by an audience of two thousand people in providence. at a third, signor ferranti, who was in providence, sang a selection from "the marriage of figaro" to an audience in boston. at a fourth, an exhortation from moody and a song from sankey came over the vibrating wire. and at a fifth, in new haven, bell stood sixteen yale professors in line, hand in hand, and talked through their bodies--a feat which was then, and is to-day, almost too wonderful to believe.
-very slowly these lectures, and the tireless activity of hubbard, pushed back the ridicule and the incredulity; and in the merry month of may, 1877, a man named emery drifted into hubbard's office from the near-by city of charlestown, and leased two telephones for twenty actual dollars--the first money ever paid for a telephone. this was the first feeble sign that such a novelty as the telephone business could be established; and no money ever looked handsomer than this twenty dollars did to bell, sanders, hubbard, and watson. it was the tiny first-fruit of fortune.
-greatly encouraged, they prepared a little circular which was the first advertisement of the telephone business. it is an oddly simple little document to-day, but to the 1877 brain it was startling. it modestly claimed that a telephone was superior to a telegraph for three reasons:
-"(1) no skilled operator is required, but direct communication may be had by speech without the intervention of a third person.
-"(2) the communication is much more rapid, the average number of words transmitted in a minute by the morse sounder being from fifteen to twenty, by telephone from one to two hundred.
-"(3) no expense is required, either for its operation or repair. it needs no battery and has no complicated machinery. it is unsurpassed for economy and simplicity."
-the only telephone line in the world at this time was between the williams' workshop in boston and the home of mr. williams in somerville. but in may, 1877, a young man named e. t. holmes, who was running a burglar-alarm business in boston, proposed that a few telephones be linked to his wires. he was a friend and customer of williams, and suggested this plan half in jest and half in earnest. hubbard was quick to seize this opportunity, and at once lent holmes a dozen telephones. without asking permission, holmes went into six banks and nailed up a telephone in each. five bankers made no protest, but the sixth indignantly ordered "that playtoy" to be taken out. the other five telephones could be connected by a switch in holmes's office, and thus was born the first tiny and crude telephone exchange. here it ran for several weeks as a telephone system by day and a burglar-alarm by night. no money was paid by the bankers. the service was given to them as an exhibition and an advertisement. the little shelf with its five telephones was no more like the marvellous exchanges of to-day than a canoe is like a cunarder, but it was unquestionably the first place where several telephone wires came together and could be united.
-soon afterwards, holmes took his telephones out of the banks, and started a real telephone business among the express companies of boston. but by this time several exchanges had been opened for ordinary business, in new haven, bridgeport, new york, and philadelphia. also, a man from michigan had arrived, with the hardihood to ask for a state agency--george w. balch, of detroit. he was so welcome that hubbard joyfully gave him everything he asked--a perpetual right to the whole state of michigan. balch was not required to pay a cent in advance, except his railway fare, and before he was many years older he had sold his lease for a handsome fortune of a quarter of a million dollars, honestly earned by his initiative and enterprise.
-by august, when bell's patent was sixteen months old, there were 778 telephones in use. this looked like success to the optimistic hubbard. he decided that the time had come to organize the business, so he created a simple agreement which he called the "bell telephone association." this agreement gave bell, hubbard and sanders a three-tenths interest apiece in the patents, and watson one-tenth. there was no capital. there was none to be had. the four men had at this time an absolute monopoly of the telephone business; and everybody else was quite willing that they should have it.
-the only man who had money and dared to stake it on the future of the telephone was thomas sanders, and he did this not mainly for business reasons. both he and hubbard were attached to bell primarily by sentiment, as bell had removed the blight of dumbness from sanders's little son, and was soon to marry hubbard's daughter.
-also, sanders had no expectation, at first, that so much money would be needed. he was not rich. his entire business, which was that of cutting out soles for shoe manufacturers, was not at any time worth more than thirty-five thousand dollars. yet, from 1874 to 1878, he had advanced nine-tenths of the money that was spent on the telephone. he had paid bell's room-rent, and watson's wages, and williams's expenses, and the cost of the exhibit at the centennial. the first five thousand telephones, and more, were made with his money. and so many long, expensive months dragged by before any relief came to sanders, that he was compelled, much against his will and his business judgment, to stretch his credit within an inch of the breaking-point to help bell and the telephone. desperately he signed note after note until he faced a total of one hundred and ten thousand dollars. if the new "scientific toy" succeeded, which he often doubted, he would be the richest citizen in haverhill; and if it failed, which he sorely feared, he would be a bankrupt.
-a disheartening series of rebuffs slowly forced the truth in upon sanders's mind that the business world refused to accept the telephone as an article of commerce. it was a toy, a plaything, a scientific wonder, but not a necessity to be bought and used for ordinary purposes by ordinary people. capitalists treated it exactly as they treated the atlantic cable project when cyrus field visited boston in 1862. they admired and marvelled; but not a man subscribed a dollar. also, sanders very soon learned that it was a most unpropitious time for the setting afloat of a new enterprise. it was a period of turmoil and suspicion. what with the jay cooke failure, the hayes-tilden deadlock, and the bursting of a hundred railroad bubbles, there was very little in the news of the day to encourage investors.
-it was impossible for sanders, or bell, or hubbard, to prepare any definite plan. no matter what the plan might have been, they had no money to put it through. they believed that they had something new and marvellous, which some one, somewhere, would be willing to buy. until this good genie should arrive, they could do no more than flounder ahead, and take whatever business was the nearest and the cheapest. so while bell, in eloquent rhapsodies, painted word-pictures of a universal telephone service to applauding audiences, sanders and hubbard were leasing telephones two by two, to business men who previously had been using the private lines of the western union telegraph company.
-this great corporation was at the time their natural and inevitable enemy. it had swallowed most of its competitors, and was reaching out to monopolize all methods of communication by wire. the rosiest hope that shone in front of sanders and hubbard was that the western union might conclude to buy the bell patents, just as it had already bought many others. in one moment of discouragement they had offered the telephone to president orton, of the western union, for $100,000; and orton had refused it. "what use," he asked pleasantly, "could this company make of an electrical toy?"
-but besides the operation of its own wires, the western union was supplying customers with various kinds of printing-telegraphs and dial telegraphs, some of which could transmit sixty words a minute. these accurate instruments, it believed, could never be displaced by such a scientific oddity as the telephone. and it continued to believe this until one of its subsidiary companies--the gold and stock--reported that several of its machines had been superseded by telephones.
-at once the western union awoke from its indifference. even this tiny nibbling at its business must be stopped. it took action quickly and organized the "american speaking-telephone company," with $300,000 capital, and with three electrical inventors, edison, gray, and dolbear, on its staff. with all the bulk of its great wealth and prestige, it swept down upon bell and his little bodyguard. it trampled upon bell's patent with as little concern as an elephant can have when he tramples upon an ant's nest. to the complete bewilderment of bell, it coolly announced that it had "the only original telephone," and that it was ready to supply "superior telephones with all the latest improvements made by the original inventors--dolbear, gray, and edison."
-the result was strange and unexpected. the bell group, instead of being driven from the field, were at once lifted to a higher level in the business world. the effect was as if the standard oil company were to commence the manufacture of aeroplanes. in a flash, the telephone ceased to be a "scientific toy," and became an article of commerce. it began for the first time to be taken seriously. and the western union, in the endeavor to protect its private lines, became involuntarily a bell-wether to lead capitalists in the direction of the telephone.
-sanders's relatives, who were many and rich, came to his rescue. most of them were well-known business men--the bradleys, the saltonstalls, fay, silsbee, and carlton. these men, together with colonel william h. forbes, who came in as a friend of the bradleys, were the first capitalists who, for purely business reasons, invested money in the bell patents. two months after the western union had given its weighty endorsement to the telephone, these men organized a company to do business in new england only, and put fifty thousand dollars in its treasury.
-in a short time the delighted hubbard found himself leasing telephones at the rate of a thousand a month. he was no longer a promoter, but a general manager. men were standing in line to ask for agencies. crude little telephone exchanges were being started in a dozen or more cities. there was a spirit of confidence and enterprise; and the next step, clearly, was to create a business organization. none of the partners were competent to undertake such a work. hubbard had little aptitude as an organizer; bell had none; and sanders was held fast by his leather interests. here, at last, after four years of the most heroic effort, were the raw materials out of which a telephone business could be constructed. but who was to be the builder, and where was he to be found?
-one morning the indefatigable hubbard solved the problem. "watson," he said, "there's a young man in washington who can handle this situation, and i want you to run down and see what you think of him." watson went, reported favorably, and in a day or so the young man received a letter from hubbard, offering him the position of general manager, at a salary of thirty-five hundred dollars a year. "we rely," hubbard said, "upon your executive ability, your fidelity, and unremitting zeal." the young man replied, in one of those dignified letters more usual in the nineteenth than in the twentieth century. "my faith in the success of the enterprise is such that i am willing to trust to it," he wrote, "and i have confidence that we shall establish the harmony and cooperation that is essential to the success of an enterprise of this kind." one week later the young man, theodore n. vail, took his seat as general manager in a tiny office in reade street, new york, and the building of the business began.
-this arrival of vail at the critical moment emphasized the fact that bell was one of the most fortunate of inventors. he was not robbed of his invention, as might easily have happened. one by one there arrived to help him a number of able men, with all the various abilities that the changing situation required. there was such a focussing of factors that the whole matter appeared to have been previously rehearsed. no sooner had bell appeared on the stage than his supporting players, each in his turn, received his cue and took part in the action of the drama. there was not one of these men who could have done the work of any other. each was distinctive and indispensable. bell invented the telephone; watson constructed it; sanders financed it; hubbard introduced it; and vail put it on a business basis.
-the new general manager had, of course, no experience in the telephone business. neither had any one else. but he, like bell, came to his task with a most surprising fitness. he was a member of the historic vail family of morristown, new jersey, which had operated the speedwell iron works for four or five generations. his grand-uncle stephen had built the engines for the savannah, the first american steamship to cross the atlantic ocean; and his cousin alfred was the friend and co-worker of morse, the inventor of the telegraph. morse had lived for several years at the vail homestead in morristown; and it was here that he erected his first telegraph line, a three-mile circle around the iron works, in 1838. he and alfred vail experimented side by side in the making of the telegraph, and vail eventually received a fortune for his share of the morse patent.
-thus it happened that young theodore vail learned the dramatic story of morse at his mother's knee. as a boy, he played around the first telegraph line, and learned to put messages on the wire. his favorite toy was a little telegraph that he constructed for himself. at twenty-two he went west, in the vague hope of possessing a bonanza farm; then he swung back into telegraphy, and in a few years found himself in the government mail service at washington. by 1876, he was at the head of this department, which he completely reorganized. he introduced the bag system in postal cars, and made war on waste and clumsiness. by virtue of this position he was the one man in the united states who had a comprehensive view of all railways and telegraphs. he was much more apt, consequently, than other men to develop the idea of a national telephone system.
-while in the midst of this bureaucratic house-cleaning he met hubbard, who had just been appointed by president hayes as the head of a commission on mail transportation. he and hubbard were constantly thrown together, on trains and in hotels; and as hubbard invariably had a pair of telephones in his valise, the two men soon became co-enthusiasts. vail found himself painting brain-pictures of the future of the telephone, and by the time that he was asked to become its general manager, he had become so confident that, as he said afterwards, he "was willing to leave a government job with a small salary for a telephone job with no salary."
-so, just as amos kendall had left the post office service thirty years before to establish the telegraph business, theodore n. vail left the post office service to establish the telephone business. he had been in authority over thirty-five hundred postal employees, and was the developer of a system that covered every inhabited portion of the country. consequently, he had a quality of experience that was immensely valuable in straightening out the tangled affairs of the telephone. line by line, he mapped out a method, a policy, a system. he introduced a larger view of the telephone business, and swept off the table all schemes for selling out. he persuaded half a dozen of his post office friends to buy stock, so that in less than two months the first "bell telephone company" was organized, with $450,000 capital and a service of twelve thousand telephones.
-vail's first step, naturally, was to stiffen up the backbone of this little company, and to prevent the western union from frightening it into a surrender. he immediately sent a copy of bell's patent to every agent, with orders to hold the fort against all opposition. "we have the only original telephone patents," he wrote; "we have organized and introduced the business, and we do not propose to have it taken from us by any corporation." to one agent, who was showing the white feather, he wrote:
-"you have too great an idea of the western union. if it was all massed in your one city you might well fear it; but it is represented there by one man only, and he has probably as much as he can attend to outside of the telephone. for you to acknowledge that you cannot compete with his influence when you make it your special business, is hardly the thing. there may be a dozen concerns that will all go to the western union, but they will not take with them all their friends. i would advise that you go ahead and keep your present advantage. we must organize companies with sufficient vitality to carry on a fight, as it is simply useless to get a company started that will succumb to the first bit of opposition it may encounter."
-next, having encouraged his thoroughly alarmed agents, vail proceeded to build up a definite business policy. he stiffened up the contracts and made them good for five years only. he confined each agent to one place, and reserved all rights to connect one city with another. he established a department to collect and protect any new inventions that concerned the telephone. he agreed to take part of the royalties in stock, when any local company preferred to pay its debts in this way. and he took steps toward standardizing all telephonic apparatus by controlling the factories that made it.
-these various measures were part of vail's plan to create a national telephone system. his central idea, from the first, was not the mere leasing of telephones, but rather the creation of a federal company that would be a permanent partner in the entire telephone business. even in that day of small things, and amidst the confusion and rough-and-tumble of pioneering, he worked out the broad policy that prevails to-day; and this goes far to explain the fact that there are in the united states twice as many telephones as there are in all other countries combined.
-vail arrived very much as blucher did at the battle of waterloo--a trifle late, but in time to prevent the telephone forces from being routed by the old guard of the western union. he was scarcely seated in his managerial chair, when the western union threw the entire bell army into confusion by launching the edison transmitter. edison, who was at that time fairly started in his career of wizardry, had made an instrument of marvellous alertness. it was beyond all argument superior to the telephones then in use and the lessees of bell telephones clamored with one voice for "a transmitter as good as edison's." this, of course, could not be had in a moment, and the five months that followed were the darkest days in the childhood of the telephone.
-how to compete with the western union, which had this superior transmitter, a host of agents, a network of wires, forty millions of capital, and a first claim upon all newspapers, hotels, railroads, and rights of way--that was the immediate problem that confronted the new general manager. every inch of progress had to be fought for. several of his captains deserted, and he was compelled to take control of their unprofitable exchanges. there was scarcely a mail that did not bring him some bulletin of discouragement or defeat.
-in the effort to conciliate a hostile public, the telephone rates had everywhere been made too low. hubbard had set a price of twenty dollars a year, for the use of two telephones on a private line; and when exchanges were started, the rate was seldom more than three dollars a month. there were deadheads in abundance, mostly officials and politicians. in st. louis, one of the few cities that charged a sufficient price, nine-tenths of the merchants refused to become subscribers. in boston, the first pay-station ran three months before it earned a dollar. even as late as 1880, when the first national telephone convention was held at niagara falls, one of the delegates expressed the general situation very correctly when he said: "we were all in a state of enthusiastic uncertainty. we were full of hope, yet when we analyzed those hopes they were very airy indeed. there was probably not one company that could say it was making a cent, nor even that it expected to make a cent."
-especially in the largest cities, where the western union had most power, the lives of the telephone pioneers were packed with hardships and adventures. in philadelphia, for instance, a resolute young man named thomas e. cornish was attacked as though he had suddenly become a public enemy, when he set out to establish the first telephone service. no official would grant him a permit to string wires. his workmen were arrested. the printing-telegraph men warned him that he must either quit or be driven out. when he asked capitalists for money, they replied that he might as well expect to lease jew's-harps as telephones. finally, he was compelled to resort to strategy where argument had failed. he had received an order from colonel thomas scott, who wanted a wire between his house and his office. colonel scott was the president of the pennsylvania railroad, and therefore a man of the highest prestige in the city. so as soon as cornish had put this line in place, he kept his men at work stringing other lines. when the police interfered, he showed them colonel scott's signature and was let alone. in this way he put fifteen wires up before the trick was discovered; and soon afterwards, with eight subscribers, he founded the first philadelphia exchange.
-as may be imagined, such battling as this did not put much money into the treasury of the parent company; and the letters written by sanders at this time prove that it was in a hard plight.
-the following was one of the queries put to hubbard by the overburdened sanders:
-"how on earth do you expect me to meet a draft of two hundred and seventy-five dollars without a dollar in the treasury, and with a debt of thirty thousand dollars staring us in the face?" "vail's salary is small enough," he continued in a second letter, "but as to where it is coming from i am not so clear. bradley is awfully blue and discouraged. williams is tormenting me for money and my personal credit will not stand everything. i have advanced the company two thousand dollars to-day, and williams must have three thousand dollars more this month. his pay-day has come and his capital will not carry him another inch. if bradley throws up his hand, i will unfold to you my last desperate plan."
-and if the company had little money, it had less credit. once when vail had ordered a small bill of goods from a merchant named tillotson, of 15 dey street, new york, the merchant replied that the goods were ready, and so was the bill, which was seven dollars. by a strange coincidence, the magnificent building of the new york telephone company stands to-day on the site of tillotson's store.
-month after month, the little bell company lived from hand to mouth. no salaries were paid in full. often, for weeks, they were not paid at all. in watson's note-book there are such entries during this period as "lent bell fifty cents," "lent hubbard twenty cents," "bought one bottle beer--too bad can't have beer every day." more than once hubbard would have gone hungry had not devonshire, the only clerk, shared with him the contents of a dinner-pail. each one of the little group was beset by taunts and temptations. watson was offered ten thousand dollars for his one-tenth interest, and hesitated three days before refusing it. railroad companies offered vail a salary that was higher and sure, if he would superintend their mail business. and as for sanders, his folly was the talk of haverhill. one haverhill capitalist, e. j. m. hale, stopped him on the street and asked, "have n't you got a good leather business, mr. sanders?" "yes," replied sanders. "well," said hale, "you had better attend to it and quit playing on wind instruments." sanders's banker, too, became uneasy on one occasion and requested him to call at the bank. "mr. sanders," he said, "i will be obliged if you will take that telephone stock out of the bank, and give me in its place your note for thirty thousand dollars. i am expecting the examiner here in a few days, and i don't want to get caught with that stuff in the bank."
-then, in the very midnight of this depression, poor bell returned from england, whither he and his bride had gone on their honeymoon, and announced that he had no money; that he had failed to establish a telephone business in england; and that he must have a thousand dollars at once to pay his urgent debts. he was thoroughly discouraged and sick. as he lay in the massachusetts general hospital, he wrote a cry for help to the embattled little company that was making its desperate fight to protect his patents. "thousands of telephones are now in operation in all parts of the country," he said, "yet i have not yet received one cent from my invention. on the contrary, i am largely out of pocket by my researches, as the mere value of the profession that i have sacrificed during my three years' work, amounts to twelve thousand dollars."
-fortunately, there came, in almost the same mail with bell's letter, another letter from a young bostonian named francis blake, with the good news that he had invented a transmitter as satisfactory as edison's, and that he would prefer to sell it for stock instead of cash. if ever a man came as an angel of light, that man was francis blake. the possession of his transmitter instantly put the bell company on an even footing with the western union, in the matter of apparatus. it encouraged the few capitalists who had invested money, and it stirred others to come forward. the general business situation had by this time become more settled, and in four months the company had twenty-two thousand telephones in use, and had reorganized into the national bell telephone company, with $850, 000 capital and with colonel forbes as its first president. forbes now picked up the load that had been carried so long by sanders. as the son of an east india merchant and the son-in-law of ralph waldo emerson, he was a bostonian of the brahmin caste. he was a big, four-square man who was both popular and efficient; and his leadership at this crisis was of immense value.
-this reorganization put the telephone business into the hands of competent business men at every point. it brought the heroic and experimental period to an end. from this time onwards the telephone had strong friends in the financial world. it was being attacked by the western union and by rival inventors who were jealous of bell's achievement. it was being half-starved by cheap rates and crippled by clumsy apparatus. it was being abused and grumbled at by an impatient public. but the art of making and marketing it had at last been built up into a commercial enterprise. it was now a business, fighting for its life.
-chapter iii. the holding of the business
-for seventeen months no one disputed bell's claim to be the original inventor of the telephone. all the honor, such as it was, had been given to him freely, and no one came forward to say that it was not rightfully his. no one, so far as we know, had any strong desire to do so. no one conceived that the telephone would ever be any more than a whimsical oddity of science. it was so new, so unexpected, that from lord kelvin down to the messenger boys in the telegraph offices, it was an incomprehensible surprise. but after bell had explained his invention in public lectures before more than twenty thousand people, after it had been on exhibition for months at the philadelphia centennial, after several hundred articles on it had appeared in newspapers and scientific magazines, and after actual sales of telephones had been made in various parts of the country, there began to appear such a succession of claimants and infringers that the forgetful public came to believe that the telephone, like most inventions, was the product of many minds.
-just as morse, who was the sole inventor of the american telegraph in 1837, was confronted by sixty-two rivals in 1838, so bell, who was the sole inventor in 1876, found himself two years later almost mobbed by the "tichborne claimants" of the telephone. the inventors who had been his competitors in the attempt to produce a musical telegraph, persuaded themselves that they had unconsciously done as much as he. any possessor of a telegraphic patent, who had used the common phrase "talking wire," had a chance to build up a plausible story of prior invention. and others came forward with claims so vague and elusive that bell would scarcely have been more surprised if the heirs of goethe had demanded a share of the telephone royalties on the ground that faust had spoken of "making a bridge through the moving air."
-this babel of inventors and pretenders amazed bell and disconcerted his backers. but it was no more than might have been expected. here was a patent--"the most valuable single patent ever issued"--and yet the invention itself was so simple that it could be duplicated easily by any smart boy or any ordinary mechanic. the making of a telephone was like the trick of columbus standing an egg on end. nothing was easier to those who knew how. and so it happened that, as the crude little model of bell's original telephone lay in the patent office open and unprotected except by a few phrases that clever lawyers might evade, there sprang up inevitably around it the most costly and persistent patent war that any country has ever known, continuing for eleven years and comprising six hundred lawsuits.
-the first attack upon the young telephone business was made by the western union telegraph company. it came charging full tilt upon bell, driving three inventors abreast--edison, gray, and dolbear. it expected an easy victory; in fact, the disparity between the two opponents was so evident, that there seemed little chance of a contest of any kind. "the western union will swallow up the telephone people," said public opinion, "just as it has already swallowed up all improvements in telegraphy."
-at that time, it should be remembered, the western union was the only corporation that was national in its extent. it was the most powerful electrical company in the world, and, as bell wrote to his parents, "probably the largest corporation that ever existed." it had behind it not only forty millions of capital, but the prestige of the vanderbilts, and the favor of financiers everywhere. also, it met the telephone pioneers at every point because it, too, was a wire company. it owned rights-of-way along roads and on house-tops. it had a monopoly of hotels and railroad offices. no matter in what direction the bell company turned, the live wire of the western union lay across its path.
-from the first, the western union relied more upon its strength than upon the merits of its case. its chief electrical expert, frank l. pope, had made a six months' examination of the bell patents. he had bought every book in the united states and europe that was likely to have any reference to the transmission of speech, and employed a professor who knew eight languages to translate them. he and his men ransacked libraries and patent offices; they rummaged and sleuthed and interviewed; and found nothing of any value. in his final report to the western union, mr. pope announced that there was no way to make a telephone except bell's way, and advised the purchase of the bell patents. "i am entirely unable to discover any apparatus or method anticipating the invention of bell as a whole," he said; "and i conclude that his patent is valid." but the officials of the great corporation refused to take this report seriously. they threw it aside and employed edison, gray, and dolbear to devise a telephone that could be put into competition with bell's.
-as we have seen in the previous chapter, there now came a period of violent competition which is remembered as the dark ages of the telephone business. the western union bought out several of the bell exchanges and opened up a lively war on the others. as befitting its size, it claimed everything. it introduced gray as the original inventor of the telephone, and ordered its lawyers to take action at once against the bell company for infringement of the gray patent. this high-handed action, it hoped, would most quickly bring the little bell group into a humble and submissive frame of mind. every morning the western union looked to see the white flag flying over the bell headquarters. but no white flag appeared. on the contrary, the news came that the bell company had secured two eminent lawyers and were ready to give battle.
-the case began in the autumn of 1878 and lasted for a year. then it came to a sudden and most unexpected ending. the lawyer-in-chief of the western union was george gifford, who was perhaps the ablest patent attorney of his day. he was versed in patent lore from alpha to omega; and as the trial proceeded, he became convinced that the bell patent was valid. he notified the western union confidentially, of course, that its case could not be proven, and that "bell was the original inventor of the telephone." the best policy, he suggested, was to withdraw their claims and make a settlement. this wise advice was accepted, and the next day the white flag was hauled up, not by the little group of bell fighters, who were huddled together in a tiny, two-room office, but by the mighty western union itself, which had been so arrogant when the encounter began.
-a committee of three from each side was appointed, and after months of disputation, a treaty of peace was drawn up and signed. by the terms of this treaty the western union agreed--
-the bell company, in return for this surrender, agreed--
-this agreement, which was to remain in force for seventeen years, was a master-stroke of diplomacy on the part of the bell company. it was the magna charta of the telephone. it transformed a giant competitor into a friend. it added to the bell system fifty-six thousand telephones in fifty-five cities. and it swung the valiant little company up to such a pinnacle of prosperity that its stock went skyrocketing until it touched one thousand dollars a share.
-the western union had lost its case, for several very simple reasons: it had tried to operate a telephone system on telegraphic lines, a plan that has invariably been unsuccessful, it had a low idea of the possibilities of the telephone business; and its already busy agents had little time or knowledge or enthusiasm to give to the new enterprise. with all its power, it found itself outfought by this compact body of picked men, who were young, zealous, well-handled, and protected by a most invulnerable patent.
-the bell telephone now took its place with the telegraph, the railroad, the steamboat, the harvester, and the other necessities of a civilized country. its pioneer days were over. there was no more ridicule and incredulity. every one knew that the bell people had whipped the western union, and hastened to join in the grand te deum of applause. within five months from the signing of the agreement, there had to be a reorganization; and the american bell telephone company was created, with six million dollars capital. in the following year, 1881, twelve hundred new towns and cities were marked on the telephone map, and the first dividends were paid--$178,500. and in 1882 there came such a telephone boom that the bell system was multiplied by two, with more than a million dollars of gross earnings.
-at this point all the earliest pioneers of the telephone, except vail, pass out of its history. thomas sanders sold his stock for somewhat less than a million dollars, and presently lost most of it in a colorado gold mine. his mother, who had been so good a friend to bell, had her fortune doubled. gardiner g. hubbard withdrew from business life, and as it was impossible for a man of his ardent temperament to be idle, he plunged into the national geographical society. he was a colonel sellers whose dream of millions (for the telephone) had come true; and when he died, in 1897, he was rich both in money and in the affection of his friends. charles williams, in whose workshop the first telephones were made, sold his factory to the bell company in 1881 for more money than he had ever expected to possess. thomas a. watson resigned at the same time, finding himself no longer a wage-worker but a millionaire. several years later he established a shipbuilding plant near boston, which grew until it employed four thousand workmen and had built half a dozen warships for the united states navy.
-as for bell, the first cause of the telephone business, he did what a true scientific bohemian might have been expected to do; he gave all his stock to his bride on their marriage-day and resumed his work as an instructor of deaf-mutes. few kings, if any, had ever given so rich a wedding present; and certainly no one in any country ever obtained and tossed aside an immense fortune as incidentally as did bell. when the bell company offered him a salary of ten thousand dollars a year to remain its chief inventor, he refused the offer cheerfully on the ground that he could not "invent to order." in 1880, the french government gave him the volta prize of fifty thousand francs and the cross of the legion of honor. he has had many honors since then, and many interests. he has been for thirty years one of the most brilliant and picturesque personalities in american public life. but none of his later achievements can in any degree compare with what he did in a cellar in salem, at twenty-eight years of age.
-they had all become rich, these first friends of the telephone, but not fabulously so. there was not at that time, nor has there been since, any one who became a multimillionaire by the sale of telephone service. if the bell company had sold its stock at the highest price reached, in 1880, it would have received less than nine million dollars--a huge sum, but not too much to pay for the invention of the telephone and the building up of a new art and a new industry. it was not as much as the value of the eggs laid during the last twelve months by the hens of iowa.
-but, as may be imagined, when the news of the western union agreement became known, the story of the telephone became a fairy tale of success. theodore vail was given a banquet by his old-time friends in the washington postal service, and toasted as "the monte cristo of the telephone." it was said that the actual cost of the bell plant was only one-twenty-fifth of its capital, and that every four cents of investment had thus become a dollar. even jay gould, carried beyond his usual caution by these stories, ran up to new haven and bought its telephone company, only to find out later that its earnings were less than its expenses.
-much to the bewilderment of the bell company, it soon learned that the troubles of wealth are as numerous as those of poverty. it was beset by a throng of promoters and stock-jobbers, who fell upon it and upon the public like a swarm of seventeen-year locusts. in three years, one hundred and twenty-five competing companies were started, in open defiance of the bell patents. the main object of these companies was not, like that of the western union, to do a legitimate telephone business, but to sell stock to the public. the face value of their stock was $225,000,000, although few of them ever sent a message. one company of unusual impertinence, without money or patents, had capitalized its audacity at $15,000,000.
-how to hold the business that had been established--that was now the problem. none of the bell partners had been mere stock-jobbers. at one time they had even taken a pledge not to sell any of their stock to outsiders. they had financed their company in a most honest and simple way; and they were desperately opposed to the financial banditti whose purpose was to transform the telephone business into a cheat and a gamble. at first, having held their own against the western union, they expected to make short work of the stock-jobbers. but it was a vain hope. these bogus companies, they found, did not fight in the open, as the western union had done.
-all manner of injurious rumors were presently set afloat concerning the bell patent. other inventors--some of them honest men, and some shameless pretenders--were brought forward with strangely concocted tales of prior invention. the granger movement was at that time a strong political factor in the middle west, and its blind fear of patents and "monopolies" was turned aggressively against the bell company. a few senators and legitimate capitalists were lifted up as the figureheads of the crusade. and a loud hue-and-cry was raised in the newspapers against "high rates and monopoly" to distract the minds of the people from the real issue of legitimate business versus stock-company bubbles.
-the most plausible and persistent of all the various inventors who snatched at bell's laurels, was elisha gray. he refused to abide by the adverse decision of the court. several years after his defeat, he came forward with new weapons and new methods of attack. he became more hostile and irreconcilable; and until his death, in 1901, never renounced his claim to be the original inventor of the telephone.
-the reason for this persistence is very evident. gray was a professional inventor, a highly competent man who had begun his career as a blacksmith's apprentice, and risen to be a professor of oberlin. he made, during his lifetime, over five million dollars by his patents. in 1874, he and bell were running a neck-and-neck race to see who could first invent a musical telegraph--when, presto! bell suddenly turned aside, because of his acoustical knowledge, and invented the telephone, while gray kept straight ahead. like all others who were in quest of a better telegraph instrument, gray had glimmerings of the possibility of sending speech by wire, and by one of the strangest of coincidences he filed a caveat on the subject on the same day that bell filed the application for a patent. bell had arrived first. as the record book shows, the fifth entry on that day was: "a. g. bell, $15"; and the thirty-ninth entry was "e. gray, $10."
-there was a vast difference between gray's caveat and bell's application. a caveat is a declaration that the writer has not invented a thing, but believes that he is about to do so; while an application is a declaration that the writer has already perfected the invention. but gray could never forget that he had seemed to be, for a time, so close to the golden prize; and seven years after he had been set aside by the western union agreement, he reappeared with claims that had grown larger and more definite.
-when all the evidence in the various gray lawsuits is sifted out, there appear to have been three distinctly different grays: first, gray the scoffer, who examined bell's telephone at the centennial and said it was "nothing but the old lover's telegraph. it is impossible to make a practical speaking telephone on the principle shown by professor bell.... the currents are too feeble"; second, gray the convert, who wrote frankly to bell in 1877, "i do not claim the credit of inventing it"; and third, gray the claimant, who endeavored to prove in 1886 that he was the original inventor. his real position in the matter was once well and wittily described by his partner, enos m. barton, who said: "of all the men who didn't invent the telephone, gray was the nearest."
-it is now clearly seen that the telephone owes nothing to gray. there are no gray telephones in use in any country. even gray himself, as he admitted in court, failed when he tried to make a telephone on the lines laid down in his caveat. the final word on the whole matter was recently spoken by george c. maynard, who established the telephone business in the city of washington. said mr. maynard:
-"mr. gray was an intimate and valued friend of mine, but it is no disrespect to his memory to say that on some points involved in the telephone matter, he was mistaken. no subject was ever so thoroughly investigated as the invention of the speaking telephone. no patent has ever been submitted to such determined assault from every direction as bell's; and no inventor has ever been more completely vindicated. bell was the first inventor, and gray was not."
-after gray, the weightiest challenger who came against bell was professor amos e. dolbear, of tufts college. he, like gray, had written a letter of applause to bell in 1877. "i congratulate you, sir," he said, "upon your very great invention, and i hope to see it supplant all forms of existing telegraphs, and that you will be successful in obtaining the wealth and honor which is your due." but one year later, dolbear came to view with an opposition telephone. it was not an imitation of bell's, he insisted, but an improvement upon an electrical device made by a german named philip reis, in 1861.
-thus there appeared upon the scene the so-called "reis telephone," which was not a telephone at all, in any practical sense, but which served well enough for nine years or more as a weapon to use against the bell patents. poor philip reis himself, the son of a baker in frankfort, germany, had hoped to make a telephone, but he had failed. his machine was operated by a "make-and-break" current, and so could not carry the infinitely delicate vibrations made by the human voice. it could transmit the pitch of a sound, but not the quality. at its best, it could carry a tune, but never at any time a spoken sentence. reis, in his later years, realized that his machine could never be used for the transmission of conversation; and in a letter to a friend he tells of a code of signals that he has invented.
-bell had once, during his three years of experimenting, made a reis machine, although at that time he had not seen one. but he soon threw it aside, as of no practical value. as a teacher of acoustics, bell knew that the one indispensable requirement of a telephone is that it shall transmit the whole of a sound, and not merely the pitch of it. such scientists as lord kelvin, joseph henry, and edison had seen the little reis instrument years before bell invented the telephone; but they regarded it as a mere musical toy. it was "not in any sense a speaking telephone," said lord kelvin. and edison, when trying to put the reis machine in the most favorable light, admitted humorously that when he used a reis transmitter he generally "knew what was coming; and knowing what was coming, even a reis transmitter, pure and simple, reproduces sounds which seem almost like that which was being transmitted; but when the man at the other end did not know what was coming, it was very seldom that any word was recognized."
-in the course of the dolbear lawsuit, a reis machine was brought into court, and created much amusement. it was able to squeak, but not to speak. experts and professors wrestled with it in vain. it refused to transmit one intelligible sentence. "it can speak, but it won't," explained one of dolbear's lawyers. it is now generally known that while a reis machine, when clogged and out of order, would transmit a word or two in an imperfect way, it was built on wrong lines. it was no more a telephone than a wagon is a sleigh, even though it is possible to chain the wheels and make them slide for a foot or two. said judge lowell, in rendering his famous decision:
-"a century of reis would never have produced a speaking telephone by mere improvement of construction. it was left for bell to discover that the failure was due not to workmanship but to the principle which was adopted as the basis of what had to be done. ... bell discovered a new art--that of transmitting speech by electricity, and his claim is not as broad as his invention.... to follow reis is to fail; but to follow bell is to succeed."
-after the victory over dolbear, the bell stock went soaring skywards; and the higher it went, the greater were the number of infringers and blowers of stock bubbles. to bait the bell company became almost a national sport. any sort of claimant, with any sort of wild tale of prior invention, could find a speculator to support him. on they came, a motley array, "some in rags, some on nags, and some in velvet gowns." one of them claimed to have done wonders with an iron hoop and a file in 1867; a second had a marvellous table with glass legs; a third swore that he had made a telephone in 1860, but did not know what it was until he saw bell's patent; and a fourth told a vivid story of having heard a bullfrog croak via a telegraph wire which was strung into a certain cellar in racine, in 1851.
-this comic opera phase came to a head in the famous drawbaugh case, which lasted for nearly four years, and filled ten thousand pages with its evidence. having failed on reis, the german, the opponents of bell now brought forward an american inventor named daniel drawbaugh, and opened up a noisy newspaper campaign. to secure public sympathy for drawbaugh, it was said that he had invented a complete telephone and switchboard before 1876, but was in such "utter and abject poverty" that he could not get himself a patent. five hundred witnesses were examined; and such a general turmoil was aroused that the bell lawyers were compelled to take the attack seriously, and to fight back with every pound of ammunition they possessed.
-the fact about drawbaugh is that he was a mechanic in a country village near harrisburg, pennsylvania. he was ingenious but not inventive; and loved to display his mechanical skill before the farmers and villagers. he was a subscriber to the scientific american; and it had become the fixed habit of his life to copy other people's inventions and exhibit them as his own. he was a trailer of inventors. more than forty instances of this imitative habit were shown at the trial, and he was severely scored by the judge, who accused him of "deliberately falsifying the facts." his ruling passion of imitation, apparently, was not diminished by the loss of his telephone claims, as he came to public view again in 1903 as a trailer of marconi.
-drawbaugh's defeat sent the bell stock up once more, and brought on a xerxes' army of opposition which called itself the "overland company." having learned that no one claim-ant could beat bell in the courts, this company massed the losers together and came forward with a scrap-basket full of patents. several powerful capitalists undertook to pay the expenses of this adventure. wires were strung; stock was sold; and the enterprise looked for a time so genuine that when the bell lawyers asked for an injunction against it, they were refused. this was as hard a blow as the bell people received in their eleven years of litigation; and the bell stock tumbled thirty-five points in a few days. infringing companies sprang up like gourds in the night. and all went merrily with the promoters until the overland company was thrown out of court, as having no evidence, except "the refuse and dregs of former cases--the heel-taps found in the glasses at the end of the frolic."
-but even after this defeat for the claimants, the frolic was not wholly ended. they next planned to get through politics what they could not get through law; they induced the government to bring suit for the annulment of the bell patents. it was a bold and desperate move, and enabled the promoters of paper companies to sell stock for several years longer. the whole dispute was re-opened, from gray to drawbaugh. every battle was re-fought; and in the end, of course, the government officials learned that they were being used to pull telephone chestnuts out of the fire. the case was allowed to die a natural death, and was informally dropped in 1896.
-in all, the bell company fought out thirteen lawsuits that were of national interest, and five that were carried to the supreme court in washington. it fought out five hundred and eighty-seven other lawsuits of various natures; and with the exception of two trivial contract suits, it never lost a case.
-its experience is an unanswerable indictment of our system of protecting inventors. no inventor had ever a clearer title than bell. the patent office itself, in 1884, made an eighteen-months' investigation of all telephone patents, and reported: "it is to bell that the world owes the possession of the speaking telephone." yet his patent was continuously under fire, and never at any time secure. stock companies whose paper capital totalled more than $500,000,000 were organized to break it down; and from first to last the success of the telephone was based much less upon the monopoly of patents than upon the building up of a well organized business.
-fortunately for bell and the men who upheld him, they were defended by two master-lawyers who have seldom, if ever, had an equal for team work and efficiency--chauncy smith and james j. storrow. these two men were marvellously well mated. smith was an old-fashioned attorney of the websterian sort, dignified, ponderous, and impressive. by 1878, when he came in to defend the little bell company against the towering western union, smith had become the most noted patent lawyer in boston. he was a large, thick-set man, a reminder of benjamin franklin, with clean-shaven face, long hair curling at the ends, frock coat, high collar, and beaver hat.
-storrow, on the contrary, was a small man, quiet in manner, conversational in argument, and an encyclopedia of definite information. he was so thorough that, when he became a bell lawyer, he first spent an entire summer at his country home in petersham, studying the laws of physics and electricity. he was never in the slightest degree spectacular. once only, during the eleven years of litigation, did he lose control of his temper. he was attacking the credibility of a witness whom he had put on the stand, but who had been tampered with by the opposition lawyers. "but this man is your own witness," protested the lawyers. "yes," shouted the usually soft-speaking storrow; "he was my witness, but now he is your liar."
-the efficiency of these two men was greatly increased by a third--thomas d. lockwood, who was chosen by vail in 1879 to establish a patent department. two years before, lockwood had heard bell lecture in chickering hall, new york, and was a "doubting thomas." but a closer study of the telephone transformed him into an enthusiast. having a memory like a filing system, and a knack for invention, lockwood was well fitted to create such a department. he was a man born for the place. and he has seen the number of electrical patents grow from a few hundred in 1878 to eighty thousand in 1910.
-these three men were the defenders of the bell patents. as vail built up the young telephone business, they held it from being torn to shreds in an orgy of speculative competition. smith prepared the comprehensive plan of defence. by his sagacity and experience he was enabled to mark out the general principles upon which bell had a right to stand. usually, he closed the case, and he was immensely effective as he would declaim, in his deep voice: "i submit, your honor, that the literature of the world does not afford a passage which states how the human voice can be electrically transmitted, previous to the patent of mr. bell." his death, like his life, was dramatic. he was on his feet in the courtroom, battling against an infringer, when, in the middle of a sentence, he fell to the floor, overcome by sickness and the responsibilities he had carried for twelve years. storrow, in a different way, was fully as indispensable as smith. it was he who built up the superstructure of the bell defence. he was a master of details. his brain was keen and incisive; and some of his briefs will be studied as long as the art of telephony exists. he might fairly have been compared, in action, to a rapid-firing gatling gun; while smith was a hundred-ton cannon, and lockwood was the maker of the ammunition.
-smith and storrow had three main arguments that never were, and never could be, answered. fifty or more of the most eminent lawyers of that day tried to demolish these arguments, and failed. the first was bell's clear, straightforward story of how he did it, which rebuked and confounded the mob of pretenders. the second was the historical fact that the most eminent electrical scientists of europe and america had seen bell's telephone at the centennial and had declared it to be new--"not only new but marvellous," said tyndall. and the third was the very significant fact that no one challenged bell's claim to be the original inventor of the telephone until his patent was seventeen months old.
-the patent itself, too, was a remarkable document. it was a gibraltar of security to the bell company. for eleven years it was attacked from all sides, and never dented. it covered an entire art, yet it was sustained during its whole lifetime. printed in full, it would make ten pages of this book; but the core of it is in the last sentence: "the method of, and apparatus for, transmitting vocal or other sounds telegraphically, by causing electrical undulations, similar in form to the vibrations of the air accompanying the said vocal or other sounds." these words expressed an idea that had never been written before. it could not be evaded or overcome. there were only thirty-two words, but in six years these words represented an investment of a million dollars apiece.
-now that the clamor of this great patent war has died away, it is evident that bell received no more credit and no more reward than he deserved. there was no telephone until he made one, and since he made one, no one has found out any other way. hundreds of clever men have been trying for more than thirty years to outrival bell, and yet every telephone in the world is still made on the plan that bell discovered.
-no inventor who preceded bell did more, in the invention of the telephone, than to help bell indirectly, in the same way that fra mauro and toscanelli helped in the discovery of america by making the map and chart that were used by columbus. bell was helped by his father, who taught him the laws of acoustics; by helmholtz, who taught him the influence of magnets upon sound vibrations; by koenig and leon scott, who taught him the infinite variety of these vibrations; by dr. clarence j. blake, who gave him a human ear for his experiments; and by joseph henry and sir charles wheatstone, who encouraged him to persevere. in a still more indirect way, he was helped by morse's invention of the telegraph; by faraday's discovery of the phenomena of magnetic induction; by sturgeon's first electro-magnet; and by volta's electric battery. all that scientists had achieved, from galileo and newton to franklin and simon newcomb, helped bell in a general way, by creating a scientific atmosphere and habit of thought. but in the actual making of the telephone, there was no one with bell nor before him. he invented it first, and alone.
-four wire-using businesses were already in the field when the telephone was born: the fire-alarm, burglar-alarm, telegraph, and messenger-boy service; and at first, as might have been expected, the humble little telephone was huddled in with these businesses as a sort of poor relation. to the general public, it was a mere scientific toy; but there were a few men, not many, in these wire-stringing trades, who saw a glimmering chance of creating a telephone business. they put telephones on the wires that were then in use. as these became popular, they added others. each of their customers wished to be able to talk to every one else. and so, having undertaken to give telephone service, they presently found themselves battling with the most intricate and baffling engineering problem of modern times--the construction around the tele-phone of such a mechanism as would bring it into universal service.
-the first of these men was thomas a. watson, the young mechanic who had been hired as bell's helper. he began a work that to-day requires an army of twenty-six thousand people. he was for a couple of years the total engineering and manufacturing department of the telephone business, and by 1880 had taken out sixty patents for his own suggestions. it was watson who took the telephone as bell had made it, really a toy, with its diaphragm so delicate that a warm breath would put it out of order, and toughened it into a more rugged machine. bell had used a disc of fragile gold-beaters' skin with a patch of sheet-iron glued to the centre. he could not believe, for a time, that a disc of all-iron would vibrate under the slight influence of a spoken word. but he and watson noticed that when the patch was bigger the talking was better, and presently they threw away the gold-beaters' skin and used the iron alone.
-also, it was watson who spent months experimenting with all sorts and sizes of iron discs, so as to get the one that would best convey the sound. if the iron was too thick, he discovered, the voice was shrilled into a punch-and-judy squeal; and if it was too thin, the voice became a hollow and sepulchral groan, as if the speaker had his head in a barrel. other months, too, were spent in finding out the proper size and shape for the air cavity in front of the disc. and so, after the telephone had been perfected, in principle, a full year was required to lift it out of the class of scientific toys, and another year or two to present it properly to the business world.
-by 1880 there was plenty of telephonic apparatus being made, but in too many different varieties. not all the summer gowns of that year presented more styles and fancies. the next step, if there was to be any degree of uniformity, was plainly to buy and consolidate these six companies; and by 1881 vail had done this. it was the first merger in telephone history. it was a step of immense importance. had it not been taken, the telephone business would have been torn into fragments by the civil wars between rival inventors.
-from this time the western electric became the headquarters of telephonic apparatus. it was the big shop, all roads led to it. no matter where a new idea was born, sooner or later it came knocking at the door of the western electric to receive a material body. here were the skilled workmen who became the hands of the telephone business. and here, too, were many of the ablest inventors and engineers, who did most to develop the cables and switchboards of to-day.
-in boston, watson had resigned in 1882, and in his place, a year or two later stood a timely new arrival named e. t. gilliland. this really notable man was a friend in need to the telephone. he had been a manufacturer of electrical apparatus in indianapolis, until vail's policy of consolidation drew him into the central group of pioneers and pathfinders. for five years gilliland led the way as a developer of better and cheaper equipment. he made the best of a most difficult situation. he was so handy, so resourceful, that he invariably found a way to unravel the mechanical tangles that perplexed the first telephone agents, and this, too, without compelling them to spend large sums of capital. he took the ideas and apparatus that were then in existence, and used them to carry the telephone business through the most critical period of its life, when there was little time or money to risk on experiments. he took the peg switchboard of the telegraph, for in-stance, and developed it to its highest point, to a point that was not even imagined possible by any one else. it was the most practical and complete switchboard of its day, and held the field against all comers until it was superseded by the modern type of board, vastly more elaborate and expensive.
-by 1884, gathered around gilliland in boston and the western electric in chicago, there came to be a group of mechanics and high-school graduates, very young men, mostly, who had no reputations to lose; and who, partly for a living and mainly for a lark, plunged into the difficulties of this new business that had at that time little history and less prestige. these young adventurers, most of whom are still alive, became the makers of industrial history. they were unquestionably the founders of the present science of telephone engineering.
-the problem that they dashed at so lightheartedly was much larger than any of them imagined. it was a gibraltar of impossibilities. it was on the face of it a fantastic nightmare of a task--to weave such a web of wires, with interlocking centres, as would put any one telephone in touch with every other. there was no help for them in books or colleges. watson, who had acquired a little knowledge, had become a shipbuilder. electrical engineering, as a profession, was unborn. and as for their telegraphic experience, while it certainly helped them for a time, it started them in the wrong direction and led them to do many things which had afterwards to be undone.
-the peculiar electric current that these young pathfinders had to deal with is perhaps the quickest, feeblest, and most elusive force in the world. it is so amazing a thing that any description of it seems irrational. it is as gentle as a touch of a baby sunbeam, and as swift as the lightning flash. it is so small that the electric current of a single incandescent lamp is greater 500,000,000 times. cool a spoonful of hot water just one degree, and the energy set free by the cooling will operate a telephone for ten thousand years. catch the falling tear-drop of a child, and there will be sufficient water-power to carry a spoken message from one city to another.
-such is the tiny genie of the wire that had to be protected and trained into obedience. it was the most defenceless of all electric sprites, and it had so many enemies. enemies! the world was populous with its enemies. there was the lightning, its elder brother, striking at it with murderous blows. there were the telegraphic and light-and-power currents, its strong and malicious cousins, chasing and assaulting it whenever it ventured too near. there were rain and sleet and snow and every sort of moisture, lying in wait to abduct it. there were rivers and trees and flecks of dust. it seemed as if all the known and unknown agencies of nature were in conspiracy to thwart or annihilate this gentle little messenger who had been conjured into life by the wizardry of alexander graham bell.
-all that these young men had received from bell and watson was that part of the telephone that we call the receiver. this was practically the sum total of bell's invention, and remains to-day as he made it. it was then, and is yet, the most sensitive instrument that has ever been put to general use in any country. it opened up a new world of sound. it would echo the tramp of a fly that walked across a table, or repeat in new orleans the prattle of a child in new york. this was what the young men received, and this was all. there were no switchboards of any account, no cables of any value, no wires that were in any sense adequate, no theory of tests or signals, no exchanges, no telephone system of any sort whatever.
-and that was not all. these young men had not only to battle against mystery and "the powers of the air"; they had not only to protect their tiny electric messenger, and to create a system of wire highways along which he could run up and down safely; they had to do more. they had to make this system so simple and fool-proof that every one--every one except the deaf and dumb--could use it without any previous experience. they had to educate bell's genie of the wire so that he would not only obey his masters, but anybody--anybody who could speak to him in any language.
-no doubt, if the young men had stopped to consider their life-work as a whole, some of them might have turned back. but they had no time to philosophize. they were like the boy who learns how to swim by being pushed into deep water. once the telephone business was started, it had to be kept going; and as it grew, there came one after another a series of congestions. two courses were open; either the business had to be kept down to suit the apparatus, or the apparatus had to be developed to keep pace with the business. the telephone men, most of them, at least, chose development; and the brilliant inventions that afterwards made some of them famous were compelled by sheer necessity and desperation.
-next after the transmitter came the problem of the mysterious noises. this was, perhaps, the most weird and mystifying of all the telephone problems. the fact was that the telephone had brought within hearing distance a new wonder-world of sound. all wires at that time were single, and ran into the earth at each end, making what was called a "grounded circuit." and this connection with the earth, which is really a big magnet, caused all manner of strange and uncouth noises on the telephone wires.
-noises! such a jangle of meaningless noises had never been heard by human ears. there were spluttering and bubbling, jerking and rasping, whistling and screaming. there were the rustling of leaves, the croaking of frogs, the hissing of steam, and the flapping of birds' wings. there were clicks from telegraph wires, scraps of talk from other telephones, and curious little squeals that were unlike any known sound. the lines running east and west were noisier than the lines running north and south. the night was noisier than the day, and at the ghostly hour of midnight, for what strange reason no one knows, the babel was at its height. watson, who had a fanciful mind, suggested that perhaps these sounds were signals from the inhabitants of mars or some other sociable planet. but the matter-of-fact young telephonists agreed to lay the blame on "induction"--a hazy word which usually meant the natural meddlesomeness of electricity.
-whatever else the mysterious noises were, they were a nuisance. the poor little telephone business was plagued almost out of its senses. it was like a dog with a tin can tied to its tail. no matter where it went, it was pursued by this unearthly clatter. "we were ashamed to present our bills," said a. a. adee, one of the first agents; "for no matter how plainly a man talked into his telephone, his language was apt to sound like choctaw at the other end of the line."
-all manner of devices were solemnly tried to hush the wires, and each one usually proved to be as futile as an incantation. what was to be done? step by step the telephone men were driven back. they were beaten. there was no way to silence these noises. reluctantly, they agreed that the only way was to pull up the ends of each wire from the tainted earth, and join them by a second wire. this was the "metallic circuit" idea. it meant an appalling increase in the use of wire. it would compel the rebuild-ing of the switchboards and the invention of new signal systems. but it was inevitable; and in 1883, while the dispute about it was in full blast, one of the young men quietly slipped it into use on a new line between boston and providence. the effect was magical. "at last," said the delighted manager, "we have a perfectly quiet line."
-this young man, a small, slim youth who was twenty-two years old and looked younger, was no other than j. j. carty, now the first of telephone engineers and almost the creator of his profession. three years earlier he had timidly asked for a job as operator in the boston exchange, at five dollars a week, and had shown such an aptitude for the work that he was soon made one of the captains. at thirty years of age he became a central figure in the development of the art of telephony.
-what carty has done is known by telephone men in all countries; but the story of carty himself--who he is, and why--is new. first of all, he is irish, pure irish. his father had left ireland as a boy in 1825. during the civil war his father made guns in the city of cambridge, where young john joseph was born; and afterwards he made bells for church steeples. he was instinctively a mechanic and proud of his calling. he could tell the weight of a bell from the sound of it. moses g. farmer, the electrical inventor, and howe, the creator of the sewing-machine, were his friends.
-at five years of age, little john j. carty was taken by his father to the shop where the bells were made, and he was profoundly impressed by the magical strength of a big magnet, that picked up heavy weights as though they were feathers. at the high school his favorite study was physics; and for a time he and another boy named rolfe--now a distinguished man of science--carried on electrical experiments of their own in the cellar of the rolfe house. here they had a "tom thumb" telegraph, a telephone which they had ventured to improve, and a hopeless tangle of wires. whenever they could afford to buy more wires and batteries, they went to a near-by store which supplied electrical apparatus to the professors and students of harvard. this store, with its workshop in the rear, seemed to the two boys a veritable wonderland; and when carty, a youth of eighteen, was compelled to leave school because of his bad eyesight, he ran at once and secured the glorious job of being boy-of-all-work in this store of wonders. so, when he became an operator in the boston telephone exchange, a year later, he had already developed to a remarkable degree his natural genius for telephony.
-since then, carty and the telephone business have grown up together, he always a little distance in advance. no other man has touched the apparatus of telephony at so many points. he fought down the flimsy, clumsy methods, which led from one snarl to another. he found out how to do with wires what dickens did with words. "let us do it right, boys, and then we won't have any bad dreams"--this has been his motif. and, as the crown and climax of his work, he mapped out the profession of telephone engineering on the widest and most comprehensive lines.
-in carty, the engineer evolved into the educator. his end of the american telephone and telegraph company became the university of the telephone. he was himself a student by disposition, with a special taste for the writings of faraday, the forerunner; tyndall, the expounder; and spencer, the philosopher. and in 1890, he gathered around him a winnowed group of college graduates--he has sixty of them on his staff to-day--so that he might bequeath to the telephone an engineering corps of loyal and efficient men.
-the next problem that faced the young men of the telephone, as soon as they had escaped from the clamor of the mysterious noises, was the necessity of taking down the wires in the city streets and putting them underground. at first, they had strung the wires on poles and roof-tops. they had done this, not because it was cheap, but because it was the only possible way, so far as any one knew in that kindergarten period. a telephone wire required the daintiest of handling. to bury it was to smother it, to make it dull or perhaps entirely useless. but now that the number of wires had swollen from hundreds to thousands, the overhead method had been outgrown. some streets in the larger cities had become black with wires. poles had risen to fifty feet in height, then sixty--seventy--eighty. finally the highest of all pole lines was built along west street, new york--every pole a towering norway pine, with its top ninety feet above the roadway, and carrying thirty cross-arms and three hundred wires.
-from poles the wires soon overflowed to housetops, until in new york alone they had overspread eleven thousand roofs. these roofs had to be kept in repair, and their chimneys were the deadly enemies of the iron wires. many a wire, in less than two or three years, was withered to the merest shred of rust. as if these troubles were not enough, there were the storms of winter, which might wipe out a year's revenue in a single day. the sleet storms were the worst. wires were weighted down with ice, often three pounds of ice per foot of wire. and so, what with sleet, and corrosion, and the cost of roof-repairing, and the lack of room for more wires, the telephone men were between the devil and the deep sea--between the urgent necessity of burying their wires, and the inexorable fact that they did not know how to do it.
-fortunately, by the time that this problem arrived, the telephone business was fairly well established. it had outgrown its early days of ridicule and incredulity. it was paying wages and salaries and even dividends. evidently it had arrived on the scene in the nick of time--after the telegraph and before the trolleys and electric lights. had it been born ten years later, it might not have been able to survive. so delicate a thing as a baby telephone could scarcely have protected itself against the powerful currents of electricity that came into general use in 1886, if it had not first found out a way of hiding safely underground.
-the first declaration in favor of an underground system was made by the boston company in 1880. "it may be expedient to place our entire system underground," said the sorely perplexed manager, "whenever a practicable method is found of accomplishing: it." all manner of theories were afloat but theodore n. vail, who was usually the man of constructive imagination in emergencies, began in 1882 a series of actual experiments at attleborough, massachusetts, to find out exactly what could, and what could not, be done with wires that were buried in the earth.
-this oil-filled type of cable carried the telephone business safely through half a dozen years. but it was not the final type. it was preliminary only, the best that could be made at that time. not one is in use to-day. in 1888 theodore vail set on foot a second series of experiments, to see if a cable could be made that was better suited as a highway for the delicate electric currents of the telephone. a young engineer named john a. barrett, who had already made his mark as an expert, by finding a way to twist and transpose the wires, was set apart to tackle this problem. being an economical vermonter, barrett went to work in a little wooden shed in the backyard of a brooklyn foundry. in this foundry he had seen a unique machine that could be made to mould hot lead around a rope of twisted wires. this was a notable discovery. it meant tight coverings. it meant a victory over that most troublesome of enemies--moisture. also, it meant that cables could henceforth be made longer, with fewer sleeves and splices, and without the oil, which had always been an unmitigated nuisance.
-next, having made the cable tight, barrett set out to produce it more cheaply and by accident stumbled upon a way to make it immensely more efficient. all wires were at that time wrapped with cotton, and his plan was to find some less costly material that would serve the same purpose. one of his workmen, a virginian, suggested the use of paper twine, which had been used in the south during the civil war, when cotton was scarce and expensive. barrett at once searched the south for paper twine and found it. he bought a barrel of it from a small factory in richmond, but after a trial it proved to be too flimsy. if such paper could be put on flat, he reasoned, it would be stronger. just then he heard of an erratic genius who had an invention for winding paper tape on wire for the use of milliners.
-paper-wound bonnet-wire! who could imagine any connection between this and the telephone? yet this hint was exactly what barrett needed. he experimented until he had devised a machine that crumpled the paper around the wire, instead of winding it tightly. this was the finishing touch. for a time these paper-wound cables were soaked in oil, but in 1890 engineer f. a. pickernell dared to trust to the tightness of the lead sheathing, and laid a "dry core" cable, the first of the modern type, in one of the streets of philadelphia. this cable was the event of the year. it was not only cheaper. it was the best-talking cable that had ever been harnessed to a telephone.
-what barrett had done was soon made clear. by wrapping the wire with loose paper, he had in reality cushioned it with air, which is the best possible insulator. not the paper, but the air in the paper, had improved the cable. more air was added by the omission of the oil. and presently barrett perceived that he had merely reproduced in a cable, as far as possible, the conditions of the overhead wires, which are separated by nothing but air.
-by 1896 there were two hundred thousand miles of wire snugly wrapped in paper and lying in leaden caskets beneath the streets of the cities, and to-day there are six million miles of it owned by the affiliated bell companies. instead of blackening the streets, the wire nerves of the telephone are now out of sight under the roadway, and twining into the basements of buildings like a new sort of metallic ivy. some cables are so large that a single spool of cable will weigh twenty-six tons and require a giant truck and a sixteen-horse team to haul it to its resting-place. as many as twelve hundred wires are often bunched into one sheath, and each cable lies loosely in a little duct of its own. it is reached by manholes where it runs under the streets and in little switching-boxes placed at intervals it is frayed out into separate pairs of wires that blossom at length into telephones.
-out in the open country there are still the open wires, which in point of talking are the best. in the suburbs of cities there are neat green posts with a single gray cable hung from a heavy wire. usually, a telephone pole is made from a sixty-year-old tree, a cedar, chestnut, or juniper. it lasts twelve years only, so that the one item of poles is still costing the telephone companies several millions a year. the total number of poles now in the united states, used by telephone and telegraph companies, once covered an area, before they were cut down, as large as the state of rhode island.
-but the highest triumph of wire-laying came when new york swept into the skyscraper age, and when hundreds of tall buildings, as high as the fall of the waters of niagara, grew up like a range of magical cliffs upon the precious rock of manhattan. here the work of the telephone engineer has been so well done that although every room in these cliff-buildings has its telephone, there is not a pole in sight, not a cross-arm, not a wire. nothing but the tip-ends of an immense system are visible. no sooner is a new skyscraper walled and roofed, than the telephones are in place, at once putting the tenants in touch with the rest of the city and the greater part of the united states. in a single one of these monstrous buildings, the hudson terminal, there is a cable that runs from basement to roof and ravels out to reach three thousand desks. this mighty geyser of wires is fifty tons in weight and would, if straightened out into a single line, connect new york with chicago. yet it is as invisible as the nerves and muscles of a human body.
-the problem, therefore, was either to make steel wire a better conductor, or to produce a copper wire that would be strong enough. vail chose the latter, and forthwith gave orders to a bridgeport manufacturer to begin experiments. a young expert named thomas b. doolittle was at once set to work, and presently appeared the first hard-drawn copper wire, made tough-skinned by a fairly simple process. vail bought thirty pounds of it and scattered it in various parts of the united states, to note the effect upon it of different climates. one length of it may still be seen at the vail homestead in lyndonville, vermont. then this hard-drawn wire was put to a severe test by being strung between boston and new york. this line was a brilliant success, and the new wire was hailed with great delight as the ideal servant of the telephone.
-since then there has been little trouble with copper wire, except its price. it was four times as good as iron wire, and four times as expensive. every mile of it, doubled, weighed two hundred pounds and cost thirty dollars. on the long lines, where it had to be as thick as a lead pencil, the expense seemed to be ruinously great. when the first pair of wires was strung between new york and chicago, for instance, it was found to weigh 870,000 pounds--a full load for a twenty-two-car freight train; and the cost of the bare metal was $130,000. so enormous has been the use of copper wire since then by the telephone companies, that fully one-fourth of all the capital invested in the telephone has gone to the owners of the copper mines.
-for several years the brains of the telephone men were focussed upon this problem--how to reduce the expenditure on copper. one uncanny device, which would seem to be a mere inventor's fantasy if it had not already saved the telephone companies four million dollars or more, is known as the "phantom circuit." it enables three messages to run at the same time, where only two ran before. a double track of wires is made to carry three talk-trains running abreast, a feat made possible by the whimsical disposition of electricity, and which is utterly inconceivable in railroading. this invention, which is the nearest approach as yet to multiple telephony, was conceived by jacobs in england and carty in the united states.
-but the most copper money has been saved--literally tens of millions of dollars--by persuading thin wires to work as efficiently as thick ones. this has been done by making better transmitters, by insulating the smaller wires with enamel instead of silk, and by placing coils of a certain nature at intervals upon the wires. the invention of this last device startled the telephone men like a flash of lightning out of a blue sky. it came from outside--from the quiet laboratory of a columbia professor who had arrived in the united states as a young hungarian immigrant not many years earlier. from this professor, michael j. pupin, came the idea of "loading" a telephone line, in such a way as to reinforce the electric current. it enabled a thin wire to carry as far as a thick one, and thus saved as much as forty dollars a wire per mile. as a reward for his cleverness, a shower of gold fell upon pupin, and made him in an instant as rich as one of the grand-dukes of his native land.
-it is now a most highly skilled occupation, supporting fully fifteen thousand families, to put the telephone wires in place and protect them against innumerable dangers. this is the profession of the wire chiefs and their men, a corps of human spiders, endlessly spinning threads under streets and above green fields, on the beds of rivers and the slopes of mountains, massing them in cities and fluffing them out among farms and villages. to tell the doings of a wire chief, in the course of his ordinary week's work, would in itself make a lively book of adventures. even a washerwoman, with one lone, non-electrical clothes-line of a hundred yards to operate, has often enough trouble with it. but the wire chiefs of the bell telephone have charge of as much wire as would make two hundred million clothes-lines--ten apiece to every family in the united states; and these lines are not punctuated with clothespins, but with the most delicate of electrical instruments.
-the wire chiefs must detect trouble under a thousand disguises. perhaps a small boy has thrown a snake across the wires or driven a nail into a cable. perhaps some self-reliant citizen has moved his own telephone from one room to another. perhaps a sudden rainstorm has splashed its fatal moisture upon an unwiped joint. or perhaps a submarine cable has been sat upon by the lusitania and flattened to death. but no matter what the trouble, a telephone system cannot be stopped for repairs. it cannot be picked up and put into a dry-dock. it must be repaired or improved by a sort of vivisection while it is working. it is an interlocking unit, a living, conscious being, half human and half machine; and an injury in any one place may cause a pain or sickness to its whole vast body.
-and just as the particles of a human body change every six or seven years, without disturb-ing the body, so the particles of our telephone systems have changed repeatedly without any interruption of traffic. the constant flood of new inventions has necessitated several complete rebuildings. little or nothing has ever been allowed to wear out. the new york system was rebuilt three times in sixteen years; and many a costly switchboard has gone to the scrap-heap at three or four years of age. what with repairs and inventions and new construction, the various bell companies have spent at least $425,000,000 in the first ten years of the twentieth century, without hindering for a day the ceaseless torrent of electrical conversation.
-the crowning glory of a telephone system of to-day is not so much the simple telephone itself, nor the maze and mileage of its cables, but rather the wonderful mechanism of the switchboard. this is the part that will always remain mysterious to the public. it is seldom seen, and it remains as great a mystery to those who have seen it as to those who have not. explanations of it are futile. as well might any one expect to learn sanscrit in half an hour as to understand a switchboard by making a tour of investigation around it. it is not like anything else that either man or nature has ever made. it defies all metaphors and comparisons. it cannot be shown by photography, not even in moving-pictures, because so much of it is concealed inside its wooden body. and few people, if any, are initiated into its inner mysteries except those who belong to its own cortege of inventors and attendants.
-a telephone switchboard is a pyramid of inventions. if it is full-grown, it may have two million parts. it may be lit with fifteen thousand tiny electric lamps and nerved with as much wire as would reach from new york to berlin. it may cost as much as a thousand pianos or as much as three square miles of farms in indiana. the ten thousand wire hairs of its head are not only numbered, but enswathed in silk, and combed out in so marvellous a way that any one of them can in a flash be linked to any other. such hair-dressing! such puffs and braids and ringlet relays! whoever would learn the utmost that may be done with copper hairs of titian red, must study the fantastic coiffure of a telephone switchboard.
-if there were no switchboard, there would still be telephones, but not a telephone system. to connect five thousand people by telephone requires five thousand wires when the wires run to a switchboard; but without a switchboard there would have to be 12,497,500 wires--4,999 to every telephone. as well might there be a nerve-system without a brain, as a telephone system without a switchboard. if there had been at first two separate companies, one owning the telephone and the other the switchboard, neither could have done the business.
-several years before the telephone got a switchboard of its own, it made use of the boards that had been designed for the telegraph. these were as simple as wheelbarrows, and became absurdly inadequate as soon as the telephone business began to grow. then there came adaptations by the dozen. every telephone manager became by compulsion an inventor. there was no source of information and each exchange did the best it could. hundreds of patents were taken out. and by 1884 there had come to be a fairly definite idea of what a telephone switchboard ought to be.
-the one man who did most to create the switchboard, who has been its devotee for more than thirty years, is a certain modest and little known inventor, still alive and busy, named charles e. scribner. of the nine thousand switchboard patents, scribner holds six hundred or more. ever since 1878, when he devised the first "jackknife switch," scribner has been the wizard of the switchboard. it was he who saw most clearly its requirements. hundreds of others have helped, but scribner was the one man who persevered, who never asked for an easier job, and who in the end became the master of his craft.
-it may go far to explain the peculiar genius of scribner to say that he was born in 1858, in the year of the laying of the atlantic cable; and that his mother was at the time profoundly interested in the work and anxious for its success. his father was a judge in toledo; but young scribner showed no aptitude for the tangles of the law. he preferred the tangles of wire and system in miniature, which he and several other boys had built and learned to operate. these boys had a benefactor in an old bachelor named thomas bond. he had no special interest in telegraphy. he was a dealer in hides. but he was attracted by the cleverness of the boys and gave them money to buy more wires and more batteries. one day he noticed an invention of young scribner's--a telegraph repeater.
-"this may make your fortune," he said, "but no mechanic in toledo can make a proper model of it for you. you must go to chicago, where telegraphic apparatus is made." the boy gladly took his advice and went to the western electric factory in chicago. here he accidentally met enos m. barton, the head of the factory. barton noted that the boy was a genius and offered him a job, which he accepted and has held ever since. such is the story of the entrance of charles e. scribner into the telephone business, where he has been well-nigh indispensable.
-his monumental work has been the development of the multiple switchboard, a much more brain-twisting problem than the building of the pyramids or the digging of the panama canal. the earlier types of switchboard had become too cumbersome by 1885. they were well enough for five hundred wires but not for five thousand. in some exchanges as many as half a dozen operators were necessary to handle a single call; and the clamor and confusion were becoming unbearable. some handier and quieter way had to be devised, and thus arose the multiple board. the first crude idea of such a way had sprung to life in the brain of a chicago man named l. b. firman, in 1879; but he became a farmer and forsook his invention in its infancy.
-in the multiple board, as it grew up under the hands of scribner, the outgoing wires are duplicated so as to be within reach of every operator. a local call can thus be answered at once by the operator who receives it; and any operator who is overwhelmed by a sudden rush of business can be helped by her companions. every wire that comes into the board is tasselled out into many ends, and by means of a "busy test," invented by scribner, only one of these ends can be put into use at a time. the normal limit of such a board is ten thousand wires, and will always remain so, unless a race of long-armed giantesses should appear, who would be able to reach over a greater expanse of board. at present, a business of more than ten thousand lines means a second exchange.
-the multiple board was enormously expensive. it grew more and more elaborate until it cost one-third of a million dollars. the telephone men racked their brains to produce something cheaper to take its place, and they failed. the multiple boards swallowed up capital as a desert swallows water, but they saved ten seconds on every call. this was an unanswerable argument in their favor, and by 1887 twenty-one of them were in use.
-since then, the switchboard has had three or four rebuildings. there has seemed to be no limit to the demands of the public or the fertility of scribner's brain. persistent changes were made in the system of signalling. the first signal, used by bell and watson, was a tap on the diaphragm with the finger-nail. soon after-wards came a "buzzer," and then the magneto-electric bell. in 1887 joseph o'connell, of chicago, conceived of the use of tiny electric lights as signals, a brilliant idea, as an electric light makes no noise and can be seen either by night or by day. in 1901, j. j. carty invented the "bridging bell," a way to put four houses on a single wire, with a different signal for each house. this idea made the "party line" practicable, and at once created a boom in the use of the telephone by enterprising farmers.
-in 1896 there came a most revolutionary change in switchboards. all things were made new. instead of individual batteries, one at each telephone, a large common battery was installed in the exchange itself. this meant better signalling and better talking. it reduced the cost of batteries and put them in charge of experts. it established uniformity. it introduced the federal idea into the mechanism of a telephone system. best of all, it saved four seconds on every call. the first of these centralizing switchboards was put in place at philadelphia; and other cities followed suit as fast as they could afford the expense of rebuilding. since then, there have come some switchboards that are wholly automatic. few of these have been put into use, for the reason that a switchboard, like a human body, must be semi-automatic only. to give the most efficient service, there will always need to be an expert to stand between it and the public.
-as the final result of all these varying changes in switchboards and signals and batteries, there grew up the modern telephone exchange. this is the solar plexus of the telephone body. it is the vital spot. it is the home of the switchboard. it is not any one's invention, as the telephone was. it is a growing mechanism that is not yet finished, and may never be; but it has already evolved far enough to be one of the wonders of the electrical world. there is probably no other part of an american city's equipment that is as sensitive and efficient as a telephone exchange.
-the idea of the exchange is somewhat older than the idea of the telephone itself. there were communication exchanges before the invention of the telephone. thomas b. doolittle had one in bridgeport, using telegraph instruments thomas b. a. david had one in pittsburg, using printing-telegraph machines, which required little skill to operate. and william a. childs had a third, for lawyers only, in new york, which used dials at first and afterwards printing machines. these little exchanges had set out to do the work that is done to-day by the telephone, and they did it after a fashion, in a most crude and expensive way. they helped to prepare the way for the telephone, by building up small constituencies that were ready for the telephone when it arrived.
-bell himself was perhaps the first to see the future of the telephone exchange. in a letter written to some english capitalists in 1878, he said: "it is possible to connect every man's house, office or factory with a central station, so as to give him direct communication with his neighbors.... it is conceivable that cables of telephone wires could be laid underground, or suspended overhead, connecting by branch wires with private dwellings, shops, etc., and uniting them through the main cable with a central office." this remarkable prophecy has now become stale reading, as stale as darwin's "origin of species," or adam smith's "wealth of nations." but at the time that it was written it was a most fanciful dream.
-when the first infant exchange for telephone service was born in boston, in 1877, it was the tiny offspring of a burglar-alarm business operated by e. t. holmes, a young man whose father had originated the idea of protecting property by electric wires in 1858. holmes was the first practical man who dared to offer telephone service for sale. he had obtained two telephones, numbers six and seven, the first five having gone to the junk-heap; and he attached these to a wire in his burglar-alarm office. for two weeks his business friends played with the telephones, like boys with a fascinating toy; then holmes nailed up a new shelf in his office, and on this shelf placed six box-telephones in a row. these could be switched into connection with the burglar-alarm wires and any two of the six wires could be joined by a wire cord. nothing could have been simpler, but it was the arrival of a new idea in the business world.
-the holmes exchange was on the top floor of a little building, and in almost every other city the first exchange was as near the roof as possible, partly to save rent and partly because most of the wires were strung on roof-tops. as the telephone itself had been born in a cellar, so the exchange was born in a garret. usually, too, each exchange was an off-shoot of some other wire-using business. it was a medley of makeshifts. almost every part of its outfit had been made for other uses. in chicago all calls came in to one boy, who bawled them up a speaking-tube to the operators. in another city a boy received the calls, wrote them on white alleys, and rolled them to the boys at the switchboard. there was no number system. every one was called by name. even as late as 1880, when new york boasted fifteen hundred telephones, names were still in use. and as the first telephones were used both as transmitters and receivers, there was usually posted up a rule that was highly important: "don't talk with your ear or listen with your mouth."
-to describe one of those early telephone exchanges in the silence of a printed page is a wholly impossible thing. nothing but a language of noise could convey the proper impression. an editor who visited the chicago exchange in 1879 said of it: "the racket is almost deafening. boys are rushing madly hither and thither, while others are putting in or taking out pegs from a central framework as if they were lunatics engaged in a game of fox and geese." in the same year e. j. hall wrote from buffalo that his exchange with twelve boys had become "a perfect bedlam." by the clumsy methods of those days, from two to six boys were needed to handle each call. and as there was usually more or less of a cat-and-dog squabble between the boys and the public, with every one yelling at the top of his voice, it may be imagined that a telephone exchange was a loud and frantic place.
-boys, as operators, proved to be most complete and consistent failures. their sins of omission and commission would fill a book. what with whittling the switchboards, swearing at subscribers, playing tricks with the wires, and roaring on all occasions like young bulls of bashan, the boys in the first exchanges did their full share in adding to the troubles of the business. nothing could be done with them. they were immune to all schemes of discipline. like the mysterious noises they could not be controlled, and by general consent they were abolished. in place of the noisy and obstreperous boy came the docile, soft-voiced girl.
-if ever the rush of women into the business world was an unmixed blessing, it was when the boys of the telephone exchanges were superseded by girls. here at its best was shown the influence of the feminine touch. the quiet voice, pitched high, the deft fingers, the patient courtesy and attentiveness--these qualities were precisely what the gentle telephone required in its attendants. girls were easier to train; they did not waste time in retaliatory conversation; they were more careful; and they were much more likely to give "the soft answer that turneth away wrath."
-a telephone call under the boy regime meant bedlam and five minutes; afterwards, under the girl regime, it meant silence and twenty seconds. instead of the incessant tangle and tumult, there came a new species of exchange--a quiet, tense place, in which several score of young ladies sit and answer the language of the switchboard lights. now and then, not often, the signal lamps flash too quickly for these expert phonists. during the panic of 1907 there was one mad hour when almost every telephone in wall street region was being rung up by some desperate speculator. the switchboards were ablaze with lights. a few girls lost their heads. one fainted and was carried to the rest-room. but the others flung the flying shuttles of talk until, in a single exchange fifteen thousand conversations had been made possible in sixty minutes. there are always girls in reserve for such explosive occasions, and when the hands of any operator are seen to tremble, and she has a warning red spot on each cheek, she is taken off and given a recess until she recovers her poise.
-these telephone girls are the human part of a great communication machine. they are weaving a web of talk that changes into a new pattern every minute. how many possible combinations there are with the five million telephones of the bell system, or what unthinkable mileage of conversation, no one has ever dared to guess. but whoever has once seen the long line of white arms waving back and forth in front of the switchboard lights must feel that he has looked upon the very pulse of the city's life.
-in 1902 the new york telephone company started a school, the first of its kind in the world, for the education of these telephone girls. this school is hidden amid ranges of skyscrapers, but seventeen thousand girls discover it in the course of the year. it is a most particular and exclusive school. it accepts fewer than two thousand of these girls, and rejects over fifteen thousand. not more than one girl in every eight can measure up to its standards; and it cheerfully refuses as many students in a year as would make three yales or harvards.
-this school is unique, too, in the fact that it charges no fees, pays every student five dollars a week, and then provides her with a job when she graduates. but it demands that every girl shall be in good health, quick-handed, clear-voiced, and with a certain poise and alertness of manner. presence of mind, which, in herbert spencer's opinion, ought to be taught in every university, is in various ways drilled into the temperament of the telephone girl. she is also taught the knack of concentration, so that she may carry the switchboard situation in her head, as a chess-player carries in his head the arrangement of the chess-men. and she is much more welcome at this strange school if she is young and has never worked in other trades, where less speed and vigilance are required.
-no matter how many millions of dollars may be spent upon cables and switchboards, the quality of telephone service depends upon the girl at the exchange end of the wire. it is she who meets the public at every point. she is the despatcher of all the talk trains; she is the ruler of the wire highways; and she is expected to give every passenger-voice an instantaneous express to its destination. more is demanded from her than from any other servant of the public. her clients refuse to stand in line and quietly wait their turn, as they are quite willing to do in stores and theatres and barber shops and railway stations and everywhere else. they do not see her at work and they do not know what her work is. they do not notice that she answers a call in an average time of three and a half seconds. they are in a hurry, or they would not be at the telephone; and each second is a minute long. any delay is a direct personal affront that makes a vivid impression upon their minds. and they are not apt to remember that most of the delays and blunders are being made, not by the expert girls, but by the careless people who persist in calling wrong numbers and in ignoring the niceties of telephone etiquette.
-the truth about the american telephone girl is that she has become so highly efficient that we now expect her to be a paragon of perfection. to give the young lady her due, we must acknowledge that she has done more than any other person to introduce courtesy into the business world. she has done most to abolish the old-time roughness and vulgarity. she has made big business to run more smoothly than little business did, half a century ago. she has shown us how to take the friction out of conversation, and taught us refinements of politeness which were rare even among the beau brummels of pre-telephonic days. who, for instance, until the arrival of the telephone girl, appreciated the difference between "who are you?" and "who is this?" or who else has so impressed upon us the value of the rising inflection, as a gentler habit of speech? this propaganda of politeness has gone so far that to-day the man who is profane or abusive at the telephone, is cut off from the use of it. he is cast out as unfit for a telephone-using community.
-and now, so that there shall be no anticlimax in this story of telephone development, we must turn the spot-light upon that immense aggregation of workshops in which have been made three-fifths of the telephone apparatus of the world--the western electric. the mother factory of this globe-trotting business is the biggest thing in the spacious back-yard of chicago, and there are eleven smaller factories--her children--scattered over the earth from new york to tokio. to put its totals into a sentence, it is an enterprise of 26,000-man-power, and 40,000,000-dollar-power; and the telephonic goods that it produces in half a day are worth one hundred thousand dollars--as much, by the way, as the western union refused to pay for the bell patents in 1877.
-the western electric was born in chicago, in the ashes of the big fire of 1871; and it has grown up to its present greatness quietly, without celebrating its birthdays. at first it had no telephones to make. none had been invented, so it made telegraphic apparatus, burglar-alarms, electric pens, and other such things. but in 1878, when the western union made its short-lived attempt to compete with the bell company, the western electric agreed to make its telephones. three years later, when the brief spasm of competition was ended, the western electric was taken in hand by the bell people and has since then remained the great workshop of the telephone.
-the main plant in chicago is not especially remarkable from a manufacturing point of view. here are the inevitable lumber-yards and foundries and machine-shops. here is the mad waltz of the spindles that whirl silk and cotton threads around the copper wires, very similar to what may be seen in any braid factory. here electric lamps are made, five thousand of them in a day, in the same manner as elsewhere, except that here they are so small and dainty as to seem designed for fairy palaces.
-the things that are done with wire in the western electric factories are too many for any mere outsider to remember. some wire is wrapped with paper tape at a speed of nine thousand miles a day. some is fashioned into fantastic shapes that look like absurd sea-monsters, but which in reality are only the nerve systems of switchboards. and some is twisted into cables by means of a dozen whirling drums--a dizzying sight, as each pair of drums revolve in opposite directions. because of the fact that a cable's inevitable enemy is moisture, each cable is wound on an immense spool and rolled into an oven until it is as dry as a cinder. then it is put into a strait-jacket of lead pipe, sealed at both ends, and trundled into a waiting freight car.
-no other company uses so much wire and hard rubber, or so many tons of brass rods, as the western electric. of platinum, too, which is more expensive than gold, it uses one thousand pounds a year in the making of telephone transmitters. this is imported from the ural mountains. the silk thread comes from italy and japan; the iron for magnets, from norway; the paper tape, from manila; the mahogany, from south america; and the rubber, from brazil and the valley of the congo. at least seven countries must cooperate to make a telephone message possible.
-perhaps the most extraordinary feature in the western electric factories is the multitude of its inspectors. no other sort of manufacturing, not even a government navy-yard, has so many. nothing is too small to escape these sleuths of inspection. they test every tiny disc of mica, and throw away nine out of ten. they test every telephone by actual talk, set up every switchboard, and try out every cable. a single transmitter, by the time it is completed, has had to pass three hundred examinations; and a single coin-box is obliged to count ten thousand nickels before it graduates into the outer world. seven hundred inspectors are on guard in the two main plants at chicago and new york. this is a ruinously large number, from a profit-making point of view; but the inexorable fact is that in a telephone system nothing is insignificant. it is built on such altruistic lines that an injury to any one part is the concern of all.
-when the telephone was invented, barton was one of the sceptics. "i well remember my disgust," he said, "when some one told me it was possible to send conversation along a wire." several months later he saw a telephone and at once became one of its apostles. by 1882 his plant had become the official workshop of the bell companies. it was the headquarters of invention and manufacturing. here was gathered a notable group of young men, brilliant and adventurous, who dared to stake their futures on the success of the telephone. and always at their head was barton, as a sort of human switchboard, who linked them all together and kept them busy.
-so, as we have seen, the telephone as bell invented it, was merely a brilliant beginning in the development of the art of telephony. it was an elfin birth--an elusive and delicate sprite that had to be nurtured into maturity. it was like a soul, for which a body had to be created; and no one knew how to make such a body. had it been born in some less energetic country, it might have remained feeble and undeveloped; but not in the united states. here in one year it had become famous, and in three years it had become rich. bell's invincible patent was soon buttressed by hundreds of others. an open-door policy was adopted for invention. change followed change to such a degree that the experts of 1880 would be lost to-day in the mazes of a telephone exchange.
-the art of the telephone engineer has in thirty years grown from the most crude and clumsy of experiments into an exact and comprehensive profession. as carty has aptly said, "at first we invariably approached every problem from the wrong end. if we had been told to load a herd of cattle on a steamer, our method would have been to hire a hagenbeck to train the cattle for a couple of years, so that they would know enough to walk aboard of the ship when he gave the signal; but to-day, if we had to ship cattle, we would know enough to make a greased chute and slide them on board in a jiffy."
-the telephone world has now its own standards and ideals. it has a language of its own, a telephonese that is quite unintelligible to outsiders. it has as many separate branches of study as medicine or law. there are few men, half a dozen at most, who can now be said to have a general knowledge of telephony. and no matter how wise a telephone expert may be, he can never reach perfection, because of the amazing variety of things that touch or concern his profession.
-"no one man knows all the details now," said theodore vail. "several days ago i was walking through a telephone exchange and i saw something new. i asked mr. carty to explain it. he is our chief engineer; but he did not understand it. we called the manager. he did n't know, and called his assistant. he did n't know, and called the local engineer, who was able to tell us what it was."
-to sum up this development of the art of tele-phony--to present a bird's-eye view--it may be divided into four periods:
-1. experiment. 1876 to 1886. this was the period of invention, in which there were no experts and no authorities. telephonic apparatus consisted of makeshifts and adaptations. it was the period of iron wire, imperfect transmitters, grounded circuits, boy operators, peg switchboards, local batteries, and overhead lines.
-2. development. 1886 to 1896. in this period amateurs became engineers. the proper type of apparatus was discovered, and was improved to a high point of efficiency. in this period came the multiple switchboard, copper wire, girl operators, underground cables, metallic circuit, common battery, and the long-distance lines.
-3. expansion. 1896 to 1906. this was the era of big business. it was an autumn period, in which the telephone men and the public began to reap the fruits of twenty years of investment and hard work. it was the period of the message rate, the pay station, the farm line, and the private branch exchange.
-4. organization. 1906--. with the success of the pupin coil, there came a larger life for the telephone. it became less local and more national. it began to link together its scattered parts. it discouraged the waste and anarchy of duplication. it taught its older, but smaller brother, the telegraph, to cooperate. it put itself more closely in touch with the will of the public. and it is now pushing ahead, along the two roads of standardization and efficiency, toward its ideal of one universal telephone system for the whole nation. the key-word of the telephone development of to-day is this--organization.
-the telephone business did not really begin to grow big and overspread the earth until 1896, but the keynote of expansion was first sounded by theodore vail in the earliest days, when as yet the telephone was a babe in arms. in 1879 vail said, in a letter written to one of his captains:
-"tell our agents that we have a proposition on foot to connect the different cities for the purpose of personal communication, and in other ways to organize a grand telephonic system."
-this was brave talk at that time, when there were not in the whole world as many telephones as there are to-day in cincinnati. it was brave talk in those days of iron wire, peg switchboards, and noisy diaphragms. most telephone men regarded it as nothing more than talk. they did not see any business future for the telephone except in short-distance service. but vail was in earnest. his previous experience as the head of the railway mail service had lifted him up to a higher point of view. he knew the need of a national system of communication that would be quicker and more direct than either the telegraph or the post office.
-"i saw that if the telephone could talk one mile to-day," he said, "it would be talking a hundred miles to-morrow." and he persisted, in spite of a considerable deal of ridicule, in maintaining that the telephone was destined to connect cities and nations as well as individuals.
-four months after he had prophesied the "grand telephonic system," he encouraged charles j. glidden, of world-tour fame, to build a telephone line between boston and lowell. this was the first inter-city line. it was well placed, as the owners of the lowell mills lived in boston, and it made a small profit from the start. this success cheered vail on to a master-effort. he resolved to build a line from boston to providence, and was so stubbornly bent upon doing this that when the bell company refused to act, he picked up the risk and set off with it alone. he organized a company of well-known rhode islanders--nicknamed the "governors' company"--and built the line. it was a failure at first, and went by the name of "vail's folly." but engineer carty, by a happy thought, doubled the wire, and thus in a moment established two new factors in the telephone business--the metallic circuit and the long distance line.
-at once the bell company came over to vail's point of view, bought his new line, and launched out upon what seemed to be the foolhardy enterprise of stringing a double wire from boston to new york. this was to be not only the longest of all telephone lines, strung on ten thousand poles; it was to be a line de luxe, built of glistening red copper, not iron. its cost was to be seventy thousand dollars, which was an enormous sum in those hardscrabble days. there was much opposition to such extravagance, and much ridicule. "i would n't take that line as a gift," said one of the bell company's officials.
-but when the last coil of wire was stretched into place, and the first "hello" leaped from boston to new york, the new line was a victorious success. it carried messages from the first day; and more, it raised the whole telephone business to a higher level. it swept away the prejudice that telephone service could become nothing more than a neighborhood affair. "it was the salvation of the business," said edward j. hill. it marked a turning-point in the history of the telephone, when the day of small things was ended and the day of great things was begun. no one man, no hundred men, had created it. it was the final result of ten years of invention and improvement.
-while this epoch-making line was being strung, vail was pushing his "grand telephonic system" policy by organizing the american telephone and telegraph company. this, too, was a master-stroke. it was the introduction of the staff-and-line method of organization into business. it was doing for the forty or fifty bell companies what von moltke did for the german army prior to the franco-prussian war. it was the creation of a central company that should link all local companies together, and itself own and operate the means by which these companies are united. this central company was to grapple with all national problems, to own all telephones and long-distance lines, to protect all patents, and to be the headquarters of invention, information, capital, and legal protection for the entire federation of bell companies.
-seldom has a company been started with so small a capital and so vast a purpose. it had no more than $100,000 of capital stock, in 1885; but its declared object was nothing less than to establish a system of wire communication for the human race. here are, in its own words, the marching orders of this company: "to connect one or more points in each and every city, town, or place an the state of new york, with one or more points in each and every other city, town, or place in said state, and in each and every other of the united states, and in canada, and mexico; and each and every of said cities, towns, and places is to be connected with each and every other city, town, or place in said states and countries, and also by cable and other appropriate means with the rest of the known world."
-so ran vail's dream, and for nine years he worked mightily to make it come true. he remained until the various parts of the business had grown together, and until his plan for a "grand telephonic system" was under way and fairly well understood. then he went out, into a series of picturesque enterprises, until he had built up a four-square fortune; and recently, in 1907, he came back to be the head of the telephone business, and to complete the work of organization that he started thirty years before.
-when vail said auf wiedersehen to the telephone business, it had passed from infancy to childhood. it was well shaped but not fully grown. its pioneering days were over. it was self-supporting and had a little money in the bank. but it could not then have carried the load of traffic that it carries to-day. it had still too many problems to solve and too much general inertia to overcome. it needed to be conserved, drilled, educated, popularized. and the man who was finally chosen to replace vail was in many respects the appropriate leader for such a preparatory period.
-hudson--john elbridge hudson--was the name of the new head of the telephone people. he was a man of middle age, born in lynn and bred in boston; a long-pedigreed new englander, whose ancestors had smelted iron ore in lynn when charles the first was king. he was a lawyer by profession and a university professor by temperament. his specialty, as a man of affairs, had been marine law; and his hobby was the collection of rare books and old english engravings. he was a master of the greek language, and very fond of using it. on all possible occasions he used the language of pericles in his conversation; and even carried this preference so far as to write his business memoranda in greek. he was above all else a scholar, then a lawyer, and somewhat incidentally the central figure in the telephone world.
-but it was of tremendous value to the telephone business at that time to have at its head a man of hudson's intellectual and moral calibre.
-he gave it tone and prestige. he built up its credit. he kept it clean and clear above all suspicion of wrong-doing. he held fast whatever had been gained. and he prepared the way for the period of expansion by borrowing fifty millions for improvements, and by adding greatly to the strength and influence of the american telephone and telegraph company.
-hudson remained at the head of the telephone table until his death, in 1900, and thus lived to see the dawn of the era of big business. under his regime great things were done in the development of the art. the business was pushed ahead at every point by its captains. every man in his place, trying to give a little better service than yesterday--that was the keynote of the hudson period. there was no one preeminent genius. each important step forward was the result of the cooperation of many minds, and the prodding necessities of a growing traffic.
-by 1896, when the common battery system created a new era, the telephone engineer had pretty well mastered his simpler troubles. he was able to handle his wires, no matter how many. by this time, too, the public was ready for the telephone. a new generation had grown up, without the prejudices of its fathers. people had grown away from the telegraphic habit of thought, which was that wire communications were expensive luxuries for the few. the telephone was, in fact, a new social nerve, so new and so novel that very nearly twenty years went by before it had fully grown into place, and before the social body developed the instinct of using it.
-not that the difficulties of the telephone engineers were over, for they were not. they have seemed to grow more numerous and complex every year. but by 1896 enough had been done to warrant a forward movement. for the next ten-year period the keynote of telephone history was expansion. under the prevailing flat-rate plan of payment, all customers paid the same yearly price and then used their telephones as often as they pleased. this was a simple method, and the most satisfactory for small towns and farming regions. but in a great city such a plan grew to be suicidal. in new york, for instance, the price had to be raised to $240, which lifted the telephone as high above the mass of the citizens as though it were a piano or a diamond sunburst. such a plan was strangling the business. it was shutting out the small users. it was clogging the wires with deadhead calls. it was giving some people too little service and others too much. it was a very unsatisfactory situation.
-how to extend the service and at the same time cheapen it to small users--that was the gordian knot; and the man who unquestionably did most to untie it was edward j. hall. mr. hall founded the telephone business in buffalo in 1878, and seven years afterwards became the chief of the long-distance traffic. he was then, and is to-day, one of the statesmen of the telephone. for more than thirty years he has been the "candid friend" of the business, incessantly suggesting, probing, and criticising. keen and dispassionate, with a genius for mercilessly cutting to the marrow of a proposition, hall has at the same time been a zealot for the improvement and extension of telephone service. it was he who set the agents free from the ball-and-chain of royalties, allowing them to pay instead a percentage of gross receipts. and it was he who "broke the jam," as a lumberman would say, by suggesting the message rate system.
-by this plan, which u. n. bethell developed to its highest point in new york, a user of the telephone pays a fixed minimum price for a certain number of messages per year, and extra for all messages over this number. the large user pays more, and the little user pays less. it opened up the way to such an expansion of telephone business as bell, in his rosiest dreams, had never imagined. in three years, after 1896, there were twice as many users; in six years there were four times as many; in ten years there were eight to one. what with the message rate and the pay station, the telephone was now on its way to be universal. it was adapted to all kinds and conditions of men. a great corporation, nerved at every point with telephone wires, may now pay fifty thousand dollars to the bell company, while at the same time a young irish immigrant boy, just arrived in new york city, may offer five coppers and find at his disposal a fifty million dollar telephone system.
-it was a fast and furious period. the whole country was ablaze with a passion of prosperity. after generations of conflict, the men with large ideas had at last put to rout the men of small ideas. the waste and folly of competition had everywhere driven men to the policy of cooperation. mills were linked to mills and factories to factories, in a vast mutualism of industry such as no other age, perhaps, has ever known. and as the telephone is essentially the instrument of co-working and interdependent people, it found itself suddenly welcomed as the most popular and indispensable of all the agencies that put men in touch with each other.
-to describe this growth in a single sentence, we might say that the bell telephone secured its first million of capital in 1879; its first million of earnings in 1882; its first million of dividends in 1884; its first million of surplus in 1885. it had paid out its first million for legal expenses by 1886; began first to send a million messages a day in 1888; had strung its first million miles of wire in 1900; and had installed its first million telephones in 1898. by 1897 it had spun as many cobwebs of wire as the mighty western union itself; by 1900 it had twice as many miles of wire as the western union, and in 1905 five times as many. such was the plunging progress of the bell companies in this period of expansion, that by 1905 they had swept past all european countries combined, not only in the quality of the service but in the actual number of telephones in use. this, too, without a cent of public money, or the protection of a tariff, or the prestige of a governmental bureau.
-by 1892 boston and new york were talking to chicago, milwaukee, pittsburg, and washington. one-half of the people of the united states were within talking distance of each other. the thousand-mile talk had ceased to be a fairy tale. several years later the western end of the line was pushed over the plains to nebraska, enabling the spoken word in boston to be heard in omaha. slowly and with much effort the public were taught to substitute the telephone for travel. a special long-distance salon was fitted up in new york city to entice people into the habit of talking to other cities. cabs were sent for customers; and when one arrived, he was escorted over oriental rugs to a gilded booth, draped with silken curtains. this was the famous "room nine." by such and many other allurements a larger idea of telephone service was given to the public mind; until in 1909 at least eighteen thousand new york-chicago conversations were held, and the revenue from strictly long-distance messages was twenty-two thousand dollars a day.
-by 1906 even the rocky mountain bell company had grown to be a ten-million-dollar enterprise. it began at salt lake city with a hundred telephones, in 1880. then it reached out to master an area of four hundred and thirteen thousand square miles--a great lone land of undeveloped resources. its linemen groped through dense forests where their poles looked like toothpicks beside the towering pines and cedars. they girdled the mountains and basted the prairies with wire, until the lonely places were brought together and made sociable. they drove off the indians, who wanted the bright wire for ear-rings and bracelets; and the bears, which mistook the humming of the wires for the buzzing of bees, and persisted in gnawing the poles down. with the most heroic optimism, this rocky mountain company persevered until, in 1906, it had created a seventy-thousand-mile nerve-system for the far west.
-chicago, in this year, had two hundred thou-sand telephones in use, in her two hundred square miles of area. the business had been built up by general anson stager, who was himself wealthy, and able to attract the support of such men as john crerar, h. h. porter, and robert t. lincoln. since 1882 it has paid dividends, and in one glorious year its stock soared to four hundred dollars a share. the old-timers--the men who clambered over roof-tops in 1878 and tacked iron wires wherever they could without being chased off--are still for the most part in control of the chicago company.
-but as might have been expected, it was new york city that was the record-breaker when the era of telephone expansion arrived. here the flood of big business struck with the force of a tidal wave. the number of users leaped from 56,000 in 1900 up to 810,000 in 1908. in a single year of sweating and breathless activity, 65,000 new telephones were put on desks or hung on walls--an average of one new user for every two minutes of the business day.
-literally tons, and hundreds of tons, of telephones were hauled in drays from the factory and put in place in new york's homes and offices. more and more were demanded, until to-day there are more telephones in new york than there are in the four countries, france, belgium, holland, and switzerland combined. as a user of telephones new york has risen to be unapproachable. mass together all the telephones of london, glasgow, liverpool, manchester, birmingham, leeds, sheffleld, bristol, and belfast, and there will even then be barely as many as are carrying the conversations of this one american city.
-in 1879 the new york telephone directory was a small card, showing two hundred and fifty-two names; but now it has grown to be an eight-hundred-page quarterly, with a circulation of half a million, and requiring twenty drays, forty horses, and four hundred men to do the work of distribution. there was one shabby little exchange thirty years ago; but now there are fifty-two exchanges, as the nerve-centres of a vast fifty-million-dollar system. incredible as it may seem to foreigners, it is literally true that in a single building in new york, the hudson terminal, there are more telephones than in odessa or madrid, more than in the two kingdoms of greece and bulgaria combined.
-merely to operate this system requires an army of more than five thousand girls. merely to keep their records requires two hundred and thirty-five million sheets of paper a year. merely to do the writing of these records wears away five hundred and sixty thousand lead pencils. and merely to give these girls a cup of tea or coffee at noon, compels the bell company to buy yearly six thousand pounds of tea, seventeen thousand pounds of coffee, forty-eight thousand cans of condensed milk, and one hundred and forty barrels of sugar.
-the myriad wires of this new york system are tingling with talk every minute of the day and night. they are most at rest between three and four o'clock in the morning, although even then there are usually ten calls a minute. between five and six o'clock, two thousand new yorkers are awake and at the telephone. half an hour later there are twice as many. between seven and eight twenty-five thousand people have called up twenty-five thousand other people, so that there are as many people talking by wire as there were in the whole city of new york in the revolutionary period. even this is only the dawn of the day's business. by half-past eight it is doubled; by nine it is trebled; by ten it is multiplied sixfold; and by eleven the roar has become an incredible babel of one hundred and eighty thousand conversations an hour, with fifty new voices clamoring at the exchanges every second.
-this is "the peak of the load." it is the topmost pinnacle of talk. it is the utmost degree of service that the telephone has been required to give in any city. and it is as much a world's wonder, to men and women of imagination, as the steel mills of homestead or the turbine leviathans that curve across the atlantic ocean in four and a half days.
-as to the men who built it up: charles f. cutler died in 1907, but most of the others are still alive and busy. union n. bethell, now in cutler's place at the head of the new york company, has been the operating chief for eighteen years. he is a man of shrewdness and sympathy, with a rare sagacity in solving knotty problems, a president of the new type, who regards his work as a sort of obligation he owes to the public. and just as foreigners go to pittsburg to see the steel business at its best; just as they go to iowa and kansas to see the new farmer, so they make pilgrimages to bethell's office to learn the profession of telephony.
-this unparalleled telephone system of new york grew up without having at any time the rivalry of competition. but in many other cities and especially in the middle west, there sprang up in 1895 a medley of independent companies. the time of the original patents had expired, and the bell companies found themselves freed from the expense of litigation only to be snarled up in a tangle of duplication. in a few years there were six thousand of these little robinson crusoe companies. and by 1901 they had put in use more than a million telephones and were professing to have a capital of a hundred millions.
-most of these companies were necessary and did much to expand the telephone business into new territory. they were in fact small mutual associations of a dozen or a hundred farmers, whose aim was to get telephone service at cost. but there were other companies, probably a thousand or more, which were organized by promoters who built their hopes on the fact that the bell companies were unpopular, and on the myth that they were fabulously rich. instead of legitimately extending telephone lines into communities that had none, these promoters proceeded to inflict the messy snarl of an overlapping system upon whatever cities would give them permission to do so.
-in this way, masked as competition, the nuisance and waste of duplication began in most american cities. the telephone business was still so young, it was so little appreciated even by the telephone officials and engineers, that the public regarded a second or a third telephone system in one city as quite a possible and desirable innovation. "we have two ears," said one promoter; "why not therefore have two telephones?"
-this duplication went merrily on for years before it was generally discovered that the telephone is not an ear, but a nerve system; and that such an experiment as a duplicate nerve system has never been attempted by nature, even in her most frivolous moods. most people fancied that a telephone system was practically the same as a gas or electric light system, which can often be duplicated with the result of cheaper rates and better service. they did not for years discover that two telephone companies in one city means either half service or double cost, just as two fire departments or two post offices would.
-some of these duplicate companies built up a complete plant, and gave good local service, while others proved to be mere stock bubbles. most of them were over-capitalized, depending upon public sympathy to atone for deficiencies in equipment. one which had printed fifty million dollars of stock for sale was sold at auction in 1909 for four hundred thousand dollars. all told, there were twenty-three of these bubbles that burst in 1905, twenty-one in 1906, and twelve in 1907. so high has been the death-rate among these isolated companies that at a recent convention of telephone agents, the chairman's gavel was made of thirty-five pieces of wood, taken from thirty-five switchboards of thirty-five extinct companies.
-a study of twelve single-system cities and twenty-seven double-system cities shows that there are about eleven per cent more telephones under the double-system, and that where the second system is put in, every fifth user is obliged to pay for two telephones. the rates are alike, whether a city has one or two systems. duplicating companies raised their rates in sixteen cities out of the twenty-seven, and reduced them in one city. taking the united states as a whole, there are to-day fully two hundred and fifty thousand people who are paying for two telephones instead of one, an economic waste of at least ten million dollars a year.
-a fair-minded survey of the entire independent telephone movement would probably show that it was at first a stimulant, followed, as stimulants usually are, by a reaction. it was unquestionably for several years a spur to the bell companies. but it did not fulfil its promises of cheap rates, better service, and high dividends; it did little or nothing to improve telephonic apparatus, producing nothing new except the automatic switchboard--a brilliant invention, which is now in its experimental period. in the main, perhaps, it has been a reactionary and troublesome movement in the cities, and a progressive movement among the farmers.
-by 1907 it was a wave that had spent its force. it was no longer rolling along easily on the broad ocean of hope, but broken and turned aside by the rocks of actual conditions. one by one the telephone promoters learned the limitations of an isolated company, and asked to be included as members of the bell family. in 1907 four hundred and fifty-eight thousand independent telephones were linked by wire to the nearest bell company; and in 1908 these were followed by three hundred and fifty thousand more. after this landslide to the policy of consolidation, there still remained a fairly large assortment of independent companies; but they had lost their dreams and their illusions.
-as might have been expected, the independent movement produced a number of competent local leaders, but none of national importance. the bell companies, on the other hand, were officered by men who had for a quarter of a century been surveying telephone problems from a national point of view. at their head, from 1907 onwards, was theodore n. vail, who had returned dramatically, at the precise moment when he was needed, to finish the work that he had begun in 1878. he had been absent for twenty years, developing water-power and building street-railways in south america. in the first act of the telephone drama, it was he who put the enterprise upon a business basis, and laid down the first principles of its policy. in the second and third acts he had no place; but when the curtain rose upon the fourth act, vail was once more the central figure, standing white-haired among his captains, and pushing forward the completion of the "grand telephonic system" that he had dreamed of when the telephone was three years old.
-thus it came about that the telephone business was created by vail, conserved by hudson, expanded by fish, and is now in process of being consolidated by vail. it is being knit together into a stupendous bell system--a federation of self-governing companies, united by a central company that is the busiest of them all. it is no longer protected by any patent monopoly. whoever is rich enough and rash enough may enter the field. but it has all the immeasurable advantages that come from long experience, immense bulk, the most highly skilled specialists, and an abundance of capital. "the bell system is strong," says vail, "because we are all tied up together; and the success of one is therefore the concern of all."
-the bell system! here we have the motif of american telephone development. here is the most comprehensive idea that has entered any telephone engineer's brain. already this bell system has grown to be so vast, so nearly akin to a national nerve system, that there is nothing else to which we can compare it. it is so wide-spread that few are aware of its greatness. it is strung out over fifty thousand cities and communities.
-if it were all gathered together into one place, this bell system, it would make a city of telephonia as large as baltimore. it would contain half of the telephone property of the world. its actual wealth would be fully $760,000,000, and its revenue would be greater than the revenue of the city of new york.
-part of the property of the city of telephonia consists of ten million poles, as many as would make a fence from new york to california, or put a stockade around texas. if the telephonians wished to use these poles at home, they might drive them in as piles along their water-front, and have a twenty-five thousand-acre dock; or if their city were a hundred square miles in extent, they might set up a seven-ply wall around it with these poles.
-wire, too! eleven million miles of it! this city of telephonia would be the capital of an empire of wire. not all the men in new york state could shoulder this burden of wire and carry it. throw all the people of illinois in one end of the scale, and put on the other side the wire-wealth of telephonia, and long before the last coil was in place, the illinoisans would be in the air.
-what would this city do for a living? it would make two-thirds of the telephones, cables, and switchboards of all countries. nearly one-quarter of its citizens would work in factories, while the others would be busy in six thousand exchanges, making it possible for the people of the united states to talk to one another at the rate of seven thousand million conversations a year.
-the pay-envelope army that moves to work every morning in telephonia would be a host of one hundred and ten thousand men and girls, mostly girls,--as many girls as would fill vassar college a hundred times and more, or double the population of nevada. put these men and girls in line, march them ten abreast, and six hours would pass before the last company would arrive at the reviewing stand. in single file this throng of telephonians would make a living wall from new york to new haven.
-such is the extraordinary city of which alexander graham bell was the only resident in 1875. it has been built up without the backing of any great bank or multi-millionaire. there have been no vanderbilts in it, no astors, rockefellers, rothschilds, harrimans. there are even now only four men who own as many as ten thousand shares of the stock of the central company. this bell system stands as the life-work of unprivileged men, who are for the most part still alive and busy. with very few and trivial exceptions, every part of it was made in the united states. no other industrial organism of equal size owes foreign countries so little. alike in its origin, its development, and its highest point of efficiency and expansion, the telephone is as essentially american as the declaration of independence or the monument on bunker hill.
-chapter vi. notable users of the telephone
-what we might call the telephonization of city life, for lack of a simpler word, has remarkably altered our manner of living from what it was in the days of abraham lincoln. it has enabled us to be more social and cooperative. it has literally abolished the isolation of separate families, and has made us members of one great family. it has become so truly an organ of the social body that by telephone we now enter into contracts, give evidence, try lawsuits, make speeches, propose marriage, confer degrees, appeal to voters, and do almost everything else that is a matter of speech.
-in stores and hotels this wire traffic has grown to an almost bewildering extent, as these are the places where many interests meet. the hundred largest hotels in new york city have twenty-one thousand telephones--nearly as many as the continent of africa and more than the kingdom of spain. in an average year they send six million messages. the waldorf-astoria alone tops all residential buildings with eleven hundred and twenty telephones and five hundred thousand calls a year; while merely the christmas eve orders that flash into marshall field's store, or john wanamaker's, have risen as high as the three thousand mark.
-whether the telephone does most to concentrate population, or to scatter it, is a question that has not yet been examined. it is certainly true that it has made the skyscraper possible, and thus helped to create an absolutely new type of city, such as was never imagined even in the fairy tales of ancient nations. the skyscraper is ten years younger than the telephone. it is now generally seen to be the ideal building for business offices. it is one of the few types of architecture that may fairly be called american. and its efficiency is largely, if not mainly, due to the fact that its inhabitants may run errands by telephone as well as by elevator.
-there seems to be no sort of activity which is not being made more convenient by the telephone. it is used to call the duck-shooters in western canada when a flock of birds has arrived; and to direct the movements of the dragon in wagner's grand opera "siegfried." at the last yale-harvard football game, it conveyed almost instantaneous news to fifty thousand people in various parts of new england. at the vanderbilt cup race its wires girdled the track and reported every gain or mishap of the racing autos. and at such expensive pageants as that of the quebec tercentenary in 1908, where four thousand actors came and went upon a ten-acre stage, every order was given by telephone.
-public officials, even in the united states, have been slow to change from the old-fashioned and more dignified use of written documents and uniformed messengers; but in the last ten years there has been a sweeping revolution in this respect. government by telephone! this is a new idea that has already arrived in the more efficient departments of the federal service. and as for the present congress, that body has gone so far as to plan for a special system of its own, in both houses, so that all official announcements may be heard by wire.
-garfield was the first among american presidents to possess a telephone. an exhibition instrument was placed in his house, without cost, in 1878, while he was still a member of congress. neither cleveland nor harrison, for temperamental reasons, used the magic wire very often. under their regime, there was one lonely idle telephone in the white house, used by the servants several times a week. but with mckinley came a new order of things. to him a telephone was more than a necessity. it was a pastime, an exhilarating sport. he was the one president who really revelled in the comforts of telephony. in 1895 he sat in his canton home and heard the cheers of the chicago convention. later he sat there and ran the first presidential telephone campaign; talked to his managers in thirty-eight states. thus he came to regard the telephone with a higher degree of appreciation than any of his predecessors had done, and eulogized it on many public occasions. "it is bringing us all closer together," was his favorite phrase.
-to roosevelt the telephone was mainly for emergencies. he used it to the full during the chicago convention of 1907 and the peace conference at portsmouth. but with taft the telephone became again the common avenue of conversation. he has introduced at least one new telephonic custom a long-distance talk with his family every evening, when he is away from home. instead of the solitary telephone of cleveland-harrison days, the white house has now a branch exchange of its own--main 6--with a sheaf of wires that branch out into every room as well as to the nearest central.
-the most brilliant feat of the telephone in the financial world was done during the panic of 1907. at the height of the storm, on a saturday evening, the new york bankers met in an almost desperate conference. they decided, as an emergency measure of self-protection, not to ship cash to western banks. at midnight they telephoned this decision to the bankers of chicago and st. louis. these men, in turn, conferred by telephone, and on sunday afternoon called up the bankers of neighboring states. and so the news went from 'phone to 'phone, until by monday morning all bankers and chief depositors were aware of the situation, and prepared for the team-play that prevented any general disaster.
-as for stockbrokers of the wall street species, they transact practically all their business by telephone. in their stock exchange stand six hundred and forty one booths, each one the terminus of a private wire. a firm of brokers will count it an ordinary year's talking to send fifty thousand messages; and there is one firm which last year sent twice as many. of all brokers, the one who finally accomplished most by telephony was unquestionably e. h. harriman. in the mansion that he built at arden, there were a hundred telephones, sixty of them linked to the long-distance lines. what the brush is to the artist, what the chisel is to the sculptor, the telephone was to harriman. he built his fortune with it. it was in his library, his bathroom, his private car, his camp in the oregon wilder-ness. no transaction was too large or too involved to be settled over its wires. he saved the credit of the erie by telephone--lent it five million dollars as he lay at home on a sickbed. "he is a slave to the telephone," wrote a magazine writer. "nonsense," replied harriman, "it is a slave to me."
-the telephone arrived in time to prevent big corporations from being unwieldy and aristocratic. the foreman of a pittsburg coal company may now stand in his subterranean office and talk to the president of the steel trust, who sits on the twenty-first floor of a new york skyscraper. the long-distance talks, especially, have grown to be indispensable to the corporations whose plants are scattered and geographically misplaced--to the mills of new england, for instance, that use the cotton of the south and sell so much of their product to the middle west. to the companies that sell perishable commodities, an instantaneous conversation with a buyer in a distant city has often saved a carload or a cargo. such caterers as the meat-packers, who were among the first to realize what bell had made possible, have greatly accelerated the wheels of their business by inter-city conversations. for ten years or longer the cudahys have talked every business morning between omaha and boston, via fifteen hundred and seventy miles of wire.
-in the refining of oil, the standard oil company alone, at its new york office, sends two hundred and thirty thousand messages a year. in the making of steel, a chemical analysis is made of each caldron of molten pig-iron, when it starts on its way to be refined, and this analysis is sent by telephone to the steelmaker, so that he will know exactly how each potful is to be handled. in the floating of logs down rivers, instead of having relays of shouters to prevent the logs from jamming, there is now a wire along the bank, with a telephone linked on at every point of danger. in the rearing of skyscrapers, it is now usual to have a temporary wire strung vertically, so that the architect may stand on the ground and confer with a foreman who sits astride of a naked girder three hundred feet up in the air. and in the electric light business, the current is distributed wholly by telephoned orders. to give new york the seven million electric lights that have abolished night in that city requires twelve private exchanges and five hundred and twelve telephones. all the power that creates this artificial daylight is generated at a single station, and let flow to twenty-five storage centres. minute by minute, its flow is guided by an expert, who sits at a telephone exchange as though he were a pilot at the wheel of an ocean liner.
-the first steamship line to take notice of the telephone was the clyde, which had a wire from dock to office in 1877; and the first railway was the pennsylvania, which two years later was persuaded by professor bell himself to give it a trial in altoona. since then, this railroad has become the chief beneficiary of the art of telephony. it has one hundred and seventy-five exchanges, four hundred operators, thirteen thousand telephones, and twenty thousand miles of wire--a more ample system than the city of new york had in 1896.
-in the operation of trains, the railroads have waited thirty years before they dared to trust the telephone, just as they waited fifteen years before they dared to trust the telegraph. in 1883 a few railways used the telephone in a small way, but in 1907, when a law was passed that made telegraphers highly expensive, there was a general swing to the telephone. several dozen roads have now put it in use, some employing it as an associate of the morse method and others as a complete substitute. it has already been found to be the quickest way of despatching trains. it will do in five minutes what the telegraph did in ten. and it has enabled railroads to hire more suitable men for the smaller offices.
-in news-gathering, too, much more than in railroading, the day of the telephone has arrived. the boston globe was the first paper to receive news by telephone. later came the washington star, which had a wire strung to the capitol, and thereby gained an hour over its competitors. to-day the evening papers receive most of their news over the wire a la bell instead of a la morse. this has resulted in a specialization of reporters--one man runs for the news and another man writes it. some of the runners never come to the office. they receive their assignments by telephone, and their salaries by mail. there are even a few who are allowed to telephone their news directly to a swift linotype operator, who clicks it into type on his machine, without the scratch of a pencil. this, of course, is the ideal method of news-gathering, which is rarely possible.
-a paper of the first class, such as the new york world, has now an outfit of twenty trunk lines and eighty telephones. its outgoing calls are two hundred thousand a year and its incoming calls three hundred thousand, which means that for every morning, evening, or sunday edition, there has been an average of seven hundred and fifty messages. the ordinary newspaper in a small town cannot afford such a service, but recently the united press has originated a cooperative method. it telephones the news over one wire to ten or twelve newspapers at one time. in ten minutes a thousand words can in this way be flung out to a dozen towns, as quickly as by telegraph and much cheaper.
-but it is in a dangerous crisis, when safety seems to hang upon a second, that the telephone is at its best. it is the instrument of emergencies, a sort of ubiquitous watchman. when the girl operator in the exchange hears a cry for help--"quick! the hospital!" "the fire department!" "the police!" she seldom waits to hear the number. she knows it. she is trained to save half-seconds. and it is at such moments, if ever, that the users of a telephone can appreciate its insurance value. no doubt, if a king richard iii were worsted on a modern battlefield, his instinctive cry would be, "my kingdom for a telephone!"
-when instant action is needed in the city of new york, a general alarm can in five minutes be sent by the police wires over its whole vast area of three hundred square miles. when, recently, a gas main broke in brooklyn, sixty girls were at once called to the centrals in that part of the city to warn the ten thousand families who had been placed in danger. when the ill-fated general slocum caught fire, a mechanic in a factory on the water-front saw the blaze, and had the presence of mind to telephone the newspapers, the hospitals, and the police. when a small child is lost, or a convict has escaped from prison, or the forest is on fire, or some menace from the weather is at hand, the telephone bells clang out the news, just as the nerves jangle the bells of pain when the body is in danger. in one tragic case, the operator in folsom, new mexico, refused to quit her post until she had warned her people of a flood that had broken loose in the hills above the village. because of her courage, nearly all were saved, though she herself was drowned at the switchboard. her name--mrs. s. j. rooke--deserves to be remembered.
-if a disaster cannot be prevented, it is the telephone, usually, that brings first aid to the injured. after the destruction of san francisco, governor guild, of massachusetts, sent an appeal for the stricken city to the three hundred and fifty-four mayors of his state; and by the courtesy of the bell company, which carried the messages free, they were delivered to the last and furthermost mayors in less than five hours. after the destruction of messina, an order for enough lumber to build ten thousand new houses was cabled to new york and telephoned to western lumbermen. so quickly was this order filled that on the twelfth day after the arrival of the cablegram, the ships were on their way to messina with the lumber. after the kansas city flood of 1903, when the drenched city was without railways or street-cars or electric lights, it was the telephone that held the city together and brought help to the danger-spots. and after the baltimore fire, the telephone exchange was the last force to quit and the first to recover. its girls sat on their stools at the switchboard until the window-panes were broken by the heat. then they pulled the covers over the board and walked out. two hours later the building was in ashes. three hours later another building was rented on the unburned rim of the city, and the wire chiefs were at work. in one day there was a system of wires for the use of the city officials. in two days these were linked to long-distance wires; and in eleven days a two-thousand-line switchboard was in full working trim. this feat still stands as the record in rebuilding.
-in the supreme emergency of war, the telephone is as indispensable, very nearly, as the cannon. this, at least, is the belief of the japanese, who handled their armies by telephone when they drove back the russians. each body of japanese troops moved forward like a silkworm, leaving behind it a glistening strand of red copper wire. at the decisive battle of mukden, the silk-worm army, with a million legs, crept against the russian hosts in a vast crescent, a hundred miles from end to end. by means of this glistening red wire, the various batteries and regiments were organized into fifteen divisions. each group of three divisions was wired to a general, and the five generals were wired to the great oyama himself, who sat ten miles back of the firing-line and sent his orders. whenever a regiment lunged forward, one of the soldiers carried a telephone set. if they held their position, two other soldiers ran forward with a spool of wire. in this way and under fire of the russian cannon, one hundred and fifty miles of wire were strung across the battlefield. as the japanese said, it was this "flying telephone" that enabled oyama to manipulate his forces as handily as though he were playing a game of chess. it was in this war, too, that the mikado's soldiers strung the costliest of all telephone lines, at 203 metre hill. when the wire had been basted up this hill to the summit, the fortress of port arthur lay at their mercy. but the climb had cost them twenty-four thousand lives.
-of the seven million telephones in the united states, about two million are now in farmhouses. every fourth american farmer is in telephone touch with his neighbors and the market. iowa leads, among the farming states. in iowa, not to have a telephone is to belong to what a londoner would call the "submerged tenth" of the population. second in line comes illinois, with kansas, nebraska, and indiana following closely behind; and at the foot of the list, in the matter of farm telephones, are connecticut and louisiana.
-the first farmer who discovered the value of the telephone was the market gardener. next came the bonanza farmer of the red river valley--such a man, for instance, as oliver dalrymple, of north dakota, who found that by the aid of the telephone he could plant and harvest thirty thousand acres of wheat in a single season. then, not more than half a dozen years ago, there arose a veritable telephone crusade among the farmers of the middle west. cheap telephones, yet fairly good, had by this time been made possible by the improvements of the bell engineers; and stories of what could be done by telephone became the favorite gossip of the day. one farmer had kept his barn from being burned down by telephoning for his neighbors; another had cleared five hundred dollars extra profit on the sale of his cattle, by telephoning to the best market; a third had rescued a flock of sheep by sending quick news of an approaching blizzard; a fourth had saved his son's life by getting an instantaneous message to the doctor; and so on.
-how the telephone saved a three million dollar fruit crop in colorado, in 1909, is the story that is oftenest told in the west. until that year, the frosts in the spring nipped the buds. no farmer could be sure of his harvest. but in 1909, the fruit-growers bought smudge-pots--three hundred thousand or more. these were placed in the orchards, ready to be lit at a moment's notice. next, an alliance was made with the united states weather bureau so that whenever the frost king came down from the north, a warning could be telephoned to the farmers. just when colorado was pink with apple blossoms, the first warning came. "get ready to light up your smudge-pots in half an hour." then the farmers telephoned to the nearest towns: "frost is coming; come and help us in the orchards." hundreds of men rushed out into the country on horseback and in wagons. in half an hour the last warning came: "light up; the thermometer registers twenty-nine." the smudge-pot artillery was set ablaze, and kept blazing until the news came that the icy forces had retreated. and in this way every colorado farmer who had a telephone saved his fruit.
-in some farming states, the enthusiasm for the telephone is running so high that mass meetings are held, with lavish oratory on the general theme of "good roads and telephones." and as a result of this telephone crusade, there are now nearly twenty thousand groups of farmers, each one with a mutual telephone system, and one-half of them with sufficient enterprise to link their little webs of wires to the vast bell system, so that at least a million farmers have been brought as close to the great cities as they are to their own barns.
-what telephones have done to bring in the present era of big crops, is an interesting story in itself. to compress it into a sentence, we might say that the telephone has completed the labor-saving movement which started with the mccormick reaper in 1831. it has lifted the farmer above the wastefulness of being his own errand-boy. the average length of haul from barn to market in the united states is nine and a half miles, so that every trip saved means an extra day's work for a man and team. instead of travelling back and forth, often to no purpose, the farmer may now stay at home and attend to his stock and his crops.
-chapter vii. the telephone and national efficiency
-the larger significance of the telephone is that it completes the work of eliminating the hermit and gypsy elements of civilization. in an almost ideal way, it has made intercommunication possible without travel. it has enabled a man to settle permanently in one place, and yet keep in personal touch with his fellows.
-until the last few centuries, much of the world was probably what morocco is to-day--a region without wheeled vehicles or even roads of any sort. there is a mythical story of a wonderful speaking-trumpet possessed by alexander the great, by which he could call a soldier who was ten miles distant; but there was probably no substitute for the human voice except flags and beacon-fires, or any faster method of travel than the gait of a horse or a camel across ungraded plains. the first sensation of rapid transit doubtless came with the sailing vessel; but it was the play-toy of the winds, and unreliable. when columbus dared to set out on his famous voyage, he was five weeks in crossing from spain to the west indies, his best day's record two hundred miles. the swift steamship travel of to-day did not begin until 1838, when the great western raced over the atlantic in fifteen days.
-as for organized systems of intercommunication, they were unknown even under the rule of a pericles or a caesar. there was no post office in great britain until 1656--a generation after america had begun to be colonized. there was no english mail-coach until 1784; and when benjamin franklin was postmaster general at philadelphia, an answer by mail from boston, when all went well, required not less than three weeks. there was not even a hard-surface road in the thirteen united states until 1794; nor even a postage stamp until 1847, the year in which alexander graham bell was born. in this same year henry clay delivered his memorable speech on the mexican war, at lexington, kentucky, and it was telegraphed to the new york herald at a cost of five hundred dollars, thus breaking all previous records for news-gathering enterprise. eleven years later the first cable established an instantaneous sign-language between americans and europeans; and in 1876 there came the perfect distance-talking of the telephone.
-no invention has been more timely than the telephone. it arrived at the exact period when it was needed for the organization of great cities and the unification of nations. the new ideas and energies of science, commerce, and cooperation were beginning to win victories in all parts of the earth. the first railroad had just arrived in china; the first parliament in japan; the first constitution in spain. stanley was moving like a tiny point of light through the heart of the dark continent. the universal postal union had been organized in a little hall in berne. the red cross movement was twelve years old. an international congress of hygiene was being held at brussells, and an international congress of medicine at philadelphia. de lesseps had finished the suez canal and was examining panama. italy and germany had recently been built into nations; france had finally swept aside the empire and the commune and established the republic. and what with the new agencies of railroads, steamships, cheap newspapers, cables, and telegraphs, the civilized races of mankind had begun to be knit together into a practical consolidation.
-to the united states, especially, the telephone came as a friend in need. after a hundred years of growth, the republic was still a loose confederation of separate states, rather than one great united nation. it had recently fallen apart for four years, with a wide gulf of blood between; and with two flags, two presidents, and two armies. in 1876 it was hesitating halfway between doubt and confidence, between the old political issues of north and south, and the new industrial issues of foreign trade and the development of material resources. the west was being thrown open. the indians and buffaloes were being driven back. there was a line of railway from ocean to ocean. the population was gaining at the rate of a million a year. colorado had just been baptized as a new state. and it was still an unsolved problem whether or not the united states could be kept united, whether or not it could be built into an organic nation without losing the spirit of self-help and democracy.
-it is not easy for us to realize to-day how young and primitive was the united states of 1876. yet the fact is that we have twice the population that we had when the telephone was invented. we have twice the wheat crop and twice as much money in circulation. we have three times the railways, banks, libraries, newspapers, exports, farm values, and national wealth. we have ten million farmers who make four times as much money as seven million farmers made in 1876. we spend four times as much on our public schools, and we put four times as much in the savings bank. we have five times as many students in the colleges. and we have so revolutionized our methods of production that we now produce seven times as much coal, fourteen times as much oil and pig-iron, twenty-two times as much copper, and forty-three times as much steel.
-there were no skyscrapers in 1876, no trolleys, no electric lights, no gasoline engines, no self-binders, no bicycles, no automobiles. there was no oklahoma, and the combined population of montana, wyoming, idaho, and arizona was about equal to that of des moines. it was in this year that general custer was killed by the sioux; that the flimsy iron railway bridge fell at ashtabula; that the "molly maguires" terrorized pennsylvania; that the first wire of the brooklyn bridge was strung; and that boss tweed and hell gate were both put out of the way in new york.
-the great elm, under which the revolutionary patriots had met, was still standing on boston common. daniel drew, the new york financier, who was born before the american constitution was adopted, was still alive; so were commodore vanderbilt, joseph henry, a. t. stewart, thurlow weed, peter cooper, cyrus mccormick, lucretia mott, bryant, longfellow, and emerson. most old people could remember the running of the first railway train; people of middle age could remember the sending of the first telegraph message; and the children in the high schools remembered the laying of the first atlantic cable.
-the grandfathers of 1876 were fond of telling how webster opposed taking texas and oregon into the union; how george washington advised against including the mississippi river; and how monroe warned congress that a country that reached from the atlantic to the middle west was "too extensive to be governed but by a despotic monarchy." they told how abraham lincoln, when he was postmaster of new salem, used to carry the letters in his coon-skin cap and deliver them at sight; how in 1822 the mails were carried on horseback and not in stages, so as to have the quickest possible service; and how the news of madison's election was three weeks in reaching the people of kentucky. when the telegraph was mentioned, they told how in revolutionary days the patriots used a system of signalling called "washington's tele-graph," consisting of a pole, a flag, a basket, and a barrel.
-so, the young republic was still within hearing distance of its childhood, in 1876. both in sentiment and in methods of work it was living close to the log-cabin period. many of the old slow ways survived, the ways that were fast enough in the days of the stage-coach and the tinder-box. there were seventy-seven thousand miles of railway, but poorly built and in short lengths. there were manufacturing industries that employed two million, four hundred thousand people, but every trade was broken up into a chaos of small competitive units, each at war with all the others. there were energy and enterprise in the highest degree, but not efficiency or organization. little as we knew it, in 1876 we were mainly gathering together the plans and the raw materials for the building up of the modern business world, with its quick, tense life and its national structure of immense coordinated industries.
-in 1876 the age of specialization and community of interest was in its dawn. the cobbler had given place to the elaborate factory, in which seventy men cooperated to make one shoe. the merchant who had hitherto lived over his store now ventured to have a home in the suburbs. no man was any longer a self-sufficient robinson crusoe. he was a fraction, a single part of a social mechanism, who must necessarily keep in the closest touch with many others.
-a new interdependent form of civilization was about to be developed, and the telephone arrived in the nick of time to make this new civilization workable and convenient. it was the unfolding of a new organ. just as the eye had become the telescope, and the hand had become machinery, and the feet had become railways, so the voice became the telephone. it was a new ideal method of communication that had been made indispensable by new conditions. the prophecy of carlyle had come true, when he said that "men cannot now be bound to men by brass collars; you will have to bind them by other far nobler and cunninger methods."
-railways and steamships had begun this work of binding man to man by "nobler and cunninger methods." the telegraph and cable had gone still farther and put all civilized people within sight of each other, so that they could communicate by a sort of deaf and dumb alphabet. and then came the telephone, giving direct instantaneous communication and putting the people of each nation within hearing distance of each other. it was the completion of a long series of inventions. it was the keystone of the arch. it was the one last improvement that enabled interdependent nations to handle themselves and to hold together.
-to make railways and steamboats carry letters was much, in the evolution of the means of communication. to make the electric wire carry signals was more, because of the instantaneous transmission of important news. but to make the electric wire carry speech was most, because it put all fellow-citizens face to face, and made both message and answer instantaneous. the invention of the telephone taught the genie of electricity to do better than to carry mes-sages in the sign language of the dumb. it taught him to speak. as emerson has finely said:
-"we had letters to send. couriers could not go fast enough, nor far enough; broke their wagons, foundered their horses; bad roads in spring, snowdrifts in winter, heat in summer--could not get their horses out of a walk. but we found that the air and the earth were full of electricity, and always going our way, just the way we wanted to send. would he take a message, just as lief as not; had nothing else to do; would carry it in no time."
-as to the exact value of the telephone to the united states in dollars and cents, no one can tell. one statistician has given us a total of three million dollars a day as the amount saved by using telephones. this sum may be far too high, or too low. it can be no more than a guess. the only adequate way to arrive at the value of the telephone is to consider the nation as a whole, to take it all in all as a going concern, and to note that such a nation would be absolutely impossible without its telephone service. some sort of a slower and lower grade republic we might have, with small industrial units, long hours of labor, lower wages, and clumsier ways. the money loss would be enormous, but more serious still would be the loss in the quality of the national life. inevitably, an untelephoned nation is less social, less unified, less progressive, and less efficient. it belongs to an inferior species.
-how to make a civilization that is organized and quick, instead of a barbarism that was chaotic and slow--that is the universal human problem, not wholly solved to-day. and how to develop a science of intercommunication, which commenced when the wild animals began to travel in herds and to protect themselves from their enemies by a language of danger-signals, and to democratize this science until the entire nation becomes self-conscious and able to act as one living being--that is the part of this universal problem which finally necessitated the invention of the telephone.
-with the use of the telephone has come a new habit of mind. the slow and sluggish mood has been sloughed off. the old to-morrow habit has been superseded by "do it to-day"; and life has become more tense, alert, vivid. the brain has been relieved of the suspense of waiting for an answer, which is a psychological gain of great importance. it receives its reply at once and is set free to consider other matters. there is less burden upon the memory and the whole mind can be given to each new proposition.
-a new instinct of speed has been developed, much more fully in the united states than elsewhere. "no american goes slow," said ian maclaren, "if he has the chance of going fast; he does not stop to talk if he can talk walking; and he does not walk if he can ride." he is as pleased as a child with a new toy when some speed record is broken, when a pair of shoes is made in eleven minutes, when a man lays twelve hundred bricks in an hour, or when a ship crosses the atlantic in four and a half days. even seconds are now counted and split up into fractions. the average time, for instance, taken to reply to a telephone call by a new york operator, is now three and two-fifth seconds; and even this tiny atom of time is being strenuously worn down.
-as a witty frenchman has said, one of our most lively regrets is that while we are at the telephone we cannot do business with our feet. we regard it as a victory over the hostility of nature when we do an hour's work in a minute or a minute's work in a second. instead of saying, as the spanish do, "life is too short; what can one person do?" an american is more apt to say, "life is too short; therefore i must do to-day's work to-day." to pack a lifetime with energy--that is the american plan, and so to economize that energy as to get the largest results. to get a question asked and answered in five minutes by means of an electric wire, instead of in two hours by the slow trudging of a messenger boy--that is the method that best suits our passion for instantaneous service.
-it is one of the few social laws of which we are fairly sure, that a nation organizes in proportion to its velocity. we know that a four-mile-an-hour nation must remain a huge inert mass of peasants and villagers; or if, after centuries of slow toil, it should pile up a great city, the city will sooner or later fall to pieces of its own weight. in such a way babylon rose and fell, and nineveh, and thebes, and carthage, and rome. mere bulk, unorganized, becomes its own destroyer. it dies of clogging and congestion. but when stephenson's rocket ran twenty-nine miles an hour, and morse's telegraph clicked its signals from washington to baltimore, and bell's telephone flashed the vibrations of speech between boston and salem, a new era began. in came the era of speed and the finely organized nations. in came cities of unprecedented bulk, but held together so closely by a web-work of steel rails and copper wires that they have become more alert and cooperative than any tiny hamlet of mud huts on the banks of the congo.
-that the telephone is now doing most of all, in this binding together of all manner of men, is perhaps not too much to claim, when we remember that there are now in the united states seventy thousand holders of bell telephone stock and ten million users of telephone service. there are two hundred and sixty-four wires crossing the mississippi, in the bell system; and five hundred and forty-four crossing mason and dixon's line. it is the telephone which does most to link together cottage and skyscraper and mansion and factory and farm. it is not limited to experts or college graduates. it reaches the man with a nickel as well as the man with a million. it speaks all languages and serves all trades. it helps to prevent sectionalism and race feuds. it gives a common meeting place to capitalists and wage-workers. it is so essentially the instrument of all the people, in fact, that we might almost point to it as a national emblem, as the trade-mark of democracy and the american spirit.
-in a country like ours, where there are eighty nationalities in the public schools, the telephone has a peculiar value as a part of the national digestive apparatus. it prevents the growth of dialects and helps on the process of assimilation. such is the push of american life, that the humble immigrants from southern europe, before they have been here half a dozen years, have acquired the telephone habit and have linked on their small shops to the great wire network of intercommunication. in the one community of brownsville, for example, settled several years ago by an overflow of russian jews from the east side of new york, there are now as many telephones as in the kingdom of greece. and in the swarming east side itself, there is a single exchange in orchard street which has more wires than there are in all the exchanges of egypt.
-there can be few higher ideals of practical democracy than that which comes to us from the telephone engineer. his purpose is much more comprehensive than the supplying of telephones to those who want them. it is rather to make the telephone as universal as the water faucet, to bring within speaking distance every economic unit, to connect to the social organism every person who may at any time be needed. just as the click of the reaper means bread, and the purr of the sewing-machine means clothes, and the roar of the bessemer converter means steel, and the rattle of the press means education, so the ring of the telephone bell has come to mean unity and organization.
-already, by cable, telegraph, and telephone, no two towns in the civilized world are more than one hour apart. we have even girdled the earth with a cablegram in twelve minutes. we have made it possible for any man in new york city to enter into conversation with any other new yorker in twenty-one seconds. we have not been satisfied with establishing such a system of transportation that we can start any day for anywhere from anywhere else; neither have we been satisfied with establishing such a system of communication that news and gossip are the common property of all nations. we have gone farther. we have established in every large region of population a system of voice-nerves that puts every man at every other man's ear, and which so magically eliminates the factor of distance that the united states becomes three thousand miles of neighbors, side by side.
-this effort to conquer time and space is above all else the instinct of material progress. to shrivel up the miles and to stretch out the minutes--this has been one of the master passions of the human race. and thus the larger truth about the telephone is that it is vastly more than a mere convenience. it is not to be classed with safety razors and piano players and fountain pens. it is nothing less than the high-speed tool of civilization, gearing up the whole mechanism to more effective social service. it is the symbol of national efficiency and cooperation.
-all this the telephone is doing, at a total cost to the nation of probably $200,000,000 a year--no more than american farmers earn in ten days. we pay the same price for it as we do for the potatoes, or for one-third of the hay crop, or for one-eighth of the corn. out of every nickel spent for electrical service, one cent goes to the telephone. we could settle our telephone bill, and have several millions left over, if we cut off every fourth glass of liquor and smoke of tobacco. whoever rents a typewriting machine, or uses a street car twice a day, or has his shoes polished once a day, may for the same expense have a very good telephone service. merely to shovel away the snow of a single storm in 1910 cost the city government of new york as much as it will pay for five or six years of telephoning.
-this almost incredible cheapness of telephony is still far from being generally perceived, mainly for psychological reasons. a telephone is not impressive. it has no bulk. it is not like the singer building or the lusitania. its wires and switchboards and batteries are scattered and hidden, and few have sufficient imagination to picture them in all their complexity. if only it were possible to assemble the hundred or more telephone buildings of new york in one vast plaza, and if the two thousand clerks and three thousand maintenance men and six thousand girl operators were to march to work each morning with bands and banners, then, perhaps, there might be the necessary quality of impressiveness by which any large idea must always be imparted to the public mind.
-for lack of a seven and one-half cent coin, there is now five-cent telephony even in the largest american cities. for five cents whoever wishes has an entire wire-system at his service, a system that is kept waiting by day and night, so that it will be ready the instant he needs it. this system may have cost from twenty to fifty millions, yet it may be hired for one-eighth the cost of renting an automobile. even in long-distance telephony, the expense of a message dwindles when it is compared with the price of a return railway ticket. a talk from new york to philadelphia, for instance, costs seventy-five cents, while the railway fare would be four dollars. from new york to chicago a talk costs five dollars as against seventy dollars by rail. as harriman once said, "i can't get from my home to the depot for the price of a talk to omaha."
-to say what the net profits have been, to the entire body of people who have invested money in the telephone, will always be more or less of a guess. the general belief that immense fortunes were made by the lucky holders of bell stock, is an exaggeration that has been kept alive by the promoters of wildcat companies. no such fortunes were made. "i do not believe," says theodore vail, "that any one man ever made a clear million out of the telephone." there are not apt to be any get-rich-quick for-tunes made in corporations that issue no watered stock and do not capitalize their franchises. on the contrary, up to 1897, the holders of stock in the bell companies had paid in four million, seven hundred thousand dollars more than the par value; and in the recent consolidation of eastern companies, under the presidency of union n. bethell, the new stock was actually eight millions less than the stock that was retired.
-few telephone companies paid any profits at first. they had undervalued the cost of building and maintenance. denver expected the cost to be two thousand, five hundred dollars and spent sixty thousand dollars. buffalo expected to pay three thousand dollars and had to pay one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. also, they made the unwelcome discovery that an exchange of two hundred costs more than twice as much as an exchange of one hundred, because of the greater amount of traffic. usually a dollar that is paid to a telephone company is divided as follows:
-most of the rate troubles (and their name has been legion) have arisen because the telephone business was not understood. in fact, until recently, it did not understand itself. it persisted in holding to a local and individualistic view of its business. it was slow to put telephones in unprofitable places. it expected every instrument to pay its way. in many states, both the telephone men and the public overlooked the most vital fact in the case, which is that the members of a telephone system are above all else interdependent.
-one telephone by itself has no value. it is as useless as a reed cut out of an organ or a finger that is severed from a hand. it is not even ornamental or adaptable to any other pur-pose. it is not at all like a piano or a talking-machine, which has a separate existence. it is useful only in proportion to the number of other telephones it reaches. and every telephone anywhere adds value to every other telephone on the same system of wires. that, in a sentence, is the keynote of equitable rates.
-many a telephone, for the general good, must be put where it does not earn its own living. at any time some sudden emergency may arise that will make it for the moment priceless. especially since the advent of the automobile, there is no nook or corner from which it may not be supremely necessary, now and then, to send a message. this principle was acted upon recently in a most practical way by the pennsylvania railroad, which at its own expense installed five hundred and twenty-five telephones in the homes of its workmen in altoona. in the same way, it is clearly the social duty of the telephone company to widen out its system until every point is covered, and then to distribute its gross charges as fairly as it can. the whole must carry the whole--that is the philosophy of rates which must finally be recognized by legislatures and telephone companies alike. it can never, of course, be reduced to a system or formula. it will always be a matter of opinion and compromise, requiring much skill and much patience. but there will seldom be any serious trouble when once its basic principles are understood.
-like all time-saving inventions, like the railroad, the reaper, and the bessemer converter, the telephone, in the last analysis, costs nothing; it is the lack of it that costs. the nation that most is the nation without it.
-chapter viii. the telephone in foreign countries
-the telephone was nearly a year old before europe was aware of its existence. it received no public notice of any kind whatever until march 3, 1877, when the london athenaeum mentioned it in a few careful sentences. it was not welcomed, except by those who wished an evening's entertainment. and to the entire commercial world it was for four or five years a sort of scientific billiken, that never could be of any service to serious people.
-one after another, several american enthusiasts rushed posthaste to europe, with dreams of eager nations clamoring for telephone systems, and one after another they failed. frederick a. gower was the first of these. he was an adventurous chevalier of business who gave up an agent's contract in return for a right to become a roving propagandist. later he met a prima donna, fell in love with and married her, forsook telephony for ballooning, and lost his life in attempting to fly across the english channel.
-next went william h. reynolds, of providence, who had bought five-eights of the british patent for five thousand dollars, and half the right to russia, spain, portugal, and italy for two thousand, five hundred dollars. how he was received may be seen from a letter of his which has been preserved. "i have been working in london for four months," he writes; "i have been to the bank of england and elsewhere; and i have not found one man who will put one shilling into the telephone."
-bell himself hurried to england and scotland on his wedding tour in 1878, with great expectations of having his invention appreciated in his native land. but from a business point of view, his mission was a total failure. he received dinners a-plenty, but no contracts; and came back to the united states an impoverished and disheartened man. then the optimistic gardiner g. hubbard, bell's father-in-law, threw himself against the european inertia and organized the international and oriental telephone companies, which came to nothing of any importance. in the same year even enos m. barton, the sagacious founder of the western electric, went to france and england to establish an export trade in telephones, and failed.
-these able men found their plans thwarted by the indifference of the public, and often by open hostility. "the telephone is little better than a toy," said the saturday review; "it amazes ignorant people for a moment, but it is inferior to the well-established system of air-tubes." "what will become of the privacy of life?" asked another london editor. "what will become of the sanctity of the domestic hearth?" writers vied with each other in inventing methods of pooh-poohing bell and his invention. "it is ridiculously simple," said one. "it is only an electrical speaking-tube," said another. "it is a complicated form of speaking-trumpet," said a third. no british editor could at first conceive of any use for the telephone, except for divers and coal miners. the price, too, created a general outcry. floods of toy telephones were being sold on the streets at a shilling apiece; and although the government was charging sixty dollars a year for the use of its printing-telegraphs, people protested loudly against paying half as much for telephones. as late as 1882, herbert spencer writes: "the telephone is scarcely used at all in london, and is unknown in the other english cities."
-the first man of consequence to befriend the telephone was lord kelvin, then an untitled young scientist. he had seen the original telephones at the centennial in philadelphia, and was so fascinated with them that the impulsive bell had thrust them into his hands as a gift. at the next meeting of the british association for the advancement of science, lord kelvin exhibited these. he did more. he became the champion of the telephone. he staked his reputation upon it. he told the story of the tests made at the centennial, and assured the sceptical scientists that he had not been deceived. "all this my own ears heard," he said, "spoken to me with unmistakable distinctness by this circular disc of iron."
-the scientists and electrical experts were, for the most part, split up into two camps. some of them said the telephone was impossible, while others said that "nothing could be simpler." almost all were agreed that what bell had done was a humorous trifle. but lord kelvin persisted. he hammered the truth home that the telephone was "one of the most interesting inventions that has ever been made in the history of science." he gave a demonstration with one end of the wire in a coal mine. he stood side by side with bell at a public meeting in glasgow, and declared:
-"the things that were called telephones before bell were as different from bell's telephone as a series of hand-claps are different from the human voice. they were in fact electrical claps; while bell conceived the idea--the wholly original and novel idea--of giving continuity to the shocks, so as to perfectly reproduce the human voice."
-one by one the scientists were forced to take the telephone seriously. at a public test there was one noted professor who still stood in the ranks of the doubters. he was asked to send a message. he went to the instrument with a grin of incredulity, and thinking the whole exhibition a joke, shouted into the mouthpiece: "hi diddle diddle--follow up that." then he listened for an answer. the look on his face changed to one of the utmost amazement. "it says--`the cat and the fiddle,'" he gasped, and forthwith he became a convert to telephony. by such tests the men of science were won over, and by the middle of 1877 bell received a "vociferous welcome" when he addressed them at their annual convention at plymouth.
-soon afterwards, the london times surrendered. it whirled right-about-face and praised the telephone to the skies. "suddenly and quietly the whole human race is brought within speaking and hearing distance," it exclaimed; "scarcely anything was more desired and more impossible." the next paper to quit the mob of scoffers was the tatler, which said in an editorial peroration, "we cannot but feel im-pressed by the picture of a human child commanding the subtlest and strongest force in nature to carry, like a slave, some whisper around the world."
-closely after the scientists and editors came the nobility. the earl of caithness led the way. he declared in public that "the telephone is the most extraordinary thing i ever saw in my life." and one wintry morning in 1878 queen victoria drove to the house of sir thomas biddulph, in london, and for an hour talked and listened by telephone to kate field, who sat in a downing street office. miss field sang "kathleen mavourneen," and the queen thanked her by telephone, saying she was "immensely pleased." she congratulated bell himself, who was present, and asked if she might be permitted to buy the two telephones; whereupon bell presented her with a pair done in ivory.
-this incident, as may be imagined, did much to establish the reputation of telephony in great britain. a wire was at once strung to windsor castle. others were ordered by the daily news, the persian ambassador, and five or six lords and baronets. then came an order which raised the hopes of the telephone men to the highest heaven, from the banking house of j. s. morgan & co. it was the first recognition from the "seats of the mighty" in the business and financial world. a tiny exchange, with ten wires, was promptly started in london; and on april 2d, 1879, theodore vail, the young manager of the bell company, sent an order to the factory in boston, "please make one hundred hand telephones for export trade as early as possible." the foreign trade had begun.
-then there came a thunderbolt out of a blue sky, a wholly unforeseen disaster. just as a few energetic companies were sprouting up, the postmaster general suddenly proclaimed that the telephone was a species of telegraph. according to a british law the telegraph was required to be a government monopoly. this law had been passed six years before the telephone was born, but no matter. the telephone men protested and argued. tyndall and lord kelvin warned the government that it was making an indefensible mistake. but nothing could be done. just as the first railways had been called toll-roads, so the telephone was solemnly declared to be a telegraph. also, to add to the absurd humor of the situation, judge stephen, of the high court of justice, spoke the final word that compelled the telephone legally to be a telegraph, and sustained his opinion by a quotation from webster's dictionary, which was published twenty years before the telephone was invented.
-but the muddle continued. in order to compel competition, according to the academic theories of the day, licenses were given to thir-teen private companies. as might have been expected, the ablest company quickly swallowed the other twelve. if it had been let alone, this company might have given good service, but it was hobbled and fenced in by jealous regulations. it was compelled to pay one-tenth of its gross earnings to the post office. it was to hold itself ready to sell out at six months' notice. and as soon as it had strung a long-distance system of wires, the postmaster general pounced down upon it and took it away.
-so, from first to last, the story of the telephone in great britain has been a "comedy of errors." there are now, in the two islands, not six hundred thousand telephones in use. london, with its six hundred and forty square miles of houses, has one-quarter of these, and is gaining at the rate of ten thousand a year. no large improvements are under way, as the post office has given notice that it will take over and operate all private companies on new year's day, 1912. the bureaucratic muddle, so it seems, is to continue indefinitely.
-in germany there has been the same burden of bureaucracy, but less backing and filling. there is a complete government monopoly. whoever commits the crime of leasing telephone service to his neighbors may be sent to jail for six months. here, too, the postmaster general has been supreme. he has forced the telephone business into a postal mould. the man in a small city must pay as high a rate for a small service, as the man in a large city pays for a large service. there is a fair degree of efficiency, but no high speed or record-breaking. the german engineers have not kept in close touch with the progress of telephony in the united states. they have preferred to devise methods of their own, and so have created a miscellaneous assortment of systems, good, bad, and indifferent. all told, there is probably an investment of seventy-five million dollars and a total of nine hundred thousand telephones.
-telephony has always been in high favor with the kaiser. it is his custom, when planning a hunting party, to have a special wire strung to the forest headquarters, so that he can converse every morning with his cabinet. he has conferred degrees and honors by telephone. even his former chancellor, von buelow, received his title of count in this informal way. but the first friend of the telephone in germany was bismarck. the old unifier saw instantly its value in holding a nation together, and ordered a line between his palace in berlin and his farm at varzin, which lay two hundred and thirty miles apart. this was as early as the fall of 1877, and was thus the first long-distance line in europe.
-in france, as in england, the government seized upon the telephone business as soon as the pioneer work had been done by private citizens. in 1889 it practically confiscated the paris system, and after nine years of litigation paid five million francs to its owners. with this reckless beginning, it floundered from bad to worse. it assembled the most complete assortment of other nations' mistakes, and invented several of its own. almost every known evil of bureaucracy was developed. the system of rates was turned upside down; the flat rate, which can be profitably permitted in small cities only, was put in force in the large cities, and the message rate, which is applicable only to large cities, was put in force in small places. the girl operators were entangled in a maze of civil service rules. they were not allowed to marry without the permission of the postmaster general; and on no account might they dare to marry a mayor, a policeman, a cashier, or a foreigner, lest they betray the secrets of the switchboard.
-there was no national plan, no standardization, no staff of inventors and improvers. every user was required to buy his own telephone. as george ade has said, "anything attached to a wall is liable to be a telephone in paris." and so, what with poor equipment and red tape, the french system became what it remains to-day, the most conspicuous example of what not to do in telephony.
-there are barely as many telephones in the whole of france as ought normally to be in the city of paris. there are not as many as are now in use in chicago. the exasperated parisians have protested. they have presented a petition with thirty-two thousand names. they have even organized a "kickers' league"--the only body of its kind in any country--to demand good service at a fair price. the daily loss from bureaucratic telephony has become enormous. "one blundering girl in a telephone exchange cost me five thousand dollars on the day of the panic in 1907," said george kessler. but the government clears a net profit of three million dollars a year from its telephone monopoly; and until 1910, when a committee of betterment was appointed, it showed no concern at the discomfort of the public.
-there was one striking lesson in telephone efficiency which paris received in 1908, when its main exchange was totally destroyed by fire. "to build a new switchboard," said european manufacturers, "will require four or five months." a hustling young chicagoan appeared on the scene. "we 'll put in a new switchboard in sixty days," he said; "and agree to forfeit six hundred dollars a day for delay." such quick work had never been known. but it was chicago's chance to show what she could do. paris and chicago are four thousand, five hundred miles apart, a twelve days' journey. the switchboard was to be a hundred and eighty feet in length, with ten thousand wires. yet the western electric finished it in three weeks. it was rushed on six freight-cars to new york, loaded on the french steamer la provence, and deposited at paris in thirty-six days; so that by the time the sixty days had expired, it was running full speed with a staff of ninety operators.
-russia and austria-hungary have now about one hundred and twenty-five thousand telephones apiece. they are neck and neck in a race that has not at any time been a fast one. in each country the government has been a neglectful stepmother to the telephone. it has starved the business with a lack of capital and used no enterprise in expanding it. outside of vienna, budapest, st. petersburg, and moscow there are no wire-systems of any consequence. the political deadlock between austria and hungary shuts out any immediate hope of a happier life for the telephone in those countries; but in russia there has recently been a change in policy that may open up a new era. permits are now being offered to one private company in each city, in return for three per cent of the revenue. by this step russia has unexpectedly swept to the front and is now, to telephone men, the freest country in europe.
-in tiny switzerland there has been government ownership from the first, but with less detriment to the business than elsewhere. here the officials have actually jilted the telegraph for the telephone. they have seen the value of the talking wire to hold their valley villages together; and so have cries-crossed the alps with a cheap and somewhat flimsy system of telephony that carries sixty million conversations a year. even the monks of st. bernard, who rescue snowbound travellers, have now equipped their mountain with a series of telephone booths.
-the highest telephone in the world is on the peak of monte rosa, in the italian alps, very nearly three miles above the level of the sea. it is linked to a line that runs to rome, in order that a queen may talk to a professor. in this case the queen is margherita of italy and the professor is signor mosso, the astronomer, who studies the heavens from an observatory on monte rosa. at her own expense, the queen had this wire strung by a crew of linemen, who slipped and floundered on the mountain for six years before they had it pegged in place. the general situation in italy is like that in great britain. the government has always monopolized the long-distance lines, and is now about to buy out all private companies. there are only fifty-five thousand telephones to thirty-two million people--as many as in norway and less than in denmark. and in many of the southern and sicilian provinces the jingle of the telephone bell is still an unfamiliar sound.
-the main peculiarity in holland is that there is no national plan, but rather a patchwork, that resembles joseph's coat of many colors. each city engineer has designed his own type of apparatus and had it made to order. also, each company is fenced in by law within a six-mile circle, so that holland is dotted with thumb-nail systems, no two of which are alike. in belgium there has been a government system since 1893, hence there is unity, but no enterprise. the plant is old-fashioned and too small. spain has private companies, which give fairly good service to twenty thousand people. roumania has half as many. portugal has two small companies in lisbon and oporto. greece, servia, and bulgaria have a scanty two thousand apiece. the frozen little isle of iceland has one-quarter as many; and even into turkey, which was a forbidden land under the regime of the old sultan, the young turks are importing boxes of telephones and coils of copper wire.
-there is one european country, and only one, which has caught the telephone spirit--sweden. here telephony had a free swinging start. it was let alone by the post office; and better still, it had a man, a business-builder of remarkable force and ability, named henry cedergren. had this man been made the telephone-master of europe, there would have been a different story to tell. by his insistent enterprise he made stockholm the best telephoned city outside of the united states. he pushed his country forward until, having one hundred and sixty-five thousand telephones, it stood fourth among the european nations. since his death the government has entered the field with a duplicate system, and a war has been begun which grows yearly more costly and absurd.
-asia, as yet, with her eight hundred and fifty million people, has fewer telephones than philadelphia, and three-fourths of them are in the tiny island of japan. the japanese were enthusiastic telephonists from the first. they had a busy exchange in tokio in 1883. this has now grown to have twenty-five thousand users, and might have more, if it had not been stunted by the peculiar policy of the government. the public officials who operate the system are able men. they charge a fair price and make ten per cent profit for the state. but they do not keep pace with the demand. it is one of the oddest vagaries of public ownership that there is now in tokio a waiting list of eight thousand citizens, who are offering to pay for telephones and cannot get them. and when a tokian dies, his franchise to a telephone, if he has one, is usually itemized in his will as a four-hundred-dollar property.
-india, which is second on the asiatic list, has no more than nine thousand telephones--one to every thirty-three thousand of her population! not quite so many, in fact, as there are in five of the skyscrapers of new york. the dutch east indies and china have only seven thousand apiece, but in china there has recently come a forward movement. a fund of twenty million dollars is to be spent in constructing a national system of telephone and telegraph. peking is now pointing with wonder and delight to a new exchange, spick and span, with a couple of ten-thousand-wire switchboards. others are being built in canton, hankow, and tien-tsin. ultimately, the telephone will flourish in china, as it has done in the chinese quarter in san francisco. the empress of china, after the siege of peking, commanded that a telephone should be hung in her palace, within reach of her dragon throne; and she was very friendly with any representative of the "speaking lightning sounds" business, as the chinese term telephony.
-in persia the telephone made its entry recently in true comic-opera fashion. a new shah, in an outburst of confidence, set up a wire between his palace and the market-place in teheran, and invited his people to talk to him whenever they had grievances. and they talked! they talked so freely and used such language, that the shah ordered out his soldiers and attacked them. he fired upon the new parliament, and was at once chased out of persia by the enraged people. from this it would appear that the telephone ought to be popular in persia, although at present there are not more than twenty in use.
-south america, outside of buenos ayres, has few telephones, probably not more than thirty thousand. dom pedro of brazil, who befriended bell at the centennial, introduced telephony into his country in 1881; but it has not in thirty years been able to obtain ten thousand users. canada has exactly the same number as sweden--one hundred and sixty-five thousand. mexico has perhaps ten thousand; new zealand twenty-six thousand; and australia fifty-five thousand.
-far down in the list of continents stands africa. egypt and algeria have twelve thousand at the north; british south africa has as many at the south; and in the vast stretches between there are barely a thousand more. whoever pushes into central africa will still hear the beat of the wooden drum, which is the clattering sign-language of the natives. one strand of copper wire there is, through the congo region, placed there by order of the late king of belgium. to string it was probably the most adventurous piece of work in the history of telephone linemen. there was one seven hundred and fifty mile stretch of the central jungle. there were white ants that ate the wooden poles, and wild elephants that pulled up the iron poles. there were monkeys that played tag on the lines, and savages that stole the wire for arrow-heads. but the line was carried through, and to-day is alive with conversations concerning rubber and ivory.
-so, we may almost say of the telephone that "there is no speech nor language where its voice is not heard." there are even a thousand miles of its wire in abyssinia and one hundred and fifty miles in the fiji islands. roughly speaking, there are now ten million telephones in all countries, employing two hundred and fifty thousand people, requiring twenty-one million miles of wire, representing a cost of fifteen hundred million dollars, and carrying fourteen thousand million conversations a year. all this, and yet the men who heard the first feeble cry of the infant telephone are still alive, and not by any means old.
-no foreign country has reached the high american level of telephony. the united states has eight telephones per hundred of population, while no other country has one-half as many. canada stands second, with almost four per hundred; and sweden is third. germany has as many telephones as the state of new york; and great britain as many as ohio. chicago has more than london; and boston twice as many as paris. in the whole of europe, with her twenty nations, there are one-third as many telephones as in the united states. in proportion to her population, europe has only one-thirteenth as many.
-the united states writes half as many letters as europe, sends one-third as many telegrams, and talks twice as much at the telephone. the average european family sends three telegrams a year, and three letters and one telephone message a week; while the average american family sends five telegrams a year, and seven letters and eleven telephone messages a week. this one na-tion, which owns six per cent of the earth and is five per cent of the human race, has seventy per cent of the telephones. and fifty per cent, or one-half, of the telephony of the world, is now comprised in the bell system of this country.
-there are only six nations in europe that make a fair showing--the germans, british, swedish, danes, norwegians, and swiss. the others have less than one telephone per hundred. little denmark has more than austria. little finland has better service than france. the belgian telephones have cost the most--two hundred and seventy-three dollars apiece; and the finnish telephones the least--eighty-one dollars. but a telephone in belgium earns three times as much as one in norway. in general, the lesson in europe is this, that the telephone is what a nation makes it. its usefulness depends upon the sense and enterprise with which it is handled. it may be either an invaluable asset or a nuisance.
-too much government! that has been the basic reason for failure in most countries. before the telephone was invented, the telegraph had been made a state monopoly; and the tele-phone was regarded as a species of telegraph. the public officials did not see that a telephone system is a highly complex and technical problem, much more like a piano factory or a steel-mill. and so, wherever a group of citizens established a telephone service, the government officials looked upon it with jealous eyes, and usually snatched it away. the telephone thus became a part of the telegraph, which is a part of the post office, which is a part of the government. it is a fraction of a fraction of a fraction--a mere twig of bureaucracy. under such conditions the telephone could not prosper. the wonder is that it survived.
-handled on the american plan, the telephone abroad may be raised to american levels. there is no racial reason for failure. the slow service and the bungling are the natural results of treating the telephone as though it were a road or a fire department; and any nation that rises to a proper conception of the telephone, that dares to put it into competent hands and to strengthen it with enough capital, can secure as alert and brisk a service as heart can wish. some nations are already on the way. china, japan, and france have sent delegations to new york city--"the mecca of telephone men," to learn the art of telephony in its highest development. even russia has rescued the telephone from her bureaucrats and is now offering it freely to men of enterprise.
-in most foreign countries telephone service is being steadily geared up to a faster pace. the craze for "cheap and nasty" telephony is passing; and the idea that the telephone is above all else a speed instrument, is gaining ground. a faster long-distance service, at double rates, is being well patronized. slow-moving races are learning the value of time, which is the first lesson in telephony. our reapers and mowers now go to seventy-five nations. our street cars run in all great cities. morocco is importing our dollar watches; korea is learning the waste of allowing nine men to dig with one spade. and all this means telephones.
-in thirty years, the western electric has sold sixty-seven million dollars' worth of telephonic apparatus to foreign countries. but this is no more than a fair beginning. to put one telephone in china to every hundred people will mean an outlay of three hundred million dollars. to give europe as fit an equipment as the united states now has, will mean thirty million telephones, with proper wire and switchboards to match. and while telephony for the masses is not yet a live question in many countries, sooner or later, in the relentless push of civilization, it must come.
-possibly, in that far future of peace and goodwill among nations, when each country does for all the others what it can do best, the united states may be generally recognized as the source of skill and authority on telephony. it may be called in to rebuild or operate the telephone systems of other countries, in the same way that it is now supplying oil and steel rails and farm machinery. just as the wise buyer of to-day asks france for champagne, germany for toys, england for cottons, and the orient for rugs, so he will learn to look upon the united states as the natural home and headquarters of the telephone.
-chapter ix. the future of the telephone
-in the spring of 1907 theodore n. vail, a rugged, ruddy, white-haired man, was superintending the building of a big barn in northern vermont. his house stood near-by, on a balcony of rolling land that overlooked the town of lyndon and far beyond, across evergreen forests to the massive bulk of burke mountain. his farm, very nearly ten square miles in area, lay back of the house in a great oval of field and woodland, with several dozen cottages in the clearings. his welsh ponies and swiss cattle were grazing on the may grass, and the men were busy with the ploughs and harrows and seeders. it was almost thirty years since he had been called in to create the business structure of telephony, and to shape the general plan of its development. since then he had done many other things. the one city of buenos ayres had paid him more, merely for giving it a system of trolleys and electric lights, than the united states had paid him for putting the telephone on a business basis. he was now rich and retired, free to enjoy his play-work of the farm and to forget the troubles of the city and the telephone.
-but, as he stood among his barn-builders, there arrived from boston and new york a delegation of telephone directors. most of them belonged to the "old guard" of telephony. they had fought under vail in the pioneer days; and now they had come to ask him to return to the telephone business, after twenty years of absence. vail laughed at the suggestion.
-"nonsense," he said, "i'm too old. i'm sixty-two years of age." the directors persisted. they spoke of the approaching storm-cloud of panic and the need of another strong hand at the wheel until the crisis was over, but vail still refused. they spoke of old times and old memories, but he shook his head. "all my life," he said, "i have wanted to be a farmer."
-since that may morning, 1907, great things have been done by the men of the telephone and telegraph world. the bell system was brought through the panic without a scratch. when the doubt and confusion were at their worst, vail wrote an open letter to his stock-holders, in his practical, farmer-like way. he said:
-"our net earnings for the last ten months were $13,715,000, as against $11,579,000 for the same period in 1906. we have now in the banks over $18,000,000; and we will not need to borrow any money for two years."
-soon afterwards, the work of consolidation began. companies that overlapped were united. small local wire-clusters, several thousands of them, were linked to the national lines. a policy of publicity superseded the secrecy which had naturally grown to be a habit in the days of patent litigation. visitors and reporters found an open door. educational advertisements were published in the most popular magazines. the corps of inventors was spurred up to conquer the long-distance problems. and in return for a thirty million check, the control of the historic western union was transferred from the children of jay gould to the thirty thousand stock-holders of the american telephone and telegraph company.
-from what has been done, therefore, we may venture a guess as to the future of the telephone. this "grand telephonic system" which had no existence thirty years ago, except in the imagination of vail, seems to be at hand. the very newsboys in the streets are crying it. and while there is, of course, no exact blueprint of a best possible telephone system, we can now see the general outlines of vail's plan.
-there is nothing mysterious or ominous in this plan. it has nothing to do with the pools and conspiracies of wall street. no one will be squeezed out except the promoters of paper companies. the simple fact is that vail is organizing a complete bell system for the same reason that he built one big comfortable barn for his swiss cattle and his welsh ponies, instead of half a dozen small uncomfortable sheds. he has never been a "high financier" to juggle profits out of other men's losses. he is merely applying to the telephone business the same hard sense that any farmer uses in the management of his farm. he is building a big barn, metaphorically, for the telephone and telegraph.
-the line of authority, in such a system, will begin with the local manager. from him it will rise to the directors of the state company; then higher still to the directors of the national company; and finally, above all corporate leaders to the federal government itself. the failure of government ownership of the telephone in so many foreign countries does not mean that the private companies will have absolute power. quite the reverse. the lesson of thirty years' experience shows that a private telephone company is apt to be much more obedient to the will of the people than if it were a government department. but it is an axiom of democracy that no company, however well conducted, will be permitted to control a public convenience without being held strictly responsible for its own acts. as politics becomes less of a game and more of a responsibility, the telephone of the future will doubtless be supervised by some sort of public committee, which will have power to pass upon complaints, and to prevent the nuisance of duplication and the swindle of watering stock.
-as this federal supervision becomes more and more efficient, the present fear of monopoly will decrease, just as it did in the case of the railways. it is a fact, although now generally forgotten, that the first railways of the united states were run for ten years or more on an anti-monopoly plan. the tracks were free to all. any one who owned a cart with flanged wheels could drive it on the rails and compete with the locomotives. there was a happy-go-lucky jumble of trains and wagons, all held back by the slowest team; and this continued on some railways until as late as 1857. by that time the people saw that com-petition on a railway track was absurd. they allowed each track to be monopolized by one company, and the era of expansion began.
-no one, certainly, at the present time, regrets the passing of the independent teamster. he was much more arbitrary and expensive than any railroad has ever dared to be; and as the country grew, he became impossible. he was not the fittest to survive. for the general good, he was held back from competing with the railroad, and taught to cooperate with it by hauling freight to and from the depots. this, to his surprise, he found much more profitable and pleasant. he had been squeezed out of a bad job into a good one. and by a similar process of evolution, the united states is rapidly outgrowing the small independent telephone companies. these will eventually, one by one, rise as the teamster did to a higher social value, by clasping wires with the main system of telephony.
-several sweeping changes may be expected in the near future, now that there is team-play between the bell system and the western union. already, by a stroke of the pen, five million users of telephones have been put on the credit books of the western union; and every bell telephone office is now a telegraph office. three telephone messages and eight telegrams may be sent at the same time over two pairs of wires: that is one of the recent miracles of science, and is now to be tried out upon a gigantic scale. most of the long-distance telephone wires, fully two million miles, can be used for telegraphic purposes; and a third of the western union wires, five hundred thousand miles, may with a few changes be used for talking.
-the western union is paying rent for twenty-two thousand, five hundred offices, all of which helps to make telegraphy a luxury of the few. it is employing as large a force of messenger-boys as the army that marched with general sherman from atlanta to the sea. both of these items of expense will dwindle when a bell wire and a morse wire can be brought to a common terminal; and when a telegram can be received or delivered by telephone. there will also be a gain, perhaps the largest of all, in removing the trudging little messenger-boy from the streets and sending him either to school or to learn some useful trade.
-the fact is that the united states is the first country that has succeeded in putting both telephone and telegraph upon the proper basis.
-elsewhere either the two are widely apart, or the telephone is a mere adjunct of a telegraphic department. according to the new american plan, the two are not competitive, but complementary. the one is a supplement to the other. the post office sends a package; the telegraph sends the contents of the package; but the telephone sends nothing. it is an apparatus that makes conversation possible between two separated people. each of the three has a distinct field of its own, so that there has never been any cause for jealousy among them.
-to make the telephone an annex of the post office or the telegraph has become absurd. there are now in the whole world very nearly as many messages sent by telephone as by letter; and there are thirty-two times as many telephone calls as telegrams. in the united states, the telephone has grown to be the big brother of the telegraph. it has six times the net earnings and eight times the wire. and it transmits as many messages as the combined total of telegrams, letters, and railroad passengers.
-this universal trend toward consolidation has introduced a variety of problems that will engage the ablest brains in the telephone world for many years to come. how to get the benefits of organization without its losses, to become strong without losing quickness, to become systematic without losing the dash and dare of earlier days, to develop the working force into an army of high-speed specialists without losing the bird's-eye view of the whole situation,--these are the riddles of the new type, for which the telephonists of the next generation must find the answers. they illustrate the nature of the big jobs that the telephone has to offer to an ambitious and gifted young man of to-day.
-"the problems never were as large or as complex as they are right now," says j. j. carty, the chief of the telephone engineers. the eternal struggle remains between the large and little ideas--between the men who see what might be and the men who only see what is. there is still the race to break records. already the girl at the switchboard can find the person wanted in thirty seconds. this is one-tenth of the time that was taken in the early centrals; but it is still too long. it is one-half of a valuable minute. it must be cut to twenty-five seconds, or twenty or fifteen.
-there is still the inventors' battle to gain miles. the distance over which conversations can be held has been increased from twenty miles to twenty-five hundred. but this is not far enough. there are some civilized human beings who are twelve thousand miles apart, and who have interests in common. during the boxer rebellion in china, for instance, there were americans in peking who would gladly have given half of their fortune for the use of a pair of wires to new york.
-in the earliest days of the telephone, bell was fond of prophesying that "the time will come when we will talk across the atlantic ocean"; but this was regarded as a poetical fancy until pupin invented his method of automatically propelling the electric current. since then the most conservative engineer will discuss the problem of transatlantic telephony. and as for the poets, they are now dreaming of the time when a man may speak and hear his own voice come back to him around the world.
-the immediate long-distance problem is, of course, to talk from new york to the pacific. the two oceans are now only three and a half days apart by rail. seattle is clamoring for a wire to the east. san diego wants one in time for her panama canal exposition in 1915. the wires are already strung to san francisco, but cannot be used in the present stage of the art. and vail's captains are working now with almost breathless haste to give him a birthday present of a talk across the continent from his farm in vermont.
-"i can see a universal system of telephony for the united states in the very near future," says carty. "there is a statue of seward standing in one of the streets of seattle. the inscription upon it is, `to a united country.' but as an easterner stands there, he feels the isolation of that far western state, and he will always feel it, until he can talk from one side of the united states to the other. for my part," continues carty, "i believe we will talk across continents and across oceans. why not? are there not more cells in one human body than there are people in the whole earth?"
-some future carty may solve the abandoned problem of the single wire, and cut the copper bill in two by restoring the grounded circuit. he may transmit vision as well as speech. he may perfect a third-rail system for use on moving trains. he may conceive of an ideal insulating material to supersede glass, mica, paper, and enamel. he may establish a universal code, so that all persons of importance in the united states shall have call-numbers by which they may instantly be located, as books are in a library.
-some other young man may create a commercial department on wide lines, a work which telephone men have as yet been too specialized to do. whoever does this will be a man of comprehensive brain. he will be as closely in touch with the average man as with the art of telephony. he will know the gossip of the street, the demands of the labor unions, and the policies of governors and presidents. the psychology of the western farmer will concern him, and the tone of the daily press, and the methods of department stores. it will be his aim to know the subtle chemistry of public opinion, and to adapt the telephone service to the shifting moods and necessities of the times. he will fit telephony like a garment around the habits of the people.
-also, now that the telephone business has become strong, its next anxiety must be to develop the virtues, and not the defects, of strength. its motto must be "ich dien"--i serve; and it will be the work of the future statesmen of the telephone to illustrate this motto in all its practical variations. they will cater and explain, and explain and cater. they will educate and educate, until they have created an expert public. they will teach by pictures and lectures and exhibitions. they will have charts and diagrams hung in the telephone booths, so that the person who is waiting for a call may learn a little and pass the time more pleasantly. they will, in a word, attend to those innumerable trifles that make the perfection of public service.
-already the bell system has gone far in this direction by organizing what might fairly be called a foresight department. here is where the fortune-tellers of the business sit. when new lines or exchanges are to be built, these men study the situation with an eye to the future. they prepare a "fundamental plan," outlining what may reasonably be expected to happen in fifteen or twenty years. invariably they are optimists. they make provision for growth, but none at all for shrinkage. by their advice, there is now twenty-five million dollars' worth of reserve plant in the various bell companies, waiting for the country to grow up to it. even in the city of new york, one-half of the cable ducts are empty, in expectation of the greater city of eight million population which is scheduled to arrive in 1928. there are perhaps few more impressive evidences of practical optimism and confidence than a new telephone exchange, with two-thirds of its wires waiting for the business of the future.
-eventually, this foresight department will expand. it may, if a leader of genius appear, become the first real corps of practical sociologists, which will substitute facts for the present hotch-potch of theories. it will prepare a "fundamental plan" of the whole united states, showing the centre of each industry and the main runways of traffic. it will act upon the basic fact that wherever there is interdependence, there is bound to be telephony; and it will therefore prepare maps of interdependence, showing the widely scattered groups of industry and finance, and the lines that weave them into a pattern of national cooperation.
-as yet, no nation, not even our own, has seen the full value of the long-distance telephone. few have the imagination to see what has been made possible, and to realize that an actual face-to-face conversation may take place, even though there be a thousand miles between. neither can it seem credible that a man in a distant city may be located as readily as though he were close at hand. it is too amazing to be true, and possibly a new generation will have to arrive before it will be taken for granted and acted upon freely. ultimately, there can be no doubt that long-distance telephony will be regarded as a national asset of the highest value, for the reason that it can prevent so much of the enormous economic waste of travel.
-nothing that science can say will ever decrease the marvel of a long-distance conversation, and there may come in the future an interpreter who will put it before our eyes in the form of a moving-picture. he will enable us to follow the flying words in a talk from boston to denver. we will flash first to worcester, cross the hudson on the high bridge at poughkeepsie, swing southwest through a dozen coal towns to the outskirts of philadelphia, leap across the susquehanna, zigzag up and down the alleghenies into the murk of pittsburg, cross the ohio at wheeling, glance past columbus and indianapolis, over the wabash at terre haute, into st. louis by the eads bridge, through kansas city, across the missouri, along the corn-fields of kansas, and then on--on--on with the sante fe railway, across vast plains and past the brink of the grand canyon, to pueblo and the lofty city of denver. twenty-five hundred miles along a thousand tons of copper wire! from bunker hill to pike's peak in a second!
-herbert spencer, in his autobiography, alludes to the impressive fact that while the eye is reading a single line of type, the earth has travelled thirty miles through space. but this, in telephony, would be slow travelling. it is simple everyday truth to say that while your eye is reading this dash,--, a telephone sound can be carried from new york to chicago.
-there are many reasons to believe that for the practical idealists of the future, the supreme study will be the force that makes such miracles possible. six thousand million dollars--one-twentieth of our national wealth--is at the present time invested in electrical development. the electrical age has not yet arrived; but it is at hand; and no one can tell how brilliant the result may be, when the creative minds of a nation are focussed upon the subdual of this mysterious force, which has more power and more delicacy than any other force that man has been able to harness.
-as a tame and tractable energy, electricity is new. it has no past and no pedigree. it is younger than many people who are now alive. among the wise men of greece and rome, few knew its existence, and none put it to any practical use. the wisest knew that a piece of amber, when rubbed, will attract feathery substances. but they regarded this as poetry rather than science. there was a pretty legend among the phoenicians that the pieces of amber were the petrified tears of maidens who had thrown themselves into the sea because of unrequited love, and each bead of amber was highly prized. it was worn as an amulet and a symbol of purity. not for two thousand years did any one dream that within its golden heart lay hidden the secret of a new electrical civilization.
-not even in 1752, when benjamin franklin flew his famous kite on the banks of the schuylkill river, and captured the first canned lightning, as a student he was mediocre. he learned the secret of passing examinations well with the minimum of effort, and practised it. he found that by knowing only a couple of things under each heading of the program, it was enough for him to answer and to pass well. and so, from the beginning of each course, he marked in the text the two or three lines of every page which seemed to him to comprise the essential, and having learned those, considered his knowledge sufficient.
-cæsar had a deep contempt for the university and for his fellow-students; all their rows and manifestations seemed to him repulsively flat and stupid.
-alzugaray was studying law too, and had obtained a clerkship in a ministry. alzugaray got drunk on music. his great enthusiasm was for playing the ‘cello. cæsar used to call on him at his office and at home.
-the clerks at the ministry seemed to cæsar to form part of an inferior human race.
-at alzugaray’s house, cæsar felt at home. ignacio’s mother, a lady with white hair, was always making stockings, and after dinner she recited the rosary with the maid; alzugaray’s sister, celedonia, a tall ungainly lass, was often ill.
-all the family thought a great deal of cæsar; his advice was followed at that house, and one of the operations on ‘change that he recommended making with some foreign bonds that ignacio’s mother was holding at the time of the cuban war, gave everybody in the house an extraordinary idea of young moncada’s financial talents.
-cæsar kept his balance among his separate activities; one set of studies complemented others. this diversity of points of view kept him from taking the false and one-sided position that those who preoccupy themselves with one branch of knowledge exclusively get into.
-the one-sided position is most useful to a specialist, to a man who expects to remain satisfied in the place where chance has put him; but it is useless for one who proposes to enter life with his blood afire.
-as almost always occurs, the projecting of ideas of distinct derivation and of different orders into the same plane, carried cæsar into absolute scepticism, scepticism about things, and especially scepticism about the instrument of knowledge.
-his negation had no reference,--far from it,--to women, to love, or to friends, things where the pedantic and ostentatious scepticism of literary men of the larra type usually finds its fodder; his nihilism was much more the confusion and discomposure of one that explores a region well or badly, and finds no landmarks there, no paths, and returns with a belief that even the compass is not exact in what it shows.
-“nothing absolute exists,” cæsar told himself, “neither science nor mathematics nor even the truth, can be an absolute thing.”
-arriving at this result surprised cæsar a good deal. on finding that he was not successful in lighting on a philosophical system which would be a guide to him and which could be reasoned out like a theorem, he sought within the purely subjective for something that might satisfy him and serve as a standard.
-toward the end of their course cæsar presented himself one day in his friend alzugaray’s office.
-“i think,” he said, “that i am getting my philosophy into shape.”
-“my dear man!”
-“yes. i have tacked some new contours on to my darwinian pragmatism.”
-alzugaray, in whom every treasure-trove of his friend’s always produced great surprise, stood staring naïvely at him.
-“yes, i am building up my system,” cæsar went on, “a system within relative truth. it is clear.”
-“let’s hear what it is.”
-“in regard to us,” said cæsar, as if he were speaking of something that had happened in the street a few minutes before, “our uncertain instrument of knowledge makes two apparent states of nature seem real to us; one, the static, in which things are perceived by us as motionless; the other, the dynamic, wherein these same things are found in motion. it is clear that in reality everything is in motion; but within the relative truth of our ideas we are able to believe that there are some things in repose and others in action. isn’t that so?”
-“yes. that is, i think so,” replied alzugaray, who was beginning to wonder if the whole earth was trembling under his feet.
-“good!” cæsar continued. “i am going to pass from nature to life: i am going to assume that life has a purpose. where can this purpose be found? we don’t know. but what can be the machinery of this purpose? only movement, action. that is to say, struggle. this assertion once made, i am going to take a hand in carrying it out. the things we call spiritual also are dynamic. who says anything whatsoever says matter and force; who says force affirms attraction and repulsion; attraction and repulsion are synonymous with movement, with struggle, with action. now i am inside of my system. it will consist of putting all the forces near me into movement, into action, into struggle. what pleasure may there be in this? first, the pleasure of doing, the pleasure, we might call it, of efficiency; secondly, the pleasure of seeing, the pleasure of observing.... what do you think of it?”
-“fine, man! the things you start are always good.” “then there is the moral point. i think i have settled that too.”
-“yes. morals should be nothing more than the true, fitting, and natural law of man. man considered solely as a spiritual machine? no. considered as an animal that eats and drinks? not that either. man considered as a complete whole. isn’t that so?”
-“i believe it is.”
-“clever devil! i don’t know what to say to you.”
-alzugaray asserted that, without taking it upon him to say whether his friend’s ideas were good or bad, they had no practical value; but cæsar insisted once and many times on the advantages he saw in his metaphysics.
-cæsar remained in the same sphere during the whole period of his law course, always seeking, according to his own words, to add one wheel more to his machine.
-his life contained few incidents; summers he went to valencia, and there, in the villa, he read and talked with the peasants. his mother, devoted solely to the church, bothered herself little about her son.
-cæsar ended his studies, and on his coming of age, they gave him his share of his father’s estate.
-incontinently he took the train, he went to paris, he looked up yarza. he explained to him his vague projects of action. yarza listened attentively, and said:
-“perhaps it will appear foolish to you, but i am going to give you a book i wrote, which i should like you to read. it’s called enchiridion sapientiae. in my youth i was something of a latinist. in these pages, less than a hundred, i have gathered my observations about the financial and political world. it might as well be called contribution to common-sense, or neo-machiavellianism. if you find that it helps you, keep it.”
-cæsar read the book with concentrated attention.
-“how did it strike you?” said yarza.
-“there are many things in it i don’t agree with; i shall have to think over them again.”
-“all right. then keep my enchiridion and go on to london. paris is a city that has finished. it is not worth the trouble of losing one’s time staying here.”
-cæsar went to london, always with the firm intention of going into something. from time to time he wrote a long letter to ignacio alzugaray, telling him his impressions of politics and financial questions.
-while he was in london his sister joined him and invited him to go to florence; two years later she begged him to accompany her to rome. cæsar had always declined to visit the eternal city, until, on that occasion, he himself showed a desire to go to rome with his sister.
-the san martino young ladies
-arrived at rome, laura and cæsar went up to the hotel, and were received by a bald gentleman with a pointed moustache, who showed them into a large round salon with a very high ceiling.
-it was a theatrical salon, with antique furniture and large red-velvet arm-chairs with gilded legs. the enormous mirrors, somewhat tarnished by age, made the salon appear even larger. on the consoles and cabinets gleamed objects of majolica and porcelain.
-the big window of this salon opened on the piazza esedra di termini. cæsar and laura looked out through the glass. it was beginning to rain again; the great semi-circular extent of the square was shining with rain.
-the passing trams slipped around the curve in the track; a caravan of tourists in ten or twelve carriages in file, all with their umbrellas open, were preparing to visit the monuments of rome; strolling pedlars were showing them knick-knacks and religious gewgaws.
-cæsar’s and laura’s rooms were got ready and the manager of the hotel asked them again if they had need of nothing else.
-“what are you going to do?” said laura to her brother.
-“i am going to stretch myself out in bed for a while.”
-“lunch at half-past twelve.”
-“good, i will get up at that time.”
-“good-bye, bambino. have a good rest. put on your black suit to come to the table.”
-“very well.” cæsar stretched himself on the bed, slept off and on, somewhat feverish from fatigue, and at about twelve he woke at the noise they made in bringing his luggage into the room. he got up to open the trunks, washed and dressed, and when the customary gong resounded, he presented himself in the salon.
-laura was chatting with two young ladies and an older lady, the countess of san martino and her daughters. they were in rome for the season and lived regularly in venice.
-laura introduced her brother to these ladies, and the countess pressed cæsar’s hand between both of hers, very affectionately.
-the countess was tiny and dried-up: a mummy with the face of a grey-hound, her skin close to her bones, her lips painted, little penetrating blue eyes, and great vivacity in her movements. she dressed in a showy manner; wore jewels on her bosom, on her head, on her fingers.
-the daughters looked like two little blond princesses: with rosy cheeks, eyebrows like two golden brush-strokes, almost colourless, clear blue eyes of a heavenly blue, and such small red lips, that on seeing them, the classical simile of cherries came at once to one’s mind.
-the countess of san martino asked cæsar like a shot if he was married and if he hadn’t a sweetheart. cæsar replied that he was a bachelor and that he had no sweetheart, and then the countess came back by asking if he felt no vocation for matrimony.
-“no, i believe i don’t,” responded cæsar.
-the two young women smiled, and their mother said, with truly diverting familiarity, that men were becoming impossible. afterwards she added that she was anxious for her daughters to marry.
-“when one of these children is married and has a bambino, i shall be more contented! if god sent me a cheru-bino del cielo, i shouldn’t be more so.”
-laura laughed, and one of the little blondes remarked with aristocratic indifference: “getting married comes first, mamma.”
-to this the countess of san martino observed that she didn’t understand the behaviour of girls nowadays.
-“when i was a young thing, i always had five or six beaux at once; but my daughters haven’t the same idea. they are so indifferent, so superior!”
-“it seems that you two don’t take all the notice you should,” said cæsar to the girls in french.
-“you see what a mistake it is,” answered one of them, smiling.
-the last round of the gong sounded and various persons entered the salon. laura knew the majority of them and introduced them, as they came, to her brother.
-observations by cæsar
-the waiter appeared at the door, announced that lunch was ready, and they all passed into the dining-room.
-laura and her brother were installed at a small table beside the window.
-“beautiful decoration, but very cold,” said cæsar. “i should prefer rather fewer mottoes and a little more warmth.”
-“you are very hard to please,” retorted laura.
-shortly after getting seated, everybody began to talk from table to table and even from one end of the room to the other. there was none of that classic coolness among the people in the hotel which the english have spread everywhere, along with underdone meat and bottled sauces.
-cæsar devoted himself for the first few moments to ethnology.
-“even from the people you find here, you can see that there is a great diversity of ethnic type in italy,” he said to laura. “that blond boy and the misses san martino are surely of saxon origin; the waiter, on the other hand, swarthy like that, is a berber.”
-“because the blond boy and the san martines are from the north, and the waiter must be neapolitan or sicilian.
-“besides, there is still another type: shown by that dark young woman over there, with the melancholy air. she must be a celtic type. what is obvious is that there is great liveliness in these people, great elegance in their movements. they are like actors giving a good performance.”
-cæsar’s observations were interrupted by the arrival of a dark, plump woman, who came in from the street, accompanied by her daughter, a blond girl, fat, smiling, and a bit timid.
-this lady and laura bowed with much ceremony.
-“who is she?” asked cæsar in a low tone.
-“it is the countess brenda,” said laura.
-“another countess! but are all the women here countesses?”
-“don’t talk nonsense.”
-at the other end of the dining-room a young neapolitan with the expression of a pulcinella and violent gestures, raised his sing-song voice, talking very loud and making everybody laugh.
-after lunching, cæsar went out to post some cards, and as it was raining buckets, he took refuge in the arcades of the piazza esedra.
-when he was tired of walking he returned to the hotel, went to his room, turned on the light, and started to continue his unfinished perusal of proudhon’s book on the speculator.
-and while he read, there came from the salon the notes of a tzigane waltz played on the piano.
-art, for deceived husbands
-cæsar was writing something on the margin of a page when there came a knock at his door. “come in,” said cæsar.
-it was laura.
-“where are you keeping yourself?” she asked.
-“here i am, reading a little.”
-“but my dear man, we are waiting for you.”
-“the idea, what for? to talk.”
-“i don’t feel like talking. i am very tired.”
-“but, bambino; benedetto. are you going to live your life avoiding everybody?”
-“no; i will come out tomorrow.”
-“what do you want to do tonight?”
-“don’t you want to go to the theatre?”
-“no, no; i have a tremendously weak pulse, and a little fever. my hands are on fire at this moment.”
-“so then you won’t come out?”
-“all right. as you wish.”
-“when the weather is good, i will go out.”
-“do you want me to fetch you a baedeker?”
-“no, i have no use for it.”
-“don’t you intend to look at the sights, either?”
-“yes, i will look willingly at what comes before my eyes; it wouldn’t please me if the same thing happened to me that took place in florence.”
-“what happened to you in florence?”
-“i lost my time lamentably, getting enthusiastic over botticelli, donatello, and a lot of other foolishness, and when i got back to london it cost me a good deal of work to succeed in forgetting those things and getting myself settled in my financial investigations again. so that now i have decided to see nothing except in leisure moments and without attaching any importance to all those fiddle-faddles.” “but what childishness! is it going to distract you so much from your work, from that serious work you have in hand, to go and see a few pictures or some statues?”
-“to see them, no, not exactly; but to occupy myself with them, yes. art is a good thing for those who haven’t the strength to live, in realities. it is a good form of sport for old maids, for deceived husbands who need consolation, as hysterical persons need morphine....”
-“and for strong people like you, what is there?” asked laura, ironically.
-“for strong people!... action.”
-“and you call lying in bed, reading, action?”
-“yes, when one reads with the intentions i read with.”
-“and what are they? what is it you are plotting?”
-“i will tell you.”
-laura saw that she could not convince her brother, and returned to the salon. a moment before dinner was announced cæsar got dressed again in black, put on his patent-leather shoes, looked at himself offhandedly in the mirror, saw that he was all right, and joined his sister.
-the next day cæsar awoke at nine, jumped out of bed, and went to breakfast. laura had left word that she would not eat at home. cæsar took an umbrella and went out into the street. the weather was very dark but it held off from rain.
-cæsar took the via nazionale toward the centre of town. among the crowd, some foreigners with red guide-books in their hands, were walking with long strides to see the sights of rome, which the code of worldly snobbishness considers it indispensable to admire.
-cæsar had no settled goal. on a plan of the city, hung in a newspaper kiosk, he found the situation of the piazza esedra, the hotel and the adjacent streets, and continued slowly ahead.
-“how many people there must be who are excited and have an irregular pulse on arriving for the first time in one of these historic towns,” thought cæsar. “i, for my part, was in that situation the first time i clearly understood the mechanism of the london exchange.”
-cæsar continued down the via nazionale and stopped in a small square with a little garden and a palm. bounding the square on one side arose a greenish wall, and above this wall, which was adorned with statues, stretched a high garden with magnificent trees, and among them a great stone pine.
-“a beautiful garden to walk in,” said cæsar. “perhaps it is an historic spot, perhaps it isn’t. i am very happy that i don’t know either its name or its history, if it really has one.” from the same point in the via nazionale, a street with flights of steps could be seen to the left, and below a white stone column.
-“nothing doing; i don’t know what that is either,” thought cæsar; “the truth is that one is terribly ignorant. to make matters even, what a well of knowledge about questions of finance there is in my cranium!”
-cæsar continued on to the piazza venezia, contemplated the palace of the austrian embassy, yellow, battlemented; and stopped under a big white umbrella, stuck up to protect the switchman of the tramway.
-“here, at least, the weight of tradition or history is not noticeable. i don’t believe this canvas is a piece of brutus’s tunic, or of pompey’s campaign tent. i feel at home here; this canvas modernizes me.”
-the square was very animated at that moment: groups of seminarians were passing in robes of black, red, blue, violet, and sashes of contrasting colours; monks of all sorts were crossing, smooth-shaven, bearded, in black, white, brown; foreign priests were conversing in groups, wearing little dishevelled hats adorned with a tassel; horrible nuns with moustaches and black moles, and sweet little white nuns, with a coquettish air.
-the clerical fauna was admirably represented. a capuchin friar, long-bearded and dirty, with the air of a footpad, and an umbrella by way of a blunderbuss or musket under his arm, was talking to a sister of charity.
-“undoubtedly religion is a very picturesque thing,” murmured cæsar. “a spectacular impressario would not have the imagination to think out all these costumes.”
-cæsar took the corso. before he reached the piazza colonna it began to rain. the coachmen took out enormous umbrellas, all rolled up, opened them and stood them in iron supports, in such a way that the box-seat was as it were under a campaign tent.
-cæsar took refuge in the entrance to a bazaar. the rain began to assume the proportions of a downpour. an old friar, with a big beard, a white habit, and a hood, armed with an untamable umbrella, attempted to cross the square. the umbrella turned inside out in the gusts of wind, and his beard seemed to be trying to get away from his face.
-“pavero frate!” said one of the crowd, smiling.
-it stopped raining, and cæsar continued his walk along the corso. he went a bit out of his way to throw a glance at the piazza di spagna. the great stairway in that square was shining, wet with the rain; a few seminarians in groups were going up the steps toward the pincio.
-cæsar arrived at the piazza del popolo and stopped near some ragamuffins who were playing a game, throwing coins in the air. a tattered urchin had written with charcoal on a wall: “viva musolino!” and below that he was drawing a heart pierced by two daggers.
-“very good,” murmured cæsar. “this youngster is like me: an advocate of action.”
-it began to rain again; cæsar decided to turn back. he took the same route and entered a café on the corso for lunch. the afternoon turned out magnificent and cæsar went wandering about at random.
-at twilight he returned to his inn, changed, and went to the salon. laura was conversing with a young abbé. “the abbé preciozi.... my brother cæsar.”
-the abbé preciozi was one of the household of cardinal fort, who had sent him to the hotel to act as cicerone to his nephew.
-“uncle has sent the abbé so that he can show you rome.” “oh, many thanks!” answered cæsar. “i will make use of his knowledge; but i don’t want him to neglect his occupations or to put himself out on my account.” “no, no. i am at your disposition,” replied the abbé, “his eminence has given me orders to wait on you, and it will not put me out in the least.”
-“you will have dinner with us, preciozi?” said laura.
-“oh, marchesa! thank you so much!”
-and the abbé bowed ceremoniously.
-the three dined together, and afterwards went to the salon to chat. one of the san martino young ladies played the viola and the other the piano, and people urged them to exhibit their skill.
-the talkative neapolitan turned over the pieces of music in the music-stand, and after discussing with the two contessinas, he placed on the rack the “intermezzo” from cavalleria rusticana.
-the two sisters played, and the listeners made great eulogies about their ability.
-laura presented cæsar and the abbé preciozi to the countess brenda and to a lady who had just arrived from malta.
-“did you know rome before?” the countess asked cæsar in french.
-“and how does it strike you?”
-“my opinion is of no value,” said cæsar. “i am not an artist. imagine; my specialty is financial questions. up to the present what has given me the greatest shock is to find that rome has walls.”
-“you didn’t know it?” asked laura.
-“dear child, i find that you are very ignorant.”
-“what do you wish?” replied cæsar in spanish. “i am inclined to be ignorant of everything i don’t get anything out of.”
-cæsar spoke jokingly of a square like a hole in the ground, out of which rises a white column similar to the one in paris in the place vendôme.
-“what does he mean? trajan’s column?” asked preciozi. “it must be,” said laura. “i have a brother who’s a barbarian. weren’t you in the forum, too?”
-“which is the forum? an open space where there are a lot of stones?”
-“i passed by there; there were a good many tourists, crowds of young ladies peering intently into corners and a gentleman with a bag over his shoulder who was pointing out some columns with an umbrella. afterwards i saw a ticket-window. ‘that doubtless means that one pays to get in,’ i said, and as the ground was covered with mud and i didn’t care to wet my feet, i asked a young rascal who was selling post-cards what that place was. i didn’t quite understand his explanation, which i am sure was very amusing. he confused emperors with the madonna and the saints. i gave the lad a lira and had some trouble in escaping from there, because he followed me around everywhere calling me excellency.”
-“i think don cæsar is making fun of us,” said preciozi.
-“but really, how did rome strike you, on the whole?” asked the abbe.
-“well, i find it like a mixture of a monumental great city and a provincial capital.”
-“that is possible,” responded the abbe. “undoubtedly the provincial city is more of a city than the big modern capitals, where there is nothing to see but fine hotels on one hand and horrible hovels on the other. if you came from america, like me, you would see how agreeable you would find the impression of a city that one gets here. to forget all the geometry, the streets laid out with a compass, the right angles....”
-after chattering a long while and devoting himself to free paradox, cæsar thought that for the first session he had not done altogether badly. preciozi took leave, promising to come back the next day.
-“if he reports our conversation to my uncle, the man won’t know what to think of me,” reflected cæsar, on going to bed. “it would not be too much to expect, if his eminence became interested and sent to fetch me. but i don’t believe he will; my uncle cannot be intelligent enough to have the curiosity to know a man like me.”
-vi. the little interests of the people in a roman hotel. intimacies
-during some days the main interest of the people in the hotel was the growing intimacy established between the marchesa sciacca, who was the lady from malta, and the neapolitan with the pulcinella air, signor carminatti.
-the maltese must have been haughty and exclusive, to judge from the queenly air she assumed. only with the handsome neapolitan did she behave amiably.
-in the dining-room the maltese sat with her two children, a boy and a girl, at the other end from where cæsar and laura were accustomed to sit. at her side, at a table close by, chattered and jested the diplomatic carminatti.
-the marquis of sciacca was ill with diabetes; he had come to rome to take a treatment, and during these days he did not come to the dining-room.
-the marchesa was one of those mixed types, unharmonious, common among mongrel races. her black hair shone like jet, her lips looked like an egyptian’s, and her eyes of a very light blue showed off in a curious way in her bronzed face. she powdered her face, she painted her lips, she shaded her eyes with kohl. her appearance was that of a proud, revengeful woman.
-she ate with much nicety, opening her mouth so little that she could put no more than the tip of her spoon between her lips; with her children she talked english and italian in equal perfection, and when she heard young carminatti’s facetious remarks she laughed with marked impudence. signer carminatti was tall, with a black moustache, a hooked nose, well-formed languid eyes, lively and somewhat clownish gestures; he was at the same time sad and merry, melancholy and smiling, he changed his expression every moment. he was in the habit of appearing in the salon in a dinner-jacket, with a large flower in his button-hole and two or three fat diamonds on his chest. he would come along dragging his feet, would bow, make a joke, stand mournful; and this fluency of expression, and these gesticulations, gave him a manner halfway between woman and child.
-when he grew petulant, especially, he seemed like a woman. “macché!” he would say continually, with an acrid voice and the disgusted air of an hysterical dame.
-in spite of his frequent petulant fits, he was the person most esteemed by the ladies of the hotel, both young and married.
-“he is the darling of the ladies,” the countess brenda said of him, mockingly.
-laura had not the least use for him.
-“i know that type by heart,” she asserted with disdain.
-during lunch and dinner signor carminatti did not leave off talking for a moment with the maltese. the marchesa sciacca’s children often wanted to tell their mother something; but she hushed them so as to be able to hear the bright sayings of the handsome neapolitan.
-the san martino young ladies and the countess brenda’s daughter kept trying to find a way to steal carminatti for their group; but he always went back to the maltese, doubtless because her conversation was more diverting and spicy.
-the contessina brenda
-the countess brenda’s daughter, beatrice brenda, in spite of her pea-hen air, was always endeavouring to stir up the neapolitan and to start a conversation with him; but carminatti in his light-hearted way would reply with a jest or a fatuous remark and betake himself again to the marchesa sciacca, who would make her disturbing children hush because they often prevented her from catching what the neapolitan was saying.
-she was not to be despised, not by a long shot, was signorina bice, not in any respect; besides being very rich, she was a beautiful girl and promised to be more beautiful; she had the type of titian’s women, an opaline white skin, as though made of mother-of-pearl, plump milky arms, and dark eyes. the one thing lacking in her was expression.
-she used frequently to go about in the company of an aristocratic old maid, very ugly, with red hair and a face like a horse, but very distinguished, who ate at the next table to laura and cæsar.
-one day carminatti brought another neapolitan home to dinner with him, a fat grotesque person, whom he instigated to emit a series of improprieties about women and matrimony. hearing the scandalous sallies of the rustic, the ladies said, with an amiable smile:
-“he is a benedetto.”
-the contessina brenda, fascinated by the neapolitan, went to the marchesa sciacca’s table. as she passed, carminatti arose with his napkin in one hand, and gesticulating with the other, said:
-“contessina. allow me to present to you signor cappagutti, a merchant from naples.”
-signor cappagutti remained leaning back tranquilly in his chair, and the contessina burst out laughing and began to move her arms as if somebody had put a horse-fly on her skirt. then she raised her hand to her face, to hide her laughter, and suddenly sat down.
-as it rained a great deal the majority of the guests preferred not to go out. in the evenings they had dances. cæsar did not appear at the first one; but his sister told him he ought to go. cæsar was at the second dance, so as not to seem too much of an ogre. as he had no intention of dancing, he installed himself in a corner; and while the dance went on he kept talking with the countesses brenda and san martino.
-various young men had arrived in the room. they exhibited that southern vivacity which is a trifle tiresome to the onlooker, and they all listened to themselves while they spoke. the neapolitan and two or three of his friends were introduced to cæsar; but they showed him a certain rather ostentatious and impertinent coolness.
-signor carminatti exchanged a few words with the countess brenda, and purposely acted as if he did not notice cæsar’s presence.
-the neapolitan’s chatter did not irritate cæsar in the slightest, and as he had no intention of being his rival, he listened to him quite entertained.
-cæsar noted that the san martino ladies and some friends of theirs had a predilection for types like carminatti, swarthy, prattling, and boastful south italians.
-the ladies showed an affectionate familiarity with the girls; they caressed them and kissed them effusively.
-you are an inquisitor
-laura, who was dancing with an officer, approached her brother, who was wedged into a corner, behind two rows of chairs.
-“what are you doing here?” she asked him, stopping and informing her partner that she was going to sit down a moment.
-“nothing,” answered cæsar, “i am waiting for this waltz to finish, so that i can get away.”
-“you are not enjoying yourself?”
-“nevertheless, there are amusing things about it.”
-“ah, surely. do you know what happened to me with the countess brenda?”
-“what did happen?”
-“when she came in and gave me her hand, she said: ‘how hot your hands are; mine are frozen.’ and she held my hands between hers. that was comical.”
-“how do i know?”
-“it is comical to you, because you see only evil motives. she held your hand. who knows what she may be after? who knows if she wants to get something out of you? she has an income of eighty or ninety thousand lire, perhaps she wants to borrow money from you.”
-“no, i know she doesn’t.”
-“then, what are you afraid of?”
-“afraid! afraid of nothing! only it surprised me.”
-“that’s because you look at everything with the eye of an inquisitor. one must be suspicious: be always on one’s guard, always on the watch. it’s the attitude of a savage.”
-“i don’t deny it. i have no desire to be civilized like these people. but what does come to me is that the husband of our illustrious and wealthy friend wears in his breast that porte-bonheur, which i believe is called horns.”
-“of course; and you haven’t discovered that his family is a family of assassins? how spanish! what a savage spaniard i have for a brother!”
-cæsar burst into laughter, and taking advantage of the moment when everybody was going to the buffet, left the room. in the corridor, one of the san martino girls, the more sweet and angelic of the two, was in a corner with one of the dancers, and there was a sound like a kiss.
-the little blonde made an exclamation of fright; cæsar behaved as if he had noticed nothing and kept on his way.
-“the devil!” exclaimed cæsar, “that angelic little princess hides in corners with one of these briganti. and their mother has the face to say that they don’t know how to bait a hook! i don’t know what more she could wish. although it is possible that this is the educational scheme of the future for marriageable girls.”
-in the entrance-hall of the hotel were the marchesa sciacca’s two children, attended by a sleeping maid; the little girl, seated on a sofa, was watching her brother, who walked from one side to the other with a roll of paper in his hand. in the entrance hall, opposite the hotel door, there was a bulletin, which was changed every day, to announce the different performances that were to be given that night at the theatres of rome.
-the small boy walked back and forth in front of the poster, and addressing himself to a public consisting of the sleeping maid and the little girl, cried:
-“step up, gentlemen! step up! now is the time. we are about to perform la geisha, the magnificent english operetta. walk right in! walk right in!”
-while the mother was dancing with the neapolitan in the ball-room, the children were amusing themselves thus alone.
-“the truth is that our civilization is an absurdity. even the children go mad,” thought cæsar, and took refuge in his room.
-during the whole night he heard from his bed the notes of the waltzes and two-steps, and dancers’ laughter and shouts and shuffling feet.
-they are just children
-the next day, laura, before going out to make a call, appeared at lunch-time most elegantly dressed, with a gown and a hat from paris, in which she was truly most charming.
-she had a great success: the san martinos, the countess brenda, the other ladies congratulated her. the hat, above all, seemed ideal to them.
-carminatti was in raptures.
-“e bello, bellissimo,” he said, with great enthusiasm, and all the ladies agreed that it was bellissimo, lengthening the “s” and nodding their heads with a gesture of admiration.
-“and you don’t say anything to me, bambino?” laura inquired of cæsar.
-“i say you are all right.”
-“and nothing more?”
-“if you want me to pay you a compliment, i will tell you that you are pretty enough to make incest legitimate.” “what a barbarian!” murmured laura, half laughing, half blushing.
-“what has he been saying to you?” two or three people inquired.
-laura translated his words into italian, and carminatti found them admirable.
-“very appropriate! very witty!” he exclaimed, laughing, and gave cæsar a friendly slap on the shoulder.
-the marchesa sciacca looked at laura several times with reflective glances and a rancorous smile.
-“the truth is that these southern people are just children,” thought cæsar, mockingly. “what an inveterate preoccupation they have in the beautiful.”
-the neapolitan was one of those most preoccupied with esthetics.
-“it is curious,” cæsar used to think, “how these people from famous historic towns can combine powder and the maffia, opoponax and daggers.”
-almost every night after dinner there was an improvised dance in the salon. somebody played the languorous waltzes of the tzigane orchestras on the piano. the maltese and carminatti used to sing romantic songs, of the kind whose words and music seem to be always the same, and in which there invariably is question of panting, refulgent, love, and other suggestive words.
-one sunday evening, when it was raining, cæsar stayed in the hotel.
-in the salon carminatti was doing sleight-of-hand to entertain the ladies. afterwards the neapolitan was seen pursuing the marchesa sciacca and the two san martino girls in the corridors. they shrieked shrilly when he grabbed them around the waist. the devil of a neapolitan was an expert at sleight-of-hand.
-vii. the confidences of the abbe preciozi
-natural varieties of noses and expressions
-cæsar admitted before his conscience that he had no plans, or the slightest idea what direction to take. the cardinal, no doubt, did not feel any desire to know him.
-cæsar often proceeded by more or less absurd hypotheses. “suppose,” he would think, “that i had an idea, a concrete ambition. in that case it would behoove me to be reserved on such and such topics and to hint these and those ideas to people; let’s do it that way, even though it be only for sport.”
-preciozi was the only person who was able to give him any light in his investigations, because the guests at the hotel, most of them, on account of their position, thought of nothing but amusing themselves and of giving themselves airs.
-cæsar discovered that preciozi was ambitious; but besides lacking an opening, he had not the necessary vigour and imagination to do anything.
-the abbé spoke a macaronic spanish, which he had learned in south america, and which provoked cæsar’s laughter. he was constantly saying: “my friend,” and he mingled gallicisms with a lot of coarse expressions of indian or mulatto origin, and with italian words. preciozi’s dialect was a gibberish worthy of babel.
-the first day they went out together, the abbé wanted to show him divers of rome’s picturesque spots. he led him behind the quirinal, through the via della panetteria and the via del lavatore, where there is a fruit-market, to the trevi fountain. “it is beautiful, eh?” said the abbé.
-“yes; what i don’t understand,” replied cæsar, “is why, in a town where there is so much water, the hotel wash-basins are so small.”
-preciozi shrugged his shoulders.
-“what types you have in rome!” cæsar went on. “what a variety of noses and expressions! jesuits with the aspect of savants and plotters; carmelites with the appearance of highway men; dominicans, some with a sensual air, others with a professorial air. astuteness, intrigue, brutality, intelligence, mystic stupor.... and as for priests, what a museum! decorative priests, tall, with white shocks of hair and big cassocks; short priests, swarthy and greasy; noses thin as a knife; warty, fiery noses. gross types; distinguished types; pale bloodless faces; red faces.... what a marvellous collection!”
-preciozi listened to cæsar’s observations and wondered if the cardinal’s nephew might be a trifle off his head.
-“point out what is noteworthy, so that i may admire it enough,” cæsar told him. “i don’t care to burst out in an enthusiastic phrase for something of no value.”
-preciozi laughed at these jokes, as if they were a child’s bright sayings; but at times cæsar appeared to him to be an innocent soul, and at other times a machiavellian who dissembled his insidious purposes under an extravagant demeanour.
-when preciozi was involved in some historic dissertation, cæsar used to ask him ingenuously:
-“but listen, abbe; does this really interest you?”
-preciozi would admit that the past didn’t matter much to him, and then with one accord, they would burst out laughing.
-cæsar said that preciozi and he were the most anti-historic men going about in rome.
-one morning they went to the piazza del campidoglio. it was drizzling; the wet roofs shone; the sky was grey.
-“this intrusion of the country into rome,” said cæsar, “is what gives the city its romantic aspect. these hills with trees on them are very pretty.”
-“only pretty, don cæsar? they are sublime,” retorted preciozi.
-“what amazement i shall produce in you, my dear abbé, when i tell you that all my knowledge in respect to the capitol reduces itself to the fact that some orator, i don’t know who, said that near the capitol is the tarpeian rock.”
-“you know nothing more about it?”
-“nothing more. i don’t know if cicero said that, or castelar, or sir robert peel.”
-preciozi burst into merry laughter.
-“what statue is that?” asked cæsar, indicating the one in the middle of the square.
-“that is marcus aurelius.”
-“yes, an emperor and a philosopher.”
-“and why have they made him riding such a little, potbellied horse?”
-“i don’t know, man.”
-“he looks like a man taking a horse to water at a trough. why does he ride bare-back? hadn’t they invented stirrups at that period?”
-preciozi was a bit perplexed; before making a reply he gazed at the statue, and then said, confusedly:
-“i think so.”
-they crossed the piazza campidoglio and went out by the left side of the palazzo del senatore. down the via dell’ arco di severo, a street that runs down steps to the forum, they saw a large arch that seemed sunk in the ground, and beyond, further away, another smaller arch with only one archway, which arose in the distance as if on top of the big arch. a square yellow tower, burned by the sun, lifted itself among the ruins; some hills showed rows of romantic cypresses, and in the background the blue alban mountains stood out against a grey sky.
-“would you like to go down to the forum?” said the abbé. “down there where the stones are? no. what for?”
-“do you wish to see the tarpeian rock?”
-“yes, man. but explain to me what this rock was.”
-preciozi got together all his information, which was not much.
-they went by the via monte tarpea, and came back by the via della consolazione.
-“they must have thrown people who were already dead off the tarpeian rock,” said cæsar, after hearing the explanation.
-“but if they threw them down alive, the majority of those they chucked down here would not have died. at most they would have dislocated an arm, a leg, or a finger-joint. unless they chucked them head first.”
-preciozi could not permit the mortal effects of the tarpeian rock to be doubted, and he said that its height had been lessened and the level of the soil had risen.
-after these explanations cæsar found the spot of roman executions somewhat less fantastic.
-“how would you like to go to that church in the forum?” said preciozi.
-“i was going to propose that we should go to the hotel; it must be lunch-time.”
-the church and cooking
-cæsar had marsala and asti brought for the abbe, who was a gourmet.
-while preciozi ate and drank with all his jaws, cæsar devoted himself to teasing him. the waiter had brought some cream-puffs and informed them that that was a dish every one ate that day. laura and preciozi praised the puffs, and cæsar said:
-“what an admirable religion ours is! for each day the church has a saint and a special dish. the truth is that the catholic church is very wise; it has broken all relations with science, but it remains in harmony with cooking. as preciozi was a moment ago saying with great exactitude, this close relation that exists between the church and the kitchen is moving.”
-“i said that to you?” asked preciozi. “what a falsehood!”
-“don’t pay any attention,” said laura.
-“yes, my dear abbé,” retorted cæsar, “and i even believe that you added confidentially that sometimes the pope in the vatican gardens, imitating francis i after the battle of pavia, is wont to say sadly to the secretary of state: ‘all is lost, save faith and... good cooking.’”
-“what a bufone! what a bufone!” exclaimed preciozi, with his mouth full.
-“you are giving a proof of irreligion which is in bad taste,” said laura. “only janitors talk like that.”
-“on such questions i am an honourary janitor.”
-“that’s all right, but you ought to realize that there are religious people here, like the abbé....”
-“preciozi? why, he’s a voltairean.”
-“oh! oh! my friend....” exclaimed preciozi, emptying a glass of wine.
-“voltaireanism,” continued cæsar. “there is nobody here who has faith, nobody who makes the little sacrifice of not eating on fridays in lent. here we are, destroying with our own teeth one of the most beautiful works of the church. you will both ask me what that work is....”
-“no, we will not ask you anything,” said laura, waving a hand in the air.
-“well, it is that admirable alimentary harmony sustained by the church. during the whole year we are authorized to eat terrestrial animals, and in lent aquatic ones only. promiscuous as we are, we are undoing the equilibrium between the maritime and the land forces, we are attacking the peaceful rotation of meat and fish.”
-“he is a child,” said preciozi, “we must leave him alone.”
-“yes, but that will not impede my spaniard’s heart, my cardinal’s nephew’s heart from bleeding grievously.... shall we go to the café, abbé?”
-“yes, let us go.”
-the marvellous bird of rome
-they left the hotel and entered a café in the piazza esedra. preciozi made a vague move to pay, but cæsar would not permit him to.
-“what do you wish to do?” said the abbé.
-“whatever you like.”
-“i have to go to the altemps palace a moment.”
-“to see my uncle?”
-“yes; then, if you feel like it, we can take a long walk.”
-they went towards the centre of the town by the via nazionale. it was a splendid sunny afternoon.
-preciozi went into the altemps palace a moment; cæsar waited for him in the street. then, together they went over to opposite the castel sant’ angelo, crossed the river, and approached the piazza di san pietro. the atmosphere was wonderfully clear and pure; the suave blue sky seemed to caress the pinnacles and decorations of the big square.
-preciozi met a dirty friar, dark, with a black beard and a mouth from ear to ear. the abbe showed no great desire to stop and speak with him, but the other detained him. this party wore a habit of a brown colour and carried a big umbrella under his arm.
-“there’s a type!” said cæsar, when preciozi rejoined him.
-“yes, he is a peasant,” the abbe said with disgust.
-“if that chap meets any one in the road, he plants his umbrella in his chest, and demands his money or his... eternal life.”
-“yes, he is a disagreeable man,” agreed preciozi.
-they continued their walk, through the piazza cavallegeri and outside the walls. as they went up one of the hills there, they could see the façade of saint peter’s continually nearer, with all the huge stone figures on the cornice. “the fact is that that poor christ plays a sad rôle there in the middle,” said cæsar.
-“oh! oh! my friend,” exclaimed the abbé in protest.
-“a plebeian jew in the midst of so many princes of the church! doesn’t it strike you as an absurdity?”
-“no, not absurd at all.”
-“the truth is that this religion of yours is jewish meat with a roman sauce.”
-“and yours? what is yours?”
-“mine? i have not got past fetichism. i worship the golden calf. like the majority of catholics.”
-“i don’t believe it.”
-they looked back; they could see the dome of the great basilica shining in the sun; then, to one side, a little viaduct and a tower.
-“what a wonderful bird you keep in this beautiful cage!” said cæsar.
-“what bird?” asked preciozi.
-“the pope, friend preciozi, the pope. not the popinjay, but the pope in white. what a very marvellous bird! he has a feather fan like a peacock’s tail; he speaks like the cockatoo, only he differs from them in being infallible; and he is infallible, because another bird, also marvellous, which is called the holy ghost, tells him by night everything that takes place on earth and in heaven. what very picturesque and extravagant things!”
-“for you who have no faith everything must be extravagant.”
-cæsar and preciozi went on encircling the walls and reading the various marble tablets set into them, and ascended to the janiculum, to the terrace where garibaldi’s statue stands.
-“but, are you anti-catholic, seriously?” asked preciozi. “but do you believe any one can be a catholic seriously?” said cæsar. “i can, yes; otherwise i shouldn’t be a priest.”
-“but are you a priest because you believe, or do you make believe that you believe because you are a priest?”
-“you are a child. i suppose you hate the jesuits, like all liberals.”
-“and i suppose you hate masons, like all catholics.”
-“no more do i hate jesuits. what is worse, i read the life of saint ignatius loyola at school, and he seemed to me a great man.”
-“well, i should think so!”
-“and the jesuits have some power still?”
-“yes, man. they give the church its direction. oh, nobody fools the society. you can see what happened to cardinal tindaro.”
-“i don’t know what did happen to him,” said cæsar, with indifference.
-“well, cardinal tindaro decided to follow the inspirations of the society and made many jesuits cardinals with the object that when pope leo xiii died, they should elect him pope; but the jesuits smelled the rat, and when leo xiii got very ill, the council of assistants of the society had a meeting and decided that tindaro should not be pope, and ordered the austrian court to oppose its veto. when the election came, the jesuit cardinals gave tindaro a fat vote, out of gratitude, but calculated not to be enough to raise him to the throne, and in case it was, the austrian cardinal and the hungarian had their empire’s veto to tindaro’s election in their pocket.”
-“and this tindaro, is he intelligent?”
-“yes, he is indeed; very intelligent. style leo xiii.”
-“men of weight.”
-“yes, but neither of the two had pius ix’s spirit.” “and the present one? he is a poor creature, eh?”
-“i don’t know, i don’t know....”
-“and the society of jesus, is it on good terms with this pope?”
-“surely. he is their creation.”
-“so that the society is really powerful?”
-“it certainly is! without a doubt! it has a pleasant rule, and obedience, and knowledge, and money....”
-“it has money too, eh?”
-“has it money? more than enough.”
-“and in what form? in paper?”
-“in paper, and in property, and industries; in steamship companies, in manufactories....”
-“i would make an admirable business manager.”
-“well, your uncle, the cardinal, could get you put in touch with the society.”
-“is he a friend of theirs?”
-“close as a finger-nail.”
-cæsar was silent a moment, and then said:
-“and i have heard that the society of jesus was, at bottom, an anti-christian organization, a branch of masonry....”
-“macché!” exclaimed the abbé. “how could you believe that? oh, no, my friend! what an absurdity!”
-then, seeing cæsar burst into laughter, he calmed himself, wondering if he was making fun of him.
-they went down the hill, where the monument to garibaldi flaunts itself, to the terrace of the spanish academy.
-the view was magnificent; the evening, now falling, was clear; the sky limpid and transparent. from that height the houses of rome were spread out silent, with an air of solemnity, of immobility, of calm. it appeared a flat town; one did not notice its slopes and its hills; it gave the impression of a city in stone set under a glass globe.
-the sky itself, pure and diaphanous, augmented the sensation of withdrawal and quietude; not a cloud on the horizon, not a spot of smoke in the air; silence and repose everywhere. the dome of st. peter’s had the colour of a cloud, the shrubberies on the pincio were reddened by the sun, and the alban hills disclosed the little white towns and the smiling villas on their declivities.
-preciozi pointed out domes and towers; cæsar did not hear him, and he was thinking, with a certain terror:
-“we shall die, and these stones will continue to shine in the sunlight of other winter evenings.”
-the vatican family
-making an effort with himself, he threw off this painful idea, and turning to preciozi, asked:
-“so you believe that i might have made a nice career in the church?”
-“you! i certainly do think so!” exclaimed preciozi. “with a cardinal for uncle, che carriera you could have made!”
-“but are there enough different jobs in the church?”
-“from the pope to the canons and the papal guards, you ought to see all the hierarchies we have at the vatican. first the pope, then the cardinals in bishop’s orders, next, the cardinals in priest’s orders, then the cardinal’s in deacon’s orders, the secretaries, the compisteria of the holy college of cardinals, the patriarchs, archbishops, bishops, and the pontifical family.”
-“whose family is that? the pope’s?”
-“no; it is called that, as who should say, the general staff of the vatican. it is made up of the palatine cardinals, the palatine prelates, the participating privy chamberlains, the archbishops and bishops assisting the pontifical throne, the domestic prelates, who form the college of apostolic prothonotaries, the pontifical masters of ceremonies, the princes assisting the throne, the privy participating cape-and-sword chamberlains, the privy numbered cape-and-sword chamberlains....”
-“cape-and-sword! didn’t i tell you that that poor christ plays a sorry part on the façade of saint peter’s?” exclaimed cæsar.
-“because all this stuff about capes and swords doesn’t seem very fitting for the soul of a christian. unless, of course, the knights of the sword and cape do not use the sword to wound and the cape for a shield, but only wield the sword of faith and the cape of charity.... and haven’t you any gentlemen of bed-and-board, as they have at the spanish court?”
-“that’s a pity. it is so expressive,... bed and board. bed and board, cape and sword. who wouldn’t be satisfied? one must admit that there is nobody equal to the church, and next to her a monarchy, when it comes to inventing pretty things. that is why it is said, and very well said, that there is no salvation outside of the church.”
-“you are a pagan.”
-“and i believe you are one, too.”
-“what comes after all those privy cape-and-sword chamberlains, my dear abbe?”
-“next, there is the pontifical noble guard, the swiss papal guard, the palatine guard of honour, the corps of papal gendarmes, the privy chaplains, the privy clerics, the suite of his holiness. next come the members of the palatine administration, the congregations, and more secretaries.”
-“and do the cardinals live well?”
-“how much do they make?”
-“they get twenty thousand lire fixed salary, besides extras.”
-“but that is very little!”
-“certainly! it used to be much more, at the time of the papal states. out of their twenty thousand lire they have to keep a carriage.”
-“those that aren’t rich must have a hard time.”
-“just imagine, some of them have to live in a third-floor apartment. there have been some that bought their red robes second-hand.”
-“are those robes so expensive?”
-“yes, they are expensive. quite. they are made of a special cloth manufactured in cologne.”
-“are there many cardinals who are not of rich families?”
-“a great many.”
-“well, you people have ruined that job.”
-they went to trastevere and there they took the tram. preciozi got out at the piazza venezia and cæsar went on to the end of the via nazionale.
-a talk about money
-“where have you been?” asked laura, on seeing him.
-“i’ve been taking a walk with the abbe.”
-“it’s evident that you find him more interesting than us women.”
-“preciozi is very interesting. he is a machiavellian. he has a candour that is assumed and a dulness that is assumed. he plays a little comedy to get out of paying, at the café or in the tram. he is splendid. i think, if you will pardon me for saying so, that the italians are damned close.”
-“people that have no money are forced to be economical.”
-“no, that isn’t so. i have known people in madrid who made three pesetas a day, and spent two treating a friend.”
-“yes, out of ostentation, out of a desire to show off. i don’t like pretentious people.”
-“well, i believe i prefer them to skinflints.”
-“yes, that’s very spanish. a man wasting money, while his wife and children are dying of hunger.... the man who won’t learn the value of money is not the best type.”
-“money is filthy. if it were only possible to abolish it!”
-“for my part, son, i should like less to have it abolished than to have a great deal of it.” “i shouldn’t. if i could carry out my plans, all i should need afterwards would be a hut to live in, a garret.”
-“our ideas differ.”
-“these people that need clothes and jewels and perfumes fairly nauseate me.... all such things are only fit for jews.”
-“then i must surely be a jewess.”
-viii. old palaces, old salons, old ladies
-the cardinal uncle
-as the cardinal gave no indication of curiosity to see cæsar, cæsar several times said to laura:
-“we ought to call on uncle, eh?”
-“do as you choose. he isn’t very anxious to see you. apparently he takes you for an unbeliever.”
-“all right, that has nothing to do with calling on him.”
-“if you like i will go with you.”
-the cardinal lived in the palazzo altemps. that palace is situated in the via di s. apellinare, opposite a seminary. the brother and sister proceeded to the palace one morning, went up the grand staircase, and in a reception-room they found preciozi with two other priests, talking together in low tones.
-one was a worn, pallid old man, with his nose and the borders of his nasal appendage extremely red. cæsar considered that so red a nose in that livid, ghastly face resembled a lantern in a melancholy landscape lighted by the evening twilight. this livid person was the house librarian.
-“his eminence is very busy,” said preciozi, after bowing to the callers. he spoke with a different voice from the one he used outside. “i will go in, in a moment, and see if you can see him.”
-cæsar stepped to the window of the reception-room: one could see the court of the old palace and the colonnade surrounding it.
-“this house must be very large,” he said.
-“you shall see it later, if you like,” replied the abbé. a little after this preciozi disappeared, and reappeared again in the opening of a glass door, saying, in the discreetly lowered voice which was no doubt that of his domestic functions:
-“this way, this way.”
-they went into a large, cold, shabby room. through an open door they could see another bare salon, equally dark and sombre.
-the cardinal was seated at a table; he was dressed as a monk and had the air of being in a bad humour. laura went promptly to him and kissed his hand. cæsar bowed, and as the cardinal did not deign to look at him, remained standing, at some distance from the table.
-laura, after having saluted her uncle as a pillar of the church, talked to him as a relative. the cardinal cast a rapid glance at cæsar, and then, scowling somewhat less, asked him if his mother was well and if he expected to be long in rome.
-cæsar, vexed by this frigid reception, answered shortly in a few cold words, that all of them were well.
-the cardinal’s secretary, who was by the window assisting at the interview, shot angry looks at cæsar.
-after a brief audience, which could not have lasted over five minutes, the cardinal said, addressing laura:
-“pardon me, my daughter, but i must go on with my work”; and immediately, without a look at his nephew or his niece, he called the secretary, who brought him a portfolio of papers.
-cæsar opened the glass door for laura to pass.
-“would you like to see the palace?” preciozi asked them. “there are some antique statues, magnificent marbles, and a chapel where saint aniceto’s body is preserved.”
-“let’s leave saint aniceto’s body for another day,” cæsar replied sardonically.
-laura and cæsar went down the stairway.
-“there was no need to come, to behave like that,” she said, upset.
-“how so! you behaved like a savage, no more nor less.” “no, he was the one that behaved like a savage. i bowed to him, and he wasn’t willing even to look at me.”
-“you made up for it by staring at him as if he had been some curious insect in a cage.”
-“it was his fault for not being even barely polite to me.”
-“do you think that a cardinal is an ordinary person to whom you say: ‘hello! how are you? how’s business?’”
-“i met an english cabinet minister in a club once and he was like anybody else.”
-“it’s not the same thing.”
-“do you believe that perhaps our uncle considers that he fulfils a providential mission, a divine mission?”
-“what a question! of course he does.”
-“then he is a poor idiot. however, it’s nothing to me. our uncle is a stupid fool.”
-“you discovered that in such a little while?”
-“yes. fanatical, vain, fatuous, pleased with himself.... he is of no use to me.”
-“ah, so you thought he would be of some use to you?”
-her brother’s arbitrary manner of taking things irritated and at the same time amused laura.
-she believed that he made it a rule to persist in always doing the contrary to other people.
-laura and her friends of both sexes used to run across one another in museums, out walking in the popular promenades, and at the races. cæsar didn’t go to museums, because he said he had no artistic feeling; races didn’t interest him either; and when it came to walking, he preferred to wander at random in the streets.
-as his memory was not full of historical facts, he experienced no great esthetic or archeological thrills, and no sympathy whatsoever with the various herds of tourists that went about examining old stones.
-at night, in the salon, he used to give burlesque descriptions, in his laconic french, of street scenes: the italian soldiers with cock-feathers drooping from a sort of bowler hat, the porters of the embassies and great houses, with their cocked hats, their blue great-coats, and the staff with a silver knob in their hands.
-the precise, jocose, biting report of his observations offended laura and her lady friends.
-“why do you hate italians so much?” the countess brenda asked him one day.
-“but i don’t hate them.”
-“he speaks equally badly of everybody,” explained laura. “he has a bad character.”
-“is it because you have had an unhappy life?” the countess asked, interested.
-“no, i don’t think so,” said cæsar, feeling like smiling; instead of which, and without knowing why and without any reason, he put on a sad look.
-exercises in hypocrisy
-laura, with her feminine perspicacity, noted that from that day on the countess looked at cæsar a great deal and with melancholy smiles; and not only the mother appeared interested, but the daughter too.
-“i don’t know what it is in my brother,” thought laura; “women are attracted to him just because he pays no attention to them. and he knows it; yes, indeed he does, even thought he acts as if he were unconscious of it. both mother and daughter taken with him! carminatti has been routed.”
-the countess quickly discovered a great liking for laura, and as they both had friends in good roman society, they made calls together. laura was astonished enough to hear cæsar say that if there was no objection, he would go with them.
-“but the majority of our friends are old ladies, devout old ladies.”
-“all the better.”
-“all right. but if you come, it is on condition that you say nothing that would shock them.” “surely.”
-cæsar accompanied the countess brenda and his sister to various aristocratic houses, and at every one he heard the same conversation, about the king, the pope, the cardinals, and how few or how many people there were in the hotels. these topics, together with slanders, constituted the favourite motive for conversation in the great world.
-cæsar conversed with the somewhat flaccid old ladies (“castanae molles,” as preciozi called them) with perfect hypocrisy; he regarded the classic decorations of the salons, and while he listened to rather strange french and to most elegant and pure italian, he wondered if there might be somebody among all this papal society whom he could use to forward his ambitions.
-sometimes among the guests he would meet a young “monsignor,” discreetly smiling, whose emerald ring it was necessary to kiss. cæsar would kiss it and say to himself: “let us practise tolerance with our lips.”
-in many of these salons the mania for the english game called “bridge” had caught with great violence.
-cæsar hated card-games. for a man who made a study of the stock-exchange, the mechanism of a card-game was too stupid to arouse any interest. but he had no objection to playing and losing.
-the countesses brenda and san martino had “bridge-mania” very hard, and they used to go to brenda’s room in the evening to play.
-after playing bridge a week, cæsar found that his money was insensibly melting away.
-“look here,” he said to laura.
-“what is it?”
-“you have got to teach me bridge.”
-“i don’t know how to play, because i have no head for such things and i forget what cards have been played; but they gave me a little book on the game. i will lend it to you, if you like.”
-“yes, give me it.”
-cæsar read the book, learned the intricacies of the game, and the next few evenings he acquitted himself so well that the countess of san martino marched off to her room with burning cheeks and almost in tears.
-“what a cad you are!” laura said to him at lunch some days later, laughing. “you are fleecing those women.”
-“it’s their own fault. why did they take advantage of my innocence?”
-“they have decided to go and play in carminatti’s room without telling you.”
-“i’m glad of it.”
-“do you know, bambino, i have to go away for a few days.”
-“to naples. come with me.”
-“no; i have things to do here. i will take you to the station.”
-“ah, you rascal! you are a don juan.”
-“no, dear sister. i am a financier.”
-“i can see your victims from here. but i shall put them on their guard. you are a blood-thirsty hyena. you like to collect hearts the way the red-skins did scalps.”
-“you mean coupons.”
-“no, hearts. you like to pretend to be simple, because you are wicked. i will tell the countess brenda and her daughter.”
-“what are you going to tell them?”
-“that you are wicked, that you have a hyena’s heart, that you want to ruin them.”
-“don’t tell them that, because it will make them fall in love with me. a hyena-hearted man is always run after by the ladies.”
-“you are right. come along, go to naples with me.”
-“is your husband such a terrible bore, little sister?”
-“a little more cream and a little less impertinence, bambino,” said laura, holding out her plate with a comic gesture.
-cæsar burst out laughing, and after lunch he took laura to the station and remained in rome alone. his two chief occupations consisted in making love respectfully to the countess brenda and going to walk with preciozi.
-the countess brenda was manifestly coming around; in the evening cæsar would take a seat beside her and start a serious conversation about religious and philosophical matters. the countess was a well-educated and religious woman; but beneath all her culture one could see the ardent dark woman, still young, and with intense eyes.
-cæsar made it a spiritual training to talk to the countess. she often turned the conversation to questions of love, and discussed them with apparent keenness and insight, but it was evident that all her ideas about love came out of novels. beyond a doubt, her calm, vulgar husband did not fill up the emptiness of her soul, because the countess was discontented and had a vague hope that somewhere, above or beneath the commonplaces of the day, there was a mysterious region where the ineffable reigned.
-cæsar, who hadn’t much faith in the ineffable, used to listen to her with a certain amazement, as if the plump, strong woman had been a visionary incapable of understanding reality.
-in the daytime cæsar went walking with preciozi and they talked of their respective plans.
-often cæsar went out alone, chewing the end of his thoughts as he strolled in the streets, working out possible schemes of investments or of politics.
-when he got away from the main streets, he kept finding some corner at every step that left him astonished at its fantastic, theatrical air. suddenly he would discover himself before a high wall, on top of which were statues covered with moss, or huge terra-cotta jars. those decorations would stand out against the dark foliage of the roman ilex and the tall, black cypresses. at the end of a street would rise a tall palm, drooping its branches over a little square, or a stone pine, like the one in the aldobrandini garden.
-“these people were real artists,” cæsar would murmur, and mean it as a fact, not taking it for either praise or blame.
-his curiosity got excited, despite his determination not to resemble a tourist in any way. the low windows of a palace would let him see lofty ceilings with great stretches of painting, or decorated with medallions and legends; a balcony would display a thick curtain of ivy that hid the railings; here he would read a latin inscription cut in a marble tablet, there he would come upon a black lane between two old houses, with a battered lantern at its entrance. in the part of town between the corso and the tiber, which is full of narrow, crooked old streets, he loved to wander until he was lost.
-some details already familiar, he was delighted to see again; he always halted to look down the via della pillotta, with its arches over the street; and the little flower-market in the piazza di spagna always gave him a sensation of joy.
-at dusk cæsar would walk in the centre of town; the bars filled up with people who loved to take cakes and sweet wine; on the sidewalks the itinerant merchants cried their trifling wares; along the corso a procession of carriages full of tourists passed rapidly, and a few well-appointed victorias came driving back from the pincio and the villa borghese.
-once in a while cæsar went out in the evening after dinner. there was scant animation in the streets, theatres didn’t interest him, and he would soon return to the hotel salon to chat with the countess brenda.
-later, in his room, he would write to alzugaray, giving him his impressions.
-ix. new acquaintances
-“i protestanti della simpatía”
-it began again to rain disastrously; the days were made up of downpours and squalls, to the great despair of the foreigners.
-at night the piazza esedra was a fine sight from the hotel balcony. the arc lights reflected their glow in the lakes of rain beneath them, and the great jet of the fountain in the centre took on tones of blue and mother-of-pearl, where the rays of the electric light pierced through it.
-in the hotel parlour one dance followed another. everybody complained gaily of the bad weather.
-shortly before the middle of lent there arrived a parisian family at the hotel, composed of a mother with two daughters and a companion.
-this family might be considered a representation of the entente cordiale. the mother was french, the widow first of a spaniard, señor sandoval, by whom she had had one daughter, and then of an englishman, mr. dawson, by whom she had had another.
-mme. dawson was a fat, imposing lady, with tremendous brilliants in her ears and somewhat theatrical clothes; mile. sandoval, the elder daughter, was of arab type, with black eyes, an aquiline nose, pale rose-coloured lips, and a malicious smile, full of mystery, as if it revealed restless and diabolical intentions.
-her half-sister, mile. dawson, was a contrast, being the perfect type of a grotesque englishwoman, with a skin like a beet, and freckles.
-the governess, mile. cadet, was not at all pretty, but she was gay and sprightly. these four women seated in the middle of the dining-room, a little stiff, a little out of temper, seemed, particularly the first few days, to defy anybody that might have wished to approach them. they replied coolly to the formal bows of the other guests, and none of them cared to take part in the dances.
-the handsome signor carminatti shot incendiary glances at mlle. de sandoval; but she remained scornful; so one evening, as the dawson family came out of the dining-room, the neapolitan waved his hand toward them and said:
-“i protestante della simpatia.”
-cæsar made much of this phrase, because it was apt, and he took it that carminatti considered the ladies protestants against friendliness, because they had paid no attention to the charms that he displayed in their honour.
-consequences of the rain
-two or three days later mme. dawson bowed to cæsar on passing him in the hall, and asked him:
-“aren’t you spanish?”
-“but don’t you speak french?”
-“my daughter is spanish too.”
-“she is a perfect spanish type.”
-“really?” asked the daughter referred to.
-“then i am happy.”
-in the evening, after dinner, cæsar again joined mme. dawson and began to talk with her. the frenchwoman had a tendency to philosophize, to criticize, and to find out everything. she had no great capacity for admiration, and nothing she saw succeeded in dragging warm eulogies from her lips. there was none of the “bello! bellissimo!” of the italian ladies in her talk, but a series of exact epithets.
-mme. dawson had left all her capacity for admiration in france, and was visiting italy for the purpose of arriving as soon as possible at the conclusion that there is no town like paris, no nation like the french, and it didn’t matter much to cæsar whether he agreed or denied it.
-mlle. de sandoval had a great curiosity about things in spain and an absurd idea about everything spanish.
-“it seems impossible,” thought cæsar, “how stupid french people are about whatsoever is not french.”
-mlle. de sandoval asked cæsar a lot of questions, and finally, with an ironic gesture, said to him:
-“you mustn’t let us keep you from going to talk with the countess brenda. she is looking over at you a great deal.”
-cæsar became a trifle dubious; indeed, the countess was looking at him in a fixed and disdainful way.
-“the countess is a very intelligent woman,” said cæsar; “i think you would all like her very much.”
-mme. dawson said nothing; cæsar rose, took his leave of the family, and went over to speak to the countess and her daughter. she received him coldly. cæsar thought he would stay long enough to be polite and then get away, when carminatti, speaking to him in a very friendly way and calling him “mio caro,” asked him to introduce him to mme. dawson.
-he did so, and when he had left the handsome neapolitan leaning back in a chair beside the french ladies, he made the excuse that he had a letter to write, and said good-night.
-“i see that you are an ogre,” said mlle. de sandoval.
-“do you want me for anything?”
-“no, no; you may go when you choose.”
-cæsar repaired to his room.
-“i don’t mind those people,” he said; “but if they think i am a man made for entertaining ladies, they are very clever.”
-the next day mme. dawson talked with cæsar very affably, and mlle. de sandoval made a few ironical remarks about his savage ways.
-of all the family cæsar conceived that mlle. cadet was the most intelligent. she was a french country girl, very jovial, blond, with a turned-up nose, and on the whole insignificant looking. when she spoke, her voice had certain falsetto inflexions that were very comical.
-mlle. cadet was on to everything the moment it happened. cæsar asked her jokingly about the people in the hotel, and he was thunderstruck to find that she had discovered in three or four days who all the guests were and where they came from.
-mlle. cadet also told him that carminatti had sent an ardent declaration of love to the sandoval girl the first day he saw her.
-“the devil!” exclaimed cæsar. “what an inflammable neapolitan it is! and what did she reply?”
-“what would she reply? nothing.”
-“as you are already familiar with everything going on here,” said cæsar, “i am going to ask you a question: what is the noise in the court every night? i am always thinking of asking somebody.”
-“why, it is charging the accumulator of the lift,” replied mlle. cadet.
-“you have relieved me from a terrible doubt which worried me.”
-“i have never heard a noise,” said mlle. de sandoval, breaking into the conversation.
-“that’s because your room is on the square,” cæsar answered, “and the noise is in the court; on the poor side of the house.”
-“pshaw! there is no reason to complain,” remarked mlle. cadet, “if they give us a serenade.”
-“do you consider yourself poor?” mlle. de sandoval asked cæsar, disdainfully.
-“yes, i consider myself poor, because i am.”
-during the following days mme. dawson and her daughters were introduced to the rest of the people in the hotel, and became intimate with them. the “contessina” brenda and the san martino girls made friends with the french girls, and the neapolitan and his gentlemen friends flitted among them all.
-the countess brenda at first behaved somewhat stiff with mme. dawson and her daughters, but later she little by little submitted and permitted them to be her friends.
-she introduced the french ladies to the other ladies in the hotel; but doubtless her aristocratic ideas would not allow her to consider mlle. cadet a person worthy to be introduced, for whenever she got to her she acted as if she didn’t know her.
-the governess, noticing this repeated contempt, would blush at it, and once she murmured, addressing cæsar with tears ready to escape from her eyes:
-“that’s a nice thing to do! just because i am poor, i don’t think they ought to despise me.”
-“don’t pay any attention,” said cæsar, quite aloud; “these middle-class people are often very rude.”
-mlle. de sandoval gave cæsar a look half startled and half reproving; and he explained, smiling:
-“i was telling mlle. cadet a funny story.”
-mme. dawson and her daughters soon became friends with the most distinguished persons in the hotel; only the marchesa sciacca, the maltese, avoided them as if they inspired her with profound contempt.
-in a few days the countess brenda and cæsar’s friendship passed beyond the bonds of friendship; but in the course of time it cooled off again.
-influence of the inclination of the earth’s axis on what is called love
-one evening, when the countess brenda’s daughter had left rome to go with her father to a villa they owned in the north, the countess and cæsar had a long conversation in the salon. they were alone; a great tenor was singing at the costanzi, and the whole hotel was at the theatre. the countess chatted with cæsar, she reclining in a chaise longue, and he seated in a low chair. that evening the countess was feeling in a provocative humour, and she made fun of cæsar’s mode of life and his ideas, not with the phrases and the manners of a great lady, but with the boldness and spice of a woman of the people.
-the angle that the earth’s axis makes with the trajectory of the ecliptic, and which produces those absurd phenomena that we spaniards call seasons, determined at that period the arrival of spring, and spring had no doubt shaken the countess brenda’s nerves.
-spring gave cooling inflexions to the lady’s voice and made her express herself with warmth and with a shamelessly libertine air.
-no doubt the core of her personality was joyful, provoking, and somewhat licentious.
-her eyes flashed, and on her lips there was a sensual expression of challenge and mockery.
-cæsar, that evening, without knowing why, was dull at expressing himself, and depressed. some of the countess’s questions left him in a stupid unreadiness.
-“poor child; i am sorry for you,” she suddenly said.
-“because you are so weak; you have such an air of exhaustion. what do you do to make you like this? i am sure you ought to be given some sort of iron tonic, like the anaemic girls.”
-“do you really think i am so weak?” asked cæsar.
-“isn’t it written all over you?”
-“well, anyway, i am stronger than you, countess.”
-“in a discussion, perhaps. but otherwise.... you have no strength except in your brains.”
-“and in my hands. give me your hand.”
-the countess gave him her hand and cæsar pressed it tighter and tighter.
-“you are strong after all,” she said.
-“that is nothing. you wait,” and cæsar squeezed the countess’s hand until he made her give a sharp scream. a servant entered the salon. “it’s nothing,” said the countess, getting up; “i seemed to have turned my foot.”
-“i will take you to your room,” exclaimed cæsar, offering her his arm.
-“no, no. thanks very much.”
-“yes. it has to be.”
-“then, all right,” she murmured, and added, “now you frighten me.”
-“bah, you will get over that!” and cæsar went into her room with her....
-“what is the matter?” mme. dawson and her daughters asked him.
-“nothing; only i had a headache and i took a big dose of antipyrine.”
-the relations of the brenda lady and cæsar soon cooled. their temperaments were incompatible: there was no harmony between their imaginations or between their skins. in reality, the countess, with all her romanticism, did not care for long and compromising liaisons, but for hotel adventures, which leave neither vivid memories nor deep imprints. cæsar noted that despite her lyricism and her sentimental talk, there was a great deal of firmness in this plump woman, and a lack of sensitiveness.
-moreover, this woman, so little aristocratic in intimacy, had much vanity about stupid things and a great passion for jewelry; but what contributed most to making cæsar feel a profound hatred for her was his discovering what good health she enjoyed. this good health seemed offensive to cæsar, above all when he compared it to his own, to his weak nerves and his restless brain.
-from considering her a spiritual and delicate lady he passed to considering her a powerful mare, which deserved no more than a whip and spurs.
-the love-affair contributed to upsetting cæsar and making him more sarcastic and biting. this spiritual ulceration of cæsar’s profoundly astonished mlle. cadet.
-one day a roman aristocrat, nothing less than a prince, came to call on mme. dawson. he talked with her, with her daughters, and the countess brenda, and held forth about whether the hotels in rome were full or empty, about the pensions, and the food in the restaurants, with a great wealth of details; afterwards he lamented that mme. dawson, as a relative of his, even though a very distant one, should have gone to a ricevimento at the french embassy, and he boasted of belonging to the black party in rome.
-when he was gone, mlle. cadet came over to cæsar, who was sunk in an arm-chair gazing at the ceiling, and asked him:
-“what did you think of the prince?”
-“the gentleman who was here talking a moment ago.”
-“ah, was he a prince?”
-“as he talked about nothing but hotels, i took him to be the proprietor of one.”
-mlle. cadet told mme. dawson what cæsar had said, and she and her daughters were amused at his error.
-x. a ball
-a little later than the real day, they got up a ball at the hotel in celebration of the french holiday micarême.
-when cæsar was asked if he thought of going to the ball, he said no; but mlle. de sandoval warned him that if he didn’t go she would never speak to him again, and mme. dawson and the governess threatened him with like excommunication.
-“but you know, these balls are very amusing,” said mme. dawson.
-“do you think so?”
-“i do, and so do you.”
-“besides, an observer like you,” added mlle. cadet, “can devote himself to taking notes.”
-“and why do you conclude that i am an observer?” asked cæsar.
-“the idea! because it is evident.”
-“and an observer with very evil intentions,” insisted mlle. de sandoval.
-“you credit me with qualities i haven’t got.”
-cæsar had to accede, and the dawson ladies and he were the first to enter the salon and take their seats. in one corner was a glass vase hung from the ceiling by a pulley.
-“what is that?” mme. dawson asked a servant.
-“it is a glass vase full of bonbons, which you have to break with a pole with your eyes closed.”
-since nobody else came in, the dawson girls and cæsar wandered about looking into the cupboards and finding the marchesa sciacca’s music and the neapolitan’s. they looked out one of the salon windows. it was a detestable night, raining and hailing; the great drops were bouncing on the sidewalks of the piazza esedra. water and hail fell mixed together, and for moments at a time the ground would stay white, as if covered with a thin coating of pearls.
-the fountain in the centre cast up its streams of water, which mingled with the rain, and the central jet shone in the lays of the arc-lights; now and again the livid brilliance of lightning illuminated the stone arches and the rumbling of thunder was heard...
-still nobody else came to the salon. doubtless the ladies were preparing their toilets very carefully.
-the first to appear, dressed for the ball, were the marchesa sciacca and her husband, accompanied by the inevitable carminatti.
-the marchesa, with her habitual brutality toward everybody that lived in the house, bowed with formal coolness to mme. dawson, and sat down by the piano, as far away as possible from the french ladies.
-she wore a gown of green silk, with lace and gold ornaments. she was very décolletée and had a fretful air. her husband was small and stooped, with a long moustache and shiny eyes; on his cheek-bones were the red spots frequent in consumptives, and he spoke in a sharp voice.
-“are you acquainted with the marquis?” mme. dawson asked cæsar.
-“yes, he is a tiresome busybody,” said cæsar, “the most boresome fellow you could find. he stops you in the street to tell you things. the other day he made me wait a quarter of an hour at the door of a tourist agency, while he inquired the quickest way of getting to moscow. ‘are you thinking of going there?’ i asked him. ‘no; i just wanted to find out....’ he is an idiot.”
-“god preserve us from your comments. what will you be saying about us?” exclaimed mlle. de sandoval.
-the countess brenda entered, with her husband, her daughter, and a friend. she was dressed in black, low in the neck, and wore a collar of brilliants as big as filberts, which surrounded her bosom with rays of light and blinding reflections.
-her friend was a young lady of consummate beauty; a brunette with colour in her skin and features of flawless perfection; with neither the serious air nor the statuesqueness of a great beauty, and with none of the negroid tone of most brunettes. when she smiled she showed her teeth, which were a burst of whiteness. she was rather loaded with jewels, which gave her the aspect of an ancient goddess.
-“you, who find everything wrong,” said mlle. cadet to cæsar, “what have you to say of that woman? i have been looking at her ever since she came in, and i don’t find the slightest defect.”
-“nor i. it is a face which gives no indication that the least shadow of sorrow has ever crossed it. it is beauty as serene as a landscape or as the sea when calm. moreover, that very perfection robs it of character. it seems to be less a human face than a symbol of an apathetic being and an apathetic beauty.”
-“we have found her defect,” said mlle. cadet.
-after introducing her friend to the ladies and to the young men, who were all dazzled, the countess brenda sat down near mme. dawson, in an antique arm-chair.
-she was imposing.
-“you look like a queen holding audience,” mlle. de sandoval said to her.
-“your beloved is like an actual monument,” mlle. cadet murmured jokingly, aside to cæsar.
-“yes, i think we ought to station a veteran at the door,” retorted cæsar.
-“a veteran! no, for mercy’s sake! poor lady! a warrior in active service, one on whom all the antipyrine in the world would make no impression,” mlle. cadet replied maliciously.
-cæsar smiled at the allusion.
-among the people there was one gentlerman that attracted mlle. cadet’s special attention. he was apart from any group, but he knew everybody that arrived. this gentleman was fat, smiling, smooth-shaven, with a round, chubby, rosy face and the body of a silenus. when he spoke he arched and lowered his eyebrows alternately, rolled his eyes, gesticulated with his fat, soft hands, and smiled and showed his teeth.
-his way of greeting people was splendid.
-“come sta, marchesa?” he would say. “cavaliere!” “commendatore!” “la contessina va bene?” “oh! egregio!”
-and the good gentleman would spread his arms, and close them, and look as if he wanted to embrace the whole of humanity to his abdomen, covered with a white waistcoat.
-“who can that gentleman be?” mlle. cadet asked various times.
-“that? that is signor sileno macarroni,” said cæsar, “commander of the order of the mighty belly, knight of the round buttocks, and of other distinguished orders.”
-“he is a singer,” said the countess brenda to mlle. de sandoval in a low tone.
-“he is a singer,” repeated mlle. de sandoval to her governess in a similar tone.
-“sileno macarroni is a singer,” said mlle. cadet, with equal mysteriousness, addressing cæsar.
-“but is our friend macarroni going to sung?” asked cæsar.
-the question was passed from one person to another, and it was discovered that macarroni was going to sing. as a matter of fact, the fat silenus did sing, and everybody was startled to hear a high tenor voice issue from within that voluminous human being. the fat silenus had the misfortune to sing false in the midst of his bravest trills, and the poor soul was overcome, despite the applause.
-“poor macarroni!” said cæsar, “his high tenor heart must be broken to bits.” “he is going,” put in mlle. cadet. “what a shame!” sileno vanished and the pianist began to play waltzes.
-the world as a zoological garden
-carminatti was the first on the floor with his partner, who was the marchesa sciacca.
-the maltese lady danced with an abandon and a feline languor that imposed respect. one of the san martino girls, dressed in white, like a vaporous fairy, danced with an officer in a blue uniform, a slim, distinguished person with languid eyes and rosy cheeks, who caused a veritable sensation among the ladies.
-the other san martino, in pale pink, was on a sofa chatting with a man of the cut-throat type, of jaundiced complexion, with bright eyes and a moustache so long as almost to touch his eyebrows.
-“he is a sicilian,” mlle. cadet told cæsar; “behind us here they are saying rather curious things about the two of them.”
-the countess brenda’s daughter was magnificent, with her milk-white skin, and her arms visible through gauze. despite her beauty she didn’t count many admirers; she was too insipid, and the majority of the young men turned with greater enthusiasm to the married women and to those of a very provocative type.
-mlle. de sandoval, the most sought after of all, didn’t wish to dance.
-“my daughter is really very stiff,” mme. dawson remarked. “spanish women are like that.”
-“yes, they often are,” said cæsar.
-among all these italians, who were rather theatrical and ridiculous, insincere and exaggerated, but who had great pliancy and great agility in their movements and their expression, there was one german family, consisting of several persons: a married couple with sons and daughters who seemed to be all made from one piece, cut from the same block. while the rest were busy with the little incidents of the ball, they were talking about the baths of caracalla, the aqueducts, the colosseum. the father, the mother, and the children repeated their lesson in roman archeology, which they had learned splendidly.
-“what very absurd people they are,” murmured cæsar, watching them.
-“why?” said mlle. de sandoval.
-“it appeals to these germans as their duty to make one parcel of everything artistic there is in a country and swallow it whole; which seems to an ignoramus like me, a stupid piece of pretentiousness. the french, on the contrary, are on more solid ground; they don’t understand anything that is not french, and they travel to have the pleasure of saying that paris is the finest thing on earth.”
-“it’s great luck to be so perfect as you are,” retorted mlle. de sandoval, violently, “you can see other people’s faults so clearly.”
-“you mistake,” replied cæsar, coldly, “i do not rely on my own good qualities to enable me to speak badly of others.”
-“then what do you rely on?”
-“on my defects.”
-“ah, have you defects? do you admit it?”
-“i not only admit it, but i take pride in having them.”
-mlle. de sandoval turned her head away contemptuously; the twist cæsar gave to her questions appeared to irritate her.
-“mlle. de sandoval doesn’t like me much,” said cæsar to mlle. cadet.
-“no? she generally says nice things about you.”
-“perhaps my clothes appeal to her, or the way i tie my cravat; but my ideas displease her.”
-“because you say such severe things.”
-“why do you say that at this moment? because i spoke disparagingly of those germans? are they attractive to you?”
-“oh, no! not at all.”
-“they look like hunting dogs.” “but whom do you approve of? the english?”
-“not the english, either. they are a herd of cattle; sentimental, ridiculous people who are in ecstatics over their aristocracy and over their king. latin peoples are something like cats, they are of the feline race; a frenchman is like a fat, well-fed cat; an italian is like an old angora which has kept its beautiful fur; and the spaniard is like the cats on a roof, skinny, bare of fur, almost too weak to howl with despair and hunger.... then there are the ophidians, the jews, the greeks, the armenians....”
-“then for you the world is a zoological garden?”
-“well, isn’t it?”
-at midnight they tried to break the glass jar of bonbons. they blindfolded various men, and one by one they made them turn around a couple of times and then try to break the jar with a stick.
-it was the marquis sciacca that did break the glass vase, and the pieces fell on his head.
-“have you hurt yourself?” people asked him.
-“no,” said cæsar, reassuringly, but aside; “his head is protected.”
-after this cornucopia number, there was a series of other games and amusements, which required a hand-glass, a candle, and a bottle. the conversation in mlle. de sandoval’s group jumped from one thing to another and finally arrived at palmistry.
-mlle. de sandoval asked cæsar if he, as a spaniard, knew how to tell fortunes by the hand, and he jokingly replied that he did. three or four hands were stretched out toward cæsar, and he said whatsoever his imagination suggested, foolishness, absurdities, impertinences; a little of everything.
-when anybody was a bit puzzled at cæsar’s words, he said:
-“don’t pay any attention to it; these are absurdities.”
-afterwards mlle. cadet told cæsar that she was going to cast his horoscope. “good! out with it.”
-the governess, who was clever, studied cæsar’s hand and expressed herself in sibylline terms:
-“you have something of everything, a little of some things and a great deal of others; you are not a harmonious individual.”
-“no. you are very intelligent.”
-“let the sibyl talk,” said the sandoval girl.
-“you have a strong sense of logic,” the governess went on.
-“you are good and bad! you have much imagination and very little; you are at the same time very brave and very timid. you have a loving nature, but it is asleep, and little will-power.”
-“little and... a great deal,” said cæsar.
-“do you believe that i have little will-power?”
-“i am telling you what your hand says.”
-“look here. my hand’s opinion doesn’t interest me so much as yours, because you are an intelligent woman. do you believe i have no will-power?”
-“a sibyl doesn’t discuss her affirmations.”
-“now you are worried about your lack of will-power,” said mlle. de sandoval, mockingly.
-“yes, i am, a bit.”
-“well, i think you have will-power enough,” she retorted; “what you do lack is a little more amiability.”
-“fortunately for you and for me, you are not so perspicacious in psychology as this young lady.”
-“i don’t expect to earn my living telling fortunes.”
-“i don’t believe this young lady expects to, either. you have told me what i am,” cæsar pursued; “now tell me what is going to happen to me.”
-“let me look,” said mlle. cadet; “close your hand. you will make a journey.” “very good! i like that.”
-“you will get into a desperate struggle....”
-“i like that, too.”
-“and you will win, and you will be defeated....”
-“i don’t like that so much.”
-mile. cadet could not give other details. her sibylline science extended no further. during this chiromantic interlude, the dancing kept up, until finally, about three in the morning, the party ended.
-xi. a sounding-line in the dark world
-the advice of two abbés
-the abbé preciozi several times advised cæsar to make a new attempt at a reconciliation with the cardinal; but cæsar always refused.
-“he is a man incapable of understanding me,” he would insist with naïve arrogance.
-preciozi felt a great liking for his new friend, who invited him to meals at good hotels and treated him very frequently. almost every morning he went to call on cæsar on one pretext or another, and they would go for a walk and chat about various things.
-preciozi was beginning to believe that his friend was a man with a future. some explanations that cæsar gave him about the mechanism of the stock-exchange convinced the abbé that he was in the presence of a great financier.
-preciozi talked to all his friends and acquaintances about cardinal fort’s nephew, picturing him as an extraordinary man; some took these praises as a joke; others thought that it was really very possible that the spaniard had great talent; only one abbé, who was a teacher in a college, felt a desire to meet the cardinal’s nephew, and preciozi introduced him to cæsar.
-this abbé was named cittadella, and he was fat, rosy, and blond; he looked more like a singer than a priest.
-cæsar invited the two abbés to dine at a restaurant and requested preciozi to do the ordering.
-“so you are a nephew of cardinal fort’s?” asked cittadella. “yes.”
-“his own nephew?”
-“his own nephew; son of his sister.”
-“and he hasn’t done anything for you?”
-“it’s a pity. he is a man of great influence, of great talent.”
-“influence, i believe; talent, i doubt,” said cæsar.
-“oh, no, no! he is an intelligent man.”
-“but i have heard that his theological commentaries is absolutely absurd.”
-“a crude, banal book, full of stupidities....”
-“macché!” exclaimed the indignant preciozi, neglecting the culinary conflict he was engaged in.
-“all right. it makes no difference,” replied cæsar, smiling. “whether he is a famous man, as you two say, or a blockhead, as i think, the fact remains that my uncle doesn’t wish to have anything to do with me.”
-“you must have done something to him,” said cittadella.
-“no; the only thing is that when i was small they told me the cardinal wished me to be a priest, and i answered that i didn’t care to be.”
-“and why so?”
-“it seems to me a poor job. it’s evident that one doesn’t make much at it.”
-“yes, and what’s more,” preciozi put in, “this gentleman says to anybody who cares to listen, that religion is a farce, that catholicism is like a dish of jewish meat with roman sauce. is it possible that a cardinal should bother about a nephew that talks like that?”
-the abbé cittadella looked very serious and remarked that it is necessary to believe, or at least to seem to believe, in the truths of religion.
-“is the cardinal supposed to have money?” asked cæsar.
-“yes, i should say he is,” replied preciozi. “your sister and you will be the only heirs,” said cittadella.
-“of course,” agreed preciozi.
-“has he made a will?” asked cæsar.
-“all the better if he hasn’t,” said one of the abbés.
-“if we could only poison him,” sighed cæsar, with melancholy.
-“don’t talk of such things just as we are going to eat,” said preciozi.
-the dinner was brought, and the two abbés did it the honour it deserved.
-preciozi deserved congratulations for his excellent selection. they ordered good wines and drank merry toasts.
-“what an admirable secretary preciozi would be, if i got to be a personage!” exclaimed cæsar. “twenty thousand francs or so salary, his board, and the duty of choosing the dinner for the next day. that’s my proposal.”
-the abbé blushed with pleasure, emptied his glass of wine, and murmured:
-“if it depended on me!”
-“the fact is that the way things are arranged today is no good,” said cæsar. “a hundred years ago, by the mere fact of being a cardinal’s nephew, i should have been somebody.”
-“that’s true,” exclaimed preciozi.
-“and as i should have no scruples, and neither would you two, we would have plunged into life strenuously, and sacked rome, and the whole world would be ours.”
-“you talk like a cæsar borgia,” said preciozi, aroused. “you are a true spaniard.”
-“today one must have something to stand on,” said cittadella, coldly.
-“friend cittadella,” retorted cæsar, “i, as you see me here, am the man who knows the most about financial matters in all spain, and i believe i shall soon get to where i can say, in all europe. i put my knowledge at the service of whoever pays me. i am like one of your old condottieri, a mercenary general. i am ready to win battles for the jewish bank, or against the jewish bank, for the church or against the church.”
-“for the church is better. against the church we cannot assist you,” said preciozi.
-“i will try first, for the church. to whom can you recommend me first?”
-the two abbés said nothing, and drank in silence.
-“perhaps verry would see him,” said cittadella.
-“hm!...” replied preciozi. “i rather doubt it.”
-“what sort of a party is he?” asked cæsar.
-“he is one of those prelati that come out of the college of nobles,” said cittadella, “and who get on, even if they are no good. here they consider him a haughty spaniard; they blame him for wearing his robes, and for always taking an automobile when he goes to castel gandolfo. the priests hate him because he is a jesuit and a spaniard.”
-“and wherein does his strength lie?”
-“in the society, and in his knowing several languages. he was educated in england.”
-“from what you two tell me of him, he gives me the impression of a fatuous person.”
-a bottle of champagne was brought in and the three of them drank, toasting and touching glasses.
-“if i were in your place,” said cittadella, after thinking a long while, “i shouldn’t try to get at people in high places, but people who are inconspicuous and yet have influence in your country.”
-“for instance, father herreros, at the convent in trastevere.”
-“and father miró too,” added preciozi, “and if you could talk to father ferrer, of the gregorian university, it wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
-“that will be more difficult,” said cittadella.
-“you could tell them,” preciozi suggested, “that your uncle the cardinal sent you, and hint that he doesn’t want anybody to know that he is backing you.” “and if somebody should write to my uncle?”
-“you mustn’t say anything definite. you must speak ambiguously. besides, in case they did write, we would fix it up in the office.”
-cæsar began to laugh naïvely. afterwards, the two abbés, a little excited by the food and the good wine, started in to have a violent discussion, speaking italian. cæsar paid the bill, and pretending that he had an urgent engagement, took leave of them and went out.
-a spanish monk
-the next day cæsar went to look up father herreros. he had not yet succeeded in forming a plan. his only idea was to see if he could take advantage of some chance: to follow a scent and be on the alert, in case something new should start up on one side or the other.
-father herreros lived in a convent in trastevere. cæsar took the tram in the piazza venezia, and got out after crossing the tiber, near the via delle fratte.
-he soon found the convent; it had a yellow portal with a latin inscription which sang the gymnastic glories of saint pascual bailón. above the inscription there was a picture, in which a monk, no doubt bailón, was dancing among the clouds.
-on the lintel of the gate were the arms of spain, and at the sides, two medallions bearing hands wounded in the palm.
-the convent door was old and quartered. cæsar knocked.
-a lay-brother, with a suspicious glance, came out to admit him, told him to wait, and left him alone. after some while, he came back and asked him to follow him.
-they went down a small passage and up a staircase, which was at the end, and then along a corridor on the main floor. on one side of this corridor, in his cell, they found father herreros.
-cæsar, after bowing and introducing himself, sat down, as the monk asked him to do, in a chair with its back to the light. cæsar began to explain why he had come, and as he had prepared what he was going to say, he employed his attention, while speaking, on the cage and the kind of big bird which were before his eyes.
-father herreros had a big rough head, black heavy eyebrows, a short nose, an enormous mouth, yellow teeth, and grey hair. he wore a chocolate-coloured robe, open enough to show his whole neck down to his chest. the movement of the good monk’s lips was that of a man who wished to pass for keen and insinuating. his robe was dirty and he doubtless had the habit of leaving cigarette stubs on the table.
-the cell had one window, and in front of it a bookcase. cæsar made an effort to read the titles. they were almost all latin books, the kind that nobody reads.
-father herreros began to ask cæsar questions. in his brain, he was doubtless wondering why cardinal fort’s nephew should come to him.
-after many useless words they got to the concrete point that cæsar wanted to take up, father herreros’s acquaintance in spain, and the monk said that he knew a very rich widow who had property in toledo. when cæsar went to madrid, he would give him a letter of recommendation to her.
-“i cannot keep you any longer now, because a mexican lady is waiting for me,” said father herreros.
-cæsar arose, and after shaking the monk’s fat hand, he left the convent. he returned to rome on foot, crossing the river again, and looking at the tiberine island; and arrived without hurrying at the hotel. he wrote to his friend azugaray, requesting him to discover, by the indications he gave him, who the rich widow that had property in toledo could be.
-the licentiate miró
-the next day cæsar decided to pursue his investigations, and went to see father miró.
-father miró lived in a college in the via monserrato. cæsar inspected the map of rome, looking for that street, and found that it is located in the vicinity of the campo de’ fiori, and took his way thither.
-cæsar crossed the campo de’ fiori, a very lively, plebeian square, full of canvas awnings with open stalls of fruit under them. in the middle stood the statue of giordano bruno, with a crown of flowers around its neck.
-then he took the via de’ cappellari, a narrow lane and dirty enough. from one side to the other clothes were hung out to dry.
-he came to the college and entered the church contiguous to it. he asked for father miró; a sacristan with a long moustache and a worn blue overcoat, took him to another entrance, made him mount an old wooden staircase, and conducted him to the office of the man he was looking for.
-father miró was a tiny little man, dark and filthy, with a worn-out cassock, covered with dandruff, and a large dirty square cap with a big rosette.
-“will you tell me what you want?” said the little priest in a sullen tone.
-cæsar introduced himself, and explained in a few words who he was and what he proposed.
-father miró, without asking him to sit down, answered rapidly, saying that he had no acquaintance with matters of finance or speculation.
-cæsar felt a shudder of anger at the rudeness with which he was treated by this draggled little priest, and felt a vehement desire to take him by the neck and twist it, like a chicken’s.
-despite his anger, he did not change expression, and he asked the priest smilingly if he knew who could give him advice about those questions.
-“you can see father ferrer at the gregorian university, or father mendia. he is an encyclopedist. it was he who wrote the theological portion of the encyclical pascendi, the one about modernism. he is a man of very great learning.”
-“he will do. many thanks,” and cæsar turned toward the door.
-“excuse me for not having asked you to sit down, but...”
-“no matter,” cæsar replied, rapidly, and he went out to the stairs.
-in view of the poor result of his efforts, he decided to go to the gregorian university. he was told it was in the via del seminario, and supposed it must be the large edifice with little windowed bridges over two streets.
-that edifice was the collegio romano; the gregorian university was in the same street, but further on, opposite the post office department. father ferrer could not receive him, because he was holding a class; and after they had gone up and come down and taken cæsar’s card for father mendia, they told him he was out.
-cæsar concluded that it was not so easy to find a crack through which one could get information of what was going on in the clerical world.
-“i see that the church gives them all a defensive instinct which they make good use of. they are really only poor devils, but they have a great organization, and it cannot be easy to get one’s fingers through the meshes of their net.”
-xii. a meeting on the pincio
-a walk in the villa borghese
-at the beginning of holy week laura returned to the hotel, at lunch-time.
-“and your husband?” cæsar asked her.
-“he didn’t want to come. rome bores him. he is giving all his attention to taking care of the heart-disease he says he has.”
-“is it serious?”
-“i think not. every time i see him i find him with a new disease and a new diet; one time it is vegetarian, another nothing but meat, another time he says one should eat only grapes, or nothing but bread.”
-“then i see that he belongs to the illustrious brotherhood of the insane.”
-“you are not far from joining that brotherhood yourself.”
-“dear sister, i am one of the few sane men that go stumbling around this insane asylum let loose we call the earth.”
-“what you say about men is the truth, even though you are not an exception. really, the more i have to do with men, the more convinced i am that any one of them who is not crazy, is stupid or vain or proud.... how much more intelligent, discreet, logical we women are!”
-“don’t tell me. you are marvels; modest, kindly toward your rivals, so little given to humiliating your neighbours, male or female....”
-“yes, yes; but we are not so conceited or such play-actors as you are. a woman may think herself pretty and amiable and sweet, and not be so. that is true; but on the other hand, every man thinks himself braver than the cid, even if he is afraid of a fly, and more talented than seneca, even if he is a dolt.”
-“to sum up, men are a calamity.”
-“and women spend their lives fishing for these calamities.”
-“they need them; there are inferior things which still are necessary.”
-“and there are superior things which are good for nothing.”
-“will you come and take a drive with me, philosopher brother?”
-“let’s go to the villa borghese. the carriage will be here in a moment.”
-“all right. let us go there.”
-a two-horse victoria with rubber tires was waiting at the door, and laura and cæsar got in. the carriage went past the treasury, and out the porta salaria, and entered the gardens of the villa borghese.
-the morning had been rainy; the ground was damp; the wind waved the tree-tops gently and caused a murmur like the tide. the carriage rolled slowly along the avenues. laura was very gay and chatty. cæsar listened to her as one listens to a bird warbling.
-many times while listening he thought: “what is there inside this head? what is the master idea of her life? has she really any idea about life, or has she none?”
-after several rounds they crossed the viaduct that unites the villa borghese with the pincio gardens.
-from the pincio terrace
-they approached the great terrace of the gardens by an avenue that has busts of celebrated men along both sides.
-“poor great men!” exclaimed cæsar. “their statues serve only to decorate a public garden.” “they had their lives,” replied laura, gaily; “now we have ours.”
-laura ordered the coachman to stop a moment. the air was still murmuring in the foliage, the birds singing, and the clouds flying slowly across the sky.
-a man with a black box approached the carriage to offer them postcards.
-“buy two or three,” said laura.
-cæsar bought a few and put them into his pocket. the vendor withdrew and laura continued to look at rome with enthusiasm.
-“oh, how beautiful, how lovely it is! i never get tired of looking at it. it is my favourite city. ‘o fior d’ogni cittá, donna del mondo.’”
-“she is no longer mistress of the world, little sister.”
-“for me she is. look at st. peter’s. it looks like a shred of cloud.”
-“yes, that’s so. it’s of a blue shade that seems transparent.”
-bells were ringing and great majestic white clouds kept moving along the horizon; on the janiculum the statue of garibaldi rose up gallantly into the air, like a bird ready to take wing.
-“when i look at rome this way,” murmured laura, “i feel a pang, a pang of grief.”
-“because i remember that i must die, and then i shall not come back to see rome. she will be here still, century after century, full of sunlight, and i shall be dead.... it is horrible, horrible!”
-“and your religion?”
-“yes, i know. i believe i shall see other things; but not these things that are so beautiful.”
-“you are an epicurean.”
-“it is so beautiful to be alive!”
-they stayed there looking at the panorama. below, in the piazza del popólo, they saw a red tram slipping along, which looked, at that distance, like a toy.
-“she must be a russian,” said cæsar.
-“yes. do you like that type?”
-“she has a lot of character. she looks like one of the women that would order servants to be whipped.”
-the russian was smiling vaguely. laura told the coachman to drive on. they made a few rounds in the avenues of the pincio. the music was beginning; a few carriages, and groups of soldiers and seminarians, crowded around the bandstand; laura didn’t care for brass bands, they were too noisy for her, and she gave the coachman orders to drive to the corso.
-they passed in front of the villa medici, and when they got near the piazza, della trinitá de’ monti they met a man on horseback, who, on seeing them, immediately approached the carriage. it was archibald marchmont, who had just arrived in rome.
-“i thought you had forgotten us,” said laura.
-“i forget you, marchesa! never.”
-“you say you came to rome....”
-“from nice i had to return to london, because my father was seriously ill with an attack of gout.”
-“he is well again?”
-“yes, thank you. you are coming back from a drive?”
-“don’t you want to come and have tea with my wife and me?”
-“at the hotel excelsior. we are staying there. will you come?” “all right.”
-laura accepted, and they went to the via veneto with the englishman riding beside them.
-they went into the hotel and passed through to the “hall” full of people, marchmont sent word to his wife by a servant, to come down. laura and cæsar seated themselves with the englishman.
-“this hotel is unbearable,” exclaimed marchmont; “there is nothing here but americans.”
-“your wife, however, must like that,” said cæsar.
-“no. susanna is more european every day, and she doesn’t care for the shrieking elegance of her compatriots. besides, her father is here, and that makes her feel less american.”
-“it is an odd form of filial enthusiasm,” remarked cæsar.
-“it doesn’t shock me. i almost think it’s the rule,” replied marchmont; “at home i could see that my brothers and sisters hated one another cordially, and that every member of the family wanted to get away from the others. you two who are so fond of each other are a very rare instance. is it frequent in spain that brothers and sisters like one another?”
-“yes, there are instances of it,” answered cæsar, laughing.
-mrs. marchmont arrived, accompanied by an old man who evidently was her father, and two other men. susanna was most smart; she greeted laura and cæsar very affably, and presented her father, mr. russell; then she presented an english author, tall, skinny, with blue eyes, a white beard, and hair like a halo; and then a young englishman from the embassy, a very distinguished person named kennedy, who was a catholic.
-after the introductions they passed into the dining-room, which was most impressive. it was an exhibition of very smart women, some of them ideally beautiful, and idle men. all about them resounded a nasal english of the american sort.
-susanna marchmont served the tea and did the honours to her guests. they all talked french, excepting mr. russell, who once in a long while uttered some categorical monosyllable in his own language.
-mr. russell was not of the classic yankee type; he looked like a vulgar englishman. he was a serious man, with a short moustache, grey-headed, with three or four gold teeth.
-what to cæsar seemed wonderful in this gentleman was his economy of words. there was not one useless expression in his vocabulary, and not the slightest redundancy; whatever partook of merit, prestige, or nobility was condensed, for him, to the idea of value; whatever partook of arrangement, cleanliness, order, was condensed to the word “comfort”; so that mr. russell, with a very few words, had everything specified.
-to susanna, imbued with her preoccupation in supreme chic, her father no doubt did not seem a completely decorative father; but he gave cæsar the impression of a forceful man.
-near them, at a table close by, was a little blond man, with a hooked nose and a scanty imperial, in company with a fat lady. they bowed to marchmont and his wife.
-“that gentleman looks like a jew,” said cæsar.
-“he is,” replied marchmont, “that is señor pereyra, a rich jew; of portuguese origin, i think.”
-“how quickly you saw it!” exclaimed susanna.
-“he has that air of a sick goat, so frequent in jews.”
-“his wife has nothing sickly about her, or thin either,” remarked laura.
-“no,” said cæsar; “his wife represents another biblical type; one of the fat kine of somebody’s dream, which foretold abundance and a good harvest.”
-the englishman, kennedy, had also little liking for jews.
-“i do not hate a jew as anti-christian,” said cæsar; “but as super-christian. nor do i hate the race, but the tendency they have never to be producers, but always middlemen, and because they incarnate so well for our era the love of money, and of joy and pleasure.”
-the english author was a great partisan of jews, and he asserted that they were more distinguished in science and the arts than any other race. the jewish question was dropped in an instant, when they saw a smart lady come in accompanied by a pale man with a black shock of hair and an uneasy eye.
-“that is the hungarian violinist kolozsvar,” said susanna.
-“kolozsvar, kolozsvar!” they heard everybody saying.
-“is he a great virtuoso?” cæsar asked kennedy.
-“no, i think not,” answered kennedy. “it seems that this hungarian’s speciality is playing the waltzes and folk-songs of his own country, which is certainly not anything great; but his successes are not obtained with the violin, but among the women. the ladies in london fight for him. his game is to pass himself off as a fallen man, depraved, worn-out. there you have his phraseology.... they see a man to save, to raise up, and convert into a great artist, and almost all of them yield to this temptation.”
-“that is comical,” said cæsar, looking curiously at the fiddler and his lady.
-“to a spaniard,” replied kennedy, “it is comical; and probably it would be to an italian too; but in england there are many women that have a purely imaginative idealism, a romanticism fed on ridiculous novels, and they fall into traps like these, which seem clumsy and grotesque to you here in the south, where people are more clear-sighted and realistic.”
-cæsar watched the brave fiddler, who played the role of a man used up, to great perfection.
-after tea, susanna invited them to go up to her rooms, and laura and her brother and kennedy and mr. russell went.
-the english author had met a colleague, with whom he stayed behind talking, and marchmont remained in the “hall,” as if it did not seem to him proper for him to go to his wife’s rooms.
-susanna’s rooms were very high, had balconies on the via veneto, and were almost opposite queen margherita’s palace. one overlooked the garden and could see the queen mother taking her walks, which is not without its importance for persons who live in a republic.
-susanna was most amiable to laura; repeated to all of them her invitation to come and see her again; and after they had all promised to see one another frequently, cæsar and laura went down to their carriage, and took a turn on the corso by twilight.
-xiii. esthetics and demagogy
-susanna and the youngsters
-from this meeting on, cæsar noticed that marchmont paid court to laura with much persistence. a light-hearted, coquettish woman, it pleased laura to be pursued by a person like this englishman, young, distinguished, and rich; but she was not prepared to yield. her bringing-up, her class-feelings impelled her to consider adultery a heinous thing. nor was divorce a solution for her, since accepting it would oblige her to cease being a catholic and to quarrel irrevocably with the cardinal. marchmont showed no discretion in the way he paid court to laura; he cared nothing about his wife, and talked of her with profound contempt....
-laura found herself besieged by the englishman; she couldn’t decide to discourage him entirely, and at critical moments she would take the train, go off to naples, and come back two or three days later, doubtless with more strength for withstanding the siege.
-“as a matter of reciprocal justice, since he makes love to my sister, i ought to make love to his wife,” thought cæsar, and he went several times to the hotel excelsior to call on susanna.
-the yankee wife was full of complaints against her husband. her father had advised her simply to get a divorce, but she didn’t want to. she found such a solution lacking in distinction, and no doubt she considered the advice of an author in her own country very true, who had given this triple injunction to the students of a woman’s college: “do not drink, that is, do not drink too much; do not smoke, that is, do not smoke too much; and do not get married, that is, do not get married too much.”
-it did not seem quite right to susanna to get married too much. besides she had a desire to become a catholic. one day she questioned cæsar about it:
-“you want to change your religion!” exclaimed cæsar, “what for? i don’t believe you are going to find your lost faith by becoming a catholic.”
-“and what do you think about it, kennedy?” susanna asked the young englishman, who was there too.
-“to me a catholic woman seems doubly enchanting.”
-“you would not marry a woman who wasn’t a catholic?”
-“no, indeed,” the englishman proclaimed.
-cæsar and kennedy disagreed about everything.
-susanna discussed her plans, and constantly referred to paul bourget’s novel cosmopolis, which had obviously influenced her in her inclination for catholicism.
-“are there many jewish ladies who aspire to be baptized and become catholics, as bourget says?” asked susanna.
-“bah!” exclaimed cæsar.
-“you do not believe that either?”
-“no, it strikes me as a piece of naïvety in this good soul of a novelist. to become a catholic, i don’t believe requires more than some few pesetas.”
-“you are detestable, as a cardinal’s nephew.”
-“i mean that i don’t perceive that there are any obstacles to prevent anybody from becoming a catholic, as there are to prevent his becoming rich. what a high ambition, to aspire to be a catholic! while nobody anywhere does anything but laugh at catholics; and it has become an axiom: ‘a catholic country is a country bound for certain ruin.’”
-kennedy burst out laughing.
-susanna said that she had no real faith, but that she did have a great enthusiasm for churches and for choirs, for the smell of incense and religious music.
-“spain is the place for all that,” said kennedy. “here in italy the church ceremonies are too gay. not so in spain; at toledo, at burgos, there is an austerity in the cathedrals, an unworldliness....”
-“yes,” said cæsar; “unhappily we have nothing left there but ceremonies. at the same time, the people are dying of hunger.”
-they discussed whether it is better to live in a decorative, esthetic sphere, or in a more humble and practical one; and susanna and kennedy stood up for the superiority of an esthetic life.
-as they left the hotel cæsar said to kennedy:
-“allow me a question. have you any intentions concerning mrs. marchmont?”
-“why do you ask?”
-“simply because i shouldn’t go to see her often, so as not to be in the way.”
-“thank you ever so much. but i have no intentions in relation to her. she is too beautiful and too rich a woman for a modest employee like me to fix his eyes on.”
-“bah! a modest diplomat! that is absurd. it is merely that you don’t take to her.”
-“no. it’s because she is a queen. there ought to be some defect in her face to make her human.”
-“yes; that’s true. she is too much of a prize beauty.”
-“that is the defect in the yankee women; they have no character. the weight of tradition might be fatal to industry and modern life, but it is the one thing that creates the spirituality of the old countries. beyond contradiction american women have intelligence, beauty, energy, attractive flashes, but they lack that particular thing created by centuries: character. at times they have very charming impulses. have you heard the story about prince torlonia’s wife?”
-“well, torlonia’s present wife was an american girl worth millions, who came with letters to the prince. he took her about rome, and at the end of some days he said to her, supposing that the beautiful american had the intention of marrying: ‘i will introduce some young noblemen to you’; and she answered: ‘don’t introduce anybody to me; because you please me more than anybody’; and she married him.”
-“it was a pretty impulse.”
-“yes, americans do things like that on the spur of the moment. but if you saw a spanish woman behave that way, it would seem wrong to you.”
-chattering amicably they came to the piazza esedra.
-“would you care to have lunch with me?” said kennedy.
-“just what i was going to propose to you.”
-“i eat alone.”
-“i do not. i eat with my sister.”
-“the marchesa di vaccarone?”
-“then you must pardon me if i accept your invitation, for i am very anxious to meet her.”
-“then come along.”
-ruskin and the philistines
-they reached the hotel and cæsar introduced his friend to laura.
-“he is an admirer of yours.”
-“a respectful admirer... from a distance,” explained kennedy.
-“but are there admirers of that sort?” asked laura, laughing.
-“here you have one,” said the englishman. “i have known you by sight ever since i came to rome, and have never had the pleasure of speaking to you until today.”
-“and have you been here a long time?”
-“nearly two years.”
-“and do you like rome; eh?”
-“i should say so! at first, i didn’t, i must admit. it was a disappointment to me. i had dreamed so much about rome!” and kennedy talked of the books and guides he had read about the eternal city.
-“i must admit that i had never dreamed about rome,” said cæsar. “and you boast of that?” asked laura.
-“no, i don’t boast of it, i merely state it. i understand how agreeable it is to know things. cæsar died here! cicero made speeches here! saint peter stumbled over this stone! it is fine! but not knowing things is also very comfortable. i am rather like a barbarian walking indifferently among monuments he knows nothing about.”
-“doesn’t such an idea make you ashamed?”
-“no, why? it would be a bother to me to know a lot of things offhand. to pass by a mountain and know how it was thrown up, what it is composed of, what its flora and fauna are; to get to a town and know its history in detail.... what things to be interested in! it’s tiresome! i hate history too much. i far prefer to be ignorant of everything, and especially the past, and from time to time to offer myself a capricious, arbitrary explanation.”
-“but i think that knowing things not only is not tiresome,” said kennedy, “but is a great satisfaction.”
-“you think even learning things is a satisfaction?”
-“thousands of years ago one could know things almost without learning them; nowadays in order to know, one has to learn. that is natural and logical.”
-“yes, certainly. and the effort to learn about useful things seems natural and logical to me too, but not to learn about merely agreeable things. to learn medicine and mechanics is logical; but to learn to look at a picture or to hear a symphony is an absurdity.”
-“at any rate the neophytes that go to see a rafael picture or to hear a bach sonata and have an exclamation all ready, give me the sad impression of a flock of lambs. as for your sublime pedagogues of the ruskin type, they seem to me to be the fine flower of priggishness, of pedantry, of the most objectionable bourgeoisie.”
-“what things your brother is saying!” exclaimed kennedy.
-“you shouldn’t notice him,” said laura.
-“those artistic pedagogues enrage me; they remind me of protestant pastors and of the friars that go around dressed like peasants, and who i think are called brothers of the christian doctrine. the pedagogues are brothers of the esthetic doctrine, one of the stupidest inventions that ever occurred to the english. i don’t know which i find more ridiculous, the salvation army or ruskin’s books.”
-“why have you this hatred for ruskin?”
-“i find him an idiot. i only skimmed through a book of his called the seven lamps of architecture, and the first thing i read was a paragraph in which he said that to use an imitation diamond or any other imitation stone was a lie, an imposition, and a sin. i immediately said: ‘this man who thinks a diamond is the truth and paste a lie, is a stupid fool who doesn’t deserve to be read.’”
-“yes, all right: you take one point of view and he takes another. i understand why ruskin wouldn’t please you. what i do not understand is why you find it absurd that if a person has a desire to penetrate into the beauties of a symphony or a picture, he should do so. what is there strange in that?”
-“you are right,” said cæsar; “whoever wants to learn, should. i have done so about financial questions.”
-“is it true that your brother knows all about questions of money?” kennedy asked laura.
-“he says so.”
-“i haven’t much belief in his financial knowledge.”
-“no, i have not. you are a sort of dilettante, half nihilist, half financier. you would like to pass for a tranquil, well-balanced man, for what is called a philistine, but you cannot compass it.”
-“i will compass it. it is true that i want to be a philistine, but a philistine out in the real world. all those great artists you people admire, goethe, ruskin, were really philistines, who were in the business of being interested in poetry and statues and pictures.”
-“moncada, you are a sophist,” said kennedy. “possibly i am wrong in this discussion,” retorted cæsar, “but the feeling i have is right. artists irritate me; they seem to me like old ladies with a flatulency that prevents their breathing freely.”
-kennedy laughed at the definition.
-chic and the revolution
-“i understand hating bad kings and conquerors; but artists! what harm do they do?” said laura.
-“artists are always doing harm to the whole of humanity. they have invented an esthetic system for the use of the rich, and they have killed the revolution. the chic put an end to the revolution. and now everything is coming back; enthusiasm for the aristocracy, for the church; the cult of kings. people look backward and the revolutionary movement is paralysed. the people that irritate me most are those esthetes of the ruskin school, for whom everything is religious: having money, buying jewels, blowing one’s nose... everything is religious. vulgar creatures, lackeys that they are!”
-“my brother is a demagogue,” said laura ironically.
-“yes,” added kennedy; “he doesn’t like categories.”
-“but each thing has its value whether he likes it or not.”
-“i do not deny different values, or even categories. there are things of great value in life; some natural, like youth, beauty, strength; others more artificial, like money, social position; but this idea of distinction, of aristocratic fineness, is a farce. it is a literary legend in the same style as the one current in novels, which tells us that the aristocrats of old families close their doors to rich americans, or like that other story mrs. marchmont was talking to us of, about the jewish ladies who were crazy to become catholics.”
-“i don’t see what you are trying to prove by all this,” said laura.
-“i am trying to prove that all there is underneath distinguished society is money, for which reason it doesn’t matter if it is destroyed. the cleverest and finest man, if he has no money, will die of hunger in a corner. smart society, which thinks itself superior, will never receive him, because being really superior and intelligent is of no value on the market. on the other hand, when it is a question of some very rich brute, he will succeed in being accepted and fêted by the aristocrats, because money has a real value, a quotable value, or i’d better say, it is the only thing that has a quotable value.”
-“what you are saying isn’t true. a man doesn’t go with the best people merely because he is rich.”
-“no, certainly; not immediately. there is a preparatory process. he begins by robbing people in some miserable little shop, and feels himself democratic. then he robs in a bank, and at that period he feels that he is a liberal and begins to experience vaguely aristocratic ideas. if business goes splendidly, the aristocratic ideas get crystallized. then he can come to rome and go into ecstasies over all the humbugs of catholicism; and after that, one is authorized to acknowledge that the religion of our fathers is a beautiful religion, and one finishes by giving a tip to the pope, and another to cardinal verry, so that they will make him prince of the ecumenical council or marquis of the holy crusade.”
-“what very stupid and false ideas,” exclaimed laura. “really i appreciate having a brother who talks in such a vulgar way.”
-“you are an aristocrat and the truth doesn’t please you. but such are the facts. i can see the chief of the bureau of papal titles. what fun he must have thinking up the most appropriate title for a magnate of yankee tinned beef or for an illustrious andean general! how magnificent it would be to gather all the bishops in partibus infidelium and all the people with papal titles in one drawing-room! the bishop of nicaea discussing with the marquis of the holy roman empire; the marchioness of easter sunday flirting with the bishop of sion, while the patriarchs of thebes, damascus, and trebizond played bridge with the sausage manufacturer, mr. smiles, the pork king, or with the illustrious general pérez, the hero of guachinanguito. what a moving spectacle it would be!”
-“you are a clown!” said laura.
-“he is a finished satirist,” added kennedy.
-after lunch, laura, kennedy, and cæsar went into the salon, and laura introduced the englishman to the san martino girls and the countess brenda. they stayed there chatting until four o’clock, at which time the san martinos got ready to go out in a motor car, and laura, with the countess and her daughter, in a carriage.
-cæsar and kennedy went into the street together.
-“you are awfully well fixed here,” said kennedy, “with no americans, no germans, or any other barbarians.”
-“yes, this hotel is a hive of petty aristocrats.”
-“your sister was telling me that you might pick out a very rich wife here, among the girls.”
-“yes, my sister would like me to live here, in a foreign country, in cowlike tranquillity, looking at pictures and statues, and travelling pointlessly. that wouldn’t be living for me; i am not a society man. i require excitement, danger.... though i warn you that i am not in the least courageous.”
-“not at all. not now. at moments i believe i could control myself and take a trench without wavering.”
-“but you have some fixed plan, haven’t you?”
-“yes, i expect to go back to spain, and work there.”
-“are you patriotic?”
-“yes, up to a certain point. i have no transcendental idea of patriotism at all. patriotism, as i interpret it, is a matter of curiosity. i believe that there is strength in spain. if this strength could be led in a given direction, where would it get to? that is my form of patriotism; as i say, it is an experimental form.”
-kennedy looked at cæsar with curiosity.
-“and how can it help you with your plans to stay here in rome?” he asked.
-“it can help me. in spain nobody knows me. this is the only place where i have a certain position, through being the nephew of a cardinal. i am trying to build on that. how am i going to arrange it? i don’t know. i am feeling out my future course, taking soundings.”
-“but the support you could find here would be all of a clerical nature,” said kennedy.
-“but you are not clerical!”
-“no; but it is necessary for me to climb. afterwards there will be time to change.”
-“you are not taking it into account, my dear cæsar, that the church is still powerful and that it doesn’t pardon people who impose upon it.”
-“bah! i am not afraid of it.”
-“and you were just saying you are not courageous! you are courageous, my dear man.... after this, i don’t doubt of your success.”
-“i need data.”
-“if i can furnish you with any....”
-“wouldn’t it be disagreeable for you to help a man who is your enemy, so far as ideas go?”
-“no; because i am beginning to have some curiosity too, as to whether you will succeed in doing something. if i can be of any use, let me know.”
-“i will let you know.”
-cæsar and kennedy took a walk about the streets, and at twilight they took leave of each other affectionately.
-“i have arranged two interesting conferences for you,” said kennedy, a few days later.
-“my dear man!”
-“yes; one with cardinal spada, the other with the abbé tardieu. i have spoken to them both about you.”
-“splendid! what kind of people are they?”
-“cardinal spada is a very intelligent man and a very amiable one. at heart he is a liberal and fond of the french. as to the abbé tardieu, he is a very influential priest at the church of san luigi.”
-after lunch they went direct to a solitary street in the old part of rome. at the door of the big, sad palace where cardinal spada lived, a porter with a cocked hat, a grey greatcoat, and a staff with a silver knob, was watching the few passers-by.
-they went in by the broad entry-way, as far as a dark colonnaded court, paved with big flags which had grass between them.
-in the middle of the court a fountain shot up a little way and fell into a stone basin covered with moss.
-kennedy and cæsar mounted the wide monumental stairway; on the first floor a handsome glassed-in gallery ran around the court. the whole house had an air of solemnity and sadness. they entered the cardinal’s office, which was a large, sad, severe room.
-monsignor spada was a vigorous man, despite his age. he looked frank and intelligent, but one guessed that there was a hidden bitterness and desolation in him. he wore a black cassock with red edges and buttons.
-kennedy went close and was about to kneel to the cardinal, but he prevented him.
-cæsar explained his ideas to the cardinal with modesty. he felt that this man was worthy of all his respect.
-monsignor spada listened attentively, and then said that he understood nothing about financial matters, but that on principle he was in favour of having the administration of all the church’s property kept entirely at home, as in the time of pius ix. leo xiii had preferred to replace this paternal method by a trained bureaucracy, but the church had not gained anything by it, and they had lost credit through unfortunate negotiations, buying land and taking mortgages.
-cæsar realized that it was useless to attempt to convince a man of the intelligence and austerity of the cardinal, and he listened to him respectfully.
-monsignor spada conversed amiably, he escorted them as far as the door, and shook hands when they said good-bye.
-the abbé tardieu
-then they went to see the abbé tardieu. the abbé lived in the piazza. navona. his office, furnished in modern style, produced the effect of a violent contrast with cardinal spada’s sumptuous study, and yet brought it to mind. the abbé tardieu’s work-room was small, worldly, full of books and photographs.
-the abbé, a tall young man, thin, with a rosy face, a long nose, and a mouth almost from ear to ear, had the air of an astute but jolly person, and laughed at everything said to him. he was liveliness personified. when they entered his office he was writing and smoking.
-cæsar explained about his financial knowledge, and how he had gone on acquiring it, until he got to the point where he could discern a law, a system, in things where others saw nothing more than chance. the abbé tardieu promised that if he knew a way to utilize cæsar’s knowledge, he would send him word. in respect to giving him letters of introduction to influential persons in spain, he had no objection.
-they took leave of the abbé.
-“all this has to go slowly,” said kennedy.
-“of course. one cannot insist that it should happen all at once.”
-“if you have nothing to do, let’s take a walk,” said the englishman.
-“if you like.”
-“have you noticed the fountains in this square?”
-“they are worth looking at.”
-cæsar contemplated the central obelisk. it is set on top of a rock hollowed out like a cavern, in the mouth of which a lion is seen. afterwards they looked at the fountains at the ends of the square.
-“the sculptures are by bernini,” explained kennedy. “bernini belonged to an epoch that has been very much abused by the critics, but nowadays he is much praised. he enchants me.”
-“it is rather a mixed style, don’t you think?”
-“the artist is not living?”
-“for heaven’s sake, man! no.”
-“well, if he were alive today they would employ him to make those gewgaws some people present to leading ladies and to the deputies of their district. he would be the king of the manufacturers of ornate barometers.”
-“it is undeniable that bernini had a baroque taste.”
-“he gives the impression of a rather pretentious and affected person.”
-“yes, he does. he was an exuberant, luxuriant neapolitan; but when he chose he could produce marvels. haven’t you seen his saint teresa?”
-“then you must see it. let’s take a carriage.”
-they drove to the piazza san bernardo, a little square containing three churches and a fountain, and went into santa maria della vittoria.
-kennedy went straight toward the high altar, and stopped to the left of it.
-in an altar of the transept is to be seen a group carved in marble, representing the ecstasy of saint teresa. cæsar gazed at it absorbed. the saint is an attractive young girl, falling backward in a sensual spasm; her eyes are closed, her mouth open, and her jaw a bit dislocated. in front of the swooning saint is a little angel who smilingly threatens her with an arrow.
-“well, what do you think of it?” said kennedy.
-“it is wonderful,” exclaimed cæsar. “but it is a bedroom scene, only the lover has slipped away.”
-“yes, that is true.”
-“it really is pretty; you seem to see the pallor of the saint’s face, the circles under her eyes, the relaxation of all her muscles. then the angel is a little joker who stands there smiling at the ecstasy of the saint.”
-“yes, that’s true,” said kennedy; “it is all the more admirable for the very reason that it is tender, sensual, and charming, all at once.”
-“however, this sort of thing is not healthy,” murmured cæsar, “this kind of vision depletes your life-force. one wants to find the same things represented in works of art that one ought to look for in life, even if they are not to be found in life.”
-“good! here enters the moralist. you talk like an englishman,” exclaimed kennedy. “let us go along.”
-“i have to stop in at the french embassy a moment; then we can go where you like.”
-corners of rome
-they went back to the carriage, and having crossed through the centre of rome, got out in front of the farnese palace.
-“i will be out inside of ten minutes,” said kennedy.
-the farnese palace aroused great admiration in cæsar; he had never passed it before. by one of the fountains in the piazza, he stood gazing at the huge square edifice, which seemed to him like a die cut from an immense block of stone.
-“this really gives me an impression of grandeur and force,” he said to himself. “what a splendid palace! it looks like an ancient knight in full armour, looking indifferently at everything, sure of his own worth.”
-cæsar walked from one end of the piazza to the other, absorbed in the majestic pile of stone.
-kennedy surprised him in his contemplation.
-“now will you say that you are a good philistine?”
-“ah, well, this palace is magnificent. here are grandeur, strength, overwhelming force.”
-“yes, it is magnificent; but very uncomfortable, my french colleagues tell me.”
-kennedy related the history of the farnese palace to cæsar. they went through the via del mascherone and came out into the via giulia.
-“this via giulia is a street in a provincial capital,” said kennedy; “always sad and deserted; a cardinal or two who like isolation are still living here.”
-at the entrance to the via dei farnesi, cæsar stopped to look at two marble tablets set into the wall at the two sides of a chapel door.
-cut on the tablets were skeletons painted black; on one, the words: “alms for the poor dead bodies found in the fields,” and on the other: “alms for the perpetual lamp in the cemetery.”
-“what does this mean?” said cæsar.
-“that is the church of the orison of the confraternity of death. the tablets are modern.”
-they passed by the “mascherone” again, and went rambling on until they reached the synagogue and the theatre of marcellus.
-they went through narrow streets without sidewalks; they passed across tiny squares; and it seemed like a dead city, or like the outskirts of a village. in certain streets towered high dark palaces of blackish stone. these mysterious palaces looked uninhabited; the gratings were eaten with rust, all sorts of weeds grew on the roofs, and the balconies were covered with climbing plants. at corners, set into the wall, one saw niches with glass fronts. a painted madonna, black now, with silver jewels and a crown, could be guessed at inside, and in front a little lantern swung on a cord.
-suddenly a cart would come down one of these narrow streets without sidewalks, driving very quickly and scattering the women and children seated by the gutter.
-in all these poor quarters there were lanes crossed by ropes loaded with torn washing; there were wretched black shops from which an odour of grease exhaled; there were narrow streets with mounds of garbage in the middle. in the very palaces, now shorn of their grandeur, appeared the same decoration of rags waving in the breeze. in the theatre of marcellus one’s gaze got lost in the depths of black caves, where smiths stood out against flames.
-this mixture of sumptuousness and squalor, of beauty and ugliness, was reflected in the people; young and most beautiful women were side by side with fat, filthy old ones covered with rags, their eyes gloomy, and of a type that recalled old african jewesses.
-what can be read on walls
-cæsar and kennedy went on toward the temple of vesta and followed the river bank until the tiber embankment ended.
-here the banks were green and the river clearer and more poetic. to the left rose the aventine with its villas; in the harbour two or three tugs were tied up; and here and there along the pier stood a crane. evening was falling and the sky was filling with pink clouds.
-they sat down awhile on the side of the road, and cæsar entertained himself deciphering the inscriptions written in charcoal on a mud-wall.
-“do you go in for modern epigraphy?” asked kennedy.
-“yes. it is one of the things i take pleasure in reading, in the towns i go to; the advertisements in the newspapers and the writings on the wall.”
-“it’s a good kind of curiosity.”
-“yes, i believe one learns more about the real life in a town from such inscriptions than from the guide- and text-books.”
-“that’s possible. and what conclusions have you drawn from your observations?”
-“they are not of much value. i haven’t constructed a science of wall-inscriptions, as that fake lambroso would have done.”
-“but you will construct it surely, when you have lighted on the underlying system.”
-“you think my epigraphical science is on the same level as my financial science. what a mistake!”
-“all right. but tell me what you have discovered about different towns.”
-“london, for instance, i have found, is childish in its inscriptions and somewhat clownish. when some sentimental foolishness doesn’t occur to a londoner of the people, some brutality or rough joke occurs to him.”
-“you are very kind,” said kennedy, laughing.
-“paris has a vulgar, cruel taste; in the frenchman of the people you find the tiger alternating with the monkey. there the dominant note on the walls is the patriotic note, insults to politicians, calling them assassins and thieves, and also sentiments of revenge expressed by an ‘a mort dupin!’ or ‘a mort duval!’ moreover, there is a great enthusiasm for the guillotine.”
-“madrid is at heart a rude, moral town with little imagination, and the epigraphs on the walls and benches are primitive.”
-“and in rome what do you find?”
-“here one finds a mixture of pornography, romanticism, and politics. a heart pierced by an arrow and poetic phrases, alternate with some enormous piece of filthiness and with hurrahs for anarchy or for the ‘papa-re.’”
-“well done!” said kennedy; “i can see that the branch of epigraphy you practise amounts to something. it should be systematized and given a name.”
-“what do you think we should name it? wallography?”
-“and one of these fine days we can systematize it. now we might go and get dinner.”
-they took a tram which was coming back from st. paul’s beyond the walls, and returned to the heart of the city.
-the monk with the red nose
-the next day cæsar was finishing dressing when the servant told him that a gentleman was waiting for him.
-“who is it?” asked cæsar.
-“it’s a monk.”
-cæsar went to the salon and there found a tall monk with an evil face, a red nose, and a worn habit.
-cæsar recalled having seen him, but didn’t know where.
-“what can i do for you?” asked cæsar.
-“i come from his eminence, cardinal fort. i must speak with you.”
-“let’s go into the dining-room. we shall be alone there.”
-“it would be better to talk in your room.”
-“no, there is no one here. besides, i have to eat breakfast. will you join me?”
-“no, thanks,” said the monk.
-cæsar remembered having seen that face in the altemps palace. he was doubtless one of the domestic monks who had been with the abbé preciozi.
-the monk waited until the waiter was gone, and then said in a hard voice:
-“his eminence the cardinal sent me to bid you not to present yourself anywhere again, giving his name.”
-“what? what does this mean?” asked cæsar, calmly.
-“it means that his eminence has found out about your intrigues and machinations.”
-“intrigues? what intrigues were those?”
-“you know perfectly well. and his eminence forbids you to continue in that direction.”
-“his eminence forbids me to pay calls? and for what reason?”
-“because you have used his name to introduce yourself into certain places.”
-“it is not true.”
-“you have told people you went to that you are cardinal fort’s nephew.”
-“and i am not?” asked cæsar, after taking a swallow of coffee.
-“you are trying to make use of the relationship, we don’t know with what end in view.”
-“i am trying to make use of my relationship to cardinal fort? why shouldn’t i?”
-“you admit it?”
-“yes, i admit it. people are such imbeciles that they think it is an honour to have a cardinal in the family; i take advantage of this stupid idea, although i do not share it, because for me a cardinal is merely an object of curiosity, an object for an archeological museum....”
-cæsar paused, because the monk’s countenance was growing dark. in the twilight of his pallid face, his nose looked like a comet portending some public calamity.
-“poor wretch!” murmured the monk. “you do not know what you are saying. you are blaspheming. you are offending god.” “do you really believe that god has any relation to my uncle?” asked cæsar, paying more attention to his toast than to his visitor.
-and then he added:
-“the truth is that it would be extravagant behaviour on the part of god.”
-the monk looked at cæsar with terrible eyes. those grey eyes of his, under their long, black, thick brows, shot lightning.
-“poor wretch!” repeated the monk. “you ought to have more respect for things above you.”
-“you are bothering me and preventing me from drinking my coffee,” he said, with exquisite politeness, and touched the bell.
-“be careful!” exclaimed the monk, seizing cæsar’s arm with violence.
-“don’t you touch me again,” said cæsar, pulling away violently, his face pale and his eyes flashing. “if you do, i have a revolver here with five chambers, and i shall take pleasure in emptying them one by one, taking that lighthouse you carry about for a nose, as my target.”
-“fire it if you dare.”
-fortunately the waiter had come in on hearing the bell.
-“do you wish anything, sir?” he asked.
-“yes, please escort this clerical gentleman to the door, and tell him on the way not to come back here.”
-days later cæsar found out that there had been a great disturbance at the altemps palace in consequence of the calls he had made. preciozi had been punished and sent away from rome, and the various spanish monasteries and colleges warned not to receive cæsar.
-“my dear cæsar,” said kennedy, “i believe it will be very difficult for you to find what you want by looking for it. you ought to leave it a little to chance.”
-“abandon myself to events as they arrive? all right, it seems a good idea.”
-“then if you find something practicable, utilize it.”
-kennedy took his friend to a statue-shop where he used to pass some of his hours. the shop was in a lane near the forum, and its stock was in antiques, majolicas, and plaster casts of pagan gods.
-the shop was dark and rather gloomy, with a small court at the back covered with vines. the proprietor was an old man, with a moustache, an imperial, and a shock of white hair. his name was giovanni battista lanza. he professed revolutionary ideas and had great enthusiasm about mazzini. he expressed himself in an ironical and malicious manner.
-signora vittoria, his wife, was a grumbling old woman, rather devoted to wine. she spoke like a roman of the lowest class, was olive-coloured and wrinkled, and of her former beauty there remained only her very black eyes and hair that was still black.
-the daughter, simonetta, a girl who resembled her father, blond, with the build of a goddess, was the one that waited on customers and kept the accounts.
-simonetta, being the manager, divided up the profits; the elder son was head of the workshop and he made the most money; then came two workmen from outside; and then the father who still got his day’s wages, out of consideration for his age; and finally the younger son, twelve or fourteen years old, who was an apprentice.
-simonetta gave her mother what was indispensable for household expenses and managed the rest herself.
-kennedy retailed this information the first day they went to giovanni battista lanza’s house. cæsar could see simonetta keeping the books, while the small brother, in a white blouse that came to his heels, was chasing a dog, holding a pipe in his hand by the thick part, as if it were a pistol, the dog barking and hanging on to the blouse, the small boy shrieking and laughing, when signora vittoria came bawling out.
-kennedy presented simonetta to his friend cæsar, and she smiled and gave her hand.
-“is signore giovanni battista here?” kennedy asked signora vittoria.
-“yes, he is in the court.” she answered in her gloomy way.
-“is something wrong with your mamma?” said kennedy to simonetta.
-they went into the court and giovanni battista arose, very dignified, and bowed to cæsar. the elder son and the two workmen in white blouses and paper caps were busy with water and wires, cleaning a plaster mould they had just emptied.
-the mould was a big has-relief of the way of the cross. giovanni battista permitted himself various jocose remarks about the way of the cross, which his son and the other two workmen heard with great indifference; but while he was still emptying his store of anti-christian irony, the voice of signora vittoria was heard, crying domineeringly:
-“what is it?”
-“that’s enough, that’s enough! i can hear you from here.”
-“that’s my wife,” said giovanni battista, “she doesn’t like me to be lacking in respect for plaster saints.” “you are a pagan!” screamed the old woman. “you shall see, you shall see what will happen to you.”
-“what do you expect to have happen to me, darling?”
-“leave her alone,” exclaimed the elder son, ill at ease; “you always have to be making mother fly into a rage.”
-“no, my boy, no; she is the one who makes me fly into a rage.”
-“giovanni battista is used to living among gods,” said kennedy, “and he despises saints.”
-“no, no,” replied the cast-maker; “some saints are all right. if all the churches had figures by donatello or robbia, i would go to church oftener; but to go and look at those statues in the jesuit churches, those figures with their arms spread and their eyes rolling.... oh, no! i cannot look at such things.”
-cæsar could see that giovanni battista expressed himself very well; but that he was not precisely a star when it came to working. after the mould for the bas-relief was cleaned and fixed, the cast-maker invited cæsar and kennedy to have a glass of wine in a wine-shop near by.
-“how’s this, are you leaving already, father?” said simonetta, as he went through the shop to get to the street.
-“i’m coming back, i’m coming back right away.”
-the three of them went to a rather dirty tavern in the same lane, and settled themselves by the window. this post was a good point of observation for that narrow street, so crowded and so picturesque.
-workmen went by, and itinerant vendors, women with kerchiefs, half head-dress and half muffler, and with black eyes and expressive faces. opposite was a booth of coloured candies, dried figs strung on a reed, and various kinds of sweets.
-a wine-cart passed, and kennedy made cæsar observe how decorative it was with its big arm-seat in the middle and its hood above, like a prompter’s box.
-giovanni battista ordered a flask of wine for the three of them. while he chatted and drank, friends of his came to greet them. they were men with beards, long hair, and soft hats, of the garbaldi and verdi type so abundant in italy.
-among them were two serious old men; one was a model, a native of frascati, with the face of a venerable apostle; the other, for contrast, looked like a buffoon and was the possessor of a grotesque nose, long, thin at the end and adorned with a red wart.
-“my wife has a deadly hatred for all of them,” said giovanni battista, laughing.
-“and why so?” asked cæsar.
-“because we talk politics and sometimes they ask me for a few pennies....”
-“your wife must have a lively temper,...” said cæsar.
-“yes, an unhappy disposition; good, awfully good; but very superstitious. christianity has produced nothing but superstitions.”
-“giovanni battista is a pagan, as his wife well says,” asserted kennedy.
-“what superstitions has your wife?” asked cæsar.
-“all of them. romans are very superstitious and my wife is a roman. if you see a hunchback, it is good luck; if you see three, then your luck is magnificent and you have to swallow your saliva three times; on the other hand, if you see a humpbacked woman it is a bad omen and you must spit on the ground to keep away the jettatura. three priests together is a very good sign. we ought all to get along very well in rome, because we see three and up to thirty priests together.”
-“a spider is also very significant,” said kennedy; “in the morning it is of bad augury, and in the evening good.”
-“and at noon?” asked cæsar.
-“at noon,” answered lanza, laughing, “it means nothing to speak of. but if you wish to make sure whether it is a good auspice or a bad, you kill the spider and count its legs. if they are an even number, it is a good omen; if uneven, bad.”
-“but i believe spiders always have an even number of legs,” said cæsar.
-“certainly,” responded the old man; “but my wife swears they do not; that she has seen many with seven and nine legs. it is religious unreasonableness.”
-“are there many people like that, so credulous?” asked cæsar.
-“oh, lots,” replied lanza; “in the shops you will find amulets, horns, hands made of coral or horseshoes, all to keep away bad luck. my wife and the neighbour women play the lottery, by combining the numbers of their birthdays, and the ages of their fathers, their mothers, and their children. when some relative dies, they make a magic combination of the dates of birth and death, the day and the month, and buy a lottery ticket. they never win; and instead of realizing that their systems are of no avail, they say that they omitted to count in the number of letters in the name or something of that sort. it is comical, so much religion and so much superstition.”
-“but you confuse religion and superstition, my friend,” said kennedy.
-“it’s all the same,” answered the old man, smiling his suavely ironical smile. “there is nothing except nature.”
-“you do not believe in miracles, giovanni battista?” asked the englishman.
-“yes, i believe in the earth’s miracles, making trees and flowers grow, and the miracle of children’s being born from their mothers. the other miracles i do not believe in. what for? they are so insignificant beside the works of nature!”
-“he is a pagan,” kennedy again stated.
-they were chatting, when three young lads came into the tavern, all three having the air of artists, black clothes, soft hats, flowing cravats, long hair, and pipes. “two of them are fellow-countrymen of yours,” kennedy told cæsar.
-“they are spanish painters,” the old man added. “the other is a sculptor who has been in the argentine, and he talks spanish too.”
-the three entered and sat down at the same table and were introduced to cæsar. everybody chattered. buonacossi, the italian, was a real type. of very low stature, he had a giant’s torso and strong little legs. his head was like a woe-begone eagle, his nose hooked, thin, and reddish, eyes round, and hair black.
-buonacossi proved to be gay, exuberant, changeable, and full of vehemence.
-he explained his artistic ideas with picturesque warmth, mingling them with blasphemies and curses. things struck him as the best or the worst in the world. for him there doubtless were no middle terms.
-one of the two spaniards was serious, grave, jaundiced, sour-visaged, and named cortés; the other, large, ordinary, fleshy, and coarse, seemed rather a bully.
-giovanni battista was not able to be long outside the workshop, no doubt because his conscience troubled him, and though with difficulty, he got up and left. kennedy, cæsar, and the two spaniards went toward the piazza, del campidoglio, and buonacossi marched off in the opposite direction.
-on reaching the via nazionale, kennedy took his leave and cæsar remained with the two spaniards. the red, fleshy one, who had the air of a bully, started in to make fun of the italians, and to mimic their bows and salutes; then he said that he had an engagement with a woman and made haste to take his leave.
-when he had gone, the grave spaniard with the sour face, said to cæsar:
-“that chap is like the dandies here; that’s why he imitates them so well.”
-afterwards cortés talked about his studies in painting; he didn’t get on well, he had no money, and anyway rome didn’t please him at all. everything seemed wrong to him, absurd, ridiculous.
-cæsar, after he had said good-bye to him, murmured: “the truth is that we spaniards are impossible people.”
-xvi. the portrait of a pope
-two or three days later cæsar met the spaniard cortés in the piazza colonna. they bowed. the thin, sour-looking painter was walking with a beardless young german, red and snub-nosed. this young man was a painter too, cortés said; he wore a green hat with a cock’s feather, a blue cape, thick eyeglasses, big boots, and had a certain air of being a blond chinaman.
-“would you like to come to the doria gallery with us?” asked cortés.
-“what is there to see there?”
-“a stupendous portrait by velázquez.”
-“i warn you that i know nothing about pictures.”
-“nobody does,” cortés declared roundly. “everybody says what he thinks.”
-“is the gallery near here?”
-in company with cortés and the german with the green hat with the cock’s feather, cæsar went to the piazza del collegio romano, where the doria palace is. they saw a lot of pictures which didn’t seem any better to cæsar than those in the antique shops and the pawnbrokers’, but which drew learned commentaries from the german. then cortés took them to a cabinet hung in green and lighted by a skylight. there was nothing to be seen in the cabinet except the portrait of the pope. in order that people might look at it comfortably, a sofa had been installed facing it.
-“is this the velázquez portrait?” asked cæsar.
-“this is it.”
-cæsar looked at it carefully. “that man had eaten and drunk well before his portrait was painted,” said cæsar; “his face is congested.”
-“it is extraordinary!” exclaimed cortés. “it is something to see, the way this is done. what boldness! everything is red, the cape, the cap, the curtains in the background.... what a man!”
-the german aired his opinions in his own language, and took out a notebook and pencil and wrote some notes.
-“what sort of man was this?” asked cæsar, whom the technical side of painting did not preoccupy, as it did cortés.
-“they say he was a dull man, who lived under a woman’s domination.”
-“the great thing is,” murmured cæsar, “how the painter has left him here alive. it seems as if we had come in here to salute him, and he was waiting for us to speak. those clear eyes are questioning us. it is curious.”
-“not curious,” exclaimed cortés, “but admirable.”
-legend and history
-cæsar went out of the cabinet, leaving the german and cortés seated on the sofa, absorbed in the picture; he looked at various paintings in the gallery, went back, and sat down, beside the artists.
-“this portrait,” he said presently, “is like history by the side of legend. all the other paintings in the gallery are legend, ‘folk-lore,’ as i believe one calls it. this one is history.”
-“that’s what it is. it is truth,” agreed cortés.
-“yes, but there are people who do not like the truth, my friend. i tell you: this is a man of flesh, somewhat enigmatic, like nature herself, and with arteries in which blood flows; this is a man who breathes and digests, and not merely a pleasant abstraction; you, who understand such things, will tell me that the drawing is perfect, and the colour such as it was in reality; but how about the person who doesn’t ask for reality?”
-“stendhal, the writer, was affected that way by this picture,” said cortés; “he was shocked at its being hung among masterpieces.”
-“he found it bad, no doubt.”
-“was this stendhal english?”
-“ah, then, you needn’t be surprised. a frenchman has no obligation to understand anything that’s not french.”
-��nevertheless he was an intelligent man.”
-“did he perhaps have a good deal of veneration?”
-“no, he boasted of not having any.”
-“doubtless he did have without suspecting it. with a man who had no veneration, what difference would it make whether there was one bad thing among a lot of good ones?”
-the german with the green hat, who understood something of the conversation, was indignant at cæsar’s irreverent ideas. he asked him if he understood latin, and cæsar told him no, and then, in a strange gibberish, half latin and half italian, he let loose a series of facts, dates, and numbers. then he asserted that all artistic things of great merit were german: greece. rome, gothic architecture, the italian renaissance, leonardo da vinci, velázquez, all german.
-the data of the befeathered german were too much for cæsar, and he took his leave of the painters.
-xvii. evil days
-accompanied by kennedy, cæsar called repeatedly on the most auspicious members of the french clerical element living in rome, and found persons more cultivated than among the rough spanish monks; but, as was natural, nobody gave him any useful information offering the possibility of his putting his financial talents to the proof.
-“something must turn up,” he used to say to himself, “and at the least opening we will dive into the work.”
-cæsar kept gathering notes about people who had connections in spain with the black party in rome; he called several times on father herreros, despite his uncle’s prohibition, and succeeded in getting the monk to write to the marquesa de montsagro, asking if there were no means of making cæsar moneada, cardinal fort’s nephew, conservative deputy for her district.
-the marquesa wrote back that it was impossible; the conservative deputy for the district was very popular and a man with large properties there.
-when holy week was over, laura and the countess brenda and her daughter decided to spend a while at florence, and invited cæsar to accompany them; but he was quite out of harmony with the brenda lady, and said that he had to stay on in rome.
-a few days later mme. dawson and her daughters left, and the san martinos and the marchesa sciacca; and an avalanche of english people and germans, armed with their red baedekers, took the hotel by storm. susanna marchmont had gone to spend some days at corfu.
-in less than a week cæsar remained alone, knowing nobody in the hotel, and despite his believing that he was going to be perfectly indifferent about this, he felt deserted and sad. the influence of the springtime also affected him. the deep blue sky, cloudless, dense, dark, made him languish. instead of entertaining himself with something or other, he did scarcely anything all day long but walk.
-two absurd men
-“i have continually near me in the hotel,” wrote cæsar to alzugaray, “two absurd fellows: one is one of those stout red germans with a square head; the other a fine slim norwegian. the german, who is a captain in some service or other, is a restless man, always busy about what the devil i don’t know. he is constantly carrying about trunks and boxes, with the aid of a sorrowful valet, dressed in black, who appears to detest his position. the captain must devote the morning to doing gymnastics, for i hear him from my room, which is next to his, jumping and dropping weights on the floor, each of which must weigh half a ton, to judge by the noise they make.
-“he does all this to vocal commands, and when some feat doesn’t go right he reprimands himself.
-“this german isn’t still a moment; he opens the salon door, crosses the room, stands at the window, takes up a paper, puts it down. he is a type that makes me nervous.
-“the norwegian at first appeared to be a reasonable man, somewhat sullen. he looked frowningly at me, and i watched him equally frowningly, and took him for a thinker, an ibsenite whose imagination was lost among the ice of his own country. now and then i would see him walking up and down the corridor, rubbing his hands together so continuously and so frantically that they made a noise like bones.
-“suddenly, this gentleman is transformed as if by magic; he begins to joke with the servants, he seizes a chair and dances with it, and the other day i saw him alone in the salon marching around with a paper hat on his head, like children playing soldiers, and blowing on a cornet, also made of paper.” i stared at him in amazement, he smiled like a child, and asked if he was disturbing me.
-“‘no, no, not in the least,’ i told him.
-“i have asked in the hotel if this man is crazy, and they have told me that he is not, but is a professor, a man of science, who is known to have these strange fits of gaiety.
-“another of the norwegian’s doings has been to compose a serenade, with a vulgar melody that would disgust you, and which he has dedicated ‘a la bella italia.’ he wrote the italian words himself, but as he knows no music, he had a pianist come here and write out his serenade. what he especially wants is that it should be full of sentiment; and so the pianist arranged it with directions and many pauses, which satisfied the norwegian. almost every night the serenade ‘a la bella italia’ is sung. somebody who wants to amuse himself goes to the piano, the norwegian strikes a languid attitude and chants his serenade. sometimes he goes in front of the piano, sometimes behind, but invariably he hears the storm of applause when it ends, and he bows with great gusto.
-“i don’t know whether it’s the other people who are laughing at him, or he who is laughing at the others.
-“the other day he said to me in his macaronic italian:
-“‘mr. spaniard, i have good eyesight, good hearing, a good sense of smell, and... lots of sentiment.’
-“i didn’t exactly understand what he meant me to think, and i didn’t pay any attention to him.
-“it seems that the norwegian is going away soon, and as the day of his departure approaches, he grows funereal.”
-the sadness of life
-“i don’t know why i don’t go away,” cæsar wrote to his friend another time. “when i go out in the evening and see the ochre-coloured houses on both sides and the blue sky above, a horrible sadness takes me. these spring days oppress me, make me want to weep; it seems to me it would be better to be dead, leaving no tomb or name or other ridiculous and disagreeable thing, but disappearing into the air or the sea. it doesn’t seem natural; but i have never been so happy as one time when i was in paris sick, alone and with a fever. i was in an hotel room and my window looked into the garden of a fine house, where i could see the tops of the trees; and i transformed them into a virgin forest, wherein marvellous adventures happened to me.
-“since then i have often thought that things are probably neither good nor bad, neither sad nor happy, in themselves; he who has sound, normal nerves, and a brain equally sound, reflects the things around him like a good mirror, and feels with comfort the impression of his conformity to nature; nowadays we who have nerves all upset and brains probably upset too, form deceptive reflections. and so, that time in paris, sick and shut in, i was happy; and here, sound and strong, when toward nightfall, i look at the splendid skies, the palaces, the yellow walls that take an extraordinary tone, i feel that i am one of the most miserable men on the planet....”
-one sunday afternoon
-his lack of tranquillity led cæsar to make absurd resolutions which he didn’t carry out.
-one sunday in the beginning of april, he went out into the street, disposed to take a walk outside of rome, following the road anywhere it led. a hard, fine rain was falling, the sky was grey, the air mild, the streets were full of puddles, the shops closed; a few flower merchants were offering branches of almond in blossom.
-cæsar was very depressed. he went into a church to get out of the rain. the church was full; there were many people in the centre of it; he didn’t know what they were doing. doubtless they were gathered there for some reason, although cæsar didn’t understand what. cæsar sat down on a bench, worn out; he would have liked to listen to organ music, to a boy choir. no ideas occurred to him but sentimental ones. some time passed, and a priest began to preach. cæsar got up and went into the street.
-“i must get rid of these miserable impressions, get back to noble ideas. i must fight this sentimental leprosy.”
-he started to walk with long strides through the sad, empty streets.
-he went toward the river and met kennedy, who was coming back, he told him, from the studio of a sculptor friend of his.
-“you look like desolation. what has happened to you?”
-“nothing, but i am in a perfectly hellish humour.”
-“i am melancholy too. it must be the weather. let’s take a walk.”
-they went along the bank of the tiber. full of clay, more turbid than ever, and very high between the white embankments hemming it in, the river looked like a big sewer.
-“this is not the ‘coeruleus tibris’ that virgil speaks of in the aeneld, which presented itself to aeneas in the form of an ancient man with his head crowned with roses,” said kennedy.
-“no. this is a horrible river,” cæsar opined.
-they followed the shore, passed the castel sant’ angelo and the bridge with the statues.
-from the embankment, to the right, they could now see narrow lanes, sunk almost below the level of the river. on the other bank a new, white edifice towered in the rain.
-they went as far as the piazza d’armi, and then came back at nightfall to rome. the rain was gradually ceasing and the sky looked less threatening. a file of greenish gaslights followed the river-wall and then crossed over the bridge.
-they walked to the piazza del popólo and through the via babuino to the piazza di spagna.
-“would you like to go to a benedictine abbey tomorrow?” asked kennedy.
-“and if you are still melancholy, we will leave you there.”
-the next day, after lunch, kennedy and cæsar went to visit the abbey of sant’ anselmo on the aventine. the abbot, hildebrand, was a friend of kennedy’s, and like him an englishman.
-they took a carriage and kennedy told it to stop at the church of santa sabina.
-“it is still too early to go to the abbey. let us look at this church, which is the best preserved of all the old roman ones.”
-they entered the church; but it was so cold there that cæsar went out again directly and waited in the porch. there was a man there selling rosaries and photographs who spoke scarcely any italian or french, but did speak spanish. probably he was a jew.
-cæsar asked him where they manufactured those religious toys, and the pedlar told him in westphalia.
-kennedy went to look at a picture by sassoferrato, which is in one of the chapels, and meanwhile the rosary-seller showed the church door to cæsar and explained the different bas-reliefs, cut in cypress wood by greek artists of the v century, and representing scenes from the old and new testaments.
-kennedy came back, they got into the carriage again, and they drove to the benedictine abbey.
-“is the abbot hildebrandus here?” asked kennedy.
-out came the abbot, a man of about fifty, with a gold cross on his breast. they exchanged a few friendly words, and the superior showed them the convent.
-the refectory was clean and very spacious; the long table of shining wood; the floor made of mosaic. the crypt held a statue, which cæsar assumed must be of sant’ anselmo. the church was severe, without ornaments, without pictures; it had a primitive air, with its columns of fine granite that looked like marble. a monk was playing the harmonium, and in the opaque veiled light, the thin music gave a strange impression of something quite outside this life.
-afterwards they crossed a large court with palm-trees. they went up to the second story, and down a corridor with cells, each of which had on the lintel the name of the patron saint of the respective monk. each door had a card with the name of the occupant of the room.
-it looked more like a bath-house than a monastery. the cells were comfortable inside, without any air of sadness; each held a bed, a divan, and a small bookcase.
-by a window at the end of the passage, one could see, far away, the alban hills, looking like a blue mountain-range, half hidden in white haze, and nearby one could see the trees in the protestant cemetery and the pyramid of caïus cestius close to them.
-cæsar felt a sort of deep repugnance for the people shut up here, remote from life and protected from it by a lot of things.
-“the man who is playing the harmonium in this church with its opaque light, is a coward,” he said to himself. “one must live and struggle in the open air, among men, in the midst of their passions and hatreds, even though one’s miserable nerves quiver and tremble.”
-after showing them the monastery, the abbot hildebrand took them to his study, where he worked at revising ancient translations of the bible. he had photographic copies of all the latin texts and he was collating them with the original.
-they talked of the progress of the church, and the abbot commented with some contempt on the worldly success of the jesuit churches, with their saints who serve as well to get husbands and rich wives as to bring winning numbers in the lottery.
-before going out, they went to a window, at the other end of the corridor from where they had looked out before. below them they could see the tiber as far as the ripa harbour; opposite, the heights of the janiculum, and further, saint peter’s.
-when they went out, kennedy said to cæsar:
-“what devilish effect has the abbey produced in you, that you are so much gayer than when we went in?”
-“it has confirmed me in my idea, which i had lost for a few days.”
-“what idea is that?”
-“that we must not defend ourselves in this life, but attack, always attack.”
-“and now you are contented at having found it again?”
-“i am glad, because you have such a pitiable air when you are sad. would you like to go to the priory of malta, which is only a step from here?”
-they went down in the carriage to the priory of malta. they knocked at the gate and a woman came out who knew kennedy, and who told them to wait a moment and she would open the church.
-“here,” said kennedy, “you have all that remains of the famous order of saint john of jerusalem. that anti-historic man bonaparte rooted it out of malta. the order attempted to establish itself in catania, and afterwards at ferrara, and finally took refuge here. now it has no property left, and all that remains are its memories and its archives.”
-“that is how our descendants will see our holy mother the church. in chicago or boston some traveller will find an abandoned chapel, and will ask: ‘what is this? ‘and they will tell him: ‘this is what remains of the catholic church.’”
-“don’t talk like an homais,” said kennedy.
-“i don’t know who homais is,” retorted cæsar.
-“an atheistical druggist in flaubert’s novel, madame bovary. haven’t you read it?”
-“yes; i have a vague idea that i have read it. a very heavy thing; yes, ... i think i have read it.”
-the woman opened the door and they went into the church. it was small, overcharged with ornaments. they saw the tomb of bishop spinelli and giotto’s virgin, and then went into a hall gay with red flags with a white cross, on whose walls they could read the names of the grand masters of the order of malta. the majority of the names were french and polish. two or three were spanish, and among them that of cæsar borgia.
-“your countryman and namesake was also a grand master of malta,” said kennedy.
-“so it seems,” replied cæsar with indifference. “i see that you speak with contempt of that extraordinary man. is he not congenial to you?”
-“the fact is i don’t know his history.”
-“how strange! we must go tomorrow to the borgia apartment in the vatican.”
-they saw the model of an ancient galley which was in the same hall, and went out through the church into the garden planned by piranesi. the woman showed them a very old palm, with a hole in it made by a hand-grenade in the year ‘49. it had remained that way more than half a century, and it was only a few days since the trunk of the palm had broken.
-from the garden they went, by a path between trees, to the bastion of paul iii, a little terrace, from which they could see the tiber at their feet, and opposite the panorama of rome and its environs, in the light of a beautiful spring sunshine....
-xviii. cæsar borgia’s motto, “aut cæsar, aut nihil”
-the next day was one of the days for visiting the borgia apartment. cæsar and kennedy met in the piazza di san pietro, went into the vatican museum, and walked by a series of stairs and passageways to the gallery of inscriptions.
-then they went down to a hall, at whose door there were guards dressed in slashed clothes, which were parti-coloured, red, yellow, and black. some of them carried lances and others swords.
-“why are the guards here dressed differently?” asked cæsar.
-“because this belongs to the dominions of the pope.”
-“and what kind of guards are these?”
-“these are pontifical swiss guards.”
-“they look comic-opera enough,” said cæsar.
-“my dear man, don’t say that. this costume was designed by no one less than michelangelo.”
-“all right. at that time they probably looked very well, but now they have a theatrical effect.”
-“it is because you have no veneration. if you were reverential, they would look wonderful to you.”
-“very well, let us wait and see whether reverence will not spring up in me. now, you go on and explain what there is here.”
-“this first room, the hall of audience, or of the popes, does not contain anything notable, as you see,” said kennedy; “the five we are coming to later, have been restored, but are still the same as at the time when your countryman alexander vi was pope. all five were decorated by pinturicchio and his pupils, and all with reference to the borgias. the borgias have their history, not well known in all its details, and their legend, which is more extensive and more picturesque. really, it unconquerable.
-"i should have climbed that peak long ago if you, miss torsen, hadn't forbidden me," said the lawyer.
-"you'd never have made it," said mrs. molie in an indifferent tone. this was probably her revenge. she turned to the dane again as though ready to believe him capable of anything.
-"i shouldn't want anyone to think of climbing that peak," said miss torsen. "it's as bare as a ship's mast."
-"what if i tried it, gerda?" the manufacturer asked his wife with a smile. "after all, i'm an old sailor."
-"nonsense," she said, smiling a little.
-"well, i climbed the mast of a schooner last spring."
-"i don't know, though--all this mountain climbing--i haven't much use for it," said the manufacturer.
-"what did you do it for? what did you climb the mast for?" his wife repeated nervously.
-the manufacturer laughed.
-"the curiosity of the female sex--!"
-"how can you do a thing like that! and what about me and the children if you--"
-she broke off. her husband grew serious and took her hand.
-"it was stormy, my dear; the sails were flapping, and it was a question of life and death. but i shouldn't have told you. well--we'd better say good night now, gerda."
-then the first man from bergen made another speech.
-the manufacturer stayed with us for the promised three days, and then made ready to travel again. his mood never changed; he was contented and entertaining the whole time. every evening one whisky and soda was brought him--no more. before their bedtime, his little girls had a wildly hilarious half-hour with him. at night a tremendous snoring could be heard from his cottage. before his arrival, the little girls had spent a good deal of time with me, but now they no longer knew i existed, so taken up with their father were they. he hung a swing for them between the two rowan trees in the field, taking care to pack plenty of rag under the rope so as not to injure the tree.
-he also had a talk with paul; there were rumors that he was intending to take his money out of the tore peak resort. paul's head was bent now, but he seemed even more hurt that the manufacturer should have paid a visit to the cotters to see how they were getting on.
-"so that's where he's gone?" he said. "well, let him stay there, for all i care!"
-"i can't salute you," the manufacturer said to us, smiling. "i'm not allowed to say good-bye."
-the children rejoiced at this and cried, "no, he can't have his arm back; mummy, you hold him tight, too!"
-"scotland? what are you going to scotland for?" the children asked.
-he twisted round and nodded to us.
-"these women! all curiosity!" he said.
-but none of his family laughed.
-he continued to us:
-"i was telling my wife a story about a rich man who was curious, too. he shot himself just to find out what comes after death. ha, ha, ha! that's the height of curiosity, isn't it? shooting yourself to find out what comes after death!"
-but he could not make his family laugh at this tale, either. his wife stood still; her face was beautiful.
-"so you're leaving now," was all she said.
-mr. brede's porter came out with his luggage; he had stayed at the farm for these three days in order to be at hand.
-then the manufacturer walked down through the field, accompanied by his wife and children.
-i don't know--this man with his good humor and kindliness and money and everything, fond of his children, all in all to his wife--
-was he really everything to his wife?
-the first evening he wasted time on a party, and every night he wasted time in snoring. and so the three days and nights went by....
-it is very pleasant here at harvest time. scythes are being sharpened in the field, men and women are at work; they go thinly clad and bareheaded, and call to one another and laugh; sometimes they drink from a bucket of whey, then set to work again. there is the familiar fragrance of hay, which penetrates my senses like a song of home, drawing me home, home, though i am not abroad. but perhaps i am abroad after all, far away from the soil where i have my roots.
-why, indeed, do i stay here any longer, at a resort full of schoolmistresses, with a host who has once more said farewell to sobriety? nothing is happening to me; i do not grow here. the others go out and lie on their backs; i steal off and find relish in myself, and feel poetry within me for the night. the world wants no, poetry; it wants only verses that have not been sung before.
-and norway wants no red-hot irons; only village smiths forge irons now, for the needs of the mob and the honor of the country.
-no one came; the stream of tourists went up and down stordalen and left our little reisa valley deserted. if only the northern railway could have come to reisa with cook's and bennett's tours--then stordalen in its turn would have lain deserted. meanwhile, the cotters who are cultivating the soil will probably go on harvesting half the crop of the outlying fields for the rest of time. there is every reason to think so--unless our descendants are more intelligent than we, and refuse to be smitten with the demoralizing effects of the tourist traffic.
-now, my friend, you mustn't believe me; this is the point where you must shake your head. there is a professor scuttling about the country, a born mediocrity with a little school knowledge about history; you had better ask him. he'll give you just as much mediocre information, my friend, as your vision can grasp and your brain endure.
-hardly had manufacturer brede left when paul began to live a most irregular life again. more and more all roads were closed to him; he saw no way out and therefore preferred to make himself blind, which gave him an excuse for not seeing. seven of our permanent guests now left together: the telephone operators, tradesman batt, schoolmistresses johnsen and palm, and two men who were in some sort of business, i don't quite know what. this whole party went across the fjeld to stordalen to be driven about in cars.
-cases of various kinds of foodstuffs arrived for paul; they were carried up one evening by a man from the village. he had to make several journeys with the side of his cart let down, and bring the cases over the roughest spots one by one. that was the kind of road it was. josephine received the consignment, and noticed that one of the cases gave forth the sound of a liquid splashing inside. that had come to the wrong place, she said, and writing another address on it, she told the man to take it back. it was sirup that had come too late, she said; she had got sirup elsewhere in the meantime.
-later in the evening we heard them discussing it in the kitchen; the sirup had not come too late, paul said angrily.
-"and i've told you to clear these newspapers away!" he cried. we heard the sound of paper and glass being swept to the floor.
-well, things were not too easy for paul; the days went by dull and empty, nor had he any children to give him pleasant thoughts at times. though he wanted to build still more houses, he could not use half those he had already. there was mrs. brede living alone with her children in one of them, and since seven of the guests had left, miss torsen was also alone in the south wing. paul wanted at all costs to build roads and share in the development of the tourist traffic; he even wanted to run a fleet of motor cars. but since he had not the power to do this alone and could get no assistance, nothing was left him but to resign himself. and now to make matters worse manufacturer brede had said he would withdraw his money....
-paul's careworn face looked out of the kitchen door. before going out himself he wanted to make sure there was no one about, but he was disappointed in this, for the lawyer at once greeted him loudly: "good evening, paul!" and drew him outside.
-they strolled down the field in the dusk.
-assuredly there is little to be gained by "having a good talk" with a man about his drinking; such matters are too vital to be settled by talking. but paul seems to have admitted that the lawyer was right in all he said, and probably left him with good resolutions.
-paul went down to the village again. he was going to the post office; the money he had from the seven departed guests would be scattered to all quarters of the globe. and yet it was not enough to cover everything--in fact not enough for anything, for interest, repayments, taxes, and repairs. it paid only for a few cases of food from the city. and of course he stopped the case of sirup from going back.
-paul returned blind-drunk because he no longer wished to see. it was the same thing all over again. but his brain seemed in its own way to go on searching for a solution, and one day he asked the lawyer:
-"what do you call those square glass jars for keeping small fish in--goldfish?"
-"do you mean an aquarium?"
-"that's it," said paul. "are they dear?"
-"i don't know. why?"
-"i wonder if i could get one."
-"what do you want it for?"
-"don't you think it might attract people to the place? oh, well, perhaps it wouldn't."
-and paul withdrew.
-madder than ever. some people see flies. paul saw goldfish.
-the lawyer is constantly in miss torsen's company; he even swings her in the children's swing, and puts his arm around her to steady her when the swing stops. solem watches all this from the field where he is working, and begins to sing a ribald song. certainly these two have so ill-used him that if he is going to sing improper songs in self-defense, this is the time to do it; no one will gainsay that. so he sang his song very loud, and then began to yodel.
-but miss torsen went on swinging, and the lawyer went on putting his arm round her and stopping her....
-it was a saturday evening. i stood talking to the lawyer in the garden; he didn't like the place, and wanted to leave, but miss torsen would not go with him, and going alone was such a bore. he did not conceal that the young woman meant something to him.
-solem approached, and lifted his cap in greeting. then he looked round quickly and began to talk to the lawyer--politely, as became his position of a servant:
-"the danish gentleman is going to climb the peak tomorrow. i'm to take a rope and go with him."
-the lawyer was startled.
-the blankness of the lawyer's face was a remarkable sight. his small, athletic brain failed him. a moment passed in silence.
-"yes, early tomorrow morning," said solem. "i thought i'd tell you. because after all it was your idea first."
-"yes, so it was," said the lawyer. "you're quite right. but now he'll be ahead of me."
-solem knew how to get round that.
-"no, i didn't promise to go," he said. "i told him i had to go to the village tomorrow."
-"but we can't deceive him. i don't want to do that."
-"pity," said solem. "everybody says the first one to climb the blue peak will be in all the papers."
-"he'll take offense," the lawyer murmured, considering the matter.
-but solem urged him on:
-"i don't think so. anyhow, you were the first one to talk about it."
-"everybody here will know, and i'll be prevented," said the lawyer.
-"we can go at dawn," said solem.
-in the end they came to an agreement.
-"you won't tell anyone?" the lawyer said to me.
-the lawyer was missed in the course of the morning; he was not in his room, and not in the garden.
-"perhaps the danish mountaineer can tell us where he is," i said. but it transpired that the dane had not even thought of climbing the blue peak that day, and knew nothing whatever about the expedition.
-this surprised me greatly.
-i looked at the clock; it was eleven. i had been watching the peak through my field glasses from the moment i got up, but there was nothing to be seen. it was five hours since the two men had left.
-at half-past eleven solem came running back; he was drenched in sweat and exhausted.
-"come and help us!" he called excitedly to the group of guests.
-"what's happened?" somebody asked.
-"he fell off."
-how tired solem was and drenched to the skin! but what could we do? rush up the mountainside and look at the accident too?
-"can't he walk?" somebody asked.
-"no, he's dead," said solem, looking from one to another of us as though to read in our faces whether his message seemed credible. "he fell off; he didn't want me to help him."
-a few more questions and answers. josephine was already halfway across the field; she was going to the village to telephone for the doctor.
-"we shall have to get him down," said the danish mountaineer.
-so he and i improvised a stretcher; solem was instructed to take brandy and bandages to the site of the accident, and the bergensians, the associate master, miss torsen, and mrs. molie went with him.
-"did you really say nothing to solem about climbing the peak today?" i asked the dane.
-"no," he replied. "i never said a word about it. if i had meant to go, i should certainly not have wanted company...."
-later that afternoon we returned with the lawyer on the stretcher. solem kept explaining all the way home how the accident had happened, what he had said and what the lawyer had said, pointing to objects on the way as though this stone represented the lawyer and that the abyss into which he had plunged.... solem still carried the rope he had not had a chance to use. miss torsen asked no more than anyone else, and made purely conventional comments: "i advised him against it, i begged him not to go...."
-but however much we talked, we could not bring the lawyer back to life. strange--his watch was still going, but he himself was dead. the doctor could do nothing here, and returned to his village.
-there followed a depressing evening. solem went to the village to send a telegram to the lawyer's family, and the rest of us did what we thought decent under the circumstances: we all sat in the living room with books in our hands. now and again, some reference would be made to the accident: it was a reminder, we said, how small we mortals were! and the associate master, who had not the soul of a tourist, greatly feared that this disaster would injure the resort and make things still more difficult for paul; people would shun a place where they were likely to fall off and be killed.
-no, the associate master was no tourist, and did not understand the anglo-saxon mind.
-paul himself seemed to sense that the accident might benefit him rather than do him harm. he brought out a bottle of brandy to console us on this mournful evening.
-and since it was a death to which we owed this attention, one of the men from bergen made a speech.
-the accident became widely known. newspapermen came from the city, and solem had to pilot them up the mountain and show them the spot where it had taken place. if the body had not been removed at once, they would have written about that, too.
-children and ignoramuses might be inclined to think it foolish that solem should be taken from the work in the fields at harvest time, but must not the business of the tourist resort go before all else?
-"solem, tourists!" someone called to him. and solem left his work. a flock of reporters surrounded him, asked him questions, made him take them to the mountains, to the river. a phrase was coined at the farm for solem's absences:
-"solem's with death."
-but solem was by no means with death; on the contrary, he was in the very midst of life, enjoying himself, thriving. once again he was an important personage, listened to by strangers, doling out information. nor did his audience now consist of ladies only--indeed, no; this was something new, a change; these were keen, alert gentlemen from the city.
-to me, solem said:
-"funny the accident should have happened just when the scratch on my nail has grown out, isn't it?"
-he showed me his thumbnail; there was no mark on it.
-the newspaper reporters wrote articles and sent telegrams, not only about the blue peak and the dreadful death, but about the locality, and about the tore peak resort, that haven for the weary, with its wonderful buildings set like jewels in the mountains. what a surprise to come here: gargoyles, living room, piano, all the latest books, timber outside ready for new jewels in their setting, altogether a magnificent picture of norway's modern farming.
-yes, indeed, the newspapermen appreciated it. and they did their advertising.
-the english arrived.
-"where is solem?" they asked, and "where is the blue peak?" they asked.
-"we ought to get the hay in," said josephine and the wife at the farm. "there'll be rain, and fifty cartloads are still out!"
-that was all very well, but "where is solem?" asked the english. so solem had to go with them. the two casual laborers began to cart away the hay, but then the women had no one to help them rake. confusion was rife. everyone rushed wildly hither and thither because there was no one to lead them.
-the weather stayed fine overnight; it was patient, slow-moving weather. as soon as the dew dried up, more hay would be brought in, perhaps all the hay. oh, we should manage all right.
-more english appeared; and "solem--the blue peak?" they said. their perverse, sportsmen's brains tingled and thrilled; they had successfully eluded all the resorts on the way, and arrived here without being caught. there was the blue peak, like a mast against the sky! they hurried up so fast that solem was hardly able to keep pace with them. they would have felt for ever disgraced if they had neglected to stand on this admirable site of a disaster, this most excellent abyss. some said it would be a lifelong source of regret to them if they did not climb the blue peak forthwith; others had no desire but to gloat over the lawyer's death fall, and to shout down the abyss, gaping at the echo, and advancing so far out on the ledge that they stood with their toes on death.
-but it's an ill wind that blows good to none, and the resort earned a great deal of money. paul began to revive again, and the furrows in his face were smoothed out. a man of worth grows strong and active with good fortune; in adversity he is defiant. one who is not defiant in adversity is worth nothing; let him be destroyed! paul stopped drinking; he even began to take an interest in the harvesting, and worked in the field in solem's place. if only he had begun when the weather was still slow and patient!
-but at least paul began to tackle things in the right spirit again; he only regretted that he had set aside for the cotters those outlying fields from which they were used to getting half the hay; this year he would have liked to keep it himself. but he had given his word, and there was nothing to be done about it.
-besides, it was raining now. haymaking had to stop; they could not even stack what had already been gathered. outside, three cartloads of fodder were going to waste.
-before long the novelty of the tore peak resort wore off again. the newspapermen wrote and sent telegrams about other gratifying misfortunes, the death on the blue peak having lost its news value. it had been an intoxication; now came the morning after.
-the danish mountaineer quite simply deserted. he strapped on his knapsack and walked across the field like one of the villagers, caring no more for the blue peak. the commotion he had witnessed in the last week had taught him a lesson.
-and the tourists swarmed on to other places.
-"what harm have i done them," paul probably thought, "that they should be going again? have i been too much in the fields and too little with them? but i greeted them humbly and took my man out of the harvesting work to help them...."
-"there's what's left of your lawyer that fell off."
-"ha, ha, ha, ha!" laughed the other sprout.
-yes, truly, they had acquired dashing ways among their sporting acquaintances.
-it rained for three weeks; then came two fine days, and then rain again for a fortnight. the sun was not to be seen, the sky was invisible, the mountain tops had disappeared; we saw nothing but rain. the roofs at the tore peak resort began to leak more and more.
-the hay that still lay spread on the ground was black and rotting, and the stacks had gone moldy.
-the cotters had got their hay indoors during the patient spell. they had carried it, man, woman, and child, on their backs.
-the men from bergen and mrs. brede with her children have left for home. the little girls curtsied and thanked me for taking them walking in the hills and telling them stories. the house is empty now. associate master höy and mrs. molie were the last to go; they left last week, traveling separately, though both were going to the same small town.
-he went by way of the village--a very roundabout route--while she crossed the field. it is very quiet now, but miss torsen is still here.
-why do i not leave? don't know. why ask? i'm here. have you ever heard anyone ask: "how much is a northern light?" hold your tongue.
-where should i go if i did leave? do you imagine i want to go to the town again? or do you think i'm longing for my old hut and the winter, and madame? i'm not longing for any specific place; i am simply longing.
-of course i ought to be old enough to understand what all sensible norwegians know, that our country is once more on the right road. the papers are all writing about the splendid progress the tourist traffic has made in stordalen since the motor road was opened--ought i not to go there and feel gratified?
-from old habit, i still take an interest in the few of us who are left; miss torsen is still here.
-miss torsen--what more is there to be said about her? well, she does not leave; she stays here to complete the picture of the woman torsen, child of the middle class who has read schoolbooks all through her formative years, who has learned all about artemis cotula, but undernourished her soul. that is what she is doing here.
-i remember a few weeks ago, when we were infested with englishmen, a young sprout coming down from the mountain top with a bloodstained rag which he threw on the ground, saying, "here's what's left of your lawyer that fell off!" miss torsen heard it, and never moved a muscle. no, she never mourned the death of the lawyer very keenly; on the contrary, she wrote off at once to ask another friend to come. when he came, he turned out to be a swaggering scatterbrain--a "free lance," he called himself in the visitors' book. i have not mentioned him before because he was less important than she; less important, in fact, than any of us. he was beardless and wore his collar open; heaven knows if he wasn't employed at a theater or in the films. miss torsen went to meet him when he came, and said, "welcome to our mountains," and "thanks for coming." so evidently she had sent for him. but why did she not leave? why did she seem to strike root in the place, and even ask others to come here? yet she had been the first to want to leave last summer! there was something behind this.
-i muse on all this, and understand that her staying here is somehow connected with her carnal desires, with the fact that solem is still here. how muddled it all is, and how this handsome girl has been spoiled! i saw her not long ago, tall and proud, upright, untouched, walking intentionally close to solem, yet not replying to his greeting. did she suspect him of complicity in the death of the lawyer and avoid him for that reason? not in the least; she avoided him less than before, even letting him take her letters to the post office, which she had not done previously. but she was unbalanced, a poor thing that had lost her bearings. whenever she could, she secretly defiled herself with pitch, with dung; she sniffed at foulness and was not repelled.
-one day, when solem swore a needlessly strong oath at a horse that was restless, she looked at him, shivered, and went a deep red. but she mastered herself at once, and asked josephine:
-"isn't that man leaving soon?"
-"yes," josephine replied, "in a few days."
-though she had seized this opportunity to ask her question with a great show of indifference, i am certain it was an important one to her. she went away in silence.
-yes, miss torsen stayed, for she was sexually bound to solem. solem's despair, solem's rough passion that she herself had inflamed, his brutality, his masculinity, his greedy hands, his looks--she sniffed at all this and was excited by it. she had grown so unnatural that her sexual needs were satisfied by keeping this man at a distance. the torsen type no doubt lies in her solitary bed at night, reveling in the sensation that in another house a man lies writhing for her.
-but her friend, the actor? he was in no sense the other's equal. there was nothing of the bull in him, nothing of action, only the braggadocio of the theater....
-here am i, growing small and petty with this life. i question solem about the accident. we are alone together in the woodshed.
-why had he lied and said the dane wanted to climb the blue peak that unfortunate sunday morning?
-solem looked at me, pretending not to understand.
-i repeated my question.
-solem denied he had said any such thing.
-"i heard you," i said.
-"no, you didn't," he said.
-suddenly he dropped to the floor of the shed, convulsed, without shape, an outline merely; a few minutes passed before he got up again. when he was on his feet once more, pulling his clothes to rights, we looked at each other. i had no wish to speak to him further, and left him. besides, he was going away soon.
-after this, everything was dull and empty again. i went out alone, aping myself and shouting: "bricks for the palace! the calf is much stronger today!" and when this was done, i did other nothings, and when my money began to run out, i wrote to my publisher, pretending i would soon send him an unbelievably remarkable manuscript. in short, i behaved like a man in love. these were the typical symptoms.
-and to take the bull by the horns: no doubt you suspect me of dwelling on the subject of miss torsen out of self-interest? in that case i must have concealed well in these pages that i never think of her except as an object, as a theme; turn back the pages and you will see! at my age, one does not fall in love without becoming grotesque, without making even the pharaohs laugh.
-but there is one thing i cannot finish doing, and that is withdrawing to my room, and sitting alone with the good darkness round me. this, after all, is the last pleasure.
-miss torsen and her actor are walking this way; i hear their footsteps and their voices; but since i am sitting in the dark of the evening, i cannot see them. they stop outside my open window, leaning against it, and the actor says something, asks her to do something she does not want to do, tries to draw her with him; but she resists.
-then he grows angry.
-"what the devil did you send for me for?" he asks roughly.
-and she begins to weep and says:
-"so that's all you've come for! oh, oh! but i'm not like that at all. why can't you leave me alone? i'm not hurting you."
-am i one who understands women? self-deception. vain boasting. i made my presence known then because her weeping sounded so wretched; i moved a chair and cleared my throat.
-the sound caught his attention at once, and he hushed her, trying to listen; but she said:
-"no, it was nothing...."
-but she knew very well this was not true; she knew what the sound was. it was not the first time miss torsen used this trick with me; she had often pretended that she thought i was not within hearing, and then created some such delicate situation. each time i had promised myself not to intervene; but she had not wept before; now she wept.
-why did she use these wiles? to clear herself in my eyes--mine, the eyes of a settled man--to make me believe how good she was, how well-behaved! but, dear child, i knew that before; i could see it from your hands! you are so unnatural that in your seven and twentieth year, you walk unmarried, barren and unopen!
-the pair drifted away.
-and there is something else i cannot finish doing: withdrawing into solitude in the woods, alone with the good darkness round me. this is the last pleasure.
-one needs solitude and darkness, not because one flees the company of others and can endure only one's own, but because of their quality of loftiness and religion. strange how all things pass distantly, yet all is near; we sit in an omnipresence. it must be god. it must be ourselves as a part of all things.
-what would my heart, where would i stray? shall i leave the forest behind me? it was my home but yesterday; now toward the city i wend my way; to the darkness of night i've resigned me.
-the world round me sleeps as i tarry, alone, soothing my ear with its quiet. how large and gray is the city of stone in which the many all hopes enthrone! shall i, too, accept their fiat?
-hark! do the bells ring on the hillside?
-back to the peace of the forest i turn in the nightly hour that's hoarest. there's a sweet-smelling hedgerow to which i yearn; i shall rest my head on heather and fern, and sleep in the depths of the forest.
-hark, how the bells ring on the hillside!
-romantic? yes. mere sentimentality, mood, rhyme--nothing? yes.
-it is the last happiness.
-the sun has returned. not darkly glowing and regal--more than that: imperial, because it is flaming. this you do not understand, my friend, whatever the language in which it is dished up for you. but i say there is an imperial sun in the sky.
-it's a good day for going to the woods; it is sweeping time, for the woods are full of yellow things that have come suddenly into being. a short time ago they were not there, or i did not see them, or they had the earth's own complexion. there is something unborn about them, like embryos in an early stage. but if i whirl them about, they are miracles of fulfillment.
-here are fungi of every sort, mushrooms and puffballs. how close is the poisonous mushroom to the happy family of the edible mushroom, and how innocently it stands there! yet it is deadly. what magnificent cunning! a spurious fruit, a criminal, habitual vice itself, but preening in splendor and brilliance, a very cardinal of fungi. i break off a morsel to chew; it is good and soft on the tongue, but i am a coward and spit it out again. was it not the poisonous mushroom that drove men berserker? but in the dawn of our own day, we die of a hair in the throat.
-the sun is already setting. far up the mountainside are the cattle, but they are moving homeward now; i can hear by their bells that they are moving. tinkling bells and deep-mouthed bells, sometimes sounding together as though there were a meaning in it, a pattern of tones, a rapture.
-and rapture, too, to see all the blades of grass and the tiny flowers and plants. beside me where i lie is a small pod plant, wonderfully meek, with tiny seeds pushing out of the pod--god bless it, it's becoming a mother! it has got caught in a dry twig and i liberate it. life quivers within it; the sun has warmed it today and called it to its destiny. a tiny, gigantic miracle.
-now it is sunset, and the woods bend under a rustling that passes through them sweet and heavy; it is the evening.
-i lie for another hour or two; the birds have long since gone to rest, and darkness falls thick and soft.... as i walk homeward, my feet feel their way and i hold my hands before me till i reach the field, where it is a little lighter. i walk on the hay that has been left outdoors; it is tough and black, and i slip on it because it is already rotting. as i approach the houses, bats fly noiselessly past me, as though on wings of foam. a slight shudder convulses me whenever they pass.
-a man is walking here. i can see him against the wall of the new house. he has on a coat that looks like the actor's raincoat, but it is not the little comedian himself. there he goes, into the house, right into the house. it is solem.
-"why, that's where she sleeps!" i think. "ah, well. alone in the building, in the south wing, miss torsen alone--yes, quite alone. and solem has just gone in."
-i stand there waiting to be at hand, to rush in to the rescue, for after all i am a human being, not a brute. several minutes pass. he has not even bothered to be very quiet, for i hear him clicking the key in the lock. surely i ought to hear a cry now? i hear nothing, nothing; a chair scraping across the floor, that is all.
-"but good heavens, he may do her some harm! he may injure her; he may overpower her with rape! ought i not to tap on the window? i--what for? but at the very first cry, i shall be on the spot, take my word for it."
-not a single cry.
-the hours pass; i have settled down to wait. of course i cannot go my way and desert a helpless woman. but the hours wear on. a very thorough business in there, nothing niggardly about this; it is almost dawn. it occurs to me that he may be killing her, perhaps has killed her already; i am alarmed and about to get up--when the key clicks in the lock again and solem emerges. he does not run, but walks back the way he came, down to the veranda of my own house. there he hangs the actor's raincoat where it hung before, and emerges again. but this time he is naked. he has been naked under the coat all this time. is it possible? why not? no inhibitions, no restraint, no covering; solem has thought it all out. now, stark naked, he stalks to his room.
-what a man!
-i sit thinking and collecting myself and regaining my wits. what has happened? the south wing is still wrapped in silence, but the lady is not dead; i can see that from solem's fearless manner as he goes to his room, lights the lamp, and goes to bed.
-it relieves me to know she is alive, revives me, and makes me superlatively brave: if he has dared to kill her, i will report it at once. i shall not spare him. i shall accuse him of both her death and the lawyer's. i shall go further: i shall accuse others--the thief of last winter, the man that stole the sides of bacon from a tradesman and sold me rolls of tobacco out of his bag. no, i shall not keep silence about anything then....
-when it grew light, solem went to the kitchen, had his breakfast, settled his business with paul and the women, and returned to his room. he was in no hurry; though it was no longer early in the day, he took his time about tying his bundles, preparatory to leaving. lingeringly he looked into the windows of the south wing as he passed.
-then solem was gone.
-a little later miss torsen came in to breakfast. she asked at once about solem. and why might she be so interested in solem? she had certainly stopped in her room intentionally so as to give him time to leave; if she wanted to see him she could have been here long ago. but was it not safest to seem a little angry? supposing, night owl that i was, that i had seen something!
-"where is solem?" she asked indignantly.
-"solem has gone now," josephine replied.
-"lucky for him!"
-"why?" asked josephine.
-"oh, he's a dreadful creature!"
-how agitated she was! but in the course of the day she calmed down. her anger dissolved, and there was neither weeping nor a scene; only she did not walk proudly, as was her habit, but preferred to sit in silence.
-that passed too; she roused herself briskly soon after solem's departure, and in a few days she was the same as ever. she took walks, she talked and laughed with us, she made the actor swing her in the children's swing, as in the lawyer's day....
-i went out one evening, for there was good weather and darkness for walking; there was neither a moon nor stars. the gentle ripple of the little reisa river was all the sound i heard; there were god and goethe and über allen gipfeln ist ruh' that night. on my return, i was in the mood to walk softly and on tiptoe, so i undressed and went to bed in the dark.
-then they came again to my window, those two lunatics, the lady and the actor. what next? but it was not he that chose this spot; of that i was sure. she chose it because she was convinced i had returned. there was something she wanted me to hear.
-why should i listen to him still pleading with her?
-"i've had enough of this," he said. "i'm leaving tomorrow."
-"oh, well...." she said. "no, let's not tonight," she added suddenly; "some other time. yes? in a few days? we'll talk about it tomorrow. good night."
-for the first time it struck me: she wants to rouse you, too, settled man though you are; she wants to make you as mad as the others! that's what she's after!
-and now i remember, before the lawyer arrived, when there was tradesman batt--i remember how during his first few days here, she would give me a kind word or a look that was quite out of the picture, and as unmistakable as her pride would permit. no, she had no objections to seeing old age wriggle. and listen to this: before this she had been intent to show a well-behaved indifference to sex, but that was finished; was she not at this moment resisting only faintly, and raising definite hopes? "not tonight, but some other time," she had said. yes, a half-refusal, a mere postponement, that i was meant to hear. she was corrupt, but she was also cunning, with the cunning of a madman. so corrupt.
-dear child, pharaoh laughs before his pyramids; standing before his pyramids he laughs. he would laugh at me, too.
-next day we three remaining guests were sitting in the living room. the lady and the actor read one book; i read another.
-"will you," she says to him, "do me a great favor?"
-"would you go out in the grounds where we sat yesterday and fetch my galoshes?"
-so he went out to do her this great favor. he sang a well-known popular song as he crossed the yard, cheerful in his own peculiar way.
-she turned to me.
-"you seem silent."
-"yes, you're very silent."
-"listen to this," i said, and began to read to her from the book i held in my hands. i read a longish bit.
-she tried to interrupt me several times, and at length said impatiently:
-"what is this you want me to listen to?"
-"the musketeers. you must admit it's entertaining."
-"i've read it," she said. and then she began to clasp her hands and drag them apart again.
-"then you must hear something you haven't read before," i replied, and went across to my room to fetch a few pages i had written. they were only a few poems--nothing special, just a few small verses. not that i am in the habit of reading such things aloud, but i seized on this for the moment because i wanted to prevent her from humbling herself, and telling me anything more.
-while i was reading the poems to her, the actor returned.
-"i couldn't find any galoshes there," he said.
-"no?" she replied absently.
-"no, i really looked everywhere, but...."
-she got up and left the room.
-he looked after her in some surprise, and sat still for a moment. then it occurred to him.
-"i believe her galoshes are in the passage outside her door," he said, and hurried after her.
-i sat back, thinking it over. there had been a sweetness in her face as she said, "yes, you're very silent." had she seen through me and my pretext for reading to her? of course she had. she was no fool. i was the fool, nobody else. i should have driven a sportsman to despair. some practice the sport of making conquests and the sport of making love, because they find it so agreeable; i have never practiced sport of any kind. i have loved and raged and suffered and stormed according to my nature--that is all; i am an old-fashioned man. and here i sit in the shadow of evening, the shadow of the half-century. let me have done!
-the actor returned to the living room confused and dejected. she had turned him out; she had wept.
-i was not surprised, for it was the mode of expression of her type.
-"have you ever heard the like of it? she told me to get out! i shall leave tomorrow."
-"have you found the galoshes?" i asked.
-"of course," he replied. "they were right in the passage. 'here they are,' i said to her. 'yes, yes,' she said. 'right under your nose,' i said. 'yes, yes, go away,' she said, and began to cry. so i went away."
-"she'll get over it."
-"do you think so? yes, i expect she will. oh, well, it's my opinion nobody can understand women, anyhow. but they're a mighty sex, the women, a mighty sex. they certainly are."
-he sat on a while, but he had no peace of mind, and soon went out again.
-that evening the lady was in the dining room before us; she was there when we came in, and we all nodded slightly in greeting. to the actor she was very kind, quite making up for her petulance of the afternoon.
-when he sat down he found a letter in his table napkin: a written note folded into the napkin. he was so surprised that he dropped everything he was doing to unfold and read it. with an exclamation and a smile, his blue, delighted eyes splashed over her; but she was looking down into her lap with her forehead wrinkled, so he put the note away in his vest pocket.
-then it probably dawned on him that he had betrayed her, and he tried to cover it up somehow.
-"well, here goes for food!" he said, as though he were going to require all his energy for the task of eating.
-why had she written? there was nothing to prevent her speaking to him. he had, after all, been sitting on the doorstep when she emerged from her room and passed him. had she foreseen that the good comedian could not contain himself, but would surely let a third person into the secret?
-why probe or question further? the actor did not eat much, but he looked very happy. so the note must have said yes, must have been a promise; perhaps she would not tantalize him further.
-a few days later, they were going to leave. they would travel together, and that would be the end.
-i might have pitied them both, for though life is good, life is stern. one result at any rate was accomplished. she had not sent for him in vain, nor had he come in vain.
-that was the end of the act. but there were more acts to come--many more.
-she had lost much: having been ravished, she gave herself away; why be niggardly now? and this is the destiny of her type, that they lose increasingly much, retaining ever less; what need to hold back now? the ground has been completely shifted: from half-measures to the immolation of all virtue. the type is well-known, and can be found at resorts and boarding-houses, where it grows and flourishes.
-in spite of her wasted adolescence, her examination and her "independence," she has been coming home from her office stool or her teacher's desk more or less exhausted; suddenly she finds herself in the midst of a sweet and unlimited idleness, with quantities of tinned food for her meals. the company round her is continually changing, tourists come and go, and she passes from hand to hand for walks and talks; the tone is "country informality." this is sheer loose living; this is a life stripped of all purpose. she does not even sleep enough because she hears through the thin wall every sound made by her neighbor in the next room, while arriving or departing englishmen bang doors all night. in a short time she has become a neurotic, sated with company, surfeited with herself and the place. she is ready to go off with the next halfway respectable organ grinder that happens along. and so she pairs off with the most casual visitors, flirts with the guide, hovering about him and making bandages for his fingers, and at last throws herself into the arms of a nameless nobody who has arrived at the house today.
-this is the torsen type.
-and now, at this very moment, she retires to her room to collect the fragments of herself, in preparation for her departure--at the end of the summer. it takes time; there are so many fragments, one in every corner. but perhaps it consoles her to think that she knows the genitive of mensa.
-things are not quite so bad for the actor. he has staked nothing, is committed to nothing. no part of his life is destroyed, nor anything within him. as he came, so he goes, cheerful, empty, nice. in fact he is even something more of a man because he has really made a conquest. he has no wish but to spend some pleasant hours with the torsen type.
-he strolled about the garden waiting for her to get ready. once she was visible through the doorway, and he called to her:
-"aren't you coming soon? don't forget we've got to cross the mountain!"
-"well, i can't go bareheaded," she replied.
-he was impatient.
-"no, you've got to put your hat on, and what a lot of time that takes! ugh!"
-she measured him coldly and said:
-if he had paid her back in the same coin there would have been weeping and gnashing of teeth and cries of "go away! go alone!" and an hour's delay, and reconciliation and embraces. but the actor's manner changed at once, and he replied docilely, as his nature was,
-"familiar? well--perhaps. sorry!"
-then he strolled about the garden again, humming occasionally and swinging his stick. i took note of the oddly feminine shape of his knees, and the unusual plumpness of his thighs; there was something unnatural about this plumpness, as though it did not belong to his sex.
-his shoes were down at the heel, and his collar was open. his raincoat hung regally from his shoulders and flapped in the wind, though it was not raining. he was a proud and comical sight. but why speak harsh words about a raincoat? it was not he, the owner, that had abused it, and it hung from his shoulders as innocently as a bridal veil.
-why speak harsh words about anyone? life is good, but life is stern. perhaps when she comes out, i think to myself, the following scene will take place: i stand here waiting only for this departure. so she gives me her hand and says good-bye.
-"why don't you say something?" she asks in order to seem bright and easy in her mind.
-"because i don't want to hurt you in the great error of your ways."
-"ha, ha, ha," she laughs, too loudly and in a forced tone; "the great error of my ways! well, really!"
-and her anger grows, while i am assured and fatherly, standing on the firm ground of conscious virtue. yet i say an unworthy thing like this:
-"don't throw yourself away, miss torsen!"
-she raises her head then; yes, the torsen type would raise her head and reply, pale and offended:
-"throw myself away?--i don't understand you."
-but it is possible, too, that miss torsen, at heart a fine, proud girl, would have a lucid moment and see things in their true light:
-"why not, why shouldn't i throw myself away? what is there to keep? i am thrown away, wasted ever since my school days, and now i am seven and twenty...."
-my own thoughts run away with me as i stand there wishing i were somewhere else. perhaps she, too, in her room wishes me far away.
-"good-bye," i say to the actor. "will you remember me to miss torsen? i must go now."
-"good-bye," says he, shaking hands in some surprise. "can't you wait a few minutes? well, all right, i'll give her your greeting. good-bye, good-bye."
-i take a short cut to get out of the way, and as i know every nook and corner, i am soon outside the farm, and find a good shelter. from here i shall see when these two leave. she has only to say good-bye now to the people of the farm.
-it struck me that yesterday was the last time i spoke to her. we spoke only a few insignificant words that i have forgotten, and today i have not spoken to her....
-here they come.
-curious--they seemed somehow to have become welded together; though they walked separately up the mountain track, yet they belonged together. they did not speak; the essential things had probably already been said. life had grown ordinary for them; it still remained to them to be of use to each other. he walked first, while she followed many paces behind; it was lonely to look at against the rugged background of the mountain. where had her tall figure gone to? she seemed to have grown shorter because she had hitched up her skirt and was carrying her knapsack on her back. they each carried one, but he carried hers and she his, probably because, owing to the greater number of her clothes, hers was the heavier sack. thus had they shifted their burdens; what burdens would they carry in the future? she was, after all, no longer a schoolmistress, and perhaps he was no longer with the theater or the films.
-i watched those two crossing rocky, mountainous ground, bare ground, with not a tree anywhere except a few stunted junipers; far away near the ridge murmured the little reisa. those two had put their possessions together, were walking together; at the next halt they would be man and wife, and take only one room because it was cheaper.
-suddenly i started up and, moved by some impulse of human sympathy--nay, of duty--i wanted to run across to her, talk to her, say a word of warning: "don't go on!" i could have done it in a few minutes--a good deed, a duty....
-they disappeared behind the shoulder of the hill.
-her name was ingeborg.
-and now i, too, must wander on again, for i am the last at the tore peak farm. the season is wearing on, and this morning it snowed for the first time--wet, sad snow.
-it is very quiet at the farm now, and josephine might have played the piano again and been friendly to the last guest; but now i am leaving, too. besides, josephine has little to play and be cheerful for; things have gone badly this year, and may grow worse as time goes on. the prospect is not a good one. "but something will turn up," says josephine. she need not worry, for she has money in the bank, and no doubt there is a young man in the offing, on the other side of the fjeld.
-oh, yes, josephine will always manage; she thinks of everything. the other day, for instance--when miss torsen and her friend left. the friend could not pay his bill, and all he said was that he had expected money, but it hadn't come, and he couldn't stay any longer because of his private affairs. that was all very well, but when would the bill be paid? why, he would send it from the town, of course; that was where he had his money!
-"but how do we know we'll get the money?--from him, anyway," said josephine. "we've had these actor-people here before. and i didn't like the way he swanked about outside, thinking he was as good as anybody, and throwing his stick up in the air and catching it again. and then when miss torsen came in to say good-bye, i told her, and i wondered if she couldn't let me have the money for him. miss torsen was shocked, and said, 'hasn't he paid himself?' 'no,' i said, 'he hasn't, and this year being such a bad one, we need every penny.' so then miss torsen said of course we should get the money; how much was it? and i told her, and she said she couldn't pay for him now, but she would see the money was sent; we could trust her for that. and i think we can, too. we'll get the money all right, if not from him. i daresay she'll send it herself...."
-and josephine went off to serve me my dinner.
-paul is on his feet now, too. not that his step is always very steady, but at least he puts his feet to the ground. but he takes no interest in things; he does little more than feeding the horses and chopping some wood. he ought to be clearing the manure out of the summer cow houses for autumn use, but he keeps putting it off, and probably it will not be done at all. so far it hasn't mattered, but this morning's first wet snow has covered the hay outdoors and the maltreated land. and so it will remain till next spring. poor paul! he is an easygoing man at heart, but he pushes doggedly on against a whirlwind; sometimes he smiles to himself, knowing how useless it is to struggle--a distorted smile.
-his father, the old man alone in his room, stands sometimes on his threshold, as he used to do, and reflects. he is lost in memories, for he has ninety years behind him. the many houses on the farm confuse him a little; the roofs are all too big for him, and he is afraid they might come down and carry him off. once he asked josephine if it was right that his hands and fingers should run away from him every day across the fields. so they put mittens on his hands, but he took to chewing them; in fact he ate everything he was given, and enjoyed a good digestion. so they must be thankful he had his health, josephine said, and could be up and about.
-i did not follow the others across the field, but returned the way i had come last spring, down toward the woods and the sea. it is fitting that i should go back, always back, never forward again.
-i passed the hut where solem and i had lived together, and then the lapps--the two old people and olga, this strange cross between a human being and a dwarf birch. a stove stood against the peat wall, and a paraffin lamp hung from the roof of their stone-age dwelling. olga was kind and helpful, but she looked tiny and pathetic, like a ruffled hen; it pained me to watch her flit about the room, tiny and crooked, as she looked for a pair of reindeer cheeses for me.
-then i reached my own hut of last winter where i had passed so many lonely months. i did not enter it.
-or rather, i did enter it, for i had to spend the night there. but i shall skip this, so for the sake of brevity, i call it not entering. this morning i wrote something playful about madame, the mouse i left here last spring; but tonight i am taking it out again because i am no longer in the mood, and because there is no point in it. perhaps it would have amused you to read it, my friend; but there is no point in amusing you now. i must deject you now and make you listen to me; there is not much more to hear.
-am i moralizing? i am explaining. no, i am not moralizing; i am explaining. if it is moralizing to see the truth and tell it to you, then i am moralizing. can i help that? intuitively i see into what is distant; you do not, for this is something you cannot learn from your little schoolbooks. do not let this rouse your hatred for me. i shall be merry again with you later, when my strings are tuned to merriment. i have no power over them. now they are tuned to a chorale....
-at dawn, in the bright moonlight, i leave the hut and push on quickly in order to reach the village as soon as possible. but i must have started too early or walked too fast, for at this rate i shall reach the village at high noon. what am i chasing after? perhaps it is feeling the nearness of the sea that drives me forward. and as i stand on the last high ridge, with the glitter and roar of the sea far beneath, a sweetness darts through me like a greeting from another world. "thalatta!" i cry; and i wipe my eyeglasses tremblingly. the roar from below is sleepless and fierce, a tone of jungle passion, a savage litany. i descend the ridge as though in a trance and reach the first house.
-there was no one about, and a few children's faces at a window suddenly disappeared. everything here was small and poor, though only the barn was of peat; the house was a timbered fisherman's home. as i entered the house, i saw that though it was as poor within as without, the floor was clean and covered with pine twigs. there were many children here. the mother was busy cooking something over the fire.
-i was offered a chair, and sitting down, began to chat with a couple of small boys. as i was in no hurry and asked for nothing, the woman said:
-"i expect you want a boat?"
-"a boat?" i said in my turn, for i had not come by boat on my last visit; i had walked instead over fjelds and valleys many miles from the sea. "yes, why not?" i said. "but where does it go?"
-"i thought you wanted a boat to go to the trading center," she replied, "because that's where the steamer stops. we've rowed over lots of people this year."
-great changes here; the motor traffic in stordalen must have completely altered all the other traffic since my last visit ten months ago.
-"where can i stop for a few days?" i asked.
-"at the trading center, the other side of the islands. or there's eilert and olaus; they're both on this side. you could go there; they've got big houses."
-she showed me the two places on this side of the water, close to the shore, and i proceeded thither.
-a large house, with and upper story of planks built on later, displayed a new signboard on the wall: room and board. the barn, as usual, was a peat hut.
-as i did not know which was eilert and which olaus, and had stopped to consider which road to take, a man came hurrying toward me. ah, well, the world is a small place; we meet friends and acquaintances everywhere. here am i, meeting an old acquaintance, the thief of last winter, the pork thief. what luck, what a satisfaction!
-this was eilert. he took in paying guests now.
-"well, well," he said, "what a nice surprise! you are most welcome under my humble roof, and such it is!"
-my own response was rather less jaunty, and i stood still collecting my thoughts. when i had asked a few questions, he explained that since the motor traffic had started in stordalen, many visitors came through this way, and sometimes they wanted to stop over at his house before being rowed across to the steamer. they always came down in the evenings, and it might be fine, or it might not, and at night the fjord was often wild. he had therefore had to arrange to house them, because after all, you can't expect people to spend the night outdoors.
-"so you've turned into a hotelkeeper," i said.
-"lucky i've met you," i said. "why, i might have gone on down the road to his place!"
-we walked on together, with eilert talking and explaining all the way, and assuring me over and over again that olaus was a good-for-nothing for copying him as he did.
-if i had known what was awaiting me, i should certainly have passed by eilert's house. but i did not know. i was innocent, though i may not have appeared so. it cannot be helped.
-"it's too bad i've got somebody in the best room," said eilert. "they're gentlefolk from the city. they came down here through stordalen, and they had to walk because the cars have stopped for the season. they've been in my house for quite some days, and i think they'll be staying on a while yet. i think they're out now, but of course it means i can't let you have my best room."
-i looked up, and saw a face in the window. a shiver ran through me--no, of course not a shiver, far from it, but certainly this was a fresh surprise. what a coincidence! as we were about to enter the door, there was the actor, too--standing there looking at me: the actor from the tore peak resort. it was his knees, his coat, and his stick. so i was right--i had recognized her face at an upper window. yes, indeed, the world is small.
-the actor and i greeted each other and began to talk. how nice to see me again! and how was paul, the good fellow--still soaking himself in liquor, he supposed? funny effect it has sometimes; paul seemed to think the whole inn was an aquarium and we visitors the goldfish! "ha, ha, ha, goldfish; i wish we were, i must say!--well, eilert, are we getting some fresh haddock for supper? good!--really, we like it here very much; we've already been here several days; we want to stay and get a good rest."
-as we stood there, a rather stout girl came down from the loft and addressed the actor:
-"the missis wants you to come right upstairs."
-"oh? very well, at once.... well, see you later. you'll be stopping here, too, i expect?"
-he hurried up the stairs.
-eilert and i followed to my room.
-as a matter of fact, i went out again with eilert at once. he had a great deal to tell me and explain to me, and i was not unwilling to listen to him then. really, eilert was not too bad, a fine fellow with four ragged, magnificent youngsters by his first wife, who had died two years before, and another child by his second wife. he must have forgotten, as he told me this, the yarn about the sick wife and the ailing children that he had spun for me last winter. the girl who had come down the stairs with the message from the "missis" was no servant, but eilert's young wife. and she, too, was all right--strong and good, handy about the stables, and pregnant again.
-it all looks good to me, eilert: your wife and everything you tell me about your family.
-no one will understand my strange contentment, then; i had been full of an obscure happiness from the moment i came to this house. probably a mere coincidence, but that did not detract from my satisfactory state of mind; i was pleased with everything, and all things added to my cheerful frame of mind. there were some pigs by the barn, very affectionate pigs, because they were used to the children playing with them and kissing them and riding on their backs. and there was one of the goats, up on the roof of course, standing so far out along the edge that it was a wonder he didn't grow dizzy. seagulls flew criss-cross over the fields, screaming their own language to one another, and being friends or enemies to the best of their ability. down by the mouth of the river, just beneath the sunset, began the great road that winds up through the woods and the valley. there is something of the friendliness of a living being about such a forest road.
-eilert was going out in his boat to fish haddock, and i went with him. actually he should have been getting some meat for us; but he had promised the gentry from the city some fish, and fish was one of the gifts of god. besides, if he lacked meat, he could always slaughter one of the pigs.
-there was a slight wind; but then we wanted some wind, eilert said, as long as there was not too much of it.
-"not reliable tonight though," he said, looking up into the sky; "the bigger the wind, the stronger the current."
-at first i was very brave, and sat on the thwart thinking of eilert's french words: travali, prekevary, sutinary, mankémang, and many others. they've had a long way to travel, coming here by ancient routes via bergen, and now they're common property.
-and then suddenly i lost all interest in french words, and felt extremely ill. it was much too windy, and we got no haddock.
-"pity she's come up so quick," said eilert; "let's try inshore for a while."
-but we got nothing there either, and as the wind increased and the sea rose, "we'd better go home," said eilert.
-the sea had been just right before, remarkably so, but now there was entirely too much of it. why on earth did i feel so bad? an inner exhaustion, some emotional excitement, would have explained it. but i had experienced no emotional excitement.
-we rowed in the foam and feathery jets of spray. "she's rising fast!" cried eilert, rowing with all his might.
-i felt so wretched that eilert told me to ship my oars; he would manage by himself. but for all my wretchedness, i remembered that they could see me from the shore, and i would not put down my oars. eilert's wife might see me and laugh at me.
-what a revolting business, this seasickness that forced me to put my head over the gunwale and make a pig of myself! i had a moment's relief, and then it began all over again. charming! i felt as though i were in labor; the wrong way up, of course, through my throat, but it was a delivery nonetheless. it moved up, then stopped, came on again and stopped, came on and stopped once more. it was a lump of iron--iron, did i say? no, steel; i had never felt anything like it before; it was not something i was born with. all my internal mechanism was stopped by it. then i took a running start far down inside me and began, strangely, to howl with all my strength; but a howl, however successful, cannot break down a lump of steel. the pains continued. my mouth filled with bile. soon, thank heaven, my chest would burst. o--oh--oh.... then we rowed inside the islands that served as a breakwater, and i was saved.
-quite suddenly i was well again, and began to play the clown, imitating my own behavior in order to deceive the people ashore. and i assured eilert, too, that this was the first time i had ever been seasick, so that he should understand it was nothing to gossip about. after all, he had not heard about the great seas i had sailed without the slightest discomfort; once i had been four-and-twenty days on the ocean, with most of the passengers in bed, and even the captain sick in cascades; but not me!
-"yes, i get seasick sometimes, too," says eilert.
-next morning they had gone.
-yes, indeed, they left at four in the morning, at dawn; i heard them perfectly well, for my room was near the stairs. the knight of the plump thighs came first, clumping heavily down the stairs. she hushed him, and her voice sounded angry.
-eilert had just risen too, and they stood outside for some minutes, negotiating with him for the boat--yes, at once; they had changed their minds and wanted to leave, immediately. then they went down to the boat, eilert with them. i could see them through the window, chilled by the cold of early morning and short-tempered with each other. there had been a frost during the night; ice lay on the water in the buckets, and the ground was harsh to walk on. poor things--no food, no coffee; a windy morning, with the sea still running rather high. there they go with their knapsacks on their backs; she is still wearing her red hat.
-"do you know where your husband is?" i asked her.
-"yes--funny, aren't they?" she replied. "i never saw them till after they'd left--gone down to the fjord. where do you suppose they're going? haddock fishing?"
-"maybe," was all i said. but i thought to myself: "they're leaving, all right. they had their knapsacks on their backs."
-"funny couple," regine resumed. "nothing to eat, no coffee, not a thing! and the missis not wanting anything to eat last night, neither!"
-i merely shook my head and went out. regine called to me that coffee was nearly ready, so if i'd like a cup--
-of course the only thing i could do in the face of such foolishness was to shake my head and go away. one must take the sensible view. how was it possible to understand such behavior? nevertheless i, the undersigned, should have gone on to olaus yesterday, instead of going fishing. that would have been still more sensible. what business had i at this house? very likely she found it embarrassing to be called the "missis," and this was why she could neither eat last night nor stay here today. so she had beaten a retreat, with her friend and her knapsack.
-well, it was not much to go away with, but perhaps that doesn't matter. as long as one has a reason to go away.
-later in the forenoon eilert returned home. he was alone, but he came up the path carrying one of the knapsacks--the larger one. he was in a furious temper, and kept saying they'd better not try it on him--no, they'd just better not.
-of course it was the bill again.
-"she'll probably have a good deal of this sort of trouble," i thought to myself, "but no doubt she'll get used to it, and take it as nonchalantly as it should be taken. there are worse things."
-but the fact remains that it was i that upset them, i that had driven them away without their clothes; perhaps they had really expected some money to be sent here--who knows?
-i got hold of eilert. how big was the bill? what, was that all? "good heavens! here you are, here's your money; now row across to them at once with their clothes!"
-but it all proved in vain, for the strangers had gone; they had arrived just in time for the boat, and were aboard it at that very moment.
-well, there was no help for it.
-"here's their address," says eilert. "we can send the clothes next thursday; that's the next trip the boat goes south again."
-i took down the address, but i was most ungracious to eilert. why couldn't he have kept the other knapsack--why this particular one?
-eilert replied that it was true the gentleman had offered him the other one, but he could see from the outside that it was not so good as this one. and i should remember that the money the missis had paid him hadn't covered more than the bill for one of them. so it was only reasonable that he should take the fullest knapsack. as a matter of fact, he had behaved very well, and that was the truth. because when she gave him the larger knapsack, and wrote the address, she had scolded, but he had kept quiet, and said not another word. and anyway, nobody had better try it on him--they'd better not, or he'd know the reason why!
-eilert shook a long-armed fist at the sky.
-when he had eaten, drunk his coffee, and rested for a while, he was not so lively and talkative as on the previous day. he had been brooding and speculating ever since last summer, when the motor traffic started, and did i think it would be a good idea for him to hire three grown men, too, and build a much bigger house than olaus's?
-so he had caught it, too--the great, modern norwegian disease!
-once more i was run into a party of english, the last for this year.
-they arrived by steamer in the morning and stopped at the trading station for a few hours, meanwhile sending up a detachment through the valley to order a car to meet them. stordalen, stordalen, they said. so they had apparently not yet seen stordalen--an omission they must repair at once.
-and what a sensation they made!
-they came across by rowboat from the trading station; we could hear them a long way off, an old man's voice drowning out all the others. eilert dropped everything he had in hand, and ran down to the landing place in order to be the first on the spot. from olaus's house, too, a man and a few half-grown boys went down, and from all the houses round swarmed curious and helpful crowds. there were so many spectators at the landing place that the old man with the loud voice drew himself up to his full height in the boat and majestically shouted his english at us, as though his language must of course be ours as well:
-"where's the car? bring the car down!"
-olaus, who was sharp, guessed what he meant and at once sent his two boys up the valley to meet the car and hurry it on, for the englishmen had arrived.
-they disembarked, they were in a great hurry, they could not understand why the car had not come to meet them: "what was the meaning of this?" there were four of them. "stordalen!" they said. as they came up past eilert's house, they looked at their watches and swore because so many minutes were being wasted. where the devil was the car? the populace followed at some distance, gazing with reverence on these dressed-up fools.
-i remember a couple of them: an old man--the one with the loud voice--who wore a pleated kilt on each thigh and a jacket of green canvas with braid and buckles and straps and innumerable pockets all over it. what a man, what a power! his beard, streaming out from under his nose like the northern lights, was greenish-white, and he swore like a madman. another of the party was tall and bent, a flagpole of sorts, astonishing, stupendous, with sloping shoulders, a tiny cap perched above extravagantly arched eyebrows; he was an upended roman battering ram, a man on stilts. i measured him with my eyes, and still there was something left over. yet he was bent and broken, old before his time, quite bald; but his mouth was tight as a tiger's, and he had a madness in his head that kept him on the move.
-"stordalen!" he cried.
-england will soon have to open old people's homes for her sons. she desexes her people with sport and obsessive ideas: were not other countries keeping her in perpetual unrest, she would in a couple of generations be converted to pederasty....
-then the horn of the car was heard tooting in the woods, and everyone raced to meet it.
-of course olaus's two boys had done an honest day's work in meeting the car so far up the road, and urging the driver to hurry; were they not to get any reward? true, they were allowed to sit in the back seat for their return journey and thus enjoyed the drive of a lifetime; but money! they had acquired enough brazenness in the course of the summer not to hesitate, and approached the loud-voiced old man, holding out their palms and clamoring: "money!" but that did not suit the old man, who entered the car forthwith, urging his companions to hurry. the driver, no doubt thinking of his own tips, felt he would serve his passengers best by driving off with them at once. so off he went. a toot of the horn, and a rapid fanfare--tara-ra-boom-de-ay!
-the spectators turned homeward, talking about the illustrious visitors. foreign lands--ah, no, this country will not bear comparison with them! "did you see how tall the younger lord was?" "and did you see the other one, the one with the skirts and the northern lights?"
-but some of the homeward-turning bumpkins, such as the olaus family, had more serious matters on their minds. olaus for the first time understood what he had read in the paper so many times, that the norwegian elementary school is a worthless institution because it does not teach english to the children of the lower orders. here were his boys, losing a handsome tip merely because they could not swear back intelligibly at the gentleman with the northern lights. the boys themselves had also something to think about: "that driver, that scoundrel, that southerner! but just wait!" they had heard that bits of broken bottle were very good for tires....
-i return to her knapsack and her clothes, and the reason why i do so is that eilert is so little to be trusted. i want to count her clothes to make sure none of them disappear; it was a mistake not to have done so at once.
-it may seem as though i kept returning to these clothes and thinking about them; but why should i do that? at any rate it is now evident that i was right in suspecting eilert, for i heard him going upstairs, and when i came in, he was turning out the bag and going through the clothes.
-"what are you doing?" i said.
-at first he tried to brazen it out.
-"never you mind," he replied. but my knowing something about him was so much to my advantage that he soon drew in his horns. how i wronged him, he complained, and exploited him:
-"you haven't bought these clothes," he said. "i could have got more for them if i'd sold them." he had been paid, but he still wanted more, like the stomach, which goes on digesting after death. that was eilert. yet he was not too bad; he had never been any better, and he certainly had grown no worse with his new livelihood.
-may no one ever grow worse with a new livelihood!
-so i moved the knapsack and the clothes into my own room in order to take better care of them. it was a slow job to tidy everything up for the second time, but it had to be done. later that evening i would resume my journey, taking the knapsack with me. i had done with the place, and the nights were moonlit again.
-enough of these clothes!
-once again i am at an age when i walk in the moonlight. thirty years ago i walked in the moonlight, too, walked on crackling, snowy roads, on bare, frozen ground, round unlocked barns, on the hunt for love. how well i remember it! but it is no longer the same moonlight. i could even read by it the letter she gave me. but there are no such letters any more.
-everything is changed. the tale is told, and tonight i walk abroad on an errand of the head, not of the heart: i shall go across to the trading center and dispatch a knapsack by the steamer; after that i shall wander on. and that requires nothing but a little ordinary training in walking, and the light of the moon to see by. but in those old days, those young days, we studied the almanac in the autumn to find out if there would be a moon on twelfth night, for we could use it then.
-everything is changed; i am changed. the tale lies within the teller.
-they say that old age has other pleasures which youth has not: deeper pleasures, more lasting pleasures. that is a lie. yes, you have read right: that is a lie. only old age itself says this, in a self-interest that flaunts its very rags. the old man has forgotten when he stood on the summit, forgotten his own self, his own alias, red and white, blowing a golden horn. now he stands no longer--no, he sits--it is less of a strain to sit. but now there comes to him, slow and halting, fat and stupid, the honor of old age. what can a sitting man do with honor? a man on his feet can use it; to a sitting man it is only a possession. but honor is meant to be used, not to be sat with.
-let sitting men wear warm stockings.
-what a coincidence: another barn on my road, just as in the days of the golden horn! it offers me plenty of straw and shelter for the night; but where is the girl who gave me the letter? how warm her breath was, coming between lips a little parted! she will come again, of course; let us wait, we have plenty of time, another twenty years--oh, yes, she will come....
-i must be on my guard against such traps. i have entered upon the honorable years; i am weak and quite capable of believing that a barn is a gift from above: thou well-deserving old man, here is a barn for thee!
-no, thank you, i'm only just in my seventies.
-and so in my errand of the head i pass by the barn.
-toward morning i find shelter under a projecting crag. it is fitting that i should live under crags hereafter, and i lie down in a huddle, small and invisible. anything else you please, as long as you don't flaunt your selfishness and your rags!
-i am comfortable now, lying with my head on another person's knapsack full of used clothes; i am doing this solely because it is just the right size. but sleep will not come; there are only thoughts and dreams and lines of poetry and sentimentality. the sack smells human, and i fling it away, laying my head on my arm. my arm smells of wood--not even wood.
-but the slip of paper with the address--have i got the address? and i scratch a match to read it through and know it by heart tomorrow. just a line in pencil, nothing; but perhaps there is a softness in the letters, a womanliness--i don't know.
-it doesn't matter.
-i manage to reach the trading center at midday, when everyone is up and about, and the post office open. they give me a large sheet of wrapping paper and string and sealing wax; i wrap the parcel and seal it and write on the outside. there!
-oh--i forgot the slip of paper with the address--to put it inside, i mean. stupid! but otherwise i have done what i should. as i continue on my way, i feel strangely void and deserted; no doubt because the knapsack was quite heavy after all, and now i am well rid of it. "the last pleasure!" i think suddenly. and as i walk on i think irrelevantly: "the last country, the last island, the last pleasure...."
-i didn't know at first. the winter stood before me, my summer behind me--no task, no yearning, no ambition. as it made no difference where i stayed, i remembered a town i knew, and thought i might as well go there--why not? a man cannot forever sit by the sea, and it is not necessary to misunderstand him if he decides to leave it. so he leaves his solitude--others have done so before him--and a mild curiosity drives him to see the ships and the horses and the tiny frostbitten gardens of a certain town. when he arrives there, he begins to wonder in his idleness if he does not know someone in this town, in this terrifyingly large town. the moonlight is bright now, and it amuses him to give himself a certain address to visit evening after evening, and to take up his post there as though something depended on it. he is not expected anywhere else, so he has the time. then one evening someone finds him reading under a lamppost, stops suddenly and stares, takes a few steps toward him, and bends forward searchingly.
-"isn't it--? oh, no, excuse me, i thought--"
-"yes, it is. good evening, miss torsen."
-"why, good evening. i thought it looked like you. good evening. yes, thank you, very well. and thanks for the knapsack; i understood all at once--i quite understand--"
-"do you live here? what a strange coincidence!"
-"yes, i live here; those are my windows. you wouldn't like to come up, would you? no, perhaps you wouldn't."
-"but i know where there are some benches down by the shore. unless you're cold?" i suggested.
-"no, i'm not cold. yes, thank you, i'd like to."
-we went down to a bench, looking like a father and daughter out walking. there was nothing striking about us, and we sat the whole evening undisturbed. later we sat undisturbed on other evenings all through a cold autumn month.
-then she told me first the short chapter of her journey home, some of it only hinted, suggested, and some of it in full; sometimes with her head deeply bowed, sometimes, when i asked a question, replying by a brief word or a shake of the head. i write it down from memory; it was important to her, and it became important for others as well.
-besides--in a hundred years it will all be forgotten. why do we struggle? in a hundred years someone will read about it in memoirs and letters and think: "how she wriggled, how she fussed--dear me!" there are others about whom nothing at all will be written or read; life will close over them like a grave. either way....
-what sorrows she had--dear, dear, what sorrows! the day she had been unable to pay the bill, she thought herself the center of the universe; everybody stared at her, and she was at her wits' end. then she heard a man's voice outside saying: "haven't you watered blakka yet?" that was his preoccupation. so she was not the center of the universe after all.
-then she and her companion had left the house, and set out on their tour. the center? not at all. day after day they walked across fields, and through valleys, had meals in houses by the way, and water from the brooks. if they met other travelers, they greeted them, or they did not greet them; no one was less a center of attention than they, and no one more. her companion walked in vacant thoughtlessness, whistling as he went.
-at one place they stopped for food.
-"will you pay for mine for the time being?" he said.
-she hesitated and then said briefly that she could not pay "for the time being" all the way.
-"of course not, by no means," said he. "just for the moment. perhaps we can get a loan further down the valley."
-"i don't borrow."
-"ingeborg!" said he, pretending playfully to whimper.
-"what is it?"
-"nothing. can't i say 'ingeborg' to my own wife?"
-"pish! we were man and wife last night. it says so in the visitors' book."
-she was silent at this. yes, last night they had been man and wife; that was to save getting two rooms, and travel economically. but she had been very foolish to agree to it.
-"'miss torsen,' then?" he whimpered.
-and to put an end to the game, she paid for both of them and took her knapsack on her back.
-they walked again. at the next stop she paid for them both without discussion--for the evening meal, for bed and breakfast. it grew to be a habit. they walked on once more. they reached the end of the valley by the sea, and here she revolted again.
-"go away--go on by yourself; i don't want you in my room any more!"
-the old argument no longer held good. when he repeated that they saved money by it, she replied that she for her part required no more than one room, and was quite able to pay for it. he joked again, whimpered, "ingeborg!" and left her. he was beaten, and his back was bent.
-she ate alone that evening.
-"isn't your husband coming in?" asked the woman of the house.
-"perhaps he doesn't want anything," she replied.
-there he stood, away by the tiny barn pretending to be interested in the roof, in the style of building, and walked round looking at it, pursing his lips and whistling. but she could see perfectly well from the window that his face was blue and dejected. when she had eaten, she walked down to the shore, calling as she passed him:
-"go in and eat!"
-but he had not sunk quite so low; he would not go in to eat, and slept under no roof that night.
-it ended as such things usually end: when she found him at last next morning, regretting her action and shaken by his appearance, everything slipped back again to where it had been.
-aboard the mail boat she met no more acquaintances, and had leisure to think things over calmly. she now broke with her companion in earnest. she had a minor disagreement with him again, for he had no ticket, and one word gave rise to the next. it was all very well for her, he said; she had her return ticket in her pocket. besides, had he not got himself involved in all these trials and tribulations because of her letter last summer, and was she not ashamed of herself? he would not have moved a foot outside the town had it not been for that letter of hers. then she gave him her purse and all her money and asked him to leave her. there was probably enough to buy him a ticket, and now she would be rid of him.
-"of course i shouldn't accept this, but there's no other way," he said, and left her.
-she stood gazing across the water, and wondering what to do. she was in a bad way now, so very different from what she had once thought; what shame, what utter futility she had wandered into! she brooded till she was worn out; then she began to listen to what people about her were saying. two men were huddled on benches trying to shelter from the wind; she heard one of them say he was a schoolmaster, and the other that he was an artisan. the schoolmaster did not remain seated long, but got up and swaggered toward her. she passed him in silence and took his place on the bench.
-it was a raw autumn day, and it did her good to get out of the wind. the artisan probably thought this tall, well-dressed lady had a berth, but when she sat down, he moved over on his own bench. he was on the point of lighting his pipe, but stopped.
-"go on, don't mind me," she said.
-so he lit it, but he was careful not to blow the smoke into her face.
-he was only a youngster, a little over twenty, with thick reddish hair under his cap, and whitish eyebrows high up on his forehead. his chest was broad and flat, but his back was round and his hands massive. a great horse.
-then a tray was brought him, sandwiches and coffee, which he had evidently been waiting for; he paid, but went on smoking and let the food stand.
-"please eat," she said. "you don't mind my sitting here?"
-"not at all," he replied. he knocked out his pipe slowly, taking plenty of time over it; then sat still again.
-"i don't really need anything to eat yet, either," he said.
-"oh--haven't you come far?"
-"no, only last night. where do you come from, lady?"
-"from the town. i've been on holiday."
-"that's what i thought," he said, nodding his head.
-"i've been up at the tore peak farm," she added.
-"the tore peak? so."
-"do you know it?"
-"no, but i know some of the people there."
-"josephine's there," he resumed.
-"yes. do you know her?"
-they talked a little more. the boat sailed on, and they sat there talking; it was all they had to do. she asked where he came from and what his trade was, and it seemed he was nothing important, only a paltry carpenter, and his mother had a small farm. would the lady like a simple cup of coffee?
-"why, yes, thank you." could she have a little of his, "just a little in the saucer?"
-she poured some of the coffee into the saucer and asked for a bite of food as well. never had food tasted so good, and when she had finished, she thanked him for that, too.
-"haven't you a berth?" he asked.
-"yes, but i'd rather stay here," she said. "if i go below, i'll be sick."
-"that's what i thought. well, now i wonder--"
-with that he got up and walked slowly and heavily away. she watched his back disappearing down the companion to the lower deck.
-she waited for him a long time, fearing that someone else might come and take his place. coffee from the saucer, a good-sized sandwich with the carpenter: nothing wily or unnatural about that; this sheltered corner seemed to her like a tiny foothold in life.
-there he was, coming back with more food and coffee, a whole tray in his big hands. he laughed good-naturedly at himself for walking so carefully.
-she threw up her hands and overdid things a little:
-"great heavens! really, you're much, much too kind!"
-"well, i thought since you were sitting here anyhow--"
-they both ate; she grew warm and sleepy, and leaned back half-dozing. every time she opened her eyes, she saw the carpenter lighting his pipe; he struck two or three matches at once, but he was in no hurry; they were always half burned before he put his pipe in his mouth and began to suck at it. the schoolmaster called something to him, drew his attention to something far inland, but the carpenter merely nodded and said nothing.
-"i wonder if he's afraid he'll wake me," she thought.
-at one stop, her former traveling companion turned up again; he had been below in the cabin.
-"aren't you coming down, ingeborg?" he asked.
-she did not reply.
-the carpenter looked from one to the other.
-"miss torsen, then!" whimpered the traveling companion playfully. he stood waiting a moment, and finally went away.
-"ingeborg," the carpenter was probably thinking. "miss torsen," he was thinking.
-"oh, i'll be there some time."
-"what are you doing there?"
-he was a little embarrassed, and since his skin was so fair, she could see at once that he reddened. he bent forward, planting his elbows on his knees before he replied.
-"i want to learn a little more in my trade, be an apprentice, maybe. it all depends."
-"oh, i see."
-"what do you think of it?" he asked.
-"i think it's a good idea."
-they were on deck nearly the whole of the day, but toward evening it turned bitter cold and windy. when she had grown stiff with sitting, she got up and stamped her feet, and when she had stamped till she was tired, she sat down again. once when she was standing a little distance away, she saw the carpenter place a parcel on the bench as though to keep her seat for her.
-her quondam traveling companion stuck his head out of a doorway, the wind blowing his hair forward over his forehead, and cried:
-"ingeborg, go below, will you!"
-"oh," she groaned. suddenly she was seized with fury. the ship heeled over on its side as she walked toward him, and she had to take a few skips to keep her balance.
-"i don't want you to talk to me again," she hissed at him. "do you hear? i mean it, by all that's holy!"
-"good gracious!" he exclaimed and disappeared.
-at about three o'clock, the carpenter turned up with coffee and sandwiches again.
-"really you mustn't be doing this all the time," she said.
-he merely laughed good-naturedly again, and told her to eat if she thought it was good enough.
-"we'll soon be there now," she said as she ate. "have you someone to go to?"
-"oh, yes, i have a sister."
-slowly and thoughtfully he took another sandwich and turned it over, looking at it absently before he took a bite out of it. when he had finished one mouthful, he took another. and when he had finished that one, too, he said:
-"i thought that as i'm going to stay in town over the winter, i'd better learn something. and what with the farm as well--"
-"you think so too?"
-"oh, yes. i think so."
-as the boat drew alongside the pier, he offered her his hand and said:
-"my name is nikolai."
-"i thought in case we meet again--nikolai palm--but i expect the town's too big--"
-"yes, i expect it is. well, thanks ever so much for all your kindness. good-bye."
-i ask miss torsen:
-"have you met the carpenter since?"
-"what carpenter? oh--no, i haven't. i only told you about him because he's a sort of mutual acquaintance."
-"yes, of yours and mine. only indirectly, of course. he happens to be the brother of that schoolmistress miss palm that was at the tore peak farm last summer."
-"well, the world's a small place. we all belong to the same family."
-"and that's why i've told you all this about him."
-"but you didn't find out about this relationship on the boat, did you? so you must have met him since."
-"yes,--well, no, that is to say i've seen him a few times, but not to speak to. we just said good morning and how are you and so on. then he said he was her brother."
-"ha, ha, ha!"
-"it was just in passing, quite by accident."
-this gave me a good opportunity for saying: "what a lot of things are accidental! it was an accident that i should have stopped under a particular lamppost to look up something, to read a few lines. and then you happened to live there."
-"i expect you and the carpenter will be getting married," i said.
-"ha, ha! no, indeed, i shan't marry anyone."
-"you have to be pretty naïve to marry."
-"well, i don't know that being naïve does any harm--being not quite so clever. where does your cleverness lead you? only to being cheated. because there isn't anybody who's quite clever enough."
-"i should have thought being clever is just the thing to protect you against being cheated. what else would it do?"
-"exactly. what else? but the trouble is we trust our cleverness so much that we get cheated that way. or else we let things go from bad to worse, because why should we worry? after all we've got our cleverness to help get us out of the mess!"
-"well, in that case it's pretty hopeless!"
-"relying on your cleverness--yes. that was your own opinion last summer, you know."
-"yes, i remember that. i thought--oh, i don't know. but when i came back to town again it was as though--"
-"i don't know what to think," she said.
-"and i do because i'm old and wise. you see, miss torsen, in the old days people didn't think so much about cleverness and secondary schools and the right to vote; they lived their lives on a different plane, they were naïve. i wonder if that wasn't a pretty good way to live. of course people were cheated in those days, too, but they didn't smart under it so; they bore it with greater natural strength. we have lost our healthy powers of endurance."
-"it's getting cold," she said. "shall we go home?--yes, of course that's all quite true, but we're living in modern times. we can't change the times; i can't, at any rate; i've got to keep up with the times."
-"yes, that's what it says in the oslo morning paper. because it used to say so in the neue freie presse. but a person with character goes his own way up to a point, even if the majority go a different way."
-"yes--well, i'm really going to tell you something now," she said, stopping. "i go to a really sensible school during the day."
-"do you?" i said.
-"only this time i'm learning housekeeping; isn't that a good thing?"
-"you mean you're learning to cut sandwiches for yourself?"
-"well, you said you weren't going to marry!"
-"oh, i don't know."
-"very well. you marry; you settle down in his valley. but first you have to learn housekeeping so that you can make an omelette or possibly a pudding for tourists or englishmen that pass through."
-"his valley? whose valley?"
-"you'd much better go to his mother's and learn all the housekeeping you're going to need from her."
-"really, really," she said smiling as she walked on again, "you're quite on the wrong track. it isn't he--it isn't anybody."
-"so much the worse for you. there ought to be somebody."
-"yes, but suppose it's not the one i want."
-"oh, yes, it will be the one you want. you're big enough and handsome enough and capable enough."
-"thank you very much, but--well. thanks so much. good night."
-why did she break off so suddenly and leave me so hurriedly, almost at a run? was she crying? i should have liked to have said more, to have been wise and circumstantial and made useful suggestions, but i was left standing in a kind of stupid surprise.
-then something happened.
-"we haven't seen each other for such a long time," she said, the next time we met. "i'm so glad to see you again. shall we take a short walk? i was just--"
-"going to post a letter, i see."
-"yes, i was going to post a letter. it's only--it's not--"
-we went to a newspaper office with the letter. it was evidently an advertisement; perhaps she was trying to find a situation.
-as she came out of the office a gentleman greeted her. she turned a deep red, and stopped for a moment at the top of the two stone steps leading from the entrance. her head was bent almost to her chest, as though she were looking very carefully at the steps before venturing to come down them. they greeted each other again; the stranger shook her hand, and they began to talk.
-he was a man of her own age, good-looking, with a soft, fair beard, and dark eyebrows that looked as though he had blacked them. he wore a top hat, and his overcoat, which was open, was lined with silk.
-i heard them mention an evening of the previous week on which they had enjoyed themselves; it had been a relaxation. there had been quite a party, first out driving, then at supper together. it was a memory they had in common. miss torsen didn't say much. she seemed a little embarrassed, but smiling and beautiful. i began to look at the illustrated papers displayed in the window, when suddenly the thought struck me: "good god, she's in love!"
-"look, i have a suggestion," he said. then they discussed something, agreed about something, and she nodded. after that he left her.
-she came toward me slowly and in silence. i spoke to her about some of the pictures in the window. "yes," she said, "just think!" but she gazed at them without seeing anything. silently we walked on, and for several minutes, at least, she said nothing.
-"hans flaten never changes," she said finally.
-"is that who it was?" i asked.
-"his name's flaten."
-"yes, i remember you mentioned the name last summer. who is he?"
-"his father's a merchant."
-"but he himself?"
-"his father owns the big shop in almes street, you know."
-"yes, but what about him; what does he do?"
-"i don't know if he does anything special; he just studies. his father's so rich, you know."
-"he's such a man of the world," she went on. "he simply throws money about--banknotes. when he goes anywhere, the people all whisper, 'that's flaten!'"
-"he dresses as though he were a baron," i said.
-"yes," she replied, rather offended. "yes, he dresses well--always has."
-"is that the man you want?" i asked lightly.
-she was silent a moment, and then said with a resolute nod:
-"why not? we're old friends, we've gone to school together, spent a lot of time together. it's really based on a firm foundation. he's the only man i've ever been in love with in all my life, and it's lasted many years. sometimes, i'll admit, i forget him, but the moment i see him again, i'm as much in love as ever. i've told him so, and we both laugh about it, but that doesn't change it. it's queer."
-"then i suppose he's too rich to marry her," i thought, and asked nothing more.
-when we parted, i said:
-"where does carpenter nikolai work?"
-"i don't know," she replied. "oh, yes, i do know. we're near there, and i can show you if you like. what do you want to see him for?"
-"nothing. i just wondered if he's at a good place, with a competent master."
-why did i, indeed, want to see carpenter nikolai, the artisan? yet i have visited him and made his acquaintance. he is a bull in stature, strong and plain-featured, a man of few words. last saturday we saw the town together; why, i don't know, but i suggested it myself.
-i made friends with the carpenter for my own sake, because of my loneliness. i no longer went to the benches by the shore, as the weather was a little too cold, and miss torsen interested me very little now; she had changed so much since returning to the town. she had become more the ordinary type of girl, not in any one thing, but in general. she thought of nothing but vanities and nonsense, and seemed quite to have forgotten her last summer's wholesome, bitter view of life. now she was back at school again, in her leisure hours meeting the gentleman named flaten, and this occupied all of her time. either she had no depths, or she had been vitiated in the vital years of adolescence.
-"what do you expect me to do?" she asked. "of course i'm going to school again; i've been going to school ever since i was a child. i'm no good at anything else. i can only learn--that's what i'm used to. there isn't much i can think or do on my own, and i don't enjoy it either. so what do you expect?"
-no, what could i expect?
-carpenter nikolai went to the circus. he was not much surprised at anything he saw there, or he pretended not to be. the acrobatics on horseback--"well, not bad, but after all--!" the tiger--"i thought tigers were much bigger!" besides, his big, heavy head seemed preoccupied with other thoughts, and he paid little attention to the women riders who were doing their tricks.
-on the way home he said:
-"i ought not to ask you, i expect, but would you go to the krone with me tomorrow evening?"
-"the krone--what's that?"
-"it's a place where they dance."
-"a dance hall, in other words. where is it? do you feel so much like dancing?"
-"no, not much."
-"you want to see what goes on there?"
-"all right, i'll go."
-it was on a sunday evening, the girls' and boys' own evening, that the carpenter and i went to the dance.
-he had decked himself out in a starched collar and a heavy watch chain. but he was very young, and when you are young, you look well in anything. he had such remarkable strength that it was never necessary for him to give way; this had lent him assurance and authority. if you spoke to him, he was slow to reply, and if you slapped him on the shoulder, he was slow in turning round to see who had greeted him. he was a pleasant, good-humored companion.
-we went to the booking office; there was no one there, and the window was closed. moreover a notice on the wall announced that the hall was let to a private club for the first two hours of the evening.
-a few young people came along as we were standing there, read the notice, and went away again. the carpenter was unwilling to go, looked round, and went in through the gate as though looking for someone.
-"we can't do anything about it," i called after him.
-"no," he said. "but i wonder--?"
-he crossed the yard and began to look up at all the windows.
-a man came down the stairs.
-"what is it?" he asked.
-"my friend wanted to buy a ticket," i replied. the carpenter still showed no inclination to return from the yard.
-the man approached me, and proved to be the landlord. he explained, like the notice, that a club had rented the hall for the first two hours.
-"come along, we can't get in!" i called to my companion.
-but he was in no hurry, so i chatted with the landlord while waiting for him.
-"yes, it's rather an exclusive club. only eight couples, but just the same they've hired a full orchestra--rich people, you see."
-they had refreshments and plenty of champagne, and then they danced as though their lives depended on it. why they did it? oh, well, young people, rich and fashionable, bored by sunday evening at home; they wanted to work off the week's idleness in two hours, so they danced. not unusual, really.
-"and of course," said the landlord, "i earn more in those two hours than in the whole of the evening otherwise. liberal people--they don't count the pennies. and yet there's no wear and tear, because of course people like that don't dance on their heels."
-the carpenter, who had come halfway back, stood listening to us.
-"what sort of people are they, generally speaking?" i inquired. "businessmen, officers, or what?"
-"excuse me, but i can't tell you that," replied the landlord. "it's a private party; that's all i can say. to-night, for instance, i don't even know who they are. the money just came by special messenger."
-"it's flaten," said the carpenter.
-"flaten--is it?" said the landlord, as though he did not know it. "mr. flaten has been here before; he's a fine gentleman, always in fashionable company. so it's mr. flaten, is it? well, excuse me, i must have another look round the hall--"
-the landlord left us.
-but the carpenter followed him.
-"couldn't we look on?" he asked.
-"what, at the dancing? oh, no."
-"in a corner somewhere?"
-"no, i couldn't allow that. i don't even let my own wife and daughter in--nobody, not a soul. they wouldn't like it."
-"are you coming or--?" i called, as though for the last time.
-"yes, i'm coming," said the carpenter, turning back.
-"so you knew about this party?" i said.
-"yes," he replied. "she talked about it last friday."
-"who talked about it? miss torsen?"
-"yes. she said i might sit in the gallery."
-we walked on down the street, each busy with his own thoughts--or perhaps with the same thought. i, at least, was furious.
-"really, my good nikolai, i have no desire to buy tickets in order to look at mr. flaten and his ladies!"
-curious idea of hers, inviting this man to watch her dance. it was preposterous, but like her. last summer, too--did she not like a third party within hearing whenever she sailed close to the wind? a thought struck me, and i asked the carpenter as calmly as i could:
-"did miss torsen want me to sit in the gallery, too--did she say anything about that?"
-"no," he replied.
-"didn't she say anything about me?"
-"you're lying," i thought, "and i daresay she's told you to lie!" i was highly incensed, but i could not squeeze the truth out of the carpenter.
-cars rolled up behind us and stopped at the krone. nikolai turned and wanted to go back, but when he saw that i kept straight on, he hesitated a moment and then followed me. i heard him once sighing heavily.
-we strolled the streets for an hour, while i cooled off and made myself agreeable to my companion again. we had a glass of beer together, then went to a cinema, and afterward to a shooting gallery. finally we went to a skittle ground, where we stayed for some time. nikolai was the first to want to leave; he looked at his watch, and was suddenly in a tearing hurry. he was hardly even willing to finish the game.
-we had to pass the krone again. the cars had gone.
-"just as i thought," said the carpenter, looking very disappointed. i believe he would have liked to be present when the party came out to enter their cars. he looked up and down the empty street and repeated, "just as i thought!" he was suddenly anxious to go home.
-"no, let's go inside," i said.
-it was a big, handsome hall with a platform for the orchestra, and a throng of people on the great floor. we sat in the gallery looking on.
-there was a very mixed crowd: seamen, artisans, hotel staff, shop assistants, casual workers; the ladies were apparently seamstresses, servant girls, and shopgirls, with a sprinkling of light-footed damsels who had no daytime occupation. the floor was crowded with dancers. in addition to a constable whose duty it was to intervene if necessity arose, the establishment had its own commissionaire, who walked about the hall with a stick, keeping an eye on the assembled company. as soon as a dance was finished, the gentlemen all crowded to the platform and paid ten öre. if anyone seemed to be trying to cheat, the commissionaire would tap him politely on the arm with his stick. gentlemen who had to be tapped many times were regarded as suspicious characters, and might, as a last resource, even be expelled. order was admirably maintained.
-waltz, mazurka, schottische, square dance, waltz. i soon noticed a man who was dancing with great assiduity, never stopping once--tall, swarthy, lively--a heartbreaker. the ladies clustered round him.
-"can that be solem down there dominating the crowd?" i thought.
-"wouldn't you like to dance?" i asked carpenter nikolai.
-"oh, no," he replied with a smile.
-"then we can leave any time you like."
-"all right," he said and remained seated.
-"your thoughts seem to be far away."
-a long pause.
-"i was thinking that i haven't a horse on my farm. i have to carry all the manure and the wood myself."
-"so that's why you're so strong."
-"i'll have to go home in a few days and chop wood for the winter."
-"yes, of course you will."
-"i was going to say--," he persisted, and then fell silent.
-"no, it's no use suggesting it. i'd have liked you to come with me this winter, though--i've got a small spare room."
-"why should i go there?" still--it wasn't a bad idea.
-"it would be nice if you could," said the carpenter.
-just then i heard the name of solem mentioned in the hall. yes, there he was, swaggering as usual, the self-same solem from tore peak. he was standing alone, in high spirits, announcing that he was solem--"solem, my lad." he appeared not to be in the company of any one lady, for i saw him choosing partners indiscriminately. then he chose the wrong lady, and her partner shook his head and said no. solem remembered that. he allowed the couple to dance the next dance, and when it was finished, approached again and bowed to the lady. once more he was refused.
-the lady's appearance was striking--sophisticated or innocent, who could tell? ash-blonde, tall, grecian, in a black frock without trimming. how quiet and retiring she was! of course she was a tart, but what a gentle one--a nun of vice, with a face as pure as that of a repentant sinner. peerless!
-this was a woman for solem.
-it was after he had received his second "no" from the gentleman that he began to talk, to tell everyone that he was "solem, my lad." but his boasts were dull: something was going to happen; he would show them an image of sin! there was no sting in it; just old, familiar rubbish these people had heard before. the commissionaire crossed over to him and asked him to be quiet, pointing at the same time to the constable by the door. this pouring of oil on the waters was successful, for solem himself said: "hush, we mustn't make trouble." but he did not lose sight of the grecian and her partner.
-he allowed a few dances to pass again, himself engaging other partners to dance with. there was now a huge crowd, all the late-comers having by this time arrived. many were crowded off the floor and had to wait, rushing to get first place in the next dance instead.
-then something happened.
-a couple slipped and fell. it was solem and his partner. as he was getting up again, he tripped up another couple--the grecian and her partner, both of whom fell down. and solem was so strangely clumsy as he rose that his long arms and legs brought down a third couple. in a few minutes there was a squirming heap on the floor; screams and oaths were heard, people grew angry and kicked one another, while solem skillfully directed the disaster with sincere and wholehearted malevolence. couple after couple met their waterloo over those already fallen. the commissionaire poked them with his stick, exhorting them to get up; the constable himself assisted him, and the music stopped. in the meantime, solem, acting with the better part of valor, slipped out of the room and did not return.
-gradually the fallen couples got to their feet again, rubbing their shins, dusting off their clothes, some laughing, others swearing. the grecian lady's partner had a bleeding wound on his temple, and put his hands to his head in a daze. questions were being asked about that--what was his name?--that tall fellow who had started all the trouble. "solem," said some of the ladies. threats were uttered against solem: he was the one. "go and find him, somebody--we'll show him!"--"why, he couldn't help it," said the ladies.
-ah, solem, solem--how the ladies loved him!
-but the grecian rose from the dust as from a bath. the sand from the floor clung to her black dress, making it look as though spangled with stardust. submissively she accepted the lot of lying under all the others, entwined in their legs, and smiled when someone pointed out to her that the comb in her grecian knot was crushed.
-today, the first of october forty years ago, we drove the snowplow at home. yes, i regret to say that i remember forty years ago.
-nothing escapes my attention yet, but everything moves past me. i sit in the gallery looking on. if nikolai the carpenter had been observant, he would have seen my fingers closing and opening again, my absurdity augmented by affectation and grimacing. fortunately he was a child. in the end i left it all behind me, and took my proper seat. my address is the chimney corner.
-now it is winter again, with snow over the north, and anglo-saxon claptrap in the town. this is my desolate period; my wheels stop, my hair stops growing, my nails stop growing, everything stops growing but the days of my life. and it is well that my days increase--from now on it is well.
-not much happens during the winter. well, of course, nikolai has got an overcoat for the first time in his life. he didn't really need it, he says, but he bought it because of the advertisement; and it was dear, twenty kroner, but he got it for eighteen! i am sure nikolai is much happier about his overcoat than flaten is about his.
-but let me not forget flaten, for something has happened to him. his friends have given him a farewell party and drunk him out of bachelordom, for he is going to marry. it is miss torsen who told me this; i met her by accident again under her own lamppost, and she told me then.
-"and you're not wearing mourning?" i said.
-"oh, no," she said, smiling. "no, it's something i've known a long time. besides, perhaps i'm not very faithful; i don't know."
-"i think you've hit the truth there."
-she looked startled.
-"what do you mean?"
-"i think you've changed very much since last summer. you were straight and competent then, you saw clearly, you knew what you wanted. what's happened to your tinge of bitterness? or have you no longer reason to be bitter?"
-this was all too gravely spoken, but i was like a father and meant well.
-she began to walk on, her head bent in thought. then she said something very sensible:
-"last summer i had just lost my livelihood. i'm telling you things exactly as they were. i lost my post, which was a very serious matter. this made me reflect for a time; that's true. but then--i don't know--i'm quite adult, but not adult enough. i have two sisters who are really steady; they're married and quite settled, though they're younger than i. i don't know what's wrong with me."
-"would you like to go to a concert with me?" i asked.
-"now? no, thank you, i'm not dressed for it."
-"but it's kind of you to ask me!" she said with sudden pleasure. "it might have been very nice, but--well, you must let me tell you about the dinner party, the banquet; what a lot of pranks they thought of!"
-she was right about that; these jolly young people had played a great many pranks, some of them childish and stupid, others not too bad. first they had drunk wine of the vintage of 1812. no, first of all, flaten was sent an invitation, of course, and it consisted of a painting, a very emancipated painting in a frame, the only written words being the date and the place, and the legend: ballads, bachiads, offenbachiads, bacchanales. then there were speeches for him who was about to leave them, and generally speaking a most deafening shouting over the wineglasses. and there was music, with someone of the company playing all the time.
-but as the evening wore on, this sort of thing was not enough, and girls with their faces masked were brought in to dance. as there had been a great deal of champagne, however, this part of the program tended to deteriorate into something different, and the girls had to be sent away. then the gentlemen went down to the hotel lobby and stood at the door watching for "opportunities."
-there--a young woman approached carrying a baby and a bundle of clothes. great, wet flakes of snow were drifting down, and she bent forward over the child to shelter it as she walked.
-"whoa!" said the gentleman and caught hold of her. "is that your child!"
-"yes, he's mine."
-"what, a boy?"
-they talked more with her; she was thin and young, evidently a servant girl. they also looked at the child, and helgesen and lind, who were both short-sighted, polished their glasses and inspected it carefully.
-"are you going off to drown the child?" somebody says.
-"no," says the girl in confusion.
-that was a nasty question, all the others agreed, and the first one admitted it. he went off to fetch his raincoat, and hung it over the girl's shoulders. then he tickled the child under the chin and made it smile--a marvel of a child, human bones and rags and dirt all in one little bundle.
-"poor bastard," he said. "born of a maiden!"
-"that's better!" the others remarked. "now let's do something," they said. "where do you live?" to the girl.
-"i've lived at such and such places," she replied. "have lived; very well, this is what we'll do," one of them said, taking out his pocketbook. the others followed suit, and a great deal of money was pushed into the girl's hand.
-"wait a minute--wait--i haven't given her enough; i asked her such a nasty question," said the first of them.
-"neither have i," said another, "because we all thought the same thing, but now we're going to settle some money on this son of a maiden!"
-a collection was taken up, with helgesen as the cashier. then bengt hailed a cab, invited the girl to enter, and got in after her.
-"go ahead--i want to go to langes street!" he called to the driver.
-bengt was taking the child home to his mother, the others said. the group were rather silent after this.
-"your eyes are so ridiculously wet, bolt; are you crying about the money?"
-"what about you?" bolt replied. "you're as sentimental as an old woman!"
-they grew cheerful again, and there were further "opportunities." a peasant came down the street with a cow he was taking to the butcher's.
-"what will you charge for letting our guest of honor ride your cow?" young rolandsen asked him. the peasant smiled and shook his head. so they bought the cow from him, paying cash for it. "wait a minute," they said to the peasant. then they put a label on the cow, addressed to a lady they knew.
-"take it to this address," they said to the peasant.
-by the time they had finished with this, bengt had returned.
-"where have you been?" they asked in surprise.
-"the old lady said yes," was all he replied.
-"hurrah!" they all shouted. "let's drink to the baby! here, let's go to the bar. did she really say yes? hurrah for the old lady, too! what are we standing here for? let's walk into the bar!"
-"walk!" someone mocks. "no, indeed, we'll drive-waiter, cars!"
-the waiter rushed inside to telephone. it took some time, as it was getting late, but the gentlemen waited. it was already closing time and people were streaming out of the bar. at length the cars arrived, ten of them, one for each man. the gentlemen entered them.
-"where to?" asked the drivers.
-"next door," they said.
-so the cars drove up to the next door of the same house, that being the bar, and there the gentlemen gravely got out and paid the drivers.
-the bar was closed.
-"shall we break in?" they said.
-"of course," they said.
-so they all ran against the door together, till it said ump! and flew open. the night watchman rushed at them, shouting, and they caught hold of him, slapped him on the back, and embraced him. then they went behind the counter and got out bottles for him and for themselves, drinking and shouting hurrah for the baby, for bengt's mother, for the baby's mother, for the night watchman, for love and for life. when they had done, they put some banknotes over the night watchman's mouth and tied a handkerchief over them. then they went back to the dining room.
-later we were discussing miss torsen's story; she had forgotten one or two details which she filled in afterwards.
-"anyhow, it was lucky for the girl with the baby," she said.
-"and for the baby itself," i said.
-"yes. but what an idea! poor old lady, to be told such a tale!"
-"some day perhaps you'll change your mind about that."
-"you think so? but it would have been nicer still if i'd got the money they settled on the child."
-"you'll change your mind about that, too."
-"shall i? why? when?"
-"when you yourself have a baby that smiles at you."
-"ugh, how can you say such things!"
-she must have misunderstood my meaning, for she was childishly offended. to restore her to good humor i asked at random:
-"what sort of food did you get at the party?"
-"don't know," she replied.
-"don't you know?"
-"good lord, no--i wasn't there," she returned in the greatest amazement.
-"well, no, of course not, i only thought--"
-"oh, so that's it. that's what you thought!" she said, still more offended. and she clasped her hands as she had done in the summer, and tore them apart again.
-"really and truly, i do assure you--look here, honestly--i only thought you were taking a culinary interest. after all, you do learn cooking and such in the daytime."
-"oh, so you just make conversation with me; you adapt your speech to suit my narrow outlook!"
-"anyhow, perhaps you're right up to a point; i might have asked about the food, only i forgot."
-she seemed very irritable that evening. would it interest her to talk about flaten? a little apprehensively, i ventured:
-"but you haven't told me whom flaten is going to marry."
-"she's not pretty at all," she replied suddenly. "what do you want to know for? you don't know her."
-"i suppose flaten will be entering his father's firm now?" i persisted.
-"oh, damn flaten! you seem to care about him a lot more than i do! flaten, flaten, flaten--how should i know if he's going to enter his father's firm!"
-"i only thought once he's married--"
-"but she's got money, too. no, i don't think he's going into his father's firm. he said once he wanted to edit a paper. well, what's so funny about that?"
-"i'm not laughing."
-"yes, you were. anyhow, flaten wants to edit a paper. and since lind publishes a kennel journal, flaten wants to publish a human journal, he says."
-"a human journal?"
-"yes. and you ought to subscribe to it," she added suddenly, almost throwing the words into my face.
-she was now in a state of excitement the cause of which i did not understand, so i remained silent, merely replying, "ought i? yes, perhaps i ought." then she began to cry.
-"dear child, don't cry. i shan't torment you any more."
-"you're not tormenting me."
-"yes, by talking nonsense; i don't seem to strike the right note."
-"yes, go on talking--that isn't it--i don't know--"
-what could i say to her? but since there is, after all, nothing so interesting as a question about oneself, i said:
-"you're nervous about something, but it will pass. perhaps--well, not at once, of course--but perhaps it has hurt you that--well, that he's going his own way now. but remember--"
-"you're wrong," she said, shaking her head. "that doesn't really mean anything to me; i was just slightly attracted to him."
-"but you said he was the only one!"
-"oh--you know, you think that sort of thing sometimes. of course i've been in love with other people, too; i can't deny that. flaten was very nice, and took me out driving sometimes, or to a dance or something like that. and of course i was proud of his paying attention to me in spite of my having lost my post. i think i could have got a job in his father's shop but--anyhow, i'm looking for a job now."
-"are you? i hope you'll find a good one."
-"that's just the point. but i'm not getting any job at all. that is, i shall in the end, of course, but--well, for instance, in old flaten's shop--i shouldn't fit in there."
-"not very good pay either, i expect?"
-"i'm sure it's not. and then--i don't know; i feel i know too much for it. that wretched academic training of mine does nothing but harm. oh, well, let's not talk any more about me. it must be late; i'd better go."
-i saw her to her door, said good night, and went home. i thought about her ceaselessly. it was wintry weather, with raw streets and an invisible sky. no, really, she's not suited for marriage. no man is served with a wife who is nothing but a student. why has no one in the country noticed what the young women are coming to! miss torsen's tale of the wild party proved how accustomed she was to sitting and listening, and then herself disgorging endless tales. she had done it very well and not omitted much, but she paid attention only to the fun. a grown-up, eternal schoolgirl, one who had studied her life away.
-when i reached my own door, miss torsen arrived there at the same time; she had been close at my heels all the way. i guessed this from the fact that she was not in the least breathless as she spoke.
-"i forgot to ask you to forgive me," she said.
-"my dear girl--?"
-"oh, for saying what i did. you mustn't subscribe. i'm so sorry about that. please be kind and forgive me."
-she took my hand and shook it.
-in my amazement i stammered:
-"it was really a very witty remark: a human journal--ha, ha! now don't stand there and get cold; put your gloves on again. are you walking back?"
-"yes. good night. forgive me for the whole evening."
-"let me take you home; why not stay a few minutes--"
-"no, thank you."
-she pressed my hand firmly and left me.
-i suppose she wanted to spare my aging legs, damn them! nevertheless i stole after her to see that she got home safely.
-it happened that josephine came to the town--josephine, that spirit of labor from the tore peak farm. i saw her, too, for she came to pay me a visit. she had looked up my address, and i joked with her again and called her joséfriendly.
-how was everybody at tore peak? josephine had good news about all of them, but she shook her head over paul. not that he drank much now; but he did little of anything else either, and had definitely lost interest in his work. he wanted to sell the farm. he wanted to try carting and delivery by horse cart in stordalen. i asked if he had any prospective purchaser. yes; einar, one of the cotters, had had rather an eye on the farm. it all depended on manufacturer brede, who had put so much money into it.
-i remembered her father, the old man from another world, the man with mittens, who had to be spoon-fed on porridge because he was ninety, who smelled like an unburied corpse. i remembered him and asked josephine:
-"well, i expect your old father is dead by now?"
-"no, praise be," she replied. "father is better than we dared hope. we must be thankful he's still on his feet."
-i took josephine to the cinema and the circus, and she thought it all quite delightful. but she was shocked at the behavior of the ladies who rode with so little clothing on. she wanted to go to one of the great churches, too, and found her way there alone. for several days she was in the town and did a good deal of shopping. i never once saw her dejected or brooding about anything, and at length she said good-bye, because she was going back next day.
-oh, so she was going home?
-yes, she had done what she had come to do. she had also been to see miss torsen and got the money for the actor, because of course he had never sent it.
-"poor miss torsen! she was furious with him for not sending it, and turned quite red and ashamed, too. she didn't seem to find it very easy either, because she asked me to wait till next day, but she gave it to me then."
-so josephine had nothing more to do in the town. she had just visited miss palm, but she had not, on this occasion, met miss palm's brother, nikolai, who was apprenticed to a master carpenter. not that it mattered, josephine said, because the last time she had seen him, nothing came of it, anyhow. so that was that. because she was not a one to beg--she had some money of her own and livestock as well. as far as that was concerned, she had some woolen blankets, and two beds complete with bedding, too, nor did she lack clothes: she had many changes, both underthings and top ones. yet in spite of that she had started some more weaving.
-i asked in some surprise whether they had been engaged. i had had no inkling--
-no, but--. well, not exactly engaged with a ring, and plighting the troth and all. but that had been their intention. because otherwise why should that schoolmistress, that sister of his, sophie palm, have come up and stayed for nothing at the tore peak farm for two whole summers, and behaved as though she were a lady? no, thank you, that was the end of that. anyhow, that was what she, josephine, had thought once, but it was a providence that it wasn't going to happen, because there would never have been anything but trouble. so it was just as well.
-suddenly josephine caught herself up:
-"good gracious--i nearly forgot to buy the indigo. it's for my weaving. lucky i remembered it! well--thanks for your hospitality."
-it was between christmas and the new year, and i had accompanied nikolai to his home. since the town workshop was closed in any case, he had decided to go home and fell timber in the woods.
-it was a big farmhouse, enlarged from the old cottage by nikolai's father, while nikolai himself had moved up the roof and built on a second story. he has plenty of room for me; i have a small room to myself.
-his mother is hard-working and honest; she has a few animals to see to, and usually she is washing something or other, even if it is nothing more than some empty potato sacks. she cooks on the kitchen stove, and keeps her pots and pans shining. she is cleanly, and strains her milk through a muslin cloth, which she afterward washes and rinses twice. but she picks food remnants from between the prongs of forks with a hairpin!
-a mirror, pictures of the german kaiser's family, and a crucifix hang on the walls of the living room; in one corner are two shelves with oddments, including a hymnbook and a book of sermons. they are still simple and orthodox in these parts. the rest of the furniture in the house, the chairs and tables and cupboards and a cleverly constructed chest, have all been made by nikolai himself.
-nikolai is just as slow and speechless here as in the town; the day after we arrived he went out to the woods without telling his mother. when i asked for him, she said:
-"i saw him take the sleigh, so i expect he's gone to the woods."
-his mother's name is petra, and judging from her appearance she cannot be much over forty; like her son, she is ruddy and big-muscled, with a fair complexion and thick, graying hair, a veritable lion's mane. her eyes are good companions to her hair--dark, and a little worn now, but still good enough to see far and sharply across the fjord. she, too, is taciturn, like all the peasants here, and usually keeps her large mouth shut.
-i ask her how long she has been a widow, and she says, "for nearly a generation--no, don't let me tell a lie," she corrects herself. "sophie is four and twenty now, and it was the year after her birth that he died."
-they had only been married a couple of years. nikolai is six and twenty.
-i ponder over this arithmetic, but as i am old and incapable, i cannot make it tally.
-petra was very proud of her children, especially sophie, who had gone to school and passed an examination, and now held such an important post. of course her inheritance was used up, but she had her learning instead. nobody could ever take that from her. a big, handsome girl, sophie--look, here is her portrait.
-i said i had met her at tore peak.
-at tore peak? oh, yes, she spent her summers there so as to be among her equals; you couldn't blame her for that. but she came home every year, too, as sure as the year came round itself. so i had met her at tore peak?
-sometimes i went with nikolai to the forest for timber, and made myself slightly useful. he is as strong as an ox, and has endurance almost to the point of insensibility--a cut, black eye--nothing. and now it becomes evident that his brain works well, too. he should have had a horse, yes, but he cannot keep a horse till he can provide more fodder. but he cannot buy more pasture land till he has more money. but he was learning more about his trade in the town, and when he had finished his course of training, he would earn more money. after that he would buy a horse.
-i visited the neighbors, too. the farms were small, but the farmers cultivated as much land as they required, and there was no poverty. here were no flowerpots in the windows or pictures on the walls, as at petra's; but good, thick furs with woven backs hung over the doors, and the children looked healthy and well-fed. the neighbors all knew i lived at petra's house; every visitor to this district lived at petra's house--had done so as long as they could remember. i could sense no hostility to petra in these silent people, but the old schoolmaster was more talkative, and he was quite ready to spread gossip about her. this man was a bachelor; he had his own house and did his own housework. had he, perhaps, at some time felt a secret desire for the widow petra?
-the schoolmaster gossiped thus:
-people who had visited the village in petra's girlhood always used to live at her parents' house. there was a room and a loft, and the engineer that planned the big road lived there, and so did the two traveling preachers, to say nothing of the itinerant peddlers who toured the district all the year round. so it went on for many a year, with the children growing up, and petra getting big and hearty. then palm came; he was a swede, a big merchant--a wholesale merchant, one might almost say, for that period, with his own boat and even a boy to carry his wares. well, there were glass panes again in the windows of petra's parents' house, and there was meat on sundays, for palm liked things done in style. he gave petra presents of dress materials and sweets. then he was finished with petra, and went away to do business elsewhere. but it happened that the child petra gave birth to was a boy, and when palm returned and saw him, he stayed, and traveled no more. they married, and palm added two rooms to the house, for it was his intention to open a shop there. but when he had built honestly and well, he died. his widow was left with two small children, but she had means enough, for palm had had plenty of money. then why did not petra remarry? she could have got a man in spite of the handicap of two small children, for petra herself was still a young girl. but from her childhood days, said the schoolmaster, she had been spoiled by this love of roving company, and again housed itinerant tramps and swedes and peddlers, and thoroughly disgraced herself. some of them stayed there for weeks, eating and drinking and idling. it was shameful. her parents saw nothing wrong in this because it had always been their way of living, and besides it brought them a little money. so the years went by. when the children were grown and sophie was out of the way, she might have married even then, for she still had half her money left, and being childless again, it was not too late. but no, petra didn't want to, and it was too late, she said; it was the children's turn to marry now, she said.
-"well, she's pretty old now, isn't she?" i said.
-"yes, time passes," the schoolmaster replied. "i don't know whether anyone has asked her this year, but last year there was someone--one person--or so i've heard, so i've been told. but petra didn't want to. if i could only guess what she's waiting for."
-"perhaps she's not waiting at all."
-"well, it's all the same to me," says the schoolmaster. "but she takes in all these tramps and peddlers and carries on and makes a public nuisance of herself...."
-as i walked home from the schoolmaster's, i found i understood petra's arithmetic much better.
-nikolai has gone back to his workshop in the town, but i have remained behind. it matters little where i am, for the winter makes a dead man of me in any case.
-to pass the time, i carefully measure the piece of land that nikolai is going to break up when he can afford it, and i calculate what it will cost him, with drainage and everything: a bare two hundred kroner. then he could keep a horse. it would have been an act of charity to give him this money in case his mother could not. he could have added another field to his land then.
-"look here, petra--why don't you give nikolai the two hundred kroner he needs for fodder for a horse?"
-"and four hundred to buy the horse," she muttered.
-"that makes six."
-"i haven't got such a lot of six hundred kroners lying about."
-"but wouldn't the horse be useful for plowing?"
-a pause. then:
-"he can break the ground himself."
-i was not unfamiliar with this line of reasoning. everyone has his own problems, and petra had hers. but the strange thing is that each one of us struggles for himself as though he had a hundred years to live. i once knew two brothers named martinsen who owned a large farm, the produce of which they sold. both were well-to-do bachelors without heirs. but both had diseased lungs, the younger brother's much worse than the elder's. in the spring, the younger brother became permanently bedridden, but though he approached his end, he still maintained an interest in everything that went on at the farm. he heard strangers talking in the kitchen and called his brother in.
-"what is it?" he asked.
-"only someone to buy eggs."
-"what's the price per score now?"
-his brother told him.
-"then give him the small eggs," he cautioned.
-a few days later he was dead. his brother lived till his sixty-seventh year, though his lungs were diseased. when anybody came to buy eggs, he always gave him the smallest....
-"but," i insisted to petra, "nikolai doesn't want to waste time breaking his ground himself, does he? surely if he works at his trade he'll earn more!"
-"they don't pay for joinery here," petra replied. "people buy their chairs and tables from the shops now; it's cheaper."
-"then why is nikolai working as an apprentice?"
-"i've asked him the same question," she replied. "nikolai just wants to be a carpenter, but it won't get him anywhere. still, he can do as he likes."
-"well, what else could he do?"
-a pause. petra's big mouth is closed. but at length she says:
-"there's plenty of traffic now and a lot of tourists in the summer, both at tore peak and down here on the headland. one time we had two danes living here; they had traveled on foot. 'if you had a horse, you could have driven us here,' they said to me."
-"ah," i thought to myself, "the cat sticking its nose out of the bag!"
-"'you've got a big house and four rooms,' the danes said, and 'there are high mountains and big woods,' they said, 'and fish in the fjord and fish in the river; there are lots of things here, and there's a broad road here,' they said. nikolai was standing next to them and heard it all, too. 'now we're here,' they said, 'but we can't get away again unless we walk.'"
-just to say something, i asked her:
-"four rooms--i thought you only had three?"
-"yes, but the workshop could be turned into a room, too," the big mouth replied.
-"so that's it!" i thought. with hardly a pause, i continued:
-"but if nikolai were going to deal with tourists, he'd have to get a horse, wouldn't he?"
-"well, i suppose we could have managed it," petra replied.
-"it's four hundred kroner."
-"yes," she said, "and the carriage a hundred and fifty."
-"but this land won't feed a horse!"
-"what do other people feed horses on?" she asked. "they buy sacks of oats on the headland."
-"that's eighteen kroner a sack."
-"no, seventeen. and you earn as much as that on your first tourist."
-yes, petra had it all figured out; she was the born landlady, and had grown up in a lodginghouse. she could cook, too, for had she not put two snakes of italian macaroni in the barley broth? the money for coffee, for the bed at night and waffles in the morning, had grown so dear to her that she hid it away, watched it increase, and grew rich on it. she did not produce like other peasant women, but no one can do everything at one time, and petra was a parasite. she did not want to live by earning something; she wanted to live on the tourists who earned enough themselves, and could afford to come.
-splendor and englishmen, no doubt, in these parts! if it all works out as it should--and it probably will.
-it is february. i have an idea, a vagrant idea that comes to me, and i harbor it: now that there is a little snow, and its crust is hard, i shall walk across the fields into sweden. that is what i shall do.
-but before i can do it, i must wait for my laundry, and petra, who is cleanly, washes in many waters. so i pass the time in nikolai's workshop, where there are many kinds of planes and saws and drills and lathes, and there i fashion strange things. for the small boys of the neighboring farm, i make a windmill that will really turn in the wind. it whirls and rattles well, and i remember my own childhood when we called this apparatus onomatopoeically a windwhirr.
-besides this, i go out walking, and use my winter head as well as i can, which is not very well. i do not blame the winter, nor do i blame anything. but where are the red-hot irons and the youth of omnipotence? for hours sometimes i walk along a path in the woods with my hands folded on my back, an old man, my mind gilded for a moment by an occasional memory; i stop, and raise my eyebrows in surprise. can this be an iron in the fire? it is not, for it fades again, and i am left behind in a quiet melancholy.
-but in order to recall my young days, i pretend to be filled with a heaven-sent energy. it is by no means all pretense, and pictures rise in my mind, fragmentary flageolet tones:
-we came from the meadow and downy heather; we came from friendship, too-loo-loo-lay! a star that watched saw lips meet lips. none else so dear, so sweet as you.
-those youthful days, those happy days, unmatched since then! but what am i now? the bees once swarmed, the swan once played. there's no play now, yet too-loo-loo-lay!
-i break off, and put the pencil in my pocket with a tone still resounding within me. i walk on with some pleasure to myself, at least.
-there is a letter for me. who on earth has found me out here? the letter is as follows:
-forgive me for writing you, but i should like to talk to you about something that has happened. i should like to see you as soon as you come back. there's nothing the matter. please don't say no.
-i reread it many times. "something that has happened." but i'm going to sweden, i'm going to move about a little, and stop losing myself in the affairs of others. do they think i am mankind's old uncle, that i can be summoned hither and thither to give advice? excuse me, but i am going to assert myself and become quite inaccessible; the snow is just right, and i have planned a big journey--a business tour, i might almost call it, very important to me--i have a great deal at stake.... how composite is the mind of man! as i sit talking drivel to myself, and even sometimes saying an angry word aloud in order that petra may hear it, i am not at all displeased at having received this letter; in fact secretly i am so pleased that i feel ashamed. it is merely because i shall soon see the town again--the town with its frostbitten gardens and its ships.
-but what on earth can this mean? has she been to my landlady's and got my address? or has she met nikolai?
-i left at once.
-my landlady was surprised.
-"why, good evening. how well and happy you look! here's your mail."
-"let it lie. i must tell you, madame henriksen, that you are a jewel."
-"ha, ha, ha!"
-"yes, you are. you are a very kind woman. but you have given my address to someone."
-"no, indeed; i swear i haven't."
-"no? well, then someone else must have done so. yes, you're right, i am happy, and tomorrow morning i shall get up very early and walk down by the shore."
-"but i did send a message," said my landlady. "i hope it wasn't wrong of me. to a lady who wanted to know as soon as you arrived."
-"a lady? you sent a message just now?"
-"a little while ago, as soon as you came in. a young, handsome lady; she might have been your daughter, you know."
-"well, i'm only saying what's so. she said she would come at once, because she had to see you about something."
-the landlady left me.
-so miss torsen was coming this very evening; something must have happened. she had never visited me before. i looked round; yes, everything was neat and tidy. i washed and made myself ready. there, she can have that chair; i'd better light the other lamp, too. it might not be a bad idea to sit down to my correspondence; that would make a good impression, and if i put some letters in a small, feminine hand on top, it might even make her a little jealous--hee, hee. oh, god, ten or fifteen years ago one could play such tricks; it's too late now....
-then she knocked and came in.
-i made no move to shake hands, and neither did she; i merely drew out a chair for her.
-"excuse my coming like this," she said. "i asked mrs. henriksen to send me a message; it's nothing serious, and now i feel a little embarrassed about it, but--"
-i saw that it was something serious, and my heart began to pound. why should my heart be affected?
-"this is the first time you've been in my rooms," i said, expectant and on the defensive.
-"yes. it's very nice," she said, without looking round. she began to clasp her hands and pull them apart again till the tips of her gloves projected beyond her finger tips. she was in a state of great excitement.
-"perhaps now i've done something you'll approve of?" she said, suddenly pulling off her glove.
-she had a ring on her finger.
-"good," i said. it didn't affect me immediately; i was to understand more later, and merely asked:
-"are you engaged?"
-"yes," she replied. and she looked at me with a smile, though her mouth shook.
-i looked back at her, and i believe i said something like, "well, now, well, well!" then i nodded in a fatherly fashion, bowed formally, and said: "my heartiest congratulations!"
-"yes, that's what it's come to," she said. "i think it was the best thing to do. perhaps you think it's a bit unreliable of me or rash or--well, don't you?"
-"oh, i don't know--"
-"but it was absolutely the best thing. and i just thought i'd tell you."
-a pause. she said nothing more, so what could i say? but as the minutes passed and i saw she was distressed, i said:
-"why did you want to tell me this?"
-"yes--why did i?"
-"perhaps for a moment you thought you were the center of the world again, but--"
-"yes, i expect so."
-she looked about her with great, roving eyes. then she got up; she had been sitting all this time as though about to spring at me. i rose, too. an unhappy woman--i saw that plainly enough; but good heavens, what could i do? she had come to tell me she was engaged, and at the same time looked very unhappy. was that a way to behave? but as she got up, i could see her face better under her hat--i could see her hair--the hair that was beginning to show silken and silver at the temples--how beautiful it was! she was tall and handsome, and her breast was rising and falling--her great breast--what a great breast she had, rising and falling! her face was brown, and her mouth open, just a little open, dry, feverishly dry--
-it was the first time i called her this. and i moved my hand toward her slightly, longing to touch her, perhaps to fondle her--i don't know--
-but she had collected herself now, and stood erect and hard. her eyes had grown cold; they looked at me, putting me in my place again, as she walked toward the door. a cry of "no!" escaped me.
-"what's the matter?" she asked.
-"don't go, not yet, not at once; sit down again and talk to me more."
-"no, you're quite right," she said. "i'm not the center of the universe. here i come to bother you with my unimportant troubles, and you--well, of course, you're busy with your extensive correspondence."
-"look here, sit down again, won't you? i shan't even read the letters; they're nothing, only two or three letters perhaps, probably from complete strangers. now sit down; tell me everything; you owe me that much. look, i shan't even read the letters."
-and with that i swept them up and threw them into the fire.
-"oh--what are you doing?" she cried, and ran to the fireplace, trying to save them.
-"don't bother," i said. "i expect no happiness to come to me through the post, and sorrows i do not seek."
-she stood so close to me that i found myself again on the point of touching her, just for a moment, touching her arm; but i caught myself in time. i had already gone too far, so i said as gently and sympathetically as i could:
-"dear child, you must not be unhappy; it will all turn out for the best; you'll see. now sit down--there, that's better."
-no doubt she had been taken aback by my violence, for she sank into her chair almost absently.
-"i'm not unhappy," she said.
-"aren't you? so much the better!"
-i began to chatter away at top speed, though i tried to restrain myself, to show that i was nothing more than an uncle to her. i talked to distract her, to distract us both; i let my tongue wag--i could hear it buzzing. what could i say? a little of everything--a great deal, in fact:
-"but you don't even know who it is!" she interrupted, looking at me apprehensively again.
-"no, i don't, and i needn't if you'd rather not tell me yet. who is it? a dapper little man, i can see that from his ring, a schoolmaster perhaps, a clever young schoolmaster--"
-she shook her head.
-"then a big, good-natured man who wants to dance with you--"
-"yes, perhaps," she said slowly.
-"there you are--you see i've guessed it. a bear who will carry you on his paws. on your birthday--do you know what he'll give you for your birthday?"
-but perhaps i was getting too childish; i bored her, and for the first time she looked away from me, looked at a picture on the wall, then at another picture. but it was not easy for me to stop now, after having spoken hardly at all for several weeks, and feeling profoundly excited besides--heaven only knows why.
-"how did you like the country?" she asked suddenly. as i could not see the drift of this question, i merely looked at her.
-"weren't you at nikolai's mother's house?" she persisted.
-"what is she like?"
-"are you interested in her?"
-"no, i don't suppose so. oh dear!" she sighed wearily.
-"come, come, you mustn't sound like that when you're newly engaged! what the country was like? well, there was a schoolmaster--you know, an old bachelor, sly, and amusing. said he knew me, and put on the most extraordinary airs the first day. and of course i returned the compliment and said i had come exclusively to meet him. 'impossible!' he said. 'why should it be?' i said; 'forty years a schoolmaster, a respected man, permanent churchman, chairman, indispensable everywhere!' well, then i attended his class. most impressive. he talked continually; for once he had an audience, almost like a school inspection. 'you there, peter! ahem,' he said. 'there was a horse and a man, and one of them was riding on the other's back. which one was riding, peter?' 'the man,' peter replies. a pause. 'well, maybe you're right, peter--maybe the man was riding. just like sin, like the devil riding us....'"
-but she was looking at the wall again, drifting away from me again. i changed the subject clumsily:
-"of course you'd rather hear about people you know--about tore peak, for instance. josephine has been in town."
-"yes, i know," she said, nodding her head.
-"remember the old man at tore peak? i don't think i'll ever forget him. in a certain number of years i shall be like him--perhaps not quite so old. then i shall be a child again with age. one day he came out, and went down to the field. i saw him; he had mittens on. you know he eats all sorts of things, and i saw him lie down and eat the hay."
-she stared at me foolishly.
-"but i must say he didn't look as though he had ever eaten hay before--possibly because it was rotting. it was the hay that had been left, you know--rotting down for next year--for the next tourist year."
-"you seem to think," she said smiling, "that you have to cheer me up, because i'm terribly unhappy. i'm quite the reverse. perhaps he's too good for me; that's what his sister seems to think, anyhow, because she tried to stop it. but i'm going to enjoy snubbing that sister of his. anyhow, i'm not unhappy, and that isn't the reason i've come. i'd really much rather have him than anyone else--since i can't get the one i really want."
-"you've told me this before, child--last winter, in fact. but the man you want has gone his way--besides, you said yourself that you didn't belong with him, or rather, that he didn't with you--i mean--"
-"belong? do i belong anywhere? do you think i belong in the place i'm going to now? i'm afraid i'm not really suitable for anybody--at least i can't think of anyone i'd suit. i wonder how i'll manage. i wonder if he'll be able to stand me. but i'll do my very best; i've made up my mind to that."
-"well, who is it--do i know him? of course you suit each other. i can't believe you don't. he must be in love with you, quite madly in love, and you must love him in return. i'm sure you'll come through with flying colors, miss ingeborg, because you're capable and intelligent."
-"oh, well," she said, rising suddenly to her feet. but she hesitated over something, and seemed about to speak, then changed her mind again. at the door, she stood with her back to me, pulling on her gloves, and said:
-"so you think i ought to do it?"
-i was taken aback by the question, and replied:
-"ought to do it? haven't you done it already?"
-"yes. that is--well, yes, i've done it, i'm engaged. and i can tell from your manner that i've done the right thing."
-"well, i don't know. i can't tell."
-i crossed the room to her.
-"who is it?"
-"oh, god, no; let's drop it. i can't bear any more now. good night."
-she stretched her hand out fumblingly, but since she was looking at the floor, she could not find mine, and both our hands circled helplessly round each other for a moment. then she opened the door and was gone. i called to her, begging her to wait, seized my hat, and hurried after her. an empty staircase. i rushed down and opened the street door. an empty street. she must have run.
-"i'll try to see her tomorrow," i thought.
-one day, two days, but i did not see her, though i went to all the usual places. another day--nothing. then i thought i would go up to her home and inquire about her. at first this did not seem to me too improper, but when it came to the point, i hesitated. there is, after all, something to be lost by making a fool of oneself. but was i not a kind of uncle? no--yes, of course, but still--
-a week passes, two weeks, three. the girl has quite disappeared; i hope she hasn't had an accident. i mount the stairs to her home and ring the bell....
-she's already gone away; they left as soon as they were married, last week. she's married to nikolai, carpenter nikolai.
-march--what a month! the winter is over, yet there's no telling how much longer it may still last. that's what march is for.
-i have lived through another winter and seen the nigger entertainment at the anglo-saxon theater. you were there too, my friend. you saw how cleverly we all turned somersaults. why, you even took part yourself, and you carry about a broken rib as a cherished little memento of the occasion. i saw it all from a slight distance away, ten miles, to be exact; no people were near me, but there were seven heavens above.
-and pretty soon i shall be reading what the officials have to say about the year's harvest in our country; that is to say, the harvest at the theater--in dollars, and in sterling.
-the waggish professor is enjoying himself, quite in his element. there he goes, self-assured and complacent, sir mediocrity in all his glory. by next year, he will have dragged other progressive people in his wake; he will have dressed up norway still more, and made it still more attractive to the anglo-saxons. more dollars, and more sterling.
-what, do i hear someone objecting?
-well, then, we shall invite switzerland to dinner and toast her thus: "colleague, our great aim is to resemble you. who else can squeeze so much profit out of their mountains? who else can file at such clockwork? switzerland, make yourself at home; we don't want to rob you; there are no pickpockets at this table. here's to you!"
-but if that doesn't help, we shall have to roll up our sleeves and fight. there are still norwegians left in good old norway, and our rival--is switzerland.
-mrs. henriksen brings catkins in a vase into my room.
-"what, is it spring?"
-"oh, it's getting on."
-"then i shall be going away. you see, mrs. henriksen, i should very much have liked to stay, because this is really where i belong; but what more can i do here? i don't work; i merely idle. do you understand me? i grieve continually, and my heart sits wrinkled. my most brilliant achievement is spinning coins: i toss a coin into the air and wait. when i came here last autumn i wasn't so bad, not nearly so bad. i was only half a year younger then, yet i was ten years younger. what has happened to me since? nothing. only--i'm not a better man than i was last autumn."
-"but you've been all right all winter, haven't you? and three weeks ago, when you came back from the country, you were so happy!"
-"was i? i don't remember that. ah, well, things don't move so fast, and nothing has happened to me in these three weeks. well, never mind; at all events, i shall go away. i must travel when the spring comes. i have always done so in the past, and i want to do the same thing now. sit down, mrs. henriksen."
-"no, thank you, i'm too busy."
-too busy! yes, you work--you're not ten years older than you were last autumn. you think it's hard work to rest on sundays, don't you? dear madame henriksen! you and your little daughter knit stockings for the whole family, you let your rooms, you keep your family together like a mother. but you mustn't let your little louise sit for twelve years on a school form. if you do, you'll hardly ever see her all through her youth, those formative years of her life. and then she can't be like you or learn from you. she'll learn to have children easily enough, but she won't learn to be a mother, and when the time comes for her to keep her home and family together, she will not be able to do it. she'll only know "languages" and mathematics and the story of bluebeard, but that is not food for the heart of a woman. that is twelve years of continual famine for her soul.
-"excuse my asking, but where are you going to?"
-"i don't know, but i'm going. why, where should i go? i shall go aboard a steamship and sail, and when i have sailed long enough, i will go ashore. if i find, on looking about me, that i have traveled too far or not far enough, i shall board a ship again and sail on. once i walked across into sweden as far as kalmar and even öland, but that was too far, so i turned back. no one cares to know where i am, least of all myself."
-you get used to everything; you even get used to the passage of two years.
-and now it is spring again....
-it is market day in the frontier town; my room is noisy, for there is music down in the fields, the roundabout is whirling, the tightrope walker is gossiping outside his tent, and people of every sort throng the village. the crowds are great, and there is even a sprinkling of norwegians from across the border. horses snort and whinny, cows low, and trading is brisk.
-in the display window of the goldsmith across the road, a great cow of silver has made its appearance, a handsome breeder that the local farmers stop to admire.
-"she's too smart for my crags," says one of them with a laugh.
-"what do you think's her price?" says another with a laugh.
-"why, do you want to buy her?"
-"no, haven't got fodder enough this year."
-a man trudges placidly down the road and also stops in front of this window. i see him from behind, and take note of his massive back. he stands there a long time, trying to make up his mind, no doubt, for now and then he scratches his beard. there he goes, sure enough, entering the shop with a ponderous tread. i wonder if he intends to buy the silver cow!
-it takes him an age, and still he hasn't come out. what on earth is he doing in there? now that i have begun to watch him, i might as well go the whole hog. so i put on my hat and cross to the goldsmith's window myself, mingling with the other spectators, and watching the door.
-at last the man re-emerges--yes, it is nikolai. it was his back and hands, but he has got a beard now, too. he looks splendid. imagine carpenter nikolai being here!
-we greet each other, and we talk as he shakes me slowly and ponderously by the hand. our conversation is halting, but we get on. yes, of course, he has gone into the shop on business, in a kind of way.
-"you've not bought the silver cow, have you?"
-"oh, no, not that. it didn't amount to anything, really. in fact, i didn't buy anything."
-by degrees, i discover that he is buying a horse. and he tells me that he has dug that piece of land of his, and is turning it into pasture, and his wife--oh, yes, thank you for asking--she lives in health to this day.
-"by the way," he said, "have you come here over the fjeld?"
-"yes, i came last winter. in december."
-"what a pity i didn't know!"
-i explained that i hadn't had the time to visit his home then; i was in a hurry, there was some business--
-"yes, i understand," he said.
-we said little more, for nikolai was as taciturn as ever. besides, he had other business to attend to; he cannot absent himself from the farm for long, and had to return next day.
-"have you bought your horse yet?"
-"well, no, i haven't."
-"do you think you will?"
-"i don't know yet. i'm trying to split a difference of five and twenty kroner."
-later i saw nikolai going to the goldsmith's again. he seemed to do a great deal of business there.
-"i could have company across the fjeld now," i thought. "it's spring, and do i not always travel in the spring?"
-i began to pack my knapsack.
-nikolai emerged once more, apparently as empty-handed as he had entered. i opened my window and called to him to ask if he had bought the horse.
-"n-no--the man won't meet my price."
-"well, can't you meet his?"
-"y-yes, i could," he replied slowly. "but i don't think i've got enough money on me."
-"i could lend you some."
-at this nikolai smiled and shook his head as though my offer were a fairy tale.
-"thank you just the same," he said, turning to walk away.
-"where are you going now?" i asked.
-"to look at another horse. it's old and small, still--"
-was i thrusting myself on the man? i? nonsense! i don't see that at all. he felt offended because i had passed his door last winter without stopping and now i wanted to make him friendly again. that was all. but as i wanted no cause for self-reproach, i stopped packing, nor would i ask nikolai if i might go back with him. but i went out for a walk in the town. i had as much right to do that as anyone.
-i met nikolai in the street with a colt, and we stopped to exchange a few words.
-"is it yours?"
-"yes, i've bought her; the man met me halfway after all," he replied with a smile.
-we walked along to the stable together and fed and petted the horse. she was a mare, two and a half years old, with a tawny coat and an off-white mane and tail--a perfect little lady.
-that evening nikolai came over to my room of his own accord for a chat about the mare and the state of the roads. when he was saying good-bye at the door, he seemed struck by a sudden thought.
-"by the way," he said, "i suppose it's no good asking you, but you could get a lift for your knapsack, you know. we could be there day after tomorrow," he added.
-how could i offend him again?
-we walked all next day, spent the night in the mountain hut at the frontier, and then went on again. nikolai carried my knapsack all the way, as well as his own smaller parcels. when i suggested that we should share the burden, he said it was no weight at all. i think nikolai wanted to spare the little tawny lady.
-at noon we saw the fjord beneath us. nikolai stopped and carefully rubbed down the mare once more. as our path sloped downward, i felt a pressure, a contraction in my chest; it was the sea air. nikolai asked me what was the matter, but it was nothing.
-on reaching his home, we found the yard well swept, and in the doorway a woman on her knees with her back toward us, scrubbing the floor. it was the saturday cleaning day.
-"hullo!" nikolai roared in a tremendously loud voice, stopping dead in his tracks as he did so.
-"good heavens!" she exclaimed, hastily mopping up the rest of the floor.
-"look at all the cleaning that goes on here!" nikolai said, laughing. "that's her idea of fun!"
-and i had believed carpenter nikolai incapable of lightheartedness! yet i had seen how content he had been all the way home, how deeply content, and proud of the little lady he was bringing with him. even now he was still stroking her.
-"what a lovely horse!" i heard her exclaim.
-nikolai went on stroking the mare.
-"i've brought a visitor with me," he said.
-i went to her and perhaps--i don't know--perhaps i rather overdid my unconcern. i greeted her and insisted on shaking her wet hand, which she hesitated to give me. i was anxious to appear quite formal with her, and shook her hand as i repeated my greeting.
-"well, of all people!" she replied.
-i persisted in my formal attitude.
-"you must blame your husband," i said. "it's his fault that i'm here."
-"i wish you heartily welcome," she returned. "how lucky i've just got through the cleaning!"
-a slight pause. we looked at each other; two years had passed since our last meeting. to break the silence, we all began to admire the mare, nikolai swelling with pride. then we heard a child calling from within the house, and the young mother ran off.
-"come in, won't you!" she called back over her shoulder.
-as soon as i entered, i saw that the room had been changed. there was too much middle-class frippery: white curtains at the windows, numerous pictures on the walls, a lamp pendent from the ceiling, underneath it in the center of the room a round table and chairs, knickknacks in a china cupboard, a pink-painted spinning wheel, flowers in pots--in short, the room was crowded. this, no doubt, was the sort of thing fru ingeborg had been used to and considered in good taste. but in petra's day, this had been a light and spacious room.
-"how's your mother?" i asked nikolai.
-as usual he was slow to reply. his wife answered for him:
-"she's very well."
-i wanted to ask, "where is she?" but i refrained.
-"look, i want to show you something," said fru ingeborg.
-it was the child in his bed--a boy, big and handsome, about a year old. he frowned at me at first, but only for a moment. as soon as he was on his mother's arm, he looked at me without fear.
-how happy and beautiful the young mother looked! peerless, indeed, with her eyes full of an inscrutable graciousness she had not possessed before.
-"what a fine little man!" i said, admiring the boy.
-"i should think he was!" said the mother.
-you get used to everything. the sea air no longer oppresses me; i can speak without losing my breath to the woman who is now the mistress of this house. she likes to talk, too, pouring out her words nervously, as though it had been a long time since she last opened her mouth. what we talked about? well, we neither asked nor answered questions about measuring angles or analyzing shakespeare's grammar.
-had she ever thought her matriculation would land her up here, amid livestock and saturday cleaning?
-oh, that parody of an education! she had taken the first toddling steps in a dozen sciences, but if she met someone with fully adult knowledge she was lost. she had other things to think about now, her home and her family and the farm. of course there wasn't much livestock, now that nikolai's mother had taken half of it with her--
-"has petra gone away?"
-married--to the schoolmaster. no, petra hadn't wanted to stay when the young wife took possession. one evening a strange man had come to the house, and petra had wanted to admit him, but fru ingeborg would not. she knew who he was and wanted him to leave. so there were quarrels between the older woman and the young one.
-petra was also dissatisfied with the young wife's work in the barn. it was true she was not very skillful, but she was learning all the time, and enjoyed improving her skill. she never asked questions; that, she saw, would have been foolish, but she worked things out by herself, and kept her eyes open when she visited neighboring farms. that didn't mean to say she could learn everything. there were things she never learned properly because she was not "to the manner born." often the wives of rural officials are from small towns, and have not learned the ways of the country, though they must learn them in time. but they never learn them well. they know only just enough for their daily needs. to set up a weave, you must have grown up with the sound of the shuttle in your ears; to tend the cattle as they should be tended, you must have helped your mother since childhood. you can learn from others, but it will not be in your blood.
-not everyone has a man like nikolai to live with, either. the young wife is very fond of her nikolai, this sound, hearty bear who loves her in return. besides, nikolai is not exacting; his wife seems to him peerless in all she does. of course she has taken great pains; it has left its mark on her, too, and she is not gray for nothing. a few months ago she lost a front tooth, too--broke it on some bird shot left in the breast of a ptarmigan she was eating. she hardly dared look in the mirror now--didn't recognize herself. but what did it matter as long as nikolai....
-look what he'd brought her, this brooch, bought at the goldsmith's at the market: wasn't it lovely? oh, nikolai was mad; but she would do anything in the world for him, too. imagine using some of the money for the horse on a brooch! where is he now, where's he gone to? she'll bet anything he's stroking the mare again.
-"nikolai!" she called.
-"yes," his reply came from the stable.
-she sat down again, crossing her legs. her face had turned pink; perhaps a thought, a memory, passed through her mind. she was suffused with excitement and beauty. her dress clung to her body, outlining its contours. she began gently to stroke her knee.
-"is the child asleep?" i asked. i had to say something.
-"well, you see they are."
-"well, you've lost one tooth, but i've hardly got one left!"
-no sooner had i consoled her thus than i regretted it. why should i make myself worse than i am? things were bad enough anyhow. i was sick with fury at myself, and grinned and grimaced to show her my teeth: "here, don't miss them, have a good look!" but i'm afraid she saw what a fool i was making of myself; everything i did was wrong.
-then she consoled me in her turn, as people do when they can well afford it:
-"what, you old? nonsense!"
-"have you met the schoolmaster?" i asked abruptly.
-"of course. i remember what you told me about him: a horse and a man came riding along the road.... but he's got sense, and he's terribly stingy. oh, he's cunning; he borrows our harrow because ours is new and good. they've built a house at the end of the valley, and take in travelers--quite a big hotel, in fact, with the waitresses dressed in national costume. of course nikolai and i both went to the wedding; petra really looked a charming and lovely bride. you mustn't think she and i are still unfriendly; she likes me better now that i'm more competent, and last summer they sent for me several times to interpret for some english people and that sort of thing--at least i know how to say soap and food and conveyance and tips in other languages!
-"but i don't think i should ever have had any serious trouble with petra in the first place if sophie hadn't come home--you know, the schoolmistress in the town. she's always found plenty to criticize in me, so i never liked her very much, i must admit. but when she came here, she was very arrogant toward me, and lorded it over me, showing off all her knowledge. i was busy trying to learn what i needed to know for the life up here, and then she came along and made me look small, talking about the seven years' war all the time. she was terribly learned about the seven years' war, because that's what she had in her examination. and our way of talking wasn't elegant enough for her; nikolai used rough country expressions sometimes, and she didn't like that. but nikolai speaks quite well enough, and i can't see what that fool of a sister of his has got to put on airs for! and on top of that she came home to stay--for six months, anyhow. she'd been engaged, so then she had to take a six months' holiday. the baby's with petra, with his grandmother, so he's well taken care of. it's a boy, too, but he's hardly got any hair; mine has plenty of hair. well, in a way, of course, it's a pity about sophie, because she'd used up her legacy and her youth studying to be a schoolmistress, and then she comes home like that. but she really was insufferable, thinking she was a lot better than i because she hadn't been discharged, like me. so i asked her to leave. and then they both left, sophie and her mother. anyhow, her mother and i are quite reconciled.
-"but you mustn't think we've had any help from her to buy the horse. nothing of the kind! we borrowed the money from the bank. but we'll manage, because it's our only debt. nikolai has made all the furniture in here himself, the table and china cupboard and everything; we haven't bought a thing. he's dug up the new field himself, too. and we'll be getting more cattle; you ought to see what a handsome heifer we've got....
-"even the food wasn't good enough for sophie. tins saved such a lot of trouble, she said; we ought to buy tinned food. it was enough to make you sick to listen to her. i was just beginning to knit, too; i'd got one of my neighbors to teach me, and i was knitting stockings for myself. but of course lady sophie--well, she bought her stockings in the city. oh, she was charming. 'get out!' i said to her. so they left."
-nikolai entered the room.
-"did you want me?"
-"no--oh, yes, i wanted you to come upstairs with me. i need something to hang things on in front of the fire, a clotheshorse--come along--"
-i stayed behind, thinking:
-"if only it lasts, if only it lasts! she's so overwrought; living on her nerves. and pregnant again. but what splendid resolution she shows, and how she's matured in these two years! but it has cost her a great deal, too.
-"good luck to you, ingeborg, good luck!"
-at all events, she had triumphed over schoolmistress sophie, who had once tried so hard to set nikolai against her. "get out!" how content fru ingeborg must be--what delight in this small triumph! life had changed so much that such things were important to her; she grew heated again when she mentioned it, and pulled at her fingers as she had done in her schooldays. and why should she not be content? a small triumph now had the rank of a bigger one in the old days. proportions were changed, but her satisfaction was no less.
-listen--she has begun to read upstairs; there's the sound of a steady hum. yes, it's sunday today, and she, being the best educated of them, naturally reads the service. bravo! magnificent! she has extended her self-discipline even to this, for they are all orthodox christians in this neighborhood. believing? no, but not hostile, either. one reads scripture. rather a clever ruse, that of the clotheshorse.
-she has become an excellent cook, too, in the peasant style. delicious broth, without noodles, but otherwise just as it should be, with barley, carrots, and thyme. i doubt whether she has learned this at the domestic science school. i consider all the things she has learned, and find them numerous. had she, perhaps, been a little overstrung in her talk about children like organ pipes? i don't know, but her nostrils dilated like a mare's as she spoke. she must have known how unwillingly middle-class couples have children, and how short is the love between them: in the daytime they are together so that people might not talk, but the night separates them. she was different, for she would make hers a house of fruitfulness: often she and her husband were apart during the day, when their separate labors called them, but the night united them.
-bravo, fru ingeborg!
-really, it was time i was leaving; at least i could have moved across to petra and the schoolmaster, who take in travelers. really i ought to do that....
-nikolai has got his tawny lady working on the farm; she's harnessed to a neat cart that he has made himself and banded with iron. and now the lady carts manure. the tiny farm with its few head of cattle doesn't yield too much of this precious substance, so it is soon spread. then the lady draws the plow, and looks as though it were no more than the heavy train of a ball dress behind her! nikolai has never heard of such a horse before, and neither has his wife.
-i take a walk down to the newly dug field and look at it from every angle. then i take soil in my hand and feel it and nod, exactly as though i knew something about it. rich, black soil--sheer perfection.
-i walk so far that i can see the gargoyles on petra's hotel--and suddenly turn off the path into the woods, to sheltered groves and catkins and peace. the air is still; spring will soon be here.
-and so the days wear on.
-i am comfortable and feel very much at home; how i should like to stay here! i should pay well for my keep, and make myself useful and popular; i shouldn't harm a fly. but that evening i tell nikolai that i must think of moving on; this will not do.... and perhaps he will mention it....
-"can't you stop a while longer?" he says. "but i suppose it isn't the kind of place--"
-this, too, i hoped he would mention.
-then i packed my knapsack and waited. no--no one came to take the knapsack out of my hand and forbid me to pack any farther. so perhaps nikolai hasn't mentioned it. the man never does open his mouth. so i placed the knapsack on a chair in the middle of the room, all packed and ready, for everyone to see that we're leaving. and i waited for the morning of the next day, and this time the knapsack was observed. no, it wasn't. so i had to wait till the housewife called us to the midday meal, and tell her then, pointing to what was in the middle of the room:
-"i'm afraid i shall have to be leaving today."
-"no! really? why do you want to go away?" she said.
-"why? well, don't you think i should?"
-"well, of course--but you might have stayed on a bit longer; the cows will be going out to spring pasture now, and we should have had more milk."
-that was all we said about it, and then she went back to her work.
-bravo, fru ingeborg. you're true-blue. it struck me then, as it had done already on several occasions, that she had grown very like josephine at tore peak, both in her way of thinking and her mode of expression. twelve years of school had laid no foundations in her young mind, though it had loosened much that was firm within her. but that did not matter, as long as she kept a firm hold now.
-nikolai is going down to the trading center, and since he will be bringing back some sacks of flour, he intends to drive. i know very well that i ought to go with him, because then i could catch the mail packet next day but one. i explain this to nikolai and pay my bill. while he is harnessing the horse, i finish packing my bag.
-oh, these eternal journeys! hardly am i settled in one place than i am again unsettled in another--no home, no roots. what are those bells i hear? ah, yes--fru ingeborg lets the cows out. they are going to pasture for the first time this spring, so that they shall give more milk.... here comes nikolai to tell me he is ready. yes, here is the knapsack....
-"nikolai, isn't it a bit early to let the cows out?"
-"yes, but they're getting restless in the cow houses."
-"yesterday i was in the woods and wanted to sit down, but i cannot sit in the snow. no, i cannot, though i could ten years ago. i must wait till there is really something to sit on. a rock is good enough, but you can't sit on a rock for very long in may."
-nikolai looks uneasily at the mare through the window.
-"yes, let's go.... and there were no butterflies, either. you know those butterflies that have wings exactly like pansies--there weren't any. and if happiness lives in the forest, i mean if god himself--well, he hasn't moved out yet; it's too early."
-nikolai does not reply to my nonsense. after all, it is only the incoherent expression of a vague feeling, a gentle melancholy.
-we go outside together.
-"nikolai, i'm not going."
-he turns around and looks at me, his eyes smiling good-humoredly.
-"you see, nikolai, i think i have got an idea; i feel exactly as though an idea had come to me that may turn into a great, red-hot iron. so i mustn't disturb myself. i'm staying."
-"well, i'm very glad to hear that," says nikolai. "as long as you like being here...."
-and a quarter of an hour later, i can see nikolai and the mare trotting briskly down the road. fru ingeborg stands in the yard with the boy on her arm to watch the gamboling calves.
-and here stand i. a fine old specimen, i am!
-nikolai returned with my mail; quite a little pile had accumulated in the past few weeks.
-"i thought you're not in the habit of reading your letters," said fru ingeborg banteringly. nikolai sat listening to us.
-"no," i returned. "just say the word, and i'll burn them unread."
-suddenly she turned pale; she had put her hand with a smile on the letters, brushing my hand as she did so. i felt a great ardor, a moment's miraculous blood heat, more than blood heat--only for a moment--then she withdrew her hand and said:
-"better read them."
-she was deeply flushed now.
-"i saw him burn his letters once," she explained to nikolai. then she found something to do at the stove, while she asked her husband about his journey, about the road, whether the mare had behaved well--which she had.
-a minor occurrence, of no importance to anyone. perhaps i should not have mentioned it.
-a few days later.
-the weather has grown warm, my window is open, my door to the living room is open, all is still; i stand at the window looking out.
-a man entered the courtyard carrying an unshapely burden. i could not see his face very well, but thought it was nikolai carrying something, so i went back to my table to work again.
-a little later i heard someone say "good morning" in the living room.
-fru ingeborg did not return the greeting. instead, i heard her ask in loud, hostile tones:
-"what do you want?"
-"i've come to pay you a visit."
-"my husband isn't in--he's in the field."
-"i do mind," she cried. "go away!"
-i don't know what her face looked like then, but her voice was gray--gray with tears and indignation. in a moment i was in the living room.
-the stranger was solem. another meeting with solem. he was everywhere. our eyes met.
-"i think you were asked to leave?" i said.
-"take it easy, take it easy," he said, in a kind of half-norwegian, half-swedish. "i trade in hides; i go round to the farms buying up hides. have you got any?"
-"no!" she cried out. her voice broke. she was completely distracted, and suddenly dipped a ladle into a pot that was boiling on the stove: perhaps she was on the point of flinging it at him....
-at this juncture, nikolai entered the house.
-"well, if you haven't any hides--," said solem, finding the door. nikolai followed him, still smiling. in the yard he helped solem raise his burden to his back.
-"oh, thank you," said solem in an uncomfortable tone. the bale of furs and skins was a large one; nikolai picked it up and put it on solem's back, swung it to his back in a curious fashion, with needless emphasis. solem's knees gave way under him, and he fell on his face. we heard a groan of pain, for the paved yard was hard as the face of the mountain. solem lay still for a moment, then he rose to his feet. his face had struck the ground in falling, and the blood was running down into his eyes. he tried to hoist his burden higher up his back, but it remained hanging slack. he began to walk away, with nikolai behind him, still smiling. thus they walked down the road, one behind the other, and disappeared into the woods.
-well, let us be human. that fall to the ground was bad. the heavy burden hanging down so uncomfortably from one shoulder looked bad.
-indoors i heard a sound of sobbing; fru ingeborg was in a state of collapse in a chair. and in her condition, too!
-well, give it time--it will pass off. gradually we begin to talk, and by asking her questions, i force her to collect herself.
-"he--that man--that beast--oh, you don't know how dreadful he is--i could murder him. he was the one--he was the first, but now he's getting it all back, he's getting more than his own back--you'll see. he was the first; i was all right till then, but he was the first. not that it meant a great deal to me; i don't want to seem any better than i am--it was all the same to me. but afterward i began to understand. and it drew so much evil in its train, i fell so low; i was on my knees. it was his fault. and afterward it all grew clear to me. i want that man to leave me alone; i don't ever want to see him again. that's not unreasonable, is it?--oh, where's nikolai? you don't think he'll do anything to him, do you? they'll put him in prison. please, run after them, stop him! he'll kill him--"
-"no, no. he has too much sense. besides, he doesn't know, does he, that solem has done anything to you?"
-she looked up at me then.
-"are you asking on your own account?"
-"what do you mean?--i don't understand--"
-"i want to know if you're asking on your own account! sometimes you seem as though you were trying to find me out. no, i haven't told my husband. you can think what you please about my honesty. i've only told him part of it, just a little--that the man wouldn't leave me alone. he's been here once before; he was the man petra wanted to admit that i wouldn't have in. i said to nikolai, 'i won't have that man coming in here!' and i told him a little more. but i didn't tell him about myself; so now what do you think of my honesty? but i don't want to tell him now either; i don't ever want to tell him. why? well, i don't owe you any explanation. but i don't mind your knowing--yes, i want to tell you, please! you see, it's not because i'm afraid of nikolai's anger, but of his forgiveness--i couldn't bear to go on living as though nothing had happened. i'm sure he'd try to find excuses for me, because that's his nature; he's fond of me, and he's a peasant, too, and peasants don't take these things so seriously. but if he did find excuses for me, he wouldn't be much good, and i don't want him to be no good; i swear i don't--i'd rather be no good myself! oh, we both have faults to forgive in each other, but we need all of what's left. we don't want to be animals; we want to be human beings, and i'm thinking of the future and our children.... but you oughtn't to make me talk so much. why did you ask me that?"
-"all i meant was that if nikolai doesn't know, then it couldn't occur to him to kill the man, and that was what you were worried about. i just wanted to reassure you."
-"yes, you're always so clever; you turn me inside out. i wish now i hadn't told you--i wish you didn't know; i should have kept it to myself till i died. now you just think i'm thoroughly dishonest."
-"on the contrary."
-"really? don't you think that?"
-"quite the contrary. what you've told me is absolutely right, entirely true and right. and not only that--it's fine."
-"god bless you," she said, and began to sob again.
-"there now, you mustn't cry. here comes nikolai walking up the road as good and placid as ever."
-"is he? oh, thank god. you know, i haven't really any fault to find with him; i was too hasty when i said that. even if i tried to find something, i couldn't. of course he uses expressions sometimes--i mean he says some words differently, but it was only his sister that put that into my head. i must go out and meet him now."
-she began to look around for something to slip over her shoulders, but it took her a few minutes because she was still quite shaken. before she had found anything, nikolai trudged into the yard.
-"oh, there you are! you haven't done anything rash, have you?"
-nikolai's features were still a little drawn as he replied:
-"no, i just took him over to see his son."
-"has solem got a son here?" i asked.
-neither of them replied. nikolai turned to go back to his work, and his wife went with him across the field.
-suddenly i understood: sophie's child.
-how well i remember that day at tore peak, when schoolmistress sophie palm came in to tell us the latest news about solem, about the bandage on his finger, the finger he never had time to get rid of--stout fellow! they made each other's acquaintance then, and probably met again later in the town. solem was everywhere.
-the ladies at the tore peak resort--well, solem was no angel, but they did little to improve him. and so he met this woman who had learned nothing but to teach....
-i ought to have understood before this. i don't understand anything any more.
-but something has happened to me now.
-at last i'm beginning to suspect that their chief reason for wanting to keep me here is simply that they need money; my board and rent are to pay for the mare. that's all it amounts to.
-i should have known it long ago, but i am old. perhaps i may add without being misunderstood that the brain withers before the heart. you can see it in all grandparents.
-at first i said "bravo!" to my discovery, "bravo! fru ingeborg," i said, "you are priceless once again!" but human nature is such that i began to feel hurt. how much better it would be to pay for the mare once and for all and depart; i should have been more than pleased to do so. but i should not have succeeded. nikolai would have shaken his head as though it were a fairy tale. then i began to calculate that in fact there couldn't be much to pay for the mare now--perhaps nothing, perhaps she was paid for....
-fru ingeborg labors and slaves--i'm afraid she works too hard. she seldom sits down, though her pregnancy is far advanced now and she needs rest. she makes beds, cooks, sees to the animals, sews, mends, and washes. often a lock of gray hair falls down on either side of her face, and she is so busy that she lets it hang; it's too short to be fastened back with a pin. but she looks charming and motherly, with her fine skin and her well-shaped mouth; she and the child together are sheer beauty. of course i help to carry wood and water, but i make more work for her just the same. when i think of that, i grow hot about the ears.
-but how could i have imagined that anyone would want to keep me for my own sake? i should not have had all these years too many then, and these ardors too few. a good thing i've found it out at last.
-in a way the discovery made it easier for me to leave them, and this--time when i packed my knapsack, i meant it. but at least the child, her boy, had some love for me, and liked to sit on my arm because i showed him so much that was strange. it was the child's instinct for the peerless grandfather.
-at about this time, a sister of fru ingeborg's came to the farm to help with the housework. i began to pack then; overcome with grief, i packed. to spare nikolai and the mare, i decided to make my way down to the steamship landing on foot. i shall also arrange to relieve all of us of the need for farewells and handshakes and au revoirs, believe me!
-but in spite of my resolution, i could not, after all, avoid taking them both by the hand and thanking them for their hospitality. that was all that was necessary. i stood in the doorway with my knapsack already on my back, smiling a little, and behaving splendidly.
-"yes, indeed," i said, "i must begin to move about again."
-"are you really going?" said fru ingeborg.
-"but so suddenly?"
-"didn't i tell you yesterday?"
-"yes, of course, but--would you like nikolai to drive you?"
-"no, thank you."
-the boy was interested now, for i had a knapsack on my back and a coat with entirely unfamiliar buttons; he wanted me to carry him. very well, then--just for a moment. but it was for more than a moment, more than a few moments, too. the knapsack had to be opened and investigated, of course. then nikolai entered the room.
-fru ingeborg said to me:
-"i'm afraid you think that just because my sister's here now--but we've got another room. and besides, now that it's summer, she could easily sleep in the loft."
-"but, my dear child, i must leave some time--i have work to do, too, you know."
-nikolai offered to drive me, but did not press me when i thanked him and refused.
-they came to the gate with me, and watched me walk away, the boy sitting on his mother's arm.
-at the bend of the road, i turned round to wave--to the child, of course, not to anyone else--only to the child. but there was no longer anyone there.
-i have written this story for you.
-why have i written thus? because my soul cries out with boredom before every christmas, boredom with all the books that are all written the same way. i had even the intention of writing in dialect, so as to be truly norwegian; but when i saw you understood the country's language also, i gave up writing in dialect because, for one thing, it is becoming obsolete.
-but why have i gathered so many incongruities within a single framework? my friend, one of the most celebrated literary creations was written during a plague, because of a plague--this is my answer. and, my friend, when you have lived for a long time away from the human beings you know inside and out, then you indulge once more in the iniquity of speech; your powers have been so little used that your head is filled with a thousand sermons. this is my defense.
-if i know you at all, you will revel in one or other of my outspoken passages; especially where there is a nocturnal episode, you will lick your chops. but to others you will shake your head and say: "think of his writing such things!" alas, small, vulgar soul, retire into solitude and try to understand that episode! it has cost me much to surrender it to you.
-perhaps, too, you will be interested in myself and ask about my irons? well, i may give you their greeting. they are the irons of one who is half a century old--he has no other kind. but the distinction between myself and my brother travelers is that i freely admit: i have none but these. they were planned so big and so red; yet they are small irons, and they hardly glow. this is the truth. they congregate with the painstaking works of others round the christmas table. this is the truth. it is the truth even though, in spite of everything, they are distinct from the nothingness of others. you cannot judge this, for you are the modern spirit in norway, and this is the spirit i scorn.
-one thing you will admit: you have not wasted your time in "cultured company"; i have not tried to quench your little upstart heart with a "lady." i have written about human beings. but within the speech that is spoken, another lies concealed, like the veins under the skin, like a story within a story. i have followed the septuagenarian of literature step by step, and reported the progress of his disintegration. i should have written this description long ago, but i had not years enough; only now am i entering upon them, directly and indirectly. i should have done it while the country was groping for long periods under the shadow of superannuated incompetence. instead i do it now, when i myself am being accused of a tendency to cast shadows. "sensationalism," you will say, "chasing after fame!" my dear, chaste friend, i have fame enough for the last twenty years of my life, and after that i shall be dead. and you? may you live long; you deserve it. may you almost survive me--in the flesh.
-i have just read what a man on the pinnacle of culture has said: "experience shows that when culture spreads, it grows thin and colorless." then one must not raise an outcry against the bearers of a new renaissance. i can no longer herald a renaissance; it is too late now. once, when i had the power to do much and the desire to do more, mediocrity everywhere was too strong. i was the giant with the feet of clay--the lot of many youths. but now, my small, small friend, look about you: there has appeared, within even your field of vision, a figure here and a figure there, a shining crest, lavish with its bounty, geniuses beneath the open sky--you and i should bid them welcome. i walk in the evening of life and, trembling, recognize myself in them; they are youth with jeweled eyes. yet you begrudge them your recognition; yes, you begrudge them fame. because you are nobody.
-of course i have shouted in the marketplace; perhaps that is why my voice is hoarse now, cracked at times. there are worse things. a worse thing would have been if it had not obeyed me. is there any danger of that? no, my friend, not for you; you will live till you die, be assured.
-why have i written to you, of all people? why do you think? you refused to be convinced of the truth and integrity of my conclusions; but i shall yet force you to recognize that i am close to the truth. not until then shall i make allowance for the fool in you.
-the enormous room
-by e. e. cummings
-“for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost; and is found.”
-he was lost by the norton-harjes ambulance corps.
-he was officially dead as a result of official misinformation.
-he was entombed by the french government.
-it took the better part of three months to find him and bring him back to life—with the help of powerful and willing friends on both sides of the atlantic. the following documents tell the story:
-104 irving street, cambridge, december 8, 1917.
-president woodrow wilson, white house, washington, d. c.
-it seems criminal to ask for a single moment of your time. but i am strongly advised that it would be more criminal to delay any longer calling to your attention a crime against american citizenship in which the french government has persisted for many weeks—in spite of constant appeals made to the american minister at paris; and in spite of subsequent action taken by the state department at washington, on the initiative of my friend, hon. ——.
-the victims are two american ambulance drivers, edward estlin cummings of cambridge, mass., and w—— s—— b——….
-more than two months ago these young men were arrested, subjected to many indignities, dragged across france like criminals, and closely confined in a concentration camp at la ferté macé; where, according to latest advices they still remain—awaiting the final action of the minister of the interior upon the findings of a commission which passed upon their cases as long ago as october 17.
-against cummings both private and official advices from paris state that there is no charge whatever. he has been subjected to this outrageous treatment solely because of his intimate friendship with young b——, whose sole crime is—so far as can be learned—that certain letters to friends in america were misinterpreted by an over-zealous french censor.
-it only adds to the indignity and irony of the situation to say that young cummings is an enthusiastic lover of france and so loyal to the friends he has made among the french soldiers, that even while suffering in health from his unjust confinement, he excuses the ingratitude of the country he has risked his life to serve by calling attention to the atmosphere of intense suspicion and distrust that has naturally resulted from the painful experience which france has had with foreign emissaries.
-be assured, mr. president, that i have waited long—it seems like ages—and have exhausted all other available help before venturing to trouble you.
-the children seated at the tables and we have had no trouble of that kind since.
-miss molly catlin, stevens point, wis.
-the matter of discipline has not been a difficult one with us, of course we have a good deal of noise, the adults are very apt to forget and talk noisily but as far as real trouble is concerned we have not had it.
-the boys' club room is a great help, in that the boy who just comes down town for fun and not to read goes into that room from preference.
-the girls and little children are often times noisy but with a glance or gentle reminder of some kind, they seem to be all right.
-the discipline of the boys' club room is, however, a different matter, it really is hard to discipline, but the reason is that we never yet have gotten just the right kind of an attendant to care for the room, we need one who is interested in boys, who can mingle with them and teach them games, etc. we now have a young man, well educated and a good man but he is lax in discipline and careless about the room. nevertheless i think the boys' club room a success, for during the months of february and march we have sometimes between fifty and seventy boys in attendance at one time and they seem to enjoy it.
-miss ella t. hamilton, whitewater, wis.
-i suppose i have found much the same difficulties as others in regard to discipline. our high school pupils, especially when working on their school debates, for which they get much of their material from the library, do sometimes find it easy to work together to the annoyance of their neighbors, but as they are, on the whole, well intentioned young people they usually take kindly the reproof. i do not mean to say that they do always after remember and act accordingly. who of us do? and my experience as a teacher has taught me that some lessons have to be often repeated. there is, however, a kindly feeling between the young people who use the library and those who have charge of it, for we try to help them to whatever they need and they appreciate the fact; and this fact i think helps in the matter of discipline. the main reading room seems sometimes rather full with them, but there are places for but sixteen at the tables and that partly explains it. i have had occasionally the difficulty of young people making the library a meeting place. only two weeks ago, i told a young miss and her attendant, that we could dispense with their presence in the library; they have both been back since, but not in any way to our annoyance.
-we were at one time much troubled by some boys from ten to fourteen. sending home didn't help for very long, and i finally went to the parents of the ring-leaders with very good results. perhaps the fact that complaints came to them from several other sources helped. but i am sure parents can aid the librarian as well as the teacher. the only notices i have ever had up in my library in regard to order are two neatly printed signs, "silence is golden." i think they have been more suggestive and effective than the ordinary sign.
-miss grace e. salisbury, whitewater, (normal school.)
-in answer to your circular just received, i hardly know what to say. we have practically no disciplining to do. of course conditions are not the same as in a public library. at the beginning of the school year every evidence of disorder is nipped in the bud, and after a few weeks we are entirely freed from any annoyance from visiting or other disorder. the children from the model school some times show a little inclination to talk too much in getting their books. if a word does not quiet them, the ring leader as it were is sent down to his department room which is the worst possible punishment as they love to come to the library. this never happens more than once or twice a year.
-the greatest help i have at the opening of the school year in creating the spirit i wish in the library, is the small work room opening out of it. if students visit, or get to talking over their work, i ask them if they will please take their work into the work room where they can talk things over without disturbing any one. they never resent that, when many times they would resent almost anything else in the way of reproof. if they talk too loud in there or seem to be still disturbing, i call attention to the fact that others are trying to work, and find it difficult to do so under the conditions.
-after the first few weeks of the year, i think i have to speak to a student not oftener than once in several weeks if that.
-i think the student body recognize the library as a place where they can find absolute quiet, and welcome it in that light, and most of them are glad to help to keep it so.
-mrs. alice a. lamb, litchfield, minn.
-our library opened four years ago. an acquaintance, through teaching, with most of the children of the town has been of great assistance. possibly, mature years with a reputation for strict order in school have been of value.
-at any rate disorder is almost unknown. we started with the idea of perfect quiet in the building. the text "be gentle and keep the voice low" was given a prominent place on the walls of the children's room for the first year and i'm sure was helpful.
-if the little children get to visiting, usually a glance or a shake of the head is sufficient. to the older children it has been necessary a few times to say quietly, "we must have perfect quiet here." this of course is said privately so that no one but the offender hears.
-sending home seems a legitimate punishment and if judiciously used ought to produce good results.
-the good will of the children, with good nature and firmness on the part of the librarian would seem the chief essentials to good order.
-if disorder has once become a habit the problem is a serious one. in small libraries with but one person in charge it would seem wise to hire an assistant or have an apprentice to do the desk work during the evening hours or whenever disorder is likely to occur, and let the librarian be free to go about the rooms and use her best efforts to establish order, by every tactful means possible.
-our building is so arranged that every part of it can be seen by the librarian at her desk. this doubtless is a very great aid in discipline, and perhaps explains why we have never been troubled by the boys and girls making a "meeting place" of the library.
-miss agnes j. petersen, manitowoc, wis.
-reading over your questions on the subject of discipline in the library, brought back very vividly to my mind, the first years of our library work.
-from the first day of opening, absolute quiet was made one of the rules of the library, and many boys and girls went home early in the evenings before they would recognize the rule. the fact that no disturbance of any kind would be tolerated was so impressed upon everybody, but, especially upon the children, that now, though the supervision is not so strictly kept, the same good order is easily maintained. a word or look of warning is at most times sufficient now to keep a roomful of 75 children in order except on rare occasions. we did practically i believe what every librarian does. the offender was warned concerning his conduct, and if, after several warnings, he still "dared us" he was sent home, not permitted to return to the library, nor draw books for a week or two as the case might be, only returning after promising good behavior in the future. when, as it happened a few times, the offender did not respond to this treatment, the president of our library board sent a note by the chief of police to the offender's parents, and that inevitably ended the matter. only one boy was suspended for two weeks during this past year, and he gives a great deal of trouble at school, also.
-special methods and types of work: story-telling; reading clubs; home libraries, playgrounds, etc.
-the function of the story hour as a recognized feature of library work with children has been variously discussed. the five papers given below represent these different points of view, and the experience of several libraries is included in the report of the committee on story- telling given at the congress of the playground association of america in 1910.
-another group method, which has been adopted as a means of introducing children to books and of securing continuity of interest, is that of the reading club. the three articles given show the influence of the direct, personal effort of miss hewins, and the carefully organized work of somewhat different types in two large library systems.
-the early history of home library work with children as conducted by the boston children's aid society and a consideration of the place of this method in extension work of libraries in general are included.
-library work in summer playgrounds is one development of cooperation with other institutions. the first article included may be supplemented by a statement made by miss frances j. olcott in an article on "the public library, a social force in pittsburgh," printed in the survey magazine, march 5, 1910. she states that "perhaps the most important phase of the library's work with children which is being developed at present is that of playground libraries. ... now that the playground association is establishing recreation centers for winter as well as summer, arrangements have been made with the library to supply books, the association providing the necessary reading rooms in its new buildings." practical difficulties in administration are discussed in the second article.
-the last group of articles brings together several unrelated phases of work. two special kinds of children's libraries are mentioned, one a type--the sunday school library--and one a library organized for specific work in connection with the children's museum in brooklyn. work with colored children in a colored branch library is described. the last paper gives a vivid picture of work with children in a foreign district of a large city.
-the story hour
-the paper by edna lyman scott, printed in the wisconsin bulletin for january, 1905, was said to be introductory to a talk which she was to give at beloit at the wisconsin state meeting, february 22, 1905. the author looks upon the inauguration of the story hour as but the grasping of an opportunity in working with children in the library, as a means of cultivating the love of literature and of introducing the child to books.
-edna lyman, now mrs. scott, was born in illinois, educated in the schools of oak park, ill., and at bradford academy, haverhill, massachusetts. at the time this paper was written she was the children's librarian in the oak park public library, then known as scoville institute. her work in story telling became known outside the immediate field of its activity, and in 1907 miss lyman severed her connection with this library to give time to special preparation, and later to become a lecturer on literature for children and story-telling, and a professional story-teller. she spent portions of three years as advisory children's librarian for the iowa library commission, and during that period published her book "story-telling: what to tell and how to tell it." she holds the position of non-resident faculty lecturer on work for children in the library school of the university of illinois, and the carnegie library school of atlanta, georgia, and lectures regularly in other library schools, before teachers' institutes and normal schools, women's clubs and study classes throughout the country.
-when we touch the question of guiding the reading of children in our libraries we have opened the consideration of a subject which is one of the great arguments for the existence of public libraries.
-all about we see and feel the utter indifference of parents to what their children are reading, or whether they are reading at all, and the results of this indifference appear on every hand, in the character of the books which content the child, or in his determination to bury himself in a book to the exclusion of every other interest.
-the librarian sees this indifference and its fruit and realizes that it adds another responsibility to her already long list, and another opportunity to serve. she may doubt whether her province is to educate the taste of the public at large, but there can be no question that in the case of the children the choice is not left for her to make; the only reason for the child's reading at all is that he may grow mentally and spiritually. there is no way to protect the child against worthless books except by giving him a decided taste for what is good. hamilton mabie says that "tastes depend very largely on the standards with which we are familiar," and if these standards are acquired hit and miss, without training, they are likely to be of a most doubtful character.
-and what means shall be found? the answer seems ready to hand in the use of one of the oldest, yet one of the newest arts, the art of story-telling. you may talk to a child about books, he will give a certain kind of response, particularly if he respects your judgment because of previous experience, but tell him a story and you have fastened him with chains he does not care to resist.
-the inauguration of the story hour then is but the grasping of an opportunity, first of all to give keenest joy to the child, and at the same time to set his standard for judging the value of other stories by those he hears, to give him a love for beautiful form, to introduce him to books he might never choose for himself and to bind him to the friend who tells him stories, so that he will feel a confidence in her suggestions.
-before choosing our stories for telling it will be well to remind ourselves of our purpose in telling stories, namely, to give familiarity with good english, to cultivate the imagination, to develop the sympathy, and to give a clear impression of moral truth. with this purpose in mind we shall gather our children into groups whose ages are near, and will be reached by the same tales. we must be methodical in this as in all our library work, and have our campaign well planned before we begin.
-not everyone has the gift of telling stories, but if one is not gifted with the art himself, there will doubtless be someone who is, who can be secured for the purpose, if we only feel that the need is great enough.
-the way is open to the minds and hearts of the children. shall we neglect it because it is old, or because it is new, or because we seem somewhat hampered by existing conditions? why not follow the successes of others, and then find our own?
-the above paper by miss lyman is offered as introductory to a talk which she will give at beloit at the wisconsin state meeting, february 22, 1905. the story hour has been most successfully conducted in a few of our libraries. to be sure every librarian is not qualified to conduct a successful story hour, but it is usually possible to find someone in the community who will tell the stories. the story hour requires a good deal of preparation. in pittsburgh the librarians who were to tell stories had special training under miss shedlock, a well-known english story teller, and gave thorough study to the subject before attempting to interest the children. this library has published a pamphlet on story telling to children from norse mythology and the nibehulgenlied. this pamphlet contains references to material on selected stories, an annotated reading list for the story teller and for young people, a full outline of a course, and many valuable suggestions. the same library published in its bulletin, october, 1902, the following outlines:
-legends of charlemagne and his paladins
-this regular story course will be broken into at the holidays when stories appropriate to the season will be told.
-their bulletin for november, 1904, gives the program for 1904-5 on legends of robin hood and stories from ivanhoe. the outline follows:
-legends of robin hood
-the following extract on the children's story hour is taken from the pittsburgh bulletin of december, 1901.
-the children's story hour
-the library story hour for the children began in a very modest way at our west end branch. it has passed through the experimental stage and is now a part of the regular routine of our six children's rooms. at first disconnected stories were told but when we found how much the stories influenced the children's reading, we began to follow a regular program, which has proved more effective than haphazard story telling. last year we told stories from greek mythology and homer and had an attendance of over 5,000 children. the books placed on special story hour shelves were taken out 2,000 times.
-this year the stories are drawn from the norse myths and the niebelungen lied. they are told by the children's librarians and the students of our training school for children's librarians, every friday afternoon from november first to april first. as the hour draws near, the children's rooms begin to fill with eagerly expectant children. there is an atmosphere of repressed excitement, and when the appointed minute comes, the children quickly form into line and march into the lecture room where the story is told. once there, the children group themselves on the floor about the story teller, and all is attention. it may be that the story is a hard one to tell, the process of adapting and preparing it may have been difficult, but in the interested faces of the children and in the bright eyes fixed upon her face, the story teller finds her inspiration.
-extra copies of books containing norse myths have been provided for each children's room. since few of these books are for very young children, we tell these poetic stories of our northern ancestors to the older boys and girls only. for the younger ones there are such stories as the three bears, hop-o'-my-thumb, and other old nursery favorites. at thanksgiving, christmas and a few other holidays, the program is dropped and one full of the spirit of the season is told instead. that the children enjoy and appreciate the stories is seen by the steadily increasing attendance, and by the fact that the same children return week after week. teachers say the very worst punishment they can inflict is to detain a child so late on friday that he misses his story hour. during the summer months, and early fall, when no stories were being told, there were many anxious inquiries as to when the story hour would begin. at our west end branch the children clamored so for their stories that the work was commenced a month before the time for beginning the regular program.
-and what is the use of story telling? is it merely to amuse and entertain the children? were it simply for this, the time would not seem wasted, when one recalls the bright and happy faces and realizes what an hour of delight it is to many children oftentimes their only escape from mean and sordid surroundings col. thomas wentworth higginson once said that to lie on the hearth rug and listen to one's mother reading aloud is a liberal education, but such sweet and precious privileges are only for the few. the story hour is intended to meet this want in some slight degree, to give the child a glimpse beyond the horizon which hitherto has limited his life, and open up to him those vast realms of literature which are a part of his inheritance, for unless he enters this great domain through the gateway of childish fancy and imagination, the probability is that he will never find any other opening. to arouse and stimulate a love for the best reading is then the real object of the story hour. through the story the child's interest is awakened, the librarian places in his hands just the right book to develop that interest, and gradually there is formed a taste for good literature.
-story-telling in libraries
-in the following article, contributed to public libraries for november, 1908, mr. john cotton dana protests against the popular idea of library story-telling and advocates instruction given to teachers both in story- telling and in the use of books as a better method "as to cost and results." john cotton dana was born in woodstock, vermont, in 1856, received the degree of a.b. from dartmouth in 1878, and studied law in woodstock from 1878 to 1880. he was a land surveyor in colorado in 1880-1881, was admitted to the new york bar in 1883, and spent 1886-1887 in colorado as a civil engineer. he was librarian of the denver public library from 1889 to 1897; of the city library, springfield, mass., from 1898- 1902, and since 1902 has been librarian of the free public library of newark, n. j.
-story-telling to groups of young children is now popular among librarians. the art is practiced chiefly by women. no doubt one reason for its popularity is that it gives those who practice it the pleasures of the teacher, the orator and the exhorter. it must be a delight to have the opportunity to hold the attention of a group of children; to see their eyes sparkle as the story unwinds itself; to feel that you are giving the little people high pleasure, and at the same time are improving their language, their morals, their dramatic sense, their power of attention and their knowledge of the world's literary masterpieces. also, it is pleasant to realize that you are keeping them off the streets; are encouraging them to read good books; are storing their minds with charming pictures of life and are making friends for your library.
-in explaining its popularity i have stated briefly the arguments usually given in favor of library story-telling. there is another side.
-a library's funds are never sufficient for all the work that lies before it. consequently, the work a library elects to do is done at the cost of certain other work it might have done. the library always puts its funds, skill and energy upon those things which it thinks are most important, that is, are most effective in the long run, in educating the community. now, the schools tell stories to children, and it is obviously one of their proper functions so to do at such times, to such an extent and to such children as the persons in charge of the schools think wise. it is probable that the schoolmen know better when and how to include story-telling in their work with a given group of children than do the librarians. if a library thinks it knows about this subject more than do the schools, should it spend time and money much needed for other things in trying to take up and carry on the schools' work? it would seem not. indeed, the occasional story-telling which the one library of a town or city can furnish is so slight a factor in the educational work of that town or city as to make the library's pride over its work seem very ludicrous.
-if, now, the library by chance has on its staff a few altruistic, emotional, dramatic and irrepressible child-lovers who do not find ordinary library work gives sufficient opportunities for altruistic indulgence, and if the library can spare them from other work, let it set them at teaching the teachers the art of story-telling.
-contrast, as to cost and results, the usual story-telling to children with instruction in the same and allied arts to teachers. the assistant entertains once or twice each week a group of forty or fifty children. the children--accustomed to schoolroom routine, hypnotized somewhat by the mob-spirit, and a little by the place and occasion, ready to imitate on every opportunity --listen with fair attention. they are perhaps pleased with the subject matter of the tale, possibly by its wording, and very probably by the voice and presence of the narrator. they hear an old story, one of the many that help to form the social cement of the nation in which they live. this is of some slight value, though the story is only one of scores which they hear or read in their early years at school. the story has no special dramatic power in its sequence. as a story it is of value almost solely because it is old. it has no special value in its phrasing. it may have been put into artistic form by some man of letters; but the children get it, not in that form, but as retold by an inspired library assistant who has made no mark in the world of letters by her manner of expression. the story has no moral save as it is dragged in by main strength; usually, in fact, and especially in the case of myths, the moral tone needs apologies much more than it needs praise.
-to prepare for this half hour of the relatively trivial instruction of a few children in the higher life, the library must secure a room and pay for its care, a room which if it be obtained and used at all could be used for more profitable purposes; and the performer must study her art and must, if she is not a conceited duffer, prepare herself for her part for the day at a very considerable cost of time and energy.
-now, if the teachers do not know the value of story-telling at proper times and to children of proper years; if they do not realize the strength of the influence for good that lies in the speaking voice--though that this influence is relatively over-rated in these days i am at a proper time prepared to show--if they do not know about the interest children take in legends, myths and fairy tales, and their value in strengthening the social bond, then let the library assistants who do know about such things hasten to tell them. i am assuming for purposes of argument that the teachers do not know, and that library assistants can tell them. i shall not attempt to say how the library people will approach the teacher with their information without offending them, except to remark that tactful lines of approach can be found; and to remark, further, that by setting up a story-hour in her library a librarian does not very tactfully convey to the teachers the intimation that they either do not know their work or willfully neglect it.
-with this same labor of preparation, in the room used to talk 30 minutes to a handful of children, the librarian could far better address a group of teachers on the use of books in libraries and schoolrooms. librarians have long contended that teachers are deficient in bookishness; and it is quite possible that they are. their preparation in normal schools compels them to give more attention to method than to subject matter. they have lacked incentive and opportunity to become familiar with books, outside of the prescribed text-books and supplementary readers. they do not know the literature of and for childhood, and not having learned to use books in general for delight and utility themselves they cannot impart the art to their pupils. as i have said, librarians contend that this is true, yet many of them with opportunities to instruct teachers in these matters lying unused before them, neglect them and coolly step in to usurp one of the school's functions and rebuke the teacher's shortcomings.
-this is not all. a library gives of its time, money and energy to instruct 40 children--and there it ends. if, on the other hand, it instructs 40 teachers, those 40 carry the instruction to 40 class rooms and impart knowledge of the library, of the use of books, of the literature for children and--if need be--of the art of story-telling, to 1,600 or 2,000 children. there seems no question here as to which of these two forms of educational activity is for librarians better worth while.
-story telling--a public library method
-the national child conference for research and welfare was organized at a meeting held at clark university, worcester, mass., in july, 1909. several papers on library topics were presented at this meeting, one of the most interesting of which was given by miss olcott. in this paper she presents the story hour as a method of introducing "large groups of children simultaneously to great literature," and asserts that "the library story hour becomes, if properly utilized, an educational force as well as a literary guide."
-frances jenkins olcott was born in paris, france; was educated under private tutors, and was graduated from the new york state library school in 1896. from 1898 to 1911 she was chief of the children's department of the carnegie library of pittsburgh. in 1900 she organized and became the director of the training school for children's librarians. since 1911 miss olcott has contributed to library work with children by writing and editing books for parents and for children.
-the library is a latter day popular educational development. it supplements the work of the church, the home, the school and the kindergarten. its function is to place within the reach of all the best thought of the world as conserved in the printed page. this being its natural function, all methods selected by the library should tend directly to arouse interest in the best reading. methods which do not do this are, for the library, ineffective and a waste of valuable energy and public funds.
-the library movement has grown with such startling rapidity that it has not been possible to codify the best methods of library work, but there has been an earnest endeavor to establish a body of library pedagogy by careful experimentation. unfortunately during this experimental stage methods have been introduced which do not produce direct library results. many of these methods, which in this paper it is not expedient to enumerate, are interesting and appeal to the imagination; they may impart knowledge, but they are not, strictly speaking, library methods.
-as childhood and youth are the times in which to lay the foundation for the habit of reading and of discrimination in reading, it falls to the library worker with children to build up a system of sound library pedagogy leading to the increased intelligent use of the library. the library worker has to deal with large crowds of children of all ages, all classes and nationalities. in a busy children's room she is rarely able to provide enough assistants to do the necessary routine work and help each individual child select his reading, therefore it becomes necessary for her to direct the children's reading through large groups and to adapt for this purpose methods used by other educational institutions. but these methods have to be adapted in a practical, forceful way, otherwise they become sentimental and ineffectual. for instance, a method useful in the kindergarten for teaching ethics, in the public schools for teaching geography, science or history, if rightly applied by the public library, may be useful in arousing interest in good books and reading. such is the story telling method, one of the most effective, if rightly applied, which the public library uses to introduce large groups of children simultaneously to great literature. on the other hand, if the library worker uses story telling merely as a means of inculcating knowledge or teaching ethics, the story fails to produce public library results and the method becomes the weakest of methods, as it absorbs time, physical energy, and library funds which should be expended to increase good reading.
-the carnegie library of pittsburgh began systematic story telling to large groups of children in 1899. after a few months a decided change was noted in the children's reading. the stories were selected from shakespeare's plays and there came an increasing demand for books containing the plays, or stories from them. it became evident that if a story was carefully prepared with the intention of arousing interest in reading, it could prove a positive factor in directing the reading of large groups of children. the method was adopted throughout the library system and extended to the various children's reading rooms, home libraries, playgrounds and city schools. in order to make the story telling effective and systematic, a subject was chosen for each year, stories being told every friday afternoon in the lecture rooms of the central and branch libraries and at varying intervals in the other agencies. large numbers of duplicates of children's books containing the stories were purchased and placed on story hour shelves in the children's rooms. announcements of the story hours were made in the public schools and notices posted on the bulletins in the children's reading rooms. the children responded so eagerly that it became almost impossible to handle the large crowds attending weekly and it was quite impossible to supply the demand for the books which, previous to the story hour, had not been popular.
-the story hour courses are planned to extend over eight years and are selected from romantic and imaginative literature. for the first two years nursery tales, legends, fables and standard stories are told. for the following years--stories from greek mythology; stories from norse mythology and the nibelungenlied; stories of king arthur and the round table, and legends of charlemagne; stories of the iliad and the odyssey; stories from chaucer and spenser; stories from shakespeare. at the end of the eight years the cycle is repeated.
-the story hours are conducted most informally. the stories are told, not in the children's rooms, as this would interfere with the order and discipline of the rooms, but in the study and lecture rooms of the library buildings. as far as possible a group is limited to thirty-six children. when stories are told to children over ten or twelve years of age, the boys and girls are placed in separate groups. this enables the story teller to develop her story to suit the varied tastes of her audience.
-the children sit on benches constructed especially for the story hour. the benches are made according to the following measurements: 14 in. from floor to top of seat; seat 12 in. wide; 3 benches 9 ft. long, one bench 7 ft. long. benches made without backs. four benches are placed in the form of a hollow square, the story teller sitting with the children. in this way the children are not crowded and the story teller can see all their faces. it is more hygienic and satisfactory than allowing the children to crowd closely about the story teller. the story hour benches are so satisfactory that we are introducing them as fast as possible into all of our library buildings.
-each story is carefully prepared beforehand by the story teller. in the training school for children's librarians conducted by this library, all the students are obliged to take the regular course in story telling which includes lectures and weekly practice. informality in story telling is encouraged. dramatic or elocutionary expression is avoided, the self-conscious, the elaborate and the artificial are eliminated; we try to follow as closely as possible the spontaneous folk spirit. the children sit breathless, lost in visions created by a sympathetic and un- self-conscious story teller.
-in closing i should like to dwell for a moment on what have been called the "by-products" of the library story hour. besides guiding his reading, a carefully prepared, well told story enriches a child's imagination, stocks his mind with poetic imagery and literary allusions, develops his powers of concentration, helps in the unfolding of his ideas of right and wrong, and develops his sympathetic feelings; all of which "by-products" have a powerful influence on character. thus the library story hour becomes, if properly utilized, an educational force as well as a literary guide.
-story telling as a library tool
-the possibility of library story telling in schools as a means of interesting a larger number of children than is possible at a story hour held in a library is suggested by miss alice a. blanchard in the following paper, also given at the conference at clark university in 1909. alice arabella blanchard was born in montpelier, vermont; was graduated from smith college in 1903; from the new york state library school in 1905, and was a special student in the training school for children's librarians in 1905-1906. from 1906 to 1908 she was the head of the children's department of the seattle public library; in 1909 the head of the school department of the free public library, of newark, n. j.; from 1910 to 1912 the head of the schools division of the seattle public library; from 1913 to 1915 the first assistant in the children's department and the training school for children's librarians in the carnegie library of pittsburgh, and since that time has been supervisor of work with schools and children in the free public library of newark, n. j.
-the subject which the printed programme for this morning's session assigns to me is how to guide children's reading by story telling. i must begin my talk by an apology; for i shall speak upon only a limited phase of that subject. the subject of guiding children's reading by story telling is a pretty broad one. tell a good story to a child and he wants to read the book from which it comes. this simple statement means that wherever the child is, at home, at school, in the playground, in the library, in sunday school, in the settlement, we can exercise a very direct influence upon his reading taste by the stories we tell him. story telling is a most excellent method of advertising the good books of the world. i shall consider it as a means of advertising books from the librarian's point of view, and treat it simply as a library method, calling it, if you will let me, a library tool.
-story telling is becoming widely popular in schools, in libraries and as a profession by itself. we know that it is an effective method of reaching and influencing children, and that as a method it has advantages over the printed word. libraries are considering it a part of their work and are using it on a more or less elaborate scale.
-it may be too soon, for we have not been using it very long, to know just what place story telling should take in the work of the library; but some of us feel that we are not considering the subject with sufficient care, that we are letting our enthusiasm run away with our common sense in the matter, a little too much in the manner of our friend who has the automobile fever and forgets that life can hold anything else.
-it is evident that since no public library ever has enough time and money at its disposal for the work it has to do, it cannot afford to undertake story telling or any other activity which does not further this work. we say that the function of public library work with children is to give them an intelligent love for the best books, and in trying to do this we must reach the greatest number of children at the least expense. if story telling can be an effective tool, enabling us to reach with books more children at less expense than any other method at our command, then it has a legitimate place in library work. if it cannot do this we should let it alone.
-most of us feel that school and libraries have experimented with story telling long enough now to prove that it has its place as a legitimate and valued tool of the library. at the same time we see these facts, however; many libraries do not understand what this place is; many libraries are using story telling as a tool for another's work at the expense of their own; and some libraries are using story telling when, because of their peculiar situation, another tool would better answer their purpose.
-if the library is to use story telling it must be to bring children and books together. this it can do successfully. library reports show that it has interested thousands of children in the library, increased greatly the general circulation of books from the children's shelves, and created popularity for the books from which the stories were selected.
-incidentally, the story hour makes a delightful form of entertainment, for the average child loves to hear stories told. it also establishes a very pleasant personal relation between the children who hear the story and the person who tells it. herein lies a danger for the library of which we take too little account. because she can by her stories so delightfully entertain her audience and thereby win their affection the story-teller is tempted to lose sight of the purpose of her stories, namely, to guide the children's reading. if she does forget this purpose, her stories, although they may bring the children week after week in throngs, will leave them where they were before, so far as their reading taste is concerned. the fact that the story hour makes a delightful form of entertainment, the fact that it establishes a pleasant personal relation between story teller and children, must not be the reason for its adoption by the library. the story teller must tell stories from books which are to be found upon the library shelves and she must tell the children that they are there. unless the story hour advertises the best books, and results in an increased use of them, the library is wasting time and money in its story telling--to put the matter in its most favorable light.
-in the second place, many libraries are making the mistake of trying to do too many things with the story telling tool. they forget that the school tells stories, that it can give the child thereby plenty of facts in science, history, geography, and what not; that it teaches him by means of stories, morals and politeness. they forget that the city does not pay them for doing this school work or for doing the work of the playgrounds and parks in keeping children off the streets. much can be done by the library in all these ways; but it happens that the work which belongs peculiarly to the library and which no other institution can at present do for it, is to give good books to all the children in the city--a task which of itself is enough for any library to hope to do. therefore we should discard from our story telling all the lessons we are trying to teach, our christmas tree, our may poles, our fancy costumes and whatever pretty games we play, and simply tell the children stories from books. fortunately a good story from a book is enough to delight a child without any accompanying frills, so that the time we save by discarding them does not in the least detract from its efficiency.
-and we must tell the stories to children. it has been said of one library and, moreover, with some pride, that the story hour was so popular that many grown people came to it; indeed sometimes there was little room left for the children!
-thirdly, the average library does not sufficiently consider whether in its particular case, story telling is the best tool at its command. what is a good tool in one case may not be in another and a given library may be sacrificing much better work when it takes time, as it must always do, from something else for the story hour.
-often a small library has no story teller upon its staff, but it may be doing effective work with children through its work with teachers, its visits to schools and its children's room. it has a small staff and no room adapted for telling stories at the library. obviously such a library has no need for the story telling tool, yet many libraries like this are struggling hard to use it. once a week or oftener they are allowing all the usual routine of the library to be upset to accommodate the story hour, the story teller has spent many hours of preparation and is under a strain that is little short of misery, and the children, because of the general difficulty of the whole situation, are deriving no greater love for books nor respect for the library. such a library would do better to give up story telling and put its energy into what it could do more effectively.
-but here let me say that often the small library thinks it has no use for story telling as a tool when as a matter of fact it has.
-children's librarians in large or small libraries count school visiting as part of their work. the school visit offers the best of opportunities for the work of the story hour. a story told at the end of an informal little talk about the library will bring the children flocking to the library the minute school is over. the small library which has no story hour room but which has a story teller can take advantage of this opportunity and do much with it. the story teller can visit three schoolrooms on different days, tell stories to forty children each time, and because the story telling is distributed over the three days, manage with comparative ease the influx of 120 children who may come for books as a result. more than this, the story teller can have told three stories instead of one, so that only one-third of the children will clamor for the same book. this last point is important as all who have had story-hour experience know.
-and it is not always the small library which might better tell its stories in school. consider the city library which has a story teller who tells stories at a branch. she gets crowds of children, it is true, but many more do not come. she has too many for her story room. even if she repeats her story until all the eager children get in eventually to hear it the results are of doubtful benefit. it has meant a fearfully strenuous day for the story teller and for the whole branch; the chances are that the last children to hear the tale gained little from it because the story teller was too tired to tell it well; many of the children have spent most of the afternoon in the scuffle of trying to get in and having to wait when they might have been out of doors playing; and practically all the children were the same ones who always come. and, as in a small library, all the children want the same books, if the stories were good.
-school people, as a rule, are very cordial to the library story teller. since they are, this method seems preferable to the story hour at the library. the story teller, besides being spared the difficulty of managing the story hour at the library, has a better opportunity to keep in touch with school work; can reach all the children instead of the same group week after week; interests teacher as well as the children in the books from which the stories are told; and saves the library considerable money in janitor work and heat and light bills. probably the story teller has neither time nor strength to tell stories both in school and library. would she not be wise in such a case to tell her stories in the schoolroom?
-there is another thing that should be said of story telling as a library tool. if we aim by stories to advertise the best books, how shall we tell the stories to make the books seem most attractive and to get the best results?
-we say that the impression the child gets from a story told is greater than that gained from a story read. then we proceed to tell him in our own words stories which we adapt from the books we think he should know, trusting that he will want the books themselves as a result. well and good for those books which depend for their value upon subject matter, regardless of style; for folk-lore, for many of the fairy tales and other stories, but not equally well and good for books that are valuable for their literary forces. if a story is dramatic enough for the telling and is written by a master, is it not a shame to give it to a child in an inferior form when he might have it as it was written? if a master did it, it is every bit as dramatic and as easy for the child to understand in the form in which the master wrote it as in the story teller's version, and many times more beautiful.
-why do children's librarians spend so much time in the preparation of their own versions of the good stories of the world when they have so much material which they can use at first hand? the theory is, that a story has more life if told in the story teller's words, that it is likely to be stiff and formal if she must confine herself to the author's words. this need not be so. if the story teller enjoys the story, as a story teller always must, if she appreciates the charm of its expression as the author wrote it, and sees the value of this charm, the author's words will come easily from her lips with all the life of the original. she may have had to cut the original more or less, but that can usually be done without perceptibly marring the story. if the tale does not lend itself to this kind of treatment and she feels that she must adapt the whole thing for her audience, she can at least quote paragraphs. if the story teller gives the child her own version, the child wants the story because or in spite of what she put into it. he gets the book, fails to find the story teller part of it and, as that is all he is after puts the book down or finds the real thing and thinks the teller didn't know it very well, for "she left out some of the best parts."
-i am not saying that the story teller's version is worthless. it is good as far as it goes. i am only saying that by it we often miss an opportunity to give the children something better. none of us can tell the andersen or the kipling stories as well as the men who wrote them. why not give them to the children "straight out of the book," as the children say, and why not, for instance, when we are telling stories of the trojan war, give them passages verbatim from bryant's iliad? this kind of story telling may take more time for preparation than the other for some people, it is true, but the resulting benefit is greater. the librarian who has once told an andersen story in the words of a close translation will never want to do it in her own again.
-in spite of all we say about giving him the best books, are we not giving the child too little credit for literary appreciation? are not some of our simplified versions of the good stories of the world a little too simple? we refuse to leave upon our shelves such foolish things as the hiawatha primer, or the stevenson reader (this gives upon one page a poem from the child's garden and on the opposite page a neat translation!), and yet do we not offend sometimes in the same way in our story telling? let us not run the risk of spoiling the atmosphere and beauty of a good tale by over-adapting it. if it is beyond the child's comprehension in the beginning, let us leave it for him to find when he is older. if our library story telling has been what it should be, the road will be an easy one for him to follow.
-report of the committee on story-telling
-story-telling in playgrounds, settlements and libraries as it is carried on in various communities, is described in the following comprehensive report which was made by the committee on story-telling, miss annie carroll moore, chairman, at the fourth annual congress of the playground association of america. it was printed in the playground, august, 1910, and an abridgement appeared in the library journal (september, 1910). a sketch of miss moore appears on page 113.
-"is she a fairy, or just a lady?"
-a little scotch girl asked the question after a story hour in a children's library. "she made me see fairies awful plain."
-"she made me see fairies, too," answered the children's librarian with whom the child had shared her doubt. "let's go and find her and make sure."
-on the way they spoke of the story they had both liked best. it was about an old woman who lived long ago in devonshire, who loved tulips and planted her garden full of them, and tended them with great care because they seemed to her so beautiful. after the old woman died some extremely practical persons came to live in her house and they considered it very foolish to grow tulips for their beauty when the garden might be turned to practical account. so they dug up the garden and analyzed the soil, and planted carrots and turnips and parsnips and just such vegetables as promised to yield speedy and profitable returns.
-by and by a wonderful thing happened. tulips no longer grew in the garden; there was no room for them and nobody had time to look after such useless things. but on the spot where the old woman was buried the most beautiful tulips sprang up of themselves, and every night in the springtime the faries may be seen bringing their babies to rock them to sleep in the tulip bells.
-the little scotch girl wondered whether there was "a book in the library with the tulip story in." she wanted to read it to her grandmother, she said, because her grandmother was "always speaking about her garden in scotland," and she wondered if the tulips in scotland had fairies asleep in them.
-the storyteller, who was miss marie l. shedlock, looked wonderfully happy when asked whether she was a "fairy" or "just a lady." she said she supposed she was really "just a lady," but she had become so intimate with fairies through listening to stories about them, and thinking about them, and telling fairy tales to children and grown people in england and america, that she felt almost like a fairy at times, and she had come to believe with hans christian andersen, whose stories she loved best of all, that life itself is a beautiful fairy tale.
-then she told the little girl that the tulip story was not in a book, and that she must tell it to her grandmother just as she remembered hearing it, and that having seen the fairies while she listened would help her to remember the story better. she could see pictures all the time she was telling stories, she said. the little girl had never thought of making pictures for herself before. she had only seen them in books and hanging on walls.
-this unconscious tribute to the art of the storyteller made a lasting impression on the children's librarian. if a child of less than eight years, and of no exceptional parts, could so clearly discriminate between the fairy tale she had heard at school and the tale that made her "see the fairies," there was little truth in the statement that children do not appreciate artistic storytelling. she went back to her children's room feeling that something worth while had happened. the children who had listened to the stories now crowded about the book shelves, eager for "any book about fairies," "a funny book," or "a book about animals."
-the little girl who had seen the fairies was not the only one who had fallen under the spell of the storyteller. "i always knew pandora was a nice story, but she never seemed like a live girl before," said one of the older girls. "i liked the brahmin, the jackal and the tiger best," exclaimed a boy. "gee! but couldn't you just see that tiger pace when she was saying the words?" "i just love the little tin soldier," said a small boy who hated to read, but was always begging the children's librarian to tell him stories about the pictures he found in books. "didn't she make him march fine!"
-before the end of the day the children's librarian had decided that even if there could be but one such story hour in the lifetime of an individual or an institution it would pay in immediate and far-off results. but why stop with one; why not have more story hours in children's libraries? other children's librarians were asking themselves the same question, and then they asked their librarians, and those who recognized in the story hour a powerful ally in stimulating a love of good literature and a civilizing influence wherever the gang spirit prevailed, gave ready assent.
-ten years have passed and the story hour is now an established feature in the work of children's libraries. miss shedlock came to america to tell stories to children and to their fathers and mothers. she returned year after year to remind the schools and colleges, the training schools and the kindergartens, as well as the public libraries, of the great possibilities in what she so aptly called "the oldest and the newest of the arts."
-in her lectures upon "the art of storytelling;" "the fun and the philosophy; the poetry and the pathos of hans christian andersen," and in the stories she told to illustrate them, miss shedlock exemplified that teaching of socrates, which represents him as saying: "all my good is magnetic, and i educate not by lessons but by going about my daily business." the story as a mere beast of burden for conveying information or so-called moral or ethical instruction was relieved of its load. the play spirit in literature which is the birthright of every child of every nation was set free. her interpretation of the delicate satire and the wealth of imagery revealed in the tales of that great child in literature, hans christian andersen, has been at once an inspiration and a restraining influence to many who are now telling stories to children, and to others who have aided in the establishing of storytelling. it is now three years since miss shedlock was recalled to england by the london county council to bring back to the teachers of london the inspirational value of literature she had taken over to america.
-interest in storytelling has become widespread, reaching a civic development beyond the dreams of its most ardent advocates when a professional storyteller and teacher of literature was engaged to tell stories to children in the field houses of the public recreation centers of chicago. mrs. gudrun thorne- thomsen has been known for some years in this country as a storyteller of great power in the field of her inheritance, scandinavian literature. it is very largely due to her work that the city of chicago has been roused to claim the public library privileges so long denied to her children, and to make the claim from a point that plants the love of literature in the midst of the recreational life of a great city.
-no one who was present at those meetings of the new york playground congress, conducted by miss maud summers, will ever forget her eloquent appeal for a full recognition of the value of storytelling as a definite activity of the playground. she saw its kinship to the folk dance and the folk song in the effort to preserve the traditions of his country to the foreign-born child. and she saw the relation of the story to the games, the athletics, and the dramatics. more clearly than anything else, perhaps, she saw the value of the story in its direct appeal to the spiritual nature of the child. miss summers' interest and enthusiasm made the work of the present committee possible. as one of her associates, its chairman pays grateful tribute to her memory and links her name with a work to which she gave herself so freely in life, that her death seems but the opening of another door through which we look with full hope and confidence upon childhood as "a real and indestructible part of human life."
-there is a line of juvenal that bids the old remember the respect due to the young. it is in that attitude, and with some appreciation of what it means to be a growing boy or girl of the present time, that the subject of this report has been approached and is now presented for the consideration of the playground association of america. we know only too well that we cannot give to childhood in great cities the simple and lovely ways we associate with childhood. we can give to it a wonderful fortification against the materialism and the sensationalism of daily life on the streets, against the deadly monotony of the struggle for existence, by a revival of the folk spirit in story, as well as in song and in dance, that will not spend its strength in mere pageantry, but will sink deep into our national consciousness.
-it should be clearly stated that the field of storytelling, investigated, relates to children above the kindergarten age and to boys and girls in their teens. the investigation lays no claim to completeness and has not included storytelling in public nor in private schools.
-an outline covering the main points of this report was sent to representative workers in thirteen different cities, to several persons professionally engaged in storytelling, and to other persons whose critical judgment was valued in such connection. the outline called--first, for a statement of the extent to which storytelling is being carried on in playgrounds, public libraries, settlements, and such other institutions, exclusive of schools, as might come to the notice of the members of the committee. second, for information concerning the persons who are telling stories, whether their entire time is given to storytelling and preparation for it; whether it forms a part of the regular duties of a director or an assistant; and, finally, whether volunteer workers are engaged in storytelling.
-storytelling in the playgrounds is under the direction of a special teacher appointed in 1909. the teacher of storytelling works in co-operation with the teachers of dramatics and of folk dancing. the visits of the special teacher added interest and novelty, but it is felt that every playground teacher should be able to tell stories effectively. storytelling, therefore, is considered a part of the daily work of the playground assistant.
-in the boston public library, storytelling is not organized as a definite feature of work with children, but has been employed occasionally in some branch libraries, regularly in others, by varying methods. it is regarded as markedly successful in districts where library assistants are closely identified with the work of the neighborhood. co-operation with settlements in which storytelling has been carried on for some years has been very successful. rooms have been furnished by the library; the settlements, and sometimes the normal schools, have provided storytellers. the work of a settlement leader with a large group of boys was especially interesting one winter, as he told continued stories from such books as "treasure island" and "the last of the mohicans."
-in the sixty home libraries conducted by the children's aid society, storytelling and games are carried on by regular and volunteer visitors on the days when books are exchanged. (for full information concerning home libraries refer to mr. charles w. birtwell of the children's aid society, boston, with whom this work originated.)
-settlements and libraries report great improvement in the quality of reading done by the children as well as keen appreciation and enjoyment of the stories to which they have listened. they remember and refer to stories told them several years ago.
-in the children's room of the pratt institute free library, storytelling and reading aloud have had a natural place since the opening of the new library building in 1896. years before this library was built the lot on which it stands was appropriated as a playground by the children of the neighborhood--a neighborhood that has been gradually transformed by the life of the institution which is the center of interest. the recognition of the necessity for play and the value of providing a place for it-- children now play freely in the park on the library grounds-- exercised a marked influence on the conception of work to be done by this children's library and upon its subsequent development.
-the children's librarian was never allowed to forget that the trustees had been boys in that very neighborhood and remembered how boys felt. it was evident from the outset, that the children's room was to be made of living interest to boys and girls who were very much alive to other things than books. probably more suggestions were gained from looking out of windows, and from walks in the neighborhood and beyond it, than from any other sources.
-fourteen years ago there were no other public libraries with rooms for children, in brooklyn; and boys frequently walked from two to five miles to visit this one. during the past six years a weekly story hour with a well-defined program based upon the varied interests of boys and girls of different ages has been conducted from october to may of each year.
-the children's librarian plans for the story hour, and does much of the storytelling herself; but from time to time some one from the outside world is invited to come and tell stories in order to give the children a change, and to give breadth and balance to the library's outlook upon the story interests of boys and girls. listening as one of the group has greatly strengthened the feeling of comradeship between children's librarian and children, and the stories have been enjoyed more keenly than as if one person had told them all.
-the evening on which mr. dan beard told "bear stories" is still remembered, and another evening is associated with the old hero tales of japan told by a japanese, who was claimed by the boys as one of themselves, and known thereafter as "the japanese boy." pure enjoyment of such a story hour by children whose homes offered nothing in place of it already gives assurance of results rich in memories and associations, since men and women who were coming fourteen years ago as children are now bringing their children to look at picture books.
-the institutions in connection with which storytelling is carried on are: the chicago public library, the municipal parks and playgrounds, social settlements, vacation schools, institutional churches, hospitals, and the united charities. the private organizations supporting the storytelling movement financially, by the employment of special storytellers, are: the library extension story hour committee, the permanent school extension committee, the library committee, the daughters of the american revolution, and various women's clubs of chicago.
-a league has been formed of those who are telling stories under the auspices of the public library. the league holds meetings once a month for the purpose of upholding the standard of story work and to strengthen the co-operation with the library. stories from scandinavian literature, and stories of patriotism related to the different nationalities represented in the story hour groups, have been notably successful in chicago.
-the following statements are made by (1) mr. e. b. de groot, director of the playgrounds and field houses. "i think that the story hour is the only passive occupation that should be given an equal place with the active occupations. i see in the story hour, not only splendid possibilities but a logical factor in the comprehensive playground scheme. the place of the story hour, i believe, is definite and comparable with any first choice activity. it is unfortunate that we are unable to secure as playground teachers, at the present time, good story hour men and women."
-storytelling has been carried on in the playgrounds and summer schools for several years. since 1907 the work of playground leaders has been supplemented by storytelling done by public library assistants who visit the playgrounds by invitation, and who are scheduled for this work as a part of their regular library duties.
-in the cleveland public library storytelling and reading clubs have been widely developed under the guidance of the director of work with children. in each of the branch libraries two story hours a week are usually held. storytelling is regarded as a part of the equipment of the children's librarian, and time is allowed from the weekly schedule for the preparation of stories.
-definite neighborhood co-operation is the aim of each branch library. storytelling visits are therefore made to the public schools, social settlements, day nurseries, mission schools, and other institutions of a neighborhood. requests for such visits are more numerous than can be supplied.
-storytelling in the settlements is done by club leaders and volunteer workers mainly in connection with club work. stories were told last season in the children's gardens connected with the social settlement by an assistant from the home gardening association.
-positive results of the effect of storytelling in the cleveland public library are shown in the favorable direction of the reading of large numbers of children by a strong appeal to their spontaneous interests, and by the many requests for library storytellers. the total number of children who listened to stories told by library assistants in 1909 was 80,996. the cleveland public library publishes an illustrated "handbook" containing a full account of its storytelling and club work.
-jamaica, long island
-one playground has been opened in the borough of queens. storytelling was introduced into the branches of the public library in 1908 and was at first carried on entirely by the supervisor of work with children as a means of putting herself in touch with the children and library assistants. an experience of some years at the head of the children's department in the public library of portland, oregon, had given her a full sense of the social opportunities presented in telling stories.
-the branch libraries of queens borough are situated chiefly in separate towns and at seaside resorts. the children in some of these communities are inclined to be lethargic and lacking in initiative; or, the commercial instinct is abnormally developed in them. habits of visiting a library for pleasure had not been established except in the case of older girls and boys who regarded it as a meeting place.
-girls whose reading was as flippant and as vulgar as their conduct on the streets have become interested members of "a girl's romance club." stories appealing to their love of romance have been told and books have been familiarly discussed with them. library assistants as well as the supervisor of children's work now hold weekly story hours. there has been a great improvement in the quality and extent of the reading done by the children. storytelling visits have been made to public schools and to the jewish home for crippled children. a library storyteller is sent to the playground opened in flushing in 1910.
-new york city
-storytelling in the playgrounds of new york city is considered an important feature of the work of playground assistants wherever the conditions are favorable to carrying it on.
-in the parks and playgrounds association the leader of the guild of play tells stories herself and is supplemented by regular assistants and volunteer workers with whom she holds conferences on storytelling. the work of the guild of play is extended to hospitals for crippled children, to homes for destitute children and to settlements. (see handbook and report of parks and playgrounds association.)
-in the playgrounds and vacation schools maintained by the board of education, storytelling is carried on by the supervisors and assistants. the nurses' settlement, greenwich house, union settlement, hartley house, and corning-clark house, report weekly story hours, frequently held on sunday afternoons. storytelling is carried on in other settlements and by several church houses, st. bartholomew's parish house reporting a well attended story hour following a mid-week church service.
-in the new york public library, storytelling, under the general direction of the supervisor of work with children, is in special charge of a library assistant who has been a student of dramatic art as well as of library science. storytelling is not required of library assistants. any assistant who wants to tell stories is given an opportunity to do so and to profit by criticism. her trial experience is made with a group of children. if she proves her ability to hold their interest, she is then allowed to make up her own program for a series of story hours, basing it upon her spontaneous interests, her previous reading, and the special needs of the library where the story hour is to be held. the fact that storytelling has been regarded as a potent factor in the unification of work with children in the rural districts, as well as in the congested centers, where branch libraries are situated, has greatly influenced the present organization of the work.
-racial interests have been considered, and on such festival days as are observed by the hungarians, the bohemians, and the irish, special story hours have been held. in each case a volunteer storyteller of the nationality concerned lent interest to the occasion.
-weekly story hours are now held in most of the branch libraries. in some of them, two or more story hours are held. story hours in roof reading-rooms are held irregularly during the summer.
-marked results of storytelling after three years are shown by a very great improvement in the character of the recreational reading done by the children, and in their sense of pleasure in the children's room.
-the keen enjoyment of the library assistants who have been telling stories, and the interest of other workers in the library, indicates a valuable contribution to the work, by bringing its people together in their conception of what the library is trying to do for children.
-repeated requests for library storytellers have been received from institutions for the blind, the deaf mutes, the insane, from reformatory institutions, as well as from settlements, church houses, public and private schools, parents' meetings, and industrial schools.
-three branches of the national storytellers' league hold meetings in new york city. (a full account of the national storytellers' league is given by its founder richard t. wyche, in the pedagogical seminary, volume 16.) courses in storytelling are given at several schools and colleges, at the summer school of philanthropy, and at the national training school for young women's christian associations.
-storytelling in the pittsburgh playgrounds has a unique organization in that it is entirely under the direction of the carnegie library of pittsburgh. all storytelling in the playgrounds is done by children's librarians or by students of the training school for children's librarians on the days books are exchanged.
-the organized story hour, developed as a direct method of guiding the reading of children, originated with this library and has been carried on in connection with home library groups as well as in the branch libraries, the public schools, the playgrounds, and the social settlements of pittsburgh, for a period of eleven years.
-the carnegie library of pittsburgh issues printed lists of the stories used and a pamphlet entitled "storytelling--a public library method" by miss frances jenkins olcott, chief of the children's department and director of the training school for children's librarians.
-in the playgrounds one regularly employed storyteller, who also assists in directing the games, tells stories throughout the season. storytelling is also carried on by playground assistants and by volunteer storytellers. the interest shown by parents who frequently join the story hour groups in the parks, is considered a significant gain in sustaining neighborhood interest in the playground.
-in one settlement house, the head worker meets the storytellers at the beginning of the season and plans and directs the work for the entire year.
-storytelling in the st. louis public library has been carried on for several years by children's librarians of branch libraries who have visited playgrounds, settlements, and public schools, as visiting storytellers, and have told stories at mothers' clubs and teachers' meetings. since february, 1910, it has been under the direction of the supervisor of work with children, who was formerly one of the visiting storytellers and assistants to the supervisor of work with children in the new york public library. storytelling is regarded by her as a valuable aid in the unification of the work with children in a system of libraries.
-storytelling in other communities
-the reports received represent only a small part of the storytelling that is being done in different parts of the country.
-recognizing a similar need for the interpretation of books to the communities where libraries had already been established, the iowa library commission appointed in 1909 an advisory children's librarian, who is also a professional storyteller and lecturer upon children's literature.
-in the public lecture courses of new york city, it has been found that storytelling programs composed of folk tales draw large audiences of grown people who enjoy the stories quite as much as do the children.
-in various institutions for adults as well as for children, where the library has been a mere collection of books that counted for little or nothing in the daily life of the institution, storytelling is making the books of living interest, and is giving to children, and to grown men and women, new sources of pleasure by taking them out of themselves and beyond the limitations of a prescribed and monotonous existence. just as the games and folk dances are making their contribution to institutional life, so storytelling is bringing the play spirit in literature to those whose imaginations have been starved by long years of neglect, and is showing that what is needed is not an occasional entertainment, but the joy of possessing literature itself.
-professional storytellers who have recently visited towns and cities of the pacific coast, the middle-western, the southern, and the eastern states, not covered by this report, bear testimony to an interest in storytelling that seems to be as genuine as it is widespread. it is apparent that more thought is being given to the subject than ever before. wherever storytelling has been introduced by a "born storyteller" who has succeeded in kindling sparks of local talent capable of sustaining interest and accomplishing results, storytelling is bound to be a success. all reports testify to the need of a well defined plan for storytelling related to the purpose and the aims of the institution which undertakes it, and to the varying capacities and temperaments of the persons who are to carry it on.
-the special storyteller and the regular assistant
-the professional storyteller has played a large part in the successful establishment of storytelling, and is destined to play a still larger part in the future development of the work in playgrounds and other institutions, by raising the standards of the playground library, or settlement worker, who is expected to tell stories. this she will do not by elaborating methods and artifices to be imitated, but by frank criticism of native ability, by inspiring courses in story literature, and by proper training of the much neglected speaking voice.
-the sooner we cease to believe that "anybody can tell a story" the better for storytelling in every institution undertaking it. a candidate for a given position may be required to have storytelling ability, but no assistant should be required to tell stories as a part of her duties unless she can interest a group of children who have voluntarily come to listen to her stories. repeating simplified versions of stories is not storytelling. exercises in memorizing may be as helpful to the storyteller as the practice of scales to the piano player, but neither is to be regarded as a source of pleasure to the listener. listening as one of a group is a valuable experience in the training of an assistant who is telling stories in the playground, the library, or the settlement. herein lies the advantage of a visiting storyteller who does not take the place of the playground or library assistant, but who enlivens the program for the children and makes it possible for the regular assistant to listen occasionally and to profit by the experience. (the professional listener is delightfully characterized in "miss muffet's christmas party," by dr. samuel mcchord crothers.)
-list of fifty stories and a list of books for reading on the playground
-the outline sent to the members of the committee on storytelling called for the mention of specific stories and for personal experience in group formation, taking into account age and sex, time and place, and for a statement of results, in so far as such results could be stated. from five hundred different stories mentioned a composite list of "fifty stories for the playground" has been made. this list is chiefly composed of fairy and folk tales, indian legends, and animal stories, as making the strongest appeal to playground groups and to library groups unaccustomed to listening to stories.
-it also represents the story literature most easily commanded by the storyteller who has not read widely. stories from the norse and greek mythology, from the niebelungen lied, the arthurian legends, and from robin hood; stories of roland and of charlemagne; stories from the faerie queene, and from the canterbury tales; historical and biographical stories are generously represented in the five hundred titles, but such stories should not be attempted without sufficient reading and feeling for the subject to enable the storyteller to bring it vividly and naturally before such a group as she is likely to meet in her daily experience.
-satisfactory festival stories are reported as exceedingly difficult to find. several stories growing out of personal experiences, such as a "christmas in germany," a "may day in england," "fourth of july in the garden of warwick castle," (the warwick pageant of 1900) are mentioned. atmosphere and festival spirit are often lacking in stories listed under festivals and holidays.
-poetry and verses are repeated or read at many of the library story hours. lear's nonsense rhymes and certain rhythmical story poems are especially enjoyed by the children. outlines of stories or selections from books designed to lead to the reading of an entire book are mentioned in connection with dickens, kipling, stevenson, scott, victor hugo, and other authors.
-in addition to the list of "fifty stories for the playground" a list of "books to read on the playground" has been prepared. nearly all of the public libraries mentioned in the report send books to playgrounds when the playgrounds desire it. the use of books in the roof reading-rooms of libraries is very similar to their use in the playgrounds. here and in children's reading-rooms boys and girls are free to choose the books they really want to read. in his book entitled "the american public library," dr. arthur e. bostwick makes this statement: "there are no intellectual joys equal to those of discovery. the boy or girl who stumbles on one of the world's masterpieces without knowing what anyone else thinks or has thought about it, and reading it, admires and loves it, will have that book throughout life as a peculiar intellectual possession in a way that would have been impossible if someone had advised reading it and had described it as a masterpiece. the very fact that one is advised to read a book because one ought to do so is apt to arouse the same feeling of repulsion that caused the athenian citizen to vote for the banishment of aristides just because he had grown so weary of hearing him always called 'the just.' "
-experiences in storytelling
-groups for storytelling are usually assembled in separate rooms in the libraries and are made up by an approximate but variable age limit, dividing the children under ten or eleven years old from the boys and girls above that age. in the settlements the group is usually determined by the club organization. on the playgrounds, the experience of a storyteller in providence is probably typical of many other workers and is quoted as suggestive for group formation in playgrounds.
-"during the summer of 1909 the stories i told on the davis park playground were costly fairy tales and folk stories. 'grimm's fairy tales' was the favorite of both boys and girls and through the summer i told every story in the book. the boys also liked 'the merrie adventures of robin hood,' 'the three golden apples,' 'the golden touch,' 'the golden fleece,' and all the old indian legends. while the girls, if offered a choice, always called for a fairy tale with a prince charming in it. neither boys nor girls would listen to historical stories saying they were too much like school.
-"the experience of a professional storyteller with a group of boys, already assembled as a club, is also quoted for its valuable suggestion and independence of method in gaining the interest of boys who had been much experimented upon.
-"the most interesting experience i have had in a developed series of stories was with the boys' club of greenwich, connecticut, last year. the club is supported by the wealthy women of the place, and is an outgrowth of a rather serious and perplexing boy problem. a number of picture shows, pool rooms, cheap vaudevilles, etc., have crept into the town, and life on the street is most attractive.
-"the head worker of the club wrote that they had failed to hold the boys in everything but manual training and baseball; that the boys were insubordinate and unresponsive, and that their school reports were very poor. i found the conditions even worse than i had anticipated. it was necessary to train eighty boys to listen, as well as to interest them, and so, i told very short stories at first. i chose the ones that were full of dramatic action, that had little or no description, and a good deal of dialogue. the stories were strongly contrasted, and there was no attempt at literary or artistic finish. i used a great many gestures and moved about on the platform frequently; it is the quickest way of focusing laggard attention. to be absolutely honest, i had to come very close to the level of the moving picture show, and the ten-cent vaudeville, at first.
-"the fourth night i eliminated all but a few gestures, and told the stories sitting down. i also used less colloquial english; and from then on, until the end, when i told the stories from van dyke in his own words, there was a steady growth in literary style. i append the programs in the order they were given:
-"the practical results were very satisfactory. the books in the club library were used more, the boys' composition and recitation work at school improved, and they acquired the habit of polite, attentive listening."
-the importance of a definite time and place for the story hour, for a prompt beginning and for an ending before it becomes tedious, cannot be too strongly urged. the storyteller should "size up" the conditions and suit the story hour to them. if she is simple, natural and unaffected, and sufficiently resourceful to vary her program to suit the interests of the children, the story hour will be successful.
-various practical forms of co-operation have been suggested, notably in the visits of library storytellers to playgrounds wherever the public library is actively interested in storytelling, and such visits are desired by the playground.
-the story hour season in most libraries ends in april, making it possible in some libraries to release assistants once or twice a week to visit playgrounds. the benefit derived from such visits is mutually endorsed by playground and library assistants.
-conferences of groups of workers interested in storytelling, under the leadership of a professional storyteller, who also understands the practical conditions and limitations under which the playground and library assistants do their work have proved stimulating and suggestive in a number of places. volunteer workers who have the ability to tell stories and who can so adapt themselves to their surroundings as to make their story hours effective, can do much for storytelling. this is especially true of men who have had actual experience of the life from which their stories are taken and can make these experiences of absorbing interest to their listeners.
-in conclusion, the committee recommends that wherever practicable, storytelling in playgrounds be placed under a leadership corresponding to that now given to games and to folk dancing. that a clear distinction be preserved between storytelling and dramatics, as differentiated, though closely related, activities of the playground and the settlement. that the story hour be valued as a rest period; for its natural training in the power of concentration, and in that deeper power of contemplation of ideal forms in literature and in life. that storytelling in settlements be more widely developed as a feature of social work worthy of a careful plan and of sustained effort. that storytelling in libraries be made more largely contributory to storytelling in other institutions by a thoughtful and discriminating study of story literature, and by effective means of placing such literature in the hands of those who desire to use it.
-the committee also suggests that the subject of storytelling is worthy of the consideration of the universities, the colleges, and the high schools, of the country, to the end that students may appreciate and value the opportunities for service in a field of such possibilities as are presented to those who possess, and who have the power to communicate, their own love of literature to the boys and girls of their time.
-reading clubs for older boys and girls
-another method used successfully by a number of libraries to interest older boys and girls as they grow away from the story hour is that of the reading circle or reading club. miss caroline hewins' contribution to the child conference at clark university in 1909 was an account of this work in the hartford public library, of "book-talks at entirely informal meetings." a sketch of miss hewins appears on page 23.
-the boys and girls who are growing up in libraries where story-telling is a part of the weekly routine, at thirteen or fourteen are beginning to feel a little too old to listen to fairy tales or king arthur legends, and look towards the unexplored delights of the grown-up shelves. many librarians are taking advantage of this desire for new and interesting books to form boys' and girls' clubs with definite objects. one whom i know after a training with large numbers of children in a city branch library, became librarian in a manufacturing town where there were no boys' clubs, and soon formed a polar club, for reading about arctic exploration. she was fortunate in having an audience hall in the library building, and before the end of the winter the boys had engaged fiala, the antarctic explorer, to give a lecture, sold tickets and more than cleared expenses. this, be it remembered, is in a town with no regular theatre or amusement hall, and the librarian is young, enthusiastic, and of attractive personality. the branch libraries in cleveland have been successful in their clubs, and in back numbers of the library journal and public libraries, you will find records of organizations of young folk who meet out of library hours, under parliamentary rules, for more or less definite courses of reading. for the reason that the experiments are in print and easily accessible, i shall merely give you a record of my own book-talks at entirely informal meetings.
-long ago, before there were library schools, harlan h. ballard, now librarian of the pittsfield athenaeum, used st. nicholas as the organ of the agassiz association, which had been in existence for several years with about a hundred members in berkshire county. the association grew and soon had chapters all over the world. in the number of st. nicholas for december, 1881, i find the record of ours, and the name of the first secretary, then a boy of ten or twelve years, now a prominent citizen, a member of the board of park commissioners and school visitors. we used to go out of doors looking for birds and insects through the spring and fall, and meet in the library in winter for reading from authors like john burroughs, dr. c. c. abbott and frank buckland, or the lives of thomas edward, robert dick, agassiz and other naturalists, or sometimes a story from a grown-up magazine like one of annie trumbull slosson's or an account of real pets like frank bolles's owls. the children in "a. a. chapter b" all had good homes, good vocabularies and reading fathers and mothers, and listened with interest to books that are far in advance of the children of their age who began to come to the library after it was made public. the chapter lived long enough to admit the children of at least one of its original members, and only died because saturday morning, the only morning in the week when children are free, had important business engagements for the librarian, who feels that "nature-study," too, plays an important part in schools now-a-days, and that in the language of "my double", "there has been so much said, and on the whole so well said," that there is less need than there used to be of such a club, although it is a great deprivation not to have the long country walks and the saturday readings and talks with the children. a librarian or a settlement worker who sees only children from non-english speaking homes is in danger of forgetting that there are others who can use books in unsimplified form.
-this is the only club connected with the library which had a formal organization, but in giving a talk one day several years ago to the upper grades of a school, i asked how many boys and girls were going to stay in town through the summer, and invited all who were to come to the library one afternoon a week for a book-talk. the next year i sent the same invitation to several schools, and gave in both summers running comments and reading of attractive passages from books on indians, animals, the north pole, adventures, machines, books of poetry, stories about pictures and some out-of-the-way story books, with a tableful of others that there was not time to read from. the titles of the books are in public libraries, june, 1900, and are largely from the grown-up shelves. this was five or six years before our boys' and girls' room was opened and the children had free access to all their own books.
-the third year the programme was a little varied. some of the subjects were "books that tell how to do things," "a great author and his friends (sir walter scott)," "another great author and his short stories (washington irving)." i have always made a great deal of the friendship between these two authors, and as most of our children are jewish, i have often told the story and shown the portrait of rebecca gratz, the philadelphia jewess, who was too true to her religion to marry a christian, and whose story as told by irving, whose promised wife had been her friend, gave scott his noble ideal of the character of rebecca.
-one year we had an afternoon about knights and tournaments, and by an easy transition, the subject for the next week was "what happened to a man who read too much about knights," giving an opportunity for an introduction to don quixote. after that two dream-stories opened the way to a fine illustrated edition of the pilgrim's progress, and stories from dante.
-the next year, i tried stories of english history, in nine or ten different periods, reading from one book every week and suggesting others. after the opening of the boys' and girls' room, the book-talks for one or two summers for seventh and eighth grade pupils, were upon some of the pictures in the room: windsor castle, kenilworth, heidelberg castle, the alhambra, the canterbury pilgrims and some shakespeare stories. afterwards, "what you can get out of a henty book" gave a chance for interesting picture bulletins, and the use of other books referring to the times of "beric the briton," "the boy knight," "knights of the white cross," "bonnie prince charlie,"
-"in the reign of terror." last year and this i have been reading scott and dickens aloud.
-we have some of the detroit colored photographs of places of historic interest, windsor castle for which i used lydia maria child's story of "the royal rosebud," although most of the little princess's early life was passed in sanctuary at westminster. on the afternoon when kenilworth was the subject, i read all of scott's novel that we had time for. once on the alhambra day, we have had irving's story of the arabian astrologer, and again a description of the palace and the generalife who had just come from spain. there was little in print about heidelberg that i could use, and i had to write out the whole story of the winter king and his queen, james first's daughter elizabeth, ancestress of the present king of england and mother of a large family.
-two years ago, in the interim between one children's librarian who was married in june and her successor who could not come till september, i spent most of the summer in the boys' and girls' room, and learned two things. some of the children thought that they had read all the books on the shelves, and were asking for grown-up cards. they were kept in the room by transferring some duplicate copies of novels best worth reading from the main library and putting red stars on the back and the book-card. then i was able to talk with girls who had read all of laura richards's hildegarde books, but had never thought of looking up one of the poems or stories that she loved, or one of the pictures in her room. i have sometimes read the description of the room to a class in a schoolroom, and put on the blackboard all the names of places, persons, books and poems in it. one year i invited girls to form a hildegarde club for reading these very things, and in writing to mrs. richards on another subject, mentioned it. she wrote me an answer that i have had framed for the girls to see. the club lived for a few months and used to meet on saturday afternoons for reading "the days of bruce," but at the christmas holidays the girls went into the department stores for a few weeks and forgot to come back. however, i am very happy to tell the story of another hildegarde club that is still flourishing. the teacher of a ninth grade class loves books, and was quick to seize the hint of such a club, which she organized from the girls in her room, and asked permission to bring to my office for its weekly meetings. she is keeping them up to their work because she sees them every day, and they are interested and learning how much they can find in a book besides the story. besides this, they are observant and appreciative of whatever they see on the walls of my room. the girls to whom i gave a general invitation by means of a newspaper article were not from the same school and did not all know each other. it is better in organizing a club to have some common ground of interest and begin with a small number. it cannot always be done in a city in or through the library, except indirectly, by means of a settlement or other club. one that i know does very good work in its meetings with the settlement headworker and has a small collection of books and pictures from the main library for six months, and a more elementary bookshelf for a younger club with whom one of the members is reading the same subject.
-a librarian or library assistant can do some of her best work in a settlement club either in connection with the settlement library or independently. readings from dickens can be illustrated by scenes acted in pantomime, with very simple properties. indeed, we had not even a curtain when miss la creevy painted kate's miniature, when the savage and the maiden danced their inimitable dance, when mrs. kenwigs and morleena held a reception for mrs. crummles, the phenomenon and the ladies of their company, when after they had recited from their star parts, morleena had the soles of her shoes chalked and danced her fancy dance, and henrietta petowker took down her back hair and repeated "the blooddrinker's burial." the old man looked over the wall, too, and threw garden vegetables and languishing glances at mrs. nickleby who encouraged his advances. there was no time for the girls to learn the parts in the busy, crowded, late-open holiday evenings of department stores, but they all entered into the pantomime and interpreted the reading with spirit, as they did at another time in some of the shakespeare scenes, rosalind, celia and touchstone, hamlet and ophelia, bottom and titania, with attendant fairies, and shylock and portia. the dickens scenes were repeated for a younger club, just trying its dramatic wings in charades, and when may-time came these younger girls of twelve to fifteen gave a very successful representation of an old english may-day with robin hood and his merry band, a jester, a dragon, a hobby-horse and jack in the green, maid marian and the lord and lady of the may on the library green.
-the opportunity of a library in a small town, where there is more leisure than in a city, is in the formation of young people's clubs. one day, a year or two ago, i visited three libraries on the sound shore in connecticut. in one, the librarian had made her basement useful out of library hours by organizing a class of chair-caning for boys who were beginning to hang around the streets, and were in danger of being compelled to learn the art in the reform school if they did not acquire it as a means of keeping their hands from mischief at home. in the next town, the librarian mounted and identified all the moths and butterflies that the children brought to her and gave them insect books. in the library beyond, the children were formed into a branch of the flower mission in the nearest city. the club need not always be for reading, but must depend on the resources or interests of the boys and girls. there is no need of debating clubs in our library, for the city is full of them, but they may be the very best thing that the librarian in the next town can form.
-a reading club must not necessarily be a club for the study or enjoyment of stories, history or poetry. under the guidance of the kind of librarian who aims far above her audience, it may turn into something like mr. wopsle's quarterly examinations of his great aunt's school, "when what he did," says pip, "was to turn up his cuffs, stick up his hair and give us mark antony's oration over the body of caesar. this was always followed by collins's ode on the passions, wherein i particularly venerated mr. wopsle as revenge, throwing his bloodstained sword in thunder down, and taking the war-renouncing trumpet with a withering look." there may be a club for making things out of the beard books, for the study of sleight-of- hand, for exchanging postcards with children in other countries and reading about the places on them. it may make historical pilgrimages to places of interest in the town or may collect stones and clay nodules, and read about them. the important thing is to find children of nearly the same age and neighborhood with interests in common, and let them decide whom they shall ask to join the club after it is formed. better yet if they ask for the club in the first place. one not very long-lived settlement club which i knew was of boys who wished to read and act shakespeare, but a very few evenings convinced them that as they could not even read the lines without stumbling, they were not on the road to the actors' temple of fame. they were boys who had left school at fourteen in the lower grades, except one, who had taken his high school examinations and is now at the head of a department in a large department store and a prominent member of a political study club. the others, who had expected to play prominent shakespearean parts with little or no work, were easily discouraged, dropped off and were seen no more. the reading of very simple plays at first is a good stepping-stone to a study of shakespeare later, but the plays must be interesting enough to hold the attention of boys who do not read fluently.
-library clubs for boys and girls
-the usefulness of the reading club as an opportunity of broadening the interests of the child is emphasized in the following paper, printed in the library journal, may, 1911, which gives an account of the organization of clubs under the direction of a supervisor in the cleveland public library. marie hammond milliken was born in pittsburgh, pa., was graduated from wellesley college in 1905 and from the training school for children's librarians in 1907; was children's librarian in the cleveland public library from 1907 to 1910; supervisor of reading clubs from 1910 to 1912, and since that time has been a branch librarian.
-the 13-year-old president of one of the cleveland library clubs said recently, in explaining the purpose of the club to a new member, "the idea of this club is to give you what you couldn't get anywhere else." this is a rather ambitious program. i should be slow to say that any club i have known has succeeded in doing that for its members. considering the character of the communities in which the public library is generally placed, particularly the branches of a large library system, i am inclined to think, however, that clubs organized and conducted by the library offer to the children some things they are, at least, not likely to get anywhere else--and to the library another means of strengthening its effectiveness as an educational and social center in the community.
-in speaking of library clubs, i have in mind the organized, self-governing club, with a small and definite membership, as distinguished from the reading circle. definite organization means a constitution, officers, elections, parliamentary procedure --all the form and ceremonial so attractive to children of the club age. from the first meeting, when the constitution of the club comes up for discussion, the organization begins to develop the child's sense of responsibility. a simple form of parliamentary procedure will not only prove conducive to orderly and business like meetings, but, especially with young or immature children, delight in its formalities will help to hold the club together while interest in other phases of the club work is being developed.
-the chief advantage of the self-government of the club is as a first lesson (frequently) in the principles of popular government. in the club the too-assertive child learns wholesome respect for the will of the majority, while his more retiring brother discovers that one man's vote is as good as another's. when one has seen a club of ambitious lads who, when they first organized, cared only for success, reject a boy who is a good debater and athlete on the ground that in another club he had shown that "he was a sorehead and couldn't seem to understand that the majority's got to rule," one is tempted to feel that organization can do so much for the children that an organized library club justifies itself on that score alone.
-club work is a very effective means of extending the active educational work of the library. in the clubs conducted by the cleveland public library, the plan has been to encourage the children themselves to make suggestions for the club work. then a tentative program is made out, based on some general interest shown in the suggestions made by the club. as far as possible, the program is planned with the idea of stimulating broad, as well as careful and intelligent reading. the program is, of course, subject to changes which may suggest themselves to the club or to its leader. travel in foreign lands, the study of the lives of great women, nature study, the reading and discussion of shakespeare's plays, in the girls' clubs, and, in the clubs for boys, debating and reporting on current events, have been the subjects most successfully worked out for club consideration, probably on account of the variety of interest which they present. travel means not only the manners and customs side of the country--it means the art, the literature, the history, the legend; biography, not simply the life of the individual studied, but the period and country that produced it. the subjects discussed in the debating clubs are almost always of the boys' choosing, and represent a broad field of interest, economic, social, moral and political. they range from "resolved, that washington did more than lincoln for his country," "that civilization owes more to the railroad than the steamboat," "that the fireman is braver than the policeman," in the clubs of boys from the sixth and seventh grades, to the discussion of municipal ownership, tariff commission, establishment of a central bank, and commission government for cities, in clubs composed of high school boys. aside from what practice in the form of debating means to the boys in developing ability to think clearly and to speak to the point, discussion of vital questions of national and municipal interest encourages the boy to turn to more trustworthy sources of information than the daily press. he learns to refer to books and the better sort of periodicals for his authority, and, gradually, through reading and discussion, begins to substitute convictions for inherited prejudice or indifference.
-the club's greatest usefulness lies in the opportunity it presents of broadening the interests of the child, of opening to him, through books and discussion, new fields of thought and pleasure. compared with this, information acquired and number of books read are comparatively unimportant. the smallness of the group with which he has to deal and the children's invariable response to his special interest in them create an unusual opportunity for the club leader. in the informal discussions in the club he may pass on to the children something of his own interests, and direct theirs into channels which would probably never be opened to them otherwise. from our experience in one of the branches of the cleveland public library, where club work has presented great difficulties, i know that, given a leader who understands, girls whose standard of excellence has been met by boarding- school stories, can be interested in studying and reading in their club the plays of shakespeare or in listening to extracts from vasari's "lives of the painters" or ruskin's "stories of venice." beyond his opportunity to interest the club in better reading, the leader may help the children in a general way, by unconsciously presenting to them his standards of thought and conduct. through him they may become aware of finer ideals of courtesy, bravery and honesty.
-not the least important contribution of club work to the library is the direction of the reading of boys and girls of the intermediate age--always such a difficult problem. most of the children of the age when clubs begin to appeal to them strongly --from 12 years on--have reached a stage of mental development at which they should be reading, under direction, books from the adult as well as the juvenile collection. in the cleveland public library clubs books from the adult collection are used whenever possible in connection with the club programs, and the leaders are encouraged to recommend books from that collection for the personal reading of the children. the result is that the children are gradually made acquainted with the adult department, and come to feel as much at home there as in the children's room.
-the club very seldom fails to establish a feeling of friendliness and personal interest in the library among its members. it has proved itself, in this way, a very decided aid in reducing the librarian's "police duty." moreover, the club is a privilege, and as such not to be enjoyed by those who habitually break the law, so that what it fails to accomplish in one way may be brought about in another.
-as this paper is based on experience gained in the cleveland public library, it would not be complete without mention of one important phase of the club work there.
-to a very great extent the club work in the cleveland public library owes its growth in size and efficiency to the time and interest given to it by the volunteer club leaders, of whom, during the year 1910, there were 60. looking over the work of the boys' clubs for the year, it is interesting to note the influence of the leader's interests upon the boys. all but one of the boys' clubs whose leaders are attorneys devoted their club meetings to debating, mock trials and parliamentary drill. among the clubs under the leadership of students in western reserve university (and these represent more than half of the total number of boys' clubs) the predominant interest is in the discussion of current events, the subjects for occasional debates being suggested by these discussions. in two or three clubs too young for such discussion, the leaders, who were especially interested in civics, were able to interest the boys in the study of the work of the various departments of our city government. in another instance a leader, a business man, deeply interested in the history of cleveland and its industries has succeeded in holding the interest of his club boys in this subject for three months, though these were boys whose indifference to anything but "wild west" stories was proverbial in the branch library.
-clubs for boys and girls in the cleveland public library are under the direction of a club supervisor, who organizes the clubs, secures the services of the volunteer leaders, and helps them in preparing programs for the clubs. the work has been conducted in this way for three years, and has become a vital part of the work of the library as a whole.
-library reading clubs for young people
-the successful development of reading clubs by the new york public library is evidenced by the fact that at the time the following paper was written, in 1912, there were reported twenty-five boys' clubs and seventeen girls' clubs. the paper is by anna c. tyler, and was read before the new york meeting of school librarians in brooklyn, n. y., may 25, 1912.
-anna cogswell tyler was born in detroit, michigan, and was graduated from the hartford, conn., high school in 1880. she attended mrs. julie goddard piatt's boarding school in utica, new york, from 1880 to 1882, and mademoiselle taveney's school for girls at neuillysur- seine near paris from 1883 to 1885. she was graduated from the pratt institute library school, taking the two-year course, 1904-1906. she was an assistant in the pratt institute free library from 1906 to 1908. in 1908 she was made assistant in charge of story-telling and library reading-clubs in the new york public library.
-the library reading clubs have sprung into being as a natural result of the library story hour, and for two very potent reasons --the boys and girls of from twelve to fifteen years old, however much they enjoy listening to a good story, are extremely afraid of being classed as children. therefore when such a boy or girl comes to the branch library which he uses and sees a very attractive little notice reading "story hour this afternoon at four o'clock for the older children" he shakes his head and goes his way saying, "oh, they don't mean me, that's for the kids!" but when he sees a notice reading "the harlem boys' club" meets such a day and hour his attention is immediately arrested, and he asks, "what do you have to do to join this club?"
-this is the first reason for the rapid growth of these library reading clubs, the magic contained in merely the sight or sound of the word "club"--the spur it gives to the imagination of even the apparently unimaginative child, and the stigma it removes from the mind of the adolescent boy or girl of being considered a child. by conferring upon him the dignity of membership in a club we can make it possible for him to enjoy to the extent of his capacity the pleasure the majority of children so delight in--the listening to a good story well told or well read. his mind is at peace, his dignity unquestioned, for, since no stripling likes to be taunted with his green years, his being a member of such a club or league has forever precluded such a possibility.
-the matter of joining these clubs is made as simple as possible, and the great democracy of the public library spirit is kept uppermost in the minds of librarians who have charge of this work, and by them instilled into the minds of the children as rapidly as possible. any boy or girl is welcome to the club who wishes to come, provided he or she is of the right age or grade to enjoy the stories, reading, or study that is interesting the others. boys and girls who are doubtful are invited to come and see what the club is as often as they will, until they have quite made up their minds whether or not it is something they want. the only thing required of them is to follow the one general rule underlying all the clubs of the library--the golden rule, that their behavior shall in no way interfere with the pleasure or rights of the other members. some of them stay only a short time, but on the other hand we have many children who were charter members when the clubs were formed four years ago, and they have attended the meetings regularly, though they have long since passed from the grammar schools and have reached the heights of the third year in high school.
-the difficulty of finding stories which will interest in the same degree mixed groups of older children is the second reason for the growth and popularity of the library reading clubs. some of the great stories of the world, like "the niebelungenlied," "the arthurian cycle," beowulf, and a few others may be used, or the life of a great man or woman may be told, and listened to with interest, provided there is plenty of romance in the life, and the book which contains the story is attractive in appearance and tempts one to read it at first glance. one can also find good material for club programs in the romance of some period in the history of a country not our own. the difficulty of choosing story literature suitable and interesting for mixed groups of boys and girls and the difference in their reading tastes make the segregation of the library reading clubs a wise method. the boy during these years is eager to acquire information on all subjects--one can appeal to his love of adventure, of heroes, and mystery. the girl is full of romance--poetry and drama make their appeal.
-the difficulty of maintaining and controlling successful library reading clubs is frequently lost sight of because of the ease with which they can be formed. our experience has taught us that in planning the library activities of the new york public library the reading clubs must come last--they must only be established when they can take their place as one of the regular functions of the library. the librarian who is to be club leader must be able to interest, influence and control the club members as well as to tell a story.
-the club season lasts from the first of october to the end of may, and at present we have twenty-five boys' clubs and seventeen girls' clubs reported. some of these are formal in organization with regularly appointed officers chosen, of course, by the boys and girls themselves. these officers hold their office for periods of varying length, some clubs electing new officers each month, others at the beginning of each club season. some of the clubs are clubs only in name--entirely informal, but meeting regularly once or twice or oftener each month throughout the season to listen to the stories. many of the clubs are entirely selfgoverning and they also arrange their own programs. the librarian who is the club leader is present as a member, but takes no active part in the entertainment of the club unless invited to do so.
-now it seems to me that our great-grandparents were very lucky to have been so delightfully introduced to the great things in literature, and in these days when the art of reading aloud is almost a lost art how can we expect the modern child to turn with a natural appreciation to the best in literature when he is almost submerged by the mediocre and vulgar inside and outside the home, his appreciation undeveloped, not old enough in years or intelligence to comprehend the beauty we so delight in. we are disappointed when he does not respond, and wonder why. is it not the result of forcing him to use these things before he is ready, and thus only fostering his distaste?
-believing this to be so, i have gone to work to try to induce the boys and girls to read more widely, and cultivate appreciation, by using this old-fashioned method of reading aloud or telling a part of the story and reading here and there bits of the text, thus letting the author tell his own story, and as far as we have been able we have tried to give the children the kind of story they wanted--when they wanted it--but in the best form in which it could be found. for instance poe's "the purloined letter" when a detective story is asked for, followed by a story from stevenson's "new arabian nights" or "island nights' entertainments."
-in eleven of the boys' clubs we have been using this year special collections of duplicate books, on topics suggested by the boys themselves. these collections have been kept together for from four to six weeks, and the stories that have been told or read from these books are mentioned in the notice, with a list of all the books in the collection and posted near where the books are shelved. the topics suggested by the boys are as follows: railroad stories; ghost stories; humorous stories; adventure on land; heroes; adventure on sea; history stories, this last topic including italy, france, england, scotland, germany, canada, and "the winning of the west" in american history, and each group decided on which country they would read about.
-on the lower west side, where the irish-americans live in large numbers, where street fights and fires contribute a constant source of excitement, there is a library club of girls who have been meeting twice a month for two years. last year we studied joan of arc, completing our study by reading percy mackaye's play. this year, not feeling satisfied that i was on the right path, i called a meeting to make sure. after trying in vain to get an expression of opinion i finally asked the direct question, "what kind of books do you really like to read?" and for a moment i waited in suspense, fearing someone would answer to please me by mentioning some classic. but to my great relief one girl replied at last timidly, but decidedly, that she liked "huckleberry finn." this gave another the courage to add that she had enjoyed the chapter on whitewashing the fence in "tom sawyer." my clue had been found--a reading club of adventure was formed, and though we began with the "prisoner of zenda" we have wandered with "odysseus," and sighed over the sacrifice of "alcestis," and thrilled over the winning of "atalanta" this winter.
-a girls' club on the lower east side have been reading the old english comedies--"she stoops to conquer," "the rivals," "lady teazle"; then there is a flourishing shakespeare club, which to honor the dickens centenary this year, voted to make the study of the great writer a part of this year's program. this club meets once a week, and at one meeting the outline of one of the great tales was told by the librarian. this was followed by the girls reading one or more of the most famous chapters or dialogues. at the alternate meetings the girls read plays, varying the program by choosing first a shakespeare drama and then a modern play. each act is cast separately, so that all the girls may have a chance to take part, and in this way we read "twelfth night," "romeo and juliet," "the taming of the shrew," "macbeth," "the bluebird," "the scarcecrow," and "cyrano de bergerac."
-away up in the bronx there is a "cranford club," so named by the girls because of their interest in the story to which they were introduced four years ago. this club is really a study club and contains a good proportion of its original members. they meet twice a month, and a leader is appointed for each meeting, who chooses her committee to report on the topic for the evening's study. the topic is sub-divided and each girl does her part in looking up the bit assigned to her. in this way they have studied the english poets tennyson and milton, although after spending an evening on comus the club voted unanimously to change to dickens. they have also studied bryant, longfellow, lowell and whittier, and the girls were sufficiently familiar with these poems to recite many from each poet. then the lives of three english queens were studied--"bloody mary," "queen elizabeth," and "mary, queen of scots"; this year the norse myths and stories from the wagner operas. the librarian's part is to suggest the best books in which to find what they want, to get any book they may need, sometimes suggest a line of subjects to choose from, etc, but the work of preparing the material is done entirely by the girls. when a book is being read and discussed, they sit around a table and read in turn the bits that have been selected for them by the librarian, who tells them the thread of the story between selected bits read by the girls. thus they have read "cranford," "pride and prejudice," "old curiosity shop," "david copperfield," and "twelfth night." the teacher of english where most of these girls attend school was recently an interested visitor at the club, and she says she has noticed for a long time a difference in the school work done by these girls, from a broader viewpoint and outside atmosphere they brought to the class by their intelligent comments and criticisms, showing that they were reading outside and beyond the other girls of the class. she noticed also a difference in their composition work. one of the girls from that class was sent by this teacher to visit the library for the first time and when asked what she liked to read replied, "wooed and married" and "how he won her" were nice books. the book given her instead of her favorites was mary johnston's "to have and to hold." it was read and enjoyed. then she took howells' "the lady of the aroostook," and after the outline of the story had been told her seemed to read it with real pleasure. next owen wister's "virginian" was given her, but this she did not seem to care for. as a result of this reading her taste in a better kind of reading seems to have been pretty well established, as her librarian assures me that she has continued her reading along the line indicated by the above titles. the belmont club, the best boys' club for debating in the school, have challenged the "cranford club" to meet them in a debate on "woman suffrage," to be held in the library at an early date. the girls have accepted the challenge, and the fact that the boys question their ability to equal them is sufficient spur to make them work every moment they can spare from their school duties to prepare for this important event. added to this is the fact that every one of them is an ardent "suffragette."
-the need of social centers in the schools and libraries is becoming insistent. the increasing demand on the part of children for clubs of all kinds shows plainly their desire for some place other than the street, where they can be amused and occupied in the natural desire for self-development and expression. early last fall in one of the libraries the librarian met by appointment a group of girls from eleven to fourteen years old. these girls were wayward and troublesome, had formed a "gang" which was more difficult to control than the usual gang of boys. there was a room in her library quite apart from the rest of the building where they could meet as a club if it should prove desirable. "what would you like to do?" she asked. "dance!" was the reply. "well, then, dance, and show me what dances you like," replied the librarian, and immediately the girls formed for a figure of a folk-dance, and each girl humming softly the tune they danced it through. "the girl scouts" club was formed, and in a day or two the secretary of the club submitted the following program for the librarian's approval: program. 1. chapter from the life of louisa m. alcott; 2. recitations; 3. games, flinch; 4 one folk dance. from this beginning six other clubs have been established: two for the older girls, two for the boys, one for the little girls from eight to eleven years old, and one for a group of troublesome young men from sixteen to twenty years old. so keen has been the interest of these young people in these clubs that the "gang" spirit has long since disappeared, and at the end of the club season an open meeting was held, a program arranged in which members from each club took part, and the ushers and guards of honor were some of those same troublesome young men. there was no place in this community where the young people could meet for any kind of simple amusement, the only "social centers" being the cheap vaudeville theater, the usual moving picture show and the streets, until the little branch of the public library opened its doors, and so popular has the library become that 960 children have taken cards at the library since the first of september and are borrowing books on these. besides the large number of card holders there is a still larger number of children who do all their reading and studying at the library. although they may not know the old english verse from which the lines are taken they feel them:
-the outline i have given will give you some idea of how we are developing the story hour and reading clubs in the new york public library. this work is made possible by the splendid cooperation on the part of the branch librarians and their assistants, without whom it would be impossible to carry on a work of such proportions.
-the history of the home library movement in its beginnings is recorded in a paper read before the congress of charities held in chicago, june 15, 1893, by mr. charles w. birtwell, general secretary of the boston children's aid society, who claims for it a "natural and simple origin," a method of multiplying the personal work which he was doing among the poorer children of boston. another paper on the same subject was read by mr. birtwell at the lake placid conference of the a. l. a. in 1894.
-appreciation of this work is expressed in the 1915 report of the children's aid society: "the most important service we render as a society is to show that the constructive forces within the average family, if properly directed, are tremendous in their power and effect. the home libraries do a work for children in their homes that is quite distinct from all the other services we render as a society."
-charles wesley birtwell was born in lawrence, mass., november 23, 1860, and graduated at harvard in 1885. he was general secretary of the boston children's aid society from 1885 to 1911. he has been prominent in social and charitable work, and in 1887 originated the "home library" system of the children's aid society, the first general plan of this kind on record.
-the first home library was established by the boston children's aid society in january, 1887. now it has seventy libraries here and there throughout boston, and regards them as an important department of its work. the origin of the plan that has found so much favor in our eyes was simple. i had been connected with the children's aid society but a short time when many avenues of work opened up before me, and it was quite perplexing to see how to make my relations to the various children i became acquainted with real and vital. among other things the children ought to have the benefit of good reading and to become lovers of good books. indeed, a great many things needed to be done for and by the children. out of this opportunity and need the home library was evolved.
-a little bookcase was designed. it was made of white wood, stained cherry, with a glass door and yale lock. it contained a shelf for fifteen books, and above that another for juvenile periodicals. the whole thing, carefully designed and neatly made, was simple and yet pleasing to the eye.
-i asked my little friend rosa at the north end, barbara over in south boston, and giovanni at the south end, if they would like little libraries in their homes, of which they should be the librarians, and from which their playmates or workmates might draw books, the supply to be replenished from time to time. they welcomed the idea heartily, and with me set about choosing the boys and girls of their respective neighborhoods who were to form the library groups. then a time was appointed for the first meeting of each library. the children who had been enrolled as members met with me in the little librarian's home, and while one child held the lamp, another the screwdriver, another the screws, and the rest did a heap of looking on, we sought a secure spot on the wall of the living-room of the librarian's family and there fastened the library.
-i remember that to start the first library off with vigor, and secure the benefit from the beginning of a little esprit de corps, i went with the children the evening before the establishment of the library to see the cyclorama of the battle of gettysburg. we rode in a driving snowstorm in the street-cars from the north end, and had a gala evening. we got a bit acquainted, and on the next evening, the time appointed for the laying of the cornerstone of the whole home library structure, the first library, you may be sure the children without exception were on hand. i believe we had to wait a little while for jennie, who lived across the hallway from rosa, to "finish her dishes"; then up went the library. very quickly the second library was established in south boston, the third at the south end, and before long some neighborhoods were dotted with libraries.
-although, by reason of the natural preference of some visitors, or the effect of changes in groups at first made up of both sexes, some groups are wholly made up of boys and others of girls, the ideal group is a mixed one as regards both sex and age--ten boys and girls from seven or eight to fifteen or sixteen years of age. thus we provide for a healthful, unconscious association of the sexes and the training of the younger and older in their behavior toward one another, and in general touch the maximum range of relations, difficulties and services.
-it follows from this make-up of a group that our books must be varied in order that in each set there shall be food for each child. so every library is made up of fifteen volumes, running the whole gamut from the nursery tale to tom brown at rugby or uncle tom's cabin, and also selections from juvenile periodicals suited to children of different ages, there being five collections of periodicals in each library, each collection comprising a bound portion of the annual issue of some periodical. you will readily see, therefore, that in order to select a new library it is necessary to have forty or fifty approved and unassigned books to choose from, and never is a set made up with its fairy tales, pictures of sweet domestic life, stories of adventure, simple history and biography, short stories, long stories, fact and fancy, humor and pathos--never is a set made up, preliminary to starting out upon its first visit, without my mouth watering to read them all myself.
-to put the books to an interesting test, but more especially to induce the children to read appreciatively and really use their minds as they read, a form was made out on which the librarian or visitor should record the opinion of each child in regard to each book he returns. the evolution of these opinions from the obnoxiously frequent "nice" and "very nice," or the occasionally refreshing "no good," of the early history of a group into really intelligent and discriminating opinions, is one of the sure marks of progress and value in the work.
-to make sure of the parents being back of us in our relations to the children, we have a little blank application for membership, which is signed by the parent or guardian as well as the child. it is noticeable that on many of these cards the children write not only their own names but the names of their parents, the latter, themselves unable to write, affixing their cross.
-the volunteer visitors, as opportunity offers, on cards placed in their hands for the purpose, make a record of information concerning the family, their history, condition, habits, their reading at the inception of the library, and subsequently such items as may reveal their further history and the possible relation of the library to their life.
-close upon the heels of this effort to make books mean to poor children what they mean to the more fortunate, followed the idea of bringing to them a knowledge of those ways of having a good time within the walls of one's own castle that are so familiar in families where parents have leisure and ingenuity, and that make our childhood seem to our adult years, of a truth, a golden age. without the elbow-room that some kinds of fun require, without money to buy games, without leisure to play them or to teach them to their children, forever held down by drudgery, forever pressed upon by the serious hand-to-hand fight to keep the wolf from the door, is it strange that the poor know next to nothing of the commonest home games and diversions? to the home libraries, a name sweet and dear to us who have had to do with them, came this further idea of home amusements. after the exchange of books, conversation about them, the recording of opinions, perhaps also reading aloud by the visitor or the children, they turn from books to play. it is the duty of the visitor to be informed in the art of merriment, and to teach the children all sorts of ways of having fun at home. nor is it a slight advantage that thus inducement comes to the grown-up folks to look on and laugh too.
-but as naturally as the rose-bush grows and more than a single bud appears and turns to blossom, so came another unfolding from the home libraries stock. "the destruction of the poor is their poverty." might we not add to the home reading and home amusements inducements to home thrift? we began to get the children to save their pennies. presently the boston stamp-savings society was established. so we purchase stamps from that society and supply them to visitors. the visitors in turn sell them to the children at the weekly meetings. the children are supplied with cards marked off into spaces in which they paste the pretty stamps as they buy them. when a card is filled, or when the total value of the stamps on a card is sufficient to make it worth while, perhaps fifty or seventy-five cents or a dollar, the stamps are redeemed, and the visitor goes with the child to open an account at some regular savings bank. the collection of pennies is resumed, to be followed by another redemption of the stamps and the swelling of the account at the savings bank.
-i hardly need tell you that the christmas festivities of the children are largely held under the auspices of the little libraries, or that in the warmer season you will find the visitors and children taking excursions together to the lovelier spots in the woods and at the shore. once a year, too, we have a sale of plants. last spring we sold three hundred and eighty-three plants to the children for windows and gardens. we have promised that all who will appear this autumn with live plants shall have a treat.
-through the visitors, too, we hear of cases of destitution, truancy, waywardness and moral exposure, of unfit dwellings, and illegal liquor-selling. such things we report to suitable agencies--the other departments of our children's aid society, the associated charities, the society for the prevention of cruelty to children, the board of health, the law and order league.
-from all of this you will easily see why we think that ten children are enough for a single group or visitor. we expect the visitor to know not only the children of the group, but the families to which they belong, and as the children grow older, and are graduated from the little libraries, to follow them still as their friends. it is a highly important function of the home library to bring with good books a good friend, whose advice the children will seek, whose example they will aim to follow, and whose esteem they will not wish to forfeit.
-we are having to face more and more the question of the graduates of the libraries. one thing we propose for them is a printed list of selected books that are in the public library with the numbers that they bear. these lists in the hands of our graduates we think will continue to guide them to the choice of good reading. so, too, we hope to see our graduates go from the little libraries into the working girls' clubs, the associations for young men, and the workingmen's and workingwomen's clubs. and we want the love of good books, and all that good books stand for, to follow them.
-we have now, about six years and a half since the first library was established, seventy libraries scattered throughout boston, with sixty-three volunteer visitors and a membership of six hundred and thirty-four children. since june, 1889, one paid assistant, a lady who was among the first volunteers in the work, has been employed, and has rendered most interested and efficient service. for the past two years we have employed also an extra summer-assistant, as so many of the visitors are away during that season, and as we try to give every library group at least one outing during the midsummer months. a committee of the board of directors of the boston children's aid society have acted as volunteer visitors, and promoted and strengthened in various ways this department of the society.
-from the beginning it has seemed best to let the experiment work itself out somewhat fully before attempting to say too much about it. a widespread demand, however, for fuller information has arisen, and home libraries are being established in various cities i hope that before long a full record of the establishment and growth of the home libraries in boston may be placed at the service of any who seek to adopt this form of philanthropic effort among the children of the poor.
-one of the first librarians to give to library work with children a full appreciation of its possibilities in extension work was salome cutler fairchild. an address given by her on january 10, 1898, before the new york library association and the new york library club on the development of the home library work in albany describes some modifications of mr. birtwell's plan, and is especially interesting because it indicates the relation of this method of extension work to the "new philanthropy."
-it is probable that some of the readers of the journal are unfamiliar with the idea of the home library. in a few words, this is its motive and its plan: to help the children of the poor in developing and ennobling their lives by giving them books and a friend.
-the home library idea was evolved, not by a librarian, but by mr. charles w. birtwell, secretary of the children's aid society in boston, a very old non-sectarian society. it grew up in a most natural way. he fell into the habit of lending books to poor children of his acquaintance and of talking with them about the books after they had been read. this took time, and the result was organization. the children were formed into little groups, books were bought systematically, and his friends were interested to form regular visitors.
-and so a home library involves a group of 10 poor children, a library of 20 carefully selected books placed in the home of one of the children and circulating among them all, a visitor, who should be a person of rare wisdom and sympathy, who meets the children once a week, talks over the books with them, and during the hour gives them all possible help in any way she chooses. each group contains both boys and girls from eight to fifteen years of age.
-there are several groups of children and several little libraries. once in three or four months the libraries pass from one group to another. the personal element supplied by the visitor is quite as valuable as the influence of the books. it is hard to tell just what the visitor does. it is perhaps simplest to say that she is a friend to the children and that she studies how to help them. that means a great deal. the plan is elastic and each visitor chooses her own methods.
-doubtless many librarians listened to mr. charles birtwell's paper on home libraries at the lake placid conference, september, 1894, and are thoroughly familiar with the central thought and its application in the parent libraries in boston. to such i would like to call attention to some modifications of the plan in the albany libraries, to a few new points which we have worked out and old ones which we have emphasized.
-it goes without saying that each book is read carefully by at least one member of the selection committee with special reference to the home libraries. it is not enough that a competent judge has read it without having that in mind. we are constantly tempted to give these readers books a little too old for them. they enjoy books which children who have always been familiar with books would be ready for three or four years earlier.
-visitors should be prepared for disappointment in the quality of the reading that is done. at the beginning of my work with the children i was delighted with their enthusiasm over the books. to be sure their choice was often determined by the attractiveness of the cover or big type, or the bigness or littleness of the book. i soon found that it was a rare thing for a child to read a book through. they would often say with pride "i read 30 or 60 pages" and were unwilling to take the book again, though claiming to like it. it is a slow process, but now after over two years they read with much more enjoyment and thoroughness. it was a long step ahead when the brightest child in the group began to read the continued stories in the st. nicholas and to watch eagerly for the next number.
-i wonder if these children are not in a way a type of the readers in our larger libraries. we fondly hope that there will be an immediate and hearty acceptance of the good things which we have spread out with such lavish expenditure of our own life, later we learn that even among the educated classes the genuine reading habit is the heritage of the few and among the many must be the result of a slow and steady growth.
-i think we have improved on the boston plan in dealing with the magazines. they take nine different periodicals and break the year up so that with one library of 15 books the children have parts of five periodicals. we put 18 books in each library and subscribe regularly for each group of children for st. nicholas and youth's companion. in some of the groups the children have not cared for youth's companion. it has been given a fair trial since july, 1894, and we have just substituted harper's round table as an experiment. other groups, however, are devoted to the youth's companion. st. nicholas is a prime favorite with all.
-one beauty of the home libraries is the simplicity of the central idea and the natural relations between the children and the visitor. it is quite possible to combine with this much direct educational work. games are almost always used by the visitors.
-the skilful visitor, who should have the spirit of the kindergarten and might well have also her training, may develop through the games attention, concentration, and courtesy, qualities in which these children are especially lacking. it is an interesting study to watch the development of the game of 20 questions; e.g. from a wandering, haphazard medley asked in a slow and painful way by self-conscious children, to quick, intelligent, carefully planned questions
-to illustrate more specifically an attempt at educational work, the columbus group may be taken as an example.
-music, always a powerful agent in the development of life, is specially useful in this city because the music taught in the public schools is purely technical. all the children have met on saturday afternoons in the kindergarten room of one of the public schools to sing under the direction of a competent director of music who loves children and takes genuine pleasure in the work. this gives them a little repertoire of choice children's songs to take the place of the street songs which was about all they knew before, helps to soften their voices in speaking, and also serves as an excuse for bringing together the children of the various groups about once a month and making a little esprit de corps, which is desirable. it is wonderful when they are inclined to be boisterous and unmanageable in their games what a humanizing influence a sudden call for one of these songs will produce.
-it is proposed to circulate games suitable for playing at home, also small framed pictures after the plan of the milwaukee public library. the books are often read by the parents and older brothers and sisters. the games and pictures would help in like manner to sweeten and ennoble the home life.
-but why should you be interested in the home library and in allied movements? is it simply because they are an extension of the book power to which you have pinned your faith? there is, i think, a deeper reason. the movement known as the new philanthropy is one of the strong factors in our civilization to- day. the life of the community is the study of the man who serves the public as librarian. nothing which is an essential part of that life is foreign to him. as distinguished from the old- fashioned charity which relieved individual suffering without regard to its effects on society, the new movement is characterized by two tendencies:
-1. a scientific study of the principles of philanthropy: information before reformation.
-2. a spirit of friendliness: not alms, but a friend.
-men and women of singular ability, of the best training and devoted to noble ideals, have given their lives to studying the problems of the poor, and so we have colleges and social settlements, free kindergartens, home libraries and a score of other new activities, one in spirit and in aim. but there are not enough trained specialists.
-the philanthropic work of our cities is largely done by young ladies of the leisure class, quite a proportion of them graduates of colleges, and with a splendid mental, moral, and social equipment for the work. but they are raw recruits for lack of discipline. caught in the wave of enthusiasm they plunge zealously into work with very little understanding of underlying principles.
-i have given a good deal of thought to this difficulty and am persuaded that there is a way out. i want to present it here because, if it appeals to you as wise, you will be able to help in putting the plan to the test of experience. as the difficulty is ignorance, the remedy is study.
-a class in philanthropy should be organized, for serious study in the scientific spirit and by the scientific method, under the direction of as competent a teacher as can be secured. only those who are determined to do serious work and who have ability to cope with these problems should be admitted. every attempt to popularize the course should be discouraged. the class might be carried on under the auspices of a church, a charity organization society, or even of a library. the initiative should be taken by some one person with the requisite discrimination, tact, and organizing skill. according to my outline a two- years' course is needed, involving an hour of class work once a week, with, if possible, five hours a week of study, and for nine or ten months in the year. laboratory work, that is, investigation of local conditions, should be carried on throughout the course. lectures combined with seminar work seem to me the best methods of instruction. the literature of the subject is rich and helpful.
-at the end of the first course there would be two or three new persons competent to instruct, and these might organize other classes.
-if this class in philanthropy could be carried on in any city for 10 or 15 years, the charities of the city would feel the effect of the work. instead of crudity there would be strength, enthusiasm would be supplemented by wisdom. the result would be the strengthening of the personal character of the poor and the enrichment of the whole city life. for we rise or sink together. the higher groups of society cannot develop without a corresponding development in the lower groups.
-and so i call you to study the problems of philanthropy, to follow intelligently the history of home libraries, to approve this plan of training if it be wise, if not to work out a better one. neither is this to go outside your natural course on the ground of sentiment. you are to study the community on broad lines that you may give back to the community through many channels that abundant life which is the highest service.
-library day at the playgrounds
-the monthly bulletin of the carnegie library of pittsburgh for october, 1901, includes an account of summer playground work which was begun three years before. playground libraries as an introduction to regular library agencies are described by miss meredyth woodward.
-meredyth woodward, now mrs. j. philip anshutz, was born in waterloo, n. y., in 1869, and was educated in the schools of tecumseh, michigan. she took special work in the state normal school at oswego, n. y., and later studied in the law froebel kindergarten training school at toledo, ohio, and in the chicago kindergarten college. after teaching in this institution she became principal of the san jose normal school in california. after this she studied in the leland stanford university. she took charge of the home library work in the carnegie library of pittsburgh in 1901, where she remained until 1904, part of the time acting as assistant in the training school for children's librarians.
-the work of supplying the summer playgrounds with books, begun as an experiment three years ago, was continued this summer as a part of the work done by the children's department of the library for the children of this city. during the initial summer, five playgrounds were supplied, the total circulation being about 1,600. last year the needs of seven playgrounds were met, with a result of 1,833 in circulation, while the present year nine playgrounds have given a circulation of 3,637 volumes, and this during one day in each of six weeks. at a joint meeting of the library workers with the kindergartners who had charge of the playgrounds, it was decided to set apart this day as library day, and as high as 117 volumes have been issued in a single playground on that day, while one week every available book was issued in spite of a drenching rain outside.
-through the courtesy of the school directors and principals, the library was enabled to place the books, take registrations, and fill out cards, several days before the day for circulation. thus much valuable time was gained, and the work begun and carried out more systematically. boxes of books carefully selected from the best juvenile literature, comprising attractive stories of history, biography, travel, nature, poetry and useful arts, as well as fiction, picture books and the ever popular fairy tales, were sent to each playground. each kindergartner also received for her special use a list of stories bearing on the thought she wished to emphasize each week, with the books containing these stories. charging stations were improvised out of desks, tables, or chairs, in some vacant room, or corner of a hallway. walls dismantled for the summer cleaning were made more attractive by gay flags, or picture bulletins illustrating the books to be circulated.
-the signature of one of the parents, with that of the child's, entitled him to draw books. one little tot begged hard to have a "ticket," and be allowed to take books home, insisting with many emphatic nods that she could write her name. on trial only a few meaningless scratches resulted, and the tears that filled her eyes at her failure were banished only when the librarian promised that she might come each week, and look at the picture books. another child asked for a card for his little friend who had rheumatism, and couldn't come to the playground. a mother of the neighborhood took a card that she might draw out picture books, and books of rhymes and jingles for the little one at home. the "little mothers" invariably saved a place on their cards for a book to please the baby brother or sister tugging at their skirts, or, it might be, for some older member at home. very often the whole family read the books. one boy waited till nearly noon on library day for his father to finish the "boys of '76." another said he wished he might take three books, because there were four boys at home, and he would like to have enough "to pretty near go 'round." in another family three of the children were drawing books. still the older sister had to come down to get a book for herself, saying the others never gave her a chance to read theirs.
-in these miniature libraries not only do the children become familiar with library regulations, but more judicious and intelligent in the selection of books. at first they choose a book because it has an attractive cover, large print, "lots of talk" (conversation), or because it is small and soon read. "i tell you, them skinny books are the daisies," said one, while the opinion of another was, "these ain't so bad if they'd only put more pictures in to tell what they're about." later they select a book because the title tells of interesting subject matter, or because a playmate has recommended it as "grand," "dandy," or "a peach." a popular book often has as high as ten or fifteen reserves on it, the librarian being greeted in the morning with a chorus of, "teacher please save me"--this or that book. so, from having no idea of choice, the children finally have such a definite idea of what they want, and why they want it, that, unless the particular book is forthcoming, they "guess they don't want any book to-day." one small girl took out "little women," and wanted "little men" on the same card. when she understood that only one book of fiction could be taken on one card, she inveigled her little sister into taking it on her card. then she tucked the books under her arm, remarking, with a sigh of satisfaction, "now, we'll have 'em both in our family." in striking contrast to the excitement attending the selection of books is the lull that follows. here and there are interested groups looking at the pictures-- delightful foretaste of what is to follow in the text--or comparing the merits of the different books. some have already made an absorbed beginning in the story which will be finished at home, on the door step, or by the evening lamp, when the more active games of the day are over. nor are these absorbing books always fiction. the statistics show that stories of travel, lives of great men, and books on natural history were fully as popular as the fiction. the fiction per cent of last year was reduced from 60 per cent to 52 per cent this year.
-and so the work for the season has closed, leaving many a young reader not only trained but enthusiastic to enjoy regular library privileges. the general verdict of the children was that they were "sorry it was over." four lads from the south side begged that they might get books from the main library, and one boy presented his card the very day after the playground closed. nearly all the branches have gained new adherents from their respective districts.
-on the whole we feel well pleased with the season's work, although, as is natural, the work done by the two new branches was not so successful as that elsewhere owing to the fact that the work was new to the district. when compared with that done in the districts where it has been carried on for three years, it gives a striking example of the growth and development which has taken place since the beginning. as a result of the work, at the west end branch alone, fifty-two children from the riverside playground have taken out library cards. the children are better trained in library usages, and more intelligent as to what they want, often counting from one year to the next upon getting a certain book. out of this enthusiasm there naturally result the home library groups and clubs which furnish books during the winter. one notable outgrowth of last summer's playground was the duquesne school club, whereby the children of the point were enabled to get books through the winter. this has since been superseded by the introduction of the school-duplicates, and now the children hold elections for their various officers, while the wide-awake principal has gotten out a neat little catalogue of the books in their collection.
-unemployed and uninterested children are fallow ground for the seeds of mischief and crime. the half-day playgrounds do wonders toward solving the problem of the vacation child. do not the interesting, wholesome, juvenile books made so accessible to the children also play a large part in this good work?
-library work in summer playgrounds
-at the pasadena conference of the a. l. a. in 1911, miss gertrude andrus led a discussion on library work in summer playgrounds, in which she considered some simple methods of administration. gertrude elisabeth andrus was born in buffalo, n. y., acted as an assistant in the buffalo public library in 1900-1901; was a student in the training school for children's librarians in pittsburgh from 1902 to 1904; children's librarian in the carnegie library of pittsburgh from 1903 to 1908, and since that time has been head of the children's department in the seattle public library.
-the library in a summer playground serves a double purpose; it supplies books in a district not otherwise reached by the library and it acts as a lure to the use of the main library. if the books are attractive, the children will follow them to the main library and thus become permanent borrowers. so it is plain that the books we place in our summer playgrounds must be of the most popular type. easy books, picture books, fairy tales, stories, histories, books of travel, and books on games and manual arts are the ones most in demand. a knowledge of the district in which the playground is located is also necessary. if the children have a school library and are accustomed to reading, the books sent to the playground will differ from the kind sent to one in a foreign district where little reading has been done.
-in order to conserve our time so that we may have leisure to give attention to individual children, we must arrange to have the mechanical part of the work as systematic as possible. playground library work is a life of stress and strain. everything comes in rushes. there is always a mad dash for the door as soon as the library is opened, for each child is sure that unless he is the first he will miss the good book that he is convinced is there. this rush of course makes it difficult to discharge the books, slip them, shelve them, and at the same time charge the ones the children have selected, to say nothing of helping the children in their choice. we have therefore found it best to collect the books beforehand, discharge them and distribute the cards among the children before opening the library doors. when the newark system is used, however, and a child has drawn two books, this may result in considerable confusion, for the books may be separated and one may not be sure that both charges on the card should be cancelled. when our first playground library in seattle opened, we used the browne system of charging and this proved so satisfactory that we have continued to use it in the others. according to this method, each borrower receives two cards. when a book is borrowed, the book slip is drawn and put with one of the borrower's cards in a small envelope. it is readily seen how easy it is to avoid complications when the books are gathered before the opening of the library, for the slip of each one is with the borrower's card, and if the borrower returns no book, no card is given him. after the books are discharged and shelved and the cards distributed, the children are admitted. in this way much of the confusion incident to opening is eliminated and more time is secured to help the children make their choice.
-in order that the care of the books may not interfere with the children's play, we have devised a checking system by means of which the children may leave their books in charge of the librarian until they are ready to go home. this not only allows the children freedom in play but obviates the possibility of loss of books through their being left on benches and swings. the playground is a place of freedom and fun and good fellowship, and the library's rules should be made as inconspicuous as possible.
-the librarian should be not only willing, but anxious to enter into the life of the playground as far as her duties permit. one way in which she will be able to make herself popular not only with the children but with the instructors is by means of story telling. joseph lee says that story telling is the only passive occupation permissible on a playground and the librarian thus finds her work ready to her hand. she is able to advertise her books, make friends with the children is a most effective way, and at the same time relieve the playground instructor of a duty which is sometimes found irksome.
-she must remember that she is an integral part of that playground, not a weekly visitor, and she must throw herself into the interests and activities of the children with all the enthusiasm at her command.
-the selection of books for sunday school libraries and their introduction to children
-in the following article taken from the library journal of october, 1882, mr. s. s. green says that his "principal object is to show how books are selected and how children are interested in books in the sunday-school in which i am a teacher." it is interesting to know that in a recent letter written to the editor in regard to the use of this article mr. green says: "as i read it over, it seems to me that the advice given in it is still much needed." samuel swett green was born in worcester in 1837, and was graduated from harvard in 1858. in 1890 he was appointed by the governor of massachusetts an original member of the free public library commission. he was one of the founders of the a. l. a., and also a life member, and was chosen its president in 1891. from 1867 to 1871 he was a trustee of the worcester public library, and he was librarian from 1871 to 1909, when he was made librarian emeritus. mr. green has published several books on library subjects.
-it is gratifying to notice that the movement started several years ago by certain ladies connected with the religious body known as unitarian congregationalists, who organized themselves under the name of the ladies' commission for the purpose of reading children's books and preparing lists of them suitable for sunday-school libraries, has led within two or three years to the formation of a similar organization in the protestent episcopal church, and more recently to that of one among orthodox congregationalists.
-individual clergymen and others have also lately shown a great interest in the work of selecting and disseminating good lists of books suitable for sunday-school libraries.
-it is unnecessary to say that it was high time that this work was entered upon earnestly. the officers of the more intelligently administered public libraries had come to reject, almost without examination, books prepared especially for the use of sunday-schools, and without consideration to refuse works admission to their shelves issued by certain publishers whose business it was to provide for the wants of sunday-school libraries.
-it had become obvious, among other facts, that the same objections that were made to providing sensational stories for boys and girls in public libraries, lay equally against the provision of books usually placed in sunday-school libraries.
-the one class of books was generally moral in tone, but trashy in its representations of real life; the other, religious in tone, but equally trashy in its presentations of pictures of what purported to be the life of boys and girls.
-both classes of books were good in their intention, both similarly unwholesome.
-gratifying, however, as are the results of this movement, there is something more that needs to be done. libraries must be purified from objectionable literature; new books must be properly selected; but after this kind of work has been done, a very important work remains to be attended to, namely, that of helping children to find out the books in the library that will interest them and pleasantly instruct them. every child should be aided to get books suited to its age, its immediate interests, and its needs.
-the library journal, in its number for june gave the title of a catalogue of the books in the sunday-school library of the unitarian church in winchester, massachusetts. in this catalogue short notes are added to the titles of some of the books to show, when the titles do not give information enough, what subjects are really treated of in the books annotated.
-something beside this is desirable, however. children need much personal aid in selecting books.
-i have been conservant of the work of a minister who, about a year since, after examining carefully all the books in the sunday-school library of his church, and after taking out such volumes as he considered particularly objectionable and adding others which he knew to be good, set himself the task of talking with the children of his school about their reading. the school has a superintendent, but he, as minister, also takes an interest in it and has spent the time he has given to it, recently, in talking with the children, one at a time, about books, finding out from them their tastes and what they had been reading, and recommending to them wholesome books to read and interesting lines of investigation to pursue.
-my principal object in writing this article is to show how books are selected and how children are interested in books in the sunday-school in which i am a teacher. it seems to me that its methods are wise and worthy of being followed elsewhere. the sunday-school referred to is that connected with the second congregational (1st unitarian) church in worcester, massachusetts.
-thirteen or fourteen years ago the library of this sunday- school was carefully examined and weeded. every book was read by competent persons, and the poorest books were put out of the library. this weeding process has gone on year by year; as new books have been added others not representing a high standard of merit have been removed from the shelves. great care has been taken to examine conscientiously new books before putting them into the library. the result is that the sunday- school now has an excellent library. it has found the catalogue of the ladies' commission of great aid in making selections, but has not found all the books recommended in it adapted to its purposes. a competent committee has always read the books recommended by the commission, so as to make sure that such volumes only were selected as would meet the actual needs of the sunday-school we have to provide for.
-books are now bought as published. a contribution of about a hundred dollars is taken up annually. this money is put into the hands of the treasurer of the library committee, and the sub-committee on purchases get from a book-store such books as it seems probable will answer our purposes, read them carefully, and buy such as prove desirable. the sub-committee consists of two highly cultivated young ladies. when they have selected two or three books they make notes of their contents. the books are then placed on a table in the minister's room, and the superintendent of the school calls attention to them--reading to scholars a short description of each book prepared by the sub-committee, and inviting the scholars to examine the books after the close of the current session of the school or before the opening of the school the following sunday. after these two opportunities have been given to the children to look at the books and handle them, they are put into the library and are ready to be taken out.
-this sub-committee has taken another important step within a year or two. the members have read over again all the books in the library and made notes descriptive of their contents, and the school has elected one of the ladies as consulting librarian. she sits at a little table in the school-room during the sessions of the school, and with her notes before her receives every teacher or scholar who wishes to consult about the selection of a book, and gives whatever assistance is asked for in picking out interesting and suitable books.
-she is kept very busy and is doing a work of great value.
-it is gratifying to me to find that this work of bringing the librarian into personal contact with readers and of establishing pleasant personal relations between them, which has been so fruitful in good results in the public library under my charge in worcester, has been extended to sunday-school work with so much success.
-the children's museum in brooklyn
-miriam s. draper was born in roxbury, mass., and taught for a brief period in the public schools there. she studied in mr. fletcher's school at amherst in the summer of 1893, and was graduated from the pratt institute library school in 1895. in the next five years she filled the following temporary positions: cataloguer, public library, ilion, n. y.; organizer, first branch of the queens borough library at long island city; librarian of a branch of the pratt institute free library until its discontinuance; cataloguer, antioch college library, yellow springs, ohio; one of the classifiers in the university of pennsylvania library during its reorganization. when the children's museum was opened in 1900, she became its librarian, the position she now holds.
-the children's museum may be considered unique, because so far as we know, there is no other museum in this country or elsewhere that is devoted primarily to children and young people; in which a whole building is set apart for the purpose of interesting them in the beautiful in nature, in the history of their country, in the customs and costumes of other nations, and the elementary principles of astronomy and physics, by means of carefully mounted specimens, attractive models, naturally colored charts, excellent apparatus, and finely illustrated books. many of the children come to the museum so often that they feel that it is their very own, and take great pride as well as pleasure in introducing their parents and relatives, so that they may enjoy the museum and library with them. it may be called a new departure in work with children, for although it was started ten years ago, it was for some time in the nature of an experiment, but has now fully exemplified its reasons for existence.
-the children's museum is pleasantly located in a beautiful little park, which adds greatly to its attractiveness and educational value. while situated in a residential portion of the city, amid the homes of well-to-do people, it is quite accessible by car lines to other parts of the city. in fact, classes of children accompanied by their teachers frequently come from remote sections of brooklyn, and from the east side of new york. we are within walking distance of thickly populated sections, such as brownsville, and large numbers of jewish and italian children avail themselves of the privileges offered. it is hoped that in time each section of the city may have its own little children's museum, as a center of interest and incentive to broader knowledge.
-we are well aware that excellent work has been done for children during the past ten years in many other museums, and perhaps the first beginning in this direction was made by the children's room in the smithsonian institution in washington. the american museum of natural history in new york city provides an instructor to explain some of its beautiful and interesting exhibits to children, and a similar work has been done in the milwaukee museum. children have been made especially welcome in other museums, such as those at charleston, s. c., st. johnsbury, vt., and the stepney borough museum in london. all librarians are so familiar with the excellent work done in the children's departments of public libraries, which have developed so rapidly in almost every town and city throughout the country during the past decade, that it is not necessary to refer at length to them. suffice it to say, that the work of the children's museum and its library are quite different in plan and scope from any of the museums and libraries to which reference has been made.
-before describing in detail the work of this unique little museum, it may be of interest to know something of the early history of an institution which had its origin in connection with the first free library in brooklyn.
-it is interesting to note that a year or two later, courses of lectures in "natural philosophy" and chemistry were given for the benefit of members; and the early records tell us that in illustrating a lecture on electricity the instructor, "mr. steele, showed a metallic conductor used by dr. franklin in making experiments." later, lectures on astronomy were given for the benefit of readers, and drawing classes established for a similar purpose.
-a few years later the library association sold its building and removed to washington street, where it remained for a long period of years. in 1843, the association was reorganized under the name of the brooklyn institute, and privileges were extended to "minors of both sexes," the library being called at that time the "youth's free library." at the same time the custom was established of awarding premiums to readers on washington's birthday. silver medals and prizes of books were given for the best essays upon geography, natural history, hydraulics, architecture, and history, as well as the best pieces of workmanship and most accurate mechanical drawings presented by readers.
-it seems a notable fact that courses of lectures, which have had a prominent part in the work of the children's museum, were also an important factor in the earlier educational work connected with the library; and also that a "library fund," established sixty or more years ago, still provides all books and periodicals for the children's museum library, with the addition of a small annual gift from the state of new york, the cost of maintenance being assumed by the city of new york.
-the establishment of the children's museum came about in this wise. after a serious fire in the washington street building, and the subsequent sale of its site, the brooklyn institute of arts and sciences secured an indefinite lease of a fine old mansion located in bedford park, which had been recently acquired by the city. the collections of birds, minerals, and other natural history objects were placed on exhibition for a few years in this old mansion, and the library, which now numbered several thousand volumes, was stored in the same building. on the completion of the first section of the new museum of the brooklyn institute of arts and sciences, in 1897, the major part of the natural history collections were installed in the new museum.
-at length the idea occurred to one of the curators that the old building could be utilized to advantage by establishing a museum which should be especially devoted to the education and enjoyment of young people. the first beginnings were made by the purchase of natural history charts, botanical and zoological models, and several series of vivid german lithographs, representing historical events ranging from the battle of marathon to the franco-german war. some collections of shells, minerals, birds and insects were added, and the small inception. of the children's museum was opened to the public dec. 16, 1899, in a few rooms which had been fitted up for the purpose. a large part of the brooklyn institute library, which had been stored in the building, and which was no longer useful here, was sent to other libraries in the south, leaving such books as were suitable to form the nucleus of the children's museum library as well as the library of the central museum.
-with such modest beginnings the children's museum has developed within ten years, until the present building has become entirely inadequate for present needs. the collections now fill eleven exhibition rooms and adjacent halls; the lecture room is frequently overcrowded, the lecture being sometimes repeated again and again; and the space set apart for the library has long been taxed to its utmost. there are no reserve shelves for books, and when new books are added the least-used books are necessarily taken out and placed in temporary storage in a dark office on another floor. in busy times after school hours and on holidays, the reading room is frequently filled to overflowing, many of the children being obliged to stand, or perhaps turn away for lack of even standing room.
-the number of visitors is steadily increasing, and numbered 14,637 in the month of february, 1910; just about one-third of this number, or 4,925, made use of the library during the month. a new building is therefore urgently needed, and it is ardently hoped that a new fireproof building which is adequate for the purpose may soon be provided, to relieve the great stress now so apparent in many parts of the building, as well as to preserve its interesting collections and valuable library.
-it seems evident that an institution which stands primarily for earnest endeavor to awaken an interest in nature, is really necessary, especially in cities where many children live so closely crowded together that they hardly know what wild flowers are, and whose familiarity with birds is confined principally to the english sparrow.
-moreover, the nature study of the public school course, though good as far as it goes, is too often perfunctory, either from lack of interest or enthusiasm on the part of teachers, it being an added subject to an already crowded curriculum. another seeming drawback is that the nature work is attempted during the first few years only, and then is dropped entirely for the remainder of the elementary course. a comparatively small number of children continue their studies in high schools; and even so, the study of botany and zoology is made so largely systematic and structural that any desire of becoming acquainted with the birds and flowers and trees is frequently eliminated.
-although entirely independent of the board of education it is along just such lines that the children's museum is able to make a place for itself in supplementing the work of the school. its aims have been defined by the curator to be as follows:
-in addition to the common species of birds, insects, and animals, there are many groups that have special attraction for children. for instance, among the "birds we read about" are the flamingo, cassowary, condor, and quetzal; the eagle owl is contrasted with the pygmy owl, and the peacock, lyre bird, albatross, swan, and pelican are displayed.
-among the realistic "animal homes" which appeal especially to the child's mind are the hen and chickens, the downy eider ducks, the family of red foxes, and the home of the muskrat. "color in nature" is effectively illustrated by grouping together certain tropical fishes, minerals, shells, insects, and birds in such a manner as to bring out vivid red, yellow, blue, and green colors. here and elsewhere in the museum are placed appropriate quotations from poets and prose writers.
-in almost every room there are attractive little aquaria or vivaria containing living animals and plants. there is always a pleasure in watching the gold fish, or the salamanders, chameleons, mud-puppies, alligators, horned toads, tree toads, and snails. for three or four years an observation hive of bees has been fixed in a window overlooking the park, and children have watched the work of the "busy bees" with great delight.
-the uses of minerals and rocks are shown by means of pictures of quarries, and of buildings and monuments, and lead pencils are seen in the various stages of manufacture. a small collection of "gems" was recently donated, and the legends connected with the various birthstones are given in rhyme.
-a black background has been used with pleasing effect to exhibit the various forms of shells. the process of making pearl buttons and numerous articles made of mother-of-pearl add largely to the charms of the shell room.
-perhaps the most attractive room to the younger children is the history room, in which the beginnings of american history are typified not only by charts and historic implements, but by very real "doll houses." a member of the staff devised and cleverly executed the idea of representing the early settlers by six colonial types, viz., the spanish, french, cavalier, dutch, new england and quaker types. some of the special scenes illustrated are labelled "priest and soldier plan a new mission," "indians selling furs to dutch trader at fort orange" and "the minister calls on the family."
-the study of geography is aided by means of small models of miniature homes of primitive peoples; as for instance, an eskimo village with its snow igloos, the tents of the labrador eskimos, the permanent home of the northwestern eskimos, and the houses and "totem poles" of the haida indians. some of the more civilized nations are typified by a "lumber camp in a temperate zone," and by a series of "dolls dressed in national costumes."
-the library of the children's museum now numbers about six thousand volumes, and, contrary to the general impression, is not composed entirely of children's books, but of a careful selection of the best recent books upon natural history in the broadest use of the terms. the range is from the simplest readers to technical manuals.
-the library is thus unique in its way, supplementing the work of the museum in various ways, such as the following:
-1. providing books of information for the museum staff in describing the collections, and preparing lectures for children.
-2. furnishing information to visitors about specimens models or pictures in the museum, and giving opportunity to study the collections with the direct aid of books.
-3. offering carefully chosen books on almost all the subjects of school work, thus forming a valuable "school reference library," at the same time showing parents and teachers the most helpful and attractive nature books to aid them in selecting such as best suit the needs and tastes of children or students.
-although it is not a circulating library (for many of the books need to be on call for immediate use), there are, of course, many interesting stories of heroes, scientists, explorers, statesmen, and other great leaders among men, of great events in history, of child life in different countries, of birds and animals, and the great "world of outdoors." a constant effort is made to foster a reading habit in the children, even though the time for reading is very limited. last summer some simple bookmarks were printed, by the use of which many children have been encouraged to read books continuously. the reverse side of some of the bookmarks show that individual children have read eight or ten books through recently.
-in place of the "story hour" which is so popular in children's libraries, the children's museum provides daily half-hour talks, illustrated by lantern slides, which are given in the lecture room. the subjects are selected with relation to the school program, and include a variety of nature topics, the geography of different countries, history and astronomy. twice a week a lecture is given on elementary science, and is illustrated by experiments.
-on some of the holidays such as washington's and lincoln's birthdays the lecture is naturally devoted to the national hero, whose birthday is thus commemorated. this year there were so many children who wanted to learn about washington that the lecture was given nine times during the day. on lincoln's birthday there were several repetitions of the lecture, and the library was thronged with readers all day, at least one hundred children reading stories about him. the children looked with interest at the picture bulletins, comparing the pictures with those they had seen in the lecture. hundreds of patriotic poems were copied during the month, the number being limited only by lack of space and writing materials.
-during the march vacation there were so many visitors that special lectures were given each day upon some subject pertaining to nature. it is proposed this season to give additional special lectures appropriate for "arbor day" and "bird day," and probably one with relation to the "protection of animals."
-lectures are occasionally given for the benefit of mothers' clubs, and members of the clubs accompanied by their children are shown the objects of interest in the museum. the library is also visited, and picture bulletins and books are enjoyed by mothers and children together. last winter several nature books were loaned for a special exhibit of christmas books, which was arranged for a regular meeting of the mothers' club at a neighboring school.
-a part of the museum equipment of especial benefit to boys in high schools is the wireless telegraph station, which was set up and is kept in working order by boys. it furnishes a good field for experimenting in sending and receiving wireless messages, and a good many boys have become so proficient that they have been able to accept positions as wireless operators on steamers during summer vacations.
-the museum has considerable loan material, consisting of stuffed birds, boxes containing the life histories of common butterflies and moths, also minerals, charts, etc., which are loaned to public and private schools whenever desired.
-the question is frequently asked "what influence does the museum exert on the minds of growing children?" "does it really increase their powers of observation and broaden their horizon?" the relation between the members of the staff and many children becomes quite intimate, and although all attendance is entirely voluntary, it is often continued with brief interruptions for several years.
-the experience of one young man may be cited to demonstrate how the advantages offered by the museum are put to definite use, while friendly relations continue for a period of years. when quite a small boy, a frequent visitor became interested in collecting butterflies and moths, learning how to mount them carefully, and using our books to help identify his finds. as he grew older, he commenced experimenting in a small way in wireless telegraphy, inviting the members of the staff, separately, to go to the basement and listen to the clicking of his little instrument, which was the beginning of successful work in that direction. throughout his high school course he continued to experiment along wireless lines, doing very creditable work. upon his graduation, he received an appointment as wireless operator on a steamer. in this capacity he has visited several of the southern states, porto rico, venezuela, and portions of europe. he has improved his opportunities for collecting while on his various trips, as a creditable little exhibit, called the "austen m. curtis collection of butterflies and moths" in the children's museum, will testify.
-some definite advantages gained in another field are worthy of mention. last summer one of the high school boys commenced during the vacation to read all he could about astronomy; as the summer advanced, another boy became interested in the subject also, especially in the study of the constellations. diagrams and star maps were carefully made and the names of all the important stars noted. in the fall a little club of eight or ten boys was formed. the members meet almost every pleasant evening at the home of the founder of the club and make use of two telescopes which have been secured to the roof. (incidentally, may we add, that one of the boys with considerable pride recently showed the books on astronomy in the library to his aunt who was visiting from another city.) no astronomy is at present included in the public school course, with the exception of a little elementary study in the grammar school, so that an opportunity is here provided to supplement school work.
-children frequently make long visits, sometimes spending the greater part of a day, and bringing their luncheon with them to eat in the park. sometimes whole families come together, father or mother, or both, accompanying the children. frequently the little "mother" of the family who is having temporary care of four or five little ones, is not much larger than her little charges, and yet is anxious to read some of the books. under such conditions, when the little folks become too restless to remain longer in the library or museum, the privilege of reading in the park is occasionally permitted, the book being returned to the library before leaving for their homes.
-the publication of a monthly paper was started in 1902 as a means of communication with the general public and especially with schools. in april, 1905, the children's museum united with the larger museum of the brooklyn institute of arts and sciences, in publishing the museum news. this journal is sent not only to every public and private school in brooklyn, but to every museum in this country and abroad; to every library in brooklyn, and to libraries generally throughout the country.
-an excellent "guide to the trees in bedford park" has been printed in a separate leaflet, being at first a contribution to the museum news. it may be noted here that a series of lectures upon trees will be given at the children's museum commencing april 11th by mr. j. j. levison, arboriculturist, the author of the "guide"; and that a fine collection of the best tree books may always be consulted in the library.
-in connection with the "hudson-fulton celebration" in the fall of 1909, a handsome "catalogue of the historical collection and objects of related interest at the children's museum" was prepared by miss agnes e. bowen. it furnishes a concise outline of american history, is printed in attractive form, and illustrated by photographs of the historical groups already mentioned. special picture bulletins were also exhibited in both museum and library, and objects having relation to hudson and fulton and their times were indicated by a neat little flag. it is perhaps needless to add that many teachers and children found great assistance by consulting the "hudson-fulton bookshelf," and that the museum exhibit was very attractive to the general public.
-the library has prepared various short lists from time to time whenever needed, but has thus far printed only one. this was prepared at the request of the supervisor of nature study in the vacation schools of greater new york, and is a short annotated list entitled "some books upon nature study in the children's museum library." the list will be sent free to any librarian or teacher upon application.
-to sum up, the children's museum constantly suggests the added pleasure given to each child's life by cultivating his powers of observation, and stimulating his love of the beautiful in nature by means of attractive exhibits, half-hour talks, and familiar chats with groups of children. the library calls attention of individual children and classes to the flowers, birds and trees through its picture bulletins and numerous books; and children are urged to visit the aquarium, the zoological gardens at bronx park, and see the natural beauties of forest park, whenever opportunity offers.
-work with children at the colored branch of the louisville free public library
-many of the generally accepted methods of children's libraries have been adapted to work with colored children, whose particular interests are described in the following article by mrs. rachel d. harris, contributed to the library journal for april, 1910.
-mrs. rachel d. harris was born in louisville, kentucky, in 1869, and was graduated from the colored high school in 1885. she taught in the public schools for fifteen years, and was appointed assistant in the colored branch of the louisville free public library when it was opened in 1905. at the time this article was written she was in charge of the library work with colored children.
-about five years ago, when it was proposed to establish a branch for colored people, it was regarded apprehensively by both sides. we knew our people not to be a reading people, and while we were hopeful that the plan would be a success, we wondered whether or not the money and energy expended in projecting such an enterprise might not be put to some other purpose, whereby a good result could be more positively assured.
-the branch, however, was opened in the early part of the autumn of 1905, in temporary quarters--three rooms of the lower floor of the residence of one of our own people. we began with 1,400 books, to which have been added regularly, until now we have 7,533 volumes on the shelves of our new building, which we have occupied since october, 1908.
-the problem at first which confronted us was: how to get our people to read and at the same time to read only the best. we used in a modest way the plans of work already followed by successful libraries--the story-hour, boys' and girls' clubs, bulletins, visits to the schools, and public addresses.
-a group of boys from 9 to 14 years of age, who visited our rooms frequently, was organized into the boys' reading club. their number increased to 27 earnest, faithful little fellows, who were rather regular in attendance. they met friday afternoon of each week, elected their own officers, appointed their own committee on preparation of a course of reading for the term, the children's librarian always being a member of each committee appointed. there were only a few boys in this number who had read any book "all the way through," except their school books.
-the first rule made for the club was, that at roll-call each boy should respond by giving the title, author and a short synopsis of the book read the preceding week. this proved to be the most interesting part of the meeting, and was placed first on the program to insure prompt attendance. often the entire period was taken up with the roll-call, the boys often calling for the entire story of a book, the synopsis of which appealed to them. this method was thought to be a good way to get the boys interested in the books on our shelves.
-our first course in reading was lamb's "tales from shakespeare." much profit was derived from the discussion brought about by assigning each character to a different boy and having him give his opinion of the same. we modified the program to include several debates during the term, using the "debater's treasury" for topics. the following year we read the plays "merchant of venice," "macbeth," "midsummer night's dream."
-a large per cent of this first club are still patrons of the library. six of the original number are now in college, and most of those remaining are connected with the boys' debating club.
-shortly after the organization of the boys' club the girls of the sixth, seventh and eighth grades insisted upon having a club, and a girls' history club was organized with about 30 girls.
-at the urgent request of some pupils of the freshman and sophomore classes of the high school a club was formed for them, and also one for the members of the junior and senior classes for the study of mythology. very few of the members of any of these clubs had read much beyond their class books and the same general plan was followed in each, with the result that the library has been successful in creating a love for the reading of books that are worth while.
-last year when we decided to tell stories from english history to this mixed group of little folks we felt that probably the stories would not be received with the same interest as were the stories of the previous year. strange to say, these stories appealed keenly to the children, and our number increased weekly and interest did not wane. many copies of english histories were placed on our shelves, and these were eagerly read. even now it is difficult to find an english history in our children's room.
-a remarkable feature of the work at our branch is the small amount of fiction read, only 45 per cent. we had a decided advantage here, because our children had never learned to read fiction. having read but very little, their power of concentration was small, and the book that contained a story that "went all the way through" did not appeal to them. their great regard for "teacher's" opinion helped us at the library to please them by giving them non-fiction. for instance, when the boys came, as most boys do, with a request for a story about indians, we gave them grinnell's "story of the indian," or wade's "ten big indians," the binding and high sounding title of which would attract them, and they would find their way to the shelf where the indian books were and would read nearly all we had there. they were then prepared to thoroughly enjoy our indian stories in fiction.
-ours is an emotional race, and as religion appeals much to this element in our nature, our parents have always been church- goers, and the reverence for sacred things which our children manifest is inherent. therefore it is no cause for wonder that the stories of the old and new testament find children anxious to read them.
-our children read more biography than would be supposed. that book that will tell them about a boy who, though poor and otherwise handicapped, struggled, overcame and became famous, appeals to them; therefore "poor boys' chances" and bolton's "poor boys who became famous" are called for constantly. there are few of our boys and girls who will not gladly take a copy of the life of abraham lincoln, or booker t. washington and read them over and over, their parents often having them read the same to them also. the self-made element in the lives of these men strikes a responsive chord in the hearts of our young people. they are easily led from the lives of these to the life of napoleon, edison, washington and others.
-during the school months the tables of our reference room are usually crowded. the pupils of the high school, near by, often deluge us, after the closing of school, with anxious requests for information on every topic from "the best mode of pastry making to halley's comet."
-the library board has been generous in granting our request for more and more books. our supply, however, is still far too small for the demand made upon it, our circulation having increased from 17,838 to 55,088 for the present year. we have two library stations and 35 class room collections, all demanding more books.
-when we look back now at the time of our beginning we see that our fears were unfounded. our people needed only an opportunity and encouragement. the success of the branch has exceeded the hope of the most sanguine of those interested in its organization, and we feel justly proud of the results attained.
-the foreign child at a st. louis branch
-present-day conditions in a branch library in a crowded district of a large city are pictured in the last paper to be included in this compilation, with special emphasis on the necessity of understanding the traditions and customs of foreign peoples in order to know how to appeal to them. it was read by miss josephine m. mcpike before the meeting of the missouri library association at joplin, missouri, in october, 1915.
-josephine mary mcpike was born in alton, illinois, and studied in shurtleff college, upper alton, and in the university of illinois. she became a member of the staff of the st. louis public library in 1909. in february, 1917, she resigned from the position of first assistant at the crunden branch to become the librarian of the seven corners branch of the minneapolis public library.
-crunden branch is the kind of place, the thought of which makes you glad to get up in the morning. it is an institution a state of mind. and as we workers there feel, so do the people in the neighborhood. we have heard over and over again the almost worn-out appellation "the people's university"; crunden has a different place in the thoughts of its users. it is really the living-room of our neighborhood--the place where, the dishes having been washed and the apron hung up, we naturally retire to read and to muse.
-true, it is a large family foregathered in this living-room of ours, much greater in number than the chairs for them to sit upon, but, as in all large families, there is much giving and taking. in the children's room, crowded to overflowing, the jewish child sits next to the irish, and the italian and the polish child read from the same book. children of all ages; babes from two and a half years to boys of twenty who spend their days in the factory, and are still reading "robinson crusoe" and the "merry adventures of robin hood." there too, sometimes comes the mother but lately arrived from the "old country," wearing her brightly colored native costume. unable to read or to write, she feels more at home here with the children whom she understands, and beams proudly to see her little "izzey" reading "child life" or "summers' reader."
-some social workers report that their greatest difficulty in dealing with the children of the tenement district is absolute lack of the play spirit. our observations have been quite to the contrary; in all of the children there is a fresh and healthy play- fulness--indeed, we feel at times that it is much too healthy. our constant attendance is needed to satisfy them all, insatiable little readers that they are.
-but the question of discipline becomes a real problem only in dealing with the mass spirit of the gang. there is one more or less notorious gang in the neighborhood which is known as the "forty thieves." to gain admittance into this friendly crowd it is necessary for the applicant to prove to the full satisfaction of the leaders that he has stolen something. en masse they storm into the children's room, in a spirit of bravado. we gradually come to realize that at such a time as this the library smile--that much used and abused smile--touches some of the boys not at all, and the voice of authority and often the arm of strength are the only effective methods. we believe that we have found a most satisfactory way of meeting this situation. the children's librarian induces all of the older boys to come down stairs to a separate room and for a half hour tells them tales of adventure and chivalry, thus quieting the children's room and directing the energy of the boys into more peaceful channels. this story in the evening takes the place of the story hour for older children during the daytime, which on account of the scarcity of boys and girls of suitable age has been discontinued.
-the younger children still have their fairy stories told them, and there, ever and anon, the frank spirit of the family manifests itself. that child who all through one story hour sat weaving back and forth muttering to herself, and when pressed for an explanation, remarked that she "was counting 'til you're done"--is a happy and independent contrast to the usually emotional type that embraces and bids its indescribably dirty and garlic tainted little brothers--"kiss teacher for the nice story."
-the young library assistant comes to crunden branch graciously to teach--she stays humbly to learn. full of new theories and with a desire to uplift--a really sincere desire--she finds in a short time much to uplift her own spirit. since ours is a polygot neighborhood consisting mostly of russians, jews, poles, and italians, with a light sprinkling of irish, it brings us into contact with such different temperaments that before we can attempt to satisfy them we must needs go to school to them. we know to some extent the life of our american child and with a little thought we can usually find the way best to appeal to him. but the peoples who have come from across the water have brought with them their traditions and their customs, and have each their own point of view; and it is with these traditions and customs that we must become familiar and sympathetic in order to understand the little strangers. there is the eager, often fearful jewish child; the slower, stolid pole; the impulsive italian; each must be approached from a different angle and each with a different inducement. at first this task is rather appalling, but gradually it becomes so interesting that from trying to learn from the child in the library we listen to the mother in the home, and often to the father from the factory; and from these gleanings of their life in the home and their habits of thought we try to understand the nature of the strange child and grope about for what he most needs and how to make the greatest appeal to him.
-in the last two or three years the children's librarian has herself gone after each book long overdue, and with each visit she has seized the opportunity not only to recover the book, but to become acquainted with the mother and to gain her often reluctant confidence. most of the readers live in tenements, many of which open into one common yard. the appearance of the library assistant usually causes much commotion, and she is received often not only by the mother of the negligent child but also the mothers of several other children as well--and, the center of a friendly group, she holds conversation with them. by this time the library assistant is well known in the neighborhood, and unlike the collector and the curious social uplifter who are often treated with sullenness and defiance, she receives every consideration and assistance. now at yom kipper, rosh hashana, pasach and other holidays, we are invited to break matzos and eat rare native dishes with the families of the children. we find the home visit invaluable. the jewish, the italian, and even the polish mother gains confidence in us, tells us all the family details--and feels finally that we are fit persons to whom she may entrust her children.
-probably our most attractive-looking child is the italian, a swarthy-skinned little creature, with softly curved cheeks, liquid brown eyes and seraphic expression--that seraphic expression which is so convincing and withal so misleading. child of the sun that he is, his greatest ambition in life is to lie undisturbed in the heat of the day and so be content. he has learned to take nothing seriously, the word "responsibility" has no meaning for him. nor has the word "truth." with his vivid imagination he handles it with the lightest manner in the world, he adds, he expands, he takes away in the most sincere fashion, looking at you all the while with babyish innocence. he is bewildering! his large brown eyes are veritable symbols of truth; to doubt him fills you with shame. i say he is bewildering; never so much so as when, for no apparent reason, he changes his tactics, and with the same sweet confidence absolutely reverses his former statements. what can we do with him? there seems to be no appeal we can make. he swears by the madonna! he raises his eyes to heaven, and when he finally makes his near- true statement, he is filled with such confessional fervor that to reward him seems to be the only logical course left. he is certainly a child of nature, but of a nature so quixotic that we are non-plussed.
-to many of our dark-skinned little friends "home" originally was the little island across from the toe of italy. these are, i fear, somewhat scorned by the ones whose homes nestled within the confines of the boot itself. we know how many refugees fled to that little spot in the water, and that dark indeed have been the careers of some of them. whether the hunted feeling of their fathers of generations back still lurks in these young sicilians, i do not know, but certainly their first impulse is one of defense. at the simplest question there appears suddenly, even in the smallest child, the defiant flash of the dark eyes and the sullen setting of the mouth. the question--what does your father do?--or, what is your mother's name?--arouses their ever-smoldering suspicion, and more than likely their quick rejoinder will be--"what's it to you?" when we explain impersonally that it is very much to us if they are to read our books, and that after all to reveal their mother's name will be no very damaging admission, the cloud blows over and there is no more trace of the little storm when they indifferently give us all the details we wish. so sudden are their changes and moods, so violent their little outbursts, that we must needs be on the qui vive in our dealings with them. but yet they are so lovable that we can never be vexed with them for long.
-when i approach the subject of the russian jew, i do it with a great humbleness and fear lest i do not do it justice. so much have they had to overcome, and such tenacity and perseverance have they shown in overcoming it! straight from the pales of kief, ketchinoff, and odessa they come to settle in the nearest to a pale we have to offer. great has been their poverty; a long-standing terror with them, and along with it in many cases, persecution, starvation, and social ostracism. poverty in all but spirit and mind. the great leveler to them is education, and it is no uncommon thing for the jewish father to sacrifice himself in order to better his son, to take upon himself that greatest of sacrifices, daily grind and deprivation. not only this generation, but the one before and the one before that. they cannot keep up such a white-hot search for learning without sooner or later finding out what is wisdom--real wisdom. stripped of all but bare necessities, they come to possess a sense of value that is remarkably true. we come into contact then with the offspring of such conditions, simple and direct in manner and having a passionate impersonal curiosity. always asking, searching for the real things, eager for that which will render them impervious to their sordid surroundings, they have thrown aside all superfluous mannerisms and get easily to the heart of things. accustomed to the greatest repression, and exclusion from all schools and institutions of the sort, the free access to so many books is an endless joy to them. they browse among the shelves lovingly, and instinctively read the best we have to offer. tales from the ancient hebrews, history, travel --these are the books they take. but what they read most gladly is biography. it is just as difficult to find a life of lincoln on the shelves as it is to find an altsheler--and of comparisons is that not the strongest? heroes of all sorts attract the jewish child, heroes in battles, statesmen and leaders in adventure, conquest, business. if a hero is also a martyr, their delight knows no bounds.
-we know now that we need be surprised at nothing; extreme cases have come at crunden to be the average, if i may be permitted to be paradoxical. we were interested but not surprised when sophie polopinsk, a little girl but a short time from russia, wheeled up the truck, climbed with great difficulty upon it and promptly lost herself in a volume of tolstoi's "resurrection," a volume almost as large as the small person herself, and formidable with its russian characters. in telling you of sol flotkin i may be giving you the history of a dozen or so small russian jews who have come to crunden. at the age of ten, sol had read all of gorki, tolstoi, turgenev and dostoievski in the original and then devoured hugo and dumas in the language of his adoption. the library with sol became an obsession. he was there waiting for the doors to open in the morning, and at nine o'clock at night we would find him on the adult side, probably behind the radiator, lost to us, but almost feverishly alive in his world of imagination that some great man had made so real for him. it was to crunden branch that the truant officer came when the school authorities reported him absent from his place. it was there, too, his father came, imploring, "could we not refuse sol entrance?" the door man demanded, did we know that at twelve and one o'clock at night he was often compelled to go out and find the boy, only to discover him crouched under the street light with a copy of "war and peace" lovingly upon his young knees? and there are many others like sol. is it not inspiring to the librarian to work with children who must be coaxed, not to read good books, but to desist from reading them?
-among the jewish people the word "radical" is in high favor --it is the open sesame to their sympathy. for the ordinary layman, radicalism, for some unexplained reason, is associated with the words socialism, anarchism, etc. the deep dyed conservative, to whom comes the picture of flaunting red at the mention of the word, would be surprised to learn in what simple cases it is often used. we have, for instance, an organization meeting once a week under the head of the "radical jewish school." when the secretary came to us for the first time we asked him what new theory they intended to work out. their radical departure from custom consisted only in teaching to the children a working yiddish in order that the jewish mother might understand her amazingly american child, in order to lessen the tragedy of misunderstanding which looms large in a family of this sort. they are setting at defiance the old jewish school which taught its children only a hebrew taken from the talmud, a more perfect but seldom used language. not so terrifying that.
-children who are forced to forage for themselves from a very early age, as most of our youngsters are, develop while yet very young a sense of responsibility and a certain initiative seldom found in more tenderly nurtured children. it is the normal thing in the life of a girl in our neighborhood when she reaches the age of eight or nine years to have solely in her charge a younger brother or sister. when she jumps rope or plays jacks or tag she does it with as much joy as her sister of happier circumstances--but with a deftness foreign to the sheltered child she tucks away under her arm the baby, which after six weeks becomes almost a part of herself. often we will fearfully exhort her to hold the baby's back, etc. invariably the child will smile indulgently at us, as at a likeable but irresponsible person, and change the position of the infant not one whit. she is really the mother, she feels, with a mother's knowledge of what the baby needs; we are only nice library teachers. their pride in the baby and their love for it sometimes even exceeds that of the mother who is forced to be so much away from the little ones. from five years of age the boys are expected to manage for themselves--to fight their own battles, literally--and to look out for themselves in general. naturally they possess a self-reliance greater than other children of their age. we come into contact with this in the library in the child's more or less independent choice of books and his free criticism--often remarkably keen-- of the contents. another place where the children show initiative is in the formation of clubs, which is a great diversion of theirs. seldom does a week pass without a crowd of children coming to us petitioning for the use of one of the club rooms. often these clubs are of short duration, but some of them have been in existence for years. sometimes they are literary, sometimes purely social--but more often dramatic. in the dramatic club the children, starved for the brighter things of life--can pretend to their hearts' content, and their keen imagination can make it all vividly realistic for them. they choose their own plays, draw the parts, make their costumes and carry out their own conception of the different roles. astonishingly well they do it too. is it any wonder that with their drab unhappy lives in mind, fairies and beautiful princesses figure largely? it seems to me that a singularly pathetic touch is the fact that yearly the "merry making girls club" spends weeks and weeks of preparation for an entertainment given for the benefit of the pure milk and ice fund for the poor babies of st. louis, they themselves being the most liable to become beneficiaries of the fund.
-a very small thing is sufficient to fire their imagination. the most trivial incident will suggest to them the formation of a club --a gilt crown, an attractive name, etc. an amusing instance has lately come up in this connection. several boys of about thirteen or fourteen asked the use of one of the club rooms for the "three c's." very reticent they were about the nature of this organization. finally amid rather embarrassed giggles the truth came out--a picture show in the neighborhood had distributed buttons bearing the picture and name of the popular favorite, which buttons were sufficient reason to form the "charlie chaplin club."
-when we think of many foreigners of different nationality together, there comes to most of us from habit the idea first suggested by mr. zangwill of amalgamation. i think most of us at crunden do not like to feel that our branch and others like it are melting pots; at any rate of a heat so fierce that it will melt away the national characteristics of each little stranger--so fierce that it will level all picturesqueness into deadly sameness. rather, just of a glow so warm that it melts almost imperceptibly the racial hate and antagonism.
-a study of association in insanity
-grace helen kent, a.m.
-a.j. rosanoff, m.d.
-kings park state hospital, n.y.
-table of contents.
-part i. association in normal subjects.
-§1. method of investigation
-§2. the normal standard
-§3. the frequency tables
-§4. normal associational tendencies
-§5. practical considerations
-§6. an empirical principle of normal association
-part ii. association in insane subjects.
-§1. general survey of pathological material
-§2. classification of reactions
-§3. non-specific reactions; doubtful reactions
-§4. individual reactions; explanation of groups and methods of application
-normal reactions pathological reactions derivatives of stimulus words partial dissociation non-specific reactions sound reactions word complements particles of speech complete dissociation perseveration neologisms unclassified reactions normal reactions circumstantial reactions distraction incoherent reactions
-§5. order of preference
-§6. errors involved in the use of arbitrary objective standards
-§7. analysis of pathological material dementia præcox paranoic conditions epilepsy general paresis manic-depressive insanity involutional melancholia; alcoholic dementia; senile dementia
-§8. pathological reactions from normal subjects
-§9. number of different words given as reactions
-§10. co-operation of the subject
-index to frequency tables and appendix
-the frequency tables
-appendix to the frequency tables
-association in normal subjects.
-among the most striking and commonly observed manifestations of insanity are certain disorders of the flow of utterance which appear to be dependent upon a derangement of the psychical processes commonly termed association of ideas. these disorders have to some extent been made the subject of psychological experimentation, and the object of this investigation is to continue and extend the study of these phenomena by an application of the experimental method known as the association test.
-§ 1. method of investigation.
-the stimulus consists of a series of one hundred spoken words, to each of which the subject is directed to react by the first word which it makes him think of. in the selection of the stimulus words, sixty-six of which were taken from the list suggested by sommer, we have taken care to avoid such words as are especially liable to call up personal experiences, and have so arranged the words as to separate any two which bear an obviously close relation to one another. after much preliminary experimentation we adopted the following list of words:
-01 table 02 dark 03 music 04 sickness 05 man 06 deep 07 soft 08 eating 09 mountain 10 house 11 black 12 mutton 13 comfort 14 hand 15 short 16 fruit 17 butterfly 18 smooth 19 command 20 chair 21 sweet 22 whistle 23 woman 24 cold 25 slow 26 wish 27 river 28 white 29 beautiful 30 window 31 rough 32 citizen 33 foot 34 spider 35 needle 36 red 37 sleep 38 anger 39 carpet 40 girl 41 high 42 working 43 sour 44 earth 45 trouble 46 soldier 47 cabbage 48 hard 49 eagle 50 stomach
-no attempt is made to secure uniformity of external conditions for the test; the aim has been rather to make it so simple as to render strictly experimental conditions unnecessary. the test may be made in any room that is reasonably free from distracting influences; the subject is seated with his back toward the experimenter, so that he cannot see the record; he is requested to respond to each stimulus word by one word, the first word that occurs to him other than the stimulus word itself, and on no account more than one word. if an untrained subject reacts by a sentence or phrase, a compound word, or a different grammatical form of the stimulus word, the reaction is left unrecorded, and the stimulus word is repeated at the close of the test.
-in this investigation no account is taken of the reaction time. the reasons for this will be explained later.
-the general plan has been first to apply the test to normal persons, so as to derive empirically a normal standard and to determine, if possible, the nature and limits of normal variation; and then to apply it to cases of various forms of insanity and to compare the results with the normal standard, with a view to determining the nature of pathological variation.
-§ 2. the normal standard.
-in order to establish a standard which should fairly represent at least all the common types of association and which should show the extent of such variation as might be due to differences in sex, temperament, education, and environment, we have applied the test to over one thousand normal subjects.
-among these subjects were persons of both sexes and of ages ranging from eight years to over eighty years, persons following different occupations, possessing various degrees of mental capacity and education, and living in widely separated localities. many were from ireland, and some of these had but recently arrived in this country; others were from different parts of europe, but all were able to speak english with at least fair fluency. over two hundred of the subjects, including a few university professors and other highly practiced observers, were professional men and women or college students. about five hundred were employed in one or another of the new york state hospitals for the insane, either as nurses and attendants or as workers at various trades; the majority of these were persons of common school education, but the group includes also, on the one hand, a considerable number of high school graduates; and on the other hand, a few laborers who were almost or wholly illiterate. nearly one hundred and fifty of the subjects were boys and girls of high school age, pupils of the ethical culture school, new york city. the remaining subjects form a miscellaneous group, consisting largely of clerks and farmers.
-§ 3. the frequency tables.
-the total number of different words elicited in response to any stimulus word is limited, varying from two hundred and eighty words in response to anger to seventy-two words in response to needle. furthermore, for the great majority of subjects the limits are still narrower; to take a striking instance, in response to dark eight hundred subjects gave one or another of the following seven words: light, night, black, color, room, bright, gloomy; while only two hundred gave reactions other than these words; and only seventy subjects, out of the total number of one thousand, gave reactions which were not given by any other subject.
-if any record obtained by this method be examined by referring to the frequency tables, the reactions contained in it will fall into two classes: the common reactions, those which are to be found in the tables, and the individual reactions, those which are not to be found in the tables. for the sake of accuracy, any reaction word which is not found in the table in its identical form, but which is a grammatical variant of a word found there, may be classed as
-the value of any reaction may be expressed by the figure representing the percentage of subjects who gave it. thus the reaction, table--chair, which was given by two hundred and sixty-seven out of the total of our one thousand subjects, possesses a value of 26.7 per cent. the significance of this value from the clinical standpoint will be discussed later.
-§ 4. normal associational tendencies
-in order to determine the influence of age, sex, and education upon the tendency to give reactions of various values, we have selected three groups of subjects for special study: (1) one hundred persons of collegiate or professional education; (2) one hundred persons of common school education, employed in one of the state hospitals as attendants, but not as trained nurses; and (3) seventy-eight children under sixteen years of age. the reactions given by these subjects have been classified according to frequency of occurrence into seven groups: (a) individual reactions (value 0); (b) doubtful reactions (value ±); (c) reactions given by one other person (value 0.1 per cent); (d) those given by from two to five others (value 0.2--0.5 per cent); (e) those given by from six to fifteen others (value 0.6-1.5 per cent); (f) those given by from sixteen to one hundred others (value 1.6--10.0 per cent); and (g) those given by more than one hundred others (value over 10.0 per cent). the averages obtained from these groups of subjects are shown in table 1, and the figures for men and women are given separately.
-it will be observed that the proportion of individual reactions given by the subjects of collegiate education is slightly above the general average for all subjects, while that of each of the other classes is below the general average. in view, however, of the wide limits of variation, among the thousand subjects, these deviations from the general average are no larger than might quite possibly occur by chance, and the number of cases in each group is so small that the conclusion that education tends to increase the number of individual reactions would hardly be justified.
-it will be observed also that this comparative study does not show any considerable differences corresponding to age or sex.
-with regard to the type of reaction, it is possible to select groups of records which present more or less consistently one of the following special tendencies: (1) the tendency to react by contrasts; (2) the tendency to react by synonyms or other defining terms; and (3) the tendency to react by qualifying or specifying terms. how clearly the selected groups show these tendencies is indicated by table ii. the majority of records, however, present no such tendency in a consistent way; nor is there any evidence to show that these tendencies, when they occur, are to be regarded as manifestations of permanent mental characteristics, since they might quite possibly be due to a more or less accidental and transient associational direction. no further study has as yet been made of these tendencies, for the reason that they do not appear to possess any pathological significance.
-special group values.
-better 'n days' works."
-amelia flushed the painful red of emotion without beauty.
-"i dunno what we're all comin' to," said she brokenly.
-then the tramp knew. he put his gnarled hand over one of hers. rosie looked up curiously from the speckled beans she was counting into a bag, and then went on singing to herself an unformed, baby song. "folks'll talk," said enoch gently. "they do now. a man an' woman ain't never too old to be hauled up, an' made to answer for livin'. if i was younger, an' had suthin' to depend on, you'd see; but i'm no good now. the better part o' my life's gone."
-amelia flashed at him a pathetic look, half agony over her own lost pride, and all a longing of maternal love.
-"i don't want you should be younger," said she. and next week they were married.
-comment ran races with itself, and brought up nowhere. the treasuries of local speech were all too poor to clothe so wild a venture. it was agreed that there's no fool like an old fool, and that folks who ride to market may come home afoot. everybody forgot that amelia had had no previous romance, and dismally pictured her as going through the woods, and getting a crooked stick at last. even the milder among her judges were not content with prophesying the betrayal of her trust alone. they argued from the tramp nature to inevitable results, and declared it would be a mercy if she were not murdered in her bed. according to the popular mind, a tramp is a distinct species, with latent tendencies toward crime. it was recalled that a white woman had, in the old days, married a comely indian, whose first drink of fire-water, after six months of blameless happiness, had sent him raging home, to kill her "in her tracks." could a tramp, pledged to the traditions of an awful brotherhood, do less? no, even in honor, no! amelia never knew how the tide of public apprehension surged about her, nor how her next-door neighbor looked anxiously out, the first thing on rising, to exclaim, with a sigh of relief, and possibly a dramatic pang, "there! her smoke's a-goin'."
-meantime, the tramp fell into all the usages of life indoors; and without, he worked revolution. he took his natural place at the head of affairs, and amelia stood by, rejoicing. her besetting error of doing things at the wrong moment had disarranged great combinations as well as small. her impetuosity was constantly misleading her, bidding her try, this one time, whether harvest might not follow faster on the steps of spring. enoch's mind was of another cast. for him, tradition reigned, and law was ever laying out the way. some months after their marriage, amelia had urged him to take away the winter banking about the house, for no reason save that the mardens clung to theirs; but he only replied that he'd known of cold snaps way on into may, and he guessed there was no particular hurry. the very next day brought a bitter air, laden with sleet, and amelia, shivering at the open door, exulted in her feminine soul at finding him triumphant on his own ground. enoch seemed, as usual, unconscious of victory. his immobility had no personal flavor. he merely acted from an inevitable devotion to the laws of life; and however often they might prove him right, he never seemed to reason that amelia was consequently wrong. perhaps that was what made it so pleasant to live with him.
-it was "easy sleddin'" now. amelia grew very young. her cheeks gained a bloom, her eyes brightened. she even, as the matrons noticed, took to crimping her hair. they looked on with a pitying awe. it seemed a fearsome thing, to do so much for a tramp who would only kill you in the end. amelia stepped deftly about the house. she was a large woman, whose ways had been devoid of grace; but now the richness of her spiritual condition informed her with a charm. she crooned a little about her work. singing voice she had none, but she grew into a way of putting words together, sometimes a line from the psalms, sometimes a name she loved, and chanting the sounds, in unrecorded melody. meanwhile, little rosie, always irreproachably dressed, with a jealous care lest she fall below the popular standard, roamed in and out of the house, and lightened its dull intervals. she, like the others, grew at once very happy, because, like them, she accepted her place without a qualm, as if it had been hers from the beginning. they were simple natures, and when their joy came, they knew how to meet it.
-but if enoch was content to follow the beaten ways of life, there was one window through which he looked into the upper heaven of all: thereby he saw what it is to create. he was a born mechanician. a revolving wheel would set him to dreaming, and still him to that lethargy of mind which is an involuntary sharing in the things that are. he could lose himself in the life of rhythmic motion; and when he discovered rusted springs, or cogs unprepared to fulfill their purpose, he fell upon them with the ardor of a worshiper, and tried to set them right. amelia thought he should have invented something, and he confessed that he had invented many things, but somehow failed in getting them on the market. that process he mentioned with the indifference of a man to whom a practical outcome is vague, and who finds in the ideal a bright reality. even amelia could see that to be a maker was his joy; to reap rewards of making was another and a lower task.
-one cold day in the early spring, he went "up garret" to hunt out an old saddle, gathering mildew there, and came upon a greater treasure, a disabled clock. he stepped heavily down, bearing it aloft in both hands.
-"see here, 'melia," asked he, "why don't this go?"
-amelia was scouring tins on the kitchen table. there was a teasing wind outside, with a flurry of snow, and she had acknowledged that the irritating weather made her as nervous as a witch. so she had taken to a job to quiet herself.
-"that clock?" she replied. "that was gran'ther eli's. it give up strikin', an' then the hands stuck, an' i lost all patience with it. so i bought this nickel one, an' carted t'other off into the attic. 't ain't worth fixin'."
-"worth it!" repeated enoch. "well, i guess i'll give it a chance."
-he drew a chair to the stove, and there hesitated. "say, 'melia," said he, "should you jest as soon i'd bring in that old shoemaker's bench out o' the shed? it's low, an' i could reach my tools off'n the floor."
-amelia lacked the discipline of contact with her kind, but she was nevertheless smooth as silk in her new wifehood.
-so, while enoch laid apart the clock with a delicacy of touch known only to square, mechanical fingers, and rosie played with the button-box on the floor, assorting colors and matching white with white, amelia scoured the tins. her energy kept pace with the wind; it whirled in gusts and snatches, yet her precision never failed.
-"made up your mind which cow to sell?" she asked, opening a discussion still unsettled, after days of animated talk.
-"ain't much to choose," said enoch. he had frankly set amelia right on the subject of livestock; and she smilingly acquiesced in his larger knowledge. "elbridge true's got a mighty nice alderney, an' if he's goin' to sell milk another year, he'll be glad to get two good milkers like these. what he wants is ten quarts apiece, no matter if it's bluer 'n a whetstone. i guess i can swap off with him; but i don't want to run arter him. i put the case last thursday. mebbe he'll drop round."
-"well," concluded amelia, "i guess you're pretty sure to do what's right."
-the forenoon galloped fast, and it was half past eleven before she thought of dinner.
-"why," said she, "ain't it butcher day? i've been lottin' on a piece o' liver."
-"butcher day is thursday," said enoch. "you've lost count."
-"my land!" responded amelia. "well, i guess we can put up with some fried pork an' apples." there came a long, insistent knock at the outer door. "good heavens! who's there! rosie, you run to the side-light, an' peek. it can't be a neighbor. they'd come right in. i hope my soul it ain't company, a day like this."
-rosie got on her fat legs with difficulty. she held her pinafore full of buttons, but disaster lies in doing too many things at once; there came a slip, a despairing clutch, and the buttons fell over the floor. there were a great, many round ones, and they rolled very fast. amelia washed the sand from her parboiled fingers, and drew a nervous breath. she had a presentiment of coming ill, painfully heightened by her consciousness that the kitchen was "riding out," and that she and her family rode with it. rosie came running back from her peephole, husky with importance. the errant buttons did not trouble her. she had an eternity of time wherein to pick them up; and, indeed, the chances were that some tall, benevolent being would do it for her.
-"it's a man," she said. "he's got on a light coat with bright buttons, and a fuzzy hat. he's got a big nose."
-now, indeed, despair entered into amelia, and sat enthroned. she sank down on a straight-backed chair, and put her hands on her knees, while the knock came again, a little querulously.
-"enoch," said she, "do you know what's happened? that's cousin josiah pease out there." her voice bore the tragedy of a thousand past encounters; but that enoch could not know.
-"is it?" asked he, with but a mild appearance of interest. "want me to go to the door?"
-if enoch had not just then been absorbed in a delicate combination of brass, he might have spoken more sympathetically. as it was, he seemed kindly, but remote.
-"look out!" said he, "you'll joggle. no, i guess i won't move. if he's any kind of a man, he'll know what 'tis to clean a clock."
-amelia was not a crying woman, but the hot tears stood in her eyes. she was experiencing, for the first time, that helpless pang born from the wounding of pride in what we love.
-"don't you see, enoch?" she insisted. "this room looks like the old boy--an' so do you--an' he'll go home an' tell all the folks at the ridge. why, he's heard we're married, an' come over here to spy out the land. he hates the cold. he never stirs till 'way on into june; an' now he's come to find out."
-"find out what?" inquired enoch absorbedly. "well, if you're anyways put to 't, you send him to me." that manly utterance enunciated from a "best-room" sofa, by an enoch clad in his sunday suit, would have filled amelia with rapture; she could have leaned on it as on the tables of the law. but, alas! the scene-setting was meagre, and though enoch was very clean, he had no good clothes. he had pointedly refused to buy them with his wife's money until he should have worked on the farm to a corresponding amount. she had loved him for it; but every day his outer poverty hurt her pride. "i guess you better ask him in," concluded enoch. "don't you let him bother you."
-amelia turned about with the grand air of a woman repulsed.
-"he don't bother me," said she, "an' i will let him in." she walked to the door, stepping on buttons as she went, and conscious, when she broke them, of a bitter pleasure. it added to her martyrdom.
-she flung open the door, and called herself a fool in the doing; for the little old man outside was in the act of turning away. in another instant, she might have escaped. but he was only too eager to come back again, and it seemed to amelia as if he would run over her, in his desire to get in.
-"there! there! 'melia," said he, pushing past her, "can't stop to talk till i git near the fire. guess you were settin' in the kitchen, wa'n't ye? don't make no stranger o' me. that your man?"
-she had shut the door, and entered, exasperated anew by the rising wind. "that's my husband," said she coldly. "enoch, here's cousin josiah pease."
-enoch looked up benevolently over his spectacles, and put out a horny left hand, the while the other guarded his heap of treasures. "pleased to meet you, sir," said he. "you see i'm tinkerin' a clock."
-to enoch, the explanation was enough. all the simple conventions of his life might well wait upon a reason potent as this. josiah pease went to the stove, and stood holding his tremulous hands over a cover. he was a little man, eclipsed in a butternut coat of many capes, and his parchment face shaded gradually up from it, as if into a harder medium. his eyes were light, and they had an exceedingly uncomfortable way of darting from one thing to another, like some insect born to spear and sting. his head was entirely bald, all save a thin fringe of hair not worth mentioning, since it disappeared so effectually beneath his collar; and his general antiquity was grotesquely emphasized by two sets of aggressive teeth, displaying their falsity from every crown.
-amelia took out the broom, and began sweeping up buttons. she had an acrid consciousness that by sacrificing them she was somehow completing the tragedy of her day. rosie gave a little cry; but amelia pointed to the corner where stood the child's chair, exhumed from the attic, after forty years of rest. "you set there," she said, in an undertone, "an' keep still."
-rosie obeyed without a word. such an atmosphere had not enveloped her since she entered this wonderful house. remembering vaguely the days when her own mother had "spells," and she and her father effaced themselves until times should change, she folded her little hands, and lapsed back into a condition of mental servitude.
-meanwhile, amelia followed nervously in the track of enoch's talk with cousin josiah, though her mind kept its undercurrent of foolish musing. like all of us, snatched up by the wheels of great emergencies, she caught at trifles while they whirled her round. here were "soldier-buttons." all the other girls had collected them, though she, having no lover in the war, had traded for her few. here were the gold-stones that held her changeable silk, there the little clouded pearls from her sister's raglan. annie had died in youth; its glamour still enwrapped her. poor annie! but rosie had seemed to bring her back. amelia swept litter, buttons and all, into the dustpan, and marched to the stove to throw her booty in. nobody marked her save rosie, whose playthings were endangered; but enoch's very obtuseness to the situation was what stayed her hand. she carried the dustpan away into a closet, and came back, to gather up her tins. a cold rage of nervousness beset her, so overpowering that she herself was amazed at it.
-meantime, josiah pease had divested himself of his coat, and drawn the grandfather chair into a space behind the stove.
-"you a clock-mender by trade?" he asked of enoch.
-"no," said enoch absently, "i ain't got any reg'lar trade."
-"jest goin' round the country?" amended cousin josiah, with the preliminary insinuation amelia knew so well. he was, it had been said, in the habit of inventing lies, and challenging other folks to stick to 'em. but enoch made no reply. he went soberly on with his work.
-"law, 'melia, to think o' your bein' married," continued josiah, turning to her. "i never should ha' thought that o' you."
-"i never thought it of myself," said amelia tartly. "you don't know what you'll do till you're tried."
-"no! no!" said josiah pease. "never in the world. you remember sally flint, how plain-spoken she is? well, betsy harden's darter ann rode down to the poor-house t'other day with some sweet trade, an' took a young sprig with her. he turned his back a minute, to look out o' winder, an' sally spoke right up, as ye might say, afore him. 'that your beau?' says she. well, o' course ann couldn't own it, an' him right there, so to speak. so she shook her head. 'well, i'm glad on 't,' says sally. 'if i couldn't have anything to eat, i'd have suthin' to look at!' he was the most unsignifyin'est creatur' you ever put your eyes on. but they say ann's started in on her clo'es."
-amelia's face had grown scarlet. "i dunno's any such speech is called for here," said she, in a furious self-betrayal. josiah pease had always been able to storm her reserves.
-"law, no," answered he comfortably. "it come into my mind,--that's all."
-she looked at enoch with a passionate sympathy, knowing too well how the hidden sting was intended to work. but enoch had not heard. he was absorbed in a finer problem of brass and iron; and though amelia had wished to save him from hurt, in that instant she scorned him for his blindness. "i guess i shall have to ask you to move," she said to her husband coldly. "i've got to git to that stove, if we're goin' to have any dinner to-day."
-it seemed to her that even enoch might take the hint, and clear away his rubbish. her feelings might have been assuaged by a clean hearth and some acquiescence in her own mood. but he only moved back a little, and went on fitting and musing. he was not thinking of her in the least, nor even of josiah pease. his mind had entered its brighter, more alluring world. she began to fry her pork and apples, with a perfunctory attempt at conversation. "you don't often git round so early in the spring," said she.
-"no," returned cousin josiah. "i kind o' got started out, this time, i don't rightly know why. i guess i've had you in mind more of late, for some tiverton folks come over our way, tradin', an' they brought all the news. it sort o' stirred me up to come."
-amelia turned her apples vigorously, well aware that the slices were breaking. that made a part of her bitter day.
-"folks needn't take the trouble to carry news about me," she said. there was an angry gleam in her eyes. "if anybody wants to know anything, let 'em come right here, an' i'll settle 'em." the ring of her voice penetrated even to enoch's perception, and he looked up in mild surprise. she seemed to have thrown open, for an instant, a little window into a part of her nature he had never seen.
-"how good them apples smell!" said josiah innocently. "last time i had 'em was down to cousin amasa true's, he that married his third wife, an' she run through all he had. i went down to see 'em arter the vandoo,--you know they got red o' most everything,--an' they had fried pork an' apples for dinner. old bashaby dropped in. 'law!' says she. 'fried pork an' apples! well, i call that livin' pretty nigh the wind!'" josiah chuckled. he was very warm now, and the savory smell of the dish he decried was mounting to what served him for fancy. "'melia, you ain't never had your teeth out, have ye?" he asked, as one who spoke from richer memories.
-"i guess my teeth'll last me as long as i want 'em," said amelia curtly.
-"well, i didn't know. they looked real white an' firm last time i see 'em, but you never can tell how they be underneath. i knew the folks would ask me when i got home. i thought i'd speak."
-"dinner's ready," said amelia. she turned an alien look upon her husband. "you want to wash your hands?"
-enoch rose cheerfully. he had got to a hopeful place with the clock.
-"set ri' down," said he. "don't wait a minute. i'll be along."
-so amelia and the guest began their meal, while little rosie climbed, rather soberly, into her higher chair, and held out her plate.
-"you wait," said amelia harshly. "can't you let other folks eat a mouthful before you have to have yours?" yet as she said it, she remembered, with a remorseful pang, that she had always helped the child first; it had been so sweet to see her pleased and satisfied.
-josiah was never talkative during meals. not being absolute master of his teeth, his mind dwelt with them. amelia remembered that, with a malicious satisfaction. but he could not be altogether dumb. that, people said, would never happen to josiah pease while he was above ground.
-"that his girl?" he asked, indicating rosie with his knife, in a gustatory pause.
-"whose?" inquired amelia willfully.
-"his." he pointed again, this time to the back room, where enoch was still washing his hands.
-amelia sprang from her chair, while rosie looked at her with the frightened glance of a child to whom some half-forgotten grief has suddenly returned.
-"josiah pease!" said amelia. "i never thought a poor, insignificant creatur' like you could rile me so,--when i know what you're doin' it for, too. but you've brought it about. her mother dead? ain't i been an' married her father?"
-"'melia," called enoch, from the doorway, "i won't come in to dinner jest now. elbridge true's drove into the yard. i guess he's got it in mind to talk it over about them cows. i don't want to lose the chance."
-"all right," answered amelia. she took her seat again, while enoch's footsteps went briskly out through the shed. with the clanging of the door, she felt secure. if she had to deal with josiah pease, she could do it better alone, clutching at the certainty that was with her from of old, that, if you could only keep your temper with cousin josiah, you had one chance of victory. flame out at him, and you were lost. "some more potatoes?" asked she, with a deceptive calm.
-"don't care if i do," returned josiah, selecting greedily, his fork hovering in air. "little mite watery, ain't they? dig 'em yourself?"
-"we dug 'em," said amelia coldly.
-rosie stepped down from her chair, unnoticed. to amelia, she was then no bigger than some little winged thing flitting about the room in time of tragedy. our greatest emotions sometimes stay unnamed. at that moment, amelia was swayed by as tumultuous a love as ever animated damsel of verse or story; but it merely seemed to her that she was an ill-used woman, married to a man for whom she was called on to be ashamed. rosie tiptoed into the entry, put on her little shawl and hood, and stole out to play in the corn-house. when domestic squalls were gathering, she knew where to go. the great outdoors was safer. her past had taught her that.
-"don't like to eat with folks, does he? well, it's all in what you're brought up to."
-amelia was ready with her counter-charge. "have some tea?"
-she poured it as if it were poison, and josiah became conscious of her tragic self-control.
-"you ain't eat a thing," said he, with an ostentatious kindliness. he bent forward a little, with the air of inviting a confidence. "got suthin' on your mind, ain't you, 'melia?" he whispered. "kind o' worried? find he's a drinkin' man?"
-amelia was not to be beguiled, even by that anger which veils itself as justice. she looked at him steadily, with scorching eyes.
-"you ain't took any sugar," said she. "there 't is, settin' by you. help yourself."
-"'melia!" cried he sharply. "i'll be buttered if he ain't been and traded off both your cows. my lord! be you goin' to stan' there an' let them two cows go?"
-amelia gave one swift glance from the window, following the path marked out by that insinuating index. it was true. elbridge was driving her two cows out of the yard, and her husband stood by, watching him. she walked quietly into the entry, and josiah laid his old hands together in the rapturous certainty that she was going to open the door, and send her anger forth. but amelia only took down his butternut coat from the nail, and returned with it, holding it ready for him to insert his arms.
-"here's your coat," said she, with that strange, deceptive calmness. "stan' up, an' i'll help you put it on."
-josiah looked at her with helplessly open mouth, and eyes so vacuous that amelia felt, even at that moment, the grim humor of his plight.
-"i was in hopes he'd harness up"--he began, but she ruthlessly cut him short.
-"stan' up! here, put t'other arm in fust. this han'kercher yours? goes round your neck? there 't is. here's your hat. got any mittens? there they be, in your pocket. this way. this is the door you come in, an' this is the door you'll go out of." she preceded him, her head thrown up, her shoulders back. amelia had no idea of dramatic values, but she was playing an effective part. she reached the door and flung it open, but josiah, a poor figure in its huddled capes, still stood abjectly in the middle of the kitchen. "come!" she called peremptorily. "come, josiah pease! out you go." and josiah went, though, contrary to his usual habit, he did not talk. he quavered uncertainly down the steps, and amelia called a halt. "josiah pease!"
-he turned, and looked up at her. his mouth had dropped, and he was nothing but a very helpless old child. vicious as he was, amelia realized the mental poverty of her adversary, and despised herself for despising him. "josiah pease!" she repeated. "this is the end. don't you darken my doors ag'in. i've done with you,--egg an' bird!" she closed the door, shutting out josiah and the keen spring wind, and went back to the window, to watch him down the drive. his back looked poor and mean. it emphasized the pettiness of her victory. even at that moment, she realized that it was the poorer part of her which had resented attack on a citadel which should be impregnable as time itself. just then enoch stepped into the kitchen behind her, and his voice jarred upon her tingling nerves.
-"well," said he, more jovially than he was wont to speak, "i guess i've made a good trade for ye. company gone? come here an' se' down while i eat, an' i'll tell ye all about it."
-amelia turned about and walked slowly up to him, by no volition of her conscious self. again love, that august creature, veiled itself in an unjust anger, because it was love and nothing else.
-"you've made a good bargain, have you?" she repeated. "you've sold my cows, an' had 'em drove off the place without if or but. that's what you call a good bargain!" her voice frightened her. it amazed the man who heard. these two middle-aged people were waking up to passions neither had felt in youth. life was strong in them because love was there.
-"why, 'melia!" said the man. "why, 'melia!"
-amelia was hurried on before the wind of her destiny. her voice grew sharper. little white stripes, like the lashes from a whip, showed themselves on her cheeks. she seemed to be speaking from a dream, which left her no will save that of speaking.
-"it's been so ever sence you set foot in this house. have i had my say once? have i been mistress on my own farm? no! you took the head o' things, an' you've kep' it. what's mine is yours."
-enoch winced, with a sharp, brief quiver of the lips; but before she could dwell upon the sight, to the resurrection of her tenderness, he turned away from her, and went over to the bench.
-"i guess i'll move this back where't was," he said, in a very still voice, and amelia stood watching him, conscious of a new and bitterer pang: a fierce contempt that he could go on with his poor, methodical way of living, when greater issues waited at the door. he moved the bench into its old place, gathered up the clock, with its dismantled machinery, and carried it into the attic. she heard his step on the stairs, regular and unhalting, and despised him again; but in all those moments, the meaning of his movements had not struck her. when he came back, he brought in the broom; and while he swept up the fragments of his work, amelia stood and watched him. he carried the dustpan and broom away to their places, but he did not reenter the room. he spoke to her from the doorway, and she could not see his face.
-"i guess you won't mind if i leave the clock as 'tis. it needs some new cogs, an' if anybody should come along, he wouldn't find it any the worse for what i've done. i've jest thought it over about the cows, an' i guess i'll leave that, too, jest as it is. i made you a good bargain, an' when you come to think it over, i guess you'd rather it'd stan' so than run the resk of havin' folks make a handle of it. good-by, 'melia. you've been good to me,--better 'n anybody ever was in the world."
-she heard his step, swift and steady, through the shed and out at the door. he was gone. amelia turned to the window, to look after him, and then, finding he had not taken the driveway, she ran into the bedroom, to gaze across the fields. there he was, a lonely figure, striking vigorously out. he seemed glad to go; and seeing his haste, her heart hardened against him. she gave a little disdainful laugh.
-"well," said amelia, "that's over. i'll wash my dishes now."
-coming back into the kitchen, with an assured step, she moved calmly about her work, as if the world were there to see. her pride enveloped her like a garment. she handled the dishes as if she scorned them, yet her method and care were exquisite. presently there came a little imperative pounding at the side door. it was rosie. she had forgotten the cloudy atmosphere of the house, and being cold, had come, in all her old, imperious certainty of love and warmth, to be let in. amelia stopped short in her work, and an ugly frown roughened her brow. josiah pease, with all his evil imaginings, seemed to be at her side, his lean forefinger pointing out the baseness of mankind. in that instant, she realized where enoch had gone. he meant to take the three o'clock train where it halted, down at the crossing, and he had left the child behind. tearing off her apron, she threw it over her head. she ran to the door, and, opening it, almost knocked the child down, in her haste to be out and away. rosie had lifted her frosty face in a smile of welcome, but amelia did not see it. she gathered the child in her arms, and hurried down the steps, through the bars, and along the narrow path toward the pine woods. the sharp brown stubble of the field merged into the thin grasses of the greener lowland, and she heard the trickling of the little dark brook, where gentians lived in the fall, and where, still earlier, the cardinal flower and forget-me-not crowded in lavish color. she knew every inch of the way; her feet had an intelligence of their own. the farm was a part of her inherited life; but at that moment, she prized it as nothing beside that newly discovered wealth which she was rushing to cast away. rosie had not striven in the least against her capture. she knew too much of life, in some patient fashion, to resist it, in any of its phases. she put her arms about amelia's neck, to cling the closer, and amelia, turning her face while she staggered on, set her lips passionately to the little sleeve.
-"you cold?" asked she--"dear?" but she told herself it was a kiss of farewell.
-"you'll have to walk a minute," she whispered, setting the child down at her side. "there's time enough. i can't hurry."
-at that instant, she felt the slight warning of the ground beneath her feet, shaken by another step, and saw, through the pines, her husband running toward her. rosie started to meet him, with a little cry, but amelia thrust her aside, and hurried swiftly on in advance, her eyes feeding upon his face. it had miraculously changed. sorrow, the great despair of life, had eaten into it, and aged it more than years of patient want. his eyes were like lamps burned low, and the wrinkles under them had guttered into misery. but to amelia, his look had all the sweet familiarity of faces we shall see in paradise. she did not stop to interpret his meeting glance, nor ask him to read hers. coming upon him like a whirlwind, she put both her shaking hands on his shoulders, and laid her wet face to his.
-"enoch! enoch!" she cried sharply, "in the name of god, come home with me!"
-"knew what?" asked enoch gently. he did not forget that circumstance had laid a blow at the roots of his being; but he could not turn away while she still suffered.
-amelia began, stumblingly,--
-"he talked about you, i couldn't stan' it."
-"did you believe it?" he queried sternly.
-"there wa'n't anything to believe. that's neither here nor there. but--enoch, if anybody should cut my right hand off--enoch"--her voice fell brokenly. she was a new england woman, accustomed neither to analyze nor talk. she could only suffer in the elemental way of dumb things who sometimes need a language of the heart. one thing she knew. the man was hers; and if she reft herself away from him, then she must die.
-he had taken rosie's hand, and amelia was aware that he turned away.
-"i don't want to bring up anything," he said hesitatingly, "but i couldn't stan' bein' any less 'n other men would, jest because the woman had the money, an' i hadn't. i dunno's 't was exactly fair about the cows, but somehow you kind o' set me at the head o' things, in the beginnin', an' it never come into my mind"--
-amelia sat looking wanly past him. she began to see how slightly argument would serve. suddenly the conventions of life fell away from her and left her young.
-"would you go with me, 'melia?" he asked.
-"i'm goin'," said she doggedly. her case had been lost, but she could not abandon it. she seemed to be holding to it in the face of righteous judgment.
-"s'pose i don't ask you?"
-"i'll foller on behind."
-"don't ye want to go home, an' lock up, an' git a bunnit?"
-she put one trembling hand to the calico apron about her head.
-"don't ye want to leave the key with some o' the neighbors?"
-"i don't want anything in the world but you," owned amelia shamelessly.
-enoch bent suddenly, and drew her to her feet. "'melia," said he, "you look up here."
-she raised her drawn face and looked at him, not because she wished, but because she must. in her abasement, there was no obedience which she would deny him. but she could only see that he was strangely happy, and so the more removed from her own despair. enoch swiftly passed his arm about her, and turned her homeward. he laughed a little. being a man, he must laugh when, that bitter ache in the throat presaged more bitter tears.
-"come, 'melia," said he, "come along home, an' i'll tell you all about the cows. i made a real good bargain. come, rosie."
-amelia could not answer. it seemed to her as if love had dealt with her as she had not deserved; and she went on, exalted, afraid of breaking the moment, and knowing only that he was hers again. but just before they left the shadow of the woods, he stopped, holding her still, and their hearts beat together.
-"'melia," said he brokenly, "i guess i never told you in so many words, but it's the truth: if god almighty was to make me a woman, i'd have her you, not a hair altered. i never cared a straw for any other. i know that now. you're all there is in the world."
-when they walked up over the brown field, the sun lay very warmly there with a promise of spring fulfilled. the wind had miraculously died, and soft clouds ran over the sky in flocks. rosie danced on ahead, singing her queer little song, and enoch struggled with himself to speak the word his wife might wish.
-"'melia," said he at last, "there ain't anything in my life i couldn't tell you. i jest ain't dwelt on it, that's all. if you want to have me go over it"--
-"i don't want anything," said amelia firmly. her eyes were suffused, and yet lambent. the light in them seemed to be drinking up their tears. her steps, she knew, were set within a shining way. at the door only she paused and fixed him with a glance. "enoch," said she threateningly, "whose cows were them you sold to-day?"
-he opened his lips, but she looked him down. one word he rejected, and then another. his cheeks wrinkled up into obstinate smiling, and he made the grimace of a child over its bitter draught.
-"'melia, it ain't fair," he complained. "no, it ain't. i'll take one of 'em, if you say so, or i'll own it don't make a mite o' difference whose they be. but as to lyin'"--
-"say it!" commanded amelia. "whose were they?"
-"mine!" said enoch. they broke into laughter, like children, and held each other's hands.
-"i ain't had a mite o' dinner," said amelia happily, as they stepped together into the kitchen. "nor you! an' rosie didn't eat her pie. you blaze up the fire, an' i'll fry some eggs."
-the mortuary chest
-"now we've got red o' the men-folks," said mrs. robbins, "le's se' down an' talk it over." the last man of all the crowd accustomed to seek the country store at noontime was closing the church door behind him as she spoke. "here, ezry," she called after him, "you hurry up, or you won't git there afore cockcrow to-morrer, an' i wouldn't have that letter miss for a good deal."
-mrs. robbins was slight, and hung on wires,--so said her neighbors. they also remarked that her nose was as pickèd as a pin, and that anybody with them freckles and that red hair was sure to be smart. you could always tell. mrs. robbins knew her reputation for extreme acuteness, and tried to live up to it.
-"law! don't you go to stirrin' on him up," said mrs. solomon page comfortably, putting on the cover of her butter-box, which had contained the family lunch. "if the store's closed, he can slip the letter into the box, an' three cents with it, an' they'll put a stamp on in the mornin'."
-"what's the news over your way, sister?" asked mrs. ellison, as an informal preliminary.
-"tilly don't want to give; she'd ruther take," said mrs. baxter, before the other could answer. "she's like old mis' pepper. seliny hazlitt went over there, when she was fust married an' come to the neighborhood an' asked her if she'd got a sieve to put squash through. poor seliny! she didn't know a sieve from a colander, in them days."
-"i guess she found out soon enough," volunteered mrs. page. "he was one o' them kind o' men that can keep house as well as a woman. i'd ruther live with a born fool."
-"well, old mis' pepper she ris up an' smoothed down her apron (recollect them little dots she used to wear?--made her look as broad as a barn door!), an' she says, 'yes, we've got a sieve for flour, an' a sieve for meal, an' a sieve for rye, an' a sieve for blue-monge, an' we could have a sieve for squash if we was a mind to, but i don't wish to lend.' that's the way with tilly. she's terrible cropein' about news, but she won't lend."
-"how's your cistern?" asked mrs. john cole, who, with an exclusively practical turn of mind, saw no reason why talk should be consecutive. "got all the water you want?"
-"yes," said mrs. page; "that last rain filled it up higher'n it's been sence november."
-but mrs. ellison was not to be thrown off the track.
-"ain't there been consid'able talk over here about parson bond?" she asked.
-miss sally ware, a plump and pleasing maiden lady, whose gold beads lay in a crease especially designed for them, stirred uneasily in her seat and gave her sisters an appealing glance. but she did not speak, beyond uttering a little dissentient noise in her throat. she was loyal to her minister. an embarrassed silence fell like a vapor over the assemblage. everybody longed to talk; nobody wanted the responsibility of beginning. mrs. page was the first to gather her forces.
-"now, tilly," said she, with decision, "you ain't comin' over here to tole us into haulin' our own pastor over the coals, unless you'll say right out you won't pass it on to saltash folks. as for puttin' it in the paper, it ain't the kind you can."
-tilly's eyes burned.
-"i guess i know when to speak an' when not to," she remarked. "now don't beat about the bush; the men-folks'll be back to rights. i never in my life give len a mite o' news he couldn't ha' picked up for himself."
-the informal meeting was aghast. a flavor of robust humor was accustomed to enliven it, but not of a sort to induce dissension.
-"there! there!" murmured sally ware. "it's the sabbath day!"
-"well, nobody's breakin' of it, as i know of," said mrs. ellison. her eyes were brighter than usual, but she composed herself into a careful disregard of annoyance. when desire of news assailed her, she could easily conceal her personal resentments, cannily sacrificing small issues to great. "i guess there's no danger o' parson bond's gittin' into the paper, so long 's he behaves himself; but if anybody's got eyes, they can't help seein'. i hadn't been in the bible class five minutes afore i guessed how he was carryin' on. has he begun to go with isabel north, an' his wife not cold in her grave?"
-"well, i think, for my part, he does want isabel," said mrs. robbins sharply, "an' i say it's a sin an' a shame. why, she ain't twenty, an' he's sixty if he's a day. my soul! sally ware, you better be settin' your cap for my william henry. he's 'most nineteen."
-miss ware flushed, and her plump hands tightened upon each other under her shawl. she was never entirely at ease in the atmosphere of these assured married women; it was always a little bracing.
-"well, how's she take it?" asked tilly, turning from one to the other. "tickled to death, i s'pose?"
-"well, i guess she ain't!" broke in a younger woman, whose wedding finery was not yet outworn. "she's most sick over it, and so she has been ever since her sister married and went away. i believe she'd hate the sight of him, if 't wasn't the minister; but 'tis the minister, and when she's put face to face with him, she can't help saying yes and no."
-"i dunno'," said mrs. page, with her unctuous laugh. "remember the party over to tiverton t'other night, an' them tarts? you see, rosanna maria pike asked us all over; an' you know how flaky her pie-crust is. well, the minister was stan'in' side of isabel when the tarts was passed. he was sort o' shinin' up to her that night, an' i guess he felt a mite twittery; so when the tarts come to him, he reached out kind o' delicate, with his little finger straight out, an' tried to take one. an' a ring o' crust come off on his finger. then he tried it ag'in, an' got another ring. everybody'd ha' laughed, if it hadn't been the minister; but isabel she tickled right out, an' says, 'you don't take jelly, do you, mr. bond?' an' he turned as red as fire, an' says, 'no, i thank you.'"
-"she wouldn't ha' said it, if she hadn't ha' been so nervous," remarked miss sally, taking a little parcel of peppermints from her pocket, and proceeding to divide them.
-"no, i don't s'pose she would," owned mrs. page reflectively. "but if what they say is true, she's been pretty sassy to him, fust an' last. why, you know, no matter how the parson begins his prayer, he's sure to end up on one line: 'lord, we thank thee we have not been left to live by the dim light of natur'.' 'lisha cole, when he come home from illinois, walked over here to meetin', to surprise some o' the folks. he waited in the entry to ketch 'em comin' out, an' the fust word he heard was, 'lord, we thank thee we have not been left to live by the dim light of natur'.' 'lisha said he'd had time to be shipwrecked (you know he went to california fust an' made the v'yage), an' be married twice, an' lay by enough to keep him, and come home poor; but when he heard that, he felt as if the world hadn't moved sence he started."
-sally ware dropped her mitten, to avoid listening and the necessity of reply; it was too evident that the conversational tone was becoming profane. but mrs. page's eyes were gleaming with pure dramatic joy, and she continued:--
-"well, a fortnight or so ago he went over to see isabel, an' sadie an' her husband happened to be there. they were all settin' purrin' in the dark, because they'd forgot to send for any kerosene. 'no light?' says he, hittin' his head ag'inst the chimbly-piece goin' in,--'no light?' 'no,' says isabel, 'none but the dim light of natur'.'"
-there was a chime of delighted laughter in many keys. the company felt the ease of unrestricted speech. they wished the nooning might be indefinitely prolonged.
-"sometimes i think she sets out to make him believe she's wuss 'n she is," remarked mrs. cole. "remember how she carried on, last sabbath?"
-even miss ware smiled a little, and adjusted her gold beads. the others laughed out rich and free.
-"well, what'd that have to do with isabel?" asked mrs. ellison, who never forgot the main issue.
-"why, everybody else drawed down their faces, an' tried to keep 'em straight, but isabel, she begun to laugh, an' she laughed till the tears streamed down her cheeks. deacon pitts was real put out, for him, an' the parson tried not to take no notice. but it went so fur he couldn't help it, an' so he says, 'miss isabel, i'm real pained,' says he. but 'twas jest as you'd cuff the kitten for snarlin' up your yarn."
-"well, what's isabel goin' to do?" asked mrs. ellison. "s'pose she'll marry him?"
-"why, she won't unless he tells her to. if he does, i dunno but she'll think she's got to."
-"i say it's a shame," put in mrs. robbins incisively; "an' isabel with everything all fixed complete so 't she could have a good time. her sister's well married, an' isabel stays every night with her. them two girls have been together ever sence their father died. an' here she's got the school, an' she's goin' to sudleigh every saturday to take lessons in readin', an' she'd be as happy as a cricket, if on'y he'd let her alone."
-"she reads real well," said mrs. ellison. "she come over to our sociable an' read for us. she could turn herself into anybody she'd a mind to. len wrote a notice of it for the 'star.' that's the only time we've had oysters over our way."
-"i'd let it be the last," piped up a thin old lady, with a long figured veil over her face. "it's my opinion oysters lead to dancin'."
-"well, let 'em lead," said optimistic mrs. page. "i guess we needn't foller."
-"them that have got rheumatism in their knees can stay behind," said the young married woman, drawn by the heat of the moment into a daring at once to be repented. "mrs. ellison, you're getting ahead of us over in your parish. they say you sing out of sheet music."
-"yes, they do say so," interrupted the old lady under the figured veil. "if there's any worship in sheet music, i'd like to know it!"
-"come, come!" said peace-loving mrs. page; "there's the men filin' in. we mustn't let 'em see us squabblin'. they think we're a lot o' cacklin' hens anyway, tickled to death over a piece o' chalk. there's isabel, now. she's goin' to look like her aunt mary ellen, over to saltash."
-isabel preceded the men, who were pausing for a word at the door, and went down the aisle to her pew. she bowed to one and another, in passing, and her color rose. they could not altogether restrain their guiltily curious gaze, and isabel knew she had been talked over. she was a healthy-looking girl, with clear blue eyes and a quantity of soft brown hair. her face was rather large-featured, and one could see that, if the world went well with her, she would be among those who develop beauty in middle life.
-the next day, isabel stayed after school, and so it was in the wintry twilight that she walked home, guarded by the few among her flock who had been kept to learn the inner significance of common fractions. approaching her own house, she quickened her steps, for there before the gate (taken from its hinges and resting for the winter) stood a blue pung. the horse was dozing, his roman nose sunken almost to the snow at his feet. he looked as if he had come to stay. isabel withdrew her hand from the persistent little fingers clinging to it.
-"good-night, children," said she. "i guess i've got company. i must hurry in. come bright and early to-morrow."
-"why, aunt luceba!" cried isabel, radiant. "i'm as glad as i can be. when did you rain down?"
-"be you glad?" returned aunt luceba, her somewhat anxious look relaxing into a smile. "well, i'm pleased if you be. fact is, i run away, an' i'm jest comin' to myself, an' wonderin' what under the sun set me out to do it."
-"run away!" repeated isabel, drawing her in, and at once peeping into the stove. "oh, you fixed the fire, didn't you? it keeps real well. i put on coal in the morning, and then again at night."
-"isabel," began her aunt, standing by the stove, and drumming on it with agitated fingers, "i hate to have you live as you do. why under the sun can't you come over to saltash, an' stay with us?"
-isabel had thrown off her shawl and hat, and was standing on the other side of the stove; she was tingling with cold and youthful spirits.
-"i'm keeping school," said she. "school can't keep without me. and i'm going over to sudleigh, every saturday, to take elocution lessons. i'm having my own way, and i'm happy as a clam. now, why can't you come and live with me? you said you would, the very day aunt eliza died."
-"i know i did," owned the visitor, lowering her voice, and casting a glance over her shoulder. "but i never had an idea then how mary ellen 'd feel about it. she said she wouldn't live in this town, not if she was switched. i dunno why she's so ag'in' it, but she seems to be, an' there 't is!"
-"why, aunt luceba!" isabel had left her position to draw forward a chair. "what's that?" she pointed to the foot of the lounge, where, half hidden in shadow, stood a large, old-fashioned blue chest.
-"'sh! that's it! that's what i come for. it's her chist."
-"your aunt 'liza's." she looked isabel in the face with an absurd triumph and awe. she had done a brave deed, the nature of which was not at once apparent.
-"what's in it?" asked isabel, walking over to it.
-"don't you touch it!" cried her aunt, in agitation. "i wouldn't have you meddle with it--but there! it's locked. i al'ays forgit that. i feel as if the things could git out an' walk. here! you let it alone, an' byme-by we'll open it. se' down here on the lounge. there, now! i guess i can tell ye. it was sister 'liza's chist, an' she kep' it up attic. she begun it when we wa'n't more 'n girls goin' to number six, an' she's been fillin' on't ever sence."
-"begun it! you talk as if 't was a quilt!" isabel began to laugh.
-"now don't!" said her aunt, in great distress. "don't ye! i s'pose 't was because we was such little girls an' all when 'liza started it, but it makes me as nervous as a witch, an' al'ays did. you see, 'liza was a great hand for deaths an' buryin's; an' 'as for funerals, she'd ruther go to 'em than eat. i'd say that if she was here this minute, for more 'n once i said it to her face. well, everybody 't died, she saved suthin' they wore or handled the last thing, an' laid it away in this chist; an' last time i see it opened, 'twas full, an' she kind o' smacked her lips, an' said she should have to begin another. but the very next week she was took away."
-"aunt luceba," said isabel suddenly, "was aunt eliza hard to live with? did you and aunt mary ellen have to toe the mark?"
-"don't you say one word," answered her aunt hastily. "that's all past an' gone. there ain't no way of settlin' old scores but buryin' of 'em. she was older 'n we were, an' on'y a step-sister, arter all. we must think o' that. well, i must come to the end o' my story, an' then we'll open the chist. next day arter we laid her away, it come into my head, 'now we can burn up them things.' it may ha' been wicked, but there 't was, an' the thought kep' arter me, till all i could think of was the chist; an' byme-by i says to mary ellen, one mornin', 'le's open it to-day an' make a burnfire!' an' mary ellen she turned as white as a sheet, an' dropped her spoon into her sasser, an' she says: 'not yet! luceba, don't you ask me to touch it yet.' an' i found out, though she never'd say another word, that it unset her more'n it did me. one day, i come on her up attic stan'in' over it with the key in her hand, an' she turned round as if i'd ketched her stealin', an' slipped off downstairs. an' this arternoon, she went into tilly ellison's with her work, an' it come to me all of a sudden how i'd git tim yatter to harness an' load the chist onto the pung, an' i'd bring it over here, an' we'd look it over together; an' then, if there's nothin' in it but what i think, i'd leave it behind, an' maybe you or sadie'd burn it. john cole happened to ride by, and he helped me in with it. i ain't a-goin' to have mary ellen worried. she's different from me. she went to school, same's you have, an' she's different somehow. she's been meddled with all her life, an' i'll be whipped if she sha'n't make a new start. should you jest as lieves ask sadie or john?"
-"why, yes," said isabel wonderingly; "or do it myself. i don't see why you care."
-aunt luceba wiped her beaded face with a large handkerchief.
-"i dunno either," she owned, in an exhausted voice. "i guess it's al'ays little things you can't stand. big ones you can butt ag'inst. there! i feel better, now i've told ye. here's the key. should you jest as soon open it?"
-isabel drew the chest forward with a vigorous pull of her sturdy arm. she knelt before it and inserted the key. aunt luceba rose and leaned over her shoulder, gazing with the fascination of horror. at the moment the lid was lifted, a curious odor filled the room.
-"my soul!" exclaimed aunt luceba. "o my soul!" she seemed incapable of saying more; and isabel, awed in spite of herself, asked, in a whisper:--
-"what's that smell? i know, but i can't think."
-"you take out that parcel," said aunt luceba, beginning to fan herself with her handkerchief. "that little one down there't the end. it's that. my soul! how things come back! talk about spirits! there's no need of 'em! things are full bad enough!"
-isabel lifted out a small brown paper package, labeled in a cramped handwriting. she held it to the fading light. "'slippery elm left by my dear father from his last illness,'" she read, with difficulty. "'the broken piece used by him on the day of his death.'"
-"my land!" exclaimed aunt luceba weakly. "now what'd she want to keep that for? he had it round all that winter, an' he used to give us a little mite, to please us. oh, dear! it smells like death. well, le's lay it aside an' git on. the light's goin', an' i must jog along. take out that dress. i guess i know what 't is, though i can't hardly believe it."
-isabel took out a black dress, made with a full, gathered skirt and an old-fashioned waist. "'dress made ready for aunt mercy,'" she read, "'before my dear uncle bought her a robe.' but, auntie," she added, "there's no back breadth!"
-"i know it! i know it! she was so large they had to cut it out, for fear 't wouldn't go into the coffin; an' monroe giles said she was a real particular woman, an' he wondered how she'd feel to have the back breadth of her quilted petticoat showin' in heaven. i declare i'm 'most sick! what's in that pasteboard box?"
-it was a shriveled object, black with long-dried mould.
-"'lemon held by timothy marden in his hand just before he died.' aunt luceba," said isabel, turning with a swift impulse, "i think aunt eliza was a horror!"
-"don't you say it, if you do think it," said her aunt, sinking into a chair and rocking vigorously. "le's git through with it as quick 's we can. ain't that a bandbox? yes, that's great-aunt isabel's leghorn bunnit. you was named for her, you know. an' there's cousin hattie's cashmere shawl, an' obed's spe'tacles. an' if there ain't old mis' eaton's false front! don't you read no more. i don't care what they're marked. move that box a mite. my soul! there's ma'am's checked apron i bought her to the fair! them are all her things down below." she got up and walked to the window, looking into the chestnut branches, with unseeing eyes. she turned about presently, and her cheeks were wet. "there!" she said; "i guess we needn't look no more. should you jest as soon burn 'em?"
-"yes," answered isabel. she was crying a little, too. "of course i will, auntie. i'll put 'em back now. but when you're gone, i'll do it; perhaps not till saturday, but i will then."
-she folded the articles, and softly laid them away. they were no longer gruesome, since even a few of them could recall the beloved and still remembered dead. as she was gently closing the lid, she felt a hand on her shoulder. aunt luceba was standing there, trembling a little, though the tears had gone from her face.
-"isabel," said she, in a whisper, "you needn't burn the apron, when you do the rest. save it careful. i should like to put it away among my things."
-isabel nodded. she remembered her grandmother, a placid, hopeful woman, whose every deed breathed the fragrance of godly living.
-"there!" said her aunt, turning away with the air of one who thrusts back the too insistent past, lest it dominate her quite. "it's gittin' along towards dark, an i must put for home. i guess that hoss thinks he's goin' to be froze to the ground. you wrop up my soap-stone while i git on my shawl. land! don't it smell hot? i wisht i hadn't been so spry about puttin' on't into the oven." she hurried on her things; and isabel, her hair blowing about her face, went out to uncover the horse and speed the departure. the reins in her hands, aunt luceba bent forward once more to add, "isabel, if there's one thing left for me to say, to tole you over to live with us, i want to say it."
-isabel laughed. "i know it," she answered brightly. "and if there's anything i can say to make you and aunt mary ellen come over here"--
-aunt luceba shook her head ponderously, and clucked at the horse. "fur's i'm concerned, it's settled now. i'd come, an' be glad. but there's mary ellen! go 'long!" she went jangling away along the country road to the music of old-fashioned bells.
-isabel ran into the house, and, with one look at the chest, set about preparing her supper. she was enjoying her life of perfect freedom with a kind of bravado, inasmuch as it seemed an innocent delight of which nobody approved. if the two aunts would come to live with her, so much, the better; but since they refused, she scorned the descent to any domestic expedient. indeed, she would have been glad to sleep, as well as to eat, in the lonely house; but to that her sister would never consent, and though she had compromised by going to sadie's for the night, she always returned before breakfast. she put up a leaf of the table standing by the wall, and arranged her simple supper there, uttering aloud as she did so fragments of her lesson, or dramatic sentences which had caught her fancy in reading or in speech. finally, as she was dipping her cream toast, she caught herself saying, over and over, "my soul!" in the tremulous tone her aunt had used at that moment of warm emotion. she could not make it quite her own, and she tried again and again, like a faithful parrot. then of a sudden the human power and pity of it flashed upon her, and she reddened, conscience-smitten, though no one was by to hear. she set her dish upon the table with indignant emphasis.
-"i'm ashamed of myself!" said isabel, and she sat down to her delicate repast, and forced herself, while she ate with a cordial relish, to fix her mind on what seemed to her things common as compared with her beloved ambition. isabel often felt that she was too much absorbed in reading, and that, somehow or other, god would come to that conclusion also, and take away her wicked facility.
-"but i can't help it," she said aloud, "i am afraid. i can't put out the light. he's seen it. i can't slip out the back door. he'd hear me on the crust. he'll--ask me--to-night! oh, he will! he will! and i said to myself i'd be cunning and never give him a chance. oh, why couldn't aunt luceba have stayed? my soul! my soul!" and then the dramatic fibre, always awake in her, told her that she had found the tone she sought.
-he was blanketing his horse, and isabel had flown into the sitting-room. her face was alive with resolution and a kind of joy. she had thought. she threw open the chest, with a trembling hand, and pulled out the black dress.
-"i'm sorry," she said, as she slipped it on over her head, and speaking as if she addressed some unseen guardian, "but i can't help it. if you don't want your things used, you keep him from coming in!"
-the parson knocked at the door. isabel took no notice. she was putting on the false front, the horn spectacles, the cashmere shawl, and the leghorn bonnet, with its long veil. she threw back the veil, and closed the chest. the parson knocked again. she heard him kicking the snow from his feet against the scraper. it might have betokened a decent care for her floors. it sounded to isabel like a lover's haste, and smote her anew with that fear which is the forerunner of action. she blew out the lamp, and lighted a candle. then she went to the door, schooling herself in desperation to remember this, to remember that, to remember, above all things, that her under dress was red and that her upper one had no back breadth. she threw open the door.
-"good-evening"--said the parson. he was, about to add "miss isabel," but the words stuck in his throat.
-"she ain't to home," answered isabel. "my niece ain't to home."
-the parson had bent forward, and was eyeing her curiously, yet with benevolence. he knew all the residents within a large radius, and he expected, at another word from the shadowy masker, to recognize her also. "will she be away long?" he hesitated.
-"i guess she will," answered isabel promptly. "she ain't to be relied on. i never found her so." her spirits had risen. she knew how exactly she was imitating aunt luceba's mode of speech. the tones were dramatically exact, albeit of a more resonant quality. "auntie's voice is like suet," she thought. "mine is vinegar. but i've got it!" a merry devil assailed her, the child of dramatic triumph. she spoke with decision: "won't you come in?"
-the parson crossed the sill, and waited courteously for her to precede him; but isabel thought, in time, of her back breadth, and stood aside.
-"you go fust," said she, "an' i'll shet the door."
-he made his way into the ill-lighted sitting-room, and began to unpin his shawl.
-"i ain't had my bunnit off sence i come," announced isabel, entering with some bustle, and taking her stand, until he should be seated, within the darkest corner of the hearth. "i've had to turn to an' clear up, or i shouldn't ha' found a spot as big as a hin's egg to sleep in to-night. maybe you don't know it, but my niece isabel's got no more faculty about a house'n i have for preachin'--not a mite."
-the parson had seated himself by the stove, and was laboriously removing his arctics. isabel's eyes danced behind her spectacles as she thought how large and ministerial they were. she could not see them, for the spectacles dazzled her, but she remembered exactly how they looked. everything about him filled her with glee, now that she was safe, though within his reach. "'now, infidel,'" she said noiselessly, "'i have thee on the hip!'"
-the parson had settled himself in his accustomed attitude when making parochial calls. he put the tips of his fingers together, and opened conversation in his tone of mild goodwill:--
-"i don't seem to be able to place you. a relative of miss isabel's, did you say?"
-she laughed huskily. she was absorbed in putting more suet into her voice.
-"you make me think of uncle peter nudd," she replied, "when he was took up into bunker hill monument. albert took him, one o' the boys that lived in boston. comin' down, they met a woman albert knew, an' he bowed. uncle peter looked round arter her, an' then he says to albert, 'i dunno's i rightly remember who that is!'"
-the parson uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. the old lady began to seem to him a thought too discursive, if not hilarious.
-"i know so many of the people in the various parishes"--he began, but he was interrupted without compunction.
-"you never'd know me. i'm from out west. isabel's father's brother married my uncle--no, i would say my step-niece. an' so i'm her aunt. by adoption, 't ennyrate. we al'ays call it so, leastways when we're writin' back an' forth. an' i've heard how isabel was goin' on, an' so i ketched up my bunnit, an' put for tiverton. 'if she ever needed her own aunt,' says i--'her aunt by adoption--she needs her now.'"
-once or twice, during the progress of this speech, the visitor had shifted his position, as if ill at ease. now he bent forward, and peered at his hostess.
-"isabel is well?" he began tentatively.
-"well enough! but, my sakes! i'd ruther she'd be sick abed or paraletic than carry on as she does. slack? my soul! i wisht you could see her sink closet! i wisht you could take one look over the dirty dishes she leaves round, not washed from one week's end to another!"
-"but she's always neat. she looks like an--an angel!"
-isabel could not at once suppress the gratified note which crept of itself into her voice.
-"that's the outside o' the cup an' platter," she said knowingly. "i thank my stars she ain't likely to marry. she'd turn any man's house upside down inside of a week."
-the parson made a deprecating noise in his throat. he seemed about to say something, and thought better of it.
-"it may be," he hesitated, after a moment,--"it may be her studies take up too much of her time. i have always thought these elocution lessons"--
-"oh, my land!" cried isabel, in passionate haste. she leaned forward as if she would implore him. "that's her only salvation. that's the makin' of her. if you stop her off there, i dunno but she'd jine a circus or take to drink! don't you dast to do it! i'm in the family, an' i know."
-the parson tried vainly to struggle out of his bewilderment.
-"but," said he, "may i ask how you heard these reports? living in illinois, as you do--did you say illinois or iowa?"
-"neither," answered isabel desperately. "'way out on the plains. it's the last house afore you come to the rockies. 'law! you can't tell how a story gits started, nor how fast it will travel. 'tain't like a gale o' wind; the weather bureau ain't been invented that can cal'late it. i heard of a man once that told a lie in california, an' 'fore the week was out it broke up his engagement in new hampshire. there's the 'tater-bug--think how that travels! so with this. the news broke out in missouri, an' here i be."
-"i hope you will be able to remain."
-"only to-night," she said in haste. more and more nervous, she was losing hold on the sequence of her facts. "i'm like mortal life, here to-day an' there to-morrer. in the mornin' i sha'n't be found." ("but isabel will," she thought, from a remorse which had come too late, "and she'll have to lie, or run away. or cut a hole in the ice and drown herself!")
-"i'm sorry to have her lose so much of your visit," began the parson courteously, but still perplexing himself over the whimsies of an old lady who flew on from the west, and made nothing of flying back. "if i could do anything towards finding her"--
-"i know where she is," said isabel unhappily. "she's as well on't as she can be, under the circumstances. there's on'y one thing you could do. if you should be willin' to keep it dark t you've seen me, i should be real beholden to ye. you know there ain't no time to call in the neighborhood, an' such things make talk, an' all. an' if you don't speak out to isabel, so much the better. poor creatur', she's got enough to bear without that!" her voice dropped meltingly in the keenness of her sympathy for the unfortunate girl who, embarrassed enough before, had deliberately set for herself another snare. "i feel for isabel," she continued, in the hope of impressing him with the necessity for silence and inaction. "i do feel for her! oh, gracious me! what's that?"
-a decided rap had sounded at the front door. the parson rose also, amazed at her agitation.
-"somebody knocked," he said. "shall i go to the door?"
-"oh, not yet, not yet!" cried isabel, clasping her hands under her cashmere shawl. "oh, what shall i do?"
-her natural voice had asserted itself, but, strangely enough, the parson did not comprehend. the entire scene was too bewildering. there came a second knock. he stepped toward the door, but isabel darted in front of him. she forgot her back breadth, and even through that dim twilight the scarlet of her gown shone ruddily out. she placed herself before the door.
-"don't you go!" she entreated hoarsely. "let me think what i can say."
-then the parson had his first inkling that the strange visitor must be mad. he wondered at himself for not thinking of it before, and the idea speedily coupled itself with isabel's strange disappearance. he stepped forward and grasped her arm, trembling under the cashmere shawl.
-"woman," he demanded sternly, "what have you done with isabel north?"
-isabel was thinking; but the question, twice repeated, brought her to herself. she began to laugh, peal on peal of hysterical mirth; and the parson, still holding her arm, grew compassionate.
-"poor soul!" said he soothingly. "poor soul! sit down here by the stove and be calm--be calm!"
-isabel was overcome anew.
-"oh, it isn't so!" she gasped, finding breath. "i'm not crazy. just let me be!"
-she started under his detaining hand, for the knock had come again. wrenching herself free, she stepped into the entry. "who's there?" she called.
-"it's your aunt mary ellen," came a voice from the darkness. "open the door."
-"o my soul!" whispered isabel to herself. "wait a minute!" she continued. "only a minute!"
-she thrust the parson back into the sitting-room, and shut the door. the act relieved her. if she could push a minister, and he could obey in such awkward fashion, he was no longer to be feared. he was even to be refused. isabel felt equal to doing it.
-"now, look here," said she rapidly; "you stand right there while i take off these things. don't you say a word. no, mr. bond, don't you speak!" bonnet, false front, and spectacles were tossed in a tumultuous pile.
-"isabel!" gasped the parson.
-"keep still!" she commanded. "here! fold this shawl!"
-"well," said aunt mary ellen, stepping in, "i'm afraid your hinges want greasing. how do you do, isabel? how do you do?" she put up her face and kissed her niece. aunt mary ellen was so pretty, so round, so small, that she always seemed timid, and did the commonest acts of life with a gentle grace. "i heard voices," she said, walking into the sitting-room. "sadie here?"
-the parson had stepped forward, more bent than usual, for he was peering down into her face.
-"mary ellen!" he exclaimed.
-the little woman looked up at him--very sadly, isabel thought.
-"yes, william," she answered. but she was untying her bonnet, and she did not offer to shake hands.
-isabel stood by with downcast eyes, waiting to take her things, and aunt mary ellen looked searchingly up at her as she laid her mittens on the pile. the girl, without a word, went into the bedroom, and her aunt followed her.
-"isabel," said she rapidly, "i saw the chest. have you burnt the things?"
-"no," answered isabel in wonder. "no."
-"then don't you! don't you touch 'em for the world." she went back into the sitting-room, and isabel followed. the candle was guttering, and aunt mary ellen pushed it toward her. "i don't know where the snuffers are," she said. "lamp smoke?"
-"sit a spell," she said. "i guess i shall have something to talk over with you."
-the parson sat down. he tried to put his fingers together, but they trembled, and he clasped his hands instead.
-"it's a long time since we've seen you in tiverton," he began.
-"it would have been longer," she answered, "but i felt as if my niece needed me."
-here isabel, to her own surprise, gave a little sob, and then another. she began crying angrily into her handkerchief.
-"isabel," said her aunt, "is there a fire in the kitchen?"
-"yes," sobbed the girl.
-"well, you go out there and lie down on the lounge till you feel better. cover you over and don't be cold. i'll call you when there's anything for you to do."
-tall isabel rose and walked out, wiping her eyes. her little aunt sat mistress of the field. for many minutes there was silence, and the clock ticked. the parson felt something rising in his throat. he blew his nose vigorously.
-"mary ellen"--he began. "but i don't know as you want me to call you so!"
-"you can call me anything you're a mind to," she answered calmly. she was nearsighted, and had always worn spectacles. she took them off and laid them on her knee. the parson moved involuntarily in his chair. he remembered how she had used to do that when they were talking intimately, so that his eager look might not embarrass her. "nothing makes much difference when folks get to be as old as you and i are."
-"i don't feel old," said the parson resentfully. "i do not! and you don't look so."
-"well, i am. we're past our youth. we've got to the point where the only way to renew it is to look out for the young ones."
-the parson had always had with her a way of reading her thought and bursting out boyishly into betrayal of his own.
-"mary ellen," he cried, "i never should have explained it so, but isabel looks like you!"
-she smiled sadly. "i guess men make themselves think 'most anything they want to," she answered. "there may be a family look, but i can't see it. she's tall, too, and i was always a pint o' cider--so father said."
-"she's got the same look in her eyes," pursued the parson hotly. "i've always thought so, ever since she was a little girl."
-"if you begun to notice it then," she responded, with the same gentle calm, "you'd better by half ha' been thinking of your own wife and her eyes. i believe they were black."
-"mary ellen, how hard you are on me! you didn't use to be. you never were hard on anybody. you wouldn't have hurt a fly."
-her face contracted slightly. "perhaps i wouldn't! perhaps i wouldn't! but i've had a good deal to bear this afternoon, and maybe i do feel a little different towards you from what i ever have felt. i've been hearing a loose-tongued woman tell how my own niece has been made town-talk because a man old enough to know better was running after her. i said, years ago, i never would come into this place while you was in it; but when i heard that, i felt as if providence had marked out the way. i knew i was the one to step into the breach. so i had tim harness up and bring me over, and here i am. william, i don't want you should make a mistake at your time of life!"
-the minister seemed already a younger man. a strong color had risen in his face. he felt in her presence a fine exhilaration denied him through all the years without her. who could say whether it was the woman herself or the resurrected spirit of their youth? he did not feel like answering her. it was enough to hear her voice. he leaned forward, looking at her with something piteous in his air.
-"mary ellen," he ventured, "you might as well say 'another mistake.' i did make one. you know it, and i know it."
-she looked at him with a frank affection, entirely maternal. "yes, william," she said, with the same gentle firmness in her voice, "we've passed so far beyond those things that we can speak out and feel no shame. you did make a mistake. i don't know as 'twould be called so to break with me, but it was to marry where you did. you never cared about her. you were good to her. you always would be, william; but 'twas a shame to put her there."
-the parson had locked his hands upon his knees. he looked at them, and sad lines of recollection deepened in his face.
-"i was desperate," he said at length, in a low tone. "i had lost you. some men take to drink, but that never tempted me. besides, i was a minister. i was just ordained. mary ellen, do you remember that day?" "yes," she answered softly, "i remember." she had leaned back in her chair, and her eyes were fixed upon vacancy with the suffused look of tears forbidden to fall.
-"you wore a white dress," went on the parson, "and a bunch of provence roses. it was june. your sister always thought you dressed too gay, but you said to her, 'i guess i can wear what i want, to, to-day of all times."
-"we won't talk about her. yes, i remember."
-"and, as god is my witness, i couldn't feel solemn, i was so glad! i was a minister, and my girl--the girl that was going to marry me--sat down there where i could see her, dressed in white. i always thought of you afterwards with that white dress on. you've stayed with me all my life, just that way."
-but the parson hardly heeded her. he was far away. "mary ellen," he broke out suddenly, a smile running warmly over his face, and creasing his dry, hollow cheeks, "do you remember that other sermon, my trial one? i read it to you, and then i read it to parson sibley. and do you remember what he said?"
-"yes, i remember. i didn't suppose you did." her cheeks were pink. the corners of her mouth grew exquisitely tender.
-"you knew i did! 'behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes.' i took that text because i couldn't think of anything else all summer. i remember now it seemed to me as if i was in a garden--always in a garden. the moon was pretty bright, that summer. there were more flowers blooming than common. it must have been a good year. and i wrote my sermon lying out in the pine woods, down where you used to sit hemming on your things. and i thought it was the church, but do all i could, it was a girl--or an angel!"
-"no, no!" cried mary ellen, in bitterness of entreaty.
-"and then i read the sermon to you under the pines, and you stopped sewing, and looked off into the trees; and you said 'twas beautiful. but i carried it to old parson sibley that night, and i can see just how he looked sitting there in his study, with his great spectacles pushed up on his forehead, and his hand drumming on a book. he had the dictionary put in a certain place on his table because he found he'd got used to drumming on the bible, and he was a very particular man. and when i got through reading the sermon, his face wrinkled all up, though he didn't laugh out loud, and he came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. 'william,' says he, 'you go home and write a doctrinal sermon, the stiffest you can. this one's about a girl. you might give it to mary ellen north for a wedding-present.'"
-the parson had grown almost gay under the vivifying influence of memory. but mary ellen did not smile.
-"yes," she repeated softly, "i remember."
-"and then i laughed a little, and got out of the study the best way i could, and ran over to you to tell you what he said. and i left the sermon in your work-basket. i've often wished, in the light of what came afterwards--i've often wished i'd kept it. somehow 'twould have brought me nearer to you."
-it seemed as if she were about to rise from her chair, but she quieted herself and dulled the responsive look upon her face.
-"mary ellen," the parson burst forth, "i know how i took what came on us the very next week, but i never knew how you took it. should you just as lieves tell me?"
-she lifted her head until it held a noble pose. her eyes shone brilliantly, though indeed they were doves' eyes.
-"i'll tell you," said she "i couldn't have told you ten years ago,--no, nor five! but now it's an old woman talking to an old man. i was given to understand you were tired of me, and too honorable to say so. i don't know what tale was carried to you"--
-"she said you'd say 'yes' to that rich fellow in sudleigh, if i'd give you a chance!"
-"i knew 'twas something as shallow as that. well, i'll tell you how i took it. i put up my head and laughed. i said, 'when william bond wants to break with me, he'll say so.' and the next day you did say so."
-the parson wrung his hands in an involuntary gesture of appeal.
-"minnie! minnie!" he cried, "why didn't you save me? what made you let me be a fool?"
-she met his gaze with a tenderness so great that the words lost all their sting.
-"you always were, william," she said quietly. "always rushing at things like job's charger, and having to rush back again. never once have i read that without thinking of you. that's why you fixed up an angel out of poor little isabel."
-the parson made a fine gesture of dissent. he had forgotten isabel.
-"do you want to know what else i did?" her voice grew hard and unfamiliar. "i'll tell you. i went to my sister eliza, and i said: 'some way or another, you've spoilt my life. i'll forgive you just as soon as i can--maybe before you die, maybe not. you come with me!' and i went up garret, where she kept the chest with things in it that belonged to them that had died. there it sets now. i stood over it with her. 'i'm going to put my dead things in here,' i said. if you touch a finger to 'em, i'll get up in meeting and tell what you've done. i'm going to put in everything left from what you've murdered; and every time you come here, you'll remember you were a murderer.' i frightened her. i'm glad i did. she's dead and gone, and i've forgiven her; but i'm glad now!"
-the parson looked at her with amazement. she seemed on fire. all the smouldering embers of a life denied had blazed at last. she put on her glasses and walked over to the chest.
-"here!" she continued; "let's uncover the dead. i've tried to do it ever since she died, so the other things could be burned; but my courage failed me. could you turn these screws, if i should get you a knife? they're in tight. i put 'em in myself, and she stood by."
-the little lid of the till had been screwed fast. the two middle-aged people bent over it together, trying first the scissors and then the broken blade of the parson's old knife. the screws came slowly. when they were all out, he stood back a pace and gazed at her. mary ellen looked no longer alert and vivified. her face was haggard.
-the parson lifted the lid. there they lay, her poor little relics,--a folded manuscript, an old-fashioned daguerreotype, and a tiny locket. the parson could not see. his hand shook as he took them solemnly out and gave them to her. she bent over the picture, and looked at it, as we search the faces of the dead. he followed her to the light, and, wiping his glasses, looked also.
-"that was my picture," he said musingly. "i never've had one since. and that was mother's locket. it had"--he paused and looked at her.
-"yes," said mary ellen softly; "it's got it now." she opened the little trinket; a warm, thick lock of hair lay within, and she touched it gently with her finger. "should you like the locket, because 'twas your mother's?"
-she hesitated; and though the parson's tone halted also, he answered at once:--
-"no, mary ellen, not if you'll keep it. i should rather think 'twas with you."
-she put her two treasures in her pocket, and gave him the other.
-"i guess that's your share," she said, smiling faintly. "don't read it here. just take it away with you."
-the manuscript had been written in the cramped and awkward hand of his youth, and the ink upon the paper was faded after many years. he turned the pages, a smile coming now and then.
-"'thou hast doves' eyes,'" he read,--"'thou hast doves' eyes!'" he murmured a sentence here and there. "mary ellen," he said at last, shaking his head over the manuscript in a droll despair, "it isn't a sermon. parson sibley had the rights of it. it's a love-letter!" and the two old people looked in each other's wet eyes and smiled.
-the woman was the first to turn away.
-"there!" said she, closing the lid of the chest; "we've said enough. we've wiped out old scores. we've talked more about ourselves than we ever shall again; for if old age brings anything, it's thinking of other people--them that have got life before 'em. these your rubbers?"
-the parson put them on, with a dazed obedience. his hand shook in buckling them. mary ellen passed him his coat, but he noticed that she did not offer to hold it for him. there was suddenly a fine remoteness in her presence, as if a frosty air had come between them. the parson put the sermon in his inner pocket, and buttoned his coat tightly over it. then he pinned on his shawl. at the door he turned.
-"mary ellen," said he pleadingly, "don't you ever want to see the sermon again? shouldn't you like to read it over?"
-she hesitated. it seemed for a moment as if she might not answer at all. then she remembered that they were old folks, and need not veil the truth.
-"i guess i know it 'most all by heart," she said quietly. "besides, i took a copy before i put it in there. good-night!"
-"good-night!" answered the parson joyously. he closed the door behind him and went crunching down the icy path. when he had unfastened the horse and sat tucking the buffalo-robe around him, the front door was opened in haste, and a dark figure came flying, down the walk.
-"mr. bond!" thrilled a voice.
-"whoa!" called the parson excitedly. he was throwing back the robe to leap from the sleigh when the figure reached him. "oh!" said he; "isabel!"
-she was breathing hard with excitement and the determination grown up in her mind during that last half hour of her exile in the kitchen.
-"parson,"--forgetting a more formal address, and laying her hand on his knee,--"i've got to say it! won't you please forgive me? won't you, please? i can't explain it"--
-"bless your heart, child!" answered the parson cordially; "you needn't try to. i guess i made you nervous."
-"yes," agreed isabel, with a sigh of relief, "i guess you did." and the parson drove away.
-isabel ran, light of heart and foot, back into the warm sitting-room, where aunt mary ellen was standing just where he had left her. she had her glasses off, and she looked at isabel with a smile so vivid that the girl caught her breath, and wondered within herself how aunt mary ellen had looked when she was young.
-"isabel," said she, "you come here and give me a corner of your apron to wipe my glasses. i guess it's drier'n my handkerchief."
-horn o' the moon
-if you drive along tiverton street, and then turn to the left, down the gully road, you journey, for the space of a mile or so, through a bewildering succession of damp greenery, with noisy brooks singing songs below you, on either side, and the treetops on the level with your horse's feet. few among the older inhabitants ever take this drive, save from necessity, because it is conceded that the dampness there is enough, even in summer, to "give you your death o' cold;" and as for the young, to them the place wears an eerie look, with its miniature suggestion of impassable gulfs and roaring torrents. yet no youth reaches his majority without exploring the gully. he who goes alone is the more a hero; but even he had best leave two or three trusty comrades reasonably near, not only to listen, should he call, but to stand his witnesses when he afterwards declares where he has been. it is a fearsome thing to explore that lower stratum of this round world, so close to the rushing brook that it drowns your thoughts, though not your apprehensions, and to go slipping about over wet boulders and among dripping ferns; but your fears are fears of the spirit. they are inherited qualms. you shiver because your grandfathers and fathers and uncles have shivered there before you. if you are very brave indeed, and naught but the topmost round of destiny will content you, possibly you penetrate still further into green abysses, and come upon the pool where, tradition says, an ancient trout has his impregnable habitation. apparently, nobody questions that the life of a trout may be indefinitely prolonged, under the proper conditions of a retired dusk; and the same fish that served our grandfathers for a legend now enlivens our childish days. when you meet a youngster, ostentatiously setting forth for the gully road, with bait-box and pole, you need not ask where he is going; though if you have any human sympathy in the pride of life, you will not deny him his answer:--
-"down to have a try for the old trout!"
-the pool has been still for many years. not within the memory of aged men has the trout turned fin or flashed a speckled side; but he is to this day an historical present. he has lived, and therefore he lives always.
-those who do not pause upon the gully road, but keep straight on into the open, will come into the old highway leading up and up to horn o' the moon. it is an unshaded, gravelly track, pointing duly up-hill for three long miles; and it has become a sober way to most of us, in this generation: for we never take it unless we go on the solemn errand of getting mary dunbar, that famous nurse, to care for our sick or dead. there is a tradition that a summer visitor once hired a "shay," and drove, all by herself, up to horn o' the moon, drawn on by the elusive splendor of its name. but she met such a dissuading flood of comment by the way as to startle her into the state of mind commonly associated with the gully road. farmers, haying in the field, came forward, to lean on the fence, and call excitedly,--
-"where ye goin'?"
-"horn o' the moon," replied she, having learned in tiverton the value of succinct replies.
-"got any folks up there?"
-"no. going to see the place."
-the effect of this varied. some looked in amazement; one ventured to say, "well, that's the beater!" and another dropped into the cabalistic remark which cannot be defined, but which has its due significance, "well, you must be sent for!" the result of all this running commentary was such that, when the visitor reached the top of the hill where horn o' the moon lies, encircled by other lesser heights, she was stricken by its exceeding desolation, and had no heart to cast more than a glance at the noble view below. she turned her horse, and trotted, recklessly and with many stumblings, down again into friendly tiverton.
-horn o' the moon is unique in its melancholy. it has so few trees, and those of so meagre and wind-swept a nature, that it might as well be entirely bald. no apples grow there; and in the autumn, the inhabitants make a concerted sally down into tiverton street, to purchase their winter stock, such of them as can afford it. the poorer folk--and they are all poor enough--buy windfalls, and string them to dry; and so common is dried-apple-pie among them that, when a tivertonian finds this makeshift appearing too frequently on his table, he has only to remark, "i should think this was horn o' the moon!" and it disappears, to return no more until the slur is somewhat outworn.
-there is very little grass at the top of the lonely height, and that of a husky, whispering sort, in thin ribbons that flutter low little songs in the breeze. they never cease; for, at horn o' the moon, there is always a wind blowing, differing in quality with the season. sometimes it is a sighing wind from other heights, happier in that they are sweet with firs. sometimes it is exasperating enough to make the march breezes below seem tender; then it tosses about in snatching gusts, buffeting, and slapping, and excoriating him who stands in its way. somehow, all the peculiarities of horn o' the moon seem referable, in a mysterious fashion, to the wind. the people speak in high, strenuous voices, striving to hold their own against its wicked strength. most of them are deaf. is that because the air beats ceaselessly against the porches of their ears? they are a stunted race; for they have grown into the habit of holding the head low, and plunging forward against that battling element. even the fowl at horn o' the moon are not of the ordinary sort. their feathers grow the wrong way, standing up in a ragged and disorderly fashion; and they, too, have the effect of having been blown about and disarranged, until nature yielded, and agreed to their permanent roughness.
-moreover, all the people are old or middle-aged; and possibly that is why, again, the settlement is so desolate. it is a disgrace for us below to marry with horn o' the mooners, though they are a sober folk; and now it happens that everybody up there is the cousin of everybody else. the race is dying out, we say, as if we considered it a distinct species; and we agree that it would have been wiped away long ago, by weight of its own eccentricity, had not mary dunbar been the making of it. she is the one righteous among many. she is the good nurse whom we all go to seek, in our times of trouble, and she perpetually saves her city from the odium of the world.
-mary was born in tiverton street. we are glad to remember that, we who condemn by the wholesale, and are assured that no good can come out of nazareth. when she was a girl of eighteen, her father and mother died; and she fell into a state of spiritual exaltation, wherein she dreamed dreams, and had periods of retirement within her house, communing with other intelligences. we said mary had lost her mind; but that was difficult to believe, since no more wholesome type of womanhood had ever walked our streets. she was very tall, built on the lines of a beauty transcending our meagre strain. nobody approved of those broad shoulders and magnificent arms. we said it was a shame for any girl to be so overgrown; yet our eyes followed her, delighted by the harmony of line and action. then we whispered that she was as big as a moose, and that, if we had such arms, we never'd go out without a shawl. her "mittins" must be wide enough for any man!
-mary did everything perfectly. she walked as if she went to meet the morning, and must salute it worthily. she carried a weight as a goddess might bear the infant bacchus; and her small head, poised upon that round throat, wore the crown of simplicity, and not of pride. but we only told how strong she was, and how much she could lift. we loved mary, but sensibility had to shrink from those great proportions and that elemental strength.
-one snowy morning, mary's spiritual vision called her out of our midst, to which she never came back save as we needed her. the world was very white that day, when she rose, in her still house, dressed herself hastily, and roused a neighbor, begging him to harness, and drive her up to horn o' the moon. folks were sick there, with nobody to take care of them. the neighbor reasoned, and then refused, as one might deny a person, however beloved, who lives by the intuitions of an unseen world. mary went home again, and, as he believed, to stay. but she had not hesitated in her allegiance to the heavenly voice. somehow, through the blinding snow and unbroken road, she ploughed her way up to horn o' the moon, where she found an epidemic of diphtheria; and there she stayed. we marveled over her guessing how keenly she was needed; but since she never explained, it began to be noised abroad that some wandering peddler told her. that accounted for everything; and mary had no time for talk. she was too busy, watching with the sick, and going about from house to house, cooking delicate gruels and broiling chicken for those who were getting well. it is said that she even did the barn work, and milked the cows, during that tragic time. we were not surprised. mary was a great worker, and she was fond of "creatur's."
-whether she came to care for these stolid people on the height, or whether the vision counseled her, mary gave up her house in the village, and bought a little old dwelling under an overhanging hillside, at horn o' the moon. it was a nest built into the rock, its back sitting snugly there. the dark came down upon it quickly. in winter, the sun was gone from the little parlor as early as three o'clock; but mary did not mind. that house was her temporary shell; she only slept in it in the intervals of hurrying away, with blessed feet, to tend the sick, and hold the dying in untiring arms. i shall never forget how, one morning, i saw her come out of the door, and stand silent, looking toward the rosy east. there was the dawn, and there was she, its priestess, while all around her slept. i should not have been surprised had her lips, parted already in a mysterious smile, opened still further in a prophetic chanting to the sun. but mary saw me, and the alert, answering look of one who is a messenger flashed swiftly over her face. she advanced like the leader of a triumphal procession.
-"anybody want me?" she called. "i'll get my bunnit."
-it was when she was twenty, and not more than settled in the little house at horn o' the moon, that her story came to her. the veaseys were her neighbors, perhaps five doors away; and one summer morning, johnnie veasey came home from sea. he brought no money, no coral from foreign parts, nor news of grapes in eshcol. he simply came empty-handed, as he always did, bearing only, to vouch for his wanderings, a tanned face, and the bright, red-brown eyes that had surely looked on things we never saw. adam veasey, his brother; had been paralyzed for years. he sat all day in the chimney corner, looking at his shaking hands, and telling how wide a swathe he could cut before he was afflicted. mattie, adam's wife, had long dealt with the problem of an unsupported existence. she had turned into a flitting little creature with eager eyes, who made it her business to prey upon a more prosperous world. mattie never went about without a large extra pocket attached to her waist; into this, she could slip a few carrots, a couple of doughnuts, or even a loaf of bread. she laid a lenient tax upon the neighbors and the town below. was there a frying of doughnuts at horn o' the moon? no sooner had the odor risen upon the air, than mattie stood on the spot, dumbly insistent on her toll. her very clothes smelled of food; and it was said that, in fly-time, it was a sight to see her walk abroad, because of the hordes of insects settling here and there on her odoriferous gown. when johnnie veasey appeared, mattie's soul rose in arms. their golden chance had come at last.
-"you got paid off?" she asked him, three minutes after his arrival, and johnnie owned, with the cheerfulness of those rich only in hope, that he did get paid, and lost it all, the first night on shore. he got into the wrong boarding-house, he said. it was the old number, but new folks.
-mattie acquiesced, with a sigh. he would make his visit and go again, and, that time, perhaps fortune might attend him.. so she went over to old mrs. hardy's, to borrow a "riz loaf," and the wanderer was feasted, according to her little best.
-"who's that?" asked johnnie of the village fathers.
-johnnie watched her walking away, for the rhythm of her motion attracted him. he did not think her pretty; no one ever thought that.
-it happened, then, that he spent two or three evenings at the hardys', where mary went, every night, to rub grandmother and put her to bed; and while she sat there in the darkened room, soothing the old woman for her dreary vigil, she heard his golden tales of people in strange lands. it seemed very wonderful to mary. she had not dreamed there were such lands in all the world; and when she hurried home, it was to hunt out her old geography, and read it until after midnight. she followed rivers to their sources, and dwelt upon mountains with amazing names. she was seeing the earth and its fullness, and her heart beat fast.
-next day she went away for a long case, giving only one little sigh in the going, to the certainty that, when she came back, johnnie veasey would be off on another voyage to lands beyond the sea. mary was not of the sort who cry for the moon just because they have seen it. she had simply begun to read a fairy tale, and somebody had taken it away from her and put it high on the shelf. but on the very first morning after her return, when she rose early, longing for the blissful air of her own bleak solitude, mattie veasey stood there at her door. mary had but one first question for every comer:--
-"you let me step in," answered mattie, a determined foot on the sill. "i want to tell you how things stand."
-it was evident that mattie was going on a journey. she was an exposition of the domestic resources of horn o' the moon. her dress came to the tops of her boots. it was the plaid belonging to stella hardy, who had died in her teens. it hooked behind; but that was no matter, for the enveloping shawl, belonging to old mrs. titcomb, concealed that youthful eccentricity. her shoes--congress, with world-weary elastics at the side--were her own, inherited from an aunt; and her bonnet was a rusty black, with a mourning veil. there was, at that time, but one new bonnet at horn o' the moon, and its owner had sighed, when mattie proposed for it, brazenly saying that she guessed nobody'd want anything that set so fur back. whereupon the suppliant sought out mrs. pillsbury, whose mourning headgear, bought in a brief season of prosperity, nine years before, had become, in a manner, village property. it was as duly in public requisition as the hearse; and its owner cherished a melancholy pride in this official state. she never felt as if she owned it,--only that she was the keeper of a sacred trust; and mattie, in asking for it, knew that she demanded no more than her due, as a citizen should. it was an impersonal matter between her and the bonnet; and though she should wear it on a secular errand, the veil did not signify. she knew everybody else knew whose bonnet it was; and that if anybody supposed she had met with a loss, they had only to ask, and she to answer. so, in the consciousness of an armor calculated to meet the world, she skillfully brought her congress boots into mary's kitchen, and sat down, her worn little hands clasped under the shawl.
-"you've just got home," said she. "i s'pose you ain't heard what's happened to johnnie?"
-mary rose, a hand upon her chair.
-"no! no! he don't want no nussin'. you set down. i can't talk so--ready to jump an' run. my! how good that tea does smell!"
-mary brought a cup, and placed it at her hand, with the deft manner of those who have learned to serve. mattie sugared it, and tasted, and sugared again.
-"my! how good that is!" she repeated. "you don't steep it to rags, as some folks do. i have to, we're so nigh the wind. well, you hadn't been gone long before johnnie had a kind of a fall. 't wa'n't much of a one, neither,--down the ledge. i dunno how he done it--he climbs like a cat--seems as if the old boy was in it--but half his body he can't move. palsy, i s'pose; numb, not shakin', like adam's."
-mary listened gravely; her hands on her knees.
-"how long's he been so?"
-"nigh on to five weeks."
-"had the doctor?"
-"yes, we called in that herb-man over to saltash, an' he says there ain't no chance for him. he's goin' to be like adam, only wuss. an' i've been down to the poor farm, to tell 'em they've got to take him in." her little hands worked; her eager eyes ate their way into the heart. mary could see exactly how she had had her way with the selectmen. "i told 'em they'd got to," she repeated. "he ain't got no money, an' we ain't got nuthin', an' have two paraletics on my hands i can't. so they told me they'd give me word to-day; an' i'm goin' down to settle it. i'm in hopes they'll bring me back, an' take him along down."
-"yes," answered mary gravely. "yes."
-"yes, indeed," said mary dunbar. "i'll be there."
-she rose, and mattie, albeit she dearly loved to gossip, felt that she must rise, too, and be on her way. she tried to amplify on what she had already said, but mary did not seem to be listening; so, treading carefully, lest the dust and dew beset her precious shoes, she took her way down the hill, like a busy little ant, born to scurry and gather.
-mary looked hastily about the room, to see if its perfect order needed a farewell touch; and then she drank her cup of tea, and stepped out into the morning. the air was fresh and sweet. she wore no shawl, and the wind lifted the little brown rings on her forehead, and curled them closer. mary held a hand upon them, and hurried on. she had no more thought of appearances than a woman in a desert land, or in the desert made by lack of praise; for she knew no one looked at her. to be clean and swift was all her life demanded.
-adam sat by the stove, where the ashes were still warm. it was not a day for fires, but he loved his accustomed corner. he was a middle-aged man, old with the suffering which is not of years, and the pathos of his stricken state hung about him, from his unkempt beard to the dusty black clothing which had been the tiverton minister's outworn suit. one would have said he belonged to the generation before his brother.
-"that you, mary?" he asked, in his shaking voice. "now, ain't that good? come to set a spell?"
-"where is he?" responded mary, in a swift breathlessness quite new to her.
-"in there. we put up a bed in the clock-room."
-it was the unfinished part of the house. the veaseys had always meant to plaster, but that consummation was still afar. the laths showed meagrely; it was a skeleton of a room,--and, sunken in the high feather-bed between the two windows, lay johnnie veasey, his buoyancy all gone, his face quite piteous to see, now that its tan had faded. mary went up to the bedside, and laid one cool, strong hand upon his wrist. his eyes sought her with a wild entreaty; but she knew, although he seemed to suffer, that this was the misery of delirium, and not the conscious mind. adam had come trembling to the door, and stood there, one hand beating its perpetual tattoo upon the wall. mary looked up at him with that abstracted gaze with which we weigh and judge.
-"he's feverish," said she. "mattie didn't tell me that. how long's he been so?"
-"i dunno. i guess a matter o' two days."
-"well, it might be off an' on ever sence he fell." adam was helpless. he depended upon mattie, and mattie was not there.
-"what did the doctor leave?"
-adam looked about him. "'t was the herb doctor," he said. "he had her steep some trade in a bowl."
-mary dunbar drew her hand away, and walked two or three times up and down the bare, bleak room. the seeking eyes were following her. she knew how little their distended agony might mean; but nevertheless they carried an entreaty. they leaned upon her, as the world, her sick world, was wont to lean. mary was, in many things, a child; but her attitude had grown to be maternal. suddenly she turned to adam, where he stood, shaking and hesitating, in the doorway.
-"you goin' to send him off?"
-"pears as if that's the only way," shuffled adam.
-"well, i dunno 's they'll come"--
-mary walked past him, her mind assured.
-"there, that'll do," said she. "you set down in your corner. i'll be back byme-by."
-she hurried out into the bleak world which was her home, and, at that moment, it looked very fair and new. the birds were singing, loudly as they ever sang up here where there were few leaves to nest in. mary stopped an instant to listen, and lifted her face wordlessly to the clear blue sky. it seemed as if she had been given a gift. there, before one of the houses, she called aloud, with a long, lingering note, "jacob!" and jacob pease rose from; his milking-stool, and came forward. jacob was tall and snuff-colored, a widower of three years' standing. there was a theory that he wanted mary, and lacked the courage to ask her.
-"that you, mary dunbar?" said he. "anything on hand?"
-"i want you to come and help me lift," answered mary.
-jacob set down his milk pail, and followed her into the veaseys' kitchen. she drew out the tin basin, and filled it at the sink.
-"wash your hands," said she. "adam, you set where you generally do. you'll be in the way."
-jacob followed her into the sick-room, and adam weakly shuffled in behind.
-"for the land's sake!" he began, but mary was at the head of the bed, and jacob at the foot.
-"i'll carry his shoulders," she said, in the voice that admits no demur. "you take his feet and legs. sort o' fold the feather-bed up round him, or we never shall get him through the door."
-"which way?" asked jacob, still entirely at rest on a greater mind.
-"out!" commanded mary,--"out the front door."
-adam, in describing that dramatic moment, always declared that nobody but mary dunbar could have engineered a feather-bed through the narrow passage, without sticking midway. he recalled an incident of his boyhood when, in the titcomb fire, the whole family had spent every available instant before the falling of the roof, in trying to push the second-best bed through the attic window, only to leave it there to burn. but mary dunbar took her patient through the doorway as napoleon marched over the alps; she went with him down the road toward her own little house under the hill. only then did adam, still shuffling on behind, collect his intelligence sufficiently to shout after her,--
-"mary, what under the sun be you doin' of? what you want me to tell mattie? s'pose she brings the selec'men, mary dunbar!"
-she made no reply, even by a glance. she walked straight on, as if her burden lightened, and into her own cave-like house and her little neat bedroom.
-"lay him down jest as he is," she said to jacob. "we won't try to shift him to-day. let him get over this."
-jacob stretched himself, after his load, put his hands in his pockets, and made up his mouth into a soundless whistle.
-"yes! well!" said he. "guess i better finish milkin'."
-mary put her patient "to-rights," and set some herb drink on the back of the stove. presently the little room was filled with the steamy odor of a bitter healing, and she was on the battlefield where she loved to conquer. in spite of her heaven-born instinct, she knew very little about doctors and their ways of cure. earth secrets were hers, some of them inherited and some guessed at, and luckily she had never been involved in those greater issues to be dealt with only by an exalted science. later in her life, she was to get acquainted with the young doctor, down in tiverton street, and hear from him what things were doing in his world. she was to learn that a hospital is not a slaughter house incarnadined with writhing victims, as some of us had thought. she was even to witness the magic of a great surgeon; though that was in her old age, when her attitude toward medicine had become one of humble thankfulness that, in all her daring, she had done no harm. to-day, she thought she could set a bone or break up a fever; and there was no doubt in her mind that, if other deeds were demanded of her, she should be led in the one true way. so she sat down by her patient, and was watching there, hopeful of moisture on his palm, when mattie broke into the front room, impetuous as the wind. mary rose and stepped out to meet her, shutting the door as she went. passing the window, she saw the selectmen, in the vehicle known as a long-reach, waiting at the gate.
-"hush, mattie!" said she, "you'll wake him."
-mattie, in her ill-assorted respectabilities of dress, seemed to have been involved but recently in some bacchanalian orgie. her shawl was dragged to one side, and her bonnet sat rakishly. she was intoxicated with her own surprise.
-"mary dunbar!" cried she, "i'd like to know the meanin' of all this go-round!"
-"there!" answered mary, with a quietude like that of the sea at ebb, "i can't stop to talk. i'll settle it with the selec'men. you come, too."
-mattie's eyes were seeking the bedroom. leave her alone, and her feet would follow. "you come along," repeated mary, and mattie came.
-when the three selectmen saw mary dunbar stepping down the little slope, they gathered about them all their official dignity. ebenezer tolman sat a little straighter than usual, and uttered a portentous cough. lothrop wilson, mild by nature, and rather prone to whiffling in times of difficulty, frowned, with conscious effort; but that was only because he knew, in his own soul, how loyally he loved the under-dog, let justice go as it might. then there was eli pike, occupying himself in pulling a rein from beneath the horse's tail. these two hated warfare, and were nervously conscious, that, should they fail in firmness, ebenezer would deal with them. mary went swiftly up to the wagon, and laid one hand upon the wheel.
-"i've got john veasey in my house," she began rapidly. "i can't stop to talk. he's pretty sick."
-ebenezer cleared his throat again.
-"we understood his folks had put him on the town," said he.
-mattie made a little eager sound, and then stopped.
-"he ain't on the town yet," said mary. "he's in my bedroom. an' there he's goin' to stay. i've took this job." she turned away from them, erect in her decision, and went up the path. eli pike looked after her, with an understanding sympathy. he was the man who had walked two miles, one night, to shoot a fox, trapped, and left there helpless with a broken leg. lothrop gazed straight ahead, and said nothing.
-"look here!" called ebenezer. "mary! mary! you look here!"
-mary turned about at the door. she was magnificent in her height and dignity. even ebenezer felt almost ashamed of what he had to say; but still the public purse must be regarded.
-"you can't bring in a bill for services," he announced. "if he's on the town, he'll have to go right into the poorhouse with the rest."
-mary made no answer. she stood there a second, looking at him, and he remarked to eli, "i guess you might drive on."
-but mattie, following mary up to the house, to talk it over, tried the door in vain.
-"my land!" she ejaculated, "if she ain't bolted it!" so the nurse and her patient were left to themselves.
-as to the rest of the story, i tell it as we hear it still in tiverton. at first, it was reckoned among the miracles; but when the new doctor came, he explained that it accorded quite honestly with the course of violated nature, and that, with some slight pruning here and there, the case might figure in his books. what science would say about it, i do not know; tradition was quite voluble.
-it proved a very long time before johnnie grew better, and in all those days mary dunbar was a happy woman. she stepped about the house, setting it in order, watching her charge, and making delicate possets for him to take. when the "herb-man" came, she turned him away from the door with a regal courtesy. it was not so much that she despised his knowledge, as that he knew no more than she, and this was her patient. the young doctor in tiverton told her afterwards that she had done a dangerous thing in not calling in some accredited wearer of the cloth; but mary did not think of that. she went on her way of innocence, delightfully content. and all those days, johnnie veasey, as soon as he came out of his fever, lay there and watched her with eyes full of a listless wonder. he was still in that borderland of helplessness where the unusual seems only a part of the new condition of things. neighbors called, and mary refused them entrance, with a finality which admitted no appeal.
-"i've got sickness here," she would say, standing in the doorway confronting them. "he's too weak to see anybody; i guess i won't ask you in."
-"won't you set down here?" she asked. "i've got sickness, an' i can't have talkin' any nearer. i'm glad it's a warm day."
-the minister looked at the step, and then at mary. he felt as if his dignity had been mildly assaulted, and he preferred to stand.
-"i should like to offer prayer for the young man," he said. "i had hoped to see him."
-mary smiled at him in that impersonal way of hers.
-"i don't let anybody see him," said she. "i guess we shall all have to pray by ourselves."
-the minister was somewhat nettled. he was young enough to feel the slight to his official position; and moreover, there were things which his rigid young wife, primed by the wonder of the town, had enjoined upon him to say. he flushed to the roots of his smooth brown hair.
-"i suppose you know," said he, "that you're taking a very peculiar stand."
-mary turned her head, to listen. she thought she heard her patient breathing, and her mind was with him.
-"you seem," said the minister, "to have taken in a man who has no claim on you, instead of letting him stay with his people. if you are going to marry him, let me advise you to do it now, and not wait for him to get well. the opinion of the world is, in a measure, to be respected,--though only in a measure."
-mary had risen to go in, but now she turned upon him.
-"married!" she repeated; and then again, in a hushed voice,--"married!"
-"yes," replied the minister testily, standing by his guns, "married."
-mary looked at him a moment, and then again she moved away. she glanced round at him, as she entered the door, and said very gently, "i guess you better go now. good-day."
-she closed the door, and the minister heard her bolt it. he told his wife briefly, on reaching home, that there wasn't much chance to talk with mary, and perhaps the less there was said about it the better.
-but as mary sat down by her patient's bed, her face settled into sadness, because she was thinking about the world. it had not, heretofore, been one of her recognized planets; now that it had swung her way, she marveled at it.
-the very next night, while she was eating her supper in the kitchen, the door opened, and mattie walked in. mattie had been washing late that afternoon. she always washed at odd times, and often in dull weather her undried clothes hung for days upon the line. she was "all beat out," for she had begun at three, and steamed through her work, to have an early supper at five.
-"there, mary dunbar!" cried she; "i said i'd do it, an' i have. there ain't a neighbor got into this house for weeks, an' folks that want you to go nussin' have been turned away. i says to adam, this very afternoon, 'i'll be whipped if i don't git in an' see what's goin' on!' there's some will have it johnnie's got well, an' drove away without saying good-by to his own folks, an' some say he ain't likely to live, an' there he lays without a last word to his own brother! as for the childern, they've got an idea suthin' 's been done to uncle johnnie, an' you can't mention him but they cry."
-mary rose calmly and began clearing her table. "i guess i wouldn't mention him, then," said she.
-a muffled sound came from the bedroom. it might have been laughter. then there was a little crack, and mary involuntarily looked at the lamp chimney. she hurried into the bedroom, and stopped short at sight of her patient, lying there in the light of the flickering fire. his face had flushed, and his eyes were streaming.
-"i laughed so," he said chokingly. "she always makes me. and something snapped into place in my neck. i don't know what it was,--but i can move!"
-he held out his hand to her. mary did not touch it; she only stood looking at him with a wonderful gaze of pride and recognition, and yet a strange timidity. she, too, flushed, and tears stood in her eyes.
-"i'll go and tell mattie," said she, turning toward the door. "you want to see her?"
-"for god's sake, no! not till i'm on my feet." he was still laughing. "i guess i can get up to-morrow."
-mary went swiftly out, and shut the door behind her.
-"i guess you better not see him to-night," she said. "you can come in to-morrer. i shouldn't wonder if he'd be up then."
-"i told adam"--began mattie, but mary put a hand on her thin little arm, and held it there.
-"i'd rather talk to-morrer," said she gently. "don't you come in before 'leven; but you come. tell adam to, if he wants. i guess your brother'll be gettin' away before long." she opened the outer door, and mattie had no volition but to go. "it's a nice night, ain't it?" called mary cheerfully, after her. "seems as if there never was so many stars."
-then she went back into the kitchen, and with the old thrift and exactitude prepared her patient's supper. he was sitting upright, bolstered against the head of the bed; and he looked like a great mischievous boy, who had, in some way, gained a long-desired prize.
-"see here!" he called. "tell me i can't get up to-morrow? why, i could walk!"
-"how'd i come here in your house, any way?" he asked. "mattie and adam put me here to get rid of me? tell me all over again."
-"i take care of folks, you know," answered mary briefly. "i have, for more 'n two years. it's my business."
-johnnie looked at her a moment, crimsoning as he tried to speak.
-"what you goin' to ask?"
-mary started. then she answered steadily--
-"that's all right. i don't ask much, anyway; but when folks don't have ready money, i never ask anything. there, you mustn't talk no more, even if you are well. i've got to wash these dishes."
-she left him to his meditations, and only once more that evening did they speak together. when she came to the door, to say good-night, he was flat among his pillows, listening for her.
-"say!" he called, "you come in. no, you needn't unless you want to; but if ever i earn another cent of money, you'll see. and i ain't the only friend you've got. there's a girl down in southport would do anything in the world for you, if she only knew."
-next morning, johnnie walked weakly out of doors, despite his nurse's cautions; for, not knowing what had happened to him, she was in a wearying dark as to whether it might not happen again. after his breakfast, he got a ride with jacob pease, who was going down sudleigh way, and jacob came back without him. he bore a message, full of gratitude, to mary. at sudleigh, johnnie had telegraphed, to find out whether the ship firewing was still in port; and he had heard that he must lose no time in joining her. he should never forget what mary had done for him. so jacob said; but he was a man of tepid words, and perhaps he remembered the message too coldly.
-when mattie came over, that afternoon, to make her call, she found the house closed. mary had gone on foot down into tiverton, where old mrs. lamson, who was sick with a fever, lay still in need. it was many weeks before she came home again to horn o' the moon; and then grandfather sinclair had broken his leg, so that interest in her miracle became temporarily inactive.
-two years had gone when there came to her a little package, through the tiverton mail. it was tied with the greatest caution, and directed in a straggling hand. mary opened it just as she struck into the gully road, on her way home. inside was a little purse, and three gold pieces. she paused there, under the branches, the purse in one hand, and the gold lying within her other palm. for a long time she stood looking at them, her face set in that patient sadness seen in those whose only holding is the past. it was all over and done, and yet it had never been at all. she thought a little about herself, and that was very rare, for mary. she was not the poorer for what her soul desired; she was infinitely the richer, and she remembered the girl at southport, not with the pang that once afflicted her heart, but with a warm, outrushing sense of womanly sympathy. if he had money, perhaps he could marry. perhaps he was married now. coming out of the gully road, she opened the purse again, and the sun struck richly upon the gold within. mary smiled a little, wanly, but still with a sense of the good, human kinship in life.
-"i won't ever spend 'em," she said to herself. "i'll keep 'em to bury me."
-a stolen festival
-david macy's house stood on the spur of a breezy upland at the end of a road. the faraway neighbors, who lived on the main highway and could see the passin', often thanked their stars that they had been called to no such isolation; you might, said they, as well be set down in the middle of pastur'. they wondered how david's letty could stand it. she had been married 'most a year, and before that she was forever on the go. but there! if david macy had told her the sun rose in the west, she'd ha' looked out for it there every identical mornin'.
-the last proposition had some color in it; for letty was very much in love. to an impartial view, david was a stalwart fellow with clear gray eyes and square shoulders, a prosperous yeoman of the fibre to which america owes her being. but according to letty he was something superhuman in poise and charm. david had no conception of his heroic responsibilities; nothing could have puzzled him more than to guess how the ideal of him grew and strengthened in her maiden mind, and how her after-worship exalted it into something thrilling and passionate, not to be described even by a tongue more facile than hers. letty had a vivid nature, capable of responding to those delicate influences which move to spiritual issues. there were throes of love within her, of aspiration, of an ineffable delight in being. she never tried to understand them, nor did she talk about them; but then, she never tried to paint the sky or copy the robin's song. life was very mysterious; but one thing was quite as mysterious as another. she did sometimes brood for a moment over the troubled sense that, in some fashion, she spoke in another key from "other folks," who did not appear to know that joy is not altogether joy, but three-quarters pain, and who had never learned how it brings its own aching sense of incompleteness; but that only seemed to her a part of the general wonder of things. there had been one strange may morning in her life when she went with her husband into the woods, to hunt up a wild steer. she knew every foot of the place, and yet one turn of the path brought them into the heart of a picture thrillingly new with the unfamiliarity of pure and living beauty. the evergreens enfolded them in a palpable dusk; but entrancingly near, shimmering under a sunny gleam, stood a company of birches in their first spring wear. they were trembling, not so much under the breeze as from the hurrying rhythm of the year. their green was vivid enough to lave the vision in light; and letty looked beyond it to a brighter vista still. there, in an opening, lay a bank of violets, springing in the sun. their blue was a challenge to the skyey blue above; it pierced the sight, awaking new longings and strange memories. it seemed to letty as if some invisible finger touched her on the heart and made her pause. then david turned, smiling kindly upon her, and she ran to him with a little cry, and put her arms about his neck.
-"what is it?" he asked, stroking her hair with a gentle hand. "what is it, little child?"
-"oh, it's nothin'!'" said letty chokingly. "it's only--i like you so!"
-the halting thought had no purple wherein to clothe itself; but it meant as much as if she had read the poets until great words had become familiar, and she could say "love." he was the spring day, the sun, the blue of the sky, the quiver of leaves; and she felt it, and had a pain at her heart.
-now, on an autumn morning, david was standing within the great space in front of the barn, greasing the wheels preliminary to a drive to market; and letty stood beside him, bareheaded, her breakfast dishes forgotten. she was a round thing, with quick movements not ordinarily belonging to one so plump; her black hair was short, and curled roughly, and there were freckles on her little snub nose. david looked up at her red cheeks and the merry shine of her eyes, and smiled upon her.
-"you look pretty nice this mornin'," he remarked.
-letty gave a little dancing step and laughed. the sun was bright; there was a purple haze over the hills, and the nearer woods were yellow. the world was a jewel newly set for her.
-"i am nice!" said she. "david, do you know our anniversary's comin' on? it's 'most a year since we were married,--a year the fifteenth."
-david loosened the last wheel, and rose to look at her.
-"sho!" said he, with great interest "is that so? well, 't was a good bargain. best trade i ever made in my life!"
-"and we've got to celebrate," said letty masterfully. "i'll tell you how. i've had it all planned for a month. we'll get up at four, have our breakfast, ride over to star pond, and picnic all day long. we'll take a boat and go out rowin', and we'll eat our dinner on the water!"
-david smiled back at her, and then, with a sudden recollection, pursed his lips.
-"i'm awful sorry, letty," he said honestly, "but i've got to go over to long pastur' an' do that fencin', or i can't put the cattle in there before we turn 'em into the shack. you know that fence was all done up in the spring, but that cussed breachy cow o' tolman's hooked it down; an' if i wait for him to do it--well, you know what he is!"
-"oh, you can put off your fencin'!" cried letty. "only one day! oh, you can!"
-"i could 'most any other time," said david, with reason, "but here it is 'most saturday, an' next week the thrashin'-machine's comin'. i'm awful sorry, letty. i am, honest!"
-letty turned half round like a troubled child, and began grinding one heel into the turf. she was conscious of an odd mortification. it was not, said her heart, that the thing itself was so dear to her; it was only that david ought to want immeasurably to do it. she always put great stress upon the visible signs of an invisible bond, and she would be long in getting over her demand for the unreason of love.
-david threw down the monkey-wrench, and put an arm about her waist.
-"come, now, you don't care, do you?" he asked lovingly. "one day's the same as another, now ain't it?"
-"is it?" said letty, a smile running over her face and into her wet eyes. "well, then, le's have fourth o' july fireworks next sunday mornin'!"
-david looked a little hurt; but that was only because he was puzzled. his sense of humor wore a different complexion from letty's. he liked a joke, and he could tell a good story, but they must lie within the logic of fun. letty could put her own interpretation on her griefs, and twist them into shapes calculated to send her into hysterical mirth.
-"you see," said david soothingly, "we're goin' to be together as long as we live. it ain't as if we'd got to rake an' scrape an' plan to git a minute alone, as it used to be, now is it? an' after the fencin' 's done, an' the thrashin', an' we've got nothin' on our minds, we'll take both horses an' go to star pond. come, now! be a good girl!"
-the world seemed very quiet because letty was holding silence, and he looked anxiously down at the top of her head. then she relented a little and turned her face up to his--her rebellious eyes and unsteady mouth. but meeting the loving honesty of his look, her heart gave a great bound of allegiance, and she laughed aloud.
-"there!" she said. "have it so. i won't say another word. i don't care!"
-these were david's unconscious victories, born, not of his strength or tyranny, but out of the woman's maternal comprehension, her lavish concession of all the small things of life to the one great code. she had taken him for granted, and thenceforth judged him by the intention and not the act.
-david was bending to kiss her, but he stopped midway, and his arm fell.
-"there's debby low," said he. "by jinks! i ain't more 'n half a man when she's round, she makes me feel so sheepish. i guess it's that eye o' her'n. it goes through ye like a needle."
-letty laughed light-heartedly, and looked down the path across the lot. debby, a little, bent old woman, was toiling slowly along, a large carpet-bag swinging from one hand. letty drew a long breath and tried to feel resigned.
-"she's got on her black alpaca," said she. "she's comin' to spend the day!"
-david answered her look with one of commiseration, and, gathering up his wrench and oil, "put for" the barn.
-"i'd stay, if i could do any good," he said hastily, "but i can't. i might as well stan' from under."
-debby threw her empty carpet-bag over the stone wall, and followed it, clambering slowly and painfully. her large feet were clad in congress boots; and when she had alighted, she regarded them with deep affection, and slowly wiped them upon either ankle, a stork-like process at which david, safe in the barn, could afford to smile.
-"if it don't rain soon," she called fretfully, "i guess you'll find yourselves alone an' forsaken, like pelicans in the wilderness. anybody must want to see ye to traipse up through that lot as i've been doin', an' git their best clo'es all over dirt."
-"you could ha' come in the road," said letty, smiling. letty had a very sweet temper, and she had early learned that it takes all sorts o' folks to make a world. it was a part of her leisurely and generous scheme of life to live and let live.
-"ain't the road dustier 'n the path?" inquired debby contradictorily. "my stars! i guess 't is. well, now, what do you s'pose brought me up here this mornin'?"
-letty's eyes involuntarily sought the bag, whose concave sides flapped hungrily together; but she told her lie with cheerfulness. "i don't know."
-"i guess ye don't. no, i ain't comin' in. i'm goin' over to mis' tolman's, to spend the day. i'm in hopes she's got b'iled dish. you look here!" she opened the bag, and searched portentously, the while letty, in some unworthy interest, regarded the smooth, thick hair under her large poke-bonnet. debby had an original fashion of coloring it; and this no one had suspected until her little grandson innocently revealed the secret. she rubbed it with a candle, in unconscious imitation of an actor's make-up, and then powdered it with soot from the kettle. "i believe to my soul she does!" said letty to herself.
-but debby, breathing hard, had taken something from the bag, and was holding it out on the end of a knotted finger.
-"there!" she said, "ain't that your'n? vianna said 't was your engagement ring."
-letty flushed scarlet, and snatched the ring tremblingly. she gave an involuntary look at the barn, where david was whistling a merry stave.
-"oh, my!" she breathed. "where'd you find it?"
-"well, that's the question!" returned debby triumphantly, "where'd ye lose it?"
-but letty had no mind to tell. she slipped the ring on her finger, and looked obstinate.
-"can't i get you somethin' to put in your bag?" she asked cannily. debby was diverted, though only for the moment.
-"i should like a mite o' pork," she answered, lowering her voice and giving a glance, in her turn, at the barn. "i s'pose ye don't want him to know of it?"
-"i should like to be told why!" flamed letty, in an indignation disproportioned to its cause. debby had unconsciously hit the raw. "do you s'pose i'd do anything david can't hear?"
-"law, i didn't know," said debby, as if the matter were of very little consequence. "mis' peleg chase, she gi'n me a beef-bone, t'other day, an' she says, 'don't ye tell him!' an' mis' squire hill gi'n me a pail o' lard; but she hid it underneath the fence, an' made me come for 't after dark. i dunno how you're goin' to git along with men-folks, if ye offer 'em the whip-hand. they'll take it, anyways. well, don't you want to know where i come on this ring?"
-letty had taken a few hasty steps toward the house. "yes, i do," owned she, turning about. "where was it?"
-"he shall have it," said letty hastily. "i'll get it now. don't you say anything!" and then she knew she had used the formula she detested, and that she was no better than mrs. peleg chase, or the wife of squire hill.
-she ran frowning into the house, and down and up from kitchen to cellar. presently she reappeared, panting, with a great tin pan borne before her like a laden salver. she set it down at debby's feet, and began packing its contents into the yawning bag.
-"there!" she said, working with haste. "there's the solder, all of it. and here's some of our sweet corn. we planted late."
-debby took an ear from the pan, and, tearing open the husk, tried a kernel with a critical thumb.
-"tough, ain't it?" she remarked, disparagingly. "likely to be, this time o' year. is that the pork?"
-it was a generous cube, swathed in a fresh white cloth.
-"yes, it is," said letty breathlessly, thrusting it in and shutting the bag. "there!"
-"streak o' fat an' streak o' lean?" inquired debby remorselessly.
-"it's the best we've got; that's all i can say. now i've got to speak to david before he harnesses. good-by!"
-in a fever of impatience, she fled away to the barn.
-"well, if ever!" ejaculated debby, lifting the bag and turning slowly about, to take her homeward path. "great doin's i say!" and she made no reply when letty, prompted by a tardy conscience, stopped in the barn doorway and called to her, "tell sammy i'm much obliged. tell him i shall make turnovers to-morrow." debby was thinking of the pork, and the likelihood of its being properly diversified.
-letty swept into the barn like a hurrying wind. the horses backed, and laid their ears flat, and david, grooming one of them, gentled him and inquired of him confidentially what was the matter.
-"oh, david, come out here! please come out!" called letty breathlessly. "i've got to see you."
-david appeared, with some wonderment on his face, and letty precipitated herself upon him, mindless of curry-comb and horse-hairs and the fact that she was presently to do butter. "david," she cried, "i can't stand it. i've got to tell you. you know this ring?"
-david looked at it, interested and yet perplexed.
-"seems if i'd seen you wear it," said he.
-letty gave way, and laughed hysterically.
-"seems if you had!" she repeated. "i've wore it over a year. there ain't a girl in town but knows it. i showed it to 'em all. i told 'em 'twas my engagement ring."
-david looked at it, and then at her. she seemed to him a little mad. he could quiet the horses, but not a woman, in so vague an exigency.
-"what made you tell 'em that?" he asked, at a venture.
-"don't you see? there wasn't one of 'em that was engaged but had a ring--and presents, david--and they knew i never had anything, or i'd have showed 'em."
-david was not a dull man; he had very sound views on the tariff, and, though social questions might thrive outside his world, the town blessed him for an able citizen. but he felt troubled; he was condemned, and it was the world's voice which had condemned him.
-"i don't know's i ever did give you anything, letty," he said, with a new pain stirring in his face. "i don't b'lieve i ever thought of it. it wasn't that i begrudged anything."
-"oh, my soul, no!" cried letty, in an agony of her own. "i knew how 't was. it wa'n't your way, but they didn't know that. and i couldn't have 'em thinkin' what they did think, now could i? so i bought me--david, i bought me that high comb i used to wear, and--and a blue handkerchief--and a thimble--and--and--this ring. and i said you give 'em to me. and i trusted to chance for your never findin' it out. but i always hated the things; and as soon as we were married, i broke the comb, and burnt up the handkerchief, and hammered the thimble into a little wad, and buried it. but i didn't dare to stop wearin' the ring, for fear folks would notice. then t'other day i felt so about it i knew the time had come, and i went down to the old hole and threw it in. and now that hateful sammy's found it and brought it back, and i've sent him your solder, and debby's promised me she wouldn't tell you about the pork, and i--i'm no better than the rest of 'em that lie and lie and don't let their men-folks know!" letty was sobbing bitterly, and david drew her into his arms and laid his cheek down on her hair. his heart was aching too. they had all the passionate sorrow of children over some grief not understood.
-"why didn't you tell me?" he asked at length.
-"when?" said letty chokingly.
-"then--when folks expected things--before we were married."
-"oh, david, i couldn't!"
-"no," said david sadly, "i s'pose you couldn't."
-letty had been holding one hand very tightly clenched. it was a plump hand, with deep dimples and firm, short fingers. she unclasped it, and stretched out toward him a wet, pink palm.
-"there!" she said despairingly. "there's the ring."
-again david felt his inadequacy to the situation. "don't you want to wear it?" he hesitated. "it's real pretty. what's that red stone?"
-"i hate it!" cried letty viciously. "it's a garnet. oh, david, don't you ever let me set eyes on it again!"
-david took it slowly from her hand. he drew out his pocket-book, opened it, and dropped the ring inside. "there!" he said, "i guess't won't do me no hurt to come acrost it once in a while." then they kissed each other again, like two children; letty's tears wet his face, and he felt them bitterer than if they had been his own.
-but for letty the air had cleared. now, she felt, there was no trouble in her path. she had all the irresponsible joy of one who has had a secret, and feels the burden roll away. she was like christian without his pack. she put her hands on david's shoulders, and looked at him radiantly.
-"oh, i'm so glad!" she cried. "i'm just as wicked as i was before; but it don't seem to make any difference, now you know it!"
-though david also smiled, he was regarding her with a troubled wonder. he never expected to follow these varying moods. they were like swallow-flights, and he was content to see the sun upon their wings. so he drove thoughtfully off, and letty went back to her work with a singing heart. she was not quite sure that it was right to be happy again, all at once, but she could not still her blood. to be forgiven, to find herself free from the haunting consciousness that she could deceive the creature to whom she held such passionate allegiance--this was enough to shape a new heaven and a new earth. her simple household duties took on the significance of noble ceremonies. she sang as she went about them, and the words were those of a joyous hymn. she seemed to be serving in a temple, making it clean and fragrant in the name of love.
-saturday was a day born of heavenly intentions. letty ran out behind the house, where the ground rose abruptly, and looked off, entranced, into the blue distance. it was the stillest day of all the fall. not a breath stirred about her; but in the maple grove at the side of the house, where the trees had turned early under the chill of an unseasonable night, yellow leaves were sifting down without a sound. goldenrod was growing dull, clematis had ripened into feathery spray, and she knew how the closed gentians were painting great purple dashes by the side of the road. "oh!" she cried aloud, in rapture. it was her wedding day; a year ago the sun had shone as warmly and benignantly as he was shining now, and the same haze had risen, like an exhalation, from the hills. she saw a special omen in it, and felt herself the child of happy fortune, to be so mothered by the great blue sky. then she ran in to give david his breakfast, and tell him, as they sat down, that it was their wedding morning. as she went, she tore a spray of blood-red woodbine from the wall, and bound it round her waist.
-but david was not ready for breakfast; he was talking with a man at the barn, and half an hour later came hurrying in to his retarded meal.
-"i've got to eat an' run," said he; "job fisher kep' me. it's about that ma'sh. but the time wa'n't wasted. he'll sell ten acres for twenty dollars less'n he said last week. too bad to keep you waitin'! you'd ought to eat yours while't was hot."
-letty, with a little smile all to herself, sat demurely down and poured coffee; this was no time to talk of anniversaries. david ate in haste, and said good-by.
-"i'm goin' down the lot to get my withes," said he. "whilst i'm gone, you put me up a mite o' luncheon, i sha'n't lay off to come home till night."
-"oh, david!" said letty, with a little cry. then the same knowing smile crept over her face. "no, i sha'n't," added she willfully. "i'm goin' to bring it to you."
-"fetch me my dinner? why, it's a mile and a half 'cross lots! i guess you won't!"
-"you go right along, david," said letty decisively. "i don't want to hear another word. i ain't seen the long pastur' this summer, and i'm comin'. good-by!" she disappeared down the cellar stairs with the butter-plate poised on a pyramid of dishes, and david, having no time to argue, went off to his work.
-about ten o'clock letty took her way down to the long pasture; she was a very happy woman, and she could hold her happiness before her face, regarding it frankly and with a full delight. the material joys of life might seem to escape her; but she could have them, after all. the great universe, warm with sun and warm with love, was on her side. even the day seemed something tangible in gracious being; and as letty trudged along, her basket on her arm, she reasoned upon her own riches and owned she had enough. david was not like anybody else; but he was better than anybody else, and he was hers. even his faults were dearer than other men's virtues. she heard the sound of his axe upon the stakes, breaking the lovely stillness with a significance lovelier still.
-"david!" she called, long before reaching the little brook that runs beneath the bank, and he leaped the fence and came to meet her. "david!" she repeated, and looked up in his face with eyes so solemn and so full of light that he held her still a moment to look at her.
-"letty," he said, "you're real pretty!" and then they both laughed, and walked on together through the shade.
-the day knit up its sweet, long minutes full of the serious beauty of the woods. david worked hard, and for a time letty lingered near him; then she strayed away, and came back to him, from moment to moment, with wonderful treasures. now it was cress from the spring, now a palm-full of partridge berries, or a cluster of checkerberry leaves for a "cud," or a bit of wood-sorrel. by and by the fall stillness gave out a breath of heat, and the sun stood high overhead. letty spread out her dinner, and david made her a fire among the rocks. the smoke rose in a blue efflorescence; and with the sweet tang of burning wood yet in the air, they sat down side by side, drinking from one cup, and smiling over the foolish nothings of familiar talk. at the end of the meal, letty took a parcel from the basket, something wrapped in a very fine white napkin. she flushed a little, unrolling it, and her eyes deepened.
-"what's all this?" asked david, sniffing the air. "fruit-cake?"
-letty nodded without looking at him; there was a telltale quivering in her face. she divided the cake carefully, and gave her husband half. david had lain back on a piny bank; and as he ate, his eyes followed the treetops, swaying a little now in a rhythmic wind. but letty ate her piece as if it were sacramental bread. she put out her hand to him, and he stroked the short, faithful fingers, and then held them close. he smiled at her; and for a moment he mused again over that starry light in her eyes. then his lids fell, and he had a little nap, while letty sat and dreamed back over the hours, a year and more ago, when her mother's house smelled of spices, and this cake was baked for her wedding day.
-when they went home again, side by side, the fencing was all done, and david had an after-consciousness of happy playtime. he carried the basket, with his axe, and letty, like an untired little dog, took brief excursions of discovery here and there, and came back to his side with her weedy treasures. once--was it something in the air?--he called to her:--
-"say, letty, wa'n't it about this kind o' weather the day we were married?"
-but letty gave a little cry, and pointed out a frail white butterfly on a mullein leaf. "see there, david! how cold he looks! i'd like to take him along. he'll freeze to-night." david forgot his question, and she was glad. some inner voice was at her heart, warning her to leave the day unspoiled. her joy lay in remembering; it seemed a small thing to her that he should forget.
-"we've had a real good time," he said, as he gave her the basket at the kitchen door. "now, as soon as thrashin' 's done, we'll go to star pond."
-after supper they covered up the squashes, for fear of a frost; and then they stood for a moment in the field, and looked at the harvest moon, risen in a great effrontery of splendor.
-"letty," asked david suddenly, "shouldn't you like to put on your little ring? it's right here in my pocket."
-"no! no!" said letty hastily. "i never want to set eyes on it again."
-"i guess i'll get you another one 't you could wear. i looked t'other day when i went to market; but there was so many i didn't das't to make a choice unless you was with me."
-letty clung to him passionately. "oh, david," she cried, with a break in her voice, "i don't want any rings. i want just you."
-david put out one hand and softly touched the little blue kerchief about her head. "anyway," he said, "we won't have any more secrets from one another, will we?"
-letty gave a little start, and she caught her breath before answering:--
-"no, we won't--not unless they're nice ones!"
-a last assembling
-little as she was accustomed to dread experiences which came in the inevitable order of nature, she did think of the last day and night in the old house as something of an ordeal. people felt that the human meant very little to dilly; but that was not true. it was only true that she held herself remote from personal intimacies; but all the fine, invisible bonds of race and family took hold of her like irresistible factors, and welded her to the universe anew.
-her mind was peopled with figures. she thought of jethro, too. he seemed to be coming ever nearer and nearer. she could hear his tread marching into her life, and could see his face. it was very moving, as she remembered it. a long line of scholarly forbears had dowered him with a refinement and grace quite startling in this unornamented spot, and some old acadian ancestor had lent him beauty. his eyes were dark, and they held an unfathomable melancholy. the line of his forehead and nose ran haughtily and yet delicate; and even after years of absence, dilly sometimes caught her breath when she thought of the way his head was set upon his shoulders. she had never in her life seen a man or woman who was entirely beautiful, and he saturated her longing like a prodigal stream.
-she was a little dazed when she climbed the low stone wall, crossed the road, and came into the grassy wilderness of the joyce back yard. nature had triumphed riotously, as she will when niggardly thrift is away. the grass lay rich and shining, lodged by last night's shower, and gate and cellar-case were choked by it. the cinnamon roses bloomed in a spicy hardiness of pink, and the gnarled apple-trees had shed their broken branches, and were covered with little green buttons of fruit. dilly stopped to look about her, and her eyes filled. the tears were hot; they hurt her, and so recalled her to the needs of life.
-"there!" she said, "i mustn't do so!"--and she walked straight forward through the open shed, and fitted her key in the lock. the door sagged; but she pushed it open and stepped in. the deserted kitchen lay there in desolate order, and the old willard clock slept upon the wall. dilly hastily pushed a chair before it (this was the only chair old daniel joyce would allow the children to climb in) and wound the clock. it began ticking slowly, with the old, remembered sound. somehow it seemed beautiful to dilly that the clock should speak with the voice of all those years agone; it was a kind of loyalty which appealed to the soul like a piercing miracle. then she ran through to the sitting-room, and started the old eight-day in the corner; and the house breathed and was alive again. she threw open the windows, all save those on the dilloway side (lest kindly neighbors should discover she was at home), and the soft rose-scented air flooded the rooms like an invisible presence, and bore out the smell of age upon gracious wings. now, dilly worked fast and steadily, lest some human thing should come upon her. she tied up bedclothes, and opened long-closed cupboards. she made careful piles of clothing from the attic; and finally, her mind a little tired, she sat down on the floor and began looking over papers and daguerreotypes from her father's desk. just as she had lost herself in the ancient history of which they were the signs, there came a knock at the back door. so assured had become her idea of a continued housekeeping, that the summons did not seem in the least strange. the house lived again; it had thrown open its arms to human kind.
-the stranger was much moved, and his black eyes deepened. he looked at her kindly, perhaps lovingly, too. "yes," he said, at last. "so you'd know me?"
-dilly got lightly up, and the papers fell about her in a shower; yet she made no motion toward him. "oh, yes," she said softly, "i should know you. you ain't changed at all."
-that was not true. he looked ten years older than his real age; yet time had only dowered him with a finer grace and charm. all the lines in his face were those of gentleness and truth. his mouth had the old delicate curves. one meeting him that day might have said, with a throb of involuntary homage, "how beautiful he must have been when he was young!" but to dilly he bore even a more subtile distinction than in that far-away time; he had ripened into something harmonizing with her own years. he came forward a little, and held out both hands; but dilly did not take them, and he dropped the left one. then she laid her fingers lightly in his, and they greeted each other like old acquaintances. a flush rose in her smooth brown cheek. her eyes grew bright with that startled questioning which is of the woods. he looked at her the more intently, and his breath quickened. she had none of the blossomy charm of more robust womanhood; but he recognized the old gypsy element which had once bewitched him, and felt he loved her still.
-"well," he said, and his voice shook a little, "are you glad to see me?"
-dilly moved back, and sat down in her mother's little sewing-chair by the desk. "i don't know as i can tell," she answered. "this is a strange day."
-jethro nodded. "i meant to surprise you," he said. "so i never wrote i was coming on so soon. i was real disappointed to find your house shut up; but the neighbors told me where you'd gone, and what you'd gone for. then i walked over here."
-dilly's face brightened all over with a responsive smile. "did you come through the woods?" she asked. "what made you?"
-"why, i knew you'd go that way," he answered. "i thought you'd get wool-gathering over some weed or another, and maybe i'd overtake you."
-they both laughed, and the ice was broken. dilly got briskly up and gathered a drawer-full of papers into her apron.
-"i can't stop workin'," she said. "i want to fix it so's not to stay here more 'n one night. now you talk! i know what these are. i can run 'em over an' listen too."
-"i think 't was real good of you to turn in the place to tom's folks," said jethro, also seating himself, and, as dilly saw with a start, as if it were an omen, in her father's great chair. "not that you'll ever need it, dilly. you won't want for a thing. i've done real well."
-dilly's long fingers assorted papers and laid them at either side, with a neat precision. she looked up at him then, and her eyes had again the quick, inquiring glance of some wild creature in a situation foreign to its habits.
-"well," she said, "well! i guess i don't resk anything. an' if i did--why, i'd resk it!"
-jethro bent forward a little. he was smiling, and dilly met the glance, half fascinated. she wondered that she could forget his smile; and yet she had forgotten it. like running water, it was never twice the same.
-"dilly," said he, much moved, "you'll have a good time from this out, if ever a woman did. you'll keep house in a brick block, where the cars run by your door, and you can hire two girls."
-"oh, my!" breathed dilly. a quick look of trouble darkened her face, as a shadow sweeps across the field.
-"what is it?" asked jethro, in some alarm. "don't you like what i said?"
-dilly smiled, though her eyes were still apprehensive.
-"it ain't that," she answered slowly, striving in her turn to be kind. "only i guess i never happened to think before just how 't would be. i never spec'lated much on keepin' house."
-dilly got up, and, still holding her papers in her apron, walked swiftly to the window. there she stood, a moment, looking out into the orchard, where the grass lay tangled under the neglected, happy trees. her eyes traveled mechanically from one to another. she knew them all. that was the "sopsyvine," its red fruitage fast coming on; there was the porter she had seen her father graft; and down in the corner grew the august sweet. life out there looked so still and sane and homely. she knew no city streets,--yet the thought of them sounded like a pursuit. she turned about, and came back to her chair.
-"i guess i never dreamt how you lived, jethro," she said gently. "but it don't make no matter. you're contented with it."
-"i ain't a rich man," said jethro, with some quiet pride; "but i've got enough. yes, i like my business; and city life suits me. you'll fall in with it, too."
-then silence settled between them; but that never troubled dilly. she was used to long musings on her walks to and from her patients, and in her watching beside their beds. conversation seemed to her a very spurious thing when there is nothing to say.
-"what you thinking about?" he asked suddenly.
-dilly looked up at him with her bright, truth-telling glance. "i was thinkin'," she answered, with a clarity never ruthless, because it was so sweet,--"i was thinkin' you make me homesick, somehow or another."
-jethro looked at her doubtfully, and then, as she smiled at him, he smiled also.
-"i don't believe it's me," he said, confidently. "it's because you're going over things here. it's the old house."
-"maybe," said dilly, nodding and tying her last bundle of papers. "but i don't know. i never had quite such feelin's before. it's the nearest to bein' afraid of anything i've come acrost. i guess i shall have to run out into the lot an' take my bearin's."
-jethro got up, put his hands in his pockets, and walked about the room. he was very gentle, but he did at heart cherish the masculine theory that the unusual in woman is never to be judged by rules.
-"but it is a queer kind of a day," owned dilly, pushing in the last drawer. "why, jethro!" she faced him, and her voice broke in excitement. "you don't know, i ain't begun to tell you, how queer it seems to me. why, i've dreaded this day for weeks! but when it come nigh, it begun to seem to me like a joyful thing. i felt as if they all knew of it: them that was gone. it seemed as if they stood 'round me, ready to uphold me in what i was doin'. i shouldn't be surprised if they were all here now. i don't feel a mite alone."
-her voice shook with excitement; her eyes were big and black. jethro came up to her, and laid a kindly hand on her shoulder. it was a fine hand, long and shapely, and dilly, looking down at it, remembered, with a strange regretfulness, how she had once loved its lines.
-"there, poor girl!" he said, "you're tired thinking about it. no wonder you've got fancies. i guess the ghosts won't trouble us. there's nothing here worse than ourselves." and again, in spite of the joyces, dilly felt homesick and alone.
-there came a soft thudding sound upon the kitchen floor, and she turned, alert, to listen. this was mrs. eli pike in her carpet slippers; she had stood so much over soap-making that week that her feet had taken to swelling. she was no older than dilly, but she had seemed matronly in her teens. she looked very large, as she padded forward through the doorway, and her pink face and double chin seemed to exude kindliness as she came.
-"there, dilly joyce! if this ain't jest like you!" she exclaimed. "creep in here an' not let anybody know! why, jethro, that you? recognize you! well, i guess i should!"
-she included them both in a neighborly glance, and dilly was very grateful. yet it seemed to her that now, at last, she might break down and cry. the tone of olden friendliness was hard to bear, when no other voices answered. she could endure the silent house, but not the intercourse of a life so sadly changed.
-"there!" continued mrs. pike, with a nod, "i guess i know! you're tired to pieces with this pickin' and sortin', an' you're comin' over to dinner, both on ye. eli's dressed a hin. i had to wring her neck. he wouldn't ha' done it; you know that, dilly! an' i've been beatin' up eggs. now don't you say one word. you be there by twelve. jethro, you got a watch? you see't she starts, now!" and mrs. pike marched away victorious, her apron over her head, and waving one hand before her as she went. she had once been stung by bees, on just such a morning as this, and she had a set theory that they infested all strange dooryards.
-dilly felt as if even the joyces could not save her day in its solemn significance unless, indeed, they should appear in their proper persons. she thought of her bread and butter and boiled eggs, lying in her little bundle, and the simple meal seemed as unattainable as if it were some banquet dreamed of in delirium. it was of one piece with cars going by the house, and two maid-servants to correct. to dilly, a car meant a shrieking monster propelled by steam: yet not even that drove her to such insanity of revulsion as the two servants. they alone made her coming life seem like one eternal school, with the committee ever on the platform, and no recess. but she worked very meekly and soberly, and jethro took off his coat and helped her; then, just before twelve, they washed their hands and went across the orchard to mrs. pike's.
-the rest of the day seemed to dilly like a confused though not an unfamiliar dream. she knew that the dinner was very good, and that it choked her, so that mrs. pike, alert in her first pride of housekeeping, was quite cordially harsh with her for not eating more; and that jethro talked about chicago; and eli pike, older than his wife and graver, said "do tell!" now and again, and seemed to picture in his mind the outlines of city living. she escaped from the table as soon as possible, under pretext of the work to be done, and slipped back to the empty house; and there jethro found her, and began helping her again.
-the still afternoon settled down in its grooves of beauty, and its very loveliness gave dilly a pain at the heart. she remembered that this was the hour when her mother used to yawn over her long seam, or her knitting, and fall asleep by the window, while the bees droned outside in the jessamine, and a humming-bird--there had always been one, year after year, and dilly could never get over the impression that it was the same bird--hovered on his invisible perch and thrilled his wings divinely. then the day slipped over an unseen height, and fell into a sheltered calm. the work was not done, and they had to go over to mrs. pike's again to supper, and to spend the night. dilly longed to stretch herself on the old kitchen lounge in her own home; but mrs. pike told her plainly that she was crazy, and jethro, with a kindly authority, bade her yield. and because words were like weapons that returned upon her to hurt her anew, she did yield, and talked patiently to one and another neighbor as they came in to see jethro, and to inquire when he meant to be married.
-"soon," said jethro, with assurance. "as soon as dilly makes up her mind."
-all that evening, eli pike sat on the steps, where he could hear the talk in the sitting-room without losing the whippoorwill's song from the joyce orchard, and dilly longed to slip out and sit quietly beside him. he would know. but she could only be civil and grateful, and when half past eight came, take her lamp and go up to bed. jethro was given the best chamber, because he had succeeded and came from chicago; but dilly had a little room that looked straight out across the treetops down to her own home.
-at first, after closing the door behind her, she felt only the great blessedness of being alone. she put out the light and threw herself, as she was, face downwards on the bed. there she lay for long moments, suffering; and this was one of the few times in her life when she was forced to feel that human pain which is like a stab in the heart. for she was one of those wise creatures who give themselves long spaces of silence, and so heal them quickly of their wounds, like the sage little animals that slip away from combat, to cure their hurt with leaves. presently, a great sense of rest enfolded her, a rest ineffably precious because it was so soon to be over. it was like great riches lent only for a time. outside this familiar quiet was the world, thrilled by a terrifying life pressing upon her and calling. she longed to put her hands before her eyes, and shut out the possibility of meeting its garish glory; she did cover her ears, lest its cry should pierce them and she could not resist. and so she lay there shivering, until a strange inviting that was peace and not commotion seemed to approach her from another side, and her inner self became conscious of unheard voices. they were not clamorous, but sweet, and they drowned her will, and drew her to themselves. she got softly up, and, going to the darkened window, looked out across the orchard. there, in the greenness, lay the old house. it called on her to come. it seemed to dilly that she could not make haste enough to be there. she slipped softly down the narrow stairway, and across the kitchen, where the shadows of the moonlit windows lay upon the floor. a great excitement thrilled her blood; and though quite safe from discovery, she was not wholly at ease until she had entered the orchard path, and knew her feet were wet with dew, and heard the whippoorwill, so near now that she might have startled him from his neighboring tree. no other bird note could have fitted her mood so well. the wild melancholy of his tone, his home in the night, and the omens blended with his song seemed to remove him from the world as she herself was removed; and she hastened on with a fine exaltation, fitted her key again in the lock, and shut the door behind her.
-as soon as dilly had entered the sitting-room where the old desk stood in its place, and the clock was ticking, she felt as if all her confusion and trouble were over. she smiled to herself in the darkness. she had come home, and it was very good. they had begun with the attic, in their rearranging, and this room remained unchanged. it had been her wish to keep it, in its sweet familiarity, unaltered till the last. she drew forward her father's chair, and sat down in it, with luxurious abandonment, to rest. her mother's little cricket was by her side, and she put her feet on it and exhaled a long sigh of content.
-her eyes rested on the dark cavern which was the fireplace; and there fell upon her a sweet sense of completed bliss, as if it were alight and she could watch the dancing flames. and suddenly dilly was aware that the joyces were all about her.
-she had been sure, in her coming through the woods, that they knew and cared; now she was certain that, in some fashion, they recognized their bondage and loyalty to the place, as she recognized her own, and that they upheld her to her task. she thought them over, as she sat there, and saw their souls more keenly than if she had met them, men and women, face to face. there was the shoemaker among them, who, generations back, was sitting on his bench when news came of the battle of lexington, and who threw down hammer and last, and ran wildly out into the woods, where he stayed three days and nights, calling with a loud voice upon almighty god to save him from ill-doing. then he had drowned himself in a little brook too shallow for the death of any but a desperate man. he had been the disgrace of the joyces; they dared not think of him, and they know, even to this day, that he is remembered among their townsmen as the joyce who was a coward, and killed himself rather than go to war. but here he stood--was it the man, or some secret intelligence of him?--and dilly, out of all his race, was the one to comprehend him. she saw, with a thrill of passionate sympathy, how he had believed with all his soul in the wickedness of war, and how the wound to his country so roused in him the desire of blood that he fled away and prayed his god to save him from mortal guilt,--and how, finding that he saw with an overwhelming delight the red of anticipated slaughter, and knew his traitorous feet were bearing him to the ranks, he chose the death of the body rather than sin against the soul. and dilly was glad; the blood in her own veins ran purer for his sake.
-there was old delilah joyce, who went into a decline for love, and wasted quite away. she had been one of those tragic fugitives on the island of being, driven out into the storm of public sympathy to be beaten and undone; for she was left on her wedding day by her lover, who vowed he loved her no more. but now dilly saw her without the pathetic bravery of her silken gown which was never worn, and knew her for a woman serene and glad. that very day she had unfolded the gown in the attic, where it had lain, year upon year, wrapped about by the poignant sympathy of her kin, a perpetual reminder of the hurts and faithlessness of life. it had become a relic, set aside from modern use. she felt now as if she could even wear it herself, though silk was not for her, or deck some little child in its shot and shimmering gayety. for it came to her, with a glad rush of acquiescent joy, that all his life, the man, though blinded by illusion, had been true to her whom he had left; and that, instead of being poor, she was very rich. it was from that moment that dilly began to understand that the soul does not altogether weld its own bonds, but that they lie in the secret core of things, as the planet rushes on its appointed way.
-there was annette joyce, who married a stackpole, and to the disgust of her kin, clung to him through one debauch after another, until the world found out that annette "couldn't have much sense of decency herself, or she wouldn't put up with such things." but on this one night dilly found out that annette's life had been a continual laying hold of eternal being, not for herself, but for the creature she loved; that she had shown the insolence and audacity of a thousand spirits in one, besieging high heaven and crying in the ear of god: "i demand of thee this soul that thou hast made." and somehow dilly knew now that she was of those who overcome.
-so the line stretched on, until she was aware of souls of which she had never heard; and she knew that, faulty as their deeds might be, they had striven, and the strife was not in vain. she felt herself to be one drop in a mighty river, flowing into the water which is the sum of life; and she was content to be absorbed in that great stream. there was human comfort in the moment, too; for all about her were those whom she had seen with her bodily eyes, and their presence brought an infinite cheer and rest. dilly felt the safety of the universe; she smiled lovingly over the preciousness of all its homely ways. she thought of the twilights when she had sat on the doorstone, eating huckleberries and milk, and seeing the sun drop down the west; she remembered one night when her little cat came home, after it had been lost, and felt the warm touch of its fur against her hand. she saw how the great chain of things is held by such slender links, and how there is nothing that is not most sacred and most good. the hum of summer life outside the window seemed to her the life in her own veins, and she knew that nothing dwells apart from anything else, and that, whether we wot of it or not, we are of one blood.
-the night went on to that solemn hush that comes before the dawn. dilly felt the presence of the day, and what it would demand of her; but now she did not fear. for jethro, too, had been with her; and at last she understood his power over her and could lay it away like a jewel in a case, a precious thing, and yet not to be worn. she saw him, also, in his stream of being, as she was swept along through hers, and knew how that old race had given him a beauty which was not his, but theirs,--and how, in the melancholy of his eyes, she loved a soul long passed, and in the wonder of his hand the tender lines of other hands, waving to fiery action. he was an inheritor; and she had loved, not him, but his inheritance.
-now it was the later dusk of night, and the cocks crowed loudly in a clear diminuendo, dying far away. dilly pressed her hands upon her eyes, and came awake to the outer world. she looked about the room with a warm smile, and reviewed, in feeling, her happy night. it was no longer hard to dismantle the place. the room, the house, the race were hers forever; she had learned the abidingness of what is real. when she closed the door behind her, she touched the casing as if she loved it, and, crossing the orchard, she felt as if all the trees could say: "we know, you and we!" as she entered the pike farmyard, eli was just going to milking, with clusters of shining pails.
-"you're up early," said he. "well, there's nothin' like the mornin'!"
-"no," answered dilly, smiling at him with the radiance of one who carries good news, "except night-time! there's a good deal in that!" and while eli went gravely on, pondering according to his wont, she ran up to smooth her tumbled bed.
-after breakfast, while mrs. pike was carrying away the dishes, dilly called jethro softly to one side.
-"you come out in the orchard. i want to speak to you."
-her voice thrilled with something like the gladness of confidence, and jethro's own face brightened. dilly read that vivid anticipation, and caught her breath. though she knew it now, the old charm would never be quite gone. she took his hand and drew him forward. she seemed like a child, unaffected and not afraid. out in the path, under the oldest tree of all, she dropped his hand and faced him.
-"jethro," she said, "we can't do it. we can't get married."
-he looked at her amazed. she seemed to be telling good news instead of bad. she gazed up at him smilingly. he could not understand.
-"don't you care about me?" he asked at length, haltingly; and again dilly smiled at him in the same warm confidence.
-"oh, yes," she said eagerly. "i do care, ever and ever so much. but it's your folks i care about. it ain't you. i've found it all out, jethro. things don't al'ays belong to us. sometimes they belong to them that have gone before; an' half the time we don't know it."
-jethro laid a gentle hand upon her arm. "you're all tired out," he said soothingly. "now you give up picking over things, and let me hire somebody. i'll be glad to."
-but dilly withdrew a little from his touch. "you're real good, jethro," she answered steadily. she had put aside her exaltation, and was her old self, full of common-sense and kindly strength. "but i don't feel tired, an' i ain't a mite crazed. all you can do is to ride over to town with eli--he's goin' after he feeds the pigs--an' take the cars from there. it's all over, jethro. it is, truly. i ain't so sorry as i might be; for it's borne in on me you won't care this way long. an' you needn't, dear; for nothin' between us is changed a mite. the only trouble is, it ain't the kind of thing we thought."
-she looked in his eyes with a long, bright farewell glance, and turned away. she had left behind her something which was very fine and beautiful; but she could not mourn. and all that morning, about the house, she sang little snatches of song, and was content. the joyces had done their work, and she was doing hers.
-the way of peace
-it was two weeks after her mother's funeral when lucy ann cummings sat down and considered. the web of a lifelong service and devotion still clung about her, but she was bereft of the creature for whom it had been spun. now she was quite alone, save for her two brothers and the cousins who lived in other townships, and they all had homes of their own. lucy ann sat still, and thought about her life. brother ezra and brother john would be good to her. they always had been. their solicitude redoubled with her need, and they had even insisted on leaving annabel, john's daughter, to keep her company after the funeral. lucy ann thought longingly of the healing which lay in the very loneliness of her little house; but she yielded, with a patient sigh. john and ezra were men-folks, and doubtless they knew best. a little more than a week had gone when school "took up," rather earlier than had been intended, and annabel went away in haste, to teach. then lucy ann drew her first long breath. she had resisted many a kindly office from her niece, with the crafty innocence of the gentle who can only parry and never thrust. when annabel wanted to help in packing away grandma's things, aunt lucy agreed, half-heartedly, and then deferred the task from day to day. in reality, lucy ann never meant to pack them away at all. she could not imagine her home without them; but that, annabel would not understand, and her aunt pushed aside the moment, reasoning that something is pretty sure to happen if you put things off long enough. and something did; annabel went away. it was then that lucy ann took a brief draught of the cup of peace.
-long before her mother's death, when they both knew how inevitably it was coming, lucy ann had, one day, a little shock of surprise. she was standing before the glass, coiling her crisp gray hair, and thinking over and over the words the doctor had used, the night before, when he told her how near the end might be. her delicate face fell into deeper lines. her mouth dropped a little at the corners; her faded brown eyes were hot with tears, and stopping to wipe them, she caught sight of herself in the glass.
-"why," she said aloud, "i look jest like mother!"
-and so she did, save that it was the mother of five years ago, before disease had corroded the dear face, and patience wrought its tracery there.
-"well," she continued, smiling a little at the poverty of her state, "i shall be a real comfort to me when mother's gone!"
-now that her moment of solitude had struck, grief came also. it glided in, and sat down by her, to go forth no more, save perhaps under its other guise of a patient hope. she rocked back and forth in her chair, and moaned a little to herself.
-"oh, i never can bear it!" she said pathetically, under her breath. "i never can bear it in the world!"
-the tokens of illness were all put away. her mother's bedroom lay cold in an unsmiling order. the ticking of the clock emphasized the inexorable silence of the house. once lucy ann thought she heard a little rustle and stir. it seemed the most natural thing in the world, coming from the bedroom, where one movement of the clothes had always been enough to summon her with flying feet. she caught her breath, and held it, to listen. she was ready, undisturbed, for any sign. but a great fly buzzed drowsily on the pane, and the fire crackled with accentuated life. she was quite alone. she put her hand to her heart, in that gesture of grief which is so entirely natural when we feel the stab of destiny; and then she went wanly into the sitting-room, looking about her for some pretense of duty to solace her poor mind. there again she caught sight of herself in the glass.
-"oh, my!" breathed lucy ann. low as they were, the words held a fullness, of joy.
-her face had been aging through these days of grief; it had grown more and more like her mother's. she felt as if a hand had been stretched out to her, holding a gift, and at that moment something told her how to make the gift enduring. running over to the little table where her mother's work-basket stood, as it had been, undisturbed, she took out a pair of scissors, and went back to the glass. there she let down her thick gray hair, parted it carefully on the sides, and cut off lock after lock about her face. she looked a caricature of her sober self. but she was well used to curling hair like this, drawing its crisp silver into shining rings; and she stood patiently before the glass and coaxed her own locks into just such fashion as had framed the older face. it was done, and lucy ann looked at herself with a smile all suffused by love and longing. she was not herself any more; she had gone back a generation, and chosen a warmer niche. she could have kissed her face in the glass, it was so like that other dearer one. she did finger the little curls, with a reminiscent passion, not daring to think of the darkness where the others had been shut; and, at that instant, she felt very rich. the change suggested a more faithful portraiture, and she went up into the spare room and looked through the closet where her mother's clothes had been hanging so long, untouched. selecting a purple thibet, with a little white sprig, she slipped off her own dress, and stepped into it. she crossed a muslin kerchief on her breast, and pinned it with the cameo her mother had been used to wear. it was impossible to look at herself in the doing; but when the deed was over, she went again to the glass and stood there, held by a wonder beyond her will. she had resurrected the creature she loved; this was an enduring portrait, perpetuating, in her own life, another life as well.
-"i'll pack away my own clo'es to-morrer," said lucy ann to herself. "them are the ones to be put aside."
-she went downstairs, hushed and tremulous, and seated herself again, her thin hands crossed upon her lap; and there she stayed, in a pleasant dream, not of the future, and not even of the past, but face to face with a recognition of wonderful possibilities. she had dreaded her loneliness with the ache that is despair; but she was not lonely any more. she had been allowed to set up a little model of the tabernacle where she had worshiped; and, having that, she ceased to be afraid. to sit there, clothed in such sweet familiarity of line and likeness, had tightened her grasp upon the things that are. she did not seem to herself altogether alive, nor was her mother dead.
-they had been fused, by some wonderful alchemy; and instead of being worlds apart, they were at one. so, john cummings, her brother, stepping briskly in, after tying his horse at the gate, came upon her unawares, and started, with a hoarse, thick cry. it was in the dusk of evening; and, seeing her outline against the window, he stepped back against the wall and leaned there a moment, grasping at the casing with one hand. "good god!" he breathed, at last, "i thought 't was mother!"
-lucy ann rose, and went forward to meet him.
-"then it's true," said she. "i'm so pleased. seems as if i could git along, if i could look a little mite like her."
-john stood staring at her, frowning in his bewilderment.
-"what have you done to yourself?" he asked. "put on her clo'es?"
-"yes," said lucy ann, "but that ain't all. i guess i do resemble mother, though we ain't any of us had much time to think about it. well, i am pleased. i took out that daguerreotype she had, down saltash way, though it don't favor her as she was at the end. but if i can take a glimpse of myself in the glass, now and then, mebbe i can git along."
-they sat down together in the dark, and mused over old memories. john had always understood lucy ann better than the rest.
-when she gave up simeon bascom to stay at home with her mother, he never pitied her much; he knew she had chosen the path she loved. the other day, even, some one had wondered that she could have heard the funeral service so unmoved; but he, seeing how her face had seemed to fade and wither at every word, guessed what pain was at her heart. so, though his wife had sent him over to ask how lucy ann was getting on, he really found out very little, and felt how painfully dumb he must be when he got home. lucy ann was pretty well, he thought he might say. she'd got to looking a good deal like mother.
-they took their "blindman's holiday," lucy ann once in a while putting a stick on the leaping blaze, and, when john questioned her, giving a low-toned reply. even her voice had changed. it might have come from that bedroom, in one of the pauses between hours of pain, and neither would have been surprised.
-"what makes you burn beech?" asked john, when a shower of sparks came crackling at them.
-"i don't know," she answered. "seems kind o' nat'ral. some of it got into the last cord we bought, an' one night it snapped out, an' most burnt up mother's nightgown an' cap while i was warmin' 'em. we had a real time of it. she scolded me, an' then she laughed, an' i laughed--an' so, when i see a stick or two o' beech, to-day, i kind o' picked it out a-purpose."
-john's horse stamped impatiently from the gate, and john, too, knew it was time to go. his errand was not done, and he balked at it.
-"lucy ann," said he, with the bluntness of resolve, "what you goin' to do?"
-lucy ann looked sweetly at him through the dark. she had expected that. she smoothed her mother's dress with one hand, and it gave her courage.
-"do?" said she; "why, i ain't goin' to do nothin'. i've got enough to pull through on."
-"yes, but where you goin' to live?"
-"i don't feel so very much alone," said she, smiling to herself. at that moment she did not. all sorts of sweet possibilities had made themselves real. they comforted her, like the presence of love.
-john felt himself a messenger. he was speaking for others that with which his soul did not accord.
-"the fact is," said he, "they're all terrible set ag'inst it. they say you're gittin' along in years. so you be. so are we all. but they will have it, it ain't right for you to live on here alone. mary says she should be scairt to death. she wants you should come an' make it your home with us."
-"yes, i dunno but mary would be scairt," said lucy ann placidly. "but i ain't. she's real good to ask me; but i can't do it, no more'n she could leave you an' the children an' come over here to stay with me. why, john, this is my home!"
-her voice sank upon a note of passion it trembled with memories of dewy mornings and golden eves. she had not grown here, through all her youth and middle life, like moss upon a rock, without fitting into the hollows and softening the angles of her poor habitation. she had drunk the sunlight and the rains of one small spot, and she knew how both would fall. the place, its sky and clouds and breezes, belonged to her: but she belonged to it as well.
-john stood between two wills, his own and that of those who had sent him. left to himself, he would not have harassed her. to him, also, wedded to a hearth where he found warmth and peace, it would have been sweet to live there always, though alone, and die by the light of its dying fire. but mary thought otherwise, and in matters of worldly judgment he could only yield.
-"i don't want you should make a mistake," said he. "mebbe you an' i don't look for'ard enough. they say you'll repent it if you stay, an' there'll be a hurrah-boys all round. what say to makin' us a visit? that'll kind o' stave it off, an' then we can see what's best to be done."
-lucy ann put her hands to her delicate throat, where her mother's gold beads lay lightly, with a significant touch. she, like john, had an innate gentleness of disposition. she distrusted her own power to judge.
-"maybe i might," said she faintly. "oh, john, do you think i've got to?"
-"it needn't be for long," answered john briefly, though he felt his eyes moist with pity of her. "mebbe you could stay a month?"
-"oh, i couldn't do that!" cried lucy ann, in wild denial. "i never could in the world. if you'll make it a fortnight, an' harness up yourself, an' bring me home, mebbe i might."
-john gave his word, but when he took his leave of her, she leaned forward into the dark, where the impatient horse was fretting, and made her last condition.
-"you'll let me turn the key on things here jest as they be? you won't ask me to break up nuthin'?"
-"break up!" repeated john, with the intensity of an oath. "i guess you needn't. if anybody puts that on you, you send 'em to me."
-so lucy ann packed her mother's dresses into a little hair trunk that had stood in the attic unused for many years, and went away to make her visit. when she drove up to the house, sitting erect and slender in her mother's cashmere shawl and black bonnet, mary, watching from the window, gave a little cry, as at the risen dead. john had told her about lucy ann's transformation, but she put it all aside as a crazy notion, not likely to last: now it seemed less a pathetic masquerade than a strange by-path taken by nature itself.
-the children regarded it with awe, and half the time called lucy ann "grandma." that delighted her. whenever they did it, she looked up to say, with her happiest smile,--
-"there! that's complete. you'll remember grandma, won't you? we mustn't ever forget her."
-here, in this warm-hearted household, anxious to do her service in a way that was not her own, she had some happiness, of a tremulous kind; but it was all built up of her trust in a speedy escape. she knit mittens, and sewed long seams; and every day her desire, to fill the time was irradiated by the certainty that twelve hours more were gone. a few more patient intervals, and she should be at home. sometimes, as the end of her visit drew nearer, she woke early in the morning with a sensation of irresponsible joy, and wondered, for an instant, what had happened to her. then it always came back, with an inward flooding she had scarcely felt even in her placid youth. at home there would be so many things, to do, and, above all, such munificent leisure! for there she would feel no need of feverish action to pass the time. the hours would take care of themselves; they would fleet by, while she sat, her hands folded, communing with old memories.
-the day came, and the end of her probation. she trembled a good deal, packing her trunk in secret, to escape mary's remonstrances; but john stood by her, and she was allowed to go.
-"you'll get sick of it," called mary after them. "i guess you'll be glad enough to see the children again, an' they will you. mind, you've got to come back an' spend the winter."
-lucy ann nodded happily. she could agree to anything sufficiently remote; and the winter was not yet here.
-the first day in the old house seemed to her like new birth in paradise. she wandered about, touching chairs and tables and curtains, the manifest symbols of an undying past. there were loving duties to be done, but she could not do them yet. she had to look her pleasure in the face, and learn its lineaments.
-next morning came brother ezra, and lucy ann hurried to meet him with an exaggerated welcome. life was never very friendly to ezra, and those who belonged to him had to be doubly kind. they could not change his luck, but they might sweeten it. they said the world had not gone well with him; though sometimes it was hinted that ezra, being out of gear, could not go with the world. all the rivers ran away from him, and went to turn some other mill. he was ungrudging of john's prosperity, but still he looked at it in some disparagement, and shook his head. his cheeks were channeled long before youth was over; his feet were weary with honest serving, and his hands grown hard with toil. yet he had not arrived, and john was at the goal before him.
-"we heard you'd been stayin' with john's folks," said he to lucy ann. "leastways, abby did, an' she thinks mebbe you've got a little time for us now, though we ain't nothin' to offer compared to what you're used to over there."
-"i'll come," said lucy ann promptly. "yes, i'll come, an' be glad to."
-it was part of her allegiance to the one who had gone.
-it was many weeks before lucy ann came home again. cousin rebecca, in saltash, sent her a cordial letter of invitation for just as long as she felt like staying; and the moneyed cousin at the ridge wrote in like manner, following her note by a telegram, intimating that she would not take no for an answer. lucy ann frowned in alarm when the first letter came, and studied it by daylight and in her musings at night, as if some comfort might lurk between the lines. she was tempted to throw it in the fire, not answered at all. still, there was a reason for going. this cousin had a broken hip, she needed company, and the flavor of old times. the other had married a "drinkin' man," and might feel hurt at being refused. so, fortifying herself with some inner resolution she never confessed, lucy ann set her teeth and started out on a visiting campaign. john was amazed. he drove over to see her while she was spending a few days with an aunt in sudleigh.
-"when you been home last, lucy ann?" asked he.
-a little flush came into her face, and she winked bravely.
-"i ain't been home at all," said she, in a low tone. "not sence august."
-john groped vainly in mental depths for other experiences likely to illuminate this. he concluded that he had not quite understood lucy ann and her feeling about home; but that was neither here nor there.
-"well," he remarked, rising to go, "you're gittin' to be quite a visitor."
-"i'm tryin' to learn how," said lucy ann, almost gayly. "i've been a-cousinin' so long, i sha'n't know how to do anything else."
-but now the middle of november had come, and she was again in her own house. cousin titcomb had brought her there and driven away, concerned that he must leave her in a cold kitchen, and only deterred by a looming horse-trade from staying to build a fire. lucy ann bade him good-by with a gratitude which was not for her visit, but all for getting home; and when he uttered that terrifying valedictory known as "coming again," she could meet it cheerfully. she even stood in the door, watching him away; and not until the rattle of his wheels had ceased on the frozen road, did she return to her kitchen and stretch her shawled arms pathetically upward.
-"i thank my heavenly father!" said lucy ann, with the fervency of a great experience.
-she built her fire, and then unpacked her little trunk, and hung up the things in the bedroom where her mother's presence seemed still to cling.
-"i'll sleep here now," she said to herself. "i won't go out of this no more."
-then all the little homely duties of the hour cried out upon her, like children long neglected; and, with the luxurious leisure of those who may prolong a pleasant task, she set her house in order. she laid out a programme to occupy her days. the attic should be cleaned to-morrow. in one day? nay, why not three, to hold time still, and make him wait her pleasure? then there were the chambers, and the living-rooms below. she felt all the excited joy of youth; she was tasting anticipation at its best.
-"it'll take me a week," said she. "that will be grand." she could hardly wait even for the morrow's sun; and that night she slept like those of whom much is to be required, and who must wake in season. morning came, and mid-forenoon, and while she stepped about under the roof where dust had gathered and bitter herbs told tales of summers past, john drove into the yard. lucy ann threw up the attic window and leaned out.
-"you put your horse up, an' i'll be through here in a second," she called. "the barn's open."
-john was in a hurry.
-"i've got to go over to sudleigh, to meet the twelve o'clock," said he. "harold's comin'. i only wanted to say i'll be over after you the night before thanksgivin'. mary wants you should be sure to be there to breakfast. you all right? cephas said you seemed to have a proper good time with them."
-john turned skillfully on the little green and drove away. lucy ann stayed at the window watching him, the breeze lifting her gray curls, and the sun smiling at her. she withdrew slowly into the attic, and sank down upon the floor, close by the window. she sat there and thought, and the wind still struck upon her unheeded. was she always to be subject to the tyranny of those who had set up their hearth-stones in a more enduring form? was her home not a home merely because there were no men and children in it? she drew her breath sharply, and confronted certain problems of the greater world, not knowing what they were. to lucy ann they did not seem problems at all. they were simply touches on the individual nerve, and she felt the pain. her own inner self throbbed in revolt, but she never guessed that any other part of nature was throbbing with it. then she went about her work, with the patience of habit. it was well that the attic should be cleaned, though the savor of the task was gone.
-next day, she walked to sudleigh, with a basket on her arm. often she sent her little errands by the neighbors; but to-day she was uneasy, and it seemed as if the walk might do her good. she wanted some soda and some needles and thread. she tried to think they were very important, though some sense of humor told her grimly that household goods are of slight use to one who goes a-cousining. her day at john's would be prolonged to seven; nay, why not a month, when the winter itself was not too great a tax for them to lay upon her? in her deserted house, soda would lose its strength, and even cloves decay. lucy ann felt her will growing very weak within her; indeed, at that time, she was hardly conscious of having any will at all.
-it was saturday, and john and ezra were almost sure to be in town. she thought of that, and how pleasant it would be to hear from the folks: so much pleasanter than to be always facing them on their own ground, and never on hers. at the grocery she came upon ezra, mounted on a wagon-load of meal-bags, and just gathering up the reins.
-"hullo!" he called. "you didn't walk?"
-"oh, i jest clipped it over," returned lucy ann carelessly. "i'm goin' to git a ride home. i see marden's wagon when i come by the post-office."
-"well, i hadn't any expectation o' your bein' here," said ezra. "i meant to ride round tomorrer. we want you to spend thanksgivin' day with us. i'll come over arter you."
-"oh, ezra!" said lucy ann, quite sincerely, with her concession to his lower fortunes, "why didn't you say so! john's asked me.".
-"the dogs!" said ezra. it was his deepest oath. then he drew a sigh. "well," he concluded, "that's our luck. we al'ays come out the leetle end o' the horn. abby'll be real put out. she 'lotted on it. well, john's inside there. he's buyin' up 'bout everything there is. you'll git more'n you would with us."
-he drove gloomily away, and lucy ann stepped into the store, musing. she was rather sorry not to go to ezra's, if he cared.
-it almost seemed as if she might ask john to let her take the plainer way. john would understand. she saw him at once where he stood, prosperous and hale, in his great-coat, reading items from a long memorandum, while jonathan stevens weighed and measured. the store smelled of spice, and the clerk that minute spilled some cinnamon. its fragrance struck upon lucy ann like a call from some far-off garden, to be entered if she willed. she laid a hand on her brother's arm, and her lips opened to words she had not chosen:--
-"john, you shouldn't ha' drove away so quick, t'other day. you jest flung out your invitation 'n' run. you never give me no time to answer. ezra's asked me to go there."
-"well, if that ain't smart!" returned john. "put in ahead, did he? well, i guess it's the fust time he ever got round. i'm terrible sorry, lucy. the children won't think it's any kind of a thanksgivin' without you. somehow they've got it into their heads it's grandma comin'. they can't seem to understand the difference."
-"well, you tell 'em i guess grandma's kind o' pleased for me to plan it as i have," said lucy ann, almost gayly. her face wore a strange, excited look. she breathed a little faster. she saw a pleasant way before her and her feet seemed to be tending toward it without her own volition. "you give my love to 'em. i guess they'll have a proper nice time."
-she lingered about the store until john had gone, and then went forward to the counter. the storekeeper looked at her respectfully. everybody had a great liking for lucy ann. she had been a faithful daughter, and now that she seemed, in so mysterious a way, to be growing like her mother, even men of her own age regarded her with deference.
-"mr. stevens," said she, "i didn't bring so much money with me as i might if i'd had my wits about me. should you jest as soon trust me for some thanksgivin' things?
-"certain," replied jonathan. "clean out the store, if you want. your credit's good." he, too, felt the beguilement of the time.
-"i want some things," repeated lucy ann, with determination. "some cinnamon an' some mace--there! i'll tell you, while you weigh."
-it seemed to her that she was buying the spice islands of the world; and though the money lay at home in her drawer, honestly ready to pay, the recklessness of credit gave her an added joy. the store had its market, also, at thanksgiving time, and she bargained for a turkey. it could be sent her, the day before, by some of the neighbors. when she left the counter, her arms and her little basket were filled with bundles. joshua harden was glad to take them.
-"no, i won't ride," said lucy ann, "much obliged to you. jest leave the things inside the fence. i'd ruther walk. i don't git out any too often."
-she took her way home along the brown road, stepping lightly and swiftly, and full of busy thoughts. flocks of birds went whirring by over the yellowed fields. lucy ann could have called out to them, in joyous understanding, they looked so free. she, too, seemed to be flying on the wings of a fortunate wind.
-all that week she scrubbed and regulated, and took a thousand capable steps as briskly as those who work for the home-coming of those they love. the neighbors dropped in, one after another, to ask where she was going to spend thanksgiving. some of them said, "won't you pass the day with us?" but lucy ann replied blithely:--
-"oh, john's invited me there!"
-all that week, too, she answered letters, in her cramped and careful hand; for cousins had bidden her to the feast. over the letters she had many a troubled pause, for one cousin lived near ezra, and had to be told that john had invited her; and to three others, dangerously within hail of each, she made her excuse a turncoat, to fit the time. duplicity in black and white did hurt her a good deal, and she sometimes stopped, in the midst of her slow transcription, to look up piteously and say aloud:--
-"i hope i shall be forgiven!" but by the time the stamp was on, and the pencil ruling erased, her heart was light again. if she had sinned, she was finding the path intoxicatingly pleasant.
-through all the days before the festival, no house exhaled a sweeter savor than this little one on the green. lucy ann did her miniature cooking with great seriousness and care. she seemed to be dwelling in a sacred isolation, yet not altogether alone, but with her mother and all their bygone years. standing at her table, mixing and tasting, she recalled stories her mother had told her, until, at moments, it seemed as if she not only lived her own life, but some previous one, through that being whose blood ran with hers. she was realizing that ineffable sense of possession born out of knowledge that the enduring part of a personality is ours forever, and that love is an unquenched fire, fed by memory as well as hope.
-on thanksgiving morning, lucy ann lay in bed a little later, because that had been the family custom. then she rose to her exquisite house, and got breakfast ready, according to the unswerving programme of the day. fried chicken and mince pie: she had had them as a child, and now they were scrupulously prepared. after breakfast, she sat down in the sunshine, and watched the people go by to service in tiverton church. lucy ann would have liked going, too; but there would be inconvenient questioning, as there always must be when we meet our kind. she would stay undisturbed in her seclusion, keeping her festival alone. the morning was still young when she put her turkey in the oven, and made the vegetables ready. lucy ann was not very fond of vegetables, but there had to be just so many--onions, turnips, and squash baked with molasses--for her mother was a cape woman, preserving the traditions of dear cape dishes. all that forenoon, the little house throbbed with a curious sense of expectancy. lucy ann was preparing so many things that it seemed as if somebody must surely keep her company; but when dinner-time struck, and she was still alone, there came no lull in her anticipation. peace abode with her, and wrought its own fair work. she ate her dinner slowly, with meditation and a thankful heart. she did not need to hear the minister's careful catalogue of mercies received. she was at home; that was enough.
-after dinner, when she had done up the work, and left the kitchen without spot or stain, she went upstairs, and took out her mother's beautiful silk poplin, the one saved for great occasions, and only left behind because she had chosen to be buried in her wedding gown. lucy ann put it on with careful hands, and then laid about her neck the wrought collar she had selected the day before. she looked at herself in the glass, and arranged a gray curl with anxious scrutiny. no girl adorning for her bridal could have examined every fold and line with a more tender care. she stood there a long, long moment, and approved herself.
-"it's a wonder," she said reverently. "it's the greatest mercy anybody ever had."
-the afternoon waned, though not swiftly; for time does not always gallop when happiness pursues. lucy ann could almost hear the gliding of his rhythmic feet. she did the things set aside for festivals, or the days when we have company. she looked over the photograph album, and turned the pages of the "ladies' wreath." when she opened the case containing that old daguerreotype, she scanned it with a little distasteful smile, and then glanced up at her own image in the glass, nodding her head in thankful peace. she was the enduring portrait. in herself, she might even see her mother grow very old. so the hours slipped on into dusk, and she sat there with her dream, knowing, though it was only a dream, how sane it was, and good. when wheels came rattling into the yard, she awoke with a start, and john's voice, calling to her in an inexplicable alarm, did not disturb her. she had had her day. not all the family fates could take it from her now. john kept calling, even while his wife and children were climbing down, unaided, from the great carryall. his voice proclaimed its own story, and lucy ann heard it with surprise.
-"lucy! lucy ann!" he cried. "you here? you show yourself, if you're all right."
-before they reached the front door, lucy ann had opened it and stood there, gently welcoming.
-"yes, here i be," said she. "come right in, all of ye. why, if that ain't ezra, too, an' his folks, turnin' into the lane. when'd you plan it?"
-"plan it! we didn't plan it!" said mary testily. she put her hand on lucy ann's shoulder, to give her a little shake; but, feeling mother's poplin, she forbore.
-lucy ann retreated before them into the house, and they all trooped in after her. ezra's family, too, were crowding in at the doorway; and the brothers, who had paused only to hitch the horses, filled up the way behind. mary, by a just self-election, was always the one to speak.
-"i declare, lucy!" cried she, "if ever i could be tried with you, i should be now. here we thought you was at ezra's, an' ezra's folks thought you was with us; an' if we hadn't harnessed up, an' drove over there in the afternoon, for a kind of a surprise party, we should ha' gone to bed thinkin' you was somewhere, safe an' sound. an' here you've been, all day long, in this lonesome house!"
-"you let me git a light," said lucy ann calmly. "you be takin' off your things, an' se' down." she began lighting the tall astral lamp on the table, and its prisms danced and swung. lucy ann's delicate hand did not tremble; and when the flame burned up through the shining chimney, more than one started, at seeing how exactly she resembled grandma, in the days when old mrs. cummings had ruled her own house. perhaps it was the royalty of the poplin that enwrapped her; but lucy ann looked very capable of holding her own. she was facing them all, one hand resting on the table, and a little smile flickering over her face.
-ezra spoke first: "well, if you didn't want to come"--
-"want to come!" broke in john. "of course she don't want to come! she wants to stay in her own home, an' call her soul her own--don't you, lucy?"
-lucy ann glanced at him with her quick, grateful smile.
-"i'm goin' to, now," she said gently, and they knew she meant it.
-but, looking about among them, lucy ann was conscious of a little hurt unhealed; she had thrown their kindness back.
-"i guess i can't tell exactly how it is," she began hesitatingly; "but you see my home's my own, jest as yours is. you couldn't any of you go round cousinin', without feelin' you was tore up by the roots. you've all been real good to me, wantin' me to come, an' i s'pose i should make an awful towse if i never was asked; but now i've got all my visitin' done up, cousins an' all, an' i'm goin' to be to home a spell. an' i do admire to have company," added lucy ann, a bright smile breaking over her face. "mother did, you know, an' i guess i take arter her. now you lay off your things, an' i'll put the kettle on. i've got more pies 'n you could shake a stick at, an' there's a whole loaf o' fruit-cake, a year old."
-mary, taking off her shawl, wiped her eyes surreptitiously on a corner of it, and abby whispered to her husband, "dear creatur'!" john and ezra turned, by one consent, to put the horses in the barn; and the children, conscious that some mysterious affair had been settled, threw themselves into the occasion with an irresponsible delight. the room became at once vocal with talk and laughter, and lucy ann felt, with a swelling heart, what a happy universe it is where so many bridges lie between this world and that unknown state we call the next. but no moment of that evening was half so sweet to her as the one when little john, the youngest child of all, crept up to her and pulled at her poplin skirt, until she bent down to hear.
-"grandma," said he, "when'd you get well?"
-the experience of hannah prime
-deacon pitts opened, the meeting, reminding his neighbors how precious a privilege it is for two or three to be gathered together. his companion had not been able to come. (the entire neighborhood knew that mrs. pitts had been laid low by an attack of erysipelas, and that she was, at the moment, in a dark bedroom at home, helpless under elderblow.)
-"she lays there on a bed of pain," said the deacon. "but she says to me, 'you go. better the house o' mournin' than the house o' feastin',' she says. oh, my friends! what can be more blessed than the counsel of an aged and feeble companion?"
-the deacon sat down, and tom drake, his finger on the pea-shooter, assured himself, in acute mental triumph, that he had almost done it that time.
-then followed certain incidents eminently pleasing to the boys. to their unbounded relief, sarah frances giles rose to speak, weeping as she began. she always wept at prayer meeting, though at the very moment of asserting her joy that she cherished a hope, and her gratitude that she was so nearly at an end of this earthly pilgrimage and ready to take her stand on the sea of glass mingled with fire. the boys reveled in her testimony. they were in a state of bitter uneasiness before she rose, and gnawed with a consuming impatience until she began to cry. then they wondered if she could possibly leave out the sea of glass; and when it duly came, they gave a sigh of satiated bliss and sank into acquiescence in whatever might happen. this was a rich occasion to their souls, for silas marden, who was seldom moved by the spirit, fell upon his knees to pray; but at the same unlucky instant, his sister-in-law, for whom he cherished an unbounded scorn, rose (being "nigh-eyed" and ignorant of his priority) and began to speak. for a moment, the two held on together, "neck and neck," as the happy boys afterward remembered, and then silas got up, dusted his knees, and sat down, not to rise again at any spiritual call. "an' a madder man you never see," cried all the hollow next day, in shocked but gleeful memory.
-taking it all in all, the meeting had thus far mirrored others of its class. if the droning experiences were devoid of all human passion, it was chiefly because they had to be expressed in the phrases of strict theological usage. there was an unspoken agreement that feelings of this sort should be described in a certain way. they were not the affairs of the hearth and market; they were matters pertaining to that awful entity called the soul, and must be dressed in the fine linen which she had herself elected to wear.
-suddenly, in a wearisome pause, when minds had begun to stray toward the hayfield and tomorrow's churning, the door was pushed open, and the widow prime walked in. she was quite unused to seeking her kind, and the little assembly at once awoke, under the stimulus of surprise. they knew quite well where she had been walking: to sudleigh jail, to visit her only son, lying there for the third time, not, as usual, for drunkenness, but for house-breaking. she was a wiry woman, a mass of muscles animated by an eager energy. her very hands seemed knotted with clenching themselves in nervous spasms. her eyes were black, seeking, and passionate, and her face had been scored by fine wrinkles, the marks of anxiety and grief. her chocolate calico was very clean, and her palm-leaf shawl and black bonnet were decent in their poverty. the vague excitement created by her coming continued in a rustling like that of leaves. the troubles of hannah prime's life had been very bitter--so bitter that she had, as deacon pitts once said, after undertaking her conversion, turned from "me and the house of god." a quickening thought sprang up now in the little assembly that she was "under conviction," and that it had become the present duty of every professor to lead her to the throne of grace. this was an exigency for which none were prepared. at so strenuous a challenge, the old conventional ways of speech fell down and collapsed before them, like creatures filled with air. who should minister to one set outside their own comfortable lives by bitter sorrow and wounded pride? what could they offer a woman who had, in one way or another, sworn to curse god and die? it was deacon pitts who spoke, but in a tone hushed to the key of the unexpected.
-"has any one an experience to offer? will any brother or sister lead in prayer?"
-the silence was growing into a thing to be recognized and conquered, when, to the wonder of her neighbors, hannah prime herself rose, she looked slowly about the room, gazing into every face as if to challenge an honest understanding. then she began speaking in a low voice thrilled by an emotion not yet explained. unused to expressing herself in public, she seemed to be feeling her way. the silence, pride, endurance, which had been her armor for many years, were no longer apparent; she had thrown down all her defenses with a grave composure, as if life suddenly summoned her to higher issues.
-"i dunno's i've got an experience to offer," she said. "i dunno's it's religion. i dunno what 'tis. mebbe you'd say it don't belong to a meetin'. but when i come by an' see you all settin' here, it come over me i'd like to tell somebody. two weeks ago i was most crazy"--she paused of necessity, for something broke in her voice.
-"that's the afternoon jim was took," whispered a woman to her neighbor. hannah prime went on.
-here a little girl stirred in her seat, and her mother leaned forward and shook her, with alarming energy. "i never was so hard with mary l. afore," she explained the next day, "but i was as nervous as a witch. i thought, if i heard a pin drop, i should scream."
-"i dunno how long i set there," went on hannah prime, "but byme-by it begun to come over me how still the lake was. 'twas like glass; an' way over where it runs in 'tween them islands, it burnt like fire. then i looked up a little further, to see what kind of a sky there was. 't was light green, with clouds in it, all fire, an' it begun to seem to me as if it was a kind o' land an' water up there--like our'n, on'y not solid. i set there an' looked at it; an' i picked out islands, an' ma'sh-land, an' p'ints running out into the yeller-green sea. an' everything grew stiller an' stiller. the loons struck up, down on the lake, with that kind of a lonesome whinner; but that on'y made the rest of it seem quieter. an' it begun to grow dark all 'round me. i dunno 's i ever noticed before jest how the dark comes. it sifted down like snow, on'y you couldn't see it. well, i set there, an' i tried to keep stiller an' stiller, like everything else. seemed as if i must. an' pretty soon i knew suthin' was walkin' towards me over the lot. i kep' my eyes on the sky; for i knew 't would break suthin' if i turned my head, an' i felt as if i couldn't bear to. an' it come walkin', walkin', without takin' any steps or makin' any noise, till it come right up 'side o' me an' stood still. i didn't turn round. i knew i mustn't. i dunno whether it touched me; i dunno whether it said anything--but i know it made me a new creatur'. i knew then i shouldn't be afraid o' things no more--nor sorry. i found out 't was all right. 'i'm glad i'm alive,' i said. 'i'm thankful!' seemed to me i'd been dead for the last twenty year. i'd come alive.
-"an' so i set there an' held my breath, for fear 'twould go. i dunno how long, but the moon riz up over my left shoulder, an' the sky begun to fade. an' then it come over me 't was goin'. i knew 't was terrible tender of me, an' sorry, an' lovin', an' so i says, 'don't you mind; i won't forgit!' an' then it went. but that broke suthin', an' i turned an' see my own shadder on the grass; an' i thought i see another, 'side of it. somehow that scairt me, an' i jumped up an' whipped it home without lookin' behind me. now that's my experience," said hannah prime, looking her neighbors again in the face, with dauntless eyes. "i dunno what 't was, but it's goin' to last. i ain't afraid no more, an' i ain't goin' to be. there ain't nuthin' to worry about. everything's bigger'n we think." she folded her shawl more closely about her and moved toward the door. there she again turned to her neighbors.
-"good-night!" she said, and was gone.
-they sat quite still until the tread of her feet had ceased its beating on the dusty road. then, by one consent, they rose and moved slowly out. there was no prayer that night, and "lord dismiss us" was not sung.
-honey and myrrh
-that morning, no one in tiverton hollow had gone out of the house, save to shovel paths, and do the necessary chores. the road lay untouched until ten o'clock, when a selectman gave notice that it was an occasion for "breakin' out," by starting with his team, and gathering oxen by the way until a conquering procession ground through the drifts, the men shoveling at intervals where the snow lay deepest, the oxen walking swayingly, head to the earth, and the faint wreath of their breath ascending and cooling on the air. it was "high times" in tiverton hollow when a road needed opening; some idea of the old primitive way of battling with the untouched forces of nature roused the people to an exhilaration dashed by no uncertainty of victory.
-by afternoon, the excitement had quieted. the men had come in, reddened by cold, and eaten their noon dinner in high spirits, retailing to the less fortunate women-folk the stories swapped on the march. then, as one man, they succumbed to the drowsiness induced by a morning of wind in the face, and sat by the stove under some pretense of reading the county paper, but really to nod and doze, waking only to put another stick of wood on the fire. so passed all the day before christmas, and in the evening the shining lamps were lighted (each with a strip of red flannel in the oil, to give color), and the neighborhood rested in the tranquil certainty that something had really come to pass, and that their communication with the world was reëstablished.
-susan peavey sat by the fire, knitting on a red mitten, and the young schoolmaster presided over the other hearth corner, reading very hard, at intervals, and again sinking into a drowsy study of the flames. there was an impression abroad in tiverton that the schoolmaster was going to be somebody, some time. he wrote for the papers. he was always receiving through the mail envelopes marked "author's proofs," which, the postmistress said, indicated that he was an author, whatever proofs might be. she had an idea they might have something to do with photographs; perhaps his picture was going into a book. it was very well understood that teaching school at the hollow, at seven dollars a week, was an interlude in the life of one who would some day write a spelling-book, or exercise senatorial rights at washington. he was a long-legged, pleasant looking youth, with a pale cheek, dark eyes, and thick black hair, one lock of which, hanging low over his forehead, he twisted while he read. he kept glancing up at miss susan and smiling at her, whenever he could look away from his book and the fire, and she smiled back. at last, after many such wordless messages, he spoke.
-"what lots of red mittens you do knit! do you send them all away to that society?"
-miss susan's needles clicked.
-"every one," said she.
-she was a tall, large woman, well-knit, with no superfluous flesh. her head was finely set, and she carried it with a simple unconsciousness better than dignity. everybody in tiverton thought it had been a great cross to susan peavey to be so overgrown. they conceded that it was a mystery she had not turned out "gormin'." but that was because susan had left her vanity behind with early youth, in the days when, all legs and arms, she had given up the idea of beauty. her face was strong-featured, overspread by a healthy color, and her eyes looked frankly out, as if assured of finding a very pleasant world. the sick always delighted in susan's nearness; her magnificent health and presence were like a supporting tide, and she seemed to carry outdoor air in her very garments. the schoolmaster still watched her. she rested and fascinated him at once by her strength and homely charm.
-"i shall call you the orphans' friend," said he.
-she laid down her work.
-"don't you say one word," she answered, with an air of abject confession. "it don't interest me a mite! i give because it's my bounden duty, but i'll be whipped if i want to knit warm mittens all my life, an' fill poor barrels. sometimes i wisht i could git a chance to provide folks with what they don't need ruther'n what they do."
-"i don't see what you mean," said the schoolmaster. "tell me."
-"anybody'd think i'd most talked myself out sence you come here to board," said she, "but you're the beatemest for tolin' anybody on. i never knew i had so much to say. but there! i guess we all have, if there's anybody 't wants to listen. i never've said this to a livin' soul, an' i guess it's sort o' heathenish to think, but i'm tired to death o' fightin' ag'inst poverty, poverty! i s'pose it's there, fast enough, though we're all so well on 't we don't realize it; an' i'm goin' to do my part, an' be glad to, while i'm above ground. but i guess heaven'll be a spot where we don't give folks what they need, but what they don't."
-"there is something in your bible," began the schoolmaster hesitatingly, "about a box of precious ointment." he always said "your bible," as if church members held a proprietary right.
-"that's it!" replied miss susan, brightening. "that's what i al'ays thought. spill it all out, i say, an' make the world smell as sweet as honey. my! but i do have great projicks settin' here by the fire alone! great projicks!"
-"tell me some!
-"well, i dunno's i can, all of a piece, so to speak; but when it gits along towards eight o'clock, an' the room's all simmerin', an' the moon lays out on the snow, it does seem as if we made a pretty poor spec' out o' life. we don't seem to have no color in it. why, don't you remember 'solomon in all his glory'? i guess 't wouldn't ha' been put in jest that way if there wa'n't somethin' in it. i s'pose he had crowns an' rings an' purple velvet coats an' brocade satin weskits, an' all manner o' things. sometimes seems as i could see him walkin' straight in through that door there." she was running a knitting needle back and forth through her ball of yarn as she spoke, without noticing that some one had been stamping the snow from his feet on the doorstone outside. the door, after making some bluster of refusal, was pushed open, and on the heels of her speech a man walked in.
-"my land!" cried miss susan, aghast. then she and the schoolmaster, by one accord, began to laugh.
-but the man did not look at them until he had scrupulously wiped his feet on the husk mat, and stamped them anew. then he turned down the legs of his trousers, and carefully examined the lank green carpet-bag he had been carrying.
-"i guess i trailed it through some o' the drifts," he remarked. "the road's pretty narrer, this season o' the year."
-"you give us a real start," said susan. "we thought be sure 'twas solomon, an' mebbe the queen o' sheba follerin' arter. why, solon slade, you ain't walked way over to tiverton street!"
-"yes, i have," asserted solon. he was a slender, sad-colored man, possibly of her own age, and he spoke in a very soft voice. he was susan's widowed brother-in-law, and the neighbors said he was clever, but hadn't no more spunk 'n a wet rag.
-susan had risen and laid down her knitting. she approached the table and rested one hand on it, a hawk-like brightness in her eyes.
-"what you got in that bag?" asked she.
-solon was enjoying his certainty that he held the key to the situation.
-"i got a mite o' cheese," he answered, approaching the fire and spreading his hands to the blaze.
-"you got anything else? now, solon, don't you keep me here on tenter-hooks! you got a letter?"
-"well," said solon, "i thought i might as well look into the post-office an' see."
-"you thought so! you went a-purpose! an' you walked because you al'ays was half shackled about takin' horses out in bad goin'. you hand me over that letter!"
-solon approached the table, a furtive twinkle in his blue eyes. he lifted the bag and opened it slowly. first, he took out a wedge-shaped package.
-"that's the cheese," said he. "herb."
-"my land!" ejaculated miss susan, while the schoolmaster looked on and smiled. "you better ha' come to me for cheese. i've got a plenty, tansy an' sage, an' you know it. i see it! there! you gi' me holt on 't!" it was a fugitive white gleam in the bottom of the bag; she pounced upon it and brought up a letter. midway in the act of tearing it open, she paused and looked at solon with droll entreaty. "it's your letter, by rights!" she added tentatively.
-"law!" said he, "i dunno who it's directed to, but i guess it's as much your'n as anybody's."
-"there!" remarked solon, in quiet satisfaction, still warming his hands at the blaze. "there! you see 'tis to both."
-"my! how she does run the words together! here!" miss susan passed it to the schoolmaster. "you read it. it's from jenny. you know she's away to school, an' we didn't think best for her to come home christmas. i knew she'd write for christmas. solon, i told you so!"
-the schoolmaster took the letter, and read it aloud. it was a simple little message, full of contentment and love and a girl's new delight in life. when he had finished, the two older people busied themselves a moment without speaking, solon in picking up a chip from the hearth, and susan in mechanically smoothing the mammoth roses on the side of the carpetbag.
-"well, i 'most wish we'd had her come home," said he at last, clearing his throat.
-"no, you don't either," answered miss susan promptly. "not with this snow, an' comin' out of a house where it's het up, into cold beds an' all. now i'm goin' to git you a mite o' pie an' some hot tea."
-"i'm worried to death to have him over there all by himself," said she. "s'pose he should be sick in the night!"
-"you'd got over," answered the schoolmaster easily.
-"well, s'pose he couldn't git me no word?"
-"oh, you'd know it! you 're that sort."
-miss susan laughed softly, and so seemed to put away her recurrent anxiety. she came back to her knitting.
-"how long has his wife been dead?" asked the schoolmaster.
-"two year. he an' jenny got along real well together, but sence september, when she went away, i guess he's found it pretty dull pickin'. i do all i can, but land! 't ain't like havin' a woman in the house from sunrise to set."
-"there's nothing like that," agreed the wise young schoolmaster. "now she gets mad like anything if i keep her waiting. i gotta go. 'night, mr. meltzer! 'night!"
-she was off through the maze of the emptying store, in the very act of pinning on her little hat with its jaunty imitation fur pompon, and he breathed in as she passed, as if of the perfume of her personality.
-at the ribbon counter on the main floor the last of a streamlet of outgoing women detached herself from the file as miss barnet ascended the staircase.
-"hurry up, sadie."
-"dee dee! how'd you girls up here get on your duds so soon? i thought maybe if i'd hurry upstairs you--you'd find time to cut me a two-yard piece of three-inch red satin for my hat, dee dee--to-morrow being sunday. two yards, dee dee, and that'll make two-sixty-nine i owe you. aw, dee dee, it won't take a minute, to-morrow sunday and all! aw, dee dee!"
-miss barnet slid ingratiating fingers into the curve of the older woman's arm; her voice was smooth as salve.
-"aw, dee dee, who ever heard of wearing fur on a hat in april? i gotta stick a red bow on my last summer's sailor, dee dee."
-miss edith worte stiffened so that the muscles sprang out in the crook of her arm and the cords in her long, yellowing neck. years had dried on her face, leaving ravages, and through her high-power spectacles her pale eyes might have been staring through film and straining to see.
-"please, dee dee!"
-miss barnet held backward, a little singsong note of appeal running through her voice.
-miss worte jerked forward toward the open door. april dusk, the color of cold dish-water, showed through it. dusk in the city comes sadly, crowding into narrow streets and riddled with an immediate quick-shot of electric bulbs.
-"'ain't you got no sense a-tall? 'ain't you got no sense in that curly head of yourn but ruination notions?"
-"aw, dee dee!"
-they were in the flood tide which bursts through the dam at six o'clock like a human torrent flooding the streets, then spreading, thinning, and finally seeping into homes, hall bedrooms, and harlem flats.
-miss edith worte turned her sparse face toward the down-town tide and against a light wind that tasted of rain and napped her skirts around her thin legs.
-"watch out, dee dee! step down; there's a curb."
-"i don't need you. it's lots you care if i go blind on the spot."
-"god! if i didn't have nothing to worry me but red ribbons! i told the doctor to-day while he was putting the drops in my eyes, that if he'd let me go blind i--i--"
-"now, now, dee dee! ain't you seeing better these last few days?"
-"if you had heard what the doctor told me to-day when he put the drops in my eyes you'd have something to think about besides red ribbon, alrighty."
-"sure you forgot. but you won't forget if i wake up alone in the dark some day."
-"you won't forget then. you won't forget to nag me even then for duds to go automobiling with fly men that can't bring you no good."
-"dee dee, i 'ain't been but one night this week. i been saving up all my nights for--for to-night."
-"to-night. say, i can't keep you from going to the devil on skates if--"
-"it's only the second time this week, dee dee, and i--i promised. he'll have the limousine top off to-night--and feel, it is just like summer. a girl's gotta have a little something once in a while."
-"what do i gotta have? what do i gotta have but slave and work?"
-"it's different with you, dee dee. you're older even than my mamma was, and didn't you say when you and her was girls together there wasn't a livelier two sisters? now didn't you, dee dee?"
-"in a respectable way, yes. but there wasn't the oily-mouthed, bald-headed divorced man alive, with little rat eyes and ugly lips, who could have took me or your mamma out auto-riding before or after dark. we was working-girls, too, but there wasn't a man didn't take off his hat to us, even if he was bald-headed and it was twenty below zero."
-"yes, 'aw'! you keep running around with the kind of men that don't look at a girl unless she's served up with rum-sauce and see where it lands you. just keep running if you want to, but my money don't buy you no red ribbons to help to drive you to the devil!"
-"the way you keep fussing at me, when i don't even go to dances like the other girls! i--sometimes i just wish i was dead. the way i got to watch the clock like it was a taximeter the whole time i'm out anywheres. it's the limit. even max meltzer gimme the laugh to-day."
-"you'd never hear me say watch the clock if you'd keep company with a boy like max meltzer. a straight, clean boy with honest intentions by a girl lookin' right out of his face. you let a boy like max meltzer begin to keep steady with you and see what i say. you don't see no yellow streak in his face; he's as white as the goods he sells."
-"i know. i know. you think now because he's going to be made buyer for the white goods in september he's the whole show. gee! nowadays that ain't so muchy much for a fellow to be."
-"sure i am. i 'ain't seen nothing but slaving and drudging and pinching all my life, while other girls are strutting the avenue in their furs and sleeping mornings as long as they want under eider-down quilts. sure, when a man like jerry beck comes along with a carriage-check instead of a subway-ticket i can thaw up to him like a water-ice, and i ain't ashamed of it, neither."
-they turned into a narrow aisle of street lined with unbroken rows of steep, narrow-faced houses. miss worte withdrew her arm sharply and plunged ahead, her lips wry and on the verge of tremoling.
-"when a girl gets twenty, like you, it ain't none of my put-in no more. only i hope to god your mother up there is witness that if ever a woman slaved to keep a girl straight and done her duty by her it was me. that man 'ain't got no good intentions by--"
-"oh, ain't you--ain't you a mean-thinking thing, ain't you? what kind of a girl do you think i am? if he didn't have the right intentions by me do you think--"
-"oh, i guess he'll marry you if he can't get you no other way. them kind always do if they can't help themselves. a divorced old guy like him, with a couple of kids and his mean little eyes, knows he's got to pay up if he wants a young girl like you. oh, i--ouch--oh--oh!"
-"dee dee, take my arm. that was only an ashcan you bumped into. it's the drops he puts in your eyes makes 'em so bad to-night, i guess. go on, take my arm, dee dee. here we are home. lemme lead you up-stairs. it's nothing but the drops, dee dee."
-they turned in and up and through a foggy length of long hallway. spring had not entered here. at the top of a second flight of stairs a slavey sat back on her heels and twisted a dribble of gray water from her cloth into her bucket. at the last and third landing an empty coal-scuttle stood just outside a door as if nosing for entrance.
-"lemme alone. i can see."
-an immemorial federation of landladies has combined against hestia to preserve the musty traditions of the furnished room. love in a cottage is fostered by subdivision promoters and practised by commuters on a five-hundred-dollars-down, monthly-payment basis. marble halls have been celebrated in song, but the furnished room we have with us always at three cents per agate line.
-you with your feet on your library fender, stupefied with contentment and your soles scorching, your heart is not black; it is only fat. how can it know the lean formality of the furnished room? your little stenographer, who must wear a smile and fluted collars on eight dollars a week, knows it; the book agent at your door, who earns eighteen cents on each life of lincoln, knows it. chambermaids know it when they knock thrice and only the faint and nauseous fumes of escaping gas answer them through the plugged keyhole. coroners know it.
-sadie barnet and edith worte knew it, too, and put out a hand here and there to allay it. a comforting spread of gay chintz covered the sag in their white iron bed; a photograph or two stuck upright between the dresser mirror and its frame, and tacked full flare against the wall was a japanese fan, autographed many times over with the gay personnel of the titanic store's annual picnic.
-"gee! dee dee, six-twenty already! i got to hurry. unhook me while i sew in this ruching."
-"going for supper?"
-"yeh. he invited me. this is cottage-pudding night; tell old lady finch when i ain't home for supper you got two desserts coming to you."
-"i don't want no supper."
-"aw, now, dee dee!"
-miss worte dropped her dark cape from her shoulders, hung it with her hat on a door peg, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.
-"god! my feet!"
-miss barnet peeled off her shirt-waist. her bosom, strong and flat as a boy's, rose white from her cheaply dainty under-bodice; at her shoulders the flesh began to deepen, and her arms were round and full of curves.
-"here, dee dee, i'm so nervous when i hurry. you sew in this ruche; you got time before the supper-bell. see, right along the edge like that."
-miss worte aimed for the eye of the needle, moistening the end of the thread with her tongue and her fluttering fingers close to her eyes.
-"god! i--i just 'ain't got the eyes no more. i can't see, sadie; i can't find the needle."
-sadie barnet paused in the act of brushing out the cloud of her dark hair, and with a strong young gesture ran the thread through the needle, knotting its end with a quirk of thumb and forefinger.
-"it's the drops, dee dee, and this gaslight, all blurry from the curling-iron in the flame, makes you see bad."
-miss worte nodded and closed her eyes as if she would press back the tears and let them drip inward.
-"yeh, i know. i know."
-"sure! here, lemme do it, dee dee. i won't stay out late, dearie, if your eyes are bad. we're only going out for a little spin."
-miss worte lay back on the chintz bedspread and turned her face to the wall.
-"i should worry if you come home or if you don't--all the comfort you are to me."
-"you say that to me many more times and you watch and see what i do; you watch and see."
-"the sooner the better."
-in the act of fluting the soft ruche about her neck, so that her fresh little face rose like a bud from its calyx, miss barnet turned to the full length of back which faced her from the bed.
-"that's just the way i feel about it--the sooner the better."
-"then we think alike."
-"you 'ain't been such a holy saint to me that i got to pay up to you for it all my life."
-"that's the thanks i get."
-"you only raised me because you had to. i been working for my own living ever since i was so little i had to he to the inspectors about my age."
-"except what you begged out of my wages."
-"that's the thanks i get; that's the--"
-"aw, i know all that line of talk by heart, so you don't need to ram it down me. you gotta quit insinuating about my ways to me. i'm as straight as you are and--"
-"you--you--take off that ivory-hand breast-pin; that ain't yours."
-"sure i'll take it off, and this ruche you gimme the money to buy, and this red bracelet you gimme, and--and every old thing you ever gimme. sure i'll take 'em all off. i wish i could take off these gray-top shoes you paid a dollar toward, and i would, too, if i didn't have to go barefoot. it's the last time i borrow from--"
-"aw, you commenced that line of talk when you was ten."
-"i mean it."
-"well, if you do, take off them gloves that i bought for myself and you begged right off my hands. just take 'em off and go barehanded with your little-headed friend; maybe he can buy--"
-"you--oh, i--i wish i was dead! i--i'll go barehanded to a snowball feast rather than wear your duds. there's your old gloves--there!"
-tears were streaming and leaving their ravages on the smooth surface of her cheeks.
-"i just wish i--i was dead."
-"aw, no, you don't! there's him now, with a horn on his auto that makes a noise like the devil yelling! there's your little rat-eyed, low-lived fellow, now. you don't wish you was dead now, do you? go to him and his two divorces and his little roundhead. that's where you belong; that's where girls on the road to the devil belong--with them kind. there he is now, waiting to ride you to the devil. he don't need to honk-honk so loud; he knows you're ready and waiting for him."
-miss barnet fastened on her little hat with fingers that fumbled.
-"aw, no, you don't. when you come home tonight you knock; no more tiptoe, night-key business like last time. i knew you was lying to me about the clock."
-"you gimme that key. i don't want you to have to get up, with all your kicking, to open the door for me. you gimme the key."
-"if you wanna get in this room when you come home to-night, you knock like any self-respecting girl ain't afraid to do."
-"you--oh--you!" with a shivering intake of breath miss barnet flung wide the door, slamming it after her until the windows and the blue-glass vase on the mantelpiece and miss worte, stretched full length on the bed, shivered.
-two flights down she flung open the front door. there came from the curb the bleat of a siren, wild for speed.
-stars had come out, a fine powdering of them, and the moist evening atmosphere was sweet, even heavy. she stood for a moment in the embrasure of the door, scenting.
-"do i need my heavy coat, jerry?"
-the dim figure in the tonneau, with his arms flung out their length across the back of the seat, moved from the center to the side.
-"no, you don't. hurry up! i'll keep you warm if you need a coat. climb in here right next to me, peachy. gimme that robe from the front there, george.
-"now didn't i say i was going to keep you warm? quit your squirming, touchy. i won't bite. ready, george. up to the palisade inn, and let out some miles there."
-"gee! jerry, you got the limousine top off. ain't this swell for summer?"
-mr. jerome beck settled back in the roomy embrasure of the seat and exhaled loudly, his shoulder and shoe touching hers.
-she settled herself out of their range.
-"now, now, snuggle up a little, peachy."
-she shifted back to her first position.
-"ain't it a swell night?"
-"now we're comfy--eh?"
-they were nosing through a snarl of traffic and over streets wet and slimy with thaw. men with overcoats flung over their arms side-stepped the snout of the car. delicatessen and candy-shop doors stood wide open. children shrilled in the grim shadows of thousand-tenant tenement-houses.
-"well, peachy, how are you? peachy is just the name for you, eh? 'cause i'd like to take a bite right out of you--eh, peachy? how are you?"
-"fine and--and dandy."
-"look at me."
-"look at me, i say, you pretty little peach, with them devilish black eyes of yours and them lips that's got a cherry on 'em."
-she met his gaze with an uncertain smile trembling on her lips.
-"honest, you're the limit."
-"what's your eyes red for?"
-"you know what i'd do if i thought you'd been crying? i'd just kiss them tears right away."
-"yes, you would not."
-"quit calling me that." but she colored as if his tribute had been a sheath of lilies.
-they veered a corner sharply, skidding on the wet asphalt and all but grazing the rear wheels of a recreant taxicab.
-"gad, george! you black devil you, why don't you watch out what you're doing?"
-"but, suh, i--"
-"none of your black back-talk."
-"jerry!" she was shivering, and a veil of tears formed over her hot, mortified eyes. "gee! what are you made of? you seen he couldn't help it when that taxi turned into us so sudden."
-he relaxed against her. "aw, did i scare the little peachy? that's the way they gotta be handled. i ain't ready by a long shot to let a black devil spill my brains."
-"'shh-h. he couldn't--"
-"sure he could, if he watched. he's a bargain i picked up cheap, anyways, 'cause he's lame and can't hold down heavy work. and bargains don't always pay. but i'll break his black back for him if--aw, now, now, did i scare the little peach? gee! i couldn't do nothing but kill you with kindness if you was driving for me. i'd just let you run me right off this road into the hudson ocean if you was driving for me."
-they were out toward the frayed edge of the city, where great stretches of sign-plastered vacant lots began to yawn between isolated patches of buildings and the river ran close enough alongside of them to reflect their leftward lights. she smiled, but as if her lips were bruised.
-"it ain't none of my put-in, but he couldn't help it, and i hate for you to yell at anybody like that, jerry."
-"aw, aw, did i scare the little peachy? watch me show the little tootsie how nice i can be when i want to--aw--aw!"
-she blinked back the ever-recurring tears.
-"all tired out, too; all tired out. wait till you see what i'm going to buy you to-night. a great big beefsteak with mushrooms as big as dollars and piping-hot german fried potatoes and onions. m-m-m-m! and more bubbles than you can wink your eye at. aw--aw, such poor cold little hands, and no gloves for such cold little hands! here, lemme warm 'em. wouldn't i just love to wrap a little peachy like you up in a great big fur coat and put them little cold hands in a great big muff and hang some great big headlight earrings in them little bittsie ears. wouldn't i, though. m-m-m-m! poor cold little hands!"
-her wraith of a smile dissolved in a spurt of hot tears which flowed over her words.
-"gee! ain't i the nut to--to cry? i--i'll be all right in a minute."
-"i knew when i seen them red eyes the little peachy wasn't up to snuff, and her cute little devilishlike ways. what's hurting you, tootsie? been bounced? you should worry. i'm going to steal you out of that cellar, anyways. been bounced?"
-"the old hag 'ain't been making it hot for you, has she?"
-"it's her eyes; the doctor must have scared her up again to-day. when she gets scared like that about 'em she acts up so, honest, sometimes i--i just wish i was dead. she don't think a girl oughtta have no life."
-"forget it. just you wait. she's going to wake up some morning soon and find a little surprise party for herself. i know just how to handle an old bird like her."
-"sometimes she's just so good to me, and then again, when she gets sore like to-night, and with her nagging and fussing at me, i don't care if she is my aunt, i just hate her."
-"we're going to give her a little surprise party." beneath the lap robe his hand slid toward hers. she could feel the movement of the arm that directed it and her own shrank away.
-"but ain't i the limit, jerry, airing my troubles to you, like you was a policeman."
-"quit! leggo my hand."
-they were spinning noiselessly along a road that curved for the moment away from the river into the velvet shadows of trees. he leaned forward suddenly, enveloping her.
-"i got it. why don't you lemme kidnap you, kiddo?"
-"lemme kidnap you to-night and give the old hag the surprise of her life when she wakes up and finds you stolen. i'm some little kidnapper when it comes to kidnapping, i am, kiddo. say, wouldn't i like to take you riding all wrapped up in a fur coat with nothing but your cute little face sticking out."
-"aw, you're just fooling me."
-"fooling! lemme prove it, to-night. lemme kidnap you this very night. i--"
-she withdrew stiff-backed against his embrace.
-"is--is that what you mean by--by kidnapping me?"
-"sure. there ain't nothing i'd rather do. are you on, peaches? a sensible little queen like you knows which side her bread is buttered on. there ain't nothing i want more than to see you all bundled up in a fur coat with--headlights in your little bittsie pink ears."
-she sprang the width of the seat from him.
-"you--what kind of a girl do you think i am? o god! what kind of a girl does he think i am? take me home--take me--what kind of a girl do you think i am?"
-he leaned toward her with a quick readjustment of tone.
-"just what i said, peachy. what i meant was i'd marry you to-night if we could get a license. i'd just kidnap you to-night if--if we could get one."
-"you--you didn't mean that."
-"sure i did, peachy. say, with a little girl of my own i ain't one of them guys that you think i am. ain't you ashamed of yourself, peachy--now ain't you?"
-the color flowed back into her face and her lips parted.
-"jerry--only a girl like me's got to be careful--that was all i meant, jerry. jerry!"
-he scooped her in his short arms and kissed her lips, with her small face crumpled up against his shoulder, and she lay quiescent enough in his embrace. wind sang in her ears as they rushed swiftly and surely along the oiled road, but the two small fists she pressed against his coat lapels did not relax.
-"aw, now, peachy, you mustn't treat a fellow cold no more! ain't i going to marry you? ain't i going to set you up right in my house out in newton heights? ain't i going to give you a swell ten-room house? ain't you going to live right in the house with my girl, and ain't she going to have you for a little stepmother?"
-"jerry, the--the little girl. i wonder if she wants--"
-"sure she does. her mother gets her every other month. i'd let her go for good if you don't want her, except it would do her mother too much good. the courts give her to me every other month and i'll have her down to the last minute of the last hour or bust."
-"that's what i gotta keep up the house out there for. the court says i gotta give her a home, and that's why i want a little queen like you in it. gad! won't her mother throw a red-headed fit when she sees the little queen i picked! gad!"
-"oh, jerry, her your first wife and all! won't it seem funny my going in her house and--and living with her kid."
-"funny nothing. cloonan won't think it's funny when i tell her she's finished running my house for me. funny nothing. to-morrow's sunday and i'm going to take you out in the afternoon and show you the place, and monday, instead of going to your bargain bin, we're going down for a license, and you kiss the old hag good-by for me, too. eh, how's that for one day's work?"
-"gee! and--and--monday the spring opening and me not there! jerry, i--i can't get over me being a lady in my own house. me! me that hates ugliness and ugly clothes and ugly living so. me that hates street-cars and always even hated boat excursions 'cause they was poor folks' pleasures. me a lady in my own house. oh, jerry!"
-she quivered in his arms and he kissed her again with his moist lips pressed flat against hers.
-"ten rooms, peachy--that's the way i do things."
-they were curving up a gravel way, and through the lacy foliage of spring lights gleamed, and there came the remoter strains of syncopated music.
-she sat up and brushed back her hair.
-"is this the place?"
-"right-o! now for that steak smothered in mushrooms, and, gad! i could manage a sweetbread salad on the side if you asked me right hard."
-they drew up in the flood-light of the entrance.
-"'ain't i told you not to open the door for me, george? i don't need no black hand reaching back here to turn the handle for me. that don't make up for bad driving. black hands off."
-they alighted with an uncramping and unbending of limbs.
-"how'd some lynnhavens taste to you for a starter, peachy?"
-"fine, whatever they are."
-a liveried attendant bowed them up the steps.
-a woman in blue velvet, her white arms bare to the shoulder and stars in her hair, paused in the doorway to drop her cloak. her heavy perfume drifted out to meet them.
-sadie barnet's clutch of her companion's arm quickened and her thoughts ran forward.
-"jerry--gee! wouldn't i look swell in--in a dress like that? gee! jerry, stars and all!"
-the cords in the muscles of his arm rose under her fingers.
-"them ain't one-two-three-six to the duds i'm going to hang on you. i know her; she's an old-timer. them duds ain't one-two-three-six."
-in the heart of a silence as deep as a bottomless pool, with the black hours that tiptoe on the heels of midnight shrouding her like a nun's wimple, limbs trembling and her hands reluctant, sadie barnet knocked lightly at her door, once, twice, thrice, and between each rap her heart beat with twice its tempo against her breast.
-then her stealthy hand turned the white china knob and released it so that it sprang backward with a click.
-"me, dee dee."
-her voice was swathed in a whisper.
-she could hear the plong of the bedspring, the patter of bare feet across the floor; feel the slight aperture of the opening door. she oozed through the slit.
-"all right, dee dee."
-"it isn't late, dee dee."
-"light the gas."
-"i--i can undress in the dark."
-"light the gas."
-"light it, i say."
-"it's lit, dee dee."
-the figure in the center of the room, in her high-necked, long-sleeved nightdress, her sparse hair drawn with unpleasant tension from her brow, her pale eyes wide, moved forward a step, one bare foot, calloused even across the instep, extended.
-"dee dee, what's the matter?"
-she took them from miss barnet's trembling ringers and curved them about her ears.
-"quit your nonsense now and light the gas. i ain't in no humor for foolin'. quit waving that little spark in front of me. light the gas. i ain't going to look at the clock. i'm done worrying about your carryings-on. i'm done. light the gas, sadie, there's a good girl. light the gas."
-"dee dee! my god! dee dee, i--i tell you it's lit--big."
-"there's a good girl, sadie. don't fool your old aunt."
-"see, dearie, i ain't fooling. see, the gas-jet here beside the dresser. look--i can't turn it no higher. hear it sing and splutter. you ain't awake good yet, dee dee."
-silence--the ear-splitting silence that all in its brief moment is crammed with years and years upon years. a cold gray wash seemed suddenly to flow over miss worte's face.
-"put my finger next to the gas flame. you--you're lying to me to--to fool your old aunt. lemme feel my finger get burnt."
-they moved, these two, across the floor, their blanched faces straining ahead. with the sudden sting of heat finally across her palm, reddening it, miss worte flung wide her arms and her head backward, and her voice tore out without restraint.
-"god! god! god!" and she fell to trembling so that her knees gave way under her and she crouched on the floor with her face bared to the ceiling, rocking herself back and forth, beating her fists against her flat breasts.
-"god! god! god!"
-"dee dee!--dee dee! my darling! my darling!"
-"o god! o god! o god!"
-"dee dee darling, it ain't nothing! a little too much strain, that's all. 'shh-h-h! lemme bathe them. 'shh-h-h, my darling. oh, my god! darling! 'shh-h-h!"
-"lemme go! lemme go! he told me to-day it would come like this! only he didn't say how soon. not how soon. i'm done for, i tell you! i'm done! kill me, sadie; if you love me, kill me! he told me and i wouldn't believe it! kill me, girl, and put me out of it! i can't breathe in the dark! i can't! i can't! i can't live in the dark with my eyes open! kill me, girl, and put me out of it--kill me! kill me!"
-"dee dee, my darling, ain't i right here with you? didn't you always say, darling, when it came you--you'd face it?"
-like st. cecilia, who could not die, she crouched, and the curve of her back rose and fell.
-"o god! oh--"
-"dee dee darling, try not to holler out so! maybe it ain't for--for good. aw, darling, keep your head down here next to me! feel how close i am, dee dee, right here next to you. 'shh-h-h! o god! dee dee darling, you'll kill yourself going on like that! don't pull at your hair, darling--don't! oh, my god, don't!"
-"i'm done! kill me! kill me! don't make me live in the dark with my eyes open--don't! there's a good girl, sadie. don't! don't! don't!"
-from the room adjoining came a rattling at the barred door between.
-"cut it, in there! this ain't no barroom. go tell your d. t.'s to a policeman."
-they crouched closer and trembling.
-"'shh-h-h! dee dee, darling, try to be easy and not raise the house--try!"
-miss worte lay back exhausted against miss barnet's engulfing arms. her passion ebbed suddenly and her words came scant, incoherent, and full of breath.
-"no use. no use. he told me to-day he wouldn't operate. he told me. no, no, all the colors so pale--even the reds--so pale! lavender and blue i--i just couldn't tell. i couldn't. so pale. two yards she brought back next day, kicking at--oh, my god! oh, my god!"
-'"shh-h-h, darling! don't take on so! wait till morning and we'll get new drops from him. 'shh-h-h! maybe it's only strain."
-"i know. i'm in the dark for good, sadie. oh, my god! i'm in the dark!"
-except that her face was withered, she was like iphigenia praying for death.
-"lemme die! lemme die!"
-"'shh-h-h--darling--that's it, rest quiet."
-suddenly miss worte flung up one arm about sadie barnet's neck, pressing her head downward until their faces touched.
-"dee dee darling, you--you hurt."
-"you won't never leave me, sadie, like you said you would? you won't leave me alone in the dark, sadie?"
-"no, no, my darling; you know i won't, never, never."
-"you'll keep me with you always, promise me that, sadie. promise me that on the curl of your mother's hair you wear in your locket. promise me, little sadie, you won't leave your aunt dee dee alone in the dark. my poor little girl, don't leave me alone in the dark. i can't see; sadie, i can't see no more. promise me, sadie, promise me, promise me!"
-from sadie barnet's heart, weakening her like loss of blood, flowed her tears. she kissed the heart of edith worte where it beat like a clock beneath the high-necked nightdress; she made of her bosom a pillow of mercy and drew the head up to its warmth.
-"i--i promise, dee dee, on her curl of hair. sure i promise. always will i keep you with me, darling, always, always, so help me, always."
-along the road to newton heights spring and her firstlings crept out tenderly. even close up to the rim of the oiled highway itself, an occasional colony of wood violets dared to show their heads for the brief moment before they suffocated. the threat of rain still lay on the air, but the sunday rank and file of motors threw back tops, lowered windshields, and turned shining noses toward the greening fields.
-in the red-leather tonneau, with her little face wind-blown and bared to the kiss in the air, sadie barnet turned to her companion and peered under the visor of his checked cap and up into his small inset eyes.
-"is--is that the house up on the hill there, jerry?"
-"not yet. it's right around the next bend."
-"gee! my--my hands are like ice, i--i'm that nervous."
-"that's a swell way to treat a fellow who's promised to marry you."
-"you--you must excuse me to-day, jerry. honest, without a wink of sleep last night--you must excuse me to-day. i--i'm so upset with poor dee dee, and on top of that so nervous about--your little girl and the house and everything. and, dee dee--when i think of dee dee."
-"don't think, peachy; that's the way to get around that."
-"i--i can't help it. you ought to seen her at the doctor's this morning, how--how the poor thing lost her nerve when he told her that there--there wasn't no hope."
-"aw, now, cut the sob stuff, peachy! you can't help it. nobody can, that's the trouble. say, what kind of a little queen will they think you are if i bring you home all soppy with crying?"
-"yeh, and poor old devil. maybe she's just getting what's due to her."
-"sure, i believe every one of us gets what's coming to us."
-"here we are, tootsie. see, peachy, that's the house i bought her and her mother, and they was kicking at it before the plaster was dry."
-"that's a concrete front. neat, ain't it? that's a mosaic-floor porch, too, i built on a year after her and her mother vamoosed."
-"it's a beau-tiful house, jerry."
-"you're the land of a kid that knows how to appreciate a home when she gets it. but her with her she-devil of a mother, they no sooner got in than they began to side with each other against me--her and her old mother trying to learn me how to run my own shebang."
-"gad! they're living in a dirty harlem flat now and tryin' to put it over on me that they're better off in it. bah! if i had to double up on alimony, i wouldn't give her a smell at this house, not a smell."
-"say, but ain't it pretty, jerry, right up over the river, and country all around, and right over there in back the street-cars for the city when you want them?"
-"this is going to be your street-car, peachy, a six-cylinder one."
-she colored like a wild rose.
-"oh, jerry, i--i keep forgetting."
-"by gad! it's a good thing i'm going to give up my city rooms and come out here to watch my p's and q's. gosh darn her neck! i told her to quit cluttering up that side-yard turf with her gosh darn little flower-beds! gosh darn her neck! there never was a servant worth her hide."
-"jerry, why, they're beautiful! they just look beautiful, those pansies, and is that the little girl sitting up there on the porch steps? is--is that maisie?"
-they drew to a stop before the box-shaped ornate house, its rough concrete front pretentiously inlaid over the doors and windows with a design of pebbles stuck like dates on a cake, and perched primly on the topmost step of the square veranda the inert figure of a small girl.
-"aw, ain't she cute?"
-miss barnet sprang lightly to the sidewalk, and beside her mr. jerome beck flecked the dust of travel from the bay of his waistcoat, shaking his trousers knees into place.
-"this has got your twenty-third street dump beat a mile, and then some, 'ain't it, peachy?"
-"jerry, call her here, the little girl. you tell her who--who i am. tell her gently, jerry, and--and how good i'm going to be to her and--aw, ain't i the silly, though, to feel so trembly?"
-the child on the step regarded their approach with unsmiling eyes, nor did she move except to draw aside her dark stuff skirts and close her knees until they touched.
-"hello there! moping again, eh? get up! didn't i tell you not to let me catch you not out playing or helping cloonan around? say howdy to this lady. she's coming out here to live. come here and say howdy to her."
-the child shrank to the newel-post, her narrow little face overtaken with an agony of shyness.
-"cat got your tongue? say howdy. quit breathing through your mouth like a fish. say howdy, that's a good girl."
-"don't force her, jerry. she's bashful. ain't you, dearie? ain't you, maisie?"
-"moping, you mean. if it was her month in the dirty harlem flat she'd be spry enough. she knows what i mean whan i say that, and she knows she better cut out this pouting. quit breathing through your mouth or i'll stick a cork in it."
-"aw, jerry, she can't help that!"
-"cat got your tongue? where's cloonan?"
-the child's little face quivered and screwed, each feature drawing itself into position for tears. her eyes disappeared, her nostrils distended, her mouth opened to a quivering rectangle, and she fell into silent weeping.
-"aw, jerry--you--you scared her! come here, darling; come here to me, maisie; come, dearie."
-but the child slid past the extended arms, down the wooden steps, and around a corner of the house, her arm held up across her eyes.
-"aw, jerry, honest, you can be awful mean!"
-"i'll get that out of her or know the reason why. they've poisoned her against me, that's about how it is in a nutshell. i'll get that pouting to be in that dirty harlem hole with her mother and grandmother out of her or know the reason why."
-"look, this is the front hall. guess this 'ain't got that sty in twenty-third street beat some. look! how do you like it? this way to the parlor and dining-room."
-sadie barnet smiled through the shadows in her eyes.
-"jerry! say, ain't this beau-tiful! a upright piano and gold, chairs and--why, jerry! why, jerry!"
-"and look in here, the dining-room. her and her mother shopped three weeks to get this oak set, and see this fancy cabinet full of china. slick, ain't it?"
-her fingers curled in a soft, clutch around her throat as if her breath came too fast.
-"jerry, it--it's just grand."
-"look, butler's pantry, exposed plumbing."
-"here, cloonan. i told you i was going to bring somebody out to take hold and sit on you and your bills, didn't i? this lady's coming out here tomorrow, bag and baggage. hand over your account-book to her and i bet she does better with it. see that you fix us up in honeymoon style, too. bag and baggage we're coming. savvy?"
-the figure beside the ill-kept stove, bowl in lap and paring potatoes with the long fleshless hands of a bird, raised a still more fleshless face.
-"cloonan's been running this shebang for two years now, peachy, and there ain't nothing much she can't learn you about my ways. they ain't hard. look! porcelain-lined sink. it's got twenty-third street beat some, 'ain't it?"
-"fix us a beefsteak supper, cloonan, and lemme weigh up them groceries i sent out and lemme see your books afterward. come, peachy, here, up these stairs. this is the second floor. pretty neat, ain't it? her and her mother shopped three more weeks on this oak bed-set. some little move out here from twenty-third street for a little rooming-house queen like you, eh? neat little bedroom, eh, peachy? eh?"
-his face was close to her and claret red with an expression she did not dare to face.
-"and what's this next room here, jerry? ain't it sweet and quiet-looking! spare room? ain't it pretty with them little white curtains? quit, quit, jerry! you mustn't--you mustn't."
-she broke from his embrace, confusion muddling her movements.
-"is this the--the spare room?"
-"it is, now. it used to be the old woman's till i laid down on the mother-in-law game and squealed. yeh, i used to have a little mother-in-law in our house that was some mother-in-law. believe me, she makes that old devil of yourn look like a prize angel."
-"i--this'll be just the room for dee dee, jerry, where she can feel the morning sun and hear the street-cars over there when she gets lonesome. she ought to have the sunniest room, because it's something she can feel without seeing--poor thing. this will be a swell room for poor old blind dee dee, won't it, jerry? won't it, jerry dear?"
-"cut the comedy, peachy. there's a neat free ward waiting for her just the other direction from the city than newton heights. cut the comedy, peachy."
-"jerry, i--i gotta have her with me. i--now that she--she's in the dark. she couldn't stand an institution, jerry, she--she just couldn't."
-"that's what they all say, but they get over it. i know a--"
-"she couldn't, jerry. she 'ain't had much in her life, but she's always had a roof over her head that wasn't charity, and she always said, jerry, that she couldn't never stand a--a institution. she can take any other room you say, jerry. maybe there's a little one up-stairs in the third story we could fix up comfy for her; but she's in the dark now, jerry, and, my god! jerry, she just couldn't stand an institution!"
-he patted her shoulder and drew her arm through his.
-"you lemme take care of that. she don't need to know nothing about it. we'll tell her we're sending her for a visit to the country for a while. after the second day she'll be as snug as a bug in a rug. they're good to 'em in those places; good as gold."
-"no, no, jerry! no, no! i gotta have her with me! she raised me from a kid and--and she couldn't stand it, jerry! i gotta have her, i gotta! i want her!"
-his mouth sagged downward suddenly and on an oblique.
-"say, somebody must have given you a few lessons in nagging, yourself. them's the lines she used to recite to me about her she-devil of a mother, too. gad! she used to hang on her mother's apron-strings like she was tied."
-"come, peachy, don't get me sore. come, let's talk about to-morrow. we gotta get the license first and--"
-"jerry, i--promise me i can have her with me first. i--just a little yes is all i want--jerry dear--just a little yes."
-a frown gathered in a triple furrow on his brow.
-"now, kiddo, you got to cut that with me, and cut it quick. if there's two things i can't stand it's nagging and pouting. cloonan can tell you what pouting can drive me to. i'll beat it out of that girl of mine before she's through with me, and i won't stand it from no one else. now cut it, peachy, that's a nice girl."
-he paced the carpeted space of floor between the dresser and bed, his mouth still on the oblique.
-"now cut it, peachy, i said, and cut it quick."
-she stood palpitating beside the window, her eyes flashing to his face and fastening there.
-"god! i--i wanna go."
-her glance flashed past him out of the window and across the patch of rear lawn. a street-car bobbed across the country; she followed it with eager eyes.
-"i wanna go."
-he advanced, conciliatory. "aw, now, peachy, a row just the day before we are married. you don't want to start out making me train you just like you was a little kid. if you was a little girl i could beat your little ways out of you, but i wanna be on the level with you and show you how nice i can be. all the things i'm going to give you, all--"
-"quit, you! i wanna go! i wanna go!"
-"you can go to hell, for my part. i'm going to get a steak inside of me before we budge. quit your fooling. see, you nearly got me sore there. come, the car won't be back for us until six. come, peachy, come."
-she was past him and panting down the stairs, out across the patch of rear lawn, and toward the bobbing street-car, the streamer of ribbon at her throat flying backward over her shoulder.
-in the bargain basement of the titanic store the first day of the spring opening dragged to its close. in a meadow beside a round pond a tree dripped apple blossoms, each so frail a thing that it fluttered out and away, too light to anchor.
-in careless similitude the bargain basement of the titanic store resuscitated from its storerooms, and from spring openings long gone by, dusty garlands of cotton may blossoms, festooning them between the great white supporting pillars of the basement and intertwining them.
-over the white-goods counter and over sunday, as it were, a papier-mâché pergola of green lattice-work and more cotton-back may blossoms had sprung up as if the great god wotan had built it with a word. cascades of summer linens, the apple green and the butter yellow, flowed from counters and improvised tables. sadie barnet's own mid-aisle bin had blossomed into a sacrificial sale of lawn remnants, and toward the close of the day her stock lay low, depleted.
-max meltzer leaned out of his bower, and how muted his voice, as if it came from an inner throat that only spoke when the heart bade it.
-"little one, them remnants went like hot cakes, didn't they?"
-"hot cakes! well, i guess. you'd have thought there was a mill-end sale on postage stamps."
-"and if you don't look all tired out! if you just don't!"
-the ready tears swam in her voice.
-"it's--it's been awful--me away from her all day like this. but, anyways, i got news for her when i go home to-night about her five weeks' benefit money. old criggs was grand. he's going to send the committee to see her. anyways, that's some good news for her."
-"i just can't get her out of my mind, neither. seems like i--i just can see her poor blind face all the time."
-"they say the girls up in the ribbons been crying all day. she was no love-bird, but they say she wasn't bad underneath."
-"god knows she--she wasn't."
-"that's the way with some folks; they're hard on top, but everybody knows hard-shell crabs have got sweeter meat than soft."
-"nobody knows that she was a rough diamond better than me. i got sore at her sometimes, but i--i know she was always there when i--i needed her, alrighty."
-"now, now, little girl, don't cry! you're all worn out."
-"she--she was always there to stand by me in--in a pinch."
-"honest, miss sadie, you look just like a pretty little ghost. what you need is some spring air, girlie, some spring air for a tonic. wouldn't i just love to take you all by your little self down the river to-night on one of them new coney boats, where we could be--right quiet. say, wouldn't i?"
-"i wanna talk to you, miss sadie. can't you guess? i wanna get you all by yourself and talk to you right in your little ear."
-'"shh-h-h! you mustn't talk like that."
-"that's the only way i have of trying to tell you how--how i feel, miss sadie--dearie."
-"when i call you that it means--well, you know, dearie, you know. that's why i wanna take you to-night, dearie, all by your little self and--"
-"no, no, mr. meltzer! i can't leave her alone like that. i promised i would never leave her alone in the dark if--if i could help it."
-"ain't i the dub? sure you can't leave her. we gotta stick by her now, dearie. 'ain't we? 'ain't we?"
-a red seepage of blood surged across his face and under his hair. beneath his little hedge of mustache his lips quivered as if at their own daring.
-"we gotta stick by her, dearie."
-all her senses swam, nor could she control the fluttering of her hands.
-"what you and poor old dee dee need is some of this spring air. gee! wouldn't i love to take you--and her down the river to-night on one of them new coney boats? gee! would i? just you and--and her."
-"max--oh, max dearie!"
-by the great order of things which decreed that about the time herod, brother to no man, died, jesus, brother to all men, should be born; and that rabelais, moral jester, should see light the very year that orthodox louis xi passed on, by that same metaphysical scheme reduced to its lowliest, essman's drop-picture machine, patent applied for, was completed the identical year that, for rudolph pelz, the rainy-day skirt slumped from a novelty to a commodity.
-at a very low tide in the affairs of the novelty rainy day skirt company, canal street, that year of our lord, 1898, when letter-head stationery was about to be rewritten and the i-haven't-seen-you-since-last-century jocosity was about to be born, rudolph pelz closed his workaday by ushering out mr. emil hahn, locking his front door after his full force of two women machine-stitchers, and opening a rear door upon his young manhood's estate. a modest-enough holding in the eyes of you or me as beholders; but for the past week not an evening upon opening that door but what tears rushed to his throat, which he laughed through, for shame of them.
-on a bed, obviously dragged from its shadowy corner to a place beside the single window, and propped up so that her hair, so slickly banding her head in two plaits, sprang out against the coarsely white pillows, mrs. rosa sopinsky pelz, on an evening when the air rose sultry, stale, and even garbage-laden from a cat-and-can-infested courtyard, flashed her quick smile toward that opening door, her week-old infant suckling at her breast.
-"you ought to seen, roody; she laughed! puckered herself up into the cutest little grin when mamma left just now."
-mr. pelz wound his way through an overcrowded huddle of furniture that was gloomily, uglily utilitarian. a sideboard spread in pressed glass; a chest of drawers piled high with rough-dry family wash; a coal-range, and the smell and sound of simmering. a garland of garlic, caught up like smilax, and another of drying red peppers. on a shelf above the sink, cluttered there with all the pitiful unprivacy of poverty, a layout, to recite which will label me with the nigritude of the realist, but which is actually the nigritude of reality--a dish of brown-and-white blobs of soap; a coffee-cup with a great jag in its lip; a bottle of dried beans; a rubber nipple floating in a saucer of water; a glass tumbler containing one inverted tooth-brush; a medicine-bottle glued down in a dark-brown pool of its own substance; a propped-up bit of mirror, jagged of edge; a piece of comb; a rhinestone breastpin; a bunion-plaster; a fork; spoon; a sprouting onion. yet all of this somehow lit by a fall of very coarse, very white, and very freshly starched lace curtains portière-fashion from the door, looped back in great curves from the single window, and even skirting stiffly and cleanly the bureau-front and bed-edge.
-"how is my little mammela?" said mr. pelz, leaning over the bed to kiss mrs. pelz on the shining plaits, the light-tan column of throat and the little fist pressed so deeply into her bosom.
-"red head!" he said, stroking down at the warm "bulge of blanket, so snugly enclosed in the crotch of mothering arm.
-"it's redder than yours already, roody."
-"she's sure a grand little thing cuddled up there, ain't it so, mammela?"
-she reached up to pat his blue shirt-sleeve.
-"there's some herring on the table mamma brought over, and some raw meat and onions. that's some borshtsh on the stove etta carried all the way over from hester street for your supper."
-"and what for the little mammela?"
-"i'm fed up, roody. mamma closed the store at five to run over with some of that milk-shake like doctor aarons said. he sent his little son isadore over with the prescription. like i said to mamma, she should let the canal street kosher sausage company do double the business from five until six while she closes shop to carry her daughter a milk-shake! like i was used to it from home!"
-"when my girl gets to be a little mammela, the best shouldn't be none too good."
-she continued to stroke up at his sleeve and occasionally on up into his uneven shock of red hair.
-"you miss me in the shop, roody?"
-"you should just see once how that ruby grabenheiner sits at your machine! she does one-half your work not one-half so good."
-"i'll be back next week monday."
-he patted her quickly. "no! no! a mammela's place is with her baby."
-"roody, you make me laugh. i should sit at home now since we got a new mouth to feed? that would be a fine come-off!"
-"who do you think was just in, rosie? emil hahn."
-"sol is going to make for me, roody, one of those little packing-case cribs like he built for etta up in the pants-factory, so when the machine works it rocks, too. did--did the check from solomon & glauber come in on the last mail, roody?"
-"now, rosie, you mustn't worry yourself about such--"
-"what you looking so funny for, roody?"
-"i was starting to tell you, rosie--hahn was just in and--"
-"roody, don't change the subject on me always. you looked funny. is it something wrong with solomon & glau--"
-"if you don't take the cake, rosie! now, why should i look funny? 'funny,' she says i look, i'm hungry. i smell etta's borshtsh."
-she half raised herself, the pulling lips of the child drawing up the little head from the cove of arm.
-"rosie, you mustn't lift up that way!"
-"roody, i can read you like a book! solomon & glauber have countermanded, too."
-"now, rosie, wouldn't that keep until--"
-"well, if you got to know it, rosie, they're shipping back the consignment."
-"what you going to do about it? give you my word never seen the like. it's like the rainy-day skirt had died overnight. all of a sudden from a novelty, i find myself with such a commodity that every manufacturer in the business is making them up for himself."
-"you seen it first, though, roody. nobody can take it away from you that you seen first how the rainy-day skirt and its shortness would be such a success with the women."
-"'seen it first,' she says! say, what good does it do me if i didn't see far enough? i pick for myself such a success that i crowd myself out of business."
-"it's a dirty shame! a big firm like solomon & glauber should not be allowed to--"
-"say, if it wouldn't be solomon & glauber, it would be funk & hausman or any other firm. the rainy-day skirt has slipped out of my hands, rosie, to the big fellows. we must realize that for ourselves. that's the trouble when you don't deal in a patented product. what's the little fellows like myself to do against a firm like solomon & glauber? start something?"
-"three countermands in a week, and no orders coming in!"
-"say, it don't tickle my ribs no more than yours."
-"roody, maybe it's the worst thing ever happened to us you wouldn't listen to mamma and be satisfied with being chief cutter at lipschuts'."
-"shame on you, rosie! you want your daughter to grow up with a pants-cutter all her life for a father? you want i should die in somebody else's harness. maybe i didn't hit it right away, but i say yet, if a fellow's got the eyes and the nerve to see ahead a little with his imagination--"
-"'imagination.' he talks like a story-book."
-"now--now, take hahn, rosie--there's a fellow's got imagination--but not enough. i know it makes you mad when i talk on his picture-machine, but you take it from me--there's a fellow with a good thing under his very nose, but he--he 'ain't quite got the eyes to see ahead."
-"say, for such a good thing like emil hahn's picture-machine, where his wife had to work in my own mother's sausage-store, i can't make myself excited."
-"he 'ain't quite got the eyes to see, rosie, the big idea in it. he's afraid of life, instead of making it so that life should be afraid of him. ten dollars cheaper i can buy that machine to-day than last week. a song for it, i tell you."
-"ninety dollars to me is no cheap song, roody."
-"the people got to be amused the same as they got to be fed. a man will pay for his amusements quicker than he will pay his butcher's or his doctor's bill. it's a cash business, rosie. all you do with such a machine like hahn's is get it well placed, drop your penny in the slot, and see one picture after another as big as life. i remember back in the old country, the years before we came over, when i was yet a youngster--"
-"you bet hahn never put his good money in that machine. i got it from birdie hahn herself. for a bad debt he took it over along with two feather beds and--"
-"one after another pictures as big as life, rosie, like real people moving. one of them, i give you my word, it's grand! a woman it shows all wrapped tight around in white, on a sofa covered over with such a spotted--what you call--leopard-skin."
-"to me that has a sound, roody, not to be proud of--"
-"a living picture, with such neck and arms and--"
-"that's enough, roody! that's enough! i'm ashamed even for your daughter here!"
-"such a machine, maybe some day two or three, set up in a place like coney island or, for a beginning, in pleasure arcade, is an immense idea, rosie. until an invention like this, nine-tenths of the people couldn't afford the theyater. the drop-picture machine takes care of them nine-tenths."
-"theyaters are no place for the poor."
-"that's where you're wrong--they need it the most. i don't want to get you worked up, rosie, while you ain't strong, but every day that we wait we're letting a great idea slip through our fingers. if i don't buy that machine off emil hahn, somebody else will see in it what i see. then all our lives we will have something to reproach ourselves with."
-mrs. pelz let slide her hand beneath the pillow, eyes closing and her face seeming to whiten.
-"ninety dollars! twenty dollars less than every cent we got saved in the world. it ain't right we should gamble with it, roody. not now."
-"why not now, rosie? it's all the more reason. is it worth maybe a little gamble our bleema should grow up like the best? i got bigger plans for her and her little mammela than such a back room all their lives. in a few years, maybe three rooms for ourselves in one of them newfangled apartment-houses up on second avenue with turn-on hot water--"
-"that's right--you'll have her riding in a horseless carriage next!"
-"i tell you, it's a big idea!"
-"i wish we had ten cents for every big idea you've been struck with."
-"that's just why, rosie, i'm going to hit one right."
-mrs. pelz withdrew then the slow hand from beneath the pillow and a small handkerchief with a small wad knotted into it.
-"nearly every--cent--in--the world, roody, that we've got. saved nearly penny by penny. our bleema--it's a sin--our--our--"
-"our week-old little girl--it--"
-"nothing ventured in life, rosie, nothing squeezed out of it. don't put it back! look, the baby herself wants it! papa's little bleema! look! she's trying to lift herself. ain't that remarkable, rosie--look at that child lifting for that handkerchief!"
-"our little baby girl! if it was for ourselves alone, all right, maybe, take a chance--but for--"
-suddenly mr. pelz clapped his thigh. "i got it! i got it! well let the little bleema decide it for us. how's that? she should decide it for us if we take a gamble on her daddy's big idea! here--i put a five-cents piece in her little hand and see which way she drops it. the little mammela will say which way it is to be--heads or tails. how's that, rosie--the baby should decide it for us?"
-"heads or tails, rosie?"
-"quick now, papa's baby, open up little fist!"
-"roody, not so rough! she can't hold that big nickel."
-"that's just what i want--she should let it fall."
-"roody, roody, i hope it's tails."
-the coin rolled to the bed-edge, bounced off to the floor, rolled to the zinc edge.
-immediately after, on all-fours, his face screwed up for scrutiny and the back of his neck hotly ridden with crimson, mr. pelz leaned after.
-where riverside drive reaches its rococo climax of the twelve-thousand-dollar-a-year and twelve-story-high apartment-house de luxe and duplex, and six baths divided by fourteen rooms is equal to solid-marble comfort, elsinore court, the neurotic prince of denmark and controversy done in gilt mosaics all over the foyer, juts above the sky-line, and from the convex, rather pop-eyed windows of its top story, bulges high and wide of view over the city.
-from one of these windows, looking north, rudolph pelz, by the holding-aside of a dead weight of pink brocade and filet lace, could gaze upon a sweep of hudson river that flowed majestically between the great flank of the city and the brobdingnagian palisades.
-after a day when he had unerringly directed the great swinging crane of this or that gigantic transaction it had a laving effect upon him--this view of sure and fluent tide that ran so perpetually into infinitude.
-yet for mr. pelz to attempt to articulate into words this porcelain-thin pillar of emotions was to shatter it into brittle bits.
-"say, rosie, ain't that a view for you? that's how it is with life--a river that rises with getting born and flows into death, and the in-between is life and--and--"
-"roody, will you please hurry for sup--dinner? do you want feist to arrive with you not yet dressed?"
-mr. pelz turned then into an interior that was as pink and as silk as the inside of a bud--satin walls with side brackets softly simulating candles; a canet bed, piled with a careful riot of sheerest and roundest of pillows; that long suit of the interior decorator, the chaise-longue; the four french engravings in their gilt frames; the latest original josephine's secrétaire; the shine of a white adjoining bathroom. before a door-impaneled mirror, mrs. pelz, in a black-lace gown that was gracious to her rotundity.
-"just look! i'm all dressed already."
-mr. pelz advanced to her, his clasp closing over each of her bare arms, smile and gaze lifting.
-"rosie, you've got them all beat! guess why i wish i was your diamond necklace."
-"roody, it's nearly seven. don't make me ashamed for feist."
-"all right, then, i guess."
-"so i could always be round your neck."
-his hand flew immediately to the lay of gems at her throat, a small flush rising.
-"roody, you hear me--hurry! stop it, i tell you! you pinch." but she was warmly pink now, the shake of her head setting the heavy-carat gems in her ears waggling.
-time, probably emulating destiny, had worked kindly here; had brought to mrs. pelz the soft, dove-like maturity of her little swell of bosom; the white, even creamy shoulders ever so slightly too plump between the blades; the still black hair polished and waved into expensive permanence. out of years that had first veered and finally taken course under his unquestionable captaincy, rudolph pelz, with some of their storm and stress written in deep brackets round his mouth, the red hair just beginning to pale and thin, and a certain roundness of back enhancing his squattiness, had come snugly and simply into harbor. only the high cheek-bones and bony jaw-line and the rather inconveniently low voice, which, however, had the timbre of an ormolu clock in the chiming, indicating his peculiar and covert power to dominate as dynamically as ungrammatically a board of directors reckoning in millions across the mahogany.
-"shall i call in sato to help you dress, roody?"
-"please--no! just to have him in the room with his yellowness and tiptoes makes me nervous like a cat."
-"i got your shirt and studs laid out myself."
-he pinched her cheek again. "rosie posy!"
-"you had a hard day, roody? you look tired."
-"i don't like the battle of waterloo in the 'saint elba' picture."
-"roody, that scene it took such a fortune to build into the shape of the letter a?"
-"it looks like what is it. fake! the way it reads in that french revolution by that fellow carlyle they gave me to read and the way it looks in the picture is the difference of black from white. for fifty thousand dollars more or less on a four-hundred-thousand-dollar picture i don't have a fake waterloo."
-"i should say not, roody, when you're famous for your water scenes in all your big pictures! in 'the lure of silk' it's the scenes on the water they went craziest over."
-"i've already got the passage engaged for next week to shoot the company over to france. that windmill scene on long island looks as much like the windmill north of fleuris, where napoleon could see the blucher troops from, as i look like a windmill scene. 'sol,' i says, 'it looks just like what it is--a piece of pasteboard out of the storehouse set up on a rock. eat those feet of film, sol,' i says to him, 'plant 'em, drown 'em--anything you like with 'em. that kind of fake stuff won't make 'saint elba' the greatest picture ever released, and every picture turned out from these studios has got to be just that.' i wish you could have heard, rosie, in the projection-room, quiet like a pin after i came out with it."
-"fifty thousand dollars, roody?"
-"yes. 'fifty thousand dollars,' begins sol with me, too. 'fifty thousand--one hundred thousand--two!' i said. 'it would make no difference. if we can't fake the kind of battle-plain that wouldn't make napoleon turn over in his grave, we cross the ocean for the real thing.' 'fifty thousand dollars,' sol keeps saying--you know how he cries with his voice. 'fifty thousand dollars your grandmother!' i hollered. 'for a few dollars more or less i should make a rudolph pelz picture something i'm ashamed of.' am i right, rosie? am i right?"
-"i should say so, roody, for a few dollars you should not belittle yourself."
-"not if your old man knows it, by golly! and i think he does."
-"hurry now, roody; you know how bleema likes it you should be dressed."
-"believe me, if feist had his choice he wouldn't be dressed, neither. full dress for grandma and all of us to look at each other in! when there's company, it's bad enough, but for feist and a few servants, hanged if i see it!"
-"does it hurt, roody, to give the child a little pleasure? anyway, she's right--people like us should get dressed up for sup--dinner. i wouldn't be surprised if she didn't bring lester spencer back for dinner from automobiling."
-"he leaves to-night at ten with the company for pennsylvania and the horseshoe bend picture. anyways, i don't see where it comes in that for a fellow who draws his salary off of me i have to dress. i got to say it for him, though, give the devil his due, he does a good piece of work where sol succeeds in getting him off center-stage in his scene with wellington."
-"lester is a good actor. madame coutilly, to-day, when i had my manicure, just raved over him and norma beautiful in 'the lure of silk.'"
-"he'll be a screen proposition some day if we can chain down some of his conceit. only, where such friendships with him and bleema comes in, i don't see. i don't like it."
-"say, the child likes to run around with celebrities. why shouldn't it give her pleasure over the other girls from miss samuels's school to be seen out once in a while with lester spencer, their favorite, or norma beautiful? 'america's darlings,' i see this week's screen magazine calls 'em. it's natural the child should enjoy it."'
-"let her enjoy; only, where it comes in i should have to sit across from him at supper three times this week, i don't see. out of the studio, me and spencer don't talk the same language. to-night, him and feist would mix like oil and water."
-"does feist know yet, roody, you closed the deal on the grismer estate?"
-"sure! i says to him to-day: 'feist, with us for next-door neighbors of your country estate, together we own nearly half of long island.' am i right?"
-"like i says last night in mamma's room to etta and sol, 'i was used to thirty-four rooms and nineteen baths from home yet!' poor mamma--how she laughed! just like before her stroke."
-"nothing, rosie, not one hundred rooms and fifty baths--nothing i can ever do for you is one-tenth that you deserve."
-"and nothing, roody, that i can do for you is one-hundredth what you deserve."
-"i sometimes wonder, rosie, if, with all we got, there isn't maybe some little happiness i've overlooked for you."
-she lifted herself by his coat lapels, kissing him. "such a question!"
-"so many times it comes up in the scenarios and the picture-plots, rosie, how money don't always bring happiness."
-"it wouldn't, roody--not a penny's worth to me without you and bleema. but with you, roody, no matter how happy i feel, it seems to me i can't ever feel happy enough for what we have got. why, a woman just couldn't--why, i--i always say about you, roody, only yesterday to my own sister-in-law, 'etta,' i says, 'it's hard for me to think of anything new to wish for.' just take last week, for instance, i wished it that, right after the big check you gave for the armenian sufferers, you should give that extra ten thousand in mamma's name to the belgian sufferers. done! thursday, when i seen that gray roadster i liked so much for bleema, this afternoon she's out riding in it. it is a wonder i got a wish for anything left in me."
-"to have you talk like this, rosie, is the highest of all my successes."
-"'young lady'--all of a sudden she decides we've got! young baby, you better say."
-"a graduate this month from miss samuels's central park school he calls a baby!"
-"let me see--how old is--"
-"he don't know his own child's age! well, how many years back is it since we were in rainy-day skirts?"
-"my god! ten--fourteen--eighteen! eighteen years! our little bleema! it seems yesterday, rosie, i was learning her to walk along grand street."
-"you haven't noticed, roody, david feist?"
-"say, you may be a smart man, rudolph pelz--everybody tells me you are--but they should know once on the picture rialto how dumb as a father you are. 'noticed?' he asks. all right then--if you need a brick house--noticed that david feist hates your daughter and 'ain't got eyes for her and don't try every excuse to get invited here for sup--dinner."
-"you mean, rosie--"
-"of course i mean! it's pitiful how he follows her everywhere with his eyes. in the box last night at the opera you was too asleep to see it, but all evening etta was nudging me how he nearly ate up our bleema just with looks."
-"you women with your nonsense!"
-"i guess, rudolph, it would be a bad thing. our daughter and a young man smart enough to make himself from a celluloid collar-cutter to a millionaire five times over on a little thing like inventing a newfangled film-substance should tie up with the only child of rudolph pelz, the picture king."
-"i give you my word, rosie, such talk makes me sick."
-"you'd hate it, wouldn't you? a prince like david feist."
-"people don't talk such things till they happen. if our daughter could have the king of england and didn't want him, i'd say she should not marry the king of england. i want my girl home by me yet, anyway, for many a long day. she should be playing with her dolls instead of her mother and aunt etta filling her up with ideas. don't think i'm so stuck, neither, on how she runs around with my film stars."
-"honest, roody, the way you're so strict with that child it's a shame! the girl has got to have her pleasure."
-"well, if she's got to have her pleasure, she should have it with young men like feist and not with--"
-"there! didn't i tell you so? didn't i?"
-"say, i don't deny if i got some day to have a son-in-law, my first choice for him would be feist."
-"roody, the two estates together in one!"
-"i'm surprised at you, rosie--honest, i'm surprised. such talk!"
-mrs. pelz took a pinch of his each cheek, tiptoeing to kiss him squarely on the lips.
-"go get dressed," she said, "and i'll wait for you."
-"rosie posy," he said, clucking into his cheek with his tongue and moving away through the pink-shaded twilight.
-at the door to the whitely glittering bathroom she called to him again, softly; he turning.
-"what'll you bet, roody, that i get my biggest wish as soon as i got the gray roadster and the belgian check?"
-"women's nonsense!" said mr. pelz, his voice suddenly lost in the violent plunge of water into porcelain.
-in a drawing-room faithful to dunlap brothers' exorbitant interpretation of the italian renaissance, a veritable forest of wrought-iron candle-trees burned dimly into a scene of pinturicchio table, tapestry-surmounted wedding-chest, brave and hideous with pastiglia work, the inevitable camp-chair of savonarola, an umbrian-walnut chair with lyre-shaped front, bust of dante alighieri in florentine cap and ear-muffs, a sienese mirror of the soul, sixteenth-century suit of cap-à-pie armor on gold-and-black plinth, venetian credence with wrought-iron locks. the voiceless and invoiced immobility of the museum here, as if only the red-plush railing, the cords from across chairs, and the "do not sit" warnings to the footsore had been removed.
-against a chair cruel to the back with a carved coat of arms of the lombardi family mr. david feist leaned lightly and wisely. if his correct-enough patent pumps ever so slightly escaped the floor, his span of shoulders left hardly an inch to be desired. there was a peninsula of rather too closely shaved but thick black hair jutted well down mr. feist's brow, forming what might have been bald but were merely hairless inlets on either side. behind pince-nez his eyes sparkled in points not unlike the lenses themselves. honed to a swift, aquiline boniness of profile which cut into the shadows, there was something swiftly vigorous about even his repose.
-incongruous enough on the pinturicchio table, and as if she had dared to walk where mere moderns feared to tread, a polychrome framed picture of miss bleema pelz, tulle-clouded, piquant profile flung charmingly to the northwest, and one bare shoulder prettily defiled with a long screw-curl, lit, as it were, into the careful gloom.
-deliberately in range of that photograph, and so beatific of gaze that it was as if his sense were soaked in its loveliness, mr. feist smiled, and, smiling, reddened. enter then mrs. pelz, hitting softly into white taffetas beneath the black lace; mr. pelz, wide, white and boiled of shirt-front.
-"good evening, mr. feist! it's a shame the way we kept you waiting."
-"not at all, mrs. pelz--a pleasure. hello! how's my friend, the picture king?"
-"rotten," said mr. pelz, amiably, shaking hands with a great riding-up of cuff, and seating himself astride a florentine bench and the leather-embossed arms of the strozzi family.
-"roody, what a way to sit!"
-"'what a way to sit,' she tells me. i'd like to see a fellow sit any way in this room without making a monkey of himself. am i right, feist? the eyetalians maybe didn't know no better, but i should have to suffer, too, when for four-seventy-nine i can buy myself at tracy's the finest kind of a rocking-chair that fits me."
-"say, feist agrees with me; only, he don't know you well enough yet to let on. i notice that with all his louis-this and louis-that rooms in his own house, up in his own room it is a good old uncle sam's cot and a patent rocker."
-"you've got a gorgeous room here just the same, pelz."
-"gorgeous for a funeral."
-"every collector in the country knows that table. i had my eye on it for my music-room once myself when it was shown at dunlap's."
-"dunlap's are a grand firm of decorators, mr. feist. i'm having them do grismer, too."
-"well, feist, how does it feel to have us for neighbors?"
-"like i said to my husband, between us the way the estates adjoin, we got a monopoly on long island--ain't it so?"
-"and believe me, mrs. pelz, you'll never regret the buy. the finest pleasure my money brought me yet is that view of my little bedroom i took you up to, pelz."
-"i've got an outlook there, mrs. pelz, is a paradise to see. you can have all my forty-two rooms and two garages if you'll leave me my little top room with its miles of beautiful greenness, and--and so--so much beauty that--that it gets you by the throat. i--don't express it the way i see it, but--"
-"i should say so, mr. feist! out of every one of our thirty-four rooms and eighteen baths you can see a regular oil-painting."
-mr. pelz leaned over, tongue in cheek and, at the screwing noise again, poking mr. feist in the region of the fifth rib.
-"roody, honest, you're awful!"
-"say, me and feist speak the same language. we ain't entertaining a lot of motion-picture stars to-night."
-"i want mr. feist to come over some night to sup--dinner when we have a few of them over. we're great friends, mr. feist, with norma beautiful and allan hunt and lester spencer and all that crowd. we entertain them a good deal. my daughter is quite chums with them all. elsie love sleeps here some nights. honest, mr. feist, you never saw a more unassuming girl for her salary."
-"yes, especially is she unassuming when she spoils ninety feet of film yesterday in a row with spencer over who should have one-half inch nearer to the center of the picture."
-"my husband, mr. feist, has got no patience with temperament."
-"honey, a little supper wouldn't hurt."
-"i'll send and see if bleema is ready yet. she's been out, taking lester spencer in her new runabout her papa bought her. i wish you could see, mr. feist, the way the traffic policemen smile after that girl the way she handles a car. if i do say it, she's a picture."
-"if you ask me, mrs. pelz, the finest of the objects in this room of fine things, it won't take me long to tell you," said mr. feist, leaning forward to lift for closer gaze the framed photograph.
-"now you're shouting, feist!"
-"that picture don't half do her justice. if i do say it, mr. feist--if that child had to make her living, she'd be a fortune in pictures. 'no, mamma,' she always says; 'god forbid if i have to make my living some day, i want to be a famous writer.' i want you to read sometime, mr. feist, some of that girl's poetry. i cry like a baby over the sad ones. and stories! there's one about a poor little girl who could look out of her window into the house of a rich girl and--"
-"feist, her mother just hates that child!"
-"say, old man, i don't see any medals on you for hating her."
-"he's worse than i am, mr. feist; only, he hides it behind making fun of me. i always say if bleema pelz wanted the moon, her father would see to it that his property-man got the real one for her."
-"you--you've got a beautiful, sweet little girl there, pelz. i don't blame you."
-"feist, if i didn't know it, i'd be an ungrateful dog."
-"her papa can't realize, mr. feist, we haven't got a baby any more."
-"i--realize it, mrs. pelz."
-"you--you see, roody?"
-"i--i--guess i'm the old-fashioned kind of a fellow, pelz, when it comes to girls. i--i guess i do it the way they used to do it--the parents first--but--but--now that we--we're on the subject--i--i like your daughter, pelz--my god! pelz, but--but i like your little daughter!"
-an augsburg clock ticked into a suddenly shaped silence, mr. pelz rising, mr. feist already risen.
-"i haven't got much besides a clean record and all that love or money can buy her, pelz, but--well--you know me for what i am, and--"
-"indeed we do, mr. feist! i always say to my husband my favorite of all the young men who come here is--"
-"you know what my standing--well, with men and in business is, pelz, and as far as taking care of her goes, i can make her from a little princess into a little queen--"
-"the young man that is lucky enough to get bleema, mr. feist--"
-"not that the money part is everything, but if what i am suits you and mrs. pelz, i want to enter the ring for her. i might as well come out with it. i wouldn't for anything on earth have her know that i've spoken to you--yet--not till after i've spoken with her--but--well, there's my cards on the table, pelz."
-mr. pelz held out a slow and rigid arm, one hand gripping, the other cupping mr. feist at the elbow.
-"it's the finest compliment i could pay to any man on god's earth to say it, feist, but if it's got to be that my little baby girl has grown up to an age where she--"
-"she's already a year older than me when i married you, roody."
-"if it's got to be, then there's one man on earth i can give her up to with happiness. that man is you, feist."
-into this atmosphere so surcharged that it had almost the singing quality of a current through it entered miss bleema pelz, on slim silver heels that twinkled, the same diaphanous tulle of the photograph enveloping her like summer, her hair richer, but blending with the peach-bloom of her frock, the odor of youth her perfume.
-"bleema darling, you're just in time!"
-"hello, moms!"--in the little lifted voice trained to modulation, and kissing mrs. pelz in light consideration of powdered areas. "hello, dads!"--tiptoeing and pursing her mouth into a bud. "good evening, mr. feist."
-"looks like i'm the left-over in this party," said mr. feist, slow to release her hand and wanting not to redden.
-"naughty-naughty!" said miss pelz, with a flash of eyes to their corners, a flouncing of tulle, and then landing ever so lightly on her father's knee and at the immediate business of jerking open his tie. "bad, bad dad! didn't let sato dress him to-night."
-"you little red head, you!"
-"stop it! hold up your chin."
-"honey, we're all starvationed."
-"lester'll be here any minute now."
-"lester spencer coming for dinner, bleema?"
-"surely. i dropped him just now at the lions' club to change his clothes. now, don't get excited, dads; he's leaving right after dinner to catch his train for horseshoe bend."
-"i must tell williams to lay another--"
-"i've already told him, mamma. here he is now! come on in, lester; you're holding up the family. you've never met mr. feist, have you, the film king? you two ought to get acquainted--one makes the films and the other makes them famous."
-there was a round of greetings, mr. spencer passing a hand that had emerged white and slim through the ordeal of thousands of feet of heroics.
-"how do you do, mrs. pelz? boss! mr. feist, glad to know you!"
-what hundreds of thousands of men, seeming to despise, had secretly, in the organ-reverberating darkness of the motion-picture theater, yearned over mr. lester spencer's chest expansion, hair pomade, and bulgeless front and shirt-front! when lester spencer, in a very slow fade-out, drew the exceedingly large-of-eye and heaving-of-bosom one unto his own immaculate bosom, whole rows of ladies, with the slightly open-mouthed, adenoidal expression of vicarious romance, sat forward in their chairs. men appraised silently the pliant lay of shirt, the uncrawling coat-back, and the absence of that fatal divorce of trousers and waistcoat.
-"i was telling my husband, lester, my manicurist just raved to-day about you and norma beautiful in 'the lure of silk.'"
-"isn't that just the sweetest picture, moms?"
-"it certainly is! mr. pelz took me down to the projection-room to see its first showing, and i give you my word i said to him and sol--didn't i, roody?--'that picture is a fortune.' and never in my life did i fail to pick a winner--did i, roody? i got a knack for it. mr. feist, have you seen 'the lure of silk'?"
-"sorry to say i have not."
-"if you think that is a riot, mrs. pelz, you wait until you see the way they're going to eat me up in the court scene in 'saint elba.' i had the whole studio crying down there to-day--didn't i, mr. pelz? crying like babies over the scene where i stand like this--so--overlooking--"
-"say, rosie, that's twice already williams announced dinner is served."
-"i hear friedman & kaplan made an assignment, feist."
-"come, lester; you take me in to dinner. rudolph, you go and get mamma. bleema, you and mr. feist be escorts."
-in a dining-room so unswervingly jacobean that its high-back chairs formed an actual enclosure about the glittering, not to say noble, oval of table, the dinner-hour moved through the stately procession of its courses. at its head, mrs. miriam sopinsky, dim with years and the kind of weariness of the flesh that rembrandt knew so well, her face even yellower beneath the black wig with the bold row of machine-stitching down its center, the hands veiny and often uncertain among the dishes.
-"roody, cut up mamma's chicken for her. she trembles so."
-"moms, let williams."
-"no; she likes it when your father does it."
-mr. pelz leaned over, transferring his own knife and fork. in yiddish:
-"grandmother, i hear you've been flirting with doctor isadore aarons. now, don't you let me hear any more such nonsense. the young girls in this house got to walk the straight line."
-the old face broke still more furiously into wrinkle, the hand reaching out to top his.
-"don't tease her, roody; she likes to be let alone in public."
-mr. feist: the old lady certainly holds her own, don't she? honest, i'd give anything if i knew how to talk to her a little.
-"no, mr. feist, mamma's breaking. every day since her stroke i can see it more. it nearly kills me, too. it's pretty lonesome for her, up here away from all her old friends. outside of my husband and bleema, not a soul in the house talks her language except sol and etta when they come over."
-"she's my nice darling grandma," said miss pelz, suddenly pirouetting up from her chair around the table, kissing the old lips lightly and then back again, all in a butterfly jiffy.
-mrs. pelz (sotto to mr. feist). ain't she the sweetest thing with her grandmother?
-"umh!" said mr. spencer, draining his wine-glass to the depth of its stem. "mr. pelz, believe me if the atlantic ocean was made out of this stuff, you wouldn't have to engage passage for me; i'd swim across."
-"you better learn how first," said mr. pelz. "you've cost me a fortune already in dummies for the water scenes."
-"it's a riot, mr. pelz, the way they go mad over me in that pelham bay scene in 'the marines are coming.' i dropped into the buckingham to see it last night, and before i knew it the house had it that i was present and was going wild over me. they had to throw the spotlight on the box."
-"i love that scene, too, lester! honest, i just squeeze up with excitement where you stand there at the edge of the deck and take the plunge into the water to rescue norma beautiful."
-"you mean a super for five a day takes the plunge."
-"tell you another scene where i simply raise the roof off the house in--"
-mr. pelz: williams, pass mr. feist some more of them little cabbages.
-"brussels sprouts, dad."
-mrs. pelz: i guess you miss norma beautiful not playing with you in "saint elba," don't you, lester? you and her are so used to playing with each other.
-"i was the one first suggested she wouldn't be the type to play josephine, mrs. pelz. too thin. i've got to be contrasted right or it kills me--"
-"williams, a little more of that chicken stuffing. it's almost good enough to remind me how you and grandma used to make it, rosie."
-"speaking of 'saint elba,' mr. pelz, somebody must speak to mabel lovely about the way she keeps hogging center-stage in that scene with me on--"
-"there's no center-stage left to hog with you in the picture, spencer."
-"she crowds me to profile. they want me full-face. if you'd put in a word to sol to direct it that way! other night, at the buckingham, it was a riot every time i turned full-face. just because a fellow happens to have a good profile is no reason why--"
-"well, feist, how does the war look to-day?"
-"ugly, pelz, ugly. every hour this country lets pass with belgium unavenged she is going to pay up for later."
-"it's not our fight, mr. feist."
-"maybe it's not our fight, mr. spencer, but if ever there was a cause that is all humanity's fight, it is those bleeding and murdered women and children of belgium. you're sailing over there yourself next week, mr. spencer, and i hope to god you will see for yourself how much of our fight it is."
-"ain't things just simply terrible? honest, i said to roody, when i picked up the paper this morning, it gives me the blues before i open it."
-"nobody can tell me that this country is going to sit back much longer and see autocracy grind its heel into the face of the world."
-"you're right, feist! i think if there is one thing worse than being too proud to fight, it is not being proud enough to fight."
-"lester spencer, if you don't stop making eyes!"
-"mr. pelz, every time i drink to your daughter only with my eyes she slaps me on the wrist. you put in a good word for me."
-"little more of that ice-cream, feist?"
-"thanks, pelz; no."
-"don't care if i do, miss bleema butterfly."
-mr. pelz flashed out a watch. "don't want to hurry you, spencer, but if you have to catch that ten-o'clock train, by the time you get back and change clothes--"
-"you're right, mr. pelz; i'd better be getting on."
-miss pelz danced to her feet. "mamma and papa will excuse us, lester, if we leave before coffee. come; i'll shoot you to the club."
-"why, bleema! george will bring the limousine around and--"
-"i promised! didn't i promise you, lester, that if you came up to dinner i'd drive you back to the club myself?"
-"she sure did, mrs. pelz."
-"bleema, you stay right here and finish your supper. there's two chauffeurs on the place to drive spencer around to his club."
-"but, dad, i promised."
-"why, bleema, ain't you ashamed? mr. feist here for dinner and you to run off like that. shame on you!"
-"oh, that's all right, mrs. pelz. i'll stay around and be entertained by you and mr.--"
-"i'll be back in twenty minutes, moms. surely you'll excuse me that long! i want to drive him down in my new runabout. i promised. please, moms! dad?"
-"ask your papa, bleema; i--i don't know--"
-"you heard what i said, bleema. no!"
-a quick film of tears formed over miss pelz's eyes, her lips quivering. "oh, well--if--if you're going to be that mean--oh, you make me so mad--. come on, lester--i--i guess i can take you as far as the front door without the whole world jumping on me. oh--oh--you make me so mad!" and pranced out on slim feet of high dudgeon.
-"poor child!" said mrs. pelz, stirring into her coffee. "she's so high strung."
-"it makes her papa mad the way the boys just kill themselves over that girl," said mrs. pelz, arch of glance toward mr. feist, who was stirring also, his eyes lowered.
-"me, too," he said, softly.
-"jealous!" flashed mrs. pelz.
-after an interval, and only upon despatching a servant, miss pelz returned, the tears frank streaks now down her cheeks.
-"sit down, baby, and drink your coffee."
-"don't want any."
-"williams, bring miss bleema some hot coffee."
-"i'm finished, mother--please!"
-"i was telling mr. feist a while ago, bleema, about your ambition to be a writer, not for money, but just for the pleasure in it. what is it you call such writing in your french, honey? dilytanty?"
-"please, mamma, mr. feist isn't interested."
-"indeed i am, miss bleema! more interested than in anything i know of."
-"she's mad at her papa, feist, and when my little girl gets mad at her papa there's nothing for him to do but apologize with a big kiss."
-suddenly miss pelz burst into tears, a hot cascade of them that flowed down over her prettiness.
-"now, now, papa's girl--"
-the grandmother made a quick gesture of uplifted hands, leaning over toward her, and miss pelz hiding her face against that haven of shrunken old bosom.
-"oh, grandma, make 'em let me alone!"
-"why, bleema darling, i'm surprised! ain't you ashamed to act this way in front of mr. feist? what'll he think?"
-"please, mrs. pelz, don't mind me; she's a little upset--that's all."
-"you--you made me look like--like thirty cents before lester spencer--that--that's what you did."
-"why, bleema, do you think that if papa thought that lester spencer was worth bothering that pretty red head of yours about that he would--"
-"there you go again! always picking on lester. if you want to know it, next to norma beautiful and allan hunt he's the biggest money-maker your old corporation has got."
-"what's that got to do with you?"
-"and he'll be passing them all in a year or two, you see if he don't--if--if--if only you'd stop picking on him and letting uncle sol crowd him out of the pictures and everybody in the company take advantage of him--he--he's grand--he--"
-"he's a grand conceited fool. if not for the silly matinée women in the world he couldn't make salt."
-"that shows all you know about him, papa! he's got big ideals, lester has. he got plans up his sleeve for making over the moving-picture business from the silly films they show nowadays to--"
-"yes--to something where no one gets a look-in except lester spencer. they're looking for his kind to run the picture business!"
-"roody--bleema--please! just look at poor grandma! mr. feist, i must apologize."
-"he's a nix, an empty-headed--"
-"he is--is he? well, then--well, then--since you force me to it--right here in front of mr. feist--lester spencer and i got engaged to-day! he's the only man in my life. we're going to be married right off, in time for me to sail for france with the company. he's going to talk to you when he gets back from horseshoe bend. we're engaged! that's how much i think of lester spencer. that's how much i know he's the finest man in the world. now then! now then!"
-there was a note in miss pelz's voice that, in the ensuing silence, seemed actually to ring against the frail crystal. she was on her feet, head up, tears drying.
-"moms darling, aren't you happy? isn't it wonderful--moms?"
-"roody! for god's sake, bleema, you're choking your father to death! roody, for god's sake, don't get so red! williams--some water--quick! roody!"
-"i'm all right. all right, i tell you. she got me excited. sit down, bleema--sit down, i said."
-"pelz, if you don't mind, i think maybe i'd better be going."
-"you stay right here, feist. i want you to hear every word that i'm going to say. if my daughter has no shame, i haven't, either. williams, call mrs. sopinsky's maid, and see that she gets to her room comfortable. sit down, bleema!"
-"my god!--i can't believe my ears--bleema and such a goy play-actor--"
-"a goy that--"
-"rosie, i said, 'please!' bleema, did you hear me? sit down!"
-miss pelz sat then, gingerly on the chair-edge, her young lips straight. "well?"
-her father crunched into his stiff damask napkin, holding a fistful of it tense against bringing it down in a china-shivering bang. then, with carefully spaced words, "if i didn't think, bleema, that you are crazy for the moment, infatuated with--"
-"i'm not infatuated!"
-"bleema, bleema, don't talk to your father so ugly!"
-"well, i guess i know my own mind. i guess i know when i'm in love with the finest, darlingest fellow that ever--"
-"you hush that, bleema! hush that, while i can hold myself in. that i should live to hear my child make herself common over a loafer--"
-"papa, if you call him another name, i--i--"
-"you'll sit right here and hear me out. if you think you're going to let this loafer ruin your own life and the lives of your parents and poor grandmother--"
-"papa, papa, you don't know him! the company are all down on him because they're jealous. lester spencer comes from one of the finest old southern families--"
-"roody, roody, a goy play-actor--"
-"'a goy play-actor'! i notice, mamma, you are the one always likes to brag when the girls and fellows like norma beautiful and allan hunt and lester and--and all come up to the house. it's the biggest feather in your cap the way on account of papa the big names got to come running when you invite them."
-"your mother's little nonsenses have got nothing to do with it."
-"she reproaches me with having brought about this goy mix-up! me that has planned each hour of that girl's life like each one was a flower in a garden, a young man, a grand young man like mr. feist, crazy in lo--"
-"mrs. pelz, for god's sake! mrs. pelz, please!"
-"rosie, we'll leave feist out of this."
-"lester spencer, papa, is one of the finest characters, if only you--"
-"i ask you again, bleema, to cut out such talk while i got the strength left to hold in. it's a nail in my coffin i should live to talk such talk to my little daughter, but it's got to where i've got to say it. lester spencer and the fine character you talk about--it's free gossip in all the studios--is one of the biggest low-lifes in the picture-world. he has a reputation with the women that i'm ashamed to mention even before your mother, much less her daughter--"
-"oh, i know what you mean! oh, you're like all the rest--down on him. you mean that silly talk about him and norma beautiful--"
-"oh my god, roody, listen to her!"
-"i can clear that up in a minute. he never cared a thing for her. it was just their always playing in the same pictures, and that silly matinée public, first thing he knew, got to linking their names together."
-"bleema--for god's sake--baby--what do you know about such?"
-"bleema, you're killing your mother! your mother that used to rock you in your cradle while she stitched on the machine to buy you more comforts--a mother that--"
-"oh, if you're going to begin that!"
-"your poor old grandmother--don't she mean nothing? you saw how she looked just now when they took her out, even before she knows what it's all about--"
-"i hope she never has a worse trouble than for me to marry the best--"
-then mr. pelz came down with crashing fist that shattered an opalescent wine-glass and sent a great stain sprawling over the cloth.
-"by god, i'll kill him first! the dirty hou--"
-"pelz, for god's sake, control yourself!"
-'i'll kill him, i tell you, feist!"
-"you can't scare me that way, dad. i'm no baby to be hollered at like that. i love lester spencer, and i'm going to marry him!"
-"i'll kill him; i'll--"
-"roody, roody, for god's sake! 'sh-h-h, the servants! williams, close quick all the doors. roody, for my sake, if not your child's! mr. feist, please--please make him, mr. feist!"
-"pelz, for god's sake, man, get yourself together! excitement won't get you anywheres. calm down. be human."
-then mr. pelz sat down again, but trembling and swallowing back with difficulty. "she got me wild, feist. you must excuse me. she got me wild --my little girl--my little flower--"
-"papa--dad darling! don't you think it kills me, too, to see you like this? my own darling papa that's so terribly good. my own darling sweet mamma. can't you see, darlings, a girl can't help it when--when--life just takes hold of her? i swear to you--i promise you that, when you come to know lester as i know him you'll think him as fine and--and gorgeous as i do. mamma, do you think your little bleema would marry a man who doesn't just love you, and dad, too? it isn't like lester is a nobody--a high-salaried fellow like him with a future. why, the best will be none too good! he loves you both--told me so to-day. the one aim in his life is to do big things, to make you both proud, to make his name the biggest--"
-"feist--feist--can't you talk to her? tell her it's madness--tell her she's ruining herself."
-"why, miss bleema, there's nothing much a--a stranger like me can say at a time like this. it's only unfortunate that i happened to be here. if i were you, though, i think i'd take a little time to think this over. sometimes a young girl--."
-"i have thought it over, mr. feist. for weeks and weeks i've thought of nothing else. that's how sure i am--so terribly sure."
-"i won't have it, i tell you! i'll wring his--"
-"'sh-h-h, pelz. if you'll take my advice, you'll handle this thing without threats. why not, miss bleema, even if you do feel so sure, give yourself a little more time to--"
-"no! no! no!"
-"just a minute now. if you feel this way so strongly to-night, isn't it just possible that to-morrow, when you wake up, you may see things differently?"
-"i tell you i'm going to france with him--on our honeymoon. it's all fixed if--moms--dad--won't you please--darlings--can't you see--my happiness--"
-"o god, roody, were ever parents in such a fix?"
-"listen to me, miss bleema, now: i'm an old friend of the family, and you don't need to take exception to what i'm going to suggest. if your heart is so set on this thing, all right then, make up your mind it's an engagement and--"
-"by god, feist, no!"
-"wait, pelz, i tell you you're making a mistake with your state of excitement."
-"let mr. feist talk, roody."
-"make up your mind as i was saying, miss bleema, that this engagement exists between you and--and this young man. then, instead of doing the hasty thing and marrying next week, you remain here a happy, engaged girl until the company returns in three weeks, and meanwhile you will have time to know your own mind and--"
-"no! no! no! i do know it! it's all fixed we're--"
-"that's a fine idea of mr. feist's, bleema darling. for mamma's sake, baby. for grandma's. if it's got to be an engagement, hold it until after he gets back. don't go rushing in. take time to think a little. france is no place for a honeymoon now--submarines and all."
-"oh, i know! you hope he'll get sunk with a submarine."
-"shame, miss bleema; shame!"
-"all mamma means, darling, is take a little time and get a--a trousseau like a girl like you has to have. if your heart is so set on it, can't you do that much to please mamma? that much?"
-"there's a trick. you want me to wait and then--"
-"miss bleema, is my promise to you enough that there's no trick? on my respect for your parents and grandmother, there's no trick. if it is only to please them, wait those few weeks and do it more dignified. if it's got to be, then it's got to be. am i right, pelz?"
-mr. pelz turned away, nodding his head, but with lips too wry to speak.
-"o my god, yes! mr. feist, you're right. bleema, promise us! promise!"
-"just a matter of a few weeks more or less, miss bleema. just so your parents are satisfied you know your own mind."
-"then, i say, if you still feel as you do, not even they have the right to interfere."
-"promise us, bleema; promise us that!"
-"i--i'll be engaged on your word of honor--without any fussing about it?"
-"an engaged girl, miss bleema, like any other engaged girl."
-"but dad--look at him--he won't--p-promise," trembling into tears.
-"of course he will--won't you, pelz? and you know the reputation your father has for a man of his word."
-"will--will he promise?"
-"you do; don't you, pelz?"
-again the nod from the bitter inverted features.
-"now, miss bleema?"
-"well then, i--i--p-promise."
-on a may-day morning that was a kiss to the cheek and even ingratiated itself into the bale-smelling, truck-rumbling pier-shed, mr. lester spencer, caparisoned for high seas by fifth avenue's highest haberdasher, stood off in a little cove of bags and baggage, yachting-cap well down over his eyes, the nattiest thing in nautical ulsters buttoned to the chin. beside him, miss norma beautiful, her small-featured pink-and-whiteness even smaller and pinker from the depths of a great cart-wheel of rose-colored hat, completely swathed in rose-colored veiling.
-"for a snap of my finger i'd spill the beans--that's how stuck on this situation i am!"
-mr. spencer plunged emphatic arms into large patch-pockets, his chin projecting beyond the muffle of collar.
-"just you try it and see where it lands you!"
-"i can't stand it! i b-bit off a b-bigger piece than i can swallow."
-"now, darling beautiful, i ask you would your own lester do anything that wasn't just going to be the making of his girl as well as himself? is it anything, angel beautiful, he is asking you to do except wait until--"
-"i can't bear it, i tell you! a little red-haired kike like her! how do i know what i'm letting myself in for? there's only one ground for divorce in this state. what guarantee have i you'll get free on it?"
-"my guarantee, pussy. you're letting yourself in for a pink limousine to match that pink sweetness of yours and a jumping-rope of pearls to match those sweet teeth of yours and--"
-"i want black pearls, lester, like lucille du pont's."
-"black, then. why, angel beautiful, you just know that there's not a hair on any head in the world, much less a red one, i'd change for one of my girl's golden ones. you think i'd ever have known the little reddie was on earth if she hadn't just flung herself at my head! she could have been six rudolph pelz's daughters, and i wouldn't have had eyes for her."
-"but, lester--she--she's right cute. what guarantee have i got?"
-"cross my heart and swear to die, angel! haven't i already sworn it to you a thousand thousand times? you wouldn't want me to close my eyes to the chance of a lifetime--you know you wouldn't, beautiful, when it's your chance as much as mine. both ours!"
-"i--if only it was--over, lester--all--over!"
-"what's three weeks, angel beautiful? the very day i'm back i'll pull the trick with the little red head, and then i'm for letting things happen quick."
-"and me, what'll i--"
-"i'm going to move you into the solid-goldest hotel suite in this here town, pussy. i'm going to form the norma beautiful film corporation in my own girl's name, the first pop out of the box. why, there's just nowhere rudolph pelz's son-in-law can't get his girl in the little while i'm going to stick."
-"how do i know? how do i know they won't find a way to hold you?"
-"why, darling beautiful, when they're through with me, they'll pay me off in my weight in gold. haven't you said things often enough about your boy's temper when he lets it fly? you think they're going to let me cut up nonsense with that little reddie of theirs? why, that old man would pay with his right eye to protect her!"
-"o god, it's rotten--a nice fellow like pelz--a--"
-"it's done every day, gorgeous beautiful. anyway, there's no way to really hurt the rich. look at warren norton--the talcott family paid warren two hundred cool thousand to give her back quietly. it's done every day, gorgeousness. many a fellow like me has gotten himself roped into a thing he wanted to get out of quietly. that little girl lassoed me. i should have eyes for a little reddie like her with the deep-sea pearl of the world my very own. i'm going to marry you, too, gorgeousness. i'm going to see you right through, this time. jump right out of the frying-pan into the hottest, sweetest fire!"
-"i tell you i can't stand it! promising to marry me with another one to see through before you get to me. it--it's terrible! i--"
-"there you go again! the norma beautiful film corporation doesn't tickle my pink rose on the eardrums! she doesn't want it! wouldn't have it!"
-"i do, lester; i do--only--only--i--the little reddie--it's not right. she's a sweet little thing. i'm afraid, lester--i think i must be going crazy! i wish to god i could hate you the way you ought to be hated. i tell you i can't stand it. you sailing off like this. the coming back--her--i'll kill myself during the ceremony. i--"
-"you create a scene down here and you'll be sorry!"
-"they'll be here any minute now. they're late as it is. look-- everybody's on board already! one more blast, and i'll have to go, too. you just kick up nasty at the last minute and watch me!"
-"i won't, lester; i won't! i swear to god! only, be good to me; be sweet to me, darling! say good-by before they--she comes. i'm all right, darling. please--please--"
-he caught her to him then, and back in the sheltering cove of baggage thrust back her head, kissing deep into the veiling.
-"beautiful! angel beautiful!"
-"swear to me, lester, you'll see me through."
-"i swear, beautiful."
-"swear to me, or hope to die and lose your luck!"
-he kissed her again so that her hat tilted backward, straining at its pins.
-"hope to die and lose my luck."
-"my own preciousness!" she said, her eyes tear-glazed and yearning up into his.
-with noiselessly thrown clutch, the pelz limousine drew up between an aisle of bales, its door immediately flung open. first, mr. pelz emerging, with an immediate arm held back for mrs. pelz. last, miss pelz, a delightful paradox of sheer summer silk and white-fox furs, her small face flushed and carefully powdered up about the eyes.
-"there he is, dad! over there with norma and uncle sol!"
-"don't run so, bleema; he'll come over to you."
-but she was around and through the archipelago of baggage.
-"lester darling! there was a tie-up at thirty-third street. i thought i'd die! here's a little package of letters, love, one for each day on the steamer. lester, have you got everything--are you all ready to leave your girlie--hello, norma--uncle sol! lester are you--you sorry to leave you--your--"
-"now, now--no water-works!"
-"my all! my own boy!" she drew him, to hide the quickening trembling of her lips, back behind the shelter of piled baggage.
-"lester darling--i--i didn't sleep a wink all night! i--i'm so nervous, dear. what if a submarine should catch you? what if you meet a french girl and fall in--"
-"now, now, reddie! is that what you think of your boy?"
-"i don't, dearest; i don't! i keep telling myself i'm a silly--what's three weeks? but when it means separation from the sweetest, dearest--"
-"'sh-h-h, angel darling! there's the last blast, and your father's angry. see him beckoning! the company's been on board twenty minutes already. look--there's the sailors lined up at the gangplank--bleema--"
-"promise me, lester--"
-"i do! i do promise! anything! look, girlie: miss beautiful will feel hurt the way we left her standing. it isn't nice--our hiding this way."
-"i can't bear, dearest, to see you go--"
-"look! see--there's david feist come down, too. you don't want him to see my girl make a cry baby of herself over a three weeks' trip--"
-"you'll write, lester, and cable every day?"
-"you just know i will!"
-"you won't go near the war?"
-"you just know i won't!"
-"your father, bleema--let's not get him sore, hiding back here. come; they'll draw up the plank on me."
-"i'll be waving out from the edge of the pier, darling. i've got a special permit to go out there. i just couldn't stand not seeing my boy up to the last second. it's terrible for you to sneak off on a boat like this, darling, without flags and music the way it was before the war. i want music and flags when my boy goes off. oh, lester, i'll be working so hard on the sweetest little trousseau and the sweetest little--"
-"bleema, please! there's miss beautiful overhearing every word. please!" "well, good-by, miss beautiful; don't walk off with the studio while we're gone--take care of yourself--"
-"good-by--mr. spencer--b-bon voyage!"
-"hi, mr. feist, mighty handsome of you to come down to see me off!"
-"safe journey, spencer! remember you've got a precious piece of anxiety waiting back here for you."
-"oh, mr. feist--isn't--isn't--it awful--submarine-time and all? i--i just can't bear it!"
-"now! now! is that the way for a brave little girl to talk?"
-"bleema, if you can't control yourself, you had better go sit in the car. i'm ashamed before the company."
-"roody, the poor child!"
-"he--that's the only way papa talks to me these days--fault-finding!"
-"now, now, miss bleema! here--take mine; yours is all wet."
-another blast then, reverberating into the din.
-"good-by, lester--good-by, darling--cable every day--by--good-by--boy!"
-"good-by, little reddie! thanks for the beautiful fruits and letters. good-by, mr. pelz!"
-"play fair in the picture, spencer. don't hog the scenes. help instead of hinder sopinsky."
-"indeed i will, sir! good-by, mrs. pelz!"
-"good-by, lester! god bless you, my boy! take care of yourself, and remember my little girl is--"
-"lester--lester, a cable every day!"
-"bleema, will you please let the man catch his boat? it's an embarrassment to even watch you."
-"yes, yes; good-by, everybody!"
-"i'll be out at the pier-edge--wave back, darling!"
-"yes, yes! good-by, miss beautiful! by, all!" and then, from an upper deck, more and more shouted farewells.
-"they're moving! come, mr. feist--please--with me--i've got the permit--don't let papa see us--come--the pier-edge!"
-"sure! this way, miss bleema--here--under--quick!"
-out in the open, may lay with italian warmth over a harbor that kicked up the tiniest of frills. a gull cut through the blueness, winging it in festoons.
-"over this way, miss bleema; we can see her steaming out."
-"lester--good-by--lester--a cable every day! i'll be waiting. good-by!"
-all this unavailingly flung to the great hulk of boat moving so proud of bow and so grandly out to sea, decks of faces and waving kerchiefs receding quickly.
-"'sh-h--'sh-h-h, miss bleema. here--take another of mine. yours is all wet again. my--what a rainy day! here--let me dry them for you. hold still!"
-"oh--oh--cable every day, darling--write--oh, mr. feist--he don't see us--he's out of sight--don't wipe 'em so hard, mr. feist--you--you h-hurt!"
-out toward the blue, the billowing fields sailed away the gray steamer, cutting a path that sprayed and sang after. sunlight danced and lay whitely as far as the eye could reach. it prolonged for those on shore the contour of the line of faces above each deck; it picked points of light from off everywhere--off smokestacks and polished railings, off plate-glass and brass-bound port-holes and even down the ship's flank, to where gilt letters spelled out shiningly:
-a boob spelled backward
-how difficult it is to think of great lives in terms of the small mosaics that go to make up the pattern of every man's day-by-day--the too tepid shaving-water; the badly laundered shirt-front; the three-minute egg; the too-short fourth leg of the table; the draught on the neck; the bad pen; the neighboring rooster; the misplaced key; the slipping chest-protector.
-richelieu, who walked with kings, presided always at the stitching of his red robes. boswell says somewhere that a badly starched stock could kill his johnson's morning. it was the hanging of his own chintzes that first swayed william morris from epic mood to household utensils. seneca, first in latin in the whole silver age, prepared his own vegetables. there is no outgrowing the small moments of life, and to those lesser ones of us how often they become the large ones!
-to samuel lipkind, who, in a span of thirty years, had created and carried probably more than his share of this world's responsibilities, there was no more predominant moment in all his day, even to the signing of checks and the six-o'clock making of cash, than that matinal instant, just fifteen minutes before the stroke of seven, when mrs. lipkind, in a fuzzy gray wrapper the color of her eyes and hair, kissed him awake, and, from across the hall, he could hear the harsh sing of his bath in the drawing.
-there are moments like that which never grow old. for the fifteen years that samuel lipkind had reached the two dollar hat store before his two clerks, he had awakened to that same kiss on his slightly open mouth, the gray hair and the ever-graying eyes close enough to be stroked, the pungency of coffee seeming to wind like wreaths of mundane aroma above the bed, and always across the aisle of hallway that tepid cataract leaping in glory into porcelain.
-take the particular morning which ushers in our story, although it might have been any of twelve times three hundred others.
-"sammy!" this upon opening his door, then crossing to close the conservative five inches of open window and over to the bedside for the kissing him awake. "sammy, get up!"
-the snuggle away into the crotch of his elbow.
-"sammy! thu, thu! i can't get him up! sammy, a quarter to seven! you want to be late? i can't get him up!"
-"you want your own clerks to beat you to business so they can say they got a lazy boss?"
-"i'm awake, ma." reaching up to stroke her hair, thin and gray now, and drawn back into an early-morning knob.
-"don't splash in the bath-room so this morning, sammy; it's a shame for the wall-paper."
-"i won't"--drawing the cord of his robe about his waist, and as if they did not both of them know just how faithfully disregarded would be that daily admonition.
-then mrs. lipkind flung back the snowy sheets and bed-coverings, baring the striped ticking of the mattress.
-"hurry, sammy! i'm up so long i'm ready for my second cup of coffee."
-"two minutes." and off across the hall, whistling, towel across arm.
-it was that little early moment sublimated by nothing more than the fusty beginnings of a workaday, the mere recollecting of which was one day to bring a wash of tears behind his eyes and a twist of anguish into his heart.
-next breakfast, and to dine within reach of the coal-range which brews it is so homely a fashion that even mr. lipkind, upon whom such matters of bad form lay as a matter of course, was wont to remonstrate.
-"what's the matter with the dining-room, ma? since when have dining-rooms gone out of style?"
-pouring his coffee from the speckled granite pot, mrs. lipkind would smile up and over it.
-"all i ask is my son should never have it worse than to eat all his lifetime in just such a kitchen like mine. off my kitchen floor i would rather eat than off some people's fine polished mahogany."
-the mahogany was almost not far-fetched. there was a blue-and-white spick-and-spanness about mrs. lipkind's kitchen which must lie within the soul of the housewife who achieves it--the lace-edged shelves, the scoured armament of dishpan, soup-pot, and what not; the white swiss window-curtains, so starchy, and the two regimental geraniums on the sill; the roller-towel too snowy for mortal hand to smudge; the white sink, hand-polished; the bland row of blue-and-white china jars spicily inscribed to nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. that such a kitchen could be within the tall and brick confines of an upper-manhattan apartment-house was only another of the thousand thousand paradoxes over which the city spreads her glittering skirts. the street within roaring distance, the highway of lenox avenue flowing dizzily constantly past her windows, the interior of mrs. lipkind's apartment, from the chromos of the dear dead upon its walls to the upholstery of another decade against those walls, was as little of the day as if the sweep of the city were a gale across a mid-victorian plain and the flow past the windows a broad river ruffled by wind.
-"you're right, ma; there's not a kitchen in new york i'd trade it for. but what's the idea of paying rent on a dining-room?"
-"sa-y, if not for when clara comes and how in america all young people got extravagant ideas, we was just as well off without one in our three rooms in simpson street."
-"a little more of that mackerel, please."
-you to whom the chilled grapefruit and the eggshell cup of morning coffee are a gastronomic feat not always easy to hurdle, raise not your digestive eyebrows. at precisely fifteen minutes past seven six mornings in the week, seven-thirty, sundays, mrs. lipkind and her son sat down to a breakfast that was steamingly fit for those only who dwell in the headacheless kingdom of long, sleepful nights and fur-coatless tongues.
-"a few more fried potatoes with it, sammy?"
-"whoa! you want to feed me up for the fat boys' regiment!"
-mrs. lipkind glanced quickly away, her profile seeming to quiver. "don't use that word, sam--even in fun--it's a knife in me."
-he reached across to pat the vein-corduroyed back of her hand.
-"my little sweetheart mamma," he said.
-she, in turn, put out her hand over his, her old sagging throat visibly constricting in a gulp, and her eyes as if they could never be finished with yearning over him. "you're a good boy, sammy."
-"i always say no matter what it is bad my life has had for me with my twenty-five years a widow, my only daughter to marry out six hundred miles away from me, my business troubles when i had to lose the little store what your papa left me, nothing ain't nothing, sammy, when a mother can raise for herself a boy like mine."
-"you mean when a fellow can pick out for himself a little sweetheart mamma like mine."
-"sammy, stop it with your pinching-me nonsense like i was your best girl!"
-"well, ain't you?"
-she paused, her cup of coffee half-way to her lips, the lines of her face seeming to want to lift into what would be a smile. "no, sammy; your mother knows she ain't, and if she was anything but a selfish old woman, she would be glad that she ain't."
-"'sh! 'sh!" said mr. lipkind, reaching this time half across the table for a still steaming muffin and opening it so that its hot fragrance came out. '"sh! no april showers! uh! uh! don't you dare!"
-"i ain't," said mrs. lipkind, smiling through her tear and dashing at it with the back of her hand. "for why should i when i got only everything to be thankful for?"
-"now you're shouting!"
-"how you think, sammy, clara likes a cheese pie for supper to-night? last week i could see she didn't care much for the noodle pudding i baked her."
-mr. lipkind, who was ever so slightly and prematurely bald and still more slightly and prematurely rotund, suffered a rush of color then, his ears suddenly and redly conspicuous.
-"that's--that's what i started to tell you last night, ma. clara telephoned over to the store in the afternoon she--she thought she wouldn't come to supper this wednesday night, ma."
-"sammy--you--you and clara 'ain't got nothing wrong together, the way you don't see each other so much these two months?"
-"of course not, ma; it's just happened a few times that way. the trade's in town; that's all."
-"how is it all of a sudden a girl in the wholesale ribbon business should have the trade to entertain like she was in the cloak-and-suit chorus?"
-"it's not that clara's busy to-night, ma. she--she only thought she--for a change--there's a little side table for two--for three--where she boards--she thought maybe if--if you didn't mind, i'd go over to her place for wednesday-night supper for a change. you know how a girl like clara gets to feeling obligated."
-"obligated from eating once a week supper in her own future house!"
-"she asked i should bring you, too, ma, but i know how bashful you are to go in places like that."
-"in such a place where it's all style and no food--yes."
-"that's it; so we--i thought, ma, that is, if you don't mind, instead of clara here to-night for supper, i--i'd go over to her place. if you don't mind, ma."
-there was a silence, so light, so slight that it would not have even held the dropping of a pin, but yet had a depth and a quality that set them both to breathing faster.
-"why, of course, sammy, you should go!"
-"i--we thought for a change."
-"you should have told me yesterday, sammy, before i marketed poultry."
-"i know, ma; i--just didn't. clara only 'phoned at four."
-"a few more fried potatoes?"
-"sit up straight, sam, from out your round shoulders."
-"you ain't--mad, ma?"
-"for why, sammy, should i be mad that you go to clara for a change to supper. i'm glad if you get a change."
-"it's not that, ma. it's just that she asked it. you know how a person feels, her taking her wednesday-night suppers here for more than five years and never once have i--we--set foot in any of her boarding-houses. she imagines she's obligated. you know how clara is, so independent."
-"you should go. i hear, too, how mrs. schulem sets a good table."
-"i'll be home by nine, ma--you sure you don't mind?"
-"i wouldn't mind, sammy, if it was twelve. since when is it that a grown-up son has to apologize to his mother if he takes a step without her?"
-"you can believe me, ma, but i've got so it don't seem like theater or nothing seems like going out without my little sweetheart mamma on one arm and clara on the other."
-"it's not right, sammy, you should spoil me so. don't think that even if you don't let me talk about it, i don't know in my heart how i'm in yours and clara's way."
-"ma, now just you start that talk and you know what i'll do--i'll get up and leave the table."
-"sammy, if only you would let me talk about it!"
-"you heard what i said."
-"to think my son should have to wait with his engagement for five years and never once let his mother ask him why it is he waits. it ain't because of to-night i want to talk about it, sam, but if i thought it was me that had stood between you and clara all these five years, if--if i thought it was because of me you don't see each other so much here lately, i--"
-"i couldn't stand it, son. if ever a boy deserved happiness, that boy is you. a boy that scraped his fingers to the bone to marry his sister off well. a boy that took the few dollars left from my notion-store and made such a success in retail men's hats and has given it to his mother like a queen. if i thought i was standing in such a boy's way, who ain't only a grand business man and a grand son and brother, but would make any girl the grandest husband that only his father before him could equal, i couldn't live, sammy, i couldn't live."
-"you should know how sick such talk makes me!"
-"i haven't got hard feelings, sammy, because clara don't like it here."
-"for why should an up-to-date american girl like clara like such an old-fashioned place as i keep? nowadays, girls got different ideas. they don't think nothing of seventy-five-dollar suits and twelve-dollar shoes. i can't help it that it goes against my grain no matter how fine a money-maker a girl is. in the old country my sister carrie and me never even had shoes on our feet until we were twelve, much less--"
-"oh, i don't blame her, sam. i don't blame her that she don't like it the way i dish up everything on the table so we can serve ourselves. she likes it passed the way they did that night at mrs. goldfinger's new daughter-in-law's, where everything is carried from one to the next one, and you got to help yourself quick over your shoulders."
-"clara's like me, ma; she wants you to keep a servant to do the waiting on you."
-"it ain't in me, sam, to be bossed to by a servant, just like i can't take down off the walls pictures of your papa selig and your grandma, because it ain't stylish they should be there. it's a feeling in me for my own flesh and blood that nothing can change."
-"clara don't want you to change that, ma."
-"she's a fine, up-to-date girl, sam. a girl that can work herself up to head floor-lady in wholesale ribbons and forty dollars a week has got in her the kind of smartness my boy should have in his wife. i'm an old woman standing in the way of my boy. if i wasn't, i could go out to marietta, ohio, by ruby, and i wouldn't keep having inside of me such terrible fears for my boy and--and how things are now on the other side and--and--"
-"now, now, ma; no april showers!"
-"an old woman that can't even be happy with a good daughter like ruby, but hangs always on her son like a stone around his neck!"
-"you mean like a diamond."
-"a stone, holding him down."
-"ma!" mr. lipkind pushed back, napkin awry at his throat and his eyes snapping points of light. "now if you want to spoil my breakfast, just say so and i--i'll quit. why should you be living with ruby out in marietta if you're happier here with me where you belong? if you knew how sore these here fits of yours make me, you'd cut them out--that's what you would. i'm not going over to clara's at all now for supper, if that's how you feel about it."
-mrs. lipkind rose then, crossed, leaning over the back of his chair and inclosing his face in the quivering hold of her two hands. "sammy, sammy, i didn't mean it! i know i ain't in your way. how can i be when there ain't a day passes i don't invite you to get married and come here to live and fix the flat any way what clara wants or even move down-town in a finer one where she likes it? i know i ain't in your way, son. i take it back."
-"well, that's more like it."
-"you mustn't be mad at mamma when she gets old-fashioned ideas in her head."
-he stroked her hand at his cheek, pressing it closer.
-"sit down and finish your breakfast, little sweetheart mamma."
-"is it all right now, sammy?"
-"of course it is!" he said, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
-"promise mamma you'll go over by clara's to-night."
-"promise me, sammy; i can't stand it if you don't."
-"alright, i'll go, ma."
-the declaration of economic independence is not always a subtle one. there was that about clara bloom, even to the rather hellenic swing of her very tailor-made back and the firm, neat clack of her not too high heels, which proclaimed that a new century had filed her fetter-free from the nine-teen-centuries-long chain of women whose pin-money had too often been blood-money or the filched shekels from trousers pocket or what in the toga corresponded thereto.
-and yet, when miss bloom smiled, which upon occasion she did spontaneously enough to show a gold molar, there were not only hypatia and portia in the straight line of her lips, but lurked in the little tip-tilt at the corners a quirk from psyche, who loved and was so loved, and in the dimple in her chin a manhole, as it were, for mr. samuel lipkind.
-at six o'clock, where the wintry workaday flows into dusk and fifth avenue flows across broadway, they met, these two, finding each other out in the gaseous shelter of a subway kiosk. she from the tall, thin, skylightless skyscraper dedicated to the wholesale supply of woman's insatiable demand for the ribbon gewgaw; he from a plate-glass shop with his name inscribed across its front and more humbly given over to the more satiable demand of the male for the two-dollar hat. there was a gold-and-black sign which ran across the not inconsiderable width of mr. lipkind's store-front and which invariably captioned his four inches of sunday-news-paper advertisement:
-sammy lipkind wants your head
-as near as it is possible for the eye to simulate the heart, there was exactly that sentiment in his glance now as he found out miss bloom, she in a purple-felt hat and the black scallops of escaping hair, blacker because the red was out in her cheeks.
-he broke into the kind of smile that lifted his every feature, screw-lines at his eyes coming out, head bared, and his greeting beginning to come even before she was within hearing distance of it.
-there was in mr. lipkind precious little of lothario, launcelot, galahad, or any of that blankety-blank-verse coterie. there remains yet unsung the lay of the five-foot-five, slightly bald, and ever so slightly rotund lover. falstaff and romeo are the extremes of what mr. lipkind was the not unhappy medium. offhand in public places, men would swap crop conditions and city politics with him. twice, tired mothers in railway stations had volunteered him their babies to dandle. young women, however, were not all impervious to him, and uncrossed their feet and became consciously unconscious of him across street-car aisles. in his very two dollar hat store, sara minniesinger, hooked of profile, but who had impeccably kept his debits and credits for twelve years back under the stock-balcony and a green eye-shade, was wont to cry of evenings over and for him into her dingy pillow. he was so unconscious of this that, on the twelfth anniversary of her incarceration beneath the stock-balcony, he commissioned his mother to shop her a crown of thorns in the form of a gold-handled umbrella with a bachelor-girl flash-light attachment.
-there are men like that, to whom life is not only a theosophy of one god, but of one women who is sufficient thereof. when samuel lipkind greeted clara bloom there was just that in his ardently appraising glance.
-"didn't mean to keep you waiting, clara--a last-minute customer. you know."
-"i've been counting red heads and wishing the subway was pulled by white horses."
-"say, clara, but you look a picture! believe me, bettina, that is some lid!"
-miss bloom tucked up a rear strand of curl, turning her head to extreme profile for his more complete approval.
-"is it an elegant trifle, sam? i ask you is it an elegant trifle?"
-"clara, it's--immense! the best yet! what did it set you back?"
-"don't ask me! i'm afraid just saying it would give your mother heart-failure by mental telepathy."
-he linked her arm. "whatever you paid, it's worth the money. it sets you off like a gipsy queen."
-"none of that, sam! mush is fattening."
-"mush nothing! it's the truth."
-"hurry. schulem's got a new rule--no reserving the guest-table."
-they let themselves be swept into the great surge of the underground river with all of the rather thick-skinned unsensitiveness to shoulder-to-shoulder contact which the subway engenders. swaying from straps in a locked train, which tore like a shriek through a tube whose sides sweated dampness, they talked in voices trained to compete with the roar.
-"what's the idea, clara? when you telephoned yesterday i was afraid maybe it was--eddie leonard cutting in on my night again."
-"eddie nothing. is it a law, sam, that i have to eat off your mother every wednesday night of my life?"
-"no--only--you know how it is when you get used to things one way."
-"i told you i had something to talk over, didn't i?"
-they were rounding a curve now, so that they swayed face to face, nose to nose.
-a few crinkles, frequent with him of late, came out in rays from his eyes.
-"is it anything you--you couldn't say in front of ma?"
-he inserted two fingers into his collar, rearing back his head.
-"anything wrong, clara?"
-"you mean is anything right."
-they rode in silence after that, both of them reading in three colors the border effulgencies of frenzied advertising.
-but when they emerged to a quieter up-town night that was already pointed with a first star, he took her arm as they turned off into a side-street that was architecturally a barracks to the eye, brownstone front after brownstone front after brownstone front. block after block of new york's side-streets are sunk thus in brown study.
-"you mustn't be so ready to be put out over every little thing i say, clara. is it anything wrong to want you up at the house just as often as we can get you?"
-"no, sam; it ain't that."
-"well then, what is it?"
-"oh, what's the use beginning all that again? i want to begin to-night where we usually leave off."
-"is it--is it something we've talked about before, clara?"
-"yes--and no. we've talked so much and so long without ever getting anywheres--what's the difference whether we've ever talked it before or not?"
-"you just wait, clara; everything is going to come out fine for us."
-her upper lip lifted slightly. "yes," she said; "i've heard that before."
-"we're going to be mighty happy some day, just the same, and don't you let yourself forget it. we've got good times ahead."
-"oh dear!" she sighed out.
-he patted her arm. "you'll never know, clara, the torture it's been for me even your going out those few times with eddie leonard has put me through. you're mine, clara; a hundred eddies couldn't change that."
-"who said anybody wanted to change it?"
-he patted her arm again very closely. "you're a wonderful girl, clara."
-they turned up the stoop of mrs. schulem's boarding-house, strictly first-class. how they flourish in the city, these institutions of the not yet, the never was, the never will be, and the has been! they are the half-way houses going up and the mausoleums coming down life's incline, and he who lingers is lost to the drab destiny of this or that third-floor-back hearthstone, hot and cold running water, all the comforts of home. that is why, even as she moved up from the rooming to the boarding-house and down from the third-floor back to the second-story front, there was always under clara bloom's single bed the steamer-trunk scarcely unpacked, and in her heart the fear that, after all, this might not be transiency, but home. that is why, too, she paid her board by the week and used printed visiting-cards.
-and yet, if there exists such a paradox as an aristocracy among boarding-houses, mrs. schulem's was of it. none of the boiled odors lay on her hallways, which were not papered, but a cream-colored fresco of better days. there was only one pair of bisques, no folding-bed, and but the slightest touch of dried grasses in her unpartitioned front parlor. the slavey who opened the door was black-faced, white-coated, and his bedraggled skirts were trousers with a line of braid up each seam. two more of him were also genii of the basement dining-hall, two low rooms made into one and entirely bisected by a long-stemmed t of dining-table, and between the lace-curtained windows a small table for two, with fairly snowy napkins flowering out of its water-tumblers, and in its center a small island of pressed-glass vinegar-cruet, bottle of darkly portentous condiment, glass of sugar, and another of teaspoons.
-it was here that miss bloom and mr. lipkind finally settled themselves, snugly and sufficiently removed from the t-shaped battalion of eyes and ears to insure some privacy.
-"well," said mr. lipkind, unflowering his napkin, spreading it across his knees, and exhaling, "this is fine!"
-there was an aura of authoritativeness seemed to settle over miss bloom.
-this to one of the black-faced genii: "take care of us right to-night, johnson, and i'll fix it up with you. see if you can't manage it in the kitchen to bring us a double portion of those banana fritters i see they're eating at the big table. say they're for miss bloom. i'll fix it up with you."
-"now, clara, don't you go bothering with extras for me. this is certainly fine. sorry you never asked me before."
-"you know why i never asked you before."
-"why, you never saw the like how pleased ma was. she was the first one to fall in with the idea of my coming to-night."
-"ma's a good sport about being left at home alone."
-"how do you know? you never tried it until to-night. i'll bet it's the first time since that night you first met me, five years ago, at jerome fertig's, and it wouldn't have been then if she hadn't had the neuralgia and it was your own clerk's wedding."
-he laid down his spoon, settling back a bit from the table, pulling the napkin across his knees out into a string.
-"i thought we'd gone all over that, clara."
-"yes; but where did it get us? that's why we're here to-night, sam--to get somewheres."
-he crumbed his bread. "what do you mean, clara?"
-she forced his slow gaze to hers calmly, her hands outstretched on the table between them. "i've made up my mind, sam. things can't go on this way no longer between us."
-"just what do you mean by that?"
-"i mean that we've either got to act or quit."
-he was rolling the bread pills again, a flush rising. "you know where i stand, clara, on things between us."
-"yes, sam, and now you know where i stand." the din of the dining-room surged over the pause between them. still in the purple hat, and her wrap thrown back over her chair, she held that pause coolly, level of eye. "i'm thirty-one now, sam, three weeks and two days older than you. i don't see the rest of my days with the arnstein ribbon company. i'm not getting any younger. five years is a long time out of a girl's life. five of the best ones, too. she likes to begin to see her future when she reaches my age. a future with a good providing man. you and me are just where we started five years ago."
-"i know, clara, and i'd give my right hand to change things."
-"if i'd been able to save a cent, it might be different. but i haven't--i'm that way. i make big and spend big. but you can't blame a girl for wanting to see her future. that's me, and i'm not ashamed to say it."
-"if only, clara, i could get you to see things my way. if you'd be willing to try it with ma. why, with a little diplomacy from you, ma'd move heaven and earth to please you."
-"there's no use beginning that, sam; it's a waste of time. why--why, just the difference in the way me and--and your mother feel on money matters is enough. there's no use to argue that with me; it's a waste of time."
-he lifted and let droop his shoulders with something of helplessness in the gesture. "what's the use, then? i'm sure i don't know what more to say to you, clara. oh, don't think my mother don't realize how things are between us--it's all i can do to keep denying and denying."
-"well, you can't say she knows from my telling."
-"no; but there's not a day she don't say to me, particularly these last few times since you been breaking your dates with us pretty regular--i--well she sees how it worries me, and there's not a day she don't say to me, 'sammy,' she said to me, only this morning, 'if i thought i was keeping you and clara apart--'"
-"a blind man could see it."
-"there's not a day passes over her head she don't offer to go to live with my sister in ohio, when i know just how that one month of visiting her that time nearly killed her."
-"funny visiting an own daughter could nearly kill anybody."
-"it's my brother-in-law, clara. my mother couldn't no more live with isadore katz than she could fly. he's a fine fellow and all that, but she's not used to a man in the house that potters around the kitchen and the children's food and things like isadore loves to. she's used to her own little home and her own little way."
-"if i want to kill my mother, clara, all i got to do is put her away from me in her old age. even my sister knows it. 'sammy,' she wrote to me that time after ma's visit out there, 'i love our mother like you do, but i got a nervous husband who likes his own ways about the housekeeping and the children and the cooking, and nobody knows better than me that the place for ma to be happy is with you in her own home and her own ways of doing.'"
-"i call that a nerve for a sister to let herself out like that."
-"it's not nerve, clara; it's the truth. ruby's a good girl in her way."
-"what about you--ain't your life to be thought of? ain't it enough she was married off with enough money for her husband to buy a half-interest in a ladies' ready-to-wear store out there?"
-"why, if i was to bring my little wife to that flat of ours, clara, or any other kind further down-town that she'd want to pick out for herself, i think my mother would just walk on her hands and knees to make things pleasant for her. maybe you don't know it, but on your wednesday nights up at the house, she is up at five o'clock in the morning fixing around and cooking the things she thinks you'll like."
-"i'm not saying a word against your mother, sam. i think she's a grand woman, and i admire a fellow that's good to his mother. i always say, 'give me a fellow every time that is good to his mother and that fellow will be good to his wife.'"
-"i'm not pretending to say ma mayn't be a little peculiar in her ways, but you never saw an old person that wasn't, did you? neither am i saying it's exactly any girl's idea to start out married life with a third person in--"
-"i've always swore to myself, sam, and i'm not ashamed to admit it, that if i can't marry to improve myself, i'm going to stay single till i can. i'm not a six-dollar-a-week stenog that has to marry for enough to eat. i can afford to buy a seventy-five dollar suit every winter of my life and twelve-dollar shoes every time i need them. the hat on my head cost me eighteen-fifty wholesale, without having to be beholding to nobody, and--"
-"ma don't mean those things, clara. it's just when she hears the price girls pay for things nowadays she can't help being surprised the way things have changed."
-"i'm not a small potato, sam. i never could live like a small potato."
-"why, you know there's nothing i like better than to see you dressed in the best that money can buy. you heard what i said about that hat just now, didn't you? whatever it cost, it's worth it. i can afford to dress my little wife in the best that comes. there's nothing too good for her."
-"all ma needs, clara, is a little humoring. she's had to stint so all her life, it's a little hard to get her used to a little prosperity. take me. why, if i bring her home a little shawl or a pockabook that cost, say, ten dollars, you think i tell her? no. i say, 'here's a bargain i picked up for three ninety-eight,' and right away she's happy with something reduced."
-"your mother and me, sam, and, mind you, i'm not saying she isn't a grand old lady, wasn't no more made to live together than we was made to fly. i couldn't no more live her way than she could live mine. i've got a practical head on my shoulders--i don't deny it--and i want to improve ourselves in this world when we marry, and have an up-to-date home like every young couple that starts out nowadays."
-"that flat of yours up there or any other one under the conditions would be run like the ark. i'm an up-to-date girl, i am. there's not a girl living would be willing to marry a well-off fellow like you and go huck herself in a place she couldn't even have the running of herself or have her own say-so about the purse-strings. it may sound unbecoming, but when i marry i'm going to better myself, i am."
-"if she can't even stand for her own son-in-law walking into his own kitchen in his own house--oh, you don't find me starting my married life that way at this late date. i haven't held off five years for that."
-mr. lipkind pushed back his but slightly tasted food, lines of strain and a certain whiteness out in his face. "it--it just seems awful, clara, this going around in a circle and not getting anywheres."
-"i'm at the end of my rope, i am."
-"i see your point in a way, clara, but, my god! a man's mother is his mother! it's eating up my life just as it's eating yours, but what you going to do about it? it just seems the best years of our life are going, waiting for god knows what."
-hands clasped until her finger-nails whitened, miss bloom leaned across the table, her voice careful and concentrated. "now you said something! that's why you and me are here alone together to-night. there's not going to be a sixth year of this kind of waiting between us. things have got to come to a head. i've got a chance, sam, to marry. eddie leonard has asked me."
-"eddie leonard ain't a sam lipkind, but after the war his five-thousand-dollar job is down at arnstein's waiting for him, and he's got a good stiff bank-account saved as good as yours and--and no strings to it. i believe in a girl facing those facts the same as any other facts. why, i--this war and all--why, if anything was to happen to you to-morrow--us unmarried this way--i'd be left high and dry without so much as a penny to show for the best five years of my life. we've got to do one thing or another, sam. i believe in a girl being practical as well as romantic."
-"i--see your point, clara."
-"i'm done with going around in this circle of ours."
-"you know what i mean."
-the lower half of mr. lipkind's face seemed to lock, as it were, into a kind of rigidity which shot out his lower jaw. "i'll see eddie leonard burning like brimstone before i let him have you!"
-"god! i don't know what to say--i don't know what to say!"
-"that's your trouble, sam; you're so chicken-hearted you--"
-"my father died when i was five, clara, and no matter what my feelings are to you, there's no power on earth can make me quit having to be him as well as a son to my mother. maybe it sounds softy to you--but if i got to pay with her happiness for--ours--then i never want happiness to the day i die."
-"in other words, it's the mother first."
-"don't put it that way--it's her--age--first. it ain't what she wants and don't want; it's what she's got to have. my mother couldn't live away from me."
-"she could if you were called to war."
-there was something electric in the silence that followed, something that seemed to tighten the gaze of each for the other.
-"but i haven't been--yet."
-"the next draft will get you."
-"well, what'll you do then?"
-"that's something me and ma haven't ever discussed. the war hasn't been mentioned in our house for two years--except that the letters don't come from germany, and that's a grief to her. there's enough time for her to cross that bridge when we come to it. she worries about it enough."
-"if i was a man i'd enlist, i would!"
-"i'd give my right hand to. every other night i dream i'm a lieutenant."
-"why, there's not a fellow i know that hasn't beaten the draft to it and enlisted for the kind of service he wants. i know a half a dozen who have got in the home guard and things and have saved themselves by volunteering from being sent to france."
-"i wouldn't dodge the front thataway. i'd like to enlist as a private and then work myself up to lieutenant and then on up to captain and get right into the fray on the front. i--"
-"you bet, if i was a fellow, i'd enlist for the kind of home service i wanted--that's what eddie and all the fellows are doing."
-"so would i, clara, if i was what you call a--free man. there's nobody given it more thought than me."
-"you know why, clara, to get back to going around in a circle again."
-"but you've got to go, sooner or later. you've got a comfortable married sister and independent circumstances of your own to keep your mother; you haven't got a chance for exemption."
-"i don't want exemption."
-"well, then, beat the draft to it."
-"i--most girls ain't so anxious to--to get rid of their best fellows, clara."
-"silly! can't you see the point? if--if you'd enlist and go off to camp, i--i could go and live near you there like birdie harberger does her husband. see?"
-"then--god forbid anything should happen to you!--i'm your wife. you see, sam?"
-"you see what i mean. but nothing can happen this way, because if you try to enlist in some mechanical department where they need you in this country--you see, sam? see?"
-"your mother would have to get used to things then, sam--it would be the easiest for her. an old lady like her couldn't go trailing around the outskirts of a camp like your wife could. think of the comfort it'll be to her to have me with you if she can't be. she'll get so used to--living alone--"
-"i--you mustn't talk that way to me, clara. when i'm called to serve my country, i'm the first one that will want to go. i've given more money already than i can afford to help the boys who are at the front. so far as i'm concerned, enlisting like this with--with you--around, would be the happiest thing ever happened to me, but--well, you see for yourself."
-"you mean, then, you won't?"
-"i mean, clara, i can't."
-she was immediately level of tone again and pushed back, placing her folded napkin beside her place, patting it down.
-"well, then, sam, i'm done."
-"ed has asked me. i don't pretend he's my ideal, but he's more concerned about my future than he is about anybody else's. if i'm ready to leave with him on that twelve-o'clock train for boston to-morrow, where he's going to be put in the clerical corps at camp usonis, we'll be married there to-morrow night, and i'll settle down somewhere near camp as long as i can. he's got a good nest-egg if--god forbid!--anything should happen. that's the whole thing in a nutshell."
-"my god! clara, this is awful! eddie leonard he's not your kind; he--"
-"i've given you first chance, sam. that proves how you stand with me. a one! ace high! first! nobody can ever take your place with me. don't be a boob coming and going, sam; you're one now not to see things and you'll be another one spelled backward if you don't help yourself to your chance when it comes. you've got your life in front of you, and your mother's got hers in back of her. now choose."
-"my god! clara, this is--terrible! why--i'd rather be a thousand boobs than take my mother's heart and tear it to pieces."
-"don't say that, sam. go home and--sleep on it. think it over. please! come to your senses, honey. telephone me at eleven to keep me from catching that twelve-o'clock train. don't let me take it with eddie. think it over, sam. honey--our--future--don't throw it away! don't let me take that twelve-o'clock train!"
-there were tears streaming from her eyes, and her lips, so carefully firm, were beginning to tremble. "you can't blame a girl, sam, for wanting to provide for her future. can you, sam? think it over. please! i'll be praying when eleven o'clock comes to-morrow morning for you to telephone me. please, sam--think!"
-he dropped his face low, lower toward the table, trembling under the red wave that surged over him and up into the roots of his hair. "i'll think it over, clara--my girl--my own girl!"
-as if the moments themselves had been woven by her flying amber needles into a whole cloth of meditation, mrs. lipkind, beside a kitchen lamp that flowed in gracious light, knitted the long, quiet hours of her evening into fabric, her face screwed and out of repose and occasionally the lips moving. age is prone to that. memories love to be mumbled and chewed over--the unconscious kind of articulation which comes with the years and for which youth has a wink and a quirk.
-a tiger cat with overfed sides and a stare that seemed to doze purred on the window-ledge, gold and unswerving of eye. the silence was like the singing inside of a shell, and into it rocked mrs. lipkind.
-by nine o'clock she was already glancing up at the clock, cocking her head to each and every of night's creaks.
-by half after nine there were small and frequent periods of peering through cupped hands down into a street so remote that its traffic had neither shape nor identity. once she went down a long slit of hallway to the front door, opening it and gazing out upon a fog-filled corridor that was papered in embossed leatherette, one speckled incandescent bulb lighting it sadly. there was something impregnable, even terrible to her in the featureless stare of the doors of three adjoining apartments. she tiptoed, almost ran, poor dear! with the consciousness of some one at her heels, back to the kitchen, where at least was the warm print of the cat's presence; fell to knitting again, clacking her needles for the solace of explainable sound.
-identically with the round moment of ten mr. lipkind entered, almost running down the hallway.
-"hello, ma! think i got lost? just got to talking and didn't realize. haven't been worried, ma? afraid?"
-she lifted her head from his kiss. "'afraid!' what you take me for? for why should i be worried at only ten o'clock? say, i'm glad if you stay out for recreation."
-he kissed her again, shaking out of his coat and unwinding his muffler. "i could just see you walking the floor and looking out of the window."
-"sa-y, i been so busy all evening i didn't have time to think. i'm not such a worrier no more like i used to be. like the saying is--life is too short."
-he drew up beside her, lifting her needles off her work. "little sweetheart mamma, why don't you sit on the big sofa in the front room where it's more comfortable?"
-"you can't make, sammy, out of a pig's ear a silk stocking."
-he would detain her hands, his eyes puckered and, so intent upon her.
-"you had a good time, sammy?"
-"you'd be surprised, ma, what a nice place clara boards at."
-"what did they have to eat? good cooking?"
-"not for a fellow that's used to my boarding-house."'
-"i couldn't tell if it was soup or finger-bowls they served for the first course."
-"i know--stylish broth. let me warm you up a little of my thick barley soup that's left over from--"
-"such mess-food what is bad for you. i'm surprised how clara keeps her good complexion. let me fix you some fried--"
-"ma, i tell you i couldn't. it's ten o'clock. you mustn't try to fatten me up so. in war-time a man has got to be lean."
-she sat back suddenly and whitely quiet. "that's--twice already to-day, sam, you talk like that."
-he took up her lax hand, moving each separate finger up and down, eyes lowered. "why not? doesn't it ever strike you, mamma, that you and me are--are kidding ourselves along on this war business, pretending to each other there ain't no war?"
-she laid a quick hand to her breast. "what you mean, sammy?"
-"why, you know what i mean, ma. i notice you read the war news pretty closely, all right."
-"sammy, you mean something!"
-"now, ma, there's no need to get excited right away. think of the mothers who haven't even got bank-accounts whose sons have got to go."
-"sammy--you 'ain't been--"
-"no, no; i haven't."
-"you have! i can see it in your face! you've come home with some news to break. you been drafted!"
-he held her arms to her sides, still pressing her down to her chair. "i tell you i haven't! can't you take my word for it?"
-"swear to me, sammy!"
-"all right; i swear."
-"swear to me on your dead father who is an angel in heaven!"
-she was still pressing against her breathing. "you're keeping something back. sammy, is it that we got mail from germany? from aunt carrie? bad news--o my god!"
-"no! no! who could i get mail from there any more than you've been getting it for the last two years? mamma, if you're going to be this excitable and get yourself sick, i won't talk over anything with you. i'll quit."
-"you got something, sammy, to break to me. i can read you like a book."
-"i'm done. if i can't talk facts over with you without your going to pieces this way, i'm done. i quit."
-she clasped her hands, her face pleading up to him. "sammy, what is it? if you don't tell me, i can't stand it. sammy?"
-"will you sit quiet and not get excited?"
-"please, sammy, i will."
-"it's this: you see, ma, the way the draft goes. when a fellow's called to war, drafted, he's got to go, no questions asked. but when a fellow enlists for war, volunteers, you see, before the government calls him, then thataway he can pick out for himself the thing he wants to be in the army. y'see? and then maybe the thing he picks out for himself can keep him right here at home. y'see, ma--so he don't have to go away. see the point?"
-"you mean when a boy enlists he offers himself instead of gets offered."
-"you got something behind all this. you mean you--you want to enlist."
-"now, ma--you see, if i was to enlist--and stay right here in this country--with you near the camp or, as long as it's too rough life for you, with--with clara there--a woman to look in on--"
-"sammy--you mean it's enlistment!"
-her voice rose in velocity; he could feel her pulse run beneath his fingers.
-"it's the best way, ma. the draft is sure to get me. let me beat it and keep myself home--near you. we might as well face the music, ma. they'll get me one way or another. let me enlist now, ma. like a man. right away. for my country!"
-do you know the eyes of bellini's "agony in a garden"? can you hear for yourself the note that must have been cassandra's when she shouted out her forebodings? there were these now in the glance and voice of mrs. lipkind as she drew back from him, her face actually seeming to shrivel.
-"no, sammy! no! no! no!"
-"you wouldn't! you couldn't! no, sammy--my son!"
-"ma, for god's sake don't go on so!"
-"then tell me you wouldn't! against your own flesh and blood! tell me you wouldn't!"
-"no, no, ma! for god's sake, don't take a fit--a stroke--no, no; i wouldn't--i wouldn't!"
-"your own blood, sammy! your own baby cousins what i tucked you in bed with--mine own sister's children! her babies what slept with you. mine own sister who raised me and worked down her hands to the bone to make it so with my young husband and baby we could come to america--no--no!"
-"mamma, for god's sakes--"
-"three years like a snake here inside of it's eating me--all night--all day--i'm a good american, sammy; i got so much i should be thankful for to america. twenty-five years it's my home, the home where i had prosperity and good treatment, the home where i had happiness with your papa and where he lies buried, but i can't give you to fight against my own, sammy--to be murdered by your own--my sister what never in her life harmed a bird--my child and her children--cousins--against each other. my beautiful country what i remember with cows and green fields and clover--always the smell of clover. it ain't human to murder against your own flesh and blood for god knows what reason!"
-"mamma, there is a reason it--"
-"i tell you i'm a good american, sammy. for america i give my last cent, but not to stick knives in my own--it ain't human--why didn't i die before we got war? what good am i here? in my boy's way for his country--his marriage--his happiness--why don't i die?"
-"ma, i tell you you mustn't! you're making yourself sick. let me fan you. here, ma, i didn't mean it. see--i'm holding you tight. i won't never let go. you're my little sweetheart mamma. you mustn't tremble like that. i'm holding you tight--tight--little mamma."
-"my boy! my little boy! my son! my all! all in their bed together. three. her two. mine. the smell of clover--my boy--sammy--sam--" she fainted back into his arms suddenly, very white and very quiet and very shriveled.
-he watched beside her bed the next five hours of the night, his face so close above hers that, when she opened her eyes, his were merged into one for her, and the clasp of his hand never left hers.
-"you all right, ma? sure? sure you don't need the doctor?"
-she looked up at him with a tired, a burned-out, an ashamed smile. "the first time in my life, sammy, such a thing ever happened to me."
-he pressed a chain of close kisses to the back of her hand, his voice far from firm. "it was me, ma. i'll never forgive myself. my little mamma, my little mamma sweetheart!"
-"i feel fine, son; only, with you sitting here all night, you don't let me sleep for worry that you ain't in bed."
-"i'm well, sammy. it was nothing but what you call a fainting-fit. for some women it's nothing that they should faint every time they get a little bit excited. it's nothing. feel my hands--how cool! that's always a sign--coolness."
-he pressed them both to his lips, blowing his warm breath against them.
-the night-light burning weakly, the great black-walnut bedstead ponderous in the gloom, she lay there mostly smiling and always shamefaced.
-"such a thing should happen to me at my age!"
-"try to sleep, ma."
-"a little whisky?"
-"go away; you got me dosed up enough with such schnapps."
-"the light lower?"
-"no. if you don't go in your room, i lay here all night with my eyes open, so help me!"
-he rose, stiff and sore-kneed, hair awry, and his eyes with the red rims of fatigue. "you'll sure ring the little bell if you want anything, ma?"
-"you promise you won't get up to fix breakfast."
-"if i don't feel good, i let you fix mine."
-"good night, little sweetheart mamma."
-"you ain't--mad at me, sam?"
-"mad! why, ma, you mustn't ask me a--a thing like that; it just kills me to hear you. me that's not even fit to black your shoes! mad at you? why, i--i--good night--good--night--ma."
-at just fifteen minutes before seven, to the pungency of coffee and the harsh sing of water across the hall, mrs. lipkind in a fuzzy wrapper the color of her eyes and hair, kissed her son awake.
-"sam! sammy! get up! thu, thu! i can't get him up in the morning!"
-the snuggle away and into the crotch of his elbow.
-"sam-my--quarter to seven!"
-he sprang up then, haggard, but in a flood of recollection and remorse. "ma, i must 'a' dropped off at the last minute. you all right? what are you doing up? go right back! didn't i tell you not to get up?"
-"i been up an hour already; that's how fine i feel. get up, sammy; it's late."
-he flung on his robe, trying to withdraw her from the business of looping back the bed-clothing over the footboard and pounding into the pillows.
-"i tell you i won't have it! you got to lay in bed this morning."
-"i'm all right, sammy. wouldn't i say so if i wasn't?" but she sat down rather weakly on the edge of the bed, holding the right side of her, breathing too hard.
-"i--i shouldn't have beat that pillow is all. let me get my breathing. i'm all right." nevertheless, she let him relax her to his pillow, draw the covers down from the footboard, and cover her.
-"this settles it," he said, quietly. "i'm going to get a doctor."
-she caught his hand. "if--if you want to get me excited for sure, just you call a doctor--now--before i talk with you a minute--i want to talk--i'm all right, sammy, if you let me talk to you. one step to that telephone, and i get excited--"
-"will you listen to me and do like i want it?"
-"i--been a bad old woman."
-"that's right--break my heart."
-"i got a brave boy for a son, and i want to make from him a coward."
-"i laid saying to myself all night, a mother should have such a son like mine and make things hard for him yet!"
-"please, get it all out of your head--"
-"from america what has given to me everything i should hold back my son from fighting for. in war, it ain't your own flesh and blood what counts; it's the flesh and blood of your country--not, sam? i been thinking only it's my family affair. if god lets be such a terrible thing like war, there is somewhere a good reason for it. i want you to enlist, sammy, for your country. not for in an office, but for where they need you. i want you to enlist to get some day to be such a lieutenant and a captain like you used to play it with tin soldiers. i want--"
-"mamma, mamma, you know you don't mean it!"
-"i want it, i tell you. all night i worked on it how dumb i've been, not right away to see it--last night. with clara near you in the camp--"
-"ma, i didn't mean it that way; i--"
-"clara near you for a woman to look in on, i been so dumb not to right away see it. i'm glad you let it out, sam. i wouldn't take five thousand dollars it didn't happen--i feel fine--i want it--i--"
-"i didn't mean it, ma--i swear! don't rub it in this way--please--please--"
-"why, i never wanted anything in my life like i want this, sammy--that you should enlist--a woman to look in on--i been a bad woman, sammy, i--i--oh--"
-it was then that mr. lipkind tore to the telephone, his hands so frenzied that they would not properly hold the receiver.
-at eight o'clock, and without even a further word, mrs. lipkind breathed out quietly, a little tiredly, and yet so eloquent of eye. to her son, pleading there beside her for the life she had not left to give, it was as if the swollen bosom of some stream were carrying her rapidly but gently down its surface, her gaze back at him and begging him to stay the current.
-"mamma! darling! doctor--please--for god's sakes--please--she wants something---she can't say it--give it to her! try to make her tell me what she wants--she wants something--this is terrible--don't let her want something--mamma--just one word to me--try--try--o my god--doctor--"
-a black arm then reached down to withdraw him from the glazed stare which had begun to set in from the pillow.
-by ten o'clock a light snow had set in, blowing almost horizontally across the window-pane. he sat his second hour there in a rather forward huddle beside the drawn shade of that window, the sotto-voce comings and goings, all the black-coated parvenus that follow the wake of death, moving about him. a clock shaped like a pilot's wheel, a boyhood property which had marked the time of twenty years, finally chimed the thin, tin stroke of eleven and after a swimming, nebulous interval, twelve. he glanced up each time with his swollen eyes, and then almost automatically out to the wall telephone in the hall opposite the open door. but he did not move. in fact, for two more hours sat there impervious to proffered warmth of word or deed. meanwhile, the snow behind the drawn shade had turned to rain that beat and washed against the pane.
-out over the peaked city that had been pitched rather than built, and on beyond over the frozen stubble of fields, sounded the bugle-cry of the reveille, which shrills so potently:
-i can't get 'em up; i can't get 'em up; i can't get 'em up in the morn--ing!
-even as you and i
-there is an intensity about september noonday on coney island, aided and abetted by tin roofs, metallic façades, gilt domes, looking-glass fronts, jeweled spires, screaming peanut and frankfurter-stands, which has not its peculiar kind of equal this side of opalescent tangiers. here the sea air can become a sort of hot camphor-ice to the cheek, the sea itself a percolator, boiling up against a glass surface. beneath the tin roofs of ocean avenue the indoor heat takes on the kind of intense density that is cotton in the mouth and ringing in the ears.
-before the palace of freaks, a barker slanted up his megaphone, baying to the sun:
-"y-e-a-o-u! y-e-a-o-u! the greatest show on the island! ten cents to see the greatest freak congress in the world. shapiro's freaks are gathered from every corner of the universe. enter and shake hands with baron de ross, the children's delight, the world's smallest human being; age, forty-two years, eight months; height, twenty-eight inches; weight, fourteen and one-half pounds, certified scales. enter and see the original and only authentic siamese twins! the ossified man! you are cordially invited to stick pins into this mystery of the whole medical world. jastrow, the world's most famous strong man end glass-eater, will perform his world-startling feats. show about to begin! our glass-eater eats glass, not rock candy--any one doubting same can sample it first. we have on view within, and all included in your ten-cents admission, the famous teenie, absolutely the heaviest woman in captivity. we guarantee teenie to tip the certified scales at five hundred and fifty-five, a weight unsurpassed by any of the heavyweights in the history of the show business. come in and fox-trot with teenie, the world wonder. come in and fox-trot with her. show begins immediately. y-e-a-o-u! y-e-a-o-u!"
-within the palace of freaks, her platform elevated and railed in against the unduly curious, miss luella hoag, all that she was so raucously purported to be, sat back in her chair, as much in the attitude of relaxing as her proportions would permit.
-and yet, sunk there like a flower-seed planted too deeply to push its way up to bloom, the twenty-year-old heart of miss hoag beat beneath its carbonaceous layer upon layer, even skipped a beat at spring's palpitating sweetness, dared to dream of love, weep of desire, ache of loneliness and loveliness.
-isolated thus by the flesh, the spirit, too, had been caught in nature's sebaceous trick upon miss hoag. life had passed her by slimly. but miss hoag's redundancy was not all literal. a sixth and saving sense of humor lay like a coating of tallow protecting the surface of her. for nature's vagary, she was pensioned on life's pay-roll at eighteen dollars a week.
-"easy money, friends," miss hoag would ad lib. to the line-up outside her railing; "how would some of you like to sit back and draw your wages just for the color of your hair or the size of your shoes? you there, that sailor boy down there, how'd you like to have a fox-trot with teenie? something to tell the jackies about. come on, jack tar, i'm light on my feet, but i won't guarantee what i'll be on yours. step up and have a round."
-usually the crowd would turn sheepish and dissolve at this terpischorean threat. in fact, it was miss hoag's method of accomplishing just that.
-in the august high noon of the coney island freak palace, which is the time and scene of my daring to introduce to you the only under-thirty-years, and over-one-hundred-and-thirty-pounds, heroine in the history of fiction, the megaphone's catch of the day's first dribble of humanity and inhumanity had not yet begun its staring, gaping invasion.
-a curtain of heat that was almost tangible hung from the glass roof. the ossified man, sworn by clause of contact impervious alike to heat and cold, urged his reclining wheel-chair an imperceptible inch toward the neighboring sway of miss hoag's palm-leaf. she widened its arc, subtly.
-"ain't it a fright?" she said.
-"sacred mother of the sacred child!" said the ossified man, in a patois of very south italy.
-then miss hoag turned to the right, a rail partitioning her from the highly popular spectacle of the baron de ross, christened, married, and to be buried by his nomenclature in disuse, edwin ross macgregor.
-the baron, in a toy rocker that easily contained him, turned upon miss hoag a face so anachronistic that the senses reeled back. an old face, as if carved out of a paleolithic cherry-stone; the years furrowed in; the eyes as if they had seen, without marveling, the light of creation; even the hands, braceleted in what might have been portière-rings, leanly prehensile. when the baron spoke, his voice was not unlike the middle c of an old harpsichord whose wires long since had rusted and died. he was frock-coated like a clergyman or a park statue of a patriot.
-of face, a chaldean sire; of dress, a miniature apotheosis of the tailor's art; of form, a paleolithic child.
-"blow me to a ice-cream cone? gowann, teenie, have a heart!"
-miss hoag billowed into silent laughter. "little devil! that's six you've sponged off me this week, you little whipper-snapper!"
-the baron screwed up into the tightest of grimaces.
-"nice teenie--nice old teenie!"
-she tossed him a coin from the small saucerful of them on the table beside her. he caught it with the simian agility of his tiny hands.
-"nice teenie! nice old teenie!"
-a first group had strolled up, indolent and insolent at the spectacle of them.
-"photographs! photographs! take the folks back home a signed photograph of teenie--only ten cents, one dime. give the kiddies a treat--signed photograph of little teenie!"
-she would solicit thus, canorous of phrase, a fan of her cardboard likenesses held out, invitational.
-occasionally there were sales, the coins rattling down into the china saucer beside her; oftener a mere bombardment of insolence and indolence, occasionally a question.
-this day from a motorman, loitering in uniform between runs, "say, skinnay, whatcha weigh?"
-whatever of living tissue may have shrunk and quivered deep beneath the surface of miss hoag was further insulated by a certain professional pride--that of the champion middleweight for his cauliflower ear, of the beauty for the tiny mole where her neck is whitest, the ballerina for her double joints.
-"wanna come up and dance with me and find out?"
-"o lord!"--receding from the crowd and its trail of laughter. "o lord! excuse me. good night!"
-a child: missus, is all of you just one lady?
-"bless your heart, little pettie, they gimme a good measure, didn't they? here's a chocolate drop for the little pettie."
-"come away! don't take nothing from her!"
-"i wouldn't hurt your little girl, lady. i wouldn't harm a pretty hair of her head; i love the kiddies."
-"good-by, little pettie."
-a man: say, was you born in captivity--in this line o' work, i mean?
-"law, no, friend! i never seen the light of the show business up to eight year ago. there wasn't a member of my family, all dead and put away now, weighed more 'n one-fifty. they say it of my mother, she was married at ninety pounds and died at a hundred and six."
-"you don't say so."
-"i was born and raised on a farm out in ohio. bet not far from your part of the country, from the looks of you, friend. buckeye?"
-"not a bad guess at that--indiana's mine."
-"law! to my way of thinking, there's no part of the union got anything on the middle states. knock me around all you want, i always say, but let me be buried in the buckeye state. photographs? signed photographs at ten cents each. take one home to the wife, friend, out in indiana. come, friends, what's a dime? ten cents!"
-the crowd, treacle-slow, and swinging its children shoulder-high, would shuffle on, pause next at the falsetto exhortations of the baron, then on to the collapsibilities of the boneless wonder, the flexuosities of the snake-charmer, the goose-fleshing, the terrible crunching of jastrow the granite jaw. a commotion, this last, not unlike the steam-roller leveling of a rock road.
-miss hoag retired then back to her chair, readjusting the photographs to their table display, wielding her fan largely.
-"lord!" she said, across the right railing, "wouldn't this weather fry you!"
-the baron wilted to a mock swoon, his little legs stiffening at a hypotenuse.
-"ice-cream cone!" he cried. "ice-cream cone, or i faint!"
-"poor jastrow! just listen to him! honest, that grinding goes right through me. he hadn't ought to be showing to-day, after the way they had to have the doctor in on him last night. he hadn't ought to be eating that nasty glass."
-"ain't it awful, mabel!"
-"yes, it's awful, mabel! a fellow snagging up his insides like jastrow. i never knew a glass-eating artist in my life that lived to old age. i was showing once with a pair of glass-eating sisters, the twins delamar, as fine a pair of girls as ever--"
-"sure, the delamars--i know 'em."
-"remember the specialty they carried, stepping on a piece of plate glass and feeding each other with the grounds--"
-"well, i sat up for three weeks running, with one of them girls--the red-haired one, till she died off of sorosis of the liver--"
-"sure enough--lizzie delamar!"
-"lida, the other one, is still carrying the act on street-fair time, but it won't surprise me to hear of her next. that's what'll happen to granite jaw one of these days, too, if he--"
-"pretty soft on the granite jaw, ain't cha? m-m-n! yum-yum! pretty soft!" when the baron mouthed he became in expression punchinello with his finger alongside his nose, his face tightening and knotting into cunning. "pretty soft on the granite jaw! yum--yum--yum!"
-"little devil! little devil! i'll catch you and spank you to death."
-"it's better to have loved a short man than never to have loved atall."
-"little peewee, you! jastrow ain't short. them thick, strong-necked kind never look their height. that boy is five feet two, if he's an inch. them stocky ones is the build that make the strong kind. looka him lift up that cannon-ball with just his left hand. b-r-r-r-r! listen how it shakes the place when he lets its fall! looka! honest, it makes me sick! it's a wonder he don't kill himself."
-"better to have loved a short man than never to have loved atall."
-by twelve o'clock, from her benchlike throne that had become a straitjacket to the back, a heaviness had set in that seemed to thicken miss hoag's eyelids, the flush receding before doughiness.
-a weary mountain of the cruelly enhancing red silk and melting sequin paste, the billowy arms inundated with the thumb-deep dimples lax out along the chair-sides, as preponderous and preposterous a heroine as ever fell the lot of scribe, she was nature's huge joke--a practical joke, too, at eighteen dollars a week, bank-books from three trust companies, and a china pig about ready to burst.
-"cheer up, ossi! it might be worse," she said across the left rail, but her lids twitching involuntarily of tiredness.
-"sacred mother of the sacred child!" said the ossified man, in italian.
-the sword-swallower, at the megaphone instance of the barker, waggled suddenly into motion, and, flouncing back her bushy knee-skirts and kissing to the four winds, threw back her head and swallowed an eighteen-inch carpenter's saw to the hilt. the crowd flowed up and around her.
-miss hoag felt on the undershelf of her table for a glass of water, draining it. "thank god," she said, "another day done!" and began getting together her photographs into a neat packet, tilting the contents of the saucer into a small biscuit-tin and snapping it around with a rubber band.
-the baron de ross was counting, too, his small hands eager at the task. "this island is getting as hard-boiled as an egg," he said.
-"it is that," said miss hoag, making a pencil insert into a small memorandum-book.
-"you!" cried the baron, the screw lines out again. "you money-bag tied in the middle! i know a tattooed girl worked with you once on the st. louis world's fair pike says you slept on a pillow stuffed with greenbacks."
-"you're crazy with the heat," said miss hoag. "what i've got out of this business, i've sweated for."
-then the baron de ross executed a pirouette of tiny self. "worth your weight in gold! worth your weight in gold!"
-"if you don't behave yourself, you little peewee, i'll leave you to plow home through the sand alone. if it wasn't for me playing nurse-girl to you, you'd have to be hiring a keeper. you better behave."
-"worth your weight in gold! blow us to a ice-cream cone. eh, ossi?"
-the crowd had sifted out; all but one of the center aisle of grill arc-lights flickered out, leaving the freak palace to a spluttering kind of gloom. the snake-charmer, of a thousand iridescencies, wound the last of her devitalized cobras down into its painted chest. the siamese twins untwisted out of their embrace and went each his way. the princess albino wove her cotton hair into a plait, finishing it with a rapidly wound bit of thread. an attendant trundled the ossified man through a rear door. jastrow the granite jaw flopped on his derby, slightly askew, and strolled over toward that same door, hands in pocket. he was thewed like an ox. short and as squattily packed down as a buddha, the great sinews of his strength bulged in his short neck and in the backs of the calves of his legs, even rippled beneath his coat. it was as if a compress had reduced him from great height down to his tightest compactness, concentrating the strength of him. even in repose, the undershot jaw was plunged forward, the jowls bonily defined.
-"worth her weight in gold! blow us to a ice-cream cone. eh, jastrow? she's worth her weight in gold."
-passing within reach of where the baron de ross danced to his ditty of reiteration, jastrow the granite jaw reached up and in through the rail, capturing one of the jiggling ankles, elevating the figure of the baron de ross to a high-flung torch.
-"lay off that noise," said jastrow the granite jaw, threatening to dangle him head downward. "lay off, or i'll drown you like a kitten!"
-with an agility that could have swung him from bough to bough, the baron de ross somersaulted astride the rear of jastrow the granite jaw's great neck, pounding little futile fists against the bulwark of head.
-"leggo me! leggo!"
-"gr-r-r-r! i'll step on you and squash you like a caterpillar."
-"don't hurt him, mr. jastrow! don't let him fall off backwards. he is so little. teenie'll catch you if you fall, honey. teenie's here in back of you."
-with another double twist, the baron de ross somersaulted backward off the shoulder of his captor, landing upright in the outstretched skirts of miss hoag.
-"yah, yah!" he cried, dancing in the net of skirt and waggling his hands from his ears. "yah, yah!"
-the granite jaw smoothed down the outraged rear of his head, eyes rolling and smile terrible.
-"wow!" he said, making a false feint toward him.
-the baron, shrill with hysteria, plunged into a fold of miss hoag's skirt.
-"don't hurt him, jastrow. he's so awful little! don't play rough."
-the baron (projecting his face around a fold of skirt): worth her weight in go-uld--go-uld!
-"he's always guying me for my saving ways, jastrow. i tell him i 'ain't got no little twenty-eight-inch wife out in san francisco sending me pin-money. neither am i the prize little grafter of the world. i tell him he's the littlest man and the biggest grafter in this show. come out of there, you little devil! he thinks because i got a few hundred dollars laid by i'm a bigger freak than the one i get paid for being."
-jastrow the granite jaw flung the crook of his walking-stick against his hip, leaning into it, the flanges of his nostrils widening a bit, as if scenting.
-"you old mountain-top," he said, screwing at the up-curving mustache, "who'd have thought you had that pretty a penny saved?"
-"i don't look to see myself live and die in the show business, mr. jastrow."
-"now you said something, big tent."
-"there's a farm out near xenia, ohio, where i lay up in winter, that i'm going to own for myself one of these days. i've seen too many in this business die right in exhibition, and the show have to chip in to bury 'em, for me not to save up against a rainy day."
-"lay it on, big tent. i like your philosophy."
-"that's me every time, mr. jastrow. i'm going to die in a little story-and-a-half frame house of my own with a cute little pointy roof, a potato-patch right up to my back steps, and my own white leghorns crossin' my own country road to get to the other side. why, i know a fat in this business, aggie lament--"
-"sure, me and the baroness played mexico city carnival with aggie lament. some heavy!"
-"well, that girl, in her day, was one of the biggest tips to the scale this business ever seen. what happens? all of a sudden, just like that--pneumonia! gets up out of bed, eight weeks later, skin and bones --down to three hundred and sixty-five pounds and not a penny saved. i chipped in what i could to keep her going, but she just down and died one night. job gone. no weight. in the exhibit business, just like any other line, you got to have a long head. a fat's got to look ahead for a thin day. strong for a weak day. that's why i wish, mr. jastrow, you'd cut out that glass-eating feature of yours."
-"how much you got, airy-fairy? lemme double your money for you!"
-"she's worth her weight in gold."
-"lemme double it!"
-"like fun i will. a spendthrift like you!"
-"which way you going?"
-"we always go home by the beach. shapiro made it a rule that the bigs and littles can't ever show themselves on ocean avenue."
-"come on, you little flea; i'll ride you up the beach on my shoulder."
-"oh, mr. jastrow, you--you going to walk home with me--and--baron?"
-"come on was what i said."
-he mounted the baron de ross to his bulge of shoulder with veriest toss, miss hoag, in a multi-fold cape that was a merciful shroud to the bulk of her, descending from the platform. the place had emptied itself of its fantastic congress of nature's pranks, only the grotesque print of it remaining. the painted snake-chests closed. the array of gustatory swords, each in flannelet slip-cover. the wild man's cage, empty. the tiny velocipede of the baron de ross, upside down against rust. a hall of wonder here. a cave of distorted fancy. the land of the cow jumped over the moon and the dish ran away with the spoon.
-outside, a moon, something bridal in its whiteness, beat down upon a kicked-up stretch of beach, the banana-skins, the pop-corn boxes, the gambados of erstwhile revelers violently printed into its sands. a platinum-colored sea undulated in.
-the leaping, bounding outline of luna park winked out even as they emerged, the whole violent contortion fading back into silver mist. there was a new breeze, spicily cool.
-miss hoag breathed out, "ain't this something grand?"
-"giddy-ap!" cried the baron, slappity-slappity at the great boulder of the granite jaw's head. "giddy-ap!"
-they plowed forward, a group out of phantasmagoria--as motley a threesome as ever strode this side of the land of anesthesia.
-"how do you like it at mrs. bostum's boarding-house, mr. jastrow? i never stop anywheres else on the island. most of the shapiro concession always stops there."
-"good as the next," said mr. jastrow, kicking onward.
-"i was sorry to hear you was ailing so last night, mr. jastrow, and i was sorry there was nothing you would let me do for you. they always call me 'the doc' around exhibits. i say--but you just ought to heard yourself yell me out of the room when i come in to offer myself--"
-"they had me crazy with pain."
-"you wasn't so crazy with pain when the albino girl come down with the bottle of fire-water, was he, baron? we seen him throwing goo-goos at albino, didn't we, baron?"
-"he didn't yell the albino and her bottle out, did he, baron?"
-"it's this darn business," said mr. jastrow, creating a storm of sand-spray with each stride. "i'm punctured up like a tire."
-"i been saying to the baron, mr. jastrow, if you'd only cut out the glass-eating feature. you got as fine a appearance and as fine a strong act by itself as you could want. a short fellow like you with all your muscle-power is a novelty in himself. honest, mr. jastrow, it--it's a sin to see a fine-set-up fellow like you killing yourself this way. you ought to cut out the granite-jaw feature."
-"yeh--and cut down my act to half-pay. i'd be full of them tricks--wouldn't i? show me another jaw act measures up to mine. show me the strong-arm number that ever pulled down the coin a jaw act did. i'd be a, sweet boob, wouldn't i, to cut my pocket-book in two? i need money, airy-fairy. my god! how i got the capacity for needing money!"
-"what's money to health, mr. jastrow? it ain't human or freak nature to digest glass. honest, every time i hear you crunching i get the chills!"
-then mr. jastrow shot forward his lower jaw with a milling motion:
-"she's sweet on you, jastrow, like all the rest of 'em."
-"better to have loved a short man than never to have loved atall."
-"baron, i--i'll spank!" "worth her weight in gold!"
-"where you got all that money soaked, big tent?" "aw, mr. jastrow, the baron's only tormenting me."
-"she sleeps on a pillow stuffed with greenbacks." "sure i got a few dollars saved, and i ain't ashamed of it. i've had steady work in this business eight years, now, ever since the circus came to my town out in ohio and made me the offer, but that's no sign i can be in it eight years longer. sure i got a few dollars saved."
-"well, whatta you know--a big tent like you?"
-"ain't a big tent like me human, mr. jastrow? ain't i--ain't i just like any other--girl--twenty years old--ain't i just like--other--girls--underneath all this?"
-"sure, sure!" said mr. jastrow. "how much you to the good, little one?"
-"i've about eleven hundred dollars with my bank-books and pig."
-"'leven hundred! well, whatta you know about that? say, big tent, better lemme double your money for you!"
-"aw, you go on, mr. jastrow! ain't you the torment, too?"
-"say, gal, next time i get the misery you can hold my hand as long as your little heart desires. 'leven hundred to the good! good night! get down off my shoulder, you little flea, you. i got to turn in here and take a drink on the strength of that! 'leven hundred to the good! good night!"
-"oh, mr. jastrow, in your state! in your state alcohol's poison. mr. jastrow--please--you mustn't!"
-"blow me, too, jas! aw, say--have a heart; blow me to a bracer, too!"
-"no, no, mr. jastrow, don't take the baron. the little fellow can't stand alcohol. his baroness don't want it. anyways, it's against the rules--please--"
-"you stay and take the lady home, flea. see the lady home like a gentleman. 'leven hundred to the good! say, i'd see a lady as far as the devil on that. good night!"
-at mrs. bostum's boarding-house, one of a row of the stare-faced packing-cases of the summer city, bathing-suits drying and kicking over veranda rails, a late quiet had fallen, only one window showing yellowly in the peak of its top story. a white-net screen door was unhooked from without by inserting a hand through a slit in the fabric. an uncarpeted pocket of hall lay deep in absolute blackness. miss hoag fumbled for the switch, finally leaving the baron to the meager comfort of his first-floor back.
-"y'all right, honey? can you reach what you want?"
-the baron clambered to a chair and up to her. his face had unknotted, the turmoil of little lines scattering.
-"aw!" he said. "good old tub, teenie! good old big tent!"
-a layer of tears sprang across miss hoag's glance and, suddenly gaining rush, ran down over her lashes. she dashed at them.
-"i'm human, baron. maybe you don't know it, but i'm human."
-"now what did i do, teenie?"
-"it--it ain't you, baron; it--it ain't anybody. it--it's--only i just wonder sometimes what god had in mind, anyways--making our kind. where do we belong--"
-"aw, you're a great heavy, teenie--and it's the bigs and the littles got the cinch in this business. looka the poor siamese. how'd you like to be hitched up thataway all day. looka ossi. how'd you like to let 'em stick pins in you all for their ten cents' worth. looka poor old jas. why, a girl's a fool to waste any heartache gettin' stuck on him. that old boy's going to wake up out of one of them spells dead some day. how'd you like to chew glass because it's big money and then drink it up so fast you'd got to borrow money off the albino girl for the doctor's prescription--"
-the tears came now rivuleting down miss hoag's cheeks, bouncing off to the cape.
-"o god!" she said, her hand closing over the baron's, pressing it. "with us freaks, even if we win, we lose. take me. what's the good of ten million dollars to me--twenty millions? last night when i went in to offer him help--him in the same business and that ought to be used to me--right in the middle of being crazy with pain, what did he yell every time he looked at me, 'take her away! take her away!'"
-"aw now, teenie, jas had the d.t.'s last night; he--"
-'"take her away!' he kept yelling. 'take her away!' one of my own kind getting the horrors just to look at me!"
-"you're sweet on the granite jaw; you are, teenie; that's what's eating you--you're sweet on the granite jaw--"
-suddenly miss hoag turned, slamming the door afterward so that the silence re-echoed sharply.
-"what if i am?" she said, standing out in the hall pocket of absolute blackness, her hand cupped against her mouth and the blinding tears staggering. "what if i am? what if i am?"
-within her own room, a second-floor-back, augmented slightly by an immaculate layout of pink-celluloid toilet articles and a white water-pitcher of three pink carnations, miss hoag snapped on her light where it dangled above the celluloid toilet articles. a summer-bug was bumbling against the ceiling; it dashed itself between miss hoag and her mirror, as she stood there breathing from the climb and looking back at herself with salt-bitten eyes, mouth twitching. finally, after an inanimate period of unseeing stare, she unhooked the long cape, brushing it, and, ever dainty of self, folding it across a chair-back. a voluminous garment, fold and fold upon itself, but sheer and crisp dimity, even streaming a length of pink ribbon, lay across the bed-edge. miss hoag took it up, her hand already slowly and tiredly at the business of unfettering herself of the monstrous red silk.
-came a sudden avalanche of knocking and a rattling of door-knob, the voice of mrs. bostrum. landlady, high with panic.
-"teenie! jastrow's dyin' in his room! he's yellin' for you! for god's sakes--quick--down in his room!"
-in the instant that followed, across the sudden black that blocked miss hoag of vision, there swam a million stars.
-"teenie! for god's sakes--quick! he's yellin' for you--"
-"coming, mrs. bostrum--coming--coming--coming!"
-in a dawn that came up as pink as the palm of a babe, but flowed rather futilely against the tired, speckled eye of incandescent bulb dangling above the granite jaw's rumpled, tumbled bed of pain, a gray-looking group stood in whispered conference beside a slit of window that overlooked a narrow clapboard slit of street.
-the doctor: even with recovery, he will be on his back at least six months.
-miss hoag: oh, my god! doctor!
-the doctor: has the man means?
-the baron: not a penny. he only came to the concession two months ago from a row with the flying-fish troupe. he's in debt already to half the exhibit.
-the landlady: he's two weeks in arrears. not that i'm pestering the poor devil now, but gawd knows i--need--
-the doctor: any relatives or friends to consult about the operation?
-miss hoag (turning and stooping): 'ain't you got no relations or friends, jastrow? what was it you hollered about the aerial-wonder act? are they friends of yours? 'ain't you got no relatives, no--no friends, maybe, that you could stay with awhile? sid? who's he? 'ain't you, jastrow, got no relations? cities might keep these words continually before him, so that he might grasp, not merely the secret of content and happiness in this life, but the golden key to the immeasurable blessings of "the sure and certain hope" of that life which is to come! then shall he hear the words:
-"king, thou wast called conqueror; in every battle thou bearest the prize."
-conqueror will he be in life's battle if he follow in the footsteps of the spartan of old or of wordsworth's "happy warrior":
-"who, doomed to go in company with pain, and fear, and bloodshed--miserable train!-- turns his necessity to glorious gain."
-finally, the countryman who feels discontented with his lot--and there are few indeed who do not occasionally pine for a change of employment--should go on a railway journey through "the black country" at night, and mark the fierce light that reddens the murky skies as the factory fires send forth their livid flames and clouds of sooty smoke. he should watch the swarms of long-suffering human beings going to and fro and in and out like busy bees around their hive, toiling, ever toiling, round about the blazing fires. he should spend an hour in the streets of birmingham, where, as i passed through one fine september morning recently on my way to ireland, the atmosphere was darkened and the human lungs stifled by a thick yellow fog. or he should go down to the engine-room of a mighty liner, when it is doing its twenty knots across the seas, and then think of his own life in the happy hamlets and the fresh, green fields of our english country.
-coming once more down the hill into the valley of the coln, we must cross the old roman road known as the fossway, follow the course of the stream, and, about a mile beyond the snug little village of fossbridge, we reach the great woods of chedworth.
-these coverts form part of the property of lord eldon. his house of stowell stands well up on the hill. it is a grey, square building of some size, placed so as to catch all the sun and the breezes too,--very much more healthy and bright than most of the old houses we have passed, which were built much too low down in the valley, where the winter sunbeams seldom penetrate and the river mists rise damp and cold at night. as we walk along the drive which leads through the woods to the roman villa, any amount of rabbits and pheasants are to be seen. and here take place annually some of those big shoots which ignorant people are so fond of condemning as unsportsmanlike, simply because they have not the remotest idea what they are talking about. why it should be cruel to kill a thousand head in a day instead of two hundred on five separate days, one fails to understand. as a matter of fact, the bigger the "shoot" the less cruelty takes place, because bad shots are not likely to be present on these occasions, whilst in small "shoots" they are the rule rather than the exception. instead of birds and ground game being wounded time after time, at big battues they are killed stone dead by some well-known and acknowledged good shot. to see a real workman knocking down rocketer after rocketer at a height which would be considered impossible by half the men who go but shooting is to witness an exhibition of skill and correct timing which can only be attained by the most assiduous practice and the quickest of eyes. no, it is the pottering hedgerow shooter, generally on his neighbour's boundary, who is often unsportsmanlike. we know one or two who would have no hesitation in shooting at a covey of partridges on the ground, when they were within shot of the boundary hedge; and if they wounded three or four and picked them up, they would carry them home fluttering and gasping, because they are too heartless to think of putting the wretched creatures out of their sufferings.
-the extensive roman remains discovered some years ago in the heart of this forest doubtless formed the country house of some roman squire. they are well away from the river bank, and about three parts of the way up the sloping hillside. the house faced as nearly as possible south-east. in this point, as in many others, the romans showed their superiority of intellect over our ancestors of elizabethan and other days. nowadays we begin to realise that houses should be built on high ground, and that the aspect that gives most sun in winter is south-east. the old romans realised this fifteen hundred years ago. in other words, our ancestors in the dark ages were infinitely behind the romans in intellect, and we are just reaching their standard of common sense. the characteristics of the interior of these old dwellings are simplicity combined with refinement and good taste. and it is worthy of remark that the men who are ahead of the thought and feeling of the present day are crying out for more simplicity in our homes and furniture, as well as for more refinement and real architectural merit. no useless luxuries and nick-nacks, but plenty of public baths, and mosaic pavements laboriously put together by hard hand labour,--these are the points that ruskin and the romans liked in common.
-with this grandly timbered valley spread beneath them, no more suitable spot on which to build a house could anywhere be found. and though the romans who inhabited this villa could not from its windows see the sun go down in the purple west, emblematic of that which was shortly to set over rome, they could see the glorious dawn of a new day--boding forth the dawn that was already brightening over england, even as "the old order changeth, yielding place to new";--and they could see the splendours of the moon rising in the eastern sky.
-the principal apartment in this roman country house measures about thirty feet by twenty; it was probably divided into two parts, forming the dining-room and drawing-room as well. the tessellated pavements are wonderfully preserved, though not quite so perfect as a few others that have been found in england. with all their beautiful colouring they are merely formed of different shades of local stone, together with a little terra-cotta. perhaps these pavements, with their rich mellow tints of red sandstone, and their shades of white, yellow, brown, and grey, afforded by different varieties of limestone, are examples of the most perfect kind of work which the labours of mankind, combined with the softening influences of time, are able to produce. in one corner the design is that of a man with a rabbit in his hand; and no doubt there were lots of rabbits in these woods in those days, as well as deer and other wild animals long since extinct.
-in these woods of chedworth the rose bay willow herbs grow taller and finer than is their wont elsewhere. in every direction they spring up in hundreds, painting the woodlands with a wondrously rich purple glow. here, too, the bracken thrives, and many a fine old oak tree spreads its branches, revelling in the clay soil. on the limestone of the cotswolds oaks are seldom seen; but wherever a vein of clay is found, there will be the oaks and the bracken. every forest tree thrives hereabouts; and in the open spaces that occur at intervals in the forest there grow such masses of wild flowers as are nowhere else to be seen in the cotswold district. white spiraea, or meadow-sweet, crowds into every nook and corner of open ground, raising its graceful stems in almost tropical luxuriance by the brook-side. campanula and the blue geranium or meadow crane's-bill, with flowers of perfect blue, grow everywhere amid the white blossoms of the spiraea. st john's wort, with its star-shaped golden flowers, white and red campion, and a host of others, are larger and more beautiful on the rich loam than they are on the stony hills. even the lily-of-the-valley thrives here.
-in the bathroom may be seen an excellent example of the hypocaust--an ingenious contrivance, by means of which the rooms were heated with hot air, which passed along beneath the floors.
-there was a british king, by name prasutagus, said to have been a christian, and possibly it was this man who built the old house in the midst of the chedworth woods. a mile beyond this interesting relic of roman times is the manor house of cassey compton, built by sir richard howe about the middle of the seventeenth century. it stands on the banks of the coln, and in olden times was approached by a drawbridge and surrounded by a moat. the farmer by whom it is inhabited tells me that, judging by the fish-ponds situated close by, he imagines it was once a monastery. this was undoubtedly the case, for we find in fozbrooke that the archbishop of york had license to "embattle his house" here in the reign of edward i.
-a mosaic pavement, discovered here about 1811, was placed in the british museum.
-it is very sad to come upon these remote manor houses in all parts of the cotswold district, and to find that their ancient glory is departed, even though their walls are as good as they were two hundred years ago, when the old squires lived their jovial lives, and those halls echoed the mirth and merriment which characterised the life of "the good old english gentleman, all of the olden time."
-other fine old houses in this immediate district which have not been mentioned are ampney park, a jacobean house containing an oak-panelled apartment, with magnificently carved ceiling and fine stone fireplace; barnsley and sherborne, partly built by inigo jones; missarden, duntisborne abbots, kemble, and barrington. rendcombe is a modern house of some size, built rather with a view to internal comfort than external grace and symmetry.
-it is not surprising that in those countries which abound in sunshine and fresh, health-giving air, the inhabitants will invariably be found to be not only keen sportsmen, but also accomplished experts in all the games and pastimes for which england has long been famous. given good health and plenty of work mankind cannot help being cheerful and sociably inclined; for this reason we have christened the district of which we write the "merrie cotswolds." from time immemorial the country people have delighted in sports and manly exercises. on the north wall of the nave in cirencester church is a representation of the ancient custom of whitsun ale. the whitsuntide sports were always a great speciality on cotswold, and continue to the present day, though in a somewhat modified form.
-the custom portrayed in the church of cirencester was as follows:--
-the villagers would assemble together in one of the beautiful old barns which are so plentiful in every hamlet. two of them, a boy and a girl, were then chosen out and appointed lord and lady of the yule. these are depicted on the church wall; and round about them, dressed in their proper garb, are pages and jesters, standard-bearer, purse-bearer, mace-bearer, and a numerous company of dancers.
-the reason that a representation of this very secular custom is seen in the church probably arises from the fact that the church ales were feasts instituted for the purpose of raising money for the repair of the church. the churchwardens would receive presents of malt from the farmers and squires around; they sold the beer they brewed from it to the villagers, who were obliged to attend or else pay a fine.
-the church house--a building still to be seen in many villages--was usually the scene of the festivities.
-the "diary of master william silence" tells us that the quiet little hamlets presented an unusually gay appearance on these memorable occasions. "the village green was covered with booths. there were attractions of various kinds. the churchwardens had taken advantage of the unusual concourse of strangers as the occasion of a church ale. great barrels of ale, the product of malt contributed by the parishioners according to their several abilities, were set abroach in the north aisle of the church, and their contents sold to the public. this was an ordinary way of providing for church expenses, against which earnest reformers inveighed, but as yet in vain so far as shallow was concerned. the church stood conveniently near the village green, and the brisk trade which was carried on all day was not interrupted by the progress of divine service." the parson's discourse, however, appears to have suffered some interruption by reason of the numbers who crowded into the aisles to patronise the churchwardens' excellent ale.
-in the reign of james i. one, robert dover, revived the old olympic games on cotswold. dover's hill, near weston-under-edge, was called after him.
-these sports included horse-racing, coursing, cock-fighting, and such games as quoits, football, skittles, wrestling, dancing, jumping in sacks, and all the athletic exercises.
-the "annalia dubrensia" contain many verses about these sports by the hand of michael drayton, ben jonson, and others.
-"on cotteswold hills there meets a greater troop of gallants than rome's streets e'er saw in pompey's triumphs: beauties, too, more than diana's beavie of nymphs could show on their great hunting days."
-that hunting was practised here in these days is evident, for thomas randall, of cambridge, writes in the same volume:
-"such royal pastimes cotteswold mountains fill, when gentle swains visit anglonicus hill, when with such packs of hounds they hunting go as cyrus never woon'd his bugle to."
-fozbrooke tells us that the whitsuntide sports are the floralia of the romans. they are still a great institution in all parts of the cotswolds, though church ales, like cock-fighting and other barbaric amusements, have happily long since died out.
-golf and archery are popular pastimes in the merry cotswolds. it is somewhat remarkable that this district has produced in recent years the amateur lady champions of england in each of these fascinating pastimes, lady margaret scott, of stowell, being facile princeps among lady golfers, whilst mrs. christopher bowly, of siddington, even now holds the same position in relation to the ancient practice of archery.
-the ancient art of falconry is still practised in these parts. thirty years ago, when duleep singh lived at hatherop, hawking on the downs was one of his chief amusements. but the only hawking club hereabouts that we know of is at swindon, in wiltshire.
-coursing is as popular as ever among the cotswold farmers. these hills have always been noted for the sport. drayton tells us that the prize at the coursing meetings held on the cotswolds in his day was a silver-studded collar. shakespeare, in his merry wives of windsor alludes to the coursing on "cotsall." there is an excellent club at cirencester. the hares in this district are remarkably big and strong-running. the whole district lends itself particularly to this sport, owing to the large fields and fine stretches of open downs.
-in an agricultural district such as the cotswolds it is inevitable that the game of cricket should be somewhat neglected. men who work day after day in the open air, and to whom a half-holiday is a very rare experience, naturally seek their recreations in less energetic fashion than the noble game of cricket demands of its votaries. the class who derive most benefit from this game spring as a rule from towns and manufacturing centres and those whose work and interests confine them indoors the greater part of their time. among the cotswold farmers, however, a great deal of interest is shown; the scores of county matches are eagerly pursued in the daily papers; and if there is a big match on at cheltenham or any other neighbouring town, a large number invariably go to see it. there is some difficulty in finding suitable sites for your ground in these parts, for the hill turf is very stony and shallow; it is not always easy to find a flat piece of ground handy to the villages. a cricket ground is useless to the villagers if it is perched up on the hill half a mile away. it must be at their doors; and even then, though they may occasionally play, they will never by any chance trouble to roll it. we made a ground in the valley of the coln some years ago, and went to some expense in the way of levelling, filling up gravel pits, and removing obstructions like cowsheds; but unless we had looked after it ourselves and made preparations for a match, it would have soon gone back to its original rough state again. and yet two of the young peregrines in the village are wonderfully good cricketers, and as "keen as mustard" about it; though when it comes to rolling and mowing the ground they are not quite as keen. they will throw you over for a match in the most unceremonious way if, when the day comes, they don't feel inclined to play. we have often tried to persuade these two young fellows to become professional cricketers, there being such a poor prospect in the farming line; but they have not the slightest ambition to play for the county, though they are quite good enough; so they "waste their sweetness on the desert air."
-old mr. peregrine, a man of nearly eighty years of age, is splendid fun when he is watching his boys play cricket. he goes mad with excitement; and if you take them off bowling, however much the batsmen appear to relish their attack, he won't forgive you for the rest of the day.
-his eldest son, tom--our old friend the keeper--generally stands umpire; he is not so useful to his side as village umpires usually are, because he hasn't got the moral courage to give his side "in" when he knows perfectly well they are "out." the other day, however, he made a slight error; for, on being appealed to for the most palpable piece of "stumping" ever seen in the cricket field, the ball bouncing back on to the wicket from the wicket-keeper's pads while the batsman was two yards out of his ground, he said, "not out; it hit the wicket-keeper's pads." he imagined he was being asked whether the batsman had been bowled, and it never occurred to him that you could be "stumped out" in this way. altogether, cotswold cricket is great fun.
-the district is full of memories of the prehistoric age, and in certain parts of the country prehistoric cricket is still indulged in. never shall i forget going over to edgeworth with the winson cricket xi. to play a grand match at that seat of roman antiquities. the carrier drove us over in his pair-horse brake--a rickety old machine, with a pony of fourteen hands and a lanky, ragged-hipped old mare over sixteen hands high in the shafts together. a most useful man in the field was the honest carrier, whether at point or at any other place where the ball comes sharp and quick; for, to quote shakespeare,
-"he was a man of an unbounded stomach."
-the rest of our team included the jovial miller; two of the village carpenter's sons--excellent folk; the village curate, who captained the side, and stood six feet five inches without his cricket shoes; one or two farmers; a footman, and a somewhat fat and apoplectic butler.
-the colours mostly worn by the winson cricketers are black, red, and gold--a zingaric band inverted (black on top); their motto i believe to be "tired, though united."
-as the ground stands about eight hundred feet above sea level, all of us, but especially the fat butler, found considerable difficulty in getting to the top of the hill, after the brake had set us down at the village public. but once arrived, a magnificent view was to be had, extending thirty miles and more across the wolds to the white horse hill in berkshire. however, we had not come to admire the view so much as to play the game of cricket. we therefore proceeded to look for the pitch. it was known to be in the field in which we stood, because a large red flag floated at one end and proclaimed that somewhere hereabouts was the scene of combat. it was the fat butler, i think, who, after sailing about in a sea of waving buttercups like a veritable christopher columbus, first discovered the stumps among the mowing grass.
-evident preparations had been made either that morning or the previous night for a grand match; a large number of sods of turf had been taken up and hastily replaced on that portion of the wicket where the ball is supposed to pitch when it leaves the bowler's hand. there had been no rain for a month, but just where the stumps were stuck a bucket or two of water had been dashed hastily on to the arid soil; while, to crown all, a chain or rib roller--a ghastly instrument used by agriculturists for scrunching up the lumps and bumps on the ploughed fields, and pulverising the soil--had been used with such effect that the surface of the pitch to the depth of about an inch had been reduced to dust.
-in spite of this we all enjoyed ourselves immensely. delightful old-fashioned people, both farmers and labourers, were playing against us; quaint (i use the word in its true sense) and simple folk, who looked as if they had been dug up with the other saxon and roman antiquities for which edgeworth is so famous.
-i was quite certain that the man who bowled me out was a direct descendant of julius caesar. he delivered the ball underhand at a rapid rate. it came twisting along, now to the right, now to the left; seemed to disappear beneath the surface of the soil, then suddenly came in sight again, shooting past the block. eventually they told me it removed the left bail, and struck the wicket-keeper a fearful blow on the chest. it was generally agreed that such a ball had never been bowled before. "'twas a pretty ball!" as tom peregrine pronounced it, standing umpire in an enormous wideawake hat and a white coat reaching down to his knees, and smoking a bad cigar. "a very pretty ball," said my fellow batsman at the other wicket "a d--d pretty ball," i reiterated sotto voce, as i beat a retreat towards the flag in the corner of the field, which served as a pavilion.
-when i went on to bowl left-handed "donkey-drops," tom peregrine (my own servant, if you please) was very nearly no-balling me. "for," said he, "i 'ate that drabby-handed business; it looks so awkid. muddling work, i calls it." but i am anticipating.
-as i prepared myself for the fray, and carefully donned a pair of well-stuffed pads and an enormously thick woollen jersey for protection, not so much against the cold as against the "flying ball," it flashed across me that i was about to personify the immortal dumkins of pickwick fame; whilst in my companion, the stout butler, it was impossible not to detect the complacent features and rounded form of mr. podder. up to a certain point the analogy was complete. let the winson invincibles equal the all muggleton c.c., while the edgeworth daisy cutters shall be represented by dingley dell; then sing us, thou divine author of pickwick, the glories of that never-to-be-forgotten day.
-here, with deep sorrow, let it be stated that the writer failed to evince the admirable skill displayed by his worthy prototype; the dumkins of grim reality was unable to compete with the dumkins of fiction. instead of "sending the ball far away over the heads of the scouts; who just stooped low enough to let it fly over them," i caught it just as it pitched on a rabbit-hole, and sent it straight up into the air like a soaring rocket. "right, right, i have it!" yelled bowler and wicket-keeper simultaneously. "run two, podder; they'll never catch it!" shouted dumkins with all his might. "catch it in your 'at, bill!" screamed the edgeworth eleven. never was such confusion! i was already starting for the second run, whilst my stout fellow batsman was halfway through the first, when the ball came down like a meteor, and, narrowly shaving the luckless "podder's" head, hit the ground with a loud thud about five yards distant from the outstretched hands of the anxious bowler, who collided with his ally, the wicket-keeper, in the middle of the pitch. half stunned by the shock, and disappointed at his want of success in his attempt to "judge" the catch, the bowler had yet presence of mind enough to seize the ball and hurl it madly at the stumps. but the wicket-keeper being still hors de combat, it flew away towards the spectators, and buried itself among the mowing grass. "come six, podder!" i shouted, amid cries of "keep on running!" "run it out!" etc., from spectators and scouts alike. and run we did, for the umpire forgot to call "lost ball," and we should have been running still but for the ingenuity of one of our opponents; for, whilst all were busily engaged in searching among the grass, a red-faced yokel stole up unawares, with an innocent expression on his face, raced poor "podder" down the pitch, produced the ball from his trouser pocket, and knocked off the bails in the nick of time. "out," says peregrine, amid a roar of laughter from the whole field; and mr. "podder" had to go.
-now came the question how many runs should be scored, for i had passed my fellow batsman in the race, having completed seven runs to his five. eventually it was decided to split the difference and call it a sixer; the suggestion of a member of our side that seven should be scored to me and five to mr. "podder" (making twelve in all) being rejected after careful consideration.
-thus, from the first ball bowled in this historic match there arose the whole of the remarkable events recorded above. therein is shown the complete performances with the bat of two renowned cricketers; for, alas i in once more trying to play up to the form of dumkins, i was bowled "slick" the very next ball, "as hath been said or sung."
-there was much good-natured chaff flying about during the match, but no fighting and squabbling, save when a boundary hit was made, when the batsman always shouted "three runs," and the bowler "no, only one." the scores were not high; but i remember that we won by three runs, that the carpenter's son got a black eye, that we had tea in an old manor house turned into an inn, and drove home in the glow of a glorious sunset, not entirely displeased with our first experience of "prehistoric" cricket.
-some of the pleasantest matches we have ever taken part in have been those at bourton-on-the-water. owing to the very soft wicket which he found on arriving, this place was once christened by a well-known cricketer bourton-on-the-bog. indeed, it is often a case of bourton-under-the-water; but, in spite of a soft pitch, there is great keenness and plenty of good-tempered rivalry about these matches. bourton is a truly delightful village. the windrush, like the coln at bibury, runs for some distance alongside of the village street.
-the m.c.c., or "premier club"--as the sporting press delight to call the famous institution at lord's--generally get thoroughly well beaten by the local club. for so small a place they certainly put a wonderfully strong team into the field; on their own native "bog" they are fairly invincible, though we fancy on the hard-baked clay at lord's their bowlers would lose a little of their cunning.
-in the luncheon tent at bourton there are usually more wasps than are ever seen gathered together in one place; they come in thousands from their nests in the banks of the windrush.
-if you are playing a match there, it is advisable to tuck your trousers into your socks when you sit down to luncheon. this, together with the fact that the tent has been known to blow down in the middle of luncheon, makes these matches very lively and amusing. what more lively scene could be imagined than a large tent with twenty-two cricketers and a few hundred wasps hard at work eating and drinking; then, on the tent suddenly collapsing, the said cricketers and the said wasps, mixed up with chairs, tables, ham, beef, salad-dressing, and apple tart, and the various ingredients of a cricket lunch, all struggling on the floor, and striving in vain to find their way out as best they can? fortunately, on the only occasion that the tent blew down when we were present, it was not a good wasp year.
-besides the matches at bourton, there is plenty of cricket at cirencester, northleach, and other centres in the cotswolds. the "hunt" matches are great institutions, even though hunting people as a rule do not care for cricket, and invariably drop a catch. a good sportsman and excellent fellow has lately presented a cup to be competed for by the village clubs of this district. this, no doubt, will give a great impetus to the game amongst all classes; our village club has already been revived in order to compete. our only fear with regard to the cup competition is that when you get two elevens on to a ground, and two umpires, none of whom know the rules (for cricket laws are the most "misunderstandable" things in creation), the final tie will degenerate into a free fight.
-be this as it may, anything that can make the greatest pastime of this country popular in the "merrie cotswolds" is a step in the right direction. it is pleasing to watch boys and men hard at work practising on summer evenings. the rougher the ground the more they like it. scorning pads and gloves, they "go in" to bat, and make herculean efforts to hit the ball. and this, with fast bowling and the bumpy nature of the pitch, is a very difficult thing to do. they play on, long after sunset,--the darker it gets, and the more dangerous to life and limb the game becomes, the happier they are. we are bound to admit that when we play with them, a good pitch is generally prepared. it would be bad policy to endeavour to compete in the game they play, as we should merely expose ourselves to ridicule, and one's reputation as the man who has been known "to play in the papers," as they are accustomed to call big county matches, would very soon be entirely lost.
-i was much amused a few years ago, on arriving home after playing for somersetshire in some cricket matches, when tom peregrine made up to me with "a face like a benediction," and asked if i was the gentleman who had been playing "in the papers."
-while on the subject of cricket, for some time past we have made experiments of all sorts of cricket grounds, and have come to the conclusion that the following is the best recipe to prepare a pitch on a dry and bumpy ground. a week before your match get a wheelbarrow full of clay, and put it into a water-cart, or any receptacle for holding water. having mixed your clay with water, keep pouring the mixture on to your pitch, taking care that the stones and gravel which sink to the bottom do not fall out. when you have emptied your water-cart, get some more clay and water, and continue pouring it on to the ground until you have covered a patch about twenty-two yards long and three yards wide, always remembering not to empty out the sediment at the bottom of the water-cart, for this will spoil all. then, setting to work with your roller, roll the clay and water into the ground. never mind if it picks up on to the roller: a little more water will soon put that to rights. after an hour's rolling you will have a level and true cricket pitch, requiring but two or three days' sun to make it hard and true as asphalt. you may think you have killed the grass; but if you water your pitch in the absence of rain the day after you have played on it, the grass will not die. it is chiefly in australia that cricket grounds are treated in this way; they are dressed with mud off the harbours, and rolled simultaneously. such grounds are wonderfully true and durable.
-if the pitch is naturally a clay one, it might be sufficient to use water only, and roll at the same time; but for renovating a worn clay pitch, a little strong loamy soil, washed in with water and rolled down will fill up all the "chinks" and holes. it will make an old pitch as good as new.
-the reason that nine out of ten village grounds are bad and bumpy is that they are not rolled soon enough after rain or after being watered. roll and water them simultaneously, and they will be much improved.
-another excellent plan is to soak the ground with clay and water, and leave it alone for a week or ten days before rolling. permanent benefit will be done to the soil by this method. for golf greens and lawn-tennis courts situated on light soil, loam is an indispensable dressing. any loamy substance will vastly improve the texture of a light soil and the quality of the herbage. yet it is most difficult to convince people of this fact. we have known cases in which hundreds of pounds have been expended on cricket grounds and golf greens when an application of clay top-dressing would have put the whole thing to rights at the cost of a few shillings. one committee had artificial wells made on every "putting green" of their golf course, in order to have water handy for keeping the turf cool and green. what better receptacle for water could they have found than a top-dressing of half an inch of loam or clay, retaining as it does every drop of moisture that falls in the shape of dew or rain, instead of allowing it to percolate through like a sieve, as is the case with an ordinary sandy soil? yet this clay dressing, while retaining water, becomes hard, firm, and as level as a billiard table on the timely application of the roller.
-those who look after cricket grounds and the like have seldom any acquaintance with the constitution of soils; they are apt to treat all, whether sand, light loam, strong loam, heavy clay, or even peat, in exactly the same way, instead of recollecting that, as in agriculture, a judicious combination will alone give us that ideal loam which produces the best turf, and the best soil for every purpose. i am quite convinced that our farmers do not realise how much worthless light land may be improved by a dressing of clay or loam. such dressings are expensive without a doubt, but the amelioration of the soil is so marked that in favourable localities the process ought to pay in the long run.
-turning to cricket in general, perhaps the modern game, as played on a good wicket, is in every respect, save one, perfection. if only something could be done to curtail the length of matches, and rid us of that awful nuisance the poking, time-wasting batsman, there would be little improvement possible.
-"all the world's a stage," and even at cricket the analogy holds good. thus shakespeare:
-"as in a theatre the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him that enters next, thinking his prattle to be tedious."
-so also one may say of some dull and lifeless cricketer who, after the famous gloucestershire hitter has made things merry for spectators and scouts alike, "enters next":
-"as in a cricket field the eyes of men, after a well-graced player leaves the sticks, are idly bent on him that enters next, thinking his batting to be tedious."
-on the other hand, if we sow the wild oats of cricket--in other words, if we risk everything for the fleeting satisfaction of a blind "slog"--we shall be bowled, stumped, or caught out for a moral certainty. it is only a matter of time.
-perhaps the addition of another stump might help towards the very desirable end of shortening the length of matches, and thus enable more amateurs to take part in them. i cannot agree with those who lament the improved state of our best english cricket grounds; if only the batsmen play a free game and do not waste time, the game is far more entertaining for players and spectators alike, when a true wicket is provided. the heroes of old,
-"when bird and beldham, budd, and such as they,-- lord frederick, too, once england's chief and flower,-- astonished all who came to see them play,"
-those "scorners of the ground" and of pads and gloves doubtless displayed more pluck on their rough, bumpy grounds than is now called forth in facing the attack of kortright, mold, or richardson. but on the other hand, on rough grounds much is left to chance and luck; cricket, as played on a billiard-table wicket certainly favours the batsman, but it admits of a brilliancy and finish in the matter of style that are impossible on the old-fashioned wicket. whilst the modern bowler has learnt extraordinary accuracy of pitch, the batsman has perfected the art of "timing" the ball. and what a subtle, delicate art is correct "timing"!--the skilful embodiment of thought in action, depending for success on that absolute sympathy of hand and eye which only assiduous practice, confidence, and a good digestion can give. and on uncertain, treacherous ground confident play is never seen. a ball cannot be "cut" or driven with any real brilliancy of style when there is a likelihood of its abruptly "shooting" or bumping. no; if we would leave as little as possible to chance, our grounds cannot be too good. even from a purely selfish point of view, apart from the welfare of our side, the pleasure derived from a good "innings" on a first-rate cricket ground is as great as that bestowed by any other physical amusement.
-perhaps one ought not to think of comparing the sport of fox-hunting, with its extraordinary variety of incident and surroundings, the study of a lifetime, to the game of cricket. at the same time, for actual all-round enjoyment, and for economy, the game holds its own against all amusements.
-bromley-davenport has said that given a good country and a good fox, and a burning scent, the man on a good horse with a good start, for twenty or thirty minutes absorbs as much happiness into his mental and physical organisation as human nature is capable of containing at one time. this is very true. but how seldom the five necessary conditions are forthcoming simultaneously the keen hunting man has learnt from bitter experience. you will be lucky if the real good thing comes off once for every ten days you hunt. in cricket a man is dependent on his own quickness of hand and eye; in hunting there is that vital contingency of the well-filled purse. "'tis money that makes the mare to go."
-then what a grand school is cricket for some of the most useful lessons of life! its extraordinary fluctuations are bound to teach us sooner or later
-"rebus angustis animosus atque fortis appare."
-the rebus angustis are often painfully impressed on the memory by a long sequence of "duck's eggs"; and how difficult is the animosus atque fortis appare when we return to the pavilion with a "pair of spectacles" to our credit!
-then, again, cricketers are taught to preserve a mind
-"ab insolenti temperatam laetitiâ."
-we must not permit the laetitiâ insolenti to creep in when we have made a big score. how often do we see young cricketers over-elated under these circumstances, and suffering afterwards from temporary over-confidence and consequent carelessness!
-but we must have no more horace, lest our readers exclaim, with jack cade, "away with him! away with him! he speaks latin!"
-hope, energy, perseverance, and courage,--all these qualities are learnt in our grand english game. there is always hope for the struggling cricketer. in no other pursuit are energy and perseverance so absolutely sure of bearing fruit, if we only stick to it long enough.
-the fact is that cricket, like many other things, is but the image and prototype of life in general. and the same qualities that, earnestly cultivated in spite of repeated failure and disappointment, make good cricketers lead ultimately to success in all the walks of life. in spite of the improvement in grounds, cricket is still an excellent school for teaching physical courage. many grounds are somewhat rough and bumpy to field on, beautifully smooth though they look from the pavilion. we have only to stand "mid-off" or "point" on a cold day at the beginning of may whilst a hard-hitting batsman, well set on a true wicket, is driving or cutting ball after ball against our hands and shins, to realise what a capital school for courage the game is!
-how exacting is the critic in this matter of fielding! and how delightfully simple the bowling looks from that admirably safe vantage-ground, the pavilion! just as to a man comfortably stationed in the grand-stand at aintree nothing looks easier than the way in which the best horses in the world flit over the five-foot fences, leaving them behind with scarcely an effort, their riders sitting quietly in the saddle all the while, so does the pavilion critic pride himself on the way he would have "cut" that short one instead of merely stopping it, or blocked that simple ball that went straight on and bowled the wicket. everything that is well and gracefully performed appears easy to the looker-on. but that ease and grace, whether in the racehorse or in the man, has only been acquired by months and years of training and practice.
-it is seldom that the spectator is able to form a true and unbiassed opinion as to the varied contingencies which lead to victory or defeat in cricket. the actual players and the umpires are perhaps alone qualified to judge to what extent the fluctuations of the game are affected by the vagaries of weather and ground. for this reason it is well to take newspaper criticism cum grano salis.
-what is the cause of the extraordinary fluctuations of form which all cricketers, from the greatest to the least, are more or less subject to? it cannot be set down altogether to luck, for a run of bad luck, such as all men have at times experienced, is often compatible with being in the very best form. a man who is playing very well at the net often gets out directly he goes in to bat in a match, whilst many a good player, who tells you "he has not had a bat in his hand this season," in his very first innings for the year makes a big score. in subsequent innings's, oddly enough, he feels the want of net practice. confidence would seem to be the sine quâ non for the successful batsman. nothing succeeds like success; and once fairly started on a sequence of big scores, the cricketer goes on day by day piling up runs and vires acquirit eundo.
-perhaps "being in form" does not depend so much on the state of the digestion as on the state of the mind. anxiety or excitement, fostered by over-keenness, usually results in a blank score-sheet. some men, like horses, are totally unable to do themselves credit on great occasions. they go off their feed, and are utterly out of sorts in consequence. on the other hand, sheer force of will has often enabled men to make a big score. many a good batsman can recall occasions on which he made a mental resolve on the morning of a match to make a century, and did it.
-how curious it is that really good players, from staleness or some unknown cause, occasionally become absolutely useless for a time! every fresh failure seems to bring more and more nervousness, until, from sheer lack of confidence, their case becomes hopeless, and a child could bowl them out. ah well! we must not grumble at the ups and downs of the finest game in creation: "every dog will have his day" sooner or later; of that we may be sure.
-county cricket is nowadays a little over done. two three-day matches a week throughout the summer don't leave much time for other pursuits. a liberal education at a good public school and university seems to be thrown away if it is to be followed by five or six days a week at cricket all through the summer year after year. most of our best amateurs realise this, and, knowing that if they go in for county cricket at all they must play regularly, they give it up, and are content to take a back seat. they do wisely, for let us always remember that cricket is a game and not a business.
-on the other hand, much good results from the presence in county cricket of a leavening of gentle; for they prevent the further development of professionalism. it is doubtless owing to the "piping times of peace" england has enjoyed during the past fifty years that cricket has developed to such an abnormal extent. the british public are essentially hero worshippers, and especially do they worship men who show manliness and pluck; and those feelings of respect and admiration that it is to be hoped in more stirring times would be reserved for a nelson or a wellington have been recently lavished on our graces, our stoddarts, our ranjitsinhjis, and our steels.
-as long as war is absent, and we "live at home at ease," so long will our sports and pastimes flourish and increase. and long may they flourish, more especially those in which the quality of courage is essential for success! it will be a bad day for england when success in our sports and pastimes no longer depends on the exercise of pluck and manliness; when hunting gives place to bicycling, and cricket to golf; when, in fact, the wholesome element of danger is removed from our recreation and pursuits. should, in the near future, the long-talked-of invasion of this country by a combination of european powers become an accomplished fact, englishmen may perchance be glad, as the cannon balls and musket shots are whizzing round their heads, that on the mimic battlefields of cricket, football, polo, and fox-hunting they learnt two of the most useful lessons of life--coolness and courage.
-the cotswolds three hundred years ago.
-nowadays, thanks in a great measure to mr. madden's book, the "diary of master william silence," it is beginning to dawn on us that the cotswolds are more or less connected with the great poet of stratford-on-avon.
-mr. blunt, in his "cotswold dialect," gives no less than fifty-eight passages from the works of shakespeare, in which words and phrases peculiar to the district are made use of. up to the reign of queen anne this vast open tract of downland formed a happy hunting ground for the inhabitants of all the surrounding counties. warwickshire, oxfordshire, and wiltshire, as well as gloucestershire folk repaired to the wolds for hunting, coursing, hawking, and other amusements; and in olden times, even more than to-day, cotswold was, as burton described it, "a type of what is most commodious for hawking, hunting, wood, waters, and all manner of pleasures." there never was a district so well adapted for stag-hunting. nowadays the cotswold district falls short in one desideratum, and that a most essential one, of being a first-rate hunting country. the large extent of ploughed land and the extreme dryness and poverty of the soil cause it on four days out of five to carry a most indifferent scent. but to-day we pursue the fox; in shakespeare's time the stag was the quarry. and, as hunting men are well aware, the scent given off by a stag is not only ravishing to hounds, but it actually increases as the quarry tires, whilst that from a fox "grows small by degrees and beautifully less."
-as with hunting, so also with coursing and hawking; the cotswolds were the grand centre of elizabethan sport. here it was that shakespeare marked the falcon "waiting on and towering in her pride of place." here he saw the fallow greyhounds competing for the silver-studded collar.
-what an interest and a dignity does a district such as this draw from even the slenderest association with the splendid name of william shakespeare! for my part i freely confess that scenery, however grand and sublime, appeals but little to the imagination unless it be hallowed by association or blended in the thoughts with the recollection of those we have either loved or admired. thus in india, in natal and cape colony, in glorious ceylon, i could admire those wonderful purple mountains and that tropical luxuriance of fertility and verdure; but i could not feel them. the boundless wolds of africa, reminding one so much of gloucestershire, yet far grander and far finer than anything of the kind in england, were to me a dreary wilderness. passing through the fine broken hill country of natal was like visiting chaos, a waste, inhospitable land,
-"where no one comes or hath come since the making of the world."
-how well i remember the first sight of the wolds of south africa! it was the hour of uncertain light that comes before the dawn; and as our railway train wound its tortuous course like a snake up the awful heights that would ultimately end in majuba hill--to which ill-fated spot i was bound--the billowy waves of rolling down seemed gradually to change to an immensely rough ocean running mountains high, and the mimosa trees dotting the plain for hundreds of miles appeared like armies of the souls of all the black men that ever lived on earth since the world began. there were passes and chasms like the portals of far-off, inaccessible paradise,
-"with dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms."
-and then the scene changed. the hills rose like graves of white men and barrows to the long-forgotten dead. great oblong barrows, round celtic barrows, and stately sarcophagi. monumental effigies in alabaster, granite and porphyry; grim gothic castles dating back to the foundation of the world, and grim gothic cathedrals with long-drawn aisles, where the "great organ of eternity" kept thundering ceaselessly. for the lightning and the thunder are powers to be reckoned with in those awful realms of chaos. and then the scene changed again. there suddenly uprose weird shapes of giants and leviathans, huge mammoths and whole regiments of fantastic monsters that looked like clouds and yet were mountains; and there were fortresses and towers of silence, with vultures hovering over them, and cliffs and crags and jutting promontories that looked like mountains, but were really clouds: for the black clouds and the frowning hills were so much alike that, save when the lightning shone, you could not say where the sky ended and the land began. but there was one gleam of hope in this weird and dismal scene, for on the farthest verge of the horizon there appeared, as it were, a lake--such a lake as saw the passing of arthur, vanishing in mystery and silently floating away upon a barge towards the east. it was a lake of beryl, whose far-off golden shores were set with rubies and sardonyx, and beyond these, again, were the more distant waters of the silver sea; and as when sir bedivere
-"... saw, straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand, or thought he saw, the speck that bare the king, down that long water opening on the deep somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go from less to less and vanish into light. and the new sun rose bringing the new year,--"
-so over the plains of africa rose the mighty alchemist and great revealer of truth, the scatterer of dreary darkness and secret night, turning those shadowy hills to purple and those mystic waters in the eastern sky to gold.
-how different are our feelings when we traverse, either in reality or in fancy, such parts of the earth as are deeply blended in our hearts and minds with old familiar associations! whilst wandering through the lake district of england, how are we reminded of wordsworth and the "excursion"! how can we visit devonshire and the west country without summoning up pleasant thoughts of charles kingsley and amyas leigh; of the men of bideford, sir richard grenville, kt., and "the little revenge"? how vividly do the trossachs recall "the lady of the lake" and walter scott! how with edinburgh do we connect the sad story of mary, the ill-fated queen! at killarney, or standing amid the gothic tracery of tintern, how do we think on alfred tennyson and "the days that are no more"! these are only a few of the places in the british isles that by universal consent are hallowed by tender associations. of those spots in england which are dear to our hearts for personal reasons, there are of course hundreds. every man has his own peculiar prejudices in this respect. to some london is the most sacred spot on earth. and who shall deny that with all her faults london is not a vastly interesting place? is not every street hallowed by its associations with some great name or some great event in english history? which of us can stand amid the gothic tracery and the crumbling cloisters of westminster, or under the shadow of the old grey towers of whitehall, without recalling heart-stirring scenes and "paths of glory that lead but to the grave"? who can stand unmoved on any of the famous bridges that span the silent river? dr. johnson, who acted up to pope's well-known motto,
-"the proper study of mankind is man,"
-thought fleet street the most interesting place on the face of the earth; and perhaps he was right. let us hear what he has to say about this halo of old association: "to abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible if it were endeavoured; and would be foolish if it were possible. whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue."
-this, then, is the difference between the plains of africa and the hills and valleys of england. the one is at present a vast inhospitable chaos, the other a land in which there is scarcely an acre that has not been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. such are the signs by which we are to distinguish cosmos from chaos.
-how far into the cotswold hills the halo of stratford-on-avon's glory may be said to extend it is not easy to determine. let us allow at all events that the reflection from the arc reaches across the whole extent of the wolds as far as dursley. for here on the western edge of the cotswolds it is probable that shakespeare spent that portion of his life which has always been involved in obscurity--the interval between his removal from warwickshire and his arrival in london.
-on a fine autumnal evening in the year 1592 a horseman, mounted on a little ambling nag, neared the cotswold village of bibury. both man and steed showed unmistakable signs of weariness. the horse especially, though of that wiry kind known as the irish hobby, hard as iron, and accustomed to long journeys, evinced by that sober and even dejected expression of countenance so well known to hunting men, that he had been ridden both far and fast. the saddle too, as well as the legs, chest, and flanks of the nag, appeared wet and mud-stained, as if some brook had been swum or some deep and muddy river forded, whilst the left shoulder and knee of the rider bore marks which told tales of a fall. the personal appearance of the man was not such as to excite the interest of the casual passer-by; for his dress, though extremly neat, was that worn by clerks and other townsfolk of the day; yet a keen observer might have noticed that the features were those of a man of uncommon character, in whom, as carlyle would have said, a germ of irrepressible force had been implanted.
-it had indeed been a glorious day. the hounds, after meeting close to moreton-in-the-marsh, in warwickshire, had found a great hart in the forest near seizincote, and had hunted him "at force" over the deep undrained vale up on to the cotswold hills, away past stow-on-the-wold and bourton-on-the-water, towards the great woods of chedworth. but the stag, after crossing the windrush close to mr. dutton's house at sherborne, had failed to make his point, and had "taken soil" in a deep pool of the river coln, near the little village of coln-st-dennis, where eventually the mort had sounded. such a run had not been seen for many a long day; for it measured no less than fourteen miles "as the crow flies," and about five-and-twenty as the hounds ran. the time occupied had been close on seven hours. there had of course been several checks; but so strong had been the scent of this hart that, in spite of two "lets" of some twenty minutes' duration, the pack had been able to hunt their quarry to the bitter end. only two men had seen the end. the pride and chivalry of warwickshire, mounted on their high-priced flanders mares, their galway nags, and their splendid barbaries, had been hopelessly thrown out of the chase; and besides the huntsman, on his plain-bred little english horse, the only remnant of the field was our friend with his tough and wiry irish hobby.
-it is five o'clock, and the sun as it disappears beyond a high ridge of the wolds, is tinging the grey walls of an ancient gothic fane with a rosy glow. this our sportsman does not fail to notice; but in spite of his keen appreciation of the beauties of nature, the question uppermost in his mind, as he jogs along the rough, uneven road or track which leads to bibury, is where to spend the night. the thought of returning home at that late hour does not enter his head; for the stag having gone away in exactly the opposite direction to that from which the warwickshire man had set out early in the morning, there are no less than three-and-thirty long and weary miles between the hunter and his home. in the days of good queen bess, however, hospitality was proverbially free, and any decently set up englishman was tolerably sure of a welcome at any of the country houses which were then, as now, scattered at long intervals over this wild, uncultivated district. and as he rides round a bend in the valley, a fair manor house comes into view, pleasantly placed in a sheltered spot hard by the river coln. it was built in the style which had just come into vogue--the elizabethan form of architecture; and in honour of the reigning monarch its front presented the appearance of the letter e. the windows, instead of being made of horn, were of glass; and tall stone chimneys (a modern luxury but lately invented) carried away the smoke from the chambers within.
-it so happened that at the moment the stranger was passing, the owner of the house--a squire of some sixty years of age, but hale and hearty--was standing in front of his porch taking the evening air. this fact the horseman did not fail to notice, and with a ready eye to the main chance, which showed its possessor to be a man of no ordinary apprehension, he glanced approvingly at the groined porch, the richly carved pinnacles above it, and at the quaint belfry beyond, exclaiming with great enthusiasm:
-"'fore god, you have a goodly dwelling and a rich here. i do envy thee thine house, sir."
-to him replied the stranger wearily:
-"hast been with the hounds to-day?" enquired the honest squire.
-"please to step in; we be just a-settin' down to supper--a cold capon and a venison pasty. i'll tell my serving man to take thy nag to yonder yard, and make him comfortable for the night."
-whilst the hunter was seeing to his nag, the squire thus addressed his serving man:
-davy: "doth the hunter stay all night, sir?"
-squire: "yes, davy. i will use him well; good sportsmen are ever welcome on cotswold."
-the wants of the irish hobby having been thoroughly attended to, and the game little fellow having recovered in some measure his natural gaiety of spirits, the squire ushered the stranger into a long low hall, hung with pikes and guns and bows, and relics of the chase as well as of the wars. the stone floor was strewed with clean rushes, and lying about on tables were trashes, collars, and whips for hounds, as well as hoods, perches, jesses, and bells for hawks; whilst a variety of odds and ends, such as crossbows and jumping-poles, were scattered about the apartment. an enormous wood fire blazed at one end of the hall, and in the inglenook sat a girl of some twenty summers.
-"my daughter, sir," exclaimed the squire; "as good a girl as ever lived to make a cheese, brew good beer, preserve all sorts of wines, and cook a capon with a chaudron! marry! i forgot to ask thee thy name?"
-"oh, my name is shakespeare--william shakespeare, sir. i come from stratford-on-the-avon, up to'rds warwick."
-"shakespy, shakespy; a' don't know that name. dost bear arms, sir?"
-"i am entitled to them--a spear on a bend sable, and a falcon for my crest; but we have not yet applied to the heralds for the confirmation. and you, sir?"
-"he writes himself armigero in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation," here put in davy the serving man.
-"ah, that i do! and have done any time these three hundred years."
-"all his successors gone before him hath done it; and all his ancestors that come after him may," added davy, with pride.
-"to be sure, to be sure," said the squire. "well, welcome to cotswold, master shakespeare; good sportsmen are ever welcome on cotswold. but tell me, how didst thou get thy downfall?"
-"thou shouldst know, our hounds at warwick are a noted pack,
-then he told how, after leaving behind the deep undrained grass country round moreton-in-the-marsh, they rose the hills by stow and came across the moor. how the riders who spurred their horses up the steep uprising ascent were soon left behind. for
-"to climb steep hills requires slow pace at first; anger is like a full hot horse, who, being allowed his way, self mettle tires him."
-and how the noble animal took soil in the coln,
-"under an oak whose antique root peeps out upon the brook that brawls along this wood: to the which place our poor sequester'd stag did come to languish; and indeed, my lord, the wretched animal heaved forth such groans that their discharge did stretch his leathern coat almost to bursting, and the big round tears coursed one another down his innocent nose in piteous chase.
-and finally he told how the gallant beast died a soldier's death, fighting to the bitter end.
-"marry, 'twas a right good chase, and bravely must thy steed have borne thee. but thou wast too venturesome, master shakespeare," exclaimed the squire, "a-trying to jump that mound into the tyning by master blackett's house."
-"our bill peregrine, here, at the farm, carried it off. a prettier bit of coursing i never did see!"
-"that 'ould be he. i warrant he lent a hand in taking assay and breaking up the deer. tis just what he enjoys."
-then they fell to talking of other things; and the honest old squire began to brag about his london days, and how he was once of clement's inn.
-but the old man was far too interested in his own doings to ask if his guest had ever been in london. it is the prerogative of age to take for granted that all younger men are of no account, and even as children, "to be seen and not heard."
-"to-morrow," said the squire, "at break of day, we be a-going a-birding, to try some young falcons bill peregrine has lately trained. wilt join us, master shakespeare?"
-"ah, that i will, sir! i know a hawk from a handsaw, or my name's not william shakespeare."
-by this time the cold capon and the venison pasty, as well as the "little tiny kickshaws," together with a gallon of "good sherris-sack," had been considerably reduced by the united efforts of the squire, the famished hunter, and those below the salt. during the meal such scraps of conversation as this might have been heard:
-"will you please to take a bit of bacon, master shakespeare?"
-"not any, i thank you," replied the poet.
-"what, no bacon!" put in the serving man from behind, in a voice of surprise bordering on disappointment.
-"no bacon for me, i thank you; i never take bacon," repeated shakespeare, with some emphasis.
-then there was some discussion concerning the stopping of william's (peregrine's?) wages, "about the sack he lost the other day at hinckley fair."
-shakespeare: "this davy serves you for good uses; he is your serving man and your husbandman."
-these were the squire's last words that night. he soon slept peacefully, as was his wont after his evening meal; whereupon the poet, with his accustomed gallantry, commenced making love in right good earnest to the fair daughter of the house.
-the cotswold girls, like the irish, have always been famous for their beauty. even amongst the peasants you may nowadays see the most beautiful and graceful women in the world, though their attire is usually of a plain and unbecoming character, and but ill adapted to set off the features and form of the wearer. the squire's daughter, whom we will call jessica, was no exception to the rule. she was a handsome brunette--indeed, the squire called her a "black ousel." shakespeare fell in love with her at once, and, forgetting all about the family at stratford, he plunged into the most desperate flirtation. the girl, with that natural perception of the divine in man common to her sex, could not help feeling a strange admiration for this unexpected, though not unwelcome, guest. there was something about his countenance which exercised a peculiar charm and fascination. the thoughtful brow, the keen hazel eye, and the gentle bearing of the man were what at first attracted attention. but it was his manner and speech, half serious and half mirthful, which made such an impression on her mind; and perhaps she felt that, "to the face whose beauty is the harmony between that which speaks from within and the form through which it speaks, power is added by all that causes the outer man to bear more deeply the impress of the inner."
-the surroundings, too, were as romantic as they possibly could be. a pair of rush candles were shedding their dim light through the long low oak-panelled apartment; they were the only lights that were burning, and even these flickered ominously at times, as if threatening to go out and leave the place in total darkness. a full moon, however, was casting her silvery beams through the great lattice casement, and in one of the upper panes of this window were richly emblazoned the arms of which the squire was so proud.
-it was a glorious evening. opening the window, william shakespeare looked out upon the peaceful garden. the moon was shedding a pale light upon the woods and the stream, "decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass." a hundred yards away the silent coln was gliding slowly onwards towards the sea. owls were breathing heavily in the hanging wood, and a pair of otters were hunting in the pool.
-as the two sat by the open window, the poet's own life and its prospects formed the principal topic of conversation. after years of toil in london his fortunes were beginning at length to improve. he was manager of a theatre, and was at length earning a moderate competency. he had already saved a little money, and hoped soon to buy a house at stratford. he looked forward some day to returning to his native place and living a country life. at present he was enjoying a short holiday, the first for over a year.
-as they sat and talked over these matters, a minstrel began to play in one of the cottages of the village; the sound of the harp added another charm to the peaceful surroundings, and filled the poet's mind with a strange delight.
-"i am never merry when i hear sweet music," said jessica.
-whereupon her companion replied:
-sweet is the sound of soft melodious music on a moonlight night; sweet the faint sigh of the breeze among the elms, and the light upon the silent stream; but sweeter far is music on a moonlight night, sweeter the faint sigh of the breeze, and the light upon the silent stream, when hope, renewed after years of sorrow and sadness, flatters once again the aims and objects of youth, gilding the landscape of life with wondrous alchemy, shedding rays of happy sunshine on the vague, mysterious yearnings of the soul of man towards the hidden destinies of the boundless future.
-it was not long, however, before shakespeare bade the fair jessica good-night and retired to his sleeping apartment; for a run of such uncommon excellence as he had enjoyed that day was calculated to produce the tired, though not unpleasant, sensation which even now sends the hunting man sleepy, though happy, to bed.
-so, lulled by the strains of the minstrel's harp did william shakespeare seek his couch and sleep the sleep of the just but even while the body was wrapped in slumber, the highly wrought, powerful mind, though yet unconscious of its awful destiny, was hard at work, "moving about in worlds not realised." yonder on the turret of that grey gothic castle, whose pinnacles point ever upwards to the skies, they stand and wait, a glorious throng; and as they stand they wave him onwards. dante, homer, virgil, chaucer, plutarch, montaigne, and many another hero of old is waiting there. see the sharp-pointed features of the italian bard, and homer no longer blind! the two are holding animated converse, and ever beckoning him on. and a voice seemed to speak out loud and clear amid the solemn silence of eternity:
-can he linger? away with blank misgivings, fears, and doubts! he will climb the rugged, steep ascent, and follow even unto the end.
-the following morning a little before sunrise saw a party of five assembled for a hawking expedition on the downs. besides the squire and william shakespeare, the parson had turned up, whilst bill peregrine (ancestor of all the peregrines, including, no doubt, the famous peregrine pickle) brought one of his brothers from the farm to "help him out" with the hawks. it was somewhat of a peculiar dawn--one of those dull grey mornings which often bodes a fine day. the bard was much interested in the glowing eastern sky, and as the sun began to appear he turned to william peregrine and enthusiastically exclaimed:
-"to be sure, to be sure, it do look a bit comical, don't it?" answered the yeoman, with a cackle; and then, turning to his brother, he said, "ain't 'e ever seen the sun rise before?"
-"please, squire, who be the gent from warwickshire?" says peregrine, sotto voce; "i cannot tell what the dickens his name is!"
-whereupon the yeoman opened the door of a long covered shed commonly called the "mews," and shortly appeared again with four hooded hawks--two falcons, and two males or tiercel-gentles--placed on a wooden frame or cadge. these he handed to a stout yokel to carry, and the whole party sallied forth towards the downs. the squire and the parson were mounted on their palfreys, the rest of the party being on foot.
-it was not long before william peregrine started an interesting conversation with the stranger somewhat after this manner:
-"did you 'ave a pretty good day's spart yesterday, master quakespear?"
-"ah, that we had! i never saw such a day's sport in all my life!"
-"i thought ye did. i could see the 'art was tired smartish. i qeum along by the bruk, and give un the meeting. when i sees un i says, 'i can see you've 'ad a smartish doing, old boy.' then the 'ounds qeum yoppeting along as nice as could be. then i sees you and the 'untsman lolloping along arter the dogs, and soon arter i 'urd the trumpets goin'; and so says i, 'it's a case,' and i qeums up and skins un. 'e did skin beautiful to be sure! i never see a better job in all my life--never!"
-"i be fond of a bit of spart like that," continued peregrine; "but i never could away with books and larning. muddling work, i calls it, messing over books. do you care for that kind of stuff, master quakespear?"
-"i dabble in it when i am away from the country," was the reply.
-then the warwickshire man began soliloquising again, somewhat after this manner:
-"drat the fellow!" whispered peregrine, turning to the parson, who happened to be riding alongside "i don't like un, 'e's so unkit."
-parson: "what makes him talk so, william?"
-peregrine (touching his forehead): "it's a case; i'll be bound it's a case. 'e's unkit."
-"would you mind saying that again, sir," said the bard, producing a notebook.
-peregrine goes into a fit of giggling, so shakespeare writes down from memory; whereupon the yeoman makes up to the squire, and says, "hist, squire, we must 'ave a care; 'e's takin' notes 'o anything we says. 'tis my belief 'e's got to do with that 'ere case of tom barton's they're makin' such a fuss and do about at coln. we shall all be 'ung for a set o' sheep-stealing ruffians."
-"thee be quite right, william," put in the parson "i thought a' looked a bit suspicious. if i was you, squire, i'd clap the baggage into northleach gaol, and exercise the justice of the peace agin un for an idle varmint."
-"yet a milder mannered man i never saw," said the squire.
-parson: "mild-mannered fiddlestick!" then, raising his voice so that the stranger should get the full benefit, he added, "he's as mild a mannered man as ever scuttled ship or cut a throat!"
-shakespeare hurriedly draws out notebook, and smilingly writes down the parson's words; then, in perfect good humour, he says:
-squire (excitedly): "let go the hawk, tom; there's a great lanky heron risin' at the withybed yonder."
-and here it is necessary to say something about the methods and language of falconry as practised by our forefathers.
-shakespeare tells us to choose "a falcon or tercel for flying at the brook, and a hawk for the bush." in other words, we are to select the nobler species, the long-winged peregrine falcon, the male of which was called a tiercel-gentle, for flying at the heron or the mallard; and a short-winged hawk, such as the goshawk or sparrow-hawk, for blackbirds and other hedgerow birds. for as mr. madden explains, not only does the true falcon, be she peregrine, gerfalcon, merlin, or hobby, differ in size and structure of wing and beak from the short-winged hawks, but she also differs in her method of hunting and seizing her prey.
-the falcons are "hawks of the tower and lure." they tower aloft and swoop down on partridge, rabbit, or heron, finally returning to the lure; and be it noted that the lure is a sham bird, with a "train" of food to entice the falcons back to their master.
-the short-winged hawks, on the other hand, are birds of the fist or the bush. instead of "towering" and "stooping," they lurch after their prey in wandering flight, finally returning to their master's fist.
-in macbeth we find allusion to the "falcon towering in her pride of place"; and indeed there is no prettier sport on a still day than a flight at the partridge or the heron with the noble peregrine falcon or her mate the tiercel-gentle.
-at the honest squire's word of command, a male peregrine is forthwith despatched, and, soaring upwards into the air, he is almost lost to sight in the clouds, though the faint tinkling of the bells attached to his feet may yet be heard; then, stooping from the skies, the tiercel-gentle descends from the heavens and strikes his long-beaked adversary. down, down they come, fighting and struggling in the air, until, exhausted by the unequal combat, the heron gradually falls to the ground, and receives from the falconer his final coup de grâce. sometimes a pair of hawks are thrown off against a heron.
-as mr. madden has proved, the whole of shakespeare's works teem with allusions to the art of falconry.
-"henry: but what a point, my lord, your falcon made, and what a pitch she flew above the rest! to see how god in all his creatures works! yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
-suffolk: no marvel, an it like your majesty, my lord protector's hawks do tower so well; they know their master loves to be aloft and bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
-but it was not the death of the poor partridge that appealed to the poet's mind so much as the pride and cunning of the mighty peregrine, and the beauty and stillness of the autumnal morning. he loved to hear the faint tinkling of the falcon's bells, the homely cry of the plover, and the sweet carol of the lark; but more than all he felt the mystery of the downs, wondering by what power and when those old seas were converted into a sea of grass.
-but whilst the hawking party was moving slowly across the wolds to try fresh ground an event occurred which had the effect of bringing the morning's sport, as far as hawks were concerned, to an abrupt conclusion. this was nothing more nor less than the sight of a great cotswold fox of the greyhound breed making his way towards a copse on the squire's demesne. the quick eye of the peregrine family was the first to view him, and forthwith both bill and his brother screamed in unison: "what's that sneaking across smoke acre yonder? 'tis a fox--a great, lanky, thieving, villainous fox, darned if it ain't!"
-"where?" said parson and squire excitedly.
-"there," said peregrine, "over agin smoke acre."
-"by jabbers, so it be!" said the parson. "now look thee here, joe peregrine, go thee to the sexton and tell 'un to ring the church bells for the folks to come for a fox; and be sure and tell the churchwardens."
-"ah!" said the poet, almost as excited as the rest of the party,
-thus abruptly ended this hawking expedition on the cotswolds; for the whole party made off to the manor house to fetch guns, spades, pickaxes, and dogs, as was the custom in those days, when a "lanky, villainous fox" was viewed.
-as for shakespeare, after bidding adieu to the old squire, and thanking him for his hospitality, he mounted his game little irish hobby and steered his course due northward for stow-on-the-wold. his track lay along the old fossway, a road infested in those days by murderous highwaymen; yet, unarmed and unattended, unknown and unappreciated, did that mighty man of genius set cheerfully out on his long and solitary way.
-the ancient town of cirencester--the caerceri of the early britons, the corinium of the romans, and the saxon cyrencerne--has been a place of importance on the cotswolds from time immemorial. the abbreviations cisetre and cysseter were in use as long ago as the fifteenth century, though some of the natives are now in the habit of calling it ciren. the correct modern abbreviation is ciceter.
-the place is so rich in roman antiquities that we must perforce devote a few lines to their consideration. a whole book would not be sufficient to do full justice to them.
-no less than four important roman roads meet within a short distance of cirencester; and very fine and broad ones they are, generally running as straight as the proverbial arrow.
-1. the irmin way, between cricklade and gloucester, viâ cirencester.
-2. acman street connects cirencester with bath.
-3. icknield street, running to oxford.
-4. the fossway, extending far into the north of england. this magnificent road may be said to connect exeter in the south with lincoln in the north. it is raised several feet above the natural level of the country, and in many places there still remain traces of the ancient ditch which was dug on either side of its course.
-in the year 1849 two very fine tessellated pavements were unearthed in dyer street, and removed to a museum which lord bathurst built purposely for their reception and preservation. another fine specimen of this kind of work may be seen in its original position at a house called the "barton" in the park. it is a representation of orpheus and his lute; and the various animals which he is said to have charmed are wonderfully worked in the coloured pavements. even as far back as three hundred years ago these beautiful relics were being discovered in this town; for leland in his "itinerary," mentions the finding of some tesserae; unfortunately but few have been preserved.
-there are two inscribed stones in this collection which deserve special mention, as they are marvellously well preserved, considering the fact that they are probably eighteen hundred years old. they are about six feet in height and about half that breadth; on each is carved the figure of a mounted soldier, spear in hand. on the ground lies his prostrate foe, pierced by his adversary's spear. underneath one of these carvings are inscribed the following words:--
-the meaning of the above words is as follows:--
-"dannicus, a horseman of indus's cavalry, of the squadron of albanus. he had seen sixteen years' service. a citizen of rauricum. fulvius natalis and fulvius bitucus have caused this monument to be made in accordance with his will. he is buried here."
-the other stone has a somewhat similar inscription.
-the romans, who did not use wallpapers, were in the habit of colouring their plaster with various pigments. some very interesting specimens of wall-painting are preserved at cirencester, and may be seen in the museum. the most remarkable example of the kind is a piece of coloured plaster, with the following square scratched on its surface:--
-rotas opera tenet arepo sator
-it will be noticed that these five words, the meaning of which is, "arepo, the sower, guides the wheels at work," form a kind of puzzle; they may be read in eight different directions.
-a large variety of sepulchral urns have been found at cirencester. when dug up they usually contain little besides the ashes of the dead, though a few coins are sometimes included. there is a very perfect specimen of a glass urn--a large green bottle, square, wide-mouthed, and absolutely intact--in this collection. it was found, wrapped in lead and enclosed in a hollow stone, somewhere near the town about the year 1758.
-a fine specimen of a stone coffin is likewise to be seen. when discovered at latton it was found to contain an iron axe, a dish of black ware of the kind frequently discovered at upchurch in kent, a juglike-handled vase of a light red colour, and some human bones.
-the various kinds of pottery in the corinium museum are interesting on account of the potters' marks found on them. there must be considerably over a hundred different marks in this collection, chiefly of the following kind:--
-putri m. (manû putri), by the hand of putrus.
-mara. f. (formâ marci), from the mould of marcus.
-olini off. (officinâ olini), from the workshop of olinus.
-the museum contains many good specimens of iron and bronze implements, as well as coins and stonework, and is well worthy of the attention bestowed on it, not only by antiquaries, but by the public at large.
-at a place called the querns, a short distance from the town, is a very interesting old amphitheatre called the bull-ring. this is an ellipse of about sixty yards long by forty-five wide; it is surrounded by mounds twenty feet high. originally the scene of the combats of roman gladiators, in mediaeval times it was probably used for the pastime of bull-baiting, a barbarous amusement which has happily long since died out.
-amphitheatres of the same type are to be seen at dorchester, old sarum, silchester, and other roman stations.
-mr. wilfred cripps, c.b., the head of a family that has been seated at cirencester for many hundreds of years, has an interesting private collection of roman antiquities which have been found in the neighbourhood from time to time. he has quite recently discovered the remnants of the basilica or roman law-courts.
-turning to the place as it now stands, one is struck on entering the town by the breadth and clean appearance of the main street, known as the market-place. the shops are almost as good as those to be found in the principal thoroughfares of london.
-i have spoken before of the magnificent old church. there is, perhaps, no sacred building, except st. mary redcliffe at bristol and beverley minster, that we know of in england which for perfect proportion and symmetry can vie with the imposing grandeur of this pile, as seen from the cricklade-street end of cirencester market-place.
-the south porch is a very beautiful and ornamental piece of architecture. the work is of fifteenth-century design, the interior of the porch consisting of delicately wrought fan-tracery groining. the carving outside is most picturesque, there being many handsome niches and six fine oriel windows. the whole of the façade is crowned with very large pierced battlements and crocketed pinnacles. over this porch is one of those grand old sixteenth-century halls such as were built in former times in front of the churches. it is called the "parvise," a word derived from the same source as paradise, which in the language of architecture means a cloistered court adjoining a church. many of these beautiful old apartments existed at one time in england, but were pulled down by religious enthusiasts because they were considered to be out of place when attached to the church and used for secular purposes. this is now known as the town hall, and contrasts very favourably with the hideous erections built in modern times in some of our english towns for this purpose.
-the church of cirencester contains a large amount of beautiful perpendicular work.
-in the grand old tower are twelve bells of excellent tone. the early english stonework in the chancel and chapels is very curious, a fine arch opening from the nave to the tower. there is, in fact, a great deal to be seen on all sides which would delight the lover of architecture.
-some ancient brasses of great interest and beautiful design in various parts of this church claim attention; the earliest of them is as old as 1360; a pulpit cloth of blue velvet, made from the cape of one ralph parsons in 1478 and presented by him, is still preserved.
-cirencester house stands but a stone's throw from the railway station, but is hidden from sight by a high wall and a gigantic yew hedge. behind it and on all sides, save one, the park--one of the largest in england--stretches away for miles. so beautiful and rural are the surroundings that the visitor to the house can hardly realise that the place is not far removed from the busy haunts of men.
-the cirencester estate was purchased by sir benjamin bathurst rather more than two hundred years ago. this family has done good service to their king and country for many centuries. we read the other day that no less than six of sir benjamin's brothers died fighting for the king in the civil wars. nor have they been less conspicuous in serving their country in times of peace.
-the park, which was designed to a great extent by the first earl, with the assistance of pope, has been entirely thrown open to the people of cirencester; and "the future and as yet visionary beauties of the noble scenes, openings, and avenues" which that great poet used to delight in dwelling upon have become accomplished facts. the "ten rides"--lengthy avenues of fine trees radiating in all directions from a central point in the middle of the park--are a picturesque feature of the landscape.
-the lover of horses and riding finds here a paradise of grassy glades, where he can gallop for miles on end, and tire the most obstinate of "pullers."
-picnic parties, horse shows, cricket matches, and the chase of the fox all find a place in this romantic demesne in their proper seasons. the enthusiast for woodland hunting, or the man who hates the sight of a fence of any description, may hunt the fox here day after day and never leave the recesses of the park.
-the antiquary will find much to delight him. here is the ancient high cross, erected in the fourteenth century, which once stood in front of the old ram inn. the pedestal is hewn from a single block of stone, and beautifully wrought with gothic arcades and panelled quatrefoils; this and the shaft are the sole relics of the old cross. we may go into raptures over the ivy-covered ruin known as alfred's hall, fitted up as it is with black oak and rusty armour and all the pompous simplicity of the old baronial halls of england. antiquaries of a certain order are easily deceived; and this delightful old ruin, though but two hundred years old, has been so skilfully put together as to represent an ancient british castle. that celebrated, though indelicate divine, dean swift, was, like alexander pope, deeply interested in the designing of this park.
-as long ago as 1733 alfred's hall was a snare and delusion to antiquaries. in that year swift received a letter stating that "my lord bathurst has greatly improved the wood-house, which you may remember was a cottage, not a bit better than an irish cabin. it is now a venerable castle, and has been taken by an antiquary for one of king arthur's."
-in this house are some very interesting portraits. full-length pictures of the members of the cabal ministry adorn the dining-room--all fine examples of lely's brush; then there is a very large representation of the duke of wellington at waterloo mounted on his favourite charger "copenhagen" by lawrence; two "romneys," one "sir joshua," and several "knellers."
-turning to the abbey, the seat for the last three hundred and thirty years of the master family, we find another instance of a large country house standing practically in a town. the house is situated immediately behind the church and within a stone's throw of the market-place. but on the side away from the town the view from this house extends over a large extent of rural scenery. the site of the mitred abbey of saint mary is somewhere hereabouts, but in the time of the suppression of the monasteries every stone of the old abbey was pulled down and carried away; so that the twelfth-century gateway and some remnants of pillars are the sole traces that remain. this gateway, which is a very fine one, is still used as a lodge entrance. queen elizabeth granted this estate to richard master in 1564. when king charles was at cirencester in the time of the rebellion he twice stayed at this house. in 1642 the townspeople of cirencester rose in a body, and tried to prevent the lord lieutenant of the county, lord chandos, from carrying out the king's commission of array. for a time they gained their ends, but in the following year there was a sharp encounter between prince rupert's force and the people of cirencester, resulting in the total defeat of the latter. three hundred of them were killed, and over a thousand taken prisoners. they were confined in the church, and eventually taken to oxford, where, upon their submitting humbly to the king, he pardoned them, and they were released. this is one account. it is only fair to state that another account is less complimentary to charles.
-when charles ii. escaped from worcester he put up at an old hostelry in cirencester called the sun. king james and, still later, queen anne paid visits to this town.
-altogether the town of cirencester is a very fascinating old place. the lot of its inhabitants is indeed cast in pleasant places. the grand bracing air of the cotswold hills is a tonic which drives dull care away from these gloucestershire people; and when it is remembered that they enjoy the freedom of lord bathurst's beautiful park, that the neighbourhood is, in spite of agricultural depression, well off in this world's goods, it is not surprising that the pallid cheeks and drooping figures to be met with in most of our towns are conspicuous by their absence here. the cotswold farmers may be making no profit in these days of low prices and competition, but against this must be set the fact that their fathers and grandfathers made considerable fortunes in farming three decades ago, and for this we must be thankful.
-the merry capital of the cotswolds abounds in good cheer and good fellowship all the year round; and one has only to pay a visit to the market-place on a monday to meet the best of fellows and the most genial sportsmen anywhere to be found amongst the farming community of england.
-now that these old fairs no longer answer the purpose for which they existed for hundreds of years, they will doubtless gradually die out. and they have their drawbacks. an occasion of this kind is always associated with a good deal of drunkenness; the old market-place of cirencester for a few days in each autumn becomes a regular pandemonium. it is marvellous how quickly all traces of the great show are swept away and the place once more settles down to the normal condition of an old-fashioned though well-to-do country town.
-there are many old houses in cirencester of more than average interest, but there is nothing as far as we know that needs special description. the fleece hotel is one of the largest and most beautiful of the mediaeval buildings. it should be noted that some of the new buildings in this town, such as that which contains the post office, have been erected in the best possible taste. with the exception of some of the work which mr. bodley has done at oxford in recent years, notably the new buildings at magdalen college, we have never seen modern architecture of greater excellence than these cirencester houses. they are as picturesque as houses containing shops possibly can be.
-hunting from ciceter.
-a clever, bold horse, with plenty of jumping power in his quarters and hocks, is essential. it may safely be said that a man who can command hounds in the braydon and swindon district will find the "shires" comparatively plain sailing. the wall country of the cotswold tableland is exactly the reverse of the vale. the pace there is often tremendous, but the obstacles are not formidable enough to those accustomed to walls to keep the eager field from pressing the pack, save on those rare occasions when, on a burning scent, the hounds manage to get a start of horses; and then they will never be caught. well-bred horses are almost invariably ridden in this wall country; if in hard condition, and there are no steep hills to be crossed, they can go as fast and stay almost as long as hounds, for the going is good, and they are always galloping on the top of the ground.
-at the time of writing, there are over two hundred hunters stabled in the little town of cirencester, to say nothing of those kept at the numerous hunting boxes around. more than this need not be said to show the undoubted popularity of the place as a hunting centre. and a very sporting lot the people are. brought up to the sport from the cradle, the gloucestershire natives, squires, farmers, all sorts and conditions of men, ride as straight as a die.
-from what has been said it will be readily gathered that the attraction of the place as a hunting centre lies in the variety of country it commands. not only is a different stamp of country to be met with each day of the week, but on one and the same day you may be riding over banks, small flying fences, and sound grass, or deep ploughs and pasture divided by hairy bullfinches, or, again, over light plough and stone walls; and to this fact may be attributed the exceptional number of good performers over a country that this district turns out. both men and horses have always appeared to us to reach a very high standard of cleverness.
-to leicestershire, northants, warwick, and the vale of aylesbury belongs by undisputed right the credit of the finest grass country in hunting england. but for ireland and the rougher shires i claim the honour of showing not only the straightest foxes, but also the best sportsmen and the boldest riders. the reason seems to me to be this: in leicestershire you find the field composed largely of smart london men; and after a certain age a man "goes to hounds" in inverse ratio to the pace at which he travels as a man about town. the latter (with a few brilliant exceptions to prove the rule) is not so quick and determined when he sees a nasty piece of timber or an awkward hairy fence as his reputation at the clubs would lead you to expect; whilst the rougher countryman, be he yeoman or squire, farmer or peer, endowed with nerves of iron, is able to cross a country with a confidence and a dash that are denied to the average dandy, with his big stud, immaculate "leathers," and expensive cigars. in gloucestershire many an honest yeoman goes out twice a week and endeavours to drown for a while all thoughts of hard times and low prices, content for the day if the fates have left him a sound horse and the consolation of a gallop over the grass. let it here be said that there are no grooms in the world who better understand conditioning hunters than those of leicestershire. nowhere can you see horses better bred or fitter to go; and he who rides a-hunting on fat horses must himself be fat.
-turning to the week's programme for a man hunting five or six days a week from cirencester, monday is the day for the duke's hounds. here you may be riding over some of the best of the grass, where light flying fences grow on the top of low banks, or else it will be a stone-wall country of mixed grass and light plough. in either case the country is very rideable, and sport usually excellent. the badminton hounds and lord worcester's skill as a huntsman are too well known to require any description here.
-on tuesday lord bathurst's hounds are always within seven miles of the town, and the country is a very open one, but one that requires plenty of wet to carry scent. though on certain days there is but little scent, in favourable seasons during recent years wonderful sport has been shown in this country. in the season of 1895-6 especially, a fine gallop came off regularly every tuesday from october to the end of february. in '97, on the other hand, little was done. there is far more grass than there used to be, owing to so much of the land having gone out of cultivation. the plough rides lighter than grass does in nine counties out of ten, the coverts are small, and the pace often tremendous. every country has its drawback, and in this case it lies partly in bad scent and partly in the fences being too easy. men who know the walls with which the cotswold tableland is almost entirely enclosed, ride far too close to hounds: thus, the pack and the huntsman not being allowed a chance, sport is often spoiled. occasionally, when a real scent is forthcoming, the hounds can run right away from the field; but as a rule they are shamefully over-ridden. the fact is that in the hunting field, as elsewhere, john wolcot's epigram, written a hundred years ago, exactly hits the nail on the head:
-"what rage for fame attends both great and small! better be d--d than mentioned not at all."
-we all want to ride in the front rank, and are, or ought to be, d--d accordingly by the long-suffering m.f.h.
-here it is worth our while to analyse briefly the qualities which combine to make this huntsman so deservedly popular with all who follow the cotswold hounds. we venture to say that he pleases all and sundry, "thrusters," hound-men, and liver-men alike, because he invariably has a double object in view--he hunts his fox and he humours his field. and firstly he hunts his fox in the best possible method, having regard to the scenting capabilities of the cotswold hills.
-he is quick as lightning, yet he is never in a hurry--that is to say, in a "bad hurry." when the hounds "throw up" or "check," like all other good huntsmen he gives them plenty of time. he stands still and he makes his field stand still; then may be seen that magnificent proof of canine brain-power, the fan-shaped forward movement of a well-drafted, old-established pack of foxhounds, making good by two distinct casts--right-and left-handed--the ground that lies in front of them and on each side. should they fail to hit off the line, the advantage of a brilliant huntsman immediately asserts itself. partly by certain set rules and partly by a knowledge of the country and the run of foxes, but more than all by that daring genius which was the making of shakespeare and the great men of all time, he takes his hounds admirably in hand, aided by two quiet, unassuming whippers-in, and in four cases out of five brings them either at the first or second cast to the very hedgerow where five minutes before reynard took his sneaking, solitary way. it may be "forward," or it may be down wind, right or left-handed, but it is at all events the right way; thus, owing to this happy knack of making the proper cast at a large percentage of checks this man establishes his reputation as a first-class huntsman.
-should the day be propitious, a run is now assured, unless some unforeseen occurrence, such as the fox going to ground, necessitates a draw for a fresh one; but in any case, owing to this marvellous knack of hitting off the line at the first check, our huntsman generally contrives to show a run some time during the day.
-so much for the methods by which this william shakespeare of the hunting field is wont to pursue his fox. but we have not done with him yet. what does he do on those bad scenting days which on the dry and stony cotswold hills are the rule rather than the exception? on such days, as well as hunting his fox, he humours his field. in the first place, unless he has distinct proof to the contrary, he invariably gives his fox credit for being a straight-necked one. he keeps moving on at a steady pace in the direction in which his instinct and knowledge lead him, even though there may be no scent, either on the ground or in the air, to guide the hounds. every piece of good scenting ground--and he knows the capabilities of every field in this respect--is made the most of; "carrying" or dusty ploughs are scrupulously avoided. if he "lifts," it is done so quietly and cunningly that the majority of the riders are unaware of the fact; and the hounds never become wild and untractable. it is this free and generous method of hunting the fox that pleases his followers. travess's casts are not made in cramped and stingy fashion, but a wide extent of country is covered even on a bad day; there is no rat-hunting. after a time all save a dozen sportsmen are left several fields behind. "they won't run to-day," is the general cry; "there is no hurry." but meantime some large grass fields are met with, or the huntsman brings the pack on to better terms with the fox, or maybe a fresh one jumps up, and away go the hounds for seven or eight minutes as hard as they can pelt. only a dozen men know exactly what has happened. most of the thrusters and all the liver-men have to gallop in earnest for half an hour to come up with the hunt; indeed, on many days they never see either huntsman or hounds again, and go tearing about the country cursing their luck in missing so fine a run! it is the old story of the hare and the tortoise. but herein lies the "humour" of it: the hare is pleased and the tortoise is pleased. the former, as represented by the field, has enjoyed a fine scamper, and lots of air (bother the currant jelly!) and exercise; the tortoise, on the other hand, has had a fine hunting run, and possibly by creeping slowly on for some hours it has killed its fox; whilst several good sportsmen have enjoyed an old-fashioned hunt in a wild country with a kill in the open.
-verbum sap: if you want to humour your field, you must leave them behind. it must not be done intentionally, however; the riders must be allowed, so to speak, to work out their own salvation in this respect.
-major de freville's country as a whole is more suited to the "houndman" than for him who hunts to ride. the hills, save in one district, are so severe that hounds often beat horses; the result is, many are tempted to station themselves on the top of a hill, whence a wide view is obtainable, and trust to the hounds coming back after running a ring. given the right sort of horse, however--short-backed, thoroughbred if possible, and with good enough manners to descend a steep place without boring and tearing his rider's arms almost out of their sockets--many a fine run may be seen in this wild district. much of the arable land has gone back to grass, so that it is quite a fair scenting country; and the foxes are stronger and more straight-necked than in more civilised parts. one of the best days the writer ever had in his life was with these hounds. meeting at puesdown, they ran for an hour in the morning at a great pace, with an eight-mile point; whilst in the afternoon came a run of one-and-a-half hours, with a point of somewhere about ten miles.
-with the exception of a small vale between cheltenham and tewkesbury, which is very good indeed, the puesdown country is about the best, the undulations being less severe than in other parts.
-on thursdays cirencester commands mr. miller's braydon country. this country is a very great contrast to that which is ridden over on tuesdays and wednesdays, and requires a very stout horse. it rides tremendously deep at times; and the fences, which come very frequently in a run, owing to the small size of the enclosures, are both big and blind. it is practically all grass. but there are several large woodlands, with deep clay rides, in which one is not unlikely to spend a part of thursday; and these woods, owing in part to the shooting being let to londoners, are none too plentifully provided with foxes. wire, too, has sprung up in some parts of mr. miller's braydon country. few people have large enough studs to stand the wear and tear of this fine, wild country; consequently the fields are generally small. sport, though not so good as it used to be, is still very fair, and to run down to great wood in the duke's country is sufficient to tax the powers of the finest weight-carrying hunter, whilst only the man with a quick eye to a country can live with hounds. it is often stated that blood horses are the best for galloping through deep ground. this is true in one way, though not on the whole. thoroughbred horses are practically useless in this sort of country; their feet are often so small that they stick in the deep clay. a horse with small feet is no good at all in braydon. a short-legged irish hunter, about three parts bred, with tremendous strength in hocks and quarters, and biggish feet, is the sort the writer would choose. if up to quite two stone more than his rider's weight, and a safe and temperate fencer, he will carry you well up with hounds over any country. a fast horse is not required; for a racer that can do the mile on the flat at newmarket in something under two minutes is reduced in really deep ground to an eight-mile-an-hour canter, and your short-legged horse from the emerald isle will leave him standing still in the braydon vale.
-eastcourt, crudwell, oaksey, brinkworth, lea schools--such are some of lord bathurst's friday meets; and the pen can hardly write fast enough in singing the praises of this country. strong, well-preserved coverts, sound grass fields, flying fences, sometimes set on a low bank, sometimes without a bank, varied by an occasional brook, with now and then a fence big enough to choke off all but the "customers"--such is the bill of fare for fridays. to run from stonehill wood, viâ charlton and garsdon, to redborn in the duke's country, as the hounds did on the first day of 1897, is, as "brooksby" would say, "a line fit for a king, be that king but well minded and well mounted."
-stand on garsdon hill, and look down on the grassy vale mapped out below, and tell me, if you dare, that you ever saw a pleasanter stretch of country. how dear to the hunting man are green fields and sweet-scenting pastures, where the fences are fair and clean and the ditches broad and deep, where there is room to gallop and room to jump, and where, as he sails along on a well-bred horse or reclines perchance in a muddy ditch (professor raleigh! what a watery bathos!), he may often say to himself, "it is good for me to be here!" for when the hounds cross this country there are always "wigs on the green" in abundance; and in spite of barbed wire we may still sing with horace,
-"nec fortuitum spernere caespitem leges sinebant,"
-which, at the risk of offending all classical scholars, i must here translate: "nor do the laws allow us to despise a chance tumble on the turf."
-round oaksey, too, is a rare galloping ground. should you be lucky enough to get a start from "flistridge" and come down to the brook at a jumpable place, in less than ten minutes you will be, if not in paradise, at all events as near as you are ever likely to be on this earth. this is literally true, for half way between "flistridge" and kemble wood, and in the midst of elysian grass fields, is a narrow strip of covert happily christened "paradise."
-would that there was a larger extent of this sort of country, for it is not every friday that hounds cross it! the duke's hounds have a happy knack of crossing it occasionally on a monday, however, and on thursdays mr. miller's hounds may drive a fox that way.
-this district is not so easy for a stranger to ride his own line over as the midlands; it is not half so stiff, but it is often cramped and trappy. but then you must "look before you leap" in most countries nowadays. in this friday country wire is comparatively scarce. the fields run very large on this day,--quite two hundred horsemen are to be seen at favourite fixtures. about half this number would belong to the country, and the other half come from the duke's country and elsewhere. these friday fields are as well mounted and well appointed as any in england. and to see a run one must have a good horse,--not necessarily an expensive one, for "good" and "expensive" are by no means synonymous terms with regard to horseflesh. it is with regret that we must add that foxes were decidedly scarce here last season (1897-8).
-the very varied bill of fare we have briefly sketched for a man hunting from cirencester may include an occasional wednesday with the heythrop at "bradwell grove." it is not possible to reach the choicest part of this pleasant country by road from cirencester, but some of the best of the stone-wall country of the cotswold tableland is included in the heythrop domain. everybody who has been brought up to hunting has heard of "jem hills and bradwell grove": rare gallops this celebrated huntsman used to show over the wolds in days gone by; and on a good scenting day it requires a quick horse to live with these hounds. a fast and well-bred pack, established more than sixty years ago, they have been admirably presided over by mr. albert brassey for close on a quarter of a century. several pleasant vales intersect this country, notably the bourton and the gawcombe vale; and there is excellent grass round moreton-in-the-marsh. as, however, the grass country of the heythrop is too far from cirencester to be reached by road, it hardly comes within our scope.
-if hunting is doomed to extinction in the midlands, owing to the growth of barbed wire, it is exceedingly unlikely ever to die out in the neighbourhood of cirencester; for there is so much poor, unprofitable land on the cotswold tableland and in the braydon district that barbed wire and other evils of civilisation are not likely to interfere to deprive us of our national sport; hunting men have but to be true to themselves, and avoid doing unnecessary damage, to see the sport carried on in the twentieth century as it has been in the past. if we conform to the unwritten laws of the chase, and pay for the damage we do, there will be no fear of fox-hunting dying out. england will be "merrie england" still, even in the twentieth century; the glorious pastime, sole relic of the days of chivalry, will continue among us, cheering the life in our quiet country villages through the gloomy winter months;--if only we be true to ourselves, and do our uttermost to further the interests of the grandest sport on earth.
-as i have given an account of a run over the walls, and as the ciceter people set most store on a gallop over the stiff fences and grass enclosures of their vale, here follows a brief description in verse of the glories of fifty minutes on the grass. i have called it "the thruster's song," because on the whole i thoroughly agree with shakespeare that
-"valour is the chietest virtue, and most dignifies the haver."
-hard riding and all sports which involve an element of danger are the best antidotes to that luxury and effeminacy which long periods of peace are apt to foster. what would become of the young men of the present day--those, i mean, who are in the habit of following the hounds--if hard riding were to become unfashionable? i cannot conceive anything more ridiculous than the sight of a couple of hundred well-mounted men riding day after day in a slow procession through gates, "craning" at the smallest obstacles, or dismounting and "leading over." no; hard riding is the best antidote in the world for the luxurious tendency of these days. a hundred years ago, when the sport of fox-hunting was in its infancy and modern conditions of pace were unknown, there was less need for this kind of recreation, "the image of war without its guilt, and only twenty-five per cent of its danger." for there was real fighting enough to be done in olden times; and amongst hunting folk, though there was much drinking, there was little luxury. therefore our fox-hunting ancestors were content to enjoy slow hunting runs, and small blame to them! but those who are fond of lamenting the modern spirit of the age, which prefers the forty minutes' burst over a severe country to a three hours' hunting run, are apt to lose sight of the fact that in these piping times of peace, without the risks of sport mankind is liable to degenerate towards effeminacy. for this reason in the following poem i have purposely taken up the cudgels for that somewhat unpopular class of sportsmen, the "thrusters" of the hunting field. they are unpopular with masters of hounds because they ride too close to the pack; but as a general rule they are the only people who ever see a really fast run. in shakespeare's time hounds that went too fast for the rest of the pack were "trashed for over-topping," that is to say, they were handicapped by a strap attached to their necks. in the same way in every hunt nowadays there are half a dozen individuals who have reduced riding to hounds to such an art that no pack can get away from them in a moderately easy country. these "bruisers" of the hunting field ought to be made to carry three stone dead weight; they should be "trashed for overtopping." however, as brooksby has tersely put it, "some men hunt to ride and some ride to hunt; others, thank heaven! double their fun by doing both." there are many, many fine riders in england who will not be denied in crossing a stiff country, and who at the same time are interested in the hounds and in the poetry of sport: men to whom the mysteries of scent and of woodcraft, as well as the breeding and management of hounds, are something more than a mere name: men who in after days recall with pleasure "how in glancing over the pack they have been gratified by the shining coat, the sparkling eye--sure symptoms of fitness for the fight;--how when thrown in to covert every hound has been hidden; how every sprig of gorse has bristled with motion; how when viewed away by the sharp-eyed whipper-in, the fox stole under the hedge; how the huntsman clapped round, and with a few toots of his horn brought them out in a body; how, without tying on the line, they 'flew to head'; how, when they got hold of it, they drove it, and with their heads up felt the scent on both sides of the fence; how with hardly a whimper they turned with him, till at the end of fifty minutes they threw up; how the patient huntsman stood still; how they made their own cast: and how when they came back on his line, their tongues doubled and they marked him for their own." to such good men and true i dedicate the following lines:--
-a day in the vale; or, the thruster's song.
-you who've known the sweet enjoyment of a gallop in the vale, comrades of the chase, i know you will not deem my subject stale. stand with me once more beside the blackthorn or the golden gorse,-- don't forget to thank your stars you're mounted on a favourite horse; for the hounds dashed into covert with a zest that bodes a scent, and the glass is high and rising, clouded is the firmament. when the ground is soaked with moisture, when the wind is in the east scent lies best,--the south wind doesn't suit the "thruster" in the least. some there are who love to watch them with their noses on the ground; we prefer to see them flitting o'er the grass without a sound. we prefer the keen north-easter; ten to one the scent's "breast high"; with a south wind hounds can sometimes hunt a fox, but seldom fly. hark! the whip has viewed him yonder; he's away, upon my word! if you want to steal a start, then fly the bullfinch like a bird; gallop now your very hardest; turn him sharp, and jump the stile, trot him at it--never mind the bough,--it's only smashed your tile! now we're with them. see, they're tailing, from the fierceness of the pace, up the hedgerow, o'er the meadow, 'cross the stubble see them race: governor--by belvoir gambler,--he's the hound to "run to head," tracing back to rallywood, that fifty years ago was bred; close behind comes arrogant, by acrobat; and artful too; rosy, bred by pytchley rockwood; crusty, likewise staunch and true. down a muddy lane, in mad excitement, but, alas! too late, thunders half the field towards the portals of a friendly gate; sees a dozen red-coats bobbing in the vale a mile ahead; hears the huntsman's horn, and longs to catch those distant bits of red;-- but in vain, for blind the fences, here a fall and there a "peck." some one cries, "an awful place, sir; don't go there, you'll break your neck." not the stiff, unbroken fences, but the treacherous gaps we fear; "though in front the post of honour, that of danger's in the rear." forrard on, then forrard onwards, o'er the pasture, o'er the lea, tossed about by ridge and furrow, rolling like a ship at sea; stake and binder, timber, oxers, all are taken in our stride,-- better fifty minutes' racing than a dawdling five hours' ride. i am not ashamed to own, with him who loves a steeplechase, that to me the charm in hunting is the ecstasy of pace,-- this is what best schools the soldier, teaches us that we are men born to bear the rough and tumble, wield the sword and not the pen. some there are who dub hard riders worthless and a draghunt crew-- tailors who do all the damage, mounted on a spavined screw. well, i grant you, hunting men are sometimes narrow-minded fools; ignorant of all worth knowing, save what's learnt in riding-schools; careless of the rights of others, scampering over growing crops, smashing gates and making gaps and scattering wide the turnip tops;-- but i hold that out of all the hunting fields throughout the land i could choose for active service a large-hearted, gallant band; i could choose six hundred red-coats, trained by riding in the van, fit to go to balaclava under brave lord cardigan. 'tis the finest school, the chase, to teach contempt of cannon balls, if a man ride bravely onward, spite of endless rattling falls. and to be a first-rate sportsman, not a man who merely "rides," is to be a perfect gentleman, and something more besides; fearing neither man nor devil, kind, unselfish he must be, born to lead when danger threatens--type of ancient chivalry. when you hear a "houndman" jeering at the "customers" in front, saying they come out to ride a steeplechase and not to hunt, you may bet the "grapes are sour," the fellow's smoked his nerve away; once he went as well as they do: "every dog will have his day." though to ride about the roads in state may do your liver good, you see precious little "houndwork" either there or in the wood. he who loves to mark the work of hounds must ride beside the pack, choosing his own line, or following others, if he's lost the knack. lookers-on, i grant you, often see the best part of the game,-- still, to ride the roads and live with hounds are things not quite the same. now a word to all those gallant chaps who love a hunting day: in bad times you know that farming is a trade that doesn't pay, barbed wire's the cheapest kind of fence; the farmer can't afford tempting post-and-rails and timber--for he's getting rather bored. therefore, if we want to ride with our old devilry and dash, we must put our hands in pockets deep and shovel out the cash. when you want to hire a shooting you will gladly pay a "pony," yet when asked to give it to the hounds you're apt to say you're "stony." pay the piper, and the sport you love so well will flourish yet, flourish in the dim hereafter; and its sun will never set. help the noble cause of freedom; rich and poor together blend hands and hearts for ever working for a great and glorious end.
-spring in the cotswolds.
-whilst walking by the river one day in may i noticed a brood of wild ducks about a week old. the old ones are wonderfully tame at this time of year. the mother evidently disliked my intrusion, for she started off up stream, followed by her offspring, making towards a withybed a hundred yards or so higher up, where a secluded spring gives capital shelter for duck and other shy birds. what was my surprise a couple of hours later to see the same lot emerge from some rushes three-quarters of a mile up stream! they had circumvented a small waterfall, and the current is very strong in places. part of the journey must have been done on dry land.
-at the same moment that i startled this brood out of the rushes a moorhen swam slowly out, accompanied by her mate. it was evident, from her cries and her anxious behaviour, that she too had some young ones in the rushes; and soon two tiny little black balls of fur crawled out from the bank and made for the opposite shore. either from blindness or fright they did not join their parents in mid stream, but hurried across to the opposite bank and scrambled on to the mud, followed by the old couple remonstrating with them on their foolishness. the mother then succeeded in persuading one of them to follow her to a place of safety underneath some overhanging boughs, but the other was left clinging to the bank, crying piteously. i went round by a bridge in the hope of being able to place the helpless little thing on the water; but, alas! by the time i got to the spot it was dead. the exertion of crossing the stream had been too much for it, for it was probably not twelve hours old.
-when there are young ones about, moorhens will not dive to get out of your sight unless their children dive too. it is pretty to see them swimming on the down-stream side of their progeny, buoying them up in case the current should prove too strong and carry them down. if there are eggs still unhatched, the father, when disturbed, takes the little ones away to a safer spot, whilst the mother sticks to the nest. but they are rather stupid, for even the day after the eggs are hatched, on being disturbed by a casual passer-by, the old cock swims out into mid stream. he then calls to his tiny progeny to follow him, though they are utterly incapable of doing so, and generally come to hopeless grief in the attempt. then the old ones are not very clever at finding children that have been frightened away from the nest. i marked one down on the opposite bank, and could see it crawling beneath some sticks; but the old bird kept swimming past the spot, and appeared to neither hear nor see the little ball of fur. perhaps he was playing cunning; he may have imagined that the bird was invisible to me, and was trying to divert my attention from the spot.
-moorhens are always interesting to watch. with a pair of field-glasses an amusing and instructive half hour may often be spent by the stream in the breeding season.
-i was much amused, while feeding some swans and a couple of wild ducks the other day, to notice that the mallard would attack the swans if they took any food that he fancied. one would have thought that such powerful birds as swans--one stroke of whose wings is supposed to be capable of breaking a man's leg--would not have stood any nonsense from an unusually diminutive mallard. but not a bit of it: the mallard ruled the roost; all the other birds, even the great swans, ran away from him when he attacked them from behind with his beak. this state of things continued for some days. but after a time the male swan got tired of the game; his patience was exhausted. watching his opportunity he seized the pugnacious little mallard by the neck and gave him a thundering good shaking! it was most laughable to watch them. it is characteristic of swans that they are unable to look you in the face; and beautiful beyond all description as they appear to be in their proper element, meet them on dry land and they become hideous and uninteresting, scowling at you with an evil eye.
-sometimes as you are walking under the trees on the banks of the coln you come across a little heap of chipped wood lying on the ground. then you hear "tap, tap," in the branches above. it is the little nuthatch hard at work scooping out his home in the bark. he sways his body with every stroke of his beak, and is so busy he takes no notice of you. the nuthatch is very fond of filberts, as his name implies. you may see him in the autumn with a nut firmly fixed in a crevice in the bark of a hazel branch, and he taps away until he pierces the shell and gets at the kernel. nuthatches, which are very plentiful hereabouts, are sometimes to be found in the forsaken homes of woodpeckers, which they plaster round with mud. the entrance to the hole in the tree is thus made small enough to suit them. sometimes when i have disturbed a nuthatch at work at a hole in a tree, the little fellow would pop into the hole and peep out at me, never moving until i had departed.
-woodpeckers are somewhat uncommon here: i have not heard one in our garden by the river for a very long time, though a foolish farmer told me the other day that he had recently shot one. a mile or so away, at barnsley park, where the oaks thrive on a vein of clay soil, green woodpeckers may often be seen and heard. what more beautiful bird is there, even in the tropics, than the merry yaffel, with his emerald back and the red tuft on his head? the other two varieties of woodpeckers, the greater and lesser spotted, are occasionally met with on the cotswolds. i do not know why we have so few green woodpeckers by the river, as there are plenty of old trees there; but these birds, which feed chiefly on the ground among the anthills, have a marked preference for such woods in the neighbourhood as contain an abundance of oak trees. the local name for these birds is "hic-wall," which tom peregrine pronounces "heckle." there is no more pleasing sound than the long, chattering note of the green woodpecker; it breaks so suddenly on the general silence of the woods, contrasting as it does in its loud, bell-like tones with the soft cooing of the doves and the songs of the other birds.
-in various places along its course the river has long poles set across it; on these poles tom peregrine has placed traps for stoats, weasels, and other vermin. recently, when we were fishing, he pointed out a great stoat caught in one of these traps with a water-rat in its mouth--a very strange occurrence, for the trap was only a small one, of the usual rabbit size, and the rat was almost as big as the stoat. there is so little room for the bodies of a stoat and a rat in one of these small iron traps that the betting must be at least a thousand to one against such an event happening. unless we had seen it with our eyes we could not have believed it possible. the stoat, in chasing the rat along the pole, must have seized his prey at the very instant that the jaws of the trap snapped upon them both. they were quite dead when we found them.
-every one acquainted with gamekeepers' duties is well aware that the iron traps armed with teeth which are in general use throughout the country are a disgrace to nineteenth-century civilisation. it is a terrible experience to take a rabbit or any other animal out of one of these relics of barbarism. sir herbert maxwell recently called the attention of game preservers and keepers to a patent trap which colonel coulson, of newburgh, has just invented. instead of teeth, the jaws of the new trap have pads of corrugated rubber, which grip as tightly and effectively as the old contrivance without breaking the bones or piercing the skin. i trust these traps will shortly supersede the old ones, so that a portion of the inevitable suffering of the furred denizens of our woods may be dispensed with.
-in a hunting country where foxes occasionally find their way into vermin traps, colonel coulson's invention should be invaluable. instead of having to be destroyed, or being killed by the hounds in covert, owing to a broken leg, it is ten to one that master reynard would be released very little the worse for his temporary confinement. moreover, as sir herbert maxwell points out, dog owners will be grateful to the inventor when their favourites accidentally find their way into one of these traps and are released without smashed bones and bleeding feet. any kind of trap is but a diabolical contrivance at best, but these "humane patents" are a vast improvement, and do the work better than the old, as i can testify, having used them from the time sir herbert maxwell first called attention to them, and being quite satisfied with them.
-badgers are almost as mysterious in their ways and habits as the otter. nobody believes there are badgers about except those who look for their characteristic tracks about the fox-earths. every now and then, however, a badger is dug out or discovered in some way in places where they were unheard of before. we have one here now.
-a few years ago i saw a pack of foxhounds find a badger in chearsley spinneys in oxfordshire. they hunted him round and round for about ten minutes. i saw him just in front of the hounds; a great, fine specimen he was too. as far as i remember, the hounds killed him in covert, and then went away on the line of a fox.
-a year or two ago three fine young badgers were captured near bourton-on-the-water, on the cotswolds. when i was shown them i was told they would not feed in confinement. finding a large lobworm, i picked it up and gave it to one of them. he ate it with the utmost relish. his brown and grey little body shook with emotion when i spoke to him kindly--just as a dog trembles when you pet him. i am not certain, however, whether the badger trembled out of gratitude for the lobworm or out of rage and disgust at being confined in a cage.
-badgers would make delightful pets if they had a little less scent: nature, as everybody knows, has endowed them with this quality to a remarkable degree; they have the power of emitting or retaining it at their own discretion.
-badger-baiting with terriers is not an amusement which commends itself to humane sportsmen. it is hard luck on the terriers, even more than on the badger. the dogs have a very bad time if they go anywhere near him.
-talking of terriers, how endless are the instances of superhuman sagacity in dogs of all kinds! i once drove twenty-five miles from a place near guildford in surrey to windsor. in the cart i took with me a little liver-coloured spaniel. when i had completed about half the journey i put the spaniel down for a run of a few miles: this was all she saw of the country. in windsor, through some cause or other, i lost her; but when i arrived home a day or two afterwards, she had arrived there before me. it should be mentioned that the journey was not along a high-road, but by cross-country lanes. how on earth she got home first, unless she came back on my scent, then, finding herself near home, took a short cut across country, so as to be there before me, it is impossible to imagine.
-how curious it is that all animals seem to know when sunday comes round!
-fish and fowl are certainly much tamer on the seventh day of the week than on any other. we had a terrier that would never attempt to follow you when you were going to church so long as you had your sunday clothes on; whilst even when he was following you on a week day, if you turned round and said "church" in a decisive tone, he would trot straight back to the house. as far as we know he had no special training in this respect. this terrier, who was a rare one to tackle a fox, has on several occasions spent the best part of a week down a rabbit burrow. when dug out he seemed very little the worse for his escapade, though decidedly emaciated in appearance. poor little fellow! he died a painless death not long ago from sheer old age. i was with him at the time, and did not even know he was ill until five minutes before he expired. the most obedient and faithful, as well as the bravest, little dog in the world, he could do anything but speak. how much we can learn from these little emblems of simplicity, gladness, and love. implicit obedience and boundless faith in those set over us, to forgive and forget unto seventy times seven, to give gold for silver, nay, to sacrifice all and receive back nothing in return,--these are some of the lessons we may learn from creatures we call dumb. perhaps they will have their reward. there is room in eternity for the souls of animals as well as of men; there is room for the london cab-horse after his life of hardship and cruel sacrifice; there is room for the innocent lamb that goes to the slaughter; there is room in those realms of infinity for every bird of the air and every beast of the field that either the necessity (that tyrant's plea) or the ignorance of man has condemned to torture, injustice, or neglect!
-the most delightful of all dogs are those rough-haired scotch deerhounds the author of "waverley" loved so well. how timid and subdued are these trusty hounds on ordinary occasions! yet how fierce and relentless to pursue and slay their natural quarry, the antlered monarch of the glen! once, in savernake forest, where the yaffels laugh all day amid the great oak trees, and the beech avenues, with their gothic foliations and lichened trunks, are the finest in the world, a young, untried deerhound of ours slipped away unobserved and killed a hind "off his own bat." though he had probably never seen a deer before, hereditary instinct was too strong, and he succumbed to temptation. yet he would not harm a fox, for on another occasion, when i was out walking, accompanied by this hound and a fox-terrier, the latter bolted a large dog fox out of a drain. when the fox appeared the deerhound made after him, and, in his attempt to dodge, reynard was bowled over on to his back. but directly he was called, the deerhound came back to our heels, apparently not considering the vulpine race fair game. i will not vouch for the accuracy of the story, but our coachman asserts that he saw this deerhound at play with a fox in our kitchen garden,--not a tame fox, but a wild one. i believe, myself, that this actually did happen, as the man who witnessed the occurrence is thoroughly reliable.
-there is no dog more knowing and sagacious in his own particular way than a well-trained retriever. what an immense addition to the pleasure of a day's partridge-shooting in september is the working of one of these delightful dogs! only the other day, when i was sitting on the lawn, a retriever puppy came running up with something in his mouth, with which he seemed very pleased. he laid it at my feet with great care and tenderness, and i saw that it was a young pheasant about a fortnight old. it ran into the house, and was rescued unharmed a few hours afterwards by the keeper, who restored it to the hencoop from whence it came. one could not be angry with a dog that was unable to resist the temptation to retrieve, but yet would not harm the bird in the smallest degree.
-one does not often see teams of oxen ploughing in the fields nowadays. within a radius of a hundred miles of london town this is becoming a rare spectacle. they are still used sometimes in the cotswolds, however, though the practice of using them must soon die out. great, slow, lumbering animals they are, but very handsome and delightful beasts to look upon. a team of brown oxen adds a pleasing feature to the landscape.
-as we come down the steep ascent which leads to our little hamlet, we often wonder why some of the cottage front doors are painted bright red and some a lovely deep blue. these different colours add a great deal of picturesqueness to the cottages; but is it possible that the owners have painted their doors red and blue for the sake of the charming distant effect it gives? these people have wonderfully good taste as a rule. the other day we noticed that some of the dreadful iron sheeting which is creeping into use in country places had been painted by a farmer a beautiful rich brown. it gave quite a pretty effect to the barn it adjoined. every bit of colour is an improvement in the rather cold-looking upland scenery of the cotswolds.
-it is difficult to understand in what the great attraction of rook-shooting consists. up to yesterday i had never shot a rook in my life. the accuracy with which some people can kill rooks with a rifle is very remarkable. i have seen my brother knock down five or six dozen without missing more than one or two birds the whole time. one would be thankful to die such an instantaneous death as these young rooks. they seem to drop to the shot without a flutter; down they come, as straight as a big stone dropped from a high wall. like a lump of lead they fall into the nettles. they hardly ever move again. it is difficult work finding them in the thick undergrowth.
-about eleven o'clock the evening after shooting the young rooks i was returning home from a neighbouring farmhouse when i heard the most lamentable sounds coming from the rookery. there seemed to be a funeral service going on in the big ash trees. muffled cawings and piteous cries told me that the poor old rooks were mourning for their children. i cannot remember ever hearing rooks cawing at that time of night before. saving the lark, "that scorner of the ground," which rises and sings in the skies an hour before sunrise, the rooks are the first birds to strike up at early dawn. one often notices this fact on sleepless nights. about 2.30 o'clock on a may morning a rook begins the grand concert with a solo in g flat; then a cock pheasant crows, or an owl hoots; moorhens begin to stir, and gradually the woodland orchestra works up to a tremendous burst of song, such as is never heard at any hour but that of sunrise.
-"now the rich stream of music winds along, deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, through verdant vales."
-how often one has heard this grand thanksgiving chorus of the birds at early dawn!
-"some say that e'en against that season cornea in which our saviour's birth is celebrated, the bird of dawning singeth all night long."
-thus wrote shakespeare of bold chanticleer; and perhaps the rooks when they are grieving for their lost ones, hold solemn requiem until the morning light and the cheering rays of the sun make them forget their woes.
-it is difficult to understand what pleasure the farmers find in shooting young rooks with twelve-bore guns. ours are always allowed a grand battue in the garden every year. they ask their friends out from cirencester to assist. for an hour or so the shots have been rattling all round the house and on the sheds in the stable-yard. the horses are frightened out of their wits. grown-up men ought to know better than to keep firing continually towards a house not two hundred yards away. a stray pellet might easily blind a man or a horse.
-farmers are sometimes very careless with their guns. out partridge-shooting one is in mortal terror of the man on one's right, who invariably carries his gun at such a level that if it went off it would "rake" the whole line. if you tell one of these gentry that he is holding his gun in a dangerous way, he will only laugh, remarking possibly that you are getting very nervous. the best plan is not to ask these well-meaning, but highly dangerous fellows to shoot with you. unfortunately it is probably the eldest son of the principal tenant on the manor who is the culprit. the best plan in such cases is to speak to the old man firmly, but courteously, asking him to try to dissuade his son from his dangerous practices.
-foxes give one a good deal of anxiety in may and june, when the cubs are about half grown. on arriving home to-day the first news i hear is that two dead cubs have been picked up: "one looks as if his head had been battered in, and the other appears to have been worried by a dog." this is the only information i can get from the keeper. it is really a serious blow; for if two have been found dead, how many others may not have died in their earth or in the woods?
-two seasons ago six dead cubs were picked up here; they had died from eating rooks which had been poisoned by some farmers. it took us a long time to get to the bottom of this affair, for no information is to be got out of gloucestershire folk; you must ferret such matters out yourself.
-there are still live cubs in the breeding-earth, for i heard them there this afternoon; so there is yet hope. but twenty acres of covert will not stand this sort of thing, considering that the hounds are "through" them once in three weeks, on an average, throughout the winter. only one vixen survived at the end of last season, though another one has turned up since. we have two litters, fortunately. where you have coverts handy to a stream of any kind, there will foxes congregate. they love water-rats and moorhens more than any other food.
-a strange prejudice exists among hunting men against cleaning out artificial earths. there was never a greater fallacy. fox-earths want looking to from time to time, say every ten years, for rabbits will render them practically useless by burrowing out in different places. a block is often formed in the drain by this burrowing, and the earth will have to be opened and the channel freed.
-the best possible preventive measure against mange is to clear out your artificial earths every ten years. as for driving the foxes away by this practice, we cannot believe it. you cannot keep foxes from using a good artificial drain so long as it lies dry and secluded and the entrance is not too large. they prefer a small entrance, as they imagine dogs cannot follow them into a small hole.
-a farmer made an earth in a hedgerow last year right away from any coverts, and, one would have thought, out of the beaten track of reynard's nightly prowls; yet the foxes took to this earth at the beginning of the hunting season, and they were soon quite established there.
-there is no mystery about building a fox-drain. reynard will take to any dry underground place that lies in a secluded spot. if it faces south--that is to say, if your earth runs in a half circle, with both entrances facing towards the south or south-west--so much the better. the entrance should not be more than about six inches square. such a hole looks uncommonly small, no doubt, but a fox prefers it to a larger one. about half way through the passage a little chamber should be made, to tempt a vixen to lay up her cubs there. when there are lots of foxes and not too many earths, they will very soon begin to work a new drain, so long as it lies in a secluded spot and within easy distance of master reynard's skirmishing grounds.
-we have lately made such an earth in a small covert, because the original earth is the wrong side of the river coln. all the good country is on the opposite side of the river to that on which the old earth is situated. foxes will seldom cross the stream when they are first found. it is hoped, therefore, that when they take to the new earth they will lie in the wood on the right side of the stream. we shall then close the old earth, and thus endeavour to get the foxes to run the good country. much may be done to show sport by using a little strategy of this kind. many a good stretch of grass country is lost to the hunt because the earths are badly distributed. it must be remembered that a fox when first found will usually go straight to his earth; finding that closed, he will make for the next earths he is in the habit of using.
-the other day, while ferreting in the coverts previous to rabbit-shooting, the keeper bolted a huge fox out of one burrow and a cat out of the other. he also tells me that he once found a hare and a fox lying in their forms, within three yards of one another, in a small disused quarry. there is no doubt that, like jack among fish, the fox is friendly enough on some days, when his belly is full. he then "makes up to" rabbits and other animals, with the intent of "turning on them" when they least expect it. without this treacherous sort of cunning, reynard would often have to go supperless to bed.
-in those drains and earths where foxes are known to lie you will often see traces of rabbits. these little conies are wonderfully confiding in the way they use a fox-earth. it is difficult to believe that they live in the drain with the foxes, but they are exceedingly fond of making burrows with an entrance to an earth. they are a great nuisance in spoiling earths by this practice. rabbits invariably establish themselves in fox-drains which have been temporarily deserted.
-foxes become very "cute" towards the end of the hunting season. they can hear hounds running at a distance of four or five miles on windy days. knowing that the earths are stopped, they leave the bigger woods and hide themselves in out-of-the-way fields and hedgerows. last season a fox was seen to leave our coverts, trot along the high-road, and ensconce himself among some laurels near the manor house. he was so easily seen where he lay in the shrubbery that a crowd of villagers stood watching him from the road. he knew the hounds would not draw this place, as it is quite small and bare, so here he stayed until dusk; then, having assured himself that the hounds had gone home, he jumped up and trotted back to the woods again.
-a flock of sheep are not always frightened at a fox. the other day an old dog fox, the hero of many a good run in recent years from these coverts (an "old customer," in fact), was observed by the keeper and two other men trying to cross the river by means of a footbridge. a flock of sheep, doubtless taking him for a dog, were frustrating his endeavours to get across; directly he set foot on dry land they would bowl him over on to his back in the most unceremonious way. this game of romps went on for about ten minutes. finally the fox, getting tired of trying to pass the sheep, trotted back over the footbridge. fifty yards up stream a narrow fir pole is set across the water. the cunning old rascal made for this, and attempted to get to the other side; but the fates were against him. there was a strong wind blowing at the time, so that when he was half way across the pool, he was actually blown off sideways into the water. and a rare ducking he got! he gave the job up after this, and trotted back into the wood. this is a very curious occurrence, because the fox was perfectly healthy and strong. he is well known throughout the country, not only for his tremendous cheek, but also for the wonderful runs he has given from time to time. he will climb over a six-foot wire fence to gain entrance to a fowl-run belonging to an excellent sportsman, who, though not a hunting man, would never allow a fox to be killed. he is reported to have had fifty, fowls out of this place during the last few months. when caught in the act in broad daylight, the fox had to be hunted round and round the enclosure before he would leave, finally climbing up the wire fencing like a cat, instead of departing by the open door.
-it is very rare that a mischievous fox, given to the destruction of poultry, is also a straight-necked one. too often these gentry know no extent of country; they take refuge in the nearest farmyard when pressed by the hounds. at the end of a run we have seen them on the roof of houses and outbuildings time after time. on one occasion last season a hunted fox was discovered among the rafters in the roof of a very high barn. the "whipper-in" was sent up by means of a long ladder, eventually pulling him out of his hiding-place by his brush. poor brute! perhaps he might have been spared after showing such marvellous strategy.
-it speaks wonders for the good-nature and unselfishness of the farmer who owns the fowl-run above alluded to that he never would send in the vestige of a claim to the hunt secretary for the poultry he has lost from time to time. but he is one of the old-fashioned yeomen of gloucestershire--a gentleman, if ever there was one--a type of the best sort of englishman. alas! that hard times have thinned the ranks of the old yeoman farmers of the cotswolds! they are the very backbone of the country; we can ill afford to lose them, with their cheery, bluff manners and good-hearted natures.
-some of the people round about are not so scrupulous in the way of poultry claims. we have had to investigate a large number in, recent years. it is a difficult matter to distinguish bonâ-fide from "bogus" claims; they vary in amount from one to twenty pounds. once only have we been foolish enough to rear a litter of cubs by hand, having obtained them from the big woods at cirencester. before the hunting season had commenced we had received claims of nineteen and fourteen pounds from neighbouring farmers for poultry and turkeys destroyed. one bailiff declared that the foxes were so bold they had fetched a young heifer that had died from the "bowssen" into the fox-covert. whether the bailiff put it there or the foxes "fetched" it i know not, but the white, bleached skull may be seen hard by the earth to this day.
-one of the claimants above named farms three hundred acres on strictly economical principles. he has allowed the land to go back to grass, and the only labour he employs on it is a one-legged boy, whom he pays "in kind." this boy arrived the other day with another poultry claim, when the following dialogue occurred:--
-"i see you have got down sixteen young ducklings on the list?"
-"yaas, the jackdars fetched they."
-"how do you know the jackdaws took them?" "'cos maister said so."
-"do you shut up your fowls at night?"
-"yaas, we shuts the daar, but the farxes gets in. it be all weared out. there be great holes in the bowssen where they gets through and fetches them."
-how can one pay poultry claims of this kind? it being absolutely impossible to verify these accounts properly, the only way is to take the general character of the claimant, paying according as you think him straightforward or the reverse. it is an insult to an honest man to offer him anything less than the amount he asks for; therefore claims which have every appearance of being bonâ fide should be settled in full. but the hunt can't afford it, one is told. in that case people ought to subscribe more. if men paid ten pounds for every hunter they owned, the income of most establishments would be more than doubled.
-the farmers are wonderfully long-suffering on the whole, but they cannot be expected to welcome a whole multitude of strangers; nor can they allow large fields to ride over their land in these bad times without compensation of some sort. slowly, but surely, a change is coming over our ideas of hunting rights and hunting courtesy; and the sooner we realise that we ought to pay for our hunting on the same scale as we do for shooting and fishing, the better will it be for all concerned.
-talking of hunting and foxes reminds me that a short time ago i went to investigate an earth to see if a vixen was laid down there. finding no signs of any cubs, i was just going away when i saw a feather sticking out of the ground a few yards from the fox-earth. i pulled four young thrushes, a tiny rabbit, and two young water-rats out of this hole, and re-buried them. the cubs, it afterwards appeared, were laid up in a rabbit burrow some distance away. but the old vixen kept her larder near her old quarters, instead of burying her supplies for a rainy day close to the hole where she had her cubs. perhaps she was meditating moving the litter to this earth on some future occasion.
-i shall never forget discovering this litter. when looking down a rabbit-hole i heard a scuffle. a young cub came up to the mouth of the hole, saw me, and dashed back again into the earth. this was the smallest place i ever saw cubs laid up in. the vixen happened to be a very little one.
-it is amusing to watch the cubs playing in the corn on a summer's evening. if you go up wind you can approach within ten yards of them. round and round they gambol, tumbling each other over for all the world like young puppies. they take little notice of you at first; but after a time they suddenly stop playing, stare hard at you for half a minute, then bolt off helter-skelter into the forest of waving green wheat.
-one word more about the scent of foxes. not long ago a man wrote to the field saying that he had proved by experiment that on the saturation or relative humidity of the air the hunter's hopes depend: in fact, he announced that he had solved the riddle of scent. it so happened that for some years the present writer had also been amusing himself with experiments of the same nature, and at one time entertained the hope that by means of the hygrometer he would arrive at a solution of the mystery. but alas! it was not to be. on several occasions when the air was well-nigh saturated, scent proved abominable. that the relative humidity of the air is not the all-important factor was often proved by the bad scent experienced just before rain and storms, when the hygrometer showed a saturation of considerably over ninety per cent. but there are undoubtedly other complications besides the evaporations from the soil and the relative humidity of the air to be considered in making an enquiry into the causes of good and bad scent. the amount of moisture in the ground, the state of the soil in reference to the all-important question of whether it carries or not, the temperature of the air, and last, but not by any means least, the condition of the quarry, be it fox, stag, or hare, are all questions of vital importance, complicating matters and preventing a solution of the mysteries of scent.
-as the atmosphere is variable, so also must scent be variable. the two things are inseparably bound up with one another. for this reason, if after a period of rainy weather we have an anti-cyclone in the winter without severe frost, and an absence of bright sunny days, we can usually depend on a scent. instead of the air rising, there is during an anti-cyclone, as we all know, a tendency towards a gentle down-flow of air or at all events a steady pressure, and this causes smoke, whether from a railway engine or a tobacco pipe, to hang in the air and scent to lie breast high.
-unfortunately the normal state of the atmospheric fluid is a rushing in of cold air and a rushing out or upwards of warmer air, causing unsettled variable equilibrium and unsettled variable scent. the barometer would be an absolutely reliable guide for the hunting man were it not for the complications already named above, complications which prevent either barometer or hygrometer from offering infallible indications of good or bad scenting days. however, scent often improves at night when the dew begins to form; and it may also suddenly improve at any time of day should the dew point be reached, owing to the temperature cooling to the point of saturation. this is always liable to occur at some time, on days on which the hygrometer shows us that there is over ninety per cent of moisture in the air. but here again radiation comes in to complicate matters; for clouds may check the formation of dew. it may safely be said, however, that other conditions being favourable, a fast run is likely to occur at any time of day should the dew point be reached. thus the hygrometer is worthy to be studied on a hunting morning.
-in may there is a good deal of weed-cutting to be done on a trout stream. our plan is to have a couple of big field days about may 12th. the weeds on over two miles of water are all cut during that time. as they are not allowed to be sent down the stream, we get them out in several different places; they are then piled in heaps, and left to rot. the operation is repeated at the end of the fishing season. about a dozen scythes tied together are used. two men hold the ends and walk up the stream, one on each side of the river, mowing as they go.
-there is a certain amount of management required in weed-cutting. if much weed is left uncut, the millers grumble; if you cut them bare, there are no homes left for the fish. the last is the worse evil of the two. the millers are usually kind-hearted men, whilst poachers can commit fearful depredations in a small stream that has been cut too bare.
-the way these limestone streams are netted is as follows: about two in the morning, when there is enough light to commence operations, a net is laid across the stream and pegged down at each end; the water is then beaten with long sticks both above and below the net. nor is it difficult to drive the trout into the trap; they rush down helter-skelter, and, failing to see any net, they soon become hopelessly entangled in its meshes. the bobbing corks intimate to the poachers that there are some good trout in the net; one end is then unpegged, and the haul is made.
-about ten trout would be a good catch. the operation is repeated four or five times, until some fifty fish have been bagged. the poachers then depart, taking care to remove all signs of their night's work, such as scales of fish, stray weeds, and bits of stick.
-in weed-cutting by hand, instead of with the long knives, it is wonderful how many trout get cut by the scythes. there used to be several good fish killed this way at each annual cutting, when the men used to walk up the stream mowing as they went. one would have thought trout would have been able to avoid the scythes, being such quick, slippery animals.
-until the present season otters have seldom visited our parts of the coln. unfortunately, however, they have turned up, and are committing sad havoc among the fish. it is such a terribly easy stream for them to work. the water is very shallow, and the current is a slow one.
-we are not well up in otter-hunting in these parts, there being no hounds within fifty miles. i have never seen an otter on the coln. but one day, at a spot near which we have noticed the billet of an otter and some fishes' heads, i heard a noise in the water, and a huge wave seemed to indicate that something bigger than a coln trout was proceeding up stream close to the bank all the way. on running up, of course i saw nothing. but half an hour afterwards i saw another big wave of the same kind. it was so close to me that if it had been a fish or a rat i must have seen him. i had a terrier with me, but of course he was unable to find an otter. a dog unbroken to the scent is worse than useless.
-on another occasion i saw a water-vole running away from some larger animal under the opposite bank of the river. some bushes prevented my seeing very well, but i am almost certain it was an otter. "a son of the marshes" mentions in one of his charming books that otters do kill water-rats. i was not aware of this fact until i read it in the book called "from spring to fall."
-the broad shallow reach of the coln in front of the manor house seems to be a favourite hunting-ground of the otter during his nocturnal rambles; for sometimes one is awakened at night by a tremendous tumult among the wild duck and moorhens that haunt the pool. they rush up and down, screaming and flapping their wings as if they were "daft."
-a few weeks after writing the above we caught a beautiful female otter in a trap, weighing some seventeen pounds. i have regretted its capture ever since. great as the number of trout they eat undoubtedly is, i do not intend to allow another otter to be trapped, unless they become too numerous. such lovely, mysterious creatures are becoming far too scarce nowadays, and ought to be rigidly preserved. last october we were shooting a withybed of two acres on the river bank, when the beaters suddenly began shouting, "an otter! an otter!" and sure enough a large dog otter ran straight down the line. this small withybed also contained three fine foxes and a good sprinkling of pheasants.
-the number of water-voles in the banks of this stream seems to increase year by year. the damage they do is not great; but the millers and the farmers do not like them, because with their numerous holes they undermine the banks of the millpound, and the water finds its way through them on to the meadows. country folk are very fond of an occasional rat hunt: they do lay themselves out to be hunted so tremendously. a rat will bolt out of his hole, dive half way across the stream, then, taking advantage of the tiniest bit of weed, he will come up to the surface, poke his nose out of the water and watch you intently. an inexperienced eye would never detect him. but if a stone is thrown at him, finding his subterfuge detected, he is apt to lose his head--either coming back towards you, and being obliged to come up for air before he reaches his hole, or else swimming boldly across to the opposite bank. in the latter case he is safe.
-tom peregrine is a great hand at catching water-voles in a landing-net. he holds the net over the hole which leads to the water, and pokes his stick into the bank above. the rat bolts out into the net and is immediately landed. house-rats--great black brutes--live in the banks of the stream as well as water-voles. they are very much larger and less fascinating than the voles. to see one of the latter species crossing the stream with a long piece of grass in his mouth is a very pretty sight they are rodents, and somewhat resemble squirrels.
-the promise of may.
-"quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus tam cari capitis?"
-about the middle of may the lovely, sweet-scenting lilac comes into bloom. it brightens up the old, time-worn barns, and relieves the monotony of grey stone walls and mossy roofs in the cotswold village.
-the prevailing colour of the cotswold landscape may be said to be that of gold. the richest gold is that of the flaming marsh-marigolds in the water meadows during may; goldilocks and buttercups of all kinds are golden too, but of a slightly different and paler hue. yellow charlock, beautiful to look upon, but hated by the farmers, takes possession of the wheat "grounds" in may, and holds the fields against all comers throughout the summer. in some parts it clothes the whole landscape like a sheet of saffron. primroses and cowslips are of course paler still. the ubiquitous dandelion is likewise golden; then we have birdsfoot trefoil, ragwort, agrimony, silver-weed, celandine, tormentil, yellow iris, st. john's wort, and a host of other flowers of the same hue. in autumn comes the golden corn; and later on in mid winter we have pale jessamine and lichen thriving on the cottage walls. so throughout the year the cotswolds are never without this colour of saffron or gold. only the pockets of the natives lack it, i regret to say.
-every cottager takes a pride in his garden, for the flower shows which are held every year result in keen competition. a prize is always given for the prettiest garden among all the cottagers. this is an excellent plan; it brightens and beautifies the village street for eight months in the year. in may the rich brown and gold of the gillyflower is seen on every side, and their fragrance is wafted far and wide by every breeze that blows.
-then there is a very pretty plant that covers some of the cottage walls at this time of year. it is the wistaria; in the distance you might take it for lilac, for the colours are almost identical.
-then come the roses--the beautiful june roses--the nimium breves flores of horace. but the roses of the cotswolds are not so short lived for all that horace has sung: you may see them in the cottage gardens from the end of may until christmas.
-how cool an old house is in summer! the thick walls and the stone floors give them an almost icy feeling in the early morning. even as i write my thermometer stands at 58° within, whilst the one out of doors registers 65° in the shade. this is the ideal temperature, neither too hot nor too cold. but it is not summer yet, only the fickle month of may.
-tom peregrine is getting very anxious. he meets me every evening with the same story of trout rising all the way up the stream and nobody trying to catch them. i can see by his manner that he disapproves of my "muddling" over books and papers instead of trying to catch trout. he cannot understand it all. meanwhile one sometimes asks oneself the question which peregrine would also like to propound, only he dare not, why and wherefore do we tread the perilous paths of literature instead of those pleasant paths by the river and through the wood? the only answer is this: the daemon prompts us to do these things, even as it prompted the men of old time.
-"there is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will."
-if there is such a thing as a "call" to any profession, there is a call to that of letters. so with an enthusiasm born of inexperience and delusive hope we embark as in a leaky and untrustworthy sailing ship, built, for ought we know, "in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark," and at the mercy of every chance breeze are wafted by the winds of heaven through chaos and darkness into the boundless ocean of words and of books. when the waves run high they resemble nothing so much as lions with arched crests and flowing manes going to and fro seeking whom they may devour, or savage dogs rushing hither and thither foaming at the mouth; and when old father neptune lets loose his hungry sea-dogs of criticism, then look out for squalls!
-but again the daemon, that still small voice echoing from the far-off shores of the ocean of time, whispers in our ear, "in the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand; for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good."
-so we sow in weakness and in fear and trembling, "line upon line, line upon line; here a little and there a little," sometimes in mirth and laughter, sometimes in tears. let us not ask to be raised in power. let us resign all glory and honour and power to the ancient of days, prime source of the strength of wavering, weak mankind. rather let us be thankful that by turning aside from "the clamour of the passing day" to tread the narrow paths of literature, however humble, however obscure our lot may have been, we gained an insight into the nobler destinies of the human soul, and learnt a lesson which might otherwise have been postponed until we were hovering on the threshold of eternity.
-in spite of complaints of east winds and night frosts, may is the nicest month in the year take it all in all. in london this is the case even more than in the country. the trees in the parks have then the real vivid green foliage of the country. there is a freshness about everything in london which only lasts through may. by june the smoke and dirt are beginning to spoil the tender, fresh greenery of the young leaves. in the early morning of may 12th, 1897, more than an inch of snow fell in the cotswolds, but it was all gone by eight o'clock. in spite of the weather, may is "the brightest, merriest month of all the glad new year." everything is at its best. man cannot be morose and ill-tempered in may. the "happy hills and pleasing shade" must needs "a momentary bliss bestow" on the saddest of us all. look at yonder thoroughbred colt grazing peacefully in the paddock: if you had turned him out a month ago he would have galloped and fretted himself to death; but now that the grass is sweet and health-giving, he is content to nibble the young shoots all day long. what a lovely, satin-like coat he has, now that his winter garments are put off! there is a picture of health and symmetry! he has just reached the interesting age of four years, is dark chestnut in colour, and sixteen hands two and a half inches in height; grazing out there, he does not look anything like that size. well-bred horses always look so much smaller than they really are, especially if they are of good shape and well proportioned. alas! how few of them, even thoroughbreds, have the real make and shape necessary to carry weight across country, or to win races! you do not see many horses in a lifetime in whose shape the critical eye cannot detect a fault. we know the good points as well as the bad of this colt, for we have had him two years. deep, sloping shoulders are his speciality; and they cover a multitude of sins. legs of iron, with large, broad knees; plenty of flat bone below the knee, and pasterns neither too long nor too upright. well ribbed up, he is at the same time rather "ragged-hipped," indicative of strength and weight-carrying power. how broad are his gaskins! how "well let down" he is! what great hocks he has! but, alas i as you view him from behind, you cannot help noticing that his hindlegs incline a little outwards, even as a cow's do--they are not absolutely straight, as they should be. then as to his golden, un-docked tail: he carries it well--a fact which adds twenty pounds to his value; but, strange to say, it is not "well set on," as a thoroughbred's ought to be. he does not show the quality he ought in his hindquarters. still his head, neck and crest are good, though his eye is not a large one. how much is he worth--twenty, fifty, a hundred, or two hundred pounds? who can tell? will he be a charger, a fourteen-stone hunter, or a london carriage horse? all depends how he takes to jumping. his height is against him,--sixteen hands two and a half inches is at least two inches too big for a hunter. nevertheless, there are always the brilliant exceptions. let us hope he will be the trump card in the pack.
-talking of horses, how admirable was that answer of dr. johnson's, when a lady asked him how on earth he allowed himself to describe the word pastern in his dictionary as the knee of a horse. "ignorance, madam, pure ignorance," was his laconic reply. so great a man could well afford to confess utter ignorance of matters outside his own sphere. but how few of mankind are ever willing to own themselves mistaken about any subject under the sun, unless it be bimetallism or some equally unfashionable and abstruse (though not unimportant) problem of the day!
-what beautiful shades of colour are noticeable in the trees in the early part of may! the ash, being so much later than the other trees, remains a pale light green, and shows up against the dark green chestnuts and the still darker firs. but what shall i say of the great spreading walnut whose branches hang right across the stream in our garden in the cotswold valley?
-about the middle of may the walnut leaves resemble nothing so much as a mass of virginia creeper when it is at its best in september. beautiful, transparent leaves of gold, intermingled with red, glisten in the warm may sunshine,--the russet beauties of autumn combined with the fresh, bright loveliness of early spring!
-not till the very end of may will this walnut tree be in full leaf. he is the latest of all the trees. the young, tender leaves scent almost as sweetly as the verbena in the greenhouse. it is curious that ash trees, when they are close to a river, hang their branches down towards the water like the "weeping willows." is this connected, i wonder, with the strange attraction water has for certain kinds of wood, by which the water-finder, armed with a hazel wand, is able to divine the presence of aqua pura hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth? what this strange art of rhabdomancy is i know not, but the "weeping" ash in our garden by the coln is one of the most beautiful and shapely trees i ever saw. it will be an evil day when some cruel hurricane hurls it to the ground. we have lost many a fine tree in recent years, some through gales, but others, alas i by the hand of man.
-a few years ago i discovered a spot about a quarter of a mile from my home which reminded me of the beautiful eton playing-fields,
-"where once my careless childhood stray'd, a stranger yet to pain."
-it consisted of a few grass fields shut off by high hedges, and completely encircled by a number of fine elm trees of great age and lovely foliage. at one end a broad and shallow reach of the coln completed the scene.
-having obtained a long lease of the place, i grubbed up the hedges, turned three small fields into one, and made a cricket ground in the midst. my object was to imitate as far as possible the "upper club" of the eton playing-fields.
-i had barely accomplished the work, the cricket ground had just been levelled, when the landlord's agent--or more probably his "mortgagee"--arrived on the scene, accompanied by a hard-headed, blustering timber merchant from cheltenham. to my horror and dismay i was informed that, money being very scarce, they contemplated making a clean sweep of these grand old elms. on my expostulating, they merely suggested that cutting down the trees would be a great improvement, as the place would be opened up thereby and made healthier.
-in the hope of warding off the evil day we offered to pay the price of some of the finest trees, although they could only legally be bought for the present proprietor's lifetime.
-the contractor, however, rather than leave his work of destruction incomplete, put a ridiculous price on them. he refused to accept a larger sum than he could ever have cleared by cutting them down. this is what cowper would have stigmatised as
-"disclaiming all regard for mercy and the common rights of man,"
-and "conducting trade at the sword's point."
-we then resolved to buy the farm. but the stars in their courses fought against us; we were unsuccessful in our attempt to purchase the freehold.
-and so the contractor's men came with axes and saws and horses and carts. for days and weeks i was haunted by that hideous nightmare, the crash of groaning trees as they fell all around, soon to be stripped of all their glorious beauty. the cruel, blasphemous shouts of the men, as they made their long-suffering horses drag the huge, dismembered trunks across the beautifully levelled greensward of the cricket ground, were positively heart-rending. ninety great elms did they strike down. a few were left, but of these the two finest came down in the great gale of march 1896.
-"sic transit gloria mundi."
-trees are like old familiar friends, we cannot bear to lose them; every one that falls reminds us of "the days that are no more." struck down in all the pride and beauty of their days, they remind us that
-"those who once gave promise of fruit for manhood's prime have passed from us for ever, gone home before their time."
-they remind me that four of my greatest friends at school, ten short years ago, are long since dead. like the trees felled by the woodman's axe, they were struck down by the sickle of the silent reaper, even as the golden sheaves that are gathered into the beautiful barns. other trees will spring up and shade the naked earth in the woods with their mantle of green: so, also,
-"others will fill our places dressed in the old light blue."
-and just as in the woods fresh young saplings are daily springing up, so also the merry voices of happy, generous boys are ringing, as i write, in the old, old courts and cloisters by the silvery thames; their merry laughter is echoed by the bare grey walls, whereon the names of those who have long been dust are chiselled in rude handwriting on the mouldering stone.
-hundreds we knew have gone down. the fatal bullet, the ravaging fever, the roaring torrent, and the sad sea waves; the slow, sure grip of consumption, the fall at polo, and the iron hoofs of the favourite hunter;--all claimed their victims.
-perhaps this is why we love to linger in the woods watching the rays of golden light reflected upon the warm, red earth, listening to the heavenly voices of the birds and the hopeful babbling of the brook. those purple hills and distant bars of gold in the western sky at the soft twilight hour are rendered ever so much more beautiful when we dimly view them through a mist of tears.
-and now your thoughts are taken back five short years; you are once more staying with your old eton friend and oxford comrade in his beautiful home in far-off wales. all is joy and happiness in that lovely, romantic home, for in six weeks' time the young squire, the best and most popular fellow in the world, is to be married to the fair daughter of a neighbouring house. is it possible that aught can happen in that short time to mar the heavenly happiness of those two twin souls? alas for the gallant, chivalrous nature i well might he have cried with his knightly ancestor of the "round table," "me forethinketh this shall betide, but god may well foredoe destiny." he had gone down to the lake in the most beautiful and romantic part of his lovely home, taking with him, as was his wont, his fishing-rod and his gun. one shot was heard, and one only, on that ill-fated afternoon, and then all, save for the songs of the birds and the rippling of the deep waters of the lake, was wrapped in silence. then followed the report--whispered through the party assembled to do honour to the future bride and bridegroom--that "bill" was missing. then came the agonising suspense and the eight hours' search throughout the long summer evening.
-late that night the father found the fair young form of his boy in a thick and tangled copse,--there it lay under the silent stars, the face upturned in its last appeal to heaven; and close by lay the deadly twelve-bore which had been the cause of all the misery and grief that followed.
-"solemn before us veiled the dark portal-- goal of all mortal. stars silent rest o'er us; graves under us silent."
-he had evidently pursued game or vermin of some sort into the dense undergrowth of the wood, and in his haste had slipped and fallen over his gun, for the shot had just grazed his heart
-who that knew him will ever forget bill llewelyn, prince of good fellows, "truest of men in everything"? in all relations of life, as in the hunting field, he went as straight as a die.
-the accidental discharge of a gun shortly after he came of age, and within a few weeks of his wedding day, has made the england of to-day the poorer by one of her most promising sons. infinite charity! infinite courage! infinite truth! infinite humility! who could do justice in prose to those rare and godlike qualities? no: miserable, weak, and ineffectual though my gift of poesy may be, yet i will not let those qualities pass away from the minds of all, save the few that knew him well, without following in the footsteps (though at an immeasurable distance) of the divine author of "lycidas," by endeavouring to render to his cherished memory "the meed of some melodious tear." for as time goes on, and the future unfolds to our view things we would have given worlds to have known long before, when the events that influenced our past actions and shaped our future destinies are seen through the dim vista of the shadowy, half-forgotten past, we must all learn the hard lesson which experience alone can teach, exclaiming with the "preacher" the old, old words, "i returned, and saw under the sun that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.... but time and chance happeneth to them all"
-lines in memory of
-william dillwyn llewelyn.
-it may be chance,--i hold it truth,-- that of the friends i loved on earth the ones who died in early youth were those of best and truest worth.
-the swift, alas! the race must lose; the battle goes against the strong,-- god wills it 'tis for us to choose, whilst life is given, 'twixt right and wrong
-'tis not for us to count the cost of losing those we most do love; he grudgeth not life's battle lost who wins a golden crown above.
-and oft beneath the shades of night, when tempests howl around these walls, a vision steals upon my sight, a footstep on the threshold falls.
-i see once more that graceful form, once more that honest hand grasps mine. once more i hear above the storm the voice i know so well is thine.
-i see again an eton boy, a gentle boy, divinely taught, and call to mind bow full of joy in friendly rivalry we sought
-the "playing-fields." then, as i yield to fancy's dreams, i see once more the hero of the cricket field, the oft-tried, trusty friend of yore.
-what tender yearnings, fond regret, these thoughts of early friendship bring! none but the heartless can forget 'mid summer days the friends of spring.
-now thoughts of oxford fill my mind: my eton friend is with me still, but changed--from boy to man; yet kind and large of heart, and strong of will,
-and blythe and gay. i recognise the athletic form, the comely face, the mild expression of the eyes, the high-bred courtesy and grace.
-with gun in hand we scour the plain, together climb the rocky ways; regardless he of wind and rain who loved to "live laborious days."
-i see again fair penllergare, those woods and lakes you loved so well; it seems but yesterday that there i parted from you! who can tell
-the reason thou art gone before? it is not given to us to know, but doubtless thou wert needed more than we who mourn thee here below.
-life's noblest lesson day by day thy fair example nobly taught-- self-sacrifice--to point the way by which the hearts of men are brought
-nearer to god. this was thy task, humbly, unknowingly fulfilled; and it were vain for us to ask why now thy voice is hushed and stilled.
-o gallant spirit, generous heart! if thou had'st lived in days gone by, thou would'st have loved to bear thy part in glorious deeds of chivalry.
-i make no apology for this digression, nor for unearthing from the bottom of my drawer lines that, written years ago, were never penned with any idea of publication. for was not the subject of those verses himself half a cotswold man?
-but now to return once more to the trees, the loss of which caused me to digress some pages back; there are compensations in all things. not every one who becomes a sojourner among the cotswold hills is fated to undergo such a trial as the loss of these ninety elms. and, notwithstanding this severe lesson, i am still glad that i alighted on the spot from which i am now writing.
-i have learnt to find pleasure in other directions now that my "eton playing-fields" have passed away for ever. i have become infected by the spirit of the downs. i love the pure, bracing air and the boundless sense of space in the open hills as much as i ever loved the more concentrated charms of the valley. and even in the valley i have possessions of which no living man is able to deprive me. from my window i can see the silvery trout stream, which, after thousands of years of restless activity, is still slowly gliding down towards the sea; i can listen on summer nights to the murmuring waterfall at the bottom of the garden, the hooting of the owls, and the other sounds which break the awful silence of the night.
-nor can the hand of man disturb the glorious timber round the house; for it is "ornamental," and therefore safe from the hands of the despoiler. storms are gradually levelling the ancient beech and ash trees in the woods, but it will be many a long day before the hand of nature has marred the beauty of what has always seemed to me to be one of the fairest spots on earth.
-summer days on the cotswolds
-"what more felicitie can fall to creature than to enjoy delight with libertie, and to be lord of all the workes of nature?"
-the finest days, when the trees are greenest, the sky bluest, and the clouds most snowy white are the days that come in the midst of bad weather. and just as there is no rest without toil, no peace without war, no true joy in life without grief, no enjoyment for the blasé, so there can be no lovely summer days without previous storms and rain, no sunshine till the tearful mists have passed away.
-there had been a week's incessant rain; every wild flower and every blade of green grass was soaked with moisture, until it could no longer bear its load, and drooped to earth in sheer dismay. but last night there came a change: the sun went down beyond the purple hills like a ball of fire; eastwards the woods were painted with a reddish glow, and life and colour returned to everything that grows on the face of this beautiful earth.
-"it seems a day (i speak of one from many singled out), one of those heavenly days which cannot die." wordsworth.
-so it is pleasant to-day to wander over the fields; across the crisp stubbles, where the thistledown is crowding in the "stooks" of black oats; past stretches of uncut corn looking red and ripe under a burning sun. white oxeye daisies in masses and groups, lilac-tinted thistles, and bright scarlet poppies grow in profusion among the tall wheat stalks. a covey of partridges, about three parts grown, rise almost at our feet; for it is early august, and the deadly twelve-bore has not yet wrought havoc among the birds. on the right is a field of green turnips, well grown after the recent rains, and promising plenty of "cover" for sportsmen in september. in the hedgerow the lovely harebells have recovered from the soaking they endured, and their bell-shaped flowers of perfect blue peep out everywhere. the sweetest flower that grows up the hedgeside is the blue geranium, or meadow crane's-bill. the humble yarrow, purple knapweed, field scabious, thistles with bright purple heads, and st. john's wort with its clean-cut stars of burnished gold and its pellucid veins, form a natural border along the hedge, where wild clematis or traveller's joy entwines its rough leaf stalks round the young hazel branches and among the pink roses of the bramble.
-by the roadside, where the dust blew before the rain and covered every green leaf with a coating of rich lime, there grow small shrubs of mallow with large flowers of pale purple or mauve; here, too, yellow bedstraw and bird's-foot lotus add their tinge of gold to the lush green grass, and the smaller bindweed, the lovely convolvulus, springs up on the barrenest spots, even creeping over the stone heaps that were left over from last winter's road mending.
-many another species of wild flower which, "born to blush unseen and waste its sweetness on the desert air," grows in the quiet cotswold lanes might here be named; but even though at times one may feel, with wordsworth,
-"to me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."
-i will leave the humble wayside plants and descend into the vale. for it is along the back brook that the tallest and stateliest wild flowers may best be seen. the scythes mowed them all down in may, and again in july, in the broad "millpound," so that they do not grow so tall by the main stream; but the back brook, the natural course of the river before the mills were made, was left unmolested by the mowers, and is a mass of life and colour.
-here grows the graceful meadow-sweet, fair and tall, and white and fragrant; here the willow-herb, glorious with pink blossoms, rears its head high above your shoulders among the sword-flags and the green rushes and "segs"; the whole bank is a medley of white meadow-sweet, scorpion-grasses, forget-me-nots, pink willow-herbs, and lilac heads of mint all jumbled up together. never was such a delightful confusion of colour! great dock leaves two feet wide clothe the path by the water-side with all the splendour of malachite.
-the breeze blows up stream, and the trout are rising incessantly, taking something small. they will not look at any artificial fly, even in the rippling breeze; there is nothing small enough in any fly-book to catch them this afternoon. but when the sun gets low, and the great brown moths come out and flutter over the water, the red palmer will catch a dish of fish. willow trees--"withies" they call them hereabouts--grow along the brook-side. so white are the backs of their oval leaves that when the breeze turns them back, the woods by the river look bright and silvery. to-morrow, when the breeze has almost died away, only the tops of the willows will be silvered; the next day, if all be calm and still, all will be green as emerald. such infinite variety is there in the woods! not only do the tints change month by month, but day by day the colour varies; so that there is always something new, some fresh effect of light and shade to delight the eye of man in the quiet english country. dotted about in the midst of the stream are little islands of forget-me-nots. the lovely light blue is reflected everywhere in the water. very beautiful are the scorpion-grasses both on the banks among the rushes and scattered about in mid stream.
-the meadows are full of life. there are sounds sweet to the ear and sights pleasing to the eye. in the new-mown water-meadow grasshoppers--such hosts of them that they could never be numbered for multitude--are chirping and dancing merrily. "they make the field ring with their importunate chink, whilst the great cattle chew the cud and are silent. how like the great and little of mankind!" as edmund burke said years ago. by catching one of these "meagre, hopping insects of the hour," you will see that their backs are green as emerald and their bellies gold: some have a touch of purple over the eyes; their thighs, which are enormously developed for jumping purposes, have likewise a delicate tinge of purple.
-contrary to the saying of izaak walton, the trout do not seem to care much for grasshoppers nowadays, although perhaps they may relish them in streams where food is less plentiful. our trout even prefer the tiny yellow frogs that are to be found in scores by the brook-side in early august. we have often offered them both in the deep "pill" below the garden; and though they would come with a dart and take the little frog, they merely looked at the grasshopper in astonishment, and seldom took one.
-as we stand on the rustic bridge above the "pill" gazing down into the smooth flowing water, dark trout glide out of sight into their homes in the stonework under the hatch. these are the fish that rise not to the fly, but prey on their grandchildren, growing darker and lankier and bigger-headed every year. wherever you find a deep hole and an ancient hatchway there you will also find these great black trout, always lying in a spot more or less inaccessible to the angler, and living for years until they die a natural death.
-was ever a place so full of fish as this "pill"? looking down into the deeper water, where the great iron hooks are set to catch the poachers' nets, i could see dozens of trout of all sizes, but mostly small. at the tail of the pool are lots of small ones, rising with a gentle dimple. as the days became hotter and the stream ran down lower and lower, the trout left the long shallow reaches, and assembled here, where there is plenty of water and plenty of food.
-standing on the bridge by the ancient spiked gate bristling with sharp barbs of iron, like rusty spear and arrow-heads (our ancestors loved to protect their privacy with these terrible barriers), i listened to the waterfall three hundred yards higher up, with its ceaseless music; the afternoon sun was sparkling on the dimpling water, which runs swiftly here over a shallow reach of gravel--the favourite spawning-ground of the trout. there is no peep of river scenery i like so much as this. thirty yards up stream a shapely ash tree hangs its branches, clothed with narrow sprays, right across the brook, the fantastic foliage almost touching the water. a little higher up some willows and an elm overhang from the other side.
-there is something unspeakably striking about a country lane or a shallow, rippling brook overarched with a tracery of fretted foliage like the roof of an old gothic building.
-who that has ever visited the village of stoke poges in buckinghamshire will forget the lane by which he approached the home and last resting-place of the poet gray? perhaps you came from eton, and after passing along a lane that is completely overhung with an avenue of splendid trees, where the thrushes sing among the branches as they sing nowhere else in that neighbourhood, you turned in at a little rustic gate. straight in front of your eyes were very legibly written on grey stone three of the finest verses of the "elegy." the monument itself is plain, not to say hideous, but the simple words inscribed thereon are unspeakably grand when read amongst the surroundings of "wood" and "rugged elm" and "yew-tree's shade," unchanged as they are after the lapse of a century and a half. the place, and more especially the lane, is a fitting abode for the spirit of the poet. one could almost hear the song of him who, "being dead, yet speaketh":
-"and the birds in the sunshine above mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed."
-gray is a poet for whom, in common with most englishmen, the present writer has a sincere respect. it has been said, however, of the "elegy" by one critic that the subject of the poem gives it an unmerited popularity, and by another--and that quite recently--that it is the "high-water mark of mediocrity." although gray's own modest dictum was the foundation of the first of these harsh criticisms, we are unable to allow the truth of the one and must strongly protest against the other. it has been reported that wolfe, the celebrated general, after reciting the "elegy" on the eve of the assault on quebec, declared that he would sooner have written such a poem than win a victory over the french. this was nearly a century and a half ago. yet after so long a lapse of time the verses still retain their hold on the minds of all classes. in spite of the fact that matthew arnold and other admirers have declared that the "elegy" was not gray's masterpiece, yet it was this poem that brought a man who accomplished but a small amount of work into such lasting fame. from beginning to end, as professor raleigh says of milton's work, the "elegy" "is crowded with examples of felicitous and exquisite meaning given to the infallible word." was ever a poem more frequently quoted or so universally plagiarised? in writing or speaking about the country and its inhabitants, if we would express ourselves as concisely as we possibly can, we are bound to quote the "elegy"; it is invariably the shortest road to a terse expression of our meaning. who can improve on "far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife," or "the short and simple annals of the poor"? if gray's "elegy" is but "a mosaic of the felicities" of those who went before, let it be remembered that had he not laboriously pieced together that mosaic, these "felicities" would have been a sealed book to the majority of englishmen. not one man in a hundred now reads some of the authors from which they were culled. and as landor said of shakespeare, "he is more original than his originals." even that strange individual, samuel johnson, who was accustomed whenever gray's poetry was mentioned either to "crab" it directly or "damn it with faint praise," towards the end of his career admitted in his "lives of the poets" that "the churchyard abounds with images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which every bosom returns an echo." but the chief value of the work seems really to lie in this: it has dignified the rural scenes and the honest rustics of england. it has invested every hoary-headed swain, every busy housewife, and every little churchyard in the country with a special dignity and a lasting charm. the traveller cannot look upon these scenes and faces without unconsciously connecting them with the lines he knows so well. gray's "elegy" will never be forgotten; for it has struck its roots deep in the national language and far down into the national heart.
-very similar to the quiet and leafy lane at stoke poges is the brook below the waterfall at a---- in the cotswolds. on your left as you look up stream from the bridge of the "pill," a moss-grown gravel path runs alongside the water under a hanging wood of leafy elms and smooth-trunked beech trees, where the ringdoves coo all day. a tangled hedge filled with tall timber trees runs up the right-hand bank. here the great convolvulus, queen of wild flowers, twists her bines among the hedge; the bell-shaped flowers are conspicuous everywhere, large and lily-white as the arum, so luxuriant is the growth of wild flowers by the brook-side.
-a silver stream is the coln hereabouts, the abode of fairies and fawns, and nymphs and dryads. but when the afternoon sun shines upon it, it becomes a stream of diamonds set in banks of emeralds, with an arched and groined roof of jasper, carved with foliations of graceful ash and willow, and over all a sky of sapphire sprinkled with clouds of pearl and opal. later on towards evening there will be floods of golden light on the grass and on the beech trees up the eastern slope of the valley and on the bare red earth under the trees, red with fifty years' beech nuts. and later still, when the distant hills are dyed as if with archil, the sapphire sky will be striped with bars of gold and dotted with coals of fire; rubies and garnets, sardonyx and chrysolite will all be there, and the bluish green of beryl, the western sky as varied as felspar and changing colour as quickly as the chameleon. and as the day declines the last beams of the setting sun will find their way through the tracery of foliage that overhangs the brook, and the waters will be tinged with a rosy glow, even as in some ancestral hall or gothic cathedral the sun at eventide pours through the blazoned windows and floods the interior with rays of soft, mysterious, coloured light.
-i have been trying to describe one of the loveliest bits of miniature scenery on earth; yet how commonplace it all reads! not a thousandth part of the beauty of this spot at sunset is here set down, yet little more can be said. how bitter to think that the true beauty of the trees, the path by the brook, and the sunlight on the water cannot be passed on for others to enjoy, cannot be stamped on paper, but must be seen to be realised! truly, as richard jefferies says somewhere, there is a layer of thought in the human brain for which there are no words in any language. we cannot express a thousandth part of the beauty of the woods and the stream; we can but dimly feel it when we see it with our eyes.
-below the "pill"--for we have been gazing up stream--some sheep are lying under a gnarled willow on the left bank; some are nibbling at the lichen and moss on the trunk, others are standing about in pretty groups of three and four. one of them has just had a ducking. trying to get a drink of water, he overbalanced himself and fell in. he walks about shaking himself, and doubtless feels very uncomfortable. sheep do not care much for bathing in cold water. you have only to see the sheep-washing in the spring to realise how they dislike it. there is a place higher up the stream called the washpool, where every day in may you can watch the men bundling the poor old sheep into the water, one after the other, and dipping them well, to free the wool from insects of all kinds. and how the trout enjoy the ticks that come from their thickly matted coats! one poor sheep is hopping about on the cricket field dead lame. perhaps that leg he drags behind is broken! why does not the farmer kill the poor brute? there is much misery of this kind caused in country places by the thoughtlessness of farmers. how much has yet to be learnt by the very men who love to describe the labourers as "them 'ere ignorant lower classes"! alas! that these things can happen among the green fields and spreading elms and the heavenly sunshine of summer days! we should have more moral courage, and do as carlyle bids us in his old solemn way: "but above all, where thou findest ignorance, stupidity, brute-mindedness, attack it, i say; smite it, wisely, unwearily, and rest not while thou livest and it lives; but smite, smite in the name of god. the highest god, as i understand it, does audibly so command thee, still audibly if thou hast ears to hear."
-on the cricket pitch, a bare hundred yards away from the river bank, is a plentiful crop of dandelions, crow's-foot, clover, and, worst of all, enormous plantains. a gravel soil is very favourable to plantains, for stones work up and the grass dies. the dreadful plantain seems to thrive anywhere and everywhere, and on bare spots where grass cannot live he immediately appears. rabbits have been making holes all over the pitch, and red spikes of sorrel, wonderfully rich and varied in colour, rise everywhere at the lower end of the field towards the river. the cricket ground has been somewhat neglected of late.
-there is a great elm tree down close to the ground--the only tree that the winter gales had left to shade us on hot summer days. it came down suddenly, without the slightest warning; and underneath it that most careless of all keepers, tom peregrine, had left the large mowing-machine and the roller. so careless are some of these gloucestershire folk that sooner than do as i had ordered and put the mowing-machine in the barn hard by, they must leave it in the open air and under this ill-fated tree. down came my last beloved elm, smashing the mowing-machine and putting an end to all thoughts of cricket here this summer. it will be ages before the village carpenter will come with his timber cart and draw the tree away. a gloucestershire man cannot do a job like this in under two years; they are always so busy, you see, in gloucestershire--never a moment to spare to get anything done!
-there was a time when the chief delight of summer lay in playing cricket. what ecstasy it was to be well set and scoring fast on the hard-baked ground (the harder the better), cutting to the boundary when the ball pitched short on the off, and driving her hard along the ground when they pitched one up! what could surpass the joy of scoring a century in those long summer days? now we would as soon spend the holidays in the woods and by the busy trout stream, reading and taking note of the trees and the birds and the rippling of the waters as they flow onwards, ever onwards, towards the sea. there comes a time to all men, sooner or later, when we say to ourselves, cui bono? in a few short years i shall no longer be able to hit the ball so hard, and in the "field" i am already becoming a trifle slow. then do we take to ourselves pursuits that we can follow until the limbs are stiffened with age and the hair is white as snow.
-having spent the best years of life in the pursuit of pleasures that, however engrossing, nevertheless bore no real and lasting fruit, we finally fall back on interests that will last a lifetime, perhaps an eternity--for who knows how much of knowledge we shall take with us to another world? aristotle was not far wrong when he described earthly happiness as a life of contemplation, with a moderate equipment of external good fortune and prosperity. there is no book so well worthy to be studied as the book of nature, no melodies like those of the field and fallow, wood and wold, and the still small voice of the busy streams labouring patiently onwards day by day.
-mr. aubrey de vere relates an amusing story about sir william rowan hamilton which exactly illustrates my meaning: "when he had soared into a high region of speculative thought he took no note of objects close by. a few days after our first meeting we walked together on a road, a part of which was overflowed by a river at its side. our theme was the transcendental philosophy, of which he was a great admirer. i felt sure that he would not observe the flood, and made no remark on it. we walked straight on till the water was half way up to our knees. at last he exclaimed, 'what's this? we seem to be walking through a river. had we not better return to the dry land?'"
-there is a spot in the woods by the river coln that is almost untrodden by man. it is the favourite resort of foxes. nobody but myself and the earth-stopper has been there for years and years, save that when the hounds come the huntsman rides through and cheers the pack. it is in the conyger wood. no path leads through its quiet recesses, where ash and elm and larch and spruce, mostly self-sown, are mingled together, with a thick growth of elder spread beneath them. it was here, in an ancient, disused quarry, that the keeper pointed out not long since the secret dwelling-house of the kingfishers. a small crevice in the limestone rock, from which a disagreeable smell of dried fish bones issued forth, formed the outer entrance to the nest. one could not see the delicate structure itself, for it appeared to be several feet within the rock. a mass of powdered fish bones and the pungent odour from within were all the outward signs of the inner nest. by standing on a jutting ledge of the soft cretaceous rock, and holding on by another ledge, which appeared not unlikely to come down and crush you, one could peep into the hole and comfort oneself with the thought that one was nearer a kingfisher's nest than is usually vouchsafed to mortal man. it would be easy to get ladder and pickaxe and break open the rock until the nest was reached, but why disturb these lovely birds? they have built here year by year for centuries; even now some of this year's brood may be seen among the willows by the back brook.
-from this quarry was dug in the year 1590 the stone to build the old manor house yonder. a few miles away toward burford is the quarry from which men say christopher wren brought some of the stone to raise st. paul's cathedral. yet the local people do not care a bit for this beautiful freestone of the cotswold hills. they want to bring granite from afar for their village crosses, and ugly blue slates for the roofs of the houses. at a parish council meeting the other day it was seriously proposed to erect a "jubilee hall" of red brick in our village. anything for a change, you see; these people would not be mortal if they did not love a change. the pure grey limestone is commonplace hereabouts; i have actually heard it said that it will not last. yet in every village stand the old norman churches, built entirely of local stone, walls and roof; and many an old manor house as well lies in our midst, as good as it was three hundred years ago. to me, this limestone of the hills is one of the most beautiful features of the cotswold country. i love to stand in a limestone quarry and mark the layers and ponderous blocks of clean white virgin rock--a tiny cleft in "the great stone floor which stretches over the face of the earth and under the limitless expanse of the sea." that solid cretaceous mass is but the remnants of the countless inhabitants of the old seas,--life changed into solid, hard rock; and even now, as the green grass and the sweet sainfoin spring up on the surface, feeding the flocks and herds that will soon in their turn feed mankind, earth is turning back again into life. thus onwards in an endless cycle, even as the earth goes round, and the waters return to the place from whence they came, does nature's work go on; and when we consider these things, eternity and infinity lose part of their strangeness. does it seem strange when we look upon this glorious country?--in may a sea of golden buttercups, in summer a sea of waving grass, and in the autumn a sea of golden corn; once it was a sea of salt water. and these great rounded banks, these hills and valleys, these billowy wolds,--could they but speak to us might tell strange things of the passing of the waters and of the inhabitants of the old ocean ages and ages ago; the mystery of the sea would be sung in every vale and echoed back by every rolling down.
-a very wonderful matter it certainly is that the stone in which the whole history of the country-side is writ, not only in rolling downs and limestone streams, but even in church, tithe-barn, farm, and cottage, as well as in the walls and the roads and the very dust that blows upon them, should be nothing more nor less than a mass of dead animals that lived generation after generation, thousands of years ago, at the bottom of the sea.
-there is silence in the woods--the drowsy silence of summer. most of the birds have gone to the cornfields. an ash copse is never so full of birds as the denser woodlands, where the oaks grow stronger on a stiff clay soil. here are no laughing yaffels, no cruel, murderous shrikes, and very few song-birds. still, there are always the pigeons and the cushats, the wicked magpies and the screaming "jaypies," as the local people call the jays. then, too, there are the birds down among the watercress and the brooklime in the clear pool below the spring, moorhens occasionally awakening the echoes by running down a weird chromatic scale or calling with their loud and mellow note to their friends and relations over at the brook; here, too, the softer croak of the mallard and the wild duck is also heard. a hawk, chasing some smaller bird, is darting and hovering over the tops of the firs, but, catching a glimpse of me, disappears from sight. presently a little bird, with an eye keener even than the cruel hawk's, comes out from the hazels and perches on a post some ten yards away. it is a fly-catcher. as he sits he turns his eyes in every direction, on the look-out for dainty insects. he seems to have eyes at the back of his head, for instantly he sees a fly in the air right behind him, makes a dash, catches it, and flies on to the next post. he repeats the performance there, then once more changes his ground. when he has made another successful raid, he returns to his first post, always hunting in a chosen circuit, and always catching flies. he was here yesterday, and will be here again to-morrow. when you try to approach him, however, he flies away and hides himself in the firs.
-if there are not many birds in the woods just now, still, there is always the beauty of the trees. how marvellous is the symmetry of form and colouring in the trunk and branches of a big ash tree! if you put mercury into a solution of nitrate of silver, and leave them for a few days to combine, the result will be a precipitation of silver in a lovely arborescent form, the arbor dianae, beautiful beyond description. such are my favourite ash trees when the summer sunshine sparkles on them. it is their bare, silvered trunks that give the special charm to these hanging woods. they stand out from dark recesses filled with alder and beech and ivy-mantled firs, rising in bold but graceful outline; columns of silver, touched here and there with the sad gold and green shades of lichen and moss. the moss that mingles with golden lichens is of a soft, velvety hue, like a mantle of half drapery on a beautiful white statue. and, oddly enough, though ferns do not grow on the limestone soil of the cotswolds, yet on the first story so to speak of every big ash tree by the river, as well as on the pollard willows, there is a beautiful little fernery springing up out of the moss and lichen, which seems to thrive most when the lichen thrives--in the winter rather than in the summer. then, too, the foliage of all kinds of trees and shrubs is not only different in form, but the minutest serrations vary; so that the leaves of two kinds of trees are no more alike than any two human faces are alike. the elm leaves are rough to the touch, like sandpaper, and their edges are clearly serrated; those of the beeches are smooth as parchment, and though the edges appear at first sight to be almost clean cut, they have very slight serrations, as if nature had rounded them with a blunt knife. the lobed ivy leaves are likewise highly polished, and they have sharp, pointed tips. the leaves of the common stinging-nettle ("'ettles" the labourers call them) have deep indents all round them. a great dock leaf, in which the chives have a strange resemblance to the arteries in the human frame, has small shallow indents all round it. hazels are rough and almost round in form, save for a pointed tip at the end; they have ragged edges and ill-defined serrations. everybody knows the sycamore from its five lobed leaves; and the chestnuts and oaks are, again, as different as possible. these are only a few instances; one might go on for a long time showing the endless variations of form in foliage.
-then there is the remarkable difference in colour and shade; not only are there a dozen different greens in one wood, but in one and the same beech you may see a marked contrast in the tone of its leaves. for about midsummer some trees put forth a second growth of foliage, so that there is the vivid yellow tint of the fresh shoots and the dark olive of the older leaves on one and the same branch. of the rich autumnal shades i am not speaking; they would require a chapter to themselves.
-there are other things to be noted in the woods besides the trees and the birds: lots of rabbits and squirrels, not to mention an occasional hedgehog. squirrels are the most delightful of all the furred denizens of the woods. running up the trees, with their long brushes straight out behind, they are not unlike miniature foxes. the slenderness of the twigs on which they manage to find support is one of the greatest wonders of the woods. the harmless hedgehog, as everybody is aware, rolls himself up into a lifeless ball of bristles on being disturbed. by staying quietly by him and addressing him in an encouraging tone, i lately induced a very large hedgehog to unroll himself and creep slowly along close to my feet.
-it is very extraordinary how all wild animals, especially when young, can be won by kindness. i once came across a young hedgehog about three-parts grown; he was running about on the grass in front of the house in broad daylight, and kept poking his little nose into the earth searching for emmets and grubs. i made friends with him, dug him up some worms, and in less than half an hour he became as tame as possible. tom peregrine, the keeper, stood by and roared with laughter at his antics, saying he had never seen such a "comical job" in all his life. and it really was a curious sight. the hedgehog, with the merriest twinkle in his eyes, would take the worms out of my hand; and when i dangled them five or six inches off the ground, he would rear up on his hindlegs and snatch and grab until he secured them. then he would sit up and scratch himself like a dog. he would allow me to take him up in my hands and stroke him, and yet not retire into his bristly shell. he ate a dozen worms and a bumble-bee straight off the reel, and then with all the gluttony of the pig tribe he went searching about for more food. i noticed that he ate the grass, in the same way as dogs do, for medicinal purposes. we put him into a large box with some hay in it, and as he still seemed hungry that evening, we gave him a couple of cockchafers from the kitchen, which he appeared to relish mightily. the little fellow was as happy as a king, crying and squeaking whenever we went to look at him, and hunting round the box for food. but, alas! we had overfed him. to our intense regret he died the next day from acute indigestion.
-there are but few snakes or vipers in the district of which i am writing. but quite recently a man found a large trout about eighteen inches in length lying dead in the coln, and protruding from the mouth of the fish was a large snake, also dead. the snake must have been swimming in the water (as they are known to do occasionally), and the trout being in a backwater, where food was scarce, must have seized the snake and choked himself in his efforts to bolt it this was a remarkable occurrence, because a coln trout is most particular as to his bill of fare, and snakes are certainly not usually included in the list. there is such a plentiful supply of larvae, caddis, "stone-loach," fresh-water shrimps, crayfish, and other crustaceans, to say nothing of flies, minnows, and small fry, that a trout would very seldom attack a snake. a large lobworm, however, as every one knows, is a very attractive bait for any kind of fresh-water fish except pike.
-stoats with reddish-brown backs and yellow bellies may often be seen hunting the rabbits, and the little weasels may sometimes be drawn out of their holes in the walls if one makes a squeaking noise with the lips. stoats usually hunt singly, weasels in packs and pairs.
-but we must leave the woods, for the evening shadows are lengthening and the "golden evening brightens in the west." it is time to go up to the cornfields on the hill and see the sun set. i have said that there is no path through this wood; it is sacred to foxes. they are not here now, however; they will not be back till all the corn is cut. the wheatfields are their summer quarters.
-it is no easy matter to get out of a tangled wood in august. the stinging-nettles are seven feet high in places; we must hold our hands high above our heads and plough our way through them. when we finally emerge we are covered from head to foot with large prickly burrs from the seeding burdocks, as well as with the small round burrs of the goose-grass. then
-"on and up where nature's heart beats strong amid the hills."
-as we pass onwards over the cornfields towards a piece of high ground from which it is our wont to watch the sun set, a silvery half-moon peeps out between the clouds. in the north-west the range of limestone hills is already tinged with purple. in the highest heaven are bars of distant cloud, so motionless that they appear to be sailing slowly against the wind. lower down, dusky, smoke-like clouds, tinged here and there with a rosy hue, are flying rapidly onwards, ever onwards, in the sky. later on the higher clouds will turn deep red, whilst brighter and brighter will glow the moon.
-yonder, twenty-five miles away, the old white horse is just visible upon the distant chalk downs. overhead the sky has the deep blue of mazarine, but westwards and south-west the colour is light olive green, gradually changing to an intensely bright yellow. heavy banks of clouds are slowly rising in the south-west; the bleating of sheep at the ancient homestead half a mile away is the only sound to be heard. as the sun goes down to-night it resembles a great ship on fire amidst the breakers on a rockbound coast; for the western sky is dashed with fleecy clouds, like the spray that beats against the chalk cliffs on the shore of the mighty atlantic; and amid the last plunges of the doomed vessel the spray is tinged redder and redder, ere with her human cargo she disappears amid the surf. but no sooner has she sunk into the abyss than the foam and the fierce breakers die away, and a wondrous calm broods over all things. in twenty minutes' time nothing is left in the western sky but a tiny bar of golden cloud that cannot yet quite die away, reminding me, as i still thought about the burning ship and her ill-fated crew, of
-"the golden key which opes the palace of eternity."
-but eastwards, above the old legendary white horse, the "empress of the night," serene and proudly pale, is driving her car across the darkening skies.
-it is in the autumn that life in an old manor house on the cotswolds has its greatest charm; for one of the chief characteristics of a house in the depths of the country surrounded by a broad manor is the game. the whole atmosphere of such a place savours of rabbits and hares and partridges. there may be no pheasant-rearing and comparatively little game of any kind, yet the place is, nevertheless, associated with sport with the gun. ten to one there are guns, old and new, hanging up in the hall or the smoking-room, and perhaps fishing-rods too. there is a bond between the house and the fields around, and the connecting link is the game. time was when the squire in these english villages lived on the produce of the estate: game, fish, and fowl, and the stock at the farm supplied his simple wants throughout the year. huge game larders are yet to be seen in the lower regions of the manor house; you must pass through them to reach the still more ample wine cellars. nearer london there is not much connection nowadays between the house and the land--you must walk on the roads; but away in the country it is over the broad fields that you roam. even on a small manor of two thousand acres you may walk a dozen miles in an afternoon and not pass the boundary fence.
-it is very surprising that there is not more demand for country houses in england when one considers that an extensive demesne may be rented at a price which is paid for a small flat in unfashionable kensington. the local term in gloucestershire for renting a manor is "holding the liberty"--the old saxon word. the term is singularly expressive of the freedom possessed by the man who exchanges the life of the town or the villa for a manor in one of the remote counties. he who enjoys the sporting rights, with license (as the leases run) to hunt, fish, course, hawk, or sport without the labour and loss of farming the land, possesses all the pleasures of the squire's existence with few of its drawbacks and responsibilities. yet many a fine old house in the country remains unlet because the life is considered a dull one by those who have not been brought up to it. with nature's book spread so amply before our eyes, the country is never dull. at no time of life is it too late to commence the study of this book of nature. the faculty of observation is one that is easily acquired. it is not a case of nascitur non fit. with tolerably good eyesight and a determination to learn, a man soon
-"finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything."
-and the habit of observing once acquired, we can never lose it till we die.
-of course those who rent a place in preference to purchasing it miss one of the greatest and most useful privileges the country can confer--that of following in the footsteps of him who
-"strove for sixty widow'd years to help his homelier brother man, served the poor and built the cottage, rais'd the school and drained the fen."
-these are the true delights of a country existence; and it is, i think, incumbent on the really rich men of england, if they have the welfare of the nation at heart, to hold a stake, however small, in the land, even at a sacrifice of income. i refer to men with incomes ranging from ten to a hundred thousand pounds per annum, who would not feel the loss of interest that would possibly accrue on an exchange of investment from "the elegant simplicity of the three per cents." to an agricultural estate in the country. they may be giving gold for silver in the transaction, but will be amply repaid in a thousand different ways. how infinitely preferable the existence of the poor countryman, even though times be hard, to that of the misguided being of whom it may be said:
-"through life's dark road his sordid way he wends-- an incarnation of fat dividends "!
-it is probable that the bicycle will cause a larger demand for remote country houses. to the writer, who, previous to this summer, had never experienced the poetry of motion which a bicycle coasting downhill, with a smooth road and a favourable wind, undoubtedly constitutes, the invention seems of the greatest utility. it brings places sixty miles apart within our immediate neighbourhood. let the south wind blow, and we can be at quaint old tewkesbury, thirty miles away, in less than three hours. a northerly gale will land us at the "blowing-stone" and the old white house of berkshire with less labour than it takes to walk a mile. yet in the old days these twenty miles were a great gulf fixed between the gloucestershire natives and the "chaw-bacons" over the boundary. their very language is as different as possible. to this day the villagers who went to the last "scouring of the horse" and saw the old-fashioned backsword play, talk of the expedition with as much pride as if they had made a pilgrimage to the antipodes.
-as september draws nigh and the days rapidly shorten, the merry hum of the thrashing machine is heard all day long. the sound comes from the homestead across the road, and buzzes in my ears as i sit and write by the open window. how wonderful the evolution of the thrashing machine! how rough-and-ready the primitive methods of our forefathers! first of all there was the eastern method of spreading the sheaves on a floor of clay, and allowing horses and oxen to trample on the wheat and tread out the corn. not less ancient was the use of the old-fashioned flail--an instrument only discarded within the memory of living man. yet what a wonderful difference there is between the work accomplished in a day with the flails and the daily output of the modern thrashing machine!
-in the porch of the manor house, amid an accumulation of old traps and other curious odds and ends there hangs an ancient and much-worn flail. two stout sticks, the handstaff and the swingle, attached to each other by a strong band of gut, constitute its simple mechanism. the wheat having been strewn on the barn floor, the labourer held the handstaff in both hands, swung it over his head, and brought the swingle down horizontally on to the heads of ripe corn. contrast this fearfully laborious process with the bustling, hurrying machine of to-day. and yet with all this improvement the corn can scarcely be thrashed out at a profit. so out of joint are the times and seasons that the foreigner is allowed to cut out the home producer. half the life of the country-side has gone, and no man dare whisper "protection."
-even in these bad times the man with a head on his shoulders above the average of his neighbours comes forth to show what can be done with energy and pluck. twenty years ago a labouring man, who "by crook or by hook" had saved a hundred pounds, bought a thrashing machine (probably second-hand) he took it round to the various farms, and did the thrashing at so much per day. by and by he had saved enough money to take a farm. a few years later he had two thrashing machines travelling the country, and in this poor district is now esteemed a wealthy man. i always found him an excellent game-preserver and a most straightforward fellow. another farming neighbour of mine, however, was always talking about his ignorance and lack of caste. all classes, from the peer to the peasant, seem to resent a man's pushing his way from what they are pleased to consider a lower station into their own.
-in the autumn gipsies are to be seen travelling the roads, or sitting round the camp fire, on their way to the various "feasts" or harvest festivals. "have you got the old gipsy blood in your veins?" i asked the other day of a gang i met on their way to quenington feast "always gipsies, ever since we can remember," was the reply. fathers, grandfathers were just the same,--always living in the open air, winter and summer, and always moving about with the vans. in the winter hawking is their occupation. "oh no! they never felt the cold in winter; they could light the fire in the van if they wanted it."
-although many of the farmers here have given up treating their men to a spread after the harvest is gathered in, there is still a certain amount of rejoicing. the villagers have a little money over from extra pay during the harvest, so that the gipsies do not do badly by going the round of the villages at this time. the village churches are decorated in a very delightful manner for these feasts: such huge apples, carrots, and turnips in the windows and strewn about in odd places; lots of golden barley all round the pulpit and the font; and perhaps there will be bunches of grapes, such as grow wild on the cottage walls, hung round the pulpit. then what could look prettier against the white carved stone than the russet and gold leaves of the virginia creeper? and these they freely use in the decorations. if one wants to see good taste displayed in these days, one must go to simple country places to find it. at christmas the old gothic fane is hung with festoons of ivy and of yew in the old fashion of our forefathers.
-i paid a visit to my old friend john brown the other day, as i thought he would be able to tell me something about the harvest feasts of bygone days. he is a dear old man of some seventy-eight summers, though somewhat of the laudator temporis acti school; but what good-nature and sense of humour there is in the good, honest face!
-"fifty year ago 'twere all mirth and jollity," he replied to our enquiry as to the old times. "there was four feasts in the year for us folk. first of all there was the sower's feast,--that would be about the end of april; then came the sheep-shearer's feast,--there'd be about fifteen of us as would sit down after sheep-shearing, and we'd be singing best part of the night, and plenty to eat and drink; next came the feast for the reapers, when the corn was cut about august; and, last of all, the harvest home in september. ah! those were good times fifty years ago. my father and i have rented this cottage eighty-six years come michaelmas; and my father's grandfather lived in that 'ere housen, up that 'tuer' there, nigh on a hundred years afore that. i planted them ash trees in the grove, and i mind when those firs was put in, near seventy years ago. ah! there was some foxes about in those days; trout, too, in the 'bruk'--it were full of them. you'll have very few 'lets' for hunting this season; 'twill be a mild time again. last night were hollandtide eve, and where the wind is at hollandtide there it will stick best part of the winter. i've minded it every year, and never was wrong yet the wind is south-west to-day, and you'll have no 'lets' for hunting this time."
-"lets" appear to be hindrances to hunting in the shape of frosts. it is an anglo-saxon word, seldom used nowadays, though it is found in the dictionary; and our english prayer book has the words "we are sore let and hindered in running the race," etc. shakespeare too employs it to signify a "check" with the hounds.
-as i left, and thanked john brown for his information, he handed me a little bit of paper, whereon was written: "to john brown 1 day minding the edge at the picked cloos 2s three days doto," etc. i found that this was his little account for mending the hedge at the "picket close."
-a fine stamp of humanity is the cotswold labourer; and may his shadow never grow less.
-"princes and lords may flourish or may fade, a breath can make them, as a breath has made; but a bold peasantry, their country's pride, when once destroyed can never be supplied."
-fresh and health-giving is the breeze on the wolds in autumn, like the driest and oldest iced champagne. in the rough grass fields tough, wiry bents, thistles with purple flowers, and the remnants of oxeye daisies on brittle stalks rise almost to the height of your knees. lovely blue bell-flowers grow in patches; golden ragwort, two sorts of field scabious, yellow toad-flax, and occasionally some white campion remain almost into winter. where the grass is shorter masses of shrivelled wild thyme may be seen. the charlock brightens the landscape with its mass of colour among the turnips until the end of november, if the season be fairly mild. but the hedges and trees are the glory of "the happy autumn fields." the traveller's joy gleams in the september sunlight as the feathery awns lengthen on its seed vessels. what could be more beautiful! later on it becomes the "old man's beard," and the hedges will be white with the snowy down right up to christmas, until the winter frosts have once more scattered the seeds along the hedgerow. of a rich russet tint are the maple leaves in every copse and fence. on the blackthorn hang the purple sloeberries, like small damsons, luscious and covered with bloom. tart are they to the taste, like the crab-apples which abound in the hedges. these fruits are picked by the poor people and made into wine. crab-apples may be seen on the trees as late as january. blackberries are found in extraordinary numbers on this limestone soil, and the hedges are full of elder-berries, as well as the little black fruit of the privet. add to these the red berries of the hawthorn or the may, the hips and haws, the brown nuts and the succulent berries of the yew, and we have an extraordinary variety of fruits and bird food. woodbine or wild honeysuckle may often be picked during october as well as in the spring. by the river the trout grow darker and more lanky day by day as the nights lengthen. the water is very, very clear. "you might as well throw your 'at in as try to catch them," says tom peregrine. the willows are gold as well as silver now, for some of the leaves have turned; while others still show white downy backs when the breeze ruffles them. in the garden by the brook-side the tall willow-herbs are seeding; the pods are bursting, and the gossamer-like, grey down--the "silver mist" of tennyson--is conspicuous all along the brook. the water-mint and scorpion-grasses remain far into november, and the former scents more sweetly as the season wanes. but
-"heavily hangs the broad sunflower, over its grave in the earth so chilly; heavily hangs the hollyhock; heavily hangs the tiger lily."
-an old wild duck that left the garden last spring to rear her progeny in a more secluded spot half a mile up stream has returned to us. every morning her ten young ones pitch down into the water in front of the house, and remain until they are disturbed; then, with loud quacks and tumultuous flappings, they rise in a long string and fly right away for several miles, often returning at nightfall. such wild birds are far more interesting as occasional visitors to your garden than the fancy fowl of strange shape and colouring often to be seen on ornamental water. a teal came during the autumn of 1897 to the sanctuary in front of the house, attracted by the decoys; she stayed six weeks with us, taking daily exercise in the skies at an immense height, and circling round and round. unfortunately, when the weeds were cut, she left us, never to return.
-by the end of october almost all our summer birds have left us. first of all, in august, went the cuckoo, seeking a winter resort in the north of africa. the swifts were the next to go. after a brief stay of scarce three months they disappeared as suddenly in august as they came in may. the long-tailed swallows and the white-throated martins were with us for six months, but about the middle of october they were no more seen. all have gone southwards towards the afric shore, seeking warmth and days of endless sunshine. gone, too, the blackcap, the redstart, and the little fly-catcher; vanishing in the dark night, they gathered in legions and sped across the seas. one night towards the end of september, whilst walking in the road, i heard such a loud, rushing sound in front, beyond a turning of the lane, that i imagined a thrashing machine was coming round the corner among the big elm trees. but on approaching the spot, i found the noise was nothing more nor less than the chattering and clattering of an immense concourse of starlings. the roar of their wings when they were disturbed in the trees could be heard half a mile away. although a few starlings remain round the eaves of the houses throughout the winter, vast flocks of them assemble at this time in the fields, and some doubtless travel southwards and westwards in search of warmer quarters. the other evening a large flock of lapwings, or common plover, gave a very fine display--a sort of serpentine dance to the tune of the setting sun, all for my edification. they could not quite make up their minds to settle on a brown ploughed field. no sooner had they touched the ground than they would rise again with shrill cries, flash here and flash there, faster and faster, but all in perfect time and all in perfect order--now flying in long drawn out lines, now in battalions; bowing here, bowing there; now they would "right about turn" and curtsey to the sun. a thousand trained ballet dancer; could not have been in better time. it was as if all joined hands, dressed in green and white; for at every turn a thousand white breasts gleamed in the purple sunset. the restless call of the birds added a peculiar charm to the scene in the darkening twilight.
-of our winter visitants that come to take the place of the summer migrants the fieldfare is the commonest and most familiar. ere the leaf is off the ash and the beeches are tinged with russet and gold, flocks of these handsome birds leave their homes in the ice-bound north, and fly southwards to england and the sunny shores of france. such a rara avis as the grey phalarope--a wading bird like the sandpiper--occasionally finds its way to the cotswolds. wild geese, curlews, and wimbrels with sharp, snipe-like beaks, are shot occasionally by the farmers. a few woodcocks, snipe, and wildfowl also visit us. in the winter the short-eared owls come; they are rarer than their long-eared relatives, who stay with us all the year. the common barn owl, of a white, creamy colour, is the screech owl that we hear on summer nights. brown owls are the ones that hoot; they do not screech.
-curiously enough i missed the corncrake's well-known call in the meadows by the river in the springtime of 1897; and not one was bagged in september by the partridge-shooters. this is the first year they have been absent. i always looked for their pleasing croak in may by the trout stream, and invariably shot several while partridge-shooting in former years.
-it is a pity mankind is so little addicted to being out of doors after sunset. some of the most beautiful drives and walks i have ever enjoyed have been those taken at night. driving out one evening from cirencester, the road on either side was illuminated with the fairy lights of countless glow-worms. it is the female insect that is usually responsible for this wonderful green signal taper; the males seldom use it. whereas the former is merely an apterous creeping grub, the latter is an insect provided with wings. flying about at night, he is guided to his mate by the light she puts forth; and it is a peculiar characteristic of the male glow-worm, that his eyes are so placed that he is unable to view any object that is not immediately beneath him.
-it is early in summer that these wonderful lights are to be seen; june is the best month for observing them. during july and august glow-worms seem to migrate to warmer quarters in sheltered banks and holes, nor is their light visible to the eye after june is out, save on very warm evenings, and then only in a lesser degree.
-the glow-worms on this particular night were so numerous as to remind one of the fireflies in the tropics. at no place are these lovely insects more numerous and resplendent than at kandy in ceylon. myriads of them flit about in the cool evening atmosphere, giving the appearance of countless meteors darting in different directions across the sky.
-in the clear cotswold atmosphere very brilliant meteors are observable at certain seasons of the year. never shall i forget the strange variety of phenomena witnessed whilst driving homewards one evening in autumn from the railway station seven miles away. there had been a time of stormy, unsettled weather for some weeks previously, and the meteorological conditions were in a very disturbed state. but as i started homewards the stars were shining brightly, whilst far away in the western sky, beyond the rolling downs and bleak plains of the cotswold hills, shone forth the strange, mysterious, zodiacal light, towering upwards into a point among the stars, and shaped in the form of a cone. it was the first occasion this curious, unexplained phenomenon had ever come under my notice, and it was awe inspiring enough in itself. but before i had gone more than two miles of my solitary journey, great black clouds came up behind me from the south, and i knew i was racing with the storm. then, as "the great organ of eternity began to play" and the ominous murmurs of distant thunder broke the silence of the night, a stiff breeze from the south seemed to come from behind and pass me, as if travelling quicker than my fast-trotting nag. like a whisper from the grave it rustled in the brown, lifeless leaves that still lingered on the trees, making me wish i was nearer the old house that i knew was ready to welcome me five miles on in the little valley, nestling under the sheltering hill. and soon more clouds seemed to spring up suddenly, north, south, east, and west, where ten minutes before the sky had been clear and starry. and the sheet lightning began to play over them with a continuous flow of silvery radiance, north answering south, and east giving back to west the reflected glory of the mighty electric fluid. but the centre of the heavens was still clear and free from cloud, so that there yet remained a large open space in front of me, wherein the stars shone brighter than ever. and as i gazed forward and upward, and urged the willing horse into a twelve-mile-an-hour trot, the open space in the heavens revealed the glories of the finest display of fireworks i have ever seen. first of all two or three smaller stars shot across the hemisphere and disappeared into eternal space. but suddenly a brilliant light, like an enormous rocket, appeared in the western sky, far above the clouds. first it moved in a steady flight, hovering like a kestrel above us; then, with a flash which startled me out of my wits and brought my horse to a standstill, it rushed apparently towards us, and finally disappeared behind the clouds. it was some time before either horse or driver regained the nerve which had for a time forsaken them; and even then i was inclined to attribute this wonderful meteoric shower to a display of fireworks in a neighbouring village, so close to us had this last rocket-like shooting star appeared to be. a meteor which is sufficiently brilliant to frighten a horse and make him stop dead is of rare occurrence. i was thankful when i reached home in safety that i had not only won my race against the storm, but that i had seen no more atmospheric phenomena of so startling a nature.
-in addition to the wonders of the heaven there are many other interesting features connected with a drive or walk by the light of the stars or the moon. a cotswold village seen by moonlight is even more picturesque than it is by day. the old, gabled manor houses are a delightful picture on a cold, frosty night in winter; if most of the rooms are lit up, they give one the idea of endless hospitality and cheerfulness when viewed from without. to walk by a stream such as the coln on such a night is for the time like being in fairyland. every eddy and ripple is transformed into a crystal stream, sparkling with a thousand diamonds. the sound of the waters as they gurgle and bubble over the stones on the shallows seems for all the world like children's voices plaintively repeating over and over again the old strain:
-"i chatter, chatter as i flow to join the brimming river, for men may come and men may go, but i go on for ever."
-now is the time to discover the haunts of wild duck and other shy birds like the teal and the heron. in frosty weather many of these visitors come and go without our being any the wiser, unless we are out at night. before sunrise they will be far, far away, and will probably never return any more. time after time we have been startled by a flight of duck rising abruptly from the stream, in places where by day one would never dream of looking for them. foxes, too, may be seen within a stone's throw of the house on a moonlight evening. they love to prowl around on the chance of a dainty morsel, such as a fat duck or a semi-domestic moorhen. nor will they take any notice of you at such a time.
-i made a midnight expedition once last hunting season to see that the "earths" were properly stopped in some small coverts situated on a bleak and lonely spot on the cotswold hills. on the way i had to pass close to a large barrow. weird indeed looked the old time-worn stone that has stood for thousands of years at the end of this old burial mound. a small wood close by rejoices in the name of "deadman's acre." the moon was casting a ghastly light over the great moss-grown stone and the deserted wolds. the words of ossian rose to my lips as i wondered what manner of men lay buried here. "we shall pass away like a dream. our tombs will be lost on the heath. the hunter shall not know the place of our rest. give us the song of other years. let the night pass away on the sound, and morning return with joy." then, as the rustling wind spoke in the lifeless leaves of the beeches, the plain seemed to be peopled with strange phantasies--the ghosts of the heroes of old. and a voice came back to me on the whispering breeze:
-"thou, too, must share our fate; for human life is short. soon will thy tomb be hid, and the grass grow rank on thy grave."
-and sometimes when i have been up on the hills by night, and, looking away over the broad vale stretched out below, have seen in the distance the gliding lights of some great western express--a trusty weight-carrier bearing through the darkness its precious burden of humanity--i thought of the time when the old seas ran here. and then there seemed to come from the direction of the old white horse and wayland smith's cave the faint murmuring sound of the "blowing-stone" ("king alfred's bugle-horn")--that summoner of men to arms a thousand years ago, like the beacons of later days that "shone on beachy head"; and i felt like a man standing at the prow of a mighty liner, "homeward bound," on some fine though dark and starless evening, when no sound breaks upon his ear but the monotonous beating of the screw and the ceaseless flow of unfathomed waters, save that ever and anon in the far distance the moaning foghorn sounds its note of warning; whilst as he stands "forward" and inhales the pure health-giving salt distilled from balmy vapours that rise everlastingly from the surface of the deep, nothing is visible to the eye--straining westward for a glimpse of white chalk cliffs, or eastward, perhaps, for the first peep of dawn--save the intermittent flash from the lighthouse tower, and the signals glowing weird and fiery that reveal in the misty darkness those softly gliding phantasies, the ships that pass in the night.
-in nine years out of ten autumn lingers on until the death of the old year; then, with the advent of the new, our english winter begins in earnest.
-it is christmas day, and so lovely is the weather that i am sitting on the terrace watching the warm, grateful sun gradually disappearing through the grey ash trunks in the hanging wood beyond the river. the birds are singing with all the promise of an early spring. there is scarcely a breath of wind stirring, and one might almost imagine it to be april. tom peregrine, clad in his best sunday homespun, passes along his well-worn track through the rough grass beyond the water, intent on visiting his vermin traps, or bent on some form of destruction,--for he is never happy unless he is killing. my old friend, the one-legged cock pheasant, who for the third year in succession has contrived to escape our annual battue, comes up to my feet to take the bread i offer. when he was flushed by the beaten there was no need to call "spare him," for with all the cunning of a veteran he towered straight into the skies and passed over the guns out of shot. two fantail pigeons of purest white, sitting in a dark yew tree that overhangs the stream a hundred yards away, make the prettiest picture in the world against the dusky foliage.
-splash!--a great brown trout rolls in the shallow water like a porpoise in the sea. a two-pounder in this little stream makes as much fuss as a twenty-pound salmon in the mighty tweed.
-hark! was that a lamb bleating down in old mr. peregrine's meadow? it was: the first lamb, herald of the spring that is to be. may its little life be as peaceful as this its first birthday: less stormy than the life of that lamb whose birth all people celebrate to-day.
-the rooks are cawing, and a faint cry of plover comes from the hill.
-soft and grey is the winter sky, but behold! round the sun in the west there arises a perfect solar halo, very similar to an ordinary rainbow, but smaller in its arc and fainter in its hues of yellow and rose--a very beautiful phenomenon, and one seldom to be seen in england. halos of this nature are supposed to arise from the double refraction of the rays from the sun as the light passes through thin clouds, or from the transmission of light through particles of ice. it lingers a full quarter of an hour, and then dies away. does this bode rough weather? surely the cruel boreas and the frost will not come suddenly on us after this lovely, mild christmas! listen to the christmas bells ringing two miles away at barnsley village i we can never tire of the sound here, for it is only on very still days that it reaches us across the wolds.
-"hark! in the air, around, above, the angelic music soars and swells, and, in the garden that i love i hear the sound of christmas bells.
-"from hamlet, hollow, village, height, the silvery message seems to start, and far away its notes to-night are surging through the city's heart.
-"assurance clear to those who fret o'er vanished faith and feelings fled, that not in english homes is yet tradition dumb, or reverence dead.
-"now onward floats the sacred tale, past leafless woodlands, freezing rills; it wakes from sleep the silent vale, it skims the mere, it scales the hills;
-"and rippling on up rings of space, sounds faint and fainter as more high, till mortal ear no more may trace the music homeward to the sky.
-"to courtly roof and rustic cot old comrades wend from far and wide; now is the ancient feud forgot, the growing grudge is laid aside.
-"peace and goodwill 'twixt rich and poor! goodwill and peace 'twixt class and class! let old with new, let prince with boor send round the bowl, and drain the glass!"
-i have culled these lines from the poet laureate's charming "christmas carol," as they are both singularly beautiful and singularly appropriate to our cotswold village.
-i take the liberty of saying that in our little hamlet there is peace and goodwill 'twixt rich and poor at christmas-time.
-"now is the ancient feud forgot, the growing grudge is laid aside."
-our humble rejoicings during this last christmas were very similar to those of a hundred years ago. they included a grand smoking concert at the club, during which the mummers gave an admirable performance of their old play, of which more anon; then a big feed for every man, woman, and child of the hamlet (about a hundred souls) was held in the manor house; added to which we received visits from carol singers and musicians of all kinds to the number of seventy-two, reckoning up the total aggregate of the different bands, all of whom were welcomed, for christmas comes but once a year, after all, and "the more the merrier" should be our motto at this time. so from villages three and four miles away came bands of children to sing the old, old songs. the brass band, including old grey-haired men who fifty years ago with strings and wood-wind led the psalmody at chedworth church, come too, and play inside the hall. we do not brew at home nowadays. even such old-fashioned conservatives as old mr. peregrine, senior, have at length given up the custom, so we cannot, like sir roger, allow a greater quantity of malt to our small beer at christmas; but we take good care to order in some four or five eighteen-gallon casks at this time. let it be added that we never saw any man the worse for drink in consequence of this apparent indiscretion. but then, we have a butler of the old school.
-when we held our yuletide revels in the manor house, and the old walls rang with the laughter and merriment of the whole hamlet (for farmers as well as labourers honoured us), it occurred to me that the bigotphones, which had been lying by in a cupboard for about a twelvemonth, might amuse the company. bigotphones, i must explain to those readers who are uninitiated, are delightfully simple contrivances fitted with reed mouthpieces--exact representations in mockery of the various instruments that make up a brass band--but composed of strong cardboard, and dependent solely on the judicious application of the human lips and the skilful modulation of the human voice for their effect. these being produced, an impromptu band was formed: young peregrine seized the bassoon, the carter took the clarionet, the shepherd the french horn, the cowman the trombone, and, seated at the piano, i myself conducted the orchestra. never before have i been so astonished as i was by the unexpected musical ability displayed. no matter what tune i struck up, that heterogeneous orchestra played it as if they had been doing nothing else all their lives. "the british grenadiers," "the eton boating song," "two lovely black eyes" (solo, young peregrine on the bassoon), "a fine hunting day,"--all and sundry were performed in perfect time and without a false note. singularly enough, it is very difficult for the voice to "go flat" on the bigotphone. then, not content with these popular songs we inaugurated a dance. now could be seen the beautiful and near this spot were interred the mortal remains of ethelbald and ethelbert his brother each of whom in turn succeeded to the throne of ethelwoulf thier father king of the west saxons and were succeeded in the kingdom by thier youngest brother alfred the great.
-in the beautiful wickham chapel is the monument to sir john horsey, the temporary owner of the abbey at the dissolution. he at once sold the church to the town for one hundred marks, the equivalent then of about seventy pounds. st. katharine's, sometimes called the leweston chapel, contains the renaissance tomb of john leweston and his wife. bishop roger's chapel is on the north of the choir. this is early english so far as the walls actually belonging to the chapel are concerned. it contains the battered effigy of abbot clement (1163) and some others unknown.
-perhaps the most interesting item in the great church is the doorway on the north side of the west wall, which is said to be an actual portion of the ancient saxon cathedral of st. aldhelm. the extension of the abbey westwards of this wall was known as alhalowes and was the town church until the break-up of the monastery rendered it superfluous. it had a tower of its own in which the secular priests caused a bell to be rung during the devotions of the monks, to the great annoyance of the latter. the chapel of our lady of bow and the portion of the lady chapel itself that escaped demolition at the dissolution was at that time separated from the abbey and made part of the adjoining school buildings. the great tower is one hundred feet in height and holds a peal of eight bells with two extra--the sanctus and the fire-bell. the latter is inscribed:
-the tenor bell was given by cardinal wolsey, once rector of limington, eight miles away in somersetshire, and recast in 1670. around the rim runs the following:
-by woolsey's gift, i measure time for all, to mirth, to grief, to church, i serve to call.
-the school referred to above is believed to date back to the year 705, that of the foundation of the cathedral. those portions of the monastery buildings that had fallen into private ownership were handed over to the school authorities in the middle of the last century. they comprise the abbot's hall, guest hall, kitchen and abbot's apartments. the abbey conduit at the end of chepe street dates back to 1360. it is a charming survival with groined stone roof and open arcade around, and it gives a very picturesque and special character to this end of the street.
-the hospital of ss. john baptist and john evangelist was founded on the site of a much older establishment by henry vi in 1437. the modern buildings were erected in 1866. the chapel, governor's room, and some of the ancient dormitories remain. a fine screen divides the chapel from the ante-chapel and some beautiful and ancient glass still exists in the south window. a tryptych, depicting the miracles, that once stood in the chapel, may be seen in the governor's room.
-during the civil war sherborne decided for the king, and consequently the old castle, which stood beyond the suburb of castleton, was dismantled, and its ruins used for building the present castle, the home of the digbys. the original building was erected by roger of caen and had seen some history from the time of its siege in 1139 by king stephen. it became for a short period the home of sir walter raleigh. in the fine park the infant yeo is dammed and broadened into a graceful sheet of water. here also is the eminence known as jerusalem hill and the seat where raleigh is said to have sat smoking to be discovered by a scared retainer, who threw a pot of ale over his master, thinking him on fire. pope was for a time the guest of one of his patrons--lord digby; and the prince of orange stayed here on his progress from devon to london. the gate-house of the old castle is a picturesque ruin, norman in style with inserted perpendicular windows.
-sherborne is a pleasant and healthy town with many quaint nooks other than the immediate precincts of the abbey. although perhaps not as central as yeovil for the exploration of the more interesting villages of south somerset, it is a good place in which to stay for a few days or even longer. perhaps the most lasting impression made by the town will be that of hush and silence; not that it is stagnant or utterly decayed, but even the main streets are saturated with the grave air of a cathedral close, a fitting atmosphere for a place which retired from active city life over eight hundred years ago.
-an interesting excursion may be made to cadbury castle, five miles north of sherborne. a round of about fifteen miles, to include the villages of marston magna, west and queen's camel, sparkford (with a station on the great western) north and south cadbury, sutton montis and sandford orcas, would take the explorer through a delightful countryside dotted with beautiful old houses--some of them fallen from high estate to the status of comfortable and roomy farmhouse, but usually with a fabric well cared for--and quaint and ancient churches. of these north cadbury, marston and sandford claim the most attention. the first is a large and dignified perpendicular building with finely carved tabernacles in the chancel and several interesting features, including a curious brass to lady magdalen hastings. close by is a beautiful old manor house. marston is much older than the generality of somerset churches and has the scanty remnants of "herring-bone" work in the outside wall of the chancel. at sandford is a delightful manor house with the loveliest of terraces and gardens and an old gate-house with an upper chamber. the interesting church contains a curious tablet depicting a knight in white armour and two ladies, one holding a skull. this is sir william knoyl and his two wives, the one with the skull being his first. the goal of the journey, cadbury castle, is, according to strong local tradition, no less a spot than camelot, the palace and castle of the king of romance and hero of the british--arthur. it will be remembered that to camelot came the sword excalibur "that was as the light of many candles." in the moonlight, the twelve knights, led by their prince, ride round the hill on horses shod with silver and then away through the trees to glastonbury. as they disappear, the thin notes of a silver trumpet came back on the midnight air. some are of opinion that the hill is hollow, and that arthur and his company sleep within, awaiting the day of impending doom for britain. then they will break the chains of slumber and come to her aid. some say that of late the prince and his followers did come forth. every intelligent native for miles round knows that the hill is indeed hollow, for this can be proved by calling to your companion through the opening of arthur's well high on the eastern face of the hill while he stands at st. anne's well away on the other side. another legend has it that the hill is not full of men but of gold, the treasure house of the fairies, but this is a belief that will only appeal to grosser minds.
-the marvellous earthworks that crown the hill were undoubtedly prehistoric in their origin and, like the walls of maiden castle, they have been faced at a later date with stone. there are four lines of wall and ditch, and they enclose an area of nearly twenty acres. old leland becomes enraptured at the sight: "good god! what vast ditches! what high ramparts! what precipices are here!" it will be seen at a glance how well adapted this eminence was for defence. there is nothing to the north but the great expanse of the somerset plain broken by the isolated glastonbury tor. in the wide and beautiful view from the earthworks the mendip range runs away toward the severn sea on the right; to the left front are the broken summits of the quantocks and to the extreme left the beautiful hills of the somerset-dorset borderland.
-the shaftesbury road passes through pleasant country, with no particular features but with occasional good views, to milborne port, not quite three miles to the east. a few new buildings on the outskirts of the little town have failed to rob it of its medieval air. it can actually boast of a norman guildhall, or at least the building has a doorway of that period, which is near enough. the poor battered and despoiled remains of a market cross stand in the centre of the street. this mere village once sent two members to westminster, and its former importance as a market town and county centre is shown by its magnificent and ancient church. although the nave has been rebuilt and the chancel is not the most perfect form of perpendicular, the centre of the church will repay scrutiny, for it is of peculiarly solid and majestic appearance. it is even thought by some authorities to be saxon. the norman details to be noticed include the fine south door, the arches of the transepts and the windows in the south arm. the old font and the piscina in the wall of the nave, as well as other piscina in the chancel, are noteworthy.
-the shaftesbury road goes by the parklands and early eighteenth-century mansion of venn, the seat of the medlicotts, and then bears south-east towards the village of caundle purse. there are several caundles in this part of dorset, but "purse" is the only one of much interest. it lies just off the road to the right, under the wooded henover hill. its sixteenth-century manor house bears the name of "king john's house," as do several others over the length and breadth of england. it is probable that a hunting lodge used by the angevin kings once stood hereabouts, as this countryside was in their time the great forest of the white hart. the church is small and over-restored, but it contains a few interesting brasses.
-the main road soon forks, the right-hand branch winding over a two-mile stretch of tableland and then dropping to stalbridge. the main route goes directly over henstridge down and descends the hill to the large village of henstridge on a main cross-country road and with a station on the somerset and dorset railway, making it a convenient point from which to take two interesting side excursions--northwards to the hill-country beyond wincanton and south to the upper valley of the stour. the old virginia inn at the cross roads claims to be the actual scene of the "quenching" of sir walter raleigh. henstridge church is much restored, or rather, rebuilt, but still contains the fine canopied altar tomb of william carent and his wife.
-proceeding northwards first we may take the road by templecombe that was once a preceptory of the knights templars and now has a station on the main line of the south western railway, to wincanton, a small market town on the cale ("wyndcaleton") at the head of the vale of blackmore. though of high antiquity it does not seem to have had much place in history, apart from its relation to sherborne in the civil war, when it became a base for operations against the royalist garrison there. an old house in south street is pointed out as the lodging of the prince of orange on his journey towards london. a sharp fight took place between his followers and a small body of stuart cavalry, resulting in the utter rout of the latter. a poor and uninteresting old church has been altered out of all likeness to the original (much to the advantage of the building) and there is very little of antiquity in the town.
-the station next to wincanton is cole, within easy reach of the old towns of castle cary and bruton. a public conveyance meets the trains for the latter, a little over a mile away. the situation of bruton, in the picturesque valley of the brue between creech and redlynch hills, is extremely pleasant. a goodly number of ancient houses survive and the church, at one time a minster, is of much beauty and interest. its west tower is of great splendour and its nave of the stateliest perpendicular. the contrast of the chancel to the rest of the building is more peculiar than pleasing. at the dissolution the monks' choir seems to have been allowed to fall into ruin, and the present restoration was made in 1743 in a debased classic style. effigies of sir maurice berkeley, constable of the tower (1585), and his wives are in a recess. he became the owner of the abbey after the dissolution. a portion of a medieval cope is shown in the nave and two chained books (erasmus and jewel). the ancient tomb at the west door is that of gilbert, first abbot after the status of the priory was raised (1510). the small north tower, an uncommon feature, is a relic of the older portion of the priory, originally founded by william de mohun in 1142. all that remains of the conventual buildings are a columbarium or stone dove-cote on a hillock just outside the town and the abbey court-house on the south side of high street. on the front will be seen the arms of de mohun and the initials of prior henton.
-close by bruton bow, an extremely picturesque medieval bridge over the brue, is the school founded by fitz-james, bishop of london. it was suppressed with the abbey and refounded by edward vi. the sexey hospital was established by a native of bruton who was penniless when he left the town and rose to be auditor of the household to queen elizabeth and james i. the beautiful hall-chapel is panelled in black oak, and the buildings make a quaint and pleasing picture.
-castle cary, nearly three miles west of cole station, does not fulfil the expectations raised by its name. until 1890 the very site of the castle had been lost. the lines of the keep are now marked by a row of pillars in a meadow at the foot of lodge hill. a fortress of the lovells, it was attacked and taken by stephen. soon afterwards it seems to have been dismantled or destroyed. the church is well placed on an eminence but has been practically rebuilt and is of little interest.
-ditcheat and evercreech, respectively two and five miles to the north, are beautiful and interesting places. the latter has a church with one of the most glorious towers in somerset, but here again we are leaving our arbitrary boundary and wandering too far afield. the road from cary to wincanton runs through bratton seymour and keeps to the summit of a ridge of low hills, commanding here and there lovely views, especially near "jack white's gibbett" at the cross roads above bratton. the bruton-wincanton road is even more interesting, as it passes within a short distance of stavordale priory. the church, which is still intact, and also a good portion of the conventual buildings, are exquisitely situated under the great hill of penselwood, part of the line of hills that runs from above bourton almost to longleat and that forms the high boundary of somerset and wiltshire. the ridge is crowned by a number of entrenchments, and prehistoric remains are frequent. ballands castle and blacklough castle are succeeded by jack straw's castle close to "alfred's tower" on kingsettle hill. this tower was built by a mr. hoare in 1766 and commemorates the historic spot where in 879 the cross was raised against the pagan dane.
-alfred the great a.d. 879 on this summit erected his standard against danish invaders to him we owe the origin of juries and the creation of a naval force alfred, the light of the benighted age was a philosopher and a christian the father of his people and the founder of the english monarchy and liberties.
-the eye ranges over a magnificent expanse of western england. if the tower is ascended one may stand just a thousand feet above the sea. the door is usually locked, but the key may be obtained from a lodge near by, down the slope to the east. this walk can with profit be extended to long knoll (945 feet) over two miles north-east; beyond is maiden bradley, an interesting village not far from the confines of longleat, the famous and palatial seat of the marquis of bath; but this country must be left for another chapter.
-after this long divergence a return must be made to henstridge, where a walk of less than two miles takes one over the dorset border to stalbridge, a sleepy old town that is not troubled by the fact that it has a station on the somerset and dorset railway and that fast expresses from the north roar down the blackmore vale to bournemouth and the sea. the church will not detain the visitor, for it was rebuilt in 1878. the old cross on four steps in the centre of high street, with its rough carvings, is of more interest. it dates from about 1350. above the town on a hillside is the mansion at one time inhabited by sir james thornhill, and not far away an obelisk erected by the painter in honour of his patron george ii, which used to be known as "thornhill spire."
-the blandford high-road makes a wide loop to the south-west by lydlynch. a shorter route following the line of the railway takes us in less than five miles to sturminster newton, where the blackmore vale ends and the stour flows in a narrow trough between low hills.
-sturminster is a small and ancient town on the eastern bank of the stour. "newton" is on the west side of the river and looks as old as its neighbour. the two are connected by a medieval bridge of six arches. sturminster church was almost entirely rebuilt, except for the tower, nearly a hundred years ago. newton castle was once a stronghold of the kings of wessex. a few scanty remnants of the fortress can still be seen close to the road and river. a road to the north passes by hinton st. mary, with a rebuilt church high up on a breezy hill, and reaches marnhull, the "marlott" of thomas hardy. the early english church has some remains of an early norman building and some later insertions. the tower is a landmark for many miles around. a careful restoration some years ago brought to light several interesting details that had been hidden for some two hundred years or more; including a stairs to the rood-loft, a squint, and the piscina. the alabaster effigies on a cenotaph are believed to represent lord bindon and his wives (about 1450). the following remarkable epitaph on a former clerk is said to have been written by his rector:
-here under this stone lie ruth and old john who smoked all his life and so did his wife: and now theres no doubt but their pipes are both out be it said without joke that life is but smoke; though you live to forescore tis a whiff and no more.
-a short distance to the north, through the hamlet of flanders, is the fine sixteenth-century mansion called nash court.
-continuing over okeford hill the road presently drops to turnworth house at the head of a long narrow valley leading down to a string of "winterborne" villages (or more correctly--winterbourne). the situation of the mansion and village is very beautiful and very lonely. few seem to wish to brave the long ascent of the hill and one can pass from okeford to turnworth many times without meeting a solitary wayfarer. turnworth church is early english, rebuilt on the exact lines of the old fabric and retaining the ancient tower.
-the first of the winterbournes--strickland, lies a long mile beyond hedgend farm, where we turn sharp to the left and traverse a very lonely road, sometimes between close woods and rarely in sight of human habitation until the drop to the stour brings us to blandford forum, a pleasant, bright and clean town built within a wide loop of the river that here begins to assume the dignity of a navigable stream, crawling lazily among the water meadows, with back-waters and cuts that bring to mind certain sections of the upper thames. the two fine thoroughfares--salisbury and east streets--which meet in the wide market place are lined with buildings, dating from 1732 or later, for in 1731 a great fire, the last of a series, destroyed almost the whole of the town and its suburbs. the old town pump, now a drinking fountain, records that it was "humbly erected ... in grateful acknowledgement of the divine mercy, that has since raised this town, like the phoenix from its ashes, to its present flourishing and beautiful state." several lives were lost in this disaster and the great church of ss. peter and paul perished with everything that previous fires had spared. the present erection is well enough as a specimen of the classic renaissance, but need not detain us. at one time blandford was a town of various industries, from lace making to glass painting, but it is now purely an agricultural centre.
-blandford st. mary is the suburb on the west side of the stour. the perpendicular church has a tower and chancel belonging to a much earlier period. a former rector was an ancestor of the great pitt, and one of the family--"governor" pitt, is buried in the north aisle. the family lived at down house on the hills to the westward. a more ancient family, the d'amories, lived at damory court near the town. the famous damory's oak is no more. its hollow trunk served as shelter for a whole family who were rendered homeless by the great fire. an old barn not far from the court is said to have been a chapel dedicated to st. leonard; it still retains its ecclesiastical doors and windows.
-the seven miles of undulating and dusty road westwards from blandford, that we have partly traversed from winterbourne strickland, leads to milton abbas, a charming village surrounded by verdured hills and deep leafy combes. here is the famous abbey founded by king athelstan for benedictines. the monks' refectory, all that remains of the conventual buildings, indicates the former splendour of the establishment. the abbey church, built in the twelfth century, was destroyed during a thunderstorm after standing for about two hundred years; the present building is therefore a study in decorated and perpendicular styles. it is, after sherborne and wimborne, the finest church in dorset. the pinnacled tower is much admired, but the shortness of the building detracts from its effectiveness. it is not certain that the church ever had a nave, though the omission seems improbable. the interior is usually shown on thursdays, when the grounds of the modern "abbey" are open to the public. within the church the fifteenth-century reredos, the sedilia and stalls, and the pre-reformation tabernacle for reserving the consecrated elements (a very rare feature) should be noticed. two ancient paintings of unknown age, probably dating from the early fifteenth century, and several tombs, complete the list of interesting items. the ancient market town that once surrounded the abbey was swept away when the mansion was erected in 1780, so that the present village is of the "model" variety and was built by the first earl of dorchester soon after his purchase of the property over one hundred and fifty years ago. church, almshouses and inn, all date from the same period. time has softened the formality of the plan, and milton is now a pleasant old-world place enough, somnolent and rarely visited by the stray tourist, but well worthy of his attention. the church contains a purbeck marble font from the abbey, but otherwise is as uninteresting as one might expect from its appearance. milton was originally middletown from its position in the centre of dorset.
-three miles down stream from blandford, near spettisbury, is the earthwork called crawford castle. an ancient bridge of nine arches here crosses the stour to tarrant crawford, where was once the abbey of a cistercian nunnery. scanty traces of the buildings remain in the vicinity of the early english church. this village is the first of a long series of "tarrants" that run up into the remote highlands of cranborne chase. buzbury rings is the name of another prehistoric entrenchment north of the village; it is on the route of an ancient trackway which runs in a direction that would seem to link maiden castle, near dorchester, with the distant mysteries of salisbury plain.
-for the traveller who has the time to explore the tarrant villages a delightful journey is in store. although there is nothing among them of surpassing interest, the twelve or fifteen-mile ramble would be a further revelation of the unspoilt character and quiet beauty of this corner of dorset. pimperne village, on the blandford-salisbury road, where there is a ruined cross on the village green and a rebuilt church still retaining its old norman door, is on the direct way to tarrant hinton, just over four miles from blandford. here a lane turns right and left following the tarrant-brook that gives its name to the seven hamlets upon its banks. hinton church is beautifully placed on the left of this by-way which, on its way to tarrant gunville, presently passes eastbury park, a mile to the north. only a fragment of the once famous house is left. the original building was a magnificent erection comparable with blenheim, and built by the same architect--vanburgh--for george dodington, one time lord of the admiralty. the property came to his descendant, the son of a weymouth apothecary named bubb, who had married into the family. george budd dodington became a persona grata at court, lent money to frederick prince of wales, and finished, at a cost of £140,000, the building his grandfather had commenced. this wealthy commoner, after a career at eastbury as a patron of the arts, was created lord melcombe possibly for his services to the son of george ii. at his death the property passed to earl temple who was unable to afford the upkeep and eventually the greater portion of this "folly" was demolished. the lane that turns south from the salisbury high-road goes through tarrants launceston--monckton--rawston--rushton and keynston and finishes at tarrant crawford that we have just seen is in the valley of the stour.
-two roads run northwards to shaftesbury from blandford. one, the hill way, leaves the salisbury road half a mile from the town and, passing another earthwork on pimperne down, makes for the lonely and beautiful wooded highlands of cranborne chase, with but one village--melbury abbas--in the long ten miles of rough and hilly road. the other, and main, highway keeps to the river valley as far as stourpaine, and then bears round the base of hod hill, where there is a genuine roman camp inside an older trench. large quantities of pottery and coins belonging to the roman period have been found here and are stored in various collections. the way is now picturesquely beautiful as it goes by steepleton iwerne, that has a little church lost behind the only house in the hamlet, and iwerne courtenay. the last-named village is off the main road to the left, but a by-path can be taken which leads through it. the poorly designed perpendicular church (with a decorated tower) was erected, or rather rebuilt, as late as 1641. the building is famous as the prison for those guerilla fighters of the civil war called "clubmen," who consisted mostly of better class farmers and yeomanry. they had assembled on hambledon hill, the great entrenched eminence to the west of the village, and seem to have been officered by the country clergy. at least they appear to have greatly chagrined cromwell, although he spoke of them in a very disparaging way, and deprecated their fighting qualities. iwerne minster, the next village on the road, possesses a very fine cruciform church of dates varying from norman to perpendicular, though the main structure is in the later style. the stone spire is rare for dorset. iwerne minster house is a modern mansion in a very beautiful park and is the residence of one of the ismays of steamship fame. sutton waldron has a modern church, but fontmell magna, two miles from iwerne minster, will profitably detain the traveller. here is an actual village maypole, restored of course, and a beautiful perpendicular church, also restored, but unspoilt. the lofty tower forms an exquisite picture with the mellow roofs of the village, the masses of foliage, and the surrounding hills. the fine east window is modern and was presented by lord wolverton, a one-time liberal whip, who was a predecessor of the ismays at iwerne minster house. the west window is to his memory. compton abbas, a mile farther, has a rebuilt church. the charm of the situation, between elbury hill and fontmell down, will be appreciated as the traveller climbs up the slope beyond the village toward melbury down (863 feet), another fine view-point. as the road descends to the head waters of the stour, glimpses of the old town on st. john's hill are occasionally obtained on the left front and, after another stiff climb, we join the salisbury road half a mile short of high street.
-shaftesbury is not only shaston to mr. hardy, but to the natives also, and, as will be seen presently, it had at least two other names in the distant past. it is one of the most romantically placed inland towns in england and would bear comparison with bridgenorth, were it not that the absence of a broad river flowing round the base of the hill entirely alters the character of the situation. according to geoffrey of monmouth it was founded by hudibras, son of the builder of caerleon, and was called mount paladur (palladour). it was without doubt a roman town, as the foundations of roman buildings were discovered while excavations were being made in high street about twenty years ago. alfred rebuilt the town and founded st. mary's abbey, with his daughter aethelgiva as first abbess. the removal of the body of the martyred edward hither from wareham, after his murder at corfe castle, gave shaftesbury a wide renown and caused thousands of pilgrims to flock to the miracle-working shrine. for a time it was known as eadwardstow and the abbess was a lady of as much secular importance as a baron. the magnificent abbey church was as imposing as any we have left to us, but not a vestige remains except the fragmentary wall on gold's hill and the foundations quite recently uncovered and surveyed. one of the most interesting discoveries is that of a twisted column in the floor of the crypt that is thought to be part of the martyr's shrine.
-shaftesbury once had twelve churches, but one only of the old structures remain. this is a fine perpendicular building of simple plan, chancel and nave being one. the tower is noble in its fine proportions and the north side of the nave aisle is beautifully ornamented and embattled. holy trinity and st. james' are practically new churches, although rebuilt on the ground plans of the original structures. on the west side of the first-named is a walk called "the park" that would make the fortune of any inland health resort, so magnificent is the view and so glorious the air. the hill on which the town is built rises abruptly from the valley in a steep escarpment, so that the upper end of high street is 700 feet above the sea. there is therefore only one practicable entrance, by way of the salisbury road. of actual ancient buildings there are few, although at one time there was some imposing medieval architecture in this "city set on a hill," if we may believe the old writers. it once boasted a castle besides the hostel of st. john baptist and its many churches. it may have been in this castle that canute died in 1035.
-the station for shaftesbury is semley, just over the wilts border, but it is proposed to take the longer journey to gillingham, nearly four miles north-west, which is the next station on the south western main line. this was once the centre of a great royal "chase," disforested by charles i. it was also the historic scene of the parliament called to elect edward confessor to the throne, and at "slaughter gate," just outside the town, edmund ironside saved wessex for the saxons by defeating canute in 1016. the foundations of "king's court palace," between ham common and the railway, show the site of the hunting lodge of henry iii and the plantagenet kings. gillingham church was spoilt by a drastic early nineteenth-century restoration. the chancel belongs to the decorated period. there are several interesting tombs and a memorial of a former vicar over the arch of the tower. he was dispossessed as a "malignant" during the commonwealth, but returned at the restoration.
-gillingham cannot show many old houses and it has the appearance of a busy and flourishing manufacturing town of the smaller sort without any of the sordid accompaniments of such places. its commercial activities--pottery and tile-making, breweries and flour mills, linen and silk manufacture, are mostly modern and have been fostered by the exceptional railway facilities. in its grammar school, founded in 1526 by john grice, it still has a first-rate educational establishment with the added value of a notable past, for here was educated clarendon, the historian of the great rebellion, and several other famous men.
-salisbury and the rivers
-there are three obvious ways of approaching salisbury from shaftesbury and the west: by railway from semley; by the main road, part of the great trunk highway from london to exeter via yeovil; and by a kind of loop road that leaves this at whitesand cross and follows the valley of the ebble between the lonely hills of cranborne chase and the long line of chalk downs that have their escarpment to the north, overlooking the exeter road. these are all good ways, but there is even a fourth, only practicable for good walkers, that keeps to the top of the downs until the salisbury race course above netherhampton is reached. this is a splendid route, with magnificent views to the left and north, and some to be lingered over in the opposite direction, and the finest of all when the slender needle of salisbury spire pierces the blue ahead.
-three miles out of shaftesbury a road leaves the main route on the left for donhead st. mary; another by-way from this village joins the highway farther on and adds but a mile or so to the journey. the church, high up on its hill, is an interesting structure, mainly norman and early english with some sixteenth-century additions. the round font belongs to the older style. a memorial to one antonio guillemot should be noticed. he was a refugee carthusian, who came here with some brother monks during the french terror. they found sanctuary at a farm-house placed at their disposal by lord arundell of wardour, and now called the "priory," because of its associations. not far from the village is castle rings, an encampment from which there is a grand view of the wilts and somerset borderland. in one of the chalky combes just below the hill is an old quaker burial ground, as remote and lonely as the more famous jordans ground was before the american visitor began to make that a place of pilgrimage. donhead st. andrew, a mile from st. mary's, is in an entirely different situation to the latter, the perpendicular church being at the bottom of a deep hollow. both villages are very charming.
-the main route continues amid surroundings of much beauty, with the well-named white sheet hill to the right and the wooded and hummocky outline of ansty hill to the left, until the turning for the latter makes a good excuse for leaving the high road once more. ansty village, seven miles from shaftesbury, is unremarkable in itself, but has close by it one of the most picturesque and historic ruins in wiltshire. the demolition of wardour castle came about in this wise. at the outbreak of the civil war the owner, sir thomas arundell, was away from home with the army around the king. lady arundell decided to defend the castle with the small force at her disposal, barely fifty men all told, but helped and sustained by the women servants, who kept the garrison fed and supplied with ammunition. this handful of defenders held at bay for five days a well-armed force of 1,300 men commanded by sir edward hungerford, and made good terms for itself before marching out. these, however, were not faithfully kept by the roundheads who, in occupying the castle, were commanded by edmund ludlow. sir thomas (or lord arundell, his title had not then received formal recognition) died of wounds received in one of the western battles just after the capitulation and his son in turn laid siege to his own home. the resistance was as stubborn as his mother's had been, the force within the castle being many times as great. all hope of dislodging the roundheads being lost, the new lord of wardour resolved to blow up the walls with mines, placed beneath them under cover of darkness. this was done to such good purpose that the garrison, or all that was left of it, was forced at once to surrender.
-the castle and estates had been acquired from the grevilles by the arundells, an old cornish family, in the early sixteenth century. the arundells were convinced catholics, and the first of the family to own wardour was beheaded in 1552 "as a rebel and traitor" or rather, "as his conscience was of more value to him than his head." as we see the building to day it forms a fine example of fifteenth-century architecture, despite its dismantled state. the walls are fairly perfect and the eastern entrance with its two towers, approached by a stately terrace, is most imposing. the gateway is surmounted by an inscription referring to the two arundells of the great rebellion; above is a niche containing a bust of christ and the words "sub nomine tuo stet genus et domus." the entrance to the stairs, an arch in the classic renaissance style, is a picturesque and much-admired corner of the ruin.
-not much can be said for the aspect of the new castle, a building erected in the eighteenth century. it is a museum of art and contains many treasures by rembrandt, holbein, velasquez, vandyke and other great masters and, most interesting of all, a portrait of lady blanche arundell, the defender of the castle. she was a granddaughter of margaret, countess of salisbury, and so came of an heroic and kingly line. another famous relic is a wooden chalice made from the glastonbury thorn, and the splendid (so-called) westminster chasuble is preserved in the chapel.
-on the high road swallowcliffe; sutton mandeville, with a partly norman church; fovant, nearly opposite chislebury camp and with another (restored) norman church; and compton chamberlaine are passed, all being a short distance off the road to the left, before it drops for the last time into the valley of the nadder. near the last village is compton park, the home of that colonel penruddocke who, in 1655, led a small body of horsemen into salisbury and proclaimed charles ii, at the same time seizing the machinery of law and government. but the "rising" was not popular; the colonel got no assistance from the townspeople and the affair led to his death upon the scaffold.
-the most profitable way of approaching salisbury is to continue northwards from ansty by a lane that eventually descends to tisbury on the headwaters of the nadder. this small town has a station on the south western main line and a large cruciform church, situated at the foot of the steep hill on which the town is built. its present nave is early english, but an earlier transitional building once stood on the site. the tower is more curious than beautiful and the quaint top story may be contemporary with the chancel, an addition of the early seventeenth century. the latter has an elaborately ornamented ceiling and is the resting place of lady blanche arundell and also of sir thomas, first lord wardour, who distinguished himself as a late crusader in 1595 at the battle of gran in hungary, when he captured a turkish standard. his helmet is fixed to the wall above his tomb. place house, once a grange of shaftesbury abbey, at the end of the village, is an early tudor manor. the fine gate-house and the tithe-barn at the side of the entrance court are good specimens of the domestic architecture of the period. the buildings form a picturesque group and the all too brief glimpse of them from the railway has probably caused many travellers thereon to break their journey.
-a short two miles to the north of tisbury, in a lovely district of wooded hills, is fonthill giffard. the church, erected in the early english style in 1866, will not detain the visitor, though one might well be disposed to linger in the charming village. the great "lion" of this district was the famous and extraordinary fonthill abbey, an amazing erection in sham gothic, built by wyatt, that "infamous dispoiler, misnamed architect" to the order of the eccentric author of vathek--william beckford, heir of a wealthy london merchant who was twice lord mayor and died a millionaire. contemporary prints are occasionally met with in curiosity shops that bring vividly before us this specimen of the "gothic madness" of our great grandfathers. an enormous octagonal tower arises from the centre of the strange pile of buildings, which is in the form of a cross with arms of equal length. pinnacle and gargoyles, moulding and ornaments, all clashing and at war with each other, are stuck on anywhere and everywhere; the nightmare dream of a medievalist. if this was the fruit of beckford's brain nothing more need be said. if that of wyatt's, we can but be thankful that he did not live long enough to have the commission for building the present palace of westminster. a pile that as it is, is only too reminiscent of the florid imaginings of the gothic revival.
-the expensive eccenticities of beckford--he was a collector of everything costly--brought about the sale of fonthill and a retirement to bath. not long after the new owner, a millionaire named farquhar, had entered into possession, the central tower fell and ruined most of the "gingerbread" beneath. perhaps the best thing wyatt ever did was his architectural work in the foundations of this sham "abbey."
-the present fonthill house has a small portion of wyatt's building incorporated with it. half a mile away is the new fonthill abbey (so-called). it was erected by the marquis of westminster in 1859 and is in the scottish baronial style. the situation, overlooking a sheet of water formed out of one of the feeders of the nadder, is beautiful in the extreme. to the north-west is beckford's tower--one of the many he built (he is buried under one of them at bath)--from which there is a glorious view of the hills, woods and waters of this fair country side. hindon, about two miles north-west of fonthill giffard, is a small town fallen from the ancient state that it held when it refused disraeli the honour of representing it in parliament. its pleasant situation in the midst of the wooded hills that surround it on all sides, the quiet old houses and dreamy main street beneath the shady trees that were planted in honour of the marriage of edward vii, make its only claim on the notice of the passing tourist. not far from hindon and about three miles from fonthill giffard is east knoyle, the birthplace of sir christopher wren in 1632. he was a son of its rector.
-from tisbury a road goes eastwards down the valley of the nadder through the small hamlet of chicksgrove to teffont evias, or ewyas, the name of the former lords of the manor. this village is most delightfully situated on high ground above the nadder. the sixteenth-century manor house, the rectory and the beautiful church, are all of much interest. the church was built in the fifteenth century and has a fine western tower and spire. the ley chapel contains a number of monuments to that family, and the mosaics representing the angelic choir over the east window strike an uncommon note for a country church. beyond teffont magna, where there is a very small and ancient church, are the famous quarries which supplied some of the stone for salisbury cathedral and were almost certainly worked by the romans. they are now roomy caverns, that, like tilly whim at swanage, have every appearance of being natural.
-continuing towards salisbury, the first village passed through is dinton, the birthplace of clarendon, historian of the civil war. then comes baverstock, with a restored decorated church, and lastly, before reaching wilton, barford st. martin. here is an early english cruciform church with one or two interesting features, including an ancient effigy near the altar, in what appears to be a winding sheet. the road through these villages, or rather tapping them--the first two are slightly off the main route to the left--keeps to the north side of the nadder valley, at first under the wooded escarpment of the middle hills where are the prehistoric remains of hanging langford camp, churchend ring and bilbury ring: and then under the great expanse of grovely wood, which clothes the lonely hills dividing the valleys of wylye and nadder, covered with evidences of an age so far away that the roman road from old sarum, traversing the summit of the hills, is a work of yesterday by comparison.
-the position of the town, on the tongue of land between the two rivers just above their meeting place, is ideal as a stronghold and an imposing position in other ways, but the wilton of to-day is small and rather mean in its streets and houses and without any important remains of its ancient past. its history begins with the battle of ellandune between mercia and wessex, in which the victor--egbert of the west saxon line--made good his claim to be overlord of england. it was here that the greater west saxon, alfred, defeated the danish invaders, and here again sweyn turned the tables and burnt and slew in true pirate fashion. a house of benedictine nuns was founded in wilton at an early date and was enlarged and re-endowed by alfred. st. edyth, one of the nuns, was a daughter of king eadgar and wulftrude, who had been a nun herself. when the queen died wulftrude refused to become the king's consort, and eventually became abbess of wilton. the site of the abbey is now occupied by wilton house.
-according to leland "the chaunging of this (icknield) way was the total course of the ruine of old sarisbyri and wiltoun, for afore wiltoun had twelve paroche churches or more, and was the hedde town of wilshire." this refers to the new bridge built at harnham to divert the route to the south-west through the new city. still, the collapse was not utter and the position of the town was enough to save it from total ruin. cloth making and the wool trade generally persisted for many years, and the making of carpets ("wilton pile") has persisted to the present day, despite competition and some anxious years for the manufacturers.
-of the few unimportant relics of the past may be mentioned the old town cross that stands against the churchyard wall, and the chapel of st. john in ditchampton, part of a hospital founded in 1189 by bishop hurbert of sarum. st. giles' hospital, originally for lepers, was founded by adeliza, consort of henry i, and rebuilt in 1624. wilton church is as unusual as it is imposing. it was built by lord herbert of lea while still the hon. sidney herbert. though the style seems out of keeping with an ordinary english countryside there is something about the high banks of foliage surrounding the town that gives the italian campanile an almost natural air. the church is in the lombardic style and the grand flight of steps, the triple porches and beautiful cloisters connecting the tower with the main building, are exceedingly fine. no less imposing is the ornate and costly interior. in its wealth of marbles and mosaics it is almost without parallel in england. the two handsome tombs of alabaster in the chancel are those of lord herbert of lea and his mother. not the least interesting feature of this unique church is the fine stained glass in the windows of the apse, dating from the thirteenth century.
-wilton house stands in a beautiful park that comes almost up to the doors of the town. the waters of the nadder as they flow through the glades have been broadened into a long lake-like expanse spanned by a very beautiful palladian bridge. this is the home of the earls of pembroke and montgomery. their ancestors were an ancient welsh family and great friends of their compatriots, the tudor sovereigns. here, as constant and welcome guests, came ben jonson, edmund spencer and philip massinger, who was a son of one of the earl's servants. here as you like it is said to have been played before james i, with shakespeare himself as one of the company. gloriana was a visitor in 1573 and attempted to flirt with sir philip sidney, brother-in-law of the host, presenting him with one of her auburn locks. here sir philip wrote a good part of the arcadia. it will be seen that wilton was a home for all who had the divine fire within them. gentle george herbert, a relative and esteemed friend, could often come from near-by bemerton, and izaak walton, who was here collecting material for the "life" of his hero, no doubt spent some happy days in contemplation of the clear waters of the nadder. charles i was another visitor, and by him certain suggestions are said to have been made for some of the alterations and additions of the seventeenth century. the original building which followed the dismantled abbey was designed by holbein, but this has almost disappeared except for the central portion over the gateway. wyatt was allowed to stick some of his sham gothic enormities over the older work about the time he was designing fonthill, but an era of better taste soon got rid of these and the present fronts are italian in style and very lordly and imposing. the great hall contains the vandyck portraits for which wilton is preeminently famous, but there are other great masters, including rubens, titian and del sarto to be seen by those interested, besides a collection of armour hardly to be surpassed in the country. these treasures are shown at certain times.
-although a pleasant and retired little place, bemerton would not be of much interest were it not for its associations with the "singer of surpassing sweetness," the author of the temple. george herbert became rector here in 1630 and died two years later, aged 42. he lies within the altar rails of the church and the tablet above is simply inscribed g.h., 1633. the lines on the parsonage wall and written by the parson-poet were originally above the chimney inside. they run thus:--
-"if thou chance for to find a new house to thy mind, and built without any cost, be good to the poor as god gives thee store and then thy labour's not lost."
-in the garden that slopes down to the river there was quite recently, and may be still, an old and gnarled medlar planted by herbert. the well-known painting "george herbert at bemerton" by w. dyce, r.a., in the guildhall art gallery, gives an excellent picture of the calm grace of the surroundings and of the heavenly spire of the cathedral soaring up into the skies a mile away. the fine new memorial church at bemerton is used for the regular sunday services and herbert's little old church for worship on weekdays. it is pleasant to think that the bells which sound so sweetly across the meadows, as we take the footpath way to salisbury, are those that were rung by herbert when he first entered his church.
-the city of salisbury, or officially, new sarum, is a regularly built, spacious and clean county capital that would be of interest and attraction if there were no glorious cathedral to grace and adorn it. as a matter of fact, cathedral towns away from the immediate precincts suffer from the overshadowing character of the great churches, that take most of the honour and glory to themselves. this is, of course but right, and the discerning traveller will keep the even balance between the human interest of court and alley and market place and the awed reverence that must be felt by the most materialistic of us when we come within the immediate influence of these solemn sanctuaries, of which salisbury is the most perfect in the land.
-it is impossible to give the merest outline of the history of salisbury without first referring to that of old sarum, or sorbiodunum, two miles to the north. the huge mound on the edge of the plain was doubtless a prehistoric fortress, though of a much simpler form than the three-terraced enclosure of twenty-seven acres that we see there to-day. in roman times the importance of this advanced outpost of chalk, commanding the approach to the lower valley of the avon, would be appreciated. but it would appear from recent investigations that little was done to elaborate the defences. nevertheless sorbiodunum was an important roman town and stood on the junction of two great thoroughfares--the icknield way and the port way. the recent excavations, interfered with to a large extent by the late war, have been so disappointing in the lack of roman relics that a suggestion has been made by sir w.h. st. john hope that the true site of the roman town may have been at stratford, just below the mound to the north-west. it is possible that further excavations will settle the question.
-after the saxon invasion, sarobyrig, as it was then called, probably assumed its present outline so far as the foundation of the walls are concerned. that a mint of canute (who according to one tradition, died here and not at shaftesbury) and again of edward confessor was set up, and that the town became the seat of the bishop of sherborne, was a proof of its established importance. the smaller central mound of the citadel itself would appear to have been a work of the normans, who divided the space occupied within the outer defences into two parts; that on the east belonging to the military works, and the western half pertaining to the bishop and having within it the original salisbury cathedral. here was instituted by bishop osmund the new english ritual or "use of sarum," and here commenced those endless squabbles between clergy and soldiers that at last resulted in the men of peace leaving the fortress city.
-the commission to inquire into the proposed change was appointed by the pope in 1217, and from this year begins the rapid decay of old sarum. the cathedral was dismantled and much of the material was used in the new structure in the plain. that the original was a noble building existing records and ultimate discoveries amply prove. the ground plan was well seen in the dry summer of 1834, when measurements were taken and the total length found to be 270 feet. the first church was seriously damaged by a thunderbolt five days after its consecration, and the original plan was much elaborated in the rebuilding--
-"so gret lytnynge was the vyfte yer, so that al to nogt the rof of the chyrch of salesbury it broute, ryght evene vyfte day that he yhalwed was." (robert of gloucester.)
-of the castle not so much is known. leland says in 1540:--"ther was a right fair and strong castella within old-saresbyri longing to the erles of saresbyri especially the longerpees. i read that one gualterus was the first erle after the conquest of it. much ruinus building of this castelle yet ther remayneth. the dich that environed the old town was a very deepe and strong thynge," and again "osmunde, erle of dorchestre, and after bishop of saresbyri, erected his cathedrale church ther in the west part of the town; and also his palace; whereof now no token is but only a chapel of our lady yet standing and mainteynid.... ther was a paroch of the holy rode beside in old-saresbyri and another over the est gate whereof some tokens remayne. i do not perceyve that there are any mo gates in old-saresbyri than 2; one by est and another by west. without eche of these gates was a fair suburbe. on the est suburbe was a paroche church of s. john; and ther yet is a chapel standing. the river is a good quarter of a myle from old-saresbyri and more, where it is nerest on to it, and that is at stratford village south from it. ther hath bene houses in tyme of mind inhabited in the est suburbe of old-saresbyri; but now there is not one house neither within old-saresbyri nor without it inhabited."
-it will be seen that in comparison with other english towns salisbury is not old. like several others its foundations were entirely ecclesiastical, for as soon as the builders of the new cathedral started upon their work the civil population of old sarum migrated to the water meadows with as little delay as possible, and the bishop's architects planned for them a town with regular streets and square blocks of dwellings all much of a size, a characteristic that will strike the most unobservant traveller and which differentiates this from most other english towns in a marked degree.
-from whichever side salisbury has been entered; by either of the great roads; or by the railway that, from the east, makes a long tour of the north side of the town in kindly purpose, it would seem, to give the passer-by a good view--there rises before him the glorious spire that, whatever the boast of uniformity of style or perfection of design, really gives the exterior of the building its unique beauty and without which it would be cold and dull. to the cathedral then, as its spire is calling so insistently, the stranger must inevitably make his way before troubling about anything else in the town. our approach happens to coincide with that of the traveller who arrives by rail, and down fisherton street, an unusually winding thoroughfare for salisbury, over the avon bridge and through the high street gate we enter the most beautiful of those abodes of beauty--the english cathedral closes. the guide books advise the tourist to make the first approach by way of st. anne's gate, when the gradual unfolding of the north front of the building makes a perfect introduction to the cathedral, but so does that of the sudden view of the whole, with the tower and spire as an exquisite centre, as we leave the row of well-ordered houses, mixed with a few quiet shops, that line the approach from high street to the north-west angle of the close. a pleasing presentment of edward vii now looks down this old by-street from the high street gate and is salisbury's tribute to that lover of peace. the close is bordered by beautiful old houses, some quite noble in their proportions, but likely to be overlooked by all but the most leisured visitor. it is so difficult to look at anything but the tower and spire, and it is best to forget that another tower, a campanile, similar to that at chichester, once stood on this greensward, to be wantonly destroyed by james wyatt. this is said to have been garrisoned by the parliamentary army during the civil war. the deanery, opposite the west door, is a quaintly charming building and the gabled king's house is said to date from the fourteenth century. no incongruous note ever seems to mar the serenity of the great green square. the passers-by all apparently fit their environment; schoolgirls in their teens, fresh faced and happy; clergy of the chapter, true type of the modern intellectual priest; an occasional workman employed about the cathedral, upon whom its impress has visibly descended; quaint imps in elizabethan ruffles playing a seemingly sedate game upon the lawn while their companions are singing in the choir; the ordinary sightseers who, apart from bank holidays, always seem to arrive at the same times and in the same twos and threes, and put on, as do the inevitable butchers' and bakers' youths, a cloak of decorous quiet when they enter the guardian gateways.
-the cathedral was commenced in 1220 by bishop poore and took about forty years to build, but this period did not include the erection of the tower and spire which were later additions. the fine and generally admired west front is, from an architect's point of view, the only part of the exterior that is not admirable. it is in actual fact, fraudulent, just as the whole of the upper wall of st. paul's cathedral is an artistic untruth. the west wall of salisbury is a screen without professing to be one. the porches are very small in relation to the great flattish expanse of masonry above them; the dullness of this was much relieved by the series of statues placed in the empty niches about the middle of the last century. the original medieval figures almost all disappeared through the zeal of the puritans.
-even the most careless glance down the long outline of the walls, artistically broken by the two transepts, but never losing the regular continuity of design, will show the observer that this perfect early english building was an inspiration of one brain and that the many hands that worked for that brain carried out their tasks as a religious rite. the glory of the tower as we see it was not part of the original plan, though that undoubtedly included some such crown and consummation of the noble work beneath. but although the tower and spire are of a later period--the decorated, they blend so harmoniously with the earlier building that all might have arisen in one twelve months instead of being labours spread over one hundred years. the rash courage which raised this great pyramid of stone, four hundred and four feet above the sward, on the slender columns and walls that have actually bowed under the great weight they uphold, has often been commented upon. it has been said that the tower would have fallen long ago had it not been for the original scaffolding that remains within to tie and strengthen it. in the eighteenth century a leaden casket was discovered by some workmen high in the spire, containing a relic of our lady, to whom the cathedral is dedicated. in the summer of 1921 the steeplejacks employed to test the lightning conductor found that the iron cramps had rusted to such an extent as to split the stonework. a band of iron within the base of the spire in process of rusting is said to have raised the great mass of stone fully half an inch. the iron is now being replaced by gun-metal.
-the great church is entered by the north porch, and the immediate effect of august beauty is not at first tempered by the impression of coldness that gradually makes itself felt as we compare, from memory, the interior with that of winchester or even some of the less important churches we have visited. but this is perhaps only a temporary fault, and when the windows of the nave are rejewelled with the glorious colours that shone from them before the reformation, the cold austerity of this part of the great church will largely disappear. the extreme orderliness of the architectural conception, the numberless columns and arches ranged in stately rows, vanishing in almost unbroken perspective, make salisbury unique among english cathedral interiors. an old rhyme gives the building as many pillars, windows, and doors as there are hours, days, and months in the year.
-in addition to his other questionable traits, james wyatt must have had something of the prussian drill-sergeant in his nature. under his "restoration" scheme the tombs of bishops and knights that once gave a picturesque confusion to the spaces of the nave were marshalled into precise and regular order in two long lines between the columns on each side. for congregational purposes this was and is an advantage, but wyatt actually lost one of his subjects in the drilling process and so confused the remainder that the historical sequence is lost.
-it is not proposed to describe these tombs in detail. a glance at the sketch plan on the preceding page will make the position of each quite clear. especially notice should be given to (10) william longespee, 1st earl of salisbury; (14) robert, lord hungerford; (13) lord charles stourton, who was hanged in salisbury market place with a silken halter for instigating the murder of two men named hartgill, father and son. a wire noose representing the rope used to hang above the tomb. (3) the reputed tomb of a "boy bishop," but possibly this is really a bishop's "heart shrine." salisbury seems to have been in an especial sense the home of the singular custom of electing a small lad as bishop during the festival of christmas. according to canon fletcher in his pleasant little book on the subject lately published, no less than twenty-one names are known of boy bishops who played the part in this cathedral. several modern memorials of much interest upon the walls of the nave explain themselves. one, to the left of the north porch as we enter, is to edward wyndham tempest, youthful poet and "happy warrior" who was killed in the late war. another will remind us that richard jefferies, although buried at broadwater in sussex, was the son of a north wilts yeoman and a native of the shire.
-the arches at the western transepts will be found to differ from those of the nave; they were inserted to support the weight of the tower by bishop wayte in 1415 and are similar to those at canterbury and wells. a brass plate was placed in the pavement during the eighteenth century to mark the inclination of the tower, 22-1/2 inches to the south-west. it is said that the deflection has not altered appreciably for nearly two hundred years. the exactness of the correspondence of the architecture in the transepts to that of the nave almost comes as a surprise by reason of its rarity to those who are acquainted with other english cathedrals, and brings before one very vividly the homogeneity of the design. a number of interesting monuments, several of them modern, occupy the two arms of the transepts. the choir roof-painting, sadly marred by wyatt, has been restored to something of its former beauty, but it would seem that time alone can give the right tone to mural decoration in churches, for there is now an effect of harshness, especially farther east in the so-called lady chapel, that is not at all pleasing. the screen of brass leading to the choir, the greater part of the stalls, and the high altar and reredos, are seen to be modern. the altar occupies its old position and was restored as a memorial to bishop beauchamp (1482). the bishop's chantry was destroyed by wyatt, who had shifted the altar to the extreme end of the lady chapel, if we may use the name usually given to the eastern extension of the cathedral, but as the dedication of the whole building is to the virgin, that part may have been called originally the jesus, or trinity chapel. on the north side of the choir is the late gothic chantry of bishop audley and opposite is that of the hungerfords, the upper part of iron-work. on the north side of the altar is the effigy of bishop poore, founder of the cathedral; the modern one under a canopy is that of one of his late successors, bishop hamilton.
-the choir transepts are now reached. that on the north side, with its inverted arch, contains, among others, the tomb of bishop jewel (died 1571) who despoiled the nave windows of their colour. he was the first post-reformation bishop of salisbury. just within the entrance is the interesting brass of bishop wyville, builder of the spire. it records the recovery, through trial by combat, of sherborne castle for the church. the slab of the saint-bishop osmund's tomb (1099), one of those wantonly interfered with by wyatt and a relic of the cathedral of old sarum, has been brought from the nave to its present position near the end of the north choir aisle and not far from its former magnificent shrine. the chief beauty of the lady chapel consists in the slender shafts of purbeck marble that support the roof. the tryptych altarpiece is modern, also the east window in memory of dean lear. opinion will be divided as to the merit of the roof decoration, but time will lend its aid in the colour scheme. in this connexion may be mentioned the means taken here as elsewhere to remove the curious "bloom," that comes in the course of a generation or two, upon the purbeck marble columns. they are oiled!
-attention is again called to the sketch plan for the tombs hereabouts, and in the south choir aisle, where especial notice should be taken of the canopied tomb of bishop giles de bridport. the muniment room, reached from the south-east transept, contains a contemporary copy of magna carta, besides many other interesting manuscripts and treasures. the cathedral library is above the cloisters. its collection of manuscripts is magnificent, some dating as far back as the ninth century. the windows in the cloisters are of very fine design, and some fragments of old glass in the upper portions show that they were once glazed. the original shafts of purbeck marble had so decayed by the middle of the last century that it was decided to replace them with a more durable stone. very beautiful is the octagonal chapter house, entered from the east walk. the bas-reliefs below the windows and above the seats for the clergy are of great interest. the sculptures in the arch of the doorway should also be particularly noticed. from a door in the cloisters there is a charming view of the bishop's palace and the beautiful gardens that surround it.
-an enjoyable stroll can be taken southwards to the harnham gate and the banks of the avon, and a return made by the old hospital of st. nicholas, founded in 1227 by a countess of salisbury, and then by exeter street to st. ann's gate at the east side of the close. fielding, whose grandfather was a canon of the cathedral, is said to have lived in a house on the south side of the gate. dickens was acquainted with salisbury, but not until after he had made it the scene of tom pinch's remarkable characterization--"a very desperate sort of place; an exceedingly wild and dissipated city." it must not be forgotten that salisbury is the "melchester" of the wessex novels and that trollope made the city the original of "barchester."
-continuing northwards, a wide turning on the left is termed the "canal." this takes us back to that time when the citizens' chief concern was probably that of drainage, not of the domestic sort--that did not worry them--but the draining of the water-meadows upon which they had built their homes. about thirty years ago an elaborate scheme for the relief of the city from this natural dampness was successfully carried out. in this wide and usually bustling street the first house on the right is the council chamber, and on the other side of the way is the fine hall of john halle, now a business house. the interior should be seen for the sake of the carved oak screen at the farther end of the banqueting room and the great stone fireplace. the beautiful ceiling is also much admired. this was the home of a rich wool merchant of the town, who built it about 1470. although it has passed through many hands and has seen many vicissitudes it has always been known by his name. a turn to the right at the end of this street will bring the explorer to the old poultry cross. the square pillar surmounted by sundial and ball which for years supplanted the original finial has in turn been replaced by a new canopy and cross. the original erection has been variously ascribed to two individuals, lawrence de st. martin and john de montacute earl of salisbury, in each case for the same reason, namely, as a penance for "having carried home the sacrament bread and eaten it for his supper," for which he was "condemned to set up a cross in salisbury market place and come every saturday of his life in shirt and breeches and there confess his fault publickly." not far away is the church of st. thomas of canterbury, the only really interesting ecclesiastical building in the city apart from the cathedral. it is a very beautiful specimen of perpendicular and replaced a thirteenth-century church founded by bishop bingham. the painting of the last judgment over the chancel arch was covered with whitewash at the reformation and the tudor arms were placed in front of it. about forty years ago this disfigurement to the church was removed and the picture brought once more into the light of day. the old font would seem to have originally belonged to another church, as its style antedates the foundation (1220) of st. thomas' church. a few fragments of old stained glass remain in the east window and in that of the godmanstone aisle, in which aisle is an altar tomb of one of the members of that family. of the other churches st. martin's, in the south-eastern part of the city not far from the southampton road, is the oldest, and has an early english chancel. st. edmund's, originally collegiate, was founded in 1268; it has been almost entirely rebuilt. the church house, near crane bridge, is a perpendicular structure, once the private house of a leading citizen and cloth merchant named webb. other fine old houses are the joiners' hall in st. anne's street and tailors' hall off milford street. the george inn in high street has been restored, but its interior is very much the same as in the early seventeenth century and part of the structure must be nearly three hundred years older. it will be remembered that pepys stayed here and records that he slept in a silk bed, had "a very good diet," but was "mad" at the exorbitant charges. he was much impressed with the "minster" and gave the "guide to the stones" (stonehenge) two shillings. in 1623 a pronouncement was made that all theatrical companies should give their plays at the "george." cromwell stayed at the inn in 1645. salisbury seems to have been fairly indifferent to the cut of her master's coat; royalist and republican were equally welcome if they came in peace. only one fight is worth mentioning during the whole course of the civil war--in which the city was held by each party in turn--and that was the tussle in the close, along high street, and in the market place, when ludlow, with only a few horsemen, held his own against overwhelming odds. the "catherine wheel" long boasted a legend of a meeting of royalists during the commonwealth, at which, the toast of the king having been drunk, one of the company then proposed the health of the devil, who promptly appeared and amid much smoke and blue fire flew away with his proposer out of the window. this story rather hints at a republican spirit on the part of the townspeople. that was certainly manifested when colonel penruddocke led his "forlorn hope" into the city and, long before, when the jack cade rebellion gained a great number of adherents in salisbury.
-the city had a number of these fine old inns, famous centuries before the great days of the exeter road. nearly all have disappeared, but the "white hart" in john street is little altered and the "haunch of venison" is said to be the oldest house in the city.
-in our peregrinations of the streets we have passed two statues neither of great merit but each perpetuating the memory of men of more than local fame. the bronze figure in front of the council house is that of lord herbert of lea, better known perhaps as sydney herbert, minister during the crimean war. the other is a very different manner of man--henry fawcett. the memorial of the blind postmaster-general and great political economist stands in queen street, close to his birthplace. the blackmore and salisbury museums are in st. anne's street. both are most interesting; the first named has an important collection of palaeolithic and neolithic remains.
-the history of salisbury, happily for the citizens, has not been very stirring, apart from the few incidents already briefly mentioned. executions in the market place seem to have had an unenviable notoriety. the most dramatic of these was the beheading of the duke of buckingham in 1484. a headless skeleton dug up in 1835 during alterations to the "saracen's head," formerly the "blue boar," was popularly supposed to be his, though records appear to show that his corpse was in fact taken to the greyfriars' monastery in london. in queen mary's time there was a burning of heretics in the space devoted to violent death, a space which afterwards saw many others as needlessly cruel. one is extraordinary in its details. a prisoner sentenced to the lock-up lost control of himself--possibly he was innocent--and threw a stone at the judge. he was at once sentenced to death and removed to the market place, his right hand being cut off before he was hanged. as lately as 1835 two men here suffered the extreme penalty for arson. to the hanging of lord stourton, a just and well-merited punishment, reference has already been made. but perhaps the most vindictive execution of all was that of a boy of fifteen in 1632 when charles i was in the town. the lad was hanged, drawn and quartered for saying he would buy a pistol to kill the king.
-several delightful excursions can be taken in each direction from salisbury. southwards one may proceed along the avon valley by the fordingbridge road to britford, passing east harnham, where the fine modern church is a memorial to dean lear. britford church is of the greatest interest to archaeologists, for within it are three arches which have been claimed variously as saxon and roman work. the remainder of the building is of the decorated period. an altar tomb was at one time supposed to contain the body of the executed duke of buckingham. longford castle, the seat of the earl of radnor, is just over a mile to the south. the magnificent park extends along the banks of the avon in scenery of much quiet beauty. the castle, although much altered, dates from 1590, and contains a famous collection of paintings and is especially rich in holbein's works. perhaps the most celebrated of the many treasures housed at longford is the "imperial steel chair," once the property of the emperor rudulf ii. it is one of the most elaborate specimens of metal work in england. rather more than a mile west of longford is the early english church at odstock. it has a fine west tower and several points of interest. the pulpit dated 1580 bears the following couplet:
-"god bless and save our royal queen the lyke on earth was never seen."
-the churchyard contains the grave of one joseph scamp, executed for a crime to which he pleaded guilty; but really committed by his son-in-law.
-the route is now by a lane that follows the course of the river through charlton, with clearbury camp a mile away to the right, and on to downton where we cross the bridge to the large and interesting cruciform church built at many different periods. the transitional nave becomes early english at the east end and the transepts are made up of early english, decorated and perpendicular work. the chancel is entirely of the last-named style and very fine in its proportions and details. the norman font of purbeck marble should also be noticed. the village was one of the old-time "rotten" boroughs and returned two members to parliament. southey was once elected but declined the honour. downton was evidently of some importance in still earlier days, for on the outskirts of the village, in private grounds, is an earthwork used in saxon times as a folk-mote, or open-air local parliament. it is probable that this was originally a british fort, for about a mile away is the ancient ford over the avon where a great battle was fought in the days of the west saxon invasion and in which the attackers were held. thirty-seven years elapsed before any further advance was made into wiltshire. downton is also one of the places of which that curious myth story "the pent cuckoo" is told.
-the road to the south can be followed down the river to fordingbridge (see chapter ii), but it is proposed to return by the east bank of the river past burford park and trafalgar, the renamed standlynch manor, bestowed on earl nelson in 1814, to the neighbourhood of alderbury, over three miles out of salisbury on the southampton road. the scenery of this part of the christchurch avon is very pleasant in a quiet way, the wide views towards the chalk hills on each side and the distant spire of the cathedral, visible from every point of vantage, make the walk especially enjoyable. alderbury is said to be the original village of the "blue dragon" of mrs. lupin and mark tapley, immortalized by charles dickens, though some claim amesbury to be the original of this scene. it is difficult to say that any particular village could be in the novelist's mind if, as seems probable, he had not seen wiltshire when martin chuzzlewit was written. st. mary's grange, on the salisbury road, is suggested as the original of mr. pecksniff's residence. alderbury house was built from the demolished campanile of salisbury cathedral.
-to obtain a really good idea of the hill country, apart from that of the plain, a walk should be taken, by those who are impervious to fatigue, to broad chalke, about seven miles from east harnham, or even farther to berwick st. john, more than six miles higher up the stream. the river ebble itself, if river it can be called, is rarely in evidence, but the valley it drains is beautiful and, though it contains quite a string of villages, is so remote as to be seldom visited by anyone not on business bent. the vale seems to end naturally at coombe bisset, though the river flows on through honnington and odstock for four miles farther before it reaches the avon. the church, set picturesquely on its hill at coombe, is an old transitional norman building with some later additions. the village in the hollow below appeals to one as a happy place in which to end one's days. so also appears stratford tony, farther up the vale, where, as its name suggests, the roman road from old sarum to blandford once cut across the valley in the usual roman manner. bishopstone, the next village, has a very fine cruciform church, most interesting in its general details. the patron of the living was the bishop of winchester; thus the village gets its name. it is possible that some of the bishops took special interest in the building and that would account for its elaboration. the style is decorated passing into perpendicular in the nave. the chancel and transepts are peculiarly fine and the vaulting of the first-named will be much admired, as also the beautiful windows. the south door of the chancel with its handsome porch and groined roof; the vaulted chamber, or so-called cloister, outside the south transept, the use of which is unknown; the recessed tomb in the north transept and the grand arch on the same side of the church; all call for especial notice.
-the right-hand road at stoke farthing leads direct to broad chalke, or a longer by-way on the other side of the stream takes us to the same goal by way of bury orchard, a village as delectable as its name. chalke likewise boasts of a fine church, also cruciform and dating, so far as the chancel and north transept are concerned, from the thirteenth century. in that transept the old wooden roof still remains. the nave is perpendicular, solid and plain; the roof quite modern, though the corbels that supported the old one, carved with representations of angels singing and playing, were not disturbed. the sedilia in the chancel and the aumbry in the north transept should be seen. the lych-gate was erected to the memory of rowland williams of essays and reviews fame. john aubrey, antiquary and nature lover, who was a native of easton pierce in north wilts, was a resident here for a long time, and a modern literary association is found in the fact that the old rectory has been the home of mr. maurice hewlett for some years.
-the hills now begin to close in upon the road and another valley penetrates into the highlands which form the northern portion of cranborne chase. in this vale, in a lovely hollow between the rounded hills, is the small village of bower chalke. westwards, up the main valley, we pass through fifield bavant, where the church is one of the many that claim to be the smallest in england. ebbesborne wake, the next hamlet, lies cramped in a narrow gully between barrow hill and prescombe down. the restored church is not of great interest, but an unnamed tomb within bears these very pertinent lines:
-as thou dost lyve, o reader dere, so dyd i once which now lye heare; and as i am so shalt thou be for all is frayle as thou mayst see.
-the valley goes on to cholderton, shipton bellinger and tidworth, where are situated the head-quarters of the southern military command. the collingbournes--ducis and kingston--are much farther on, right at the head of the valley, and eighteen miles from salisbury. if the explorer has penetrated as far as tidworth a train can be taken three miles across the down to ludgershall, a very ancient place near the hampshire border. it would seem to have been of some importance in earlier days. "the castell stoode in a parke now clene doun. there is of late times a pratie lodge made by the ruines of it and longgethe to the king" (leland). to this castle came the empress maud and not far away the seal of her champion, milo of hereford, was found some years since. all that is left to show that leland's "clene doun" was a slight exaggeration is a portion of the wall of the keep built into a farm at the farther end of the little town. the twelfth-century church is interesting. here may be seen the effigy of sir richard brydges, the first owner of the manor house (or "pratie lodge") which succeeded the castle. the picturesque appearance of the main street is enhanced by the old market cross which bears carved representations of the crucifixion and other scenes from the new testament.
-stonehenge and the plain
-old sarum is on the left of, and close to, the road. it can be most conveniently visited from this side. at present the most interesting part of the great mound is the actual fosse and vallum. the interior, while excavations are in progress, is too much a chaotic rubbish heap to be very inviting. but again this is merely a passing phase and soon the daisy-starred turf will once more mantle the grave of a dead city. the valley road turns off to the left a short distance past the railway and goes to stratford-sub-castle, just under the shadow of the great mound to the west. this forms a pleasant enough introduction to the scenery and villages of the upper avon. the manor house at stratford is associated with the pitt family, for the estate came by purchase to the celebrated governor pitt, the one-time owner of the diamond named after him. his descendant, the earl of chatham, was member for old sarum when it was the most celebrated, and execrated, of all the "rotten boroughs." for many years the elections took place under a tree in a meadow below the hill. this tree was destroyed in a blizzard during the winter of 1896. the early english and perpendicular church is quaint and picturesque. on its tower will be seen an inscription to thomas pitt and within, an ancient hour-glass stand. the old parsonage has the inscription over the entrance:--
-parva sed apta domino
-the road now crosses the avon bridge at a point where the western road from old sarum once forded the river, and follows the valley to the three woodfords, lower, middle, and upper. just past the middle village, in a loop of the avon, is heale house, now rebuilt. in the old mansion charles took refuge during his flight after worcester. the secret room in which he hid was preserved in the reconstruction. lake, a beautiful old tudor house, lately burned, but now restored, stands near the river bank south of wilsford, through which village we pass to reach west amesbury, eight miles from salisbury. the fine modern mansion not far from wilsford is the seat of lord glenconner.
-another route which keeps on the east bank of the avon through a sometimes rough by-way, starts from the salisbury side of the avon bridge, close to old sarum, and passes through the hamlets of little durnford, salterton and netton to durnford, where there is a fine church, partly norman, with an imposing chancel arch and north and south doors of this period. the remainder of the building is mainly early english. some old stained glass in the perpendicular windows of the nave should be noticed and also the chained copy of bishop jewel's apologie or answer in defense of the churche of englande, dated 1571, in the chancel. the pulpit dates from the early seventeenth century and is a well-designed piece of woodwork with carving of that period. a brass to edward young and his family, two recessed tombs in the south wall, a few scraps of wall painting, and the fine norman font with interlaced arches and sculptured pillars, are some of the other interesting items in this old church. ogbury camp rises above the village to the east; a lane to the north of it leads in rather more than three miles to amesbury.
-in the mist of legend and tradition that surrounds the towns and hamlets of the plain the origin of amesbury is lost. the name is supposed to be derived from ambres-burh--the town of aurelius ambrosius--a native british king with a latinized name who reigned about the year 550. in the morte d'arthur "almesbury" is the monastery to which guinevere came for sanctuary, and romantic tradition asserts that sir lancelot took the body of the dead queen thence to glastonbury. we are on firmer ground when we come to the time of the tenth-century house of benedictine nuns dispersed by henry ii for "that they did by their scandalous and irreligious behaviour bring ill fame to holy church." it had been founded by a royal criminal, that stony-hearted elfrida of corfe, who murdered her stepson while he was a guest at her door. but very soon there was a new house for women and men--a branch of a noted monastery at fontevrault in anjou--of great splendour and prestige in which the women took the lead. to this priory came many royal and noble ladies, including eleanor of brittany, granddaughter of henry ii and eleanor of england, widow of henry iii. the priory met the same fate as most others at the dissolution and its actual site is uncertain. protector somerset obtained possession of the property and afterwards a house was built by inigo jones, most of which has disappeared in subsequent additions and alterations. while the queensberry family were in possession the poet gay was a guest here and wrote, in a sham cave or grotto still existing on the river bank, the beggar's opera, that satire on certain aspects of eighteenth-century life which, strangely enough, became lately popular after a long period of comparative oblivion.
-amesbury church once belonged to the priory. its appearance from the outside gives the impression that it is unrestored. this is not the case, however, for the drastic restoration and partial rebuilding has taken place at various times. the architecture is norman and early english with decorated windows in the chancel. the double two-storied chamber at the side of the north transept consists of a priest's room with a chapel below. the grounds of the priory at the back of the church are very lovely, the river forming the boundary on one side. amesbury town is pleasant and even picturesque, and the avon in its immediate neighbourhood may be described as beautiful. it is the nearest place to stonehenge in which accommodation may be had and is also a good centre for the exploration of the plain. the western road runs in the direction of stonehenge. on the crown of the hill to the right, just before reaching west amesbury, the so-called "vespasian's camp" is seen. this is undoubtedly a prehistoric earthwork.
-the description of salisbury plain in the ingoldsby legends is hardly accurate now:--
-"not a shrub nor a tree, not a bush can we see, no hedges, no ditches, no gates, no styles, much less a house or a cottage for miles."
-the usual accompaniment of the chalk--small "tufts" of foliage, that become spinneys when close at hand, dot the surface of the great plateau. green, becoming yellow in the middle distance and toward the horizon french-grey, are the prevailing hues of the plain, but at times when huge masses of cloud cast changing shadows on the short sward beneath, the colours are kaleidoscopic in their bewildering change. this immense table-land, from which all the chalk hills of england take their eastward way, covers over three-fifths of wiltshire if we include that northern section usually called the marlborough downs.
-we now approach the mysterious stones that have caused more conjecture and wonder than any work of man in these islands or in europe and of which more would-be descriptive rubbish has been written in a highfalutin strain than of any other memorial of the past. such phrases as "majestic temple of our far-off ancestors," "stupendous conception of a dead civilization" and the like, can only bring about a feeling of profound disappointment when stonehenge is actually seen. to all who experience such disappointment the writer would strongly urge a second or third pilgrimage. come to the stones on a gloomy day in late october or early march when the surface of the great expanse of the plain reflects, as water would, the leaden lowering skies. then perhaps the tragic mystery of the place will fire the imagination as no other scene the wide world over could. stonehenge is unique whichever way one looks at it. in its age, its uncouth savage strength, and its secretiveness. that it will hold that secret to the end of time, notwithstanding the clever and plausible guesses of archaeologist and astronomer, is almost beyond any doubt, and it is well that it should be so.
-the appearance of stonehenge has been likened to a herd of elephant browsing on the plain. the simile is good and is particularly applicable to its aspect from the amesbury road--the least imposing of the approaches. the straight white highway, and the fact that the stones are a little below the observer, detract very much from the impressiveness of the scene. the usual accompaniments of a visit, a noisy and chattering crowd of motorists, eager to rush round the enclosure quickly, to purchase a packet of postcards and be off; the hut for the sale of the cards, and the absurdly incongruous, but (alas!) necessary, policeman, go far to spoil the visit for the more reverent traveller. but if he will go a little way to the south and watch the gaunt shapes against the sky for a time and thus realize their utter remoteness from that stream of evanescent mortality beneath, the unknown ages that they have stood here upon the lonely waste, the dynasties, nay, the very races, that have come and conquered and gone, and the almost certainty that the broad metalled highway which passes close to them will in turn disappear and give place, while they still stand, to the turf of the great green expanse around; then the awe that surrounds stonehenge will be felt and understood.
-the early aspect of stonehenge was far more elaborate than as we see it to-day, and the avenues that led to the inner circles and the smaller and outer rings have to a large extent disappeared. the stones are enclosed in a circular earthwork 300 feet across. the outer circle of trilithons, 100 feet in diameter, is composed of monoliths of sandstone originally four feet apart and thirty in number. inside this circle is another of rough unhewn stones of varying shapes and sizes. within this again, forming a kind of "holy place," are two ellipses--the outer of trilithons five in number and the inner of blue stones of the same geological formation as the rough stones of the outer circle. of these there were originally nineteen.
-it will be well at this point to make brief reference to the interpretation placed on stonehenge by various writers. henry of huntingdon (1150) calls it stanhenges, and terms it the second wonder of england, but professes entire ignorance of its purpose and marvels at the method of its construction. geoffrey of monmouth (1150) ascribes its origin to the magic of merlin who, at the instance of aurelius ambrosius, directed the invasion of ireland under uther pendragon to obtain possession of the standing stones called the "giants' dance at killaraus." victory being with the invaders, the stones were taken and transported across the seas with the greatest ease with merlin's help, and placed on salisbury plain as a memorial to the dead of britain fallen in battle. giraldus cambrensis, robert of gloucester and leland all give a similar explanation. about 1550, in speed's history of britain and stow's annals, merlin and the invasion of ireland are dropped and sole credit given to ambrosius for the erection. thomas fuller (1645) ridicules tradition and consider the stones to be artificial and probably made of sand (!) on the spot. inigo jones about the same time attributes the erection to the romans. his master, james i, having taken a philosophic interest in the stones, had desired him to make some pronouncement upon them. this monarch's grandson, in his flight, is said to have stopped and essayed to count the stones, with the usual result on the second trial. pepys a short time after went "single to stonehenge, over the plain and some great hills even to fright us. come thither and find them as prodigious as any tales i ever heard of them, and worth going this journey to see, god knows what their use was! they are hard to tell but may yet be told."
-about the middle of the eighteenth century the druid temple legend began to gain ground and many great men gave support to their interpretation; it is not yet an exploded idea. stukely, the archaeological writer, gives a definite date--460 b.c.--as that of their erection, and dr. johnson, writing to mrs. thrale, says:--"it is, in my opinion, to be referred to the earliest habitations of the island as a druidical monument of, at least, two thousand years, probably the most ancient work of man upon the island." in the last part of this sentence the great doctor either forgets, or shows his ignorance of, the antiquities at avebury. sir richard hoare, at the close of the century, is equally convinced that this explanation is the right one. other theories current about this time were--that it was a monument to four hundred british princes slain by hengist (472); the grave of queen boadicea; or a phoenician temple; even a danish origin was ascribed to stonehenge. perhaps the most curious fact connected with the literary history of stonehenge is that it is not mentioned in the roman itineraries or by bede or any other saxon writer.
-in 1824 the following interesting article by h. wansey appeared in the gentleman's magazine.
-"in my early days i frequently visited stonehenge to make observations at sunrise as well as by starlight. i noticed that the lower edge of the impost of the outer circle forms a level horizontal line in the heavens, equi-distant from the earth, to the person standing near the centre of the building, about 15 degrees above the horizon on all sides.
-"stonehenge stands on rather sloping ground; the uprights of the outer circle are nearly a foot taller on the lower ground or western side than they are on the eastern, purposely to keep the horizontal level of the impost, which marks great design and skill. the thirty uprights of the outer circle are not found exactly of equal distances, but the imposts (so correctly true on their under bed) are each of them about 7 cubits in length, making 210 cubits the whole circle.
-"if a person stands before the highest leaning-stone, between it and the altar stone looking eastward, he will see the pyramidal stone called the friar's heel, coinciding with the top of durrington hill, marking nearly the place where the sun rises on the longest day. this was the observation of a mr. warltire, who delivered lectures on stonehenge at salisbury (1777), and who had drawn a meridian line on one of the stones. mr. warltire asserted that the stone of the trilithons and of the outer circle are the stone of the country, and that he had found the place from whence they were taken, about fourteen miles from the spot northward, somewhere near urchfont.
-"wood and dr. stukeley both make the inner oval to consist of nineteen stones, answering to the ancient metonic cycle of nineteen years, at the end of which the sun and the moon are in the same relative situation as at the beginning, when indeed the same almanack will do again.
-"in my younger days i have visited stonehenge by starlight, and found, on applying my sight from the top of the 6-foot pillars of the inner oval and looking at the high trilithons, i could mark the places of the planets and the stars in the heavens, so as to measure distances by the corners and angles of them....
-"it is very remarkable that no barrow or tumulus exists on the east side, where the sun (the great object of ancient worship) first appears."
-the theory put forward in this article has in late years been upheld by no less an authority than sir norman lockyer, who thinks that the practice of visiting stonehenge on the longest day of the year--a pilgrimage that goes back before the beginnings of recorded history, essayed by a country people not addicted to wasting a fine summer morning without some very strong tradition to prompt them--goes far to bear out the theory that stonehenge was a solar temple. if this is so, the mysterious people who erected it were civilized enough to have a good working knowledge of the movement of the heavenly bodies, and probably combined that knowledge with a not unreasonable worship and ritual. sir norman lockyer's calculations give the date of the erection as about 1680 b.c.
-lord avebury considers that it is part of a great scheme for honouring the famous dead, and many modern writers have adopted the same view. that the plain near by is a great cemetery is beyond doubt, but then so are more or less all the chalk hills of britain.
-there is more than one explanation of the probable method of the construction of the trilithons. a writer in the wiltshire archaeological magazine (w. long) puts forward the theory that an artificial mound was made in which holes were dug to receive the upright pillars. when these were in position the recumbent block could easily be placed across the two and, all the trilithons being complete, the earth could be dug away, leaving the stones standing. professor gowland, however, does not favour this view in the light of his recent discoveries and is inclined to credit the builders with a greater knowledge of simple engineering.
-in 1918 stonehenge, which hitherto had formed part of the amesbury abbey estate of sir cosmo gordon antrobus, was sold to sir c.h. chubb, who immediately presented it to the nation. the work of restoration is being carried out by the office of works, and the society of antiquaries are, at their own expense, sifting every cubic inch of ground under those stones that are being re-erected--to the dismay of many of that body--in beds of concrete! much apprehension has been felt by archaeologists that this renovation will have deplorable results, but it is promised that nothing is to be done in the way of replacement which cannot be authenticated. at the time of writing the work is still in progress and all is chaos. when the hideous iron fence is replaced by the proposed ha-ha, or sunk fence, and new sward grows about the old stones the general effect will be greatly improved. the excavators have re-discovered certain depressions shown in aubrey's map (1666) and which had long since disappeared to outward view. there is little doubt that they held stones more or less in a circle with the "slaughter stone." it is conjectured that, as in the case of the inner blue stones, this outer ring was constructed before the more imposing trilithons were erected, perhaps at a period long anterior. each of the holes already explored contain calcined human bones.
-stonehenge down; wilsford down to the south; stoke down westwards, and, in fact, the whole of the great plain is a maze of earthworks, ditches, tumuli and relics of a past at which we can only guess. here, if anywhere in britain, is haunted ground and perhaps the silence of earlier writers may be explained by the existence of a kind of "taboo" that prevented reference to the mysteries of the plain.
-the exploration of the upper avon may be extended from amesbury to durrington (one mile from bulford station), where is an old church containing fine carved oak fittings worth inspection. across the stream is milston, where addison was born and his father was rector. higher up the river is pretty figheldean with its old thatched cottages embowered among the huge trees that line the banks of the stream, and with a fine early english church. the monuments in the decorated chancel are to some of the poores, once a notable family. the church also contains certain unknown effigies. these were discovered at some distance from the church, probably having been thrown away during some earlier "restoration!"
-netheravon is famous for its cavalry school. of its norman and early english church sydney smith was once a curate, to his great discomfort. the tower here is very old and some have called it saxon. the student of rural rides will remember that here cobbett saw an "acre of hares!" fittleton is another unspoilt little village, and enford, or avonford, the next, has a fine church unavoidably much restored after having been struck by lightning early in the nineteenth century; the norman piers remain. all these villages gain in interest and charm to the pedestrian by being just off the high road that keeps to the west bank of the river. upavon, however, is on a loop of this highway and sees more traffic. here is a church with a transitional chancel; it is said that the contemporary nave was of wood. the fine tower and present nave belong to the thirteenth century. the norman font with its archaic carving and the fifteenth-century crucifix over the west door should be noticed. upavon was the home of a kindred spirit to cobbett, for here was born the once famous "orator hunt," farmer and demagogue--rare combination! he was chairman of the meeting in manchester that had "peterloo" as its sequel. near upavon, but down stream, is the small and ancient manor house of chisenbury, until lately the property of the groves, one of whose ancestors suffered death for his participation in the rising of colonel penruddock during the commonwealth.
-at rushall the narrow valley of the avon, guarded by the opposing camps of casterley and chisenbury, is left for the transverse vale of pewsey, on the farther side of which are the marlborough downs. a number of chalk streams drain the vale and go to make up the head-waters of the avon; in fact two streams, both bearing the old british name for river, meet hereabouts; the one rising about two miles from savernake station and the other about the same distance from devizes. along the northern slope of this vale the canal made to join the kennet and thames with yet another, the bristol avon, runs its lonely course. five miles west of rushall is the divide between the waters of the english channel and the severn sea, and the bristol avon receives the stream that rises but a mile from its namesake of christchurch bay. high in one of the combes at this end of the valley is the small village of all cannings, said to have been of much importance in the dark ages as a saxon centre. all it has to show the visitor now is a cruciform church with norman and early english fragments and a good perpendicular tower.
-the villages of pewsey vale are many and charming. all are well served by the "short-cut" line of the great western, over which the devon and cornwall expresses now run. across the vale, in an opposite direction to the iron way, runs the ridgeway, a road probably in use when stonehenge was not, and silbury hill, that mystery of the marlborough downs, was yet to be. on the western side of this old road are the villages of patney and chirton. at the latter is a very beautiful transitional church. near beechingstoke, close to the ridgeway, is a famous british village, the entrenchment containing about thirty acres. the old road comes down from the northern highlands between milk hill (964 feet) and knap hill, the two bluffs that rear their great bulk across the vale. here beneath the "white horse," a modern one cut at the beginning of the nineteenth century, are the old churches of alton priors and alton berners, the latter partly saxon.
-the road north-east from rushall runs through manningford bruce. the church here is possibly saxon; it has a semi-circular apse. on the north wall of the chancel is a tablet to mary nicholas with arms bearing the royal canton. this was her reward for helping charles in his flight after the battle of worcester. manningford abbots once belonged to the abbot of hyde. the rebuilt church is only of interest in possessing a very fine pre-reformation chalice. two miles farther is pewsey, a pleasant town surrounded by the chalk hills. from those to the eastward cobbett, when he beheld the vale stretched out before him, broke into one of those simple but graphic descriptive touches that help to make the rural rides immortal, "a most beautiful sight it was! villages, hamlets, large farms, towers, steeples, fields, meadows, orchards and very fine timber trees. the shape of the thing was this: on each side downs, very lofty and steep in some places, and sloping miles back in other places, but on each side out of the valley are downs. from the edge of the downs begin capital arable fields, generally of very great dimensions and in some places running a mile or two back into little cross valleys formed by hills of downs. after the corn-fields come meadows on each side, down to the brook or river. the farmhouses, mansions, villages and hamlets are generally situated in that part of the arable land that comes nearest to the meadows. great as my expectations had been, they were more than fulfilled. i delight in this sort of country..... i sat upon my horse, and i looked over milton and easton and pewsey for half an hour, though i had not breakfasted."
-pewsey church has a transitional nave and early english chancel; the oblong tower being perpendicular. the carved reredos was designed and worked by canon pleydell-bouverie, who also made the communion rails from some timbers of the san josef, a ship taken by nelson at the battle of cape st. vincent. the roof of the organ chamber and vestry are of much interest; they are part of the refectory roof of ivychurch priory.
-the country to the north of the little old town is very beautiful. the precipitous wall of the marlborough downs, with several lovely and little-known villages at its foot, is a remarkable feature of the landscape. the high road to marlborough, that climbs the hills for three fatiguing miles, passes through the small village of oare, where there is a modern red-brick church. not far away to the west are the hamlets of west and east towel, lost in the lonely by ways beneath the hills. above them in a fold of the downs is huish, dropped down amidst memorials of a long vanished past. dewponds, earthworks and "hut circles" cover the hills in all directions. at martinsell, the camp-crowned hill to the east of the high road, until recent days a festival was held, the beginnings of which may have been in neolithic times. on palm sunday young men and maidens would ascend the hill carrying boughs of hazel. they would, no doubt, have been scandalized if told that the ceremony had anything but a christian significance. the prospect of the vale from this hill-side, or from the high road itself, is not easily forgotten, and the beech-woods and parklands of rainscombe, that fill the broad but sheltered hollow below, make a lovely foreground to the view.
-we must now return to the lower end of the vale of wylye which has been noticed at wilton, where the river, road and rail come down a narrow defile from heytsbury and warminster. this valley has on the north and east the familiar aspect of salisbury plain. on the south and west are those wooded hills that are seen also from the neighbourhood of fonthill, and though both sides of the valley are made of the same material--the current chalk of wiltshire--they are very unlike in their superficial scenery. the wylye is perhaps the most beautiful of wiltshire rivers, and although it has an important cross-country railway running close to it for the greater part of its length, the villages and hamlets upon the banks are peculiarly calm, secluded and unspoilt.
-the high road from salisbury to warminster turns northwards at fugglestone past the two wilton stations, without entering that town and, passing through chilhampton and south newton, reaches the hamlet of stoford, which has an old inn close to the river bank. a short half mile westwards is the picturesque old village of great wishford, said to be derived from "welsh-ford," where the church has been so much restored that it is practically a new one. the chancel with its fine triple lancet window is early english. the altar tomb of sir thomas bonham has his effigy in a pilgrim's robe which is said to commemorate that knight's seven years' sojourn in palestine. an incredible tradition, current among the country people, says that lady bonham gave birth to seven children at one time, and that the sieve, in which they were all brought to the church to be christened, hung in the old nave for many years. the fine tomb in the chancel is that of sir richard grobham (1629). his helmet and banner are suspended upon the opposite wall; an old chest in the south aisle is said to have been saved from a spanish ship by this knight.
-the main road continues up the valley to stapleford, where is a fine cruciform church with norman arches on the south of the nave and with a door of this period on the same side. the fine sedilia and piscina in the fourteenth-century chancel should be noticed, and also the well-proportioned porch that has within it a coffin slab bearing an incised cross. here the valley of the winterbourne comes down from the heart of the plain at orcheston through winterbourne stoke and berwick st. james; a lonely and thinly populated string of hamlets seldom visited by the ordinary tourist, but of much charm to those who appreciate the more unsophisticated type of english village that, alas! is becoming more rare every day. both berwick and stoke have interesting old churches.
-continuing up the wylye we reach steeple langford, situated in the most beautiful part of the valley. here is a decorated church with good details and a remarkable tomb-slab bearing an incised figure of an unknown huntsman, also a fine altar tomb of the mompessons. the rector here in the days of the parliament was ejected in the depth of winter with his wife and eleven children, suffering great hardship before succour reached them. little langford is across the stream in an exquisite situation. deeply embowered among the trees is the small cruciform church with an interesting norman door, showing in the tympanum, a bishop, said to represent st. aldhelm, in the act of benediction. we may keep to the road that closely follows the railway on the south side of the stream to wylye, a quiet little place half way up the vale. here is a perpendicular church with a pinnacled tower and an early english east end. the jacobean pulpit stood in the old church at wilton and was brought here when that was rebuilt. a famous pre-reformation chalice is preserved among the church plate, and the village is proud of its bells. one bears the words "ave maria"; another not so old is inscribed "1587 give thanks to god." across the stream the hamlet of deptford stands on the main road, which goes by fisherton de la mere to codford st. mary. here another quiet valley opens up into the plain and leads to the remote villages of chitterne st. mary and all saints, among many relics of the prehistoric past--"british" villages and circles, tumuli and ditches. codford st. mary church, though partly rebuilt, is still of interest and has a transitional norman chancel arch and fine norman font. the jacobean pulpit and tudor altar tomb of sir richard mompesson should be noticed. the altar is said to have been made from the woodwork of a derelict pulpit from st. mary's, oxford. cobbett was enthusiastic about the well-being of the country and its farmers hereabouts, and was especially delighted with the rich picture that this part of the wylye makes from the down above. codford is the village taken by trollope for the scene of the vicar of bulhampton.
-upton lovell, about a mile from codford st. peter, has a church, the nave of which was built in the seventeenth century. the chancel belongs to the original transitional building. an altar tomb with an effigy in armour is supposed to be that of a lovell of castle cary. the manor was held by this family and from them the village takes its name. an unhappy story is told of one of the family, a participant in the lambert simnel rebellion, who managed to find sanctuary here, and, perhaps through his retainers being in ignorance of his whereabouts, was starved to death in the secret chamber in which he had hidden himself. his skeleton was discovered long afterwards seated at a table with books and papers in front of it. knook is the next village, a mile below heytesbury. here is a church that, in spite of ruthless restoration, has retained its norman chancel and a south door with a fine tympanum. also the old manor house has still much of its former dignity in spite of its change of station. away to the north, on one of the rounded summits of salisbury plain, is knook castle, a prehistoric camp that was utilized by the romans and possibly by the saxons after their invasion of the west.
-at tytherington there is another church, very small and old and once a prebend of heytesbury. in the early days of the last century service was only performed here four times a year, and a legend was once related to the writer of a dog that had been accidentally shut up in this church at one service and found alive and released at the next, ten weeks later! a mile farther is sutton veny, where there are two churches, a fine new one, and an old ruined building of which the chancel is kept in repair as a mortuary chapel. the manor house is picturesque and rambling, as is the village itself, straggling along the road to warminster. at the upper end of the street a cross road on the right leads to morton bavant and to the main route on the north side of the stream. the partly rebuilt church is of little interest, excepting perhaps the arch of chalk that supports the fourteenth-century tower, but the village deserves the adjective "sweet." the stream, although now of small size, and the surrounding hills that rise close by into scratchbury camp, make a lovely setting for the mellow old cottages and bright gardens that one may hope are as good to live in as they are to look at. close by the village certain roman pavements were found in 1786, but the site is now uncertain and the mosaics have been lost. at the cross roads just referred to, the left-hand road climbs the hill to the deverills--longridge, hill, buxton, monkton and kingston, pleasant hamlets all, of which the first has the most to show. here is a fine church partly built of chalk and containing the tomb of the sir john thynne who made longleat. the old almshouses were founded by his descendant, sir james, in 1665. in hill deverill church is a monumental record of the ludlows. to this family general ludlow, of the army of the parliament, belonged. beyond the last of the deverills is maiden bradley, alone with its guardian hills, which ring it round with summits well over 800 feet above the sea. long knoll is the monarch of this miniature range and well repays the explorer who climbs to its summit with a most delightful view. in maiden bradley church is the tomb of sir edward seymour, speaker of the house in the reign of charles ii, and a fine norman font of purbeck marble.
-resuming the route northwards from sutton veny, bishopstrow is soon reached. above the village to the north is the great rounded hill called battlesbury camp, crowned with the usual entrenchments and surrounded by the curious "lynchets" or remains of ancient terrace cultivation. bishopstrow church dates from 1757, when it replaced a building with saxon foundations and east end. the main road is now taken on the north bank of the stream and in two miles, or twenty-one direct from salisbury, we arrive at the old town called, no one knows why, warminster. it may be that the were, the small stream or brook running into wylye gives the first syllable, but that st. deny's church was ever a minster there is no evidence, though it is occasionally so called by the townspeople. now quite uninteresting, the church was rebuilt some thirty years or more ago. in high street, close to the town hall, is the chantry of st. lawrence, still keeping its old tower but otherwise rebuilt. for its age and situation warminster retains little that is ancient, but it is a pleasant and very healthy town, 400 feet above the sea. here, in the early nineteenth century, two eminent victorians--dr. arnold and dean stanley--received their first education at the old grammar school. st. boniface college, established in 1860, is a famous house of training for missionaries. warminster has "no villainous gingerbread houses running up and no nasty shabby-genteel people; no women trapesing about with showy gowns and dirty necks, no jew-looking fellows with dandy coats, dirty shirts and half heels to their shoes. a really nice and good town" (cobbett).
-the great show-place and excursion from warminster is longleat. to reach the great house and famous grounds we take the western road which reaches the confines of the park in a little over four miles and passes under the imposing mass of cley hill, an isolated eminence of about 900 feet, on the summit of which a curious "ceremony" used to take place, as at martinsell, on palm sunday. the boys and young men from neighbouring villages would ascend the hill to play a game with sticks and balls. not one could say why, but that it was "always done." undoubtedly this was an unconscious reminiscence of a pagan spring festival.
-longleat is indeed a "stately home of england" and one of the most famous of those larger mansions that are more in the nature of permanent museums for the benefit of the public than of homes for their fortunate possessors. in normal times the galleries are open on two or three days in the week, according to the seasons, and holiday crowds come long distances to see the magnificent house and its still more splendid surroundings, perhaps more than to inspect the art treasures which form the nominal attraction. still these are very fine and should, if possible, be seen.
-the origin of "long leat"--the long shallow stream of pond and lakelets artificially widened and dammed--was, like that of so many other great houses, a monastic one. an augustinian priory stood here before the dissolution, but when the great dispersal took place it had already decayed and no great tragedy occurred. protector somerset had a young man attached to his retinue, and in his confidence, named sir john thynne who, when his master lost his head, very adroitly kept his own, afterwards marrying the heiress of a great london merchant--sir thomas gresham. this enabled the husband to add greatly to the small property he had already purchased, which included the old priory buildings, and the altered state of his fortunes prompted him to erect a stately residence on the old site. his first efforts were destroyed by a disastrous fire, but in 1578 the stately house was finished and, as far as the exterior is concerned, was practically as we see it to-day. the interior was entirely remodelled at the beginning of the nineteenth century by sir jeffrey wyatville. james thynne--"tom of ten thousand "--was the lord of longleat in 1682. he was engaged to the beautiful sixteen-year-old widow of lord ogle, when she had the misfortune to attract the attention of count konigsmark, a polish adventurer, whose hired assassins waylaid and shot thynne in pall mall. the count escaped punishment, but his instruments were hanged upon the scene of the crime. the property then passed to a cousin who became the first viscount weymouth. the third viscount was made marquis of bath when he was the host of george iii in 1789. a famous guest of the first viscount was bishop ken, who stayed at longleat for many years as an honoured visitor.
-amongst the treasures on the walls of the corridors and saloons are several holbeins, portraits of contemporaries of his, including henry viii. there are also a number by sir peter lely, one being of bishop ken and another of his friend and host; several interesting paintings of celebrated men of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and some good representative examples of great artists from raphael to watts. the grand staircase and state drawing-room are of admirable proportions and form part of the work of wyatville. in the drawing-room is treasured a cabinet of coral and a writing tablet which belonged to talleyrand. the great hall, which contains a collection of armour and ancient implements of war of much importance and value, has a fine wooden roof and minstrels' gallery. among the stags' horns that decorate the walls will be seen two mighty headpieces that once belonged to irish elks and were discovered in a peat bog. the chimney-piece here belongs to the period before wyatville began his transformation of the interior.
-not least of the attractions of longleat are its surroundings. the park is sixteen miles round, and a large portion of this great space is taken up by garden and pleasaunce, as distinct from the deer park itself. the approach from warminster and the north is by a wooded ascent with cley beacon to the right and past "heaven's gate," a favourite view-point with bishop ken, who, it is said, composed the morning hymn associated with his name while contemplating the inspiring scene before him. almost as fine is the approach from the south through the arched gateway on the horningsham road. this route passes through groves of magnificent timber and by the string of delightful ponds that give the place its name.
-the road that hugs the plain on its western side goes almost directly north from warminster and, passing upton scudamore, reaches westbury in less than four miles. the history of this old town is closely bound up with that of the kings of wessex and at westbury leigh is a site called the "palace garden," encircled by a moat said to have once been the residence of these monarchs. the westbury white horse is supposed to have been cut as a memorial of the great victory of alfred over the danes in 890 (or 877). in the later middle ages, this town, like many others in the west, was a centre of the cloth trade, and, later, iron foundries were a feature of the place.
-the handsome cruciform church, in the midst of its fine chestnut trees, is of much interest. originally norman, the greater part of the present building is early perpendicular. the dingified central tower and the spaciousness of the interior will be admired. on the south of the chancel is the willoughby chapel, on the north, that of the maudits. the south transept contains a monument of sir james ley, created earl of marlborough by charles i. the chained book, a copy of erasmus' paraphrase, and also the fine, though modern, stained glass in the east and west windows is worthy of notice.
-a new suburb has grown up on the western side between the original town and the railway junction nearly a mile away and the immediate surroundings of the station, as we enter it from the south, are reminiscent of a northern industrial town. smoke and clangour, and odours not often met with in wiltshire, are very insistent. not so many years ago westbury was in a backwater, if that term may be applied to railways, but now that it is on the new main route to devon and cornwall the industrial aspect of the town may increase greatly during the next few years.
-frome, six miles away over the border in somersetshire and on this same new way to the west, has shaken off its ancient air of bucolic peace and now prints books and weaves cloth and does a little in the manufacture of art metal work. the town, nevertheless, is very pleasant despite its strenuous endeavour to make money in a way mercian rather than west saxon. its broad market place and steep and picturesque streets leading thereto, especially that one named "cheap," and the rural throng that congregates on market and fair days is distinctly that of wessex. frome church is more beautiful within than without. it is approached, however, by a picturesque and steep ascent of steps, on the left-hand wall of which are sculptures of the stations of the cross. the church is extraordinary for the number of its side chapels and its amazing mixture of styles, but the interior has an air of much dignity and even beauty, which was greatly added to by a restoration which took place during the fifties of the last century. perhaps the most interesting item about the church is the tomb of bishop ken, who was brought here from longleat "at sunrising." his body lies just without the east window and the grave is thus described by lord houghton:--
-a basket-work where bars are bent, iron in place of osier; and shapes above that represent a mitre and a crosier.
-again we have been tempted too far afield and must return to the eastern road out of westbury that follows the great western railway to bratton, not far from edington station. above to the right, on one of the western bastions of the plain, is the white horse just mentioned. it is of great size--180 feet long and 107 in height. it was "restored" many years ago and the ancient grotesque outline altered by vandals who should have known better. above the figure is the great entrenched camp called bratton castle, containing within its walls 23 acres. bratton church is built in a peculiar situation against the side of the down. the fine cruciform structure, with a handsome four storied central tower, dates from about 1420 and occupies the site of an older building, probably norman. the brass to seeton bromwich (1607) should be noticed. we now proceed by the northern foot of the hills to edington, where is one of the most beautiful churches in wiltshire, exceeding in its proportions and dignity some of our smaller cathedrals. it was originally the church of a monastery of augustinians founded in 1352 by william of edyngton, bishop of winchester. a tragedy took place here in 1450 during the cade rebellion, when the bishop of salisbury (ayscough) was seized by the rioters while he was celebrating mass, taken to the summit of the downs and there stoned to death. a chapel was afterwards built on the spot, but the exact site is uncertain. the bishop's fault was that, being constantly with the court, his diocese was neglected and his flock suffered.
-the church was both conventual and parochial; the nave, as usual in such cases, being the people's portion. the chancel, both in proportions and detail, is a very fine example of the decorated style. in the south transept is a beautiful altar tomb with a richly carved canopy; the occupant is unknown. so is the resting-place of bishop ayscough. another fine monument is that in the nave to sir ralph cheney (1401). the beautiful and original fourteenth-century glass should be noticed and also the jacobean pulpit. of the conventual buildings nothing remains, but a few fragments of the succeeding mansion of the pauletts are now incorporated in a neighbouring farmhouse. a magnificent yew in the churchyard probably antedates the present church, and may have been contemporary with an earlier parish church of which all record has been lost.
-the road goes onward through the charming villages nestling under the northern bastions of the plain that is still on the right hand as it was at heytesbury. we are now on the opposite side with lonely imber four miles away over the hills, the only settlement between the former town and edington. "if one would forsake the world let him go to imber," says a modern writer, and an old couplet runs "imber on the down, four miles from any town." after passing coulston and erlestoke (a gem among beautiful hamlets), from rising ground near by, may be obtained truly glorious views of the west country toward bath and bristol and the distant severn sea. a lane now turns left to cheverell, where is a fine old mansion with an interesting courthouse and cells for prisoners, and an early english church with a perpendicular tower. within the church is a tablet to sir james stonehouse, of interest to those who have explored the plain, for this was the "mr. johnson" of hannah more's shepherd of salisbury plain and the cottage in which the shepherd--david saunders--lived is still shown in the village.
-we now approach a parting of the ways. the salisbury-devizes road crosses that we have been travelling, which runs west and east from frome to andover. southwards toward salisbury is the pleasant little town of west lavington. here is a famous college for farmers known as the dauntsey school. it was endowed in 1895, partly from certain moneys left by alderman dauntsey who flourished in the fifteenth century. the dauntsey almshouses were also an institution associated with this benevolent merchant. the church is an interesting building of various dates, from norman to perpendicular. the dauntsey chapel was erected on the south side in the early fifteenth century for the family of that name; another, called the beckett chapel, stands to the south of the chancel. a fine altar tomb, one of two in the south transept, bears a recumbent effigy of henry danvers. among other objects of interest is the memorial of captain henry penruddocke, shot by soldiers of the parliament, while asleep in one of the houses of the village. the road through west lavington leads to the heart of the plain at tilshead, passing at its highest point st. john a gore cross, where a chantry chapel once stood, a shrine where travellers might make their orisons before braving the terrors of the great waste. tilshead met with a curious misfortune in 1841, according to the inscription on one of the cottages. a great flood, caused by a very sudden thaw which liberated some miles of snow-water on the higher portions of the plain, tore down the narrow (and usually waterless) valley and caused great destruction in the tiny village; the old norman church being the only building that was quite undamaged. market lavington is farther east on the pewsey road. it was once of some importance and is one of those decayed towns that almost justify cobbett's claim that the population in the valleys around the plain was very much greater in olden days. the church here has a fine perpendicular tower, and is partly of this style and partly decorated. within will be observed a squint, an ancient credence table in the chancel, and a stoup in the vestry.
-our road now runs northward past lavington station to potterne, three miles from the lavington cross roads and eleven from westbury. this is one of the most attractive villages in wiltshire; remarkable for its half-timbered houses of the fifteenth century, especially that known as "porch house," purchased and restored by the late george richmond. this is supposed to be identical with the old pack horse inn that once stood in the village. potterne church is a fine example of early english, and the natural dignity of the building is enhanced by its domination of the village around it. it is said to have been built by the same bishop poore who erected salisbury cathedral, and is the only church on the present site. an earlier building was once in the old churchyard. the perpendicular tower will be admired for its proportions and detail. when restorations were in progress in 1872 the archaic tub-shaped font, now standing at the end of the church, was discovered under the present font. around the rim are inscribed the words of the ancient baptismal office:--sicut. gervus. desiderat. ad. fontes aquarum. ita. disiderat. anima. mea. ad. te. ds. amen. (psalm xlii. 1). there are several interesting brasses and memorials in the church and outside on the north side will be seen an old dole table for the distribution of alms.
-the castle church was st. john's, though of course the fortress had its own chapel within the walls. originally a norman building, st. john's was much altered during the fifteenth century, when the present nave was erected and the tudor chapels of the chancel were added. the tower is one of the finest and most dignified that we have in the older style. the ceiling of the south chapel, added to the church by lord st. amand, is a beautiful example of the woodwork of the early tudor period, as is that of the present vestry and one-time chapel on the north side. an extension of the nave took place in 1865, when the old west front was much altered.
-st. mary's, the town church, has a norman chancel and perpendicular nave and tower. on the beautiful old roof of the nave is a record of the actual date and the builder's name:--
-orate pro aia willi smyth qui ista eccliam fieri fecit, qui obiit primo die mensis junii anno dne millo ccccxxxvi.
-a fine statue of the virgin will be noticed in the eastern gable of the nave. the transitional south porch has a not unpleasing upper story dating from 1612.
-the streets between the two churches have some good old houses in them, and the first traversed is called the "brittox," said to be derived from "bretesque," the name for the outer defences of the castle. the broad market place is one of the most spacious in the kingdom, and a very interesting sight on market days. here one may see the shepherd of salisbury plain, or rather, of the marlborough downs, in typical costume--long weather-stained cloak and round black felt, almost brimless, hat, described by lady tennant as having a bunch of flowers stuck in the brim, but this the writer had never the fortune to see until the summer of 1921 when the shepherd was also wearing his own old cavalry breeches and puttees! in the centre of the throng rises the mock gothic pinnacled market cross, presented to devizes in 1814 by henry addington, afterwards viscount sidmouth, who succeeded pitt as premier. there is a remarkable inscription upon one side of the pedestal which, for the benefit of those unable personally to peruse it, a portion is here appended:--
-on thursday the 25th of january 1753 ruth pierce of pottern, in this county agreed with three other women to buy a sack of wheat in the market each paying her due proportion toward the same. one of these women, in collecting the several quotas of money discovered a deficiency, and demanded of ruth pierce the sum which was wanting to make good the amount: ruth pierce protested that she had paid her share and said "she wished that she might drop down dead if she had not." she rashly repeated this awful wish, when, to the consternation and terror of the surrounding multitude she instantly fell down and expired, having the money concealed in her hand.
-the "bear" is a spacious inn made out of two fine old houses, and is famous as the hostelry where the father of sir thomas lawrence was at one time landlord. he was a man of literary tastes and public-spirited withal, for he is said to have erected posts upon the lonely hills hereabouts to guide wayfarers to civilization. those who have seen salisbury plain in its winter aspect will appreciate what this meant at the end of the eighteenth century, when cultivation, and the consequent fence, was not in existence thereon, and to be lost on the downs in the snow was a serious adventure. the account of the lawrence family in fanny burney's diary is of much interest and throws an intimate light on certain aspects of english provincial life at that time.
-besides a large number of pleasant and dignified houses of the eighteenth century, devizes has a few older ones, principally in the alleys at the back of st. john street; and some fine public buildings that would not disgrace a town of more consequence. foremost among these is the corn exchange, close to the "bear." on its front will be noticed a statue of the goddess of agriculture. the edifice over which she presides is of imposing size and shows how great an amount of business must have been transacted here in the past. the town hall contains several objects of interest which are shown to the visitor, including a fine set of old corporation plate. the ancient hall of the wool merchants' guild is near the castle. its purpose has long forsaken the old walls, but under the care of the present occupiers the well-being of the building is assured. the museum is well worth seeing. here is the famous "marlborough bucket," said to be of armorican origin. it was discovered near marlborough by sir r.c. hoare, and its contents proved it to be a cinerary urn of a date probably not much anterior to the roman occupation of britain. the geological collections--stones and fossils; and some interesting models of avebury and stonehenge, and particularly the stourhead antiquities--british and prehistoric--should on no account be missed.
-an old diary of royal progresses gives the following account of a foreign visit in 1786:--
-"on september 25 the archduke and duchess of austria with their suite arrived in town from bath. on the road, as they came through the devizes, they met with a singular occurrence, which afforded them some entertainment. a custom has prevailed in that place, of which the following story is the foundation: a poor weaver passing through the place without money and friends, being overtaken by hunger and in the utmost necessity, applied for charity to a baker, who kindly gave him a penny loaf. the weaver made his way to coventry, where, after many years' industry, he amassed a fortune, and by his will, in remembrance of the seasonable charity of the devizes, he bequeathed a sum in trust, for the purpose of distributing on the anniversary of the day when he was so relieved a halfpenny loaf to every person in the town, gentle and simple, and to every traveller that should pass through the town on that day a penny loaf. the will is faithfully adminstered, and the duke of austria and his suite passing through the town on the day of the coventry loaf, on their way from bath to london, a loaf was presented to each of them, of which the duke and duchess were most cheerfully pleased to accept, and the custom struck the archduke so forcibly as a curious anecdote in his travels that he minuted down the circumstance, and the high personages seemed to take delight in breakfasting on the loaf thus given as the testimony of gratitude for a favour seasonably conferred."
-st. james' church, with its fine perpendicular tower, will be passed if the main road is taken toward avebury. a better way for the traveller on foot is to go by the beautiful avenue called quakers' walk to roundway down and oliver's camp, the last named being actually an ancient encampment, given its present name because the battle for devizes in the civil war took place close by. the fight was not a parliamentary success and waller was forced to retire before the king's men under lord wilmot. the down was in consequence renamed "runaway" by the jubilant cavaliers. below the face of the hill to the south-west is the picturesque village of rowde, famous for its quaint old inn. if the roundway route is chosen a descent should be made to bishop's cannings lying snugly under the steep side of tan hill. here is a magnificent church of much interest and beauty. the cruciform building is in the main transitional and early english. the dignified central tower has a spire of stone. the corbels supporting the roof are carved with representations of kings and abbots. the interior is impressive in its splendid proportions and graceful details, and of especial beauty are the perpendicular arches inserted in the nave. the fine triple lancets of the chancel, transepts and west end also call for notice. to the east of the south transept is the former chapel of our lady of the bower. this has been the ernle chantry since 1563. it contains monuments of this family and an ancient helmet bearing their crest hangs on the wall. the south transept has a piscina and in the north transept is a curious old carved chair, said to have been used by the guardian of a shrine, but whose or what shrine is unknown. the two-storied building on the north-east of the chancel, consisting of a sacristry and priest's room, is the oldest part of the church. james i was entertained in the village during one of his progresses by the vicar who, with the help of his parishioners, rendered some of his own compositions for the edification of the king.
-seven miles from devizes we reach the bath road at beckhampton, first crossing the track of the old roman bath-silchester way about three-quarters of a mile before it joins the modern road. we are now in the valley of the kennet, which here turns east after an infant course under the long line of hackpen hill and through the out-of-the-way villages of winterbourne basset, monkton and berwick basset. the "winter bourne" is actually the baby kennet, that in dry summers hardly makes an appearance. berwick has a family connexion with wooton, over the hills and far away to the north-west. hackpen is almost the final effort of the chalk in this direction. at its northern end it rises to 884 feet, an isolated section being crowned by barbury camp, ringed by its beech trees, from which there is a grand view north and west. from this point the general trend of the chalk escarpment is north-east to the lambourn downs, between lambourn and wantage. along the brow of this long ridge wanders that fascinating old track indifferently termed ridgeway and icknield way, which only leaves the highlands to cross the thames at streatley. but we are off our own track now and must return to avebury, or abury as the natives have it. the village is a mile from beckhampton, and a short distance up the by-road the first glimpse of our goal may be had on the left in the two "long stones" just visible across a field. a little farther one gets the best distant view of silbury hill--one which shows its artificial character and true shape to great advantage. the sombre tone of the turf that clothes it is remarkable; when seen against the pale sweep of the downs behind, its sides do not appear to reflect light at all.
-"as a cathedral is to a parish church," aubrey's comparison of avebury with stonehenge is difficult to understand upon merely a casual visit. to grasp the unique character of this, the oldest prehistoric monument in europe, and perhaps in the world, we must take for granted the investigations and discoveries of antiquaries and archaeologists during the last 250 years, and if the comparison between their conjectural but approximately correct plans and the present aspect of this mysterious relic of the stone age is disappointing and perplexing, we can only be thankful that the work of farmer green and tom robinson, the two despoilers mentioned by the earliest investigators, has been prevented in their descendants, and that though the circles are incapable of restoration, the few stones that remain will be preserved for all time.
-avebury is undoubtedly older than stonehenge and must belong to the true neolithic period, whether the former does or not. of the original six hundred and fifty megaliths eighteen are standing and about the same number are buried. some are nearly 17 feet high, and the rampart that encloses the temple is no less than 4,500 feet round and from 10 to 20 feet in height, though it is computed that from the bottom of the ditch to the wall must have originally been nearly 50 feet. the modern village, built of some of the missing stones, is partly within the circular earthwork. this rampart is the only part of the great work which can be readily comprehended by the visitor. a circle of one hundred stones is said by the archaeologist stukely to have stood around the edge of the enclosure, forty-four still standing in his time (1720). the same writer asserts that within the great circle were two other separate rings consisting of thirty stones, and each containing an inner circle of twelve stones. the northern of these rings had three large stones in the middle; the southern, one enormous stone 27 feet high and nearly 9 feet round. one, or possibly two, avenues of stones led south-east and south-west; that going in the direction of west kennet may still be traced and fifteen stones remain, but the other is conjectural, if it existed at all. the two megaliths seen from the beckhampton road may be a remnant of it. the purpose of all this intricate and elaborate work is a puzzling problem and, like the mystery of stonehenge, will probably remain a secret to the end. the literature of avebury, not quite so copious as that of the stones of the plain, is also more diffident in its guessing. avebury has given a title to the most modest and thorough of its students, and his writings on this and the other prehistoric monuments of wiltshire, a county that must have been a holy land some thousands of years ago, should be studied by all who have any concern in the long-buried past of their country.
-avebury church, just without the rampart, was originally a saxon building, its aisles being norman additions. the chancel was rebuilt in 1879, but certain old features are preserved. the fine tower is perpendicular. the font may be saxon, though the ornamentation is of a later date. avebury manor house, beyond the churchyard, is a beautiful old sixteenth-century dwelling; it marks the site of a twelfth-century monastery.
-about one mile south of avebury rises the extraordinary mound called silbury hill, as wonderful in its way as either of the two great stone circles of wiltshire and perhaps part of one plan with them. it is said to be the largest artificial hill in europe and bears comparison, as far as the labour involved in its erection is concerned, with the pyramids. the mound is 1,660 feet round at the base and covers over five acres. it is now just 130 feet high, but when made it is probable that the top was more acute and consequently higher. a circle of sarsens once surrounded the base, but these have almost all disappeared. pepys repeats an old tradition that a king seall was buried upon the hill; but it is extraordinary that avebury and silbury were less known to our forefathers than stonehenge, and the first mention of these two places, as being of antiquarian or historic interest, is in the seventeenth century. excavations during recent years have done little or nothing to clear up the mystery of silbury. the fact that the roman road (which leaves the bath road just west of silbury) here deviates slightly from its usual straightness is significant and proves that the mound was in existence when the road was made. the villagers around used to ascend the hill on palm sunday to eat "fig cakes" and drink sugar and water. it has been suggested that this ceremony had some connexion with the gospel story of the barren fig tree, but it is much more probable that the tradition has a very early origin. as a matter of fact the cakes were mostly made with raisins which are called figs by natives of wessex.
-to the south-east of silbury is the "long barrow," one of the most famous in england. this tumulus is over 330 feet long and about 60 feet wide. when the stone chamber was opened some years ago, four skeletons were found within. vestiges of a small stone circle remain on the south of the bath road, between it and the kennet, and almost on the track of the ridgeway. if the way is followed northwards towards the slopes of overton hill we reach the "quarry" where most of the megalithic monuments of wiltshire originated. these extraordinary stones, thickly scattered over the southern slopes of the marlborough downs, are generally known as the "grey wethers," or "sarsens." at one time supposed to have been brought to their present position by glacial action, they are now said to be, and undoubtedly are, the result of denudation. they are composed of a hard grey sandstone which once covered the chalk; the softer portions wearing away left the tough core lying in isolated masses upon the hills. not far away in clatford bottom is the "devil's den," a cromlech upon the remains of a long barrow; the upper slab measures nine feet by eight. the downs above fyfield form a magnificent galloping and training ground for the racing stables near by. our road, the bath highway, now follows the kennet into marlborough, six miles from avebury.
-the berkshire border and north hampshire
-marlborough is in wiltshire, but it will be legitimate to start a slight exploration of the middle course of the kennet from the old forest town. here the clear chalk stream, fresh from the highlands of the marlborough downs, runs as a clear and inviting little river at the foot of the high street gardens. for marlborough is a flowery and umbrageous town in its "backs," however dull it may appear to the traveller by the railway, from which dis-vantage point most english towns look their very worst.
-although the river was never wide enough to bring credit or renown to marlborough, the borough had another channel of profit and good business in its position on the bath road. the part that great highway played in the two hundred years which ended soon after queen victoria commenced her long reign seems likely to have a renewal in these days of revived road travel. ominous days are these for the iron ways that, for almost a century, have half ruined the old road towns of england, but at the same time left them in such a state of suspended animation that they are mostly delightful and unspoilt reminders of another age.
-the fine and spacious high street that once echoed with the horns of a dozen coaches in the course of an afternoon now hums with the machinery of half a hundred motors in an hour, and if they do not all stop, some do, and leave the worthy burgesses a greater amount of wealth and a cleaner roadway than their more picturesque predecessors.
-the municipality is very ancient and still retains some quaint customs. not that, however, of the medieval fee for admission to the corporation consisting of two greyhounds, two white capons, and a white bull! the last item must have given the aspirant for civic honour much wearisome searching of farmyards before he found the acceptable colour. like so many of the old towns through which we have wandered, marlborough has suffered from fire; one in the middle of the seventeenth century was of particular fury, for, with the exception of the beautiful old gabled houses on the higher side of the sloping main street, the town was then practically destroyed. "two hundred and fifty dwellings and saint mary's church are gone, and over three hundred families forced to crave the hospitality of the neighbouring farmers and gentry, or wander about the fields vainly looking for shelter. every barn and beast-house filled to overflowing."
-the tradesmen of high street say that theirs is the widest street in england. this may be so. it is undoubtedly one of the most pleasant and picturesque, and "the great houses supported on pillars," to which pepys refers in his diary, still remain on the north side.
-marlborough had not actually a roman beginning. the station known as cunetio was nearly three miles away to the east. but the castle hill antedates this period considerably and is supposed to be an artificial mound of unknown antiquity, perhaps made by the men who reared silbury hill. it is said that within lie the bones of merlin. quite possibly this idea arose from the resemblance of the ancient form of marlborough--"merlebergh" to the name of the half legendary sorcerer. the real origin of the town-name is supposed to be the west saxon "maer-leah" or cattle boundary. here was erected in the earlier years of the conqueror's reign a castle that was strengthened and rebuilt in succeeding generations until, somewhere about the rise of the tudor power, it was allowed to fall into decay. it was probably in the castle chapel of st. nicholas that king john was married to isabella of gloucester in 1180, and in the church at preshute, the parish church of the castle, is an enormous font of black marble brought from this chapel. a tradition has it that king john was baptized in it. the only real fighting recorded as taking place around the castle, while it was in existence, was during the time of fitz gilbert, who held it for the empress maud. of more importance was the sallying forth, during the civil war, of the royalists, who had fortified a mansion which had arisen from the castle ruins, against the republican town, capturing and partly burning it. the soldiers displayed great savagery, fifty-three houses being destroyed. the garrison of "the most notoriously disaffected town in wiltshire" was the first taken in the war. the castle was also famous as the place of meeting for the parliament of henry iii which passed the "statutes of marlborough," the charter for which simon de montfort had risked and suffered so much.
-of more living interest are the ancient and beautiful buildings of marlborough school, instituted in 1843 by a number of public-spirited men, headed by a priest of the church of england--charles plater. the school is the scene of stanley weyman's the castle inn, for it was formerly that historic hostel, one of the finest and most famous in england, before the disappearance of the road traveller caused the collapse of the old-fashioned posting-houses. before the year 1740 it had been a mansion, originally built by lord seymour during the reign of charles ii. it afterwards passed through several hands, and, while in the possession of lady hertford, saw the entertainment of some of the literary lions of the day, including thomson of the seasons and isaac watts. in 1767, when it had become the largest inn in england, it was the headquarters of lord chatham who, while on the road, developed an attack of gout and, shutting himself up in his room, remained there some weeks. "everybody who travelled that road was amazed by the number of his attendants. footmen and grooms, dressed in his family livery, filled the whole inn and swarmed in the streets of the little town. the truth was that the invalid had insisted that during his stay all the waiters and stable boys of the 'castle' should wear his livery." the fine school chapel was added in 1882 and several extensive and necessary additions have been made to the original buildings. among famous headmasters may be mentioned dean bradley and dean farrar.
-king edward the vi grammar school is at the far end of the town. the old buildings were pulled down in 1905. in this school dr. sacheverell, who was born in marlborough, received his education. the present st. mary's church practically dates from the great fire of 1653, and is a very poor specimen of debased perpendicular. the chancel was added in 1874. a norman doorway at the west end should be noticed. the tower of the church shows traces of the royalist attack on the town in 1642. st. peter's church, not far from the college, is perpendicular, and from its high and finely designed tower, curfew still rings each night through the year. within, the groined roof and beautiful design of the windows are worthy of notice.
-beautiful in the extreme is the walk through savernake forest which, if it is not to be compared with the new forest either in size or wildness, does in one particular surpass the latter, namely in its magnificent vistas and beech avenues. the central walk between marlborough and savernake is unsurpassed in england and probably in europe. it leads to tottenham house, situated at the eastern extremity and belonging to the marquis of ailesbury. this mansion stands on the site of an old house of the seymours, to whom the forest passed from the plantagenet kings (it was a jointure of queen eleanor). by marriage the estates afterwards went to the bruces, who still hold them.
-herds of deer roam the open glades, and wild life is abundant and varied. in some parts of the forest the thickets and dense undergrowth are reminiscent of the district between the rufus stone and fording-bridge in the greater forest, but the highest beauty of savernake lies in the avenues of oak and beech which extend for miles and meet about midway between durley and marlborough. here are no fir plantations to strike an alien note. rugged and ancient trees that were saplings in stuart times or before and the dense young growth of to-day are all natural to the soil. the column that stands on high ground, a little over a mile from savernake station, commemorates, among other events, the temporary recovery of george iii from his mental illness.
-great bedwyn was once a parliamentary borough and, in more remote times still, a town of importance. it has a station on the reading-taunton railway and can be reached by circuitous roads from savernake forest. although nominally still a market town, it is really but a large village. it is mentioned in the saxon records as the scene of a battle between the men of wessex and those of mercia in the great struggle for domination in 675. the cruciform church is a fine structure, mostly built of flint and dating from transitional times. the chancel is early english and the transepts decorated, but the nave is of the older style with fine ornamentation. in the chancel will be noticed the effigy of sir john seymour (1536), the father of protector somerset. a brass commemorates another john seymour, brother of the protector. there is also a monument to a daughter of robert devereux, earl of essex. in the south transept is an effigy, cross legged, of sir adam de stokke (1312) and a plain slab with an incised cross of another of his family. the church has a quantity of stained glass of much beauty. an ancient market hall once stood in the centre of the spacious main street; while it stood the villagers were reminded of the vanished glories of bedwyn. the road proceeds past chisbury hill, a prehistoric camp on the wansdyke. within the earthwork is a barn that was once the decorated church of st. martin. mr. a.h. allcroft thinks that the original building was erected shortly after the drawn battle between wessex and mercia that took place on the downs hereabouts in 675. froxfield is reached just short of the berkshire border and the way accompanies the railway and canal through little bedwyn, where is a stone-spired church dating from the early thirteenth century. froxfield church is outside the village on a hill. it is a small and ancient norman building, quaint and picturesque. the old somerset hospital here was founded in 1686 by sarah duchess of somerset for thirty widows of the clergy and others; about half that number are now maintained in the beautiful old buildings, grouped round a quadrangle high above the road.
-at hungerford, the first town in berkshire, over nine miles direct from marlborough, we return to the kennet. the townsmen are proud of the fact that their liberties were given them by john of gaunt, who held the royal manor, which afterwards became the property of the town, and as proof of the charter they still show the stranger a famous horn presented to the burgesses by the great duke of lancaster. a fierce battle is said to have raged on the banks of the kennet between west saxons and danes, where now anglers whip the stream for the fat trout that this part of kennet breeds. the historic bear inn was the lodging of william of orange on the night of december 6, 1688, when he received the messengers of james ii. hungerford church is now of small interest. it has been rebuilt within recent times and contains little from the old building. a cross-legged effigy is supposed to represent sir robert de hungerford (1340).
-in coming from marlborough to hungerford the valley of the kennet has been left to the north, but only for the purpose of noting the beauties that lie around savernake forest and the course of the avon canal. the kennet in its upper course is equally beautiful and, if possible, an additional journey should be made through the picturesque village of axford, passing on the way mildenhall, the one-time cunetio. the site of the roman station is now marked by folly farm. the most attractive place on this part of the river is ramsbury, six miles from marlborough and five from hungerford. that this little town was evidently of great antiquity is proved by the important place it held in the tenth century, when it was a "stool" of the bishop of wiltshire. originally the name of the town was hrafensbyrig or ravensbury. the early english church contains a number of interesting relics of the supposed cathedral discovered in the restoration of the existing building. they consist of sculptured stones of fine design and well preserved. in the darell chapel is an altar tomb and others to various members of this once famous family. a canopied tomb of william de st. john stands in the chancel. other interesting items are the finely sculptured font and stoups at the north and south doors. ramsbury park has been passed on the way here from marlborough. in it is the manor house, a seventeenth-century building, containing a famous collection of armour. the kennet is at its best as it flows through the park.
-on the hungerford side of ramsbury, and to the south of the kennet, is the famous littlecote manor, a magnificent and unexcelled sixteenth-century house. built by the darells it passed to the pophams, one of whom was a leader of the parliamentarians. a gruesome and probably true story is told of the last of the darells--"wild dayrell." a midwife deposed that she had been fetched blindfold to attend a lady at dead of night. when her offices were over, a wild-looking man seized the infant and hurled it in a blazing fire. afterwards apprehended, darell by some trick managed to defeat justice.
-a beautiful side excursion can be taken soon after leaving ramsbury to aldbourne, three miles from the hungerford road. this small town, which boasts a fine church of much dignity and interest, is situated at the end of the lonely expanse of aldbourne chase. from the heights above views may be had of the distant cotswold and malvern hills. chilton foliat, picturesquely placed on the river bank, is the only village passed on the way to hungerford. its church contains a number of monuments to the popham family and a cross-legged effigy of an unknown person.
-kintbury is three miles from hungerford on the road which follows the canal and railway toward newbury. the interesting and partly norman church was pulled about in a shameful manner in the middle of the last century. another restoration about forty years ago repaired the mischief as far as was possible. the norman doorways remain much in their original condition, also the chancel arch and the two squints. kintbury is a pleasant and typical berkshire village, little altered by the railway, which seems to have spared these old towns and villages in the kennet valley in a remarkable way, possibly because "desirable villadom" has taken itself entirely to the banks of the thames away to the north.
-the newbury road runs about half a mile north of the river past stock cross and benham park to speen, generally supposed to be identical with spinae, the roman station at the junction of the roads from bath and cirencester to silchester. not far from the rebuilt church is an ancient well over which has been erected in recent years a gothic arch. one mile farther, eight from hungerford, and we are in newbury, perhaps the "new burb" in comparison with the older settlement of speen. a castle built in 1140 was in existence but a few years. it was destroyed by king stephen after being held for the empress maud during a three months' siege. newbury took part in the wars of the roses and stood for the house of york. when the lancastrians entered the town in 1460 the partisans of york were put to the sword. every one has heard of "jack of newbury." he was a rich cloth merchant named john smallwood who lived in north-brook street at a time when the town was famed for its woollen trade. his patriotism led him to gather one hundred and fifty of the youth of newbury and, himself marching at their head, took part with his men in the battle of flodden. his house still stands, although greatly altered to outward appearance; in its old rooms henry viii was received as a guest and proffered to the worthy clothier a knighthood in recognition of his services to the state, an honour which smallwood sturdily refused.
-during the marian persecutions the master of reading school--julian palmer, with others, was burnt at the stake. but the stirring events of the civil war eclipse the earlier historical interest. two important battles were fought in the near vicinity of the town. the first took place on september 20, 1643. the londoners, under essex, were returning to the capital after raising the siege of gloucester, and had taken the longer, and southern, route as being the most open and practicable. news of the approach reached the king at oxford and it was decided to stop them and give battle. essex had led his men out of hungerford the day before and in the evening he found his way barred by the royalist cavalry at newbury wash. the parliamentary forces bivouacked on crockham heath and next morning opened the attack. they were fortunate enough to be able to seize the high ground commanding the kintbury road before the king's men awoke to the importance of the position. the life guards under biron charged up the hill with great valour, but failed to shift the stubborn townsmen, and brave and gentle falkland was killed in the melée. on the highclere road, about a mile out of newbury, stands the monument to this noble and pathetic figure, whose heart seems to have been broken by the wretched times in which he lived.
-on the other side of the field prince rupert, after repeated attempts to cut a way through the london infantry, met with as little success as the guards, and the vanguard of the parliamentary army had forced its way steadily along the london road, so that, when night fell, after a day of heroic fighting on both sides, the king decided to retire into newbury, and the way into london was open to the republicans.
-the second battle took place after a year had passed, on october 27, 1644. the king's cause had been victorious in the west, and his army had afterwards successfully relieved donnington castle. the royal forces were in a strong position to the north of newbury, between shaw house and the kennet, with donnington in the centre of the defences. the army of the parliament, under the joint command of essex and manchester, and numbering among the sub-commandants cromwell and the redoubtable waller, made a concerted attack from front and rear. in this fight the honours may be said to have lain with the king as, with the exception of the artillery, the royal losses were small and a successful retreat during the night quite defeated the object of the republican attack, which was to smash, once and for all, the army opposed to them.
-beautiful old shaw house, one of the finest in berkshire, still shows traces of the fight in the earthworks that partly encircle it. the mansion was built by another celebrated clothier of newbury, one thomas dolman, whose namesake and descendant was knighted at the restoration.
-newbury church was rebuilt by "jack of newbury," and the date of its completion (1532) may be seen on a corbel. this was after smallwood's death, the work being finished by his son. the clothier's brass (1519) may be seen among others. the appointments of the church are fine and imposing; the jacobean pulpit, dated 1607, should be noticed, also the history of the church, in the form of an illuminated chart, on the west wall. the hero of the town was married in the chapel of the old hospital of st. bartholomew which was turned into a school in the reign of edward vi. some of the school buildings are of a later date than this. the most picturesque old house in the town, which really contains few that are ancient, is newbury museum, once the cloth hall. there is a pleasing glimpse of the kennet from the short high bridge in the main street and a still pleasanter view of the bridge itself from the river path below.
-a charming excursion can be taken to lambourne, up in the heart of the chalk hills to the north-west. this was one of king alfred's towns, and until the coming of the light railway one of the most unknown and remote in the kingdom. railway and road follow the course of the lambourne, a delightful river, clear and cold from the chalk and never seeming to run dry, as do other streams of a like nature in exceptionally hot summers. another railroad goes directly north from newbury and forms the main route between oxford and winchester. this also penetrates the heart of the berkshire uplands and taps a district inexhaustible in charm and interest, in the centre of which is wantage, famous as the birthplace of alfred. but this country has been fully described by mr. ditchfield in "byeways in berkshire."
-the bath road in a little over three miles from newbury reaches thatcham, once, by all accounts, a large and prosperous market town, but this was in the days of the angevin kings. the great market square probably dates from their time and the battered remains of the old market cross may have replaced a still more ancient one. the fine church has a norman door and transitional arcading, but a very thorough "restoration" has obliterated most of the ancient features. the danvers and fuller tombs should be seen, also an interesting brass to thomas loundye. the fabric of a chantry chapel at the other end of the village dates from 1334, but it was much altered in externals in the early eighteenth century, when it was turned into a school.
-the bath-london road that we have travelled from marlborough now approaches the most beautiful stretches of the kennet, lined with fine parklands on the gentle northern slopes of the valley. the high hedges and fences are in places very jealous of the beauties they encircle, but there are charming glimpses here and there of this pleasant countryside. woolhampton, with a modern church of no particular interest, is passed four miles from thatcham, and two miles farther comes aldermaston station, where we leave the great highway and turn south to aldermaston wharf on the kennet canal. this is a most pleasant spot, and to enhance the charm of the surroundings a large sheet of ornamental water has been formed, close to, and fed by, the channel. aldermaston village is nearly two miles to the south-west and well-placed among the wooded hills that march with the hampshire border. the aspect of the village is as unspoilt as any in the old berkshire by-ways. at the southern end of the street are the gates of aldermaston park; a picturesque expanse of broken ground with several fine avenues, and populated by herds of deer. the old jacobean mansion was burnt down in 1843, although a few of the ancient features were saved and incorporated in the new house. close to the park is the church, the foundations of which are norman, as are also the very fine and uncommon west door and two blocked-up doors in the chancel and nave. in the chapel on the south side is the tomb of sir george forster and his lady (1526) with their twenty attendant children. the knight's feet rest against his favourite hound and a lap dog is pulling at the lady's dress. there are also brasses to some other members of the forster family which owned the manor during elizabethan days. the pulpit and sounding board belong to this period. the lancet windows of the chancel date this portion of the church as about 1270. there are some ancient frescoes, faint and dim by contrast with the modern scheme of decoration; they represent st. christopher carrying our lord, and, below, a mermaid and fish.
-silchester is about four miles to the south-east by winding ways that lead over the hills of the hampshire border. the traveller who comes prepared to find the actual ruins of the roman calleva spread before him will be grievously disappointed. the economic necessities of to-day have rendered the surrender of the site to the agriculturist as necessary as it is appropriate. the sandy soil of north hants is a better protection to these remnants of a former civilization than all the tarpaulins or sheds that would otherwise have to be used. minute and accurate plans of the foundations, that include those of a small christian basilica, were made in sections, as they were uncovered, over a period extending from 1864 to 1910. for a detailed study of the surveys, and of the many antiquities capable of removal, those interested must visit the reading museum. it has been found that the walls of calleva followed the irregular outline of a former british stronghold, and instead of the usual square plan the outline of the city was seven-sided. the remnants of the flint walls are nearly one and three-quarter miles round and contain within their circumference about 100 acres. within the east gate is an old farmhouse and the interesting parish church of silchester, dating mostly from the thirteenth century.
-the beautiful fir woods that are such a feature of the surrounding landscape make rambles in any direction most delightful. by-ways may be taken eastwards to the stratfields--mortimer, saye and turgis. the second is well known as the residence of the great duke of wellington and his successors, who hold it by presenting a flag to the king on the anniversary of waterloo.
-about three miles south of silchester is an interesting church at bramley. it is more than probable that the ruins of the former place were used by the builders of this church. the older portions, the north side of the nave and the font, are norman. part of the chancel is early english and the tower, built of brick, just antedates the civil war. the ugly brocas chapel on the south side was erected in the opening years of the nineteenth century. it contains a "monstrous fine" sculpture of one of the family and bears on the roof their gilded moor's head crest as a vane. the most interesting detail in the church is a series of wall paintings, including one of the martyrdom of st. thomas à becket. the west gallery was added in the early eighteenth century and is a handsome erection. not far away is the fine old manor house, now divided into tenements, but still a gracious and dignified "black-and-white" building.
-a by-way going westwards through "little london" eventually leads to a number of interesting villages, among them pamber and monk sherborne, which form one parish. the church used by pamber is a remnant of the old priory church founded by henry i, and consists of the ancient choir and tower dating from the end of the twelfth century. within are a few relics of this period, including several old coffin slabs, a font and a wooden cross-legged effigy belonging to the thirteenth century. monk sherborne church has a norman door and chancel arch and also a piscina of this period. the remainder of the much-restored fabric is mainly early english.
-for our present goal--kingsclere--the way is circuitous, but extremely pleasant. (in fine weather it is possible to take a short cut by field paths for the greater part of the distance.) after crossing the almost obliterated port way, as the road from silchester to old sarum is called, and nearly eight miles of cross country rambling from bramley, a main highway is reached at wolverton, where the church is reputed to be a work of sir christopher wren. this is unlikely, but the design of the tower is familiar to anyone acquainted with london city and dates, with the remainder of the fabric, from 1717. the red-brick walls relieved by white stone are a little startling at first in such an out-of-the-way village, but their effect is not unpleasing, and when the church is entered its fine proportions will be admired by anyone not slavishly bound to the worship of "gothic." the powers that once ruled here evidently thought otherwise, for several attempts have obviously been made to do away with some of the classic details. the fine contemporary woodwork of the chancel and other irreplacable details were destroyed or seriously damaged by a destructive fire about twelve years ago.
-in another two miles kingsclere is reached. this is a very ancient town and was under the saxon kings, as its name proclaims, a royal manor. its "papers" go back to the eighth century. after the conqueror's day it passed into the hands of the church, and rouen canons were its overlords. when they became aliens in political fact, the manor passed to william de melton. king john had one of his hunting lodges at freeman tie on the south of the town. no history has been made at kingsclere since charles passed the night of october 21, 1644, here, on his way to newbury, but there is an air of "far-off things and battles long ago" about the quiet little town and its grey and solemn norman church. the stern square church tower is a fine example of early twelfth-century work, majestic in its simplicity, but apart from this the exterior appears to have been scraped clean of ancient details by a drastic restoration. within, the spacious and fine proportions of the building atone for a great deal that has been lost by the mistaken zeal of victorian renovators. the font, pulpit and norman north door are of especial interest; of less ancient details, the jacobean pulpit and the great chandelier, dated 1713, call for notice.
-the downs to the south of kingsclere are of much beauty and comparatively unknown to the tourist. although of no great height and unremarkable in outline, the splendour of the colouring, especially after august is past, of the woods that cover the sides of the undulating billows of chalk is unforgettable. the port way, ignoring all hills and dales in its uncompromising straightness, occasionally shows itself as a rough track along the open side of a spinney, or as a well-marked score in the escarpment of a down, but never as a modern highway east of andover. the road winding and up and down westwards from kingsclere is a pleasant enough adaptation of a possible british trackway, and brings us in a short four miles to burghclere, where there is a station on the great western railway between newbury and winchester. at sydmonton, half a mile short of the railway, a grassy lane leads up to ladle hill (768 feet), the bold bastion of chalk to to the south. here we may obtain a fine view of the characteristic scenery of northern hampshire. the curving undulations of the chalk have many a hut circle and tumulus to tell of the fierce life that once peopled these solitary wastes. then the valleys were shunned as inimical to human kind. now the depths of almost every wrinkle and fold has some habitation, and many a small hamlet lies out of sight among the trees, unguessed at from the hill-road above. away to the south is great litchfield down--literally the "dead-field"; perhaps the scene of a great battle, but more probably the cemetery of a forgotten race. the still higher beacon hill (853 feet) appears close at hand, as does sidown, on the other side of burghclere, where is perhaps an even finer view. the old church down by the railway station was "polished up" in a very painstaking way about fifty years ago, but still retains a norman nave which seems to have resisted the sandpapering process. highclere park and castle form a show-place of the first rank; the park being beyond all praise. the slopes of the downs and some of their summits are within this beautiful domain of the earls of carnarvon. ear away from the castle the park is entirely natural and unconfined, but around the house--for an actual "castle" is non-existent--magnificent avenues of rhododendrons make a perfect blaze of colour in the early summer. the "jacobean" pile high on the hillside is so only in name, for it was built by the architect of big ben. once a favourite residence of the bishops of winchester, the castle passed to the crown in the sixteenth century and then, after purchase by sir robert sawyer, to the herberts by intermarriage with the last-named knight's family. highclere church is a new building designed by sir gilbert scott and stands just outside the park. it replaces an erection of the late seventeenth century which used to stand within a stone's throw of the castle upon the site of another building of great antiquity.
-it is possible to make a way past the woods of sidown and by the three legged cross inn to ashmansworth, where a few years ago a number of wall paintings, one an unique depictment of pentecost, were discovered on the walls of the little old church that are supposed to have roman materials built into them. from here we may continue more or less along the summits of the chalk uplands until the famous inkpen, or ingpen, beacon is reached, in an isolated corner of north-western berkshire. but alas! the former glory, on the map, of the beacon has departed. until quite recently it was thought that this, the highest section of the chalk in england, exceeded that mystic 1,000 feet that gives such a glamour to the mere hill and makes of it a local "mountain." an added slur was cast upon inkpen in the handing to the neighbouring walbury hill camp of an additional five feet by these interfering ordnance surveyors. the new maps now read--walbury camp 959 feet; inkpen, 954. but the loss of 18 yards or so does not seem to have altered the glorious view from the flat-topped down or to have made its air less sparkling. the grand wooded vista down the kennet valley toward newbury is a sharp contrast to the bare uplands north and south. walbury camp, a fine prehistoric entrenchment, is distinct from walbury hill, slightly lower, on which is combe gallows, a relic of the past kept in constant repair by a neighbouring farmer as a condition of his land tenure. inkpen village is more than a mile away to the north. here is a church once old but now smartened up to such an extent that its ancient character is not apparent. the building, however, has not lost by the change. the modern appointments are both beautiful and costly.
-at the back of the beacon is the lonely little village of combe, sunk deep in a hollow of the hills that rise all around it. it has a small early english church of little interest, but the village is worth a long detour to see because of its unique position. here was once a cell of the abbey of bec in normandy. a stony hill-road goes out of the settlement southwards, between the huge bulk of oat hill (936 feet) and sheepless down, back into hampshire. the road eventually leads to linkenholt, another hamlet lost in the wilderness of chalk, and then by upton to the andover highway at hurstbourne tarrant on one of the headwaters of the test. the map name is rarely used by the natives, who term the place "up husband"; it was officially spelt "up hursborn" as lately as 1830. it is a village in a delightful situation and delightful in itself, though of late years the architecture of the "general stores" has replaced some of the old timber-framed houses on the main street. but the george and dragon, even if it shows no timbers on its long front, wears an old-fashioned air of prosperity that belongs to the coaching past. tarrant church, like so many others hereabouts, has been sadly "well restored," but still retains a transitional south door and some rather remarkable wall paintings.
-the andover road rises through dole's wood and passes over the hill to knight's enham and andover. the last-named busy little town of to-day owes much of its prosperity to the fact that it is an important meeting place of railways connecting three great trunk lines. to outward view andover is utterly commonplace; everything ancient has been ruthlessly improved away, and that curse of the railway town, an appendix of mean red-brick villas, mars the approach from the west. it has a past, however, which goes back to such remote times that its beginnings are lost in those "mists of antiquity" which shroud so much of the country described in our preceding chapter. the "dover" in the town-name is probably the pre-celtic root which meets the traveller when he arrives at dover and greets him again in unsuspected places from the "dor" in dorchester and the falls of lodore to the "der" in derwent and smoky darwen. all have the same meaning--water; and "an," strangely enough, is a later and celtic word for the same element, the equally ubiquitous "afon." so that andover should be a place of many waters, which it is not. a small stream--the anton--flows almost unnoticed through the town, though its name seems to have been given occasionally to the whole of the longer test that it meets a few miles to the south.
-written records of andover before wessex became a kingdom do not exist. but scraps of tessellated pavement in the vicinity show that it was a locality well known to the romans, and the port way, that great thoroughfare of the empire, passed within half a mile of the modern railway junction. in 994, olaus, king of norway, is said to have been baptized here, his sponsor being ethelred the unready. the town received its charter from king john and took part in the disagreement between stephen and matilda, when it had the misfortune to be burnt. it saw two of the stuarts when the evil days for each were reaching their culmination. charles i stayed here on his way to the last battle of newbury, and james ii slept at priory house while retiring from salisbury to london just before the arrival of william of orange. the town returned two members to parliament before the reform act, and afterwards one until 1885. half legendary are some of the tales of the hustings at andover in those days of "free and open" voting, and the old "george" seems to have been a centre of the excitement on election days, where most of the guineas changed hands and where most free drinks were handed to the incorruptibles. it was here during the candidature of sir francis delaval that his attorney had occasion to send him the following bill--
-"to being thrown out of the window of the george inn, andover; to my leg being broken; to surgeon's bill, and loss of time and business; all in the service of sir francis delaval £500."
-this rough treatment was in consequence of the poor lawyer having, at his patron's instigation, invited the officers of a regiment quartered in the town, and the mayor and corporation, to a dinner at the "george," each in the other's name. at this same inn cobbett, in one of his rural rides, had an adventure with mine host and pushed his opinions down the throat of the assembled company in his usual manner. this inn, and the "angel," were great places in the posting days, when the exeter road was one of the most important arteries in england. they are among the pleasant survivals of eighteenth-century andover, for there is nothing that appears on the surface older than that period, except the norman door of the churchyard--all that is left of the fine building pulled down in 1840 to make way for the present imitation early english church--and a piece of wall on the north side, a remnant of a cell belonging to the benedictine abbey of saumur. about three miles west of andover is weyhill, a village celebrated for its fair and immortalized in the mayor of casterbridge. it at one time claimed to be the largest in england, but in these changed days its rural importance has diminished. the fair takes place in october and now covers four consecutive days instead of the original six. the first day is sheep fair followed by "mop" (hiring), pleasure, and hop fairs with horses every day and several side-shows such as "cheese fair" and the like. it has been thought possible that weyhill is referred to in the vision of piers plowman--"at wy and at wynchestre i went to the fair."
-we now propose to turn eastwards for the last time and to follow the main london road along the northern boundary of harewood forest through hurstbourne priors ("down husband") and then past the wide expanse of hurstbourne park, in which stands the seat of the earl of portsmouth and which clothes the northern slopes of the test valley for more than a mile with its beautiful woods and glades. its eastern boundary is close to whitchurch, seven miles from andover. whitchurch was another famous posting centre and, like andover, a rotten borough. here an important cross-country route from oxford to winchester tapped the exeter road and here the modern ways of the great western and south western cross each other at right angles. at the famous "white hart" newman wrote the opening part of the lyra apostolica while awaiting the exeter coach in december, 1832. the great tower of all hallows still stands, but little besides of the old building. while the restoration was in progress a saxon headstone was brought to light. it bears a presentment of our lord's head with the following inscription:--
-hic corpus fridburgae requiescat in pace sepultum
-the old chapel of freefolk, little more than a mile out of the town, dates from 1265 and came into existence because the winter floods on the infant test prevented the good folk of the vicinity getting into whitchurch. the famous laverstock mill, where the paper for bank of england notes has been made for two hundred years, is not far away by the side of the high road. the owners of the mill, and of laverstock park, are a naturalized huguenot family named de portal, whose ancestors came to england and settled in southampton during the persecution of the protestants that followed the revocation of the edict of nantes. when cobbett rode by the mill he made the following unprophetic utterance:--"we passed the mill where the mother-bank paper is made! thank god! this mill is likely soon to want employment. hard by is a pretty park and house belonging to 'squire' portal, the paper-maker. the country people, who seldom want for sarcastic shrewdness, call it 'rag hall!'"
-nearly four miles from whitchurch comes overton, once a market but now a quiet village that shows signs of activity (apart from the ceaseless procession of motor traffic) only on one day in the year, july 18, when a great sheep fair takes place. for overton is a centre of the great sheep-down country of north hampshire. the church is unremarkable except that the nave has norman pillars with arches of a later date above them. the fine old manor house near the railway station is called quidhampton.
-after passing ashe we reach deane, where a road to the right leads in a mile and a half to steventon, at the rectory of which village jane austen was born in 1775, her father holding the incumbency for many years. as we rejoin the main road church oakley lies to the right at the source of the test. here stands a church built about 1525 by archbishop warham, whose ancestors lived at malshanger, nearly two miles away to the north. after passing worting, ten miles from whitchurch and two from basingstoke, that we are nearing a large town becomes apparent, and soon the gaunt and curious clock tower of basingstoke town hall comes into view, a land-mark for many miles.
-the "stoke bare-hills" of thomas hardy has changed the tenor of its way several times in history. it started by sending members to parliament three hundred years before it became a borough in the reign of the first stuart, when it was already famous as a manufactory of silks and woollens. a time of inanition followed until the great period of road travel set in, when it became the most important centre between london and salisbury. then with the iron way came another phase that at one time threatened to bring the town into line with swindon, crewe and other railway "wens"; but except for some miles of small red-brick villas, packed close together on the bleak wolds that surround the town, it has not greatly suffered and is still essentially agricultural. quite lately a new industry has grown up here, the manufacture of farming implements.
-close to the railway station are the ruins of the chapel of the holy ghost, founded by bishop fox in 1525. they stand in the ancient cemetery which dates from the time of the papal interdict (1208) when, in consequence of king john's quarrel with the pope, burial in churchyards was suspended. basingstoke church was built in the early sixteenth century and contains some of the old glass from the holy ghost chapel.
-the most interesting place in the vicinity of basingstoke is old basing, two miles to the east, and ever memorable as the scene of the defence of basing house. this magnificent mansion had been built by william paulet, first marquis of winchester, on the site of the original norman castle of basing. when the civil war broke out, the fifth marquis, john paulet, decided to defend the house for the king, and gathering his friends and retainers about him, amply provisioning his cellars and "writing 'aimez loyalte' on every pane of his windows with the diamond of his ring," he calmly awaited the roundheads, who were soon in possession of basingstoke. two hundred and fifty royalist soldiers had already joined the garrison when the actual siege began in july, 1643. the attackers under waller numbered seven thousand, but by december, after great losses, they were forced to withdraw. the following spring another determined effort was made to starve out the garrison, but the arrival of colonel gage with reinforcements from oxford put fresh heart into the "nest of hornets," and the news that their fortress had been renamed "basting house" by their admiring friends stiffened their resolve. during the next few months, however, religious differences within led to a weakening of the heroic defence and to the beginning of the end, and after two thousand lives had already been lost, basing house fell to the redoubtable cromwell in person on october 14, 1645, about one hundred of the defenders being killed in the final assault and some three hundred prisoners taken.
-of this historic site there remain but a few walls and the gate-house. the area covered by the entrenchments was about fourteen acres and the garden must have been a place of beauty before the litter of the siege marred the trim walks and parterres. the country people were bidden help themselves when the victors departed with their prisoners, and the work of ruin was quickly complete.
-basing church, which was used in the attack on the house, is of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and contains many memorials of the paulet family. its outside is much more striking and handsome than its interior, which has a rather empty and featureless appearance. not far from basing is the great entrenchment of winklebury castle, over 3,000 feet round. from the edge of its commanding vallum cromwell took the observations for his successful assault on basing house.
-sherborne st. john, two miles north of basingstoke, has an old church, with an ugly tower built in 1833. the brocas brasses and the fine jacobean pulpit are interesting. the vyne, a celebrated mansion, is one mile farther along our road. the greater part of the building is four hundred years old, though certain additions and alterations are due to inigo jones. its beautiful chapel has some old french glass, inserted in the windows in 1544, and other details of much interest.
-between the hills to the south, nearly four miles from basingstoke, is the small village of herriard and the neighbouring park named after it. its transitional church has been much rebuilt, but still contains several items of interest, including a fine chancel arch and some old stained glass. north-east of the park is the old and partly saxon church of tunworth, about four miles direct from basingstoke. the herriard road continues in a little over six miles to alton, a pleasant and out-of-the-way old town, but with little left of its former picturesque streets. alton is famous for its ale made from the hops grown in the immediate neighbourhood. the church has a door covered with bullet marks, a legacy from the civil war, when the troops of the parliament under waller attacked the royalists, who had fled to the church for sanctuary. a good deal of norman work is visible in the base of the tower. the jacobean pulpit and misericords in the choir call for remark and also the interesting "memoriall" on a pillar of the nave to the "renowned martialist "--richard boles--who defended the church during the attack referred to above.
-from alton the meon valley railway follows the high road to distant fareham on the shores of portsmouth harbour, and penetrates a lonely countryside, perhaps the least-known portion of hampshire. for the first ten miles the railway and road traverse the uplands that are a continuation of the sussex downs and part of the great chalk range of southern england. in one of the nooks of this tableland, two miles from the station at tisted and four from petersfield, is selborne, made for ever famous by gilbert white, who lived at the wakes, the picturesque rambling old house opposite the church. at west meon the actual valley from which the railway takes its name is entered. the infant stream, here a mere trickle under the hedgerows, comes down from east meon, three miles away, where there is a cruciform church containing a black tournai font, and an old stone pulpit dating from the fifteenth century. close by is a manor house, once the property of the bishops of winchester. warnford, a mile below west meon, has a church of great interest. it is a norman building on the site of the first sanctuary erected for the converted meonwaras by wilfred of york. several noteworthy features may be seen, including a saxon sundial from the original church. at corhampton two miles further south, a saxon church still remains, though it has lost its early apsidal chancel.
-the building has apparently been erected on a mound, possibly prehistoric. droxford station is within a four-mile walk of hambledon where, in 1774, modern cricket was first played. droxford church is another fine old building that, with those just enumerated, lends an added interest to this delightful valley, the scenic charm of which would alone be sufficient recompense for the trouble involved in exploring it. customs and beliefs are more primitive and the forms of speech more archaic than in the region beyond the new forest, and the natives have a goodly amount of the old jutish blood in their veins, possibly more than their relatives of the isle of wight. the swelling hills of that delectable land fill the vista as we descend between soberton and wickham, where the valley divides the main portion of the ancient forest of bere from the scattered woodlands of waltham chase and, at the last-named village, widens into the lowlands that stretch between tichfield and fareham and the busy activities of portsmouth.
-as we descend the last few miles the ancient capital of wessex and of england is seen ahead lying in the lap of its enfolding hills. the blunt and stern outline of the grey cathedral is softened by the misty veil, shot with mingled gold and pearl, that rests softly over the valley and that obliterates everything mean and unworthy in the scene before us. just as the memories of great and famous days that cling round the old towns of wessex--threads of faith and chivalry, valour and high endeavour--make an opalescent robe to hide for a moment the futilities of the present.
-cadbury, north and south cadbury castle caer gwent calleva calshot castle camel, queen's and west camelot campeden, john de canford canute casterley castle cary castle hill cattistock caundle purse cerne, the cerne abbas chalbury camp chaldon herring challow hill chapman's pool chard chard, thos. chardown charles i charles ii charles x of france charlton charminster charmouth chater chatham, lord cheddington cherhill down chesil bank cheverell chickerell chilton foliat chideock chilhampton chirton chisbury hill chisenbury chislebury camp chitterne cholderton christchurch churchend ring church hope cove church oakley churchill, winston church hill civil war clarendon clatford bottom clausentium clearbury camp cley hill cobbett (rural rides) codford, st. mary codford, st. peter colcombe cole coleridge, s.t. collingbourne ducis collingbourne kingston colyford colyton combe combe gallows combpyne compton compton abbas compton chamberlaine coney castle coombe bisset copley hill coram, capt. corfe castle corhampton coulston cowden hill cowes cranborne cranborne chase crawford castle crecy creech barrow creech hill crete hill crewkerne cricket, st. thomas cromwell, oliver cromwell, richard cunetio cuthberga cwenburh cynegils
-gad cliff gay geoffrey of monmouth george iii glastonbury gloucester, duke of glover, richard godmanstone golden cap great bedwyn great wishford gresham, sir thomas "grey mare" grovely wood
-ibernium icknield way idmiston ilchester ilminster imber inkpen beacon isle of wight isle, river itchen, river itchen abbas iwerne courtenay iwerne minster
-ladle hill lake lamb, chas. lambert's castle lambourne lambourne downs langdon hill langton herring langton matravers lawrence, sir thos. lea, lord herbert of leigh leland lewsdon hill linkenholt littlecote manor lisle, mrs. alicia litchfield down little bedwyn little bredy little durnford little langford little london litton cheyney lockyer, sir norman loders long barrow, the long bredy longford castle longleat long knoll louis the dauphin lovells, the lucius ludgershall ludlow, edmund lulworth castle lulworth cove lulworth east lulworth west lydlynch lyme regis lymington lyndhurst lytchett beacon lytchett matravers lytchett minster
-sacheverell, dr. saint aldhelm saint aldhelm's head saint alfreda saint boniface saint candida saint catherine's chapel saint catherine's hill saint cross saint edyth saint elizabeth's college saint grimald saint john a gore's cross saint leonards saint mary's college saint swithun salcombe regis salisbury salisbury cathedral salisbury plain salterton sandford orcas sandsfoot castle "sarum, use of," savernake forest scratchbury camp seacombe cliff seaton selborne semley shaftesbury shakespeare sharkford shaw house sheepless down shelley shepherd's shore sherborne sherborne st. john sheridan sherrington shillingstone shipton bellinger sidbury sidford sidmouth sidney, sir philip sidown silbury hill silchester skipton beacon skipton gorge sleeping green sloden smallwood, john smith, sidney soberton solent somers, sir geo. southampton southampton water southbourne south newton south petherton southwell spanish armada speen spencer stainsford stair hole stalbridge stanley, dean stanswood bay stanton, st. gabriel stapleford stavordale priory stedcombe steeple langford steepleton iwerne stephen steventon stillingfleet, dean stockbridge stock cross stockton stoke stoke farthing stoke wake stonehenge stonehouse, sir jas. stoney cross stour, river stourpaine stourton, lord charles strangeways, john stratfields, the stratford stratford, tony studland sturminster marshall sturminster newton sutton mandeville sutton poyntz sutton veny sutton waldron swallowcliffe swanage sweyn swyre head sydenham, thomas sydling st. nicholas sydmonton symondsbury
-tan hill tarrant villages teffont evias teffont magna templecombe test river thackeray thatcham thompson, wm. thornhill, sir james three legged cross thynne, sir john tidworth tilly whim tilshead tintinhull tisbury titchborne titchfield toller fratrum toller porcorum topp, john tottenham house totton towel, e. and w. trafalgar trenchard, sir thos. trent trollope tunworth turberville family turnworth house tutchin, john twyford twyneham tyneham tytherington
-upavon uploders uplyme up ottery upton upton cliff upton lovell upton scudamore upwey
-vanchurch venn venta belgarum verne vespasian's camp victoria vigilantius vindilis vindogladia vyne, the
-a tale of two continents
-a. conan doyle
-in the old world.
-in the new world.
-note on the huegenots and their dispersion
-note on the future of louis, madame de maintenon, and madame de montespan
-the man from america.
-it was the sort of window which was common in paris about the end of the seventeenth century. it was high, mullioned, with a broad transom across the centre, and above the middle of the transom a tiny coat of arms--three caltrops gules upon a field argent--let into the diamond-paned glass. outside there projected a stout iron rod, from which hung a gilded miniature of a bale of wool which swung and squeaked with every puff of wind. beyond that again were the houses of the other side, high, narrow, and prim, slashed with diagonal wood-work in front, and topped with a bristle of sharp gables and corner turrets. between were the cobble-stones of the rue st. martin and the clatter of innumerable feet.
-inside, the window was furnished with a broad bancal of brown stamped spanish leather, where the family might recline and have an eye from behind the curtains on all that was going forward in the busy world beneath them. two of them sat there now, a man and a woman, but their backs were turned to the spectacle, and their faces to the large and richly furnished room. from time to time they stole a glance at each other, and their eyes told that they needed no other sight to make them happy.
-nor was it to be wondered at, for they were a well-favoured pair. she was very young, twenty at the most, with a face which was pale, indeed, and yet of a brilliant pallor, which was so clear and fresh, and carried with it such a suggestion of purity and innocence, that one would not wish its maiden grace to be marred by an intrusion of colour. her features were delicate and sweet, and her blue-black hair and long dark eyelashes formed a piquant contrast to her dreamy gray eyes and her ivory skin. in her whole expression there was something quiet and subdued, which was accentuated by her simple dress of black taffeta, and by the little jet brooch and bracelet which were her sole ornaments. such was adele catinat, the only daughter of the famous huguenot cloth-merchant.
-but if her dress was sombre, it was atoned for by the magnificence of her companion. he was a man who might have been ten years her senior, with a keen soldier face, small well-marked features, a carefully trimmed black moustache, and a dark hazel eye which might harden to command a man, or soften to supplicate a woman, and be successful at either. his coat was of sky-blue, slashed across with silver braidings, and with broad silver shoulder-straps on either side. a vest of white calamanca peeped out from beneath it, and knee-breeches of the same disappeared into high polished boots with gilt spurs upon the heels. a silver-hilted rapier and a plumed cap lying upon a settle beside him completed a costume which was a badge of honour to the wearer, for any frenchman would have recognised it as being that of an officer in the famous blue guard of louis the fourteenth. a trim, dashing soldier he looked, with his curling black hair and well-poised head. such he had proved himself before now in the field, too, until the name of amory de catinat had become conspicuous among the thousands of the valiant lesser noblesse who had flocked into the service of the king.
-"tell me, adele," said he, "why do you look troubled?"
-"i am not troubled, amory,"
-"come, there is just one little line between those curving brows. ah, i can read you, you see, as a shepherd reads the sky."
-"it is nothing, amory, but--"
-the point of the knife on his thumb, walk up behind the other occupant of his desk, his brahmin neighbour, seize that neighbour by the hair, push his head sharp over on to the shoulder, and plunge the knife into his neck; seat himself, and commence to draw with the unfortunate brahmin's pencil.
-jones sprang to his feet and rushed to the spot, to find that he had not been dreaming. no--on the back seat drooped a boy bleeding like a stuck pig and another industriously drawing, his face illuminated by a smile of contentment.
-jones pressed his thumbs into the neck of the sufferer, as he called to an assistant-supervisor to run to the hospital for dr. almeida, hoping to be able to close the severed jugular from which welled an appalling stream of blood.
-"catch hold of that boy," said mr. edward jones to another assistant-supervisor who clucked around like a perturbed hen.
-"fear not, sahib, i shall not escape. i go to aden jail," said moussa cheerfully--but he pondered the advisability of attempting escape from the reformatory should he be sentenced to be hanged. it had always seemed an impossibility, but it would be better to attempt the impossible than to await the rope. but doubtless they would say he was too small and light to hang satisfactorily, and would send him to aden. thanks, master brahmin, realize as you die that you have greatly obliged your slayer....
-"now you will most certainly be hanged to death by rope and i shall be rid of troublesome fellow," said the superintendent to moussa isa when that murderous villain was temporarily handed over to him by the police-sepoy to whom he had been committed by mr. jones.
-"i have avenged my people and myself," replied moussa isa, "even as i said, i go to aden jail--where there are men, and where a somal is known from a hubshi"
-"you go to hang--across the road there at duri gaol," replied the babu, and earnestly hoped to find himself a true prophet. but though the wish was father to the thought, the expression thereof was but the wicked uncle, for it led to the undoing of the wish. so convinced and convincing did the babu appear to moussa isa, that the latter decided to try his luck in the matter of unauthorized departure from the reformatory precincts. if they were going to hang him (for defending and purging his private and racial honour), and not send him to aden after all, he might as well endeavour to go there at his own expense and independently. if he were caught they could not do more than hang him; if he were not caught he would get out of this dark ignorant land, if he had to walk for a year....
-ere he had finished rinsing his mouth and bathing his feet at the public water-standard on the platform, the whistle of a distant train charmed his ears and he sat him down, delighted, to enjoy the sights and sounds, the stir and bustle, of its arrival and departure. and so it came about that certain passengers by this north west frontier train were not a little intrigued to notice a small and very black boy suddenly arise from beside the drinking-fountain and, with a strange hoarse scream, fling himself at the feet of a young englishman (who in norfolk jacket and white flannel trousers strolled up and down outside the first-class carriage in which he was travelling to kot ghazi from karachi), and with every sign of the wildest excitement and joy embrace and kiss his boots....
-moussa isa was convinced that he had gone mad and that his eyes and brain were playing him tricks.
-mr. john robin ross-ellison (also mir ilderim dost mahommed mir hafiz ullah khan when in other dress and other places) was likewise more than a little surprised--and certainly a little moved, at the sight of moussa isa and his wild demonstrations of uncontrollable joy.
-"well, i'm damned!" said he in the rôle of mr. john robin ross-ellison. "rum little devil. fancy your turning up here." and in the rôle of mir ilderim dost mahommed mir hafiz ullah khan added in debased arabic: "take this money, little dog, and buy thee a tikkut to kot ghazi. get into this train, and at kot ghazi follow me to a house."
-to the house moussa isa followed him and to the end of his life likewise, visiting en route mekran kot, among other places, and encountering one, ilderim the weeper, among other people (as was told to major michael malet-marsac by ross-ellison's half-brother, the subedar-major.)
-§ 1. mr. grobble.
-there was something very maidenly about the appearance of augustus clarence percy marmaduke grobble. one could not imagine him doing anything unfashionable, perspiry, rough or rude; nor could one possibly imagine him doing anything ruthless, fine, terrible, strong or difficult.
-one expected his hose to be of the same tint as his shirt and handkerchief, his dress-trousers to be braided, his tie to be delicate and beautiful, his dainty shoes to be laced with black silk ribbon,--but one would never expect him to go tiger-shooting, to ride a gay and giddy young horse, to box, or to do his own cooking and washing in the desert or jungle.
-augustus had been at college during that bright brief period of the attempted apotheosis of the dirty-minded little decadent whose stock in trade was a few aubrey beardsley drawings, a widow's-cruse-like bottle of green chartreuse, an oscar wilde book, some dubious blue china, some floppy ties, an assortment of second-hand epigrams, scent and scented tobacco, a nil admirari attitude and long weird hair.
-augustus had become a decadent--a silly harmless conventionally-unconventional decadent. but, as carey, a contemporary rugger blood, coarsely remarked, he hadn't the innards to go far wrong.
-it was part of his cheap and childish ritual as a decadent to draw the curtains after breakfast, light candles, place the flask of green chartreuse and a liqueur-glass on the table, drop one drip of the liquid into the glass, burn a stinking pastille of incense, place a birmingham "god" or an opening lily before him, ruffle his hair, and sprawl on the sofa with a wicked french novel he could not read--hoping for visitors and an audience.
-if any fellow dropped in and, very naturally, exclaimed, "what the devil are you doing?" he would reply:--
-"wha'? oh, sunligh'? very vulgar thing sunligh'. art is always superior to nature. you love the garish day being a gross philistine, wha'? now i only live at night. glorious wicked nigh'. so i make my own nigh'. wha'? have some green chartreuse--only drink fit for a hedonist. i drink its colour and i taste its glorious greenness. ichor and nectar of helicon and the pierian spring. i loved a wooman once, with eyes of just that glowing glorious green and a soul of ruby red. i called her my emerald-eyed, ruby-souled devil, and we drank together deep draughts of the red red wine of life----"
-sometimes the visitor would say: "look here, grobb, you ought to be in the zoo, you know. there's a lot there like you, all in one big cage," or similar words of disapproval.
-sometimes a young fresher would be impressed, especially if he had been brought up by aunts in a vicarage, and would also become a decadent.
-during vac. the decadents would sometimes meet in town, and see life--a singularly uninteresting and unattractive side of life (much more like death), and the better men among them--better because of a little sincerity and pluck--would achieve a petty and rather sordid "adventure" perhaps.
-augustus had no head for mathematics and no gift for languages, while his classics had always been a trifle more than shaky. history bored him--so he read moral philosophy.
-there is a somewhat dull market for second-hand and third-class moral philosophy in england, so augustus took his to india. in the first college that he adorned his classes rapidly dwindled to nothing, and the college board dispensed with the services of augustus, who passed on to another college in another province, leaving behind him an odour of moral dirtiness, debt, and decadence. quite genuine decadence this time, with nothing picturesque about it, involving doctors' bills, alimony, and other the fine crops of wild-oat sowing.
-at gungapur he determined to "settle down," to "turn over a new leaf," and laid a good space of paving-stone upon his road to reward.
-he gave up the morning nip, docked the number of cocktails, went to bed before two, took a little gentle exercise, met mrs. pat dearman--and (like mr. robin ross-ellison, general miltiades murger and many another) succumbed at once.
-mrs. pat dearman had come to india (as miss cleopatra diamond brighte) to see her brother, dickie honor brighte, at gungapur, and much interested to see, also, a mr. dearman whom, in his letters to her, dickie had described as "a jolly old buster, simply full of money, and fairly spoiling for a wife to help him blew it in." she had not only seen him but had, as she wrote to acidulous auntie priscilla at the vicarage, "actually married him after a week's acquaintance--fancy!--the last thing in the world she had ever supposed ... etc." (auntie priscilla had smiled in her peculiarly unpleasant way as the artless letter enlarged upon the strangeness of her ingenuous niece's marrying the rich man about whom her innocent-minded brother had written so much.)
-having thoroughly enjoyed a most expensive and lavish honeymoon, mrs. pat dearman had settled down to make her good husband happy, to have a good time and to do any amount of good to other people--especially to young men--who have so many temptations, are so thoughtless, and who easily become the prey of such dreadful people and such dreadful habits.
-now it is to be borne in mind that mrs. dearman's good time was marred to some extent by her unreasoning dislike of all indians, a dislike which grew into a loathing hatred, born and bred of her ignorance of the language, customs, beliefs and ideals of the people among whom she lived, and from whom her husband's great wealth sprang.
-to augustus--fresh from very gilded gold, painted lilies and highly perfumed violets--she seemed a vision of delight, a blessed damozel, a living salvation.
-"incedit dea aperta," he murmured to himself, and wondered whether he had got the quotation right. being a weak young gentleman, he straightway yearned to lead a beautiful life so as to be worthy to live in the same world with her, and did it--for a little while. he became a teetotaller, he went to bed at ten and rose at five--going forth into the innocent pure morning and hugging his new goodness to his soul as he composed odes and sonnets to mrs. pat dearman. so far so excellent--but in augustus was no depth of earth, and speedily he withered away. and his reformation was a house built upon sand, for, even at its pinnacle, it was compatible with the practising of sweet and pure expressions before the glass, the giving of much time to the discovery of the really most successful location of the parting in his long hair, the intentional entangling of his fingers with those of the plump and pretty young lady (very brunette) in rightaway & mademore's, what time she handed him "ties to match his eyes," as he requested.
-it was really only a change of pose. the attitude now was: "i, young as you behold me, am old and weary of sin. i have passed through the fires. give me beauty and give me peace. i have done with the world and its dead sea fruit. there is no god but beauty, and woman is its prophet." and he improved in appearance, grew thinner, shook off a veritable old man of the sea in the shape of a persistent pimple which went ill with the higher aestheticism, and achieved great things in delicate socks, sweet shirts, dream ties, a thumb ring and really pretty shoes.
-in the presence of mrs. pat dearman he looked sad, smouldering, despairing and fighting-against-his-lower-self, when not looking young-but-hopelessly-depraved-though-yearning-for-better-things. and he flung out quick epigrams, sighed heavily, talked brilliantly and wildly, and then suppressed a groan. sometimes the pose of, "dear lady, i could kiss the hem of your garment for taking an interest in me and my past--but it is too lurid for me to speak of it, or for you to understand it if i did," would appear for a moment, and sometimes that of, "oh, help me--or my soul must drown. ah, leave me not. if i have sinned i have suffered, and in your hands lie my heaven and my hell." such shocking words were never uttered of course--but there are few things more real than an atmosphere, and augustus clarence could always get his atmosphere all right.
-and mrs. pat dearman (who had come almost straight from a vicarage, a vicar papa and a vicarish aunt, to an elderly, uxorious husband and untrammelled freedom, and knew as much of the world as a little bunny rabbit whom its mother has not brought yet out into the warren for its first season), was mightily intrigued.
-she felt motherly to the poor boy at first, being only two years his junior; then sisterly; and, later, very friendly indeed.
-let it be clearly understood that mrs. pat dearman was a thoroughly good, pure-minded woman, incapable of deceiving her husband, and both innocent and ignorant to a remarkable degree. she was the product of an unnatural, specialized atmosphere of moral supermanity, the secluded life, and the careful suppression of healthy, natural instincts. in justice to augustus clarence also it must be stated that the impulse to decency, though transient, was genuine as far as it went, and that he would as soon have thought of cutting his long beautiful hair as of thinking evil in connection with mrs. pat dearman.
-yes, mrs. pat dearman was mightily intrigued--and quickly came to the conclusion that it was her plain and bounden duty to "save" the poor, dear boy--though from what she was not quite clear. he was evidently unhappy and obviously striving-to-be-good--and he had such beautiful eyes, dressed so tastefully, and looked at one with such a respectful devotion and regard, that, really--well, it added a tremendous savour to life. also he should be protected from the horrid flirting mrs. bickker who simply lived to collect scalps.
-and so the friendship grew and ripened--quickly as is possible only in india. the evil-minded talked evil and saw harm where none existed, proclaiming themselves for what they were, and injuring none but themselves. (sad to say, these were women, with one or two exceptions in favour of men--like the hatter--who perhaps might be called "old women of the male sex," save that the expression is a vile libel upon the sex that still contains the best of us.) decent people expressed the belief that it would do augustus a lot of good--much-needed good; and the crystallized male opinion was that the poisonous little beast was uncommon lucky, but mrs. pat dearman would find him out sooner or later.
-as for mr. (or colonel) dearman, that lovable simple soul was grateful to augustus for existing--as long as his existence gave mrs. dearman any pleasure. if the redemption of augustus interested her, let augustus be redeemed. he believed that the world neither held, nor had held, his wife's equal in character and nobility of mind. he worshipped an image of his own creation in the shape of cleopatra dearman, and the image he had conceived was a credit to the single-minded, simple-hearted gentleman.
-naturally he did not admire augustus clarence percy marmaduke grobble (learned in millinery; competent, as modes varied, to discuss harem, hobble, pannier, directoire, slit, or lamp-shade skirts, berthes, butterfly-motif embroideries, rucked ninon sleeves, chiffon tunics, and similar mysteries of the latest fashion-plates, with a lady undecided).
-long-haired men put dearman off, and he could not connect the virile virtues with large bows, velvet coats, scent, manicure, mannerisms and meandering.
-but if augustus gave his wife any pleasure--why augustus had not lived wholly in vain. his attitude to augustus was much that of his attitude to his wife's chocolates, fondants, and crystallized violets--"not absolutely nourishing and beneficial for you, dearest;--but harmless, and i'll bring you a ton with pleasure".
-personally he'd as soon go about with his wife's fat french poodle as with augustus, but so long as either amused her--let the queer things flourish.
-among the nasty-minded old women who "talked" was the mad hatter.
-"shameful thing the way that dearman woman throws dust in her husband's eyes!" said he, while sipping his third elsie may at the club bar. "he should divorce her. i would, to-morrow, if i were burdened with her."
-a knee took him in the small of the back with unnecessary violence and he spun round to demand instant apology from the clumsy....
-he found himself face to face with one john robin ross-ellison newly come to gungapur, a gentleman of independent means but supposed to be connected with the political department or the secret service or something, who stared him in the eyes without speaking while he poised a long drink as though wondering whether it were worth while wasting good liquor on the face of such a thing as the hatter.
-"you'll come with me and clear the dust from dearman's eyes at once," said he at last. "made your will all right?"
-the hatter publicly apologised, then and there, and explained that he had, for once in his life, taken a third drink and didn't know what he was saying.
-"if your third drink brings out the real man, i should recommend you to stick to two, bonnett," said the young man, and went away to cogitate.
-should he speak to dearman? no. he didn't want to see so good a chap hanged for a thing like the bonnett. should he go and slap augustus grobble hard and make him leave the station somehow? no. sure to be a scandal. you can no more stop a scandal than a locust-cloud or a fog. the best way to increase it is to notice it. what a horrid thing is a scandal-monger--exhaling poison. it publishes the fact that it is poisonous, of course--but the gas is not enjoyable.
-well, god help anybody dearman might happen to hear on the subject! happily mr. (or colonel) dearman heard nothing, for he was a quiet, slow, jolly, red-haired man, and the wrath of a slow, quiet, red-haired man, once roused, is apt to be a rather dangerous thing. also mr. dearman was singularly elephantine in the blundering crushing directness of his methods, and his idea of enough might well seem more than a feast to some.
-and mr. dearman suffered augustus gladly, usually finding him present at tea, frequently at dinner, and invariably in attendance at dances and functions.
-augustus was happy and good--for augustus. he dallied, he adored, he basked. for a time he felt how much better, finer, more enjoyable, more beautiful, was this life of innocent communion with a pure soul--pure, if just a little insipid, after the real spankers he had hitherto affected.
-he was being saved from himself, reformed, helped, and all the rest of it. and when privileged to bring her pen, her fan, her book, her cushion, he always kissed the object with an appearance of wishing to be unseen in the act. it was a splendid change from the lurid life and the mean adventure. piquant.
-unstable as water he could not excel nor endure, however, even in dalliance; nor persevere even when adopted as the fidus achates of a good and beautiful woman--the poor little weather-cock. he was essentially weak, and weakness is worse than wickedness. there is hope for the strong bad man. he may become a strong good one. your weak man can never be that.
-there came a lady to the great eastern hotel where augustus lived. her husband's name, curiously enough, was harris, and wags referred to him as the mr. harris, because he had never been seen--and like betsey prig, they "didn't believe there was no sich person". and beyond doubt she was a spanker.
-augustus would sit and eye her at meals--and his face would grow a little less attractive. he would think of her while he took tea with mrs. and mr. dearman, assuring himself that she was certainly a stepper, a stunner, and, very probably,--thrilling thought--a wrong 'un.
-without the very slightest difficulty he obtained an introduction and, shortly afterwards, decided that he was a man of the world, a decadent, a wise hedonist who took the sweets of every day and hoped for more to-morrow.
-who but a fool or a silly greenhorn lets slip the chances of enjoyment, and loses opportunities of experiences? there was nothing in the world, they said, to compare with war and love. those who wanted it were welcome to the fighting part, he would be content with the loving rôle. he would be a dog and go on breaking hearts and collecting trophies. what a milk-and-water young ass he had been, hanging about round good, silly, little mrs. dearman, denying himself champagne at dinner-parties, earning opprobrium as a teetotaller, going to bed early like a bread-and-butter flapper, and generally losing all the joys of life! been behaving like a backfisch. he read his swinburne again, and unearthed from the bottom of a trunk some books that dealt with the decadent's joys,--poets of the flesh, and prosers of the devil, in his many weary forms.
-also he redoubled his protestations (of undying, hopeless, respectful devotion and regard) to mrs. dearman, until she, being a woman, therefore suspected something and became uneasy.
-one afternoon he failed to put in an appearance at tea-time, though expected. he wrote that he had had a headache. perhaps it was true, but, if so, it had been borne in the boudoir of the fair spanker whose husband may or may not have been named harris.
-as his absences from the society of mrs. dearman increased in frequency, his protestations of undying gratitude and regard for her increased in fervour.
-mrs. dearman grew more uneasy and a little unhappy.
-could she be losing her influence for good over the poor weak boy? could it be--horrible thought--that he was falling into the hands of some nasty woman who would flirt with him, let him smoke too many cigarettes, drink cocktails, and sit up late? was he going to relapse and slip back into that state of wickedness of some kind, that she vaguely understood him to have been guilty of in the unhappy past when he had possessed no guardian angel to keep his life pure, happy and sweet, as he now declared it to be?
-"where's your young friend got to lately?" inquired her husband one day.
-"i don't know, john," she replied, "he's always missing appointments nowadays," and there was a pathetic droop about the childish mouth.
-"haven't quarrelled with him, or anything, have you, pat?"
-"no, john dear. it would break his heart if i were unkind to him--or it would have used to. i mean it used to have would. oh, you know what i mean. once it would have. no, i have not been unkind to him--it's rather the other way about, i think!"
-rather the other way about! the little affected pimp unkind to mrs. dearman! mr. (or colonel) dearman made no remark--aloud.
-augustus came to tea next day and his hostess made much of him. his host eyed him queerly. very.
-augustus felt uncomfortable. good heavens! was dearman jealous? the man was not going to cut up jealous at this time of day, surely! not after giving him the run of the house for months, and allowing him to take his wife everywhere--nay, encouraging him in every way. absurd idea!
-beastly disturbing idea though--dearman jealous, and on your track! a rather direct and uncompromising person, red-haired too. but the man was absolutely fair and just, and he'd never do such a thing as to let a fellow be his wife's great pal, treat him as one of the family for ages, and then suddenly round on him as though he were up to something. no. especially when he was, if anything, cooling off a bit.
-"he was always most cordial--such a kind chap,--when i was living in his wife's pocket almost," reflected augustus, "and he wouldn't go and turn jealous just when the thing was slacking off a bit."
-but there was no doubt that dearman was eyeing him queerly....
-"shall we go on the river to-morrow night, gussie?" said mrs. dearman, "or have a round of golf, or what?"
-"let's see how we feel to-morrow," replied augustus, who had other schemes in view. "sufficient unto the day is the joy thereof," and he escorted mrs. dearman to the gymkhana, found her some nice, ladies' pictorials, said, "i'll be back in a minute or two,"--and went in search of mrs. "harris".
-"well," said that lady, "been a good little boy and eaten your bread and butter nicely? have a lyddite cocktail to take the taste away. so will i." ...
-"don't forget to book the big punt," said the siren an hour or so later. "i'll be ready for you about five."
-augustus wrote one of his charming little notes on his charming little note-paper that evening.
-"kind and gracious ladye,
-"pity me. pity and love me. to-morrow the sun will not shine for your slave, for he will not see it. i am unable to come over in the evening. i stand 'twixt love and duty, and know you would counsel duty. would the college and all its works were beneath the ocean wave! think of me just once and i shall survive till the day after. oh, that i could think your disappointment were but one thousandth part of mine. i live but for thursday.
-"ever your most devoted loving slave,
-mrs. dearman wept one small tear, for she had doubted his manner when he had evaded making the appointment, and was suspicious. mr. dearman entered and noted the one small tear ere it trickled off her dainty little nose.
-she showed him the note.
-mr. (or colonel) dearman thought much. what he said was "hm!"
-"i suppose he has got to invigilate at some horrid examination or something," she said, but she did not really suppose anything of the kind. even to her husband she could not admit the growing dreadful fear that the brand she had plucked from the burning was slipping from her hand--falling back into the flames.
-at a dinner-party that night a woman whom she hated, and wrote down an evil-minded scandal-monger and inventor and disseminator of lies, suddenly said to her, "who is this mrs. harris, my dear?"
-"how should i know?" replied mrs. dearman.
-"oh, i thought your young friend mr. grobble might have told you--he seems to know her very well," answered the woman sweetly.
-that night mr. dearman heard his wife sobbing in bed. going to her he asked what was the matter, and produced eau-de-cologne, phenacetin, smelling-salts and sympathy.
-she said that nothing at all was the matter and he went away and pondered. next day he asked her if he could row her on the river as he wanted some exercise, and augustus was not available to take her for a drive or anything.
-"i should love it, john dear," she said. "you row like an ox," and john, who had been reckoned an uncommon useful stroke, felt that a compliment was intended if not quite materialized.
-"i want to go straight home without changing, pat; do you mind? i'll drop you at the gymkhana if you don't want to get home so early," said dearman, as he helped his wife out.
-"won't you change and have a drink first, john?" she replied. "you must be thirsty."
-"no. i want to go along now, if you don't mind."
-he did want to--badly. for, rowing up, he had seen something which his wife, facing the other way, could not see.
-under an over-hanging bush was a punt, and in the punt were augustus and the lady known as mrs. harris.
-the bush met the bank at the side toward his wife, but at the other side, facing dearman, there was an open space and so he had seen and she had not. returning, he had drawn her attention to something on the opposite bank. this had been unnecessary, however, as augustus had effected a change of venue without delay. and now he did not want his wife to witness the return of the couple and learn of the duplicity of her snatched brand.
-augustus clarence percy marmaduke grobble sat in the long cane chair in his sitting-room, a glass beside him, a cigarette between his lips, a fleshly poet in his hand, and a reminiscent smile upon his flushed face.
-she undoubtedly was a spanker. knew precisely how many beans make five. a woman of the world, that. been about. knew things. sort of woman one could tell a good story to--and get one back. life! life! knew it up and down, in and out. damn reformation, teetotality, the earnest, and the strenuous. good women were unmitigated bores, and he.... a sharp knock at the door.
-the door opened and large mr. dearman walked in. he bore a nasty-looking malacca cane in his hand--somewhat ostentatiously.
-"hullo, dearman!" said augustus after a decidedly startled and anxious look. "what is it? sit down. i'm just back from college. have a drink?"
-large mr. dearman considered these things seriatim.
-"i will sit down as i want a talk with you. you are a liar in the matter of just being back from college. i will not have a drink." he then lapsed into silence and looked at augustus very straight and very queerly, while bending the nasty malacca suggestively. the knees of augustus smote together.
-good god! it had come at last! the thrashing he had so often earned was at hand. what should he do? what should he do!
-dearman thought the young man was about to faint.
-"fine malacca that, isn't it?" he asked.
-"swishy, supple, tough."
-"ye-yes!" (how could the brute be such a fool as to be jealous now--now when it was all cooling off and coming to an end?)
-"grand stick to thrash a naughty boy with, what?"
-"ye-yes!--dearman, i swear before god that there is nothing between me and----"
-"shut up, you infernal god-forsaken cub, or i shall have to whip you. i----"
-"dearman, if you are jealous of me----"
-"better be quiet and listen, or i shall get cross, and you'll get hurt.... you have given us the pleasure of a great deal of your company this year, and i have come to ask you----"
-"dearman, i have not been so much lately, and i--"
-"that's what i complain of, my young friend."
-"that's what i complain of! i have come to protest against your making yourself almost necessary to me, in a sense, and then--er--deserting me, in a sense."
-"you are mocking me, dearman. if you wish to take advantage of my being half your size and strength to assault me, you----"
-"not a bit of it, my dear augustus. i am in most deadly earnest, as you'll find if you are contumacious when i make my little proposition. what i say is this. i have grown to take an interest in you, augustus. i have been very kind to you and tried to make a better man of you. i have been a sort of mother to you, and you have sworn devotion and gratitude to me. i have reformed you somewhat, and you have admitted to me that i have made another man of you, augustus, and that you love me for it, you love me with a deep platonic love, my augustus, and--don't you forget it."
-"i admit that your wife----"
-"don't you mention my wife, augustus, or you and i and that malacca will have a period of great activity. i was saying that i am disappointed in you, augustus, and truly grieved to find you so shallow and false. i asked you to take me on the river to-night and you lied to me and took a very different type of--er--person. such meanness and ingratitude fairly get me, augustus. now i never asked you to run after me and come and swear i had saved your dirty little soul alive, but since you did it, augustus, and i have come to take a deep interest in saving the thing--why, you've got to stick it, augustus--and if you don't--why, then i'll make you, my dear."
-"dearman, your wife has been the noblest friend----"
-"will you come off it, augustus? i don't want to be cruel. now look here. i have got accustomed to having you about the house and employing you in those funny little ways in which you are a useful little animal. i am under no delusion as to the value of that soul of yours--but, such as it is, i am determined to save it. so just you bring it round to tea to-morrow, as usual; and don't you ever be absent again without my permission. you began the game and i'll end it--when i think fit. grand malacca that."
-"dearman, i will always----"
-"'course you will. see you at tea to-morrow, gussie. if ever my wife hears of this i'll kill you painfully. bye-bye."
-augustus was present at tea next day, and, thenceforth, so regular was he that mrs. dearman found, first, that she had been very foolish in thinking that her brand was slipping back into the fire and, later, that gussie was a bore and a nuisance.
-one day he said in the presence of john:--
-"i can't keep that golf engagement on saturday, dear lady, i have to attend a meeting of the professors, principal and college board".
-"have you seen my malacca cane, pat," said dearman. "i want it."
-"of course you have," replied dearman. "what do you mean?"
-"john dear," remarked mrs. dearman one day, "i wish you could give gussie a hint not to come quite so often. i have given him some very broad ones during the last few months, but he won't take them. he would from you, i expect."
-"tired of the little bounder, pat?"
-"oh, sick and tired. he bores me to tears. i wish he were in government service and could be transferred. a government man's always transferred as soon as he has settled to his job. i can't forbid him the house, very well, but i wish he'd realize how weary i am of his poses and new socks."
-augustus clarence percy marmaduke grobble sat in the long cane chair in his sitting-room, a look of rebellious discontent upon his face. what could he do? better chuck his job and clear out! the strain was getting awful. what a relentless, watchful brute dearman was! to him entered that gentleman after gently tapping at the chamber door.
-"gussie," said he, "i have come to say that i think you weary me. i don't want you to come and play with me any more. but be a nice good boy and do me credit. i have brought you this malacca as a present and a memento. i have another, gussie, and am going to watch you, so be a real credit to me."
-and gussie was.
-so once again a good woman redeemed a bad man--but a trifle indirectly perhaps.
-then came general miltiades murger and mr. john robin ross-ellison to be saved.
-during intervals in the salvation process, mr. john robin ross-ellison vainly endeavoured to induce mr. augustus clarence percy marmaduke grobble to lend his countenance, as well as the rest of his person, to the european company of the gungapur fusilier volunteer corps which it was the earnest ambition of ross-ellison to raise and train and consolidate into a real and genuine defence organization, with a maxim-gun, a motor-cycle and car section, and a mounted troop, and with, above all, a living and sturdy esprit-de-corps. such a company appeared to him to be the one and only hope of regeneration for the ludicrous corps which colonel dearman commanded, and to change the metaphor, the sole possible means of leavening the lump by its example of high standards and high achievement.
-to augustus, however, as to many other englishmen, the idea was merely ridiculous and its parent simply absurd.
-the day dawned when augustus, like the said many other englishmen, changed his mind. in his, and their defence, it may be urged that they knew nothing of the activities of a very retiring but persevering gentleman, known to his familiars as ilderim the weeper, and that they had grown up in the belief that all england's fighting and defence can be done by a few underpaid, unconsidered, and very vulgar hirelings.
-perish the thought that augustus and his like should ever be expected to do the dirty work of defending themselves, their wives, children, homes and honour.
-§ 2. general murger.
-in a temporary grand stand of matchboarding and canvas tout gungapur greeted mrs. pat dearman, who was quite at home, ranged itself, and critically inspected the horses, or the frocks, of its friends, according to its sex.
-around the great ring on to which the grand stand looked, arab, pathan, and other heathen raged furiously together and imagined many vain things. among them unobtrusively moved a somali who listened carefully to conversations, noted speakers, and appeared to be collecting impressions as to the state of public opinion--and of private opinion. particularly he sought opportunities of hearing reference to the whereabouts and doings of one ilderim the weeper. in the ring were a course of stiff jumps, lesser rings, the judges' office, a kind of watch-tower from which a strenuous fiend with a megaphone bawled things that no living soul could understand, and a number of most horsily-arrayed gentlemen, whose individual status varied from general and cavalry-colonel to rough rider, troop sergeant-major and stud groom.
-i regret to add that there was also a lady, that she was garbed for riding in the style affected by mere man, and that she swaggered loud-voiced, horsey, slapping a boot.
-let men thank the good god for womanly women while such be--and appreciate them.
-behind the grand stand were massed the motor-cars and carriages of society, as well as the steward of the gungapur club, who there spent a busy afternoon in eating ices and drinking cup while his myrmidons hurried around, washed glasses, squeezed lemons, boiled water and dropped things. anon he drank ices and ate cup (with a spoon) and was taken deviously back to his little bungalow behind the club by the head bootlaire saheb (or butler) who loved and admired him.
-beyond the big ring ran the river, full with the summer rains, giving a false appearance of doing much to cool the air and render the afternoon suitable to the stiff collars and "europe" garments of the once sterner sex.
-a glorious sea-breeze did what the river pretended to do. beneath the shade of a clump of palms, scores of more and less valuable horses stamped, tossed heads, whisked tails and possibly wondered why god made flies, while an equal number of syces squatted, smoked pungent bidis, and told lies.
-outside a tent, near by, sat a pimply youth at a table bearing boxes of be-ribboned labels, number-inscribed, official, levelling.
-these numbers corresponded with those attached to the names of the horses in the programme of events, and riders must tie one round each arm ere bringing a horse up for judgment when called on.
-certain wretched carping critics alleged that this arrangement was to prevent the possibility of error on the part of the judges, who, otherwise, would never know whether a horse belonged to a general or a subaltern, to a member of council or an assistant collector, to a head of a department or a wretched underling--in short to a personage or a person.
-you find this type of doubter everywhere--and especially in india where official rank is but the guinea stamp and gold is brass without it.
-great, in the grand stand, was general miltiades murger. beside mrs. dearman, most charming of hostesses, he sate, in the stage of avuncular affection, and told her that if the judges knew their business his hunter would win the hunter-class first prize and be "best horse in the show" too.
-as to his charger, his hack, his trapper, his suitable-for-polo ponies, his carriage-horses he did not worry; they might or might not "do something," but his big and beautiful hunter--well, he hoped the judges knew their business, that was all.
-"are you going to show him in the ring yourself, general?" asked mrs. dearman.
-"and leave your side?" replied the great man in manner most avuncular and with little reassuring pats upon the lady's hand. "no, indeed. i am going to remain with you and watch rissaldar-major shere singh ride him for me. finest horseman in india. good as myself. yes, i hope the judges for class xix know their business. i imported that horse from home and he cost me over six thousand rupees."
-meanwhile, it may be mentioned, evil passions surged in the soul of mr. john robin ross-ellison as he watched the general, and witnessed his avuncular pattings and confidential whisperings. mr. ross-ellison had lunched with the dearmans, had brought mrs. dearman to the horse show, and was settling down, after she had welcomed her guests, to a delightful, entrancing, and thrillful afternoon with her--to be broken but while he showed his horse--when he had been early and utterly routed by the general. the heart of mr. ross-ellison was sore within him, for he loved mrs. dearman very devotedly and respectfully.
-he was always devotedly in love with some one, and she was always a nice good woman.
-when she, or he, left the station, his heart died within him, life was hollow, and his mouth filled with dead sea fruit. the world he loved so much would turn to dust and ashes at his touch. after a week or so his heart would resurrect, life would become solid, and his mouth filled with merry song. he would fall in love afresh and the world went very well then.
-at present he loved mrs. dearman--and hated general miltiades murger, who had sent him for a programme and taken his seat beside mrs. dearman. there was none on the other side of her--mr. ross-ellison had seen to that--and his prudent foresight had turned and rent him, for he could not plant a chair in the narrow gangway.
-he wandered disconsolately away and instinctively sought the object of the one permanent and unwavering love of his life--his mare "zuleika," late of balkh.
-zuleika was more remarkable for excellences of physique than for those of mind and character. to one who knew her not, she was a wild beast, fitter for a cage in a zoo than for human use, a wild-eyed, screaming man-eating she-devil; and none knew her save mr. john robin ross-ellison, who had bought her unborn. (he knew her parents.)
-"if you see an ugly old cove with no hair and a blue nose come over here for his number, just kick his foremost button, hard," said mr. ross-ellison to her as he gathered up the reins and, dodging a kick, prepared to mount. this was wrong of him, for zuleika had never suffered any harm at the hands of general miltiades murger, "'eavy-sterned amateur old men" he quoted in a vicious grumble.
-a wild gallop round the race-course did something to soothe the ruffled spirit of mr. ross-ellison and nothing to improve zuleika's appearance--just before she entered the show-ring.
-on returning, mr. ross-ellison met the notable nut (lieutenant nottinger nutt, an ornament of the royal horse artillery), and they talked evil of dignitaries and institutions amounting to high treason if not blasphemy, while watching the class in progress, with young but gloomy eyes.
-"i don't care what anybody says," observed the notable nut. "you read the lists of prize-winners of all the bally horse-shows ever held here and you'll find 'em all in strict and decorous order of owner's rank. 'chargers. first prize--lieutenant-general white's "pink eye". second prize--brigadier-general black's "red neck". third prize--colonel brown's "ham bone". highly commended--major green's "prairie oyster". nowhere at all--second-lieutenant blue's "cocktail,"'--and worth all the rest put together. i tell you i've seen horse after horse change hands after winning a first prize as a general's property and then win nothing at all as a common officer's or junior civilian's, until bought again by a big pot. then it sweeps the board. i don't for one second dream of accusing judges of favouritism or impropriety any kind, but i'm convinced that the glory of a brass-bound owner casts a halo about his horse that dazzles and blinds the average rough-rider, stud-groom and cavalry-sergeant, and don't improve the eyesight of some of their betters, when judging."
-"yes" mused mr. ross-ellison, "and another thing. if you want to get a horse a win or a place in the ladies' hack class--get a pretty girl to ride it. they go by the riders' faces and figures entirely.... hullo! class xix wanted. that's me and zuleika. come and tie the labels on my arms like a good dog."
-"right o. but you haven't the ghost of a little look in," opined the nut. "old murger has got a real corking english hunter in. a general will win as usual--but he'll win with by far the best horse, for once in the history of horse-shows."
-dismounting and handing their reins to the syces, the two young gentlemen strolled over to the table where presided he of the pimples and number-labels.
-a burly sikh was pointing to the name of general miltiades murger and asking for the number printed thereagainst.
-the youth handed rissaldar-major shere singh two labels each bearing the number 99. these, the gallant native officer proceeded to tie upon his arms--putting them upside down, as is the custom of the native of india when dealing with anything in any wise reversible.
-mr. ross-ellison approached the table, showed his name on the programme and asked for his number--66.
-"tie these on," said he returning to his friend. "by jove--there's old murger's horse," he added--"what a magnificent animal!"
-looking up, the nut saw rissaldar-major shere singh mounting the beautiful english hunter--and also saw that he bore the number 66. therefore the labels handed to him were obviously 99, and as 99 he tied on the 66 of mr. ross-ellison--who observed the fact.
-"i am afraid i'm all pathan at this moment," silently remarked he unto his soul, and smiled an ugly smile.
-"not much good my entering zuleika against that mare," he said aloud. "it must have cost just about ten times what i paid for her. never mind though! we'll show up--for the credit of civilians," and he rode into the ring--where a score of horses solemnly walked round and round the judges and in front of the grand stand....
-on his return he beheld his superb and expensive hunter behaving superbly and expensively in the expert hands of rissaldar-major shere singh.
-he feasted his eyes upon it.
-suddenly a voice, a voice he disliked intensely, the voice of mr. dearman croaked fiendishly in his ear: "why, general, they've got your horse numbered wrongly!"
-general miltiades murger looked again. upon the arm of rissaldar-major shere singh was the number 66.
-opening his programme with trembling fingers he found his name, his horse's name, and number 99!
-he rose to his feet, stammering and gesticulating. as he did so the words:--
-"take out number 66," were distinctly borne to the ears of the serried ranks of the fashionable in the grand stand. certain military-looking persons at the back abandoned all dignity and fell upon each other's necks, poured great libations, danced, called upon their gods, or fell prostrate upon settees.
-others, seated among the ladies, looked into their bats as though in church.
-"has ross-ellison faked it?" ran from mouth to mouth, and, "he'll be hung for this".
-a minute or so later the secretary approached the grand stand and announced in stentorian tones:
-"first prize--general murger's darling, number 99".
-while behind him upon zuleika, chosen of the judges, sat and smiled mr. john robin ross-ellison, who lifted his voice and said: "thanks--no!--this horse is mine and is named zuleika." he looked rather un-english, rather cunning, cruel and unpleasant--quite different somehow, from his ordinary cheery, bright english self.
-"old" brigadier general miltiades murger was unique among british generals in that he sometimes resorted to alcoholic stimulants beyond reasonable necessity and had a roving and a lifting eye for a pretty woman. in one sense the general had never taken a wife--and, in another, he had taken several. indeed it was said of him by jealous colleagues that the hottest actions in which he had ever been engaged were actions for divorce or breach of promise, and that this type of imminent deadly breach was the kind with which he was best acquainted. also that he was better at storming the citadel of a woman's heart than at storming anything else.
-no eminent man is without jealous detractors.
-as to the stimulants, make no mistake and jump to no hasty conclusions. general murger had never been seen drunk in the whole of his distinguished and famous (or as the aforesaid colleagues called it, egregious and notorious) career.
-on the other hand, the voice of jealousy said he had never been seen sober either. in the words of envy, hatred, malice and all uncharitableness it declared that he had been born fuddled, had lived fuddled, and would die fuddled. and there were ugly stories.
-also some funny ones--one of which concerns the, gungapur fusilier volunteer corps and colonel dearman, their beloved but shortly retiring (and, as some said, their worthy) commandant.
-mr. dearman was a very wealthy (and therefore popular), very red haired and very patriotic mill-owner who tried very hard to be proud of his corps, and, without trying, was immensely proud of his wife.
-as to the corps--well, it may at least be said that it would have followed its beloved commandant anywhere (that was neither far nor dangerous), for every one of its officers, except captain john robin ross-ellison, and the bulk of its men, were his employees.
-they loved him for his wealth and they trusted him absolutely--trusted him not to march them far nor work them much. and they were justified of their faith.
-several of the officers were almost english--though greeks and goa-portuguese predominated, and there was undeniably a drop or two of english blood in the ranks, well diffused of course. some folk said that even captain john robin ross-ellison was not as scotch as his name.
-on guest-nights in the annual camp of exercise (when the officers' mess did itself as well as any mess in india--and only took a few hundred rupees of the government grant for the purpose) colonel dearman would look upon the wine when it was bubbly, see his corps through its golden haze, and wax so optimistic, so enthusiastic, so rash, as roundly to state that if he had five hundred of the gungapur fusiliers, with magazines charged and bayonets fixed, behind a stout entrenchment or in a fortified building, he would stake his life on their facing any unarmed city mob you could bring against them. but these were but post-prandial vapourings, and colonel dearman never talked nor thought any such folly when the corps was present to the eye of flesh.
-on parade he saw it for what it was--a mob of knock-kneed, sniffling lads with just enough strength to suck a cigarette; anaemic clerks, fat cooks, and loafers with just enough wind to last a furlong march; huge beery old mechanics and ex-"tommies," forced into this coloured galley as a condition of their "job at the works "; and the non-native scum of the city of gungapur--which joined for the sake of the ammunition-boots and khaki suit.
-there was not one englishman who was a genuine volunteer and not half a dozen parsis. englishmen prefer to join a corps which consists of englishmen or at least has an english company. when they have no opportunity of so doing, it is a little unfair to class them with the lazy, unpatriotic, degenerate young gentlemen who have the opportunity and do not seize it. captain ross-ellison was doing his utmost to provide the opportunity--with disheartening results.
-however--colonel dearman tried very hard to be proud of his corps and never forgave anyone who spoke slightingly of it.
-as to his wife, there was, as stated, no necessity for any "trying". he was immensely and justly proud of her as one of the prettiest, most accomplished, and most attractive women in the bendras presidency.
-mrs. "pat" dearman, née cleopatra diamond brighte, was, as has been said, consciously and most obviously a good woman. brought up by a country rector and his vilely virtuous sister, her girlhood had been a struggle to combine her two ambitions, that of being a good woman with that of having a good time. in the village of bishop's overley the former had been easier; in india the latter. but even in india, where the good time was of the very best, she forgot not the other ambition, went to church with unfailing regularity, read a portion of the scriptures daily; headed subscription lists for the myriad hospitals, schools, widows'-homes, work-houses, christian associations, churches, charitable societies, shelters, orphanages, rescue-homes and other deserving causes that appeal to the european in india; did her duty by colonel dearman, and showed him daily by a hundred little bright kindnesses that she had not married him for his great wealth but for his--er--his--er--not exactly his beauty or cleverness or youthful gaiety or learning or ability--no, for his goodness, of course, and because she loved him--loved him for the said goodness, no doubt. no, she never forgot the lessons of the rectory, that it is the whole duty of man to save his or her soul, but remembered to be a good woman while having the good time. perhaps the most industriously pursued of all her goodnesses was her unflagging zealous labour in saving the souls of others as well as her own soul--the "others" being the young, presentable, gay, and well-placed men of gungapur society.
-yes, mrs. pat dearman went beyond the rectory teachings and was not content with personal salvation. a good woman of broad altruistic charity, there was not a young civilian, not a subaltern, not a handsome, interesting, smart, well-to-do, well-in-society, young bachelor in whose spiritual welfare she did not take the deepest personal interest. and, perhaps, of all such eligible souls in gungapur, the one whose salvation she most deeply desired to work out (after she wearied of the posings and posturings of augustus grobble) was that of captain john robin ross-ellison of her husband's corps--an exceedingly handsome, interesting, smart, well-to-do, well-in-society young bachelor. the owner of this eligible soul forebore to tell mrs. pat dearman that it was bespoke for mohammed the prophet of allah--inasmuch as almost the most entrancing, thrilling and delightful pursuit of his life was the pursuit of soul-treatment at the hands, the beautiful tiny white hands, of mrs. pat dearman. had her large soulful eyes penetrated this subterfuge, he would have jettisoned mohammed forthwith, since, to him, the soul-treatment was of infinitely more interest and value than the soul, and, moreover, strange as it may seem, this mussulman english gentleman had received real and true christian teaching at his mother's knee. when mrs. pat dearman took him to church, as she frequently did, on sunday evenings, he was filled with great longings--and with a conviction of the eternal truth and beauty of christianity and the essential nobility of its gentle, unselfish, lofty teachings. he would think of his mother, of some splendid men and women he had known, especially missionaries, medical and other, at bannu and poona and elsewhere, and feel that he was really a christian at heart; and then again in khost and mekran kot, when carrying his life in his hand, across the border, in equal danger from the bullet of the border police, guides, or frontier force cavalry-outposts and from the bullet of criminal tribesmen, when a devil in his soul surged up screaming for blood and fire and slaughter; during the long stealthy crawl as he stalked the stalker; during the wild, yelling, knife-brandishing rush; as he pressed the steady trigger or guided the slashing, stabbing khyber knife, or as he instinctively hallaled the victim of his shikar, he knew he was a pathan and a mussulman as were his fathers.
-but whether circumstances brought his english blood to the surface or his pathan blood, whether the day were one of his most english days or one of his most pathan days, whether it were a day of mingled and quickly alternating englishry and pathanity he now loved and supported britain and the british empire for mrs. dearman's sake. often as he (like most other non-officials) had occasion to detest and desire to kick the imperial englishman, championship of england and her empire was now his creed. and as there was probably not another england-lover in all india who had his knowledge of under-currents, and forces within and without, he was perhaps the most anxiously loving of all her lovers, and the most appalled at the criminal carelessness, blind ignorance, fatuous conceit, and folly of a proportion of her sons in india.
-knowing what he knew of teutonic intrigue and influence in india, ceylon, afghanistan, aden, persia, egypt, east africa, the straits settlements, and china, he was reminded of the men and women of pompeii who ate, drank, and were merry, danced and sang, pursued pleasure and the nimble denarius, while vesuvius rumbled.
-constantly the comparison entered his mind.
-he had sojourned with indian "students" in india, england, germany, geneva, america and japan, and had belonged to the most secret of societies. he had himself been a well-paid agent of germany in both asia and africa; and he had been instrumental in supplying thousands of rifles to border raiders, persian bandits, and other potential troublers of the pax britannica. he now lived half his double life in indian dress and moved on many planes; and to many places where even he could not penetrate unsuspected, his staunch and devoted slave, moussa isa, went observant. and all that he learnt and knew, within and without the confines of ind, by itself disturbed him, as an england-lover, not at all. taken in conjunction with the probabilities of a great european war it disturbed him mightily. as mightily as unselfishly. to him the dripping weapon, the blazing roof, the shrieking woman, the mangled corpse were but incidents, the unavoidable, unobjectionable concomitants of the great game, the game he most loved (and played upon every possible occasion)--war.
-what really astounded and appalled him was the mental attitude, the mental condition, of british "statesmen," who (while a mighty and ever-growing neighbour, openly, methodically, implacably prepared for the war that was to win her place in the sun) laboured to reap votes by sowing class-hatred and devoted to national "insurance" moneys sorely needed to insure national existence.
-to him it was as though hens cackled of introducing time-and-labour-saving incubators while the fox pressed against the unfastened door, smiling to think that their cackle smothered all other sounds ere they reached them or the watch-dog.
-yes--while england was at peace, all was well with india; but let england find herself at war, fighting for her very existence ... and india might, in certain parts, be an uncomfortable place for any but the strong man armed, as soon as the british troops were withdrawn--as they, sooner or later, most certainly would be. then, feared captain john robin ross-ellison of the gungapur fusiliers, the british flag would, for a terrible breathless period of stress and horror, fly, assailed but triumphant, wherever existed a staunch well-handled volunteer corps, and would flutter down into smoke, flames, ruin and blood, where there did not. he was convinced that, for a period, the lives of english women, children and men; english prosperity, prestige, law and order; english rule and supremacy, would in some parts of india depend for a time upon the volunteers of india. at times he was persuaded that the very continuance of the british empire might depend upon the volunteers of india. if, during some black week (or black month or year) of england's death-struggle with her great rival she lost india (defenceless india, denuded of british troops), she would lose her empire,--be the result of her european war what it might. and knowing all that he knew, he feared for england, he feared for india, he feared for the empire. also he determined that, so far as it lay in the power of one war-trained man, the flag should be kept flying in gungapur when the great european armageddon commenced, and should fly over a centre, and a shelter, for mrs. dearman, and for all who were loyal and true.
-that would be a work worthy of the english blood of him and of the pathan blood too. god! he would show some of these devious, subterranean, cowardly swine what war is, if they brought war to gungapur in the hour of india's danger and need, the hour of england and the empire's danger and need.
-and captain john robin ross-ellison (and still more mir ilderim dost mahommed mir hafiz ullah khan), obsessed with the belief that a different and more terrible 1857 would dawn with the first big reverse in england's final war with her systematic, slow, sure, and certain rival, her deliberate, scientific, implacable rival, gave all his thoughts, abilities and time to the enthralling, engrossing game of getting ready.
-perfecting his local system of secret information, hearing and seeing all that he could with his own pathan ears and eyes, and adding to his knowledge by means of those of the somali slave, he also learnt, at first hand, what certain men were saying in cabul and on the border--and what those men say in those places is worth knowing by the meteorologist of world-politics. the pulse of the heart of europe can be felt very far from that heart, and as is the wrist to the pulse-feeling doctor, is afghanistan and the border to the head of india's political department; as is the doctor's sensitive thumb to the doctor's brain, is the tried, trusted and approven agent of the secret service to the head of all the politicals.... what chiefly troubled captain john robin ross-ellison of the gungapur fusiliers was the shocking condition of those same fusiliers and the blind smug apathy, the fatuous contentment, the short memories and shorter sight, of the british pompeians who were perfectly willing that the condition of the said fusiliers should remain so.
-clearly the first step towards a decently reliable and efficient corps in gungapur was the abolition of the present one, and, with unformulated intentions towards its abolition, mr. ross-ellison, by the kind influence of mrs. dearman, joined as a second lieutenant and speedily rose to the rank of captain and the command of a company. a year's indefatigable work convinced him that he might as well endeavour to fashion sword-blades from leaden pipes as to make a fighting unit of his gang of essentially cowardly, peaceful, unreliable, feeble nondescripts. that their bodies were contemptible he would have regarded as merely deplorable, but there was no spirit, no soul, no tradition--nothing upon which he could work. "broken-down tapsters and serving-men" indeed, in cromwell's bitter words, and to be replaced by "men of a spirit".
-they must go--and make way for men--if indeed men could be found, men who realized that even an englishman owes something to the community when he goes abroad, in spite of his having grown up in a land where honourable and manly national service is not, and those who keep him safe are cheap hirelings, cheaply held....
-on the arrival of general miltiades murger he sat at his feet as soon as, and whenever, possible; only to discover that he was not only uninterested in, but obviously contemptuous of, volunteers and volunteering. when, at the dearmans' dinner-table, he endeavoured to talk with the general on the subject he was profoundly discouraged, and on his asking what was to happen when the white troops went home and the indian troops went to the border, or even to europe, as soon as england's inevitable and final war broke out, he was also profoundly snubbed.
-when, after that dinner, general miltiades murger made love to mrs. dearman on the verandah, he also made an enemy, a bitter, cruel, and vindictive enemy of mr. ross-ellison (or rather of mir ilderim dost mahommed mir hafiz ullah khan).
-nor did his subsequent victory at the horse show lessen the enmity, inasmuch as mrs. dearman (whom ross-ellison loved with the respectful platonic devotion of an english gentleman and the fierce intensity of a pathan) took general miltiades murger at his own valuation, when that hero described himself and his career to her by the hour. for the general had succumbed at a glance, and confided to his brigade-major that mrs. dearman was a dooced fine woman and the brigade-major might say that he said so, damme.
-as the general's infatuation increased he told everybody else also--everybody except colonel dearman--who, of course, knew it already.
-he even told jobler, his soldier-servant, promoted butler, as that sympathetic and admiring functionary endeavoured to induce him to go to bed without his uniform.
-at last he told mrs. dearman herself, as he saw her in the rosy light that emanated from the fine old madeira that fittingly capped a noble luncheon given by him in her honour.
-he also told her that he loved her as a father--and she besought him not to be absurd. later he loved her as an uncle, later still as a cousin, later yet as a brother, and then as a man.
-she had laughed deprecatingly at the paternal affection, doubtfully at the avuncular, nervously at the cousinly, angrily at the brotherly,--and not at all at the manly.
-in fact--as the declaration of manly love had been accompanied by an endeavour to salute what the general had called her damask-cheek--she had slapped the general's own cheek a resounding blow....
-"called you 'mrs. darlingwoman,' did he!" roared mr. dearman upon being informed of the episode. "wished to salute your damask cheek, did he! the boozy old villain! damask cheek! damned cheek! where's my dog-whip?" ... but mrs. dearman had soothed and restrained her lord for the time being, and prevented him from insulting and assaulting the "aged roué"--who was years younger, in point of fact, than the clean-living mr. dearman himself.
-but he had shut his door to the unrepentant and unashamed general, had cut him in the club, had returned a rudely curt answer to an invitation to dinner, and had generally shown the offender that he trod on dangerous ground when poaching on the preserves of mr. dearman. whereat the general fumed.
-also the general swore that he would cut the comb of this insolent money-grubbing civilian.
-further, he intimated his desire to inspect the gungapur fusiliers "on saturday next".
-not the great and terrible annual inspection, of course, but a preliminary canter in that direction.
-doubtless, the new general desired to arrive at a just estimate of the value of this unit of his command, and to allot to it the place for which it was best fitted in the scheme of local defence and things military at gungapur.
-perhaps he desired to teach the presumptuous upstart, dearman, a little lesson....
-the brigade major's demy-official letter, bearing the intimation of the impending visitation--fell as a bolt from the blue and smote the colonel of the gungapur fusiliers a blow that turned his heart to water and loosened the tendons of his knees.
-the very slack adjutant was at home on leave; the sergeant-major was absolutely new to the corps; the sergeant-instructor was alcoholic and ill; and there was not a company officer, except the admirable captain john robin ross-ellison, competent to drill a company as a separate unit, much less to command one in a battalion. and captain john robin ross-ellison was away on an alleged shikar-trip across the distant border. colonel dearman knew his battalion-drill. he also knew his gungapur fusiliers and what they did when they received the orders of those feared and detested evolutions. they walked about, each man a law unto himself, or stood fast until pushed in the desired direction by blasphemous drill-corporals.
-nor could any excuse be found wherewith to evade the general. it was near the end of the drill-season, the corps was up to its full strength, all the officers were in the station--except captain ross-ellison and the adjutant. and the adjutant's absence could not be made a just cause and impediment why the visit of the general should not be paid, for colonel dearman had with some difficulty, procured the appointment of one of his managers as acting-adjutant.
-to do so he had been moved to describe the man as an "exceedingly smart and keen officer," and to state that the corps would in no way suffer by this temporary change from a military to a civilian adjutant, from a professional to an amateur.
-perhaps the colonel was right--it would have taken more than that to make the gungapur fusiliers "suffer".
-and all had gone exceeding well up to the moment of the receipt of this terrible demi-official, for the acting-adjutant had signed papers when and where the sergeant-major told him, and had saluted the colonel respectfully every saturday evening at five, as he came on parade, and suggested that the corps should form fours and march round and round the parade ground, prior to attempting one or two simple movements--as usual.
-no. it would have to be--unless, of course, the general had a stroke before saturday, or was smitten with delirium tremens in time. for it was an article of faith with colonel dearman since the disgraceful episode--that a "stroke" hung suspended by the thinnest of threads above the head of the "aged roué" and that, moreover, he trembled on the verge of a terrible abyss of alcoholic diseases--a belief strengthened by the blue face, boiled eye, congested veins and shaking hand of the breaker of hearts. and colonel dearman knew that he must not announce the awful fact until the corps was actually present--or few men and fewer officers would find it possible to be on parade on that occasion.
-saturday evening came, and with it some five hundred men and officers--the latter as a body, much whiter-faced than usual, on receipt of the appalling news.
-"thank god i have nothing to do but sit around on my horse," murmured major pinto.
-"don't return thanks yet," snapped colonel dearman. "you'll very likely have to drill the battalion"--and the major went as white as his natural disadvantages permitted.
-bitterly did captain trebizondi regret his constant insistence upon the fact that he was senior captain--for he was given command of "a" company, the post of honour and danger in front of all, and was implored to "pull it through" and not to stand staring like an owl when the colonel said the battalion would advance; or turn to the left when he shouted "in succession advance in fours from the right of companies".
-and in the orderly-room was much hurried consulting of captain ross-ellison's well-trained subaltern and of drill-books; and a babel of such questions as: "i say, what the devil do i do if i'm commanding number two and he says 'deploy outwards'? go to the right or left?"
-more than one gallant officer was seen scribbling for dear life upon his shirt-cuff, while others, to the common danger, endeavoured to practise the complicated sword-brandishment which is consequent upon the order "fall out the officers".
-colonel dearman appealed to his brothers-in-arms to stand by him nobly in his travail, but was evidently troubled by the fear that some of them would stand by him when they ought to march by him. captain petropaulovski, the acting-adjutant, endeavoured to moisten his parched lips with a dry tongue and sat down whenever opportunity offered.
-captain euxino spoophitophiles was seen to tear a page from a red manual devoted to instruction in the art of drill and to secrete it as one "palms" a card--if one is given to the palming of cards. captain schloggenboschenheimer was heard to promise a substantial trink-geld, pour-boire, or vot-you-call-tip to sergeant-instructor progg in the event of the latter official remaining mit him and prompting him mit der-vord-to-say ven it was necessary for him der-ting-to-do.
-too late, captain da costa bethought him of telephoning to his wife (to telephone back to himself imploring him to return at once as she was parlous ill and sinking fast), for even as he stepped quietly toward the telephone-closet the sergeant-major bustled in with a salute and the fatal words:--
-"'ere's the general, sir!"
-"for god's sake get on parade and play the man this day," cried colonel dearman, as he hurried out to meet the general, scoring his right boot with his left spur and tripping over his sword en route.
-the general greeted the colonel as a total stranger, addressed him as "colonel," and said he anticipated great pleasure from this his first visit to the well-known gungapur fusiliers. he did, and he got it.
-dismounting slowly and heavily from his horse (almost as though "by numbers") the general, followed by his smart and dapper brigade-major and the perspiring colonel dearman, strode with clank of steel and creak of leather, through the headquarters building and emerged upon the parade-ground where steadfast stood seven companies of the gungapur fusilier volunteers in quarter column--more or less at "attention".
-"'shun!" bawled colonel dearman, and those who were "at ease" 'shunned, and those who were already 'shunning took their ease.
-"'shun!" again roared the colonel, and those who were now in that military position relinquished it--while those who were not, assumed it in their own good time.
-as the trio drew nigh unto the leading company, captain trebizondi, coyly lurking behind its rear rank, shrilly screamed, "'a' gompany! royal salutes! present arrrrms!" while a volunteer, late a private of the loyal whitechapel regiment, and now an unwilling member of this corps of auxiliary troops, audibly ejaculated through one corner of his mobile mouth:--
-"don't you do nothink o' the sort!" and added a brief orison in prejudice of his eyesight.
-certain of "a's" stalwarts obeyed their captain, while others took the advice of the volunteer--who was known to have been a man of war in the lurid past, and to understand these matters.
-lieutenant toddywallah tugged valiantly at his sword for a space, but finding that weapon coy and unwilling to leave its sheath, he raised his helmet gracefully and respectfully to the general. his manner was always polished.
-"what the devil are they doing?" inquired the general.
-"b," "c," "d," "e," "f," and "g" companies breathed hard and protruded their stomachs, while sergeant-instructor progg deserved well of captain schloggenboschenheimer by sharply tugging his tunic-tail as he was in the act of roaring:--
-"gomm--!" the first syllable of the word "company," with a view to bestowing a royal salute likewise. instead, the captain extended the hand of friendship to the general as he approached. the look of nil admirari boredom slowly faded from the face of the smart and dapper brigade-major, and for a while it displayed quite human emotions.
-up and down and between the ranks strode the trio, the general making instructive and interesting comments from time to time, such as:--
-"are your buttons of metal or bone, my man? polish them and find out."
-"what did you cook in that helmet?"
-"take your belt in seven holes, and put it where your waist was."
-"are you fourteen years old yet?"
-"personally i don't care to see brown boots, patent shoes nor carpet slippers with uniform."
-"and when were you ninety, my poor fellow?"
-"get your belly out of my way."
-"put this unclean person under arrest or under a pump, please, colonel."
-"can you load a rifle unaided?" and so forth.
-the last-mentioned query "can you load a rifle unaided?" addressed to a weedy youth of seventeen who stood like a living mark-of-interrogation, elicited the reply:--
-"oh, really! and what can you do?" replied the general sweetly.
-"load a rifle lee-metford," was the prompt answer.
-the general smiled wintrily, and, at the conclusion of his peregrination, remarked to colonel dearman:--
-"well, colonel, i can safely say that i have never inspected a corps quite like yours"--an observation capable of various interpretations--and intimated a desire to witness some company drill ere testing the abilities of the regiment in battalion drill.
-"let the rear company march out and go through some movements," said he.
-"why the devil couldn't he have chosen ross-ellison's company," thought colonel dearman, as he saluted and lifted up his voice and cried aloud:--
-"captain rozario! march 'g' company out for some company-drill. remainder--stand easy."
-captain rozario paled beneath the bronze imparted to his well-nourished face by the suns of portugal (or goa), drew his sword, dropped it, picked it up, saluted with his left hand and backed into lieutenant xenophontis of "f" company, who asked him vare the devil he was going to--hein?...
-to the first cold stroke of fright succeeded the hot flush of rage as captain rozario saw the absurdity of ordering him to march his company out for company drill. how in the name of all the holy saints could he march his company out with six companies planted in front of him? let them be cleared away first. to his men he ejaculated:--
-"compannee----!" and they accepted the remark in silence.
-the silence growing tense he further ejaculated "ahem!" very loudly, without visible result or consequence. the silence growing tenser, colonel dearman said encouragingly but firmly:--
-"do something, captain rozario".
-captain rozario did something. he drew his whistle. he blew it. he replaced it in his pocket.
-nothing happening, he took his handkerchief from his sleeve, blew his nose therewith and dropped it (the handkerchief) upon the ground. seven obliging volunteers darted forward to retrieve it.
-"may we expect the evolutions this evening, colonel?" inquired general murger politely.
-"we are waiting for you to move off, captain rozario," stated colonel dearman.
-"sir, how can i move off with oll the rest in my front?" inquired captain rozario reasonably.
-"form fours, right, and quick march," prompted the sergeant-major, and captain rozario shrilled forth:
-"form right fours and march quick," at the top of his voice.
-many members of "g" company turned to their right and marched towards the setting-sun, while some turned to their left and marched in the direction of china.
-these latter, discovering in good time that they had erred, hurried to rejoin their companions--and "g" company was soon in full swing if not in fours....
-there is a limit to all enterprise and the march of "g" company was stayed by a high wall.
-then captain rozario had an inspiration.
-"about turn," he shrieked--and "g" company about turned as one man, if not in one direction.
-the march of "g" company was stayed this time by the battalion into which it comfortably nuzzled.
-again captain rozario seized the situation and acted promptly and resourcefully.
-"halt!" he squeaked, and "g" company halted--in form an oblate spheroid.
-some of its members removed their helmets and the sweat of their brows, some re-fastened bootlaces and putties or unfastened restraining hooks and buttons. one gracefully succumbed to his exertions and fainting fell, with an eye upon the general.
-"interestin' evolution," remarked that officer. "demmed interestin'. may we have some more?"
-"get on, captain rozario," implored colonel dearman. "let's see some company-drill."
-"one hundred and twenty-five paces backward march," cried captain rozario after a brief calculation, and "g" company reluctantly detached itself from the battalion, backwards.
-"turn round this away and face to me," continued the gallant captain, "and then on the left form good companee."
-the oblate spheroid assumed an archipelagic formation, melting into irregularly-placed military islands upon a sea of dust.
-"oll get together and left dress, please," besought captain rozario, and many of the little islands amalgamated with that on their extreme right while the remainder gravitated to their left--the result being two continents of unequal dimensions.
-as captain rozario besought these disunited masses to conjoin, the voice of the general was heard in the land--
-"kindly order that mob to disperse before it is fired on, will you, colonel? they can go home and stay there," said he.
-captain rozario was a man of sensibility and he openly wept.
-no one could call this a good beginning--nor could they have called the ensuing battalion-drill a good ending.
-"put the remainder of the battalion through some simple movements if they know any," requested the general.
-determined to retrieve the day yet, colonel dearman saluted, cleared his throat terrifically and shouted: '"tallish, 'shun!" with such force that a nervous man in the front rank of "a" company dropped his rifle and several "presented" arms.
-only one came to the "slope," two to the "trail" and four to the "shoulder".
-men already at attention again stood at ease, while men already at ease again stood at attention.
-disregarding these minor contretemps, colonel dearman clearly and emphatically bellowed:--
-"the battalion will advance. in succession, advance in fours from the left of companies--"
-"why not tell off the battalion--just for luck?" suggested general murger.
-"tell off the battalion," said colonel dearman in his natural voice and an unnaturally crestfallen manner.
-captain trebizondi of "a" company glared to his front, and instead of replying "number one" in a loud voice, held his peace--tight.
-but his lips moved constantly, and apparently captain trebizondi was engaged in silent prayer.
-"tell off the battalion," bawled the colonel again.
-captain trebizondi's lips moved constantly.
-"will you tell off the dam battalion, sir?" shouted the colonel at the enrapt supplicant.
-whether captain trebizondi is a mohammedan i am not certain, but, if so, he may have remembered words of the prophet to the effect that it is essential to trust in allah absolutely, and expedient to tie up your camel yourself, none the less. captain trebizondi was trusting in allah perchance--but he had not tied up his camel; he had not learnt his drill.
-and when colonel dearman personally and pointedly appealed to him in the matter of the battalion's telling-off, he turned round and faced it and said--
-"ah--battalion--er--" in a very friendly and persuasive voice.
-then a drill corporal took it upon him to bawl number one as captain trebizondi should have done, some one shouted number two from "b" company, the colour-sergeant of "c" bawled number three and then, with ready wit, the captains of "d," "e," and "f" caught up the idea, and the thing was done.
-so far so good.
-and the colonel returned to his first venture and again announced to the battalion that it would advance in succession and in fours from the left of companies.
-it bore the news with equanimity and captain trebizondi visibly brightened at the idea of leaving the spot on which he had suffered and sweated--but he took no steps in the matter personally.
-he tried to scratch his leg through his gaiter.
-"'a' company going this evening?" inquired the general. "wouldn't hurry you, y'know, but--i dine at nine."
-captain trebizondi remembered his parade-manners and threw a chest instead of a stomach.
-the jerk caused his helmet to tilt forward over his eyes and settle down slowly and firmly upon his face as a fallen cliff upon the beach beneath.
-"the officer commanding the leading company appears to be trying to hide," commented general murger.
-captain trebizondi uncovered his face--a face of great promise but no performance.
-"will you march your company off, sir," shouted colonel dearman, "the battalion is waiting for you."
-with a look of reproachful surprise and an air of "why couldn't you say so?" the harassed captain agitated his sword violently as a salute, turned to his company and boomed finely:--
-the company obeyed its commander.
-seeing the thing so easy of accomplishment captains allessandropoulos, schloggenboschenheimer, da costa, euxino, spoophitophiles and josé gave the same order and the battalion was in motion--marching to its front in quarter-column instead of wheeling off in fours.
-unsteadily shoulder from shoulder, unsteadily blade from blade, unsteady and wrong, slouching along, went the boys of the old brigade.
-"halt," roared colonel dearman.
-"oh, don't halt 'em," begged general murger, "it's the most entertainin' show i have ever seen."
-the smart and dapper brigade-major's mouth was open.
-major pinto and captain-and-acting-adjutant petropaulovski forgot to cling to their horses with hand and heel and so endangered their lives.
-the non-commissioned officers of the permanent staff commended their souls to god and marched as men in a dream.
-on hearing the colonel's cry of "halt" many of the men halted. not hearing the colonel's cry of "halt" many of the men did not halt.
-in two minutes the battalion was without form and void.
-in ten minutes the permanent staff had largely re-sorted it and, to a great extent, re-formed the original companies.
-captain josé offered his subaltern, lieutenant bylegharicontractor, a hundred rupees to change places with him.
-offer refused, with genuine and deep regret, but firmly.
-"shall we have another try, colonel," inquired general murger silkily. "any amount of real initiative and originality about this corps. but i am old-fashioned enough to prefer drill-book evolutions on the barrack-square, i confess. er--let the major carry on as it is getting late."
-colonel dearman's face flushed a rich dark purple. his eyes protruded till they resembled those of a crab. his red hair appeared to flame like very fire. his lips twitched and he gasped for breath. could he believe his ears. "let the major carry on as it is getting late!" let him step into the breach "as it is getting late!" let the more competent, though junior, officer take over the command "as it is getting late". ho!--likewise ha! this aged roué, this miserable wine-bibbing co-respondent, with his tremulous hand and boiled eye, thought that colonel dearman did not know his drill, did he? wanted the wretched and incompetent pinto to carry on, did he?--as it was getting late.
-good! ha! likewise ho! "let pinto carry on as it was getting late!"
-very well! if it cost colonel dearman every penny he had in the world he would have his revenge on the insolent scoundrel. he might think he could insult colonel dearman's wife with impunity, he might think himself entitled to cast ridicule on colonel dearman's corps--but "let the major carry on as it is getting late!" by god that was too much!--that was the last straw that breaks the camel's heart--and colonel dearman would have his revenge or lose life, honour, and wealth in the attempt.
-ha! and, moreover, ho!
-the colonel knew his battalion-drill by heart and backwards. was it his fault that his officers were fools and his men damn-fools?
-major pinto swallowed hard, blinked hard, and breathed hard. like the lady of shallott he felt that the curse had come upon him.
-"battalion will advance. quick march," he shouted, as a safe beginning. but the sergeant-major had by this time fully explained to the sweating captain trebizondi that he should have given the order "form fours. left. right wheel. quick march," when the colonel had announced that the battalion would advance "in succession from the left of companies".
-like lightning he now hurled forth the orders. "form fours. left. right wheel. quick march.", and the battalion was soon under way with one company in column of fours and the remaining five companies in line....
-time cures all troubles, and in time "a" company was pushed and pulled back into line again.
-the incident pleased major pinto as it wasted the fleeting minutes and gave him a chance to give the only other order of which he was sure.
-"that was oll wrong," said he. "we will now, however, oll advance as 'a' company did. the arder will be 'battalion will advance. in succession, advance in fours from the right of companees.' thenn each officer commanding companees will give the arder 'form fours. right. left wheel. quick march' one after thee other."
-and the major gave the order.
-to the surprise of every living soul upon the parade-ground the manoeuvre was correctly executed and the battalion moved off in column of fours. and it kept on moving. and moving. for major pinto had come to the end of his tether.
-"do something, man," said colonel dearman with haughty scorn, after some five minutes of strenuous tramping had told severely on the morale of the regiment.
-and major pinto, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, lifted up his voice and screamed:--
-"on the right form battalion!"
-let us draw a veil.
-the adjective that general murger used with the noun he called the gungapur fusiliers is not to be printed.
-the address he made to that corps after it had once more found itself would have led a french or japanese regiment to commit suicide by companies, taking the time from the right. a colonel of romance race would have fallen on his sword at once (and borrowed something more lethal had it failed to penetrate).
-but the corps, though not particularly british, was neither french nor japanese and was very glad of the rest while the general talked. and colonel dearman, instead of falling on his sword, fell on general murger (in spirit) and swore to be revenged tenfold.
-he would have his own back, cost what it might, or his name was not dearman--and he was going home on leave immediately after the volunteer annual camp of exercise, just before general murger retired....
-"i shall inspect your corps in camp," general murger had said, "and the question of its disbandment may wait until i have done so."
-disbandment! the question of the disbandment of the fine and far-famed fusiliers of gungapur could wait till then, could it? well and good! ha! and likewise ho!
-on captain john robin ross-ellison's return from leave, colonel dearman told that officer of general murger's twofold insult--to colonel dearman's wife and to colonel dearman's corps. on hearing of the first, captain ross-ellison showed his teeth in a wolfish and ugly manner, and, on hearing of the second, propounded a scheme of vengeance that made colonel dearman grin and then burst into a roar of laughter. he bade captain ross-ellison dine with him and elaborate details of the scheme.
-to rumours of general murger's failing health and growing alcoholism colonel dearman listened with interest--nay, satisfaction. stories of seizures, strokes and "goes" of delirium tremens met with no rebuke nor contradiction from him--and an air of leisured ease and unanxious peacefulness pervaded the gungapur fusiliers. if any member had thought that the sad performance of the fatal saturday night and the winged words of general murger were to be the prelude to period of fierce activity and frantic preparation, he was mistaken. it was almost as though colonel dearman believed that general murger would not live to carry out his threat.
-the corps paraded week by week, fell in, marched round the ground and fell out again. there was no change of routine, no increase of work, no stress, no strain.
-all was peace, the corps was happy, and in the fullness of time (and the absence of the adjutant) it went to annual camp of exercise a few miles from gungapur. and there the activities of captain john robin ross-ellison and a large band of chosen men were peculiar. while the remainder, with whom went colonel dearman, the officers, and the permanent staff, marched about in the usual manner and enjoyed the picnic, these others appeared to be privately and secretly rehearsing a more specialized part--to the mystification and wonder of the said remainder. even on the great day, the day of the annual inspection, this division was maintained and the "remainder" were marched off to the other side of the wood adjacent to the camp, some couple of hours before the expected arrival of the general, who would come out by train.
-the arrangement was that the horses of the general and the brigade-major should await those officers at the camp station, and that, on arrival, they would be mounted by their owners who would then ride to the camp, a furlong distant. near the camp a mounted orderly would meet the general and escort him to the spot where the battalion, with colonel dearman at its head, would be drawn up for his inspection.
-a large bungalow, used as the officers' mess, a copse, and a hillock completely screened the spot used as the battalion parade-ground, from the view of one approaching the camp, and the magnificent sight of the gungapur fusiliers under arms would burst upon him only when he rounded the corner of a wall of palms, cactus, and bamboos, and entered by a narrow gap between it and a clump of dense jungle.
-as he intended to inspect the volunteers in the early morning and return to a mid-day breakfast, the choti hazri was substantial, though served on a tray in his bedroom.
-the general yawned, rubbed his eyes and grunted.
-"eggs be demmed," said he.
-"toast be demmed," he said.
-"tea be demmed," he shouted.
-"paté de fois gras be demmed," shouted he.
-"jobler! bring me a bottle of beer," he roared.
-"no, bring me a brandy-cocktail," roared he.
-for the brandy-cocktail the general felt better for a time but he wished, first, that his hand would not shake in such a way that hair-brushing was difficult and shaving impossible; secondly, that the prevailing colour of everything was not blue; thirdly, that he did not feel giddy when he stood up; fourthly, that his head did not ache; fifthly, that his mouth would provide some other flavour than that of a glue-coated copper coin; sixthly, that things would keep still and his boots cease to smile at him from the corner; seventhly, that he had not gone to the st. andrew's dinner last night, begun on punch à la romaine, continued on neat whisky in quaichs and finished on port, liqueurs, champagne and haphazard brandy-and-sodas, whisky-and-sodas, and any old thing that was handy; and eighthly, that he had had a quart of beer instead of the brandy-cocktail for choti hazri.
-but that could easily be remedied by having the beer now. the general had the beer and soon wished that he hadn't, for it made him feel very bad indeed.
-however, a man must do his dooty, ill or well, and when the brigade-major sent up to remind the general that the train went at seven, he was answered by the general himself and a hint that he was officious. during the brief train-journey the general slumbered.
-on mounting his horse, the general was compelled to work out a little sum.
-if one has four fingers there must be three inter-finger spaces, eh? granted. then how the devil are four reins to go into three places between four fingers, eh? absurd idea, an' damsilly. however, till the matter was referred to the war office and finally settled, one could put two reins between two fingers or pass one outside the lill' finger, what? but the general hated compromises.... the mounted orderly met the general, saluted and directed him to the entrance to the tree-encircled camp and parade-ground.
-at the entrance, the general, leading, reined in so sharply as to throw his horse on its haunches--his mouth fell open, his mottled face went putty-coloured, and each hair that he possessed appeared to bristle.
-he uttered a deep groan, rubbed his eyes, emitted a yell, wheeled round and galloped for dear life, with a cry, nay a scream, of "i've got 'em at last," followed by his utterly bewildered but ever-faithful brigade-major, who had seen nothing but foliage, scrub, and cactus. to gungapur the general galloped without drawing rein, took to his bed, sent for surgeon and priest--and became a teetotaller.
-and what had he seen?
-the affair is wrapped in mystery.
-the brigade-major says nothing because he knows nothing, as it happens, and the corps declared it was never inspected. father ignatius knows what the general saw, or thinks he saw, and so does the surgeon-general, but neither is in the habit of repeating confessions and confidences. what jobler, at the keyhole, understood him to say he had seen, or thought he had seen, is not to be believed.
-judge of it.
-"there was a chauffeur in smart livery on an elephant, twirling a steering-wheel on its neck for dear life, and tooting a big motor-horn.. there was a fat man in a fireman's helmet and pyjamas, armed with a peashooter, riding a donkey backwards--and the moke wore two pairs of trousers!... as i rubbed my poor old eyes, the devil in command howled 'general salaam. present-legs'--and every fiend there fell flat on his face and raised his right leg up behind--i tell you, sir, i fled for my life, and--no more liquor for me." ...
-when ex-colonel dearman heard any reference to this mystery he roared with laughter--but it was the last muster of the fine and far-famed gungapur fusiliers, as such.
-"if i could get captain malet-marsac as adjutant and a sergeant-major of whom i know (used to be at duri--man named lawrence-smith) i'd undertake to show you something, sir, in a year or two," said lieutenant-colonel ross-ellison.
-"malet-marsac you can certainly have," replied sir arthur barnet. "i'll speak to your new brigadier. if you can find your lawrence-smith we'll see what can be done." ...
-and lieutenant-colonel ross-ellison wrote to sergeant-major lawrence-smith of the duri volunteer rifles to know if he would like a transfer upon advantageous terms, and got no reply.
-as it happened, lieutenant-colonel ross-ellison, in very different guise, had seen sergeant lawrence-smith extricate and withdraw his officerless company from the tightest of tight places (on the border) in a manner that moved him to large admiration. it had been a case of "and even the ranks of tuscany" on the part of mir jan rah-bin-ras el-isan ilderim dost mahommed.... later he had encountered him and captain malet-marsac at duri.
-§ 3. sergeant-major lawrence-smith.
-mrs. pat dearman was sceptical.
-"do you mean to tell me that you, a man of science, an eminent medical man, and a soldier, believe in the supernatural?"
-"well, you see, i'm 'oirish' and therefore unaccountable," replied colonel jackson (of the royal army medical corps), fine doctor, fine scholar, and fine gentleman.
-"and you believe in haunted houses and ghosts and things, do you? well!"
-the salted-almond dish was empty, and mrs. dearman accused her other neighbour, mr. john robin ross-ellison. having already prepared to meet and rebut the charge of greediness he made passes over the vessel and it was replenished.
-"supernatural!" said she.
-"most," said he.
-she prudently removed the dish to the far side of her plate--and colonel jackson emptied it.
-not having prepared to meet the request to replenish the store a second time, it was useless for mr. ross-ellison to make more passes when commanded so to do.
-"the usual end of the 'supernatural,'" observed mrs. dearman with contempt.
-"most usual," said he.
-"more than 'most,'" corrected mrs. dearman. "it is the invariable end of it, i believe. just humbug and rubbish. it is either an invention, pure and simple, or else it is perfectly explicable. don't you think so, colonel jackson?"
-"not always," said her partner. "now, will you, first, believe my word, and, secondly, find the explanation--if i tell you a perfectly true 'supernatural' story?"
-"i'll certainly believe your word, colonel, if you're serious, and i'll try and suggest an explanation if you like," replied mrs. dearman.
-"same to me, mrs. dearman?" asked mr. ross-ellison. "i've had 'experiences' too--and can tell you one of them."
-"same to you, mr. ross-ellison," replied mrs. dearman, and added: "but why only one of them?"
-mr. ross-ellison smiled, glanced round the luxuriously appointed table and the company of fair women and brave men--and thought of a far-distant and little-known place called mekran kot and of a phantom cavalry corps that haunted a valley in its vicinity.
-"only one worth telling," said he.
-"well,--first case," began colonel jackson, "i was once driving past a cottage on my way home from college (in ireland), and i saw the old lady who lived in that cottage come out of the door, cross her bit of garden, go through a gate, scuttle over the railway-line and enter a fenced field that had belonged to her husband, and which she (and a good many other people) believed rightly belonged to her.
-"'there goes old biddy maloney pottering about in that plot of ground again,' thinks i. 'she's got it on the brain since her law-suit.' i knew it was biddy, of course, not only because of her coming out of biddy's house, but because it was biddy's figure, walk, crutch-stick, and patched old cloak. when i got home i happened to say to mother: 'i saw poor old biddy maloney doddering round that wretched field as i came along'.
-"'what?' said my mother, 'why, your father was called to her, as she was dying, hours ago, and she's not been out of her bed for weeks.' when my father came in, i learned that biddy was dead an hour before i saw her--before i left the railway station in fact! what do you make of that? is there any 'explanation'?"
-"some other old lady," suggested mrs. dearman.
-"no. there was nobody else in those parts mistakable for biddy maloney, and no other old woman was in or near the house while my father was there. we sifted the matter carefully. it was biddy maloney and no one else."
-"auto-suggestion. visualization on the retina of an idea in the mind. optical illusion," hazarded mrs. dearman.
-"no good. i hadn't realized i was approaching biddy maloney's cottage until i saw her coming out of it and i certainly hadn't thought of biddy maloney until my eye fell upon her. and it's a funny optical illusion that deceives one into seeing an old lady opening gates, crossing railways and limping away into fenced fields."
-"h'm! what was the other case?" asked mrs. dearman, turning to mr. ross-ellison.
-"that happened here in india at a station called duri, away in the northern presidency, where i was then--er--living for a time. on the day after my arrival i went to call on malet-marsac to whom i had letters of introduction--political business--and, as he was out, but certain to return in a minute or two from parade, i sat me down in a comfortable chair in the verandah----"
-"and went to sleep?" interrupted mrs. dearman.
-'"i nevah sleep,'" quoted mr. ross-ellison, "and i had no time, if any inclination. scarcely indeed had i seated myself, and actually while i was placing my topi on an adjacent stool, a lady emerged from a distant door at the end of the verandah and walked towards me. i can tell you i was mighty surprised, for not only was captain malet-marsac a lone bachelor and a misogynist of blameless life, but the lady looked as though she had stepped straight out of an early victorian phonograph-album. she had on a crinoline sort of dress, a deep lace collar, spring-sidey sort of boots, mittens, and a huge cameo brooch. also she had long ringlets. her face is stamped on my memory and i could pick her out from a hundred women similarly dressed, or her picture from a hundred others...."
-"what did you do?" asked mrs. dearman, whose neglected ice-pudding was fast being submerged in a pink lake of its own creation.
-"do? nothing. i grabbed my topi, stood up, bowed--and looked silly."
-"and what did the lady do?"
-"came straight on, taking no notice whatsoever of me, until she reached the steps leading into the porch and garden.... she passed down these and out of my sight.... that is the plain statement of an actual fact. have you any 'explanation' to offer?"
-"well--what about a lady staying there, unexpectedly and unbeknownst (to the station), trying on a get-up for a fancy dress ball. going as 'my ancestress' or something?" suggested mrs. dearman.
-"exactly what i told myself, though i knew it was nothing of the kind.... well, five minutes later malet-marsac rode up the drive and we were soon fraternizing over cheroots and cold drinks.... as i was leaving, an idea struck me, and i saw a way to ask a question--which was burning my tongue,--without being too rudely inquisitive.
-"'by the way,' said i, 'i fear i did not send in the right number of visiting cards, but they told me there was no lady here, so i only sent in one--for you.'
-"'there is no lady here,' he replied, eyeing me queerly. 'what made you think you had been misinformed?'
-"'well,' said i bluntly, 'a lady came out of the end room just now, walked down the verandah, and went out into the garden. you'd better see if anything is missing as she's not an inhabitant!'
-"'no--there won't be anything missing,' he replied. 'did she wear a crinoline and a general air of last century?'
-"'she did,' said i.
-"'our own private ghost,' was the answer--and it was the sort of statement i had anticipated. now i solemnly assure you that at that time i had never heard, read, nor dreamed that there was a 'ghost' in this bungalow, nor in duri--nor in the whole northern presidency for that matter....
-"'what's the story?' i asked, of course.
-"'mutiny. 1857,' said malet-marsac. 'husband shot on the parade-ground. she got the news and marched straight to the spot. they cut her in pieces as she held his body in her arms. lots of people have seen her--anywhere between that room and the parade-ground.'
-"'then you have to believe in ghosts--in duri, or how do you account for it?' i asked.
-"'i don't bother my head,' he replied. 'but i have seen that poor lady a good many times. and no one told me a word about her until after i had seen her.'"
-and then mrs. dearman suddenly rose, as her hostess "caught" the collective female eye of the table.
-"was all that about the 'ghosts' of the old irishwoman and the early victorian lady true, you fellows?" asked john bruce, the professor of engineering, after coffee, cigars and the second glass of port had reconciled the residue or sediment to the departure of the sterner sex.
-"didn't you hear me say my story was true?" replied colonel jackson brusquely. "it was absolutely and perfectly true."
-"same here," added mr. ross-ellison.
-"then on two separate occasions you two have seen what you can only believe to be the ghosts of dead people?"
-"on one occasion i have, without any possibility of error or doubt, seen the ghost of a dead person," said colonel jackson.
-"have you ever come across any other thoroughly substantiated cases of ghost-seeing--cases which have really convinced you, colonel?" queried mr. ross-ellison--being deeply interested in the subject by reason of queer powers and experiences of his own.
-"yes. many in which i fully believe, and one about which i am certain. a very interesting case--and a very cruel tragedy."
-"would you mind telling me about it?" asked mr. ross-ellison.
-"pleasure. more--i'll give you as interesting and convincing a 'human document' about it as ever you read, if you like."
-"i shall be eternally grateful," replied the other.
-"excuse me," interrupted mr. ross-ellison, "you speak of this sergeant-major lawrence-smith in the past tense. is he dead then?"
-"he is dead," replied colonel jackson. "did you know him?"
-"i believe i saw him at duri," answered mr. ross-ellison with an excellent assumption of indifference. "what's the story?"
-"i'll give you his own tale on paper--let me have it back--and, mind you, every single word of it is gospel truth. the man was a gentleman, an educated, thoughtful, sober chap, and as sane as you or i. i got to know him well--he was in hospital, with blood-poisoning from panther-bite, for a time--and we became friends. actual friends, i mean. used to play golf with him. (you remember the duri links.) in mufti, you'd never have dreamed for a moment that he was not a major or a colonel. army life had not coarsened him in the slightest, and he kept some lounge-suits and mess-kit by poole. many a good snob of my acquaintance has left my house under the impression that the lawrence-smith he had met there, and with whom he had been hail-fellow-well-met, was his social equal or superior.
-"he simply was a refined and educated gentleman and that's all there is about it. well--you'll read his statement--and, as you read, you may tell yourself that i am as convinced of its truth as i am of anything in this world.... he was dead when i got to him.
-"the stains, on the backs of some of the sheets and on the front of the last one, are--blood stains...."
-and at this point their host suggested the propriety of joining the ladies....
-colonel jackson gave mr. ross-ellison a "lift" in his powerful motor as far as his bungalow, entered, and a few minutes later emerged with a long and fat envelope.
-1. why has a man no right to quit a world in which he no longer desires to live? 2. why should evil be allowed to triumph? 3. why should people who cannot see spirit forms be so certain that such do not exist, when none but an ignorant fool argues, "i believe in what i can see"?
-with regard to the first question i maintain that a man has a perfect right to "take" the life that was "given" him (without his own consent or desire), provided it is not an act of cowardice nor an evasion of just punishment or responsibility. i would add--provided also that he does not, in so doing, basely desert his duty, those who are in any way dependent on him, or those who really love him.
-i detest that idiotic phrase "while of unsound mind". i am as sound in mind as any man living, but because i end an unbearable state of affairs, and take the only step i can think of as likely to give me peace--i shall be written down mad. moreover should i fail--in my attempt to kill myself (which i shall not) i should be prosecuted as a criminal!
-to me, albeit i have lived long under strict discipline and regard true discipline as the first essential of moral, physical, mental, and social training, to me it seems a gross and unwarrantable interference with the liberty of the individual--to deny him sufficient captaincy of his soul for him to be free to control it at the dictates of his conscience, and to keep it here or to send it there as may seem best. surely the implanted love of life and fear of death are sufficient safeguards without any legislation or insolent arrogant interference between a man and his own ego? anyhow, such are my views, and in perfect soundness of mind and body, after mature reflection and with full confidence in my right so to do, i am about to end my life here.
-as to the second question, "why should evil be allowed to triumph?" i confess that my mind cannot argue in a circle and say, "you are born full of original sin, and if you sin you are damned"--a vicious circle drawn for me by the gloomy, haughty, insincere and rather unintelligent young gentleman whom i respectfully salute as chaplain, and who regards me and every other non-commissioned soldier as a common, if not low, person.
-he would not even answer my queries by means of the good old loop-hole, "it is useless to appeal to reason if you cannot to faith" and so beg the question. he said that things were because the lord said they were, and that it was impious to doubt it. more impious was it, i gathered, to doubt him, and to allude to criticisms he had never read.
-his infallible "proof" was "it is in the bible".
-possibly i shall shortly know why an omnipotent, omniscient, impeccable deity allows this world to be the hell it is, even if there be no actual hell for the souls of his errant creatures (in spite of the statements of the chaplain who appears to have exclusive information on the subject, inaccessible to laymen, and to rest peacefully assured of a real hell for the wicked,--nonconforming, and vulgar).
-at present i cannot understand and i do not know--though i am informed and infused with a burning and reverent desire to understand and to know--why evil should be allowed to triumph, as in my own case, as well as in those of millions of others, it does. and thirdly, why does the man who would never deny beauty in a poem or picture because he failed to see it while others did, deny that immaterial forms of the dead exist, because he has never seen one, though others have?
-i know of so many many men who would blush to be called "i-believe-what-i-see men," who yet laugh to scorn the bare idea of the materialization and visualization of visitants from the spirit world, because they have never seen one. i have so often met the argument, "the ghost of a man i might conceive--but i can not conceive the appearance of the ghost of a pair of trousers or of a top-hat," offered as though it were unanswerable. surely the spirit, aura, shade, ghost, soul, ego--what you will--can permeate and penetrate and pervade clothing and other matter as well as flesh?
-well, once again, i do not know,--and yet i have seen, not once but repeatedly, not by moonlight in a churchyard, but under the indian sun on a parade-ground, the ghost of a man and of all his accoutrements,--of a rifle, of a horse and all a horse's trappings.
-i have been a teetotaller for years, i have never had sunstroke and i am as absolutely sane as ever a man was.
-and further i am in no sense remorseful, repentant, or "dogged by the spectre of an evil deed".
-i killed burker intentionally. were he alive again i would kill him again. i punished him myself because the law could not punish him as he deserved, and i in no way regret or deplore my just and judicial action. there are deeds a gentleman must resent and punish--with the extreme penalty. no, it is in no sense a case of the self-tormented wretch driven mad by the awful hallucinations of his guilty, unhinged mind. i am no haunted murderer pursued by phantoms and illusions, believing himself always in the presence of his victim's ghost.
-all people who have read anything, have read of the irresistible fascination that the scene of the murder has for the murderer, of the way in which the victim "haunts" the slayer, and of how the truth that "murder will out" is really based on the fact that the murderer is his own most dangerous accuser by reason of his life of terror, remorse, and terrible hallucination.
-my case is in no wise parallel.
-i am absolutely without fear, regret, remorse, repentance, dread or terror in the matter of my killing sergeant burker. exactly how and why i killed him, and how and why i am about to kill myself, i will now set forth, without the slightest exaggeration, special pleading or any other deviation from the truth....
-i am to my certain knowledge the eighth consecutive member of my family, in the direct line, to follow the profession of arms, but am the first to do so without bearing a commission. my father died young in the rank of captain, my grandfather led his own regiment in the crimea, my great-grandfather was a lieutenant-general, and, if i told you my real name, you could probably state something that he did at waterloo.
-i went to sandhurst and i was expelled from sandhurst--very rightly and justly--for an offence, or rather the culminating offence of a series of offences, that were everything but mean, dishonest or underhand. i was wild, hasty, undisciplined and i was lost for want of a father to thrash me as a boy, and by possession of a most loving and devoted mother who worshipped, spoiled--and ruined me.
-i enlisted under an assumed name in my late father's (and grandfather's) old regiment of foot and quickly rose to the rank of sergeant-major.
-i might have had a commission in south africa but i decided that i preferred ruling in hell to serving in heaven, and declined to be a grey-haired lieutenant and a nuisance to the officers' mess of the corps i would not leave until compelled.
-in time i was compelled and i became sergeant-major of the volunteer rifle corps here and husband of a--well--de mortuis nil nisi bonum.
-why i married i don't know.
-the english girl of the class from which soldiers are drawn never attracted me in the very least, and i simply could not have married one, though a paragon of virtue and compendium of housewifely qualities.
-admirable and pretty as miss higgs, miss bloggs, or miss muggins might be, my youthful training prevented my seeing beyond her fringe, finger-nails, figure, and aspirates, to her solid excellences;--and from sergeants'-dances i returned quite heart-whole and still unplighted to the colonel's cook. but dolores de souza was different.
-there was absolutely nothing to offend the most fastidious taste in her speech, appearance, or manners. she was convent-bred, accomplished, refined, gentle, worthless and wicked. the good sisters of the society of the broken heart had polished the exterior of the eurasian orphan very highly--but the polish was a thin veneer on very cheap and unseasoned wood.
-it is a strange fact that, while i could respect the solid virtues of the aspirateless misses higgs, bloggs or muggins, i could never have married one of them; yet, while i knew dolores to be a heartless flirt, and more than suspected her to be of most unrigid principle, i was infatuated with her dark beauty, her grace, her wiles and witchery--and asked her to become my wife.
-the good sisters of the society of the broken heart had taught dolores to sing beautifully, to play upon the piano and the guitar, to embroider, to paint mauve roses on pink tambourines and many other useful arts, graces and accomplishments--but they had not taught her practical morality nor anything of cooking, marketing, plain sewing, house-cleaning or anything else of house-keeping. however, having been bred as i had been bred, i could take the form and let the substance go, accept the shapely husks and shout not for the grain, and prefer a pretty song, and a rose in black hair over a shell-like ear, to a square meal. i fear the average sergeant-major would have beaten dolores within a week of matrimony, but i strove to make loss, discomfort, and disappointment a discipline,--and music, silk dresses and daintiness an aesthetic re-training to a barrack-blunted mind.
-in justice to dolores i should make it clear that she was not of the slatternly, dirty, lazy, half-breed type that pigs in a peignoir from twelve to twelve and snores again from midnight to midday. she was trim and dainty, used good perfume or none, rose early and went in the garden, loathed cheap and showy trash whether in dress, jewellery, or furniture; and was incapable of wearing fine shoes over holey stockings or a silk gown over dirty linen. no--there was nothing to offend the fastidious about dolores, but there was everything to offend the good house-keeper and the moralist.
-frequently she would provide no dinner in order that we might be compelled to dine in public at a restaurant or a hotel, a thing she loved to do, and she would often send out for costly sweets and pastry, drink champagne (very moderately, i admit), and generally behave as though she were the wife of a man of means.
-and she was an arrant, incorrigible, shameless flirt.
-well--i do not know that a virtuous vulgar dowd is preferable to a wicked winsome witch of refined habits and person, and i should probably have gone quietly on to bankruptcy without any row or rupture, but for burker. having been bred in a "gentle" home i naturally took the attitude of "as you please, my dear dolores" and refrained from bullying when quiet indication of the inevitable end completely failed. whether she intended to act in a reasonable manner and show some wifely traits when my £250 of legacy and savings was quite dissipated i do not know. burker came before that consummation.
-sergeant barker was the ideal cavalryman and the ideal breaker of hearts,--hearts of the mary-ann and eliza-jane order.
-he was a black-haired, blue-eyed irishman with a heart as black as his hair, and language as blue as his eye--a handsome, plausible, selfish, wicked devil with scarcely a virtue but pride and high courage. i disliked him at first sight, and dolores fell in love with him equally quickly, i am sure.
-i don't think he had a solitary gentlemanly instinct.
-being desirous of learning mounted infantry work, i attended all his drills, riding as troop-leader, and, between close attention to him and close study of the drill-book, did not let the gentlemen in the ranks know that, in the beginning, i knew as little about it as they did.
-and an uncommonly good troop he soon made of it, too.
-of course it was excellent material, all good riders and good shots, and well horsed.
-burker and i were mounted by the r.h.a. battery here, and the three drills we held, weekly, were seasons of delight to a horse-lover like myself.
-now the horse i had was a high-spirited, powerful animal, and he possessed the trait, very common among horses, of hating to be pressed behind the saddle. turning to look behind while "sitting-easy" one day i rested my right hand on his back behind the saddle and he immediately lashed out furiously with both hind legs. i did not realize for the moment what was upsetting him--but quickly discovered that i had only to press his back to send his hoofs out like stones from a sling. i then remembered other similar cases and that i had also read of this curious fact about horses--something to do with pressure on the kidneys i believe.
-one day burker was unexpectedly absent and i took the drill, finding myself quite competent and au fait.
-the same evening i went to my wife's wardrobe, she being out, to try and find the keys of the sideboard. i knew they frequently reposed in the pocket of her dressing-gown.
-in the said pocket they were--and so was a letter in the crude large handwriting of sergeant burker.
-i did not read it, but i did not see the necessity of a correspondence between my wife and such a man as i knew sergeant burker to be. they met often enough, in all conscience, to say what they might have to say to each other.
-at dinner i remarked casually: "i shouldn't enter into a correspondence with burker if i were you, dolly. his reputation isn't over savoury and--" but, before i could say more, my wife was literally screaming with rage, calling me "spy," "liar," "coward," and demanding to know what i insinuated and of what i accused her. i replied that i had accused her of nothing at all, and merely offered advice in the matter of correspondence with burker. i explained how i had come to find the letter and stated that i had not read it.
-"then how do you know that we--" she began, and suddenly stopped.
-"that you--what?" i inquired.
-"nothing," she said.
-my position was awkward and unpleasant. i loathe a row or a scene unspeakably--though i delight in fighting when that pastime is legitimate--and i was brought into daily contact with the ruffian and i disliked him intensely.
-i was very averse from the course of forbidding him the house and thus insulting my wife by implication--since she obviously enjoyed his society--and descending to pit myself against the greasy cad in a struggle for a woman's favour, and that woman my own wife. nor could i conscientiously take the line of, "if she desires to go to the devil let her," for a man has as much responsibility for his wife as for his children, and it is equally his duty to guide and control her and them. women may vote and may legislate for men--but on men they will ever depend and rely.
-no, the position of carping, jealous husband was one that i could not fill, and i determined to say nothing, do nothing and be watchful--watchful, that is, to avoid exposing her to temptation. i did my best, but i was away from home a good deal, visiting the out-station detachments of the corps.
-i raised my hand to knock his lies down his throat--and dropped it. they were not lies, i knew, and the fellow had been faithful to me for many years and--the folly of childish human vanity--i felt he knew i was a "gentleman," and i liked him for it.
-i paid him his wages then and there, gave him a present and a good testimonial and discharged him. he wept real tears and shook with sobs of grief--easy grief, but very genuine.
-when dolores came home from the bandstand i said quietly: "show me the jewellery burker sent you, dolly. i am very much in earnest, so don't bluster."
-she seemed about to faint and looked very frightened--perhaps my face was more expressive than a gentleman's should be.
-"it was only a little thing for my birthday," she whined. "can't i keep it? don't be a tyrant or a fool."
-"your next birthday or your last?" i asked. "please get it at once. we'll settle matters quietly and finally."
-i fear the poor girl had visions of the doorstep and a closed door. two, perhaps, for i am sure burker would not have taken her in if i had turned her out, and she may have thought the same.
-it was a diamond ring, and the scoundrel must have given a couple of months' pay for it--if he had paid for it at all. i thrust aside the sudden conviction that burker's own taste could not have been responsible for its choice and that it was selected by my wife.
-"why should he give you this, dolores?" i asked. "will you tell me or must i go to him?" and then she burst into tears and flung herself at my feet, begging for mercy.
-qui s'excuse s'accuse.
-what should i do?
-to cast her out was to murder her soul quickly and her body slowly, and i could foresee her career with prophetic eye and painful clearness.
-and what could the law do for me?
-publish our shame and perhaps brand me that wretched thing--the willingly deceived and complaisant husband.
-what could i do by challenging burker?
-he was a champion man-at-arms, a fine boxer, and a younger, stronger man, i should merely experience humiliation and defeat. what could i do?
-if i said, "go and live with your burker," i should be committing a bigger crime than hers, for if he did take her in, it would not be for long.
-i sat the night through, pondered the question carefully, looked at it from all points of view and--decided that burker must die. also that he must not drag me to jail or the scaffold as he went to his doom. if i shot him and was punished, dolores would become a--well, as i have said, her soul would die quickly and her body slowly. i had married dolores and i must do what lay in my power to protect dolores. but i simply could not kill the hound in some stealthy secret manner and wait for the footsteps of warrant-armed police for the rest of my life.
-what could i do? or rather--for the question had narrowed to that--how could i kill him?
-and as the sun struck upon my eyes at dawn, an idea struck upon my mind.
-i would leave it to fate and if fate willed it so, burker should die.
-if burker stood behind my charger, fate sat with down-turned thumb.
-i would not seek the opportunity--but, by god, i would take it if it offered.
-if it did not, i would go to burker and say to him quietly: "burker, you must leave this station at once and never see or communicate with my wife in any way. otherwise i have to kill you, burker--to execute you, you understand." ...
-a native syce from the artillery lines led my charger into the little compound of my tiny bungalow.
-having buckled on my belt i went out, patted him, and gave him a lump of sugar. he nuzzled me for more, and, as he did so, i placed my hand on his back, behind the saddle, and pressed. he lashed out wildly.
-several gentlemen of the mounted infantry were waiting about, some standing by their horses, some getting bandoliers, belts, and rifles, some cantering their horses round the ground.
-sergeant burker strode out of the orderly boom.
-"morning, smith," said he. "how's the missus?"
-i looked him in the eye and made no reply.
-he laughed, as jeering, evil, and caddish a laugh as i have ever heard. i almost forgot my purpose and had actually turned toward the armoury for a rifle and cartridge when i remembered and controlled my rage.
-if i shot him, then and there, i must go to the scaffold or to jail forthwith, and dolores must inevitably go to a worse fate. had i been sure that she could have kept straight, burker would have been shot, then and there.
-"fall in," he shouted, but did not mount his horse.
-"tell off by sections," commanded burker.
-"one, two, three, four--one, two, three, four...."
-there were exactly six sections.
-"flanks of sections, proof."
-"section leaders, proof."
-"centre man, proof."
-"prepare to mount."
-i could not have placed him more exactly with my own hands. fate sat with down-pointing thumb.
-turning round, as though to look at the troop, i rested my hand on my horse's back--just behind the saddle--and pressed hard. he lashed out with both hoofs and sergeant burker dropped--and never moved again.
-the base of his skull was smashed like an egg, and his back was broken like a dry stick....
-the terrible accident roused wide sympathy with the unfortunate man, the local reporter used all his adjectives, and a military funeral was given to the soldier who had died in the execution of his duty.
-on reaching home, after satisfying myself at the station hospital that the man was dead, i said to my poor, pale and red-eyed wife:--
-"dolores, sergeant burker met with an accident this morning on parade. he is dead. let us never refer to him again."
-i spent that night also in meditation, questioning myself and examining my soul--with every honest endeavour to be not a self-deceiver.
-i came to the conclusion that i had acted rightly and in the only way in which a gentleman could act. i had snatched dolores from his foul clutches, i had punished him without depriving dolores of my protection, and i had avenged the stain on my honour.
-"you have committed a treacherous cowardly murder," whispered the fiend in my ear.
-"you are a liar," i replied. "i did not fear the man and i took this course solely on account of dolores. i was strong enough to accept this position--and to risk the accusation of murder, from my conscience, from the devil, or from man."
-any doubt i might otherwise have had was forestalled and inhibited by the obvious fate that placed burker in the one spot favourable to my scheme of punishment.
-god had willed it?
-god had not prevented it.
-surely god was consenting unto it....
-and dolores? i would forgive her and offer her the choice of remaining with me or leaving me and receiving a half of my income and possessions--both alternatives being contingent upon good conduct.
-at dawn i prepared tea for her, and entered our bedroom. dolores had wound a towel round her neck, twisted the ends tightly--and suffocated herself.
-she had been dead for hours....
-at the police inquiry, held the same day, i duly lied as to the virtues of the "deceased," and the utter impossibility of assigning any reason for the rash and deplorable act. the usual smug stereotyped verdict was pronounced, and, in addition to expressing their belief that the suicide was committed "while of unsound mind," the officials expressed much sympathy with the bereaved husband.
-dolores was buried that evening and i returned to an empty house.
-i believe opinion had been divided as to whether i was callous or "stunned"--but the sight of her little shoes caused pains in my throat and eyes. had burker been then alive i would have killed him with my hands--and teeth. yes, teeth.
-i spent that night in packing every possession and trace of dolores into her boxes, and then in trying to persuade myself that i should have acted differently.
-i could not do so. i had acted for the best--so let god who gave me free-will, intelligence, conscience and opportunity, approve the deed or take the blame.
-and let god remember how that opportunity came so convincingly--so impellingly--and if he would judge me and ask for my defence i would ask him who sent burker here, and who placed him on that fatal spot?
-does god sit only in judgment?
-does god calmly watch his creatures walking blindfold to the pit--struggling to tear away the bandage as they walk? can he only judge, and can he never help?
-is god a petty-minded "jealous" god to be propitiated like the gods of the heathen?
-must we continually ask, or, not asking, not receive?
-and if we know not to ask aright and to demand the best and highest?
-cannot the well-fed, well-read, well-paid chaplain give advice?
-"god knoweth best. ask unceasingly. pray always."
-why?--if. he knows best, is all merciful, all powerful?
-is god a child, a savage, a woman? shall i offer adulation that would sicken me.
-"god is our father which art in heaven."
-would i have my son praise me to my face continually--or at all. would i compel him to pester me with demands for what he desired,--good, bad and indifferent?
-and would i give him what he asked regardless of what was best for him--or say, "if you ask not, you receive not?" give me a god finer and greater and juster and nobler than myself--something higher than the chaplain's jealous, capricious, inconsequent and illogical god. anthropomorphism!
-is there a god at all?
-i shall soon know.
-oh thou, who man of baser earth didst make and ev'n with paradise devised the snake, for all the sin the face of wretched man is black with--man's forgiveness give--and take!
-at dawn i said aloud:--
-"this chapter is closed. the story of burker and dolores is written. i may now strive to forget."
-i was wrong.
-major jackson of the r.a.m.c. came to see me soon after daylight. he gave me an opiate and i slept all that day and night. i went on parade next morning, fresh, calm, and cool--and saw burker riding toward the group of gentlemen who were awaiting the signal to "fall in".
-i say i was fresh, calm, and cool.
-and there was burker--looking exactly as in life, save for a slight nebulosity, a very faint vagueness of outline, and a hint of transparency.
-i had been instructed by the adjutant to assume the post of instructor (as the end of the mounted infantry drill season was near)--and i blew the "rally" on my whistle as many of the gentlemen were riding about, and shouted the command: "fall in".
-twenty living men and one dead faced me, twenty dismounted and one mounted. i called the corporal in charge of the armoury.
-"how many on parade?" i asked.
-he looked puzzled, counted, and said:--
-"why--twenty, ain't there?"
-"tell off by sections."
-five sections--and burker.
-a column of five sections--and burker, in the rear.
-i called out the section-leader of number one section.
-"are the sections correctly proved?" i asked, and added: "put the troop back in line and tell-off again".
-"five sections, correct," he reported.
-i held that drill, with five sections of living men, and a single file of dead, who manoeuvred to my word.
-when i gave the order "with numbers three for action dismount," or "right-hand men, for action dismount," burker remained mounted. when i dismounted the whole troop, burker remained mounted. otherwise he drilled precisely as number twenty-one would have drilled in a troop of twenty-one men.
-was i frightened? i do not know.
-at first my heart certainly pounded as though it would leap from my body, and i felt dazed, lost, and shocked.
-i think i was frightened--not of burker so much as of the unfamiliar, the unknown, the impossible.
-how would you feel if your piano suddenly began to play of itself? you would be alarmed and afraid probably, not frightened of the piano, but of the fact.
-a door could not frighten you--but you would surely be alarmed at its persistently opening, each time you shut, locked, and bolted it, if it acted thus.
-of burker i had no fear--but i was perturbed by the fact that the dead could ride with the living.
-when i gave the order "dismiss" at the end of the parade burker rode away, as he had always done, in the direction of his bungalow.
-returning to my lonely house, i sat me down and pondered this appalling event that had come like a torrent, sweeping away familiar landmarks of experience, idea, and belief. i was conscious of a dull anger against burker and then against god.
-why should he allow burker to haunt me?...
-why should evil triumph?...
-was i haunted? or was it, after all, but a hallucination--due to grief, trouble, and the drug of the opiate?
-i sat and brooded until i thought i could hear the voices of burker and dolores in converse.
-this i knew to be hallucination, pure and simple, and i went to see my friend (if he will let me call him what he is in the truest and highest sense) major jackson of the r.a.m.c.
-he took me for a long ride, kept me to dinner, and manufactured a job for me--a piece of work that would occupy and tire me.
-he assured me that the burker affair was pure hallucination and staked his professional reputation that the image of burker came upon my retina from within and not from without. "the shock of the deaths of your wife and your friend on consecutive days has unhinged you, and very naturally so," he said.
-of course i did not tell him that i had killed burker, though i should have liked to do so. i felt i had no right to put him in the position of having to choose between denouncing me and condoning a murder--compounding a felony.
-nor did i see any reason for confessing to the police what i had done (even though dolores was dead) and finishing my career on the scaffold.
-one owes something to one's ancestors as well as to oneself. well, perhaps it was a hallucination. i would wait.
-at the next drill burker was present and rode as number three in section six.
-as there were twenty-three (living) on parade i ordered number twenty-three to ride as number four of his section and leave a blank file.
-burker rode in that blank file and drilled so, throughout--save that he would not dismount.
-once, as the troop rode in column of sections, i fell to the rear and, coming up behind, struck with all my might at that slightly nebulous figure, with its faint vagueness of outline and hint of transparency.
-my heavy cutting-whip whistled--and touched nothing. i was as one who beats the air. section six must have thought me mad.... twice again the dead man drilled with the living, and each time i described what happened to major jackson.
-"it is a persistent hallucination," said he; "you must go on leave."
-"i won't run from burker, nor from a hallucination," i replied.
-then came the end.
-at the next drill, twenty-one gentlemen were present and number twenty-one, the sessions judge of duri, a scot, kept staring with looks of amazement and alarm at burker, who rode as number four on his flank, making an odd file into a skeleton section. i was certain that he saw burker.
-as the gentlemen "dismissed" after parade, the judge rode up to me and, with a white face, demanded:--
-"who the devil was that rode with me as number twenty-four? it was--it was--like--sergeant burker."
-"it was sergeant burker, sir," said i.
-"i knew it was," he replied, and added: "man, you and i are fey."
-"will you tell major jackson of this, sir?" i begged. "he knows i have seen burker's ghost here before, and tells me it is a hallucination."
-"i'll go and see him now." he replied. "he is an old friend of mine, and--he's a damned good doctor. man--you and i are fey." he rode to where his trap, with its spirited cob, was awaiting him, dismounted and drove off.
-as everybody knows, mr. blake of the indian civil service, sessions judge of duri, was thrown from his trap and killed. it happened five minutes after he had said to me, with a queer look in his eyes, and a queer note in his voice, "man! you and i are fey".... so it is no hallucination and i am haunted by burker's ghost. very good. i will fight burker on his own ground.
-my ghost shall haunt burker's ghost--or i shall be at peace.
-though the religion of the chaplain has failed me, the religion of my mother, taught to me at her knee, has implanted in me an ineradicable belief in the ultimate justice of things, and the unquenchable hope of "somehow good".
-to a servant or child who spoke so to me and with equal reason, i would reply:--
-"compensation is due to you and not 'forgiveness'--much less punishment," and i would act accordingly.... why should i cringe to god--and why should he love a cringer more than i do?
-god help men and women--and such children as are doomed to grow up to be men and women.
-as i finish this sentence i shall put my revolver in my mouth and seek justice or peace....
-he was greatly disappointed, for his experiences in the bazaars, market-places, secret-meeting houses, and the bowers of hearts' delights,--the rialtos of gungapur (he disguised, now as an afghan horse-dealer, now as a sepoy, now as a pathan money-lender, again as a gold-braided, velvet waistcoated, swaggering swashbuckler from the border)--his experiences were disquieting, were such as to make him push on preparations, perfect plans, and work feverishly at the "polishing" of his re-organized corps.
-also the reports of his familiar, a somali yclept moussa isa, were disquieting, disturbing to a lover of the empire who foresaw the empire at war in europe.
-moussa isa also knew that there was talk among pathan horse-dealers and budmashes of the coming of one ilderim the weeper, a mullah of great influence and renown, and talk, moreover, among men of other race, of a great conspiracy.
-moussa was bidden to take service as a mill-coolie in one of colonel dearman's mills, and to report on the views and attitude of the thousands who laboured therein. this he did and there learnt many interesting facts.
-§ 4. mr. and mrs. cornelius gosling-green.
-it was sunday--and therefore john bruce, the engineering college professor, was exceptionally busy. on a-week-day he only had to deliver his carefully prepared lectures, interview students, read and return essays, take the chair at meetings of college societies, coach one or two "specialists," superintend the games on the college gymkhana ground, interview seekers after truth and perverters of the same, write letters on various matters of college business, visit the hostel, set question papers and correct answers, attend common-room meetings, write articles for the college magazine and papers for the scientific, philosophical, shakespearean, mathematical, debating, literary, historical, students', old boys', or some other "union" and, if god willed, get a little exercise and private study at his beloved "subject" and invention, before preparing for the morrow.
-on sundays, the thousand and one things crowded out of the programme were to be cleared up, his home mail was to be written, and then arrears of work had to be attacked.
-at four o'clock he addressed roy pittenweem and mrs. macdougall, his dogs, and said:--
-"there's a bloomin' bun-snatch somewhere, you fellers, don't it?". though a professor and one of the most keen and earnest workmen in india, his own college blazers were not quite worn out, and life, the great artist, had not yet done much sketching on the canvas of his face--in spite of his daily contact with the science professor, william greatorex bonnett, b.a., widely known as the mad hatter, the greatest of whose many great achievements is his avoidance of death at the hands of his colleagues and acquaintance.
-receiving no reply beyond a wink and a waggle, he dropped his blue pencil, rose, and went to the table sacred to litter; and from a wild welter of books, pipes, papers, golf-balls, hats, cigar-boxes, dog-collars, switches, cartridges and other sediment, he extracted a large gilt-edged card and studied it without enthusiasm or bias.
-augustus grobble was understood to return thanks piously....
-"taxi, sahib?" inquired the messenger-boy at the door.
-a carriage, upholding a pony who, in return, spasmodically moved the carriage which gave evidence of having been where moths break through and steal, lumbered into the club garden, and the professor, imploring the jehu not to let the pony "die on him" in the hibernian sense of the expression, gingerly entered.
-"convey me to the gilded potipharparian 'alls, arthur," said he.
-his hostess, who looked as though she had come straight out of the bible via bond street, and his host, who looked as though he had never come out of petticoat lane at all, both accused him of being unable to work out the problem of "find calcutta time given the standard time," and he professed to be proud to be able to acknowledge the truth of the compliment.
-"oah, yess. come and be presented to meester and meesers garsling-green," waddling after him.
-mrs. cornelius gosling-green was a severe person, tiny, hard-featured and even more garrulous than her husband, who watched her anxiously and nervously as he answered any question put in her presence....
-"and, oh, why, why are not you mohammedans loyal?" said mrs. cornelius gosling-green, to a magnificent-looking specimen of the mussulman of the old school--stately, venerable, courteous and honourable--who stood near, looking as though he wondered what the devil he was doing in that galley.
-turning from his friend, mir ilderim dost mahommed mir hafiz ullah khan, a fine pathan, "loyal, madam! loyal! believe me we mohammedans are most intensely and devotedly loyal," he replied. "you have indeed been misled. though you are only spending a month in india for collecting the materials for your book or pamphlet, you must really learn that much. we mohammedans are as loyal as the english themselves.--more loyal than some in fact," he added, with intent. the pathan smiled meaningly.
-"ah, that's just it. i mean 'why aren't you mohammedans loyal to poor india?'"
-the man turned and left the marquee and the garden without another word.
-"poor bleeding india," corrected the professor.
-"and are you a friend and worker for india?" continued the lady, turning to him and eyeing him with severity.
-"i am. i do my humble possible in my obscure capacity, mrs. grisly-gosling," he replied. "i beg your pardon, mrs. grossly-grin----that is--er--gosling-green, i should say."
-be sure your sins will find you out. through wilful perversion of the pleasing name the professor had rendered himself incapable of enunciating it.
-"and what do you do for india,--write, speak, organize, subscribe or what?" asked the lady with increasing severity.
-"in what capacity?"
-"i am a professor at the government engineering college, here in gungapur."
-"o-h-h-h-h! you're one of the overpaid idlers who bolster up the bureaucracy and batten on the....'"
-"allow me to assure you that i neither bolster, batten, nor bureau, mrs. grizzling--i mean gosling green. nor do i talk through my hat. i----" the professor was beginning to get angry and to lose control.
-"perhaps you are one of us in disguise--a pro-native?"
-"i am intensely pro-native."
-the tall pathan stared at the professor.
-"i think it was i who said it, cornelius," remarked his much better half, coldly.
-"yes, my dear superiora, yes. now with your help i think we can do something, professor. good. this is providential. we shall be able to embarrass them now! will you write me----"
-"you are going a little too fast, i think," said the professor. "i am a 'pro-native' and a servant of the pro-native government of india. as such, i don't think i can be of any service to twenty-one-day visitors who wish to 'embarrass' the best friends of my friends the natives, even supposing i were the sort of gentle judas you compliment me by imagining me. i----"
-"you distinctly say you are pro-native and then----"
-"well, my scroobious bird! and have they this day roasted in india such a gosling as shall never be put out?" inquired the non-moral and unphilosophic professor of moral philosophy, a little later.
-"no, my augustus," was the reply. "it's a quacking little gosling, and won't lead to any great commotion m the farm-yard. nasty little bird--like a sat-bai or whatever they call those appalling things 'seven-sister' birds, aren't they, that chatter and squeak all day."
-"have a long drink and tell us all about it," replied mr. augustus clarence percy marmaduke grobble.
-"oh, same old game on the same old stage. same old players. leading lady and gent changed only. huge great hideous bungalow, like a goanese wedding-cake, in a vast garden of symmetrically arranged blue and red glazed 'art' flower-pots. lofty room decorated with ancestral portraits done by mr. guzzlebhoy fustomji paintwallah; green glass chandeliers and big blue and white tin balls; mauve carpet with purple azure roses; wall-paper, bright pink with red lilies and yellow cabbages; immense mouldy mirrors, and a tin alarm clock. big crowd of all the fly-blown rich knaves of the place who have got more than they want out of government or else haven't got enough. only novelty was a splendid pathan chap, got-up in english except for the conical cap and puggri. extraordinarily like ross-ellison, except that he had long black pathan hair on his shoulders. been to england; barrister probably, and seemed the most viciously seditious of the lot. silly ignorant goslings in the middle saying to brahmins, 'and you are muscleman, aren't you, or are you a dhobi?' and to parsis, 'i suppose you high caste gentlemen have to bathe every day?' shoving their awful ignorance under the noses of everybody, and inquiring after the healths of the 'chief wives'. silly fatuous geese!--and then talking the wildest piffle about the 'burning question of the hour' and making the seditious rotters groan at their ineptitude and folly, until they cheer them up sudden-like with a bit of dam' treason and sedition they ought to be jailed for. jailed. i nearly threw a fit when the old geezer, in a blaze of diamonds and glory, brought up old phossy and presented him to the gander, and he murmured:--
-entering his lonely and sequestered bungalow that evening mir ilderim dost mahommed changed his pathan dress for european dining-kit, removed his beard and wig, and became mr. robin ross-ellison. after dinner he wrote to the eminent cold weather visitor to india, mr. cornelius gosling-green, as follows--
-"as i promised this afternoon, when you graciously condescended to honour me with your illuminating conversation, i enclose the papers which i guaranteed would shed some light on certain aspects of indian conditions, and which i consider likely to give you food for thought.
-"as i was myself educated in india, was brought up to maturity with indian students, and have lived among them in many different places, i may claim to know something about them. as a class they are gentle, affectionate, industrious, well-meaning and highly intelligent. they are the most malleable of human metal, the finest material for the sculptor of humanity, the most impressionable of wax. in the right hands they can be moulded to anything, by the right leader led to any height. and conversely, of them a devil can make fiends. by the wrong leader they can be led down to any depth.
-"the crying need of india is noble men to make noble men of these fine impressionable youths. read the enclosed and take it that the writer (who wrote this recently in gungapur jail) is typical of a large class of misled, much-to-be-pitied youths, wrecked and ruined and destroyed--their undoing begun by an unspeakably false and spurious educational ideal, and completed by the writings, and the spoken words of heartless unscrupulous scoundrels who use them to their own vile ends.
-"humbly thanking your honour, and wishing your honour precisely the successes and rewards that your honour deserves,
-"the dust of your honour's feet,
-"ilderim dost mahommed."
-... and so i am to be hanged by the neck till i am dead, am i? and for a murder which i never committed, and in the perpetration of which i had no hands? is it, my masters? i trow so. but i can afford to spit--for i did commit a murder, nevertheless, a beautiful secret murder that no one could possibly ever bring to my home or cast in my tooth.
-"well, well! hang me and grin in sleeve--and i will laugh on other side of face while dancing on nothing--for if you think you are doing me in eye, i know i have done you in eye!
-"yes. i murdered mr. spensonly, the chief secretary of the nuddee river commission.
-"as the latin-and-greeks used to say, 'solo fesit'!
-"you think mr. spensonly died of plague? so he did. and who caused him to have plague? in short, who plagued him? (ha! ha! an infinite jest!) you shall know all about it and about, as omar says, for i am going now to write my autobiography of myself, as all great so-called criminals have done, for the admiration of mankind and the benefit of posterity. and my fellow-brothers and family-members shall proudly publish it with my photo--that of a great patriot hero and second mazzini, robespierre, kossuth, garibaldi, wallace, charlotte corday, kosciusko, and mr. robert bruce (of spider fame).
-"and i shall welcome death and embrace the headsman ere making last speech and dying confession. having long desired to know what lies beyond, i shall make virtue of necessity and seize opportunity (of getting to know) to play hero and die gamish.
-"not like the pathan murderer who walked about in front of condemned cell with koran balanced on head, crying to his prophet to save him, and defying englishes to touch him. of course they cooked his geese, koran or not. one warder does more than many prophets in gungapur jail. (he! he! quite good epigram and nice cynicality of educated man.) the degraded and unpolished fellow decoyed two little girls into empty house to steal their jewellery, and cut off fingers and noses and ears to get rings and nose-jewels and ear-drops, and left to die. holy fakir, gentleman of course! pooh! and bah! for all holy men. i give spurnings to them all for fools, knaves, or hypocrites. there are no gods any more for educated gentleman, except himself, and that's very good god to worship and make offering to (ha! ha! what a wit will be lost to the silly world when it permits itself to lose me.)
-"well, to return to the sheep, as the european proverb has it. i was born here in gungapur, which will also have honour of being my death-and-cremation place, of poor but honest parent on thirty rupees a mensem. he was very clever fellow and sent five sons to primary school, middle school, high school and gungapur government college at cost of over hundred rupees a month, all out of his thirty rupees a mensem. he always used proverb 'politeness lubricates wheels of life and palm also,' and he obliged any man who made it worth his while. but he fell into bad odours at hands of mr. spensonly owing to folly of bribing-fellow sending cash to office and the letter getting into mr. spensonly's post-bag and opening by mistake.
-"but the sahib took me up into his office to soften blow to progenitor and that shows he was a bad man or his luck would not have been to take me in and give chance to murder him.
-"my good old paternal parent made me work many hours each night, and though he knew nothing of the subjects he could read english and would hear all my lessons and other brothers', and we had to say skagger rack, cattegat, scaw fell and helvellyn, and such things to him, and he would abuse us if we mis-arranged the figures and letters in cah2o2 and h2so4 and all those things in bottles. before the matriculation examination he made a graduate, whom he had got under his thumb-nail, teach us all the answers to all the back questions in all subjects till we knew them all by heart, and also made us learn ten long essays by heart so as to make up the required essay out of parts of them. he nearly killed my brother by starvation (saving food as well as punishing miscreant) for failing--the only one of us who ever failed in any examination--which he did by writing out all first chapter of washington irving for essay, when the subject was 'describe a sunrise in the australian back-blocks'. as parent said, he could have used 'a moonlight stroll by the sea-shore' and change the colour from silver to golden. but the fool was ill--so ill that he tried to kill himself and had not the strength. he said he would rather go to the missionaries' hell, full of englishes, than go on learning egbert, ethelbald, ethelbert, ethelwulf, ethelred, alfred, edward the elder, edred, edwy, edgar, ethelred the unready, and if two triangles have two sides of the one equal to two angles of the other each to each and the sides so subtended equal then shall the bases or fourth sides be equal each to each or be isosceles.
-"well, the progenitor kept our noses in the pie night and day and we all hated the old papa piously and wished he and we and all teachers and text-books were burned alive.
-"but we were very much loved by everybody as we were so learned and clever, and whenever the collector or anybody came to school, the head master used to put one of us in each room and call on us to answer questions and recite and say capes and bays without the map, and other clever things; and when my eldest brother left i had to change coat with another boy and do it twice sometimes, in different rooms.
-"sometimes the educational inspector himself would come, but then nothing could be done, for he would not ask questions that were always asked and were in the book, like the teachers and deputy inspectors did, but questions that no one knew and had to be thought out then and there. that is no test of learning--and any fool who has not troubled to mug his book by heart might be able to answer such questions, while the man who had learnt every letter sat dumb.
-"i hated the school and the books i knew by heart, but i loved mr. ganeshram joshibhai. he was a clever cunning man, and could always tweak the leg of pompous head master when he came to the room, and had beautiful ways of cheating him when he came to examine--better than those of the other teachers.
-"before we had been with him a month he could tell us things while being examined, and no one else knew he was doing it. the initial letters of each word made up the words he wanted to crib to us, and when he scratched his head with the right hand the answer was 'no,' while with the left hand it was 'yes'. and the clever way he taught us sedition while teaching us history, and appearing to praise the english!
-"he would spend hours in praising the good men who rebelled and fought and got magnum charter and disrespected the king and cheeked the government and members of council. we knew all about oliver cromwell, hampden, pim, and those crappies, and many a boy who had never heard of wolsey and alfred the great knew all about felton the jolly fine patriot who stabbed the member of council, buckingham esquire, in back.
-"we learnt whole history book at home and he spent all history lessons telling us about plots, all the english history plots and foreign too, and we knew about the man who killed henry of navarre, as well as about the killing of french and american presidents of to-day. he showed always why successful plots succeeded and the others failed. and he gave weeks to the american independence war and the french revolution.
-"and all the indian history was about the mutiny and how and why it failed, when he was not showing us how the englishes have ruined and robbed india, and comparing the golden age of india (when no cow ever died and there was never famine, plague, police nor taxes) with the miserable condition of poor bleeding india to-day.
-"he was a fine fellow and so clever that we were almost his worshippers. but i am not writing his autobiography but my own, so let him lapse herewith into posterity and well-merited oblivious.
-"at the college when we could work no longer, we who had never learnt crickets and tennis and ping-pongs, would take a nice big lantern with big windows in four sides of it, and sit publicly in the middle of the grass at the gardens (with our books for a blind) and make speech to each other about mother india and exhort each other to join together in a secret society and strike a blow for the mother, and talk about the heroes who had died on the scaffolding for her, or who were languishing in chokey and do poojah to their photos. but the superior members did no poojah to anything. then came the emissary in the guise of a holy man (and i thought it the most dangerous disguise he could have assumed, for i wonder the police do not arrest every sannyasi and fakir on suspicion) and brought us the message. and he took us to hear the blind mussulman they call ilderim the weeper.
-"all was ready and nothing lacked but the instrument.
-"would any of us achieve eternal fame and undying glory by being the next instrument?
-"we wouldn't. no jolly fear, and thanks awfully.
-"but we agreed to make a strike at the college and to drop a useless browning pistol where it would be found, and in various other ways to be unrestful. and one of us, whom the principal would not certify to sit for his f.e. and was very stony hard-up, joined the emissary and went away with him to be a servant and perhaps an instrument later on (if he could not get a girl with a good dowry or a service of thirty rupees a mensem), he was so hungry and having nothing for belly.
-"yes, as mr. ganeshram joshibhai used to say, that is what the british government does for you--educates you to be passed b.a. and educated gent., and then grudges to give you thirty rupees a mensem and expects you to go searching for employment and food to put in belly! can b.a. work with hands like maistri?
-"then there came the best of all my friends, a science-knowing gentleman who gave all his great talents to bomb. and the cream of all the milky joke was that he had learnt all his science free, from government, at school and college, and he not only used his knowledge to be first-class superior anarchist but he got chemicals from government own laboratory.
-"his brother was in government engineering college and between them they did much--for one could make the bomb and the other could fill it.
-"but they are both to be hanged at the same time that i am, and i do not grudge that i am to be innocently hanged for their plot and the blowing up of the bhangi by mistake for the collector, for i have long aspired to be holy martyr in freedom's sacred cause and have photo in newspapers and be talked about.
-"besides, as i have said, i am not being done brown, as i murdered mr. spensonly, the engineer.
-"how i hated him!
-"why should he be big and strong while i am skinny and feeble--owing to night-and-day burning midnight candle at both ends and unable to make them meet?
-"besides did he not bring unmerited dishonour on grey hairs of poor old progenitor by finding him out in bribe-taking? did he not bring my honoured father's aforesaying grey hairs in sorrow to reduced pension?
-"did he not upbraid and rebuke, nay, reproach me when i made grievous little errors and backslippers?
-"a thousand times yea.
-"but i should never have murdered him had i not caught the plague, so out of evil cometh good once more.
-"the plague came to gungapur in its millions and we knew not what to do but stood like drowning man splitting at a straw.
-"superstitious natives said it was the revenge of goddess kali for not sacrificing, and superstitious europeans said it was a microbe created by their god to punish unhygienic way of living.
-"knowing there are no gods of any sort i am in a position to state that it was just written on our foreheads.
-"to make confusion worse dumbfounded the government of course had to seize horns of dilemma and trouble the poor. they had all cases taken to hospital and made segregation and inspection camps. they disinfected houses and burnt rags and even purdah women were not allowed to die in bosom of family. of course police stole lakhs of rupees worth of clothes and furniture and said it was infected. and many good men who were enemies of government were falsely accused of being plague-stricken and were dragged to hospital and were never seen again.
-"terrible calamities fell upon our city and at last it nearly lost me myself. i was seized, dragged from my family-bosom, cast into hospital and cured. and in hospital i learned from fellow who was subordinate-medical that rats get plague in sewers and cesspools and when they die of it their fleas must go elsewhere for food, and so hop on to other rat and give that poor chap plague too, by biting him with dirty mouths from dead rat, and then he dies and so in adfinitum, as the poet has it. but suppose no other rat is handy, what is poor hungry flea to do? when you can't get curry, eat rice! when flea can't get rat he eats man--turns to nastier food. (he! he!)
-"didn't friends and family-members skeddaddle and bunk when they saw rat after i told them all that! but i didn't care, i had had plague once, and one cannot get it twice. not one man in thousand recovers when he has got it, but i did. old uneducated fool maternal parent did lots of thanks-givings and poojah because gods specially attentive to me--but i said 'go to, old woman. it was written on forehead.'
-"and when i returned to work, one day i had an idea--an idea of how to punish mr. spensonly for propelling honoured parent head first out of job, and idea for striking blow at british prestige. we had our office in private bungalow in those days before new secretariat was built, and it was unhealthy bungalow in which no one would live because they died.
-"mr. spensonly didn't care, and he had office on top floor, but bottom floor was clerks' office who went away at night also. now it was my painful duty to go every morning up to his office-room and see that peon had put fresh ink and everything ready and that the hamal had dusted properly. so it was not long before i was aware that all the drawers were locked except the top right-hand drawer, and that was not used as there was a biggish hole in the front of it where the edge was broken away from the above, some miscreant having once forced it open with tool.
-"and verily it came to pass that one day, entering my humble abode-room, i saw a plague-rat lying suffering from in extremis and about to give up ghost. but having had plague i did not trouble about the fleas that would leave his body when it grew stiff and cold, in search of food. instead i let it lie there while my food was being prepared, and regretted that it was not beneath the chair of some enemy of mine who had not had plague, instead of beneath my own ... that of mr. spensonly for example!...
-"it was saturday night. i returned to the office that evening, knowing that mr. spensonly was out; and i went to his office-room with idle excuse to the peon sitting in verandah--and in my pocket was poor old rat kicking bucket fast.
-"who was to say i put deceasing rat in the sahib's table-drawer just where he would come and sit all day--being in the habit of doing work on sunday the christian holy day (being a man of no religion or caste)? what do i know of rats and their properties when at death's front door?
-"cannot rat go into a sahib's drawer as well as into poor man's? if he did no work on sunday very likely the fleas would remain until monday, the rat dying slowly and remaining warm and not in rigour mortuis. anyhow when they began to seek fresh fields and pastures new, being fed up with old rat--or rather not able to get fed up enough, they would be jolly well on the look out, and glad enough to take nibble even at an englishman! (he! he!) so i argued, and put good old rat in drawer and did slopes. on monday, mr. spensonly went early from office, feeling feverish; and when i called, as in duty bound, to make humble inquiries on tuesday, he was reported jolly sickish with plague--and he died tuesday night. i never heard of any other sahib dying of plague in gungapur except one missionary fellow who lived in the native city with native fellows.
-"so they can hang me for share in bomb-outrage and welcome (though i never threw the bomb nor made it, and only took academic interest in affair as i told the judge sahib)--for i maintain with my dying breath that it was i who murdered mr. spensonly and put tongue in cheeks when gungapur gazette wrote column about the unhealthy bungalow in which he was so foolish as to have his office. when i reflect that by this time to-morrow i shall be holy martyr i rejoice and hope photo will be good one, and i send this message to all the world--
-§ 5. mr. horace faggit.
-"fair cautions, ain't they, these bloomin' niggers," observed mr. horace faggit, as the train rested and refreshed itself at a wayside station on its weary way to distant gungapur.
-colonel wilberforce wriothesley, of the 99th baluch light infantry, apparently did not feel called upon to notice the remark of horace, whom he regarded as a person.
-"makes you proud to think you are one of the ruling rice to look at the silly blighters, don't it?" he persisted.
-"no authority on rice," murmured the colonel, without looking up from his book.
-stuffy old beggar he seemed to the friendly and genial horace, but horace was too deeply interested in india and horace to be affected by trifles.
-for mr. horace faggit had only set foot in his imperial majesty the king emperor's indian empire that month, and he was dazed with impressions, drunk with sensations, and uplifted with pride. was he not one of the conquerors, a member of the superior society, one of the ruling race, and, in short, a somebody?
-the train started again and horace sank back upon the long couch of the unwonted first-class carriage, and sighed with contentment and satisfaction.
-how different from peckham and from the offices of the fine old british firm of schneider, schnitzel, schnorrer & schmidt! a somebody at last--after being office-boy, clerk, strap-hanger, gallery-patron, cheap lodger, and paper-collar wearer. a somebody, a sahib, an english gent., one of the ruling and upper class after being a fourpenny luncher, a penny-'bus-and-twopenny--tuber, a waverer 'twixt lockhart and pearce-and-plenty.
-for him, now, the respectful salaam, precedence, the first-class carriage, the salutes of police and railway officials, hotels, a servant (elderly and called a "boy"), cabs (more elderly and called "gharries"), first-class refreshment and waiting rooms, a funny but imposing sun-helmet, silk and cotton suits, evening clothes, deference, regard and prompt attention everywhere. better than peckham and the city, this! my! what tales he'd have to tell gwladwys gwendoline when he had completed his circuit and returned.
-for mr. horace faggit, plausible, observant, indefatigably cunning, and in business most capable ("no bloomin' flies on 'orris f." as he would confidently and truthfully assure you) was the first tentative tentacle advanced to feel its way by the fine old british firm of schneider, schnitzel, schnorrer & schmidt, in the mazy markets of the gorgeous orient, and to introduce to the immemorial east their famous jewellery and wine of birmingham and whitechapel respectively; also to introduce certain exceeding-private documents to various gentlemen of teutonic sympathies and activities in various parts of india--documents of the nature of which horace was entirely ignorant.
-and the narrow bosom of horace swelled with pride, as he realized that, here at least, he was a gentleman and a sahib.
-well, he'd let 'em know it too. those who did him well and pleased him should get tips, and those who didn't should learn what it was to earn the displeasure of the sahib and to evoke his wrath. and he would endeavour to let all and sundry see the immeasurable distance and impassable gulf that lay between a sahib and a nigger--of any degree whatsoever.
-this was the country to play the gentleman in and no error! you could fling your copper cash about in a land where a one-and-fourpenny piece was worth a hundred and ninety-two copper coins, where you could get a hundred good smokes to stick in your face for about a couple of bob, and where you could give a black cabby sixpence and done with it. horace had been something of a radical at home (and, indeed, when an office-boy, a convinced socialist), especially when an old-age pension took his lazy, drunken old father off his hands, and handsomely rewarded the aged gentleman for an unswervingly regular and unbroken career of post-polishing and pub-pillaring. but now he felt he had been mistaken. travel widens the horizon and class-hatred is only sensible and satisfactory when you are no class yourself. when you have got a position you must keep it up--and being one of the ruling race was a position undoubtedly. horace faggit would keep it up too, and let 'em see all about it.
-the train entered another station and drew in from the heat and glare to the heat and comparative darkness.
-yes, he would keep up his position as a sahib haughtily and with jealousy,--and he stared with terrible frown and supercilious hauteur at what he mentally termed a big, fat buck-nigger who dared and presumed to approach the carriage and look in. the man wore an enormous white turban, a khaki norfolk jacket, white jodhpore riding-breeches that fitted the calf like skin, and red shoes with turned-up pointed toes. his beard was curled, and his hair hung in ringlets from his turban to his shoulders in a way horace considered absurd. could the blighter be actually looking to see whether there might be room for him, and meditating entry? if so horace would show him his mistake. pretty thing if niggers were to get into first-class carriages with sahibs like horace!
-the man gave no evidence of having understood horace.
-"sahib!" said he softly, addressing colonel wilberforce wriothesley.
-the colonel went on reading.
-"sahib!" said the man again.
-the colonel looked up and then sprang to his feet with outstretched hand.
-"they told me the colonel sahib would be passing through this week," he said, "and i have met all the trains that i might look upon his face. i am weary of my furlough and would rejoin but for my law-suit. praise be to allah that i have met my colonel sahib," and the man who had five war decorations was utterly unashamed of the tear that trickled.
-"how does my son, sahib?" he asked in urdu.
-"well, subedar major saheb, well. worthily of his father--whose place in the pultan may he come to occupy."
-"praise be to god, sahib! let him no more seek his father's house nor look upon his father's face again, if he please thee not in all things. and is there good news of malet-marsac sahib, o colonel sahib?" then, with a glance at horace, he asked: "why does this low-born one dare to enter the carriage of the colonel sahib and sit? truly the rêlwêy terain is a great caste-breaker! clearly he belongs to the class of the ghora-log, the common soldiers." ...
-"'oo was that,--a rajah?" inquired the astounded horace, as the train moved on.
-"one of the people who keep india safe for you bagmen," replied the colonel, who was a trifle indignant on behalf of the insulted subedar major mir daoud khan mir hafiz ullah khan of the 99th baluch light infantry.
-"no doubt he thought i was another officer," reflected horace. "they think you're a gent, if you chivvy 'em."
-at umbalpur colonel wilberforce wriothesley left the train and mr. faggit had the carriage to himself--for a time.
-and it was only through his own firmness and proper pride that he had it to himself for so long, for at the very next station a beastly little brute of a black man actually tried to get in--in with him, mr. horace faggit of the fine old british firm of schneider, schnitzel, schnorrer & schmidt, manufacturers of best quality birmingham jewellery and "importers" of a fine whitechapel wine.
-but horace settled him all right and taught him to respect sahibs. it happened thus. horace lay idly gazing at the ever-shifting scene of the platform in lordly detachment and splendid isolation, when, just as the train was starting, a little fat man, dressed in a little red turban like a cotton bowler, a white coat with a white sash over the shoulder, a white apron tucked up behind, pink silk socks, and patent leather shoes, told his servant to open the door. ere the stupefied horace could arise from his seat the man was climbing in! the door opened inwards however, and horace was in time to give it a sharp thrust with his foot and send the little man, a mere judge of the high court, staggering backwards on to the platform where he sprawled at full length, while his turban, which horace thought most ridiculous for a grown man, rolled in the dust. slamming the door the "sahib" leant out and jeered, while the insolent presumptuous "nigger" wiped the blood from his nose with a corner of the dhoti or apron-like garment (which horace considered idiotic if not improper)....
-when he awoke he saw by the dim light of the screened roof-lamp that he was not alone, and that on the opposite couch a native had actually made up a bed with sheets, blankets and pillow, undressed himself, put on pyjamas and gone to bed! gord streuth, he had! he'd attend to him in the morning--though it would serve the brute right if horace threw him out at the next station--without his kit. but he looked rather large, and mercy is notoriously a kingly attribute.
-in the morning mir jan rah-bin-ras el-isan mir ilderim dost mahommed of mekran kot, gungapur, and the world in general, awoke, yawned, stretched himself and arose.
-he arose to some six feet and three inches of stature, and his thin pyjamasuit was seen to cover a remarkably fine and robustious figure--provided with large contours where contours are desirable, and level tracts where such are good. as he lay flat back again, horace noted that his chest rose higher than his head and the more southerly portion of his anatomy, while the action of clasping his hands behind his neck brought into prominence a pair of biceps that strained their sleeves almost to bursting. he was nearly as fair as london-bred horace, but there were his turbanned conical hat, his curly toed shoes, his long silk coat, his embroidered velvet waistcoat and other wholly oriental articles of attire. besides, his vest was of patterned muslin and he had something on a coloured string round his neck.
-"what are you doing 'ere?" demanded horace truculently, as this bold abandoned "native" caught his eye and said "good-morning".
-"at present i am doing nothing," was the reply, "unless passive reclining may count as being something. i trust i do not intrude or annoy?"
-"you were certainly snoring when i got in, and i was careful not to awaken you--but not on account of any great sensation of guilt or fear. i assure you i have no intention of spitting or being in any way rude, unmannerly, or offensive. and since you object to travelling with 'blacks' i suggest--that you leave the carriage."
-did horace's ears deceive him? did he sleep, did he dream, and were visions about? leave the carriage?
-"look 'ere," he shouted, "you keep a civil tongue in your 'ead. don't you know i am a gentleman? what do you mean by getting into a first-class carriage with a gentleman and insulting 'im? want me to throw you out before we reach a station? do yer?"
-"no, to tell you the truth i did not realize that you are a gentleman--and i have known a great number of english gentlemen in england and india, and generally found them mirrors of chivalry and the pink of politeness and courtesy. and i hope you won't try to throw me out either in a station or elsewhere for i might get annoyed and hurt you."
-what a funny nigger it was! what did he mean by "mirrors of chivalry". talked like a bloomin' book. still, horace would learn him not to presoom.
-the presumptuous one retired to the lavatory; washed, shaved, and reappeared dressed in full pathan kit. but for this, there was nothing save his very fine physique and stature to distinguish him from an inhabitant of southern europe.
-producing a red-covered official work on mounted infantry training, he settled down to read.
-horace regretted that india provided not his favourite comic cuts and photo bits.
-"may i offer you a cigarette and light one myself?" said the "black" man in his quiet cultured voice.
-"i don't want yer fags--and i don't want you smoking while i got a empty stummick," replied the englishman.
-anon the train strolled into an accidental-looking station with an air of one who says, "let's sit down for a bit--what?" and horace sprang to the window and bawled for the guard.
-"'ere--ask this native for 'is ticket," he said, on the arrival of that functionary. "wot's 'e doing in 'ere with me?"
-"ticket, please?" said the guard--a very black goanese.
-the pathan produced his ticket.
-"will you kindly see if there is another empty first-class carriage, guard?" said he.
-"there iss one next a'door," replied the guard.
-"then you can escape from your unpleasant predicament by going in there, sir," said the pathan.
-"i shall remine where i ham," was the dignified answer.
-"and so shall i," said the pathan.
-"out yer go," said the bagman, rising threateningly.
-"i am afraid i shall have to put you to the trouble of ejecting me," said the pathan, with a smile.
-"i wouldn't bemean myself," countered horace loftily, and didn't.
-"one often hears of the dangerous classes in india," said the pathan, as the train moved on again. "you belong to the most dangerous of all. you and your kind are a danger to the empire and i have a good mind to be a public benefactor and destroy you. put you to the edge of the sword--or rather of the tin-opener," and he pulled his lunch-basket from under the seat.
-"have some chicken, little worm?" he continued, opening the basket and preparing to eat.
-"keep your muck," replied horace.
-"no, no, little cad," corrected the strange and rather terrible person; "you are going to breakfast with me and you are going to learn a few things about india--and yourself."
-and horace did....
-"where are you going?" asked the pathan person later.
-"i'm going to work up a bit o' trade in a place called gungerpore," was the reply of the cowed horace.
-but in gungapur horace adopted the very last trade that he, respectable man, ever expected to adopt--that of war.
-"meet and leave again."
-"so on the sea of life, alas! man nears man, meets and leaves again."
-it had come. ross-ellison had proved a true prophet (and was to prove himself a true soldier and commander of men).
-possibly the most remarkable thing about it was the quickness and quietness, the naturalness and easiness with which it had come. a week or two of newspaper forecast and fear, a week or two of recrimination and feverish preparation, an ultimatum--england at war. the navy mobilized, the army mobilizing, auxiliaries warned to be in readiness, overseas battalions, batteries and squadrons recalled, or re-distributed, reverses and "regrettable incidents,"--and outlying parts of india (her native troops massed in the north or doing garrison-duty overseas) an archipelago of safety-islands in a sea of danger; border parts of india for a time dependent upon their various volunteer battalions for the maintenance, over certain areas, of their civil governance, their political organization and public services.
-in gungapur, as in a few other border cities, the lives of the european women, children and men, the safety of property, and the continuance of the local civil government depended for a little while upon the local volunteer corps.
-as had been pointed out, time after time, in the happy and happy-go-lucky past, the practical civilian seditionist and active civilian rebel is more fortunately situated in india than is his foreign brother, in that his army exists ready to hand, all round him, in the thousands of the desperately poor, devoid of the "respectability" that accompanies property, thousands with nothing to lose and high hopes of much to gain, heaven-sent material for the agitator.
-thanks to the energy of colonel john robin ross-ellison, his unusual organizing ability, his personality, military genius and fore-knowledge of what was coming, gungapur suffered less than might have been expected in view of its position on the edge of a border state of always-doubtful friendliness, its large mill-hand element, and the poverty and turbulence of its general population.
-the sudden departure of the troops was the sign for the commencement of a state of insecurity and anxiety which quickly merged into one of danger and fear, soon to be replaced by a state of war.
-from the moment that it was known for certain that the garrison would be withdrawn, colonel ross-ellison commenced to put into practice his projected plans and arrangements. on the day that mr. dearman's coolies (after impassioned harangues by a blind mussulman fanatic known as ibrahim the weeper, a faquir who had recently come over the border to gungapur and attained great influence; and by a hindu professional agitator who had obtained a post at the mills in the guise of a harmless clerk) commenced rioting, beat mr. dearman to death with crowbars, picks, and shovels, murdered all the european and eurasian employees, looted all that was worth stealing, and, after having set fire to the mills, invaded the cantonment quarter, burning, murdering, destroying,--colonel ross-ellison called out his corps, declared martial law, and took charge of the situation, the civil authorities being dead or cut off in the "districts".
-the place which he had marked out for his citadel in time of trouble was the empty military prison, surrounded by a lofty wall provided with an unassailable water-supply, furnished with cook-houses, infirmary, work-shop, and containing a number of detached bungalows (for officials) in addition to the long lines of detention barracks.
-as soon as his men had assembled at headquarters he marched to the place and commenced to put it in a state of defence and preparation for a siege.
-day by day external operation became more restricted as the mob grew larger and bolder, better armed and better organized, daily augmented and assisted from without. the last outpost which colonel ross-ellison withdrew was the one from the railway-station, and that was maintained until it was known that large bridges had been blown up on either side and the railway rendered useless. in the jail gate-house he established a strong guard under the superintendent, and urged him to use it ruthlessly, to kill on the barest suspicion of mutiny, and to welcome the first opportunity of giving the sharpest of lessons.
-in this matter he set a personal example and behaved, to actual rioters, with what some of his followers considered unnecessary severity, and what others viewed as wise war-ending firmness.
-when remonstrated with by mr. cornelius gosling-green (caught, alas! with his admirable wife in this sudden and terrible maelstrom), for shooting, against the prison wall, a squad of armed men caught by night and under more than suspicious circumstances, within cantonment limits, he replied curtly and rudely:--
-"my good little gosling, i'd shoot you with my own hand if you failed me in the least particular--so stick to your drill and hope to become a corporal before the war is over".
-"i'll have no useless male mouths here," had said colonel ross-ellison. "enroll or clear out and take your chance. i'll look after your wife."
-"but, my dear sir...."
-"'sir' without the 'my dear,' please."
-"i was about to say that i could--ah--assist, advise, sit upon your councils, give you the benefit of my--er--experience, ..." the publicist had expostulated.
-"experience of war?"
-"enroll or clear out--and when you have enrolled remember that you are under martial law and in time of war."
-a swift, fierce, masterful man, harsh and ruthless making war without kid gloves--that it might end the sooner and be the longer remembered by the survivors. the flag was to be kept flying in gungapur, the women and children were to be saved, all possible damage was to be inflicted on the rebels and rioters, more particularly upon those who led and incited them. the gosling-greens and grobbles who could not materially assist to this end could go, those who could thwart or hinder this end could die.
-gleams of humour enlivened the situation. mrs. gosling-green (née a pounding-pobble, superiora pounding-pobble, one of the pounding-pobbles of putney) was under the orders, very much under the orders, of the wife of the sergeant-major, and early and plainly learnt that good woman's opinion that she was a poor, feckless body and eke a fushionless, not worth the salt of her porridge--a lazy slut withal.
-among the "awkward squads" enrolled when rioting broke out and the corps seized the old prison, were erstwhile grave and reverend seniors learning to "stand up like a man an' look prahd o' yourself" at the orders of the sergeant-major. among them were two who had been great men, managers signing per and pro, heads of departments, almost tin gods, and one of them, alas, was at the mercy of a mere boy whom he had detested and frequently "squashed" in the happy days of yore. the mere boy (a cool, humorous, and somewhat vindictive person, one of the best subalterns of the corps and especially chosen by colonel ross-ellison when re-organizing the battalion after its disbandment) was giving his close attention to the improvement of his late manager, a pompous, dull and silly bureaucrat, even as his late manager had done for him.
-to captain malet-marsac, an unusually thoughtful, observant and studious soldier, it was deeply interesting to see how war affected different people how values changed, how the great became exceeding small, and the insignificant person became important. by the end of the first month of what was virtually the siege of the military prison, horace faggit, late office-boy, clerk, and bagman, was worth considerably more than augustus grobble, late professor of moral philosophy; cornelius gosling-green, late publicist; edward jones, late (alleged) educationist, of duri formerly; and a late head of a department,--all rolled into one--a keen, dapper, self-reliant soldier, courageous, prompt, and very bloodthirsty.
-as he strolled up and down, supervising drills, went round the sentry-posts by night, or marched at the head of a patrol, captain malet-marsac would reflect upon the relativity of things, the false values of civilization, and the extraordinary devitalising and deteriorating results of "education". when it came to vital issues, elementals, stark essential manhood,--then the elect of civilization, the chosen of education, weighed, was found not only wanting but largely negligible. where the highly "educated" was as good as the other he was so by reason of his games and sports, his shikar, or his specialized training--as in the case of the engineers and other physically-trained men.
-captain john bruce, for example, professor of engineering, was a soldier in a few weeks and a fine one. in time of peace, a quiet, humorous, dour and religious-minded man, he was now a stern disciplinarian and a cunning foe who fought to kill, rejoicing in the carnage that taught a lesson and made for earlier peace. the mind that had dreamed of universal brotherhood and the oneness of humanity now dreamed of ambushes, night-attacks, slaughterous strategy and magazine-fire on a cornered foe.
-surely and steadily the men enclosed behind the walls of the old prison rose into the ranks of the utterly reliable, the indefatigable, the fearless and the fine, or sank into those of the shifty, unhearty, unreliable, and unworthy--save the few who remained steadily mediocre, well-meaning, unsoldierly, fairly trustworthy--a useful second line, but not to be sent on forlorn hopes, dangerous reconnoitring, risky despatch-carrying, scouting, or ticklish night-work. one siege is very like another--and ross-ellison's garrison knew increasing weariness, hunger, disease and casualties.
-mrs. dearman's conduct raised colonel ross-ellison's love to a burning, yearning devotion, and his defence of gungapur became his defence of mrs. dearman. for her husband she appeared to mourn but little--there was little time to mourn--and, for a while, until sights, sounds and smells became increasingly horrible, she appeared almost to enjoy her position of queen of the garrison, the acknowledged ladye of the officers and men of the corps. until she fell sick herself, she played the part of amateur florence nightingale right well, going regularly with a lamp--the lady with the lamp--at night through the hospital ward. captain john bruce was the only one who was not loud in her praises, though he uttered no dispraises. he, a dour and practical person, thought the voyage with the lamp wholly unnecessary and likely to awaken sleepers to whom sleep was life; that lint-scraping would have been a more useful employment than graciousness to the poor wounded; that a woman, as zealous as mrs. dearman looked, would have torn up dainty cotton and linen confections for bandages instead of wearing them; that the commandant didn't need all the personal encouragement and enheartenment that she wished to give him--and many other uncomfortable, cynical, and crabby thoughts. captain malet-marsac loved her without criticism.
-mrs. cornelius gosling-green, after haranguing all and sundry, individually and collectively, on the economic unsoundness, the illogic, and the unsocial influence of war, took to her bed and stayed there until she found herself totally neglected. arising and demanding an interview with the commandant, she called him to witness that she entered a formal protest against the whole proceedings and registered her emphatic----until the commandant, sending for cornelius (whose duties cut him off, unrepining, from his wife's society), ordered him to remove her, silence her, beat her if necessary--and so save her from the unpleasant alternative of solitary confinement on bread and water until she could be, if not useful, innocuous.
-many a poor woman of humble station proved herself (what most women are) an uncomplaining, unconsidered heroine, and more than one "subordinate" of mixed ancestry and unpromising exterior, a brave devoted man. as usual, what kept the flag flying and gave ultimate victory to the immeasurably weaker side was the spirit, the personality, the force, the power, of one man.
-to captain malet-marsac this was a revelation. even to him, who knew john robin ross-ellison well, and had known and studied him for some time at duri and elsewhere, it was a wonderful thing to see how the quiet, curious, secretive man (albeit a fine athlete, horseman and adventurous traveller) stepped suddenly into the fierce light of supreme command in time of war, a great, uncompromising, resourceful ruler of men, skilful strategist and tactician, remarkable both as organizer, leader, and personal fighter.
-did he ever sleep? night after night he penetrated into the city disguised as a pathan (a disguise he assumed with extraordinary skill and which he strengthened by a perfect knowledge of many border dialects as well as of pushtoo), or else personally led some night attack, sally, reconnaissance or foraging expedition. day after day he rode out on zuleika with the few mounted men at his command, scouting, reconnoitring, gleaning information, attacking and slaughtering small parties of marauders as occasion offered.
-from him the professional soldier, his adjutant, learned much, and wondered where his commandant had learned all he had to teach. captain malet-marsac owned him master, his military as well as his official superior, and grew to feel towards him as his immediate followers felt toward napoleon--to love him with a devoted respect, a respecting devotion. he recognized in him the born guerrilla leader--and more, the trained guerrilla leader, and wondered where on earth this strange civilian had garnered his practical military knowledge and skill.
-wherever he went on foot, especially when he slipped out of the prison for dangerous spy-work among the forces of the mutineers, rebels, rioters and budmashes of the city, he was followed by his servant, an african, concerning whom colonel ross-ellison had advised the servants of the officers' mess to be careful and also to bear in mind that he was not a hubshi. only when the colonel rode forth on horseback was he separated from this man who, when the colonel was in his room, invariably slept across the door thereof.
-on night expeditions, the somali would be disguised, sometimes as a leprous beggar, as stable-boy, again as an arab, sometimes as a renegade sepoy from a native border levy, sometimes as a poor fisherman, again as a sidi boatman, he being, like his master, exceptionally good at disguises of all kinds, and knowing hindustani, arabic, and his native somal dialect.
-he was an expert bugler, and in that capacity stuck like a burr to the colonel by day, looking very smart and workmanlike in khaki uniform and being of more than average usefulness with rifle and bayonet. not until after the restoration of order did mr. edward jones, formerly of the duri high school, long puzzled as to where he had seen him before, realize who he was.
-in the seat of honour (an extra cushion), sat the blind faquir who, with his clerkly colleague, had set the original match to the magazine by inciting the late mr. dearman's coolies. apparently a relentless, terrible fanatic and bitter hater of the english, for his councils were all of blood and fire, rapine and slaughter, he taunted his hearers with their supine cowardice in that the military prison still held out, its handful of defenders still manned its walls, nay, from time to time, made sallies and terrible reprisals upon a careless ill-disciplined enemy.
-"were i but as other men! had i but mine eyes!" he screamed, "i would overwhelm the place in an hour. hundreds to one you are--and you are mocked, robbed, slaughtered."
-a thin-faced, evil-looking, squint-eyed hindu whose large, thick, gold-rimmed goggles accorded ill with the sword that lay athwart his crossed legs, addressed him in english.
-"easy to talk, moulvie. had you your sight you could perhaps drill and arm the mob into an army, eh? find them repeating rifles and ammunition, find them officers, find them courage? is it not? yes."
-"hundreds to one, babu," grunted the blind man, and spat.
-"i would urge upon this august assemblee," piped a youthful weedy person, "that recreemination is not argument, and that many words butter no parsneeps, so to speak. we are met to decide as to whether the treasure shall be removed to pirgunge or still we keep it with us here in view of sudden sallies of foes. i hereby beg to propose and my honourable friend mister----"
-"sit down, crow," said the blind faquir unkindly and there was a snigger. "the treasure will be removed at once--this night, or i will remove myself from gungapur with all my followers--and go where deeds are being done. i weary of waiting while pi-dogs yelp around the walls they cannot enter. cowards! thousands to one--and ye do not kill two of them a day. conquer and slay them? nay--rather must our own treasure be removed lest some night the devil, in command there, swoop upon it, driving ye off like sheep and carrying back with him----"
-"flesh and blood cannot face a machine-gun, moulvie," said the squint-eyed hindu. "even your holy sanctity would scarcely protect you from bullets. come forth and try to-morrow."
-"nor can flesh and blood--such flesh and blood as gungapur provides--surround the machine-gun and rush upon it from flank and rear of course," replied the blind man. "do machine guns fire in all directions at once? when they ran the accursed thing down to the market-place and fired it into the armed crowd that listened to my words, could ye not have fled by other streets to surround it? had all rushed bravely from all directions how long would it have fired? even thus, could more have died than did die? scores they slew--and retired but when they could fire no longer.... and ye allowed it to go because a dozen men stood between it and you----," and again the good man spat.
-"i do not say 'sit down, crow' for thou art already sitting," put in a huge, powerful-looking man, arrayed in a conical puggri-encircled cap, long pink shirt over very baggy peg-top trousers, and a green waistcoat, "but i weary of thy chatter blind-man. keep thy babble for fools in the market-place, where, i admit, it hath its uses. remain our valued and respected talker and interfere not with fighting men, nor criticize. and say not 'the treasure will be removed this night,' nor anything else concerning command. i will decide in the matter of the treasure and i prefer to keep it here under mine hand...."
-"doubtless," sneered the blind man. "under thy hand--until, in the end, it be found to consist of boxes of stones and old iron. look you--the treasure goes to-night or i go, and certain others go with me. and suppose i change my tune in the market-place, havildar nazir ali khan, and say certain words concerning thee and thy designs, give hints of treachery--and where is the loud-mouthed nazir ali khan?..." and his blind eyes glared cold ferocity at the last speaker who handled his sword and replied nothing.
-the secret of the man's power was clear.
-"the treasure will be removed to night," he repeated and a discussion of limes, routes, escort and other details followed. a dispute arose between the big man addressed as havildar nazir ali khan and a squat broad-shouldered pathan as to the distance and probable time that a convoy, moving at the rate of laden bullock-carts, would take in reaching pirgunge.
-the short thick-set pathan turned for confirmation of his estimate to another pathan, grey-eyed but obviously a pathan, nevertheless.
-"i say it is five kos and the carts should start at moonrise and arrive before the moon sets."
-"you are right, brother," replied the grey-eyed pathan, who, for his own reasons, particularly desired that the convoy should move by moonlight. this individual had not spoken hitherto in the hearing of the blind faquir, and, as he did so now, the blind man turned sharply in his direction, a look of startled surprise and wonder on his face.
-"who spoke?" he snapped.
-but the grey-eyed man arose, yawned hugely, and, arranging his puggri and straightening his attire, swaggered towards the door of the room, passed out into a high-walled courtyard, exchanged a few words with the guardian of a low gateway, and emerged into a narrow alley where he was joined by an african-looking camel-man.
-the blind man, listening intently, sat motionless for a minute and then again asked sharply:--
-"who spoke? who spoke?"
-"many have spoken pir saheb," replied the squat pathan.
-"who said 'you are right, brother,' but now? who? quick!" he cried.
-"who? why, 'twas one of us," replied the squat pathan. "yea, 'twas abdulali habbibullah, the money-lender. i have known him long...."
-"let him speak again," said the blind man.
-"where is he? he has gone out, i think," answered the other.
-"call him back, hidayetullah. take others and bring him back. i must hear his voice again," urged the faquir.
-"he will come again, moulvie saheb, he is often here," said the short man soothingly. "i know him well. he will be here to-morrow."
-"see, hidayetullah," said the blind faquir "when next he comes, say then to me, 'may i bring thee tobacco, pir saheb,' if he be sitting near, but say 'may i bring thee tobacco, moulvie saheb,' if he be sitting afar off. if this, speak to him across the room that i may hear his voice in answer, and call him by his name, abdulali habbibullah. and if i should, on a sudden, cry out 'hold the door,' do thou draw knife and leap to the door...."
-"a spy, pir saheb?" asked the interested man.
-"that i shall know when next i hear his voice--and, if it be he whom i think, thou shalt scrape the flesh from the bones of his face with thy knife and put his eyeballs in his mouth. but he must not die. nay! nay!"
-the pathan smiled.
-"thou shalt hear his voice, pir saheb," he promised.
-an hour later the african-looking camel-man and the pathan approached the gates of the military prison and at a distance of a couple of hundred yards the african imitated the cry of a jackal, the barking of a dog and the call of the "did-ye-do-it" bird.
-approaching the gate he whispered a countersign and was admitted, the gate being then held open for the pathan who followed him at a distance of a hundred yards. entering colonel ross-ellison's room the pathan quickly metamorphosed himself into colonel ross-ellison, and sent for his adjutant, captain malet-marsac.
-"fifty of the best, with fifty rounds each, to parade at the gate in half an hour," he said. "bruce to accompany me, you to remain in command here. all who can, to wear rubber-soled shoes, others to go barefoot or bandage their boots with putties over cardboard or paper. no man likely to cough or sneeze is to go. luminous-paint discs to be served out to half a dozen. no rations, no water,--just shirts, shorts and bandoliers. nothing white or light-coloured to be worn. put a strong outpost, all european, under corporal faggit on the hill, and double all guards and sentries. shove sentry-groups at the top of the sudder bazaar, west street and edward road.--you know all about it.... i've got a good thing on. there'll be a lot of death about to-night, if all goes well."
-half an hour later captain bruce called his company of fifty picked men to "attention" as colonel ross-ellison approached, the gate was opened and an advance-guard of four men, with four flankers, marched out and down the road leading to the open country. two of these wore each a large tin disc painted with luminous paint fastened to his back. when these discs were only just visible from the gate a couple more disc-adorned men started forth, and before their discs faded into the darkness the remainder of the party "formed fours" and marched after them, all save a section of fours which followed a couple of hundred yards in the rear, as a rear-guard. in silence the small force advanced for an hour, passed some cross-roads, and then colonel ross-ellison, who had joined the advance-guard, signalled a halt and moved away by himself to the right of the road.
-in the shadow of the trees, the moon having risen, captain bruce ordered his men to lie down, announcing in a whisper that he would have the life of anyone who made a sound or struck a match. this was known to be but half in jest, for the captain was a good disciplinarian and a man of his word.
-save for the occasional distant bark of the village-dogs, the night was very still. sitting staring out into the moon-lit hazy dusk in the direction in which his chief had disappeared, captain john bruce wondered if he were really one of a band of armed men who hoped shortly to pour some two and a half thousand bullets into other men, really a soldier fighting and working and starving that the flag might fly, really a primitive fighting-man with much blood upon his hands and an earnest desire for more--or whether he were not a respectable professor who would shortly wake, beneath mosquito-curtains, from a very dreadful dream. how thin a veneer was this thing called civilization, and how unchanged was human nature after centuries and centuries of----
-colonel ross-ellison appeared.
-"bring twenty-five men and follow me. hurry up," he said quietly, and, a minute later, led the way from the high-road across country. five minutes marching brought the party, advancing in file, to the mouth of a nullah which ran parallel with the road. along this, colonel ross-ellison led them, and, when he gave the signal to halt, it was seen that they were behind a high sloping bank within fifty yards of the high-road.
-"no, sir. i'm to hide till you fire. then fire, magazine, and charge if you do. a blind man to be captured if possible. the bullocks not to be shot, if possible."
-"eight o. carry on," and the colonel strode back to where the remaining twenty-five waited, under a sergeant. these he placed behind an old stone wall that marked the boundary of a once-cultivated patch of land, some forty yards from the road, to which the ground sloped sharply downwards.
-a nice trap if all went well.
-all went exceeding well.
-within an hour and a half of the establishment of the ambush, the creaking of ungreased wheels was heard and the loud nasal singing of some jovial soul. down the silent deserted road came three bullock-carts piled high with boxes and escorted by a ragged regiment of ex-sepoys, ex-police, mutineers, almost a battalion from the forces of the wild border state neighbouring gungapur. a small crowd of variously armed uniformless men preceded the escort and carts, while a large one followed them.
-no advance-guard nor flanking-parties guaranteed the force from ambush or attack.
-suddenly, as the carts crossed a long culvert and the escort perforce massed on to the road, instead of straggling on either side beneath the trees, a voice said coolly in english "up and fire," and as scores of surprised faces turned in the direction of the voice the night was rent with the crash of fifty rifles pouring in magazine fire at the rate of fifteen rounds a minute. magazine fire at less than fifty yards, into a close-packed body of men. scarcely a hundred shots were returned and, by the time a couple of thousand rounds had been fired (less than three minutes), and colonel boss-ellison had cried "ch-a-a-a-r-ge" there was but little to charge and not much for the bayonet to do. of the six bullocks four were uninjured.
-even as he spoke, the sound of distant firing fell upon the ears of the party and the unmistakable stammer-hammer racket of the maxim.
-"they're attacked, by jove," he cried. "i thought it likely. there may have been an idea that we should know something of this convoy and go for it. all ready? now a steady double. we'll double and quick-march alternately. double march."
-near the military prison was a low conical hill, bare of vegetation and buildings, a feature of the situation which was a constant source of anxiety to colonel ross-ellison, for he realized that life in the beleaguered fortress would be very much harder, and the casualty rate very much higher, if the enemy had the sense to occupy it in strength and fire down into the prison. against this contingency he always maintained a picket there at night and a special sentry to watch it by day, and he had caused deep trenches to be dug and a covered way made in the prison compound, so that the fire-swept area could be crossed, when necessary, with the minimum of risk. until the night of the convoy-sortie, however, the enemy had not had the ordinary common sense to grasp the fact that the hill was the key of the situation and to seize it.
-both were dealers in words; neither was conversant with things, facts, deeds, and all that lay outside their inexpressibly artificial and specialized little spheres. each had been "educated" out of physical manliness, self-reliance, courage, practical usefulness, adaptability, "grit" and the plain virile virtues.
-how preventive of all possibility of free choice or love such a custom is may be inferred from another brief extract from the same article:
-"the superstitious notion of a hindoo parent that it is a sin not to give his daughter in marriage before she ceases to to be a child impels him urgently to get her a husband before she has passed her ninth or tenth year. he sends out to match-makers and spares no pains to discover a bridegroom in some family of rank equal or superior to his own. having found a boy ... he endeavors to secure him by entreaty or by large offers of money or jewels."
-the pundita ramabai sarasvati (22) gives some further grewsome details which would seem like the inventions of a burlesque writer were they not attested by such unbiassed authority. "religions enjoin that every girl must be given in marriage; the neglect of this duty means for the father unpardonable sin, public ridicule, and caste excommunication."
-but in the higher castes the cost of a marriage is at least $200, wherefore if a man has several daughters his ruin is almost certain. female infanticide is often the result, but even if the girls are allowed to grow up there is a way for the father to escape. there is a special high class of brahmans who make it their business to marry these girls. they go up and down the land marrying ten, twenty, sometimes as many as one hundred and fifty of them, receiving presents from the bride's parents and immediately thereafter bidding good-by to her, going home never to see their "wife" again. the parents have now done their duty; they have escaped religious and social ostracism at the expense, it is true, of their daughters, who remain at home to make themselves useful. these poor girls can never marry again, and whether or not they become moral outcasts, their life is ruined; but that, to a hindoo, is a trifling matter; girls, in his opinion, were not created for their own sake, but for the pleasure, comfort, and salvation of man.
-how hindoo girls are disposed of
-"in negotiating marriage the inclinations of the future spouses are never attended to. indeed, it would be ridiculous to consult girls of that age; and, accordingly, the choice devolves entirely upon the parents," "the ceremony of the 'bhánwar,' or circuit of the pole or branch, is," says dalton (148), "observed in most hindu marriages.... its origin is curious.. as a hindu bridegroom of the upper classes has no opportunity of trotting out his intended previous to marriage, and she is equally in the dark regarding the paces of her lord, the two are made to walk around the post a certain number of times to prove that they are sound in limb."
-even the accidental coincidence of the choice of a husband with the girl's own preference--should any such exist--is rendered impossible by a superstitious custom which demands that a horoscope must in all cases be taken to see if the signs are propitious, as ramabai sarasvati informs us (35), adding that if the signs are not propitious another girl is chosen. sometimes a dozen are thus rejected, and the number may rise to three hundred before superstition is satisfied and a suitable match is found! the same writer gives the following pathetic instance of the frivolous way in which the girls are disposed of. a father is bathing in the river; a stranger comes in, the father asks him to what caste he belongs, and finding that all right, offers him his nine-year-old daughter. the stranger accepts, marries the child the next day, and carries her to his home nine hundred miles away. these poor child brides, she says, are often delighted to get married, because they are promised a ride on an elephant!
-but the most extraordinary revelation made by this doctor is contained in the following paragraph which, i again beg the reader to remember, was not written by a humorous globetrotter or by the librettist of pinafore, but by a native hindoo woman who is bitterly in earnest, a woman who left her country to study the condition of women in england and america, and who then returned to devote her life to the attempt to better the dreadful fate of her country-women:
-"as it is absurd to assume that girls should be allowed to choose their future husbands, in their infancy, this is done for them by their parents or guardians. in the northern part of this country the family barber is generally employed to select the boys and girls to be married, it being considered too humiliating and mean an act on the part of the parents and guardians to go out and seek their future daughters and sons-in-law."
-hindoos far below brutes
-"the hindu is supposed to be, of all creatures on earth, the most generous, the most kind-hearted, the most gentle, the most sympathetic, and the most unselfish. after living for nearly seven years in india, i must tell you that the reverse of this is true.... it has been said that among the many languages spoken by the people of hindustan there is no such word as home, in the sense in which we understand it; that among the languages spoken there is no such word as love, in the sense in which we know it. i cannot vouch for the truth of this, as i am not acquainted with the languages of india, but i do know that among all the heathen people of that country there is no such place as home, as we understand it; there is no such sentiment as love, as we feel it."
-the writer of the above is dr. salem armstrong-hopkins, who, during her long connection with the woman's hospital of hyderabad, sindh, had the best of opportunities for observing the natives of all classes, both at the hospital and in their homes, to which she was often summoned. in her book within the purdah she throws light on the popular delusion that hindoos must be kind to each other since they are kind to animals. in bombay there is even a hospital for diseased and aged animals: but that is a result of religious superstition, not of real sympathy, for the same brahman who is afraid to bring a curse upon his soul by killing an animal "will beat his domestic animals most cruelly, and starve and torture them in many ways, thus exhibiting his lack of kindness." and the women fare infinitely worse than the animals. the wealthiest are perpetually confined in rooms without table or chairs, without a carpet on the mud floor or picture on the mud walls--and this in a country where fabulous sums are spent on fine architecture. all girl babies are neglected, or dosed with opium if they cry; the mother's milk--which an animal would give to them--being reserved for their brothers, though these brothers be already several years old. unless a girl is married before her twelfth year she is considered a disgrace to the family, is stripped of all her finery and compelled to do the drudgery of her fathers household, receiving
-"kicks and abuses from any and all its members, and often upon the slightest provocation. should she fall ill, no physician is consulted and no effort is made to restore her health or to prolong life." "the expression of utter hopelessness, despair, and misery" on such a girl's face "beggars description."
-contempt in place of love
-no one can read these revelations without agreeing with the writer that "the hindu is of all people the most cowardly and the most cruel," and that he cannot know what real love of any kind is. the abbé dubois, who lived many years among the hindoos, wearing their clothes and adopting their customs so far as they did not conflict with his christian conscience, wrote (i., 51) that
-"the affection and attachment between brothers and sisters, never very ardent, almost entirely disappears as soon as they are married. after that event, they scarcely ever meet, unless it be to quarrel."
-ramabai sarasvati thinks that loving couples can be found in india, but dubois, applying the european standard, declared (i., 21, 302-303):
-"during the long period of my observation of them and their habits, i am not sure that i have ever seen two hindu marriages that closely united the hearts by a true and inviolable attachment."
-the husband thinks his wife "entitled to no attentions, and never pays her any, even in familiar intercourse." he looks on her "merely as his servant, and never as his companion." "we have said enough of women in a country where they are considered as scarcely forming a part of the human species." and ramabai herself confesses (44) that at home "men and women have almost nothing in common." "the women's court is situated at the back of the houses, where darkness reigns perpetually." even after the second ceremony the young couple seldom meet and talk.
-"being cut off from the chief means of forming attachment, the young couple are almost strangers, and in many cases ... a feeling kindred to hatred takes root between them." there is "no such thing as the family having pleasant times together."
-dr. ryder thinks that for "one kind husband there are one hundred thousand cruel ones," and she gives the following illustration among others:
-though the lawgiver manu wrote "where women are honored there the gods are pleased," he was one of the hundreds of sanscrit writers, who, as ramabai sarasvati relates, "have done their best to make woman a hateful being in the world's eye." manu speaks of their "natural heartlessness," their "impure desires, wrath, dishonesty, malice, and bad conduct." though mothers are more honored than other women, yet even they are declared to be "as impure as falsehood itself."
-"i have never read any sacred book in sanscrit literature without meeting this kind of hateful sentiment about women.... profane literature is by no means less severe or more respectful toward women."
-widows and their tormentors
-if anything can cast a ray of comfort into the wretched life of a hindoo maiden or wife it is the thought that, after all, she is much better off than if she were a widow--though, to be sure, she runs every risk of becoming one ere she is old enough to be considered marriageable in any country where women are regarded as human beings. in considering the treatment of hindoo widows we reach the climax of inhuman cruelty--a cruelty far exceeding that practised by american indians toward female prisoners, because more prolonged and involving mental as well as physical agonies.
-all women love their soft glossy hair; and a hindoo woman, says ramabai sarasvati (82), "thinks it worse than death to lose her hair"; yet "among the brahmans of deccan the heads of all widows must be shaved regularly every fortnight." "shaved head" is a term of derision everywhere applied to the widows. all their ornaments are taken from them and they are excluded from every ceremony of joy. the name "rand" given to a widow "is the same that is borne by a nautch girl or a harlot." one poor woman wrote to a missionary:
-"o great lord, our name is written with drunkards, with lunatics, with imbeciles, with the very animals; as they are not responsible, we are not. criminals confined in jails for life are happier than we."
-attempts have been made in recent times by liberal-minded men to marry widows; but they were subjected to so much odium and persecution therefor that they were driven to suicide.
-it would be unjust, however, to make the brahman priests entirely responsible for hindoo depravity. it has indeed been maintained that there was a time when the hindoos were free from all the vices which now afflict them; but that is one of the silly myths of ignorant dreamers, on a level with the notion that savages were corrupted by whites. one of the oldest hindoo documents, the mahabharata, gives us the native traditions concerning these "good old times" in two sentences:
-"though in their youthful innocence the women abandoned their husbands, they were guilty of no offence; for such was the rule in early times." "just as cattle are situated, so are human beings, too, within their respective castes"
-"les catégories des femmes faciles sont si nombreuses qu'elles doivent comprendre presque toutes les personnes du sexe. aussi un ministre protestant écrivait-il au milieu de notre siècle qu'il n'existait presque point de femmes vertueuses dans l'inde."
-the brahman priests, who certainly knew their people well, had so little faith in their virtue that they would not accept a girl to be brought up for temple service if she was over five years old. she had to be not only pure but physically flawless and sound in health. yet her purity was not valued as a virtue, but as an article of commerce. the brahmans utilized the charms of these girls for the purpose of supporting the temples with their sinful lives, their gains being taken from them as "offerings to the gods." as soon as a girl was old enough she was put up at auction and sold to the highest bidder. if she was specially attractive the bids would sometimes reach fabulous sums, it being a point of honor and eager rivalry among rajahs and other wealthy men, young and old, to become the possessors of bayadère débutantes. temporarily only, of course, for these girls were never allowed to marry. while they were connected with the temple they could give themselves to anyone they chose, the only condition being that they must never refuse a brahman (jacolliot, 169-76). the bayadères, says dubois, call themselves deva-dasi, servants or slaves of the gods, "but they are known to the public by the coarser name of strumpets." they are, next to the sacrificers, the most important persons about the temples. while the poor widows who had been respectably married are deprived of all ornaments and joys of life, these wantons are decked with fine clothes, flowers, and jewelry; and gold is showered upon them. the bayadères vasantasena is described by the poet cûdraka as always wearing a hundred gold ornaments, living in her own palace, which has eight luxurious courts, and on one occasion refusing an unwelcome suitor though he sent 100,000 gold pieces.
-bayadères are supposed to be originally descendants of the apsaras, or dancing girls of the god indra, the hindoo jupiter. in reality they are recruited from various castes, some parents making it a point to offer their third daughter to the brahmans. bands of the bayadères are engaged by the best families to provide dancing and music, especially at weddings. to have dealings with bayadères is not only in good form, but is a meritorious thing, since it helps to support the temples. and yet, when one of these girls dies she is not cremated in the same place as other women, and her ashes are scattered to the winds. in some provinces of bengal, jacolliot says, she is only half burnt, and the body then thrown to the jackals and vultures.
-the temple of sunnat had as many as five hundred of these priestesses of venus, and a rajah has been known to entertain as many as two thousand of them. bayadères, or nautch girls, as they are often called in a general way, are of many grades. the lowest go about the country in bands, while the highest may rise to the rank and dignity of an aspasia. to the former class belong those referred to by lowrie (148)--a band of twenty girls, all unveiled and dressed in their richest finery, who wanted to dance for his party and were greatly disappointed when refused. "most of them were very young--about ten or eleven years old." their course is brief; they soon lose their charms, are discarded, and end their lives as beggars.
-an indian aspasia
-the royal author of this drama, who has been called the shakspere of india, probably lived in one of the first centuries of the christian era. his play may in a certain sense be regarded as a predecessor of manon lescaut and camille, inasmuch as an attempt is made in it to ascribe to the heroine a delicacy of feeling to which women of her class are naturally strangers. she hesitates to make advances to tscharudatta, and at first wonders whether it would be proper to remain in his house. see informs her pursuer that "love is won by noble character, not by importunate advances." tscharudatta says of her: "there is a proverb that 'money makes love--the treasurer has the treasure,' but no! she certainly cannot be won with treasures." she is in fact represented throughout as being different from the typical bayadères, who are thus described by one of the characters:
-"for money they laugh or weep; they win a man's confidence but do not give him theirs. therefore a respectable man ought to keep bayadères like flowers of a cemetery, three steps away from him. it is also said: changeable like waves of the sea, like clouds in a sunset, glowing only a moment--so are women. as soon as they have plundered a man they throw him away like a dye-rag that has been squeezed dry. this saying, too, is pertinent: just as no lotos grows on a mountain top, no mule draws a horse's loud, no scattered barley grows up as rice; so no wanton ever becomes a respectable woman."
-vasantasena, however, does become a respectable woman. in the last scene the king confers on her a veil, whereby the stain on her birth and life is wiped away and she becomes tscharudatta's legitimate second wife.
-but how about the first wife? her actions show how widely in india conjugal love may differ from what we know as such, by the absence of monopoly and jealousy. when she first hears of the theft of vasantasena's jewels in her husband's house she is greatly distressed at the impending loss of his good name, but is not in the least disturbed by the discovery that she has a rival. on the contrary, she takes a string of pearls that remains from her dowry, and sends it to her husband to be given to vasantasena as an equivalent for her lost jewels. vasantasena, on her part, is equally free from jealousy. without knowing whence they came, she afterward sends the pearls to her lover's wife with these words addressed to her servants:
-"take these pearls and give them to my sister, tscharudatta's wife, the honorable woman, and say to her: 'conquered by tscharudatta's excellence, i have become also your slave. therefore use this string of pearls as a necklace.'"
-the wife returned the pearls with the message:
-"my master and husband has made you a present of these pearls. it would therefore be improper for me to accept them: my master and husband is my special jewel. this i beg you to consider."
-and, in the final scenes, the wife shows her great love for her husband by hastening to get ready for the funeral pyre to be burnt alive with his corpse. and when, after expressing her joy at his rescue and kissing him, she turns and sees vasantasena, she exclaims: "o this happiness! how do you do, my sister?" vasantasena replies: "now i am happy," and the two embrace!
-the translator of çûdraka's play notes in the preface that there is a curious lack of ardor in the expression of tscharudatta's love for vasantasena, and he naïvely--though quite in the hindoo spirit--explains this as showing that this superior person (who is a model of altruistic self-sacrifice in every respect), "remains untouched by coarse outbursts of sensual passion." the only time he warms up is when he hears that the bayadères prefers him to her wealthy persecutor; he then exclaims, "oh, how this girl deserves to be worshipped like a goddess." vasantasena is much the more ardent of the two. it is she who goes forth to seek him, repeatedly, dressed in purple and pearls, as custom prescribes to a girl who goes to meet her lover. it is she who exclaims: "the clouds may rain, thunder, or send forth lightning: women who go to meet their lovers heed neither heat nor cold." and again: "may the clouds tower on high, may night come on, may the rain fall in torrents, i heed them not. alas, my heart looks only toward the lover." it is she who is so absent-minded, thinking of him, that her maid suspects her passion; she who, when a royal suitor is suggested to her, exclaims, "'tis love i crave to bestow, not homage."
-symptoms of feminine love
-no. 40: "her heart is dear to her as being your abode, her eyes because she saw you with them, her body because it has become thin owing to your absence."
-no. 43: "the burning (grief) of separation is (said to be) made more endurable by hope. but, mother, if my beloved is away from me even in the same village, it is worse than death to me."
-no. 57: "heedless of the other youths, she roams about, transgressing the rules of propriety, casting her glances in (all) directions of the world for your sake, o child."
-no. 92: "that momentary glimpse of him whom, oh, my aunt, i constantly long to see, has (touched) quenched my thirst (as little) as a drink taken in a dream."
-no. 185: "she has not sent me. you have no relations with her. what concern of ours is it therefore? well, she dies in her separation from you."
-no. 202: "no matter how often i repeat to my mistress the message you confided to me, she replies 'i did not hear' (what you said), and thus makes me repeat it a hundred times."
-no. 203: "as she looked at you, filled with the might of her self-betraying love, so she then, in order to conceal it, looked also at the other persons."
-no. 234: "although all (my) possessions were consumed in the village fire, yet is (my) heart rejoiced, (when it was put out) he took the bucket as it passed from hand to hand (from my hand)."
-no. 299: "she stares, without having an object, gives vent to long sighs, laughs into vacant space, mutters unintelligible words--surely she must bear something in her heart."
-no. 345: "if it is not your beloved, my friend, how is it that at the mention of his name your face glows like a lotos bud opened by the sun's rays?"
-no. 368: "like illness without a doctor--like living with relatives if one is poor, like the sight of an enemy's prosperity--so difficult is it to endure separation from you."
-no. 378: "whatever you do, whatever you say, and wherever you turn your eyes, the day is not long enough for her efforts to imitate you."
-no. 440: "...she, whose every limb was bathed in perspiration, at the mere mention of his name."
-no. 453: "my friend! tell me honestly, i ask you: do the bracelets of all women become larger when the lover is far away?"
-no. 531: "in whichever direction i look i see you before me, as if painted there. the whole firmament brings before me as it were a series of pictures of you."
-no. 650: "from him proceed all discourses, all are about him, end with him. is there then, my aunt, but one young man in all this village?"
-while these poems may have been sung mostly by bayadères, there are others which obviously give expression to the legitimate feelings of married women. this is especially true of the large number which voice the sorrows of women at the absence of their husbands after the rains have set in. the rainy season is in india looked on as the season of love, and separation from the lover at this time is particularly bewailed, all the more as the rains soon make the roads impassable.
-no. 29: "to-day, when, alone, i recalled the joys we had formerly shared, the thunder of the new clouds sounded to me like the death-drum (that accompanies culprits to the place of execution)."
-no. 47: "the young wife of the man who has got ready for his journey roams, after his departure, from house to house, trying to get the secret for preserving life from wives who have learned how to endure separation from their beloved."
-no. 227: "in putting down the lamp the wife of the wanderer turns her face aside, fearing that the stream of tears that falls at the thought of the beloved might drop on it."
-no. 501: "when the voyager, on taking leave, saw his wife turn pale, he was overcome by grief and unable to go."
-no. 623: "the wanderer's wife does indeed protect her little son by interposing her head to catch the rain water dripping from the eaves, but fails to notice (in her grief over her absent one) that he is wetted by her tears."
-these twenty-one poems are the best samples of everything contained in hâla's anthology illustrating the serious side of love among the bayadères and married women of india. careful perusal of them must convince the reader that there is nothing in them revealing the altruistic phases of love. there is much ardent longing for the selfish gratification which the presence of a lover would give; deep grief at his absence; indications that a certain man could afford her much more pleasure by his presence than others--and that is all. when a girl wails that she is dying because her lover is absent she is really thinking of her own pleasure rather than his. none of these poems expresses the sentiment, "oh, that i could do something to make him happy!" these women are indeed taught and forced to sacrifice themselves for their husbands, but when it comes to spontaneous utterances, like these songs, we look in vain for evidence of pure, devoted, high-minded, romantic love. the more frivolous side of oriental love is, on the other hand, abundantly illustrated in hâla's poems, as the following samples show:
-no. 40: "o you pitiless man! you who are afraid of your wife and difficult to catch sight of! you who resemble (in bitterness) a nimba worm--and yet who are the delight of the village women! for does not the (whole) village grow thin (longing) for you?"
-no. 44: "the sweetheart will not fail to come back into his heart even though he caress another girl, whether he see in her the same charms or not."
-no. 83: "this young farmer, o beautiful girl, though he already has a beautiful wife, has nevertheless become so reduced that his own jealous wife has consented to deliver this message to you."
-the last two poems hint at the ease with which feminine jealousy is suppressed in india, of which we have had some instances before and shall have others presently. coyness seems to be not much more developed, at least among those who need it most:
-no. 465: "by being kind to him again at first sight you deprived yourself, you foolish girl, of many pleasures--his prostration at your feet and his eager robbing of a kiss."
-no. 45: "since youth (rolls on) like the rapids of a river, the days speed away and the nights cannot be checked--my daughter! what means this accursed, proud reserve?"
-no. 139: "on the pretext that the descent to the goda (river) is difficult, she threw herself in his arms. and he clasped her tightly without thereby incurring any reproach." (see also no. 108.)
-no. 121: "though disconsolate at the death of her relatives, the captive girl looked lovingly upon the young kidnapper, because he appeared to her to be a perfect (hero). who can remain sulky in the face of virtues?"
-such love as these women felt is fickle and transient:
-no. 240: "through being out of sight, my child, in course of time the love dwindles away even of those who were firmly joined in tender union, as water runs from the hollow of the hand."
-no. 106: "o heart that, like a long piece of wood which is being carried down the rapids of a small stream is caught at every place, your fate is nevertheless to be burnt by some one!"
-no. 80: "by being out of sight love goes away; by seeing too often it goes away; also by the gossip of malicious persons it goes away; yes, it also goes away by itself."
-"if the bee, eager to sip, always seeks the juices of new growths, this is the fault of the sapless flowers, not of the bee."
-where love is merely sensual and shallow lovers' quarrels do not fan the flame, but put it out:
-"love which, once dissolved, is united again, after unpleasant things have been revealed, tastes flat, like water that has been boiled."
-the commercial element is conspicuous in this kind of love; it cannot persist without a succession of presents:
-no. 67: "when the festival is over nothing gives pleasure. so also with the full moon late in the morning--and of love, which at last becomes insipid--and with gratification, that does not manifest itself in the form of presents."
-the illicit, impure aspect of oriental love is hinted at in many of the poems collected by hâla. there are frequent allusions to rendezvous in temples, which are so quiet that the pigeons are scared by the footsteps of the lovers; or in the high grain of the harvest fields; or on the river banks, so deserted that the monkeys there fill their paunches with mustard leaves undisturbed.
-no. 19: "when he comes what shall i do? what shall i say and what will come of this? her heart beats as, with these thoughts, the girl goes out on her first rendezvous." (cf. also nos. 223 and 491.)
-no. 628: "o summer time! you who give good opportunities for rendezvous by drying the small ditches and covering the trees with a dense abundance of leaves! you test-plate of the gold of love-happiness, you must not fade away yet for a long time."
-no. 553: "aunt, why don't you remove the parrot from this bed-chamber? he betrays all the caressing words to others."
-hindoo poets have the faculty, which they share with the japanese, of bringing a whole scene or episode vividly before the eyes with a sentence or two, as all the foregoing selections show. sometimes a whole story is thus condensed, as in the following:
-symptoms of masculine love
-since hindoo women, in spite of their altruistic training, are prevented by their lack of culture or virtue (the domestic virtuous women have no culture and the cultured bayadères have no virtue) from rising to the heights of sentimental love, it would be hopeless to expect the amazingly selfish, unsympathetic and cruel men to do so, despite their intellectual culture. among all the seven hundred poems culled by hâla there are only two or three which even hint at the higher phases of love in masculine bosoms. inasmuch as no. 383 tells us that even "the male elephant, though tormented by great hunger, thinking of his beloved wife, allows the juicy lotos-stalk to wither in his trunk," one could hardly expect of man less than the sentiment expressed in no. 576: "he who has a faithful love considers himself contented even in misfortune, whereas without his love he is unhappy though he possess the earth." another poem indicating that hindoo men may share with women a strong feeling of amorous monopolism is no. 498:
-"he regards only her countenance, and she, too, is quite intoxicated at sight of him. both of them, satisfied with one another, act as if in the whole world there were no other women or men."
-but as a rule the men are depicted as being fickle, even more so than the women. a frequent complaint of the girls is that the men forget whom they happen to be caressing and call them by another girl's name. more frequent still are the complaints of neglect or desertion. one of these, no. 46, suggests the praises of night sung in the mediaeval legend of tristan and isolde:
-"to-morrow morning, my beloved, the hard-hearted goes away--so people say. o sacred night! do lengthen so that there will be no morning for him."
-at first sight the most surprising and important of hâla's seven hundred poems seems to be no. 567:
-"only over me, the iron-hearted, thunder, o cloud, and with all your might; be sure that you do not kill my poor one with the hanging locks."
-here, for once, we have the idea of self-sacrifice--only the idea, it is true, and not the act; but it indicates a very exceptional and exalted state for a hindoo even to think of such a thing. the self-reproach of "iron-hearted" tells us, however, that the man has been behaving selfishly and cruelly toward his sweetheart or wife, and is feeling sorry for a moment. in such moments a hindoo not infrequently becomes human, especially if he expects new favors of the maltreated woman, which she is only too willing to grant:
-no. 85: "while with the breath of his mouth he cooled one of my hands, swollen from the effect of his blow, i put the other one laughingly around his neck."
-no. 191: "by untangling the hair of her prostrate lover from the notches of her spangles in which it had been caught, she shows him that her heart has ceased to be sulky."
-references to such prostrations to secure forgiveness for inconstancy or cruelty are frequent in hindoo poems and dramas, and it is needless to say that they are a very different thing from the disinterested prostrations and homage of modern gallantry. true gallantry being one of the altruistic ingredients of love, it would be useless to seek for it among the hindoos. not so with hyperbole, which being simply a magnifying of one's own sensations and an expression of extravagant feeling of any kind, forms, as we know, a phase of sensual as well as of sentimental love. the eager desire for a girl's favor makes her breath and all her attributes seem delicious not only to man but to inanimate things. the following, with the finishing touches applied by the german translator, approaches modern poetic sentiment more closely than any other of hâla's songs:
-no. 13: "o you who are skilled in cooking! do not be angry (that the fire fails to burn). the fire does not burn, smokes only, in order to drink in (long) the breath of (your) mouth, perfumed like red pâtela blossoms."
-in the use of hyperbole it is very difficult to avoid the step from the sublime to the ridiculous. the author of no. 153 had a happy thought when he sang that his beloved was so perfect a beauty that no one had ever been able to see her whole body because the eye refused to leave whatever part it first alighted on. this pretty notion is turned into unconscious burlesque by the author of no. 274, who complains,
-"how can i describe her from whose limbs the eyes that see them cannot tear themselves away, like a weak cow from the mud she is sticking in."
-hardly less grotesque to our western taste is the favorite boast (no. 211 et passim) that the moon is making vain efforts to shine as brightly as the beloved's face. it is easier for us to sympathize with the hindoo poets when they express their raptures over the eyes or locks of their beloved:
-no. 470: "other beauties too have in their faces beautiful wide black eyes, with long lashes, but they cannot cast such glances as you do."
-no. 77: "i think of her countenance with her locks floating loosely about it as she shook her head when i seized her lip--like unto a lotos flower surrounded by a swarm of (black) bees attracted by its fragrance."
-yet even these two references to personal beauty are not purely esthetic, and in all the others the sensual aspect is more emphasized:
-no. 556: "the brown girl's hair, which had succeeded in touching her hips, weeps drops of water, as it were, now that she comes out of the bath, as if from fear of now being tied up again."
-no. 128: "as by a miracle, as by a treasure, as in heaven, as a kingdom, as a drink of ambrosia, was i affected when i (first) saw her without any clothing."
-lyrics and dramas
-in his history of indian literature (209), weber says that
-"the erotic lyric commences for us with certain of the poems attributed to kalidasa." "the later kavyas are to be ranked with the erotic poems rather than with the epic. in general this love-poetry is of the most unbridled and extravagantly sensual description; yet examples of deep and truly romantic tenderness are not wanting."
-inasmuch as he attributes the same qualities to some of the hâla poems in which we have been unable to find them, it is obvious that his conception of "deep and truly romantic tenderness" is different from ours, and it is useless to quarrel about words. hâla's collection, being an anthology of the best love-songs of many poets, is much more representative and valuable than if the verses were all by the same poet. if hindoo bards and bayadères had a capacity for true altruistic love-sentiment, these seven hundred songs could hardly have failed to reveal it. but to make doubly sure that we are not misrepresenting a phase of the history of civilization, let us examine the hindoo dramas most noted as love-stories, especially those of kalidasa, whose sakuntala in particular was triumphantly held up by some of my critics as a refutation of my theory that none of the ancient civilized nations knew romantic love. i shall first briefly summarize the love-stories told in these dramas, and then point out what they reveal in regard to the hindoo conception of love as based, presumably, on their experiences.
-i. the story of sakuntala
-once upon a time there lived on the banks of the gautami river a hermit named kauçika. he was of royal blood and had made so much progress with his saintly exercises of penitence that he was on the point of being able to defy the laws of nature, and the gods themselves began to fear his power. to deprive him of it they sent down a beautiful apsara (celestial bayadères) to tempt him. he could not resist her charms, and broke his vows. a daughter was born who received the name of sakuntala, and was given in charge of another saint, named kanva, who brought her up lovingly as if she had been his own daughter. she has grown up to be a maiden of more than human beauty, when one day she is seen by the king, who, while hunting, has strayed within the sacred precincts while the saint is away on a holy errand. he is at once fascinated by her beauty--a beauty, as he says to himself, such as is seldom found in royal chambers--a wild vine more lovely than any garden-plant--and she, too, confesses to her companions that since she has seen him she is overcome by a feeling which seems out of place in this abode of penitence.
-"of course there is no truth in the notion that i coveted this girl sakuntala. just think! how could we suit one another, a girl who knows nothing of love and has grown up perfectly wild with the young gazelles? no, my friend, you must not take a joke seriously."
-but all the time he grows thinner from longing--so thin that his bracelet, whose jewels have lost all their lustre from his tears, falls constantly from his arm and has to be replaced.
-in the meantime sakuntala, without lacking the reserve and timidity proper to the girls of penitents, has done several things that encouraged the king to hope. while she avoided looking straight at him (as etiquette prescribed), there was a loving expression on her face, and once, when about to go away with her companions, she pretended that her foot had been cut by a blade of kusagrass--but it was merely an excuse for turning her face. thus, while her love is not frankly discovered, it is not covered either. she doubts whether the king loves her, and her agony throws her into a feverish state which her companions try in vain to allay by fanning her with lotos leaves. the king is convinced that the sun's heat alone could not have affected her thus. he sees that she has grown emaciated and seems ill. "her cheeks," he says,
-"have grown thin, her bosom has lost its firm tension, her body has grown attenuated, her shoulders stoop, and pale is her face. tortured by love, the girl presents an aspect as pitiable as it is lovable; she resembles the vine mâdhavi when it is blighted by the hot breath of a leaf-desiccating wind."
-"be not alarmed! for am not i, who brings you adoring homage, at your side? shall i fan you with the cooling petals of these water-lilies? or shall i place your lotos feet on my lap and fondle them to my heart's content, you round-hipped maiden?"
-"god forbid that i should be so indiscreet with a man that commands respect," replies sakuntala. she tries to escape, and when the king holds her, she says: "son of puru! observe the laws of propriety and custom! i am, indeed, inflamed by love, but i cannot dispose of myself." the king urges her not to fear her foster father. many girls, he says, have freely given themselves to kings without incurring parental disapproval; and he tries to kiss her. a voice warns them that night approaches, and, hearing her friends returning, sakuntala urges the king to conceal himself in the bushes.
-sakuntala now belongs to the king; they are united according to one of the eight forms of hindoo marriage known as that of free choice. after remaining with her a short time the king returns to his other wives at court. before leaving he puts a seal ring on her finger and tells her how she can count the days till a messenger shall arrive to bring her to his palace. but month after month passes and no messenger arrives. "the king has acted abominably toward sakuntala," says one of her friends; "he has deceived an inexperienced girl who put faith in him. he has not even written her a letter, and she will soon be a mother." she feels convinced, however, that the king's neglect is due to the action of a saint who had cursed sakuntala because she had not waited on him promptly. "like a drunkard, her lover shall forget what has happened," was his curse. relenting somewhat, he added afterward that the force of the curse could be broken by bringing to the king some ornament that he might have left as a souvenir. sakuntala has her ring, and relying on that she departs with a retinue for the royal abode. on the way, in crossing a river, she loses the ring, and when she confronts the king he fails to remember her and dismisses her ignominiously. a fisherman afterward finds the ring in the stomach of a fish, and it gets into the hands of the king, who, at sight of it, remembers sakuntala and is heartbroken at his cruel conduct toward her. but he cannot at once make amends, as he has chased her away, and it is not till some years later, and with supernatural aid, that they are reunited.
-ii. the story of urvasi
-the saint narayana had spent so many years in solitude, addicted to prayers and ascetic practices, that the gods dreaded his growing power, which was making him like unto them, and to break it they sent down to him some of the seductive apsaras. but the saint held a flower-stalk to his loins, and urvasi was born, a girl more beautiful than the celestial bayadères who had been sent to tempt him. he gave this girl to the apsaras to take as a present to the god indra, whose entertainers they were. she soon became the special ornament of heaven and indra used her to bring the saints to fall.
-the queen soon notices that his heart has gone away with another. she complains of this estrangement to her maid, to whom she sets the task of discovering the secret of it. the maid goes at it slyly. addressing the king's viduschaka (confidential adviser), she informs him that the queen is very unhappy because the king addressed her by the name of the girl he longs for. "what?" retorts the viduschaka--"the king himself has revealed the secret? he called her urvasi?" "and who, your honor, is urvasi?" says the maid. "she is one of the apsaras," he says. "the sight of her has infatuated the king's senses so that he tortures not only the queen but me, the brahman, too, for he no longer thinks of eating." but he expresses his conviction that the folly will not last long, and the maid departs.
-urvasi, tortured, like the king, by love and doubt, suppresses her bashfulness and asks one of her friends to go with her to get her pearl necklace which she had left entangled in the vine. "then you are hurrying down, surely, to see pururavas, the king?" says the friend; "and whom have you sent in advance?" "my heart," replied urvasi. so they fly down to the earth, invisible to mortals, and when they see the king, urvasi declares that he seems to her even more beautiful than at their first meeting. they listen to the conversation between him and the viduschaka. the latter advises his master to seek consolation by dreaming of a union with his love, or by painting her picture, but the king answers that dreams cannot come to a man who is unable to sleep, nor would a picture be able to stop his flood of tears. "the god of love has pierced my heart and now he tortures me by denying my wish." encouraged by these words, but unwilling to make herself visible, urvasi takes a piece of birch-bark, writes on it a message, and throws it down. the king sees it fall, picks it up and reads:
-"i love you, o master; you did not know, nor i, that you burn with love for me. no longer do i find rest on my coral couch, and the air of the celestial grove burns me like fire."
-"what will he say to that?" wonders urvasi, and her friend replies, "is there not an answer in his limbs, which have become like withered lotos stalks?" the king declares to his friend that the message on the leaf has made him as happy as if he had seen his beloved's face. fearing that the perspiration on his hand (the sign of violent love) might wash away the message, he gives the birch-bark to the viduschaka. urvasi's friend now makes herself visible to the king, who welcomes her, but adds that the sight of her delights him not as it did when urvasi was with her. "urvasi bows before you," the apsara answers, "and sends this message: 'you were my protector, o master, when a demon offered me violence. since i saw you, god kama has tortured me violently; therefore you must sometime take pity on me, great king!'" and the king retorts: "the ardor of love is here equally great on either side. it is proper that hot iron be welded with hot iron." after this urvasi makes herself visible, too, but the king has hardly had time to greet her, when a celestial messenger arrives to summon her hastily back to heaven, to her own great distress and the king's.
-left alone, the king wants to seek consolation in the message written on the birch-bark. but to their consternation, they cannot find it. it had dropped from the viduschaka's hand and the wind had carried it off. "o wind of malaya," laments the king,
-"you are welcome to all the fragrance breathing from the flowers, but of what use to you is the love-letter you have stolen from me? know you not that a hundred such consolers may save the life of a love-sick man who cannot hope soon to attain the goal of his desires?"
-in the meantime the queen and her maid have appeared in the background. they come across the birch-bark, see the message on it, and the maid reads it aloud. "with this gift of the celestial girl let us now meet her lover," says the queen, and stepping forward, she confronts the king with the words: "here is the bark, my husband. you need not search for it longer." denial is useless; the king prostrates himself at her feet, confessing his guilt and begging her not to be angry at her slave. but she turns her back and leaves him. "i cannot blame her," says the king; "homage to a woman leaves her cold unless it is inspired by love, as an artificial jewel leaves an expert who knows the fire of genuine stones." "though urvasi has my heart," he adds, "yet i highly esteem the queen. of course, i shall meet her with firmness, since she has disdained my prostration at her feet."
-the reason why urvasi had been summoned back to heaven so suddenly was that indra wanted to hear a play which the celestial manager had rehearsed with the apsaras. urvasi takes her part, but her thoughts are so incessantly with the king that she blunders repeatedly. she puts passion into lines which do not call for it, and once, when she is called on to answer the question, "to whom does her heart incline?" she utters the name of her own lover instead of the one of similar sound called for in the play. for these mistakes her teacher curses her and forbids her remaining in heaven any longer. then indra says to the abashed maiden: "i must do a favor to the king whom you love and who aids me in battle. go and remain with him at your will, until you have borne him a son."
-ignorant of the happiness in store for him, the king meanwhile continues to give utterance to his longings and laments. "the day has not passed so very sadly; there was something to do, no time for longing. but how shall i spend the long night, for which there is no pastime?" the viduschaka counsels hope, and the king grants that even the tortures of love have their advantage; for, as the force of the torrent is increased a hundredfold if a rock is interposed, so is the power of love if obstacles retard the blissful union. the twitching of his right arm (a favorable sign) augments his hope. at the moment when he remarks: "the anguish of love increases at night," urvasi and her friend came down from the air and hover about him. "nothing can cool the flame of my love," he continues,
-"neither a bed of fresh flowers, nor moonlight, nor strings of pearls, nor sandal ointment applied to the whole body. the only part of my body that has attained its goal is this shoulder, which touched her in the chariot."
-at these words urvasi boldly steps before the king, but he pays no attention to her. "the great king," she complains to her friend, "remains cold though i stand before him." "impetuous girl," is the answer, "you are still wearing your magic veil; he cannot see you."
-at this moment voices are heard and the queen appears with her retinue. she had already sent a message to the king to inform him that she was no longer angry and had made a vow to fast and wear no finery until the moon had entered the constellation of rohini, in order to express her penitence and conciliate her husband. the king, greeting her, expresses sorrow that she should weaken her body, delicate as lotos root, by thus fasting. "what?" he adds, "you yourself conciliate the slave who ardently longs to be with you and who is anxious to win your indulgence!" "what great esteem he shows her!" exclaims urvasi, with a confused smile; but her companion retorts: "you foolish girl, a man of the world is most polite when he loves another woman." "the power of my vow," says the queen, "is revealed in his solicitude for me." then she folds her hands, and, bowing reverently, says:
-"i call to witness these two gods, the moon and his rohini, that i beg my husband's pardon. henceforth may he, unhindered, associate with the woman whom he loves and who is glad to be his companion."
-"is he indifferent to you?" asks the viduschaka. "fool!" she replies; "i desire only my husband's happiness, and give up my own for that. judge for yourself whether i love him."
-when the queen has left, the king once more abandons himself to his yearning for his beloved. "would that she came from behind and put her lotos hands over my eyes." urvasi hears the words and fulfils his wish. he knows who it is, for every little hair on his body stands up straight. "do not consider me forward if now i embrace his body," says urvasi to her friend; "for the queen has given him to me." "you take my body as the queen's present," says the king; "but who, you thief, allowed you before that to steal my heart?" "it shall always be yours and i your slave alone," he continues. "when i took possession of the throne i did not feel so near my goal as now when i begin my service at your feet." "the moon's rays which formerly tortured me now refresh my body, and welcome are kama's arrows which used to wound me." "did my delaying do you harm?" asks urvasi, and he replies: "oh, no! joy is sweeter when it follows distress. he who has been exposed to the sun is cooled by the tree's shade more than others;" and he ends the same with the words: "a night seemed to consist of a hundred nights ere my wish was fulfilled; may it be the same now that i am with you, o beauty! how glad i should be!"
-iii. malavika and agnimitra
-queen dharini, the head wife of king agnimitra, has received from her brother a young girl named malavika, whom he has rescued from robbers. the queen is just having a large painting made of herself and her retinue, and malavika finds a place on it at her side. the king sees the picture and eagerly inquires: "who is that beautiful maiden?" the suspicious queen does not answer his question, but takes measures to have the girl carefully concealed from him and kept busy with dancing lessons. but the king accidentally hears malavika's name and makes up his mind that he must have her. "arrange some stratagem," he says to his viduschaka, "so i may see her bodily whose picture i beheld accidentally." the viduschaka promptly stirs up a dispute between the two dancing-masters, which is to be settled by an exhibition of their pupils before the king. the queen sees through the trick too late to prevent its execution and the king's desire is gratified. he sees malavika, and finds her more beautiful even than her picture--her face like the harvest moon, her bosom firm and swelling, her waist small enough to span with the hand, her hips big, her toes beautifully curved. she has never seen the king, yet loves him passionately. her left eye twitches--a favorable sign--and she sings: "i must obey the will of others, but my heart desires you; i cannot conceal it." "she uses her song as a means of offering herself to you," says the viduschaka to the king, who replies: "in the presence of the queen her love saw no other way." "the creator made her the poisoned arrow of the god of love," he continues to his friend after the performance is over and they are alone. "apply your mind and think out other plans for meeting her." "you remind me," says the viduschaka, "of a vulture that hovers over a butcher's shop, filled with greed for meat but also with fear. i believe the eagerness to have your will has made you ill." "how were it possible to remain well?" the king retorts. "my heart no longer desires intimacies with any woman in all my harem. to her with the beautiful eyes, alone shall my love be devoted henceforth."
-in the royal gardens stands an asoka tree whose bloom is retarded. to hasten it, the tree must be touched by the decorated foot of a beautiful woman. the queen was to have done this, but an accident has injured her foot and she has asked malavika to take her place. while the king and his adviser are walking in the garden they see malavika all alone. her love has made her wither like a jasmine wreath blighted by frost. "how long," she laments, "will the god of love make me endure this anguish, from which there is no relief?" one of the queen's maids presently arrives with the paints and rings for decorating malavika's feet. the king watches the proceeding, and after the maiden has touched the tree with her left foot he steps forward, to the confusion of the two women. he tells malavika that he, like the tree, has long had no occasion to bloom, and begs her to make him also, who loves only her, happy with the nectar of her touch. unluckily this whole scene has also been secretly witnessed by iravati, the second of the king's wives, who steps forward at this moment and sarcastically tells malavika to do his bidding. the viduschaka tries to help out his confused master by pretending that the meeting was accidental, and the king humbly calls himself her loving husband, her slave, asks her pardon, and prostrates himself; but she exclaims: "these are not the feet of malavika whose touch you desire to still your longing," and departs. the king feels quite hurt by her action. "how unjust," he exclaims,
-"is love! my heart belongs to the dear girl, therefore iravati did me a service by not accepting my prostration. and yet it was love that led her to do that! therefore i must not overlook her anger, but try to conciliate her."
-iravati goes straight to the first queen to report on their common husband's new escapade. when the king hears of this he is astonished at "such persistent anger," and dismayed on learning further that malavika is now confined in a dungeon, under lock and key, which cannot be opened unless a messenger arrives with the queen's own seal ring. but once more the viduschaka devises a ruse which puts him in possession of the seal ring. the maiden is liberated and brought to the water-house, whither the king hastens to meet her with the viduschaka, who soon finds an excuse for going outside with the girl's companion, leaving the lovers alone. "why do you still hesitate, o beauty, to unite yourself with one who has so long longed for your love?" exclaims the king; and malavika answers: "what i should like to do i dare not; i fear the queen." "you need not fear her." "did i not see the master himself seized with fear when he saw the queen?" "oh, that," replies the king, "was only a matter of good breeding, as becomes princes. but you, with the long eyes, i love so much that my life depends on the hope that you love me too. take me, take me, who long have loved you." with these words he embraces her, while she tries to resist. "how charming is the coyness of young girls!" he exclaims.
-"trembling, she tries to restrain my hand, which is busy with her girdle; while i embrace her ardently she puts up her own hands to protect her bosom; her countenance with the beautiful eyelashes she turns aside when i try to raise it for a kiss; by thus struggling she affords me the same delight as if i had attained what i desire."
-again the second queen and her maid appear unexpectedly and disturb the king's bliss. her object is to go to the king's picture in the water-house and beg its pardon for having been disrespectful, this being better, in her opinion, than appearing before the king himself, since he has given his heart to another, while in that picture he has eyes for her alone (as malavika, too, had noticed when she entered the water-house). the viduschaka has proved an unreliable sentinel; he has fallen asleep at the door of the house. the queen's maid perceives this and, to tease him, touches him with a crooked staff. he awakes crying that a snake has bitten him. the king runs out and is confronted again by iravati. "well, well!" she exclaims, "this couple meet in broad daylight and without hindrance to gratify their wishes!" "an unheard-of greeting is this, my dear," said the king. "you are mistaken; i see no cause for anger. i merely liberated the two girls because this is a holiday, on which servants must not be confined, and they came here to thank me." but he is glad to escape when a messenger arrives opportunely to announce that a yellow ape has frightened the princess.
-"i am not surprised at your magnanimity. if women are faithful and kind to their husbands, they even bring, by way of serving him, new wives to him, like unto the rivers which provide that the water of other streams also is carried to the ocean. i have now but one more wish; be hereafter always, irascible queen, prepared to do me homage. i wish this for the sake of the other women."
-"daughter, it is time for you to marry, but no one comes to ask me for you. go and seek your own husband, a man your equal in worth. and when you have chosen, you must let me know. then i will consider him, and betroth you. for, according to the laws, a father who does not give his daughter in marriage is blameworthy."
-all at once she saw a man, in red attire, of fearful aspect, with a rope in his hand. and she said: "who are you?" "you," he replied, "are a woman faithful to your husband and of good deeds, therefore will i answer you. i am yama, and i have come to take away your husband, whose life has reached its goal." and with a mighty jerk he drew from the husband's body his spirit, the size of a thumb, and forthwith the breath of life departed from the body. having carefully tied the soul, yama departed toward the south. savitri, tortured by anguish, followed him. "turn back, savitri," he said; "you owe your husband nothing further, and you have gone as far as you can go." "wherever my husband goes or is taken, there i must go; that is an eternal duty." thereupon yama offered to grant any favor she might ask--except the life of her husband. "restore the sight of the blind king, my father-in-law," she said; and he answered: "it is done already." he offered a second favor and she said: "restore his kingdom to my father-in-law;" and it was granted, as was also the third wish: "grant one hundred sons to my father, who has none." her fourth wish, too, he agreed to: that she herself might have a hundred sons; and as he made the fifth and last wish unconditional, she said:
-"let satyavant return to life; for, bereft of him, i desire not happiness; bereft of him i desire not heaven; i desire not to live bereft of him. a hundred sons you have promised me, yet you take away my husband? i desire this as a favor; let satyavant live!"
-"so be it!" answered the god of death as he untied the string.
-"your husband is released to you, blessed one, pride of your race. sound and well you shall take him home, live with him four hundred years, beget one hundred sons, and all of them shall be mighty kings."
-with these words he went his way. life returned to the body of satyavant, and his first feeling was distress lest his parents grieve over his absence. thinking him too weak to walk, savitri wanted to sleep in the forest, surrounded by a fire to keep off wild beasts, but he replied:
-"my father and mother are distressed even in the daytime when i am away. without them i could not live. as long as they live i live only for them. rather than let anything happen to them, i give up my own life, you woman with the beautiful hips; truly i shall kill myself sooner."
-so she helped him to rise, and they returned that very night, to the great joy of their parents and friends; and all the promises of yama were fulfilled.
-once upon a time there was a king by the name of nala, a man handsome as the god of love, endowed with all the virtues, a favorite of men and women. there was also another king, named bhima, the terrible. he was renowned as a warrior and endowed with many virtues; yet he was discontented, for he had no offspring. but it happened that he was visited by a saint, whom he entertained so hospitably that the brahman granted him in return a favor: a daughter and three sons were born to him. the daughter, who received the name of damayanti, soon became famed for her beauty, her dignity, and her gracious manners. she seemed, amid her companions, like lightning born in a rain-cloud. her beauty was so much vaunted in the hearing of king nala, and his merits were so much extolled in her presence, that the two conceived an ardent passion for one another, though they had never met. nala could hardly endure his yearnings of love; near the apartments of the women there was a forest; into that he retired, living in solitude. one day he came across some gold-decked geese. he caught one of them and she said to him: "spare my life and i promise to praise you in damayanti's presence in such a way that she shall never think of any other man." he did so, and the goose flew to damayanti and said: "there is a man named nala; he is like the celestial knights; no human being equals him. yes, if you could become his wife, it would be worth while that you were born and became so beautiful. you are the pearl among women, but nala, too, is the best of men." damayanti begged the goose to go and speak to nala similarly about her, and the goose said "yes" and flew away.
-her companions noted these symptoms and they said to the king: "damayanti is not at all well." the king reflected, "why is my daughter no longer well?" and it occurred to him that she had reached the marriageable age, and it became clear to him that he must without delay give her a chance to choose a husband. so he invited all the kings to assemble at his court for that purpose on a certain day. soon the roads were filled with kings, princes, elephants, horses, wagons, and warriors, for she, the pearl of the world, was desired of men above all other women. king nala also had received the message and set out on his journey hopefully. like the god of love incarnate he looked. even the ruling gods heard of the great event and went to join the worldly rulers. as they approached the earth's surface they beheld king nala. pleased with his looks, they accosted him and said: "we are immortals journeying on account of darnayanti. as for you, go you and bring damayanti this message: 'the four gods, indra, agni, yama, varuna, desire to have you for a wife. choose one of these four gods as your wedded husband.'"
-folding his hands humbly, nala replied:
-"the very same affair has induced me to make this journey: therefore you must not send me on this errand. for how could a man who himself feels the longing of love woo the same woman for another?"
-but the gods ordered him to go at once, because he had promised to serve them before he knew what they wanted. they endowed him with power to enter the carefully guarded apartments of the princess, and presently he found himself in her presence. her lovely face, her charmingly moulded limbs, her slender body, her beautiful eyes, diffused a splendor that mocked the light of the moon and increased his pangs of love; but he resolved to keep his promise. when the young maidens beheld him they could not utter a word; they were dazed by the splendor of his appearance, and abashed, the beautiful virgins. at last the astonished damayanti began to speak and said with a sweet smile:
-"who are you, you with the faultless form, who increase the yearnings of my love? like an immortal you came here, o hero! i would like to know you better, noble, good man. closely guarded is my house, however, and most strict in his orders is the king."
-"my name, gracious maiden, is nala," he replied.
-"as messenger of the gods have i come. four of them--indra, agni, varuna, yama--would like you as bride, therefore choose one of them as husband, o beauty! that i entered unseen is the result, too, of their power. now you have heard all; act as seems proper to you."
-as he spoke the names of the gods damayanti bowed humbly; then she laughed merrily and said:
-"follow you the inclination of your heart and be kind to me. what can i do to please you? myself and all that is mine belongs to you. lay aside all diffidence, my master and husband! alas, the entire speech of the gold-swans, my prince, was to me a real firebrand. it was for your sake, o hero, that all these kings were in reality called together so hastily. should you ever, o my pride, be able to scorn me, who is so devoted to you, i shall resort on your account to poison, fire, water, rope."
-"how can you," retorted nala,
-"when gods are present in person, direct your desires toward a mortal? not so! let your inclination dwell with them, the creators of the world. remember, too, that a mortal who does something to displease the gods is doomed to death. therefore, you with the faultless limbs, save me by choosing the most worthy of the gods. hesitate no longer. your husband must be one of the gods."
-then said damayanti, while her eyes were diffused with anguish-born tears: "my reverence to the gods! as husband i choose you, mighty ruler on earth. what i say to you is immutable truth." "i am here now as messenger of the gods, and cannot, therefore, plead my own cause. later i shall have a chance to speak for myself," said nala; and damayanti said, smiling, while tears choked her voice:
-"i shall arrange that you as well as the gods are present on the day of my husband-choice. then i shall choose you in the presence of the immortals. in that way no blame can fall on anyone."
-returning to the gods, nala told them just what happened, not omitting her promise that she would choose him in presence of the gods. the day now was approaching when the kings, who, urged by love-longings, had assembled, were to appear before the maiden. with their beautiful hair, noses, eyes, and brows, these royal personages shone like the stars in heaven. they fixed their gaze on the maiden's limbs, and wherever the eyes first rested there they remained fixed immovably. but the four gods had all assumed the exact form and appearance of nala, and when damayanti was about to choose him she saw five men all alike. how could she tell which of them was the king, her beloved? after a moment's thought she uttered an invocation to the gods calling upon them to assume the characteristics by which they differ from mortals. the gods, moved by her anguish, her faith in the power of truth, her intelligence and passionate devotion, heard her prayer and forthwith they appeared to her free from perspiration, with fixed gaze, ever fresh wreath, free from dust; and none of them, while standing, touched the floor; whereas king nala betrayed himself by throwing a shadow, by having dust and perspiration on his body, a withered wreath, and eyelids that winked.
-according to schroeder, the hindoos are "the romantic nation" among the ancients, as the germans are among the moderns; and albrecht weber says that when, a little more than a century ago, europe first became acquainted with sanscrit literature, it was noticed that in the amorous poetry of india in particular the sentimental qualities of modern verse were traced in a much higher degree than they had been found in greek and roman literature. all this is doubtless true. the hindoos appear to have been the only ancient people that took delight in forests, rivers, and mountains as we do; in reading their descriptions of nature we are sometimes affected by a mysterious feeling of awe, like a reminiscence of the time when our ancestors lived in india. their amorous hyperbole, too, despite its frequent grotesqueness, affects us perhaps more sympathetically than that of the greeks. and yet the essentials of what we call romantic love are so entirely absent from ancient hindoo literature that such amorous symptoms as are noted therein can all be readily brought under the three heads of artificiality, sensuality, and selfishness.
-commenting on the directions for caressing given in the kama soutra, lamairesse remarks (56):
-"all these practices and caresses are conventional rather than natural, like everything the hindoos do. a bayadères straying to paris and making use of them would be a curiosity so extraordinary that she would certainly enjoy a succès de vogue pour rire."
-nail-marks on various parts of the body, blows, bites, meaningless exclamations are prescribed or described in the diverse love-scenes. in hindoo dramas several of the artificial symptoms--pure figments of the poetic fancy--are incessantly referred to. one of the most ludicrous of them is the drops of perspiration on the cheeks or other parts of the body, which are regarded as an infallible and inevitable sign of love. urvasi's royal lover is afraid to take her birch-bark message in his hand lest his perspiration wipe away the letters. in bhavabhuti's drama, malati and madhava, the heroine's feet perspire so profusely from excess of longing, that the lacquer of her couch is melted; and one of the stage directions in the same drama is: "perspiration appears on madayantika, with other things indicating love."
-a peculiar stare--which must be sidelong, not direct at the beloved--is another conventional characteristic of hindoo amorous fiction. the gait becomes languid, the breathing difficult, the heart stops beating or is paralyzed with joy; the limbs or the whole body wither like flower-stalks after a frost; the mind is lamed, the memory weakened; cold shivers run down the limbs and fever shakes the body; the arms hang limp at the side, the breast heaves, words stick in the throat; pastimes no longer entertain; the perfumed malayan wind crazes the mind; the eyelids are motionless, sighs give vent to anguish, which may end in a swoon, and if things take an unfavorable turn the thought of suicide is not distant. attempts to cure this ardent love are futile; madhava tries snow, and moonlight, and camphor, and lotos roots, and pearls, and sandal oil rubbed on his skin, but all in vain.
-the hindoo god of love
-quite as artificial and unsentimental as the notions of the hindoos concerning the symptoms of love is their conception of their god of love, kama, the husband of lust. his bow is made of sugar-cane, its string a row of bees, and his arrow-tips are red flower-buds. spring is his bosom friend, and he rides on a parrot or the sea-monster makara. he is also called ananga--the bodiless--because siwa once burned him up with the fire that flashed from his third eye for disturbing him in his devotions by awakening in him love for parwati. sakuntala's lover wails that kama's arrows are "not flowers, but hard as diamond." agnimitra declares that the creator made his beloved "the poison-steeped arrow of the god of love;" and again, he says: "the softest and the sharpest things are united in you, o kama." urvasi's royal lover complains that his "heart is pierced by kama's arrow," and in malati and madhava we are told that "a cruel god no doubt is kama;" while no. 329 of ilâla's love-poems declares:
-"the arrows of kama are most diverse in their effects--though made of flowers, very hard; though not coming into direct contact, insufferably hot; and though piercing, yet causing delight."
-our familiarity with greek and roman literature has made us so accustomed to the idea of a cupid awakening love by shooting arrows that we fail to realize how entirely fanciful, not to say whimsical, this conceit is. it would be odd, indeed, if the hindoo poets had happened on the same fancy as the greeks of their own accord; but there is no reason to suppose that they did. kama is one of the later gods of the indian pantheon, and there is every reason to believe that the hindoos borrowed him from the greeks, as the romans did. in sakuntala (27) there is a reference to the greek women who form the king's body-guard; in urvasi (70) to a slave of greek descent; and there are many things in the hindoo drama that betray greek influence.
-dying for love
-the notion that the fever of love may become so severe as to lead to death plays an important role in hindoo amorous sophistry. "hindoo casuists," says lamairesse (151, 179), "always have a peremptory reason, in their own eyes, for dispensing with all scruples in love-affairs: the necessity of not dying for love." "it is permissible," says the author of kama soutra, "to seduce another man's wife if one is in danger of dying from love for her;" upon which lamairesse comments:
-"this principle, liberally interpreted by those interested, excuses all intrigues; in theory it is capable of accommodating itself to all cases, and in the practice of the hindoos it does thus accommodate itself. it is based on the belief that the souls of men who die of ungratified desires flit about a long time as manes before transmigrating."
-thus did the wily priests invoke the aid even of superstition to foster that national licentiousness by which they themselves profited most. small wonder that the hitopadesa declared (92) that "there is perhaps in all the world not a man who covets not his neighbor's wife;" or that the same collection of wise stories and maxims should take an equally low view of feminine morals (39, 40, 41, 54, 88); e.g. (in substance): "then only is a wife faithful to her husband, when no other man covets her." "seek chastity in those women only who have no opportunity to meet a lover." "a woman's lust can no more be satisfied than a fire's greed for wood, the ocean's thirst for rivers, death's desire for victims." another verse in the hitopadesa (13) declares frankly that of the six good things in the world two of them are a caressing wife and a devoted sweetheart beside her--upon which the editor, johannes hertel, comments: "to a hindoo there is nothing objectionable in such a sentiment."
-what hindoo poets admire in women
-the hindoo's inability to rise above sensuality also manifests itself in his admiration of personal beauty, which is purely carnal. no. 217 of hâla's anthology declares:
-"her face resembles the moon, the juice of her mouth nectar; but wherewith shall i compare (my delight) when i seize her, amid violent struggles, by the head and kiss her?"
-apart from such grotesque comparisons of the face to the moon, or of the teeth to the lotos, there is nothing in the amorous hyperbole of hindoo poets that rises above the voluptuous into the neighborhood of esthetic admiration. hindoo statues embodying the poets' ideal of women's waists so narrow that they can be spanned by the hand, show how infinitely inferior the hindoos were to the greeks in their appreciation of human beauty. the hindoo poet's ideal of feminine beauty is a wasp-waist and grossly exaggerated bust and hips. bhavabhuti allows his heroine malati to be thus addressed (by a girl!):
-"the wind, sandal-cool, refreshes your moon-face, in which nectar-like drops of perspiration appear from your walking, during which you lifted your feet but slowly, as they wavered under the weight of your thighs, which are strong as those of an elephant."
-usually, of course, these grotesquely coarse compliments are paid by the enamored men. kalidasa makes king pururavas, crazed by the loss of urvasi, exclaim:
-"have you seen the divine beauty, who is compelled by the weight of her hips to walk slowly, and who never sees the flight of youth, whose bosom is high and swelling, whose gait is as the swan's?"
-the old story of selfishness
-it might be maintained that the symptoms of true affection--altruistic devotion to the verge of self-sacrifice--are revealed, at any rate, in the conjugal love of savitri and of damayanti. savitri follows the god of death as he carries away her husband's spirit, and by her devotion and entreaties persuades yama to restore him to life; while damayanti (whose story we did not finish) follows her husband, after he has gambled away all his kingdom, into the forest to suffer with him. one night, while she sleeps, he steals half of her only garment and deserts her. left alone in the terrible forest with tigers and snakes, she sobs aloud and repeatedly faints away from fear. "yet i do not weep for myself," she exclaims; "my only thought is, how will you fare, my royal master, being left thus all alone?" she is seized by a huge snake, which coils its body around her; yet "even in this situation she thinks not so much of herself as she bewails the fate of the king." a hunter saves her and proceeds to make improper advances, but she, faithful to her lord, curses the hunter and he falls dead before her. then she resumes her solitary roaming in the gloomy forest, "distressed by grief for her husband's fate," unmindful of his cruelty, or of her own sad plight.
-it is needless to continue the tale; the reader cannot be so obtuse as not to notice the moral of it. the stories of savitri and of damayanti, far from exemplifying hindoo conjugal devotion, simply afford fresh proof of the hoggish selfishness of the male hindoo. they are intended to be object-lessons to wives, teaching them--like the laws of manu and the custom of widow burning--that they do not exist for their own sakes, but for their husbands. reading the stories in the light of this remark, we cannot fail to note everywhere the subtle craft of the sly men who invented them. if further evidence were needed to sustain my view it would be found in the fact related by f. reuleaux, that to this day the priests arrange an annual "prayer-festival" of hindoo women at which the wife must in every way show her subjection to her husband and master. she must wash his feet, dry them, put a wreath around his neck, and bring offerings to the gods, praying that he may prosper and live long. then follows a meal for which she has prepared all his favorite dishes. and as a climax, the story of savitri is read, a story in which the wife lives only for the husband, while he, as he rudely tells her--after all her devotion--lives only for his parents!
-if these stories were anything else than slyly planned object-lessons calculated to impress and subjugate the women, why is it that the husband is never chosen to act the self-sacrificing part? he does, indeed, sometimes indulge in frantic outbursts of grief and maudlin sentimentality, but that is because he has lost the young woman who pleased his senses. there is no sign of soul-love here; the husband never dreams of devoting his life to her, of sacrificing it for her sake, as she is constantly exhorted to do for his sake. in a word, masculine selfishness is the keynote of hindoo life. "when in danger, never hesitate to sacrifice your goods and your wife to save your life," we read in the hitopadesa (25); and no. 4112 of boehtlingk's hindu maxims declares bluntly that a wife exists for the purpose of bearing sons, and a son for the purpose of offering sacrifices after his father's death. there we have masculine selfishness in a nutshell. another maxim declares that a wife can atone for her lack or loss of beauty by faithful subjection to her husband. and in return for all the devotion expected of her she is utterly despised--considered unworthy of an education, unfit even to profess virginity--in a word, looked on "as scarcely forming a part of the human species." in the most important event in her life--marriage--her choice is never consulted. the matter is, as we have seen, left to the family barber, or to the parents, to whom questions of caste and wealth are of infinitely more importance than personal preferences. when those matters are arranged the man satisfies himself concerning the inclinations of the chosen girl's kindred, and when assured that he will not "suffer the affront of a refusal" from them he proceeds with the offer and the bargaining. "to marry or to buy a girl are synonymous terms in this country," says dubois (i., 198); and he proceeds, to give an account of the bargaining and the disgraceful quarrels this leads to.
-bayadères and princesses as heroines
-under such circumstances the hindoo playwrights must have found themselves in a curious dilemma. they were sufficiently versed in the poetic art to build up a plot; but what chance for an amorous plot was there in a country where there was no courtship, where women were sold, ignored, maltreated, and despised? perforce the poets had to neglect realism, give up all idea of mirroring respectable domestic life, and take refuge in the realms of tradition, fancy, or liaisons. it is interesting to note how they got around the difficulty. they either made their heroines bayadères, or princesses, or girls willing to be married in a way allowing them their own choice, but not reputed respectable. bayadères, though not permitted to marry, were at liberty to choose their temporary companions. cûdraka indulges in the poetic license of making vasantasena superior to other bayadères and rewarding her in the end by a regular marriage as the hero's wife number two. by way of securing variety, apsaras, or celestial bayadères, were brought on the scene, as in kalidasa's urvasi, permitting the poet to indulge in still bolder flights of fancy. princesses, again, were favorite heroines, for various reasons, one of which was the tradition concerning the custom called svayamvara or "maiden's choice"--a princess being "permitted," after a tournament, to "choose" the victor. the story of nala and damayanti has made us familiar with a similar meeting of kings, at which the princess chooses the lover she has determined on beforehand, though she has never seen him. apart from the fantasticality of this episode, it is obvious that even if the svayamvara was once a custom in royal circles it did not really insure to the princesses free choice of a rational kind. brought up in strict seclusion, a king's daughter could never have seen any of the men competing for her. the victor might be the least sympathetic to her of all, and even if she had a large number of suitors to choose from, her selection could not be based on anything but the momentary and superficial judgment; of the eye. but for dramatic purposes the svayamvara was useful.
-voluntary unions not respectable
-in sakuntala, kalidasa resorts to the third of the expedients i have mentioned. the king weds the girl whom he finds in the grove of the saints in accordance with a form which was not regarded as respectable--marriage based on mutual inclination, without the knowledge of the parents. the laws of mann (iii., 20-134) recognized eight kinds of marriage:
-the king's desertion of sakuntala after he had obtained his self-indulgent object was quite in accordance with the spirit of a gandharva marriage. kalidasa, for dramatic purposes, makes it a result of a saint's curse, which enables him to continue his story interestingly. a poet has a right to such license, even though it takes him out of the realm of realism. hindoo poets, like others, know how to rise above sordid reality into a more ideal sphere, and for this reason, even if we had found in the dramas of india a portrayal of true love, it would not prove that it existed outside of a poet's glowing and prophetic fancy. there is a hindoo saying, "do not strike a woman, even with a flower;" but we have seen that these hindoos often do physically abuse their wives most cruelly, besides subjecting them to indescribable mental anguish, and mental anguish is much more painful and more prolonged than bodily torture. fine words do not make fine feelings. from this point of view dalton was perhaps right when he asserted that the wild tribes of india come closer to us in their love-affairs than the more cultured hindoos, with their "unromantic heart-schooling." we have seen that albrecht weber's high estimate of the hindoo's romantic sentiment does not bear the test of a close psychological analysis.
-the hindoo may have fewer uncultivated traits of emotion than the wild tribesmen, but they are in the same field. hindoo civilization rose to splendid heights, in some respects, and even the great moral principle of altruism was cultivated; but it was not applied to the relations between the sexes, and thus we see once more that the refinement of the affections--especially the sexual affections--comes last in the evolution of civilization. masculine selfishness and sensuality have prevented the hindoo from entering the elysian fields of romantic love. he has always allowed, and still allows, the minds of women to lie fallow, being contented with their bodily charms, and unaware that the most delightful of all sexual differences are those of mind and character. to quote once more the abbé dubois (i., 271), the most minute and philosophic observer of indian manners and morals:
-"the hindoos are nurtured in the belief that there can be nothing disinterested or innocent in the intercourse between a man and a woman; and however platonic the attachment might be between two persons of different sex, it would be infallibly set down to sensual love."
-does the bible ignore romantic love?
-my assertion that there are no cases of romantic love recorded in the bible naturally aroused opposition, and not a few critics lifted up their voices in loud protest against such ignorant audacity. the case for the defence was well summed up in the rochester post-express:
-"the ordinary reader will find many love-stories in the scriptures, what are we to think, for instance, of this passage from the twenty-ninth chapter of genesis: 'and laban had two daughters: the name of the elder was leah, and the name of the younger was rachel. leah was tender-eyed; but rachel was beautiful and well-favored. and jacob loved rachel; and said, i will serve thee seven years for rachel thy younger daughter. and laban said, it is better that i give her to thee, than that i should give her to another man: abide with me. and jacob served seven years for rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had for her,' it may be said that after marriage jacob's love was not of the modern conjugal type; but certainly his pre-matrimonial passion was self-sacrificing, enduring, and hopeful enough for a mediaeval romance. the courtship of ruth and boaz is a bold and pretty love-story, which details the scheme of an old widow and a young widow for the capture of a wealthy kinsman. the song of solomon is, on the surface, a wonderful love-poem. but it is needless to multiply illustrations from this source."
-a chicago critic declared that it would be easy to show that from the moment when adam said,
-"this is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman, because she was taken out of man. therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh"
---from that moment unto this day "that which it pleases our author to call romantic love has been substantially one and the same thing.... has this writer never heard of isaac and rebekah; of jacob and rachel?" a philadelphia reviewer doubted whether i believed in my own theory because i ignored in my chapter on love among the hebrews "the story of jacob and rachel and other similar instances of what deserves to be called romantic love among the hebrews." professor h.o. trumbull emphatically repudiates my theory in his studies in oriental social life (62-63); proceeding:
-cénac moncaut, who begins his histoire de l'amour dans l'antiquité with adam and eve, declares (28-31) that the episode of jacob and rachel marks the birth of perfect love in the world, the beginning of its triumph, followed, however, by relapses in days of darkness and degradation. if all these writers are correct then my theory falls to the ground and romantic love must be conceded to be at least four thousand years old, instead of less than one thousand. but let us look at the facts in detail and see whether there is really no difference between ancient hebrew and modern christian love.
-"abraham, isaac, jacob, and joseph may have existed as real men, and played their part in the founding of the jewish race, but their stories, as we have them, are as entirely legendary as those of arthur or siegfried, of agamemnon or charlemagne."
-this consideration would bring the date of the story from the time when jacob is supposed to have lived down to the much later time when the legend was elaborated. i have no desire, however, to seek refuge behind such chronological uncertainties, nor to reassert that my theory is a question of evolution rather than of dates, and that, therefore, if jacob and rachel, during their prolonged courtship, had the qualities of mind and character to feel the exalted sentiment of romantic love, we might concede in their case an exception which, by its striking isolation, would only prove the rule. i need no such refuge, for i can see no reason whatever for accepting the story of jacob and rachel as an exceptional instance of romantic love.
-the story of jacob and rachel
-instead of the sentimental self-sacrifice of a devoted lover for his mistress we have here, therefore, simply an example of a prosaic, mercenary marriage custom familiar to all students of anthropology. but how about the second half of that sentence, which declares that jacob's seven years of service "seemed to him but a few days for the love he had for her?" is not this the language of an expert in love? many of my critics, to my surprise, seemed to think so, but i am convinced that none of them can have ever been in love or they would have known that a lover is so impatient and eager to call his beloved irrevocably his own, so afraid that someone else might steal away her affection from him, that jacob's seven years, instead of shrinking to a few days, would have seemed to him like seven times seven years.
-a minute examination of the story of jacob and rachel thus reveals world-wide differences between the ancient hebrew and the modern christian conceptions of love, corresponding, we have no reason to doubt, to differences in actual feeling. and as we proceed, these differences become more and more striking:
-"and jacob said unto laban, give me my wife, for my days are fulfilled, that i may go in unto her. and laban gathered together all the men of the place, and made a feast. and it came to pass in the evening, that he took leah his daughter, and brought her to him; and he went in unto her.... and it came to pass, in the morning that, behold, it was leah: and he said to laban, what is this thou has done unto me? did not i serve with thee for rachel? wherefore then hast thou beguiled me? and laban said, it is not so done in our place, to give the younger before the first-born. fulfil the week of this one, and we will give thee the other also for the service which thou shalt serve with me yet seven other years. and jacob did so, and fulfilled her week; and he gave him rachel his daughter to wife."
-surely it would be difficult to condense into so few lines more facts and conditions abhorrent to the christian conception of the sanctity of love than is done in this passage. can anyone deny that in a modern christian country laban's breach of contract with jacob, his fraudulent substitution of the wrong daughter, and jacob's meek acceptance of two wives in eight days would not only arouse a storm of moral indignation, but would land both these men in a police court and in jail? i say this not in a flippant spirit, but merely to bring out as vividly as possible the difference between the ancient hebrew and modern christian ideals of love. furthermore, what an utter ignorance or disregard of the rights of personal preference, sympathy, and all the higher ingredients of love, is revealed in laban's remark that it was not customary to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older had been disposed of! and how utterly opposed to the modern conception of love is the sequel of the story, in which we are told that "because" leah was hated by her husband "therefore" she was made fruitful, and she bore him four sons, while the beloved rachel remained barren! was personal preference thus not only to be repressed by marrying off girls according to their age, but even punished? no doubt it was, according to the hebrew notion; in their patriarchal mode of life the father was the absolute tyrant in the household, who reserved the right to select spouses for both his sons and daughters, and felt aggrieved if his plans were interfered with. the object of marriage was not to make a happy, sympathetic couple, but to raise sons; wherefore the hated leah naturally exclaims, after she has borne reuben, her first son, "now my husband will love me." that is not the kind of love we look for in our marriages. we expect a man to love his wife for her own sake.
-this notion, that the birth of sons is the one object of marriage, and the source of conjugal love, is so preponderant in the minds of these women that it crowds out all traces of monopoly or jealousy. leah and rachel not only submit to laban's fraudulent substitution on the wedding-night, but each one meekly accepts her half of jacob's attentions. the utter absence of jealousy is strikingly revealed in this passage:
-"and when rachel saw that she bare jacob no children, rachel envied her sister; and she said unto jacob, give me children, or else i die. and jacob's anger was kindled against rachel: and he said, am i in god's stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb? and she said, behold my maid bilhah, go in unto her; that she may bear upon my knees, and i also may obtain children by her. and she gave him bilhah her handmaid to wife: and jacob went in unto her. and bilhah conceived and bare jacob a son.... and bilhah, rachel's handmaid, conceived again, and bare jacob a second son.... when leah saw she had left bearing, she took zilpah her handmaid, and gave her to jacob to wife. and zilpah leah's handmaid bare jacob a son.... and god hearkened unto leah, and she conceived, and bare jacob a fifth son. and leah said, god hath given me my hire, because i gave my handmaid to my husband."
-thus polygamy and concubinage are treated not only as a matter of course, but as a cause for divine reward! it might be said that there does exist a sort of jealousy between leah and rachel: a rivalry as to which of the two shall bear their husband the more sons, either by herself or by proxy. but how utterly different this rivalry is from the jealousy of a modern christian wife, the very essence of which lies in the imperative insistence on the exclusive affection and chaste fidelity of her husband! and as modern christian jealousy differs from ancient hebrew jealousy, so does modern romantic love in general differ from hebrew love. there is not a line in the story of jacob and rachel indicating the existence of monopoly, jealousy, coyness, hyperbole, mixed moods, pride, sympathy, gallantry, self-sacrifice, adoration, purity. of the thirteen essential ingredients of romantic love only two are implied--individual preference and admiration of personal beauty. jacob preferred rachel to leah, and this preference was based on her bodily charms: she was "beautiful and well-favored." of the higher mental phases of personal beauty not a word is said.
-in the case of the women, not even their individual preference is hinted at, and this is eminently characteristic of the ancient hebrew notions and practices in regard to marriage. did rachel and leah marry jacob because they preferred him to all other men they knew? to laban and his contemporaries such a question would have seemed absurd. they knew nothing of marriage as a union of souls. the woman was not considered at all. the object of marriage, as in india, was to raise sons, in order that there might be someone to represent the departed father. being chiefly for the father's benefit, the marriage was naturally arranged by him. as a matter of fact, even jacob did not select his own wife!
-"and isaac called jacob, and blessed him, and charged him and said unto him, thou shalt not take a wife of the daughters of canaan, arise, go to padan-aram, to the house of bethuel, thy mothers father; and take thee a wife from thence of the daughters of laban thy mother's brother."
-and jacob did as ordered. his choice was limited to the two sisters.
-the courting of rebekah
-isaac himself had even less liberty of choice than jacob. he courted rebekah by proxy--or rather his father courted her through her father, for him, by proxy! when abraham was stricken with age he said to his servant, the elder of his house, that ruled over all that he had, and enjoined on him, under oath,
-"thou shalt not take a wife for my son of the daughters of the canaanites, among whom i shall dwell; but thou shalt go into my country, and to my kindred, and take a wife for my son isaac."
-and the servant did as he had been ordered. he journeyed to the city of mesopotamia where abraham's brother nahor and his descendants dwelt. as he lingered at the well, rebekah came out with her pitcher upon her shoulder. "and the damsel was very fair to look upon, a virgin, neither had any man known her." and she filled her pitcher and gave him drink and then drew water and filled the trough for all his camels. and he gave her a ring and two bracelets of gold. and she ran and told her mother's house what had happened. and her brother laban ran out to meet the servant of abraham and brought him to the house. then the servant delivered his message to him and to rebekah's father, bethuel; and they answered: "behold, rebekah is before thee, take her, and go, and let her be thy master's son's wife." and he wanted to take her next day, but they wished her to abide with them at the least ten days longer. "and they said, we will call the damsel, and inquire at her mouth. and they called rebekah, and said unto her, wilt thou go with this man? and she said, i will go. and they sent away rebekah their sister, and her nurse, and abraham's servant, and his men." and isaac was in the field meditating when he saw their camels coming toward him. rebekah lifted up her eyes, and when she saw isaac she lighted off her camel, and asked the servant who was the man coming to meet them; and when he said it was his master, she took her veil and covered herself. and isaac brought her into her mother's tent and she became his wife, and he loved her.
-such is the story of the courting of rebekah. it resembles a story of modern courtship and love about as much as the hebrew language resembles the english, and calls for no further comment. but there is another story to consider; my critics accused me of ignoring the three r's of hebrew love--rachel, rebekah, and ruth. "the courtship of ruth and boaz is a bold and pretty love-story." bold and pretty, no doubt; but let us see if it is a love-story. the following omits no essential point.
-how ruth courted boaz
-it came to pass during a famine that a certain man went to sojourn in the country of moab with his wife, whose name was naomi, and two sons. the husband died there and the two sons also, having married, died after ten years, leaving naomi a widow with two widowed daughters-in-law, whose names were orpah and ruth. she decided to return to the country whence she had come, but advised the younger widows to remain and go back to the families of their mothers. i am too old, she said, to bear again husbands for you, and even if i could do so, would you therefore tarry till they were grown? orpah thereupon kissed her mother-in-law and went back to her people; but ruth clave unto her and said "whither thou goest, i will go; and where thou lodgest, i will lodge.... where thou diest, will i die." so the two went until they came to bethlehem, in which place naomi had a kinsman of her husband, a mighty man of wealth, whose name was boaz. they arrived in the beginning of the barley harvest, and ruth went and gleaned in the field after the reapers. her hap was to light on the portion of the field belonging to boaz. when he saw her he asked the reapers "whose damsel is this?" and they told him. then boaz spoke to ruth and told her to glean in his field and abide with his maidens, and when athirst drink of that which the young men had drawn; and he told the young men not to touch her. at meal-time he gave her bread to eat and vinegar to dip it in, and he told his young men to let her glean even among the sheaves and also to pull out some for her from the bundles, and leave it, and let her glean and rebuke her not. and he did all this because, as he said to her,
-"it hath been shewed me, all that them hast done to thy mother-in-law since the death of thine husband: and how thou hast left thy father and mother, and the land of thy nativity, and art come unto a people which thou knewest not heretofore."
-so ruth gleaned in the field until even; then she beat out what she had gleaned and took it to naomi and told her all that had happened. and naomi said unto her,
-"my daughter, shall i not seek rest for thee, that it may be well with thee? and now is there not boaz our kinsman, with whose maidens thou wast? behold, he winnoweth barley to-night in the threshing-floor. wash thyself therefore, and anoint thee and put thy raiment upon thee, and get thee down to the threshing-floor; but make not thyself known unto the man, until he shall have done eating and drinking. and it shall be, when he lieth down, that thou shalt mark the place where he shall lie, and thou shalt go in, and uncover his feet, and lay thee down; and he will tell thee what thou wilt do."
-"blessed be thou of the lord, my daughter; thou hast shewed more kindness in the latter end, than at the beginning, inasmuch as thou followedst not young men, whether poor or rich. and now, my daughter, fear not; i will do to thee all that thou sayest; for all the city of my people doth know that thou art a virtuous woman. and now it is true that i am a near kinsman: howbeit there is a kinsman nearer than i. tarry this night, and it shall be in the morning, that if he will perform unto thee the part of a kinsman, well; let him do the kinsman's part; but if he will not do the part of a kinsman to thee, then will i do the part of a kinsman to thee, as the lord liveth: lie down until the morning."
-and she lay at his feet until the morning: and she rose up before one could discern another. for he said, "let it not be known that the woman came to the threshing-floor." then he gave her six measures of barley and went into the city. he sat at the gate until the other kinsman he had spoken of came by, and boaz said to him,
-"naomi selleth the parcel of land which was our brother elimelech's. if thou wilt redeem it, redeem it; but if thou wilt not redeem it, then tell me that i may know; for there is none to redeem it beside thee; and i am after thee. what day thou buyest the field of the hand of naomi, thou must buy it also of ruth, the wife of the dead, to raise up the name of the dead upon his inheritance."
-and the near kinsman said, "i cannot redeem it for myself, lest i mar mine own inheritance; take then my right of redemption on thee; for i cannot redeem it. buy it for thyself." and he drew off his shoe. and boaz called the elders to witness, saying,
-"ruth the moabitess, the wife of mahlon, have i purchased to be my wife, to raise up the name of the dead upon his inheritance, that the name of the dead be not cut off from among his brethren, and from the gate of his place."
-so boaz took ruth, and she became his wife.
-how anyone can read this charmingly told, frank, and realistic tale of ancient hebrew life and call it a love-story, passeth all understanding. there is not the slightest suggestion of love, either sensual or sentimental, on the part of either ruth or boaz. ruth, at the suggestion of her mother-in-law, spends a night in a way which would convict a christian widow, to say the least, of an utter lack of that modesty and coy reserve which are a woman's great charm, and which, even among the pastoral hebrews, cannot have been approved, inasmuch as boaz did not want it to be known that she had come to the threshing-floor. he praises ruth for following "not young men, whether rich or poor." she followed him, a wealthy old man. would love have acted thus? what she wanted was not a lover but a protector ("rest for thee that it may be well for thee," as naomi said frankly), and above all a son in order that her husband's name might not perish. boaz understands this as a matter of course; but so far is he, on his part, from being in love with ruth, that he offers her first to the other relative, and on his refusal, buys her for himself, without the least show of emotion indicating that he was doing anything but his duty. he was simply fulfilling the law of the levirate, as written in deuteronomy (25:5), ordaining that if a husband die without leaving a son his brother shall take the widow to him to wife and perform the duty of an husband's brother unto her; that is, to beget a son (the first-born) who shall succeed in the name of his dead brother, "that his name be not blotted out of israel." how very seriously the hebrews took this law is shown by the further injunction that if a brother refuses thus to perform his duty,
-"then the elders of his city shall call him, and speak unto him: and if he stand and say, i like not to take her; then shall his brother's wife come into him in the presence of the elders, and loose his shoe off his foot, and spit in his face; and she shall answer and say, so shall it be done unto the man that doth not build up his brother's house. and his name shall be called in israel, the house of him that hath his shoe loosed."
-onan was even slain for thus refusing to do his duty (gen. 38:8-10).
-no sympathy or sentiment
-a masculine ideal of womanhood
-there is every reason to conclude that these ancient jews, unlike many of their modern descendants, knew only the coarser phases of the instinct which draws man to woman. they knew not romantic love for the simple reason that they had not discovered the charm of refined femininity, or even recognized woman's right to exist for her own sake, and not merely as man's domestic servant and the mother of his sons. "thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee," eve was told in eden, and her male descendants administered that punishment zealously and persistently; whereas the same lack of gallantry which led adam to put all the blame on eve impelled his descendants to make the women share his part of the curse too--"in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread"; for they were obliged to do not only all the work in the house, but most of that in the fields, seething under a tropical sun. from this point of view the last chapter of the proverbs (31:10-31) is instructive. it is often referred to as a portrait of a perfect woman, but in reality it is little more than a picture of hebrew masculine selfishness. of the forty-five lines making up this chapter, nine are devoted to praise of the feminine virtues of fidelity to a husband, kindness to the needy, strength, dignity, wisdom, and fear of the lord; while the rest of the chapter goes to show that the hebrew woman indeed "eateth not the bread of idleness," and that the husband "shall have no lack of gain"--or spoil, as the alternative reading is:
-"she seeketh wool and flax and worketh willingly with her hands. she is like the merchant ships: she bringeth her food from afar. she riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and their task to the maidens. she considereth a field and buyeth it; with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard.... she perceiveth that her merchandise is profitable. her lamp goeth not out by night. she layeth her hands to the distaff, and her hands hold the spindle.... she maketh for herself carpets of tapestry.... she maketh linen garments and selleth them; and delivereth girdles unto the merchant."
-as for the husband, he "is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the elders of the land," which is an easy and pleasant thing to do; hardly in accordance with the curse the lord pronounced on adam and his male descendants. the wife being thus the maid of all work, as among indians and other primitive races, it is natural that the ancient hebrew ideal of femininity should he masculine: "she girdeth her loins with strength, and maketh strong her arms;" while the feminine charms are sneered at: "favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain."
-not the christian ideal of love
-not only feminine charms, but the highest feminine virtues are sometimes strangely, nay, shockingly disregarded, as in the story of lot (gen. 19:1-12), who, when besieged by the mob clamoring for the two men who had taken refuge in his house, went out and said:
-"i pray you, my brethren, do not so wickedly. behold now, i have two daughters which have not known man; let me, i pray you, bring them out unto you, and do ye to them as is good in your eyes; only unto these men do nothing, forasmuch as they are come under the shadow of my roof."
-and this man was saved, though his action was surely more villainous than the wickedness of the sodomites who were destroyed with brimstone and fire. in judges (19: 22-30) we read of a man offering his maiden daughter and his concubine to a mob to prevent an unnatural crime being committed against his guest: "seeing that this man is come into my house, do not this folly." this case is of extreme sociological importance as showing that notwithstanding the strict laws of moses (levit. 20: 10; deut. 22: 13-30) on sexual crimes, the law of hospitality seems to have been held more sacred than a father's regard for his daughter's honor. the story of abraham shows, too, that he did not hold his wife's honor in the same esteem as a modern christian does:
-"and it came to pass, when he was come near to enter into egypt, that he said unto sarai his wife, 'behold now, i know that thou art a fair woman to look upon; and it shall come to pass, when the egyptians shall see thee, that they shall say, this is his wife; and they will kill me, but they will save thee alive. say, i pray thee, thou art my sister; that it may be well with me for thy sake, and that my soul may live because of thee."
-and it happened as he had arranged. she was taken into pharaoh's house and he was treated well for her sake; and he had sheep, and oxen, and other presents. when he went to sojourn in gerar (gen. 20:1-15) abraham tried to repeat the same stratagem, taking refuge, when found out, in the double excuse that he was afraid he would be slain for his wife's sake, and that she really was his sister, the daughter of his father, but not the daughter of his mother. isaac followed his father's example in gerar:
-"the man of the place asked him of his wife; and he said, she is my sister: for he feared to say, my wife; lest (said he) the men of the place should kill me for rebekah; because she was fair to look upon."
-yet we were told that isaac loved rebekah. such is not christian love. the actions of abraham and isaac remind one of the blackfoot indian tale told on page 631 of this volume. an american army officer would not only lay down his own life, but shoot his wife with his own pistol before he would allow her to fall into the enemy's hands, because to him her honor is, of all things human, the most sacred.
-unchivalrous slaughter of women
-emotions are the product of actions or of ideas about actions. inasmuch as hebrew actions toward women and ideas about them were so radically different from ours it logically follows that they cannot have known the emotions of love as we know them. the only symptom of love referred to in the hebrew scriptures is amnon's getting lean from day to day and feigning sickness (ii. sam. 13: 1-22); and the story shows what kind of love that was. it would be contrary to all reason and psychological consistency to suppose that modern tenderness of romantic feeling toward women could have existed among a people whose greatest and wisest man could, for any reason whatever, chide a returning victorious army, as moses did (numbers 31: 9-19), for saving all the women alive, and could issue this command:
-"now, therefore, kill every male among the living ones, and kill every woman that hath known man by lying with him. but all the women children that have not known man by lying with him, keep alive for yourselves."
-the arabs were the first asiatics who spared women in war; the hebrews had not risen to that chivalrous stage of civilization. joshua (8:26) destroyed ai and slew 12,000, "both of men and women:" and in judges (21:10-12) we read how the congregation sent an army of 12,000 men and commanded them, saying,
-"go and smite the inhabitants of jabesh-gilead with the edge of the sword, with the women and the little ones. and this is the thing ye shall do; ye shall utterly destroy every male and every woman that hath lain by man."
-and they did so, sparing only the four hundred virgins. these were given to the tribe of benjamin, "that a tribe be not blotted out from israel;" and when it was found that more were needed they lay in wait in the vineyards, and when the daughters of shiloh came out to dance, they caught them and carried them off as their wives; whence we see that these hebrews had not advanced beyond the low stage of evolution, when wives are secured by capture or killed after battle. among such seek not for romantic love.
-four more bible stories
-dr. trumbull's opinion has already been cited that there are certainly "gleams of romantic love from out of the clouds of degraded human passions in the ancient east," in the stories of shechem and dinah, samson and the damsel of timnah, david and abigail, adonijah and abishag. but i fail to find even "gleams" of romantic love in these stories. shechem said he loved dinah, the daughter of jacob and leah, but he humbled her and dealt with her "as with an harlot," as her brothers said after they had slain him for his conduct toward her. concerning samson and the timnah girl we are simply told that he saw her and told his father, "get her for me; for she pleaseth me well" (literally, "she is right in my eyes"). and this is evidence of romantic love! as for abigail, after her husband has refused to feed david's shepherds, and david has made up his mind therefore to slay him and his offspring, she takes provisions and meets david and induces him not to commit that crime; she does this not from love for her husband, for when david has received her presents he says to her, "see, i have hearkened to thy voice, and have accepted thy person." ten days later, abigail's husband died, and when david heard of it he
-"sent and spake concerning abigail, to take her to him to wife.... and she rose and bowed herself with her face to the earth, and said, behold, thine handmaid is a servant to wash the feet of the servants of my lord. and abigail, hasted, and arose, and rode upon an ass, with five damsels of hers that followed her; and she went after the messengers of david, and became his wife."
-and as if to emphasize how utterly unsentimental and un-christian a transaction this was, the next sentence tells us that "david also took ahinoam of jezreel; and they became both of them his wives."
-abishag the shunammite
-the last of the stories referred to by dr. trumbull, though as far from proving his point as the others, is of peculiar interest because it introduces us to the maiden who is believed by some commentators to be the same as the shulamite, the heroine of the song of songs. after solomon had become king his elder brother, adonijah, went to the mother of solomon, bath-sheba, and said:
-"thou knowest thy kingdom was mine, and that all israel set their faces on me, that i should reign: howbeit the kingdom is turned about, and is become my brother's: for it was his from the lord. and now i ask one petition of thee, deny me not.... speak, i pray thee, unto solomon the king (for he will not say thee nay) that he give me abishag the shunammite to wife."
-but when solomon heard this request he declared that adonijah had spoken that word against his own life; and he sent a man who fell on him and killed him.
-who was this abishag, the shunammite? the opening lines of the first book of kings tell us how she came to the court:
-"now king david was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat. wherefore his servants said unto him, let there be sought for my lord the king, a young virgin, and let her stand before the king and cherish him; and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat. so they sought for a fair damsel throughout all the coasts of israel, and found abishag the shunammite, and brought her to the king. and the damsel was very fair; and she cherished the king, and ministered to him; but the king knew her not."
-the song of songs
-now it is plausibly conjectured that this abishag of shunam or shulam (a town north of jerusalem) was the same as the shulamite of the song of songs, and that in the lines 6:11-12 she tells how she was kidnapped and brought to court.
-"tell me, o thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest thy flock." "my beloved is unto me as a cluster of henna flowers in the vineyards of en-gedi." "behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea pleasant: also our couch is green." "as the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. i sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste." "the voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh, leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills." "my beloved is mine, and i am his: he feedeth his flock among the lilies," "come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field, let us lodge in the villages. let us get up early to the vineyards.... there will i give thee my love."
-the home-sick country girl, in a word, has found out that the splendors of the palace are not to her taste, and the thought of being a young shepherd's darling is pleasanter to her than that of being an old king's concubine. the polygamous rapture with which solomon addresses her: "there are three-score queens and four-score concubines, and maidens without number," does not appeal to her rural taste. she has no desire to be the hundred and forty-first piece of mosaic inlaid in solomon's palanquin (iii., 9-10), and she stubbornly resists his advances until, impressed by her firmness, and unwilling to force her, the king allows her to return to her vineyard and her lover.
-"he was probably one of the worst sinners described in the old testament. with its usual truth and fearlessness, the scriptures expose his real character, and by the later prophets and by jesus he is ignored or referred to only in rebuke."
-the contempt and hatred inspired by his actions were especially vivid shortly after his death, when the song of songs is believed to have been written (renan, 97); and, as this author remarks (100),
-"the poet seems to have been animated by a real spite against the king; the establishment of a harem, in particular, appears to incense him greatly, and he takes evident pleasure in showing us a simple shepherd girl triumphing over the presumptuous sultan who thinks he can buy love, like everything else, with his gold."
-that this is intended to be the moral of this biblical drama is further shown by the famous lines near the close:
-these lines constitute the last of the passages cited by my critics to prove that the ancient hebrews knew romantic love and its power. they doubtless did know the power of love; all the ancient civilized nations knew it as a violent sensual impulse which blindly sacrifices life to attain its object. the ancient hindoos embodied their idea of irresistible power in the force and fury of an amorous elephant. among animals in general, love is even stronger than death. male animals of most species engage in deadly combat for the females. "for most insects," says letourneau, "to love and to die are almost synonymous terms, and yet they do not even try to resist the amorous frenzy that urges them on." yet no one would dream of calling this romantic love; from that it differs as widely as the insect mind in general differs from the human mind. waters cannot quench any kind of love or affection nor floods drown it. what we are seeking for are actions or words describing the specific symptoms of sentimental love, and these are not to be found in this passage any more than elsewhere in the bible. an old man may buy a girl's body, but he cannot, with all his wealth and splendor, awaken her love, either sentimental or sensual; love, whatever its nature, will always prefer the apple-tree and the shepherd lover to the vain desires and a thousand times divided attentions of a decrepit king, though he be a solomon.
-supersensual charms are not alluded to in the song of songs, for the simple reason that orientals never did, and do not now, care for such charms in women or cultivate them. they know love only as an appetite, and in accordance with oriental taste and custom the song of songs compares it always to things that are good to eat or drink or smell. hence such ecstatic expressions as "how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all manner of spices!" hence her declaration that her beloved is
-"as the apple-tree among the trees of the wood.... i sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.... stay ye me with raisins, comfort me with apples: for i am sick of love. his left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me."
-hence the shepherd's description of his love: "i am come into the garden, my sister, my bride: i have gathered my myrrh with my spice: i have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; i have drunk my wine with my milk."
-modern love does not express itself in such terms; it is more mental and sentimental, more esthetic and sympathetic, more decorous and delicate, more refined and supersensual. while it is possible that, as renan suggests (143), the author of the canticles conceived his heroine as a saint of her time, rising above sordid reality, it is clear from all we have said that the author himself was not able to rise above orientalism. the manners of the east, both ancient and modern, are incompatible with romantic love, because they suppress the evolution of feminine refinement and sexual mentality. the documents of the hebrews, like those of the hindoos and persians, greeks, and romans, prove that tender, refined, and unselfish affection between the sexes, far from being one of the first shoots of civilization, is its last and most beautiful flower.
-greek love-stories and poems
-the most obstinate disbeliever in the doctrine that romantic love, instead of being one of the earliest products of civilization, is one of the latest, will have to capitulate if it can be shown that even the greeks, the most cultivated and refined nation of antiquity, knew it only in its sensual and selfish side, which is not true love, but self-love. in reality i have already shown this to be the case incidentally in the sections in which i have traced the evolution of the fourteen ingredients of love. in the present chapter, therefore, we may confine ourselves chiefly to a consideration of the stories and poems which have fostered the belief i am combating. but first we must hear what the champions of the greeks have to say in their behalf.
-champions of greek love
-professor rohde declares emphatically (70) that "no one would be so foolish as to doubt the existence of pure and strong love" among the ancient greeks. another eminent german scholar, professor ebers, sneers at the idea that the greeks were not familiar with the love we know and celebrate. having been criticised for making the lovers in his ancient historic romances act and talk and express their feelings precisely as modern lovers in berlin or leipsic do, he wrote for the second edition of his egyptian princess a preface in which he tries to defend his position. he admits that he did, perhaps, after all, put too warm colors on his canvas, and frankly confesses that when he examined in the sunshine what he had written by lamplight, he made up his mind to destroy his love-scenes, but was prevented by a friend. he admits, too, that christianity refined the relations between the sexes; yet he thinks it "quite conceivable that a greek heart should have felt as tenderly, as longingly as a christian heart," and he refers to a number of romantic stories invented by the greeks as proof that they knew love in our sense of the word--such stories as apuleius's cupid and psyche, homer's portrait of penelope, xenophon's tale of panthea and abradates.
-"can we assume even the gallantry of love to have been unknown in a country where the hair of a queen, berenice, was transferred as a constellation to the skies; or can devotion to love be doubted in the case of peoples who, for the sake of a beautiful woman, wage terrible wars with bitter pertinacity?"
-hegel's episodic suggestion referred to in our first chapter regarding the absence of romantic love in ancient greek literature having thus failed to convince even his own countrymen, it was natural that my revival of that suggestion, as a detail of my general theory of the evolution of love, should have aroused a chorus of critical dissent. commenting on my assertion that there are no stories of romantic love in greek literature, an editorial writer in the london daily news exclaimed: "why, it would be less wild to remark that the greeks had nothing but love-stories." after referring to the stories of orpheus and eurydice, meleager and atalanta, alcyone and ceyx, cephalus and procris, the writer adds,
-"it is no exaggeration to say that any school-girl could tell mr. finck a dozen others." "the greeks were human beings, and had the sentiments of human beings, which really vary but little...."
-the new york mail and express also devoted an editorial article to my book, in which it remarked that if romantic love is, as i claim, an exclusively modern sentiment,
-"daphnis and chloe," wrote a new haven critic, "is one of the most idyllic love-stories ever written." "the love story of hero and leander upsets this author's theory completely," said a rochester reviewer, while a st. louis critic declared boldly that "in the pages of achilles tatius and theodorus, inventors of the modern novel, the young men and maidens loved as romantically as in miss evans's latest." a boston censor pronounced my theory "simply absurd," adding:
-"mr. finck's reading, wide as it is, is not wide enough; for had he read the alexandrian poets, theoeritus especially, or behr a'adin among the arabs, to speak of no others, he could not possibly have had courage left to maintain his theory; and with him, really, it seems more a matter of courage than of facts, notwithstanding his evident training in a scientific atmosphere."
-gladstone on the women of homer
-the divers specifications of my ignorance and stupidity contained in the foregoing criticisms will be attended to in their proper place in the chronological order of the present chapter, which naturally begins with homer's epics, as nothing definite is known of greek literature before them. homer is now recognized as the first poet of antiquity, not only in the order of time; but it took europe many centuries to discover that fact. during the middle ages the second-rate virgil was held to be a much greater genius than homer, and it was in england, as professor christ notes (69), that the truer estimate originated. pope's translation of the homeric poems, with all its faults, helped to dispel the mists of ignorance, and in 1775 appeared robert wood's book, on the original genius and writings of homer, which combated the foolish prejudice against the poet, due to the coarseness of the manners he depicts. wood admits (161) that "most of homer's heroes would, in the present age, be capitally convicted, in any country in europe, on the poet's evidence;" but this, he explains, does not detract from the greatness of homer, who, upon an impartial view, "will appear to excel his own state of society, in point of decency and delicacy, as much as he has surpassed more polished ages in point of genius."
-in this judicious discrimination between the genius of homer and the realistic coarseness of his heroes, wood forms an agreeable contrast to many modern homeric scholars, notably the rt. hon. w.e. gladstone, who, having made this poet his hobby, tried to persuade himself and his readers that nearly everything relating not only to homer, but to the characters he depicts, was next door to perfection. confining ourselves to the topic that concerns us here, we read, in his studies on homer (ii., 502), that "we find throughout the poems those signs of the overpowering force of conjugal attachments which ... we might expect." and in his shorter treatise on homer he thus sums up his views as to the position and estimate of woman in the heroic age, as revealed in homer's female characters:
-only a careful student of homer can quite realize the diplomatic astuteness which inspired this sketch of homeric morals. its amazing sophistry can, however, be made apparent even to one who has never read the iliad and the odyssey.
-achilles as a lover
-"were i to yield to you in everything.... but this let me say--never shall i lift my arm to strive for the girl either with you or any other man; you gave her, you can take her. but of all else, by the dark ship, that belongs to me, thereof you shall not take anything against my will. do that and all shall see your black blood trickle down my spear."
-having made this "uncowardly," chivalrous, and romantic distinction between his two kinds of property--yielding briseis, but threatening murder if aught else belonging to him be touched--achilles goes and orders his friend patroclus to take the young woman from the tent and give her to the king. she leaves her paramour--her husband's and brothers' murderer--unwillingly, and he sits down and weeps--why? because, as he tells his mother, he has been insulted by agamemnon, who has taken away his prize of honor. from that moment achilles refuses to join the assemblies, or take a part in the battles, thus bringing "woes innumerable" on his countrymen. he refuses to yield even after agamemnon, alarmed by his reverses, seeks to conciliate him by offering him gold and horses and women in abundance; telling him he shall have back his briseis, whom the king swears he has never touched, and, besides her, seven lesbian women of more than human beauty; also, the choice of twenty trojan women as soon as the city capitulates; and, in addition to these, one of the three princesses, his own daughters--twenty-nine women in all!
-must not a hero who so stubbornly and wrathfully resented the seizure of his concubine have been deeply in love with her? he himself remarks to odysseus, who comes to attempt a reconciliation (ix., 340-44):
-"do the sons of atreus alone of mortal men love their bedfellows? every man who is good and sensible loves his concubine and cares for her as i too love mine with all my heart, though but the captive of my spear."
-nor is this all. when we examine what the achilles of homer means by the fine phrase "every man loves his bedfellow as i love mine," we come across a grotesque parody even of sensual infatuation, not to speak of romantic love. if achilles had been animated by the strong individual preference which sometimes results even from animal passion, he would not have told agamemnon, "take briseis, but don't you dare to touch any of my other property or i will smash your skull." if he had been what we understand by a lover, he would not have been represented by the poet, after briseis was taken away from him, as having "his heart consumed by grief" because "he yearned for the battle." he would, instead, have yearned for the girl. and when agamemnon offered to give her back untouched, achilles, had he been a real lover, would have thrown pride and wrath to the winds and accepted the offer with eagerness and alacrity.
-and if any further detail were needed to prove how utterly shallow, selfish, and sensual was his "love" of briseis, we should find it a few lines later (663) where the poet naïvely tells us, as a matter of course, that
-"achilles slept in the innermost part of the tent and by his side lay a beautiful-cheeked woman, whom he had brought from lesbos. on the other side lay patroclus with the fair isis by his side, the gift of achilles."
-obviously even individual preference was not a strong ingredient in the "love" of these "heroes," and we may well share the significant surprise of ajax (638) that achilles should persist in his wrath when seven girls were offered him for one. evidently the tent of achilles, like that of agamemnon, was full of women (in line 366 he especially refers to his assortment of "fair-girdled women" whom he expects to take home when the war is over); yet gladstone had the audacity to write that though concubinage prevailed in the camp before troy, it was "only single concubinage." in his larger treatise he goes so far as to apologize for these ruffians--who captured and traded off women as they would horses or cows--on the ground that they were away from their wives and were indulging in the "mildest and least licentious" of all forms of adultery! yet gladstone was personally one of the purest and noblest of men. strange what somersaults a hobby ridden too hard may induce a man to make in his ethical attitude!
-odysseus, libertine and ruffian
-if we now turn from the hero of the iliad to the hero of the odyssey, we find the same gladstone declaring (ii., 502) that "while admitting the superior beauty of calypso as an immortal, ulysses frankly owns to her that his heart is pining every day for penelope;" and in the shorter treatise he goes so far as to say (131), that
-"the subject of the odyssey gives homer the opportunity of setting forth the domestic character of odysseus, in his profound attachment to wife, child, and home, in such a way as to adorn not only the hero, but his age and race."
-the "profound attachment" of odysseus to his wife may be gauged in the first place by the fact that he voluntarily remained away from her ten years, fighting to recover, for another king, a worthless, adulterous wench. before leaving on this expedition, from which he feared he might never return, he spoke to his wife, as she herself relates (xviii., 269), begging her to be mindful of his father and mother, "and when you see our son a bearded man, then marry whom you will, and leave the house now yours"--namely for the benefit of the son, for whose welfare he was thus more concerned than for a monopoly of his wife's love.
-while thus permitting himself the unrestrained indulgence of his passions, without a thought of his wife, odysseus has the barbarian's stern notions regarding the duties of women who belong to him. there are fifty young women in his palace at home who ply their hard tasks and bear the servant's lot. twelve of these, having no one to marry, yield to the temptations of the rich princes who sue for the hand of penelope in the absence of her husband.
-ulysses, on his return, hears of this, and forthwith takes measures to ascertain who the guilty ones are. then he tells his son telemachus and the swineherd and neatherd to
-"go and lead forth these serving-maids out of the stately hall to a spot between the roundhouse and the neat courtyard wall, and smite them with your long swords till you take life from all, so that they may forget their secret amours with the suitors."
-the "discreet" telemachus carried out these orders, leading the maids to a place whence there was no escape and exclaiming:
-"'by no honorable death would i take away the lives of those who poured reproaches on my head and on my mother, and lay beside the suitors.'"
-"he spoke and tied the cable of a dark-bowed ship to a great pillar, then lashed it to the roundhouse, stretching it high across, too high for one to touch the feet upon the ground. and as the wide-winged thrushes or the doves strike on a net set in the bushes; and when they think to go to roost a cruel bed receives them; even so the women held their heads in line, and around every neck a noose was laid that they might die most vilely. they twitched their feet a little, but not long."
-was penelope a model wife?
-if the real odysseus, unprincipled, unchivalrous, and cruel, is anything but a hero who "adorns his age and race," must it not be conceded, at any rate, that "the unwearied fidelity of penelope, awaiting through the long revolving years the return of her storm-tossed husband," presents, as lecky declares (ii., 279), and as is commonly supposed, a picture of perennial beauty "which rome and christendom, chivalry and modern civilization, have neither eclipsed nor transcended?"
-we have seen that the fine words of achilles regarding his "love" of briseis are, when confronted with his actions, reduced to empty verbiage. the same result is reached in the case of penelope, if we subject her actions and motives to a searching critical analysis. ostensibly, indeed, she is set up as a model of that feminine constancy which men at all times have insisted on while they themselves preferred to be models of inconstancy. as usual in such cases, the feminine model is painted with touches of almost grotesque exaggeration. after the return of odysseus penelope informed her nurse (xxiii., 18) that she has not slept soundly all this time--twenty years! such phrases, too, are used as "longing for odysseus, i waste my heart away," or "may i go to my dread grave seeing odysseus still, and never gladden heart of meaner husband." but they are mere phrases. the truth about her attitude and her-feelings is told frankly in several places by three different persons--the goddess of wisdom, telemachus, and penelope herself. athene urges telemachus to make haste that he may find his blameless mother still at home instead of the bride of one of the suitors.
-in the next book (73-77) telemachus says to the swineherd:
-"moreover my mother's feeling wavers, whether to bide beside me here and keep the house, and thus revere her husband's bed and heed the public voice, or finally to follow some chief of the achaians who woos her in the hall with largest gifts."
-and a little later (126) he exclaims, "she neither declines the hated suit nor has she power to end it, while they with feasting impoverish my home."
-these words of telcinachus are endorsed in full by penelope herself, whose remarks (xix., 524-35) to the disguised odysseus give us the key to the whole situation and explain why she lies abed so much weeping and not knowing what to do.
-" ... so does my doubtful heart toss to and fro whether to bide beside my son and keep all here in safety--my goods, my maids, and my great high-roofed house--and thus revere my husband and heed the public voice, or finally to follow some chief of the achaiians who woos me in my hall with countless gifts. my son, while but a child and slack of understanding, did not permit my marrying and departing from my husband's home; but now that he is grown and come to man's estate, he prays me to go home again and leave the hall, so troubled is he for that substance which the achaiians waste."
-if these words mean anything, they mean that what kept penelope from marrying again was not affection for her husband but the desire to live up to the demands of "the public voice" and the fact that her son--who, according to greek usage, was her master--would not permit her to do so. this, then, was the cause of that proverbial constancy! but a darker shadow still is cast on her much-vaunted affection by her cold and suspicious reception of her husband on his return. while the dog recognized him at once and the swineherd was overjoyed, she, the wife, held him aloof, fearing that he might be some man who had come to cheat her! at first odysseus thought she scorned him because he "was foul and dressed in sorry clothes;" but even after he had bathed and put on his princely attire she refused to embrace him, because she wished to "prove her husband!" no wonder that her son declared that her "heart is always harder than a stone," and that odysseus himself thus accosts her:
-"lady, a heart impenetrable beyond the sex of women the dwellers on olympus gave you. there is no other woman of such stubborn spirit to stand off from the husband who, after many grievous toils, came in the twentieth year home to his native land. come then, good nurse, and make my bed, that i may lie alone. for certainly of iron is the heart within her breast."
-hector and andromache
-a much closer approximation to the modern ideal of conjugal love than the attachment between odysseus and penelope with the "heart of iron," may be found in the scene describing hector's leave-taking of andromache before he goes out to fight the greeks, fearing he may never return. the serving-women inform him that his wife, hearing that the trojans were hard pressed, had gone in haste to the wall, like unto one frenzied. he goes to find her and when he arrives at the skaian gates, she comes running to meet him, together with the nurse, who holds his infant boy on her bosom. andromache weeps, recalls to his mind that she had lost her father, mother, and seven brothers, wherefore he is to her a father, mother, brothers, as well as a husband. "have pity and abide here upon the tower, lest thou make thy child an orphan and thy wife a widow." though hector cannot think of shrinking from battle like a coward, he declared that her fate, should the city fall and he be slain, troubles him more than that of his father, mother, and brothers--the fate of being led into captivity and slavery by a greek, doomed to carry water and to be pointed at as the former wife of the brave hector. he expresses the wish that his boy--who at first is frightened by the horse-hair crest on his helmet--may become greater than his father, bringing with him blood-stained spoils from the enemy he has slain, and gladdening his mother's heart; then caressing his wife with his hand, he begs her not to sorrow overmuch, but to go to her house and see to her own tasks, the loom and the distaff. thus he spake, and she departed for her home, oft looking back and letting fall big tears.
-this scene, which takes up four pages of the iliad (vi., 370-502), is the most touching, the most inspired, the most sentimental and modern passage not only in the homeric poems, but in all greek literature. benecke has aptly remarked (10) that the relation between hector and andromache is unparalleled in that literature; and he adds:
-"at the same time, how little really sympathetic to the greek of the period was this wonderful and unique passage is sufficiently shown by this very fact, that no attempt was ever made to imitate or develop it. it may sound strange to say so, but in all probability we to-day understand andromache better than did the greeks, for whom she was created; better, too, perhaps than did her creator himself."
-benecke should have written hector in place of andromache. there was no difficulty, even for a greek, in understanding andromache. she had every reason, even from a purely selfish point of view, to dread hector's battling with the savage greeks; for while he lived she was a princess, with all the comforts of life, whereas his fall and the fall of troy meant her enslavement and a life of misery. what makes the scene in question so modern is the attitude of hector--his dividing his caresses equally between his wife and his son, and assuring her that he is more troubled about her fate and anguish than about what may befall his father, mother, and brothers. that is an utterly un-greek sentiment, and that is the reason why the passage was not imitated. it was not a realistic scene from life, but a mere product of homer's imagination and glowing genius--like the pathetic scene in which odysseus wipes away a tear on noting that his faithful dog argos recognized him and wagged his tail. it is extremely improbable that a man who could behave so cruelly toward women as odysseus did could have thus sympathized with a dog.
-certainly no one else did, not even his "faithful" penelope. as long as argos was useful in the chase, the poet tells us, he was well taken care of; but now that he was old, he "lay neglected upon a pile of dung," doomed to starve, for he had not strength to move. homer alone, with the prophetic insight of a genius, could have conceived such a touch of modern sentiment toward animals, so utterly foreign to ancient ideas; and he alone could have put such a sentiment of wife-love into the mouth of the trojan hector--a barbarian whose ideal of manliness and greatness consisted in "bringing home blood-stained spoils of the enemy."
-barbarous treatment of greek women
-it seems like a touch of sarcasm that homer incarnates his isolated and un-greek ideal of devotion to a wife in a trojan, as if to indicate that it must not be accepted as a touch of greek life. from our point of view it is a stroke of genius. on the other hand it is obvious that attributing such a sentiment to a trojan likewise cannot be anything but a poetic license; for these trojans were quite as piratical, coarse, licentious, and polygamous as the greeks, hector's own father having had fifty children, nineteen of whom were borne by his wife, thirty-one by various concubines. many pages of the iliad bear witness to the savage ferocity of greeks and trojans alike--a ferocity utterly incompatible with such tender emotions as homer himself was able to conceive in his imagination. the ferocity of achilles is typical of the feelings of these heroes. not content with slaughtering an enemy who meets him in honorable battle, defending his wife and home, he thrust thongs of ox-hide through the prostrate hector's feet, bound him to his chariot, lashed his horses to speed, and dragged him about in sight of the wailing wife and parents of his victim. this he repeated several times, aggravating the atrocity a hundredfold by his intention--in spite of the piteous entreaties of the dying hector--to throw his corpse to be eaten by the dogs, thus depriving even his spirit of rest, and his family of religious consolation. nay, achilles expresses the savage wish that his rage might lead him so far as to carve and eat raw hector's flesh. the homeric "hero," in short, is almost on a level in cruelty with the red indian.
-penelope was a queen, but was very far from being treated like one. gladstone found "the strongest evidence of the respect in which women were held" in the fact that the suitors stopped short of violence to her person! they did everything but that, making themselves at home in her house, unbidden and hated guests, debauching her maidservants, and consuming her provisions by wholesale. but her own son's attitude is hardly less disrespectful and insulting than that of the ungallant, impertinent suitors. he repeatedly tells his mother to mind her own business--the loom and the distaff--leaving words for men; and each time the poet recommends this rude, unfilial speech as a "wise saying" which the queen humbly "lays to heart." his love of property far exceeds his love of his mother, for as soon as he is grown up he begs her to go home and get married again, "so troubled is he for the substance which the suitors waste." he urges her at last to "marry whom she will," offering as an extra inducement "countless gifts" if she will only go.
-the early greeks were always fighting, and the object of their wars, as among the australian savages, was usually woman, as achilles frankly informs us when he speaks of having laid waste twelve cities and passed through many bloody days of battle, "warring with folk for their women's sake." (iliad, ix., 327.) nestor admonishes the greeks to "let no man hasten to depart home till each have lain by some trojan's wife" (354-55). the leader of the greek forces issues this command regarding the trojans:
-"of them let not one escape sheer estruction at our hands, not even the man-child that the mother beareth in her womb; let not even him escape, but all perish together out of ilios, uncared for and unknown" (vi., 57);
-while homer, with consummate art, paints for us the terrors of a captured city, showing how the women--of all classes--were maltreated:
-love in sappho's poems
-having failed to find any traces of romantic love, and only one of conjugal affection, in the greatest poet of the greeks, let us now subject their greatest poetess to a critical examination.
-sappho undoubtedly had the divine spark. she may have possibly deserved the epithet of the "tenth muse," bestowed on her by ancient writers, or of "the poetess," as homer was "the poet." among the one hundred and seventy fragments preserved some are of great beauty--the following, for example, which is as delightful as a japanese poem and in much the same style--suggesting a picture in a few words, with the distinctness of a painting:
-"now love masters my limbs, and shakes me, fatal creature, bitter-sweet." "now eros shakes my soul, a wind on the mountain falling on the oaks." "sleep thou in the bosom of thy tender girl-friend." "sweet mother, i cannot weave my web, broken as i am by longing for a maiden, at soft aphrodite's will." "for thee there was no other girl, bridegroom, like her."
-"that man seems to me peer of gods, who sits in thy presence, and hears close to him thy sweet speech and lovely laughter; that indeed makes my heart flutter in my bosom. for when i see thee but a little i have no utterance left, my tongue is broken down, and straightway a subtle fire has run under my skin, with my eyes i have no sight, my ears ring, sweat bathes me, and a trembling seizes all my body; i am paler than grass, and seem in my madness little better than one dead. but i must dare all, since one so poor ..."
-the platonist longinus (third century) said that this ode was "not one passion, but a congress of passions," and declared it the most perfect expression in all ancient literature of the effects of love. a greek physician is said to have copied it into his book of diagnoses "as a compendium of all the symptoms of corroding emotion." f.b. jevons, in his history of greek literature (139), speaks of the "marvellous fidelity in her representation of the passion of love." long before him addison had written in the spectator (no. 223) that sappho "felt the passion in all its warmth, and described it in all its symptoms." theodore watts wrote: "never before these songs were sung, and never since, did the human soul, in the grip of a fiery passion, utter a cry like hers." that amazing prodigal of superlatives, the poet swinburne, speaks of the
-"dignity of divinity, which informs the most passionate and piteous notes of the unapproachable poetess with such grandeur as would seem impossible to such passion."
-and j.a. symonds assures us that "nowhere, except, perhaps, in some persian or provençal love-songs, can be found more ardent expressions of overmastering passion."
-i have read this poem a score of times, in greek, in the latin version of catullus, and in english, german, and french translations. the more i read it and compare with it the eulogies just quoted, the more i marvel at the power of cant and conventionality in criticism and opinion, and at the amazing current ignorance in regard to the psychology of love and of the emotions in general. i have made a long and minute study of the symptoms of love, in myself and in others; i have found that the torments of doubt and the loss of sleep may make a lover "paler than grass"; that his heart is apt to "flutter in his bosom," and his tongue to be embarrassed in presence of the beloved; but when sappho speaks of a lover bathed in sweat, of becoming blind, deaf, and dumb, trembling all over, and little better than one dead, she indulges in exaggeration which is neither true to life nor poetic.
-an amusing experiment may be made with reference to this famous poem. suppose you say to a friend:
-"a woman was walking in the woods when she saw something that made her turn pale as a sheet; her heart fluttered, her ears rang, her tongue was paralyzed, a cold sweat covered her, she trembled all over and looked as if she would faint and die: what did she see?"
-the chances are ten to one that your friend will answer "a bear!" in truth, sappho's famous "symptoms of love" are laughably like the symptoms of fear which we find described in the books of bain, darwin, mosso, and others--"a cold sweat," "deadly pallor," "voice becoming husky or failing altogether," "heart beating violently," "dizziness which will blind him," "trembling of all the muscles of the body," "a fainting fit." nor is fear the only emotion that can produce these symptoms. almost any strong passion, anger, extreme agony or joy, may cause them; so that what sappho described was not love in particular, but the physiologic effects of violent emotions in general. i am glad that the greek physician who copied her poem into his book of diagnoses is not my family doctor.
-sappho's love-poems are not psychologic but purely physiologic. of the imaginative, sentimental, esthetic, moral, altruistic, sympathetic, affectional symptoms of what we know as romantic love they do not give us the faintest hint. hegel remarked truly that "in the odes of sappho the language of love rises indeed to the point of lyrical inspiration, yet what she reveals is rather the slow consuming flame of the blood than the inwardness of the subjective heart and soul." nor was byron deceived: "i don't think sappho's ode a good example." the historian bender had an inkling of the truth when he wrote (183):
-"to us who are accustomed to spiritualized love-lyrics after the style of geibel's this erotic song of sappho may seem too glowing, too violent; but we must not forget that love was conceived by the greeks altogether in a less spiritual manner than we demand that it should be."
-that is it precisely. these greek love-poems do not depict romantic love but sensual passion. nor is this the worst of it. sappho's absurdly overrated love-poems are not even good descriptions of normal sensual passion. i have just said that they are purely physiologic; but that is too much praise for them. the word physiologic implies something healthy and normal, but sappho's poems are not healthy and normal; they are abnormal, they are pathologic. had they been written by a man, this would not be the case; but sappho was a woman, and her famous ode is addressed to a woman. a woman, too, is referred to in her famous hymn to venus in these lines, as translated by wharton:
-"what beauty now wouldst thou draw to love thee? who wrongs thee, sappho? for even if she flies, she shall soon follow, and if she rejects gifts shall yet give, and if she loves not shall soon love, however loth."
-in the five fragments above quoted there are also two at least which refer to girls. now i have not the slightest desire to discuss the moral character of sappho or the vices of her lesbian countrywomen. she had a bad reputation among the romans as well as the greeks, and it is a fact that in the year 1073 her poems were burnt at rome and constantinople, "as being," in the words of professor gilbert murray, "too much for the shaky morals of the time." another recent writer, professor peck of columbia university, says that
-"it is difficult to read the fragments which remain of her verse without being forced to come to the conclusion that a woman who could write such poetry could not be the pure woman that her modern apologists would have her."
-the following lament alone would prove this:
-masculine minds in female bodies
-anacreon and others
-there is considerable uncertainty regarding the dates of the earliest greek poets. by dint of ingenious conjectures and combinations philologists have reached the conclusion that the homeric poems, with their interpolations, originated between the dates 850 and 720 b.c.--say 2700 years ago. hesiod probably flourished near the end of the seventh century, to which archilochus and alcman belong, while in the sixth and fifth centuries a number of names appear--little more than names, it is true, since of most of them fragments only have come down to us--alcaeus, mimnermus, theognis, sappho, stesichorus, anacreon, ibycus, bacchylides, pindar, and others. best known of all these, as a poet of love, is anacreon, though in his case no one has been so foolish as to claim that the love described in his poems (or those of his imitators) is ever supersensual. professor anthon has aptly characterized him as "an amusing voluptuary and an elegant profligate," and hegel pointed out the superficiality of anacreontic love, in which there is no conception of the tremendous importance to a lover of having this or that particular girl and no other, or what i have called individual preference. benecke puts this graphically when he remarks (25) regarding mimnermus: "'what is life without love?' he says; he does not say, 'what is life without your love?'" even in sappho, i may add here, in spite of the seeming violence of her passion, this quality of individual preference is really lacking or weak, for she is constantly transferring her attention from one girl to another. and as sappho's poems are addressed to girls, so are anacreon's and those of the other poets named, to boys, in most cases. the following, preserved by athenaeus (xiii., 564d), is a good specimen:
-such a poem, even if addressed properly, would indicate nothing more than simple admiration and a longing which is specified in the following:
-it would hardly be worth while, even if the limitations of space permitted, to subject the fragments of the other poets of this period to analysis. the reader has the key in his hands now--the altruistic and supersensual ingredients of love pointed out in this volume; and if he can find those ingredients in any of these poems, he will be luckier than i have been. we may therefore pass on to the great tragic poets of the sixth and fifth centuries b.c.
-woman and love in aeschylus
-an apparent exception seems at first sight to exist in the cordial reception clytaemnestra accords to her husband, king agamemnon, when he returns from the trojan war. she calls the day of his return the most joyous of her life, asserts her complete fidelity to him during his long absence, declares she is not ashamed to tell her fond feelings for her spouse in public, and adds that she has wept for him till the gushing fountains of her eyes have been exhausted. indeed, she goes so far in her homage that agamemnon protests and exclaims, "pamper me not after the fashion of women, nor as though i were a barbaric monarch.... i bid thee reverence me as a man, not a god." but ere long we discover (as in the case of achilles), that all this fine talk of clytaemnestra is mere verbiage, and worse--deadly hypocrisy. in reality she has been living with a paramour, and the genuineness and intensity of her "fond feelings" for her husband may be inferred from the fact that hardly has he returned when she makes a murderous assault on him by throwing an artfully woven circular garment over him, while he is taking a bath, and smiting him till he falls dead. "and i glory in the deed" she afterwards declares, adding that it "has long since been meditated."
-agamemnon, for his part, not only brought back with him from troy a new concubine, cassandra, and installed her in his home with the usual greek indifference to the feelings of his legitimate wife, but he really was no better than his murderous wife, since he had been willing to kill her daughter and his own, iphigenia, to please his brother, curb a storm, and expedite the trojan war. in the words of the chorus,
-"thus he dared to become the sacrificer of his daughter to promote a war undertaken for the avenging of a woman, and as a first offering for the fleet: and the chieftains, eager for the fight, set at naught her supplications and her cries to her father, and her maiden age. but after prayer her father bade the ministering priests with all zeal, to lift, like a kid, high above the altar, her who lay prostrate wrapped in her robes, and to put a check upon her beauteous mouth, a voice of curses upon the house, by force of muzzles and strength which allowed no vent to her cry."
-the barbarous sacrifice of an innocent maiden is of course a myth, but it is a myth which doubtless had many counterparts in greek life. aeschylus did not live so very long after homer, and in his age it was still a favorite pastime of the greeks to ravage cities, a process of which aeschylus gives us a vivid picture in a few lines, in his seven against thebes:
-"and for its women to be dragged away captives, alas! alas! both the young and the aged, like horses by their hair, while their vestments are rent about their persons. and the emptied city cries aloud, while its booty is wasted amid confused clamors.... and the cries of children at the breast all bloody resound, and there is rapine, sister of pell-mell confusion ... and young female slaves have new sorrows ... so that they hope for life's gloomy close to come, a guardian against these all-mournful sorrows."
-for women of rank alone is there any consideration--so long as they are not among the captives; yet even queens are not honored as women, but only as queens, that is, as the mothers or wives of kings. in the persians the chorus salutes atossa in terms every one of which emphasizes this point: "o queen, supreme of persia's deep-waisted matrons, aged mother of xerxes, hail to thee! spouse to darius, consort of the persians, god and mother of a god thou art," while clytaemnestra is saluted by the chorus in agamemnon in these words: "i have came revering thy majesty, clytaemnestra; for it is right to honor the consort of a chieftain hero, when the monarch's throne has been left empty."
-we read in these plays of such unsympathetic things as a "man-detesting host of amazons;" of fifty virgins fleeing from incestuous wedlock and all but one of them cutting their husbands' throats at night with a sword; of the folly of marrying out of one's own rank. in all aeschylus there is on the other hand only one noticeable reference to a genuine womanly quality--the injunction of danaus to his daughters to honor modesty more than life while they are travelling among covetous men; an admonition much needed, since, as danaus adds--characterizing the coarseness and lack of chivalry of the men--violence is sure to threaten them everywhere, "and on the fair-formed beauty of virgins everyone that passes by sends forth a melting dart from his eyes, overcome by desire." masculine coarseness and lack of chivalry are also revealed in such abuse of woman as aeschylus--in the favorite greek manner, puts in the mouth of eteocles:
-"o ye abominations of the wise. neither in woes nor in welcome prosperity may i be associated with woman-kind; for when woman prevails, her audacity is more than one can live with; and when affrighted she is still a greater mischief to her home and city."
-woman and love in sophocles
-among the seven extant tragedies of sophocles there are three which throw some light on the contemporary attitude toward women and the different kinds of domestic attachment--the ajax, the trachiniae and antigone. when ajax, having disgraced himself by slaughtering a flock of sheep and cattle in the mad delusion that they were his enemies, wishes he might die, tecmessa, his concubine, declares, "then pray for my death, too, for why should i live if you are dead?" she has, however, plenty of egotistic reasons for dreading his death, for she knows that her fate will be slavery. moreover, instead of being edified by her expression of attachment, we are repelled when we bear in mind that ajax slew her father when he made her his concubine. the greeks were too indelicate in their ideas about concubines to be disturbed by such a reflection. nor were they affected disagreeably by the utter indifference toward his concubine which ajax displays. he tells her to attend to her own affairs and remember that silence is a woman's greatest charm, and before committing suicide he utters a monologue in which he says farewell to his parents and to his country, but has no last message for tecmessa. she was only a woman, forsooth.
-only a woman, too, was deianira, the heroine of the trachiniae, and though of exalted rank she fully realized this fact. when hercules first took her to tiryns, he was still sufficiently interested in her to shoot a hydra-poisoned arrow into the centaur nessus, who attempted to assault her while carrying her across the river evenus. but after she had borne him several children he neglected her, going off on adventures to capture other women. she weeps because of his absence, complaining that for fifteen months she has had no message from him. at last information is brought to her that hercules, inflamed with violent love for the princess iole, had demanded her for a secret union, and when the king refused, had ravaged his city and carried off iole, to be unto him more than a slave, as the messenger gives her to understand distinctly. on receiving this message; deianira is at first greatly agitated, but soon remembers what the duty of a greek wife is. "i am well aware," she says in substance, "that we cannot expect a man to be always content with one woman. to antagonize the god of love, or to blame my husband for succumbing to him, would be foolish. after all, what does it amount to? has not hercules done this sort of thing many times before? have i ever been angry with him for so often succumbing to this malady? his concubines, too, have never received an unkind word from me, nor shall iole; for i freely confess, resentment does not become a woman. yet i am distressed, for i am old and iole is young, and she will hereafter be his actual wife in place of me." at this thought jealousy sharpens her wit and she remembers that the dying centaur had advised her to save some of his blood and, if ever occasion should come for her to wish to bring back her husband's love, to anoint his garment with it. she does so, and sends it to him, without knowing that its effect will be to slowly burn the flesh off his body. hearing of the deadly effect of her gift, she commits suicide, while hercules spends the few remaining hours of his life cursing her who murdered him, "the best of all men," and wishing she were suffering in his place or that he might mutilate her body. nor was his latest and "violent love" for iole more than a passing appetite quickly appeased; for at the end he asks his son to marry her!
-this drama admirably illustrates the selfish view of the marital relation entertained by greek men. its moral may be summed up in this advice to a wife:
-"if your husband falls in love with a younger woman and brings her home, let him, for he is a victim of cupid and cannot help it. display no jealousy, and do not even try to win back his love, for that might annoy him or cause mischief."
-in other words, the trachiniae is an object-lesson to greek wives, telling us what the men thought they ought to be. probably some of the wives tried to live up to that ideal; but that could hardly be accepted as genuine, spontaneous devotion deserving the name of affection. most famous among all the tragedies of the greeks, and deservedly so, is the antigone. its plot can be told in such a way as to make it seem a romantic love-story, if not a story of romantic love. creon, king of thebes, has ordered, under penalty of death, that no one shall bestow the rites of burial on prince polynices, who has fallen after bearing arms against his own country. antigone, sister of polynices, resolves to disobey this cruel order, and having failed to persuade her sister, ismene, to aid her, carries out her plan alone. boldly visiting the place where the body is exposed to the dogs and vultures, she sprinkles dust on it and pours out libations, repeating the process the next day on finding that the guards had meanwhile undone her work. this time she is apprehended in the act and brought before the king, who condemns her to be immured alive in a tomb, though she is betrothed to his son haemon. "would you murder the bride of your own son?" asks ismene; but the king replies that there are many other women in the world. haemon now appears and tries to move his father to mercy, but in vain, though he threatens to slay himself if his bride is killed. antigone is immured, but at last, moved by the advice of the chorus and the dire predictions of the seer tiresias, creon changes his mind and hastens with men and tools to liberate the virgin. when he arrives at the tomb he sees his son in it, clinging to the corpse of antigone, who had hanged herself. horrified, the king begs his son to come out of the tomb, but haemon seizes his sword and rushes forward to slay his father. the king escapes the danger by flight, whereupon haemon thrusts the sword into his own body, and expires, clasping the corpse of his bride.
-if we thus make haemon practically the central figure of the tragedy, it resembles a romantic love-story; but in reality haemon is little more than an episode. he has a quarrel with his father (who goes so far as to threaten to kill his bride in his presence), rushes off in a rage, and the tomb scene is not enacted, but merely related by a messenger, in forty lines out of a total of thirteen hundred and fifty. much less still have we here a story of romantic love. not one of the fourteen ingredients of love can be found in it except self-sacrifice, and that not of the right kind. i need not explain once more that suicide from grief over a lost bride does not benefit that bride; that it is not altruistic, but selfish, unmanly, and cowardly, and is therefore no test whatever of love. moreover, if we examine the dialogue in detail we see that the motive of haemon's suicide is not even grief over his lost bride, but rage at his father. when on first confronting creon, he is thus accosted: "have you heard the sentence pronounced on your bride?" he answers meekly: "i have, my father, and i yield to your superior wisdom, which no marriage can equal in excellence;" and it is only gradually that his ire is aroused by his father's abusive attitude; while at the end his first intention was to slay his father, not himself. had sophocles understood love as we understand it, he would have represented haemon as drawing his sword at once and moving heaven and earth to prevent his bride from being buried alive.
-woman and love in euripides
-of euripides it cannot be said, as of his two great predecessors, that woman plays an insignificant rôle in his dramas. most of the nineteen plays which have come down to us of the ninety-two he wrote are named after women; and bulwer-lytton was quite right when he declared that "he is the first of the hellenic poets who interests us intellectually in the antagonism and affinity between the sexes." but i cannot agree with him when he says that with euripides commences "the distinction between love as a passion and love as a sentiment." there is true sentiment in euripides, as there is in sophocles, in the relations between parents and children, friends, brothers and sisters; but in the attitude of lovers, or of husband and wife, there is only sensuality or at most sentimentality; and this sentimentality, or sham sentiment, does not begin with euripides, for we have found instances of it in the fond words of clytaemnestra regarding the husband she intended to murder, and did murder, and even in the homeric achilles, whose fine words regarding conjugal love contrast so ludicrously with his unloving actions. these, however, are mere episodes, while euripides has written a whole play which from beginning to end is an exposition of sentimentality.
-the fates had granted that when the thessalian king admetus approached the ordained end of his life it should be prolonged if another person voluntarily consented to die in his place. his aged parents had no heart to "plunge into the darkness of the tomb" for his sake. "it is not the custom in greece for fathers to die for children," his father informs him; while adinetus indulges in coarse abuse: "by heaven, thou art the very pattern of cowards, who at thy age, on the borderland of life, would'st not, nay, could'st not find the heart to die for thy own son; but ye, my parents, left to this stranger, whom henceforth i shall justly hold e'en as mother and as father too, and none but her." this "stranger" is his wife alcestis, who has volunteered to die for him, exclaiming:
-"thee i set before myself, and instead of living have ensured thy life, and so i die, though i need not have died for thee, but might have taken for my husband whom i would of the thessalians, and have had a home blest with royal power; reft of thee, with my children orphans, i cared not to live."
-the world has naïvely accepted this speech and the sacrifice of alcestis as belonging to the region of sentiment; but in reality it is nothing more than one of those stories shrewdly invented by selfish men to teach women that the object of their existence is to sacrifice themselves for their husbands. the king's father tells us this in so many words: "by the generous deed she dared, hath she made her life a noble example for all her sex;" adding that "such marriages i declare are gain to man, else to wed is not worth while." if these stories, like those manufactured by the hindoos, were an indication of existing conjugal sentiment, would it be possible that the self-sacrifice was invariably on the woman's side? adinetus would have never dreamt of sacrificing his life for his wife. he is not even ashamed to have her die for him. it is true that he has one moment when he fancies his foe deriding him thus:
-"behold him living in his shame, a wretch who quailed at death himself, but of his coward heart gave up his wedded wife instead, and escaped from hades; doth he deem himself a man after that?"
-it is true also that his father taunts him contemptuously,
-"dost thou then speak of cowardice in me, thou craven heart!... a clever scheme hast thou devised to stave off death forever, if thou canst persuade each new wife to die instead of thee."
-yet admetus is constantly assuring everyone of his undying attachment to his wife. he holds her in his arms, imploring her not to leave him. "if thou die," he exclaims,
-and so on, ad nauseam--a sickening display of sentimentality, i.e., fond words belied by cowardly, selfish actions.
-the father-in-law of alcestis, in his indignation at his son's impertinence and lack of filial pity, exclaims that what made alcestis sacrifice herself was "want of sense;" which is quite true. but in painting such a character, euripides's chief motive appears to have been to please his audience by enforcing a maxim which the greeks shared with the hindoos and barbarians that "a woman, though bestowed upon a worthless husband, must be content with him." these words are actually put by him into the mouth of andromache in the play of that name. andromache, once the wife of the trojan hector, now the concubine of achilles's son, is made to declare to the chorus that "it is not beauty but virtuous acts that win a husband's heart;" whereupon she proceeds to spoil this fine maxim by explaining what the greeks understood by "virtuous acts" in a wife--namely, subordinating herself even to a "worthless husband." "suppose," she continues, "thou hadst wedded a prince of thrace... where one lord shares his affections with a host of wives, would'st thou have slain them? if so, thou would'st have set a stigma of insatiate lust on all our sex." and she proceeds to relate how she herself paid no heed in troy to hector's amours with other women: "oft in days gone by i held thy bastard babes to my own breast, to spare thee any cause for grief. by this course i bound my husband to me by virtue's chains." to spare him annoyance, no matter how much his conduct might grieve her--that was the greek idea of conjugal devotion--all on one side. and how like the hindoos, and orientals, and barbarians in general, is the greek seen to be in the remarks made by hermione, the legitimate wife, to andromache, the concubine--accusing the latter of having by means of witchcraft made her barren and thus caused her husband to hate her.
-with the subtle ingenuity of masculine selfishness the greek dramatist doubles the force of all his fine talk about the "virtuous acts" of wives by representing the women themselves as uttering these maxims and admitting that their function is self-denial--that woman is altogether an inferior and contemptible being. "how strange it is," exclaims andromache,
-"that, though some god has devised cures for mortals against the venom of reptiles, no man ever yet hath discovered aught to cure a woman's venom, which is far worse than viper's sting or scorching flame; so terrible a curse are we to mankind."
-"oh! never, never--this truth will i repeat--should men of sense, who have wives, allow women-folks to visit them in their homes, for they teach them mischief; one, to gain some private end, helps to corrupt their honor; another having made a slip herself, wants a companion in misfortune, while many are wantons; and hence it is men's houses are tainted. wherefore keep strict guard upon the portals of your houses with bolts and bars."
-it is true that after iphigenia has made her brave speech declaring that a woman's life was of no account anyway, and that she had resolved to die voluntarily for the army's sake, achilles assumes a different attitude, declaring,
-"some god was bent on blessing me, could i but have won thee for my wife.... but now that i have looked into thy noble nature, i feel still more a fond desire to win thee for my bride,"
-and promising to protect her against the whole army. but what was it in iphigenia that thus aroused his admiration? a feminine trait, such as would impress a modern romantic lover? not in the least. he admired her because, like a man, she offered to lay down her life in behalf of the manly virtue of patriotism. greek men admired women only in so far as they resembled men; a truth to which i shall recur on another page.
-it would be foolish to chide euripides for not making of this tragedy a story of romantic love; he was a greek and could not lift himself above his times by a miracle. to him, as to all his contemporaries, love was not a sentiment, "an illumination of the senses by the soul," an impulse to noble actions, but a common appetite, apt to become a species of madness, a disease. his hippolytus is a study of this disease, unpleasant but striking; it has for its subject the lawless pathologic love of phædra for her step-son. she is "seized with wild desire;" she "pines away in silence, moaning beneath love's cruel scourge;" she "wastes away on a bed of sickness;" denies herself all food, eager to reach death's cheerless bourn; a canker wastes her fading charms; she is "stricken by some demon's curse;" from her eyes the tear-drops stream, and for very shame she turns them away; on her soul "there rests a stain;" she knows that to yield to her "sickly passion" would be "infamous;" yet she cannot suppress her wanton thoughts. following the topsy-turvy, unchivalrous custom of the greek poets, euripides makes a woman--"a thing the world detests"--the victim of this mad passion, opposing to it the coy resistance of a man, a devotee of the chaste diana. and at the end he makes phaedra, before committing suicide, write an infamous letter which, to save her reputation, dooms to a cruel death the innocent victim of her infatuation.
-to us, this last touch alone would demonstrate the worldwide difference between lust and love. but euripides knows no such difference. to him there is only one kind of love, and it varies only in being moderate in some cases, excessive in others. love is "at once the sweetest and the bitterest thing," according as it is one or the other of the two. phaedra's nurse deplores her passion, chiefly because of its violence. the chorus in medea (627 seqq.) sings:
-"when in excess and past all limits love doth come, he brings not glory or repute to man; but if the cyprian queen in moderate might approach, no goddess is so full of charm as she."
-and in iphigenia at aulis the chorus declares:
-to euripides, as to all the greeks, there is no difference in the loves of gods and goddesses or kings and queens on the one hand, and the lowest animals on the other. as the chorus sings in hippolytus:
-romantic love, greek style
-the greeks, instead of confuting my theory that romantic love is the last product of civilization, afford the most striking confirmation of it. while considering the love-affairs of africans, australians, and other uncivilized peoples, we were dealing with races whose lack of intelligence and delicacy in general made it natural to expect that their love, too, must be wanting in psychic qualities and refinement. but the greeks were of a different calibre. not only their men of affairs--generals and statesmen--but their men of thought and feeling--philosophers and poets--were among the greatest the world has ever seen; yet these philosophers and poets--who, as everywhere, must have been far above the emotional level of their countrymen in general--knew nothing of romantic love. what makes this the more remarkable is that, so far as their minds were concerned, they were quite capable of experiencing such a feeling. indeed, they were actually familiar with the psychic and altruistic ingredients of love; sympathy, devotion, self-sacrifice, affection, are sometimes manifested in their dramas and stories when dealing with the love between parents and children, brothers and sisters, or pairs of friends like orestes and pylades. and strangest of all, they actually had a kind of romantic love, which, except for one circumstance, is much like modern romantic love.
-euripides knew this kind of romantic love. among the fragments that remain to us of his lost tragedies is one from dictys, in which occurs this sentiment:
-now it is very interesting to note that euripides was a friend of socrates, who often declared that his philosophy was the science of love, and whose two pupils, xenophon and plato, elucidated this science in several of their works. in xenophon's symposium critobulus declares that he would rather be blind to everything else in the world than not to see his beloved; that he would rather give all he had to the beloved than receive twice the amount from another; rather be the beloved's slave than free alone; rather work and dare for the beloved than live alone in ease and security. for, he continues, the enthusiasm which beauty inspires in lovers
-"makes them more generous, more eager to exert themselves, and more ambitious to overcome dangers, nay, it makes them purer and more continent, causing them to avoid even that to which the strongest appetite urges them."
-"the love who is the offspring of the common aphrodite is essentially common, and has no discrimination, being such as the meaner sort of men feel, and is apt to be of women as well as of youths, and is of the body rather than of the soul.... but the offspring of the heavenly aphrodite is derived from a mother in whose birth the female has no part,--she is from the male only; this is that love which is of youths, and the goddess being older, there is nothing of wantonness in her."
-platonic love of women
-in thus excluding women from the sphere of pure, super-sensual romantic love, plato shows himself a greek to the marrow. in the greek view, to be a woman was to be inferior to man from every point of view--even personal beauty. plato's writings abound in passages which reveal his lofty contempt for women. in the laws (vi., 781) he declares that "women are accustomed to creep into dark places, and when dragged out into the light they will exert their utmost powers of resistance, and be far too much for the legislator." while unfolding, in timaeus (91), his theory of the creation of man, he says gallantly that "of the men who came into the world, those who were cowards or led unrighteous lives may with reason be supposed to have changed into the nature of women in the second generation;" and on another page (42) he puts the same idea even more insultingly by writing that the man
-"who lived well during his appointed time was to return and dwell in his native star, and there he would have a blessed existence. but if he failed in attaining this, at the second birth he would pass into a woman, and if, when in that state of being, he did not desist from evil, he would continually be changed into some brute who resembled him in the evil nature which he had acquired."
-"let a man go out to war from twenty to sixty years, and for a woman if there appear any need of making use of her in military service, let the time of service be after she shall have brought forth children up to fifty years of age" (laws, vi., 785).
-spartan opportunities for love
-had plato lived a few centuries earlier he might have visited at least one greek state where his barbarous ideal of the sexual relations was to a considerable extent realized. the spartan law-maker lycurgus shared his views regarding marriage, and had the advantage of being able to enforce them. he, too, believed that human beings should be bred like cattle. he laughed, so plutarch tells us in his biographic sketch, at those who, while exercising care in raising dogs and horses, allowed unworthy husbands to have offspring. this, in itself, was a praiseworthy thought; but the method adopted by lycurgus to overcome that objection was subversive of all morality and affection. he considered it advisable that among worthy men there should be a community of wives and children, for which purpose he tried to suppress jealousy, ridiculing those who insisted on a conjugal monopoly and who even engaged in fights on account of it. elderly men were urged to share their wives with younger men and adopt the children as their own; and if a man considered another's wife particularly prolific or virtuous he was not to hesitate to ask for her. bridegrooms followed the custom of capturing their brides. an attendant, after cutting off the bride's hair and putting a man's garment on her, left her alone in the dark, whereupon her bridegroom visited her, returning soon, however, to his comrades. for months--sometimes until after children had been born--the husband would thus be unable to see his wife.
-amazonian ideal of greek womanhood
-romantic love, as distinguished from friendship, is dependent on sexual differentiation, and the highest phases of romantic love are possible only, as we have seen, where the secondary and tertiary sexual qualities, physical and mental, are highly developed. now the spartans, besides maintaining all the love-suppressing customs just alluded to, made special and systematic efforts to convert their women into amazons devoid of all feminine qualities except such as were absolutely necessary for the perpetuation of the species. one of the avowed objects of making girls dance naked in the presence of men was to destroy what they considered as effeminate modesty. the law which forbade husbands to associate with their wives in the daytime prevented the growth of any sentimental, sympathetic attachment between husband and wife. even maternal feeling was suppressed, as far as possible, spartan mothers being taught to feel proud and happy if their sons fell in battle, disgraced and unhappy if they survived in case of defeat. the sole object, in brief, of spartan institutions relating to women was to rear a breed of healthy animals for the purpose of supplying the state with warriors. not love, but patriotism, was the underlying motive of these institutions. to patriotism, the most masculine of all virtues, the lives of these women were immolated, and what made it worse was that, while they were reared as men, these women could not share the honors of men. brought up as warriors, they were still despised by the warriors, who, when they wanted companionship, always sought it in association with comrades of their own sex. in a word, instead of honoring the female sex, the spartans suppressed and dishonored it. but they brought on their own punishment; for the women, being left in charge of affairs at home during the frequent absence of their warlike husbands and sons, learned to command slaves, and, after the manner of the african amazons we have read about, soon tried to lord it over their husbands too.
-and this utter suppression of femininity, this glorification of the amazon--a being as repulsive to every refined mind as an effeminate man--has been lauded by a host of writers as emancipation and progress!
-"if your reputation for prowess and the battles you have fought were taken away from you spartans, in all else, be very sure, you have not your inferiors," exclaims peleus in the andromache of euripides, thus summing up athenian opinion on sparta. there was, however, one other respect in which the enemies of sparta admired her. c.o. müller alludes to it in the following (ii., 304):
-"little as the athenians esteemed their own women, they involuntarily revered the heroines of sparta, such as gorgo, the wife of leonidas; lampito, the daughter of leotychidas, the wife of archidamus and mother of agis."
-both diana and venus were brought to greece from asia. indeed, when we examine greek life in the light of comparative culturgeschichte, we find a surprising prevalence of oriental customs and ideas, especially in athens, and particularly in the treatment of women. in this respect athens is the antipode of sparta. while at sparta the women wrestled naked with the men, in athens the women were not even permitted to witness their games. the athenians moreover had very decided opinions about the effect of spartan customs. the beautiful helen who caused the trojan war by her adulterous elopement was a spartan, and the athenian euripides makes peleus taunt her husband menelaus in these words:
-"thou who didst let a phrygian rob thee of thy wife, leaving thy home without bolt or guard, as if forsooth the cursed woman thou hadst was a model of virtue. no! a spartan maid could not be chaste, e'en if she would, who leaves her home and bares her limbs and lets her robe float free, to share with youth their races and their sports--customs i cannot away with. is it any wonder that ye fail to educate your women in virtue?"
-literature and life
-although dogs are the most intelligent of all animals and at the same time proverbial for their faithful attachment to their masters, they are nevertheless, as i have before pointed out, in their sexual relations utterly incapable of that approximation to conjugal love which we find instinctive in some birds. most readers of this book, too, are probably acquainted with men and women, who while highly educated and refined, as well as devoted to the members of their family, are strangers to romantic love; and i have pointed out (302) that men of genius may in this respect be in the same boat as ordinary mortals. in view of these considerations, and of the rarity of true
-the duenna (to ragueneau, showing him the door opposite): they wait us there opposite, at clomire's house. she receives them all there to-day--the precieuses, the poets; they read a discourse on the tender passion.
-ragueneau: the tender passion?
-the duenna (in a mincing voice): ay, indeed! (calling up to the window): roxane, an you come not down quickly, we shall miss the discourse on the tender passion!
-roxane's voice: i come! i come!
-cyrano's voice (behind the scenes, singing): la, la, la, la!
-the duenna (surprised): they serenade us?
-cyrano (followed by two pages with arch-lutes): i tell you they are demi-semi-quavers, demi-semi-fool!
-first page (ironically): you know then, sir, to distinguish between semi-quavers and demi-semi- quavers?
-cyrano: is not every disciple of gassendi a musician?
-the page (playing and singing): la, la!
-cyrano (snatching the lute from him, and going on with the phrase): in proof of which, i can continue! la, la, la, la!
-roxane (appearing on the balcony): what? 'tis you?
-cyrano (going on with the air, and singing to it): 'tis i, who come to serenade your lilies, and pay my devoir to your ro-o- oses!
-roxane: i am coming down!
-the duenna (pointing to the pages): how come these two virtuosi here?
-cyrano: 'tis for a wager i won of d'assoucy. we were disputing a nice point in grammar; contradictions raged hotly--''tis so!' 'nay, 'tis so!' when suddenly he shows me these two long-shanks, whom he takes about with him as an escort, and who are skillful in scratching lute-strings with their skinny claws! 'i will wager you a day's music,' says he!--and lost it! thus, see you, till phoebus' chariot starts once again, these lute-twangers are at my heels, seeing all i do, hearing all i say, and accompanying all with melody. 'twas pleasant at the first, but i' faith, i begin to weary of it already! (to the musicians): ho there! go serenade montfleury for me! play a dance to him! (the pages go toward the door. to the duenna): i have come, as is my wont, nightly, to ask roxane whether. . . (to the pages, who are going out): play a long time,--and play out of tune! (to the duenna): . . .whether her soul's elected is ever the same, ever faultless!
-roxane (coming out of the house): ah! how handsome he is, how brilliant a wit! and--how well i love him!
-cyrano (smiling): christian has so brilliant a wit?
-roxane: brighter than even your own, cousin!
-cyrano: be it so, with all my heart!
-roxane: ah! methinks 'twere impossible that there could breathe a man on this earth skilled to say as sweetly as he all the pretty nothings that mean so much-- that mean all! at times his mind seems far away, the muse says naught--and then, presto! he speaks--bewitchingly! enchantingly!
-cyrano (incredulously): no, no!
-roxane: fie! that is ill said! but lo! men are ever thus! because he is fair to see, you would have it that he must be dull of speech.
-cyrano: he hath an eloquent tongue in telling his love?
-roxane: in telling his love? why, 'tis not simple telling, 'tis dissertation, 'tis analysis!
-cyrano: how is he with the pen?
-roxane: still better! listen,--here:-- (reciting): 'the more of my poor heart you take the larger grows my heart!' (triumphantly to cyrano): how like you those lines?
-roxane: and thus it goes on. . . 'and, since some target i must show for cupid's cruel dart, oh, if mine own you deign to keep, then give me your sweet heart!'
-cyrano: lord! first he has too much, then anon not enough! how much heart does the fellow want?
-roxane: you would vex a saint!. . .but 'tis your jealousy.
-cyrano (starting): what mean you?
-roxane: ay, your poet's jealousy! hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet?-- 'my heart to yours sounds but one cry: if kisses fast could flee by letter, then with your sweet lips my letters read should be! if kisses could be writ with ink, if kisses fast could flee!'
-cyrano (smiling approvingly in spite of himself): ha! those last lines are,--hm!. . .hm!. . . (correcting himself--contemptuously): --they are paltry enough!
-roxane: and this. . .
-cyrano (enchanted): then you have his letters by heart?
-roxane: every one of them!
-cyrano: by all oaths that can be sworn,--'tis flattering!
-roxane: they are the lines of a master!
-cyrano (modestly): come, nay. . .a master?. . .
-roxane: ay, i say it--a master!
-cyrano: good--be it so.
-the duenna (coming down quickly): here comes monsieur de guiche! (to cyrano, pushing him toward the house): in with you! 'twere best he see you not; it might perchance put him on the scent. . .
-roxane (to cyrano): ay, of my own dear secret! he loves me, and is powerful, and, if he knew, then all were lost! marry! he could well deal a deathblow to my love!
-cyrano (entering the house): good! good!
-roxane, de guiche, the duenna standing a little way off.
-roxane (courtesying to de guiche): i was going out.
-de guiche: i come to take my leave.
-roxane: whither go you?
-de guiche: to the war.
-de guiche: ay, to-night.
-de guiche: i am ordered away. we are to besiege arras.
-roxane: ah--to besiege?. . .
-de guiche: ay. my going moves you not, meseems.
-roxane: nay. . .
-de guiche: i am grieved to the core of the heart. shall i again behold you?. . .when? i know not. heard you that i am named commander?. . .
-roxane (indifferently): bravo!
-de guiche: of the guards regiment.
-roxane (startled): what! the guards?
-de guiche: ay, where serves your cousin, the swaggering boaster. i will find a way to revenge myself on him at arras.
-roxane (choking): what mean you? the guards go to arras?
-de guiche (laughing): bethink you, is it not my own regiment?
-roxane (falling seated on the bench--aside): christian!
-de guiche: what ails you?
-roxane (moved deeply): oh--i am in despair! the man one loves!--at the war!
-de guiche (surprised and delighted): you say such sweet words to me! 'tis the first time!--and just when i must quit you!
-roxane (collected, and fanning herself): thus,--you would fain revenge your grudge against my cousin?
-de guiche: my fair lady is on his side?
-roxane: nay,--against him!
-de guiche: do you see him often?
-roxane: but very rarely.
-de guiche: he is ever to be met now in company with one of the cadets,. . .one new-- villen--viller--
-roxane: of high stature?
-de guiche: fair-haired!
-roxane: ay, a red-headed fellow!
-de guiche: handsome!. . .
-de guiche: but dull-witted.
-roxane: one would think so, to look at him! (changing her tone): how mean you to play your revenge on cyrano? perchance you think to put him i' the thick of the shots? nay, believe me, that were a poor vengeance--he would love such a post better than aught else! i know the way to wound his pride far more keenly!
-de guiche: what then? tell. . .
-roxane: if, when the regiment march to arras, he were left here with his beloved boon companions, the cadets, to sit with crossed arms so long as the war lasted! there is your method, would you enrage a man of his kind; cheat him of his chance of mortal danger, and you punish him right fiercely.
-de guiche (coming nearer): o woman! woman! who but a woman had e'er devised so subtle a trick?
-roxane: see you not how he will eat out his heart, while his friends gnaw their thick fists for that they are deprived of the battle? so are you best avenged.
-de guiche: you love me, then, a little? (she smiles): i would fain--seeing you thus espouse my cause, roxane--believe it a proof of love!
-roxane: 'tis a proof of love!
-de guiche (coming close to her): oh! how i love you!--to distraction! listen! to-night--true, i ought to start--but--how leave you now that i feel your heart is touched! hard by, in the rue d'orleans, is a convent founded by father athanasius, the syndic of the capuchins. true that no layman may enter--but--i can settle that with the good fathers! their habit sleeves are wide enough to hide me in. 'tis they who serve richelieu's private chapel: and from respect to the uncle, fear the nephew. all will deem me gone. i will come to you, masked. give me leave to wait till tomorrow, sweet lady fanciful!
-roxane: but, of this be rumored, your glory. . .
-de guiche: bah!
-roxane: but the siege--arras. . .
-de guiche: 'twill take its chance. grant but permission.
-de guiche: give me leave!
-roxane (tenderly): it were my duty to forbid you!
-de guiche: ah!
-roxane: you must go! (aside): christian stays here. (aloud): i would have you heroic--antoine!
-de guiche: o heavenly word! you love, then, him?. . .
-roxane: . . .for whom i trembled.
-de guiche (in an ecstasy): ah! i go then! (he kisses her hand): are you content?
-roxane: yes, my friend!
-the duenna (making behind his back a mocking courtesy): yes, my friend!
-roxane (to the duenna): not a word of what i have done. cyrano would never pardon me for stealing his fighting from him! (she calls toward the house): cousin!
-roxane, the duenna, cyrano.
-roxane: we are going to clomire's house. (she points to the door opposite): alcandre and lysimon are to discourse!
-the duenna (putting her little finger in her ear): yes! but my little finger tells me we shall miss them.
-cyrano: 'twere a pity to miss such apes!
-the duenna: oh, see! the knocker is muffled up! (speaking to the knocker): so they have gagged that metal tongue of yours, little noisy one, lest it should disturb the fine orators!
-roxane (seeing that the door opens): let us enter! (on the threshold, to cyrano): if christian comes, as i feel sure he will, bid him wait for me!
-cyrano (quickly, as she is going in): listen! (she turns): what mean you to question him on, as is your wont, to-night?
-cyrano (eagerly): well, say.
-roxane: but you will be mute?
-cyrano: mute as a fish.
-roxane: i shall not question him at all, but say: give rein to your fancy! prepare not your speeches,--but speak the thoughts as they come! speak to me of love, and speak splendidly!
-cyrano (smiling): very good!
-roxane: but secret!. . .
-roxane: not a word!
-cyrano (when the door is shut, bowing to her): a thousand thanks!
-roxane: lest he prepare himself!
-cyrano: the devil!--no, no!
-both together: secret.
-cyrano (calling): christian!
-cyrano: i know all that is needful. here's occasion for you to deck yourself with glory. come, lose no time; put away those sulky looks, come to your house with me, i'll teach you. . .
-christian: i will wait for roxane here.
-cyrano: how? crazy? come quick with me and learn. . .
-christian: no, no! i say. i am aweary of these borrowed letters, --borrowed love-makings! thus to act a part, and tremble all the time!--'twas well enough at the beginning!--now i know she loves! i fear no longer!--i will speak myself.
-christian: and how know you i cannot speak?-- i am not such a fool when all is said! i've by your lessons profited. you'll see i shall know how to speak alone! the devil! i know at least to clasp her in my arms! (seeing roxane come out from clomire's house): --it is she! cyrano, no!--leave me not!
-cyrano (bowing): speak for yourself, my friend, and take your chance.
-christian, roxane, the duenna.
-roxane (coming out of clomire's house, with a company of friends, whom she leaves. bows and good-byes): barthenoide!--alcandre!--gremione!--
-the duenna (bitterly disappointed): we've missed the speech upon the tender passion!
-roxane (still bowing): urimedonte--adieu! (all bow to roxane and to each other, and then separate, going up different streets. roxane suddenly seeing christian): you! (she goes to him): evening falls. let's sit. speak on. i listen.
-christian (sits by her on the bench. a silence): oh! i love you!
-roxane (shutting her eyes): ay, speak to me of love.
-christian: i love thee!
-roxane: that's the theme! but vary it.
-christian: i. . .
-roxane: vary it!
-christian: i love you so!
-roxane: oh! without doubt!--and then?. . .
-christian: and then--i should be--oh!--so glad--so glad if you would love me!--roxane, tell me so!
-roxane (with a little grimace): i hoped for cream,--you give me gruel! say how love possesses you?
-christian: oh utterly!
-roxane: come, come!. . .unknot those tangled sentiments!
-christian: your throat i'd kiss it!
-christian: i love thee!
-roxane (half-rising): again!
-christian (eagerly, detaining her): no, no! i love thee not!
-roxane (reseating herself): 'tis well!
-christian: but i adore thee!
-roxane (rising, and going further off): oh!
-christian: i am grown stupid!
-roxane (dryly): and that displeases me, almost as much as 'twould displease me if you grew ill-favored.
-christian: but. . .
-roxane: rally your poor eloquence that's flown!
-christian: i. . .
-roxane: yes, you love me, that i know. adieu.
-christian: oh, go not yet! i'd tell you--
-roxane (opening the door): you adore me? i've heard it very oft. no!--go away!
-christian: but i would fain. . .
-cyrano (who has re-entered unseen): i' faith! it is successful!
-christian, cyrano, two pages.
-christian: come to my aid!
-cyrano: not i!
-christian: but i shall die, unless at once i win back her fair favor.
-cyrano: and how can i, at once, i' th' devil's name, lesson you in. . .
-christian (seizing his arm): oh, she is there!
-cyrano (moved): her window!
-christian: oh! i shall die!
-cyrano: speak lower!
-christian (in a whisper): i shall die!
-cyrano: the night is dark. . .
-cyrano: all can be repaired. although you merit not. stand there, poor wretch! fronting the balcony! i'll go beneath and prompt your words to you. . .
-christian: but. . .
-cyrano: hold your tongue!
-the pages (reappearing at back--to cyrano): ho!
-first page (in a low voice): we've played the serenade you bade to montfleury!
-cyrano (quickly, in a low voice): go! lurk in ambush there, one at this street corner, and one at that; and if a passer-by should here intrude, play you a tune!
-second page: what tune, sir gassendist?
-cyrano: gay, if a woman comes,--for a man, sad! (the pages disappear, one at each street corner. to christian): call her!
-cyrano (picking up stones and throwing them at the window): some pebbles! wait awhile!
-roxane (half-opening the casement): who calls me?
-roxane: who's that?
-roxane (disdainfully): oh! you?
-christian: i would speak with you.
-cyrano (under the balcony--to christian): good. speak soft and low.
-roxane: no, you speak stupidly!
-christian: oh, pity me!
-roxane: no! you love me no more!
-christian (prompted by cyrano): you say--great heaven! i love no more?--when--i--love more and more!
-roxane (who was about to shut the casement, pausing): hold! 'tis a trifle better! ay, a trifle!
-christian (same play): love grew apace, rocked by the anxious beating. . . of this poor heart, which the cruel wanton boy. . . took for a cradle!
-roxane (coming out on to the balcony): that is better! but an if you deem that cupid be so cruel you should have stifled baby-love in's cradle!
-christian (same play): ah, madame, i assayed, but all in vain this. . .new-born babe is a young. . .hercules!
-roxane: still better!
-christian (same play): thus he strangled in my heart the. . .serpents twain, of. . .pride. . .and doubt!
-roxane (leaning over the balcony): well said! --but why so faltering? has mental palsy seized on your faculty imaginative?
-cyrano (drawing christian under the balcony, and slipping into his place): give place! this waxes critical!. . .
-roxane: to-day. . . your words are hesitating.
-cyrano (imitating christian--in a whisper): night has come. . . in the dusk they grope their way to find your ear.
-roxane: but my words find no such impediment.
-cyrano: they find their way at once? small wonder that! for 'tis within my heart they find their home; bethink how large my heart, how small your ear! and,--from fair heights descending, words fall fast, but mine must mount, madame, and that takes time!
-roxane: meseems that your last words have learned to climb.
-cyrano: with practice such gymnastic grows less hard!
-roxane: in truth, i seem to speak from distant heights!
-cyrano: true, far above; at such a height 'twere death if a hard word from you fell on my heart.
-roxane (moving): i will come down. . .
-cyrano (hastily): no!
-roxane (showing him the bench under the balcony): mount then on the bench!
-cyrano (starting back alarmed): no!
-roxane: how, you will not?
-cyrano (more and more moved): stay awhile! 'tis sweet,. . . the rare occasion, when our hearts can speak our selves unseen, unseeing!
-cyrano: ay, it is sweet! half hidden,--half revealed-- you see the dark folds of my shrouding cloak, and i, the glimmering whiteness of your dress: i but a shadow--you a radiance fair! know you what such a moment holds for me? if ever i were eloquent. . .
-roxane: you were!
-cyrano: yet never till to-night my speech has sprung straight from my heart as now it springs.
-roxane: why not?
-cyrano: till now i spoke haphazard. . .
-cyrano: your eyes have beams that turn men dizzy!--but to-night methinks i shall find speech for the first time!
-roxane: 'tis true, your voice rings with a tone that's new.
-cyrano (coming nearer, passionately): ay, a new tone! in the tender, sheltering dusk i dare to be myself for once,--at last! (he stops, falters): what say i? i know not!--oh, pardon me-- it thrills me,--'tis so sweet, so novel. . .
-roxane: how? so novel?
-cyrano (off his balance, trying to find the thread of his sentence): ay,--to be at last sincere; till now, my chilled heart, fearing to be mocked. . .
-roxane: mocked, and for what?
-cyrano: for its mad beating!--ay, my heart has clothed itself with witty words, to shroud itself from curious eyes:--impelled at times to aim at a star, i stay my hand, and, fearing ridicule,--cull a wild flower!
-roxane: a wild flower's sweet.
-cyrano: ay, but to-night--the star!
-roxane: oh! never have you spoken thus before!
-cyrano: if, leaving cupid's arrows, quivers, torches, we turned to seek for sweeter--fresher things! instead of sipping in a pygmy glass dull fashionable waters,--did we try how the soul slakes its thirst in fearless draught by drinking from the river's flooding brim!
-roxane: but wit?. . .
-cyrano: if i have used it to arrest you at the first starting,--now, 'twould be an outrage, an insult--to the perfumed night--to nature-- to speak fine words that garnish vain love-letters! look up but at her stars! the quiet heaven will ease our hearts of all things artificial; i fear lest, 'midst the alchemy we're skilled in the truth of sentiment dissolve and vanish,-- the soul exhausted by these empty pastimes, the gain of fine things be the loss of all things!
-roxane: but wit? i say. . .
-cyrano: in love 'tis crime,--'tis hateful! turning frank loving into subtle fencing! at last the moment comes, inevitable,-- --oh, woe for those who never know that moment! when feeling love exists in us, ennobling, each well-weighed word is futile and soul-saddening!
-roxane: well, if that moment's come for us--suppose it! what words would serve you?
-cyrano: all, all, all, whatever that came to me, e'en as they came, i'd fling them in a wild cluster, not a careful bouquet. i love thee! i am mad! i love, i stifle! thy name is in my heart as in a sheep-bell, and as i ever tremble, thinking of thee, ever the bell shakes, ever thy name ringeth! all things of thine i mind, for i love all things; i know that last year on the twelfth of may-month, to walk abroad, one day you changed your hair-plaits! i am so used to take your hair for daylight that,--like as when the eye stares on the sun's disk, one sees long after a red blot on all things-- so, when i quit thy beams, my dazzled vision sees upon all things a blonde stain imprinted.
-roxane (agitated): why, this is love indeed!. . .
-cyrano: ay, true, the feeling which fills me, terrible and jealous, truly love,--which is ever sad amid its transports! love,--and yet, strangely, not a selfish passion! i for your joy would gladly lay mine own down, --e'en though you never were to know it,--never! --if but at times i might--far off and lonely,-- hear some gay echo of the joy i bought you! each glance of thine awakes in me a virtue,-- a novel, unknown valor. dost begin, sweet, to understand? so late, dost understand me? feel'st thou my soul, here, through the darkness mounting? too fair the night! too fair, too fair the moment! that i should speak thus, and that you should hearken! too fair! in moments when my hopes rose proudest, i never hoped such guerdon. naught is left me but to die now! have words of mine the power to make you tremble,--throned there in the branches? ay, like a leaf among the leaves, you tremble! you tremble! for i feel,--an if you will it, or will it not,--your hand's beloved trembling thrill through the branches, down your sprays of jasmine!
-roxane: ay! i am trembling, weeping!--i am thine! thou hast conquered all of me!
-cyrano: then let death come! 'tis i, 'tis i myself, who conquered thee! one thing, but one, i dare to ask--
-christian (under the balcony): a kiss!
-roxane (drawing back): what?
-roxane: you ask. . .?
-cyrano: i. . . (to christian, whispering): fool! you go too quick!
-christian: since she is moved thus--i will profit by it!
-cyrano (to roxane): my words sprang thoughtlessly, but now i see-- shame on me!--i was too presumptuous.
-roxane (a little chilled): how quickly you withdraw.
-cyrano: yes, i withdraw without withdrawing! hurt i modesty? if so--the kiss i asked--oh, grant it not.
-christian (to cyrano, pulling him by his cloak): why?
-cyrano: silence, christian! hush!
-roxane (leaning over): what whisper you?
-cyrano: i chid myself for my too bold advances; said, 'silence, christian!' (the lutes begin to play): hark! wait awhile,. . . steps come! (roxane shuts the window. cyrano listens to the lutes, one of which plays a merry, the other a melancholy, tune): why, they play sad--then gay--then sad! what? neither man nor woman?--oh! a monk!
-cyrano, christian, a capuchin friar.
-cyrano (to the friar): what do you, playing at diogenes?
-the friar: i seek the house of madame. . .
-christian: oh! plague take him!
-the friar: madeleine robin. . .
-christian: what would he?. . .
-cyrano (pointing to a street at the back): this way! straight on. . .
-the friar i thank you, and, in your intention will tell my rosary to its last bead.
-cyrano: good luck! my blessings rest upon your cowl!
-christian: oh! win for me that kiss. . .
-christian: soon or late!. . .
-cyrano: 'tis true! the moment of intoxication-- of madness,--when your mouths are sure to meet thanks to your fair mustache--and her rose lips! (to himself): i'd fainer it should come thanks to. . .
-cyrano, christian, roxane.
-roxane (coming out on the balcony): still there? we spoke of a. . .
-cyrano: a kiss! the word is sweet. i see not why your lip should shrink from it; if the word burns it,--what would the kiss do? oh! let it not your bashfulness affright; have you not, all this time, insensibly, left badinage aside, and unalarmed glided from smile to sigh,--from sigh to weeping? glide gently, imperceptibly, still onward-- from tear to kiss,--a moment's thrill!--a heartbeat!
-roxane: hush! hush!
-cyrano: a kiss, when all is said,--what is it? an oath that's ratified,--a sealed promise, a heart's avowal claiming confirmation,-- a rose-dot on the 'i' of 'adoration,'-- a secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered,-- brush of a bee's wing, that makes time eternal,-- communion perfumed like the spring's wild flowers,-- the heart's relieving in the heart's outbreathing, when to the lips the soul's flood rises, brimming!
-roxane: hush! hush!
-cyrano: a kiss, madame, is honorable: the queen of france, to a most favored lord did grant a kiss--the queen herself!
-roxane: what then?
-cyrano (speaking more warmly): buckingham suffered dumbly,--so have i,-- adored his queen, as loyally as i,-- was sad, but faithful,--so am i. . .
-roxane: and you are fair as buckingham!
-cyrano (aside--suddenly cooled): true,--i forgot!
-roxane: must i then bid thee mount to cull this flower?
-cyrano (pushing christian toward the balcony): mount!
-roxane: this heart-breathing!. . .
-roxane: this brush of bee's wing!. . .
-christian (hesitating): but i feel now, as though 'twere ill done!
-roxane: this moment infinite!. . .
-cyrano (still pushing him): come, blockhead, mount!
-christian: ah, roxane!
-cyrano: aie! strange pain that wrings my heart! the kiss, love's feast, so near! i, lazarus, lie at the gate in darkness. yet to me falls still a crumb or two from the rich man's board-- ay, 'tis my heart receives thee, roxane--mine! for on the lips you press you kiss as well the words i spoke just now!--my words--my words! (the lutes play): a sad air,--a gay air: the monk! (he begins to run as if he came from a long way off, and cries out): hola!
-roxane: who is it?
-cyrano: i--i was but passing by. . . is christian there?
-christian (astonished): cyrano!
-roxane: good-day, cousin!
-cyrano: cousin, good-day!
-roxane: i'm coming!
-christian (seeing him): back again!
-cyrano, christian, roxane, the friar, ragueneau.
-the friar: 'tis here,--i'm sure of it--madame madeleine robin.
-cyrano: why, you said ro-lin.
-the friar: no, not i. b,i,n,bin!
-roxane (appearing on the threshold, followed by ragueneau, who carries a lantern, and christian): what is't?
-the friar: a letter.
-the friar (to roxane): oh, it can boot but a holy business! 'tis from a worthy lord. . .
-roxane (to christian): de guiche!
-christian: he dares. . .
-roxane: oh, he will not importune me forever! (unsealing the letter): i love you,--therefore-- (she reads in a low voice by the aid of ragueneau's lantern): 'lady, the drums beat; my regiment buckles its harness on and starts; but i,--they deem me gone before-- but i stay. i have dared to disobey your mandate. i am here in convent walls. i come to you to-night. by this poor monk-- a simple fool who knows not what he bears-- i send this missive to apprise your ear. your lips erewhile have smiled on me, too sweet: i go not ere i've seen them once again! i would be private; send each soul away, receive alone him,--whose great boldness you have deigned, i hope, to pardon, ere he asks,-- he who is ever your--et cetera.' (to the monk): father, this is the matter of the letter:-- (all come near her, and she reads aloud): 'lady, the cardinal's wish is law; albeit it be to you unwelcome. for this cause i send these lines--to your fair ear addressed-- by a holy man, discreet, intelligent: it is our will that you receive from him, in your own house, the marriage (she turns the page): benediction straightway, this night. unknown to all the world christian becomes your husband. him we send. he is abhorrent to your choice. let be. resign yourself, and this obedience will be by heaven well recompensed. receive, fair lady, all assurance of respect, from him who ever was, and still remains, your humble and obliged--et cetera.'
-the friar (with great delight): o worthy lord! i knew naught was to fear; it could be but holy business!
-roxane (to christian, in a low voice): am i not apt at reading letters?
-roxane (aloud, with despair): but this is horrible!
-the friar (who has turned his lantern on cyrano): 'tis you?
-christian: 'tis i!
-the friar (turning the light on to him, and as if a doubt struck him on seeing his beauty): but. . .
-roxane (quickly): i have overlooked the postscript--see:-- 'give twenty pistoles for the convent.'
-the friar: . . .oh! most worthy lord! (to roxane): submit you?
-roxane (with a martyr's look): i submit! (while ragueneau opens the door, and christian invites the friar to enter, she whispers to cyrano): oh, keep de guiche at bay! he will be here! let him not enter till. . .
-cyrano: i understand! (to the friar): what time need you to tie the marriage-knot?
-the friar: a quarter of an hour.
-cyrano (pushing them all toward the house): go! i stay.
-roxane (to christian): come!. . .
-cyrano: now, how to detain de guiche so long? (he jumps on the bench, climbs to the balcony by the wall): come!. . .up i go!. . .i have my plan!. . . (the lutes begin to play a very sad air): what, ho! (the tremolo grows more and more weird): it is a man! ay! 'tis a man this time! (he is on the balcony, pulls his hat over his eyes, takes off his sword, wraps himself in his cloak, then leans over): 'tis not too high! (he strides across the balcony, and drawing to him a long branch of one of the trees that are by the garden wall, he hangs on to it with both hands, ready to let himself fall): i'll shake this atmosphere!
-cyrano, de guiche.
-de guiche (who enters, masked, feeling his way in the dark): what can that cursed friar be about?
-cyrano: the devil!. . .if he knows my voice! (letting go with one hand, he pretends to turn an invisible key. solemnly): cric! crac! assume thou, cyrano, to serve the turn, the accent of thy native bergerac!. . .
-de guiche (looking at the house): 'tis there. i see dim,--this mask hinders me! (he is about to enter, when cyrano leaps from the balcony, holding on to the branch, which bends, dropping him between the door and de guiche; he pretends to fall heavily, as from a great height, and lies flat on the ground, motionless, as if stunned. de guiche starts back): what's this? (when he looks up, the branch has sprung back into its place. he sees only the sky, and is lost in amazement): where fell that man from?
-cyrano (sitting up, and speaking with a gascon accent): from the moon!
-de guiche: from?. . .
-cyrano (in a dreamy voice): what's o'clock?
-de guiche: he's lost his mind, for sure!
-cyrano: what hour? what country this? what month? what day?
-de guiche: but. . .
-cyrano: i am stupefied!
-de guiche: sir!
-cyrano: like a bomb i fell from the moon!
-de guiche (impatiently): come now!
-cyrano (rising, in a terrible voice): i say,--the moon!
-de guiche (recoiling): good, good! let it be so!. . .he's raving mad!
-cyrano (walking up to him): i say from the moon! i mean no metaphor!. . .
-de guiche: but. . .
-cyrano: was't a hundred years--a minute, since? --i cannot guess what time that fall embraced!-- that i was in that saffron-colored ball?
-de guiche (shrugging his shoulders): good! let me pass!
-cyrano (intercepting him): where am i? tell the truth! fear not to tell! oh, spare me not! where? where? have i fallen like a shooting star?
-de guiche: morbleu!
-cyrano: the fall was lightning-quick! no time to choose where i should fall--i know not where it be! oh, tell me! is it on a moon or earth, that my posterior weight has landed me?
-de guiche: i tell you, sir. . .
-cyrano (with a screech of terror, which makes de guiche start back): no? can it be? i'm on a planet where men have black faces?
-de guiche (putting a hand to his face): what?
-cyrano (feigning great alarm): am i in africa? a native you?
-de guiche (who has remembered his mask): this mask of mine. . .
-cyrano (pretending to be reassured): in venice? ha!--or rome?
-de guiche (trying to pass): a lady waits. .
-cyrano (quite reassured): oh-ho! i am in paris!
-de guiche (smiling in spite of himself): the fool is comical!
-cyrano: you laugh?
-de guiche: i laugh, but would get by!
-cyrano (beaming with joy): i have shot back to paris! (quite at ease, laughing, dusting himself, bowing): come--pardon me--by the last water-spout, covered with ether,--accident of travel! my eyes still full of star-dust, and my spurs encumbered by the planets' filaments! (picking something off his sleeve): ha! on my doublet?--ah, a comet's hair!. . .
-de guiche (beside himself): sir!. . .
-cyrano (just as he is about to pass, holds out his leg as if to show him something and stops him): in my leg--the calf--there is a tooth of the great bear, and, passing neptune close, i would avoid his trident's point, and fell, thus sitting, plump, right in the scales! my weight is marked, still registered, up there in heaven! (hurriedly preventing de guiche from passing, and detaining him by the button of his doublet): i swear to you that if you squeezed my nose it would spout milk!
-de guiche: milk?
-cyrano: from the milky way!
-de guiche: oh, go to hell!
-cyrano (crossing his arms): i fall, sir, out of heaven! now, would you credit it, that as i fell i saw that sirius wears a nightcap? true! (confidentially): the other bear is still too small to bite. (laughing): i went through the lyre, but i snapped a cord; (grandiloquent): i mean to write the whole thing in a book; the small gold stars, that, wrapped up in my cloak, i carried safe away at no small risks, will serve for asterisks i' the printed page!
-de guiche: come, make an end! i want. . .
-cyrano: oh-ho! you are sly!
-de guiche: sir!
-cyrano: you would worm all out of me!--the way the moon is made, and if men breathe and live in its rotund cucurbita?
-de guiche (angrily): no, no! i want. . .
-cyrano: ha, ha!--to know how i got up? hark, it was by a method all my own.
-de guiche (wearied): he's mad!
-cyrano(contemptuously): no! not for me the stupid eagle of regiomontanus, nor the timid pigeon of archytas--neither of those!
-de guiche: ay, 'tis a fool! but 'tis a learned fool!
-cyrano: no imitator i of other men! (de guiche has succeeded in getting by, and goes toward roxane's door. cyrano follows him, ready to stop him by force): six novel methods, all, this brain invented!
-de guiche (turning round): six?
-cyrano (volubly): first, with body naked as your hand, festooned about with crystal flacons, full o' th' tears the early morning dew distils; my body to the sun's fierce rays exposed to let it suck me up, as 't sucks the dew!
-de guiche (surprised, making one step toward cyrano): ah! that makes one!
-cyrano (stepping back, and enticing him further away): and then, the second way, to generate wind--for my impetus-- to rarefy air, in a cedar case, by mirrors placed icosahedron-wise.
-de guiche (making another step): two!
-cyrano (still stepping backward): or--for i have some mechanic skill-- to make a grasshopper, with springs of steel, and launch myself by quick succeeding fires saltpeter-fed to the stars' pastures blue!
-de guiche (unconsciously following him and counting on his fingers): three!
-cyrano: or (since fumes have property to mount)-- to charge a globe with fumes, sufficiently to carry me aloft!
-de guiche (same play, more and more astonished): well, that makes four!
-cyrano: or smear myself with marrow from a bull, since, at the lowest point of zodiac, phoebus well loves to suck that marrow up!
-de guiche (amazed): five!
-cyrano (who, while speaking, had drawn him to the other side of the square near a bench): sitting on an iron platform--thence to throw a magnet in the air. this is a method well conceived--the magnet flown, infallibly the iron will pursue: then quick! relaunch your magnet, and you thus can mount and mount unmeasured distances!
-de guiche: here are six excellent expedients! which of the six chose you?
-cyrano: why, none!--a seventh!
-de guiche: astonishing! what was it?
-cyrano: i'll recount.
-de guiche: this wild eccentric becomes interesting!
-cyrano (making a noise like the waves, with weird gestures): houuh! houuh!
-de guiche: well.
-cyrano: you have guessed?
-de guiche: not i!
-cyrano: the tide! i' th' witching hour when the moon woos the wave, i laid me, fresh from a sea-bath, on the shore-- and, failing not to put head foremost--for the hair holds the sea-water in its mesh-- i rose in air, straight! straight! like angel's flight, and mounted, mounted, gently, effortless,. . . when lo! a sudden shock! then. . .
-de guiche (overcome by curiosity, sitting down on the bench): then?
-cyrano: oh! then. . . (suddenly returning to his natural voice): the quarter's gone--i'll hinder you no more: the marriage-vows are made.
-de guiche (springing up): what? am i mad? that voice? (the house-door opens. lackeys appear carrying lighted candelabra. light. cyrano gracefully uncovers): that nose--cyrano?
-cyrano (bowing): cyrano. while we were chatting, they have plighted troth.
-de guiche: who? (he turns round. tableau. behind the lackeys appear roxane and christian, holding each other by the hand. the friar follows them, smiling. ragueneau also holds a candlestick. the duenna closes the rear, bewildered, having made a hasty toilet): heavens!
-the same. roxane, christian, the friar, ragueneau, lackeys, the duenna.
-de guiche (to roxane): you? (recognizing christian, in amazement): he? (bowing, with admiration, to roxane): cunningly contrived! (to cyrano): my compliments--sir apparatus-maker! your story would arrest at peter's gate saints eager for their paradise! note well the details. 'faith! they'd make a stirring book!
-cyrano (bowing): i shall not fail to follow your advice.
-the friar (showing with satisfaction the two lovers to de guiche): a handsome couple, son, made one by you!
-de guiche (with a freezing look): ay! (to roxane): bid your bridegroom, madame, fond farewell.
-roxane: why so?
-de guiche (to christian): even now the regiment departs. join it!
-roxane: it goes to battle?
-de guiche: without doubt.
-roxane: but the cadets go not?
-de guiche: oh ay! they go. (drawing out the paper he had put in his pocket): here is the order. (to christian): baron, bear it, quick!
-roxane (throwing herself in christian's arms): christian!
-de guiche (sneeringly to cyrano): the wedding-night is far, methinks!
-cyrano (aside): he thinks to give me pain of death by this!
-christian (to roxane): oh! once again! your lips!
-cyrano: come, come, enough!
-christian (still kissing roxane): --'tis hard to leave her, you know not. . .
-cyrano (trying to draw him away): i know.
-de guiche: the regiment starts!
-roxane (to cyrano, holding back christian, whom cyrano is drawing away): oh!--i trust him you! promise me that no risks shall put his life in danger!
-cyrano: i will try my best, but promise. . . that i cannot!
-roxane: but swear he shall be prudent?
-cyrano: again, i'll do my best, but. . .
-roxane: in the siege let him not suffer!
-cyrano: all that man can do, i. . .
-roxane: that he shall be faithful!
-cyrano: doubtless, but. . .
-roxane: that he will write oft?
-cyrano (pausing): that, i promise you!
-the cadets of gascony.
-post occupied by company of carbon de castel-jaloux at the siege of arras.
-in the background an embankment across the whole stage. beyond, view of plain extending to the horizon. the country covered with intrenchments. the walls of arras and the outlines of its roofs against the sky in the distance. tents. arms strewn about, drums, etc. day is breaking with a faint glimmer of yellow sunrise in the east. sentinels at different points. watch-fires. the cadets of gascony, wrapped in their mantles, are sleeping. carbon de castel-jaloux and le bret are keeping watch. they are very pale and thin. christian sleeps among the others in his cloak in the foreground, his face illuminated by the fire. silence.
-christian, carbon de castel-jaloux, le bret, the cadets, then cyrano.
-le bret: 'tis terrible.
-carbon: not a morsel left.
-le bret: mordioux!
-carbon (making a sign that he should speak lower): curse under your breath. you will awake them. (to the cadets): hush! sleep on. (to le bret): he who sleeps, dines!
-le bret: but that is sorry comfort for the sleepless!. . . what starvation!
-carbon: oh, plague take their firing! 'twill wake my sons. (to the cadets, who lift up their heads): sleep on!
-a cadet (moving): the devil!. . .again.
-carbon: 'tis nothing! 'tis cyrano coming back!
-a sentinel (from without): ventrebieu! who goes there?
-the voice of cyrano: bergerac.
-the sentinel (who is on the redoubt): ventrebieu! who goes there?
-cyrano (appearing at the top): bergerac, idiot!
-le bret: heavens!
-cyrano (making signs that he should not awake the others): hush!
-le bret: wounded?
-cyrano: oh! you know it has become their custom to shoot at me every morning and to miss me.
-le bret: this passes all! to take letters at each day's dawn. to risk. . .
-cyrano (stopping before christian): i promised he should write often. (he looks at him): he sleeps. how pale he is! but how handsome still, despite his sufferings. if his poor little lady-love knew that he is dying of hunger. . .
-le bret: get you quick to bed.
-cyrano: nay, never scold, le bret. i ran but little risk. i have found me a spot to pass the spanish lines, where each night they lie drunk.
-le bret: you should try to bring us back provision.
-cyrano: a man must carry no weight who would get by there! but there will be surprise for us this night. the french will eat or die. . .if i mistake not!
-le bret: oh!. . .tell me!. . .
-cyrano: nay, not yet. i am not certain. . .you will see!
-carbon: it is disgraceful that we should starve while we're besieging!
-le bret: alas, how full of complication is this siege of arras! to think that while we are besieging, we should ourselves be caught in a trap and besieged by the cardinal infante of spain.
-cyrano: it were well done if he should be besieged in his turn.
-le bret: i am in earnest.
-cyrano: oh! indeed!
-le bret: to think you risk a life so precious. . .for the sake of a letter. . .thankless one. (seeing him turning to enter the tent): where are you going?
-cyrano: i am going to write another.
-carbon (sighing): the reveille! (the cadets move and stretch themselves): nourishing sleep! thou art at an end!. . .i know well what will be their first cry!
-a cadet (sitting up): i am so hungry!
-another: i am dying of hunger.
-carbon: up with you!
-third cadet: --cannot move a limb.
-fourth cadet: nor can i.
-the first (looking at himself in a bit of armor): my tongue is yellow. the air at this season of the year is hard to digest.
-another: my coronet for a bit of chester!
-another: if none can furnish to my gaster wherewith to make a pint of chyle, i shall retire to my tent--like achilles!
-another: oh! something! were it but a crust!
-carbon (going to the tent and calling softly): cyrano!
-all the cadets: we are dying!
-second cadet (rushing toward another who is munching something): what are you crunching there?
-first cadet: cannon-wads soaked in axle-grease! 'tis poor hunting round about arras!
-a cadet (entering): i have been after game.
-another (following him): and i after fish.
-all (rushing to the two newcomers): well! what have you brought?--a pheasant?--a carp?--come, show us quick!
-the angler: a gudgeon!
-the sportsman: a sparrow!
-all together (beside themselves): 'tis more than can be borne! we will mutiny!
-the same. cyrano.
-cyrano (appearing from the tent, very calm, with a pen stuck behind his ear and a book in his hand): what is wrong? (silence. to the first cadet): why drag you your legs so sorrowfully?
-the cadet: i have something in my heels which weighs them down.
-cyrano: and what may that be?
-the cadet: my stomach!
-cyrano: so have i, 'faith!
-the cadet: it must be in your way?
-cyrano: nay, i am all the taller.
-a third: my stomach's hollow.
-cyrano: 'faith, 'twill make a fine drum to sound the assault.
-another: i have a ringing in my ears.
-cyrano: no, no, 'tis false; a hungry stomach has no ears.
-another: oh, to eat something--something oily!
-cyrano (pulling off the cadet's helmet and holding it out to him): behold your salad!
-another: what, in god's name, can we devour?
-cyrano (throwing him the book which he is carrying): the 'iliad'.
-another: the first minister in paris has his four meals a day!
-cyrano: 'twere courteous an he sent you a few partridges!
-the same: and why not? with wine, too!
-cyrano: a little burgundy. richelieu, s'il vous plait!
-the same: he could send it by one of his friars.
-cyrano: ay! by his eminence joseph himself.
-another: i am as ravenous as an ogre!
-cyrano: eat your patience, then.
-the first cadet (shrugging his shoulders): always your pointed word!
-cyrano: ay, pointed words! i would fain die thus, some soft summer eve, making a pointed word for a good cause. --to make a soldier's end by soldier's sword, wielded by some brave adversary--die on blood-stained turf, not on a fever-bed, a point upon my lips, a point within my heart.
-cries from all: i'm hungry!
-cyrano (crossing his arms): all your thoughts of meat and drink! bertrand the fifer!--you were shepherd once,-- draw from its double leathern case your fife, play to these greedy, guzzling soldiers. play old country airs with plaintive rhythm recurring, where lurk sweet echoes of the dear home-voices, each note of which calls like a little sister, those airs slow, slow ascending, as the smoke-wreaths rise from the hearthstones of our native hamlets, their music strikes the ear like gascon patois!. . . (the old man seats himself, and gets his flute ready): your flute was now a warrior in durance; but on its stem your fingers are a-dancing a bird-like minuet! o flute! remember that flutes were made of reeds first, not laburnum; make us a music pastoral days recalling-- the soul-time of your youth, in country pastures!. . . (the old man begins to play the airs of languedoc): hark to the music, gascons!. . .'tis no longer the piercing fife of camp--but 'neath his fingers the flute of the woods! no more the call to combat, 'tis now the love-song of the wandering goat-herds!. . . hark!. . .'tis the valley, the wet landes, the forest, the sunburnt shepherd-boy with scarlet beret, the dusk of evening on the dordogne river,-- 'tis gascony! hark, gascons, to the music!
-carbon (to cyrano in a whisper): but you make them weep!
-cyrano: ay, for homesickness. a nobler pain than hunger,--'tis of the soul, not of the body! i am well pleased to see their pain change its viscera. heart-ache is better than stomach-ache.
-carbon: but you weaken their courage by playing thus on their heart-strings!
-cyrano (making a sign to a drummer to approach): not i. the hero that sleeps in gascon blood is ever ready to awake in them. 'twould suffice. . .
-all the cadets (stand up and rush to take arms): what? what is it?
-cyrano (smiling): you see! one roll of the drum is enough! good-by dreams, regrets, native land, love. . .all that the pipe called forth the drum has chased away!
-a cadet (looking toward the back of the stage): ho! here comes monsieur de guiche.
-all the cadets (muttering): ugh!. . .ugh!. . .
-cyrano (smiling): a flattering welcome!
-a cadet: we are sick to death of him!
-another cadet: --with his lace collar over his armor, playing the fine gentleman!
-another: as if one wore linen over steel!
-the first: it were good for a bandage had he boils on his neck.
-the second: another plotting courtier!
-another cadet: his uncle's own nephew!
-carbon: for all that--a gascon.
-the first: ay, false gascon!. . .trust him not. . . gascons should ever be crack-brained. . . naught more dangerous than a rational gascon.
-le bret: how pale he is!
-another: oh! he is hungry, just like us poor devils; but under his cuirass, with its fine gilt nails, his stomach-ache glitters brave in the sun.
-cyrano (hurriedly): let us not seem to suffer either! out with your cards, pipes, and dice. . . (all begin spreading out the games on the drums, the stools, the ground, and on their cloaks, and light long pipes): and i shall read descartes.
-the same. de guiche.
-de guiche (to carbon): good-day! (they examine each other. aside, with satisfaction): he's green.
-carbon (aside): he has nothing left but eyes.
-de guiche (looking at the cadets): here are the rebels! ay, sirs, on all sides i hear that in your ranks you scoff at me; that the cadets, these loutish, mountain-bred, poor country squires, and barons of perigord, scarce find for me--their colonel--a disdain sufficient! call me plotter, wily courtier! it does not please their mightiness to see a point-lace collar on my steel cuirass,-- and they enrage, because a man, in sooth, may be no ragged-robin, yet a gascon! (silence. all smoke and play): shall i command your captain punish you? no.
-carbon: i am free, moreover,--will not punish--
-de guiche: ah!
-carbon: i have paid my company--'tis mine. i bow but to headquarters.
-de guiche: so?--in faith! that will suffice. (addressing himself to the cadets): i can despise your taunts 'tis well known how i bear me in the war; at bapaume, yesterday, they saw the rage with which i beat back the count of bucquoi; assembling my own men, i fell on his, and charged three separate times!
-cyrano (without lifting his eyes from his book): and your white scarf?
-de guiche (surprised and gratified): you know that detail?. . .troth! it happened thus: while caracoling to recall the troops for the third charge, a band of fugitives bore me with them, close by the hostile ranks: i was in peril--capture, sudden death!-- when i thought of the good expedient to loosen and let fall the scarf which told my military rank; thus i contrived --without attention waked--to leave the foes, and suddenly returning, reinforced with my own men, to scatter them! and now, --what say you, sir?
-cyrano: i say, that henri quatre had not, by any dangerous odds, been forced to strip himself of his white helmet plume.
-de guiche: the ruse succeeded, though!
-cyrano: oh, may be! but one does not lightly abdicate the honor to serve as target to the enemy (cards, dice, fall again, and the cadets smoke with evident delight): had i been present when your scarf fell low, --our courage, sir, is of a different sort-- i would have picked it up and put it on.
-de guiche: oh, ay! another gascon boast!
-cyrano: a boast? lend it to me. i pledge myself, to-night, --with it across my breast,--to lead th' assault.
-de guiche: another gascon vaunt! you know the scarf lies with the enemy, upon the brink of the stream,. . .the place is riddled now with shot,-- no one can fetch it hither!
-cyrano (drawing the scarf from his pocket, and holding it out to him): here it is.
-de guiche (taking the scarf): i thank you. it will now enable me to make a signal,--that i had forborne to make--till now.
-all: what's that?
-the sentinel (from the top of the rampart): see you yon man down there, who runs?. . .
-de guiche (descending): 'tis a false spanish spy who is extremely useful to my ends. the news he carries to the enemy are those i prompt him with--so, in a word, we have an influence on their decisions!
-de guiche (carelessly knotting on his scarf): 'tis opportune. what were we saying? ah! i have news for you. last evening --to victual us--the marshal did attempt a final effort:--secretly he went to dourlens, where the king's provisions be. but--to return to camp more easily-- he took with him a goodly force of troops. those who attacked us now would have fine sport! half of the army's absent from the camp!
-carbon: ay, if the spaniards knew, 'twere ill for us, but they know nothing of it?
-de guiche: oh! they know. they will attack us.
-de guiche: for my false spy came to warn me of their attack. he said, 'i can decide the point for their assault; where would you have it? i will tell them 'tis the least defended--they'll attempt you there.' i answered, 'good. go out of camp, but watch my signal. choose the point from whence it comes.'
-carbon (to cadets): make ready!
-de guiche: 'twill be in an hour.
-first cadet: good!. . .
-de guiche (to carbon): time must be gained. the marshal will return.
-carbon: how gain it?
-de guiche: you will all be good enough to let yourselves to be killed.
-cyrano: vengeance! oho!
-de guiche: i do not say that, if i loved you well, i had chosen you and yours,--but, as things stand,-- your courage yielding to no corps the palm-- i serve my king, and serve my grudge as well.
-cyrano: permit that i express my gratitude. . .
-de guiche: i know you love to fight against five score; you will not now complain of paltry odds.
-cyrano (to the cadets): we shall add to the gascon coat of arms, with its six bars of blue and gold, one more-- the blood-red bar that was a-missing there!
-cyrano (putting his hand on christian's shoulder): christian!
-christian (shaking his head): roxane!
-christian: at least, i'd send my heart's farewell to her in a fair letter!. . .
-cyrano: i had suspicion it would be to-day, (he draws a letter out of his doublet): and had already writ. . .
-cyrano: will you. . .?
-christian (taking the letter): ay! (he opens and reads it): hold!
-christian: this little spot!
-cyrano (taking the letter, with an innocent look): a spot?
-christian: a tear!
-cyrano: poets, at last,--by dint of counterfeiting-- take counterfeit for true--that is the charm! this farewell letter,--it was passing sad, i wept myself in writing it!
-christian: wept? why?
-cyrano: oh!. . .death itself is hardly terrible,. . . --but, ne'er to see her more! that is death's sting! --for. . .i shall never. . . (christian looks at him): we shall. . . (quickly): i mean, you. . .
-christian (snatching the letter from him): give me that letter!
-voice of sentinel: who goes there? halloo!
-carbon: what is it?
-a sentinel (on the rampart): 'tis a carriage!
-cries: in the camp? it enters!--it comes from the enemy! --fire!--no!--the coachman cries!--what does he say? --'on the king's service!'
-de guiche: the king's service? how?
-carbon: uncover, all!
-de guiche: the king's! draw up in line! let him describe his curve as it befits!
-carbon: beat a salute!
-de guiche: lower the carriage-steps!
-roxane (jumping down from the carriage): good-day!
-the same. roxane.
-de guiche: on the king's service! you?
-roxane: ay,--king love's! what other king?
-cyrano: great god!
-christian (rushing forward): why have you come?
-roxane: this siege--'tis too long!
-christian: but why?. . .
-roxane: i will tell you all!
-cyrano (who, at the sound of her voice, has stood still, rooted to the ground, afraid to raise his eyes): my god! dare i look at her?
-de guiche: you cannot remain here!
-roxane (merrily): but i say yes! who will push a drum hither for me? (she seats herself on the drum they roll forward): so! i thank you. (she laughs): my carriage was fired at (proudly): by the patrol! look! would you not think 'twas made of a pumpkin, like cinderella's chariot in the tale,--and the footmen out of rats? (sending a kiss with her lips to christian): good-morrow! (examining them all): you look not merry, any of you! ah! know you that 'tis a long road to get to arras? (seeing cyrano): cousin, delighted!
-cyrano (coming up to her): but how, in heaven's name?. . .
-roxane: how found i the way to the army? it was simple enough, for i had but to pass on and on, as far as i saw the country laid waste. ah, what horrors were there! had i not seen, then i could never have believed it! well, gentlemen, if such be the service of your king, i would fainer serve mine!
-cyrano: but 'tis sheer madness! where in the fiend's name did you get through?
-roxane: where? through the spanish lines.
-first cadet: --for subtle craft, give me a woman!
-de guiche: but how did you pass through their lines?
-le bret: faith! that must have been a hard matter!. . .
-roxane: none too hard. i but drove quietly forward in my carriage, and when some hidalgo of haughty mien would have stayed me, lo! i showed at the window my sweetest smile, and these senors being (with no disrespect to you) the most gallant gentlemen in the world,--i passed on!
-carbon: true, that smile is a passport! but you must have been asked frequently to give an account of where you were going, madame?
-roxane: yes, frequently. then i would answer, 'i go to see my lover.' at that word the very fiercest spaniard of them all would gravely shut the carriage-door, and, with a gesture that a king might envy, make signal to his men to lower the muskets leveled at me;--then, with melancholy but withal very graceful dignity--his beaver held to the wind that the plumes might flutter bravely, he would bow low, saying to me, 'pass on, senorita!'
-christian: but, roxane. . .
-roxane: forgive me that i said, 'my lover!' but bethink you, had i said 'my husband,' not one of them had let me pass!
-christian: but. . .
-roxane: what ails you?
-de guiche: you must leave this place!
-cyrano: and that instantly!
-le bret: no time to lose.
-christian: indeed, you must.
-roxane: but wherefore must i?
-christian (embarrassed): 'tis that. . .
-cyrano (the same): --in three quarters of an hour. . .
-de guiche (the same): --or for. . .
-carbon (the same): it were best. . .
-le bret (the same): you might. . .
-roxane: you are going to fight?--i stay here.
-all: no, no!
-roxane: he is my husband! (she throws herself into christian's arms): they shall kill us both together!
-christian: why do you look at me thus?
-roxane: i will tell you why!
-de guiche (in despair): 'tis a post of mortal danger!
-roxane (turning round): mortal danger!
-cyrano: proof enough, that he has put us here!
-roxane (to de guiche): so, sir, you would have made a widow of me?
-de guiche: nay, on my oath. . .
-roxane: i will not go! i am reckless now, and i shall not stir from here!--besides, 'tis amusing!
-cyrano: oh-ho! so our precieuse is a heroine!
-roxane: monsieur de bergerac, i am your cousin.
-a cadet: we will defend you well!
-roxane (more and more excited): i have no fear of that, my friends!
-another (in ecstasy): the whole camp smells sweet of orris-root!
-roxane: and, by good luck, i have chosen a hat that will suit well with the battlefield! (looking at de guiche): but were it not wisest that the count retire? they may begin the attack.
-de guiche: that is not to be brooked! i go to inspect the cannon, and shall return. you have still time--think better of it!
-the same, all but de guiche.
-christian (entreatingly): roxane!
-first cadet (to the others): she stays!
-all (hurrying, hustling each other, tidying themselves): a comb!--soap!--my uniform is torn!--a needle!--a ribbon!--lend your mirror!--my cuffs!--your curling-iron!--a razor!. . .
-roxane (to cyrano, who still pleads with her): no! naught shall make me stir from this spot!
-carbon (who, like the others, has been buckling, dusting, brushing his hat, settling his plume, and drawing on his cuffs, advances to roxane, and ceremoniously): it is perchance more seemly, since things are thus, that i present to you some of these gentlemen who are about to have the honor of dying before your eyes. (roxane bows, and stands leaning on christian's arm, while carbon introduces the cadets to her): baron de peyrescous de colignac!
-the cadet (with a low reverence): madame. . .
-carbon (continuing): baron de casterac de cahuzac,--vidame de malgouyre estressac lesbas d'escarabiot, chevalier d'antignac-juzet, baron hillot de blagnac-salechan de castel crabioules. . .
-roxane: but how many names have you each?
-baron hillot: scores!
-carbon (to roxane): pray, upon the hand that holds your kerchief.
-roxane (opens her hand, and the handkerchief falls): why?
-carbon (quickly raising it): my company had no flag. but now, by my faith, they will have the fairest in all the camp!
-roxane (smiling): 'tis somewhat small.
-carbon (tying the handkerchief on the staff of his lance): but--'tis of lace!
-a cadet (to the rest): i could die happy, having seen so sweet a face, if i had something in my stomach--were it but a nut!
-carbon (who has overheard, indignantly): shame on you! what, talk of eating when a lovely woman!. . .
-roxane: but your camp air is keen; i myself am famished. pasties, cold fricassee, old wines--there is my bill of fare? pray bring it all here.
-a cadet: all that?
-another: but where on earth find it?
-roxane (quietly): in my carriage.
-roxane: now serve up--carve! look a little closer at my coachman, gentlemen, and you will recognize a man most welcome. all the sauces can be sent to table hot, if we will!
-the cadets (rushing pellmell to the carriage): 'tis ragueneau! (acclamations): oh, oh!
-roxane (looking after them): poor fellows!
-cyrano (kissing her hand): kind fairy!
-ragueneau (standing on the box like a quack doctor at a fair): gentlemen!. . .
-the cadets: bravo! bravo!
-ragueneau: . . .the spaniards, gazing on a lady so dainty fair, overlooked the fare so dainty!. . .
-cyrano (in a whisper to christian): hark, christian!
-ragueneau: . . .and, occupied with gallantry, perceived not-- (his draws a plate from under the seat, and holds it up): --the galantine!. . .
-cyrano (still whispering to christian): prythee, one word!
-ragueneau: and venus so attracted their eyes that diana could secretly pass by with-- (he holds up a shoulder of mutton): --her fawn!
-cyrano (in a low whisper to christian): i must speak to you!
-roxane (to the cadets, who come down, their arms laden with food): put it all on the ground!
-roxane (to christian, just as cyrano is drawing him apart): come, make yourself of use!
-ragueneau: truffled peacock!
-first cadet (radiant, coming down, cutting a big slice of ham): by the mass! we shall not brave the last hazard without having had a gullet-full!-- (quickly correcting himself on seeing roxane): --pardon! a balthazar feast!
-ragueneau (throwing down the carriage cushions): the cushions are stuffed with ortolans!
-third cadet: ah! viedaze!
-ragueneau (throwing down to the cadets bottles of red wine): flasks of rubies!-- (and white wine): --flasks of topaz!
-roxane (throwing a folded tablecloth at cyrano's head): unfold me that napkin!--come, come! be nimble!
-ragueneau (waving a lantern): each of the carriage-lamps is a little larder!
-cyrano (in a low voice to christian, as they arrange the cloth together): i must speak with you ere you speak to her.
-ragueneau: my whip-handle is an arles sausage!
-roxane (pouring out wine, helping): since we are to die, let the rest of the army shift for itself. all for the gascons! and mark! if de guiche comes, let no one invite him! (going from one to the other): there! there! you have time enough! do not eat too fast!--drink a little.- -why are you crying?
-first cadet: it is all so good!. . .
-roxane: tut!--red or white?--some bread for monsieur de carbon!--a knife! pass your plate!--a little of the crust? some more? let me help you!--some champagne?- -a wing?
-cyrano (who follows her, his arms laden with dishes, helping her to wait on everybody): how i worship her!
-roxane (going up to christian): what will you?
-roxane: nay, nay, take this biscuit, steeped in muscat; come!. . .but two drops!
-christian (trying to detain her): oh! tell me why you came?
-roxane: wait; my first duty is to these poor fellows.--hush! in a few minutes. . .
-le bret (who had gone up to pass a loaf on the end of a lance to the sentry on the rampart): de guiche!
-cyrano: quick! hide flasks, plates, pie-dishes, game-baskets! hurry!--let us all look unconscious! (to ragueneau): up on your seat!--is everything covered up?
-the same. de guiche.
-de guiche: it smells good here.
-a cadet (humming): lo! lo-lo!
-de guiche (looking at him): what is the matter?--you are very red.
-the cadet: the matter?--nothing!--'tis my blood--boiling at the thought of the coming battle!
-another: poum, poum--poum. . .
-de guiche (turning round): what's that?
-the cadet (slightly drunk): nothing!. . .'tis a song!--a little. . .
-de guiche: you are merry, my friend!
-the cadet: the approach of danger is intoxicating!
-de guiche (calling carbon de castel-jaloux, to give him an order): captain! i. . . (he stops short on seeing him): plague take me! but you look bravely, too!
-carbon (crimson in the face, hiding a bottle behind his back, with an evasive movement): oh!. . .
-de guiche: i have one cannon left, and have had it carried there-- (he points behind the scenes): --in that corner. . .your men can use it in case of need.
-a cadet (reeling slightly): charming attention!
-another (with a gracious smile): kind solicitude!
-de guiche: how? they are all gone crazy? (drily): as you are not used to cannon, beware of the recoil.
-first cadet: pooh!
-de guiche (furious, going up to him): but. . .
-the cadet: gascon cannons never recoil!
-de guiche (taking him by the arm and shaking him): you are tipsy!--but what with?
-the cadet (grandiloquently): --with the smell of powder!
-de guiche (shrugging his shoulders and pushing him away, then going quickly to roxane): briefly, madame, what decision do you deign to take?
-roxane: i stay here.
-de guiche: you must fly!
-roxane: no! i will stay.
-de guiche: since things are thus, give me a musket, one of you!
-de guiche: because i too--mean to remain.
-cyrano: at last! this is true valor, sir!
-first cadet: then you are gascon after all, spite of your lace collar?
-roxane: what is all this?
-de guiche: i leave no woman in peril.
-second cadet (to the first): hark you! think you not we might give him something to eat?
-de guiche (whose eyes sparkle): victuals!
-the third cadet: yes, you'll see them coming from under every coat!
-de guiche (controlling himself, haughtily): do you think i will eat your leavings?
-cyrano (saluting him): you make progress.
-de guiche (proudly, with a light touch of accent on the word 'breaking'): i will fight without br-r-eaking my fast!
-first cadet (with wild delight): br-r-r-eaking! he has got the accent!
-de guiche (laughing): i?
-the cadet: 'tis a gascon!
-de guiche (bowing to roxane): will you accept my hand, and accompany me while i review them?
-christian (going to cyrano, eagerly): tell me quickly!
-the pikemen (outside): vivat!
-christian: what is this secret?
-cyrano: if roxane should. . .
-christian: should?. . .
-cyrano: speak of the letters?. . .
-christian: yes, i know!. . .
-cyrano: do not spoil all by seeming surprised. . .
-christian: at what?
-cyrano: i must explain to you!. . .oh! 'tis no great matter--i but thought of it to- day on seeing her. you have. . .
-christian: tell quickly!
-cyrano: you have. . .written to her oftener than you think. . .
-christian: how so?
-cyrano: thus, 'faith! i had taken it in hand to express your flame for you!. . .at times i wrote without saying, 'i am writing!'
-christian: ah!. . .
-cyrano: 'tis simple enough!
-christian: but how did you contrive, since we have been cut off, thus. . .to?. . .
-cyrano: . . .oh! before dawn. . .i was able to get through. . .
-christian (folding his arms): that was simple, too? and how oft, pray you, have i written?. . .twice in the week?. . .three times?. . .four?. . .
-cyrano: more often still.
-christian: what! every day?
-cyrano: yes, every day,--twice.
-christian (violently): and that became so mad a joy for you, that you braved death. . .
-cyrano (seeing roxane returning): hush! not before her!
-roxane, christian. in the distance cadets coming and going. carbon and de guiche give orders.
-roxane (running up to christian): ah, christian, at last!. . .
-christian (taking her hands): now tell me why-- why, by these fearful paths so perilous-- across these ranks of ribald soldiery, you have come?
-roxane: love, your letters brought me here!
-christian: what say you?
-roxane: 'tis your fault if i ran risks! your letters turned my head! ah! all this month, how many!--and the last one ever bettered the one that went before!
-christian: what!--for a few inconsequent love-letters!
-roxane: hold your peace! ah! you cannot conceive it! ever since that night, when, in a voice all new to me, under my window you revealed your soul-- ah! ever since i have adored you! now your letters all this whole month long!--meseemed as if i heard that voice so tender, true, sheltering, close! thy fault, i say! it drew me, the voice o' th' night! oh! wise penelope would ne'er have stayed to broider on her hearthstone, if her ulysses could have writ such letters! but would have cast away her silken bobbins, and fled to join him, mad for love as helen!
-christian: but. . .
-roxane: i read, read again--grew faint for love; i was thine utterly. each separate page was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed from your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. imprinted in each burning word was love sincere, all-powerful. . .
-christian: a love sincere! can that be felt, roxane!
-roxane: ay, that it can!
-christian: you come. . .?
-roxane: o, christian, my true lord, i come-- (were i to throw myself, here, at your knees, you would raise me--but 'tis my soul i lay at your feet--you can raise it nevermore!) --i come to crave your pardon. (ay, 'tis time to sue for pardon, now that death may come!) for the insult done to you when, frivolous, at first i loved you only for your face!
-christian (horror-stricken): roxane!
-roxane: and later, love--less frivolous-- like a bird that spreads its wings, but can not fly-- arrested by your beauty, by your soul drawn close--i loved for both at once!
-christian: and now?
-roxane: ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself, and now, i love you only for your soul!
-christian (stepping backward): roxane!
-roxane: be happy. to be loved for beauty-- a poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare-- must be to noble souls--to souls aspiring-- a torture. your dear thoughts have now effaced that beauty that so won me at the outset. now i see clearer--and i no more see it!
-christian: oh!. . .
-roxane: you are doubtful of such victory?
-christian (pained): roxane!
-roxane: i see you cannot yet believe it. such love. . .?
-christian: i do not ask such love as that! i would be loved more simply; for. . .
-roxane: for that which they have all in turns loved in thee?-- shame! oh! be loved henceforth in a better way!
-christian: no! the first love was best!
-roxane: ah! how you err! 'tis now that i love best--love well! 'tis that which is thy true self, see!--that i adore! were your brilliance dimmed. . .
-roxane: i should love still! ay, if your beauty should to-day depart. . .
-christian: say not so!
-roxane: ay, i say it!
-christian: ugly? how?
-roxane: ugly! i swear i'd love you still!
-christian: my god!
-roxane: are you content at last?
-christian (in a choked voice): ay!. . .
-roxane: what is wrong?
-christian (gently pushing her away): nothing. . .i have two words to say:--one second. . .
-roxane: but?. . .
-christian (pointing to the cadets): those poor fellows, shortly doomed to death,-- my love deprives them of the sight of you: go,--speak to them--smile on them ere they die!
-roxane (deeply affected): dear christian!. . .
-christian, cyrano. at back roxane talking to carbon and some cadets.
-christian (calling toward cyrano's tent): cyrano!
-cyrano (reappearing, fully armed): what? why so pale?
-christian: she does not love me!
-christian: 'tis you she loves!
-christian: --for she loves me only for my soul!
-christian: yes! thus--you see, that soul is you,. . . therefore, 'tis you she loves!--and you--love her!
-christian: oh, i know it!
-cyrano: ay, 'tis true!
-christian: you love to madness!
-cyrano: ay! and worse!
-christian: then tell her so!
-christian: and why not?
-cyrano: look at my face!--be answered!
-christian: she'd love me--were i ugly.
-cyrano: said she so?
-christian: ay! in those words!
-cyrano: i'm glad she told you that! but pooh!--believe it not! i am well pleased she thought to tell you. take it not for truth. never grow ugly:--she'd reproach me then!
-christian: that i intend discovering!
-cyrano: no! i beg!
-christian: ay! she shall choose between us!--tell her all!
-cyrano: no! no! i will not have it! spare me this!
-christian: because my face is haply fair, shall i destroy your happiness? 'twere too unjust!
-cyrano: and i,--because by nature's freak i have the gift to say--all that perchance you feel. shall i be fatal to your happiness?
-christian: tell all!
-cyrano: it is ill done to tempt me thus!
-christian: too long i've borne about within myself a rival to myself--i'll make an end!
-christian: our union, without witness--secret-- clandestine--can be easily dissolved if we survive.
-cyrano: my god!--he still persists!
-christian: i will be loved myself--or not at all! --i'll go see what they do--there, at the end of the post: speak to her, and then let her choose one of us two!
-cyrano: it will be you.
-christian: pray god! (he calls): roxane!
-cyrano: no! no!
-roxane (coming up quickly): what?
-christian: cyrano has things important for your ear. . .
-roxane, cyrano. then le bret, carbon de castel-jaloux, the cadets, ragueneau, de guiche, etc.
-roxane: important, how?
-cyrano (in despair. to roxane): he's gone! 'tis naught!--oh, you know how he sees importance in a trifle!
-roxane (warmly): did he doubt of what i said?--ah, yes, i saw he doubted!
-cyrano (taking her hand): but are you sure you told him all the truth?
-roxane: yes, i would love him were he. . .
-cyrano: does that word embarrass you before my face, roxane?
-roxane: i. . .
-cyrano (smiling sadly): 'twill not hurt me! say it! if he were ugly!. . .
-roxane: yes, ugly! (musket report outside): hark! i hear a shot!
-cyrano (ardently): hideous!
-roxane: hideous! yes!
-roxane: he could not be grotesque to me!
-cyrano: you'd love the same?. . .
-roxane: the same--nay, even more!
-cyrano (losing command over himself--aside): my god! it's true, perchance, love waits me there! (to roxane): i. . .roxane. . .listen. . .
-le bret (entering hurriedly--to cyrano): cyrano!
-cyrano (turning round): what?
-le bret: hush!
-cyrano (letting go roxane's hand and exclaiming): ah, god!
-roxane: what is it?
-cyrano (to himself--stunned): all is over now.
-roxane: what is the matter? hark! another shot!
-cyrano: it is too late, now i can never tell!
-roxane (trying to rush out): what has chanced?
-cyrano (rushing to stop her): nothing!
-roxane: and those men? (cyrano draws her away): what were you just about to say before. . .?
-cyrano: what was i saying? nothing now, i swear! (solemnly): i swear that christian's soul, his nature, were. . . (hastily correcting himself): nay, that they are, the noblest, greatest. . .
-roxane: were? (with a loud scream): oh!
-cyrano: all is over now!
-roxane (seeing christian lying on the ground, wrapped in his cloak): o christian!
-le bret (to cyrano): struck by first shot of the enemy!
-carbon (with sword in the air): o come! your muskets.
-the voice of carbon (from the other side): ho! make haste!
-carbon: form line!
-carbon: handle your match!
-christian (in a dying voice): roxane!
-cyrano (quickly, whispering into christian's ear, while roxane distractedly tears a piece of linen from his breast, which she dips into the water, trying to stanch the bleeding): i told her all. she loves you still.
-roxane: how, my sweet love?
-carbon: draw ramrods!
-roxane (to cyrano): he is not dead?
-carbon: open your charges with your teeth!
-roxane: his cheek grows cold against my own!
-carbon: ready! present!
-roxane (seeing a letter in christian's doublet): a letter!. . . 'tis for me!
-cyrano (aside): my letter!
-cyrano (trying to disengage his hand, which roxane on her knees is holding): but, roxane, hark, they fight!
-roxane (detaining him): stay yet awhile. for he is dead. you knew him, you alone. (weeping quietly): ah, was not his a beauteous soul, a soul wondrous!
-cyrano (standing up--bareheaded): ay, roxane.
-roxane: an inspired poet?
-cyrano: ay, roxane.
-roxane: and a mind sublime?
-cyrano: oh, yes!
-roxane: a heart too deep for common minds to plumb, a spirit subtle, charming?
-cyrano (firmly): ay, roxane.
-roxane (flinging herself on the dead body): dead, my love!
-cyrano (aside--drawing his sword): ay, and let me die to-day, since, all unconscious, she mourns me--in him!
-de guiche (appearing on the ramparts--bareheaded--with a wound on his forehead--in a voice of thunder): it is the signal! trumpet flourishes! the french bring the provisions into camp! hold but the place awhile!
-roxane: see, there is blood upon the letter--tears!
-a voice (outside--shouting): surrender!
-voice of cadets: no!
-ragueneau (standing on the top of his carriage, watches the battle over the edge of the ramparts): the danger's ever greater!
-cyrano (to de guiche--pointing to roxane): i will charge! take her away!
-roxane (kissing the letter--in a half-extinguished voice): o god! his tears! his blood!. . .
-ragueneau (jumping down from the carriage and rushing toward her): she's swooned away!
-de guiche (on the rampart--to the cadets--with fury): stand fast!
-a voice (outside): lay down your arms!
-the cadets: no!
-cyrano (to de guiche): now that you have proved your valor, sir, (pointing to roxane): fly, and save her!
-de guiche (rushing to roxane, and carrying her away in his arms): so be it! gain but time, the victory's ours!
-cyrano: good. (calling out to roxane, whom de guiche, aided by ragueneau, is bearing away in a fainting condition): farewell, roxane!
-carbon: we are breaking! i am wounded--wounded twice!
-cyrano (shouting to the gascons): gascons! ho, gascons! never turn your backs! (to carbon, whom he is supporting): have no fear! i have two deaths to avenge: my friend who's slain;--and my dead happiness! (they come down, cyrano brandishing the lance to which is attached roxane's handkerchief): float there! laced kerchief broidered with her name! (he sticks it in the ground and shouts to the cadets): fall on them, gascons! crush them! (to the fifer): fifer, play!
-a cadet (appearing on the crest, beaten backward, but still fighting, cries): they're climbing the redoubt! (and falls dead.)
-cyrano: let us salute them! (the rampart is covered instantly by a formidable row of enemies. the standards of the imperialists are raised): fire!
-a cry in the enemy's ranks: fire!
-a spanish officer (uncovering): who are these men who rush on death?
-cyrano (reciting, erect, amid a storm of bullets): the bold cadets of gascony, of carbon of castel-jaloux! brawling, swaggering boastfully, (he rushes forward, followed by a few survivors): the bold cadets. . .
-fifteen years later, in 1655. park of the sisters of the holy cross in paris. magnificent trees. on the left the house: broad steps on to which open several doors. an enormous plane tree in the middle of the stage, standing alone. on the right, among big boxwood trees, a semicircular stone bench.
-the whole background of the stage is crossed by an alley of chestnut trees leading on the right hand to the door of a chapel seen through the branches. through the double row of trees of this alley are seen lawns, other alleys, clusters of trees, winding of the park, the sky.
-the chapel opens by a little side door on to a colonnade which is wreathed with autumn leaves, and is lost to view a little farther on in the right-hand foreground behind the boxwood.
-it is autumn. all the foliage is red against the fresh green of the lawns. the green boxwood and yews stand out dark.
-under each tree a patch of yellow leaves.
-the stage is strewn with dead leaves, which rustle under foot in the alleys, and half cover the steps and benches.
-between the benches on the right hand and the tree a large embroidery frame, in front of which a little chair has been set.
-baskets full of skeins and balls of wool. a tapestry begun.
-at the rising of the curtains nuns are walking to and fro in the park; some are seated on the bench around an older sister.
-the leaves are falling.
-mother marguerite, sister martha, sister claire, other sisters.
-sister martha (to mother marguerite): sister claire glanced in the mirror, once--nay, twice, to see if her coif suited.
-mother marguerite (to sister claire): 'tis not well.
-sister claire: but i saw sister martha take a plum out of the tart.
-mother marguerite (to sister martha): that was ill done, my sister.
-sister claire: a little glance!
-sister martha: and such a little plum!
-mother marguerite: i shall tell this to monsieur cyrano.
-sister claire: nay, prithee do not!--he will mock!
-sister martha: he'll say we nuns are vain!
-sister claire: and greedy!
-mother marguerite (smiling): ay, and kind!
-sister claire: is it not true, pray, mother marguerite, that he has come, each week, on saturday for ten years, to the convent?
-mother marguerite: ay! and more! ever since--fourteen years ago--the day his cousin brought here, 'midst our woolen coifs, the worldly mourning of her widow's veil, like a blackbird's wing among the convent doves!
-sister martha: he only has the skill to turn her mind from grief--unsoftened yet by time--unhealed!
-all the sisters: he is so droll!--it's cheerful when he comes!-- he teases us!--but we all like him well!-- --we make him pasties of angelica!
-sister martha: but, he is not a faithful catholic!
-sister claire: we will convert him!
-the sisters: yes! yes!
-mother marguerite: i forbid, my daughters, you attempt that subject. nay, weary him not--he might less oft come here!
-sister martha: but. . .god. . .
-mother marguerite: nay, never fear! god knows him well!
-sister martha: but--every saturday, when he arrives, he tells me, 'sister, i eat meat on friday!'
-mother marguerite: ah! says he so? well, the last time he came food had not passed his lips for two whole days!
-sister martha: mother!
-mother marguerite: he's poor.
-sister martha: who told you so, dear mother?
-mother marguerite: monsieur le bret.
-sister martha: none help him?
-mother marguerite: he permits not. (in an alley at the back roxane appears, dressed in black, with a widow's coif and veil. de guiche, imposing-looking and visibly aged, walks by her side. they saunter slowly. mother marguerite rises): 'tis time we go in; madame madeleine walks in the garden with a visitor.
-sister martha (to sister claire, in a low voice): the marshal of grammont?
-sister claire (looking at him): 'tis he, i think.
-sister martha: 'tis many months now since he came to see her.
-the sisters: he is so busy!--the court,--the camp!. . .
-sister claire: the world!
-roxane; the duke de grammont, formerly count de guiche. then le bret and ragueneau.
-the duke: and you stay here still--ever vainly fair, ever in weeds?
-the duke: still faithful?
-the duke (after a pause): am i forgiven?
-roxane: ay, since i am here.
-the duke: his was a soul, you say?. . .
-roxane: ah!--when you knew him!
-the duke: ah, may be!. . .i, perchance, too little knew him! . . .and his last letter, ever next your heart?
-roxane: hung from this chain, a gentle scapulary.
-the duke: and, dead, you love him still?
-roxane: at times,--meseems he is but partly dead--our hearts still speak, as if his love, still living, wrapped me round!
-the duke (after another pause): cyrano comes to see you?
-roxane: often, ay. dear, kind old friend! we call him my 'gazette.' he never fails to come: beneath this tree they place his chair, if it be fine:--i wait, i broider;--the clock strikes;--at the last stroke i hear,--for now i never turn to look-- too sure to hear his cane tap down the steps; he seats himself:--with gentle raillery he mocks my tapestry that's never done; he tells me all the gossip of the week. . . (le bret appears on the steps): why, here's le bret! (le bret descends): how goes it with our friend?
-le bret: ill!--very ill.
-the duke: how?
-roxane (to the duke): he exaggerates!
-le bret: all that i prophesied: desertion, want!. . . his letters now make him fresh enemies!-- attacking the sham nobles, sham devout, sham brave,--the thieving authors,--all the world!
-roxane: ah! but his sword still holds them all in check; none get the better of him.
-the duke (shaking his head): time will show!
-le bret: ah, but i fear for him--not man's attack,-- solitude--hunger--cold december days, that wolf-like steal into his chamber drear:-- lo! the assassins that i fear for him! each day he tightens by one hole his belt: that poor nose--tinted like old ivory: he has retained one shabby suit of serge.
-the duke: ay, there is one who has no prize of fortune!-- yet is not to be pitied!
-le bret (with a bitter smile): my lord marshal!. . .
-the duke: pity him not! he has lived out his vows, free in his thoughts, as in his actions free!
-le bret (in the same tone): my lord!. . .
-the duke (haughtily): true! i have all, and he has naught;. . . yet i were proud to take his hand! (bowing to roxane): adieu!
-roxane: i go with you.
-the duke (pausing, while she goes up): ay, true,--i envy him. look you, when life is brimful of success --though the past hold no action foul--one feels a thousand self-disgusts, of which the sum is not remorse, but a dim, vague unrest; and, as one mounts the steps of worldly fame, the duke's furred mantles trail within their folds a sound of dead illusions, vain regrets, a rustle--scarce a whisper--like as when, mounting the terrace steps, by your mourning robe sweeps in its train the dying autumn leaves.
-roxane (ironically): you are pensive?
-the duke: true! i am! (as he is going out, suddenly): monsieur le bret! (to roxane): a word, with your permission? (he goes to le bret, and in a low voice): true, that none dare to attack your friend;--but many hate him; yesterday, at the queen's card-play, 'twas said 'that cyrano may die--by accident!' let him stay in--be prudent!
-le bret (raising his arms to heaven): prudent! he!. . . he's coming here. i'll warn him--but!. . .
-roxane (who has stayed on the steps, to a sister who comes toward her): what is it?
-the sister: ragueneau would see you, madame.
-roxane: let him come. (to the duke and le bret): he comes to tell his troubles. having been an author (save the mark!)--poor fellow--now by turns he's singer. . .
-le bret: bathing-man. . .
-roxane: then actor. . .
-le bret: beadle. . .
-roxane: wig-maker. . .
-le bret: teacher of the lute. . .
-roxane: what will he be to-day, by chance?
-ragueneau (entering hurriedly): ah! madame! (he sees le bret): ah! you here, sir!
-roxane (smiling): tell all your miseries to him; i will return anon.
-ragueneau: but, madame. . .
-le bret, ragueneau.
-ragueneau: since you are here, 'tis best she should not know! i was going to your friend just now--was but a few steps from the house, when i saw him go out. i hurried to him. saw him turn the corner. . .suddenly, from out a window where he was passing--was it chance?. . .may be! a lackey let fall a large piece of wood.
-le bret: cowards! o cyrano!
-ragueneau: i ran--i saw. . .
-le bret: 'tis hideous!
-ragueneau: saw our poet, sir--our friend-- struck to the ground--a large wound in his head!
-le bret: he's dead?
-ragueneau: no--but--i bore him to his room. . . ah! his room! what a thing to see!--that garret!
-le bret: he suffers?
-ragueneau: no, his consciousness has flown.
-le bret: saw you a doctor?
-ragueneau: one was kind--he came.
-le bret: my poor cyrano!--we must not tell this to roxane suddenly.--what said this leech?--
-ragueneau: said,--what, i know not--fever, meningitis!-- ah! could you see him--all his head bound up!-- but let us haste!--there's no one by his bed!-- and if he try to rise, sir, he might die!
-le bret (dragging him toward the right): come! through the chapel! 'tis the quickest way!
-roxane (appearing on the steps, and seeing le bret go away by the colonnade leading to the chapel door): monsieur le bret! (le bret and ragueneau disappear without answering): le bret goes--when i call! 'tis some new trouble of good ragueneau's.
-roxane alone. two sisters, for a moment.
-roxane: ah! what a beauty in september's close! my sorrow's eased. april's joy dazzled it, but autumn wins it with her dying calm. (she seats herself at the embroidery frame. two sisters come out of the house, and bring a large armchair under the tree): there comes the famous armchair where he sits, dear faithful friend!
-sister martha: it is the parlor's best!
-roxane: thanks, sister. (the sisters go): he'll be here now. (she seats herself. a clock strikes): the hour strikes. --my silks?--why, now, the hour's struck! how strange to be behind his time, at last, to-day! perhaps the portress--where's my thimble?. . . here!--is preaching to him. (a pause): yes, she must be preaching! surely he must come soon!--ah, a dead leaf!-- (she brushes off the leaf from her work): nothing, besides, could--scissors?--in my bag! --could hinder him. . .
-a sister (coming to the steps): monsieur de bergerac.
-roxane, cyrano and, for a moment, sister martha.
-roxane (without turning round): what was i saying?. . . (she embroiders. cyrano, very pale, his hat pulled down over his eyes, appears. the sister who had announced him retires. he descends the steps slowly, with a visible difficulty in holding himself upright, bearing heavily on his cane. roxane still works at her tapestry): time has dimmed the tints. . . how harmonize them now? (to cyrano, with playful reproach): for the first time late!--for the first time, all these fourteen years!
-cyrano (who has succeeded in reaching the chair, and has seated himself--in a lively voice, which is in great contrast with his pale face): ay! it is villainous! i raged--was stayed. . .
-roxane: by?. . .
-cyrano: by a bold, unwelcome visitor.
-roxane (absently, working): some creditor?
-cyrano: ay, cousin,--the last creditor who has a debt to claim from me.
-roxane: and you have paid it?
-cyrano: no, not yet! i put it off; --said, 'cry you mercy; this is saturday, when i have get a standing rendezvous that naught defers. call in an hour's time!'
-roxane (carelessly): oh, well, a creditor can always wait! i shall not let you go ere twilight falls.
-cyrano: haply, perforce, i quit you ere it falls!
-roxane (to cyrano): how now? you have not teased the sister?
-cyrano (hastily opening his eyes): true! (in a comically loud voice): sister! come here! (the sister glides up to him): ha! ha! what? those bright eyes bent ever on the ground?
-sister martha (who makes a movement of astonishment on seeing his face): oh!
-cyrano (in a whisper, pointing to roxane): hush! 'tis naught!-- (loudly, in a blustering voice): i broke fast yesterday!
-cyrano: ay, ay!
-sister martha: there, see! you are more reasonable to-day!
-roxane (who hears them whispering): the sister would convert you?
-sister martha: nay, not i!
-cyrano: hold! but it's true! you preach to me no more, you, once so glib with holy words! i am astonished!. . . (with burlesque fury): stay, i will surprise you too! hark! i permit you. . . (he pretends to be seeking for something to tease her with, and to have found it): . . .it is something new!-- to--pray for me, to-night, at chapel-time!
-roxane: oh! oh!
-cyrano (laughing): good sister martha is struck dumb!
-sister martha (gently): i did not wait your leave to pray for you.
-cyrano (turning to roxane, who is still bending over her work): that tapestry! beshrew me if my eyes will ever see it finished!
-roxane: i was sure to hear that well-known jest!
-cyrano: the autumn leaves!
-roxane (lifting her head, and looking down the distant alley): soft golden brown, like a venetian's hair. --see how they fall!
-cyrano: ay, see how brave they fall, in their last journey downward from the bough, to rot within the clay; yet, lovely still, hiding the horror of the last decay, with all the wayward grace of careless flight!
-roxane: what, melancholy--you?
-cyrano (collecting himself): nay, nay, roxane!
-roxane: then let the dead leaves fall the way they will. . . and chat. what, have you nothing new to tell, my court gazette?
-cyrano (growing whiter and whiter): saturday the nineteenth: having eaten to excess of pear-conserve, the king felt feverish; the lancet quelled this treasonable revolt, and the august pulse beats at normal pace. at the queen's ball on sunday thirty score of best white waxen tapers were consumed. our troops, they say, have chased the austrians. four sorcerers were hanged. the little dog of madame d'athis took a dose. . .
-roxane: i bid you hold your tongue, monsieur de bergerac!
-cyrano: monday--not much--claire changed protector.
-cyrano (whose face changes more and more): tuesday, the court repaired to fontainebleau. wednesday, the montglat said to comte de fiesque. . . no! thursday--mancini, queen of france! (almost!) friday, the monglat to count fiesque said--'yes!' and saturday the twenty-sixth. . .
-roxane (surprised at his voice ceasing, turns round, looks at him, and rising, terrified): he swoons! (she runs toward him crying): cyrano!
-cyrano (opening his eyes, in an unconcerned voice): what is this? (he sees roxane bending over him, and, hastily pressing his hat on his head, and shrinking back in his chair): nay, on my word 'tis nothing! let me be!
-roxane: but. . .
-cyrano: that old wound of arras, sometimes,--as you know. . .
-roxane: dear friend!
-cyrano: 'tis nothing, 'twill pass soon; (he smiles with an effort): see!--it has passed!
-roxane: each of us has his wound; ay, i have mine,-- never healed up--not healed yet, my old wound! (she puts her hand on her breast): 'tis here, beneath this letter brown with age, all stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood.
-cyrano: his letter! ah! you promised me one day that i should read it.
-roxane: what would you?--his letter?
-cyrano: yes, i would fain,--to-day. . .
-roxane (giving the bag hung at her neck): see! here it is!
-cyrano (taking it): have i your leave to open?
-cyrano (reading): 'roxane, adieu! i soon must die! this very night, beloved; and i feel my soul heavy with love untold. i die! no more, as in days of old, my loving, longing eyes will feast on your least gesture--ay, the least! i mind me the way you touch your cheek with your finger, softly, as you speak! ah me! i know that gesture well! my heart cries out!--i cry "farewell"!'
-roxane: but how you read that letter! one would think. . .
-cyrano (continuing to read): 'my life, my love, my jewel, my sweet, my heart has been yours in every beat!'
-roxane: you read in such a voice--so strange--and yet-- it is not the first time i hear that voice!
-cyrano: 'here, dying, and there, in the land on high, i am he who loved, who loves you,--i. . .'
-roxane (putting her hand on his shoulder): how can you read? it is too dark to see! (he starts, turns, sees her close to him. suddenly alarmed, he holds his head down. then in the dusk, which has now completely enfolded them, she says, very slowly, with clasped hands): and, fourteen years long, he has played this part of the kind old friend who comes to laugh and chat.
-roxane: 'twas you!
-cyrano: no, never; roxane, no!
-roxane: i should have guessed, each time he said my name!
-cyrano: no, it was not i!
-roxane: it was you!
-cyrano: i swear!
-roxane: i see through all the generous counterfeit-- the letters--you!
-roxane: the sweet, mad love-words! you!
-roxane: the voice that thrilled the night--you, you!
-cyrano: i swear you err.
-roxane: the soul--it was your soul!
-cyrano: i loved you not.
-roxane: you loved me not?
-cyrano: 'twas he!
-roxane: you loved me!
-roxane: see! how you falter now!
-cyrano: no, my sweet love, i never loved you!
-roxane: ah! things dead, long dead, see! how they rise again! --why, why keep silence all these fourteen years, when, on this letter, which he never wrote, the tears were your tears?
-cyrano (holding out the letter to her): the bloodstains were his.
-roxane: why, then, that noble silence,--kept so long-- broken to-day for the first time--why?
-cyrano: why?. . .
-the same. le bret and ragueneau.
-le bret: what madness! here? i knew it well!
-cyrano (smiling and sitting up): what now?
-le bret: he has brought his death by coming, madame.
-roxane: god! ah, then! that faintness of a moment since. . .?
-cyrano: why, true! it interrupted the 'gazette:' . . .saturday, twenty-sixth, at dinner-time, assassination of de bergerac.
-roxane: what says he? cyrano!--his head all bound! ah, what has chanced? how?--who?. . .
-cyrano: 'to be struck down, pierced by sword i' the heart, from a hero's hand!' that i had dreamed. o mockery of fate! --killed, i! of all men--in an ambuscade! struck from behind, and by a lackey's hand! 'tis very well. i am foiled, foiled in all, even in my death.
-ragueneau: ah, monsieur!. . .
-cyrano (holding out his hand to him): ragueneau, weep not so bitterly!. . .what do you now, old comrade?
-ragueneau (amid his tears): trim the lights for moliere's stage.
-ragueneau: yes; but i shall leave to-morrow. i cannot bear it!--yesterday, they played 'scapin'--i saw he'd thieved a scene from you!
-le bret: what! a whole scene?
-ragueneau: oh, yes, indeed, monsieur, the famous one, 'que diable allait-il faire?'
-le bret: moliere has stolen that?
-cyrano: tut! he did well!. . . (to ragueneau): how went the scene? it told--i think it told?
-ragueneau (sobbing): ah! how they laughed!
-cyrano: look you, it was my life to be the prompter every one forgets! (to roxane): that night when 'neath your window christian spoke --under your balcony, you remember? well! there was the allegory of my whole life: i, in the shadow, at the ladder's foot, while others lightly mount to love and fame! just! very just! here on the threshold drear of death, i pay my tribute with the rest, to moliere's genius,--christian's fair face! (the chapel-bell chimes. the nuns are seen passing down the alley at the back, to say their office): let them go pray, go pray, when the bell rings!
-roxane (rising and calling): sister! sister!
-cyrano (holding her fast): call no one. leave me not; when you come back, i should be gone for aye. (the nuns have all entered the chapel. the organ sounds): i was somewhat fain for music--hark! 'tis come.
-roxane: live, for i love you!
-cyrano: no, in fairy tales when to the ill-starred prince the lady says 'i love you!' all his ugliness fades fast-- but i remain the same, up to the last!
-roxane: i have marred your life--i, i!
-cyrano: you blessed my life! never on me had rested woman's love. my mother even could not find me fair: i had no sister; and, when grown a man, i feared the mistress who would mock at me. but i have had your friendship--grace to you a woman's charm has passed across my path.
-le bret (pointing to the moon, which is seen between the trees): your other lady-love is come.
-cyrano (smiling): i see.
-half a day calmly enough, and then, the minute this man rode up and spoke to her sympathetically, she should want to sit down and cry.
-"i just--i've been walking since one o'clock! if i had a gun, i'd shoot every one of them. i just--i think goats are simply damnable things!"
-starr turned and looked at the animals disapprovingly. "they sure are," he assented comfortingly. "where you trying to take 'em--or ain't you?" he asked, with the confidence-inviting tone that made him so valuable to those who paid for his services.
-"home, if you can call it that!" helen may found her handkerchief and proceeded to wipe the tears and the dust off her cheeks. she looked at starr more attentively than at first when he had been just a human being who seemed friendly. "oh, you're the man that stopped at the spring. well, you know where i live, then. i was hunting these; they wandered off and vic couldn't find them yesterday, so i--it was just accident that i came across them. i followed some tracks, and it looked to me as if they'd been driven off. there were horse tracks. that's what made me keep going--i was so mad. and now they won't go home or anywhere else. they just want to run around every which way."
-starr looked up the arroyo, hesitating. on the edge of san bonito he had picked up the track of silvertown cord tires, and he had followed it to the mouth of this arroyo. from certain signs easy for an experienced man to read, he had known the track was fairly fresh, fresh enough to make it worth his while to follow. and now here was a girl all tired out and a long way from home.
-"i haven't any dog. the man we bought the goats from wanted to sell me one, to help herd them, he said. but he asked twenty-five dollars for it--i suppose he thought because i looked green i'd stand for that!--and i wouldn't be held up that way. vic and i have nothing to do but watch them. you--you mustn't bother," she added half-heartedly. "i can get them home all right. i'm rested now, and there's a moon, you know. really, i can't let you bother about it. i know the way."
-"put your foot in the stirrup and climb on. you, rabbit, you stand still, or i'll beat the--"
-"really, you mustn't think, because i cried a little bit--"
-"pile on to him now, while i hold him still. or shall i pick you up and put you on?" starr smiled while he said it, but there was a look in his eyes and around his mouth that made helen may yield suddenly.
-by her awkwardness starr and rabbit both knew that she had probably never before attempted to mount a horse. by the set of her lips starr knew that she was afraid, but that she would break her neck before she would confess her fear. he liked her for that, and he was glad to see that rabbit understood the case and drew upon his reserve of patience and good nature, standing like a rock until helen may was settled in the saddle and starr had turned the stirrups on their sides in the leather so that they would come nearer being the right length for her. starr's hand sliding affectionately up rabbit's neck and resting a moment on his jaw was all the assurance rabbit needed that everything was all right.
-"now, just leave the reins loose, and let rabbit come along to please himself," starr instructed her quietly. "he'll follow me, and he'll pick his own trail. you don't have to do a thing but sit there and take it easy. he'll do the rest."
-helen may looked at him doubtfully, but she did not say anything. she braced herself in the stirrups, took a firm grip of the saddlehorn with one hand, and waited for what might befall. she had no fear of starr, no further uneasiness over the coming night, the loneliness, the goats, or anything else. she felt as irresponsible, as safe, as any sheltered woman in her own home. i did not say she felt serene; she did not know yet how the horse would perform; but she seemed to lay that responsibility also on starr's capable shoulders.
-they moved off quietly enough, starr afoot and driving the goats, rabbit picking his way after him in leisurely fashion. so they crossed the arroyo mouth and climbed the ragged lip of its western side and traveled straight toward the flaming eye of the sun that seemed now to have winked itself nearly shut. the goats for some inexplicable reason showed no further disposition to go in nine different directions at once. helen may relaxed from her stiff-muscled posture and began to experiment a little with the reins.
-"why, he steers easier than an automobile!" she exclaimed suddenly. "you just think which way you want to go, almost, and he does it. and you don't have to pull the lines the least bit, do you?"
-starr delayed his answer until he had made sure that she was not irritating rabbit with a too-officious guidance. when he saw that she was holding the reins loosely as he had told her to do, and was merely laying the weight of a rein on one side of the neck and then on the other, he smiled.
-"i guess you've rode before," he hazarded. "the way you neck-rein--"
-"no, honest. but my chum's brother had a big six, and sundays he used to let me fuss with it, away out where the road was clear. it steered just like this horse; just as easy, i mean. i--why, see! i just wondered if he'd go to the right of that bush, and he turned that way just as if i'd told him to. can you beat that?"
-starr did not say. naturally, since she was a girl, and pretty, and since he was human, he was busy wondering what her chum's brother was like. he picked up a small rock and shied it at a goat that was not doing a thing that it shouldn't do, and felt better. he remembered then that at any rate her chum's brother was a long way off, and that he himself had nothing much to complain of right now. then helen may spoke again and shifted his thoughts to another subject.
-"i believe i'd rather have a horse like this," she said, "than own that big, lovely take-me-to-glory car that was pathfinding around like a million dollars, a little while ago. i'll own up now that i was weeping partly because four great big porky men could ride around on cushions a foot thick, while a perfectly nice girl had to plough through the sand afoot. the way they skidded past me and buried me in a cloud of dust made me mad enough to throw rocks after them. pigs! they never even stopped to ask if i wanted a ride or anything. they all glared at me through their goggles as if i hadn't any business walking on their desert."
-"did you know them?" starr came and walked beside her, glancing frequently at her face.
-"no, of course i didn't. i don't know anybody but the stage driver. i wouldn't have ridden with them, anyway. from what i saw of them they looked like mexicans. but you'd think they might have shown some interest, wouldn't you?"
-"i sure would," starr stated with emphasis. "what kinda car was it, did you notice? maybe i know who they are."
-"i guess so," starr assented, with an odd little slurring accent on the last word which gave the trite sentence an individual touch that appealed to helen may. "it don't seem natural, somehow, to walk in a country like this."
-"oh, and you've got to, while i ride your horse! or, have you got to? is it just movie stuff, where a man rides behind on a horse, and lets the girl ride in front? i mean, is it feasible, or just a stunt for pictures?"
-"depends on the horse," starr evaded. "it's got the say-so, mostly, whether it'll pack one person or two. rabbit will, and when i get tired walking, i'll ride."
-"oh, that makes it better. i wasn't feeling comfortable riding, but men are so queer about thinking they must give a woman all the choice bits of comfort, and a woman has to give in or row about it. if you'll climb up and ride when you feel like it, i'll just settle down and enjoy myself."
-settling down and enjoying herself seemed to consist of gazing out over the desert and the hills and up at the sky that was showing the deep purple of dusk. it was what starr wanted most of all, just then, for it left him free to study what she had told him of the big black automobile with four coated and goggled men who had looked like mexicans; four men who had glared at her and then had speeded up to get away from her possible scrutiny.
-she looked at starr, walking steadily along before her, swinging the hoe-handle lightly in his right hand, setting his feet down in the smoothest spots always and leaving nearly always a clear imprint of his foot in the sandy soil. there was a certain fascination in watching the lines of footprints he left behind him. she would know those footprints anywhere, she told herself. small for a man, they were, and well-shaped, with the toes pointing out the least little bit, and with no blurring drag when he lifted his feet. she did not know that starr wore riding boots made to his measure and costing close to twenty dollars a pair; if she had she would not have wondered at the fine shape of them, or at the individuality of the imprint they made. she conceived the belief that rabbit knew those footprints also. she amused herself by watching how carefully the horse followed wherever they led. if starr stepped to the right to avoid a rock, rabbit stepped to the right to avoid that rock; never to the left, though the way might be as smooth and open. if starr crossed a gully at a certain place, rabbit followed scrupulously the tracks he made. helen may considered that this little gray horse showed really human intelligence.
-she realized the deepening dusk only when starr's form grew vague and she could no longer see the prints his boots made. they were nearing the brown, lumpy ridge which hid sunlight basin from the plain, but helen may was not particularly eager to reach it. for the first time she forgot the gnawing heart-hunger of homesickness, and was content with her present surroundings; content even with the goats that trotted submisively ahead of starr.
-when a soft radiance drifted into the darkness and made it a luminous, thin veil, helen may gave a little cry and looked back. since her hands moved with the swing of her shoulders, rabbit turned sharply and faced the way she was looking, startled, displeased, but obedient. starr stopped abruptly and turned back, coming close up beside her.
-"what's wrong?" he asked in an undertone. "see anything?"
-"the moon," helen may gave a hushed little laugh. "i'd forgotten--forgotten i was alive, almost. i was just soaking in the beauty of it through every pore. and then it got dark so i couldn't see your footprints any more, and then such a queer, beautiful look came on everything. i turned to look, and this little automatic pony turned to look, too. but--isn't it wonderful? everything, i mean. just everything--the whole world and the stars and the sky--"
-starr lifted an arm and laid it over rabbit's neck, fingering the silver-white mane absently. it brought him quite close to helen may, so that she could have put her hand on his shoulder.
-"yes. it's wonderful--when it ain't terrible," he said, his voice low.
-after a silent minute she answered him, in the hushed tone that seemed most in harmony with the tremendous sweep of sky and that great stretch of plain and bare mountain. "i see what you mean. it is terrible even when it's most wonderful. but one little human alone with it would be--"
-"sh-sh." he whispered. "listen a minute. did you ever hear a big silence like this?"
-"no," she breathed eagerly. "sh-sh--"
-at first there was nothing save the whisper of a breeze that stirred the greasewood and then was still. full in their faces the moon swung clear of the mountains behind san bonito and hung there, a luminous yellow ball in the deep, star-sprinkled purple. across the desert it flung a faint, straight pathway in the sand. rabbit gave a long sigh, turned his head to look back at his master, and then stood motionless again. far on a hilltop a coyote pointed his nose to the moon and yap-yap-yapped, with a shrill, long-drawn tremolo wail that made the girl catch her breath. behind them the nine goats moved closer together and huddled afraid beside a clump of bushes. the little breeze whispered again. a night bird called in a hurried, frightened way, and upon the last notes came the eerie cry of a little night owl.
-the girl's face was uplifted, delicately lighted by the moon. her eyes shone dark with those fluttering, sweet wraiths of thoughts which we may not prison in speech, which words only deaden and crush into vapid sentimentalism. life, held in a great unutterable calm, seemed to lie out there in the radiant, vague distance, asleep and smiling cryptically while it slept.
-her eyes turned to starr, whose name she did not know; who had twice come riding out of the distance to do her some slight service before he rode on into the distance that seemed so vast. who was he? what petty round of duties and pleasures made up his daily, intimate life? she did not know. she did not feel the need of knowing.
-standing there with his thin face turned to the moon so that she saw, clean-cut against the night, his strong profile; with one arm thrown across the neck of his horse and his big hat tilted back so that she could see the heavy, brown hair that framed his fine forehead; with the look of a dreamer in his eyes and the wistfulness of the lonely on his lips, all at once he seemed to be a part of the desert and its mysteries.
-she could picture him living alone somewhere in its wild fastness, aloof from the little things of life. he seemed to epitomize vividly the meaning of a song she had often sung unmeaningly:
-"from the desert i come to thee, on my arab shod with fire; and the winds are left behind in the speed of my desire."
-while she looked--while the words of that old bedouin love song thrummed through her memory, quite suddenly starr began to sing, taking up the song where her memory had brought her:
-"till the sun grows cold, and the stars are old, and the leaves of the judgment book unfold!"
-softly he sang, as though he had forgotten that she was there. softly, but with a resonant, vibrating quality that made the words alive and quivering with meaning.
-helen may caught her breath. how did he know she was thinking that song? how did he chance to take it up just at the point where her memory had carried it? had he read her mind? she stared at him, her lips parted; wondering, a little awed, but listening and thrilling to the human sweetness of his tones. and when he had sung the last yearning note of primitive desire, starr turned his head and looked into her eyes.
-helen may felt as though he had taken her in his arms and kissed her lingeringly. yet he had not moved except to turn his face toward her. she could not look away, could not even try to pull her eyes from his. it was as though she yielded. she felt suffocated, though her breath came quickly, a little unevenly.
-starr looked away, across the desert where the moon lighted it whitely. it was as though he had released her. she felt flustered, disconcerted. she could not understand herself or him, or the primary forces that had moved them both. and why had he sung that bedouin love song just as she was thinking it as something that explained him and identified him? it was mysterious as the desert itself lying there so quiet under the moon. it was weird as the cry of the coyote. it was uncanny as spirit rappings. but she could not feel any resentment; only a thrill that was part pleasure and part pain. she wondered if he had felt the same; if he knew. but she could not bring herself to face even the thought of asking him. it was like the night silence around them: speech would dwarf and cheapen and distort.
-rabbit lifted his head again, perking his ears forward toward a new sound that had nothing weird or mysterious about it; a sound that was essentially earthly, material, modern, the distant purr of a high-powered automobile on the trail away to their right. starr turned his face that way, listening as the horse listened. it seemed to helen may as though he had become again earthy and material and modern, with the desert love song but the fading memory of a dream. he listened, and she received the impression that something more than idle curiosity held him intent upon the sound.
-the purring persisted, lessened, grew louder again. starr still looked that way, listening intently. the machine swept nearer, so that the clear night air carried the sounds distinctly to where they stood. starr even caught the humming of the rear gears and knew that only now and then does a machine have that peculiar, droning hum; starr studied it, tried to impress the sound upon his memory.
-they heard the car ease down the hill, heard the grind of the gears as the driver shifted to the intermediate for the climb that came after. they heard the chug of the engine taking the steep grade. then they should have caught the white glare of the headlights as the car topped the ridge. starr knew that nothing obstructed the view, that in daylight they could have seen the yellow-brown ribbon of trail where it curved over the ridge. the machine was coming directly toward them for a short distance, but there was no light whatever. starr knew then that whoever they were, they were running without lights.
-"well, i guess we'd better be ambling along," he said casually, when the automobile had purred its way beyond hearing. "it's three or four miles yet, and you're tired."
-"not so much." helen may's voice was a little lower than usual, but that was the only sign she gave of any recent deep emotion. "i'd as soon walk awhile and let you ride." she shrank now from the thought of both riding.
-"when you've ridden as far as i have," said starr, "you'll know it's a rest to get down and travel afoot for a few miles." he might have added that it would have been a rest had he not been hampered by those high-heeled riding boots, but consideration for her mental ease did not permit him to mention it. he said no more, but started the goats ahead of him and kept them moving in a straight line for sunlight basin. as before, rabbit followed slavishly in his footsteps, nose dropped to the angle of placid acceptance, ears twitching forward and back so that he would lose no slightest sound.
-helen may fell again under the spell of the desert and the moon. starr, walking steadily through the white-lighted barrenness with his shadow always moving like a ghost before him, fitted once more into the desert. again she repeated mentally the words of the song:
-let the night-winds touch thy brow with the breath of my burning sigh, and melt thee to hear the vow of a love that shall not die!
-till the sun grows cold, and the stars are old, and the leaves of the judgment book unfold!
-and now the lines sung themselves through her brain with the memory of starr's voice. but starr did not sing again, though helen may, curious to know if her thoughts held any power over him, gazed intently at his back and willed him to sing. he did not look back at her, even when she finally descended weakly to the more direct influence of humming the air softly--but not too softly for him to hear.
-starr paid no attention whatever. he seemed to be thinking deeply--but he did not seem to be thinking of helen may, nor of desert love songs. helen may continued to watch him, but she was piqued at his calm indifference. why, she told herself petulantly, he paid more attention to those goats than he did to her--and one would think, after that song and that look.... but there she stopped, precipitately retreating from the thought of that look.
-he was a queer fellow, she told herself with careful tolerance and a little condescension. a true product of the desert; as changeable and as sphynxlike and as impossible from any personal, human standpoint. look how beautiful the desert could be, how terribly uplifting and calm and--and big. yet to-morrow it might be either a burning waste of heat and sand and bare rock, or it might be a howling waste of wind and sand (if one of those sand storms came up). to herself she called him the man of the desert, and she added the word mysterious, and she also added two lines of the song because they fitted exactly her conception of him as she knew him. the lines were these:
-from the desert i come to thee, on my arab shod with fire.
-this, in spite of the fact that rabbit had none of the fiery traits of an arabian steed; nor could he by any stretch of the imagination be accused of being shod with fire, he who planted his hoofs so sedately! shod with velvet would have come nearer describing him.
-so helen may, who was something of a dreamer when life let her alone long enough, rode home through the moonlight and wove cloth-of-gold from the magic of the night, and with the fairy fabric she clothed starr--who was, as we know, just an ordinary human being--so that he walked before her, not as a plain, ungrammatical, sometimes profane young man who was helping her home with her goats, but a mysterious, romantic figure evolved somehow out of the vastness in which she lived; who would presently recede again into the mysterious wild whence he had come.
-it was foolish. she knew that it was foolish. but she had been living rather harshly and rather materially for some time, and she hungered for the romance of youth. starr was the only person who had come to her untagged by the sordid, everyday petty details of life. it did not hurt him to be idealized, but it might have hurt helen may a little to know that he was pondering so earthly a subject as a big, black automobile careering without lights across the desert and carrying four men who looked like mexicans.
-holman sommeks, scientist
-helen may, under a last year's parasol of pink silk from which the sun had drawn much of its pinkness and the wind and dust its freshness, sat beside the road with her back against the post that held the macaroni box, and waited for the stage. her face did not need the pink light of the parasol, for it was red enough after that broiling walk of yesterday. the desert did not look so romantic by the garish light of midday, but she stared out over it and saw, as with eyes newly opened to appreciation, that there was a certain charm even in its garishness. she had lost a good deal of moodiness and a good deal of discontent, somewhere along the moonlight trail of last night, and she hummed a tune while she waited. no need to tell you that it was: "till the sun grows cold, till the stars are old--" no need to tell you, either, of whom she was thinking while she sang.
-but part of the time she was wondering what mail she would get. her chum would write, of course; being a good, faithful chum, she would probably continue to write two or three letters a week for the next three months. after that she would drop to one long letter a month for awhile; and after that--well, she was a faithful chum, but life persists in bearing one past the eddy that holds friendship circling round and round in a pool of memories. the chum's brother had written twice, however; exuberant letters full of current comedy and full-blooded cheerfulness and safely vague sentiment which he had partly felt at the time he wrote. he had "joshed" helen may a good deal about the goats, even to the extent of addressing her as "dear goat-lady" in the last letter, with the word "lady" underscored and scrawled the whole width of the page. helen may had puzzled over the obscure meaning of that, and had decided that it would have sounded funny, perhaps, if he had said it that way, but that it "didn't get over" on paper.
-she wondered if he would write again, or if his correspondence would prove as spasmodic, as easily interrupted as his attentions had been when they were both in the same town. chum's brother was a nice, big, comfy kind of young man; the trouble was that he was too popular to give all his interest to one girl. you know how it is when a man stands six feet tall and has wavy hair and a misleading smile and a great, big, deep-cushioned roadster built for two. helen may appreciated his writing two letters to her, he who hated so to write letters, but her faith in the future was small. still, he might write. it seemed worth while to wait for the stage.
-helen may remained by the post, but she got up and stood on a rock that protruded six inches or so above the sand. of course she could not see over the ridge--she could not have done that if she had climbed a telegraph pole; only there was no pole to climb--but she felt a little closer to seeing. that dust did not look like stage dust!
-you would be surprised to know how much helen may had learned about dust clouds. she could tell an automobile ten miles away, just by the swift gathering of the gray cloud. she could tell where bands of sheep or herds of cattle were being driven across the plain. she even knew when a saddle horse was coming, or a freight team or--the stage.
-she suddenly owned to herself that she was disappointed and rather worried. for behind this cloud that troubled her there was no second one building up over the skyline and growing more dense as the disturber approached. she could not imagine what had happened to that red-whiskered, tobacco-chewing stage driver. she looked at her wrist watch and saw that he was exactly twenty minutes later than his very latest arrival, and she felt personally slighted and aggrieved.
-for that reason she sat under her pink silk parasol and stared crossly under her eyebrows at the horse and man and the dust-grimed rattle-wheeled buggy that eventually emerged from the gray cloud. the horse was a pudgy bay that set his feet stolidly down in the trail, and dragged his toes through it as though he delighted in kicking up all the dust he could. by that trick he had puzzled helen may a little, just at first, though he had not been able to simulate the passing of four horses. the buggy was such as improvident farmers used to drive (before they bought fords) near harvest time; scaly as to paint, warped and loose-spoked as to wheels, making more noise than progress along the country roads.
-the man held the lines so loosely that they sagged under the wire-mended traces of sunburned leather. he leaned a little forward, as though it was not worth while sitting straight on so hot a day. he wore an old panama hat that had cost him a good deal when it was new and had saved him a good deal since in straw hats which he had not been compelled to buy so long as this one held together. it was pulled down in front so that it shaded his face--a face lean and lined and dark, with thin lips that could be tender and humorous in certain moods. his eyes were hazel, like the eyes of starr, yet one never thought of them as being at all like starr's eyes. they burned always with some inner fire of life; they laughed at life, and yet they did not seem to express mirth. they seemed to say that life was a joke, a damnable joke on mankind; that they saw the joke and resented it even while they laughed at it. for the rest, the man was more than fifty years old, but his hair was thick and black as a crow, and his eyebrows were inclined to bushiness, inclined also to slant upward. a strong face; an unusual face, but a likeable one, it was. and that is a fair description of holman sommers as helen may first saw him.
-he drove up to where she sat, and she tilted her pink silk parasol between them as though to keep the dust from settling thick upon her stained khaki skirt and her desert-dingy high-laced boots. she was not interested in him, and her manner of expressing indifference could not have misled a horned toad. she was too fresh from city life to have fallen into the habit of speaking to strangers easily and as a matter of country courtesy. even when the buggy stopped beside her, she did not show any eagerness to move the pink screen so that they might look at each other.
-"how do you do?" said he, quite as though he were greeting her in her own home. "you are miss stevenson, i feel sure. i am holman sommers, at your service. i am under the impression that i have with me a few articles which may be of some interest to you, miss stevenson. i chanced to come upon the stage several miles farther down the road. a wheel had given away, and there was every indication that the delay would prove serious, so when the driver mentioned the fact that he had mail and merchandise for you, i volunteered to act as his substitute and deliver them safely into your hands. i hope therefore that the service will in some slight measure atone for my presumption in forcing my acquaintance upon you."
-at the second sentence the pink parasol became violently agitated. at the third helen may was staring at him, mentally if not actually open-mouthed. at the last she was standing up and reaching for her mail, and she had not yet decided in her mind whether he was joking or whether he expected to be taken seriously. even when he laughed, with that odd, dancing light in his eyes, she could not be sure. but because his voice was warm with human sympathy and the cordiality of a man who is very sure of himself and can afford to be cordial, she smiled back at him.
-"that's awfully good of you, mr. sommers," she said, shuffling her handful of letters eagerly to see who had written them; more particularly to see if chum's brother had written one of them. "i hope you didn't drive out of your way to bring them" (there was one; a big, fat one that had taken two stamps! and one from chum herself, and--but she went back gloatingly to the thick, heavy envelope with the bold, black handwriting that needed the whole face of the envelope for her name and address), "because i know that miles are awfully long in this country."
-"yes? you have discovered that incontrovertible fact, have you? then i hope you will permit me to drive you home, especially since these packages are much too numerous and too weighty for you to carry in your arms. as a matter of fact, i have been hoping for an opportunity to meet our new neighbors. neighbors are precious in our sight, i assure you, miss stevenson, and only the misfortune of illness in the household has prevented my sister from looking you up long ago. how long have you been here? three weeks, or four?" his tone added: "you poor child," or something equally sympathetic, and he smiled while he cramped the old buggy so that she could get into it without rubbing her skirt against the dustladen wheel.
-helen may certainly had never seen any one just like holman sommers, though she had met hundreds of men in a business way. she had met men who ran to polysyllables and pompousness, but she had never known the polysyllables to accompany so simple a manner. she had seen men slouching around in old straw hats-and shoddy gray trousers and negligée shirts with the tie askew, and the clothes had spelled poverty or shiftlessness. whereas they made holman sommers look like a great man indulging himself in the luxury of old clothes on a holiday.
-he seemed absolutely unconscious that he and his rattly buggy and the harness on the horse were all very shabby, and that the horse was fat and pudgy and scrawny of mane; and for that she admired him.
-before they reached the low adobe cabin, she felt that she was much better acquainted with holman sommers than with starr, whose name she still did not know, although he had stayed an hour talking to vic and praising her cooking the night before. she did not, for all the time she had spent with him, know anything definite about starr, whereas she presently knew a great deal about holman sommers, and approved of all she knew.
-he had a past which, she sensed vaguely, had been rather brilliant. he must have been a war correspondent, because he compared the present great war with the japanese-russian war and with the south african war, and he seemed to have been right in the middle of both, or he could not have spoken so intimately of them. he seemed to know all about the real, underlying causes of them and knew just where it would all end, and what nations would be drawn into it before they were through. he did not say that he knew all about the war, but after he had spoken a few casual sentences upon the subject helen may felt that he knew a great deal more than he said.
-he also knew all about raising goats. he slid very easily, too, from the war to goat-raising. he had about four hundred, and he gave her a lot of valuable advice about the most profitable way in which to handle them.
-when he saw vic legging it along the slope behind the basin to head off billy and his slavish nannies, he shook his head commiseratingly. "there is not a scintilla of doubt in my mind," he told her gently, "that a trained dog would be of immeasurable benefit to you. i fear you made a grave mistake, miss stevenson, when you failed to possess yourself of a good dog. i might go so far as to say that a dog is absolutely indispensable to the successful handling of goats, or, for that matter, of sheep, either." (he pronounced the last word eyether.)
-"that's what my desert man told me," said helen may demurely, "only he didn't tell me that way, exactly."
-"yes? then i have no hesitation whatever in assuring you that your desert man was unqualifiedly accurate in his statement of your need."
-secretly she hoped that he would rise to the bait, but he apparently accepted her words in good faith and went on telling her just how to range goats far afield in good weather so that the grazing in the basin itself would be held in reserve for storms. it was a very grave error, said holman sommers, to exhaust the pasturage immediately contiguous to the home corral. it might almost be defined as downright improvidence. then he forestalled any resentment she might feel by apologizing for his seeming presumption. but he apprehended the fact that she and her brother were both inexperienced, and he would be sorry indeed to see them suffer any loss because of that inexperience. his practical knowledge of the business was at her service, he said, and he should feel that he was culpably negligent of his duty as a neighbor if he failed to point out to her any glaring fault in their method.
-helen may had felt just a little resentful of the words downright improvidence. had she not walked rather than spend money and grass on a horse? had she not daily denied herself things which she considered necessities, that she might husband the precious balance of peter's insurance money? but she swallowed her resentment and thanked him quite humbly for his kindness in telling her how to manage. she owned to her inexperience, and she said that she would greatly appreciate any advice which he might care to give.
-her man of the desert, she remembered, had not given her advice, though he must have seen how badly she needed it. he had asked her where her dog was, taking it for granted, apparently, that she would have one. but when she had told him about not buying the dog, he had not said another word about it. and he had not said anything about their letting the goats eat up all the grass in the basin, first thing, instead of saving it for bad weather. this holman sommers, she decided, was awfully kind, even if he did talk like a professor or something; kinder than her desert man. no, not kinder, but perhaps more truly helpful.
-at the house he told her just how to fix a "coolereupboard" under the lone mesquite tree which stood at one end of the adobe cabin. it was really very simple, as he explained it, and he assured her, in his scientific terminology, that it would be cool. he went to the spring and showed her where she could have vic dig out the bank and fit in a rock shelf for butter. he assured her that she was fortunate in having a living spring so near the house. it was, he said, of incalculable importance in that country to have cold, pure water always at hand.
-when he discovered that she was a stenographer, and that she had her typewriter with her, he was immensely pleased, so pleased that his eyes shone with delight.
-"ah! now i see why the fates drove me forth upon the highway this morning," said he. "do you know that i have a large volume of work for an expert typist, and that i have thus far felt that my present isolation in the desert wastes was an almost unsurmountable obstacle to having the work done in a satisfactory manner? i have been engaged upon a certain work on sociological problems and how they have developed with the growth of civilization. you will readily apprehend that great care must be exercised in making the copy practically letter perfect. furthermore, i find myself constantly revising the manuscript. i should want to supervise the work rather closely, and for that reason i have not as yet arranged for the final typing.
-"now if you care to assume the task, i can assure you that i shall feel tremendously grateful, besides making adequate remuneration for the labor involved."
-that is the way he put it, and that is how it happened that helen may let herself in for the hardest piece of work she had ever attempted since she sold gloves at bullocks' all day and attended night school all the evening, learning shorthand and typewriting and bookkeeping, and permitting the white plague to fasten itself upon her while she bent to her studies.
-she let herself in for it because she believed she had plenty of time, and because holman sommers was in no hurry for the manuscript, which he did not expect to see completed for a year or so, since a work so erudite required much time and thought, being altogether different from current fiction, which requires none at all.
-helen may was secretly aghast at the pile of scrawled writing interlined and crossed out, with marginal notes and footnotes and references and what not; but she let herself in for the job of typing his book for him--which is enough for the present.
-pat, a nice doggums
-"'the human polyp incessantly builds upon a coral reef. they become lithified as it were and constitute the strata of the psychozoic stage'--i told you the butter's at the spring. will you leave me alone? that's the third page i've spoiled over psycho-what-you-call-it. go on back and herd your goats, and for gracious sake, can that tulip-and-rose song! i hate it." helen may ripped a page with two carbon copies out of the machine, pulled out the carbons and crumpled three sheets of paper into a ball which she threw into a far corner.
-"gee, but you're pecky to-day! you act like an extra slammed into a sob lead and gettin' up stage about it. i wish that long-worded hide had never showed up with his soiled package of nut science. a feller can't live with you, by gosh, since you--"
-"well, listen to this, vic! 'there is a radical difference between organic and social evolution, the formula most easily expressing this distinction being that environment transforms the animal, while man transforms the environment. this transformation--'"
-"hel-up! hel-up!" vic went staggering out of the door with his palm pressed against his forehead in the gesture meant to register great mental agony, while his face was split with that nearly famous comedy grin of his. "serves you right," he flung hack at her in his normal tone of brotherly condescension. "the way you fell for that nut, like you was a starved squirrel shut up in a peanut wagon, by gosh! hope you're bogged down in jawbreakers the rest of the summer. serves yuh right, but you needn't think you can take it out on me. and," he draped himself around the door jamb to add pointedly, "you should worry about the tulip song. if i'm willing to stand for you yawping day and night about the sun growin' co-old, and all that bunk--"
-"oh, beat it, and shut up!" helen may looked up from evening the edges of fresh paper and carbon to say sharply: "you better take a look and see where billy is. and i'll tell you one thing: if you go and lose any more goats, you needn't think for a minute that i'll walk my head off getting them for you."
-"aw, where do you get that line--walk your head off? i seem to remember a close-up of you riding home on horseback with moonlight atmosphere and a fellow to drive your goats. and you giving him the baby-eyed stare like he was a screen idol and you was an extra that was strong for him. bu-lieve me, helen blazes, i'm wise. you're wishing a goat would get lost--now, while the moon's workin' steady!"
-"oh, beat it, vic! i've got work to do, if you haven't." and to prove it, helen may began to type at her best speed.
-vic languidly removed himself from the door jamb and with a parting "i should bibble," started back to his goats, which he had refused to graze outside the basin as holman sommers advised. helen may began valiantly to struggle with the fine, symmetrical, but almost unreadable chirography of the man of many words. she succeeded in transcribing the human polyp properly lithified and correctly constituting the strata of the psychozoic age, when vic stuck his head in at the door again.
-"from the des-urt he comes to thee-ee-ee, and he's got a dog for thee to see-ee."
-he paraphrased mockingly, going down to that terrifically deep-sea bass note of a boy whose voice is changing.
-helen may threw her eraser at him and missed. it went hurtling out into the yard and struck starr on the point of the jaw, as he was riding up to the cabin.
-whereat vic gave a brazenly exultant whoop and rushed off to his goats, bellowing raucously:
-"when you wore a too-lup, a sweet yellow too-lup 'n i wore a big red ro-o-ose--"
-starr dismounted and picked up the eraser from under the investigative nose of a coarse-haired, ugly, brown and black dog that had been following rabbit's heels. he took the eraser to helen may, standing embarrassed in the doorway, and the dog followed and sniffed first her slipper toes and then her hands, which she held out to it ingratiatingly; after which appraisement the dog waggled its stub of a tail in token of his friendliness.
-"if you was a mexican he'd a showed you his teeth," starr observed pridefully. "how are you, after your jaunt the other night?"
-"just fine," helen may testified graciously. it just happened (or had it just happened?) that she was dressed that day in a white crêpe de chine blouse and a white corduroy skirt, and had on white slippers and white stockings. at the top button of her blouse (she could not have touched that button with her chin if she had tried) was a brown velvet bow the exact shade of her eyes. her hair was done low and loose with a negligent wave where it turned back from her left eyebrow. peter had worshipped dumbly his babe in that particular dress, and had considered her beautiful. one cannot wonder then that starr's eyes paid tribute with a second long glance.
-starr had ridden a good many miles out of his way and had argued for a good while, and had finally paid a good many dollars to get the dog that sniffed and wagged at helen may. the dog was a thoroughbred airedale and had been taught from its puppyhood to herd goats and fight all intruders upon his flock and to hate mexicans wherever he met them. he had learned to do both very thoroughly, hence the argument and the dollars necessary before starr could gain possession of him.
-starr did not need a dog; certainly not that dog. he had no goats to herd, and he could hate mexicana without any help or encouragement when they needed hating. but he had not grudged the trouble and expense, because helen may needed it. he might have earned more gratitude had he told her the truth instead of hiding it like guilt. this was his way of going at the subject, and he waited, mind you, until he had announced nonchalantly that he must be getting along, and that he had just stopped to get a drink and to see how they were making out!
-"blame dog's taken a notion to you. followed me out from town. i throwed rocks at him till my arm ached--"
-"why, you mean thing! you might have hit him and hurt him, and he's a nice dog. poor old purp! did he throw rocks, honest? he did? well, just for that, i've got a nice ham bone that you can have to gnaw on, and he can't have a snippy bit of it. all he can do is eat a piece of lemon pie that will probably make him sick. we hope so, don't we? throwing rocks at a nice, ugly, stubby dog that wanted to follow!"
-starr accepted the pie gratefully and looked properly ashamed of himself. the dog accepted the ham bone and immediately stretched himself out with his nose and front paws hugging it close, and growling threats at imaginary vandals. now and then he glanced up gratefully at helen may, who continued to speak of him in a commiserating tone.
-"he sure has taken a notion to you," starr persisted between mouthfuls. "you can have him, for all of me. i don't want the blame cur tagging me around. i'm liable to take a shot at him if i get peeved over something--"
-"you dare!" helen may regarded him sternly from under her lashes, her chin tilted downward. "do you always take a shot at something when you get peeved?"
-"well, i'm liable to," starr admitted darkly. "a dog especially. you better keep him if you don't want him hurt or anything." he took a bite of pie. (it was not very good pie. the crust was soggy because johnny calvert's cook stove was not a good baker, and the frosting had gone watery, because the eggs were stale, and helen may had made a mistake and used too much sugar in the filling; but starr liked it, anyway, just because she had made it.) "maybe you can learn him to herd goats," he suggested, as though the idea had just occurred to him.
-"oh, i wonder if he would! would you, doggums?"
-"we'll try him a whirl and see," starr offered cheerfully. he finished the pie in one more swallow, handed back the plate, and wiped his fingers, man-fashion, on his trousers.
-"come on, pat. he likes pat for a name," he explained carefully to helen may. "i called him about every name i could think of, and that's the one he seems to sabe most."
-"i should say he does! why, he left his bone when you called pat. now that's a shame, doggums!"
-"oh, well, we'll let him polish off his bone first." starr made the offer with praiseworthy cheerfulness, and sat down on his heels with his back against the adobe wall to wait the dog's pleasure.
-"well, that makes up for some of the rocks," helen may approved generously, "and for some of the names you say you called him. and that reminds me, man of the desert, i suppose you have a name of some sort. i never heard what it was. is it--smith, perhaps?"
-"my name's starr," he told her, with a little glow under the tan of his cheeks. "s, t, a, double r, starr. i forgot i never told you. i've got a couple of given names, but i'd want to shoot a man that called me by 'em. folks always call me just starr, and maybe a few other things behind my back."
-helen may dropped her chin and looked at him steadily from under her eyebrows. "if there's anything that drives me perfectly wild," she said finally, "it's a mystery. i've just simply got to know what those names are. i'll never mention them, honest. but--"
-"chauncy dewitt," starr confessed. "forget 'em. they was wished onto me when i wasn't able to defend myself."
-"given names are horrid things, aren't they?" helen may sympathized. "i think mine is perfectly imbecile. fathers and mothers shouldn't be allowed to choose names for their children. they ought to wait till the kids are big enough to choose for themselves. if i ever have any, i'll call them it. when they grow up they can name themselves anything they like."
-"you've got no right to kick," starr declared bluntly. "your name suits you fine."
-his eyes said more than that, so that helen may gave her attention to the dog. "there, now, you've licked it and polished it and left teeth marks all over it," she said, meaning the bone. "come on, pat, and let's see if you're a trained doggums." she looked up at starr and smiled. "suppose he starts running after them; he might chase them clear off the ranch, and then what?"
-"i guess the supply of rocks'll hold out," starr hinted, and snapped his fingers at the dog, which went to heel as a matter of course.
-"if you throw rocks at that dog, i'll throw rocks at you," helen may threatened viciously.
-"and i'll hit, and you'll miss," starr added placidly. "come on, let's get busy and see if you deserved that bone."
-helen may had learned from uncomfortable experience that high-heeled slippers are not made for tramping over rocks and sand. she said that she would come as soon as she put on some shoes; but starr chose to wait for her, though he pretended, to himself as much as to her, that he must take the bridle off rabbit and let him pick a few mouthfuls of grass while he had the chance. also he loosened the cinch and killed a fly or two on rabbit's neck, and so managed to put in the time until helen may appeared in her khaki skirt and her high boots.
-"that's the sensible outfit for this work," starr plucked up courage to comment as they started off. "that kid brother of yours must get pretty lonesome too, out here," he added. "if you had some one to stay with you, i'd take him out on a trip with me once in a while and show him the country and let him learn to handle himself with a horse and gun. a fellow's got to learn, in this country. so have you. how about it? ever shoot a gun, either of you?"
-"vic used to keep me broke, begging money for the shooting gallery down near our place," said helen may. "i used to shoot there a little."
-"popgun stuff, but good practice," said starr succinctly. "got a gun on the ranch?"
-"no, only vic's little single-shot twenty-two. that's good enough for jack rabbits. what would we want a gun for?"
-starr laughed. "season's always open for coyotes, and you could pick up a little money in bounties now and then, if you had a gun," he said. "that would keep you out in the open, too. i dunno but what i've got a rifle i could let you have. i did have one, a little too light a calibre for me, but it would be just about right for you. it's a 25-35 carbine. i'm right sure i've got that gun on hand yet. i'll bring it over to you. you sure ought to have a gun."
-"didn't think to bring any pie, i s'pose?" he hinted broadly, and grinned companionably at starr.
-"you've had two handouts since lunch. i guess you'll last another hour," helen may retorted unfeelingly. "see the dog that followed mr. starr out from town, vic! we're going to see if he can herd goats."
-"well, if he can, he's got my permission, that's a cinch."
-"i do believe he can; see him look at them! his name's pat, and he likes me awfully well."
-"now, where does he get that idea?" taunted vic, and winked openly at starr, who was good enough to smile over what he considered a very poor joke.
-"well, let's see you bunch 'em, pat." starr made a wide, sweeping gesture with his left arm, his eyes darting a quick look at the girl.
-down into the basin itself the dog ran, after a couple of goats that had strayed out into the level. these he drove back in a panic of haste, dodging this way and that, nipping, yelping now and then, until they had joined the others. then he went on to the further fringes of the hand, which evened like the edge of a pie crust under the practised fingers of a good cook.
-"well, would you look at that!" helen may never having watched a good sheep-dog at work, spoke in an awed tone. "vic, please write!"
-vic, watching open-mouthed, actually forgot to resent the implication that pat had left him hopelessly behind in the art of handling goats.
-"seems to have the savvy, all right," starr observed, just as though he had not paid all those dollars for the "savvy" that made pat one of the best goat dogs in the state.
-"savvy? why, that dog's human. now, i suppose he's stopping over there to see what he must do next, is he?"
-"wants to know whether i want 'em all rounded up, or just edged up outa the basin. g' round 'em, pat," he called, and made a wide, circular sweep with his right arm.
-pat gave a yelp, dropped his head, and scurried up the ridge, driving all stragglers back toward the center of the flock. he went to every crest and sniffed into the wind to satisfy himself that none had strayed beyond his sight; returned and evened up the ragged edges of the hand, and then came trotting back to starr with six inches of pink tongue draped over his lower jaw and a smile in his eyes and a waggle of satisfaction at loved work well done. the goats, with a meek billy in the foreground, huddled in a compact mass on the slope and eyed the dog as they had never eyed vic, for all his hoe-handle and his accuracy with rocks.
-helen may dropped her hand on pat's head and looked soberly into his upturned eyes. "you're a perfect miracle of a dog, so you can't be my dog, after all," she said. "your owner will be riding day and night to find you. i know i should, if you got lost from me." then she looked at starr. "don't you think you really ought to take him back with you? it--somehow it doesn't seem quite right to keep a dog that knows so much. why, the man i bought the goats from had a dog that could herd them, and he wanted twenty-five dollars for it, and at that, he claimed he was putting the price awfully low for me, just because i was a lady, you know."
-starr, was (as he put it) kicking himself for having lied himself into this dilemma. also he was wondering how best he might lie himself out of it.
-"you want to look out for these marks that say they're giving you the big end of a bargain just because you're a lady," he said. "chances are they're figuring right then on doing you. if that fellow had got twenty-five dollars for his dog, take it from me, he wouldn't have lost anything."
-"well, but do you think it would he right to keep this dog?"
-helen may opened her lips, and starr, to forestall argument and to save his soul from further sin, turned toward the dog. "bring 'em home, pat," he said, and then started toward the corral, which was down below the spring. "watch him drive," he said to helen may and so managed to distract her attention from the ethics of the case.
-"hey, pat! you forgot something. go back and put up the bars!" he yelled. then he heaved his hoe-handle far from him and stretched his arms high over his head like one released from an onerous task. "i'll walk out and let pat have my job," he said. "herding goats is dog's work anyhow, and i told you so the first day, helen blazes. hadn't herded 'em five minutes before i knew i wasn't cut out for a farmer."
-"go on, pat; you stay with your goats," starr commanded gently. and pat, because he had suckled a nanny goat when he was a pup, and had grown up with her kid, and had lived with goats all his life, trotted into the corral, found himself a likeable spot near the gate, snuffed it all over, turned around twice, and curled himself down upon it in perfect content.
-"he'll stay there all night," starr told them, laying the bars in their sockets. "it's a little early to corral 'em, sundown is about the regular time, but it's a good scheme to give him plenty of time to get acquainted with the layout. you get up early, vic, and let 'em out on the far side of the ridge. pat'll do the rest. i'll have to jog along now."
-"well, say," vic objected, rubbing his tousled blond hair into a distracted, upstanding condition, "i wish you'd show me just how you shift his gears. how the dickens do you do it? he don't know what you say."
-before he left, starr showed him the gestures, and vic that evening practised them so enthusiastically that he nearly drove helen may wild. perhaps that is why, when she was copying a sentence where holman sommers had mentioned the stars of the universe, helen may spelled stars, "starr's" and did not notice the mistake at all.
-the trail of silvertown cords
-having wasted a couple of hours more than he intended to spend in delivering the dog, starr called upon rabbit to make up those two hours for him. and, being an extremely misleading little gray horse, with a surprising amount of speed and endurance stored away under his hide, rabbit did not fall far short of doing so.
-starr had planned an unexpected visit to the medina ranch. in the guise of stock-buyer his unexpectedness would be perfectly plausible, and he would be well pleased to arrive there late, so long as he did not arrive after dark. just before sundown would do very well, he decided. he would catch estan medina off his guard, and he would have the evening before him, in case he wanted to scout amongst the arroyos on the way home.
-starr very much wanted to know who drove an automobile without lights into isolated arroyos and over the desert trails at night. he had not, strange to say, seen any machine with silvertown cord tires in san bonito or in malpais, though he had given every car he saw the second glance to make sure. he knew that such tires were something new and expensive, so much so that they were not in general use in that locality. even in el paso they were rarely seen at that time, and only the fact that the great man who gave him his orders had happened to be using them on his machine, and had mentioned the fact to starr, who was honored with his friendship, had caused starr to be familiar with them and to recognize instantly the impress they left in soft soil. it was a clue, and that was the best he could say for it. it was just a little better than nothing, he decided. what he wanted most was to see the machine itself at close range, and to see the men who rode in it--and i am going to tell you why.
-there was a secret political movement afoot in the southwest; a movement hidden so far underground as to be practically unnoticed on the surface; but a movement, nevertheless, that had been felt and recorded by that political seismograph, the secret service of our government. it had been learned, no mere citizen may know just how, that the movement was called the mexican alliance. it was suspected that the object was the restoration of three of our states to mexico, their original owner. suspected, mind you; and when even the secret service can do no more than suspect, you will see how well hidden was the plot. its extent and its ramifications they could only guess at. its leaders no man could name, nor even those who might be suspected more than others.
-now you see, perhaps, why starr was so curious about that automobile, and why he was interested in estancio medina, mexican-american rancher who owned much land and many herds, and who was counted a power among his countrymen; who spoke english with what passed for fluency, and who had very decided and intelligent opinions upon political matters, and who boldly proclaimed his enthusiasm for the advancement of his own race.
-but he did not go to the medina ranch that evening, for the very good reason that he met his man fair in the trail as it looped around the head of the draw where he had heard the automobile running without lights. as on that other evening, starr had cut straight across the loop, going east instead of west. and where the trail forked on the farther side he met estan medina driving a big, lathery bay horse hitched to a shiny, new covered buggy. he seemed in a hurry, but he pulled up nevertheless to have a word with starr. and starr, always observant of details, saw that he had three or four packages in the bottom of the buggy, which seemed to bear out estan's statement that he had been to town, meaning san bonito.
-starr rolled a cigarette, and smoked it while he gossiped with estan of politics, pretty girls, and the price of mutton. he had been eyeing the new buggy speculatively, and at last he spoke of it in that admiring tone which warms the heart of the listener.
-estan lifted his shoulders in true spanish fashion and smiled. "no, amigo. me, i can take pleasure yet from horses. and the madre, she's so 'fraid of them automobiles. she cries yet when she knows i ride in one a little bit. now she's so proud, when i drive the new buggy home! she folds so pretty her best mantilla over her head and rides with me to church, and she bows so polite--to all the señoras from the new buggy! and her face shines with the happiness in her heart. oh, no, not me for the big automobile!" he smiled and shrugged and threw out his hands. "i like best to see my money walking around with wool on the back! excuse, señor. i go now to bring the new buggy home and to see the smile of my mother." then he bethought him of the tradition of his house. "you come and have a soft bed and the comfort of my house," he urged. "it is far to san bonito, and it is not so far to my house."
-starr explained plausibly his haste, sent a friendly message to the mother and luis, and rode on thoughtfully. now and then he turned to glance behind him at the dust cloud rolling rapidly around the head of the draw.
-since estan had been to town himself that day, starr reasoned that there would not be much gained by scouting through the arroyos that led near the medina ranch. estan would have seen in town the men he wanted to see. he could do so easily enough and without exciting the least suspicion; for san bonito had plenty of saloons that were popular, and yet unobtrusive, meeting places. no need for the mysterious automobile to make the long journey through the sand to-day, if estan medina were the object of the visit, and starr knew of no other mexican out that way who would be important enough to have a hand in the mixing of political intrigue.
-he rode on, letting rabbit drop into his poco-poco trail trot. he carried his head bent forward a little, and his eyebrows were pulled into a scowl of concentrated thought. it was all very well to suspect estan medina and to keep an eye upon him, but there were others who came nearer to the heart of the plot. he wanted to know who these were, and he believed that if he could once identify the four mexicans whom helen may had seen, he would be a long step ahead. he considered the simple expedient of asking her to describe them as closely as she could. but since secrecy was the keynote of his quest, he did not want to rouse her curiosity, and for purely personal reasons he did want to shield her as far as possible from any uneasiness or any entanglement in the affair.
-thinking of helen may in that light forced him to consider what would be her plight if he and his co-workers failed, if the plan went on to actual fulfillment, and the mexican element actually did revolt. babes, they were, those two alone there in sunlight basin, with a single-shot "twenty-two" for defense, when every american rancher in three states considered high-power rifles and plenty of ammunition as necessary in his home as flour and bacon!
-starr shivered a little and tried to pull his mind away from helen may and her helplessness. at any rate, he comforted himself, they had the dog for protection, the dog who had been trained to jump the corral fence at any hour of the night if a stranger, and especially a mexican came prowling near.
-but he and his co-workers must not fail. if intrigue burrowed deep, then they must burrow deeper.
-so thinking, he came just after sundown to where the trail branched in three directions. one was the direct road to san bonito, another took a roundabout way through a mexican settlement on the river and so came to the town from another angle, and the third branch wound over the granite ridge to malpais. studying the problem as a whole, picturing the havoc which an uprising would wreak upon those vast grazing grounds of the southwest, and how two nations would be embroiled in spite of themselves, he was hoping that his collaborators, scattered here and there through the country, men whose names even he did not know, were making more headway than he seemed to be making here.
-he would not know, of course, unless he were needed to assist or to supplement their work in some way. but he hoped they had found out something definite, something which the war department could take hold of; a lever, as it were, to pry up the whole scheme. he was thinking of these things, but his mind was nevertheless alert to the little trail signs which it had become second nature to read. so he saw, there in the dust of the trail, where a buggy had turned around and gone back whence it had come. he saw that it had been traveling toward town but had turned and come back. and looking more closely, he saw that one horse had pulled the buggy.
-he stopped to make sure of that and to search for footprints. but those he found were indistinct, blurred partly by the looseness of the sand and partly by the sparse grass that grew along the trail there, because the buggy had turned in a hollow. he went on a couple of rods, and he saw where an automobile had also come to this point and had turned and gone back toward town, or rather, it had swung sharply around and taken the trail which led through the mexican settlement; but he guessed that it had gone back to town, for all that. and the tire marks were made by silvertown cords.
-starr stopped and looked back to where the buggy tracks were faintly outlined in the dust of the hollow, and he spoke aloud his thought: "you'd think, just to see him and talk to him, that estan medina assays one hundred per cent, satisfied farmer. he's sure some fox--that same greaser!" after that he shook rabbit into a long, distance-eating lope for town.
-he turned rabbit into the corral and fed him, went in and cooked himself some supper, and afterwards, in a different suit and shoes and a hat that spoke loudly of the latest el paso fad in men's headgear, he strolled down to the corner and up the next street to the nearest garage. ostensibly he was looking for one pedro miera, who had a large sheep ranch out east of san bonito, and who always had fat sheep for sale. starr considered it safe to look for miera, whom he had seen two or three days before in el paso just nicely started on a ten-day spree that never stopped short of the city jail.
-since it was the dull hour between the day's business and the evening's pleasure, starr strolled the full length of the garage and back again before any man spoke to him. he made sure that no car there had the kind of tires he sought, so he asked if miera and his machine had showed up there that day, and left as soon as the man said no.
-san bonito was no city and it did not take long to make the round of the garages. no one had seen miera that day, and starr's disappointment was quite noticeable, though misunderstood. not a car in any of the four garages sported silvertown cords.
-this was puzzling for a while. the driver might have been turning around to go back the way he had come. but it was more likely that he had driven into the cross street to the west. he strolled over that way, but the light was too dim to trace automobile tracks in the dust of the street so he went back to the adobe cabin and put in the next hour oiling and cleaning and polishing a 25-35 carbine which he meant to give helen may, and in filling a cartridge belt with shells.
-he sat for some time turning two six-shooters over in his hands, trying to decide which would please her most. one was lighter than the other, with an easier trigger action; almost too easy for a novice, he told himself. but it had a pearl handle with a bulldog carved on the side that would show when the gun was in its holster. she'd like that fancy stuff, he supposed. also he could teach her to shoot straighter with that light "pull." but the other was what starr called a sure-enough go-getter.
-he finally decided, of course, to give her the fancy one. for vic he would have to buy a gun; an automatic, maybe. he'd have to talk coyotes pretty strong, in order to impress it upon them that they must never go away anywhere without a gun. good thing there was a bounty on coyotes; the money would look big to the kid, anyway. it occurred to him further that he could tell them there was danger of running into a rabid coyote. rabies had caused a good deal of trouble in the state, so he could make the danger plausible enough.
-he did not worry much over frightening the girl. she had nerve enough. think of her tackling that ranch proposition, with just that cub brother to help! when starr thought of that slim, big-eyed, smiling girl in white fighting poverty and the white plague together out there on the rim of the desert, a lump came up in his throat. she had nerve enough--that plucky little lady with the dull-gold hair, and the brown velvet eyes!--more nerve than he had where she was concerned.
-he went to bed and lay for a long time thinking of helen may out there in that two-roomed adobe cabin, with a fifteen-year-old boy for protection and miles of wilderness between her and any other human habitation. it was small comfort then to starr that she had the dog. one bullet can settle a dog, and then--starr could not look calmly at the possibility of what might happen then.
-"they've no business out there like that, alone!" he muttered, rising to an elbow and thumping his hard pillow viciously. "good lord! haven't they got any folks?"
-the wind blows many straws
-soon after daylight, rabbit snorted and ran a little way down the corral toward the cabin. starr, trained to light sleeping and instant waking, was up and standing back from the little window with his six-shooter in his hand before rabbit had stopped to whirl and look for what had scared him. so starr was in time to see a "big four" stetson hat with a horsehair hatband sink from sight behind the high board fence at the rear of the corral.
-starr waited. rabbit shook his head as though he were disgusted with himself, and began nosing the ground for the wisps of hay which a high wind had blown there. starr retreated to a point in the room where he could see without risk of being seen, and watched. in a few minutes, when the horse had forgotten all about the incident and was feeding again, the stetson hat very cautiously rose once more. under its gray brim starr saw a pair of black eyes peer over the fence. he watched them glancing here and there, coming finally to rest upon the cabin itself. they watched rabbit, and starr knew that they watched for some sign of alarm rather than from any great interest in the horse: rabbit lifted his head and looked that way boredly for a moment before he went back to his feeding, and the eyes lifted a little, so that the upper part of the owner's face came into view. a young mexican, starr judged him, because of his smooth skin around the eyes. he waited. the fellow rose now so that the fence came just below his lips, which were full and curved in the pleasant lines of youth. his eyes kept moving this way and that, so that the whites showed with each turn of the eyeball. starr studied what he could see of the face. thick eyebrows well formed except that the left one took a whimsical turn upward; heavy lashes, the high, thin nose of the mexican who is part indian--as are practically all of the lower, or peon class--that much he had plenty of time to note. then there was the mouth, which starr knew might be utterly changed in appearance when one saw the chin that went with it.
-a hundred young fellows in san bonito might answer equally well a description of those features. and the full-crowned gray stetson may be seen by the thousand in at least four states; and horsehair hatbands may be bought in any saddlery for two or three dollars--perhaps for less, if one does not demand too long a pair of tassels--and are loved by indians and those who think they are thus living up to the picturesque old west. so far as he could see, there was nothing much to identify the fellow, unless he could get a better look at him.
-the mexican gave another long look at the cabin, studying every point, even to the roof. then he tried to see into the shed where starr kept his saddle and where rabbit could shelter himself from the cold winds. there was no door, no front, even, on the side toward the house. but the end of the shed was built out into the corral so that the fellow could not see around its corner.
-starr had edged along the dark wall of the room so that he had kept the man in sight. now, when the hat crown moved away down the trail that skirted the garbage-filled arroyo, he snorted, threw his gun down on the bed, and began to dress himself, rummaging in his "warbag" for a gray checked cap and taking down from the wall a gray suit that he had never liked and had never worn since the day it came from the mail, looking altogether different from the four-inch square he had chosen from a tailor agent's sample book. he snorted again when he had the suit on, and surveyed it with a dissatisfied, downward glance. in his opinion he looked like a preacher trying to disguise himself as a sport, but to complete the combination he unearthed a pair of tan shoes and put them on. after that he stood for a minute staring down the fresh-creased gray trousers to his toes.
-"looks like the very devil!" he snorted again. "but anyway, it's different." he dusted the cap by the simple expedient of slapping it several times against his leg. when he had hung it on the back of his head and pulled it well down in front--as nine out of ten men always put on a cap--he did indeed look different, though he did not look at all like the demon he named. helen may, for instance, would have needed a second close glance before she recognized him, but that glance would probably have carried with it a smile for his improved appearance.
-he surveyed as much of the neighborhood as he could see through the windows, looked at his watch, and saw that it was late enough for him to appear down town without exciting comment from the early birds, and went out into the corral and fed rabbit. he looked over the fence where the mexican had stood, but the faint imprints of the man's boots were not definite enough to tell him anything. he surveyed the neighborhood from different angles and could see no trace of any one watching the place, so he felt fairly satisfied that the fellow had gone for the present, though he believed it very likely that he might return later.
-as he saw the incident, he was not yet considered worth shadowing, but had in some way excited a certain degree of curiosity about himself. starr did not like that at all. he had hoped to impress every one with his perfect harmlessness, and to pass for a stock buyer and nothing else.
-he could not imagine how he had possibly excited suspicion, and he wanted to lull it immediately and permanently. the obvious way to do that would be to rise late, saddle rabbit and ride around town a little--to the post office and a saloon, for instance--get his breakfast at the best-patronized place in town, and then go about his legitimate business. on the other hand, he wanted to try and trace those cord tires down the cross street, if he could, and he could not well do that on horseback without betraying himself.
-the shed was built out flush with the arroyo edge, so that at the rear of the corral one could only go as far as the gate, which closed against the end of the shed. it occurred to starr that if the young mexican had been looking for something to steal, he would probably have come in at the gate, which was fastened only with a stout hook on the inside. the arroyo bank had caved under the farther corner of the shed, so that a hole the size of a large barrel showed at that end of the manger. cats and dogs, and perhaps boys, had gone in and out there until a crude kind of trail was worn down the bank to the arroyo bottom. at some risk to his tan shoes and his new gray suit, starr climbed into the manger and let himself down that hole. the trail was firm and dry and so steep he had to dig his heels in to keep from tobogganing to the bottom, but once down he had only to follow the arroyo bottom to a place where he could climb out. before he found such a place he came to a deep, dry gully that angled back toward the business part of town. a footpath in the bottom of it encouraged him to follow it, and a couple of hundred yards farther along he emerged upon the level end of a street given over to secondhand stores, junk shops and a plumber's establishment. from there to the main street was easy enough.
-as he had expected, only a few citizens were abroad and starr strolled over to the cross street he wanted to inspect. he found the long-lined tread of the tires he sought plainly marked where they had turned into this street. after that he lost them where they had been blotted out by the broad tires of a truck. when he was sure that he could trace them no farther, he turned back, meaning to have breakfast at his favorite restaurant. and as he turned, he met face to face a tall young mexican in a full-crowned stetson banded with horsehair.
-now, as i have said before, san bonito was full of young mexicans who wore stetson hats and favored horsehair bands around them. starr glanced at the fellow sharply, got the uninterested, impersonal look of the perfect stranger who neither knows nor cares who you are, and who has troubles of his own to occupy his mind; the look which nineteen persons out of twenty give to a stranger on the street. starr went on unconcernedly whistling under his breath, but at the corner he turned sharply to the left, and in turning he flicked a glance back at the fellow. the mexican was not giving him any attention whatever, as far as he could see; on the contrary, he was staring down at the ground as though he, too, were looking for something. starr gave him another stealthy look, gained nothing from it, and shrugged his shoulders and went on.
-he ate his breakfast while he turned the matter over in his mind. what had he done to rouse suspicion against himself? he could not remember anything, for he had not yet found anything much to work on; nothing, in fact, except that slight clue of the automobile, and he did not even know who had been in it. he suspected that they had gone to meet estan medina, but as long as that suspicion was tucked away in the back of his mind, how was any one going to know that he suspected estan? he had not been near the chief of police or the sheriff or any other officer. he had not talked with any man about the mexican alliance, nor had he asked any man about it. instead, he had bought sheep and cattle and goats and hogs from the ranchers, and he had paid a fair price for them and had shipped them openly, under the eye of the stock inspector, to the el paso meat company. so far he had kept his eyes open and his mouth shut, and had waited until some ripple on the surface betrayed the disturbance underneath.
-he was not sure that the young man he met on the street was the one who had been spying over the fence, but he did not mean to take it for granted that he was not the same, and perhaps be sorry afterwards for his carelessness. he strolled around town, bought an automatic gun and a lot of cartridges for vic, went into a barber shop on a corner and had a shave and a haircut, and kept his eyes open for a tall young mexican who might be unduly interested in his movements.
-he met various acquaintances who expressed surprise at not having seen him around the hotel. to these he explained that he had rented a corral for his horse, where he could be sure of the feed rabbit was getting, and to save the expense of a livery stable. rabbit had been kinda off his feed, he said, and he wanted to look after him himself. so he had been sleeping in the cabin that went with the corral.
-his friends thought that was a sensible move, and praised his judgment, and starr felt better. he did not, however, tell them just where the corral was located. he had some notion of moving to another place, so he considered that it would be just as well not to go into details.
-so thinking, he took his packages and started across to the gully which led into the arroyo that let him into his place by the back way. he meant to return as he had come; and if any one happened to be spying, he would think starr had chosen that route as a short cut to town, which it was.
-a block away from the little side street that opened to the gully, starr stopped short, shocked into a keener attention to his surroundings. he had just stepped over an automobile track on the walk, where a machine had crossed it to enter a gateway which was now closed. and the track had been made by a cord tire. he looked up at the gate of unpainted planks, heavy-hinged and set into a high adobe wall such as one sees so often in new mexico. the gate was locked, as he speedily discovered; locked on the inside, he guessed, with bars or great hooks or something.
-he went on to the building that seemed to belong to the place; a long two-story adobe building with the conventional two-story gallery running along the entire front, and with the deep-set, barred windows that are also typically mexican. every town in the adobe section of the southwest has a dozen or so buildings almost exactly like this one. the door was blue-painted, with the paint scaling off. over it was a plain lettered sign: las nuevas.
-starr had seen copies of that paper at the mexican ranches he visited, and as far as he knew, it was an ordinary newspaper of the country-town style, printed in mexican for the benefit of a large percentage of mexican-americans whose knowledge of english print is extremely hazy.
-he walked on slowly to the corner, puzzling over this new twist in the faint clue he followed. it had not occurred to him that so innocuous a sheet as las nuevas should be implicated, and yet, why not? he turned at the corner and went back to the nearest newstand, where he bought an el paso paper for a blind and laid it down on a pile of las nuevas while he lighted his cigarette. he talked with the little, pock-marked mexican who kept the shop, and when the fellow's back was turned toward him for a minute, he stole a copy of las nuevas off the pile and strolled out of the shop with it wrapped in his el paso paper.
-he stole it because he knew that not many americans ever bought the paper, and he feared that the hombre in charge might wonder why an american should pay a nickel for a copy of las nuevas. as it happened, the hombre in charge was looking into a mirror cunningly placed for the guarding of stock from pilferers, and he saw starr steal the paper. also he saw starr slip a dime under a stack of magazines where it would be found later on. so he wondered a great deal more than he would have done if starr had bought the paper, but starr did not know that.
-starr went back to his cabin by way of the arroyo and the hole in the manger. when he unlocked the door and went in, he had an odd feeling that some one had been there in his absence. he stood still just inside the door and inspected everything, trying to remember just where his clothes had been scattered, where he had left his hat, just how his blankets had been flung back on the bed when he jumped up to see what had startled rabbit; every detail, in fact, that helps to make up the general look of a room left in disorder.
-he did remember, for his memory had been well trained for details. he knew that his hat had been on the table with the front toward the wall. it was there now, just as he had flung it down. he knew that his pillow had been dented with the shape of his head, and that it had lain askew on the bed; it was just as it had been. everything--his boots, his dark coat spread over the back of the chair, his trousers across the foot of the bed--everything was the same, yet the feeling persisted.
-starr was no more imaginative than he needed to be for the work he had to do. he was not in the least degree nervous over that work. yet he was sure some one had been in the room during his absence, and he could not tell why he was sure. at least, for ten minutes and more he could not tell why. then his eyes lighted upon a cigarette stub lying on the hearth of the little cookstove in one corner of the room. starr always used "wheat straw" papers, which were brown. this cigarette had been rolled in white paper. he picked it up and discovered that one end was still moist from the lips of the smoker, and the other end was still warm from the fire that had half consumed it. starr gave an enlightened sniff and knew it was his olfactory nerves that had warned him of an alien presence there; for the tobacco in this cigarette was not the brand he smoked.
-he stood thinking it over; puzzling again over the mystery of their suspicion of him. he tried to recall some careless act, some imprudent question, an ill-considered remark. he was giving up the riddle again when that trained memory of his flashed before him a picture that, trivial as it was in itself, yet was as enlightening as the white paper of the cigarette on the stove hearth.
-two days before, just after his last arrival in san bonito, he had sent a wire to a certain man in el paso. the message itself had not been of very great importance, but the man to whom he had sent it had no connection whatever with the meat company. he was, in fact, the go-between in the investigation of the secret service. through him the war department issued commands to starr and his fellows, and through him it kept in touch with the situation. starr had used two code words and a number in that message.
-and, he now distinctly remembered, the girl who had waited upon him was dark, with a spanish cast of features. when she had counted the words and checked the charge and pushed his change across to him, she had given him a keen, appraising look from under her lashes, though the smile she sent with it had given the glance a feminine and wholly flattering interpretation. starr remembered that look now and saw in it something more than coquetry. he remembered, too, that he had glanced back from the doorway and caught her still looking after him; and that he had smiled, and she had smiled swiftly in return and had then turned away abruptly to her work. to her work? starr remembered now that she had turned and spoken to a sulky-faced messenger boy who was sitting slumped down on the curve of his back with his tightly buttoned tunic folded up to his armpits so that his hands could burrow to the very bottom of his pockets. he had looked up, muttered something, reluctantly removed himself from the chair, and started away. the boy, too, had the mexican look.
-well, at any rate, he knew now how the thing had started. he heaved a sigh of relief and threw himself down on the bed, wadding the pillow into a hard ball under the nape of his neck and unfolding the mexican newspaper. he had intended to move camp; but now that they had begun to trail him, he decided to stay where he was and give them a run for their money, as he put it.
-starr could read spanish well enough for ordinary purposes. he went carefully through las nuevas, from war news to the local advertisements. there was nothing that could even be twisted into a message of hidden meaning to the initiated. las nuevas was what it called itself: the news. it was exactly as innocuous as he had believed it to be. its editorial page, even, was absolutely banal in its servility to the city, county, state and national policy.
-"that's a hell of a thing to steal!" grumbled starr, and threw the paper disgustedly from him.
-starr finds something in a secret room
-that day starr rode out into the country and looked at a few head of cows and steers that a sickly american wanted to sell so he could go east for his health (there being in most of us some peculiar psychological leaning toward seeking health afar). starr went back to town afterwards and made rabbit comfortable in the corral, reasoning that if he were going to be watched, he would be watched no matter where he went; but he ate his supper in the dining room of the plaza hotel, and sat in the lobby talking with a couple of facetious drummers until the mechanical piano in the movie show across the street began to play.
-he went to the show, sat through it patiently, strolled out when it was over, and visited a saloon or two. then, when he thought his evening might be considered well rounded out with harmless diversions, he went out to his cabin, following the main street but keeping well in the shadow as though he wished to avoid observation.
-he had reason to believe that some one followed him out there, which did not displease him much. he lighted his lamp and fussed around for half an hour or so before he blew out the light and went to bed.
-at three o'clock in the morning, with a wind howling in from the mountains, starr got up and dressed in the dark, fumbling for a pair of "sneakers" he had placed beside his bed. he let himself out into the corral, being careful to keep close to the wall of the house until he reached the high board fence. here, too, he had to feel his way because of the pitchy blackness of the night; and if the rattling wind prevented him from hearing any footsteps that might be behind him, it also covered the slight sound of his own progress down the fence to the shed. but he did not think he would be seen or followed, for he had been careful to oil the latch and hinges of his door before he went to bed; and he would be a faithful spy indeed who shivered through the whole night, watching a man who apparently slept unsuspectingly and at peace.
-down the hole from the manger starr slid, and into the arroyo bottom. he stumbled over a can of some sort, but the wind was rattling everything movable, so he merely swore under his breath and went on. he was not a range man for nothing, and he found his way easily to the adobe house with las nuevas over the door, and the adobe wall with the plank gate that had been closed.
-it was closed now, and the house itself was black and silent. starr stooped and gave a jump, caught the top of the wall with his hooked fingers, went up and straddled the top where it was pitch black against the building. for that matter, it was nearly pitch black whichever way one looked, that night. he sat there for five minutes, listening and straining his eyes into the enclosure. somewhere a piece of corrugated iron banged against a board. once he heard a cat meow, away back at the rear of the lot. he waited through a comparative lull, and when the wind whooped again and struck the building with a fresh blast, starr jumped to the ground within the yard.
-he crouched for a minute, a shot-loaded quirt held butt forward in his hand. he did not want to use a gun unless he had to, and the loaded end of a good quirt makes a very efficient substitute for a blackjack. but there was no movement save the wind, so presently he followed the wall of the house down to the corner, stood there listening for awhile and went on, feeling his way rapidly around the entire yard as a blind man feels out a room that is strange to him.
-he found the garage, with a door that kept swinging to and fro in the wind, banging shut with a slam and then squealing the hinges as it opened again with the suction. he drew a breath of relief when he came to that door, for he knew that any man who happened to be on guard would have fastened it for the sake of his nerves if for nothing else.
-when he was sure that the place was deserted for the night, starr went back to the garage and went inside. he fastened the door shut behind him and switched on his pocket searchlight to examine the place. if he had expected to see the mysterious black car there he was disappointed, for the garage was empty--which perhaps explained the swinging door, that had been left open in the evening when there was no wind. small comfort in that for starr, for it immediately occurred to him that the car would probably return before daylight if it had gone after dark.
-he turned his hand slowly, painting the walls with a brush of brilliant light. "huh!" he grunted under his breath. for there in a far corner were four silvertown cord tires with the dust of the desert still clinging to the creases of the lined tread. near-by, where they had been torn off in haste and flung aside, were the paper wrappings of four other tires, supposedly new.
-"well," starr summed up the significance of the discovery, "the game's open; now we'll get action."
-he went straight to the rear door of the building, taking no pains to conceal his footsteps. the wind, he knew, would brush them out completely with the sand and dust it sent swirling around the yard with every gust. as he had hoped, the door was not bolted but locked with a key, so he let himself in with one of the pass keys he carried for just such work as this. he felt at the windows and saw that the blinds were down, and turned on his light.
-starr went on slowly, examining the forms, the imperfect first proofs of circulars and placards that had been placed on hook files. aviso! stared up at him in big, black type from the top of many small sheets, with the following notices of sales, penalties attached for violations of certain ordinances, and what not. but there was nothing that should not be there, nothing that could be construed as seditionary in any sense of the word.
-still, some person or persons connected with this place had found it expedient to change four perfectly good and quite expensive tires for four new and perfectly commonplace ones, and the only explanation possible was that the distinctive tread of the expensive ones had been observed. there must, starr reasoned, be something else in this place which it would be worth his while to discover. he therefore went carefully up the grimy stairway to the rooms above.
-these were offices of the comfortless type to be found in small towns. bare floors, stained with tobacco juice and the dust of the street. bare desks and tables, some of them unpainted, homemade affairs, all of them cheap and old. a stove in the larger office, a few wooden-seated armchairs. starr took in the details with a flick here and there of his flashlight that he kept carefully turned away from the green-shaded windows.
-news items, used and unused, he found impaled on desk files. bills paid and unpaid he found also. but in the first search he found nothing else, nothing that might not be found in any third-rate newspaper establishment. he stood in the middle room--there were three in a row, with an empty, loft-like room behind--and considered where else he could search.
-he went again to a closet that had been built in with boards behind the chimney. at first glance this held nothing but decrepit brooms, a battered spittoon, and a small pile of greasewood cut to fit the heater in the larger room; but starr went in and flashed his light around the wall. he found a door at the farther end, and he knew it for a door only when he passed his hands over the wall and felt it yield. he pushed it open and went into another room evidently built across one end of the loft, a room cunningly concealed and therefore a room likely to hold secrets.
-he hitched his gun forward a little, pushed the door shut behind him, and began to search that room. here, as in the outer offices, the first superficial examination revealed nothing out of the way. but starr did not go at things superficially. first the desk came under close scrutiny. there were no letters; they were too cautious for that, evidently. he looked in the little stove that stood near the wall where the chimney went up in the closet, and saw that the ashes consisted mostly of charred paper. but the last ones deposited therein had not yet been lighted, or, more exactly, they had been lighted hastily and had not burned except around the edges. he lifted out the one on top and the one beneath it. they were two sheets of copy paper scribbled closely in pencil. the first was entitled, with heavy underscoring that signified capitals, "souls in bondage." this sounded interesting, and starr put the papers in his pocket. the others were envelopes addressed to las nuevas; there was no more than a handful of papers in all.
-in a drawer of the desk, which he opened with a skeleton key, he found many small leaflets printed in mexican. since they were headed almas de cautivero, he took one and hoped that it would not be missed. there were other piles of leaflets in other drawers, and he helped himself to a sample of each, and relocked the drawers carefully. but search as he might, he could find nothing that identified any individual, or even pointed to any individual as being concerned in this propaganda work; nor could he find any mention of the mexican alliance.
-he went out finally, let the door swing behind him as it seemed accustomed to do, climbed through a window to the veranda that bordered all these rooms like a jutting eyebrow, and slid down a corner post to the street. it was close to dawn, and starr had no wish to be found near the place; indeed, he had no wish to be found away from his cabin if any one came there with the breaking of day to watch him.
-as he had left the cabin, so he returned to it. he went back to bed and lay there until sunrise, piecing together the scraps of information he had gleaned. so far, he felt that he was ahead of the game; that he had learned more about the alliance than the alliance had learned about him.
-as soon as the light was strong enough for him to read without a lamp, he took from his pocket the papers he had gleaned from the stove, spread out the first and began to decipher the handwriting. and this is what he finally made out:
-"souls in bondage:
-"the plundering plutocrats who suck the very life blood of your mother country under the guise of the development of her resources, are working in harmony with the rich brigands north of the border to plunder you further, and to despoil the fair land you have helped to win from the wilderness.
-"shall strong men be content in their slavery to the greed of others? rise up and help us show the plunderers that we are men, not slaves. let this shameless persecution of your mother country cease!
-"american bandits would subjugate and annex the richest portion of mexico. why should not mexico therefore reclaim her own? why not turn the tables and annex a part of the vast territory stolen from her by the octopus arms of our capitalist class?
-"we are a proud people and we never forget. are we a cowardly people who would cringe and yield when submission means infamy?
-"awake! strike one swift, successful blow for freedom and your bleeding mother land.
-"texas, new mexico, california and arizona were stolen from mexico, just as the riches of her mines are being stolen from her to-day. sons of mexico, you can help her reclaim her own. will you stand by and see her further despoiled? let your voices rise in a mighty cry for justice! let your arms be strong to strike a blow for the right!
-"souls in bondage, wake up and strike off your shackles! be not slaves but free men!
-"texas, new mexico and arizona for mexico, to whom they rightfully belong!"
-"they sure do make it strong enough," starr commented, feeling for a match with which to relight his cigarette that had gone out. he laid down the written pages and took up the leaflet entitled, "almas de cautivero." the text that followed was like the heading, simply a translation into spanish of the exhortation he had just read in english. but he read it through and noted the places where the spanish version was even more inflammatory than the english--which, in starr's opinion, was going some. the other pamphlets were much the same, citing well-known instances of the revolution across the border which seemed to prove conclusively that justice was no more than a jest, and that the proletariat of mexico was getting the worst of the bargain, no matter who happened to be in power.
-starr frowned thoughtfully over the reading. to him the thing was treason, and it was his business to help stamp it out. for the powers that be cannot afford to tolerate the planting of such seeds of dissatisfaction amongst the untrained minds of the masses.
-but, and starr admitted it to himself with his mouth pulled down at the corners, the worst of it was that under the bombast, under the vituperative utterances, the catch phrases of radicalism, there remained the grains of truth. starr knew that the masses of mexico were suffering, broken under the tramplings of revolution and counter-revolution that swept back and forth from gulf to gulf. still, it was not his business to sift out the plump grains of truth and justice, but to keep the chaff from lighting and spreading a wildfire of sedition through three states.
-"'souls in bondage' is right," he said, setting his feet to the floor and reaching for his boots. "in bondage to their own helplessness, and helpless because they're so damned ignorant. but," he added grimly while he stamped his right foot into its boot, "they ain't going at it the right way. they're tryin' to tear down, when they ain't ready to build anything on the wreck. they're right about the wrong; but they're wrong as the devil about the way to mend it. them pamphlets will sure raise hell amongst the mexicans, if the thing ain't stopped pronto."
-he dressed for riding, and went out and fed rabbit before he went thoughtfully up to the hotel for his breakfast.
-helen may sighs for romance
-helen may was toiling over the ridgy upland which in new mexico is called a mesa, when it is not a desert--and sometimes when it is one--taking her turn with the goats while vic nursed a strained ankle and a grouch under the mesquite tree by the house. with pat to help, the herding resolved itself into the exercise of human intelligence over the dog's skill. pat, for instance, would not of his own accord choose the best grazing for his band, but he could drive them to good grazing once it was chosen for him. so, theoretically, helen may was exercising her human intelligence; actually she was exercising her muscles mostly. and having an abundance of brain energy that refused to lie dormant, she had plenty of time to think her own thoughts while pat carried out her occasional orders.
-for one thing, helen may was undergoing the transition from a mild satisfaction with her education and mentality, to a shamed consciousness of an appalling ignorance and mental crudity. holman sommers was unwittingly the cause of that. there was nothing patronizing or condescending in the attitude of holman sommers, even if he did run to long words and scientifically accurate descriptions of the smallest subjects. it was the work he placed before her that held helen may abashed before his vast knowledge. she could not understand half of what she deciphered and typed for him, and because she could not understand she realized the depth of her benightedness.
-she was awed by the breadth and the scope which she sensed more or less vaguely in the evolution of sociology. holman sommers quoted freely, and discussed boldly and frankly, such abstruse authors as descartes, spinoza, schopenhauer, comte, gumplowicz, some of them names she had never heard of and could not even spell without following her copy letter by letter. holman sommers seemed to have read all of them and to have weighed all of them and to be able to quote all of them offhand; whereas schopenhauer was the only name in the lot that sounded in the least familiar to helen may, and she had a guilty feeling that she had always connected the name with music instead of the sort of things holman sommers quoted him as having said or written, she could not make out which.
-helen may, therefore, was suffering from mental growing pains. she struggled with new ideas which she had swallowed whole, without any previous elementary knowledge of the subject. her brain was hungry, her life was stagnant, and she seized upon these sociological problems which holman sommers had placed before her, and worried over them, and wondered where holman sommers had learned so much about things she had never heard of. save his vocabulary, which wearied her, he was the simplest, the kindest of men, though not kind as her man of the desert was kind.
-just here in her thoughts holman sommers faded, and starr's lean, whimsical face came out sharply defined before her mental vision. starr certainly was different! ordinary, and not educated much beyond the three rs, she suspected. just a desert man with a nice voice and a gift for provocative little silences. two men could not well be farther apart in personality, she thought, and she amused herself by comparing them.
-for instance, take the case of pat. sommers had told her just why and just how desperately she needed a dog for the goats, and had urged her by all means to get one at the first opportunity. starr had not said anything about it; he had simply brought the dog. helen may appreciated the different quality of the kindness that does things.
-privately, she suspected that starr had stolen that dog, he had seemed so embarrassed while he explained how he came by pat; especially, she remembered, when she had urged him to take the dog back. she would not, of course, dare hint it even to vic; and theoretically she was of course shocked at the possibility. but, oh, she was human! that a nice man should swipe a dog for her secretly touched a little, responsive tenderness in helen may. (she used the word "swipe," which somehow made the suspected deed sound less a crime and more an amusing peccadillo than the word "steal" would have done. have you ever noticed how adroitly we tone down or magnify certain misdeeds simply by using slang or dictionary words as the case may be?)
-oh, she saw it quite plainly, as she trudged over to the shady side of a rock ridge and sat down where she could keep an eye on pat and the goats. she told herself that she would ask her man of the desert, the next time he happened along, whether he had found out who the dog belonged to. if he acted confused and dodged the issue, then she would know for sure. just what she would do when she knew for sure, helen may had not decided.
-the goats were browsing docilely upon the slope, eating stuff which only a goat would attempt to eat. helen may was not afraid of billy since pat had taken charge. pat had a way of keeping billy cowed and as harmless as the nannies themselves. just now pat was standing at a little distance with his tongue slavering down over his white teeth, gazing over the band as a general looks at his army drawn up in review.
-he turned his head and glanced at helen may inquiringly, then trotted over to where she sat in the shade. his tongue still drooped quiveringly over his lower jaw; and now and then he drew it back and licked his lips as though they were dry. helen may found a rock that was hollowed like a crude saucer, and poured water into the hollow from her canteen. pat lapped it up thirstily, gave his stubby tail a wag of gratitude, lay down with his front paws on the edge of her skirt with his head dropped down upon them, and took a nap--with one eye opening now and then to see that the goats were all right, and with his ears lifting to catch the meaning of every stray bleat from a garrulous nanny.
-helen may had changed a good deal in the past two or three weeks. now when she stared away and away over the desert and barren slope and ridges and mountain, she did not feel that she hated them. instead, she saw that the yellow of the desert, the brown of the slopes, and the black of the distant granite ledges basseting from bleak hills were more beautiful than the tidy little plots of tilled ground she used to think so lovely. there was something hypnotic in these bald distances. she could not read, when she was out like this; she could only look and think and dream.
-she wished that she might ride out over it sometime, away over to the mountains, perhaps, as far as she could see. she fell to dreaming of the old days when this was spanish territory, and the king gave royal grants of land to his favorites: for instance, all the country lying between two mountain ranges, to where a river cut across and formed a natural boundary. holman sommers had told her about the old spanish grants, and how many of the vast estates of mexican "cattle kings" and "sheep kings" were still preserved almost intact, just as they had been when this was a part of mexico.
-she wished that she might have lived here then, when the dons held sway and when señoritas were all beautiful and when señoras were every one of them imposing in many jewels and in rich mantillas, and when vaqueros wore red sashes and beautiful serapes and big, gold-laced sombreros, and rode prancing steeds that curveted away from jingling, silver-rowelled spurs. helen may, you must remember, knew her moving-picture romance. she could easily vision these things exactly as they had been presented to her on the screen. that is why she peopled this empty land so gorgeously.
-there was no romance, nothing like adventure here nowadays, said helen may to herself, while she watched the little geysers of dust go dancing like whirling dervishes across the sand. a person lived on canned stuff and kept goats and was abjectly pleased to see any kind of human being. there certainly was no romance left in the country, though it had seemed almost as though there might be, when her man of the desert sang and all the little night-sounds hushed to listen, and the moon-trail across the sand of the desert lay like a ribbon of silver. it had seemed then as though there might be romance yet alive in the wide spaces.
-so she had swung back again to starr, just as she was always doing lately. she began to wonder when he would come again, and what he would have to say next time, and whether he had really annexed some poor sheep man's perfectly good dog, just because he knew she needed one. it would never do to let on that she guessed; but all the same, it was mighty nice of him to think of her, even if he did go about it in a queer way. and when pat, who had seemed to be asleep, lifted his head and looked up into her eyes adoringly, helen may laid her hand upon his smooth skull and smiled oddly.
-no more romance, said helen may--and here was starr, a man of mystery, a man feared and distrusted by the sons of those passionate dons of whom she dreamed! here was starr, secret service man (there is ever a glamor in the very name of it), the very essence and forefront of such romance and such adventure as she had gasped over, when she had seen it pictured on the screen! she was living right in the middle of intrigue that was stirring the rulers of two nations; she was coming close to real adventure, and there she sat, with pat lying on the hem of her skirt, and mourned that she was fifty or a hundred years too late for even a glimpse at romance! and fretted because she was helping pat herd goats, and because life was dull and commonplace.
-"honestly," she told pat, "i've got to the point where i catch myself, looking forward to the chance visits of a wandering cowboy who is perfectly commonplace. why, he'd be absolutely lost on the screen; you wouldn't know he was in the picture unless his horse bucked or fell down or something! and i don't suppose he ever has a thought beyond his work and his little five-cent celebrations in san bonito, maybe. most likely he flirts with those grimy-necked mexican girls, too. you can't tell--
-"and think of me being so hard up for excitement that i've got to play he's some mysterious creature of the desert! honest to goodness, pat, it's got so bad that the mere sight of a real, live man is thrilling. when holman sommers comes and lifts that old panama like a crown prince, and smiles at me and talks about all the different periods of the human race, and gems and tribal laws and all that highbrow dope, i just sit and drink it in and wish he'd keep on for hours! can you beat that? and if by any chance a common, ordinary specimen of desert man should ride by, i might be desperate enough--"
-her gaze, wandering always out over the tremendous sweep of plateau which from that point looked illimitable as the ocean, settled upon a whirlwind that displayed method and a slow sedateness not at all in keeping with the erratic gyrations of those gone before. watching it wistfully with a half-formed hope that it might not be just a dry-weather whirlwind, her droning voice trailed off into silence. a faint beating in her throat betrayed what it was she half hoped. she was so desperately lonesome!
-pat tilted his head and looked up at her and licked her hand until she drew it away impatiently.
-"good gracious, pat! do you want to plaster me with germs?" she reproved. and pat dropped his head down upon his paws and eyed her furtively from under his brown lids, waiting for her to repent her harshness and smooth his head caressingly, as was her wont.
-but helen may was watching that slow-moving column of dust, just as she had watched the cloud which had heralded the coming into her life of holman sommers. it might be--but it couldn't, for this was away off the road. no one would be cutting straight across that hummocky flat, unless--
-from the desert i come to thee, on my arab shod with fire--
-"oh, i'm getting absolutely mushy!" she muttered angrily. "if i've reached the point where i can't see a spot of dust without getting heart-failure over it, why it's time i was shut up somewhere. what are you lolling around me for, pat? go on and tend to your goats, why don't you? and do get off my skirt!"
-pat sprang up as though she had struck him; gave her an injured glance that was perfectly maddening to helen may, whose conscience was sufficient punishment, and went slinking off down the slope. half-way to the band he stopped and sat down on his haunches in the hot sun, as dejected a dog as ever was made to suffer because his mistress was displeased with herself.
-helen may sat there scowling out across the wide spaces, while romance and adventure, and something more, rode steadily nearer, heralded by the small gray cloud. when she was sure that a horseman was coming, she perversely removed herself to another spot where she would not be seen. and there she sat, out of sight from below and thus fancying herself undiscovered, refusing so much as a sly glance around her granite shield.
-for if there was anything which helen may hated more than another it was the possibility of being thought cheaply sentimental, mushy, as the present generation vividly puts it. also she was trying to break herself of humming that old desert love-song all the while. vic was beginning to "kid" her unmercifully about it, for one thing. to think that she should sing it without thinking a word about it, just because she happened to see a little dust! she would not look. she would not!
-starr might have passed her by and gone on to the cabin if he had not, through a pair of powerful binoculars, been observing her when she sent pat off, and when she got up and went over to the other ledge and sat down. through the glasses he had seen her feet crossed, toes up, just past the nose of the rock, and he could see the spread of her skirt. luckily, he could not read her mind. he therefore gave a yank at the lead-rope in his hand and addressed a few biting remarks to a white-lashed, blue-eyed pinto trailing reluctantly behind rabbit; and rode forward with some eagerness toward the ridge.
-"'sleep?" he greeted cheerfully, when he had forced the two horses to scramble up to the shade of the ledge, and had received no attention whatever from the person just beyond. the tan boots were still crossed, and not so much as a toe of them moved to show that the owner heard him. starr knew that he had made noise enough, so far as that went.
-"it ain't anything at all," starr retorted, and swung rabbit into the shade which helen may had left. he dismounted, sat himself down with his back against a rock, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. by no means would he intrude upon the privacy of a lady, though the quiet, crossed feet and the placid folds of the khaki skirt told him that she was sitting there quietly--pouting about something, most likely, he diagnosed her silence shrewdly. well, it was early, and so long as he reached a certain point by full dark, he was not neglecting anything. as a matter of fact, he told himself philosophically, he really wanted to kill half a day in a perfectly plausible manner. there was no hurry, no hurry at all.
-pat looked back at him ingratiatingly, and starr called. pat came running in long leaps, nearly wagging himself in two because someone he liked was going to be nice to him. starr petted him and talked to him and pulled his ears and slapped him on the ribs, and pat in his joy persisted in trying to lick starr's cheek.
-"quit it! lay down and be a doormat, then. you've got welcome wrote all over you. and much as i like welcome, i hate to be licked."
-pat lay down, and starr eyed the tan boot toes. they moved impatiently, but they did not uncross. starr smiled to himself and proceeded to carry on a one-sided conversation with pat, and to smoke his cigarette.
-"sick, over there?" he inquired casually after perhaps five minutes; either of them would have sworn it ten or fifteen.
-"why, no," chirped the crisp voice. "why?"
-"seemed polite to ask, is all," starr confessed. "i didn't think you was." he finished his smoke in the silence that followed. then, because he himself owned a perverse streak, he took his binoculars from their case and began to study the low-lying ridge in the distance, in a pocket of which nestled the medina ranch buildings. he was glad this ridge commanded all but the "draws" and hollows lying transversely between here and medina's place. it was medina whom he had been advised by his chief to watch particularly, when starr had found a means of laying his clues before that astute gentleman. if he could sit within ten feet of helen may while he kept an eye on that country over there, all the better.
-he saw a horseman ride up out of a hollow and disappear almost immediately into another. the man seemed to be coming over in this direction, though starr could not be sure. he watched for a reappearance of the rider on high ground, but he saw no more of the fellow. so after a little he took down the glasses to scan the country as a whole.
-it was then that he glanced toward the other rock and saw that the tan boots had moved out of sight. he believed that he would have heard her if she moved away, and so he kept his eyes turned upon the corner of the rock where her feet had shown a few minutes before.
-a shot from the pinnacle
-"why--did some one come with you, mr. starr? i thought you were alone."
-starr turned his head and saw helen may standing quite close, on the other side of him. she was glancing inquiringly from him to the pinto pony, and she was smiling the least little bit, though her eyes had a shamed, self-conscious look. starr eyed her keenly, a bit reproachfully, and she blushed.
-"i thought maybe you'd come around where i was," she defended herself lamely. "it--seemed cooler there--"
-"yes, i noticed it was pretty cool, from the tone of your voice."
-"well--oh, i was just nursing a grouch, and i couldn't stop all at once," helen may surrendered suddenly, sitting down beside him and crossing her feet. "i've read in stories how sheepherders go crazy, and i know now just why that is. they see so few people that they don't know how to act when some one does come along. they get so they hate themselves and everybody else. i had just finished abusing poor old pat till he went off and sulked too."
-"i thought probably you and pat had just had a run-in, the way he acted." starr went back to scanning that part of the mesa where he had glimpsed the rider. he could not afford to forget business in the pleasure of talking aimless, trivial things with helen may.
-"what are you looking for?"
-"stock," said starr, falling back on the standard excuse of the range man.
-"and what's the idea of two saddle-horses and two saddles and two bridles?" helen may's voice was as simply curious as a child's.
-"the idea is that you're going to ride instead of walk from now on. it's an outfit i got from a fellow that was leaving. he borrowed money from me and left his horse and saddle, for a kind of security. i didn't want it, but he had to leave 'em somewhere. so i thought you might as well keep the horse and use it till he comes back, or something." starr did very well with this explanation; much better than he had done in explaining pat. the truth was that he had bought the horse for the express purpose of giving it to helen may; just as he had bought the dog.
-helen may studied his face while he studied the distant plain. she thought he acted as though he didn't care much whether she kept the horse or not, and for that reason, and because his explanation had sounded like truth, she hesitated over refusing the offer, though she felt that she ought to refuse.
-"it ain't right for you to be out here afoot," said starr, as though he had read her thoughts. "it's bad enough for you to be here at all. what ever possessed you to do such a crazy thing, anyhow?"
-"well, sometimes people can't choose. dad got the notion first. and then--when he died--vic and i just went ahead with it."
-"did he know anything about this country? did he know--what chances you'd be taking?" starr was trying to choose his words so that they would impress her without alarming her. it angered him to have to worry over the girl's welfare and to keep that worry to himself.
-"what chances, for gracious sake? i never saw such a mild, perfectly monotonous life. why, there are more chances in los angeles every time a person goes down town. it's deadly dull here, and it's too lonesome for words, and i hate it. but as for taking chances--" her voice was frankly contemptuous of the idea.
-"chances of going broke. it takes experience--"
-"oh, as to that, it's partly a matter of health," said helen may lightly. "i have to live where the climate--"
-"you could live in albuquerque, or some other live town; close to it, anyway. you don't have to stick away down here, where--"
-"i don't see as it matters. so long as it isn't los angeles, no place appeals to me. and dad had bought the improvements here, so--"
-"i'll pay you for the improvements, if that's all," starr said shortly.
-helen may laughed. "that sounds exactly as though you want to get me out of the country," she challenged.
-starr did not rise to the bait. he took another long look for the horseman, saw not so much as a flurry of dust, and slid the glasses into their case.
-"i brought out that carbine i was speaking about. and the shells that go with it. i'm kind of a gun fiend, i guess. i'm always accumulating a lot of shooting irons i never use. i run across a six-shooter and belt, too. come here, rabbit!"
-rabbit came, and starr untied the weapons, smiling boyishly. "you may as well be using 'em; they'll only rust, kicking around in the shack. buckle this around you. i punched another hole or two, so the belt would come within a mile or so of fitting. you want to wear that every time you go out on the range. the time you leave it home is the very time when you'll see a coyote or something.
-"and if you expect to get rich in the goat business, you never want to pass up a coyote. there's a bounty on 'em, for one thing, because they do lots of damage among sheep and goats. and for another," he added impressively, "the rabies that's been epidemic on the coast is spreading. you've maybe read about it. a rabid coyote would come right at you, and you know the consequences. or it would bite pat, and then pat would tackle you."
-"oh!" helen may had turned a sickly shade. her eyes went anxiously over the slope as though she half expected something of the sort to happen then and there.
-"that's why," said starr solemnly, looking down into her face, "i'm kinda worried about you ranging around afoot and without a gun--"
-"but nobody else has even mentioned--"
-"everybody else goes prepared, and they're inclined to take chances as a matter of course. i reckon they think you know all about rabies being in the country. this has always been a scrappy kinda place, remember, and folks are used to packing guns and using 'em when the case demands it. you wear this six-gun, lady, and keep your eyes open from now on. i've got another one for vic; an automatic. now we'll go down here in the shade and practice shooting. i brought plenty of shells, and i want to learn you how to handle a gun."
-silently she followed him down the slope on the side toward the basin. he stopped beside the pinto, took it by the bridle-reins and, whipping out his gun, fired it once to test the horse. the pinto twitched its ears at the sound and looked at starr. starr laughed.
-"i'll learn you to shoot from horseback," he called back to helen may. "he's broke to it, i can see now."
-"oh, i wonder if i could! don't tell vic, will you? i'd like to take him by surprise. boys are so conceited and self-sufficient! you'd think vic was my grandfather, the way he lords it over me. first of all, what is the right way to get on a horse? i wish you'd teach me about riding, too."
-this sort of instruction grew absorbing to both. before either guessed how the time had flown, the sun stood straight overhead; and pat, standing in front of her with an expectant look in his eyes and an occasional wag of his stubby tail, reminded helen may that it was time for lunch. they had used almost a full box of shells, and helen may had succeeded in shooting from the back of the pinto and in hitting a certain small hummock of pure sand twice in six shots. she was tremendously proud of the feat, and she took no pains to conceal her pride. she wanted to start in on another box of shells, but pat's eyes were so reproachful, and her sense of hospitality was so urgent that she decided to wait until they had eaten the lunch she had brought with her.
-the rocks which had cast a shadow were now baking in the glare, and the sand where helen may and starr had sat was radiating heat waves. starr took another long look down toward medina's ranch through his field glasses, while helen may went to find a comfortable bit of shade.
-"if you'll come over this way, mr. starr," she called abruptly, "i'll give you a sandwich. it's hot everywhere to-day, but this is a little better than out in the sun."
-starr took the glasses down from his eyes and let them dangle by their cord while he walked over the nose of the ridge to where she was waiting for him.
-half-way there, a streak of fire seemed to sear his arm near his shoulder. starr knew the feeling well enough. he staggered and went down headlong in a clump of greasewood, and at the same instant the report of a rifle came clearly from the high pinnacle at the head of sunlight basin.
-helen may came running, her face white with horror, for she had seen starr fall just as the sound of the shot came to tell her why. she did not cry out, but she rushed to where he lay half concealed in the bushes. when she came near him, she stopped short. for starr was lying on his stomach with his head up and elbows in the sand, steadying the glasses to his eyes that he might search that pinnacle.
-"w-what made you fall down like that?" helen may cried exasperatedly. "i--i thought you were shot!"
-"i am, to a certain extent," starr told her unconcernedly. "kneel down here beside me and act scared, will you? and in a minute i want you to climb on the pinto and ride around behind them rocks and wait for me. take rabbit with you. act like you was going for help, or was scared and running away from a corpse. you get me? i'll crawl over there after a little."
-"w-why? are you hurt so you can't walk?"
-helen may did not have to act; she was scared quite enough for starr's purpose.
-"oh, i could walk, but walking ain't healthy right now. jump up now and climb your horse like you was expecting to ride him down to a whisper. go on--beat it. and when you get outa sight of the pinnacle, stay outa sight. run!"
-there were several questions which helen may wanted to ask, but she only gave him a hasty, imploring glance which starr did not see at all, since his eyes were focussed on the pinnacle. she ran to the pinto and scared him so that he jumped away from her. starr heard and glanced impatiently back at her. he saw that she had managed to get the reins and was mounting with all the haste and all the awkwardness he could possibly expect of her, and he grinned and returned to his scrutiny of the peak.
-whatever he saw he kept to himself; but presently he began to wriggle backward, keeping the greasewood clump, and afterwards certain rocks and little ridges, between himself and a view of the point he had fixed upon as the spot where the shooter had stood.
-when he had rounded the first rock ledge he got up and looked for helen may, and found her standing a couple of rods off, watching him anxiously. he smiled reassuringly at her while he dusted his trousers with the flat of his hands.
-"fine and dandy," he said. "whoever took a pot-shot at me thinks he got me first crack. see? now listen, lady. that maybe was some herder out gunning for coyotes, and maybe he was gunning for me. i licked a herder that ranges over that way, and he maybe thought he'd play even. but anyway, don't say anything about it to anybody, will you. i kinda--"
-"why not? if he shot at you, he wanted to kill you. and that's murder; he ought to be--"
-"now, you know you said yourself that herders go crazy. i don't want to get the poor boob into trouble. let's not say anything about it. i've got to go now; i've stayed longer than i meant to, as it is. have vic put that halter that's on the saddle on the pinto, and tie the rope to it and let it drag. he won't go away, and you can catch him without any bother. if vic don't know how to set the saddle, you take notice just how it's fixed when you take it off. i meant to show you how, but i can't stop now. and don't go anywhere, not even to the mail box, without pat or your six-gun, or both. come here, rabbit, you old scoundrel!
-"i wish i could stay," he added, swinging up to the saddle and looking down at her anxiously. "don't let vic monkey with that automatic till i come and show him how to use it. i--"
-"you said you were shot," said helen may, staring at him enigmatically from under her lashes. "are you?"
-"not much; burnt a streak on my arm, nothing to bother about. now remember and don't leave your gun--"
-"i don't believe it was because you licked a herder. what made somebody shoot at you? was it--on account of pat?"
-"pat? no, i don't see what the dog would have to do with it. it was some half-baked herder, shooting maybe because he heard us shoot and thought we was using him for a target. you can't," starr declared firmly, "tell what fool idea they'll get into their heads. it was our shooting, most likely. now i must go. adios, i'll see yuh before long."
-"well, but what--"
-helen may found herself speaking to the scenery. starr was gone with rabbit at a sliding trot down the slope that kept the ridge between him and the pinnacle. she stood staring after him blankly, her hat askew on the back of her head, and her lips parted in futile astonishment. she did not in the least realize just what starr's extreme caution had meant. she had no inkling of the real gravity of the situation, for her ignorance of the lawless possibilities of that big, bare country insulated her against understanding.
-what struck her most forcibly was the cool manner in which he had ordered her to act a part, and the unhesitating manner in which she had obeyed him. he ordered her about, she thought, as though he had a right; and she obeyed as though she recognized that right.
-she watched him as long as he was in sight, and tried to guess where he was going and what he meant to do, and what was his business--what he did for a living. he must be a rancher, since he had said he was looking for stock; but it was queer he had never told her where his ranch lay, or how far off it was, or anything about it.
-after a little it occurred to her that starr would want the man who had shot at him to think she had left that neighborhood, so she called to pat and had him drive the goats around where they could not be seen from the pinnacle.
-then she sat down and ate her sandwiches thoughtfully, with long, meditative intervals between bites. she regarded the pinto curiously, wondering if starr had really taken him as security for a debt, and wishing that she had asked him what its name was. it was queer, the way he rode up unexpectedly every few days, always bringing something he thought she needed, and seeming to take it for granted that she would accept everything he offered. it was much queerer that she did accept everything without argument or hesitation. for that matter, everything that concerned starr was queer, from helen may's point of view.
-helen may understands
-pat, lying at her feet and licking his lips contentedly after his bone and the crusts of her sandwich, raised his head suddenly and rumbled a growl somewhere deep in his chest. his upper lip lifted and showed his teeth wickedly, and the hair on the back of his neck stood out in a ruff that made him look a different dog.
-helen may felt a cold shiver all up and down her spine. she had never seen pat, nor any other dog for that matter, look like that. it was much more terrifying than that mysterious shot which had effected starr so strangely. pat was staring directly behind her, and his eyes had a greenish tinge in the iris, and the white part was all pink and bloodshot. helen may thought he must have rabies or something; or else a rabid coyote was up on the ridge behind her. she wanted to scream, but she was afraid; she was afraid to look behind her, even.
-pat got up and stood digging his toe nails into the earth in the most horribly suggestive way imaginable. the green light in his eyes terrified her. his ruff bristled bigger on his neck. he looked ready to spring at something. helen may was too scared to move so much as a finger. she waited, and her heart began beating so hard in her throat that it nearly suffocated her. she never once thought of the six-shooter which starr had given her. she did not think of anything, except that a rabid coyote was right behind her, and in a minute pat would jump at it, if it did not first jump at her! and then pat would be bitten, and would go mad and bite her and vic, and they'd all die horribly of hydrophobia.
-"ah--is this a modern, dramatic version of beauty and the beast? if so, it is a masterpiece in depicting perfect repose on the part of beauty, while the beast vivifies the protective instinct of the stronger toward the weaker. speaking in the common parlance, if you will call off your dog, miss stevenson, i might be persuaded to venture within hand-shaking distance." a little laugh, that was much more humorous than the words, followed the speech.
-helen may felt as though she were going to faint. "pat!" she tried to say admonishingly; but her voice was a weak whisper that did not carry ten feet. she pulled herself together and tried again. "pat, lie down!"
-pat turned his bead a trifle and sent her a tolerant glance, but the hair did not lie down on his neck, and the growl did not cease to rumble in his throat.
-"pat!" helen may began to recover a little from the reaction. "come here to me! i--don't think he'll bite you, mr. sommers. it's--it's only mexicans that he's supposed to hate. i--i didn't know it was you."
-holman sommers, being careful to keep a safe distance between himself and pat, came around to where he could see her face. "as a matter of fact," he began, "it's really my sister who came to visit you. your brother informed us that you were out here, and i came to tell you. why, did i frighten you so badly, miss stevenson? your face is absolutely colorless. what did i do to so terrify you? i surely never intended--" his eyes were remorseful as he stood and looked at her.
-"it was just the way pat acted. i--i'd been hearing about rabid coyotes, and i thought one was behind me, pat acted so queer. lie down, pat!"
-holman sommers spoke to the dog ingratiatingly, but pat did not exhibit any tail-wagging desire for friendly acquaintance. he slunk over to helen may and flattened himself on his belly with his nose on his paws, and his eyes, that still showed greenish lights and bloodshot whites, fixed on the man.
-"it may be," said sommers judgmatically, "that he has been taught to resent strangers coming in close proximity to the animals he has in charge. a great many dogs are so trained, and are therefore in no wise to blame for exhibiting a certain degree of ferocity. the canine mind is wholly lacking in the power of deduction, its intelligence consisting rather of a highly developed instinctive faculty for retaining impressions which invariably express themselves in some concrete form such as hate, fear, joy, affection and like primitive emotions. pat, for instance, has been taught to regard strangers as interlopers. he therefore resents the presence of all strangers, and has no mental faculty for distinguishing between strangers, as such, and actual intruders whose presence is essentially undesirable."
-helen may gave a little, half-hysterical laugh, and holman sommers looked at her keenly, as a doctor sometimes looks at a patient.
-"i am intensely sorry that my coming frightened you," he said gently. then he laughed. "i am also deeply humiliated at the idea of being mistaken, in the broad light of midday, for a rabid coyote. may i ask just wherein lies the resemblance?"
-helen may looked at him, saw the dancing light in his eyes and a mirthful quirk of his lips, and blushed while she smiled.
-"it's just that i happened to be thinking about them," she said, instinctively belittling her fear. "and then i never saw pat act the way he's acting now."
-holman sommers regarded the dog with the same keen, studying look he had given helen may. pat did not take it as calmly, however, as helen may had done. pat lifted his upper lip again and snarled with an extremely concrete depiction of the primitive emotion, hate.
-"there are such things as rabid coyotes, aren't there? just--do you know how they act, and how a person could tell when something has caught the disease from them?"
-"i think i may safely assert that there undoubtedly are rabid coyotes in the country. as a matter of fact, and speaking relatively, they have been, and probably still are, somewhat of a menace to stock running abroad without a herder amply provided with the means of protecting his charge. at the same time i may point with pardonable pride to the concerted action of both state and stock association to rid the country of these pests. so far we feel highly gratified at the success which has attended our efforts. i gravely doubt whether you would now find, in this whole county, a single case of infection. but on the other hand, i could not, of course, venture to state unqualifiedly that there may not be certain isolated cases--"
-"pat! do stop that growling! what ails you, anyway? i never saw him act that way before. i wonder if he could possibly be--" she looked at sommers questioningly.
-"infected?" he finished for her understandingly. "as a matter of fact, that may be possible, though i should not consider it altogether probable. since the period of incubation varies from three weeks to six months, as in man, the dog may possibly have been infected before coming into your possession. if that were true, you would have no means of discovering the fact until he exhibits certain premonitory symptoms, which may or may not form in themselves conclusive evidence of the presence of the disease."
-helen may got up from the rock and moved away, eyeing pat suspiciously. pat got up and followed her, keeping a watchful eye on sommers.
-"what are the symptoms, for gracious sake?" she demanded fretfully, worried beyond caring how she chose her words for holman sommers. "his eyes look queer, don't you think?"
-"since you ask me, and since the subject is not one to be dismissed lightly, i will say that i have been studying the dog's attitude with some slight measure of concern," holman sommers admitted guardedly. "the suffused eyeball is sometimes found in the premonitory stage of the disease, after incubation has progressed to a certain degree. also irritability, nervousness, and depression are apt to be present. has the dog exhibited any tendency toward sluggishness, miss stevenson?"
-"well, he's been lying around most of the time to-day," helen may confessed, staring at pat apprehensively. "of course, there hasn't been anything much for him to do. but he certainly does act queer, just since you came."
-holman sommers spoke with the prim decision of a teacher instructing a class, but that seemed to be only his way, and helen may was growing used to it. "his evidencing a tendency toward sluggishness to-day, and his subsequent irritability, may or may not be significant of an abnormality. if, however, the dog progresses to the stage of hyperaesthesia, and the muscles of deglutition become extremely rigid, so that he cannot swallow, convulsions will certainly follow. there will also appear in the mouth and throat a secretion of thick, viscid mucus, with thickened saliva, which will be an undubitable proof of rabies."
-partly to be hospitable, and partly to get away from pat, she mounted the pinto, told pat to watch the goats, and rode down to the house to see martha sommers. she did not anticipate any pleasure in the visit, much as she had longed for the sound of a woman's voice. she was really worried half to death over starr, and the rabies, and pat, and the nagging consciousness that she had not accomplished as much copying of manuscript as holman sommers probably expected.
-she did not hear half of what sommers was saying on the way to the cabin. his very amiability jarred upon her nervous depression. she had always liked him, and respected his vast learning, but to-day she certainly did not get much comfort out of his converse. she wondered why she had been so light-hearted while starr was with her showing her how to shoot, and lecturing her about the danger of going gunless abroad; and why she was so perfectly dejected when holman sommers talked to her about the very same thing. starr had certainly painted things blacker than holman had done, but it did not seem to have the same effect.
-"i don't see what we're going to do for a muzzle," she launched suddenly into the middle of holman sommers' scientific explanation of mirages.
-"vic can undoubtedly construct one out of an old strap," holman sommers retorted impatiently, and went on discoursing about refraction and reflection and the like.
-"did all those words you used mean that pat will foam at the mouth like mad dogs you read about?" she asked abruptly.
-holman sommers, tramping along beside the pinto, looked at her queerly. "if pat does not, i strongly suspect that i shall," he told her weightily, but with a twinkle in his eyes. "i have been endeavoring, miss stevenson, to wean your thoughts away from so unhappy a subject. why permit yourself to be worried? the thing will happen, or it will not happen. if it does happen, you will be powerless to prevent. if it does not, you will have been anxious over a chimera of the imagination."
-"chimera of the imagination is a good line," laughed helen may flippantly. "all the same, if pat is going to gallop all over the scenery, foaming at the mouth and throwing fits at the sight of water--"
-"as a matter of fact," holman sommers was beginning again in his most instructive tone, when a whoop from the spring interrupted him.
-vic had hobbled obligingly down there to get cool water for the plump lady who was holman sommers' sister, and he had nearly stepped on a sleepy rattler stretched out in the sun. vic was making a collection of rattles. he had one set, so far, of five rattles and a "button." he wanted to get these which were buzzing stridently enough for three snakes, it seemed to vic. he was hopping around on his good foot and throwing rocks; and the snake, having retreated to a small heap of loose cobblestones, was thrusting his head out in vicious little striking gestures, and keeping the scaly length of him bidden.
-"wait a minute, i'll get him, vic," called helen may, suddenly anxious to show off her newly acquired skill with firearms. starr had told her that lots of people killed rattlesnakes by shooting their heads off. she wanted to try it, anyway, and show vic a thing or two. so she rode up as close as she dared, though the pinto shied away from the ominous sound; pulled her pearl-handled six-shooter from its holster, aimed, and fired at the snake's head.
-you have heard, no doubt, of "fool's luck." helen may actually tore the whole top off that rattlesnake's head (though i may as well say right here that she never succeeded in shooting another snake) and rode nonchalantly on to the cabin as though she had done nothing at all unusual, but smiling to herself at vic's slack-jawed amazement at seeing her on horseback, with a gun and such uncanny skill in the use of it.
-"don't overlook vic, though," helen may put in generously. "i honestly don't believe i could stand it without vic."
-the plump sister seemed unimpressed. "in this country," she said with a certain snug positiveness that was the keynote of her personality, "it's the women that have the courage. they wouldn't be here if they didn't have. think how close we are to the mexican border, for instance. anything that is horrible to woman can come out of mexico. not that i look down on them over there," she added, with a complacent tolerance in her tone. "they are victims of the system that has kept them degraded and ignorant. but until they are lifted up and educated and raised to our standards they are bad.
-"you can't get around it, holly, those ignorant mexicans are bad!" she had lifted her eyes accusingly to where holman sommers sat on the ground with his knees drawn up and his old panama hat hung upon them. he was smoking a pipe, and he did not remove it from his mouth; but helen may saw that amused quirk of the lips just the same.
-"you can't get around it. you know it as well as i do," she reiterated. "cannibals are worth saving, but before they are saved they are liable to eat the missionary. and it's the same thing with your mexicans. you want to educate them and raise them to your standards, and that's all right as far as it goes. but in the meantime they're bad. and if miss stevenson wasn't such a good shot, i wouldn't be able to sleep nights, thinking of her living up here alone, with just a boy for protection."
-"why, i never heard of such a thing as any danger from mexicans!" helen may looked inquiringly from plump sister to cynical brother.
-"well, you needn't wonder at holly not telling you," said the plump sister,--her name was maggie. "holly's a fool about some things. holly is trying the uplift, and he shuts his eyes to things that don't fit in with his theories. if you've copied much of that stuff he's been writing, you ought to know how impractical he is. holly's got his head in the clouds, and he won't look at what's right under his feet." again she looked reproof at holly, and again holly's lips quirked around the stem end of his pipe.
-"you just keep your eyes open, miss stevenson," she admonished, in a purring, comfortable voice. "i ain't afraid, myself, because i've got holly and my cousin todd, when he's at home. and besides, holly's always doing missionary stunts, and the mexicans like him because he'll let them rob him right and left and come back and take what they forgot the first time, and holly won't do a thing to them. but you don't want to take any chances, away off here like you are. you lock your door good at night, and you sleep with a gun under your pillow. and don't go off anywhere alone. my, even with a gun you ain't any too safe!"
-"well, but holly, i've said it, and i'll say it again; you can't tell what may come up out of mexico." plump maggie rolled up her lace and jabbed the ball decisively with the crochet hook, "we'll have to go now, or the chickens will be wondering where their supper is coming from. you do what i say, and lock your doors at night, and have your gun handy, miss stevenson. things may look calm enough on the surface, but they ain't, i can tell you that!"
-"woman, cease!" cried holly banteringly, while he dusted his baggy trousers with his palms. "miss stevenson will be haunted by nightmares if you keep on."
-once they were gone, helen may surrendered weakly to one fear, to the extent that she let vic take the carbine and the pinto and ride over to where she had left pat and the goats, for the simple reason that she dreaded to face alone that much maligned dog. vic, to be sure, would have quarreled with her if necessary, to get a ride on the pinto, and he was a good deal astonished at helen may's sweet consideration of a boy's hunger for a horse. but she tempered his joy a bit by urging him to keep an eye on pat, who had been acting very queer.
-"he kept ruining up his back and showing his teeth at mr. sommers," she explained nervously. "if he does it when you go, vic, and if he foams at the mouth, you'd better shoot him before he bites something. if a mad dog bites you, you'll get hydrophobia, and bark and growl like a dog, and have fits and die."
-"g-oo-d night!" vic ejaculated fervently, and went loping awkwardly down the trail past the spring.
-that left helen may alone and free to think about the horrors that might come up out of mexico, and about the ignorant mexicans who, until they are uplifted, are bad. it seemed strange that, if this were true, starr had never mentioned the danger. and yet--
-"i'll bet anything that's just what starr-of-the-desert did mean!" she exclaimed aloud, her eyes fixed intently on the toes of her scuffed boots. "he just didn't want to scare me too much and make me suspicious of everybody that came along, and so he talked mad coyotes at me. but it was mexicans he meant; i'll bet anything it was!"
-if that was what starr meant, then the shot from the pinnacle, and starr's crafty, indian-like method of getting away unseen, took on a new and sinister meaning. helen may shivered at the thought of starr riding away in search of the man who had tried to kill him, and of the risk he must be taking. and what if the fellow came back, sneaking back in the dark, and tried to get in the house, or something? it surely was lucky that starr-of-the-desert had just happened to bring those guns.
-but had he just happened to bring them? helen may was not stupid, even if she were ignorant of certain things she ought to know, living out alone in the wild. she began to see very clearly just what starr had meant; just how far he had happened to have extra guns in his shack, and had just happened to get hold of a horse that she and vic could use; and the dog, too, that hated mexicans!
-"that's why he hates to have me stay on the claim!" she deduced at last. "only he just wouldn't tell me right out that it isn't safe. that's what he meant by asking if dad knew the chances i'd have to take. well, dad didn't know, but after the price dad paid, why--i've got to stay, and make good. there's no sense in being a coward about it. starr wouldn't want me to be a coward. he's just scheming around to make it as safe as he can, without making me cowardly."
-a slow, half-tender smile lit her chestnut-tinted eyes, and tilted her lips at the corners. "oh, you desert man o' mine, i see through you now!" she said under her breath, and kept on smiling afterwards, since there was not a soul near to guess her thoughts. "desert man o' mine" was going pretty strong, if you stop to think of it; but helen may would have died--would have lied--would have gone to any lengths to keep starr from guessing she had ever thought such a thing about him. that was the woman of her.
-the woman of her it was too that kept her dwelling pleasedly on starr's shy, protective regard for her, instead of watching the peaks in fear and trembling lest another bad, un-uplifted mexican should be watching a chance to send another bullet zipping down into the basin on its mission of wanton wickedness.
-starr sees too little or too much
-carefully skirting the ridge where helen may had her goats; keeping always in the gulches and never once showing himself on high ground, starr came after a while to a point where he could look up to the pinnacle behind sunlight basin, from the side opposite the point where he had wriggled away behind a bush. he left rabbit hidden in a brush-choked arroyo that meandered away to the southwest, and began cautiously to climb.
-starr did not expect to come upon his man on the peak; indeed he would have been surprised to find the fellow still there. but that peak was as good as any for reconnoitering the surrounding country, was higher than any other within several miles, in fact. what he did hope was to pick up with his glasses the man's line of retreat after a deed he must believe successfully accomplished. and there might be some betraying sign there that would give him a clue.
-there was always the possibility, however, that the fellow had lingered to see what took place after the supposed killing. he must believe that the girl who had been with starr would take some action, and he might want to know to a certainty what that action was. so starr went carefully, keeping behind boulders and rugged outcroppings and in the bottom of deep, water-worn washes when nothing else served. he did not think the fellow, even if he stayed on the peak, would be watching behind him, but starr did not take any chances, and climbed rather slowly.
-he reached the summit at the left of where the man had stood when he shot; very close to the spot where helen may had stood and looked upon vic and the goats and the country she abhorred. starr saw her tracks there in a sheltered place beside a rock and knew that she had been up there, though in that dry soil he could not, of course, tell when. when that baked soil takes an imprint, it is apt to hold it for a long while unless rain or a real sand-storm blots it out.
-he hid there for a few minutes, craning as much as he dared to see if there were any sign of the man he wanted. in a little he left that spot and crept, foot by foot, over to the cairn, the "sheepherder's monument," behind which the fellow had stood. there again he found the prints of helen may's small, mountain boots, prints which he had come to know very well. and close to them, looking as though the two had stood together, were the larger, deeper tracks of a man.
-starr dared not rise and stand upright. he must keep always under cover from any chance spying from below. he could not, therefore, trace the footprints down the peak. but he got some idea of the man's direction when he left, and he knew, of course, where to find helen may. he did not connect the two in his mind, beyond registering clearly in his memory the two sets of tracks.
-he crept closer to the basin side of the peak and looked down, following an impulse he did not try to analyze. certainly he did not expect to see any one, unless it were vic, so he had a little shock of surprise when he saw helen may riding the pinto up past the spring, with a man walking beside her and glancing up frequently into her face. starr was human; i have reminded you several times how perfectly human he was. he immediately disliked that man. when he heard faintly the tones of helen may's laugh, he disliked the man more.
-he got down, with his head and his arms--the left one was lame in the biceps--above a rock. he made sure that the sun had swung around so it would not shine on the lenses and betray him by any heliographic reflection, and focussed his glasses upon the two. he saw as well as heard helen may laugh, and he scowled over it. but mostly he studied the man.
-"all right for you, old boy," he muttered. "i don't know who the devil you are, but i don't like your looks." which shows how human jealousy will prejudice a man.
-he saw vic throwing rocks at something which he judged was a snake, and he saw helen may rein the pinto awkwardly around, "square herself for action," as starr would have styled it, and fire. by her elation; artfully suppressed, by the very carelessness with which she shoved the gun in its holster, he knew that she had hit whatever she shot at. he caught the tones of holman sommers' voice praising her, and he hated the tones. he watched them come on up to the little house, where they disappeared at the end where the mesquite tree grew. sitting in the shade there, talking, he guessed they were doing, and for some reason he resented it. he saw vic lift a rattlesnake up by its tail, and heard him yell that it had six rattles, and the button was missing.
-after that starr turned his hack on the basin and began to search scowlingly the plain. he tried to pull his mind away from helen may and her visitor and to fix it upon the would-be assassin. he believed that the horseman he had seen earlier in the day might be the one, and he looked for him painstakingly, picking out all the draws, all the dry washes and arroyos of that vicinity. the man would keep under cover, of course, in making his getaway. he would not ride across a ridge if he could help it, any more than would starr.
-even so, from that height starr could look down into many of the deep places. in one of them he caught sight of a horseman picking his way carefully along the boulder-strewn bottom. the man's back was toward him, but the general look of him was mexican. the horse was bay with a rusty black tail, but there were in new mexico thousands of bay horses with black tails, so there was nothing gained there. the rider seemed to be making toward medina's ranch, though that was only a guess, since the arroyo he was following led in that direction at that particular place. later it took a sharp turn to the south, and the rider went out of sight before starr got so much as a glimpse at his features.
-he watched for a few minutes longer, sweeping his glasses slowly to right and left. he took another look down into the basin and saw no one stirring, that being about the time when the plump sister was rolling up her fancy work and tapering off her conversation to the point of making her adieu. starr did not watch long enough for his own peace of mind. five more minutes would have brought the plump one into plain view with her brother and helen may, and would have identified holman sommers as the escort of a lady caller. but those five minutes starr spent in crawling back down the peak on the side farthest from the basin, leaving holman sommers sticking in his mind with the unpleasant flavor of mystery.
-he mounted rabbit again and made a detour of several miles so that he might come up on the ridge behind medina's without running any risk of crossing the trail of the men he wanted to watch. about two o'clock he stopped at a shallow, brackish stream and let rabbit rest and feed for an hour while starr himself climbed another rocky pinnacle and scanned the country between there and medina's.
-the gate that let one off the main road and into the winding trail which led to the house stood out in plain view at the mouth of a shallow draw. this was not the trail which led out from the home ranch toward san bonito, where starr had been going when he saw the track of the mysterious automobile, but the trail one would take in going from medina's to malpais. the ranch house itself stood back where the draw narrowed, but the yellow-brown trail ribboned back from the gate in plain view.
-here again starr was fated to get a glimpse and no more. he focussed his glasses on the main road first; picked up the medina branch to the gate, followed the trail on up the draw, and again he picked up a man riding a bay horse. and just as he was adjusting his lenses for a sharper clarity of vision, the horse trotted around a bend and disappeared from sight.
-starr swore, but that did not bring the man back down the trail. starr was not at all sure that this was the same man he had seen in the draw, and he was not sure that either was the man who had shot at him. but roosting on that heat-blistered pinnacle swearing about the things he didn't know struck him as a profitless performance, so he climbed down, got into the saddle again, and rode on.
-he reached the granite ridge back of medina's about four o'clock in the afternoon. he was tired, for he had been going since daylight, and for a part of the time at least he had been going on foot, climbing the steep, rocky sides of peaks for the sake of what he might see from the top, and then climbing down again for sake of what some one else might see if he stayed too long. his high-heeled riding boots that helen may so greatly admired were very good-looking and very comfortable when he had them stuck into stirrups to the heel. but they had never been built for walking. therefore his feet ached abominably. and there was the heat, the searing, dry heat of midsummer in the desert country. he was dog tired, and he was depressed because he had not seemed able to accomplish anything with all his riding and all his scanning of the country.
-he climbed slowly the last, brown granite ridge, the ridge behind estan medina's house. he would watch the place and see what was going on there. then, he supposed he should go back and watch las nuevas, though his chief seemed to think that he had discovered enough there for their purposes. he had sent on the pamphlets, and he knew that when the time was right, las nuevas would be muzzled with a postal law and, he hazarded, a seizure of their mail.
-what he had to do now was to find the men who were working in conjunction with las nuevas; who were taking the active part in organizing and in controlling the mexican alliance. so far he had not hit upon the real leaders, and he knew it, and in his weariness was oppressed with a sense of failure. they might better have left him in texas, he told himself glumly. they sure had drawn a blank when they drew him into the secret service, because he had accomplished about as much as a pup trying to run down a coyote.
-a lizard scuttled out of his way, when he crawled between two boulders that would shield him from sight unless a man walked right up on him where he lay--and starr did not fear that, because there were too many loose cobbles to roll and rattle; he knew, because he had been twice as long as he liked in getting to this point quietly. he took off his hat, telling himself morosely that you couldn't tell his head from a lump of granite anyway, when he had his hat off, and lifted his glasses to his aching eyes.
-the medina ranch was just showing signs of awakening after a siesta. estan himself was pottering about the corral, and luis, a boy about eighteen years old, was fooling with a colt in a small enclosure that had evidently been intended for a garden and had been permitted to grow up in weeds and grass instead.
-after a while a peona came out and fed the chickens, and hunted through the sheds for eggs, which she carried in her apron. she stopped to watch luis and the colt, and luis coaxed her to give him an egg, which he was feeding to the colt when his mother saw and called to him shrilly from the house. the peona ducked guiltily and ran, stooping, beside a stone wall that hid her from sight until she had slipped into the kitchen. the señora searched for her, scolding volubly in high-keyed mexican, so that estan came lounging up to see what was the matter.
-afterwards they all went to the house, and starr knew that there would be real, mexican tortillas crisp and hot from the baking, and chili con carne and beans, and perhaps another savory dish or two which the señora herself had prepared for her sons.
-starr was hungry. he imagined that he could smell those tortillas from where he lay. he could have gone down, and the medinas would have greeted him with lavish welcome and would have urged him to eat his fill. they would not question him, he knew. if they suspected his mission, they would cover their suspicion with much amiable talk, and their protestations of welcome would be the greater because of their insincerity. but he did not go down. he made himself more comfortable between the boulders and settled himself to wait and see what the night would bring.
-first it brought the gorgeous sunset, that made him think of helen may just because it was beautiful and because she would probably be gazing up at the crimson and gold and all the other elusive, swift-changing shades that go to make a barbaric sunset. sure, she would be looking at it, unless she was still talking to that man, he thought jealously. it fretted him that he did not know who the fellow was. so he turned his thoughts away from the two of them.
-next came the dusk, and after that the stars. there was no moon to taunt him with memories, or more practically, to light for him the near country. with the stars came voices from the porch of the adobe house below him. estan's voice he made out easily, calling out to luis inside, to ask if he had shut the colt in the corral. the señora's high voice spoke swiftly, admonishing luis. and presently luis could be seen dimly as he moved down toward the corrals.
-starr hated this spying upon a home, but he held himself doggedly to the task. too many homes were involved, too many sons were in danger, too many mothers would mourn if he did not play the spy to some purpose now. this very home he was watching would be the happier when he and his fellows had completed their work and the snake of intrigue was beheaded just as helen may had beheaded the rattler that afternoon. this home was happy now, under the very conditions that were being deplored so bombastically in the circulars he had read. why, then, should its peace be despoiled because of political agitators?
-luis put the colt up for the night and returned, whistling, to the house. the tune he whistled was one he had learned at some movie show, and in a minute he broke into singing, "hearts seem light, and life seems bright in dreamy chinatown." starr, brooding up there above the boy, wished that luis might never be heavier of heart than now, when he went singing up the path to the thick-walled adobe. he liked luis.
-the murmur of voices continued, and after awhile there came plaintively up to starr the sound of a guitar, and mingling with it the voice of luis singing a spanish song. la golondrina, it was, that melancholy song of exile which mexicans so love. starr listened gloomily, following the words easily enough in that still night air.
-away to the northwest there gleamed a brighter, more intimate star than the constellation above. while luis sang, the watcher in the rocks fixed his eyes wistfully on that gleaming pin point of light, and wondered what helen may was doing. her lighted window it was; her window that looked down through the mouth of the basin and out over the broken mesa land that was half desert. until then he had not known that her window saw so far; though it was not strange that he could see her light, since he was on the crest of a ridge higher than any other until one reached the bluff that held sunlight basin like a pocket within its folds.
-luis finished the song, strummed a while, sang a popular rag-time, strummed again and, so starr explained his silence, went to bed. estan began again to talk, now and then lifting his voice, speaking earnestly, as though he was arguing or protesting, or perhaps expounding a theory of some sort. starr could not catch the words, though he knew in a general way the meaning of the tones estan was using.
-a new sound brought him to his knees, listening: the sound of a high-powered engine being thrown into low gear and buzzing like angry hornets because the wheels did not at once grip and thrust the car forward. sand would do that. while starr listened, he heard the chuckle of the car getting under way, and a subdued purring so faint that, had there not been a slow, quiet breeze from that direction, the sound would never have reached his ears at all. even so, he had no more than identified it when the silence flowed in and covered it as a lazy tide covers a pebble in the moist sand.
-starr glanced down at the house, heard estan still talking, and got carefully to his feet. he thought he knew where the car had slipped in the sand, and he made toward the place as quickly as he could go in the dark and still keep his movements quiet. it was back in that arroyo where he had first discovered traces of the car he now felt sure had come from the yard of las nuevas.
-he remembered that on the side next him the arroyo had deep-cut banks that might get him a nasty fall if he attempted them in the dark, so he took a little more time for the trip and kept to the rougher, yet safer, granite-covered ridge. once, just once, he caught the glow of dimmed headlights falling on the slope farthest from him. he hurried faster, after that, and so he climbed down into the arroyo at last, near the point where he had climbed out of it that other day.
-he went, as straight as he could go in the dark, to the place where he had first seen the tracks of the silvertown cords. he listened, straining his ears to catch the smallest sound. a cricket fiddled stridently, but there was nothing else.
-starr took a chance and searched the ground with a pocket flashlight. he did not find any fresh tracks, however. and while he was standing in the dark considering how the hills might have carried the sound deceptively to his ear, and how he may have been mistaken, from somewhere on the other side of the ridge came the abrupt report of a gun. the sound was muffled by the distance, yet it was unmistakable. starr listened, heard no second shot, and ran back up the rocky gulch that led to the ridge he had just left, behind medina's house.
-he was puffing when he reached the place where he had lain between the two boulders, and he stopped there to listen again. it came,--the sound he instinctively expected, yet dreaded to hear; the sound of a woman's high-keyed wailing.
-"is he then dead--my son?"
-starr hurried down the bluff, slipping, sliding, running where the way was clear of rocks. so presently he came to the stone wall, vaulted over it, and stopped beside the tragic little group dimly outlined in the house yard just off the porch.
-"my son--my son!" the old woman was wailing, on her knees beside a long, inert figure lying on its back on the hard-packed earth. back of her the peona hovered, hysterical, useless. luis, half dressed and a good deal dazed yet from sleep and the suddenness of his waking, knelt beside his mother, patting her shoulder in futile affection, staring down bewilderedly at estan.
-so starr found them. scenes like this were not so unusual in his life, which had been lived largely among unruly passions. he spoke quietly to luis and knelt to see if the man lived. the señora took comfort from his calm presence and with dumb misery watched his deft movements while he felt for heartbeats and for the wound.
-"but is he then dead, my son?" she wailed in spanish, when starr gently laid down upon estan's breast the hand he had been holding. "but so little while ago he lived and to me he talked. ah, my son!"
-starr looked at her quietingly. "how, then, did it happen? tell me, señora, that i may assist," he said, speaking easily the spanish which she spoke.
-"ah, the good friend that thou art! ah, my son that i loved! how can i tell what is mystery? who would harm my son--my little estan that was so good? yet a voice called softly from the dark--and me, i heard, though to my bed i had but gone. 'estan!' called the voice, so low. and my son--ah, my son!--to the door he went swiftly, the lampara in his hand, holding it high--so--that the light may shine into the dark.
-"'who calls?' me, i heard my son ask--ah, never again will i hear his voice! out of the door he went--to see the man who called. to the porch-end he came--i heard his steps. ah, my son! never again thy dear footsteps will i hear!" and she fell to weeping over him.
-"and then? tell me, señora. what happened next?"
-"ah--the shot that took from me my son! then feet running away--then i came out--ah, querido mio, that thou shouldst be torn from thy mother thus!"
-"and you don't know--?"
-"no, no--no--ah, that my heart should break with sorrow--"
-"hush, mother! 'twas apodaca! he is powerful--and estan would not come into the alliance. i told him it would be--" luis, kneeling there, beating his hands together in the dark, spoke with the heedless passion of youth.
-"which apodaca? juan?" starr's voice was low, with the sympathetic tone that pulls open the floodgates of speech when one is stricken hard.
-"not juan; juan is a fool. elfigo apodaca it was--or some one obeying his order. estan they feared--estan would not come in, and the time was coming so close--and estan held out and talked against it. i told him his life would pay for his holding out. i told him! and now i shall kill apodaca--and my life also will pay--"
-"what is this thou sayest?" the mother, roused from her lamentations by the boy's vehemence, plucked at his sleeve. "but thou must not kill, my little son. thou art--"
-"why not? they'll all be killing in a month!" flashed luis unguardedly.
-starr, kneeling on one knee, looked at the boy across estan's chilling body. a guarded glance it was, but a searching glance that questioned and weighed and sat in judgment upon the truth of the startling assertion. yet younger boys than luis are commanding troops in mexico, for the warlike spirit develops early in a land where war is the chief business of the populace. it was not strange then that eighteen-year-old luis should be actively interested in the building of a revolution on this side the border. it was less strange because of his youth; for luis would have all the fiery attributes of the warrior, unhindered by the cool judgment of maturity. he would see the excitement, the glory of it. estan would see the terrible cost of it, in lives and in patrimony. luis loved action. estan loved his big flocks and his acres upon acres of land, and his quiet home; had loved too his foster country, if he had spoken his true sentiments. so starr took his cue and thanked his good fortune that he had come upon this tragedy while it was fresh, and while the shock of it was loosening the tongue of luis.
-"a month from now is another time, luis," he said quietly. "this is murder, and the man who did it can be punished."
-"you can't puneesh apodaca," luis retorted, speaking english, since starr had used the language, which put their talk beyond the mother's understanding. "he is too--too high up--but i can kill," he added vindictively.
-"the law can get him better than you can," starr pointed out cannily. "can you think of anybody else that might be in on the deal?"
-"n-o--" luis was plainly getting a hold on himself, and would not tell all he knew. "i don't know notheeng about it."
-"well, what you'd better do now is saddle a horse and ride in to town and tell the coroner--and the sheriff. if you don't," he added, when he caught a stiffening of opposition in the attitude of luis, "if you don't, you will find yourself in all kinds of trouble. it will look bad. you have to notify the coroner, anyway, you know. that's the law. and the coroner will see right away that estan was shot. so the sheriff will be bound to get on the job, and it will be a heap better for you, luis, if you tell him yourself. and if you try to kill apodaca, that will rob your mother of both her sons. you must think of her. estan would never bring trouble to her that way. you stand in his place now. so you ride in and tell the sheriff and tell the coroner. say that you suspect elfigo apodaca. the sheriff will do the rest."
-"what does the señor advise, my son?" murmured the mother, plucking at the sleeve of luis. "the good friend he was to my poor estan--my son! do thou what he tells thee, for he is wise and good, and he would not guide thee wrong."
-luis hesitated, staring down at the dead body of estan. "i will go," he said, breaking in upon the sound of the peona's reasonless weeping. "i will do that. the sheriff is not mexican, or--" he checked himself abruptly and peered across at starr. "i go," he repeated hastily.
-he stood up, and starr rose also and assisted the old lady to her feet. she seemed inclined to cling to him. her estan had liked starr, and for that her faith in him never faltered now. he laid his arm protectively around her shaking shoulders.
-"señora, go you in and rest," he commanded gently, in spanish. "have the girl bring a blanket to cover estan--for here he must remain until he is viewed by the coroner--you understand? your son would be grieved if you do not rest. you still have luis, your little son. you must be brave and help luis to be a man. then will estan be proud of you both." so he suited his speech to the gentle ways of the old señora, and led her back to the shelter of the porch as tenderly as estan could have done.
-he sent the peona for a lamp to replace the one that had broken when estan fell with it in his hand. he settled the señora upon the cowhide-covered couch where her frail body could be comfortable and she still could feel that she was watching beside her son. he placed a pillow under her head, and spread a gay-striped serape over her, and tucked it carefully around her slippered feet. the señora wept more quietly, and called him the son of her heart, and brokenly thanked god for the tenderness of all good men.
-he explained to her briefly that he had been riding to town by a short-cut over the ridge when he heard the shot and hurried down; and that, having left his horse up there, he must go up after it and bring it around to the corral. he would not be gone longer than was absolutely necessary, he told her, and he promised to come back and stay with her while the officers were there. then he hurried away, the señora's broken thanks lingering painfully in his memory.
-at the top of the bluff, where he had climbed as fast as he could, he stood for a minute to get his breath back. he heard the muffled pluckety-pluck of a horse galloping down the sandy trail, and he knew that there went luis on his bitter mission to san bonito. his eyes turned involuntarily toward sunlight basin. there twinkled still the light from helen may's window, though it was well past midnight. starr wondered at that, and hoped she was not sick. then immediately his face grew lowering. for between him and the clear, twinkling light of her window he saw a faint glow that moved swiftly across the darkness; an automobile running that way with dimmed headlights.
-rabbit greeted him with a subdued nicker of relief, telling plainly as a horse can speak that he had been seriously considering foraging for his supper and not waiting any longer for starr. there he had stood for six or seven hours, just where starr had dismounted and dropped the reins. he was a patient little horse, and he knew his business, but there is a limit to patience, and rabbit had almost reached it.
-starr led him up over the rocky ridge into the arroyo where the automobile had been, and from there he rode down to the trail and back to the medina ranch. he watered rabbit at the ditch, pulled off the saddle, and turned him into the corral, throwing him an armful of secate from a half-used stack. then he went up to the house and sat on the edge of the porch beside the señora, who was still weeping and murmuring yearning endearments to the ears that could not hear.
-he did not know how long he would have to wait, but he knew that luis would not spare his horse. he smoked, and studied the things which luis had let drop; every word of immense value to him now. elfigo apodaca he knew slightly, and he wondered a little that he would be the alliance leader in this section of the state.
-elfigo apodaca seemed so thoroughly americanized that only his swarthy skin and black hair and eyes reminded one that he was after all a son of the south. he did a desultory business in real estate, and owned an immense tract of land, the remnant of an old spanish grant, and went in for fancy cattle and horses. he seemed more a sportsman than a politician--a broadminded, easy-going man of much money. starr had still a surprised sensation that the trail should lead to elfigo. juan, the brother of elfigo, he could find it much easier to see in the role of conspirator. but horror does not stop to weigh words, and starr knew that luis had spoken the truth in that unguarded moment.
-he pondered that other bit of information that had slipped out: "in a month they'll all be killing." that was a point which he and his colleagues had not been able to settle in their own minds, the proposed date of the uprising. in a month! the time was indeed short, but now that they had something definite to work on, a good deal might be done in a month; so on the whole starr felt surprisingly cheerful. and if elfigo found himself involved in a murder trial, it would help to hamper his activities with the alliance. starr regretted the death of estan, but he kept thinking of the good that would come of it. he kept telling himself that the shooting of estan medina would surely put a crimp in the revolution. also it would mark luis for a mate to the bullet that reached estan, if that hotheaded youth did not hold his tongue.
-he was considering the feasibility of sending luis and his mother out of the country for awhile, when the sheriff and coroner and luis came rocking down the narrow trail in a roadster built for speed where speed was no pleasure but a necessity.
-the sheriff was an ex-cattleman, with a desert-baked face and hard eyes and a disconcerting habit of chewing gum and listening and saying nothing himself. for the sake of secrecy, starr had avoided any acquaintance with him and his brother officers, so the sheriff gave him several sharp glances while he was viewing the body and the immediate surroundings. luis had told him, coming out, the meager details of the murder, and he had again accused elfigo apodaca, though he had done some real thinking on the way to town, and had cooled to the point where he chose his words more carefully. the sheriff's name was o'malley, which is reason enough why luis was chary of confiding mexican secrets to his keeping.
-elfigo apodaca had quarreled with estan, said luis. he had come to the ranch, and luis had heard them quarreling over water rights. elfigo had threatened to "get" estan, and to "fix" him, and luis had been afraid that estan would be shot before the quarrel was over. he had heard the voice that called estan out of the house that night, and he told the sheriff that he had recognized elfigo's voice. luis surely did all he could to settle any doubt in the mind of the sheriff, and he felt that he had been very smart to say they quarreled over water rights; a lawsuit two years ago over that very water-right business lent convincingness to the statement.
-the sheriff had not said anything at all after luis had finished his story of the shooting. he had chewed gum with the slow, deliberate jaw of a cow meditating over her cud, and he had juggled the wheel of his machine and shifted his gears on hills and in sandy stretches with the same matter-of-fact deliberation. sheriff o'malley might be called one of the old school of rail-roosting, stick-whittling thinkers. he took his time, and he did not commit himself too impulsively to any cause. but he could act with surprising suddenness, and that made him always an uncertain factor, so that lawbreakers feared him as they feared nightmares.
-the sheriff, then, stood around with his hands in his pockets and his feet planted squarely under him, squeezing a generous quid of gum between his teeth and very slightly teetering on heels and toes, while the coroner made a cursory examination and observed, since it was coming gray daylight, how the lamp lay shattered just where it had fallen with estan. he asked, in bad spanish, a few questions of the grief-worn señora, who answered him dully as she had answered starr. she had heard the call, yes.
-"you know elfigo apodaca?" the sheriff asked suddenly, and watched how the eyes of the señora went questioningly, uneasily, to luis; watched how she hesitated before she admitted that she knew him.
-"you know his voice?"
-but the señora closed her thin lips and shook her head, and in a minute she laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes also, and would talk no more.
-the sheriff chewed and teetered meditatively, his eyes on the ground. from the tail of his eye starr watched him, secretly willing to bet that he knew what the sheriff was thinking. when o'malley turned and strolled back to the porch, his hands still in his pockets and his eyes still on the ground as though he were weighing the matter carefully, starr stood where he was, apparently unaware that the sheriff had moved. starr seemed to be watching the coroner curiously, but he knew just when the sheriff passed cat-footedly behind him, and he grinned to himself.
-the sheriff made one of his sudden moves, and jerked the six-shooter from its holster at starr's hip, pulled out the cylinder pin and released the cylinder with its customary five loaded chambers and an empty one under the hammer. he tilted the gun, muzzle to him, toward the rising sun and squinted into its barrel that shone with the care it got, save where particles of dust had lodged in the bore. he held the gun close under his red nose and sniffed for the smell of oil that would betray a fresh cleaning. and starr watched him interestedly, smiling approval.
-"all right, far as you've gone," he said casually, when the sheriff was replacing the cylinder in the gun. "if you want to go a step farther, i reckon maybe i can show you where i come down off the bluff when i heard the shot, and where i went back again after my horse. and you'll see, maybe, that i couldn't shoot from the bluff and get a man around on the far side of the house. won't take but a minute to show yuh." he gave the slight head tilt and the slight wink of one eye which, the world over, asks for a secret conference, and started off around the corner of the house.
-the sheriff followed noncommittally but he kept close at starr's heels as though he suspected that starr meant to disappear somehow. so they reached the bluff, which starr knew would be out of hearing from the house so long as they did not speak loudly. he pointed down at the prints of his boots where he had left the rocks of the steep hillside for the sand of the level; and he even made a print beside the clearest track to show the sheriff that he had really come down there as he climbed. but it was plain that starr's mind was not on the matter of footprints.
-"keep on looking around here, like you was tracing up my trail," he said in a low voice, pointing downward. "i've got something i want to tell yuh, and i want you to listen close and get what i say, because i ain't apt to repeat it. and i don't want that coroner to get the notion we're talking anything over. that little play you made with my gun showed that you've got hoss sense and ain't overlooking any bets, and it may be that i'll have use for yuh before long. now listen."
-the sheriff listened, chewing industriously and wandering about while starr talked. his hard eyes changed a little, and twice he nodded his head in assent.
-"now you do that," said starr at last, with an air of one giving orders. "and see to it that you get a hearing as soon as possible. i can't appear except as a witness, of course, but i want a chance to size up the fellows that take the biggest interest in the trial. and keep it all on the basis of a straight quarrel, if you can. you'll have to fix that up with the prosecuting attorney, if you can trust him that far."
-"i can, mr. starr. he's my brother-in-law, and he's the best man we could pick in the county for what you want. i get you, all right. there won't be anything drop about what you just told me."
-"there better hadn't be anything drop!" starr told him dryly. "you're into something deeper than county work now, ole-timer. this is federal business, remember. come on back and stall around some more, and let me go on about my own business. you can get word to me at the palacia if you want me at the inquest, but don't get friendly. i'm just a stock-buyer that happened along. keep it that way."
-"i sure will, mr. starr. i'll do my part." the sheriff relapsed into his ruminative manner as he led the way back to the house. one may guess that starr had given him something worth ruminating about.
-in a few minutes, he told starr curtly that he could go if he wanted to; and he bettered that by muttering to the coroner that he had a notion to hold the fellow, but that he seemed to have a pretty clear alibi, and they could get him later if they wanted him. to which the coroner agreed in neighborly fashion.
-starr was saddling rabbit for another long ride, and he was scowling thoughtfully while he did it.
-a page of writing
-wind came with the sun and went shrieking across the high levels, taking with it clouds of sand and bouncing tumbleweeds that rolled and lodged for a minute against some rock or bush and then went whirling on again in a fresh gust. starr had not ridden two miles before his face began to feel the sting of gravel in the sand clouds. his eyes, already aching with a day's hard usage and a night of no sleep, smarted with the impact of the wind. he fumbled at the band of his big, texas hat and pulled down a pair of motor goggles and put them on distastefully. like blinders on a horse they were, but he could not afford to face that wind with unprotected eyes--not when so very much depended upon his eyes and his ears and the keenest, coolest faculties of his mind.
-still worry nagged at him. he wanted to know who was the man that had visited helen may so soon after he had left, and he wanted to know why a light had shone from her window at one o'clock last night; and whether the automobile had been going to sunlight basin, or merely in that direction.
-he hurried, for he had no patience with worries that concerned helen may. besides, he meant to beg a breakfast from her, and he was afraid that if he waited too late she might be out with pat and the goats, and he would have to waste time on the kid (vic would have resented that term as applied to himself) who might be still laid up with his sprained ankle.
-he was not thinking so much this morning about the knowledge he had gained in the night. he had given several quiet hours to thought upon that subject, and he had his course pretty clearly defined in his mind. he also had sheriff o'malley thoroughly coached and prepared to do his part. the matter of elfigo apodaca, then, he laid aside for the present, and concerned himself chiefly with what on the surface were trifles, but which, taken together, formed a chain of disquieting incidents. rabbit felt his master's desire for haste, and loped steadily along the trail, dropping now and then into his smooth fox-trot, that was almost as fast a gait; so it was still early morning when he dropped reins outside and rapped on the closed door.
-helen may opened the door cautiously, it seemed to him; a scant six inches until she saw who he was, when she cried "oh!" in a surprised, slightly confused tone, and let him in. starr noticed two things at the first glance he gave her. the first was the blue crocheted cap which she wore; he did not know that it was called a breakfast-cap and that it was very stylish, for starr, you must remember, lived apart from any intimate home life that would familiarize him with such fripperies. the cap surprised him, but he liked the look of it even though he kept that liking to himself.
-the second thing he noticed was that helen may was hiding something in her right hand which was dropped to her side. when she had let him in and turned away to offer him a chair, he saw that she had the pearl-handled six-shooter.
-she disappeared behind a screen, and came out with her right hand empty, evidently believing he had not seen how she had prepared herself for an emergency. she had only yesterday told him emphatically how harmless she considered the country; and he had been careful to warn her only about rabid coyotes, so that without being alarmed, she would not go unarmed away from home. it seemed queer to starr that she should act as though she expected rabid coyotes to come a-knocking at her door in broad daylight. had she, he thought swiftly, been only pretending that she considered the country perfectly safe?
-he could not help it; that six-shooter hidden in the folds of her skirt stuck in his mind. it was just a trifle, like her lighted window at one o'clock in the morning; like that strange man who had called on her just after starr had left her, and with whom she had seemed to be on such friendly terms. he had warned her of coyotes. she was not supposed to know that it was wise to arm herself before she opened her door to a daylight caller. at night, yes. but at seven o'clock in the morning? starr did not suspect helen may of anything, but he had been trained to suspect mysterious trifles. in spite of himself, this trifle nagged at him unpleasantly.
-he fancied that helen may was just a shade flustered in her welcome; just a shade nervous in her movements, in her laughter, in the very tones of her voice.
-"you're out early," she said. "vic isn't up yet; i suppose the goats ought to be let out, too. you couldn't have had your breakfast--or have you? one can expect almost anything of a man who just rides out of nowhere at all hours, and disappears into nowhere."
-"i shore wish that was so," starr retorted banteringly. "i wish i had to ride nowhere to-day."
-"oh, i meant the mystery of the unknown," she hurried to correct herself. "you come out of the desert just any old time. and you go off into the desert just as unexpectedly; by the way, did you--"
-"nope. i did not." she might forget that vic was in the house, but starr never forgot things of that sort, and he wilfully forestalled her intention to ask about the shooting. "i didn't have any supper, either, beyond a sandwich or two that was mostly sand after i'd packed 'em around all day. i just naturally had to turn tramp and come ask for a handout, when i found out at daylight how close i was to breakfast."
-"why, of course. you know you won't have to beg very hard. i was just going to put on the coffee. so you make yourself at home, and i'll have breakfast in a few minutes. vic, for gracious sake, get up! here's company already. and you'll have to let out the goats. pat can keep them together awhile, but he can't open the gate, and i'm busy."
-starr heard the prodigious yawn of the awakening vic, who slept behind a screen in the kitchen, bedrooms being a superfluous luxury in which johnny calvert had not indulged himself. starr followed her to the doorway.
-"i'll go let out the goats," he offered. "i want to take off the bridle anyway, so rabbit can feed around a little." he let himself out into the whooping wind, feeling, for some inexplicable reason, depressed when he had expected to feel only relief.
-"lord! i'm getting to the point where anything that ain't accompanied by a chart and diagrams looks suspicious to me. she's got more hawse sense than i gave her credit for, that's all. she musta seen through my yarnin' about them mad coyotes. she's pretty cute, coming to the door with her six-gun just like a real one! and never letting on to me that she had it right handy. i must be getting off my feed or something, the way i take things wrong. now her being up late--i'm just going to mention how far off i saw her light burning--and how late it was. i'll see what she says about it."
-but he did nothing of the kind, and for what he considered a very good reason. the wind was blowing in eddying gusts, of the kind that seizes and whirls things; such a gust swooped into the room when he opened the door, seized upon some papers which lay on her writing desk, and sent them clear across the room.
-starr hastily closed the door and rescued the papers where they had flattened against the wall; and he wished he had gone blind before he saw what they were. a glance was all he gave, at first--the involuntary glance which one gives to a bit of writing picked up in an odd place--but that was enough to chill his blood with the shock of damning enlightenment. a page of writing, it was, fine, symmetrical, hard to decipher--a page of holly sommers' manuscript; you know that, of course.
-but starr did not know. he only knew the writing matched the pages of revolutionary stuff he had found in the office of las nuevas. there was no need of comparing the two; the writing was unmistakable. and he believed that helen may was the writer. he believed it when he glanced up and saw her coming in from the kitchen, and saw her eyes go to what he had in his hand, and saw the start she gave before she hurried to take the paper away.
-"my gracious! my work--" she said agitatedly, when she had the papers in her hand. she went to her desk, looking perturbed, and gave a quick, seeking glance at the scattered papers there; then at starr.
-"did any more--?"
-"that's all," starr said gravely. "it was the wind when i opened the door, caught them."
-"my own carelessness. i don't know why i left my desk open," she said. and while he stood looking at her, she pulled down the roll-top with a slam, still visibly perturbed.
-it was strange, he thought, that she should have a roll-top desk out here, anyway. he had seen it the other time he was at the house, and it had struck him then as queer, though he had not given it more than a passing thought.
-as a matter of fact, it was not queer. johnny calvert had dilated on the destructiveness of rats, "pack rats" he called them. they would chew paper all to bits, he said. so helen may, being finicky about having her papers chewed, had brought along this mouse-proof desk with her other furniture from los angeles.
-her perturbed manner, too, was the result of a finicky distaste for having any disorder in her papers, especially when it was work intrusted to her professionally. she never talked about the work she did for people, and she always kept it away from the eyes of those not concerned in it. that, she considered, was professional etiquette. she had strained a point when she had read a little of the manuscript to vic. vic was just a kid, and he was her brother, and he wouldn't understand what she read any more than would the horned toad down by the spring. but starr was different, and she felt that she had been terribly careless and unprofessional, leaving the manuscript where pages could blow around the room. what if a page had blown outside and got lost!
-starr had turned his back and was staring out of the window. he might have been staring at a blank wall, for all he saw through the glass. he was as pale as though he had just received some great physical shock, and he had his hands doubled up into fists, so that his knuckles were white. his eyes were almost gray instead of hazel, and they were hard and hurt-looking.
-something in the set of his head and in the way his shoulders had stiffened told helen may that things had gone wrong just in the last few minutes. she gave him a second questioning glance, felt her heart go heavy while her brain seemed suddenly blank, and retreated to the kitchen.
-helen may, influenced it may be by starr's anxious thoughts of her, had dreamed of him; one of those vivid, intimate dreams that color our moods and our thoughts long after we awaken. she had dreamed of being with him in the moonlight again; and starr had sung again the love song of the desert, and had afterwards taken her in his arms and held her close, and kissed her twice lingeringly, looking deep into her eyes afterwards.
-she had awakened with the thrill of those kisses still tingling her lips, so that she had covered her face with both hands in a sort of shamed joy that dreams could be so terribly real--so terribly sweet, too. and then, not fifteen minutes after she awoke, and while the dream yet clogged her reason, starr himself had confronted her when she opened the door. she would have been a remarkable young woman if she had not been flustered and nervous and inclined toward incoherent speech.
-and now, it was perfectly idiotic to judge a man's temper by the back of his neck, she told herself fiercely in the kitchen; perfectly idiotic, yet she did it. she was impressed with his displeasure, his bitterness, with some change in him which she could not define to herself. she wanted to cry, and she did not in the least know what there could possibly be to cry about.
-vic appeared, tousled and yawning and stupid as an owl in the sun. he growled because the water bucket was empty and he must go to the spring, and he irritated helen may to the point of wanting to shake him, when he went limping down the path. she even called out sharply that he was limping with the wrong foot, and that he ought to tie a string around his lame ankle so he could remember which one it was. which made her feel more disagreeable than ever, because vic really did have a bad ankle, as the swelling had proven when he went to bed last night.
-nothing seemed to go right, after that. she scorched the bacon, and she caught her sleeve on the handle of the coffee pot and spilled about half the coffee, besides burning her wrist to a blister. she broke a cup, but that had been cracked when she came, and at any other time she would not have been surprised at all, or jarred out of her calm. she took out the muffins she had hurried to make for starr, and they stuck to the tins and came out in ragged pieces, which is enough to drive any woman desperate, i suppose. vic slopped water on the floor when he came back with the bucket full, and the wind swooped a lot of sand into the kitchen, and she was certain the bacon would be gritty as well as burned.
-of starr she had not heard a sound, and she went to the door nervously to call him when breakfast was at last on the table. he was standing exactly as he had stood when she left the room. so far as she could see, he had not moved a muscle or turned his head or winked an eyelid. his stoniness chilled her so that it was an effort to form words to tell him that breakfast was ready.
-there was an instant's pause before he turned, and helen may felt that he had almost decided not to eat. but he followed her to the kitchen and spoke to vic quite humanly, as he took the chair she offered, and unfolded the napkin that struck an odd note of refinement among its makeshift surroundings; for the stove had only two real legs, the other two corners being propped up on rocks; the dish cupboard was of boxes, and everything in the way of food supplies stood scantily hidden behind thin curtains of white dotted swiss that helen may had brought with her.
-an hour ago starr would have dwelt gloatingly upon these graceful evidences of helen may's brave fight against the crudities of her surroundings. now they gave him a keener thrust of pain. so did the tremble of her hand when helen may poured his coffee; it betrayed to starr her guilty fear that he had seen what was on those two papers. he glanced up at her face, and caught her own troubled glance just flicking away from him. she was scared, then! he told himself. she was watching to see if he had read anything that seemed suspicious. well, he'd have to calm her down a little, just as a matter of policy. he couldn't let her tip him off to the bunch, whatever happened.
-starr smiled. "i sure feel like i'm imposing on good nature," he said, looking at her again with careful friendliness. "coming here begging for breakfast, and now when you've gone to the trouble of cooking it, i've got one of my pet headaches that won't let me enjoy anything. hits me that way sometimes when i've had an extra long ride. but i sure wish it had waited awhile."
-helen may gave him a quick, hopeful smile. "i have some awfully good tablets," she said. "wait till i give you one, before you eat. my doctor gave me a supply before i left home, because i have headache so much--or did have. i'm getting much better, out here! i've hardly felt like the same person, the last two or three weeks."
-"you have got to show me where you're any better acting," vic pointed out, with the merciless candor of beauty's young brother. "it sure ain't your disposition that's improved, i can tell you those."
-"and with those few remarks you can close," helen may retorted gleefully, hurrying off to get the headache tablet. it was just a headache, poor fellow! he wasn't peeved at all, and nothing was wrong!
-it was astonishing how her mood had lightened in the past two minutes. she got him a glass of water to help the tablet down his throat, and stood close beside him while he swallowed it and thanked her, and began to make some show of eating his breakfast. she was, in fact, the same whimsically charming helen may he had come to care a great deal for.
-that made things harder than ever for starr. if the tablet had been prescribed for heartache rather than headache, starr would have swallowed thankfully the dose. the murder, over against the other line of hills, had not seemed to him so terrible as those sheets of scribbled paper locked away inside helen may's desk. the grief of estan's mother over her dead son was no more bitter than was starr's grief at what he believed was true of helen may. indeed, starr's trouble was greater, because he must mask it with a smile.
-all through breakfast he talked with her, looked into her eyes, smiled at her across the table. but he was white under his tan. she thought that was from his headache, and was kinder than she meant to be because of it; perhaps because of her dream too, though she was not conscious of any change in her manner.
-starr could have cursed her for that change, which he believed was a sly attempt to win him over and make him forget anything he may have read on those pages. he would not think of it then; time enough when he was away and need not pretend or set a guard over his features and his tongue. the hurt was there, the great, incredible, soul-searing hurt; but he would not dwell upon what had caused that hurt. he forced himself to talk and to laugh now and then, but afterwards he could not remember what they had talked about.
-as soon as he decently could, he went away again into the howling wind that had done him so ill a turn. he did not know what he should do; this discovery that helen may was implicated had set him all at sea, but he felt that he must get away somewhere and think the whole thing out before he went crazy.
-he left the basin, rode around behind it and, leaving rabbit in the thicket where he had left him the day before, he toiled up the pinnacle and sat down in the shelter of a boulder pile where he would be out of the wind as well as out of sight, and where he could still stare somberly down at the cabin.
-and there he faced his trouble bravely, and at the same time he fulfilled his duty toward his government by keeping a watch over the place that seemed to him then the most suspicious place in the country. the office of las nuevas, even, was not more so, as starr saw things then. for if las nuevas were the distributing point for the propaganda literature, this cabin of helen may's seemed to be the fountain head.
-first of all, and going back to the beginning, how did he really know that her story was true? how, for instance, did he know that her father had not been one of the heads of the conspiracy? how did he know that her father--it might even be her husband!--was dead? he had simply accepted her word, as a matter of course, because she was a young woman, and more attractive than the average young woman. starr was terribly bitter, at that point in his reasoning, and even felt certain that he hated all women. well, then, her reason for being in the neighborhood would bear a lot of looking into.
-then there was that automobile that had passed where he had found her and her goats, that evening. was it plausible, he asked himself, that she had actually walked over there? the machine had returned along the same trail, running by moonlight with its lights out. might it not have been coming to pick her up? only he had happened along, and she had let him walk home with her, probably to keep him where she could watch him!
-there was that shot at him from the pinnacle behind her cabin. there was her evident familiarity with firearms, though she professed not to own a gun. there was the man who had been down there with her, not more than an hour after he had left her with a bullet burn across his arm. starr saw now how that close conversation might easily have been a conference between her and the man who had shot at him.
-there was the light in her window at one o'clock in the morning, and the machine with dimmed headlights making toward her place. there was her evident caution against undesirable callers, her coming to the door with a six-shooter hidden against her skirt. there was that handwriting, to which starr would unhesitatingly have sworn as being the same as on the pages he had found in the office of las nuevas. the writing was unmistakable: fine, even, symmetrical as print, yet hard to decipher; slanting a little to the left instead of the right. he had studied too often the pages in his pocket not to recognize it at a glance.
-most damning evidence of all the evidence against her were two or three words which his eyes had picked from the context on the page uppermost in his hand. he had become familiar with those words, written in that peculiar chirography. "justice... submission ... ruling ..." he had caught them at a glance, though he did not know how they were connected, or what relation they bore to the general theme. political bunk, his mind tagged it therefore, and had no doubt whatever that he was right.
-"she's got brown eyes and blond hair, and that looks like mixed blood," he reminded himself suddenly, after he had sat for a long while staring down at the house. "how do i know her folks aren't spanish or something? how do i know anything about her? i just swallowed what she handed out--like a damn' fool!"
-just after noon, when the wind had shown some sign of dying down to a more reasonable blow, helen may came forth in her riding skirt and a tam o' shanter cap and a sweater, with a package under her arm--a package of manuscript which she had worked late to finish and was now going to deliver.
-she got the pinto pony which vic had just ridden sulkily down to the corral and left for her, and she rode away down the trail, jolting a good deal in the saddle when the pinto trotted a few steps, but apparently well pleased with herself.
-starr watched until she turned into the main trail that led toward san bonito. then, when he was reasonably sure of the direction she meant to take, he hurried down to where rabbit waited, mounted that long-suffering animal and followed, using short cuts and deep washes that would hide him from sight, but keeping helen may in view most of the time for all that.
-holman sommers turns prophet
-holman sommers, clad outwardly in old wool trousers of a dingy gray, a faded brown smoking jacket that had shrunk in many washings until it was three inches too short in the sleeves, and old brown slippers, sat tilted back in a kitchen chair against the wall of his house and smoked a beautifully colored meerschaum with solid gold bands and a fine amber mouthpiece, while he conferred comfortably with one elfigo apodaca.
-there was no quizzical twinkle in the eyes of holman sommers, vividly alive though they were always. with his low slipper heels hooked over the rung of his chair and his right hand nursing the bowl of his pipe and his black hair rumpled in the wind, he was staring at the granite ridge somberly.
-"i am indeed sorry to hear that estan medina was shot," he said after a pause. "even in the interests of the cause it was absolutely unjustifiable. the man could do no harm; indeed, he served to divert suspicion from others. only crass stupidity would resort to brute violence in the effort to further propaganda. laying aside the human--"
-"of course," elfigo interrupted sarcastically, "there's nothing violent in a revolution! where do you get your argument for gentleness, holly? that's what bothers me. you can stir up a bunch of mexicans quicker than a barrel of mezcal with your revolution talks."
-"ah, but you do not take into account the great, fundamental truth that cooperative effort, on the part of the proletariat, is wholly justifiable, in that it furthers the good of all humanity. whereas violence on the part of the individual merely retards the final result for which we are striving. the murder of estan medina, for instance, may be the one display of individual violence which will nullify all our efforts toward a common good.
-"for myself, i am bending every energy toward the formation of a cooperative colony which will demonstrate the feasibility of a cooperative form of government for the whole nation--the whole world, in fact. your junta has pledged itself to the assistance of this colony, the incalculable benefits of which will, i verily believe, be the very salvation of mexico as a nation. mexico, now in the throes of national parturition, is logically the pioneer in the true socialistic form of government. from mexico the seed will be carried overseas to drop upon soil made fertile by the bones of those sacrificed to the blood-lust of the war mad lords of europe.
-"here, in this little corner of the world, is where the first tiny plant must be grown. can you not grasp, then, the tremendous significance of what, on the face of it, is the pitifully small attempt of a pitifully weak people to strike a feeble blow for the freedom of labor? to frustrate that feeble blow now, by the irresponsible, lawless murder of a good citizen, merely because he failed at first to grasp the meaning of the lesson placed before him to learn, is, to my way of thinking, not only unjustifiable but damnably weak and reprehensible."
-elfigo apodaca, in another kitchen chair tilted back against an angle of the wall so that he half faced holman sommers, stretched out his legs and smiled tolerantly. a big, good-looking, thoroughly americanized mexican was elfigo; the type of man who may be found at sunrise whipping the best stream in the state, the first morning of the trout season; the type of man whose machine noses in the closest to the judge's stand when a big race is on; the type of man who dances most, collects the most picture postals of pretty girls, laughs most at after-dinner speeches; the type of man who either does not marry at all, or attains much notoriety when the question of alimony is being fought out to the last cipher; the last man you would point out as a possible conspirator against anything save the peace and dignity of some other man's home. but it takes money to be all of these things, and elfigo could see a million or two ahead of him along the revolution trail. that is why he smiled tolerantly upon his colleague who talked of humanity instead of dollars.
-then elfigo harked back frowningly to what holman sommers had said about feebleness. he rolled his cigar from the right corner of his mouth to the left corner and spoke his thought.
-"speaking of feeble blow, and all that bunk," he said irreverently, "how do we stand, holly? just between you and me as men--cut out any interest we may have in the game--what's your honest opinion? do we win?"
-holman sommers raised one hand and hid the amused twitching of his lips. he could have put that question far more clearly, he believed, and he could have expressed much better the thought that was in elfigo's mind. he had deliberately baited elfigo, and it amused him to see how blindly the bait had been taken. he regarded elfigo through half closed lids.
-"as a matter of fact, and speaking relatively, every concerted revolt on the part of the proletariat is a victory. though every leader in the movement be placed with his back against a stone wall, there to stand until he falls to the earth riddled with bullets, yet have the people won; a step nearer the goal, one more page writ in the glowing history of the advancement of the human race toward a true brotherhood of man. there can be no end save ultimate victory. that the victory may not be apparent for fifty years, or a hundred, cannot in any sense alter the immutable law of evolution. posterity will point back to this present uprising as the first real blow struck for the freedom of the laboring classes of mexico, and, indirectly, of the whole world."
-elfigo, his thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest, mark of the dominant note in the human male since clothes were invented to furnish armholes for egotistic thumbs, contemplated his polished tan shoes dissatisfiedly.
-"oh, to hell with posterity!" he blurted impatiently. "what about us poor devils that's furnishing the time and money and brains to put it over? do we get lined up against a wall?"
-holly sommers chuckled. "not if your car can put you across the line soon enough. then, even though mexico might be called upon to execute one elfigo apodaca as an example to the souls in bondage, some other bullet-riddled cadaver with your name and physical likeness would do as well as your own carcass." he chuckled again.
-"cheerful prospect," grinned elfigo ruefully. "but i like a sporting chance, myself. the real point i'm trying to get at is, what chance do you think the alliance has got of winning? come down outa the clouds, holly, and never mind about humanity for a minute. you've helped organize the alliance, you've talked to the hombres, you've been the god in the machine in this part of the country, and all that. now be a prophet in words of one syllable and tell me what you think of the outlook."
-with his fingers holly sommers packed the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe. his whole expression changed from the philosopher to the cunning leader of what might well be called a forlorn hope.
-"speaking in words of one syllable, we have a damn better chance than you may think," he said, in a tone as changed as his looks. "this country lies wide open to any attack that is sudden and unexpected. labor is in a state of ferment. i predict that within a year we shall find ourselves upon the brink of a civil war, with labor and capital lined up against each other. unless the government takes some definite step toward placating organized labor, the whole standing army will not be sufficient to keep the peace. that is the present internal condition, and that condition will grow worse until we face the real crisis of a national strike of some sort--i believe of the railroad employees, since that is the most far-reaching and would prove the most disastrous--therefore the most terrifying to the ruling class.
-"on the other hand, and turning our faces outward, we are not much better prepared for an emergency. we are a conceited nation, but insufferable national conceit never yet won a battle. we are given to shouting rather than shooting. americanism to-day consists chiefly of standing up while the star spangled banner is being played by a brass band, and of shooting off rockets on our national holiday. were i of the capitalist class, i should consider the situation desperate. but being allied with the workers, i can laugh.
-"speaking still in words of one syllable, elfigo, i can safely prophesy what will happen first when the alliance begins its active campaign. scarehead news in extra editions will be printed. the uprising will be greatly exaggerated, i have no doubt. women and children will be reported massacred, whereas the alliance has no intention of being more barbarous than any warfare necessitates. then there will be a buzzing of leagues and clubs; and the citizens will march up and down the business section of every town, bearing banners and shouting for the 'dear old flag.' women will rise up and sell sofa pillows and doilies to raise money to buy chewing gum for our soldier boys. that, elfigo, will sufficiently occupy the masses for a week or two.
-"we'll throw her into high and step on her!" elfigo contributed, being a motor enthusiast.
-"something like that, yes. when you consider that the transportation of troops to quell the uprising will require anywhere from three days to three weeks, i am counting red tape and all, you will readily apprehend how much may be accomplished before they are in a position to handle the situation.
-"on the other hand, mexico is filled with fighters. so much has oppression done for the peon; it has taught him the business of fighting. now, i grant you, she is a nation composed of warring factions topped by a lamentably weak provisional government. but with practically every spanish-american over here actually participating in a movement for mexico, all those various factions will coalesce, as tiny brooklets flow together to form the mighty torrent."
-"still, she's a big country to lick," elfigo pointed out, chiefly to see what holly would say.
-"ah, but mexico does not comprehend that fact! and, in the same breath, neither does this country, as a whole, comprehend how big a country is mexico to lick! give a mexican soldado a handful of beans a day and something to shout viva for, and he can and will fight indefinitely. if i mistake not, it will shortly behoove this country to temporize, to make certain concessions. whether those concessions extend so far as to cede these three states back to mexico, i cannot hazard a prediction. i can see, however, where it is not at all improbable that new mexico and arizona may be considered too costly to hold. texas," he smiled, "texas remembers too vividly her alamo. mexico, if she is wise, does not want texas."
-"i heard yesterday there's some talk amongst the americans about organizing home guards. we can't stand another postponement, holly; it might give them time to pull off something like that. little luis medina told me he heard a target marker for the san bonito rifle club say something about it. he heard the members talking. you know they're using government rifles and ammunition. it would be a hell of a note to put things off till every town had a home guard organized."
-"i can see no necessity for putting things off," said holly calmly. "so far as i can learn, we are practically ready, over here. ah! here comes our charming neighbor from sunlight basin. perhaps, elfigo, it would be as well for you to disappear from the premises."
-"oh, i want to meet her," elfigo smiled easily. "it'll be all right; i just came after water for my radiator, anyway. she's dry as a bone. i opened the drain cock and let her drain off and stood a fine chance of freezing my engine too, before i got on past the puddle far enough to be safe!"
-"it was, as a matter of fact, a very grave mistake to come here at all," holly told him with a courteous kind of severity. "i fear you greatly underestimate the absolute necessity for extreme caution. the mere fact that we have thus far elicited nothing more than a vague curiosity on the part of the government, does not excuse any imprudence now. rather, it intensifies the need for caution. for myself--"
-"oh, anybody is liable to run dry, out here on the desert, holly. if all the secret service men in the country, and i know of one or two that's been nosing around, were to come and find me here, they couldn't say i hadn't a good, legitimate reason for coming. i had to come. i didn't want to run on to any one from that inquest, and i had to see you. i wanted to put you wise to the stand we're taking on the estan medina affair. we can't help if that somebody bumped him off, but--"
-"you can fill your water bag at the well, since that is what you came for; and i should strongly advise you to terminate your visit as soon as it is consistent with your errand to do so."
-"oh, don't crab my meeting a pretty girl, holly! introduce me, and i'll take the water and go. be a sport!" elfigo had picked up his five-gallon desert bag, but he was obviously waiting for helen may to ride up to the house.
-to starr, crouched behind on a rock on the ridge that divided the sommers place from the hidden arroyo where he had first seen trace of the automobile, elfigo's attitude of waiting for helen may was too obvious to question. a little, weakling offspring of hope died then in his heart. he had tried so hard to find some excuse for helen may, and he had almost succeeded. but his glasses were too strong; they identified elfigo apodaca too clearly for any doubt. they were too merciless in showing starr that beside elfigo stood the man who had visited helen may the day before.
-recognition of the man came with something of a shock to starr. he had heard of holman sommers often enough, though he had never seen him. he had heard him described as a "highbrow" who wrote scientific articles, sometimes published in obscure magazines, read by few and understood by none. a recluse student, he had been described to starr, who knew todd sommers by sight, and who had tagged the family as being too american for any suspicion to point their way.
-as often happens, starr had formed a mental picture of holman sommers which was really the picture of a type made familiar to us mostly by our humorists. he had imagined that holman sommers, being a "highbrow," was a little, dried-up man with a bald head and weak eyes that made spectacles a part of his face; an insignificant little man well past middle life, with a gray beard, starr saw him mentally. he should have known better than to let his imagination paint him a portrait of any man, in those ticklish times. but they were americans, which was disarming in itself. and the plump sister, who had talked for ten minutes with starr when he called at the ranch one day to see if they had any stock they wanted to sell, had further helped to ward off any suspicion.
-now that he knew, by the smoking jacket and the slippers and the uncovered thatch of jet-black hair, that this man must be holman sommers; when he saw elfigo apodaca there, seated and talking earnestly with him, as he could tell by the gestures with which they elaborated their speech; when he saw helen may riding in to the ranch, he had before him all the outward, visible evidence of a conference. the only false note, to starr's way of thinking, was the brazenness of it. they must, he told himself, be so sure of themselves that they could snap their fingers at risk, or else they were so desperately in need of conferring together that they overlooked the risk. and that second explanation might easily be the true one, in view of estan medina's death and the possible consequence to the alliance.
-starr was hampered by not hearing anything that was being said down there at that homey-looking ranch house, where everything was clearly visible to him through his field glasses. but even so it did not require speech to tell him that elfigo apodaca had never before met helen may stevenson, and that holman sommers was not overeager to introduce him to her. starr, watching every movement of the three when they came together, frowned with puzzlement. why had they been strangers until just now?
-he saw the three stand and talk for perhaps two minutes; commonplace, early-acquaintance nothings, he judged from their faces and actions. he saw helen may offer holman sommers the package she carried; saw holman take it negligently and tuck it under his arm while he went on talking. he saw helen may turn then and go around to the door, which was opened effusively by the plump sister whom he knew. he saw the two men go to the well, and watched elfigo fill the water bag and go away down the uneven trail to where his automobile stood, perhaps a quarter of a mile nearer the main road. when he turned his glasses from elfigo to the house, holman had gone inside, and the two women were out beyond the house admiring a flock of chickens which maggie called to her with a few handfuls of grain.
-there seemed no further profit in watching the sommers house, and starr was about to leave his post when he saw the dingy, high-powered roadster of the sheriff come careening up the trail. he came near upsetting his machine in getting around apodaca's big car, but he negotiated the passing with some skill and came on to where he met elfigo himself sweating down the trail with his full five-gallon water bag.
-here again starr wished that he could hear as well as he could see. that the sheriff had seized the opportunity to place elfigo under arrest, he knew well enough, by faces and gestures, just as he had known of elfigo's introduction to helen may. but here were no polite nothings being mouthed. elfigo was talking angrily, and starr would have given a great deal to hear what he was saying; calling it an outrage, he supposed, and heaping maledictions on the stupidity of the law.
-the sheriff did not seem to pay much attention to what elfigo was saying beyond pulling a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket, and tossing them to his prisoner--with the invitation to put them on, starr knew very well, having himself done the same thing more than once. still talking furiously, elfigo obeyed, and then was invited to climb in beside the sheriff, who stooped and did something with one of elfigo's stylishly trousered legs; manacled him to something in the machine, starr guessed. from which he also gathered that elfigo's remarks must have been pretty strong.
-starr should have been glad. perhaps he was, though he did not look it as he went back to where rabbit was browsing on whatever he could get while he waited for his master. elfigo in jail even for a few days would be an advantage, starr believed. it would set the rest to buzzing, so that he could locate them with less delay. but at the same time--
-"if it came to a showdown right now, i'd have to take her along with the rest," he came up squarely against his real problem. "she's got it coming; but it's hell, all the same!"
-starr discovers things
-starr was sitting on the side of his bed with one boot off and dangling in his hand, and with his thoughts gone journeying out over the mesa and the desert and the granite ridge beyond, to a squatty, two-room adobe shack at the head of sunlight basin. during the days he had been too fully occupied with the work he had to do to dwell much on the miserable fact of helen may's duplicity, her guilt of the crime of treason against her native country. but at night the thought of her haunted him like the fevered ache of a wound too deep to heal quickly.
-he swore an abrupt oath as a concrete expression of his mood, and dropped the boot with a thump to the floor. the word and the action served to swing his thoughts into another channel not much more pleasant, but a great deal more impersonal.
-"he's shore foxy--that hombre!" he said, thinking of elfigo apodaca.
-as matters stood that evening, starr felt that elfigo had the right to laugh at him and the whole secret service. elfigo was in jail, yes. only that day he had been given his preliminary hearing on the charge of murdering estan medina, and he had been remanded without bail to await trial.
-on the face of it, that looked as though starr had gained a point. in reality he felt that he had in some manner played into elfigo's hands. certainly he had not gained anything in the way of producing any buzzing of the alliance leaders. not a mexican had shown his face at the hearing, save luis medina and his mother, who had been called as witnesses.
-luis had been badly scared but stubborn, insisting that he had heard elfigo call estan from the house just before the shot was fired. the mother also had been badly frightened, but not at all stubborn. indeed, she was not even certain of anything beyond the drear fact that her son was dead, and that he had fallen with the lamp in his hand, unarmed and unsuspecting. she was frightened at the unknown, terrible law that had brought her there before the judge, and not at anything tangible.
-but luis knew exactly what it was he feared. starr read that in his eyes whenever they turned toward the calm, inscrutably smiling elfigo. hate was in the eyes of luis, but the hate was almost submerged by the terror that filled him. he shook when he stood up to take the oath. his voice trembled in spite of him when he spoke; but he spoke boldly for all that--falsely, too. he had lied when he told of the quarrel over the old water right. it was not a water right which the two had discussed, and starr knew it.
-but it was elfigo that puzzled starr most. elfigo had smiled, as though the whole thing amused him even though it annoyed him to be under arrest. he denied, of course, that he had known anything at all about the murder until it was common news about town. he had been somewhere else at the time estan was shot, and he could and would prove, when the time came, that it would have been physically impossible for him to have shot estan medina. he preferred not to produce any witnesses now, however. let it go to a jury trial, and then he would clear himself of the charge. all through his lawyer, of course, while elfigo sat back with his hands in his pockets and his feet thrust out before him, whimsically contemplating his tan shoes.
-he had seemed confident that bail would be accepted, and he was unmistakably crestfallen when the judge, who acted under certain instructions from those above him, refused to accept bail. but elfigo had scored, nevertheless; he had not permitted any of his friends to become identified in any manner whatsoever with his movements, and he had withheld his side of the case altogether.
-so starr was left in the dark where he had expected to find the light he needed to direct him. he had also permitted luis to mark himself for another murder in the medina family. well, luis was a conspirator, for that matter; but he was a boy, and his judgment had not ripened. it seemed a shame that a youngster like that should be drawn into such a mess. starr, determined to do what he could to protect luis, had seen to it that luis was locked up, for the purely technical reason that he was an important witness and they wanted to be sure of him; but really to protect him from the wrath of elfigo.
-"and now," starr's thoughts ran on, "i stand just where i stood before, except that i know a whole heap more than i wish i knew. and if the thing breaks loose before the trial, elfigo will be in jail where he's got a cast-iron alibi. the rest of the bunch must be strong enough to go on without him, but i shore did hope they'd be stirred up some over this shooting. they'll likely get together right away, hold a meeting and make arrangements to do without elfigo. if i knew where..."
-he lifted the other foot to remove its boot, hesitated, and set it down again. surely the alliance would have to adjust itself to the loss of elfigo. they would get together, and what buzzing they did would be behind barred doors, since they had been too cunning to show themselves at the hearing; that night, probably, since they knew now that elfigo had been bound over to the grand jury, and that he was held without bail. where would they meet? that was what starr wished he knew.
-he sat there rumpling his hair and studying the question. he could not fix upon any particular place, unless it was the sommers ranch; and that was too far from town for any urgent business, and travelers to and from the place would be taking too great a risk. for he was sure there would be a dozen or more who would make up the junta, and for so many men to be traveling in one direction would excite curiosity from any one who saw them leave town or return.
-there was another possible meeting place--the office of las nuevas. starr thought of that rather hopelessly. just as a common precaution, they would guard the doors if the junta met there, or they would have men stationed on the stairs; that he would not be able to get up without giving the alarm he knew as well as though he had tried and failed.
-his thoughts went to that hidden, inner office where he had found the pamphlets and the writing that pointed to helen may as one of the band. there, where there were no outside windows to betray a midnight conference by any showing of light within; where eavesdropping was absolutely impossible; where the men who met there might gain the yard by various means, since it faced on three streets, and be practically safe from observation, he became convinced would be the logical meeting place.
-to be sure, he was only guessing. he had no evidence whatever save his own reason that there would be a meeting, much less that it would be held in the secret office room of las nuevas. but he put on the boot he had taken off and reached for his coat. a half hour or so ought to prove him right or wrong in his deductions, and starr would not have grudged a full night to satisfy himself on that point.
-it was late, nearly midnight, to be exact, when he slipped out to the shed, and watched from its shadow until he was sure that no one had seen him, before he let himself down through the hole in the manger to the arroyo bottom. he went hurriedly, but he was very careful not to show himself without first making sure that the way was clear.
-for that reason he escaped being seen by a tall young mexican whom he caught sight of lounging at the corner opposite the building that held las nuevas. ostensibly the fellow had merely stopped to light a cigarette, but while starr watched him he struck three matches in succession, and immediately afterwards a shadow glided from the shelter of a plumber's shop opposite, slipped down to the gate that was always barred, and disappeared.
-starr circled warily to the rear of the yard to see what chance there might be of getting over the wall unseen. he did not know what good it would do him to get into the yard, but he hoped that he might be lucky enough to see any one who entered the back door, which would be the logical means of ingress.
-he was standing back of the garage where he had found the cord tires, when the quiet of the night was split with the shrill, nerve-racking shriek of the fire whistle, four or five blocks away. in spite of himself, he was startled with its suddenness, and he stood tensed and waiting for the dismal hoots that would tell what ward the fire was in. one--two--three, croaked the siren like a giant hoot-owl calling in the night.
-"third ward--down around the depot, probably," he heard a voice say guardedly on the other side of the fence. another voice, more guarded even than the first, muttered a reply which starr could not catch. neither voice was recognizable, and the sentence he heard was so obvious a remark as to be practically meaningless; probably a hundred persons in town had said "third ward," when the siren had tooted the number.
-if the mexican had been on watch there, he had left his post. in a minute starr saw him hurrying down the unused side street, toward the angry glow that told where the fire had started. too much temptation, starr interpreted the fellow's desertion of his post; or else no more men were expected at las nuevas, and the outpost was no longer needed. taking it for granted that a meeting had been called here, starr reasoned from that assumption.
-he waited another minute or two, watching and listening. there was nothing at the front to break the quiet or spoil the air of desertion that surrounds an empty office building at midnight. he went cautiously to the rear corner and turned there to look back at the building, watchful for any stray beam of light or any movement.
-the upper story was dark as the rest of the yard and building, and starr could almost believe that he was on the wrong track entirely, and that nothing was going on here. but he continued to stand there, loath to give up and go home with nothing accomplished.
-close beside the building and back perhaps twenty feet from the front corner, a telephone and electric light pole stood with outstretched arms, holding aloft its faintly humming wires. starr stood looking that way for some time before it occurred to him that there was no street light near enough to send that warm, yellow glow across the second bar from the bottom. the rest of the pole was vague and shadowy, like everything else in the immediate neighborhood. the bottom of the pole he could not see at all from where he stood, it was so dark alongside the building. but that second cross-arm was lighted as from a near-by window. yet there was no lighted window anywhere in the place.
-starr was puzzled. being puzzled, he went slowly toward the pole, his face turned upward. the nearest street lamp was a full block away, and it would have lighted up the whole top of the pole evenly, if at all. at the foot of the pole starr stood for a minute, still staring upward. then he reached up, gripped the metal steps and began carefully to climb.
-before he had reached the lighted cross-arm he knew that the glow must come from a skylight; and that the skylight must be the one that had saved that hidden little office room from being dark. he was no lineman, but he knew enough to be careful about the wires, so it took him several minutes to work his way to where he could straddle a crosstree that had few wires.
-just below him and no more than twelve or fifteen feet distant was the skylight he had suspected, but before he gave that much attention, he looked across to where the fire was sending up a column of crimson smoke and bright, eddying sparks, four blocks or so away. the man left on guard would find it difficult to tear himself away from all that excitement, starr thought satisfiedly; though if he came back he could scarcely help seeing starr on that lighted perch, and he would undoubtedly take a shot at him if he were any man at all and had a spark of loyalty to his fellows. for starr's business up there could not be mistaken by the stupidest greaser in the town.
-with the fire to help his cause, starr craned toward the building and looked down through the skylight. it had been partly raised for ventilation, which was needed in that little, inside room, especially since twelve men were foregathered there, and since every man in the lot was burning tobacco in some form.
-sommers was there, seated at the end of a table that had been moved into the center of the room, which brought it directly under the skylight. he sat facing starr, and he was reading something to himself while the others waited in silence until he had finished. his strong, dark face was grave, his high forehead creased with the wrinkles of deep thinking. he had a cigar in one corner of his mouth, and he was absentmindedly chewing it rather than smoking. he looked the leader, though his clothes were inclined to shabbiness and he sat slouched forward in his chair. he looked the leader, and their leader those others proclaimed him by their very silence, and by the way their faces turned toward him while they waited.
-through the open skylight
-sommers took his cigar from his mouth and laid it carefully down upon the edge of the table, although he was plainly unconscious of the movement. he lifted his head with a little toss that threw back a heavy lock of his jet-black hair. he glanced around the table, and his eyes dominated those others hypnotically.
-"i have here," he began in the sonorous voice and the measured enunciation of the trained orator, "a letter from our esteemed--and unfortunate--comrade and fellow worker, elfigo apodaca. without taking your valuable time by reading the letter through from salutation to signature, i may say briefly that its context is devoted to our cause and to the inconvenience which may be entailed because of our comrade's present incarceration, the duration of which is as yet undetermined.
-"comrade apodaca expresses great confidence in his ultimate release. he maintains that young medina is essentially a traitor, and that his evidence at the preliminary hearing was given purely in the spirit of revenge. that comrade apodaca will be exonerated fully of the charge of murder, i myself can entertain no scintilla of doubt. we may therefore dismiss from our minds any uneasiness we may, some of us, have entertained on that score.
-"the question we are foregathered here to decide to-night is whether the date set for our public demonstration shall remain as it stands; whether we shall seek permission to postpone that date, or whether it shall be deemed expedient to set it forward to the earliest possible moment. as you all are doubtless aware, our esteemed compatriots in mexico are ready and waiting our pleasure, like hounds straining at the leash. the work of organization on this side of the line has of necessity been slow, because of various adverse influences and a slothful desire for present ease and safety, which we have been constrained to combat. also the accumulation of arms and ammunition in a sufficient quantity for our purpose without exciting suspicion has required much tactful manipulation.
-"but we have here assembled the trusted representatives from our twelve districts in the state, and i trust that each one of you has come prepared to furnish this junta with the data necessary for an intelligent action upon the question we have to decide to-night. am i right, gentlemen, in that assumption?"
-eleven men nodded assent and looked down at the slips of paper they had produced from inner pockets and held ready in their hands.
-"then i shall ask you, compadres, to listen carefully to the report from each district, so that you may judge the wisdom of foreshortening the interval between to-night and the date set for the uprising.
-"each representative will give the number, in his district, of armed members of the alliance; the amount of ammunition at hand; the number of agents secretly occupying positions of trust where they can give the most aid to the movement; the number of spanish-americans who, like our unfortunate neighbor, estancio medina, have refused thus far to come into the alliance; the number, in his district, who may be counted upon to come in, once they see that the cause is not hopeless; who may be expected to take the purely american side, and who may be safely depended upon to remain neutral. i shall ask each of you to tell us also the extent and nature of such opposition as your district must be prepared to meet. there has been a rumor of some preparation for resistance to our movement, and we shall want to know all that you can tell us of that phase of the situation as observed in your district.
-"these seemingly unimportant details are absolutely essential, gentlemen of the junta. for in this revolutionary movement you must bear in mind that brother will rise up against brother, as it were. you will be called upon, perchance, to slay the dearest friend of your school days; your neighbor, if so be he is allied against you when the great day comes. we must not weaken; we must keep our eyes fixed upon the ultimate good that will come out of the turmoil. but we must know! we must not make the irretrievable error of taking anything for granted. keeping that in mind, gentlemen, we will hear first the report from bernalillo district."
-a man at the right of sommers unfolded his little slip of paper, cleared his throat and began, in strongly accented english, to read. the eleven who listened leaned forward, elbows on the table, and drank in the terrible figures avidly. sommers set down the figures in columns and made notes on the pad before him, his lips pressed together in a straight line that twisted now and then with a sinister kind of satisfaction.
-"that, gentlemen, is how the cause stands in the county that has the largest population and approximately the smallest area of any county in the state. while this report is not altogether new to me, yet i am struck anew with the great showing that has been made in that county. with the extensive yards and shops of the santa fe at albuquerque seized and held by our forces, together with the junction points and--"
-starr did not wait to hear any more, but edged hastily back to the pole and began to climb down as though a disturbed hornets' nest hung above him. the report that had so elated sommers sent a chill down starr's back. if one county could show so appalling an insurrectory force, what of the whole state? yes, and the other states involved! and the thing might be turned loose at any time!
-he dropped to the ground, sending a scared glance for the watchman who had gone to the fire. he was nowhere to be seen, and starr, running to the rear of the lot, skirted the high wall at a trot; crossed a narrow, black alley, hurried down behind the next lots to the cross street, walked as fast as he dared to the next corner, turned into the main street, and made for the nearest public telephone booth.
-he sweated there in the glass cage for a long ten minutes before he had managed to get in touch with sheriff o'malley and the chief of police, and to tell each in turn what he wanted and where they must meet him, and how many minutes they might have to do it in. he came out feeling as though he had been in there an hour, and went straight to the rendezvous he had named, which was a shed near the building of las nuevas, only on another street.
-they came, puffing a little and a good deal mystified. starr, not daring to state his real business with them, had asked for men to surround and take a holdup gang. all told, there were six of them when all had arrived, and they must have been astounded at what starr told them in a prudent undertone and speaking swiftly. they did not say anything much, but slipped away after him and came to the high wall that hid so much menace.
-"there was a hombre on guard across the street," starr told the sheriff. "he went off to the fire, but he's liable to come back. put a man over there in the shade of that junk shop to watch out for him and nab him before he can give the alarm. this is ticklish work, remember. any mexican in town would knife you if he knew what you're up to.
-"johnson, you can climb the pole and pull down on 'em through the skylight, but wait till you see by their actions that they've got the tip something's wrong, and don't shoot if you can help it. remember this is secret service work, and the quieter it's done, the better pleased they'll be in washington. there can't be any hullabaloo at all. you two fellows watch the front and back gates, and the no-shooting rule goes with you, too. if there's anything else you can do, don't shoot. but it's better to fire a cannon than let a man get away. sabe? now, chief, you and the sheriff can come with me, and we'll bust up the meetin' for 'em."
-he went up on the shoulder of the man who was to watch outside the rear wall, and straddled the wall for a brief reconnoiter. evidently the junta felt safe in their hidden little room, for no guard had been left in the yard. the back door was locked, and starr opened it as silently as he could with his pass key. close behind him came sheriff o'malley and the chief of police, whose name was whittier. they had left their shoes beside the doorstep and walked in their socks, making no noise at all.
-starr did not dare use his searchlight, but felt his way down past the press and the forms, to where the stairs went up to the second floor. on the third step from the bottom, starr, feeling his way with his hands, touched a dozing watchman and choked him into submission before the fellow had emitted more than a sleepy grunt of surprise. they left him gagged and tied to the iron leg of some heavy piece of machinery, and went on up the stairs, treading as stealthily as a prowling cat.
-starr turned to the right, found the door locked, and patiently turned his key a hair's breadth at a time in the lock, until he slid the bolt back. behind him the repressed breathing of o'malley fanned warmly the back of his neck. he pushed the door open a half inch at a time, found the outer office dark and silent, and crossed it stealthily to the closet behind the stove. o'malley and whittier were so close behind that he could feel them as they entered the closet and crept along its length.
-starr was reaching out before him with his hands, feeling for the door into the secret office, when sheriff o'malley struck his foot against the old tin spittoon, tried to cover the sound, and ran afoul of the brooms, which tripped him and sent him lurching against starr. there in that small space where everything had been so deathly still the racket was appalling. o'malley was not much given to secret work; he forgot himself now and swore just as full-toned and just as fluently as though be had tripped in the dark over his own wheelbarrow in his own back yard.
-starr threw himself against the end of the closet where he knew the door was hidden in the wall, felt the yielding of a board, and heaved against it with his shoulder. he landed almost on top of a fat-jowled representative from santa fé, but he landed muzzle foremost, as it were, and he was telling the twelve to put up their hands even before he had his feet solidly planted on the floor.
-holman sommers sat facing him. he had been writing, and he still held his pencil in his hand. he slowly crumpled the sheet of paper, his vivid eyes lifted to starr's face. tragic eyes they were then, for beyond starr they looked into the stern face of the government he would have defied. they looked upon the wreck of his dearest dream; upon the tightening chains of the wage slaves he would have freed--or so he dreamed.
-starr stared back, his own mind visioning swiftly the havoc he had wrought in the dream of this leader of men. he saw, not a political outlaw caught before he could do harm to his country, but a man fated to bear in his great brain an idea born generations too soon into a brawling world of ideas that warred always with sordid circumstance. a hundred years hence this man might be called great. now he was nothing more than a political outlaw chief, trapped with his band of lesser outlaws.
-sommers' eyes lightened impishly. his thin lips twisted in a smile at the damnable joke which life was playing there in that room.
-"gentlemen of the junta," he said in his sonorous, public-platform voice, "i find it expedient, because of untoward circumstances, to advise that you make no resistance. from the unceremonious and unheralded entry of our esteemed opponents, these political prostitutes who have had the effrontery to come here in the employ of a damnable system of political tyranny and frustrate our plans for the liberation of our comrades in slavery, i apprehend the fact that we have been basely betrayed by some foul judas among us. i am left with no alternative but to advise that you surrender your bodies to these minions of what they please to call the law.
-"whether we part now, to spend the remaining years of our life in some foul dungeon; whether to die a martyr's death on the scaffold, or whether the workers of the land awake to their power and, under some wiser, stronger leadership, liberate us to enjoy the fruits of the harvest we have but sown, i cannot attempt to prophesy. we have done what we could for our fellowmen. we have not failed, for though we perish, yet our blood shall fructify what we have sown, that our sons and our sons' sons may reap the garnered grain. gentlemen, of the junta, i declare our meeting adjourned!"
-starr's eyes were troubled, but his gun did not waver. it pointed straight at the breast of holman sommers, who looked at him measuringly when he had finished speaking.
-"i can't argue about the idea back of this business," starr said gravely. "all i can do is my duty. put on these handcuffs, mr. sommers. they stand for something you ain't big enough to lick--yet."
-"certainly," said holman sommers composedly. "you put the case like a philosopher. like a philosopher i yield to the power which, i grant you, we are not big enough to lick--yet. in behalf of our cause, however, permit me to call your attention to the fact that we might have come nearer to victory, had you not discovered and interrupted this meeting to-night." though his face was paler than was natural, he slipped on the manacles as matter-of-factly as he would have put on clean cuffs, and rose from his chair prepared to go where starr directed.
-"no, sit down again," said starr brusquely. "sheriff, gather up all those pieces of paper for evidence against these men, and give them to me. give me a receipt for the men--i'll wait for it. i want you and chief whittier to hold them here in this room till i come back. i won't be long--half an hour, maybe." he took the slips of paper which the sheriff folded and handed to him, and slipped them into his pocket.
-he was gone a little longer than he said, for he had some trouble in locating the railroad official he wanted, and in convincing that sleepy official that he was speaking for the government when he demanded an engine and day coach to be placed on a certain dark siding he mentioned, ready for a swift night run to el paso and a little beyond--to fort bliss, in fact.
-he got it, trust starr for that! and he was only twenty minutes behind the time he had named, though the sheriff and the chief of police betrayed a nervous relief when he walked in upon them and announced that he was ready now to move the prisoners.
-he wore a satisfied look when he saw the men that were being hustled into the car. his uniform tightened as he swelled with the importance of his mission. he nodded to sheriff o'malley and the chief of police, cast an obliquely curious glance at starr, who stayed on the ground, and when starr gave the word he swung his lantern to the watching fireman, and caught the handrail beside the steps.
-"go to it, and good luck," said starr, but there was no heartiness in his voice. he stood with his thumbs hooked inside his gun-belt and watched the coach that held the peace of the country within its varnished walls go sliding out of the yard, its green tail lights the only illumination anywhere behind the engine. when it had clicked over the switch and was picking up speed for its careening flight south through the cool hours of early morning, he gave a sigh that had no triumph in it, and turned away toward his cabin.
-"well, there goes the revolution," he said somberly to himself. "and here i go to do the rest of the job; and alongside what i've got to do, hell would be a picnic!"
-starr takes another prisoner
-with a slip of paper in his pocket that would have gone a long way toward keep a proportion of her wage and point out to the mother that she is limiting the girl's ambition. they also find girls who have entire control over the spending of their wages, who are without ambition to earn over and above a certain sum because that sum will meet their own recognized needs. the case of these girls the management tries to cover by encouraging them to save for vacations and other purposes which they offer by way of suggestion. in both of these instances the management undertakes to create new wants or ways of realizing wants which were not recognized by the workers themselves. the satisfaction of these wants may or may not be in the direction of extending experience and expanding contacts. but that is neither here nor there. the point is, the manager of the industry has used an incentive for increasing production which has no relation to production itself. he is forced to do this because he fails to make the process of production a matter of interest to the worker. the processes of production do not of themselves as we know compel the workers' application or stimulate their desire for productive enterprise.
-it is in the nature of the case impossible to increase the wage incentive indefinitely. one large and scientifically managed plant has made remarkable provisions for staving off the time when the dead line is reached. they have taken stock account of the labor power they require, the amount of energy which each worker possesses, for the purpose of evaluation and payment. they have undertaken to cover as separate items each condition which affects a worker's relation to his job. they rate as separate items the worker's proficiency, reliability, continuity in service, indirect charges, increased cost of living, and periods of lay-off; they rate him according to the number of technical processes he is proficient in, whether or not he is engaged on more than one; they rate him if he attends the night school connected with the factory and shows in this way a disposition to learn other operations than, those he already knows. why, they wonder, does only ten per cent of the force take advantage of the school and what, they are eager to find out, can they do further to secure the men's coöperation. for "coöperation," they say, "in a special way deserves credit, since it is unexpected ... certain well defined acts of coöperation will bring extra reward." their rewards so carefully calculated did not seem to enlist response as spiritual in its nature as coöperation. it seemed that they had reached "the dead line" where wage stimulus fails to draw its hoped for response.
-to get from the workers the highest efficiency the scientifically managed plants pay for a task a stated rate based on piece or time; if the task is performed within the time set and the directions for doing the task as laid out by the management, are followed, the worker receives in addition to the regular rate, a bonus. mr. h.l. grant, while working with mr. taylor, discovered that there was weakness in the system of paying bonuses, and the weakness was not overcome until he devised a method of paying the workman for the time allowed plus a percentage of that time according to what he did. this method he declares constantly induced further effort and overcame what they discovered was the weakness in a flat bonus. as fair or as superior as this bonus may be in relation to the prevailing rate in the market, managers say that the workers are apt in time to fall below the standard as their work becomes routine, unless the incentive after a time is increased or changed in character. in other words the wage incentive is like a virus injection. the dose is not continuously effective, except as the amount is increased or altered.
-a usual method of keeping alive the financial incentive is profit sharing and schemes for participation in profits, but they are rewards of general merit and bids for continuity of service; they have no direct relation to the workers' efficiency and compliance with standards which distinguish the wage rewards of scientifically managed plants.
-promotion, the incentive second in importance to the wage incentive, is of assistance in postponing the time when the dead line for the worker is reached. nothing better illustrates the limitations of promotion in this respect than the fact that in factories where the turnover is the lowest, the opportunity to promote the workers decreases; it falls in proportion to the length of their term of service. that is, chances for promotion are the lowest in factories where conditions otherwise are favorable to the worker. in the factory where the turnover is only 18 per cent the management says that promotion is a negligible factor. where the turnover is high there is greater opportunity in plants scientifically managed than in others to promote men, as the scheme of organization calls for a larger number of what they call "functionalized foremen" and teachers in proportion to the working force.
-it is as i have said, on account of the necessity of these positions in the general scheme that managers of factories are interested in finding more men who have initiative, than industry under their direction has produced.
-before scientific management was discovered, business management and machinery already had robbed industry of productive incentives, of the real incentive to production; a realization on the part of the worker of its social value and his appreciation of its creative content. all that was left for scientific management to gather together for its direction were bits of experience which workers gained by their own experimental efforts at how best to handle tools. their efforts it is true were not sufficiently great in this direction to promise progressive industrial advance. the margin for experiment which was still theirs was not sufficiently largo to insure continued effort inspired by an interest in the work.
-when we have taken into full account the repressive effect of scientific management on initiative, we may well admit an advantage: educationally speaking, the repression is direct. the workers are fully aware that they are doing what some one else requires of them. they are not under the delusion that they are acting on their own initiative. they are being managed and they know it and all things being equal (which they are not) they do not like it. the responsibility they may clearly see and feel rests with them to find a better scheme for carrying industry forward. the methods of scientific management are calculated to incite not only open criticism from the workers but to suggest that efficient industry is a matter of learning, and that learning is a game at which all can play, if the opportunity is provided.
-scientific managers have hoped that their plans to conserve energy and increase the wage in relation to expenditure of energy would meet little opposition. they also have hoped that the paternalistic feature of welfare work would allay opposition. but i am not inclined to include the welfare schemes in a consideration of scientific management; they have little light to throw on what educational significance there is in the efficiency methods which scientific management has introduced in industry. the playgrounds attached to factories, the indoor provisions for social activity, the clubs, while not having an acknowledged relation to the scientific management of the factory and while repudiated by some managers, are a common feature of plants which claim to be scientifically managed. there are scientifically managed plants which object to the recreational and other features which have to do with matters outside the province of the factory, on the ground that it is a meddling with the personal side of people's lives. "a baseball game connected with the factory," said the educational manager of a certain plant, "has the effect of limiting the workers' contacts; it is much better for them, as it is for every one, not to narrow their relationships to a small group, but to play ball with the people of the town." it is significant that this concern deals with the union and conforms to its regulations. whether this more generous concept of the workers' lives yields more in manufactured goods than one that confines the activity of the workers to the factory in which they labor, scientific management, so far as i know, has not discovered.
-the very nature of the welfare schemes suggests that they are inspired more out of fear of the workers' freedom of contact than launched on account of comparative findings which relate strictly to the economy of labor power. the policy of leaving the workers free, it was clear in the instance just cited, had been adopted out of a personal preference for freedom in relationships. the introduction of clinics, rest rooms, restaurants, sanitary provisions, and all arrangements relating directly to the workers' health have a bearing on efficiency and productivity which is well recognized and probably universally endorsed by efficiency managers, even if they are not invariably adopted.
-scientific management wants two things; more men in the labor market to fill the positions of functionalized foremen, more men than modern industrial society has produced; and it wants an army of workers who will follow directions, follow them as one of the managers said, as soldiers follow them. it wants this army to be endowed as well with the impulse to produce. it may by its methods realize one of its wants, that is, an army of workers to follow directions; but as it succeeds in this, as it is successful in robbing industry of its content, and as it reduces processes to routine, it will limit its chances to find foremen who have initiative and it will fail to get from workers the impulse to produce goods.
-during the last four years, under the stress of a consuming war every stimulus employed by business management for speeding up production has been advanced. organized efficiency in the handling of materials has increased the output, as increased rewards to capital and labor have stimulated effort. but the quantitative demand of consumption requirements is insatiable. it is not humanly possible under the present industrial arrangements to satisfy the world's demand for goods, either in time of war or peace. it was never more apparent than it is now, that an increase in a wage rate is a temporary expedient and that wage rewards are not efficient media for securing sustained interest in productive enterprise. it is becoming obvious that the wage system has not the qualifications for the coördination of industrial life. as the needs of the nations under the pressure of war have brought out the inefficiencies of the economic institution, it has become sufficiently clear to those responsible for the conduct of the war and to large sections of the civil population, that wealth exploitation and wealth creation are not synonymous; that the production of wealth must rest on other motives than the desire of individuals to get as much and give as little as particular situations will stand.
-in england and in the united states, where the individualistic conception of the industrial life has been an inherent part of our national philosophy, the governments, with cautious reservations, have assumed responsibilities which had been carried in normal times by business. because business administration had been dependent for its existence on a scheme of profiteering it is not in the position where it can appeal to labor to contribute its productive power in the spirit of patriotic abandon. but governments as they have taken over certain industrial responsibilities are in a better position to make such appeals to capital as well as to labor.
-the calculable effect of the appeal to capital to assume the responsibility is in the long run of passing importance, as under the present business arrangement that is the position capital occupies. in other words, the appeal will mark no change in capitalist psychology as it promises to do in the case of labor.
-the calculable effect on labor psychology may have revolutionary significance. it is quite another sort of appeal in its effect from the stereotyped and familiar one of employers to labor to feel their responsibility. that appeal never reached the consciousness of working men for the reason that it is impossible to feel responsible or to be responsible where there is no chance of bearing the responsibility. experiencing responsibility in industry means nothing more nor less than sharing in the decisions, the determination of procedure, as well as suffering from the failure of those decisions and participating in their successful eventuation. as the governments in the present case have made their appeals to labor they have carried the suggestion of partnership in responsibility because the government is presumably the people's voice and its needs also presumably are the common needs and not the special interests of individuals. it is hardly necessary to point out that it was not the intention of government officials who made the appeal to excite a literal interpretation; they did not expect to be taken so seriously and up to date they have not been taken more seriously than they intended by american labor. all they mean and what they expect to gain, is what employers have meant and wanted; that is labor's surrender of its assumed right to strike on the job, its surrender of its organized time standards and its principle of collective bargaining. but when officials speak in the name of a government what they mean is unimportant; what it means to the people to have them speak, and the people's interpretation of what they say, is the important matter.
-these appeals of the governments in this time of war to the working people have the tendency to clear the environment of the suggestion that common labor, that is the wage earning class (as distinguished from salaried people, employers and the profiteers pure and simple) are incompetent to play a responsible part in the work of wealth production. a responsible part does not mean merely doing well a detached and technical job; it means facing the risks and sharing in the experimental experience of productive enterprise as it serves the promotion of creative life and the needs of an expanding civilization. as the appeals of the governments at this time bear the stamp of a nation's will, its valuation and respect for common labor, there is the chance, it seems, that they may carry to the workers the energizing thought that all the members of the industrial group must assume, actually assume, responsibility for production, if production is to advance. equally important in the interest of creative work is the power of these appeals to shift the motive for production from the acquisitive to the creative impulse. in the midst of the world's emergency, driven by the fear of destruction the nations have turned instinctively to the unused creative force in human and common labor, that is to the ability of the wage earner to think and plan. if the response of labor is genuine, if with generous abandon it releases its full productive energy, it is quite certain as matters now stand that neither the governments nor the financiers are prepared to accept the consequence.
-if labor in answer to these appeals gains the confidence that it is competent to carry industrial responsibility, or rather that common labor, together with the trained technicians in mechanics and industrial organization are competent as a producing group to carry the responsibility, one need we may be sure will be eliminated which, has been an irritating and an unproductive element in industrial life; i mean the need the workers have had for the cultivation of class isolation. as the workers become in the estimation of a community and in their own estimation, responsible members of a society, their more rather than less abortive effort to develop class feeling in america, will disappear. under those conditions concerted class action will be confined to the employers of labor and the profiteers, who will be placed in the position of proving their value and their place in the business of wealth creation. on this i believe we may count, that labor will drop its defensive program for a constructive one, as it comes to appreciate its own creative potentiality.
-judging from recent events in england, where the government appeals to labor have had longer time to take effect, it seems that new brain tracks in labor psychology have actually been created. english labor apparently is beginning to take the impassioned appeals of its government seriously and is making ready to assume the responsibility for production. the resolutions adopted by the labor party at its nottingham conference in november in 1917 covered organized labor's usual defense program relating to wage conditions. the manifesto which was issued was first of all a political document, written and compiled for campaign purposes. but the significance of the party's action is the new interpretation which it is beginning to give industrial democracy. it is evident where state ownership is contemplated that the old idea that industry would pass under the administrative direction of government officials, is replaced by the growing intention and desire of labor to assume responsibility for administration whether industry is publicly or privately owned. the party stands for the "widest possible participation both economic and political ... in industry as well as in government." in explanation of the manifesto, the leader of the party is quoted in the manchester guardian as saying, that when labor now speaks of industrial democracy it no longer means what it did before the war; it does not mean political administration of economic affairs; it means primarily industrial self-government.
-perhaps an even better evidence of the intention of english labor in this direction is the movement towards decentralization in the trade union organization. this movement, known as the "shop-stewards" movement is essentially an effort of the men in the workshops to assume responsibility in industrial reconstruction after the war, a responsibility which they have heretofore under all circumstances delegated to representatives not connected directly with the work in the shops. as these representatives were isolated from actual problems of workshop production and alien therefore to the problems in their technical and specific application, they were incapable of functioning efficiently as agents of productive enterprise. this "shop stewards" movement recognizes and provides for the interdependence of industrial interests, but at the same time it concerns itself with the competent handling of specific matters.
-such organization as the movement in england seems to be evolving, the syndicalists have contended for as they opposed the german idea of state socialism. but the syndicalists in their propaganda did not develop the idea of industry as an adventure in creative enterprise. instead they emphasized, as did the political socialists and the trade unionists, the importance of protecting the workers' share in the possession of wealth. they made the world understand that business administration of industry exploited labor, but they did not bring out that both capital and labor, so far as it was possible for each to do, exploited wealth. that was not the vision of industry which they carried from their shops to their meetings or indeed to their homes. their failure at exploitation was too obvious.
-an interesting illustration of what would happen in the ranks of the syndicalists if the business idea of labor's intellectual and emotional incapacity for functioning, gave way before a community's confidence in the capacity of labor--we have in the case of the migratory workers in the harvesting of our western crops. the harvesters who follow the crops with the seasons from the southern to the northern borders of the united states and into canada are members of the most uncompromisingly militant organization of syndicalists, the industrial workers of the world. on an average it takes ten years for these harvesters to become skilled workers and these men, members of this condemned organization, are the most highly skilled harvesters in the country. on account of their revolutionary doctrines and their combined determination to reap rewards as well as crops, they are considered and treated like outlaws, and outlaws of the established order they are in spirit. when the owners of the farms of north dakota realized that their own returns on the harvests were diverted in the marketing of their grain, they combined for protection against the grain exchanges and the elevator trusts. while developing their movement they discovered that the natural alliance for their organization to make was with the men who were involved with them in the production of grain. and as the farmers have accepted the harvesters as partners they have formed in effect a coördinated producing combination. without finally settling the problem of agriculture, they have strengthened the production group and eliminated strife at the most vital point.
-after the war, it is to be hoped that america will undertake to realize through its schemes for reconstruction its present ideals of self-government. as it does this, we shall discover that the issues which are of significance to democracy are of significance to education; for democracy and education are processes concerned with, the people's ability to solve their problems through their experience in solving them. if america is ever to realize its concept of political democracy, it can accept neither the autocratic method of business management nor the bureaucratic schemes of state socialism. it cannot realize political democracy until it realizes in a large measure the democratic administration of industry.
-adapting people to industry--the german way
-statemanship in germany covered "industrial strategy" as well as political. its labor protection and regulations were in line with its imperial policy of domination. within recent years labor protection from the point of view of statesmanship has been urged in england and america. the waste of life is a matter of unconcern in the united states so long as private business can replenish its labor without seriously depleting the oversupply. it becomes a matter of concern only when there are no workers waiting for employment. the german state has regulated the conditions of labor and conserved human energy because its purpose has been not the short-lived one of private business, but the long-lived one of imperial competition. it was the policy of the prussian state to conserve human energy for the strength and the enrichment of the empire. whatever was good for the empire was good, it was assumed, for the people. the humanitarians in the united states who tried to introduce labor legislation in their own country accepted this naïve philosophy of the german people, which had been so skilfully developed by prussian statesmen, without appreciating that its result was enervating. our prevailing political philosophy, however, that workers and capitalists understand their own interests and are more capable than the state of looking after them, stood in the way of adopting on grounds of statesmanship the german methods.
-the american working man has never been convinced that he can get odds of material advantage from the state. his method is to get all he can through "pull," good luck or his superior wits. he could find no satisfaction like his german brothers in surrendering concrete interests for some abstract idea of a state. he could find no greater pleasure in being exploited by the state than he now finds in exploitation by private business. the average american values life for what he can get out of it, or for what he can put into it. he has no sentimental value of service, nor is service anywhere with us an institutionalized ideal. we judge it on its merits, detached perhaps, but still for what it actually renders in values.
-in conformity with american ideals, wage earners look to their own movements and not to the state for protection. their movements require infinite sacrifice, but they supply them with an interest and an opportunity for initiative which their job lacks. the most important antidote for the workers to factory and business methods is not shorter hours or well calculated rest periods or even change-off from one kind of routine work to another. as important as these may be, reform in labor hours does not compensate the worker for his exclusion from the directing end of the enterprise of which he is a part and from a position where he can understand the purpose of his work the trade union interference with the business of wealth production is in part an attempt to establish a coördination of the worker which is destroyed in the prosecution of business and factory organization. the interference of the union is an attempt to bridge the gulf between the routine of service and the administration, and direction of the service which the worker gives.
-if germany loses the war the chances are that the people may recognize what it means for the people of a nation to let the title to their lives rest with the state; they will know perhaps whether for the protection they have been given and for the regulation of their affairs and destiny they have paid more than the workers of other countries, who, less protected by law, suffered the exigencies of their assumed independence.
-how much the german people depended upon the state and how much their destiny is affected by it is illustrated better by their educational system and its relation to industry than by any labor legislative protective practices or policy.
-george kerschensteiner, the director of the munich schools, in his book on "the idea of the industrial school," tells us that the purposes <and duties of the schools are to realize the ideal ethical community, and that this realization is possible in so far as the educational provisions are made from the standpoint of the ethical concept of each state. in america we do not think of the state as the embodiment of our ethical concepts. the state, as we know it, is one of the several instruments for realizing ends, ethical as well as material. the state is supposed to serve the common ends of all people. a state may be used, we are all aware, as an instrument, either by prussian junkers or american business men; either may capture a state to serve their ends. but as a state serves special individuals it belies its professed reason for existence, and in america is in danger of falling from grace, so far, that is, as the common people are concerned. but when a state stands in the minds of a people as the embodiment of their ideals as it has in germany, it must for its own purpose spend time and substance in purchasing the people's confidence. in assuming the place of guardian it must of necessity minister to the physical needs of the people. if it retains the people's confidence in its guardianship, it is incumbent on it to pursue this policy. it is incumbent on such a state to mould the people's ideas of what their needs are. the schools obviously offer the most hopeful media for the accomplishment of that result, and they have been used in germany more effectively in this way than the schools of any other country. the german school system follows hard and fast preconceptions of aims and ends, and because of this it was possible for germany to put over its own particular sort of efficiency.
-as a first requisite of efficiency, germany classifies its people, gives them a place in the scheme of things, and holds them there. by circumscribing within definite limitations the experience of individuals it produces specialists at the sacrifice of a larger human development. the classification of the people and the training of them naturally for the german purpose falls to the schools. the sorting out of individuals begins at the early age of ten in the elementary schools, when each child's social and economic position is practically determined. it is decided then whether he shall be one of the great army of wage workers or whether he shall fall into some one of the several social classes and vocations which stand apart from the common mass of wage earners. the children in the german schools, who are selected at the age of ten for a more promising future than the trades hold out, have more leeway in the making of their decision. but even these children from the american point of view are summarily disposed of and fatally consigned.
-the continuation schools protect german manufacture and the national industrial efficiency against indulgence in such vagaries. a butcher would prefer to engage lads who have had experience in butcher shops and butcher continuation classes. avenues of escape from jobs just because they are uncongenial are thus quite effectively closed together with, the chance to experiment with life--the chance which americans take for granted. but it is just this element of waywardness and the opportunity america leaves open for its indulgence among working people that makes labor from the standpoint of american manufacture so inefficient. for want of opportunity to put individuality to some account we frequently fall back on waywardness in an awkward and futile protest against domination.
-while the german scheme of placing its workers is efficient in its own way, so also is the training for each particular trade. a child is trained first to be skillful and second, to quote mr. kerchensteiner, "to be willing to carry out some function in the state ... so that he may directly or indirectly further the aim of the state." "having accomplished this," he says "the next duty of the schools is to accustom the individual to look at his vocation as a duty which he must carry out not merely in the interest of his own material and moral welfare but also in the interest of the state." from this, he says, follows the next and "greatest educational duty of the public school. the school must develop in its pupils the desire and strength ... through their vocation, to contribute their share so that the development of the state to which they belong, may progress in the direction of the ideal of the community."
-his assumption in defining the "greatest duty" is that the members of the state are free to evolve and will evolve a progressive ethical community. but after a child has passed through the hands of a competent teaching force which fits him successfully into a ready-made place, after he has accepted this ready-made place on the authority of modern technology and business, on the authority of the state and religion, that the place given him is his to fill; to fill in accordance with the standards determined by the schools and by industry--after all this, it is difficult to imagine what else a child could do but conform. he could do no more, thus trained, than go forward in the direction he is pushed and in the direction determined before he was born. this is not our idea of a progressive life.
-it has been understood generally in america that germany's preparation and classification of her future workers and their placement in industry, was more responsible than any other policy for germany's place in the world market. british and american manufacturers before the war urged the emulation of german methods of education and a reorganization of school systems more in conformity with the german. the demand of the manufacturers for reorganization came at a time when intelligent educators in america were recognizing that some reorganization was necessary to bring the school experience of children into relation with their environment and with the actualities of life. the industrial education movement in this country was based on the german, and the german idea was the dominating one. the movement here has shown little-imagination as it adopted a system foreign to america, instead of initiating schemes which represented the aspirations of a free people.
-herman schneider, of the university of cincinnati, has made one of the most intelligent contributions in the adaptation of the german scheme of education. he divides trades into two classes, which he calls energizing and enervating. in those which are energizing there is an element of individual expression and opportunity for self-direction. the enervating trades are wholly automatic, and induce a lethargic state of mind and body. his comment on the situation is: "we are rapidly dividing mankind into a staff of mental workers and an army of purely physical workers. the physical workers are becoming more and more lethargic. the work itself is not character building; on the contrary, it is repressive and when self-expression comes, it is hardly energizing mentally. the real menace lies in the fact that in a self-governing industrial community the minds of the majority are in danger of becoming less capable of sound and serious thought because of lack of continuous constructive exercise in earning a livelihood."
-the one-time value of a trade apprenticeship to a youth was that it furnished the background for mastery of machine processes; but apprenticeship under modern factory methods can do no more than make a youth a good servant to machines. the schneider system fills, as well as can be filled, a scheme of apprenticeship in conformity with the prevailing shop organization and requirements, but it is not a fulfillment for youth; it is not educational. there is no progression from apprenticeship to industrial control; no chance to use the knowledge gained where opportunity for participation in administration and reorganization of industry is cut off. the best of trades is a blind alley, educationally speaking.
-however abortive such an effort as dean schneider's might be in giving workers opportunity to enrich their experience for their own reconstructing purposes, it offered the pupils more content and better training than the ordinary school drill in its colorless and vapid subject matter. this fact is necessary to bear in mind, but it should not obscure the even more significant fact that the blighting character of industry is due to its motivation, which is wealth exploitation and not wealth creation. all of the industrial educational experiments have succumbed to the fatalism involved in the adaptation of their experiments to that fact.
-a staff of investigators, who made a year's survey of the industries of cleveland with a view of determining what measures should be adopted by the school system of the city to prepare young people for wage earning occupation and to provide supplementary trade training for those already employed, concluded that the choice of occupations should be governed primarily by economic considerations; that even from the point of view of the school, educational factors could not take precedence over economic. they said: "the primary considerations in the intelligent selection of a vocation relate to wages, steadiness of employment, health risks, opportunity for advancement, apprenticeship conditions, union regulations and the number of chances there are for getting into it. these things are fundamental, and any one of them may well take precedence over the matter of whether the tastes of the future wage earner run to wood, brick, stone or steel."
-this conclusion is fatalistic, but it is a brave one. it does not fall back on weak substitutes for reality; it does not throw the glamor of history and the aesthetics of industry around trades with the poor hope that they make up for the content which is not there; it does not foster the assumption that training in technique of industry or physical science can enrich, under the circumstances, the worker's experience to any important extent. it accepts the bald truth that all the material classed as cultural will count for nothing of value in a factory worker's life in comparison with the highest possible wage in the most enervating of industries. it stresses this highly important factor, as it should, but merely as a physical necessity. there is vital education in the consciousness of self-support, in the consciousness that one is earning the living one gets. but under present conditions the educational experience of wage recompense is not so significant as it might be if it measured the value of the labor performed; if it paid the worker according to his needs, and if he gave in return for the wage according to his ability.
-the gary school system is a notable effort in public school education to fulfill children's desire for productive experience. it is in striking contrast to the german scheme as it is based on processes which have educational force and significance. in saying this i differentiate between training for industry and participation in the industrial activity which is an organic part of the life of the children and of the community. the children are an actual part of the repair and construction working force on gary school buildings and on the equipment. as the children are involved in the upkeep of a school it becomes their school. they experience the responsibility of maintaining the school plant, not by some artificial scheme of participation, but by the actual application of trade standards and acquired technique to operations which have for them and those with whom they live important significance. they gain in their work a first hand knowledge of industrial processes and activity. in conjunction with skilled mechanics they work on the carpentry, the plumbing, the masonry, the installation of electricity used in the school building. they do the school printing and accounting.
-the children's life in these schools is an experience in industry where there is nothing to hide, no trade secrets to keep back. the children have the full opportunity of seeing their work through to its completion and understanding its purpose and recognising its value and use. it provides more than any other school system a liberal field for productive endeavor. but the gary schools are not industry; they are a world apart; they represent, as all schools are supposed to, moments sacred to education and growth. they are not subjected to the test of coördination in the world of industry. they give the children a respect for productive enterprise that should be invaluable later in effecting their resistance to the prostitution of their creative power. they do not give them experience in the administrative side of industry for which the children of high school age are ready and in need. but in an admirable way they subordinate training in technique to purpose and give the children the experience of exercising control over their own industrial activity. as an industrial experience for children of grammar school age, it is richer than any other school system which has been developed.
-obviously false from an educational point of view as these school standards are, they are true to the facts, to the actual situation which the parents have to face. the wave of popular opposition to a reorganization of the schools for a preparation of the children for factory life expresses the original conception of popular education among sovereign people. the common school system exists, it is still assumed, to fit the children to rule their own lives; to give them an equipment which will protect them from a servitude to others. its ability to do this had not been questioned a generation ago and, theoretical as its original intention is to-day, its traditional purpose to develop the power of each child to govern his destiny, holds over. if training children to read, write and count, training them in facts relating to history and language, did not, as it had been hoped, lay the world at the feet of the children, training them in factory processes, parents felt competent to declare, laid the children at the feet of exploiters. that is where in any case, in the light of common experience, they might expect them to land. to reorganize the schools with that possibility in mind was for the parents a surrender of their gambling chance.
-the promoters of industrial education, with some success, have made it clear to the community generally that parents were giving heavy odds in their gamble, but these promoters would have made this more obvious to parents if they could have shown that the assets accruing from the new school curriculum increased more materially than has the wage earning capacity of their children. the results for individual children are not sufficiently striking to advertise the departure, and if they were, the departure would not warrant the endorsement of the community on the ground of the higher wage, as wages are fixed by competition. they are advanced by a general increase in productivity. but the increase that occurs through more efficient methods in productive enterprise is not a real increase; it does not relatively affect the social or economic position of the wage earner.
-in the last analysis, the wage return is not an educator's criterion, in spite of the pragmatic recommendation of the cleveland survey. the survey's recommendation for a reorganization of the school system is based on the belief that the school is, or should be, an integral expression or reflection of the life of the community; that to function vitally it must be contemporaneous with that life, as are all serviceable institutions. as a school reflects the life of a community it enriches the experience of the children and endows them with the knowledge and power to deal with environment. when a school system disregards, as our established system does, the entire reorganization of the industrial world, it stultifies growth and cultivates at the same time an artificial concept of life, a false sense of values. the german system of industrial education has recognized the reorganization of the industrial world, but this recognition has meant the sacrifice of individual life and development; it has come to mean in short the prostitution of a people and the creation of a frankenstein.
-none of our industrial educational systems or vocational guidance experiments disclose the full content of the industrial life nor do they give the children the knowledge or power to deal with it. the general dissatisfaction with these school movements is that they neither prostitute the schools in the interest of the employers nor endow the children with power to meet their own problems. the training in technique which they supply has a bearing on the every day life around them which stories of longfellow's life have not. but that technique, divorced as it is from its purpose, its use or final disposition, is as valueless as a crutch for a man without arms. an elaboration of technology through instruction in the general principles of physical science, industrial and political history and the aesthetics of industry only emphasizes the absence of the really significant factors. the conspicuously absent factors in all industrial educational schemes are those which give men the ability to control industry. no work in subject matter is educational which does not in intention or in fact give the person involved the ability to participate in the administration of industry, or the ability to judge the extent of his mastery over the subject. industrial educational schemes, even the best of them, leave the pupils helpless before their subject. as they furnish them with a certain dexterity and acquaintance with processes and a supply of subject matter necessarily more or less isolated, the pupils gain a sense of the power of the subject to control them, rather than an experience in their power to master the subject. the industrial school emphasizes the fact that the administration and disposition of wealth production is no concern of those versed in the technique of fabrication.
-many educators appreciate the lack of content provided by industrial school systems as, with weak emphasis, they undertake to embroider the system with history and aesthetics of textiles or other raw material which the workers handle, or introduce the story of past processes. as this furbishing of impoverished industry fails dismally to add content, it succeeds in emphasizing the actual poverty that exists.
-dr. hall's idea of a book of industry might have emanated from the heart of mr. carnegie. with the same benign detachment he seems to have mused at his desk about the shoe industry and the people engaged in it. it would not take more than a passing acquaintance with the girls and men in shoe manufacturing towns to know that if there was established a village library equipped with the history of shoes, the aesthetics of shoes, shoe economics, shoe technology, and shoe hygiene, not one of the girls or men who worked in the shoe factories would darken its doors to read about shoes. they would not for this simple reason; the workers' "individual and vocational interest" does not exist. they would say that they already knew more than they cared to about shoes. no literature could add culture or dignity to the job of stitching vamps for all the working hours and days of a wage earner's year, while there is no experience of cultural value in the occupation, divided as the making of a shoe is into some ninety operations, and distributed among ninety workers. dr. hall's suggestion that a shoe book be written is a good suggestion but he must supply a better basis for a reader's interest than industry has given him, that is, industry as it is now administered. he cannot impose culture or dignity through books on a trade which is prostituted by business for profiteering. if the purpose of the shoe book was to create the glamor that was intended around the present day arrangement of making shoes, it would be a false contribution in schoolroom equipment; it would be as pernicious as other literature that introduced an artificial note into a real and living experience like industry.
-national, state and local campaigns have been carried on in america during the last fifteen years for the protection of childhood and youth. they have been on the whole successful in their purpose to get children out of factories and stores and into schools. it was an embarrassment to the pioneers in the campaign to find that the children were against them; that they preferred factory or commercial life to the schools. the evidence of this preference was their wholesale exodus from schools when they reached an age where they were acceptable to employers or where they were not prevented by law. back of the exodus, universal as it is, there is an urge of elemental force. a common accounting for it, the nearest at hand, is that parents of working class children are penurious; or that they are too ignorant to understand the deteriorating effect of factory life on children; or that they are too hard pressed in their physical needs to consider the best interest of the children. this reason given for the failure of the schools to supply children with matter of interest or significance to them, explained only why children did not want to stay in school; it did not explain their eagerness to enter industry. none of the reasons accounted for the zest of the children for wage earning occupation.
-the failure of the schools to hold the children gave educators who recognized the artificial character of school curricula, their best reason for introducing matter relating to industrial life. the children's preference was indeed a valuable indication where reality or real subject matter would be found. the change off from old school subject matter to instruction in methods of industry was a logical experiment. but the movement for industrial education was not inspired by a watchful sympathetic observation of children's needs; it was in line with the general theory, more or less accepted, that schools should be a reflection of the children's environment; it was in line with the demand of employers for efficient workers either equipped for specific processes or adaptable to factory methods.
-children of this adolescent time would respond more readily to school instruction, related to the adult activities which held their interest and connected in some way with their own conception of their functioning in the adult world. courses of study in processes of industry and practice in the technique of those processes would have actual bearing on the environment of which they were eager to be a part.
-but instruction in mechanical processes and practice in technique of manufacture are the husks of industry when divorced from the planning, the management, the examination of problems, the determination of the value of goods in their use and in their place in the market, the division of labor throughout an enterprise, the relation of all persons involved to each other and to the product. the schools with their industrial education courses do not undertake to supply their young people with an opportunity to plan; they are true reflections of factory existence as they eliminate all the adventure of industry, the opportunity for experiment and discovery; they do not satisfy the high impulse of young people to be of use, to be a part of the world of work. the spirit of the schools is preparation for something to come; the spirit of the children is in the present, and the present pressing impulse of adolescence is to share adult responsibilities.
-the impulse of youth to take its place in adult life is exploited by industry and repressed or perverted by a system of education which fits the children into a system of industry without giving them the insight and power to effect adjustments. the actual job in a trade has satisfying features which the school lacks. it pays wages. that fact for eager children is estimated beyond its purchasing power. for them it is an acknowledgment, a very real one, that they have been admitted, are wanted in the big world where they are impelled by their psychic needs, to enter. it places them more nearly on an equality with the older members of their family and entitles them to consideration which was not given them as dependent children. they learn shortly of how little account they are to the boss employer but they are establishing all the time a new basis of contact and a new place in their personal relations; they are establishing it because they have economic value in the world outside of home as well as in it.
-the industrial schools and the old type of schools are both adult schemes of getting children ready for adult life, not by experiencing it, but by doing certain things well so that they can be entrusted to do later on, what adults in their wisdom have decided that they are to do. but they fail to prepare children for the future as they fail to supply the children's present urgent needs. they use the period for ulterior purposes; purposes ulterior to the period of growth with which they are dealing. as they use this period for another time than its own, in effect they exploit it. without consciousness of the fact so far as the children are concerned, the schools exploit this period of growth as effectively as the employers reap the profits of child labor. employers as beneficiaries have more reason than the schools for diverting youth from its own purposes, as they are under the necessity of a price system which is competitive. the schools as well as industry use up the placticity of youth; they kill off the eagerness of children to explore and plan, and cast it aside for more consequential ends.
-the consequential ends in america, we have seen, have been less clearly defined than in germany. within a year, the united states has become conscious as a nation of place and power, conscious that it is to play a part with the other states of the world. in playing this part, will it retain its rôle of servant of the people, or will it assume with its new world dignity the rôle, if not of master, then of leadership? if still servant, will it serve more efficiently than it has our dominant institution, industry? if the silent partnership between business and the state is strengthened, will not the promoters of industry be in a better position than before to appeal through the state, through the patriotism intensified by our newly acquired world position, for a more universal and a systematized adaptation of workers in industry? the schools in their disinterested capacity, disinterested, that is, in the profits of production, it would seem could be used most effectively toward this end. german manufacture made that clear to american manufacture before the war. it also must be remembered that it was prussian pride for imperial position that inspired the complete and efficient surrender of the german schools to the needs of the german manufacturers.
-america is, of course, "different." all peoples are. but so is our position in the world different from what it was. our position is not now, nor could it be, the german position. our past is different, and that will continuously have its effect on our future. but we are facing a great period of change, and the strongest forces in the country are the industrial, and the strongest leaders are the financiers. what the financiers and industrial managers most want is efficient, docile labor. the german system of education, in spite of the fact that we are different, might conceivably have that effect on the youth of this country. under the pressure of industrial rivalry after the war, under the pressure of an imperial industrial policy, it may be that the people of the country will yield to the introduction of a scheme of education which it has been proved elsewhere can fit children better than any other known scheme into a system of mass production.
-it is clear that industry could set up models of behavior more successfully in the name of education than in its own, and to the extent american children come up to these models the more employable they would be from the standpoint of business. if the pressure is sufficiently strong the people may yield to the introduction of a system of compulsory continuation schools similar to those of germany. if they do, i believe they will eventually fail. but there is danger through loss of energy and loss of purpose in their introduction. is it impossible for us to hold to our native experimental habits of life and attain standards of workmanship? is it possible to realize the full strength of associated effort and at the same time advance wealth production?
-germany's industrial supremacy was due, as professor veblen shows, to the fact that machine industry was imposed ready-made on a people whose psychology was feudal. the schools of germany, an essential part of her industrial enterprise, were organized on the servility of the people. we now know what building as germany has built her educational and industrial system on the weakness of a people means. we are in the process of discovering whether in sacrificing the expansion of her people she can secure a permanent expansion of her empire. it would seem the better part of statesmanship in america after the war to build industrially on the strength of our people and not on the weakness of another. it is the business of educators to point out the danger and to discover whether efficiency may not be gained in the country by giving children in their adolescent period the impulse for production and high standards of work, not for the sake of the state, but for themselves, for the sake of the community,--out of love of work and for the value of its service.
-educational industry and associated enterprise
-as capital and so far labor have failed to make industry an expansive experience it becomes, as professor dewey has pointed out, the business of educators concerned with the growth of individuals to cultivate the field.
-if educators regard opportunities for growth with sufficient jealousy they will not wait for industry to emerge with a new program, or system of production; they will initiate productive enterprises where young people will be free to gain first hand experience in the problems of industry as those problems stand in relation to their time and generation. their alliance should be made with engineers and architects and the managers of industry who have made themselves, through experience and training, masters of applied science and the economics of production. engineers, not under the influence of business, are qualified to open up the creative aspects of production to the workers and to convince them through their own experience that that there are adventurous possibilities in industry outside the meagre offerings of payday. mr. robert wolf is one of the engineers who is ready for the venture. he told the members of the taylor society that "scientific managers have not been scientific enough in dealing with this very important subject of stimulating the thinking and reasoning power of the workman, thereby making him self-reliant and creative." in describing the field in which practical engineers should operate, he laid stress on their giving large space to the originating, choosing, adapting power in men and the direction of it into positive constructive channels; to men's self-consciousness of their place in the great scheme of things.
-this conception of the field of operation for engineers also described the field for educators. the latter have failed to seize the chance in the present industrial arrangement for the development of "the originating, choosing power" in the working man because they have been obsessed by the business appreciation of the working man's power of adaptation. it is because they labor under this obsession that they turn industrial education into industrial training whenever they include industry in their curricula. educators know that there is adventure in industry, but they believe that the adventure is the rare property of a few. they believe this so finally that they surrender this great field of experience with its priceless educational content without reserving the right of such experience even for youth. they know, as we all do, that industrial problems carry those who participate in their solution into pure and applied science; into the market of raw materials and finished products; into the search for unconquered wealth. they know that the marketing of goods is an extensive experience in the world of men and desires. they are not alone in their lack of courage to admit that limiting this experience perverts normal desires and creates false ones. for the sake of education it is to be hoped that such engineers as mr. wolf may overcome the timidity of educators, and that, in conjunction with men capable of productive enterprise, they will undertake to give young people an experience which is not tagged on to industry under the influence of profits, but which is inspired by the desire to produce and the opportunity to develop the inspiration.
-before establishing a system of industrial education like germany's, or extending the makeshift attempts which have been introduced here in the united states, it would seem well to undertake experiments which would stimulate the impulses of youth for creative experience, which would give them an industrial experience where the motive of exploitation is absent and where the stimulus was the content which the production of wealth offers. such experiments would entail the organization of workshops in connection with schools in which the workshop experience was translated and extended.
-the workshop would be devoted to the production of some marketable article or articles which are simple in construction. the selection of the product would not depend upon technical processes of construction to furnish educational subject matter. educationally speaking, the acquisition of technique is a factor, but not a primary one, in the modern scheme of production. the primary factors are those which have universal significance, that is which are common to all industry, the relation of labor, of mechanical equipment, of raw material, of the finished product to the whole and to each other; the relation of the market to productive effort and an effective organization of all of these.
-the technical processes or their acquisition are of educational value, because they furnish the necessary experience for the evaluation and appreciation of workmanship; or would furnish a basis for such a valuation if the educational factors which are common to all industry were matters in which all the workers participated and were matters which they understood. it may be that there are certain mechanical processes which have universal technical significance and on that account would have special educational value, but even if those processes were determined and selected for industrial instruction and acquisition, it would not imply that those who acquired them were industrially educated. they would be industrially equipped to act as efficient factory attachments, but the acquisition of processes, even the fundamental ones we have had ample opportunity to discover, do not inspire creative interests and desires.
-because educational content in modern factory work is not accessible to the mass of workers, we have fostered the illusion that the educational subject matter of industry was inherent in the technical process of fabrication. as we have fostered this illusion, we have missed the educational principle applicable to the craft period, as well as to the present, that the condition of the educational requirement, is that workers' participation in productive enterprise coincide in the long run with creative intention and accomplishment. this central requirement of industrial education means that individuals learn to function with conscious creative intention in the environment in which they live and that their learning furnishes a basis for critical and informed evaluations in industrial activity. in the craft period the creative intention required the worker's mastery over every process of his craft. in this machine age of associated enterprise the creative intention requires the ability to associate with others in the administration of industry as well as to take the place of an individual in the routine of factory work
-for the reasons i have just stated the educational experiments i am suggesting could cover advantageously one of the many industries which are generally classed as unskilled, and almost any one of these unskilled routine industries would serve as well as another. almost any one of the so-called child labor industries could be made over into opportunities for young people to experience the stimulating effect of associating with others in a productive effort, and gain the impetus which the stimulation supplied to pursue their subject matter far afield in general mechanics, science, economics, geography, history and art.
-for the educational purposes of the experiment the selection of the industry would not be made on the ground that the technical processes of one required greater intellectual activity than another; neither would the selection depend upon whether or not the industry chosen offered young people better chances than another for entrance to a trade where jobs, comparatively speaking, drew fair rates of wages, or the economic conditions were in other respects superior. the experiment would in no sense be a trade preparation but an experience where the enterprise of production was opened up and the possibilities of creative life were realized in association with others, so far as the conditions and time allowed.
-the industrial basis for selection of such experiment should hinge, first, on whether or not the young people could function in the industry advantageously to themselves educationally speaking and to the industry socially considered: that is, whether or not the productive processes were in line with the capacity of adolescent children and the product was of social value; second, whether the product could be introduced successfully in the market and the enterprise become self-supporting.
-at the present time, a proposition for the promotion of such an educational experiment is being worked out. wooden toys have been chosen as the article for manufacture, because, first, the models were sufficiently simple in construction to make the work practical for young people who make up the workshop staff; it is practical for the majority of the staff to range in age from 14 to 17 years. second, the work done by caroline pratt on children's playthings has disclosed the fact that the present toy market is below grade from the point of view of the service of toys to children. the market does not supply the children with the sort of material and the sort of tools they require in their play schemes. therefore, the product chosen has a legitimate social claim on the market. however, it would be valid, though not so interesting, if a certain sort of paper box which filled a legitimate trade need had been selected and a paper box factory had been set up as the basis of the experiment. as a theoretical illustration of my general thesis, paper boxes would serve better than wooden toys, because the latter product, as it is conceived, covers special intellectual content. but the particular sort of content is not a fundamental requirement for the educational purpose of the experiment. however, as the experiment is actually being planned in connection with wooden toys, i shall use the plan, as far as it is worked out, as my illustration. i shall refer later in discussing the school curriculum to the special intellectual content which the manufacture of these toys will represent.
-the working staff of the toy shop will include forty young people (twenty at work at a time in the shop) from 14 to 17 years who have received their working certificates and have left school with the intention of going to work. it will include also six or seven adults who will do the work on machines too heavy or unsafe for children to handle and who will help to supervise and direct the children in their tasks. the shop itself will equal the best of shops in point of equipment, safety and sanitation. it will not, however, like many of the best, elaborate these basic features in ornamental expenditures. the shop will present itself to the young workers as sustaining the best and most essential standards in use, but like all other problems connected with the shop, the best will always be presented as a temporary achievement which with sufficient attention can be improved. an important source from which improvements may be expected is the staff of workers who are in constant contact with the plant. in other words, nothing will be offered the workers in the spirit of final achievement, and the suggestion of completeness will be avoided. the opportunity to test out and appreciate the standards will occur in the shop experience, and the chance to achieve or experiment with other standards will be reserved, as i shall show presently, for the school hours. this will be the case with methods of work and with shop organization. during the hours in the shop the workers will be occupied wholly with their special tasks as they would be in any other shop, that is in any shop which had due consideration for the labor force; as much consideration as it usually has for the economy and the protection of the mechanical force would be considerable.
-the workers may acquire the technique of all or of several of the processes. their general facility in technique may contribute to their productive value in the shop or their mastery over several processes may have its educational value for them in relation to the industry as a whole; they may to advantage shift from one process to another to relieve the strain of routine work. for the sake of production and for the sake of the educational value to the workers, the shifting of the workers from one process to another will be a matter of experiment. but the workers will not be shifted from one construction process to another for the sake of learning all the processes because skill in all the processes is not a requisite either of education or production. the experience in the shipping of goods and in the handling of raw materials, in the installation of power, in the upkeep of the equipment and the general care of the factory will be participated in by all the workers in their turn, according to the requirements of the industry.
-while there will be adjustment of the workers, and trials as to the place of each will be made in the shop, intensive experiments in shop organization, like other shop problems, will be carried out in the school. this arrangement will serve the educational and the productive purpose, as experimentation should not be limited by the requirements of the shop, but by the requirements of industry at large. the school will be indeed the workshop laboratory where problems which originate in the shop can be taken over for analysis and solution. these concrete shop problems will represent required school subjects as the progress of the shop and the success of the enterprise depend upon their solution.
-among these required subjects are:
-first: the technical problems of manufacture, such as (a) the receiving and the storing of stock; (b) making out orders for stock from shop orders and bills of materials; (c) planning operation and routing work; (d) standardizing materials and simplifying operations; (e) the elimination in loss of time in waiting for material; (f) the division of labor; (g) advantages and disadvantages of supervising in certain operations; (h) machine versus hand work and quantity production; (i) preparing and routing shipments; (j) making out bills of lading; (k) study of friction, loose belts, improper oiling, tool cutters and saws.
-second: keeping the financial accounts and estimating costs. (a) making out bills of materials; (b) calculating costs of material from bill; (c) calculating board measure and unit cost of direct labor and indirect labor; (d) calculations of power used by each unit of machine power; (e) calculating pay roll; (f) making out business forms, such as billing goods, invoices, calculating discounts; (g) paying bills by check, note and draft; (h) business correspondence; (i) banking, depositing money, obtaining money on notes, discounting notes, drawing notes, balances of check books and checking up cancelled vouchers and obtaining bank balances; (j) time and call loans; (k) calculations and payment of interest on capital; (l) maintenance of sinking fund.
-third: up-keep of the working force, buildings and equipment. (a) heating, ventilating and lighting of the factory in relation to its effect on the workers; (b) valuation for each worker of his own physical condition and expert advice in regard to nutrition and other physical needs; (c) care of motors and mechanical equipment, care of belts, saws and cutters; (d) efficient installation of motors, sectional drive and individual drive; (e) disposition of sawdust, etc., study of exhaust fans and construction operation and function.
-fifth: art and service. the shop will not depend upon the pupils in the school for models, but will welcome models which come from the pupils as evidence that the shop experience is a stimulating one. but it will be recognized that the pupils will have little to offer on account of their inexperience and that there is a world of designers from whom to draw and the shop is eager to command the best models which are obtainable. there will be a jury for the determination of models to be manufactured. this jury will receive certain instruction on the subject of toys, and will be responsible for making further study of the subject. but as has been pointed out for the last ten years by caroline pratt, who has given the subject scientific attention, toys are the t of little children which, they use in their effort to become acquainted with their environment, which they use in schemes of play, and which are in fact efforts on their part to try out and experience the adult life into which they are thrown.
-because this is true and the market is unsupplied with toys of serious value to children, the subject will be a matter for development and the introduction in the market of models which will serve the purpose of children in their play will be considered a matter of social importance and demand the serious consideration of the jury. this jury will be composed of the workers in the shop, the manager of the shop, an artist, and one or two people who have given the subject of toys careful attention. discussion of the toy jury on submitted toys will center around, first, the value of the toys as tools to the children in their schemes of play, and second, around the art value. both these points will entail much examination and thought. the first will involve fundamentally the subject of education, and the second, the technique of art as it is expressed through drawing, color and design, but the decision in regard to models for manufacture finally can not rest on either of these fundamental points. it will hinge on whether or not the models selected are practical for production and whether they can be marketed at a price which will cover cost of manufacture.
-the attention of the pupils will be directed to the factory and school buildings and the importance of making them a pleasant workplace and an acquisition to the neighborhood in which they are situated. the problem of noise from machinery and dirt and dust from fuel will be taken up as subjects demanding generous consideration.
-sixth: literature and history. authentic accounts and inspirational stores of industrial life, especially of the lumber, the woodworking, and the toy industry will be gathered by the pupils and the teachers. special excursions, investigations, or general observations casually or unexpectedly made by the pupils and teachers will be turned to literary use or historical record. the pupils will be given full opportunity to write out statements of facts they have discovered or to write stories or plays or poetry which are inspired by the subject matter they have gathered. these literary productions will not be called for as exercises in the art of writing or of fact-recording, but as contributions toward the equipment of the school. the books which are collected as well as the original compositions will be submitted to critical analysis and accepted as accessions to the library if they come up to standards in authenticity and in literature. the teachers as well as the pupils will submit new books or other matter and before they are accepted, they will be subject to the same critical analysis as the material submitted by the children. this analysis will be the literary experience and training as it will be participated in by all the pupils who are interested in this expression of their work.
-not all of this school work is incident to the success of the shop, if we measure success by usual business standards. but it is all incident to the development of a creative impulse in the individual, and it is incident to the development of industry as a socially productive enterprise. the fact that the school and shop work represent the planning and the decisions, that they demand knowledge and experience, does not signify that the young people will assume to carry more responsibility than they are capable of, or that more will be expected of them than they are equal to. it does not mean that their insufficiency will not be recognized and admitted. on the contrary the accumulated knowledge and experience of the adult workers and the teachers will be appreciated by the pupils as they have the chance to make real and full evaluations. all the members of the staff will carry on the work in the shop as producers and learners and it is hoped they will carry on the work in the school in the same spirit. young people will stand in the relation of partners as well as pupils to the adults associated with them. if the school and the workshop experience gives its pupils a regard for high accomplishment it will be unnecessary to stress the fact that as responsible members of the working staff the learners are not on a footing with the expert workers. the teachers or shop managers will help the younger members to gain the knowledge and facility which they have acquired as fellow members of an enterprise in which all have a common interest the participation of the young members in the enterprise will be great or small depending upon their achievement of standards. for instance, in the case of office work whether the individual children are entrusted with the correspondence, bookkeeping or banking, will depend upon whether or not they have achieved the adult standards in the shop for such business details. but standards in business accounting, in estimating costs, in planning operations, and in technique, will not be maintained as they usually are in industrial schools for the sake of the training, but for the purpose of carrying forward successfully the actual work with which the shop is concerned. while the educational experience is concerned in part with appreciation of workmanship, creative inspiration in modern industry will never be a common experience until the workers gain an understanding and recognise the significance of their special enterprise in relation to other industrial enterprises and to the business of wealth production as a whole.
-if the school experience is educational, the interest of the pupils in subject matter will not end with the solution of their shop problems or with their experience in industry. the above outline of tentative school subjects representing as they do the solution of the problems of a specific industry signifies merely the starting point of an adventure for young people in the serious affairs of adult life. there will be a large margin for choice in the election of subjects in which individual children will care to specialize but these subjects will be related more or less directly to the industry. the pupils will doubtless be freer in the second year than in the first to choose where they want to specialize as they will have had time in which to establish their ground work.
-indeed the value of the experiment will rest on discovering whether or not it holds the interest of the pupils, or how and where it diverts it. the experiment is launched on the assumption that the normal adolescent child is concerned with the responsibilities of adult life; especially it is assumed that he is concerned to function creatively, to associate with others in productive work, to help supply such fundamental needs as the housing, feeding and clothing and the pleasures of the world demand. it is assumed that the desire for experience in pure science, in art for art's sake, comes before as well as after this period when the need for social contact is, it is again assumed, the dominating emotion. we have no scientific proof that any of these things are true, but we have sufficient evidence to justify an experiment.
-whether or not it is possible for modern industry to offer young people a proper chance for making their social adjustments is also a question which i hope this experiment may help to answer. we can do no less than use the conditions of industry as they present themselves to us as our basis for a trial. i have started with the belief that possibly the division of labor and scientific methods of management if handled by the workers in conjunction with engineers and people of experience can be made the instruments of associated life. if there is ground for this assumption it will be important to induce the young people who enter the school and work shop to give their industrial experience a fair trial and to postpone the pursuit of pure science or art for its own sake.
-the subject matter taken up in this school can be subjected to a formal school classification, under such regular academic headings as mathematics, science, economics, geography, history, reading, composition and drawing. while these subjects will be experimentally rather than academically pursued, it will be a matter of small moment and short time for pupils to makeup deficiencies which the traditional school courses require. this is true because the pupils will have had first hand experience with the subject matter in which the ordinary school child is trained or hears about. the free pursuit of their studies will give them a familiarity and speaking acquaintance with the subject matter with which the traditional school is avowedly concerned but which it handles and guards as though it were the custodian of some precious, but insubstantial matter, belonging to a world somewhat attenuated.
-it is the intention of this educational experiment to bring down the great enterprise of industry, so far as it is possible to its real character and to high accomplishment, and in so doing to give the young people the experience of the industrial adventure and full achievement, lest they become the subjects of those who control the movements of industry and determine the character of its advance. the practical test of the experiment briefly outlined would be: (1) was the creative impulse aroused? (2) were standards of workmanship discovered and sustained? (3) was a broad as well as a working knowledge of subject matter acquired? (4) did the children approach established methods in a spirit of hospitality and of inquiry as to their validity? (5) did the problems create sufficient interest to arouse the desire and will to reject faulty methods, and introduce others of greater service? (6) was the enterprise a productive one from the point of view of the market and an educational one from the point of view of growth?
-such experiments educators and engineers would enter together and together enjoy in reality the development of creative effort, which is their profession. such productive educational experiments in the absence of profiteering would give meaning to the early years of industrial life which now lead the children nowhere. they would give the young people, as the experiments come up to the test, the spirit for the adventure of industrial life, the courage and desire for solving the pressing issues of their time.
-if the claim made by employers were true, that from 95 to 99 per cent of the working force is without productive impulse, that this condition of development represents, as they say it does, the "native limitation" of the men who work, industry as a progressive enterprise is doomed and high hopes for civilization are without foundation.
-if the position of employers is true and the limitations of individuals are as final as they have determined, there is nothing to do except perfect the mechanical responses of men. this preëminently would be the business of employers and not of education which is concerned with the growth of the individual. on such a basis, it is inconceivable that educators would concern themselves with preparing people for industry. if, however, these limitations are not native, but are due to some incompatibility between the institution of industry and the interest of the labor force, then the limitations of workers and of industry are a matter of paramount importance in the field of education.
-as i have said before there is a common supposition among people who are not employers of labor, that such features of industry as the mechanical devices of modern technology and the division of labor in factory organization, are in their nature opposed to the expansive development of the people involved; that these features of apparent intrinsic importance to mass production, are antagonistic to individual growth and to the interest of workers in productive effort.
-without question, it is the business of educators to determine whether such features of industry as machinery and the division of labor are fundamentally opposed to growth or whether they are opposed only in the way in which they have been put to use and directed. we can discover whether or not these features are opposed only as the people concerned have the chance to master them and undertake, through their experience, to turn them to account.
-because industry has been impersonalized and the mechanics of associated effort in industry worked out in such large measure, it is to-day possible to conceive of spiritual as well as physical association in productive enterprise. a difficulty in the way of this conception, aside from the business complex, is our habit of thinking exclusively of creative effort as an individual expression. in describing the individual expression we would say that a man may create a machine but that when men jointly produce one they work. the creative act is in the conception of the machine in conjunction with its construction, and the conception, after our habit of thinking, is an individual and isolated achievement. as a matter of fact it frequently is. a man may create a machine if he conceives it and constructs it or if he conceives and directs its construction. those he directs, those who do the work of construction alone, do not participate in the creative act, as the creative act is the concentrated intellectual and emotional expression and effort to produce an article or idea. the creative impulse is concerned with the transforming of a concept or some material into an expanded concept or a new object. the creative impulse itself finds its satisfaction in the process of completion and loses its force when the concept or object is produced. the use of the concept or object created is not a characteristic of the creative but of the social impulse. a man who is interested in the use or application of a product, the value it has for others, possesses the social impulse as well as the creative. one impulse is intensive and the other extensive.
-but the creative effort is not necessarily an individual matter. it may be possible for a group of people to associate cordially and freely together with a single creative purpose and endeavor. it may be possible for each worker to experience the joy of creative work as he takes part with others in the planning of the work along with the labor of fabrication. it is a creative experience or dull labor as his association with others in the solution of the problem is freely pursued and genuine, or as it is forced and perfunctory.
-industry offers opportunities for creative experience which is social in its processes as well as in its destination. the imaginative end of production does not terminate with the possession of an article; it does not center in the product or in the skill of this or that man, but in the development of commerce and technological processes and the evolution of world acquaintanceship and understanding. modern machinery, the division of labor, the banking system, methods of communication, make possible real association. but they are real and possible only as the processes are open for the common participation, understanding and judgment of those engaged in industrial enterprise; they are real and possible as the animus of industry changes from exploitation to a common and associated desire to create; they are real and possible as the individual character of industry gives way before the evolution of social effort.
-we speak of interdependence in industrial enterprise as though it were some new thing. the early interdependence had its roots in the common knowledge and use of an inherited technology, where property was common in the common use of it. interdependence due to modern technology has increased, and the interdependence which characterizes our own time is economic. the tools of industry as well as the natural resources are owned, and only by application to the owner can a man live or labor. however disastrous that ownership has been to past generations, it has bound men together in their use of what we ironically call labor saving devices; devices which have not saved labor in the interest of labor.
-as america and the greater part of europe have been for over a century devoting their attention to coping with specific scientific and economic problems, is their manhood due to appear? is the raw, immature character of present day association and interdependence to be enriched by sympathetic curiosity, unbiased responsiveness and openness of mind? in the midst of this world war i venture no prediction on the appearance of manhood. but clearly there is a line of action for educators to pursue. clearer than ever before it is evident that it is the business of educators to see that schemes of education are introduced which do not fit children into a system of industry that serves either empire or business, but a system that serves whole-heartedly creative enterprise as it might be pursued in the period of youth as well us in adult life. within the past century and particularly in the past generation we have made brave efforts at coöperation, but our failures to realize the spirit of coöperation are as notorious as the efforts themselves. the effort to work together in industry has been brutal rather than brave. we shall account for this brutality in industry and recognize why the spirit for coöperation in other fields has failed, as we distinguish between a puerile desire of individuals to express themselves and their impulses for creative enterprise.
-as industry through the ages has changed from the isolated business of provisioning a family to the associated work of provisioning the world, it has blazed a pathway for relationships which are socially creative. but art in social relationships will not be realized until a passionate desire for the unlimited expression of creative effort overcomes inordinate desires of individuals for self-expression. art in living together is possible where the intensive interest of individuals in their personal affairs and attainments, in their social group, in their vocation, in their political state, is deeply tempered by a wide interest and sympathetic regard for the life of other groups and people. art in social relationships is contingent on broad sympathies and extended relationships, and it is contingent as well on ability to work for social ends while remaining in large measure disregardful of the personal stakes involved. because of our inability to lose our personal attachment for our own work, because of what it may yield us in personal ways, the world never yet has experienced the joy and creative possibility of associated effort and because it has not we have still to experience art in social contact.
-in group work there may be as much power to release emotional and intellectual creative force as in individual work; there may be more--we do not know. there is a tendency we do know in isolated, individual creative effort, unless highly charged with creative impulse, to cultivate personal equations intensively, limit relationships, and circumscribe vision. as the movement of our time is toward world acquaintanceship, the desire of individuals to limit their experiences for the sake of intensifying them, signifies from a social point of view as well as a personal, a neurotic tendency. there is a common and false supposition that the neurotic temperament is induced in the world of art. it is true that an art environment attracts people whose creative impulse is feeble or not sufficiently strong to sublimate the desire for intensive personal excitation. such people choose art associations because they are limited to individual expression and not because of the overpowering necessity to do work which is creative. as the era in which we live represents a struggle for associated work and common interests and its highest concept is opposed to limited interests and autocratic rule, we may well give our best endeavor to realizing creative impulse in the field of associated effort, in the hope that the field of art will be some day coextensive with life, and that its expressions will not be confined to the limited world of sculptors, painters, musicians and poets.
-the purple heights
-marie conway oemler
-author of "slippy mcgee." "a woman named smith," etc.
-john norton oemler from the lady his son used to call "mrs. daddy"
-chapter i the red admiral ii the promise iii at grips with life iv the soul of black folks v the purple heights vi good morning, good luck! vii where the road divided viii cinderella ix price-tags x the dear dam-fool xi his grandmother's house xii "not by bread alone" xiii the bright shadow xiv swan feathers xv "i, too, in arcadia" xvi the other man xvii the gutter-candle xviii kismet! xix the power xx and the glory
-peter champneys: of riverton, south carolina, and paris, france. maria champneys: his mother. chadwick champneys: the god in the machine. emma campbell: a colored woman. anne champneys, née nancy simms: cinderella. mrs. john hemingway: peter's first teacher. john hemingway: an american. jason vandervelde: an attorney at law. mrs. jason vandervelde: anne's mentor. mrs. macgregor: a disciple of hannah more. glenn mitchell: a bright shadow. berkeley hayden: the other man. gracie: a gutter-candle. denise: a perfume. the quartier latin. riverton, south carolina. the carolina colored folks. martin luther: a gray cat. satan: a black cat. the red admiral: a fairy.
-the purple heights
-the red admiral
-the tiny brown house cuddling like a wren's nest on the edge of the longest and deepest of the tide-water coves that cut through riverton had but four rooms in all,--the kitchen tacked to the back porch, after the fashion of south carolina kitchens, the shed room in which peter slept, the dining-room which was the general living-room as well, and his mother's room, which opened directly off the dining-room, and in which his mother sat all day and sometimes almost all night at her sewing-machine. when peter tired of lying on his tummy on the dining-room floor, trying to draw things on a bit of slate or paper, he liked to turn his head and watch the cloth moving swiftly under the jigging needle, and the wheel turning so fast that it made an indistinct blur, and sang with a droning hum. he could see, too, a corner of his mother's bed with the patchwork quilt on it. the colors of the quilt were pleasantly subdued in their old age, and the calico star set in a square pleased peter immensely. he thought it a most beautiful quilt. there was visible almost all of the bureau, an old-fashioned walnut affair with a small, dim, wavy glass, and drawers which you pulled out by sticking your fingers under the bunches of flowers that served as knobs. the fireplaces in both rooms were in a shocking state of disrepair, but one didn't mind that, as in winter a fire burned in them, and in summer they were boarded up with fireboards covered with cut-out pictures pasted on a background of black calico. those gay cut-out pictures were a source of never-ending delight to peter, who was intimately acquainted with every flower, bird, cat, puppy, and child of them. one little girl with a pink parasol and a purple dress, holding a posy in a lace-paper frill, he would have dearly loved to play with.
-over the mantelpiece in his mother's room hung his father's picture, in a large gilt frame with an inside border of bright red plush. his father seemed to have been a merry-faced fellow, with inquiring eyes, plenty of hair, and a very nice mustache. this picture, under which his mother always kept a few flowers or some bit of living green, was peter's sole acquaintance with his father, except when he trudged with his mother to the cemetery on fine sundays, and traced with his small forefinger the name painted in black letters on a white wooden cross:
-peter devereaux champneys aged 30 years
-it always gave small peter an uncomfortable sensation to trace that name, which was also his own, on his father's headboard. it was as if something of himself stayed out there, very lonesomely, in the deserted burying-ground. the word "father" never conveyed to him any idea or image except a crayon portrait and a grave, he being a posthumous child. the really important figures filling the background of his early days were his mother and big black emma campbell.
-emma campbell washed clothes in a large wooden tub set on a bench nailed between the two china-berry trees in the yard. peter loved those china-berry trees, covered with masses of sweet-smelling lilac-colored blossoms in the spring, and with clusters of hard green berries in the summer. the beautiful feathery foliage made a pleasant shade for emma campbell's wash-tubs. peter loved to watch her, she looked so important and so cheerful. while she worked she sang endless "speretuals," in a high, sweet voice that swooped bird-like up and down.
-"i wants tuh climb up ja-cob's la-ad-dah, ja-cob's la-ad-dah, jacob's la-ad-dah, i wants tuh climb up ja-cob's la-ad-dah, but i cain't-- not un-tell i makes my peace wid de la-a-wd, en i praise him--de la-a-wd! i 'll praise him--tell i di-e, i 'll praise him--tell i die! i 'll si-ng, je-ee-ru-suh-lem!"
-emma campbell would sing, and keep time with thumps and clouts of sudsy clothes. she boiled the clothes in the same large black iron pot in which she boiled crabs and shrimp in the summer-time. peter always raked the chips for her fire, and the leaves and pine-cones mixed with them gave off a pleasant smoky smell. emma had a happy fashion of roasting sweet potatoes under the wash-pot, and you could smell those, too, mingled with the soapy odor of the boiling clothes, which she sloshed around with a sawed-off broom-handle. other smells came from over the cove, of pine-trees, and sassafras, and bays, and that indescribable and clean odor which the winds bring out of the woods.
-the whole place was full of pleasant noises, dear and familiar sounds of water running seaward or swinging back landward, always with odd gurglings and chucklings and small sucking noises, and runs and rushes; and of the myriad rustlings of the huge live-oaks hung with long gray moss; and the sycamores frou-frouing like ladies' dresses; the palmettos rattled and clashed, with a sound like rain; the pines swayed one to another, and only in wild weather did they speak loudly, and then their voices were very high and airy. peter liked the pines best of all. his earliest impression of beauty and of mystery was the moon walking "with silver-sandaled feet" over their tall heads. he loved it all--the little house, the trees, the tide-water, the smells, the sounds; in and out of which, keeping time to all, went the whi-r-rr of his mother's sewing-machine, and the scuff-scuffing of emma campbell's wash-board.
-sometimes his mother, pausing for a second, would turn to look at him, her tired, pale face lighting up with her tender mother-smile:
-"what are you making now, peter?" she would ask, as she watched his laborious efforts to put down on his slate his conception of the things he saw. she was always vitally interested in anything peter said or did.
-"well, i started to make you--or maybe it was emma. but i thought i'd better hang a tail on it and let it be the cat." he studied the result gravely. "i'll stick horns on it, and if they're very good horns i'll let it be the devil; if they're not, it can be mis' hughes's old cow."
-after a while the things that peter was always drawing began to bear what might be called a family resemblance to the things they were intended to represent. but as all children try to draw, nobody noticed that peter champneys tried harder than most, or that he couldn't put his fingers on a bit of paper and a stub of pencil without trying to draw something--a smear that vaguely resembled a tree, or a lopsided assortment of features that you presently made out to be a face.
-often a bowl of that soup fetched in by a thoughtful neighbor, or an apronful of sweet potatoes emma campbell brought with her when she did the washing, kept peter's backbone and wishbone from rubbing noses. but there were rainy days when neighbors didn't send in anything, emma wasn't washing for them that week, sewing was scanty, or taxes on the small holding had to be paid; and then peter champneys learned what an insatiable shylock the human stomach can be. he learned what it means not to have enough warm covers on cold nights, nor warm clothes enough on cold days. he accepted it all without protest, or even wonder. these things were so because they were so.
-on such occasions his mother drew him closer to her and comforted him after the immemorial south carolina fashion, with accounts of the former greatness, glory, and grandeur of the champneys family; always finishing with the solemn admonition that, no matter what happened, peter must never, never forget who he was. peter, who was a literal child in his way, inferred from these accounts that when the south carolina champneyses used to light up their big house for a party, before the war, the folks in north carolina could see to read print by the reflection in the sky, and the people over in georgia thought they were witnessing the aurora borealis.
-she was a gentle, timid, pleasant little body, peter's mother, with the mild manners and the soft voice of the south carolina woman; and although the proverbial church-mouse was no poorer, riverton would tell you, sympathetically, that maria champneys had her pride. for one thing, she was perfectly convinced that everybody who had ever been anybody in south carolina was, somehow, related to the champneyses. if they weren't,--well, it wasn't to their credit, that's all! she preferred to give them the benefit of the doubt. her own grandfather had been a virginian, a descendant of pocahontas, of course, pocahontas having been created by divine providence for the specific purpose of ancestoring virginians. just as everybody in new england is ancestored by one of those inevitable two brothers who came over, like sardines in a tin, in that amazingly elastic mayflower. in the american genesis this is the sarah and these be the abrahams, the mother and fathers of multitudes. they begin our begats.
-mrs. champneys sniffed at mayflower origins, but she was firm on pocahontas for herself, and adamant on francis marion for the champneyses. the fact that the indian maid had but one bantling to her back, and the swamp fox none at all, didn't in the least disconcert her. if he had had any children, they would have ancestored the champneyses; so there you were!
-peter, who had a fashion of thinking his own thoughts and then keeping them to himself, presently hit upon the truth. his was one of those carolina coast families that, stripped by the war and irretrievably ruined by reconstruction, have ever since been steadily decreasing in men, mentality, and money-power, each generation slipping a little farther down hill; until, in the case of the champneyses, the family had just about reached rock-bottom in himself, the last of them. there had been, one understood, an uncle, his father's only brother, chadwick champneys. peter's mother hadn't much to say about this chadwick, who had been of a roving and restless nature, trying his hand at everything and succeeding in nothing. as poor as job's turkey, what must he do on one of his prowls but marry some unknown girl from the middle west, as poor as himself. after which he had slipped out of the lives of every one who knew him, and never been heard of again, except for the report that he had died somewhere out in texas; or maybe it was arizona or idaho, or mexico, or somewhere in south america. one didn't know.
-behold small peter, then, the last of his name, "all the sisters of his father's house, and all the brothers, too." little, thin, dark peter, with his knock-knees, his large ears, his shock of black hair, and, fringed by thick black lashes, eyes of a hazel so clear and rare that they were golden like topazes, only more beautiful. leonardo would have loved to paint peter's quiet face, with its shy, secret smile, and eyes that were the color of genius. riverton thought him a homely child, with legs like those of one's grandmother's chippendale chair, and eyes like a cat's. he was so quiet and reticent that nearly everybody except his mother and emma campbell thought him deficient in promise, and some even considered him "wanting."
-peter's reputation for hopelessness began when he went to school, but it didn't end there. he really was somewhat of a trial to an average school-teacher, who very often knows less of the human nature of a child than any other created being. peter used the carelessly good-and-easy english one inherits in the south, but he couldn't understand the written rules of grammar to save his life; he was totally indifferent as to which states bounded and bordered which; and he had been known to spell "physician" with an f and two z's. but it was when confronted by a sum that peter stood revealed in his true colors of a dunce!
-"a boy buys chestnuts at one dollar and sixty cents the bushel and sells them at ten cents the quart, liquid measure.--peter champneys, what does he get?"
-peter champneys stood up, and reflected.
-"it all depends on the judge, and whether the boy's a white boy or a nigger," he decided. "it's against the law to use liquid measure, you know. but i should think he'd get about thirty days, if he's a nigger."
-whereupon peter champneys went to the principal with a note, and received what was coming to him. when he returned to his seat, which was decidedly not comfortable just then, the teacher smiled a real, sure-enough schoolma'am smile, and remarked that she hoped our brilliant scholar, mister champneys, knew now what the boy got for his chestnuts. the class laughed as good scholars are expected to laugh on such occasions. peter came to the conclusion that herod, nero, bluebeard, and the cruel stepmother all probably began their bright careers as school-teachers.
-peter was a friendly child who didn't have the useful art of making friends. he used to watch more gifted children wistfully. he would so much have liked to play familiarly with the pretty, impertinent, pigtailed little girls, the bright, noisy, cock-sure little boys; but he didn't know how to set about it, and they didn't in the least encourage him to try. children aren't by any means angels to one another. they are, as often as not, quite the reverse. peter was loath to assert himself, and he was shoved aside as the gentle and the just usually are.
-being a loving child, he fell back upon the lesser creatures, and discovered that the little brothers do not judge one upon hearsay, or clothes, or personal appearance. theirs is the infallible test: one must be kind if one wishes to gain and to hold their love.
-martin luther helped teach peter that. peter discovered martin luther, a shivering gray midget, in the cold dusk of a november evening, on the riverton road. the little beast rubbed against his legs, stuck up a ridiculous tail, and mewed hopefully. peter, who needed friendliness himself, was unable to resist that appeal. he buttoned the forlorn kitten inside his old jacket, and, feeling the grateful warmth of his body, it cuddled and purred. the wise little cat didn't care the tip of a mouse's tail whether or not peter was the congenital dunce his teacher had declared him to be, only that morning. the kitten knew he was just the sort of boy to show compassion to lost kittens, and trusted and loved him at sight.
-when peter had chores to do the cat scampered about him with, sidewise leapings and gambolings, and made his labor easier by seasoning it with harmless amusement. when he wrestled with his lessons martin luther sat sedately on the table and watched him, every now and then rubbing a sympathetic head against him. when he woke up at night in the shed room, he liked to put out his hand and touch the warm, soft, silky body near him. peter adored his cat, which was to him a friend.
-and then martin luther took to disappearing, mysteriously, for longer and longer intervals. peter was filled with apprehensions, for martin luther wasn't a democratic soul; aside from his affection for peter, the cat was as wild as a panther. the child was almost sick with anxiety. he wandered around riverton hunting for the beast and calling it by name, a proceeding which further convinced riverton folk that poor maria champneys's boy was not what one might call bright. fancy carrying on like that about nothing but a cat! but peter used to lie awake at night, lonesomely, and cry because he was afraid some evil had befallen the perverse creature of his affections. then he prayed that god would look out for martin luther, if he hadn't already remembered to do so. the world of a sudden seemed a very big, sad, unfriendly place for a little boy to live in, when he couldn't even have a cat in it!
-the disappearance of martin luther was peter's first sorrow that his mother couldn't fully share, as he knew she didn't like cats. martin luther had known that, too, and had kept his distance. he hadn't even made friends with emma campbell, who loved cats to the extent of picking up other people's when their owners weren't looking. this cat had loved nobody but peter, a fact that endeared it to him a thousandfold, and made its probable fate a darker grief.
-one afternoon, when martin luther had been gone so long that peter had about given up hopes of ever seeing him again, emma campbell, who had been washing in the yard, dashed into the house screeching that the woodshed was full of snakes.
-peter joyfully threw aside his grammar--snakes hadn't half the terror for him that substantives had--and rushed out to investigate, while his mother frantically besought him not to go near the woodshed, to get an ax, to run for the town marshal, to run and ring the fire-bell, to burn down that woodshed before they were all stung to death in their beds!
-cautiously peter investigated. perhaps a chicken-snake had crawled into the shed; perhaps a black-snake was hunting in there for rats; over there in that dark corner, behind sticks of pine, something was moving. and then he heard a sound he knew.
-"snakes nothin'!" shouted peter, joyfully. "it's martin luther!" he got on his hands and knees and squirmed and wriggled himself behind the wood. there he remained, transfixed. his faith had received a shocking blow.
-"oh, martin luther!" cried peter, with mingled joy and relief and reproach. "oh, martin luther! how you've fooled me!" martin luther was a proud and purring mother.
-peter was bewildered and aggrieved. "if i'd called him mary or martha in the beginning, i'd be glad for him to have as many kittens as he wanted to," he told his mother. "but how can i ever trust him again? he--he ain't martin luther any more!" and of a sudden he began to cry.
-emma campbell, with a bundle of clean wet clothes on her brawny arm, shook her head at him.
-"lawd, no, peter! 't ain't de cat whut 's been foolin' you; it 's you whut 's been foolin' yo' own self. for, lo, fum de foundations ob dis worl', he was a she! must n' blame de cat, chile. 'cause ef you does," said emma, waving an arm like a black mule's hind leg for strength, "ef you does, 'stead o' layin' de blame whah it natchelly b'longs--on yo' own ig'nance, peter--you'll go thoo dis worl' wid every gawd's tom-cat you comes by havin' kittens on you!"
-"i feel like a father to those kittens," said peter, gravely. but it was plain that martin luther's furry fourlegs had put peter's nose out of joint!
-things were getting worse and worse at school, too, although peter considerately concealed this from his mother. he didn't tell her that the promotions she was so proud of had come to him simply because his teachers were so desperately anxious to get rid of him! and only to-day an incident had happened that seared his soul. he had been forced to stand out on the floor for twenty cruel, grueling minutes, to be a horrible example to a tittering class. it had been a long, wearisome day, when one's head ached because one's stomach was empty. peter's eyes stung and smarted, his lip was bruised because he had bitten it to keep it from trembling, and his heart was more like a boil in his breast than a little boy's heart. when he was finally released for the day he didn't linger, but got away as fast as his thin legs would carry him. once he was sure he was out of sight of all unfriendly eyes he let himself go and cried as he trudged along the riverton road. and there, in the afternoon sunlight, he made the acquaintance of the red admiral.
-just at that spot the riverton road was tree-shaded and bird-haunted. there were clumps of elder here and there, and cassena bushes, and tall fennel in the corners of the old worm-fence bordering the fields on each side. the worm-fence was of a polished, satiny, silvery gray, with trimmings of green vines clinging to it, wild-flowers peeping out of its crotches, and tall purple thistles swaying their heads toward it. on one especially tall thistle the red admiral had come to anchor.
-he wore upon the skirts of his fine dark-colored frock-coat a red-orange border sewed with tiny round black buttons; across the middle of his fore-wings, like the sash of an order, was a broad red ribbon, and the spatter of white on the tips may have been his idea of epaulets; or maybe they were nature's distinguished service medals given him for conspicuous bravery, for there is no more gallant sailor of the skies than the red admiral.
-when this gentleman comes to anchor on a flower he hoists his gay sails erect over his fat black back, in order that his under wings may be properly admired; for he knows very well that the cunningest craftsman that ever worked with mosaics and metals never turned out a better bit of jewel-work than those under wings.
-it was this piece of painted perfection that caught peter champneys's unhappy eyes and brought him to a standstill. peter forgot that he was the school dunce, that tears were still on his cheeks, that he had a headache and an empty stomach. his eyes began to shine unwontedly, brightening into a golden limpidity, and his lips puckered into a smile.
-the red admiral, if one might judge by his unrubbed wings and the new and glossy vividness of his colorings, may have been some nine hours old. peter, by the entry in his mother's bible, was nine years old. quite instinctively peter's brown fingers groped for a pencil. at the feel of it he experienced a thrill of satisfaction. down on his knees he went, and crept forward, nearer and nearer; for one must come as the wind comes who would approach the red admiral. peter had no paper, so a fly-leaf of his geography would have to do. all athrill, he worked with his bit of pencil; and on the fly-leaf grew the worm-fence with the blackberry bramble climbing along its corners, and the fennel, and the elder bushes near by; and in the foreground the tall thistle, with the butterfly upon it. the red admiral is a gourmet; he lingers daintily over his meals; so peter had time to make a careful sketch of him. this done, he sketched in the field beyond, and the buzzard hanging motionless in the sky.
-it was crude and defective, of course, and a casual eye wouldn't have glanced twice at it, but a true teacher would instantly have recognized the value, not of what it performed, but of what it presaged. for all its faults it was bold and rapid, like the admiral's flight, and it had the admiral's airy grace and freedom. it seized the outlines of things with unerring precision.
-the child kneeling in the dust of the riverton road, with an old geography open on his knee, felt in his thin breast a faint flutter, as of wings. he looked at the sketch; he watched the red admiral finish his meal and go scudding down the wind. and he knew he had found the one thing he could do, the one thing he wanted to do, that he must and would do. it was as if the butterfly had been a fairy, to open for peter a tiny door of hope. he wrote under the sketch:
-jun. 2, 189- this day i notissed the red and blak buterfly on the thissel.
-he stared at this for a while, and added:
-then he went trudging homeward. he was smiling, his own shy, secret smile. he held his head erect and looked ahead of him as if in the far, far distance he had seen something, a beckoning something, toward which he was to strive. barefooted peter, poverty-stricken, lonely peter for the first time glimpsed the purple heights.
-it is written in the live green book that one may not stumble upon one of its secrets without at the same discovering something about others quite as fascinating and worth exploring. this is a wise and blessed law, which the angels of the little peoples are always trying to have enforced. peter champneys suspected the red admiral of being a fairy; so when he ran fleet-footed over the fields and through the woods and alongside the worm-fences after the admiral, the angels of the little peoples turned his boyish head aside and made him see birds' wings, and bees, and the shapes of leaves, and the colors of trees and clouds, and the faces of flowers. it is further written that one may not intimately know the little peoples without loving them. when one begins to love, one begins to grow. peter, then, was growing.
-lying awake in the dark now wasn't a thing to be dreaded; the dark was no longer filled with shapes of fear, for peter was beginning to discover in himself a power of whose unique and immense value he was not as yet aware. it was the great power of being able clearly to visualize things, of bringing before his mind's eye whatever he had seen, with every distinction of shape and size and color sharply present, and accurately to portray it in the absence of the original. if one should ask him, "what's the shape of the milkweed butterfly's wing, and the color of the spice-bush swallowtail, peter champneys? what does the humming-bird's nest look like? what's the color of the rainbow-snake and of the cotton-mouth moccasin? what's the difference between the ironweed and the aster?"--ask peter things like that, and lend him a bit of paper and a pencil, and he literally had the answers at his finger-tips.
-but they never asked him what would, to him, have been natural questions; they wished him, instead, to tell them where the onion river flows, and the latitude of the middle of kamchatka, and to spell phthisis, and on what date the battle of somethingorother was fought, and if a man buys old iron at such a price, and makes it over into stoves weighing so much, and sells his stoves at such another price, what does it profit him, and other such-like illuminating and uplifting problems, warranted to make any school-child wiser than solomon. it is a beautiful system; only, god, who is no respecter of systems, every now and then delights to flout it by making him a dunce like peter champneys, to be the torment of school-teachers--and the delight of the angels of the little peoples.
-those long, silent, solitary hours in the open gave peter the power of concentration, and a serenity that sat oddly on his slight shoulders. thoughts came to him, out there, that he couldn't put into words nor yet set down upon paper.
-on warm nights, when his mother's sewing-machine was for a time still and the tired little woman slept, peter slipped out of the shed room into a big, white, enchanted world, and saw things that are to be seen only by an imaginative and beauty-loving little boy in the light of the midsummer moon. big hawk-moths, swift and sudden, darted by him with owl-like wings. mocking-birds broke into silvery, irrepressible singing, and water-birds croaked and rustled in the cove, where the tide-water lipped the land. the slim, black pine-trees nodded and bent to one another, with the moon looking over their shoulders. something wild and sweet and secret invaded the little boy's spirit, and stayed on in his heart. maybe it was the heart-shaking call of the whippoorwill, or the song of the mocking-bird, truest voices of the summer night; or perhaps it was the spirit of the great green luna-moth, loveliest of all the daughters of the dark. or perhaps the red admiral was indeed a fairy, as peter said he was.
-peter was superstitious about the red admiral. he was a good-luck sign, a sort of flying four-leaf clover. peter noticed that whenever the red admiral crossed his path now, something pleasant always impended; it meant that he wouldn't be very unhappy in school; or maybe he'd find a thrush's nest, or the pink orchid. or the meeting might simply imply something nice and homey, such as a little treat his mother contrived to make for him when sewing had been somewhat better-paying than usual, and she could sit by the table and enjoy his enjoyment as only one's mother can. decidedly, the red admiral was good luck!
-so, all along, quietly, persistently, not exactly secretly but still all by himself, peter had been learning to use his fingers, as he had been learning to use his eyes and ears. he was morbidly shy about it. it never occurred to him that anybody might admire anything he could do, as nobody had ever admired anything he had done.
-on his mother's last birthday--though peter didn't know then that it was to be her last--he made for her his first sketch in water-colors. by herculean efforts he had managed to get his materials; he had picked berries, weeded gardens until his head whirled and his back ached, chopped fire-wood, run errands, caught crabs. presently he had his paper and colors.
-it was a beautiful surprise for peter's mother, that sketch, which was a larger copy of the one on the fly-leaf of his geography. there was the gray worm-fence, a bit of brown ditch, an elder in flower, a tall purple thistle, and on it the red admiral. peter wished to make his mother personally acquainted with the red admiral, so he printed on the back of his picture:
-my buterfly done for mother's burthday by her loveing son peter champneys the 11th year of his aige.
-the little woman cried, and held him off the better to look at him, with love, and wonder, and pride, and drew his head to her breast and kissed his hair and eyes, and wished his dear, dear father had been there to see what her wonder-child could do.
-"i can't to save my life see where you get such a lovely gift from, peter. it must be just the grace of god that sends it to you. your dear father couldn't so much as draw a straight line unless he had a ruler, i'm sure. and i'm not bright at all, except maybe about sewing. but you are different. i've always felt that, peter, from the time you were a little baby. at the age of five months you cut two teeth without crying once! you were a wonderful baby. i knew it was in you to do something remarkable. never you doubt your mother's word about that, peter! you'll make your mark in the world yet! god couldn't fail to answer my prayers--and you the last champneys."
-peter was too innately kind and considerate to dim her joy with any doubts. he knew how he was rated--berated is the better word for it. he knew acutely how bad his marks were: his shoulders too often bore witness to them. the words "dunce" and "sissy" buzzed about his ears like stinging gnats. so he wasn't made vainglorious by his mother's praise. he received it with cautious reservations. but her faith in him filled him with an immense tenderness for the little woman, and a passionate desire, a very agony of desire, to struggle toward her aspirations for him, to make good, to repay her for all the privations she had endured. a lump came in his throat when he saw her place the little sketch under his father's picture, where her eyes could open upon it the first thing in the morning, and close to it at night.
-"ah, my dear! god's will be done--i'm not complaining--but i wish, oh, how i wish you could be here to see what our dear child can do!" she told the smiling crayon portrait. "some of these days the little son you've never seen is going to be a great man with a great name--your name, my dear, your name!"
-her face kindled into a sort of exaltation. two large tears ran down her cheeks, and two larger ones rolled down peter's. his heart swelled, and again he felt in his breast the flutter as of wings. far, far away, on the dim and distant horizon, something glimmered, like sunlight upon airy peaks.
-peter's mother wasn't at all beautiful--just a little, thin, sallow woman with mild brown eyes and graying hair, and a sensitive mouth, and dressed in a worn black skirt and a plain white shirt-waist. her fingers were needle-pricked, and she stooped from bending so constantly over her sewing-machine. she had been a pretty girl; now she was thirty-five years old and looked fifty. she wasn't in the least intellectual; she hadn't even the gift of humor, or she wouldn't have thought herself a sinner and besought heaven to forgive sins she never committed. she used to weep over the fifty-first psalm, take courage from the thirty-seventh, and when she hadn't enough food for her body feed her spirit on the twenty-third. she didn't know that it is women like her who manage to make and keep the earth worth while. this timid and modest soul had the courage of a soldier and the patience of a martyr under the daily scourgings inflicted upon the sensitive by biting poverty. peter might very well have received far less from a brilliant and beautiful mother than he received from the woman whose only gifts and graces were such as spring from a loving, unselfish, and pure heart.
-for peter's sake she fought while she had strength to fight, enduring all things, hoping all things. she didn't even know she was sacrificing herself, because, as emma campbell said, "miss maria's jes' natchelly all mother." but of a sudden, the winter that peter was turning twelve, the tide of battle went against her. the needle-pricked, patient fingers dropped their work. she said apologetically, "i'm sorry, but i'm afraid i'm too sick to stay up any longer." nobody guessed how slight was her hold upon life. when the neighbors came in, after the kindly carolina custom, she was cheerful enough, but quiet. but then, maria champneys was always quiet.
-there came a day when she was unusually quiet, even for her. toward dusk the neighbor who had watched with her went home. at the door she said hopefully:
-"you'll be better in the morning."
-"yes, i'll be better in the morning," the sick woman repeated. after a while emma campbell, who had been looking after the house, went away to her cabin across the cove. peter and his mother were alone.
-it was a darkish, gusty night, and a small fire burned in the open fireplace. shadows danced on the walls, and every now and then the wind came and tapped at the windows impatiently. on the closed sewing-machine an oil lamp burned, turned rather low. peter sat in a rocking-chair drawn close to his mother's bedside and dozed fitfully, waking to watch the face on the pillow. it was very quiet there in the poor room, with the clock ticking, and the soft sound of the settling log.
-just before dawn peter replenished the fire, moving carefully lest he disturb his mother. but when he turned toward the bed again she was wide awake and looking at him intently. peter ran to her, kissed her cheek, and held her hand in his. her fingers were cold, and he chafed them between his palms.
-"peter," said she, very gently, "i've got to go, my dear." there was no fear in her. the child looked at her piteously, his eyes big and frightened in his pale face.
-"and now i'm at the end," said she bravely, "i'm not afraid to leave you, peter. you are a brave child, and a good child. you couldn't be dishonorable, or a coward, or a liar, or unkind, to save your life. you will always be gentle, and generous, and just. when one is where i am to-night, that is all that really matters. nothing but goodness counts."
-"you're a gifted child, as well as a good child, peter. but--our people here don't understand you yet, my dearest. your sort of brightness is different from theirs--and better, because it's rarer and slower. hold fast to yourself, peter. you're going to be a great man."
-peter stroked her hand. the two looked at each other, a long, long, luminous look.
-"my son,--your chance is coming. i know that to-night. and when it comes, oh, for god's sake, for my sake, for all the champneyses' sake, take it, peter, take it!" her voice rose at that, her hand tightened upon his; she looked at him imploringly.
-"take it for my sake," she said with terrible earnestness and intensity. "take it, darling, and prove that i was right about you. remember how all my years, peter, i toiled and prayed--all for you, my dearest, all for you! remember me in that hour, peter, and don't fail me, don't fail me!"
-"oh, mother, i won't fail you! i won't fail you!" cried peter, and at that the tears came.
-his mother smiled, exquisitely; a smile of faith reassured and hope fulfilled, and love contented. that smile on a dying mouth stayed, with other beautiful and imperishable memories, in peter's heart. presently he ventured to ask her, timidly:
-"shall i go for somebody, mother?"
-"are you afraid, dear?"
-"no," said peter.
-"then stay by me. just you and me together. you--you are all i have--i don't need anybody else. stay with me, son,--for a little while."
-outside you could hear the wind moving restlessly, and the trees complaining, and the tide-water whispering. the dark night was filled with a multitudinous murmuring. for a long while peter and his mother clung to each other. from time to time she whispered to him--such pitiful comfortings as love may lend in its extremity.
-the black night paled into a gray glimmer of dawn. peter held fast to the hand he couldn't warm. her face was sharp and pale and pinched. she looked very little and thin and helpless. the bed seemed too big for so small a woman.
-more gray light stole through the windows. the lamp on the closed machine looked ghostly, the room filled with shifting shadows. maria champneys turned her head on her pillow, and stared at her son with eyes he didn't know for his mother's. they were full of a flickering light, as of a lamp going out.
-"'though i walk--through the valley--'" here her voice, a mere thin trickle of sound, failed her. as if pressed by an invisible hand her head began to bend forward. a thin, gray shade, as of inconceivably fine ashes, settled upon her face, and her nostrils quivered. the eyes, with the light fading from them, fixed themselves on peter in a last look.
-"'--of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.'" peter finished it for her, his boyish voice a cry of agony.
-a light, puffing breath, as of a candle blown out, exhaled from his mother's lips. her eyes closed, the hand in peter's fell limp and slack. the awful and mysterious smile of death fixed itself upon her pale mouth.
-so passed maria champneys from her tiny house in riverton, in the dawn of a winter morning, when the tide was turning and the world was full of the sound of water running seaward.
-at grips with life
-the best or the worst thing that can happen to a boy in this country is to be poor in it for a while, to be picked up neck and crop and flung upon his own resources; not always to remain poor, of course, for one may be damned quite as effectually and everlastingly upon the cross as off it; but to be poor long enough to acquire a sense of proportion by coming to close grips with life; to learn what things and people really are, the good and the bad of them together; to have to weigh and measure cant and sentimentality and christian charity--which last is a fearsome thing--in the balance with truth and common sense and human kindness. it is an experience that makes or breaks.
-peter had always adored his mother; but it wasn't until now that he realized how really wonderful she had been. how she had kept the roof over his head, and his stomach somehow satisfied, and had sent him to church and to school decently enough clad, peter couldn't imagine.
-there was no possibility now of regular schooling. nature hasn't provided as providently for the human grub as for the insect one. a human grub isn't born upon a food-plant that is a house as well, nor is nature his tailor and his shoemaker. peter wasn't blood kin to anybody in riverton, so there was no home open to him. he was deeply sensible of the genuine kindness extended to him in his dark hour, but he wouldn't, he couldn't, have gone permanently into any of their homes had he been asked to do so, which of course he wasn't. he clung to the little house on the big cove. his mother's presence lingered there and hallowed the place.
-there was some talk of sending him to an orphanage--he was barely twelve, and penniless. but when mrs. cooke, the minister's wife, mentioned it to peter, gently enough, the boy turned upon her with flaming eyes, and said he wouldn't stay in any asylum; he'd run away, and keep on running away until he died! mrs. cooke looked troubled, and said that mr. mcmasters, a vestryman in the church, was really the head and front of that project.
-peter went after mr. mcmasters, and found him in his grocery store--one of those long, dim country stores that sell everything from cradles to coffins. mr. mcmasters came from behind the counter, rubbing his hands.
-"well, peter, what can i do for you this mawnin'?" he asked, jovially. he was that sort.
-"you can let me alone, please," said peter, succinctly.
-"eh? what's that?" the large man stared at the little man.
-"i said you can let me alone, please," said peter, patiently. "i hear it's you doing most of the talking about sending me to an orphanage."
-"i try to do my duty as a man and a christian," said the vestryman, piously. "you can't be allowed to run loose, peter. 't aint right. 't ain't moral. 't ain't christian. you'll be better off in a good orphan-asylum, bein' taught what you'd ought to learn. that's the place for you, peter!"
-"i want to stay in my own house," said peter.
-"shucks! you can't eat and wear a measly little house, can you? that's what i'm askin' the town right now. sure you can't! the thing to do is to sell that place for what it'll fetch, sock the money in bank for you, and it'll be there--with interest--when you've grown up and aim to start in business for yourself. yes, sir. that's my idea."
-"mr. mcmasters," said peter, evenly, "i want you to know one thing sure and certain. if you send me to any orphan-asylum, i'll send you to some place where you'll be better off, too, sir."
-peter champneys shot at the stout vestryman a glance like the thrust of a golden spear.
-"the cemetery, mr. mcmasters," said he, with the deadly south carolina gentleness.
-the two stared at each other. it wasn't the boy's glance that fell first.
-"threatenin' me, hey? threatenin' a father of a family, are you?" mr. mcmasters licked his lips.
-"oh, no, mr. mcmasters, i'm not threatening you, at all. i'm just telling you what'll happen."
-the vestryman reflected. he knew the champneyses. they had all been men of their word. and fine marksmanship ran in the family. he had seen this same peter handle a shot-gun: you'd think the little devil had been born with a gun in his fist! he had a thumb-nail vision of mrs. mcmasters collecting his life-insurance--getting new clothes, and the piano she had been plaguing him for, too, and her mother always in the house with her. he turned purple.
-"you--why, you beggarly whelp! you--you damned champneys!" he roared. peter met the angry eyes unflinchingly.
-"i reckon you'd better understand i'm not going to any orphan-asylum, mr. mcmasters. i'm going to stay right here at home. and you are not going to get my cove lot," he added shrewdly.
-"what do i care where you go? and who wants your old strip of sand and cockspurs? get to hell out o' here!" yelled mr. mcmasters, violently.
-peter marched out. he knew that victory perched upon his banners. he wouldn't be sent away, willy-nilly, to a place the bare thought of which had made his mother turn pale. and she had wished him to keep the place on the cove, the last poor remnant of champneys land. to this end had she pinched and slaved. when peter thought of mcmasters intriguing to take from him even this poor possession, his lips came together firmly. somehow he would manage to keep the place. if his mother had been able to manage it, surely a man could do so, too! he hadn't the faintest doubt of his ability to take care of himself.
-but the town was troubled and perplexed, until peter solved his problem for himself with the aid of emma campbell. emma had always been his friend, and she had been his mother's loyal and loving servitor. she and peter had several long talks; then emma called in cassius, an ex-husband of hers who so long as he didn't live with her could get along with her, and had him widen the shed room, peter taking in its stead his mother's bedroom. cassius built a better wash-bench, with a shelter, under the china-berry trees in the yard, and strung some extra clothes-lines, and emma campbell moved in. emma would take care of the house, and look after peter. riverton sighed, and shrugged its shoulders.
-it was a sketchy sort of arrangement, but it worked very well. sometimes peter provided the meals which emma cooked, for he was expert at snaring, crabbing, shrimping, and fishing. sometimes the spirit moved cassius to lay an offering of a side of bacon, a bushel of potatoes, a string of fish, or maybe a jug of syrup or a hen at his ex-spouse's feet. cassius said emma was so contrary he specked she must be 'flicted wid de moonness, which is one way of saying that one is a bit weak in the head. but he liked her, and she washed his shirts and sewed on a button or so for him occasionally, or occasionally cracked him over the sconce with the hominy-spoon, just to show that she considered her marital ties binding. emma had been married twice since cassius left her, but both these ventures had been, in her own words, "triflin' niggers any real lady 'd jes' natchelly hab to throw out." when cassius complained that his third wife was "diggin' roots" against him, emma immediately set him to digging potatoes for herself, to offset the ill effects of possible conjure. she was a strategical person, and peter didn't fare very badly, considering.
-the boy fell heir to all those odd jobs that boys in his position are expected to tackle. when a task was too tiresome, too disagreeable, or too ill-paying for anybody else, peter was sent for and graciously allowed to do it. it enabled people to feel charitable and at the same time get something done for about a fourth of what a man would have charged. half the time he made his living out of the river, going partners with some negro boatman. they are daring watermen, the coast negroes. they took peter on deep-sea fishing-trips, and at night he curled up on a furled sail and went to sleep to the sound of atlantic waves, and of negro men singing as only negro men can sing. sometimes they went seining at night in the river, and peter never forgot the flaring torches, the lights dipping and glinting and sliding off brawny, half-naked figures and black faces, while the marshes were a black, long line against the sky, and the moon made a silver track upon the waters, and the salty smell of the sea filled one's nostrils.
-now that he could no longer attend school, peter snatched at any book that came his way, getting all sorts and conditions of reading-matter from all sorts and conditions of people. his was the unappeasable hunger and thirst of those who long to know; and he wished to express what he learned, by making pictures and thus interpreting it for himself and others. it wasn't easy. life turned a rather harsh face to him. he wasn't clothed like the birds of the air and the lilies of the field: he had to provide his own coverings as best he might. he wouldn't accept charity. he would wear his own old clothes but he wouldn't wear anybody else's.
-"peter," said emma campbell, anxiously, "yo' rind is comin' out o' doors. dem britches o' yourn looks like peep-thoo-de-winduh; daylight 's comin'." she added anxiously: "don't you let a heavy rain ketch you in dem pants, peter, or it 'll baptize you plum nekked to yo' shirt-tail."
-peter looked alarmed. one may with decency run barefooted only to the knees. upon reflection, he sold his mother's sewing-machine--it was an old machine and didn't bring much--and bought enough to cover himself with.
-"i wish i'd been born with my clothes on me, like you were," he confided to the red admiral. "gee, you're lucky!"
-the red admiral flirted his fine coat vaingloriously. he didn't have to worry about trousers, nor yet shoes for his six feet! and all he had to do was to fly around a bit and he was sure to find his dinner waiting for him.
-"fairy," said peter, soberly, "i'm not sniffling, but i'm not having what you'd call a good time. it's hard to be me, butterfly. nothing nice has happened in such a long time. i wish you'd think up something pleasant and wish it to happen to me."
-if you'll hold out your first and second fingers and wiggle them in the friendliest way you know how, you'll see how the red admiral moved his feelers just then.
-when peter champneys went home that night, after a long afternoon of weeding an old lady's garden and whitewashing a long-suffering chicken house, emma campbell spread before him, on a hot platter, and of a crispness and brownness and odorousness to have made st. simon stylites slide down his pillar and grab for a piece of it, a fat chicken with an accompaniment of hot biscuit and good brown gravy. she didn't tell peter how she had come by the chicken, nor did he wait to ask. he crammed his mouth, and emma leaned against the door and watched him with profound satisfaction. when he had polished the last bone to an ivory whiteness, emma reached behind her and handed peter the book she had that morning wrested from a peddler whose shirt she had washed and ironed. emma knew peter liked books.
-peter laid the collection of poetic gems on the table, and blinked at emma campbell. then, because he was only a boy, and because nothing so pleasant as this had happened to him for a long, long time--not since his mother died--he put his head down on the green-covered book and cried as only a boy can cry when he lets go.
-emma campbell seemed to grow about nine feet tall. "peter," said she, in a terrifying voice, "i axes you not to lemme see you cryin' like dat! when i sees miss maria's chile cryin', jes' 'cause a ole nigger woman gives 'im a book, i wants to go out an' bust dis town wide open wid a ax!"
-when he had time to examine his collection of poetic gems, peter was overjoyed. the paper was poor, the cuts atrocious, the binding a poisonous green, but many of the gems were of purest ray serene despite their wretched setting. old-fashioned stuff, most of it, but woven on the loom of immortality. peter, of course, had simms's "war poems of the south." he knew much of father ryan by heart. he, as well as another, could wave his brown stick of an arm and bid somebody "take that banner down, 'tis tattered." he had been brought up on the story of the glory of the men who wore the gray, and for him the sword of robert lee would never dim nor tarnish. but these things were different. they talked to something deep down in him, that was neither yankee nor southerner, but larger and better than both. when peter read these poems he felt the hair of his scalp prickle, and his heart almost burst with a rapture that was agony.
-but one can't exist on a collection of gems in a vile binding. shirts and shoes wear out, and trousers must be replaced when they're too far gone to stand another stitch. peter was too small to do any responsible work, and he was getting too big to be paid in pennies and dimes. people didn't exactly know what to do with him. one can't be supercilious to a boy who is a champneys born, but can one invite a boy who runs errands, is on very familiar footing with all the colored people in the county, and wears such clothes as peter wore, to one's house, or to be one of the guests when a child of the family gives a birthday party? not even in south carolina!
-for instance, when mrs. humphreys gave a birthday party for her little girl, she was troubled about peter champneys, who hadn't been invited. peter had weeded her garden the day before, and mowed her lawn; and he had looked such a little fellow, running that lawn-mower out there in the sun! and now, while all the other children were playing and laughing, dressed in their party finery, peter was splitting wood for old miss carruthers, a little farther down the street. mrs. humphreys could see him from her bedroom window. it was a little too much for the good-hearted woman, who had liked his mother. she compromised with herself by taking a plate if ice-cream and a thick slice of cake, slipping out of her back door, and hurrying down to miss carruthers's back yard.
-peter stood there, leaning on his ax. seated on a larger woodpile was old daddy christmas, one of the town beggars. daddy christmas was incredibly old, wrinkled, ragged, and bent. his grizzled, partly bald head nodded while he tried to talk to peter.
-"peter," said mrs. humphreys, hastily, "here's some ice-cream and cake for you." she blushed as she spoke. "it's a hot day--and you're working. i thought you'd like something cool and nice." she thrust the plate upon him.
-peter smiled at her charmingly.
-"you're mighty kind, mis' humphreys," he told her.
-"i'll come back for the plate and spoon, after a while," she said, hurrying off. but at the gate, beside the thick crape-myrtle bushes, she paused and looked back. somehow she wanted to see maria champneys's boy eating that ice-cream and cake.
-"daddy christmas," said a voice, gaily, "if there'd been two plates and two spoons, and if you'd had any sort of a dinner to-day, i'd be perfectly willing to share this treat with you. as it is, you'll have to eat it all by yourself." a second later the voice added: "funny, you just saying the lord would provide; but i bet you didn't think he'd provide ice-cream and cake!" followed the brisk strokes of the ax, swung by a wiry, nervous little arm.
-mrs. humphreys walked down the lane to her house, with a very thoughtful face.
-the soul of black folks
-the negro to the white man, as the moon to the earth, shows one side only; the other is dark and unknown. it is an instinct with him to conceal the truth--any truth--from white men; who knows to what use they will put it and him? so deeply have ages of slavery and oppression ingrained this upon black men's subconsciousness, that only one white man in a thousand ever knows or suspects what his dark brethren think, or know, or feel. peter champneys happened to be the thousandth.
-there wasn't a cabin in all that countrywide in which this barefooted last scion of a long line of slave-holding gentry wasn't known and welcome. there wasn't a negro in the county he didn't know by name: even "mean niggers" grinned amiably at peter champneys. they remembered what he had once said to a district judge whom he heard bitterly inveighing against their ingratitude, immorality, shiftlessness, and general worthlessness. peter had lifted his quiet eyes.
-"i've often thought, judge, what a particularly mean nigger i'd have been, myself," he said, and studied the judge with disconcerting directness. "if you'd been born a colored man, and some folks talked and behaved to you like some folks talk and behave to colored men, don't you reckon you'd be in jail right this minute, judge?"
-the white men who heard peter's remark smiled, and one of them said, spitting out a mouthful of tobacco juice, that it was just another piece of that boy's damfoolishness. but the negroes, who knew that judge as only negroes can know white men, chuckled grimly. they have an immense respect for intelligence, and they made no mistake where peter's was concerned.
-they knew him, too, a mild-eyed, brown-faced child reading out of a book by the light of a kerosene lamp to groups of gray-headed, reverent listeners in lonely cabins. and peter was always making pictures of them--mindel at the wash-tub, emma campbell picking a chicken, old maum' chloe churning, liza playing with her fat black baby, joe tuttle plowing, old daddy neptune fennick leaning on his ax. sometimes these sketches caught some fleeting moment of fun, and were so true and so amusing that they were received with shouts of delighted laughter, passed from hand to hand, and cherished by fortunate recipients.
-now, no simple and natural heart can even for a little while beat in unison with other hearts, encased in whatsoever colored skin may please god, without a quickening of that wisdom which is one of the keys of the kingdom to come. to be able really to know, truly to understand and come human-close to the lowly, to men and women under the bondage of age-old prejudice, or outcast by the color of their skin, is a terrible and perilous gift. this is the much knowledge in which there is much grief.
-that early june day had been cloudy from dawn; peter was glad of that, for he meant to pick black-berries, and a sunless day for berry-picking is an unmixed blessing. the little negroes are such nimblefingered pickers, such locust-like strippers of all near-by patches, that peter had bad luck at first, and was driven farther afield than he usually went; his search led him even to the edge of the river swamp, a dismal place of evil repute, wherein cane as tall as a man grew thickly, and sluggish streamlets meandered in and out of gnarled cypress roots, and big water-snakes stretched themselves on branches overhanging the water. on the edges of the swamp the unmolested vines were thick with fruit. in the late afternoon peter had filled his buckets to overflowing with extra-fine berries.
-it had been a sultry day for all its sunlessness, and peter was tired, so tired that his head and back ached. he looked at the heavy buckets doubtfully; it would be a man-size job to trudge the long sandy road home, so laden. while he sat there, hating to move, daddy neptune fennick came in sight, hoe and rake and ax on his sturdy shoulder. the old man cast a shrewd, weather-wise eye at the darkening sky.
-"gwine to hab one spell o' wedder," he called. "best come on home wid me, peter, en wait w'ile."
-the old man built a fire in his mud fireplace, and prepared the evening meal of broiled bacon, johnny-cake, and coffee. he and his welcome guest ate from tin plates on their knees, drinking their coffee from tin cups. between mouthfuls each gave the other what county news he possessed. peter particularly liked that orderly one-roomed cabin, and the fine old man who was his host.
-he was an old-timer, was daddy neptune, more than six feet tall, and massively proportioned. his bald head was fringed with a ring of curling gray wool, and a white beard covered the lower portion of an unusually handsome countenance. he had a shrewd and homely wit, an unbuyable honesty, and such a simple and unaffected dignity of manner and bearing as had won the respect of the county.
-"ef you-all come out o' hebben, you 's wastin' good time 'yuh. ef dey-all lef' you come out o' hell, you bes' git right back whah you b'longs. one ways, i ain't got nothin' i kin tell you; t'other ways, you ain't got nothin' i 's gwine to let you tell me. i 's axin' you to git. en," finished neptune, "dat t'ing done went right out--whish!--same lak i 's tellin' you! yessuh! hit went spang out!" he threw another chunk of fatwood on the fire, and watched the smoky flame go dancing up the chimney. in the red glow he had the aspect of a kindly titan.
-"it never bothered you again, daddy nep?" peter was always curious about these experiences. he had a glimmer that negroes are nearer to certain powers than other folks are, and although he wasn't superstitious, he wasn't skeptical, either.
-"never bothered me a-tall, less'n dat 's whut 's been meddlin' wid my fowls, whichin ef i catches it, i aims to blow its head plum off, ghostes or no ghostes," said the old man, stoutly.
-"ghosts don't steal chickens. i reckon it's a wild-cat gets yours. i heard one scream in the swamp not so long since."
-"well, i aims to git mistuh wildcat, den. i done got me a couple o' guinea-fowls for watch, en dey sho does set up a mighty potrackin' w'en anything strange comes a-snoopin' roun' de yahd."
-after a while daddy neptune put away his pipe and took down from a shelf his big battered bible, and peter read the twenty-first and twenty-second chapters of revelation, to which the old man listened with clasped hands and an uplifted face, his lips moving soundlessly as he repeated to himself certain of the words:
-and god shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away.... he that overcometh shall inherit all things; and i will be his god and he shall be my son ...
-"i was born in slaveryment," said the old man, audibly.
-he slept a tired boy's dreamless slumber. the night deepened. the rain ceased, and a wan and sad moon climbed the sky, wearily, like a tired old woman. in the river swamp frogs croaked, a whippoorwill at intervals gave its lonesome and lovely call, the shivering-owl's cry making it lovelier by comparison. the cypresses shook blackly in the blacker swamp water which licked their roots. from the drenched vegetation arose a fresh and penetrating odor, the smell of the clean june night. and presently, he didn't know why, peter awoke with every sense instantly alert. it was as if his soul had sensed a sound, knew it for what it was, and was on guard.
-a few red embers glowed in the big mud chimney. save for these, the one-room cabin was in darkness. somebody was moving about. peter made out the figure of big neptune standing with his head bent in a listening attitude at one of the shuttered windows. a bit of fatwood in the fireplace burst for a moment into an expiring flame, which flickered dully on the barrel of the gun in the negro's hands. peter scrambled up, and stole noiselessly across the floor.
-"dem guineas potracked en waked me up, son," whispered neptune. "now i aims to git whut 's been sneakin' off wid my fowls."
-at that moment a low knock sounded on the door. at such an hour, and in that lonely place, it gave the old man and the boy a distinct sensation of fear: who should come knocking so stealthily at the door of the cabin by the river swamp at that eerie hour? neptune, his gun gripped in his hands, twisted his head sidewise, listening. the knock came again, this time more insistent. then a thick voice spoke, muffled by the intervening door:
-"daddy nepshun, is you awake? for gawd a'mighty's sake, daddy nepshun, lemme in!"
-the old man stepped to the door and flung it wide. the figure that had been crouching against it tumbled in and lay panting on the floor.
-"light me dat lamp, please, peter," said neptune, peering down at his visitor.
-"why, jake! lawd 'a' mussy, hit 's jake!" burst from daddy neptune. peter recognized in the intruder a negro to whom the old man had been, as was his wont, fatherly kind. on a time he and his wife had sheltered and fed jake.
-peter didn't know why, but something in the man's aspect, in his rolling eyes, his lips drawn back from his teeth, his torn clothes, his desperate look of a hunted beast, made him recoil. he had never before seen any one with just that look of brute cunning and terror. daddy neptune's steady eyes took in every detail. he stiffened in his tracks.
-"whut you been doin'?" he demanded. jake turned his head from side to side; he refused to meet the direct old eyes. he mumbled:
-"is you got any w'isky, da' nepshun? for gawd's sake, da' nepshun, gimme a drink en don't ast me no questions twell i 's able to answer." his voice was hoarse and shaking; his whole body shook.
-"i ain't got no w'isky, but i got coffee en bittles. whichin you is welcome to," said neptune. "you ain't say yit whut you been doin'. whut you been up to, jake?"
-jake writhed off the floor. again peter recoiled instinctively. as the negro got upon his feet his coat fell open, and the torn sleeve and cuff of a gingham shirt showed. on it was a dark stain which was not swamp water or mud. peter's eyes fastened upon that dark red smear.
-"gimme a bite o' bittles so 's i kin git on," implored jake.
-"i axes you once mo', jake: whut you been doin'?" demanded neptune. his voice was stern, and his face began to set.
-"en i axes you to lemme git dem bittles fust, en i'll tell you, soon 's i gits back mah wind," returned jake, sullenly.
-still retaining his gun, neptune went to the corner cupboard, from which he took a loaf of bread. without cutting it he handed it to jake, who began to tear it with his teeth. all the while he ate, he kept turning his head, listening, listening.
-"cain't wait for no coffee. gimme drink o' water, please, suh." in silence neptune handed him a gourd of water. when jake had gulped this down, neptune asked again, inexorably:
-"whut you been doin', jake?"
-jake shifted from one foot to the other. he thrust his bullet head forward. his hands, hanging at his sides, opened and closed, the fingers twitching.
-"dem w'ite mens is atter--somebuddy--en dey say hit 's me," he muttered hoarsely. his eyes rolled toward the door, which, not having been barred after his entrance, swung slightly ajar.
-"whut dey atter somebuddy for?" neptune demanded. outside, in the wet night, the screech-owl cried. the sweet wind danced on airy feet in and out of the cypresses and the gums, kissed them, stole their breath, and tossed it abroad odorously. stars had come out to keep the pale moon company, and a faint light glinted on wet grass and bushes. crickets and katydids and little green tree-frogs kept up a harsh concert. and then, above all the minor, murmuring noises of the night arose another sound, very faint and far off, but unmistakable and unforgetable--the deep, long, bell note of a hound upon the trail.
-the three in the cabin stood like figures turned to stone in the attitude of listening. jake's teeth chattered audibly. he edged toward the open door, but neptune stepped in front of him, and flung up an arresting hand.
-"whut for?" his voice was like a whip-lash.
-"somebuddy--done meddled wid a w'ite gal--een de cawn-field. en dey 'low--hit wuz me."
-a gasp, as if his heart had been squeezed, came from neptune. of a sudden he seemed to grow in height, to tower unhumanly tall above the cringing wretch he confronted. his eyes narrowed into red points that bored into the other's eyes, and plunged like daggers into his heart and mind. before that glance, like a vivisectionist's knife, jake wilted; he seemed to shrink, dwindle, collapse. and with a growing, cold, awful horror, a suspicion so hideous that his mind revolted from it, peter champneys stood staring from one black face to the other.
-"you--you--" neptune gulped, strangling. a long, slow shudder, as of one confronting unheard-of torture, went over his big frame. the fringe of hair on his bald head rose, his beard bristled. sparks seemed to shoot from his eyes, burning with a terrible flame.
-"da' nepshun--" jake put out clawing, twitching hands. "dey 's--dey 's--gwine to git me." his voice broke into a half-scream.
-"whut you do hit for?" this from neptune, in a heart-shaken, anguished, rattling whisper. he asked no further questions. he had no doubt. jake's rolling eyes had told him the unspeakable truth.
-"i 'clah to gawd, da' nepshun, i wuz n't meanin' no hahm--i never had no idea--she came down de cawn-field paff--wid de cow followin' 'er--en--en--i don't know whut mek me meddle wid dat gal. seems lak hit wuz de debbil, 'stead o' me."
-"is de gal done daid?"
-"yas, suh, she done daid." jake rocked himself to and fro, muttering her name.
-peter champneys looked at the torn shirt-sleeve with the red stain upon it. the room shook and wavered, wind was in his ears. and the red of that girl's blood got into his eyes, and he saw things through a scarlet mist. the most horrible rage he had ever experienced shook him like a mortal sickness. oh, god! oh, god! oh, god! that girl!
-in the momentary silence that fell upon that tragic room, a sound shivered. long, slow, bell-like. nearer. it galvanized jake into terror-stricken action. he started for the door.
-"dey 'll git me, dey 'll git me!" he croaked.
-peter would have flung himself upon the wretch, to reach for his throat with bare hands; but something in neptune's face stopped him. neptune's bigness seemed to fill the whole room. he drew a deep breath, and with one movement jerked the door wide.
-"run down de paff by de fowl-house," he said sharply. "den--hit 's de swamp for you."
-peter turned sick. was neptune like all other--niggers? hadn't he the--proper sense of what this devil had done?
-jake leaped for the door, cleared the steps at a bound, and was flying down the path. neptune took one forward step, filling the doorway. he lifted the shot-gun to his shoulder. just as the fugitive neared the fowl-house, the gun spoke. the flying figure leaped high in the air, and then sprawled out and was suddenly still and inert. the guinea-hens set up a deafening potracking, and the cooped fowls squawked and flapped. above all the noise they made rose the bloodhound's note.
-it was done so quickly, it was so inevitable, that peter could only stand and blink. he thought, sickly, that the very earth should shudder away from the soiling touch of that appalling carrion. but the earth was the one thing that would receive jake unprotestingly. he lay on his face, his arms outflung, and from the gaping hole between his shoulders a dark stream welled. the indifferent earth, the uncaring grass, received it. the wind came out of the swamp on mincing feet and danced over him, and fluttered his torn shirt-sleeve.
-stonily, voicelessly, neptune stood in the cabin door, staring at that which lay in the pathway. then he lowered the smoking gun, and leaned on it. his bald head drooped until his gray beard swept his breast, and his throat rattled like a dying man's. shudders went over him. and stonily young peter champneys stood beside him, his boyish eyes hard in a dead-white face, his boyish mouth a grim, pale line.
-"en dat po' lil w'ite chile's daddy en mammy, dey done raise 'er--used to say 'er prayers--en laff en sing--en trus' de almighty gawd--"
-he raised his sinewy arms and shook the gun aloft.
-"ah, gawd almighty! gawd almighty! whah is you dis night? whah is you?" cried the old man. and of a sudden he began to weep dreadfully; heart-broken cries of pain and of protest, the tortured cries of one suffering inhumanly.
-"and all this while god said not a word."
-shaken to the soul, full of sick horror, and loathing, and rage, peter champneys yet had a swift, intuitive understanding of old neptune; and as if through him he had caught a glimpse of the naked and suffering soul of the black people, the boy began to weep with him. with understanding merging into pity he crept nearer and put his slender, boyish arm around the big, shaking, agonized figure, and the old man turned his head and looked long and sorrowfully into the white child's face. he put out the big, seamed, work-hardened hand that had labored since it could hold an implement to labor with, and laid it on the child's shoulder.
-then, bareheaded and empty-handed, neptune sat down on his cabin steps to wait for what should happen, and peter champneys sat beside him, the gun between his knees. over there by the fowl-house lay jake, a horrid blotch in the moonlight.
-presently, echoing through the river swamp, the hunting hounds set up their thrilling, deep-mouthed belling. they were closing in on their quarry and the nearness of it excited them. a few minutes later, and here they were, a posse of some thirty or forty mounted men struggling pell-mell after them. one great hound leaped forward, stood rigid by that which lay in a heap in the cabin clearing, pointed his nose, and gave tongue. other dogs bunched around him, sniffed, and joined in.
-the mounted men came to an abrupt standstill, the horses, like the dogs, bunching together. neptune had risen and peter champneys stood on the top step, his head about level with the old man's shoulder. he looked in vain for the sheriff; evidently, this was an independent posse. one of the men rode up to the door, shouting to make himself heard above the din of the dogs, and peter recognized him, with a sinking of the heart--a tenant farmer named mosely, of a violent and quarrelsome disposition.
-"shet up them damn dogs!" he yelled. and to neptune, savagely: "now then, nigger, talk! what's been doin' here?"
-it was peter champneys who answered.
-"daddy neptune's been worried by something or somebody stealing his fowls. he's been on the watch. so when he saw that--that nigger over there running by the chicken-house, he just blazed away. got him between the shoulder-blades."
-a yell so ferocious that peter's marrow froze, burst from the posse, which had dismounted.
-"it's him!" howled a farm-hand, and kicked the corpse in the face. "what in hell did that big nigger shoot him for, anyhow?" he roared. "he'd ought to be strung up himself, the old black--" and he cursed neptune vilely. he felt swindled. there would be no burning, with interludes of unspeakable things. nothing but senseless carrion to wreak vengeance upon. and all through a damned old meddling nigger's fault! a nigger taking the law into his own hands!
-somebody, discovering daddy neptune's woodpile, had kindled a fatwood torch. others followed his example, and the red, smoky light flared over enraged faces and glaring eyes of maddened men; over the sweating horses, the baying dogs, and the black corpse with its bruised face. the guinea-hens, after their insane fashion, kept up a deafening potracking, flapping from limb to limb of the tree in which they roosted. the indifferent swamp chorus joined in, katydids and crickets shrilling all the while. and over it all the moon went about its business; the awful depths of the sky were silent. the wind from the swamp, the night, the earth, didn't care.
-somebody whipped out a knife and bent over jake's body. a yell greeted this. dogs and men moved confusedly around the thing on the ground, in a sort of demoniac circle upon which the hissing, flaring pitch-pine torches danced with infernal effect. peter champneys watched it, his soul revolting. he had no sympathy for jake; he felt for him nothing but hatred. he couldn't think of that gay and innocent girl coming down the corn-field path, unafraid--to meet what she had met--without a suffocating sense of rage. she had been, peter remembered, a very pretty girl, a girl who, as neptune had said, used to sing, and laugh, and say her prayers, and trust almighty god.
-but peter was seeing now the other side of that awful cloud which darkens the horizon of the south--the brute beast mob-vengeance that follows swiftly upon the heels of the unpardonable sin. there must be justice. but what was happening now wasn't justice. it was stark barbarism let loose.
-neptune, who had "helped raise" jake, had meted out to him justice full and sure. he had avenged both the wronged white and the wronged black people. peter looked at the men in the cabin clearing, and saw the thing nakedly, and from both angles. for instance, consider mosely, who had done things--with a clasp-knife. and that other man, the farm-hand, shifty-eyed and mean, always half drunk, a bad citizen: they would be sure to be foremost in affairs like this. they had precious little respect for the law as law. and here they were, making the holy night indecent with bestial behavior. again a sick qualm shook peter: mosely was calmly putting four severed black fingers into his coat pocket. oh, where was the sheriff? why didn't the sheriff come?
-peter caught a glimpse of a shapeless, battered, gory mass under trampling feet. maddened by the little they were able to accomplish, and with the torture-lust that is as old as humanity itself roused to fury by frustration, the posse turned from that which had been jake, to old neptune, standing motionless by his doorway. neptune had not moved or spoken since peter had answered the posse's questions. he had not even appeared to hear the vile abuse heaped upon him. he was not in the least afraid for his life: he was beyond that. that which had happened, which was happening, had dealt the stern, simple-hearted old man so mighty a blow that his faculties were stunned. he couldn't think. he could only suffer a bewildered, baffled torment. he stood there, dumb as a sheep before the slaughterers, and the sight of his black face maddened the men who were out to avenge a black man's monstrous crime.
-"hang the damn nigger!" screamed mosely, and the crowd surged forward ominously. you could see, by the shaking torch-light, faces in which the eyes glared wolf-like, brandished fists, glints of guns. neptune, without a flicker of fear, regarded them with his sorrowful gaze. but peter champneys stepped in front of him, and thrust the cold muzzle of the shot-gun against mosely's face. the man, a coward at heart, leaped back, trampling upon the toes of those behind him, who cursed him shrilly and vindictively.
-then spoke up small peter champneys, standing barefooted and bareheaded, clothed in a coarse blue blouse and a pair of patched and faded denim trousers, but for all that heir to a long line of dead-and-gone champneyses who had been, whatever their faults, fearless and gallant gentlemen.
-"get back there, you, mosely!" peter champneys spoke in the voice his grandfather had on a time used to a recalcitrant field-hand.
-"chuck that little nigger-lover in the swamp!"
-"knock him down an' git the nigger, mosely!"
-"burn down the house!"
-but the shot-gun in that steady young hand held them in check for a breathing-space. they knew peter champneys.
-"mosely!" snapped peter. "you, too, nicolson! stand back, you white-livered hounds! first one of you lays a hand on me or daddy nep gets his head blown off! damn you, mosely! don't make me tell you again to get back!"
-and mosely saw that in the boy's eyes that drove him back, swearing.
-the huge farm-hand, who had shifted and squirmed his way to the back of the crowd, now lifted his arm. a rope with a noose at the end snaked over the tossing heads, and all but settled over black neptune's. it slipped, writhing from the old man's shoulder and down his shirt. the mob set up a disappointed and yet hopeful howl.
-"try it again! try it again!" they shrieked. then a sort of waiting hush fell upon them. the farm-hand, to whom the rope had been tossed, was again making ready for a throw, measuring the distance with his eyes. peter, his lips tightening, waited too. the farm-hand was a tall man, and the posse had shifted to allow him space. his arm shot up, the noosed rope whizzed forward. but even as it did so peter champneys's trigger-finger moved. the report sounded like a clap of thunder, and was followed by a roar of rage and pain. the rope-thrower, with the rope tripping his feet and impeding his movements, danced about wildly, shaking the hand from which three fingers had been cleanly clipped. at that instant another posse rode up, with a baying of hounds to herald it. one saw the sheriff on a large bay horse, a winchester in the crook of his arm. with a merest glance at what had been jake, he pushed his way through the throng, and was confronted by peter champneys standing in front of old neptune fennick, with a smoking shot-gun in his hands.
-"you better do something, quick! if you let anything happen to daddy nep, you've got to kill me first," panted peter.
-"he'd ought to be shot for a nigger-lover, sheriff!" shouted the farm-hand.
-"all right. do it. but you'll get your neck stretched for it! my name's champneys," shouted peter.
-the sheriff moved restlessly on his bay. a champneys had fed his parents. chadwick champneys had given him his first pair of shoes. the sheriff was stirred to the depths by the crime that had been committed, and he had no love for a nigger, but--
-he turned to the menacing crowd. "here, boys, enough o' this! the right nigger's dead, and that's all there is to it. no, you don't do no hangin'! i'm sheriff o' this county, an' i aim to keep the law. let that old nigger alone, mosely! if that young hell-cat puts a bullet in your chitlin's, it'll be your own funeral."
-he straightened in the saddle, touched the rein, and in a second the big bay had been swung around to stand between neptune and the white men. the muzzle of peter's gun touched the sheriff's leg.
-"put that pop-gun up, son," said he, turning his head to look down into the boy's face. their eyes met, in a long look.
-"i knew that girl since she was bawn," he said, and his hard face quivered. "hell!" swore the sheriff, and the hand on his bridle shook. he knew old neptune, too, and in his way liked him. but it was hard for the sheriff, who had seen the dead little girl, to look into any black face that night and retain any feeling of humanity.
-"yes, sir. i knew her, too," said peter champneys, gulping. "but--i know neptune, too. and--what happened--wasn't his fault. it's got nothing to do with neptune--and--and things that mosely--" his voice broke.
-"hell!" swore the sheriff again. and he whispered, more gently, "all right, peter. an' i reckon you better stay by the old nigger for a day or two until this thing dies down." after all, the sheriff thought relievedly, neptune's swift action, actuated by whatsoever motive, had saved the county and himself from a rather frightful episode. turning to the crowd, he yelled:
-"get them dogs started for home! they're goin' plum crazy! get on your hawse, mosely! you, over there, with your fist shot up, ride next to me. mount, all o' you! mount, i say! no, i'll come last.
-"what's that you're sayin', briggs? no, suh, not by a damn-sight you won't! not while i'm sheriff o' this county an' upholdin' law an' order in it, you won't drag no dead nigger behind my hawse--nor yet in front of him, neither! let the nigger lay where he is and rot--what's left of him."
-"do you want us to bury--it?" quavered peter.
-"bury it or burn it. what the hell do i care what you do with it?" growled the sheriff. "he's dead, that's all i got to think about." he ran his shrewd eyes over the posse, saw that not one straggler remained to do further mischief, and drove them before him, willy-nilly. in five minutes the trampled yard was clear, and the sound of the horses' hoofs was already dying in the distance. in the sky all other stars had paled to make room for the morning star.
-peter and neptune, left alone, looked at each other dumbly. a thing remained to be done. the sun mustn't rise upon the horror that lay in the cabin yard. neptune went to his small barn and trundled out a wheelbarrow, in which were several gunny-sacks, a piece of rope, and a spade.
-peter turned his head away while the old man covered the thing on the ground with sacking, rolled it over, floppily, and tied it as best he could. the sweat came out on them both as they saw the stains that spread on the clean sacking. neptune heaped the bundle into his wheelbarrow. at a word from him peter went into the house and returned with a lighted lantern, for the river swamp was still very dark. the sun wouldn't be up for an hour or two yet. peter held the lantern in one hand, and carried spade and shot-gun over the other shoulder. in the ghostly light they entered the swamp, every turn and twist of whose wide, watery acreage was known to neptune, and was fairly familiar to peter. they had to proceed warily, for the ground was treacherous, and at any moment a jutting tree-root might upset the clumsy barrow. despite neptune's utmost care it bumped and swayed, and the shapeless bundle in it shook hideously, as if it were trying to escape. and the stains on the coarse shroud grew, and spread.
-in a small and fairly dry space among particularly large cypresses, neptune stopped. at one side was a deep pool in whose depths the lantern was reflected. about it ferns, some of a great height, grew thickly. neptune began to dig in the black earth. sometimes he struck a cypress root, against which the spade rang with a hollow sound. it was slow enough work, but the hole in the swamp earth grew with every spade-thrust, like a blind mouth opening wider and wider. peter held the lantern. the trees stood there like witnesses.
-when they emerged into the open, the sun was rising over a clean, fresh world. the dark tops of the trees were gilded by the first rays. every bush was hung with diamonds, the young grass rippled like a child's hair, and birds were everywhere, voicing the glory of the morning.
-the old negro dropped his wheelbarrow, and lifted a supplicating face and a pair of gnarled hands to the morning sky. his lips moved. one saw that he prayed, trustingly, with a childlike simplicity.
-peter champneys watched him speculatively. he tried to reason the thing out, and the heart in his boyish breast ached with a new pain. thoughts big, new, insistent, knocked at the door of his intellect and refused to be denied admittance.
-he thought it better to take the sheriff's advice and stay with neptune for a few days, but nobody troubled the good old man. the verdict of the whole county was in his favor. he went his harmless, fearless, laborious way unmolested. that autumn he died, and the cabin by the river swamp was taken over by nature, who gave it to her winds and rains to play with. her leaves drifted upon its floor, her birds built under its shallow eaves.
-the purple heights
-at a turn in the riverton road he met the red admiral.
-he stopped, reflectively. he hadn't seen the admiral in some time, and it pleased him to be led by that gay adventurer now. the admiral flitted down the riverton road, and peter ran gaily after him. he led the boy a fine chase across fields, and out on the road again, and then down a lane, and along the river, and through the pines, and finally to the river swamp woods. peter came fleet-footed to neptune's old cabin, raced round it, and then stopped, in utter confusion and astonishment. on the back steps, with an umbrella beside her, and an easel in front of her, sat a young woman so busy getting a bit of the swamp upon her canvas that she didn't hear or see peter until he was upon her. then she looked up, with her paint-brush in her hand.
-"hello!" said she, in the friendliest fashion, "where did you come from?"
-she was a big girl, blue as to eyes, brown as to hair, and with a fresh-colored, good-humored face. her glance was singularly clear and direct, and her smile so comradely that peter took an instantaneous liking to her. he wondered what on earth she meant by coming here, to this lonely place, all by herself. but she was making a picture, and his interest was more in that than in the painter.
-"may i look at it, please?" he asked politely. he smiled at her, and peter had a mighty taking smile of his own.
-"of course you may!" said the lady, genially. hands behind his back, peter stared at the canvas. then he stepped back yet farther, lifted one hand, and squinted through the fingers. the young lady regarded him with growing interest.
-"well, what do you think of it?" she asked.
-the young woman wasn't a quick worker, but she was a careful one, and very exact. unfinished though it was, the picture showed that; and it showed, too, a lack of something vital; there was no spontaneity in it.
-"i've never seen anybody paint before, though i've always wanted to," said peter, and fetched an unconscious sigh of envy.
-"you haven't said whether or not you like it," the girl reminded him.
-"it isn't finished," said peter. his eyes went to the familiar woods, the beloved woods, and came back to her canvas. "i think when it's finished it will be like a photograph," he added.
-claribel spring--for that was the big girl's name--knew her own limitations; but to meet a criticism so exact and so just, from a barefooted child in the south carolina wilds wasn't to be expected. she took a longer look at the boy and thought she had never before seen a pair of eyes so absolutely, clearly golden. those eyes would create a distinct impression upon people: either you'd like them, or you'd find them so strange you'd think them ugly. she herself thought them beautiful.
-"you seem to know something about pictures, even unfinished ones," she told him comradely. "and may i ask who you are, and why and how you come flying out of the nowhere into the here of these forsaken woods?"
-"oh, i'm only peter champneys," said the boy with the golden eyes, shyly. "i hope i didn't startle you? it's my butterfly's fault. you see, i never know where i've got to follow him, or what i'm going to find when i get there."
-"your butterfly? you mean that red admiral that just whizzed by? he skimmed over my easel," said the young lady.
-"is that his real name?" peter was enchanted. "a black fellow with red on his coat-tails, and a sash like a general's? then that's my butterfly!" said peter, happily. he smiled at the girl again, and finished, naïvely: "i owe that butterfly a whole heap of good luck!"
-she told him she was spending some time with the northern people who had lately bought lynwood plantation, a few miles down the river. she liked to prowl around and paint things.
-"and now," she asked, "would you mind telling me something more about that butterfly of yours? and where some more of the good luck comes in?" she was growing more and more interested in peter.
-peter dropped down beside the easel, his hands clasped loosely between his knobby knees. it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he should find himself talking freely to this yankee girl; it was the most natural thing in the world that she should understand. so peter, who, as a rule, would have preferred to be beaten with rods rather than divulge his feelings, told her exactly what she wished to know. this must be blamed upon the red admiral!
-she caught a sharp outline of the child's life, poor in material circumstances, but crowded to the brim with thought and feeling and emotion, and colorful as the coast country was colorful. he had kept himself, she thought, as sweet and limpid as a mountain spring. he was wistful, eager, and mad to know things. his eyes went back again and again, with a sort of desperate hunger in them, to the canvas on her easel, as if the secret of him lay there. the girl sat with her firm white chin in her firm white hands, and looked down at peter with her bright blue yankee eyes, and understood him as none of his own people had ever understood him. she even understood what his innate reticence and decency held back. who shall say that the admiral wasn't a fairy?
-"i'd like to see that first little sketch," she said, when he had finished. her eyes were very sweet.
-for a second he hesitated. then he rose, went into the deserted cabin, and took from the cupboard a dusty bundle of papers--pieces of white cardboard, sheets of letter-paper, any sort of paper he had been able to lay his hands on. riverton and the surrounding country, as peter champneys saw it, unrolled before her astonished eyes. it was roughly done, and there were glaring faults; but there was something in the crude work that wasn't in the canvas on her easel, and she recognized it. she singled out several sketches of an old negro with a bald head and a white beard, and a stern, fine face innate with dignity. she said quietly:
-"you are quite right, peter: the red admiral is undoubtedly a fairy." and after a moment, studying the old man's face: "he's rather a remarkable old man, isn't he?"
-peter looked around him. on that terrible night daddy neptune had stood just where the easel was standing now; over there by the tumble-down chicken house, jake had fallen; and the space that was now green with grass had been full of vengeful men, and howling dogs, and trampling horses. peter took the sketch from her, looked at it for a long moment, and, as briefly as he could, and keeping himself very much in the background, he told her.
-claribel spring looked around her, almost disbelieving that such a thing could happen in such a place. she looked at the quiet-faced boy, at the sketches, and shook her head.
-when she was ready to go, peter helped pack her traps, picked up her paint-box, and slung her folding-easel and camp-stool across his shoulder. lynwood was some three miles from the river swamp, and shall a gentleman allow a lady to lug her belongings that distance?
-"miss spring," said peter, anxiously, as they reached the porch of lynwood, "miss spring, do you expect to go about these woods much--by yourself?"
-"why, yes! nobody here has time to prowl with me, you see. and i can't stay indoors. i've got to make the most of these woods while i have the opportunity."
-peter looked troubled. his brows puckered. "i wonder if you'd mind if i just sort of stayed around so i could look after--i mean, so i could watch you painting? may i? please!"
-claribel sensed something tense under that request. she longed to get at peter's thought processes. she was immensely interested in this shabby little chap who made astonishing sketches and whose personality was so intriguing.
-"why, of course you may, peter. but would you mind telling me just why you want to come with me--aside from the painting?"
-peter shifted from one bare foot to the other.
-"because somebody's got to go with you," he blurted flatly. "don't the people here know you mustn't go off like that, by yourself? there--well, miss spring, there are bad folks everywhere, i reckon. our niggers"--peter's head went up--"are the best niggers, in the world. but--sometimes--and--and--" he looked at her, trying to make her understand.
-claribel spring considered him. he might be about fourteen. his head just reached her shoulder. and he was offering to take care of her, to be her protector! that's what his anxiety meant. "oh, you darling little gentleman!" she thought.
-"i see. and i'll be perfectly delighted if you can manage to come with me, peter," said she, sincerely. "and listen: i've been thinking about those sketches of yours, while we were walking home, and i've got the nicest little plan all worked out in my mind. you shall take me around these woods, which you know and i don't. you'll be my guide, philosopher, and friend. in return i'll teach you what i can. you needn't bother about materials: i have loads of stuff for the two of us. what do you say?"
-it was so unexpected, so marvelous, that an electrified and transformed peter looked at her with a face gone white from excess of astonished rapture, and a pair of eyes like pools in paradise when the stars of heaven tremble in their depths.
-claribel spring was a better teacher than artist, as she discovered for herself. she had the divine faculty of imparting knowledge and at the same time arousing enthusiasm; and she had such a pupil now as real teachers dream of. it wasn't so much like learning, with peter; it was as if he were being reminded of something he already knew. he had never had a lesson in his whole life, he didn't go about things in the right manner, and there were grave faults to be overcome; but he had the thing itself.
-she taught him more than the rudiments of technique, more than the mere processes of mixing colors, more than shading and form, and perspective, and flat surfaces, and high lights, and foreshortening. she was the first person from the outside world with whom peter had ever come into real contact, the first person not a southerner with whom he had ever been intimately friendly. and oddly enough, peter taught her a few things.
-riverton learned that peter champneys had been engaged as a sort of fetch-and-carry boy by that big vermont girl who was stopping at lynwood. they thought miss spring charming, when they occasionally met her, but when it came to trapesing about the woods like a gipsy, quite as irresponsible as peter champneys himself--"birds of a feather flock together," you know.
-claribel spring was just at that time passing through a gethsemane of her own, and she needed peter quite as badly as he needed her. peter was really a godsend to the girl. her quiet self-control kept any one from discovering that she was cruelly unhappy, but peter did at times perceive the shadow upon her face, and he knew that the silence that sometimes fell upon her was not always a happy one. at such times he managed to convey to her delicately, without words, his sympathy. he piloted her to lovely places, he made her pause to look at birds' nests, at corners of old fences, at carolina wild-flowers. and when he had made her smile again, he was happy. to peter that was the swiftest, happiest, most enchanted summer he had ever known.
-it ended all too soon. he went up to lynwood one morning to find claribel packing for a hasty departure. it was a new claribel that morning, a claribel with a rosy face and shining eyes and smiling lips. she had gotten news, she told peter joyously, that called her away at once--beautiful news. the most wonderful news in the world!
-she turned over to peter all the material she had on hand, and gave him painstaking directions as to how he was to proceed, what he was to strive for, what to avoid. and she said that when he had become a great man in the big world, one of these days, he wasn't to forget that she'd prophesied it, and had been allowed to play her little part in his career. then she kissed peter as nobody had ever kissed him except his mother. and so she left him.
-he was turning fifteen then, and getting too big for the penny jobs riverton had in pickle for him. nothing better offering, he hired out that autumn to a farmer who fed his stock better than he did his men. peter's mouth still twists wryly when he remembers that first month of heavy farm work. the mule was big and peter wasn't, the plow and the soil were heavy, and peter was light. trammell, the farmer, held him to his task, insisting that "a boy who couldn't learn to plow straight couldn't learn to do nothin' else straight, and he'd better learn now while he had the chanst." peter would have cheerfully forfeited his chance to learn to plow straight; but the thing was there to do, and he tried to do it.
-sunday, his one free day, was the only thing that made life at all endurable to peter. it was a day to be looked forward to all through the heavy week. early in the morning, with such lunch as he could come by, his worn bible in his coat pocket and a package of paper under his arm, peter disappeared, not to return until nightfall. the farmer's over-burdened wife was glad enough to see him go; that meant one less for whom to cook and to wash dishes.
-all the week, after his own fashion, peter had been observing things. on sundays he tried to put them down on paper. he had the great, rare, sober gift of seeing things as they are, a gift given to the very few. a negro plowing in a flat brown field behind a horse as patient as himself; an old woman in a red jacket and a plaid bandana, feeding a flock of turkeys; a young girl milking; a boy driving an unruly cow--all the homely, common, ordinary things of everyday life among the plain people, peter, who had been set down among the plain people, tried to crowd on his scanty supply of drawing-paper on sunday in the woods.
-peter had learned to draw animals playing, and birds flying, and butterflies fluttering, and folks working. but he couldn't draw a decent living-wage for his daily labor. he was only a boy, and it seemed to be a part of the scheme of things that a boy should be asked to do a man's work for a dwarf's wages. and the food they gave him at the trammell farm-house was beginning to tell on him. peter asked for more money and was refused with contumely. he asked for a change of diet, and was informed violently that this country is undoubtedly going to the dogs when folks like himself "think theirselfs too dinged uppidy for good victuals. eat 'em or leave 'em!"
-peter couldn't eat them any more, so he left them. he discharged himself out of hand, and went back to riverton and emma campbell with forty dollars and a bundle of sketches.
-the doctor in riverton got most of the forty dollars. however, as he needed a boy in his drug store just then, he gave the place to peter, who took it willingly enough, as he was still feeling the effects of bad food and heavy farm work. he learned to roll pills and weigh out lime-drops and mix soft drinks, and to keep his patience with women who wanted only a one-cent stamp, and expected him to lick it for them into the bargain.
-grown into a gawky chap of sixteen, peter didn't impress people too favorably. they felt for him the instinctive distrust of the conservative and commercial mind for the free and artistic one. the peter champneyses of the world challenge the ideal of commercial success by their utter inability to see in it the real reason for being alive, and the chief end of man. they are inimical to smugness and to complacent satisfaction. naturally, safe and sane citizens resent this.
-there was one person in riverton who didn't share the general opinion that peter champneys was trifling, and that was mrs. humphreys. mrs. humphrey still tasted that ice-cream and cake peter had given to old daddy christmas on a hot afternoon. it was she who presently persuaded her husband to take peter into his hardware store, at a better salary than the doctor paid him.
-everybody agreed that it was noble of sam humphreys to take peter on. of course, peter was as honest as the sun, but he wasn't businesslike. not to be businesslike is the american sin against the holy ghost. it is far less culpable to begin with the first of the deadly sins on sunday morning and finish up the last of the seven on saturday night, than to have your neighbors say you aren't businesslike. had peter taken to tatting, instead of to sketching niggers in ox-carts, and men plowing, and women washing clothes, riverton couldn't have been more impatient with him. artists, so far as the average american small town is concerned, are ineffectual persons, godless creatures long on hair and short on morals, men whom nobody respects until they are decently dead. it disgusted riverton that peter champneys, who had had such a nice mother and come from a good family, should follow such examples.
-but peter meant to hold fast to his one power, though every hand in the world were against it, though every tongue shouted "fool," though for it he should go hungry and naked and friendless to the end of his days. he wished to get away from riverton, to study in some large city under good teachers. claribel spring had stressed the necessity of good teachers. grimly he set himself to work to obtain at least a start toward the coveted end.
-by incredible efforts he had managed to save one hundred and ten dollars, when emma campbell fell ill with a misery in her legs. although she had a conjure bag around her neck, a rabbit foot in her pocket, and a horseshoe nailed above the door, she was helpless for a while, and peter had to hire another colored woman to care for her.
-emma was just on her feet when cassius took it into his head to die. there was a confusion of husbands and wives between emma and cassius, but she mourned for him shrilly. what deepened her distress was the fact that in repudiating him his last wife had carried off all his small possessions, and there was no money left to bury him. now, not to be buried with due and fitting ceremonies and the displayed insignia of some churchly buryin' society, is a calamity and a disgrace. emma felt that she could never hope to hold up her head again if cassius had to be buried by town charity.
-peter champneys hadn't lived among and liked the colored people all these years for nothing. he looked at big emma campbell sitting beside the kitchen table with her head buried in her arms, a prey to woe. then he went to the bank and drew what remained of his savings. cassius was gathered to his father's with all the accustomed trappings, and emma's grief was turned to proud joy. but it was another proof of the unbusinesslike mind of peter champneys. his small savings were gone; he had to begin all over again.
-decidedly, the purple heights were a long, long way off!
-good morning, good luck!
-the coast country, always beautiful, was at its best, the air sweet with the warm breath of summer. the elder was white with flowers, and in moist places, where the ditches dipped, huge cat-tails swayed to the light wind. roses rioted in every garden; when one passed the little houses of the negroes every yard was gay with pink crape-myrtle and white and lilac rose of sharon trees. all along the worm-fences the vetches and the butterfly-pea trailed their purple; everywhere the horse-nettle showed its lovely milk-white stars, and the orange-red milkweed invited all the butterflies of south carolina to come and dine at her table. there were swarms of butterflies, cohorts of butterflies, but among all the people of the sky he missed the red admiral.
-peter particularly needed the gallant little sailor's heartening. it was a bad sign not to meet him this morning; it confirmed his own opinion that he was an unlucky fellow, a chap doomed to remain a nonentity, one fitted for nothing better than scooping out a nickel's worth of nails, or wrapping up fifty-cent frying-pans!
-he walked more and more wearily, as if it tired him to carry so heavy a heart. life was unkind, nature cruel, fate a trickster. one was caught, as a rat in a trap, "in the fell clutch of circumstance." what was the use of anything? why any of us, anyhow?
-and still not a glimmer of the admiral! at this season of the year, when he should have been in evidence, it was ominously significant that he should be missing. peter trudged another half-mile, and stopped to rest.
-"let's put this thing to the test," he said to himself, seriously. "that little chap has always been my sign. well, now, if i meet one, something good is going to happen. if i meet two, i'll get my little chance to climb out of this hole. if i meet three, it's me for the open and the big chance to make good. and if i don't meet any at all--why, i'll be nobody but riverton peter champneys."
-he didn't give himself the chance that on a time jean jacques gave himself when he threw a stone at a tree, and decided that if it struck the tree he'd get to heaven, and if it missed he'd go to hell--but so placed himself that there was nothing for that stone to do but hit the tree in front of it. peter would run his risks.
-and still no admiral! it was silly; it was superstitious; it was childish; peter was as well aware of that as anybody could be. but his heart went down like a plummet.
-peter stopped dead in his tracks and stared as if he weren't willing to believe his own eyesight. he went red and white, and his heavy heart turned a cart-wheel, and danced a jig, and began to sing as a young heart should. on the farthest thistle, as if waiting for him to come, as if they knew he must come, with their sails hoisted over their backs, were three red admirals!
-peter dropped in the grass, doubled his long legs under him, and watched them, his mouth turned right side up, his eyes golden in his dark face. two of them presently flew away. the third walked over the thistle, tentatively, flattened his wings to show his sash and shoulder-straps.
-"good morning, good luck! you're still my sign!" said peter.
-the red admiral fluttered his wings again, as if he quite understood. he allowed peter to admire his under wings, the fore-wings so exquisitely jeweled and enameled, the lower like a miniature design for an oriental prayer-rug. he sent peter a message with his delicate, sensitive antenna, a wireless message of hope. then, with his quick, darting motion, he launched himself into his native element and was gone.
-the day took on new loveliness, a happy, intimate, all-pervading beauty that flowed into one like light. never had the trees been so comradely, the grass so friendly, the swamp water so clear, so cool.
-for a happy forenoon he worked in neptune's empty cabin, whose open windows framed blue sky and green woods, and wide, sunny spaces. he ate the lunch emma campbell had fixed for him. then he went over to the edge of the river swamp and lay under a great oak, and slipping his bible from his pocket, read the thirty-seventh psalm that his mother had so loved. the large, brave, grave words splashed over him like cool water, and the little, hateful things, that had been like festering splinters in his flesh, vanished. there were flowering bay-trees somewhere near by, diffusing their unforgetable fragrance; the flowering bay is the breath of summer in south carolina. he sniffed the familiar odor, and listened to a redbird's whistle, and to a mocking-bird echoing it; and to the fiddling of grasshoppers, the whispers of trees, the quiet, soft movement of the swamp water. the long thoughts that came to him in the open crossed his mind as clouds cross the sky, idly, moving slowly, breaking up and drifting with the wind. a bee buzzed about a spike of blue lobelia; ants moved up and down the trunk of the oak-tree; birds and butterflies came and went. with his hands under his head, peter lay so motionless that a great brown water-snake glided upon a branch not ten feet distant, overhanging a brown pool whose depths a spear of sunlight pierced. the young man had a curious sense of personal detachment, such as comes upon one in isolated places. he felt himself a part of the one life of the universe, one with the whistling redbird, the toiling ants, the fluttering butterflies, the chirping grasshoppers, the great brown snake, the trees, the water. the earth breathed audibly against his ear. he sensed the awefulness and beauty of this oneness of all things, and the immortality of that oneness; and in comparison the littleness of his own personal existence. with piercing clarity he saw how brief a time he had to work and to experience the beauty and wonder of his universe. then, healingly, dreamlessly, wholesomely, he fell asleep, to wake at sunset with a five-mile tramp ahead of him.
-long before he reached riverton the dark had fallen. it was an evening of many stars. the wind carried with it the salty taste of the sea, and the smell of the warm country.
-a light burned in his own dining-room, which was sitting-room as well, and a much pleasanter room than his mother had known, for books had accumulated in it, lending it that note books alone can give. he had added a reading-lamp and a comfortable arm-chair. emma campbell's flowers, planted in anything from a tomato-can to an old pot, filled the windows with gay blossoms.
-peter fetched his tray into the dining-room, and had just touched a match to the spirit kettle, when a motor-car honked outside his gate.
-peter's house was at some distance from the nearest neighbour's, and fancying this must be a complete stranger to have gotten so far off the beaten track as to come down this short street which was nothing but a road ending at the cove, he went to his door prepared to give such directions as might be required.
-somebody grunted, and climbed out of the car. in the glare of the lamps peter made out a man as tall as himself, in a linen duster that came to his heels, and with an automobile cap and goggles concealing most of his face. the stranger jerked the gate open, and a moment later peter was confronting the goggled eyes.
-"are you," said a pleasant voice, "by good fortune, peter champneys?"
-"well," said peter, truthfully, "i can't say anything about the good fortune of it, but i'm peter champneys."
-the stranger paused for a moment. he said in a changed tone: "i have come three thousand miles to have a look at and a talk with you."
-"come in," said peter, profoundly astonished, "and do it." and he stepped aside.
-his guest shook himself out of dust-coat and goggles and stood revealed an old man in a linen suit--a tall, thin, brown, very distinguished-looking old man, with a narrow face, a drooping white mustache, bushy eyebrows, a big nose, and a pair of fine, melancholy brown eyes. he stared at peter devouringly, and peter stared back at him quite as interestedly.
-"peter champneys: peter devereaux champneys, i have come across the continent to see you. well! here you are--and here i am. have you the remotest idea who i am? what my name is?" peter shook his head apologetically. he hadn't the remotest idea. yet there was something vaguely familiar in the tanned old face, some haunting likeness to somebody, that puzzled him.
-"my name," said the old gentleman, "is champneys--chadwick champneys. your father used to call me chad, when we were boys together. i'm his brother--and your uncle, nephew--and glad to make your acquaintance. i'll take it for granted you're as pleased to make mine. now that i see you clearly, let me add that if i met your skin on a bush in the middle of the sahara desert, i'd know it for a champneys hide. particularly the beak. you look like me." peter stared. it was quite true: he did resemble chadwick champneys. the two shook hands.
-"but, uncle chad--why, we thought--well, sir, you see, we heard you were dead."
-"yes. i heard so myself," said uncle chad, serenely. "in the meantime, may i ask you for a bite? i'm somewhat hungry."
-peter set another plate for his guest, and brewed tea, and the two drew up to the table. emma campbell had provided an excellent meal, and mr. chadwick champneys plied an excellent knife and fork, remarking that when all was said and done one south carolina nigger was worth six french chefs, and that he hadn't eaten anything so altogether satisfactory for ages.
-the more the young man studied the elder man's face, the better he liked it. figure to yourself a don quixote not born in spain but in south carolina, not clothed in absurd armor but in a linen suit, and who rode, not on rosinante but in a motor-car, and you ll have a fair enough idea of the old gentleman who popped into peter's house that sunday night.
-peter asked no questions. he sat back, and waited for such information as his guest chose to convey. he felt bewildered, and at the same time happy. he who was so alone of a sudden found that he possessed this relative, and it seemed to him almost too good to be true. that the relative had never before noticed his existence, that he was supposed to be a trifler and a ne'er-do-weel, didn't cloud peter's joy.
-his relative put his feet on a chair, lighted and smoked a cutty, and presently unbosomed himself, jerkily, and with some reluctance. his wife milly--and whenever he mentioned her name the melancholy in his brown eyes deepened--had been dead some twelve years now. they had had no children. he had wandered from south to west, from mexico and california and yucatan to alaska, always going to strike it lucky and always missing it. to the day of her death milly had stood by, loyally, lovingly, unselfishly, his one prop and solace, his perfect friend and comrade. there was never, he said, anybody like her. and milly died. died poor, in a shack in a mining-town.
-he had done something of everything, from selling patent medicines to taking up oil and mining-claims. he couldn't stay put. he really didn't care what happened to him, and so of course nothing happened to him. that's the way things are.
-three years after milly's death he had fallen in with feilding, the englishman. feilding was almost on his last legs when the two met, and champneys nursed him back to life. the silent, rather surly englishman refused to be separated from the man who, he said, had saved his life, and the two struck up a partnership of mutual misfortune. they tramped and starved and worked together, until feilding died, leaving to his partner his sole possessions--a mining-claim and a patent-medicine recipe. he had felt about down and out, the night feilding died, for the englishman was the one real friend he had made, the one person who loved him and whom he loved, after milly.
-but instead of his being down and out, the tide had even then turned for chadwick champneys. his friendless wanderings were about done. the mining-claim was worth a very great deal; and the patent medicine did at least some of the things claimed for it. he took it to a certain firm, offering them two thirds of the first and half of the second year's profits for handling the thing for him. they closed with the offer, and from the very first the medicine was a money-maker. it would always be a best-seller.
-and then the irony of fate stepped in and took a hand in chadwick champneys's affairs. the man who had hitherto been a failure, the man whose touch had seemed able to wither the most promising business sprouts, found himself suddenly possessed of the midas touch. he couldn't go into anything that didn't double in value. he wasn't able to fail. let him buy a barren bit of land in texas, say, and oil would presently be discovered in it; or a god-forsaken tract in the west virginia mountains, and coal would crop out; or a huddle of mean houses in some unfashionable city district, and immediately commerce and improvement strode in that direction, and what he had bought by the block he sold by the foot.
-because he was alone, and growing old, champneys's heart turned to his own people. he learned that his brother's orphaned son was still in the south carolina town. and there was a girl, milly's niece. these two were the only human beings with whom the rich and lonely man could claim any family ties.
-peter was so breathless with interest and sympathy, so moved by the wanderings of this old ulysses, and so altogether swept off his feet by the irruption of an uncle into his uncleless existence, that he hadn't time for a thought as to the possible bearing it might have upon his own fortunes. when, therefore, his uncle wound up with, "i'll tell you, nephew, it's a mighty comforting thing for a man to have some one of his own blood and name close to his hand to carry on his work and fulfil his plans," peter came to his senses with a shock as of ice-water poured down his backbone. he knew it wasn't in him to carry out any business schemes his uncle might have in mind.
-"uncle chad," said he, honestly. "don't be mistaken about me, and don't set your heart on trying to train me into any young napoleon of finance. it's not in me." and he added, gently, "i'm sorry i'm a dub. i'd like to please you, and i hate to disappoint you; but you might as well know the truth at once."
-uncle chad looked him up and down with shrewd eyes.
-"so?" said he, and fell to pulling his long mustache. "what's the whole truth, nephew? if you don't feel equal to learning how to run a million-dollar patent-medicine plant, what do you feel you'd be good at, hey?"
-"i'm good in my own line: i want to be an artist. i am going to be an artist, if i have to starve to death for it!" said peter. he spread out his hands. "i have one life to live, and one thing to do!" he cried.
-"oh, an artist! i've never heard of any champneys before you who had such a hankering, though i'm quite sure it's all right, if you like it, nephew. there's no earthly reason why an artist shouldn't be a gentleman, though i could wish you'd have taken over the patent-medicine business, instead. have you got anything i can see?"
-shyly and reluctantly, peter began to show him. there were two or three oils by now; powerful sketches of country life, with its humor and pathos; heads of children and of negroes; bits of the river swamp; all astonishingly well done.
-"paintings are curious things; some have got life and some haven't got anything i can see, except paint. there was one i saw in new york, now. i thought at first it was a mess of spinach. i stood off and looked, and i walked up close and looked, and still i couldn't see anything but the same green mess. but--will you believe it, nephew?--that thing was the woods in spring! thinks i, they evidently boil their woods in spring up here, before painting 'em! the things one paints nowadays don't look like the things they're painted from, i notice. i'm afraid these things of yours look too much like real things to satisfy folks it's real art.--you sure the lord meant you to be an artist?"
-peter laughed. "i'm sure i mean myself to be an artist, uncle chad."
-"want to get away from riverton, don't you? but that costs money? and you haven't got the money?"
-"i want to get away from riverton. but that costs money, and i haven't got the money," admitted peter.
-"i see. now, nephew, when it gets right down to the thing he really wants to do, every man has some horse sense, even if he happens to be a fool in everything else. i'll talk to your horse sense and save time."
-peter, in the midst of scattered drawings, and of the few oils backed up against the dining-room wall, paused.
-"i could wish," said his uncle, slowly, "that you were--different. but you are what you are, and it would be a waste of time to try to make you different. you say you have one thing to do. all right, peter champneys, you shall have your chance to do it,--with a price-tag attached. do you want to be what you say you want to be hard enough to be willing to pay the price for it?"
-"you mean--to go away from here--to study? to see real pictures--and be a student under a real teacher?" peter's voice all but failed him. his face went white, and his eyes glittered. he began to tremble. his uncle, watching him narrowly, nodded.
-"yes. just that. everything that can help you, you shall have--time, teachers, money, travel. but first you must pay me my price."
-peter could only lean forward and stare. he was afraid he was going to wake up in a minute.
-"let me see if i can make it quite clear to you, peter. you never knew milly--my wife milly. you're not in love, son, are you? no? well, you won't be able to understand--yet."
-"there was my mother, sir," said peter, gently.
-"i'm sorry," said the other, just as gently. "i wish it had come sooner, the luck. but it didn't, and i can't do anything for milly,--or for your mother. they're gone." for a moment he hung his head.
-"but, peter, i can do considerable for you, and i mean to do it. only i can't bear to think milly shouldn't have her share in it. we never had a child of our own, but there's milly's niece."
-"oh, but of course, uncle chad! aunt milly's niece ought to come in for all you can do for her, even before me," said peter, heartily, and with entire good faith.
-"you are your father's son," said uncle chad, ambiguously. "but what i wish to impress upon you is, that neither of you comes before the other: you come together." he paused again, and from this time on never removed his eyes from his nephew's face, but watched him hawk-like. "you will understand there is a great deal of money--enough money to found a great american family. why shouldn't that family be the champneyses? why shouldn't the champneyses be restored to their old place, put where they rightfully belong? and who and what should bring this about, except you, and milly's niece, and my money!"
-"i'm afraid i don't quite understand," said peter, and looked as bewildered as he felt. he wasn't a quick thinker. "what is it you wish me to do?"
-still holding his eyes, "i want you to marry milly's niece," said chadwick champneys. "that's my price."
-"marry? i? oh, but, uncle chad! why, i don't even know the girl, nor she me! i've never so much as heard of her until this minute!" cried peter.
-"what difference does that make? men and women never know each other until after they're married anyhow," said his uncle, sententiously. "peter, do you really wish to go abroad and study? very well, then: marry milly's niece. i'll attend to everything else."
-"but why? my good god! why?" peter's eyes popped.
-"nephew," said his uncle, patiently, "you are the last champneys; she is milly's niece--my milly's niece. and milly is dead, and i am practically under sentence of death myself. i have got to put my affairs in order. i'd hardly learned i was a very rich man before i also learned my time was limited. on high authority. heart, nephew. i may last for several years. or go out like a puff of wind, before morning."
-peter was so genuinely shocked and distressed at this that his uncle smiled to himself. the boy was a true champneys.
-"there is no error in the diagnosis, so i accept what i can't help, and in the meantime arrange my affairs. now, nephew peter, business man or artist the champneys name is in your keeping. you are the head of the house, so to speak. i supply the funds to refurnish the house, we'll say, and i give you your opportunity to do what you want to do, to make your mark in your own way. in exchange you accept the wife i provide for you. when i meet milly again, i want to tell her there's somebody of her own blood bearing our name, taking the place of the child we never had, enjoying all the good things we missed, and enjoying them with a champneys, as a champneys. if there are to be champneys children, i want milly's niece to bear them. i won't divide my money between two separate houses; it must all go to peter champneys and his wife, that wife being milly's niece." his eyes began to glitter, his mouth hardened. "it is little enough to ask!" he cried, raising his voice. "i give you everything else. i do not ask you to change your profession. i make that profession possible by supplying the means to pursue it. in payment you marry milly's niece."
-his manner was so passionately earnest that the astonished boy took his head in his hands to consider this amazing proposition.
-"but how in heaven's name can i study if i'm plagued with a wife?" he demanded. "i want to be foot-loose!"
-"all right. you shall be foot-loose, for seven years, let's say," said his uncle, quietly. "i reason that if you are ever going to be anything, you'll at least have made a beginning within seven years! you're twenty now, are you not? when you marry my girl, you shall go abroad immediately. she'll stay with me until her education is completed. your wife shall be trained to take her proper place in the world. on your twenty-seventh birthday you will return and claim her. i do not need anything more than the bare word of a champneys that he'll be what a man should be. milly's niece will be safe in your keeping.--well?"
-"let me think a bit, uncle."
-"take until morning. in the meanwhile, please help me get my car under shelter, and show me where i turn in for the night." being in some things a very considerate old man, he did not add that he had found the day strenuous, and that his strength was ebbing.
-at dawn he stole out of the house, and walked the three miles to the country cemetery where his mother slept beside his father. he sat beside her last bed, and remembered the cold hand that had crept into his, the faltering whisper that prayed him to take his chance when it came, and to prove himself.
-if he refused this miraculous opportunity, there would be riverton, and the hardware store, or other country stores similar to it, to the end of his days. no freedom, no glorious opportunities, no work of brain and hand together, no beauty wrought of thought and experience; the purple peaks fading into farther and farther distances until they faded out of his sky altogether; and himself a sorry plodder in a path whose dust choked him. peter shuddered. anything but that!
-mr. chadwick champneys was sitting by the dining-room table talking to astonished emma campbell, and stroking the cat, when peter came swinging into the room.
-"well?" with a keen glance at his nephew's face.
-"yes," said peter, deliberately.
-the old man went on stroking the cat for a moment or so, while emma campbell, the hominy-spoon in her hand, watched them both. she understood that something momentous portended. not for nothing had this shrewd, imperious old man whom she had known in his youth as wild chad champneys, led emma on to tell him all she knew about the family history since his departure, years ago. when emma had finished, chadwick champneys felt that he knew his nephew to the bone; and it was champneys bone!
-"thank you, nephew," said he, in a deep voice. "you're a good lad. you won't regret your bargain. i promise you that."
-he turned to emma campbell:
-"if my breakfast is ready, i'm ready too, emma." and to peter: "we were renewing our old acquaintance, emma and i, while you were out, nephew. she hasn't changed much: she's still the biggest nigger and the best cook and the faithfulest friend in all carolina."
-"oh, go 'long, mist' chad! who you 'speck ought to look after miss maria's chile, 'ceptin' ole emma campbell? lawd 'a' mussy, ain't i wiped 'is nose en dusted 'is britches sense he bawn? dat peter, he belonged to miss maria en me. he's we chile," said emma campbell.
-over his coffee mr. champneys outlined his plans carefully and succinctly. peter was to hold himself in readiness to proceed whither his uncle would direct him by wire. in the meantime he was to settle his affairs in riverton.
-"uncle chad," said peter, to whom the thought had just occurred, "uncle chad, now that i have agreed to do what you wish me to do, what is the young lady's name? you didn't tell me."
-"her name? why, god bless my soul, i forgot, i forgot! well! her name's anne simms. called nancy. soon be nancy champneys, thank heaven!" and he repeated: "nancy champneys! anne champneys!"
-"uncle," said peter, deprecatingly, "you'll understand--i'm a little interested--excuse me for asking you--but what does the young lady look like?"
-mr. chadwick champneys blinked at his nephew.
-"look like? you want to know what milly's niece looks like?"
-"yes, sir," said peter, modestly. "i--er--that is, the thought occurred to me to ask you what she looks like."
-mr. champneys scratched the end of his nose, pulled his mustache, and looked unhappy.
-"nephew peter," said he, "do what i do: take it for granted milly's niece looks like any other girl--nose and mouth and hair and eyes, you know. but i can't describe her to you in detail."
-"no? why?" peter wondered.
-"because i have never laid eyes on her," said his uncle.
-"oh!" peter looked thunderstruck.
-"i came to you first," explained his uncle. "i gave you first whack. now i'm going to see her."
-"oh!" said peter, still more thunderstruck.
-"i'll wire you when you're to come," said his uncle, briskly, and got into dust-coat, cap, and goggles. a few minutes later, before the little town was well awake, he vanished in a cloud of dust down the riverton road.
-where the road divided
-emma campbell stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, lips pursed, eyes fixed on vacancy, a dish-cloth dangling from one hand, a carving-knife clutched in the other, and projecked. and the more she projecked about what was happening in peter's house, the less she liked it. it had never occurred to emma campbell that peter might go away from riverton. yet now he was going, and it had been taken for granted that she, emma, who, as she said, had "raised 'im from a puppy up'ards," wouldn't mind staying on here after his departure. fetching a cold sigh from the depths of an afflicted bosom, emma moved snail-like toward the work in hand; and as she worked she howled dismally that nobody knew the trouble she saw, "nobody knew but you, lawd."
-when peter came in to dinner, she addressed him with distant politeness as mistuh champneys, instead of the usual mist' peter. when he spoke to her she accordion-plaited her lips, and stuck her eyes out at him. her head, adorned with more than the usual quota of toothpicks, brought the quills upon the fretful porcupine forcibly to one's mind.
-nobody but peter champneys could or would have borne with emma campbell's contrary fits, but as neither of them realized this they managed to get along beautifully. peter was well aware that when the car that had suddenly appeared in the night had just as suddenly disappeared in the morning in a cloud of dust on the riverton road, emma's peace of mind had vanished also. he understood, and was patient.
-she clapped a platter of crisp fried chicken before him, and stood by, eyeing him and it grimly. and when hungry peter thrust his fork into a tempting piece, "you know who you eatin'?" she demanded pleasantly.
-peter didn't know whom he was eating; fork suspended, he looked at emma questioningly.
-"you eatin' lula, dat who you eatin'," emma told him with grisly unction. "dem 's de same laigs use to scratch roun' we kitchen do'. dat 's de same lovin'-hearted hen i raise fum a baby. but, lawd! whut you care? you 's de sort kin go trapesin' off by yo'se'f over de worl'. you dat uppidy dese days, whut you care 'bout eatin' up po' lil lula? she ain't nobody but us-all's chicken, nohow!"
-peter looked doubtfully at "po' lil lula's" remains, and laid down his fork. somehow, one can't be keen about eating a loving-hearted hen.
-"but, emma, we eat our chickens all the time! you've fried me many a chicken without raising a row about it!" he protested.
-"who tol' you dey wuz ours?"
-as peter hadn't a fitting reply in return for this ambiguous query, emma bounced out of the dining-room, to return in a moment with the tea-pot; when peter held out his cup, she poured into it plain boiling water. at that she set the tea-pot hastily upon the table, threw her gingham apron over her head, and plumped upon the floor with a thud that made the house shake. it frightened the cat into going through the window at a leap, taking with him all the flowers planted in tomato-cans.
-"emma," said peter, severely, "i'm ashamed of you! take that silly apron off your head and listen to me. you know very well you aren't being left to shift for yourself. you'll be provided for better than you've ever been. why, all you'll have to do--"
-"all i 'll hab to do is jes' crawl into my grave en stay dere. i done raised 'im fum de egg up, en now he 's got comb en kin crow it 's tail-feathers over de fence en fly off wid 'im! ah, lawd! you done made 'em en you knows whut roosters is like!"
-"emma! look here, confound it!--"
-"who gwine look after 'im? i axes you fum my heart, who gwine do it?--never did hab no mo' sense dan a rabbit widout i 's by, en now dey aims to tun 'im loose! ah, lawd!"
-"emma, listen! emma, what the--"
-"dem furrin women 'll do 'im lak dem women done po' old cassius. dey 'll conjure 'im! en widout i by, who gwine make 'im put one live frawg on 'is nekked stummick, so 's to sweat de speret o' dat frawg een, en de speret o' dat conjure out? no-buddy. den he 'll up en die. widout one gawd's soul o' 'is own folkses to put de coppers on 'is eyes en' tie up de corpse's jaws.--ah lawd, ah lawd!"
-"oh, shut up, you old idiot! i'm not coming home to my meals any more, if this is how you're going to behave!" this from peter, disgustedly.
-"ain't you, suh? all right, suh, mistuh champneys, you 's be boss. but i glad to my gawd miss maria ain't 'yuh to see dis day!" and emma began to sniffle.
-peter pushed his untouched dinner aside, and reached for his hat. he looked at emma campbell irefully.
-"damn!" exploded peter.
-emma campbell got to her feet with astounding quickness, ran into the kitchen, and returned in a moment with another platter of chicken, rice, and gravy.
-"'yuh, chile. set down en eat yo' bittles. you ain't called on to hab no hard feelin's 'bout dis chicken. 't ain't none o' ours, nohow." peter resumed his chair and waived cross-examination.
-mr. champneys having come, so to speak, between dark and daylight, riverton knew nothing about his visit, for peter hadn't thought to inform them. this affair seemed so unreal, so improbable, so up in the air, that he dared not mention it. suppose it mightn't be true, after all. suppose fate played a cruel joke. suppose mr. champneys changed his mind. so peter, who had a horror of talk, and writhed when asked personal questions by people who felt that they had a perfect right to know all about his business, kept strict silence, and enjoined the same silence upon emma campbell, who could be trusted to hold her tongue when bidden.
-now, one simply cannot remember the price of pots and pans and sheet-iron and plows and ax-handles, when one is living in the beginning of an astounding fairy story, when the most momentous change is impending, when one's whole way of life is about to be diverted into different channels. the things one hates, like being a hardware clerk, for instance, automatically slide into the background when the desire of the heart approaches.
-but mr. humphreys, whose mind and fortune naturally enough centered in his hardware store, couldn't be expected to know that the impossible had happened for peter champneys. he would hardly be able to take peter's bare word for it, even if peter should tell him: he didn't know that his absent-minded clerk really liked him, and longed to tell him that he was leaving riverton shortly--he hoped for years and years--and was only awaiting the message that should speed his departure. mr. humphreys, then, cannot be blamed for complaining with feeling and profanity that of all the damidjits he had ever seen in his life, peter champneys was about the worst. loony was no name for him, and what was to become of such a chump he didn't know. "if this thing keeps up, he'll be drooling before he's forty, and we'll have to hire a nigger to feed him out of a papspoon," said mr. humphreys, forebodingly.
-and in the meanwhile the days dragged and dragged--two whole weeks of suspense and expectancy. on the monday of the third week the end of peter's waiting and of mr. humphreys's patience came together. one, in fact, brought about the other. the postman who drove in with the daily mail brought for peter champneys the yellow envelope toward which he had been looking with such feverish impatience.
-he was really to go! the young man experienced that reeling, ecstatic shock which shakes one when a long-delayed desire suddenly assumes reality. he stood with the telegram in his fingers, and stared about the dusty, dingy, uninteresting store, and saw as with new eyes how hopelessly hideous it really was; and wondered and wondered if he were really himself, peter champneys, who was going to get away from it.
-at that moment stout old mrs. beach entered the store and waddled up to him. mrs. beach was a woman who never knew what she really wanted, or if, indeed, she really wanted anything in particular; but then again, as she said, she might. she didn't like to leave her house often; and when she did finally make up her mind to dress and go out, she popped into every store she happened to pass, on the chance that she might want something from it, and would thus save herself an extra trip to get it. she would say to a perspiring clerk:
-"now, let me see: there's something i wanted to get from this store. i know it, because on tuesday last something happened to put me in mind of it--or was it wednesday, maybe? i know it's something i need about the house--or maybe the yard. you'll have to help me out. i've got a poor memory, but you just sort of run over a list of things folks would be most likely to need and maybe you'll hit on the right thing, and if it's that i want, i'll get it right now. don't stand there like a hitching-post, boy! why can't you suggest something, and help out a woman old enough to be your mother?"
-if by some fortuitous chance you happened to hit upon an article she thought she might happen to need, and it suited her, she would buy it. but it never occurred to her to thank you for your help, or to apologize for the nerve-racking strain to which she subjected you.
-"young man," said her testy voice in peter's ear, "i've got to get he would wish his stomach stuffed with bananas; but both the head and the stomach need some nourishment--better dates than nothing.
-if a knowledge of a certain historical event is of any value whatsoever, the greater and more detailed our knowledge the better--including perhaps, but not necessarily, its date. the question is not essentially whether the dates are of value, but how much emphasis should be placed on them to the exclusion of other facts of history.
-"there is no use trying to remember dates," is a familiar cry. there is about as much sense in such a statement as the announcement: "there is no use trying to remember who wrote henry esmond, composed the fifth symphony, or painted the last supper." there is a lot of use in trying to remember anything. the people who argue to the contrary are too lazy to try.
-i suppose it may be conceded, for the sake of argument, that every american, educated or not, should know the date of the declaration of independence, and have some sort of acquaintance with the character and deeds of washington. if we add to this the date of the discovery of america and the first english settlement; the inauguration of the first president; the louisiana purchase; the naval war with england; the war with mexico; the missouri compromise, and the firing on fort sumter, we cannot be accused of pedantry. it certainly could not do any one of us harm to know these dates or a little about the events themselves.
-this is equally true, only in a lesser degree, in regard to the history of foreign nations. any accurate knowledge is worth while. it is harder, in the long run, to remember a date slightly wrong than with accuracy. the dateless man, who is as vague as i am about the league of cambray or philip ii, will loudly assert that the trouble incident to remembering a date in history is a pure waste of time. he will allege that "a general idea"--a very favorite phrase--is all that is necessary. in the case of such a person you can safely gamble that his so-called "general idea" is no idea at all. pin him down and he will not be able to tell you within five hundred years the dates of some of the cardinal events of european history--the invasion of europe by the huns, for instance. was it before or after christ? he might just as well try to tell you that it was quite enough to know that our civil war occurred somewhere in the nineteenth century.
-i have personally no hesitation in advancing the claim that there are a few elementary principles and fundamental facts in all departments of human knowledge which every person who expects to derive any advantage from intelligent society should not only once learn but should forever remember. not to know them is practically the same thing as being without ordinary means of communication. one may not find it necessary to remember the binomial theorem or the algebraic formula for the contents of a circle, but he should at least have a formal acquaintance with julius caesar, hannibal, charlemagne, martin luther, francis i, queen elizabeth, louis xiv, napoleon i--and a dozen or so others. an educated man must speak the language of educated men.
-i do not think it too much to demand that in history he should have in mind, at least approximately, one important date in each century in the chronicles of france, england, italy and germany. that is not much, but it is a good start. and shall we say ten dates in american history? he should, in addition, have a rough working knowledge of the chief personages who lived in these centuries and were famous in war, diplomacy, art, religion and literature. his one little date will at least give him some notion of the relation the events in one country bore to those in another.
-i boldly assert that in a half hour you can learn by heart all the essential dates in american history. i assume that you once knew, and perhaps still know, something about the events themselves with which they are connected. ten minutes a day for the rest of the week and you will have them at your fingers' ends. it is no trick at all. it is as easy as learning the names of the more important parts of the mechanism of your motor. there is nothing impossible or difficult, or even tedious, about it; but it seems herculean because you have never taken the trouble to try to remember anything. it is the same attitude that renders it almost physically painful for one of us to read over the scenario of an opera or a column biography of its composer before hearing a performance at the metropolitan. yet fifteen minutes or half an hour invested in this way pays about five hundred per cent.
-and the main thing, after you have learned anything, is not to forget it. knowledge forgotten is no knowledge at all. that is the trouble with the elective system as usually administered in our universities. at the end of the college year the student tosses aside his elements of geology and forgets everything between its covers. what he has learned should be made the basis for other and more detailed knowledge. the instructor should go on building a superstructure on the foundation he has laid, and at the end of his course the aspirant for a diploma should be required to pass an examination on his entire college work. had i been compelled to do that, i should probably be able to tell now--what i do not know--whether melancthon was a painter, a warrior, a diplomat, a theologian or a dramatic poet.
-i have instanced the study of dates because they are apt to be the storm center of discussions concerning education. it is fashionable to scoff at them in a superior manner. we all of us loathe them; yet they are as indispensable--a certain number of them--as the bones of a body. they make up the skeleton of history. they are the orderly pegs on which we can hang later acquired information. if the pegs are not there the information will fall to the ground.
-for example, our entire conception of the reformation, or of any intellectual or religious movement, might easily turn on whether it preceded or followed the discovery of printing; and our mental picture of any great battle, as well as our opinion of the strategy of the opposing armies, would depend on whether or not gunpowder had been invented at the time. hence the importance of a knowledge of the dates of the invention of printing and of gunpowder in europe.
-this is not true of the older countries. in germany, for instance, a knowledge of natural philosophy, languages and history is insisted on. to the german schoolboy, george washington is almost as familiar a character as columbus; but how many american children know anything of bismarck? the ordinary educated foreigner speaks at least two languages and usually three, is fairly well grounded in science, and is perfectly familiar with ancient and modern history. the american college graduate seems like a child beside him so far as these things are concerned.
-we are content to live a hand-to-mouth mental existence on a haphazard diet of newspapers and the lightest novels. we are too lazy to take the trouble either to discipline our minds or to acquire, as adults, the elementary knowledge necessary to enable us to read intelligently even rather superficial books on important questions vitally affecting our own social, physical intellectual or moral existences.
-if somebody refers to huss or wyclif ten to one we do not know of whom he is talking; the same thing is apt to be true about the draft of the hot-water furnace or the ball and cock of the tank in the bathroom. inertia and ignorance are the handmaidens of futility. heaven forbid that we should let anybody discover this aridity of our minds!
-my wife admits privately that she has forgotten all the french she ever knew--could not even order a meal from a carte de jour; yet she is a never-failing source of revenue to the counts and marquises who yearly rush over to new york to replenish their bank accounts by giving parlor lectures in their native tongue on le xiiime siècle or madame lebrun. no one would ever guess that she understands no more than one word out of twenty and that she has no idea whether talleyrand lived in the fifteenth or the eighteenth century, or whether calvin was a frenchman or a scotchman.
-our clever people are content merely with being clever. they will talk tolstoi or turgenieff with you, but they are quite vague about catherine ii or peter the great. they are up on d'annunczio, but not on garibaldi or cavour. our ladies wear a false front of culture, but they are quite bald underneath.
-being educated, however, does not consist, by any means, in knowing who fought and won certain battles or who wrote the novum organum. it lies rather in a knowledge of life based on the experience of mankind. hence our study of history. but a study of history in the abstract is valueless. it must be concrete, real and living to have any significance for us. the schoolboy who learns by rote imagines the greeks as outline figures of one dimension, clad in helmets and tunics, and brandishing little swords. that is like thinking of jeanne d'arc as a suit of armor or of theodore roosevelt as a pair of spectacles.
-we are equally vague with respect to the ordinary processes of our daily lives. i have not the remotest idea of how to make a cup of coffee or disconnect the gas or water mains in my own house. if my sliding door sticks i send for the carpenter, and if water trickles in the tank i telephone for the plumber. i am a helpless infant in the stable and my motor is the creation of a frankenstein that has me at its mercy. my wife may recall something of cookery--which she would not admit, of course, before the butler--but my daughters have never been inside a kitchen. none of my family knows anything about housekeeping or the prices of foodstuffs or house-furnishings. my coal and wood are delivered and paid for without my inquiring as to the correctness of the bills, and i offer the same temptations to dishonest tradesmen that a drunken man does to pickpockets. yet i complain of the high cost of living!
-my family has never had the slightest training in practical affairs. if we were cast away on a fertile tropical island we should be forced to subsist on bananas and clams, and clothe ourselves with leaves,--provided the foliage was ready made and came in regulation sizes.
-these things are vastly more important from an educational point of view than a knowledge of the relationship of mary stuart to the duke of guise, however interesting that may be to a reader of french history of the sixteenth century. a knowledge of the composition of gunpowder is more valuable than of guy fawkes' gunpowder plot. if we know nothing about household economies we can hardly be expected to take an interest in the problems of the proletariat. if we are ignorant of the fundamental data of sociology and politics we can have no real opinions on questions affecting the welfare of the people.
-the classic phrase "the public be damned!" expresses our true feeling about the matter. we cannot become excited about the wrongs and hardships of the working class when we do not know and do not care how they live. one of my daughters--aged seven--once essayed a short story, of which the heroine was an orphan child in direst want. it began: "corrine was starving. 'alas! what shall we do for food?' she asked her french nurse as they entered the carriage for their afternoon drive in the park." i have no doubt that even to-day this same young lady supposes that there are porcelain baths in every tenement house.
-i myself have no explanation as to why i pay eighty dollars for a business suit any my bookkeepers seems to be equally well turned out for eighteen dollars and fifty cents. that is essentially why the people have an honest and well-founded distrust of those enthusiastic society ladies who rush into charity and frantically engage in the elevation of the masses. the poor working girl is apt to know a good deal more about her own affairs than the fifth avenue matron with an annual income of three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
-if i were doing it all over again--and how i wish i could!--i should insist on my girls being taught not only music and languages but cooking, sewing, household economy and stenography. they should at least be able to clothe and feed themselves and their children if somebody supplied them with the materials, and to earn a living if the time came when they had to do it. they have now no conception of the relative values of even material things, what the things are made of or how they are put together. for them hats, shoes, french novels and roast chicken can be picked off the trees.
-this utter ignorance of actual life not only keeps us at a distance from the people of our own time but renders our ideas of history equally vague, abstract and unprofitable. i believe it would be an excellent thing if, beginning with the age of about ten years, no child were allowed to eat anything until he was able to tell where it was produced, what it cost and how it was prepared. if this were carried out in every department of the child's existence he would have small need of the superficial education furnished by most of our institutions of learning. our children are taught about the famines of history when they cannot recognize a blade of wheat or tell the price of a loaf of bread, or how it is made.
-i would begin the education of my boy--him of the tango and balkline billiards--with a study of himself, in the broad use of the term, before i allowed him to study about other people or the history of nations. i would seat him in a chair by the fire and begin with his feet. i would inquire what he knew about his shoes--what they were made of, where the substance came from, the cost of its production, the duty on leather, the process of manufacture, the method of transportation of goods, freight rates, retailing, wages, repairs, how shoes were polished--this would begin, if desired, a new line of inquiry as to the composition of said polish, cost, and so on--comparative durability of hand and machine work, introduction of machines into england and its effect on industrial conditions. i say i would do all this; but, of course, i could not. i would have to be an educated man in the first place. why, beginning with that dusty little pair of shoes, my boy and i might soon be deep in interstate commerce and the theory of malthus--on familiar terms with thomas a. edison and henry george!
-and the next time my son read about a tammany politician giving away a pair of shoes to each of his adherents it would mean something to him--as much as any other master stroke of diplomacy.
-i would instruct every boy in a practical knowledge of the house in which he lives, give him a familiarity with simple tools and a knowledge of how to make small repairs and to tinker with the water pipes. i would teach him all those things i now do not know myself--where the homeless man can find a night's lodging; how to get a disorderly person arrested; why bottled milk costs fifteen cents a quart; how one gets his name on the ballot if he wants to run for alderman; where the health department is located, and how to get vaccinated for nothing.
-by the time we had finished we would be in a position to understand the various editorials in the morning papers which now we do not read. far more than that, my son would be brought to a realization that everything in the world is full of interest for the man who has the knowledge to appreciate its significance. "a primrose by a river's brim" should be no more suggestive, even to a lake-poet, than a persian rug or a rubber shoe. instead of the rug he will have a vision of the patient afghan in his mountain village working for years with unrequited industry; instead of the shoe he will see king leopold and hear the lamentations of the congo.
-my ignorance of everything beyond my own private bank account and stomach is due to the fact that i have selfishly and foolishly regarded these two departments as the most important features of my existence. i now find that my financial and gastronomical satisfaction has been purchased at the cost of an infinite delight in other things. i am mentally out of condition.
-apart from this brake on the wheel of my intelligence, however, i suffer an even greater impediment by reason of the fact that, never having acquired a thorough groundwork of elementary knowledge, i find i cannot read with either pleasure or profit. most adult essays or histories presuppose some such foundation.
-recently i have begun to buy primers--such as are used in the elementary schools--in order to acquire the information that should have been mine at twenty years of age. and i have resolved that in my daily reading of the newspapers i will endeavor to look up on the map and remember the various places concerning which i read any news item of importance, and to assimilate the facts themselves. it is my intention also to study, at least half an hour each day, some simple treatise on science, politics, art, letters or history. in this way i hope to regain some of my interest in the activities of mankind. if i cannot do this i realize now that it will go hard with me in the years that are drawing nigh. i shall, indeed, then lament that "i have no pleasure in them."
-it is the common practice of business men to say that when they reach a certain age they are going to quit work and enjoy themselves. how this enjoyment is proposed to be attained varies in the individual case. one man intends to travel or live abroad--usually, he believes, in paris. another is going into ranching or farming. still another expects to give himself up to art, music and books. we all have visions of the time when we shall no longer have to go downtown every day and can indulge in those pleasures that are now beyond our reach.
-unfortunately the experience of humanity demonstrates the inevitability of the law of nature which prescribes that after a certain age it is practically impossible to change our habits, either of work or of play, without physical and mental misery.
-most of us take some form of exercise throughout our lives--riding, tennis, golf or walking. this we can continue to enjoy in moderation after our more strenuous days are over; but the manufacturer, stock broker or lawyer who thinks that after his sixtieth birthday he is going to be able to find permanent happiness on a farm, loafing round paris or reading in his library will be sadly disappointed. his habit of work will drive him back, after a year or so of wretchedness, to the factory, the ticker or the law office; and his habit of play will send him as usual to the races, the club or the variety show.
-one cannot acquire an interest by mere volition. it is a matter of training and of years. the pleasures of to-day will eventually prove to be the pleasures of our old age--provided they continue to be pleasures at all, which is more than doubtful.
-as we lose the capacity for hard work we shall find that we need something to take its place--something more substantial and less unsatisfactory than sitting in the club window or taking in the broadway shows. but, at least, the seeds of these interests must be sown now if we expect to gather a harvest this side of the grave.
-what is more natural than to believe that in our declining years we shall avail ourselves of the world's choicest literature and pass at least a substantial portion of our days in the delightful companionship of the wisest and wittiest of mankind? that would seem to be one of the happiest uses to which good books could be put; but the hope is vain. the fellow who does not read at fifty will take no pleasure in books at seventy.
-they have had to make money to achieve this mechanical perfection; they have had no time for anything else during their active years. and, now that those years are over, they have nothing to do. their minds are almost as undeveloped as those of professional pugilists. dinners and drinks, backgammon and billiards, the lightest opera, the trashiest novels, the most sensational melodrama are the most elevating of their leisure's activities. read? hunt? farm? not much! they sit behind the plate-glass windows and bet on whether more limousines will go north than south in the next ten minutes.
-if you should ask one of them whether he had read some book that was exciting discussion among educated people at the moment, he would probably look at you blankly and, after remarking that he had never cared for economics or history--as the case might be--inquire whether you preferred a "blossom" or a "tornado." poor vacuous old cocks! they might be having a green and hearty old age, surrounded by a group of the choicest spirits of all time.
-upstairs in the library there are easy-chairs within arm's reach of the best fellows who ever lived--adventurers, story-tellers, novelists, explorers, historians, rhymers, fighters, essayists, vagabonds and general liars--immortals, all of them.
-you can take your pick and if he bores you send him packing without a word of apology. they are good friends to grow old with--friends who in hours of weariness, of depression or of gladness may be summoned at will by those of us who belong to the brotherhood of educated men--of which, alas! i and my associates are no longer members.
-the concrete evidence of my success as represented by my accumulated capital--outside of my uptown dwelling house--amounts, as i have previously said, to about seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. this is invested principally in railroad and mining stocks, both of which are subject to considerable fluctuation; and i have also substantial holdings in industrial corporations. some of these companies i represent professionally. as a whole, however, my investments may be regarded as fairly conservative. at any rate they cause me little uneasiness.
-my professional income is regular and comes with surprisingly little effort. i have as clients six manufacturing corporations that pay me retainers of twenty-five hundred dollars each, besides my regular fees for services rendered. i also represent two banks and a trust company.
-all this is fixed business and most of it is attended to by younger men, whom i employ at moderate salaries. i do almost no detail work myself, and my junior partners relieve me of the drawing of even important papers; so that, though i am constantly at my office, my time is spent in advising and consulting.
-i dictate all my letters and rarely take a pen in my hand. writing has become laborious and irksome. i even sign my correspondence with an ingenious rubber stamp that imitates my scrawling signature beyond discovery. if i wish to know the law on some given point i press a button and tell my managing clerk what i want. in an hour or two he hands me the authorities covering the issue in question in typewritten form. it is extraordinarily simple and easy. yet only yesterday i heard of a middle-aged man, whom i knew to be a peculiarly well-equipped all-around lawyer, who was ready to give up his private practice and take a place in any reputable office at a salary of thirty-five hundred dollars!
-most of my own time is spent in untangling mixed puzzles of law and fact, and my clients are comparatively few in number, though their interests are large. thus i see the same faces over and over again. i lunch daily at a most respectable eating club; and here, too, i meet the same men over and over again. i rarely make a new acquaintance downtown; in fact i rarely leave my office during the day. if i need to confer with any other attorney i telephone. there are dozens of lawyers in new york whose voices i know well--yet whose faces i have never seen.
-my office is on the nineteenth floor of a white marble building, and i can look down the harbor to the south and up the hudson to the north. i sit there in my window like a cliffdweller at the mouth of his cave. when i walk along wall street i can look up at many other hundreds of these caves, each with its human occupant. we leave our houses uptown, clamber down into a tunnel called the subway, are shot five miles or so through the earth, and debouch into an elevator that rushes us up to our caves. only between my house and the entrance to the subway am i obliged to step into the open air at all. a curious life! and i sit in my chair and talk to people in multitudes of other caves near by, or caves in new jersey, washington or chicago.
-louis xi used to be called "the human spider" by reason of his industry, but we modern office men are far more like human spiders than he, as we sit in the center of our webs of invisible wires. we wait and wait, and our lines run out across the length and breadth of the land--sometimes getting tangled, to be sure, so that it is frequently difficult to decide just which spider owns the web; but we sit patiently doing nothing save devising the throwing out of other lines.
-we weave, but we do not build; we manipulate, buy, sell and lend, quarrel over the proceeds, and cover the world with our nets, while the ants and the bees of mankind labor, construct and manufacture, and struggle to harness the forces of nature. we plan and others execute. we dicker, arrange, consult, cajole, bribe, pull our wires and extort; but we do it all in one place--the center of our webs and the webs are woven in our caves.
-i figure that i spend about six hours each day in my office; that i sleep nearly nine hours; that i am in transit on surface cars and in subways at least one hour and a half more; that i occupy another hour and a half in bathing, shaving and dressing, and an hour lunching at midday. this leaves a margin of five hours a day for all other activities.
-could even a small portion of this time be spent consecutively in reading in the evening, i could keep pace with current thought and literature much better than i do; or if i spent it with my son and daughters i should know considerably more about them than i do now, which is practically nothing. but the fact is that every evening from the first of november to the first of may the motor comes to the door at five minutes to eight and my wife and i are whirled up or down town to a dinner party--that is, save on those occasions when eighteen or twenty people are whirled to us.
-this short recital of my daily activities is sufficient to demonstrate that i lead an exceedingly narrow and limited existence. i do not know any poor men, and even the charities in which i am nominally interested are managed by little groups of rich ones. the truth is, i learned thirty years ago that if one wants to make money one must go where money is and cultivate the people who have it. i have no petty legal business--there is nothing in it. if i cannot have millionaires for clients i do not want any. the old idea that the young country lawyer could shove a pair of socks into his carpetbag, come to the great city, hang out his shingle and build up a practice has long since been completely exploded. the best he can do now is to find a clerkship at twelve hundred dollars a year.
-big business gravitates to the big offices; and when the big firms look round for junior partners they do not choose the struggling though brilliant young attorney from the country, no matter how large his general practice may have become; but they go after the youth whose father is a director in forty corporations or the president of a trust.
-in the same way what time i have at my disposal to cultivate new acquaintances i devote not to the merely rich and prosperous but to the multi-millionaire--if i can find him--who does not even know the size of his income. i have no time to waste on the man who is simply earning enough to live quietly and educate his family. he cannot throw anything worth while in my direction; but a single crumb from the magnate's table may net me twenty or thirty thousand dollars. thus, not only for social but for business reasons, successful men affiliate habitually only with rich people. i concede that is a rather sordid admission, but it is none the truth.
-money is the symbol of success; it is what we are all striving to get, and we naturally select the ways and means best adapted for the purpose. one of the simplest is to get as near it as possible and stay there. if i make a friend of a struggling doctor or professor he may invite me to draw his will, which i shall either have to do for nothing or else charge him fifty dollars for; but the railroad president with whom i often lunch, and who is just as agreeable personally, may perhaps ask me to reorganize a railroad. i submit that, selfish as it all seems when i write it down, it would be hard to do otherwise.
-i do not deliberately examine each new candidate for my friendship and select or reject him in accordance with a financial test; but what i do is to lead a social and business life that will constantly throw me only with rich and powerful men. i join only rich men's clubs; i go to resorts in the summer frequented only by rich people; and i play only with those who can, if they will, be of advantage to me. i do not do this deliberately; i do it instinctively--now. i suppose at one time it was deliberate enough, but to-day it comes as natural as using my automobile instead of a street car.
-we have heard a great deal recently about a so-called money trust. the truth of the matter is that the money trust is something vastly greater than any mere aggregation of banks; it consists in our fundamental trust in money. it is based on our instinctive and ineradicable belief that money rules the destinies of mankind.
-everything is estimated by us in money. a man is worth so and so much--in dollars. the millionaire takes precedence of everybody, except at the white house. the rich have things their own way--and every one knows it. ashamed of it? not at all. we are the greatest snobs in the civilized world, and frankly so. we worship wealth because at present we desire only the things wealth can buy.
-the sea, the sky, the mountains, the clear air of autumn, the simple sports and amusements of our youth and of the comparatively poor, pleasures in books, in birds, in trees and flowers, are disregarded for the fierce joys of acquisition, of the ownership in stocks and bonds, or for the no less keen delight in the display of our own financial superiority over our fellows.
-we know that money is the key to the door of society. without it our sons will not get into the polo-playing set or our daughters figure in the sunday supplements. we want money to buy ourselves a position and to maintain it after we have bought it.
-we want house on the sunny side of the street, with façades of graven marble; we want servants in livery and in buttons--or in powder and breeches if possible; we want french chefs and the best wine and tobacco, twenty people to dinner on an hour's notice, supper parties and a little dance afterward at sherry's or delmonico's, a box at the opera and for first nights at the theaters, two men in livery for our motors, yachts and thirty-footers, shooting boxes in south carolina, salmon water in new brunswick, and regular vacations, besides, at hot springs, aiken and palm beach; we want money to throw away freely and like gentlemen at canfield's, bradley's and monte carlo; we want clubs, country houses, saddle-horses, fine clothes and gorgeously dressed women; we want leisure and laughter, and a trip or so to europe every year, our names at the top of the society column, a smile from the grand dame in the tiara and a seat at her dinner table--these are the things we want, and since we cannot have them without money we go after the money first, as the sine qua non.
-we want these things for ourselves and we want them for our children. we hope our grandchildren will have them also, though about that we do not care so much. we want ease and security and the relief of not thinking whether we can afford to do things. we want to be lords of creation and to pass creation on to our descendants, exactly as did the nobility of the ancien régime.
-at the present time money will buy anything, from a place in the vestry of a swell church to a seat in the united states senate--an election to congress, a judgeship or a post in the diplomatic service. it will buy the favor of the old families or a decision in the courts. money is the controlling factor in municipal politics in new york. the moneyed group of wall street wants an amenable mayor--a tammany mayor preferred--so that it can put through its contracts. you always know where to find a regular politician. one always knew where to find dick croker. so the traction people pour the contents of their coffers into the campaign bags.
-until very recently the supreme court judges of new york bought their positions by making substantial contributions to the tammany treasury. the inferior judgeships went considerably cheaper. a man who stood in with the big boss might get a bargain. i have done business with politicians all my life and i have never found it necessary to mince my words. if i wanted a favor i always asked exactly what it was going to cost--and i always got the favor.
-no one needs to hunt very far for cases where the power of money has influenced the bench in recent times. the rich man can buy his son a place in any corporation or manufacturing company. the young man may go in at the bottom, but he will shoot up to the top in a year or two, with surprising agility, over the heads of a couple of thousand other and better men. the rich man can defy the law and scoff at justice; while the poor man, who cannot pay lawyers for delay, goes to prison. these are the veriest platitudes of demagogy, but they are true--absolutely and undeniably true.
-we know all this and we act accordingly, and our children imbibe a like knowledge with their mother's or whatever other properly sterilized milk we give them as a substitute. we, they and everybody else know that if enough money can be accumulated the possessor will be on easy street for the rest of his life--not merely the easy street of luxury and comfort, but of security, privilege and power; and because we like easy street rather than the narrow path we devote ourselves to getting there in the quickest possible way.
-we take no chances on getting our reward in the next world. we want it here and now, while we are sure of it--on broadway, at newport or in paris. we do not fool ourselves any longer into thinking that by self-sacrifice here we shall win happiness in the hereafter. that is all right for the poor, wretched and disgruntled. even the clergy are prone to find heaven and hell in this world rather than in the life after death; and the decay of faith leads us to feel that a purse of gold in the hand is better than a crown of the same metal in the by-and-by. we are after happiness, and to most of us money spells it.
-the man of wealth is protected on every side from the dangers that beset the poor. he can buy health and immunity from anxiety, and he can install his children in the same impregnable position. the dust of his motor chokes the citizen trudging home from work. he soars through life on a cushioned seat, with shock absorbers to alleviate all the bumps. no wonder we trust in money! we worship the golden calf far more than ever did the israelites beneath the crags of sinai. the real money trust is the tacit conspiracy by which those who have the money endeavor to hang on to it and keep it among themselves. neither at the present time do great fortunes tend to dissolve as inevitably as formerly.
-oliver wendell holmes somewhere analyzes the rapid disintegration of the substantial fortunes of his day and shows how it is, in fact, but "three generations from shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves." a fortune of two hundred thousand dollars divided among four children, each of whose share is divided among four grandchildren, becomes practically nothing at all--in only two. but could the good doctor have observed the tendencies of to-day he would have commented on a new phenomenon, which almost counteracts the other.
-it may be, and probably is, the fact that comparatively small fortunes still tend to disintegrate. this was certainly the rule during the first half of the nineteenth century in new england, when there was no such thing as a distinctly moneyed class, and when the millionaire was a creature only of romance. but when, as to-day, fortunes are so large that it is impossible to spend or even successfully give away the income from them, a new element is introduced that did not exist when doctor holmes used to meditate in his study on the back bay overlooking the placid charles.
-at the present time big fortunes are apt to gain by mere accretion what they lose by division; and the owner of great wealth has opportunities for investment undreamed of by the ordinary citizen who must be content with interest at four per cent and no unearned increment on his capital. this fact might of itself negative the tendency of which he speaks; but there is a much more potent force working against it as well. that is the absolute necessity, induced by the demands of modern metropolitan life, of keeping a big fortune together--or, if it must be divided, of rehabilitating it by marriage.
-there was a time not very long ago when one rarely heard of a young man or young woman of great wealth marrying anybody with an equal fortune. to do so was regarded with disapproval, and still is in some communities. to-day it is the rule instead of the exception. now we habitually speak in america of the "alliances of great families." there are two reasons for this--first, that being a multi-millionaire is becoming, as it were, a sort of recognized profession, having its own sports, its own methods of business and its own interests; second, that the luxury of to-day is so enervating and insidious that a girl or youth reared in what is called society cannot be comfortable, much less happy, on the income of less than a couple of million dollars.
-as seems to be demonstrated by the table of my own modest expenditure in a preceding article, the income of but a million dollars will not support any ordinary new york family in anything like the luxury to which the majority of our young people--even the sons and daughters of men in moderate circumstances--are accustomed.
-our young girls are reared on the choicest varieties of food, served with piquant sauces to tempt their appetites; they are permitted to pick and choose, and to refuse what they think they do not like; they are carried to and from their schools, music and dancing lessons in motors, and are taught to regard public conveyances as unhealthful and inconvenient; they never walk; they are given clothes only a trifle less fantastic and bizarre than those of their mothers, and command the services of maids from their earliest years; they are taken to the theater and the hippodrome, and for the natural pleasures of childhood are given the excitement of the footlights and the arena.
-as they grow older they are allowed to attend late dances that necessitate remaining in bed the next morning until eleven or twelve o'clock; they are told that their future happiness depends on their ability to attract the right kind of man; they are instructed in every art save that of being useful members of society; and in the ease, luxury and vacuity with which they are surrounded their lives parallel those of demi-mondaines. indeed, save for the marriage ceremony, there is small difference between them. the social butterfly flutters to the millionaire as naturally as the night moth of the tenderloin. hence the tendency to marry money is greater than ever before in the history of civilization.
-frugal, thrifty lives are entirely out of fashion. the solid, self-respecting class, which wishes to associate with people of equal means, is becoming smaller and smaller. if an ambitious mother cannot afford to rent a cottage at newport or bar harbor she takes her daughter to a hotel or boarding house there, in the hope that she will be thrown in contact with young men of wealth. the young girl in question, whose father is perhaps a hardworking doctor or business man, at home lives simply enough; but sacrifices are made to send her to a fashionable school, where her companions fill her ears with stories of their motors, trips to europe, and the balls they attend during the vacations. she becomes inoculated with the poison of social ambition before she comes out.
-unable by reason of the paucity of the family resources to buy luxuries for herself, she becomes a parasite and hanger-on of rich girls. if she is attractive and vivacious so much the better. like the shopgirl blinded by the glare of broadway, she flutters round the drawing rooms and country houses of the ultra-rich seeking to make a match that will put luxury within her grasp; but her chances are not so good as formerly.
-to-day the number of large fortunes has increased so rapidly that the wealthy young man has no difficulty in choosing an equally wealthy mate whose mental and physical attractions appear, and doubtless are, quite as desirable as those of the daughter of poorer parents. the same instinct to which i have confessed myself, as a professional man, is at work among our daughters and sons. they may not actually judge individuals by the sordid test of their ability to purchase ease and luxury, but they take care to meet and associate with only those who can do so.
-in this their parents are their ofttimes unconscious accomplices. the worthy young man of chance acquaintance is not invited to call--or, if he is, is not pressed to stay to dinner. "oh, he does not know our crowd!" explains the girl to herself. the crowd, on analysis, will probably be found to contain only the sons and daughters of fathers and mothers who can entertain lavishly and settle a million or so on their offspring at marriage.
-there is a constant attraction of wealth for wealth. poverty never attracted anything. if our children have money of their own that is a good reason to us why they should marry more money. we snarl angrily at the penniless youth, no matter how capable and intelligent, who dares cast his eyes on our daughter. we make it quite unambiguous that we have other plans for her--plans that usually include a steam yacht and a shooting box north of inverness.
-there is nothing more vicious than the commonly expressed desire of parents in merely moderate circumstances to give their children what are ordinarily spoken of as "opportunities." "we wish our daughters to have every opportunity--the best opportunities," they say, meaning an equal chance with richer girls of qualifying themselves for attracting wealthy men and of placing themselves in their way. in reality opportunities for what?--of being utterly miserable for the rest of their lives unless they marry out of their own class.
-the desire to get ahead that is transmitted from the american business man to his daughter is the source of untold bitterness--for, though he himself may fail in his own struggle, he has nevertheless had the interest of the game; but she, an old maid, may linger miserably on, unwilling to share the domestic life of some young man more than her equal in every respect.
-there is a subtle freemasonry among those who have to do with money. young men of family are given sinecures in banks and trust companies, and paid many times the salaries their services are worth. the inconspicuous lad who graduates from college the same year as one who comes from a socially prominent family will slave in a downtown office eight hours a day for a thousand dollars a year, while his classmate is bowing in the ladies at the fifth avenue branch--from ten to three o'clock--at a salary of five thousand dollars. why? because he knows people who have money and in one way or another may be useful sometime to the president in a social way.
-the remuneration of those of the privileged class who do any work at all is on an entirely different basis from that of those who need it. the poor boy is kept on as a clerk, while the rich one is taken into the firm. the old adage says that "kissing goes by favor"; and favors, financial and otherwise, are given only to those who can offer something in return. the tendency to concentrate power and wealth extends even to the outer rim of the circle. it is an intangible conspiracy to corner the good things and send the poor away empty. as i see it going on round me, it is a heartless business.
-society is like an immense swarm of black bees settled on a honey-pot. the leaders, who flew there first, are at the top, gorged and distended. round, beneath and on them crawl thousands of others thirsting to feed on the sweet, liquid gold. the pot is covered with them, layer on layer--buzzing hungrily; eager to get as near as possible to the honey, even if they may not taste it. a drop falls on one and a hundred fly on him and lick it off. the air is alive with those who are circling about waiting for an advantageous chance to wedge in between their comrades. they will, with one accord, sting to death any hapless creature who draws near.
-frankly i should not be enough of a man to say these things if my identity were disclosed, however much they ought to be said. neither should i make the confessions concerning my own career that are to follow; for, though they may evidence a certain shrewdness on my own part, i do not altogether feel that they are to my credit.
-when my wife and i first came to new york our aims and ideals were simple enough. i had letters to the head of a rather well-known firm on wall street and soon found myself its managing clerk at one hundred dollars a month. the business transacted in the office was big business--corporation work, the handling of large estates, and so on. during three years i was practically in charge of and responsible for the details of their litigations; the net profit divided by the two actual members of the firm was about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. the gross was about one hundred and eighty thousand, of which twenty thousand went to defray the regular office expenses--including rent, stenographers and ordinary law clerks--while ten thousand was divided among the three men who actually did most of the work.
-the first of these was a highly trained lawyer about forty-five years of age, who could handle anything from a dog-license matter before a police justice to the argument of a rebate case in the united states supreme court. he was paid forty-five hundred dollars a year and was glad to get it. he was the active man of the office. the second man received thirty-five hundred dollars, and for that sum furnished all the special knowledge needed in drafting railroad mortgages and intricate legal documents of all sorts. the third was a chap of about thirty who tried the smaller cases and ran the less important corporations.
-the two heads of the firm devoted most of their time to mixing with bankers, railroad officials and politicians, and spent comparatively little of it at the office; but they got the business--somehow. i suppose they found it because they went out after it. it was doubtless quite legitimate. somebody must track down the game before the hunter can do the shooting. at any rate they managed to find plenty of it and furnished the work for the other lawyers to do.
-i soon made up my mind that in new york brains were a pretty cheap commodity. i was anxious to get ahead; but there was no opening in the firm and there were others ready to take my place the moment it should become vacant. i was a pretty fair lawyer and had laid by in the bank nearly a thousand dollars; so i went to the head of the firm and made the proposition that i should work at the office each day until one o'clock and be paid half of what i was then getting--that is, fifty dollars a month. in the afternoons an understudy should sit at my desk, while i should be free.
-i then suggested that the firm might divide with me the proceeds of any business i should bring in. my offer was accepted; and the same afternoon i went to the office of a young stockbroker i knew and stayed there until three o'clock. the next day i did the same thing, and the day after. i did not buy any stocks, but i made myself agreeable to the group about the ticker and formed the acquaintance of an elderly german, who was in the chewing-gum business and who amused himself playing the market.
-it was not long before he invited me to lunch with him and i took every opportunity to impress him with my legal acumen. he had a lawyer of his own already, but i soon saw that the impression i was making would have the effect i desired; and presently, as i had confidently expected, he gave me a small legal matter to attend to. needless to say it was accomplished with care, celerity and success. he gave me another. for six months i dogged that old german's steps every day from one o'clock in the afternoon until twelve at night. i walked, talked, drank beer and played pinochle with him, sat in his library in the evenings, and took him and his wife to the theater.
-at the end of that period he discharged his former attorney and retained me. the business was easily worth thirty-five hundred dollars a year, and within a short time the chicle trust bought out his interests and i became a director in it and one of its attorneys.
-i am now the same kind of lawyer as the two men who composed the firm for which i slaved at a hundred dollars a month. i find the work for my employees to do. i am now an exploiter of labor. it is hardly necessary for me to detail the steps by which i gradually acquired what is known as a gilt-edged practice; but it was not by virtue of my legal abilities, though they are as good as the average. i got it by putting myself in the eye of rich people in every way open to me. i even joined a fashionable church--it pains me to write this--for the sole purpose of becoming a member of the vestry and thus meeting on an intimate footing the half-dozen millionaire merchants who composed it. one of them gave me his business, made me his trustee and executor; and then i resigned from the vestry.
-i always made myself persona grata to those who could help me along, wore the best clothes i could buy, never associated with shabby people, and appeared as much as possible in the company of my financial betters. it was the easier for me to do this because my name was not irish, german or hebraic. i had a good appearance, manners and an agreeable gloss of culture and refinement. i was tactful, considerate, and tried to strike a personal note in my intercourse with people who were worth while; in fact i made it a practice--and still do so--to send little mementos to my newer acquaintances--a book or some such trifle--with a line expressing my pleasure at having met them.
-i know a considerable number of doctors, as well as lawyers, who have built up lucrative practices by making love to their female clients and patients. that i never did; but i always made it a point to flatter any women i took in to dinner, and i am now the trustee or business adviser for at least half a dozen wealthy widows as a direct consequence.
-one reason for my success is, i discovered very early in the game that no woman believes she really needs a lawyer. she consults an attorney not for the purpose of getting his advice, but for sympathy and his approval of some course she has already decided on and perhaps already followed. a lawyer who tells a woman the truth thereby loses a client. he has only to agree with her and compliment her on her astuteness and sagacity to intrench himself forever in her confidence.
-a woman will do what she wants to do--every time. she goes to a lawyer to explain why she intends to do it. she wants to have a man about on whom she can put the blame if necessary, and is willing to pay--moderately--for the privilege. she talks to a lawyer when no one else is willing to listen to her, and thoroughly enjoys herself. he is the one man who--unless he is a fool--cannot talk back.
-another fact to which i attribute a good deal of my professional éclat is, that i never let any of my social friends forget that i was a lawyer as well as a good fellow; and i always threw a hearty bluff at being prosperous, even when a thousand or two was needed to cover the overdraft in my bank account. it took me about ten years to land myself firmly among the class to which i aspired, and ten years more to make that place impregnable.
-it may perhaps be that i should prefer to write down here the story of how, simply by my assiduity and learning, i acquired such a reputation for a knowledge of the law that i was eagerly sought out by a horde of clamoring clients who forced important litigations on me. things do not happen that way in new york to-day.
-should a young man be blamed for getting on by the easiest way he can? life is too complex; the population too big. people have no accurate means of finding out who the really good lawyers or doctors are. if you tell them you are at the head of your profession they are apt to believe you, particularly if you wear a beard and are surrounded by an atmosphere of solemnity. only a man's intimate circle knows where he is or what he is doing at any particular time.
-i remember a friend of mine who was an exceedingly popular member of one of the exclusive fifth avenue clubs, and who, after going to europe for a short vacation, decided to remain abroad for a couple of years. at the end of that time he returned to new york hungry for his old life and almost crazy with delight at seeing his former friends. entering the club about five o'clock he happened to observe one of them sitting by the window. he approached him enthusiastically, slapped him on the shoulder, extended his hand and cried:
-"hello, old man! it's good to see you again!"
-the other man looked at him in a puzzled sort of way without moving.
-"hello, yourself!" he remarked languidly. "it's good to see you, all right--but why make so much damned fuss about it?"
-the next sentence interchanged between the two developed the fact that he was totally ignorant that his friend had been away at all. this is by no means a fantastic illustration. it happens every day. that is one of the joys of living in new york. you can get drunk, steal a million or so, or run off with another man's wife--and no one will hear about it until you are ready for something else. in such a community it is not extraordinary that most people are taken at their face value. life moves at too rapid a pace to allow us to find out much about anybody--even our friends. one asks other people to dinner simply because one has seen them at somebody's else house.
-i found it at first very difficult--in fact almost impossible--to spur my wife on to a satisfactory cooperation with my efforts to make the hand of friendship feed the mouth of business. she rather indignantly refused to meet my chewing-gum client or call on his wife. she said she preferred to keep her self-respect and stay in the boarding-house where we had resided since we moved to the city; but i demonstrated to her by much argument that it was worse than snobbish not to be decently polite to one's business friends. it was not their fault if they were vulgar. one might even help them to enlarge their lives. gradually she came round; and as soon as the old german had given me his business she was the first to suggest moving to an apartment hotel uptown.
-for a long time, however, she declined to make any genuine social effort. she knew two or three women from our neighborhood who were living in the city, and she used to go and sit with them in the afternoons and sew and help take care of the children. she said they and their husbands were good enough for her and that she had no aspirations toward society. an evening at the theater--in the balcony--every two weeks or so, and a rubber of whist on saturday night, with a chafing-dish supper afterward, was all the excitement she needed. that was twenty-five years ago. to-day it is i who would put on the brakes, while she insists on shoveling soft coal into the social furnace.
-her metamorphosis was gradual but complete. i imagine that her first reluctance to essay an acquaintance with society arose out of embarrassment and bashfulness. at any rate she no sooner discovered how small a bluff was necessary for success than she easily outdid me in the ingenuity and finesse of her social strategy. it seemed to be instinctive with her. she was always revising her calling lists and cutting out people who were no longer socially useful; and having got what she could out of a new acquaintance, she would forget her as completely as if she had never made her the confidante of her inmost thoughts about other and less socially desirable people.
-it seems a bit cold-blooded--this criticism of one's wife; but i know that, however much of a sycophant i may have been in my younger days, my wife has outdone me since then. presently we were both in the swim, swept off our feet by the current and carried down the river of success, willy-nilly, toward its mouth--to a safe haven, i wonder, or the deluge of a devouring cataract?
-the methods i adopted are those in general use, either consciously or unconsciously, among people striving for success in business, politics or society in new york. it is a struggle for existence, precisely like that which goes on in the animal world. only those who have strength or cunning survive to achieve success. might makes right to an extent little dreamed of by most of us. nobody dares to censure or even mildly criticize one who has influence enough to do him harm. we are interested only in safeguarding or adding to the possessions we have already secured. we are wise enough to "play safe." to antagonize one who might assist in depriving us of some of them is contrary to the laws of nature.
-our thoughts are for ourselves and our children alone. the devil take everybody else! we are safe, warm and comfortable ourselves; we exist without actual labor; and we desire our offspring to enjoy the same ease and safety. the rest of mankind is nothing to us, except a few people it is worth our while to be kind to--personal servants and employees. we should not hesitate to break all ten of the commandments rather than that we and our children should lose a few material comforts. anything, save that we should have really to work for a living!
-there are essentially two sorts of work: first--genuine labor, which requires all a man's concentrated physical or mental effort; and second--that work which takes the laborer to his office at ten o'clock and, after an easy-going administrative morning, sets him at liberty at three or four.
-the officer of an uptown trust company or bank is apt to belong to the latter class. or perhaps one is in real estate and does business at the dinner tables of his friends. he makes love and money at the same time. his salary and commissions correspond somewhat to the unearned increment on the freeholds in which he deals. these are minor illustrations, but a majority of the administrative positions in our big corporations carry salaries out of all proportion to the services rendered.
-we must be able to keep up our end without working too hard, to be safe and warm, well fed and smartly turned out, and able to call in a specialist and a couple of trained nurses if one of the children falls ill; we want thirty-five feet of southerly exposure instead of seventeen, menservants instead of maid-servants, and a new motor every two years.
-we do not object to working--that is to say, we pride ourselves on having a job. we like to be moderately busy. we would not have enough to amuse us all day if we did not go to the office in the morning; but what we do is not work! it is occupation perhaps--but there is no labor about it, either of mind or body. it is a sinecure--a "cinch." we could stay at home and most of us would not be missed. it is not the seventy-five-hundred-dollar-a-year vice-president but the eight-hundred-and-fifty-dollar clerk for want of whom the machine would stop if he were sick. our labor is a kind of masculine light housework.
-we probably have private incomes, thanks to our fathers or great uncles--not large enough to enable us to cut much of a dash, to be sure, but sufficient to give us confidence--and the proceeds of our daily toil, such as it is, go toward the purchase of luxuries merely. because we are in business we are able to give bigger and more elegant dinner parties, go to palm beach in february, and keep saddle-horses; but we should be perfectly secure without working at all.
-hence we have a sense of independence about it. we feel as if it were rather a favor on our part to be willing to go into an office; and we expect to be paid vastly more proportionately than the fellow who needs the place in order to live: so we cut him out of it at a salary three times what he would have been paid had he got the job, while he keeps on grinding at the books as a subordinate. we come down late and go home early, drop in at the club and go out to dinner, take in the opera, wear furs, ride in automobiles, and generally boss the show--for the sole reason that we belong to the crowd who have the money. very likely if we had not been born with it we should die from malnutrition, or go to ward's island suffering from some variety of melancholia brought on by worry over our inability to make a living.
-this tragedy was absolutely the result of economic conditions, for the man was a hardworking and intelligent fellow, who could not find employment and who went off his head from lack of nourishment.
-now "i put it to you," as they say in the english law courts, how much of a personal sacrifice would you have made to prevent this tragedy? what would that little east side jewess' life have been worth to you? she is dead. her soul may or may not be with god. as a suicide the church would say it must be in hell. well, how much would you have done to preserve her life or keep her soul out of hell?
-frankly, would you have parted with five hundred dollars to save that woman's life? five hundred dollars? let me tell you that you would not voluntarily have given up smoking cigars for one year to avoid that tragedy! of course you would have if challenged to do so. if the fact that the killing could be avoided in some such way or at a certain price, and the discrepancy between the cost and the value of the life were squarely brought to your particular attention, you might and probably would do something. how much is problematical.
-let us do you the credit of saying that you would give five hundred dollars--and take it out of some other charity. but what if you were given another chance to save a life for five hundred dollars? all right; you will save that too. now a third! you hesitate. that will be spending fifteen hundred dollars--a good deal. still you decide to do it. yet how embarrassing! you find an opportunity to save a fourth, a fifth--a hundred lives at the same price! what are you going to do?
-we all of us have such a chance in one way or another. the answer is that, in spite of the admonition of christ to sell our all and give to the poor, and others of his teachings as contained in the sermon on the mount, you probably, in order to save the lives of persons unknown to you, would not sacrifice a single substantial material comfort for one year; and that your impulse to save the lives of persons actually brought to your knowledge would diminish, fade away and die in direct proportion to the necessity involved of changing your present luxurious mode of life.
-do you know any rich woman who would sacrifice her automobile in order to send convalescents to the country? she may be a very charitable person and in the habit of sending such people to places where they are likely to recover health; but, no matter how many she actually sends, there would always be eight or ten more who could share in that blessed privilege if she gave up her motor and used the money for the purpose. yet she does not do so and you do not do so; and, to be quite honest, you would think her a fool if she did.
-what an interesting thing it would be if we could see the mental processes of some one of our friends who, unaware of our knowledge of his thoughts, was confronted with the opportunity of saving a life or accomplishing a vast good at a great sacrifice of his worldly possessions!
-suppose, for instance, he could save his own child by spending fifty thousand dollars in doctors, hospitals and nurses. of course he would do so without a moment's hesitation, even if that was his entire fortune. but suppose the child were a nephew? we see him waver a little. a cousin--there is a distinct pause. shall he pauperize himself just for a cousin? how about a mere social acquaintance? not much! he might in a moment of excitement jump overboard to save somebody from drowning; but it would have to be a dear friend or close relative to induce him to go to the bank and draw out all the money he had in the world to save that same life.
-the cities are full of lives that can be saved simply by spending a little money; but we close our eyes and, with our pocket-books clasped tight in our hands, pass by on the other side. why? not because we do not wish to deprive ourselves of the necessaries of life or even of its solid comforts, but because we are not willing to surrender our amusements. we want to play and not to work. that is what we are doing, what we intend to keep on doing, and what we plan to have our children do after us.
-brotherly love? how can there be such a thing when there is a single sick baby dying for lack of nutrition--a single convalescent suffocating for want of country air--a single family without fire or blankets? suggest to your wife that she give up a dinner gown and use the money to send a tubercular office boy to the adirondacks--and listen to her excuses! is there not some charitable organization that does such things? has not his family the money? how do you know he really has consumption? is he a good boy? and finally: "well, one can't send every sick boy to the country; if one did there would be no money left to bring up one's own children." she hesitates--and the boy dies perhaps! so long as we do not see them dying, we do not really care how many people die.
-our altruism, such as it is, has nothing abstract about it. the successful man does not bother himself about things he cannot see. do not talk about foreign missions to him. try his less successful brother--the man who is not successful because you can talk over with him foreign missions or even more idealistic matters; who is a failure because he will make sacrifices for a principle.
-it is all a part of our materialism. real sympathy costs too much money; so we try not to see the miserable creatures who might be restored to health for a couple of hundred dollars. a couple of hundred dollars? why, you could take your wife to the theater forty times--once a week during the entire season--for that sum!
-poor people make sacrifices; rich ones do not. there is very little real charity among successful people. a man who wasted his time helping others would never get on himself.
-it will, of course, be said in reply that the world is full of charitable institutions supported entirely by the prosperous and successful. that is quite true; but it must be remembered that they are small proof in themselves of the amount of real self-sacrifice and genuine charity existing among us.
-philanthropy is largely the occupation of otherwise ineffective people, or persons who have nothing else to do, or of retired capitalists who like the notoriety and laudation they can get in no other way. but, even with philanthropy to amuse him, an idle multi-millionaire in these united states has a pretty hard time of it. he is generally too old to enjoy society and is not qualified to make himself a particularly agreeable companion, even if his manners would pass muster at newport. politics is too strenuous. desirable diplomatic posts are few and the choicer ones still require some dignity or educational qualification in the holders. there is almost nothing left but to haunt the picture sales or buy a city block and order the construction of a french château in the middle of it.
-i know one of these men intimately; in fact i am his attorney and helped him make a part of his money. at sixty-four he retired--that is, he ceased endeavoring to increase his fortune by putting up the price of foodstuffs and other commodities, or by driving competitors out of business. since then he has been utterly wretched. he would like to be in society and dispense a lavish hospitality, but he cannot speak the language of the drawing room. his opera box stands stark and empty. his house, filled with priceless treasures fit for the metropolitan museum, is closed nine months in the year.
-his own wants are few. his wife is a plain woman, who used to do her own cooking and, in her heart, would like to do it still. he knows nothing of the esthetic side of life and is too old to learn. once a month, in the season, we dine at his house, with a mixed company, in a desert of dining room at a vast table loaded with masses of gold plate. the peaches are from south africa; the strawberries from the riviera. his chef ransacks the markets for pheasants, snipe, woodcock, egyptian quail and canvasbacks. and at enormous distances from each other--so that the table may be decently full--sit, with their wives, his family doctor, his clergyman, his broker, his secretary, his lawyer, and a few of the more presentable relatives--a merry party! and that is what he has striven, fought and lied for for fifty years.
-often he has told me of the early days, when he worked from seven until six, and then studied in night school until eleven; and of the later ones when he and his wife lived, like ourselves, in a fourteenth street lodging house and saved up to go to the theater once a month. as a young man he swore he would have a million before he died. sunday afternoons he would go up to the vanderbilt house on fifth avenue and, shaking his fist before the ornamental iron railing, whisper savagely that he would own just such a house himself some day. when he got his million he was going to retire. but he got his million at the age of forty-five, and it looked too small and mean; he would have ten--then he would stop!
-by fifty-five he had his ten millions. it was comparatively easy, i believe, for him to get it. but still he was not satisfied. now he has twenty. but apart from his millions, his house and his pictures, which are bought for him by an agent on a salary of ten thousand dollars a year, he has nothing! i dine with him out of charity.
-well, recently johnson has gone into charity himself. i am told he has given away two millions! that is an exact tenth of his fortune. he is a religious man--in this respect he has outdone most of his brother millionaires. however, he still has an income of over a million a year--enough to satisfy most of his modest needs. yet the frugality of a lifetime is hard to overcome, and i have seen johnson walk home--seven blocks--in the rain from his club rather than take a cab, when the same evening he was giving his dinner guests peaches that cost--in december--two dollars and seventy-five cents apiece.
-the question is: how far have johnson's two millions made him a charitable man? i confess that, so far as i can see, giving them up did not cost him the slightest inconvenience. he merely bought a few hundred dollars' worth of reputation--as a charitable millionaire--at a cost of two thousand thousand dollars. it was--commercially--a miserable bargain. only a comparatively few people of the five million inhabitants of the city of new york ever heard of johnson or his hospital. now that it has been built, he is no longer interested. i do not believe he actually got as much satisfaction out of his two-million-dollar investment as he would get out of an evening at the hippodrome; but who can say that he is not charitable?
-i lay stress on this matter of charity because essentially the charitable man is the good man. and by good we mean one who is of value to others as contrasted with one who is working, as most of us are, only for his own pocket all the time. he is the man who is such an egoist that he looks on himself as a part of the whole world and a brother to the rest of mankind. he has really got an exaggerated ego and everybody else profits by it in consequence.
-with most of us a charitable impulse is like the wave made by a stone thrown into a pool--it gets fainter and fainter the farther it has to go. generally it does not go the length of a city block. it is not enough that there is a starving cripple across the way--he must be on your own doorstep to rouse any interest. when we invest any of our money in charity we want twenty per cent interest, and we want it quarterly. we also wish to have a list of the stockholders made public. a man who habitually smokes two thirty-cent cigars after dinner will drop a quarter into the plate on sunday and think he is a good samaritan.
-the truth of the matter is that whatever instinct leads us to contribute toward the alleviation of the obvious miseries of the poor should compel us to go further and prevent those miseries--or as many of them as we can--from ever arising at all.
-so far as i am concerned, the division of goodness into seven or more specific virtues is purely arbitrary. virtue is generic. a man is either generous or mean--unselfish or selfish. the unselfish man is the one who is willing to inconvenience or embarrass himself, or to deprive himself of some pleasure or profit for the benefit of others, either now or hereafter.
-by the same token, now that i have given thought to the matter, i confess that i am a selfish man--at bottom. whatever generosity i possess is surface generosity. it would not stand the acid test of self-interest for a moment. i am generous where it is worth my while--that is all; but, like everybody else in my class, i have no generosity so far as my social and business life is concerned. i am willing to inconvenience myself somewhat in my intimate relations with my family or friends, because they are really a part of me--and, anyway, not to do so would result, one way or another, in even greater inconvenience to me.
-once outside my own house, however, i am out for myself and nobody else, however much i may protest that i have all the civic virtues and deceive the public into thinking i have. what would become of me if i did not look out for my own interests in the same way my associates look out for theirs? i should be lost in the shuffle. the christian virtues may be proclaimed from every pulpit and the banner of the cross fly from every housetop; but in business it is the law of evolution and not the sermon on the mount that controls.
-the rules of the big game are the same as those of the roman amphitheater. there is not even a pretense that the same code of morals can obtain among corporations and nations as among private individuals. then why blame the individuals? it is just a question of dog eat dog. we are all after the bone.
-no corporation would shorten the working day except by reason of self-interest or legal compulsion. no business man would attack an abuse that would take money out of his own pocket. and no one of us, except out of revenge or pique, would publicly criticize or condemn a man influential enough to do us harm. the political saint george usually hopes to jump from the back of the dead dragon of municipal corruption into the governor's chair.
-we have two standards of conduct--the ostensible and the actual. the first is a convention--largely literary. it is essentially merely a matter of manners--to lubricate the wheels of life. the genuine sphere of its influence extends only to those with whom we have actual contact; so that a breach of it would be embarrassing to us. within this qualified circle we do business as "christians & company, limited." outside this circle we make a bluff at idealistic standards, but are guided only by the dictates of self-interest, judged almost entirely by pecuniary tests.
-i admit, however, that, though i usually act from selfish motives, i would prefer to act generously if i could do so without financial loss. that is about the extent of my altruism, though i concede an omnipresent consciousness of what is abstractly right and what is wrong. occasionally, but very rarely, i even blindly follow this instinct irrespective of consequences.
-there have been times when i have been genuinely self-sacrificing. indeed i should unhesitatingly die for my son, my daughters--and probably for my wife. i have frequently suffered financial loss rather than commit perjury or violate my sense of what is right. i have called this sense an instinct, but i do not pretend to know what it is. neither can i explain its origin. if it is anything it is probably utilitarian; but it does not go very far. i have manners rather than morals.
-fundamentally i am honest, because to be honest is one of the rules of the game i play. if i were caught cheating i should not be allowed to participate. honesty from this point of view is so obviously the best policy that i have never yet met a big man in business who was crooked. mind you, they were most of them pirates--frankly flying the black flag and each trying to scuttle the other's ships; but their word was as good as their bond and they played the game squarely, according to the rules. men of my class would no more stoop to petty dishonesties than they would wear soiled linen. the word lie is not in their mutual language. they may lie to the outside public--i do not deny that they do--but they do not lie to each other.
-there has got to be some basis on which they can do business with one another--some stability. the spoils must be divided evenly. good morals, like good manners, are a necessity in our social relations. they are the uncodified rules of conduct among gentlemen. being uncodified, they are exceedingly vague; and the court of public opinion that administers them is apt to be not altogether impartial. it is a "respecter of persons."
-one man can get away with things that another man will hang for. a jean valjean will steal a banana and go to the island, while some rich fellow will put a bank in his pocket and everybody will treat it as a joke. a popular man may get drunk and not be criticized for it; but the sour chap who does the same thing is flung out of the club. there is little justice in the arbitrary decisions of society at large.
-in a word we exact a degree of morality from our fellowmen precisely in proportion to its apparent importance to ourselves. it is a purely practical and even a rather shortsighted matter with us. our friend's private conduct, so far as it does not concern us, is an affair of small moment. he can be as much of a roue as he chooses, so long as he respects our wives and daughters. he can put through a gigantic commercial robbery and we will acclaim his nerve and audacity, provided he is on the level with ourselves. that is the reason why cheating one's club members at cards is regarded as worse than stealing the funds belonging to widows and orphans.
-so long as a man conducts himself agreeably in his daily intercourse with his fellows they are not going to put themselves out very greatly to punish him for wrongdoing that does not touch their own bank accounts or which merely violates their private ethical standards. society is crowded with people who have been guilty of one detestable act, have got thereby on easy street and are living happily ever after.
-i meet constantly fifteen or twenty men who have deliberately married women for their money--of course without telling them so. according to our professed principles this is--to say the least--obtaining money under false pretenses--a crime under the statutes. these men are now millionaires. they are crooks and swindlers of the meanest sort. had they not married in this fashion they could not have earned fifteen hundred dollars a year; but everybody goes to their houses and eats their dinners.
-there are others, equally numerous, who acquired fortunes by blackmailing corporations or by some deal that at the time of its accomplishment was known to be crooked. to-day they are received on the same terms as men who have been honest all their lives. society is not particular as to the origin of its food supply. though we might refuse to steal money ourselves we are not unwilling to let the thief spend it on us. we are too busy and too selfish to bother about trying to punish those who deserve punishment.
-on the contrary we are likely to discover surprising virtues in the most unpromising people. there are always extenuating circumstances. indeed, in those rare instances where, in the case of a rich man, the social chickens come home to roost, the reason his fault is not overlooked is usually so arbitrary or fortuitous that it almost seems an injustice that he should suffer when so many others go scot-free for their misdeeds.
-society has no conscience, and whatever it has as a substitute is usually stimulated only by motives of personal vengeance. it is easier to gloss over an offense than to make ourselves disagreeable and perhaps unpopular.
-we have not even the public spirit to have a thief arrested and appear against him in court if he has taken from us only a small amount of money. it is too much trouble. only when our pride is hurt do we call loudly on justice and honor.
-even revenge is out of fashion. it requires too much effort. few of us have enough principle to make ourselves uncomfortable in attempting to show disapproval toward wrongdoers. were this not so, the wicked would not be still flourishing like green bay trees. so long as one steals enough he can easily buy our forgiveness. honesty is not the best policy--except in trifles.
-when i began to pen these wandering confessions--or whatever they may properly be called--it was with the rather hazy purpose of endeavoring to ascertain why it was that i, universally conceded to be a successful man, was not happy. as i reread what i have written i realize that, instead of being a successful man in any way, i am an abject failure.
-the preceding pages need no comment. the facts speak for themselves. i had everything in my favor at the start. i had youth, health, natural ability, a good wife, friends and opportunity; but i blindly accepted the standards of the men i saw about me and devoted my energies to the achievement of the single object that was theirs--the getting of money.
-thirty years have gone by. i have been a leader in the race and i have secured a prize. but at what cost? i am old--a bundle of undesirable habits; my health is impaired; my wife has become a frivolous and extravagant woman; i have no real friends: my children are strangers to me, and i have no home. i have no interest in my family, my social acquaintances, or in the affairs of the city or nation. i take no sincere pleasure in art or books or outdoor life. the only genuine satisfaction that is mine is in the first fifteen-minutes' flush after my afternoon cocktail and the preliminary course or two of my dinner. i have nothing to look forward to. no matter how much money i make, there is no use to which i can put it that will increase my happiness.
-from a material standpoint i have achieved everything i can possibly desire. no king or emperor ever approximated the actual luxury of my daily life. no one ever accomplished more apparent work with less actual personal effort. i am a master at the exploitation of intellectual labor.
-i have motors, saddle-horses, and a beautiful summer cottage at a cool and fashionable resort. i travel abroad when the spirit moves me; i entertain lavishly and am entertained in return; i smoke the costliest cigars; i have a reputation at the bar, and i have an established income large enough to sustain at least sixty intelligent people and their families in moderate comfort. this must be true, for on the one hundred and twenty-five dollars a month i pay my chauffeur he supports a wife and two children, sends them to school and on a three-months' vacation into the country during the summer. and, instead of all these things giving me any satisfaction, i am miserable and discontented.
-the fact that i now realize the selfishness of my life led me to-day to resolve to do something for others--and this resolve had an unexpected and surprising consequence.
-heretofore i had been engaged in an introspective study of my own attitude toward my fellows. i had not sought the evidence of outside parties. what has just occurred has opened my eyes to the fact that others have not been nearly so blind as i have been myself.
-james hastings, my private secretary, is a man of about forty-five years of age. he has been in my employ fifteen years. he is a fine type of man and deserves the greatest credit for what he has accomplished. beginning life as an office boy at three dollars a week, he educated himself by attending school at night, learned stenography and typewriting, and has become one of the most expert law stenographers in wall street. i believe that, without being a lawyer, he knows almost as much law as i do.
-gradually i have raised his wages until he is now getting fifty dollars a week. in addition to this he does night-work at the bar association at double rates, acts as stenographer at legal references, and does, i understand, some trifling literary work besides. i suppose he earns from thirty-five hundred to five thousand dollars a year. about thirteen years ago he married one of the woman stenographers in the office--a nice girl she was too--and now they have a couple of children. he lives somewhere in the country and spends an unconscionable time on the train daily, yet he is always on hand at an early hour.
-what happened to-day was this: a peculiarly careful piece of work had been done in the way of looking up a point of corporation law, and i inquired who was responsible for briefing it. hastings smiled and said he had done so. as i looked at him it suddenly dawned on me that this man might make real money if he studied for the bar and started in practice for himself. he had brains and an enormous capacity for work. i should dislike losing so capable a secretary, but it would be doing him a good turn to let him know what i thought; and it was time that i did somebody a good turn from an unselfish motive.
-"hastings," i said, "you're too good to be merely a stenographer. why don't you study law and make some money? i'll keep you here in my office, throw things in your way and push you along. what do you say?"
-he flushed with gratification, but, after a moment's respectful hesitation, shook his head.
-"thank you very much, sir," he replied, "but i wouldn't care to do it. i really wouldn't!"
-though i am fond of the man, his obstinacy nettled me.
-"look here!" i cried. "i'm offering you an unusual chance. you had better think twice before you decline such an opportunity to make something of yourself. if you don't take it you'll probably remain what you are as long as you live. seize it and you may do as well as i have."
-hastings smiled faintly.
-"i'm very sorry, sir," he repeated. "i'm grateful to you for your interest; but--i hope you'll excuse me--i wouldn't change places with you for a million dollars! no--not for ten million!"
-he blurted out the last two sentences like a schoolboy, standing and twisting his notebook between his fingers.
-there was something in his tone that dashed my spirits like a bucket of cold water. he had not meant to be impertinent. he was the most truthful man alive. what did he mean? not willing to change places with me! it was my turn to flush.
-"oh, very well!" i answered in as indifferent a manner as i could assume. "it's up to you. i merely meant to do you a good turn. we'll think no more about it."
-i continued to think about it, however. would not change places with me--a fifty-dollar-a-week clerk!
-hastings' pointblank refusal of my good offices, coming as it did hard on the heels of my own realization of failure, left me sick at heart. what sort of an opinion could this honest fellow, my mere employee--dependent on my favor for his very bread--have of me, his master? clearly not a very high one! i was stung to the quick--chagrined; ashamed.
-it was saturday morning. the week's work was practically over. all of my clients were out of town--golfing, motoring, or playing poker at cedarhurst. there was nothing for me to do at the office but to indorse half a dozen checks for deposit. i lit a cigar and looked out the window of my cave down on the hurrying throng below. a resolute, never-pausing stream of men plodded in each direction. now and then others dashed out of the doors of marble buildings and joined the crowd.
-on the river ferryboats were darting here and there from shore to shore. there was a bedlam of whistles, the thunder of steam winches, the clang of surface cars, the rattle of typewriters. to what end? down at the curb my motor car was in waiting. i picked up my hat and passed into the outer office.
-"by the way, hastings," i said casually as i went by his desk, "where are you living now?"
-he looked up smilingly.
-"pleasantdale--up kensico way," he answered.
-i shifted my feet and pulled once or twice on my cigar. i had taken a strange resolve.
-"er--going to be in this afternoon?" i asked. "i'm off for a run and i might drop in for a cup of tea about five o'clock."
-"oh, will you, sir!" he exclaimed with pleasure. "we shall be delighted. mine is the house at the crossroads--with the red roof."
-"well," said i, "you may see me--but don't keep your tea waiting."
-as i shot uptown in my car i had almost the feeling of a coming adventure. hastings was a good sort! i respected him for his bluntness of speech. at the cigar counter in the club i replenished my case.
-then i went into the reception room, where i found a bunch of acquaintances sitting round the window. they hailed me boisterously. what would i have to drink? i ordered a "hannah elias" and sank into a chair. one of them was telling about the newest scandal in the divorce line: the president of one of our largest trust companies had been discovered to have been leading a double life--running an apartment on the west side for a haggard and passée showgirl.
-"you just tell me--i'd like to know--why a fellow like that makes such a damned fool of himself! salary of fifty thousand dollars a year! big house; high-class wife and family; yacht--everything anybody wants. not a drinking man either. it defeats me!" he said.
-none of the group seemed able to suggest an answer. i had just tossed off my "hannah elias."
-"i think i know," i hazarded meditatively. they turned with one accord and stared at me. "there was nothing else for him to do," i continued, "except to blow his brains out."
-the raconteur grunted.
-"i don't just know the meaning of that!" he remarked. "i thought he was a friend of yours!"
-i was delayed on fifth avenue and when the butler opened the front door the luncheon party was already seated at the table. a confused din emanated from behind the portières of the dining room, punctuated by shouts of female laughter. the idea of going in and overloading my stomach for an hour, while strenuously attempting to produce light conversation, sickened me. i shook my head.
-"just tell your mistress that i've been suddenly called away on business," i directed the butler and climbed back into my motor.
-"up the river!" i said to my chauffeur.
-we spun up the riverside drive, past rows of rococo apartment houses, along the lafayette boulevard and through yonkers. it was a glorious autumn day. the palisades shone red and yellow with turning foliage. there was a fresh breeze down the river and a thousand whitecaps gleamed in the sunlight. overhead great white clouds moved majestically athwart the blue. but i took no pleasure in it all. i was suffering from an acute mental and physical depression. like hamlet i had lost all my mirth--whatever i ever had--and the clouds seemed but a "pestilent congregation of vapors." i sat in a sort of trance as i was whirled farther and farther away from the city.
-at last i noticed that my silver motor clock was pointing to half-past two, and i realized that neither the chauffeur nor myself had had anything to eat since breakfast. we were entering a tiny village. just beyond the main square a sign swinging above the sidewalk invited wayfarers to a "quick lunch." i pressed the button and we pulled to the gravel walk.
-"lunch!" i said, and opened the wire-netted door. inside there were half a dozen oilcloth-covered tables and a red-cheeked young woman was sewing in a corner.
-"what have you got?" i asked, inspecting the layout.
-"tea, coffee, milk--eggs any style you want," she answered cheerily. then she laughed in a good-natured way. "there's a real hotel at poughkeepsie--five miles along," she added.
-"i don't want a real hotel," i replied. "what are you laughing at?"
-then i realized that i must look rather civilized for a motorist.
-"you don't look as you'd care for eggs," she said.
-"that's where you're wrong," i retorted. "i want three of the biggest, yellowest, roundest poached eggs your fattest hen ever laid--and a schooner of milk."
-the girl vanished into the back of the shop and presently i could smell toast. i discovered i was extremely hungry. in about eight minutes she came back with a tray on which was a large glass of creamy milk and the triple eggs for which i had prayed. they were spherical, white and wabbly.
-"you're a prize poacher," i remarked, my spirits reviving.
-she smiled appreciatively.
-"going far?" she inquired, sitting down quite at ease at one of the neighboring tables.
-i looked pensively at her pleasant face across the eggs.
-"that's a question," i answered. "i can't make out whether i've been moving on or just going round and round in a circle."
-she looked puzzled for an instant. then she said shrewdly:
-"perhaps you've really been going back."
-"perhaps," i admitted.
-i have never tasted anything quite so good as those eggs and that milk. from where i sat i could look far up the hudson; the wind from the river swayed the red maples round the door of the quick lunch; and from the kitchen came the homely smells of my lost youth. i had a fleeting vision of the party at my house, now playing bridge for ten cents a point; and my soul lifted its head for the first time in weeks.
-"how far is it to pleasantdale?"
-"a long way," answered the girl; "but you can make a connection by trolley that will get you there in about two hours."
-"suits me!" i said and stepped to the door. "you can go, james; i'll get myself home."
-he cast on me a scandalized look.
-he must have thought me either a raving lunatic or an unabashed adventurer. a moment more and the car disappeared in the direction of the city. i was free! the girl made no attempt to conceal her amusement.
-behind the door was a gray felt hat. i took it down and looked at the size. it was within a quarter of my own.
-"the house is yours!" she laughed.
-over on the candy counter was a tray of corncob pipes. i helped myself to one, to a package of tobacco and a box of matches. i hung my derby on the vacant peg behind the door. then i turned to my hostess.
-"you're a good girl," i said. "good luck to you."
-for a moment something softer came into her eyes.
-"and good luck to you, sir!" she replied. as i passed down the steps she threw after me: "i hope you'll find--what you're looking for!"
-in my old felt hat and smoking my corncob i trudged along the road in the mellow sunlight, almost happy. by and by i reached the trolley line; and for five cents, in company with a heterogeneous lot of country folks, italian laborers and others, was transported an absurdly long distance across the state of new york to a wayside station.
-there i sat on a truck on the platform and chatted with a husky, broad-shouldered youth, who said he was the "baggage smasher," until finally a little smoky train appeared and bore me southward. it was the best holiday i had had in years--and i was sorry when we pulled into pleasantdale and i took to my legs again.
-in the fading afternoon light it indeed seemed a pleasant, restful place. comfortable cottages, each in its own yard, stood in neighborly rows along the shaded street. small boys were playing football in a field adjoining a schoolhouse.
-presently the buildings became more scattered and i found myself following a real country road, though still less than half a mile from the station. ahead it divided and in the resulting triangle, behind a well-clipped hedge, stood a pretty cottage with a red roof--hastings', i was sure.
-i tossed away my pipe and opened the gate. a rather pretty woman of about thirty-five was reading in a red hammock; there were half a dozen straw easy chairs and near by a teatable, with the kettle steaming. mrs. hastings looked up at my step on the gravel path and smiled a welcome.
-"jim has been playing golf over at the club--he didn't expect you until five," she said, coming to meet me.
-"i don't care whether he comes or not," i returned gallantly. "i want to see you. besides, i'm as hungry as a bear." she raised her eyebrows. "i had only an egg or so and a glass of milk for luncheon, and i have walked--miles!"
-"oh!" she exclaimed. i could see she had had quite a different idea of her erstwhile employer; but my statement seemed to put us on a more friendly footing from the start.
-"i love walking too," she hastened to say. "isn't it wonderful to-day? we get weeks of such weather as this every autumn." she busied herself over the teacups and then, stepping inside the door for a moment, returned with a plate piled high with buttered toast, and another with sandwiches of grape jelly.
-"carmen is out," she remarked; "otherwise you should be served in greater style."
-"carmen is our maid, butler and valet," she explained. "it's such a relief to get her out of the way once in a while and have the house all to oneself. that's one of the reasons i enjoy our two-weeks' camping trip so much every summer."
-"you like the woods?"
-"better than anything, i think--except just being at home here. and the children have the time of their lives--fishing and climbing trees, and watching for deer in the boguns."
-the gate clicked at that moment and hastings, golf bag on shoulders, came up the path. he looked lean, brown, hard and happy.
-"just like me to be late!" he apologized. "i had no idea it would take me so long to beat colonel bogey."
-"your excuses are quite unnecessary. mrs. hastings and i have discovered that we are natural affinities," said i.
-my stenographer, quite at ease, leaned his sticks in a corner and helped himself to a cup of tea and a couple of sandwiches, which in my opinion rivaled my eggs and milk of the early afternoon. my walk had made me comfortably tired; my lungs were distended with cool country air; my head was clear, and this domestic scene warmed the cockles of my heart.
-"how is the chicopee & shamrock reorganization coming on?" asked hastings, striving to be polite by suggesting a congenial subject for conversation.
-"i don't know," i retorted. "i've forgotten all about it until monday morning. on the other hand, how are your children coming on?"
-"sylvia is out gathering chestnuts," answered mrs. hastings, "and tom is playing football. they'll be home directly. i wonder if you wouldn't like jim to show you round our place?"
-"just the thing," i answered, for i guessed she had household duties to perform.
-"of course you'll stay to supper?" she pressed me.
-i hesitated, though i knew i should stay, all the time.
-"well--if it really won't put you out," i replied. "i suppose there are evening trains?"
-"one every hour. we'll get you home by ten o'clock."
-"i'll have to telephone," i said, remembering my wife's regular saturday-night bridge party.
-"that's easily managed," said hastings. "you can speak to your own house right from my library."
-again i barefacedly excused myself to my butler on the ground of important business. as we strolled through the gateway we were met by a sturdy little boy with tousled hair. he had on an enormous gray sweater and was hugging a pigskin.
-"we beat 'em!" he shouted, unabashed by my obviously friendly presence. "eighteen to nothing!"
-"tom is twelve," said hastings with a shade of pride in his voice. "yes, the schools here are good. i expect to have him ready for college in five years more."
-"what are you going to make of him?" i asked.
-"a civil engineer, i think," he answered. "you see, i'm a crank on fresh air and building things--and he seems to be like me. this cooped-up city life is pretty narrowing, don't you think?"
-"it's fierce!" i returned heartily, with more warmth than elegance. "sometimes i wish i could chuck the whole business and go to farming."
-"why not?" he asked as we climbed a small rise behind the house. "here's my farm--fifteen acres. we raise most of our own truck."
-below the hill a cornfield, now yellow with pumpkins, stretched to the farther road. nearer the house was a kitchen garden, with an apple orchard beyond. a man in shirtsleeves was milking a cow behind a tiny barn.
-"i bought this place three years ago for thirty-nine hundred dollars," said my stenographer. "they say it is worth nearer six thousand now. anyhow it is worth a hundred thousand to me!"
-a little girl, with bulging apron, appeared at the edge of the orchard and came running toward us.
-"what have you got there?" called her father.
-"oh, daddy! such lovely chestnuts!" cried the child. "and there are millions more of them!"
-she put up a rosy, beaming face to be kissed and dashed away toward the house. i tried to remember what either of my two girls had been like at her age, but for some strange reason i could not.
-across the road the fertile countryside sloped away into a distant valley, hemmed in by dim blue hills, below which the sun had already sunk, leaving only a gilded edge behind. the air was filled with a soft, smoky haze. a church bell in the village struck six o'clock.
-"the curfew tolls the knell of parting day, the lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, the plowman homeward plods his weary way,"
-"for 'plowman' read 'golfer,'" smiled my host. "by george, though--it is pretty good to be alive!" the air had turned crisp and we both instinctively took a couple of deep breaths. "makes the city look like thirty cents!" he ejaculated. "of course it isn't like new york or southampton."
-"no, thank god! it isn't!" i muttered as we wandered toward the house.
-"i hope you don't mind an early supper," apologized mrs. hastings as we entered; "but jim gets absolutely ravenous. you see, on weekdays his lunch is at best a movable feast."
-our promptly served meal consisted of soup, scrambled eggs and bacon, broiled chops, fried potatoes, peas, salad, apple pie, cheese, grapes plucked fresh from the garden wall, and black coffee, distilled from a shining coffee machine. mrs. hastings brought the things hot from the kitchen and dished them herself. tom and sylvia, carefully spruced up, ate prodigiously and then helped clear away the dishes, while i produced my cigar case.
-then hastings led me across the hall to a room about twelve feet square, the walls of which were lined with books, where a wood fire was already crackling cozily. motioning me to an old leather armchair, he pulled up a wooden rocker before the mantel and, leaning over, laid a regiment of chestnuts before the blazing logs.
-i stretched out my legs and took a long pull on one of my carona-caronas. it all seemed too good to be true. only six hours before in my marble entrance hall i had listened disgustedly to the cackle of my wife's luncheon party behind the tapestry of my own dining room.
-after all, how easy it was to be happy! here was hastings, jolly as a clam and living like a prince on--what? i wondered.
-"hastings," i said, "do you mind telling me how much it costs you to live like this?"
-"not at all," he replied--"though i never figured it out exactly. let's see. five per cent on the cost of the place--say, two hundred dollars. repairs and insurance a hundred. that's three hundred, isn't it? we pay the hired man thirty-five dollars and carmen eighteen dollars a month, and give 'em their board--about six hundred and fifty more. so far nine hundred and fifty. our vegetables and milk cost us practically nothing--meat and groceries about seventy-five a month--nine hundred a year.
-"we have one horse; but in good weather i use my bicycle to go to the station. we cut our own ice in the pond back of the orchard. the schools are free. i cut quite a lot of wood myself, but my coal comes high--must cost me at least a hundred and fifty a year. i don't have many doctors' bills, living out here; but the dentist hits us for about twenty-five dollars every six months--that's fifty more. my wife spends about three hundred and the children as much more. of course that's fairly liberal. one doesn't need ballgowns in our village.
-"my own expenses are, railroad fare, lunches, tobacco--i smoke a pipe mostly--and clothes--probably about five hundred in all. we go on a big bat once a month and dine at a table-d'hôte restaurant, and take in the opera or the play. that costs some--about ten dollars a clip--say, eighty for the season; and, of course, i blow the kids to a camping trip every summer, which sets me back a good hundred and fifty. how does that come out?"
-i had jotted the items down, as he went along, on the back of an envelope.
-"it seems a good deal," he commented, turning and gazing into the fire; "but i have usually managed to lay up about fifteen hundred every year--besides, of course, the little i give away."
-i sat stunned. thirty-three hundred dollars!--i spent seventy-two thousand!--and the man lived as well as i did! what did i have that he had not? but hastings was saying something, still with his back toward me.
-"i suppose you thought i must be an ungrateful dog not to jump at the offer you made me this morning," he remarked in an embarrassed manner. "it's worried me a lot all day. i'm really tremendously gratified at your kindness. i couldn't very well explain myself, and i don't know what possessed me to say what i did about my not being willing to exchange places with you. but, you see, i'm over forty. that makes a heap of difference. i'm as good a stenographer as you can find, and so long as my health holds out i can be sure of at least fifty dollars a week, besides what i earn outside.
-"i've never had any kink for the law. i don't think i'd be a success at it; and frankly, saving your presence, i don't like it. a lot of it is easy money and a lot of it is money earned in the meanest way there is--playing dirty tricks; putting in the wrong a fellow that's really right; aggravating misunderstandings and profiting by the quarrels people get into. you're a high-class, honorable man, and you don't see the things i see." i winced. if he only knew, i had seen a good deal! "but i go round among the other law offices, and i tell you it's a demoralizing profession.
-"it's all right to reorganize a railroad; but in general litigation it seems to me as if the lawyers spend most of their time trying to make the judge and jury believe the witnesses are all criminals. everything a man says on the stand or has ever done in his life is made the subject of a false inference--an innuendo. the law isn't constructive--it's destructive; and that's why i want my boy to be a civil engineer."
-he paused, abashed at his own heat.
-"well," i interjected, "it's a harsh arraignment; but there's a great deal of truth in what you say. wouldn't you like to make big money?"
-"big money! i do make big money--for a man of my class," he replied with a gentle smile. "i wouldn't know what to do with much more. i've got health and a comfortable home, the affection of an honest woman and two fine children. i work hard, sleep like a log, and get a couple of sets of tennis or a round of golf on saturdays and sundays. i have the satisfaction of knowing i give you your money's worth for the salary you pay me. my kids have as good teachers as there are anywhere. we see plenty of people and i belong to a club or two. i bear a good reputation in the town and try to keep things going in the right direction. we have all the books and magazines we want to read. what's more, i don't worry about trying to be something i'm not."
-"how do you mean?" i asked, feeling that his talk was money in my moral pocket.
-"oh, i've seen a heap of misery in new york due to just wanting to get ahead--i don't know where; fellows that are just crazy to make 'big money' as you call it, in order to ride in motors and get into some sort of society. all the clerks, office boys and stenographers seem to want to become stockbrokers. personally i don't see what there is in it for them. i don't figure out that my boy would be any happier with two million dollars than without. if he had it he would be worrying all the time for fear he wasn't getting enough fun for his money. and as for my girl i want her to learn to do something! i want her to have the discipline that comes from knowing how to earn her own living. of course that's one of the greatest satisfactions there is in life anyway--doing some one thing as well as it can be done."
-"wouldn't you like your daughter to marry?" i demanded.
-"certainly--if she can find a clean man who wants her. why, it goes without saying, that is life's greatest happiness--that and having children."
-"certainly!" i echoed with an inward qualm.
-"suppose she doesn't marry though? that's the point. she doesn't want to hang round a boarding house all her life when everybody is busy doing interesting things. i've got a theory that the reason rich people--especially rich women--get bored is because they don't know anything about real life. put one of 'em in a law office, hitting a typewriter at fifteen dollars a week, and in a month she'd wake up to what was really going on--she'd be alive!"
-"'the world is so full of a number of things i'm sure we should all be as happy as kings!'"
-said i. "what's sylvia going to do?"
-"oh, she's quite a clever little artist." he handed me some charming sketches in pencil that were lying on the table. "i think she may make an illustrator. heaven knows we need 'em! i'll give her a course at pratt institute and then at the academy of design; and after that, if they think she is good enough, i'll send her to paris."
-"i wish i'd done the same thing with my girls!" i sighed. "but the trouble is--the trouble is--you see, if i had they wouldn't have been doing what their friends were doing. they'd have been out of it."
-"no; they wouldn't like that, of course," agreed hastings respectfully. "they would want to be 'in it'"
-i looked at him quickly to see whether his remark had a double entendre.
-"i don't see very much of my daughters," i continued. "they've got away from me somehow."
-"that's the tough part of it," he said thoughtfully. "i suppose rich people are so busy with all the things they have to do that they haven't much time for fooling round with their children. i have a good time with mine though. they're too young to get away anyhow. we read french history aloud every evening after supper. sylvia is almost an expert on the duke of guise and the massacre of st. bartholomew."
-we smoked silently for some moments. hastings' ideas interested me, but i felt that he could give me something more personal--of more value to myself. the fellow was really a philosopher in his quiet way.
-"after all, you haven't told me what you meant by saying you wouldn't change places with me," i said abruptly. "what did you mean by that? i want to know."
-"i wish you would forget i ever said it, sir," he murmured.
-"no," i retorted, "i can't forget it. you needn't spare me. this talk is not ex cathedra--it's just between ourselves. when you've told me why, then i will forget it. this is man to man."
-"well," he answered slowly, "it would take me a long time to put it in just the right way. there was nothing personal in what i said this morning. i was thinking about conditions in general--the whole thing. it can't go on!"
-"what can't go on?"
-"the terrible burden of money," he said.
-"terrible burden of money!" i repeated. what did he mean?
-"i don't believe a man's money should be taken away from him and distributed round for the sake of other people--but for the protection of the man himself. there's got to be a pecuniary safety valve. every dollar over a certain amount, just like every extra pound of steam in a boiler, is a thing of danger. we want health in the individual and in the state--not disease.
-"let the amount of a man's income be five, ten, fifteen or twenty thousand dollars--the exact figure doesn't matter; but there is a limit at which wealth becomes a drag and a detriment instead of a benefit! i'd base the legality of a confiscatory income tax on the constitutionality of any health regulation or police ordinance. people shouldn't be permitted to injure themselves--or have poison lying round. certainly it's a lesson that history teaches on every page.
-"besides everybody needs something to work for--to keep him fit--at least that's the way it looks to me. nations--let alone mere individuals--have simply gone to seed, died of dry rot because they no longer had any stimulus. a fellow has got to have some idea in the back of his head as to what he's after--and the harder it is for him to get it, the better, as a rule, it is for him. good luck is the worst enemy a heap of people have. misfortune spurs a man on, tries him out and develops him--makes him more human."
-"ever played in hard luck?" i queried.
-"i? sure, i have," answered hastings cheerfully. "and i wouldn't worry much if it came my way again. i could manage to get along pretty comfortably on less than half i've got. i like my home; but we could be happy anywhere so long as we had ourselves and our health and a few books. however, i wasn't thinking of myself. i've got a friend in the brokering business who says it's the millionaires that do most of the worrying anyhow. naturally a man with a pile of money has to look after it; but what puzzles me is why anybody should want it in the first place."
-he searched along a well-filled and disordered shelf of shabby books.
-"here's what william james says about it:
-"'we have grown literally afraid to be poor. we despise any one who elects to be poor in order to simplify and save his inner life. we have lost the power of even imagining what the ancient idealization of poverty could have meant--the liberation from material attachments; the unbribed soul; the manlier indifference; the paying our way by what we are or do, and not by what we have; the right to fling away our life at any moment irresponsibly--the more athletic trim, in short the moral fighting shape.... it is certain that the prevalent fear of poverty among the educated class is the worst moral disease from which our civilization suffers.'"
-"i guess he's about right," i agreed.
-"that's my idea exactly," answered hastings. "as i look at it the curse of most of the people living on fifth avenue is that they're perfectly safe. you could take away nine-tenths of what they've got and they'd still have about a hundred times more money than they needed to be comfortable. they're like a whole lot of fat animals in an inclosure--they're fed three or four times a day, but the wire fence that protects them from harm deprives them of any real liberty. or they're like goldfish swimming round and round in a big bowl. they can look through sort of dimly; but they can't get out! if they really knew, they'd trade their security for their freedom any time.
-"perfect safety isn't an unmixed blessing by any means. look at the photographs of the wild indians--the ones that carried their lives in their hands every minute--and there's something stern and noble about their faces. put an indian on a reservation and he takes to drinking whisky. it was the same way with the chaps that lived in the middle ages and had to wear shirts of chainmail. it kept 'em guessing. that's merely one phase of it.
-"the real thing to put the bite into life is having a cause. people forget how to make sacrifices--or become afraid to. after all, even dying isn't such a tremendous trick. plenty of people have done it just for an idea--wanted to pray in their own way. but this modern way of living takes all the sap out of folks. they get an entirely false impression of the relative values of things. it takes a failure or a death in the family to wake them up to the comparative triviality of the worth of money as compared, for instance, to human affection--any of the real things of life.
-"i don't object to inequality of mere wealth in itself, because i wouldn't dignify money to that extent. of course i do object to a situation where the rich man can buy life and health for his sick child and the poor man can't. too many sick babies! that'll be attended to, all right, in time. i wouldn't take away one man's money for the sake of giving it to others--not a bit of it. but what i would do would be to put it out of a man's power to poison himself with money.
-"suicide is made a crime under the law. how about moral and intellectual suicide? it ought to be prevented for the sake of the state. no citizen should be allowed to stultify himself with luxury any more than he should be permitted to cut off his right hand. excuse me for being didactic--but you said you'd like to get my point of view and i've tried to give it to you in a disjointed sort of way. i'd sooner my son would have to work for his living than not, and i'd rather he'd spend his life contending with the forces of nature and developing the country than in quarreling over the division of profits that other men had earned."
-i had listened attentively to what hastings had to say; and, though i did not agree with all of it, i was forced to admit the truth of a large part. he certainly seemed to have come nearer to solving the problem than i had even been able to. yet it appeared to my conservative mind shockingly socialistic and chimerical.
-"so you really think," i retorted, "that the state ought to pass laws which should prevent the accumulation--or at least the retention--of large fortunes?"
-hastings smiled apologetically.
-"well," he answered, "i don't know just how far i should advocate active governmental interference, though it's a serious question. you're a thousand times better qualified to express an opinion on that than i am.
-"still you can't force people to keep healthy. if a man is bound to sacrifice everything for money and make himself sick with it, perhaps he ought to be prevented."
-"jim!" cried mrs. hastings, coming in with a pitcher of cider and some glasses. "i could hear you talking all the way out in the kitchen. i'm sure you've bored our guest to death. why, the chestnuts are burned to a crisp!"
-"he hasn't bored me a bit," i answered; "in fact we are agreed on a great many things. however, after i've had a glass of that cider i must start back to town."
-"we'd love to have you spend the night," she urged. "we've a nice little guestroom over the library."
-the invitation was tempting, but i wanted to get away and think. also it was my duty to look in on the bridge party before it became too sleepy to recognize my presence. i drank my cider, bade my hostess good night and walked to the station with hastings. as we crossed the square to the train he said:
-"it was mighty good of you to come out here to see us and we both appreciate it. hope you'll forgive my bluntness this morning and for shooting off my mouth so much this evening."
-"my dear fellow," i returned, "that was what i came out for. you've given me something to think about. i'm thinking already. you're quite right. you'd be a fool to change places with anybody--let alone a miserable millionaire."
-in the smoker of the accommodation, to which i retired, i sat oblivious of my surroundings until we entered the tunnel. so far as i could see, hastings had it on me at every turn--at thirty-three hundred a year--considerably less than half of what i paid out annually in servants' wages. and the exasperating part of it all was that, though i spent seventy-two thousand a year, i did not begin to be as happy as he was! not by a jugful. face to face with the simple comfort of the cottage i had just left, its sincerity and affection, its thrifty self-respect, its wide interests, i confessed that i had not been myself genuinely contented since i left my mother's house for college, thirty odd years before. i had become the willing victim of a materialistic society.
-i had squandered my life in a vain effort to purchase happiness with money--an utter impossibility, as i now only too plainly saw. i was poisoned with it, as hastings had said--sick with it and sick of it. i was one of hastings' chaingangs of prosperous prisoners--millionaires shackled together and walking in lockstep; one of his school of goldfish bumping their noses against the glass of the bowl in which they were confined by virtue of their inability to live outside the medium to which they were accustomed.
-i was through with it! from that moment i resolved to become a free man; living my own life; finding happiness in things that were worth while. i would chuck the whole nauseating business of valets and scented baths; of cocktails, clubs and cards; of an unwieldy and tiresome household of lazy servants; of the ennui of heavy dinners; and of a family the members of which were strangers to each other. i could and would easily cut down my expenditures to not more than thirty thousand a year; and with the balance of my income i would look after some of those sick babies hastings had mentioned.
-i would begin by taking a much smaller house and letting half the servants go, including my french cook. i had for a long time realized that we all ate too much. i would give up one of my motors and entertain more simply. we would omit the spring dash to paris, and i would insist on a certain number of evenings each week which the family should spend together, reading aloud or talking over their various plans and interests. it did not seem by any means impossible in the prospect and i got a considerable amount of satisfaction from planning it all out. my life was to be that of a sort of glorified hastings. after my healthy, peaceful day in the quiet country i felt quite light-hearted--as nearly happy as i could remember having been for years.
-it was raining when i got out at the grand central station, and as i hurried along the platform to get a taxi i overtook an acquaintance of mine--a social climber. he gave me a queer look in response to my greeting and i remembered that i had on the old gray hat i had taken from the quick lunch.
-"i've been off for a tramp in the country," i explained, resenting my own instinctive embarrassment.
-"ah! don't say! didn't know you went in for that sort of thing! well, good night!"
-he sprang into the only remaining taxi without asking me to share it and vanished in a cloud of gasoline smoke. i was in no mood for waiting; besides i was going to be democratic. i took a surface car up lexington avenue and stood between the distended knees of a fat and somnolent italian gentleman for thirty blocks. the car was intolerably stuffy and smelled strongly of wet umbrellas and garlic. by the time i reached the cross-street on which i lived it had begun to pour. i turned up my coat collar and ran to my house.
-somehow i felt like a small boy as i threw myself panting inside my own marble portal. my butler expressed great sympathy for my condition and smuggled me quickly upstairs. i fancy he suspected there was something discreditable about my absence. a pungent aroma floated up from the drawing room, where the bridge players were steadily at work. i confess to feeling rather dirty, wet and disreputable.
-"i'm sorry, sir," said my butler as he turned on the electric switch in my bedroom, "but i didn't expect you back this evening, and so i told martin he might go out."
-a wave of irritation, almost of anger, swept over me. martin was my perfect valet.
-"what the devil did you do that for!" i snapped.
-then, realizing my inconsistency, i was ashamed, utterly humiliated and disgusted with myself. this, then, was all that my resolution amounted to after all!
-"i am very sorry, sir," repeated my butler. "very sorry, sir, indeed. shall i help you off with your things?"
-"oh, that's all right!" i exclaimed, somewhat to his surprise. "don't bother about me. i'll take care of myself."
-"can't i bring you something?" he asked solicitously.
-"no, thanks!" said i. "i don't need anything that you can give me!"
-"very good, sir," he replied. "good night, sir."
-"good night," i answered, and he closed the door noiselessly.
-i lit a cigarette and, tossing off my coat, sank into a chair. my mere return to that ordered elegance seemed to have benumbed my individuality. downstairs thirty of our most intimate friends were amusing themselves at the cardtables, confident that at eleven-thirty they would be served with supper consisting of salads, ice-cream and champagne. they would not hope in vain. if they did not get it--speaking broadly--they would not come again. they wanted us as we were--house, food, trappings--the whole layout. they meant well enough. they simply had to have certain things. if we changed our scale of living we should lose the acquaintance of these people, and we should have nobody in their place.
-we had grown into a highly complicated system, in which we had a settled orbit. this orbit was not susceptible of change unless we were willing to turn everything topsy-turvy. everybody would suppose we had lost our money. and, not being brilliant or clever people, who paid their way as they went by making themselves lively and attractive, it would be assumed that we could not keep up our end; so we should be gradually left out.
-i said to myself that i ought not to care--that being left out was what i wanted; but, all the same, i knew i did care. you cannot tear yourself up by the roots at fifty unless you are prepared to go to a far country. i was not prepared to do that at a moment's notice. i, too, was used to a whole lot of things--was solidly imbedded in them.
-my very house was an overwhelming incubus. i was like a miserable snail, forever lugging my house round on my back--unable to shake it off. a change in our mode of life would not necessarily in itself bring my children any nearer to me; it would, on the contrary, probably antagonize them. i had sowed the seed and i was reaping the harvest. my professional life i could not alter. i had my private clients--my regular business. besides there was no reason for altering it. i conducted it honorably and well enough.
-yet the calm consideration of those very difficulties in the end only demonstrated the clearer to me the perilous state in which i was. the deeper the bog, the more my spirit writhed to be free. better, i thought, to die struggling than gradually to sink down and be suffocated beneath the mire of apathy and self-indulgence.
-hastings' little home--or something--had wrought a change in me. i had gone through some sort of genuine emotional experience. it seemed impossible to reform my mode of life and thought, but it was equally incredible that i should fall back into my old indifference. sitting there alone in my chamber i felt like a man in a nightmare, who would give his all to be able to rise, yet whose limbs were immovable, held by some subtle and cruel power. i had read in novels about men agonized by remorse and indecision. i now experienced those sensations myself. i discovered they were not imaginary states.
-my meditations were interrupted by the entrance of my wife, who, with an anxious look on her face, inquired what was the matter. the butler had said i seemed indisposed; so she had slipped away from our guests and come up to see for herself. she was in full regalia--elaborate gown, pearls, aigret.
-"there's nothing the matter with me," i answered, though i know full well i lied--i was poisoned.
-"well, that's a comfort, at any rate!" she replied, amiably enough.
-"where's tom?" i asked wearily.
-"i haven't any idea," she said frankly. "you know he almost never comes home."
-"and the girls?"
-"visiting the devereuxs at staatsburg," she answered. "aren't you coming down for some bridge?"
-"no," i said. "to tell you the truth i never want to see a pack of cards again. i want to cut the game. i'm sick of our life and the useless extravagance. i want a change. let's get rid of the whole thing--take a smaller house--have fewer servants. think of the relief!"
-"what's the matter?" she cried sharply. "have you lost money?"
-"no," i said, "i haven't lost money--i've lost heart!"
-she eyed me distrustfully.
-"are you crazy?" she demanded.
-"no," i answered. "i don't think i am."
-"you act that way," she retorted. "it's a funny time to talk about changing your mode of life--right in the middle of a bridge party! what have you been working for all these years? and where do i come in? you can go to your clubs and your office--anywhere; but all i've got is the life you have taught me to enjoy! tom is grown up and never comes near me. and the girls--why, what do you think would happen to them if you suddenly gave up your place in society? they'd never get married so long as they lived. people would think you'd gone bankrupt! really"--her eyes filled and she dabbed at them with a valenciennes handkerchief--"i think it too heartless of you to come in this way--like a skeleton at the feast--and spoil my evening!"
-i felt a slight touch of remorse. i had broached the matter rather roughly. i laid my hand on her shoulder--now so round and matronly, once so slender.
-"anna," i said as tenderly as i could, "suppose i did give it all up?"
-she rose indignantly to her feet and shook off my hand.
-"you'd have to get along without me!" she retorted; then, seeing the anguish on my face, she added less harshly: "take a brandy-and-soda and go to bed. i'm sure you're not quite yourself."
-i was struck by the chance significance of her phrase--"not quite yourself." no; ever since i had left the house that morning i had not been quite myself. i had had a momentary glimpse--had for an instant caught the glint of an angel's wing--but it was gone. i was almost myself--my old self; yet not quite.
-"i didn't mean to be unkind," i muttered. "don't worry about me. i've merely had a vision of what might have been, and it's disgusted me. go on down to the bridge fiends. i'll be along shortly--if you'll excuse my clothes."
-"poor boy!" she sighed. "you're tired out! no; don't come down--in those clothes!"
-i laughed a hollow laugh when she had gone. really there was something humorous about it all. what was the use even of trying? i did not seem even to belong in my own house unless my clothes matched the wall paper! i lit cigarette after cigarette, staring blankly at my silk pajamas laid out on the bed.
-i could not change things! it was too late. i had brought up my son and daughters to live in a certain kind of way, had taught them that luxuries were necessities, had neglected them--had ruined them perhaps; but i had no moral right now to annihilate that life--and their mother's--without their consent. they might be poor things; but, after all, they were my own. they were free, white and twenty-one. and i knew they would simply think me mad!
-i had a fixed place in a complicated system, with responsibilities and duties i was morally bound to recognize. i could not chuck the whole business without doing a great deal of harm. my life was not so simple as all that. any change--if it could be accomplished at all--would have to be a gradual one and be brought about largely by persuasion. could it be accomplished?
-it now seemed insuperably difficult. i was bound to the wheel--and the habits of a lifetime, the moral pressure of my wife and children, the example of society, and the force of superficial public opinion and expectation were spinning it round and round in the direction of least resistance. as well attempt to alter my course as to steer a locomotive off the track! i could not ditch the locomotive, for i had a trainload of passengers! and yet--
-i groaned and buried my face in my hands. i--successful? yes, success had been mine; but success was failure--naught else--failure, absolute and unmitigated! i had lost my wife and family, and my home had become the resort of a crew of empty-headed coxcombs.
-i wondered whether they were gone. i looked at the clock. it was half-past twelve--sunday morning. i opened my bedroom door and crept downstairs. no; they were not gone--they had merely moved on to supper.
-my library was in the front of the house, across the hall from the drawing room, and i went in there and sank into an armchair by the fire. the bridge party was making a great to-do and its strident laughter floated up from below. by contrast the quiet library seemed a haven of refuge. here were the books i might have read--which might have been my friends. poor fool that i was!
-i put out my hand and took down the first it encountered--john bunyan's pilgrim's progress. it was a funny old volume--a priceless early edition given me by a grateful client whom i had extricated from some embarrassment. i had never read it, but i knew its general trend. it was about some imaginary miserable who, like myself, wanted to do things differently. i took a cigar out of my pocket, lit it and, opening the book haphazard, glanced over the pages in a desultory fashion.
-"that is that which i seek for, even to be rid of this heavy burden; but get it off myself, i cannot; nor is there any man in our country that can take it off my shoulders--"
-so the pilgrim had a burden too! i turned back to the beginning and read how christian, the hero, had been made aware of his perilous condition.
-"in this plight therefore he went home, and refrained himself as long as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his distress, but he could not be silent long, because that his trouble increased: wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and children; and thus he began to talk to them: 'oh, my dear wife,' said he, 'and you the children of my bowels, i, your dear friend, am in myself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me.' ... at this his relations were sore amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to them was true, but because they thought that some frenzy distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing toward night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all haste they got him to bed: but the night was as troublesome to him as the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears."
-surely this pilgrim was strangely like myself! and, though sorely beset, he had struggled on his way.
-"hast thou a wife and children?
-"yes, but i am so laden with this burden that i cannot take that pleasure in them as formerly; methinks i am as if i had none."
-tears filled my eyes and i laid down the book. the bridge party was going home. i could hear them shouting good-bys in the front hall and my wife's shrill voice answering good night! from outside came the toot of horns and the whir of the motors as they drew up at the curb. one by one the doors slammed, the glass rattled and they thundered off. the noise got on my nerves and, taking my book, i crossed to the deserted drawing room, the scene of the night's social carnage. the sight was enough to sicken any man! eight tables covered with half-filled glasses; cards everywhere--the floor littered with them; chairs pushed helter-skelter and one overturned; and from a dozen ash-receivers the slowly ascending columns of incense to the great god of chance. on the middle table lay a score card and pencil, a roll of bills, a pile of silver, and my wife's vanity box, with its chain of pearls and diamonds.
-fiercely i resolved again to end it all--at any cost. i threw open one of the windows, sat myself down by a lamp in a corner, and found the place where i had been reading. christian had just encountered charity. in the midst of their discussion i heard my wife's footsteps in the hall; the portières rustled and she entered.
-"well!" she exclaimed. "i thought you had gone to bed long ago. i had good luck to-night. i won eight hundred dollars! how are you feeling?"
-"anna," i answered, "sit down a minute. i want to read you something."
-"go ahead!" she said, lighting a cigarette, and throwing herself into one of the vacant chairs.
-"then said charity to christian: have you a family? are you a married man?"
-"christian: i have a wife and ... children."
-"charity: and why did you not bring them along with you?"
-"then christian wept and said: oh, how willingly would i have done it, but they were all of them utterly averse to my going on pilgrimage."
-"charity: but you should have talked to them, and have endeavored to have shown them the danger of being behind.
-"christian: so i did, and told them also what god had shewed to me of the destruction of our city; but i seemed to them as one that mocked, and they believed me not.
-"charity: and did you pray to god that he would bless your counsel to them?
-"christian: yes, and that with much affection; for you must think that my wife and poor children were very dear unto me.
-"charity: but did you tell them of your own sorrow and fear of destruction?--for i suppose that destruction was visible enough to you.
-"christian: yes, over and over, and over. they might also see my fears in my countenance, in my tears, and also in my trembling under the apprehension of the judgment that did hang over our heads; but all was not sufficient to prevail with them to come with me.
-"charity: but what could they say for themselves, why they come not?
-"christian: why, my wife was afraid of losing this world, and my children were given to the foolish delights of youth; so, what by one thing and what by another, they left me to wander in this manner alone."
-"i--i didn't know," she said in a choked, half-stifled voice, "that you really meant what you said upstairs."
-"i mean it as i never have meant anything since i told you that i loved you, dear," i answered gently.
-she raised her face, wet with tears.
-"that was such a long time ago!" she sobbed. "and i thought that all this was what you wanted." she glanced round the room.
-"i did--once," i replied; "but i don't want it any longer. we can't live our lives over again; but"--and i went over to her--"we can try to do a little better from now on."
-she laid her head on my arm and took my hand in hers.
-"what shall we do?" she asked.
-"we must free ourselves from our burden," said i; "break down the wall of money that shuts us in from other people, and try to pay our way in the world by what we are and do rather than by what we have. it may be hard at first; but it's worth while--for all of us."
-she disengaged one hand and wiped her eyes.
-"i'll help all i can," she whispered.
-"that's what i want!" cried i, and my heart leaped.
-again i saw the glint of the angel's wing!
-the laird's luck and other fireside tales
-by a.t. quiller-couch (q)
-the laird's luck
-with fair promptitude this scheme was put in hand, under the editorship of mr. richard cannon, principal clerk of the adjutant general's office. the duty of examining, sifting, and preparing the records of that distinguished regiment which i shall here call the moray highlanders (concealing its real name for reasons which the narrative will make apparent) fell to a certain major reginald sparkes; who in the course of his researches came upon a number of pages in manuscript sealed under one cover and docketed "memoranda concerning ensign d.m.j. mackenzie. j.r., jan. 3rd, 1816"--the initials being those of lieut.-colonel sir james ross, who had commanded the 2nd battalion of the morays through the campaign of waterloo. the cover also bore, in the same handwriting, the word "private," twice underlined.
-the laird's luck
-i had the honour of commanding my regiment, the moray highlanders, on the 16th of june, 1815, when the late ensign david marie joseph mackenzie met his end in the bloody struggle of quatre bras (his first engagement). he fell beside the colours, and i gladly bear witness that he had not only borne himself with extreme gallantry, but maintained, under circumstances of severest trial, a coolness which might well have rewarded me for my help in procuring the lad's commission. and yet at the moment i could scarcely regret his death, for he went into action under a suspicion so dishonouring that, had it been proved, no amount of gallantry could have restored him to the respect of his fellows. so at least i believed, with three of his brother officers who shared the secret. these were major william ross (my half-brother), captain malcolm murray, and mr. ronald braintree urquhart, then our senior ensign. of these, mr. urquhart fell two days later, at waterloo, while steadying his men to face that heroic shock in which pack's skeleton regiments were enveloped yet not overwhelmed by four brigades of the french infantry. from the others i received at the time a promise that the accusation against young mackenzie should be wiped off the slate by his death, and the affair kept secret between us. since then, however, there has come to me an explanation which--though hard indeed to credit--may, if true, exculpate the lad. i laid it before the others, and they agreed that if, in spite of precautions, the affair should ever come to light, the explanation ought also in justice to be forthcoming; and hence i am writing this memorandum.
-it was in the late september of 1814 that i first made acquaintance with david mackenzie. a wound received in the battle of salamanca--a shattered ankle--had sent me home invalided, and on my partial recovery i was appointed to command the 2nd battalion of my regiment, then being formed at inverness. to this duty i was equal; but my ankle still gave trouble (the splinters from time to time working through the flesh), and in the late summer of 1814 i obtained leave of absence with my step-brother, and spent some pleasant weeks in cruising and fishing about the moray firth. finding that my leg bettered by this idleness, we hired a smaller boat and embarked on a longer excursion, which took us almost to the south-west end of loch ness.
-here, on september 18th, and pretty late in the afternoon, we were overtaken by a sudden squall, which carried away our mast (we found afterwards that it had rotted in the step), and put us for some minutes in no little danger; for my brother and i, being inexpert seamen, did not cut the tangle away, as we should have done, but made a bungling attempt to get the mast on board, with the rigging and drenched sail; and thereby managed to knock a hole in the side of the boat, which at once began to take in water. this compelled us to desist and fall to baling with might and main, leaving the raffle and jagged end of the mast to bump against us at the will of the waves. in short, we were in a highly unpleasant predicament, when a coble or row-boat, carrying one small lug-sail, hove out of the dusk to our assistance. it was manned by a crew of three, of whom the master (though we had scarce light enough to distinguish features) hailed us in a voice which was patently a gentleman's. he rounded up, lowered sail, and ran his boat alongside; and while his two hands were cutting us free of our tangle, inquired very civilly if we were strangers. we answered that we were, and desired him to tell us of the nearest place alongshore where we might land and find a lodging for the night, as well as a carpenter to repair our damage.
-"in any ordinary case," said he, "i should ask you to come aboard and home with me. but my house lies five miles up the lake; your boat is sinking, and the first thing is to beach her. it happens that you are but half a mile from ardlaugh and a decent carpenter who can answer all requirements. i think, if i stand by you, the thing can be done; and afterwards we will talk of supper."
-by diligent baling we were able, under his direction, to bring our boat to a shingly beach, over which a light shone warm in a cottage window. our hail was quickly answered by a second light. a lantern issued from the building, and we heard the sound of footsteps.
-"is that you, donald?" cried our rescuer (as i may be permitted to call him).
-"good evening, gentlemen." he lifted his bonnet politely, and turned to our rescuer. "good evening, mr. gillespie," he said--i thought more coldly. "can i be of any service to your friends?"
-mr. gillespie's manner had changed suddenly at sight of the young man, whose salutation he acknowledged more coldly and even more curtly than it had been given. "i can scarcely claim them as my friends," he answered. "they are two gentlemen, strangers in these parts, who have met with an accident to their boat: one so serious that i brought them to the nearest landing, which happened to be donald's." he shortly explained our mishap, while the young man took the lantern in hand and inspected the damage with donald.
-"there is nothing," he announced, "which cannot be set right in a couple of hours; but we must wait till morning. meanwhile if, as i gather, you have no claim on these gentlemen, i shall beg them to be my guests for the night."
-we glanced at mr. gillespie, whose manners seemed to have deserted him. he shrugged his shoulders. "your house is the nearer," said he, "and the sooner they reach a warm fire the better for them after their drenching." and with that he lifted his cap to us, turned abruptly, and pushed off his own boat, scarcely regarding our thanks.
-a somewhat awkward pause followed as we stood on the beach, listening to the creak of the thole-pins in the departing boat. after a minute our new acquaintance turned to us with a slightly constrained laugh.
-"mr. gillespie omitted some of the formalities," said he. "my name is mackenzie--david mackenzie; and i live at ardlaugh castle, scarcely half a mile up the glen behind us. i warn you that its hospitality is rude, but to what it affords you are heartily welcome."
-he spoke with a high, precise courtliness which contrasted oddly with his boyish face (i guessed his age at nineteen or twenty), and still more oddly with his clothes, which were threadbare and patched in many places, yet with a deftness which told of a woman's care. we introduced ourselves by name, and thanked him, with some expressions of regret at inconveniencing (as i put it, at hazard) the family at the castle.
-"oh!" he interrupted, "i am sole master there. i have no parents living, no family, and," he added, with a slight sullenness which i afterwards recognised as habitual, "i may almost say, no friends: though to be sure, you are lucky enough to have one fellow-guest to-night--the minister of the parish, a mr. saul, and a very worthy man."
-he broke off to give donald some instructions about the boat, watched us while we found our plaids and soaked valises, and then took the lantern from the old man's hand. "i ought to have explained," said he, "that we have neither cart here nor carriage: indeed, there is no carriage-road. but donald has a pony."
-he led the way a few steps up the beach, and then halted, perceiving my lameness for the first time. "donald, fetch out the pony. can you ride bareback?" he asked: "i fear there's no saddle but an old piece of sacking." in spite of my protestations the pony was led forth; a starved little beast, on whose over-sharp ridge i must have cut a sufficiently ludicrous figure when hoisted into place with the valises slung behind me.
-the procession set out, and i soon began to feel thankful for my seat, though i took no ease in it. for the road climbed steeply from the cottage, and at once began to twist up the bottom of a ravine so narrow that we lost all help of the young moon. the path, indeed, resembled the bed of a torrent, shrunk now to a trickle of water, the voice of which ran in my ears while our host led the way, springing from boulder to boulder, avoiding pools, and pausing now and then to hold his lantern over some slippery place. the pony followed with admirable caution, and my brother trudged in the rear and took his cue from us. after five minutes of this the ground grew easier and at the same time steeper, and i guessed that we were slanting up the hillside and away from the torrent at an acute angle. the many twists and angles, and the utter darkness (for we were now moving between trees) had completely baffled my reckoning when--at the end of twenty minutes, perhaps--mr. mackenzie halted and allowed me to come up with him.
-i was about to ask the reason of this halt when a ray of his lantern fell on a wall of masonry; and with a start almost laughable i knew we had arrived. to come to an entirely strange house at night is an experience which holds some taste of mystery even for the oldest campaigner; but i have never in my life received such a shock as this building gave me--naked, unlit, presented to me out of a darkness in which i had imagined a steep mountain scaur dotted with dwarfed trees--a sudden abomination of desolation standing, like the prophet's, where it ought not. no light showed on the side where we stood--the side over the ravine; only one pointed turret stood out against the faint moonlight glow in the upper sky: but feeling our way around the gaunt side of the building, we came to a back court-yard and two windows lit. our host whistled, and helped me to dismount.
-in an angle of the court a creaking door opened. a woman's voice cried, "that will be be you, ardlaugh, and none too early! the minister--"
-she broke off, catching sight of us. our host stepped hastily to the door and began a whispered conversation. we could hear that she was protesting, and began to feel awkward enough. but whatever her objections were, her master cut them short.
-"come in, sirs," he invited us: "i warned you that the fare would be hard, but i repeat that you are welcome."
-to our surprise and, i must own, our amusement, the woman caught up his words with new protestations, uttered this time at the top of her voice.
-"the fare hard? well, it might not please folks accustomed to city feasts; but ardlaugh was not yet without a joint of venison in the larder and a bottle of wine, maybe two, maybe three, for any guest its master chose to make welcome. it was 'an ill bird that 'filed his own nest'"--with more to this effect, which our host tried in vain to interrupt.
-"then i will lead you to your rooms," he said, turning to us as soon as she paused to draw breath.
-"indeed, ardlaugh, you will do nothing of the kind." she ran into the kitchen, and returned holding high a lighted torch--a grey-haired woman with traces of past comeliness, overlaid now by an air of worry, almost of fear. but her manner showed only a defiant pride as she led us up the uncarpeted stairs, past old portraits sagging and rotting in their frames, through bleak corridors, where the windows were patched and the plastered walls discoloured by fungus. once only she halted. "it will be a long way to your appartments. a grand house!" she had faced round on us, and her eyes seemed to ask a question of ours. "i have known it filled," she added--"filled with guests, and the drink and fiddles never stopping for a week. you will see it better to-morrow. a grand house!"
-i will confess that, as i limped after this barbaric woman and her torch, i felt some reasonable apprehensions of the bedchamber towards which they were escorting me. but here came another surprise. the room was of moderate size, poorly furnished, indeed, but comfortable and something more. it bore traces of many petty attentions, even--in its white dimity curtains and valances--of an attempt at daintiness. the sight of it brought quite a pleasant shock after the dirt and disarray of the corridor. nor was the room assigned to my brother one whit less habitable. but if surprised by all this, i was fairly astounded to find in each room a pair of candles lit--and quite recently lit--beside the looking-glass, and an ewer of hot water standing, with a clean towel upon it, in each wash-hand basin. no sooner had the woman departed than i visited my brother and begged him (while he unstrapped his valise) to explain this apparent miracle. he could only guess with me that the woman had been warned of our arrival by the noise of footsteps in the court-yard, and had dispatched a servant by some back stairs to make ready for us.
-our valises were, fortunately, waterproof. we quickly exchanged our damp clothes for dry ones, and groped our way together along the corridors, helped by the moon, which shone through their uncurtained windows, to the main staircase. here we came on a scent of roasting meat--appetising to us after our day in the open air--and at the foot found our host waiting for us. he had donned his highland dress of ceremony--velvet jacket, phillabeg and kilt, with the tartan of his clan--and looked (i must own) extremely well in it, though the garments had long since lost their original gloss. an apology for our rough touring suits led to some few questions and replies about the regimental tartan of the morays, in the history of which he was passably well informed.
-thus chatting, we entered the great hall of ardlaugh castle--a tall, but narrow and ill-proportioned apartment, having an open timber roof, a stone-paved floor, and walls sparsely decorated with antlers and round targes--where a very small man stood warming his back at an immense fireplace. this was the reverend samuel saul, whose acquaintance we had scarce time to make before a cracked gong summoned us to dinner in the adjoining room.
-the young laird of ardlaugh took his seat in a roughly carved chair of state at the head of the table; but before doing so treated me to another surprise by muttering a latin grace and crossing himself. up to now i had taken it for granted he was a member of the scottish kirk. i glanced at the minister in some mystification; but he, good man, appeared to have fallen into a brown study, with his eyes fastened upon a dish of apples which adorned the centre of our promiscuously furnished board.
-of the furniture of our meal i can only say that poverty and decent appearance kept up a brave fight throughout. the table-cloth was ragged, but spotlessly clean; the silver-ware scanty and worn with high polishing. the plates and glasses displayed a noble range of patterns, but were for the most part chipped or cracked. each knife had been worn to a point, and a few of them joggled in their handles. in a lull of the talk i caught myself idly counting the darns in my table-napkin. they were--if i remember--fourteen, and all exquisitely stitched. the dinner, on the other hand, would have tempted men far less hungry than we--grilled steaks of salmon, a roast haunch of venison, grouse, a milk-pudding, and, for dessert, the dish of apples already mentioned; the meats washed down with one wine only, but that wine was claret, and beautifully sound. i should mention that we were served by a grey-haired retainer, almost stone deaf, and as hopelessly cracked as the gong with which he had beaten us to dinner. in the long waits between the courses we heard him quarrelling outside with the woman who had admitted us; and gradually--i know not how--the conviction grew on me that they were man and wife, and the only servants of our host's establishment. to cover the noise of one of their altercations i began to congratulate the laird on the quality of his venison, and put some idle question about his care for his deer.
-"i have no deer-forest," he answered. "elspeth is my only housekeeper."
-"it was nothing--a spasm. he would be better of it in a moment. no, he would take no wine: a glass of water would set him right--he was more used to drinking water," he explained, with a small, nervous laugh.
-perceiving that our solicitude embarrassed him, we resumed our talk, which now turned upon the last peninsular campaign and certain engagements in which the morays had borne part; upon the stability of the french monarchy, and the career (as we believed, at an end) of napoleon. on all these topics the laird showed himself well informed, and while preferring the part of listener (as became his youth) from time to time put in a question which convinced me of his intelligence, especially in military affairs.
-the minister, though silent as before, had regained his colour; and we were somewhat astonished when, the cloth being drawn and the company left to its wine and one dish of dessert, he rose and announced that he must be going. he was decidedly better, but (so he excused himself) would feel easier at home in his own manse; and so, declining our host's offer of a bed, he shook hands and bade us good-night. the laird accompanied him to the door, and in his absence i fell to peeling an apple, while my brother drummed with his fingers on the table and eyed the faded hangings. i suppose that ten minutes elapsed before we heard the young man's footsteps returning through the flagged hall and a woman's voice uplifted.
-"but had the minister any complaint, whatever--to ride off without a word? she could answer for the collops--"
-"whist, woman! have done with your clashin', ye doited old fool!" he slammed the door upon her, stepped to the table, and with a sullen frown poured himself a glass of wine. his brow cleared as he drank it. "i beg your pardon, gentlemen; but this indisposition of mr. saul has annoyed me. he lives at the far end of the parish--a good seven miles away--and i had invited him expressly to talk of parish affairs."
-"i believe," said i, "you and he are not of the same religion?"
-"eh?" he seemed to be wondering how i had guessed. "no, i was bred a catholic. in our branch we have always held to the old religion. but that doesn't prevent my wishing to stand well with my neighbours and do my duty towards them. what disheartens me is, they won't see it." he pushed the wine aside, and for a while, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles, stared gloomily before him. then, with sudden boyish indignation, he burst out: "it's an infernal shame; that's it--an infernal shame! i haven't been home here a twelvemonth, and the people avoid me like a plague. what have i done? my father wasn't popular--in fact, they hated him. but so did i. and he hated me, god knows: misused my mother, and wouldn't endure me in his presence. all my miserable youth i've been mewed up in a school in england--a private seminary. ugh? what a den it was, too! my mother died calling for me--i was not allowed to come: i hadn't seen her for three years. and now, when the old tyrant is dead, and i come home meaning--so help me!--to straighten things out and make friends--come home, to the poverty you pretend not to notice, though it stares you in the face from every wall--come home, only asking to make the best of of it, live on good terms with my fellows, and be happy for the first time in my life--damn them, they won't fling me a kind look! what have i done?--that's what i want to know. the queer thing is, they behaved more decently at first. there's that gillespie, who brought you ashore: he came over the first week, offered me shooting, was altogether as pleasant as could be. i quite took to the fellow. now, when we meet, he looks the other way! if he has anything against me, he might at least explain: it's all i ask. what have i done?"
-throughout this outburst i sat slicing my apple and taking now and then a glance at the speaker. it was all so hotly and honestly boyish! he only wanted justice. i know something of youngsters, and recognised the cry. justice! it's the one thing every boy claims confidently as his right, and probably the last thing on earth he will ever get. and this boy looked so handsome, too, sitting in his father's chair, petulant, restive under a weight too heavy (as anyone could see) for his age. i couldn't help liking him.
-my brother told me afterwards that i pounced like any recruiting-sergeant. this i do not believe. but what, after a long pause, i said was this: "if you are innocent or unconscious of offending, you can only wait for your neighbours to explain themselves. meanwhile, why not leave them? why not travel, for instance?"
-"travel!" he echoed, as much as to say, "you ought to know, without my telling, that i cannot afford it."
-"travel," i repeated; "see the world, rub against men of your age. you might by the way do some fighting."
-he opened his eyes wide. i saw the sudden idea take hold of him, and again i liked what i saw.
-"if i thought--" he broke off. "you don't mean--" he began, and broke off again.
-"i mean the morays," i said. "there may be difficulties; but at this moment i cannot see any real ones."
-by this time he was gripping the arms of his chair. "if i thought--" he harked back, and for the third time broke off. "what a fool i am! it's the last thing they ever put in a boy's head at that infernal school. if you will believe it, they wanted to make a priest of me!"
-he sprang up, pushing back his chair. we carried our wine into the great hall, and sat there talking the question over before the fire. before we parted for the night i had engaged to use all my interest to get him a commission in the morays; and i left him pacing the hall, his mind in a whirl, but his heart (as was plain to see) exulting in his new prospects.
-and certainly, when i came to inspect the castle by the next morning's light, i could understand his longing to leave it. a gloomier, more pretentious, or worse-devised structure i never set eyes on. the mackenzie who erected it may well have been (as the saying is) his own architect, and had either come to the end of his purse or left his heirs to decide against planting gardens, laying out approaches or even maintaining the pile in decent repair. in place of a drive a grassy cart-track, scored deep with old ruts, led through a gateless entrance into a courtyard where the slates had dropped from the roof and lay strewn like autumn leaves. on this road i encountered the young laird returning from an early tramp with his gun; and he stood still and pointed to the castle with a grimace.
-"a white elephant," said i.
-"call it rather the corpse of one," he answered. "cannot you imagine some genie of the oriental tales dragging the beast across europe and dumping it down here in a sudden fit of disgust? as a matter of fact my grandfather built it, and cursed us with poverty thereby. it soured my father's life. i believe the only soul honestly proud of it is elspeth."
-"and i suppose," said i, "you will leave her in charge of it when you join the morays?"
-"ah!" he broke in, with a voice which betrayed his relief: "you are in earnest about that? yes elspeth will look after the castle, as she does already. i am just a child in her hand. when a man has one only servant it's well to have her devoted." seeing my look of surprise, he added, "i don't count old duncan, her husband; for he's half-witted, and only serves to break the plates. does it surprise you to learn that, barring him, elspeth is my only retainer?"
-"h'm," said i, considerably puzzled--i must explain why.
-i am by training an extraordinarily light sleeper; yet nothing had disturbed me during the night until at dawn my brother knocked at the door and entered, ready dressed.
-"hullo!" he exclaimed, "are you responsible for this?" and he pointed to a chair at the foot of the bed where lay, folded in a neat pile, not only the clothes i had tossed down carelessly overnight, but the suit in which i had arrived. he picked up this latter, felt it, and handed it to me. it was dry, and had been carefully brushed.
-"our friend keeps a good valet," said i; "but the queer thing is that, in a strange room, i didn't wake. i see he has brought hot water too."
-"look here," my brother asked: "did you lock your door?"
-"why, of course not--the more by token that it hasn't a key."
-"well," said he, "mine has, and i'll swear i used it; but the same thing has happened to me!"
-this, i tried to persuade him, was impossible; and for the while he seemed convinced. "it must be," he owned; "but if i didn't lock that door i'll never swear to a thing again in all my life."
-the young laird's remark set me thinking of this, and i answered after a pause, "in one of the pair, then, you possess a remarkably clever valet."
-it so happened that, while i said it, my eyes rested, without the least intention, on the sleeve of his shooting-coat; and the words were scarcely out before he flushed hotly and made a motion as if to hide a neatly mended rent in its cuff. in another moment he would have retorted, and was indeed drawing himself up in anger, when i prevented him by adding--
-"i mean that i am indebted to him or to her this morning for a neatly brushed suit; and i suppose to your freeness in plying me with wine last night that it arrived in my room without waking me. but for that i could almost set it down to the supernatural."
-i said this in all simplicity, and was quite unprepared for its effect upon him, or for his extraordinary reply. he turned as white in the face as, a moment before, he had been red. "good god!" he said eagerly, "you haven't missed anything, have you?"
-"certainly not," i assured him. "my dear sir--"
-"i know, i know. but you see," he stammered, "i am new to these servants. i know them to be faithful, and that's all. forgive me; i feared from your tone one of them--duncan perhaps ..."
-he did not finish his sentence, but broke into a hurried walk and led me towards the house. a minute later, as we approached it, he began to discourse half-humorously on its more glaring features, and had apparently forgotten his perturbation.
-i too attached small importance to it, and recall it now merely through unwillingness to omit any circumstance which may throw light on a story sufficiently dark to me. after breakfast our host walked down with us to the loch-side, where we found old donald putting the last touches on his job. with thanks for our entertainment we shook hands and pushed off: and my last word at parting was a promise to remember his ambition and write any news of my success.
-i anticipated no difficulty, and encountered none. the gazette of january, 1815, announced that david marie joseph mackenzie, gentleman, had been appointed to an ensigncy in the --th regiment of infantry (moray highlanders); and i timed my letter of congratulation to reach him with the news. within a week he had joined us at inverness, and was made welcome.
-i may say at once that during his brief period of service i could find no possible fault with his bearing as a soldier. from the first he took seriously to the calling of arms, and not only showed himself punctual on parade and in all the small duties of barracks, but displayed, in his reserved way, a zealous resolve to master whatever by book or conversation could be learned of the higher business of war. my junior officers--though when the test came, as it soon did, they acquitted themselves most creditably--showed, as a whole, just then no great promise. for the most part they were young lairds, like mr. mackenzie, or cadets of good highland families; but, unlike him, they had been allowed to run wild, and chafed under harness. one or two of them had the true highland addiction to card-playing; and though i set a pretty stern face against this curse--as i dare to call it--its effects were to be traced in late hours, more than one case of shirking "rounds," and a general slovenliness at morning parade.
-in such company mr. mackenzie showed to advantage, and i soon began to value him as a likely officer. nor, in my dissatisfaction with them, did it give me any uneasiness--as it gave me no surprise--to find that his brother-officers took less kindly to him. he kept a certain reticence of manner, which either came of a natural shyness or had been ingrained in him at the roman catholic seminary. he was poor, too; but poverty did not prevent his joining in all the regimental amusements, figuring modestly but sufficiently on the subscription lists, and even taking a hand at cards for moderate stakes. yet he made no headway, and his popularity diminished instead of growing. all this i noted, but without discovering any definite reason. of his professional promise, on the other hand, there could be no question; and the men liked and respected him.
-mr. urquhart rejoined us on the 24th of february. two days later, as all the world knows, napoleon made his escape from elba; and the next week or two made it certain not only that the allies must fight, but that the british contingent must be drawn largely, if not in the main, from the second battalions then drilling up and down the country. the 29th of march brought us our marching orders; and i will own that, while feeling no uneasiness about the great issue, i distrusted the share my raw youngsters were to take in it.
-on the 12th of april we were landed at ostend, and at once marched up to brussels, where we remained until the middle of june, having been assigned to the 5th (picton's) division of the reserve. for some reason the highland regiments had been massed into the reserve, and were billeted about the capital, our own quarters lying between the 92nd (gordons) and general kruse's nassauers, whose lodgings stretched out along the louvain road; and although i could have wished some harder and more responsible service to get the morays into training, i felt what advantage they derived from rubbing shoulders with the fine fellows of the 42nd, 79th, and 92nd, all first battalions toughened by peninsular work. the gaieties of life in brussels during these two months have been described often enough; but among the military they were chiefly confined to those officers whose means allowed them to keep the pace set by rich civilians, and the morays played the part of amused spectators. yet the work and the few gaieties which fell to our share, while adding to our experiences, broke up to some degree the old domestic habits of the battalion. excepting on duty i saw less of mr. mackenzie and thought less about him; he might be left now to be shaped by active service. but i was glad to find him often in company with mr. urquhart.
-i come now to the memorable night of june 15th, concerning which and the end it brought upon the festivities of brussels so much has been written. all the world has heard of the duchess of richmond's ball, and seems to conspire in decking it out with pretty romantic fables. to contradict the most of these were waste of time; but i may point out (1) that the ball was over and, i believe, all the company dispersed, before the actual alarm awoke the capital; and (2) that all responsible officers gathered there shared the knowledge that such an alarm was impending, might arrive at any moment, and would almost certainly arrive within a few hours. news of the french advance across the frontier and attack on general zieten's outposts had reached wellington at three o'clock that afternoon. it should have been brought five hours earlier; but he gave his orders at once, and quietly, and already our troops were massing for defence upon nivelles. we of the reserve had secret orders to hold ourselves prepared. obedient to a hint from their commander-in-chief, the generals of division and brigade who attended the duchess' ball withdrew themselves early on various pleas. her grace had honoured me with an invitation, probably because i represented a highland regiment; and highlanders (especially the gordons, her brother's regiment) were much to the fore that night with reels, flings, and strathspeys. the many withdrawals warned me that something was in the wind, and after remaining just so long as seemed respectful, i took leave of my hostess and walked homewards across the city as the clocks were striking eleven.
-we of the morays had our headquarters in a fairly large building--the hôtel de liège--in time of peace a resort of commis-voyageurs of the better class. it boasted a roomy hall, out of which opened two coffee-rooms, converted by us into guard- and mess-room. a large drawing-room on the first floor overlooking the street served me for sleeping as well as working quarters, and to reach it i must pass the entresol, where a small apartment had been set aside for occasional uses. we made it, for instance, our ante-room, and assembled there before mess; a few would retire there for smoking or card-playing; during the day it served as a waiting-room for messengers or any one whose business could not be for the moment attended to.
-i had paused at the entrance to put some small question to the sentry, when i heard the crash of a chair in this room, and two voices broke out in fierce altercation. an instant after, the mess-room door opened, and captain murray, without observing me, ran past me and up the stairs. as he reached the entresol, a voice--my brother's--called down from an upper landing, and demanded, "what's wrong there?"
-"i don't know, major," captain murray answered, and at the same moment flung the door open. i was quick on his heels, and he wheeled round in some surprise at my voice, and to see me interposed between him and my brother, who had come running downstairs, and now stood behind my shoulder in the entrance.
-"shut the door," i commanded quickly. "shut the door, and send away any one you may hear outside. now, gentlemen, explain yourselves, please."
-mr. urquhart and mr. mackenzie faced each other across a small table, from which the cloth had been dragged and lay on the floor with a scattered pack of cards. the elder lad held a couple of cards in his hand; he was white in the face.
-"he cheated!" he swung round upon me in a kind of indignant fury, and tapped the cards with his forefinger.
-i looked from him to the accused. mackenzie's face was dark, almost purple, rather with rage (as it struck me) than with shame.
-"it's a lie." he let out the words slowly, as if holding rein on his passion. "twice he's said so, and twice i've called him a liar." he drew back for an instant, and then lost control of himself. "if that's not enough--." he leapt forward, and almost before captain murray could interpose had hurled himself upon urquhart. the table between them went down with a crash, and urquhart went staggering back from a blow which just missed his face and took him on the collar-bone before murray threw both arms around the assailant.
-"mr. mackenzie," said i, "you will consider yourself under arrest. mr. urquhart, you will hold yourself ready to give me a full explanation. whichever of you may be in the right, this is a disgraceful business, and dishonouring to your regiment and the cloth you wear: so disgraceful, that i hesitate to call up the guard and expose it to more eyes than ours. if mr. mackenzie"--i turned to him again--"can behave himself like a gentleman, and accept the fact of his arrest without further trouble, the scandal can at least be postponed until i discover how much it is necessary to face. for the moment, sir, you are in charge of captain murray. do you understand?"
-he bent his head sullenly. "he shall fight me, whatever happens," he muttered.
-i found it wise to pay no heed to this. "it will be best," i said to murray, "to remain here with mr. mackenzie until i am ready for him. mr. urquhart may retire to his quarters, if he will--i advise it, indeed--but i shall require his attendance in a few minutes. you understand," i added significantly, "that for the present this affair remains strictly between ourselves." i knew well enough that, for all the king's regulations, a meeting would inevitably follow sooner or later, and will own i looked upon it as the proper outcome, between gentlemen, of such a quarrel. but it was not for me, their colonel, to betray this knowledge or my feelings, and by imposing secrecy i put off for the time all the business of a formal challenge with seconds. so i left them, and requesting my brother to follow me, mounted to my own room. the door was no sooner shut than i turned on him.
-"surely," i said, "this is a bad mistake of urquhart's? it's an incredible charge. from all i've seen of him, the lad would never be guilty ..." i paused, expecting his assent. to my surprise he did not give it, but stood fingering his chin and looking serious.
-"i don't know," he answered unwillingly. "there are stories against him."
-"nothing definite." my brother hesitated. "it doesn't seem fair to him to repeat mere whispers. but the others don't like him."
-"hence the whispers, perhaps. they have not reached me."
-"they would not. he is known to be a favourite of yours. but they don't care to play with him." my brother stopped, met my look, and answered it with a shrug of the shoulders, adding, "he wins pretty constantly."
-"any definite charge before to-night's?"
-"no: at least, i think not. but urquhart may have been put up to watch."
-"fetch him up, please," said i promptly; and seating myself at the writing-table i lit candles (for the lamp was dim), made ready the writing materials and prepared to take notes of the evidence.
-mr. urquhart presently entered, and i wheeled round in my chair to confront him. he was still exceedingly pale--paler, i thought, than i had left him. he seemed decidedly ill at ease, though not on his own account. his answer to my first question made me fairly leap in my chair.
-"i wish," he said, "to qualify my accusation of mr. mackenzie. that he cheated i have the evidence of my own eyes; but i am not sure how far he knew he was cheating."
-"good heavens, sir!" i cried. "do you know you have accused that young man of a villainy which must damn him for life? and now you tell me--" i broke off in sheer indignation.
-"i know," he answered quietly. "the noise fetched you in upon us on the instant, and the mischief was done."
-"indeed, sir," i could not avoid sneering, "to most of us it would seem that the mischief was done when you accused a brother-officer of fraud to his face."
-he seemed to reflect. "yes, sir," he assented slowly; "it is done. i saw him cheat: that i must persist in; but i cannot say how far he was conscious of it. and since i cannot, i must take the consequences."
-"will you kindly inform us how it is possible for a player to cheat and not know that he is cheating?"
-he bent his eyes on the carpet as if seeking an answer. it was long in coming. "no," he said at last, in a slow, dragging tone, "i cannot."
-"then you will at least tell us exactly what mr. mackenzie did."
-again there was a long pause. he looked at me straight, but with hopelessness in his eyes. "i fear you would not believe me. it would not be worth while. if you can grant it, sir, i would ask time to decide."
-"mr. urquhart," said i sternly, "are you aware you have brought against mr. mackenzie a charge under which no man of honour can live easily for a moment? you ask me without a word of evidence in substantiation to keep him in torture while i give you time. it is monstrous, and i beg to remind you that, unless your charge is proved, you can--and will--be broken for making it."
-"i know it, sir," he answered firmly enough; "and because i knew it, i asked--perhaps selfishly--for time. if you refuse, i will at least ask permission to see a priest before telling a story which i can scarcely expect you to believe." mr. urquhart too was a roman catholic.
-but my temper for the moment was gone. "i see little chance," said i, "of keeping this scandal secret, and regret it the less if the consequences are to fall on a rash accuser. but just now i will have no meddling priest share the secret. for the present, one word more. had you heard before this evening of any hints against mr. mackenzie's play?"
-he answered reluctantly, "yes."
-"and you set yourself to lay a trap for him?"
-"no, sir; i did not. unconsciously i may have been set on the watch: no, that is wrong--i did watch. but i swear it was in every hope and expectation of clearing him. he was my friend. even when i saw, i had at first no intention to expose him until--"
-"that is enough, sir," i broke in, and turned to my brother. "i have no option but to put mr. urquhart too under arrest. kindly convey him back to his room, and send captain murray to me. he may leave mr. mackenzie in the entresol."
-my brother led urquhart out, and in a minute captain murray tapped at my door. he was an honest scot, not too sharp-witted, but straight as a die. i am to show him this description, and he will cheerfully agree with it.
-"this is a hideous business, murray," said i as he entered. "there's something wrong with urquhart's story. indeed, between ourselves it has the fatal weakness that he won't tell it."
-murray took a minute to digest this, then he answered, "i don't know anything about urquhart's story, sir. but there's something wrong about urquhart." here he hesitated.
-"speak out, man," said i: "in confidence. that's understood."
-"well, sir," said he, "urquhart won't fight."
-"ah! so that question came up, did it?" i asked, looking at him sharply.
-"i am not so sure of that," i commented; "but go on."
-he seemed surprised. "indeed, colonel? well," he resumed, "i being the sort of fellow they could talk before, a meeting was discussed. the question was how to arrange it without seconds--that is, without breaking your orders and dragging in outsiders. for mackenzie wanted blood at once, and for awhile urquhart seemed just as eager. all of a sudden, when...." here he broke off suddenly, not wishing to commit himself.
-"tell me only what you think necessary," said i.
-"he has behaved ill from the first," said i. "to me the whole affair begins to look like an abominable plot against mackenzie. certainly i cannot entertain a suspicion of his guilt upon a bare assertion which urquhart declines to back with a tittle of evidence."
-"the devil he does!" mused captain murray. "that looks bad for him. and yet, sir, i'd sooner trust urquhart than mackenzie, and if the case lies against urquhart--"
-"it will assuredly break him," i put in, "unless he can prove the charge, or that he was honestly mistaken."
-"then, sir," said the captain, "i'll have to show you this. it's ugly, but it's only justice."
-he pulled a sovereign from his pocket and pushed it on the writing-table under my nose.
-"what does this mean?"
-"it is a marked one," said he.
-"so i perceive." i had picked up the coin and was examining it.
-"i found it just now," he continued, "in the room below. the upsetting of the table had scattered mackenzie's stakes about the floor."
-"you seem to have a pretty notion of evidence," i observed sharply. "i don't know what accusation this coin may carry; but why need it be mackenzie's? he might have won it from urquhart."
-"i thought of that," was the answer. "but no money had changed hands. i enquired. the quarrel arose over the second deal, and as a matter of fact urquhart had laid no money on the table, but made a pencil-note of a few shillings he lost by the first hand. you may remember, sir, how the table stood when you entered."
-i reflected. "yes, my recollection bears you out. do i gather that you have confronted mackenzie with this?"
-"no. i found it and slipped it quietly into my pocket. i thought we had trouble enough on hand for the moment."
-"who marked this coin?"
-"young fraser, sir, in my presence. he has been losing small sums, he declares, by pilfering. we suspected one of the orderlies."
-"in this connection you had no suspicion of mr. mackenzie?"
-"none, sr." he considered for a moment, and added: "there was a curious thing happened three weeks ago over my watch. it found its way one night to mr. mackenzie's quarters. he brought it to me in the morning; said it was lying, when he awoke, on the table beside his bed. he seemed utterly puzzled. he had been to one or two already to discover the owner. we joked him about it, the more by token that his own watch had broken down the day before and was away at the mender's. the whole thing was queer, and has not been explained. of course in that instance he was innocent: everything proves it. it just occurred to me as worth mentioning, because in both instances the lad may have been the victim of a trick."
-"i am glad you did so," i said; "though just now it does not throw any light that i can see." i rose and paced the room. "mr. mackenzie had better be confronted with this, too, and hear your evidence. it's best he should know the worst against him; and if he be guilty it may move him to confession."
-"certainly, sir," captain murray assented. "shall i fetch him?"
-"no, remain where you are," i said; "i will go for him myself."
-i understood that mr. urquhart had retired to his own quarters or to my brother's, and that mr. mackenzie had been left in the entresol alone. but as i descended the stairs quietly i heard within that room a voice which at first persuaded me he had company, and next that, left to himself, he had broken down and given way to the most childish wailing. the voice was so unlike his, or any grown man's, that it arrested me on the lowermost stair against my will. it resembled rather the sobbing of an infant mingled with short strangled cries of contrition and despair.
-"what shall i do? what shall i do? i didn't mean it--i meant to do good! what shall i do?"
-so much i heard (as i say) against my will, before my astonishment gave room to a sense of shame at playing, even for a moment, the eavesdropper upon the lad i was to judge. i stepped quickly to the door, and with a warning rattle (to give him time to recover himself) turned the handle and entered.
-he was alone, lying back in an easy chair--not writhing there in anguish of mind, as i had fully expected, but sunk rather in a state of dull and hopeless apathy. to reconcile his attitude with the sounds i had just heard was merely impossible; and it bewildered me worse than any in the long chain of bewildering incidents. for five seconds or so he appeared not to see me; but when he grew aware his look changed suddenly to one of utter terror, and his eyes, shifting from me, shot a glance about the room as if he expected some new accusation to dart at him from the corners. his indignation and passionate defiance were gone: his eyes seemed to ask me, "how much do you know?" before he dropped them and stood before me, sullenly submissive.
-"i want you upstairs," said i: "not to hear your defence on this charge, for mr. urquhart has not yet specified it. but there is another matter."
-"another?" he echoed dully, and, i observed, without surprise.
-i led the way back to the room where captain murray waited. "can you tell me anything about this?" i asked, pointing to the sovereign on the writing-table.
-he shook his head, clearly puzzled, but anticipating mischief.
-"the coin is marked, you see. i have reason to know that it was marked by its owner in order to detect a thief. captain murray found it just now among your stakes."
-somehow--for i liked the lad--i had not the heart to watch his face as i delivered this. i kept my eyes upon the coin, and waited, expecting an explosion--a furious denial, or at least a cry that he was the victim of a conspiracy. none came. i heard him breathing hard. after a long and very dreadful pause some words broke from him, so lowly uttered that my ears only just caught them.
-"this too? o my god!"
-i seated myself, the lad before me, and captain murray erect and rigid at the end of the table. "listen, my lad," said i. "this wears an ugly look, but that a stolen coin has been found in your possession does not prove that you've stolen it."
-"i did not. sir, i swear to you on my honour, and before heaven, that i did not."
-"very well," said i: "captain murray asserts that he found this among the moneys you had been staking at cards. do you question that assertion?"
-he answered almost without pondering. "no, sir. captain murray is a gentleman, and incapable of falsehood. if he says so, it was so."
-"very well again. now, can you explain how this coin came into your possession?"
-at this he seemed to hesitate; but answered at length, "no, i cannot explain."
-"have you any idea? or can you form any guess?"
-again there was a long pause before the answer came in low and strained tones: "i can guess."
-"what is your guess?"
-he lifted a hand and dropped it hopelessly. "you would not believe," he said.
-i will own a suspicion flashed across my mind on hearing these words--the very excuse given a while ago by mr. urquhart--that the whole affair was a hoax and the two young men were in conspiracy to fool me. i dismissed it at once: the sight of mr. mackenzie's face, was convincing. but my temper was gone.
-"believe you?" i exclaimed. "you seem to think the one thing i can swallow as creditable, even probable, is that an officer in the morays has been pilfering and cheating at cards. oddly enough, it's the last thing i'm going to believe without proof, and the last charge i shall pass without clearing it up to my satisfaction. captain murray, will you go and bring me mr. urquhart and the major?"
-as captain murray closed the door i rose, and with my hands behind me took a turn across the room to the fireplace, then back to the writing-table.
-"mr. mackenzie," i said, "before we go any further i wish you to believe that i am your friend as well as your colonel. i did something to start you upon your career, and i take a warm interest in it. to believe you guilty of these charges will give me the keenest grief. however unlikely your defence may sound--and you seem to fear it--i will give it the best consideration i can. if you are innocent, you shall not find me prejudiced because many are against you and you are alone. now, this coin--" i turned to the table.
-the coin was gone.
-i stared at the place where it had lain; then at the young man. he had not moved. my back had been turned for less than two seconds, and i could have sworn he had not budged from the square of carpet on which he had first taken his stand, and on which his feet were still planted. on the other hand, i was equally positive the incriminating coin had lain on the table at the moment i turned my back.
-"it is gone!" cried i.
-"gone?" he echoed, staring at the spot to which my finger pointed. in the silence our glances were still crossing when my brother tapped at the door and brought in mr. urquhart, captain murray following.
-dismissing for a moment this latest mystery, i addressed mr. urquhart. "i have sent for you, sir, to request in the first place that here in mr. mackenzie's presence and in colder blood you will either withdraw or repeat and at least attempt to substantiate the charge you brought against him."
-"i adhere to it, sir, that there was cheating. to withdraw would be to utter a lie. does he deny it?"
-i glanced at mr. mackenzie. "i deny that i cheated," said he sullenly.
-"further," pursued mr. urquhart, "i repeat what i told you, sir. he may, while profiting by it have been unaware of the cheat. at the moment i thought it impossible; but i am willing to believe--"
-"you are willing!" i broke in. "and pray, sir, what about me, his colonel, and the rest of his brother officers? have you the coolness to suggest--"
-but the full question was never put, and in this world it will never be answered. a bugle call, distant but clear, cut my sentence in half. it came from the direction of the place d'armes. a second bugle echoed, it from the height of the montagne du parc, and within a minute its note was taken up and answered across the darkness from quarter after quarter.
-we looked at one another in silence. "business," said my brother at length, curtly and quietly.
-already the rooms above us were astir. i heard windows thrown open, voices calling questions, feet running.
-"yes," said i, "it is business at length, and for the while this inquiry must end. captain murray, look to your company. you, major, see that the lads tumble out quick to the alarm-post. one moment!"--and captain murray halted with his hand on the door--"it is understood that for the present no word of to-night's affair passes our lips." i turned to mr. mackenzie and answered the question i read in the lad's eyes. "yes, sir; for the present i take off your arrest. get your sword. it shall be your good fortune to answer the enemy before answering me."
-to my amazement mr. urquhart interposed. he was, if possible, paler and more deeply agitated than before. "sir, i entreat you not to allow mr. mackenzie to go. i have reasons--i was mistaken just now--"
-"not in what i saw. i refused to fight him--under a mistake. i thought--"
-but i cut his stammering short. "as for you," i said, "the most charitable construction i can put on your behaviour is to believe you mad. for the present you, too, are free to go and do your duty. now leave me. business presses, and i am sick and angry at the sight of you."
-it was just two in the morning when i reached the alarm-post. brussels by this time was full of the rolling of drums and screaming of pipes; and the regiment formed up in darkness rendered tenfold more confusing by a mob of citizens, some wildly excited, others paralysed by terror, and all intractable. we had, moreover, no small trouble to disengage from our ranks the wives and families who had most unwisely followed many officers abroad, and now clung to their dear ones bidding them farewell. to end this most distressing scene i had in some instances to use a roughness which it still afflicts me to remember. yet in actual time it was soon overhand dawn scarcely breaking when the morays with the other regiments of pack's brigade filed out of the park and fell into stride on the road which leads southward to charleroi.
-in this record it would be immaterial to describe either our march or the since-famous engagement which terminated it. very early we began to hear the sound of heavy guns far ahead and to make guesses at their distance; but it was close upon two in the afternoon before we reached the high ground above quatre bras, and saw the battle spread below us like a picture. the prince of orange had been fighting his ground stubbornly since seven in the morning. ney's superior artillery and far superior cavalry had forced him back, it is true; but he still covered the cross-roads which were the key of his defence, and his position remained sound, though it was fast becoming critical. just as we arrived, the french, who had already mastered the farm of piermont, on the left of the charleroi road, began to push their skirmishers into a thicket below it and commanding the road running east to namur. indeed, for a short space they had this road at their mercy, and the chance within grasp of doubling up our left by means of it.
-this happened, i say, just as we arrived; and wellington, who had reached quatre bras a short while ahead of us (having fetched a circuit from brussels through ligny, where he paused to inspect field-marshal blücher's dispositions for battle), at once saw the danger, and detached one of our regiments, the 95th rifles, to drive back the tirailleurs from the thicket; which, albeit scarcely breathed after their march, they did with a will, and so regained the allies' hold upon the namur road. the rest of us meanwhile defiled down this same road, formed line in front of it, and under a brisk cannonade from the french heights waited for the next move.
-it was not long in coming. ney, finding that our artillery made poor play against his, prepared to launch a column against us. warned by a cloud of skirmishers, our light companies leapt forward, chose their shelter, and began a very pretty exchange of musketry. but this was preliminary work only, and soon the head of a large french column appeared on the slope to our right, driving the brunswickers slowly before it. it descended a little way, and suddenly broke into three or four columns of attack. the mischief no sooner threatened than picton came galloping along our line and roaring that our division would advance and engage with all speed. for a raw regiment like the morays this was no light test; but, supported by a veteran regiment on either hand, they bore it admirably. dropping the gordons to protect the road in case of mishap, the two brigades swung forward in the prettiest style, their skirmishers running in and forming on either flank as they advanced. then for a while the work was hot; but, as will always happen when column is boldly met by line, the french quickly had enough of our enveloping fire, and wavered. a short charge with the bayonet finished it, and drove them in confusion up the slope: nor had i an easy task to resume a hold on my youngsters and restrain them from pursuing too far. the brush had been sharp, but i had the satisfaction of knowing that the morays had behaved well. they also knew it, and fell to jesting in high good-humour as general pack withdrew the brigade from the ground of its exploit and posted us in line with the 42nd and 44th regiments on the left of the main road to charleroi.
-to the right of the charleroi road, and some way in advance of our position, the brunswickers were holding ground as best they could under a hot and accurate artillery fire. except for this, the battle had come to a lull, when a second mass of the enemy began to move down the slopes: a battalion in line heading two columns of infantry direct upon the brunswickers, while squadron after squadron of lancers crowded down along the road into which by weight of numbers they must be driven. the duke of brunswick, perceiving his peril, headed a charge of his lancers upon the advancing infantry, but without the least effect. his horsemen broke. he rode back and called on his infantry to retire in good order. they also broke, and in the attempt to rally them he fell mortally wounded.
-the line taken by these flying brunswickers would have brought them diagonally across the charleroi road into our arms, had not the french lancers seized this moment to charge straight down it in a body. they encountered, and the indiscriminate mass was hurled on to us, choking and overflowing the causeway. in a minute we were swamped--the two highland regiments and the 44th bending against a sheer weight of trench horsemen. so suddenly came the shock that the 42nd had no time to form square, until two companies were cut off and well-nigh destroyed; then that noble regiment formed around the horsemen who could boast of having broken it, and left not one to bear back the tale. the 44th behaved more cleverly, but not more intrepidly: it did not attempt to form square, but faced its rear rank round and gave the frenchmen a volley; before they could checks their impetus the front rank poured in a second; and the light company, which had held its fire, delivered a third, breaking the crowd in two, and driving the hinder-part back in disorder and up the charleroi road. but already the fore-part had fallen upon the morays, fortunately the last of the three regiments to receive the shock. though most fortunate, they had least experience, and were consequently slow in answering my shout. a wedge of lancers broke through us as we formed around the two standards, and i saw mr. urquhart with the king's colours hurled back in the rush. the pole fell with him, after swaying within a yard of a french lancer, who thrust out an arm to grasp it. and with that i saw mackenzie divide the rush and stand--it may have been for five seconds--erect, with his foot upon the standard. then three lancers pierced him, and he fell. but the lateral pressure of their own troopers broke the wedge which the french had pushed into us. their leading squadrons were pressed down the road and afterwards accounted for by the gordons. of the seven-and-twenty assailants around whom the morays now closed, not one survived.
-towards nightfall, as ney weakened and the allies were reinforced, our troops pushed forward and recaptured every important position taken by the french that morning. the morays, with the rest of picton's division, bivouacked for the night in and around the farmstead of gemiancourt.
-so obstinately had the field been contested that darkness fell before the wounded could be collected with any thoroughness; and the comfort of the men around many a camp-fire was disturbed by groans (often quite near at hand) of some poor comrade or enemy lying helpless and undiscovered, or exerting his shattered limbs to crawl towards the blaze. and these interruptions at length became so distressing to the morays, that two or three officers sought me and demanded leave to form a fatigue party of volunteers and explore the hedges and thickets with lanterns. among them was mr. urquhart: and having readily given leave and accompanied them some little way on their search, i was bidding them good-night and good-speed when i found him standing at my elbow.
-"may i have a word with you, colonel?" he asked.
-his voice was low and serious. of course i knew what subject filled his thoughts. "is it worth while, sir?" i answered. "i have lost to-day a brave lad for whom i had a great affection. for him the account is closed; but not for those who liked him and are still concerned in his good name. if you have anything further against him, or if you have any confession to make, i warn you that this is a bad moment to choose."
-"i have only to ask," said he, "that you will grant me the first convenient hour for explaining; and to remind you that when i besought you not to send him into action to-day, i had no time to give you reasons."
-"this is extraordinary talk, sir. i am not used to command the morays under advice from my subalterns. and in this instance i had reasons for not even listening to you." he was silent. "moreover," i continued, "you may as well know, though i am under no obligation to tell you, that i do most certainly not regret having given that permission to one who justified it by a signal service to his king and country."
-"but would you have sent him knowing that he must die? colonel," he went on rapidly, before i could interrupt, "i beseech you to listen. i knew he had only a few hours to live. i saw his wraith last night. it stood behind his shoulder in the room when in captain murray's presence he challenged me to fight him. you are a highlander, sir: you may be sceptical about the second sight; but at least you must have heard many claim it. i swear positively that i saw mr. mackenzie's wraith last night, and for that reason, and no other, tried to defer the meeting. to fight him, knowing he must die, seemed to me as bad as murder. afterwards, when the alarm sounded and you took off his arrest, i knew that his fate must overtake him--that my refusal had done no good. i tried to interfere again, and you would not hear. naturally you would not hear; and very likely, if you had, his fate would have found him in some other way. that is what i try to believe. i hope it is not selfish, sir; but the doubt tortures me."
-"mr. urquhart," i asked, "is this the only occasion on which you have possessed the second sight, or had reason to think so?"
-"was it the first or only time last night you believed you were granted it?"
-"it was the second time last night," he said steadily.
-we had been walking back to my bivouac fire, and in the light of it i turned and said: "i will hear your story at the first opportunity. i will not promise to believe, but i will hear and weigh it. go now and join the others in their search."
-he saluted, and strode away into the darkness. the opportunity i promised him never came. at eleven o'clock next morning we began our withdrawal, and within twenty-four hours the battle of waterloo had begun. in one of the most heroic feats of that day--the famous resistance of pack's brigade--mr. urquhart was among the first to fall.
-thus it happened that an affair which so nearly touched the honour of the morays, and which had been agitating me at the very moment when the bugle sounded in the place d'armes, became a secret shared by three only. the regiment joined in the occupation of paris, and did not return to scotland until the middle of december.
-i had ceased to mourn for mr. mackenzie, but neither to regret him nor to speculate on the mystery which closed his career, and which, now that death had sealed mr. urquhart's lips, i could no longer hope to penetrate, when, on the day of my return to inverness, i was reminded of him by finding, among the letters and papers awaiting me, a visiting-card neatly indited with the name of the reverend samuel saul. on inquiry i learnt that the minister had paid at least three visits to inverness during the past fortnight, and had, on each occasion, shown much anxiety to learn when the battalion might be expected. he had also left word that he wished to see me on a matter of much importance.
-sure enough, at ten o'clock next morning the little man presented himself. he was clearly bursting to disclose his business, and our salutations were scarce over when he ran to the door and called to some one in the passage outside.
-"elspeth! step inside, woman. the housekeeper, sir, to the late mr. mackenzie of ardlaugh," he explained, as he held the door to admit her.
-she was dressed in ragged mourning, and wore a grotesque and fearful bonnet. as she saluted me respectfully i saw that her eyes indeed were dry and even hard, but her features set in an expression of quiet and hopeless misery. she did not speak, but left explanation to the minister.
-"you will guess, sir," began mr. saul, "that we have called to learn more of the poor lad." and he paused.
-"he died most gallantly," said i: "died in the act of saving the colours. no soldier could have wished for a better end."
-"to be sure, to be sure. so it was reported to us. he died, as one might say, without a stain on his character?" said mr. saul, with a sort of question in his tone.
-"he died," i answered, "in a way which could only do credit to his name."
-a somewhat constrained silence followed. the woman broke it. "you are not telling us all," she said, in a slow, harsh voice.
-it took me aback. "i am telling all that needs to be known," i assured her.
-"no doubt, sir, no doubt," mr. saul interjected. "hold your tongue, woman. i am going to tell colonel ross a tale which may or may not bear upon anything he knows. if not, he will interrupt me before i go far; but if he says nothing i shall take it i have his leave to continue. now, sir, on the 16th day of june last, and at six in the morning--that would be the day of quatre bras--"
-he paused for me to nod assent, and continued. "at six in the morning or a little earlier, this woman, elspeth mackenzie, came to me at the manse in great perturbation. she had walked all the way from ardlaugh. it had come to her (she said) that the young laird abroad was in great trouble since the previous evening. i asked, 'what trouble? was it danger of life, for instance?'--asking it not seriously, but rather to compose her; for at first i set down her fears to an old woman's whimsies. not that i would call elspeth old precisely--"
-"now, this was an admission which gave me some eagerness to hear more. for to my knowledge there were charges lying against young mr. mackenzie--though not pronounced--which pointed to a thief in his employment and presumably in his confidence. you will remember, sir, that when i had the honour of meeting you at mr. mackenzie's table, i took my leave with much abruptness. you remarked upon it, no doubt. but you will no longer think it strange when i tell you that there--under my nose--were a dozen apples of a sort which grows nowhere within twenty miles of ardlaugh but in my own manse garden. the tree was a new one, obtained from herefordshire, and planted three seasons before as an experiment. i had watched it, therefore, particularly; and on that very morning had counted the fruit, and been dismayed to find twelve apples missing. further, i am a pretty good judge of wine (though i taste it rarely), and could there and then have taken my oath that the claret our host set before us was the very wine i had tasted at the table of his neighbour mr. gillespie. as for the venison--i had already heard whispers that deer and all game were not safe within a mile or two of ardlaugh. these were injurious tales, sir, which i had no mind to believe; for, bating his religion, i saw everything in mr. mackenzie which disposed me to like him. but i knew (as neighbours must) of the shortness of his purse; and the multiplied evidence (particularly my own goodrich pippins staring me in the face) overwhelmed me for a moment.
-"so then, i listened to this woman's tale with more patience--or, let me say, more curiosity--than you, sir, might have given it. she persisted, i say, that her master was in trouble; and that the trouble had something to do with a game of cards, but that mr. mackenzie had been innocent of deceit, and the real culprit was this spirit i tell of--"
-here the woman herself broke in upon mr. saul. "he had nae conscience--he had nae conscience. he was just a poor luck-child, born by mischance and put away without baptism. he had nae conscience. how should he?"
-i looked from her to mr. saul in perplexity.
-"whist!" said he; "we'll talk of that anon."
-"we will not," said she. "we will talk of it now. he was my own child, sir, by the young laird's own father. that was before he was married upon the wife he took later--"
-"my bairn was overlaid, sir," the woman went on; "not by purpose, i will swear before you and god. they buried his poor body without baptism; but not his poor soul. only when the young laird came, and my own bairn clave to him as mackenzie to mackenzie, and wrought and hunted and mended for him--it was not to be thought that the poor innocent, without knowledge of god's ways--"
-she ran on incoherently, while my thoughts harked back to the voice i had heard wailing behind the door of the entresol at brussels; to the young laird's face, his furious indignation, followed by hopeless apathy, as of one who in the interval had learnt what he could never explain; to the marked coin so mysteriously spirited from sight; to mr. urquhart's words before he left me on the night of quatre bras.
-"but he was sorry," the woman ran on; "he was sorry--sorry. he came wailing to me that night; yes, and sobbing. he meant no wrong; it was just that he loved his own father's son, and knew no better. there was no priest living within thirty miles; so i dressed, and ran to the minister here. he gave me no rest until i started."
-i addressed mr. saul. "is there reason to suppose that, besides this woman and (let us say) her accomplice, any one shared the secret of these pilferings?"
-"ardlaugh never knew," put in the woman quickly. "he may have guessed we were helping him; but the lad knew nothing, and may the saints in heaven love him as they ought! he trusted me with his purse, and slight it was to maintain him. but until too late, he never knew--no, never, sir!"
-i thought again of that voice behind the door of the entresol.
-"elspeth mackenzie," i said, "i and two other living men alone know of what your master was accused. it cannot affect him; but these two shall hear your exculpation of him. and i will write the whole story down, so that the world, if it ever hears the charge, may also hear your testimony, which of the two (though both are strange) i believe to be not the less credible."
-three men of badajos
-you enter the village of gantick between two round-houses set one on each side of the high road where it dips steeply towards the valley bottom. on the west of the opposite hill the road passes out between another pair of round-houses. and down in the heart of the village among the elms facing the churchyard lych-gate stands a fifth, alone.
-the five, therefore, form an elongated st. andrew's cross; but nobody can tell for certain who built them, or why. they are all alike; each, built of cob, circular, whitewashed, having pointed windows and a conical roof of thatch with a wooden cross on the apex. when i was a boy these thatched roofs used to be pointed out to me as masterpieces; and they still endure. but the race of skilled thatchers, once the peculiar pride of gantick, has come to an end. what time has eaten modern and clumsy hands have tried to repair; yet a glance will tell you that the old sound work means to outwear the patches.
-the last of these famous thatchers lived in the round-house on your right as you leave gantick by the seaward road. his name was old nat ellery, or thatcher ellery, and his age (as i remember him) between seventy or eighty. yet he clung to his work, being one of those lean men upon whom age, exposure, and even drink take a long while to tell. for he drank; not socially at the king of bells, but at home in solitude with a black bottle at his elbow. he lived there alone; his neighbours, even of the round-house across the road, shunned him and were shunned by him: children would run rather than meet him on the road as he came along, striding swiftly for his age (the drink never affected his legs), ready greaved and sometimes gauntleted as if in haste for his job, always muttering to himself; and when he passed us with just a side-glance from his red eyes, we observed that his pale face did not cease to twitch nor his lips to work. we felt something like awe for the courage of archie passmore, who followed twenty paces behind with his tools and a bundle of spars or straw-rope, or perhaps at the end of a ladder which the two carried between them. archie (aged sixteen) used to boast to us that he did not fear the old man a ha'penny; and the old man treated archie as a gibeonite, a hewer of wood, a drawer of water, never as an apprentice. of his craft, except what he picked up by watching, the lad learned nothing.
-what made him so vaguely terrible to us was the common rumour in the village that thatcher ellery had served once under his majesty's colours, but had deserted and was still liable to be taken and shot for it. now this was true and everyone knew it, though why and how he had deserted were questions answered among us only by dark and frightful guesses. he had outlived all risk of the law's revenge; no one, it was certain, would take the trouble to seize and execute justice upon a drunkard of seventy. but we children never thought of this, and for us as we watched him down the road there was always the thrilling chance that over the hedge or around the next corner would pop up a squad of redcoats. some of us had even seen it, in dreams.
-this is the story of thatcher ellery as it was told to me after his death, which happened one night a few weeks before i came home from school on my first summer holidays.
-his father, in the early years of the century, had kept the mill up at trethake water, two miles above gantick. there were two sons, of whom reub, the elder, succeeded to the mill. nat had been apprenticed to the thatching. accident of birth assigned to the two these different walks of life but by taking thought their parents could not have chosen more wisely, for nat was born clever, with an ambition to cut a figure in man's eyes and just that sense of finish and the need of it which makes the good workman. whereas his brother went the daily round at home as contentedly as a horse at a cider press. but nat made the mistake of lodging under his father's roof, and his mother made the worse mistake of liking her first-born the better and openly showing it. nat, jealous and sensitive by nature, came to imagine the whole world against him, and reub, who had no vice beyond a large thick-witted selfishness, seemed to make a habit of treading on his corns. at length came the explosion: a sudden furious assault which sent reub souse into the paternal mill-leat.
-the mother cursed nat forth from the door, and no doubt said a great deal more than she meant. the boy--he was just seventeen--carried his box down to the ring of bells. next morning as he sat viciously driving in spars astride on a rick ridge, whence he could see far over the channel, there came into sight round derryman's point a ship-of-war, running before the strong easterly breeze with piled canvas, white stun-sails bellying, and a fine froth of white water running off her bluff bows. another ship followed, and another--at length a squadron of six. nat watched them from time to time until they trimmed sails and stood in for falmouth. then he climbed down from the rick and put on his coat.
-two years later he landed at portsmouth, heartily sick of the sea and all belonging to it. he drank himself silly that night and for ten nights following, and one morning found himself in the streets without a penny. portsmouth just then (july, 1808) was filled with troops embarking under sir john moore for portugal. one regiment especially took nat's eye--the 4th or king's own, and indeed the whole service contained no finer body of men. he sidled up to a corporal and gave a false name. varcoe had been his mother's maiden name, and it came handy. the corporal took him to a recruiting sergeant and handed him over with a wink. the recruiting sergeant asked a few convenient questions, and within the hour nat was a soldier of king george. to his disgust, however, they did not embark him for portugal, but marched him up the length of england to lancaster, to learn his drill with the second battalion.
-seventeen months later they marched him back through the length of england--outwardly a made soldier--and shipped him on a transport for gibraltar. in the meanwhile he had found two friends, the only two real ones he ever found in his life. they were dave mcinnes and teddy butson, privates of the 4th regiment of foot, 2nd battalion, c company. dave mcinnes came from somewhere to the west of perth and drank like a fish when he had the chance. teddy butson came from the lord knew where, with a tongue that wagged about everything except his own past. it did indeed wag about that, but told nothing but lies which were understood and accepted for lies and by consequence didn't count. these two had christened nat ellery "spuds." he had no secret from them but one.
-he was the cleverest of the three, and they admired him for it. he admired them in return for possessing something he lacked. it seemed to him the most important, almost the only important, thing in the world.
-for (this was his secret) he believed himself to be a coward. he was not really a coward, though he carried about in his heart the liveliest fear of death and wounds. he was always asking himself how he would behave under fire, and somehow he found the odds heavy against his behaving well. he put roundabout questions to dave and teddy with the aim of discovering what they felt about it. they answered in a careless, matter-of-fact way, as men to whom it had never occurred to have any doubt about themselves. nat was desperately afraid they might guess his reason for asking. just here, when their friendship might have been helpful, it failed altogether. he felt angry with them for not understanding, while he prayed that they might not understand. he took to observing other men in the regiment, and found them equally cheerful, concerned only with the moment. he became secretly religious after a fashion. he felt that he was the one and only coward in the king's own, and prayed and planned his behaviour day and night to avoid being found out.
-in this state of mind he landed at gibraltar. when the order came for the 4th to move up to the front, he cheered with the rest, watching their faces.
-at ten o'clock on the night of april 6th, 1812, our troops were to assault badajos. it was now a few minutes past nine.
-the night had closed in without rain, but cloudy and thick, with river fog. the moon would not rise for another hour or more. after the day's furious bombardment silence had fallen on besieged and besiegers; but now and then a light flitted upon the ramparts, and at intervals the british in the trenches could hear the call of a sentinel proclaiming that all was well in badajos.
-in the trenches a low continuous murmur mingled with the voices of running water. on the right by the guadiana waited picton's third division, breathing hard as the time drew nearer. kempt commanded these for the moment. picton was in camp attending to a hurt, but his men knew that before ten o'clock he would arrive to lead across the rivillas by the narrow bridge and up to the walls of the castle frowning over the river at the city's north-east corner.
-and far away to the left, on the lower slopes of the hills, leigh's fifth division was halted in deep columns. a knoll separated his two brigades, and across the interval of darkness they could hear each other's movements. they were to operate independently; and concerning the task before the brigade on the right there could be no doubt: a dash across the gorge at their feet, and an assault upon the outlying pardaleras, on the opposite slope. but the business before walker's brigade, on the left, was by no means so simple. the storming party had been marching light, with two companies of portuguese to carry their ladders, and stood discussing prospects: for as yet they were well out of earshot of the walls, and the moment for strict silence had not arrived.
-"the vincenty," grumbled teddy butson; "and by shot to me if i even know what it's like."
-"dick webster was saying it's mined," put in nat, commanding a firm voice.
-"eh? the glacis? i shouldn't wonder. walker will know."
-"but what'll he do?"
-"well, now"--dave seemed to be considering--"it will not be for the likes of me to be telling the brigadier-general. but if walker comes to me and says, 'dave, there's a mine hereabouts. what will i be doing?' it's like enough i shall say: 'your honour knows best; but the usual course is to walk round it.'"
-teddy butson chuckled, and rubbed the back of his axe approvingly. nat held his tongue for a minute almost, and then broke out irritably: "to hell with this waiting!"
-his nerves were raw. two minutes later a man on his right kicked awkwardly against his foot. it startled him, and he cursed furiously.
-"hold hard, spuds, my boy," said the man cheerfully; "you ain't lord wellington, nor his next-of-kin, to be makin' all the noise."
-teddy butson wagged his head solemnly at a light which showed foggily for a moment on the distant ramparts.
-"all right," said he, "you----town! little you know 'tis teddy's birthday."
-"there will be wine," said dave, dreamily.
-"lashins of it; wine and women, and loot things. i wonder how our boys are feeling on the right? what's that?"--as a light shot up over the ridge to the eastward. "wish i could see what's doing over there. my belief we're only put up for a feint."
-"o hush it, you royal mill-clappers!" this came from the darkness behind--from some man of the 30th, no doubt.
-the voice was tense, with a note of nervousness in it, which nat recognised at once. he turned with a sudden desire to see the speaker's face. here was one who felt as he did, one who could understand him, but his eyes sought in vain among the lines of glimmering black shakos.
-"silence in the ranks!" two officers came forward, talking together and pausing to watch the curious light now rising and sinking and rising again in the sky over the eastern ridges. "they must have caught sight of our fellows--listen, wasn't that a cheer? what time is it?" the officer was captain hopkins commanding nat's company, but now in charge of the stormers. a voice hailed him, and he ran back. "yes, sir, i think so decidedly," nat heard him saying, and he came running clutching his sword sheath. "silence men--the brigade will advance."
-the portuguese picked up and shouldered their ladders: the orders were given, and the columns began to move down the slope. for a while they could hear the tramp of the other brigade moving parallel with them on the other side of the knoll, then fainter and fainter as it wheeled aside and down the gorge to the right. at the foot of the slope they opened a view up the gorge lit for a moment by a flare burning on the ramparts of the pardaleras, and saw their comrades moving down and across the bottom like a stream of red lava pouring towards the foot. the flare died down and our brigade struck away to the left over the level country. on this side badajos remained dark and silent.
-they were marching quickly, yet the pace did not satisfy nat. he wanted to be through with it, to come face to face with the worst and know it. and yet he feared it abominably. for two years he had contrived to hide his secret. he had marched, counter-marched, fed, slept, and fought with his comrades; had dodged with them behind cover, loaded, fired, charged with them; had behaved outwardly like a decent soldier, but almost always with a sickening void in the pit of the stomach. once or twice in particularly bad moments he had caught himself blubbering, and with a deadly shame. he had not an idea that at least a dozen of his comrades--among them dave and teddy--had seen it, and thought nothing of it; still less did he imagine that those had been his most courageous moments. soldiers fight differently. teddy butson, for instance, talked all the time until his tongue swelled, and then he barked like a dog. dave shut his teeth and groaned. but these symptoms escaped nat, whose habit was to think all the while of himself. of one thing he felt sure, that he had never yet been anything but glad to hear the recall sounded.
-well, so far he had escaped. heaven knew how he had managed it; he only knew that the last two years had been as long as fifty, and he seemed to have been living since the beginning of the world. but here he was, and actually keeping step with a storming party. he kept his eyes on dave's long lean back immediately in front and trudged on, divided between an insane desire to know of what dave was thinking, and an equally insane wonder what dave's body might be worth to him as cover.
-what was the silly word capering in his head? "mill-clappers." why on earth "mill-clappers?" it put him in mind of home: but he had no silly tender thoughts to waste on home, or the folks there. he had never written to them. if they should happen on the copy of the gazette--and the chances were hundred to one against it--the name of nathaniel varcoe among the killed or wounded would mean nothing to them. he tramped on, chewing his fancy, and extracted this from it: "a man with never a friend at home hasn't even an excuse to be a coward, curse it!"
-suddenly the column halted, in a bank of fog through which his ear caught the lazy ripple of water. he woke up with a start. the fog was all about them.
-"what's this?" he demanded aloud; then, with a catch of his breath, "mines?"
-"eh, be quiet," said teddy butson at his elbow; "listen to yonder." and the word was hardly out when an explosion split the sky and was followed by peal after peal of musketry. nat had a swift vision of a high black wall against a background of flame, and then night came down again as you might close a shutter. but the musketry continued. "that will be at the breaches," dave flung the words over his left shoulder. then followed another flash and another explosion. this time, however, the light, though less vivid than the first flash, did not vanish. while he wondered at this nat saw first of all the rim of the moon through the slant of an embrasure, and then teddy's pale but cheerful face.
-the head of the column had been halted a few yards only from a breastwork, with a stockade above it and a chevaux de frise on top of all. as far as knowledge of his whereabouts went, nat might have been east, west, north or south of badajos, or somewhere in another planet. but the past two years had somehow taught him to divine that behind this ugly obstruction lay a covered way with a guard house. and sure enough the men, keeping dead silence now, could hear the french soldiers chatting in that unseen guard house and laughing.
-"now's the time." nat heard the word passed back by the young engineer officer who had crept forward to reconnoitre: and then an order given in portuguese.
-"ay, bring up the ladders, you greasers, and let's put it through." this from teddy butson chafing by nat's side.
-the two portuguese companies came forward with the ladders as the storming party moved up to the gateway. and just at that moment there the sentry let off his alarm shot. it set all within the san vincente bastion moving and whirring like the works of a mechanical toy; feet came running along the covered way; muskets clinked on the stone parapet; tongues of fire spat forth from the embrasures; and then, as the musketry quickened, a flash and a roar lifted the glacis away behind, to the right of our column, so near that the wind of it drove our men sideways.
-"all right, johnny," dave grunted, recovering himself as the clods of earth began to fall: "blaze away, my silly ducks--we're not there!"
-but the portuguese companies as the mine exploded cast down the ladders and ran. half a dozen came charging back along the column's right flank, and our soldiers cursed and struck at them as they fled. but the curses were as nothing beside those of the portuguese officers striving to rally their men.
-"my word," said teddy. "hear them scandalous greasers! it's poor talk, is english."
-"on with you, lads"--it was walker himself who shouted. "pick up the ladders, and on with you!"
-they hardly waited for the word, but, shouldering the ladders, ran forward through the dropping bullets to the gate, cheering and cheered by the rear ranks.
-but they flung themselves in vain on the gate. on its iron-bound and iron-studded framework their axes made no impression. a dozen men charged it, using a ladder as a battering ram. "aisy with that, ye blind ijjits!" yelled an irish sergeant. "ye'll be needin' them ladders prisintly!" our three privates found themselves in the crowd surging towards the breastwork to the right of the gate. "nip on my shoulders, teddy lad," grunted mcinnes, and teddy nipped up and began hacking at the chevaux de frise with his axe. "that's av ut, bhoys," yelled the irish sergeant again. "lave them spoikes an' go for the stockade. good for you, little man--whirro!" nat by this time was on a comrade's back, and using his axe for dear life; one of twenty men hacking, ripping, tearing down the wooden stakes. but it was teddy who wriggled through first with dave at his heels. the man beneath nat gave a heave with his shoulders and shot him through his gap, a splinter tearing his cheek open. he fell head foremost sprawling down the slippery slope of the ditch.
-while he picked himself up and stretched out a hand to recover his axe a bullet struck the blade of it--ping! he caught up the axe and ran his finger over it stupidly. phut--another bullet spat into the soft earth behind his shoulder. then he understood. a fellow came tumbling through the gap, pitched exactly where nat had been sprawling a moment before, rose to his knees, and then with a quiet bubbling sound lay down again.
-"ugh! he would be killed--he must get out of this!" but there was no cover unless he found it across the ditch and close under the high stone curtain. they would be dropping stones, beams, fire barrels; but at least he would be out of the reach of the bullets. he forgot the chance--the certainty--of an enfilading fire from the two bastions. his one desire was to get across and pick some place of shelter.
-but by this time the men were pouring in behind and fast filling the ditch. a fire-ball came crashing over the rampart, rolled down the grass slope and lay sputtering, and in the infernal glare he saw all his comrades' faces--every detail of their dress down to the moulded pattern on their buttons. "fourth! fourth!" some one shouted, and then voice and vision were caught up and drowned together in a hell of musketry. he must win across or be carried he knew not where by the brute pressure of the crowd. a cry broke from him and he ran, waving his axe, plunged down the slope and across. on the further slope an officer caught him up and scrambled beside him. "whirro, spuds! after him, boys!" sang out teddy butson. but spuds did not hear.
-there they went again! it was enough to drive a man mad!
-he turned and ran down the slope a short way. for the moment he held a grip on himself, but it was slackening, and in another half-minute he would have lost it and run in mere blind horror. but in the first group he blundered upon were dave and teddy, and a score of the king's own, with a couple of ladders between them; and better still, they were listening to captain hopkins, who waved an arm and pointed to an embrasure to the left. nat, pulling himself up and staring with the rest, saw that no gun stood in this embrasure, only a gabion. in a moment he was climbing the slope again; if a man must die, there's comfort at least in company. he bore a hand in planting the two ladders; a third was fetched--heaven knew whence or how--and planted beside them, and up the men swarmed, three abreast, dave leading on the right-hand one, at the foot of which nat hung back and swayed. he heard dave's long sigh, the sigh, the sob almost, of desire answered at last. he watched him as he mounted. the ladders were still too short, and the leader on each must climb on the second man's shoulders to get hand-hold on the coping. in that moment he might be clubbed on the head, defenceless. on the middle ladder a young officer of the 30th mounted by dave's side. nat turned his head away, and as he did so a rush of men, galled by the fire from the bastion to the right, came on him like a wave, and swept him up the first four rungs.
-he was in for it now. go back he could not, and he followed the tall royal ahead, whose heels scraped against his breast buttons, and once or twice bruised him in the face; followed up, wondering what face of death would meet him at the top, where men were yelling and jabbering in three languages--french, english, and that tongue which belongs equally to men and brutes at close quarters and killing.
-something came sliding down the ladder. the man in front of nat ducked his head; nat ducked too; but the body slid sideways before it reached them and dropped plumb--the inert lump which had been dave mcinnes. his shako, spinning straight down the ladder, struck nat on the shoulder and leaped off it down into darkness.
-he saw other men drop; he saw teddy butson parallel with him on the far ladder, and mounting with him step for step--now earlier, now later, but level with him most of the time. they would meet at the embrasure; find together whatever waited for them there. nat was sobbing by this time--sweat and tears together running down the caked blood on his cheek--but he did not know it.
-he had almost reached the top when a sudden pressure above forced his feet off the rung and his body over the ladder's side; and there he dangled, hooked by his armpit. someone grabbed his leg, and, pulling him into place, thrust him up over the shoulders of the tall royal in front. he saw the leader on the middle ladder go down under a clubbed blow which burst through his japanned shako-cover, and then a hand came down to help him.
-"spuds, o spuds!"
-it was teddy reaching down from the coping to help him, and he paid for it with his life. the two wriggled into the embrasure together, nat's head and shoulders under teddy's right arm. nat did not see the bayonet thrust given, but heard a low grunt, as he and his friend's corpse toppled over the coping together and into badajos.
-he rose on his knees, caught a man by the leg, flung him, and as the fellow clutched his musket, wrenched the bayonet from it and plunged it into his body. while the frenchman heaved, he pulled out the weapon for another stab, dropped sprawling on his enemy's chest, and the first wave of the storming party broke over him, beating the breath out of him, and passed on.
-yet he managed to wriggle his body from under this rush of feet, and, by-and-bye, to raise himself, still grasping the sidearm. men of the 4th were pouring thick and fast through the embrasure, and turning to the right in pursuit of the enemy now running along the curve of the ramparts. a few only pressed straight forward to silence the musketry jetting and crackling from the upper windows of two houses facing on the fortifications.
-nat staggered down after them, but turned as soon as he gained the roadway, and, passing to the right, plunged down a black side street. an insane notion possessed him of taking the two houses in the rear, and as he went he shouted to the 4th to follow him. no one paid him the smallest attention, and presently he was alone in the darkness, rolling like a drunkard, shaken by his sobs, but still shouting and brandishing his sidearm. he clattered against a high blank wall.
-still he lurched forward over uneven cobbles. he had forgotten his design upon the two houses, but a light shone at the end of this dark lane, and he made for it, gained it, and found himself in a wider street. and there the enchantment fell on him.
-for the street was empty, utterly empty, yet brilliantly illuminated. not a soul could he see: yet in house after house as he passed lights shone from every window, in the lower floors behind blinds or curtains which hid the inmates. it was as if badajos had arrayed itself for a fête; and still, as he staggered forward a low buzz, a whisper of voices surrounded him, and now and again at the sound of his footstep on the cobbles a lattice would open gently and be as gently re-shut. hundreds of eyes were peering at him, the one british soldier in a bewitched city; hundreds of unseen eyes, stealthy, expectant. and always ahead of him, faint and distant, sounded the bugles and the yells around the trinidad and the breaches.
-he stood alone in the great square. while he paused at the corner, his eyes following the rows of mysterious lights from house to house, from storey to storey, the regular tramp of feet fell on his ears and a company of foot marched down into the moonlight patch facing him and grounded arms with a clatter. they were men of his own regiment, and they formed up in the moonlight like a company of ghosts. one or two shots were fired at them, low down, from the sills of a line of doorways to his right; but no citizen showed himself and no one appeared to be hit. and ever from the direction of the trinidad came the low roar of combat and the high notes of the bugles.
-he was creeping along the side of the square towards an outlet at its north-east corner, when the company got into motion again and came towards him. then he turned up a narrow lane to the left and fled. he was sobbing no longer; the passion had died out of him, and he knew himself to be mad. in the darkness the silent streets began to fill; random shots whistled at every street corner; but he blundered on, taking no account of them. once he ran against a body of picton's men--half a score of the 74th regiment let loose at length from the captured castle, and burning for loot. one man thrust the muzzle of his musket against his breast before he was recognized. then two or three shook hands with him.
-he was back in the square again and fighting--heaven knew why--with an officer of the brunswickers over a birdcage. whence the birdcage came he had no clear idea, but there was a canary-bird inside, and he wanted it. a random shot smashed his left hand as he gripped the cage, and he dropped it as something with which he had no further concern. as he turned away, hugging his hand, and cursing the marksman, a second shot from another direction took the brunswicker between the shoulders.
-at dawn he found himself on the ramparts by the trinidad breach, peering curiously among the slain. across the top of the breach stretched a heavy beam studded with sword blades, and all the bodies on this side of it were french. right beneath it lay one red-coat whose skull had been battered out of shape as he attempted to wriggle through. all the upper blades were stained, and on one fluttered a strip of flannel shirt. powder blackened every inch of the rampart hereabouts, and as nat passed over he saw the bodies piled in scores on the glacis below--some hideously scorched---among beams, gabions, burnt out fire-pots, and the wreckage of ladders. a horrible smell of singed flesh rose on the morning air; and, beyond the stench and the sullen smoke, birds sang in dewy fields, and the guadiana flowed between grey olives and green promise of harvest.
-he had a firelock in his hands ... he was fumbling with it, very clumsily, by reason of his shattered fingers. he had wandered down a narrow street, and was groping at an iron-studded door. "won't open," he told the ghosts beside him. "must try the patent key." he put the muzzle against the lock and fired, flung himself against the door, and as it broke before him, stood swaying, staring across a whisp of smoke into a mean room, where a priest knelt in one corner by a straw pallet, and a girl rose from beside him and slowly confronted the intruder. as she rose she caught at the edge of a deal table, and across the smoke she too seemed to be swaying.
-seventeen years later nat ellery walked down the hill into gantick village, and entered the king of the bells.
-"i've come," said he, "to inquire about a chest i left here, one time back along." and he told his name and the date.
-the landlord, joshua martin--son of old joshua, who had kept the inn in 1806--rubbed his double chin. "so you be nat ellery? i can just mind'ee as a lad. as for the chest--come to think, father sent it back to trethake water. reckon it went in the sale."
-"ah! what became of him?"
-"i did hear he was dead too," said joshua martin, "out in canady somewhere. but that may be lies," he added cheerfully.
-nat made no further comment, but paid for his gin-and-water, picked up his carpet bag, and went out to seek for a cottage. on his way he eyed the thatched roofs critically. "old thatcher hockaday will be dead," he told himself. "there's work for me here." he felt certain of it in farmer sprague's rick-yard. farmer sprague owned the two round-houses at the seaward end of the village, and wanted a tenant for one of them. nat applied for it, and declared his calling.
-"us can't afford to pay the old prices these times," said the farmer.
-nat's eyes had wandered off to the ricks. "you'll find you can when you've seen my work," he answered.
-thus he became tenant of the round-house, and lived in it to the day of his death. no one in my day knew when or how the story first spread that he had been in the army and deserted. perhaps he let slip the secret in his cups; for at first he spent his saturday evenings at the king of bells, dropping this habit when he found that every soul there disliked him. perhaps some discharged veteran of the 4th, tramping through gantick in search of work, had recognised him and let fall a damning hint. long before i can remember the story had grown up uncontradicted, believed in by everyone. beneath it the man lived on and deteriorated; but his workmanship never deteriorated, and no man challenged its excellence.
-about a month before his death (i have this from the postmistress) he sat down and wrote a letter, and ten days later a visitor arrived at the round-house. this visitor the jago family (who lived across the parade-ground and play leap-frog myself with my cousin beverly, who wanted proof for most of bill banney's stories. beverly was growing wise and lanky for his age. i was still chubby, and in most things innocent, and inclined to believe all that i heard, or i should not have been taken in by that fish story.
-we were orphans with no recollection of any other home than the log house near the fort. we had been fathered and mothered by our uncle, esmond clarenden, owner of the little store across the square from our house, and a larger establishment down at independence on the missouri river.
-always a wonderful man to me was that esmond clarenden, product of one of the large old new england colleges. he found time to guard our young years with the same diplomatic system by which he controlled all of his business affairs. he laid his plans carefully and never swerved from carrying them through afterward; he insisted on order in everything; he rendered value for value in his contracts; he chose his employees carefully, and trusted them fully; he had a keen sense of humor, a genial spirit of good-will, and he loved little children. fitted as he was by culture and genius to have entered into the greater opportunities of the eastern states, he gave himself to the real up-building of the west, and in the larger comfort and prosperity and peace of the kansas prairies of to-day his soul goes marching on.
-the waters, as i watched them, were all running south toward that vague, down-stream world shut off by trees at a bend of the course. i waited a long time there for the current to shift to the north, wondering meanwhile about those level-topped forests, and what i might see beyond them if i were sitting on their flat crests. and, as i wondered, the first dim sense of being shut in came filtering through my childish consciousness. i could not cross the river. big as my playground had always been, i had never been out of sight of the fort's flagstaff up-stream, nor down-stream. the wooded ravines blocked me on the southwest. what lay beyond these limits i had tried to picture again and again. i had been a dreamer all of my short life, and this new feeling of being shut in, held back, from something slipped upon me easily.
-as i sat on the bluff in the april sunshine, i turned my face toward the west and stretched out my chubby arms for larger freedom. i wanted to see the open level places, wanted till it hurt me. i could cry easily enough for some things. i could not cry for this. it was too deep for tears to reach. moreover, this new longing seemed to drop down on me suddenly and overwhelm me, until i felt almost as if i were caught in a net.
-as i stared with half-seeing eyes toward the wooded ravines beyond the fort, suddenly through the budding branches i caught sight of a horseman riding down a half-marked trail into a deep hollow. horsemen were common enough to forget in a moment, but when this one reappeared on the hither side of the ravine, i saw that the rider's face was very dark, that his dress, from the sombrero to the spurred heel, was mexican, and that he was heavily armed, even for a plainsman. when he reached the top of the bluff he made straight across the square toward my uncle esmond clarenden's little storehouse, and i lost sight of him.
-something about him seemed familiar to me, for the gift of remembering faces was mine, even then. a fleeting childish memory called up such a face and dress somewhere back in the dim days of babyhood, with the haunting sound of a low, musical voice, speaking in the soft castilian tongue.
-but the memory vanished and i sat a long time gazing at the wooded west that hid the open west of my day-dreams.
-suddenly jondo came riding up on his big black horse to the very edge of the bluff.
-"you are such a little mite, i nearly forgot to see you," he called, cheerily. "your uncle esmond wants you right away. mat nivers, or somebody else, sent me to run you down," he added, leaning over to lift me up to a seat on the horse behind him.
-few handsomer men ever graced a saddle. big, broad-shouldered, muscular, yet agile, a head set like a greek statue, and a face--nobody could ever make a picture of jondo's face for me--the curling brown hair, soft as a girl's, the broad forehead, deep-set blue eyes, heavy dark brow, cheeks always ruddy through the plain's tan, strong white teeth, firm square chin, and a smile like sunshine on the gray prairies. eyes, lips, teeth--aye, the big heart behind them--all made that smile. no grander prince of men ever rode the trails or dared the dangers of the untamed west. i did not know his story for many years. i wish i might never have known it. but as he began with me, so he ended--brave, beloved old jondo!
-"run over there to beverly now. gail," my uncle said, with a wave of his hand.
-i was always in awe of shoulder-straps, so i scampered away toward the children. but not until, child-like, i had stared at the three men long enough to take a child's lasting estimate of things.
-i carry still the keen impression of that moment when i took, unconsciously, the measure of the three: the mounted army man, commander of the fort, big in his official authority and force; jondo on his great black horse, to me the heroic type of chivalric courage; and between the two, esmond clarenden, unmounted, with feet firmly planted, suggesting nothing heroic, nothing autocratic. and yet, as he stood there, square-built, solid, certain, he seemed in some dim way to be the real man of whom the other two were but shadows. it took a quarter of a century for me to put into words what i learned with one glance that day in my childhood.
-as i came running toward the parade-ground beverly clarenden called out:
-"come here, gail! shut your little mouth and open your big ears, and i'll tell you something. maybe i'd better not tell you all at once, though. it might make you dizzy," he added, teasingly.
-"and maybe you better had," mat nivers said, calmly.
-"maybe you'd better tell him yourself, if you feel that way," beverly retorted.
-"i guess i'll do that," mat began, with a twinkle in her big gray eyes; but my cousin interrupted her.
-beverly loved to tease mat through me, but he never got far, for i relied on her to curb him; and she was not one to be ruffled by trifles. mat was an orphan and, like ourselves, a ward of esmond clarenden, but there were no ties of kinship between us. she was three years older than beverly, and although she was no taller than he, she seemed like a woman to me, a keen-witted, good-natured child-woman, neat, cleanly, and contented. i wonder if many women get more out of life in these days of luxurious comforts than she found in the days of frontier hardships.
-"well, it's this way, gail. mat doesn't know the straight of it," beverly began, dramatically. "there's going to be a war, or something, in mexico, or somewhere, and a lot of soldiers are coming here to drill, and drill, and drill. and then--"
-the boy paused for effect.
-"and then, and then, and then--or some time," mat nivers mimicked, jumping into the pause. "why, they'll go to mexico, or somewhere. and what bev is really trying to tell hasn't anything to do with it--not directly, anyhow," she added, wisely. "the only new thing is that uncle esmond is going to santa fé right away. you know he has bought goods of the santa fé traders since we couldn't remember. and now he's going down there himself, and he's going to take you boys with him. that's what bev is trying to get out, or keep back."
-"whoopee-diddle-dee!" beverly shouted, throwing himself backward and kicking up his heels.
-i jumped up and capered about in glee at the thought of such a journey. but my heart-throb of childish delight was checked, mid-beat.
-"won't mat go, too?" i asked, with a sudden pain at my throat. mat nivers was a part of life to me.
-the smile fell away from the girl's lips. her big, sunshiny gray eyes and her laughing good nature always made her beautiful to beverly and me.
-"i don't want to go and leave mat," i insisted.
-"oh, i do," beverly declared, boastingly. "it would be real nice and jolly without her. and what could a little girl do 'way out on the prairies, and no mother to take care of her, while we were shooting indians?"
-he sprang up and took aim at the fort with an imaginary bow and arrow. but there was a hollow note in his voice as if it covered a sob.
-"she can shoot indians as good as you can, beverly clarenden, and, besides, there isn't anybody to mother her here but jondo, and i reckon he'll go with us, won't he?" i urged.
-mothering was not in my stock of memories. the heart-hunger of the orphan child had been eased by the gentleness of jondo, the championship of mat nivers, and the sure defense of esmond clarenden, who said little to children, and was instinctively trusted by all of them.
-with beverly's banter the smile came back quickly to mat's eyes. it was never lost from them long at a time.
-"beverly clarenden, you keep your little mouth shut and your big ears open," she began, laughingly. "i know the whole sheboodle better 'n any of you, and i'm not teasing and whimpering both at the same time, neither. bev doesn't know anything except what i've told him, and i wasn't through when you got here, gail. there is going to be a big war in texas, and our soldiers are going to go, and to win, too. just look up at that flag there, and remember now, boys, that wherever the stars and stripes go they stay."
-"who told you all that?" beverly inquired.
-"the stars up in the sky told me that last night," mat replied, pulling down the corners of her mouth solemnly. "but uncle esmond hasn't anything to do with the war, nor soldiers, only like he has been doing here," the girl went on. "he's a store-man, a merchant, and i guess he's just about as good as a general--a colonel, anyhow. but he's too short to fight, and too fat to run."
-"he isn't any coward," beverly objected.
-"who said he was?" mat inquired. "he's one of them usefulest men that keeps things going everywhere."
-"i saw a real mexican come up out of the ravine awhile ago and go straight over toward uncle esmond's store. what do you suppose he came here for? is he a soldier from down there?" i asked.
-"oh, just one mexican don't mean anything anywhere, but the war in mexico has something to do with our going to santa fé, even if uncle esmond is just a nice little store-man. that's all a girl knows about things," beverly insisted.
-mat opened her big eyes wide and looked straight at the boy.
-"i don't pretend to know what i don't know, but i'll bet a million billion dollars there is something else besides just all this war stuff. i can't tell it, i just feel it. anyhow, i'm to stay here with aunty boone till you come back. girls can be trusted anywhere, but it may take the whole army of the west, yet, to follow up and look after two little runty boys. and let me tell you something, bev, something i heard aunty boone say this morning." she said: "taint goin' to be more 'n a minnit now till them boys grows up an' grows together, same size, same age. they been little and big, long as they goin' to be. now you know what you're coming to."
-mat was digging in the ground with a stick, and she flipped a clod at beverly with the last words. both of us had once expected to marry her when we grew up, unless jondo should carry her away as his bride before that time. he was a dozen years older than mat, who was only fourteen and small for her age. a flush always came to her cheeks when we talked of jondo in that way. we didn't know why.
-we sat silent for a little while. a vague sense of desolateness, of the turning-places of life, as real to children as to older folk, seemed to press suddenly down upon all three of us. ours was not the ordinary child-life even of that day. and that was a time when children had no world of their own as they have to-day. whatever developed men and women became a part of the younger life training as well. and while we were ignorant of much that many children then learned early, for we had lived mostly beside the fort on the edge of the wilderness, we were alert, and self-dependent, fearless and far-seeing. we could use tools readily: we could build fires and prepare game for cooking; we could climb trees, set traps, swim in the creek, and ride horses. moreover, we were bound to one another by the force of isolation and need for playmates. our imagination supplied much that our surroundings denied us. so we felt more deeply, maybe, than many city-bred children who would have paled with fear at dangers that we only laughed over.
-no ripple in the even tenor of our days, however, had given any hint of the coming of this sudden tense oppression on our young souls, and we were stunned by what we could neither express nor understand.
-"whatever comes or doesn't come," beverly said at last, stretching himself at full length, stomach downward, on the bare ground, "whatever happens to us, we three will stand by each other always and always, won't we, mat?"
-he lifted his face to the girl's. oh, beverly! i saw him again one day down the years, stretched out on the ground like this, lifting again a pleading face. but that belongs--down the years.
-"yes, always and always," mat replied, and then because she had a spartan spirit, she added: "but let's don't say any more that way. let's think of what you are going to see--the plains, the santa fé trail, the mountains, and maybe bad indians. and even old santa fé town itself. you are in for 'the big shift,' as aunty boone says, and you've got to be little men and take whatever comes. it will come fast enough, you can bet on that."
-yesterday i might have sobbed on her shoulder. i did not know then that out on the bluff an hour ago i had come to the first turn in my life-trail, and that i could not look back now. i did know that i wanted to go with uncle esmond. i looked away from mat's gray eyes, and beverly's head dropped on his arms, face downward--looked at nothing but blue sky, and a graceful drooping flag; nothing but a half-sleepy, half-active fort; nothing but the yellow april floods far up-stream, between wooded banks tenderly gray-green in the spring sunshine. but i did not see any of these things then. before my eyes there stretched a vast level prairie, with dim mountain heights beyond them. and marching toward them westward, westward, past lurking danger, indians here and wild beasts there, went three men: the officer on his cavalry mount; jondo on his big black horse; esmond clarenden, neither mounted nor on foot, it seemed, but going forward somehow. and between these three and the misty mountain peaks there was a face--not mat nivers's, for the first time in all my day-dreams--a sweet face with dark eyes looking straight into mine. and plainly then, just as plainly as i have heard it many times since then, came a call--the first clear bugle-note of the child-soul--a call to service, to patriotism, and to love.
-all that afternoon while mat nivers sang about her tasks beverly and i tried to play together among the elm and cottonwood trees about our little home, but evening found us wide awake and moping. instead of the two tired little sleepy-heads that could barely finish supper, awake, when night came, we lay in our trundle-bed, whispering softly to each other and staring at the dark with tear-wet eyes--our spiritual barometers warning us of a coming change. something must have happened to us that night which only the retrospect of years revealed. in that hour beverly clarenden lost a year of his life and i gained one. from that time we were no longer little and big to each other--we were comrades.
-it must have been nearly midnight when i crept out of bed and slipped into the big room where uncle esmond and jondo sat by the fireplace, talking together.
-"hello, little night-hawk! come here and roost," jondo said, opening his arms to me.
-i slid into their embrace and snuggled my head against his broad shoulder, listening to all that was said. three months later the little boy had become a little man, and my cuddling days had given place to the self-reliance of the fearless youngster of the trail.
-"why do you make this trip now, esmond?" jondo asked at length, looking straight into my uncle's face.
-"i want to get down there right now because i want to get a grip on trade conditions. i can do better after the war if i do. it won't last long, and we are sure to take over a big piece of ground there when it is over. and when that is settled commerce must do the real building-up of the country. i want to be a part of that thing and grow with it. why do you go with me?"
-my uncle looked directly at jondo, although he asked the question carelessly.
-"to help you cross the plains. you know the redskins get worse every trip," jondo answered, lightly.
-i stared at both of them until jondo said, laughingly:
-"you little owl, what are you thinking about?"
-"i think you are telling each other stories," i replied, frankly.
-both men smiled and said nothing. but when i went to my bed again jondo tucked the covers about me and uncle esmond came and bade me good night.
-"i guess you have the makings of a plainsman," he said, with a smile, as he patted me on the head.
-"the beginnings, anyhow," jondo added. "he can see pretty far already."
-for a long time i lay awake, thinking of all that uncle esmond and jondo had said to me. it is no wonder that i remember that april day as if it were but yesterday. such days come only to childhood, and oftentimes when no one of older years can see clearly enough to understand the bigness of their meaning to the child who lives through them.
-all of my life i had heard stories of the east, of new york and st. louis, where there were big houses and wonderful stores. and of washington, where there was a president, and a congress, and a strange power that could fill and empty fort leavenworth at will. i had heard of the great lakes, and of cotton-fields, and tobacco-plantations, and sugar-camps, and ships, and steam-cars. i had pictured these things a thousand times in my busy imagination and had longed to see them. but from that day they went out of my life-dreams. henceforth i belonged to the prairies of the west. no one but myself took account of this, nor guessed that a life-trend had had its commencement in the small events of one unimportant day.
-a daughter of canaan
-one stone the more swings to her place in that dread temple of thy worth; it is enough that through thy grace i saw naught common on thy earth.
-the next morning i was wakened by the soft voice of aunty boone, our cook, saying:
-aunty boone was the biggest woman i have ever seen. not the tallest, maybe--although she measured up to a height of six feet and two inches--not the fattest, but a woman with the biggest human frame, overlaid with steel-hard muscles. yet she was not, in her way, clumsy or awkward. she walked with a free stride, and her every motion showed a powerful muscular control. her face was jet-black, with keen shining eyes, and glittering white teeth. in my little child-world she was the strangest creature i had ever known. in the larger world whither the years of my manhood have led me she holds the same place.
-she had been born a princess of royal blood, heir to a queenship in her tribe in a far-away african kingdom. in her young womanhood, so the tale ran, the slave-hunter had found her and driven her aboard a slave-ship bound for the american coast. he never drove another slave toward any coast. in virginia her first purchaser had sold her quickly to a georgia planter whose heirs sent her on to mississippi. thence she soon found her way to the louisiana rice-fields. nobody came to take her back to any place she had quitted. "safety first," is not a recent practice. she had enormous strength and capacity for endurance, she learned rapidly, kept her own counsel, obeyed no command unless she chose to do so, and feared nothing in the lord's universe. the people of her own race had little in common with her. they never understood her and so they feared her. and being as it were outcast by them, she came to know more of the ways and customs, and even the thoughts, of the white people better than of her own. being quick to imitate, she spoke in the correcter language of those whom she knew best, rather than the soft, ungrammatical dialect of the plantation slave or the grunt and mumble of the isolated african. realizing that service was to be her lot, she elected to render that service where and to whom she herself might choose.
-one day she had walked into new orleans and boarded a mississippi steamer bound for st. louis. it took three men to eject her bodily from the deck into a deep and dangerous portion of the stream. she swam ashore, and when the steamer made its next stop she walked aboard again. the three men being under the care of a physician, and the remainder of the crew burdened with other tasks, she was not again disturbed. some time later she appeared at the landing below fort leavenworth, and strode up the slope to the deserted square where esmond clarenden stood before his little store alone in the deepening twilight.
-i have heard that she had had a way of appearing suddenly, like a beast of prey, in the dusk of the evening, and that few men cared to meet her at that time alone.
-my uncle was a snug-built man, sixty-two inches high, with small, shapely hands and feet. towering above him stood this great, strange creature, barefooted, ragged, half tiger, half sphinx.
-"i'm hungry. i'll eat or i kill. i'm nobody's slave!"
-the soft voice was full of menace, the glare of famine and fury was in the burning eyes, and the supple cruelty of the wild beast was in the clenched hands.
-esmond clarenden looked up at her with interest. then pointing toward our house he said, calmly:
-"neither are you anybody's master. go over there to the kitchen and get your supper. if you can cook good meals, i'll pay you well. if you can't, you'll leave here."
-possibly it was the first time in her strange and varied career that she had taken a command kindly, and obeyed because she must. and so the savage african princess, the terror of the terrible slave-ship, the untamed plantation scourge, with a record for deeds that belong to another age and social code, became the great, silent, faithful, fearless servant of the plains; with us, but never of us, in all the years that followed. but she fitted the condition of her day, and in her place she stood, where the beloved black mammy of a gentler mold would have fallen.
-she announced that her name was daniel boone, which uncle esmond considered well enough for one of such a westward-roving nature. but jondo declared that the "daniel" belonged to her because, like unto the bible daniel, no lion, nor whole den of lions, would ever dine at her expense. to us she became aunty boone. with us she was always gentle--docile, rather; and one day we came to know her real measure, and--we never forgot her.
-i bounced out of bed at her call this morning, and bounced my breakfast into a healthy, good-natured stomach. the sunny april of yesterday had whirled into a chilly rain, whipped along by a raw wind. the skies were black and all the spring verdure was turned to a sickish gray-green.
-"weather always fit the times," aunty boone commented as she heaped my plate with the fat buckwheat cakes that only she could ever turn off a griddle. "you packin' up for somepin' now. what you goin' to get is fo'casted in this here nasty day."
-"why, we are going away!" i cried, suddenly recalling the day before. "i wish, though, that mat could go. wouldn't you like to go, too, aunty? only, bev says there's deserts, where there's just rocks and sand and everything, and no water sometimes. you and mat couldn't stand that 'cause you are women-folks."
-i stiffened with importance and clutched my knife and fork hard.
-"couldn't!" aunty boone gave a scornful grunt. "women-folks stands double more 'n men. you'll see when you get older. i know about you freightin' off to santy fee. you don't know what desset is. you never see sand. you never feel what it is to want watah. only folks 'cross the ocean in the real desset knows that. whoo-ee!"
-"what do you know about this trip, aunty boone?" i asked, eagerly; for although she could neither read nor write, she had a sponge-like absorbing power for keeping posted on all that happened at the fort.
-"cla'n'den"--the woman never called my uncle by any other name--"he's goin' to santy fee, an' you boys with him, 'cause--"
-she paused and her shining eyes grew dull as they had a way of doing in her thoughtful or prophetic moments.
-"he knows what for--him an' jondo. one of 'em's storekeeper an' t'other a plainsman, but they tote together always--an' they totin' now. you can't see what, but they totin', they totin', just the same. now run out to the store. things is stirrin'. things is stirrin'."
-i bolted my cakes, sodden with maple syrup, drank my mug of milk, and hurried out toward the storehouse.
-fort leavenworth in the middle '40's was sometimes an indolent place, and sometimes a very busy one, depending upon the activity of the western frontier. on this raw april morning everything was fairly ajerk with life and motion. and i knew from child-experience that a body of soldiers must be coming up the river soon. horses were rushed to-day where yesterday they had been leisurely led. orders were shouted now that had been half sung a week ago. military discipline took the place of fatigue attitudes. there was a banging of doors, a swinging of brooms, a clatter of tin, and a clanging of iron things. and everywhere went that slapping wind. and every shallow place in the ground held a chilly puddle. the government buildings always seemed big and bare and cold to me. and this morning they seemed drearier than ever, beaten upon by the fitful swish of the rain.
-in contrast with these were my uncle's snug quarters, for warmth was a part of esmond clarenden's creed. i used to think that the little storeroom, filled with such things as a frontier fort could find use for, was the biggest emporium in america, and the owner thereof suffered nothing, in my eyes, in comparison with a.t. stewart, the opulent new york merchant of his day.
-as i ran, bareheaded and coatless, across the wide wet space between our home and the storehouse a soldier came dashing by on horseback. i dodged behind him only to fall sprawling in a slippery pool under the very feet of another horseman, riding swiftly toward the boat-landing.
-neither man paid any attention to me as i slowly picked myself up and started toward the store. the soldier had not seen me at all. the other man's face was dark, and he wore the dress of the mexican. it was only by his alertness and skill that his horse missed me, but as he hurried away he gave no more heed to me than if i had been a stone in his path.
-i had turned my ankle in the fall and i could only limp to the storehouse and drop down inside. i would not cry out, but i could not hold back the sobs as i tried to stand, and fell again in a heap at jondo's feet.
-"things were stirrin'" there, as aunty boone had said, but withal there was no disorder. esmond clarenden never did business in that way. no loose ends flapped about his rigging, and when a piece of work was finished with him, there was nothing left to clear away. bill banney, the big grown-up boy from kentucky, who, out of love of adventure, had recently come to the fort, was helping jondo with the packing of certain goods. mat and beverly were perched on the counter, watching all that was being done and hearing all that was said.
-"what's the matter, little plainsman?" jondo cried, catching me up and setting me on the counter. "got a thorn in your shoe, or a stone-bruise, or a chilblain?"
-"i slipped out there behind a soldier on horseback, right in front of a little old mexican who was just whirling off to the river," i said, the tears blinding my eyes.
-"why, he's turned his ankle! looks like it was swelling already," mat nivers declared, as she slid from the counter and ran toward me.
-"it's a bad job," jondo declared. "just when we want to get off, too."
-"can't i go with you to santa fé, uncle esmond?" i wailed.
-"yes, gail, we'll fix you up all right," my uncle said, but his face was grave as he examined my ankle.
-it was a bad job, much worse than any of us had thought at first. and as they all gathered round me i suddenly noticed the same mexican standing in the doorway, and i heard some one, i think it was uncle esmond, say:
-"jondo, you'd better take gail over to the surgeon right away--" his voice trailed off somewhere and all was blank nothingness to me. but my last impression was that my uncle stayed behind with the strange mexican.
-in the excitement everybody forgot that i had on neither hat nor coat as they carried me through the raw wet air to the army surgeon's quarters beyond the soldiers' barracks.
-a chill and fever followed, and for a week there was only pain and trouble for me. nothing else hurt quite so deeply, however, as the fear of being left behind when the clarendens should start for santa fé. i would ask no questions, and nobody mentioned the trip, for which everything was preparing. i began at last to have a dread of being left in the night, of wakening some morning to find only mat and myself with aunty boone in the little log house. uncle esmond had already been away for three days, but nobody told me where he had gone, nor why he went, nor when he would come back. it kept me awake at night, and the loss of sleep made me nervous and feverish.
-one afternoon about a week after my accident, when beverly and mat were putting the room in order and chattering like a couple of squirrels, beverly said, carelessly:
-"gail, it's been a half a week since uncle esmond went down to our other store in independence, and we are going to start on our trip just as soon as he gets back, unless he sends for me and jondo."
-i knew that he was trying to tell me that they meant to go without me, for he hurried out with the last words. no boy wants to talk to a disappointed boy, and i had to clinch my teeth hard to keep back the tears.
-"i want to get well quicker, mat. i want to go to santa fé with beverly," i wailed, making a desperate effort to get out of bed.
-"you cuddle right down there, gail clarenden, if you want to get well at all. if you're real careful you'll be all right in a day or two. let's wait for uncle esmond to come home before we start any worries."
-it was in her voice, girl or woman, that comforting note that could always soothe me.
-"mat, won't you try to get them to let me go?" i pleaded.
-it was twilight when i wakened. where i lay i could hear esmond clarenden and aunty boone talking in the kitchen, and i listened eagerly to all they said.
-"but it's no place for a woman," my uncle was urging, gravely.
-"i ain't a woman, i'm a cook. you want cooks if you eats. mat ain't a woman, she's a girl. but she's stronger 'n beverly. if you can't leave him, how can you leave her? an' gail never get well if he's left here, cla'n'den, now he's got the goin' fever. never! an' if you never got back--"
-"i don't believe he would get well, either." then uncle esmond spoke lower and i could not hear any more.
-pretty soon mat and beverly burst open the door and came dancing in together, the sweet air of the warm april evening coming in with them, and life grew rose-colored for me in a moment.
-"we are all going to santa fé over the long trail. every last gun of us. aunty boone, and mat, and you, and me, and jondo, and uncle esmond, rag-tag and bobtail. whoop-ee-diddle-dee!" beverly threw up his cap, and, catching mat by the arms, they whirled around the room together.
-"who says so, bev?" i asked, eagerly.
-"them as knows and bosses everything in this world. jondo told me, and he's just the boss's shadow. now guess who," beverly replied.
-"it's all true, gail," mat assured me. "esmond clarenden is going to santa fé in spite of 'war, pestilence, famine, and sword,' as my history of the world says, and he is going to take son beverly, and son gail to watch son beverly; and miss mat nivers to watch both of them and shoo indians away; and aunt daniel boone to scare the mexicans into the gulf of california, if they act ugly, see!"
-she capered about the room, and as she passed me she stooped and patted me on the forehead. i didn't want her to do that. i had taken a long jump away from little-boy-dom a week ago, but i was supremely content now that all of us were to take the long trail together.
-that evening while mat and beverly went to look after some fishing-lines they had set--mat and bev were always going fishing--and jondo was down at the store, the officer in command of the fort came in. he paid no attention to me lying there, all eyes and ears whenever shoulder-straps were present.
-"what did you decide to do about the trip to santa fé?" he asked, as he tipped back in his chair and settled down to cigars and an evening chat.
-"we shall be leaving on the boat in the morning," my uncle replied.
-the colonel's chair came down with a crack. "you don't mean it!" he exclaimed.
-"i told you a week ago that i would be starting as soon as possible," esmond clarenden said, quietly.
-"but, man, the war is raging, simply raging, down in mexico right now. our division will be here to commence drill in a few weeks, and we start for the border in a few months. you are mad to take such a risk." the commander's voice rose.
-"we must go, that's all!" my uncle insisted.
-"we? we? who the devil are 'we'? none of my companies mutinied, i hope."
-the words did not sound like a joke, and there was little humor in the grim face.
-"'we' means jondo, banney, a young fellow from kentucky--" uncle esmond began.
-"humph! banney's father carried a gun at fort dearborn in 1812. i thought that young fellow came here for military service," the colonel commented, testily.
-"rather say he came for adventure," esmond clarenden suggested.
-"he'll get a deuced lot of it in a hurry, if you persuade him off with you."
-a flush swept over esmond clarenden's face, but his good-natured smile did not fail as he replied:
-"i don't persuade anybody. the rest of the company are my two nephews and the little girl, my ward, with our cook, daniel boone, as commander-in-chief of the pots and pans and any indian meat foolish enough to fall in her way."
-then came the explosion. powder would have cost less than the energy blown off there. the colonel stamped and swore, and sprang to his feet in opposition, and flung himself down in disgust.
-"women and children!" he gasped. "why do you sacrifice helpless innocent ones?"
-just then aunty boone strode in carrying a log of wood as big as a man's body, which she deftly threw on the fire. as the flame blazed high she gave one look at the young officer sitting before it, and then walked out as silently and sturdily as she had entered. it was such a look as a great dane dog full of superiority and indifference might have given to a terrier puppy, and from where i lay i thought the military man's face took on a very strange expression.
-"i 'sacrifice my innocent ones,'" my uncle answered the query, "because they will be safer with me than anywhere else. young as they are, there are some forces against them already."
-"well, you are going to a perilous place, over a most perilous trail, in a most perilous time of national affairs, to meet such treacherously villainous men as new mexico offers in her market-places right now? and all for the sake of the commerce of the plains? why do you take such chances to do business with such people, clarenden?"
-esmond clarenden had been staring at the burning logs in the big fireplace during this conversation. he turned now and faced the young army officer squarely as he said in that level tone that we children had learned long ago was final:
-"colonel, i'd go straight to hell and do business with the devil himself if i had any business dealings with him."
-the colonel's face fell. slowly he relighted his cigar, and leaned back again in his chair, and with that diplomacy that covers a skilful retreat he said, smilingly:
-"if any man west of the missouri river ever could do that it would be you, clarenden. by the holy jerusalem, the military lost one grand commander when you chose a college instead of west point, and the east lost one well-bred gentleman from its circles of commerce and culture when you elected to do business on the old santa fé trail instead of broadway. but i reckon the west will need just such men as you long after the frontier fort has become a central point in the country's civilized area. and, blast you, clarenden, blast your very picture! no man can help liking you. not even the devil if he had the chance. not one man in ten thousand would dare to make that trip right now. you've got the courage of a colonel and the judgment of a judge. go to santa fé! we may meet you coming back. if we do, and you need us, command us!"
-he gave a courteous salute, and the two began to talk of other things; among them the purposes that were bringing young men westward.
-"so banney, right out of old blue-grassy kentucky, is going to back out of here and go with you," the colonel remarked.
-"i've hired him to drive one team. it's a lark for him, but the army would be a lark just the same," esmond clarenden declared. "he says he is to kill rattlesnakes and mexicans, while jondo kills indians and i sit tight on top of the bales of goods to keep the wind from blowing them away. and the boys are to be made bridle-wise, plains-broke for future freighting. that's all that life means to him right now."
-i do not know what else was said, nor what i heard and what i dreamed after that. if this journey meant a lark to a grown-up boy, it meant a pilgrimage through fairyland to a young boy like myself.
-and so the new life opened to us; and if the way was fraught with hardship and danger, it also taught us courage and endurance. nor must we be measured by the boy life of to-day. children lived the grown-up life then. it was all there was for them to live.
-the yellow missouri boiled endlessly along by the foot of the bluff. the flag flapped broadly in the strong breeze that blew in from the west; the square log house--the only home we had ever known--looked forlornly after us, with its two front windows with blinds half drawn, like two half-closed, watching eyes; the cottonwoods and elms, the tiny storehouse--everything--grew suddenly very dear to us. the fort buildings throwing long shadows in the early morning, the level-topped forests east of the missouri river, and the budding woodland that overdraped the ravines to the west, even in their silence, seemed like sentient things, loving us, as we loved them.
-we children had gone all over the place before sunrise and touched everything, in token of good-by; from some instinct tarrying longest at the flagpole, where we threw kisses to the great, beautiful banner high above us. now, at the moment of leaving all these familiar things of all our years, a choking pain came to our throats. mat's eyes filled with tears and she looked resolutely forward. beverly and i clutched hands and shut our teeth together, determined to overcome this home-grip on our hearts. aunty boone sat in a corner of the deck as the boat swung out into the stream, her eyes dull and unseeing. she never spoke of her thoughts, but i have wondered often, since that big day of my young years, if she might not have recalled other voyages: the slave-ship putting out to sea with the african shores fading behind her; and the big river steamer at the new orleans dock where brutal hands had hurled her from the deck into the dangerous floods of the mississippi. this was her third voyage, a brief run from fort leavenworth to independence. she was apart from her fellow-passengers as in the other two, but now nobody gave her a curse, nor a blow.
-the widening horizon
-whose furthest footsteps never strayed beyond the village of his birth, is but a lodger for the night in this old wayside inn of earth.
-the broad green prairies of the west roll back in huge billows from the missouri bluffs, and ripple gently on, to melt at last into the level grassy plains sloping away to the foothills of the rocky mountains. up and down these land-waves, and across these ripples, the old santa fé trail, the slender pathway of a wilderness-bridging commerce, led out toward the great southwest--a thousand weary miles--to end at last, where the narrow thoroughfare reached the primitive hostelry at the corner of the plaza in the heart of the capital of a spanish-mexican demesne.
-it was a strange old highway, tying the western frontier of a new, self-reliant american civilization to the eastern limit of an autocratic european offshoot, grafted upon an ancient indian stock of the western hemisphere. in language, nationality, social code, political faith, and prevailing spiritual creed, the terminals of this highway were as unlike as their geographical naming. for the trail began at independence, in missouri, and ended at santa fé, the "city of the holy faith," in new mexico.
-the little trading town of independence was a busy place in the frontier years of the middle west. ungentle and unlovely as it was, it was the great gateway between the river traffic on the one side, and the plains commerce of the far southwest on the other. at the wharf at westport, only a few miles away, the steamers left their cargoes of flour and bacon, coffee and calicoes, jewelry and sugar--whatever might have a market value to merchants beyond the desert lands. and here these same steamers took on furs, and silver bullion, and such other produce of the mountains and mines and open plains as the opulently laden caravans had toiled through long days, overland, to bring to the river's wharf.
-to-day the same old gateway stands as of yore. but it may be given only to men who have seen what i have seen, to know how that our kansas city, the beautiful, could grow up from that old wilderness outpost of commerce threescore and more years ago.
-the clarenden store was the busiest spot in the center of this busy little town. goods from both lines of trade entered and cleared here. in front of the building three conestoga wagons with stout mule teams stood ready. a fourth wagon, the dearborn carriage of that time, filled mostly with bedding, clothing, and the few luxuries a long camping-out journey may indulge in, waited only for a team, and we would be off to the plains.
-jondo and bill banney were busy with the last things to be done before we started. aunty boone sat on a pile of pelts inside the store, smoking her pipe. beverly and mat stood waiting in the big doorway, while i sat on a barrel outside, because my ankle was still a bit stiff. a crowd had gathered before the store to see us off. it was not such a company as the soldier-men at the fort. the outlaw, the loafer, the drunkard, the ruffian, the gambler, and the trickster far outnumbered the stern-faced men of affairs. when the balance turns the other way the frontier disappears. mingling with these was a pale-faced invalid now and then, with the well-appointed new arrivals from the east.
-"what are we waiting for, bev?" i asked, as the street filled with men.
-"got to get another span of moolies for our baby-cart. uncle esmond hadn't counted on the nurse and the cook going, you know, but he rigged this littler wagon out in a twinkle."
-"that's the family carriage, drawn by spirited steeds. us children are to ride in it, with daniel boone to help with the driving," mat added.
-just then esmond clarenden appeared at the door.
-"how soon do you start, clarenden?" some one in the crowd inquired.
-"just as soon as i can get a pair of well-broken mules," he replied. "i'm looking for the man who has them to sell quick. i'm in a hurry."
-"what's your great rush?" a well-dressed stranger asked. "they tell me things look squally out west."
-"all the more reason for my being in a hurry then," uncle esmond returned.
-"they ain't but three men of you, is they? what do you want of more mules?" put in an inquisitive idler of the trouble-loving class who sooner or later turn arguments into bitter brawls.
-"these three children and the cook in there have this wagon. they are all fair drivers, if i can get the right mules," my uncle said.
-women and children did not cross the plains in those days, nor could public welfare allow that so valuable a piece of property as aunty boone would be in the slave-market should be lost to commerce, and the storm of protest that followed would have overcome a less determined man. it was not on account of sympathy for the weak and defenseless that called out all this abuse, but the lawless spirit that stirs up a mob on the slightest excuse.
-i slid away to the door, where, with mat and beverly, i watched esmond clarenden, who was listening with his good-natured smile to all of that loud street talk.
-"no man's life is insurable in these troublesome times, with our troops right now down in mexico," a suave southern trader urged. "better sell your slave and put that nice little gal in a boardin'-school somewhere in the south."
-"i'll give you a mighty good bargain for that wench, clarenden. she might be worth a clare fortune in new orleans. what d'ye say to a cool thousand?" another man declared, with a slow. southern drawl.
-aunty boone took the pipe from her lips and looked at the stranger.
-"y'would!" she grunted, stretching her big right hand across her lap, like a huge paw with claws ready underneath.
-"them plains injuns never was more hostile than they air right now. i just got in from the mountains an' i know. an' they're bein' set on by more hostile mexican devils, and political intrigs," a bearded mountaineer trapper argued.
-"'sides all that," interposed the suave southern gentleman, "it's too early in the spring. freightin's bound to be delayed by rains--and a nice little gal with only a nigger--" he was not quite himself, and he did not try to say more.
-"seems like some of these gentlemen consider you are some sort of a fool," a tall, lean yankee youth observed, as he listened to the babble.
-i had climbed back on the barrel again to see the crowd better, and i stared at the last speaker. his voice was not unpleasant, but he appeared pale and weak and spiritless in that company of tanned, rugged men. evidently he was an invalid in search of health. we children had seen many invalids, from time to time, at the fort harmless folk, who came to fuss, and stayed to flourish, in our gracious land of the open air.
-"you are a dam' fool," roared a big drunken loafer from the edge of the crowd. "an' i'd lick you in a minnit if you das step into the middle of the street onct. ornery sneak, to take innocent children into such perils. come on out here, i tell ye!"
-a growl followed these words. many men in that company were less than half sober, and utterly irresponsible.
-"le's jes' hang the fool storekeepin' gent right now; an' make a free-fur-all holiday. i'll begin," the drunken ruffian bawled. he was of the sort that always leads a mob.
-the growl deepened, for blood-lust and drunkenness go together.
-terrified for my uncle's safety, i stood breathless, staring at the evil-faced crowd of men going suddenly mad, without excuse. at the farthest edge of the insipient mob, sitting on his horse and watching my uncle's face intently, was the very mexican whom i had twice seen at fort leavenworth. at the drunken rowdy's challenge, i thought that he half-lifted a threatening hand. but esmond clarenden only smiled, with a mere turn of his head as if in disapproval. in that minute i learned my first lesson in handling ruffians. i knew that my uncle was not afraid, and because of that my faith in his power to take care of himself came back.
-"i want to leave here in half an hour. if you have any good plains-broke mules you will sell for cash, i can do business with you right now. if not, the sooner you leave this place the better."
-he lifted his small, shapely hand unclenched, his good-natured smile and gentlemanly bearing unchanged, but his low voice was stronger than all the growls of the crowd that fell back like whipped dogs.
-"i'm your man. money talks so i can understand it. wait five minutes and ten seconds and i'll bring a whole strand of mules."
-a rattling of wagons and roar of voices at the far end of the street told of the arrival of a company coming in from the wharf at westport, and the crowd whirled about and made haste toward the next scene of interest.
-only two men remained behind, the tall new england youth and the mexican on the farther side of the street sitting motionless on his horse. a moment later he was gone, and the street was empty save for the pale-faced invalid who had come over to the doorway where mat and beverly and i waited together.
-"why don't you youngsters stay home with your mother, or is she going with you?" he asked, a gleam of interest lighting his dull face as he looked at mat nivers.
-"we haven't any of us got a mother," mat replied, timidly, lifting her gray eyes to his.
-"mother! ain't you all one family?" the young man questioned in surprise.
-"no, we are three orphan children that uncle esmond has adopted all our lives, i guess." beverly informed him.
-a wave of sympathy swept over his face.
-"you poor, lonely, unhappy cubs! you've never had a mother to love you!" he exclaimed, in kindly pity.
-"we aren't poor nor lonely nor unhappy. we have always had uncle esmond and we didn't need a mother," i exclaimed, earnestly.
-the young man stared at me as i spoke. "what's he, a bachelor or married man?" he inquired.
-"he couldn't be married and keep us, i reckon, and he's taking us with him so nothing will happen to us while he's gone. he's really truly bev's uncle and mine, but he's just the same as uncle to mat, who hasn't anybody else," i declared, enthusiastically. uncle esmond was my pride, and i meant that he should be fully appreciated.
-the yankee gazed at all three of us, his eyes resting longest on mat's bright face. the listlessness left his own that minute and a new light shone on his countenance. but when he turned to my uncle the seeming lack of all interest in living returned to his face again.
-"say," he drawled, looking down at the stubborn little merchant from his slim six feet of altitude, "you are such a dam' fool as our friend, the tipsy one, says, that i believe i'll go along 'cross the plains with you, if you'll let me. i've not got a darned thing to lose out there but a sick carcass that i'm pretty tired of looking after," he went on, wearily. "i reckon i might as well see the fun through if i never set a hoof on old plymouth rock again. my granddaddy was a minute-man at lexington. say"--he paused, and his sober face turned sad--"if all the bean-eaters who claim their grandpas were minute-men tell the truth, there wasn't no glory in winning at lexington, there was such a tremendous sight of 'em. i've heard about eight million men myself make the same claim. but my granddad was the real article in the minute-men business. and i've always admired his grit most of any man in the world. he was about your shape, i reckon, from his picture that old man copley got out. but, man! he wasn't a patchin' on your coat-sleeve. you are the preposterous-est unlawful-est infamous-est man i ever saw. it's just straight murder and suicide you are bent on, takin' this awful chance of plungin' into a warrin', snake-eatin' country like new mexico, and i like you for it. will you take me as an added burden? if you will, i'll deposit the price of my state-room right now. i've got only a little wad of money to get well on or die on. i can spend it either way--not much difference which. my name is krane, rex krane, and in spite of such a floopsy name i hail from boston, u.s.a."
-there was a hopeless sagging about the young man's mouth, redeemed only by the twinkle in his eye.
-esmond clarenden gave him a steady measuring look. he estimated men easily, and rarely failed to estimate truly.
-"i'll take you on your face value," he answered, "and if you want to turn back there will be a chance to do it out a hundred miles or more on the trail. you can try it that far and see how you like it. i'll furnish you your board. there are always plenty of bedrooms on the ground floor and in one of the wagons on rainy nights. you can take a shift driving a team now and then, and every able-bodied man has to do guard duty some of the time. you understand the dangers of the situation by this time. here comes my man," he added, as the horse-dealer appeared, leading a string of mules up the street.
-"here's your critters. take your choice," the dealer urged.
-"i'll take the brown one," my uncle replied, promptly. and the bargain was closed.
-mat and beverly and i had already climbed into our wagon, and aunty boone appeared now at the store door, ready to join us.
-"you takin' that nigger?" the trader asked.
-"yes. lead out your best offer now. i want another mule," esmond clarenden replied.
-but the horse-merchant proved to be harder to deal with than the crowd had been. the foolish risk of losing so valuable a piece of property as daniel boone ought to be in the slave-market taxed his powers of understanding, profanity, and abuse.
-"cussin' solid, an' in streaks," aunty boone chuckled, softly, as she listened to him unmoved.
-equally unmoved was esmond clarenden. but his genial smile and diplomatic power of keeping still did not prevent him from being as set as the everlasting hills in his own purpose.
-"i'll take it," uncle esmond said, promptly, and the vicious-looking beast was brought to where aunty boone stood beside the wagon-tongue.
-it was a clear case of hate at first sight, for the mule began to plunge and squeal the instant it saw her. the woman hesitated not a minute, but lifting her big ham-like foot, she gave it one broadside kick that it must have mistaken for a thunderbolt, and in that low purr of hers, that might frighten a jungle tiger, she laid down the law of the journey.
-"you tote me to santy fee, or be a dead mule. take yo' choice right now! git up!"
-for fifty days the one dependable, docile servant of the clarendens was the big dun mule, as gentle and kitten-like as a mule can be.
-and so, in spite of opposing conditions and rabble protest and doleful prophecy and the assurance of certain perils, we turned our faces toward the unfriendly land of the sunset skies, the open west of my childish day-dreams.
-the prairies were splashed with showers and the warm black soil was fecund with growths as our little company followed the windings of the old trail in that wondrous springtime of my own life's spring. there were eight of us: clarenden, the merchant; jondo, the big plainsman; bill banney, whom love of adventure had lured from the blue grass of kentucky to the prairie-grass of the west; rex krane, the devil-may-care invalid from boston; and the quartet of us in the "baby cab," as beverly had christened the family wagon. uncle esmond had added three swift ponies to our equipment, which jondo and bill found time to tame for riding as we went along.
-we met wagon-trains, scouts, and solitary trappers going east, but so far as we knew our little company was the only westward-facing one on all the big prairies.
-"it's just like living in a fairy-story, isn't it, gail?" beverly said to me one evening, as we rounded a low hill and followed a deep little creek down to a shallow fording-place. "all we want is a real princess and a real giant. look at these big trees all you can, for jondo says pretty soon we won't see trees at all."
-"maybe we'll have indians instead of giants," i suggested. "when do you suppose we'll begin to see the real bad indians; not just osages and kaws and sneaky little otoes and pot'wat'mies like we've seen all our lives?"
-"sooner than we expect," beverly replied. "could mat nivers ever be a real princess, do you reckon?"
-"i know she won't," i said, firmly, the vision of that fateful day at fort leavenworth coming back as i spoke--the vision of level green prairies, with gray rocks and misty mountain peaks beyond. and somewhere, between green prairies and misty peaks, a sweet child face with big dark eyes looking straight into mine. i must have been a dreamer. and in my young years i wondered often why things should be so real to me that nobody else could ever understand.
-"i used to think long ago at the fort that i'd marry mat some day," beverly said, reminiscently, as if he were looking across a lapse of years instead of days.
-"so did i," i declared. "but i don't want to now. maybe our princess will be at the end of the trail, bev, a real princess. still, i love mat just as if she were my sister," i hastened to add.
-"so do i," beverly responded, heartily.
-a little grain of pity for her loss of prestige was mingling with our subconscious feeling of a need for her help in the day of the giant, if not in the reign of the princess.
-our camp that night was under wide-spreading elm-trees whose roots struck deep in the deep black loam. after supper mat and beverly went down to fish in the muddy creek. fishing was beverly's sport and solace everywhere. i was to follow them as soon as i had finished my little chores. the men were scattered about the valley and the camp was deserted. something in the woodsy greenness of the quiet spot made it seem like home to me--the log house among the elms and cottonwoods at the fort. as i finished my task i wondered how a big, fine house such as i had seen in pictures would look nestled among these beautiful trees. i wanted a home here some day, a real home. it was such a pleasant place even in its loneliness.
-to the west the ground sloped up gently toward the horizon-line, shutting off the track of the trail beyond the ridge. a sudden longing came over me to see what to-morrow's journey would offer, bringing back the sense of being shut in that had made me lose interest in fishes that wouldn't play leap-frog on the sand-bars. and with it came a longing to be alone.
-instead of following mat and beverly to the creek i went out to the top of the swell and stood long in the april twilight, looking beyond the rim of the valley toward the darkening prairies with the great splendor of the sunset's afterglow deepening to richest crimson above the purpling shadows.
-oh, many a time since that night have i looked upon the kansas plains and watched the grandeur of coloring that only the almighty artist ever paints for human eyes. and always i come back, in memory, to that april evening. the soul of a man must have looked out through the little boy's eyes on that night, and a new mile-stone was set there, making a landmark in my life trail. for when i turned toward the darkening east and the shadowy camp where the evening fires gleamed redly in the dusk, i knew then, as well as i know now, if i could only have put it into words, that i was not the same little boy who had run up the long slope to see what lay next in to-morrow's journey.
-i walked slowly back to the camp and sat down beside esmond clarenden.
-"what are you thinking about, gail?" he asked, as i stared at the fire.
-"i wish i knew what would happen next," i replied.
-jondo was lying at full length on the grass, his elbow bent, and his hand supporting his head. what a wonderful head it was with its crown of softly curling brown hair!
-"i wonder if we have done wrong by the children, clarenden," the big plainsman said, slowly.
-uncle esmond shook his head as he replied:
-"i can't believe it. they may not be safe with us, but we know they would not have been safe without us."
-just then beverly and mat came racing up from the creek bank.
-"let us stay up awhile," mat pleaded. "maybe we'll be less trouble some of these days if we hear you talk about what's coming."
-"they are right, jondo. gail here wants to know what is coming next, and mat wants a share in our councils. what do you want, beverly?"
-"i want to practise shooting on horseback. i can hit a mark now standing still. i want to do it on the run," beverly replied.
-i can see now the earnest look in esmond clarenden's eyes as he listened. i've seen it in a mother's eyes more than once since then, as she kissed her eldest-born and watched it toddle off alone on its first day of school; or held her peace, when, breaking home ties, the son of her heart bade her good-by to begin life for himself in the world outside.
-the last light of day was lost over the western ridge. the moon was beginning to swell big and yellow through the trees. twilight was darkening into night. bill banney and rex krane had joined us now, for every hour we were learning to keep closer together. jondo threw more wood on the fire, and we nestled about it in snug, homey fashion as if we were to listen to a fairy-tale--three children slipping fast out of childhood into the stern, hard plains life that tried men's souls. as we listened, the older men told of the perils as well as the fascinating adventures of trail life, that we might understand what lay before us in the unknown days. and then they told us stories of the plains, and of the quaint historic things of santa fé; of el palacio, home of all the governors of new mexico; an indian pueblo first, it may have been standing there when william the norman conquered harold of the saxon dynasty of england; or further back when charlemagne was hanging heathen by the great great gross to make good christians of them; or even when old julius cæsar came and saw and conquered, on either side of the rubicon, this same old structure may have sheltered rulers in a world unknown. they told us of the old, old church of san miguel, a citadel for safety from the savage foes of spain, a sanctuary ever for the sinful and sorrowing ones. and of the plaza--sacred ground whereon by ceremonial form had been established deeds that should change the destinies of tribes and shape the trend of national pride and power in a new continent. and of la garita, place of execution, facing whose blind wall the victims of the spanish rule made their last stand, and, helpless, fell pierced by the bullets of the spanish soldiery.
-"the first and last law of the trail is to 'hold fast,'" jondo said, as we broke up the circle about the camp-fire.
-"if you can keep that law we will take you into full partnership to-night," esmond clarenden added, and we knew that he meant what he said.
-the man in the dark
-a stone's throw from either hand, from that well-ordered road we tread, and all the world is wide and strange. --kipling
-"we shall come to the parting of the ways to night if we make good time, krane," esmond clarenden said to the young bostonian, as we rested at noon beside the trait. "to-night we camp at council grove and from there on there is no turning back. i had hoped to find a big crowd waiting to start off from that place. but everybody we have met coming in says that there are no freighters going west now. usually there is no risk in coming alone from council grove to the missouri river, and there is always opportunity for company at this end of the trail."
-girls made their own dresses on the frontier, and i suppose that anywhere else mat would have appeared old-fashioned in the neat, comfortable little gowns of durable gingham and soft woolen stuffs that she made for herself. but somehow in all that long journey she was the least travel-soiled of the whole party.
-at my uncle's words she looked up questioningly and i saw the bloom deepen on her cheek as she met the young man's eyes. somebody else saw that shadow of a blush--bill banney lying on the ground beside me, and although he pulled his hat cautiously over his face, i thought he was listening for the answer.
-the young new-englander stared long at the green prairie before he spoke. i never knew whether it was ignorance, or a lack of energy, that was responsible for his bad grammar in those early days, for rex krane was no sham invalid. the lines on his young face told of suffering, and the thin, bony hands showed bodily weakness. at length he turned to my uncle.
-"i started out sort of reckless on this trip," he said, slowly. "i'm nearly twenty and never been worth a dang to anybody anywhere on god's earth; so i thought i might as well be where things looked interestin'. but"--he hesitated--"i'm gettin' a lot stronger every day, a whole lot stronger. mebby i'd be of some use afterwhile--i don't know, though. i reckon i'd better wait till we get to that council grove place. sounds like a nice locality to rest and think in. are you goin' on, anyhow, clarenden, crowd or no crowd?"
-"though the heavens fall," my uncle answered, simply.
-jondo had turned quickly to hear this reply and a great light leaped into his deep-set blue eyes. i glanced over at aunty boone, sitting apart from us, as she ever chose to do, her own eyes dull, as they always were when she saw keenest; and i remembered how, back at fort leavenworth, she had commented on this journey, saying: "they tote together always, an' they're totin' now." child though i was, i felt that a something more than the cargo of goods was leading my uncle to santa fé. what i did not understand was his motive for taking beverly and mat and me with him. i had been satisfied before just to go, but now i wanted very much to know why i was going.
-council grove by the neosho river was the end of civilization for the freighter. beyond it the wilderness spread its untamed lengths, and excepting bent's fort far up the arkansas river on the line of the first old trail, rarely followed now, it held not a sign of civilization for the traveler until he should reach the first outposts of the mexican almost in the shadow of santa fé. it is no wonder that wagon-trains mobilized here, waiting for an increase in numbers before they dared to start on westward. and now there were no trains waiting for our coming. only a gripping necessity could have led a man like esmond clarenden to take the trail alone in the certain perils of the plains during the middle '40's. i did not know until long afterward how brave was the loving heart that beat in that little merchant's bosom. a devotee of ease and refinement, he walked the prairie trails unafraid, and made the desert serve his will.
-the dusk of evening had fallen long before we pitched camp that night under the big oak-trees in the neosho river valley outside of the little trading-post. up in the village a light or two gleamed faintly. from somewhere in the darkness came the sound of a violin, mingling with loud talking and boisterous laughter in a distant drinking-den. it would be some time until moon-rise, and the shadowy places thickened to blackness.
-in fair weather all of us except mat nivers slept in the open. on stormy nights the younger men occupied one of the wagons, jondo and beverly another, and my uncle and myself the third. mat had the "baby-cab" as beverly called it, with aunty boone underneath it. the ground was aunty boone's kingdom. she sat upon it, ate from it, slept on it, and seemed no more soiled than a snake would be by the contact with it.
-"some day i goes plop under it, and be ground myself," she used to say. "good black soil i make, too," she always added, with her low chuckle.
-to-night we were all in the wagons, for the spring rains had made the neosho valley damp and muddy. i was just on the edge of dreamless slumber when a low voice that seemed to cut the darkness caught my ear.
-"cla'nden! cla'nden!" it hissed, softly.
-my uncle slipped noiselessly out to where aunty boone stood, her head so near to the canvas wagon-cover inside of which i lay that i could hear all that was said.
-she was always a night prowler. what other women learn now from the evening newspaper or from neighborly gossip she, being created without a sense of fear, went forth in her time and gathered at first hand.
-"i been prospectin' up 'round the saloon, cla'nden. they's a nasty mess of mexicans in town, all gettin' drunk."
-then i heard a faint rustle of the bushes and i knew that the woman was slipping away to her place under the wagon. i remembered the mexican whom i had last seen across the street from the clarenden store in independence. these were bad mexicans, as aunty boone had said, and that man had seemed in a silent way a friend of my uncle. i wondered what would happen next. it soon happened. my uncle esmond came inside the wagon and called, softly:
-"i'm awake," i replied, in a half-whisper, as alert as a mystery-loving boy could be.
-he slid away and the shadows ate him. i followed as far as jondo's wagon, and gave my message. as i came back something seemed to slip away before me and disappear somewhere. i dived into our wagon and crouched down, waiting with beating heart for uncle esmond to come back. once i thought i heard the sound of a horse's feet on the trail to the eastward, but i was not sure.
-all was still and black in the little camp for a long time, and then esmond clarenden and rex krane crept into the wagon and dropped the flap behind them.
-"krane, have you decided about this trip yet?" uncle esmond asked. "if not, you'd better get right up into town and forget us. you can't be too quick about it, either."
-"ain't we going to stay here a few days? why do you want to know to-night?"
-rex krane, yankee-like, met the query with a query.
-"because there's a pretty strong party of mexican desperadoes here who are going on east, and they mean trouble for somebody. i shouldn't care to meet them with our strength alone. they are all pretty drunk now and getting wilder every minute. listen to that!"
-a yell across the river broke the night stillness.
-"there is no telling how soon they may be over here, hunting for us. we must get by them some way, for i cannot risk a fight with them here. which chance will you choose, the possibility of being overtaken by that mexican gang going east, or the perils of the plains and the hostility of new mexico right now? it's about as broad one way as the other for safety, with staying here for a time as the only middle course at present. but that is a perfectly safe one for you."
-"i am going on with you," rex krane said, with his slow yankee drawl. "when danger gets close, then i scatter. there's more chance in seven hundred miles to miss somethin' than there is in a hundred and fifty. and even a half-invalid might be of some use. say, clarenden, how'd you get hold of this information? you turned in before i did."
-"daniel boone went out on scout duty--self-elected. you know she considers that the earth was made for her to walk on when she chooses to use it that way. she spied trouble ahead and came back, and gave me the key to the west door of council grove so i could get out early," my uncle replied.
-"i reckoned as much," rex declared.
-in the dark i could feel esmond clarenden give a start.
-"what do you mean?" he inquired.
-"oh, i saw the fat lady start out, so i followed her, but i located the nest of mexicans before she did, and got a good deal out of their drunken jargon. and then i cat-footed it back after a snaky-looking, black spaniard that seemed to be following her. there were three of us in a row, but the devil hasn't got the hindmost one, not yet--that's me."
-"you saw some one follow daniel into camp?" my uncle broke in, anxiously. but no threatening peril ever hurried rex krane's speech.
-in the dark i fairly swelled with pride, and from that moment rex krane was added to my little list of heroes that had been made up, so far, of esmond clarenden and jondo and any army officer above the rank of captain.
-"krane, you'll do. i thought i had your correct measure back in independence," uncle esmond said, heartily. "as to the boys, i can risk them; they are clarendens. my anxiety is for the little orphan girl. she is only a child. i couldn't leave her behind us, and i must not let a hair of her head be harmed."
-"she's a right womanly little thing," rex krane said, carelessly; but i wondered if in the dark his eyes might not have had the same look they had had at noon when he turned to mat sitting beside my uncle. maybe back at boston he had a little sister of his own like her. anyhow, i decided then that men's words and faces do not always agree.
-again the roar of voices broke out, and we scrambled from the wagon and quickly gathered our company together.
-"what did you find out?" jondo asked.
-"we must clear out of here right away and get through to the other side of town and be off by daylight without anybody knowing it. they are a gang of ugly mexicans who would not let us cross the river if we should wait till morning. they have already sent a spy over here, and they are waiting for him to report."
-"where is he now?" bill banney broke in.
-"they's two of him--i know there is," rex krane declared. "one of him went east, to cut us off i reckon; an' t'other faded into nothin' toward the river. kind of a double deal, looks to me."
-both men looked doubtingly at the young man; but without further words, jondo took command, and we knew that the big plainsman would put through whatever esmond clarenden had planned. for aunty boone was right when she said, "they tote together."
-"we must snake these wagons through town, as though we didn't belong together, but we mustn't get too far apart, either. and remember now, clarenden, if anybody has to stop and visit with 'em, i'll do it myself," jondo said.
-"he is right, esmond. they haven't been riding all their lives for nothing," jondo agreed, as esmond clarenden turned hesitatingly toward mat nivers.
-in the dim light her face seemed bright with courage. it is no wonder that we all trusted her. and trust was the large commodity of the plains in those days, when even as children we ran to meet danger with courageous daring.
-"you must cross the river letting the ponies pick their own ford," jondo commanded us. "then go through to the ridge on the northwest side of town. keep out of the light, and if anybody tries to stop you, ride like fury for the ridge."
-"lemme go first," aunty boone interposed. "nobody lookin' for me this side of purgatory. 'fore they gets over their surprise i'll be gone. whoo-ee!"
-the soft exclamation had a breath of bravery in it that stirred all of us.
-"you are right, daniel. lead out. keep to the shadows. if you must run make your mules do record time," uncle esmond said.
-"you'll find me there when you stop," rex krane declared. no sick man ever took life less seriously. "i'm goin' ahead to john-the-baptist this procession and air the parlor bedrooms."
-"krane, you are an invalid and a fool. you'd better ride in the wagon with me," bill banney urged.
-"mebby i am. don't throw it up to me, but i'm no darned coward, and i'm foot-loose. it's my job to give the address of welcome over t'other side of this mexican settlement."
-the tall, thin young man slouched his cap carelessly on his head and strode away toward the river. youth was reckless in those days, and the trail was the home of dramatic opportunity. but none of us had dreamed hitherto of rex krane's degree of daring and his stubborn will.
-the big yellow moon was sailing up from the east; the neosho glistened all jet and silver over its rough bed; the great shadowy oaks looked ominously after us as we moved out toward the threatening peril before us. slowly, as though she had time to kill, aunty boone sent the brown mule and trusty dun down to the river's rock-bottom ford. slowly and unconcernedly she climbed the slope and passed up the single street toward the saloon she had already "prospected." pausing a full minute, she swung toward a far-off cabin light to the south, jogging over the rough ground noisily. the door of the drinking-den was filled with dark faces as the crowd jostled out. just a lone wagon making its way somewhere about its own business, that was all.
-as the crowd turned in again three ponies galloped up the street toward the slope leading out to the high level prairies beyond the neosho valley. but who could guess how furiously three young hearts beat, and how tightly three pairs of young hands clutched the bridle reins as we surged forward, forgetting the advice to keep in the shadow.
-just after we had crossed the river, a man on horseback fell in behind us. we quickened our speed, but he gained on us. before we reached the saloon he was almost even with us, keeping well in the shadow all the while. in the increasing moonlight, making everything clear to the eye, i gave one quick glance over my shoulder and saw that the horseman was a mexican. i have lived a life so fraught with danger that i should hardly remember the feeling of fear but for the indelible imprint of that one terrified minute in the moonlit street of council grove.
-two ruffians on watch outside the saloon sprang up with yells. the door burst open and a gang of rowdies fairly spilled out around us. we three on our ponies had the instinctive security on horseback of children born to the saddle, else we should never have escaped from the half-drunken crew. i recall the dust of striking hoofs, the dark forms dodging everywhere, the mexican rider keeping between us and the saloon door, and most of all i remember one glimpse of mat nivers's face with big, staring eyes, and firm-set mouth; and i remember my fleeting impression that she could take care of herself if we could; and over all a sudden shadow as the moon, in pity of our terror, hid its face behind a tiny cloud.
-when it shone out again we were dashing by separate ways up the steep slope to the west ridge, but, strangely enough, the mexican horseman with a follower or two had turned away from us and was chasing off somewhere out of sight.
-up on top of the bluff, with rex krane and aunty boone, we watched and waited. the wooded neosho valley full of inky blackness seemed to us like a bottomless gorge of terror which no moonlight could penetrate. we strained our ears to catch the rattle of the wagons, but the noise from the saloon, coming faintly now and then, was all the sound we could hear save the voices of the night rising up from the river, and the whisperings of the open prairie to the west.
-in that hour rex krane became our good angel.
-"keep the law, 'hold fast'! you made a splendid race of it, and if providence made that fellow lose you gettin' out, and led him and his gang sideways from you, i reckon she will keep on takin' care of you till clarenden resumes control, so don't you worry."
-but for his brave presence the terror of that lonely watch would have been harder than the peril of the street, for he seemed more like a gentle mother than the careless, scoffing invalid of the trail.
-midnight came, and the chill of midnight. we huddled together in our wagon and still we waited. down in the village the lights still burned, and angry voices with curses came to our ears at intervals.
-meantime the three men across the river moved cautiously, hoping that we were safe on the bluff, and knowing that they dared not follow us too rapidly. the wagons creaked and the harness rattled noisily in the night stillness, as slowly, one by one, they lumbered through the darkness across the river and up the bank to the village street. here they halted and grouped together.
-the three wagons fell apart and halted wide of the trail where the oak-trees made the blackest shade. the minutes dragged out like hours, and the anxiety for the unprotected group on the bluff made the three men frantic to hurry on. but jondo's patience equaled his courage, and he always took the least risk. it was nearly midnight, and every noise was intensified. if a mule but moved it set up a clatter of harness chains that seemed to fill the valley.
-at last a horseman, coming suddenly from somewhere, rode swiftly by each shadow-hidden wagon, half pausing at the sound of the mules stamping in their places, and then he hurried up the street.
-"three against the crowd. if we must fight, fight to kill," jondo urged, as the ready firearms were placed for action.
-in a minute or two the crew broke out of the saloon and filled the moonlit street, all talking and swearing in broken spanish.
-"not come yet!"
-"pedro say they be here to-morrow night!" "we wait till to-morrow night!"
-and with many wild yells they fell back for a last debauch in the drinking-den.
-"i don't understand it," jondo declared. "that fellow who rode by here ought to have located every son of us, but if they want to wait till to-morrow night it suits me."
-an hour later, when the village was in a dead sleep, three wagons slowly pulled up the long street and joined the waiting group at the top, and the crossing over was complete.
-dawn was breaking as our four wagons, followed by the ponies, crept away in the misty light. as we trailed off into the unknown land, i looked back at the bluff below which nestled the last houses we were to see for seven hundred miles. and there, outlined against the horizon, a mexican stood watching us. i had seen the same man one day riding up from the ravine southwest of fort leavenworth. i had seen him dashing toward the river the next day. i had watched him sitting across the street from the clarenden store in independence.
-i wondered if it might have been this man who had hung about our camp the evening before, and if it might have been this same man who rode between us and the saloon mob, leading the crowd after him and losing us on the side of the bluff. and as we had eluded the council grove danger, i wondered what would come next, and if he would be in it.
-women and children first
-"so i draw the world together, link by link." --kipling.
-day after day we pushed into the unknown wilderness. no wagon-trains passed ours moving eastward. no moccasined track in the dust of the trail gave hint of any human presence near. where to-day the pullman car glides in smooth comfort, the old santa fé trail lay like a narrow brown ribbon on the green desolation of nature's unconquered domain. out beyond the region of long-stemmed grasses, into the short-grass land, we pressed across a pathless field-of-the-cloth-of-green, gemmed with myriads of bright blossoms--broad acres on acres that the young years of a coming century should change into great wheat-fields to help fill the granaries of the world. how i reveled in it--that far-stretching plain of flower-starred verdure! it was my world--mine, unending, only softening out into lavender mists that rimmed it round in one unbroken fold of velvety vapor.
-at last we came to the arkansas river--flat-banked, sand-bottomed, wide, wandering, impossible thing--whose shallow waters followed aimlessly the line of least resistance, back and forth across its bed. rivers had meant something to me. the big muddy missouri for independence and fort leavenworth, that its steamers might bring the soldiers, and my uncle's goods to their places. the little rivers that ran into the big ones, to feed their currents for down-stream service. the creeks, that boys might wade and swim and fish, else beverly would have lived unhappily all his days. but here was a river that could neither fetch nor carry. nobody lived near it, and it had no deep waters like our beloved, ugly old missouri. i loved the level prairies, but i didn't like that river, somehow. i felt exposed on its blank, treeless borders, as if i stood naked and defenseless, with no haven of cover from the enemies of the savage plains.
-the late afternoon was hot, the sky was dust-dimmed, the south wind feverish and strength-sapping. at dawn we had sighted a peak against the western horizon. we were approaching it now--a single low butte, its front a sheer stone bluff facing southward toward the river, it lifted its head high above the silent plains; and to the north it stretched in a long gentle slope back to a lateral rim along the landscape. the trail crept close about its base, as if it would cling lovingly to this one shadow-making thing amid all the open, blaring, sun-bound miles stretching out on either side of it.
-as beverly and i were riding in front of mat's wagon, of which we had elected ourselves the special guardians, rex krane came up alongside bill banney's team in front of us. the young men were no such hard-and-fast friends as beverly and i. for some reason they had little to say to each other.
-"is that what you call pike's peak, bill?" rex asked.
-"no, the mountains are a month away. that's pawnee rock, and i'll breathe a lot freer when we get out of sight of that infernal thing," bill replied.
-"what's its offense?" rex inquired.
-"it's the peak of perdition, the bottomless pit turned inside out," bill declared.
-"i don't see the excuse for a rock sittin' out here, sayin' nothin', bein' called all manner of unpleasant names," the young bostonian insisted.
-"well, i reckon you'd find one mighty quick if you ever heard the soldiers at fort leavenworth talk about it once. all the plainsmen dread it. jondo says more men have been killed right around this old stone sphinx than any other one spot in north america, outside of battle-fields."
-"happy thought! do their ghosts rise up and walk at midnight? tell me more," rex urged.
-"nobody walks. everybody runs. there was a terrible indian fight here once; the pawnees in the king-row, and all the hosts of the midianites, and hivites, and jebusites, kiowa, comanche, and kaw, rag-tag and bobtail, trying to get 'em out. i don't know who won, but the citadel got christened pawnee rock. it took a fountain filled with blood to do it, though."
-rex krane gave a long whistle.
-"i believe bill is trying to scare him, bev," i murmured.
-"i believe he's just precious wasting time," beverly replied.
-"and so," bill continued, "it came to be a sort of rock of execution where romances end and they die happily ever afterward. the indians get up there and, being able to read fine print with ease as far away as either seacoast, they can watch any wagon-train from the time it leaves council grove over east to bent's fort on the purgatoire creek out west; and having counted the number of men, and the number of bullets in each man's pouch, they slip down and jump on the train as it goes by. if the men can make it to beat them to the top of the rock, as they do sometimes, they can keep the critters off, unless the indians are strong enough to keep them up there and sit around and wait till they starve for water, and have to come down. it's a grim old fortress, and never needs a garrison. indians or white men up there, sometimes they defend and sometimes attack. but it's a bad place always, and on account of having our little girl along--" bill paused. "a fellow gets to see a lot of country out here," he added.
-"banney, just why didn't you join the army? you'd have a chance to see a lot more of the country, if this mexican war goes on," rex krane said, meditatively.
-"i'd rather be my own captain and order myself to the front, and likewise command my rear-guard to retire, whenever i doggone please," bill said. "it isn't the soldiers that'll do this country the most good. they are useful enough when they are useful, lord knows. and we'll always need a decent few of 'em around to look after women and children, and invalids," he went on. "i tell you, krane, it's men like clarenden that's going to make these prairies worth something one of these days. the men who build up business, not them that shoot and run to or from. that's what the west's got to have. i'm through going crazy about army folks. one man that buys and sells, if he gives good weight and measure, is, himself, a whole regiment for civilization."
-just then jondo halted the train, and we gathered about him.
-"clarenden, let's pitch camp at the rock. the horses are dead tired and this wind is making them nervous. there's a storm due as soon as it lays a bit, and we would be sort of protected here. a tornado's a giant out in this country, you know."
-"this tavern doesn't have a very good name with the traveling public, does it, clarenden?" rex krane suggested.
-"not very," my uncle replied. "but in case of trouble, the top of it isn't a bad place to shoot from."
-"what if the other fellow gets there first?" bill banney inquired.
-"we can run from here as easily as any other place," jondo assured us. "i haven't seen a sign of indians yet. but we've got to be careful. this point has a bad reputation, and i naturally begin to feel indians in the air as soon as i come in sight of it. if we need the law of the trail anywhere, we need it here," he admonished.
-beverly and i drew close together. we were in the land of bad indians, but nothing had happened to us yet, and we could not believe that any danger was near us now, although we were foolishly half hoping that there might be, for the excitement of it.
-"there's no place in a million miles for anybody to hide, bill. where would jondo's indians be?" beverly asked, as we were getting into camp order for the night.
-beverly's disposition to demand proof was as strong here as it had been in the matter of rivers turning their courses, and fishes playing leap-frog.
-"they might be behind that ridge out north, and have a scout lying flat on the top of old pawnee rock, up there, lookin' benevolently down at us over the rim of his spectacles right now," bill replied, as he pulled the corral ropes out of the wagon.
-"what makes you think so?" i asked, eagerly.
-"what jondo said about his feeling indians, i guess, but he reads these prairie trails as easy as robinson crusoe read friday's footprints in the sand, and he hasn't read anything in 'em yet. indians don't fight at night, anyhow. that's one good thing. get hold of that rope, bev, and pull her up tight," bill replied.
-every night our four wagons in camp made a hollow square, with space enough allowed at the corners to enlarge the corral inside for the stock. these corners were securely roped across from wagon to wagon. to-night, however, the corral space was reduced and the quartet of vehicles huddled closer together.
-at dusk the hot wind came sweeping in from the southwest, a wild, lashing fury, swirling the sand in great spirals from the river bed. our fire was put out and the blackness of midnight fell upon us. the horses were restless and the mules squealed and stamped. all night the very spirit of fear seemed to fill the air.
-just before daybreak a huge black storm-cloud came boiling up out of the southwest, with a weird yellow band across the sky before it. overhead the stars shed a dim light on the shadowy face of the plains. a sudden whisper thrilled the camp, chilling our hearts within us.
-"indians near!" we all knew it in a flash.
-"you must have been mistaken, jondo," rex krane ventured, as he stared into the black gloom. "maybe it was just this infernal wind. it's one darned sea-breeze of a zephyr."
-"i've crossed the plains before. i wasn't mistaken," the big plainsman replied. "if i had been, you'd still see it. the trouble is that it is watching now. everybody lay low. it will come to life again. i hope there's only one of it."
-we had hardly moved after the first alarm, except to peer about and fancy that dark objects were closing in upon us.
-the air was motionless and hot above us, the upper heavens were beginning to be threshed across by clouds, and the silence hung like a weight upon us. then suddenly, just beyond the camp, a form rose from the ground, stood upright, and stretched out both arms toward us. and a low cry, "take me. i die," reached our ears.
-i can feel it all now, although that was many years ago: the soft starlight on the plains; the hot, still air holding its breath against the oncoming tornado; the group of wagons making a deeper shadow in the dull light; beyond us the bold front of old pawnee rock, huge and gray in the gloom; our little company standing close together, ready to hurl a shower of bullets if this proved but the decoy of a hidden foe; and the girl with light step drawing nearer. clad in the picturesque garb of the southwest indian, her hair hanging in a great braid over each shoulder, her dark eyes fixed on us, she made a picture in that dusky setting that an artist might not have given to his brush twice in a lifetime on the plains.
-a few feet from us she halted.
-"throw up your hands!" jondo commanded.
-the slim brown arms were flung above the girl's head, and i caught the glint of quaintly hammered silver bracelets, as she stepped forward with that ease of motion that generations of moccasined feet on sand and sod and stone can give.
-"take me," she cried, pleadingly. "the mexicans steal me from my people and bring me far away. they meet kiowa. kiowa beat me; make me slave."
-she held up her hands. they were lacerated and bleeding. she slipped the bright blanket from her brown shoulder. it was bruised and swollen.
-"you go to santa fé? take me. i do you good, not bad."
-"what would these kiowas do to us, then?"
-it was bill banney who spoke.
-"they follow you--kill you."
-"oh, cheerful! i wish you were twins," rex krane said, softly.
-jondo lifted his hand.
-"let me talk to her," he said.
-then in her own language he got her story.
-"we don't need any indians to help us get into trouble. we are sure enough of it without that," bill banney declared. "and what's one indian, anyhow? she's just--"
-"just a little orphan girl like mat," rex krane finished his sentence.
-bill frowned, but made no reply.
-the indian girl was standing outside the corral, listening to all that was said, her face giving no sign of the struggle between hope and despair that must have striven within her.
-"uncle esmond, let's take her, and take our chances." beverly's boyish voice had a defiant tone, for the spirit of adventure was strong within him. the girl turned quickly and a great light leaped into her eyes at the boy's words.
-"save a life and lose ours. it's not the rule of the plains, but--there's a higher law like that somewhere, clarenden," jondo said, earnestly.
-the girl came swiftly toward uncle esmond and stood upright before him.
-"i will not hide the truth. i go back to kiowas. they sell me for big treasure. they will not harm you," she said. "i stay with you, they say you steal me, and they come at the first bird's song and kill you every one. they are so many."
-she stood motionless before him, the seal of grim despair on her young face.
-"what's your name?" esmond clarenden asked. "po-a-be. in your words, 'little blue flower,'" the girl said.
-"then, little blue flower, you must stay with us."
-she pointed toward the eastern sky where a faint light was beginning to show above the horizon. "see, the day comes!"
-"then we will break camp now," my uncle said.
-"not in the face of this storm, clarenden," jondo declared. "you can fight an indian. you can't do a thing but 'hold fast' in one of these hurricanes."
-the air was still and hot. the black cloud swept swiftly onward, with the weird yellow glow before it. in the solitude of the plains the trail showed like a ghostly pathway of peril. before us loomed that grim rock bluff, behind whose crest lay the sleeping band of kiowas. it was only because they slept that little blue flower could steal away in hope of rescue.
-hotter grew the air and darker the swiftly rolling clouds; black and awful stood old pawnee rock with the silent menace of its sleeping enemy. in the stillness of the pause before the storm burst we heard jondo's voice commanding us. with our first care for the frightened stock, we grouped ourselves together as he ordered close under the bluff.
-suddenly an angry wind leaped out of the sky, beating back the hot dead air with gigantic flails of fury. then the storm broke with tornado rage and cloudburst floods, and in its track terror reigned. beverly and i clung together, and, holding a hand of each, mat nivers crouched beside us, herself strong in this second test of courage as she had been in the camp that night at council grove.
-i have never been afraid of storms and i can never understand why timid folk should speak of them as of a living, self-directing force bent purposely on human destruction. i love the splendor of the lightning and the thunder's peal. from our earliest years, beverly and mat and i had watched the flood-waters of the missouri sweep over the bottomlands, and we had heard the winds rave, and the cannonading of the angry heavens. but this mad blast of the prairie storm was like nothing we had ever seen or heard before. a yellow glare filled the sky, a half-illumined, evil glow, as if to hide what lay beyond it. one breathed in fine sand, and tasted the desert dust. behind it, all copper-green, a broad, lurid band swept up toward the zenith. under its weird, unearthly light, the prairies, and everything upon them, took on a ghastly hue. then came the inky-black storm-cloud--long, funnel-shaped, pendulous--and in its deafening roar and the thick darkness that could be felt, and the awful sweep of its all-engulfing embrace, the senses failed and the very breath of life seemed beaten away. the floods fell in streams, hot, then suddenly cold. and then a fusillade of hail bombarded the flat prairies, defenseless beneath the munitions of the heavens. but in all the wild, mad blackness, in the shriek and crash of maniac winds, in the swirl of many waters, and chill and fury of the threshing hail, the law of the trail failed not: "hold fast." and with our hands gripped in one another's, we children kept the law.
-just at the moment when destruction seemed upon us, the long swinging cloud--funnel lifted. we heard it passing high above us. then it dropped against the face of old pawnee rock, that must have held the trail law through all the centuries of storms that have beaten against its bold, stern front. one tremendous blast, one crashing boom, as if the foundations of the earth were broken loose, and the thing had left us far behind.
-daylight burst upon us in a moment, and the blue heavens smiled down on the clean-washed prairies. no homes, no crops, no orchards were left in ruins in those days to mark the cyclone's wrath on wilderness trails. as the darkness lifted we gathered ourselves together to take hold of life again and to defend ourselves from our human enemy.
-a shower of arrows from the top of the bluff might rain upon us at any moment, yelling warriors might rush upon us, or a ring of riders encircle us. it was in times like this that i learned how quickly men can get the mastery.
-jondo and esmond clarenden did not delay a minute in protecting the camp and setting it in order, taking inventory of the lost and searching for the missing. three of our number, with one of the ponies, were missing.
-aunty boone had crouched in a protected angle at the base of the bluff, and when we found her she was calmly smoking her pipe.
-"yo' skeered of this little puff?" she queried. "yo' bettah see a simoon on the desset, then. this here--just a racket. what's come of that little redskin?"
-she was not to be found. nor was there any trace of rex krane anywhere. in consternation we scanned the prairies far and wide, but only level green distances were about us, holding no sign of life. we lived hours in those watching minutes.
-little blue flower's eyes glistened.
-"gone, all gone. the rain god drove them away. now i know i may go with you. the rain god loves you."
-it was to beverly, and not to my uncle, that her eyes turned as she spoke, but he was not even listening to her. to him she was merely an indian. she seemed more than that to me, and therein lay the difference between us.
-if she had been interesting under the starlight, in the light of day she became picturesque, a beautiful type of her race, silent, alert of countenance, with big, expressive, black eyes, and long, heavy braids of black hair. with her brilliant blanket about her shoulders, a turquoise pendant on a leather band at her throat, silver bracelets on her brown arms, she was as pleasing as an indian maiden could be--adding a touch of picturesque life to that wonderful journey westward from pawnee rock to santa fé. aunty boone alone resented her presence among us.
-"you can trust a nigger," she growled, "'cause you know they none of 'em no 'count. but you can't tell about this injun, whether she's good or bad. i lets that sort of fish alone."
-little blue flower looked up at her with steady gaze and made no reply.
-out of that morning's events i learned a lasting lesson, and i know now that the influence of rex krane on my life began that day, as i recalled how he had followed aunty boone about the dark corners of the little trading-post on the neosho; and how he had looked at mat nivers once when uncle esmond had suggested his turning back to independence; and how he had gone before all of us, the vanguard, to the top of the bluff west of council grove; and now he had followed this indian girl. from that time i knew in my boy heart that this tall, careless boston youth had a zealous care for the safety of women and children. how much care, events would run swiftly on to show me. but welded into my life from that hour was the meaning of a man's high, chivalric duty. and among all the lessons that the old trail taught to me, none served me more than this one that came to me on that sweet may morning beneath the shadow of pawnee rock.
-spying out the land
-city of the holy faith, in thy streets so dim with age, do i read not faith's decay, but the future's heritage. --lilian whiting.
-day was passing and the shadows were already beginning to grow purple in the valleys, long before the golden light had left the opal-crowned peaks of the sangre-de-christo mountains beyond them.
-on the wide crest of a rocky ridge our wagons halted. behind us the long trail stretched back, past mountain height and cañon wall, past barren slope and rolling green prairie, on to where the wooded ravines hem in the missouri's yellow floods.
-before us lay a level plain, edged round with high mesas, over which snowy-topped mountain peaks kept watch. a sandy plain, checkered across by verdant-banded arroyos, and splotched with little clumps of trees and little fields of corn. in the heart of it all was santa fé, a mere group of dust-brown adobe blocks--silent, unsmiling, expressionless--the city of the spanish mexican, centuries old and centuries primitive.
-as our tired mules slackened their traces and drooped to rest after the long up-climb, esmond clarenden called out:
-"come here, children. yonder is the end of the trail."
-we gathered eagerly about him, a picture in ourselves, maybe, in an age of picturesque things; four men, bronzed and bearded; two sturdy boys; mat nivers, no longer a little girl, it seemed now, with the bloom of health on her tanned cheeks, and the smile of good nature in wide gray eyes; beside her, the indian maiden, little blue flower, slim, brown, lithe of motion, brief of speech; and towering back of all, the glistening black face of the big, silent african woman.
-so we stood looking out toward that northwest plain where the trail lost itself among the low adobe huts huddled together beside the glistening waters of the santa fé river.
-rex krane was the first to speak.
-"so that's what we've come out for to see, is it?" he mused, aloud. "that's the precious old town that we've dodged indians, and shot rattlesnakes, and sunburnt our noses, and rain-soaked our dress suits for! that's why we've pillowed our heads on the cushiony cactus and tramped through purling sands, and blistered our hands pullin' at eider-down ropes, and strained our leg-muscles goin' down, and busted our lungs comin' up, and clawed along the top edge of the world with nothin' but healthy climate between us and the bottom of the bottomless pit. humph! that's what you call santa fé! 'the city of the holy faith!' well, i need a darned lot of 'holy faith' to make me see any city there. it's just a bunch of old yellow brick-kilns to me, and i 'most wish now i'd stayed back at independence and hunted dog-tooth violets along the big blue."
-"it's not boston, if that's what you were looking for; at least there's no bunker hill monument nor back bay anywhere in sight. but i reckon it's the best they've got. i'm tired enough to take what's offered and keep still," bill banney declared.
-i, too, wanted to keep still. i had only a faint memory of a real city. it must have been st. louis, for there was a wharf, and a steamboat and a busy street, and soft voices--speaking a foreign tongue. but the pictures i had seen, and the talk i had heard, coupled with a little boy's keen imagination, had built up a very different santa fé in my mind. at that moment i was homesick for fort leavenworth, through and through homesick, for the first time since that april day when i had sat on the bluff above the missouri river while the vision of the plains descended upon me. everything seemed so different to-night, as if a gulf had widened between us and all the nights behind us.
-we went into camp on the ridge, with the journey's goal in plain view. and as we sat down together about the fire after supper we forgot the hardships of the way over which we had come. the pine logs blazed cheerily, and as the air grew chill we drew nearer together about them as about a home fireside.
-the long june twilight fell upon the landscape. the piñon and scrubby cedars turned to dark blotches on the slopes. the valley swam in a purple mist. the silence of evening was broken only by a faint bird-note in the bushes, and the fainter call of some wild thing stealing forth at nightfall from its daytime retreat. behind us the mesas and headlands loomed up black and sullen, but far before us the sangre-de-christo mountains lifted their glorified crests, with the sun's last radiance bathing them in crimson floods.
-we sat in silence for a long time, for nobody cared to talk. presently we heard aunty boone's low, penetrating voice inside the wagon corral:
-"you pore gob of ugliness! yo' done yo' best, and it's green corn and plenty of watah and all this grizzly-gray grass you can stuff in now. it's good for a mule to start right, same as a man. whoo-ee!"
-the low voice trailed off into weird little whoops of approval. then the woman wandered away to the edge of the bluff and sat until late that night, looking out at the strange, entrancing new mexican landscape.
-"to-morrow we put on our best clothes and enter the city," my uncle broke the silence. "we have managed to pull through so far, and we intend to keep on pulling till we unload back at independence again. but these are unsafe times and we are in an unsafe country. we are going to do business and get out of it again as soon as possible. i shall ask you all to be ready to leave at a minute's notice, if you are coming back with me!"
-"now you see why i didn't join the army, don't you, krane?" bill banney said, aside. "i wanted to work under a real general."
-then turning to my uncle, he added:
-"i'm already contracted for the round trip, clarenden."
-"you are going to start back just as if there were no dangers to be met?" rex krane inquired.
-"as if there were dangers to be met, not run from," esmond clarenden replied.
-"clarenden," the young bostonian began, "you got away from that drunken mob at independence with your children, your mules, and your big daniel boone. you started out when war was ragin' on the mexican frontier, and never stopped a minute because you had to come it alone from council grove. you shook yourself and family right through the teeth of that mexican gang layin' for you back there. you took little trailing arbutus at pawnee rock out of pure sympathy when you knew it meant a fight at sun-up, six against fifty. and there would have been a bloody one, too, but for that merciful west india hurricane bustin' up the show. you pulled us up the arkansas river, and straddled the gloriettas, with every danger that could ever be just whistlin' about our ears. and now you sit there and murmur softly that 'we are in an unsafe country and these are unsafe times,' so we'd better be toddlin' back home right soon. i want to tell you something now."
-he paused and looked at mat nivers. always he looked at mat nivers, who since the first blush one noonday long ago, so it seemed, now, never appeared to know or care where he looked. he must have had such a sister himself; i felt sure of that now.
-"i want to tell you," rex repeated, "that i'm goin' to stay with you. there's something safe about you. and then," he added, carelessly, as he gazed out toward the darkening plain below us, "my mother always said you could tie to a man who was good to children. and you've been good to this infant kentuckian here."
-he flung out a hand toward bill banney without looking away from the open west. "when you want to start back to god's country and the land of plymouth rocks and pawnee rocks, i'm ready to trot along."
-"i'm glad to hear you say that, krane," esmond clarenden said. "i shall need all the help i can get on the way back. because we got through safely we cannot necessarily count on a safe return. i may need you in santa fé, too."
-"then command me," rex replied.
-he looked toward mat again, but she and little blue flower were coiling their long hair in fantastic fashion about their heads, and laughing like school-girls together.
-little blue flower was as a shy brown fawn following us. she had a way of copying mat's manner, and she spoke less of indian and spanish and more of english from day to day. she had laid aside her indian dress for one of mat's neat gingham gowns. i think she tried hard to forget her race in everything except her prayers, for her own people had all been slain by mexican ruffians. we could not have helped liking her if we had tried to do so. yet that invisible race barrier that kept a fixed gulf between us and aunty boone separated us also from the lovable little indian lass, albeit the gulf was far less deep and impassable.
-to-night when she and mat scampered away to the family wagon together, she seemed somehow to really belong to us.
-presently jondo and rex krane and bill and beverly rolled their blankets about them and went to sleep, leaving esmond clarenden and myself alone beside the dying fire. the air was sharp and the night silence deepened as the stars came into the skies.
-"why don't you go to bed, gail?" my uncle asked.
-"i'm not sleepy. i'm homesick," i replied. "come here, boy." he opened his arms to me, and i nestled in their embrace.
-"you've grown a lot in these two months, little man," he said, softly. "you are a brave-hearted plainsman, and a good, strong little limb when it comes to endurance, but just once in a while all of us need a mothering touch. it keeps us sweet, my boy. it keeps us sweet and fit to live."
-oh, many a time in the years that followed did the loving embrace and the gentle words of this gentle, strong man come back to comfort me.
-"let me tell you something, gail. i'm going to need a boy like you to help me a lot before we leave santa fé, and i shall count on you."
-just then a noise at the far side of the corral seemed to disturb the stock. a faint stir of awakening or surprise--just a hint in the air. all was still in a moment. then it came again. we listened. something, an indefinite something, somewhere, was astir. the surprise became unrest, anxiety, fear, among the mules.
-"wait here, gail. i'll see what's up," uncle esmond said, in a low voice.
-he hurried away toward the corral and i slipped back in the shadow of a rock and leaned against it to wait.
-in the dim beams of a starlit new mexican sky i could see clearly out toward the valley, but behind the camp all was darkness. as i waited, hidden by the shadows, suddenly the flap of the family-wagon cover lifted and little blue flower slid out as softly as a cat walks in the dust. she was dressed in her own indian garb now, with her bright blanket drawn picturesquely about her head and shoulders. silently she moved about the camp, peering toward the shadows hiding me. then with noiseless step she slipped toward where beverly clarenden lay, his boyish face upturned to the stars, sleeping the dreamless sleep of youth and health. i leaned forward and stared hard as the girl approached him. i saw her drop down on one knee beside him, and, bending over him, she gently kissed his forehead. she rose and gave one hurried look around the place and then, like a bird lifting its wings for flight, she threw up her arms, and in another moment she sprang to the edge of the ridge and slipped from view. i followed, only to see her gliding swiftly away, farther and farther, along the dim trail, until the shadows swallowed her from my sight.
-a low whinny from the corral caught my ear, followed by a rush of horses' feet. as i slipped into my place again to wait for my uncle to return, the smoldering logs blazed out suddenly, lighting up the form of a man who appeared just beyond the fire, so that i saw the face distinctly. then he, too, was gone, following the way the indian girl had taken, until he lost himself in the misty dullness of the plains.
-presently esmond clarenden came back to the camp-fire.
-"gail, the pony we lost in that storm at pawnee rock has come back to us. it was standing outside the corral, waiting to get in, just as if it had lost us for a couple of hours. it is in good condition, too."
-"how could it ever get here?" i exclaimed.
-"any one of a dozen ways," my uncle replied. "it may have run far that stormy morning when it broke out of the corral, and possibly some party coming over the cimarron trail picked it up and roved on this way. there is no telling how it got here, since it keeps still itself about the matter. losing and finding and losing again is the law of events on the plains."
-"but why should it find us right here to-night, like it had been led back?" i insisted.
-"that's the miracle of it, gail. it is always the strange thing that really happens here. in years to come, if you ever tell the truth about this trip, it will not be believed. when this isn't the frontier any longer, the story of the trail will be accounted impossible."
-everything seemed impossible to me as i sat there staring at the dying fire. presently i remembered what i had seen while my uncle was away.
-esmond clarenden gave a start. "gail, you have the most remarkable memory for faces of any child i ever knew," he said.
-"did he follow us, too, like the pony, or did he ride the pony after us?" i asked. "he's just everywhere we go, somehow. did i ever see him before he came to the fort, or did i dream it?"
-"you are a little dreamer, gail," my uncle said, kindly. "but dreams don't hurt, if you do your part whenever you are needed."
-"bev and bill banney make fun of dreams," i said.
-"yes, they don't have 'em; but bev and bill are ready when it comes to doing things. they are a good deal alike, daring, and a bit reckless sometimes, with good hard sense enough to keep them level."
-"don't i do, too?" i inquired.
-"yes, you do and dream, both. that's all the better. but you mustn't forget, too, that sometimes the things we long for in our dreams we must fight for, and even die for, maybe, that those who come after us may be the better for our having them. what was it you said about little blue flower?" uncle esmond had forgotten her for the moment.
-"she's gone to santa fé, i reckon. is she bad, uncle esmond? tell me all about things," i urged.
-"we are all here spying out the land, mexican, indian, trader, freighter, adventurer, invalid," uncle esmond replied. "i don't know what started the little indian girl off, unless she just felt indian, as jondo would say; but i may as well tell you, gail, that it may have been the mexican who got our pony for us. he is a strange fellow, walks like a cat, has ears like a timber wolf, and the cunning of a fox."
-"is he our friend?" i asked, eagerly.
-"listen, boy. he came to fort leavenworth on purpose to bring me an important message, and he waited at independence to see us off. do you remember the two spies krane talked about at council grove? i think he followed the mexican spy across the river to our camp and sent him on east. then he went back and got the crowd all mixed up by his report, while their own man scouted the trail out there for miles all night. he is the man who put you through town and decoyed the ruffians to one side. he located us after we had crossed the river, and then broke up their meeting and put the fellows off to wait till the next night. that is the way i worked out that council grove puzzle. he has a wide range, and there are big things ahead for him in new mexico.
-"sooner or later however," my uncle went on, "we will have to reckon with that kiowa tribe for stealing their captive. they meant to return her for a big ransom price.... great heavens, gail! you seem like a man to me to-night instead of my little boy back at the fort. the plains bring years to us instead of months, with just one crossing. i am counting on you not to tell all you've been told and all you've seen. i can be sure of you if you can keep things to yourself. you'd better get to sleep now. there will be plenty to see over in santa fé. and there is always danger afoot. but remember, it is the coward who finds the most trouble in this world. do your part with a gentleman's heart and a hero's hand, and you'll get to the end of every trail safely. now go to bed."
-where i lay that night i could see a wide space of star-gemmed sky, the blue night-sky of the southwest, and i wondered, as i looked up into the starry deeps, how god could keep so many bright bodies afield up there, and yet take time to guard all the wandering children of men.
-with the day-dawn the strange events of the night seemed as unreal as the vanishing night-shadows. the bluest skies of a blue-sky land curved in fathomless majesty over the yellow valley of the santa fé. against its borders loomed the silent mountain ranges--purple-shaddowed, silver-topped ortiz and jemez, sandia and sangre-de-christo. dusty and deserted lay the trail, save that here and there a group of dark-faced carriers of firewood prodded on their fagot-laden burros toward the distant town. as our wagons halted at the sandy borders of an arroyo the brown-clad form of a priest rose up from the shade of a group of scrubby piñon-trees beside the trail.
-esmond clarenden lifted his hat in greeting.
-"are you going our way? we can give you a ride," he paused to say.
-the man's face was very dark, but it was a young, strong face, and his large, dark eyes were full of the fire of life. when he spoke his voice was low and musical.
-"i thank you. i go toward the mountains. you stay here long?"
-"only to dispose of my goods. my business is brief," esmond clarenden declared.
-the good man leaned forward as if to see each face there, sweeping in everything at one glance. then he looked down at the ground.
-"these are troublesome days. war is only a temporary evil, but it makes for hate, and hate kills as it dies. love lives and gives life." a smile lighted his eyes, though his lips were firm. "i wish you well. among friends or enemies the one haven of safety always is the holy sanctuary."
-uncle esmond bowed his head reverently.
-"you will find it beside the trail near the river. the walls are very old and strong, but not so old as hate, nor so strong as love. a little street runs from it, crooked--six houses away. peace be to all of you." he broke off suddenly and his last sentence was spoken in a clear, strong tone unlike the gentler voice.
-"i thank you, father!" jondo said, as the priest passed his wagon.
-the holy man gave him one swift, searching glance. then lifting his right hand as if in blessing, and slowly dropping it until the forefinger pointed toward the west, he passed on his way.
-jondo's brown cheek flushed and the lines about his mouth grew hard.
-"take my place, bev," he said, as he left his wagon and joined esmond clarenden.
-the two spoke earnestly together. then jondo mounted beverly's pony.
-"if you need me--" i heard him say, and he turned away and rode in the direction the priest had taken.
-uncle esmond offered no explanation for this sudden action, and his sunny face was stern.
-usually wagon-trains were spied out long before they reached the city, and a rabble attended their entry. to-day we moved along quietly until the trail became a mere walled lane. on either side one-story adobe huts sat with their backs to the street. no windows opened to the front, and only a wooden door or a closed gateway stared in blank unfriendliness at the passer-by. little straggling lanes led off aimlessly on either side, as narrow and silent as the strange terminal of the long trail itself.
-i was only a boy, with the heart of a boy and the eyes of a boy. i could only feel; i could not understand the spell of that hour. but to me everything was alluring, wrapt as it was in the mystery of a civilization old here when plymouth rock felt the first pilgrim's foot, or pawnee rock stared at the first bold plainsman of the pale face and the conquering soul.
-i was riding beside beverly's wagon as we neared the quaint, centuries-old, adobe church of san miguel, rising tall and silent above the low huts about it, its rough walls suggesting a fortress of strength, while its triple towers might be an outlook for a guardsman.
-"look at that church. bev, i wonder how old it is," i exclaimed.
-"i should say about a thousand years and a day," beverly declared. "see that flopsy steeple thing! it looks like building-blocks stacked up there."
-"maybe this is the sanctuary that priest was talking about," i suggested. "he said the walls were old as hate and strong as love, with a crooked street beside it somewhere."
-"oh, you sponge! soaking up everything you see and hear. i wonder you sleep nights for fear the wind will tell the pine trees something you'll miss," beverly declared. "i can tell a horse's age by its teeth, but churches don't have teeth. go and ask mat about it. she knows when the de sotos and cortéses and all the other spanish grandaddees came to mexico."
-i had just turned back alongside of mat's wagon--she was always our book of ready reference--when a little girl suddenly dashed out of a walled lane opening into the street behind us. she stopped in the middle of the road, almost under my pony's feet, then with a shout of laughter she dashed into the deep doorway of the church and stood there, peering out at me with eyes brimful of mischief.
-i brought my pony back on its haunches suddenly. i had seen this girl before. the big dark eyes, the straight little nose, the curve of the pink cheek, the china-smooth chin and neck, and, crowning all, the cloud of golden hair shading her forehead and falling in tangled curls behind.
-i did not notice all these features now. it was only the eyes, dark eyes, somewhere this side of misty mountain peaks, and maybe the halo of hair that had been in my vision on that day when beverly and mat nivers and i sat on the parade-ground facing a sudden turn in our life trail.
-i stared at the eyes now, only half conscious that the girl was laughing at me.
-"you big brown bob-cat! you look like you had slept in the hondo 'royo all your life," she cried, and turned to run away again.
-as she did so a dark face peered round the corner of the church from the crooked street beside it. a sudden gleam of white teeth and glistening eyes, a sudden leap and grip, and a boy, larger than beverly, caught the little girl by the shoulders and shook her viciously.
-she screamed and struggled. then, with a wild shriek as he clutched at her curls, she wrenched herself away and plunged inside the church. the boy dived in after her. another scream, and i had dropped from my pony and leaped across the road. i pushed open the door against the two struggling together. with one grip at his coat-collar i broke his hold on the little girl and flung him outside.
-i have a faint recollection of a priest hurrying down the aisle toward the fighting children, as the little girl, freed from her assailant, dashed out of the door.
-"he jumped at her first, and shook her and pulled her hair," i cried, as the priest caught me by the shoulder. "i'm not going to see anybody pitched into, not a little girl, anyhow."
-i jerked myself free from his grasp and ran out to my pony. at the corner of the church stood the girl, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing defiance, her rumpled curls in a tangle about her face.
-"i hate marcos, he's so cruel, and"--her voice softened and the defiant eyes grew mischievous--"you aren't a bob-cat. you're a--look out!"
-she shouted the last words and disappeared up the narrow, crooked street, just as a fragment of rock whizzed over my shoulder. i jumped on my pony to dash away, when another rock just missed my head, and i saw the boy, marcos, beside the church, ready for a third hurl. his black eyes flashed fire, and the grin of malice on his face showed all his fine white teeth.
-i was as mad as a boy can be. instead of fleeing, i spurred my pony straight at him.
-"you little beast, i dare you to throw that rock at me! i dare you!" i cried.
-the boy dropped the missile and sped away after the girl. i followed in time to see them enter a doorway, six or seven houses up the way. then i turned back, and in a minute i had overtaken our wagons trailing down to the ford of the santa fé river.
-"i thought mebby you'd gone back after jondo and that holy podder," rex krane greeted me. "better begin to wink naturally and look a little pleasanter now. we'll be in the plazzer in two or three minutes."
-the drivers flourished their whips, the mules caught their spirit, and with bump and lurch and rattle we swung down the narrow crack between adobe walls that ended before the old exchange hotel at the corner of the plaza.
-this open square in the center of the city was shaded by trees and littered with refuse. the palace of the governors fronted it along the entire north side, a long, low, one-story structure whose massive adobe walls defy the wearing years. compared to the kingly palaces of my imagination, this royal dwelling seemed a very commonplace thing, and the wide portal, or veranda, that ran along its front looked like one of the sheds about the barracks at the fort rather than an entranceway for rulers. yet this was the house of a ruler hostile to that flag to which i had thrown a good-by kiss, up at fort leavenworth.
-on the other three sides of the plaza were other low adobe buildings, for the business of the city faced this central square.
-a crowd was gathered there when we reached it. somebody standing before the palace of the governors was haranguing in fiery spanish, if gesture and oral vehemence are true tokens.
-as our wagons rumbled up to the corner of the square the crowd broke up with a shout.
-"los americanos! los carros!"
-the cry went up everywhere as the rabble left the speaker to flock about us--men, women, children, mexican, spanish, indian, with now and then a saxon face among them. our outfit was as well appointed as such a journey's end permitted. we were in our best clothes--clean-shaven gentlemen, well-dressed boys, and one girl, neat and comely in a dark-blue gown of thin stuff with white lace at throat and wrist; and last, and biggest of all, aunty boone, in a bright-green lawn with little white dots all over it.
-as i sat on my pony beside my uncle's wagon, i caught sight of the slim figure of little blue flower, well back in the shade of the plaza. she was watching beverly, who sat in jondo's wagon, staring at the crowd and seeing no one in particular. a minute later a tall young indian boy stepped in front of her, and when he moved away she was gone.
-many men came forward to greet esmond clarenden, and there were many inquiries regarding his goods and many exclamations of surprise that he had come alone with so valuable a cargo.
-it was the first time that beverly and i had seen him among his equals. at fort leavenworth, where the army overruled everything else, men stood above him in authority or below him in business affairs; and while he never cringed to the one, nor patronized the other, where there are no competitors there are no true measures. that day in the plaza of santa fé the merchant was in his own kingdom, where commerce stood above everything else.
-moreover, this american merchant, following a danger-girt trail, had come in fearlessly, and those men of the plaza knew that he was one to exact value for value in all his dealings. but i believe that his real power lay in his ready smile, his courtesy, his patience, and his up-bubbling good nature that made him a friendship-builder.
-among the men who came to make acquaintance with the american trader was a mexican merchant. evidently he was a man of some importance, for an interpreter hastened to introduce him, explaining that this man had been away on a journey of some weeks among the mines of new mexico and the southwest, and only the day before he had come in from taos.
-"you will find him a prince of merchants, a sound, unprejudiced business man. his name is felix narveo," the american interpreter added.
-the two men shook hands, greeting each other in the spanish tongue. this felix narveo was well dressed and well groomed, but i recognized him at once as the mexican of fort leavenworth and independence and council grove.
-there was one man in that company, however, who did not come forward at all. when i first caught sight of him he was looking at me. i stared back at him with a boy's curiosity, but he did not take his eyes from me until i had dropped my own. after that i watched him keenly. he seemed almost too fair for a mexican--a tall, spare-built man with black hair, and eyes so steely blue that they were almost black. everywhere i saw him--at the corners of the little crowd and in the thick of it. he was an easy mark, for he towered above the rest, and, being slender, he seemed to worm his way quickly from place to place. at sight of him, aunty boone, who had been peering out with shining eyes, drew her head in as quick as a snake, under the shadow of the wagon cover, and her eyes grew dull. he had not seen her, but i could see that he was watching the remainder of us, and especially my uncle; and i began to feel afraid of him and to wish that he would leave the plaza. it was years ago that all this happened, and yet to-day my fear of that man still sticks in my memory.
-when he turned away, suddenly i caught sight of the boy, whom i had flung out of the church, standing behind him, the boy whom the little girl had called marcos. although his face was dark and the man's was fair, there was a strong likeness between the two.
-this marcos stared insolently at all of us. then with a laugh and a grimace at me, he ran after the man and they disappeared together around the corner of the palace of the governors. and in the rush of strange sights i forgot them both for a time.
-our dwelling-place in all generations.--psalms xc, 1.
-they are wonderful to me still--those few brief days that followed. while esmond clarenden was forcing his business transactions to a speedy climax, he was all the time foreseeing santa fé under the united states government. he had not come here as a spy, nor a speculator, but as a commerce-builder, knowing that the same business life would go on when the war cloud lifted, and that the same men who had made the plains commerce profitable under the mexican flag would not be exiled when the stars and stripes should float above the old palace of the governors. belief in the ethics of his calling and trust in manhood were ever a large part of his stock in trade, making him dare to go where he chose to go, and to do what he willed to do.
-but no concern for commerce nor extension of national territory disturbed our young minds in those sunlit days, as mat and beverly and i looked with the big, quick-seeing eyes of youth on this new strange world at the end of the trail.
-we were all together in the deserted dining-room on our first evening in santa fé when the man whom i had seen on the plaza strolled leisurely in. he sat down at one of the farthest tables from us, and his eyes, glistening like blue-black steel, were fixed on us.
-once at fort leavenworth i had watched in terror as a bird fluttered helplessly toward a still, steel-eyed snake holding it in thrall. and just at the moment when its enemy was ready to strike, jondo had happened by and shot the snake's head off. the same terror possessed me now, and i began half-consciously to long for jondo.
-in the midst of new sights i had hardly thought of him since he had left us out beyond the big arroyo. he had come into town at dusk, but soon after supper he had disappeared. his face was very pale, and his eyes had a strange look that never left them again. something was different in jondo from that day, but it did not change his gentle nature toward his fellow-men. during our short stay in santa fé we hardly saw him at all. we children were too busy with other things to ask questions, and everybody but rex krane was too busy to be questioned. having nothing else to do, rex became our chaperon, as uncle esmond must have foreseen he would be when he measured the young man in independence on the day we left there.
-to-night esmond clarenden, smiling and good-natured, paid no heed to the sharp eyes of this stranger fixed on him.
-"what's the matter now, little weather-vane? you are always first to sense a coming change," he declared.
-"uncle esmond, i saw that man watching us like he knew us, out there on the plaza to-day. who is he?" i asked, in a low tone.
-"his name is ferdinand ramero. you will find him watching everywhere. let that man alone as you would a snake," my uncle warned us.
-"is that his boy?" i asked.
-"what boy?" uncle esmond inquired.
-"marcos, the boy i pitched endways out of the church. he's bigger than bev, too," i declared, proudly.
-"gail clarenden, are you crazy?" uncle esmond exclaimed.
-"no, i'm not," i insisted, and then i told what had happened at the church, adding, "i saw marcos with that man in the plaza, and they went away together."
-esmond clarenden's face grew grave.
-"what kind of a looking child was she, gail?" he asked, after a pause.
-"oh, she had yellow hair and big sort of dark eyes! she could squeal like anything. she wasn't a baby girl at all, but a regular little fighter kind of a girl."
-i grew bashful all at once and hesitated, but my uncle did not seem to hear me, for he turned to rex krane and said, in low, earnest tones:
-"krane, if you can locate that child for me you will do me an invaluable service. it was largely on her account that i came here now, and it's a god-send to have a fellow like you to save time for me. every man has his uses. your service will be a big one to me."
-the young man's face flushed and his eyes shone with a new light.
-"if any of you happen to see that girl let me know at once," my uncle said, turning to us, "but, remember, don't act as if you were hunting for her."
-"i know now right where she lives. it's up a crooked street by that church. i saw her run in there," i insisted.
-"every hut looks like every other hut, and every little mex looks like every other little mex," beverly declared.
-uncle esmond smiled, but the stern lines in his face hardly broke as he said, earnestly, "keep your eyes open and, whatever you do, stay close to krane while bill helps me here, and don't forget to watch for that little girl when you are sight-seeing."
-"there's not much to see, as bev says, but the outside of 'dobe walls five feet thick," rex krane observed. "but if you know which wall to look through, the lookin' may be easy enough. seein' things is my specialty, and we'll get this princess if we have to slay a giant and an ogre and take a few dozen mexican scalps first. the plot just thickens. it's a great game." the tall new-englander would not take life seriously anywhere, and, with our trust in his guardianship, we could want no better chaperon.
-that night beverly clarenden and i were in fairyland.
-"it's the princess, bev, the princess we were looking for," i joyously asserted. "and, oh, bev, she is beautiful, but snappy-like, too. she called me a 'big brown bob-cat', and then she apologized, just as nice as could be."
-"and this little marcos cuss, he'll be the ogre," beverly declared. "but who'll we have for the giant? that priest, footing it out by that dry creek-thing they call a 'royo?"
-"oh no, no! he and jondo made up together, and jondo's nobody's bad man even in a story. it will be that ferdinand ramero," i insisted. "but, say, bev, jondo wrote a new name on the register this evening, or somebody wrote it for him, maybe. it wasn't his own writing. 'jean deau.' i saw it in big, round, back-slanting letters. why did he do that?"
-"well, i reckon that's his real name in big, round, back-slanting letters down here," beverly replied. "it's french, and we have just been spelling it like it sounds, that's all."
-"well, maybe so," i commented, and when i fell asleep it was to dream of a princess and jondo by a strange name, but the same jondo.
-the air of new mexico puts iron into the blood. the trail life had hardened us all, but the finishing touch for rex krane came in the invigorating breath of that mountain-cooled, sun-cleansed atmosphere of santa fé. shrewd, philosophic, brave-hearted like his historic ancestry, he laid his plans carefully now, sure of doing what he was set to do. and the wholesome sense of really serving the man who had measured his worth at a glance gave him a pleasure he had not known before. of course, he moved slowly and indifferently. one could never imagine rex krane hurrying about anything.
-"we'll just 'prospect,' as daniel boone says," he declared, as he marshaled us for the day. "we are strangers, sight-seein', got no other business on earth, least of all any to take us up to this old san miguel church for unholy purposes. 'course if we see a pretty little dark-eyed, golden-haired lassie anywhere, we'll just make a diagram of the spot she's stand'n' on, for future reference. we're in this game to win, but we don't do no foolish hurryin' about it."
-so we wandered away, a happy quartet, and the city offered us strange sights on every hand. it was all so old, so different, so silent, so baffling--the narrow, crooked street; the solid house-walls that hemmed them in; the strange tongue, strange dress, strange customs; the absence of smiling faces or friendly greetings; the sudden mystery of seeking for one whom we must not seem to seek, and the consciousness of an enemy, ferdinand ramero, whom we must avoid--that it is small wonder that we lived in fairyland.
-we saw the boy, marcos, here and there, sometimes staring defiantly at us from some projected angle; sometimes slipping out of sight as we approached; sometimes quarreling with other children at their play. but nowhere, since the moment when i had seen the door close on her up that crooked street beside the old church, could we find any trace of the little girl.
-in the dim morning light of our fifth day in santa fé, a man on horseback, carrying a big, bulky bundle in his arms, slipped out of the crooked, shadow-filled street beside the old church of san miguel. he halted a moment before the structure and looked up at the ancient crude spire outlined against the sky, then sped down the narrow way by the hotel at the end of the trail. he crossed the plaza swiftly and dashed out beyond the palace of the governors and turned toward the west.
-aunty boone, who slept in the family wagon--or under it--in the inclosure at the rear of the hotel, had risen in time to peer out of the wooden gate just as the rider was passing. it was still too dark to see the man's face distinctly, but his form, and the burden he carried, and the trappings of the horse she noted carefully, as was her habit.
-"up to cussedness, that man is. mighty long an' slim. lemme see! humph! i know him. i'll go wake up somebody."
-as the woman leaned far out of the gate she caught sight of a little indian girl crouching outside of the wall.
-"you got no business here, you, little blue flower! where do you live when you do live?"
-little blue flower pointed toward the west.
-"why you come hangin' 'round here?" the african woman demanded.
-"father josef send me to help the people who help me," she said, in her soft, low voice.
-"go back to your own folks, then, and tell your daddy joseph a man just stole a big bunch of something and rode south with it. he can look after that man. we can get along somehow. now go."
-the voice was like a growl, and the little indian maiden shrank back in the shadow of the wall. the next minute aunty boone was rapping softly on the door of the room whose guest had registered as jean deau. ten minutes later another horseman left the street beside the hotel and crossed the plaza, riding erect and open-faced as only jondo could ride. then the african woman sought out rex krane, and in a few brief sentences told him what had been taking place. all of which rex was far too wise to repeat to beverly and me.
-that afternoon it happened that we left mat nivers at the hotel, while rex krane and beverly and i strolled out of town on a well-beaten trail leading toward the west.
-"it looks interestin'. let's go on a ways," rex commented, lazily.
-nobody would have guessed from his manner but that he was indulgently helping us to have a good time with certain restriction as to where we should go, and what we might say, nor that, of the three, he was the most alert and full of definite purpose.
-we sat down beside the way as a line of burros loaded with firewood from the mountains trailed slowly by, with their stolid-looking drivers staring at us in silent unfriendliness.
-the last driver was the tall young indian boy whom i had seen standing in front of little blue flower in the crowd of the plaza. he paid no heed to our presence, and his face was expressionless as he passed us.
-"stupid as his own burro, and not nearly so handsome," beverly commented.
-the boy turned quietly and stared at my cousin, who had not meant to be overheard. nobody could read the meaning of that look, for his face was as impenetrable as the adobe walls of the palace of the governors.
-"bev, you are laying up trouble. an indian never forgets, and you'll be finding that fellow under your pillow every night till he gets your scalp," rex krane declared, as we went on our way.
-beverly laughed and stiffened his sturdy young arms.
-"he's welcome to it if he can get it," he said, carelessly. "how many million miles do we go to-day, mr. krane?"
-"yonder is your terminal," rex replied, pointing to a little settlement of mud huts huddling together along the trail. "they call that little metropolis agua fria--'pure water'--because there ain't no water there. it's the last place to look for anybody. that's why we look there. you will go in like gentlemen, though--and don't be surprised nor make any great noise over anything you see there. if a riot starts i'll do the startin'."
-carelessly as this was said, we understood the command behind it.
-near the village, i happened to glance back over the way we had come, and there, striding in, soft-footed as a cat behind us, was that young indian. i turned again just as we reached the first straggling houses at the outskirts of the settlement, but he had disappeared.
-it was a strange little village, this agua fria. its squat dwellings, with impenetrable adobe walls, had sat out there on the sandy edge of the dry santa fé river through many and many a lagging decade; a single trail hardly more than a cart-width across ran through it. a church, mud-walled and ancient, rose above the low houses, but of order or uniformity of outline there was none. hands long gone to dust had shaped those crude dwellings on this sunny plain where only man decays, though what he builds endures.
-nobody was in sight and there was something awesome in the very silence everywhere. rex lounged carelessly along, as one who had no particular aim in view and was likely to turn back at any moment. but beverly and i stared hard in every direction.
-at the end of the village two tiny mud huts, separated from each other by a mere crack of space, encroached on this narrow way even a trifle more than the neighboring huts. as we were passing these a soft hopi voice called:
-"beverly! beverly!" and little blue flower, peeping shyly out from the narrow opening, lifted a warning hand.
-"the church! the church!" she repeated, softly, then darted out of sight, as if the brown wall were but thick brown vapor into which she melted.
-"why, it's our own little girl!" beverly exclaimed, with a smile, just as little blue flower turned away, but i am sure she caught his words and saw his smile.
-we would have called to her, but rex krane evidently did not hear her, for he neither halted nor turned his head. so, remembering our command to be quiet, we passed on.
-"i guess we are about to the end of this 'pure water' resort. it's gettin' late. let's go back home now," our leader said, dispiritedly. so we turned back toward santa fé.
-at the narrow opening where we had seen little blue flower the young indian boy stood upright and motionless, and again he gave no sign of seeing us.
-"let's just run over to that church a minute while we are here. looks interestin' over there," rex suggested.
-i wondered if he could have heard little blue flower, and thought her suggestion was a good one, or if this was a mere whim of his.
-the church, a crude mission structure, stood some distance from the trail. as we entered a priest came forward to meet us.
-"can i serve you?" he asked.
-the voice was clear and sweet--the same voice that we had heard out beyond the arroyo southeast of town, the same face, too, that we had seen, with the big dark eyes full of fire. involuntarily i recalled how his hand had pointed to the west when he had pronounced a blessing that day.
-"thank you, father--" rex began.
-"josef," the holy man said.
-"yes, thank you, father josef. we are just looking at things. no wish to be rude, you know."
-rex lifted his cap and stood bareheaded in the priestly presence.
-father josef smiled.
-"look here, then."
-"same as grown-ups when the sermon is dull. thank you, father josef. it's a pretty picture. we must be goin' now." rex krane dropped some silver in the priest's hand and we left the church.
-at the door we passed the indian boy again, and a third time he gave no sign of seeing us. i was the only one who was troubled, however, for rex and beverly did not seem to notice him. as we left the village i caught sight of him again following behind us.
-"look there, bev," i said, in a low voice. beverly glanced back, then turned and stared defiantly at the boy.
-"maybe rex knows about indians," he said, lightly. "that's three times i found him fooling around in less than an hour, but my scalp is still hanging over one ear."
-he pushed back his cap and pulled at his bright brown locks. happy bev! how headstrong, brave, and care-free he walked the plains that day.
-the evening shadows were lengthening and the peaks of the sangre-de-christo range were taking on the scarlet stains of sunset when we raced into town at last. rex krane went at once to find uncle esmond, and beverly and i hurried to the hotel to tell mat of all that we had seen.
-her gray eyes were glowing when she met us at the door and led us into a corner where we could talk by ourselves.
-"uncle esmond has sold everything to that mexican merchant, felix narveo, and we are going to start home just as soon as he can find that little girl."
-"oh, we've found her! we've found her!" beverly burst out. but mat hushed him at once.
-"don't yell it to the sides, beverly clarenden. now listen!" mat dropped her voice almost to a whisper. "he's going to take that little girl back with us as far as fort leavenworth, and then send her on to st. louis where she has some folks, i guess."
-"isn't he a clipper, though," beverly exclaimed.
-"but what if the indians should get us?" i asked, anxiously. "i heard the colonel at fort leavenworth just give it to uncle esmond one night for bringing us."
-"you are safe or you are not safe everywhere. and if we got in here i reckon we can get out," mat reasoned, philosophically. "and uncle esmond isn't afraid and he's set on doing it. we aren't going to take any goods back, so we can travel lots faster, and everything will be put in the wagons so we can grab out what's worth most in a hurry if we have to."
-so we talked matters over now as we had done on that april day out on the parade-ground at fort leavenworth. but now we knew something of what might be before us on that homeward journey. thrilling hours those were. it is no wonder that, schooled by their events, young as we were, we put away childish things.
-that night while we slept things happened of which we knew nothing for many years. there was no moon and the glaring yellow daytime plain was full of gray-edged shadows, under the far stars of a midnight blue sky, as esmond clarenden took the same trail that we had followed in the afternoon. on to the village of agua fria, black and silent, he rode until he came to the church door. here he dismounted, and, quickly securing his horse, he entered the building. the chill midnight wind swept in through the open door behind him, threatening to blot out the flickering candles about the altar. father josef came slowly down the aisle to meet him, while a tall man, crouching like a beast about to spring, rather than a penitent at prayer, shrank down in the shadowy corner inside the doorway.
-the merchant, solid and square-built and fearless, stood before the young priest baring his head as he spoke.
-"i come on a grave errand, good father. this afternoon my two nephews and a young man from new england came in here and saw a child asleep under protection of this holy sanctuary. that child's name is eloise st. vrain. i had hoped to find her mother able to care for her. she--cannot do it, as you know. i must do it for her now. i come here to claim what it is my duty to protect."
-at these words the crouching figure sprang up and ferdinand ramero, his steel-blue eyes blazing, came forward with cat-like softness. but the sturdy little man before the priest stood, hat in hand, undisturbed by any presence there.
-"father josef," the tall man began, in a voice of menace, "you will not protect this american here. i have confessed to you and you know that this man is my enemy. he comes, a traitor to his own country and a spy to ours. he has risked the lives of three children by bringing them across the plains. he comes alone where large wagon-trains dare not venture. he could not go back to the states now. and lastly, good father, he has no right to the child that he claims is here."
-"to the child that is here, asleep beside our sacred altar," father josef said, sternly.
-ferdinand ramero turned upon the priest fiercely.
-"even the church might go too far," he muttered, threateningly.
-"it might, but it never has," the holy man agreed. then turning to esmond clarenden, he continued: "you must see that these charges do not stand against you. our holy church offers no protection, outside of these four walls, to a traitor or a spy or even an unpatriotic speculator seeking to profit by the needs of war. nor could it sanction giving the guardianship of a child to one who daringly imperils his own life or the lives of children, nor can it sanction any rights of guardianship unless due cause be given for granting them."
-ferdinand ramero smiled as the priest concluded. he was a handsome man, with the sort of compelling magnetism that gives controlling power to its possessor. but because i knew my uncle so well in after years, i can picture esmond clarenden as he stood that night before the young priest in the little mud-walled church of agua fria. and i can picture the tall, threatening man in the shadows beside him. but never have i held an image of him showing a sign of fear.
-"father josef, i am willing to make any explanation to you. as for this man whom you call ramero here--up in the states he bears another name and i finished with him there six years ago--i have no time nor breath to waste on him. are these your demands?" my uncle asked.
-"they are," father josef replied.
-"do i take away the little girl, eloise, unmolested, if you are satisfied?" esmond clarenden demanded, first making sure of his bargain, like the merchant he was.
-ferdinand ramero stiffened insolently at these words, and looked threateningly at father josef.
-"you do," the holy man replied, something of the flashing light in his eyes alone revealing what sort of a soldier the state had lost when this man took on churchly orders.
-"i am no traitor to my flag, since my full commerical purpose was known and sanctioned by the military authority at fort leavenworth before i left there. i brought no aid to my country's enemy because my full cargo was bargained for by your merchant, felix narveo, before the declaration of war was made. i merely acted as his agent bringing his own to him. i have come here as a spy only in this--that i shall profit in strictly legitimate business by the knowledge i hold of commercial conditions and my acquaintance with your citizens when this war for territory ends, no matter how its results may run. i deal in wholesome trade, not in human hate. i offer value for value, not blood for blood."
-up to this time a smile had lighted the merchant's eyes. but now his voice lowered, and the lines about his mouth hardened.
-"as to the guardianship of children, father josef, i am a bachelor who for nearly nine years have given a home, education, support, and affection to three orphan children, until, though young in years, they are wise and capable. so zealous was i for their welfare, that when word came to me--no matter how--that a company of mexicans were on their way to independence, missouri, ostensibly to seek the protection of the united states government and to settle on the frontier there, but really to seize these children in my absence, and carry them into the heart of old mexico, i decided at once that they would be safer with me in new mexico than without me in missouri.
-"in the night i passed this mexican gang at council grove, waiting to seize me in the morning. at pawnee rock a storm scattered a band of kiowa indians to whom these same mexicans had given a little indian slave girl as a reward for attacking our train if the mexicans should fail to get us themselves. through every peril that threatens that long trail we came safely because the hand of the lord preserved us."
-esmond clarenden paused, and the priest bowed a moment in prayer.
-"if i have dared fate in this journey," the merchant went on, "it was not to be foolhardy, nor for mere money gains, but to keep my own with me, and to rescue the daughter of mary st. vrain, of santa fé, and take her to a place of safety. it was her mother's last pleading call, as you, father josef, very well know, since you yourself heard her last words and closed her dead eyes. under the new mexican law, the guardianship of her property rests with others. mine is the right to protect her and, by the god of heaven, i mean to do it!"
-esmond clarenden's voice was deep and powerful now, filling the old church with its vehemence.
-up by the altar, the little girl sat up suddenly and looked about her, terrified by the dim light and the strange faces there.
-"don't be afraid, eloise."
-how strangely changed was this gentle tone from the vehement voice of a moment ago.
-the little girl sprang up and stared hard at the speaker. but no child ever resisted that smile by which esmond clarenden held beverly and me in loving obedience all the days of our lives with him.
-shaking with fear as she caught sight of ferdinand ramero, the girl reached out her hands toward the merchant, who put his arm protectingly about her. the big, dark eyes were filled with tears; the head with its sunny ripples of tangled hair leaned against him for a moment. then the fighting spirit came back to her, so early in her young life had the need for defending herself been forced upon her.
-"where have i been? where am i going?" she demanded.
-"you are going with me now," uncle esmond said, softly.
-"and never have to fight marcos any more? oh, good, good, good! let's go now!"
-she frowned darkly at ferdinand ramero, and, clutching tightly at esmond clarenden's hands, she began pulling him toward the open door.
-"eloise," father josef said, "you are about to go away with this good man who will be a father to you. be a good child as your mother would want you to be." his musical voice was full of pathos.
-eloise dropped her new friend's hand and sprang down the aisle.
-"i will be good, father josef," she said, squeezing his dark hand between her fair little palms. then, tossing back the curls from her face, she reached up a caressing hand to his cheek.
-father josef stooped and kissed her white forehead, and turned hastily toward the altar.
-"esmond clarenden!" it was ferdinand ramero who spoke, his sharp, bitter voice filling the church.
-"by order of this priest eloise st. vrain is yours to protect so long as you stay within these walls. the minute you leave them you reckon with me."
-father josef whirled about quickly, but the man made a scoffing gesture.
-"i brought this child here for protection this morning. but for that sickly yankee and two inquisitive imps of boys she would have been safe here. i acknowledge sanctuary privilege. use it as long as you choose in the church of agua fria. set but a foot outside these walls and i say again you reckon with me."
-his tall form thrust itself menacingly before the little man and his charge clinging to his arm.
-"set but a foot outside these walls and you will reckon with me."
-it was jondo's clear voice, and the big plainsman, towering up suddenly behind ferdinand ramero, filled the doorway.
-"you meant to hide in the old church of san miguel because it is so near to the home where you have kept this little girl. but gail clarenden blocked your game and found your house and this child in the church door before our wagon-train had reached the end of the trail. you found this church your nearest refuge, meaning to leave it again early in the morning. i have waited here for you all day, protected by the same means that brought word to santa fé this morning. come out now if you wish. you dare not follow me to the states, but i dare to come to your land. can you meet me here?" jondo was handsome in his sunny moods. in his anger he was splendid.
-ferdinand ramero dropped to a seat beside father josef.
-"i have told you i cannot face that man. i will stay here now," he said, in a low voice to the priest. "but i do not stay here always, and i can send where i do not follow," he added, defiantly.
-esmond clarenden was already on his horse with his little charge, snugly wrapped, in his arms.
-father josef at the portal lifted his hand in sign of blessing.
-"peace be with you. do not tarry long," he said. then, turning to jondo, he gazed into the strong, handsome face. "go in peace. he will not follow. but forget not to love even your enemies."
-in the midnight dimness jondo's bright smile glowed with all its courageous sweetness.
-"i finished that fight long ago," he said. "i come only to help others."
-long these two, priest and plainsman, stood there with clasped hands, the gray night mists of the santa fé valley round about them and all the far stars of the midnight sky gleaming above them.
-then jondo mounted his horse and rode away up the trail toward santa fé.
-the wilderness crossroads
-i will even make a way in the wilderness. --isaiah.
-bent's fort stood alone in the wide wastes of the upper arkansas valley. from the atlantic to the pacific shores there was in america no more isolated spot holding a man's home. out on the north bank of the arkansas, in a grassy river bottom, with rolling treeless plains rippling away on every hand, it reared its high yellow walls in solitary defiance, mute token of the white man's conquering hand in a savage wilderness. it was a great rectangle built of adobe brick with walls six feet through at the base, sloping to only a third of that width at the top, eighteen feet from the ground. round bastions, thirty feet high, at two diagonal corners, gave outlook and defense. immense wooden doors guarded a wide gateway looking eastward down the arkansas river. the interior arrangement was after the mexican custom of building, with rooms along the outer walls all opening into a big patio, or open court. a cross-wall separated this court from the large corral inside the outer walls at the rear. a portal, or porch, roofed with thatch on cedar poles, ran around the entire inner rectangle, sheltering the rooms somewhat from the glare of the white-washed court. a little world in itself was this bent's fort, a self-dependent community in the solitary places. the presiding genius of this community was william bent, whose name is graven hard and deep in the annals of the eastern slopes of the rocky mountain country in the earlier decades of the nineteenth century.
-hither in the middle '40's the wild trails of the west converged: northward, from the trading-posts of bent and st. vrain on the platte; south, over the raton pass from taos and santa fé; westward, from the fur-bearing plateaus of the rockies, where trappers and traders brought their precious piles of pelts down the arkansas; and eastward, half a thousand miles from the missouri river frontier--the pathways of a restless, roving people crossed each other here. and it was toward this wilderness crossroads that esmond clarenden directed his course in that summertime of my boyhood years.
-the heat of a july sun beat pitilessly down on the scorching plains. the weary trail stretched endlessly on toward a somewhere in the yellow distance that meant shelter and safety. spiral gusts of air gathering out of the low hills to the southeast picked up great cones of dust and whirled them zigzagging across the brown barren face of the land. every draw was bone dry; even the greener growths along their sheltered sides, where the last moisture hides itself, wore a sickly sallow hue.
-under the burden of this sun-glare, and through these stifling dust-cones, our little company struggled sturdily forward.
-we had left santa fé as suddenly and daringly as we had entered it, the very impossibility of risking such a journey again being our, greatest safeguard. esmond clarenden was doing the thing that couldn't be done, and doing it quickly.
-in the gray dawn after that midnight ride to agua fria a little indian girl had slipped like a brown shadow across the plaza. stopping at the door of the exchange hotel, she leaned against the low slab of petrified wood that for many a year served as a loafer's roost before the hotel doorway. inside the building jondo caught the clear twitter of a bird's song at daybreak, twice repeated. a pause, and then it came again, fainter this time, as if the bird were fluttering away through the plaza treetops.
-in that pause, the gate in the wall had opened softly, and aunty boone's sharp eyes peered through the crack. the girl caught one glimpse of the black face, then, dropping a tiny leather bag beside the stone, she sped away.
-a tall young indian boy, prone on the ground behind a pile of refuse in the shadowy plaza, lifted his head in time to see the girl glide along the portal of the palace of the governors and disappear at the corner of the structure. then he rose and followed her with silent moccasined feet.
-and jondo, who had hurried to the hotel door, saw only the lithe form of an indian boy across the plaza. then his eye fell on the slender bag beside the stone slab. it held a tiny scrap of paper, bearing a message:
-take long trail quick. mexicans follow far. trust bearer anywhere. josef.
-an hour later we were on our way toward the open prairies and the stars and stripes afloat above fort leavenworth.
-in the wagon beside mat nivers was the little girl whose face had been clear in the mystic vision of my day-dreams on the april morning when i had gone out to watch for the big fish on the sand-bars; the morning when i had felt the first heart-throb of desire for the trail and the open plains whereon my life-story would later be written.
-we carried no merchandise now. everything bent toward speed and safety. our ponies and mules were all fresh ones--secured for this journey two hours after we had come into santa fé--save for the big sturdy dun creature that uncle esmond, out of pure sentiment, allowed to trail along behind the wagons toward his native heath in the missouri bottoms.
-we had crossed the gloriettas and climbed over the raton pass rapidly, and now we were nearing the upper arkansas, where the old trail turns east for its long stretch across the prairies.
-as far as the eye could see there was no living thing save our own company in all the desolate plain aquiver with heat and ashy dry. the line of low yellow bluffs to the southeast hardly cast a shadow save for a darker dun tint here and there.
-at midday we drooped to a brief rest beside the sun-baked trail.
-"you all jus' one color," aunty boone declared. "you all like the dus' you made of 'cep' little lees an' me. she's white and i'm black. nothin' else makes a pin streak on the face of the earth."
-aunty boone flourished on deserts and her black face glistened in the sunlight. deep in the shadow of the wagon cover the face of eloise st. vrain--"little lees," aunty boone had named her--bloomed pink as a wild rose in its frame of soft hair. she had become aunty boone's meat and drink from the moment the strange african woman first saw her. this regard, never expressed in caress nor word of tenderness, showed itself in warding from the little girl every wind of heaven that might visit her too roughly. not that eloise gave up easily. her fighting spirit made her rebel against weariness and the hardships of trail life new to her. she fitted into our ways marvelously well, demanding equal rights, but no favors. by some gentle appeal, hardly put into words, we knew that uncle esmond did not want us to talk to her about herself. and beverly and mat and i, however much we might speculate among ourselves, never thought of resisting his wishes.
-eloise was gracious with mat, but evidently the boy marcos had made her wary of all boys. she paid no attention to beverly and me at first. all her pretty smiles and laughing words were for uncle esmond and jondo. and she was lovely. never in all these long and varied years have i seen another child with such a richness of coloring, nor such a mass of golden hair rippling around her forehead and falling in big, soft curls about her neck. her dark eyes with their long black lashes gave to her face its picturesque beauty, and her plump, dimpled arms and sturdy little form bespoke the wholesome promise of future years.
-but the life of the trail was not meant for such as she, and i know now that the assurance of having saved her from some greater misfortune alone comforted uncle esmond and jondo in this journey. for aunty boone was right when she declared, "they tote together always."
-as we grouped together under that shelterless glare, getting what comfort we could out of the brief rest, jondo sprang up suddenly, his eyes aglow with excitement.
-"what's the matter? because if it isn't, this is one hot day to pretend like it is," rex krane asserted.
-he was lying on the hot earth beside the trail, his hat pulled over his face. beverly and bill banney were staring dejectedly across the landscape, seeing nothing. i sat looking off toward the east, wondering what lay behind those dun bluffs in the distance.
-"something is wrong back yonder," jondo declared, making a half-circle with his hand toward the trail behind us.
-i can close my eyes to-day and see again the desolate land banded by the broad white trail. i can see the dusty wagons and our tired mules with drooping heads. i can see the earnest, anxious faces of esmond clarenden and jondo; beverly and bill banney hardly grasping jondo's meaning; rex krane, half asleep on the edge of the trail. i can see mat nivers, brown and strong, and aunty boone oozing sweat at every pore. but these are only the setting for that little girl on the wagon-seat with white face and big dark eyes, under the curl-shadowed forehead.
-jondo stared hard toward the hills in the southeast. then he turned to my uncle with grim face and burning eyes; his was a wonderful voice, clear, strong and penetrating. but in danger he always spoke in a low tone.
-"i've watched those dust-whirls for an hour. the wind isn't making all of them. somebody is stirring them up for cover. every whirl has an indian in it. it's all of ten miles to bent's. we must fight them off and let the others run for it, before they cut us off in front. look at that!"
-the exclamation burst from the plainsman's lips.
-that was my last straight looking. the rest is ever a kaleidoscope of action thrilled through with terror. what i saw was a swiftly moving black splotch coming out of the hills, with huge dust-heaps flying here and there before it. then a yellow cloud spiral blinded our sight as a gust of hot wind swept round us. i remember jondo's stern face and blazing eyes and his words:
-"mexicans behind the indians!"
-and uncle esmond's voice:
-"narveo said they would get us, but i hoped we had outrun them."
-the far plains seemed spotted with indians racing toward us, and coming at an angle from the southeast a dozen mexicans swept in to cut us off from the trail in front.
-i remember a quick snatching of precious things in boxes placed for such a moment as this, a quick snapping of halter ropes around the ponies' necks, a gleaming of gun-barrels in the hot sunlight; a solid cloud of dust rolling up behind us, bigger and nearer every second; and the urgent voice of jondo: "ride for your lives!"
-and the race began. on the trail somewhere before us was bent's fort. we could only hope to reach it soon. we did not even look behind as we tore down that dusty wilderness way.
-at the first motion aunty boone had seized eloise st. vrain with one hand and the big dun mule's neck-strap with the other.
-"go to the devil, you tigers and cannibals!" she roared with the growl of a desert lioness, shaking her big black fist at the band of mexicans pouring out of the hills.
-and dun mule and black woman and white-faced, terror-stricken child became only a dust-cloud far in front of us. mat and beverly and i leaped to the ponies and followed the lead of the african woman. nearest to us was rex krane, always a shield for the younger and less able. and behind him, as defense for the rear and protection for the van, came esmond clarenden and bill banney, with jondo nearest the enemy, where danger was greatest.
-i tell it calmly, but i lived it in a blind whirl. the swift hoof-beat, the wild indian yells, the whirl of arrows and whiz of bullets, the onrush to outrun the mexicans who were trying to cut us off from the trail in front. lived it! i lived ages in it. and then an arrow cut my pony's flank, making him lurch from the trail, a false step, the pony staggering, falling. a sharp pain in my shoulder, the smell of fire, a shriek from demon throats, the glaring sunlight on the rocking plain, searing my eyes in a mad whirlpool of blinding light, the fading sounds--and then--all was black and still.
-when i opened my eyes again i was lying on a cot. bare adobe walls were around me, and a high plastered roof resting on cedar poles sheltered that awful glare from my eyes. through the open door i could see the rain falling on the bare ground of the court, filling the shallow places with puddles.
-i tried to lift myself to see more as shrieks of childish laughter caught my ear, but there was a sickish heat in my dry skin, an evil taste in my throat, and a sharp pain in my left shoulder; and i fell back again.
-another shriek, and eloise st. vrain came before my doorway, pattering with bare white feet out into the center of the patio puddles and laughing at the dashing summer shower. her damp hair, twisted into a knot on top of her head, was curling tightly about her temples and neck, her eyes were shining; her wet clothes slapping at her bare white knees--a picture of the delicious happiness of childhood. a little child of three or four years was toddling after her. he was brown as a berry, and at first i thought he was a little indian. i could hear mat and beverly splashing about safe and joyous somewhere, and i forgot my fever and pain and the dread of that awful glare coming again to sear my burning eyeballs as i watched and listened. a louder shriek as the little child ran behind eloise and gave her a vigorous shove for one so small.
-"oh, charlie bent, see what you've done," mat cried; and then beverly was picking up "little lees," sprawling, all mud-smeared and happy, in the very middle of the court.
-the child stood looking at her with shining black eyes full of a wicked mischief, but he said not a word.
-just then a dull grunt caught my ear, and i half-turned to see a cot beyond mine. an indian boy lay on it, looking straight at me. i stared back at him and neither of us spoke. his head was bandaged and his cheek was swollen, but with my memory for faces, even indian faces, i knew him at once for the boy who had followed us into agua fria and out of it again.
-just then the frolickers came to the door and peered in at me.
-"are you awake?" eloise asked.
-"we are having the best times. you must get well right away, because we are going to stay." they all began to clatter, noisily.
-rex krane appeared at the door just then and they stopped suddenly.
-"clear out of here, you magpies," he commanded, and they scuttled away into the warm rain and the puddles again.
-"do you want anything, gail?" rex asked, bending over me.
-i drew his head down with my right arm.
-"i want that indian out of here," i whispered.
-"out he goes," rex returned, promptly, and almost before i knew it the boy was taken away. when we were alone the tall young man sat down beside me.
-"you want to ask me a million questions. i'll answer 'em to save you the trouble," he began, in his comfortable way.
-"you are wounded in your shoulder. slight, bullet, that's mexican; deep, arrow, that's indian. but you are here and pretty much alive and you will be well soon."
-"and uncle esmond? jondo? bill?" i began, lifting myself up on my well arm.
-"keep quiet. i'll answer faster. everybody all right. clarenden and jondo leave for independence the minute you are better, and a military escort permits."
-i dropped down again.
-"the u.s. army, en route for perdition, via santa fé, is camping in the big timbers down-stream now. jondo and esmond clarenden will leave you boys and girls here till it's safe to take you out again. and i and daniel boone, vestal god and goddess of these hearth-fires, will keep you from harm till that time. bill's joining the army for sure now, and our happy family life is ended as far as the santa fé trail is concerned. i'm a well man now, but not quite army-well yet, they tell me."
-"tell me about this." i pointed to my shoulder.
-"all in good time. it was a nasty mess of fish. a dozen mexicans and as many indians had followed us all the way from the sunny side of the gloriettas. you and bev and mat had got by the mexics. daniel boone and 'little lees' were climbing the north pole by that time. the rest of us were giving battle straight from the shoulder; and someway, i don't know how, just as we had the gang beat back behind us--you had a sniff of a bullet just then--an indian slipped ahead in the dust. i was tendin' to mite of an arrow wound in my right calf, and i just caught him in time, aimin' at bev; but he missed him for you. i got him, though, and clubbed his scalp a bit loose."
-rex paused and stared at his right leg.
-"how did that boy get here, rex? is he a friendly indian?" i asked.
-"oh, jondo brought him in out of the wet. says the child was made to come along, and as soon as he could get away from the gang he had to run with up here; he came right into camp to help us against them. fine young fellow! jondo has it from them in authority that we can trust him lyin' or tellin' the truth. he's all right."
-"how did he get hurt?" i inquired, still remembering in my own mind the day at agua fria.
-"he'd got into our camp and was fightin' on our side when it happened," rex replied.
-"some of them shot at him, then?" i insisted. "no, i beat him up with the butt of my gun for shootin' you," rex said, lazily.
-"at me! why don't you tell jondo?"
-"i tried to," rex answered, "but i can't make him see it that way. he's got faith in that redskin and he's going to see that he gets back to new mexico safely--after while."
-"rex, that's the same boy that was down in agua fria, the one bev laughed at. he's no good indian," i declared.
-"you are too wise, gail clarenden," rex drawled, carelessly. "a boy of your brains had ought to be born in boston. jondo and i can't agree about him. his name, he says, is santan. there's one 'n' too many. if you knock off the last one it makes him santa--'holy'; but if you knock out the middle it's satan. we don't knock out the same 'n', jondo and me."
-just then the little child came tumbling noisily into the room.
-"look here, youngun. you can't be makin' a racket here," rex said.
-the boy stared at him, impudently.
-"i will, too," he declared, sullenly, kicking at my cot with all his might.
-rex made no reply but, seizing the child around the waist, he carried him kicking and screaming outside.
-"you stay out or i'll spank you!" rex said, dropping him to the ground.
-the boy looked up with blazing eyes, but said nothing.
-"that's little charlie bent. his daddy runs this splendid fort. his mother is a cheyenne squaw, and he's a grim clinger of a half-breed. some day he'll be a terror on these plains. it's in him, i know. but that won't interfere with us any. and you children are a lot safer here than out on the trail. great god! i wonder we ever got you here!" rex's face was very grave. "now go to sleep and wake up well. no more thinkin' like a man. you can be a child again for a while."
-those were happy days that followed. safe behind the strong walls of old fort bent, we children had not a care; and with the stress and strain of the trail life lifted from our young minds, we rebounded into happy childhood living. every day offered a new drama to our wonder-loving eyes. we watched the big hide-press for making buffalo robes and furs into snug bales. we climbed to the cupola of the headquarters department and saw the soldiers marching by on their way to new mexico. we saw the ute and the red river comanche come filing in on their summer expeditions from the mountains. we saw the trade lines from the far north bearing down to this wilderness crossroads with their early fall stock for barter.
-our playground was the court off which all the rooms opened. and however wild and boisterous the scenes inside those walls in that summer of 1846, in four young lives no touch of evil took root. stronger than the six-feet width of wall, higher than the eighteen feet of adobe brick guarding us round about, was the stern strength of the young boston man interned in the fort to protect us from within, as the strength of that structure defended us from without.
-and yet he might have failed sometimes, had it not been for aunty boone. nobody trifled with her.
-"you let them children be. an give 'em the run of this shack," she commanded of the lesser powers whose business was to domineer over the daily life there. "the man that makes trouble wide as a needle is across is goin' to meet me an' the judgment day the same minute."
-"when daniel gets on her crack-o'-doom voice, the mountains goin' to skip like rams and the little hills like lambs, an' the army of the west won't be necessary to protect the frontier," rex declared. but he knew her worth to his cause, and he welcomed it.
-and so with her brute force and his moral strength we were unconsciously intrenched in a safety zone in this far-isolated place.
-with neither uncle esmond nor jondo near us for the first time in our remembrance, we gained a strength in self-dependence that we needed. for with the best of guardianship, there are many ways in which a child's day may be harried unless the child asserts himself. we had the years of children but the sturdy defiance of youth. so we were happy within our own little group, and we paid little heed to the things that nobody else could forestall for us.
-outside of our family, little charlie bent, the half-breed child of the proprietor of the fort, was a daily plague. he entered into all of our sports with a quickness and perseverance and wilfulness that was thoroughly american. he took defeat of his wishes, and the equal measure of justice and punishment, with the silent doggedness of an indian; and on the edge of babyhood he showed a spirit of revenge and malice that we, in our rollicking, affectionate lives, with all our teasing and sense of humor, could not understand; so we laughed at his anger and ignored his imperious demands.
-behind him always was his cheyenne mother, jealously defending him in everything, and in manifold ways making life a burden--if we would submit to the making, which we seldom did.
-and lastly santan, the young boy who had deserted his mexican masters for jondo's command, contrived, with an indian's shrewdness, never to let us out of his sight. but he gave us no opportunity to approach him. he lived in his own world, which was a savage one, but he managed that it should overlap our world and silently grasp all that was in it. beverly had persistently tried to be friendly for a time, for that was beverly's way. failing to do it, he had nick-named the boy "satan" for all time.
-"we found little blue flower a sweet little muggins," beverly told the indian early in our stay at the fort. "we like good indians like her. she's one clipper."
-santan had merely looked him through as though he were air, and made no reply, nor did he ever by a single word recognize beverly from that moment.
-the evening before we left fort bent we children sat together in a corner of the court. the day had been very hot for the season and the night was warm and balmy, with the moonlight flooding the open space, edging the shadows of the inner portal with silver. there was much noise and boisterous laughter in the billiard-room where the heads of affairs played together. rex krane had gone to bed early. out by the rear gate leading to the fort corral, aunty boone was crooning a weird african melody. crouching in the deep shadows beside the kitchen entrance, the indian boy, santan, listened to all that was said.
-to-night we had talked of to-morrow's journey, and the strength of the military guard who should keep us safe along the way. then, as children will, we began to speculate on what should follow for us.
-"when i get older i'm going to be a freighter like jondo, bill and me. we'll kill every indian who dares to yell along the trail. i'm going back to santa fé and kill that boy that stared at me like he was crazy one day at agua fria."
-in the shadows of the porchway, i saw santan creeping nearer to us as beverly ran on flippantly:
-"i guess i'll marry a squaw, little blue flower, maybe, like the bents do, and live happily ever after."
-"i'm going to have a big fine house and live there all the time," mat nivers declared. something in the earnest tone told us what this long journey had meant to the brave-hearted girl.
-"i'm going to marry gail when i grow up," eloise said, meditatively. "he won't ever let marcos pull my hair." she shook back the curly tresses, gold-gleaming in the moonlight, and squeezed my hand as she sat beside me.
-"what will you be, gail?" mat asked.
-"i'll go and save bev's scalp when he's gunning too far from home," i declared.
-"oh, he'll be 'little lees's' husband, and pull that marcos cuss's nose if he tries to pull anybody's curls. whoo-ee! as aunty boone would say," beverly broke in.
-i kept a loving grip on the little hand that had found mine, as i would have gripped beverly's hand sometimes in moments when we talked together as boys do, in the confidences they never give to anybody else.
-a gray shadow dropped on the moon, and a chill night wind crept down inside the walls. a sudden fear fell on us. the noises inside the billiard room seemed far away, and all the doors except ours were closed. santan had crept between us and the two open doorways leading to our rooms. what if he should slip inside. a snake would have seemed better to me.
-a silence had fallen on us, and eloise still clung to my hand. i held it tightly to assure her i wasn't afraid, but i could not speak nor move. aunty boone's crooning voice was still, and everything had grown weird and ghostly. the faint wailing cry of some wild thing of the night plains outside crept to our ears, making us shiver.
-"when the stars go to sleep an' the moon pulls up the gray covers, it's time to shut your eyes an' forget." aunty boone's soft voice broke the spell comfortingly for us. "any crawlin' thing that gits in my way now, goin' to be stepped on."
-at the low hissing sound of the last sentence there was a swift scrambling along the shadows of the porch, and a door near the kitchen snapped shut. the big shining face of the african woman glistened above us and the court was flooded again with the moon's silvery radiance. as we all sprang up to rush for our rooms, "little lees" pulled me toward her and gently kissed my cheek.
-"you never would let marcos in if he came to fort leavenworth, would you?" she whispered.
-"i'd break his head clear off first," i whispered back, and then we scampered away.
-that night i dreamed again of the level plains and uncle esmond and misty mountain peaks, but the dark eyes were not there, though i watched long for them.
-the next day we left fort bent, and when i passed that way again it was a great mass of yellow mounds, with a piece of broken wall standing desolately here and there, a wreck of the past in a solitary land.
-building the trail
-in the moon of the peach blossom
-love took me softly by the hand, love led me all the country o'er, and showed me beauty in the land, that i had never seen before. --anonymous.
-you might not be able to find the house to-day, nor the high bluff whereon it stood. so many changes have been wrought in half a century that what was green headland and wooded valley in the far '50's may be but a deep cut or a big fill for a new roadway or factory site to-day. so diligently has kansas city fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that "every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low."
-where the great stream bends to the east, the rugged heights about its elbow, aunty boone, in those days, was wont to declare, did not offer enough level ground to set a hen on. small reason was there then to hope that a city, great and gracious, would one day cover those rough ravines and grace those slopes and hilltops in the angle between the missouri and the kaw.
-aunty boone had resented leaving fort leavenworth when the clarenden business made the young city at the kaw's mouth more desirable for a home. but esmond clarenden foresaw that a military post, when the protection it offers is no longer needed, will not, in itself, be a city-builder. the war had brought new mexico into united states territory; railroads were slowly creeping westward toward the mississippi river; steamboats and big covered wagons were bringing settlers into kansas, where little cabins were beginning to mark the landscape with new hearth-stones. congress was wrangling over the great slavery question. the eastern lawmakers were stupidly opposing the efforts of missouri statesmen to extend mail routes westward, or to spend any energy toward developing that so-called worthless region which they named "the great american desert." and the old santa fé trail was now more than ever the highway for the commerical treasures of the rocky mountains and the great southwest.
-it was the time of budding things. in the valley of the missouri the black elm boughs, the silvery sycamores and cottonwoods, and the vines on the gray rock-faced cliffs were veiled in shimmering draperies of green, with here and there a little group of orchard trees faintly pink against the landscape's dainty verdure.
-beverly clarenden and i stood on the deck of a river steamer as it made the wharf at old westport landing, where esmond clarenden waited for us. and long before the steamer's final bump against the pier we had noted the tall, slender girl standing beside him. we had been away three years, the only schooling outside of uncle esmond's teaching we were ever to have. we were big boys now, greatly conscious of hands and feet in our way, "razor broke," aunty boone declared, brimful of hilarity and love of adventure, and eager for the plains life, and the dangers of the old trail by which we were to conquer or be conquered. in the society of women we were timid and ill at ease. aside from this we were self-conceited, for we knew more of the world and felt ourselves more important on that spring morning than we ever presumed to know or dared to feel in all the years that followed.
-"who is she, gail, that tall one by little fat uncle esmond?" beverly questioned, as we neared the wharf.
-"you don't reckon he's married, bev? he's all of twenty-four or five years older than we are, and we aren't calves any more." i replied, scanning the group on the wharf.
-but we forgot the girl in our eagerness to bound down the gang-plank and hug the man who meant all that home and love could mean to us. in our three growing years we had almost eliminated mat nivers, save as a happy memory, for mails were slow in those days and we were poor letter-writers; and we had wondered how to meet her properly now. but when the tall, slender girl on the wharf came forward and we looked into the wide gray eyes of our old-time playmate whom, as little boys, we had both vowed to marry, we forgot everything in our overwhelming love for our comrade-in-arms, our jolliest friend and counselor.
-"oh, mat, you miserable thing!" beverly bubbled, hugging her in his arms.
-"you are just bigger and sweeter than ever. i mistook you for aunty boone at first," i chimed in, kissing her on each cheek. and we all bundled away in an old-fashioned, low-swung carriage, happy as children again, with no barrier between us and the dear playmate of the past.
-the new home, on the high crest overlooking the missouri valley, nestled deep in the shade of maple and elm trees, a mansion, compared to that log house of blessed memory at fort leavenworth. a winding road led up the steep slope from a wooded ravine where a trail ran out from the little city by the river's edge. vistas of sheer cliff and stretches of the muddy on-sweeping missouri and the full-bosomed kaw, with scrubby timbered ravines and growing groves of forest trees, offered themselves at every turn. and from the top of the bluff the world unrolled in a panorama of nature's own shaping and coloring.
-the house was built of stone, with vines climbing about its thick walls, and broad veranda. and everywhere mat's hands had put homey touches of comfort and beauty. an hundredfold did she return to esmond clarenden all the care and protection he had given to her in her orphaned childhood. and, after all, it was not military outposts, nor railroads, nor mail-lines alone that pushed back the wilderness frontier. it was the hand of woman that also builded empire westward.
-"mat's got her wish at last," i said, as we sat with uncle esmond after dinner under a big maple tree and looked out at the far yellow missouri, churning its spring floods to foam against the snags along its high-water bound.
-"what's mat's wish?" uncle esmond asked.
-"to have a good home and stay there. she wished that one night, years ago back in old fort bent. don't you remember, bev, when we were out in the court, and how scared blue we all were when the moon went under a cloud, and that indian boy, santan, was creeping between us and the home base?"
-"no, i don't remember anything except that we were in fort bent. got in by the width of a hair ahead of some mexicans and indians, and got out again after a jolly six weeks. what's the real job for us now, uncle esmond?"
-uncle esmond was staring out toward the kaw valley, rimmed by high bluffs in the distance.
-"i don't know about mat having her wish," he said, thoughtfully, "but never mind. trade is booming and i'm needing help on the trail this spring. jondo starts west in two weeks."
-"two weeks! we are ready to start right after supper," we declared.
-"suits me!" beverly declared. "old bill banney and i always could get along together. and this infant here?"
-"i'm going to send gail down to the catholic mission, in kansas. you remember little eloise st. vrain, of course?" uncle esmond asked.
-"we do!" beverly assured him. "pretty as a doll, gritty as a sand-bar, snappy as a lobster's claw--she dwells within my memory yet."
-all girls were little children to us, for the scheme of things had not included them in our affairs.
-i threw a handful of grass in the boy's face, and uncle esmond went on.
-"she's been at st. ann's school at the osage mission down on the neosho river for two or three years, and now she is going to st. louis. in these troublesome times on the border, if i have a personal interest, i feel safer if some big six-footer whom i can trust comes along as an escort from the neosho to the missouri," uncle esmond explained.
-and then we spoke of other things: the stream of emigration flowing into the country, the possibilities of the prairies, the future of the city that should hold the key to the whole southwest, and especially of the chance and value of the trail trade.
-"it's the big artery that carries the nation's life-blood here," esmond clarenden declared. "some day when the west is full of people, and dowered with prosperity, it may remember the men who built the highway for the feet of trade to run in. and the west may yet measure its greatness somewhat by the honesty and faithfulness of the merchant of the frontier, and more by the courage and persistence of the boys who drove the ox-teams across the plains. don't forget that you yourselves are state-builders now."
-he spoke earnestly, but his words meant little to me. i was looking out toward the wide-sweeping kaw and thinking of the journey i must make, and wondering if i should ever feel at ease in the society of women. wondering, too, what i should say, and how i should really take care of "little lees," who had crossed the plains with us almost a decade ago; the girl who had held my hand tightly one night at old fort bent when the shadow had slipped across the moon and filled the silvery court with a gray, ghostly light.
-that night the old heart-hunger of childhood came back to me, the visions of the day-dreaming little boy that were almost forgotten in the years that had brought me to young manhood. and clearly again, as when i heard uncle esmond's voice that night on the tableland above the valley of the santa fé, i heard his gentle words:
-"sometimes the things we long for in our dreams we must fight for, and even die for, that those who come after us may be the better for our having them."
-but these thoughts passed with the night, and in my youth and inexperience i took on a spirit of fatherly importance as i went down to st. ann's to safeguard a little girl on her way through the kansas territory to the missouri river.
-it had been a beautiful day, and there was a freshness in the soft evening breeze, and an up-springing sweetness from the prairies. a shower had passed that way an hour before, and the spirit of growing things seemed to fill the air with a voiceless music.
-just at sunset the stage from the north put me down in front of st. ann's academy in the little osage mission village on the neosho.
-a tall nun, with commanding figure and dignified bearing, left the church steps across the road and came slowly toward me.
-"i am looking for mother bridget, the head of this school," i said, lifting my hat.
-"i am mother bridget." the voice was low and firm. one could not imagine disobedience under her rule.
-"i come from mr. esmond clarenden, to act as escort for a little girl, eloise st. vrain, who is to leave here on the stage for kansas city to-morrow," i hesitatingly offered my letter of introduction, which told all that i had tried to say, and more.
-the woman's calm face was gentle, with the protective gentleness of the stone that will not fail you when you lean on it. one felt sure of mother bridget, as one feels sure of the solid rock to build upon. she looked at me with keen, half-quizzical eyes. then she said, quietly:
-"you will find the little girl down by flat rock creek. the indian girl, po-a-be, is with her. there may be several indian girls down there, but po-a-be is alone with little eloise."
-i bowed and turned away, conscious that, with this good nun's sincerity, she was smiling at me back of her eyes somehow.
-as i followed the way leading to the creek i passed a group or two of indian girls--st. ann's, under the loretto sisterhood, was fundamentally a mission school for these--and a trio of young ladies, pretty and coquettish, with daring, mischievous eyes, whose glances made me flush hot to the back of my neck as i stumbled by them on my way to the stream.
-the last sun rays were glistening on the placid waters of the flat rock, and all the world was softly green, touched with a golden glamour. i paused by a group of bushes to let the spell of the hour have its way with me. i have always loved the beautiful things of earth; as much now as in my childhood days, when i felt ashamed to let my love be known; as now i dare to tell it only on paper, and not to that dear, great circle of men and women who know me best to-day.
-the sound of footsteps and the murmur of soft voices fitted into the sweetness of that evening hour as two girls, one of them an indian, came slowly down a well-worn path from the fields above the flat rock valley. they did not see me as they sat down on some broad stones beside the stream.
-i started forward to make myself known, but caught myself mid-step, for here was a picture to make any man pause.
-the indian girl facing me was little blue flower, the kiowas' captive, whom we had rescued at pawnee rock. her heavy black hair was coiled low on her neck, a headband of fine silverwork with pink coral pendants was bound about her forehead and gleaming against her jetty hair. with her well-poised head, her pure indian features, her lustrous dark eyes, her smooth brown skin, her cheeks like the heart of those black-red roses that grow only in richest soil--surely there was no finer type of that vanishing race in all the indian pueblos of the southwest. but the girl beside her! was it really so many years ago that i stood by the bushes on the flat rock's edge and saw that which i see so clearly now? then these years have been gracious indeed to me. the sun's level beams fell on the masses of golden waves that swept in soft little ripples back from the white brow to a coil of gold on the white neck, held, like the indian girl's, with a headband of wrought silver, and goldveined turquoise; it fell on the clear, smooth skin, the pink bloom of the cheek, the red lips, the white teeth, the big dark eyes with their fringe of long lashes beneath straight-penciled dark brows; on the curves of the white throat and the round white arms. only a master's hand could make you see these two, beautiful in their sharp contrast of deep brown and scarlet against the dainty white and gold.
-"oh, little blue flower, it will not make me change."
-i caught the words as i stepped toward the two, and the indian's soft, mournful answer:
-"but you are miss st. vrain now. you go away in the morning--and i love you always."
-the heart in me stopped just when all its flood had reached my face.
-"miss st. vrain," i repeated, aloud.
-"i beg your pardon. i am mr. clarenden," i managed to say.
-at the name little blue flower's eyes looked as they did on that hot may night out at pawnee rock when she heard beverly clarenden's boyish voice ring out, defiantly:
-"uncle esmond, let's take her, and take our chances."
-but the great light that had leaped into the girl's eyes died slowly out as she gazed at me.
-"you are not beverly clarenden," she said, in a low voice.
-"no, i'm gail, the little one. bev is up at fort leavenworth now," i replied.
-she turned away without a word and, gathering her draperies about her, sped up the pathway toward the fields above the creek.
-and we two were alone together--the dark-eyed girl of my boyhood vision, deep-shrined in the boy-heart's holy of holies, and i who had waited for her coming. it was the hour of golden sunset and long twilight afterglow on the glistening flat rock waters and the green prairies beyond the neosho.
-a sudden awakening came over me, and in one swift instant i understood my boyhood dreams and hopes and visions.
-"you will pardon me for coming so abruptly, miss st. vrain," i said. "mother bridget told me i would find you here."
-the girl listened to my stumbling words with eyes full of laughter.
-"don't call me miss st. vrain, please. let me be eloise, and i can call you gail. even with your height and your broad shoulders you haven't changed much. and in all these years i was always thinking of you growing up just as you are. let's sit down and get acquainted again."
-she offered me her hand and we sat down together. i could not speak then, for one sentence was ringing in my ears--"i was always thinking of you." in those years when beverly and i had put away all thoughts of sweethearts--they could not be a part of the plainsman's life before us--sweethearts such as older boys in school boasted about, "she was always thinking of me." the thought brought a keen hurt as if i had done her some great wrong, and it held me back from words.
-she could not interpret my silence, and a look of timidity crept over her young face.
-"i didn't mean to be so--so bold with a stranger," she began.
-"you aren't bold, and we aren't strangers. i was just too stupid to think anybody else could get out of childhood except old bev clarenden and myself," i managed to say at last. "i even forgot mat nivers, who is a young lady now, and aunty boone, who hasn't changed a kink of her woolly hair. but we couldn't be strangers. not after that trip across the plains and living at old fort bent as we did."
-i paused, and the memory of that last night at the fort made me steal a glance at eloise to see if she, too, remembered.
-she was fair to see just then, with the pink clouds mirrored on the placid waters reflected in the pink of her cheeks.
-"do you remember what i called you the first time i saw you?" she looked up with shining eyes.
-"you called me a big brown bob-cat, and you said i looked like i'd slept in the hondo 'royo all my life. i know i looked it, too. i'll forgive you if you will excuse my blunder to-day. what became of that boy, marcos? have you ever seen him since you left santa fé?" i asked.
-the fair face clouded, and a look of longing crept into the big, dark eyes lifted pleadingly a moment to mine. i wanted to take her in my arms right then and look about for something to kill for her sake. yet i would not, for the gold of all the mexicos, have touched the hem of her grecian robe.
-"yes, i have seen marcos many times. his father went to old mexico after the war, but the rameros do not stay long anywhere. marcos made life miserable for me sometimes." she paused suddenly.
-"the rameros. then he was the son of the man who was my uncle's enemy. maybe you did as much for him, too, sometimes. you had the spirit to do it, anyhow," i said, lightly, to hide my real feeling.
-"i was a little cat. i'm a lot better now. let's not go too much into that time. tell me where you have been and where you are going." eloise changed the subject easily.
-"i've been in cincinnati, attending a boys' school for three years. i start for santa fé in two weeks. my uncle's store is doing a big over land business, and he keeps the ox-teams just fanning one another, coming and going across the prairies. i'm crazy to go and see the open plains again. cincinnati is a city on stilts, and our little independence-westport landing-kansas city place, as the cincinnati of the great american desert, is also pretty bumpy, the last place on earth to put a town--only we can see almost to santa fé, new mexico, from the hilltops. won't it be great to view that mud-walled town again? bev is going, too--to kill a few indians for our winter's meat, he says, in his wicked, blood-thirsty way." so i ran on, glad to be alive in the delicious beauty of that spring evening as we together went back over the days of our young years.
-"gail, may we take another passenger to-morrow?" eloise asked, suddenly.
-"why, as many as the stage will hold! there's to be a nun and a priest and yourself. i'm chaperon. i could take the priest on my lap if he isn't too bulky," i answered.
-"i want to take po-a-be. i can't tell you why now."
-the lashes dropped over the brown eyes, and i wondered how she could think that i could refuse her anything.
-"oh, we'll take her on faith and the stage-coach. she can come right to castle clarenden and stay till she gets ready to hurdle off to her own 'wickie up'. she has grown into a beautiful indian woman, though i couldn't call her a squaw."
-"she isn't a squaw. i'm glad to hear you say that. i think it will make her very happy to stay at your home for a while. she will miss me a little when we leave here, maybe," eloise said, looking at me with a grateful smile that sent a tingle to my fingertips.
-"won't you stay, too?" i asked, suddenly realizing that this beautiful girl might slip away as easily as she had come into my life here.
-eloise laughed at my earnestness.
-"i couldn't stay long," she said, lightly.
-"and why not?" i burst in, eagerly. "what have you in santa fé?"
-"a little money and a lot of memories," she replied, seriously.
-"oh, i can bring the money up to kansas for you in an ox-train easily enough, and you could blow up the old mud-box of a town and not hurt a hair on the head of a single memory. you know you can take them anywhere you go. i do mine."
-"i'm going to st. louis, anyhow," eloise returned, "and you have no sacred memories--boys don't care for things like girls do."
-"they don't? they don't? and i have forgotten the little girl who was afraid one moonlit night out in the court at fort bent and asked me that i shouldn't ever let marcos pull her hair. yes, boys forget."
-i laid my hand on her arm and bent forward to look into her face. for just one flash those big dark eyes looked straight at me, with something in their depths that i shall never forget.
-then she moved lightly from me.
-"oh, all children remember, i suppose. i do, anyhow--a thousand things i'd like to forget. it is lovely by the river. suppose we go down there for a little while. i must not stay out here too long."
-i took her arm and we strolled down the quiet path in the twilight sweetness to where the broad neosho, brim full from the spring rains, swept on between picturesque banks. the afterglow of sunset was flaming gorgeously above the western prairies, and the mists along the neosho were lavender and mother-of-pearl. and before all this had deepened to purple darkness the full moon would swing up the sky, swathing the earth with a softened radiance. all the beauty of this warm spring night seemed but a setting for this girl in her graceful greek draperies, with the waving gold of her hair and her dainty pink-and-white coloring.
-a new heaven and a new earth had begun for me, and a delicious longing, clean and sweet, that swept every commoner feeling far away. what matter that the life before me be filled with danger, and all the coarse and cruel things of the hard days of the santa fé trail? in that hour i knew the best of life that a young man can know. its benediction after all these years of change is on me still. awhile we watched the flashing ripples on the river, and the sky's darkening afterglow. then we turned to the moonlit east.
-"do you know what the people of hopi-land call this month?" eloise asked.
-"i don't know hopi words for what is beautiful," i replied.
-"they call it 'the moon of the peach blossom', and they cherish the time in their calendar."
-"then we will be hopi people," i declared, "for it was in their moon of the peach blossom that you grew up for me from the little girl who called me a bob-cat down in the doorway of the old san miguel church in santa fé, and from aunty boone's 'little lees' at old fort bent, to the eloise of st. ann's by the kansas neosho."
-the sound of a sweet-toned bell told us that we must not stay longer, and together we followed the path from the flat rock up to the academy door. and all the way was like the ways of paradise to me, for i was in the peach-blossom moon of my own life.
-the hands that cling
-the hands that take no weight from your sad cross, oh, lighter far it were but for the burden that they bring! god only knows what hind'ring things they are-- the hands that cling. --esther m. clark
-the next morning three of us waited in the stage before the door of st. ann's academy. a thin-faced nun, who was called sister anita, sat beside eloise st. vrain, her snowy head-dress, with her black veil and somber garments, contrasting sharply with the silver-gray hat and traveling costume of her companion. hints of pink-satin linings to coat-collar and pocket-flaps, and the pink facing of the broad hat-brim, seemed borrowed from the silver and pink of misty morning skies, with the golden hair catching the glint of all the early sunbeams. there was a tenderness in the bright face, the sadness which parting puts temporarily into young countenances. the girl looked lovingly at the church, and st. ann's, and the green fields reaching up to the edge of the mission premises.
-as we waited, mother bridget and little blue flower came slowly out of the academy door. the good mother's arm was around the indian girl, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked down affectionately at the dark face.
-little blue flower, true to her heritage, gave no sign of grief save for the burning light in her big, dry eyes. she listened silently to mother bridget's parting words of advice and submitted without response to the embrace and gentle good-by kiss on her brown forehead.
-the good woman gazed into my face with penetrating eyes, as if to measure my trustworthiness.
-"you will see that no harm comes to my little po-a-be. the wolves of the forest are not the only danger for the unprotected lambs," she said, earnestly.
-"i'll do my best, mother bridget," i responded, feeling a swelling pride in my double charge.
-mother bridget patted eloise's hand and turned away. she loved all of her girls, but her heart went out most to the indian maidens whom she led toward her civilization and her sacred creed.
-as she turned away, the priest who was to go with us came out of the church door to the stage.
-little blue flower sat with the other two women, facing us, her dark-green dress with her rich coloring making as strong a contrast as the nun's black robe against the pink-touched silver-gray gown. and the indian face, strong, impenetrable, with a faintly feminine softening of the racial features, and the luminous black eyes, gave setting to the pure saxon type of her companion.
-i turned from the three to greet the priest and give him a place beside me. his face seemed familiar, but it was not until i heard his voice, in a courteous good-morning, that i knew him to be the father josef who had met us on the way into santa fé years before, and who later had shown us the little golden-haired girl asleep on the hard bench in the old mission church of agua fria. a page of my boyhood seemed suddenly to have opened there, and i wondered curiously at the meaning of it all. life, that for three years had been something of a monotonous round of action for a boy of the frontier, was suddenly filling each day with events worth while. i wondered many things concerning father josef's presence there, but i had the grace to ask no questions as we five journeyed over the rolling green prairies of kansas in the pleasant time of year which the hopi calls the moon of the peach blossom.
-the priest appeared hardly a day older than when i had first seen him, and he chatted genially as we rode along.
-"we are losing two of our stars," he said, with a gallant little bow. "miss st. vrain goes to st. louis to relatives, i believe, and little blue flower, eventually, to new mexico. st. ann's under mother bridget is doing a wonderful work among our people, but it is not often that a girl comes here from such a distance as new mexico."
-i tried to fancy what the indian girl's thoughts might be as the priest said this, but her face, as usual, gave no clue to her mind's activity.
-where the santa fé trail crossed the wakarusa father josef left us to join a wagon-train going west. sister anita, who was hurrying back to kentucky, she said, on some churchly errand, took a steamer at westport landing, and the three of us came to the clarenden home on the crest of the bluff.
-we had washed off our travel stains and come out on the veranda when we saw beverly clarenden standing in the sunlight, waiting for us. i had never seen him look so handsome as he did that day, dressed in the full regalia of the plains: a fringed and beaded buckskin coat, dark pantaloons held inside of high-topped boots, a flannel shirt, with a broad black silk tie fastened in a big bow at his throat, and his wide-brimmed felt hat set back from his forehead. clean-shaven, his bright brown hair--a trifle long, after the custom of the frontier--flung back from his brow, his blooming face wearing the happy smile of youth, his tall form easily erect, he seemed the very embodiment of that defiant power that swept the old santa fé trail clean for the feet of its commerce to run swiftly along. i am glad that i never envied him--brother of my heart, who loved me so.
-he was not as surprised as i had been to find the grown-up girl instead of the little child. that wasn't beverly's way.
-"i'm mighty glad to meet you again," he said, with jaunty air, grasping eloise by the hand. "you look just as--shall i say promising, as ever."
-"i'm glad to see you, beverly. you and gail have been my biggest assets of memory these many years." eloise was at ease with him in a moment. somehow they never misunderstood each other.
-"oh, i'm always an asset, but gail here gets to be a liability if you let him stay around too long."
-"here is somebody else. don't you remember little blue flower?" eloise interrupted him.
-"little blue flower! why, i should say i do! and are you that little blossom?"
-"i haven't forgotten the last time i saw your face in a wide crack between two adobe shacks. a 'flower in the crannied wall' in that 'pure water' sand-pile in new mexico. i'd have plucked you out of the cranny right then, if old rex krane hadn't given us our 'forward march!' orders, and an indian boy, ten feet high and sneaky as a cat, hadn't been lurking in the middle distance to pluck me as a brand for the burning. and now you are a st. ann's girl, a good little catholic. how did you ever get away up into kansas territory, anyhow?"
-beverly had unconsciously held the girl's hand as he spoke, but at the mention of the indian boy she drew back and her bright face became expressionless.
-just then mat nivers joined us--mat, whom the lord made to smooth the way for everybody around her--and we sat down for a visit.
-"we are all here, friends of my youthful days," beverly went on, gaily. "bill banney and jondo are down in the clarenden warehouse packing merchandise for the santa fé trade. even big black aunty boone, getting supper in there, is still a feature of this circus. if only that slim yankee, rex krane, would appear here now. uncle esmond tells me he is to be here soon, and if all goes well he will go with us to santa fé again. how about it, mat? can't you hurry his coming a bit?"
-but mat was staring at the roadway leading to the ravine below us. her wide gray eyes were full of eagerness and her cheeks were pink with excitement. for, sure enough, there was rex krane striding up the hill, with the easy swing of vigorous health. no longer the slender, slouching young idol of my boyhood days, with eastern cut of garment and devil-may-care dejection of manner, all hiding a loving tenderness for the unprotected, and a daring spirit that scorned danger.
-"it's the old settlers' picnic, eh! the gathering of the wild tribes--anything you want to call it, so we smoke the peace pipe."
-rex greeted all of us as we rushed upon him. but the first hands he reached for were the hands of our loving big sister mat. and he held them close in his as he looked down into her beautiful eyes.
-that was a glorious week that followed, and one to remember on the long trail days coming to us. i have no quarrel with the happy youth of to-day, but i feel no sense of loss nor spirit of envy when they tell me--all young people are my friends--when they tell me of golf-links and automobile rides, or even the daring hint of airplanes. to the heart of youth the gasolene-motor or the thrill of the air-craft to-day is no more than the indian pony and the uncertain chance of the crude old canoe on the clear waters of the big blue when kansas city was a village and the kansas prairies were in their virgin glory.
-bill banney had come out of the mexican war, no longer an adventure lover, but a seasoned frontiersman. his life knew few of the gentler touches. he gave it to the plains, where so many lives went, unhonored and unsung, into the building of an enduring empire.
-we would have included him in all the frolic of that wonderful week in the moon of the peach blossom--but he gave us no opportunity to do so. and we were young, and the society of girls was a revelation to us. so with the carelessness of youth we forgot him. we forgot many things that week that, in heaven's name, we had cause enough to remember in the years that followed after.
-"there's a theatrical troupe come up from st. louis to play here to-night," rex krane announced, after supper. "mat, will you let me take you down to see the villain get what's due all villains? then if we have to kill off gail and bev, it will not be so awkward."
-"can't we all go?" mat suggested.
-"never mind us, lady nivers. little blue flower, may i have the pleasure of your company? i need protection to-night," beverly said, with much ceremony.
-little blue flower was sitting next to him, or it might not have begun that way.
-"oh, say yes. he's no poorer company than that company of actors down town," rex urged.
-the indian girl assented with a smile.
-she did not smile often and when she did her eyes were full of light, and her red lips and perfect white teeth were beautiful enough for a queen to envy.
-"little lees, it seems you are doomed to depend on gail or jump in the kaw. i'd prefer the kaw myself, but life is full of troubles. one more can be endured." rex had turned to eloise st. vrain.
-"seems to me, having first choice, you might have been more considerate of my lot yourself," eloise declared.
-"he was. he saved you from a worse fate when he chose mat," i broke in.
-"may we have a song by the choir?" beverly interrupted, and with his full bass voice he began to roar our some popular tune of that time.
-and it went on as it began, the rambles about the rugged bluffs and picturesque ravines, where to-day the hard-surfaced cliff drive makes a scenic highway through the beauty spots of a populous city; the daring canoe rides on the rivers; the gatherings of the young folk in the town; and the long twilight hours on the crest of the bluff overlooking the two great waterways. and as by the first selection, beverly and little blue flower were companions. nobody could be unhappy with bev, least of all the shy indian girl with a face full of sunshine, now. and i? i walked a pathway strewn with rose petals because the golden-haired little lees was beside me. each day was a frolic day for us, teasing one another and making a joke of life, and for the morrow we took no thought at all.
-one evening eloise st. vrain and i sat together on the bluff. it was the twilight hour, and all the far valley of the kaw was full of iridescent misty lights, with gold-tipped clouds of pale lavender above, and the glistening silver of the river below. we could hear beverly and little blue flower laughing together in a big swing among the maples. aunty boone was crooning some african melodies in the bushes half-way down the slope. rex and mat had gone to the ravine below to meet uncle esmond.
-"little lees, the first time i ever saw you you were away out there in such a misty light as that, and i saw only your hair and your eyes then, but as clearly as i see them now."
-eloise turned questioningly toward me, and the light in her dark eyes thrilled to the heart of me. in all her stay with us i had hardly spoken earnestly of anything before.
-"when was that gail?" she asked, the frivolous spirit gone from her, too.
-"when i was a little boy, one day at fort leavenworth. and when i caught sight of you at the door of old san miguel i knew you," i replied.
-the girl turned her face toward the west again and was silent. i felt my cheeks flush hotly. i had made her think i was only a dream-sick fool, when i had told her of the sacredest moment of my life, and i had for the minute foolishly felt that she might understand. how could i know that it was i who could not understand?
-at last she looked up with a smile as full of mischief as on that day when she had called me a big brown bob-cat.
-"you must have been having a nightmare in your sleep," she declared.
-"i think i was," i replied, testily. "let me tell you something, little lees, something really important."
-"i don't believe you know one important thing," eloise replied, "but i'll listen, and then if it is i'll tell you something more important."
-"i'm willing to hear it now. tell me first," i replied, wondering the while how nature, that gives rough-hewn bearded faces to men, could make a face so daintily colored, in its youthful roundness, as hers.
-"i'm going to start to st. louis day after to-morrow at six o'clock in the morning. isn't that important?"
-was there a real earnestness under the lightly spoken words, or did i imagine it so? if i had only made sure then--but i was young.
-"important! it's a tragedy! i start west in three days, at eight o'clock in the morning," i said, carelessly.
-sometimes the gray shadows fall on us when neither sunlight nor moonlight nor starlight is dimmed by any film of vapor. they fell on me then, and i shivered in my soul. how could i speak otherwise than carelessly and not show what must not be known? and how could the girl beside me know that i was speaking thus to keep down the shiver of that cold shadow? i suppose it must always be the same old story, year after year--
-till the leaves of the judgment book unfold.
-"what was that important something you were going to tell me? what mat told me last night when we were watching the moon rise?" eloise asked.
-"that rex and mat are going to be married to-morrow evening at early candle-lighting--'early mosquito-biting,' bev calls it. rex has loved mat since the day when he joined our little wagon-train out of a foolish sort of notion that he could protect us children, otherwise his life was useless to him. but something in his own boyhood made him pity all orphan children. i think it was through neglect in childhood he became an invalid at nineteen. he doesn't show the marks of it now."
-i paused and looked at the young girl beside me, whose eyes were like stars in the deepening gloom of the evening. it was delicious to have her look at me and listen to me. it was delicious to live in a rose-hued twilight, and i forgot the chill of that gray shadow lurking near.
-the next evening was entrancing with the soft air of spring, a night made purposely for brides. the wedding itself was simple in its appointments, as such events must needs be in the frontier years. all day we had worked to decorate the plain stone house, which the deftness of little blue flower and the artistic touch of little lees turned into a spring bower, with trailing vines and blossoms everywhere.
-mat's wedding-gown was neither new nor elaborate, for the affair had been too hastily decided on, but eloise had made it bride-like by draping a filmy veil over mat's bright brown hair, and little blue flower had brought her long strands of turquoise beads, "old and borrowed and blue," to fulfil the needs of every bride.
-in the bridal party beverly and i walked in front, followed by the two girls in the white greek robes which they had worn at the school frolic at st. ann's, and wearing their headbands, the one of silver and turquoise, the other of silver and coral. then came rex krane and bill banney. poor bill! nobody guessed that night that the bridal blossoms were flowers on the coffin of his dead hope. and last of all, esmond clarenden and mat nivers, with shining eyes, leaning on his arm. i had never seen uncle esmond in evening dress before, nor dreamed how splendid a figure he could make for a drawing-room in the costume in which he was so much at ease. but the handsomest man of all the large company gathered there that night was jondo, big, broad-shouldered jondo, his deep-blue eyes bright with joy for these two. and in the background was aunty boone, resplendent in a new red calico besprinkled with her favorite white dots, her head turbaned in a yellow silk bandana, and about her neck a strand of huge green glass beads. her eyes glistened as she watched that night's events, and her comfortable ejaculations of approval were like the low purr of a satisfied cat. then came the solemn pledges, the benediction and congratulations. there was merrymaking and singing, cake and unfermented wine of grapes for refreshing, and much good will that night.
-when the guests were gone and the lights, save one kitchen candle, were all out, i had slipped from the dining-room with the last burden of dishes, when i paused a minute beside the open kitchen window to let the midnight breeze cool my face.
-on the side porch, a little affair made to shelter the doorway, i saw beverly clarenden and little blue flower. he was speaking gently, but with his blunt frankness, as he patted the two brown hands clinging to his arm. the indian girl's white draperies were picturesque anywhere. in this dramatic setting they were startlingly beautiful, and her face, outlined in the dim light, was a thing rare to see. i could not hear her words, but her soft hopi voice had a tender tone.
-i was waiting to let them pass in when i heard beverly's voice, and i saw him bend over the little maiden, and, putting one arm around her, he drew her close to him and kissed her forehead. i knew it was a brother's sympathetic act--and all men know how dangerous a thing that is; that there are no ties binding brother to sister except the bonds of kindred blood. the girl slipped inside the dining-room door, and a minute later a candle flickered behind her bedroom window-blind in the gable of the house. i waited for beverly to go, determined never to mention what i had seen, when i caught the clear low voice whose tones could make my pulse thresh in its walls.
-"beverly, beverly, it breaks my heart--" i lost the remainder of the sentence, but beverly's words were clear and direct and full of a frank surprise.
-"eloise, do you really care?"
-i turned away quickly that i might not hear any more. the rest of that night i sat wide awake and staring at the misty valley of the kaw, where silvery ripples flashed up here and there against the shadowy sand-bars.
-the steamboat for st. louis left the westport landing wharf at six o'clock in the morning, before the mists had lifted over the big yellow missouri. from our bluff i saw the smoke belch from its stacks as it pulled away and started down-stream; but only uncle esmond and jondo waited to wave good-by to the sweet-faced girl looking back at them from its deck. beverly had overslept, and little blue flower had left an hour earlier with a wagon-train starting west toward council grove. in her room lay the white grecian robe and the headband of wrought silver with coral pendants. on the little white pin-cushion on the dressing-table the bright pin-heads spelled out one hopi word that carries all good will and blessing,
-twenty-four hours later rex krane left his bride, and he and bill banney and beverly and i, under command of jondo, started on our long trip overland to santa fé. and two of us carried some memories we hoped to lose when new scenes and certain perils should surround us.
-"our friends--the enemy"
-and you all know security is mortal's chiefest enemy.
-in st. louis and kansas city men of esmond clarenden's type were sending out great caravans of goods and receiving return cargoes across the plains--pioneer trade-builders, uncrowned sovereigns of national expansion--against whose enduring power wars for conquest are as flashlight to daylight. and beverly clarenden and i, with the whole battalion of plainsmen--"bull-whackers," in the common parlance of the santa fé trail--who drove those caravans to and fro, may also have been state-builders, as uncle esmond had declared we would be. yet we hardly looked like makers of empire in those summer days when we followed the great wagon-trains along the prairies and over the mountain passes.
-two of us had come home from school hilariously eager for the trail service. but the silent plains made men thoughtful and introspective. days of endless level landscapes under wide-arching skies, and nights in the open beneath the everlasting silent stars, give a man time to get close to himself, to relive his childhood, to measure human values, to hear the voice in the storm-cloud and the song of low-purring winds, to harden against the monotonous glare of sunlight, to defy the burning heat, and to feel--aye, to feel the spell of crystal day-dawns and the sweetness of velvet-shadowed twilights. beverly and i were typical plainsmen in that we never spoke of these things to each other--that is not the way of the plainsman.
-our company had been organized at council grove--three trains of twenty-six wagons each, drawn by three or four spans of mules or yoke of oxen, guarded by eightscore of "bull-whackers." and there were a dozen or more ponies trained for swift riding in cases of emergency. there were also half a dozen private outfits under protection of the large body.
-the usual election before starting had made jondo captain of the whole company. his was the controlling type of spirit that could have bent a battalion or swayed a congress. for all the commanders and lawmakers of that day were not confined to the army and to congress. some of them escaped to the west and became sovereigns of service there. and jondo had need for an intrepid spirit to rule that group of men, as that journey across the plains proved.
-dorothea, michael, nicholas and john should remain.
-as frances looked at the four children, her mouth tightened itself so as to undo the ruinous adoration of her eyes. she loved their slender bodies, their pure, candid faces, their thick, straight hair that parted solidly from the brush, clean-cut and shining like sheets of polished metal, brown for dorothy, black-brown for nicholas, red gold for michael and white gold for john. she was glad that they were all made like that; slender and clear and hard, and that their very hair was a thing of clean surfaces and definite edges. she disliked the blurred outlines of fatness and fuzziness and fluffiness. the bright solidity of their forms helped her to her adored illusion, the illusion of their childhood as going on, lasting for ever and ever.
-they would be the nicest looking children at mrs. jervis's party. they would stand out solid from the fluffiness and fuzziness and fatness of the others. she saw people looking at them. she heard them saying: "who are the two little boys in brown linen?"--"they are michael and nicholas harrison." the funny man came and said: "hello! i didn't expect to see you here!" it was michael and nicholas he didn't expect to see; and the noise in the room was nicky's darling laughter.
-music played. michael and nicholas danced to the music. it was michael's body and nicky's that kept for her the pattern of the dance, their feet that beat out its measure. sitting under the tree of heaven frances could see mrs. jervis's party. it shimmered and clustered in a visionary space between the tree and the border of blue larkspurs on the other side of the lawn. the firm figures of michael and nicholas and dorothy held it together, kept it from being shattered amongst the steep blue spires of the larkspurs. when it was all over they would still hold it together, so that people would know that it had really happened and remember having been there. they might even remember that rosalind had had a birthday.
-frances had just bestowed this life after death on mrs. jervis's party when she heard michael saying he didn't want to go to it.
-he had no idea why he didn't want to go except that he didn't.
-"what'?" said frances. "not when nicky and dorothy are going?"
-he shook his head. he was mournful and serious.
-"and there's going to be a magic lantern"--
-"and a funny man"--
-"and a big white cake with sugar icing and rosalind's name on it in pink letters, and eight candles--"
-"i know, mummy." michael's under lip began to shake.
-"i thought it was only little baby boys that were silly and shy."
-michael was not prepared to contest the statement. he saw it was the sort of thing that in the circumstances she was bound to say. all the same his under lip would have gone on shaking if he hadn't stopped it.
-"i thought you were a big boy," said frances.
-"so i was, yesterday. to-day isn't yesterday, mummy."
-"if john--john was asked to a beautiful party he wouldn't be afraid to go."
-as soon as michael's under lip had stopped shaking his eyelids began. you couldn't stop your eyelids.
-"it's not afraid, exactly," he said.
-"what is it, then?"
-"it's sort--sort of forgetting things."
-"i don't know, mummy. i think--it's pieces of me that i want to remember. at a party i can't feel all of myself at once--like i do now."
-she loved his strange thoughts as she loved his strange beauty, his reddish yellow hair, his light hazel eyes that were not hers and not anthony's.
-"what will you do, sweetheart, all afternoon, without nicky and dorothy and mary-nanna?"
-"i don't want nicky and dorothy and mary-nanna. i want myself. i want to play with myself."
-she thought: "why shouldn't he? what right have i to say these things to him and make him cry, and send him to stupid parties that he doesn't want to go to? after all, he's only a little boy."
-she thought of michael, who was seven, as if he were younger than nicholas, who was only five.
-nicky was different. you could never tell what michael would take it into his head to think. you could never tell what nicky would take it into his head to do. there was no guile in michael. but sometimes there was guile in nicky. frances was always on the look out for nicky's guile.
-so when michael remarked that grannie and the aunties would be there immediately and nicky said, "mummy, i think my ear is going to ache," her answer was--"you won't have to stay more than a minute, darling."
-for nicky lived in perpetual fear that his auntie louie might kiss at him.
-dorothy saw her mother's profound misapprehension and she hastened to put it right.
-"it isn't auntie louie, mummy. his ear is really aching."
-and still frances went on smiling. she knew, and nicky knew that, if a little boy could establish the fact of earache, he was absolved from all social and family obligations for as long as his affliction lasted. he wouldn't have to stand still and pretend he liked it while he was being kissed at.
-frances kept her mouth shut when she smiled, as if she were trying not to. it was her upper lip that got the better of her. the fine, thin edges of it quivered and twitched and curled. you would have said the very down was sensitive to her thought's secret and iniquitous play. her smile mocked other people's solemnities, her husband's solemnity, and the solemnity (no doubt inherited) of her son michael; it mocked the demureness and the gravity of her face.
-she had brought her face close to nicky's; and it was as if her mouth had eyes in it to see if there were guile in him.
-"are you a little humbug?" she said.
-nicky loved his mother's face. it never got excited or did silly things like other people's faces. it never got red and shiny like auntie louie's face, or hot and rough like auntie emmeline's, or wet and mizzly like auntie edie's. the softness and whiteness and dryness of his mother's face were delightful to nicky. so was her hair. it was cold, with a funny sort of coldness that made your fingers tingle when you touched it; and it smelt like the taste of brazil nuts.
-"i'm afraid," she said, "you're a little humbug. run to the terrace and see if grannie and the aunties are coming."
-he ran. it was half a child's run and half a full-grown boy's.
-then mrs. anthony addressed her daughter.
-"why did you say his ear's aching when it isn't?"
-"because," said dorothy, "it is aching."
-she was polite and exquisite and obstinate, like anthony.
-"nicky ought to know his own ear best. go and tell him he's not to stand on the top of the wall. and if they're coming wave to them, to show you're glad to see them."
-she knew it was dreadful before she said it. but she had warded off reproof by nuzzling against her mother's cheek as it tried to turn away from her. she saw her mother's upper lip moving, twitching. the sensitive down stirred on it like a dark smudge, a dust that quivered. her own mouth, pushed forward, searching, the mouth of a nuzzling puppy, remained grave and tender. she was earnest and imperturbable in her truthfulness. "whether you're glad or not you must go," said frances. she meant to be obeyed.
-dorothy went. her body was obedient. for as yet she had her mother's body and her face, her blunted oval, the straight nose with the fine, tilted nostrils, her brown eyes, her solid hair, brown on the top and light underneath, and on the curve of the roll above her little ears. frances had watched the appearance of those details with an anxiety that would have surprised her if she had been aware of it. she wanted to see herself in the bodies of her sons and in the mind of her daughter. but dorothy had her father's mind. you couldn't move it. what she had said once she stuck to for ever, like anthony to his ash-tree. as if sticking to a thing for ever could make it right once. and dorothy had formed the habit of actually being right, like anthony, nine times out of ten. frances foresaw that this persistence, this unreasoning rectitude, might, in time, become annoying in a daughter. there were moments when she was almost perturbed by the presence of this small, mysterious organism, mixed up of her body and her husband's mind.
-but in secret she admired her daughter's candour, her downrightness and straightforwardness, her disdain of conventions and hypocrisies. frances was not glad, she knew she was not glad, any more than dorothy was glad, to see her mother and her sisters. she only pretended. in secret she was afraid of every moment she would have to live with them. she had lived with them too long. she foresaw what would happen this afternoon, how they would look, what they would say and do, and with what gestures. it would be like the telling, for the thirteenth time, of a dull story that you know every word of.
-she thought she had sent them a kind message. but she knew she had only asked them to come early in order that they might go early and leave her to her happiness.
-she went down to the terrace wall where michael and nicky and dorothy were watching for them. she was impatient, and she thought that she wanted to see them coming. but she only wanted to see if they were coming early. it struck her that this was sad.
-small and distant, the four black figures moved on the slope under the judges' walk; four spots of black that crawled on the sallow grass and the yellow clay of the heath.
-"how little they look," michael said.
-their littleness and their distance made them harmless, made them pathetic. frances was sorry that she was not glad. that was the difference between her and dorothy, that she was sorry and always would be sorry for not being what she ought to be; and dorothy never would be sorry for being what she was. she seemed to be saying, already, in her clearness and hardness, "what i am i am, and you can't change me." the utmost you could wring from her was that she couldn't help it.
-frances's sorrow was almost unbearable when the four women in black came nearer, when she saw them climbing the slope below the garden and the lane.
-grannie took a long time crossing the lawn from the door in the lane to the tree of heaven.
-mrs. fleming went slowly, not because she was old, for she was only sixty, but because, though she said, and thought, that she was wrapped up in frances and her children, she was still absorbed, fascinated by her sacred sense of bereavement. she moved as if hypnotized by her own sorrow.
-to her three unmarried daughters she behaved with a sort of mystic hostility, a holy detachment and displeasure, as if she suspected them of getting over it, or of wanting to get over it if they could. but to her one married daughter and to her grand-children she was soft and gentle. so that, when they happened to be all together, her moods changed so rapidly that she seemed a creature of unaccountable caprice. one minute her small, white, dry face quivered with softness and gentleness, and the next it stiffened, or twitched with the inimical, disapproving look it had for louie and emmeline and edith.
-the children lifted up their pure, impassive faces to be kissed at. old nanna brought baby john and put him on his grandmother's knee. dorothy and nicholas went off with mary-nanna to the party. michael forgot all about playing with himself. he stayed where he was, drawn by the spectacle of grannie and the aunties. grannie was clucking and chuckling to baby john as she had clucked and chuckled to her own babies long ago. her under lip made itself wide and full; it worked with an in and out movement very funny and interesting to michael. the movement meant that grannie chuckled under protest of memories that were sacred to grandpapa.
-"tchoo--tchoo--tchoo--tchoo! chuckaboo! beautiful boy!" said grannie.
-auntie louie looked at her youngest nephew. she smiled her downward, sagging smile, wrung from a virginity sadder than grannie's grief. she spoke to baby john.
-"you really are rather a nice boy," auntie louie said.
-but edie, the youngest auntie, was kneeling on the grass before him, bringing her face close to his. baby john's new and flawless face was cruel to auntie edie's. so was his look of dignity and wisdom.
-"oh, she says you're only rather nice," said auntie edie. "and you're the beautifullest, sweetest, darlingest that ever was. wasn't she a nasty auntie louie? ten little pink toes. and there he goes. five little tootsies to each of his footsies."
-she hid herself behind the times disturbing jane.
-"where's john-john?" she cried. "where's he gone to? can anybody tell me where to find john-john? where's john-john? peep-bo--there he is! john-john, look at auntie edie. oh, he won't pay any attention to poor me."
-baby john was playing earnestly with grannie's watch-chain.
-"you might leave the child alone," said grannie. "can't you see he doesn't want you?"
-auntie edie made a little pouting face, like a scolded, pathetic child. nobody ever did want auntie edie.
-and all the time auntie emmy was talking to frances very loud and fast.
-"frances, i do think your garden's too beautiful for words. how clever of you to think of clearing away the old flower-beds. i hate flower-beds on a lawn. yet i don't suppose i should have had the strength of mind to get rid of them if it bad been me."
-as she talked auntie emmy opened her eyes very wide; her eyebrows jerked, the left one leaping up above the right; she thrust out her chin at you and her long, inquiring nose. her thin face was the play of agitated nerve-strings that pulled it thus into perpetual, restless movements; and she made vague gestures with her large, bony hands. her tongue went tick-tack, like a clock. anthony said you-could hear emmy's tongue striking the roof of her-mouth all thee time.
-"and putting those delphiniums all together like that--massing the blues. anthony? i do think anthony has perfect taste. i adore delphiniums."
-auntie emmy was behaving as if neither michael nor baby john was there.
-"don't you think john-john's too beautiful for words?" said frances. "don't you like him a little bit too?"
-auntie emmy winced as if frances had flicked something in her face.
-"of course i like him too. why shouldn't i?"
-"i don't think you do, auntie emmy," michael said.
-auntie emmy considered him as for the first time.
-"what do you know about it?" she said.
-"i can tell by the funny things your face does."
-"i thought," said frances, "you wanted to play by yourself."
-"so i do," said michael.
-"well then, go and play."
-he went and to a heavenly place that he knew of. but as he played with himself there he thought: "auntie emmy doesn't tell the truth. i think it is because she isn't happy."
-michael kept his best things to himself.
-"i suppose you're happy," said grannie, "now you've got the poor child sent away."
-auntie emmy raised her eyebrows and spread out her hands, as much as to say she was helpless under her mother's stupidity.
-"he'd have been sent away anyhow," said frances. "it isn't good for him to hang about listening to grown-up conversation."
-it was her part to keep the peace between her mother and her sisters.
-"it seems to me," said auntie louie, "that you began it yourself."
-when a situation became uncomfortable, auntie louie always put her word in and made it worse. she never would let frances keep the peace.
-frances knew what louie meant--that she was always flinging her babies in emmy's face at those moments when the sight of other people's babies was too much for emmy. she could never be prepared for emmy's moments.
-"it's all very well," auntie louie went on; "but i should like to hear of somebody admiring dorothy. i don't see where dorothy comes in."
-dorothy was supposed, by the two nannas, to be auntie louie's favourite. if you taxed her with it she was indignant and declared that she was sure she wasn't.
-and again frances knew what louie meant--that she loved her three sons, michael and nicholas and john, with passion, and her one daughter, dorothea, with critical affection. that was the sort of thing that louie was always saying and thinking about people, and nobody ever paid the slightest attention to what louie said or thought. frances told herself that if there was one emotion that she was more free from than another it was sex jealousy.
-the proof of it, which she offered now, was that she had given up dorothy to anthony. it was natural that he should care most for the little girl.
-louie said that was easy--when she knew perfectly well that anthony didn't. like frances he cared most for his three sons. she was leaving dorothy to anthony so that anthony might leave michael and nicholas to her.
-"you might just as well say," frances said, "that i'm in love with john-john. poor little don-don!"
-"i might," said louie, "just as well."
-grannie said she was sure she didn't understand what they were talking about and that louie had some very queer ideas in her head.
-"louie," she said, "knows more than i do."
-frances thought: was grannie really stupid? was she really innocent? was she not, rather, clever, chock-full of the secret wisdom and the secret cruelty of sex?
-frances was afraid of her thoughts. they came to her not like thoughts, but like quick rushes of her blood, partly confusing her. she did not like that.
-she thought: supposing grannie knew all the time that emmy was unhappy, and took a perverse pleasure in her knowledge? supposing she was not really soft and gentle? she could be soft and gentle to her, because of her children and because of anthony. she respected anthony because he was well-off and efficient and successful, and had supported her ever since grandpapa had gone bankrupt. she was proud of frances because she was anthony's wife, who had had three sons and only one daughter.
-grannie behaved as if her grandchildren were her own children, as if she had borne three sons and only one daughter, instead of four daughters and only one son. still, frances was the vehicle of flesh and blood that carried on her flesh and blood in michael and nicholas and john. she respected frances.
-but frances could remember a time when she had been unmarried like her sisters, and when grannie had turned on her, too, that look that was half contempt and half hostility or displeasure. grannie had not wanted her to marry anthony, any more than she would have wanted louie or emmeline or edith to marry anybody, supposing anybody had wanted to marry them. and frances and anthony had defied her. they had insisted on marrying each other. frances knew that if there had been no anthony, her mother would have despised her in secret, as in secret she despised emmeline and edith. she despised them more than louie, because, poor things, they wanted, palpably, to be married, whereas louie didn't, or said she didn't. in her own way, louie had defied her mother. she had bought a type-writer and a bicycle with her own earnings, and by partially supporting herself she had defied anthony, the male benefactor, louie's manner intimated that there was nothing frances had that she wanted. she had resources in herself, and frances had none.
-frances persuaded herself that she admired and respected louie. she knew that she, frances, was only admired and respected because she had succeeded where her three sisters had failed. she was even afraid that, in moments of exasperation, grannie used her and anthony and the children to punish emmy and edie for their failure. the least she could do was to stand between them and grannie.
-it was possible that if grannie had been allowed to ignore them and give her whole attention to frances or michael or baby john, she could have contrived to be soft and gentle for an afternoon. but neither louie nor emmeline, nor even edith, would consent to be ignored. they refused to knuckle under, to give in. theirs was a perpetual struggle to achieve an individuality in the teeth of circumstances that had denied them any. frances acknowledged that they were right, that in the same circumstances she would have done the same.
-in their different ways and by different methods they claimed attention. they claimed it incessantly, louie, the eldest, by an attitude of assurance and superiority so stiff and hard that it seemed invulnerable; emmy by sudden jerky enthusiasms, exaltations, intensities; edie by an exaggerated animation, a false excitement. edie would drop from a childish merriment to a childish pathos, when she would call herself "poor me," and demand pity for being tired, for missing a train, for cold feet, for hair coming down.
-there would be still more animation, and still more enthusiasm when anthony came home.
-frances prided herself on her power of foreseeing things. she foresaw that anthony would come home early for his game. she foresaw the funny, nervous agony of his face when he appeared on the terrace and caught sight of grannie and the three aunties, and the elaborate and exquisite politeness with which he would conceal from them his emotion. she foresaw that she would say to annie, "when the master comes tell him we're having tea in the garden, under the tree of--under the ash-tree" (for after all, he was the master, and discipline must be maintained). she foresaw the very gestures of his entrance, the ironically solemn bow that he would make to her, far-off, from the terrace; she even foresaw the kind of joke that, for the life of him, he would not be able to help making. she was so made that she could live happily in this world of small, foreseen things.
-and it all happened as she had foreseen.
-anthony came home early, because it was a fine afternoon. he made the kind of joke that calamity always forced from him, by some perversion of his instincts.
-"when is an ash-tree not an ash-tree? when it's a tree of heaven."
-he was exquisitely polite to grannie and the aunties, and his manner to frances, which she openly complained of, was, he said, what a woman brought on herself when she reserved her passion for her children, her sentiment for trees of heaven, and her mockery for her devoted husband.
-"i suppose we can have some tennis now," said auntie louie.
-"certainly," said anthony, "we can, and we shall." he tried not to look at frances.
-and auntie edie became automatically animated.
-"i can't serve for nuts, but i can run. who's going to play with me?"
-"i am," said anthony. he was perfect.
-the game of tennis had an unholy and terrible attraction for auntie louie and auntie edie. neither of them could play. but, whereas auntie louie thought that she could play and took tennis seriously, auntie edie knew that she couldn't and took it as a joke.
-auntie louie stood tall and rigid and immovable. she planted herself, like a man, close up to the net, where anthony wanted to be, and where he should have been; but auntie louie said she was no good if you put her to play back; she couldn't be expected to take every ball he missed.
-when auntie louie called out "play!" she meant to send a nervous shudder through her opponents, shattering their morale. she went through all the gestures of an annihilating service that for some reason never happened. she said the net was too low and that spoiled her eye. and when she missed her return it was because anthony had looked at her and put her off. still aunt louie's attitude had this advantage that it kept her quiet in one place where anthony could dance round and round her.
-but auntie edie played in little nervous runs and slides and rushes; she flung herself, with screams of excitement, against the ball, her partner and the net; and she brandished her racket in a dangerous manner. the oftener she missed the funnier it was to auntie edie. she had been pretty when she was young, and seventeen years ago her cries and tumbles and collisions had been judged amusing; and auntie edie thought they were amusing still. anthony had never had the heart to undeceive her. so that when anthony was there auntie edie still went about setting a standard of gaiety for other people to live up to; and still she was astonished that they never did, that other people had no sense of humour.
-therefore frances was glad when anthony told her that he had asked mr. parsons, the children's tutor, and young norris and young vereker from the office to come round for tennis at six, and that dinner must be put off till half-past eight.
-all was well. the evening would be sacred to anthony and the young men. the illusion of worry passed, and frances's real world of happiness stood firm.
-and as frances's mind, being a thoroughly healthy mind, refused to entertain any dreary possibility for long together, so it was simply unable to foresee downright calamity, even when it had been pointed out to her. for instance, that nicky should really have chosen the day of the party for an earache, the worst earache he had ever had.
-he appeared at tea-time, carried in mary-nanna's arms, and with his head tied up in one of mr. jervis's cricket scarves. as he approached his family he tried hard not to look pathetic.
-and at the sight of her little son her whole brilliant world of happiness was shattered around frances.
-"nicky darling," she said, "why didn't you tell me it was really aching?"
-"i didn't know," said nicky.
-he never did know the precise degree of pain that distinguished the beginning of a genuine earache from that of a sham one, and he felt that to palm off a sham earache on his mother for a real one, was somehow a sneaky thing to do. and while his ear went on stabbing him, nicky did his best to explain.
-"you see, i never know whether it's aching or whether it's only going to ache. it began a little, teeny bit when the funny man made me laugh. and i didn't see the magic lantern, and i didn't have any of rosalind's cake. it came on when i was biting the sugar off. and it was aching in both ears at once. it was," said nicky, "a jolly sell for me."
-at that moment nicky's earache jabbed upwards at his eyelids and cut them, and shook tears out of them. but nicky's mouth refused to take any part in the performance, though he let his father carry him upstairs. and, as he lay on the big bed in his mother's room, he said he thought he could bear it if he had jane-pussy to lie beside him, and his steam-engine.
-anthony went back into the garden to fetch jane. he spent an hour looking for her, wandering in utter misery through the house and through the courtyard and stables and the kitchen garden. he looked for jane in the hothouse and the cucumber frames, and under the rhubarb, and on the scullery roof, and in the water butt. it was just possible that on a day of complete calamity jane should have slithered off the scullery roof into the water-butt. the least he could do was to find jane, since nicky wanted her.
-and in the end it turned out that jane had been captured in her sleep, treacherously, by auntie emmy. and she had escaped, maddened with terror of the large, nervous, incessantly caressing hands. she had climbed into the highest branch of the tree of heaven, and crouched there, glaring, unhappy.
-"damn the cat!" said anthony to himself. (it was not jane he meant.)
-he was distressed, irritated, absurdly upset, because he would have to go back to nicky without jane, because he couldn't get nicky what he wanted.
-in that moment anthony loved nicky more than any of them. he loved him almost more than frances. nicky's earache ruined the fine day.
-he confided in young vereker. "i wouldn't bother," he said, "if the little chap wasn't so plucky about it."
-"quite so, sir," said young vereker.
-it was young mr. vereker who found jane, who eventually recaptured her. young mr. vereker made himself glorious by climbing up, at the risk of his neck and in his new white flannels, into the high branches of the tree of heaven, to bring jane down.
-and when anthony thanked him he said, "don't mention it, sir. it's only a trifle," though it was, as mr. norris said, palpable that the flannels were ruined. still, if he hadn't found that confounded cat, they would never, humanly speaking, have had their tennis.
-the aunties did not see mr. vereker climbing into the tree of heaven. they did not see him playing with mr. parsons and anthony and mr. norris. for as soon as the three young men appeared, and emmeline and edith began to be interested and emphatic, grannie said that as they wouldn't see anything more of frances and the children, it was no good staying any longer, and they'd better be getting back. it was as if she knew that they were going to enjoy themselves and was determined to prevent it.
-frances went with them to the bottom of the lane. she stood there till the black figures had passed, one by one, through the white posts on to the heath, till, in the distance, they became small again and harmless and pathetic.
-then she went back to her room where nicky lay in the big bed.
-nicky lay in the big bed with jane on one side of him and his steam-engine on the other, and a bag of hot salt against each ear. now and then a thin wall of sleep slid between him and his earache.
-frances sat by the open window and looked out into the garden where anthony and norris played, quietly yet fiercely, against vereker and parsons. frances loved the smell of fresh grass that the balls and the men's feet struck from the lawn; she loved the men's voices subdued to nicky's sleep, and the sound of their padding feet, the thud of the balls on the turf, the smacking and thwacking of the rackets. she loved every movement of anthony's handsome, energetic body; she loved the quick, supple bodies of the young men, the tense poise and earnest activity of their adolescence. but it was not vereker or parsons or norris that she loved or that she saw. it was michael, nicholas and john whose adolescence was foreshadowed in those athletic forms wearing white flannels; michael, nicky and john, in white flannels, playing fiercely. when young vereker drew himself to his full height, when his young body showed lean and slender as he raised his arms for his smashing service, it was not young vereker, but michael, serious and beautiful. when young parsons leaped high into the air and thus returned anthony's facetious sky-scraper on the volley, that was nicky. when young norris turned and ran at the top of his speed, and overtook the ball on its rebound from the base line where young vereker had planted it, when, as by a miracle, he sent it backwards over his own head, paralysing vereker and parsons with sheer astonishment, that was john.
-her vision passed. she was leaning over nicky now, nicky so small in the big bed. nicky had moaned.
-"does it count if i make that little noise, mummy? it sort of lets the pain out."
-"no, my lamb, it doesn't count. is the pain very bad?"
-"yes, mummy, awful. it's going faster and faster. and it bizzes. and when it doesn't bizz, it thumps." he paused--"i think--p'raps--i could bear it better if i sat on your knee."
-frances thought she could bear it better too. it would be good for nicky that he should grow into beautiful adolescence and a perfect manhood; but it was better for her that he should be a baby still, that she should have him on her knee and hold him close to her; that she should feel his adorable body press quivering against her body, and the heat of his earache penetrating her cool flesh. for now she was lost to herself and utterly absorbed in nicky. and her agony became a sort of ecstasy, as if, actually, she bore his pain.
-it was anthony who could not stand it. anthony had come in on his way to his dressing-room. as he looked at nicky his handsome, hawk-like face was drawn with a dreadful, yearning, ineffectual pity. frances had discovered that her husband could both be and look pathetic. he had wanted her to be sorry for him and she was sorry for him, because his male pity was all agony; there was no ecstasy in it of any sort at all. nicky was far more her flesh and blood than he was anthony's.
-"i never saw a child bear pain as nicky does," frances said in her pride.
-"if he can bear it, i can't," said anthony. and he stalked into his dressing-room and shut the door on himself.
-"daddy minds more than you do," said frances.
-"i don't mind," he said. "really and truly i don't mind. i don't care if my ear does ache.
-"it's my eyes is crying, not me."
-at nine o'clock, when they were all sitting down to dinner, nicky sent for his father and mother. something had happened.
-crackers, he said, had been going off in his ears, and they hurt most awfully. and when it had done cracking his earache had gone away. and dorothy had brought him a trumpet from rosalind's party and michael a tin train. and michael had given him the train and he wouldn't take the trumpet instead. oughtn't michael to have had the trumpet?
-and when they left him, tucked up in his cot in the night nursery, he called them back again.
-"it was a jolly sell for me, wasn't it?" said nicky. and he laughed.
-it seemed that nicky would always be like that. whatever happened, and something was generally happening to him, he didn't care. when he scaled the plaster flower-pot on the terrace, and it gave way under his assault and threw him down the steps on to the gravel walk, he picked himself up, displaying a forehead that was a red abrasion filled in with yellow gravel and the grey dust of the smashed flower-pot, and said "i don't care. i liked it," before anybody had time to pity him. when mary-nanna stepped on his train and broke the tender, he said "it's all right. i don't care. i shall make another." it was no use grannie saying, "don't care came to a bad end"; nicky made it evident that a bad end would be life's last challenge not to care. no accident, however unforeseen, would ever take him at a disadvantage.
-two years passed and he was just the same.
-frances and anthony agreed behind his back that nicky was adorable.
-but his peculiar attitude to misfortune became embarrassing when you had to punish him. nicky could break the back of any punishment by first admitting that it was a good idea and then thinking of a better one when it was too late. it was a good idea not letting him have any cake for tea after he had tested the resilience of the new tyres on his father's bicycle with a penknife; but, nicky said, it would have been more to the purpose if they had taken his steam-engine from him for a week.
-"you didn't think of that, did you, mummy? i thought of it," said nicky.
-once he ran away over the west heath, and got into the leg of mutton pond, and would have been drowned if a total stranger hadn't gone in after him and pulled him out. that time nicky was sent to bed at four o'clock in the afternoon. at seven, when his mother came to tuck him up and say good-night, she found him sitting up, smiling and ready.
-"mummy," he said, "i think i ought to tell you. it isn't a bit of good sending me to bed."
-"i should have thought it was, myself," said frances. she almost suspected nicky of insincerity.
-"so it would have been," he assented, "if i didn't 'vent things. you see, i just lie still 'venting things all the time. i've 'vented three things since tea: a thing to make daddy's bikesickle stand still with daddy on it; a thing to squeeze corks out of bottles; and a thing to make my steam-engine go faster. that isn't a punishment, is it, mummy?"
-they said that nicky would grow out of it. but two more years passed and nicky was still the same.
-and yet he was not the same. and dorothy, and michael and john were not the same.
-for the awful thing about your children was that they were always dying. yes, dying. the baby nicky was dead. the child dorothy was dead and in her place was a strange big girl. the child michael was dead and in his place was a strange big boy. and frances mourned over the passing of each age. you could no more bring back that unique loveliness of two years old, of five years old, of seven, than you could bring back the dead. even john-john was not a baby any more; he spoke another language and had other feelings; he had no particular affection for his mother's knee. frances knew that all this dying was to give place to a more wonderful and a stronger life. but it was not the same life; and she wanted to have all their lives about her, enduring, going on, at the same time. she did not yet know that the mother of babies and the mother of boys and girls must die if the mother of men and women is to be born.
-thoughts came to frances now that troubled her tranquillity.
-supposing, after all, the children shouldn't grow up as she wanted them to?
-there was nicky. she could do nothing with him; she could make no impression on him.
-there was michael. she couldn't make him out. he loved them, and showed that he loved them; but it was by caresses, by beautiful words, by rare, extravagant acts of renunciation, inconsistent with his self-will; not by anything solid and continuous. there was a softness in michael that distressed and a hardness that perplexed her. you could make an impression on michael--far too easily--and the impression stayed. you couldn't obliterate it. michael's memory was terrible. and he had secret ways. he was growing more and more sensitive, more and more wrapped up in himself. supposing michael became a morbid egoist, like anthony's brother, bartholomew?
-and there was dorothy. she went her own way more than ever, with the absolute conviction that it was the right way. nothing could turn her. at thirteen her body was no longer obedient. dorothy was not going to be her mother's companion, or her father's, either; she was rosalind jervis's companion. she seemed to care more about little fat, fluffy rosalind than about any of them except nicky. dorothy was interested in michael; she respected his queer thoughts. it was as if she recognized some power in him that could beat her somewhere some day, and was humble before a thing her cleverness had failed to understand. but it was nicky that she adored, not michael; and she was bad for nicky. she encouraged his naughtiness because it amused her.
-frances foresaw that a time would come, a little later, when nicky and dorothy would be companions, not nicky and his mother.
-in the evenings, coming home from the golf-links, frances and anthony discussed their children.
-frances said, "you can't make any impression on nicky. there seems to be no way that you can get at him."
-anthony thought there was a way. it was a way he had not tried yet, that he did not want to try. but, if he could only bring himself to it, he judged that he could make a distinct impression.
-"what the young rascal wants is a thorough good spanking," said anthony.
-nicky said so too.
-the first time he got it nicky's criticism was that it wasn't a bad idea if his father could have pulled it off all right. but he said, "it's no good if you do it through the cloth. and it's no good unless you want to hurt me, daddy. and you don't want. and even if you did want, badly enough to try and hurt, supposing you spanked ever so hard, you couldn't hurt as much as my earache. and i can bear that."
-"he's top dog again, you see," said frances, not without a secret satisfaction.
-"oh, is he?" said anthony. "i don't propose to be downed by nicky."
-every instinct in him revolted against spanking nicky. but when williams, the groom, showed him a graze on each knee of the pony he had bought for frances and the children, anthony determined that, this time, nicky should have a serious spanking.
-"which of them took roger out?"
-"i'm sure i don't know, sir," said williams.
-but anthony knew. he lay in wait for nicky by the door that led from the stable yard into the kitchen garden.
-nicky was in the strawberry bed.
-"was it you who took roger out this afternoon?"
-nicky did not answer promptly. his mouth was still full of strawberries.
-"what if i did?" he said at last, after manifest reflection.
-"if you did? why, you let him down on golders hill and cut his knees."
-"holly mount," said nicky.
-"holly mount or golders hill, it's all the same to you, you young monkey."
-"it isn't, daddy. holly mount's much the worst. it's an awful hill."
-"that," said anthony, "is why you're forbidden to ride down it. you've got to be spanked for this, nicky."
-"have i? all right. don't look so unhappy, daddy."
-anthony did much better this time. nicky (though he shook with laughter) owned it very handsomely. and anthony had handicapped himself again by doing it through the cloth. he drew the line at shaming nicky. (yet--could you have shamed his indomitable impudence?)
-but he had done it. he had done it ruthlessly, while the strawberries were still wet on nicky's mouth.
-and when it was all over michael, looking for his father, came into the school-room where these things happened. he said he was awfully sorry, but he'd taken roger out, and roger had gone down on his knees and cut himself.
-no, it wasn't on holly mount, it was at the turn of the road on the hill past the "spaniards."
-anthony paid no attention to michael. he turned on michael's brother.
-"nicky, what did you do it for?"
-"for a rag, of course. i knew you'd feel such a jolly fool when you found it wasn't me."
-"you see, daddy," he explained later, "you might have known i wouldn't have let roger down. but wasn't it a ripping sell?"
-"what are you to do," said anthony, "with a boy like that?"
-frances had an inspiration. "do nothing," she said. her tranquillity refused to be troubled for long together.
-"nicky's right. it's no good trying to punish him. after all, why punish nicky? it isn't as if he was really naughty. he never does unkind things, or mean things. and he's truthful."
-"horribly truthful. they all are," said anthony.
-"well, then, what does nicky do?"
-"he does dangerous things."
-"nothing more dangerous than forgetting. we must punish him to make him remember."
-"but it doesn't make him remember. it only makes him think us fools."
-"you know what it means?" said anthony. "we shall have to send him to school."
-"not yet," said frances.
-school was the thing in the future that she dreaded. nicky was only nine, and they were all getting on well with mt. parsons. anthony knew that to send nicky to school now would be punishing frances, not nicky. the little fiend would only grin in their faces if they told him he was going to school.
-it was no use trying to make impressions on nicky. he was as hard as nails. he would never feel things.
-perhaps, frances thought, it was just as well.
-"i do think it was nice of jane," said nicky, "to have jerry."
-"and i do think it was nice of me," said dorothy, "to give him to you."
-jane was dorothy's cat; therefore her kittens were dorothy's.
-"i wouldn't have given him to just anybody."
-"i know," said nicky.
-"i might have kept him. he's the nicest kitten jane ever had."
-"i know," said nicky. "it was nice of you."
-"i might want him back again."
-nicky was quiet and serious, almost humble, as if he went in the fear of losing jerry. nobody but jerry and dorothy saw nicky in that mood.
-not that he was really afraid. nothing could take jerry from him. if dorothy could have taken him back again she wouldn't have, not even if she had really wanted him. dorothy wasn't cruel, and she was only ragging.
-but certainly he was jane's nicest kitten. jane was half-persian, white with untidy tabby patterns on her. jerry was black all over. whatever attitude he took, his tight, short fur kept the outlines of his figure firm and clear, whether he arched his back and jumped sideways, or rolled himself into a cushion, or squatted with haunches spread and paws doubled in under his breast, or sat bolt upright with his four legs straight like pillars, and his tail curled about his feet. jerry's coat shone like black looking-glass, and the top of his head smelt sweet, like a dove's breast.
-and he had yellow eyes. mary-nanna said they would turn green some day. but nicky didn't believe it. mary-nanna was only ragging. jerry's eyes would always be yellow.
-mr. parsons declared that nicky sat for whole hours meditating on jerry, as if in this way he could make him last longer.
-jerry's life was wonderful to nicky. once he was so small that his body covered hardly the palm of your hand; you could see his skin; it felt soft and weak through the thin fur, sleeked flat and wet where jane had licked it. his eyes were buttoned up tight. then they opened. he crawled feebly on the floor after jane, or hung on to her little breasts, pressing out the milk with his clever paws. then jerry got older. sometimes he went mad and became a bat or a bird, and flew up the drawing-room curtains as if his legs were wings.
-nicky said that jerry could turn himself into anything he pleased; a hawk, an owl, a dove, a himalayan bear, a snake, a flying squirrel, a monkey, a rabbit, a panther, and a little black lamb of god.
-jerry was a cat now; he was two years old.
-jerry's fixed idea seemed to be that he was a very young cat, and that he must be nursed continually, and that nobody but nicky must nurse him. mr. parsons found that nicky made surprising progress in his latin and greek that year. what had baffled mr. parsons up till now had been nicky's incapacity for sitting still. but he would sit still enough when jerry was on his knee, pressed tight between the edge of the desk and nicky's stomach, so that knowledge entered into nicky through jerry when there was no other way.
-nicky would even sit still in the open air to watch jerry as he stalked bees in the grass, or played by himself, over and over again, his own enchanted game. he always played it in the same way. he started from the same clump in the border, to run in one long careening curve across the grass; at the same spot in the lawn he bounded sideways and gave the same little barking grunt and dashed off into the bushes. when you tried to catch him midway he stood on his hind legs and bowed to you slantwise, waving his forepaws, or rushed like lightning up the tree of heaven, and climbed into the highest branches and clung there, looking down at you. his yellow eyes shone through the green leaves; they quivered; they played; they mocked you with some challenge, some charm, secret and divine and savage.
-"the soul of nicky is in that cat," frances said.
-jerry knew that he was nicky's cat. when other people caught him he scrabbled over their shoulders with his claws and got away from them. when nicky caught him he lay quiet and heavy in his arms, pressing down and spreading his soft body. nicky's sense of touch had been hardened by violent impacts and collisions, by experiments with jack-knives and saws and chisels and gouges, and by struggling with the material of his everlasting inventions. through communion with jerry it became tender and sensitive again. it delighted in the cat's throbbing purr and the thrill of his feet, as jerry, serious and earnest, padded down his bed on nicky's knee.
-"i like him best, though," said nicky, "when he's sleepy and at the same time bitesome."
-"you mustn't let him bite you," frances said.
-"i don't mind," said nicky. "he wouldn't do it if he didn't like me."
-jerry had dropped off to sleep with his jaws closing drowsily on nicky's arm. when it moved his hind legs kicked at it and tore.
-"he's dreaming when he does that," said nicky. "he thinks he's a panther and i'm buffaloes."
-mr. parsons laughed at him. "nicky and his cat!" he said. nicky didn't care. mr. parsons was always ragging him.
-the tutor preferred dogs himself. he couldn't afford any of the expensive breeds; but that summer he was taking care of a russian wolfhound for a friend of his. when mr. parsons ran with michael and nicky round the heath, the great borzoi ran before them with long leaps, head downwards, setting an impossible pace. michael and dorothy adored boris openly. nicky, out of loyalty to jerry, stifled a secret admiration. for mr. parsons held that a devotion to a cat was incompatible with a proper feeling for a dog, whence nicky had inferred that any feeling for a dog must do violence to the nobler passion.
-mr. parsons tried to wean nicky from what he pretended to regard as his unmanly weakness. "wait, nicky," he said, "till you've got a dog of your own."
-"i don't want a dog of my own," said nicky. "i don't want anything but jerry." boris, he said, was not clever, like jerry. he had a silly face.
-"could he, daddy?"
-they were at tea on the lawn, and boris had gone to sleep under mr. parsons' legs with his long muzzle on his forepaws.
-"he could," said anthony, "if he caught him."
-"but he couldn't catch him. jerry'd be up a tree before boris could look at him."
-"if you want jerry to shin up trees you must keep his weight down."
-nicky laughed. he knew that boris could never catch jerry. his father was only ragging him.
-mr. parsons had not allowed him to have jerry on his knee, or even in the room; and this, nicky owned further, was but just. it wouldn't have been nearly so good a punishment if he had had jerry with him.
-nicky, bowed over his desk, struggled for the perfect legibility which mr. parsons had insisted on, as otherwise the imposition would do him more harm than good. he was in for it, and the thing must be done honourably if it was done at all. he had only looked out of the windows twice to make sure that boris was asleep under mr. parsons' legs. and once he had left the room to see where jerry was. he had found him in the kitchen garden, sitting on a bed of fresh-grown mustard and cress, ruining it. he sat like a lamb, his forepaws crossed, his head tilted slightly backwards. his yellow eyes gazed at nicky with a sweet and mournful innocence.
-nicky did not hear the voices in the garden.
-"i'm awfully sorry, sir," mr. parsons was saying. "i can't think how it could have happened." mr. parsons' voice was thick and his face was very red. "i could have sworn the door was shut."
-"johnnie opened it," said anthony. he seemed to have caught, suddenly, one of his bad colds and to be giving it to mr. parsons. they were both in their shirtsleeves, and anthony carried something in his arms which he had covered with his coat.
-the borzoi stood in front of them. his face had a look of foolish ecstasy. he stared at mr. parsons, and as he stared he panted. there was a red smear on his white breast; his open jaws still dripped a pink slaver. it sprayed the ground in front of them, jerked out with his panting.
-"get away, you damned brute," said mr. parsons.
-boris abashed himself; he stretched out his fore legs towards mr. parsons, shook his raised haunches, lifted up his great saw-like muzzle, and rolled into one monstrous cry a bark, a howl, a yawn.
-nicky heard it, and he looked out of the schoolroom window. he saw the red smear on the white curly breast. he saw his father in his shirt sleeves, carrying something in his arms that he had covered with his coat.
-under the tree of heaven dorothy and michael, crouching close against their mother, cried quietly. frances was crying, too; for it was she who would have to tell nicky.
-dorothy tried to console him.
-"jerry's eyes would have turned green, if he had lived, nicky. they would, really."
-"i wouldn't have minded. they'd have been jerry's eyes."
-"but he wouldn't have looked like jerry."
-"i wouldn't have cared what he looked like. he'd have been jerry."
-"it wouldn't. you don't seem to understand that it's jerry i want. i wish you wouldn't talk about him."
-"very well," said dorothy, "i won't."
-then grannie tried. she recommended a holy resignation. god, she said, had given jerry to nicky, and god had taken him away.
-"he didn't give him me, and he'd no right to take him. dorothy wouldn't have done it. she was only ragging. but when god does things," said nicky savagely, "it isn't a rag."
-he hated grannie, and he hated mr. parsons, and he hated god. but he loved dorothy who had given him jerry.
-night after night frances held him in her arms at bed-time while nicky said the same thing. "if--if i could stop seeing him. but i keep on seeing him. when he sat on the mustard and cress. and when he bit me with his sleep-bites. and when he looked at me out of the tree of heaven. then i hear that little barking grunt he used to make when he was playing with himself--when he dashed off into the bushes.
-"and i can't bear it."
-for the awful thing was that it had been all his fault. if he had kept jerry's weight down boris couldn't have caught him.
-"daddy said so, mummy."
-over and over again frances said, "it wasn't your fault. it was don-don's. he left the door open. surely you can forgive don-don?" over and over again nicky said, "i do forgive him."
-but it was no good. nicky became first supernaturally subdued and gentle, then ill. they had to take him away from home, away from the sight of the garden, and away from mr. parsons, forestalling the midsummer holidays by two months.
-nicky at the seaside was troublesome and happy, and they thought he had forgotten. but on the first evening at hampstead, as frances kissed him good-night, he said: "shall i have to see mr. parsons to-morrow?"
-frances said: "yes. of course."
-"i'd rather not."
-"nonsense, you must get over that."
-"oh, nicky, can't you forgive poor mr. parsons? when he was so unhappy?"
-"do you think," he said at last, "he really minded?"
-"i'm sure he did."
-"as much as you and daddy?"
-"quite as much."
-"then," said nicky, "i'll forgive him."
-but, though he forgave john and mr. parsons and even god, who, to do him justice, did not seem to have been able to help it, nicky did not forgive himself.
-he excellent memory, but there was always a gap in it just there.
-in that peace and tranquillity where nothing ever happened, jerry's violent death would have counted as an event, a date to reckon by; but for three memorable things that happened, one after another, in the summer and autumn of 'ninety-nine: the return of frances's brother, maurice fleming, from australia where anthony had sent him two years ago, on the express understanding that he was to stay there; the simultaneous arrival of anthony's brother, bartholomew, and his family; and the outbreak of the boer war.
-the return of morrie was not altogether unforeseen, and bartholomew had announced his coming well beforehand, but who could have dreamed that at the end of the nineteenth century england would be engaged in a war that really was a war? frances, with the times in her hands, supposed that that meant more meddling and muddling of stupid politicians, and that it would mean more silly speeches in parliament, and copy, at last, for foolish violent, pathetic and desperate editors, and breach of promise cases, divorces and fires in paraffin shops reduced to momentary insignificance.
-but as yet there was no war, nor any appearance that sensible people interpreted as a sign of war at the time of morrie's return. it stood alone, as other past returns, the return from bombay, the return from canada, the return from cape colony, had stood, in its sheer awfulness. to frances it represented the extremity of disaster.
-they might have known what was coming by grannie's behaviour. one day, the day when the australian mail arrived, she had subsided suddenly into a state of softness and gentleness. she approached her son-in-law with an air of sorrowful deprecation; she showed a certain deference to her daughter louie; she was soft and gentle even with emmeline and edith.
-mrs. fleming broke the news to louie who broke it to frances who in her turn broke it to anthony. that was the procedure they invariably adopted.
-"i wonder," grannie said, "what he can be coming back for!" each time she affected astonishment and incredulity, as if morrie's coming back were, not a recurrence that crushed you with its flatness and staleness, but a thing that must interest louie because of its utter un-likeliness.
-"i wonder," said louie, "why he hasn't come before. what else did you expect?"
-"i'm sure i don't know," said grannie helplessly. "go and tell frances."
-louie went. and because she knew that the burden of morrie would fall again on frances's husband she was disagreeable with frances.
-"it's all very well for you," she said. "you haven't got to live with him. you haven't got to sleep in the room next him. you don't know what it's like."
-"i do know," said frances. "i remember. you'll have to bear it."
-"you haven't had to bear it for fourteen years."
-"you'll have to bear it," frances repeated, "till anthony sends him out again. that's all it amounts to."
-she waited till the children were in bed and she was alone with anthony.
-"something awful's happened," she said, and paused hoping he would guess.
-"i don't know how to tell you."
-"don't tell me if it's that nicky's been taking my new bike to pieces."
-"it isn't nicky--it's maurice."
-anthony got up and cleared his pipe, thoroughly and deliberately. she wondered whether he had heard.
-"i'd no business to have married you--to have let you in for him."
-"why? what's he been up to now?"
-"he's coming home."
-"so," said anthony, "is bartholomew. i'd no business to have let you in for him."
-"don't worry, frances. if morrie comes home he'll be sent out again, that's all."
-"at your expense."
-"i don't grudge any expense in sending morrie out. nor in keeping him out."
-"yes. but this time it's different. it's worse."
-"because of the children. they're older now than they were last time. they'll understand."
-"what if they do? they must learn," anthony said, "to realize facts."
-they realized them rather sooner than he had expected. nobody but louie had allowed for the possibility of morrie's sailing by the same steamer as his letter; and louie had argued that, if he had done so, he was bound either to have arrived before the letter or to have sent a wire. therefore they had at least a clear five days of peace before them. anthony thought he had shown wisdom when, the next morning which was a wednesday, he sent grannie and the aunties to eastbourne for a week, so that they shouldn't worry frances, and when on thursday he made her go with him for a long day in the country, to take her mind off morrie.
-they came back at nine in the evening and found dorothy, michael and nicholas sitting up for them. michael and nicky were excited, but dorothy looked grown-up and important.
-"uncle morrie's come," they said.
-"dorothy saw him first--"
-"nicky let him in--"
-"he hadn't got a hat on."
-"we kept him in the schoolroom till nanna could come and put him to bed."
-"he was crying because he'd been to grannie's house and there wasn't anybody there--"
-"and because he'd lost the love-birds he'd brought for auntie emmy--"
-"and because he couldn't remember which of us was dead."
-"no, mummy, nobody's seen him but us and nanna."
-"nanna's with him now."
-uncle morrie never accounted, even to himself, for the time he had spent between the arrival of his ship at tilbury on sunday morning and that saturday afternoon. neither could he remember what had become of his luggage or whether he had ever had any. only the county council man, going his last rounds in the farthest places of the heath, came upon a small bundle tied in a blue handkerchief, a cap belonging to e.d. boulger, of the s.s. arizona, a cage of love-birds, and a distinct impression of a recumbent human form, on the grass together, under a young birch tree.
-in the stuffy little house behind the judge's walk the four women lived now under male protection. when they crossed the heath they had no longer any need to borrow anthony from frances; they had a man of their own. to make room for him auntie louie and her type-writer were turned out of their own place, and auntie louie had to sleep in grannie's bed, a thing she hated. to make room for the type-writer the grey parrot was turned out of the dining-room into the drawing-room. and as maurice couldn't stand either the noise of the type-writer or the noises of the parrot he found both the dining-room and the drawing-room uninhabitable.
-day after day dorothy and michael and nicky, on the terrace, looked out for his coming. (only extreme distance made uncle morrie's figure small and harmless and pathetic.) day after day he presented himself with an air of distinction and assurance, flushed, and a little battered, but still handsome, wearing a spruce grey suit and a panama hat bought with anthony's money. sheep-farming in australia--he had infinitely preferred the cape mounted police--had ruined maurice's nerves. he was good for nothing but to lounge in anthony's garden, to ride his horses--it was his riding that had got him into the cape mounted police--to sit at his table and drink his wines, and, when there was no more wine for him, to turn into jack straw's castle for a pick-me-up on his way home.
-and before july was out three others were added to the garden group: bartholomew and vera and veronica. and after them a fourth, vera's friend, captain ferdinand cameron, home on sick leave before anybody expected him.
-frances's tree of heaven sheltered them all.
-bartholomew, anthony's brother, lived in bombay and looked after his business for him in the east. he had something the matter with him, and he had come home to look after his own health. at least, bartholomew's health was what he was supposed to be looking after; but dorothy had heard her father say that bartie had come home to look after vera.
-vera was bartie's wife and veronica's mother. before she became mrs. bartholomew harrison she had been frances's schoolfellow and her dearest friend. frances fleming had been her bridesmaid and had met anthony for the first time at vera's wedding, when he had fallen in love with her; and she had fallen in love with him when they stayed together in bartholomew's house, before bartholomew took vera to bombay.
-bartie had not been married ten months before he wanted to get vera out of england; and vera had not been in india for ten weeks before he wanted her to go back. they were always coming backwards and forwards, but they never came together. vera would be sent home first, and then bartie would come over in a great hurry and take her out again.
-twelve years after their marriage veronica was born at simla, and the coming and going ceased for three years. then bartie sent them both home. that time vera had refused to travel farther westward than marseilles. she was afraid of damp and cold, and she had got the ship's doctor to order her to the riviera. she and veronica had been living for two years in a small villa at agaye.
-this summer she had come to england. she was no longer afraid of damp and cold. and bartie followed her.
-dorothy and michael had no difficulty in remembering vera, though it was more than six years since they had seen her; for vera looked the same. her hair still shone like copper-beech leaves; her face had still the same colour and the same sweet, powdery smell. and if these things had changed frances would still have known her by her forehead that looked so broad because her eyebrows and her eyes were so long, and by her fine, unfinished, passionate mouth, by her pointed chin and by her ways.
-vera talked to him as you might talk to a sick child whose peevishness prolongs, unreasonably, its pain. bartie's manner almost amounted to a public repudiation of her. the whole house vibrated to the shutting of his door at good-night time. yet when bartie came down in the morning, late, and more morose than ever, vera's mouth made as if it kissed some visionary image of the poor thing's absurdity. she didn't believe for one minute in his cancer. it was an excuse for the shutting of his door.
-she kept out of his way as much as possible; yet, when they were together they watched each other. they watched; bartie openly with sudden dartings and swoopings of his hawk's eyes; vera furtively. her eyes were so large and long that, without turning her head, or any visible movement, they could hold his image.
-but for captain cameron vera's eyes had a full, open gaze. spread wide apart under her wide forehead they were like dark moth's wings; they hovered, rested, flickering, vibrating to the fine tips of their corners.
-whatever had been the matter with him in india, captain cameron had recovered. his keen, fair, highland face made bartie's face look terrible. ferdie was charming; not more charming to bartie's wife than he was to frances; not more charming to frances than to her sisters; so that even louie unbent, and emmeline and edith fell in love with him. he flirted with frances under anthony's nose; and with the aunties under grannie's nose. the corners of vera's mouth followed the tilt of her long eyes' corners as she saw him do it.
-you could not think of vera as the children's auntie, or as bartie's wife, or as veronica's mother.
-veronica was a very little girl who sang songs and was afraid of ghosts.
-she slept in her mother's room, and so never could be put to bed till half-past seven, or till her mother was dressed to the last hook of her gown, the last hairpin, the last touch of powder (adhesive without bismuth), and the last shadow drawn fine about her eyelashes. when vera beautiful in a beautiful gown, came trailing into the room where everybody waited for her, veronica hid herself behind uncle anthony's big chair. when her father told her to come out of that and say good-night and be quick about it, she came slowly (she was not in the least afraid of bartie), showing herself bit by bit, honey-coloured hair, eyebrows dark under her gold, very dark against her white; sorrowful, transparent, lucid eyes. a little girl with a straight white face. a little, slender girl in a straight white frock. she stood by anthony's chair, spinning out the time, smiling at him with her childish wavering mouth, a smile that would not spread, that never went higher than the tip of her white nose, that left her lucid, transparent eyes still sorrowful.
-she knew that anthony would take her on his knee, and that she could sit there with her head tucked under his chin, smiling at him, prolonging her caresses, till vera told him to put her down and let her go.
-bartie growled: "did you hear your mother telling you to say good-night?"
-"yes. but i must kiss uncle anthony first. properly. once on his mouth. once--on his nose. and once--on--his--eyes. and--once--on--his dear little--ears."
-after that, veronica went slowly from chair to chair, lingering at each, sitting first on frances's lap, then on vera's, spinning out her caresses, that spun out the time and stretched it farther and farther between her and the unearthly hour ahead of her.
-but at her father's chair she did not linger for a single instant. she slipped her hand into his hand that dropped it as if it had hurt him; she touched his forehead with her small mouth, pushed out, absurdly, to keep her face as far as possible from his. for, though she was not afraid of bartie, he was not nice either to sit on or to kiss.
-half-way across the room she lingered.
-"i haven't sung 'london bridge is broken down.' don't you want me to sing it?"
-"no, darling. we want you to go to bed."
-"i'm going, mummy."
-and at the door she turned and looked at them with her sorrowful, lucid, transparent eyes.
-then she went, leaving the door open behind her. she left it open on purpose, so that she might hear their voices, and look down into the room on her way upstairs. besides, she always hoped that somebody would call her back again.
-she lingered at the foot of the stairs till bartie got up and shut the door on her. she lingered at the turn of the stairs and on the landing. but nobody ever called her back again.
-and nobody but nicky knew what she was afraid of.
-veronica was sitting up in the cot that used to be nicky's when he was little. nicky, rather cold in his pyjamas, sat on the edge of it beside her. a big, yellow, tremendous moon hung in the sky outside the window, behind a branch of the tree of heaven, and looked at them.
-"were you ever afraid, nicky?" she said.
-nicky searched his memory for some image encircled by an atmosphere of terror, and found there a white hound with red smears on his breast and a muzzle like two saws.
-"yes," he said, "i was once."
-a lamb--a white lamb--was what veronica looked like. and jerry bad looked at him like that when he found him sitting on the mustard and cress the day boris killed him.
-"i don't know that it was 'of' exactly."
-"would you be afraid of a ghost, now, if you saw one?"
-"i expect i jolly well should, if i really saw one."
-"being afraid of ghosts doesn't count, does it?"
-"no, of course it doesn't. you aren't afraid as long as i'm here, are you?"
-once he said, "if it was michael he could tell you stories."
-"i don't want michael. i want you."
-in the day-time she went about looking for him. "where's nicky?" she said. "i want him."
-"nicky's in the schoolroom. you can't have him."
-"but--i want him."
-"can't be helped. you must do without him."
-"will he be very long?"
-"yes, ever so long. run away like a good little girl and play with don-don."
-she knew that they told her to play with don-don, because she was a little girl. if only she could grow big quick and be the same age as nicky.
-instead of running away and playing with don-don, ronny went away by herself into the apple-tree house, to wait for nicky.
-the apple-tree house stood on the grass-plot at the far end of the kitchen garden. the apple-tree had had no apples on it for years. it was so old that it leaned over at a slant; it stretched out two great boughs like twisted arms, and was propped up by a wooden post under each armpit. the breast of its trunk rested on a cross-beam. the posts and the cross-beam were the doorway of the house, and the branches were its roof and walls. anthony had given it to veronica to live in, and veronica had given it to nicky. it was nicky's and ronny's house. the others were only visitors who were not expected to stay. there was room enough for them both to stand up inside the doorway, to sit down in the middle, and to lie flat at the far end.
-"what more," said nicky, "do you want?"
-he thought that everybody would be sure to laugh at him when he played with bonny in the apple-tree house.
-"i don't care a ram if they do," he said. but nobody ever did, not even mr. parsons.
-only frances, when she passed by that way and saw nicky and bonny sitting cramped and close under their roof-tree, smiled unwillingly. but her smile had in it no sort of mockery at all. nicky wondered why.
-"is it," said dorothy one morning, "that ronny doesn't look as if she was uncle bartie's daughter, or that uncle bartie looks as if he wasn't ronny's father?"
-however suddenly and wantonly an idea struck dorothy, she brought it out as if it had been the result of long and mature consideration.
-"or is it," said vera, "that i don't look as if i were ronny's mother?"
-her eyes had opened all their length to take in dorothy.
-"no. i think it is that uncle bartie looks--"
-frances rushed in. "it doesn't matter, my dear, what you think."
-"it will some day," said dorothy.
-it was perhaps the best thing she could have said, as showing that she was more interested in the effect she would produce some day than in the sensation she had created there and then.
-"may i go round to rosalind's after lessons?"
-"and may i stay to lunch if they ask me?"
-"you may stay as long as they care to have you. stay to tea, stay to dinner, if you like."
-dorothy knew by the behaviour of her mother's face that she had scored somewhere, somehow. she also knew that she was in disgrace and yet not in disgrace; which, if you came to think of it, was a funny thing.
-about this time frances began to notice a symptom in herself. she was apt to resent it when vera discussed her children with her. one late afternoon she and anthony were alone with vera. captain cameron had not come round that day, and bartie had gone into town to consult either his solicitor or a specialist. he was always consulting one or the other.
-"you're wrong, you two," said vera. "you think michael's tender and nicky's hard and unimpressionable. michael's hard. you won't have to bother about michael's feelings."
-"michael's feelings," said frances, "are probably what i shall have to bother about more than anything."
-"you needn't. for one thing, they'll be so unlike your feelings that you won't know whether they're feelings at all. you won't even know whether he's having them or not. nicky's the one you'll have to look out for. he'll go all the howlers."
-"i don't think that nicky'll be very susceptible. he hasn't shown any great signs so far."
-"hasn't he! nicky's susceptibility is something awful."
-"my dear vera, you say yourself you don't care about children and that you don't understand them."
-"no more i do," said vera. "but i understand men."
-"do you understand veronica?"
-"of course i don't. i said men. veronica's a girl. besides, i'm veronica's mother."
-"nicky," said anthony, "is not much more than nine."
-"you keep on thinking of him as a child--a child--nothing but a child. wait till nicky has children of his own. then you'll know."
-"they would be rather darlings, nicky's children," frances said.
-"so would veronica's."
-you needn't be frightened. nicky's affection for ronny is purely paternal."
-"i'm not frightened," said frances. but she left the room. she did not care for the turn the talk had taken. besides, she wanted vera to see that she was not afraid to leave her alone with anthony.
-"i'm glad frances has gone," said vera, "because i want to talk to you. you'd never have known each other if it hadn't been for me. she couldn't have married you. it was i who saw you both through."
-"and you said if there was ever anything you could do for me--you haven't by any chance forgotten?"
-"i have not."
-"well, if anything should happen to me--"
-"but, my dear girl, what should happen to you?"
-"things do happen, anthony."
-"yes, but how about bartie?"
-"that's it. supposing we separated."
-"good heavens, you're not contemplating that, are you?"
-"i'm not contemplating anything. but bartie isn't very easy to live with, is he?"
-"no, he's not. he never was. all the same--"
-bartie was impossible. between the diseases he had and thought he hadn't and the diseases he hadn't and thought he had, he made life miserable for himself and other people. he was a jealous egoist; he had the morbid coldness of the neurotic, and vera was passionate. she ought never to have married him. all the same--"
-"all the same i shall stick to bartie as long as it's possible. and as long as it's possible bartie'll stick to me. but, if anything happens i want you to promise that you'll take ronny."
-"you must get frances to promise."
-"she'll do anything you ask her to, anthony."
-when frances came into the room again vera was crying.
-and so frances promised.
-"'london bridge is broken down (ride over my lady leigh!)
-"'build it up with stones so strong--
-"'build it up with gold so fine'"--
-it was twenty to eight and ronny had not so much as begun to say good night. she was singing her sons to spin out the time.
-"that'll do, ronny, it's time you were in bed."
-there was no need for her to linger and draw out her caresses, no need to be afraid of going to bed alone. frances, at vera's request, had had her cot moved up into the night nursery.
-anthony had begun to wonder where on earth he should send morrie out to this time, when the boer war came and solved his problem.
-maurice, joyous and adventurous again, sent himself to south africa, to enlist in the imperial light horse.
-ferdie cameron went out also with the second gordon highlanders, solving, perhaps, another problem.
-"it's no use trying to be sorry, mummy," dorothy said.
-frances knew what anthony was thinking, and anthony knew it was what frances thought herself: supposing this time morrie didn't come back? then that problem would be solved for ever. frances hated problems when they worried anthony. anthony detested problems when they bothered frances.
-and the children knew what they were thinking. dorothy went on.
-"it's all rot pretending that we want him to come back."
-"it was jolly decent of him to enlist," said nicky.
-dorothy admitted that it was jolly decent. "but," she said, "what else could he do? his only chance was to go away and do something so jolly plucky that we're ashamed of ourselves, and never to come back again to spoil it. you don't want him to spoil it, mummy ducky, do you?"
-it wasn't real. for frances the brown walls of the house, the open wings of its white shutters, the green garden and tree of heaven were real; so were jack straw's castle and harrow on the hill; morning and noon and night were real, and getting up and dressing and going to bed; most real of all the sight and sound and touch of her husband and her children.
-only now and then the vision grew solid and stood firm. frances carried about with her distinct images of maurice, to which she could attach the rest. thus she had an image of long tom, an immense slender muzzle, tilted up over a high ridge, nosing out maurice.
-maurice was shut up in ladysmith.
-"don't worry, mummy. that'll keep him out of mischief. daddy said he ought to be shut up somewhere."
-"he's starving, dorothy. he won't have anything to eat."
-"or drink, ducky."
-"oh, you're cruel! don't be cruel!"
-"i'm not cruel. if i didn't care so awfully for you, mummy, i shouldn't mind whether he came back or didn't. you're cruel. you ought to think of grannie and auntie louie and auntie emmy and auntie edie."
-"at the moment," said frances, "i am thinking of uncle morrie."
-she was thinking of him, not as he actually was, but as he had been, as a big boy like michael, as a little boy like john, two years younger than she; a little boy by turns spoiled and thwarted, who contrived, nevertheless, to get most things that he happened to want by crying for them, though everybody else went without. and in the grown-up morrie's place, under the shells of ladysmith, she saw nicky.
-for nicky had declared his intention of going into the army.
-"and i'm thinking of morrie," dorothy said. "i don't want him to miss it."
-frances and anthony had hung out flags for mafeking; dorothy and nicky, mounted on bicycles, had been careering through the high street with flags flying from their handlebars. michael was a pro-boer and flew no flags. all these things irritated maurice.
-he had come back again. he had missed it, as he had missed all the chances that were ever given him. a slight wound kept him in hospital throughout the greater part of the siege, and he had missed the sortie of his squadron and the taking of the guns for which ferdie cameron got his promotion and his d.s.o. he had come back in the middle of the war with nothing but a bullet wound in his left leg to prove that he had taken part in it.
-the part he had taken had not sobered maurice. it had only depressed him. and depression after prolonged, brutal abstinence broke down the sheer strength by which sometimes he stretched a period of sobriety beyond its natural limits.
-for there were two kinds of drinking: great drinking that came seldom and was the only thing that counted, and ordinary drinking that, though it went on most of the time, brought no satisfaction and didn't count at all. and there were two states of drunkenness to correspond: one intense and vivid, without memory, transcending all other states; and one that was no more remarkable than any other. before the war morrie's great drinking came seldom, by fits and bursts and splendid unlasting uprushes; after the war the two states tended to approach till they merged in one continual sickly soaking. and while other important and outstanding things, and things that he really wanted to remember, disappeared in the poisonous flood let loose in morrie's memory, he never for one moment lost sight of the fact that it was he and not anthony, his brother-in-law, who had enlisted and was wounded.
-he was furious with his mother and sisters for not realizing the war. he was furious with frances and anthony. not realizing the war meant not realizing what he had been through. he swore by some queer god of his that he would make them realize it. the least they could do for him was to listen to what he had to say.
-"you people here don't know what war is. you think it's all glory and pluck, and dashing out and blowing up the enemy's guns, and the british flag flying, and wounded pipers piping all the time and not caring a damn. nobody caring a damn.
-"and it isn't. it's dirt and funk and stinks and more funk all the time. it's lying out all night on the beastly veldt, and going to sleep and getting frozen, and waking up and finding you've got warm again because your neighbour's inside's been fired out on the top of you. you get wounded when the stretcher-bearers aren't anywhere about, and you crawl over to the next poor devil and lie back to back with him to keep warm. and just when you've dropped off to sleep you wake up shivering, because he's died of a wound he didn't know he'd got.
-"you'll find a chap lying on his back all nice and comfy, and when you start to pick him up you can't lift him because his head's glued to the ground. you try a bit, gently, and the flesh gives way like rotten fruit, and the bone like a cup you've broken and stuck together without any seccotine, and you heave up a body with half a head on it. and all the brains are in the other half, the one that's glued down. that's war.
-"huh!" he threw out his breath with a jerk of contempt. it seemed to him that neither frances nor anthony was listening to him. they were not looking at him. they didn't want to listen; they didn't want to look at him. he couldn't touch them; he couldn't evoke one single clear image in their minds; there was no horror he could name that would sting them to vision, to realization. they had not been there.
-dorothy and michael and nicky were listening. the three kids had imagination; they could take it in. they stared as if he had brought those horrors into the room. but even they missed the reality of it. they saw everything he meant them to see, except him. it was as if they were in the conspiracy to keep him out of it.
-he glared at frances and anthony. what was the good of telling them, of trying to make them realize it? if they'd only given some sign, made some noise or some gesture, or looked at him, he might have spared them. but the stiff, averted faces of frances and anthony annoyed him.
-"and if you're a poor wretched tommy like me, you'll have to sweat in a brutal sun, hauling up cases of fizz from the railway up country to headquarters, with a thirst on you that frizzles your throat. you see the stuff shining and spluttering, and you go mad. you could kill the man if you were to see him drink it, when you know there's nothing for you but a bucket of green water with typhoid germs swimming about in it. that's war.
-frances looked at him. he thought: "at last she's turned; at last i've touched her; she can realize that."
-"morrie dear, it must have been awful," she said. "it's too awful. i don't mind your telling me and anthony about it; but i'd rather you did it when the children aren't in the room."
-"is that all you think about? the children? the children. you don't care a tinker's cuss about the war. you don't care a damn what happens to me or anybody else. what does it matter who's wounded or who's killed, as long as it isn't one of your own kids?
-"i'm simply trying to tell you what war is. it's dirt and stink and funk. that's all it is. and there's precious little glory in it, nicky."
-"if the boers won there would be glory," michael said.
-"not even if the boers won," said maurice.
-"certainly not if the boers won," said anthony.
-"you'll say next there'd be no glory if there was war between england and ireland and the irish won. and yet there would be glory."
-"would there? go and read history and don't talk rot."
-"i have read it," said michael.
-frances thought: "he doesn't know what he's talking about. why should he? he's barely thirteen. i can't think where he gets these ideas from. but he'll grow out of them."
-it was not maurice that she saw in maurice's war-pictures. but he had made them realize what war was; and they vowed that as long as they lived not one of their sons should have anything to do with it.
-in the spring of nineteen-one anthony sent maurice out to california. the boer war was ended.
-another year, and the vision of war passed from frances as if it had never been.
-michael was unhappy.
-the almond trees flowered in front of the white houses in the strange white streets.
-white squares, white terraces, white crescents; at the turn of the roads the startling beauty of the trees covered with pink blossoms, hot against the hot white walls.
-after the pink blossoms, green leaves and a strange white heat everywhere. you went, from pavements burning white, down long avenues grey-white under the shadows of the limes.
-a great promenade going down like a long green tunnel, from the big white hotel at the top to the high street at the bottom of the basin where the very dregs of the heat sank and thickened.
-promenade forbidden for no earthly reason that michael could see, except that it was beautiful. hotel where his father gave him dinner on his last day of blessed life, telling him to choose what he liked best, as the condemned criminal chooses his last meal on the day they hang him.
-cleeve hill and battledown and birdlip, and the long rampart of leckhampton, a thin, curling bristle of small trees on the edge of it; forms that made an everlasting pattern on his mind; forms that haunted him at night and tempted and tormented him all day. memory which it would have been better for him if he had not had, of the raking open country over the top, of broad white light and luminous blue shadows, of white roads switchbacking through the sheep pastures; fields of bright yellow mustard in flower on the lower hills; then, rectangular fir plantations and copses of slender beech trees in the hollows. somewhere, far-off, the severn, faint and still, like a river in a dream.
-memory of the round white town in the round pit of the valley, shining, smoking through the thick air and the white orchard blossoms; memory saturated by a smell that is like no other smell on earth, the delicate smell of the midland limestone country, the smell of clean white dust, and of grass drying in the sun and of mustard flowers.
-michael was in cheltenham.
-it was a matter of many unhappinesses, not one unhappiness. a sudden intolerable unhappiness, the flash and stab of the beauty of the almond-flowers, seen in passing and never seized, beauty which it would have been better for him if he had not seen; the knowledge, which he ought never to have had, that this beauty had to die, was killed because he had not seized it, when, if he could but have held it for one minute, it would have been immortal. a vague, light unhappiness that came sometimes, could not for the life of him think why, from the sight of his own body stripped, and from the feeling of his own muscles. there was sadness for him in his very strength. a long, aching unhappiness that came with his memory of the open country over the tops of the hills, which, in their incredible stupidity and cruelty, they had let him see. a quick, lacerating unhappiness when he thought of his mother, and of the garden on the heath, and the high ridge of the spaniards' road, and london below it, immense and beautiful.
-the unhappiness of never being by himself.
-he was afraid of the herd. it was with him night and day. he was afraid of the thoughts, the emotions that seized it, swaying, moving the multitude of undeveloped souls as if they had been one monstrous, dominating soul. he was afraid of their voices, when they chanted, sang and shouted together. he loathed their slang even when he used it. he disliked the collective, male odour of the herd, the brushing against him of bodies inflamed with running, the steam of their speed rising through their hot sweaters; and the smell of dust and ink and india-rubber and resinous wood in the warm class-rooms.
-michael was at school.
-the thing he had dreaded, that had hung over him, threatening him for years before it happened, had happened. nothing could have prevented it; their names had been down for cheltenham long ago; first his, then nicky's. cheltenham, because bartie and vera lived there, and because it had a college for girls, and dorothy, who wanted to go to roedean, had been sent to cheltenham, because of bartie and vera and for no other reason. first dorothy; then, he, michael; then, the next term, nicky. and nicky had been sent (a whole year before his time) because of michael, in the hope that michael would settle down better if he had his brother with him. it didn't seem reasonable.
-not that either dorothy or nicky minded when they got there. all that nicky minded was not being at hampstead. being at cheltenham he did not mind at all. he rather liked it, since major cameron had come to stay just outside it--on purpose to annoy bartie--and took them out riding. even michael did not mind cheltenham more than any other place his people might have chosen. he was not unreasonable. all he asked was to be let alone, and to have room to breathe and get ahead in. as it was, he had either to go with the school mass, or waste energy in resisting its poisonous impact.
-he had chosen resistance.
-tudor house. cheltenham, sunday.
-i've put sunday on this letter, though it's really friday, because i'm supposed to be writing it on sunday when the other fellows are writing. that's the beastly thing about this place, you're expected to do everything when the other fellows are doing it, whether you want to or not, as if the very fact that they're doing it too didn't make you hate it.
-i'm writing now because i simply must. if i waited till sunday i mightn't want to, and anyhow i shouldn't remember a single thing i meant to say. even now johnson minor's digging his skinny elbows into one side of me, and hartley major's biting the feathers off his pen and spitting them out again on the other. but they're only supposed to be doing latin verse, so it doesn't matter so much. what i mean is it's as if their beastly minds kept on leaking into yours till you're all mixed up with them. that's why i asked daddy to take me away next term. you see--it's more serious than he thinks--it is, really. you've no idea what it's like. you've got to swot every blessed thing the other fellows swot even if you can't do it, and whether it's going to be any good to you or not. why, you're expected to sleep when they're sleeping, even if the chap next you snores. daddy might remember that it's nicky who likes mathematics, not me. it's all very well for nicky when he wants to go into the army all the time. there are things i want to do. i want to write and i'm going to write. daddy can't keep me off it. and i don't believe he'd want to if he understood. there's nothing else in the world i'll ever be any good at.
-and there are things i want to know. i want to know greek and latin and french and german and italian and spanish, and old french and russian and chinese and japanese, oh, and provençal, and every blessed language that has or has had a literature. i can learn languages quite fast. do you suppose i've got a chance of knowing one of them--really knowing--even if i had the time? not much. and that's where being here's so rotten. they waste your time as if it was theirs, not yours. they've simply no notion of the value of it. they seem to think time doesn't matter because you're young. fancy taking three months over a greek play you can read in three hours. that'll give you some idea.
-it all comes of being in a beastly form and having to go with the other fellows. say they're thirty fellows in your form, and twenty-nine stick; you've got to stick with them, if it's terms and terms. they can't do it any other way. it's because i'm young, mummy, that i mind so awfully. supposing i died in ten years' time, or even fifteen? it simply makes me hate everybody.
-love to daddy and don.
-your loving mick.
-tudor house. cheltenham, tuesday.
-daddy doesn't understand. you only think he does because you like him. it's all rot what he says about esprit de corps, the putridest rot, though i know he doesn't mean it.
-and he's wrong about gym, and drill and games and all that. i don't mind gym, and i don't mind drill, and i like games. i'm fairly good at most of them--except footer. all the fellows say i'm fairly good--otherwise i don't suppose they'd stick me for a minute. i don't even mind chapel. you see, when it's only your body doing what the other chaps do, it doesn't seem to matter. if esprit de corps was esprit de corps it would be all right. but it's esprit d'esprit. and it's absolutely sickening the things they can do to your mind. i can't stand another term of it.
-tudor house. cheltenham, thursday.
-all right. have it your own way. only i shall kill myself. you needn't tell mother that--though it won't matter so much as she'll very likely think. and perhaps then you won't try and stop nicky going into the army as you've stopped me.
-i don't care a "ram", as nicky would say, whether you bury me or cremate me; only you might give my theocritus to old parsons, and my revolver to nicky if it doesn't burst. he'd like it.
-tudor house. cheltenham, sunday.
-it's your turn for a letter. do you think daddy'd let me turn the hen-house into a workshop next holidays, as there aren't any hens? and would he give me a proper lathe for turning steel and brass and stuff for my next birthday i'm afraid it'll cost an awful lot; but he could take it out of my other birthdays, i don't mind how many so long as i can have the lathe this one.
-this place isn't half bad once you get used to it. i like the fellows, and all the masters are really jolly decent, though i wish we had old parsons here instead of the one we have to do greek for. he's an awful chap to make you swot.
-i don't know what you mean about mick being seedy. he's as fit as fit. you should see him when he's stripped. but he hates the place like poison half the time. he can't stand being with a lot of fellows. he's a rum chap because they all like him no end, the masters and the fellows, though they think he's funny, all except hartley major, but he's such a measly little blighter that he doesn't count.
-we had a ripping time last saturday. bartie went up to town, and major cameron took dorothy and ronny and vera and me and mick to birdlip in his dog-cart, only mick and me had to bike because there wasn't room enough. however we grabbed the chains behind and the dog-cart pulled us up the hills like anything, and we could talk to dorothy and ronny without having to yell at each other. he did us jolly well at tea afterwards.
-dorothy rode my bike stridelegs coming back, so that i could sit in the dog-cart. she said she'd get a jolly wigging if she was seen. we shan't know till monday.
-you know, mummy, that kid ronny's having a rotten time, what with bartie being such a beast and vera chumming up with ferdie and going off to country houses where he is. i really think she'd better come to us for the holidays. then i could teach her to ride. bartie won't let her learn here, though ferdie'd gone and bought a pony for her. that was to spite ferdie. he's worse than ever, if you can imagine that, and he's got three more things the matter with him.
-i must stop now.
-love to dad and don and nanna. next year i'm to go into physics and stinks--that's chemistry.
-your loving nicky.
-the leas. parabola road. cheltenham, sunday.
-i'm awfully sorry you don't like my last term's school report. i know it wasn't what it ought to have been. i have to hold myself in so as to keep in the same class with rosalind when we're moved up after midsummer. but as she's promised me faithfully she'll let herself rip next term, you'll see it'll be all right at xmas. we'll both be in i a the midsummer after, and we can go in for our matic, together. i wish you'd arrange with mrs. jervis for both of us to be at newnham at the same time. tell her rosalind's an awful slacker if i'm not there to keep her up to the mark. no--don't tell her that. tell her i'm a slacker if she isn't there.
-i was amused by your saying it was decent of bartie to have us so often. he only does it because things are getting so tight between him and vera that he's glad of anything that relaxes the strain a bit. even us. he's snappier than ever with ronny. i can't think how the poor kid stands it.
-you know that ripping white serge coat and skirt you sent me? well, the skirt's not nearly long enough. it doesn't matter a bit though, because i can keep it for hockey. it's nice having a mother who can choose clothes. you should see the last blouse mrs. jervis got for rosalind. she's burst out of all the seams already. you could have heard her doing it.
-your loving dorothy.
-lansdown lodge. cheltenham, friday.
-my dearest frances:
-i hope you got my two wires in time. you needn't come down, either of you. and you needn't worry about mick. ferdie went round and talked to him like a fa--i mean a big brother, and the revolver (bless his heart!) is at present reposing at the bottom of my glove-box.
-all the same we both think you'd better take him away at midsummer. he says he can stick it till then, but not a day longer. poor mick! he has the most mysterious troubles.
-i daresay it's the cheltenham climate as much as anything. it doesn't suit me or bonny either, and it's simply killing ferdie by inches. i suppose that's why bartie makes us stay here--in the hope--
-oh! my dear, i'm worried out of my life about him. he's never got over that fever he had in south africa. he's looking ghastly.
-and the awful thing is that i can't do a thing for him. not a thing. unless--
-you haven't forgotten the promise you made me two years ago, have you?
-dorothy seemed to think you could put bonny and me up--again!--at midsummer. can you? and if poor ferdie wants to come and see us, you won't turn him off your door-mat, will you?
-your lovingest "vera."
-frances said, "poor vera! she even makes poor mick an excuse for seeing ferdie."
-three more years passed and frances had fulfilled her promise. she had taken veronica.
-the situation had become definite. bartie had delivered his ultimatum. either vera must give up major cameron, signing a written pledge in the presence of three witnesses, frances, anthony and bartie's solicitor, that she would neither see him nor write to him, nor hold any sort or manner of communication with him, direct or indirect, or he would obtain a judicial separation. it was to be clearly understood by both of them that he would not, in any circumstances, divorce her. bartie knew that a divorce was what they wanted, what they had been playing for, and he was not going to make things easy for them; he was going to make things hard and bitter and shameful he had based his ultimatum on the calculation that vera would not have the courage of her emotions; that even her passion would surrender when she found that it had no longer the protection of her husband's house and name. besides vera was expensive, and cameron was a spendthrift on an insufficient income; he could not possibly afford her. if bartie's suspicions were correct, the thing had been going on for the last twelve years, and if in twelve years' time they had not forced his hand that was because they had counted the cost, and decided that, as frances had put it, the "game was not worth the scandal."
-for when suspicion became unendurable he had consulted anthony who assured him that frances, who ought to know, was convinced that there was nothing in it except incompatibility, for which bartie was superlatively responsible.
-anthony's manner did not encourage confidence, and he gathered that his own more sinister interpretation would be dismissed with contemptuous incredulity. anthony was under his wife's thumb and frances had been completely bamboozled by her dearest friend. still, when once their eyes were opened, he reckoned on the support of anthony and frances. it was inconceivable, that, faced with a public scandal, his brother and his sister-in-law would side with vera.
-it was a game where bartie apparently held all the cards. and his trump card was veronica.
-he was not going to keep veronica without vera. that had been tacitly understood between them long ago. if vera went to cameron she could not take veronica with her without openly confirming bartie's worst suspicion.
-and yet all these things, so inconceivable to bartie, happened. when it came to the stabbing point the courage of vera's emotions was such that she defied her husband and his ultimatum, and went to cameron. by that time ferdie was so ill that she would have been ashamed of herself if she had not gone. and though anthony's house was not open to the unhappy lovers, frances and anthony had taken veronica.
-grannie and auntie louie and auntie emmeline and auntie edie came over to west end house when they heard that it had been decided. it was time, they said, that somebody should protest, that somebody should advise frances for her own good and for the good of her children.
-they had always detested and distrusted vera harrison; they had always known what would happen. the wonder was it had not happened before. but why frances should make it easy for her, why frances should shoulder vera harrison's responsibilities, and burden herself with that child, and why anthony should give his consent to such a proceeding, was more than they could imagine.
-once frances had stood up for the three aunties, against grannie; now grannie and the three aunties were united against frances.
-"frances, you're a foolish woman."
-"my folly is my own affair and anthony's."
-"you'll have to pay for it some day."
-"you might have thought of your own children first."
-"i did. i thought, how would i like them to be forsaken like poor ronny?"
-"you should have thought of the boys. michael's growing up; so is nicky."
-"that's all very well, but when nicky is twenty-one and ronny is seventeen what are you going to do?"
-"i'm not going to turn ronny out of doors for fear nicky should fall in love with her, if that's what you mean."
-"it is what i mean, now you've mentioned it."
-"he's less likely to fall in love with her if i bring them up as brother and sister."
-"you might think of anthony. bartholomew's wife leaves him for another man, and you aid and abet her by taking her child, relieving her of her one responsibility."
-"bartie's wife leaves him, and we help bartie by taking care of his child--who is our niece, not yours."
-"my dear frances, that attitude isn't going to deceive anybody. if you don't think of anthony and your children, you might think of us. we don't want to be mixed up in this perfectly horrible affair."
-"how are you mixed up in it?"
-"well, after all, frances, we are the family. we are your sisters and your mother and your children's grand-mother and aunts."
-"then," said frances with decision, "you must try to bear it. you must take the rough with the smooth, as anthony and i do."
-and as soon as she had said it she was sorry. it struck her for the first time that her sisters were getting old. it was no use for auntie louie, more red and more rigid than ever, to defy the imminence of her forty-ninth birthday. auntie emmy's gestures, her mouthings and excitement, only drew attention to the fact that she was forty-seven. and edie, why, even poor little auntie edie was forty-five. grannie, dry and wiry, hardly looked older than auntie edie.
-they left her, going stiffly, in offence. and again the unbearable pathos of them smote her. the poor aunties. she was a brute to hurt them. she still thought of them as auntie louie, auntie emmy, auntie edie. it seemed kinder; for thus she bestowed upon them a colour and vitality that, but for her and for her children, they would not have had. they were helpless, tiresome, utterly inefficient. in all their lives they had never done anything vigorous or memorable. they were doomed to go out before her children; when they were gone they would be gone altogether. neither auntie louie, nor auntie emmy, nor auntie edie would leave any mark or sign of herself. but her children gave them titles by which they would be remembered after they were gone. it was as if she had bestowed on them a little of her own enduring life.
-it was absurd and pathetic that they should think that they were the family.
-but however sorry she was for them she could not allow them to dictate to her in matters that concerned her and anthony alone. if they were so worried, about the scandal, why hadn't they the sense to see that the only way to meet it was to give it the lie by taking ronny, by behaving as if ronny were unquestionably bartie's daughter and their niece? they were bound to do it, if not for vera's sake, for the dear little girl's sake. and that was what vera had been thinking of; that was why she had trusted them.
-but her three sisters had always disliked vera. they disliked her because, while they went unmarried, vera, not content with the one man who was her just and legal portion, had taken another man whom she had no right to. and auntie emmeline had been in love with ferdie.
-still, there was a certain dreadful truth in their reproaches; and it stung. frances said to herselv that she had not been wise. she had done a risky thing in taking ronny. it was not fair to her children, to michael and nicholas and john. she was afraid. she had been afraid when vera had talked to her about nicky and veronica; and when she had seen veronica and nicky playing together in the apple-tree house; and when she had heard ronny's voice outside the schoolroom door crying, "where's nicky? i want him. will he be very long?"
-supposing veronica should go on wanting nicky, and supposing nicky--
-frances was so worried that, when dorothy came striding across the lawn to ask her what the matter was, and what on earth grannie and the aunties had been gassing about all that time, she told her.
-dorothy was nineteen. and dorothy at nineteen, tall and upright, was anthony's daughter. her face and her whole body had changed; they were anthony's face and body made feminine. her little straight nose had now a short high bridge; her brown eyes were keen and alert; she had his hawk's look. she put her arm in frances's, protecting her, and they walked up and down the terrace path, discussing it. in the distance grannie and the aunties could be seen climbing the slope of the heath to judges' walk. they were not, dorothy protested, pathetic; they were simply beastly. she hated them for worrying her mother.
-"they think i oughtn't to have taken ronny. they think nicky'll want to marry her."
-"but ronny's a kid--"
-"when she's not a kid."
-"then ronny'll fall in love with him, and get her little heart broken."
-"she won't, mummy, she won't. they only talk like that because they think ferdie's ronny's father."
-frances, in horror, released herself from that protecting arm. the horror came, not from the fact, but from her daughter's knowledge of it.
-"poor mummy, didn't you know? that's why bartie hates her."
-"it isn't true."
-"what's the good of that as long as bartie thinks it is?" said dorothy.
-"london bridge is broken down (ride over my lady leigh!)"
-veronica was in the drawing-room, singing "london bridge."
-michael, in all the beauty of his adolescence, lay stretched out on the sofa, watching her. her small, exquisite, childish face between the plaits of honey-coloured hair, her small, childish face thrilled him with a singular delight and sadness. she was so young and so small, and at the same time so perfect that michael could think of her as looking like that for ever, not growing up into a tiresome, bouncing, fluffy flapper like rosalind jervis.
-aunt louie and aunt emmeline said that rosalind was in love with him. michael thought that was beastly of them and he hoped it wasn't true.
-"'build it up with gold so fine'"--
-veronica was happy; for she knew herself to be a cause of happiness. like frances once, she was profoundly aware of her own happiness, and for the same reason. it was, if you came to think of it, incredible. it had been given to her, suddenly, when she was not looking for it, after she had got used to unhappiness.
-as long as she could remember veronica had been aware of herself. aware of herself, chiefly, not as a cause of happiness, but as a cause of embarrassment and uncertainty and trouble to three people, her father, her mother and ferdie, just as they were causes of embarrassment and trouble and uncertainty to her. they lived in a sort of violent mystery that she, incomprehensibly, was mixed up with. as long as she could remember, her delicate, childish soul had quivered with the vibration of their incomprehensible and tiresome passions. you could never tell what any of them really wanted, though among them they managed to create an atmosphere of most devastating want. only one thing she knew definitely--that they didn't want her.
-she was altogether out of it except as a meaningless counter in their incomprehensible, grown-up game. her father didn't want her; her mother didn't want her very much; and though now and then ferdie (who wasn't any relation at all) behaved as if he wanted her, his wanting only made the other two want her less than ever.
-there had been no peace or quietness or security in her little life of eleven years. their places (and they had had so many of them!) had never had any proper place for her. she seemed to have spent most of her time in being turned out of one room because her father had come into it, and out of another because her mother wanted to be alone in it with ferdie. and nobody, except ferdie sometimes, when they let him, ever wanted to be alone in any room with her. she was so tired of the rooms where she was obliged to be always alone with herself or with the servants, though the servants were always kind.
-she was utterly happy.
-and the house, with its long, wainscoted rooms, its whiteness and darkness, with its gay, clean, shining chintzes, the delicate, faded rose stuffs, the deep blue and purple and green stuffs, and the blue and white of the old china, and its furniture of curious woods, the golden, the golden-brown, the black and the wine-coloured, bought by anthony in many countries, the round concave mirrors, the pictures and the old bronzes, all the things that he had gathered together and laid up as treasure for his sons; and the garden on the promontory, with its buttressed walls and its green lawn, its flower borders, and its tree of heaven, saturated with memories, became for her, as they had become for frances, the sanctuary, crowded with visible and tangible symbols, of the happiness she adored.
-"sing it again, ronny."
-she sang it again.
-"'london bridge is broken down'"--
-it was funny of michael to like the silly, childish song; but if he wanted it he should have it. veronica would have given any of them anything they wanted. there was nothing that she had ever wanted that they had not given to her.
-she had wanted to be strong, to be able to run and ride, to play tennis and cricket and hockey, and nicky had shown her how. she had wanted books of her own, and auntie frances, and uncle anthony and dorothy and michael had given her books, and nicky had made her a bookcase. her room (it was all her own) was full of treasures. she had wanted to learn to sing and play properly, and uncle anthony had given her masters. she had wanted people to love her music, and they loved it. she had wanted a big, grown-up sister like dorothy, and they had given her dorothy; and she had wanted a little brother of her own age, and they had given her john. john had a look of nicky. his golden white hair was light brown now; his fine, wide mouth had nicky's impudence, even when, like frances, he kept it shut to smile her unwilling, twitching, mocking smile. she had wanted a father and mother like frances and anthony; and they had given her themselves.
-and she had wanted to live in the same house with nicky always.
-so if michael wanted her to sing "london bridge" to him twenty times over, she would sing it, provided nicky didn't ask her to do anything else at the same time. for she wanted to do most for nicky, always.
-and yet she was aware of something else that was not happiness. it was not a thing you could name or understand, or seize, or see; you were simply aware of it, as you were aware of ghosts in your room at night. like the ghosts, it was not always there; but when it was there you knew.
-it felt sometimes as if auntie frances was afraid of her; as if she, veronica, was a ghost.
-and veronica said to herself, "she is afraid i am not good. she thinks i'll worry her. but i shan't."
-that was before the holidays. now that they had come and nicky was back, "it" seemed to her something to do with nicky; and veronica said to herself, "she is afraid i'll get in his way and worry him, because he's older. but i shan't."
-as if she had not been taught and trained not to get in older people's ways and worry them. and as if she wasn't growing older every minute herself!
-"'build it up with gold so fine-- (ride over my lady leigh!)
-"'build it up with stones so strong'"--
-she had her back to the door and to the mirror that reflected it, yet she knew that nicky had come in.
-"that's the song you used to sing at bed-time when you were frightened," he said.
-the workshop was nicer than the old apple-tree house, because there were always lots of things to do in it for nicky.
-"nicky," she said suddenly, "do you believe in ghosts?"
-"well--" nicky caught his bar as it fell from the lathe and examined it critically.
-"you remember when i was afraid of ghosts, and you used to come and sit with me till i went to sleep?"
-"well--there are ghosts. i saw one last night. it came into the room just after i got into bed."
-"you can see them," nicky said. "ferdie's seen heaps. it runs in his family. he told me."
-"he never told me."
-"rather not. he was afraid you'd be frightened."
-"well, i wasn't frightened. not the least little bit."
-"i shall tell him that. he wanted most awfully to know whether you saw them too."
-"me? but nicky--it was ferdie i saw. he stood by the door and looked at me. like he does, you know."
-the next morning frances had a letter of two lines from veronica's mother:
-"ferdie died last evening at half past eight.
-"he wants you to keep ronny.
-it was not till years later that veronica knew that "he wanted most awfully to know whether you saw them too" meant "he wanted most awfully to know whether you really were his daughter."
-three years passed. it was the autumn of nineteen-ten. anthony's house was empty for the time being of all its children except dorothea.
-michael was in the beginning of his last year at cambridge. nicholas was in his second year. he had taken up mathematics and theoretical mechanics. in the long vacation, when the others went into the country, he stayed behind to work in the engineering sheds of the morss motor company. john was at cheltenham. veronica was in dresden.
-dorothea had left newnham a year ago, having taken a first-class in economics.
-as anthony came home early one evening in october, he found a group of six strange women in the lane, waiting outside his garden door in attitudes of conspiracy.
-four of them, older women, stood together in a close ring. the two others, young girls, hung about near, but a little apart from the ring, as if they desired not to identify themselves with any state of mind outside their own. by their low sibilant voices, the daring sidelong sortie of their bright eyes, their gestures, furtive and irrepressible, you gathered that there was unanimity on one point. all six considered themselves to have been discovered.
-at anthony's approach they moved away, with slow, casual steps, passed through the posts at the bottom of the lane and plunged down the steep path, as if under the impression that the nature of the ground covered their retreat. they bobbed up again, one after the other, when the lane was clear.
-the first to appear was a tall, handsome, bad-tempered-looking girl. she spoke first.
-"it's a damned shame of them to keep us waiting like this."
-she propped herself up against anthony's wall and smouldered there in her dark, sullen beauty.
-"when they know we were told not to let on where we meet."
-"we're led into a trap," said a grey-haired woman.
-"i say, who is dorothea harrison?"
-"she's the girl who roped rosalind in. she's all right."
-"yes, but are her people all right?"
-"rosalind knows them."
-the grey-haired woman spoke again.
-"well, if you think this lane is a good place for a secret meeting, i don't. are you aware that the yard of `jack straw's castle' is behind that wall? what's to prevent them bringing up five or six coppers and planting them there? why, they've only got to post one 'tee at the top of the lane, and another at the bottom, and we're done. trapped. i call it rotten."
-"it's all right. here they are."
-rosalind jervis was no longer a bouncing, fluffy flapper. in three years she had shot up into the stature of command. she slouched, stooping a little from the shoulders, and carried her pink face thrust forward, as if leaning from a platform to address an audience. from this salience her small chin retreated delicately into her pink throat.
-"is miss maud blackadder here?" she said, marshalling her six.
-the handsome girl detached herself slowly from anthony's wall.
-"what's the point," she said, "of keeping us hanging about like this--"
-"till all our faces are known to the police--"
-"there's a johnnie gone in there who can swear to me. why didn't you two turn up before?" said the handsome girl.
-"because," said dorothea, "that johnnie was my father. he was pounding on in front of us all up east heath road. if we'd got here sooner i should have had to introduce you."
-she looked at the six benevolently, indulgently. they might have been children whose behaviour amused her. it was as if she had said, "i avoided that introduction, not because it would have been dangerous and indiscreet, but because it would have spoiled your fun for you."
-she led the way into the garden and the house and through the hall into the schoolroom. there they found eleven young girls who had come much too soon, and mistaking the arrangements, had rung the bell and allowed themselves to be shown in.
-the schoolroom had been transformed into a sort of meeting hall. the big oblong table had been drawn across one end of it. behind it were chairs for the speakers, before it were three rows of chairs where the eleven young girls sat scattered, expectant.
-the six stood in the free space in front of the table and looked at rosalind with significance.
-"this," said rosalind, "is our hostess, miss dorothea harrison. dorothy, i think you've met mrs. eden, our treasurer. this is our secretary, miss valentina gilchrist; miss ethel farmer; miss winifred burstall--"
-dorothy greeted in turn mrs. eden, a pretty, gentle woman with a face of dreaming tragedy (it was she who had defended rosalind outside the gate); miss valentina gilchrist, a middle-aged woman who displayed a large grey pompadour above a rosy face with turned-back features which, when she was not excited, had an incredulous quizzical expression (miss gilchrist was the one who had said they had been led into a trap); miss ethel farmer, fair, attenuated, scholastic, wearing pince-nez with an air of not seeing you; and miss winifred burstall, weather-beaten, young at fifty, wearing pince-nez with an air of seeing straight through you to the other side.
-rosalind went on. "miss maud blackadder--"
-miss blackadder's curt bow accused rosalind of wasting time in meaningless formalities.
-"miss--" rosalind was at a loss.
-the other girl, the youngest of the eight, came forward, holding out a slender, sallow-white hand. she was the one who had hung with miss blackadder in the background.
-"desmond," she said. "phyllis desmond."
-she shrugged her pretty shoulders and smiled slightly, as much as to say, "she forgets what she ought to remember, but it doesn't matter."
-phyllis desmond was beautiful. but for the moment her beauty was asleep, stilled into hardness. dorothy saw a long, slender, sallow-white face, between sleek bands of black hair; black eyes, dulled as if by a subtle film, like breath on a black looking-glass; a beautiful slender mouth, pressed tight, holding back the secret of its sensual charm.
-dorothy thought she had seen her before, but she couldn't remember where.
-rosalind jervis looked at her watch with a businesslike air; paper and pencils were produced; coats were thrown on the little school-desks and benches in the corner where dorothy and her brothers had sat at their lessons with mr. parsons some twelve years ago; and the eight gathered about the big table, rosalind taking the presidential chair (which had once been mr. parsons' chair) in the centre between miss gilchrist and miss blackadder.
-miss burstall and miss farmer looked at each other and miss burstall spoke.
-"we understood that this was to be an informal meeting. before we begin business i should like to ask one question. i should like to know what we are and what we are here for?"
-"we, mrs. eden, miss valentina gilchrist, miss maud blackadder and myself," said rosalind in the tone of one dealing reasonably with an unreasonable person, "are the committee of the north hampstead branch of the women's franchise union. miss gilchrist is our secretary, i am the president and miss blackadder is--er--the committee."
-"by whom elected? this," said miss burstall, "is most irregular."
-rosalind went on: "we are here to appoint a vice-president, to elect members of the committee and enlist subscribers to the union. these things will take time."
-"we were punctual," said miss farmer.
-rosalind did not even look at her. the moment had come to address the meeting.
-"i take it that we are all agreed as to the main issue, that we have not come here to convert each other, that we all want women's franchise, that we all mean to have it, that we are all prepared to work for it, and, if necessary, to fight for it, to oppose the government that withholds it by every means in our power--"
-"by every constitutional means," miss burstall amended, and was told by miss gilchrist that, if she desired proceedings to be regular, she must not interrupt the chairwoman.
-"--to oppose the government that refuses us the vote, whatever government it may be, regardless of party, by every means in our power."
-rosalind's sentences were punctuated by a rhythmic sound of tapping. miss maud blackadder, twisted sideways on the chair she had pushed farther and farther back from the table, so as to bring herself completely out of line with the other seven, from time to time, rhythmically, twitching with impatience, struck her own leg with her own walking-stick.
-rosalind perorated. "if we differ, we differ, not as to our end, but solely as to the means we, personally and individually, are prepared to employ." she looked round. "agreed."
-"not agreed," said dorothy and miss burstall and miss farmer all at once.
-"i will now call on miss maud blackadder to speak. she will explain to those of you who are strangers" (she glanced comprehensively at the eleven young girls) "the present program of the union."
-"i protest," said miss burstall. "there has been confusion."
-"there really has, rosalind," said dorothy. "you must get it straight. you can't start all at sixes and sevens. i protest too."
-"we all three protest," said miss farmer, frowning and blinking in an agony of protest.
-"silence, if you please, for the chairwoman," said miss gilchrist.
-"may we not say one word?"
-"you may," said rosalind, "in your turn. i now call on miss blackadder to speak."
-at the sound of her own name miss blackadder jumped to her feet. the walking-stick fell to the floor with a light clatter and crash, preluding her storm. she jerked out her words at a headlong pace, as if to make up for the time the others had wasted in futilities.
-"i am not going to say much, i am not going to take up your time. too much time has been lost already. i am not a speaker, i am not a writer, i am not an intellectual woman, and if you ask me what i am and what i am here for, and what i am doing in the union, and what the union is doing with me, and what possible use i, an untrained girl, can be to you clever women" (she looked tempestuously at miss burstall and miss farmer who did not flinch), "i will tell you. i am a fighter. i am here to enlist volunteers. i am the recruiting sergeant for this district. that is the use my leaders, who should be your leaders, are making of me."
-her head was thrown back, her body swayed, rocked from side to side with the violent rhythm of her speech.
-"if you ask me why they have chosen me i will tell you. it's because i know what i want and because i know how to get what i want.
-"i know what i want. oh, yes, you think that's nothing; you all think you know what you want. but do you? do you?"
-"of course we do!"
-"we want the vote!"
-"nothing but the vote!"
-"nothing but? are you quite sure of that? can you even say you want it till you know whether there are things you want more?"
-"what are you driving at?"
-"you'll soon see what i'm driving at. i drive straight. and i ride straight. and i don't funk my fences.
-"well--say you all want the vote. do you know how much you want it? do you know how much you want to pay for it? do you know what you're prepared to give up for it? because, if you don't know that, you don't know how much you want it."
-"we want it as much as you do, i imagine."
-"you want it as much as i do? good. then you're going to pay the price whatever the price is. then you're ready to give up everything else, your homes and your families and your friends and your incomes. until you're enfranchised you are not going to own any man as father, or brother or husband" (her voice rang with a deeper and stronger vibration) "or lover, or friend. and the man who does not agree with you, the man who refuses you the vote, the man who opposes your efforts to get the vote, the man who, whether he agrees with you or not, will not help you to get it, you count as your enemy. that is wanting the vote. that is wanting it as much as i do.
-"you women--are you prepared to go against your men? to give up your men?"
-there were cries of "rather!" from two of the eleven young girls who had come too soon.
-miss burstall shook her head and murmured, "hopeless confusion of thought. if this is what it's going to be like, heaven help us!"
-"you really are getting a bit mixed," said dorothy.
-"protest then; protest as much as you like. then we shall know where we are; then we shall get things straight; then we can begin. you all want the vote. some of you don't know how much, but at least you know you want it. nobody's confused about that. do you know how you're going to get it? tell me that."
-lest they should spoil it all by telling her miss blackadder increased her vehement pace. "you don't because you can't and i will tell you. you won't get it by talking about it or by writing about it, or by sitting down and thinking about it, you'll get it by coming in with me, coming in with the women's franchise union, and fighting for it. fighting women, not talkers--not writers--not thinkers are what we want!" she sat down, heaving a little with the ground-swell of her storm, amid applause in which only miss burstall and miss farmer did not join. she was now looking extraordinarily handsome.
-rosalind bent over and whispered something in her ear. she rose to her feet again, flushed, smiling at them, triumphant.
-"our chairwoman has reminded me that i came here to tell you what the program of our union is. and i can tell you in six words. it's hell-for-leather, and it's neck-or-nothing!"
-"now," said rosalind sweetly, bowing towards miss burstall, "it's your turn. we should like to know what you have to say."
-miss burstall did not rise and in the end dorothea spoke.
-"my friend, miss rosalind jervis, assumed that we were all agreed, not only as to our aims, but as to our policy. she has not yet discriminated between constitutional and unconstitutional means. when we protested, she quashed our protest. we took exception to the phrase 'every means in our power,' because that would commit us to all sorts of unconstitutional things. it is in my power to squirt water into the back of the prime minister's neck, or to land a bomb in the small of his back, or in the centre of the platform at his next public meeting. we were left to conclude that the only differences between us would concern our choice of the squirt or the bomb. as some of us here might equally object to using the bomb or the squirt, i submit that either our protest should have been allowed or our agreement should not have been taken for granted at the start.
-"again, miss maud blackadder, in her sporting speech, her heroic speech, has not cleared the question. she has appealed to us to come in, without counting the cost; but she has said nothing to convince us that when our account at our bank is overdrawn, and we have declared war on all our male friends and relations, and have left our comfortable homes, and are all camping out on the open heath--i repeat, she has said nothing to convince us that the price we shall have paid is going to get us the thing we want.
-"she says that fighters are wanted, and not talkers and writers and thinkers. are we not then to fight with our tongues and with our brains? is she leaving us anything but our bare fists? she has told us that she rides straight and that she doesn't funk her fences; but she has not told us what sort of country she is going to ride over, nor where the fences are, not what hell-for-leather and neck-or-nothing means.
-"we want meaning; we want clearness and precision. we have not been given it yet.
-"i would let all this pass if miss blackadder were not your colour-sergeant. is it fair to call for volunteers, for raw recruits, and not tell them precisely and clearly what services will be required of them? how many" (dorothy glanced at the eleven) "realize that the leaders of your union, mrs. palmerston-swete, and mrs. blathwaite, and miss angela blathwaite, demand from its members blind, unquestioning obedience?"
-"i protest. i, too, have the right to protest. miss harrison calls me to order. she tells me to be clear and precise. will she be good enough to be clear and precise herself? will she say whether she is with us or against us? if she is not with us she is against us. let her explain her position."
-she sat down; and rosalind rose.
-"miss harrison," she said, "will explain her position to the committee later. this is an open meeting till seven. it is now five minutes to. will any of you here"--she held the eleven with her eyes--"who were not present at the meeting in the town hall last monday, hold up your hands. no hands. then you must all be aware of the object and the policy and the rules of the women's franchise union. its members pledge themselves to help, as far as they can, the object of the union; to support the decisions of their leaders; to abstain from public and private criticism of those decisions and of any words or actions of their leaders; and to obey orders--not blindly or unquestioningly, but within the terms of their undertakings.
-"those of you who wish to join us will please write your names and addresses on the slips of white paper, stating what kind of work you are willing to do and the amount of your subscription, if you subscribe, and hand your slips to the secretary at the door, as you go out."
-miss burstall and miss farmer went out. miss blackadder counted--"one--two--"
-eight of the eleven young girls signed and handed in the white slips at the door, and went out.
-miss blackadder reckoned that dorothea harrison's speech had cost her five recruits. her own fighting speech had carried the eleven in a compact body to her side: dorothea's speech had divided and scattered them again.
-miss blackadder hurled her personality at the heads of audiences in the certainty that it would hit them hard. that was what she was there for. she knew that the women's franchise union relied on her to wring from herself the utmost spectacular effect. and she did it every time. she never once missed fire. and dorothea harrison had come down on the top of her triumph and destroyed the effect of all her fire. she had corrupted five recruits. and, supposing there was a secret program, she had betrayed the women of the union to fourteen outsiders, by giving it away. treachery or no treachery, dorothea harrison would have to pay for it.
-everybody had gone except the members of the committee and phyllis desmond who waited for her friend, maud blackadder.
-dorothy remembered phyllis desmond now; she was that art-student girl that vera knew. she had seen her at vera's house.
-they had drawn round the table again. miss blackadder and miss gilchrist conferred in whispers.
-"before we go," said rosalind, "i propose that we ask miss dorothea harrison to be our vice-president."
-miss gilchrist nodded to miss blackadder who rose. it was her moment.
-"and i propose," she said, "that before we invite miss harrison to be anything we ask her to define her position--clearly and precisely."
-she made a sign, and the secretary was on her feet.
-"and first we must ask miss harrison to explain how she became possessed of the secret policy of the union which has never been discussed at any open meeting and is unknown to members of the general committee."
-"then," said dorothy, "there is a secret policy?"
-"you seem to know it. we have the right to ask how you know? unless you invented it."
-dorothy faced them. it was inconceivable that it should have happened, that she should be standing there, in the old schoolroom of her father's house, while two strange women worried her. she knew that her back was to the wall and that the blackadder girl had been on the watch for the last half-hour to get her knife into her. (odd, for she had admired the blackadder girl and her fighting gestures.) it was inconceivable that she should have to answer to that absurd committee for her honour. it was inconceivable that rosalind, her friend, should not help her.
-yet it had happened. with all her platform eloquence rosalind couldn't, for the life of her, get out one heroic, defending word. from the moment when the gilchrist woman had pounced, rosalind had simply sat and stared, like a rabbit, like a fish, her mouth open for the word that would not come. rosalind was afraid to stand up for her. it was dreadful, and it was funny to see rosalind looking like that, and to realize the extent of her weakness and her obstinacy.
-yet rosalind had not changed. she was still the school-girl slacker who could never do a stroke of work until somebody had pushed her into it, who could never leave off working until stopped by the same hand that had set her going. her power to go, and to let herself rip, and the weakness that made her depend on dorothy to start her were the qualities that attracted dorothy to rosalind from the beginning. but now she was the tool of the fighting suffrage women. or if she wasn't a tool, she was a machine; her brain was a rapid, docile, mechanical apparatus for turning out bad imitations of mrs. palmerston-swete and the two blathwaites. her air of casual command, half-swagger, half-slouch, her stoop and the thrusting forward of her face, were copied sedulously from an admired model.
-dorothy found her pitiable. she was hypnotized by the blathwaites who worked her and would throw her away when she was of no more use. she hadn't the strength to resist the pull and the grip and the drive of other people. she couldn't even hold out against valentina gilchrist and maud blackadder. rosalind would always be caught and spun round by any movement that was strong enough. she was foredoomed to the vortex.
-that was dorothy's fault. it was she who had pushed and pulled the slacker, in spite of her almost whining protest, to the edge of the vortex; and it was rosalind, not dorothy, who had been caught and sucked down into the swirl. she whirled in it now, and would go on whirling, under the impression that her movements made it move.
-the vortex fascinated dorothy even while she resisted it. she liked the feeling of her own power to resist, to keep her head, to beat up against the rush of the whirlwind, to wheel round and round outside it, and swerve away before the thing got her.
-for dorothy was afraid of the feminist vortex, as her brother michael had been afraid of the little vortex of school. she was afraid of the herded women. she disliked the excited faces, and the high voices skirling their battle-cries, and the silly business of committees, and the platform slang. she was sick and shy before the tremor and the surge of collective feeling; she loathed the gestures and the movements of the collective soul, the swaying and heaving and rushing forward of the many as one. she would not be carried away by it; she would keep the clearness and hardness of her soul. it was her soul they wanted, these women of the union, the blathwaites and the palmerston-swetes, and rosalind, and the blackadder girl and the gilchrist woman; they ran out after her like a hungry pack yelping for her soul; and she was not going to throw it to them. she would fight for freedom, but not in their way and not at their bidding.
-she was her brother michael, refusing to go to the party; refusing to run with the school herd, holding out for his private soul against other people who kept him from remembering. only michael did not hold out. he ran away. she would stay, on the edge of the vortex, fascinated by its danger, and resisting.
-but as she looked at them, at rosalind with her open mouth, at the blackadder girl who was scowling horribly, and at valentina gilchrist, sceptical and quizzical, she laughed. the three had been trying to rush her, and because they couldn't rush her they were questioning her honour. she had asked them plainly for a plain meaning, and their idea of apt repartee was to pretend to question her honour.
-perhaps they really did question it. she didn't care. she loathed their excited, silly, hurrying suspicion; but she didn't care. it was she who had drawn them and led them on to this display of incomparable idiocy. like her brother nicholas she found that adversity was extremely funny; and she laughed.
-she was no longer michael, she was nicky, not caring, delighting in her power to fool them.
-"you think," she said, "i'd no business to find out?"
-"your knowledge would certainly have been mysterious," said the secretary; "unless at least two confidences had been betrayed. supposing there had been any secret policy."
-"well, you see, i don't know it; and i didn't invent it; and i didn't find it out--precisely. your secret policy is the logical conclusion of your present policy. i deduced it; that's all. anybody could have done the same. does that satisfy you? (they won't love me any better for making them look fools!)"
-"thank you," said miss gilchrist. "we only wanted to be sure."
-the dinner-bell rang as dorothy was defining her position.
-"i'll work for you; i'll speak for you; i'll write for you; i'll fight for you. i'll make hay of every government meeting, if i can get in without lying and sneaking for it. i'll go to prison for you, if i can choose my own crime. but i won't give up my liberty of speech and thought and action. i won't pledge myself to obey your orders. i won't pledge myself not to criticize policy i disapprove of. i won't come on your committee, and i won't join your union. is that clear and precise enough?"
-somebody clapped and somebody said, "hear, hear!" and somebody said, "go it, dorothy!"
-it was anthony and frances and captain drayton, who paused outside the door on their way to the dining-room, and listened, basely.
-they were all going now. dorothy stood at the door, holding it open for them, glad that it was all over.
-only phyllis desmond, the art-student, lingered. dorothy reminded her that they had met at her aunt vera harrison's house.
-the art-student smiled. "i wondered when you were going to remember."
-"i did, but they all called you desmond. that's what put me out."
-"everybody calls me desmond. you had a brother or something with you, hadn't you?"
-"i might have had two. which? michael's got green eyes and yellow hair. nicky's got blue eyes and black hair."
-"it was nicky--nice name--then."
-"i'm dining with mrs. harrison to-night," she said.
-"you'll be late then."
-"it doesn't matter. lawrence stephen's never there till after eight. she won't dine without him."
-dorothy stiffened. she did not like that furtive betrayal of vera and lawrence stephen.
-"i wish you'd come and see me at my rooms in chelsea. and bring your brother. not the green and yellow one. the blue and black one."
-dorothy took the card on which desmond had scribbled an address. but she did not mean to go and see her. she wasn't sure that she liked desmond.
-rosalind stayed on to dine with dorothy's family. she was no longer living with her own family, for mrs. jervis was hostile to women's franchise. she had rooms off the strand, not far from the headquarters of the union.
-frances looked a little careworn. she had been sent for to grannie's house to see what could be done with aunt emmeline, and had found, as usual, that nothing could be done with her. in the last three years the second miss fleming had become less and less enthusiastic, and more and more emphatic, till she ceased from enthusiasm altogether and carried emphasis beyond the bounds of sanity. she had become, as frances put it, extremely tiresome.
-it was not accurate to say, as mrs. fleming did, that you never knew when emmeline would start a nervous crisis; for as a matter of fact you could time her to a minute. it was her habit to wait till her family was absorbed in some urgent affair that diverted attention from her case, and then to break out alarmingly. dorothy was generally sent for to bring her round; but to-day it was dorothy who had important things on hand. aunt emmeline had scented the suffrage meeting from afar, and had made arrangements beforehand for a supreme crisis that would take all the shine out of dorothy's affair.
-when frances said that aunt emmy had been tiresome again, dorothy knew what she meant. for aunt emmy's idea was that her sisters persecuted her; that edie was jealous of her and hated her; that louie had always trampled on her and kept her under; that frances had used her influence with grannie to spoil all her chances one after another. it was all frances's fault that vera harrison had come between her and major cameron; frances had encouraged vera in her infamous intrigue; and between them they had wrecked two lives. and they had killed major cameron.
-since ferdie's death emmeline fleming had lived most of the time in a sort of dream in which it seemed to her that these things had really happened.
-this afternoon she had been more than usually tiresome. she had simply raved.
-"you should have brought her round to the meeting," said dorothy, "and let her rave there. i'd back aunt emmeline against maud blackadder. i wish, rosalind, you'd leave off making faces and kicking my shins. you needn't worry any more, mummy ducky. i'm going to rope them all into the suffrage movement. aunt edie can distribute literature, aunt louie can interrupt like anything, and aunt emmeline can shout and sing."
-"i think, dorothy," said rosalind with weak bitterness, "that you might have stuck by me."
-the two were walking down east heath road to the tram-lines where the motor buses started for charing cross.
-"it was you who dragged me into it, and the least you could do was to stick. why didn't you keep quiet instead of forcing our hands?"
-"i couldn't keep quiet. i'll go with you straight or i won't go with you at all."
-"you know what's the matter with you? it's your family. you'll never be any good to us, you'll never be any good to yourself till you've chucked them and got away. for years--ever since you've been born--you've simply been stewing there in the family juice until you're soaked with it. you oughtn't to be living at home. you ought to be on your own--like me."
-"you're talking rot, rosalind. if my people were like yours i'd have to chuck them, i suppose; but they're not. they're angels."
-"that's why they're so dangerous. they couldn't influence you if they weren't angels."
-"they don't influence me the least little bit. i'd like to see them try. they're much too clever. they know i'd be off like a shot if they did. why, they let me do every mortal thing i please--turn the schoolroom into a meeting hall for your friends to play the devil in. that blackadder girl was yelling the house down, yet they didn't say anything. and your people aren't as bad as you make out, you know. you couldn't live on your own if your father didn't give you an allowance. i like mrs. jervis."
-"because she likes you."
-"well, that's a reason. it isn't the reason why i like my own mother, because she doesn't like me so very much. that's why she lets me do what i like. she doesn't care enough to stop me. she only really cares for dad and john and nicky and michael."
-rosalind looked fierce and stubborn.
-"that's what's the matter with all of you," she said.
-"caring like that. it's all sex. sex instinct, sex feeling. maud's right. it's what we're up against all the time."
-dorothy said to herself, "that's what's the matter with rosalind, if she only knew it."
-rosalind loved michael and michael detested her, and nicky didn't like her very much. she always looked fierce and stubborn when she heard michael's name.
-rosalind went on. "when it comes to sex you don't revolt. you sit down."
-"i do revolt. i'm revolting now. i go much farther than you do. i think the marriage laws are rotten; i think divorce ought to be for incompatibility. i think love isn't love and can't last unless it's free. i think marriage ought to be abolished--not yet, perhaps, but when we've become civilized. it will be. it's bound to be. as it is, i think every woman has a right to have a baby if she wants one. if emmeline had had a baby, she wouldn't be devastating us now."
-"that's what you think, but it isn't what you feel. it's all thinking with you, dorothy. the revolt goes on in your brain. you'll never do anything. it isn't that you haven't the courage to go against your men. you haven't the will. you don't want to."
-"why should i? what do they do? father and michael and nicky don't interfere with me any more than mother does."
-"you know i'm not thinking of them. they don't really matter."
-"who are you thinking of then? frank drayton? you needn't!"
-it was mean of rosalind to hit below the belt like that, when she knew that she was safe. michael had never been brought against her and never would be. it was disgusting of her to imply that dorothy's state of mind was palpable, when her own (though sufficiently advertised by her behaviour) had received from michael's sister the consecration of silence as a secret, tragic thing.
-they had reached the tram-lines.
-at the sight of the charing cross `bus rosalind assumed an air of rollicking, adventurous travel.
-which showed that rosalind jervis was a free woman, suggested that life had richer thrills than marrying dorothy's brother michael, and fixed the detested imputation securely on her friend.
-as dorothy crossed the heath again in the twilight she saw something white on the terrace of her father's house. her mother was waiting for her.
-she thought at first that aunt emmeline had gone off her head and that she had been sent for to keep her quiet. she gloried in their dependence on her. but no, that wasn't likely. her mother was just watching for her as she used to watch for her and the boys when they were little and had been sent across the heath to grannie's house with a message.
-and at the sight and memory of her mother dorothy felt a childish, sick dissatisfaction with herself and with her day, and an absurd longing for the tranquillity and safety of the home whose chief drawback lately had been that it was too tranquil and too safe. she could almost have told her mother how they had all gone for her, and how rosalind had turned out rotten, and how beastly it had all been. almost, but not quite. dorothy had grown up, and she was there to protect and not to be protected. however agreeable it might have been to confide in her mother, it wouldn't have done.
-frances met her at the garden door. she had been crying.
-"nicky's come home," she said.
-"he's been sent down."
-"darling, i can't possibly tell you."
-but in the end she did.
-up till now frances had taken a quiet interest in women's suffrage. it had got itself into the papers and thus become part of the affairs of the nation. the names of mrs. palmerston-swete and mrs. blathwaite and angela blathwaite had got into the papers, where frances hoped and prayed that the name of dorothea harrison might not follow them. the spectacle of a frantic government at grips with the women's franchise union had not yet received the head-lines accorded to the reports of divorce and breach of promise cases and fires in paraffin shops; still, it was beginning to figure, and if frances's times ignored it, there were other papers that dorothy brought home.
-but for frances the affairs of the nation sank into insignificance beside nicky's cambridge affair.
-there could be no doubt that nicky's affair was serious. you could not, anthony said, get over the letters, the master's letter and the professor's letter and michael's. they had arrived one hour after nicky, nicky so changed from his former candour that he refused to give any account of himself beyond the simple statement that he had been sent down. they'd know, he had said, soon enough why.
-and soon enough they did know.
-to be sure no details could be disentangled from the discreet ambiguities of the master and the professor. but michael's letter was more explicit. nicky had been sent down because old "booster" had got it into his head that nicky had been making love to "booster's" wife when she didn't want to be made love to, and nothing could get it out of "booster's" head.
-michael was bound to stand up for his brother, and it was clear to anthony that so grave a charge could hardly have been brought without some reason. the tone of the letters, especially the professor's, was extraordinarily restrained. that was what made the thing stand out in its sheer awfulness. the professor, although, according to michael, he conceived himself to be profoundly injured, wrote sorrowfully, in consideration of nicky's youth.
-there was one redeeming circumstance, the master and the professor both laid stress on it: anthony's son had not attempted to deny it.
-"there must," frances said wildly, "be some terrible mistake."
-but nicky cut the ground from under the theory of the terrible mistake by continuing in his refusal to deny it.
-"what sort of woman," said anthony, "is the professor's wife?"
-"oh, awfully decent," said nicky.
-"you had no encouragement, then, no provocation?"
-"she's awfully fascinating," said nicky.
-then frances had another thought. it seemed to her that nicky was evading.
-"are you sure you're not screening somebody else?"
-"screening somebody else? do you mean some other fellow?"
-"yes. i'm not asking you to give the name, nicky."
-"i swear i'm not. why should i be? i can't think why you're all making such a fuss about it. i don't mean poor old 'booster.' he's got some cause, if you like."
-"but what was it you did--really did, nicky?"
-"you've read the letters, mother."
-nicky's adolescence seemed to die and pass from him there and then; and she saw a stubborn, hard virility that frightened and repelled her, forcing her to believe that it might have really happened.
-to frances the awfulness of it was beyond belief. and the pathos of her belief in nicky was unbearable to anthony. there were the letters.
-"i think, dear," anthony said, "you'd better leave us."
-"mayn't i stay?" it was as if she thought that by staying she could bring nicky's youth back to life again.
-"no," said anthony.
-she went, and nicky opened the door for her. his hard, tight man's face looked at her as if it had been she who had sinned and he who suffered, intolerably, for her sin. the click of the door as he shut it stabbed her.
-"it's a damnable business, father. we'd better not talk about it."
-but anthony would talk about it. and when he had done talking all that nicky had to say was: "you know as well as i do that these things happen."
-for nicky had thought it out very carefully beforehand in the train. what else could he say? he couldn't tell them that "booster's" poor little wife had lost her head and made hysterical love to him, and had been so frightened at what she had done that she had made him promise on his word of honour that, whatever happened, he wouldn't give her away to anybody, not even to his own people.
-he supposed that either peggy had given herself away, or that poor old "booster" had found her out. he supposed that, having found her out, there was no other line that "booster" could have taken. anyhow, there was no other line that he could take; because, in the world where these things happened, being found out would be fifty times worse for peggy than it would be for him.
-he tried to recall the scene in the back drawing-room where she had asked him so often to have tea with her alone. the most vivid part was the end of it, after he had given his promise. peggy had broken down and put her head on his shoulder and cried like anything. and it was at that moment that nicky thought of "booster," and how awful and yet how funny it would be if he walked into the room and saw him there. he had tried hard not to think what "booster's" face would look like; he had tried hard not to laugh as long as peggy's head was on his shoulder, for fear of hurting her feelings; but when she took it off he did give one half-strangled snort; for it really was the rummest thing that had ever happened to him.
-he didn't know, and he couldn't possibly have guessed, that as soon as the door had shut on him peggy's passion had turned to rage and utter detestation of nicky (for she had heard the snort); and that she had gone straight to her husband's study and put her head on his shoulder, and cried, and told him a lie; and that it was peggy's lie and not the professor's imagination that had caused him to be sent down. and even if peggy had not been lord somebody's daughter and related to all sorts of influential people she would still have been capable of turning every male head in the university. for she was a small, gentle woman with enchanting manners and the most beautiful and pathetic eyes, and she had not yet been found out. therefore it was more likely that an undergraduate with a face like nicky's should lose his head than that a woman with a face like peggy's should, for no conceivable reason, tell a lie. so that, even if nicky's word of honour had not been previously pledged to his accuser, it would have had no chance against any statement that she chose to make. and even if he had known that she had lied, he couldn't very well have given it against poor pretty peggy who had lost her head and got frightened.
-as nicky packed up his clothes and his books he said, "i don't care if i am sent down. it would have been fifty times worse for her than it is for me."
-he had no idea how bad it was, nor how much worse it was going to be. for it ended in his going that night from his father's house to the house in st. john's wood where vera and mr. lawrence stephen lived.
-and it was there that he met desmond.
-nicky congratulated himself on having pulled it off so well. at the same time he was a little surprised at the ease with which he had taken his father and mother in. he might have understood it if he had known that vera had been before him, and that she had warned them long ago that this was precisely the sort of thing they would have to look out for. and as no opinion ever uttered on the subject of their children was likely to be forgotten by frances and anthony, when this particular disaster came they were more prepared for it than they would have believed possible.
-but there were two members of his family whom nicky had failed altogether to convince, michael and dorothy. michael luckily, nicky said to himself, was not on the spot, and his letter had no weight against the letters of the master and the professor, and on this also nicky had calculated. he reckoned without dorothy, judging it hardly likely that she would be allowed to know anything about it. nobody, not even frances, was yet aware of dorothy's importance.
-and dorothy, because of her importance, blamed herself for all that happened afterwards. if she had not had that damned suffrage meeting, rosalind would not have stayed to dinner; if rosalind had not stayed to dinner she would not have gone with her to the tram-lines; if she had not gone with her to the tram-lines she would have been at home to stop nicky from going to st. john's wood. as it was, nicky had reached the main road at the top of the lane just as dorothy was entering it from the bottom.
-at first frances did not want dorothy to see her father. he was most horribly upset and must not be disturbed. but dorothy insisted. her father had the letters, and she must see the letters.
-"i may understand them better than you or daddy," she said. "you see, mummy, i know these cambridge people. they're awful asses, some of them."
-and though her mother doubted whether attendance at the professor's lectures would give dorothy much insight into the affair, she had her way. anthony was too weak to resist her. he pushed the letters towards her without a word. he would rather she had been left out of it. and yet somehow the sight of her, coming in, so robust and undismayed and competent, gave him a sort of comfort.
-dorothy did not agree with michael. there was more in it than the professor's imagination. the professor, she said, hadn't got any imagination; you could tell from the way he lectured. but she did not believe one word of the charge against her brother. something had happened and nicky was screening somebody.
-"i'll bet you anything you like," said dorothy, "it's 'booster's' wife. she's made him give his word."
-dorothy was sure that "booster's" wife was a bad lot.
-"nicky said she was awfully decent."
-"he'd have to. he couldn't do it by halves."
-"they couldn't have sent him down, unless they'd sifted the thing to the bottom."
-"i daresay they've sifted all they could, the silly asses."
-she could have killed them for making her father suffer. the sight of his drawn face hurt her abominably. she had never seen him like that. she wasn't half so sorry for her mother who was sustained by a secret, ineradicable faith in nicky. why couldn't he have faith in nicky too? was it because he was a man and knew that these things happened?
-"daddy--being sent down isn't such an awful calamity. it isn't going to blast his career or anything. it's always touch and go. i might have been sent down any day. i should have been if they'd known about me half what they don't know about nicky. why can't you take it as a rag? you bet he does."
-anthony removed himself from her protecting hand. he got up and went to bed.
-but he did not sleep there. neither he nor frances slept. and he came down in the morning looking worse than ever.
-dorothy thought, "it must be awful to have children if it makes you feel like that." she thought, "it's a lucky thing they're not likely to cut up the same way about me." she thought again, "it must be awful to have children." she thought of the old discussions in her room at newnham, about the woman's right to the child, and free union, and easy divorce, and the abolition of the family. her own violent and revolutionary speeches (for which she liked to think she might have been sent down) sounded faint and far-off and irrelevant. she did not really want to abolish frances and anthony. and yet, if they had been abolished, as part of the deplorable institution of parentage, it would have been better for them; for then they would not be suffering as they did.
-it must be awful to have children. but perhaps they knew that it was worth it.
-and as her thoughts travelled that way they were overtaken all of a sudden by an idea. she did not stop to ask herself what business her idea had in that neighbourhood. she went down first thing after breakfast and sent off two wires; one to captain drayton at croft house, eltham; one to the same person at the royal military academy, woolwich.
-"can i see you? it's about nicky.
-wires to show that she was impersonal and businesslike, and that her business was urgent. "can i see you?" to show that he was not being invited to see her. "it's about nicky" to justify the whole proceeding. "dorothy harrison" because "dorothy" by itself was too much.
-as soon as she had sent off her wires dorothy felt a sense of happiness and well-being. she had no grounds for happiness; far otherwise; her great friendship with rosalind jervis was disintegrating bit by bit owing to rosalind's behaviour; the fiery suffrage meeting had turned into dust and ashes; her darling nicky was in a nasty scrape; her father and mother were utterly miserable; yet she was happy.
-half-way home her mind began to ask questions of its own accord.
-"supposing you had to choose between the suffrage and frank drayton?"
-"but i haven't got to."
-"you might have. you know you might any minute. you know he hates it. and supposing--"
-but dorothy refused to give any answer.
-his wire came within the next half hour.
-her sense of well-being increased almost to exaltation.
-he arrived with punctuality at three o'clock. (he was in the gunners and had a job at woolwich.) she found him standing on the hearth-rug in the drawing-room. he had blown his nose when he heard her coming, and that meant that he was nervous. she caught him stuffing his pocket-handkerchief (a piece of damning evidence) into his breast-pocket.
-with her knowledge of his nervousness her exaltation ceased as if it had not been. at the sight of him it was as if the sentence hidden somewhere in her mind--"you'll have to choose. you know you'll have to"--escaping thought and language, had expressed itself in one suffocating pang. unless nicky's affair staved off the dreadful moment.
-"were you frightfully busy?"
-"no, thank goodness."
-the luck she had had! of course, if he had been busy he couldn't possibly have come.
-vera had told them that once, at an up-country station in india, he had stopped a mutiny in a native battery by laughing in the men's faces. somebody that ferdie knew had been with him and saw it happen. the men broke into his office where he was sitting, vulnerably, in his shirt-sleeves. they had brought knives with them, beastly native things, and they had their hands on the handles, ready. they screamed and gesticulated with excitement. and frank drayton leaned back in his office chair and looked at them, and burst out laughing, because, he said, they made such funny faces. when they got to fingering their knives, he tilted back his chair and rocked with laughter. his sudden, incredible mirth frightened them and stopped the mutiny. she could see him, she could see his face jerked crooked with delight.
-that was the sort of thing that nicky would have done. she loved him for that. she loved him because he was like nicky.
-she was not able to recall the process of the states that flowered in that mysterious sense of well-being and exaltation. a year ago frank drayton had been only "that nice man we used to meet at cheltenham." first of all he had been ferdie's and vera's friend. then he became nicky's friend; the only one who took a serious interest in his inventions and supported him when he wanted to go into the army and consoled him when he was frustrated. then he had become the friend of the family. now he was recognized as more particularly dorothea's friend.
-at cheltenham he had been home on leave; and it was not until this year that he had got his job at woolwich teaching gunnery, while he waited for a bigger job in the ordnance department. ferdie cameron had always said that frank drayton would be worth watching. he would be part of the brains of the army some day. nicky watched him. his brains and their familiarity with explosives and the machinery of warfare had been his original attraction for nicky. but it was dorothea who watched him most.
-she plunged abruptly into nicky's affair, giving names and lineage. "you know all sorts of people, do you know anything about her?"
-he looked at her clearly, without smiling. then he said "yes. i know a good bit about her. is that what's wrong with nicky?"
-"not exactly. but he's been sent down."
-his wry smile intimated that such things might be.
-then she told him what the master had written and what the professor had written and what michael had written, and what nicky had said, and what she, dorothea thought. drayton smiled over the master's and the professor's letters, but when it came to michael's letter he laughed aloud.
-"it's all very well for us. but daddy and mummy are breaking their hearts. daddy says he's going down to cambridge to see what really did happen."
-again that clear look. she gathered that he disapproved of "booster's" wife. he disapproved of so many things: of women's suffrage; of revolutions; of women who revolted; of anybody who revolted; of mrs. palmerston-swete and mrs. blathwaite and angela blathwaite. it was putting it too mildly to say he disapproved of rosalind jervis; he detested her. he disapproved of vera and of her going to see vera; she remembered that he had even disapproved, long ago, of poor ferdie, though he liked him. evidently he disapproved of "booster's" wife for the same reason that he disapproved of vera. that was why he didn't say so.
-"i believe you think all the time i'm right," she said. "would you go down if you were he?"
-"no. i wouldn't."
-"because he won't get anything out of them. they can't give her away any more than nicky can. or than you can, dorothy."
-"you mean i've done it already--to you. i had to, because of nicky. i can't help it if you do think it was beastly of me."
-"my dear child--"
-he got up vehemently, as if his idea was to take her in his arms and stifle her outbreak that way. but something in her eyes, cold, unready, yet aware of him, repelled him.
-he thought: "it's too soon. she's all rigid. she isn't alive yet. that's not what she wired for." he thought: "i wish people wouldn't send their children to newnham. it retards their development by ten years."
-and she thought: "no. i mustn't let him do that. for then he won't be able to go back on me when i tell him my opinions. it would be simply trapping him. supposing--supposing--"
-she did not know that that instinctive renunciation was her answer to the question. her honour would come first.
-"of course. of course you had to."
-"what would you do about it if you were daddy?"
-"i should send them all to blazes."
-"no, but really do?"
-"i should do nothing. i should leave it. you'll find that before very long there'll be letters of apology and restitution."
-"will you come down to the office with me and tell daddy that?"
-"yes, if you'll come to tea with me somewhere afterwards."
-she sent her mother to him while she put on her hat and coat. when she came down frances was happy again.
-"you see, mummy, i was right, after all."
-"you always were right, darling, all the time."
-for the life of her she couldn't help giving that little flick at her infallible daughter.
-"she is right--most of the time," said drayton. his eyes covered and protected her.
-anthony was in his office, sitting before the open doors of the cabinet where he kept his samples of rare and valuable woods. the polished slabs were laid before him on the table in rows, as he had arranged them to show to a customer: wine-coloured mahogany, and golden satinwood; ebony black as jet; tulip-wood mottled like fine tortoiseshell; coromandel wood, striped black and white like the coat of a civet cat; ghostly basswood, shining white on dead white; woods of clouded grain, and woods of shining grain, grain that showed like the slanting, splintered lines of hewn stone, like moss, like the veins of flowers, the fringes of birds' feathers, the striping and dappling of beasts; woods of exquisite grain where the life of the tree drew its own image in its own heart; woods whose surface was tender to the touch like a fine tissue; and sweet-smelling sandalwood and camphor-wood and cedar.
-anthony loved his shining, polished slabs of wood. if a man must have a business, let it be timber. timber was a clean and fine and noble thing. he had brought the working of his business to such a pitch of smooth perfection that his two elder sons, michael and nicholas, could catch up with it easily and take it in their stride.
-now he was like a sick child that has ranged all its toys in front of it and finds no comfort in them.
-and, as he looked at them, the tulip-wood and the scented sandalwood and camphor-wood gave him an idea.
-the master and the professor had both advised him to send his son nicholas out of england for a little while. "let him travel for six months and get the whole miserable business out of his head."
-nicky, when he gave up the army, had told him flatly that he would rather die than spend his life sitting in a beastly office. nicky had put it to him that timber meant trees, and trees meant forests; why, lots of the stuff they imported came from the himalaya and the west indies and ceylon. he had reminded him that he was always saying a timber merchant couldn't know enough about the living tree. why shouldn't he go into the places where the living trees grew and learn all about them? why shouldn't he be a tree-expert? since they were specializing in rare and foreign woods, why shouldn't he specialize in rare and foreign trees?
-and the slabs of tulip-wood and scented camphor-wood and sandalwood were saying to anthony, "why not?" neither he nor frances had wanted nicky to go off to the west indies and the himalaya; but now, since clearly he must go off somewhere, why not?
-drayton and dorothy came in just as anthony (still profoundly dejected) was saying to himself, "reinstate him. give him responsibility--curiosity--healthy interests. get the whole miserable business out of his head."
-then anthony and drayton and dorothy sat round the table, drafting letters to the master and the professor. anthony, at drayton's dictation, informed them that he regretted the step they had seen fit to take; that he knew his own son well enough to be pretty certain that there had been some misunderstanding; therefore, unless he received within three days a written withdrawal of the charge against his son nicholas, he would be obliged to remove his son michael from the master's college.
-the idea of removing michael was anthony's own inspiration.
-drayton's advice was that he should give nicky his choice between oxford and germany, the big school of forestry at aschaffenburg. if he chose germany, he would be well grounded; he could specialize and travel afterwards.
-"now that's all over," anthony said, "you two had better come and have tea with me somewhere."
-but there was something in their faces that made him consult his watch and find that "oh dear me, no! he was afraid he couldn't." he had an appointment at five.
-when they were well out of sight he locked up his toys in his cabinet, left the appointment at five to mr. vereker, and went home to tell frances about the letters he had written to cambridge and the plans that had been made for nicky's future.
-"he'll choose germany," anthony said. "but that can't be helped."
-frances agreed that they could hardly have hit upon a better plan.
-so the affair of nicky and "booster's" wife was as if it had never been. and for that they thanked the blessed common sense and sanity of captain drayton.
-and yet anthony's idea was wrecked by "booster's" wife. it had come too late. anthony had overlooked the fact that his son had seventeen hours' start of him. he was unaware of the existence of nicky's own idea; and he had not allowed for the stiff logic of his position.
-when he drove down in his car to st. john's wood to fetch nicky, he found that he had left that afternoon for chelsea, where, vera told him, he had taken rooms.
-she gave him the address. it had no significance for anthony.
-nicky refused to be fetched back from his rooms in chelsea. for he had not left his father's house in a huff; he had left it in his wisdom, to avoid the embarrassment of an incredible position. his position, as he pointed out to his father, had not changed. he was as big a blackguard to-day as he was yesterday; the only difference was, that to-morrow or the next day he would be a self-supporting blackguard.
-he wouldn't listen to his father's plan. it was a beautiful plan, but it would only mean spending more money on him. he'd be pretty good, he thought, at looking after machinery. he was going to try for a job as a chauffeur or foreman mechanic. he thought he knew where he could get one; but supposing he couldn't get it, if his father cared to take him on at the works for a bit he'd come like a shot; but he couldn't stay there, because it wouldn't be good enough.
-he was absolutely serious, and absolutely firm in the logic of his position. for he argued that, if he allowed himself to be taken back as though nothing had happened, this, more than anything he could well think of, would be giving peggy away.
-he sent his love to his mother and dorothy, and promised to come out and dine with them as soon as he had got his job.
-so anthony drove back without him. but as he drove he smiled. and frances smiled, too, when he told her.
-"there he is, the young monkey, and there he'll stay. it's magnificent, but of course he's an ass."
-"if you can't be an ass at twenty," said frances, "when can you be?"
-they said it was so like nicky. for all he knew to the contrary his career was ruined; but he didn't care. you couldn't make any impression on him. they wondered if anybody ever would.
-dorothy wondered too.
-"what sort of rooms has he got, anthony?" said frances.
-"very nice rooms, at the top of the house, looking over the river."
-"darling nicky, i shall go and see him. what are you thinking of, dorothy?"
-dorothy was thinking that nicky's address at chelsea was the address that desmond had given her yesterday.
-when frances heard that nicholas was going about everywhere with the painter girl they called desmond, she wrote to vera to come and see her. she could never bring herself to go to the st. john's wood house that was so much more mr. lawrence stephen's house than it was vera's.
-the three eldest children went now and then, refusing to go back on vera. frances did not like it, but she had not interfered with their liberty so far as to forbid it positively; for she judged that frustration might create an appetite for mr. stephen's society that otherwise they might not, after all, acquire.
-vera understood that her husband's brother and sister-in-law could hardly be expected to condone her last aberration. her attachment to ferdie cameron had been different. it was inevitable, and in a sense forgivable, seeing that it had been brought about by bartie's sheer impossibility. besides, the knowledge of it had dawned on them so gradually and through so many stages of extenuating tragedy, that, even when it became an open certainty, the benefit of the long doubt remained. and there was veronica. there was still veronica. even without veronica vera would have had to think of something far worse than lawrence stephen before frances would have cast her off. frances felt that it was not for her to sit in judgment under the shelter of her tree of heaven. supposing she could only have had anthony as vera had had ferdie, could she have lived without him? for frances nothing in the world had any use or interest or significance but her husband and her children; her children first, and anthony after them. for vera nothing in the world counted but her lover.
-"if only i were as sure of lawrence as you are of anthony!" she would say.
-yet she lived the more intensely, if the more dangerously, through the very risks of her exposed and forbidden love.
-vera was without fidelity to the unreturning dead; but she made up for it by an incorruptible adoration of the living. and she had been made notorious chiefly through stephen's celebrity, which was, you might say, a pure accident.
-thus frances made shelter for her friend. only vera must be made to understand that, though she was accepted lawrence stephen was not. he was the point at which toleration ceased.
-and vera did understand. she understood that frances and anthony disapproved of her last adventure considerably more on ferdie's and veronica's account than on bartie's. even family loyalty could not espouse bartie's cause with any zest. for bartie showed himself implacable. over and over again she had implored him to divorce her so that lawrence might marry her, and over and over again he had refused. his idea was to assert himself by refusals. in that way he could still feel that he had power over her and a sort of possession. it was he who was scandalous. even now neither frances nor anthony had a word to say for him.
-so vera consented to be received surreptitiously, by herself, and without receiving frances and anthony in her turn. it had hurt her; but stephen's celebrity was a dressing to her wound. he was so distinguished that it was unlikely that frances, or anthony either, would ever have been received by him without vera. she came, looking half cynical, half pathetic, her beauty a little blurred, a little beaten after seventeen years of passion and danger, saying that she wasn't going to force larry down their throats if they didn't like him; and she went away sustained by her sense of his distinction and his repudiations.
-and she found further support in her knowledge that, if frances and anthony could resist lawrence, their children couldn't. michael and dorothy were acquiring a taste for him and for the people he knew; and he knew almost everybody who was worth knowing. to be seen at the parties he and vera gave in st. john's wood was itself distinction. vera had never forgotten and never would forget what anthony and frances had done for her and ferdie when they took veronica. she wanted to make up, to pay back, to help their children as they had helped her child; to give the best she had, and do what they, poor darlings, couldn't possibly have done. nicholas was all right; but michael's case was lamentable. in his family and in the dull round of their acquaintance there was not anybody who was likely to be of the least use to michael; not anybody that he cared to know. no wonder that he kept up his old attitude of refusing to go to the party. lawrence stephen had promised her that he would help michael.
-and frances was afraid. she saw her children, michael, nicholas and dorothy, swept every day a little farther from the firm, well-ordered sanctities, a little nearer to the unclean moral vortex that to her was the most redoubtable of all. she hid her fear, because in her wisdom she knew that to show fear was not the way to keep her children. she hid her strength because she knew that to show it was not the way. her strength was in their love of her. she had only used it once when she had stopped nicky from going into the army. she had said to herself then, "i will never do that again." it wasn't fair. it was a sort of sacrilege, a treachery. love was holy; it should never be used, never be bargained with. she tried to hold the balance even between their youth and their maturity.
-so frances fought her fear.
-she had known that ferdie cameron was good, as she put it, "in spite of everything"; but she had not seen lawrence stephen, and she did not know that he had sensibilities and prejudices and scruples like her own, and that he and vera distinguished very carefully between the people who would be good for michael and nicholas and dorothy, and the people who would not. she did not know that they both drew the line at desmond.
-vera protested that it was not her fault, it was not lawrence's fault that nicky had met desmond. she had never asked them to meet each other. she did not deny that it was in her house they had met; but she had not introduced them. desmond had introduced herself, on the grounds that she knew dorothy. vera suspected that, from the first moment when she had seen him there--by pure accident--she had marked him down. very likely she had wriggled into dorothy's suffrage meeting on purpose. she was capable of anything.
-not that vera thought there was any need for frances to worry. it was most unlikely that desmond's business with nicky could be serious. for one thing she was too young herself to care for anybody as young as nicky. for another she happened to be in the beginning, or the middle, certainly nowhere near the end of a tremendous affair with headley richards. as she was designing the dresses and the scenery for the new play he was putting on at the independent theatre, vera argued very plausibly that the affair had only just started, and that frances must allow it a certain time to run.
-"i hope to goodness that the richards man will marry her."
-"my dear, how can he? he's married already to a nice little woman that he isn't half tired of yet. desmond was determined to have him and she's got him; but he's only taken her in his stride, as you may say. i don't suppose he cares very much one way or another. but with desmond it's a point of honour."
-"what's a point of honour?"
-"why, to have him. not to be left out. besides, she always said she could take him from poor little ginny richards, and she's done it. that was another point of honour."
-with a calmness that was horrible to frances vera weighed her friend desmond's case. to frances it was as if she had never known vera. either vera had changed or she had never known her. she had never known women, or men either, who discussed such performances with calmness. vera herself hadn't made her infidelities a point of honour.
-these were the passions and the thoughts of lawrence stephen's and of desmond's world; these were the things it took for granted. these people lived in a moral vortex; they whirled round and round with each other; they were powerless to resist the swirl. not one of them had any other care than to love and to make love after the manner of the vortex. this was their honour, not to be left out of it, not to be left out of the vortex, but to be carried away, to be sucked in, and whirl round and round with each other and the rest.
-the painter girl desmond was horrible to frances.
-and all the time her mind was busy with one question: "do you think nicky knows?"
-"i'm perfectly sure he doesn't."
-"perhaps--if he did--"
-"no, my dear, that's no good. if you tell him he won't believe it. you'll have all his chivalry up in arms. and you'll be putting into his head what may never come into it if he's left alone. and you'll be putting it into desmond's head."
-captain drayton, whom anthony consulted, said, "leave him alone." those painting and writing johnnies were a rum lot. you couldn't take them seriously. the desmond girl might be everything that vera harrison said she was. he didn't think, though, that the idea of making love to her would enter nicky's head if they left him alone. nicky's head had more important ideas in it.
-so they left him alone.
-and at first nicholas really was too busy to think much of desmond. too busy with his assistant manager's job at the morss motor works; too busy with one of the little ideas to which he owed the sudden rise in his position: the little idea of making the morss cars go faster; too busy with his big idea which had nothing whatever to do with the morss company and their cars.
-his big idea was the idea of the moving fortress. the dream of a french engineer, the old, abandoned dream of the forteresse mobile, had become nicky's passion. he claimed no originality for his idea. it was a composite of the amoured train, the revolving turret, the tractor with caterpillar wheels and the motor-car. these things had welded themselves together gradually in nicky's mind during his last year at cambridge. the table in nicky's sitting-room at the top of the house in chelsea was now covered with the parts of his model of the moving fortress. he made them at the works, one by one; for the morss company were proud of him, and he had leave to use their material and plant now and then for little ideas of his own. the idea of the moving fortress was with him all day in the workshops and offices and showrooms, hovering like a formless spiritual presence among the wheeled forms. but in the evening it took shape and sound. it arose and moved, after its fashion, as he had conceived it, beautiful, monstrous, terrible. at night, beside the image of the forteresse mobile, the image of desmond was a thin ghost that stood back, mournful and dumb, in the right-hand corner of the vision.
-but the image of desmond was there.
-at first it stood for nicky's predominant anxiety: "i wonder when desmond will have finished the drawings."
-the model of the moving fortress waited upon desmond's caprice.
-for, though nicky could make and build his engine, he could not draw his plans properly; and he could not trust anybody who understood engines to draw them. he was haunted, almost insanely, by the fear that somebody else would hit upon the idea of the moving fortress; it seemed to him so obvious that no gunner and no engineer could miss it. and the drawings desmond made for him, the drawings in black and white, the drawings in grey wash, and the coloured drawings were perfect. nicky, unskilled in everything but the inventing and building up of engines, did not know how perfect the drawings were, any more than he knew the value of the extraordinary pictures that hung on the walls and stood on the easels in her studio; but he did know that, from the moment when he took desmond into his adventure, he and his idea were dependent on her.
-he didn't care. he liked desmond. he couldn't help it if drayton disapproved of her and if dorothy didn't like her. she was, he said to himself, a ripping good sort. she might be frightfully clever; nicky rather thought she was; but she never let you feel it; she never talked that revolting rot that rosalind and dorothy's other friends talked. she let you think.
-it was desmond who told him that his sister didn't like her and that frank drayton disapproved of her.
-"they wouldn't," said nicky, "if they knew you." and he turned again to the subject of his moving fortress.
-for desmond's intelligence was perfect, and her sympathy was perfect, and her way of listening was perfect. she sat on the floor, on the orange and blue cushions, in silence and in patience, embracing her knees with her long, slender, sallow-white arms, while nicky stamped up and down her studio and talked to her, like a monomaniac, about his moving fortress. it didn't bore her to listen, because she didn't have to answer; she had only to look at him and smile, and nod her head at him now and then as a sign of enthusiasm. she liked looking at him; she liked his young naïveté and monomania; she liked his face and all his gestures, and the poise and movement of his young body.
-and as she looked at him the beauty that slept in her dulled eyes and in her sallow-white face and in her thin body awoke and became alive. it was not dangerous yet; not ready yet to tell the secret held back in its long, subtle, serious, and slender lines. desmond's sensuality was woven with so fine a web that you would have said it belonged less to her body than to her spirit and her mind.
-in nineteen-eleven, on fine days in the late spring and early summer, when the morss company lent him a car, or when they sent him motoring about the country on their business, he took desmond with him and desmond's painting box and easel. and they rested on the grass borders of the high roads and on the edges of the woods and moors, and desmond painted her extraordinary pictures while nicky lay on his back beside her with his face turned up to the sky and dreamed of flying machines.
-for he had done with his moving fortress. it only waited for desmond to finish the last drawing.
-when he had that he would show the plans and the model to frank drayton before he sent them to the war office.
-he lived for that moment of completion.
-and from the autumn of nineteen-ten to the spring of nineteen-eleven desmond's affair with headley richards increased and flowered and ripened to its fulfilment. and in the early summer she found that things had happened as she had meant that they should happen.
-she had always meant it. she had always said, and she had always thought that women were no good unless they had the courage of their opinions; the only thing to be ashamed of was the cowardice that prevented them from getting what they wanted.
-desmond had no idea that the violence of the vortex had sucked her in. being in the movement of her own free will, she thought that by simply spinning round faster and faster she added her own energy to the whirl. it was not dorothy's vortex, or the vortex of the fighting suffrage woman. desmond didn't care very much about the suffrage; or about any kind of freedom but her own kind; or about anybody's freedom but her own. maud blackadder's idea of freedom struck desmond as sheer moral and physical insanity. yet each, desmond and dorothy and maud blackadder and mrs. blathwaite and her daughter and mrs. palmerston-swete, had her own particular swirl in the immense vortex of the young century. if you had youth and life in you, you were in revolt.
-desmond's theories were dorothy's theories too; only that while dorothy, as rosalind had said, thought out her theories in her brain without feeling them, desmond felt them with her whole being; and with her whole being, secret, subtle and absolutely relentless, she was bent on carrying them out.
-and in the summer, in the new season, headley richards decided that he had no further use for desmond. the new play had run its course at the independent theatre, a course so brief that richards had been disappointed. he put down the failure mainly to the queerness of the dresses and the scenery she had designed for him. desmond's new art was too new; people weren't ready yet for that sort of thing. at the same time he discovered that he was really very much attached to his own wife ginny, and when ginny nobly offered to give him his divorce he had replied nobly that he didn't want one. and he left desmond to face the music.
-desmond's misery was acute; but it was not so hopeless as it would have been if she could have credited ginny richards with any permanent power of attraction for headley. she knew he would come back to her. she knew the power of her own body. she held him by the tie that was never broken so long as it endured. he would never marry her; yet he would come back.
-but in the interval between these acts there was the music.
-and the first sound of the music, the changed intonations of her landlady, frightened desmond; for though she was older than nicky she was very young. and there were desmond's people. you may forget that you have people and behave as if they weren't there; but, if they are there, sooner or later they will let you know it. an immense volume of sound and some terrifying orchestral effects were contributed by desmond's people. so that the music was really very bad to bear.
-desmond couldn't bear it. and in her fright she thought of nicky.
-she knew that she hadn't a chance so long as he was absorbed in the moving fortress. but the model was finished and set up and she was at work on the last drawing. and no more ideas for engines were coming into nicky's head. the morss company and nicky himself were even beginning to wonder whether there ever would be any more.
-then nicky thought of desmond. and he showed that he was thinking of her by sitting still and not talking when he was with her. she did not fill that emptiness and spaciousness of nicky's head, but he couldn't get her out of it.
-when vera noticed the silence of the two she became uneasy, and judged that the time had come for discreet intervention.
-"nicky," she said, "is it true that desmond's been doing drawings for you?"
-"yes," said nicky, "she's done any amount."
-"my dear boy, have you any idea of the amount you'll have to pay her?"
-"i haven't," said nicky, "i wish i had. i hate asking her, and yet i suppose i'll have to."
-"of course you'll have to. she won't hate it. she's got to earn her living as much as you have."
-"has she? you don't mean to say she's hard up?"
-"i only wish she were," said vera, "for your sake."
-"why on earth for my sake?"
-"because then, my dear nicky, you wouldn't have to pay so stiff a price."
-"i don't care," said nicky, "how stiff the price is. i shall pay it."
-and vera replied that desmond, in her own queer way, really was a rather distinguished painter. "pay her," she said. "pay her for goodness sake and have done with it. and if she wants to give you things don't let her."
-"as if," said nicky, "i should dream of letting her."
-and he went off to chelsea to pay desmond then and there.
-vera thought that she had been rather clever. nicky would dash in and do the thing badly. he would be very proud about it, and he would revolt from his dependence on desmond, and he would show her--vera hoped that he would show her--that he did not want to be under any obligation to her. and desmond would be hurt and lose her temper. the hard look would get into her face and destroy its beauty, and she would say detestable things in a detestable voice, and a dreadful ugliness would come between them, and the impulse of nicky's yet unborn passion would be checked, and the memory of that abominable half-hour would divide them for ever.
-but vera herself had grown hard and clever. she had forgotten nicky's tenderness, and she knew nothing at all about desmond's fright. and, as it happened, neither nicky nor desmond did any of the things she thought they would do.
-nicky was not impetuous. he found desmond in her studio working on the last drawing of the moving fortress, with the finished model before her. that gave him his opening, and he approached shyly and tentatively.
-desmond put on an air of complete absorption in her drawing; but she smiled. a pretty smile that lifted the corners of her mouth and made it quiver, and gave nicky a queer and unexpected desire to kiss her.
-he went on wanting to know what his debt was--not that he could ever really pay it.
-"oh, you foolish nicky," desmond said.
-he repeated himself over and over again, and each time she had an answer, and the answers had a cumulative effect.
-"there isn't any debt. you don't pay anything--"
-"i didn't do it for that, you silly boy."
-"what did i do it for? i did it for fun. you couldn't draw a thing like that for anything else. look at it--"
---"well, if you want to be horrid and calculating about it, think of the lunches and the dinners and the theatre tickets and the flowers you've given me. oh, and the gallons and gallons of petrol. how am i ever to pay you back again?"
-thus she mocked him.
-"can't you see how you're spoiling it all?"
-and then, passionately: "oh, nicky, please don't say it again. it hurts."
-she turned on him her big black looking-glass eyes washed bright, each with one tear that knew better than to fall just yet. he must see that she was holding herself well in hand. it would be no use letting herself go until he had forgotten his moving fortress. he was looking at the beastly thing now, instead of looking at her.
-"are you thinking of another old engine?"
-"no," said nicky. "i'm not thinking of anything."
-"then you don't want me to do any more drawings?"
-"well then--i wonder whether you'd very much mind going away?"
-"no. not now. but soon. from here. altogether."
-"go? altogether? me? why?"
-he was utterly astonished. he thought that he had offended desmond past all forgiveness.
-"because i came here to be alone. to work. and i can't work. and i want to be alone again."
-"am i--spoiling it?"
-"yes. you're spoiling it damnably."
-"i'm sorry, desmond. i didn't mean to. i thought--" but he hadn't the heart to say what he had thought.
-she looked at him and knew that the moment was coming.
-it had come.
-she turned away from the table where the moving fortress stood, threatening her with its mimic guns, and reminding nicky of the things she most wanted him to forget. she withdrew to her crouching place at the other end of the studio, among the cushions.
-he followed her there with slow, thoughtful steps, steps full of brooding purpose and of half-unconscious meaning.
-"nicky, i'm so unhappy. i didn't know it was possible for anybody to be so unhappy in this world."
-she began to cry quietly.
-"desmond--what is it? what is it? tell me. why can't you tell me?"
-she thought, "it will be all right if he kisses me once. if he holds me in his arms once. then i can tell him."
-for then he would know that he loved her. he was not quite sure now. she knew that he was not quite sure. she trusted to the power of her body to make him sure.
-her youth neither understood his youth, nor allowed for it, nor pitied it.
-he had kissed her. he had held her in his arms and kissed her more than once while she cried there, hiding her face in the hollow of his arm. she was weak and small. she was like some small, soft, helpless animal and she was hurt. her sobbing and panting made her ribs feel fragile like the ribs of some small, soft, helpless animal under the pressure of his arms. and she was frightened.
-he couldn't stand the sight of suffering. he had never yet resisted the appeal of small, weak, helpless things in fright and pain. he could feel desmond's heart going thump, thump, under the blue thing he called her pinafore. her heart hurt him with its thumping.
-and through all his painful pity he knew that her skin was smooth and sweet like a sallow-white rose-leaf. and desmond knew that he knew it. his mouth slid with an exquisite slipperiness over the long, polished bands of her black hair; and he thought that he loved her. desmond knew that he thought it.
-and still she waited. she said to herself, "it's no good his thinking it. i daren't tell him till he says it. till he asks me to marry him."
-he had said it at last. and he had asked her to marry him. and then she had told him.
-and all that he said was, "i don't care." he said it to desmond, and he said it to himself.
-the funny thing was that he did not care. he was as miserable as it was well possible to be, but he didn't really care. he was not even surprised. it was as if the knowledge of it had been hiding in the back of his head behind all the ideas.
-and yet he couldn't have known it all the time. either it must have gone away when his ideas went, or he must have been trying not to see it.
-she had slipped from his arms and stood before him, dabbing her mouth and eyes now and then with her pocket-handkerchief, controlling herself, crying quietly.
-she knew, what had not dawned on nicky yet, that he didn't love her. if he had loved her he would have cared intolerably. he didn't care about headley richards because he didn't care about desmond any more. he was only puzzled.
-"why did you do it?"
-"i can't think why. i must have been off my head. i didn't know what it was like. i didn't know. i thought it would be wonderful and beautiful. i thought he was wonderful and beautiful."
-"poor little desmond."
-"oh, nicky, do you think me a beast? does it make you hate me?"
-"no. of course it doesn't. the only awful thing is--"
-"what? tell me."
-"you mean the baby? i know it's awful. you needn't tell me that, nicky."
-he stared at her.
-"i mean it's so awful for it."
-she thought he had been thinking of himself and her.
-"why should it be?"
-"why? there isn't any why. it just is. i know it is."
-he was thinking of veronica.
-"you see," he said simply, "that's why this sort of thing is such a rotten game. it's so hard on the kiddy. i suppose you didn't think of that. you couldn't have, or else you wouldn't--"
-he paused. there was one thing he had to know. he must get it out of her.
-"it hasn't made you feel that you don't want it?"
-"oh--i don't know what i want--now. i don't know what it makes me feel!"
-"don't let it, desmond. don't let it. it'll be all right. you won't feel like that when you've married me. can't you see that that's the wonderful and beautiful part?"
-"what is?" she said in her tired drawl.
-"it--the poor kiddy."
-because he remembered veronica he was going to marry desmond.
-veronica's mother was the first to hear about it. desmond told her.
-veronica's mother was determined to stop it for the sake of everybody concerned.
-she wrote to nicholas and asked him to come and dine with her one evening when lawrence stephen was dining somewhere else. (lawrence stephen made rather a point of not going to houses where vera was not received; but sometimes, when the occasion was political, or otherwise important, he had to. that was her punishment, as bartholomew had meant that it should be.)
-nicky knew what he had been sent for, and to all his aunt's assaults and manoeuvres he presented an inexpugnable front.
-"you mustn't do it; you simply mustn't."
-he intimated that his marriage was his own affair.
-"it isn't. it's the affair of everybody who cares for you."
-"their caring isn't my affair," said nicky.
-and then vera began to say things about desmond.
-"it's absurd of you," she said, "to treat her as if she was an innocent child. she isn't a child, and she isn't innocent. she knew perfectly well what she was about. there's nothing she doesn't know. she meant it to happen, and she made it happen. she said she would. she meant you to marry her, and she's making you marry her. i daresay she said she would. she's as clever and determined as the devil. neither you nor headley richards ever had a chance against her."
-"she hasn't got a dog's chance against all you people yelping at her now she's down. i should have thought--"
-"you mean i've no business to? that was different. i didn't take any other woman's husband, or any other woman's lover, nicky."
-"if you had," said nicky, "i wouldn't have interfered."
-"i wouldn't interfere if i thought you cared that for desmond. but you don't. you know you don't."
-"of course i care for her."
-he said it stoutly, but he coloured all the same, and vera knew that he was vulnerable.
-"oh, nicky dear, if you'd only waited--"
-"what do you mean?"
-his young eyes interrogated her austerely; and she flinched. "i don't know what i mean. unless i mean that you're just a little young to marry anybody."
-"i don't care if i am. i don't feel young, i can tell you. anyhow desmond's years younger."
-"desmond is twenty-three. you're twenty. it's veronica who's years younger."
-"she's sixteen. you don't imagine desmond is as young as that, do you? wait till she's twenty-five and you're twenty-two."
-"it wouldn't do poor desmond much good if i did. i could kill headley richards."
-"for leaving her."
-vera smiled. "that shows how much you care. you wouldn't have felt like killing him if he'd stuck to her. why should you marry headley richards' mistress and take on his child? it's preposterous."
-"it isn't. if the other fellow's a brute it's all the more reason why i shouldn't be. i want to be some use in this rotten world where people are so damnably cruel to each other. and there's that unhappy kiddy. you've forgotten the kiddy."
-"do you mean to say it's desmond's child you're thinking of?"
-"i can't understand any woman not thinking of it," said nicky.
-he looked at her, and she knew that he remembered veronica.
-then she gave him back his own with interest, for his good.
-"if you care so much, why don't you choose a better mother for your own children?"
-it was as if she said: "if you care so much about veronica, why don't you marry her?"
-"it's a bit too late to think of that now," said poor nicky.
-because he had cared so much about veronica he was going to marry desmond.
-"i couldn't do anything with him," vera said afterwards. "nothing i said made the least impression on him."
-that however (as both vera and nicky were aware), was not strictly true. but, in spite of nicky's terrible capacity for remembering, she stuck to it that desmond's affair would have made no impression on him if it had not been for that other absurd affair of the professor's wife. and it would have been better, lawrence stephen said, for nicky to have made love to all the married women in cambridge than for him to marry phyllis desmond.
-these reflections were forced on them by the ironic coincidence of nicky's engagement with his rehabilitation at the university.
-drayton's forecast was correct; nicky's brother michael had not been removed from nicky's college eight months before letters of apology and restitution came. but both apology and restitution came too late.
-for by that time nicky had married desmond.
-after nicholas, veronica; and after veronica, michael.
-dorothy was upstairs in her study writing articles for the women's franchise union. they owed it to her magnanimity that they had one child remaining with them in the house. john was at cheltenham; veronica was in dresden. michael was in germany, too, at that school of forestry at aschaffenburg which anthony had meant for nicky. they couldn't bear to think where nicky was.
-when frances thought about her children now her mind went backwards. if only they hadn't grown-up; if only they could have stayed little for ever! in another four years even don-don would be grown-up--don-don who was such a long time getting older that at fourteen, only two years ago, he had been capable of sitting in her lap, a great long-legged, flumbering puppy, while mother and son rocked dangerously together in each other's arms, like two children, laughing together, mocking each other.
-she was going to be wiser with don-don than she had been with nicky. she would be wiser with michael when he came back from germany. she would keep them both out of the vortex, the horrible vortex that lawrence stephen and vera had let nicky in for, the vortex that seized on youth and forced it into a corrupt maturity. after desmond's affair anthony and frances felt that to them the social circle inhabited by vera and lawrence stephen would never be anything but a dirty hell.
-as for veronica, the longer she stayed in germany the better.
-yet frances knew that they had not sent veronica to dresden to prevent her mother from getting hold of her. when she remembered the fear she moira and me.” the taxi started. “what have you got in those mysterious parcels?”
-“de-cap-it-ated heads!” said bill hunt, shuddering beneath his hat.
-“oh, fruit!” isabel sounded very pleased. “wise william! a melon and a pineapple. how too nice!”
-��no, wait a bit,” said william, smiling. but he really was anxious. “i brought them down for the kiddies.”
-“oh, my dear!” isabel laughed, and slipped her hand through his arm. “they’d be rolling in agonies if they were to eat them. no”—she patted his hand—“you must bring them something next time. i refuse to part with my pineapple.”
-“cruel isabel! do let me smell it!” said moira. she flung her arms across william appealingly. “oh!” the strawberry bonnet fell forward: she sounded quite faint.
-“a lady in love with a pineapple,” said dennis, as the taxi drew up before a little shop with a striped blind. out came bobby kane, his arms full of little packets.
-“i do hope they’ll be good. i’ve chosen them because of the colours. there are some round things which really look too divine. and just look at this nougat,” he cried ecstatically, “just look at it! it’s a perfect little ballet!”
-but at that moment the shopman appeared. “oh, i forgot. they’re none of them paid for,” said bobby, looking frightened. isabel gave the shopman a note, and bobby was radiant again. “hallo, william! i’m sitting by the driver.” and bareheaded, all in white, with his sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, he leapt into his place. “avanti!” he cried....
-“i think its up to moira to use her little arts and wiles.”
-a tragic moan from moira.
-“we ought to have a gramophone for the week-ends that played ‘the maid of the mountains.’”
-“oh no! oh no!” cried isabel’s voice. “that’s not fair to william. be nice to him, my children! he’s only staying until to-morrow evening.”
-“leave him to me,” cried bobby kane. “i’m awfully good at looking after people.”
-the gate swung open and shut. william moved on the terrace; they had seen him. “hallo, william!” and bobby kane, flapping his towel, began to leap and pirouette on the parched lawn. “pity you didn’t come, william. the water was divine. and we all went to a little pub afterwards and had sloe gin.”
-the others had reached the house. “i say, isabel,” called bobby, “would you like me to wear my nijinsky dress to-night?”
-“no,” said isabel, “nobody’s going to dress. we’re all starving. william’s starving, too. come along, mes amis, let’s begin with sardines.”
-“i’ve found the sardines,” said moira, and she ran into the hall, holding a box high in the air.
-“a lady with a box of sardines,” said dennis gravely.
-“well, william, and how’s london?” asked bill hunt, drawing the cork out of a bottle of whisky.
-“oh, london’s not much changed,” answered william.
-“good old london,” said bobby, very hearty, spearing a sardine.
-but a moment later william was forgotten. moira morrison began wondering what colour one’s legs really were under water.
-“mine are the palest, palest mushroom colour.”
-bill and dennis ate enormously. and isabel filled glasses, and changed plates, and found matches, smiling blissfully. at one moment, she said, “i do wish, bill, you’d paint it.”
-“paint what?” said bill loudly, stuffing his mouth with bread.
-“us,” said isabel, “round the table. it would be so fascinating in twenty years’ time.”
-bill screwed up his eyes and chewed. “light’s wrong,” he said rudely, “far too much yellow”; and went on eating. and that seemed to charm isabel, too.
-but after supper they were all so tired they could do nothing but yawn until it was late enough to go to bed....
-it was not until william was waiting for his taxi the next afternoon that he found himself alone with isabel. when he brought his suit-case down into the hall, isabel left the others and went over to him. she stooped down and picked up the suit-case. “what a weight!” she said, and she gave a little awkward laugh. “let me carry it! to the gate.”
-“no, why should you?” said william. “of course, not. give it to me.”
-“oh, please, do let me,” said isabel. “i want to, really.” they walked together silently. william felt there was nothing to say now.
-“there,” said isabel triumphantly, setting the suit-case down, and she looked anxiously along the sandy road. “i hardly seem to have seen you this time,” she said breathlessly. “it’s so short, isn’t it? i feel you’ve only just come. next time—” the taxi came into sight. “i hope they look after you properly in london. i’m so sorry the babies have been out all day, but miss neil had arranged it. they’ll hate missing you. poor william, going back to london.” the taxi turned. “good-bye!” she gave him a little hurried kiss; she was gone.
-fields, trees, hedges streamed by. they shook through the empty, blind-looking little town, ground up the steep pull to the station.
-the train was in. william made straight for a first-class smoker, flung back into the corner, but this time he let the papers alone. he folded his arms against the dull, persistent gnawing, and began in his mind to write a letter to isabel.
-the post was late as usual. they sat outside the house in long chairs under coloured parasols. only bobby kane lay on the turf at isabel’s feet. it was dull, stifling; the day drooped like a flag.
-“do you think there will be mondays in heaven?” asked bobby childishly.
-and dennis murmured, “heaven will be one long monday.”
-but isabel couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the salmon they had for supper last night. she had meant to have fish mayonnaise for lunch and now....
-when the old ruddy postman came beating along the sandy road on his tricycle one felt the handle-bars ought to have been oars.
-bill hunt put down his book. “letters,” he said complacently, and they all waited. but, heartless postman—o malignant world! there was only one, a fat one for isabel. not even a paper.
-“and mine’s only from william,” said isabel mournfully.
-“he’s sending you back your marriage lines as a gentle reminder.”
-“does everybody have marriage lines? i thought they were only for servants.”
-“pages and pages! look at her! a lady reading a letter,” said dennis.
-“my darling, precious isabel.” pages and pages there were. as isabel read on her feeling of astonishment changed to a stifled feeling. what on earth had induced william...? how extraordinary it was.... what could have made him...? she felt confused, more and more excited, even frightened. it was just like william. was it? it was absurd, of course, it must be absurd, ridiculous. “ha, ha, ha! oh dear!” what was she to do? isabel flung back in her chair and laughed till she couldn’t stop laughing.
-“do, do tell us,” said the others. “you must tell us.”
-“i’m longing to,” gurgled isabel. she sat up, gathered the letter, and waved it at them. “gather round,” she said. “listen, it’s too marvellous. a love-letter!”
-“a love-letter! but how divine!” darling, precious isabel. but she had hardly begun before their laughter interrupted her.
-“go on, isabel, it’s perfect.”
-“it’s the most marvellous find.”
-“oh, do go on, isabel!”
-god forbid, my darling, that i should be a drag on your happiness.
-“oh! oh! oh!”
-“sh! sh! sh!”
-and isabel went on. when she reached the end they were hysterical: bobby rolled on the turf and almost sobbed.
-“you must let me have it just as it is, entire, for my new book,” said dennis firmly. “i shall give it a whole chapter.”
-“oh, isabel,” moaned moira, “that wonderful bit about holding you in his arms!”
-“let me hold it. let me read it, mine own self,” said bobby kane.
-but, to their surprise, isabel crushed the letter in her hand. she was laughing no longer. she glanced quickly at them all; she looked exhausted. “no, not just now. not just now,” she stammered.
-and before they could recover she had run into the house, through the hall, up the stairs into her bedroom. down she sat on the side of the bed. “how vile, odious, abominable, vulgar,” muttered isabel. she pressed her eyes with her knuckles and rocked to and fro. and again she saw them, but not four, more like forty, laughing, sneering, jeering, stretching out their hands while she read them william’s letter. oh, what a loathsome thing to have done. how could she have done it! god forbid, my darling, that i should be a drag on your happiness. william! isabel pressed her face into the pillow. but she felt that even the grave bedroom knew her for what she was, shallow, tinkling, vain....
-presently from the garden below there came voices.
-“isabel, we’re all going for a bathe. do come!”
-“come, thou wife of william!”
-“call her once before you go, call once yet!”
-“titania!” piped moira.
-no, it was too difficult. “i’ll—i’ll go with them, and write to william later. some other time. later. not now. but i shall certainly write,” thought isabel hurriedly.
-and, laughing, in the new way, she ran down the stairs.
-the picton boat was due to leave at half-past eleven. it was a beautiful night, mild, starry, only when they got out of the cab and started to walk down the old wharf that jutted out into the harbour, a faint wind blowing off the water ruffled under fenella’s hat, and she put up her hand to keep it on. it was dark on the old wharf, very dark; the wool sheds, the cattle trucks, the cranes standing up so high, the little squat railway engine, all seemed carved out of solid darkness. here and there on a rounded wood-pile, that was like the stalk of a huge black mushroom, there hung a lantern, but it seemed afraid to unfurl its timid, quivering light in all that blackness; it burned softly, as if for itself.
-fenella’s father pushed on with quick, nervous strides. beside him her grandma bustled along in her crackling black ulster; they went so fast that she had now and again to give an undignified little skip to keep up with them. as well as her luggage strapped into a neat sausage, fenella carried clasped to her her grandma’s umbrella, and the handle, which was a swan’s head, kept giving her shoulder a sharp little peck as if it too wanted her to hurry.... men, their caps pulled down, their collars turned up, swung by; a few women all muffled scurried along; and one tiny boy, only his little black arms and legs showing out of a white woolly shawl, was jerked along angrily between his father and mother; he looked like a baby fly that had fallen into the cream.
-then suddenly, so suddenly that fenella and her grandma both leapt, there sounded from behind the largest wool shed, that had a trail of smoke hanging over it, “mia-oo-oo-o-o!”
-“first whistle,” said her father briefly, and at that moment they came in sight of the picton boat. lying beside the dark wharf, all strung, all beaded with round golden lights, the picton boat looked as if she was more ready to sail among stars than out into the cold sea. people pressed along the gangway. first went her grandma, then her father, then fenella. there was a high step down on to the deck, and an old sailor in a jersey standing by gave her his dry, hard hand. they were there; they stepped out of the way of the hurrying people, and standing under a little iron stairway that led to the upper deck they began to say good-bye.
-“there, mother, there’s your luggage!” said fenella’s father, giving grandma another strapped-up sausage.
-“thank you, frank.”
-“and you’ve got your cabin tickets safe?”
-“and your other tickets?”
-grandma felt for them inside her glove and showed him the tips.
-he sounded stern, but fenella, eagerly watching him, saw that he looked tired and sad. “mia-oo-oo-o-o!” the second whistle blared just above their heads, and a voice like a cry shouted, “any more for the gangway?”
-“you’ll give my love to father,” fenella saw her father’s lips say. and her grandma, very agitated, answered, “of course i will, dear. go now. you’ll be left. go now, frank. go now.”
-“it’s all right, mother. i’ve got another three minutes.” to her surprise fenella saw her father take off his hat. he clasped grandma in his arms and pressed her to him. “god bless you, mother!” she heard him say.
-and grandma put her hand, with the black thread glove that was worn through on her ring finger, against his cheek, and she sobbed, “god bless you, my own brave son!”
-this was so awful that fenella quickly turned her back on them, swallowed once, twice, and frowned terribly at a little green star on a mast head. but she had to turn round again; her father was going.
-“good-bye, fenella. be a good girl.” his cold, wet moustache brushed her cheek. but fenella caught hold of the lapels of his coat.
-“how long am i going to stay?” she whispered anxiously. he wouldn’t look at her. he shook her off gently, and gently said, “we’ll see about that. here! where’s your hand?” he pressed something into her palm. “here’s a shilling in case you should need it.”
-the freshening wind tugged at fenella’s skirts; she went back to her grandma. to her relief grandma seemed no longer sad. she had put the two sausages of luggage one on top of the other, and she was sitting on them, her hands folded, her head a little on one side. there was an intent, bright look on her face. then fenella saw that her lips were moving and guessed that she was praying. but the old woman gave her a bright nod as if to say the prayer was nearly over. she unclasped her hands, sighed, clasped them again, bent forward, and at last gave herself a soft shake.
-“and be careful the umbrellas aren’t caught in the stair rail. i saw a beautiful umbrella broken in half like that on my way over.”
-at the bottom grandma stopped; fenella was rather afraid she was going to pray again. but no, it was only to get out the cabin tickets. they were in the saloon. it was glaring bright and stifling; the air smelled of paint and burnt chop-bones and indiarubber. fenella wished her grandma would go on, but the old woman was not to be hurried. an immense basket of ham sandwiches caught her eye. she went up to them and touched the top one delicately with her finger.
-“how much are the sandwiches?” she asked.
-“tuppence!” bawled a rude steward, slamming down a knife and fork.
-grandma could hardly believe it.
-“twopence each?” she asked.
-“that’s right,” said the steward, and he winked at his companion.
-grandma made a small, astonished face. then she whispered primly to fenella. “what wickedness!” and they sailed out at the further door and along a passage that had cabins on either side. such a very nice stewardess came to meet them. she was dressed all in blue, and her collar and cuffs were fastened with large brass buttons. she seemed to know grandma well.
-“well, mrs. crane,” said she, unlocking their washstand. “we’ve got you back again. it’s not often you give yourself a cabin.”
-“no,” said grandma. “but this time my dear son’s thoughtfulness—”
-“i hope—” began the stewardess. then she turned round and took a long, mournful look at grandma’s blackness and at fenella’s black coat and skirt, black blouse, and hat with a crape rose.
-grandma nodded. “it was god’s will,” said she.
-the stewardess shut her lips and, taking a deep breath, she seemed to expand.
-“what i always say is,” she said, as though it was her own discovery, “sooner or later each of us has to go, and that’s a certingty.” she paused. “now, can i bring you anything, mrs crane? a cup of tea? i know it’s no good offering you a little something to keep the cold out.”
-grandma shook her head. “nothing, thank you. we’ve got a few wine biscuits, and fenella has a very nice banana.”
-“then i’ll give you a look later on,” said the stewardess, and she went out, shutting the door.
-“i shall put on the woollen fascinator your dear mother crocheted for me,” said grandma, and, unstrapping the sausage, she took it out and wound it round her head; the fringe of grey bobbles danced at her eyebrows as she smiled tenderly and mournfully at fenella. then she undid her bodice, and something under that, and something else underneath that. then there seemed a short, sharp tussle, and grandma flushed faintly. snip! snap! she had undone her stays. she breathed a sigh of relief, and sitting on the plush couch, she slowly and carefully pulled off her elastic-sided boots and stood them side by side.
-by the time fenella had taken off her coat and skirt and put on her flannel dressing-gown grandma was quite ready.
-“must i take off my boots, grandma? they’re lace.”
-grandma gave them a moment’s deep consideration. “you’d feel a great deal more comfortable if you did, child,” said she. she kissed fenella. “don’t forget to say your prayers. our dear lord is with us when we are at sea even more than when we are on dry land. and because i am an experienced traveller,” said grandma briskly, “i shall take the upper berth.”
-“but, grandma, however will you get up there?”
-three little spider-like steps were all fenella saw. the old woman gave a small silent laugh before she mounted them nimbly, and she peered over the high bunk at the astonished fenella.
-“you didn’t think your grandma could do that, did you?” said she. and as she sank back fenella heard her light laugh again.
-the hard square of brown soap would not lather, and the water in the bottle was like a kind of blue jelly. how hard it was, too, to turn down those stiff sheets; you simply had to tear your way in. if everything had been different, fenella might have got the giggles.... at last she was inside, and while she lay there panting, there sounded from above a long, soft whispering, as though some one was gently, gently rustling among tissue paper to find something. it was grandma saying her prayers....
-a long time passed. then the stewardess came in; she trod softly and leaned her hand on grandma’s bunk.
-“we’re just entering the straits,” she said.
-“it’s a fine night, but we’re rather empty. we may pitch a little.”
-and indeed at that moment the picton boat rose and rose and hung in the air just long enough to give a shiver before she swung down again, and there was the sound of heavy water slapping against her sides. fenella remembered she had left the swan-necked umbrella standing up on the little couch. if it fell over, would it break? but grandma remembered too, at the same time.
-“i wonder if you’d mind, stewardess, laying down my umbrella,” she whispered.
-“god be praised for that!” said grandma.
-but she hadn’t been asleep long enough to dream before she woke up again to see something waving in the air above her head. what was it? what could it be? it was a small grey foot. now another joined it. they seemed to be feeling about for something; there came a sigh.
-“i’m awake, grandma,” said fenella.
-“oh, dear, am i near the ladder?” asked grandma. “i thought it was this end.”
-“no, grandma, it’s the other. i’ll put your foot on it. are we there?” asked fenella.
-“in the harbour,” said grandma. “we must get up, child. you’d better have a biscuit to steady yourself before you move.”
-but fenella had hopped out of her bunk. the lamp was still burning, but night was over, and it was cold. peering through that round eye she could see far off some rocks. now they were scattered over with foam; now a gull flipped by; and now there came a long piece of real land.
-“it’s land, grandma,” said fenella, wonderingly, as though they had been at sea for weeks together. she hugged herself; she stood on one leg and rubbed it with the toes of the other foot; she was trembling. oh, it had all been so sad lately. was it going to change? but all her grandma said was, “make haste, child. i should leave your nice banana for the stewardess as you haven’t eaten it.” and fenella put on her black clothes again and a button sprang off one of her gloves and rolled to where she couldn’t reach it. they went up on deck.
-but if it had been cold in the cabin, on deck it was like ice. the sun was not up yet, but the stars were dim, and the cold pale sky was the same colour as the cold pale sea. on the land a white mist rose and fell. now they could see quite plainly dark bush. even the shapes of the umbrella ferns showed, and those strange silvery withered trees that are like skeletons.... now they could see the landing-stage and some little houses, pale too, clustered together, like shells on the lid of a box. the other passengers tramped up and down, but more slowly than they had the night before, and they looked gloomy.
-and now the landing-stage came out to meet them. slowly it swam towards the picton boat, and a man holding a coil of rope, and a cart with a small drooping horse and another man sitting on the step, came too.
-“it’s mr. penreddy, fenella, come for us,” said grandma. she sounded pleased. her white waxen cheeks were blue with cold, her chin trembled, and she had to keep wiping her eyes and her little pink nose.
-“you’ve got my—”
-“yes, grandma.” fenella showed it to her.
-the rope came flying through the air, and “smack” it fell on to the deck. the gangway was lowered. again fenella followed her grandma on to the wharf over to the little cart, and a moment later they were bowling away. the hooves of the little horse drummed over the wooden piles, then sank softly into the sandy road. not a soul was to be seen; there was not even a feather of smoke. the mist rose and fell and the sea still sounded asleep as slowly it turned on the beach.
-“i seen mr. crane yestiddy,” said mr. penreddy. “he looked himself then. missus knocked him up a batch of scones last week.”
-and now the little horse pulled up before one of the shell-like houses. they got down. fenella put her hand on the gate, and the big, trembling dew-drops soaked through her glove-tips. up a little path of round white pebbles they went, with drenched sleeping flowers on either side. grandma’s delicate white picotees were so heavy with dew that they were fallen, but their sweet smell was part of the cold morning. the blinds were down in the little house; they mounted the steps on to the veranda. a pair of old bluchers was on one side of the door, and a large red watering-can on the other.
-“tut! tut! your grandpa,” said grandma. she turned the handle. not a sound. she called, “walter!” and immediately a deep voice that sounded half stifled called back, “is that you, mary?”
-“wait, dear,” said grandma. “go in there.” she pushed fenella gently into a small dusky sitting-room.
-on the table a white cat, that had been folded up like a camel, rose, stretched itself, yawned, and then sprang on to the tips of its toes. fenella buried one cold little hand in the white, warm fur, and smiled timidly while she stroked and listened to grandma’s gentle voice and the rolling tones of grandpa.
-a door creaked. “come in, dear.” the old woman beckoned, fenella followed. there, lying to one side on an immense bed, lay grandpa. just his head with a white tuft and his rosy face and long silver beard showed over the quilt. he was like a very old wide-awake bird.
-“well, my girl!” said grandpa. “give us a kiss!” fenella kissed him. “ugh!” said grandpa. “her little nose is as cold as a button. what’s that she’s holding? her grandma’s umbrella?”
-fenella smiled again, and crooked the swan neck over the bed-rail. above the bed there was a big text in a deep black frame:—
-lost! one golden hour set with sixty diamond minutes. no reward is offered for it is gone for ever!
-“yer grandma painted that,” said grandpa. and he ruffled his white tuft and looked at fenella so merrily she almost thought he winked at her.
-although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the jardins publiques—miss brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. the air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting—from nowhere, from the sky. miss brill put up her hand and touched her fur. dear little thing! it was nice to feel it again. she had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. “what has been happening to me?” said the sad little eyes. oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown!... but the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn’t at all firm. it must have had a knock, somehow. never mind—a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came—when it was absolutely necessary.... little rogue! yes, she really felt like that about it. little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. she could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. she felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. and when she breathed, something light and sad—no, not sad, exactly—something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.
-there were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last sunday. and the band sounded louder and gayer. that was because the season had begun. for although the band played all the year round on sundays, out of season it was never the same. it was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn’t care how it played if there weren’t any strangers present. wasn’t the conductor wearing a new coat, too? she was sure it was new. he scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music. now there came a little “flutey” bit—very pretty!—a little chain of bright drops. she was sure it would be repeated. it was; she lifted her head and smiled.
-only two people shared her “special” seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman, sitting upright, with a roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. they did not speak. this was disappointing, for miss brill always looked forward to the conversation. she had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn’t listen, at sitting in other people’s lives just for a minute while they talked round her.
-she glanced, sideways, at the old couple. perhaps they would go soon. last sunday, too, hadn’t been as interesting as usual. an englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful panama hat and she button boots. and she’d gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they’d be sure to break and they’d never keep on. and he’d been so patient. he’d suggested everything—gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads inside the bridge. no, nothing would please her. “they’ll always be sliding down my nose!” miss brill had wanted to shake her.
-the old people sat on the bench, still as statues. never mind, there was always the crowd to watch. to and fro, in front of the flower-beds and the band rotunda, the couples and groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings. little children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins, little girls, little french dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace. and sometimes a tiny staggerer came suddenly rocking into the open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat down “flop,” until its small high-stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue. other people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly always the same, sunday after sunday, and—miss brill had often noticed—there was something funny about nearly all of them. they were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they’d just come from dark little rooms or even—even cupboards!
-behind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping, and through them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold-veined clouds.
-tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.
-two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them, and they laughed and paired and went off arm-in-arm. two peasant women with funny straw hats passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys. a cold, pale nun hurried by. a beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they’d been poisoned. dear me! miss brill didn’t know whether to admire that or not! and now an ermine toque and a gentleman in grey met just in front of her. he was tall, stiff, dignified, and she was wearing the ermine toque she’d bought when her hair was yellow. now everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same colour as the shabby ermine, and her hand, in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw. oh, she was so pleased to see him—delighted! she rather thought they were going to meet that afternoon. she described where she’d been—everywhere, here, there, along by the sea. the day was so charming—didn’t he agree? and wouldn’t he, perhaps?... but he shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match away and walked on. the ermine toque was alone; she smiled more brightly than ever. but even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, “the brute! the brute!” over and over. what would she do? what was going to happen now? but as miss brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as though she’d seen some one else, much nicer, just over there, and pattered away. and the band changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever, and the old couple on miss brill’s seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by four girls walking abreast.
-oh, how fascinating it was! how she enjoyed it! how she loved sitting here, watching it all! it was like a play. it was exactly like a play. who could believe the sky at the back wasn’t painted? but it wasn’t till a little brown dog trotted on solemn and then slowly trotted off, like a little “theatre” dog, a little dog that had been drugged, that miss brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting. they were all on the stage. they weren’t only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting. even she had a part and came every sunday. no doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn’t been there; she was part of the performance after all. how strange she’d never thought of it like that before! and yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week—so as not to be late for the performance—and it also explained why she had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her english pupils how she spent her sunday afternoons. no wonder! miss brill nearly laughed out loud. she was on the stage. she thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. she had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose. if he’d been dead she mightn’t have noticed for weeks; she wouldn’t have minded. but suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress! “an actress!” the old head lifted; two points of light quivered in the old eyes. “an actress—are ye?” and miss brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently; “yes, i have been an actress for a long time.”
-the band had been having a rest. now they started again. and what they played was warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill—a something, what was it?—not sadness—no, not sadness—a something that made you want to sing. the tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to miss brill that in another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing. the young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin, and the men’s voices, very resolute and brave, would join them. and then she too, she too, and the others on the benches—they would come in with a kind of accompaniment—something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so beautiful—moving.... and miss brill’s eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company. yes, we understand, we understand, she thought—though what they understood she didn’t know.
-just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been. they were beautifully dressed; they were in love. the hero and heroine, of course, just arrived from his father’s yacht. and still soundlessly singing, still with that trembling smile, miss brill prepared to listen.
-“no, not now,” said the girl. “not here, i can’t.”
-“but why? because of that stupid old thing at the end there?” asked the boy. “why does she come here at all—who wants her? why doesn’t she keep her silly old mug at home?”
-“it’s her fu-fur which is so funny,” giggled the girl. “it’s exactly like a fried whiting.”
-“ah, be off with you!” said the boy in an angry whisper. then: “tell me, ma petite chère—”
-“no, not here,” said the girl. “not yet.”
-on her way home she usually bought a slice of honey-cake at the baker’s. it was her sunday treat. sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not. it made a great difference. if there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present—a surprise—something that might very well not have been there. she hurried on the almond sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way.
-but to-day she passed the baker’s by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room—her room like a cupboard—and sat down on the red eiderdown. she sat there for a long time. the box that the fur came out of was on the bed. she unclasped the necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside. but when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.
-her first ball
-exactly when the ball began leila would have found it hard to say. perhaps her first real partner was the cab. it did not matter that she shared the cab with the sheridan girls and their brother. she sat back in her own little corner of it, and the bolster on which her hand rested felt like the sleeve of an unknown young man’s dress suit; and away they bowled, past waltzing lamp-posts and houses and fences and trees.
-“have you really never been to a ball before, leila? but, my child, how too weird—” cried the sheridan girls.
-“our nearest neighbour was fifteen miles,” said leila softly, gently opening and shutting her fan.
-oh dear, how hard it was to be indifferent like the others! she tried not to smile too much; she tried not to care. but every single thing was so new and exciting... meg’s tuberoses, jose’s long loop of amber, laura’s little dark head, pushing above her white fur like a flower through snow. she would remember for ever. it even gave her a pang to see her cousin laurie throw away the wisps of tissue paper he pulled from the fastenings of his new gloves. she would like to have kept those wisps as a keepsake, as a remembrance. laurie leaned forward and put his hand on laura’s knee.
-“look here, darling,” he said. “the third and the ninth as usual. twig?”
-oh, how marvellous to have a brother! in her excitement leila felt that if there had been time, if it hadn’t been impossible, she couldn’t have helped crying because she was an only child, and no brother had ever said “twig?” to her; no sister would ever say, as meg said to jose that moment, “i’ve never known your hair go up more successfully than it has to-night!”
-but, of course, there was no time. they were at the drill hall already; there were cabs in front of them and cabs behind. the road was bright on either side with moving fan-like lights, and on the pavement gay couples seemed to float through the air; little satin shoes chased each other like birds.
-“hold on to me, leila; you’ll get lost,” said laura.
-“come on, girls, let’s make a dash for it,” said laurie.
-leila put two fingers on laura’s pink velvet cloak, and they were somehow lifted past the big golden lantern, carried along the passage, and pushed into the little room marked “ladies.” here the crowd was so great there was hardly space to take off their things; the noise was deafening. two benches on either side were stacked high with wraps. two old women in white aprons ran up and down tossing fresh armfuls. and everybody was pressing forward trying to get at the little dressing-table and mirror at the far end.
-a great quivering jet of gas lighted the ladies’ room. it couldn’t wait; it was dancing already. when the door opened again and there came a burst of tuning from the drill hall, it leaped almost to the ceiling.
-dark girls, fair girls were patting their hair, tying ribbons again, tucking handkerchiefs down the fronts of their bodices, smoothing marble-white gloves. and because they were all laughing it seemed to leila that they were all lovely.
-“aren’t there any invisible hair-pins?” cried a voice. “how most extraordinary! i can’t see a single invisible hair-pin.”
-“powder my back, there’s a darling,” cried some one else.
-“but i must have a needle and cotton. i’ve torn simply miles and miles of the frill,” wailed a third.
-then, “pass them along, pass them along!” the straw basket of programmes was tossed from arm to arm. darling little pink-and-silver programmes, with pink pencils and fluffy tassels. leila’s fingers shook as she took one out of the basket. she wanted to ask some one, “am i meant to have one too?” but she had just time to read: “waltz 3. two, two in a canoe. polka 4. making the feathers fly,” when meg cried, “ready, leila?” and they pressed their way through the crush in the passage towards the big double doors of the drill hall.
-dancing had not begun yet, but the band had stopped tuning, and the noise was so great it seemed that when it did begin to play it would never be heard. leila, pressing close to meg, looking over meg’s shoulder, felt that even the little quivering coloured flags strung across the ceiling were talking. she quite forgot to be shy; she forgot how in the middle of dressing she had sat down on the bed with one shoe off and one shoe on and begged her mother to ring up her cousins and say she couldn’t go after all. and the rush of longing she had had to be sitting on the veranda of their forsaken up-country home, listening to the baby owls crying “more pork” in the moonlight, was changed to a rush of joy so sweet that it was hard to bear alone. she clutched her fan, and, gazing at the gleaming, golden floor, the azaleas, the lanterns, the stage at one end with its red carpet and gilt chairs and the band in a corner, she thought breathlessly, “how heavenly; how simply heavenly!”
-all the girls stood grouped together at one side of the doors, the men at the other, and the chaperones in dark dresses, smiling rather foolishly, walked with little careful steps over the polished floor towards the stage.
-“this is my little country cousin leila. be nice to her. find her partners; she’s under my wing,” said meg, going up to one girl after another.
-strange faces smiled at leila—sweetly, vaguely. strange voices answered, “of course, my dear.” but leila felt the girls didn’t really see her. they were looking towards the men. why didn’t the men begin? what were they waiting for? there they stood, smoothing their gloves, patting their glossy hair and smiling among themselves. then, quite suddenly, as if they had only just made up their minds that that was what they had to do, the men came gliding over the parquet. there was a joyful flutter among the girls. a tall, fair man flew up to meg, seized her programme, scribbled something; meg passed him on to leila. “may i have the pleasure?” he ducked and smiled. there came a dark man wearing an eyeglass, then cousin laurie with a friend, and laura with a little freckled fellow whose tie was crooked. then quite an old man—fat, with a big bald patch on his head—took her programme and murmured, “let me see, let me see!” and he was a long time comparing his programme, which looked black with names, with hers. it seemed to give him so much trouble that leila was ashamed. “oh, please don’t bother,” she said eagerly. but instead of replying the fat man wrote something, glanced at her again. “do i remember this bright little face?” he said softly. “is it known to me of yore?” at that moment the band began playing; the fat man disappeared. he was tossed away on a great wave of music that came flying over the gleaming floor, breaking the groups up into couples, scattering them, sending them spinning....
-leila had learned to dance at boarding school. every saturday afternoon the boarders were hurried off to a little corrugated iron mission hall where miss eccles (of london) held her “select” classes. but the difference between that dusty-smelling hall—with calico texts on the walls, the poor terrified little woman in a brown velvet toque with rabbit’s ears thumping the cold piano, miss eccles poking the girls’ feet with her long white wand—and this was so tremendous that leila was sure if her partner didn’t come and she had to listen to that marvellous music and to watch the others sliding, gliding over the golden floor, she would die at least, or faint, or lift her arms and fly out of one of those dark windows that showed the stars.
-“ours, i think—” some one bowed, smiled, and offered her his arm; she hadn’t to die after all. some one’s hand pressed her waist, and she floated away like a flower that is tossed into a pool.
-“quite a good floor, isn’t it?” drawled a faint voice close to her ear.
-“i think it’s most beautifully slippery,” said leila.
-“pardon!” the faint voice sounded surprised. leila said it again. and there was a tiny pause before the voice echoed, “oh, quite!” and she was swung round again.
-he steered so beautifully. that was the great difference between dancing with girls and men, leila decided. girls banged into each other, and stamped on each other’s feet; the girl who was gentleman always clutched you so.
-the azaleas were separate flowers no longer; they were pink and white flags streaming by.
-“no, this is my first dance,” said she.
-her partner gave a little gasping laugh. “oh, i say,” he protested.
-“yes, it is really the first dance i’ve ever been to.” leila was most fervent. it was such a relief to be able to tell somebody. “you see, i’ve lived in the country all my life up till now....”
-at that moment the music stopped, and they went to sit on two chairs against the wall. leila tucked her pink satin feet under and fanned herself, while she blissfully watched the other couples passing and disappearing through the swing doors.
-“enjoying yourself, leila?” asked jose, nodding her golden head.
-laura passed and gave her the faintest little wink; it made leila wonder for a moment whether she was quite grown up after all. certainly her partner did not say very much. he coughed, tucked his handkerchief away, pulled down his waistcoat, took a minute thread off his sleeve. but it didn’t matter. almost immediately the band started and her second partner seemed to spring from the ceiling.
-“floor’s not bad,” said the new voice. did one always begin with the floor? and then, “were you at the neaves’ on tuesday?” and again leila explained. perhaps it was a little strange that her partners were not more interested. for it was thrilling. her first ball! she was only at the beginning of everything. it seemed to her that she had never known what the night was like before. up till now it had been dark, silent, beautiful very often—oh yes—but mournful somehow. solemn. and now it would never be like that again—it had opened dazzling bright.
-“care for an ice?” said her partner. and they went through the swing doors, down the passage, to the supper room. her cheeks burned, she was fearfully thirsty. how sweet the ices looked on little glass plates and how cold the frosted spoon was, iced too! and when they came back to the hall there was the fat man waiting for her by the door. it gave her quite a shock again to see how old he was; he ought to have been on the stage with the fathers and mothers. and when leila compared him with her other partners he looked shabby. his waistcoat was creased, there was a button off his glove, his coat looked as if it was dusty with french chalk.
-“come along, little lady,” said the fat man. he scarcely troubled to clasp her, and they moved away so gently, it was more like walking than dancing. but he said not a word about the floor. “your first dance, isn’t it?” he murmured.
-“how did you know?”
-“ah,” said the fat man, “that’s what it is to be old!” he wheezed faintly as he steered her past an awkward couple. “you see, i’ve been doing this kind of thing for the last thirty years.”
-“thirty years?” cried leila. twelve years before she was born!
-“it hardly bears thinking about, does it?” said the fat man gloomily. leila looked at his bald head, and she felt quite sorry for him.
-“i think it’s marvellous to be still going on,” she said kindly.
-“kind little lady,” said the fat man, and he pressed her a little closer, and hummed a bar of the waltz. “of course,” he said, “you can’t hope to last anything like as long as that. no-o,” said the fat man, “long before that you’ll be sitting up there on the stage, looking on, in your nice black velvet. and these pretty arms will have turned into little short fat ones, and you’ll beat time with such a different kind of fan—a black bony one.” the fat man seemed to shudder. “and you’ll smile away like the poor old dears up there, and point to your daughter, and tell the elderly lady next to you how some dreadful man tried to kiss her at the club ball. and your heart will ache, ache”—the fat man squeezed her closer still, as if he really was sorry for that poor heart—“because no one wants to kiss you now. and you’ll say how unpleasant these polished floors are to walk on, how dangerous they are. eh, mademoiselle twinkletoes?” said the fat man softly.
-leila gave a light little laugh, but she did not feel like laughing. was it—could it all be true? it sounded terribly true. was this first ball only the beginning of her last ball, after all? at that the music seemed to change; it sounded sad, sad; it rose upon a great sigh. oh, how quickly things changed! why didn’t happiness last for ever? for ever wasn’t a bit too long.
-“i want to stop,” she said in a breathless voice. the fat man led her to the door.
-“no,” she said, “i won’t go outside. i won’t sit down. i’ll just stand here, thank you.” she leaned against the wall, tapping with her foot, pulling up her gloves and trying to smile. but deep inside her a little girl threw her pinafore over her head and sobbed. why had he spoiled it all?
-“i say, you know,” said the fat man, “you mustn’t take me seriously, little lady.”
-again the couples paraded. the swing doors opened and shut. now new music was given out by the bandmaster. but leila didn’t want to dance any more. she wanted to be home, or sitting on the veranda listening to those baby owls. when she looked through the dark windows at the stars, they had long beams like wings....
-but presently a soft, melting, ravishing tune began, and a young man with curly hair bowed before her. she would have to dance, out of politeness, until she could find meg. very stiffly she walked into the middle; very haughtily she put her hand on his sleeve. but in one minute, in one turn, her feet glided, glided. the lights, the azaleas, the dresses, the pink faces, the velvet chairs, all became one beautiful flying wheel. and when her next partner bumped her into the fat man and he said, “pardon,” she smiled at him more radiantly than ever. she didn’t even recognize him again.
-the singing lesson
-with despair—cold, sharp despair—buried deep in her heart like a wicked knife, miss meadows, in cap and gown and carrying a little baton, trod the cold corridors that led to the music hall. girls of all ages, rosy from the air, and bubbling over with that gleeful excitement that comes from running to school on a fine autumn morning, hurried, skipped, fluttered by; from the hollow class-rooms came a quick drumming of voices; a bell rang; a voice like a bird cried, “muriel.” and then there came from the staircase a tremendous knock-knock-knocking. some one had dropped her dumbbells.
-the science mistress stopped miss meadows.
-“good mor-ning,” she cried, in her sweet, affected drawl. “isn’t it cold? it might be win-ter.”
-miss meadows, hugging the knife, stared in hatred at the science mistress. everything about her was sweet, pale, like honey. you would not have been surprised to see a bee caught in the tangles of that yellow hair.
-“it is rather sharp,” said miss meadows, grimly.
-the other smiled her sugary smile.
-“you look fro-zen,” said she. her blue eyes opened wide; there came a mocking light in them. (had she noticed anything?)
-“oh, not quite as bad as that,” said miss meadows, and she gave the science mistress, in exchange for her smile, a quick grimace and passed on....
-forms four, five, and six were assembled in the music hall. the noise was deafening. on the platform, by the piano, stood mary beazley, miss meadows’ favourite, who played accompaniments. she was turning the music stool. when she saw miss meadows she gave a loud, warning “sh-sh! girls!” and miss meadows, her hands thrust in her sleeves, the baton under her arm, strode down the centre aisle, mounted the steps, turned sharply, seized the brass music stand, planted it in front of her, and gave two sharp taps with her baton for silence.
-“silence, please! immediately!” and, looking at nobody, her glance swept over that sea of coloured flannel blouses, with bobbing pink faces and hands, quivering butterfly hair-bows, and music-books outspread. she knew perfectly well what they were thinking. “meady is in a wax.” well, let them think it! her eyelids quivered; she tossed her head, defying them. what could the thoughts of those creatures matter to some one who stood there bleeding to death, pierced to the heart, to the heart, by such a letter—
-basil! miss meadows stalked over to the piano. and mary beazley, who was waiting for this moment, bent forward; her curls fell over her cheeks while she breathed, “good morning, miss meadows,” and she motioned towards rather than handed to her mistress a beautiful yellow chrysanthemum. this little ritual of the flower had been gone through for ages and ages, quite a term and a half. it was as much part of the lesson as opening the piano. but this morning, instead of taking it up, instead of tucking it into her belt while she leant over mary and said, “thank you, mary. how very nice! turn to page thirty-two,” what was mary’s horror when miss meadows totally ignored the chrysanthemum, made no reply to her greeting, but said in a voice of ice, “page fourteen, please, and mark the accents well.”
-staggering moment! mary blushed until the tears stood in her eyes, but miss meadows was gone back to the music stand; her voice rang through the music hall.
-“page fourteen. we will begin with page fourteen. ‘a lament.’ now, girls, you ought to know it by this time. we shall take it all together; not in parts, all together. and without expression. sing it, though, quite simply, beating time with the left hand.”
-she raised the baton; she tapped the music stand twice. down came mary on the opening chord; down came all those left hands, beating the air, and in chimed those young, mournful voices:—
-fast! ah, too fast fade the ro-o-ses of pleasure; soon autumn yields unto wi-i-nter drear. fleetly! ah, fleetly mu-u-sic’s gay measure passes away from the listening ear.
-good heavens, what could be more tragic than that lament! every note was a sigh, a sob, a groan of awful mournfulness. miss meadows lifted her arms in the wide gown and began conducting with both hands. “... i feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake....” she beat. and the voices cried: fleetly! ah, fleetly. what could have possessed him to write such a letter! what could have led up to it! it came out of nothing. his last letter had been all about a fumed-oak bookcase he had bought for “our” books, and a “natty little hall-stand” he had seen, “a very neat affair with a carved owl on a bracket, holding three hat-brushes in its claws.” how she had smiled at that! so like a man to think one needed three hat-brushes! from the listening ear, sang the voices.
-“once again,” said miss meadows. “but this time in parts. still without expression.” fast! ah, too fast. with the gloom of the contraltos added, one could scarcely help shuddering. fade the roses of pleasure. last time he had come to see her, basil had worn a rose in his buttonhole. how handsome he had looked in that bright blue suit, with that dark red rose! and he knew it, too. he couldn’t help knowing it. first he stroked his hair, then his moustache; his teeth gleamed when he smiled.
-“the headmaster’s wife keeps on asking me to dinner. it’s a perfect nuisance. i never get an evening to myself in that place.”
-“but can’t you refuse?”
-“oh, well, it doesn’t do for a man in my position to be unpopular.”
-music’s gay measure, wailed the voices. the willow trees, outside the high, narrow windows, waved in the wind. they had lost half their leaves. the tiny ones that clung wriggled like fishes caught on a line. “... i am not a marrying man....” the voices were silent; the piano waited.
-“quite good,” said miss meadows, but still in such a strange, stony tone that the younger girls began to feel positively frightened. “but now that we know it, we shall take it with expression. as much expression as you can put into it. think of the words, girls. use your imaginations. fast! ah, too fast,” cried miss meadows. “that ought to break out—a loud, strong forte—a lament. and then in the second line, winter drear, make that drear sound as if a cold wind were blowing through it. dre-ear!” said she so awfully that mary beazley, on the music stool, wriggled her spine. “the third line should be one crescendo. fleetly! ah, fleetly music’s gay measure. breaking on the first word of the last line, passes. and then on the word, away, you must begin to die... to fade... until the listening ear is nothing more than a faint whisper.... you can slow down as much as you like almost on the last line. now, please.”
-again the two light taps; she lifted her arms again. fast! ah, too fast. “... and the idea of settling down fills me with nothing but disgust—” disgust was what he had written. that was as good as to say their engagement was definitely broken off. broken off! their engagement! people had been surprised enough that she had got engaged. the science mistress would not believe it at first. but nobody had been as surprised as she. she was thirty. basil was twenty-five. it had been a miracle, simply a miracle, to hear him say, as they walked home from church that very dark night, “you know, somehow or other, i’ve got fond of you.” and he had taken hold of the end of her ostrich feather boa. passes away from the listening ear.
-“repeat! repeat!” said miss meadows. “more expression, girls! once more!”
-fast! ah, too fast. the older girls were crimson; some of the younger ones began to cry. big spots of rain blew against the windows, and one could hear the willows whispering, “... not that i do not love you....”
-“but, my darling, if you love me,” thought miss meadows, “i don’t mind how much it is. love me as little as you like.” but she knew he didn’t love her. not to have cared enough to scratch out that word “disgust,” so that she couldn’t read it! soon autumn yields unto winter drear. she would have to leave the school, too. she could never face the science mistress or the girls after it got known. she would have to disappear somewhere. passes away. the voices began to die, to fade, to whisper... to vanish....
-suddenly the door opened. a little girl in blue walked fussily up the aisle, hanging her head, biting her lips, and twisting the silver bangle on her red little wrist. she came up the steps and stood before miss meadows.
-“well, monica, what is it?”
-“oh, if you please, miss meadows,” said the little girl, gasping, “miss wyatt wants to see you in the mistress’s room.”
-“very well,” said miss meadows. and she called to the girls, “i shall put you on your honour to talk quietly while i am away.” but they were too subdued to do anything else. most of them were blowing their noses.
-“a telegram for me, miss wyatt?”
-basil! he had committed suicide, decided miss meadows. her hand flew out, but miss wyatt held the telegram back a moment. “i hope it’s not bad news,” she said, so more than kindly. and miss meadows tore it open.
-“pay no attention to letter, must have been mad, bought hat-stand to-day—basil,” she read. she couldn’t take her eyes off the telegram.
-“i do hope it’s nothing very serious,” said miss wyatt, leaning forward.
-“oh, no, thank you, miss wyatt,” blushed miss meadows. “it’s nothing bad at all. it’s”—and she gave an apologetic little laugh—“it’s from my fiancé saying that... saying that—” there was a pause. “i see,” said miss wyatt. and another pause. then—“you’ve fifteen minutes more of your class, miss meadows, haven’t you?”
-“oh, just one minute, miss meadows,” said miss wyatt. “i must say i don’t approve of my teachers having telegrams sent to them in school hours, unless in case of very bad news, such as death,” explained miss wyatt, “or a very serious accident, or something to that effect. good news, miss meadows, will always keep, you know.”
-on the wings of hope, of love, of joy, miss meadows sped back to the music hall, up the aisle, up the steps, over to the piano.
-“page thirty-two, mary,” she said, “page thirty-two,” and, picking up the yellow chrysanthemum, she held it to her lips to hide her smile. then she turned to the girls, rapped with her baton: “page thirty-two, girls. page thirty-two.”
-we come here to-day with flowers o’erladen, with baskets of fruit and ribbons to boot, to-oo congratulate . . .
-“stop! stop!” cried miss meadows. “this is awful. this is dreadful.” and she beamed at her girls. “what’s the matter with you all? think, girls, think of what you’re singing. use your imaginations. with flowers o’erladen. baskets of fruit and ribbons to boot. and congratulate.” miss meadows broke off. “don’t look so doleful, girls. it ought to sound warm, joyful, eager. congratulate. once more. quickly. all together. now then!”
-and this time miss meadows’ voice sounded over all the other voices—full, deep, glowing with expression.
-it seemed to the little crowd on the wharf that she was never going to move again. there she lay, immense, motionless on the grey crinkled water, a loop of smoke above her, an immense flock of gulls screaming and diving after the galley droppings at the stern. you could just see little couples parading—little flies walking up and down the dish on the grey crinkled tablecloth. other flies clustered and swarmed at the edge. now there was a gleam of white on the lower deck—the cook’s apron or the stewardess perhaps. now a tiny black spider raced up the ladder on to the bridge.
-in the front of the crowd a strong-looking, middle-aged man, dressed very well, very snugly in a grey overcoat, grey silk scarf, thick gloves and dark felt hat, marched up and down, twirling his folded umbrella. he seemed to be the leader of the little crowd on the wharf and at the same time to keep them together. he was something between the sheep-dog and the shepherd.
-but what a fool—what a fool he had been not to bring any glasses! there wasn’t a pair of glasses between the whole lot of them.
-“curious thing, mr. scott, that none of us thought of glasses. we might have been able to stir ’em up a bit. we might have managed a little signalling. don’t hesitate to land. natives harmless. or: a welcome awaits you. all is forgiven. what? eh?”
-mr. hammond’s quick, eager glance, so nervous and yet so friendly and confiding, took in everybody on the wharf, roped in even those old chaps lounging against the gangways. they knew, every man-jack of them, that mrs. hammond was on that boat, and that he was so tremendously excited it never entered his head not to believe that this marvellous fact meant something to them too. it warmed his heart towards them. they were, he decided, as decent a crowd of people—— those old chaps over by the gangways, too—fine, solid old chaps. what chests—by jove! and he squared his own, plunged his thick-gloved hands into his pockets, rocked from heel to toe.
-“yes, my wife’s been in europe for the last ten months. on a visit to our eldest girl, who was married last year. i brought her up here, as far as salisbury, myself. so i thought i’d better come and fetch her back. yes, yes, yes.” the shrewd grey eyes narrowed again and searched anxiously, quickly, the motionless liner. again his overcoat was unbuttoned. out came the thin, butter-yellow watch again, and for the twentieth—fiftieth—hundredth time he made the calculation.
-“let me see now. it was two fifteen when the doctor’s launch went off. two fifteen. it is now exactly twenty-eight minutes past four. that is to say, the doctor’s been gone two hours and thirteen minutes. two hours and thirteen minutes! whee-ooh!” he gave a queer little half-whistle and snapped his watch to again. “but i think we should have been told if there was anything up—don’t you, mr. gaven?”
-“oh, yes, mr. hammond! i don’t think there’s anything to—anything to worry about,” said mr. gaven, knocking out his pipe against the heel of his shoe. “at the same time—”
-“quite so! quite so!” cried mr. hammond. “dashed annoying!” he paced quickly up and down and came back again to his stand between mr. and mrs. scott and mr. gaven. “it’s getting quite dark, too,” and he waved his folded umbrella as though the dusk at least might have had the decency to keep off for a bit. but the dusk came slowly, spreading like a slow stain over the water. little jean scott dragged at her mother’s hand.
-“i wan’ my tea, mammy!” she wailed.
-“here, jean!” he said. “like a lift up?” and easily, gently, he swung the little girl on to a higher barrel. the movement of holding her, steadying her, relieved him wonderfully, lightened his heart.
-“hold on,” he said, keeping an arm round her.
-“oh, don’t worry about jean, mr. hammond!” said mrs. scott.
-“that’s all right, mrs. scott. no trouble. it’s a pleasure. jean’s a little pal of mine, aren’t you, jean?”
-“yes, mr. hammond,” said jean, and she ran her finger down the dent of his felt hat.
-but suddenly she caught him by the ear and gave a loud scream. “lo-ok, mr. hammond! she’s moving! look, she’s coming in!”
-by jove! so she was. at last! she was slowly, slowly turning round. a bell sounded far over the water and a great spout of steam gushed into the air. the gulls rose; they fluttered away like bits of white paper. and whether that deep throbbing was her engines or his heart mr. hammond couldn’t say. he had to nerve himself to bear it, whatever it was. at that moment old captain johnson, the harbour-master, came striding down the wharf, a leather portfolio under his arm.
-“jean’ll be all right,” said mr. scott. “i’ll hold her.” he was just in time. mr. hammond had forgotten about jean. he sprang away to greet old captain johnson.
-“well, captain,” the eager, nervous voice rang out again, “you’ve taken pity on us at last.”
-“it’s no good blaming me, mr. hammond,” wheezed old captain johnson, staring at the liner. “you got mrs. hammond on board, ain’t yer?”
-“yes, yes!” said hammond, and he kept by the harbour-master’s side. “mrs. hammond’s there. hul-lo! we shan’t be long now!”
-with her telephone ring-ringing, the thrum of her screw filling the air, the big liner bore down on them, cutting sharp through the dark water so that big white shavings curled to either side. hammond and the harbour-master kept in front of the rest. hammond took off his hat; he raked the decks—they were crammed with passengers; he waved his hat and bawled a loud, strange “hul-lo!” across the water; and then turned round and burst out laughing and said something—nothing—to old captain johnson.
-“seen her?” asked the harbour-master.
-“no, not yet. steady—wait a bit!” and suddenly, between two great clumsy idiots—“get out of the way there!” he signed with his umbrella—he saw a hand raised—a white glove shaking a handkerchief. another moment, and—thank god, thank god!—there she was. there was janey. there was mrs. hammond, yes, yes, yes—standing by the rail and smiling and nodding and waving her handkerchief.
-“well that’s first class—first class! well, well, well!” he positively stamped. like lightning he drew out his cigar-case and offered it to old captain johnson. “have a cigar, captain! they’re pretty good. have a couple! here”—and he pressed all the cigars in the case on the harbour-master—“i’ve a couple of boxes up at the hotel.”
-“thenks, mr. hammond!” wheezed old captain johnson.
-the voices on shore and the voices on board flew to greet each other.
-“hillo, aun’ emily!”
-“had a good voyage?”
-“shan’t be long now!”
-“not long now.”
-the engines stopped. slowly she edged to the wharf-side.
-“make way there—make way—make way!” and the wharf hands brought the heavy gangways along at a sweeping run. hammond signed to janey to stay where she was. the old harbour-master stepped forward; he followed. as to “ladies first,” or any rot like that, it never entered his head.
-“after you, captain!” he cried genially. and, treading on the old man’s heels, he strode up the gangway on to the deck in a bee-line to janey, and janey was clasped in his arms.
-“well, well, well! yes, yes! here we are at last!” he stammered. it was all he could say. and janey emerged, and her cool little voice—the only voice in the world for him—said,
-“well, darling! have you been waiting long?”
-no; not long. or, at any rate, it didn’t matter. it was over now. but the point was, he had a cab waiting at the end of the wharf. was she ready to go off. was her luggage ready? in that case they could cut off sharp with her cabin luggage and let the rest go hang until to-morrow. he bent over her and she looked up with her familiar half-smile. she was just the same. not a day changed. just as he’d always known her. she laid her small hand on his sleeve.
-“how are the children, john?” she asked.
-“haven’t they sent me letters?”
-“yes, yes—of course! i’ve left them at the hotel for you to digest later on.”
-“we can’t go quite so fast,” said she. “i’ve got people to say good-bye to—and then there’s the captain.” as his face fell she gave his arm a small understanding squeeze. “if the captain comes off the bridge i want you to thank him for having looked after your wife so beautifully.” well, he’d got her. if she wanted another ten minutes—as he gave way she was surrounded. the whole first-class seemed to want to say good-bye to janey.
-“good-bye, dear mrs. hammond! and next time you’re in sydney i’ll expect you.”
-“darling mrs. hammond! you won’t forget to write to me, will you?”
-“well, mrs. hammond, what this boat would have been without you!”
-it was as plain as a pikestaff that she was by far the most popular woman on board. and she took it all—just as usual. absolutely composed. just her little self—just janey all over; standing there with her veil thrown back. hammond never noticed what his wife had on. it was all the same to him whatever she wore. but to-day he did notice that she wore a black “costume”—didn’t they call it?—with white frills, trimmings he supposed they were, at the neck and sleeves. all this while janey handed him round.
-“john, dear!” and then: “i want to introduce you to—”
-finally they did escape, and she led the way to her state-room. to follow janey down the passage that she knew so well—that was so strange to him; to part the green curtains after her and to step into the cabin that had been hers gave him exquisite happiness. but—confound it!—the stewardess was there on the floor, strapping up the rugs.
-“that’s the last, mrs. hammond,” said the stewardess, rising and pulling down her cuffs.
-he was introduced again, and then janey and the stewardess disappeared into the passage. he heard whisperings. she was getting the tipping business over, he supposed. he sat down on the striped sofa and took his hat off. there were the rugs she had taken with her; they looked good as new. all her luggage looked fresh, perfect. the labels were written in her beautiful little clear hand—“mrs. john hammond.”
-“mrs. john hammond!” he gave a long sigh of content and leaned back, crossing his arms. the strain was over. he felt he could have sat there for ever sighing his relief—the relief at being rid of that horrible tug, pull, grip on his heart. the danger was over. that was the feeling. they were on dry land again.
-but at that moment janey’s head came round the corner.
-“darling—do you mind? i just want to go and say good-bye to the doctor.”
-“no, no!” she said. “don’t bother. i’d rather not. i’ll not be a minute.”
-and before he could answer she was gone. he had half a mind to run after her; but instead he sat down again.
-would she really not be long? what was the time now? out came the watch; he stared at nothing. that was rather queer of janey, wasn’t it? why couldn’t she have told the stewardess to say good-bye for her? why did she have to go chasing after the ship’s doctor? she could have sent a note from the hotel even if the affair had been urgent. urgent? did it—could it mean that she had been ill on the voyage—she was keeping something from him? that was it! he seized his hat. he was going off to find that fellow and to wring the truth out of him at all costs. he thought he’d noticed just something. she was just a touch too calm—too steady. from the very first moment—
-the curtains rang. janey was back. he jumped to his feet.
-“janey, have you been ill on this voyage? you have!”
-“ill?” her airy little voice mocked him. she stepped over the rugs, and came up close, touched his breast, and looked up at him.
-“darling,” she said, “don’t frighten me. of course i haven’t! whatever makes you think i have? do i look ill?”
-but hammond didn’t see her. he only felt that she was looking at him and that there was no need to worry about anything. she was here to look after things. it was all right. everything was.
-the gentle pressure of her hand was so calming that he put his over hers to hold it there. and she said:
-“stand still. i want to look at you. i haven’t seen you yet. you’ve had your beard beautifully trimmed, and you look—younger, i think, and decidedly thinner! bachelor life agrees with you.”
-“agrees with me!” he groaned for love and caught her close again. and again, as always, he had the feeling that he was holding something that never was quite his—his. something too delicate, too precious, that would fly away once he let go.
-“for god’s sake let’s get off to the hotel so that we can be by ourselves!” and he rang the bell hard for some one to look sharp with the luggage.
-walking down the wharf together she took his arm. he had her on his arm again. and the difference it made to get into the cab after janey—to throw the red-and-yellow striped blanket round them both—to tell the driver to hurry because neither of them had had any tea. no more going without his tea or pouring out his own. she was back. he turned to her, squeezed her hand, and said gently, teasingly, in the “special” voice he had for her: “glad to be home again, dearie?” she smiled; she didn’t even bother to answer, but gently she drew his hand away as they came to the brighter streets.
-“we’ve got the best room in the hotel,” he said. “i wouldn’t be put off with another. and i asked the chambermaid to put in a bit of a fire in case you felt chilly. she’s a nice, attentive girl. and i thought now we were here we wouldn’t bother to go home to-morrow, but spend the day looking round and leave the morning after. does that suit you? there’s no hurry, is there? the children will have you soon enough.... i thought a day’s sight-seeing might make a nice break in your journey—eh, janey?”
-“have you taken the tickets for the day after?” she asked.
-“i should think i have!” he unbuttoned his overcoat and took out his bulging pocket-book. “here we are! i reserved a first-class carriage to cooktown. there it is—‘mr. and mrs. john hammond.’ i thought we might as well do ourselves comfortably, and we don’t want other people butting in, do we? but if you’d like to stop here a bit longer—?”
-“oh, no!” said janey quickly. “not for the world! the day after to-morrow, then. and the children—”
-but they had reached the hotel. the manager was standing in the broad, brilliantly-lighted porch. he came down to greet them. a porter ran from the hall for their boxes.
-“well, mr. arnold, here’s mrs. hammond at last!”
-the manager led them through the hall himself and pressed the elevator-bell. hammond knew there were business pals of his sitting at the little hall tables having a drink before dinner. but he wasn’t going to risk interruption; he looked neither to the right nor the left. they could think what they pleased. if they didn’t understand, the more fools they—and he stepped out of the lift, unlocked the door of their room, and shepherded janey in. the door shut. now, at last, they were alone together. he turned up the light. the curtains were drawn; the fire blazed. he flung his hat on to the huge bed and went towards her.
-but—would you believe it!—again they were interrupted. this time it was the porter with the luggage. he made two journeys of it, leaving the door open in between, taking his time, whistling through his teeth in the corridor. hammond paced up and down the room, tearing off his gloves, tearing off his scarf. finally he flung his overcoat on to the bedside.
-at last the fool was gone. the door clicked. now they were alone. said hammond: “i feel i’ll never have you to myself again. these cursed people! janey”—and he bent his flushed, eager gaze upon her—“let’s have dinner up here. if we go down to the restaurant we’ll be interrupted, and then there’s the confounded music” (the music he’d praised so highly, applauded so loudly last night!). “we shan’t be able to hear each other speak. let’s have something up here in front of the fire. it’s too late for tea. i’ll order a little supper, shall i? how does that idea strike you?”
-“do, darling!” said janey. “and while you’re away—the children’s letters—”
-“oh, later on will do!” said hammond.
-“but then we’d get it over,” said janey. “and i’d first have time to—”
-“oh, i needn’t go down!” explained hammond. “i’ll just ring and give the order... you don’t want to send me away, do you?”
-janey shook her head and smiled.
-“but you’re thinking of something else. you’re worrying about something,” said hammond. “what is it? come and sit here—come and sit on my knee before the fire.”
-“i’ll just unpin my hat,” said janey, and she went over to the dressing-table. “a-ah!” she gave a little cry.
-“what is it?”
-“why? what’s the matter with it?” said hammond.
-“if it were floating in eternity i should say ‘john!’” laughed janey, staring at the big bottle of hair tonic, the wicker bottle of eau-de-cologne, the two hair-brushes, and a dozen new collars tied with pink tape. “is this all your luggage?”
-“hang my luggage!” said hammond; but all the same he liked being laughed at by janey. “let’s talk. let’s get down to things. tell me”—and as janey perched on his knees he leaned back and drew her into the deep, ugly chair—“tell me you’re really glad to be back, janey.”
-“yes, darling, i am glad,” she said.
-but just as when he embraced her he felt she would fly away, so hammond never knew—never knew for dead certain that she was as glad as he was. how could he know? would he ever know? would he always have this craving—this pang like hunger, somehow, to make janey so much part of him that there wasn’t any of her to escape? he wanted to blot out everybody, everything. he wished now he’d turned off the light. that might have brought her nearer. and now those letters from the children rustled in her blouse. he could have chucked them into the fire.
-“janey,” he whispered.
-“yes, dear?” she lay on his breast, but so lightly, so remotely. their breathing rose and fell together.
-“what is it?”
-“turn to me,” he whispered. a slow, deep flush flowed into his forehead. “kiss me, janey! you kiss me!”
-it seemed to him there was a tiny pause—but long enough for him to suffer torture—before her lips touched his, firmly, lightly—kissing them as she always kissed him, as though the kiss—how could he describe it?—confirmed what they were saying, signed the contract. but that wasn’t what he wanted; that wasn’t at all what he thirsted for. he felt suddenly, horrible tired.
-“if you knew,” he said, opening his eyes, “what it’s been like—waiting to-day. i thought the boat never would come in. there we were, hanging about. what kept you so long?”
-she made no answer. she was looking away from him at the fire. the flames hurried—hurried over the coals, flickered, fell.
-“not asleep, are you?” said hammond, and he jumped her up and down.
-“what was it?” asked hammond uneasily. he hated to hear of death. he hated this to have happened. it was, in some queer way, as though he and janey had met a funeral on their way to the hotel.
-“oh, it wasn’t anything in the least infectious!” said janey. she was speaking scarcely above her breath. “it was heart.” a pause. “poor fellow!” she said. “quite young.” and she watched the fire flicker and fall. “he died in my arms,” said janey.
-the blow was so sudden that hammond thought he would faint. he couldn’t move; he couldn’t breathe. he felt all his strength flowing—flowing into the big dark chair, and the big dark chair held him fast, gripped him, forced him to bear it.
-“what?” he said dully. “what’s that you say?”
-“the end was quite peaceful,” said the small voice. “he just”—and hammond saw her lift her gentle hand—“breathed his life away at the end.” and her hand fell.
-“who—else was there?” hammond managed to ask.
-“nobody. i was alone with him.”
-ah, my god, what was she saying! what was she doing to him! this would kill him! and all the while she spoke:
-“i saw the change coming and i sent the steward for the doctor, but the doctor was too late. he couldn’t have done anything, anyway.”
-“but—why you, why you?” moaned hammond.
-at that janey turned quickly, quickly searched his face.
-“you don’t mind, john, do you?” she asked. “you don’t—it’s nothing to do with you and me.”
-somehow or other he managed to shake some sort of smile at her. somehow or other he stammered: “no—go—on, go on! i want you to tell me.”
-“but, john darling—”
-“tell me, janey!”
-“there’s nothing to tell,” she said, wondering. “he was one of the first-class passengers. i saw he was very ill when he came on board.... but he seemed to be so much better until yesterday. he had a severe attack in the afternoon—excitement—nervousness, i think, about arriving. and after that he never recovered.”
-“but why didn’t the stewardess—”
-“oh, my dear—the stewardess!” said janey. “what would he have felt? and besides... he might have wanted to leave a message... to—”
-“didn’t he?” muttered hammond. “didn’t he say anything?”
-“no, darling, not a word!” she shook her head softly. “all the time i was with him he was too weak... he was too weak even to move a finger....”
-janey was silent. but her words, so light, so soft, so chill, seemed to hover in the air, to rain into his breast like snow.
-the fire had gone red. now it fell in with a sharp sound and the room was colder. cold crept up his arms. the room was huge, immense, glittering. it filled his whole world. there was the great blind bed, with his coat flung across it like some headless man saying his prayers. there was the luggage, ready to be carried away again, anywhere, tossed into trains, carted on to boats.
-... “he was too weak. he was too weak to move a finger.” and yet he died in janey’s arms. she—who’d never—never once in all these years—never on one single solitary occasion—
-no; he mustn’t think of it. madness lay in thinking of it. no, he wouldn’t face it. he couldn’t stand it. it was too much to bear!
-and now janey touched his tie with her fingers. she pinched the edges of the tie together.
-“you’re not—sorry i told you, john darling? it hasn’t made you sad? it hasn’t spoilt our evening—our being alone together?”
-but at that he had to hide his face. he put his face into her bosom and his arms enfolded her.
-spoilt their evening! spoilt their being alone together! they would never be alone together again.
-a stout man with a pink face wears dingy white flannel trousers, a blue coat with a pink handkerchief showing, and a straw hat much too small for him, perched at the back of his head. he plays the guitar. a little chap in white canvas shoes, his face hidden under a felt hat like a broken wing, breathes into a flute; and a tall thin fellow, with bursting over-ripe button boots, draws ribbons—long, twisted, streaming ribbons—of tune out of a fiddle. they stand, unsmiling, but not serious, in the broad sunlight opposite the fruit-shop; the pink spider of a hand beats the guitar, the little squat hand, with a brass-and-turquoise ring, forces the reluctant flute, and the fiddler’s arm tries to saw the fiddle in two.
-a crowd collects, eating oranges and bananas, tearing off the skins, dividing, sharing. one young girl has even a basket of strawberries, but she does not eat them. “aren’t they dear!” she stares at the tiny pointed fruits as if she were afraid of them. the australian soldier laughs. “here, go on, there’s not more than a mouthful.” but he doesn’t want her to eat them, either. he likes to watch her little frightened face, and her puzzled eyes lifted to his: “aren’t they a price!” he pushes out his chest and grins. old fat women in velvet bodices—old dusty pin-cushions—lean old hags like worn umbrellas with a quivering bonnet on top; young women, in muslins, with hats that might have grown on hedges, and high pointed shoes; men in khaki, sailors, shabby clerks, young jews in fine cloth suits with padded shoulders and wide trousers, “hospital boys” in blue—the sun discovers them—the loud, bold music holds them together in one big knot for a moment. the young ones are larking, pushing each other on and off the pavement, dodging, nudging; the old ones are talking: “so i said to ’im, if you wants the doctor to yourself, fetch ’im, says i.”
-“an’ by the time they was cooked there wasn’t so much as you could put in the palm of me ’and!”
-the only ones who are quiet are the ragged children. they stand, as close up to the musicians as they can get, their hands behind their backs, their eyes big. occasionally a leg hops, an arm wags. a tiny staggerer, overcome, turns round twice, sits down solemn, and then gets up again.
-“ain’t it lovely?” whispers a small girl behind her hand.
-and the music breaks into bright pieces, and joins together again, and again breaks, and is dissolved, and the crowd scatters, moving slowly up the hill.
-at the corner of the road the stalls begin.
-“ticklers! tuppence a tickler! ’ool ’ave a tickler? tickle ’em up, boys.” little soft brooms on wire handles. they are eagerly bought by the soldiers.
-“buy a golliwog! tuppence a golliwog!”
-“buy a jumping donkey! all alive-oh!”
-“su-perior chewing gum. buy something to do, boys.”
-“buy a rose. give ’er a rose, boy. roses, lady?”
-“fevvers! fevvers!” they are hard to resist. lovely, streaming feathers, emerald green, scarlet, bright blue, canary yellow. even the babies wear feathers threaded through their bonnets.
-and an old woman in a three-cornered paper hat cries as if it were her final parting advice, the only way of saving yourself or of bringing him to his senses: “buy a three-cornered ’at, my dear, an’ put it on!”
-it is a flying day, half sun, half wind. when the sun goes in a shadow flies over; when it comes out again it is fiery. the men and women feel it burning their backs, their breasts and their arms; they feel their bodies expanding, coming alive... so that they make large embracing gestures, lift up their arms, for nothing, swoop down on a girl, blurt into laughter.
-lemonade! a whole tank of it stands on a table covered with a cloth; and lemons like blunted fishes blob in the yellow water. it looks solid, like a jelly, in the thick glasses. why can’t they drink it without spilling it? everybody spills it, and before the glass is handed back the last drops are thrown in a ring.
-round the ice-cream cart, with its striped awning and bright brass cover, the children cluster. little tongues lick, lick round the cream trumpets, round the squares. the cover is lifted, the wooden spoon plunges in; one shuts one’s eyes to feel it, silently scrunching.
-“let these little birds tell you your future!” she stands beside the cage, a shrivelled ageless italian, clasping and unclasping her dark claws. her face, a treasure of delicate carving, is tied in a green-and-gold scarf. and inside their prison the love-birds flutter towards the papers in the seed-tray.
-“you have great strength of character. you will marry a red-haired man and have three children. beware of a blonde woman.” look out! look out! a motor-car driven by a fat chauffeur comes rushing down the hill. inside there a blonde woman, pouting, leaning forward—rushing through your life—beware! beware!
-“ladies and gentlemen, i am an auctioneer by profession, and if what i tell you is not the truth i am liable to have my licence taken away from me and a heavy imprisonment.” he holds the licence across his chest; the sweat pours down his face into his paper collar; his eyes look glazed. when he takes off his hat there is a deep pucker of angry flesh on his forehead. nobody buys a watch.
-look out again! a huge barouche comes swinging down the hill with two old, old babies inside. she holds up a lace parasol; he sucks the knob of his cane, and the fat old bodies roll together as the cradle rocks, and the steaming horse leaves a trail of manure as it ambles down the hill.
-under a tree, professor leonard, in cap and gown, stands beside his banner. he is here “for one day,” from the london, paris and brussels exhibition, to tell your fortune from your face. and he stands, smiling encouragement, like a clumsy dentist. when the big men, romping and swearing a moment before, hand across their sixpence, and stand before him, they are suddenly serious, dumb, timid, almost blushing as the professor’s quick hand notches the printed card. they are like little children caught playing in a forbidden garden by the owner, stepping from behind a tree.
-the top of the hill is reached. how hot it is! how fine it is! the public-house is open, and the crowd presses in. the mother sits on the pavement edge with her baby, and the father brings her out a glass of dark, brownish stuff, and then savagely elbows his way in again. a reek of beer floats from the public-house, and a loud clatter and rattle of voices.
-the wind has dropped, and the sun burns more fiercely than ever. outside the two swing-doors there is a thick mass of children like flies at the mouth of a sweet-jar.
-and up, up the hill come the people, with ticklers and golliwogs, and roses and feathers. up, up they thrust into the light and heat, shouting, laughing, squealing, as though they were being pushed by something, far below, and by the sun, far ahead of them—drawn up into the full, bright, dazzling radiance to... what?
-an ideal family
-that evening for the first time in his life, as he pressed through the swing door and descended the three broad steps to the pavement, old mr. neave felt he was too old for the spring. spring—warm, eager, restless—was there, waiting for him in the golden light, ready in front of everybody to run up, to blow in his white beard, to drag sweetly on his arm. and he couldn’t meet her, no; he couldn’t square up once more and stride off, jaunty as a young man. he was tired and, although the late sun was still shining, curiously cold, with a numbed feeling all over. quite suddenly he hadn’t the energy, he hadn’t the heart to stand this gaiety and bright movement any longer; it confused him. he wanted to stand still, to wave it away with his stick, to say, “be off with you!” suddenly it was a terrible effort to greet as usual—tipping his wide-awake with his stick—all the people whom he knew, the friends, acquaintances, shopkeepers, postmen, drivers. but the gay glance that went with the gesture, the kindly twinkle that seemed to say, “i’m a match and more for any of you”—that old mr. neave could not manage at all. he stumped along, lifting his knees high as if he were walking through air that had somehow grown heavy and solid like water. and the homeward-looking crowd hurried by, the trams clanked, the light carts clattered, the big swinging cabs bowled along with that reckless, defiant indifference that one knows only in dreams....
-it had been a day like other days at the office. nothing special had happened. harold hadn’t come back from lunch until close on four. where had he been? what had he been up to? he wasn’t going to let his father know. old mr. neave had happened to be in the vestibule, saying good-bye to a caller, when harold sauntered in, perfectly turned out as usual, cool, suave, smiling that peculiar little half-smile that women found so fascinating.
-ah, harold was too handsome, too handsome by far; that had been the trouble all along. no man had a right to such eyes, such lashes, and such lips; it was uncanny. as for his mother, his sisters, and the servants, it was not too much to say they made a young god of him; they worshipped harold, they forgave him everything; and he had needed some forgiving ever since the time when he was thirteen and he had stolen his mother’s purse, taken the money, and hidden the purse in the cook’s bedroom. old mr. neave struck sharply with his stick upon the pavement edge. but it wasn’t only his family who spoiled harold, he reflected, it was everybody; he had only to look and to smile, and down they went before him. so perhaps it wasn’t to be wondered at that he expected the office to carry on the tradition. h’m, h’m! but it couldn’t be done. no business—not even a successful, established, big paying concern—could be played with. a man had either to put his whole heart and soul into it, or it went all to pieces before his eyes....
-and then charlotte and the girls were always at him to make the whole thing over to harold, to retire, and to spend his time enjoying himself. enjoying himself! old mr. neave stopped dead under a group of ancient cabbage palms outside the government buildings! enjoying himself! the wind of evening shook the dark leaves to a thin airy cackle. sitting at home, twiddling his thumbs, conscious all the while that his life’s work was slipping away, dissolving, disappearing through harold’s fine fingers, while harold smiled....
-“why will you be so unreasonable, father? there’s absolutely no need for you to go to the office. it only makes it very awkward for us when people persist in saying how tired you’re looking. here’s this huge house and garden. surely you could be happy in—in—appreciating it for a change. or you could take up some hobby.”
-and lola the baby had chimed in loftily, “all men ought to have hobbies. it makes life impossible if they haven’t.”
-well, well! he couldn’t help a grim smile as painfully he began to climb the hill that led into harcourt avenue. where would lola and her sisters and charlotte be if he’d gone in for hobbies, he’d like to know? hobbies couldn’t pay for the town house and the seaside bungalow, and their horses, and their golf, and the sixty-guinea gramophone in the music-room for them to dance to. not that he grudged them these things. no, they were smart, good-looking girls, and charlotte was a remarkable woman; it was natural for them to be in the swim. as a matter of fact, no other house in the town was as popular as theirs; no other family entertained so much. and how many times old mr. neave, pushing the cigar box across the smoking-room table, had listened to praises of his wife, his girls, of himself even.
-“you’re an ideal family, sir, an ideal family. it’s like something one reads about or sees on the stage.”
-“that’s all right, my boy,” old mr. neave would reply. “try one of those; i think you’ll like them. and if you care to smoke in the garden, you’ll find the girls on the lawn, i dare say.”
-that was why the girls had never married, so people said. they could have married anybody. but they had too good a time at home. they were too happy together, the girls and charlotte. h’m, h’m! well, well. perhaps so....
-by this time he had walked the length of fashionable harcourt avenue; he had reached the corner house, their house. the carriage gates were pushed back; there were fresh marks of wheels on the drive. and then he faced the big white-painted house, with its wide-open windows, its tulle curtains floating outwards, its blue jars of hyacinths on the broad sills. on either side of the carriage porch their hydrangeas—famous in the town—were coming into flower; the pinkish, bluish masses of flower lay like light among the spreading leaves. and somehow, it seemed to old mr. neave that the house and the flowers, and even the fresh marks on the drive, were saying, “there is young life here. there are girls—”
-the hall, as always, was dusky with wraps, parasols, gloves, piled on the oak chests. from the music-room sounded the piano, quick, loud and impatient. through the drawing-room door that was ajar voices floated.
-“and were there ices?” came from charlotte. then the creak, creak of her rocker.
-“ices!” cried ethel. “my dear mother, you never saw such ices. only two kinds. and one a common little strawberry shop ice, in a sopping wet frill.”
-“the food altogether was too appalling,” came from marion.
-“still, it’s rather early for ices,” said charlotte easily.
-“but why, if one has them at all....” began ethel.
-“oh, quite so, darling,” crooned charlotte.
-suddenly the music-room door opened and lola dashed out. she started, she nearly screamed, at the sight of old mr. neave.
-“gracious, father! what a fright you gave me! have you just come home? why isn’t charles here to help you off with your coat?”
-her cheeks were crimson from playing, her eyes glittered, the hair fell over her forehead. and she breathed as though she had come running through the dark and was frightened. old mr. neave stared at his youngest daughter; he felt he had never seen her before. so that was lola, was it? but she seemed to have forgotten her father; it was not for him that she was waiting there. now she put the tip of her crumpled handkerchief between her teeth and tugged at it angrily. the telephone rang. a-ah! lola gave a cry like a sob and dashed past him. the door of the telephone-room slammed, and at the same moment charlotte called, “is that you, father?”
-“you’re tired again,” said charlotte reproachfully, and she stopped the rocker and offered her warm plum-like cheek. bright-haired ethel pecked his beard, marion’s lips brushed his ear.
-“did you walk back, father?” asked charlotte.
-“yes, i walked home,” said old mr. neave, and he sank into one of the immense drawing-room chairs.
-“but why didn’t you take a cab?” said ethel. “there are hundreds of cabs about at that time.”
-“my dear ethel,” cried marion, “if father prefers to tire himself out, i really don’t see what business of ours it is to interfere.”
-“children, children?” coaxed charlotte.
-but marion wouldn’t be stopped. “no, mother, you spoil father, and it’s not right. you ought to be stricter with him. he’s very naughty.” she laughed her hard, bright laugh and patted her hair in a mirror. strange! when she was a little girl she had such a soft, hesitating voice; she had even stuttered, and now, whatever she said—even if it was only “jam, please, father”—it rang out as though she were on the stage.
-“did harold leave the office before you, dear?” asked charlotte, beginning to rock again.
-“i’m not sure,” said old mr. neave. “i’m not sure. i didn’t see him after four o’clock.”
-“he said—” began charlotte.
-but at that moment ethel, who was twitching over the leaves of some paper or other, ran to her mother and sank down beside her chair.
-“there, you see,” she cried. “that’s what i mean, mummy. yellow, with touches of silver. don’t you agree?”
-“give it to me, love,” said charlotte. she fumbled for her tortoise-shell spectacles and put them on, gave the page a little dab with her plump small fingers, and pursed up her lips. “very sweet!” she crooned vaguely; she looked at ethel over her spectacles. “but i shouldn’t have the train.”
-“not the train!” wailed ethel tragically. “but the train’s the whole point.”
-“here, mother, let me decide.” marion snatched the paper playfully from charlotte. “i agree with mother,” she cried triumphantly. “the train overweights it.”
-old mr. neave, forgotten, sank into the broad lap of his chair, and, dozing, heard them as though he dreamed. there was no doubt about it, he was tired out; he had lost his hold. even charlotte and the girls were too much for him to-night. they were too... too.... but all his drowsing brain could think of was—too rich for him. and somewhere at the back of everything he was watching a little withered ancient man climbing up endless flights of stairs. who was he?
-“i shan’t dress to-night,” he muttered.
-“what do you say, father?”
-“eh, what, what?” old mr. neave woke with a start and stared across at them. “i shan’t dress to-night,” he repeated.
-“but, father, we’ve got lucile coming, and henry davenport, and mrs. teddie walker.”
-“it will look so very out of the picture.”
-“don’t you feel well, dear?”
-“you needn’t make any effort. what is charles for?”
-“but if you’re really not up to it,” charlotte wavered.
-“very well! very well!” old mr. neave got up and went to join that little old climbing fellow just as far as his dressing-room....
-there young charles was waiting for him. carefully, as though everything depended on it, he was tucking a towel round the hot-water can. young charles had been a favourite of his ever since as a little red-faced boy he had come into the house to look after the fires. old mr. neave lowered himself into the cane lounge by the window, stretched out his legs, and made his little evening joke, “dress him up, charles!” and charles, breathing intensely and frowning, bent forward to take the pin out of his tie.
-h’m, h’m! well, well! it was pleasant by the open window, very pleasant—a fine mild evening. they were cutting the grass on the tennis court below; he heard the soft churr of the mower. soon the girls would begin their tennis parties again. and at the thought he seemed to hear marion’s voice ring out, “good for you, partner.... oh, played, partner.... oh, very nice indeed.” then charlotte calling from the veranda, “where is harold?” and ethel, “he’s certainly not here, mother.” and charlotte’s vague, “he said—”
-old mr. neave sighed, got up, and putting one hand under his beard, he took the comb from young charles, and carefully combed the white beard over. charles gave him a folded handkerchief, his watch and seals, and spectacle case.
-“that will do, my lad.” the door shut, he sank back, he was alone....
-and now that little ancient fellow was climbing down endless flights that led to a glittering, gay dining-room. what legs he had! they were like a spider’s—thin, withered.
-“you’re an ideal family, sir, an ideal family.”
-but if that were true, why didn’t charlotte or the girls stop him? why was he all alone, climbing up and down? where was harold? ah, it was no good expecting anything from harold. down, down went the little old spider, and then, to his horror, old mr. neave saw him slip past the dining-room and make for the porch, the dark drive, the carriage gates, the office. stop him, stop him, somebody!
-... a dark porch, half hidden by a passion-vine, that drooped sorrowful, mournful, as though it understood. small, warm arms were round his neck. a face, little and pale, lifted to his, and a voice breathed, “good-bye, my treasure.”
-my treasure! “good-bye, my treasure!” which of them had spoken? why had they said good-bye? there had been some terrible mistake. she was his wife, that little pale girl, and all the rest of his life had been a dream.
-then the door opened, and young charles, standing in the light, put his hands by his side and shouted like a young soldier, “dinner is on the table, sir!”
-“i’m coming, i’m coming,” said old mr. neave.
-the lady’s maid
-eleven o’clock. a knock at the door.
-... i hope i haven’t disturbed you, madam. you weren’t asleep—were you? but i’ve just given my lady her tea, and there was such a nice cup over, i thought, perhaps....
-... yes, madam, it was all left to me. oh, she did look sweet. i did her hair, soft-like, round her forehead, all in dainty curls, and just to one side of her neck i put a bunch of most beautiful purple pansies. those pansies made a picture of her, madam! i shall never forget them. i thought to-night, when i looked at my lady, “now, if only the pansies was there no one could tell the difference.”
-... only the last year, madam. only after she’d got a little—well—feeble as you might say. of course, she was never dangerous; she was the sweetest old lady. but how it took her was—she thought she’d lost something. she couldn’t keep still, she couldn’t settle. all day long she’d be up and down, up and down; you’d meet her everywhere,—on the stairs, in the porch, making for the kitchen. and she’d look up at you, and she’d say—just like a child, “i’ve lost it, i’ve lost it.” “come along,” i’d say, “come along, and i’ll lay out your patience for you.” but she’d catch me by the hand—i was a favourite of hers—and whisper, “find it for me, ellen. find it for me.” sad, wasn’t it?
-... no, she never recovered, madam. she had a stroke at the end. last words she ever said was—very slow, “look in—the—look—in—” and then she was gone.
-... but one day i managed to get a pair of scissors and—would you believe it, madam? i cut off all my hair; snipped it off all in bits, like the little monkey i was. grandfather was furious! he caught hold of the tongs—i shall never forget it—grabbed me by the hand and shut my fingers in them. “that’ll teach you!” he said. it was a fearful burn. i’ve got the mark of it to-day.
-... no, madam, grandfather never got over it. he couldn’t bear the sight of me after. couldn’t eat his dinner, even, if i was there. so my aunt took me. she was a cripple, an upholstress. tiny! she had to stand on the sofas when she wanted to cut out the backs. and it was helping her i met my lady....
-... not so very, madam. i was thirteen, turned. and i don’t remember ever feeling—well—a child, as you might say. you see there was my uniform, and one thing and another. my lady put me into collars and cuffs from the first. oh yes—once i did! that was—funny! it was like this. my lady had her two little nieces staying with her—we were at sheldon at the time—and there was a fair on the common.
-“now, ellen,” she said, “i want you to take the two young ladies for a ride on the donkeys.” off we went; solemn little loves they were; each had a hand. but when we came to the donkeys they were too shy to go on. so we stood and watched instead. beautiful those donkeys were! they were the first i’d seen out of a cart—for pleasure as you might say. they were a lovely silver-grey, with little red saddles and blue bridles and bells jing-a-jingling on their ears. and quite big girls—older than me, even—were riding them, ever so gay. not at all common, i don���t mean, madam, just enjoying themselves. and i don’t know what it was, but the way the little feet went, and the eyes—so gentle—and the soft ears—made me want to go on a donkey more than anything in the world!
-... of course, i couldn’t. i had my young ladies. and what would i have looked like perched up there in my uniform? but all the rest of the day it was donkeys—donkeys on the brain with me. i felt i should have burst if i didn’t tell some one; and who was there to tell? but when i went to bed—i was sleeping in mrs. james’s bedroom, our cook that was, at the time—as soon as the lights was out, there they were, my donkeys, jingling along, with their neat little feet and sad eyes.... well, madam, would you believe it, i waited for a long time and pretended to be asleep, and then suddenly i sat up and called out as loud as i could, “i do want to go on a donkey. i do want a donkey-ride!” you see, i had to say it, and i thought they wouldn’t laugh at me if they knew i was only dreaming. artful—wasn’t it? just what a silly child would think....
-... no, madam, never now. of course, i did think of it at one time. but it wasn’t to be. he had a little flower-shop just down the road and across from where we was living. funny—wasn’t it? and me such a one for flowers. we were having a lot of company at the time, and i was in and out of the shop more often than not, as the saying is. and harry and i (his name was harry) got to quarrelling about how things ought to be arranged—and that began it. flowers! you wouldn’t believe it, madam, the flowers he used to bring me. he’d stop at nothing. it was lilies-of-the-valley more than once, and i’m not exaggerating! well, of course, we were going to be married and live over the shop, and it was all going to be just so, and i was to have the window to arrange.... oh, how i’ve done that window of a saturday! not really, of course, madam, just dreaming, as you might say. i’ve done it for christmas—motto in holly, and all—and i’ve had my easter lilies with a gorgeous star all daffodils in the middle. i’ve hung—well, that’s enough of that. the day came he was to call for me to choose the furniture. shall i ever forget it? it was a tuesday. my lady wasn’t quite herself that afternoon. not that she’d said anything, of course; she never does or will. but i knew by the way that she kept wrapping herself up and asking me if it was cold—and her little nose looked... pinched. i didn’t like leaving her; i knew i’d be worrying all the time. at last i asked her if she’d rather i put it off. “oh no, ellen,” she said, “you mustn’t mind about me. you mustn’t disappoint your young man.” and so cheerful, you know, madam, never thinking about herself. it made me feel worse than ever. i began to wonder... then she dropped her handkerchief and began to stoop down to pick it up herself—a thing she never did. “whatever are you doing!” i cried, running to stop her. “well,” she said, smiling, you know, madam, “i shall have to begin to practise.” oh, it was all i could do not to burst out crying. i went over to the dressing-table and made believe to rub up the silver, and i couldn’t keep myself in, and i asked her if she’d rather i... didn’t get married. “no, ellen,” she said—that was her voice, madam, like i’m giving you—“no, ellen, not for the wide world!” but while she said it, madam—i was looking in her glass; of course, she didn’t know i could see her—she put her little hand on her heart just like her dear mother used to, and lifted her eyes... oh, madam!
-when harry came i had his letters all ready, and the ring and a ducky little brooch he’d given me—a silver bird it was, with a chain in its beak, and on the end of the chain a heart with a dagger. quite the thing! i opened the door to him. i never gave him time for a word. “there you are,” i said. “take them all back,” i said, “it’s all over. i’m not going to marry you,” i said, “i can’t leave my lady.” white! he turned as white as a woman. i had to slam the door, and there i stood, all of a tremble, till i knew he had gone. when i opened the door—believe me or not, madam—that man was gone! i ran out into the road just as i was, in my apron and my house-shoes, and there i stayed in the middle of the road... staring. people must have laughed if they saw me....
-... goodness gracious!—what’s that? it’s the clock striking! and here i’ve been keeping you awake. oh, madam, you ought to have stopped me.... can i tuck in your feet? i always tuck in my lady’s feet, every night, just the same. and she says, “good night, ellen. sleep sound and wake early!” i don’t know what i should do if she didn’t say that, now.
-london: g. bell & sons, limited, portugal street, kingsway, w.c. cambridge: deighton, bell & co. new york: the macmillan co. bombay: a.h. wheeler & co
-the life of napoleon i
-including new materials from the british official records
-by john holland rose, litt.d. late scholar of christ's college, cambridge
-"let my son often read and reflect on history: this is the only true philosophy."--napoleon's last instructions for the king of rome.
-post 8vo edition, illustrated first published, december 1901. second edition, revised, march 1902. third edition, revised, january 1903. fourth edition, revised, september 1907. reprinted, january 1910.
-crown 8vo edition first published, september 1904. reprinted, october 1907; july 1910.
-an apology seems to be called for from anyone who gives to the world a new life of napoleon i. my excuse must be that for many years i have sought to revise the traditional story of his career in the light of facts gleaned from the british archives and of the many valuable materials that have recently been published by continental historians. to explain my manner of dealing with these sources would require an elaborate critical introduction; but, as the limits of my space absolutely preclude any such attempt, i can only briefly refer to the most important topics.
-to deal with the published sources first, i would name as of chief importance the works of mm. aulard, chuquet, houssaye, sorel, and vandal in france; of herren beer, delbrück, fournier, lehmann, oncken, and wertheimer in germany and austria; and of baron lumbroso in italy. i have also profited largely by the scholarly monographs or collections of documents due to the labours of the "société d'histoire contemporaine," the general staff of the french army, of mm. bouvier, caudrillier, capitaine "j.g.," lévy, madelin, sagnac, sciout, zivy, and others in france; and of herren bailleu, demelitsch, hansing, klinkowstrom, luckwaldt, ulmann, and others in germany. some of the recently published french memoirs dealing with those times are not devoid of value, though this class of literature is to be used with caution. the new letters of napoleon published by m. léon lecestre and m. léonce de brotonne have also opened up fresh vistas into the life of the great man; and the time seems to have come when we may safely revise our judgments on many of its episodes.
-but i should not have ventured on this great undertaking, had i not been able to contribute something new to napoleonic literature. during a study of this period for an earlier work published in the "cambridge historical series," i ascertained the great value of the british records for the years 1795-1815. it is surely discreditable to our historical research that, apart from the fruitful labours of the navy records society, of messrs. oscar browning and hereford george, and of mr. bowman of toronto, scarcely any english work has appeared that is based on the official records of this period. yet they are of great interest and value. our diplomatic agents then had the knack of getting at state secrets in most foreign capitals, even when we were at war with their governments; and our war office and admiralty records have also yielded me some interesting "finds." m. lévy, in the preface to his "napoléon intime" (1893), has well remarked that "the documentary history of the wars of the empire has not yet been written. to write it accurately, it will be more important thoroughly to know foreign archives than those of france." those of russia, austria, and prussia have now for the most part been examined; and i think that i may claim to have searched all the important parts of our foreign office archives for the years in question, as well as for part of the st. helena period. i have striven to embody the results of this search in the present volumes as far as was compatible with limits of space and with the narrative form at which, in my judgment, history ought always to aim.
-on the whole, british policy comes out the better the more fully it is known. though often feeble and vacillating, it finally attained to firmness and dignity; and ministers closed the cycle of war with acts of magnanimity towards the french people which are studiously ignored by those who bid us shed tears over the martyrdom of st. helena. nevertheless, the splendour of the finale must not blind us to the flaccid eccentricities that made british statesmanship the laughing stock of europe in 1801-3, 1806-7, and 1809. indeed, it is questionable whether the renewal of war between england and napoleon in 1803 was due more to his innate forcefulness or to the contempt which he felt for the addington cabinet. when one also remembers our extraordinary blunders in the war of the third coalition, it seems a miracle that the british empire survived that life and death struggle against a man of superhuman genius who was determined to effect its overthrow. i have called special attention to the extent and pertinacity of napoleon's schemes for the foundation of a french colonial empire in india, egypt, south africa, and australia; and there can be no doubt that the events of the years 1803-13 determined, not only the destinies of europe and napoleon, but the general trend of the world's colonization.
-as it has been necessary to condense the story of napoleon's life in some parts, i have chosen to treat with special brevity the years 1809-11, which may be called the constans aetas of his career, in order to have more space for the decisive events that followed; but even in these less eventful years i have striven to show how his continental system was setting at work mighty economic forces that made for his overthrow, so that after the débâcle of 1812 it came to be a struggle of napoleon and france contra mundum.
-while not neglecting the personal details of the great man's life, i have dwelt mainly on his public career. apart from his brilliant conversations, his private life has few features of abiding interest, perhaps because he early tired of the shallowness of josephine and the corsican angularity of his brothers and sisters. but the cause also lay in his own disposition. he once said to m. gallois: "je n'aime pas beaucoup les femmes, ni le jeu--enfin rien: je suis tout à fait un être politique." in dealing with him as a warrior and statesman, and in sparing my readers details as to his bolting his food, sleeping at concerts, and indulging in amours where for him there was no glamour of romance, i am laying stress on what interested him most--in a word, i am taking him at his best.
-preface to the third edition
-it only remains to add that i much regret the omission of mr. oman's name from ii. 12-13 of page viii of the preface, an omission rendered all the more conspicuous by the appearance of the first volume of his "history of the peninsular war" in the spring of this year.
-note on the republican calendar
-i. parentage and early years
-ii. the french revolution and corsica
-vi. the fights for mantua
-vii. leoben to campo formio
-xi. marengo: lunéville
-xii. the new institutions of france
-xiii. the consulate for life
-xvi. napoleon's interventions
-xvii. the renewal of war
-xviii. europe and the bonapartes
-xix. the royalist plot
-xx. the dawn of the empire
-xxi. the boulogne flotilla
-appendix: reports hitherto unpublished on (a) the sale of louisiana; (b) the irish division in napoleon's service
-illustrations, maps, and plans
-map to illustrate the campaigns in north italy
-plan to illustrate the victory of arcola
-the neighbourhood of rivoli
-plan of the siege of acre, from a contemporary sketch
-the battle of marengo, to illustrate kellermann's charge
-appendix i: list of the chief appointments and dignities bestowed by napoleon
-appendix ii: the battle of waterloo
-maps and plans
-note on the republican calendar
-the republican calendar consisted of twelve months of thirty days each, each month being divided into three "decades" of ten days. five days (in leap years six) were added at the end of the year to bring it into coincidence with the solar year.
-the months are as follows:
-add five (in leap years six) "sansculottides" or "jours complémentaires."
-in 1796 (leap year) the numbers in the table of months, so far as concerns all dates between feb. 28 and sept. 22, will have to be reduced by one, owing to the intercalation of feb. 29, which is not compensated for until the end of the republican year.
-the matter is further complicated by the fact that the republicans reckoned an viii as a leap year, though it is not one in the gregorian calendar. hence that year ended on sept. 22, and an ix and succeeding years began on sept. 23. consequently in the above table of months the numbers of all days from vendémiaire 1, an ix (sept. 23, 1800), to nivôse 10, an xiv (dec. 31, 1805), inclusive, will have to be increased by one, except only in the next leap year between ventôse 9, an xii, and vendémiaire 1, an xiii (feb. 28-sept, 23, 1804), when the two revolutionary aberrations happen to neutralize each other.
-the life of napoleon i
-parentage and early years
-"i was born when my country was perishing. thirty thousand french vomited upon our coasts, drowning the throne of liberty in waves of blood, such was the sight which struck my eyes." this passionate utterance, penned by napoleon buonaparte at the beginning of the french revolution, describes the state of corsica in his natal year. the words are instinct with the vehemence of the youth and the extravagant sentiment of the age: they strike the keynote of his career. his life was one of strain and stress from his cradle to his grave.
-in his temperament as in the circumstances of his time the young buonaparte was destined for an extraordinary career. into a tottering civilization he burst with all the masterful force of an alaric. but he was an alaric of the south, uniting the untamed strength of his island kindred with the mental powers of his italian ancestry. in his personality there is a complex blending of force and grace, of animal passion and mental clearness, of northern common sense with the promptings of an oriental imagination; and this union in his nature of seeming opposites explains many of the mysteries of his life. fortunately for lovers of romance, genius cannot be wholly analyzed, even by the most adroit historical philosophizer or the most exacting champion of heredity. but in so far as the sources of napoleon's power can be measured, they may be traced to the unexampled needs of mankind in the revolutionary epoch and to his own exceptional endowments. evidently, then, the characteristics of his family claim some attention from all who would understand the man and the influence which he was to wield over modern europe.
-it has been the fortune of his house to be the subject of dispute from first to last. some writers have endeavoured to trace its descent back to the cæsars of rome, others to the byzantine emperors; one genealogical explorer has tracked the family to majorca, and, altering its name to bonpart, has discovered its progenitor in the man of the iron mask; while the duchesse d'abrantès, voyaging eastwards in quest of its ancestors, has confidently claimed for the family a greek origin. painstaking research has dispelled these romancings of historical trouveurs, and has connected this enigmatic stock with a florentine named "william, who in the year 1261 took the surname of bonaparte or buonaparte. the name seems to have been assumed when, amidst the unceasing strifes between guelfs and ghibellines that rent the civic life of florence, william's party, the ghibellines, for a brief space gained the ascendancy. but perpetuity was not to be found in florentine politics; and in a short time he was a fugitive at a tuscan village, sarzana, beyond the reach of the victorious guelfs. here the family seems to have lived for well nigh three centuries, maintaining its ghibelline and aristocratic principles with surprising tenacity. the age was not remarkable for the virtue of constancy, or any other virtue. politics and private life were alike demoralized by unceasing intrigues; and amidst strifes of pope and emperor, duchies and republics, cities and autocrats, there was formed that type of italian character which is delineated in the pages of macchiavelli. from the depths of debasement of that cynical age the buonapartes were saved by their poverty, and by the isolation of their life at sarzana. yet the embassies discharged at intervals by the more talented members of the family showed that the gifts for intrigue were only dormant; and they were certainly transmitted in their intensity to the greatest scion of the race.
-the vendetta was the chief law of corsican society up to comparatively recent times; and its effects are still visible in the life of the stern islanders. in his charming romance, "colomba," m. prosper mérimée has depicted the typical corsican, even of the towns, as preoccupied, gloomy, suspicious, ever on the alert, hovering about his dwelling, like a falcon over his nest, seemingly in preparation for attack or defence. laughter, the song, the dance, were rarely heard in the streets; for the women, after acting as the drudges of the household, were kept jealously at home, while their lords smoked and watched. if a game at hazard were ventured upon, it ran its course in silence, which not seldom was broken by the shot or the stab--first warning that there had been underhand play. the deed always preceded the word.
-amidst that grim corsican existence the buonapartes passed their lives during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. occupied as advocates and lawyers with such details of the law as were of any practical importance, they must have been involved in family feuds and the oft-recurring disputes between corsica and the suzerain power, genoa. as became dignitaries in the municipality of ajaccio, several of the buonapartes espoused the genoese side; and the genoese senate in a document of the year 1652 styled one of them, jérome, "egregius hieronimus di buonaparte, procurator nobilium." these distinctions they seem to have little coveted. very few families belonged to the corsican noblesse, and their fiefs were unimportant. in corsica, as in the forest cantons of switzerland and the highlands of scotland, class distinctions were by no means so coveted as in lands that had been thoroughly feudalized; and the buonapartes, content with their civic dignities at ajaccio and the attachment of their partisans on their country estates, seem rarely to have used the prefix which implied nobility. their life was not unlike that of many an old scottish laird, who, though possibly bourgeois in origin, yet by courtesy ranked as chieftain among his tenants, and was ennobled by the parlance of the countryside, perhaps all the more readily because he refused to wear the honours that came from over the border.
-a kindly providence veiled the future from the young couple. troubles fell swiftly upon them both in private and in public life. their first two children died in infancy. the third, joseph, was born in 1768, when the corsican patriots were making their last successful efforts against their new french oppressors: the fourth, the famous napoleon, saw the light on august 15th, 1769, when the liberties of corsica were being finally extinguished. nine other children were born before the outbreak of the french revolution reawakened civil strifes, amidst which the then fatherless family was tossed to and fro and finally whirled away to france.
-seeing that charles buonaparte had been an ardent adherent of paoli, his sudden change of front has exposed him to keen censure. he certainly had not the grit of which heroes are made. his seems to have been an ill-balanced nature, soon buoyed up by enthusiasms, and as speedily depressed by their evaporation; endowed with enough of learning and culture to be a voltairean and write second-rate verses; and with a talent for intrigue which sufficed to embarrass his never very affluent fortunes. napoleon certainly derived no world-compelling qualities from his father: for these he was indebted to the wilder strain which ran in his mother's blood. the father doubtless saw in the french connection a chance of worldly advancement and of liberation from pecuniary difficulties; for the new rulers now sought to gain over the patrician families of the island. many of them had resented the dictatorship of paoli; and they now gladly accepted the connection with france, which promised to enrich their country and to open up a brilliant career in the french army, where commissions were limited to the scions of nobility.
-much may be said in excuse of charles buonaparte's decision, and no one can deny that corsica has ultimately gained much by her connection with france. but his change of front was open to the charge that it was prompted by self-interest rather than by philosophic foresight. at any rate, his second son throughout his boyhood nursed a deep resentment against his father for his desertion of the patriots' cause. the youth's sympathies were with the peasants, whose allegiance was not to be bought by baubles, whose constancy and bravery long held out against the french in a hopeless guerilla warfare. his hot corsican blood boiled at the stories of oppression and insult which he heard from his humbler compatriots. when, at eleven years of age, he saw in the military college at brienne the portrait of choiseul, the french minister who had urged on the conquest of corsica, his passion burst forth in a torrent of imprecations against the traitor; and, even after the death of his father in 1785, he exclaimed that he could never forgive him for not following paoli into exile.
-what trifles seem, at times, to alter the current of human affairs! had his father acted thus, the young napoleon would in all probability have entered the military or naval service of great britain; he might have shared paoli's enthusiasm for the land of his adoption, and have followed the corsican hero in his enterprises against the french revolution, thenceforth figuring in history merely as a greater marlborough, crushing the military efforts of democratic france, and luring england into a career of continental conquest. monarchy and aristocracy would have gone unchallenged, except within the "natural limits" of france; and the other nations, never shaken to their inmost depths, would have dragged on their old inert fragmentary existence.
-the decision of charles buonaparte altered the destiny of europe. he determined that his eldest boy, joseph, should enter the church, and that napoleon should be a soldier. his perception of the characters of his boys was correct. an anecdote, for which the elder brother is responsible, throws a flood of light on their temperaments. the master of their school arranged a mimic combat for his pupils--romans against carthaginians. joseph, as the elder was ranged under the banner of rome, while napoleon was told off among the carthaginians; but, piqued at being chosen for the losing side, the child fretted, begged, and stormed until the less bellicose joseph agreed to change places with his exacting junior. the incident is prophetic of much in the later history of the family.
-napoleon's determination had been noticed by his teachers. they had failed to bend his will, at least on important points. in lesser details his italian adroitness seems to have been of service; for the officer who inspected the school reported of him: "constitution, health excellent: character submissive, sweet, honest, grateful: conduct very regular: has always distinguished himself by his application to mathematics: knows history and geography passably: very weak in accomplishments. he will be an excellent seaman: is worthy to enter the school at paris." to the military school at paris he was accordingly sent in due course, entering there in october, 1784. the change from the semi-monastic life at brienne to the splendid edifice which fronts the champ de mars had less effect than might have been expected in a youth of fifteen years. not yet did he become french in sympathy. his love of corsica and hatred of the french monarchy steeled him against the luxuries of his new surroundings. perhaps it was an added sting that he was educated at the expense of the monarchy which had conquered his kith and kin. he nevertheless applied himself with energy to his favourite studies, especially mathematics. defective in languages he still was, and ever remained; for his critical acumen in literature ever fastened on the matter rather than on style. to the end of his days he could never write italian, much less french, with accuracy; and his tutor at paris not inaptly described his boyish composition as resembling molten granite. the same qualities of directness and impetuosity were also fatal to his efforts at mastering the movements of the dance. in spite of lessons at paris and private lessons which he afterwards took at valence, he was never a dancer: his bent was obviously for the exact sciences rather than the arts, for the geometrical rather than the rhythmical: he thought, as he moved, in straight lines, never in curves.
-this spring-time of his life is of interest and importance in many ways: it reveals many amiable qualities, which had hitherto been blighted by the real or fancied scorn of the wealthy cadets. at valence, while shrinking from his brother officers, he sought society more congenial to his simple tastes and restrained demeanour. in a few of the best bourgeois families of valence he found happiness. there, too, blossomed the tenderest, purest idyll of his life. at the country house of a cultured lady who had befriended him in his solitude, he saw his first love, caroline de colombier. it was a passing fancy; but to her all the passion of his southern nature welled forth. she seems to have returned his love; for in the stormy sunset of his life at st. helena he recalled some delicious walks at dawn when caroline and he had--eaten cherries together. one lingers fondly over these scenes of his otherwise stern career, for they reveal his capacity for social joys and for deep and tender affection, had his lot been otherwise cast. how different might have been his life, had france never conquered corsica, and had the revolution never burst forth! but corsica was still his dominant passion. when he was called away from valence to repress a riot at lyons, his feelings, distracted for a time by caroline, swerved back towards his island home; and in september, 1786, he had the joy of revisiting the scenes of his childhood. warmly though he greeted his mother, brothers and sisters, after an absence of nearly eight years, his chief delight was in the rocky shores, the verdant dales and mountain heights of corsica. the odour of the forests, the setting of the sun in the sea "as in the bosom of the infinite," the quiet proud independence of the mountaineers themselves, all enchanted him. his delight reveals almost wertherian powers of "sensibility." even the family troubles could not damp his ardour. his father had embarked on questionable speculations, which now threatened the buonapartes with bankruptcy, unless the french government proved to be complacent and generous. with the hope of pressing one of the family claims on the royal exchequer, the second son procured an extension of furlough and sped to paris. there at the close of 1787 he spent several weeks, hopefully endeavouring to extract money from the bankrupt government. it was a season of disillusionment in more senses than one; for there he saw for himself the seamy side of parisian life, and drifted for a brief space about the giddy vortex of the palais royal. what a contrast to the limpid life of corsica was that turbid frothy existence--already swirling towards its mighty plunge!
-after a furlough of twenty-one months he rejoined his regiment, now at auxonne. there his health suffered considerably, not only from the miasma of the marshes of the river saône, but also from family anxieties and arduous literary toils. to these last it is now needful to refer. indeed, the external events of his early life are of value only as they reveal the many-sidedness of his nature and the growth of his mental powers.
-there was every reason why he should early be attracted by this fantastic thinker. in that notable work, "le contrat social" (1762), rousseau called attention to the antique energy shown by the corsicans in defence of their liberties, and in a startlingly prophetic phrase he exclaimed that the little island would one day astonish europe. the source of this predilection of rousseau for corsica is patent. born and reared at geneva, he felt a switzer's love for a people which was< "neither rich nor poor but self-sufficing "; and in the simple life and fierce love of liberty of the hardy islanders he saw traces of that social contract which he postulated as the basis of society. according to him, the beginnings of all social and political institutions are to be found in some agreement or contract between men. thus arise the clan, the tribe, the nation. the nation may delegate many of its powers to a ruler; but if he abuse such powers, the contract between him and his people is at an end, and they may return to the primitive state, which is founded on an agreement of equals with equals. herein lay the attractiveness of rousseau for all who were discontented with their surroundings. he seemed infallibly to demonstrate the absurdity of tyranny and the need of returning to the primitive bliss of the social contract. it mattered not that the said contract was utterly unhistorical and that his argument teemed with fallacies. he inspired a whole generation with detestation of the present and with longings for the golden age. poets had sung of it, but rousseau seemed to bring it within the grasp of long-suffering mortals.
-the first extant manuscript of napoleon, written at valence in april, 1786, shows that he sought in rousseau's armoury the logical weapons for demonstrating the "right" of the corsicans to rebel against the french. the young hero-worshipper begins by noting that it is the birthday of paoli. he plunges into a panegyric on the corsican patriots, when he is arrested by the thought that many censure them for rebelling at all. "the divine laws forbid revolt. but what have divine laws to do with a purely human affair? just think of the absurdity--divine laws universally forbidding the casting off of a usurping yoke! ... as for human laws, there cannot be any after the prince violates them." he then postulates two origins for government as alone possible. either the people has established laws and submitted itself to the prince, or the prince has established laws. in the first case, the prince is engaged by the very nature of his office to execute the covenants. in the second case, the laws tend, or do not tend, to the welfare of the people, which is the aim of all government: if they do not, the contract with the prince dissolves of itself, for the people then enters again into its primitive state. having thus proved the sovereignty of the people, buonaparte uses his doctrine to justify corsican revolt against france, and thus concludes his curious medley: "the corsicans, following all the laws of justice, have been able to shake off the yoke of the genoese, and may do the same with that of the french. amen."
-five days later he again gives the reins to his melancholy. "always alone, though in the midst of men," he faces the thought of suicide. with an innate power of summarizing and balancing thoughts and sensations, he draws up arguments for and against this act. he is in the dawn of his days and in four months' time he will see "la patrie," which he has not seen since childhood. what joy! and yet--how men have fallen away from nature: how cringing are his compatriots to their conquerors: they are no longer the enemies of tyrants, of luxury, of vile courtiers: the french have corrupted their morals, and when "la patrie" no longer survives, a good patriot ought to die. life among the french is odious: their modes of life differ from his as much as the light of the moon differs from that of the sun.--a strange effusion this for a youth of seventeen living amidst the full glories of the spring in dauphiné. it was only a few weeks before the ripening of cherries. did that cherry-idyll with mdlle. de colombier lure him back to life? or did the hope of striking a blow for corsica stay his suicidal hand? probably the latter; for we find him shortly afterwards tilting against a protestant minister of geneva who had ventured to criticise one of the dogmas of rousseau's evangel.
-the genevan philosopher had asserted that christianity, by enthroning in the hearts of christians the idea of a kingdom not of this world, broke the unity of civil society, because it detached the hearts of its converts from the state, as from all earthly things. to this the genevan minister had successfully replied by quoting christian teachings on the subject at issue. but buonaparte fiercely accuses the pastor of neither having understood, nor even read, "le contrat social": he hurls at his opponent texts of scripture which enjoin obedience to the laws: he accuses christianity of rendering men slaves to an anti-social tyranny, because its priests set up an authority in opposition to civil laws; and as for protestantism, it propagated discords between its followers, and thereby violated civic unity. christianity, he argues, is a foe to civil government, for it aims at making men happy in this life by inspiring them with hope of a future life; while the aim of civil government is "to lend assistance to the feeble against the strong, and by this means to allow everyone to enjoy a sweet tranquillity, the road of happiness." he therefore concludes that christianity and civil government are diametrically opposed.
-his reading of rousseau having equipped him for the study of human society and government, he now, during his first sojourn at auxonne (june, 1788--september, 1789), proceeds to ransack the records of the ancient and modern world. despite ill-health, family troubles, and the outbreak of the french revolution, he grapples with this portentous task. the history, geography, religion, and social customs of the ancient persians, scythians, thracians, athenians, spartans, egyptians, and carthaginians--all furnished materials for his encyclopædic note-books. nothing came amiss to his summarizing genius. here it was that he gained that knowledge of the past which was to astonish his contemporaries. side by side with suggestions on regimental discipline and improvements in artillery, we find notes on the opening episodes of plato's "republic," and a systematic summary of english history from the earliest times down to the revolution of 1688. this last event inspired him with special interest, because the whigs and their philosophic champion, locke, maintained that james ii. had violated the original contract between prince and people. everywhere in his notes napoleon emphasizes the incidents which led to conflicts between dynasties or between rival principles. in fact, through all these voracious studies there appear signs of his determination to write a history of corsica; and, while inspiriting his kinsmen by recalling the glorious past, he sought to weaken the french monarchy by inditing a "dissertation sur l'autorité royale." his first sketch of this work runs as follows:
-"23 october, 1788. auxonne.
-"this work will begin with general ideas as to the origin and the enhanced prestige of the name of king. military rule is favourable to it: this work will afterwards enter into the details of the usurped authority enjoyed by the kings of the twelve kingdoms of europe.
-this curt pronouncement is all that remains of the projected work. it sufficiently indicates, however, the aim of napoleon's studies. one and all they were designed to equip him for the great task of re-awakening the spirit of the corsicans and of sapping the base of the french monarchy.
-but these reams of manuscript notes and crude literary efforts have an even wider source of interest. they show how narrow was his outlook on life. it all turned on the regeneration of corsica by methods which he himself prescribed. we are therefore able to understand why, when his own methods of salvation for corsica were rejected, he tore himself away and threw his undivided energies into the revolution.
-yet the records of his early life show that in his character there was a strain of true sentiment and affection. in him nature carved out a character of rock-like firmness, but she adorned it with flowers of human sympathy and tendrils of family love. at his first parting from his brother joseph at autun, when the elder brother was weeping passionately, the little napoleon dropped a tear: but that, said the tutor, meant as much as the flood of tears from joseph. love of his relatives was a potent factor of his policy in later life; and slander has never been able wholly to blacken the character of a man who loved and honoured his mother, who asserted that her advice had often been of the highest service to him, and that her justice and firmness of spirit marked her out as a natural ruler of men. but when these admissions are freely granted, it still remains true that his character was naturally hard; that his sense of personal superiority made him, even as a child, exacting and domineering; and the sequel was to show that even the strongest passion of his youth, his determination to free corsica from france, could be abjured if occasion demanded, all the force of his nature being thenceforth concentrated on vaster adventures.
-the french revolution and corsica
-the first questions that confront us are obviously these. were the lofty aims and aspirations of the revolution attainable? and, if so, did the men of 1789 follow them by practical methods? to the former of these questions the present chapter will, in part at least, serve as an answer. on the latter part of the problem the events described in later chapters will throw some light: in them we shall see that the great popular upheaval let loose mighty forces that bore buonaparte on to fortune.
-here we may notice that the revolution was not a simple and therefore solid movement. it was complex and contained the seeds of discord which lurk in many-sided and militant creeds. the theories of its intellectual champions were as diverse as the motives which spurred on their followers to the attack on the outworn abuses of the age.
-discontent and faith were the ultimate motive powers of the revolution. faith prepared the revolution and discontent accomplished it. idealists who, in varied planes of thought, preached the doctrine of human perfectibility, succeeded in slowly permeating the dull toiling masses of france with hope. omitting here any notice of philosophic speculation as such, we may briefly notice the teachings of three writers whose influence on revolutionary politics was to be definite and practical. these were montesquieu, voltaire, and rousseau. the first was by no means a revolutionist, for he decided in favour of a mixed form of government, like that of england, which guaranteed the state against the dangers of autocracy, oligarchy, and mob-rule. only by a ricochet did he assail the french monarchy. but he re-awakened critical inquiry; and any inquiry was certain to sap the base of the ancien régime in france. montesquieu's teaching inspired the group of moderate reformers who in 1789 desired to re-fashion the institutions of france on the model of those of england. but popular sentiment speedily swept past these anglophils towards the more attractive aims set forth by voltaire.
-this keen thinker subjected the privileged classes, especially the titled clergy, to a searching fire of philosophic bombs and barbed witticisms. never was there a more dazzling succession of literary triumphs over a tottering system. the satirized classes winced and laughed, and the intellect of france was conquered, for the revolution. thenceforth it was impossible that peasants who were nominally free should toil to satisfy the exacting needs of the state, and to support the brilliant bevy of nobles who flitted gaily round the monarch at versailles. the young king louis xvi., it is true, carried through several reforms, but he had not enough strength of will to abolish the absurd immunities from taxation which freed the nobles and titled clergy from the burdens of the state. thus, down to 1789, the middle classes and peasants bore nearly all the weight of taxation, while the peasants were also encumbered by feudal dues and tolls. these were the crying grievances which united in a solid phalanx both thinkers and practical men, and thereby gave an immense impetus to the levelling doctrines of rousseau.
-two only of his political teachings concern us here, namely, social equality and the unquestioned supremacy of the state; for to these dogmas, when they seemed doomed to political bankruptcy, napoleon buonaparte was to act as residuary legatee. according to rousseau, society and government originated in a social contract, whereby all members of the community have equal rights. it matters not that the spirit of the contract may have evaporated amidst the miasma of luxury. that is a violation of civil society; and members are justified in reverting at once to the primitive ideal. if the existence of the body politic be endangered, force may be used: "whoever refuses to obey the general will shall be constrained to do so by the whole body; which means nothing else than that he shall be forced to be free." equally plausible and dangerous was his teaching as to the indivisibility of the general will. deriving every public power from his social contract, he finds it easy to prove that the sovereign power, vested in all the citizens, must be incorruptible, inalienable, unrepresentable, indivisible, and indestructible. englishmen may now find it difficult to understand the enthusiasm called forth by this quintessence of negations; but to frenchman recently escaped from the age of privilege and warring against the coalition of kings, the cry of the republic one and indivisible was a trumpet call to death or victory. any shifts, even that of a dictatorship, were to be borne, provided that social equality could be saved. as republican rome had saved her early liberties by intrusting unlimited powers to a temporary dictator, so, claimed rousseau, a young commonwealth must by a similar device consult nature's first law of self-preservation. the dictator saves liberty by temporarily abrogating it: by momentary gagging of the legislative power he renders it truly vocal.
-the events of the french revolution form a tragic commentary on these theories. in the first stage of that great movement we see the followers of montesquieu, voltaire, and rousseau marching in an undivided host against the ramparts of privilege. the walls of the bastille fall down even at the blast of their trumpets. odious feudal privileges disappear in a single sitting of the national assembly; and the parlements, or supreme law courts of the provinces, are swept away. the old provinces themselves are abolished, and at the beginning of 1790 france gains social and political unity by her new system of departments, which grants full freedom of action in local affairs, though in all national concerns it binds france closely to the new popular government at paris. but discords soon begin to divide the reformers: hatred of clerical privilege and the desire to fill the empty coffers of the state dictate the first acts of spoliation. tithes are abolished: the lands of the church are confiscated to the service of the state; monastic orders are suppressed; and the government undertakes to pay the stipends of bishops and priests. furthermore, their subjection to the state is definitely secured by the civil constitution of the clergy (july, 1790) which invalidates their allegiance to the pope. most of the clergy refuse: these are termed non-jurors or orthodox priests, while their more complaisant colleagues are known as constitutional priests. hence arises a serious schism in the church, which distracts the religious life of the land, and separates the friends of liberty from the champions of the rigorous equality preached by rousseau.
-the new constitution of 1791 was also a source of discord. in its jealousy of the royal authority, the national assembly seized very many of the executive functions of government. the results were disastrous. laws remained without force, taxes went uncollected, the army was distracted by mutinies, and the monarchy sank slowly into the gulf of bankruptcy and anarchy. thus, in the course of three years, the revolutionists goaded the clergy to desperation, they were about to overthrow the monarchy, every month was proving their local self-government to be unworkable, and they themselves split into factions that plunged france into war and drenched her soil by organized massacres.
-we know very little about the impression made on the young buonaparte by the first events of the revolution. his note-book seems even to show that he regarded them as an inconvenient interference with his plans for corsica. but gradually the revolution excites his interest. in september, 1789, we find him on furlough in corsica sharing the hopes of the islanders that their representatives in the french national assembly will obtain the boon of independence. he exhorts his compatriots to favour the democratic cause, which promises a speedy deliverance from official abuses. he urges them to don the new tricolour cockade, symbol of parisian triumph over the old monarchy; to form a club; above all, to organize a national guard. the young officer knew that military power was passing from the royal army, now honeycombed with discontent, to the national guard. here surely was corsica's means of salvation. but the french governor of corsica intervenes. the club is closed, and the national guard is dispersed. thereupon buonaparte launches a vigorous protest against the tyranny of the governor and appeals to the national assembly of france for some guarantee of civil liberty. his name is at the head of this petition, a sufficiently daring step for a junior lieutenant on furlough. but his patriotism and audacity carry him still further. he journeys to bastia, the official capital of his island, and is concerned in an affray between the populace and the royal troops (november 5th, 1789). the french authorities, fortunately for him, are nearly powerless: he is merely requested to return to ajaccio; and there he organizes anew the civic force, and sets the dissident islanders an example of good discipline by mounting guard outside the house of a personal opponent.
-then again, the concession of local self-government to the island, as one of the departments of france, revealed unexpected difficulties. bastia and ajaccio struggled hard for the honour of being the official capital. paoli favoured the claims of bastia, thereby annoying the champions of ajaccio, among whom the buonapartes were prominent. the schism was widened by the dictatorial tone of paoli, a demeanour which ill became the chief of a civic force. in fact, it soon became apparent that corsica was too small a sphere for natures so able and masterful as those of paoli and napoleon buonaparte.
-after firing off this tirade buonaparte returned to his regiment at auxonne (february, 1791). it was high time; for his furlough, though prolonged on the plea of ill-health, had expired in the preceding october, and he was therefore liable to six months' imprisonment. but the young officer rightly gauged the weakness of the moribund monarchy; and the officers of his almost mutinous regiment were glad to get him back on any terms. everywhere in his journey through provence and dauphiné, buonaparte saw the triumph of revolutionary principles. he notes that the peasants are to a man for the revolution; so are the rank and file of the regiment. the officers are aristocrats, along with three-fourths of those who belong to "good society": so are all the women, for "liberty is fairer than they, and eclipses them." the revolution was evidently gaining completer hold over his mind and was somewhat blurring his insular sentiments, when a rebuff from paoli further weakened his ties to corsica. buonaparte had dedicated to him his work on corsica, and had sent him the manuscript for his approval. after keeping it an unconscionable time, the old man now coldly replied that he did not desire the honour of buonaparte's panegyric, though he thanked him heartily for it; that the consciousness of having done his duty sufficed for him in his old age; and, for the rest, history should not be written in youth. a further request from joseph buonaparte for the return of the slighted manuscript brought the answer that he, paoli, had no time to search his papers. after this, how could hero-worship subsist?
-buonaparte's position now seemed desperate. his conduct exposed him to the hatred of most of his fellow-citizens and to the rebukes of the french war department. in fact, he had doubly sinned: he had actually exceeded his furlough by four months: he was technically guilty, first of desertion, and secondly of treason. in ordinary times he would have been shot, but the times were extraordinary, and he rightly judged that when a continental war was brewing, the most daring course was also the most prudent, namely, to go to paris. thither paoli allowed him to proceed, doubtless on the principle of giving the young madcap a rope wherewith to hang himself.
-on his arrival at marseilles, he hears that war has been declared by france against austria; for the republican ministry, which louis xvi. had recently been compelled to accept, believed that war against an absolute monarch would intensify revolutionary fervour in france and hasten the advent of the republic. their surmises were correct. buonaparte, on his arrival at paris, witnessed the closing scenes of the reign of louis xvi. on june 20th he saw the crowd burst into the tuileries, when for some hours it insulted the king and queen. warmly though he had espoused the principles of the revolution, his patrician blood boiled at the sight of these vulgar outrages, and he exclaimed: "why don't they sweep off four or five hundred of that canaille with cannon? the rest would then run away fast enough." the remark is significant. if his brain approved the jacobin creed, his instincts were always with monarchy. his career was to reconcile his reason with his instincts, and to impose on weary france the curious compromise of a revolutionary imperialism.
-on august 10th, from the window of a shop near the tuileries, he looked down on the strange events which dealt the coup de grâce to the dying monarchy. again the chieftain within him sided against the vulture rabble and with the well-meaning monarch who kept his troops to a tame defensive. "if louis xvi." (so wrote buonaparte to his brother joseph) "had mounted his horse, the victory would have been his--so i judge from the spirit which prevailed in the morning." when all was over, when louis sheathed his sword and went for shelter to the national assembly, when the fierce marseillais were slaughtering the swiss guards and bodyguards of the king, buonaparte dashed forward to save one of these unfortunates from a southern sabre. "southern comrade, let us save this poor wretch.--are you of the south?--yes.--well, we will save him."
-altogether, what a time of disillusionment this was to the young officer. what depths of cruelty and obscenity it revealed in the parisian rabble. what folly to treat them with the christian forbearance shown by louis xvi. how much more suitable was grapeshot than the beatitudes. the lesson was stored up for future use at a somewhat similar crisis on this very spot.
-for the present, however, a family duty urges him to return to corsica. he obtains permission to escort home his sister elise, and for the third time we find him on furlough in corsica. this laxity of military discipline at such a crisis is explicable only on the supposition that the revolutionary chiefs knew of his devotion to their cause and believed that his influence in the island would render his informal services there more valuable than his regimental duties in the army then invading savoy. for the word republic, which fired his imagination, was an offence to paoli and to most of the islanders; and the phrase "republic one and indivisible," ever on the lips of the french, seemed to promise that the island must become a petty replica of france--france that was now dominated by the authors of the vile september massacres. the french party in the island was therefore rapidly declining, and paoli was preparing to sever the union with france. for this he has been bitterly assailed as a traitor. but, from paoli's point of view, the acquisition of the island by france was a piece of rank treachery; and his allegiance to france was technically at an end when the king was forcibly dethroned and the republic was proclaimed. the use of the appellation "traitor" in such a case is merely a piece of childish abuse. it can be justified neither by reference to law, equity, nor to the popular sentiment of the time. facts were soon to show that the islanders were bitterly opposed to the party then dominant in france. this hostility of a clannish, religious, and conservative populace against the bloodthirsty and atheistical innovators who then lorded it over france was not diminished by the action of some six thousand french volunteers, the off-scourings of the southern ports, who were landed at ajaccio for an expedition against sardinia. in their zeal for liberty, equality, and fraternity, these bonnets rouges came to blows with the men of ajaccio, three of whom they hanged. so fierce was the resentment caused by this outrage that the plan of a joint expedition for the liberation of sardinia from monarchical tyranny had to be modified; and buonaparte, who was again in command of a battalion of corsican guards, proposed that the islanders alone should proceed to attack the madalena isles.
-these islands, situated between corsica and sardinia, have a double interest to the historical student. one of them, caprera, was destined to shelter another italian hero at the close of his career, the noble self-denying garibaldi: the chief island of the group was the objective of buonaparte's first essay in regular warfare. after some delays the little force set sail under the command of cesari-colonna, the nephew of paoli. according to buonaparte's own official statement at the close of the affair, he had successfully landed his men near the town to be assailed, and had thrown the sardinian defences into confusion, when a treacherous order from his chief bade him to cease firing and return to the vessels. it has also been stated that this retreat was the outcome of a secret understanding between paoli and cesari-colonna that the expedition should miscarry. this seems highly probable. a mutiny on board the chief ship of the flotilla was assigned by cesari-colonna as the cause of his order for a retreat; but there are mutinies and mutinies, and this one may have been a trick of the paolists for thwarting buonaparte's plan and leaving him a prisoner. in any case, the young officer only saved himself and his men by a hasty retreat to the boats, tumbling into the sea a mortar and four cannon. such was the ending to the great captain's first military enterprise.
-salicetti and buonaparte now plan by various artifices to gain the citadel of ajaccio from the paolists, but guile is three times foiled by guile equally astute. failing here, the young captain seeks to communicate with the french commissioners at bastia. he sets out secretly, with a trusty shepherd as companion, to cross the island: but at the village of bocognano he is recognized and imprisoned by the partisans of paoli. some of the villagers, however, retain their old affection to the buonaparte family, which here has an ancestral estate, and secretly set him free. he returns to ajaccio, only to find an order for his arrest issued by the corsican patriots. this time he escapes by timely concealment in the grotto of a friend's garden; and from the grounds of another family connection he finally glides away in a vessel to a point of safety, whence he reaches bastia.
-still, though a fugitive, he persists in believing that ajaccio is french at heart, and urges the sending of a liberating force. the french commissioners agree, and the expedition sails--only to meet with utter failure. ajaccio, as one man, repels the partisans of france; and, a gale of wind springing up, buonaparte and his men regain their boats with the utmost difficulty. at a place hard by, he finds his mother, uncle, brothers and sisters. madame buonaparte, with the extraordinary tenacity of will that characterized her famous son, had wished to defend her house at ajaccio against the hostile populace; but, yielding to the urgent warnings of friends, finally fled to the nearest place of safety, and left the house to the fury of the populace, by whom it was nearly wrecked.
-for a brief space buonaparte clung to the hope of regaining corsica for the republic, but now only by the aid of french troops. for the islanders, stung by the demand of the french convention that paoli should go to paris, had rallied to the dictator's side; and the aged chief made overtures to england for alliance. the partisans of france, now menaced by england's naval power, were in an utterly untenable position. even the steel-like will of buonaparte was bent. his career in corsica was at an end for the present; and with his kith and kin he set sail for france.
-the interest of the events above described lies, not in their intrinsic importance, but in the signal proof which they afford of buonaparte's wondrous endowments of mind and will. in a losing cause and in a petty sphere he displays all the qualities which, when the omens were favourable, impelled him to the domination of a continent. he fights every inch of ground tenaciously; at each emergency he evinces a truly italian fertility of resource, gliding round obstacles or striving to shatter them by sheer audacity, seeing through men, cajoling them by his insinuations or overawing them by his mental superiority, ever determined to try the fickle jade fortune to the very utmost, and retreating only before the inevitable. the sole weakness discoverable in this nature, otherwise compact of strength, is an excess of will-power over all the faculties that make for prudence. his vivid imagination only serves to fire him with the full assurance that he must prevail over all obstacles.
-and yet, if he had now stopped to weigh well the lessons of the past, hitherto fertile only in failures and contradictions, he must have seen the powerlessness of his own will when in conflict with the forces of the age; for he had now severed his connection with the corsican patriots, of whose cause he had only two years before been the most passionate champion. it is evident that the schism which finally separated buonaparte and paoli originated in their divergence of views regarding the french revolution. paoli accepted revolutionary principles only in so far as they promised to base freedom on a due balance of class interests. he was a follower of montesquieu. he longed to see in corsica a constitution similar to that of england or to that of 1791 in france. that hope vanished alike for france and corsica after the fall of the monarchy; and towards the jacobinical republic, which banished orthodox priests and guillotined the amiable louis, paoli thenceforth felt naught but loathing: "we have been the enemies of kings," he said to joseph buonaparte; "let us never be their executioners." thenceforth he drifted inevitably into alliance with england.
-buonaparte, on the other hand, was a follower of rousseau, whose ideas leaped to power at the downfall of the monarchy. despite the excesses which he ever deplored, this second revolution appeared to him to be the dawn of a new and intelligent age. the clear-cut definitions of the new political creed dovetailed in with his own rigid views of life. mankind was to be saved by law, society being levelled down and levelled up until the ideals of lycurgus were attained. consequently he regarded the republic as a mighty agency for the social regeneration not only of france, but of all peoples. his insular sentiments were gradually merged in these vaster schemes. self-interest and the differentiating effects of party strifes undoubtedly assisted the mental transformation; but it is clear that the study of the "social contract" was the touchstone of his early intellectual growth. he had gone to rousseau's work to deepen his corsican patriotism: he there imbibed doctrines which drew him irresistibly into the vortex of the french revolution, and of its wars of propaganda and conquest.
-when buonaparte left corsica for the coast of provence, his career had been remarkable only for the strange contrast between the brilliance of his gifts and the utter failure of all his enterprises. his french partisanship had, as it seemed, been the ruin of his own and his family's fortunes. at the age of twenty-four he was known only as the unlucky leader of forlorn hopes and an outcast from the island around which his fondest longings had been entwined. his land-fall on the french coast seemed no more promising; for at that time provence was on the verge of revolt against the revolutionary government. even towns like marseilles and toulon, which a year earlier had been noted for their republican fervour, were now disgusted with the course of events at paris. in the third climax of revolutionary fury, that of june 2nd, 1793, the more enlightened of the two republican factions, the girondins, had been overthrown by their opponents, the men of the mountain, who, aided by the parisian rabble, seized on power. most of the departments of france resented this violence and took up arms. but the men of the mountain acted with extraordinary energy: they proclaimed the girondins to be in league with the invaders, and blasted their opponents with the charge of conspiring to divide france into federal republics. the committee of public safety, now installed in power at paris, decreed a levée en masse of able-bodied patriots to defend the sacred soil of the republic, and the "organizer of victory," carnot, soon drilled into a terrible efficiency the hosts that sprang from the soil. on their side the girondins had no organization whatever, and were embarrassed by the adhesion of very many royalists. consequently their wavering groups speedily gave way before the impact of the new, solid, central power.
-a movement so wanting in definiteness as that of the girondins was destined to slide into absolute opposition to the men of the mountain: it was doomed to become royalist. certainly it did not command the adhesion of napoleon. his inclinations are seen in his pamphlet, "le souper de beaucaire," which he published in august, 1793. he wrote it in the intervals of some regimental work which had come to hand: and his passage through the little town of beaucaire seems to have suggested the scenic setting of this little dialogue. it purports to record a discussion between an officer--buonaparte himself--two merchants of marseilles, and citizens of nîmes and montpellier. it urges the need of united action under the lead of the jacobins. the officer reminds the marseillais of the great services which their city has rendered to the cause of liberty. let marseilles never disgrace herself by calling in the spanish fleet as a protection against frenchmen. let her remember that this civil strife was part of a fight to the death between french patriots and the despots of europe. that was, indeed, the practical point at issue; the stern logic of facts ranged on the jacobin side all clear-sighted men who were determined that the revolution should not be stamped out by the foreign invaders. on the ground of mere expediency, men must rally to the cause of the jacobinical republic. every crime might be condoned, provided that the men now in power at paris saved the country. better their tyranny than the vengeance of the emigrant noblesse. such was the instinct of most frenchmen, and it saved france.
-nevertheless buonaparte was alive to the miseries of the situation. he was weary of civil strifes, in which it seemed that no glory could be won. he must hew his way to fortune, if only in order to support his family, which was now drifting about from village to village of provence and subsisting on the slender sums doled out by the republic to corsican exiles.
-he therefore applied, though without success, for a regimental exchange to the army of the rhine. but while toiling through his administrative drudgery in provence, his duties brought him near to toulon, where the republic was face to face with triumphant royalism. the hour had struck: the man now appeared.
-in july, 1793, toulon joined other towns of the south in declaring against jacobin tyranny; and the royalists of the town, despairing of making headway against the troops of the convention, admitted english and spanish squadrons to the harbour to hold the town for louis xvii, (august 28th). this event shot an electric thrill through france. it was the climax of a long series of disasters. lyons had hoisted the white flag of the bourbons, and was making a desperate defence against the forces of the convention: the royalist peasants of la vendée had several times scattered the national guards in utter rout: the spaniards were crossing the eastern pyrenees: the piedmontese were before the gates of grenoble; and in the north and on the rhine a doubtful contest was raging.
-such was the condition of france when buonaparte drew near to the republican forces encamped near ollioules, to the north-west of toulon. he found them in disorder: their commander, carteaux, had left the easel to learn the art of war, and was ignorant of the range of his few cannon; dommartin, their artillery commander, had been disabled by a wound; and the commissioners of the convention, who were charged to put new vigour into the operations, were at their wits' end for lack of men and munitions. one of them was salicetti, who hailed his coming as a godsend, and urged him to take dommartin's place. thus, on september 16th, the thin, sallow, threadbare figure took command of the artillery.
-by this time the tide was beginning to turn in favour of the republic. on october 9th lyons fell before the jacobins. the news lends a new zest to the jacobins, whose left wing had (october 1st) been severely handled by the allies on mount faron. above all, buonaparte's artillery can be still further strengthened. "i have despatched," he wrote to the minister of war, "an intelligent officer to lyons, briançon, and grenoble, to procure what might be useful to us. i have requested the army of italy to furnish us with the cannon now useless for the defence of antibes and monaco.... i have established at ollioules an arsenal with 80 workers. i have requisitioned horses from nice right to valence and montpellier.... i am having 5,000 gabions made every day at marseilles." but he was more than a mere organizer. he was ever with his men, animating them by his own ardour: "i always found him at his post," wrote doppet, who now succeeded carteaux; "when he needed rest he lay on the ground wrapped in his cloak: he never left the batteries." there, amidst the autumn rains, he contracted the febrile symptoms which for several years deepened the pallor of his cheeks and furrowed the rings under his eyes, giving him that uncanny, almost spectral, look which struck a chill to all who saw him first and knew not the fiery energy that burnt within. there, too, his zeal, his unfailing resource, his bulldog bravery, and that indefinable quality which separates genius from talent speedily conquered the hearts of the french soldiery. one example of this magnetic power must here suffice. he had ordered a battery to be made so near to fort mulgrave that salicetti described it as within a pistol-shot of the english guns. could it be worked, its effect would be decisive. but who could work it? the first day saw all its gunners killed or wounded, and even the reckless jacobins flinched from facing the iron hail. "call it the battery of the fearless," ordered the young captain. the generous french nature was touched at its tenderest point, personal and national honour, and the battery thereafter never lacked its full complement of gunners, living and dead.
-the position at fort mulgrave, or the little gibraltar, was, indeed, all important; for if the republicans seized that commanding position, the allied squadrons could be overpowered, or at least compelled to sail away; and with their departure toulon must fall.
-carteaux having been superseded by doppet, more energy was thrown into the operations. yet for him buonaparte had scarcely more respect. on november 15th an affair of outposts near fort mulgrave showed his weakness. the soldiers on both sides eagerly took up the affray; line after line of the french rushed up towards that frowning redoubt: o'hara, the leader of the allied troops, encouraged the british in a sortie that drove back the blue-coats; whereupon buonaparte headed the rallying rush to the gorge of the redoubt, when doppet sounded the retreat. half blinded by rage and by the blood trickling from a slight wound in his forehead, the young corsican rushed back to doppet and abused him in the language of the camp: "our blow at toulon has missed, because a---- has beaten the retreat." the soldiery applauded this revolutionary licence, and bespattered their chief with similar terms.
-a few days later the tall soldierly dugommier took the command: reinforcements began to pour in, finally raising the strength of the besiegers to 37,000 men. above all, the new commander gave buonaparte carte blanche for the direction of the artillery. new batteries accordingly began to ring the little gibraltar on the landward side; o'hara, while gallantly heading a sortie, fell into the republicans' hands, and the defenders began to lose heart. the worst disappointment was the refusal of the austrian court to fulfil its promise, solemnly given in september, to send 5,000 regular troops for the defence of toulon.
-the final conflict took place on the night of december 16-17, when torrents of rain, a raging wind, and flashes of lightning added new horrors to the strife. scarcely had the assailants left the sheltering walls of la seyne, than buonaparte's horse fell under him, shot dead: whole companies went astray in the darkness: yet the first column of 2,000 men led by victor rush at the palisades of fort mulgrave, tear them down, and sweep into the redoubt, only to fall in heaps before a second line of defence: supported by the second column, they rally, only to yield once more before the murderous fire. in despair, dugommier hurries on the column of reserve, with which buonaparte awaits the crisis of the night. led by the gallant young muiron, the reserve sweeps into the gorge of death; muiron, buonaparte, and dugommier hack their way through the same embrasure: their men swarm in on the overmatched red-coats and spaniards, cut them down at their guns, and the redoubt is won.
-besides, if england meant to keep toulon, why did she send only 2,200 soldiers? why did she admit, not only 6,900 spaniards, but also 4,900 neapolitans and 1,600 piedmontese? why did she accept the armed help of 1,600 french royalists? why did she urgently plead with austria to send 5,000 white-coats from milan? why, finally, is there no word in the british official despatches as to the eventual keeping of toulon; while there are several references to indemnities which george iii. would require for the expenses of the war--such as corsica or some of the french west indies? those despatches show conclusively that england did not wish to keep a fortress that required a permanent garrison equal to half of the british army on its peace footing; but that she did regard it as a good base of operations for the overthrow of the jacobin rule and the restoration of monarchy; whereupon her services must be requited with some suitable indemnity, either one of the french west indies or corsica. these plans were shattered by buonaparte's skill and the valour of dugommier's soldiery; but no record has yet leaped to light to convict the pitt ministry of the perfidy which buonaparte, in common with nearly all frenchmen, charged to their account.
-the next period of buonaparte's life presents few features of interest. he was called upon to supervise the guns and stores for the army of italy, and also to inspect the fortifications and artillery of the coast. at marseilles his zeal outstripped his discretion. he ordered the reconstruction of the fortress which had been destroyed during the revolution; but when the townsfolk heard the news, they protested so vehemently that the work was stopped and an order was issued for buonaparte's arrest. from this difficulty the friendship of the younger robespierre and of salicetti, the commissioners of the convention, availed to rescue him; but the incident proves that his services at toulon were not so brilliant as to have raised him above the general level of meritorious officers, who were applauded while they prospered, but might be sent to the guillotine for any serious offence.
-in february, 1794, he was appointed at nice general in command of the artillery of the army of italy, which drove the sardinian troops from several positions between ventimiglia and oneglia. thence, swinging round by passes of the maritime alps, they outflanked the positions of the austro-sardinian forces at the col di tenda, which had defied all attack in front. buonaparte's share in this turning operation seems to have been restricted to the effective handling of artillery, and the chief credit here rested with masséna, who won the first of his laurels in the country of his birth. he was of humble parentage; yet his erect bearing, proud animated glance, curt penetrating speech, and keen repartees, proclaimed a nature at once active and wary, an intellect both calculating and confident. such was the man who was to immortalize his name in many a contest, until his glory paled before the greater genius of wellington.
-a sentence in one of young robespierre's letters shows that he never felt completely sure about the young officer. after enumerating to his brother buonaparte's merits, he adds: "he is a corsican, and offers only the guarantee of a man of that nation who has resisted the caresses of paoli and whose property has been ravaged by that traitor." evidently, then, robespierre regarded buonaparte with some suspicion as an insular proteus, lacking those sureties, mental and pecuniary, which reduced a man to dog-like fidelity.
-yet, however warily buonaparte picked his steps along the slopes of the revolutionary volcano, he was destined to feel the scorch of the central fires. he had recently been intrusted with a mission to the genoese republic, which was in a most difficult position. it was subject to pressure from three sides; from english men-of-war that had swooped down on a french frigate, the "modeste," in genoese waters; and from actual invasion by the french on the west and by the austrians on the north. despite the great difficulties of his task, the young envoy bent the distracted doge and senate to his will. he might, therefore, have expected gratitude from his adopted country; but shortly after he returned to nice he was placed under arrest, and was imprisoned in a fort near antibes.
-the causes of this swift reverse of fortune were curiously complex. the robespierres had in the meantime been guillotined at paris (july 28th, or thermidor 10th); and this "thermidorian" reaction alone would have sufficed to endanger buonaparte's head. but his position was further imperilled by his recent strategic suggestions, which had served to reduce to a secondary rôle the french army of the alps. the operations of that force had of late been strangely thwarted; and its leaders, searching for the paralyzing influence, discovered it in the advice of buonaparte. their suspicions against him were formulated in a secret letter to the committee of public safety, which stated that the army of the alps had been kept inactive by the intrigues of the younger robespierre and of ricord. many a head had fallen for reasons less serious than these. but buonaparte had one infallible safeguard: he could not well be spared. after a careful examination of his papers, the commissioners, salicetti and albitte, provisionally restored him to liberty, but not, for some weeks, to his rank of general (august 20th, 1794). the chief reason assigned for his liberation was the service which his knowledge and talents might render to the republic, a reference to the knowledge of the italian coast-line which he had gained during the mission to genoa.
-the fortunes of these corsican exiles drifted hither and thither in many perplexing currents, as buonaparte was once more to discover. it was a prevalent complaint that there were too many of them seeking employment in the army of the south; and a note respecting the career of the young officer made by general schérer, who now commanded the french army of italy, shows that buonaparte had aroused at least as much suspicion as admiration. it runs: "this officer is general of artillery, and in this arm has sound knowledge, but has somewhat too much ambition and intriguing habits for his advancement." all things considered, it was deemed advisable to transfer him to the army which was engaged in crushing the vendéan revolt, a service which he loathed and was determined, if possible, to evade. accompanied by his faithful friends, marmont and junot, as also by his young brother louis, he set out for paris (may, 1795).
-in reality fortune never favoured him more than when she removed him from the coteries of intriguing corsicans on the coast of provence and brought him to the centre of all influence. an able schemer at paris could decide the fate of parties and governments. at the frontiers men could only accept the decrees of the omnipotent capital. moreover, the revolution, after passing through the molten stage, was now beginning to solidify, an important opportunity for the political craftsman. the spring of the year 1795 witnessed a strange blending of the new fanaticism with the old customs. society, dammed up for a time by the spartan rigour of robespierre, was now flowing back into its wonted channels. gay equipages were seen in the streets; theatres, prosperous even during the terror, were now filled to overflowing; gambling, whether in money or in stocks and assignats, was now permeating all grades of society; and men who had grown rich by amassing the confiscated state lands now vied with bankers, stock-jobbers, and forestallers of grain in vulgar ostentation. as for the poor, they were meeting their match in the gilded youth of paris, who with clubbed sticks asserted the right of the rich to be merry. if the sansculottes attempted to restore the days of the terror, the national guards of paris were ready to sweep them back into the slums. such was their fate on may 20th, shortly after buonaparte's arrival at paris. any dreams which he may have harboured of restoring the jacobins to power were dissipated, for paris now plunged into the gaieties of the ancien régime. the terror was remembered only as a horrible nightmare, which served to add zest to the pleasures of the present. in some circles no one was received who had not lost a relative by the guillotine. with a ghastly merriment characteristic of the time, "victim balls" were given, to which those alone were admitted who could produce the death warrant of some family connection: these secured the pleasure of dancing in costumes which recalled those of the scaffold, and of beckoning ever and anon to their partners with nods that simulated the fall of the severed head. it was for this, then, that the amiable louis, the majestic marie antoinette, the minerva-like madame roland, the girondins vowed to the utter quest of liberty, the tyrant-quelling danton, the incorruptible robespierre himself, had felt the fatal axe; in order that the mimicry of their death agonies might tickle jaded appetites, and help to weave anew the old circean spells. so it seemed to the few who cared to think of the frightful sacrifices of the past, and to measure them against the seemingly hopeless degradation of the present.
-some such thoughts seem to have flitted across the mind of buonaparte in those months of forced inactivity. it was a time of disillusionment. rarely do we find thenceforth in his correspondence any gleams of faith respecting the higher possibilities of the human race. the golden visions of youth now vanish along with the bonnet rouge and the jargon of the terror. his bent had ever been for the material and practical: and now that faith in the jacobinical creed was vanishing, it was more than ever desirable to grapple that errant balloon to substantial facts. evidently, the revolution must now trust to the clinging of the peasant proprietors to the recently confiscated lands of the church and of the emigrant nobles. if all else was vain and transitory, here surely was a solid basis of material interests to which the best part of the manhood of france would tenaciously adhere, defying alike the plots of reactionaries and the forces of monarchical europe. of these interests buonaparte was to be the determined guarantor. amidst much that was visionary in his later policy he never wavered in his championship of the new peasant proprietors. he was ever the peasants' general, the peasants' consul, the peasants' emperor.
-the transition of the revolution to an ordinary form of polity was also being furthered by its unparalleled series of military triumphs. when buonaparte's name was as yet unknown, except in corsica and provence, france practically gained her "natural boundaries," the rhine and the alps. in the campaigns of 1793-4, the soldiers of pichegru, kléber, hoche, and moreau overran the whole of the low countries and chased the germans beyond the rhine; the piedmontese were thrust behind the alps; the spaniards behind the pyrenees. in quick succession state after state sued for peace: tuscany in february, 1795; prussia in april; hanover, westphalia, and saxony in may; spain and hesse-cassel in july; switzerland and denmark in august.
-such was the state of france when buonaparte came to seek his fortunes in the sphinx-like capital. his artillery command had been commuted to a corresponding rank in the infantry--a step that deeply incensed him. he attributed it to malevolent intriguers; but all his efforts to obtain redress were in vain. lacking money and patronage, known only as an able officer and facile intriguer of the bankrupt jacobinical party, he might well have despaired. he was now almost alone. marmont had gone off to the army of the rhine; but junot was still with him, allured perhaps by madame permon's daughter, whom he subsequently married. at the house of this amiable hostess, an old friend of his family, buonaparte found occasional relief from the gloom of his existence. the future madame junot has described him as at this time untidy, unkempt, sickly, remarkable for his extreme thinness and the almost yellow tint of his visage, which was, however, lit up by "two eyes sparkling with keenness and will-power"--evidently a corsican falcon, pining for action, and fretting its soaring spirit in that vapid town life. action buonaparte might have had, but only of a kind that he loathed. he might have commanded the troops destined to crush the brave royalist peasants of la vendée. but, whether from scorn of such vulture-work, or from an instinct that a nobler quarry might be started at paris, he refused to proceed to the army of the west, and on the plea of ill-health remained in the capital. there he spent his time deeply pondering on politics and strategy. he designed a history of the last two years, and drafted a plan of campaign for the army of italy, which, later on, was to bear him to fortune. probably the geographical insight which it displayed may have led to his appointment (august 20th, 1795) to the topographical bureau of the committee of public safety. his first thought on hearing of this important advancement was that it opened up an opportunity for proceeding to turkey to organize the artillery of the sultan; and in a few days he sent in a formal request to that effect--the first tangible proof of that yearning after the orient which haunted him all through life. but, while straining his gaze eastwards, he experienced a sharp rebuff. the committee was on the point of granting his request, when an examination of his recent conduct proved him guilty of a breach of discipline in not proceeding to his vendéan command. on the very day when one department of the committee empowered him to proceed to constantinople, the central committee erased his name from the list of general officers (september 15th).
-this time the blow seemed fatal. but fortune appeared to compass his falls only in order that he might the more brilliantly tower aloft. within three weeks he was hailed as the saviour of the new republican constitution. the cause of this almost magical change in his prospects is to be sought in the political unrest of france, to which we must now briefly advert.
-all through this summer of 1795 there were conflicts between jacobins and royalists. in the south the latter party had signally avenged itself for the agonies of the preceding years, and the ardour of the french temperament seemed about to drive that hapless people from the "red terror" to a veritable "white terror," when two disasters checked the course of the reaction. an attempt of a large force of emigrant french nobles, backed up by british money and ships, to rouse brittany against the convention was utterly crushed by the able young hoche; and nearly seven hundred prisoners were afterwards shot down in cold blood (july). shortly before this blow, the little prince styled louis xvii. succumbed to the brutal treatment of his gaolers at the temple in paris; and the hopes of the royalists now rested on the unpopular comte de provence. nevertheless, the political outlook in the summer of 1795 was not reassuring to the republicans; and the commission of eleven, empowered by the convention to draft new organic laws, drew up an instrument of government, which, though republican in form, seemed to offer all the stability of the most firmly rooted oligarchy. some such compromise was perhaps necessary; for the commonwealth was confronted by three dangers, anarchy resulting from the pressure of the mob, an excessive centralization of power in the hands of two committees, and the possibility of a coup d'état by some pretender or adventurer. indeed, the student of french history cannot fail to see that this is the problem which is ever before the people of france. it has presented itself in acute though diverse phases in 1797,1799,1814, 1830, 1848, 1851, and in 1871. who can say that the problem has yet found its complete solution?
-in some respects the constitution which the convention voted in august, 1795, was skilfully adapted to meet the needs of the time. though democratic in spirit, it granted a vote only to those citizens who had resided for a year in some dwelling and had paid taxes, thus excluding the rabble who had proved to be dangerous to any settled government. it also checked the hasty legislation which had brought ridicule on successive national assemblies. in order to moderate the zeal for the manufacture of decrees, which had often exceeded one hundred a month, a second or revising chamber was now to be formed on the basis of age; for it had been found that the younger the deputies the faster came forth the fluttering flocks of decrees, that often came home to roost in the guise of curses. a senatorial guillotine, it was now proposed, should thin out the fledglings before they flew abroad at all. of the seven hundred and fifty deputies of france, the two hundred and fifty oldest men were to form the council of ancients, having powers to amend or reject the proposals emanating from the council of five hundred. in this council were the younger deputies, and with them rested the sole initiation of laws. thus the young deputies were to make the laws, but the older deputies were to amend or reject them; and this nice adjustment of the characteristics of youth and age, a due blending of enthusiasm with caution, promised to invigorate the body politic and yet guard its vital interests. lastly, in order that the two councils should continuously represent the feelings of france, one third of their members must retire for re-election every year, a device which promised to prevent any violent change in their composition, such as might occur if, at the end of their three years' membership, all were called upon to resign at once.
-but the real crux of constitution builders had hitherto been in the relations of the legislature to the executive. how should the brain of the body politic, that is, the legislature, be connected with the hand, that is, the executive? obviously, so argued all french political thinkers, the two functions were distinct and must be kept separate. the results of this theory of the separation of powers were clearly traceable in the course of the revolution. when the hand had been left almost powerless, as in 1791-2, owing to democratic jealousy of the royal ministry, the result had been anarchy. the supreme needs of the state in the agonies of 1793 had rendered the hand omnipotent: the convention, that is, the brain, was for some time powerless before its own instrument, the two secret committees. experience now showed that the brain must exercise a general control over the hand, without unduly hampering its actions. evidently, then, the deputies of france must intrust the details of administration to responsible ministers, though some directing agency seemed needed as a spur to energy and a check against royalist plots. in brief, the committee of public safety, purged of its more dangerous powers, was to furnish the model for a new body of five members, termed the directory. this organism, which was to give its name to the whole period 1795-1799, was not the ministry. there was no ministry as we now use the term. there were ministers who were responsible individually for their departments of state: but they never met for deliberation, or communicated with the legislature; they were only heads of departments, who were responsible individually to the directors. these five men formed a powerful committee, deliberating in private on the whole policy of the state and on all the work of the ministers. the directory had not, it is true, the right of initiating laws and of arbitrary arrest which the two committees had freely exercised during the terror. its dependence on the legislature seemed also to be guaranteed by the directors being appointed by the two legislative councils; while one of the five was to vacate his office for re-election every year. but in other respects the directorial powers the vivid details; the emotions stirred in him; the dreadful feast--no single hallucination could ever combine all these and cover so long a period of time. but with less satisfaction he thought of the recurring faintness, and curious sense of horror that had once or twice come over him, and then of the violent pains in his arm. these were quite unaccountable.
-moreover, now that he began to analyse and examine, there was one other thing that fell upon him like a sudden revelation: during the whole time field had not actually uttered a single word! yet, as though in mockery upon his reflections, there came ever from that inner room the sound of the breathing, long-drawn, deep, and regular. the thing was incredible. it was absurd.
-haunted by visions of brain fever and insanity, marriott put on his cap and macintosh and left the house. the morning air on arthur's seat would blow the cobwebs from his brain; the scent of the heather, and above all, the sight of the sea. he roamed over the wet slopes above holyrood for a couple of hours, and did not return until the exercise had shaken some of the horror out of his bones, and given him a ravening appetite into the bargain.
-as he entered he saw that there was another man in the room, standing against the window with his back to the light. he recognised his fellow-student greene, who was reading for the same examination.
-"read hard all night, marriott," he said, "and thought i'd drop in here to compare notes and have some breakfast. you're out early?" he added, by way of a question. marriott said he had a headache and a walk had helped it, and greene nodded and said "ah!" but when the girl had set the steaming porridge on the table and gone out again, he went on with rather a forced tone, "didn't know you had any friends who drank, marriott?"
-this was obviously tentative, and marriott replied drily that he did not know it either.
-"sounds just as if some chap were 'sleeping it off' in there, doesn't it, though?" persisted the other, with a nod in the direction of the bedroom, and looking curiously at his friend. the two men stared steadily at each other for several seconds, and then marriott said earnestly--
-"then you hear it too, thank god!"
-"of course i hear it. the door's open. sorry if i wasn't meant to."
-"oh, i don't mean that," said marriott, lowering his voice. "but i'm awfully relieved. let me explain. of course, if you hear it too, then it's all right; but really it frightened me more than i can tell you. i thought i was going to have brain fever, or something, and you know what a lot depends on this exam. it always begins with sounds, or visions, or some sort of beastly hallucination, and i--"
-"rot!" ejaculated the other impatiently. "what are you talking about?"
-"now, listen to me, greene," said marriott, as calmly as he could, for the breathing was still plainly audible, "and i'll tell you what i mean, only don't interrupt." and thereupon he related exactly what had happened during the night, telling everything, even down to the pain in his arm. when it was over he got up from the table and crossed the room.
-"you hear the breathing now plainly, don't you?" he said. greene said he did. "well, come with me, and we'll search the room together." the other, however, did not move from his chair.
-"i've been in already," he said sheepishly; "i heard the sounds and thought it was you. the door was ajar--so i went in."
-marriott made no comment, but pushed the door open as wide as it would go. as it opened, the sound of breathing grew more and more distinct.
-"someone must be in there," said greene under his breath.
-"someone is in there, but where?" said marriott. again he urged his friend to go in with him. but greene refused point-blank; said he had been in once and had searched the room and there was nothing there. he would not go in again for a good deal.
-they shut the door and retired into the other room to talk it all over with many pipes. greene questioned his friend very closely, but without illuminating result, since questions cannot alter facts.
-"let me examine it for you," said greene. "i'm awfully good at bones in spite of the examiners' opinion to the contrary." it was a relief to play the fool a bit, and marriott took his coat off and rolled up his sleeve.
-"by george, though, i'm bleeding!" he exclaimed. "look here! what on earth's this?"
-on the forearm, quite close to the wrist, was a thin red line. there was a tiny drop of apparently fresh blood on it. greene came over and looked closely at it for some minutes. then he sat back in his chair, looking curiously at his friend's face.
-"you've scratched yourself without knowing it," he said presently.
-"there's no sign of a bruise. it must be something else that made the arm ache."
-marriott sat very still, staring silently at his arm as though the solution of the whole mystery lay there actually written upon the skin.
-"what's the matter? i see nothing very strange about a scratch," said greene, in an unconvincing sort of voice. "it was your cuff links probably. last night in your excitement--"
-but marriott, white to the very lips, was trying to speak. the sweat stood in great beads on his forehead. at last he leaned forward close to his friend's face.
-"look," he said, in a low voice that shook a little. "do you see that red mark? i mean underneath what you call the scratch?"
-greene admitted he saw something or other, and marriott wiped the place clean with his handkerchief and told him to look again more closely.
-"yes, i see," returned the other, lifting his head after a moment's careful inspection. "it looks like an old scar."
-"it is an old scar," whispered marriott, his lips trembling. "now it all comes back to me."
-"all what?" greene fidgeted on his chair. he tried to laugh, but without success. his friend seemed bordering on collapse.
-"hush! be quiet, and--i'll tell you," he said. "field made that scar."
-for a whole minute the two men looked each other full in the face without speaking.
-"field made that scar!" repeated marriott at length in a louder voice.
-"field! you mean--last night?"
-"no, not last night. years ago--at school, with his knife. and i made a scar in his arm with mine." marriott was talking rapidly now.
-"we exchanged drops of blood in each other's cuts. he put a drop into my arm and i put one into his--"
-"in the name of heaven, what for?"
-"it was a boys' compact. we made a sacred pledge, a bargain. i remember it all perfectly now. we had been reading some dreadful book and we swore to appear to one another--i mean, whoever died first swore to show himself to the other. and we sealed the compact with each other's blood. i remember it all so well--the hot summer afternoon in the playground, seven years ago--and one of the masters caught us and confiscated the knives--and i have never thought of it again to this day--"
-"and you mean--" stammered greene.
-but marriott made no answer. he got up and crossed the room and lay down wearily upon the sofa, hiding his face in his hands.
-greene himself was a bit non-plussed. he left his friend alone for a little while, thinking it all over again. suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. he went over to where marriott still lay motionless on the sofa and roused him. in any case it was better to face the matter, whether there was an explanation or not. giving in was always the silly exit.
-"i say, marriott," he began, as the other turned his white face up to him. "there's no good being so upset about it. i mean--if it's all an hallucination we know what to do. and if it isn't--well, we know what to think, don't we?"
-"i suppose so. but it frightens me horribly for some reason," returned his friend in a hushed voice. "and that poor devil--"
-"but, after all, if the worst is true and--and that chap has kept his promise--well, he has, that's all, isn't it?"
-"there's only one thing that occurs to me," greene went on, "and that is, are you quite sure that--that he really ate like that--i mean that he actually ate anything at all?" he finished, blurting out all his thought.
-marriott stared at him for a moment and then said he could easily make certain. he spoke quietly. after the main shock no lesser surprise could affect him.
-"i put the things away myself," he said, "after we had finished. they are on the third shelf in that cupboard. no one's touched 'em since."
-he pointed without getting up, and greene took the hint and went over to look.
-"exactly," he said, after a brief examination; "just as i thought. it was partly hallucination, at any rate. the things haven't been touched. come and see for yourself."
-together they examined the shelf. there was the brown loaf, the plate of stale scones, the oatcake, all untouched. even the glass of whisky marriott had poured out stood there with the whisky still in it.
-"you were feeding--no one," said greene "field ate and drank nothing. he was not there at all!"
-"but the breathing?" urged the other in a low voice, staring with a dazed expression on his face.
-greene did not answer. he walked over to the bedroom, while marriott followed him with his eyes. he opened the door, and listened. there was no need for words. the sound of deep, regular breathing came floating through the air. there was no hallucination about that, at any rate. marriott could hear it where he stood on the other side of the room.
-greene closed the door and came back. "there's only one thing to do," he declared with decision. "write home and find out about him, and meanwhile come and finish your reading in my rooms. i've got an extra bed."
-"agreed," returned the fourth year man; "there's no hallucination about that exam; i must pass that whatever happens."
-and this was what they did.
-it was about a week later when marriott got the answer from his sister. part of it he read out to greene--
-"it is curious," she wrote, "that in your letter you should have enquired after field. it seems a terrible thing, but you know only a short while ago sir john's patience became exhausted, and he turned him out of the house, they say without a penny. well, what do you think? he has killed himself. at least, it looks like suicide. instead of leaving the house, he went down into the cellar and simply starved himself to death. . . . they're trying to suppress it, of course, but i heard it all from my maid, who got it from their footman. . . . they found the body on the 14th and the doctor said he had died about twelve hours before. . . . he was dreadfully thin. . . ."
-"then he died on the 13th," said greene.
-"that's the very night he came to see you."
-marriott nodded again.
-with intent to steal
-to sleep in a lonely barn when the best bedrooms in the house were at our disposal, seemed, to say the least, unnecessary, and i felt that some explanation was due to our host.
-but shorthouse, i soon discovered, had seen to all that; our enterprise would be tolerated, not welcomed, for the master kept this sort of thing down with a firm hand. and then, how little i could get this man, shorthouse, to tell me. there was much i wanted to ask and hear, but he surrounded himself with impossible barriers. it was ludicrous; he was surely asking a good deal of me, and yet he would give so little in return, and his reason--that it was for my good--may have been perfectly true, but did not bring me any comfort in its train. he gave me sops now and then, however, to keep up my curiosity, till i soon was aware that there were growing up side by side within me a genuine interest and an equally genuine fear; and something of both these is probably necessary to all real excitement.
-the barn in question was some distance from the house, on the side of the stables, and i had passed it on several of my journeyings to and fro wondering at its forlorn and untarred appearance under a régime where everything was so spick and span; but it had never once occurred to me as possible that i should come to spend a night under its roof with a comparative stranger, and undergo there an experience belonging to an order of things i had always rather ridiculed and despised.
-at the moment i can only partially recall the process by which shorthouse persuaded me to lend him my company. like myself, he was a guest in this autumn house-party, and where there were so many to chatter and to chaff, i think his taciturnity of manner had appealed to me by contrast, and that i wished to repay something of what i owed. there was, no doubt, flattery in it as well, for he was more than twice my age, a man of amazingly wide experience, an explorer of all the world's corners where danger lurked, and--most subtle flattery of all--by far the best shot in the whole party, our host included.
-at first, however, i held out a bit.
-"but surely this story you tell," i said, "has the parentage common to all such tales--a superstitious heart and an imaginative brain--and has grown now by frequent repetition into an authentic ghost story? besides, this head gardener of half a century ago," i added, seeing that he still went on cleaning his gun in silence, "who was he, and what positive information have you about him beyond the fact that he was found hanging from the rafters, dead?"
-"he was no mere head gardener, this man who passed as such," he replied without looking up, "but a fellow of splendid education who used this curious disguise for his own purposes. part of this very barn, of which he always kept the key, was found to have been fitted up as a complete laboratory, with athanor, alembic, cucurbite, and other appliances, some of which the master destroyed at once--perhaps for the best--and which i have only been able to guess at--"
-"black arts," i laughed.
-"who knows?" he rejoined quietly. "the man undoubtedly possessed knowledge--dark knowledge--that was most unusual and dangerous, and i can discover no means by which he came to it--no ordinary means, that is. but i have found many facts in the case which point to the exercise of a most desperate and unscrupulous will; and the strange disappearances in the neighbourhood, as well as the bones found buried in the kitchen garden, though never actually traced to him, seem to me full of dreadful suggestion."
-i laughed again, a little uncomfortably perhaps, and said it reminded one of the story of giles de rays, maréchal of france, who was said to have killed and tortured to death in a few years no less than one hundred and sixty women and children for the purposes of necromancy, and who was executed for his crimes at nantes. but shorthouse would not "rise," and only returned to his subject.
-"his suicide seems to have been only just in time to escape arrest," he said.
-"a magician of no high order then," i observed sceptically, "if suicide was his only way of evading the country police."
-"the police of london and st. petersburg rather," returned shorthouse; "for the headquarters of this pretty company was somewhere in russia, and his apparatus all bore the marks of the most skilful foreign make. a russian woman then employed in the household--governess, or something--vanished, too, about the same time and was never caught. she was no doubt the cleverest of the lot. and, remember, the object of this appalling group was not mere vulgar gain, but a kind of knowledge that called for the highest qualities of courage and intellect in the seekers."
-i admit i was impressed by the man's conviction of voice and manner, for there is something very compelling in the force of an earnest man's belief, though i still affected to sneer politely.
-"but, like most black magicians, the fellow only succeeded in compassing his own destruction--that of his tools, rather, and of escaping himself."
-"so that he might better accomplish his objects elsewhere and otherwise," said shorthouse, giving, as he spoke, the most minute attention to the cleaning of the lock.
-"elsewhere and otherwise," i gasped.
-"as if the shell he left hanging from the rafter in the barn in no way impeded the man's spirit from continuing his dreadful work under new conditions," he added quietly, without noticing my interruption. "the idea being that he sometimes revisits the garden and the barn, chiefly the barn--"
-"the barn!" i exclaimed; "for what purpose?"
-"chiefly the barn," he finished, as if he had not heard me, "that is, when there is anybody in it."
-i stared at him without speaking, for there was a wonder in me how he would add to this.
-"when he wants fresh material, that is--he comes to steal from the living."
-"fresh material!" i repeated aghast. "to steal from the living!" even then, in broad daylight, i was foolishly conscious of a creeping sensation at the roots of my hair, as if a cold breeze were passing over my skull.
-"the strong vitality of the living is what this sort of creature is supposed to need most," he went on imperturbably, "and where he has worked and thought and struggled before is the easiest place for him to get it in. the former conditions are in some way more easily reconstructed--" he stopped suddenly, and devoted all his attention to the gun. "it's difficult to explain, you know, rather," he added presently, "and, besides, it's much better that you should not know till afterwards."
-i made a noise that was the beginning of a score of questions and of as many sentences, but it got no further than a mere noise, and shorthouse, of course, stepped in again.
-"your scepticism," he added, "is one of the qualities that induce me to ask you to spend the night there with me."
-"in those days," he went on, in response to my urging for more information, "the family were much abroad, and often travelled for years at a time. this man was invaluable in their absence. his wonderful knowledge of horticulture kept the gardens--french, italian, english--in perfect order. he had carte blanche in the matter of expense, and of course selected all his own underlings. it was the sudden, unexpected return of the master that surprised the amazing stories of the countryside before the fellow, with all his cleverness, had time to prepare or conceal."
-"but is there no evidence, no more recent evidence, to show that something is likely to happen if we sit up there?" i asked, pressing him yet further, and i think to his liking, for it showed at least that i was interested. "has anything happened there lately, for instance?"
-shorthouse glanced up from the gun he was cleaning so assiduously, and the smoke from his pipe curled up into an odd twist between me and the black beard and oriental, sun-tanned face. the magnetism of his look and expression brought more sense of conviction to me than i had felt hitherto, and i realised that there had been a sudden little change in my attitude and that i was now much more inclined to go in for the adventure with him. at least, i thought, with such a man, one would be safe in any emergency; for he is determined, resourceful, and to be depended upon.
-"there's the point," he answered slowly; "for there has apparently been a fresh outburst--an attack almost, it seems,--quite recently. there is evidence, of course, plenty of it, or i should not feel the interest i do feel, but--" he hesitated a moment, as though considering how much he ought to let me know, "but the fact is that three men this summer, on separate occasions, who have gone into that barn after nightfall, have been accosted--"
-"accosted?" i repeated, betrayed into the interruption by his choice of so singular a word.
-"and one of the stablemen--a recent arrival and quite ignorant of the story--who had to go in there late one night, saw a dark substance hanging down from one of the rafters, and when he climbed up, shaking all over, to cut it down--for he said he felt sure it was a corpse--the knife passed through nothing but air, and he heard a sound up under the eaves as if someone were laughing. yet, while he slashed away, and afterwards too, the thing went on swinging there before his eyes and turning slowly with its own weight, like a huge joint on a spit. the man declares, too, that it had a large bearded face, and that the mouth was open and drawn down like the mouth of a hanged man."
-"can we question this fellow?"
-"he's gone--gave notice at once, but not before i had questioned him myself very closely."
-"then this was quite recent?" i said, for i knew shorthouse had not been in the house more than a week.
-"four days ago," he replied. "but, more than that, only three days ago a couple of men were in there together in full daylight when one of them suddenly turned deadly faint. he said that he felt an overmastering impulse to hang himself; and he looked about for a rope and was furious when his companion tried to prevent him--"
-"but he did prevent him?"
-"just in time, but not before he had clambered on to a beam. he was very violent."
-i had so much to say and ask that i could get nothing out in time, and shorthouse went on again.
-"i've had a sort of watching brief for this case," he said with a smile, whose real significance, however, completely escaped me at the time, "and one of the most disagreeable features about it is the deliberate way the servants have invented excuses to go out to the place, and always after dark; some of them who have no right to go there, and no real occasion at all--have never been there in their lives before probably--and now all of a sudden have shown the keenest desire and determination to go out there about dusk, or soon after, and with the most paltry and foolish excuses in the world. of course," he added, "they have been prevented, but the desire, stronger than their superstitious dread, and which they cannot explain, is very curious."
-"very," i admitted, feeling that my hair was beginning to stand up again.
-"you see," he went on presently, "it all points to volition--in fact to deliberate arrangement. it is no mere family ghost that goes with every ivied house in england of a certain age; it is something real, and something very malignant."
-he raised his face from the gun barrel, and for the first time his eye caught mine in the full. yes, he was very much in earnest. also, he knew a great deal more than he meant to tell.
-"it's worth tempting--and fighting, i think," he said; "but i want a companion with me. are you game?" his enthusiasm undoubtedly caught me, but i still wanted to hedge a bit.
-"i'm very sceptical," i pleaded.
-"all the better," he said, almost as if to himself. "you have the pluck; i have the knowledge--"
-he looked round cautiously as if to make sure that there was no one within earshot.
-"i've been in the place myself," he said in a lowered voice, "quite lately--in fact only three nights ago--the day the man turned queer."
-"but--i was obliged to come out--"
-still i stared.
-"quickly," he added significantly.
-"you've gone into the thing pretty thoroughly," was all i could find to say, for i had almost made up my mind to go with him, and was not sure that i wanted to hear too much beforehand.
-he nodded. "it's a bore, of course, but i must do everything thoroughly--or not at all."
-"that's why you clean your own gun, i suppose?"
-"that's why, when there's any danger, i take as few chances as possible," he said, with the same enigmatical smile i had noticed before; and then he added with emphasis, "and that is also why i ask you to keep me company now."
-of course, the shaft went straight home, and i gave my promise without further ado.
-our preparations for the night--a couple of rugs and a flask of black coffee--were not elaborate, and we found no difficulty, about ten o'clock, in absenting ourselves from the billiard-room without attracting curiosity. shorthouse met me by arrangement under the cedar on the back lawn, and i at once realised with vividness what a difference there is between making plans in the daytime and carrying them out in the dark. one's common-sense--at least in matters of this sort--is reduced to a minimum, and imagination with all her attendant sprites usurps the place of judgment. two and two no longer make four--they make a mystery, and the mystery loses no time in growing into a menace. in this particular case, however, my imagination did not find wings very readily, for i knew that my companion was the most unmovable of men--an unemotional, solid block of a man who would never lose his head, and in any conceivable state of affairs would always take the right as well as the strong course. so my faith in the man gave me a false courage that was nevertheless very consoling, and i looked forward to the night's adventure with a genuine appetite.
-side by side, and in silence, we followed the path that skirted the east woods, as they were called, and then led across two hay fields, and through another wood, to the barn, which thus lay about half a mile from the lower farm. to the lower farm, indeed, it properly belonged; and this made us realise more clearly how very ingenious must have been the excuses of the hall servants who felt the desire to visit it.
-it had been raining during the late afternoon, and the trees were still dripping heavily on all sides, but the moment we left the second wood and came out into the open, we saw a clearing with the stars overhead, against which the barn outlined itself in a black, lugubrious shadow. shorthouse led the way--still without a word--and we crawled in through a low door and seated ourselves in a soft heap of hay in the extreme corner.
-"now," he said, speaking for the first time, "i'll show you the inside of the barn, so that you may know where you are, and what to do, in case anything happens."
-a match flared in the darkness, and with the help of two more that followed i saw the interior of a lofty and somewhat rickety-looking barn, erected upon a wall of grey stones that ran all round and extended to a height of perhaps four feet. above this masonry rose the wooden sides, running up into the usual vaulted roof, and supported by a double tier of massive oak rafters, which stretched across from wall to wall and were intersected by occasional uprights. i felt as if we were inside the skeleton of some antediluvian monster whose huge black ribs completely enfolded us. most of this, of course, only sketched itself to my eye in the uncertain light of the flickering matches, and when i said i had seen enough, and the matches went out, we were at once enveloped in an atmosphere as densely black as anything that i have ever known. and the silence equalled the darkness.
-we made ourselves comfortable and talked in low voices. the rugs, which were very large, covered our legs; and our shoulders sank into a really luxurious bed of softness. yet neither of us apparently felt sleepy. i certainly didn't, and shorthouse, dropping his customary brevity that fell little short of gruffness, plunged into an easy run of talking that took the form after a time of personal reminiscences. this rapidly became a vivid narration of adventure and travel in far countries, and at any other time i should have allowed myself to become completely absorbed in what he told. but, unfortunately, i was never able for a single instant to forget the real purpose of our enterprise, and consequently i felt all my senses more keenly on the alert than usual, and my attention accordingly more or less distracted. it was, indeed, a revelation to hear shorthouse unbosom himself in this fashion, and to a young man it was of course doubly fascinating; but the little sounds that always punctuate even the deepest silence out of doors claimed some portion of my attention, and as the night grew on i soon became aware that his tales seemed somewhat disconnected and abrupt--and that, in fact, i heard really only part of them.
-it was not so much that i actually heard other sounds, but that i expected to hear them; this was what stole the other half of my listening. there was neither wind nor rain to break the stillness, and certainly there were no physical presences in our neighbourhood, for we were half a mile even from the lower farm; and from the hall and stables, at least a mile. yet the stillness was being continually broken--perhaps disturbed is a better word--and it was to these very remote and tiny disturbances that i felt compelled to devote at least half my listening faculties.
-from time to time, however, i made a remark or asked a question, to show that i was listening and interested; but, in a sense, my questions always seemed to bear in one direction and to make for one issue, namely, my companion's previous experience in the barn when he had been obliged to come out "quickly."
-apparently i could not help myself in the matter, for this was really the one consuming curiosity i had; and the fact that it was better for me not to know it made me the keener to know it all, even the worst.
-shorthouse realised this even better than i did. i could tell it by the way he dodged, or wholly ignored, my questions, and this subtle sympathy between us showed plainly enough, had i been able at the time to reflect upon its meaning, that the nerves of both of us were in a very sensitive and highly-strung condition. probably, the complete confidence i felt in his ability to face whatever might happen, and the extent to which also i relied upon him for my own courage, prevented the exercise of my ordinary powers of reflection, while it left my senses free to a more than usual degree of activity.
-things must have gone on in this way for a good hour or more, when i made the sudden discovery that there was something unusual in the conditions of our environment. this sounds a roundabout mode of expression, but i really know not how else to put it. the discovery almost rushed upon me. by rights, we were two men waiting in an alleged haunted barn for something to happen; and, as two men who trusted one another implicitly (though for very different reasons), there should have been two minds keenly alert, with the ordinary senses in active co-operation. some slight degree of nervousness, too, there might also have been, but beyond this, nothing. it was therefore with something of dismay that i made the sudden discovery that there was something more, and something that i ought to have noticed very much sooner than i actually did notice it.
-the fact was--shorthouse's stream of talk was wholly unnatural. he was talking with a purpose. he did not wish to be cornered by my questions, true, but he had another and a deeper purpose still, and it grew upon me, as an unpleasant deduction from my discovery, that this strong, cynical, unemotional man by my side was talking--and had been talking all this time--to gain a particular end. and this end, i soon felt clearly, was to convince himself. but, of what?
-for myself, as the hours wore on towards midnight, i was not anxious to find the answer; but in the end it became impossible to avoid it, and i knew as i listened, that he was pouring forth this steady stream of vivid reminiscences of travel--south seas, big game, russian exploration, women, adventures of all sorts--because he wished the past to reassert itself to the complete exclusion of the present. he was taking his precautions. he was afraid.
-i felt a hundred things, once this was clear to me, but none of them more than the wish to get up at once and leave the barn. if shorthouse was afraid already, what in the world was to happen to me in the long hours that lay ahead? . . . i only know that, in my fierce efforts to deny to myself the evidence of his partial collapse, the strength came that enabled me to play my part properly, and i even found myself helping him by means of animated remarks upon his stories, and by more or less judicious questions. i also helped him by dismissing from my mind any desire to enquire into the truth of his former experience; and it was good i did so, for had he turned it loose on me, with those great powers of convincing description that he had at his command, i verily believe that i should never have crawled from that barn alive. so, at least, i felt at the moment. it was the instinct of self-preservation, and it brought sound judgment.
-here, then, at least, with different motives, reached, too, by opposite ways, we were both agreed upon one thing, namely, that temporarily we would forget. fools we were, for a dominant emotion is not so easily banished, and we were for ever recurring to it in a hundred ways direct and indirect. a real fear cannot be so easily trifled with, and while we toyed on the surface with thousands and thousands of words--mere words--our sub-conscious activities were steadily gaining force, and would before very long have to be properly acknowledged. we could not get away from it. at last, when he had finished the recital of an adventure which brought him near enough to a horrible death, i admitted that in my uneventful life i had never yet been face to face with a real fear. it slipped out inadvertently, and, of course, without intention, but the tendency in him at the time was too strong to be resisted. he saw the loophole, and made for it full tilt.
-"it is the same with all the emotions," he said. "the experiences of others never give a complete account. until a man has deliberately turned and faced for himself the fiends that chase him down the years, he has no knowledge of what they really are, or of what they can do. imaginative authors may write, moralists may preach, and scholars may criticise, but they are dealing all the time in a coinage of which they know not the actual value. their listener gets a sensation--but not the true one. until you have faced these emotions," he went on, with the same race of words that had come from him the whole evening, "and made them your own, your slaves, you have no idea of the power that is in them--hunger, that shows lights beckoning beyond the grave; thirst, that fills with mingled ice and fire; passion, love, loneliness, revenge, and--" he paused for a minute, and though i knew we were on the brink i was powerless to hold him. " . . . and fear," he went on--"fear . . . i think that death from fear, or madness from fear, must sum up in a second of time the total of all the most awful sensations it is possible for a man to know."
-"then you have yourself felt something of this fear," i interrupted; "for you said just now--"
-"i do not mean physical fear," he replied; "for that is more or less a question of nerves and will, and it is imagination that makes men cowards. i mean an absolute fear, a physical fear one might call it, that reaches the soul and withers every power one possesses."
-he said a lot more, for he, too, was wholly unable to stem the torrent once it broke loose; but i have forgotten it; or, rather, mercifully i did not hear it, for i stopped my ears and only heard the occasional words when i took my fingers out to find if he had come to an end. in due course he did come to an end, and there we left it, for i then knew positively what he already knew: that somewhere here in the night, and within the walls of this very barn where we were sitting, there was waiting something of dreadful malignancy and of great power. something that we might both have to face ere morning, and something that he had already tried to face once and failed in the attempt.
-the night wore slowly on; and it gradually became more and more clear to me that i could not dare to rely as at first upon my companion, and that our positions were undergoing a slow process of reversal. i thank heaven this was not borne in upon me too suddenly; and that i had at least the time to readjust myself somewhat to the new conditions. preparation was possible, even if it was not much, and i sought by every means in my power to gather up all the shreds of my courage, so that they might together make a decent rope that would stand the strain when it came. the strain would come, that was certain, and i was thoroughly well aware--though for my life i cannot put into words the reasons for my knowledge--that the massing of the material against us was proceeding somewhere in the darkness with determination and a horrible skill besides.
-i fell to wondering how long a man could talk without stopping. . . . then it seemed to me that these words of his went falling into the same gulf where the seconds dropped, only they were heavier and fell faster. i began to chase them. presently one of them fell much faster than the rest, and i pursued it and found myself almost immediately in a land of clouds and shadows. they rose up and enveloped me, pressing on the eyelids. . . . it must have been just here that i actually fell asleep, somewhere between twelve and one o'clock, because, as i chased this word at tremendous speed through space, i knew that i had left the other words far, very far behind me, till, at last, i could no longer hear them at all. the voice of the story-teller was beyond the reach of hearing; and i was falling with ever increasing rapidity through an immense void.
-a sound of whispering roused me. two persons were talking under their breath close beside me. the words in the main escaped me, but i caught every now and then bitten-off phrases and half sentences, to which, however, i could attach no intelligible meaning. the words were quite close--at my very side in fact--and one of the voices sounded so familiar, that curiosity overcame dread, and i turned to look. i was not mistaken; it was shorthouse whispering. but the other person, who must have been just a little beyond him, was lost in the darkness and invisible to me. it seemed then that shorthouse at once turned up his face and looked at me and, by some means or other that caused me no surprise at the time, i easily made out the features in the darkness. they wore an expression i had never seen there before; he seemed distressed, exhausted, worn out, and as though he were about to give in after a long mental struggle. he looked at me, almost beseechingly, and the whispering of the other person died away.
-"they're at me," he said.
-i found it quite impossible to answer; the words stuck in my throat. his voice was thin, plaintive, almost like a child's.
-"i shall have to go. i'm not as strong as i thought. they'll call it suicide, but, of course, it's really murder." there was real anguish in his voice, and it terrified me.
-a deep silence followed these extraordinary words, and i somehow understood that the other person was just going to carry on the conversation--i even fancied i saw lips shaping themselves just over my friend's shoulder--when i felt a sharp blow in the ribs and a voice, this time a deep voice, sounded in my ear. i opened my eyes, and the wretched dream vanished. yet it left behind it an impression of a strong and quite unusual reality.
-"do try not to go to sleep again," he said sternly. "you seem exhausted. do you feel so?" there was a note in his voice i did not welcome,--less than alarm, but certainly more than mere solicitude.
-"i do feel terribly sleepy all of a sudden," i admitted, ashamed.
-"so you may," he added very earnestly; "but i rely on you to keep awake, if only to watch. you have been asleep for half an hour at least--and you were so still--i thought i'd wake you--"
-"why?" i asked, for my curiosity and nervousness were altogether too strong to be resisted. "do you think we are in danger?"
-"i think they are about here now. i feel my vitality going rapidly--that's always the first sign. you'll last longer than i, remember. watch carefully."
-the conversation dropped. i was afraid to say all i wanted to say. it would have been too unmistakably a confession; and intuitively i realised the danger of admitting the existence of certain emotions until positively forced to. but presently shorthouse began again. his voice sounded odd, and as if it had lost power. it was more like a woman's or a boy's voice than a man's, and recalled the voice in my dream.
-"i suppose you've got a knife?" he asked.
-"yes--a big clasp knife; but why?" he made no answer. "you don't think a practical joke likely? no one suspects we're here," i went on. nothing was more significant of our real feelings this night than the way we toyed with words, and never dared more than to skirt the things in our mind.
-"it's just as well to be prepared," he answered evasively. "better be quite sure. see which pocket it's in--so as to be ready."
-i obeyed mechanically, and told him. but even this scrap of talk proved to me that he was getting further from me all the time in his mind. he was following a line that was strange to me, and, as he distanced me, i felt that the sympathy between us grew more and more strained. he knew more; it was not that i minded so much--but that he was willing to communicate less. and in proportion as i lost his support, i dreaded his increasing silence. not of words--for he talked more volubly than ever, and with a fiercer purpose--but his silence in giving no hint of what he must have known to be really going on the whole time.
-the night was perfectly still. shorthouse continued steadily talking, and i jogged him now and again with remarks or questions in order to keep awake. he paid no attention, however, to either.
-about two in the morning a short shower fell, and the drops rattled sharply on the roof like shot. i was glad when it stopped, for it completely drowned all other sounds and made it impossible to hear anything else that might be going on. something was going on, too, all the time, though for the life of me i could not say what. the outer world had grown quite dim--the house-party, the shooters, the billiard-room, and the ordinary daily incidents of my visit. all my energies were concentrated on the present, and the constant strain of watching, waiting, listening, was excessively telling.
-shorthouse still talked of his adventures, in some eastern country now, and less connectedly. these adventures, real or imaginary, had quite a savour of the arabian nights, and did not by any means make it easier for me to keep my hold on reality. the lightest weight will affect the balance under such circumstances, and in this case the weight of his talk was on the wrong scale. his words were very rapid, and i found it overwhelmingly difficult not to follow them into that great gulf of darkness where they all rushed and vanished. but that, i knew, meant sleep again. yet, it was strange i should feel sleepy when at the same time all my nerves were fairly tingling. every time i heard what seemed like a step outside, or a movement in the hay opposite, the blood stood still for a moment in my veins. doubtless, the unremitting strain told upon me more than i realised, and this was doubly great now that i knew shorthouse was a source of weakness instead of strength, as i had counted. certainly, a curious sense of languor grew upon me more and more, and i was sure that the man beside me was engaged in the same struggle. the feverishness of his talk proved this, if nothing else. it was dreadfully hard to keep awake.
-the whispering began again just then, but the only words i could catch seemed without meaning; it was almost like another language. the voices were above me, under the roof. suddenly i saw signs of active movement going on just beyond the place where the thing lay upon the rafter. there was something else up there with it! then followed panting, like the quick breathing that accompanies effort, and the next minute a black mass dropped through the air and dangled at the end of the rope.
-instantly, it all flashed upon me. i sprang to my feet and rushed headlong across the floor of the barn. how i moved so quickly in the darkness i do not know; but, even as i ran, it flashed into my mind that i should never get at my knife in time to cut the thing down, or else that i should find it had been taken from me. somehow or other--the goddess of dreams knows how--i climbed up by the hay bales and swung out along the rafter. i was hanging, of course, by my arms, and the knife was already between my teeth, though i had no recollection of how it got there. it was open. the mass, hanging like a side of bacon, was only a few feet in front of me, and i could plainly see the dark line of rope that fastened it to the beam. i then noticed for the first time that it was swinging and turning in the air, and that as i approached it seemed to move along the beam, so that the same distance was always maintained between us. the only thing i could do--for there was no time to hesitate--was to jump at it through the air and slash at the rope as i dropped.
-i seized the knife with my right hand, gave a great swing of my body with my legs and leaped forward at it through the air. horrors! it was closer to me than i knew, and i plunged full into it, and the arm with the knife missed the rope and cut deeply into some substance that was soft and yielding. but, as i dropped past it, the thing had time to turn half its width so that it swung round and faced me--and i could have sworn as i rushed past it through the air, that it had the features of shorthouse.
-the shock of this brought the vile nightmare to an abrupt end, and i woke up a second time on the soft hay-bed to find that the grey dawn was stealing in, and that i was exceedingly cold. after all i had failed to keep awake, and my sleep, since it was growing light, must have lasted at least an hour. a whole hour off my guard!
-there was no sound from shorthouse, to whom, of course, my first thoughts turned; probably his flow of words had ceased long ago, and he too had yielded to the persuasions of the seductive god. i turned to wake him and get the comfort of companionship for the horror of my dream, when to my utter dismay i saw that the place where he had been was vacant. he was no longer beside me.
-it had been no little shock before to discover that the ally in whom lay all my faith and dependence was really frightened, but it is quite impossible to describe the sensations i experienced when i realised he had gone altogether and that i was alone in the barn. for a minute or two my head swam and i felt a prey to a helpless terror. the dream, too, still seemed half real, so vivid had it been! i was thoroughly frightened--hot and cold by turns--and i clutched the hay at my side in handfuls, and for some moments had no idea in the world what i should do.
-this time, at least, i was unmistakably awake, and i made a great effort to collect myself and face the meaning of the disappearance of my companion. in this i succeeded so far that i decided upon a thorough search of the barn, inside and outside. it was a dreadful undertaking, and i did not feel at all sure of being able to bring it to a conclusion, but i knew pretty well that unless something was done at once, i should simply collapse.
-but, when i tried to move, i found that the cold, and fear, and i know not what else unholy besides, combined to make it almost impossible. i suddenly realised that a tour of inspection, during the whole of which my back would be open to attack, was not to be thought of. my will was not equal to it. anything might spring upon me any moment from the dark corners, and the growing light was just enough to reveal every movement i made to any who might be watching. for, even then, and while i was still half dazed and stupid, i knew perfectly well that someone was watching me all the time with the utmost intentness. i had not merely awakened; i had been awakened.
-i decided to try another plan; i called to him. my voice had a thin weak sound, far away and quite unreal, and there was no answer to it. hark, though! there was something that might have been a very faint voice near me!
-i called again, this time with greater distinctness, "shorthouse, where are you? can you hear me?"
-there certainly was a sound, but it was not a voice. something was moving. it was someone shuffling along, and it seemed to be outside the barn. i was afraid to call again, and the sound continued. it was an ordinary sound enough, no doubt, but it came to me just then as something unusual and unpleasant. ordinary sounds remain ordinary only so long as one is not listening to them; under the influence of intense listening they become unusual, portentous, and therefore extraordinary. so, this common sound came to me as something uncommon, disagreeable. it conveyed, too, an impression of stealth. and with it there was another, a slighter sound.
-just at this minute the wind bore faintly over the field the sound of the stable clock, a mile away. it was three o'clock; the hour when life's pulses beat lowest; when poor souls lying between life and death find it hardest to resist. vividly i remember this thought crashing through my brain with a sound of thunder, and i realised that the strain on my nerves was nearing the limit, and that something would have to be done at once if i was to reclaim my self-control at all.
-when thinking over afterwards the events of this dreadful night, it has always seemed strange to me that my second nightmare, so vivid in its terror and its nearness, should have furnished me with no inkling of what was really going on all this while; and that i should not have been able to put two and two together, or have discovered sooner than i did what this sound was and where it came from. i can well believe that the vile scheming which lay behind the whole experience found it an easy trifle to direct my hearing amiss; though, of course, it may equally well have been due to the confused condition of my mind at the time and to the general nervous tension under which i was undoubtedly suffering.
-but, whatever the cause for my stupidity at first in failing to trace the sound to its proper source, i can only say here that it was with a shock of unexampled horror that my eye suddenly glanced upwards and caught sight of the figure moving in the shadows above my head among the rafters. up to this moment i had thought that it was somebody outside the barn, crawling round the walls till it came to a door; and the rush of horror that froze my heart when i looked up and saw that it was shorthouse creeping stealthily along a beam, is something altogether beyond the power of words to describe.
-he was staring intently down upon me, and i knew at once that it was he who had been watching me.
-this point was, i think, for me the climax of feeling in the whole experience; i was incapable of any further sensation--that is any further sensation in the same direction. but here the abominable character of the affair showed itself most plainly, for it suddenly presented an entirely new aspect to me. the light fell on the picture from a new angle, and galvanised me into a fresh ability to feel when i thought a merciful numbness had supervened. it may not sound a great deal in the printed letter, but it came to me almost as if it had been an extension of consciousness, for the hand that held the pencil suddenly touched in with ghastly effect of contrast the element of the ludicrous. nothing could have been worse just then. shorthouse, the masterful spirit, so intrepid in the affairs of ordinary life, whose power increased rather than lessened in the face of danger--this man, creeping on hands and knees along a rafter in a barn at three o'clock in the morning, watching me all the time as a cat watches a mouse! yes, it was distinctly ludicrous, and while it gave me a measure with which to gauge the dread emotion that caused his aberration, it stirred somewhere deep in my interior the strings of an empty laughter.
-one of those moments then came to me that are said to come sometimes under the stress of great emotion, when in an instant the mind grows dazzlingly clear. an abnormal lucidity took the place of my confusion of thought, and i suddenly understood that the two dreams which i had taken for nightmares must really have been sent me, and that i had been allowed for one moment to look over the edge of what was to come; the good was helping, even when the evil was most determined to destroy.
-i saw it all clearly now. shorthouse had overrated his strength. the terror inspired by his first visit to the barn (when he had failed) had roused the man's whole nature to win, and he had brought me to divert the deadly stream of evil. that he had again underrated the power against him was apparent as soon as he entered the barn, and his wild talk, and refusal to admit what he felt, were due to this desire not to acknowledge the insidious fear that was growing in his heart. but, at length, it had become too strong. he had left my side in my sleep--had been overcome himself, perhaps, first in his sleep, by the dreadful impulse. he knew that i should interfere, and with every movement he made, he watched me steadily, for the mania was upon him and he was determined to hang himself. he pretended not to hear me calling, and i knew that anything coming between him and his purpose would meet the full force of his fury--the fury of a maniac, of one, for the time being, truly possessed.
-i can lay claim to no courage in the matter, for i must confess that in one sense i was frightened almost beyond control. but at the same time the necessity for decided action, if i was to save his life, came to me with an intense relief. no matter what animated him for the moment, shorthouse was only a man; it was flesh and blood i had to contend with and not the intangible powers. only a few hours before i had seen him cleaning his gun, smoking his pipe, knocking the billiard balls about with very human clumsiness, and the picture flashed across my mind with the most wholesome effect.
-then i dashed across the floor of the barn and leaped upon the hay bales as a preliminary to climbing up the sides to the first rafter. it was far more difficult than in my dream. twice i slipped back into the hay, and as i scrambled up for the third time i saw that shorthouse, who thus far had made no sound or movement, was now busily doing something with his hands upon the beam. he was at its further end, and there must have been fully fifteen feet between us. yet i saw plainly what he was doing; he was fastening the rope to the rafter. the other end, i saw, was already round his neck!
-this gave me at once the necessary strength, and in a second i had swung myself on to a beam, crying aloud with all the authority i could put into my voice--
-"you fool, man! what in the world are you trying to do? come down at once!"
-my energetic actions and words combined had an immediate effect upon him for which i blessed heaven; for he looked up from his horrid task, stared hard at me for a second or two, and then came wriggling along like a great cat to intercept me. he came by a series of leaps and bounds and at an astonishing pace, and the way he moved somehow inspired me with a fresh horror, for it did not seem the natural movement of a human being at all, but more, as i have said, like that of some lithe wild animal.
-he was close upon me. i had no clear idea of what exactly i meant to do. i could see his face plainly now; he was grinning cruelly; the eyes were positively luminous, and the menacing expression of the mouth was most distressing to look upon. otherwise it was the face of a chalk man, white and dead, with all the semblance of the living human drawn out of it. between his teeth he held my clasp knife, which he must have taken from me in my sleep, and with a flash i recalled his anxiety to know exactly which pocket it was in.
-"drop that knife!" i shouted at him, "and drop after it yourself--"
-"don't you dare to stop me!" he hissed, the breath coming between his lips across the knife that he held in his teeth. "nothing in the world can stop me now--i have promised--and i must do it. i can't hold out any longer."
-"then drop the knife and i'll help you," i shouted back in his face. "i promise--"
-"no use," he cried, laughing a little, "i must do it and you can't stop me."
-i heard a sound of laughter, too, somewhere in the air behind me. the next second shorthouse came at me with a single bound.
-to this day i cannot quite tell how it happened. it is still a wild confusion and a fever of horror in my mind, but from somewhere i drew more than my usual allowance of strength, and before he could well have realised what i meant to do, i had his throat between my fingers. he opened his teeth and the knife dropped at once, for i gave him a squeeze he need never forget. before, my muscles had felt like so much soaked paper; now they recovered their natural strength, and more besides. i managed to work ourselves along the rafter until the hay was beneath us, and then, completely exhausted, i let go my hold and we swung round together and dropped on to the hay, he clawing at me in the air even as we fell.
-it was the hay that saved us, first by breaking the fall and then by impeding his movements so that i was able to prevent his choking me to death.
-the wood of the dead
-one summer, in my wanderings with a knapsack, i was at luncheon in the room of a wayside inn in the western country, when the door opened and there entered an old rustic, who crossed close to my end of the table and sat himself down very quietly in the seat by the bow window. we exchanged glances, or, properly speaking, nods, for at the moment i did not actually raise my eyes to his face, so concerned was i with the important business of satisfying an appetite gained by tramping twelve miles over a difficult country.
-the fine warm rain of seven o'clock, which had since risen in a kind of luminous mist about the tree tops, now floated far overhead in a deep blue sky, and the day was settling down into a blaze of golden light. it was one of those days peculiar to somerset and north devon, when the orchards shine and the meadows seem to add a radiance of their own, so brilliantly soft are the colourings of grass and foliage.
-the inn-keeper's daughter, a little maiden with a simple country loveliness, presently entered with a foaming pewter mug, enquired after my welfare, and went out again. apparently she had not noticed the old man sitting in the settle by the bow window, nor had he, for his part, so much as once turned his head in our direction.
-under ordinary circumstances i should probably have given no thought to this other occupant of the room; but the fact that it was supposed to be reserved for my private use, and the singular thing that he sat looking aimlessly out of the window, with no attempt to engage me in conversation, drew my eyes more than once somewhat curiously upon him, and i soon caught myself wondering why he sat there so silently, and always with averted head.
-he was, i saw, a rather bent old man in rustic dress, and the skin of his face was wrinkled like that of an apple; corduroy trousers were caught up with a string below the knee, and he wore a sort of brown fustian jacket that was very much faded. his thin hand rested upon a stoutish stick. he wore no hat and carried none, and i noticed that his head, covered with silvery hair, was finely shaped and gave the impression of something noble.
-though rather piqued by his studied disregard of my presence, i came to the conclusion that he probably had something to do with the little hostel and had a perfect right to use this room with freedom, and i finished my luncheon without breaking the silence and then took the settle opposite to smoke a pipe before going on my way.
-through the open window came the scents of the blossoming fruit trees; the orchard was drenched in sunshine and the branches danced lazily in the breeze; the grass below fairly shone with white and yellow daisies, and the red roses climbing in profusion over the casement mingled their perfume with the sweetly penetrating odour of the sea.
-it was a place to dawdle in, to lie and dream away a whole afternoon, watching the sleepy butterflies and listening to the chorus of birds which seemed to fill every corner of the sky. indeed, i was already debating in my mind whether to linger and enjoy it all instead of taking the strenuous pathway over the hills, when the old rustic in the settle opposite suddenly turned his face towards me for the first time and began to speak.
-his voice had a quiet dreamy note in it that was quite in harmony with the day and the scene, but it sounded far away, i thought, almost as though it came to me from outside where the shadows were weaving their eternal tissue of dreams upon the garden floor. moreover, there was no trace in it of the rough quality one might naturally have expected, and, now that i saw the full face of the speaker for the first time, i noted with something like a start that the deep, gentle eyes seemed far more in keeping with the timbre of the voice than with the rough and very countrified appearance of the clothes and manner. his voice set pleasant waves of sound in motion towards me, and the actual words, if i remember rightly, were--
-"you are a stranger in these parts?" or "is not this part of the country strange to you?"
-there was no "sir," nor any outward and visible sign of the deference usually paid by real country folk to the town-bred visitor, but in its place a gentleness, almost a sweetness, of polite sympathy that was far more of a compliment than either.
-"i have lived here all my life," he said, with a sigh, "and am never tired of coming back to it again."
-"then you no longer live in the immediate neighbourhood?"
-"i have moved," he answered briefly, adding after a pause in which his eyes seemed to wander wistfully to the wealth of blossoms beyond the window; "but i am almost sorry, for nowhere else have i found the sunshine lie so warmly, the flowers smell so sweetly, or the winds and streams make such tender music. . . ."
-his voice died away into a thin stream of sound that lost itself in the rustle of the rose-leaves climbing in at the window, for he turned his head away from me as he spoke and looked out into the garden. but it was impossible to conceal my surprise, and i raised my eyes in frank astonishment on hearing so poetic an utterance from such a figure of a man, though at the same time realising that it was not in the least inappropriate, and that, in fact, no other sort of expression could have properly been expected from him.
-"i am sure you are right," i answered at length, when it was clear he had ceased speaking; "or there is something of enchantment here--of real fairy-like enchantment--that makes me think of the visions of childhood days, before one knew anything of--of--"
-i had been oddly drawn into his vein of speech, some inner force compelling me. but here the spell passed and i could not catch the thoughts that had a moment before opened a long vista before my inner vision.
-"to tell you the truth," i concluded lamely, "the place fascinates me and i am in two minds about going further--"
-even at this stage i remember thinking it odd that i should be talking like this with a stranger whom i met in a country inn, for it has always been one of my failings that to strangers my manner is brief to surliness. it was as though we were figures meeting in a dream, speaking without sound, obeying laws not operative in the everyday working world, and about to play with a new scale of space and time perhaps. but my astonishment passed quickly into an entirely different feeling when i became aware that the old man opposite had turned his head from the window again, and was regarding me with eyes so bright they seemed almost to shine with an inner flame. his gaze was fixed upon my face with an intense ardour, and his whole manner had suddenly become alert and concentrated. there was something about him i now felt for the first time that made little thrills of excitement run up and down my back. i met his look squarely, but with an inward tremor.
-"stay, then, a little while longer," he said in a much lower and deeper voice than before; "stay, and i will teach you something of the purpose of my coming."
-he stopped abruptly. i was conscious of a decided shiver.
-"you have a special purpose then--in coming back?" i asked, hardly knowing what i was saying.
-"to call away someone," he went on in the same thrilling voice, "someone who is not quite ready to come, but who is needed elsewhere for a worthier purpose." there was a sadness in his manner that mystified me more than ever.
-"you mean--?" i began, with an unaccountable access of trembling.
-"i have come for someone who must soon move, even as i have moved."
-he looked me through and through with a dreadfully piercing gaze, but i met his eyes with a full straight stare, trembling though i was, and i was aware that something stirred within me that had never stirred before, though for the life of me i could not have put a name to it, or have analysed its nature. something lifted and rolled away. for one single second i understood clearly that the past and the future exist actually side by side in one immense present; that it was i who moved to and fro among shifting, protean appearances.
-the old man dropped his eyes from my face, and the momentary glimpse of a mightier universe passed utterly away. reason regained its sway over a dull, limited kingdom.
-"come to-night," i heard the old man say, "come to me to-night into the wood of the dead. come at midnight--"
-involuntarily i clutched the arm of the settle for support, for i then felt that i was speaking with someone who knew more of the real things that are and will be, than i could ever know while in the body, working through the ordinary channels of sense--and this curious half-promise of a partial lifting of the veil had its undeniable effect upon me.
-the breeze from the sea had died away outside, and the blossoms were still. a yellow butterfly floated lazily past the window. the song of the birds hushed--i smelt the sea--i smelt the perfume of heated summer air rising from fields and flowers, the ineffable scents of june and of the long days of the year--and with it, from countless green meadows beyond, came the hum of myriad summer life, children's voices, sweet pipings, and the sound of water falling.
-i knew myself to be on the threshold of a new order of experience--of an ecstasy. something drew me forth with a sense of inexpressible yearning towards the being of this strange old man in the window seat, and for a moment i knew what it was to taste a mighty and wonderful sensation, and to touch the highest pinnacle of joy i have ever known. it lasted for less than a second, and was gone; but in that brief instant of time the same terrible lucidity came to me that had already shown me how the past and future exist in the present, and i realised and understood that pleasure and pain are one and the same force, for the joy i had just experienced included also all the pain i ever had felt, or ever could feel. . . .
-the sunshine grew to dazzling radiance, faded, passed away. the shadows paused in their dance upon the grass, deepened a moment, and then melted into air. the flowers of the fruit trees laughed with their little silvery laughter as the wind sighed over their radiant eyes the old, old tale of its personal love. once or twice a voice called my name. a wonderful sensation of lightness and power began to steal over me.
-suddenly the door opened and the inn-keeper's daughter came in. by all ordinary standards, her's was a charming country loveliness, born of the stars and wild-flowers, of moonlight shining through autumn mists upon the river and the fields; yet, by contrast with the higher order of beauty i had just momentarily been in touch with, she seemed almost ugly. how dull her eyes, how thin her voice, how vapid her smile, and insipid her whole presentment.
-for a moment she stood between me and the occupant of the window seat while i counted out the small change for my meal and for her services; but when, an instant later, she moved aside, i saw that the settle was empty and that there was no longer anyone in the room but our two selves.
-this discovery was no shock to me; indeed, i had almost expected it, and the man had gone just as a figure goes out of a dream, causing no surprise and leaving me as part and parcel of the same dream without breaking of continuity. but, as soon as i had paid my bill and thus resumed in very practical fashion the thread of my normal consciousness, i turned to the girl and asked her if she knew the old man who had been sitting in the window seat, and what he had meant by the wood of the dead.
-the maiden started visibly, glancing quickly round the empty room, but answering simply that she had seen no one. i described him in great detail, and then, as the description grew clearer, she turned a little pale under her pretty sunburn and said very gravely that it must have been the ghost.
-"ghost! what ghost?"
-"oh, the village ghost," she said quietly, coming closer to my chair with a little nervous movement of genuine alarm, and adding in a lower voice, "he comes before a death, they say!"
-it was not difficult to induce the girl to talk, and the story she told me, shorn of the superstition that had obviously gathered with the years round the memory of a strangely picturesque figure, was an interesting and peculiar one.
-the inn, she said, was originally a farmhouse, occupied by a yeoman farmer, evidently of a superior, if rather eccentric, character, who had been very poor until he reached old age, when a son died suddenly in the colonies and left him an unexpected amount of money, almost a fortune.
-the old man thereupon altered no whit his simple manner of living, but devoted his income entirely to the improvement of the village and to the assistance of its inhabitants; he did this quite regardless of his personal likes and dislikes, as if one and all were absolutely alike to him, objects of a genuine and impersonal benevolence. people had always been a little afraid of the man, not understanding his eccentricities, but the simple force of this love for humanity changed all that in a very short space of time; and before he died he came to be known as the father of the village and was held in great love and veneration by all.
-a short time before his end, however, he began to act queerly. he spent his money just as usefully and wisely, but the shock of sudden wealth after a life of poverty, people said, had unsettled his mind. he claimed to see things that others did not see, to hear voices, and to have visions. evidently, he was not of the harmless, foolish, visionary order, but a man of character and of great personal force, for the people became divided in their opinions, and the vicar, good man, regarded and treated him as a "special case." for many, his name and atmosphere became charged almost with a spiritual influence that was not of the best. people quoted texts about him; kept when possible out of his way, and avoided his house after dark. none understood him, but though the majority loved him, an element of dread and mystery became associated with his name, chiefly owing to the ignorant gossip of the few.
-a grove of pine trees behind the farm--the girl pointed them out to me on the slope of the hill--he said was the wood of the dead, because just before anyone died in the village he saw them walk into that wood, singing. none who went in ever came out again. he often mentioned the names to his wife, who usually published them to all the inhabitants within an hour of her husband's confidence; and it was found that the people he had seen enter the wood--died. on warm summer nights he would sometimes take an old stick and wander out, hatless, under the pines, for he loved this wood, and used to say he met all his old friends there, and would one day walk in there never to return. his wife tried to break him gently off this habit, but he always had his own way; and once, when she followed and found him standing under a great pine in the thickest portion of the grove, talking earnestly to someone she could not see, he turned and rebuked her very gently, but in such a way that she never repeated the experiment, saying--
-"you should never interrupt me, mary, when i am talking with the others; for they teach me, remember, wonderful things, and i must learn all i can before i go to join them."
-this story went like wild-fire through the village, increasing with every repetition, until at length everyone was able to give an accurate description of the great veiled figures the woman declared she had seen moving among the trees where her husband stood. the innocent pine-grove now became positively haunted, and the title of "wood of the dead" clung naturally as if it had been applied to it in the ordinary course of events by the compilers of the ordnance survey.
-on the evening of his ninetieth birthday the old man went up to his wife and kissed her. his manner was loving, and very gentle, and there was something about him besides, she declared afterwards, that made her slightly in awe of him and feel that he was almost more of a spirit than a man.
-he kissed her tenderly on both cheeks, but his eyes seemed to look right through her as he spoke.
-"dearest wife," he said, "i am saying good-bye to you, for i am now going into the wood of the dead, and i shall not return. do not follow me, or send to search, but be ready soon to come upon the same journey yourself."
-the good woman burst into tears and tried to hold him, but he easily slipped from her hands, and she was afraid to follow him. slowly she saw him cross the field in the sunshine, and then enter the cool shadows of the grove, where he disappeared from her sight.
-that same night, much later, she woke to find him lying peacefully by her side in bed, with one arm stretched out towards her, dead. her story was half believed, half doubted at the time, but in a very few years afterwards it evidently came to be accepted by all the countryside. a funeral service was held to which the people flocked in great numbers, and everyone approved of the sentiment which led the widow to add the words, "the father of the village," after the usual texts which appeared upon the stone over his grave.
-this, then, was the story i pieced together of the village ghost as the little inn-keeper's daughter told it to me that afternoon in the parlour of the inn.
-"but you're not the first to say you've seen him," the girl concluded; "and your description is just what we've always heard, and that window, they say, was just where he used to sit and think, and think, when he was alive, and sometimes, they say, to cry for hours together."
-"and would you feel afraid if you had seen him?" i asked, for the girl seemed strangely moved and interested in the whole story.
-"i think so," she answered timidly. "surely, if he spoke to me. he did speak to you, didn't he, sir?" she asked after a slight pause.
-"he said he had come for someone."
-"come for someone," she repeated. "did he say--" she went on falteringly.
-"no, he did not say for whom," i said quickly, noticing the sudden shadow on her face and the tremulous voice.
-"are you really sure, sir?"
-"oh, quite sure," i answered cheerfully. "i did not even ask him." the girl looked at me steadily for nearly a whole minute as though there were many things she wished to tell me or to ask. but she said nothing, and presently picked up her tray from the table and walked slowly out of the room.
-instead of keeping to my original purpose and pushing on to the next village over the hills, i ordered a room to be prepared for me at the inn, and that afternoon i spent wandering about the fields and lying under the fruit trees, watching the white clouds sailing out over the sea. the wood of the dead i surveyed from a distance, but in the village i visited the stone erected to the memory of the "father of the village"--who was thus, evidently, no mythical personage--and saw also the monuments of his fine unselfish spirit: the schoolhouse he built, the library, the home for the aged poor, and the tiny hospital.
-that night, as the clock in the church tower was striking half-past eleven, i stealthily left the inn and crept through the dark orchard and over the hayfield in the direction of the hill whose southern slope was clothed with the wood of the dead. a genuine interest impelled me to the adventure, but i also was obliged to confess to a certain sinking in my heart as i stumbled along over the field in the darkness, for i was approaching what might prove to be the birth-place of a real country myth, and a spot already lifted by the imaginative thoughts of a considerable number of people into the region of the haunted and ill-omened.
-the inn lay below me, and all round it the village clustered in a soft black shadow unrelieved by a single light. the night was moonless, yet distinctly luminous, for the stars crowded the sky. the silence of deep slumber was everywhere; so still, indeed, that every time my foot kicked against a stone i thought the sound must be heard below in the village and waken the sleepers.
-i climbed the hill slowly, thinking chiefly of the strange story of the noble old man who had seized the opportunity to do good to his fellows the moment it came his way, and wondering why the causes that operate ceaselessly behind human life did not always select such admirable instruments. once or twice a night-bird circled swiftly over my head, but the bats had long since gone to rest, and there was no other sign of life stirring.
-then, suddenly, with a singular thrill of emotion, i saw the first trees of the wood of the dead rise in front of me in a high black wall. their crests stood up like giant spears against the starry sky; and though there was no perceptible movement of the air on my cheek i heard a faint, rushing sound among their branches as the night breeze passed to and fro over their countless little needles. a remote, hushed murmur rose overhead and died away again almost immediately; for in these trees the wind seems to be never absolutely at rest, and on the calmest day there is always a sort of whispering music among their branches.
-for a moment i hesitated on the edge of this dark wood, and listened intently. delicate perfumes of earth and bark stole out to meet me. impenetrable darkness faced me. only the consciousness that i was obeying an order, strangely given, and including a mighty privilege, enabled me to find the courage to go forward and step in boldly under the trees.
-instantly the shadows closed in upon me and "something" came forward to meet me from the centre of the darkness. it would be easy enough to meet my imagination half-way with fact, and say that a cold hand grasped my own and led me by invisible paths into the unknown depths of the grove; but at any rate, without stumbling, and always with the positive knowledge that i was going straight towards the desired object, i pressed on confidently and securely into the wood. so dark was it that, at first, not a single star-beam pierced the roof of branches overhead; and, as we moved forward side by side, the trees shifted silently past us in long lines, row upon row, squadron upon squadron, like the units of a vast, soundless army.
-and, at length, we came to a comparatively open space where the trees halted upon us for a while, and, looking up, i saw the white river of the sky beginning to yield to the influence of a new light that now seemed spreading swiftly across the heavens.
-"it is the dawn coming," said the voice at my side that i certainly recognised, but which seemed almost like a whispering from the trees, "and we are now in the heart of the wood of the dead."
-we seated ourselves on a moss-covered boulder and waited the coming of the sun. with marvellous swiftness, it seemed to me, the light in the east passed into the radiance of early morning, and when the wind awoke and began to whisper in the tree tops, the first rays of the risen sun fell between the trunks and rested in a circle of gold at our feet.
-"now, come with me," whispered my companion in the same deep voice, "for time has no existence here, and that which i would show you is already there!"
-we trod gently and silently over the soft pine needles. already the sun was high over our heads, and the shadows of the trees coiled closely about their feet. the wood became denser again, but occasionally we passed through little open bits where we could smell the hot sunshine and the dry, baked pine needles. then, presently, we came to the edge of the grove, and i saw a hayfield lying in the blaze of day, and two horses basking lazily with switching tails in the shafts of a laden hay-waggon.
-so complete and vivid was the sense of reality, that i remember the grateful realisation of the cool shade where we sat and looked out upon the hot world beyond.
-the last pitchfork had tossed up its fragrant burden, and the great horses were already straining in the shafts after the driver, as he walked slowly in front with one hand upon their bridles. he was a stalwart fellow, with sunburned neck and hands. then, for the first time, i noticed, perched aloft upon the trembling throne of hay, the figure of a slim young girl. i could not see her face, but her brown hair escaped in disorder from a white sun-bonnet, and her still browner hands held a well-worn hay rake. she was laughing and talking with the driver, and he, from time to time, cast up at her ardent glances of admiration--glances that won instant smiles and soft blushes in response.
-the cart presently turned into the roadway that skirted the edge of the wood where we were sitting. i watched the scene with intense interest and became so much absorbed in it that i quite forgot the manifold, strange steps by which i was permitted to become a spectator.
-"come down and walk with me," cried the young fellow, stopping a moment in front of the horses and opening wide his arms. "jump! and i'll catch you!"
-"oh, oh," she laughed, and her voice sounded to me as the happiest, merriest laughter i had ever heard from a girl's throat. "oh, oh! that's all very well. but remember i'm queen of the hay, and i must ride!"
-"then i must come and ride beside you," he cried, and began at once to climb up by way of the driver's seat. but, with a peal of silvery laughter, she slipped down easily over the back of the hay to escape him, and ran a little way along the road. i could see her quite clearly, and noticed the charming, natural grace of her movements, and the loving expression in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder to make sure he was following. evidently, she did not wish to escape for long, certainly not for ever.
-in two strides the big, brown swain was after her, leaving the horses to do as they pleased. another second and his arms would have caught the slender waist and pressed the little body to his heart. but, just at that instant, the old man beside me uttered a peculiar cry. it was low and thrilling, and it went through me like a sharp sword.
-he had called her by her own name--and she had heard.
-for a second she halted, glancing back with frightened eyes. then, with a brief cry of despair, the girl swerved aside and dived in swiftly among the shadows of the trees.
-but the young man saw the sudden movement and cried out to her passionately--
-"not that way, my love! not that way! it's the wood of the dead!"
-she threw a laughing glance over her shoulder at him, and the wind caught her hair and drew it out in a brown cloud under the sun. but the next minute she was close beside me, lying on the breast of my companion, and i was certain i heard the words repeatedly uttered with many sighs: "father, you called, and i have come. and i come willingly, for i am very, very tired."
-at any rate, so the words sounded to me, and mingled with them i seemed to catch the answer in that deep, thrilling whisper i already knew: "and you shall sleep, my child, sleep for a long, long time, until it is time for you to begin the journey again."
-in that brief second of time i had recognised the face and voice of the inn-keeper's daughter, but the next minute a dreadful wail broke from the lips of the young man, and the sky grew suddenly as dark as night, the wind rose and began to toss the branches about us, and the whole scene was swallowed up in a wave of utter blackness.
-again the chill fingers seemed to seize my hand, and i was guided by the way i had come to the edge of the wood, and crossing the hayfield still slumbering in the starlight, i crept back to the inn and went to bed.
-a year later i happened to be in the same part of the country, and the memory of the strange summer vision returned to me with the added softness of distance. i went to the old village and had tea under the same orchard trees at the same inn.
-but the little maid of the inn did not show her face, and i took occasion to enquire of her father as to her welfare and her whereabouts.
-"married, no doubt," i laughed, but with a strange feeling that clutched at my heart.
-"no, sir," replied the inn-keeper sadly, "not married--though she was just going to be--but dead. she got a sunstroke in the hayfields, just a few days after you were here, if i remember rightly, and she was gone from us in less than a week."
-smith: an episode in a lodging-house
-"when i was a medical student," began the doctor, half turning towards his circle of listeners in the firelight, "i came across one or two very curious human beings; but there was one fellow i remember particularly, for he caused me the most vivid, and i think the most uncomfortable, emotions i have ever known.
-"for many months i knew smith only by name as the occupant of the floor above me. obviously his name meant nothing to me. moreover i was busy with lectures, reading, cliniques and the like, and had little leisure to devise plans for scraping acquaintance with any of the other lodgers in the house. then chance brought us curiously together, and this fellow smith left a deep impression upon me as the result of our first meeting. at the time the strength of this first impression seemed quite inexplicable to me, but looking back at the episode now from a stand-point of greater knowledge i judge the fact to have been that he stirred my curiosity to an unusual degree, and at the same time awakened my sense of horror--whatever that may be in a medical student--about as deeply and permanently as these two emotions were capable of being stirred at all in the particular system and set of nerves called me.
-"how he knew that i was interested in the study of languages was something i could never explain, but one day, quite unannounced, he came quietly into my room in the evening and asked me point-blank if i knew enough hebrew to help him in the pronunciation of certain words.
-"he caught me along the line of least resistance, and i was greatly flattered to be able to give him the desired information; but it was only when he had thanked me and was gone that i realised i had been in the presence of an unusual individuality. for the life of me i could not quite seize and label the peculiarities of what i felt to be a very striking personality, but it was borne in upon me that he was a man apart from his fellows, a mind that followed a line leading away from ordinary human intercourse and human interests, and into regions that left in his atmosphere something remote, rarefied, chilling.
-"the moment he was gone i became conscious of two things--an intense curiosity to know more about this man and what his real interests were, and secondly, the fact that my skin was crawling and that my hair had a tendency to rise."
-the doctor paused a moment here to puff hard at his pipe, which, however, had gone out beyond recall without the assistance of a match; and in the deep silence, which testified to the genuine interest of his listeners, someone poked the fire up into a little blaze, and one or two others glanced over their shoulders into the dark distances of the big hall.
-"on looking back," he went on, watching the momentary flames in the grate, "i see a short, thick-set man of perhaps forty-five, with immense shoulders and small, slender hands. the contrast was noticeable, for i remember thinking that such a giant frame and such slim finger bones hardly belonged together. his head, too, was large and very long, the head of an idealist beyond all question, yet with an unusually strong development of the jaw and chin. here again was a singular contradiction, though i am better able now to appreciate its full meaning, with a greater experience in judging the values of physiognomy. for this meant, of course, an enthusiastic idealism balanced and kept in check by will and judgment--elements usually deficient in dreamers and visionaries.
-"at any rate, here was a being with probably a very wide range of possibilities, a machine with a pendulum that most likely had an unusual length of swing.
-"the man's hair was exceedingly fine, and the lines about his nose and mouth were cut as with a delicate steel instrument in wax. his eyes i have left to the last. they were large and quite changeable, not in colour only, but in character, size, and shape. occasionally they seemed the eyes of someone else, if you can understand what i mean, and at the same time, in their shifting shades of blue, green, and a nameless sort of dark grey, there was a sinister light in them that lent to the whole face an aspect almost alarming. moreover, they were the most luminous optics i think i have ever seen in any human being.
-"there, then, at the risk of a wearisome description, is smith as i saw him for the first time that winter's evening in my shabby student's rooms in edinburgh. and yet the real part of him, of course, i have left untouched, for it is both indescribable and un-get-atable. i have spoken already of an atmosphere of warning and aloofness he carried about with him. it is impossible further to analyse the series of little shocks his presence always communicated to my being; but there was that about him which made me instantly on the qui vive in his presence, every nerve alert, every sense strained and on the watch. i do not mean that he deliberately suggested danger, but rather that he brought forces in his wake which automatically warned the nervous centres of my system to be on their guard and alert.
-"since the days of my first acquaintance with this man i have lived through other experiences and have seen much i cannot pretend to explain or understand; but, so far in my life, i have only once come across a human being who suggested a disagreeable familiarity with unholy things, and who made me feel uncanny and 'creepy' in his presence; and that unenviable individual was mr. smith.
-"what his occupation was during the day i never knew. i think he slept until the sun set. no one ever saw him on the stairs, or heard him move in his room during the day. he was a creature of the shadows, who apparently preferred darkness to light. our landlady either knew nothing, or would say nothing. at any rate she found no fault, and i have since wondered often by what magic this fellow was able to convert a common landlady of a common lodging-house into a discreet and uncommunicative person. this alone was a sign of genius of some sort.
-"'he's been here with me for years--long before you come, an' i don't interfere or ask no questions of what doesn't concern me, as long as people pays their rent,' was the only remark on the subject that i ever succeeded in winning from that quarter, and it certainly told me nothing nor gave me any encouragement to ask for further information.
-"examinations, however, and the general excitement of a medical student's life for a time put mr. smith completely out of my head. for a long period he did not call upon me again, and for my part, i felt no courage to return his unsolicited visit.
-"just then, however, there came a change in the fortunes of those who controlled my very limited income, and i was obliged to give up my ground-floor and move aloft to more modest chambers on the top of the house. here i was directly over smith, and had to pass his door to reach my own.
-"it so happened that about this time i was frequently called out at all hours of the night for the maternity cases which a fourth-year student takes at a certain period of his studies, and on returning from one of these visits at about two o'clock in the morning i was surprised to hear the sound of voices as i passed his door. a peculiar sweet odour, too, not unlike the smell of incense, penetrated into the passage.
-"i went upstairs very quietly, wondering what was going on there at this hour of the morning. to my knowledge smith never had visitors. for a moment i hesitated outside the door with one foot on the stairs. all my interest in this strange man revived, and my curiosity rose to a point not far from action. at last i might learn something of the habits of this lover of the night and the darkness.
-"the sound of voices was plainly audible, smith's predominating so much that i never could catch more than points of sound from the other, penetrating now and then the steady stream of his voice. not a single word reached me, at least, not a word that i could understand, though the voice was loud and distinct, and it was only afterwards that i realised he must have been speaking in a foreign language.
-"the sound of footsteps, too, was equally distinct. two persons were moving about the room, passing and repassing the door, one of them a light, agile person, and the other ponderous and somewhat awkward. smith's voice went on incessantly with its odd, monotonous droning, now loud, now soft, as he crossed and re-crossed the floor. the other person was also on the move, but in a different and less regular fashion, for i heard rapid steps that seemed to end sometimes in stumbling, and quick sudden movements that brought up with a violent lurching against the wall or furniture.
-"but long before the impulse could translate itself into an act, or even before it had been properly weighed and considered by the mind, i heard a voice close beside me in the air, a sort of hushed whisper which i am certain was smith speaking, though the sound did not seem to have come to me through the door. it was close in my very ear, as though he stood beside me, and it gave me such a start, that i clutched the banisters to save myself from stepping backwards and making a clatter on the stairs.
-"'there is nothing you can do to help me,' it said distinctly, 'and you will be much safer in your own room.'
-"i am ashamed to this day of the pace at which i covered the flight of stairs in the darkness to the top floor, and of the shaking hand with which i lit my candles and bolted the door. but, there it is, just as it happened.
-"this midnight episode, so odd and yet so trivial in itself, fired me with more curiosity than ever about my fellow-lodger. it also made me connect him in my mind with a sense of fear and distrust. i never saw him, yet i was often, and uncomfortably, aware of his presence in the upper regions of that gloomy lodging-house. smith and his secret mode of life and mysterious pursuits, somehow contrived to awaken in my being a line of reflection that disturbed my comfortable condition of ignorance. i never saw him, as i have said, and exchanged no sort of communication with him, yet it seemed to me that his mind was in contact with mine, and some of the strange forces of his atmosphere filtered through into my being and disturbed my equilibrium. those upper floors became haunted for me after dark, and, though outwardly our lives never came into contact, i became unwillingly involved in certain pursuits on which his mind was centred. i felt that he was somehow making use of me against my will, and by methods which passed my comprehension.
-"i was at that time, moreover, in the heavy, unquestioning state of materialism which is common to medical students when they begin to understand something of the human anatomy and nervous system, and jump at once to the conclusion that they control the universe and hold in their forceps the last word of life and death. i 'knew it all,' and regarded a belief in anything beyond matter as the wanderings of weak, or at best, untrained minds. and this condition of mind, of course, added to the strength of this upsetting fear which emanated from the floor below and began slowly to take possession of me.
-"though i kept no notes of the subsequent events in this matter, they made too deep an impression for me ever to forget the sequence in which they occurred. without difficulty i can recall the next step in the adventure with smith, for adventure it rapidly grew to be."
-the doctor stopped a moment and laid his pipe on the table behind him before continuing. the fire had burned low, and no one stirred to poke it. the silence in the great hall was so deep that when the speaker's pipe touched the table the sound woke audible echoes at the far end among the shadows.
-"one evening, while i was reading, the door of my room opened and smith came in. he made no attempt at ceremony. it was after ten o'clock and i was tired, but the presence of the man immediately galvanised me into activity. my attempts at ordinary politeness he thrust on one side at once, and began asking me to vocalise, and then pronounce for him, certain hebrew words; and when this was done he abruptly inquired if i was not the fortunate possessor of a very rare rabbinical treatise, which he named.
-"how he knew that i possessed this book puzzled me exceedingly; but i was still more surprised to see him cross the room and take it out of my book-shelf almost before i had had time to answer in the affirmative. evidently he knew exactly where it was kept. this excited my curiosity beyond all bounds, and i immediately began asking him questions; and though, out of sheer respect for the man, i put them very delicately to him, and almost by way of mere conversation, he had only one reply for the lot. he would look up at me from the pages of the book with an expression of complete comprehension on his extraordinary features, would bow his head a little and say very gravely--
-"'that, of course, is a perfectly proper question,'--which was absolutely all i could ever get out of him.
-"on this particular occasion he stayed with me perhaps ten or fifteen minutes. then he went quickly downstairs to his room with my hebrew treatise in his hand, and i heard him close and bolt his door.
-"but a few moments later, before i had time to settle down to my book again, or to recover from the surprise his visit had caused me, i heard the door open, and there stood smith once again beside my chair. he made no excuse for his second interruption, but bent his head down to the level of my reading lamp and peered across the flame straight into my eyes.
-"'i hope,' he whispered, 'i hope you are never disturbed at night?'
-"'eh?' i stammered, 'disturbed at night? oh no, thanks, at least, not that i know of--'
-"'i'm glad,' he replied gravely, appearing not to notice my confusion and surprise at his question. 'but, remember, should it ever be the case, please let me know at once.'
-"and he was gone down the stairs and into his room again.
-"for some minutes i sat reflecting upon his strange behaviour. he was not mad, i argued, but was the victim of some harmless delusion that had gradually grown upon him as a result of his solitary mode of life; and from the books he used, i judged that it had something to do with mediæval magic, or some system of ancient hebrew mysticism. the words he asked me to pronounce for him were probably 'words of power,' which, when uttered with the vehemence of a strong will behind them, were supposed to produce physical results, or set up vibrations in one's own inner being that had the effect of a partial lifting of the veil.
-"i sat thinking about the man, and his way of living, and the probable effects in the long-run of his dangerous experiments, and i can recall perfectly well the sensation of disappointment that crept over me when i realised that i had labelled his particular form of aberration, and that my curiosity would therefore no longer be excited.
-"for some time i had been sitting alone with these reflections--it may have been ten minutes or it may have been half an hour--when i was aroused from my reverie by the knowledge that someone was again in the room standing close beside my chair. my first thought was that smith had come back again in his swift, unaccountable manner, but almost at the same moment i realised that this could not be the case at all. for the door faced my position, and it certainly had not been opened again.
-"yet, someone was in the room, moving cautiously to and fro, watching me, almost touching me. i was as sure of it as i was of myself, and though at the moment i do not think i was actually afraid, i am bound to admit that a certain weakness came over me and that i felt that strange disinclination for action which is probably the beginning of the horrible paralysis of real terror. i should have been glad to hide myself, if that had been possible, to cower into a corner, or behind a door, or anywhere so that i could not be watched and observed.
-"but, overcoming my nervousness with an effort of the will, i got up quickly out of my chair and held the reading lamp aloft so that it shone into all the corners like a searchlight.
-"the room was utterly empty! it was utterly empty, at least, to the eye, but to the nerves, and especially to that combination of sense perception which is made up by all the senses acting together, and by no one in particular, there was a person standing there at my very elbow.
-"i say 'person,' for i can think of no appropriate word. for, if it was a human being, i can only affirm that i had the overwhelming conviction that it was not, but that it was some form of life wholly unknown to me both as to its essence and its nature. a sensation of gigantic force and power came with it, and i remember vividly to this day my terror on realising that i was close to an invisible being who could crush me as easily as i could crush a fly, and who could see my every movement while itself remaining invisible.
-"to this terror was added the certain knowledge that the 'being' kept in my proximity for a definite purpose. and that this purpose had some direct bearing upon my well-being, indeed upon my life, i was equally convinced; for i became aware of a sensation of growing lassitude as though the vitality were being steadily drained out of my body. my heart began to beat irregularly at first, then faintly. i was conscious, even within a few minutes, of a general drooping of the powers of life in the whole system, an ebbing away of self-control, and a distinct approach of drowsiness and torpor.
-"the power to move, or to think out any mode of resistance, was fast leaving me, when there rose, in the distance as it were, a tremendous commotion. a door opened with a clatter, and i heard the peremptory and commanding tones of a human voice calling aloud in a language i could not comprehend. it was smith, my fellow-lodger, calling up the stairs; and his voice had not sounded for more than a few seconds, when i felt something withdrawn from my presence, from my person, indeed from my very skin. it seemed as if there was a rushing of air and some large creature swept by me at about the level of my shoulders. instantly the pressure on my heart was relieved, and the atmosphere seemed to resume its normal condition.
-"smith's door closed quietly downstairs, as i put the lamp down with trembling hands. what had happened i do not know; only, i was alone again and my strength was returning as rapidly as it had left me.
-"i went across the room and examined myself in the glass. the skin was very pale, and the eyes dull. my temperature, i found, was a little below normal and my pulse faint and irregular. but these smaller signs of disturbance were as nothing compared with the feeling i had--though no outward signs bore testimony to the fact--that i had narrowly escaped a real and ghastly catastrophe. i felt shaken, somehow, shaken to the very roots of my being."
-the doctor rose from his chair and crossed over to the dying fire, so that no one could see the expression on his face as he stood with his back to the grate, and continued his weird tale.
-"it would be wearisome," he went on in a lower voice, looking over our heads as though he still saw the dingy top floor of that haunted edinburgh lodging-house; "it would be tedious for me at this length of time to analyse my feelings, or attempt to reproduce for you the thorough examination to which i endeavoured then to subject my whole being, intellectual, emotional, and physical. i need only mention the dominant emotion with which this curious episode left me--the indignant anger against myself that i could ever have lost my self-control enough to come under the sway of so gross and absurd a delusion. this protest, however, i remember making with all the emphasis possible. and i also remember noting that it brought me very little satisfaction, for it was the protest of my reason only, when all the rest of my being was up in arms against its conclusions.
-"my dealings with the 'delusion,' however, were not yet over for the night; for very early next morning, somewhere about three o'clock, i was awakened by a curiously stealthy noise in the room, and the next minute there followed a crash as if all my books had been swept bodily from their shelf on to the floor.
-"but this time i was not frightened. cursing the disturbance with all the resounding and harmless words i could accumulate, i jumped out of bed and lit the candle in a second, and in the first dazzle of the flaring match--but before the wick had time to catch--i was certain i saw a dark grey shadow, of ungainly shape, and with something more or less like a human head, drive rapidly past the side of the wall farthest from me and disappear into the gloom by the angle of the door.
-"i waited one single second to be sure the candle was alight, and then dashed after it, but before i had gone two steps, my foot stumbled against something hard piled up on the carpet and i only just saved myself from falling headlong. i picked myself up and found that all the books from what i called my 'language shelf' were strewn across the floor. the room, meanwhile, as a minute's search revealed, was quite empty. i looked in every corner and behind every stick of furniture, and a student's bedroom on a top floor, costing twelve shillings a week, did not hold many available hiding-places, as you may imagine.
-"the crash, however, was explained. some very practical and physical force had thrown the books from their resting-place. that, at least, was beyond all doubt. and as i replaced them on the shelf and noted that not one was missing, i busied myself mentally with the sore problem of how the agent of this little practical joke had gained access to my room, and then escaped again. for my door was locked and bolted.
-"smith's odd question as to whether i was disturbed in the night, and his warning injunction to let him know at once if such were the case, now of course returned to affect me as i stood there in the early morning, cold and shivering on the carpet; but i realised at the same moment how impossible it would be for me to admit that a more than usually vivid nightmare could have any connection with himself. i would rather stand a hundred of these mysterious visitations than consult such a man as to their possible cause.
-"a knock at the door interrupted my reflections, and i gave a start that sent the candle grease flying.
-"'let me in,' came in smith's voice.
-"i unlocked the door. he came in fully dressed. his face wore a curious pallor. it seemed to me to be under the skin and to shine through and almost make it luminous. his eyes were exceedingly bright.
-"i was wondering what in the world to say to him, or how he would explain his visit at such an hour, when he closed the door behind him and came close up to me--uncomfortably close.
-"'you should have called me at once,' he said in his whispering voice, fixing his great eyes on my face.
-"i stammered something about an awful dream, but he ignored my remark utterly, and i caught his eye wandering next--if any movement of those optics can be described as 'wandering'--to the book-shelf. i watched him, unable to move my gaze from his person. the man fascinated me horribly for some reason. why, in the devil's name, was he up and dressed at three in the morning? how did he know anything had happened unusual in my room? then his whisper began again.
-"'it's your amazing vitality that causes you this annoyance,' he said, shifting his eyes back to mine.
-"i gasped. something in his voice or manner turned my blood into ice.
-"'that's the real attraction,' he went on. 'but if this continues one of us will have to leave, you know.'
-"i positively could not find a word to say in reply. the channels of speech dried up within me. i simply stared and wondered what he would say next. i watched him in a sort of dream, and as far as i can remember, he asked me to promise to call him sooner another time, and then began to walk round the room, uttering strange sounds, and making signs with his arms and hands until he reached the door. then he was gone in a second, and i had closed and locked the door behind him.
-"after this, the smith adventure drew rapidly to a climax. it was a week or two later, and i was coming home between two and three in the morning from a maternity case, certain features of which for the time being had very much taken possession of my mind, so much so, indeed, that i passed smith's door without giving him a single thought.
-"the gas jet on the landing was still burning, but so low that it made little impression on the waves of deep shadow that lay across the stairs. overhead, the faintest possible gleam of grey showed that the morning was not far away. a few stars shone down through the sky-light. the house was still as the grave, and the only sound to break the silence was the rushing of the wind round the walls and over the roof. but this was a fitful sound, suddenly rising and as suddenly falling away again, and it only served to intensify the silence.
-"but hardly had i reached the table where the candles stood when the sound was unmistakably repeated: 'help! help!' and this time it was accompanied by what i can only describe as a vivid tactile hallucination. i was touched: the skin of my arm was clutched by fingers.
-"some compelling force sent me headlong downstairs as if the haunting forces of the whole world were at my heels. at smith's door i paused. the force of his previous warning injunction to seek his aid without delay acted suddenly and i leant my whole weight against the panels, little dreaming that i should be called upon to give help rather than to receive it.
-"the door yielded at once, and i burst into a room that was so full of a choking vapour, moving in slow clouds, that at first i could distinguish nothing at all but a set of what seemed to be huge shadows passing in and out of the mist. then, gradually, i perceived that a red lamp on the mantelpiece gave all the light there was, and that the room which i now entered for the first time was almost empty of furniture.
-"the carpet was rolled back and piled in a heap in the corner, and upon the white boards of the floor i noticed a large circle drawn in black of some material that emitted a faint glowing light and was apparently smoking. inside this circle, as well as at regular intervals outside it, were curious-looking designs, also traced in the same black, smoking substance. these, too, seemed to emit a feeble light of their own.
-"my first impression on entering the room had been that it was full of--people, i was going to say; but that hardly expresses my meaning. beings, they certainly were, but it was borne in upon me beyond the possibility of doubt, that they were not human beings. that i had caught a momentary glimpse of living, intelligent entities i can never doubt, but i am equally convinced, though i cannot prove it, that these entities were from some other scheme of evolution altogether, and had nothing to do with the ordinary human life, either incarnate or discarnate.
-"but, whatever they were, the visible appearance of them was exceedingly fleeting. i no longer saw anything, though i still felt convinced of their immediate presence. they were, moreover, of the same order of life as the visitant in my bedroom of a few nights before, and their proximity to my atmosphere in numbers, instead of singly as before, conveyed to my mind something that was quite terrible and overwhelming. i fell into a violent trembling, and the perspiration poured from my face in streams.
-"they were in constant motion about me. they stood close to my side; moved behind me; brushed past my shoulder; stirred the hair on my forehead; and circled round me without ever actually touching me, yet always pressing closer and closer. especially in the air just over my head there seemed ceaseless movement, and it was accompanied by a confused noise of whispering and sighing that threatened every moment to become articulate in words. to my intense relief, however, i heard no distinct words, and the noise continued more like the rising and falling of the wind than anything else i can imagine.
-"but the characteristic of these 'beings' that impressed me most strongly at the time, and of which i have carried away the most permanent recollection, was that each one of them possessed what seemed to be a vibrating centre which impelled it with tremendous force and caused a rapid whirling motion of the atmosphere as it passed me. the air was full of these little vortices of whirring, rotating force, and whenever one of them pressed me too closely i felt as if the nerves in that particular portion of my body had been literally drawn out, absolutely depleted of vitality, and then immediately replaced--but replaced dead, flabby, useless.
-"then, suddenly, for the first time my eyes fell upon smith. he was crouching against the wall on my right, in an attitude that was obviously defensive, and it was plain he was in extremities. the terror on his face was pitiable, but at the same time there was another expression about the tightly clenched teeth and mouth which showed that he had not lost all control of himself. he wore the most resolute expression i have ever seen on a human countenance, and, though for the moment at a fearful disadvantage, he looked like a man who had confidence in himself, and, in spite of the working of fear, was waiting his opportunity.
-"for my part, i was face to face with a situation so utterly beyond my knowledge and comprehension, that i felt as helpless as a child, and as useless.
-"'help me back--quick--into that circle,' i heard him half cry, half whisper to me across the moving vapours.
-"my only value appears to have been that i was not afraid to act. knowing nothing of the forces i was dealing with i had no idea of the deadly perils risked, and i sprang forward and caught him by the arms. he threw all his weight in my direction, and by our combined efforts his body left the wall and lurched across the floor towards the circle.
-"instantly there descended upon us, out of the empty air of that smoke-laden room, a force which i can only compare to the pushing, driving power of a great wind pent up within a narrow space. it was almost explosive in its effect, and it seemed to operate upon all parts of my body equally. it fell upon us with a rushing noise that filled my ears and made me think for a moment the very walls and roof of the building had been torn asunder. under its first blow we staggered back against the wall, and i understood plainly that its purpose was to prevent us getting back into the circle in the middle of the floor.
-"pouring with perspiration, and breathless, with every muscle strained to the very utmost, we at length managed to get to the edge of the circle, and at this moment, so great was the opposing force, that i felt myself actually torn from smith's arms, lifted from my feet, and twirled round in the direction of the windows as if the wheel of some great machine had caught my clothes and was tearing me to destruction in its revolution.
-"but, even as i fell, bruised and breathless, against the wall, i saw smith firmly upon his feet in the circle and slowly rising again to an upright position. my eyes never left his figure once in the next few minutes.
-"he drew himself up to his full height. his great shoulders squared themselves. his head was thrown back a little, and as i looked i saw the expression on his face change swiftly from fear to one of absolute command. he looked steadily round the room and then his voice began to vibrate. at first in a low tone, it gradually rose till it assumed the same volume and intensity i had heard that night when he called up the stairs into my room.
-"it was a curiously increasing sound, more like the swelling of an instrument than a human voice; and as it grew in power and filled the room, i became aware that a great change was being effected slowly and surely. the confusion of noise and rushings of air fell into the roll of long, steady vibrations not unlike those caused by the deeper pedals of an organ. the movements in the air became less violent, then grew decidedly weaker, and finally ceased altogether. the whisperings and sighings became fainter and fainter, till at last i could not hear them at all; and, strangest of all, the light emitted by the circle, as well as by the designs round it, increased to a steady glow, casting their radiance upwards with the weirdest possible effect upon his features. slowly, by the power of his voice, behind which lay undoubtedly a genuine knowledge of the occult manipulation of sound, this man dominated the forces that had escaped from their proper sphere, until at length the room was reduced to silence and perfect order again.
-"judging by the immense relief which also communicated itself to my nerves i then felt that the crisis was over and smith was wholly master of the situation.
-"but hardly had i begun to congratulate myself upon this result, and to gather my scattered senses about me, when, uttering a loud cry, i saw him leap out of the circle and fling himself into the air--as it seemed to me, into the empty air. then, even while holding my breath for dread of the crash he was bound to come upon the floor, i saw him strike with a dull thud against a solid body in mid-air, and the next instant he was wrestling with some ponderous thing that was absolutely invisible to me, and the room shook with the struggle.
-"to and fro they swayed, sometimes lurching in one direction, sometimes in another, and always in horrible proximity to myself, as i leaned trembling against the wall and watched the encounter.
-"it lasted at most but a short minute or two, ending as suddenly as it had begun. smith, with an unexpected movement, threw up his arms with a cry of relief. at the same instant there was a wild, tearing shriek in the air beside me and something rushed past us with a noise like the passage of a flock of big birds. both windows rattled as if they would break away from their sashes. then a sense of emptiness and peace suddenly came over the room, and i knew that all was over.
-"smith, his face exceedingly white, but otherwise strangely composed, turned to me at once.
-"'god!--if you hadn't come--you deflected the stream; broke it up--' he whispered. 'you saved me.'"
-the doctor made a long pause. presently he felt for his pipe in the darkness, groping over the table behind us with both hands. no one spoke for a bit, but all dreaded the sudden glare that would come when he struck the match. the fire was nearly out and the great hall was pitch dark.
-but the story-teller did not strike that match. he was merely gaining time for some hidden reason of his own. and presently he went on with his tale in a more subdued voice.
-"i quite forget," he said, "how i got back to my own room. i only know that i lay with two lighted candles for the rest of the night, and the first thing i did in the morning was to let the landlady know i was leaving her house at the end of the week.
-"smith still has my rabbinical treatise. at least he did not return it to me at the time, and i have never seen him since to ask for it."
-a suspicious gift
-blake had been in very low water for months--almost under water part of the time--due to circumstances he was fond of saying were no fault of his own; and as he sat writing in his room on "third floor back" of a new york boarding-house, part of his mind was busily occupied in wondering when his luck was going to turn again.
-it was his room only in the sense that he paid the rent. two friends, one a little frenchman and the other a big dane, shared it with him, both hoping eventually to contribute something towards expenses, but so far not having accomplished this result. they had two beds only, the third being a mattress they slept upon in turns, a week at a time. a good deal of their irregular "feeding" consisted of oatmeal, potatoes, and sometimes eggs, all of which they cooked on a strange utensil they had contrived to fix into the gas jet. occasionally, when dinner failed them altogether, they swallowed a little raw rice and drank hot water from the bathroom on the top of it, and then made a wild race for bed so as to get to sleep while the sensation of false repletion was still there. for sleep and hunger are slight acquaintances as they well knew. fortunately all new york houses are supplied with hot air, and they only had to open a grating in the wall to get a plentiful, if not a wholesome amount of heat.
-though loneliness in a big city is a real punishment, as they had severally learnt to their cost, their experiences, three in a small room for several months, had revealed to them horrors of quite another kind, and their nerves had suffered according to the temperament of each. but, on this particular evening, as blake sat scribbling by the only window that was not cracked, the dane and the frenchman, his companions in adversity, were in wonderful luck. they had both been asked out to a restaurant to dine with a friend who also held out to one of them a chance of work and remuneration. they would not be back till late, and when they did come they were pretty sure to bring in supplies of one kind or another. for the frenchman never could resist the offer of a glass of absinthe, and this meant that he would be able to help himself plentifully from the free-lunch counters, with which all new york bars are furnished, and to which any purchaser of a drink is entitled to help himself and devour on the spot or carry away casually in his hand for consumption elsewhere. thousands of unfortunate men get their sole subsistence in this way in new york, and experience soon teaches where, for the price of a single drink, a man can take away almost a meal of chip potatoes, sausage, bits of bread, and even eggs. the frenchman and the dane knew their way about, and blake looked forward to a supper more or less substantial before pulling his mattress out of the cupboard and turning in upon the floor for the night.
-meanwhile he could enjoy a quiet and lonely evening with the room all to himself.
-in the daytime he was a reporter on an evening newspaper of sensational and lying habits. his work was chiefly in the police courts; and in his spare hours at night, when not too tired or too empty, he wrote sketches and stories for the magazines that very rarely saw the light of day on their printed and paid-for sentences. on this particular occasion he was deep in a most involved tale of a psychological character, and had just worked his way into a sentence, or set of sentences, that completely baffled and muddled him.
-he was fairly out of his depth, and his brain was too poorly supplied with blood to invent a way out again. the story would have been interesting had he written it simply, keeping to facts and feelings, and not diving into difficult analysis of motive and character which was quite beyond him. for it was largely autobiographical, and was meant to describe the adventures of a young englishman who had come to grief in the usual manner on a canadian farm, had then subsequently become bar-keeper, sub-editor on a methodist magazine, a teacher of french and german to clerks at twenty-five cents per hour, a model for artists, a super on the stage, and, finally, a wanderer to the goldfields.
-blake scratched his head, and dipped the pen in the inkpot, stared out through the blindless windows, and sighed deeply. his thoughts kept wandering to food, beefsteak and steaming vegetables. the smell of cooking that came from a lower floor through the broken windows was a constant torment to him. he pulled himself together and again attacked the problem.
-" . . . for with some people," he wrote, "the imagination is so vivid as to be almost an extension of consciousness. . . ." but here he stuck absolutely. he was not quite sure what he meant by the words, and how to finish the sentence puzzled him into blank inaction. it was a difficult point to decide, for it seemed to come in appropriately at this point in his story, and he did not know whether to leave it as it stood, change it round a bit, or take it out altogether. it might just spoil its chances of being accepted: editors were such clever men. but, to rewrite the sentence was a grind, and he was so tired and sleepy. after all, what did it matter? people who were clever would force a meaning into it; people who were not clever would pretend--he knew of no other classes of readers. he would let it stay, and go on with the action of the story. he put his head in his hands and began to think hard.
-his mind soon passed from thought to reverie. he fell to wondering when his friends would find work and relieve him of the burden--he acknowledged it as such--of keeping them, and of letting another man wear his best clothes on alternate sundays. he wondered when his "luck" would turn. there were one or two influential people in new york whom he could go and see if he had a dress suit and the other conventional uniforms. his thoughts ran on far ahead, and at the same time, by a sort of double process, far behind as well. his home in the "old country" rose up before him; he saw the lawn and the cedars in sunshine; he looked through the familiar windows and saw the clean, swept rooms. his story began to suffer; the psychological masterpiece would not make much progress unless he pulled up and dragged his thoughts back to the treadmill. but he no longer cared; once he had got as far as that cedar with the sunshine on it, he never could get back again. for all he cared, the troublesome sentence might run away and get into someone else's pages, or be snuffed out altogether.
-there came a gentle knock at the door, and blake started. the knock was repeated louder. who in the world could it be at this late hour of the night? on the floor above, he remembered, there lived another englishman, a foolish, second-rate creature, who sometimes came in and made himself objectionable with endless and silly chatter. but he was an englishman for all that, and blake always tried to treat him with politeness, realising that he was lonely in a strange land. but to-night, of all people in the world, he did not want to be bored with perry's cackle, as he called it, and the "come in" he gave in answer to the second knock had no very cordial sound of welcome in it.
-however, the door opened in response, and the man came in. blake did not turn round at once, and the other advanced to the centre of the room, but without speaking. then blake knew it was not his enemy, perry, and turned round.
-he saw a man of about forty standing in the middle of the carpet, but standing sideways so that he did not present a full face. he wore an overcoat buttoned up to the neck, and on the felt hat which he held in front of him fresh rain-drops glistened. in his other hand he carried a small black bag. blake gave him a good look, and came to the conclusion that he might be a secretary, or a chief clerk, or a confidential man of sorts. he was a shabby-respectable-looking person. this was the sum-total of the first impression, gained the moment his eyes took in that it was not perry; the second impression was less pleasant, and reported at once that something was wrong.
-though otherwise young and inexperienced, blake--thanks, or curses, to the police court training--knew more about common criminal blackguardism than most men of fifty, and he recognised that there was somewhere a suggestion of this undesirable world about the man. but there was more than this. there was something singular about him, something far out of the common, though for the life of him blake could not say wherein it lay. the fellow was out of the ordinary, and in some very undesirable manner.
-all this, that takes so long to describe, blake saw with the first and second glance. the man at once began to speak in a quiet and respectful voice.
-"are you mr. blake?" he asked.
-"mr. arthur blake?"
-"mr. arthur herbert blake?" persisted the other, with emphasis on the middle name.
-"that is my full name," blake answered simply, adding, as he remembered his manners; "but won't you sit down, first, please?"
-the man advanced with a curious sideways motion like a crab and took a seat on the edge of the sofa. he put his hat on the floor at his feet, but still kept the bag in his hand.
-"i come to you from a well-wisher," he went on in oily tones, without lifting his eyes. blake, in his mind, ran quickly over all the people he knew in new york who might possibly have sent such a man, while waiting for him to supply the name. but the man had come to a full stop and was waiting too.
-"a well-wisher of mine?" repeated blake, not knowing quite what else to say.
-"just so," replied the other, still with his eyes on the floor. "a well-wisher of yours."
-"a man or--" he felt himself blushing, "or a woman?"
-"that," said the man shortly, "i cannot tell you."
-"you can't tell me!" exclaimed the other, wondering what was coming next, and who in the world this mysterious well-wisher could be who sent so discreet and mysterious a messenger.
-"i cannot tell you the name," replied the man firmly. "those are my instructions. but i bring you something from this person, and i am to give it to you, to take a receipt for it, and then to go away without answering any questions."
-blake stared very hard. the man, however, never raised his eyes above the level of the second china knob on the chest of drawers opposite. the giving of a receipt sounded like money. could it be that some of his influential friends had heard of his plight? there were possibilities that made his heart beat. at length, however, he found his tongue, for this strange creature was determined apparently to say nothing more until he had heard from him.
-"then, what have you got for me, please?" he asked bluntly.
-by way of answer the man proceeded to open the bag. he took out a parcel wrapped loosely in brown paper, and about the size of a large book. it was tied with string, and the man seemed unnecessarily long untying the knot. when at last the string was off and the paper unfolded, there appeared a series of smaller packages inside. the man took them out very carefully, almost as if they had been alive, blake thought, and set them in a row upon his knees. they were dollar bills. blake, all in a flutter, craned his neck forward a little to try and make out their denomination. he read plainly the figures 100.
-"there are ten thousand dollars here," said the man quietly.
-the other could not suppress a little cry.
-"and they are for you."
-blake simply gasped. "ten thousand dollars!" he repeated, a queer feeling growing up in his throat. "ten thousand. are you sure? i mean--you mean they are for me?" he stammered. he felt quite silly with excitement, and grew more so with every minute, as the man maintained a perfect silence. was it not a dream? wouldn't the man put them back in the bag presently and say it was a mistake, and they were meant for somebody else? he could not believe his eyes or his ears. yet, in a sense, it was possible. he had read of such things in books, and even come across them in his experience of the courts--the erratic and generous philanthropist who is determined to do his good deed and to get no thanks or acknowledgment for it. still, it seemed almost incredible. his troubles began to melt away like bubbles in the sun; he thought of the other fellows when they came in, and what he would have to tell them; he thought of the german landlady and the arrears of rent, of regular food and clean linen, and books and music, of the chance of getting into some respectable business, of--well, of as many things as it is possible to think of when excitement and surprise fling wide open the gates of the imagination.
-the man, meanwhile, began quietly to count over the packages aloud from one to ten, and then to count the bills in each separate packet, also from one to ten. yes, there were ten little heaps, each containing ten bills of a hundred-dollar denomination. that made ten thousand dollars. blake had never seen so much money in a single lump in his life before; and for many months of privation and discomfort he had not known the "feel" of a twenty-dollar note, much less of a hundred-dollar one. he heard them crackle under the man's fingers, and it was like crisp laughter in his ears. the bills were evidently new and unused.
-but, side by side with the excitement caused by the shock of such an event, blake's caution, acquired by a year of vivid new york experience, was meanwhile beginning to assert itself. it all seemed just a little too much out of the likely order of things to be quite right. the police courts had taught him the amazing ingenuity of the criminal mind, as well as something of the plots and devices by which the unwary are beguiled into the dark places where blackmail may be levied with impunity. new york, as a matter of fact, just at that time was literally undermined with the secret ways of the blackmailers, the green-goods men, and other police-protected abominations; and the only weak point in the supposition that this was part of some such proceeding was the selection of himself--a poor newspaper reporter--as a victim. it did seem absurd, but then the whole thing was so out of the ordinary, and the thought once having entered his mind, was not so easily got rid of. blake resolved to be very cautious.
-the man meanwhile, though he never appeared to raise his eyes from the carpet, had been watching him closely all the time.
-"if you will give me a receipt i'll leave the money at once," he said, with just a vestige of impatience in his tone, as if he were anxious to bring the matter to a conclusion as soon as possible.
-"but you say it is quite impossible for you to tell me the name of my well-wisher, or why she sends me such a large sum of money in this extraordinary way?"
-"the money is sent to you because you are in need of it," returned the other; "and it is a present without conditions of any sort attached. you have to give me a receipt only to satisfy the sender that it has reached your hands. the money will never be asked of you again."
-blake noticed two things from this answer: first, that the man was not to be caught into betraying the sex of the well-wisher; and secondly, that he was in some hurry to complete the transaction. for he was now giving reasons, attractive reasons, why he should accept the money and make out the receipt.
-suddenly it flashed across his mind that if he took the money and gave the receipt before a witness, nothing very disastrous could come of the affair. it would protect him against blackmail, if this was, after all, a plot of some sort with blackmail in it; whereas, if the man were a madman, or a criminal who was getting rid of a portion of his ill-gotten gains to divert suspicion, or if any other improbable explanation turned out to be the true one, there was no great harm done, and he could hold the money till it was claimed, or advertised for in the newspapers. his mind rapidly ran over these possibilities, though, of course, under the stress of excitement, he was unable to weigh any of them properly; then he turned to his strange visitor again and said quietly--
-"i will take the money, although i must say it seems to me a very unusual transaction, and i will give you for it such a receipt as i think proper under the circumstances."
-"a proper receipt is all i want," was the answer.
-"i mean by that a receipt before a proper witness--"
-"perfectly satisfactory," interrupted the man, his eyes still on the carpet. "only, it must be dated, and headed with your address here in the correct way."
-blake could see no possible objection to this, and he at once proceeded to obtain his witness. the person he had in his mind was a mr. barclay, who occupied the room above his own; an old gentleman who had retired from business and who, the landlady always said, was a miser, and kept large sums secreted in his room. he was, at any rate, a perfectly respectable man and would make an admirable witness to a transaction of this sort. blake made an apology and rose to fetch him, crossing the room in front of the sofa where the man sat, in order to reach the door. as he did so, he saw for the first time the other side of his visitor's face, the side that had been always so carefully turned away from him.
-there was a broad smear of blood down the skin from the ear to the neck. it glistened in the gaslight.
-blake never knew how he managed to smother the cry that sprang to his lips, but smother it he did. in a second he was at the door, his knees trembling, his mind in a sudden and dreadful turmoil.
-his main object, so far as he could recollect afterwards, was to escape from the room as if he had noticed nothing, so as not to arouse the other's suspicions. the man's eyes were always on the carpet, and probably, blake hoped, he had not noticed the consternation that must have been written plainly on his face. at any rate he had uttered no cry.
-in another second he would have been in the passage, when suddenly he met a pair of wicked, staring eyes fixed intently and with a cunning smile upon his own. it was the other's face in the mirror calmly watching his every movement.
-instantly, all his powers of reflection flew to the winds, and he thought only upon the desirability of getting help at once. he tore upstairs, his heart in his mouth. barclay must come to his aid. this matter was serious--perhaps horribly serious. taking the money, or giving a receipt, or having anything at all to do with it became an impossibility. here was crime. he felt certain of it.
-in three bounds he reached the next landing and began to hammer at the old miser's door as if his very life depended on it. for a long time he could get no answer. his fists seemed to make no noise. he might have been knocking on cotton wool, and the thought dashed through his brain that it was all just like the terror of a nightmare.
-blake opened the door to its widest to get more light and then walked quickly up to the bed. he now saw the figure more plainly, and noted that it was dressed and lay only upon the outside of the bed. it struck him, too, that he was sleeping in a very odd, almost an unnatural, position.
-something clutched at his heart as he looked closer. he stumbled over a chair and found the matches. calling upon barclay the whole time to wake up and come downstairs with him, he blundered across the floor, a dreadful thought in his mind, and lit the gas over the table. it seemed strange that there was no movement or reply to his shouting. but it no longer seemed strange when at length he turned, in the full glare of the gas, and saw the old man lying huddled up into a ghastly heap on the bed, his throat cut across from ear to ear.
-and all over the carpet lay new dollar bills, crisp and clean like those he had left downstairs, and strewn about in little heaps.
-for a moment blake stood stock-still, bereft of all power of movement. the next, his courage returned, and he fled from the room and dashed downstairs, taking five steps at a time. he reached the bottom and tore along the passage to his room, determined at any rate to seize the man and prevent his escape till help came.
-but when he got to the end of the little landing he found that his door had been closed. he seized the handle, fumbling with it in his violence. it felt slippery and kept turning under his fingers without opening the door, and fully half a minute passed before it yielded and let him in headlong.
-at the first glance he saw the room was empty, and the man gone!
-scattered upon the carpet lay a number of the bills, and beside them, half hidden under the sofa where the man had sat, he saw a pair of gloves--thick, leathern gloves--and a butcher's knife. even from the distance where he stood the blood-stains on both were easily visible.
-dazed and confused by the terrible discoveries of the last few minutes, blake stood in the middle of the room, overwhelmed and unable to think or move. unconsciously he must have passed his hand over his forehead in the natural gesture of perplexity, for he noticed that the skin felt wet and sticky. his hand was covered with blood! and when he rushed in terror to the looking-glass, he saw that there was a broad red smear across his face and forehead. then he remembered the slippery handle of the door and knew that it had been carefully moistened!
-"if the police were to come in now!" the thought crashed through his brain like thunder, and at the same moment, almost before he had time to appreciate a quarter of its significance, there came a loud knocking at the front door below. the bell rang with a dreadful clamour; men's voices were heard talking excitedly, and presently heavy steps began to come up the stairs in the direction of his room.
-it was the police!
-and all blake could do was to laugh foolishly to himself--and wait till they were upon him. he could not move nor speak. he stood face to face with the evidence of his horrid crime, his hands and face smeared with the blood of his victim, and there he was standing when the police burst open the door and came noisily into the room.
-"here it is!" cried a voice he knew. "third floor back! and the fellow caught red-handed!"
-it was the man with the bag leading in the two policemen.
-hardly knowing what he was doing in the fearful stress of conflicting emotions, he made a step forward. but before he had time to make a second one, he felt the heavy hand of the law descend upon both shoulders at once as the two policemen moved up to seize him. at the same moment a voice of thunder cried in his ear--
-"wake up, man! wake up! here's the supper, and good news too!"
-blake turned with a start in his chair and saw the dane, very red in the face, standing beside him, a hand on each shoulder, and a little further back he saw the frenchman leering happily at him over the end of the bed, a bottle of beer in one hand and a paper package in the other.
-he rubbed his eyes, glancing from one to the other, and then got up sleepily to fix the wire arrangement on the gas jet to boil water for cooking the eggs which the frenchman was in momentary danger of letting drop upon the floor.
-the strange adventures of a private secretary in new york
-it was never quite clear to me how jim shorthouse managed to get his private secretaryship; but, once he got it, he kept it, and for some years he led a steady life and put money in the savings bank.
-one morning his employer sent for him into the study, and it was evident to the secretary's trained senses that there was something unusual in the air.
-"mr. shorthouse," he began, somewhat nervously, "i have never yet had the opportunity of observing whether or not you are possessed of personal courage."
-shorthouse gasped, but he said nothing. he was growing accustomed to the eccentricities of his chief. shorthouse was a kentish man; sidebotham was "raised" in chicago; new york was the present place of residence.
-"but," the other continued, with a puff at his very black cigar, "i must consider myself a poor judge of human nature in future, if it is not one of your strongest qualities."
-the private secretary made a foolish little bow in modest appreciation of so uncertain a compliment. mr. jonas b. sidebotham watched him narrowly, as the novelists say, before he continued his remarks.
-"i have no doubt that you are a plucky fellow and--" he hesitated, and puffed at his cigar as if his life depended upon it keeping alight.
-"i don't think i'm afraid of anything in particular, sir--except women," interposed the young man, feeling that it was time for him to make an observation of some sort, but still quite in the dark as to his chief's purpose.
-"humph!" he grunted. "well, there are no women in this case so far as i know. but there may be other things that--that hurt more."
-"wants a special service of some kind, evidently," was the secretary's reflection. "personal violence?" he asked aloud.
-"possibly (puff), in fact (puff, puff) probably."
-shorthouse smelt an increase of salary in the air. it had a stimulating effect.
-"i've had some experience of that article, sir," he said shortly; "but i'm ready to undertake anything in reason."
-"i can't say how much reason or unreason there may prove to be in this particular case. it all depends."
-mr. sidebotham got up and locked the door of his study and drew down the blinds of both windows. then he took a bunch of keys from his pocket and opened a black tin box. he ferreted about among blue and white papers for a few seconds, enveloping himself as he did so in a cloud of blue tobacco smoke.
-"i feel like a detective already," shorthouse laughed.
-"speak low, please," returned the other, glancing round the room. "we must observe the utmost secrecy. perhaps you would be kind enough to close the registers," he went on in a still lower voice. "open registers have betrayed conversations before now."
-shorthouse began to enter into the spirit of the thing. he tiptoed across the floor and shut the two iron gratings in the wall that in american houses supply hot air and are termed "registers." mr. sidebotham had meanwhile found the paper he was looking for. he held it in front of him and tapped it once or twice with the back of his right hand as if it were a stage letter and himself the villain of the melodrama.
-"this is a letter from joel garvey, my old partner," he said at length. "you have heard me speak of him."
-the other bowed. he knew that many years before garvey & sidebotham had been well known in the chicago financial world. he knew that the amazing rapidity with which they accumulated a fortune had only been surpassed by the amazing rapidity with which they had immediately afterwards disappeared into space. he was further aware--his position afforded facilities--that each partner was still to some extent in the other's power, and that each wished most devoutly that the other would die.
-the sins of his employer's early years did not concern him, however. the man was kind and just, if eccentric; and shorthouse, being in new york, did not probe to discover more particularly the sources whence his salary was so regularly paid. moreover, the two men had grown to like each other and there was a genuine feeling of trust and respect between them.
-"i hope it's a pleasant communication, sir," he said in a low voice.
-"quite the reverse," returned the other, fingering the paper nervously as he stood in front of the fire.
-"blackmail, i suppose."
-"precisely." mr. sidebotham's cigar was not burning well; he struck a match and applied it to the uneven edge, and presently his voice spoke through clouds of wreathing smoke.
-"there are valuable papers in my possession bearing his signature. i cannot inform you of their nature; but they are extremely valuable to me. they belong, as a matter of fact, to garvey as much as to me. only i've got them--"
-"garvey writes that he wants to have his signature removed--wants to cut it out with his own hand. he gives reasons which incline me to consider his request--"
-"and you would like me to take him the papers and see that he does it?"
-"and bring them back again with you," he whispered, screwing up his eyes into a shrewd grimace.
-"and bring them back again with me," repeated the secretary. "i understand perfectly."
-shorthouse knew from unfortunate experience more than a little of the horrors of blackmail. the pressure garvey was bringing to bear upon his old enemy must be exceedingly strong. that was quite clear. at the same time, the commission that was being entrusted to him seemed somewhat quixotic in its nature. he had already "enjoyed" more than one experience of his employer's eccentricity, and he now caught himself wondering whether this same eccentricity did not sometimes go--further than eccentricity.
-"i cannot read the letter to you," mr. sidebotham was explaining, "but i shall give it into your hands. it will prove that you are my--er--my accredited representative. i shall also ask you not to read the package of papers. the signature in question you will find, of course, on the last page, at the bottom."
-there was a pause of several minutes during which the end of the cigar glowed eloquently.
-"circumstances compel me," he went on at length almost in a whisper, "or i should never do this. but you understand, of course, the thing is a ruse. cutting out the signature is a mere pretence. it is nothing. what garvey wants are the papers themselves."
-the confidence reposed in the private secretary was not misplaced. shorthouse was as faithful to mr. sidebotham as a man ought to be to the wife that loves him.
-the commission itself seemed very simple. garvey lived in solitude in the remote part of long island. shorthouse was to take the papers to him, witness the cutting out of the signature, and to be specially on his guard against any attempt, forcible or otherwise, to gain possession of them. it seemed to him a somewhat ludicrous adventure, but he did not know all the facts and perhaps was not the best judge.
-the two men talked in low voices for another hour, at the end of which mr. sidebotham drew up the blinds, opened the registers and unlocked the door.
-shorthouse rose to go. his pockets were stuffed with papers and his head with instructions; but when he reached the door he hesitated and turned.
-"well?" said his chief.
-shorthouse looked him straight in the eye and said nothing.
-"the personal violence, i suppose?" said the other. shorthouse bowed.
-"i have not seen garvey for twenty years," he said; "all i can tell you is that i believe him to be occasionally of unsound mind. i have heard strange rumours. he lives alone, and in his lucid intervals studies chemistry. it was always a hobby of his. but the chances are twenty to one against his attempting violence. i only wished to warn you--in case--i mean, so that you may be on the watch."
-he handed his secretary a smith and wesson revolver as he spoke. shorthouse slipped it into his hip pocket and went out of the room.
-a drizzling cold rain was falling on fields covered with half-melted snow when shorthouse stood, late in the afternoon, on the platform of the lonely little long island station and watched the train he had just left vanish into the distance.
-it was a bleak country that joel garvey, esq., formerly of chicago, had chosen for his residence and on this particular afternoon it presented a more than usually dismal appearance. an expanse of flat fields covered with dirty snow stretched away on all sides till the sky dropped down to meet them. only occasional farm buildings broke the monotony, and the road wound along muddy lanes and beneath dripping trees swathed in the cold raw fog that swept in like a pall of the dead from the sea.
-it was six miles from the station to garvey's house, and the driver of the rickety buggy shorthouse had found at the station was not communicative. between the dreary landscape and the drearier driver he fell back upon his own thoughts, which, but for the spice of adventure that was promised, would themselves have been even drearier than either. he made up his mind that he would waste no time over the transaction. the moment the signature was cut out he would pack up and be off. the last train back to brooklyn was 7.15; and he would have to walk the six miles of mud and snow, for the driver of the buggy had refused point-blank to wait for him.
-for purposes of safety, shorthouse had done what he flattered himself was rather a clever thing. he had made up a second packet of papers identical in outside appearance with the first. the inscription, the blue envelope, the red elastic band, and even a blot in the lower left-hand corner had been exactly reproduced. inside, of course, were only sheets of blank paper. it was his intention to change the packets and to let garvey see him put the sham one into the bag. in case of violence the bag would be the point of attack, and he intended to lock it and throw away the key. before it could be forced open and the deception discovered there would be time to increase his chances of escape with the real packet.
-it was five o'clock when the silent jehu pulled up in front of a half-broken gate and pointed with his whip to a house that stood in its own grounds among trees and was just visible in the gathering gloom. shorthouse told him to drive up to the front door but the man refused.
-"i ain't runnin' no risks," he said; "i've got a family."
-this cryptic remark was not encouraging, but shorthouse did not pause to decipher it. he paid the man, and then pushed open the rickety old gate swinging on a single hinge, and proceeded to walk up the drive that lay dark between close-standing trees. the house soon came into full view. it was tall and square and had once evidently been white, but now the walls were covered with dirty patches and there were wide yellow streaks where the plaster had fallen away. the windows stared black and uncompromising into the night. the garden was overgrown with weeds and long grass, standing up in ugly patches beneath their burden of wet snow. complete silence reigned over all. there was not a sign of life. not even a dog barked. only, in the distance, the wheels of the retreating carriage could be heard growing fainter and fainter.
-as he stood in the porch, between pillars of rotting wood, listening to the rain dripping from the roof into the puddles of slushy snow, he was conscious of a sensation of utter desertion and loneliness such as he had never before experienced. the forbidding aspect of the house had the immediate effect of lowering his spirits. it might well have been the abode of monsters or demons in a child's wonder tale, creatures that only dared to come out under cover of darkness. he groped for the bell-handle, or knocker, and finding neither, he raised his stick and beat a loud tattoo on the door. the sound echoed away in an empty space on the other side and the wind moaned past him between the pillars as if startled at his audacity. but there was no sound of approaching footsteps and no one came to open the door. again he beat a tattoo, louder and longer than the first one; and, having done so, waited with his back to the house and stared across the unkempt garden into the fast gathering shadows.
-then he turned suddenly, and saw that the door was standing ajar. it had been quietly opened and a pair of eyes were peering at him round the edge. there was no light in the hall beyond and he could only just make out the shape of a dim human face.
-"does mr. garvey live here?" he asked in a firm voice.
-"who are you?" came in a man's tones.
-"i'm mr. sidebotham's private secretary. i wish to see mr. garvey on important business."
-"are you expected?"
-"i suppose so," he said impatiently, thrusting a card through the opening. "please take my name to him at once, and say i come from mr. sidebotham on the matter mr. garvey wrote about."
-the man took the card, and the face vanished into the darkness, leaving shorthouse standing in the cold porch with mingled feelings of impatience and dismay. the door, he now noticed for the first time, was on a chain and could not open more than a few inches. but it was the manner of his reception that caused uneasy reflections to stir within him--reflections that continued for some minutes before they were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and the flicker of a light in the hall.
-the next instant the chain fell with a rattle, and gripping his bag tightly, he walked into a large ill-smelling hall of which he could only just see the ceiling. there was no light but the nickering taper held by the man, and by its uncertain glimmer shorthouse turned to examine him. he saw an undersized man of middle age with brilliant, shifting eyes, a curling black beard, and a nose that at once proclaimed him a jew. his shoulders were bent, and, as he watched him replacing the chain, he saw that he wore a peculiar black gown like a priest's cassock reaching to the feet. it was altogether a lugubrious figure of a man, sinister and funereal, yet it seemed in perfect harmony with the general character of its surroundings. the hall was devoid of furniture of any kind, and against the dingy walls stood rows of old picture frames, empty and disordered, and odd-looking bits of wood-work that appeared doubly fantastic as their shadows danced queerly over the floor in the shifting light.
-"if you'll come this way, mr. garvey will see you presently," said the jew gruffly, crossing the floor and shielding the taper with a bony hand. he never once raised his eyes above the level of the visitor's waistcoat, and, to shorthouse, he somehow suggested a figure from the dead rather than a man of flesh and blood. the hall smelt decidedly ill.
-all the more surprising, then, was the scene that met his eyes when the jew opened the door at the further end and he entered a room brilliantly lit with swinging lamps and furnished with a degree of taste and comfort that amounted to luxury. the walls were lined with handsomely bound books, and armchairs were arranged round a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room. a bright fire burned in the grate and neatly framed photographs of men and women stood on the mantelpiece on either side of an elaborately carved clock. french windows that opened like doors were partially concealed by warm red curtains, and on a sideboard against the wall stood decanters and glasses, with several boxes of cigars piled on top of one another. there was a pleasant odour of tobacco about the room. indeed, it was in such glowing contrast to the chilly poverty of the hall that shorthouse already was conscious of a distinct rise in the thermometer of his spirits.
-then he turned and saw the jew standing in the doorway with his eyes fixed upon him, somewhere about the middle button of his waistcoat. he presented a strangely repulsive appearance that somehow could not be attributed to any particular detail, and the secretary associated him in his mind with a monstrous black bird of prey more than anything else.
-"my time is short," he said abruptly; "i hope mr. garvey will not keep me waiting."
-a strange flicker of a smile appeared on the jew's ugly face and vanished as quickly as it came. he made a sort of deprecating bow by way of reply. then he blew out the taper and went out, closing the door noiselessly behind him.
-shorthouse was alone. he felt relieved. there was an air of obsequious insolence about the old jew that was very offensive. he began to take note of his surroundings. he was evidently in the library of the house, for the walls were covered with books almost up to the ceiling. there was no room for pictures. nothing but the shining backs of well-bound volumes looked down upon him. four brilliant lights hung from the ceiling and a reading lamp with a polished reflector stood among the disordered masses of papers on the desk.
-the lamp was not lit, but when shorthouse put his hand upon it he found it was warm. the room had evidently only just been vacated.
-apart from the testimony of the lamp, however, he had already felt, without being able to give a reason for it, that the room had been occupied a few moments before he entered. the atmosphere over the desk seemed to retain the disturbing influence of a human being; an influence, moreover, so recent that he felt as if the cause of it were still in his immediate neighbourhood. it was difficult to realise that he was quite alone in the room and that somebody was not in hiding. the finer counterparts of his senses warned him to act as if he were being observed; he was dimly conscious of a desire to fidget and look round, to keep his eyes in every part of the room at once, and to conduct himself generally as if he were the object of careful human observation.
-how far he recognised the cause of these sensations it is impossible to say; but they were sufficiently marked to prevent his carrying out a strong inclination to get up and make a search of the room. he sat quite still, staring alternately at the backs of the books, and at the red curtains; wondering all the time if he was really being watched, or if it was only the imagination playing tricks with him.
-a full quarter of an hour passed, and then twenty rows of volumes suddenly shifted out towards him, and he saw that a door had opened in the wall opposite. the books were only sham backs after all, and when they moved back again with the sliding door, shorthouse saw the figure of joel garvey standing before him.
-surprise almost took his breath away. he had expected to see an unpleasant, even a vicious apparition with the mark of the beast unmistakably upon its face; but he was wholly unprepared for the elderly, tall, fine-looking man who stood in front of him--well-groomed, refined, vigorous, with a lofty forehead, clear grey eyes, and a hooked nose dominating a clean shaven mouth and chin of considerable character--a distinguished looking man altogether.
-"i'm afraid i've kept you waiting, mr. shorthouse," he said in a pleasant voice, but with no trace of a smile in the mouth or eyes. "but the fact is, you know, i've a mania for chemistry, and just when you were announced i was at the most critical moment of a problem and was really compelled to bring it to a conclusion."
-shorthouse had risen to meet him, but the other motioned him to resume his seat. it was borne in upon him irresistibly that mr. joel garvey, for reasons best known to himself, was deliberately lying, and he could not help wondering at the necessity for such an elaborate misrepresentation. he took off his overcoat and sat down.
-"i've no doubt, too, that the door startled you," garvey went on, evidently reading something of his guest's feelings in his face. "you probably had not suspected it. it leads into my little laboratory. chemistry is an absorbing study to me, and i spend most of my time there." mr. garvey moved up to the armchair on the opposite side of the fireplace and sat down.
-shorthouse made appropriate answers to these remarks, but his mind was really engaged in taking stock of mr. sidebotham's old-time partner. so far there was no sign of mental irregularity and there was certainly nothing about him to suggest violent wrong-doing or coarseness of living. on the whole, mr. sidebotham's secretary was most pleasantly surprised, and, wishing to conclude his business as speedily as possible, he made a motion towards the bag for the purpose of opening it, when his companion interrupted him quickly--
-"you are mr. sidebotham's private secretary, are you not?" he asked.
-shorthouse replied that he was. "mr. sidebotham," he went on to explain, "has entrusted me with the papers in the case and i have the honour to return to you your letter of a week ago." he handed the letter to garvey, who took it without a word and deliberately placed it in the fire. he was not aware that the secretary was ignorant of its contents, yet his face betrayed no signs of feeling. shorthouse noticed, however, that his eyes never left the fire until the last morsel had been consumed. then he looked up and said, "you are familiar then with the facts of this most peculiar case?"
-shorthouse saw no reason to confess his ignorance.
-"i have all the papers, mr. garvey," he replied, taking them out of the bag, "and i should be very glad if we could transact our business as speedily as possible. if you will cut out your signature i--"
-"one moment, please," interrupted the other. "i must, before we proceed further, consult some papers in my laboratory. if you will allow me to leave you alone a few minutes for this purpose we can conclude the whole matter in a very short time."
-shorthouse did not approve of this further delay, but he had no option than to acquiesce, and when garvey had left the room by the private door he sat and waited with the papers in his hand. the minutes went by and the other did not return. to pass the time he thought of taking the false packet from his coat to see that the papers were in order, and the move was indeed almost completed, when something--he never knew what--warned him to desist. the feeling again came over him that he was being watched, and he leaned back in his chair with the bag on his knees and waited with considerable impatience for the other's return. for more than twenty minutes he waited, and when at length the door opened and garvey appeared, with profuse apologies for the delay, he saw by the clock that only a few minutes still remained of the time he had allowed himself to catch the last train.
-"now i am completely at your service," he said pleasantly; "you must, of course, know, mr. shorthouse, that one cannot be too careful in matters of this kind--especially," he went on, speaking very slowly and impressively, "in dealing with a man like my former partner, whose mind, as you doubtless may have discovered, is at times very sadly affected."
-shorthouse made no reply to this. he felt that the other was watching him as a cat watches a mouse.
-"it is almost a wonder to me," garvey added, "that he is still at large. unless he has greatly improved it can hardly be safe for those who are closely associated with him."
-the other began to feel uncomfortable. either this was the other side of the story, or it was the first signs of mental irresponsibility.
-"all business matters of importance require the utmost care in my opinion, mr. garvey," he said at length, cautiously.
-"ah! then, as i thought, you have had a great deal to put up with from him," garvey said, with his eyes fixed on his companion's face. "and, no doubt, he is still as bitter against me as he was years ago when the disease first showed itself?"
-although this last remark was a deliberate question and the questioner was waiting with fixed eyes for an answer, shorthouse elected to take no notice of it. without a word he pulled the elastic band from the blue envelope with a snap and plainly showed his desire to conclude the business as soon as possible. the tendency on the other's part to delay did not suit him at all.
-"but never personal violence, i trust, mr. shorthouse," he added.
-"i'm glad to hear it," garvey said in a sympathetic voice, "very glad to hear it. and now," he went on, "if you are ready we can transact this little matter of business before dinner. it will only take a moment."
-he drew a chair up to the desk and sat down, taking a pair of scissors from a drawer. his companion approached with the papers in his hand, unfolding them as he came. garvey at once took them from him, and after turning over a few pages he stopped and cut out a piece of writing at the bottom of the last sheet but one.
-holding it up to him shorthouse read the words "joel garvey" in faded ink.
-"there! that's my signature," he said, "and i've cut it out. it must be nearly twenty years since i wrote it, and now i'm going to burn it."
-he went to the fire and stooped over to burn the little slip of paper, and while he watched it being consumed shorthouse put the real papers in his pocket and slipped the imitation ones into the bag. garvey turned just in time to see this latter movement.
-"i'm putting the papers back," shorthouse said quietly; "you've done with them, i think."
-"certainly," he replied as, completely deceived, he saw the blue envelope disappear into the black bag and watched shorthouse turn the key. "they no longer have the slightest interest for me." as he spoke he moved over to the sideboard, and pouring himself out a small glass of whisky asked his visitor if he might do the same for him. but the visitor declined and was already putting on his overcoat when garvey turned with genuine surprise on his face.
-"you surely are not going back to new york to-night, mr. shorthouse?" he said, in a voice of astonishment.
-"i've just time to catch the 7.15 if i'm quick."
-"but i never heard of such a thing," garvey said. "of course i took it for granted that you would stay the night."
-"it's kind of you," said shorthouse, "but really i must return to-night. i never expected to stay."
-the two men stood facing each other. garvey pulled out his watch.
-"i'm exceedingly sorry," he said; "but, upon my word, i took it for granted you would stay. i ought to have said so long ago. i'm such a lonely fellow and so little accustomed to visitors that i fear i forgot my manners altogether. but in any case, mr. shorthouse, you cannot catch the 7.15, for it's already after six o'clock, and that's the last train to-night." garvey spoke very quickly, almost eagerly, but his voice sounded genuine.
-"there's time if i walk quickly," said the young man with decision, moving towards the door. he glanced at his watch as he went. hitherto he had gone by the clock on the mantelpiece. to his dismay he saw that it was, as his host had said, long after six. the clock was half an hour slow, and he realised at once that it was no longer possible to catch the train.
-"i'm delighted," the other said. "defer to the judgment of an older man and make yourself comfortable for the night. there's a bitter storm outside, and you don't put me out at all. on the contrary it's a great pleasure. i have so little contact with the outside world that it's really a god-send to have you."
-the man's face changed as he spoke. his manner was cordial and sincere. shorthouse began to feel ashamed of his doubts and to read between the lines of his employer's warning. he took off his coat and the two men moved to the armchairs beside the fire.
-"you see," garvey went on in a lowered voice, "i understand your hesitancy perfectly. i didn't know sidebotham all those years without knowing a good deal about him--perhaps more than you do. i've no doubt, now, he filled your mind with all sorts of nonsense about me--probably told you that i was the greatest villain unhung, eh? and all that sort of thing? poor fellow! he was a fine sort before his mind became unhinged. one of his fancies used to be that everybody else was insane, or just about to become insane. is he still as bad as that?"
-"few men," replied shorthouse, with the manner of making a great confidence, but entirely refusing to be drawn, "go through his experiences and reach his age without entertaining delusions of one kind or another."
-"perfectly true," said garvey. "your observation is evidently keen."
-"very keen indeed," shorthouse replied, taking his cue neatly; "but, of course, there are some things"--and here he looked cautiously over his shoulder--"there are some things one cannot talk about too circumspectly."
-"i understand perfectly and respect your reserve."
-there was a little more conversation and then garvey got up and excused himself on the plea of superintending the preparation of the bedroom.
-"it's quite an event to have a visitor in the house, and i want to make you as comfortable as possible," he said. "marx will do better for a little supervision. and," he added with a laugh as he stood in the doorway, "i want you to carry back a good account to sidebotham."
-the tall form disappeared and the door was shut. the conversation of the past few minutes had come somewhat as a revelation to the secretary. garvey seemed in full possession of normal instincts. there was no doubt as to the sincerity of his manner and intentions. the suspicions of the first hour began to vanish like mist before the sun. sidebotham's portentous warnings and the mystery with which he surrounded the whole episode had been allowed to unduly influence his mind. the loneliness of the situation and the bleak nature of the surroundings had helped to complete the illusion. he began to be ashamed of his suspicions and a change commenced gradually to be wrought in his thoughts. anyhow a dinner and a bed were preferable to six miles in the dark, no dinner, and a cold train into the bargain.
-garvey returned presently. "we'll do the best we can for you," he said, dropping into the deep armchair on the other side of the fire. "marx is a good servant if you watch him all the time. you must always stand over a jew, though, if you want things done properly. they're tricky and uncertain unless they're working for their own interest. but marx might be worse, i'll admit. he's been with me for nearly twenty years--cook, valet, housemaid, and butler all in one. in the old days, you know, he was a clerk in our office in chicago."
-garvey rattled on and shorthouse listened with occasional remarks thrown in. the former seemed pleased to have somebody to talk to and the sound of his own voice was evidently sweet music in his ears. after a few minutes, he crossed over to the sideboard and again took up the decanter of whisky, holding it to the light. "you will join me this time," he said pleasantly, pouring out two glasses, "it will give us an appetite for dinner," and this time shorthouse did not refuse. the liquor was mellow and soft and the men took two glasses apiece.
-"excellent," remarked the secretary.
-"glad you appreciate it," said the host, smacking his lips. "it's very old whisky, and i rarely touch it when i'm alone. but this," he added, "is a special occasion, isn't it?"
-shorthouse was in the act of putting his glass down when something drew his eyes suddenly to the other's face. a strange note in the man's voice caught his attention and communicated alarm to his nerves. a new light shone in garvey's eyes and there flitted momentarily across his strong features the shadow of something that set the secretary's nerves tingling. a mist spread before his eyes and the unaccountable belief rose strong in him that he was staring into the visage of an untamed animal. close to his heart there was something that was wild, fierce, savage. an involuntary shiver ran over him and seemed to dispel the strange fancy as suddenly as it had come. he met the other's eye with a smile, the counterpart of which in his heart was vivid horror.
-"it is a special occasion," he said, as naturally as possible, "and, allow me to add, very special whisky."
-garvey appeared delighted. he was in the middle of a devious tale describing how the whisky came originally into his possession when the door opened behind them and a grating voice announced that dinner was ready. they followed the cassocked form of marx across the dirty hall, lit only by the shaft of light that followed them from the library door, and entered a small room where a single lamp stood upon a table laid for dinner. the walls were destitute of pictures, and the windows had venetian blinds without curtains. there was no fire in the grate, and when the men sat down facing each other shorthouse noticed that, while his own cover was laid with its due proportion of glasses and cutlery, his companion had nothing before him but a soup plate, without fork, knife, or spoon beside it.
-"i don't know what there is to offer you," he said; "but i'm sure marx has done the best he can at such short notice. i only eat one course for dinner, but pray take your time and enjoy your food."
-marx presently set a plate of soup before the guest, yet so loathsome was the immediate presence of this old hebrew servitor, that the spoonfuls disappeared somewhat slowly. garvey sat and watched him.
-shorthouse said the soup was delicious and bravely swallowed another mouthful. in reality his thoughts were centred upon his companion, whose manners were giving evidence of a gradual and curious change. there was a decided difference in his demeanour, a difference that the secretary felt at first, rather than saw. garvey's quiet self-possession was giving place to a degree of suppressed excitement that seemed so far inexplicable. his movements became quick and nervous, his eye shifting and strangely brilliant, and his voice, when he spoke, betrayed an occasional deep tremor. something unwonted was stirring within him and evidently demanding every moment more vigorous manifestation as the meal proceeded.
-intuitively shorthouse was afraid of this growing excitement, and while negotiating some uncommonly tough pork chops he tried to lead the conversation on to the subject of chemistry, of which in his oxford days he had been an enthusiastic student. his companion, however, would none of it. it seemed to have lost interest for him, and he would barely condescend to respond. when marx presently returned with a plate of steaming eggs and bacon the subject dropped of its own accord.
-"an inadequate dinner dish," garvey said, as soon as the man was gone; "but better than nothing, i hope."
-shorthouse remarked that he was exceedingly fond of bacon and eggs, and, looking up with the last word, saw that garvey's face was twitching convulsively and that he was almost wriggling in his chair. he quieted down, however, under the secretary's gaze and observed, though evidently with an effort--
-"very good of you to say so. wish i could join you, only i never eat such stuff. i only take one course for dinner."
-shorthouse began to feel some curiosity as to what the nature of this one course might be, but he made no further remark and contented himself with noting mentally that his companion's excitement seemed to be rapidly growing beyond his control. there was something uncanny about it, and he began to wish he had chosen the alternative of the walk to the station.
-"i'm glad to see you never speak when marx is in the room," said garvey presently. "i'm sure it's better not. don't you think so?"
-he appeared to wait eagerly for the answer.
-"undoubtedly," said the puzzled secretary.
-"yes," the other went on quickly. "he's an excellent man, but he has one drawback--a really horrid one. you may--but, no, you could hardly have noticed it yet."
-"not drink, i trust," said shorthouse, who would rather have discussed any other subject than the odious jew.
-"the best of servants have their faults," he said coldly.
-"i'll tell you what it is if you like," garvey went on, still speaking very low and leaning forward over the table so that his face came close to the flame of the lamp, "only we must speak quietly in case he's listening. i'll tell you what it is--if you think you won't be frightened."
-"nothing frightens me," he laughed. (garvey must understand that at all events.) "nothing can frighten me," he repeated.
-"i'm glad of that; for it frightens me a good deal sometimes."
-shorthouse feigned indifference. yet he was aware that his heart was beating a little quicker and that there was a sensation of chilliness in his back. he waited in silence for what was to come.
-"vacuums!" exclaimed the secretary in spite of himself. "what in the world do you mean?"
-"what i say of course. he's always tumbling into them, so that i can't find him or get at him. he hides there for hours at a time, and for the life of me i can't make out what he does there."
-shorthouse stared his companion straight in the eyes. what in the name of heaven was he talking about?
-"do you suppose he goes there for a change of air, or--or to escape?" he went on in a louder voice.
-shorthouse could have laughed outright but for the expression of the other's face.
-"i should not think there was much air of any sort in a vacuum," he said quietly.
-"that's exactly what i feel," continued garvey with ever growing excitement. "that's the horrid part of it. how the devil does he live there? you see--"
-"have you ever followed him there?" interrupted the secretary. the other leaned back in his chair and drew a deep sigh.
-"never! it's impossible. you see i can't follow him. there's not room for two. a vacuum only holds one comfortably. marx knows that. he's out of my reach altogether once he's fairly inside. he knows the best side of a bargain. he's a regular jew."
-"that is a drawback to a servant, of course--" shorthouse spoke slowly, with his eyes on his plate.
-"a drawback," interrupted the other with an ugly chuckle, "i call it a draw-in, that's what i call it."
-"a draw-in does seem a more accurate term," assented shorthouse. "but," he went on, "i thought that nature abhorred a vacuum. she used to, when i was at school--though perhaps--it's so long ago--"
-"you see it's so long since i've given attention to such things," he stammered. his heart was beating rapidly, and a feeling of oppression was gathering over it.
-"it's my peculiar and special study on the other hand," garvey resumed. "i've not spent all these years in my laboratory to no purpose, i can assure you. nature, i know for a fact," he added with unnatural warmth, "does not abhor a vacuum. on the contrary, she's uncommonly fond of 'em, much too fond, it seems, for the comfort of my little household. if there were fewer vacuums and more abhorrence we should get on better--a damned sight better in my opinion."
-"your special knowledge, no doubt, enables you to speak with authority," shorthouse said, curiosity and alarm warring with other mixed feelings in his mind; "but how can a man tumble into a vacuum?"
-"you may well ask. that's just it. how can he? it's preposterous and i can't make it out at all. marx knows, but he won't tell me. jews know more than we do. for my part i have reason to believe--" he stopped and listened. "hush! here he comes," he added, rubbing his hands together as if in glee and fidgeting in his chair.
-steps were heard coming down the passage, and as they approached the door garvey seemed to give himself completely over to an excitement he could not control. his eyes were fixed on the door and he began clutching the tablecloth with both hands. again his face was screened by the loathsome shadow. it grew wild, wolfish. as through a mask, that concealed, and yet was thin enough to let through a suggestion of, the beast crouching behind, there leaped into his countenance the strange look of the animal in the human--the expression of the were-wolf, the monster. the change in all its loathsomeness came rapidly over his features, which began to lose their outline. the nose flattened, dropping with broad nostrils over thick lips. the face rounded, filled, and became squat. the eyes, which, luckily for shorthouse, no longer sought his own, glowed with the light of untamed appetite and bestial greed. the hands left the cloth and grasped the edges of the plate, and then clutched the cloth again.
-"this is my course coming now," said garvey, in a deep guttural voice. he was shivering. his upper lip was partly lifted and showed the teeth, white and gleaming.
-a moment later the door opened and marx hurried into the room and set a dish in front of his master. garvey half rose to meet him, stretching out his hands and grinning horribly. with his mouth he made a sound like the snarl of an animal. the dish before him was steaming, but the slight vapour rising from it betrayed by its odour that it was not born of a fire of coals. it was the natural heat of flesh warmed by the fires of life only just expelled. the moment the dish rested on the table garvey pushed away his own plate and drew the other up close under his mouth. then he seized the food in both hands and commenced to tear it with his teeth, grunting as he did so. shorthouse closed his eyes, with a feeling of nausea. when he looked up again the lips and jaw of the man opposite were stained with crimson. the whole man was transformed. a feasting tiger, starved and ravenous, but without a tiger's grace--this was what he watched for several minutes, transfixed with horror and disgust.
-marx had already taken his departure, knowing evidently what was not good for the eyes to look upon, and shorthouse knew at last that he was sitting face to face with a madman.
-the ghastly meal was finished in an incredibly short time and nothing was left but a tiny pool of red liquid rapidly hardening. garvey leaned back heavily in his chair and sighed. his smeared face, withdrawn now from the glare of the lamp, began to resume its normal appearance. presently he looked up at his guest and said in his natural voice--
-"i hope you've had enough to eat. you wouldn't care for this, you know," with a downward glance.
-shorthouse met his eyes with an inward loathing, and it was impossible not to show some of the repugnance he felt. in the other's face, however, he thought he saw a subdued, cowed expression. but he found nothing to say.
-"marx will be in presently," garvey went on. "he's either listening, or in a vacuum."
-"does he choose any particular time for his visits?" the secretary managed to ask.
-"he generally goes after dinner; just about this time, in fact. but he's not gone yet," he added, shrugging his shoulders, "for i think i hear him coming."
-shorthouse wondered whether vacuum was possibly synonymous with wine cellar, but gave no expression to his thoughts. with chills of horror still running up and down his back, he saw marx come in with a basin and towel, while garvey thrust up his face just as an animal puts up its muzzle to be rubbed.
-"now we'll have coffee in the library, if you're ready," he said, in the tone of a gentleman addressing his guests after a dinner party.
-shorthouse picked up the bag, which had lain all this time between his feet, and walked through the door his host held open for him. side by side they crossed the dark hall together, and, to his disgust, garvey linked an arm in his, and with his face so close to the secretary's ear that he felt the warm breath, said in a thick voice--
-"you're uncommonly careful with that bag, mr. shorthouse. it surely must contain something more than the bundle of papers."
-"nothing but the papers," he answered, feeling the hand burning upon his arm and wishing he were miles away from the house and its abominable occupants.
-"quite sure?" asked the other with an odious and suggestive chuckle. "is there any meat in it, fresh meat--raw meat?"
-the secretary felt, somehow, that at the least sign of fear the beast on his arm would leap upon him and tear him with his teeth.
-"nothing of the sort," he answered vigorously. "it wouldn't hold enough to feed a cat."
-"true," said garvey with a vile sigh, while the other felt the hand upon his arm twitch up and down as if feeling the flesh. "true, it's too small to be of any real use. as you say, it wouldn't hold enough to feed a cat."
-shorthouse was unable to suppress a cry. the muscles of his fingers, too, relaxed in spite of himself and he let the black bag drop with a bang to the floor. garvey instantly withdrew his arm and turned with a quick movement. but the secretary had regained his control as suddenly as he had lost it, and he met the maniac's eyes with a steady and aggressive glare.
-"there, you see, it's quite light. it makes no appreciable noise when i drop it." he picked it up and let it fall again, as if he had dropped it for the first time purposely. the ruse was successful.
-"yes. you're right," garvey said, still standing in the doorway and staring at him. "at any rate it wouldn't hold enough for two," he laughed. and as he closed the door the horrid laughter echoed in the empty hall.
-they sat down by a blazing fire and shorthouse was glad to feel its warmth. marx presently brought in coffee. a glass of the old whisky and a good cigar helped to restore equilibrium. for some minutes the men sat in silence staring into the fire. then, without looking up, garvey said in a quiet voice--
-"i suppose it was a shock to you to see me eat raw meat like that. i must apologise if it was unpleasant to you. but it's all i can eat and it's the only meal i take in the twenty-four hours."
-"best nourishment in the world, no doubt; though i should think it might be a trifle strong for some stomachs."
-he tried to lead the conversation away from so unpleasant a subject, and went on to talk rapidly of the values of different foods, of vegetarianism and vegetarians, and of men who had gone for long periods without any food at all. garvey listened apparently without interest and had nothing to say. at the first pause he jumped in eagerly.
-"when the hunger is really great on me," he said, still gazing into the fire, "i simply cannot control myself. i must have raw meat--the first i can get--" here he raised his shining eyes and shorthouse felt his hair beginning to rise.
-"it comes upon me so suddenly too. i never can tell when to expect it. a year ago the passion rose in me like a whirlwind and marx was out and i couldn't get meat. i had to get something or i should have bitten myself. just when it was getting unbearable my dog ran out from beneath the sofa. it was a spaniel."
-shorthouse responded with an effort. he hardly knew what he was saying and his skin crawled as if a million ants were moving over it.
-there was a pause of several minutes.
-"i've bitten marx all over," garvey went on presently in his strange quiet voice, and as if he were speaking of apples; "but he's bitter. i doubt if the hunger could ever make me do it again. probably that's what first drove him to take shelter in a vacuum." he chuckled hideously as he thought of this solution of his attendant's disappearances.
-shorthouse seized the poker and poked the fire as if his life depended on it. but when the banging and clattering was over garvey continued his remarks with the same calmness. the next sentence, however, was never finished. the secretary had got upon his feet suddenly.
-"i shall ask your permission to retire," he said in a determined voice; "i'm tired to-night; will you be good enough to show me to my room?"
-garvey looked up at him with a curious cringing expression behind which there shone the gleam of cunning passion.
-"certainly," he said, rising from his chair. "you've had a tiring journey. i ought to have thought of that before."
-he took the candle from the table and lit it, and the fingers that held the match trembled.
-"we needn't trouble marx," he explained. "that beast's in his vacuum by this time."
-they crossed the hall and began to ascend the carpetless wooden stairs. they were in the well of the house and the air cut like ice. garvey, the flickering candle in his hand throwing his face into strong outline, led the way across the first landing and opened a door near the mouth of a dark passage. a pleasant room greeted the visitor's eyes, and he rapidly took in its points while his host walked over and lit two candles that stood on a table at the foot of the bed. a fire burned brightly in the grate. there were two windows, opening like doors, in the wall opposite, and a high canopied bed occupied most of the space on the right. panelling ran all round the room reaching nearly to the ceiling and gave a warm and cosy appearance to the whole; while the portraits that stood in alternate panels suggested somehow the atmosphere of an old country house in england. shorthouse was agreeably surprised.
-"i hope you'll find everything you need," garvey was saying in the doorway. "if not, you have only to ring that bell by the fireplace. marx won't hear it of course, but it rings in my laboratory, where i spend most of the night."
-then, with a brief good-night, he went out and shut the door after him. the instant he was gone mr. sidebotham's private secretary did a peculiar thing. he planted himself in the middle of the room with his back to the door, and drawing the pistol swiftly from his hip pocket levelled it across his left arm at the window. standing motionless in this position for thirty seconds he then suddenly swerved right round and faced in the other direction, pointing his pistol straight at the keyhole of the door. there followed immediately a sound of shuffling outside and of steps retreating across the landing.
-"on his knees at the keyhole," was the secretary's reflection. "just as i thought. but he didn't expect to look down the barrel of a pistol and it made him jump a little."
-as soon as the steps had gone downstairs and died away across the hall, shorthouse went over and locked the door, stuffing a piece of crumpled paper into the second keyhole which he saw immediately above the first. after that, he made a thorough search of the room. it hardly repaid the trouble, for he found nothing unusual. yet he was glad he had made it. it relieved him to find no one was in hiding under the bed or in the deep oak cupboard; and he hoped sincerely it was not the cupboard in which the unfortunate spaniel had come to its vile death. the french windows, he discovered, opened on to a little balcony. it looked on to the front, and there was a drop of less than twenty feet to the ground below. the bed was high and wide, soft as feathers and covered with snowy sheets--very inviting to a tired man; and beside the blazing fire were a couple of deep armchairs.
-altogether it was very pleasant and comfortable; but, tired though he was, shorthouse had no intention of going to bed. it was impossible to disregard the warning of his nerves. they had never failed him before, and when that sense of distressing horror lodged in his bones he knew there was something in the wind and that a red flag was flying over the immediate future. some delicate instrument in his being, more subtle than the senses, more accurate than mere presentiment, had seen the red flag and interpreted its meaning.
-again it seemed to him, as he sat in an armchair over the fire, that his movements were being carefully watched from somewhere; and, not knowing what weapons might be used against him, he felt that his real safety lay in a rigid control of his mind and feelings and a stout refusal to admit that he was in the least alarmed.
-the house was very still. as the night wore on the wind dropped. only occasional bursts of sleet against the windows reminded him that the elements were awake and uneasy. once or twice the windows rattled and the rain hissed in the fire, but the roar of the wind in the chimney grew less and less and the lonely building was at last lapped in a great stillness. the coals clicked, settling themselves deeper in the grate, and the noise of the cinders dropping with a tiny report into the soft heap of accumulated ashes was the only sound that punctuated the silence.
-someone was coming up the stairs. the boards creaked beneath a stealthy weight.
-shorthouse sprang from the chair and crossed the room swiftly, taking up his position beside the door, but out of range of the keyhole. the two candles flared unevenly on the table at the foot of the bed. the steps were slow and cautious--it seemed thirty seconds between each one--but the person who was taking them was very close to the door. already he had topped the stairs and was shuffling almost silently across the bit of landing.
-the secretary slipped his hand into his pistol pocket and drew back further against the wall, and hardly had he completed the movement when the sounds abruptly ceased and he knew that somebody was standing just outside the door and preparing for a careful observation through the keyhole.
-he was in no sense a coward. in action he was never afraid. it was the waiting and wondering and the uncertainty that might have loosened his nerves a little. but, somehow, a wave of intense horror swept over him for a second as he thought of the bestial maniac and his attendant jew; and he would rather have faced a pack of wolves than have to do with either of these men.
-something brushing gently against the door set his nerves tingling afresh and made him tighten his grasp on the pistol. the steel was cold and slippery in his moist fingers. what an awful noise it would make when he pulled the trigger! if the door were to open how close he would be to the figure that came in! yet he knew it was locked on the inside and could not possibly open. again something brushed against the panel beside him and a second later the piece of crumpled paper fell from the keyhole to the floor, while the piece of thin wire that had accomplished this result showed its point for a moment in the room and was then swiftly withdrawn.
-somebody was evidently peering now through the keyhole, and realising this fact the spirit of attack entered into the heart of the beleaguered man. raising aloft his right hand he brought it suddenly down with a resounding crash upon the panel of the door next the keyhole--a crash that, to the crouching eavesdropper, must have seemed like a clap of thunder out of a clear sky. there was a gasp and a slight lurching against the door and the midnight listener rose startled and alarmed, for shorthouse plainly heard the tread of feet across the landing and down the stairs till they were lost in the silences of the hall. only, this time, it seemed to him there were four feet instead of two.
-quickly stuffing the paper back into the keyhole, he was in the act of walking back to the fireplace when, over his shoulder, he caught sight of a white face pressed in outline against the outside of the window. it was blurred in the streams of sleet, but the white of the moving eyes was unmistakable. he turned instantly to meet it, but the face was withdrawn like a flash, and darkness rushed in to fill the gap where it had appeared.
-"watched on both sides," he reflected.
-but he was not to be surprised into any sudden action, and quietly walking over to the fireplace as if he had seen nothing unusual he stirred the coals a moment and then strolled leisurely over to the window. steeling his nerves, which quivered a moment in spite of his will, he opened the window and stepped out on to the balcony. the wind, which he thought had dropped, rushed past him into the room and extinguished one of the candles, while a volley of fine cold rain burst all over his face. at first he could see nothing, and the darkness came close up to his eyes like a wall. he went a little farther on to the balcony and drew the window after him till it clashed. then he stood and waited.
-but nothing touched him. no one seemed to be there. his eyes got accustomed to the blackness and he was able to make out the iron railing, the dark shapes of the trees beyond, and the faint light coming from the other window. through this he peered into the room, walking the length of the balcony to do so. of course he was standing in a shaft of light and whoever was crouching in the darkness below could plainly see him. below?--that there should be anyone above did not occur to him until, just as he was preparing to go in again, he became aware that something was moving in the darkness over his head. he looked up, instinctively raising a protecting arm, and saw a long black line swinging against the dim wall of the house. the shutters of the window on the next floor, whence it depended, were thrown open and moving backwards and forwards in the wind. the line was evidently a thickish cord, for as he looked it was pulled in and the end disappeared in the darkness.
-shorthouse, trying to whistle to himself, peered over the edge of the balcony as if calculating the distance he might have to drop, and then calmly walked into the room again and closed the window behind him, leaving the latch so that the lightest touch would cause it to fly open. he relit the candle and drew a straight-backed chair up to the table. then he put coal on the fire and stirred it up into a royal blaze. he would willingly have folded the shutters over those staring windows at his back. but that was out of the question. it would have been to cut off his way of escape.
-sleep, for the time, was at a disadvantage. his brain was full of blood and every nerve was tingling. he felt as if countless eyes were upon him and scores of stained hands were stretching out from the corners and crannies of the house to seize him. crouching figures, figures of hideous jews, stood everywhere about him where shelter was, creeping forward out of the shadows when he was not looking and retreating swiftly and silently when he turned his head. wherever he looked, other eyes met his own, and though they melted away under his steady, confident gaze, he knew they would wax and draw in upon him the instant his glances weakened and his will wavered.
-though there were no sounds, he knew that in the well of the house there was movement going on, and preparation. and this knowledge, inasmuch as it came to him irresistibly and through other and more subtle channels than those of the senses kept the sense of horror fresh in his blood and made him alert and awake.
-but, no matter how great the dread in the heart, the power of sleep will eventually overcome it. exhausted nature is irresistible, and as the minutes wore on and midnight passed, he realised that nature was vigorously asserting herself and sleep was creeping upon him from the extremities.
-to lessen the danger he took out his pencil and began to draw the articles of furniture in the room. he worked into elaborate detail the cupboard, the mantelpiece, and the bed, and from these he passed on to the portraits. being possessed of genuine skill, he found the occupation sufficiently absorbing. it kept the blood in his brain, and that kept him awake. the pictures, moreover, now that he considered them for the first time, were exceedingly well painted. owing to the dim light, he centred his attention upon the portraits beside the fireplace. on the right was a woman, with a sweet, gentle face and a figure of great refinement; on the left was a full-size figure of a big handsome man with a full beard and wearing a hunting costume of ancient date.
-from time to time he turned to the windows behind him, but the vision of the face was not repeated. more than once, too, he went to the door and listened, but the silence was so profound in the house that he gradually came to believe the plan of attack had been abandoned. once he went out on to the balcony, but the sleet stung his face and he only had time to see that the shutters above were closed, when he was obliged to seek the shelter of the room again.
-in this way the hours passed. the fire died down and the room grew chilly. shorthouse had made several sketches of the two heads and was beginning to feel overpoweringly weary. his feet and his hands were cold and his yawns were prodigious. it seemed ages and ages since the steps had come to listen at his door and the face had watched him from the window. a feeling of safety had somehow come to him. in reality he was exhausted. his one desire was to drop upon the soft white bed and yield himself up to sleep without any further struggle.
-there had scarcely been time for the dreams to come when he found himself lying side-ways across the bed with wide open eyes staring into the darkness. someone had touched him, and he had writhed away in his sleep as from something unholy. the movement had awakened him.
-the room was simply black. no light came from the windows and the fire had gone out as completely as if water had been poured upon it. he gazed into a sheet of impenetrable darkness that came close up to his face like a wall.
-his first thought was for the papers in his coat and his hand flew to the pocket. they were safe; and the relief caused by this discovery left his mind instantly free for other reflections.
-and the realisation that at once came to him with a touch of dismay was, that during his sleep some definite change had been effected in the room. he felt this with that intuitive certainty which amounts to positive knowledge. the room was utterly still, but the corroboration that was speedily brought to him seemed at once to fill the darkness with a whispering, secret life that chilled his blood and made the sheet feel like ice against his cheek.
-hark! this was it; there reached his ears, in which the blood was already buzzing with warning clamour, a dull murmur of something that rose indistinctly from the well of the house and became audible to him without passing through walls or doors. there seemed no solid surface between him, lying on the bed, and the landing; between the landing and the stairs, and between the stairs and the hall beyond.
-he knew that the door of the room was standing open! therefore it had been opened from the inside. yet the window was fastened, also on the inside.
-hardly was this realised when the conspiring silence of the hour was broken by another and a more definite sound. a step was coming along the passage. a certain bruise on the hip told shorthouse that the pistol in his pocket was ready for use and he drew it out quickly and cocked it. then he just had time to slip over the edge of the bed and crouch down on the floor when the step halted on the threshold of the room. the bed was thus between him and the open door. the window was at his back.
-he waited in the darkness. what struck him as peculiar about the steps was that there seemed no particular desire to move stealthily. there was no extreme caution. they moved along in rather a slipshod way and sounded like soft slippers or feet in stockings. there was something clumsy, irresponsible, almost reckless about the movement.
-for a second the steps paused upon the threshold, but only for a second. almost immediately they came on into the room, and as they passed from the wood to the carpet shorthouse noticed that they became wholly noiseless. he waited in suspense, not knowing whether the unseen walker was on the other side of the room or was close upon him. presently he stood up and stretched out his left arm in front of him, groping, searching, feeling in a circle; and behind it he held the pistol, cocked and pointed, in his right hand. as he rose a bone cracked in his knee, his clothes rustled as if they were newspapers, and his breath seemed loud enough to be heard all over the room. but not a sound came to betray the position of the invisible intruder.
-then, just when the tension was becoming unbearable, a noise relieved the gripping silence. it was wood knocking against wood, and it came from the farther end of the room. the steps had moved over to the fireplace. a sliding sound almost immediately followed it and then silence closed again over everything like a pall.
-for another five minutes shorthouse waited, and then the suspense became too much. he could not stand that open door! the candles were close beside him and he struck a match and lit them, expecting in the sudden glare to receive at least a terrific blow. but nothing happened, and he saw at once that the room was entirely empty. walking over with the pistol cocked he peered out into the darkness of the landing and then closed the door and turned the key. then he searched the room--bed, cupboard, table, curtains, everything that could have concealed a man; but found no trace of the intruder. the owner of the footsteps had disappeared like a ghost into the shadows of the night. but for one fact he might have imagined that he had been dreaming: the bag had vanished!
-there was no more sleep for shorthouse that night. his watch pointed to 4 a.m. and there were still three hours before daylight. he sat down at the table and continued his sketches. with fixed determination he went on with his drawing and began a new outline of the man's head. there was something in the expression that continually evaded him. he had no success with it, and this time it seemed to him that it was the eyes that brought about his discomfiture. he held up his pencil before his face to measure the distance between the nose and the eyes, and to his amazement he saw that a change had come over the features. the eyes were no longer open. the lids had closed!
-for a second he stood in a sort of stupefied astonishment. a push would have toppled him over. then he sprang to his feet and held a candle close up to the picture. the eye-lids quivered, the eye-lashes trembled. then, right before his gaze, the eyes opened and looked straight into his own. two holes were cut in the panel and this pair of eyes, human eyes, just fitted them.
-as by a curious effect of magic, the strong fear that had governed him ever since his entry into the house disappeared in a second. anger rushed into his heart and his chilled blood rose suddenly to boiling point. putting the candle down, he took two steps back into the room and then flung himself forward with all his strength against the painted panel. instantly, and before the crash came, the eyes were withdrawn, and two black spaces showed where they had been. the old huntsman was eyeless. but the panel cracked and split inwards like a sheet of thin cardboard; and shorthouse, pistol in hand, thrust an arm through the jagged aperture and, seizing a human leg, dragged out into the room--the jew!
-words rushed in such a torrent to his lips that they choked him. the old hebrew, white as chalk, stood shaking before him, the bright pistol barrel opposite his eyes, when a volume of cold air rushed into the room, and with it a sound of hurried steps. shorthouse felt his arm knocked up before he had time to turn, and the same second garvey, who had somehow managed to burst open the window came between him and the trembling marx. his lips were parted and his eyes rolled strangely in his distorted face.
-"don't shoot him! shoot in the air!" he shrieked. he seized the jew by the shoulders.
-"you damned hound," he roared, hissing in his face. "so i've got you at last. that's where your vacuum is, is it? i know your vile hiding-place at last." he shook him like a dog. "i've been after him all night," he cried, turning to shorthouse, "all night, i tell you, and i've got him at last."
-garvey lifted his upper lip as he spoke and showed his teeth. they shone like the fangs of a wolf. the jew evidently saw them too, for he gave a horrid yell and struggled furiously.
-before the eyes of the secretary a mist seemed to rise. the hideous shadow again leaped into garvey's face. he foresaw a dreadful battle, and covering the two men with his pistol he retreated slowly to the door. whether they were both mad, or both criminal, he did not pause to inquire. the only thought present in his mind was that the sooner he made his escape the better.
-garvey was still shaking the jew when he reached the door and turned the key, but as he passed out on to the landing both men stopped their struggling and turned to face him. garvey's face, bestial, loathsome, livid with anger; the jew's white and grey with fear and horror;--both turned towards him and joined in a wild, horrible yell that woke the echoes of the night. the next second they were after him at full speed.
-shorthouse slammed the door in their faces and was at the foot of the stairs, crouching in the shadow, before they were out upon the landing. they tore shrieking down the stairs and past him, into the hall; and, wholly unnoticed, shorthouse whipped up the stairs again, crossed the bedroom and dropped from the balcony into the soft snow.
-as he ran down the drive he heard behind him in the house the yells of the maniacs; and when he reached home several hours later mr. sidebotham not only raised his salary but also told him to buy a new hat and overcoat, and send in the bill to him.
-skeleton lake: an episode in camp
-the utter loneliness of our moose-camp on skeleton lake had impressed us from the beginning--in the quebec backwoods, five days by trail and canoe from civilisation--and perhaps the singular name contributed a little to the sensation of eeriness that made itself felt in the camp circle when once the sun was down and the late october mists began rising from the lake and winding their way in among the tree trunks.
-for, in these regions, all names of lakes and hills and islands have their origin in some actual event, taking either the name of a chief participant, such as smith's ridge, or claiming a place in the map by perpetuating some special feature of the journey or the scenery, such as long island, deep rapids, or rainy lake.
-all names thus have their meaning and are usually pretty recently acquired, while the majority are self-explanatory and suggest human and pioneer relations. skeleton lake, therefore, was a name full of suggestion, and though none of us knew the origin or the story of its birth, we all were conscious of a certain lugubrious atmosphere that haunted its shores and islands, and but for the evidences of recent moose tracks in its neighbourhood we should probably have pitched our tents elsewhere.
-for several hundred miles in any direction we knew of only one other party of whites. they had journeyed up on the train with us, getting in at north bay, and hailing from boston way. a common goal and object had served by way of introduction. but the acquaintance had made little progress. this noisy, aggressive yankee did not suit our fancy much as a possible neighbour, and it was only a slight intimacy between his chief guide, jake the swede, and one of our men that kept the thing going at all. they went into camp on beaver creek, fifty miles and more to the west of us.
-but that was six weeks ago, and seemed as many months, for days and nights pass slowly in these solitudes and the scale of time changes wonderfully. our men always seemed to know by instinct pretty well "whar them other fellows was movin'," but in the interval no one had come across their trails, or once so much as heard their rifle shots.
-our little camp consisted of the professor, his wife, a splendid shot and keen woods-woman, and myself. we had a guide apiece, and hunted daily in pairs from before sunrise till dark.
-it was our last evening in the woods, and the professor was lying in my little wedge tent, discussing the dangers of hunting alone in couples in this way. the flap of the tent hung back and let in fragrant odours of cooking over an open wood fire; everywhere there were bustle and preparation, and one canoe already lay packed with moose horns, her nose pointing southwards.
-"if an accident happened to one of them," he was saying, "the survivor's story when he returned to camp would be entirely unsupported evidence, wouldn't it? because, you see--"
-and he went on laying down the law after the manner of professors, until i became so bored that my attention began to wander to pictures and memories of the scenes we were just about to leave: garden lake, with its hundred islands; the rapids out of round pond; the countless vistas of forest, crimson and gold in the autumn sunshine; and the starlit nights we had spent watching in cold, cramped positions for the wary moose on lonely lakes among the hills. the hum of the professor's voice in time grew more soothing. a nod or a grunt was all the reply he looked for. fortunately, he loathed interruptions. i think i could almost have gone to sleep under his very nose; perhaps i did sleep for a brief interval.
-then it all came about so quickly, and the tragedy of it was so unexpected and painful, throwing our peaceful camp into momentary confusion, that now it all seems to have happened with the uncanny swiftness of a dream.
-first, there was the abrupt ceasing of the droning voice, and then the running of quick little steps over the pine needles, and the confusion of men's voices; and the next instant the professor's wife was at the tent door, hatless, her face white, her hunting bloomers bagging at the wrong places, a rifle in her hand, and her words running into one another anyhow.
-"quick, harry! it's rushton. i was asleep and it woke me. something's happened. you must deal with it!"
-in a second we were outside the tent with our rifles.
-"my god!" i heard the professor exclaim, as if he had first made the discovery. "it is rushton!"
-i saw the guides helping--dragging--a man out of a canoe. a brief space of deep silence followed in which i heard only the waves from the canoe washing up on the sand; and then, immediately after, came the voice of a man talking with amazing rapidity and with odd gaps between his words. it was rushton telling his story, and the tones of his voice, now whispering, now almost shouting, mixed with sobs and solemn oaths and frequent appeals to the deity, somehow or other struck the false note at the very start, and before any of us guessed or knew anything at all. something moved secretly between his words, a shadow veiling the stars, destroying the peace of our little camp, and touching us all personally with an undefinable sense of horror and distrust.
-i can see that group to this day, with all the detail of a good photograph: standing half-way between the firelight and the darkness, a slight mist rising from the lake, the frosty stars, and our men, in silence that was all sympathy, dragging rushton across the rocks towards the camp fire. their moccasins crunched on the sand and slipped several times on the stones beneath the weight of the limp, exhausted body, and i can still see every inch of the pared cedar branch he had used for a paddle on that lonely and dreadful journey.
-but what struck me most, as it struck us all, was the limp exhaustion of his body compared to the strength of his utterance and the tearing rush of his words. a vigorous driving-power was there at work, forcing out the tale, red-hot and throbbing, full of discrepancies and the strangest contradictions; and the nature of this driving-power i first began to appreciate when they had lifted him into the circle of firelight and i saw his face, grey under the tan, terror in the eyes, tears too, hair and beard awry, and listened to the wild stream of words pouring forth without ceasing.
-i think we all understood then, but it was only after many years that anyone dared to confess what he thought.
-there was matt morris, my guide; silver fizz, whose real name was unknown, and who bore the title of his favourite drink; and huge hank milligan--all ears and kind intention; and there was rushton, pouring out his ready-made tale, with ever-shifting eyes, turning from face to face, seeking confirmation of details none had witnessed but himself--and one other.
-silver fizz was the first to recover from the shock of the thing, and to realise, with the natural sense of chivalry common to most genuine back-woodsmen, that the man was at a terrible disadvantage. at any rate, he was the first to start putting the matter to rights.
-"never mind telling it just now," he said in a gruff voice, but with real gentleness; "get a bite t'eat first and then let her go afterwards. better have a horn of whisky too. it ain't all packed yet, i guess."
-"couldn't eat or drink a thing," cried the other. "good lord, don't you see, man, i want to talk to someone first? i want to get it out of me to someone who can answer--answer. i've had nothing but trees to talk with for three days, and i can't carry it alone any longer. those cursed, silent trees--i've told it 'em a thousand times. now, just see here, it was this way. when we started out from camp--"
-he looked fearfully about him, and we realised it was useless to stop him. the story was bound to come, and come it did.
-of course, he smothered it in words--odd words, too--melodramatic, poetic, out-of-the-way words that lie just on the edge of frenzy. of course, too, he kept asking us each in turn, scanning our faces with those restless, frightened eyes of his, "what would you have done?" "what else could i do?" and "was that my fault?" but that was nothing, for he was no milk-and-water fellow who dealt in hints and suggestions; he told his story boldly, forcing his conclusions upon us as if we had been so many wax cylinders of a phonograph that would repeat accurately what had been told us, and these questions i have mentioned he used to emphasise any special point that he seemed to think required such emphasis.
-the fact was, however, the picture of what had actually happened was so vivid still in his own mind that it reached ours by a process of telepathy which he could not control or prevent. all through his true-false words this picture stood forth in fearful detail against the shadows behind him. he could not veil, much less obliterate, it. we knew; and, i always thought, he knew that we knew.
-the story itself, as i have said, was sufficiently ordinary. jake and himself, in a nine-foot canoe, had upset in the middle of a lake, and had held hands across the upturned craft for several hours, eventually cutting holes in her ribs to stick their arms through and grasp hands lest the numbness of the cold water should overcome them. they were miles from shore, and the wind was drifting them down upon a little island. but when they got within a few hundred yards of the island, they realised to their horror that they would after all drift past it.
-it was then the quarrel began. jake was for leaving the canoe and swimming. rushton believed in waiting till they actually had passed the island and were sheltered from the wind. then they could make the island easily by swimming, canoe and all. but jake refused to give in, and after a short struggle--rushton admitted there was a struggle--got free from the canoe--and disappeared without a single cry.
-rushton held on and proved the correctness of his theory, and finally made the island, canoe and all, after being in the water over five hours. he described to us how he crawled up on to the shore, and fainted at once, with his feet lying half in the water; how lost and terrified he felt upon regaining consciousness in the dark; how the canoe had drifted away and his extraordinary luck in finding it caught again at the end of the island by a projecting cedar branch. he told us that the little axe--another bit of real luck--had caught in the thwart when the canoe turned over, and how the little bottle in his pocket holding the emergency matches was whole and dry. he made a blazing fire and searched the island from end to end, calling upon jake in the darkness, but getting no answer; till, finally, so many half-drowned men seemed to come crawling out of the water on to the rocks, and vanish among the shadows when he came up with them, that he lost his nerve completely and returned to lie down by the fire till the daylight came.
-he then cut a bough to replace the lost paddles, and after one more useless search for his lost companion, he got into the canoe, fearing every moment he would upset again, and crossed over to the mainland. he knew roughly the position of our camping place, and after paddling day and night, and making many weary portages, without food or covering, he reached us two days later.
-this, more or less, was the story, and we, knowing whereof he spoke, knew that every word was literally true, and at the same time went to the building up of a hideous and prodigious lie.
-once the recital was over, he collapsed, and silver fizz, after a general expression of sympathy from the rest of us, came again to the rescue.
-"but now, mister, you jest got to eat and drink whether you've a mind to, or no."
-and matt morris, cook that night, soon had the fried trout and bacon, and the wheat cakes and hot coffee passing round a rather silent and oppressed circle. so we ate round the fire, ravenously, as we had eaten every night for the past six weeks, but with this difference: that there was one among us who was more than ravenous--and he gorged.
-we tried hard to talk of other things, but it was no use, for he was bursting with the rehearsal of his story and refused to allow himself the chances we were so willing and anxious to grant him. after a good night's rest he might have had more self-control and better judgment, and would probably have acted differently. but, as it was, we found it impossible to help him.
-once the pipes were lit, and the dishes cleared away, it was useless to pretend any longer. the sparks from the burning logs zigzagged upwards into a sky brilliant with stars. it was all wonderfully still and peaceful, and the forest odours floated to us on the sharp autumn air. the cedar fire smelt sweet and we could just hear the gentle wash of tiny waves along the shore. all was calm, beautiful, and remote from the world of men and passion. it was, indeed, a night to touch the soul, and yet, i think, none of us heeded these things. a bull-moose might almost have thrust his great head over our shoulders and have escaped unnoticed. the death of jake the swede, with its sinister setting, was the real presence that held the centre of the stage and compelled attention.
-"you won't p'raps care to come along, mister," said morris, by way of a beginning; "but i guess i'll go with one of the boys here and have a hunt for it."
-"sure," said hank. "jake an' i done some biggish trips together in the old days, and i'll do that much for'm."
-"it's deep water, they tell me, round them islands," added silver fizz; "but we'll find it, sure pop,--if it's thar."
-they all spoke of the body as "it."
-there was a minute or two of heavy silence, and then rushton again burst out with his story in almost the identical words he had used before. it was almost as if he had learned it by heart. he wholly failed to appreciate the efforts of the others to let him off.
-silver fizz rushed in, hoping to stop him, morris and hank closely following his lead.
-"i once knew another travellin' partner of his," he began quickly; "used to live down moosejaw rapids way--"
-"is that so?" said hank.
-"kind o' useful sort er feller," chimed in morris.
-all the idea the men had was to stop the tongue wagging before the discrepancies became so glaring that we should be forced to take notice of them, and ask questions. but, just as well try to stop an angry bull-moose on the run, or prevent beaver creek freezing in mid-winter by throwing in pebbles near the shore. out it came! and, though the discrepancy this time was insignificant, it somehow brought us all in a second face to face with the inevitable and dreaded climax.
-"and so i tramped all over that little bit of an island, hoping he might somehow have gotten in without my knowing it, and always thinking i heard that awful last cry of his in the darkness--and then the night dropped down impenetrably, like a damn thick blanket out of the sky, and--"
-all eyes fell away from his face. hank poked up the logs with his boot, and morris seized an ember in his bare fingers to light his pipe, although it was already emitting clouds of smoke. but the professor caught the ball flying.
-"i thought you said he sank without a cry," he remarked quietly, looking straight up into the frightened face opposite, and then riddling mercilessly the confused explanation that followed.
-the cumulative effect of all these forces, hitherto so rigorously repressed, now made itself felt, and the circle spontaneously broke up, everybody moving at once by a common instinct. the professor's wife left the party abruptly, with excuses about an early start next morning. she first shook hands with rushton, mumbling something about his comfort in the night.
-the question of his comfort, however, devolved by force of circumstances upon myself, and he shared my tent. just before wrapping up in my double blankets--for the night was bitterly cold--he turned and began to explain that he had a habit of talking in his sleep and hoped i would wake him if he disturbed me by doing so.
-well, he did talk in his sleep--and it disturbed me very much indeed. the anger and violence of his words remain with me to this day, and it was clear in a minute that he was living over again some portion of the scene upon the lake. i listened, horror-struck, for a moment or two, and then understood that i was face to face with one of two alternatives: i must continue an unwilling eavesdropper, or i must waken him. the former was impossible for me, yet i shrank from the latter with the greatest repugnance; and in my dilemma i saw the only way out of the difficulty and at once accepted it.
-cold though it was, i crawled stealthily out of my warm sleeping-bag and left the tent, intending to keep the old fire alight under the stars and spend the remaining hours till daylight in the open.
-as soon as i was out i noticed at once another figure moving silently along the shore. it was hank milligan, and it was plain enough what he was doing: he was examining the holes that had been cut in the upper ribs of the canoe. he looked half ashamed when i came up with him, and mumbled something about not being able to sleep for the cold. but, there, standing together beside the over-turned canoe, we both saw that the holes were far too small for a man's hand and arm and could not possibly have been cut by two men hanging on for their lives in deep water. those holes had been made afterwards.
-hank said nothing to me and i said nothing to hank, and presently he moved off to collect logs for the fire, which needed replenishing, for it was a piercingly cold night and there were many degrees of frost.
-three days later hank and silver fizz followed with stumbling footsteps the old indian trail that leads from beaver creek to the southwards. a hammock was slung between them, and it weighed heavily. yet neither of the men complained; and, indeed, speech between them was almost nothing. their thoughts, however, were exceedingly busy, and the terrible secret of the woods which formed their burden weighed far more heavily than the uncouth, shifting mass that lay in the swinging hammock and tugged so severely at their shoulders.
-they had found "it" in four feet of water not more than a couple of yards from the lee shore of the island. and in the back of the head was a long, terrible wound which no man could possibly have inflicted upon himself.
-printed by morrison & gibb limited, edinburgh.
-by algernon blackwood
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-the lost valley
-by algernon blackwood
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-"the book of a remarkably gifted writer."--daily news.
-"the stories are unforgettable. through them all, too, runs the charm of an accomplished style. . . . mr. blackwood has indeed done well."--pall mall gazette.
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-"in his method of touching the well-springs of fear, of pity, and of horror, mr. blackwood often exhibits powers which can only properly be called masterly. in its way his work bids fair to become classical . . . an art superior to that of bulwer-lytton, at least as fine as le fanu's, and hardly, if at all, inferior to that exhibited by the supreme living masters of the short story, mr. kipling and mr. james."--birmingham daily post.
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-edited by eric robertson and frank t. marzials.
-life of browning.
-for full list of the volumes in this series, see catalogue at end of book
-london, robert browning's birthplace; his immediate predecessors and contemporaries in literature, art, and music; born may 7th, 1812; origin of the browning family; assertions as to its semitic connection apparently groundless; the poet a putative descendant of the captain micaiah browning mentioned by macaulay; robert browning's mother of scottish and german origin; his father a man of exceptional powers, artist, poet, critic, student; mr. browning's opinion of his son's writings; the home in camberwell; robert browning's childhood; concerning his optimism; his fondness for carravaggio's "andromeda and perseus"; his poetic precocity; origin of "the flight of the duchess"; writes byronic verse; is sent to school at peckham; his holiday afternoons; sees london by night, from herne hill; the significance of the spectacle to him. page 11.
-the public reception of "pauline"; criticisms thereupon; mr. fox's notice in the monthly repository, and its results; dante gabriel rossetti reads "pauline" and writes to the author; browning's reference to tennyson's reading of "maud" in 1855; browning frequents literary society; reads at the british museum; makes the acquaintance of charles dickens and "ion" talfourd; a volume of poems by tennyson published simultaneously with "pauline"; in 1833 he commences his travels; goes to russia; the sole record of his experiences there to be found in the poem "ivàn ivànovitch," published in dramatic idyls, 1879; his acquaintance with mazzini; browning goes to italy; visits asolo, whence he drew hints for "sordello" and "pippa passes"; in 1834 he returns to camberwell; in autumn of 1834 and winter of 1835 commences "sordello," writes "paracelsus," and one or two short poems; his love for venice; a new voice audible in "johannes agricola" and "porphyria"; "paracelsus," published in 1835; his own explanation of it; his love of walking in the dark; some of "paracelsus" and of "strafford" composed in a wood near dulwich; concerning "paracelsus" and browning's sympathy with the scientific spirit; description and scope of the poem; quotations therefrom; estimate of the work, and its four lyrics. page 49.
-criticisms upon "paracelsus," important one written by john forster; browning meets macready at the house of mr. fox; personal description of the poet; macready's opinion of the poem; browning spends new year's day, 1836, at the house of the tragedian and meets john forster; macready urges him to write a play; his subsequent interview with the tragedian; he plans a drama to be entitled "narses"; meets wordsworth and walter savage landor at a supper party, when the young poet is toasted, and macready again proposes that browning should write a play, from which arose the idea of "strafford"; his acquaintance with wordsworth and landor; ms. of "strafford" accepted; its performance at covent garden theatre on the 26th may 1837; runs for five nights; the author's comments; the drama issued by messrs. longman & co.; the performance in 1886; estimate of "strafford"; browning's dramas; comparison between the elizabethan and victorian dramatic eras; browning's soul-depictive faculty; his dramatic method; estimate of his dramas; landor's acknowledgment of the dedication to him of "luria". page 73.
-"profundity" and "simplicity"; the faculty of wonder; browning's first conception of "pippa passes"; his residence in london; his country walks; his ways and habits, and his heart-episodes; debates whether to become a clergyman; is "pippa passes" a drama? estimate of the poem; browning's rambles on wimbledon common and in dulwich wood, where he composed his lines upon shelley; asserts there is romance in camberwell as well as in italy; "sordello"; the charge of obscurity against "sordello"; the nature and intention of the poem; quotations therefrom; anecdote about douglas jerrold; tennyson's, carlyle's, and m. odysse barot's opinions on "sordello"; "enigmatic" poetry; in 1863 browning contemplated the re-writing of "sordello"; dedication to the french critic, milsand. page 93.
-browning's three great dramatic poems; "the ring and the book" his finest work; its uniqueness; carlyle's criticism of it; poetry versus tour-de-force; "the ring and the book" begun in 1866; analysis of the poem; kinship of "the ring and the book" and "aurora leigh"; explanation of title; the idea taken from a parchment volume browning picked up in florence; the poem planned at casa guidi; "o lyric love," etc.; description and analysis of "the ring and the book," with quotations; compared as a poem with "the inn album," "pauline," "asolando," "men and women," etc.; imaginary volumes, to be entitled "transcripts from life" and "flowers o' the vine"; browning's greatest period; browning's primary importance. page 113.
-early life of elizabeth barrett browning; born in 1820; the chief sorrow of her life; the barrett family settle in london; "the cry of the children" and its origin; miss barrett's friends; effect on her of browning's poetry; she makes browning's acquaintance in 1846; her early belief in him as a poet; her physical delicacy and her sensitiveness of feeling; personal appearance of robert browning; his "electric" hand; elizabeth barrett discerns his personal worth, and is susceptible to the strong humanity of browning's song; mr. barrett's jealousy; their engagement; miss barrett's acquaintance with mrs. jameson; quiet marriage in 1846; mr. barrett's resentment; the brownings go to paris; thence to italy with mrs. jameson; wordsworth's comments; residence in pisa; "sonnets from the portuguese"; in the spring they go to florence, thence to ancona, where "the guardian angel" was written; casa guidi; w.w. story's account of the rooms at casa guidi; perfect union. page 135.
-march 1849, birth of robert wiedemann barrett browning; browning writes his "christmas eve and easter day"; "casa guidi windows" commenced; 1850, they go to rome; "two in the campagna"; proposal to confer poet-laureateship on mrs. browning; return to london; winter in paris; summer in london; kenyon's friendship; return in autumn to casa guidi; browning's essay on shelley for the twenty-five spurious shelley letters; midsummer at baths of lucca, where "in a balcony" was in part written; winter of 1853-4 in rome; record of work; "pen's" illness; "ben karshook's wisdom"; return to florence; (1856) "men and women" published; the brownings go to london; in summer "aurora leigh" issued; 1858, mrs. browning's waning health; 1855-64 comparatively, unproductive period with r. browning; record of work; july 1855, they travel to normandy; "legend of pornic"; mrs. browning's ardent interest in the italian struggle of 1859; winter in rome; "poems before congress"; her last poem, "north and south"; death of mrs. browning at casa guidi, 28th june 1861. page 157.
-browning's allusions to death of his wife; miss browning resides with her brother from 1866; 1868, collected works published; first part of "the ring and the book" published in november 1866; "hervé riel" written; browning's growing popularity; tauchnitz editions of his poems in 1872; also first book of selections; dedication to lord tennyson; 1877, he goes to la saisiaz, near geneva; "la saisiaz" and "the two poets of croisic" published 1878; browning's later poems; browning society established 1881; browning's letter thereupon to mr. yates; trips abroad; his london residences; his last letter to tennyson; revisits asolo; palazzo rezzonico; his belief in immortality; his death, thursday, dec. 12th, 1889; funeral in westminster abbey; sonnet by george meredith; new star in orion; r. browning's place in literature; summary, etc. page 176.
-in all important respects i leave this volume to speak for itself. for obvious reasons it does not pretend to be more than a mémoire pour servir: in the nature of things, the definitive biography cannot appear for many years to come. none the less gratefully may i take the present opportunity to express my indebtedness to mr. r. barrett browning, and to other relatives and intimate friends of robert browning, who have given me serviceable information, and otherwise rendered kindly aid. for some of the hitherto unpublished details my thanks are, in particular, due to mrs. fraser corkran and miss alice corkran, and to other old friends of the poet and his family, here, in italy, and in america; though in one or two instances, i may add, i had them from robert browning himself. it is with pleasure that i further acknowledge my indebtedness to dr. furnivall, for the loan of the advance-proofs of his privately-printed pamphlet on "browning's ancestors"; and to the browning society's publications--particularly to mrs. sutherland orr's and dr. furnivall's biographical and bibliographical contributions thereto; to mr. gosse's biographical article in the century magazine for 1881; to mr. ingram's life of e.b. browning; and to the memoirs of anna jameson, the italian note-books of nathaniel hawthorne, mr. g.s. hillard's six months in italy (1853), and the lives and correspondence of macready, miss mitford, leigh hunt, and walter savage landor. i regret that the imperative need of concision has prevented the insertion of many of the letters, anecdotes, and reminiscences, so generously placed at my disposal; but possibly i may have succeeded in educing from them some essential part of that light which they undoubtedly cast upon the personality and genius of the poet.
-life of browning.
-it must, to admirers of browning's writings, appear singularly appropriate that so cosmopolitan a poet was born in london. it would seem as though something of that mighty complex life, so confusedly petty to the narrow vision, so grandiose and even majestic to the larger ken, had blent with his being from the first. what fitter birthplace for the poet whom a comrade has called the "subtlest assertor of the soul in song," the poet whose writings are indeed a mirror of the age?
-a man may be in all things a londoner and yet be a provincial. the accident of birthplace does not necessarily involve parochialism of the soul. it is not the village which produces the hampden, but the hampden who immortalises the village. it is a favourite jest of rusticus that his urban brother has the manner of omniscience and the knowledge of a parish beadle. nevertheless, though the strongest blood insurgent in the metropolitan heart is not that which is native to it, one might well be proud to have had one's atom-pulse atune from the first with the large
-prelude: the troops
-dim, gradual thinning of the shapeless gloom shudders to drizzling daybreak that reveals disconsolate men who stamp their sodden boots and turn dulled, sunken faces to the sky haggard and hopeless. they, who have beaten down the stale despair of night, must now renew their desolation in the truce of dawn, murdering the livid hours that grope for peace.
-yet these, who cling to life with stubborn hands, can grin through storms of death and find a gap in the clawed, cruel tangles of his defence. they march from safety, and the bird-sung joy of grass-green thickets, to the land where all is ruin, and nothing blossoms but the sky that hastens over them where they endure sad, smoking, flat horizons, reeking woods, and foundered trench-lines volleying doom for doom.
-o my brave brown companions, when your souls flock silently away, and the eyeless dead, shame the wild beast of battle on the ridge, death will stand grieving in that field of war since your unvanquished hardihood is spent. and through some mooned valhalla there will pass battalions and battalions, scarred from hell; the unreturning army that was youth; the legions who have suffered and are dust.
-soldiers are citizens of death's gray land, drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows. in the great hour of destiny they stand, each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. soldiers are sworn to action; they must win some flaming, fatal climax with their lives. soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
-i see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats, and in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain, dreaming of things they did with balls and bats, and mocked by hopeless longing to regain bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats, and going to the office in the train.
-darkness: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep; it was past twelve on a mid-winter night, when peaceful folk in beds lay snug asleep: there, with much work to do before the light, we lugged our clay-sucked boots as best we might along the trench; sometimes a bullet sang, and droning shells burst with a hollow bang; we were soaked, chilled and wretched, every one. darkness: the distant wink of a huge gun.
-i turned in the black ditch, loathing the storm; a rocket fizzed and burned with blanching flare, and lit the face of what had been a form floundering in mirk. he stood before me there; i say that he was christ; stiff in the glare, and leaning forward from his burdening task, both arms supporting it; his eyes on mine stared from the woeful head that seemed a mask of mortal pain in hell's unholy shine.
-no thorny crown, only a woollen cap he wore--an english soldier, white and strong, who loved his time like any simple chap, good days of work and sport and homely song; now he has learned that nights are very long, and dawn a watching of the windowed sky. but to the end, unjudging, he'll endure horror and pain, not uncontent to die that lancaster on lune may stand secure.
-he faced me, reeling in his weariness, shouldering his load of planks, so hard to bear. i say that he was christ, who wrought to bless all groping things with freedom bright as air, and with his mercy washed and made them fair. then the flame sank, and all grew black as pitch, while we began to struggle along the ditch; and some one flung his burden in the muck, mumbling: "o christ almighty, now i'm stuck!"
-shaken from sleep, and numbed and scarce awake, out in the trench with three hours' watch to take, i blunder through the splashing mirk; and then hear the gruff muttering voices of the men crouching in cabins candle-chinked with light. hark! there's the big bombardment on our right rumbling and bumping; and the dark's a glare of flickering horror in the sectors where we raid the boche; men waiting, stiff and chilled, or crawling on their bellies through the wire. "what? stretcher-bearers wanted? some one killed?" five minutes ago i heard a sniper fire: why did he do it?... starlight overhead-- blank stars. i'm wide-awake; and some chap's dead.
-"pass it along, the wiring party's going out"-- and yawning sentries mumble, "wirers going out." unravelling; twisting; hammering stakes with muffled thud, they toil with stealthy haste and anger in their blood.
-the boche sends up a flare. black forms stand rigid there, stock-still like posts; then darkness, and the clumsy ghosts stride hither and thither, whispering, tripped by clutching snare of snags and tangles. ghastly dawn with vaporous coasts gleams desolate along the sky, night's misery ended.
-young hughes was badly hit; i heard him carried away, moaning at every lurch; no doubt he'll die to-day. but we can say the front-line wire's been safely mended.
-break of day
-there seemed a smell of autumn in the air at the bleak end of night; he shivered there in a dank, musty dug-out where he lay, legs wrapped in sand-bags,--lumps of chalk and clay spattering his face. dry-mouthed, he thought, "to-day we start the damned attack; and, lord knows why, zero's at nine; how bloody if i'm done in under the freedom of that morning sky!" and then he coughed and dozed, cursing the din.
-was it the ghost of autumn in that smell of underground, or god's blank heart grown kind, that sent a happy dream to him in hell?-- where men are crushed like clods, and crawl to find some crater for their wretchedness; who lie in outcast immolation, doomed to die far from clean things or any hope of cheer, cowed anger in their eyes, till darkness brims and roars into their heads, and they can hear old childish talk, and tags of foolish hymns.
-he sniffs the chilly air; (his dreaming starts). he's riding in a dusty sussex lane in quiet september; slowly night departs; and he's a living soul, absolved from pain. beyond the brambled fences where he goes are glimmering fields with harvest piled in sheaves, and tree-tops dark against the stars grown pale; then, clear and shrill, a distant farm-cock crows; and there's a wall of mist along the vale where willows shake their watery-sounding leaves. he gazes on it all, and scarce believes that earth is telling its old peaceful tale; he thanks the blessed world that he was born.... then, far away, a lonely note of the horn.
-they're drawing the big wood! unlatch the gate, and set golumpus going on the grass: he knows the corner where it's best to wait and hear the crashing woodland chorus pass; the corner where old foxes make their track to the long spinney; that's the place to be. the bracken shakes below an ivied tree, and then a cub looks out; and "tally-o-back!" he bawls, and swings his thong with volleying crack,-- all the clean thrill of autumn in his blood, and hunting surging through him like a flood in joyous welcome from the untroubled past; while the war drifts away, forgotten at last.
-now a red, sleepy sun above the rim of twilight stares along the quiet weald, and the kind, simple country shines revealed in solitudes of peace, no longer dim. the old horse lifts his face and thanks the light, then stretches down his head to crop the green. all things that he has loved are in his sight; the places where his happiness has been are in his eyes, his heart, and they are good.
-hark! there's the horn: they're drawing the big wood.
-a working party
-voices would grunt, "keep to your right,--make way!" when squeezing past the men from the front-line: white faces peered, puffing a point of red; candles and braziers glinted through the chinks and curtain-flaps of dug-outs; then the gloom swallowed his sense of sight; he stooped and swore because a sagging wire had caught his neck. a flare went up; the shining whiteness spread and flickered upward, showing nimble rats, and mounds of glimmering sand-bags, bleached with rain; then the slow, silver moment died in dark.
-the wind came posting by with chilly gusts and buffeting at corners, piping thin and dreary through the crannies; rifle-shots would split and crack and sing along the night, and shells came calmly through the drizzling air to burst with hollow bang below the hill.
-three hours ago he stumbled up the trench; now he will never walk that road again: he must be carried back, a jolting lump beyond all need of tenderness and care; a nine-stone corpse with nothing more to do.
-he was a young man with a meagre wife and two pale children in a midland town; he showed the photograph to all his mates; and they considered him a decent chap who did his work and hadn't much to say, and always laughed at other people's jokes because he hadn't any of his own.
-that night, when he was busy at his job of piling bags along the parapet, he thought how slow time went, stamping his feet, and blowing on his fingers, pinched with cold.
-he thought of getting back by half-past twelve, and tot of rum to send him warm to sleep in draughty dug-out frowsty with the fumes of coke, and full of snoring, weary men.
-he pushed another bag along the top, craning his body outward; then a flare gave one white glimpse of no man's land and wire; and as he dropped his head the instant split his startled life with lead, and all went out.
-stand-to: good friday morning
-i'd been on duty from two till four. i went and stared at the dug-out door. down in the frowst i heard them snore. "stand-to!" somebody grunted and swore. dawn was misty; the skies were still; larks were singing, discordant, shrill; they seemed happy; but i felt ill. deep in water i splashed my way up the trench to our bogged front line. rain had fallen the whole damned night. o jesus, send me a wound to-day, and i'll believe in your bread and wine, and get my bloody old sins washed white!
-"in the pink"
-so davies wrote: "this leaves me in the pink." then scrawled his name: "your loving sweetheart, willie." with crosses for a hug. he'd had a drink of rum and tea; and, though the barn was chilly, for once his blood ran warm; he had pay to spend. winter was passing; soon the year would mend.
-he couldn't sleep that night. stiff in the dark he groaned and thought of sundays at the farm, when he'd go out as cheerful as a lark in his best suit to wander arm-in-arm with brown-eyed gwen, and whisper in her ear the simple, silly things she liked to hear.
-and then he thought: to-morrow night we trudge up to the trenches, and my boots are rotten. five miles of stodgy clay and freezing sludge, and everything but wretchedness forgotten. to-night he's in the pink; but soon he'll die. and still the war goes on; he don't know why.
-quietly the brother officer went out. he'd told the poor old dear some gallant lies that she would nourish all her days, no doubt. for while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy, because he'd been so brave, her glorious boy.
-he thought how "jack," cold-footed, useless swine, had panicked down the trench that night the mine went up at wicked corner; how he'd tried to get sent home; and how, at last, he died, blown to small bits. and no one seemed to care except that lonely woman with white hair.
-before the battle
-music of whispering trees hushed by the broad-winged breeze where shaken water gleams; and evening radiance falling with reedy bird-notes calling. o bear me safe through dark, you low-voiced streams.
-i have no need to pray that fear may pass away; i scorn the growl and rumble of the fight that summons me from cool silence of marsh and pool, and yellow lilies islanded in light. o river of stars and shadows, lead me through the night.
-june 25th, 1916.
-the road is thronged with women; soldiers pass and halt, but never see them; yet they're here-- a patient crowd along the sodden grass, silent, worn out with waiting, sick with fear. the road goes crawling up a long hillside, all ruts and stones and sludge, and the emptied dregs of battle thrown in heaps. here where they died are stretched big-bellied horses with stiff legs; and dead men, bloody-fingered from the fight, stare up at caverned darkness winking white.
-two hundred years after
-trudging by corbie ridge one winter's night, (unless old, hearsay memories tricked his sight), along the pallid edge of the quiet sky he watched a nosing lorry grinding on, and straggling files of men; when these were gone, a double limber and six mules went by, hauling the rations up through ruts and mud to trench-lines digged two hundred years ago. then darkness hid them with a rainy scud, and soon he saw the village lights below.
-but when he'd told his tale, an old man said that he'd seen soldiers pass along that hill; "poor, silent things, they were the english dead who came to fight in france and got their fill."
-moonlight and dew-drenched blossom, and the scent of summer gardens; these can bring you all those dreams that in the starlit silence fall: sweet songs are full of odours. while i went last night in drizzling dusk along a lane, i passed a squalid farm; from byre and midden came the rank smell that brought me once again a dream of war that in the past was hidden.
-up a disconsolate straggling village street i saw the tired troops trudge: i heard their feet. the cheery q.m.s. was there to meet and guide our company in.... i watched them stumble. into some crazy hovel, too beat to grumble; saw them file inward, slipping from their backs rifles, equipment, packs.
-on filthy straw they sit in the gloom, each face bowed to patched, sodden boots they must unlace, while the wind chills their sweat through chinks and cracks.
-i'm looking at their blistered feet; young jones stares up at me, mud-splashed and white and jaded; out of his eyes the morning light has faded. old soldiers with three winters in their bones puff their damp woodbines, whistle, stretch their toes they can still grin at me, for each of 'em knows that i'm as tired as they are.... can they guess the secret burden that is always mine?-- pride in their courage; pity for their distress; and burning bitterness that i must take them to the accursèd line.
-i cannot hear their voices, but i see dim candles in the barn: they gulp their tea, and soon they'll sleep like logs. ten miles away the battle winks and thuds in blundering strife. and i must lead them nearer, day by day, to the foul beast of war that bludgeons life.
-down in the hollow there's the whole brigade camped in four groups: through twilight falling slow i hear a sound of mouth-organs, ill-played, and murmur of voices, gruff, confused, and low. crouched among thistle-tufts i've watched the glow of a blurred orange sunset flare and fade; and i'm content. to-morrow we must go to take some cursèd wood.... o world god made!
-july 3rd, 1916.
-"fall in! now, get a move on!" (curse the rain.) we splash away along the straggling village, out to the flat rich country green with june.... and sunset flares across wet crops and tillage, blazing with splendour-patches. harvest soon up in the line. "perhaps the war'll be done by christmas-time. keep smiling then, old son!"
-here's the canal: it's dusk; we cross the bridge. "lead on there by platoons." the line's a-glare with shell-fire through the poplars; distant rattle of rifles and machine-guns. "fritz is there! christ, ain't it lively, sergeant? is't a battle?" more rain: the lightning blinks, and thunder rumbles. "there's overhead artillery," some chap grumbles.
-"what's all this mob, by the cross-road?" (the guides).... "lead on with number one" (and off they go.)
-"three-minute intervals." ... poor blundering files, sweating and blindly burdened; who's to know if death will catch them in those two dark miles? (more rain.) "lead on, headquarters." (that's the lot.) "who's that? o, sergeant-major; don't get shot! and tell me, have we won this war or not?"
-why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled, and one arm bent across your sullen cold exhausted face? it hurts my heart to watch you, deep-shadow'd from the candle's guttering gold; and you wonder why i shake you by the shoulder; drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head.... you are too young to fall asleep for ever; and when you sleep you remind me of the dead.
-groping along the tunnel, step by step, he winked his prying torch with patching glare from side to side, and sniffed the unwholesome air.
-tins, boxes, bottles, shapes too vague to know, a mirror smashed, the mattress from a bed; and he, exploring fifty feet below the rosy gloom of battle overhead.
-tripping, he grabbed the wall; saw some one lie humped at his feet, half-hidden by a rug, and stooped to give the sleeper's arm a tug. "i'm looking for headquarters." no reply. "god blast your neck!" (for days he'd had no sleep,) "get up and guide me through this stinking place." savage, he kicked a soft, unanswering heap, and flashed his beam across the livid face terribly glaring up, whose eyes yet wore agony dying hard ten days before; and fists of fingers clutched a blackening wound.
-i stood with the dead
-i stood with the dead, so forsaken and still: when dawn was grey i stood with the dead. and my slow heart said, "you must kill; you must kill: soldier, soldier, morning is red."
-on the shapes of the slain in their crumpled disgrace i stared for a while through the thin cold rain.... "o lad that i loved, there is rain on your face, and your eyes are blurred and sick like the plain."
-i stood with the dead.... they were dead; they were dead; my heart and my head beat a march of dismay; and gusts of the wind came dulled by the guns.... "fall in!" i shouted; "fall in for your pay!"
-suicide in trenches
-i knew a simple soldier boy who grinned at life in empty joy, slept soundly through the lonesome dark, and whistled early with the lark.
-in winter trenches, cowed and glum with crumps and lice and lack of rum, he put a bullet through his brain. no one spoke of him again.
-you smug-faced crowds with kindling eye who cheer when soldier lads march by, sneak home and pray you'll never know the hell where youth and laughter go.
-at dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun in the wild purple of the glowering sun smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud the menacing scarred slope; and, one by one, tanks creep and topple forward to the wire. the barrage roars and lifts. then, clumsily bowed with bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear, men jostle and climb to meet the bristling fire. lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear, they leave their trenches, going over the top, while time ticks blank and busy on their wrists, and hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists, flounders in mud. o jesu, make it stop!
-we'd gained our first objective hours before while dawn broke like a face with blinking eyes, pallid, unshaved and thirsty, blind with smoke. things seemed all right at first. we held their line, with bombers posted, lewis guns well placed, and clink of shovels deepening the shallow trench. the place was rotten with dead; green clumsy legs high-booted, sprawled and grovelled along the saps and trunks, face downward in the sucking mud, wallowed like trodden sand-bags loosely filled; and naked sodden buttocks, mats of hair, bulged, clotted heads, slept in the plastering slime. and then the rain began,--the jolly old rain!
-a yawning soldier knelt against the bank, staring across the morning blear with fog; he wondered when the allemands would get busy; and then, of course, they started with five-nines traversing, sure as fate, and never a dud. mute in the clamour of shells he watched them burst spouting dark earth and wire with gusts from hell, while posturing giants dissolved in drifts of smoke.
-he crouched and flinched, dizzy with galloping fear, sick for escape,--loathing the strangled horror and butchered, frantic gestures of the dead.
-an officer came blundering down the trench: "stand-to and man the fire-step!" on he went.... gasping and bawling, "fire-step ... counter-attack!" then the haze lifted. bombing on the right down the old sap: machine-guns on the left; and stumbling figures looming out in front. "o christ, they're coming at us!" bullets spat, and he remembered his rifle ... rapid fire ... and started blazing wildly ... then a bang crumpled and spun him sideways, knocked him out to grunt and wriggle: none heeded him; he choked and fought the flapping veils of smothering gloom, lost in a blurred confusion of yells and groans.... down, and down, and down, he sank and drowned, bleeding to death. the counter-attack had failed.
-"the effect of our bombardment was terrific. one man told me he had never seen so many dead before."
-"he'd never seen so many dead before." they sprawled in yellow daylight while he swore and gasped and lugged his everlasting load of bombs along what once had been a road. "how peaceful are the dead." who put that silly gag in some one's head?
-"he'd never seen so many dead before." the lilting words danced up and down his brain, while corpses jumped and capered in the rain. no, no; he wouldn't count them any more.... the dead have done with pain: they've choked; they can't come back to life again.
-when dick was killed last week he looked like that, flapping along the fire-step like a fish, after the blazing crump had knocked him flat.... "how many dead? as many as ever you wish. don't count 'em; they're too many. who'll buy my nice fresh corpses, two a penny?"
-lost in the swamp and welter of the pit, he flounders off the duck-boards; only he knows each flash and spouting crash,--each instant lit when gloom reveals the streaming rain. he goes heavily, blindly on. and, while he blunders, "could anything be worse than this?"--he wonders, remembering how he saw those germans run, screaming for mercy among the stumps of trees: green-faced, they dodged and darted: there was one livid with terror, clutching at his knees.... our chaps were sticking 'em like pigs.... "o hell!" he thought--"there's things in war one dare not tell poor father sitting safe at home, who reads of dying heroes and their deathless deeds."
-in an underground dressing-station
-quietly they set their burden down: he tried to grin; moaned; moved his head from side to side.
-he gripped the stretcher; stiffened; glared; and screamed, "o put my leg down, doctor, do!" (he'd got a bullet in his ankle; and he'd been shot horribly through the guts.) the surgeon seemed so kind and gentle, saying, above that crying, "you must keep still, my lad." but he was dying.
-died of wounds
-his wet, white face and miserable eyes brought nurses to him more than groans and sighs: but hoarse and low and rapid rose and fell his troubled voice: he did the business well.
-the ward grew dark; but he was still complaining, and calling out for "dickie." "curse the wood! it's time to go; o christ, and what's the good?-- we'll never take it; and it's always raining."
-i wondered where he'd been; then heard him shout, "they snipe like hell! o dickie, don't go out" ... i fell asleep ... next morning he was dead; and some slight wound lay smiling on his bed.
-the bishop tells us: "when the boys come back they will not be the same; for they'll have fought in a just cause: they lead the last attack on anti-christ; their comrade's blood has bought new right to breed an honourable race. they have challenged death and dared him face to face."
-"we're none of us the same!" the boys reply. "for george lost both his legs; and bill's stone blind; poor jim's shot through the lungs and like to die; and bert's gone syphilitic: you'll not find a chap who's served that hasn't found some change." and the bishop said; "the ways of god are strange!"
-i found him in a guard-room at the base. from the blind darkness i had heard his crying and blundered in. with puzzled, patient face a sergeant watched him; it was no good trying to stop it; for he howled and beat his chest. and, all because his brother had gone west, raved at the bleeding war; his rampant grief moaned, shouted, sobbed, and choked, while he was kneeling half-naked on the floor. in my belief such men have lost all patriotic feeling.
-"good-morning; good-morning!" the general said when we met him last week on our way to the line, now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead, and we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine. "he's a cheery old card," grunted harry to jack as they slogged up to arras with rifle and pack.
-but he did for them both by his plan of attack.
-how to die
-dark clouds are smouldering into red while down the craters morning burns. the dying soldier shifts his head to watch the glory that returns: he lifts his fingers toward the skies where holy brightness breaks in flame; radiance reflected in his eyes, and on his lips a whispered name.
-you'd think, to hear some people talk, that lads go west with sobs and curses, and sullen faces white as chalk, hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses. but they've been taught the way to do it like christian soldiers; not with haste and shuddering groans; but passing through it with due regard for decent taste.
-he seemed so certain "all was going well," as he discussed the glorious time he'd had while visiting the trenches. "one can tell you've gathered big impressions!" grinned the lad who'd been severely wounded in the back in some wiped-out impossible attack. "impressions? yes, most vivid! i am writing a little book called europe on the rack, based on notes made while witnessing the fighting. i hope i've caught the feeling of 'the line,' and the amazing spirit of the troops. by jove, those flying-chaps of ours are fine! i watched one daring beggar looping loops, soaring and diving like some bird of prey. and through it all i felt that splendour shine which makes us win." the soldier sipped his wine. "ah, yes, but it's the press that leads the way!"
-fight to a finish
-the boys came back. bands played and flags were flying, and yellow-pressmen thronged the sunlit street to cheer the soldiers who'd refrained from dying, and hear the music of returning feet. "of all the thrills and ardours war has brought, this moment is the finest." (so they thought.)
-snapping their bayonets on to charge the mob, grim fusiliers broke ranks with glint of steel. at last the boys had found a cushy job.
-i heard the yellow-pressmen grunt and squeal; and with my trusty bombers turned and went to clear those junkers out of parliament.
-you told me, in your drunken-boasting mood, how once you butchered prisoners. that was good! i'm sure you felt no pity while they stood patient and cowed and scared, as prisoners should.
-how did you do them in? come, don't be shy: you know i love to hear how germans die, downstairs in dug-outs. "camerad!" they cry; then squeal like stoats when bombs begin to fly.
-and you? i know your record. you went sick when orders looked unwholesome: then, with trick and lie, you wangled home. and here you are, still talking big and boozing in a bar.
-snug at the club two fathers sat, gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat. one of them said: "my eldest lad writes cheery letters from bagdad. but arthur's getting all the fun at arras with his nine-inch gun."
-"yes," wheezed the other, "that's the luck! my boy's quite broken-hearted, stuck in england training all this year. still, if there's truth in what we hear, the huns intend to ask for more before they bolt across the rhine." i watched them toddle through the door-- these impotent old friends of mine.
-the house is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin and cackle at the show, while prancing ranks of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din; "we're sure the kaiser loves the dear old tanks!"
-i'd like to see a tank come down the stalls, lurching to rag-time tunes, or "home, sweet home,"-- and there'd be no more jokes in music-halls to mock the riddled corpses round bapaume.
-glory of women
-you love us when we're heroes, home on leave, or wounded in a mentionable place. you worship decorations; you believe that chivalry redeems the war's disgrace. you make us shells. you listen with delight, by tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled. you crown our distant ardours while we fight, and mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.
-you can't believe that british troops "retire" when hell's last horror breaks them, and they run, trampling the terrible corpses--blind with blood. o german mother dreaming by the fire, while you are knitting socks to send your son his face is trodden deeper in the mud.
-he's got a blighty wound. he's safe; and then war's fine and bold and bright. she can forget the doomed and prisoned men who agonize and fight.
-he's back in france. she loathes the listless strain and peril of his plight. beseeching heaven to send him home again, she prays for peace each night.
-husbands and sons and lovers; everywhere they die; war bleeds us white. mothers and wives and sweethearts,--they don't care so long as he's all right.
-does it matter?
-does it matter?--losing your legs?... for people will always be kind, and you need not show that you mind when the others come in after football to gobble their muffins and eggs.
-does it matter?--losing your sight?... there's such splendid work for the blind; and people will always be kind, as you sit on the terrace remembering and turning your face to the light.
-do they matter?--those dreams from the pit?... you can drink and forget and be glad, and people won't say that you're mad; for they'll know that you've fought for your country, and no one will worry a bit.
-no doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain have caused their stammering, disconnected talk. of course they're "longing to go out again,"-- these boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk, they'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,-- their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be proud of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride.... men who went out to battle, grim and glad; children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.
-craiglockhart, oct. 1917.
-ring your sweet bells; but let them be farewells to the green-vista'd gladness of the past that changed us into soldiers; swing your bells to a joyful chime; but let it be the last.
-what means this metal in windy belfries hung when guns are all our need? dissolve these bells whose tones are tuned for peace: with martial tongue let them cry doom and storm the sun with shells.
-bells are like fierce-browed prelates who proclaim that "if our lord returned he'd fight for us." so let our bells and bishops do the same, shoulder to shoulder with the motor-bus.
-arms and the man
-young croesus went to pay his call on colonel sawbones, caxton hall: and, though his wound was healed and mended, he hoped he'd get his leave extended.
-the waiting-room was dark and bare. he eyed a neat-framed notice there above the fireplace hung to show disabled heroes where to go for arms and legs; with scale of price, and words of dignified advice how officers could get them free.
-elbow or shoulder, hip or knee,-- two arms, two legs, though all were lost, they'd be restored him free of cost.
-then a girl-guide looked in to say, "will captain croesus come this way?"
-when i'm among a blaze of lights ...
-when i'm among a blaze of lights, with tawdry music and cigars and women dawdling through delights, and officers at cocktail bars,-- sometimes i think of garden nights and elm trees nodding at the stars.
-i dream of a small firelit room with yellow candles burning straight, and glowing pictures in the gloom, and kindly books that hold me late. of things like these i love to think when i can never be alone: then some one says, "another drink?"-- and turns my living heart to stone.
-to these i turn, in these i trust; brother lead and sister steel. to his blind power i make appeal; i guard her beauty clean from rust.
-he spins and burns and loves the air, and splits a skull to win my praise; but up the nobly marching days she glitters naked, cold and fair.
-sweet sister, grant your soldier this; that in good fury he may feel the body where he sets his heel quail from your downward darting kiss.
-he primmed his loose red mouth, and leaned his head against a sorrowing angel's breast, and said: "you'd think so much bereavement would have made unusual big demands upon my trade. the war comes cruel hard on some poor folk-- unless the fighting stops i'll soon be broke."
-he eyed the cemetery across the road-- "there's scores of bodies out abroad, this while, that should be here by rights; they little know'd how they'd get buried in such wretched style."
-i told him, with a sympathetic grin, that germans boil dead soldiers down for fat; and he was horrified. "what shameful sin! o sir, that christian men should come to that!"
-the one-legged man
-propped on a stick he viewed the august weald; squat orchard trees and oasts with painted cowls; a homely, tangled hedge, a corn-stooked field, with sound of barking dogs and farmyard fowls.
-and he'd come home again to find it more desirable than ever it was before. how right it seemed that he should reach the span of comfortable years allowed to man!
-splendid to eat and sleep and choose a wife, safe with his wound, a citizen of life. he hobbled blithely through the garden gate, and thought; "thank god they had to amputate!"
-return of the heroes
-a lady watches from the crowd, enthusiastic, flushed, and proud.
-"oh! there's sir henry dudster! such a splendid leader! how pleased he looks! what rows of ribbons on his tunic! such dignity.... saluting.... (wave your flag ... now, freda!)... yes, dear, i saw a prussian general once,--at munich.
-"here's the next carriage!... jack was once in leggit's corps; that's him!... i think the stout one is sir godfrey stoomer. they must feel sad to know they can't win any more great victories!... aren't they glorious men?... so full of humour!"
-twelve months after
-hullo! here's my platoon, the lot i had last year. "the war'll be over soon." "what 'opes?" "no bloody fear!" then, "number seven, 'shun! all present and correct." they're standing in the sun, impassive and erect. young gibson with his grin; and morgan, tired and white; jordan, who's out to win a d.c.m. some night: and hughes that's keen on wiring; and davies ('79), who always must be firing at the boche front line.
-"old soldiers never die; they simply fide a-why!" that's what they used to sing along the roads last spring; that's what they used to say before the push began; that's where they are to-day, knocked over to a man.
-to any dead officer
-well, how are things in heaven? i wish you'd say, because i'd like to know that you're all right. tell me, have you found everlasting day, or been sucked in by everlasting night? for when i shut my eyes your face shows plain; i hear you make some cheery old remark-- i can rebuild you in my brain, though you've gone out patrolling in the dark.
-you hated tours of trenches; you were proud of nothing more than having good years to spend; longed to get home and join the careless crowd of chaps who work in peace with time for friend. that's all washed out now. you're beyond the wire: no earthly chance can send you crawling back; you've finished with machine-gun fire-- knocked over in a hopeless dud-attack.
-somehow i always thought you'd get done in, because you were so desperate keen to live: you were all out to try and save your skin, well knowing how much the world had got to give. you joked at shells and talked the usual "shop," stuck to your dirty job and did it fine: with "jesus christ! when will it stop? three years.... it's hell unless we break their line."
-so when they told me you'd been left for dead i wouldn't believe them, feeling it must be true. next week the bloody roll of honour said "wounded and missing"--(that's the thing to do when lads are left in shell-holes dying slow, with nothing but blank sky and wounds that ache, moaning for water till they know it's night, and then it's not worth while to wake!)
-good-bye, old lad! remember me to god, and tell him that our politicians swear they won't give in till prussian rule's been trod under the heel of england.... are you there?...
-yes ... and the war won't end for at least two years; but we've got stacks of men ... i'm blind with tears, staring into the dark. cheero! i wish they'd killed you in a decent show.
-when i'm asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,-- they come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead. while the dim charging breakers of the storm bellow and drone and rumble overhead, out of the gloom they gather about my bed. they whisper to my heart; their thoughts are mine. "why are you here with all your watches ended? from ypres to frise we sought you in the line." in bitter safety i awake, unfriended; and while the dawn begins with slashing rain i think of the battalion in the mud. "when are you going out to them again? are they not still your brothers through our blood?"
-i am banished from the patient men who fight. they smote my heart to pity, built my pride. shoulder to aching shoulder, side by side, they trudged away from life's broad wealds of light. their wrongs were mine; and ever in my sight they went arrayed in honour. but they died,-- not one by one: and mutinous i cried to those who sent them out into the night.
-the darkness tells how vainly i have striven to free them from the pit where they must dwell in outcast gloom convulsed and jagged and riven by grappling guns. love drove me to rebel. love drives me back to grope with them through hell; and in their tortured eyes i stand forgiven.
-october's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves the bronzed battalions of the stricken wood in whose lament i hear a voice that grieves for battle's fruitless harvest, and the feud of outraged men. their lives are like the leaves scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown along the westering furnace flaring red. o martyred youth and manhood overthrown, the burden of your wrongs is on my head.
-repression of war experience
-now light the candles; one; two; there's a moth; what silly beggars they are to blunder in and scorch their wings with glory, liquid flame-- no, no, not that,--it's bad to think of war, when thoughts you've gagged all day come back to scare you; and it's been proved that soldiers don't go mad unless they lose control of ugly thoughts that drive them out to jabber among the trees.
-now light your pipe; look, what a steady hand. draw a deep breath; stop thinking; count fifteen, and you're as right as rain.... why won't it rain?... i wish there'd be a thunder-storm to-night, with bucketsful of water to sluice the dark, and make the roses hang their dripping heads.
-books; what a jolly company they are, standing so quiet and patient on their shelves, dressed in dim brown, and black, and white, and green and every kind of colour. which will you read? come on; o do read something; they're so wise. i tell you all the wisdom of the world is waiting for you on those shelves; and yet you sit and gnaw your nails, and let your pipe out, and listen to the silence: on the ceiling there's one big, dizzy moth that bumps and flutters; and in the breathless air outside the house the garden waits for something that delays. there must be crowds of ghosts among the trees,-- not people killed in battle,--they're in france,-- but horrible shapes in shrouds--old men who died slow, natural deaths,--old men with ugly souls, who wore their bodies out with nasty sins.
-you're quiet and peaceful, summering safe at home; you'd never think there was a bloody war on!... o yes, you would ... why, you can hear the guns. hark! thud, thud, thud,--quite soft ... they never cease-- those whispering guns--o christ, i want to go out and screech at them to stop--i'm going crazy; i'm going stark, staring mad because of the guns.
-splashing along the boggy woods all day, and over brambled hedge and holding clay, i shall not think of him: but when the watery fields grow brown and dim, and hounds have lost their fox, and horses tire, i know that he'll be with me on my way home through the darkness to the evening fire.
-he's jumped each stile along the glistening lanes; his hand will be upon the mud-soaked reins; hearing the saddle creak, he'll wonder if the frost will come next week. i shall forget him in the morning light; and while we gallop on he will not speak: but at the stable-door he'll say good-night.
-the hawthorn tree
-not much to me is yonder lane where i go every day; but when there's been a shower of rain and hedge-birds whistle gay, i know my lad that's out in france with fearsome things to see would give his eyes for just one glance at our white hawthorn tree.
-not much to me is yonder lane where he so longs to tread; but when there's been a shower of rain i think i'll never weep again until i've heard he's dead.
-they are gathering round ... out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand, shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound,-- the jangle and throb of a piano ... tum-ti-tum ... drawn by a lamp, they come out of the glimmering lines of their tents, over the shuffling sand.
-o sing us the songs, the songs of our own land, you warbling ladies in white. dimness conceals the hunger in our faces, this wall of faces risen out of the night, these eyes that keep their memories of the places so long beyond their sight.
-jaded and gay, the ladies sing; and the chap in brown tilts his grey hat; jaunty and lean and pale, he rattles the keys ... some actor-bloke from town ...
-"god send you home"; and then "a long, long trail"; "i hear you catting me"; and "dixieland" ... sing slowly ... now the chorus ... one by one we hear them, drink them; till the concert's done. silent, i watch the shadowy mass of soldiers stand. silent, they drift away, over the glimmering sand.
-kantara, april, 1918.
-night on the convoy
-out in the blustering darkness, on the deck a gleam of stars looks down. long blurs of black, the lean destroyers, level with our track, plunging and stealing, watch the perilous way through backward racing seas and caverns of chill spray.
-one sentry by the davits, in the gloom stands mute; the boat heaves onward through the night. shrouded is every chink of cabined light: and sluiced by floundering waves that hiss and boom and crash like guns, the troop-ship shudders ... doom.
-now something at my feet stirs with a sigh; and slowly growing used to groping dark, i know that the hurricane-deck, down all its length, is heaped and spread with lads in sprawling strength,-- blanketed soldiers sleeping. in the stark danger of life at war, they lie so still, all prostrate and defenceless, head by head ... and i remember arras, and that hill where dumb with pain i stumbled among the dead.
-we are going home. the troop-ship, in a thrill of fiery-chamber'd anguish, throbs and rolls. we are going home ... victims ... three thousand souls.
-a letter home
-here i'm sitting in the gloom of my quiet attic room. france goes rolling all around, fledged with forest may has crowned. and i puff my pipe, calm-hearted, thinking how the fighting started, wondering when we'll ever end it, back to hell with kaiser send it, gag the noise, pack up and go, clockwork soldiers in a row. i've got better things to do than to waste my time on you.
-robert, when i drowse to-night, skirting lawns of sleep to chase shifting dreams in mazy light, somewhere then i'll see your face turning back to bid me follow where i wag my arms and hollo, over hedges hasting after crooked smile and baffling laughter, running tireless, floating, leaping, down your web-hung woods and valleys, garden glooms and hornbeam alleys, where the glowworm stars are peeping, till i find you, quiet as stone on a hill-top all alone, staring outward, gravely pondering jumbled leagues of hillock-wandering.
-you and i have walked together in the starving winter weather. we've been glad because we knew time's too short and friends are few. we've been sad because we missed one whose yellow head was kissed by the gods, who thought about him till they couldn't do without him. now he's here again; i've seen soldier david dressed in green, standing in a wood that swings to the madrigal he sings. he's come back, all mirth and glory, like the prince in a fairy story. winter called him far away; blossoms bring him home with may.
-well, i know you'll swear it's true that you found him decked in blue striding up through morning-land with a cloud on either hand. out in wales, you'll say, he marches arm-in-arm with oaks and larches; hides all night in hilly nooks, laughs at dawn in tumbling brooks. yet, it's certain, here he teaches outpost-schemes to groups of beeches. and i'm sure, as here i stand, that he shines through every land, that he sings in every place where we're thinking of his face.
-robert, there's a war in france; everywhere men bang and blunder, sweat and swear and worship chance, creep and blink through cannon thunder. rifles crack and bullets flick, sing and hum like hornet-swarms. bones are smashed and buried quick. yet, through stunning battle storms. all the while i watch the spark lit to guide me; for i know dreams will triumph, though the dark scowls above me where i go. you can hear me; you can mingle radiant folly with my jingle, war's a joke for me and you while we know such dreams are true!
-when you are standing at your hero's grave, or near some homeless village where he died, remember, through your heart's rekindling pride, the german soldiers who were loyal and brave.
-men fought like brutes; and hideous things were done: and you have nourished hatred, harsh and blind. but in that golgotha perhaps you'll find the mothers of the men who killed your son.
-squire nagged and bullied till i went to fight (under lord derby's scheme). i died in hell-- (they called it passchendaele); my wound was slight, and i was hobbling back, and then a shell burst slick upon the duck-boards; so i fell into the bottomless mud, and lost the light.
-in sermon-time, while squire is in his pew, he gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare; for though low down upon the list, i'm there: "in proud and glorious memory"--that's my due. two bleeding years i fought in france for squire; i suffered anguish that he's never guessed; once i came home on leave; and then went west. what greater glory could a man desire?
-he drowsed and was aware of silence heaped round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls; aqueous like floating rays of amber light, soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep,-- silence and safety; and his mortal shore lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death.
-some one was holding water to his mouth. he swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot the opiate throb and ache that was his wound. water--calm, sliding green above the weir; water--a sky-lit alley for his boat, bird-voiced, and bordered with reflected flowers and shaken hues of summer: drifting down, he dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept.
-night, with a gust of wind, was in the ward, blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve. night. he was blind; he could not see the stars glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud; queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green, flickered and faded in his drowning eyes.
-rain; he could hear it rustling through the dark; fragrance and passionless music woven as one; warm rain on drooping roses; pattering showers that soak the woods; not the harsh rain that sweeps behind the thunder, but a trickling peace gently and slowly washing life away.
-he stirred, shifting his body; then the pain leaped like a prowling beast, and gripped and tore his groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs. but some one was beside him; soon he lay shuddering because that evil thing had passed. and death, who'd stepped toward him, paused and stared.
-light many lamps and gather round his bed. lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live. speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet. he's young; he hated war; how should he die when cruel old campaigners win safe through?
-have you forgotten yet?... for the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days, like traffic checked awhile at the crossing of city ways: and the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow like clouds in the lit heavens of life; and you're a man reprieved to go, taking your peaceful share of time, with joy to spare. but the past is just the same,--and war's a bloody game,... have you forgotten yet?... look down, and swear by the slain of the war that you'll never forget.
-do you remember the dark months you held the sector at mametz,-- the nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets? do you remember the rats; and the stench of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench,-- and dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain? do you ever stop and ask, "is it all going to happen again?"
-do you remember that hour of din before the attack,-- and the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then as you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men? do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back with dying eyes and lolling heads,--those ashen-grey masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?
-have you forgotten yet?... look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.
-song-books of the war
-in fifty years, when peace outshines remembrance of the battle lines, adventurous lads will sigh and cast proud looks upon the plundered past. on summer morn or winter's night, their hearts will kindle for the fight, reading a snatch of soldier-song, savage and jaunty, fierce and strong; and through the angry marching rhymes of blind regret and haggard mirth, they'll envy us the dazzling times when sacrifice absolved our earth.
-some ancient man with silver locks will lift his weary face to say: "war was a fiend who stopped our clocks although we met him grim and gay." and then he'll speak of haig's last drive, marvelling that any came alive out of the shambles that men built and smashed, to cleanse the world of guilt. but the boys, with grin and sidelong glance, will think, "poor grandad's day is done." and dream of lads who fought in france and lived in time to share the fun.
-everyone suddenly burst out singing; and i was filled with such delight as prisoned birds must find in freedom winging wildly across the white orchards and dark green fields; on; on; and out of sight.
-everyone's voice was suddenly lifted, and beauty came like the setting sun. my heart was shaken with tears and horror drifted away ... o but every one was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
-there are many practical suggestions for safety and comfort aside from the absence of modern materials and conveniences, like nylon and gas stoves.
-medical advice given in the book is from 1913 and may be unhelpful, often contradicts current practice and involves unsafe or now illegal substances.
-the approximate conversion for prices is 20 to 1, $1 in 1913 is about $20 in 2004.
-the heart of the camp
-have you smelled wood smoke at twilight? have you heard the birch log burning? are you quick to read the noises of the night? you must follow with the others for the young men's feet are turning to the camps of proved desire and known delight.
-from kipling's "feet of the young men."
-camping for boys h. w. gibson
-copyright, 1911, by the international committee of young men's christian associations
-to the thousand and more boys who have been my camp mates in camps shand, durrell and becket
-the author has conducted boys' camps for twenty-three years, so that he is not without experience in the subject. to share with others this experience has been his aim in writing the book. the various chapters have been worked out from a practical viewpoint, the desire being to make a handbook of suggestions for those in charge of camps for boys and for boys who go camping, rather than a theoretical treatise upon the general subject.
-thanks are due to e. m. robinson, dr. elias g. brown, charles r. scott, irving g. maccoll, j. a. van dis, taylor statten, w. h. wones, h. c. beckman, w. h. burger, h. m. burr, a. b. wegener, a. d. murray, and h. m. allen, for valuable suggestions and ideas incorporated in many chapters.
-if this book will help some man to be of greater service to boys, as well as to inspire boys to live the noble life which god's great out-of-doors teaches, the author will feel amply repaid for his labor. boston, mass., april, 1911.
-boy-life and self government--fiske. association press, $1.00. boy-training--symposium. association press, $1.00. youth--hall. appleton and company, $1.50. winning the boy--merrill. revell and company, $0.75. the boy problem--forbush. pilgrim press, $1.00. up though childhood--hubbell. putnam and company, $1.25. growth and education--tyler. houghton, mifflin company, $1.50.
-suggestive articles on "camping" in "association boys";
-chapter i the purpose of camping
-vacation time need of outdoor life purpose of camping "too much house" a query apostles of outdoor life heeding nature's call character building camp mottoes "rough-house" camps boy scouts influence of camp life
-it is great fun to live in the glorious open air, fragrant with the smell of the woods and flowers; it is fun to swim and fish and hike it over the hills; it is fun to sit about the open fire and spin yarns, or watch in silence the glowing embers; but the greatest fun of all is to win the love and confidence of some boy who has been a trouble to himself and everybody else, and help him to become a man.--h. m. burr.
-the summer time is a period of moral deterioration with most boys. free from restraint of school and many times of home, boys wander during the vacation time into paths of wrongdoing largely because of a lack of directed play life and a natural outlet for the expenditure of their surplus energy. the vacation problem therefore becomes a serious one for both the boy and his parent. camping offers a solution.
-"a boy in the process of growing needs the outdoors. he needs room and range. he needs the tonic of the hills, the woods and streams. he needs to walk under the great sky, and commune with the stars. he needs to place himself where nature can speak to him. he ought to get close to the soil. he ought to be toughened by sun and wind, rain and cold. nothing can take the place, for the boy, of stout physique, robust health, good blood, firm muscles, sound nerves, for these are the conditions of character and efficiency. the early teens are the most important years for the boy physically... through the ages of thirteen and fifteen the more he can be in the open, free from social engagements and from continuous labor or study, the better. he should fish, swim, row and sail, roam the woods and the waters, get plenty of vigorous action, have interesting, healthful things to think about."--prof. c. w. votaw.
-this is the real purpose of camping--"something to do, something to think about, something to enjoy in the woods, with a view always to character-building"--this is the way ernest thompson-seton, that master wood-craftsman, puts it. character building! what a great objective! it challenges the best that is in a man or boy. camping is an experience, not an institution. it is an experience which every live, full-blooded, growing boy longs for, and happy the day of his realization. at the first sign of spring, back yards blossom forth with tents of endless variety. to sleep out, to cook food, to search for nature's fascinating secrets, to make things--all are but the expression of that instinct for freedom of living in the great out-of-doors which god created within him.
-too much house
-"too much house," says jacob riis; "civilization has been making of the world a hothouse. man's instinct of self-preservation rebels; hence the appeal for the return to the simple life that is growing loud." boys need to get away from the schoolroom and books, and may i say the martyrdom of examinations, high marks, promotions and exhibitions! medical examinations of school children reveal some startling facts. why should boys suffer from nerves? are we sacrificing bodily vigor for abnormal intellectual growth? have we been fighting against instead of cooperating with nature?
-the tide is turning, however, and the people are living more and more in the open. apostles of outdoor life like henry d. thoreau, john burroughs, william hamilton gibson, howard henderson, ernest thompson-seton, frank beard, horace kephart, edward breck, charles stedman hanks, stewart edward white, "nessmuck," w. c. gray, and a host of others, have, through their writings, arrested the thought of busy people long enough to have them see the error of their ways and are bringing them to repentance.
-camps for boys are springing up like mushrooms. literally thousands of boys who have heretofore wasted the glorious summer time loafing on the city streets, or as disastrously at summer hotels or amusement places, are now living during the vacation time under nature's canopy of blue with only enough covering for protection from rain and wind, and absorbing through the pores of their body that vitality which only pure air, sunshine, long hours of sleep, wholesome food, and reasonable discipline can supply.
-in reading over scores of booklets and prospectuses of camps for boys, one is impressed with their unanimity of purpose--that of character building. these are a few quotations taken from a variety of camp booklets:
-"the object of the camp is healthful recreation without temptation."
-"a camp where boys live close to nature, give themselves up to play, acquire skill in sports, eat plenty of wholesome food, and sleep long hours ... and are taught high ideals for their own lives."
-"to give boys a delightful summer outing under favorable conditions, and to give them every opportunity to become familiar with camp life in all its phases. we believe this contributes much to the upbuilding of a boy's character and enables him to get out of life much enjoyment that would not otherwise be possible."
-"a place where older boys, boys of the restless age, may live a happy, carefree, outdoor life, free from the artificialities and pernicious influences of the larger cities"; a place where "all the cravings of a real boy are satisfied"; a place "where constant association with agreeable companions and the influence of well-bred college men in a clean and healthy moral atmosphere make for noble manhood; a place where athletic sports harden the muscles, tan the skin, broaden the shoulders, brighten the eye, and send each lad back to his school work in the fall as brown as a berry and as hard as nails."
-"a camp of ideals, not a summer hotel nor a supplanter of the home. the principal reason for its existence is the providing of a safe place for parents to send their boys during the summer vacation, where, under the leadership of christian men, they may be developed physically, mentally, socially, and morally."
-whether the camp is conducted under church, settlement, young men's christian association, or private auspices, the prime purpose of its existence should be that of character building.
-"because of natural, physical, social, educational, moral, and religious conditions, the boy is taught those underlying principles which determine character. the harder things a boy does or endures, the stronger man he will become; the more unselfish and noble things he does, the better man he will become."
-many camps build their program of camp activities around a motto such as "each for all, and all for each," "help the other fellow," "do your best," "nothing without labor," "a gentleman always," and "i can and i will."
-endurance, self-control, self-reliance, and unselfishness are taught the "boy scouts" through what is called the "scout law."
-all these are valuable, because they contribute to the making of character.
-in the conduct of a boys' camp there must be a definite clear-cut purpose if satisfactory results are to be obtained. a go-as-you-please or do-as-you please camp will soon become a place of harm and moral deterioration.
-camping should give to the boy that self-reliance which is so essential in the making of a life, that faith in others which is the foundation of society, that spirit of altruism which will make him want to be of service in helping other fellows, that consciousness of god as evidenced in his handiwork which will give him a basis of morality, enduring and reasonable, and a spirit of reverence for things sacred and eternal. he ought to have a better appreciation of his home after a season away from what should be to him the sweetest place on earth.
-the director assistant leaders the term leader how to get leaders variety of talent suggestions to leaders opportunity of leadership
-the success or failure of a boys' camp depends upon leadership rather than upon equipment. boys are influenced by example rather than by precept. a boys' camp is largely built around a strong personality. solve the problem of leadership, and you solve the greatest problem of camping.
-no matter how large or how small the camp, there must be one who is in absolute control. he may be known as the director, superintendent, or leader. his word is final. he should be a man of executive ability and good common sense. he should have a keen appreciation of justice. a desire to be the friend and counsellor of every boy must always govern his action. he will always have the interest and welfare of every individual boy at heart, realizing that parents have literally turned over to his care and keeping, for the time being, the bodies and souls of their boys. to be respected should be his aim. too often the desire to be popular leads to failure.
-aim to secure as assistant leaders or counsellors young men of unquestioned character and moral leadership, college men if possible, men of culture and refinement, who are good athletes, and who understand boy life.
-in a boys' camp i prefer the term "leader" to that of "counsellor." it is more natural for a boy to follow a leader than to listen to wise counsellors. "come on, fellows, let's--" meets with hearty response. "boys, do this," is an entirely different thing. leaders should hold frequent councils regarding the life of the camp and share in determining its policy.
-the most fruitful source of supply of leaders should be the colleges and preparatory schools. no vacation can be so profitably spent as that given over to the leadership of boy life. here is a form of altruistic service which should appeal to purposeful college men. older high school boys who have been campers make excellent leaders of younger boys. a leader should always receive some remuneration for his services, either carfare and board or a fixed sum of money definitely agreed upon beforehand. the pay should never be so large that he will look upon his position as a "job." never cover service with the blinding attractiveness of money. the chief purpose of pay should be to help deepen the sense of responsibility, and prevent laxness and indifference, as well as to gain the services of those who must earn something.
-do not take a man as leader simply because he has certificates of recommendation. know him personally. find out what he is capable of doing. the following blank i use in securing information:
-leader's information blank, camps durrell and becket name address college or school class of do you sing? what part (tenor or bass)? do you swim? do you play baseball? what position? do you play an instrument? what? will you bring it (unless piano) and music to camp? have you won any athletic or aquatic events? what? will you bring your school or college pennant with you? have you ever taken part in minstrel show, dramatics, or any kind of entertainment; if so, what? what is your hobby? (if tennis, baseball, swimming, nature study, hiking, photography, athletics, etc., whatever it is, kindly tell about it in order to help in planning the camp activities.)
-leaders should not be chosen in order to secure a baseball team, or an athletic team. select men of diverse gifts. one should know something about nature study, another about manual training, another a good story-teller, another a good athlete or baseball player, another a good swimmer, another a musician, etc. always remember, however, that the chief qualification should be moral worth.
-suggestions to camp leaders. read and re-read.
-the success of a boys' camp depends upon the hearty cooperation of each leader with the superintendent. the boys will imitate you. a smile is always better than a frown. "kicking" in the presence of boys breeds discontent. loyalty to the camp and its management is absolutely necessary if there is to be harmony in the camp life.
-your personal life will either be a blessing or a hindrance to the boys in your tent. study each boy in your tent. win his confidence. determine to do your best in being a genuine friend of each boy. remember in prayer daily each boy and your fellow leaders. emphasize the camp motto, "each for all, and all for each." study the "tests" on pages 8 and 9 of the booklets, and be helpful to the boys in your tent who are ambitious to improve and win the honor emblems.
-neatness and cleanliness must be the watchword of each tent. sweets draw ants. decayed material breeds disease. insist upon the observance of sanitary rules.
-it is unwise to have all the boys from one town or city in one tent. the tendency is to form clans, which destroy camp spirit. get the fellows together the first thing and choose a tent name and tent yells.
-appoint a boy who will be responsible for the boys and the tent when you are not present.
-too much attention cannot be given to the matter of ventilation. when it rains, use a forked stick to hold the flaps open in the form of a diamond. in clear weather, tie one flap back at each end (flap toward the feet), allowing a free draft of air at all times. on rainy days encourage the boys to spend their time in the pavillion. whenever possible, insist upon tent and blankets being thoroughly aired each morning.
-three inspectors will be appointed for each day; fifteen minutes' notice will be given and boys will not be allowed in or around their tents during the period of inspection. leaders may suggest but not participate in arranging the tent.
-the honor banner is to be given to the tent showing the best condition and held as long as marks are highest.
-no boats are to be taken unless an order has been issued by the tent leader (or by the superintendent). the man at the wharf always has power to veto orders at his discretion.
-order of day
-it is the leader's part to see that the order of the day is carried out and on time, including the setting up drill. (see camp booklet.) "follow the leader" is an old game which is still influencing boys.
-three tents and their leaders are responsible for the work at camp, and will be expected to report to the assistant superintendent after breakfast for assignment of work. these tents are changed each day, so that the boys and leaders come on duty only one day in seven.
-each tent is under its respective leader in doing the following work:
-tent 1. sanitary work, such as policing the campus, emptying garbage cans, sweeping the pavillion, disinfecting, etc.
-tent 2. preparing vegetables for the cook, drying dishes, pots, pans, cleaning up the kitchen, piazza, etc.
-tent 3. cleaning the boats, supplying wood for the kitchen, putting ice in the refrigerator, etc.
-the next day tents 4, 5 and 6 will come on duty, and so on until each tent has been on duty during the week.
-leaders for the day will call the squad together after breakfast and explain the day's plans. encourage the boys to do this work cheerfully. lead, do not drive the boys when working. not more than three hours should be consumed in camp work.
-sports and pastimes
-encourage the boys to turn their money and railroad tickets over to the camp banker instead of depositing them with you.
-meetings of the leaders will be held at the call of the superintendent. matters talked over at the council meeting should not be talked over with the boys. all matters of discipline or anything that deals with the welfare of the camp should be brought up at this meeting. printed report blanks will be given to each leader to be filled out and handed to the assistant superintendent each thursday morning. do not show these reports to the boys.
-each leader will be expected to read to the boys in his tent a chapter from the bible and have prayers before "taps" each night, also to take his turn in leading the morning devotions at breakfast table. groups of boys will meet for occasional bible study at sunset under various leaders. each session will continue twenty minutes--no longer. sunday morning service will be somewhat formal in character, with an address. the sunset vesper service will be informal.
-praying that the camp may prove a place where leaders and boys may grow in the best things of life and anticipating an outing of pleasure and profit to you, i am your friend, (signature)
-in securing men for leadership, impress upon them the many opportunities for the investment of their lives in the kind of work that builds character. in reading over a small folder, written by george h. hogeman of orange, n .j., i was so impressed with his excellent presentation of this theme of opportunities of leadership that the following is quoted in preference to anything i could write upon the subject:
-"the opportunity of the boys' camp leader is, first, to engage in the service that counts most largely in securing the future welfare of those who will soon be called upon to carry on the work that we are now engaged in. most people are so busy with their own present enjoyment and future success that they pay little heed to the future of others. they may give some thought to the present need of those around them because it more or less directly affects themselves, but the work of character building in boys' camps is one that shows its best results in the years to come rather than in the immediate present.
-"in the second place, the opportunity comes to the camp leader to know boys as few other people know them, sometimes even better than their own parents know them. when you live, eat, sleep with a boy in the open, free life of camp for a month or so, you come in contact with him at vastly more points than you do in the more restrained home life, and you see sides of his nature that are seldom seen at other times.
-"finally, the opportunity is given to the man who spends his vacation in camp to make the time really count for something in his own life and in the lives of others. to how many does vacation really mean a relaxation, a letting down of effort along one line, without the substitution of anything definite in its place! but he must be a dull soul, indeed, who can come to the right kind of boys' camp and not go away with his muscles harder, his eye brighter, his digestion better, and his spirit more awake to the things that pertain to the kingdom of god.
-"then again the camp leader must have the ability to forget himself in others. nowhere can the real play spirit be entered into more completely than in camp life. a watchman is the last thing he must be. that spirit of unselfishness which forgets its own personal pleasure in doing the most for the general good, is the ideal camp spirit. as lowell puts it in the vision of sir launfal, it is:
-not what we give, but what we share, for the gift without the giver is bare.
-"the results of all these points which i have mentioned are some very positive things. one is the very best kind of a vacation that it is possible to have. how frequently we hear in response to the question about enjoying a vacation, 'oh, yes, i had a good enough time, but i'll never go back there again.' to my mind that indicates either that the person does not know what a really good time is, or that his surroundings made a good time impossible.
-"another result of camp is the real friendships that last long after camping days are over. of these i need not speak. you and i know of many such and what they mean in the development of christian character in the lives of our men and boys. and, after all, there is the greatest result of all, the sense of confidence in the ultimate outcome that comes with having a share in the work of bringing others to the measure of the stature of the fullness of christ."
-"the ideal life for a boy is not in the city. he should know of animals, rivers, plants, and that great out-of-door life that lays for him the foundation of his later years." --g. stanley.
-chapter iii--location and sanitation
-dirty dirt vs. clean dirt avoid swamps selecting a site laying out the camp ground the latrines garbage dish water waste barrels water supply an indian method individual drinking cupboard of health maxims
-clean camps are most easily kept by not allowing them to become dirty.
-"cleanliness is next to godliness. godliness means a right relation to things spiritual, cleanliness a right relation to things material. an old definition says that 'dirt is merely misplaced matter.' of all the vehicles of disease, the most important perhaps is dirt. the word dirt in its strict sense comes from the anglo-saxon 'drit,' or excrement. 'dirt,' then, is not earth or clean sand--not clean dirt, but dirty dirt, that is, matter soiled by some of the excreta of the human or animal body. cleanliness must be insisted upon in a boys' camp--not the cleanliness that makes a boy squeamish about working with his hands upon some necessary job, but cleanliness that makes him afraid of sharing his tooth brush or table utensils or his clothes.
-the location chosen for a camp should be away from swamps. avoid swampy and low places as you would a plague. damp places where there are mosquitoes, should be well drained, and open to an abundance of sunshine. mosquitoes breed only in water, but a very little water is sufficient if it is dirty and stagnant. two inches of water standing in an old tin can will breed an innumerable horde. these "diminutive musicians" are not only a nuisance, but dangerous, as malaria and typhoid spreaders by their poisonous stings.
-in selecting a camp site bear in mind these things: (1) a sandy sub-soil, with good drainage. avoid very sandy soil; sand provides but little hold for tent pegs, and there is grave risk of damage should there come a gale. (2) an open campus surrounded by hills or sheltering trees, and facing the water. (3) plenty of good drinking water and water for swimming. (4) base from which supplies and provisions are to be drawn should be within convenient distance, not more than four miles away. (5) camp should be away from civilization, far enough to be free from visitors and the temptation to "go to town" on the part of the boys. nothing demoralizes a boys' camp so quickly as proximity to a summer resort.
-garbage, consisting chiefly of trimmings of meat and vegetables and the waste from the table, if stored in open buckets soon becomes offensive and is an ideal breeding place in warm weather for flies "that drink of cesspools, dine at privy vaults, eat sputum and are likely to be the most familiar guests at the dinner table, sampling every article of food upon which they walk, leaving in their tracks disease-producing germs which have adhered to their sticky feet where they have previously dined." declare war upon the "fly who won't wipe his feet" by keeping the garbage in a covered galvanized-iron pail and dispose of it before decomposition takes place. wash and dry the pail after emptying. if the camp is located near a farm, give the garbage to the farmer. it is the natural food of swine or poultry. where this is not possible, the garbage should be buried every day in the earth and covered with three or four inches of dirt. another and better plan, especially in a large camp, is the burning of the garbage and human excreta in an incinerator, such as the mccall. this is the method of the united states army.
-exercise caution in throwing aside tin cans. the vegetable matter remaining in the cans soon decays and attracts flies. have a place where these cans may be buried or burned with other refuse each day. keep the ground surrounding the kitchen free from all kinds of garbage or refuse.
-place barrels in different parts of the camp for refuse and scraps. a coat of whitewash or white paint will make them conspicuous. in one camp the following suggestive bit of verse was painted on the waste barrels:
-i am all mouth and vacuum i never get enough, so cram me full of fruit peels, old papers, trash and stuff.
-o, how sorry i feel for a boy who litters clean places with trash, who throws away papers and fruit peels which form my favorite hash.
-these barrels should be set upon two strips of wood placed parallel. this permits the air to pass beneath the barrel and keeps its bottom from decaying by contact with the ground. the barrels should be emptied daily and the trash burned.
-a dirty, carelessly kept, untidy camp will make discipline and order very difficult to attain and the influence will soon be noticed in the careless personal habits of the boys. there is an educational and moral value in cleanliness which is second only to that of good health.
-indians had a way of purifying water from a pond or swamp by digging a hole about one foot across and down about six inches below the water level, a few feet from the pond. after it had filled with water, they bailed it out quickly, repeating the bailing process about three times. after the third bailing the hole would fill with filtered water. try it.
-take a piece of clean paper about 6 inches square and fold it on the dotted lines, as shown in figure 1, so as to make a triangle. do not use paper having anything printed on it, as there is danger of poison from the ink. the other folds are made in the dotted lines, as shown in figure 2. each pointed end of the triangle is turned over on one side, as shown in figure 3, then the sheets of the remaining points are separated and each one folded down on its respective side. this practical idea is furnished by r. h. lufkin in popular mechanics for february, 1911.
-board of health
-boys should be encouraged to cooperate in keeping the camp clean. a board of health may be organized, to be composed of an equal number of boys and camp leaders with the camp physician, or director of the camp as chairman.
-the duties of the board will be to inspect daily the toilets, sinks, and drains, the water supply, the garbage disposal and waste barrels; condemn everything that is unsanitary, and correct all sanitary disorders. the board will also arrange for a series of talks upon "sanitation and health," such as:
-sunshine and health johnnie and the microbes dirt and cleanliness fresh air flies and filth health--its value and its cost.
-have the boys write essays upon these subjects and give credits or points for original interpretation, accuracy of report of talk given, and observance and correction of sanitary disorders.
-clean up as you go. sunshine and dryness are great microbe killers. it is better to keep clean, than to get clean. dirt, dampness and disease can often be avoided by decency, dryness and determination. uncleanness is at the root of many of the evils which cause suffering and ill health. fire is the best disinfectant. typhoid fever and cholera are carried by dirty habits, by dirty water and dirty milk.
-camp sanitation-review and herald pub. assn., washington, d. c. 6 cents. a twelve-page folder of useful hints on what to do and what not to do.
-wastes and their disposal--henry j. barnes, m.d. health-education league, boston, mass., 4 cents. an authoritative booklet written by the professor of hygiene, tufts medical school. this league publishes a number of very valuable and comprehensive booklets on health subjects.
-good health--francis gulick jewett. ginn and co., 40 cents. gives detail instruction in matters of health and hygiene. prepared especially for younger people.
-health--b. franklin richards. pacific press pub. co., $1.00. written in language easily understood and filled with sensible suggestions.
-chapter iv--camp equipment
-advance party plan of camp grounds a measuring device setting up a wall tent guying the tent trenching peg wisdom interior tent conveniences how to make a tepee tent wisdom sleeping on the ground a "hip hole" how to keep warm making a bed double-deck bunks blankets pillows kitchen ware table ware table tops a "horse" idea permanent buildings surveying home-made instruments camp survey
-the greatest help after all is to take the children back to the garden that the lord god planted. a boy must learn to sleep under the open sky and to tramp ten miles through the rain if he wants to be strong. he must learn what sort of men it was who made america, and he must not get into this fuss and flurry of our american civilization and think that patent leather shoes and white kid gloves are necessary for the salvation of his life.--edward everett hale.
-selecting a camp site and general directions for the laying out of the camp grounds is treated very fully in the chapter on camp sanitation, so that this chapter will be devoted to methods that to the experienced camper may seem trite, but which the novice will appreciate.
-if the camp is a large one it is usually customary to send an advance party several days ahead to erect the tents and get the camp in readiness for the larger party. the successful management of a camp depends very much upon placing the tents in such a position as to give plenty of room and yet be compact. when tents are scattered the difficulty of control is increased. the above diagram is a suggestion for the laying out of a camp which provides for room and control.
-plan of grounds
-the following hints will help the advance party to layout the camp in a systematic and scientific manner. to find the right angle of the camp square, drive a peg at a, another 3 feet distant at b; attach a 5-foot cord from the peg at b, and a 4 foot cord from the peg at a. the point at which the two cords meet at c, where another peg may be driven in, will be the line at right angles to b-a.
-the illustrations opposite show a device by which a camp, baseball grounds, running track, tennis court or any distance may be quickly and accurately measured. the first thing to do is to get an inch board and cut a round disc (a) about 12 inches in diameter. cut two of them and tack them together. the diagram "b" is easier to cut out and will serve the purpose just as well. when the two are temporarily tacked together, bore a hole through the centre for the axle. the eight spokes should be of light material and not too pointed or they will sink in the ground and prevent accuracy. the spokes are tacked on one disc as shown in "c" and then the other disc is nailed on the outside.
-paint the end of one spoke red, so that you can count it every time it comes around. by having the points that touch the ground exactly 9 inches apart, one revolution of the wheel will measure six feet. for an axle use a small piece of broom handle, and for a handle use a long light pole. by varying the length of the spokes you can make the wheel measure any desired distance.
-the line of the camp having been laid out, the next thing is the erection of the tents. the best way of setting up a wall tent (either the 12 x 14 or 14 x 16 size), the type used in most of the boys' camps, is the method used by the army and described in kephart's "book of camping and woodcraft." four boys or men proceed as follows: nos. 1 and 2 procure canvas, and nos. 3 and 4 the poles.
-nos. 3 and 4 lay the ridge pole on the ground, in the direction that the tent is to stand; then lay the uprights at each end of ridge-pole and at right angles to it, on the side opposite that from which the wind blows. then drop the tent pins and hammers at their respective ends of the tent; then drive a pin at each end of the ridge to mark front and rear. meanwhile nos. 1 and 2 unroll the tent and spread it out over the ridge-pole and on both sides of it.
-nos. 1 and 3 now go to the rear, and nos. 2 and 4 to the front, and slip the pins of the uprights through the ridge-pole and tent. if a fly is used, it is placed in position over the tent, and the loops of the long guys over the front and rear pole pins. no. 4 secures center (door) loops over center pin in front, and no. 1 in rear. each goes to his corner, no. 1 right rear, no. 2 right front, no. 3 left rear, no. 4 left front.
-all draw bottom of tent taut and square, the front and rear at right angles to the ridge, and fasten it with pins through the corner loops, then stepping outward two paces from the corner, and a pace to the front (nos. 2 and 4) or rear (nos. 1 and 3) each securely sets a long pin, over which is passed the extended corner guy rope. care must be taken that the tent is properly squared and pinned to the ground at the door and four corners before raising it.
-nos. 1 and 3 now go to the rear, and nos. 2 and 4 to the front pole, and raise the tent to a convenient height from the ground, when nos. 2 and 3 enter and seize their respective poles, and all together raise the tent until the upright poles are vertical. while nos. 2 and 3 support the poles, nos. 1 and 4 tighten the corner guys, beginning on the windward side. the tent being thus temporarily secured, all set the guy pins and fasten the guy ropes, nos. 1 and 2 to the right, nos. 3 and 4 left, and then set the wall pins.
-to prevent the upright poles from sinking in the ground under the pressure of the canvas, place a flat stone or piece of wood under the pole.
-guying the tent
-one of the troubles with tents is their remarkable proclivity for tightening and slackening with the varying conditions of the weather. this means a constant loosening or tightening of the guy ropes, and the longer the guy ropes the more they will shrink or stretch according as they are wet or dry. this may be overcome to some extent by using very heavy corner posts securely driven into the ground and spiking a pole across them, and very short guy ropes fastening to this pole. (see page 47.) a shower, or even ordinary dew, will cause the canvas to shrink, therefore be sure to slacken the guys, or you may have a torn tent or broken ridge pole.
-dig a trench around the tent and do it before you have to. if you have ever gotten out in the middle of the night when the rain was coming down in torrents, to dig a ditch or trench, you will appreciate this bit of advice.
-warn the boys not to touch the roof of the tent on the inside when it is raining, for it will surely leak wherever it is touched.
-in taking down the tent, don't pound loose the tent pins or pegs, but with a looped rope and a pull in the direction from which they are driven they can easily be removed.
-after pitching your tent, put everything in order. run a stout line, either of rope or rustless wire, between the two upright poles, about a foot below the ridge pole. a very convenient thing to throw clothes over. in some camps they have a shelf suspended from the ridge pole, divided into compartments, one for each boy in the tent. nails driven in the upright poles afford convenient pegs to hang things on. be sure the nails are removed before taking down the tent or a rip in the canvas will be the result.
-a bundle of elder leaves in a tent will keep away flies. if ants show a desire to creep into your tent, dust cayenne pepper into their holes and they will no longer trouble you.
-when there is no wooden floor in the tent, strew small hemlock twigs. they make a fine carpet and the odor is both pleasant and healthful.
-in addition to the different styles of tents shown in the illustrations on page 43, the following description of how to make a ten-foot teepee is given by charles r. scott in his vacation diary:
-making a teepee
-in "recreation," april, 1911, in an article on "tent making made easy," h. j. holden tells how to make ten different tents with but one piece of canvas.
-the best type of tent to use in a permanent camp is a wall tent, either 12 x 14 or 14 x 16, which will accommodate from four to six fellows. an eight ounce, mildew-proofed duck, with a ten or twelve ounce duck fly will give excellent wear. have a door at each end of the tent and the door ties made of cotton cord instead of tape. double pieces of canvas should be sewed in all the corners and places where there is unusual strain. manilla rope is best for guys, and metal slides are preferable to wood. if the tents are made to order, have a cotton cord about two feet long sewed in each seam just under the eaves, so that one end shall hang down inside the tent and the other outside. the walls of the tent can then be rolled up and tied so that the tent will be thoroughly aired. make sure that the end of the ridge pole and of the upright poles have iron bands to prevent splitting of the poles.
-bed on ground
-for a short-term camp, pine boughs make the best kind of a bed (see chapter on tramps and hikes for description of bed). sometimes a rubber blanket is spread upon the ground and the boys roll themselves up in their blankets. an old camper gives the following suggestion to those who desire to sleep in this fashion:
-the bed should be made in the afternoon while the sun is shining. to make the bed, clear the ground of twigs and stones. the space should be about 6 x 3 feet.
-a "hip hole"
-a shovelful of dirt is removed, making a shallow, transverse trench, about midway of the bed. this trench is the "hip hole" and the making of it properly is what renders the bed comfortable. in making the bed the following order should be observed:
-to keep warm
-to make a bed
-a comfortable bed used at camp durrell, is made by driving four posts in the ground and nailing a frame work of saplings on these posts. rope is then interwoven from side to side in somewhat the fashion of the old-time cord bed. pine boughs are then placed "shingle" fashion in the cording, making a very comfortable bed.
-many of the long-term camps, however, have cots or bunks with canvas bottoms. this is the best way to sleep for boys who are going to be in camp the entire summer. the following type of double-deck bunk is in use at camps adirondack, becket, wawayanda and dudley. the illustrations give a clear idea of its construction. use wood as free from knots as possible. spruce seems to be the best kind as it is both light in weight and very durable. the top section upon which the canvas beds are tacked is bolted to the uprights which makes a bunk easily taken apart. three of these uprights, one at each end and one in the middle, will make a bed section accommodating four boys, two on the "first floor" and two on the "second floor." in this manner eight boys may be comfortably housed in a 12 x 14 or 14 x 16 foot tent, with room for baggage in the center, as shown in the illustration on page 37.
-always remember that to keep warm while sleeping in a cot or bunk, you must have as much thickness of blanket under you as above you. usually boys will pile blankets on top of them and have only one blanket under them and then wonder why they are cold.
-a pillow may be made out of a bag of muslin or dark denim and stuffed with a sweater or extra clothing. much better--take a small pillow with you with removable and washable "case" made of dark green or brown denim.
-in purchasing kitchen ware, a mistake is frequently made by getting a cheap kind of ware unfitted for the hard usage of camp life. the kind manufactured for hotels and restaurants and of sufficient capacity, is more expensive, but will outwear two outfits of the cheaper type and is really more economical in the long run. in the buying do not omit that most adaptable and convenient of all cooking utensils for camp--a wash boiler. get one that is copper-lined and made of the heaviest tin.
-a "horse" idea
-a wooden horse made after the following sketch will support the table top and seats. the seat may be a plank about twelve inches wide and one and one-eighth inches thick.
-permanent buildings are largely planned according to the ideas of the director or organization operating the camp and this, therefore, is a matter which cannot be fully treated in a book of this character. convenience, harmony with natural surroundings, and adaptability are the three things which govern the planning and erection of permanent camp buildings. "wilderness homes," by oliver kemp, contains many suggestions for camps of this character. in "recreation" for april, 1911, is an excellent article by william d. brinckle on "log cabins."
-the following practical suggestions on surveying in a boys' camp have been especially prepared by h. m. allen. surveying is an important subject for study and practice, as it is both interesting and useful and may serve as a stepping-stone in the later education of the boy.
-the surveying may be roughly divided into two parts, simple and advanced. the simple work includes that which can be carried on with a few cheap instruments easily secured or made by the boys. the advanced work requires better instruments and is adapted to high school boys. only the simple work will be described.
-to make a map of the location of the camp, the first thing is to locate a base line on a level piece of ground. at the two ends a and b stakes are placed and the length carefully measured with the tape. then from one end of the line stretch a string about ten feet long, toward the other stake. under this string place the compass. in this way the direction of the line may be learned.
-in figure 1, the base line runs about 10 degrees west of north. drive a stake where the tent is to be located. this place will be called c. then place the transit at a and measure the angle formed by the imaginary lines ac and ab. in the example the angle is about 45 degrees. then place the transit at b and measure the angle there, formed by the lines ab and bc. then the angle at c should be measured and the sum of the angles thus measured will be 180 degrees, if the work is correct.
-now make a drawing of the survey. draw on paper a line corresponding to the line ab, making a certain scale, say 100 feet to the inch. if the real line is 200 feet long, the line on the paper will be 2 inches. with the protractor the angles at b and a may be drawn or plotted. this will give the location of the point c. with the scale determine on the plan the length of the other sides of the triangle abc. the actual distances should next be measured with the tape to test the accuracy of the survey.
-finally a tracing may be made with carbon paper giving only the shore line and leaving out the lines of the triangles and the map is finished. the boys in one camp surveyed a lake a mile long with home-made instruments with excellent results.
-boys should be taught how to use the compass and a map in tracing their way through an unknown country. also to travel by the stars or by the moss on the trees.
-chapter v--personal check list or inventory
-check list marking lost and found memory how to pack shipping labels neatness general hints
-the outfit may be divided into four classes: things necessary, things desirable, things convenient, and luxuries. boys who go camping for two weeks or less should take articles in the following list marked (1); those who go for four weeks or less should take articles marked (2) in addition to those marked (1); and those who go for what may be called the season, six or more weeks, should take those marked (3), in addition to all of (1) and (2).
-woolen sweater (coat style) (1) note book or diary (1) twine and rope (2) two flannel shirts (gray) (1) lead pencil (1) change of underwear (1) pens and ink (2) two pairs stockings (1) stamps, stamped envelopes (1) jersey (2) outing flannel pajamas (1) paper, postals and envelopes(2) running pants (1) handkerchiefs (1) needles and thread (1) two pairs woolen blankets (1) matches in metal box (1) poncho (1) folding drinking cup (1) turkish towels (1) strong pocket knife on chain(1) extra pair heavy shoes (2) toilet soap (in aluminum or celluloid box) (1) echo whistle (2) fishing tackle (2) comb and brush (1) camera (2) tooth brush and tooth paste(1) small-sized bible (1) money (1) pins and safety pins (safeties one-inch and four-inch) (1) good disposition (1) leggings-tan, army style (1)
-extra suit of clothes (2) rubber-soled shoes (sneakers) (1) soft laundered shirt (2) bathing suit or tights (2) small compass (2) small mirror (1) baseball, bats, gloves (2) whisk broom (2) tennis racquets and balls (3) dish towels (2) ping pong racquets, balls (3) cheap watch (1) rubber boots or overshoes (2) map of vicinity (2) clothes pins (2) musical instruments (2) flash lamp (2) scissors (2) repair outfit (2)
-games (3) can opener (2) books (3) small hand washboard (3) small pillow (2) thick strong gloves (3) mosquito netting (2) heavy woolen stockings (3) candles (3) elk hide moccasins (3)
-bath robe (3) blacking and brush (3) shaving outfit (3) laundry bag (2) face rag (3)
-it is understood that cooking utensils; tools, tents, cots and the general camp equipment is supplied by the camp management. the above list is for the individual campers.
-write it down
-a good strong steamer trunk is about the best thing. it is convenient, easy to handle, and takes up very little space.
-the boys who are mechanically inclined, will want to have the fun of making a camp box. the illustration is a suggestion successfully worked out by a number of boys. the dimensions may be determined by the maker. don't make it too big, or it will be a burden and also occupy too much room in the tent. it stands upright and serves as a dresser. boys who spend a summer in camp should have either a steamer trunk or this dresser.
-if the trunk or box is too small to carry blankets, a good plan is to roll blankets, bedding and such articles in a roll or canvas, the ends and sides of which are doubled inward, so as to prevent articles from dropping out or getting wet. strap with a good shawl or strong rope. (see illustration.)
-carry your poncho to be used in case of rain en route.
-have your expressman deliver your baggage at the station at least one hour before the train starts. if the baggage is delayed, much annoyance and loss of temper is the result. if the camp is a large one, some one should be designated to look after the baggage arrangements. after checking the baggage, this person should receive checks and attend to claiming baggage at destination.
-many of the large camps provide mucilaged labels or "stickers" to paste on the end of the trunk or box making identification easy at railroad baggage room. initials and camp number should be painted on outside of trunk or box.
-"a place for everything and everything in place" should be the real key to find things in your trunk. neatness is good discipline for the mind, and should characterize every real camper. the trunks of some boys in camp look as if a cyclone had struck them. "full, pressed down, and running over." every old thing in any old way is both slovenly and unhygienic.
-about once a week everything should be taken from the trunk or box, and exposed to the sun. let the sun also get into the trunk or box. then repack neatly. this will prevent mould and dampness, and be the means of discovering lost articles. finally be sure to go over with care your "check list" or inventory the day before camp breaks. this will prevent rushing around excitedly at the eleventh hour, hunting lost articles.
-gray and khaki are the most inconspicuous colors for camping.
-shirts should be provided with breast pockets.
-each lock should have a duplicate key to be given to the tent leader, or in a large camp, to the camp banker.
-have an old laundry bag in which to put soiled clothes. "wash day" is a popular day in many camps. no camper need be dirty when there is abundance of water.
-there is a luxuriance in a piece of soap and a clean towel that only experienced campers can understand and appreciate.
-wet towels, swimming suits or tights should not be placed in the trunk or box, but hung upon a rope, or non-rust wire outside of the tent.
-the poncho is the camper's friend. it makes a good rubber blanket, a wrap, a cushion, a bag, a sail or a tent.
-be sure to take enough bed clothes. you will need them on cold nights.
-stamps wiped over the hair of your head will not stick together--the oil of the hair does the trick. take a self-filler fountain pen--no glass filler to break.
-some one has said that "good temper is as necessary for camping as water is for swimming." be sure it is on your "check list."
-chapter vi--organization, administration and discipline
-a recognized law cooperative self-government council meetings department administration rules discipline by whistle discipline by conscience self imposed discipline seven things which god hates liars and sneaks a "meditation log" and other methods private talks perfect freedom
-the heavens themselves, the planets and this centre observe degree, priority and place, insisture, course, proportion, season, form, office and custom, in all lines of order. -troilus and cressida. act 1, scene 3.
-this form of organization recognizes maturity, experience, ability, cooperation, justice and altruistic service. self-government wholly by the boys is unwise. there must always be a paternal guidance of hot, impulsive and indiscriminate youth. boys desire adult leadership and where a wise combination is formed of man and boy working together, there will be found the highest type of efficient, wholesome, happy and purposeful camp life.
-frequent council meetings should be held. when the senior council, composed of the leaders and director, meet for planning and to discuss the work, it should be understood that whatever is said or discussed at the meeting, must not be talked over in the presence of the boys, particularly matters of discipline, awarding of honors and camp policy. joint meetings of the junior and senior councils should be held weekly. each "tent" is represented on the junior council by electing one of their tent-mates, who shall present the views of his constituents at council meetings.
-in all well-organized and purposeful camps for boys, three rules are considered absolutely essential for the safety and welfare of the campers. these rules are:
-1. no fire-arms, air-rifles or explosives of any kind allowed.
-2. no one of the party shall enter the water for swimming or bathing, except during the designated period.
-3. no tobacco used in any form.
-every boy going to camp agrees, in signing his application, to observe whatever rules are decided upon as best for the welfare of all. boys should be trusted and expected to do as the majority think best. there should be a happy understanding and mutual confidence existing which should make a long list of rules unnecessary. when the boys arrive in camp, the director should outline and explain the purpose and policy of the camp in kind, but unmistakable terms.
-a camp of a dozen boys and their school teacher, in the white mountains, was operated for three delightful weeks, upon the following "agreement," which all the boys and their leader signed.
-we further agree to pay any penalty the other members of the camp may think fit to impose upon us for breaking these rules or resolutions.
-we will not lose our tempers.
-we will not use any language we would not use in the presence of ladies.
-we will not tell stories we would not tell or want told to our sisters.
-we will perform cheerfully any duties our camp master asks us to perform.
-we will at all times respect the rights and feelings of others.
-we will remember that the command to "remember the sabbath day and keep it holy," is obligatory at all times and in all places.
-the motto of this camp shall be "noblesse oblige."
-unless the camp is conducted under the auspices of the boys' brigade or some military organization, where boys prefer the military discipline, it is unwise to introduce it in a camp for boys. the type of discipline to be used will depend upon the type of leader. some camps are controlled by the use of a whistle. when the attention of the boys is desired, the leader blows a shrill blast of the whistle and the boys immediately respond by absolute silence and await the announcement or whatever the leader or director desires to say to them. never blow the whistle unless necessary. secure first the attention of the boys if you want their interest. camp boys become accustomed to continuous blowing of the whistle in the same manner that city boys become used to the noise of the street-car gong. blow your whistle and wait. cause for a second blast should be considered serious.
-seven things which god hates
-solomon in his book of proverbs says, "these six things does the lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him. a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren." (proverbs; 16:19.)
-liars and sneaks
-punish the liar heavily. help the boy to see that to make a mistake and own up to it, is regarded in a much more favorable light than to sneak and lie out of it. have him understand that the lie is the worst part of the offence. it is awful to have the reputation of being a liar, for even when a boy does tell the truth nobody believes him because of his past reputation. never indulge suspicion. above all discountenance sneaking; nothing is more harmful than to maintain a feeble discipline through the medium of tale-bearing.
-the methods of punishment are as varied as the colors of the rainbow. in one camp, a "meditation log," upon which the boy sits and thinks, and thinks, and thinks, and--. no doubt he is a sadder and wiser boy for his period of meditation. a "wood pile" where boys saw from one to five or more sticks of cord wood into stove lengths, is an economic mode of punishment, for it not only provides wood for the kitchen stove, but hardens the boys' muscle as well as helps him to remember his mistakes and to avoid repetition. walking around the campus for a certain length of time carrying an oar over the shoulder, is another method. curtailing a boy's privileges, such as swimming, boating, taking away his dessert, are other methods in vogue in boys' camps. when a boy swears, if he is a "scout," the other "scouts" pour a cup of cold water down the offender's sleeve or back, for each offence. some boys have been cured of swearing by having their mouths washed out with "welcome soap," publicly, along the shore of the lake or stream, with camp-mates as silent spectators. make the "punishment fit the crime," but always the kind of punishment which the boy will acknowledge is deserved and just. never punish in anger.
-a "heart-to-heart" talk with the boy during a walk in the woods, or in some quiet place of the camp, will do more good to get him to see and realize his need of adjustment to camp life and enlist his willingness to try again and to "do his best" than any form of physical punishment.
-when it becomes necessary to send a boy home, always telegraph or write his parents, telling them on what train or boat they may expect him and the reason for sending him home.
-chapter vii--the day's program
-a morning prayer
-when the bugle sounds "reveille" everybody turns out in pajamas or swimming tights and indulges in a brisk ten-minute setting-up exercise. this should be made snappy, giving particular attention to correcting stooping shoulders and breathing. boys should not be excused from this exercise unless ill. at the end of the exercise the flag is raised and the campers salute the stars and stripes as they are flung to the morning breeze. a small cannon is fired in some camps when the flag is raised. the honor of raising the flag may be given to the boys of the tent having won the honor tent pennant of the preceding day or to boys specially assigned. the spirit of patriotism is fostered by respect to the flag.
-by this time every fellow is hungry enough to devour whatever food is set before him, whether he is fond of it or not, and there is an alacrity of response to the mess call of the bugle which only a camper understands and appreciates. when the campers are seated there is either silent or audible grace before the meal is eaten. take plenty of time for the eating of the meal. forty-five minutes is not too long. encourage wholesome conversation and good natural pleasantry, but discountenance "rough house" and ungentlemanliness. the announcements for the day are usually given at the breakfast table followed by the reading of a chapter from the bible and a short prayer.
-a boy should be taught that all labor is noble, that "no one can rise that slights his work" and the "grand business in life is not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand." with this kind of a spirit, blankets are taken out of the tent to be aired and the sides of the tent tied up, the camp is cleaned and put in a sanitary condition, the tents are put in order, and kitchen work, if part of the boys' duties, is attended to. all work should be finished by 9.30. no matter whether the boy pays twenty dollars a week or three dollars a week for the outing, labor of some sort should be a part of his daily life while at camp, for when one gets to love work, his life becomes a happy one. the world despises a shirker but honors a worker.
-the work of the day is sometimes done by tent groups or by boys grouped in alphabetical order, each group being under a leader whose part is assigned daily by the camp director (see chapter on organization). in the writer's camp, work is considered a great privilege. for instance, if three bushels of peas must be picked from the camp garden for dinner, a call is made for volunteers. from forty to fifty hands will go up and after careful choosing, six boys are selected to do this coveted work, much to the disappointment of the others. it is all in the way work is presented to the boys, whether they will look upon it as a privilege or an irksome task.
-if tutoring is a part of the camp's plan, the morning will be found a desirable time for tutor and boy to spend an hour together. manual training, instruction in woodcraft, field and track athletics, boating, life-saving drills, rehearsal for minstrel shows or entertainments, photography, tennis, baseball, are some of the many activities to be engaged in during this period. one day a week, each box or trunk should be aired, and its contents gone over carefully. a sort of "clean up" day.
-about this time the life saving crew will be getting ready for their drill and patrolling of the swim. the other campers will be taking in their blankets and after shaking them well and folding, will place them on their beds for the inspection, which usually comes at noon. at 11.20 boys who cannot swim should be given instruction by those who can swim. if this is done before the regular swim there is less danger and greater progress is made.
-this seems to be the popular hour for swimming in nearly all the camps. it follows the ball game, the tennis match, the camp work, and usually the temperature of air and water is just right for a swim. allow no swimmer to go beyond the line of patrol boats. have some one on shore who is keen to observe any boy who may be in need of assistance.
-twenty minutes is sufficient length of time to be in fresh water. when the boys come out of the water, have a towel drill, teaching the boy how to use the towel so that his back may be dried as well as every other part of his body. this rubbing down induces circulation of the blood and gives that finish to a swim which makes the boy feel like a new being. it is unwise to permit boys to lie around undressed after a swim, for physiological as well as moral reasons. swimming tights should be wrung out dry, either by hand or by a wringer kept near the swimming place, and hung out on a rope or rustless wire, stretched back of the tent. do not permit wet clothes to be hung in the tent, on the canvas or tent ropes.
-beds or bunks should be made up for inspection. three men or boys may be appointed as inspectors. considerable interest and pride is taken by the boys in having their canvas home look neat. this training in neatness, order and cleanliness is invaluable. (see chapter on awards.) the inspection should not take over twenty minutes. while this is going on those who have kitchen or table duty will be busily engaged getting tables in readiness for dinner.
-mess call for dinner. this meal should be the heartiest meal of the day, and plenty of time given to the eating of the food. mail is usually given out at this meal in camps where there is but one delivery a day.
-"siesta," or rest hour, follows dinner. in the early days of boys' camps this suggestion would have been laughed at, but today it is looked upon as highly hygienic and considered one of the best things of camp and strongly to be commended. the boy is advised to lie down flat on his back, in his tent or under the shade of a friendly tree, and be quiet. he may talk if he wishes, but usually some one reads aloud to his fellows. this gives the food a chance to digest, and the whole body a nerve and muscle rest before the active work of the afternoon.
-inspection is conducted during the absence of the boys. while the inspectors are making the round of tents, the boys should assemble either in the permanent building of the camp or under some big tree, to listen to a practical talk by the camp physician, a demonstration in first aid work, the reading of a story, or to something equally educational in character. this is a valuable hour when occupied in this manner. (see chapter on inspection, awards, etc.)
-rather than depend upon "sunset" as the time to lower the flag, it is much better to set an hour for "colors." promptly at this hour the bugler blows "colors." no matter where a camper may be he should stand erect, uncover and remain attentive until after the playing of the "star spangled banner" and firing of the cannon. the flag is lowered very slowly during the playing of the "star spangled banner" and camp should be a place of silent patriotism. those who have witnessed this ceremony in a boys' camp will never forget its impressiveness. the flag should never be permitted to touch the ground, and should be carefully folded and in readiness for hoisting the next morning.
-supper hour cannot come too promptly for active boys. the announcement of the day's inspection should be made at the meal and the honor pennant or flag presented to the successful tent, and accepted by one of the boys. this occasion is usually a time of rejoicing, also a time of resolve-making on the part of tent groups to "do better tomorrow." the record of each tent is read by one of the inspectors, and at the end of the week the tent having the best record gets a special supper or "seconds" on ice cream day.
-about this time, with the going down of the sun, nature seems to quiet down, and it is the psychological time for serious thought. many camps devote twenty minutes to bible study (for suggested lessons, see chapter on religion and moral life). tent groups under their leader study thoughtfully the meaning of life and the great lessons taught by god through nature. night after night the boys consciously or unconsciously acquire through this study the requisites of a good camper mentioned in the first part of this chapter.
-campus games, boating, preparation for the bonfire, etc., will occupy the time until dark. every boy should be engaged in some recreative play, working off whatever surplus energy he may have at hand so that when the time for "turning in" comes, he will be physically tired and ready for bed.
-the evening program varies. some nights there will be a minstrel show, other nights a camp fire, or mock trial, an illustrated talk, or "village school entertainment," or a play, or a musical evening or "vo-de-ville." leave about two nights a week open. the boys prefer to have occasional open evenings when they are free to loaf around, and go to bed early. plan the evening "stunts" very carefully.
-from a hill near camp, or from a boat on the lake come the notes of a familiar hymn such as "abide with me," "lead, kindly light," "the day is past and over," "sun of my soul," or "nearer, my god to thee," played by the bugler. every boy listens and the ear records a suggestion which helps to make the night's sleep pure and restful. try it. taps played slowly, follows the hymn. as the last notes are being echoed upon the still night air the lights are being extinguished in the tents, so that when the final prolonged note ends the camp is in darkness and quiet, and all have entered into a nine-hour period of restoration of body and mind. who knows, but god himself, how many of the boys, and even leaders, while wrapped warmly in their blankets have silently breathed out that old, old prayer so full of faith, which has been handed down from generation to generation:
-a prayer echoed by the camp director, for now is the only time of the day's program when he begins to breathe freely, and is partially able to lay aside his mantle of responsibility. a cough, a sigh, and even the moaning of the wind disturbs this ever vigilant leader and he thinks of his charges, until finally, weariness conquers and sleep comes.
-the well-ordered day
-how shall the day be ordered? to the sage the young man spoke. and this was his reply:
-a morning prayer. a moment with thy god who sends thee dawn up from the east; to thank heaven for the care that kept thee through the night; to give thy soul, with faith serene, to his complete control; to ask his guidance still along the way. so starts the day.
-a busy day. do with a will the task that lies before. so much there is for every man to do, and soon the night when man can work no more. and none but he to life's behest is true who works with zeal and pauses only when he stretches forth his hand to help the men who fail or fall beside him on the way. so runs the day.
-a merry evening. when toil is done, then banished be the care that frets the soul. with loved ones by the hearth the evening hour belongs to joy and mirth; to lighter things that make life fresh and fair. for honest work has earned its hour of play. so ends the day. --john clair minot in the "independent"
-association boys' camps--edgar m. robinson. association boys, vol. i., no.3, 1902.
-the day's program--c. hanford henderson. "how to help boys," vol. iii., no.3, 1903.
-the camp conference--secretary's report, 1905-06 (out of print).
-the camp conference--"how to help boys," july, 1903.
-chapter viii--moral and religious life
-the religious instinct nature's teachings sunday in camp bible study how and when to teach the bible course of camp bible study bible study course for boy scouts devotions in tent daily bible readings a "novel" bon-fire reading of stories on sunday purposeful reading chapel services bibliography
-the aspect of nature is devout. like the figure of jesus, she stands with bended head and hands folded upon her breast.--emerson.
-when a boy's soul is open to the influence of nature he feels the presence of the divine in the forest. there is an uplift, an inspiration, a joy that he never experiences in the city. he does not know how to express himself, but somehow he feels the spiritual atmosphere pervading the woods which his soul breathes in as really as his nostrils do the pure air, and he is ready to go forth, under the open sky and list to nature's teachings. -bryant.
-for as martin luther said, "god writes the gospel not in the bible alone, but in trees and flowers and clouds and stars."
-every real camper has experienced a sunday similar to this one described by howard henderson. "a quiet sunday in the deep woods is a golden day to be remembered for many a year. all nature combines to assist the camper in directing his thoughts to the great author of all the beauty that he beholds. 'the heavens declare the glory of god; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork.' the trees under which one reclines rear their heads heavenward, pointing their spire-like minarets far up toward the blue-vaulted roof. it inspires the very soul to worship in these unbuilt cathedrals with wilderness of aisle and pillars, which for elegance and beauty have never been equalled by the architects of any age. and the music of the trees combined with the notes of the bird songsters, give a joy which is unknown in listening to a city choir."
-the bible becomes a new book to boys when studied under such an environment. as one boy wrote home to his father after a sunday spent in a camp where sunday was observed in this manner, "dad, it is so different here, from a sunday at home; i understood the talk and the bible study was great; it was a bully day!"
-in some camps these lessons were taught in the morning directly after breakfast, while the boys were seated at the tables.
-there are "sermons in stones, and good in every thing," therefore the purpose of these lessons should be to help boys hear these sermons and learn nature's lessons of purity, strength and character.
-a course in bible study
-lesson 1. the hills-prayer
-psalm 121. christ going into the mountains to pray. matt. 14:23; mark 6:46; luke 6:12; mark 1:35; matt. 6:6-15.
-unnatural not to pray. even pagans pray, but they pray through fear.
-more things are wrought through prayer than this world dreams of. --tennyson. pray to christ as friend to friend. the lord's prayer.
-he prayeth well who loveth well both man and bird and beast. he prayeth best who loveth best all things both great and small, for the dear god who loveth us he made and loveth all. --coleridge's "ancient mariner."
-strength received through prayer. a time and place for prayer.
-lesson 2. the birds--dependence upon god
-matt. 6:26; psa.147:9; luke 12:24; matt. 10:29-31.
-god feeding the birds. how much more does god care for you. not one forgotten, the most worthless, the most restless.
-god loves the birds. he loves you. show your love to him by caring for the birds.
-isa. 40: 28-31.
-abraham lincoln and the bird fallen from the nest.--"gentlemen, i could not have slept tonight if i had not helped that little bird in its trouble, and put it back safe in the nest with its mother."
-lesson 3. flowers-purity
-matt. 6:28-30. beauty of flowers. isa. 55:10-13. provision for summer growth and beauty.
-"my strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure."-sir galahad.
-purity of character, the lily. know thyself. keep thyself pure. 1 cor. 3:16,17. white cross pledge. virtue never dwelt long with filth and nastiness.--count rumford.
-lesson 4. trees--growth
-psalm 1. (hold the session under the biggest and best proportioned tree.)
-cedars of lebanon--strong in the lord. the oaks--from acorns grew. the fruit tree--living for others. by their fruits ye shall know them. stunted trees. crooked trees. scarred trees. grafted trees. matt. 1:16-20; jer. 11:7, 8. things that interfere with a boy's growth.
-lesson 5. water-life
-lesson 6. rocks--character
-practical thoughts all boys are building character day by day. all builders have a choice of foundation. all foundations will be tried. only one foundation will stand. jesus christ is the rock of ages.
-"every thought that we've ever had its own little place has filled. every deed we have done, good or bad is a stone in the temple we build."-sargant.
-character, not reputation, will alone stand the final test.
-"the inner side of every cloud is bright and shining, i therefore turn my clouds about, and always wear them inside out to show the lining."
-"look ever to jesus. he'll carry you through."
-lesson 9. night--sin psa. 19. night unto night. john 3:19-20. evil deeds. rom. 13:11-14. awake out of sin.
-bad thoughts come to us in the dark. dark places productive of crime. mischief at camp during the night. darkness cannot hide us from god. "thou god seest me." north star a guide for sailors--jesus christ a safe guide. "character is what a man is in the dark." -d. l. moody.
-chum means "to abide with," to share the same tent. camp chums. david and jonathan. the genuine article. helping each other. the friend--jesus christ.
-lesson 11. camp fires
-build a camp fire along the shore. read alternately the twenty-first chapter of the gospel of st. john. the fire on the beach. john 21:9.
-lesson 12. fishing--personal work
-luke 5:1-11. fishers of men.
-sometimes fish are caught and used as bait to catch others. when a boy becomes a christian he should bring to others the same blessing.
-patience is essential in fishing--same in winning boys to christ. every fisherman expects to catch fish. to lead others to christ is the noblest work in the world. dan. 12: 3.
-in some camps a bit of scripture is read each night in the tent just before retiring. the following readings having been prepared by w. h. wones, c. c. robinson, arthur wilson and charles r. scott for use at camp wawayanda. just before taps, if you have a good cornetist, have him go a short distance from the camp and play a well known hymn, like "abide with me," "nearer, my god, to thee," "lead, kindly light," then play "taps." the effect is wonderful, and prevents all inclination toward noise or "rough house."
-1. personal work on a journey. john 4:5-15. 2. its results. john 4:27-30, 39, 42. 3. the disciples' trip for service. mark 6:7-13. 4. their interrupted vacation. mark 6: 30-42. 5. a night on the lake. mark 6:45-56. 6. a foolish journey. luke 15:11-17. 7. a wise return. luke 15:18-24. 8. the welcome guest. john 12:1-9. 9. a fishing experience. john 21:1-14. 10. spending a night on a mountain. luke 9:28-36. 11. vacation suggestion: "keep sweet." psalm 34:8-15. 12. vacation suggestion: "stick to principle." psalm 119:25-32. 13. vacation suggestion: "confess christ. "; matthew 10:24-33. 14. vacation suggestion: "keep up bible study."; psalm 119:1-8. 15. vacation suggestion: "write good letters." 1 corinthians 16:3-13. 16. speaking for christ while traveling; acts 8:26-39. 17. a queen's visit. 1 kings 10:1-10. 18. an adventurous voyage. acts 27:1-13. 19. shipwreck. acts 27:14-26. 20. all saved. acts 27:27-44. 21. praying for a prosperous journey. romans 1:8-16. 22. a traveler's adventures. 2 corinthians 11:23-33. 23. a merry heart desirable. proverbs 15:13-17. 24. keeping from sin. romans 6:16-23. 25. meeting a stranger. luke 24:13-27. 26. a delightful surprise. luke 24:28-35. 27. jacob's bivouac. genesis 28:10-22. 28. david's prayer in the cave. psalm 142:1-7. 29. avoiding sinful pleasure. hebrews 11:23-27. 30. peter's counsel. 1 peter 4:1-10. 31. the greatest pleasure. psalm 16: 1-11.
-1. the story of nature's creation. genesis 1:11-22. 2. the first garden. genesis 2:8-17. 3. god's care for his creation. matthew 6:25-34. 4. the symbol of peace. genesis 8:1-11. 5. the sign of god's promise. genesis 9:8-17. 6. the burning bush. exodus 3:1-6. 7. the accompaniment of god's presence. exodus 19:16-25. 8. nature halts to accomplish god's purpose. joshua 10:5-14. 9. nature's tribute to god's glory. psalm 97:1-12. 10. the midnight hymn. psalm 8:1-9. 11. the sunrise hymn. psalm 19:1-14. 12. the thunder-storm hymn. psalm 29:1-11. 13. the god of storm. matthew 8:23-33. 14. nature has no perils for the god-fearing man. job 5:8-27. 15. the full ear. matthew 13:1-9,18,23. 16. harmful weeds. matthew 13: 24-30, 36-43. 17. the god of nature protects us. psalm 121:1-8. 18. he cares for us. psalm 147:1-20. 19. god's voice after the storm. 1 kings 19:5-13. 20. the tree of life. proverbs 3:13-21. 21. the trees desire a king. judges 9:8-15; joshua 24:15. 22. the root out of dry ground. isaiah 53:1-12. 23. water without price. isaiah 55:1-13. 24. the perfect vine. john 15:1-14. 25. the light brighter than the sun. acts 9:1-20. 26. a wonderful star. matthew 2:1-11. 27. sand or rock? matthew 7:24-27. 28. broken branches. matthew 21:1-11. 29. the unprofitable tree. matthew 7:15-21. 30. the profitable tree. psalm 1:1-6. 31. do good in all seasons. ecclesiastes 3:1-12.
-boy scout course
-for a boy scout camp, the following course, "boy's scout guide book study," was prepared by w. s. dillon:
-the scout's oath lesson 1. to do my duty to god and my country. daniel 1:8; 6:4-10. lesson 2. to help other people at all times. exodus 3:1-11. lesson 3. to obey the scout law. exodus 20:3-17; luke 10:26, 27; matthew 7:12.
-the scout salute and sign lesson 4. judges 12:6; acts 4:12; galatians 6:14.
-three classes of scouts the tenderfoot lesson 5. luke 5:1-11.
-the second class scout lesson 6. have at least one month's service as a tenderfoot. 2 samuel 15:1-6. lesson 7. signalling. 1 samuel 20:20-22; 35-39. lesson 8. lay and light a fire. fire lighting contest. 1 kings 18: 22-24.
-the scout law lesson 12. a scout's honor is to be trusted. genesis 39:7-10. lesson 13. loyalty. esther 4:8-16. lesson 14. a scout is a friend to all, and must never be a snob. luke 9:46-48. lesson 15. a friend to animals. 1 samuel 17:12-16. lesson 16. obey orders. jonah 1:1-3. lesson 17. cheerfulness and willingness. acts 16 :25; phillippians 4:11-13. lesson 18. thrift. matthew 6:19-21.
-the great scout master lesson 19. matthew 23:10.
-the author experienced something very unusual one sunday afternoon in a camp where he was invited to speak. the talk was on "trees or growth," one of the studies of the course described. during the talk a number of things were referred to that enter into the growth of a tree which either mar or hinder it from becoming a symmetrical, beautiful tree and a similar comparison was made regarding a boy's growth. the question was asked of the boys, "what are some of the things which interfere with a boy's growth physically, mentally and morally?" a number of things, such as smoking, swearing, impurity, etc., were given, and finally one of the small boys piped up "reading dime novels." his answer was received with howls of derision, especially from the older boys. "hold on," i said, "let's discuss the matter; if dime novels are good for a boy's growth mentally, we want to know about it, but if they are detrimental to this particular kind of desired growth, of course, we want to cut it out." the discussion brought out the fact that a number of the boys had smuggled a lot of this kind of literature into camp and were just loafing through their time in the woods, gloating over the wonderful and daring escapades of wild west heroes. the boys finally decided that their mental growth was retarded by such reading. then came the question, "what are you going to do about it?" "we don't usually have a bonfire on sunday," i said. "i am inclined, however, to ask your leader for a special dispensation and we will have one.
-sunday afternoon is the time for reading good, wholesome stories. take the boys out into the woods where they can squat under a big tree, or if the day is warm seek the cool shelter of the tent and while the boys are lying down read a short story or several chapters of a story like "dr. grenfell's parish," by norman duncan, "just boys," by mary buell wood, "some boys i know," "chapel talks," or "the story of good will farm," by george w. hinckley. if the group is made up of older boys who like to discuss life problems, read a chapter or two from robert speer's excellent books, "a young man's questions" and "young men who overcame." make sure that whatever you read has the uplift note. the real purpose of the afternoon's reading should be that of instilling in the boys' minds some of the cardinal virtues of christian character.
-don't moralize; let the story do its own moralizing. boys are hero worshippers. if the hero or the heroic appeal of the story is of a sane type and not abnormal there will be created naturally within the boy a desire to emulate the good deeds of the hero in the everyday life of the camp, which is much better than the parrot-like vocalization unfortunately many times encouraged by well-meaning men.
-a pile of stones made to serve as an altar or pulpit, a chapel having the branches of a friendly pine as its roof and under which are built a reading desk and seats of white birch, a cathedral with towering columns of pine and cushions of pine needles, a rocky shore along the ocean--all are places where boys have heard the appeal for right living and responded with an earnest decision that marked an advance step in their moral and religious growth.
-make much of the music at these outdoor services on sunday. a choir of men and boys responding in the distance to the hymns of the camp boys, in antiphonal manner, a cornetist playing a hymn in the distance, make an impression never to be forgotten.
-the great test of camp life is not the fun the boy had, or his gain in weight, height or lung capacity, or the friendships formed, or his increased knowledge in woodcraft, but his advancement in character-making and gain in spiritual vigor.
-books helpful in the preparation of bible study lessons:
-lessons from life (animal and human)--thomas whittaker. macmillan, $2.50.
-sermons in stones--amos r. wells. doubleday, page & company, $1.00.
-parables from nature--mrs. gatty. colportage library, 15 cents.
-a good bible dictionary and concordance.
-books upon the religious life of boys:
-the boy and the church--eugene c. foster. the sunday school times co., 75 cents net.
-starting to teach--eugene c. foster. association pres., 40 cents.
-the child and his religion--george e. dawson. university of chicago, 75 cents net.
-chapter ix--food--its function, purchase, preparation, cooking, serving
-good cooking food charts digestion charts table of weights and measures purchase of food grocery list the steward commissary department the cook list of foods week of menus a few hints table etiquette grace at meals serving dish washing
-we may live without friends, we may live without books, but civilized man cannot live without cooks.
-the normal boy sums up life in two words of three letters each: "f-u-n" and "e-a-t." as long as there is plenty of fun and plenty to eat, he thinks life is worth living, and he is not so far from the truth, for it is only when the fun of living dies within us, and our digestive apparatus refuses to do its function that we "become of all men most miserable." a boy will put up with all sorts of inconvenience but rebels at once at poor food and bad cooking. the good nature, congenial atmosphere, and contentedness of camp life is largely due to good cooking. economize in every other way, but think twice before cheap cooks are employed or a cheap grade of food purchased.
-vegetables, fruits, cereals, bread, nuts and meats furnish the essentials. sugar and fat have only part of them. coffee and tea have no food values except for the milk and sugar added. they tend to check certain normal secretion in the body and should not be used during growth.
-the united states department of agriculture publishes a series of fifteen food charts of exceptional value. leaders and cooks will find them helpful in providing and planning the food for the boys. boys will be interested in the information given and the attractive form of presentation. the set costs $1.00. send to superintendent of documents, washington, d. c. the following table is a condensation of the facts given on the charts, and will help in planning menus:
-prepared by c. f. langworthy. expert in charge of nutrition investigation.
-food naturally falls into four classes. potatoes and grains furnish starches. the starchy foods are heat and force producers. eggs, meats, nuts, milk, dried beans, peas and lentils furnish nitrogen, and are flesh and muscle producers. butter, oil, lard, and fatty meats supply fats. sugar, molasses, honey, fruit, etc., furnish sugar.
-the following "grocery list" is for a large camp, but it will serve also to form the basis of providing for small camps:
-corn; sliced peaches; tomatoes; shredded pineapple; peas; strawberries; lima beans; clams (for chowder); beets; condensed milk (unsweetened); apples; salmon; plums;
-a reliable person should be in charge of the food supplies. in some camps he is called the steward. he will see that the supply is sufficient, arrange the menus in consultation with the chef, keep his storeroom neat and scrupulously clean. as a matter of record and for the purpose of ascertaining cost of feeding the boys, a number of camps keep a daily record like the illustrated form.
-suggested list of dishes for boys' camps breakfast
-fruit: bananas, raspberries, blueberries, cantaloupes, apples, stewed prunes, applesauce, baked apples, stewed apples, stewed apricots, stewed figs.
-cereals: oatmeal, shredded wheat, cream of wheat, toasted
-corn flakes; corn meal mush and milk, hominy grits, puffed rice, wheatlets.
-eggs: fried, boiled, scrambled, omelette, poached on toast.
-meats and fish: bacon, meat hash, meat stew, chopped meat on toast, codfish cakes, creamed codfish, fried fresh fish, creamed dried beef, fresh sausage.
-vegetables: potatoes-baked, creamed, mashed, browned, german fried; baked beans.
-drinks: cocoa, milk, coffee (only occasionally), pure water.
-bread: toasted bread, corn bread, muffins, biscuits, hot cakes.
-soups: old-fashioned vegetable soup, bean soup, clam or fish chowder, corn chowder. thick soups are preferable for camps.
-meats: roasts--beef, lamb, chicken. stews---beef, lamb, steak, fricassee of chicken, fricassee of lamb, haricot of lamb, pot roast of beef, hamburg steak, corned beef, boiled ham, meat pie.
-fish: baked, fried, boiled; escalloped salmon, salmon croquettes.
-vegetables: potatoes--mashed, boiled, french fried, browned. cabbage. corn--stewed, escalloped, corn pie, corn on cob. peas-- creamed with carrots. lima beans. summer squash. tomatoes-- stewed, escalloped, au gratin with tomatoes. apple sauce, creamed onions; cabbage slaw. greens-spinach, beet tops.
-desserts: ice cream-vanilla, chocolate, strawberry (preserved), raspberry, lemon, coffee, caramel, peach, pineapple (shredded), orange, lemon. sherbet--lemon, orange, pineapple, raspberry. rice pudding, plain with fruit sauce, rice with raisins. tapioca pudding with apples or fruit. bread pudding. cottage pudding, lemon sauce or fruit sauce. banana pudding. sliced peaches with cream. pie-apple, blueberry, blackberry. cornstarch pudding.
-cereals: cream of wheat, mush and milk, shredded wheat.
-cold dishes: sliced beef, ham, corned beef, potato salad, cabbage slaw, pressed meats.
-hot dishes: irish stew, meat croquettes, frankfurters, potato cakes, baked beans, thick soups, stewed kidney beans. potatoes--baked, fried, creamed. creamed salmon with peas; codfish; macaroni and cheese; potato hash.
-desserts: prunes, stewed apples, stewed apricots, fresh fruits, stewed pears, stewed figs.
-cakes: gingerbread, sweetbread, cookies.
-relishes: pickles beets, chow chow, piccalilli, watermelon spiced.
-drinks: lemonade, iced tea, cocoa, hot milk.
-local geographical conditions will suggest a variety of dishes. there should be plenty of milk to drink, and good bread and butter. cake and fancy dishes are not necessary. the bill of fare should be an elastic one. when the day is cold and dreary, hot chowders, soups, cocoa, etc., should be served.
-on a warm day, lemonade and cold dishes are desirable. every camp should, if possible, have its own ice-cream freezer, as ice-creams, sherbets, and water ices are not only healthy but inexpensive. an occasional delicacy is desirable. canned shredded pineapple, strawberries and sliced peaches make excellent sherbets and ice cream. in one camp chicken and ice cream are served every sunday dinner.
-a sample week of menus
-breakfast oatmeal fried potatoes cocoa cream of tartar biscuits.
-dinner irish stew boiled potatoes green corn on cob apple tapioca bread and butter.
-supper fried eggs prunes sweet cake bread and butter cocoa.
-breakfast toasted cornflakes fish cakes corn bread cocoa.
-dinner beef steak mashed potatoes peas corn starch pudding bread and butter.
-supper vegetable soup stewed figs gingerbread bread and butter.
-breakfast cream of wheat meat hash cocoa bread and butter.
-dinner roast lamb tomato sauce boiled potatoes lemon sherbet bread and butter.
-supper creamed fish apple sauce sweet cake bread and butter. thought it rather a feather in my cap that i never took advantage of brown borough customers in selling adulterated goods, for--lawdy--they'd swallow anythink. it's different with your business, bein' in an 'igher-class locality. 'igh prices, i thought, was only natural. make 'ay while the sun shines was my motter, and i says to meself there was no reason why this war should make everyone un'appy. as for lookin' at the grocery business as a trust from god, like you said, i never dremp of such a thing, although i've bin to chapel regular for ten years. but i see now there was a lot in what you said, and when i come to think of it, there was no need to make such a terrible lot of extra hay, 'owever much the sun might be shinin'. when you put it like that, i couldn't say why i was so set on more money, 'aving quite enough. well, i says to meself, after shutting meself up to think it out, like you said, 'ere am i giving up all my life an' all my jolly days an' 'olidays, an' i'm damned if i know what for. for money,--just money stewin' in its own juice in a bank,--not money i can use. well, everybody's trained so, i'm thinkin'. anyway i took it friendly of you to put it so delicate, so fanciful as you did, so as them charity ladies didn't smell a rat. i appreciated that, an' thought the more of what you said. i'm not a proud man."
-"you're just proud enough," said the witch. "you're a darling. if ever i can help you in a business way, let me know. if you want to start a side line, for instance, in happiness, i can give you a tip where to get it wholesale, within limits. it'd go like wildfire in the brown borough, if you put in an ounce or two, gratis of course, with every order."
-"you will 'ave your joke," murmured the mayor. "but i like it in you. i'm a man that never takes a joke amiss. let's go for a walk together."
-"no," said the witch. "i am so hungry that my ribs are beginning to bend inwards. i must go and have sausages and mash and two apple dumplings."
-they found themselves presently seated at the marble-topped table of an a.b.c. after an interval that could hardly be accurately described as presently, sausages and mash dawned on the horizon, and the witch waved her fork rudely at it as it approached.
-"mashed is splendid stuff to sculp with," she said, roughing in a ground plan upon her plate with the sure carelessness of the artist. "this is going to be an ivory castle built upon a rock in a glassy sea. the sausage is the dragon guarding it, and this little crumb of bread is the emprisoned princess, a dull but sterling creature----"
-"look 'ere, miss watkins," interrupted the mayor. "i'm not as a rule an impulsive man, and i don't want to startle you----"
-"how d'you mean startle me?" asked the witch. "you haven't startled me at all. but the fact is, i never have been much of a person for getting married, thank you very much. i'm an awful bad house-keeper. and i do so much enjoy having no money."
-"well, i'm blessed," exclaimed the mayor. "you're a perfect witch, i declare." he laid a large meat-like hand upon hers. "but you know, you can't put the lid on me so easy as that. ever since you came into that old committee room i saw there was something particular about you, something that you an' me 'ad in common. i'm not speakin' so much of us bein' in the same line of business. some'ow--oh, 'ang it all, let's get out of this and take a taxi. i'm not a kissing man, but----"
-he seemed very persistent in applying negatived adjectives to himself. it was not his fault if the world failed to grasp exactly what he was, or rather exactly what he was not.
-"i have often wondered," interrupted the witch, "talking of kissing--what would happen if two snipes wanted to kiss each other? it would have to be at such awfully long range, wouldn't it. or----"
-"come off it," ordered the mayor irritably. "what about gettin' out of this and----"
-"'ere, miss," said the mayor ungraciously to a passing whirlwind. "'urry them dumplings."
-"'urry them dumplings," echoed the whirlwind to a little hole in the wall.
-the witch had a silly vision of two distressed dumplings, like dilatory chorus girls, mad with the nightmare feeling of not being dressed in time, hearing their cue called in a heartless voice from the inexorable sky, desperately applying the last dab of flour to their imperfect complexions. but the witch found no fault with them when they came. she gave them her whole attention for some minutes.
-"you will 'ave your joke," said the mayor in a hollow voice. "i never met such a gurl as you for a bit of fun. i don't believe you've got any 'eart."
-there, of course, he was right. a heart is a sort of degree conferred by providence on those who have passed a certain examination. magic people are only freshmen in our college, and it is useless for us--secure in the possession of many learned letters after our names--to despise them. they will become sophisticated in due course.
-"how d'you mean--heart?" asked the witch therefore. "i've still got an awful hunger inside me, if that's anything to do with it. i'll tell you what. it's wednesday. let's go and call on miss ford. she might have grassy sandwiches."
-there was a most abrupt and disturbing draught in miss ford's sleek and decorous flat as the witch and the mayor entered it. the serenity of the night and the morning had been suddenly obliterated, and kensington suffered a gust or two of gritty wind which blew the babies home from the gardens, and kept all the window-gazers in the high street on the alert with their fingers on the triggers of their umbrellas.
-but no rain fell. rain cannot fall in this book of fine weather.
-the draught that intruded into the flat ruffled the neat hair of five persons, miss ford herself, lady arabel higgins, miss ivy macbee, mr. bernard tovey, and mr. darnby frere.
-miss macbee always seemed to be seated on tenterhooks, even in the most comfortable of chairs. her spartan spine never consented graciously to the curves of cushions. she had smooth padded hair and smooth padded manners, and her eyes were magnified by thick pince-nez to a cow-like size. most people, especially most women, were instinctively sorry for her, because she always looked a little clever and very uncomfortable.
-mr. bernard tovey was a blunt-nosed beaming person. he leaned forward abruptly whenever he spoke, thereby swinging a lock of hair into his right eye. he agreed so heartily with everything that was said that people who addressed him were left with the happy impression that they had said something rather good. this habit, combined with the fact that he never launched an independent remark, had given him the reputation of being one of the best talkers in kensington.
-mr. darnby frere was the editor of an advanced religious paper called i wonder, but he never wondered really. he knew almost everything, and therefore, while despising the public for knowing so little, he encouraged it to continue wondering, so that he might continue despising and instructing it.
-now it was an almost unprecedented thing for two members of the small trades-man class to come into miss ford's drawing-room, especially on a wednesday. the utmost social mingling of the classes that those walls had ever seen was the moment when miss ford asked the electric light man what he thought of the war. the electric light man's reply had been quoted in the dialect on two or three of the following wednesdays, as a proof of miss ford's daring intimacy with men in another station of life. really it would have been simpler, though of course not so picturesque, to have quoted it direct from its original source, john bull, the electric light man's bible.
-the entrance of the witch and the mayor was to a certain extent a crisis, but miss ford kept her head, and her three friends, though grasping at once the extraordinary situation, did not give way to panic.
-"well, well, well," said the mayor, looking round and breathing very loudly. "this is a cosy little nook you've got 'ere."
-he was not at all at his ease, but being a business man, and being also blessed with a peculiarly inexpressive face, he was successfully dissembling his discomfort.
-for it had happened that the lift had been one of those lifts that can do no wrong, the kind that the public is indulgently allowed to work by itself. and the mayor, looking upon this fact as specially planned by a propitious god of love, had tried to kiss the witch as they shot up the darkened shaft. if i remind you that the witch was still accompanied by her broomstick, harold, a creature of unreasoning fidelity, i need hardly describe the scene further. the mayor stepped out of the lift with a tingling scraped face, and if he had possessed enough hair on his head, it would have been on end. as it was, when the lift stopped, he retrieved his hat from the floor with a frank oath, and, as the witch had at once rung the bell of miss ford's flat, he instinctively followed her across that threshold.
-she looked round in the hall, and said with a friendly smile: "i'm afraid harold gets a bit irritable sometimes. i often tell him to count ten before he lets himself go, but he forgets. did he hurt you?"
-i am afraid the angry mayor did not give harold credit for much initiative.
-"kissing is such a funny habit, isn't it," said the witch briskly as she shook miss ford's hand. "i wonder who decided in the first place which forms of contact should express which forms of emotion. i wonder----"
-she interrupted herself as her eyes fell on some green sandwiches which were occupying the third floor of a wicker eiffel tower beside miss ford. "oh how gorgeous," she said. "do you know, i've only had two meals in the last two days."
-nobody present had ever been obliged to miss a meal, so this statement seemed to every one to be a message from another world.
-"you must tell us about all your experiences, my dear miss watkins," said miss ford, leading the witch towards a chair by the fire. the witch sat down suddenly cross-legged on the hearth-rug, leaving her rather embarrassed hostess in the air, so to speak, towering rigidly above her.
-"how d'you mean--experiences?" said the witch, after eating one sandwich in silent ecstasy. "i was up in the sky last night, talking to a german. was that an experience?"
-"the sky last night was surely no place for a lady," said mr. frere with rather sour joviality.
-"oh, i know what she means," said miss macbee earnestly. "i was up in the sky last night too----"
-"great scott," exclaimed the witch. "but----"
-"yes, i was," persisted miss macbee. "i lay on the hammock which i have had slung in my cellar, and shut my eyes, and loosed my spirit, and it shot upward like a lark released. it detached itself from the common trammels of the body, yes, my spirit, in shining armour, fought with the false, cruel spirits of murderers."
-"i hadn't got any shining armour," sighed the witch, who had been looking a little puzzled. "but i had the hell of a wrangle with a boche witch who came over. we fought till we fell off our broomsticks, and then she quoted the daily mail at me, and then she fell through a hole and broke her back over the cross on st. paul's."
-it was miss macbee's turn to look puzzled, but she said to miss ford: "my dear, you have brought us a real mystic."
-mr. frere, though emitting an applauding murmur, leaned back and fixed his face in the ambiguous expression of one who, while listening with interest to the conversation of liars, is determined not to appear deceived.
-"how d'you mean--mystic?" asked the witch. "i don't think i can have made myself clear. excuse me," she added to miss ford, "but this room smells awfully clever to any one coming in from outside. do you mind if i dance a little, to move the air about?"
-"we shall be delighted," said miss ford indulgently. "shall i play for you?"
-the witch did not answer; she rose, and as she rose she threw a little white paper packet into the fire. she danced round the sofa and the chairs. the floor shook a little, and all her watchers twisted their necks gravely, like lizards watching an active fly.
-the parlour-maid, by appearing in the doorway with an inaudible announcement, diverted their attention, though she did not interrupt the witch's exercises.
-a very respectable-looking man came in. darnby frere, who was a student of henry james's works, and therefore constantly made elaborate guesses on matters that did not concern him, and then forgot them because--unlike mr. james's guesses--they were always wrong, gave the newcomer credit for being perhaps a shopwalker, or perhaps a south-eastern and chatham ticket-collector, but surely a chapel-goer.
-at any rate the stranger looked ill at ease, and especially disconcerted by the sight of the dancing witch.
-miss ford realised by now that her wednesday had for some reason gone mad. she had lost her hold on the reins of that usually dignified equipage; there was nothing now for her to do but to grip tight and keep her head.
-she therefore concealed her ignorance of her newest guest's identity, she stiffened her lips and poured out another cup of tea with a nerveless hand. the stranger took the cup of tea with some relief, and said: "thenk you, meddem."
-the witch stopped dancing, and stood in front of the newcomer's chair.
-"i think yours must be a discouraging job," she said to him. "getting people punished for doing things you'd love to do yourself. oh, awfully discouraging. and do tell me, there's a little problem that's been on my mind ever since the war started. i hear that hindenburg says the german army intends to march through london the moment it can brush away the obstacles in front of it. have you considered what will happen to the traffic, because you know germans on principle march on the wrong side of the street--indeed everybody in the world does, except the conscientious british. think of the knotted convulsions of traffic at the bank, with a hundred thousand boches goose-stepping on the wrong side of the road--think of poor thin fleet street, and the dam that would occur in piccadilly circus. what do you policemen intend to do about it?"
-"i don't know i'm sure, miss," said the newcomer coldly. "it's a long time since i was on point duty. i'm a plain clothes man, meddem," he added to miss ford. "i'm afraid i'm intruding on your tea-party, owing to your maid misunderstanding my business. but being 'ere, i 'ope you'll excuse me stating what i've come for."
-"oh certainly, certainly," said miss ford, who was staring vaguely into the fireplace. a rather fascinating thread of lilac smoke was spinning itself out of the ashes of the little white paper packet.
-"the names of the mayor of the brown borough, miss meter mostyn ford, and lady a. 'iggins--all of 'oom i understand from the maid are present--'ave been mentioned as being presoomably willing to give information likely to be 'elpful in the search for a suspicious cherecter 'oo is believed to 'ave intruded on a cheritable meeting, at which you were present last seturday, in order to escape arrest, 'aving just perpetrated a petty theft from a baker, 'ermann schwab. the cherecter is charged now with a more important offence, being in possession of an armed flying machine, in defiance of the defence of the realm act, and interfering with the work of 'is majesty's forces during enemy attack. the cherecter is believed to be a man in female disguise, but enquiry up to date 'as failed to get any useful description. you ladies and gents, i understand, should be able to 'elp the law in this metter."
-there was a stunned silence in the room, broken only by the pastoral sound of the witch eating grassy sandwiches. after a moment miss ford, the mayor, and lady arabel all began speaking at once, and each stopped with a look of relief on hearing that some one else was ready to take the responsibility of speaking.
-then the witch began with her mouth full: "you know----," but lady arabel interrupted her.
-"angela dear, be silent. this does not concern you. of course, inspector, we're all only too dretfully anxious to do anything to help the law, but you must specify the occasion more exactly. our committee sees so many applicants."
-the threads of curious smoke in the fireplace were increasing. they shivered as though with laughter, and flowed like crimped hair up the chimney.
-"i had a dinner-party last night certainly," stammered lady arabel. a trembling seized the sock she was knitting. she had turned the heel some time ago, but in the present stress had forgotten all about the toe. the prolonged sock grew every minute more and more like a drain-pipe with a bend in it. "why yes, of course i had a dinner-party; why shouldn't i? my son rrchud, a private in the london rifles, this young lady, miss angela--er--, and her friend--such a good quiet creature...."
-"and 'oo else was in the 'ouse?" asked the policeman, glancing haughtily at the witch.
-"oh nobody, nobody. the servants all gave notice and left--too dretfully tahsome how they can't stand rrchud and his ways. of course there was the orchestra--twenty-five pieces--but so dependable."
-"dependable," said the witch, "is a mystery word to me. i can't think how it got into the english language without being right. surely depend-on-able----"
-"your son 'as peculiar ways, you say, my lady," interrupted the policeman.
-"oh, nothing to speak of," answered lady arabel, wincing. "merely lighthearted ... too dretfully bohemian ... ingenious, you know, in making experiments ... magnetism...."
-"i did," said the witch.
-the policeman withered her once more with a glance.
-"thenk you, my lady."
-"you seem to me dretfully impertinent," said lady arabel. "this is not a court of law. my son rrchud left the house with me and our guest to seek shelter from the raid."
-"thenk you, my lady," repeated the policeman coldly, and turned to miss ford.
-"could you identify the cherecter 'oo came into your committee room last seturday?" he asked of her.
-"no," she replied.
-"couldn't you say whether it seemed like a male or a female in disguise? couldn't you mention any physical pecooliarity that struck you?"
-"no," said miss ford.
-"'ave you no memory of last seturday night?"
-"no," said miss ford.
-"i have," said the witch.
-the policeman bridled. "i was addressing this 'ere lady, miss m.m. ford. can you at least tell me, meddem, 'ow long you and the 'iggins family 'ave been acquainted?"
-"no," said miss ford.
-"eighteen years," said lady arabel.
-the fumes from the fireplace were very strong indeed, but nobody called attention to them.
-"i'm sorry, ..." said miss ford presently, very slowly, "that ... i ... can't help you. i have ... been having ... nerve-storms ... since ... last ... saturday...."
-the policeman fixed his ominous gaze upon her for quite a minute before he wrote something in his notebook.
-"is private richard 'iggins in town to-night?" he asked of lady arabel in a casual voice.
-"i suppose so," she replied. "but he has such a dretful habit of disappearing...."
-the policeman turned to the mayor.
-"now, sir," he said. "could you help me at all in----"
-"look here," said the witch, rising. "if you would only come along to my house in mitten island i can truly give you all the information you need. in fact, won't you come to supper with me? if some one will kindly lend me half-a-crown i will go on ahead and cook something."
-mr. tovey mechanically produced a coin.
-"here, harold," called the witch, and holding harold's collar she stepped out on to the balcony, mounted, and flew away.
-she left a room full of noise behind her.
-the policeman, who was intoxicated with the strange fumes, said: "hell. hell. hell."
-lady arabel called in vain: "angela, angela, don't be so dretfully rash."
-mr. tovey, now afflicted with a lock of hair in each eye, seized the policeman by the shoulder thinking to prevent him from jumping out of the window. "you fool," he shouted.
-the mayor slapped his thigh with a loud report. "lawdy," he yelled. "she's a sport. she will 'ave 'er joke."
-miss macbee laughed hysterically and very loudly.
-mr. darnby frere said "my word" rather cautiously several times, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. he rather thought everybody was pulling his leg, but could not be sure.
-only miss ford sat silent.
-the house of living alone moves away
-when sarah brown and richard, followed by the dog david, reached the mitten island ferry, after travelling slowly by moonlight, they were surprised to see a great crowd of people banked up on the island, and one man in the uniform of a policeman, standing alone on the mainland. about ten yards from land the ferryman sat in his boat, rowing gently to keep himself stationary in the current.
-"you'll 'ave to come to shore now," said the policeman, in the tone of one exhausted by long argument. "'ere's some more parties wanting to cross." he turned to richard. "look 'ere, mate," he said. "i'm 'ere in the discharge of my dooty, and this ferryman is obstructin' me."
-"deah, deah," said richard.
-the ferryman said: "if the king of england--why, if the two ghosts of queen victoria and albert the good--was waiting to cross now, i wouldn't come in for them, not if it was going to give you a chance to set foot on mitten island."
-the crowd across the river, divining that a climax of defiance was being reached, shouted: "yah, yah," in unison.
-"is either of you parties an 'ouse'older on mitten island?" asked the policeman of sarah brown and richard.
-"i am," said richard, to his companion's surprise.
-"can you give me any information regarding the whereabouts of a cherecter known under any of these names: iris 'yde, t.b. watkins, hangela the witch, possibly a male in female disguise, believed to conduct a general shop and boardin' 'ouse on mitten island?"
-"there is only one shop on mitten island," said richard. "and one boarding house. all in one. i own it. i can recite you the prospectus if you like. i have a superintendent there. i have known her all my life. i did not know she was believed to be a male in female disguise. i did not know she had any name at all, let alone half-a-dozen."
-the policeman seemed to be troubled all the time by mosquitoes. he slapped his face and his ears and the back of his neck. he succeeded in killing one insect upon the bridge of his nose, and left it there by mistake, a strangely ignoble corpse. sarah brown suspected richard of some responsibility for this untimely persecution.
-"that party is charged with an offence against the defence of the realm act," said the policeman,--"with being, although a civilian, in possession of a flying machine, and--er--obstructin' 'is majesty's enemies in the performance of their dooty."
-"oh deah, deah," said richard. "deah, deah, deah...."
-"do either of you know the present whereabouts of the party?" persisted the policeman. attacked on every side by insects, he was becoming rather pathetic in his discomfort and indignity. his small eyes, set in red fat, stared with uncomprehending protest; his fat busy hands were not agile enough to defend him. he felt unsuccessful and foolish, and very near the ground. he wished quite disproportionately to be at home with his admiring wife in acton.
-sarah brown shook her head in reply, and richard could say nothing but "oh deah, deah...."
-"may i take your name and 'ome address, and regimental number, please, young man," said the policeman, after a baffled pause.
-"now my address," said richard, with genuine shame, "is a thing i honestly can never remember. i know i've heard it; i've tried and tried to learn it at my mother's knee. it begins with an h, i think. that's the worst of not being able to read or write. i can describe the place to you exactly, a house with a lot of windows, that sees a long way. if you turn your back on the marble arch, and go on till you get to a big poster saying eat less meat, and then turn to your right--(pointing to the left)--or again, if you go by air as the crow flies--or rather as the witch flies----"
-"you shall 'ear of this foolery, my fine feller," said the distressed policeman, almost with a break in his voice. "seein' as 'ow you refuse information, an' this ferryman thinks fit to defy the law, i 'ave no course open but to whistle for my mate, and leave 'im 'ere while i telephone for a police-boat."
-he raised his whistle to his lips, but before he could blow it, the climax of this the least successful evening of his life, overwhelmed him. a shadow swept over the party, a large flying substance caught him full on the back of the neck and knocked him off the landing-stage into the river.
-the witch on harold her broomstick landed on the spot vacated by the policeman.
-"oh, look what i've done, look what i've done ..." she exclaimed in an ecstasy of vexation. there was no need to tell anybody to look. five hundred odd people were already doing so with enthusiasm. "oh, what a dreadfully bad landing! oh, harold, how could you be so careless?"
-she took the cringing harold by the mane and slapped him violently once or twice. richard stretched out his riding-crop to the splashing policeman, murmuring: "oh deah, deah...."
-"don't be frightened," said the witch to the policeman. "we'll soon get you out, and the water's so shallow you can't sink. talking of sinking, richard, there's a question that puzzles me rather. if a rat got on to a submarine, how would it behave? a submarine, you see, is a sinking ship, and rats pride themselves so on knowing when to----"
-sarah brown seized the witch by the shoulder. "go away, witch," she said.
-"how d'you mean--go away?" asked the witch. "i've only just this minute come."
-"go away, go away," was all that sarah brown could manage to repeat.
-"oh, very well," said the witch in her offended grown-up voice. "i can take a hint, i suppose, as well as anybody. i'm going."
-she seated herself with an irritable flouncing movement on harold's saddle, and flew away.
-the policeman climbed out of the water, looking like an enraged seal. peals of laughter from the other side of the moonlit river robbed him of adequate words.
-"not ser fast, my fine feller," he roared, seeing richard kissing the horse vivian on the nose, preparatory to riding away. "don't you think for a minute i don't know 'oo's at the bottom of this."
-he twined one finger negligently into the mane on the horse vivian's neck, and pulled himself slowly into the saddle. the policeman stood mysteriously impotent. water dripped loudly from his clothes and punctuated richard's quiet speech.
-"dear policeman," continued richard. "i believe you have talked so much to-night that you haven't heard what a quiet night it is. you are smaller than a star, and yet you make more noise than all the stars together. you are not so cold as the moon, and yet your teeth chatter more loudly than hers. the heat of your wrath is less than the heat of the sun, and yet, while he is silent and departed, you fill the air with clamour, and--if i may say so--seem to be outstaying your welcome. oh, dear policeman, listen.... do you know, if there were no london on this side and no war on that, the silence would be deep enough to fill all the seas of all the worlds...."
-he shook the reins, and the horse vivian moved, treading quietly on the strip of grass that borders the path to the ferry.
-"i am going to talk to my true love now," said richard, his voice fading away as he rode. "my true love's voice is the only voice that is a little more beautiful to me than silence...."
-for a moment he looked every inch a wizard. every button on his uniform and every buckle on the horse vivian's harness caught the moonlight, and changed into faery spangles as he turned and waved his hand before disappearing.
-the policeman seemed quieted, as he looked at sarah brown sitting, white and haggard with pain, on the river bank, with her arm round the shivering david.
-"in a minute, in a minute, my one," she was saying to david. "we are nearly home now. we shall soon be quiet now."
-there was always something startlingly inoffensive about sarah brown's appearance.
-"i'd like to know 'oo was responsible for this houtrage, all the same," said the policeman.
-sarah brown did not hear him, but she said: "oh, i am so very sorry it happened. it was a pure accident, of course, but it is so terrible to see any one have an accident to his dignity. you must forget it quickly, you must run and find someone who knows you at your best, you must tell her a fine revised version of the incident, and then you will feel better."
-the ferryman shouted: "i don't mind coming in now to fetch this young woman. you can come too now if you like, mr. pompous-in-the-pond, for the party you're looking for is not at home, and i've no doubt but what that crowd over there will give you a gay welcome."
-"i'll look into the metter to-morrer," said the policeman. "you 'aven't 'eard the last of this, none of you 'aven't, not by a long chalk. i've a good mind to get the mayor to read the riot act at you."
-as sarah brown landed on mitten island she could not distinguish the faces of the waiting crowd, but she heard sharp anxious voices.
-"they ain't goin' to get 'er, not if i knows it."
-"she never speaks but kindness, the dear lamb."
-"she's more of a saint than any in the calendar."
-"she gave my danny a room in 'er house, and put 'eart into 'im after 'e lost 'is sight in the war."
-"she's the good fairy of the island."
-"she grew all them sweet williams in my garden in one night, when i first come 'ere and was 'omesick for devon."
-"the law's always after saints and fairies, always 'as bin."
-"but the law can't catch 'er."
-"the law has driven her away," said sarah brown. "there is no magic now on mitten island."
-a piece of paper was impaled upon the counter by means of a headless hatpin. there was something very largely and badly written on it. sarah brown read: "well soup it looks like my night's come and what dyou think sherry's come too. im an me as gone off to a place e knows that's a fine place for such a boy as elbert to be born in so no more at present from your true peony."
-sarah brown climbed up the short stairway, painful step by painful step, to her cell. she sat on her bed holding her throbbing side, and breathing with fearful caution. she looked at the empty grate. she put a cigarette in her mouth, the unconscious and futile answer of the dweller alone to that blind hunger for comfort. but she had no matches, and presently, dimly conscious that her groping for comfort had lacked result, she absently put another cigarette into her mouth, and then felt a fool.
-she stared at the cold window. the sky seemed to be nailed carelessly to it by means of a crooked star or two.
-these are the terrible nights of living alone, when you have fever and sometimes think that your beloved stands in the doorway to bring you comfort, and sometimes think that you have no beloved, and that there is no one left in all the world, no word, no warmth, nor ever a kindly candle to be lighted in that spotted darkness that walls up your hot sight. again on those nights you dream that you have already done those genial things your body cries for, or perhaps that other has done them. the fire is built and alight at last, a cup of something cool and beautifully sour stands ready to your hand, you can hear the delicious rattle of china on a tray in the passage--someone coming with food you would love to look at, and presently perhaps to eat ... when you feel better. but again and again your eyes open on the cold dumb darkness, and there is nothing but the wind and strange sinister emptiness creaking on the stair.
-these are the terrible nights of living alone, yet no real lover of that house and of that state would ever exchange one of those haunted and desert nights for a night spent watched, in soft warm places.
-sarah brown was not long left alone that night to look at the strip of moonlight on the cold ashes of her fireplace. the shop below shook suddenly with many footfalls, and the metallic officious barking of the dog david rent the still air of her cell.
-a man's voice at the foot of the stairs said: "i can hear a dog barking." and a woman's voice followed it: "angela, dear, is that you?"
-sarah brown was only aware of a vague and irksome disturbance. she groped to her door, opened it, and shouted miserably: "go away, policeman, go away. she is not here."
-lady arabel came up, flashing an electric torch.
-"my dear, you look dretfully ill. why look, you are trembling. why look, your little dog is making your counterpane muddy. don't be afraid for angela, we are all here to try and help her."
-"yes, meta and the mayor and mr. tovey and mr. frere. let me help you into bed, and then you shall tell me what you know of her. you have had a dretfully trying time."
-"i am well," said sarah brown ungraciously. "you are none of you going to help the witch without me."
-"ah, this is all very dretful," sighed lady arabel. "most foolish of us to come here all together like this, after the policeman took our names and addresses, and was dretfully impertinent and suspicious. but meta insisted. i quite expect to spend the next twenty-four hours in gaol, or else to be shot for offence of the realm. in fact, speaking as a ratepayer, i think the police ought to have done it before. still, meta thought we might perhaps be able to help angela.... meta has many friends who seem influential ... but so talkative, my dear."
-she led the way downstairs. mr. tovey and the mayor were talking at the foot of the stairs, mr. frere was listening sardonically. as sarah brown went past them into the shop, she smelt the unflower-like scent that always denoted the presence of miss ford. sarah brown herself was accompanied by nothing more seductive than a faint smell of gasoline, showing that her clothes had lately been home-cleaned. in the darkness of the shop she saw miss ford stooping, trying to shut the big difficult drawer in which the witch kept her magic.
-"it is frightfully explosive," said sarah brown.
-miss ford started and straightened her back. "ah, miss brown.... i was just looking about...."
-sarah brown sat gasping on the counter, and the rest of the party re-entered the shop, bringing the lantern.
-"how very absurd all this is," said miss ford nervously,--"taking such a great deal of trouble about a necessitous case."
-"america is in my mind," said lady arabel. "if we could get her there. anybody who has done anything silly goes to america. indeed, if i remember rightly, america is entirely populated with fugitives from somewhere else. so dretfully confusing for the red indians. they say the story of the tower of babel was only a prophecy about the woolworth building--"
-"you couldn't get a passport," said mr. darnby frere, who was the only person present really conscious of sanity. "only a miracle could produce a passport in these days, especially for a fugitive from justice."
-"only a miracle--or magic," said sarah brown.
-miss ford moved instinctively behind the counter towards the open drawer full of ingredients for happiness.
-"we must remember," added mr. frere, "that, after all, she did break the law. in fact i cannot for the life of me imagine why on earth we are all--"
-"oh, darnby, do be sensible," said miss ford. "of course we know it is wrong to break the law, but in this case--well, i myself should be the last to blame her."
-"no, not the last," said sarah brown.
-"what do you mean?"
-"certainly not the last. probably not even the penultimate one. you flatter yourself."
-"why, surely some of you ladies, movin' in the 'ighest circles, knows of gentlemen in the foreign office that would do a little shut-eye job, for old times' sake," suggested the mayor.
-this was a challenge to miss ford. she ceased to gaze haughtily on sarah brown. "men from three departments of the foreign office are fairly regular wednesday friends of mine," she said. "but i could hardly trouble any of them on--er--so trivial a matter."
-there was silence, while miss ford toyed gingerly with one of the paper packets out of the witch's drawer. presently she said: "what about richard?"
-lady arabel showed sudden irritation. "there you go again, meta; i have spoken to you of it again and again. it's rrchud this and rrchud that whenever anything in the least tahsome or out of the way happens. one would think you considered the poor boy a wizard."
-"you needn't lose your temper, arabel," said miss ford coldly. "i only meant that richard might be useful, having so many friends, and such skill in ... chemistry...." as if unconsciously she tore off one corner of the packet of magic she held before adding: "and besides, as i have often told you, i believe richard to have real occult power, which would give him a special interest in this case."
-sarah brown, who was burying her face in her hands and missing much of the conversation, caught the name of richard, and said: "richard has gone to his true love."
-a tempest of restrained embarrassment arose.
-"she's feverish," murmured miss ford, turning scarlet.
-"my dear sarah," said lady arabel tartly. "you are quite mistaken, and i must beg of you to be careful how you repeat idle gossip about my son. rrchud is at his office. you know it is only open at night--one of rrchud's quaint fancies."
-"i will ring up his office," said miss ford, deciding to ignore sarah brown both now and in future. "where is the telephone?"
-"there is none," replied sarah brown. "this is the house of living alone."
-miss ford was pouring a grain or two of the magic into her palm. "how very credulous people are," she said with a self-conscious smile. "if thelma bennett watkins were here she would credit this powder with--"
-sarah brown felt suddenly well. she trembled but was well. she jumped off the counter. "i will run across, if you like," she said, "and ring up richard from the ferryman's house. he may have left his true love now. i am not deaf on the telephone, and the ferryman won't admit strangers."
-as she left, the smell of magic was getting stronger and stronger. mr. tovey, still impersonating delilah in the corner, was approaching the more excitable passages of the song. miss ford was saying, "really, bernard...." sarah brown felt a slight misgiving.
-a warm and rather dramatic-looking light was shining behind the red curtain of the ferryman's lattice window, as sarah brown crossed the moonlit road. she delighted, after her recent black hours, to think of all those people in the world who were sitting stuffily and pleasantly in little ugly rooms that they loved, doing quiet careful things that pleased them. and she told herself that the thought of richard's little office, alone and alight in the deserted city every night, would comfort her often in the darkness.
-the ferryman opened his door, and invited her genially to his telephone. he had been sitting at his table, surrounded by the snakes that for him took the place of a family. on the table was a bowl of milk from which a large bull-snake, in a gay turkey-carpet design, was drinking. a yellow and black python lay coiled in several figures of eight in the armchair, and an intelligent-looking small dust-coloured snake with a broad nose and an active tongue leaned out of the ferryman's breast pocket.
-"aren't they beautiful?" he said, with shy and paternal pride, as sarah brown tried to find a place on which the python would like to be tickled or scratched. somehow the python has a barren figure, from a caresser's point of view. the ferryman went on: "there is something about the grip and spring in a snake's body that makes me feel giddy with pleasure. snakes to me, you know, are just a drug, sold by the yard instead of in bottles. my brain is getting every day colder and quieter, and all through loving snakes so."
-sarah brown rang up richard's office, and the over-refined voice of a young gentleman clerk answered her.
-mr. higgins was not in the office.
-mr. higgins had left particular word that if any one wanted him they were to be told that he had--er--gone to his true love.
-but any minor business matter connected with magic could be attended to in his absence. mr. higgins spending so much of his time on the battlefield at present, a good deal of the routine work had to be done in any case by the speaker, his confidential clerk.
-passports to america? perfectly simple. the office had simply to issue blank sheets treated in a certain way, and every official to whom the sheet should be presented would read upon it what he would want. but mr. higgins would have to affix his mark and seal. mr. higgins would be in the office sometime to-night, probably within the hour.
-how many passports?
-"two," said sarah brown. "one for my friend and one for me. a dog doesn't need one, does he--a british dog? i will book the berths to-morrow. i can pawn my--or rather, i can sell my war loan."
-as she hung up the receiver, the ferryman asked: "are you having a party up at the shop, in the superintendent's absence?"
-"not intentionally," replied sarah brown. "why?"
-"well, i just wondered. there's a noise like a thousand mad gramophones playing backwards, coming from there."
-the lantern was standing in the middle of the floor, its glass was shattered, and out of each of its eight panels streamed a great flame six or seven feet high, like the petal of an enormous flower. facing these flames stood miss ford and mr. tovey, hand in hand, each singing a different song very earnestly. lady arabel had found somewhere a patent fire extinguisher, and was putting on her glasses in order to read the directions. mr. frere was hesitating in the background with a leaking biscuit tin full of water. the mayor was gone.
-"great scott!" said sarah brown. you'll burn the place down. look at that row of petticoats up there, catching fire already. what have you done with the mayor?"
-"we made him invisible by mistake," whispered mr. tovey. "but sh--sh, he doesn't know it yet."
-"nothing matters," said miss ford. "we are all going to america." and she continued her song, which was an extempore one about the sea.
-"but that's no reason why you should burn the house down," said sarah brown.
-"that's what i thought," agreed mr. frere. "but water won't put out that flame."
-the singers fell silent. only the voice of the invisible mayor could be heard, singing, "if those lips could only speak," in a loud tremulous voice, to the accompaniment of his own unseen stamping feet.
-"you've been putting magic into that flame," said sarah brown distractedly. "i told you it was dangerous. nothing will put magic out, except more magic. what will the witch say?"
-"it doesn't matter what anybody says," said miss ford. "we are all going to america. no place and no person matters when i am not there. there are no places and no people existing where i am not. i have suspected it before, and now i am sure that everything is all a pretence, except me. look how easy it was to dismiss that gross grocer from sight. he was just a bit of background. i have painted him out."
-the drapery department on the ceiling was ablaze now, and flakes of ashy petticoat, and the metal frames of buttons, showered to the floor.
-"i will go and get help," said sarah brown, and hurried out of doors, followed feverishly by david, who was not a very brave dog in moments of crisis, and yet liked to appear busy and helpful. it was to the ferryman's telephone that they returned. sarah brown knew that the fire was a magic fire, and that an appeal to the l.c.c. fire brigade would only bring defeat and unnecessary bewilderment upon a deserving organisation.
-sarah brown rang up richard's office, and richard, who had a heroic and almost cinematic gift for being on hand at the right moments, answered her himself.
-"come at once," said sarah brown. "the house of living alone is on fire. someone has been tampering with the magic drawer."
-"oh deah, deah," said richard. "and this is such a busy night at the office too. do you think it is really important? it is my house, you know."
-"well, i don't see what is to prevent mitten island from being burnt to the water's edge. in fact i don't see why, being a magic fire, it should stop at the water's edge. not to mention that the mayor----"
-"very well, i'll come," said richard.
-as she stepped out of the door he arrived.
-"i came by flash of lightning," he explained, smoothing his hair and readjusting his bill sykes service cap, in the manner of one who has moved swiftly. "the lightning service is getting very bad. i was held up for quite three-quarters of a second over whitehall. there was some wireless war-news coming in, and the lightning had to let it pass. now, what's all this fuss about, sarah brown?"
-there was a crowd of delirious mitten islanders round the house of living alone. while sarah brown and richard were about fifty yards away, a many-forked and enormous white flame suddenly wrapped the house about, like a hand clutching and crushing it.
-"the faggots round the stake are lighted," said richard. "but the witch has fled."
-it seemed that the stars were devoured by the flame, so far did it outshine them. the flame shrank in upon itself and collapsed. there was no more house of living alone.
-"oh, richard," said sarah brown. "your mother and miss ford and----"
-"was mother in there?" asked richard placidly. "wonders will never cease. well, well, it is fortunate that no magic of any sort could ever touch mother."
-and indeed, as they pushed through the crowd, they saw all the recent occupants of the shop arguing at the front gate.
-"i didn't blow it," mr. tovey was saying in an aggrieved voice. "i was singing, not blowing."
-"well, all i know is that while you were on that high note something seemed to scatter the flames, and the drawer full of explosives caught fire," said mr. darnby frere aggressively, flourishing his empty biscuit tin.
-"it doesn't matter," said miss ford calmly. "we are all going across the sea to-morrow." she roused herself a little, and said to mr. frere with a smile: "you know, i inherit the sea tradition. my father commanded h.m.s. indigestible in '84."
-"i wonder what put out the flame so suddenly?" asked mr. tovey, who was still dreamily beating time to imaginary music with one hand.
-"i put it out," said richard.
-"i wonder whose house it is?" added mr. tovey, turning vaguely to face richard.
-"it is my house," said richard.
-they all discovered his presence.
-"your house, dear rrchud?" exclaimed lady arabel. "are you sure? i didn't know the higginses had any house property on mitten island."
-"they haven't now," replied richard. "but never mind. it has always seemed to me that there were too many houses in the world. most houses are traps into which everything enters, and out of which nothing comes. it always grieves me to see tradesmen pouring sustenance in at the back door, and no result or justification coming out of the front door. i often think that only the houses that men's bodies have deserted are really inhabited."
-"it was i who burnt your house down, richard," said miss ford. "but it doesn't matter. it wasn't a real house."
-"you are right," said richard. "to such as you, dear meta, it was not a real house. it was the house of living alone, and only to people who live alone was it real. it is dark and deserted now, and levelled with the cold ground; it is as though it were a tent, being moved from its position to follow the fortunes of those dwellers alone who wander continually in silence up and down the world...."
-he looked at sarah brown.
-"talking of wandering," said miss ford. "we are all going to america, richard. can you get us passports?"
-"certainly," agreed richard. "to america, eh? a nice little trip for you all. america, you know, would be entirely magic, if it weren't for the americans...."
-"i have quite a circle of friends in new york," said miss ford, who seemed to be recovering from her nerve-storm.
-"beware," said richard, "lest you all forget the magic of to-night, and change from adventurers to tourists."
-"i am not going to america," said lady arabel. "i am going home. i never heard such dretful nonsense. i was only in fun when i agreed to the plan."
-"i never agreed to the plan at all," said mr. frere. "i shall be truly thankful to get to bed, and wake up to-morrow sober. i will never go out to tea in kensington again if this is the result."
-"i am going to america," said mr. tovey, fixing his innocent eyes, obscured by hair, upon miss ford.
-"i am going to america," echoed the unseen mayor from an unexpected direction. nobody had yet dared to tell him of the misfortune that had overtaken him. "i'll give up this mayor job to-morrer. catch me stayin' be'ind if--oh, by the way, that reminds me----"
-"i didn't need reminding," interrupted sarah brown. "it seems to me that everybody has forgotten why they came here. please, richard, do you know of a spell to find a missing person?"
-"yes, several," answered richard, who was always as eager as a travelling salesman to recommend his wares. "there is an awfully ingenious little spell i can show you, if you happen to have a telephone book and a compass and a toad's heart and a hair from a black goat's beard about you. or again, if you stand on a sea-beach at low tide on christmas night with the moon at your back and a wax candle in your left hand, and write upon the sand the name--by the way, who is it you want to find?"
-"the witch," answered sarah brown.
-richard's face fell. "oh, only the witch?" he said. "i can tell you where she is without any spell at all. she's with my true love at higgins farm, helping--oh, by the way, mother, i forgot to tell you. you are a grandmother."
-"rrchud!" said lady arabel. she sat down suddenly on the smooth grass slope between the road and the garden hedge. "ah, it is too cruel," she cried, burying her face in her hands. "it is too cruel. is this my son? i meant so well, and all my life i did the things that other people did, the natural things. except just once. and for that once, i am so cruelly punished.... i am given a son who is no son to me, who says only things i mustn't understand ... who does only things i mustn't see...." she paused, and, taking her hands from her face, looked round aghast at richard, who was sitting beside her on the bank, stroking her arm. "a faery son ..." she added in a terrified whisper, and then broke out again crying: "ah, it is too cruel...."
-richard continued to stroke her arm without comprehension. "yes, mother, and peony, my true love, insists on calling him elbert," he said. "mother, listen, elbert your faery grandson...."
-but lady arabel still sobbed.
-the dweller alone
-"well, sarah brown, here we are," said the witch, her byronic hair flying as she sat perilously on the rail of the deck. the distant flying buttresses of new york were supporting a shining sky, and north and east lay the harbour and sea, and many ships moving with the glad gait of home-comers after perilous voyaging.
-every minute upon the sea is a magic minute, but the voyage of the witch and sarah brown had been unmarked by any supernatural activities on the part of the witch. she had been more or less extinguished by the presence of five hundred americans, not one of whom had ever heard the word "magic" used, except by advertisers in connection with their wares.
-miss ford had been left behind, cured for ever of nerve-storms. she had become unexpectedly engaged to mr. bernard tovey while looking for a porter on lime street station, liverpool, and had returned with him to london to celebrate the event by means of a super-wednesday. the mayor also had failed to embark. indeed the unfortunate man had not been heard of since his seizure on the night of the fire, and i believe that the london police are still trying to arrest him as a german spy.
-"here we are," said the witch to sarah brown. "at least, i suppose this city on its tiptoes is new york. do you think i ought to call the attention of the captain to that largish lady on our left, who seems to be marooned upon a rock, and signalling to us for help?"
-"that is the statue of liberty," said three neighbouring americans in chorus.
-"how d'you mean--liberty?" asked the witch.
-the three americans froze her with three glances.
-"america is the home of liberty," they said all together.
-"oh yes, of course, how stupid of me," said the witch. "i ought to have remembered that every country is the home of liberty. such a pity that liberty never seems to begin at home. every big shop in london, you know, is labelled patronised by royalty, yet i have bought haberdashery by the hour without running across a single queen. i suppose if you didn't have this big label sticking up in your harbour, you americans might forget that america is the home of liberty. i know quite a lot about america from a grey squirrel who rents my may-tree on mitten island. it is a long time since he came over, but he still chitters with a strong new england accent. he came away because he was a socialist. i gather america is too full of liberty to leave room for socialism, isn't that so? my squirrel says there are only two parties in america, republicans and sinners--at least i think that was what he said--and anybody who belongs to neither of these parties is given penal servitude for life. so i understood, but i may be wrong. i am not very good at politics. anyway, my squirrel had to leave the home of liberty and come to england, so as to be able to say what he thought. i wish i were there too. sarah brown, i don't yet know why you brought me here."
-"i brought you here to escape the law," said sarah brown.
-"how d'you mean--escape the law? didn't you know that all magic lives and thrives on the wrath of the law? have you forgotten our heroic tradition of martyrdom and the stake? isn't the world tame enough already? what do you want magic to become? a branch of the civil service?"
-"i spent all i had in bringing you here," said sarah brown. "i left all i loved to bring you here. i am as if dead in england now. nobody there will ever think of me again, except as a thing that has been heard the last of."
-"ah, witch, don't leave me, don't leave me like this, ill and bewildered and so far from home...."
-"how can you ever be far from home, you, a dweller in the greatest home of all. did you think you had destroyed the house of living alone? did you think you could escape from it?"
-sarah brown said nothing. she watched the witch call harold her broomstick to her, and adjust the saddle and tighten the strap round his middle. she watched her mount and embark upon the sunny air. the three americans were talking politics, and did not notice anything but each other. the witch alighted for a moment on one spike of the crown of liberty, and climbing carefully down on to the lady's parting, was seen by sarah brown to bend down till her head hung apoplectically upside down, and gaze long and curiously into that impassive bronze eye. presently she remounted harold, and, with a flippant and ambiguous gesture of her foot, launched herself eastward. she disappeared without looking back.
-the dock was reached. sarah brown collected david her dog, and humphrey her suit-case. hers was a very wieldy family. an official asked her something, using one side of his mouth only to do so, in the alarming manner of american officials.
-"i cannot hear you," said sarah brown. "i am stone deaf."
-and she stepped over the threshold of the greater house of living alone.
-printed by r. & r. clark, limited, edinburgh.
-note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 14917-h.htm or 14917-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/9/1/14917/14917-h/14917-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/9/1/14917/14917-h.zip)
-the wings of the morning
-author of a son of the immortals, the stowaways, the message, the wheel o' fortune, etc.
-new york grosset & dunlap publishers
-the wreck of the sirdar
-lady tozer adjusted her gold-rimmed eye-glasses with an air of dignified aggressiveness. she had lived too many years in the far east. in hong kong she was known as the "mandarin." her powers of merciless inquisition suggested torments long drawn out. the commander of the sirdar, homeward bound from shanghai, knew that he was about to be stretched on the rack when he took his seat at the saloon table.
-"from whom did you learn that, lady tozer?" captain ross was wary, though somewhat surprised.
-"from miss deane. i understood her a moment ago to say that you had told her."
-"didn't you? some one told me this morning. i couldn't have guessed it, could i?" miss iris deane's large blue eyes surveyed him with innocent indifference to strict accuracy. incidentally, she had obtained the information from her maid, a nose-tilted coquette who extracted ship's secrets from a youthful quartermaster.
-"well--er--i had forgotten," explained the tactful sailor.
-"is it true?"
-lady tozer was unusually abrupt today. but she was annoyed by the assumption that the captain took a mere girl into his confidence and passed over the wife of the ex-chief justice of hong kong.
-"yes, it is," said captain ross, equally curt, and silently thanking the fates that her ladyship was going home for the last time.
-"how horrible!" she gasped, in unaffected alarm. this return to femininity soothed the sailor's ruffled temper.
-sir john, her husband, frowned judicially. that frown constituted his legal stock-in-trade, yet it passed current for wisdom with the hong kong bar.
-"what evidence have you?" he asked.
-"do tell us," chimed in iris, delightfully unconscious of interrupting the court. "did you find out when you squinted at the sun?"
-the captain smiled. "you are nearer the mark than possibly you imagine, miss deane," he said. "when we took our observations yesterday there was a very weird-looking halo around the sun. this morning you may have noticed several light squalls and a smooth sea marked occasionally by strong ripples. the barometer is falling rapidly, and i expect that, as the day wears, we will encounter a heavy swell. if the sky looks wild tonight, and especially if we observe a heavy bank of cloud approaching from the north-west, you see the crockery dancing about the table at dinner. i am afraid you are not a good sailor, lady tozer. are you, miss deane?"
-"capital! i should just love to see a real storm. now promise me solemnly that you will take me up into the charthouse when this typhoon is simply tearing things to pieces."
-"oh dear! i do hope it will not be very bad. is there no way in which you can avoid it, captain? will it last long?"
-the politic skipper for once preferred to answer lady tozer. "there is no cause for uneasiness," he said. "of course, typhoons in the china sea are nasty things while they last, but a ship like the sirdar is not troubled by them. she will drive through the worst gale she is likely to meet here in less than twelve hours. besides, i alter the course somewhat as soon as i discover our position with regard to its center. you see, miss deane--"
-and captain ross forthwith illustrated on the back of a menu card the spiral shape and progress of a cyclone. he so thoroughly mystified the girl by his technical references to northern and southern hemispheres, polar directions, revolving air-currents, external circumferences, and diminished atmospheric pressures, that she was too bewildered to reiterate a desire to visit the bridge.
-then the commander hurriedly excused himself, and the passengers saw no more of him that day.
-but his short scientific lecture achieved a double result. it rescued him from a request which he could not possibly grant, and reassured lady tozer. to the non-nautical mind it is the unknown that is fearful. a storm classed as "periodic," whose velocity can be measured, whose duration and direction can be determined beforehand by hours and distances, ceases to be terrifying. it becomes an accepted fact, akin to the steam-engine and the electric telegraph, marvelous yet commonplace.
-so her ladyship dismissed the topic as of no present interest, and focused miss deane through her eye-glasses.
-"sir arthur proposes to come home in june, i understand?" she inquired.
-iris was a remarkably healthy young woman. a large banana momentarily engaged her attention. she nodded affably.
-"you will stay with relatives until he arrives?" pursued lady tozer.
-the banana is a fruit of simple characteristics. the girl was able to reply, with a touch of careless hauteur in her voice:
-"relatives! we have none--none whom we specially cultivate, that is. i will stop in town a day or two to interview my dressmaker, and then go straight to helmdale, our place in yorkshire."
-"surely you have a chaperon!"
-"a chaperon! my dear lady tozer, did my father impress you as one who would permit a fussy and stout old person to make my life miserable?"
-business detained sir arthur. a war-cloud over-shadowed the two great divisions of the yellow race. he must wait to see how matters developed, but he would not expose iris to the insidious treachery of a chinese spring. so, with tears, they separated. she was confided to the personal charge of captain ross. at each point of call the company's agents would be solicitous for her welfare. the cable's telegraphic eye would watch her progress as that of some princely maiden sailing in royal caravel. this fair, slender, well-formed girl--delightfully english in face and figure--with her fresh, clear complexion, limpid blue eyes, and shining brown hair, was a personage of some importance.
-lady tozer knew these things and sighed complacently.
-"ah, well," she resumed. "parents had different views when i was a girl. but i assume sir arthur thinks you should become used to being your own mistress in view of your approaching marriage."
-"my--approaching--marriage!" cried iris, now genuinely amazed.
-"yes. is it not true that you are going to marry lord ventnor?"
-a passing steward heard the point-blank question.
-it had a curious effect upon him. he gazed with fiercely eager eyes at miss deane, and so far forgot himself as to permit a dish of water ice to rest against sir john tozer's bald head.
-iris could not help noting his strange behavior. a flash of humor chased away her first angry resentment at lady tozer's interrogatory.
-"that may be my happy fate," she answered gaily, "but lord ventnor has not asked me."
-"confound you, you stupid rascal! what are you doing?" shouted sir john. his feeble nerves at last conveyed the information that something more pronounced than a sudden draught affected his scalp; the ice was melting.
-the incident amused those passengers who sat near enough to observe it. but the chief steward, hovering watchful near the captain's table, darted forward. pale with anger he hissed--
-"report yourself for duty in the second saloon tonight," and he hustled his subordinate away from the judge's chair.
-miss deane, mirthfully radiant, rose.
-"please don't punish the man, mr. jones," she said sweetly. "it was a sheer accident. he was taken by surprise. in his place i would have emptied the whole dish."
-the chief steward smirked. he did not know exactly what had happened; nevertheless, great though sir john tozer might be, the owner's daughter was greater.
-"certainly, miss, certainly," he agreed, adding confidentially:--"it is rather hard on a steward to be sent aft, miss. it makes such a difference in the--er--the little gratuities given by the passengers."
-the girl was tactful. she smiled comprehension at the official and bent over sir john, now carefully polishing the back of his skull with a table napkin.
-"i am sure you will forgive him," she whispered. "i can't say why, but the poor fellow was looking so intently at me that he did not see what he was doing."
-the ex-chief justice was instantly mollified. he did not mind the application of ice in that way--rather liked it, in fact--probably ice was susceptible to the fire in miss deane's eyes.
-lady tozer was not so easily appeased. when iris left the saloon she inquired tartly: "how is it, john, that government makes a shipowner a baronet and a chief justice only a knight?"
-"that question would provide an interesting subject for debate at the carlton, my dear," he replied with equal asperity.
-suddenly the passengers still seated experienced a prolonged sinking sensation, as if the vessel had been converted into a gigantic lift. they were pressed hard into their chairs, which creaked and tried to swing round on their pivots. as the ship yielded stiffly to the sea a whiff of spray dashed through an open port.
-"there," snapped her ladyship, "i knew we should run into a storm, yet captain ross led us to believe---- john, take me to my cabin at once."
-from the promenade deck the listless groups watched the rapid advance of the gale. there was mournful speculation upon the sirdar's chances of reaching singapore before the next evening.
-"we had two hundred and ninety-eight miles to do at noon," said experience. "if the wind and sea catch us on the port bow the ship will pitch awfully. half the time the screw will be racing. i once made this trip in the sumatra, and we were struck by a south-east typhoon in this locality. how long do you think it was before we dropped anchor in singapore harbor?"
-no one hazarded a guess.
-"three days!" experience was solemnly pompous. "three whole days. they were like three years. by jove! i never want to see another gale like that."
-a timid lady ventured to say--
-"perhaps this may not be a typhoon. it may only be a little bit of a storm."
-her sex saved her from a jeer. experience gloomily shook his head.
-"the barometer resists your plea," he said. "i fear there will be a good many empty saddles in the saloon at dinner."
-the lady smiled weakly. it was a feeble joke at the best. "you think we are in for a sort of marine steeple-chase?" she asked.
-"well, thank heaven, i had a good lunch," sniggered a rosy-faced subaltern, and a ripple of laughter greeted his enthusiasm.
-iris stood somewhat apart from the speakers. the wind had freshened and her hat was tied closely over her ears. she leaned against the taffrail, enjoying the cool breeze after hours of sultry heat. the sky was cloudless yet, but there was a queer tinge of burnished copper in the all-pervading sunshine. the sea was coldly blue. the life had gone out of it. it was no longer inviting and translucent. that morning, were such a thing practicable, she would have gladly dived into its crystal depths and disported herself like a frolicsome mermaid. now something akin to repulsion came with the fanciful remembrance.
-the crew were busy too. squads of lascars raced about, industriously obedient to the short shrill whistling of jemadars and quartermasters. boat lashings were tested and tightened, canvas awnings stretched across the deck forward, ventilator cowls twisted to new angles, and hatches clamped down over the wooden gratings that covered the holds. officers, spotless in white linen, flitted quietly to and fro. when the watch was changed. iris noted that the "chief" appeared in an old blue suit and carried oilskins over his arm as he climbed to the bridge.
-nature looked disturbed and fitful, and the ship responded to her mood. there was a sense of preparation in the air, of coming ordeal, of restless foreboding. chains clanked with a noise the girl never noticed before; the tramp of hurrying men on the hurricane deck overhead sounded heavy and hollow. there was a squeaking of chairs that was abominable when people gathered up books and wraps and staggered ungracefully towards the companion-way. altogether miss deane was not wholly pleased with the preliminaries of a typhoon, whatever the realities might be.
-and then, why did gales always spring up at the close of day? could they not start after breakfast, rage with furious grandeur during lunch, and die away peacefully at dinner-time, permitting one to sleep in comfort without that straining and groaning of the ship which seemed to imply a sharp attack of rheumatism in every joint?
-why did that silly old woman allude to her contemplated marriage to lord ventnor, retailing the gossip of hong kong with such malicious emphasis? for an instant iris tried to shake the railing in comic anger. she hated lord ventnor. she did not want to marry him, or anybody else, just yet. of course her father had hinted approval of his lordship's obvious intentions. countess of ventnor! yes, it was a nice title. still, she wanted another couple of years of careless freedom; in any event, why should lady tozer pry and probe?
-and finally, why did the steward--oh, poor old sir john! what would have happened if the ice had slid down his neck? thoroughly comforted by this gleeful hypothesis, miss deane seized a favorable opportunity to dart across to the starboard side and see if captain ross's "heavy bank of cloud in the north-west" had put in an appearance.
-ha! there it was, black, ominous, gigantic, rolling up over the horizon like some monstrous football. around it the sky deepened into purple, fringed with a wide belt of brick red. she had never seen such a beginning of a gale. from what she had read in books she imagined that only in great deserts were clouds of dust generated. there could not be dust in the dense pall now rushing with giant strides across the trembling sea. then what was it? why was it so dark and menacing? and where was desert of stone and sand to compare with this awful expanse of water? what a small dot was this great ship on the visible surface! but the ocean itself extended away beyond there, reaching out to the infinite. the dot became a mere speck, undistinguishable beneath a celestial microscope such as the gods might condescend to use.
-iris shivered and aroused herself with a startled laugh.
-a nice book in a sheltered corner, and perhaps forty winks until tea-time--surely a much more sensible proceeding than to stand there, idly conjuring up phantoms of affright.
-the lively fanfare of the dinner trumpet failed to fill the saloon. by this time the sirdar was fighting resolutely against a stiff gale. but the stress of actual combat was better than the eerie sensation of impending danger during the earlier hours. the strong, hearty pulsations of the engines, the regular thrashing of the screw, the steadfast onward plunging of the good ship through racing seas and flying scud, were cheery, confident, and inspiring.
-miss deane justified her boast that she was an excellent sailor. she smiled delightedly at the ship's surgeon when he caught her eye through the many gaps in the tables. she was alone, so he joined her.
-"you are a credit to the company--quite a sea-king's daughter," he said.
-"doctor, do you talk to all your lady passengers in that way?"
-"alas, no! too often i can only be truthful when i am dumb."
-iris laughed. "if i remain long on this ship i will certainly have my head turned," she cried. "i receive nothing but compliments from the captain down to--to----
-"no. you come a good second on the list."
-in very truth she was thinking of the ice-carrying steward and his queer start of surprise at the announcement of her rumored engagement. the man interested her. he looked like a broken-down gentleman. her quick eyes traveled around the saloon to discover his whereabouts. she could not see him. the chief steward stood near, balancing himself in apparent defiance of the laws of gravitation, for the ship was now pitching and rolling with a mad zeal. for an instant she meant to inquire what had become of the transgressor, but she dismissed the thought at its inception. the matter was too trivial.
-with a wild swoop all the plates, glasses, and cutlery on the saloon tables crashed to starboard. were it not for the restraint of the fiddles everything must have been swept to the floor. there were one or two minor accidents. a steward, taken unawares, was thrown headlong on top of his laden tray. others were compelled to clutch the backs of chairs and cling to pillars. one man involuntarily seized the hair of a lady who devoted an hour before each meal to her coiffure. the sirdar, with a frenzied bound, tried to turn a somersault.
-"a change of course," observed the doctor. "they generally try to avoid it when people are in the saloon, but a typhoon admits of no labored politeness. as its center is now right ahead we are going on the starboard tack to get behind it."
-"i must hurry up and go on deck," said miss deane.
-"you will not be able to go on deck until the morning."
-she turned on him impetuously. "indeed i will. captain ross promised me--that is, i asked him----"
-the doctor smiled. she was so charmingly insistent. "it is simply impossible," he said. "the companion doors are bolted. the promenade deck is swept by heavy seas every minute. a boat has been carried away and several stanchions snapped off like carrots. for the first time in your life, miss deane, you are battened down."
-the girl's face must have paled somewhat. he added hastily, "there is no danger, you know, but these precautions are necessary. you would not like to see several tons of water rushing down the saloon stairs; now, would you?"
-"decidedly not." then after a pause, "it is not pleasant to be fastened up in a great iron box, doctor. it reminds one of a huge coffin."
-"not a bit. the sirdar is the safest ship afloat. your father has always pursued a splendid policy in that respect. the london and hong kong company may not possess fast vessels, but they are seaworthy and well found in every respect."
-"are there many people ill on board?"
-"no; just the usual number of disturbed livers. we had a nasty accident shortly before dinner."
-"good gracious! what happened?"
-"some lascars were caught by a sea forward. one man had his leg broken."
-the doctor hesitated. he became interested in the color of some burgundy. "i hardly know the exact details yet," he replied. "tomorrow after breakfast i will tell you all about it."
-an english quartermaster and four lascars had been licked from off the forecastle by the greedy tongue of a huge wave. the succeeding surge flung the five men back against the quarter. one of the black sailors was pitched aboard, with a fractured leg and other injuries. the others were smashed against the iron hull and disappeared.
-for one tremulous moment the engines slowed. the ship commenced to veer off into the path of the cyclone. captain ross set his teeth, and the telegraph bell jangled "full speed ahead."
-the gale sang a mad requiem to its victims. the very surface was torn from the sea. the ship drove relentlessly through sheets of spray that caused the officers high up on the bridge to gasp for breath. they held on by main force, though protected by strong canvas sheets bound to the rails. the main deck was quite impassable. the promenade deck, even the lofty spar deck, was scourged with the broken crests of waves that tried with demoniac energy to smash in the starboard bow, for the sirdar was cutting into the heart of the cyclone.
-the captain fought his way to the charthouse. he wiped the salt water from his eyes and looked anxiously at the barometer.
-"still falling!" he muttered. "i will keep on until seven o'clock and then bear three points to the southward. by midnight we should be behind it."
-he struggled back into the outside fury. by comparison the sturdy citadel he quitted was paradise on the edge of an inferno.
-down in the saloon the hardier passengers were striving to subdue the ennui of an interval before they sought their cabins. some talked. one hardened reprobate strummed the piano. others played cards, chess, draughts, anything that would distract attention.
-the stately apartment offered strange contrast to the warring elements without. bright lights, costly upholstery, soft carpets, carved panels and gilded cornices, with uniformed attendants passing to and fro carrying coffee and glasses--these surroundings suggested a floating palace in which the raging seas were defied. yet forty miles away, somewhere in the furious depths, four corpses swirled about with horrible uncertainty, lurching through battling currents, and perchance convoyed by fighting sharks.
-the surgeon had been called away. iris was the only lady left in the saloon. she watched a set of whist players for a time and then essayed the perilous passage to her stateroom. she found her maid and a stewardess there. both women were weeping.
-"what is the matter?" she inquired.
-the stewardess tried to speak. she choked with grief and hastily went out. the maid blubbered an explanation.
-"a friend of hers was married, miss, to the man who is drowned."
-"drowned! what man?"
-iris by degrees learnt the sad chronicles of the jackson family. she was moved to tears. she remembered the doctor's hesitancy, and her own idle phrase--"a huge coffin."
-outside the roaring waves pounded upon the iron walls.
-were they not satiated? this tragedy had taken all the grandeur out of the storm. it was no longer a majestic phase of nature's power, but an implacable demon, bellowing for a sacrifice. and that poor woman, with her two children, hopefully scanning the shipping lists for news of the great steamer, news which, to her, meant only the safety of her husband. oh, it was pitiful!
-iris would not be undressed. the maid sniveled a request to be allowed to remain with her mistress. she would lie on a couch until morning.
-two staterooms had been converted into one to provide miss deane with ample accommodation. there were no bunks, but a cozy bed was screwed to the deck. she lay down, and strove to read. it was a difficult task. her eyes wandered from the printed page to mark the absurd antics of her garments swinging on their hooks. at times the ship rolled so far that she felt sure it must topple over. she was not afraid; but subdued, rather astonished, placidly prepared for vague eventualities. through it all she wondered why she clung to the belief that in another day or two the storm would be forgotten, and people playing quoits on deck, dancing, singing coon songs in the music-room, or grumbling at the heat.
-things were ridiculous. what need was there for all this external fury? why should poor sailors be cast forth to instant death in such awful manner? if she could only sleep and forget--if kind oblivion would blot out the storm for a few blissful hours! but how could one sleep with the consciousness of that watery giant thundering his summons upon the iron plates a few inches away?
-then came the blurred picture of captain ross high up on the bridge, peering into the moving blackness. how strange that there should be hidden in the convolutions of a man's brain an intelligence that laid bare the pretences of that ravenous demon without. each of the ship's officers, the commander more than the others, understood the why and the wherefore of this blustering combination of wind and sea. iris knew the language of poker. nature was putting up a huge bluff.
-what was it the captain said in his little lecture? "when a ship meets a cyclone north of the equator on a westerly course she nearly always has the wind at first on the port side, but, owing to the revolution of the gale, when she passes its center the wind is on the starboard side."
-yes, that was right, as far as the first part was concerned. evidently they had not yet passed the central path. oh, dear! she was so tired. it demanded a physical effort to constantly shove away an unseen force that tried to push you over. how funny that a big cloud should travel up against the wind! and so, amidst confused wonderment, she lapsed into an uneasy slumber, her last sentient thought being a quiet thankfulness that the screw went thud-thud, thud-thud with such firm determination.
-after the course was changed and the sirdar bore away towards the south-west, the commander consulted the barometer each half-hour. the tell-tale mercury had sunk over two inches in twelve hours. the abnormally low pressure quickly created dense clouds which enhanced the melancholy darkness of the gale.
-for many minutes together the bows of the ship were not visible. masthead and sidelights were obscured by the pelting scud. the engines thrust the vessel forward like a lance into the vitals of the storm. wind and wave gushed out of the vortex with impotent fury.
-at last, soon after midnight, the barometer showed a slight upward movement. at 1.30 a.m. the change became pronounced; simultaneously the wind swung round a point to the westward.
-then captain ross smiled wearily. his face brightened. he opened his oilskin coat, glanced at the compass, and nodded approval.
-"that's right," he shouted to the quartermaster at the steam-wheel. "keep her steady there, south 15 west."
-"south 15 west it is, sir," yelled the sailor, impassively watching the moving disk, for the wind alteration necessitated a little less help from the rudder to keep the ship's head true to her course.
-captain ross ate some sandwiches and washed them down with cold tea. he was more hungry than he imagined, having spent eleven hours without food. the tea was insipid. he called through a speaking-tube for a further supply of sandwiches and some coffee.
-then he turned to consult a chart. he was joined by the chief officer. both men examined the chart in silence.
-captain ross finally took a pencil. he stabbed its point on the paper in the neighborhood of 14° n. and 112° e.
-"we are about there, i think."
-the chief agreed. "that was the locality i had in my mind." he bent closer over the sheet.
-"nothing in the way tonight, sir," he added.
-"nothing whatever. it is a bit of good luck to meet such weather here. we can keep as far south as we like until daybreak, and by that time--how did it look when you came in?"
-"a trifle better, i think."
-the two officers passed out into the hurricane. instantly the wind endeavored to tear the charthouse from off the deck. they looked aloft and ahead. the officer on duty saw them and nodded silent comprehension. it was useless to attempt to speak. the weather was perceptibly clearer.
-then all three peered ahead again. they stood, pressing against the wind, seeking to penetrate the murkiness in front. suddenly they were galvanized into strenuous activity.
-a wild howl came from the lookout forward. the eyes of the three men glared at a huge dismasted chinese junk, wallowing helplessly in the trough of the sea, dead under the bows.
-the captain sprang to the charthouse and signaled in fierce pantomime that the wheel should be put hard over.
-the officer in charge of the bridge pressed the telegraph lever to "stop" and "full speed astern," whilst with his disengaged hand he pulled hard at the siren cord, and a raucous warning sent stewards flying through the ship to close collision bulkhead doors. the "chief" darted to the port rail, for the sirdar's instant response to the helm seemed to clear her nose from the junk as if by magic.
-a great wave sucked her away from the steamer and then hurled her back with irresistible force. the sirdar was just completing her turning movement, and she heeled over, yielding to the mighty power of the gale. for an appreciable instant her engines stopped. the mass of water that swayed the junk like a cork lifted the great ship high by the stern. the propeller began to revolve in air--for the third officer had corrected his signal to "full speed ahead" again--and the cumbrous chinese vessel struck the sirdar a terrible blow in the counter, smashing off the screw close to the thrust-block and wrenching the rudder from its bearings.
-there was an awful race by the engines before the engineers could shut off steam. the junk vanished into the wilderness of noise and tumbling seas beyond, and the fine steamer of a few seconds ago, replete with magnificent energy, struggled like a wounded leviathan in the grasp of a vengeful foe.
-she swung round, as if in wrath, to pursue the puny assailant which had dealt her this mortal stroke. no longer breasting the storm with stubborn persistency, she now drifted aimlessly before wind and wave. she was merely a larger plaything, tossed about by titantic gambols. the junk was burst asunder by the collision. her planks and cargo littered the waves, were even tossed in derision on to the decks of the sirdar. of what avail was strong timber or bolted iron against the spleen of the unchained and formless monster who loudly proclaimed his triumph? the great steamship drifted on through chaos. the typhoon had broken the lance.
-but brave men, skilfully directed, wrought hard to avert further disaster. after the first moment of stupor, gallant british sailors risked life and limb to bring the vessel under control.
-by their calm courage they shamed the paralyzed lascars into activity. a sail was rigged on the foremast, and a sea anchor hastily constructed as soon as it was discovered that the helm was useless. rockets flared up into the sky at regular intervals, in the faint hope that should they attract the attention of another vessel she would follow the disabled sirdar and render help when the weather moderated.
-when the captain ascertained that no water was being shipped, the damage being wholly external, the collision doors were opened and the passengers admitted to the saloon, a brilliant palace, superbly indifferent to the wreck and ruin without.
-captain ross himself came down and addressed a few comforting words to the quiet men and pallid women gathered there. he told them exactly what had happened.
-sir john tozer, self-possessed and critical, asked a question.
-"the junk is destroyed, i assume?" he said.
-"would it not have been better to have struck her end on?"
-"much better, but that is not the view we should take if we encountered a vessel relatively as big as the sirdar was to the unfortunate junk."
-"but," persisted the lawyer, "what would have been the result?"
-"you would never have known that the incident had happened, sir john."
-"in other words, the poor despairing chinamen, clinging to their little craft with some chance of escape, would be quietly murdered to suit our convenience."
-it was iris's clear voice that rang out this downright exposition of the facts. sir john shook his head; he carried the discussion no further.
-the hours passed in tedious misery after captain ross's visit. every one was eager to get a glimpse of the unknown terrors without from the deck. this was out of the question, so people sat around the tables to listen eagerly to experience and his wise saws on drifting ships and their prospects.
-some cautious persons visited their cabins to secure valuables in case of further disaster. a few hardy spirits returned to bed.
-meanwhile, in the charthouse, the captain and chief officer were gravely pondering over an open chart, and discussing a fresh risk that loomed ominously before them. the ship was a long way out of her usual course when the accident happened. she was drifting now, they estimated, eleven knots an hour, with wind, sea, and current all forcing her in the same direction, drifting into one of the most dangerous places in the known world, the south china sea, with its numberless reefs, shoals, and isolated rocks, and the great island of borneo stretching right across the path of the cyclone.
-still, there was nothing to be done save to make a few unobtrusive preparations and trust to idle chance. to attempt to anchor and ride out the gale in their present position was out of the question.
-two, three, four o'clock came, and went. another half-hour would witness the dawn and a further clearing of the weather. the barometer was rapidly rising. the center of the cyclone had swept far ahead. there was only left the aftermath of heavy seas and furious but steadier wind.
-captain ross entered the charthouse for the twentieth time.
-"it is impossible to see a yard ahead," he confided to his second in command. "i have never been so anxious before in my life. thank god the night is drawing to a close. perhaps, when day breaks----"
-his last words contained a prayer and a hope. even as he spoke the ship seemed to lift herself bodily with an unusual effort for a vessel moving before the wind.
-the next instant there was a horrible grinding crash forward. each person who did not chance to be holding fast to an upright was thrown violently down. the deck was tilted to a dangerous angle and remained there, whilst the heavy buffeting of the sea, now raging afresh at this unlooked-for resistance, drowned the despairing yells raised by the lascars on duty.
-the sirdar had completed her last voyage. she was now a battered wreck on a barrier reef. she hung thus for one heart-breaking second. then another wave, riding triumphantly through its fellows, caught the great steamer in its tremendous grasp, carried her onward for half her length and smashed her down on the rocks. her back was broken. she parted in two halves. both sections turned completely over in the utter wantonness of destruction, and everything--masts, funnels, boats, hull, with every living soul on board--was at once engulfed in a maelstrom of rushing water and far-flung spray.
-when the sirdar parted amidships, the floor of the saloon heaved up in the center with a mighty crash of rending woodwork and iron. men and women, too stupefied to sob out a prayer, were pitched headlong into chaos. iris, torn from the terrified grasp of her maid, fell through a corridor, and would have gone down with the ship had not a sailor, clinging to a companion ladder, caught her as she whirled along the steep slope of the deck.
-he did not know what had happened. with the instinct of self-preservation he seized the nearest support when the vessel struck. it was the mere impulse of ready helpfulness that caused him to stretch out his left arm and clasp the girl's waist as she fluttered past. by idle chance they were on the port side, and the ship, after pausing for one awful second, fell over to starboard.
-the man was not prepared for this second gyration. even as the stairway canted he lost his balance; they were both thrown violently through the open hatchway, and swept off into the boiling surf. under such conditions thought itself was impossible. a series of impressions, a number of fantastic pictures, were received by the benumbed faculties, and afterwards painfully sorted out by the memory. fear, anguish, amazement--none of these could exist. all he knew was that the lifeless form of a woman--for iris had happily fainted--must be held until death itself wrenched her from him. then there came the headlong plunge into the swirling sea, followed by an indefinite period of gasping oblivion. something that felt like a moving rock rose up beneath his feet. he was driven clear out of the water and seemed to recognize a familiar object rising rigid and bright close at hand. it was the binnacle pillar, screwed to a portion of the deck which came away from the charthouse and was rent from the upper framework by contact with the reef.
-a uniformed figure--he thought it was the captain--stretched out an unavailing arm to clasp the queer raft which supported the sailor and the girl. but a jealous wave rose under the platform with devilish energy and turned it completely over, hurling the man with his inanimate burthen into the depths. he rose, fighting madly for his life. now surely he was doomed! but again, as if human existence depended on naught more serious than the spinning of a coin, his knees rested on the same few staunch timbers, now the ceiling of the music-room, and he was given a brief respite. his greatest difficulty was to get his breath, so dense was the spray through which he was driven. even in that terrible moment he kept his senses. the girl, utterly unconscious, showed by the convulsive heaving of her breast that she was choking. with a wild effort he swung her head round to shield her from the flying scud with his own form.
-the tiny air-space thus provided gave her some relief, and in that instant the sailor seemed to recognize her. he was not remotely capable of a definite idea. just as he vaguely realized the identity of the woman in his arms the unsteady support on which he rested toppled over. again he renewed the unequal contest. a strong resolute man and a typhoon sea wrestled for supremacy.
-this time his feet plunged against something gratefully solid. he was dashed forward, still battling with the raging turmoil of water, and a second time he felt the same firm yet smooth surface. his dormant faculties awoke. it was sand. with frenzied desperation, buoyed now by the inspiring hope of safety, he fought his way onwards like a maniac.
-often he fell, three times did the backwash try to drag him to the swirling death behind, but he staggered blindly on, on, until even the tearing gale ceased to be laden with the suffocating foam, and his faltering feet sank in deep soft white sand.
-then he fell, not to rise again. with a last weak flicker of exhausted strength he drew the girl closely to him, and the two lay, clasped tightly together, heedless now of all things.
-how long the man remained prostrate he could only guess subsequently. the sirdar struck soon after daybreak and the sailor awoke to a hazy consciousness of his surroundings to find a shaft of sunshine flickering through the clouds banked up in the east. the gale was already passing away. although the wind still whistled with shrill violence it was more blustering than threatening. the sea, too, though running very high, had retreated many yards from the spot where he had finally dropped, and its surface was no longer scourged with venomous spray.
-slowly and painfully he raised himself to a sitting posture, for he was bruised and stiff. with his first movement he became violently ill. he had swallowed much salt water, and it was not until the spasm of sickness had passed that he thought of the girl.
-she had slipped from his breast as he rose, and was lying, face downwards, in the sand. the memory of much that had happened surged into his brain with horrifying suddenness.
-"she cannot be dead," he hoarsely murmured, feebly trying to lift her. "surely providence would not desert her after such an escape. what a weak beggar i must be to give in at the last moment. i am sure she was living when we got ashore. what on earth can i do to revive her?"
-forgetful of his own aching limbs in this newborn anxiety, he sank on one knee and gently pillowed iris's head and shoulders on the other. her eyes were closed, her lips and teeth firmly set--a fact to which she undoubtedly owed her life, else she would have been suffocated--and the pallor of her skin seemed to be that terrible bloodless hue which indicates death. the stern lines in the man's face relaxed, and something blurred his vision. he was weak from exhaustion and want of food. for the moment his emotions were easily aroused.
-"oh, it is pitiful," he almost whimpered. "it cannot be!"
-with a gesture of despair he drew the sleeve of his thick jersey across his eyes to clear them from the gathering mist. then he tremblingly endeavored to open the neck of her dress and unclasp her corsets. he had a vague notion that ladies in a fainting condition required such treatment, and he was desperately resolved to bring iris deane back to conscious existence if it were possible. his task was rendered difficult by the waistband of her dress. he slipped out a clasp-knife and opened the blade.
-not until then did he discover that the nail of the forefinger on his right hand had been torn out by the quick, probably during his endeavors to grasp the unsteady support which contributed so materially to his escape. it still hung by a shred and hindered the free use of his hand. without any hesitation he seized the offending nail in his teeth and completed the surgical operation by a rapid jerk.
-bending to resume his task he was startled to find the girl's eyes wide open and surveying him with shadowy alarm. she was quite conscious, absurdly so in a sense, and had noticed his strange action.
-"thank god!" he cried hoarsely. "you are alive."
-her mind as yet could only work in a single groove.
-"why did you do that?" she whispered.
-"bite your nail off!"
-"it was in my way. i wished to cut open your dress at the waist. you were collapsed, almost dead, i thought, and i wanted to unfasten your corsets."
-her color came back with remarkable rapidity. from all the rich variety of the english tongue few words could have been selected of such restorative effect.
-she tried to assume a sitting posture, and instinctively her hands traveled to her disarranged costume.
-"how ridiculous!" she said, with a little note of annoyance in her voice, which sounded curiously hollow. but her brave spirit could not yet command her enfeebled frame. she was perforce compelled to sink back to the support of his knee and arm.
-"do you think you could lie quiet until i try to find some water?" he gasped anxiously.
-she nodded a childlike acquiescence, and her eyelids fell. it was only that her eyes smarted dreadfully from the salt water, but the sailor was sure that this was a premonition of a lapse to unconsciousness.
-"please try not to faint again," he said. "don't you think i had better loosen these things? you can breathe more easily."
-a ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. "no--no," she murmured. "my eyes hurt me--that is all. is there--any--water?"
-he laid her tenderly on the sand and rose to his feet. his first glance was towards the sea. he saw something which made him blink with astonishment. a heavy sea was still running over the barrier reef which enclosed a small lagoon. the contrast between the fierce commotion outside and the comparatively smooth surface of the protected pool was very marked. at low tide the lagoon was almost completely isolated. indeed, he imagined that only a fierce gale blowing from the north-west would enable the waves to leap the reef, save where a strip of broken water, surging far into the small natural harbor, betrayed the position of the tiny entrance.
-yet at this very point a fine cocoanut palm reared its stately column high in air, and its long tremulous fronds were now swinging wildly before the gale. from where he stood it appeared to be growing in the midst of the sea, for huge breakers completely hid the coral embankment. this sentinel of the land had a weirdly impressive effect. it was the only fixed object in the waste of foam-capped waves. not a vestige of the sirdar remained seaward, but the sand was littered with wreckage, and--mournful spectacle!--a considerable number of inanimate human forms lay huddled up amidst the relics of the steamer.
-this discovery stirred him to action. he turned to survey the land on which he was stranded with his helpless companion. to his great relief he discovered that it was lofty and tree-clad. he knew that the ship could not have drifted to borneo, which still lay far to the south. this must be one of the hundreds of islands which stud the china sea and provide resorts for haïnan fishermen. probably it was inhabited, though he thought it strange that none of the islanders had put in an appearance. in any event, water and food, of some sort, were assured.
-but before setting out upon his quest two things demanded attention. the girl must be removed from her present position. it would be too horrible to permit her first conscious gaze to rest upon those crumpled objects on the beach. common humanity demanded, too, that he should hastily examine each of the bodies in case life was not wholly extinct.
-so he bent over the girl, noting with sudden wonder that, weak as she was, she had managed to refasten part of her bodice.
-"you must permit me to carry you a little further inland," he explained gently.
-without another word he lifted her in his arms, marveling somewhat at the strength which came of necessity, and bore her some little distance, until a sturdy rock, jutting out of the sand, offered shelter from the wind and protection from the sea and its revelations.
-"i am so cold, and tired," murmured iris. "is there any water? my throat hurts me."
-he pressed back the tangled hair from her forehead as he might soothe a child.
-"try to lie still for a very few minutes," he said.
-"you have not long to suffer. i will return immediately."
-his own throat and palate were on fire owing to the brine, but he first hurried back to the edge of the lagoon. there were fourteen bodies in all, three women and eleven men, four of the latter being lascars. the women were saloon passengers whom he did not know. one of the men was the surgeon, another the first officer, a third sir john tozer. the rest were passengers and members of the crew. they were all dead; some had been peacefully drowned, others were fearfully mangled by the rocks. two of the lascars, bearing signs of dreadful injuries, were lying on a cluster of low rocks overhanging the water. the remainder rested on the sand.
-the sailor exhibited no visible emotion whilst he conducted his sad scrutiny. when he was assured that this silent company was beyond mortal help he at once strode away towards the nearest belt of trees. he could not tell how long the search for water might be protracted, and there was pressing need for it.
-when he reached the first clump of brushwood he uttered a delighted exclamation. there, growing in prodigal luxuriance, was the beneficent pitcher-plant, whose large curled-up leaf, shaped like a teacup, not only holds a lasting quantity of rain-water, but mixes therewith its own palatable and natural juices.
-with his knife he severed two of the leaves, swearing emphatically the while on account of his damaged finger, and hastened to iris with the precious beverage. she heard him and managed to raise herself on an elbow.
-the poor girl's eyes glistened at the prospect of relief. without a word of question or surprise she swallowed the contents of both leaves.
-then she found utterance. "how odd it tastes! what is it?" she inquired.
-but the eagerness with which she quenched her thirst renewed his own momentarily forgotten torture. his tongue seemed to swell. he was absolutely unable to reply.
-the water revived iris like a magic draught. her quick intuition told her what had happened.
-"you have had none yourself," she cried. "go at once and get some. and please bring me some more."
-"what is it?" she repeated after another delicious draught.
-"the leaf of the pitcher-plant. nature is not always cruel. in an unusually generous mood she devised this method of storing water."
-miss deane reached out her hand for more. her troubled brain refused to wonder at such a reply from an ordinary seaman. the sailor deliberately spilled the contents of a remaining leaf on the sand.
-"no, madam," he said, with an odd mixture of deference and firmness. "no more at present. i must first procure you some food."
-she looked up at him in momentary silence.
-"the ship is lost?" she said after a pause.
-"are we the only people saved?"
-"i fear so."
-"is this a desert island?"
-"i think not, madam. it may, by chance, be temporarily uninhabited, but fishermen from china come to all these places to collect tortoise-shell and bêche-de-mer. i have seen no other living beings except ourselves; nevertheless, the islanders may live on the south side."
-another pause. amidst the thrilling sensations of the moment iris found herself idly speculating as to the meaning of bêche-de-mer, and why this common sailor pronounced french so well. her thoughts reverted to the steamer.
-"it surely cannot be possible that the sirdar has gone to pieces--a magnificent vessel of her size and strength?"
-he answered quietly--"it is too true, madam. i suppose you hardly knew she struck, it happened so suddenly. afterwards, fortunately for you, you were unconscious."
-"how do you know?" she inquired quickly. a flood of vivid recollection was pouring in upon her.
-"i--er--well, i happened to be near you, madam, when the ship broke up, and we--er--drifted ashore together."
-she rose and faced him. "i remember now," she cried hysterically. "you caught me as i was thrown into the corridor. we fell into the sea when the vessel turned over. you have saved my life. were it not for you i could not possibly have escaped."
-she gazed at him more earnestly, seeing that he blushed beneath the crust of salt and sand that covered his face. "why," she went on with growing excitement, "you are the steward i noticed in the saloon yesterday. how is it that you are now dressed as a sailor?"
-he answered readily enough. "there was an accident on board during the gale, madam. i am a fair sailor but a poor steward, so i applied for a transfer. as the crew were short-handed my offer was accepted."
-iris was now looking at him intently.
-"you saved my life," she repeated slowly. it seemed that this obvious fact needed to be indelibly established in her mind. indeed the girl was overwrought by all that she had gone through. only by degrees were her thoughts marshaling themselves with lucid coherence. as yet, she recalled so many dramatic incidents that they failed to assume due proportion.
-"is it really true that all the ship's company except ourselves are lost?" she brokenly demanded.
-the sailor's gravely earnest glance fell before hers. "unhappily there is no room for doubt," he said.
-"are you quite, quite sure?"
-"i am sure--of some." involuntarily he turned seawards.
-she understood him. she sank to her knees, covered her face with her hands, and broke into a passion of weeping. with a look of infinite pity he stooped and would have touched her shoulder, but he suddenly restrained the impulse. something had hardened this man. it cost him an effort to be callous, but he succeeded. his mouth tightened and his expression lost its tenderness.
-"but not beyond our sympathy," wailed iris, uncovering her swimming eyes for a fleeting look at him. even in the utter desolation of the moment she could not help marveling that this queer-mannered sailor, who spoke like a gentleman and tried to pose as her inferior, who had rescued her with the utmost gallantry, who carried his quixotic zeal to the point of first supplying her needs when he was in far worse case himself, should be so utterly indifferent to the fate of others.
-he waited silently until her sobs ceased.
-"now, madam," he said, "it is essential that we should obtain some food. i don't wish to leave you alone until we are better acquainted with our whereabouts. can you walk a little way towards the trees, or shall i assist you?"
-"certainly i can walk," she answered. "what do you propose to do?"
-"what is your name?" she interrupted imperiously.
-"jenks, madam. robert jenks."
-"thank you. now, listen, mr. robert jenks. my name is miss iris deane. on board ship i was a passenger and you were a steward--that is, until you became a seaman. here we are equals in misfortune, but in all else you are the leader--i am quite useless. i can only help in matters by your direction, so i do not wish to be addressed as 'madam' in every breath. do you understand me?"
-conscious that her large blue eyes were fixed indignantly upon him mr. robert jenks repressed a smile. she was still hysterical and must be humored in her vagaries. what an odd moment for a discussion on etiquette!
-"as you wish, miss deane," he said. "the fact remains that i have many things to attend to, and we really must eat something."
-"what can we eat?"
-"let us find out," he replied, scanning the nearest trees with keen scrutiny.
-but iris was in a deplorable plight. her hair fell in a great wave of golden brown strands over her neck and shoulders. every hairpin had vanished, but with a few dexterous twists she coiled the flying tresses into a loose knot. her beautiful muslin dress was rent and draggled. it was drying rapidly under the ever-increasing power of the sun, and she surreptitiously endeavored to complete the fastening of the open portion about her neck. other details must be left until a more favorable opportunity.
-she recalled the strange sight that first met her eyes when she recovered consciousness.
-"you hurt your finger," she said abruptly. "let me see it."
-they had reached the shelter of the trees, pleasantly grateful now, so powerful are tropical sunbeams at even an early hour.
-he held out his right hand without looking at her. indeed, his eyes had been studiously averted during the past few minutes. her womanly feelings were aroused by the condition of the ragged wound.
-"it is not so bad now," he said. "it has been well soaked in salt water, you know. i think the nail was torn off when we--when a piece of wreckage miraculously turned up beneath us."
-iris shredded a strip from her dress. she bound the finger with deft tenderness.
-"thank you," he said simply. then he gave a glad shout. "by jove! miss deane, we are in luck's way. there is a fine plantain tree."
-the pangs of hunger could not be resisted. although the fruit was hardly ripe they tore at the great bunches and ate ravenously. iris made no pretence in the matter, and the sailor was in worse plight, for he had been on duty continuously since four o'clock the previous afternoon.
-at last their appetite was somewhat appeased, though plantains might not appeal to a gourmand as the solitary joint.
-"now," decided jenks, "you must rest here a little while, miss deane. i am going back to the beach. you need not be afraid. there are no animals to harm you, and i will not be far away."
-"what are you going to do on the beach?" she demanded.
-"to rescue stores, for the most part."
-"may i not come with you--i can be of some little service, surely?"
-he answered slowly: "please oblige me by remaining here at present. in less than an hour i will return, and then, perhaps, you will find plenty to do."
-she read his meaning intuitively and shivered. "i could not do that," she murmured. "i would faint. whilst you are away i will pray for them--my unfortunate friends."
-as he passed from her side he heard her sobbing quietly.
-when he reached the lagoon he halted suddenly. something startled him. he was quite certain that he had counted fourteen corpses. now there were only twelve. the two lascars' bodies, which rested on the small group of rocks on the verge of the lagoon, had vanished.
-where had they gone to?
-the sailor wasted no time in idle bewilderment. he searched carefully for traces of the missing lascars. he came to the conclusion that the bodies had been dragged from off the sun-dried rocks into the lagoon by some agency the nature of which he could not even conjecture.
-they were lying many feet above the sea-level when he last saw them, little more than half an hour earlier. at that point the beach shelved rapidly. he could look far into the depths of the rapidly clearing water. nothing was visible there save several varieties of small fish.
-the incident puzzled and annoyed him. still thinking about it, he sat down on the highest rock and pulled off his heavy boots to empty the water out. he also divested himself of his stockings and spread them out to dry.
-the action reminded him of miss deane's necessities. he hurried to a point whence he could call out to her and recommend her to dry some of her clothing during his absence. he retired even more quickly, fearing lest he should be seen. iris had already displayed to the sunlight a large portion of her costume.
-without further delay he set about a disagreeable but necessary task. from the pockets of the first officer and doctor he secured two revolvers and a supply of cartridges, evidently intended to settle any dispute which might have arisen between the ship's officers and the native members of the crew. he hoped the cartridges were uninjured; but he could not test them at the moment for fear of alarming miss deane.
-nevertheless, when it became necessary to search and disrobe the women he almost broke down. for an instant he softened. gulping back his emotions with a savage imprecation he doggedly persevered. at last he paused to consider what should be done with the bodies. his first intent was to scoop a large hole in the sand with a piece of timber; but when he took into consideration the magnitude of the labor involved, requiring many hours of hard work and a waste of precious time which might be of infinite value to his helpless companion and himself, he was forced to abandon the project. it was not only impracticable but dangerous.
-again he had to set his teeth with grim resolution. one by one the bodies were shot into the lagoon from the little quay of rock. he knew they would not be seen again.
-he was quite unnerved now. he felt as if he had committed a colossal crime. in the smooth water of the cove a number of black fins were cutting arrow-shaped ripples. the sharks were soon busy. he shuddered. god's providence had ferried him and the girl across that very place a few hours ago. how wonderful that he and she should be snatched from the sea whilst hundreds perished! why was it? and those others--why were they denied rescue? for an instant he was nearer to prayer than he had been for years.
-some lurking fiend of recollection sprang from out the vista of bygone years and choked back the impulse. he arose and shook himself like a dog. there was much to be done. he gathered the clothes and other articles into a heap and placed portions of shattered packing-cases near--to mislead iris. whilst thus engaged he kicked up out of the sand a rusty kriss, or malay sword. the presence of this implement startled him. he examined it slowly and thrust it out of sight.
-then he went back to her, after donning his stockings and boots, now thoroughly dry.
-"are you ready now, miss deane?" he sang out cheerily.
-"ready? i have been waiting for you."
-jenks chuckled quietly. "i must guard my tongue: it betrays me," he said to himself.
-iris joined him. by some mysterious means she had effected great improvement in her appearance. yet there were manifest gaps.
-"if only i had a needle and thread--" she began.
-"if that is all," said the sailor, fumbling in his pockets. he produced a shabby little hussif, containing a thimble, scissors, needles and some skeins of unbleached thread. case and contents were sodden or rusted with salt water, but the girl fastened upon this treasure with a sigh of deep content.
-it was impossible to resist the infection of her high spirits. this time he laughed without concealment.
-"we will look for them, miss deane. meanwhile, will you oblige me by wearing this? the sun is climbing up rapidly."
-he handed her a sou'wester which he carried. he had secured another for himself. the merriment died away from her face. she remembered his errand. being an eminently sensible young woman she made no protest, even forcing herself to tie the strings beneath her chin.
-when they reached the sands she caught sight of the pile of clothes and the broken woodwork, with the small heaps of valuables methodically arranged. the harmless subterfuge did not deceive her. she darted a quick look of gratitude at her companion. how thoughtful he was! after a fearful glance around she was reassured, though she wondered what had become of--them.
-"i see you have been busy," she said, nodding towards the clothes and boots.
-it was his turn to steal a look of sharp inquiry. 'twere an easier task to read the records of time in the solid rock than to glean knowledge from the girl's face.
-"yes," he replied simply. "lucky find, wasn't it?"
-"most fortunate. when they are quite dry i will replenish my wardrobe. what is the first thing to be done?"
-"well, miss deane, i think our programme is, in the first place, to examine the articles thrown ashore and see if any of the cases contain food. secondly, we should haul high and dry everything that may be of use to us, lest the weather should break again and the next tide sweep away the spoil. thirdly, we should eat and rest, and finally, we must explore the island before the light fails. i am convinced we are alone here. it is a small place at the best, and if any chinamen were ashore they would have put in an appearance long since."
-"do you think, then, that we may remain here long?"
-"it is impossible to form an opinion on that point. help may come in a day. on the other hand----"
-"it is a wise thing, miss deane, to prepare for other contingencies."
-she stood still, and swept the horizon with comprehensive eyes. the storm had vanished. masses of cloud were passing away to the west, leaving a glorious expanse of blue sky. already the sea was calming. huge breakers roared over the reef, but beyond it the waves were subsiding into a heavy unbroken swell.
-the sailor watched her closely. in the quaint oilskin hat and her tattered muslin dress she looked bewitchingly pretty. she reminded him of a well-bred and beautiful society lady whom he once saw figuring as grace darling at a fashionable bazaar.
-but miss iris's thoughts were serious.
-"do you mean," she said slowly, without moving her gaze from the distant meeting-place of sky and water, "that we may be imprisoned here for weeks, perhaps months?"
-"if you cast your mind back a few hours you will perhaps admit that we are very fortunate to be here at all."
-she whisked round upon him. "do not fence with my question, mr. jenks. answer me!"
-he bowed. there was a perceptible return of his stubborn cynicism when he spoke.
-"the facts are obvious, miss deane. the loss of the sirdar will not be definitely known for many days. it will be assumed that she has broken down. the agents in singapore will await cabled tidings of her whereabouts. she might have drifted anywhere in that typhoon. ultimately they will send out a vessel to search, impelled to that course a little earlier by your father's anxiety. pardon me. i did not intend to pain you. i am speaking my mind."
-"go on," said iris bravely.
-"the relief ship must search the entire china sea. the gale might have driven a disabled steamer north, south, east or west. a typhoon travels in a whirling spiral, you see, and the direction of a drifting ship depends wholly upon the locality where she sustained damage. the coasts of china, java, borneo, and the philippines are not equipped with lighthouses on every headland and cordoned with telegraph wires. there are river pirates and savage races to be reckoned with. casting aside all other possibilities, and assuming that a prompt search is made to the south of our course, this part of the ocean is full of reefs and small islands, some inhabited permanently, others visited occasionally by fishermen." he was about to add something, but checked himself.
-"in what way?"
-he turned and pointed to the summit of the tree-covered hill behind them.
-"from that point," he said, "we may see other and larger islands. if so, they will certainly be inhabited. i am surprised this one is not."
-he ended abruptly. they were losing time. before iris could join him he was already hauling a large undamaged case out of the water.
-he laughed unmirthfully. "champagne!" he said, "a good brand, too!"
-this man was certainly an enigma. iris wrinkled her pretty forehead in the effort to place him in a fitting category. his words and accent were those of an educated gentleman, yet his actions and manners were studiously uncouth when he thought she was observing him. the veneer of roughness puzzled her. that he was naturally of refined temperament she knew quite well, not alone by perception but by the plain evidence of his earlier dealings with her. then why this affectation of coarseness, this borrowed aroma of the steward's mess and the forecastle?
-to the best of her ability she silently helped in the work of salvage. they made a queer collection. a case of champagne, and another of brandy. a box of books. a pair of night glasses. a compass. several boxes of ship's biscuits, coated with salt, but saved by their hardness, having been immersed but a few seconds. two large cases of hams in equally good condition. some huge dish-covers. a bit of twisted ironwork, and a great quantity of cordage and timber.
-there was one very heavy package which their united strength could not lift. the sailor searched round until he found an iron bar that could be wrenched from its socket. with this he pried open the strong outer cover and revealed the contents--regulation boxes of lee-metford ammunition, each containing 500 rounds.
-"ah!" he cried, "now we want some rifles."
-"what good would they be?" inquired iris.
-he softly denounced himself as a fool, but he answered at once: "to shoot birds, of course, miss deane. there are plenty here, and many of them are edible."
-"you have two revolvers and some cartridges."
-"yes. they are useful in a way, but not for pot hunting."
-"how stupid of me! what you really need is a shot-gun."
-he smiled grimly. at times his sense of humor forced a way through the outward shield of reserve, of defiance it might be.
-"the only persons i ever heard of," he said, "who landed under compulsion on a desert island with a ship-load of requisites, were the swiss family robinson."
-"good gracious!" cried iris irrelevantly; "i had not even thought of robinson crusoe until this moment. isn't it odd? i--we--"
-instantly he helped her embarrassment. "i hope the parallel will not hold good," he said. "in any event, you, miss deane, fill a part less familiar in fiction."
-the phrase was neat. it meant much or little, as fancy dictated. iris at first felt profoundly grateful for his tact. thinking the words over at leisure she became hot and very angry.
-they worked in silence for another hour. the sun was nearing the zenith. they were distressed with the increasing heat of the day. jenks secured a ham and some biscuits, some pieces of driftwood and the binoculars, and invited miss deane to accompany him to the grove. she obeyed without a word, though she wondered how he proposed to light a fire. to contribute something towards the expected feast she picked up a dish-cover and a bottle of champagne.
-"it was for you," explained iris, coldly. "i do not drink wine."
-"you must break the pledge whilst you are here, miss deane. it is often very cold at night in this latitude. a chill would mean fever and perhaps death."
-"what a strange man!" murmured the girl.
-she covertly watched his preparations. he tore a dry leaf from a notebook and broke the bullet out of a cartridge, damping the powder with water from a pitcher-plant. smearing the composition on the paper, he placed it in the sun, where it dried at once. he gathered a small bundle of withered spines from the palms, and arranged the driftwood on top, choosing a place for his bonfire just within the shade. then, inserting the touch-paper among the spines, he unscrewed one of the lenses of the binoculars, converted it into a burning-glass, and had a fine blaze roaring merrily in a few minutes. with the aid of pointed sticks he grilled some slices of ham, cut with his clasp-knife, which he first carefully cleaned in the earth. the biscuits were of the variety that become soft when toasted, and so he balanced a few by stones near the fire.
-iris forgot her annoyance in her interest. a most appetizing smell filled the air. they were having a picnic amidst delightful surroundings. yesterday at this time--she almost yielded to a rush of sentiment, but forced it back with instant determination. tears were a poor resource, unmindful of god's goodness to herself and her companion. without the sailor what would have become of her, even were she thrown ashore while still living? she knew none of the expedients which seemed to be at his command. it was a most ungrateful proceeding to be vexed with him for her own thoughtless suggestion that she occupied a new rôle as mrs. crusoe.
-"can i do nothing to help?" she exclaimed. so contrite was her tone that jenks was astonished.
-"yes," he said, pointing to the dish-cover. "if you polish the top of that with your sleeve it will serve as a plate. luncheon is ready."
-he neatly dished up two slices of ham on a couple of biscuits and handed them to her, with the clasp-knife.
-"i can depend on my fingers," he explained. "it will not be the first time."
-"have you led an adventurous life?" she asked, by way of polite conversation.
-"no," he growled.
-"i only thought so because you appear to know all sorts of dodges for prolonging existence--things i never heard of."
-"broiled ham--and biscuits--for instance?"
-at another time iris would have snapped at him for the retort. still humbly regretful for her previous attitude she answered meekly--
-"yes, in this manner of cooking them, i mean. but there are other items--methods of lighting fires, finding water, knowing what fruits and other articles may be found on a desert island, such as plantains and cocoanuts, certain sorts of birds--and bêche-de-mer."
-for the life of her she could not tell why she tacked on that weird item to her list.
-the sailor inquired, more civilly--"then you are acquainted with trepang?"
-"trepang--bêche-de-mer, you know."
-iris made a desperate guess. "yes," she said, demurely. "it makes beautiful backs for hair brushes. and it looks so nice as a frame for platinotype photographs. i have--"
-jenks swallowed a large piece of ham and became very red. at last he managed to say--"i beg your pardon. you are thinking of tortoise-shell. bêche-de-mer is a sort of marine slug."
-"how odd!" said iris.
-she had discovered at an early age the tactical value of this remark, and the experience of maturer years confirmed the success of juvenile efforts to upset the equanimity of governesses. even the sailor was silenced.
-talk ceased until the meal was ended. jenks sprang lightly to his feet. rest and food had restored his faculties. the girl thought dreamily, as he stood there in his rough attire, that she had never seen a finer man. he was tall, sinewy, and well formed. in repose his face was pleasant, if masterful. its somewhat sullen, self-contained expression was occasional and acquired. she wondered how he could be so energetic. personally she was consumed with sleepiness.
-he produced a revolver.
-"do you mind if i fire a shot to test these cartridges?" he inquired. "the powder is all right, but the fulminate in the caps may be damaged."
-she agreed promptly. he pointed the weapon at a cluster of cocoanuts, and there was a loud report. two nuts fell to the ground, and the air was filled with shrill screams and the flapping of innumerable wings. iris was momentarily dismayed, but her senses confirmed the sailor's explanation--"sea-birds."
-he reloaded the empty chamber, and was about to say something, when a queer sound, exactly resembling the gurgling of water poured from a large bottle, fell upon their ears. it came from the interior of the grove, and the two exchanged a quick look of amazed questioning. jenks took a hasty step in the direction of the noise, but he stopped and laughed at his own expense. iris liked the sound of his mirth. it was genuine, not forced.
-"i remember now," he explained. "the wou-wou monkey cries in that peculiar warble. the presence of the animal here shows that the island has been inhabited at some time."
-"you remember?" repeated the girl. "then you have been in this part of the world before?"
-"no. i mean i have read about it."
-twice in half an hour had he curtly declined to indulge in personal reminiscences.
-"can you use a revolver?" he went on.
-"my father taught me. he thinks every woman should know how to defend herself if need be."
-"excellent. well, miss deane, you must try to sleep for a couple of hours. i purpose examining the coast for some distance on each side. should you want me, a shot will be the best sort of signal."
-"i am very tired," she admitted. "but you?"
-"oh, i am all right. i feel restless; that is, i mean i will not be able to sleep until night comes, and before we climb the hill to survey our domain i want to find better quarters than we now possess."
-perhaps, were she less fatigued, she would have caught the vague anxiety, the note of distrust, in his voice. but the carpet of sand and leaves on which she lay was very seductive. her eyes closed. she nestled into a comfortable position, and slept.
-the man looked at her steadily for a little while. then he moved the revolver out of harm's way to a spot where she must see it instantly, pulled his sou'wester well over his eyes and walked off quietly.
-they were flung ashore on the north-west side of the island. except for the cove formed by the coral reef, with its mysterious palm-tree growing apparently in the midst of the waves, the shape of the coast was roughly that of the concave side of a bow, the two visible extremities being about three-quarters of a mile apart.
-he guessed, by the way in which the sea raced past these points, that the land did not extend beyond them. behind him, it rose steeply to a considerable height, 150 or 200 feet. in the center was the tallest hill, which seemed to end abruptly towards the south-west. on the north-east side it was connected with a rocky promontory by a ridge of easy grade. the sailor turned to the south-west, as offering the most likely direction for rapid survey.
-he followed the line of vegetation; there the ground was firm and level. there was no suggestion of the mariner's roll in his steady gait. alter his clothing, change the heavy boots into spurred wellingtons, and he would be the beau idéal of a cavalry soldier, the order of melchisedec in the profession of arms.
-he was not surprised to find that the hill terminated in a sheer wall of rock, which stood out, ominous and massive, from the wealth of verdure clothing the remainder of the ridge. facing the precipice, and separated from it by a strip of ground not twenty feet above the sea-level in the highest part, was another rock-built eminence, quite bare of trees, blackened by the weather and scarred in a manner that attested the attacks of lightning.
-he whistled softly. "by jove!" he said. "volcanic, and highly mineralized."
-the intervening belt was sparsely dotted with trees, casuarinas, poon, and other woods he did not know, resembling ebony and cedar. a number of stumps showed that the axe had been at work, but not recently. he passed into the cleft and climbed a tree that offered easy access. as he expected, after rising a few feet from the ground, his eyes encountered the solemn blue line of the sea, not half a mile distant.
-he descended and commenced a systematic search. men had been here. was there a house? would he suddenly encounter some hermit malay or chinaman?
-at the foot of the main cliff was a cluster of fruit-bearing trees, plantains, areca-nuts, and cocoa-palms. a couple of cinchonas caught his eye. in one spot the undergrowth was rank and vividly green. the cassava, or tapioca plant, reared its high, passion-flower leaves above the grass, and some sago-palms thrust aloft their thick-stemmed trunks.
-"here is a change of menu, at any rate," he communed.
-breaking a thick branch off a poon tree he whittled away the minor stems. a strong stick was needful to explore that leafy fastness thoroughly.
-a few cautious strides and vigorous whacks with the stick laid bare the cause of such prodigality in a soil covered with drifted sand and lumps of black and white speckled coral. the trees and bushes enclosed a well--safe-guarded it, in fact, from being choked with sand during the first gale that blew.
-delighted with this discovery, more precious than diamonds at the moment, for he doubted the advisability of existing on the water supply of the pitcher-plant, he knelt to peer into the excavation. the well had been properly made. ten feet down he could see the reflection of his face. expert hands had tapped the secret reservoir of the island. by stretching to the full extent of his arm, he managed to plunge the stick into the water. tasting the drops, he found that they were quite sweet. the sand and porous rock provided the best of filter-beds.
-he rose, wall pleased, and noted that on the opposite side the appearance of the shrubs and tufts of long grass indicated the existence of a grown-over path towards the cliff. he followed it, walking carelessly, with eyes seeking the prospect beyond, when something rattled and cracked beneath his feet. looking down, he was horrified to find he was trampling on a skeleton.
-had a venomous snake coiled its glistening folds around his leg he would not have been more startled. but this man of iron nerve soon recovered. he frowned deeply after the first involuntary heart-throb.
-with the stick he cleared away the undergrowth, and revealed the skeleton of a man. the bones were big and strong, but oxidized by the action of the air. jenks had injured the left tibia by his tread, but three fractured ribs and a smashed shoulder-blade told some terrible unwritten story.
-beneath the mournful relics were fragments of decayed cloth. it was blue serge. lying about were a few blackened objects--brass buttons marked with an anchor. the dead man's boots were in the best state of preservation, but the leather had shrunk and the nails protruded like fangs.
-no weapon was visible. he could form no estimate as to the cause of the death of this poor unknown, nor the time since the tragedy had occurred.
-jenks must have stood many minutes before he perceived that the skeleton was headless. at first he imagined that in rummaging about with the stick he had disturbed the skull. but the most minute search demonstrated that it had gone, had been taken away, in fact, for the plants which so effectually screened the lighter bones would not permit the skull to vanish.
-then the frown on the sailor's face became threatening, thunderous. he recollected the rusty kriss. indistinct memories of strange tales of the china sea crowded unbidden to his brain.
-"dyaks!" he growled fiercely. "a ship's officer, an englishman probably, murdered by head-hunting dyak pirates!"
-if they came once they would come again.
-five hundred yards away iris deane was sleeping. he ought not to have left her alone. and then, with the devilish ingenuity of coincidence, a revolver shot awoke the echoes, and sent all manner of wildfowl hurtling through the trees with clamorous outcry.
-panting and wild-eyed, jenks was at the girl's side in an inconceivably short space of time. she was not beneath the shelter of the grove, but on the sands, gazing, pallid in cheek and lip, at the group of rocks on the edge of the lagoon.
-"what is the matter?" he gasped.
-"oh, i don't know," she wailed brokenly. "i had a dream, such a horrible dream. you were struggling with some awful thing down there." she pointed to the rocks.
-"i was not near the place," he said laboriously. it cost him an effort to breathe. his broad chest expanded inches with each respiration.
-"yes, yes, i understand. but i awoke and ran to save you. when i got here i saw something, a thing with waving arms, and fired. it vanished, and then you came."
-the sailor walked slowly to the rocks. a fresh chip out of the stone showed where the bullet struck. one huge boulder was wet, as if water had been splashed over it. he halted and looked intently into the water. not a fish was to be seen, but small spirals of sand were eddying up from the bottom, where it shelved steeply from the shore.
-iris followed him. "see," she cried excitedly. "i was not mistaken. there was something here."
-a creepy sensation ran up the man's spine and passed behind his ears. at this spot the drowned lascars were lying. like an inspiration came the knowledge that the cuttlefish, the dreaded octopus, abounds in the china sea.
-his face was livid when he turned to iris. "you are over-wrought by fatigue, miss deane," he said. "what you saw was probably a seal;" he knew the ludicrous substitution would not be questioned. "please go and lie down again."
-"i cannot," she protested. "i am too frightened."
-"frightened! by a dream! in broad daylight!"
-"but why are you so pale? what has alarmed you?"
-"can you ask? did you not give the agreed signal?"
-her inquiring glance fell. he was breathless from agitation rather than running. he was perturbed on her account. for an instant she had looked into his soul.
-"i will go back," she said quietly, "though i would rather accompany you. what are you doing?"
-"seeking a place to lay our heads," he answered, with gruff carelessness. "you really must rest, miss deane. otherwise you will be broken up by fatigue and become ill."
-so iris again sought her couch of sand, and the sailor returned to the skeleton. they separated unwillingly, each thinking only of the other's safety and comfort. the girl knew she was not wanted because the man wished to spare her some unpleasant experience. she obeyed him with a sigh, and sat down, not to sleep, but to muse, as girls will, round-eyed, wistful, with the angelic fantasy of youth and innocence.
-across the parched bones lay the stick discarded by jenks in his alarm. he picked it up and resumed his progress along the pathway. so closely did he now examine the ground that he hardly noted his direction. the track led straight towards the wall of rock. the distance was not great--about forty yards. at first the brushwood impeded him, but soon even this hindrance disappeared, and a well-defined passage meandered through a belt of trees, some strong and lofty, others quite immature.
-more bushes gathered at the foot of the cliff. behind them he could see the mouth of a cave; the six months' old growth of vegetation about the entrance gave clear indication as to the time which had elapsed since a human foot last disturbed the solitude.
-a few vigorous blows with the stick cleared away obstructing plants and leafy branches. the sailor stooped and looked into the cavern, for the opening was barely five feet high. he perceived instantly that the excavation was man's handiwork, applied to a fault in the hard rock. a sort of natural shaft existed, and this had been extended by manual labor. beyond the entrance the cave became more lofty. owing to its position with reference to the sun at that hour jenks imagined that sufficient light would be obtainable when the tropical luxuriance of foliage outside was dispensed with.
-at present the interior was dark. with the stick he tapped the walls and roof. a startled cluck and the rush of wings heralded the flight of two birds, alarmed by the noise. soon his eyes, more accustomed to the gloom, made out that the place was about thirty feet deep, ten feet wide in the center, and seven or eight feet high.
-at the further end was a collection of objects inviting prompt attention. each moment he could see with greater distinctness. kneeling on one side of the little pile he discerned that on a large stone, serving as a rude bench, were some tin utensils, some knives, a sextant, and a quantity of empty cartridge cases. between the stone and what a miner terms the "face" of the rock was a four-foot space. here, half imbedded in the sand which covered the floor, were two pickaxes, a shovel, a sledge-hammer, a fine timber-felling axe, and three crowbars.
-"what a find!" he ejaculated aloud. another pair of birds dashed from a ledge near the roof.
-"confound you!" shouted the sailor. he sprang back and whacked the walls viciously, but all the feathered intruders had gone.
-so far as he could judge the cave harbored no further surprises. returning towards the exit his boots dislodged more empty cartridges from the sand. they were shells adapted to a revolver of heavy caliber. at a short distance from the doorway they were present in dozens.
-"the remnants of a fight," he thought. "the man was attacked, and defended himself here. not expecting the arrival of enemies he provided no store of food or water. he was killed whilst trying to reach the well, probably at night."
-he vividly pictured the scene--a brave, hardy european keeping at bay a boatload of dyak savages, enduring manfully the agonies of hunger, thirst, perhaps wounds. then the siege, followed by a wild effort to gain the life-giving well, the hiss of a malay parang wielded by a lurking foe, and the last despairing struggle before death came.
-he might be mistaken. perchance there was a less dramatic explanation. but he could not shake off his, first impressions. they were garnered from dumb evidence and developed by some occult but overwhelming sense of certainty.
-"what was the poor devil doing here?" he asked. "why did he bury himself in this rock, with mining utensils and a few rough stores? he could not be a castaway. there is the indication of purpose, of preparation, of method combined with ignorance, for none who knew the ways of dyaks and chinese pirates would venture to live here alone, if he could help it, and if he really were alone." the thing was a mystery, would probably remain a mystery for ever.
-"be it steel or be it lead, anyhow the man is dead."
-there was relief in hearing his own voice. he could hum, and think, and act. arming himself with the axe he attacked the bushes and branches of trees in front of the cave. he cut a fresh approach to the well, and threw the litter over the skeleton. at first he was inclined to bury it where it lay, but he disliked the idea of iris walking unconsciously over the place. no time could be wasted that day. he would seize an early opportunity to act as grave-digger.
-after an absence of little more than an hour he rejoined the girl. she saw him from afar, and wondered whence he obtained the axe he shouldered.
-"you are a successful explorer," she cried when he drew near.
-"yes, miss deane. i have found water, implements, a shelter, even light."
-"what sort of light--spiritual, or material?"
-iris could not remain serious for many consecutive minutes, but she gathered that he was in no mood for frivolity.
-"and the shelter--is it a house?" she continued.
-"no, a cave. if you are sufficiently rested you might come and take possession."
-her eyes danced with excitement. he told her what he had seen, with reservations, and she ran on before him to witness these marvels.
-"why did you make a new path to the well?" she inquired after a rapid survey.
-"a new path!" the pertinent question staggered him.
-"yes, the people who lived here must have had some sort of free passage."
-he lied easily. "i have only cleared away recent growth," he said.
-"and why did they dig a cave? it surely would be much more simple to build a house from all these trees."
-"there you puzzle me," he said frankly.
-they had entered the cavern but a little way and now came out.
-"these empty cartridges are funny. they suggest a fort, a battle." woman-like, her words were carelessly chosen, but they were crammed with inductive force.
-embarked on the toboggan slope of untruth the sailor slid smoothly downwards.
-"events have colored your imagination, miss deane. even in england men often preserve such things for future use. they can be reloaded."
-"yes, i have seen keepers do that. this is different. there is an air of--"
-"must i sleep inside?" demanded iris.
-"yes. where else?"
-there was a pause, a mere whiff of awkwardness.
-"i will mount guard outside," went on jenks. he was trying to improve the edge of the axe by grinding it on a soft stone.
-the girl went into the cave again. she was inquisitive, uneasy.
-"that arrangement--" she began, but ended in a sharp cry of terror. the dispossessed birds had returned during the sailor's absence.
-"i will kill them," he shouted in anger.
-"please don't. there has been enough of death in this place already."
-the words jarred on his ears. then he felt that she could only allude to the victims of the wreck.
-"i was going to say," she explained, "that we must devise a partition. there is no help for it until you construct a sort of house. candidly, i do not like this hole in the rock. it is a vault, a tomb."
-"you told me that i was in command, yet you dispute my orders." he strove hard to appear brusquely good-humored, indifferent, though for one of his mould he was absurdly irritable. the cause was over-strain, but that explanation escaped him.
-"quite true. but if sleeping in the cold, in dew or rain, is bad for me, it must be equally bad for you. and without you i am helpless, you know."
-his arms twitched to give her a reassuring hug. in some respects she was so childlike; her big blue eyes were so ingenuous. he laughed sardonically, and the harsh note clashed with her frank candor. here, at least, she was utterly deceived. his changeful moods were incomprehensible.
-"i will serve you to the best of my ability, miss deane," he exclaimed. "we must hope for a speedy rescue, and i am inured to exposure. it is otherwise with you. are you ready for the climb?"
-mechanically she picked up a stick at her feet. it was the sailor's wand of investigation. he snatched it from her hands and threw it away among the trees.
-"that is a dangerous alpenstock," he said. "the wood is unreliable. it might break. i will cut you a better one," and he swung the axe against a tall sapling.
-iris mentally described him as "funny." she followed him in the upward curve of the ascent, for the grade was not difficult and the ground smooth enough, the storms of years having pulverized the rock and driven sand into its clefts. the persistent inroads of the trees had done the rest. beyond the flight of birds and the scampering of some tiny monkeys overhead, they did not disturb a living creature.
-the crest of the hill was tree-covered, and they could see nothing beyond their immediate locality until the sailor found a point higher than the rest, where a rugged collection of hard basalt and the uprooting of some poon trees provided an open space elevated above the ridge.
-for a short distance the foothold was precarious. jenks helped the girl in this part of the climb. his strong, gentle grasp gave her confidence. she was flushed with exertion when they stood together on the summit of this elevated perch. they could look to every point of the compass except a small section on the south-west. here the trees rose behind them until the brow of the precipice was reached.
-the emergence into a sunlit panorama of land and sea, though expected, was profoundly enthralling. they appeared to stand almost exactly in the center of the island, which was crescent-shaped. it was no larger than the sailor had estimated. the new slopes now revealed were covered with verdure down to the very edge of the water, which, for nearly a mile seawards, broke over jagged reefs. the sea looked strangely calm from this height. irregular blue patches on the horizon to south and east caught the man's first glance. he unslung the binoculars he still carried and focused them eagerly.
-"islands!" he cried, "and big ones, too!"
-"how odd!" whispered iris, more concerned in the scrutiny of her immediate surroundings. jenks glanced at her sharply. she was not looking at the islands, but at a curious hollow, a quarry-like depression beneath them to the right, distant about three hundred yards and not far removed from the small plateau containing the well, though isolated from it by the south angle of the main cliff.
-here, in a great circle, there was not a vestige of grass, shrub, or tree, nothing save brown rock and sand. at first the sailor deemed it to be the dried-up bed of a small lake. this hypothesis would not serve, else it would be choked with verdure. the pit stared up at them like an ominous eye, though neither paid further attention to it, for the glorious prospect mapped at their feet momentarily swept aside all other considerations.
-"what a beautiful place!" murmured iris. "i wonder what it is called."
-the word came instantly. the sailor's gaze was again fixed on those distant blue outlines. miss deane was dissatisfied.
-"nonsense!" she exclaimed. "we are not dead yet. you must find a better name than that."
-"well, suppose we christen it rainbow island?"
-"that is the english meaning of 'iris,' in latin, you know."
-"so it is. how clever of you to think of it! tell me, what is the meaning of 'robert,' in greek?"
-he turned to survey the north-west side of the island. "i do not know," he answered. "it might not be far-fetched to translate it as 'a ship's steward: a menial.'"
-miss iris had meant her playful retort as a mere light-hearted quibble. it annoyed her, a young person of much consequence, to have her kindly condescension repelled.
-"i suppose so," she agreed; "but i have gone through so much in a few hours that i am bewildered, apt to forget these nice distinctions."
-where these two quareling, or flirting? who can tell?
-jenks was closely examining the reef on which the sirdar struck. some square objects were visible near the palm tree. the sun, glinting on the waves, rendered it difficult to discern their significance.
-"what do you make of those?" he inquired, handing the glasses, and blandly ignoring miss deane's petulance. her brain was busy with other things while she twisted the binoculars to suit her vision. rainbow island--iris--it was a nice conceit. but "menial" struck a discordant note. this man was no menial in appearance or speech. why was he so deliberately rude?
-"i think they are boxes or packing-cases," she announced.
-"ah, that was my own idea. i must visit that locality."
-"how? will you swim?"
-"no," he said, his stern lips relaxing in a smile, "i will not swim; and by the way, miss deane, be careful when you are near the water. the lagoon is swarming with sharks at present. i feel tolerably assured that at low tide, when the remnants of the gale have vanished, i will be able to walk there along the reef."
-"sharks!" she cried. "in there! what horrible surprises this speck of land contains! i should not have imagined that sharks and seals could live together."
-"you are quite right," he explained, with becoming gravity. "as a rule sharks infest only the leeward side of these islands. just now they are attracted in shoals by the wreck."
-"oh." iris shivered slightly.
-"we had better go back now. the wind is keen here, miss deane."
-she knew that he purposely misunderstood her gesture. his attitude conveyed a rebuke. there was no further room for sentiment in their present existence; they had to deal with chill necessities. as for the sailor, he was glad that the chance turn of their conversation enabled him to warn her against the lurking dangers of the lagoon. there was no need to mention the devil-fish now; he must spare her all avoidable thrills.
-they gathered the stores from the first al fresco dining-room and reached the cave without incident. another fire was lighted, and whilst iris attended to the kitchen the sailor felled several young trees. he wanted poles, and these were the right size and shape. he soon cleared a considerable space. the timber was soft and so small in girth that three cuts with the axe usually sufficed. he dragged from the beach the smallest tarpaulin he could find, and propped it against the rock in such manner that it effectually screened the mouth of the cave, though admitting light and air.
-he was so busy that he paid little heed to iris. but the odor of fried ham was wafted to him. he was lifting a couple of heavy stones to stay the canvas and keep it from flapping in the wind, when the girl called out--
-"wouldn't you like to have a wash before dinner?"
-he straightened himself and looked at her. her face and hands were shining, spotless. the change was so great that his brow wrinkled with perplexity.
-"i am a good pupil," she cried. "you see i am already learning to help myself. i made a bucket out of one of the dish-covers by slinging it in two ropes. another dish-cover, some sand and leaves supplied basin, soap, and towel. i have cleaned the tin cups and the knives, and see, here is my greatest treasure."
-"where in the world did you find that?" he exclaimed.
-"buried in the sand inside the cave."
-his tone was abrupt she was so disappointed by the seeming want of appreciation of her industry that a gleam of amusement died from her eyes and she shook her head, stooping at once to attend to the toasting of some biscuits.
-this time he was genuinely sorry.
-"forgive me, miss deane," he said penitently. "my words are dictated by anxiety. i do not wish you to make discoveries on your own account. this is a strange place, you know--an unpleasant one in some respects."
-"surely i can rummage about my own cave?"
-"most certainly. it was careless of me not to have examined its interior more thoroughly."
-"then why do you grumble because i found the lamp?"
-"i did not mean any such thing. i am sorry."
-"i think you are horrid. if you want to wash you will find the water over there. don't wait. the ham will be frizzled to a cinder."
-unlucky jenks! was ever man fated to incur such unmerited odium? he savagely laved his face and neck. the fresh cool water was delightful at first, but it caused his injured nail to throb dreadfully. when he drew near to the fire he experienced an unaccountable sensation of weakness. could it be possible that he was going to faint? it was too absurd. he sank to the ground. trees, rocks, and sand-strewn earth indulged in a mad dance. iris's voice sounded weak and indistinct. it seemed to travel in waves from a great distance. he tried to brush away from his brain these dim fancies, but his iron will for once failed, and he pitched headlong downwards into darkness.
-when he recovered the girl's left arm was round his neck. for one blissful instant he nestled there contentedly. he looked into her eyes and saw that she was crying. a gust of anger rose within him that he should be the cause of those tears.
-"damn!" he said, and tried to rise.
-"oh! are you better?" her lips quivered pitifully.
-"yes. what happened? did i faint?"
-she held a cup to his mouth and he obediently strove to swallow the contents. it was champagne. after the first spasm of terror, and when the application of water to his face failed to restore consciousness, iris had knocked the head off the bottle of champagne.
-he quickly revived. nature had only given him a warning that he was overdrawing his resources. he was deeply humiliated. he did not conceive the truth, that only a strong man could do all that he had done and live. for thirty-six hours he had not slept. during part of the time he fought with wilder beasts than they knew at ephesus. the long exposure to the sun, the mental strain of his foreboding that the charming girl whose life depended upon him might be exposed to even worse dangers than any yet encountered, the physical labor he had undergone, the irksome restraint he strove to place upon his conduct and utterances--all these things culminated in utter relaxation when the water touched his heated skin.
-but he was really very much annoyed. a powerful man always is annoyed when forced to yield. the revelation of a limit to human endurance infuriates him. a woman invariably thinks that the man should be scolded, by way of tonic.
-"how could you frighten me so?" demanded iris, hysterically. "you must have felt that you were working too hard. you made me rest. why didn't you rest yourself?"
-he looked at her wistfully. this collapse must not happen again, for her sake. these two said more with eyes than lips. she withdrew her arm; her face and neck crimsoned.
-"there," she said with compelled cheerfulness. "you are all right now. finish the wine."
-he emptied the tin. it gave him new life. "i always thought," he answered gravely, "that champagne was worth its weight in gold under certain conditions. these are the conditions."
-iris reflected, with elastic rebound from despair to relief, that men in the lower ranks of life do not usually form theories on the expensive virtues of the wine of france. but her mind was suddenly occupied by a fresh disaster.
-"good gracious!" she cried. "the ham is ruined."
-it was burnt black. she prepared a fresh supply. when it was ready, jenks was himself again. they ate in silence, and shared the remains of the bottle. the man idly wondered what was the plat du jour at the savoy that evening. he remembered that the last time he was there he had called for jambon de york aux épinards and half a pint of heidseck.
-"coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currant," he thought. by a queer trick of memory he could recall the very page in horace where this philosophical line occurs. it was in the eleventh epistle of the first book. a smile illumined his tired face.
-iris was watchful. she had never in her life cooked even a potato or boiled an egg. the ham was her first attempt.
-"my cooking amuses you?" she demanded suspiciously.
-"it gratifies every sense," he murmured. "there is but one thing needful to complete my happiness."
-"and that is?"
-"permission to smoke."
-he produced a steel box, tightly closed, and a pipe, "i will answer you in byron's words," he said--
-"'sublime tobacco! which from east to west cheers the tar's labour or the turkman's rest.'"
-"your pockets are absolute shops," said the girl, delighted that his temper had improved. "what other stores do you carry about with you?"
-he lit his pipe and solemnly gave an inventory of his worldly goods. beyond the items she had previously seen he could only enumerate a silver dollar, a very soiled and crumpled handkerchief, and a bit of tin. a box of norwegian matches he threw away as useless, but iris recovered them.
-"you never know what purpose they may serve," she said. in after days a weird significance was attached to this simple phrase.
-"why do you carry about a bit of tin?" she went on.
-how the atmosphere of deception clung to him! here was a man compelled to lie outrageously who, in happier years, had prided himself on scrupulous accuracy even in small things.
-"plague upon it!" he silently protested. "subterfuge and deceit are as much at home in this deserted island as in mayfair."
-"i found it here, miss deane," he answered.
-luckily she interpreted "here" as applying to the cave.
-"let me see it. may i?"
-he handed it to her. she could make nothing of it, so together they puzzled over it. the sailor rubbed it with a mixture of kerosene and sand. then figures and letters and a sort of diagram were revealed. at last they became decipherable. by exercising patient ingenuity some one had indented the metal with a sharp punch until the marks assumed this aspect (see cut, following page).
-iris was quick-witted. "it is a plan of the island," she cried.
-"also the latitude and the longitude."
-"what does 'j.s.' mean?"
-"probably the initials of a man's name; let us say john smith, for instance."
-"and the figures on the island, with the 'x' and the dot?"
-"i cannot tell you at present," he said. "i take it that the line across the island signifies this gap or canyon, and the small intersecting line the cave. but 32 divided by 1, and an 'x' surmounted by a dot are cabalistic. they would cause even sherlock holmes to smoke at least two pipes. i have barely started one."
-she ran to fetch a glowing stick to enable him to relight his pipe.
-"why do you give me such nasty little digs?" she asked. "you need not have stopped smoking just because i stood close to you."
-"really, miss deane--"
-"there, don't protest. i like the smell of that tobacco. i thought sailors invariably smoked rank, black stuff which they call thick twist."
-"i am a beginner, as a sailor. after a few more years before the mast i may hope to reach perfection."
-their eyes exchanged a quaintly pleasant challenge. thus the man--"she is determined to learn something of my past, but she will not succeed."
-and the woman--"the wretch! he is close as an oyster. but i will make him open his mouth, see if i don't."
-she reverted to the piece of tin. "it looks quite mysterious, like the things you read of in stories of pirates and buried treasure."
-"yes," he admitted. "it is unquestionably a plan, a guidance, given to a person not previously acquainted with the island but cognizant of some fact connected with it. unfortunately none of the buccaneers i can bring to mind frequented these seas. the poor beggar who left it here must have had some other motive than searching for a cache."
-"did he dig the cave and the well, i wonder?"
-"probably the former, but not the well. no man could do it unaided."
-"why do you assume he was alone?"
-he strolled towards the fire to kick a stray log. "it is only idle speculation at the best, miss deane," he replied. "would you like to help me to drag some timber up from the beach? if we get a few big planks we can build a fire that will last for hours. we want some extra clothes, too, and it will soon be dark."
-before the sun went down he succeeded, and made a wick by unraveling a few strands of wool from his jersey. when night fell, with the suddenness of the tropics, iris was able to illuminate her small domain.
-they were both utterly tired and ready to drop with fatigue. the girl said "good night," but instantly reappeared from behind the tarpaulin.
-"am i to keep the lamp alight?" she inquired.
-"please yourself, miss deane. better not, perhaps. it will only burn four or five hours, any way."
-soon the light vanished, and he lay down, his pipe between his teeth, close to the cave's entrance. weary though he was, he could not sleep forthwith. his mind was occupied with the signs on the canister head.
-"32 divided by 1; an 'x' and a dot," he repeated several times. "what do they signify?"
-suddenly he sat up, with every sense alert, and grabbed his revolver. something impelled him to look towards the spot, a few feet away, where the skeleton was hidden. it was the rustling of a bird among the trees that had caught his ear.
-he thought of the white framework of a once powerful man, lying there among the bushes, abandoned, forgotten, horrific. then he smothered a cry of surprise.
-"by jove!" he muttered. "there is no 'x' and dot. that sign is meant for a skull and cross-bones. it lies exactly on the part of the island where we saw that queer-looking bald patch today. first thing tomorrow, before the girl awakes, i must examine that place."
-iris to the rescue
-"before mine eyes in opposition sits grim death." --milton.
-he awoke to find the sun high in the heavens. iris was preparing breakfast; a fine fire was crackling cheerfully, and the presiding goddess had so altered her appearance that the sailor surveyed her with astonishment.
-he noiselessly assumed a sitting posture, tucked his feet beneath him, and blinked. the girl's face was not visible from where he sat, and for a few seconds he thought he must surely be dreaming. she was attired in a neat navy-blue dress and smart blouse. her white canvas shoes were replaced by strong leather boots. she was quite spick and span, this island hebe.
-so soundly had he slept that his senses returned but slowly. at last he guessed what had happened. she had risen with the dawn, and, conquering her natural feeling of repulsion, selected from the store he accumulated yesterday some more suitable garments than those in which she escaped from the wreck.
-he quietly took stock of his own tattered condition, and passed a reflective hand over the stubble on his chin. in a few days his face would resemble a scrubbing-brush. in that mournful moment he would have exchanged even his pipe and tobacco-box--worth untold gold--for shaving tackle. who can say why his thoughts took such trend? twenty-four hours can effect great changes in the human mind if controlling influences are active.
-then came a sharp revulsion of feeling. his name was robert--a menial. he reached for his boots, and iris heard him.
-"good morning," she cried, smiling sweetly. "i thought you would never awake. i suppose you were very, very tired. you were lying so still that i ventured to peep at you a long time ago."
-"thus might titania peep at an ogre," he said.
-"you didn't look a bit like an ogre. you never do. you only try to talk like one--sometimes."
-"i claim a truce until after breakfast. if my rough compliment offends you, let me depend upon a more gentle tongue than my own--
-"'her angel's face as the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, and made a sunshine in the shady place.'
-"those lines are surely appropriate. they come from the faerie queene."
-"they are very nice, but please wash quickly. the eggs will be hard."
-"yes; i made a collection among the trees. i tasted one of a lot that looked good. it was first-rate."
-he had not the moral courage to begin the day with a rebuke. she was irrepressible, but she really must not do these things. he smothered a sigh in the improvised basin which was placed ready for him.
-miss deane had prepared a capital meal. of course the ham and biscuits still bulked large in the bill of fare, but there were boiled eggs, fried bananas and an elderly cocoanut. these things, supplemented by clear cold water, were not so bad for a couple of castaways, hundreds of miles from everywhere.
-for the life of him the man could not refrain from displaying the conversational art in which he excelled. their talk dealt with italy, egypt, india. he spoke with the ease of culture and enthusiasm. once he slipped into anecdote à propos of the helplessness of british soldiers in any matter outside the scope of the king's regulations.
-"i remember," he said, "seeing a cavalry subaltern and the members of an escort sitting, half starved, on a number of bags piled up in the suakin desert. and what do you think were in the bags?"
-"i don't know," said iris, keenly alert for deductions.
-"biscuits! they thought the bags contained patent fodder until i enlightened them."
-it was on the tip of her tongue to pounce on him with the comment: "then you have been an officer in the army." but she forbore. she had guessed this earlier. yet the mischievous light in her eyes defied control. he was warned in time and pulled himself up short.
-"you read my face like a book," she cried, with a delightful little moue.
-"no printed page was ever so--legible."
-he was going to say "fascinating," but checked the impulse. he went on with brisk affectation--
-"now, miss deane, we have gossiped too long. i am a laggard this morning; but before starting work, i have a few serious remarks to make."
-"more digs?" she inquired saucily.
-"i repudiate 'digs.' in the first place, you must not make any more experiments in the matter of food. the eggs were a wonderful effort, but, flattered by success, you may poison yourself."
-"you must never pass out of my sight without carrying a revolver, not so much for defence, but as a signal. did you take one when you went bird's-nesting?"
-there was a troubled look in his eyes when he answered--
-"it is best to tell you at once that before help reaches us we may be visited by cruel and blood-thirsty savages. i would not even mention this if it were a remote contingency. as matters stand, you ought to know that such a thing may happen. let us trust in god's goodness that assistance may come soon. the island has seemingly been deserted for many months, and therein lies our best chance of escape. but i am obliged to warn you lest you should be taken unawares."
-iris was serious enough now.
-"how do you know that such danger threatens us?" she demanded.
-he countered readily. "because i happen to have read a good deal about the china sea and its frequenters," he said. "i am the last man in the world to alarm you needlessly. all i mean to convey is that certain precautions should be taken against a risk that is possible, not probable. no more."
-she could not repress a shudder. the aspect of nature was so beneficent that evil deeds seemed to be out of place in that fair isle. birds were singing around them. the sun was mounting into a cloudless sky. the gale had passed away into a pleasant breeze, and the sea was now rippling against the distant reef with peaceful melody.
-the sailor wanted to tell her that he would defend her against a host of savages if he were endowed with many lives, but he was perforce tongue-tied. he even reviled himself for having spoken, but she saw the anguish in his face, and her woman's heart acknowledged him as her protector, her shield.
-"mr. jenks," she said simply, "we are in god's hands. i put my trust in him, and in you. i am hopeful, nay more, confident. i thank you for what you have done, for all that you will do. if you cannot preserve me from threatening perils no man could, for you are as brave and gallant a gentleman as lives on the earth today."
-now, the strange feature of this extraordinary and unexpected outburst of pent-up emotion was that the girl pronounced his name with the slightly emphasized accentuation of one who knew it to be a mere disguise. the man was so taken aback by her declaration of faith that the minor incident, though it did not escape him, was smothered in a tumult of feeling.
-he could not trust himself to speak. he rose hastily and seized the axe to deliver a murderous assault upon a sago palm that stood close at hand.
-iris was the first to recover a degree of self-possession. for a moment she had bared her soul. with reaction came a sensitive shrinking. her british temperament, no less than her delicate nature, disapproved these sentimental displays. she wanted to box her own ears.
-with innate tact she took a keen interest in the felling of the tree.
-"what do you want it for?" she inquired, when the sturdy trunk creaked and fell.
-jenks felt better now.
-"this is a change of diet," he explained. "no; we don't boil the leaves or nibble the bark. when i split this palm open you will find that the interior is full of pith. i will cut it out for you, and then it will be your task to knead it with water after well washing it, pick out all the fiber, and finally permit the water to evaporate. in a couple of days the residuum will become a white powder, which, when boiled, is sago."
-"good gracious!" said iris.
-"the story sounds unconvincing, but i believe i am correct. it is worth a trial."
-"i should have imagined that sago grew on a stalk like rice or wheat."
-she laughed. a difficult situation had passed without undue effort. unhappily the man reopened it. whilst using a crowbar as a wedge he endeavored to put matters on a straightforward footing.
-"a little while ago," he said, "you seemed to imply that i had assumed the name of jenks."
-but miss deane's confidential mood had gone. "nothing of the kind," she said, coldly. "i think jenks is an excellent name."
-she regretted the words even as they fell from her lips. the sailor gave a mighty wrench with the bar, splitting the log to its clustering leaves.
-"you are right," he said. "it is distinctive, brief, dogmatic. i cling to it passionately."
-soon afterwards, leaving iris to the manufacture of sago, he went to the leeward side of the island, a search for turtles being his ostensible object. when the trees hid him he quickened his pace and turned to the left, in order to explore the cavity marked on the tin with a skull and cross-bones. to his surprise he hit upon the remnants of a roadway--that is, a line through the wood where there were no well-grown trees, where the ground bore traces of humanity in the shape of a wrinkled and mildewed pair of chinese boots, a wooden sandal, even the decayed remains of a palki, or litter.
-at last he reached the edge of the pit, and the sight that met his eyes held him spellbound.
-the labor of many hands had torn a chasm, a quarry, out of the side of the hill. roughly circular in shape, it had a diameter of perhaps a hundred feet, and at its deepest part, towards the cliff, it ran to a depth of forty feet. on the lower side, where the sailor stood, it descended rapidly for some fifteen feet.
-grasses, shrubs, plants of every variety, grew in profusion down the steep slopes, wherever seeds could find precarious nurture, until a point was reached about ten or eleven feet from the bottom. there all vegetation ceased as if forbidden to cross a magic circle.
-below this belt the place was a charnel-house. the bones of men and animals mingled in weird confusion. most were mere skeletons. a few bodies--nine the sailor counted--yet preserved some resemblance of humanity. these latter were scattered among the older relics. they wore the clothes of dyaks. characteristic hats and weapons denoted their nationality. the others, the first harvest of this modern golgotha, might have been chinese coolies. when the sailor's fascinated vision could register details he distinguished yokes, baskets, odd-looking spades and picks strewed amidst the bones. the animals were all of one type, small, lanky, with long pointed skulls. at last he spied a withered hoof. they were pigs.
-over all lay a thick coating of fine sand, deposited from the eddying winds that could never reach the silent depths. the place was gruesome, horribly depressing. jenks broke out into a clammy perspiration. he seemed to be looking at the secrets of the grave.
-at last his superior intelligence asserted itself. his brain became clearer, recovered its power of analysis. he began to criticize, reflect, and this is the theory he evolved--
-some one, long ago, had discovered valuable minerals in the volcanic rock. mining operations were in full blast when the extinct volcano took its revenge upon the human ants gnawing at its vitals and smothered them by a deadly outpouring of carbonic acid gas, the bottled-up poison of the ages. a horde of pigs, running wild over the island--placed there, no doubt, by chinese fishers--had met the same fate whilst intent on dreadful orgy.
-then there came a european, who knew how the anhydrate gas, being heavier than the surrounding air, settled like water in that terrible hollow. he, too, had striven to wrest the treasure from the stone by driving a tunnel into the cliff. he had partly succeeded and had gone away, perhaps to obtain help, after crudely registering his knowledge on the lid of a tin canister. this, again, probably fell into the hands of another man, who, curious but unconvinced, caused himself to be set ashore on this desolate spot, with a few inadequate stores. possibly he had arranged to be taken off within a fixed time.
-but a sampan, laden with dyak pirates, came first, and the intrepid explorer's bones rested near the well, whilst his head had gone to decorate the hut of some fierce village chief. the murderers, after burying their own dead--for the white man fought hard, witness the empty cartridges--searched the island. some of them, ignorantly inquisitive, descended into the hollow. they remained there. the others, superstitious barbarians, fled for their lives, embarking so hastily that they took from the cave neither tools nor oil, though they would greatly prize these articles.
-such was the tragic web he spun, a compound of fact and fancy. it explained all perplexities save one. what did "32 divided by 1" mean? was there yet another fearsome riddle awaiting solution?
-and then his thoughts flew to iris. happen what might, her bright picture was seldom absent from his brain. suppose, egg-hunting, she had stumbled across this valley of death! how could he hope to keep it hidden from her? was not the ghastly knowledge better than the horror of a chance ramble through the wood and the shock of discovery, nay, indeed, the risk of a catastrophe?
-he was a man who relieved his surcharged feelings with strong language--a habit of recent acquisition. he indulged in it now and felt better. he rushed back through the trees until he caught sight of iris industriously kneading the sago pith in one of those most useful dish-covers.
-he called to her, led her wondering to the track, and pointed out the fatal quarry, but in such wise that she could not look inside it.
-"you remember that round hole we saw from the summit rock?" he said. "well, it is full of carbonic acid gas, to breathe which means unconsciousness and death. it gives no warning to the inexperienced. it is rather pleasant than otherwise. promise me you will never come near this place again."
-now, iris, too, had been thinking deeply. robert jenks bulked large in her day-dreams. her nerves were not yet quite normal. there was a catch in her throat as she answered--
-"i don't want to die. of course i will keep away. what a horrid island this is! yet it might be a paradise."
-she bit her lip to suppress her tears, but, being the eve in this garden, she continued--
-"how did you find out? is there anything--nasty--in there?"
-"yes, the remains of animals, and other things. i would not have told you were it not imperative."
-"are you keeping other secrets from me?"
-"oh, quite a number."
-he managed to conjure up a smile, and the ruse was effective. she applied the words to his past history.
-"i hope they will not be revealed so dramatically," she said.
-"you never can tell," he answered. they were in prophetic vein that morning. they returned in silence to the cave.
-"certainly. why not?"
-"may i come too?" she demanded.
-he flung aside the temptation to answer her in kind, merely assenting, with an explanation of his design. when the lamp was in order he held it close to the wall and conducted a systematic survey. the geological fault which favored the construction of the tunnel seemed to diverge to the left at the further end. the "face" of the rock exhibited the marks of persistent labor. the stone had been hewn away by main force when the dislocation of strata ceased to be helpful.
-his knowledge was limited on the subject, yet jenks believed that the material here was a hard limestone rather than the external basalt. searching each inch with the feeble light, he paused once, with an exclamation.
-"what is it?" cried iris.
-"i cannot be certain," he said, doubtfully. "would you mind holding the lamp whilst i use a crowbar?"
-in the stone was visible a thin vein, bluish white in color. he managed to break off a fair-sized lump containing a well-defined specimen of the foreign metal.
-they hurried into the open air and examined the fragment with curious eyes. the sailor picked it with his knife, and the substance in the vein came off in laminated layers, small, brittle scales.
-"is it silver?" iris was almost excited.
-"i do not think so. i am no expert, but i have a vague idea--i have seen----"
-he wrinkled his brows and pressed away the furrows with his hand, that physical habit of his when perplexed.
-"i have it," he cried. "it is antimony."
-miss deane pursed her lips in disdain. antimony! what was antimony?
-"so much fuss for nothing," she said.
-"it is used in alloys and medicines," he explained. "to us it is useless."
-he threw the piece of rock contemptuously among the bushes. but, being thorough in all that he undertook, he returned to the cave and again conducted an inquisition. the silver-hued vein became more strongly marked at the point where it disappeared downwards into a collection of rubble and sand. that was all. did men give their toil, their lives, for this? so it would appear. be that as it might, he had a more pressing work. if the cave still held a secret it must remain there.
-iris had gone back to her sago-kneading. necessity had made the lady a bread-maid.
-"fifteen hundred years of philology bridged by circumstance," mused jenks. "how max müller would have reveled in the incident!"
-shouldering the axe he walked to the beach. the tide was low and the circular sweep of the reef showed up irregularly, its black outlines sticking out of the vividly green water like jagged teeth.
-much débris from the steamer was lying high and dry. it was an easy task for an athletic man to reach the palm tree, yet the sailor hesitated, with almost imperceptible qualms.
-"a baited rat-trap," he muttered. then he quickened his pace. with the first active spring from rock to rock his unacknowledged doubts vanished. he might find stores of priceless utility. the reflection inspired him. jumping and climbing like a cat, in two minutes he was near the tree.
-he could now see the true explanation of its growth in a seemingly impossible place. here the bed of the sea bulged upwards in a small sand cay, which silted round the base of a limestone rock, so different in color and formation from the coral reef. nature, whose engineering contrivances can force springs to mountain tops, managed to deliver to this isolated refuge a sufficient supply of water to nourish the palm, and the roots, firmly lodged in deep crevices, were well protected from the waves.
-between the sailor and the tree intervened a small stretch of shallow water. landward this submerged saddle shelved steeply into the lagoon. although the water in the cove was twenty fathoms in depth, its crystal clearness was remarkable. the bottom, composed of marvelously white sand and broken coral, rendered other objects conspicuous. he could see plenty of fish, but not a single shark, whilst on the inner slope of the reef was plainly visible the destroyed fore part of the sirdar, which had struck beyond the tree, relatively to his present standpoint. he had wondered why no boats were cast ashore. now he saw the reason. three of them were still fastened to the davits and carried down with the hull.
-seaward the water was not so clear. the waves created patches of foam, and long submarine plants swayed gently in the undercurrent.
-to reach palm-tree rock--anticipating its subsequent name--he must cross a space of some thirty feet and wade up to his waist.
-he made the passage with ease.
-pitched against the hole of the tree was a long narrow case, very heavy, iron-clamped; and marked with letters in black triangles and the broad arrow of the british government.
-"rifles, by all the gods!" shouted the sailor. they were really by the enfield small arms manufactory, but his glee at this stroke of luck might be held to excuse a verbal inaccuracy.
-the sirdar carried a consignment of arms and ammunition from hong kong to singapore. providence had decreed that a practically inexhaustible store of cartridges should be hurled across the lagoon to the island. and here were lee-metfords enough to equip half a company. he would not risk the precious axe in an attempt to open the case. he must go back for a crowbar.
-what else was there in this storehouse, thrust by neptune from the ocean bed? a chest of tea, seemingly undamaged. three barrels of flour, utterly ruined. a saloon chair, smashed from its pivot. a battered chronometer. for the rest, fragments of timber intermingled with pulverized coral and broken crockery.
-a little further on, the deep-water entrance to the lagoon curved between sunken rocks. on one of them rested the sirdar's huge funnel. the north-west section of the reef was bare. among the wreckage he found a coil of stout rope and a pulley. he instantly conceived the idea of constructing an aerial line to ferry the chest of tea across the channel he had forded.
-he threaded the pulley with the rope and climbed the tree, adding a touch of artistic completeness to the ruin of his trousers by the operation. he had fastened the pulley high up the trunk before he realized how much more simple it would be to break open the chest where it lay and transport its contents in small parcels.
-he laughed lightly. "i am becoming addleheaded," he said to himself. "anyhow, now the job is done i may as well make use of it."
-recoiling the rope-ends, he cast them across to the reef. in such small ways do men throw invisible dice with death. with those two lines he would, within a few fleeting seconds, drag himself back from eternity.
-picking up the axe, he carelessly stepped into the water, not knowing that iris, having welded the incipient sago into a flat pancake, had strolled to the beach and was watching him.
-the water was hardly above his knees when there came a swirling rush from the seaweed. a long tentacle shot out like a lasso and gripped his right leg. another coiled round his waist.
-"my god!" he gurgled, as a horrid sucker closed over his mouth and nose. he was in the grip of a devil-fish.
-a deadly sensation of nausea almost overpowered him, but the love of life came to his aid, and he tore the suffocating feeler from his face. then the axe whirled, and one of the eight arms of the octopus lost some of its length. yet a fourth flung itself around his left ankle. a few feet away, out of range of the axe, and lifting itself bodily out of the water, was the dread form of the cuttle, apparently all head, with distended gills and monstrous eyes.
-the sailor's feet were planted wide apart. with frenzied effort he hacked at the murderous tentacles, but the water hindered him, and he was forced to lean back, in superhuman strain, to avoid losing his balance. if once this terrible assailant got him down he knew he was lost. the very need to keep his feet prevented him from attempting to deal a mortal blow.
-the cuttle was anchored by three of its tentacles. its remaining arm darted with sinuous activity to again clutch the man's face or neck. with the axe he smote madly at the curling feeler, diverting its aim time and again, but failing to deliver an effective stroke.
-with agonized prescience the sailor knew that he was yielding. were the devil-fish a giant of its tribe he could not have held out so long. as it was, the creature could afford to wait, strengthening its grasp, tightening its coils, pulling and pumping at its prey with remorseless certainty.
-he was nearly spent. in a paroxysm of despair he resolved to give way, and with one mad effort seek to bury the axe in the monster's brain. but ere he could execute this fatal project--for the cuttle would have instantly swept him into the trailing weeds--five revolver shots rang out in quick succession. iris had reached the nearest rock.
-the third bullet gave the octopus cause to reflect. it squirted forth a torrent of dark-colored fluid. instantly the water became black, opaque. the tentacle flourishing in air thrashed the surface with impotent fury; that around jenks's waist grew taut and rigid. the axe flashed with the inspiration of hope. another arm was severed; the huge dismembered coil slackened and fell away.
-yet was he anchored immovably. he turned to look at iris. she never forgot the fleeting expression of his face. so might lazarus have looked from the tomb.
-"the rope!" she screamed, dropping the revolver and seizing the loose ends lying at her feet.
-she drew them tight and leaned back, pulling with all her strength. the sailor flung the axe to the rocks and grasped the two ropes. he raised himself and plunged wildly. he was free. with two convulsive strides he was at the girl's side.
-he stumbled to a boulder and dropped in complete collapse. after a time he felt iris's hand placed timidly on his shoulder. he raised his head and saw her eyes shining.
-"thank you," he said. "we are quits now."
-fierce emotions are necessarily transient, but for the hour they exhaust the psychic capacity. the sailor had gone through such mental stress before it was yet noon that he was benumbed, wholly incapable of further sensation. seneca tells how the island of theresæa arose in a moment from the sea, thereby astounding ancient mariners, as well it might. had this manifestation been repeated within a cable's length from the reef, jenks was in mood to accept it as befitting the new order of things.
-being in good condition, he soon recovered his physical powers. he was outwardly little the worse for the encounter with the devil-fish. the skin around his mouth was sore. his waist and legs were bruised. one sweep of the axe had cut clean through the bulging leather of his left boot without touching the flesh. in a word, he was practically uninjured.
-"come," said jenks, gently. "let us get back to the island."
-he quietly resumed predominance, helping her over the rough pathway of the reef, almost lifting her when the difficulties were great.
-he did not ask her how it happened that she came so speedily to his assistance. enough that she had done it, daring all for his sake. she was weak and trembling. with the acute vision of the soul she saw again, and yet again, the deadly malice of the octopus, the divine despair of the man.
-reaching the firm sand, she could walk alone. she limped. instantly her companion's blunted emotions quickened into life. he caught her arm and said hoarsely--
-"are you hurt in any way?"
-the question brought her back from dreamland. a waking nightmare was happily shattered into dim fragments. she even strove to smile unconcernedly.
-"it is nothing," she murmured. "i stumbled on the rocks. there is no sprain. merely a blow, a bit of skin rubbed off, above my ankle."
-"let me carry you."
-"the idea! carry me! i will race you to the cave."
-it was no idle jest. she wanted to run--to get away from that inky blotch in the green water.
-"you are sure it is a trifle?"
-"quite sure. my stocking chafes a little; that is all. see, i will show you."
-she stooped, and with the quick skill of woman, rolled down the stocking on her right leg. modestly daring, she stretched out her foot and slightly lifted her dress. on the outer side of the tapering limb was an ugly bruise, scratched deeply by the coral.
-he exhibited due surgical interest. his manner, his words, became professional.
-"we will soon put that right," he said. "a strip off your muslin dress, soaked in brandy, will----"
-"brandy!" she exclaimed.
-"yes; we have some, you know. brandy is a great tip for bruised wounds. it can be applied both ways, inside and out."
-this was better. they were steadily drifting back to the commonplace. whilst she stitched together some muslin strips he knocked the head off a bottle of brandy. they each drank a small quantity, and the generous spirit brought color to their wan cheeks. the sailor showed iris how to fasten a bandage by twisting the muslin round the upper part of his boot. for the first time she saw the cut made by the axe.
-"did--the thing--grip you there?" she nervously inquired.
-"there, and elsewhere. all over at once, it felt like. the beast attacked me with five arms."
-she shuddered. "i don't know how you could fight it," she said. "how strong, how brave you must be."
-this amused him. "the veriest coward will try to save his own life," he answered. "if you use such adjectives to me, what words can i find to do justice to you, who dared to come close to such a vile-looking creature and kill it. i must thank my stars that you carried the revolver."
-"ah!" she said, "that reminds me. you do not practice what you preach. i found your pistol lying on the stone in the cave. that is one reason why i followed you."
-it was quite true. he laid the weapon aside when delving at the rock, and forgot to replace it in his belt.
-"it was stupid of me," he admitted; "but i am not sorry."
-"because, as it is, i owe you my life."
-"you owe me nothing," she snapped. "it is very thoughtless of you to run such risks. what will become of me if anything happens to you? my point of view is purely selfish, you see."
-"quite so. purely selfish." he smiled sadly. "selfish people of your type are somewhat rare, miss deane."
-not a conversation worth noting, perhaps, save in so far as it is typical of the trite utterances of people striving to recover from some tremendous ordeal. epigrams delivered at the foot of the scaffold have always been carefully prepared beforehand.
-the bandage was ready; one end was well soaked in brandy. she moved towards the cave, but he cried--
-"wait one minute. i want to get a couple of crowbars."
-"i must go back there." he jerked his head in the direction of the reef. she uttered a little sob of dismay.
-"i will incur no danger this time," he explained. "i found rifles there. we must have them; they may mean salvation."
-when iris was determined about anything, her chin dimpled. it puckered delightfully now.
-"i will come with you," she announced.
-"very well. i will wait for you. the tide will serve for another hour."
-he knew he had decided rightly. she could not bear to be alone--yet. soon the bandage was adjusted and they returned to the reef. scrambling now with difficulty over the rough and dangerous track, iris was secretly amazed by the remembrance of the daring activity she displayed during her earlier passage along the same precarious roadway.
-then she darted from rock to rock with the fearless certainty of a chamois. her only stumble was caused, she recollected, by an absurd effort to avoid wetting her dress. she laughed nervously when they reached the place. this time jenks lifted her across the intervening channel.
-"is this the spot where you fell?" he asked, tenderly.
-"yes; how did you guess it?"
-"i read it in your eyes."
-"then please do not read my eyes, but look where you are going."
-"perhaps i was doing that too," he said.
-they were standing on the landward side of the shallow water in which he fought the octopus.
-already the dark fluid emitted by his assailant in its final discomfiture was passing away, owing to the slight movement of the tide.
-iris was vaguely conscious of a double meaning in his words. she did not trouble to analyze them. all she knew was that the man's voice conveyed a subtle acknowledgment of her feminine divinity. the resultant thrill of happiness startled, even dismayed her. this incipient flirtation must be put a stop to instantly.
-"now that you have brought me here with so much difficulty, what are you going to do?" she said. "it will be madness for you to attempt to ford that passage again. where there is one of those horrible things there are others, i suppose."
-jenks smiled. somehow he knew that this strict adherence to business was a cloak for her real thoughts. already these two were able to dispense with spoken word.
-but he sedulously adopted her pretext.
-"that is one reason why i brought the crowbars," he explained. "if you will sit down for a little while i will have everything properly fixed."
-he delved with one of the bars until it lodged in a crevice of the coral. then a few powerful blows with the back of the axe wedged it firmly enough to bear any ordinary strain. the rope-ends reeved through the pulley on the tree were lying where they fell from the girl's hand at the close of the struggle. he deftly knotted them to the rigid bar, and a few rapid turns of a piece of wreckage passed between the two lines strung them into a tautness that could not be attained by any amount of pulling.
-iris watched the operation in silence. the sailor always looked at his best when hard at work. the half-sullen, wholly self-contained expression left his face, which lit up with enthusiasm and concentrated intelligence. that which he essayed he did with all his might. will power and physical force worked harmoniously. she had never before seen such a man. at such moments her admiration of him was unbounded.
-he, toiling with steady persistence, felt not the inward spur which sought relief in speech, but iris was compelled to say something.
-"i suppose," she commented with an air of much wisdom, "you are contriving an overhead railway for the safe transit of yourself and the goods?"
-"why are you so doubtful about it?"
-"because i personally intended to walk across. the ropes will serve to convey the packages."
-she rose imperiously. "i absolutely forbid you to enter the water again. such a suggestion on your part is quite shameful. you are taking a grave risk for no very great gain that i can see, and if anything happens to you i shall be left all alone in this awful place."
-she could think of no better argument. her only resource was a woman's expedient--a plea for protection against threatening ills.
-the sailor seemed to be puzzled how best to act.
-"miss deane," he said, "there is no such serious danger as you imagine. last time the cuttle caught me napping. he will not do so again. those rifles i must have. if it will serve to reassure you, i will go along the line myself."
-he made this concession grudgingly. in very truth, if danger still lurked in the neighboring sea, he would be far less able to avoid it whilst clinging to a rope that sagged with his weight, and thus working a slow progress across the channel, than if he were on his feet and prepared to make a rush backwards or forwards.
-not until iris watched him swinging along with vigorous overhead clutches did this phase of the undertaking occur to her.
-"stop!" she screamed.
-he let go and dropped into the water, turning towards her.
-"what is the matter now?" he said.
-"go on; do!"
-he stood meekly on the further side to listen to her rating.
-"you knew all the time that it would be better to walk, yet to please me you adopted an absurdly difficult method. why did you do it?"
-"you have answered your own question."
-"well, i am very, very angry with you."
-"i'll tell you what," he said, "if you will forgive me i will try and jump back. i once did nineteen feet three inches in--er--in a meadow, but it makes such a difference when you look at a stretch of water the same width."
-"i wish you would not stand there talking nonsense. the tide will be over the reef in half an hour," she cried.
-without another word he commenced operations. there was plenty of rope, and the plan he adopted was simplicity itself. when each package was securely fastened he attached it to a loop that passed over the line stretched from the tree to the crowbar. to this loop he tied the lightest rope he could find and threw the other end to iris. by pulling slightly she was able to land at her feet even the cumbrous rifle-chest, for the traveling angle was so acute that the heavier the article the more readily it sought the lower level.
-they toiled in silence until jenks could lay hands on nothing more of value. then, observing due care, he quickly passed the channel. for an instant the girl gazed affrightedly at the sea until the sailor stood at her side again.
-"you see," he said, "you have scared every cuttle within miles." and he thought that he would give many years of his life to be able to take her in his arms and kiss away her anxiety.
-but the tide had turned; in a few minutes the reef would be partly submerged. to carry the case of rifles to the mainland was a manifestly impossible feat, so jenks now did that which, done earlier, would have saved him some labor--he broke open the chest, and found that the weapons were apparently in excellent order.
-he snapped the locks and squinted down the barrels of half a dozen to test them. these he laid on one side. then he rapidly constructed a small raft from loose timbers, binding them roughly with rope, and to this argosy he fastened the box of tea, the barrels of flour, the broken saloon-chair, and other small articles which might be of use. he avoided any difficulty in launching the raft by building it close to the water's edge. when all was ready the rising tide floated it for him; he secured it to his longest rope, and gave it a vigorous push off into the lagoon. then he slung four rifles across his shoulders, asked iris to carry the remaining two in like manner, and began to manoeuvre the raft landwards.
-"whilst you land the goods i will prepare dinner," announced the girl.
-"please be careful not to slip again on the rocks," he said.
-"i was more concerned about the rifles. if you fell you might damage them, and the incoming tide will so hopelessly rust those i leave behind that they will be useless."
-she laughed. this assumption at brutality no longer deceived her.
-"i will preserve them at any cost, though with six in our possession there is a margin for accidents. however, to reassure you, i will go back quickly. if i fall a second time you will still be able to replace any deficiencies in our armament."
-before he could protest she started off at a run, jumping lightly from rock to rock, though the effort cost her a good deal of pain. disregarding his shouts, she persevered until she stood safely on the sands. then saucily waving a farewell, she set off towards the cave.
-had she seen the look of fierce despair that settled down upon jenks's face as he turned to his task of guiding the raft ashore she might have wondered what it meant. in any case she would certainly have behaved differently.
-by the time the sailor had safely landed his cargo iris had cooked their midday meal. she achieved a fresh culinary triumph. the eggs were fried!
-"i am seriously thinking of trying to boil a ham," she stated gravely. "have you any idea how long it takes to cook one properly?"
-"a quarter of an hour for each pound."
-"admirable! but we can measure neither hours nor pounds."
-"i think we can do both. i will construct a balance of some kind. then, with a ham slung to one end, and a rifle and some cartridges to the other, i will tell you the weight of the ham to an ounce. to ascertain the time, i have already determined to fashion a sun-dial. i remember the requisite divisions with reasonable accuracy, and a little observation will enable us to correct any mistakes."
-"you are really very clever, mr. jenks," said iris, with childlike candor. "have you spent several years of your life in preparing for residence on a desert island?"
-"something of the sort. i have led a queer kind of existence, full of useless purposes. fate has driven me into a corner where my odds and ends of knowledge are actually valuable. such accidents make men millionaires."
-"useless purposes!" she repeated. "i can hardly credit that. one uses such a phrase to describe fussy people, alive with foolish activity. your worst enemy would not place you in such a category."
-"my worst enemy made the phrase effective at any rate, miss deane."
-"you mean that he ruined your career?"
-"well--er--yes. i suppose that describes the position with fair accuracy."
-"was he a very great scoundrel?"
-"he was, and is."
-jenks spoke with quiet bitterness. the girl's words had evoked a sudden flood of recollection. for the moment he did not notice how he had been trapped into speaking of himself, nor did he see the quiet content on iris's face when she elicited the information that his chief foe was a man. a certain tremulous hesitancy in her manner when she next spoke might have warned him, but his hungry soul caught only the warm sympathy of her words, which fell like rain on parched soil.
-"you are tired," she said. "won't you smoke for a little while, and talk to me?"
-he produced his pipe and tobacco, but he used his right hand awkwardly. it was evident to her alert eyes that the torn quick on his injured finger was hurting him a great deal. the exciting events of the morning had caused him temporarily to forget his wound, and the rapid coursing of the blood through the veins was now causing him agonized throbs.
-with a cry of distress she sprang to her feet and insisted upon washing the wound. then she tenderly dressed it with a strip of linen well soaked in brandy, thinking the while, with a sudden rush of color to her face, that although he could suggest this remedy for her slight hurt, he gave no thought to his own serious injury. finally she pounced upon his pipe and tobacco-box.
-"don't be alarmed," she laughed. "i have often filled my father's pipe for him. first, you put the tobacco in loosely, taking care not to use any that is too finely powdered. then you pack the remainder quite tightly. but i was nearly forgetting. i haven't blown, through the pipe to see if it is clean."
-she suited the action to the word, using much needless breath in the operation.
-"that is a first-rate pipe," she declared. "my father always said that a straight stem, with the bowl at a right angle, was the correct shape. you evidently agree with him."
-"you will like my father when you meet him. he is the very best man alive, i am sure."
-"you two are great friends, then?"
-"great friends! he is the only friend i possess in the world."
-"what! is that quite accurate?"
-"oh, quite. of course, mr. jenks, i can never forget how much i owe to you. i like you immensely, too, although you are so--so gruff to me at times. but--but--you see, my father and i have always been together. i have neither brother nor sister, not even a cousin. my dear mother died from some horrid fever when i was quite a little girl. my father is everything to me."
-"dear child!" he murmured, apparently uttering his thoughts aloud rather than addressing her directly. "so you find me gruff, eh?"
-"a regular bear, when you lecture me. but that is only occasionally. you can be very nice when you like, when you forget your past troubles. and pray, why do you call me a child?
-"have i done so?"
-"not a moment ago. how old are you, mr. jenks? i am twenty--twenty last december."
-"and i," he said, "will be twenty-eight in august."
-"good gracious!" she gasped. "i am very sorry, but i really thought you were forty at least."
-"i look it, no doubt. let me be equally candid and admit that you, too, show your age markedly."
-she smiled nervously. "what a lot of trouble you must have had to--to--to give you those little wrinkles in the corners of your mouth and eyes," she said.
-"wrinkles! how terrible!"
-"i don't know. i think they rather suit you; besides, it was stupid of me to imagine you were so old. i suppose exposure to the sun creates wrinkles, and you must have lived much in the open air."
-"early rising and late going to bed are bad for the complexion," he declared, solemnly.
-"i often wonder how army officers manage to exist," she said. "they never seem to get enough sleep, in the east, at any rate. i have seen them dancing for hours after midnight, and heard of them pig-sticking or schooling hunters at five o'clock next morning."
-"so you assume i have been in the army?"
-"i am quite sure of it."
-"may i ask why?"
-"your manner, your voice, your quiet air of authority, the very way you walk, all betray you."
-"then," he said sadly, "i will not attempt to deny the fact. i held a commission in the indian staff corps for nine years. it was a hobby of mine, miss deane, to make myself acquainted with the best means of victualing my men and keeping them in good health under all sorts of fanciful conditions and in every kind of climate, especially under circumstances when ordinary stores were not available. with that object in view i read up every possible country in which my regiment might be engaged, learnt the local names of common articles of food, and ascertained particularly what provision nature made to sustain life. the study interested me. once, during the soudan campaign, it was really useful, and procured me promotion."
-"tell me about it."
-"during some operations in the desert it was necessary for my troop to follow up a small party of rebels mounted on camels, which, as you probably know, can go without water much longer than horses. we were almost within striking distance, when our horses completely gave out, but i luckily noticed indications which showed that there was water beneath a portion of the plain much below the general level. half an hour's spade work proved that i was right. we took up the pursuit again, and ran the quarry to earth, and i got my captaincy."
-"was there no fight?"
-he paused an appreciable time before replying. then he evidently made up his mind to perform some disagreeable task. the watching girl could see the change in his face, the sharp transition from eager interest to angry resentment.
-"yes," he went on at last, "there was a fight. it was a rather stiff affair, because a troop of british cavalry which should have supported me had turned back, owing to the want of water already mentioned. but that did not save the officer in charge of the 24th lancers from being severely reprimanded."
-"the 24th lancers!" cried iris. "lord ventnor's regiment!"
-"lord ventnor was the officer in question."
-her face crimonsed. "then you know him?" she said.
-"is he your enemy?"
-"and that is why you were so agitated that last day on the sirdar, when poor lady tozer asked me if i were engaged to him?"
-"how could it affect you? you did not even know my name then?"
-"it affected me because the sudden mention of his name recalled my own vivie's health gradually recovered from the effects of the forcible feeding; the prison fare, supplemented by the weekly parcels, suited her digestion; the peace of the prison life and the regular work at interesting trades soothed her nerves. she enjoyed the respite from the worries of her complicated toilettes, the perplexity of what to wear and how to wear it; in short, she was finding a spell of prison life quite bearable, except for the cold and the attentions of the chaplain. she gathered from the fortnightly letter which her industry and good conduct allowed her to receive, and to answer, that unwearied efforts were being made by her friends outside to shorten her sentence. mrs. warren through bertie adams had found out the cases where jockeys and stable lads had lost their effects in the fires or explosions which had followed vivie's visits to their employers' premises, and had made good their losses. as to their employers, they had all been heavily insured, and recovered the value of their buildings; and as to the insurance companies they had all been so enriched by mr. lloyd george's legislation that the one-or-two hundred thousand pounds they had lost, through vivie's revenge for the seemingly-fruitless death of emily wilding davison, was a bagatelle not worth bothering about. but all attempts to get the home office to reconsider miss warren's case or to shorten her imprisonment (except by the abridgment that could be earned in the prison itself) were unavailing. so long as the cabinet held vivie under lock and key, the suffrage movement--they foolishly believed--was hamstrung.
-mrs. warren, assured by praed and rossiter that vivie's release was a mere matter of a few days, had left for brussels on the 5th of august. if--as was then hoped--the french and belgian armies would suffice to keep the germans at bay on the frontier of belgium, she would prefer to resume her life there in the villa de beau-séjour. if however belgium was going to be invaded it was better she should secure her property as far as possible, transfer her funds, and make her way somehow to a safe part of france. vivie would join her as soon as she could leave the prison.
-the lilacs in victoria road had been disposed of--through honoria--as soon as possible, after the sentence of three years' imprisonment had been pronounced on vivie; and the faithful suffragette maid had passed into honoria's employ at petworth, a fact that was not fully understood by colonel armstrong until he had become general armstrong and perfectly indifferent to the suffrage agitation which had by that time attained its end. so when vivie had come out of prison and had promised to write to all the wardresses and to meet them some day on non-professional ground; had found rossiter waiting for her in his motor and honoria in hers; had thanked them both for their never-to-be-forgotten kindness, and had insisted on walking away in her rather creased and rumpled clothes of the previous year with bertie adams; she sought the hospitality of praddy at hans place. the parlour-maid received her sumptuously, and praddy's eyes watered with senile tears.
-but vivie would have no melancholy. "oh praddy! if you only knew. it's worth going to prison to know the joy of coming out of it! i'm so happy at thinking this is my last day in england for ever so long. when the war is over, i think i shall settle in switzerland with mother--or perhaps all three of us--you with us, i mean--in italy. we'll only come back here when the women have got the vote. now to-night you shall take me to the theatre--or rather i'll take you. i've thought it all out beforehand, and bertie adams has secured the seats. it's the chocolate soldier at the adelphi, the only war piece they had ready; there are two stalls for us and bertie and his wife are going to the dress circle. my cook's ticket is taken for brussels and i leave to-morrow by the ostende route."
-"to-morrow" was the 12th of august, and dora was not yet in being to interpose every possible obstacle in the way of the civilian traveller. down to the battle of the marne in september, 1914, very little difficulty was made about crossing the channel, especially off the main dover-calais route.
-so in the radiant noon of that august day vivie looked her last on the brown-white promontories, cliffs and grey castle of dover, scarcely troubling about any anticipations one way or the other, and certainly having no prevision she would not recross the channel for four years and four months, and not see dover again for five or six years.
-british war vessels were off the port and inside it. but there was not much excitement or crowding on the ostende steamer or any of those sensational precautions against being torpedoed or mined, which soon afterwards oppressed the spirits of cross-channel passengers. vessels arriving from belgium were full of passengers of the superior refugee class, american and british tourists, or wealthy people who though they preferred living abroad had begun to think that the continent just now was not very healthy and england the securest refuge for those who wished to be comfortable.
-vivie being a good sailor and economical by nature, never thought of securing a cabin for the four or five hours' sea-journey. she sat on the upper deck with her scanty luggage round her. a nice-looking young man who had a cabin the door of which he locked, was walking up and down on the level deck and scrutinizing her discreetly. and when at last they worked their way backwards into ostende--the harbour was full of vessels, chiefly mine-dredgers and torpedo boats--she noticed the obsequiousness of the steamer people and how he left the ship before any one else.
-she followed soon afterwards, having little encumbrances in the way of luggage; but she observed that he just showed a glimpse of some paper and was allowed to walk straight through the douane with unexamined luggage, and so, on to the brussels train.
-but she herself had little difficulty. she put her hand luggage--she had no other--into a first-class compartment, and having an hour and a half to wait walked out to look at ostende.
-summer tourists were still there; the casino was full of people, the shops were doing an active trade; the restaurants were crowded with english, americans, belgians taking tea, chocolate, or liqueurs at little tables and creating a babel of talk. newspapers were being sold everywhere by ragamuffin boys who shouted their head-lines in french, flemish, and quite understandable english. a fort or two at liége had fallen, but it was of no consequence. general léman could hold out indefinitely, and the mere fact that german soldiers had entered the town of liége counted for nothing. belgium had virtually won the war by holding up the immense german army. france was overrunning alsace, russia was invading east prussia and also sending uncountable thousands of soldiers, via archangel, to england, whence they were being despatched to calais for the relief of belgium.
-"it looks," thought vivie, after glancing at the indépendance belge, "as though belgium were going to be extremely interesting during the next few weeks; i may be privileged to witness--from a safe distance--another waterloo."
-then she returned to the train which in her absence had been so crowded with soldiers and civilian passengers that she had great difficulty in finding her place and seating herself. the young man whom she had seen pacing the deck of the steamer approached her and said: "there is more room in my compartment; in fact i have selfishly got one all to myself. won't you share it?"
-she thanked him and moved in there with her suit case and rugs. when the train had started and she had parried one or two polite enquiries as to place and ventilation, she said: "i think i ought to tell you who i am, in case you would not like to be seen speaking to me--i imagine you are in diplomacy, as i noticed you went through with a red passport.--i am vivien warren, just out of prison, and an outlaw, more or less."
-"'the outlaws of to-day are the in-laws of to-morrow,' as the english barrister said when he married the boer general's daughter. i have thought i recognized you. i have heard you speak at lady maud's and also at lady feenix's suffrage parties. my name is hawk. i suppose you've been in prison for some suffrage offence? so has my aunt, for the matter of that."
-vivie: "yes, but in her case they only sentenced her to the first division; whereas i have been doing nine months' hard."
-hawk: "what was your crime?"
-vivie: "i admit nothing, it is always wisest. but i was accused of burning down mr. ----'s racing stables--and other things..."
-hawk: "that beast. well, i suppose it was very wrong. can't quite make up my mind about militancy, one way or the other. but here we are up against the biggest war in history, and such peccadilloes as yours sink into insignificance. by the bye, my aunt was amnestied and so i suppose were you?"
-vivie: "yes, but not so handsomely. i was requested to go away from england for a time, so here i am, about to join my mother in brussels--or in a little country place near brussels."
-hawk: "well, i've been secretary of legation there. i'm just going back to--to--well i'm just going back."
-at bruges they were told that the train would not leave for ghent and brussels for another two hours--some mobilization delay; so hawk proposed they should go and see the memlings and then have some dinner.
-"don't you think they're perfectly wonderful?"--àpropos of the pictures in the hospital of st. jean.
-vivie: "it depends on what you mean by 'wonderful.' if you admire the fidelity of the reproduction in colour and texture of the flemish costumes of the fifteenth century, i agree with you. it is also interesting to see the revelations of their domestic architecture and furniture of that time, and the types of domestic dog, cow and horse. but if you admire them as being true pictures of life in palestine in the time of christ, or in the rhineland of the fifth century, then i think they--like most old masters--are perfectly rotten. and have you ever remarked another thing about all paintings prior to the seventeenth century: how plain, how ugly all the people are? you never see a single good-looking man or woman. do let's go and have that dinner you spoke of. i've got a prison appetite."
-even at an early hour brussels seemed crowded and as the tram passed along the handsome boulevards the shops were being opened and tourists were on their way to waterloo in brakes. every one seemed to think in mid-august, 1914, that germany was destined to receive her coup-de-grâce on the field of waterloo. it would be so appropriate. and no one--at any rate of those who spoke their thoughts aloud--seemed to consider that brussels was menaced.
-leaving her luggage at the tram terminus, vivie sped on foot through forest roads, where the dew still glistened, to the villa beau-séjour. mrs. warren was not yet dressed, but was rapturous in her greeting. her chauffeur had been called up, so the auto could not go out, but a farm cart would be sent for the luggage.
-"i believe, mother, i'm going to enjoy myself enormously," said vivie as she sat in the verandah in the morning sunshine, making a delicious petit déjeuner out of fresh rolls, the butter of the farm, a few slices of sausage, and a big cup of frothing chocolate topped with whipped cream. the scene that spread before her was idyllic, from a bucolic point of view. the beech woods of tervueren shut out any horizon of town activity; black and white cows were being driven out to pasture, a flock of geese with necks raised vertically waggled sedately along their own chosen path, a little disturbed and querulous over the arrival of a stranger; turkey hens and their half-grown poults and a swelling, strutting turkey cock, a peacock that had already lost nearly all his tail and therefore declined combat with the turkey and was, moreover, an isolated bachelor; guinea-fowls scratching and running about alternately; and plump cocks and hens of mixed breed covered most of the ground in the adjacent farm yard and the turf of an apple orchard, where the fruit was already reddening under the august sun. pigeons circled against the sky with the distinct musical notes struck out by their wings, or cooed and cooed round the dove cots. the dairy women of the farm laughed and sang and called out to one another in flemish and wallon rough chaff about their men-folk who were called to the colours. there was nothing suggestive here of any coming tragedy.
-this was the morning of the 13th of august. for three more days vivie lived deliriously, isolated from the world. she took new books to the shade of the forest, and a rug on which she could repose, and read there with avidity, read also all the newspapers her mother had brought over from england, tried to master the events which had so rapidly and irresistibly plunged europe into war. were the germans to blame, she asked herself? of course they were, technically, in invading belgium and in forcing this war on france. but were they not being surrounded by a hostile alliance? was not this hostility on the part of servia towards austria stimulated by russia in order to forestal the central powers by a russian occupation of constantinople? why should the russian empire be allowed to stretch for nine millions of square miles over half asia, much of persia, and now claim to control the balkan peninsula and asia minor? if england might claim a large section of persia as her sphere of influence, and egypt likewise and a fourth part of africa, much of arabia, and cyprus in the mediterranean, why might not germany and austria expect to have their little spheres of influence in the balkans, in asia minor, in mesopotamia? we had helped france to morocco and italy to tripoli; why should we bother about servia? it might be unkind, but then were we not unkind towards her father's country, ireland? were we very tender towards national independence in egypt, in persia?
-yet this brutal invasion of france, this unprovoked attack on liège were ugly things. france had shown no disposition to egg servia on against austria, and sir edward grey in the last days of june--she now learnt for the first time, for she had seen no newspapers in prison, where it is part of the dehumanizing policy of the home office to prevent their entry, or the dissemination of any information about current events--sir edward grey had clearly shown great britain did not approve of servian intrigues in bosnia. well: let the best man win. germany was just as likely to give the vote to her women as was britain. the germans were first in music and in science. she for her part didn't wish to become a german subject, but once the war was over she would willingly naturalize herself belgian or swiss.
-and the war must soon be over. europe as a whole could not allow this devastation of resources. america would intervene. already the germans realized their gigantic blunder in starting the attack. their men were said to be--she read--much less brave than people had expected. the mighty german armies had been held up for ten days by a puny belgian force and the forts of liège and namur. there would presently be an armistice and germany would have to make peace with perhaps the cession to france of metz as a solatium, while germany was given a little bit more of africa, and austria got nothing....
-meantime the villa beau-séjour seemed after holloway prison a paradise upon earth. why quarrel with her fate? why not drop politics and take up philosophy? she felt herself capable of writing a universal history which would be far truer if more cynical than any previous attempt to show civilized man the route he had followed and the martyrdom he had undergone.
-on the 17th of august she took the tram into brussels. it seemed however as if it would never get there, and when she reached the porte de namur she was too impatient to wait for the connection. she could not find any gendarme, but at a superior-looking flower-shop she obtained the address of the british legation.
-these rumours were to the effect that the germans had captured all the forts of liège and their brave defender, general léman; that they were in namur and were advancing on louvain. "i wonder what we had better do?" pondered vivie.
-in her bewilderment she took the bold step of calling at the hotel de ville, gave her name and nationality, and asked the advice of the municipal employé who saw her as to what course she and her mother had better pursue: leave tervueren and seek a lodging in brussels; or retreat as far as ghent or bruges or even holland? the clerk reassured her. the germans had certainly occupied the south-east of belgium, but dared not push as far to the west and north as brussels. they risked otherwise being nipped between the belgian army of antwerp and the british force marching on mons.... he directed her attention to the last communiqué of the ministry of war: "la situation n'a jamais été meilleure. bruxelles, à l'abri d'un coup de main, est défendue par vingt mille gardes civiques armés d'un excellent fusil," etc.
-vivie returned therefore a trifle reassured. at the same time she and her mother spent some hours in packing up and posting valuable securities to london, via ostende, in packing for deposit in the strong rooms of a brussels bank mrs. warren's jewellery and plate. the tram service from tervueren had ceased to run. so they induced a neighbour to drive them into brussels in a chaise: a slow and wearisome journey under a broiling sun. arrived in brussels they found the town in consternation. placarded on the walls was a notice signed by the burgomaster--the celebrated adolphe max--informing the bruxellois that in spite of the resistances of the belgian army it was to be feared the enemy might soon be in occupation of brussels. in such an event he adjured the citizens to avoid all panic, to give no legitimate cause of offence to the germans, to renounce any idea of resorting to arms! the germans on their part were bound by the laws of war to respect private property, the lives of non-combatants, the honour of women, and the exercise of religion.
-vivie and her mother found the banks closed and likewise the railway station. they now had but one thought: to get back as quickly as possible to villa beau-séjour, and fortunately for their dry-mouthed impatience their farmer friend was of the same mind. along the tervueren road they met numbers of peasant refugees in carts and on foot, driving cattle, geese or pigs towards the capital; urging on the tugging dogs with small carts and barrows loaded with personal effects, trade-goods, farm produce, or crying children. all of them had a distraught, haggard appearance and were constantly looking behind them. from the east, indeed, came the distant sounds of explosions and intermittent rifle firing. mrs. warren was blanched with fear, her cheeks a dull peach colour. she questioned the people in french and flemish, but they only answered vaguely in raucous voices: "les allemands!" "de duitscher."
-one old woman, however, had flung herself down by the roadside, while her patient dog lay between the shafts of the little cart till she should be pleased to go on. she was more communicative and told mrs. warren a tale too horrible to be believed, about husband, son, son-in-law all killed, daughter violated and killed too, cottage in flames, livestock driven off. recovering from her exhaustion she rose and shook herself. "i've no business to be here. i should be with them. i was just packing this cart for the market when it happened. why did i go away? oh for shame! i'll go back--to them..." and forthwith she turned the dog round and trudged the same way they were going.
-at last they came opposite the courtyard of the villa and saw the lawn and gravel sweep full of helmeted soldiers in green-grey uniform, their bodies hung with equipment--bags, great-coats, rolled-up blankets, trench spades, cartridge bandoliers. vivie jumped down quickly, said to her mother in a low firm voice: "leave everything to me. say as little as possible." then to the farmer: "nous vous remercions infiniment. vous aurez mille choses à faire chez vous, je n'en doute. nous réglerons notre compte tout-à l'heure.... pour le moment, adieu." she clutched the handbags of valuables, slung them somehow on her left arm, while with her other she piloted the nearly swooning mrs. warren into the court.
-they were at once stopped by a non-commissioned officer who asked them in abrupt, scarcely understandable german what they wanted. vivie guessing his meaning said in english--she scarcely knew any german: "this is our house. we have been absent in brussels. we want to see the officer in command." the soldier knew no english, but likewise guessed at their meaning. he ordered them to wait where they were. presently he came out of the villa and said the herr oberst would see them. vivie led her mother into the gay little hall--how pleasant and cool it had looked in the early morning! it was now full of surly-looking soldiers. without hesitating she took a chair from one soldier and placed her mother in it. "you rest there a moment, dearest, while i go in and see the officer in command." the corporal she had first spoken with beckoned her into the pretty sitting-room at the back where they had had their early breakfast that morning.
-here she saw seated at a table consulting plans of brussels and other papers a tall, handsome man of early middle age, who might indeed have passed for a young man, had he not looked very tired and care-worn and exhibited a bald patch at the back of his head, rendered the more apparent because the brown-gold curls round it were dank with perspiration. he rose to his feet, clicked his heels together and saluted. "an english young lady, i am told, rather ... a ... surprise ... on ... the ... outskirts ... of brussels..." (his english was excellent, if rather staccato and spaced.) "it ... is ... not ... usual ... for ... englishwomen ... to ... be owners ... of chateaux ... in belgium. but i ... hear ... it ... is ... your mother ... who is the owner ... from long time, and you are her daughter newly arrived from england? nicht wahr? sie verstehen nicht deutsch, gnädiges fraulein?"
-"no," said vivie, "i don't speak much german, and fortunately you speak such perfect english that it is not necessary."
-"i have stayed some time in england," was the reply; "i was once military attaché in london. both your voice and your face seem--what should one say? familiar to me. are you of london?"
-"yes, i suppose i may say i am a londoner, though i believe i was born in brussels. but i don't want to beat about the bush: there is so much to be said and explained, and all this time i am very anxious about my mother. she is in the hall outside--feels a little faint i think with shock--might she--might i?"--
-"but my dear miss--?"
-"my dear miss warren, of course. we are enemies--pour le moment--but we germans are not monsters. ("what about those peasants' stories?" said vivie to herself.) your lady mother must come in here and take that fauteuil. then we can talk better at our ease."
-vivie got up and brought her mother in.
-"now you shall tell me everything--is it not so? better to be quite frank. à la guerre comme à la guerre. first, you are english?"
-"yes. my mother is mrs. warren, i am her daughter, vivien warren. my mother has lived many years in belgium, though also in other places, in germany, austria and france. of late, however, she has lived entirely here. this place belongs to her."
-"i? i have just been released from prison in london, holloway prison..."
-"my dear young lady! you are surely joking--what do you say? you pull my leg? but no; i see! you have been suffragette. aha! i understand you are the miss warren, the miss warren who make the english government afraid, nicht wahr? you set fire to houses of parliament..."
-vivie (interrupting): "no, no! only to some racing stables..."
-oberst: "i understand. but you are rebel?"
-vivie: "i hate the present british government--the most hypocritical, the most..."
-oberst: "but we are in agreement, you and i! this is splendid. but now we must be praktisch. we are at war, though we hope here for a peaceful occupation of belgium. you will see how the flämisch--ah, you say the fleming?--the flemish part of belgium will receive us with such pleasure. it is only with the wälsch, the wallon part we disagree.... but there is so much for me to do--we must talk of all these things some other time. let us begin our business. i must first introduce myself. i am oberst gottlieb von giesselin of the saxon army. (he rose, clicked heels, bowed, and sat down.) i see you have three heavy bags you look at often. what is it?"
-vivie (taking courage): "it is my mother's jewellery and some plate. she fears--"
-leaving mrs. warren still seated, but a little less stertorous in breathing, a little reassured, vivie and oberst von giesselin then went over the villa, apportioning the rooms. the colonel and his orderly would be lodged in two of the bedrooms. vivie and her mother would share mrs. warren's large bedroom and retain the salon for their exclusive occupation. they would use the dining-room in common with their guest.
-vivie looking out of the windows occasionally, as they passed from room to room, saw the remainder of the soldiery strolling off to be lodged at their nearest neighbour's, the farmer who had driven them in to brussels that morning. there were perhaps thirty, accompanying a young lieutenant. how would he find room for them, poor man? they were more fortunate in being asked only to lodge six or seven in addition to the colonel's orderly and soldier-clerk. before sunset, the villa beau-séjour was clear of soldiers, except the few that had gone to the barn and the outhouses. the morning room had been fitted up with a typewriter at which the military clerk sat tapping. the colonel's personal luggage had been placed in his bedroom. a soldier was even sweeping up all traces of the invasion of armed men and making everything tidy. it all seemed like a horrid dream that was going to end up happily after all. presently vivie would wake up completely and there would even be no oberst, no orderly; only the peaceful life of the farm that was going on yesterday. here a sound of angry voices interrupted her musings. the cows returning by themselves from the pasture were being intercepted by soldiers who were trying to secure them. vivie in her indignation ran out and ordered the soldiers off, in english. to her surprise they obeyed silently, but as they sauntered away to their quarters she was saddened at seeing them carrying the bodies of most of the turkeys and fowls and even the corpse of the poor tailless peacock. they had waited for sundown to rob the hen-roosts.
-very much disillusioned she ran to the morning room and burst in on the colonel's dictation to his clerk. "excuse me, but if you don't keep your soldiers in better order you will have very little to eat whilst you are here. they are killing and carrying off all our poultry."
-the colonel flushed a little at the peremptory way in which she spoke, but without replying went out and shouted a lot of orders in german. his orderly summoned soldiers from the barn and together they drove the cows into the cow-sheds. all the flemish servants having disappeared in a panic, the germans had to milk the cows that evening; and vivie, assisted by the orderly, cooked the evening meal in the kitchen. he was, like his colonel, a saxon, a pleasant-featured, domesticated man, who explained civilly in the thuringian dialect--though to vivie there could be no discrimination between varieties of high german--that the sachsen folk were "eines gütes leute" and that all would go smoothly in time.
-nevertheless the next morning when she could take stock she found nearly all the poultry except the pigeons had disappeared; and most of the apples, ripe and unripe, had vanished from the orchard trees. the female servants of the farm, however, came back; and finding no violence was offered took up their work again. two days afterwards, von giesselin sent vivie into brussels in his motor, with his orderly to escort her, so that she might deposit her valuables at a bank. she found brussels, suburbs and city alike, swarming with grey-uniformed soldiers, most of whom looked tired and despondent. those who were on the march, thinking vivie must be the wife of some german officer of high rank, struck up a dismal chant from dry throats with a refrain of "gloria, viktoria, hoch! deutschland, hoch!" at the bank the belgian officials received her with deference. apart from being the daughter of the well-to-do mrs. warren, she was english, and seemed to impose respect even on the germans. they took over her valuables, made out a receipt, and cashed a fairly large cheque in ready money. vivie then ventured to ask the bank clerk who had seen to her business if he had any news. looking cautiously round, he said the rumours going through the town were that the queen of holland, enraged that her prince consort should have facilitated the crossing of limburg by german armies, had shot him dead with a revolver; that the crown prince of germany, despairing of a successful end of the war, had committed suicide at his father's feet; that the american consul general in brussels--to whom, by the bye, vivie ought to report herself and her mother, in order to come under his protection--had notified general sixt von arnim, commanding the army in brussels, that, unless he vacated the belgian capital immediately, england would bombard hamburg and the united states would declare war on the kaiser. alluring stories like these flitted through despairing brussels during the first two months of german occupation, though vivie, in her solitude at tervueren, seldom heard them.
-after her business at the bank she walked about the town. no one took any notice of her or annoyed her in any way. the restaurants seemed crowded with belgians as well as germans, and the belgians did not seem to have lost their appetites. the palace hotel had become a german officers' club. on all the public buildings the german imperial flag hung alongside the belgian. only a few of the trams were running. yet you could still buy, without much difficulty at the kiosques, belgian and even french and british newspapers. from these she gathered that the german forces were in imminent peril between the belgian antwerp army on the north and the british army advancing from the south; and that in the plains of alsace the french had given the first public exhibition of the new "turpin" explosive. the results had been foudroyant ... and simple. complete regiments of german soldiers had been destroyed in one minute. it seemed curious, she thought, that with such an arm as this the french command did not at once come irresistibly to the rescue of brussels....
-however, it was four o'clock, and there was her friend the enemy's automobile drawn up outside the bank, awaiting her. she got in, and the soldier chauffeur whirled her away to the villa beau-séjour, beyond tervueren.
-on her return she found her mother prostrate with bad news. their nearest neighbour, farmer oudekens who had driven them into brussels the preceding day had been executed in his own orchard only an hour ago. it seemed that the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers billeted there had disappeared in the night, leaving his uniform and watch and chain behind him. the farmer's story was that in the night the lieutenant had appeared in his room with a revolver and had threatened to shoot him unless he produced a suit of civilian clothes. thus coerced he had given him his eldest son's sunday clothes left behind when the said son went off to join the belgian army. the lieutenant, grateful for the assistance, had given him as a present his watch and chain.
-on the other hand the german non-commissioned officers insisted their lieutenant had been made away with in the night. the farmer's allegation that he had deserted (as in fact he had) only enhanced his crime. the finding of the court after a very summary trial was "guilty," and despite the frantic appeals of the wife, reinforced later on by mrs. warren, the farmer had been taken out and shot.
-the evening meal consequently was one of strained relations. colonel von giesselin came to supper punctually and was very spruce in appearance. but he was gravely polite and uncommunicative. and after dessert the two ladies asked permission to retire. they lay long awake afterwards, debating in whispers what terror might be in store for them. mrs. warren cried a good deal and lamented futilely her indolent languor of a few days previously. why had she not, while there was yet time, cleared out of brussels, gone to holland, and thence regained england with vivie, and from england the south of france? vivie, more stoical, pointed out it was no use crying over lost opportunities. here they were, and they must sharpen their wits to get away at the first opportunity. perhaps the american consul might help them?
-the next morning, however, their guest, who had insensibly turned host, told vivie the tram service to brussels, like the train service, was suspended indefinitely, and that he feared they must resign themselves to staying where they were. under his protection they had nothing to fear. he was sorry the soldiers had helped themselves so freely to the livestock; but everything had now settled down. henceforth they would be sure of something to eat, as he himself had got to be fed. and all he asked of them was their agreeable society.
-two months went by of this strange life. two months, in which vivie only saw german newspapers--which she read with the aid of von giesselin. their contents filled her with despair. they made very little of the marne rebuff, much of the capture of antwerp and ostende, and the occupation of all belgium (as they put it). vivie noted that the german emperor's heart had bled for the punishment inflicted on louvain. (she wondered how that strange personality, her father, had fared in the destruction of monastic buildings.) but she had then no true idea of what had taken place, and the far-reaching harm this crime had done to the german reputation. she noted that the german press expressed disappointment that the cause of germany, the crusade against albion, had received no support from the irish nationalists, or from the "revolting" women, the suffragettes, who had been so cruelly maltreated by the administration of asquith and sir grey.
-this point was discussed by the colonel, but vivie found herself speaking as a patriot. how could the germans expect british women to turn against their own country in its hour of danger?
-"then you would not," said von giesselin, "consent to write some letters to your friends, if i said i could have them sent safely to their destination?--only letters," he added hastily, seeing her nostrils quiver and a look come into her eyes--"to ask your suffrage friends to bring pressure to bear on their government to bring this d-r-r-eadful war to a just peace. that is all we ask." but vivie said "with all her own private grudge against the present ministry she felt au fond she was british; she must range herself in time of war with her own people."
-mrs. warren went much farther. she was not very voluble nowadays. the german occupation of her villa had given her a mental and physical shock from which she never recovered. she often sat quite silent and rather huddled at meal times and looked the old woman now. in such a conversation as this she roused herself and her voice took an aggressive tone. "my daughter write to her friends to ask them to obstruct the government at such a time as this? never! i'd disown her if she did, i'd repudiate her! she may have had her own turn-up with 'em. i was quite with her there. but that, so to speak, was only a domestic quarrel. we're british all through, and don't you forget it--sir--(she added deprecatingly): british all through and we're goin' to beat germany yet, you'll see. the british navy never has been licked nor won't be, this time."
-colonel von giesselin did not insist. he seemed depressed himself at times, and far from elated at the victories announced in his own newspapers. he would in the dreary autumn evenings show them the photographs of his wife--a sweet-looking woman--and his two solid-looking, handsome children, and talk with rapture of his home life. why, indeed, was there this war! his heart like his emperor's bled for these unhappy belgians. but it was all due to the macchiavellian policy of "sir grey and asquiss." if germany had not felt herself surrounded and barred from all future expansion of trade and influence she would not have felt forced to attack france and invade belgium. why, see! all the time they were talking, barbarous russia, egged on by england, was ravaging east prussia!
-then, in other moods, he would lament the war and the policy of prussia. how he had loved england in the days when he was military attaché there. he had once wanted to marry an englishwoman, a miss fraser, a so handsome daughter of a court physician.
-"why, that must have been honoria, my former partner," said vivie, finding an intense joy in this link of memory. and she told much of her history to the sentimental colonel, who was conceiving for her a sincere friendship and camaraderie. they opened up other veins of memory, talked of lady feenix, of the musical parties at the parrys, of emily daymond's playing, of this, that and the other hostess, of such-and-such an actress or singer.
-the colonel of course was often absent all day on military duties. he advised vivie strongly on such occasions not to go far from mrs. warren's little domain. "i am obliged to remind you, dear young lady, that you and your mother are my prisoners in a sense. many bad things are going on--things we cannot help in war--outside this quiet place..."
-in november, however, there was a change of scene, which in many ways came to vivie and her mother with a sense of great relief. colonel von giesselin told them one morning he had been appointed secretary to the german governor of brussels, and must reside in the town not far from the rue de la loi. he proposed that the ladies should move into brussels likewise; in fact he delicately insisted on it. their pleasant relations could thus continue--perhaps--who knows?--to the end of this war, "to that peace which will make us friends once more?" it would in any case be most unsafe if, without his protection, they continued to reside at this secluded farm, on the edge of the great woods. in fact it could not be thought of, and another officer was coming here in his place with a considerable suite. eventually compensation would be paid to mrs. warren for any damage done to her property.
-the two women readily agreed. in the curtailment of their movements and the absence of normal means of communication their life at villa beau-séjour was belying its name. their supply of money was coming to an end; attempts must be made to regularize that position by drawing on mrs. warren's german investments and the capital she still had in belgian stock--if that were negotiable at all.
-where should they go? mrs. warren still had some lien on the hotel édouard-sept (the name, out of deference to the germans, had been changed to hotel impérial). with the influence of the government secretary behind her she might turn out some of its occupants and regain the use of the old "appartement." this would accommodate vivie too. and there was no reason why their friend should not place his own lodging and office at the same hotel, which was situated conveniently on the rue royale not far from the governor's residence in the rue de la loi.
-so this plan was carried out. and in december, 1914, mrs. warren had some brief flicker of happiness once more, and even vivie felt the nightmare had lifted a little. it was life again. residence at the villa beau-séjour had almost seemed an entombment of the living. here, in the heart of brussels, at any rate, you got some news every day, even if much of it was false. the food supply was more certain, there were 700,000 people all about you. true, the streets were very badly lit at night and fuel was scarce and dear. but you were in contact with people.
-in january, vivie tried to get into touch with the american legation, not only to send news of their condition to england but to ascertain whether permission might not be obtained for them to leave belgium for holland. but this last plea was said by the american representative to be unsustainable. for various reasons, the german government would not permit it, and he was afraid neither vivie nor her mother would get enough backing from the british authorities to strengthen the american demand. she must stop on in brussels till the war came to an end.
-"but how are we to live?" asked vivie, with a catch in her throat. "our supply of belgian money is coming to an end. my mother has considerable funds invested in england. these she can't touch. she has other sums in german securities, but soon after the war they stopped sending her the interest on the plea that she was an 'enemy.' as to the money we have in belgium, the bank in brussels can tell me nothing. what are we to do?" the rather cold-mannered american diplomatist--it was one of the secretaries of legation and he knew all about mrs. warren's past, and regarded vivie as an outlaw--said he would try to communicate with her friends in england and see if through the american relief organization, funds could be transmitted for their maintenance. she gave him the addresses of rossiter, praed, and her mother's london bankers.
-vivie now tried to settle down to a life of usefulness. to increase their resources she gave lessons in english to belgians and even to german officers. she offered herself to various groups of belgian ladies who had taken up such charities as the germans permitted. she also asked to be taken on as a red cross helper. but in all these directions she had many snubs to meet and little encouragement. scandal had been busy with her name--the unhappy reputation of her mother, the peculiar circumstances under which she had left england, the two or three months shut up at tervueren with colonel von giesselin, and the very protection he now accorded her and her mother at the hotel impérial. she felt herself looked upon almost as a pariah, except among the poor of brussels in the quartier des marolles. here she was only regarded as a kind englishwoman, unwearied in her efforts to alleviate suffering, mental and bodily.
-and meantime, silence, a wall of silence as regarded england--england which she was beginning to look upon as the paradise from which she had been chased. not a word had come through from rossiter, from honoria, bertie adams, or any of her suffrage friends. i can supply briefly what she did not know.
-rossiter at the very outbreak of war had offered his services as one deeply versed in anatomy and in physiology to the army medical service, and especially to a great person at the war office; but had been told quite cavalierly that they had no need of him. as he persisted, he had been asked--in the hope that it might get rid of him--to go over to the united states in company with a writer of comic stories, a retired actor and a music-hall singer, and lecture on the causes of the war in the hope of bringing america in. this he had declined to do, and being rich and happening to know personally general armstrong (honoria's husband) he had been allowed to accompany him to the vicinity of the front and there put his theories of grafting flesh and bone to the test; with the ultimate results that his work became of enormous beneficial importance and he was given rank in the r.a.m.c. honoria, racked with anxiety about her dear "army," and very sad as to vivie's disappearance, slaved at war work as much as her children's demands on her permitted; or even put her children on one side to help the sick and wounded. vivie's suffrage friends forgot she had ever existed and turned their attention to propaganda, to recruiting for the voluntary army which our ministers still hoped might suffice to win the war, to the making of munitions, or aeroplane parts, to land work and to any other work which might help their country in its need.
-and bertie adams?
-when he realized that his beloved and revered miss warren was shut off from escape in belgium, could not be heard of, could not be got at and rescued, he went nearly off his nut.... he reviewed during a succession of sleepless nights what course he might best pursue. his age was about thirty-two. he might of course enlist in the army. but though very patriotic, his allegiance lay first at the feet of vivie warren. if he entered the army, he might be sent anywhere but to the belgian frontier; and even if he got near belgium he could not dart off to rescue vivie without becoming a deserter. so he came speedily to the conclusion that the most promising career he could adopt, having regard to his position in life and lack of resources, was to volunteer for foreign service under the y.m.c.a., and express the strongest possible wish to be employed as near belgium as was practicable. so that by the end of september, 1914, bertie was serving out cocoa and biscuits, writing paper and cigarettes, hot coffee and sausages and cups of bovril to exhausted or resting soldiers in the huts of the y.m.c.a., near ypres. alternating with these services, he was, like other y.m.c.a. men in the same district and at the same time, acting as stretcher bearer to bring in the wounded, as amateur chaplain with the dying, as amateur surgeon with the wounded, as secretary to some distraught officer in high command whose clerks had all been killed; and in any other capacity if called upon. but always with the stedfast hope and purpose that he might somehow reach and rescue vivie warren.
-in the early spring of 1915, vivie, anxious not to see her mother in utter penury, and despairing of any effective assistance from the americans (very much prejudiced against her for the reasons already mentioned), took her mother's german and belgian securities of a face value amounting to about £18,000 and sold them at her belgian bank for a hundred thousand francs (£4,000) in belgian or german bank notes. she consulted no one, except her mother. who was there to consult? she did not like to confide too much to colonel von giesselin, a little too prone in any case to "protect" them. but as she argued with mrs. warren, what else were they to do in their cruel situation? if the allies were eventually victorious, mrs. warren could return to england. there at least she had in safe investments £40,000, ample for the remainder of their lives. if germany lost the war, the german securities nominally worth two hundred thousand marks might become simply waste paper; even now they were only computed by the bank at a purchase value of about one fifth what they had stood at before the war. if germany were victorious or agreed to a compromise peace, her mother's shares in belgian companies might be unsaleable. better to secure now a lump sum of four thousand pounds in bank notes that would be legal currency, at any rate as long as the german occupation lasted. and as one never knew what might happen, it was safer still to have all this money (equivalent to a hundred thousand francs), in their own keeping. they could live even in war time, on such a sum as this for four, perhaps five years, as they would be very economical and vivie would try to earn all she could by teaching. it was useless to hope they would be able to return to villa beau-séjour so long as the german occupation lasted, or during that time receive a penny in compensation for the sequestration of the property.
-the notes for the hundred thousand francs therefore were carefully concealed in mrs. warren's bedroom at the hotel impérial and vivie for a few months afterwards felt slightly easier in her mind as to the immediate future; for, as a further resource, there were also the jewels and plate at the bank.
-they dared hope for nothing from villa beau-séjour. von giesselin, after more entreaty than vivie cared to make, had allowed them with a special pass and his orderly as escort to go in a military motor to the villa in the month of april in order that they might bring away the rest of their clothes and personal effects of an easily transportable nature. but the visit was a heart-breaking disappointment. their reception was surly; the place was little else than a barrack of disorderly soldiers and insolent officers. any search for clothes or books was a mockery. nothing was to be found in the chests of drawers that belonged to them; only stale food and unnameable horrors or military equipment articles. the garden was trampled out of recognition. there had been a beautiful vine in the greenhouse. it was still there, but the first foliage of spring hung withered and russet coloured. the soldiers, grinning when vivie noticed this, pointed to the base of the far spreading branches. it had been sawn through, and much of the glass of the greenhouse deliberately smashed.
-on their way back, mrs. warren, who was constantly in tears, descried waiting by the side of the road the widow of their farmer-neighbour, madame oudekens. she asked the orderly that they might stop and greet her. she approached. mrs. warren got out of the car so that she might more privately talk to her in flemish. since her husband's execution, the woman said, she had had to become the mistress of the sergeant-major who resided with her as the only means, seemingly, of saving her one remaining young son from exile in germany and her daughters from unbearably brutal treatment; though she added, "as to their virtue, that has long since vanished; all i ask is that they be not half-killed whenever the soldiers get drunk. oh madame! if you could only say a word to that colonel with whom you are living?"
-mrs. warren dared not translate this last sentence to vivie, for fear her daughter forced her at all costs to leave the hotel impérial. where, if she did, were they to go?
-the winter of 1914 had witnessed an appalling degree of frightfulness in eastern belgium, the wallon or french-speaking part of the country more especially. the germans seemed to bear a special grudge against this region, regarding it as doggedly opposed to absorption into a greater germany; whereas they hoped the flemish half of the country would receive them as fellow teutons and even as deliverers from their former french oppressors. thousands of old men and youths, of women and children in the provinces south of the meuse had been shot in cold blood; village after village had been burnt. scenes of nearly equal horror had taken place between brussels and antwerp, especially around malines. von bissing's arrival as governor general was soon signalized by those dreaded red placards on the walls of brussels, announcing the verdicts of courts-martial, the condemnation to death of men and women who had contravened some military regulation.
-yet in spite of this, life went on in brussels once more--by von bissing's stern command--as though the country were not under the heel of the invader. the theatres opened their doors; the cinemas had continuous performances; there was grand opera; there were exhibitions of toys, or pictures, and charitable bazaars. ten days after the fall of antwerp char-à-bancs packed with belgians drove out of brussels to visit the scenes of the battles and those shattered forts, so fatuously deemed impregnable, so feeble in their resistance to german artillery.
-vivie, even had she wished to do so, could not have joined the sight-seers. as the subjects of an enemy power she and her mother had had early in january to register themselves at the kommandantur and were there warned that without a special passport they might not pass beyond the limits of brussels and its suburbs. except in the matter of the farewell visit to the farm at tervueren, vivie was reluctant to ask for any such favour from von giesselin, though she was curious to see the condition of louvain and to ascertain whether her father still inhabited the monastic house of his order--she had an idea that he was away in germany in connection with his schemes for raising the irish against the british government. von giesselin however was becoming sentimentally inclined towards her and she saw no more of him than was necessary to maintain polite relations. frau von giesselin, for various reasons of health or children, could not join him at brussels as so many german wives had done with other of the high functionaries (to the great embitterment of brussels society); and there were times when von giesselin's protestations of his loneliness alarmed her.
-the king of saxony had paid a visit to brussels in the late autumn of 1914 and had invited this colonel of his army to a fastuous banquet given at the palace hotel. the king--whom the still defiant brussels press, especially that unkillable la libre belgique, reminded ironically of his domestic infelicity, by enquiring whether he had brought signor toselli to conduct his orchestra--was gratified that a subject of his should be performing the important duties of secretary to the brussels government, and his notice of von giesselin gave the latter considerable prestige, for a time; an influence which he certainly exercised as far as he was able in softening the edicts and the intolerable desire to annoy and exasperate on the part of the prussian governors of province and kingdom. he even interceded at times for unfortunate british or french subjects, stranded in brussels, and sometimes asked vivie about fellow-countrymen who sought this intervention.
-this caused her complicated annoyances. seeing there was some hope in interesting her in their cases, these english governesses, tutors, clerks, tailors' assistants and cutters, music-hall singers, grooms appealed to vivie to support their petitions. they paid her or her mother a kind of base court, on the tacit assumption that she--vivie--had placed colonel von giesselin under special obligations. if in rare instances, out of sheer pity, she took up a case and von giesselin granted the petition or had it done in a higher quarter, his action was clearly a personal favour to her; and the very petitioners went away, with the ingratitude common in such cases, and spread the news of vivie's privileged position at the hotel impérial. it was not surprising therefore that in the small circles of influential british or american people in brussels she was viewed with suspicion or contempt. she supported this odious position at the hotel impérial as long as possible, in the hope that colonel von giesselin when he had realized the impossibility of using herself or her mother in any kind of intrigue against the british government would do what the american consul general professed himself unable or unwilling to do: obtain for them passports to proceed to holland.
-von giesselin, from december, 1914, took up among other duties that of press censor and officer in charge of publicity. after the occupation of brussels and the fall of antwerp, the "patriotic" belgian press had withdrawn itself to france and england or had stopped publication. its newspapers had been invited to continue their functions as organs of news-distribution and public opinion, but of course under the german censorate and martial law. as one editor said to a polite german official: "if i were to continue the publication of my paper under such conditions, my staff and i would all be shot in a week."
-but the large towns of belgium could not be left without a press. public opinion must be guided, and might very well be guided in a direction favourable to german policy. the german government had already introduced the german hour into belgian time, the german coinage, the german police system, and german music; but it had no intention, seemingly, of forcing the german speech on the old dominions of the house of burgundy. on the contrary, in their tenure of belgium or of north-east france, the germans seemed desirous of showing how well they wrote the french language, how ready they were under a german regime to give it a new literature. whether or not they enlisted a few recreants, or made use of alsatians or lorrainers to help them, it is never-the-less remarkable how free as a rule their written and printed french was from mistakes or german idioms; though their spoken french always remained alsatian. it suffered from that extraordinary misplacement and exchange in the upper and lower consonants which has distinguished the german people--that nation of great philologists--since the death of the roman empire. german officers still said "barton, die fous brie," instead of "pardon, je vous prie" (if they were polite), but they were quite able to contribute articles de fond to a pretended national belgian press. besides there was a sufficiency of belgian "sans-patries" ready to come to their assistance: belgian nationals of german-jewish or dutch-jewish descent, who in the present generation had become catholic christians as it ranged them with the best people. they were worthy and wealthy belgian citizens, but presumably would not have deeply regretted a change in the political destinies of belgium, provided international finance was not adversely affected. there were also a few belgian socialists--a few, but enough--who took posts under the german provisional government, on the plea that until you could be purely socialistic it did not matter under what flag you drew your salary.
-von giesselin was most benevolently intentioned, in reality a kind-hearted man, a sentimentalist. not quite prepared to go to the stake himself in place of any other victim of prussian cruelty, but ready to make some effort to soften hardships and reduce sentences. (there were others like him--saxon, thuringian, hanoverian, württembergisch--or the german occupation of belgium might have ended in a vast sicilian vespers, a boiling-over of a maddened people reckless at last of whether they died or not, so long as they slew their oppressors.) he hoped through the pieces played at the theatres and through his censored, subsidized press to bring the belgians round to a reasonable frame of mind, to a toleration of existence under the german empire. but his efforts brought down on him the unsparing ridicule of the parisian-minded bruxellois. they were prompt to detect his attempts to modify the text of french operettas so that these, while delighting the lovers of light music, need not at the same time excite a military spirit or convey the least allusion of an impertinent or contemptuous kind towards the central powers. thus the couplets
-"dans le service de l'autriche le militaire n'est pas riche"
-were changed to
-"dans le service de la suisse le militaire n'est pas riche."
-these passionate lines of a political exile:
-"a l'étranger un pacte impie vendait mon sang, liait ma foi, mais à present, o ma patrie je pourrai done mourir pour toi!"
-were rendered harmless as
-"a l'étranger, en réverie chaque jour je pleurais sur toi mais à present, o ma patrie je penserai sans cesse à toi!"
-the pleasure he took in recasting this doggerel--calling in vivie to help him as presumably a good scholar in french--got on her nerves, and she was hard put to it to keep her temper.
-sometimes he proposed that she should take a hand, even become a salaried subordinate; compose articles for his subsidized paper, "l'ami de l'ordre" (nicknamed "l'ami de l'ordure" by the belgians), "la belgique," "le bruxellois," "vers la paix." he would allow her a very free hand, so long as she did not attack the germans or their allies or put in any false news about military or naval successes of the foes of central europe. she might, for instance, dilate on the cruel manner in which the woman suffragists had been persecuted in england; give a description of forcible feeding or of police ferocity on black friday.
-vivie declined any such propositions. "i have told you already, and often," she said, "i am deeply grateful for all you have done for my mother and me. we might have been in a far more uncomfortable position but for your kindness. but i cannot in any way associate myself with the german policy here. i cannot pretend for a moment to condone what you do in this country. if i were a belgian woman i should probably have been shot long ago for assassinating some prussian official--i can hardly see von bissing pass in his automobile, as it is, without wishing i had a bomb. but there it is. it is no business of mine. as i can't get away, as you won't let us go out of the country--switzerland, holland--and as i don't want to go mad by brooding, find something for me to do that will occupy my thoughts: and yet not implicate me with the germans. can't i go and help every day in your hospitals? if you'll continue your kindness to mother--and believe me"--she broke off--"i do appreciate what you have done for us. i shall never forget i have met one true german gentleman--if you'll continue to be as kind as before, you will simply give instructions that mother is in no way disturbed or annoyed. there are germans staying here who are odious beyond belief. if they meet my mother outside her room they ask her insulting questions--whether she can give them the addresses of--of--light women ... you know the sort of thing. i have always been outspoken with you. all i ask is that mother shall be allowed to stay in her own room while i am out, and have her meals served there. but the hotel people are beginning to make a fuss about the trouble, the lack of waiters. a word from you--and then if my mind was at ease about her i could go out and do some good with the poor people. they are getting very restive in the marolles quarter--the shocking bad bread, the lack of fuel--most of all i should like to help in the hospitals. my own countrywomen will not have me in theirs. they suspect me of being a spy in german pay. besides, your von bissing has ordered now that all belgian, british, and french wounded shall be taken to the german red cross. well: if you want to be kind, give me an introduction there. surely it would be bare humanity on your part to let an englishwoman be with some of those poor lads who are sorely wounded, dying perhaps"--she broke down--"the other day i followed two of the motor ambulances along the boulevard d'anspach. blood dripped from them as they passed, and i could hear some english boy trying to sing 'tipperary--'"
-"my tear miss warren--i will try to do all that you want--you will not do anything i want, but never mind. i will show you that germans can be generous. i will speak about your mother. i am sorry that there are bad-mannered germans in the hotel. there are some--what-you-call 'bounders'--among us, as there are with you. it is to be regretted. as to our red cross hospitals, i know of a person who can make things easy for you. i will write a letter to my cousin--like me she is a saxon and comes from leipzig--minna von stachelberg. she is but a few months widow, widow of a saxon officer, graf von stachelberg who was killed at namur. oh! it was very sad; they were but six months married. afterwards she came here to work in our red cross--i think now she is in charge of a ward..."
-so vivie found a few months' reprieve from acute sorrow and bitter humiliation. gräfin von stachelberg was as kind in her way as her cousin the colonel, but much less sentimental. in fact she was of that type of new german woman, taken all too little into account by our press at the time of the war. there were many like her of the upper middle class, the professorial class, the lesser nobility to be found not only in leipzig but in berlin, hamburg, frankfort, halle, bonn, münchen, hannover, bremen, jena, stuttgart, cologne--nice to look at, extremely modern in education and good manners, tasteful in dress, speaking english marvellously well, highly accomplished in music or with some other art, advocates of the enfranchisement of women. the war came just too soon. had heaven struck down that epilept emperor and a few of his ministers, had time been given for the new german woman to assert herself in politics, there would have been no invasion of belgium, no maltreatment of servia. germany would have ranged herself with the western powers and western culture.
-minna von stachelberg read her cousin's note and received the worn and anxious-looking vivie like a sister ... like a comrade, she said, in the war for the vote ... "which we will resume, my dear, as soon as this dreadful man's war is over, only we won't fight with the same weapons."
-but though kind, she was not gushing and she soon told vivie that in nursing she was a novice and had much to learn. she introduced her to the german and belgian surgeons, and then put her to a series of entirely menial tasks from which she was to work her way up by degrees. but if any english soldier were there and wanted sympathy, she should be called in to his ward ... from that interview vivie returned almost happy.
-moreover the red placards of von bissing were of increasing frequency. as a rule vivie only heard what other people said of them, and that wasn't very much, for german spies were everywhere, inviting you to follow them to the dreaded kommandantur in the rue de la loi--a scene of as much in the way of horror and mental anguish as the conciergerie of paris in the days of the red terror. but some cheek-blanching rumour she had heard on a certain monday in october caused her to look next day on her way home at a fresh red placard which had been posted up in a public place. the daylight had almost faded, but there was a gas lamp which made the notice legible. it ran:
-par jugement du 9 octobre, 1915, le tribunal de campagne a prononcé les condamnations suivantes pour trahison commise pendant l'état de guerre (pour avoir fait passer des recrues à l'ennemi):
-1° philippe baucq, architecte à bruxelles;
-2° louise thuliez, professeur à lille;
-3° edith cavell, directrice d'un institut médical à bruxelles;
-4° louis severin, pharmacien à bruxelles;
-5° comtesse jeanne de belleville, à montignies.
-à la peine de mort
-vivie then went on to read with eyes that could hardly take in the words a list of other names of men and women condemned to long terms of hard labour for the same offence--assisting young belgians to leave the belgium that was under german occupation. and further, the information that of the five condemned to death, philip bauck and edith cavell had already been executed.
-the monsters! oh that von bissing. how gladly she would die if she might first have the pleasure of killing him! that pompous old man of seventy-one with the blotched face, who had issued orders that wherever he passed in his magnificent motor he was to be saluted with eastern servility, who boasted of his "tender heart," so that he issued placards about this time punishing severely all who split the tongues of finches to make them sing better. edith cavell--she did not pause to consider the fate of patriotic belgian women--but edith cavell, directress of a nursing home in brussels, known far and wide for her goodness of heart. she had held aloof from vivie, but was that to be wondered at when there was so much to make her suspect--living, seemingly, under the protection of a german official? but the very german nurses and doctors at the red cross hospital had spoken of her having given free treatment in her home to germans who needed immediate operations, and for whom there was no room in the military hospitals--and for such a trivial offence as that--and to kill her before there could be any appeal for reconsideration or clemency. oh what a nation! she would tend their sick and wounded no more.
-she hurried on up the ascent of the boulevard of the botanic garden on her way to the rue royale. she burst into von giesselin's office. he was not there. a clerk looking at her rather closely said that the herr oberst was packing, was going away. vivie scarcely took in the meaning of his german phrases. she waited there, her eyes ablaze, feeling she must tell her former friend and protector what she thought of his people before she renounced any further relations with him.
-presently he entered, his usually rather florid face pale with intense sorrow or worry, his manner preoccupied. she burst out: "have you seen the red placard they have just put up?"
-"what about?" he said wearily.
-"the assassination by your government of edith cavell, a crime for which england--yes, and america--will never forgive you.... from this moment i--"
-"but have you not heard what has happened to me? i am dismissed from my post as secretary, i am ordered to rejoin my regiment in lorraine--it is very sad about your miss cavell. i knew nothing of it till this morning when i received my own dismissal--and oh my dear miss, i fear we shall never meet again."
-"why are they sending you away?" asked vivie drily, compelled to interest herself in his affairs since they so closely affected her own and her mother's.
-"because of this," said von giesselin, nearly in tears, pulling from a small portfolio a press cutting. "do you remember a fortnight ago i told you some one, some belgian had written a beautiful poem and sent it to me for one of our newspapers? i showed it to you at the time and you said--you said 'it was well enough, but it did not seem to have much point.'" vivie did remember having glanced very perfunctorily at some effusion in typewriting which had seemed unobjectionable piffle. she hadn't cared two straws whether he accepted it or not, only did not want to be too markedly indifferent. now she took it up and still read it through uncomprehendingly, her thoughts absent with the fate of miss cavell. "well! what is all the fuss about? i still see nothing in it. it is just simply the ordinary sentimental flip-flap that a french versifier can turn out by the yard."
-ma soeur, vous souvient-il qu'aux jours de notre enfance, en lisant les hauts fails de l'histoire de france, remplis d'admiration pour nos frères gaulois, des généraux fameux nous vantions les exploits?
-en nos âmes d'enfants, les seuls noms des victoires prenaient un sens mystique evocateur de gloires; on ne rêvait qu'assauts et combats; a nos yeux un général vainqueur etait l'égal des dieux.
-rien ne semblait ternir l'éclat de ces conquétes. les batailles prenaient des allures de fêtes et nous ne songions pas qu'aux hurrahs triomphants se mêlaient les sanglots des mères, des enfants.
-ah! nous la connaissons, hélas, l'horrible guerre: le fléau qui punit les crimes de la terre, le mot qui fait trembler les mères à genoux et qui seme le deuil et la mort parmi nous!
-he gave way to much emotion. vivie, though still dazed with the reverberating horror of edith cavell's execution, tried to regain her mind balance and thank him for the kindness he had shown them. but it was now necessary to see her mother who might also be undergoing a shock. as she walked up to their bedroom she reflected that the departure of von giesselin would have to be followed by their own exile to some other lodging. they would share in his disgrace.
-the next morning in fact the belgian manager of the hotel with many regrets gave them a month's warning. the hotel would be required for some undefined need of the german government and he had been told no one could be lodged there who was not furnished with a permit from the kommandantur.
-for three weeks vivie sought in vain for rooms. every suitable place was either full or else for reasons not given they were refused. she was reduced to eating humble pie, to writing once more to gräfin von stachelberg and imparting the dilemma in which they were placed. did this kind lady know where a lodging could be obtained? she herself could put up with any discomfort, but her mother was ill. if she could help them, vivie would humbly beg her pardon for her angry letter of three weeks ago and resume her hospital work. minna von stachelberg made haste to reply that there were some things better not discussed in writing: if vivie could come and see her at six one evening, when she had a slight remission from work--
-vivie went. out of hearing, gräfin von stachelberg--who, however, to facilitate intercourse, begged vivie to call her "minna,"--"we may all be dead, my dear, before long of blood-poisoning, bombs from your aeroplanes, a rising against us in the marolles quarter--" said very plainly what she thought of edith cavell's execution. "it makes me think of talleyrand--was it not?--who said 'it is a blunder; worse than a crime' ... these terrible old generals, they know nothing of the world outside germany." as to her cousin, gottlieb von giesselin--"really dear, if in this time of horrors one dare laugh at anything, i feel--oh it is too funny, but also, too 'schokking,' as we suppose all english women say. yet of course i am sad about him, because he is a good, kind man, and i know his wife will be very very unhappy when she hears--and it means he will die, for certain. he must risk his life to--to--regain his position, and he will be shot before verdun in one of those dreadful assaults." then she told vivie where she might find rooms, where at any rate she could use her name as a reference. also: "stay away at present and look after your mother. when she is quite comfortably settled, come back and work with me--here--it is at any rate the only way in which you can see and help your countrymen."
-one day in november when their notice at the hotel was nearly expired, vivie proposed an expedition to her mother. they would walk slowly--because mrs. warren now got easily out of breath--up to the jardin bontanique; vivie would leave her there in the palm house. it was warm; it was little frequented; there were seats and the belgians in charge knew mrs. warren of old time. vivie would then go on along the inner boulevards by tram and look at some rooms recommended by minna von stachelberg in the quartier st. gilles.
-mrs. warren did as she was told. vivie left her seated in one of the long series of glass houses overlooking brussels from a terrace, wherein are assembled many glories of the tropics: palms, dracaenas, yuccas, aloes, tree-ferns, cycads, screw-pines, and bananas: promising to be back in an hour's time.
-somehow as she sat there it seemed to mrs. warren it was going for her to be the last hour of fully conscious life--fully conscious and yet a curious mingling in it of the past and present. she had sat here in the middle of the 'seventies with vivie's father, the young irish seminarist, her lover for six months. he had a vague interest in botany, and during his convalescence after his typhoid fever, when she was still his nurse, not yet his mistress, she used to bring him here to rest and to enjoy the aspect of these ferns and palms. what a strange variety of men she had known. some she had loved, more or less; some she had exploited frankly. some--like george crofts and baxendale strangeways--she had feared, though in her manner she had tried to conceal her dread of their violence. well! she had taken a lot of money off the rich, but she had never plundered the poor. her greatest conquest--and that when she was a woman of forty--was the monarch of this very country which now lay crushed under the kaiser's heel. for a few months he had taken a whimsical liking to her handsome face, well-preserved figure, and amusing cockney talk. but he had employed her rather as the mistress of his menus plaisirs, as his recruiting agent. he had rewarded her handsomely. now it was all in the dust: her beautiful villa beau-séjour a befouled barrack for german soldiers. she herself a homeless woman, repudiated by the respectable british and americans more or less interned in this unhappy city.
-not much more than a year ago she had been one of the most respected persons in brussels, with a large income derived from safe investments. now all she had for certain was something over three thousand pounds in bank notes that might turn out next month to be worthless paper. and was she certain even of them? had vivie before they left the hotel remembered to put some, at least, of this precious sum on her person? suppose, whilst they were out, looking for a fresh dwelling place, the hotel servants or the police raided her bedroom and found the little hoard of notes? this imagined danger made her want to cry. they were so friendless now, she in particular felt so completely deserted. had she deserved this punishment by fate? was there after all a god who minded much about the sex foolishnesses and punished you for irregularities--for having lovers in your youth, for selling your virtue and inducing other women to sell theirs? was she going to die soon and was there a hereafter?' she burst out crying in an abandonment of grief.
-an elderly gardener who had been snipping and sweeping in the next house came up and vaguely recognized her as a well-known bruxelloise, a good-natured lady, a foreigner who, strange to say, spoke flemish. "ach," he said, looking out where he thought lay the source of her tears, at the dim view of beautiful brussels through the steamy glass, "onze arme, oude brüssel." mrs. warren wept unrestrainedly. "madame is ill?" he enquired. mrs. warren nodded--she felt indeed very ill and giddy. he left her and returned shortly with a small glass of schnapps. "if madame is faint--?" she sipped the cordial and presently felt better. then they talked of old times. madame had kept the hotel leopold ii in the rue royale? ah, now he placed her. a superb establishment, always well-spoken of. her self-respect returned a little. "yes," she said, "never a complaint! i looked after those girls like a mother, indeed i did. many a one married well from there." the gardener corroborated her statement, and added that her clientèle had been of the most chic. he had a private florist's business of his own and he had been privileged often to send bouquets to the pensionnaires of madame. but madame was not alone surely in these sad times. had he not seen her come here with a handsome english lady who was said to have been--to have been--fortunately--au mieux with one of the german officials?
-"that was my daughter," mrs. warren informed him with pride.... "she is a lady who has taken a high degree at an english university. she has been an important person in the english feminist movement. when this dreadful war is over, i and my daughter will--"
-at this juncture vivie entered. "mother, i hope you haven't missed me, haven't been unwell?" she said, looking rather questioningly at the little glass of schnapps, only half of which had been drunk.
-"well yes, dear, i have. terrible low spirits and all swimmy-like. thought i was going to faint. but this man here has been so kind "--her tears flowed afresh--"we've bin talking of old times; he used to know me before--"
-vivie: "quite so. but i think, dear, we had better be going back. i want to talk to you about the new rooms i've seen. are you equal to walking? if not perhaps this kind man would try to get us a cab...?"
-but mrs. warren said it was no distance, only round the corner, and she could well walk. when they got back she would go and lie down. vivie, reading her mother's thoughts, pressed a five-franc note into the gardener's not reluctant palm, and they regained the rue royale.
-but just as they were passing through the revolving door of the hotel impérial, a german who had been installed as manager came up with two soldiers and said explosively: "heraus! foutez-nous le camp! aout you go! don't show your face here again!"
-"but," said vivie, "our notice doesn't expire till the end of this week...!"
-"das macht nichts. the rooms are wanted and i won't have you on the premises. off you go, or these soldiers shall take you both round to the kommandantur."
-"but our luggage? surely you will let me go up to our room and pack it--and take it away? we..."
-"your luggage has been packed and is in the corridor. if you send round for it, it shall be delivered to your messenger. but you are not to stop on the premises another minute. you understand?" he almost shrieked.
-for answer, the soldiers took them by the shoulders and whirled them through the revolving door on to the pavement, where a crowd began to collect, as it does in peace or war if you cough twice or sneeze three times in brussels. "englische hure! englische küpplerin," shouted the soldiers as they retreated and locked the revolving door. mrs. warren turned purple and swayed. vivie caught her round the waist with her strong arm.... thus was mrs. warren ejected from the once homely inn which she had converted by her energy, management and capital into the second most magnificent hostelry of brussels; thus was vivie expelled from the place of her birth....
-he assisted her to carry the inert old woman across the street and a short distance along the opposite pavement. here, there was a pleasant, modest-looking tea-shop with the name of walcker over the front, and embedded in the plate glass were the words "tea rooms." these of course dated from long before the war, when the best chinese tea was only four francs the demi-kilo and the fashion for afternoon tea had become established in brussels. vivie and her mother had often entered walcker's shop in happier days for a cup of tea and delicious forms of home-made pastry. besides the cakes, which in pre-war times were of an excellence rarely equalled, they had been drawn to the pleasant-looking serving woman. she was so english in appearance, though she only spoke french and flemish. behind the shop was a cosy little room where the more intimate clients were served with tea; a room with a look-out into a little square of garden. thither mrs. warren was carried or supported. she regained consciousness slightly as she was placed on a chair, opened her eyes, and said "thank you, my dears." then her head fell over to one side and she was dead--seemingly....
-the doctor when he came pronounced her dead, thought it was probably an effusion of blood on the brain but couldn't be certain till he had made an autopsy.
-"what am i to do?" said vivie thinking aloud....
-she went on to explain, whilst the doctors occupied themselves with their gruesome task, and vivie was being persuaded to take some nourishment, that her great grandfather had been a soldier servant who had married a belgian woman and settled down on the site of this very shop a hundred years ago. he and his wife had even then made a specialty of tea for english tourists. she, his great grand-daughter, had after her marriage to monsieur trouessart carried on the business under the old name--walker, made to look flemish as walcker.
-vivie when left alone suddenly thought of the money question. she remembered then that before going out to look for rooms she had transferred half the notes from their hiding-place to an inner pocket. they were still there. but what about her luggage and her mother's, and the remainder of the money? in her distress she wrote to gräfin von stachelberg. minna came over from her hospital at half past six in the evening. by that time the doctor had given the necessary certificate of the cause of death, and an undertaker had come on the scene to make his preparations.
-so there was vivie, one dismal, rainy november evening in 1915; homeless, her mother lying dead in a room of this tea-shop, and in her own pocket only a matter of thirty thousand francs to provide for her till the war was over. a thousand pounds in fluctuating value was all that was left of a nominal twenty thousand of the year before.
-but the financial aspect of the case for the time being did not concern her. the death of her mother had been a stunning shock, and when she crossed over to the hotel--what irony, by the bye, to think she had been born there thirty-nine years ago, in the old inn that had preceded the twice rebuilt hotel!--when she crossed the street with minna, it had been with blazing, tearless eyes and the desire to take the hotel manager and his minions by the coat collar, fling them into the street, and assert her right to go up to her room. but now her violence was spent and she was a broken, weeping woman as she sat all night by the bedside of her dead mother, holding the cold hand, imprinting kisses on the dead face which was now that of a saintly person with nothing of the reprobate in its lineaments.
-the burial for various reasons had to take place in the cemetery of st. josse-ten-noode, near the shuddery national shooting range where edith cavell and numerous belgian patriots had recently been executed. minna von stachelberg left her hospital, with some one else in charge, and insisted on accompanying vivie to the interment. this might have been purely "laïc"; not on account of any harsh dislike to the religious ceremony on vivie's part; only due to the fact that she knew no priest or pastor. but there appeared at the grave-side to make a very suitable and touching discourse and to utter one or two heartfelt prayers, a belgian baptist minister, a relation of mme. trouessart.
-waterloo left many curious things behind it. not only a tea-shop or two; but a nonconformist nucleus, that intermarried, as sergeant walker or walcker had done, with belgian women and left descendants who in the third generation--and by inherent vigour, thrift, matrimony and conversion--had built up quite a numerous congregation, which even grew large enough and rich enough to maintain a mission of its own in congoland. kind mme. trouessart (née walcker), distressed and unusually moved at the sad circumstances of mrs. warren's death, had called in her uncle the baptist pastor (who also in some unexplained way seemed to hold a brief for the salvation army). he prayed silently by the death-bed which, under the circumstances, was more tactful than open intercession. he helped greatly over all the formalities of the funeral, and he took upon himself the arrangement of the ceremony, so that everything was done decorously, and certainly to the satisfaction of the belgians, who attended. such people would be large-minded in religion--you might be protestant, if you were not catholic, or you might be jewish; but a funeral without some outward sign of faith and hope would have puzzled and distressed them.
-to vivie's great surprise, there was a considerable attendance at the ceremony. she had expected no more than the company of minna--an unprofessing but real christian, if ever there were one, and the equally christian if equally hedonist mme. trouessart. but there came in addition quite a number of shopkeepers from the rue royale, the rues de schaerbeek, du marais, de lione, and de l'association, with whom mrs. warren had dealt in years gone by. "c'etait une dame très convenable," said one purveyor, and the others agreed. "elle me paya écus sonnants," said another, "et toujours sans marchander." there was even present a more distinguished acquaintance of the past: a long-retired commissaire de police of the quartier in which mrs. warren's hotel was situated.
-he appeared in the tightly-buttoned frock-coat of civil life, with a minute disc of some civic decoration in his button hole, and an incredibly tall chimney-pot hat. he came to render his respectueux hommages to the maîtresse-femme who had conducted her business within the four corners of the law, "sans avoir maille à partir avec la police des moeurs."
-mrs. warren at least died with the reputation of one who promptly paid her bills; and the whole assistance, as it walked slowly back to brussels, recalled many a deed of kindness and jovial charity on the part of the dead englishwoman.
-vivie, on sizing up her affairs, got monsieur walcker, the baptist pasteur, to convey a letter to the american consulate general. walcker was used to such missions as these, of which the german government was more or less cognizant. the germans, among their many contradictory features, had a great respect for religion, a great tolerance as to its forms. they not only appreciated the difference between jews and christians, catholics and lutherans, but between the church of england and the various free churches of britain and america. the many people whom they sentenced to death must all have their appropriate religious consolation before facing the firing party. catholics, lutherans and calvinists were all provided for; there was a church of england chaplain for the avowed anglicans; but what was to be done for the free churches and nonconformist sects of the anglo-saxons? they were not represented by any captive pastor; so in default this much respected monsieur walcker, the belgian baptist, was called in to minister to the nonconformist mind in its last agony. he therefore held a quasi-official position and was often entrusted with missions which would have been dealt with punitorily on the part of any one else. consequently he was able to deliver vivie's communication to the american consul-general with some probability of its being sent on. it contained no further appeal to american intervention than this: that the consul-general would try to convey to england the news of her mother's death to such-and-such solicitors, and to lewis maitland praed a.r.a. in hans place.
-she went to the brussels bank a fortnight after her mother's death whilst still availing herself of the hospitality of madame trouessart: to withdraw the jewellery and plate which she had deposited there on her mother's account. but there she found herself confronted with the red tape of the latin which is more formidable, even, than that of the land of dora at the present day. these deposited articles were held on the order of mrs. warren; they could not be given up till her will was proved and letters of administration had been granted. so that small resource in funds was withheld, at any rate till some time after peace had been declared. however she had a thousand pounds (in notes) between her and penury, and the friendship of minna von stachelberg. she would resume her evening lessons in english--madame trouessart had found her several pupils--and she would lodge--as they kindly invited her to do--with the baptist pastor and his wife in the rue haute. and she would help minna at the hospital, and hope to be rewarded with the opportunity of bringing comfort and consolation to the wounded british prisoners.
-thus, with no unbearable misery, she passed the year 1916. there were short commons in the way of food, and the cold was sometimes cruel. but madame walcker was a wonderful cook and could make soup from a sausage skewer, and heaped édredons on vivie's bed. vivie sighed a little over the blue placards which announced endless german victories by land and sea; and she gasped over the dreadful red placards with their lists of victims sentenced to death by the military courts. she ground her teeth over the announcement of gabrielle petit's condemnation, and behind the shut door of minna's small sitting-room--and she only shut the door not to compromise minna--she raved over the judicial murder of this belgian heroine, who was shot, as was edith cavell, for nothing more than assisting young belgians to escape from german-occupied belgium.
-she witnessed the air-raids of the allies, when only comforting papers were dropped on brussels city, but bombs on the german aerodromes outside; and she also saw the germans turn their guns from the aeroplanes--which soared high out of their reach or skimmed below range--on to thickly-inhabited streets of the poorer quarters, to teach them to cheer the air-craft of the allies!
-she beheld--or she was told of--many acts of rapine, considered cruelty and unreasoning ferocity on the part of german officials or soldiers; yet saw or heard of acts and episodes of unlooked-for kindness, forbearance and sympathy from the same hated people. von giesselin, after all, was a not uncommon type; and as to minna von stachelberg, she was a saint of the new religion, the service of man.
-the bomb in portland place
-mrs. rossiter said to herself in 1915 that she had scarcely known a happy day, or even hour, since the war began. in the first place michael had again shown violence of temper with ministers of state over the release from prison of "that" miss warren--"a convict doing a sentence of hard labour." and then, when he had got her released, and gone himself with their beautiful new motor--whatever could the chauffeur have thought?--to meet her at the prison gates, there he was, afterwards, worrying himself over the war: not content as she was, as most of her friends were, as the newspapers were, to leave it all to lord kitchener and mr. asquith, sir edward grey, and even mr. lloyd george--though the latter had made some rather foolish and exaggerated speeches about alcohol. michael, if he went on like this, would never get his knighthood!
-then when michael had at last, thanks to general armstrong, found his right place and was accomplishing marvels--the papers said--as a "mender of the maimed"--here was she left alone in portland place with hardly any one to speak to, and all her acquaintances--she now realized they were scarcely her friends--too much occupied with war work to spend an afternoon in discussing nothing very important over a sumptuous tea, still served by a butler and footman.
-presently, too, the butler left to join the professor in france and the footman enlisted, and the tea had to be served by a distraite parlour-maid, with her eye on a munitions factory--so that she might be "in it"--and her heart in the keeping of the footman, who, since he had gone into khaki, was irresistible.
-mrs. rossiter of course said, in 1914, that she would take up war work. she subscribed most handsomely to the soldiers' and sailors' families' association, to the red cross, to the prince of wales's fund (one of the unsolved war-time mysteries ... what's become of it?), to the cigarette fund, the 1914 christmas plum pudding fund, the blue cross, the purple cross, the green cross funds; to the outstandingly good work at st. dunstan's and at petersham--(i am glad she gave a hundred pounds each to them); and to the french, belgian, russian, italian, serbian, portuguese and japanese flag days and to our own day; besides enriching a number of semi-fraudulent war charities which had alluring titles.
-but if, from paying handsomely to all these praise-worthy endeavours to mitigate the horrors of war, she proceeded to render personal service, she became the despair of the paid organizers and business-like workers. she couldn't add and she couldn't subtract or divide with any certainty of a correct result; she couldn't spell the more difficult words or remember the right letters to put after distinguished persons' names when she addressed envelopes in her large, childish handwriting; she couldn't be trusted to make enquiries or to detect fraudulent appeals. she lost receipts and never grasped the importance of vouchers; she forgot to fill up counterfoils, or if reminded filled them up "from memory" so that they didn't tally; she signed her name, if there was any choice of blank spaces, in quite the wrong place.
-so, invariably, tactful secretaries or assistant secretaries were told off to explain to her--ever so nicely--that "she was no business woman" (this, to the daughter of wholesale manufacturers, sounded rather flattering), and that though she was invaluable as a "name," as a patroness, or one of eighteen vice presidents, she was of no use whatever as a worker.
-she had no country house to place at the disposal of the government as a convalescent home. michael after a few experiments forbade her offering any hospitality at no. 1 park crescent to invalid officers. such as were entrusted to her in the spring of 1915 soon found that she was--as they phrased it--"a pompous little, middle-class fool," wielding no authority. they larked in the laboratory with red cross nurses, broke specimens, and did very unkind and noisy things ... besides smoking in both the large and the small dining-rooms. so, after the summer of 1915, she lived very much alone, except that she had the adams children from marylebone to spend the day with her occasionally.
-poor mrs. adams, though a valiant worker, was very downcast and unhappy. she confided to mrs. rossiter that although she dearly loved her bert--"and a better husband i defy you to find"--he never seemed all hers. "always so wrapped up in that miss warren or 'er cousin the barrister." and no sooner had war broken out than off he was to france, as a kind of missionary, she believed--the young men's christian something or other; "though before the war he didn't seem particular stuck on religion, and it was all she could do to get him sometimes to church on a sunday morning. oh yes: she got 'er money all right; and she couldn't say too much of mr. and mrs. rossiter's kindness. there was bert, not doin' a stroke of work for the professor, and yet his pay going on all the same. indeed she was putting money by, because bert was kep' out there, and all found."
-however his two pretty children were some consolation to mrs. rossiter, whom they considered as a very grand lady and one that was lavishly kind.
-mrs. rossiter tried sometimes in 1915 having working parties in her house or in the studio; and if she could attract workers gave them such elaborate lunches and plethoric teas that very little work was done, especially as she herself loved a long, aimless gossip about the royal family or whether lord kitchener had ever really been in love. or she tried, since she was a poor worker herself--her only jersey and muffler were really finished by her maid--reading aloud to the knitters or stitchers, preferably from the works of miss charlotte yonge or some similar novelist of a later date. but that was found to be too disturbing to their sense of the ludicrous. for she read very stiltedly, with a strange exotic accent for the love passages or the death scenes. as lady victoria freebooter said, she would have been priceless at a music-hall matinée which was raising funds for war charities, if only she could have been induced to read passages from miss yonge in that voice for a quarter of an hour. even the queen would have had to laugh.
-but as that could not be brought off, it was decided that working parties at her house led to too much giddiness from suppressed giggles or torpor from too much food. so she relapsed once more into loneliness. unfortunately air-raids were now becoming events of occasional fright and anxiety in london, and this deterred cousin sophie from darlington, cousin matty from leeds, joseph's wife from northallerton or old, married schoolfellows from other northern or midland towns coming to partake of her fastuous hospitality. also, they all seemed to be busy, either over their absent husbands' business, or their sons', or because they were plunged in war work themselves. "and really, in these times, i couldn't stand linda for more than five minutes," one of them said.
-as to the air-raids, she was not greatly alarmed at them. of course it was very uncomfortable having london so dark at night, but then she only went out in the afternoon, and never in the evening. and the germans seemed to be content and discriminating enough not to bomb what she called "the residential" parts of london. the nearest to portland place of their attentions was hampstead or bloomsbury. "we are protected, my dear, by the open spaces of regent's park. they wouldn't like to waste their bombs on poor me!"
-however her maid didn't altogether like the off chance of the germans or our air-craft guns making a mistake and trespassing on the residential parts of london, so she persuaded her mistress to spend part of the winter of 1915-16 at bournemouth. here she was not happy and far lonelier even than in london. she did not like to send all that way for the adams children, she had a parlour suite all to herself at the hotel, and was timid about making acquaintances outside, since everybody now-a-days wanted you to subscribe to something, and it was so disagreeable having to say "no." she was not a great walker so she could not enjoy the talbot woods; the sea made her feel sad, remembering that michael was the other side and the submarines increasingly active: in short, air-raids or no air-raids, she returned home in march, and her maid, who had been with her ten years, gave her warning.
-but then she had an inspiration! she engaged mrs. albert adams to take her place, and although the parlour-maid at this took offence and cut the painter of domestic service, went off to the munitions till sergeant frederick summers should get leave to come home and marry her; and they were obliged to engage another parlour-maid in her place at double the wages: mrs. rossiter had done a very wise thing. "bert" had been home for three weeks in the preceding february, and the recently bereaved mrs. adams had united her tears with mrs. rossiter's on the misery of the war which separated attached husbands and wives. it now alleviated the sorrows of both that they should be together as mistress and maid. the cook--a most important factor--had always liked bertie and adored his "sweet, pretty little children." "if you'll let 'em sleep in the spare room on the fourth floor, next their mother, and play in the day-time in the servants' 'all, they'll be no manner of difficulty nor bother to me and the maids. we shall love to 'ave 'em, the darlin's. and they'll serve to cheer you up a bit ma'am till the professor comes back."
-mrs. adams was a very capable person who hated dust and grime. the big house wanted some such intervention, as since the butler's departure it had become rather slovenly, save in the portions occupied by mrs. rossiter. charwomen were got in, and spring cleanings on a gigantic scale took place, so that when rossiter did return he thought it had never looked so nice, or his linda been so cheery and companionable.
-but before this happy confirmation of her wisdom in engaging nance adams as maid and factotum, mrs. rossiter had several waves of doubt and distress to breast. there was the suffrage question. once converted by mrs. humphry ward, miss violet markham, sir almroth wright--whose prénom she could not pronounce--the late lord cromer, and the impressive lord curzon, to the perils of the woman's vote, mrs. rossiter was hard to move from her uncompromising opposition to the enfranchisement of her sex. some adroit champion of the wrong had employed the argument that once women got the vote, the divorce laws would be greatly enlarged. this would be part of the scheme of the wild women to get themselves all married; that and the legalisation of polygamy which would follow the vote as surely as the night the day. linda had an undefined terror that her michael might take advantage of such licentiousness to depose her, like the empress josephine was put aside in favour of a child-producing rival; or if polygamy came into force, that miss warren might lawfully share the professor's affections.
-she was therefore greatly perturbed in the course of 1916 at the sudden throwing up of the sponge by the anti-suffragists. however, there it was. the long struggle drew to a victorious close. example as well as precept pointed to what women could do and were worth; sound arguments followed the inconveniences of militancy, and the men were convinced. or rather, the men in the mass and the fighting, working men had for some time been convinced, but the great statesmen who had so obstinately opposed the measures were now weakening at the knees before the results of their own mismanagement in the conduct of the war.
-a further perplexity and anxiety for mrs. rossiter arose over the german spy mania. she had been to one of lady towcester's afternoon parties "to keep up our spirits." lady towcester collected for at least six different charities and funds, and mrs. rossiter was a generous subscriber to all six. touching the wood of the central tea-table, she had remarked to lady victoria and lady helen freebooter how fortunate they (who lived within the prescribed area defined by lady jeune) had been in so far escaping air-raids.
-"but don't you know why?" said lady victoria.
-mrs. rossiter didn't.
-"because in manchester square, in cavendish--grosvenor--hanover squares, in portland place--a few doors off your own house--in harley street and wigmore street: there are special friends of the kaiser living. they may call themselves by english names, they may even be ex-cabinet-ministers; but they are working for the kaiser, all the same. and he wouldn't be such a fool as to have them bombed, would he?"
-"especially as it is well known that there is a wireless installation on a house in portland place which communicates with a similar installation in the harz mountains," added lady helen.
-this was a half-reassuring, half-terrifying statement. it was comfortable to know that you lived under the kaiser's wing--mrs. rossiter hoped the aim of the aeronauts was accurate, and their knowledge of london topography good. at the same time it was alarming to feel that you might be involved in that final blow up of the villains which must bring such scoundreldom to a close. but if lady vera and lady helen knew all this for a fact, why not tell the police? "what would be the good? they'd deny everything and we should only be sued for libel."
-however to form some conception of how english home life was undermined with plots, she was advised to go and see mr. dennis eadie in the man that stayed at home. she did, taking mrs. adams with her to the dress circle for a matinée. both were very much impressed, and on their return expected the fireplaces to open all of a piece and reveal german spies with masked faces and pistols, standing in the chimney.
-at last these and other nightmares were dispelled by the arrival of rossiter on leave of absence in the autumn of 1916. he had the rank of colonel in the r.a.m.c., and wore the khaki uniform--mrs. rossiter proudly thought--of a general. he had shaved off his beard and trimmed his moustache and looked particularly soldierly. the butler who came with him though not precisely a soldier but a sort of n.c.o. in a medical corps, also looked quite martial, and had so much to say for himself that mrs. rossiter felt he could never become a butler again. but he did all the same, and a most efficient one though a little breezy in manner.
-linda now entered on an aftermath of matrimonial happiness. rossiter was to take quite a long leave so that he could pursue the most important researches in curative surgery--bone grafting and the like; not only in his own laboratory but at the college of surgeons and the zoological gardens prosectorium. with only occasional week-ends at home he had been away from london since september, 1914; had known great hardships, the life of the trenches and the bomb-proof shelter, stewed tea and bad tinned milk, rum and water, bully beef, plum and apple jam, good bread, it is true, but shocking margarine for butter. he had slept for weeks together on an old sofa more or less dressed, kept warm by his great-coat and two army blankets of woven porcupine quills (seemingly) the ends of which tickled his nose and scratched his face. he had been very cold and sweatingly hot, furiously hungry with no meal to satisfy his healthy appetite, madly thirsty and no long drink attainable; unable to sleep for three nights at a time owing to the noise of the bombardment; surfeited with horrible smells; sickened with butchery; shocked at his own failures to retrieve life, yet encouraged by an isolated victory, here and there, over death and disablement. so the never-before-appreciated comfort of his park crescent home filled him with intense gratitude to linda.
-had he known, he owed some of his acknowledgment to mrs. adams; who had worked both hard and tactfully in her undefined position of lady's-maid-housekeeper-companion. but naturally he didn't know, though he praised his wife warmly for her charity of soul in taking pity on the poor little woman and her two children. he could only give the slightest news about bertie, but said he was a sort of jack-of-all-trades for the y.m.c.a. as to vivie--"that miss warren"--he answered his wife's questions neither with the glowering taciturnity nor suspicious loquacity of former times. "miss warren? vivie? i fancy she's still at brussels, but there is no chance of finding out. there is a story that her mother is dead. p'raps now they'll let her come away. she must be jolly well sick of brussels by now. when i last heard of adams he was still hoping to get into touch with her. i hope he won't take any risks. she's a clever woman and i dare say can take care of herself. i hope we shall all meet again when the war is over."
-he seemed very pleased to hear of the new conciliation bill, the general agreement all round on the suffrage question and the enlargement of the electorate. he had always told linda it was bound to come. "and after it has come, dearie, you mark my words: things will go on pretty much as before." but his real, intense, absorbing interest lay in the new experiments he was about to make in bone grafting and cartilage replacing, and the functions of the pituitary body and the interstitial glands. to carry these out adequately the zoological society had accumulated troops of monkeys and baboons. at a certain depôt in camden town dogs were kept for his purposes. and the vaults and upper floors of the royal college of surgeons were at rossiter's disposal, with professor keith to co-operate. never had his house in portland place--to be accurate the park crescent end thereof--seemed so conveniently situated, or its studio-laboratory so well designed. "air-raids? pooh! just about one chance in a million we should be struck. besides: can't think of that, when so much is at stake. that's a fine phrase, 'menders of the maimed.' just what we want to be! no more artificial limbs if we can help you to grow your own new legs and arms--perhaps. at any rate, mend up those that are a hopeless mash. grand work! only bright thing in the war. now dear, are you ready with that lymph?"
-"i'm some use to you after all," linda would say when they retired from the studio for a rest and she made the tea. "some use? i should think so!" said rossiter (whether truly or not). and he reproached himself that twenty years ago he had not trained and developed her to help him in his work, to be a real companion in his studies.
-he was really fond of her through the winter of 1916. and so jovial and lover-like, so boyish in his fun, so like the typical tommy home from the trenches. when he was overjoyed at the success of some uncovered and peeped-at experiment, he would sing, "when i get me civvies on again, an' it's home sweet home once more"; and ask for the ideal cottage "with rowses round the door--and a nice warm bottle in me nice warm bed, an' a nice soft pillow for me nice soft 'ead..." mrs. rossiter began to think there was a good side to the war, after all. it made some men more conscious of their home comforts and less exigent for intellectuality in their home companions.
-they went out very little into society. rossiter held that war-time parties were scandalous. he poohpoohed the idea that immodest dancing with frisky matrons or abandoned spinsters was necessary to restore the shell-shocked nerves of temporary captains, locally-ranked majors, or the recently-joined subaltern. he was far too busy for twaddly tea-fights and carping at hard-worked generals who were doing their best and a good best too. he and linda did dine occasionally with honoria, but the latter felt she could not let herself go about vivie in the presence of mrs. rossiter and seemed a little cold in manner.
-ordinarily, after working hard all day while the daylight lasted they much preferred an evening of complete solitude. rossiter's new robustness of taste included love of a gramophone. money being no consideration with them, they acquired a tip-top one with superlative records; not so much the baaing, bellowing and shrieking of fashionable singers, but orchestral performances, heart-melting duets between violin and piano (what human voice ever came up to a good violin or violoncello?), racy comic songs, inspiriting two steps, xylophone symphonies, and dreamy, sensuous waltzes. this gramophone linda learnt to work; and while michael read voraciously the works of hunter, hugh owen thomas, stromeyer, duchenne, goodsir, wolff, and redfern on bones, muscles, ligaments, tendons, cartilage, periosteum and osteogenesis--or, more often, keith's compact and lucid analysis of their experiments and conclusions--linda let loose in the scented air of a log fire these varied melodies which attuned the mind to extraordinary perceptibility.
-the little adamses were allowed to steal in and listen, on condition they never uttered a word to break the spell of colonel rossiter's thoughts.
-i think also rossiter felt his wife had been unjustly snubbed by the great ladies and the off-hand, harum-scarum young war-workers; so he flatly declined to have any of them messing around his studio or initiated into his research work. it was intimated that the rossiter thursday afternoons of long ago would not be resumed until after the peace. linda therefore derived much consolation and satisfaction for past injuries to her pride when lady vera--or victoria--freebooter called one day just before christmas and said "oh--er--mother's let our house till february and thinks we'd better--i mean the marrybone guild of war-workers--meet at your house instead"; and she, linda, had the opportunity of replying: "oh, i'm sorry, but it's quite impossible. the professor--i mean, colonel rossiter--and i are so very busy ... we are seeing no one just now. indeed we've enlisted all the servants to help the colonel in his work, so i can't even offer you a cup of tea.... i must rush back at once.... you'll excuse me?"
-"that rossiter woman is quite off her head with grandeur," said lady vera to lady helen. "i expect uncle algy has let out that her husband is in the new year's honours."
-and so he was. but uncle algy, though he might have babbled to his nieces, had not written a word to the rossiters. so they just enjoyed christmas--too much, they thought, more than any christmas before--in the simple satisfaction of being colonel and mrs. rossiter, all in all to each other, but rendered additionally happy by making those about them happy. the little adamses staggered under their presents and had a christmas tree to which they were allowed to ask their two grannies--mrs. laidly from fig tree court and mrs. adams from the kilburn laundry--and numerous little friends from marylebone, who had been washed and curled and crimped and adjured not to disgrace their parents, or father--in the trenches--would be told "as sure as i stand here."
-mrs. rossiter, quite unaware that she was soon to be a dame, gave christmas entertainments at st. dunstan's, at the marylebone workhouse, and to all the wounded soldiers in the parish. and on december 31, 1916, michael received a note from the prime minister to say that his majesty, in recognition of his exceptional services in curative surgery at the front, had been pleased to bestow on him a knight commandership of the bath. "so that, linda, you can call yourself lady rossiter, and you will have to get some new cards printed for both of us."
-linda didn't feel quite that ecstasy over her title that she had expected in her day-dreams. she was getting a little frightened at her happiness. generations of puritan forefathers and mothers had left some influence of calvinism on her mentality. she was brought up to believe in a jealous god, whose providence when you felt too happy on earth just landed you in some unexpected disaster to fit you for the kingdom of heaven--a kingdom which all healthy human beings shrink from entering with the terror of the unknown and a certain homeliness of disposition which is humbly content with this cosy planet and a corporeal existence.
-however it was very nice to leave cards of calling on lady towcester--even though she was out of town on account of air-raids--and on others, inscribed: "lady rossiter, colonel sir michael rossiter, sir michael and lady rossiter;" and to see printed foolscap envelopes for michael arrive from the war office and lie on the hall table, addressed: colonel sir michael rossiter k.c.b. etc., etc., etc., etc.
-and later on, in january or february, for some very good reason, sir michael and lady rossiter were received in audience by the king and queen at buckingham palace. the king had already watched sir michael at work in his laboratory just behind the french front; so they two, as linda timidly glanced at them, had no lack of subjects for conversation. but the queen! linda had thought she could never have talked to a queen without swooning, and indeed had arrived primed with much sal volatile. yet there, as in some realistic dream, she was led on to talk about her war charities and sir michael's experiments without trembling, and found herself able to listen with intelligence to the queen's practical suggestions about war work and the application of relief funds in crowded districts. "we actually compared notes!" said a flushed and triumphant linda to her michael, as they drove away through the blue twilight of st. james's park.
-and so far from being puffed up by this, people said they had always thought lady rossiter was kind, but they really before had never imagined there was so much in her. she was even allowed to preside as vice president, in the absence of lady towcester; and got through it quite creditably--kind hearts being more than coronets--and made a little speech to which cook and nance adams called out "hear, hear!" and roused quite a hearty response.
-of course it was an awful wrench when michael had to return to france. but he would be back in the autumn, and meantime she must remember she was a soldier's wife. so the summer was got through with cheerfulness, especially as she was now treated with much more regard in the different committees whereof she was vice president. on these committees she met honoria armstrong, and the longing to renew the old friendship and talk about michael's superlative qualities to one who had long known them, took her over to kensington square, impulsively. honoria perceived the need instinctively. the coldness engendered by linda's silly anti-suffragism disappeared. they both talked by the hour together of their respective husbands and their outstanding virtues and charming weaknesses. the armstrong children took to calling her aunt linda--michael and petworth, after all, were brothers-in-arms and friends from youth. lady rossiter was delighted, and lavished presents on them, till honoria reminded her it was war-time and extravagance in all things was reprehensible, even in british-made toys.
-they discussed the vote, soon to be theirs, and how it should be exercised. from that--by some instinct--honoria passed on to a talk about vivien warren ... a selective talk. she said nothing about david williams, but enlarged on vivie's absolute "straightness," especially towards other women; her business capacities, her restoration of her mother to the ranks of the respectable; till at last it seemed as though the burning down of racing stables was a meritorious act ... "ridding england of an evil that good might come." and there was poor vivie, locked up in brussels, if indeed she were still living.
-linda felt shocked at her own treachery to the woman's cause in having betrayed that poor, well-meaning miss warren to the police. never could she confess this to lady armstrong (sir petworth had just been knighted for a great success in battle), tell her about the fragment of letter she had forwarded anonymously to scotland yard. perhaps she might some day tell michael, when he returned. in any case she would say at the next opportunity that as soon as miss warren reappeared in england, he might ask her to the house as often as he liked--even to stay with them if she were in want of a home.
-she said as much to michael when he came back in september, 1917, to make some further investigations into bone grafting. he seemed genuinely pleased at her broad-mindedness, and said it would indeed be delightful when the war was over--and it surely must be over soon--now mr. lloyd george and clemenceau and president wilson had taken it in hand--it would indeed be delightful to form a circle of close friends who had all been interested in the woman's movement. as to vivie ... if she were not dead ... he should advise her to go in for parliament.
-he had had no news of her since ever so long; what was worse, he had now very great misgivings about bertie adams. during the autumn of 1916 he had disappeared in the direction of la bassée. there were stories of his having joined some american relief expedition at lille--a most dangerous thing to do; insensate, if it were not a mad attempt to get through to brussels in disguise to rescue miss warren. no one in the y.m.c.a. believed for a moment that he had done anything dishonourable. most likely he had been killed--as so many y.m.c.a. people were just then, assisting to bring in the wounded or going up to the trenches with supplies. mrs. adams had better be prepared, cautiously, for a bereavement. rossiter himself was very sad about it. he had missed bertie's services much these last three years. he had never known a better worker--turn his hand to anything--such a good indexer, for example.
-linda wondered whether she could do any indexing? three years ago michael would have replied: "you? nonsense, my dear. you'd only make a muddle of it. much better stick to your housekeeping" (which as a matter of fact was done in those days by cook, butler and parlour-maid). but now he said, thoughtfully:
-"well--i don't know--perhaps you might. there's no reason you shouldn't try."
-and linda began trying.
-rossiter in this autumn of 1917 was extremely interested in certain crucial experiments he was making with spiculum in sponge-cells; with scleroblasts, "mason-cells," osteoblasts, and "consciousness" in bone-cells. most of the glass jars in which these experiments were going on (those of the sponges in sea-water) required daylight for their progress. there was no place for their storage more suitable than that portion of his studio-laboratory which was above ground; and the situation of his house in regard to air attacks, bombs, shrapnel seemed to him far more favourable than the upper rooms at the college of surgeons. that great building was often endangered because of its proximity to the strand and fleet street; and the strand and fleet street, being regarded by the germans as arteries of empire, were frequently attacked by german air-craft.
-but in rossiter's studio there was an under-ground annex as continuation of the house cellars; and the household was instructed that if, in rossiter's absence, official warnings of an air-raid were given, certain jars were to be lifted carefully off the shelves and brought either into the library or taken down below in case, through shrapnel or through the vibration of neighbouring explosions, the glass of the studio roof was broken.
-one day in october, 1917, the german air fleet made a determined attack on london. it was intended this time to belie the stories of the heart of the western district being exempted from punishment because lady so-and-so lived there and had lent her house in east anglia to the empress and her children in 1912, or because sir somebody-else was really an arch spy of the germans and had to go on residing in london. so the aeroplanes this time began distributing their explosives very carefully over the residential area between regent's park and pall mall, the tottenham court road and selfridge's.
-lady rossiter in her overall was disturbed at her indexing by the clamour of an approaching daylight raid; by the maroons, the clanging of bells, the hooters, the gunfire; and finally by the not very distant sounds of exploding bombs. she called and rang for the servants, and then rushed from the library into the studio to commence removing the more important of the jars to a place of greater safety. she had seized two of them, one under each arm, and was making for the library door, when there came the most awful crash she had ever heard, and resounding bangs which seemed to echo indefinitely in her ears....
-rossiter was working in the prosectorium at the zoo when the daylight air-raid began. it seemed to be coming across the middle of london; so, hastily doffing his overall, he left the gardens and walked rapidly towards portland place. he had hardly got past the fountain presented by sir jamsetjee jeejeebhoy in wasted benevolence, than he heard the deafening report of the bomb which had wrecked his studio, reduced it to a tangle of iron girders and stanchions, strewn its floor with brick rubble and thick dust, and left his wife a human wreck, lying unconscious with a broken spine, surrounded by splinters of glass, broken jars, porcelain trays, and nasty-looking fragments of sponge and vertebrate anatomy. with an almost paralyzing premonition of disaster he ran as quickly as possible towards park crescent. the marylebone road was strewn with glass, and a policeman--every one else had taken shelter--was ringing and knocking at his front door to ascertain the damage and possible loss of life. michael let both of them in with his latch-key. in the hall the butler was lying prone, stunned by a small statue which had been flung at him by the capricious violence of the explosion. all the mirrors were shivered and most of the pictures were down. at the entrance to the library cook was standing, all of a tremble. the two little adamses rushed up to him: "oh sir michael! mummie is dead and gran'ma is awfully hurted."
-but mummie--mrs. adams--was not dead; neither was the expensive parlour-maid. both had fainted or been stunned by the explosion on their way to help their mistress. both lay inanimate on the library floor. the library glass door was shivered to dangerous jagged splinters, but the iron framework--"curse it"--remained a tangled, maddening obstacle to his further progress. he could see through the splinters of thick glass something that looked like linda, lying on her back--and--something that looked like blood. the policeman who followed him was strong and adroit. together they detached the glass splinters and wrenched open the framework, with space enough, at any rate, to pass through without the rending of clothes into the studio.
-linda rossiter was regaining consciousness for just a few more minutes of sentient life. she was aware there had been a dreadful accident to some one; perhaps to herself. but she fully believed she had first of all saved the precious jars. no doubt they had put her to bed, and as there was something warm (her blood, poor thing) round her body, they must have packed her with hot water bottles. some idea of michael's no doubt. how kind he was!
-she would soon get right, with him to look after her. she opened her eyes to meet his, as he bent over her, and said with the ghost of an arch smile: "i--have been--of some use--to you, haven't--i? ... (then the voice faltered and trailed away) ... i ... saved--your--specimens--"
-one day, early in april, 1917, vivie was standing in a corridor of the hôpital de st. pierre talking to minna von stachelberg. she had just come from the railway station, where in common with the few british and americans who remained in brussels she had been to take a respectful and grateful farewell of the american minister and his wife, who were leaving belgium for holland, prior to the american declaration of war. american diplomacy had done little for her or her mother, but it had been the shield, the salvation, the only hope of belgium. moreover, the break-off of diplomatic relations initiated the certain hope of a happier future. american intervention in the war must lead to peace and freedom. germany must now be beaten and belgium set free.
-so she had contributed her mite to the fund which purchased spring flowers--hothouse-grown, for this april was a villainous prolongation of winter--with which to strew the approach to the station and fill the reserve compartment of the train.
-as vivie was nearing the end of her description--and minna was hoping it was the end, as she wanted to get back to her patients--two german policemen marched up to vivie, clicked their heels, saluted, and said in german, "mademoiselle varennes, nicht wahr? be good enough to accompany us to the kommandantur."
-at this dread summons, vivie turned pale, and minna dismayed began to ask questions. the polizei answered that they had none to give.... might she accompany her friend? she might not. then followed a ride in a military motor, with the two silent policemen.
-they arrived outside the kommandantur.... more clanking, clicking, and gruff conversation in german. she got out, in response to a tight pressure on her arm, a grip in fact, and accompanied her grim guide through halls and corridors, and at last entered a severely furnished office, a kind of magistrate's court, and was confronted with--bertie adams! a whiskered, bearded, moustached, shabbily dressed (in a quasi-military uniform) bertie adams: lean, and hollow-eyed, but with the love-light in his eyes. he turned on her such a look of dog-like fealty, of happy recognition that although, by instinct and for his safety, she was about to deny all knowledge of him, she could not force her eyes or tongue to tell the lie.
-"oh miss, oh my dear miss warren! how i have hungered and thirsted for a sight of you all these months and years! to see you once more is worth all and more i've gone through to get here. they may shoot me now, if they've got the heart--not that i've done anything to deserve it--i've simply had one object in view: to come here and help you."
-he looked around as if instinctively to claim the sympathy of the policemen. to say he met with none would be to make them out more inhuman than they were. but as all this speech was in english they understood but little of what he had said. they guessed he loved the woman to whom he spake, but he may have been pleading with her not to give him away, to palliate his acts of espionage.
-"dear bertie! you can't be gladder to see me than i am you. i greet you with all my heart. but you must be aware that in coming here like this you--" her words stuck in her throat--she knew not what to say lest she might incriminate him farther--
-a police officer broke in on her embarrassment and said in german: "es ist genug--you recognize him, madame? he was arrested this morning at the hotel impérial, enquiring for you. meantime, you also are under arrest. please follow that officer."
-"may i communicate with my friends?" said vivie, with a dry tongue in a dry mouth.
-"who are your friends?"
-"gräfin von stachelberg, at the hôpital de st. pierre; le pasteur walcker, rue haute, 33--"
-"i will let them know that you are arrested on a charge of high treason--in league with an english spy," he hissed.
-then vivie was pushed out of the room and bertie was seized by two policemen--
-they did not meet again for three days. it was a saturday, and a police agent came into the improvised cell where vivie was confined--who had never taken off her clothes since her arrest and had passed three days of such mental distress as she had never known, unable to sleep on the bug-infested pallet, unable to eat a morsel of the filthy food--and invited her to follow him. "by the grace of the military governor of the prison of saint-gilles"--he said this in french as she understood german imperfectly--"you are permitted to proceed there to take farewell of your english friend, the prisoner a-dams, who has been condemned to death."
-bertie had been tried by court-martial in the senate, on the friday. he followed all the proceedings in a dazed condition. everything was carried on in german, but the parts that most concerned him were grotesquely translated by a ferocious-looking interpreter, who likewise turned bertie's stupid, involved, self-condemnatory answers into german--no doubt very incorrectly. bertie however protested, over and over again, that miss warren knew nothing of his projects, and that his only object in posing as an american and travelling with false passports was to rescue miss warren from brussels and enable her to pass into holland, "or get out of the country some 'ow." as to the emperor, and taking his life--"why lor' bless you, i don't want to take any one's life. i 'ate war, more than ever after all i've seen of it. upon my honour, gentlemen, all i want is miss warren." here one member of the court made a facetious remark in german to a colleague who sniggered, while, with his insolent light blue eyes, he surveyed bertie's honest, earnest face, thin and hollowed with privations and fatigue....
-he was perfunctorily defended by a languid belgian barrister, tired of the invidious rôle of mechanical pleading for the lives of prisoners, especially where, as in this case, they were foredoomed, and eloquence was waste of breath, and even got you disliked by the impatient ogres, thirsty for the blood of an english man or woman.... "du reste," he said to a colleague, "agissait-il d'un belge, mon cher, tu sais que l'on se sentirait forcé à risquer le déplaisir de ces ogres: tandis que, pour un pauvre bougre d'anglais...? et qu'ont-ils fait pour nous, les anglais? nous avons tâché de leur boucher le trou à liège--et--il--nous--ont--abandonné. enfin--allons boire un coup--"
-verdict: as translated by the ferocious interpreter:--
-"ze court faind you geeltee. you are condemned to dess, and you will be shot on monday."
-in the prison of saint-gilles--as i believe elsewhere in belgium--though there might be a military governor in control who was a german, the general direction remained in the hands of the belgian staff which was there when the german occupation began. these belgian directors and their subordinates were as kind and humane to the prisoners under their charge as the germans were the reverse. everything was done at saint-gilles to alleviate the mental agony of the condemned-to-death. the german courts tried to prolong and enhance the agony as much as possible, by sentencing the prisoners three days, six days, a week before the time of execution (though for fear of a reprieve this sentence was not immediately published) and letting them know that they had just so many days or hours to live: consequently most of them wasted away in prison with mind-agony, inability to sleep or eat; and even opiates or soporifics administered surreptitiously by the belgian prison doctors were but slight alleviations.
-bertie when first placed in his cell at saint-gilles asked for pen, ink, and paper. they were supplied to him. he was allowed to keep on the electric light all night, and he distracted his mind--with some dreadful intervals of horror at his fate--by trying to set forth on paper for vivie to read an explanation and an account of his adventures. he intended to wind up with an appeal for his wife and children.
-vivie never quite knew how bertie had managed to cross the war zone from france into belgium, and reach brussels without being arrested. when they met in prison they had so little time to discuss such details, in face of the one awful fact that he was there, and was in all probability going to die in two days. but from this incomplete, tear-stained scribble that he left behind and from the answers he gave to her few questions, she gathered that the story of his quest was something like this:--
-he had planned an attempt to reach her in brussels or wherever she might be, from the autumn of 1914 onwards. the most practicable way of doing so seemed to be to pass as an american engaged in belgian relief work, in the distribution of food. direct attempts to be enrolled for such work proved fruitless, only caused suspicion; so he lay low. in course of time he made the acquaintance of one of those american agents of mr. hoover--a tousle-haired, hatless, happy-go-lucky, lawless individual, who made mock of laws, rules, precedents, and regulations. he concealed under a dry, taciturn, unemotional manner an intense hatred of the germans. but he was either himself of enormous wealth or he had access to unlimited national funds. he spent money like water to carry out his relief work and was lavishly generous to german soldiers or civilians if thereby he might save time and set aside impediments. he took a strong liking to bertie, though he showed it little outwardly. the latter probably in his naïveté and directness unveiled his full purpose to this gum-chewing, grey-eyed american. when the news of mrs. warren's death had reached bertie through a circuitous course--praed-honoria-rossiter--he had modified his scheme and at the same time had become still more ardent about carrying it into execution. in fact he felt that mrs. warren's death was opportune, as with her still living and impossible to include in a flight, vivie would probably have refused to come away.
-therefore in the summer of 1916, he asked his american friend to obtain two american passports, one for himself and one for "his wife, mrs. violet adams." mr. praed had sent him a credit for five hundred pounds in case he could get it conveyed to vivie. bertie turned the credit into american bank notes. this money would help him to reach brussels and once there, if vivie would consent to pass as his wife, he might convey her out of belgium into holland, as two americans working under the relief committee.
-it had been excessively difficult and dangerous crossing the war zone and getting into occupied belgium. there was some hint in his talk of an alsatian spy who helped him at this stage, one of those "sanspatries" who spied impartially for both sides and sold any one they could sell (fortunately after the armistice most of these judases were caught and shot). the spy had probably at first blackmailed him when he was in belgium--which is why of the five hundred pounds in dollar notes there only remained about a third in his possession when he reached brussels--and then denounced him to the authorities, for a reward.
-but his main misfortune lay in the long delay before he reached brussels. during that time, the entire american diplomatic and consular staff was leaving belgium; and the emperor was arriving more or less secretly in brussels (it was said in the hope that a personal talk with brand whitlock might stave off the american declaration of war).
-bertie on his arrival dared not to go to the american legation for fear of being found out and disavowed. so he had asked his way in very "english" french, and wearing the semi-military uniform of an american relief officer--to the hotel "edward-sett," where he supposed vivie would be or could be heard of. when he reached the hotel impérial and asked for "miss warren," he had been at once arrested. indeed probably his steps had been followed all the way from the railway station to the door of the hotel by a plain-clothes german policeman. the germans were convinced just then that many englishmen and some american cranks were out to assassinate the kaiser. they took bertie's appearance at the door of the hotel impérial as a proof of his intention. they considered him to have been caught red-handed, especially as he had a revolver concealed on his person and was obviously travelling with false passports.
-"ah, bertie," said vivie, when they first met in his cell at saint-gilles prison. "if only i had not led you into this! i am mad with myself..."
-"are you, miss? but 'oo could 'a foreseen this war would come along! we thought all we 'ad to fight was the police and the 'ome office to get the vote. and then, you'd 'a bin able to come out into the open and practise as a barrister--and me, again, as your clerk. it was our damned government that made you go abroad and get locked up 'ere. and once i realized you couldn't get away, thinks i to meself, i'll find a way..."
-it was here that vivie began questioning him as to how he had reached brussels from the war zone; and as, towards the end of his story--some of which he said she would find he had written down in case they wouldn't let him see her--the reference to the emperor came in, she sprang up and tried the door of the cell. it was fastened without, but a face covered the small, square opening through which prisoners were watched; and a rough voice asked her what she wanted. it was the german police agent or spy, who, perched on a stool outside, next this small window, was there to listen to all they said. as they naturally spoke in english and the rough creature only knew "god-dam," and a few unrepeatable words, he was not much the wiser for his vigil.
-"i want--i must see the director," said vivie.
-presently the director came.
-"oh, sir," said vivie, "give me paper and an envelope, i implore you. there is pen and ink here and i will write a letter to the emperor, a petition. i will tell him briefly the true story of this poor young man; and then, if you will only forward it he may grant a reprieve."
-the director said he would do his best. after all, you never knew; and the kaiser, though he said he hated them always, had a greater regard for the english than for any other nation. as he glanced from vivie and her face of agonized appeal to the steadfast gaze which bertie fixed on her, as on some fairy godmother, his own eyes filled with tears--as indeed they did many, many times over the tragic scenes of the german terror.
-another request. could vivie see or communicate with gräfin von stachelberg?--with pasteur walcker?
-here the police agent intervened--"nothing of the kind! you're not going to hold a salon here. far too many concessions already. much more fuss and trouble, and i shall take you back to the kommandantur and report. write your letter to the all highest, who may deign to receive it. as to pastor walcker, he shall come to-morrow, sunday, to prepare the englishman for his death, on monday--"
-vivie wrote her letter--probably in very incoherent language. it was handed to the german police agent. he smiled sardonically as he took it in his horny hand with its dirty broken nails. the governor general disliked these appeals to the all highest. indeed, in most cases executions that were intended to take place were only announced at the same time as the condemnation, to obviate the worry of these appeals. besides, he knew the emperor had left that morning for charleville, after having bestowed several decorations on the police officials who told him they had just frustrated an english plot for his assassination.
-vivie and bertie were at length alone, for the police agent was bored, couldn't understand their talk, and gave himself an afternoon off. in this prison of saint-gilles, the cells were in many ways superior to those of english prisons. they were well lit through a long window, not so high up but that by standing on a chair you could look out on the prison garden. through this window the rays of the sun could penetrate into and light up the cell. there was no unpleasant smell--one of the horrors of holloway. the floor was a polished parquet. the bed was comfortable. there was a table, even a book-shelf. the toilet arrangements were in no way repulsive or obvious.
-vivie insisted on bertie lying down on the bed; she would sit on the chair by his side. he must be so exhausted....
-"and what about you, miss? i'll lay you ain't slept these last three nights. what a mess i've made of the 'ole thing!"
-"bertie! why did you do this? why did you risk your life to come here; oh why, oh why?" wailed vivie.
-"because i loved you, because i've always loved you, better'n any one else on earth--since i was a boy of fourteen and you spoke so kind to me and encouraged me to get on and improve myself; and giv' me books, and encouraged me about me cricket. i suppose i'm going to die, so i ain't got any shame about tellin' you all this. though if i thought i was goin' to live, i'd cut my tongue out sooner'n offend you--oh,"--he gave a kind of groan--"when the news come about mrs. warren bein' dead an' you p'raps without money and at the mercy of these germans ... well!--all i wonder at is i didn't steal an airyplane, and come in that. i tell you i had to exercise great self-control to stay week after week fiddling with the food distribution and pretendin' to be an american....
-"well! there it is! we must all die sooner or later. it's a wonder i ain't dead already. i've bin in some tight places since i come out for the y.m.c.a....
-"and talkin' about the y.m.c.a., miss, i do beg of you, if you get out of this--an' i'm sure you will--they'll never kill you," said bertie adoringly, looking up at the grave, beautiful face that bent over him--"i do beg of you to make matters right with the y.m.c.a. i ain't taken away one penny of their money--i served 'em faithfully up to the last day before i saw my chance of hooking it across the lines--they must think me dead--and so must poor nance, my wife. for i haven't dared to write to any one since i've bin in belgium. but i did send her a line 'fore i started, sayin', 'don't be surprised if you get no letter from me for some time. i'll turn up all right, you bet your boots--'
-"that may 'ave kept 'er 'opin'. an' soon you'll be able to let 'er know. who can say? i dunno! but peace, you'd think, must come soon--seems like our poor old world is comin' to an end, don't it? what times we've 'ad--if you don't mind me puttin' it like that! i remember when i had to be awful careful always to say 'sir' to you, and 'mr. david' or 'mr. williams'"--and a roguish look, a gleam of merriment came into bertie's eyes, and he laughed a laugh that was half sob. "if you was to write your life, no one 'ud believe it, miss. it licks any novel i ever read--and i've read a tidy few, looking after the y.m.c.a. libraries....
-"my! but you was wonderful as a pleader in the courts! i used sometimes to reg'lar cry when i heard you takin' up the case of some poor girl as 'ad bin deserted by 'er feller, and killed 'er baby. 'tricks of the trade,' says some other barrister's clerk, sneerin' because you wasn't 'is boss. an' then i'd punch 'is 'ead.... an' i don't reckon myself a soft-'earted feller as a rule.... reklect that shillito case--?"
-"don't, bertie! don't say such things in praise of me. i'm not worth such love. i'm just an arrogant, vain, quarrelsome woman.... look how many people i've deceived, what little good i've really done in the world--"
-"rub--bish! you done good wherever you went ... to my pore mother--wonder, by the bye, what she thinks and 'ow she's gettin' on? sons are awful ungrateful and forgettin'. what with you--and nance--and the little 'uns, i ain't scarcely give a thought to poor mother. but you'll let her know, won't you, miss?...
-"think 'ow good you was to your old father down in wales, 'im as you called your father--an' 'oo's to say 'e wasn't? you never know.... miss warren! what a pity it is you never married. there's lots was sweet on you, i'll bet. yet i remember i used to 'ate the idea of your doin' so, and was glad you dressed up as a man, an' took 'em all in.... i may tell you all, miss, now i'm goin' to die, day after to-morrow. my poor nance! she see there was some one that always occupied my mind, and she used to get jealous-like, at times. but never did i let on it was you. why i wouldn't even 'av said it to myself--i respected you more than--than--"
-and bertie, at a loss for a parallel, ceased speaking for a time, and gulped down the sobs that were mastering him.
-then, after this pause--"i haven't a word to say against nance. no one could 'a bin a better wife. i know, miss, if you get away from here you'll look after her and my kids? i ain't bin much of a father to 'em lately. p'raps this is a punishment for neglecting my home duties--as they used to say to you when you was suffragin'." he gave a bitter laugh--"two such nice kids.... i ain't seen 'em since last february twelve-month ... more'n a year ago ... i got a bit of leave then.... there's little vivie--the one we called after you.... she's growin' up so pretty ... and bert! 'e'll be a bigger and a better man than me, some day. 'e's started in life with better chances. i 'ope 'e'll be a cricketer. there's no game comes up to cricket, in my opinion..."
-at this juncture, the belgian directeur of the jail opened the door and asked vivie to follow him, telling bertie she would return in the afternoon. at the same time, a warder escorting two good conduct prisoners who did the food distribution proceeded to place quite an appetizing meal in bertie's cell. "dear miss," said the directeur in french, "you are so wise, i know, you will do what i wish...?"
-"i shall not send you back to the kommandantur. i will take that on myself. but i must regard you while here as my prisoner"--he smiled sadly--"come with me. i will give you a nice cell where you shall eat and sleep, and--yes--and my wife shall come and see you..."
-in the evening of that day, vivie was led back to bertie's cell. there she found kind pasteur walcker. in some way he had heard of bertie's condemnation--perhaps seen it posted up on a red placard--and in his quiet assumption that whatever he did was right, had not waited for an official summons but had presented himself at the prison of saint-gilles and asked to see the directeur. he constituted himself bertie's spiritual director from that time onwards.... he spoke very little english but he was there more to sympathize than to preach--
-"ce n'est pas, chère mamselle que je suis venu le troubler sur les questions de réligion. j'ai voulu le rassurer--et vous aussi--que j'ai déjà mis en train tous les precédés possibles, et que je connais, pour obtenir sa grace.... but," he went on, "i have spoken to the prison doctor and begged him meantime to give the poor young man an injection or a dose of something to make him sleep a little while..."
-then he withdrew.
-the daylight turned pink and faded to grey whilst vivie sat by the bed holding the left hand of the sleeping man. exhausted with emotion, she dropped off to sleep herself, slid off the chair on to the parquet, laid her head on the angle of his pillow and slept likewise....
-the electric light suddenly shone out from a globe in the angle of the wall which served two cells. she awoke; bertie awoke. he was still happy in some opiate dream and his eyes in his haggard face looked at her with a sleepy, happy affection. loth to awaken him to reality she kissed him on the cheek and withdrew from the cell--for the directeur, out of delicacy, had withdrawn and left the door ajar. she rejoined him in the corridor and he led her to her own quarters for the night; where, worn out with sorrow and fatigue, she undressed and slept dreamlessly.
-but the hour of the awakening on that wintry sunday morning! it was snowing intermittently and the sky, seen from the high window, was lead-coloured. owing to the scarcity of fuel, the cell was unwarmed. she dressed hurriedly, feeling still untidy and dishevelled when she had finished. her breakfast, and with it a little packet of white powder from the prison doctor, to be taken with the breakfast. she swallowed it. if it were poison sent by the german government, what matter? but it was in reality some drug which took the edge off sorrow.
-bertie had evidently been given a similar dose. they spent the morning and the afternoon of that sunday together, almost happily. with intervals of dreamy silence, they talked of old times. neither would have been surprised had the cell walls dissolved as in a transformation scene and they had been able to step out into the fountain court of the temple or into the cheerful traffic of chancery lane.
-when however she returned to his cell after her evening meal, his mood had changed; the effect of the drug had passed. he had moods of despair and wild crying. no response had come, no answer to vivie's appeal, no result from monsieur walcker's activities. bertie reproached himself for cowardice ... then the doctor came in. "an injection in the arm? so! he will sleep now till morning. espérons toujours! et vous, ma pauvre mademoiselle. vous êtes excédée. permettez que je vous fasse la meme piqure?"
-but she thanked him and said she wanted all her wits about her, though she promised "se maîtriser"--to keep calm.
-"nothing could overstrain me," said vivie, "or rather i don't care if anything kills me. i will go with him and stay with him, till the very last moment, stay with him till he is buried if you permit!"
-but for vivie, that drive was an unforgettable agony. they went through suburbs where the roads had been unrepaired or torn up by shrapnel. the snow lay in places so thickly that it nearly stopped the motor. still, it came to an end at last. the door on one side was wrenched open; she was pulled out rather unceremoniously; then, the pinioned bertie, who was handed over to a guard; and the soldier escort after him, who took his place promptly by his side. vivie had just time to note the ugly red-brick exterior of the main building of the tir national. it reminded her vaguely of some hastily-constructed exhibition at earl's court or olympia. then she was pushed inside a swinging door, into a freezing corridor; where the prison directeur and monsieur walcker were standing--irresolute, weeping....
-"where is bertie?" she asked.
-"he is being prepared for the shooting party," they answered. "it will soon be over ... dear dear lady ... try to be calm--"
-"i will be as calm as you like," she said, "i will behave with the utmost correctitude or whatever you call it, if you--if they--the soldiers--the officer--will let me see him--as you promised--up to the last, the very last. but by god--if there is a god--if you or they prevent me, i'll--"
-inexplicably, sheer mind-force prevailed, without the need for formulating the threat the poor grief-maddened woman might have uttered--she moved unresisted to a swing door which opened on to a kind of verandah. here was drawn up the firing party, and in front of them, fifteen feet away on snow-sodden, trampled grass, stood bertie. he caught sight of vivie passing in, behind the firing party, and standing beyond them at the verandah rail. he straightened himself; ducked his head aside from the handkerchief with which they were going to bandage his eyes, and shouted "take away your blasted handkerchief! i ain't afraid o' the guns. if you'll let me look at her, i'll stand as quiet as quiet."
-the officer in command of the firing party shrugged his shoulders. the soldier escort desisted from his attempts to blindfold the englishman and stood aside, out of range. bertie fixed his glowing eyes on the woman he had loved from his youth up, the rifles rang out with a reverberating bellow, and he fell out of her sight, screened by the soldiers, a crumpled body over which they threw a sheet.
-what happened then to vivie? i suppose you expect the time-worn trick of the weary novelist, anxious to put his pen down and go to his tea: "then she seemed swallowed up in a cloud of blackness and knew no more"--till it was convenient to the narrator to begin a fresh chapter. but with me it must be the relentless truth and nothing but the truth, in all its aspects. vivie was deafened, nearly stunned by the frightful noise of the volley in a confined space. next, she was being unceremoniously pushed out of the verandah, into the corridor, and so out into the snow-covered space in front of the brick building; whilst the officer was examining the dead body of the fallen man, ready to give the coup-de-grâce, if he were not dead. but he was. vivie was next conscious that she had the most dreadful, blinding headache she had ever known, and with it felt an irresistible nausea. the prison directeur was taking her hand and saying: "mademoiselle: it is my duty to inform you that you are no longer under arrest. you are free to return to your lodging." minna von stachelberg had come from somewhere and was taking her right arm, to lead her brussels-ward; and pasteur walcker was ranging himself alongside to be her escort. unable to reply to any of them, she strode forward by herself to where under the snow lay an ill-kept grass plot, and there was violently sick. the anæsthetics and soporifics of the last two days were having their usual aftermath. after that came on a shuddering faintness and a rigor of shivers, under which her teeth clacked. some doctor came forward with a little brandy. she put the glass to her lips, then pushed it aside, took pasteur walcker's proffered arm, and walked towards the tram terminus.
-then they were in the tram, going towards the heart of brussels. how commonplace! fat frowsy market women got in--or got out--with their baskets; clerks entered with portfolios--don't they call them "serviettes"?--under their arms; german policemen, belgian gendarmes, german soldiers, a priest with his breviary came and went as though this monday morning were like any other. vivie walked quite firmly and staidly from the tram halt to the walckers' house in the rue haute. there she was met by madame walcker, who at a sign from her husband took her upstairs, silently undressed her and put her to bed with a hot water bottle and a cup of some hot drink which tasted a little of coffee.
-after that vivie passed three days of great sickness and nausea, a furred tongue, and positively no appetite. finally she arose a week after the execution and looked at herself in the mirror. she was terribly haggard, she looked at least fifty-five--"they must have taken me for his mother or his aunt; never for his sweetheart," she commented bitterly to herself. and her brown-gold hair was now distinctly a cinder grey.
-the next day she went back to work at the hospital.
-to minna, she said: "i can never, never, never forget your kindness and sympathy. 'sister' seems an insufficient name to call you by. whatever happens, unless you cast me off, we shall be friends.... i dare say i even owe my life to you, if it is worth anything. but it is. i want to live--now--i want to live to be revenged. i want to live to help bertie's"--her voice still shook over the name--"bertie's wife and children. i expect but for you i should have been tried already in the senate for complicity with ... bertie ... and found guilty and shot..."
-minna: "i won't go so far as to say you are right. but i certainly was alarmed about you, when you were arrested. of course i knew nothing--nothing--about that poor young man till just before his execution when pastor walcker came to me. even then i could do nothing, and i understood so badly what had happened. but about you: i said to myself, if i do not do something, you can perhaps be sentenced to imprisonment ... and i did bestir myself, you can bet!" (minna liked to show she knew a slangy phrase or two.) "so i telegraphed to the emperor, i besieged von bissing at the ministère des sciences et des arts; wrote to him, telegraphed to him, telephoned to him, sat in his anterooms, neglected my hospital work entirely from friday to monday--
-"i expect as a matter of fact they found nothing in that poor young's man's papers to implicate you. they just wanted--the brutes--to give you a good fright ... and i dare say ... such is the military mind--even wished you to see him shot.
-"by the bye, i suppose you have heard that von bissing is very ill? dying, perhaps--"
-vivie: "i hope so. i am so glad. i hope it's a painful illness and that he'll die and find there really is a hell, and an uncommonly hot one!"
-it must not be supposed from the frequent quotations from countess von stachelberg's condemnations of german cruelties that she was an unpatriotic woman, repudiating, apostatizing from her own country. on the contrary: she held--mistakenly or not--that germany had been the victim of secret diplomacy, had been encircled by a ring fence of enemies, refused the economic guarantees she required, and the colonial expansion she desired. minna disliked the slavs, did not believe in them, save as musicians, singers, painters, dancers, and actors. she believed germany had a great civilizing, culture-spreading mission in south-east europe; and that the germs of this war lay in the policy of chamberlain, the protectionism of the united states, the revengeful spirit and colonial selfishness of france.
-but she shuddered over the german cruelties in belgium and france. the horrors of war were a revelation to her and she was henceforth a pacifist before all things. "your old statesmen and our old or middle-aged generals, my dear, are alike to blame. but you and i know where the real mischief lies. we are mis-ruled by an all-man government. i, certainly, don't want the other extreme, an all-woman government. what we want, and must have, is a man-and-woman--a married--government. then we shall settle our differences without going to war."
-vivie agreed with her, cordially.
-she--vivie--i really ought to begin calling her "vivien": she is forty-one by now--in resuming her duties at the hôpital de st. pierre found no repugnance in tending wounded german soldiers--the officers she did shrink from--she realized that the soldiers were but the slaves of the officer class, of kaiserdom. her reward for this degree of christianity was to have a batch of wounded english boys or men to look after. she saw again bertie adams in many of them, especially in the sergeants and corporals. they, in turn, thought her a very handsome, stately lady, but rather maudlin at times. "so easy to set 'er off a-cryin' as though 'er 'eart would break, poor thing.... and i says 'why ma'am, the pain's nuthin', nuthin' to what it use ter be.' 'spec' she lost some son in the war. wonder 'ow she came to be 'ere? ain't the germans afraid of 'er!"...
-they were. the mental agony she had been through had etherialized her face, added to its look of age and gravity, but imparted likewise a sort of "awfulness." she exhaled an aura of righteous authority. she had been through the furnace, and foolishness and petulance had been burnt out of her ... though, thank goodness, she retained some sense of humour. she had probably never been so handsome from the painter's point of view, though one could not imagine a young man falling in love with her now.
-her personality was first definitely noted by the bruxellois the day that von bissing's funeral cortège passed through the streets of brussels on its way to germany. vivien warren was sufficiently restored to health then to stand on the steps of some monument and cry "vive la belgique! à bas les tyrans!" the policemen and the spies looked another way and affected deafness. they had orders not to arrest her unless she actually resorted to firearms or other lethal weapons.
-it was said that her appeal for bertie adams did reach the emperor, two days too late; that he pished and pshawed over von bissing's cruel precipitancy. "englishmen," he muttered to his entourage, "don't assassinate. the irish do. but how i'm going to make peace with england, i don't know...!"
-however, though it was too late to save "this lunatic adams," he gave orders that vivie was to be let alone. he even, through gräfin von stachelberg, transmitted to her his regrets that she and her mother had been treated so cavalierly at the hotel impérial. it was not through any orders of his.
-i dare say in the autumn of 1917, if vivien warren had applied through the spanish minister for a passport to leave belgium for some neutral country, it would have been accorded to her: the german authorities would have been thankful to see her no more. she reminded them of one of the cruellest acts of their administration. but she preferred to stay for the historical revenge of seeing the germans driven out of belgium, and belgian independence restored. and she could not go lest bertie's grave should be forgotten. in common with edith cavell, gabrielle petit, philippe bauck, and the other forty or fifty victims of von bissing's "terror," he had been buried in the grassy slopes of the amphitheatre of the rifle range, near where he had been executed. every sunday, wet or fine, vivien went there with fresh flowers. she had marked the actual grave with a small wooden cross bearing his name, till the time should come when she could have his remains transferred to english soil.
-one day, as she was leaving the hospital in the autumn of 1917, a shabby man pushed into her hand a soiled, way-worn copy of the times, a fortnight old. "three francs," he whispered. she paid him. it was no uncommon thing for her or one of her english or belgian acquaintances to buy the times or some other english daily at a price ranging from one franc to ten, and then pass it round the friendly circle of subscribers who apportioned the cost. on this occasion she opened her times in the tram, going home, and glanced at its columns. in any one but "mees varennes" in these days of 1917, 1918, this would have been a punishable offence; but in her case no spy or policeman noted the infringement of regulations about the enemy press. on one of the pages she read the account of a bad air-raid on portland place, and a reference--with a short obituary notice elsewhere--to the death of one of the victims of the german bombs. this was "linda, lady rossiter, the dearly loved wife of sir michael rossiter, whose discoveries in the way of bone grafting and other forms of curative surgery had been among the outstanding achievements in etc., etc."
-"dear me!" said vivien to herself, as the tram coursed on beyond her usual stopping place and the conductor obstinately looked the other way, "i'm glad she lived to be lady rossiter. it must have given her such pleasure. poor thing! and to think the knowledge that he's a widower hardly stirs my pulses one extra beat. and how i loved that man, seven years, six years, five years ago! hullo! where am i? miles from the rue haute! conducteur! arrêtez, s'il vous plaît."
-after the armistice
-the bruxellois felt very disheartened in the closing months of 1917. the russian revolution had brought about the collapse of russia as an enemy of germany; and the germans were enabled to transport most of their troops on the russian frontier to the west and to the italian frontier. italy had lost half venetia and enormous quantities of guns in the breach of her defences at caporetto. it seemed indeed at any moment, when the ice and snow of that dreadful winter of 1917-18 melted, as though italy would share the fate of rumania. though the british army had had a grand success with their tanks, they had, ere 1917 ended, lost nearly all the ground gained round cambrai. besides, the submarine menace was imperilling the british food supplies and connections with america. as to the united states: was their intervention going to be more than money loans and supplies of material? would they really supply the fighting men, the one thing at this crisis necessary to defeat germany?
-belgium had been divided administratively into two distinct portions, north and south of the meuse. north of the meuse she was to be a dutch-speaking country either part of germany eventually, or given to holland to compensate her for her very benevolent neutrality towards germany during the war. a handful of flemish adventurers appeared at brussels to form the council of flanders, and sickened the bruxellois by their lavish praise of the german administration and servile concurrence with all german measures.
-the events of the spring of 1918 accentuated the despair in the belgian capital. when the germans broke through the defences of the new lines which ran through picardy and champagne, reached the vicinity of amiens, retook soissons, and recrossed the marne, it seemed as though belgian independence had been lost; the utmost she could hope for would be the self-government of a german province.
-but vivie was not among the pessimists. she discerned a smouldering discontent among the german soldiers, even when germany seemed near to a sweeping victory over france and britain.
-the brutality of the soldiers, their deliberate, nasty dirtiness during the first two years of the war seemed due rather to their officers' orders than to an anti-human disposition of their own. many of the soldiers in belgium, in brussels, turned round--so to speak--and conceived a horror of what they had done, of what they had been told to do. men who on the instigation of their officers--and these last, especially the prussians, seemed fiends incarnate--had offered violence to young belgian women, ended by offering to marry them, even showed themselves kind husbands, only too willing to become domesticated, groaning at having to leave their temporary homes and return to the terrible fighting on the yser or in france.
-he had already heard of the engländerin whom the kommandantur was afraid to touch, and opened his heart to her; even offering to prepare her a little meal in her own salle à manger. with what strange sensations she sat down to it. the sergeant as he brought in the oeufs au plat said the soldiers were already sick of the war. most wanted to go back to germany, but a few were so much in love with belgium that they hoped they might be allowed to settle down there; especially those who spoke platt-deutsch, to whom flemish came so easy.
-from villa beau-séjour, vivien warren passed on to the oudekens' farm, wondering what she would see--some fresh horror? but on the contrary, mme. oudekens looked years younger; indeed when vivien first stood outside the house door, she had heard really hearty laughter coming from the orchard where the farmer's widow was pinning up clothes to dry. yet it was here that the woman's husband had been shot and buried, as the result of a field-court's sentence.
-but when she answered vivien's questions, after plying her with innumerable enquiries, she admitted with a blush that heinrich, the german sergeant, with whom she had first cohabited by constraint, had recently married her at the mairie, though the curé had refused to perform the religious service. heinrich was now invariably kind and worked hard on the farm. he hoped by diligently supplying the officers' messes in brussels with poultry and vegetables that he and his assistants--two corporals--might be overlooked and not sent back into the fighting ranks. as to her daughters, after a few months of promiscuity--a terrible time that mme. oudekens wanted to forget--they had been assigned to the two corporals as their exclusive property. they were both of them about to become mothers, and if no one interfered, as soon as this accursed war was over their men would marry them. "but," said vivie, "suppose your husband and these corporals are married already, in germany?" "qu'est-ce-que ça fait?" said mme. oudekens. "c'est si loin." by making these little concessions she had already saved her youngest son from deportation to germany.
-the enormous demands for food in brussels, which in 1918 had a floating population of over a million and where the germans were turning large dogs into pemmican, had tripled the value of all productive farms so near the capital as those round tervueren, especially now the railway service was reopened. many of the peasants were making huge fortunes in complicity with some german soldier-partner.
-in brussels itself, soldiers often sided with the people against the odious "polizei," the intolerable german spies and police agents. conflicts would sometimes occur in the trams and the streets when the german police endeavoured to arrest citizens for reading the times or la libre belgique, or for saying disrespectful things about the emperor.
-the tremendous rush of the german offensive onward to the marne, somme, and ypres salient in march-june, 1918, was received by the shifting garrison of brussels with little enthusiasm. would it not tend to prolong the war? the german advance into france was spectacular, but it was paid for by an appalling death-roll. the hospitals at brussels were filled to overflowing with wounded and dying men. the austrians who were brought from the italian front to replenish the depleted battalions, quarrelled openly with the prussians, and in some cases had to be surrounded in a barrack square and shot down.
-the first real check to the german army in its second march on paris--that which followed its crossing of the marne near dormans--was prophetically greeted by the bruxellois as the turning of the tide. the emperor had gone thither from the hotel impérial in order to witness and follow the culminating march on paris. but foch now struck with his reserves, and the head of the tortoise was nipped off. the driving back of the germans over the marne coincided with the belgian national fête of july 21. not since 1914 had this fête been openly observed. but on this day in 1918, the german police made no protest when a huge crowd celebrated the fête day in every church and every street. vivien herself, smiling and laughing as she had not done since bertie's death, attended the service in sainte-gudule and joined in singing la brabançonne in place of te deum, laudamus. in the streets and houses of brussels every piano, every gramophone was enrolled to play the marseillaise, vers l'avenir, and la brabançonne, the belgian national anthem (uninspiring words and dreary tune). from this date onwards--july 21--the german débacle proceeded, with scarcely one day's intermission, with never a german regain of lost ground.
-when the americans had retaken st. mihiel on september 14, then did belgians boldly predict that their king would be back in brussels by christmas. but their prophecies were outstripped by events. already, in the beginning of october, the accredited german press in belgium was adjuring the belgians not to be impatient, but to let them evacuate belgium quietly. at the end of october, minna von stachelberg told vivien that she and the other units of the german red cross had received instructions to leave and hand over their charges to the belgian doctors and nurses. the two women took an affectionate farewell of each other, vowing they would meet again--somewhere--when the war was over. british wounded now began to cease coming into brussels, so vivie was free to attend to her own affairs.
-enormous quantities of german plunder were streaming out of belgium by train, by motor, in military lorries, in carts and waggons. nearly all this belonged to the officers, and the already-rebellious soldiers broke out in protestations. "why should they who had done all the fighting have none of the loot?" so they won over the belgian engine-drivers--delighted to see this quarrel between the hyenas--and held up the trains in the suburban stations north of brussels. there were pitched battles which ended always in the soldiers' victory.
-the soldiers then would hold auctions and markets of the plunder captured in the trains and lorries. they were in a hurry to get a little money to take back with them to germany. vivie, who had laid her plans now as to what to do after the german evacuation of brussels, attended these auctions. she was nearly always civilly treated, because so many german soldiers had known her as a friend in hospital and told other soldiers. at one such sale she bought a serviceable motor-car for 750 francs; at another drums of petrol.
-she had provided herself with funds by going to her mother's bank and reopening the question of the deposited jewels and plate. now that the victory of the allies seemed certain, the bank manager was more inclined to make things easy for her. he had the jewels and plate valued--roughly--at £3,000; and although he would not surrender them till the will could be proved and she could show letters of administration, he consented on behalf of the bank to make her a loan of 30,000 francs.
-on november 10th, a german soldier who followed vivien about with humble fidelity since she had cured him of a bad whitlow--and also because, as he said, it was a joy to speak english once more--for he had been a waiter at the savoy hotel--came to her in the boulevard d'anspach and said "the red flag, lady, he fly from kommandantur. with us i think it is kaput." this was what vivien had been waiting for. asking the man to follow her, she first stopped outside a shop of military equipment, and after a brief inspection of its goods entered and purchased a short, not too flexible riding-whip, with a heavy handle. then as the trams were densely crowded, she walked at a rapid pace--glancing round ever and again to see that her german soldier was following--up the boulevard du jardin botanique and along the rue royale until she came to the hotel impérial. here she halted for a minute to have the soldier close behind her; then gave the revolving door a turn and found herself and him in the marble hall once built for mrs. warren's florid taste. "call the manager," she said--trying not to pant--to two belgian servants who came up, a porter and a lift man. the manager--he who had ejected her and her mother in 1915--was fortunately a little while in appearing. he was really packing up with energy so as to depart with all the plunder he could transport before the way of escape was closed. this little delay enabled vivien to get her breath and resume an impressive calm.
-"well: what you want?" the manager said insolently, recollecting her.
-"this first," she said, seizing him suddenly by his coat collar.
-"i want--to--give--you--the--soundest--thrashing you have ever had..."
-and before he could offer any effective resistance she had lashed him well with the riding cravache about the shoulders, hands, back and face. he wrenched himself free and crouched ready for a counter attack. but the belgian servants intervened and tripped him up; and the german soldier--the ex-waiter from the savoy--said that madame was by nature so kind that there must be some good reason for this chastisement.
-"there is," she replied, now she had got her breath and was inwardly feeling ashamed at her resort to such violent methods.
-"three years ago, this creature turned my mother and myself out of this hotel with such violence that my mother died of it a few minutes afterwards. he stole our money and much of our property. i have inherited from my mother, to whom this hotel once belonged, a right over certain rooms which she used to occupy. i resume that right from to-day. i shall go to them now. as to this wretch, throw him out on to the pavement. he can afterwards send for his luggage, and what really is his he shall have."
-her orders were executed.
-she then sent a message to mme. walcker and to the kind tea-shop woman, mme. trouessart, close by, explaining what she had done and why. "i shall take control of this hotel in the name of the belgian company that owns it, a company in which, through my mother, i possess shares. i shall stay here till responsible persons take it over and i shall resume possession of the appartement that belonged to my mother." meantime, would madame trouessart engage a few stout wenches to eke out the scanty hotel staff, most of which being german had already commenced its flight back to the fatherland with all the plunder it could carry off. the soldier-ex-hotel-waiter was provisionally engaged to remain, as long as the belgian government allowed him, and three stalwart british soldiers, until the day before prisoners-of-war, were enlisted in her service and armed with revolvers to repel any ordinary act of brigandage.
-by the end of november she had the hotel édouard-sept--with the old name restored--running smoothly and ready for the new guests--british, french officers and civilians who would follow the king of the belgians on his return to his capital. the re-established belgian authorities soon put her into possession of the villa beau-séjour. the german sergeant-major here had kept faith with her, and in return for handing over everything intact, including the herd of cows, received a douceur which amply rewarded him for this belated honesty before he, too, set his face towards germany with the rest of the evacuating army. the motor-car she had bought enabled her to fetch supplies of food from farm to hotel and to perform many little services to belgians who were returning to their old homes. madame trouessart, not as yet having any stock of tea with which to reopen her tea-shop to the first incoming of curious tourists, agreed to live with miss warren at the hotel and act as her deputy, if affairs took her away from brussels.
-it was at the hotel édouard-sept, the place where she had been born, that rossiter met her when he arrived in brussels after the armistice. she felt a little tremulous when his card was sent up to her, and kept him waiting quite five minutes while she saw that her hair was tidy and estimated before the glass the extent to which it had gone grey. she had let it grow of late years--the days of david williams and mr. michaelis seemed very remote--and spent some time and consideration in arranging it. her costume was workmanlike and that of an hotel manageress in the morning; yet distinctly set off her figure and suited her character of an able-bodied, intellectual woman.
-"my dear! you're handsomer than ever!"
-"michael! your khaki uniform becomes you; and i'm so glad you've got rid of that beard. now we can see your well-shaped chin. but still: we mustn't stand here, paying one another compliments, though this meeting is too wonderful: i never thought i should see you again. let's come to realities. i suppose the real heart-felt question at the back of your mind is: can i let you have a room? i can, but not a bath-room suite; they're all taken..."
-michael: "nonsense! i'm going to be put up at the palace hotel. jenkins--you remember the butler of old time?--jenkins, and my batman, a refined brigand, a polished robber, have already been there and commandeered something....
-"no. i came here, firstly to find out if you were living; secondly to ask you to marry me" ... (a pause) ... "and thirdly to find out what happened to bertie adams. a message came through the spanish legation here, a year and a half ago, to the effect that he had died at brussels from the consequences of the war. however, unless you can tell me at once this is all a mistake, we can go into his affairs later. my first question is--oh! bother all this cackle.... will you marry me?"
-vivie: "dear, brave bertie, whom i shall everlastingly mourn, was shot here in brussels by the abominable germans, as a spy, on april 8th, 1917. he was of course no more a spy than you are or i am. the poor devoted fool--i rage still, because i shall never be worth such folly, such selfless devotion--got into belgium with false passports--american: in the hope of rescuing me. he came and enquired here--my last address in his remembrance--and came by sheer bad luck just as the kaiser was about to arrive. they jumped to the conclusion that--"
-rossiter: "awfully, cruelly sad. but you can give me the details of it later on. you must have a long, long story of your own to tell which ought to be of poignant interest. but ... will you marry me? i suppose you know dear linda died--was killed by a bomb in a german air-raid last year--october, 1917. i really felt heart-broken about it, but i know now i am only doing what she would have wished. she came at last to talk about you quite differently, quite understanding--"
-vivie: "that's what all widowers say. they always declare the dead wife begged them to marry again, and even designated her successor. poor linda! yes, i read an account of it in a copy of the times; but i couldn't of course communicate with you to say how truly, truly sorry i was. i am glad to know she spoke nicely of me. did she really? or have you only made it up?"
-michael: "of course i haven't. she really did. do you know, she and i quite altered after the war began? she lost all her old silliness and inefficiency--or at any rate only retained enough of the old childishness to make her endearing. and i really grew to love her. i quite forgot you. yes: i admit it....
-"but somehow, after she was dead the old feeling for you came back ... and without any disloyalty to linda. i felt in a way--i know it is an absurd thing for a man of science to say, for we have still no proof--i felt somehow as though she lived still. that's why i don't want to get rid of the park crescent house. her presence seems to linger there. but i also knew--instinctively--that she would like us to come together.... she..."
-waiter (knocking at door and slightly opening it): "madame! le général tompkins veut vous voir. il ajoute qu'il n'est pas habitué à attendre. il y a aussi m'sieur émile vandervelde, qui arrive instamment et qui n'a pas d'installation..."
-rossiter: "damn! let me go and settle with 'em. tompkins! i never heard such cheek--"
-vivie: "this is a favourite place of mine for assignations. i can't think why it is so little appreciated by young brussels. these palm houses are much more beautiful than anything at kew; they are in the heart of brussels, over which, as you see, you have a wonderful view. it was much more frequented when the germans were here. with all their brutality they did not injure this unequalled collection of tropical plants. they made the palm house an allowance of coal and coke in winter while we poor human beings went without. i used often to come in here on a winter's day to get warm and to forget my sorrows....
-"look at that superb raphia--what fronds! and that phoenix spinosa--and that aralia--"
-rossiter: "bother the aralia. i haven't come here for a botany lesson. besides, it isn't an aralia; it's a gomphocarpus.... vivie! will you marry me?"
-vivie: "my dear michael: i was forty-three last october."
-michael: "i was fifty-three last november, the day the armistice was signed. but i feel more like thirty-three. life in camp has quite rejuvenated me..."
-vivie (continuing): ... "and my hair is cinder grey--an unfortunate transition colour. and if the gardener were not looking i should say: 'feel my elbows ... dreadfully bony! and my face has become..." she turns her face towards him. he sees tears trembling on the lower lashes of her grey eyes, but something has come into the features, some irradiation of love--is it the light of the sunset?--which imparts a tender youthfulness to the curvature of cheek, lips and chin. her face, indeed, might be of any age: it held the undying beauty of a goddess, in whom knowledge has sweetened to tenderness and divinity has dissolved in a need for compassion; and the youthful assurance of a happy woman whose wish at last is won....
-for a minute she looks at him without finishing her sentence. then she sits up straighter and says explicitly: "yes, i will."
-the gardener managed an occasional peep at them, sitting hand in hand. he wished the idyll to last as long as the clear daylight, but the hour for closing was four o'clock--"il n'y avait pas à nier." either they were husband and wife, reunited, after years of war-severance; or they were mature lovers, and probably of the most respectable. in either case, the necessary hint that ecstasies must transfer themselves at sunset from the glass houses of the jardin botanique to the outer air was best conveyed on this occasion by a discreet gift of flowers. accordingly he went on to where exotic lilies were blooming, picked a few blossoms, returned, came with soft padding steps up to vivie, offered them with a bow and "mes félicitations sincères, madame." vivie laughed and took the lilies; rossiter of course gave him a ten-franc note. and they sauntered slowly back to the hotel.
-i am reproached by such art critics as deign to notice my pictures with "finishing my foregrounds over much,"--filling them with superabundant detail, making the primroses more important than the snow-peaks. and by my publishers with forgetting the price of paper and the cost of printing. my jury of matrons thinks i don't know where to leave off and that i might very well close this book on the answer that mrs. warren's daughter gave to sir michael rossiter's proposal of marriage in the palm house at brussels. "the reader," they say, "can very well fill in the rest of the story for himself or herself. it is hardly likely that vivie will cry off at the last moment, or michael reconsider the plunge into a second marriage. why therefore waste print and paper and our eyesight in describing the marriage ceremony, the inevitable visit to honoria, and what vivie did with the property she inherited from her mother?"
-no doubt they are all right. yet i am distrustful of my readers' judgment and imagination. i feel both want guiding, and i doubt their knowledge of the world and goodness of heart being equal to mine, except in rare cases.
-so i throw out these indications to influence the sequels they may plan to this story.
-i think that michael and vivie were married at the british legation in brussels between christmas and the new year of 1918-1919; before that legation was erected into an embassy; and that the marriage officer was kind, genial mr. hawk when he returned to brussels from the hague and proceeded to get the legation into working order. i am sure mr. hawk entered into the spirit of the thing and gave an informal breakfast afterwards in the rue de spa to which mons. and mme. walcker, mons. and mme. trouessart, and the directeur of the prison of saint-gilles and his wife were invited. i think the head gardener of the jardin botanique who had charge of the tropical houses cribbed from the collections some of the most magnificent blooms, and presented them to vivie on the morning of her marriage; and that afterwards she laid the bouquet on her mother's newly finished tomb in the cemetery of st. josse-ten-noode, where, the weather being singularly mild for the time of year, the flowers lasted fresh and blooming for several days.
-i am sure she and michael then crossed the road and passed on to the building of the tir national; entered it and stood for a moment in the verandah from which vivie had seen bertie adams executed; and passed on over the tussocky grass to the graves of bertie adams and edith cavell, where they did silent homage to the dead. i believe a few days afterwards they visited the senate where the victims of von bissing's "terror" had been tried, browbeaten, insulted, mocked. and the functionary who showed them over this superb national palace is certain to have included in his exposition the once splendid carpets which the german officers prior to their evacuation of the senate--all but the legislative chamber of which was used as a barracks for rough soldiery--had sprayed and barred, streaked and splodged with printing ink. he would also have pointed out the three-hundred-year-old tapestries they had ripped from the walls and the historical portraits they had slashed, and would again have emphasized the fact that in all these senseless devastations the officers were far worse than the men.
-also i am certain that michael and vivie made a pilgrimage to the prison of saint-gilles, and stood silently in the cell where bertie adams and vivie had spent those terrible days of suspense and despair between april 6 and april 8, 1917; and that when they entered that other compartment of the prison where edith cavell had passed her last days before her execution, they listened with sympathetic reverence to the recital by the directeur of verses from "l'hymne d'édith cavell"--as it is now called--no other than the sad old poem of human sorrow, abide with me; and that they appreciated to the full the warmth of belgian feeling which has turned the cell of edith cavell into a chapelle ardente in perpetuity.
-i think they returned to england in january, 1919, so that michael might get back quickly to his work of mending the maimed, now transferred to english hospitals; and so that vivie--always a practical woman--should prove her mother's will, secure her heritage and have it in hand as a fund from which to promote all the happiness she could. i doubt whether she will give much of it to "causes" rather than cases and to politics in preference to persons. i think she was awfully disgusted when she was back in the england of to-day not to find mrs. fawcett prime ministress and first lady of the treasury, annie kenney at the board of trade and christabel pankhurst running the ministry of health. it was disheartening after the long struggle for the woman's vote and the equality of the sexes in opportunity to find the same old men-muddlers in charge of all public affairs and departments of state, and the only woman on the benches of the house of commons a millionaire peeress never before identified with the struggle for the woman's cause.
-however i think her disenchantment did not diminish the rapture at finding herself once more in the intimacy of honoria armstrong. sir petworth, when he ran over on leave from the army of occupation, thought her enormously improved, though he had the tact not to say so. he frankly made the amende honorable for his suspicions and churlishness of the past, and himself--i think--insisted on his frank and friendly children calling her "aunt vivie." i am equally sure that vivie was not long in london before she appeared at dear old praddy's studio, beautifully gowned and looking years younger than forty-three; and i shouldn't wonder but that her presence once more in his circle will give his frame a fillip so that he may cheat death over a few more annual outbreaks of influenza. i am convinced that he has left all his money, after providing a handsome annuity for the parlour-maid, to vivie, knowing that in her hands, far more--and far more quickly than in those that direct princely and public charities--will his funds reach the students and the poverty-stricken artists whom he wants to benefit.
-i think that after spending the first five months of 1919 in london, getting no. 1 park crescent tidy again and fully repaired (because michael wished to pursue more thoroughly than ever his biological researches), vivie and michael went off to spend their real honeymoon in the occupied territory of the rhineland, in that never-to-be forgotten june, memorable for its splendid sunshine and the beauty of its flowers and foliage. i think they did this expressly (under the guise of a visit to general armstrong), so that vivie and minna von stachelberg--now minna schultz--might foregather at bonn. minna had married again, an officer of no family but of means and of fine physique whom she had nursed in brussels. his left arm had been shattered, but the skill of the belgian surgeons and her devoted nursing had saved it from being amputated. she had wished however to have him examined by some great exponent of curative surgery at bonn university, and the conjunction of the celebrated sir michael rossiter--who in his discussions of anatomy with the bonn professors forgot there had ever been a war between britain and germany--was most opportune.
-i think however that sir michael said this was all humbug on minna's part, and that all she wanted--her husband, major schultz, looking the picture of health--was to meet once more her well-beloved vivie. at any rate i am sure they met in the rhineland in a propitious month when you could be out of doors all day and all night; and that minna said some time or other how happy she was in her second marriage, and that however heartily she disliked militarism and condemned war, soldiers made the nicest husbands. i think before she and vivie parted to go their several ways, they determined to work for the building up of an anglo-german reconciliation, and for the advocacy in both countries of a man-and-woman government.
-i think, nevertheless, that vivie being a sound business woman and possessing a strong sense of justice on the lines of an eye for an eye, will claim at least five thousand pounds from the german government for the devastations and thefts at the villa beau-séjour; and that having got it and having disposed of her mother's jewellery and plate for £3,500, she will present the villa beau-séjour property and an endowment of £8,000 to the town of brussels, as an educational orphanage for the children of belgian soldiers who have died in the war, where they may receive a practical education in agriculture and poultry farming.
-i fancy she gave a thousand pounds to pasteur walcker's congo mission; and transferred to mme. trouessart all her shares in and rights over the hotel édouard-sept.
-i also picture to myself the rossiters having a motor tour of pure pleasure and delight of the eyes in south wales in september, 1919.
-i imagine their going to pontystrad and surprising the vicar and vicaress and puzzling them by purposely-diffuse stories of vivie's cousin the late david vavasour williams, intended to convey the idea, without telling unnecessary fibs, that david died abroad during the war, but that vivie in his memory and that of his dear old father intends to continue a strong personal interest in the village hall and its educational aims. i also picture vivie going alone to mrs. evanwy's rose-entwined cottage. the old lady is now rather shaky and does not walk far from her little garden with its box bower and garden seat. i can foreshadow vivie dispelling some of the mystery about david williams and being embraced by the old nannie with warm affection and the hearty assurances that she had guessed the secret from the very first but had been so drawn to the false david williams and so sure of his honest purposes that nothing would have induced her to undeceive the old vicar. i can even imagine the old lady ere--years hence--paralysis strikes her down--telling vivie so much gossip about the welsh vavasours that vivie becomes positively certain her mother came from that stock and that she really was first cousin to the boy she personated for the laudable purpose of showing how well a woman could practise at the bar.
-i like to think also that by the present year of grace--1920--the rossiters will have become convinced that no. 1 park crescent, even with the zoo and the royal botanic gardens close by and the ornamental garden of regent's park in between, does not satisfy all their needs and ambitions: that they will have resolved even before this year began--to supplement it by a home in the country for week-ends, for summer visits, and finally for rest in their old age. that for this purpose they will acquire some ideal grange or priory, or ample farmstead near petworth and the armstrongs' home, over against the south downs, and near the river rother; that it shall be in no mere suburb of petworth but in a stately little village with its own character and history going back to roman times and a church with a saxon body and a norman chancel. and that in the ideal churchyard of this enviable church with ancient yews and 18th century tomb-stones, and old, old benches in the sunshine for the grandfathers and loafers of the village to sit on and smoke of a sabbath morning, a place shall be found for the bones of bertie adams; reverently brought over from the grassy amphitheatre of the tir national to repose in this churchyard of west sussex which looks out over one of the finest cricket pitches in the county. if, then, there is any lien between the mouldering fragments of our bodies and the inexplicable personality which has been generated in the living brain, the former office boy of fraser and warren will know that he is always present in the memory of vivien rossiter, that she has placed the few physical fragments still representing him in such a setting as would have delighted his honest, simple nature in his lifetime. he would also know that his children are now hers and her husband's; that his nance very rightly married the excellent butler, jenkins, with whom he had discussed many a cricket score; and that love, after all, is stronger than death.
-jess of the rebel trail
-h. a. cody
-author of "the frontiersman," "the long patrol," "the chief of the ranges," "the fourth watch," "glen of the high north," etc.
-mcclelland and stewart
-publishers : : toronto
-by george h. doran company
-printed in the united states of america
-my uncle and namesake
-long since passed within the vail
-this book is dedicated
-in grateful and loving remembrance
-i the hold-up ii rebellion iii the "eb an' flo" iv under cover v captain samuel goes shopping vi eben makes a discovery vii giving martha the go-by viii what the cow did ix martha takes a hand x unwelcome visitors xi in peril of death xii cornered xiii a tricky passenger xiv another victim xv two women's troubles xvi more than a dream xvii captain sam'l goes home xviii hard luck xix the captain gives advice xx mrs. grimsby's mission xxi eben comes ashore xxii on the rebel trail xxiii straight talk xxiv eben attends to grimsby xxv the forest fire xxvi in the ring of death xxvii in the nick of time xxviii in urgent need xxix confession xxx joy at eventide
-"i have no other but a woman's reason; i think him so, because i think him so."
-"when all other rights are taken away, the right of rebellion is made perfect."
-"women are never stronger than when they arm themselves with their weakness."
-madame du deffand
-jess of the rebel trail
-it was a night such as this, nearly twenty years before, of which the woman was thinking. she was once again in a room in a private hospital, lying weak and helpless from the ordeal through which she had passed. it all came back to her now with a stinging intensity, causing her white hands to clench hard, and her eyes to widen with a nameless fear.
-a maid entered and announced a visitor.
-"i can't see anyone to-night," the woman before the fire declared, without even turning her head.
-"but----" the maid began.
-"that is all, maggie. you need not say anything more. i wish to be left entirely alone."
-the maid hesitated a few seconds before obeying the imperious command. then she slowly turned, and had almost reached the door when it was suddenly pushed open and a man entered. without a word, he stepped past her and glided across the room toward the fire. his unexpected appearance startled the woman crouching there. she straightened quickly up and stared at the intruder in amazement.
-"who are you?" she demanded. "how dare you come here? maggie, put this man out."
-but maggie had disappeared, so the woman was left to face the man alone.
-"i won't harm you, madame," he smilingly informed her, as he moved closer to the fire and stretched put his hands. "i'm as harmless as a kitten."
-"keep back," the woman ordered. "don't come so close."
-"oh, i'm all right. don't you worry about me."
-again the man smiled as he rubbed his hands together.
-"i wasn't worrying about you," the woman retorted. "i would like to see you burn yourself for your impudence."
-her fear had now vanished, and she was angry. she carefully noted the man's slight figure, and threadbare clothes. but his face was what attracted her most of all. it was somewhat chubby, and when the mouth was expanded by the almost incessant smile the cheeks were wrinkled like corrugated iron. his head was bald, save for a few tufts of hair above the ears. his bulging eyes twinkled with good humour, causing an observer to feel that their owner was well satisfied with himself and the entire world.
-"who are you?" the woman again demanded. "how dare you come uninvited into my room?"
-the man straightened, himself up, and standing with his back to the fire brought forth a package of cigarettes, selected one, and deliberately lighted it.
-"you don't mind if i have a smoke, do you?" he asked. "it's good for the nerves."
-"indeed i do," the woman replied. "i hate smoking. i never allow it in this room."
-"i'm sorry, madame, but you'll soon forget all about it. i have come to see you to-night on very important business, and when i tell you what it is you won't think any more about the smoke."
-"important business! with me? why, i never saw you before, and i have not the slightest idea who you are. what do you want, anyway?"
-"yes, it's important business, as i have just said, and when i learned that you would see no one to-night i was compelled to force myself upon your presence."
-"how did you know that i would see no one to-night? were you listening at the door?"
-"madame, when you get to know me better you will learn that i am able to read people's thoughts, though doors may intervene. words are unnecessary to me. i know all."
-the man blew a cloud of smoke into the air, and smiled. "yes," he continued, "i even read your thoughts to-night as you sat before this fire."
-"you did!" the woman's eyes grew wide with fear and amazement. "who are you, anyway?"
-"i am merely a stand-between; that has been my business for years."
-"yes, i stand between people and ignorance. i supply them with mental food, books of the first-water. they all know me, and look upon me as a public benefactor."
-"so you are a book-agent, then? and you want to sell me some books, i suppose? is that your business here to-night?"
-the man waved his hand haughtily, and flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the fire.
-"no, madame, it is not. business is somewhat dull these days, i must confess. people are not as anxious as formerly for pure literature. there are too many counter attractions. this being so, i find it is becoming more difficult to stand between my family and poverty. therefore, i am here to-night."
-"so you want me to give you some money; is that it?"
-"ah, now i see you understand," and the man's face beamed. "but remember, i come not as a beggar, neither as a suppliant, but merely to receive payment for a favor."
-"payment for a favor!" the woman exclaimed. "what do you mean? i owe you nothing. i never saw you before. what favor?"
-"the favor of silence. i know what you were thinking about to-night as you sat here. your thoughts were in the past, to another night such as this. you were in a private hospital, and----"
-he was interrupted by a startled cry from the woman. she was sitting bolt upright, her hands gripping hard the arms of the chair, and her face ghastly white.
-"w-what do you know?" she gasped.
-"calm yourself, madame. although i know all, you have no need to fear."
-for a few seconds the woman stared at the man before her. then she gave an hysterical laugh and sank back in her chair. what did this stranger know? she wondered. perhaps nothing, and she had made a fool of herself by showing her agitation.
-"my nerves are somewhat shaken to-night," she confessed. "i have not been well of late, so your sudden appearance and strange words have rather unsettled me. what do you mean by referring to another night such as this, and to a private hospital? what have they to do with me?"
-"a great deal, i should say, madame. if you doubt my knowledge, it is only necessary to mention the name of hettie rawlins, now my wife, mrs. gabriel grimsby."
-"hettie rawlins!" the woman's face showed her perplexity.
-"yes, hettie rawlins, the girl who exchanged the babies. don't you remember her?"
-but the woman did not reply. she sat staring at the man before her.
-"there is no doubt now about my knowledge is there?" the stranger asked with a smile.
-"heavens, no!" the unhappy woman groaned. "and to think that after all these years i should be thus confronted in my own house, and by a complete stranger. and so your wife told you all?"
-"everything, although she kept the secret for a long time. she told me how you bribed her to exchange your little baby boy for a girl which was born in the hospital on the same day, and the amount you gave the baby's mother for making the exchange."
-"stop, stop," the woman pleaded. "you will kill me."
-"but you know it all, madame. you were thinking about it to-night, were you not?"
-"i was, i was," and the woman buried her face in her hands.
-presently she lifted her head.
-"where is the boy?" she asked in a hoarse whisper. "is he alive?"
-"and so you are interested in him, madame?"
-"interested? why, he is with me night and day. though he must be a young man now, yet i always see him as the little babe i held to my breast. if you know where he is, tell me. i must see him somehow, though he must never know who i am."
-"what about the girl, your daughter?" the man questioned. "she must be a comfort to you now, and well takes the place of--of your son."
-"nothing can ever take his place," the woman vehemently declared. i thought so once, fool that i was. but i know better now when it is too late. where is he? for god's sake, tell me!"
-"and you have had no word from him?" the man asked.
-"nothing. i do not even know the woman's name who took him. i thought i would never want to know."
-"then, madame, it is better for you to remain in ignorance. it would do you no good now to learn anything about him. i, at any rate, shall not enlighten you."
-"no, not now."
-"then why have you come here to-night to inflict this torture upon me? what good can it do to increase the agony of my tormented soul? surely i have endured enough already."
-"payment! for what?" the woman asked in amazement.
-"for silence. i suppose you don't want this matter known?"
-"good heavens, no! what would my husband and daughter think? why, i could never face the world again."
-"very well, madame. i am pleased to know that you realise the situation," and the man smiled blandly upon his victim. he was succeeding much better than he had expected. "i shall see that this matter is kept a profound secret."
-"oh, will you?" and the woman looked her relief.
-"indeed i will, providing you make it worth while. i am always open for business."
-the woman looked keenly at the man.
-"do i understand that you want to be paid for keeping silent?" she at length found voice to ask.
-"certainly. that's what i'm here for. business is business, remember, and if i cannot make a living at my regular profession, i must turn to the next best thing that offers."
-"afraid! of what?"
-the sudden flush that mantled the woman's face plainly showed that she understood. the man noted it, and smiled.
-"you realise the situation, madame, i see. that is very fortunate. i have nothing to fear, as you would do almost anything rather than let your secret be known."
-"but suppose i do not accede to your demand, what then?"
-"that would remain for you to find out, madame. are you willing to run the risk?"
-"heavens, no! it must not be. what is your price? tell me quick, and let us get through with this painful interview."
-"willingly, madame. i am as anxious to get through as you are. my price is very moderate, considering the favor i am bestowing upon you. i want five hundred dollars."
-"five hundred dollars!" the woman gasped as she stared at her visitor. "why, you are a scoundrel, and nothing less."
-grimsby smiled, and rubbed his hands. he felt sure of his quarry, and it mattered little to him what he was called. it was all in the way of business, so he told himself. then he picked up his hat from the floor where he had deposited it, and made as though he was about to leave.
-"very well, then," he casually remarked. "if you think it is too much i am sorry. next week, perhaps, you will consider it very cheap, and would be willing to give far more. but it may be too late then. however, if you are unwilling to meet my moderate demand, it is no use for me to remain longer."
-he started to leave the fire-place, but the woman detained him.
-"don't go just yet," she ordered. "i realise that i must give you something. but isn't your price exorbitant?"
-"it might be for some, but not for you, mrs. randall. i understand that you are one of the largest tax-payers in this city, and in your own name at that. why, i am astonished at myself for my moderation in asking for so little from such a rich woman. i might have made it a thousand at least."
-for a few minutes the woman remained in deep thought. grimsby never took his eyes from her face. he was quite elated with himself, for he felt sure of success.
-at length the woman gave a weary sigh, rose slowly from her chair, and crossing the room, sat down before a handsome writing-table. when she at last came back to the fire-place she was holding a cheque in her hand. eagerly the man reached out to receive it. but the woman waved him back.
-"just a minute," she told him. "before i give you this i want you to promise upon your word of honour that you will never ask me for any more money."
-"i promise, madame," grimsby replied, bowing, and placing his right hand upon his heart in a dramatic manner. "i shall make myself as scarce as i always do when my creditors are after me. what more can i say?"
-"and you will never breathe a word of this to anyone?"
-"trust me to keep the secret, madame, i shall not even tell my wife."
-the woman was about to say something more, but a startled look came into her eyes, as she turned apprehensively toward the door. nervously she thrust the cheque into the man's hand.
-"here, take this," she ordered, "and leave the house at once. somebody is coming."
-without a word grimsby seized his hat, sped across the room, opened the door and disappeared. trembling violently, the woman sank down in the chair and buried her face in her hands, a veritable picture of abject misery and despair.
-the man had been gone but a few minutes when the door was again opened and a girl entered. she was a vision fair to behold as she paused for an instant while her eyes rested upon the woman crouched before the fire. she evidently had just come in out of the night, for she wore her out-of-door cloak, and her hair was somewhat tossed by the violence of the wind. the rich colour of her cheeks betokened the healthy exercise of one who had walked some distance. an expression of anxiety came into her dark-brown eyes as she crossed the room, and bent over the woman in the chair.
-"mother, mother, what is the matter?" she demanded. "are you ill?"
-"oh, it's you, jess, is it?" the woman languidly asked as she lifted her head. "i thought it was maggie. i was not expecting you so soon. what brought you home so early?"
-"it must have been my guiding angel," the girl smilingly replied. "so you were lonely without me? was that the trouble?"
-"yes, i suppose that had something to do with it. but i am not feeling well to-night. this room seems very oppressive."
-"you are too warm," and the girl glanced down at the fire. her eyes at once rested upon the stub of the cigarette lying upon the grate where grimsby had thrown it. she also smelled the smoke of tobacco and instantly surmised that something out of the ordinary had happened to agitate her usually self-possessed mother.
-"somebody has been here annoying you," she cried, turning impulsively to the woman. "was it tom asking for more money?"
-again the woman bowed her head, and made no immediate answer. her thoughts were active, and she was glad of any excuse.
-"i met a man hurrying from the door as i came in. it was too dark to see who he was, and he did not seem to notice me at all. tom knows my opinion of him, and so he is not anxious to meet me. i did not think of tom, though, until i found you so upset. and he was smoking too, for there is the stub of his cigarette. why can't he leave you alone?"
-"he never will, jess. he is just like will and dick. they are always bothering me about money, as if i haven't been giving to them for years. they are just like helpless children."
-"worse, mother. they are three useless men. it is well that i am a girl, for i might be tempted to follow their miserable example. are you not glad that you have only three sons instead of four?"
-receiving no reply, the girl took off her hat, laid aside her wraps, and rang for the maid. then she drew up a chair and sat down by her mother's side.
-"my, this fire is pleasant," she remarked, as she leaned back and gazed into the glowing coals. "i am glad after all that i came home."
-"why didn't mr. donaster come in, jess? i have not seen him for some time."
-"neither have i, mother." the girl's face flushed, and there was a challenge in her voice.
-"you haven't! why, i thought you were with him to-night."
-"indeed i was not. you know as well as i do that i wish to have nothing to do with that man. i have told you so over and over again."
-this sudden outburst aroused the woman from her crouching position. she sat upright, and the expression in her eyes told how deeply she was offended.
-"now, look here, jess," she began, "i want no more of this nonsense. i have made up my mind that you are to marry mr. donaster, and marry him you shall."
-"would you force me to marry such a man as that?" the girl asked.
-"and why not?"
-"because i detest him, and hate the very sight of him."
-"but he is of a fine family, and his father, lord donaster, is immensely rich. burton is his only son, and he will inherit the estate, so you will be lady donaster. it is very seldom a girl meets with such an opportunity in this province."
-the girl gave her head a slight toss, and her face flushed more than ever.
-"i can hardly believe it possible that you are willing to barter your only daughter for such baubles," she indignantly replied. "it is unnatural."
-the presence of the maid with tea and toast interrupted the conversation for a few minutes. jess poured the tea for her mother, but took none herself.
-"are you not going to have any tea?" her mother asked.
-"no, i do not care for any now, as i had some at mrs. merton's."
-"so that's where you were, eh? why didn't you go to the play?"
-"i didn't want to. i preferred to spend a quiet hour or two with mrs. merton. she is a woman who does things of some importance instead of spending her time upon a giddy butterfly-life. she is a regular tonic, and always inspires me to be up and doing."
-"you are silly, jess." her mother was visibly annoyed. "why should you talk about being up and doing? haven't you everything that you desire, with the prospect of a brilliant career before you?"
-"as lady donaster, of course. to what else should i refer?"
-"and you call that a career, mother? slavery is the right word to use. i wish to be of some benefit to the world and not to drift through life like a wretched puppet."
-"if this is what you have learned from mrs. merton you must not go there any more. i have always known that she held peculiar views, but i had no idea that she would try to unsettle the minds of young girls."
-"but i am not a young girl, remember, mother. i am nearly twenty now, and should be able to think somewhat for myself. mrs. merton's views were mine even before i met her. for several years i have been dissatisfied with a life that held out little or no promise of anything definite. i want to make my own way in the world."
-"but you have not been trained for that, so what can you expect to do?"
-"i know it only too well, mother," was the bitter reply. "you brought me up to shine in society and nothing else. but i have youth on my side, with an abundance of health, and strength, so i am not afraid."
-"this is all nonsense, jess. you are talking like an irresponsible child. you know not what it means to earn your own living. and think what a disgrace it would be to have our only daughter working as a common girl. imagine jess randall as a clerk in a drygoods store or in an office. the idea is preposterous! you must give it up at once."
-"i can't see anything disgraceful about it, mother. i am sure it is far better to earn one's own living than to be always depending upon others. but i shall not disgrace you, so you need not worry about that."
-"what do you intend to do?"
-"i have several things in view, and i know that daddy will provide me with money to carry them out."
-"he will do nothing of the sort. his mind is as fully made up as mine that you are to marry mr. donaster. don't you think that we are more capable of judging for your good than you?"
-"i have very serious doubts about that. i know you will consider me ungrateful for saying so, but you ask me, and so i am forced to tell the truth."
-"well, i declare!" and mrs. randall looked her astonishment. "what has come over you, jess? i never knew you to talk like this before. you seem to have lost all confidence in your parents' judgment."
-"not all, mother. but i know how you interfered with the boys' welfare, and look how they have turned out. there was a time when they wished to go to work and win their own way in the world. but you would not let them, and spoiled their lives by giving them too much money to spend, and telling them that it was not dignified to work. and look what they are now; helpless to do anything for themselves, and a burden to you. daddy agreed with everything you said, and see what has happened. you made a sad mistake with them, and i am determined that it shall not be so with me."
-the girl was trembling violently as she finished, and she had risen to her feet. the colour had fled from her face, and her hands were firmly clasped before her. her mother also rose, and confronted her daughter.
-"you are a rebellious and an ungrateful girl," she charged. "to think of your saying such things after all we have done for you. what do you mean?"
-"just what i have said, as you will find out. it is about time for me to assert myself when you are determined to shackle me to a creature i detest."
-"mr. donaster is a gentleman, and the son of a gentleman, so you must not refer to him in such an offensive manner. i absolutely forbid it."
-"he may be a gentleman according to the standard of some, but not according to mine. he is nothing but an unbearable cad, and with no more character than a jelly-fish. and to think of my having to put up with a thing like that for the rest of my life. why, i would rather be dead."
-"it would be almost a relief to me if you were," and mrs. randall gave a deep sigh of despair. "a daughter as wilful as you will only bring disgrace upon her parents."
-"i am surprised at your saying such a thing," the girl replied. "one would almost imagine you are not my mother at all, you are so heartless. would a real mother be willing to sacrifice her only daughter?"
-mrs. randall gave a sudden start, and looked keenly into the eyes of the girl standing so defiantly before her. "does she suspect anything?" she asked herself. then she gave a nervous laugh, and resumed her seat.
-"leave me alone now," she ordered. "i see it is no use talking to you any more to-night, you are so unreasonable and headstrong. your father will have to take you in hand. he will soon knock this nonsense out of your head. he is determined that you shall marry mr. donaster, and you might as well make up your mind to that first as last."
-"mother, i shall go now. but let me tell you, as i shall tell daddy, that nothing on earth can make me marry the man i do not love."
-"tut, tut. love has nothing to do with marriages these days," mrs. randall impatiently replied. "there is no such a thing as love in marriage, it is merely a matter of convenience."
-"if i believed that, i should never marry, mother."
-"and don't you?"
-"indeed i do not."
-"what do you know about love?"
-"i know, perhaps, more than you think." the girl's face was now deeply flushed, and this her mother noted.
-"jess, what is the meaning of this? is there someone else in whom you are interested besides mr. donaster? tell me. i must know the truth at once. it is no use trying to conceal it from me."
-the girl's eyes dropped, and she turned her face partly away to hide her emotion.
-"in mr. donaster i am not even interested," she confessed. "but in another, i am more than interested, for i love him with my whole heart. there, you now know the truth, and so you can say and do what you like. goodnight."
-without another word, the girl turned and hurried out of the room, leaving her mother speechless with anger and amazement.
-the "eb an' flo"
-just how it happened samuel tobin, owner and captain of the "eb and flo," was never able to explain with any degree of clearness. he knew that he was on his knees, scrubbing the floor of the little cabin and humming
-"here i'll raise my ebenezer, hither by thy grace i'll come,"
-when a form darkened the narrow doorway overhead.
-then followed a scream of fright, and before he had hardly time to look around she was lying by his side, a confused heap of silk, lace, and flowing dark-brown hair.
-"well, i'll be jiggered!" samuel exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. "what in time----?"
-a merry laugh interrupted him, as the girl sprang lightly to her feet, arranged her disordered dress, and brushed back her hair.
-"my! that was a surprise," she remarked, glancing at the steps down which she had just tumbled. "i didn't know they were there."
-"ye didn't, eh?" and samuel looked curiously at his unexpected visitor. "thought ye was walkin' into a parlour, i s'pose."
-"do you own this boat?" the girl suddenly and somewhat anxiously asked.
-"well, i thought i did, miss, until you arrived, but now i ain't quite sartin. i feel somethin' like bill slocum said he did when a bear dropped in on him one night when he was campin' out on his back medder."
-"what did he do?"
-"oh, bill, jist lit out an' left the bear in charge, the same as any sensible man would do."
-"i hope you do not compare me to a bear," and the girl smiled.
-"no, i wouldn't like to do that, miss. but ye must have had some mighty good reason fer comin' down them steps the way ye did. it's a wonder to me yer neck wasn't broken."
-"i have a good reason," was the emphatic reply. "i am running away."
-"runnin' away!" samuel's eyes opened wide in amazement, and he stared hard at the girl. he would have been less than human if his pulse had not quickened, and his heart beat faster, for she was truly possessed of more than ordinary beauty and grace of figure. her large dark expressive eyes betrayed anxiety, and her cheeks were flushed. once she gave a slight start and glanced nervously up the steps as if expecting to see someone following her.
-"yes, i am running away," she repeated, "and i want you to hide me on this boat."
-"runnin' away, an' want me to hide ye!" samuel ran his fingers through his hair, a sure sign of his perplexity. "ye ain't been stealin' or murderin' anybody, have ye?"
-"no, no; it's not so bad as that. but it might be suicide, though, if you don't help me. and you will, won't you?" she pleaded, turning her eyes full upon the captain's face.
-the latter made no immediate reply. he picked up his pail and set it carefully aside. he then unrolled the turned-up sleeves of his coarse shirt, and deliberately buttoned them about his thick hairy wrists,
-"set down, miss," he at length ordered, motioning to the only chair the cabin contained. "thar, that's better," he said as the girl immediately obeyed. "sorry me accommodations are so poor, but then this ain't no ocean liner. she's nuthin' but an old woodboat, an' not much of a place fer receivin' the likes of you."
-"but i think it's fine," the girl replied, "and i know you will let me stay here for a while. you need a woman to look after this cabin, and i will wash and cook for you."
-"certainly. if you will only let me stay, i think you will find me quite useful."
-"h'm, queer work you'd do in them dandy togs. an' besides, this craft can't afford to keep up much style. i s'pose ye'd want clean linen on the table every day, to say nuthin' of napkins, an' sich gear. no, i'm afraid ye'd prove too expensive fer the 'eb an' flo.' i've been cook here fer so long that i wouldn't know what to do with a woman around. martha tried it once, but a week was enough fer her, so she got out. said she couldn't stand me housekeepin' methods."
-"who is martha?" the girl asked.
-"oh, she's me wife, an' runs things ashore. her an' flo do all right thar, but me an' eb feel more at home on the water, with no women buttin' in."
-"is flo your daughter?"
-"sure. an' eb's me son. jist the two, so i named this craft after 'em, ye see, eb an' flo sounds about right to my way of thinkin'. when yer boatin' on this river ye have to be allus considerin' the ebb an' flow of the tide, so the name is quite handy."
-"it certainly is," and the girl smiled. "i am sure i shall like it. where is your son now?"
-"oh, he's ashore gittin' some molasses an' other stuff from the store. he should be back soon, miss, so i think ye'd better leave before he comes. thar might be trouble. he's dead set aginst strange women, eben is."
-"will you start as soon as your son returns?" the girl asked, unheeding the captain's warning.
-"start! start where?"
-"sailing, of course."
-"oh, i wish it would blow a gale," and the girl looked anxiously around. "i want to get away from this place as soon as possible."
-"well, i think the best thing then fer you to do is to go ashore an' light out. ye kin do it quicker thar than here."
-"but i can't get ashore, captain."
-"ye can't! an' why not, i'd like to know?"
-"because my boat has gone adrift. i let it go on purpose."
-"good lord!" samuel sat down upon a biscuit box and eyed his visitor curiously. "say, are you crazy, or a fool, or what are ye, anyway?" he asked.
-"i'm just a poor unfortunate girl, that's who i am," was the decided reply.
-"an' ye ain't done nuthin' bad; nuthin' that yer ashamed of, miss?"
-"no, no," and the girl's face crimsoned. "i'm proud of what i have done," and she lifted her head haughtily, while her eyes flashed. "any girl with the least self-respect would do the same, so there."
-"that's all right, miss, that's all right," samuel hurriedly assured her. "i wasn't castin' any reflection upon yer character. i was only wonderin', that's all. ye see, flo's about your age, from what i judge, an' i wouldn't like her to be actin' this way."
-"i know you wouldn't. but my case is different. oh, i wish i could tell you all, but i can't. you will trust me, anyway, won't you, and let me stay here for a while?"
-the captain sighed and looked helplessly around.
-"well, i'll be jiggered!" he growled. "this is sartinly some fix an' i don't know what to do. the accommodation isn't much here fer the likes of you, though it ain't too bad fer me an' eb. if you occupy this cabin, we'll have to camp out on deck, an' i know what eb'll say about that. he's more'n fond of sleep, that boy is, the greatest i ever saw. why he'd sooner sleep than eat any day, an' he likes a good soft bed at that. i had to buy a special spring an' mattress before i could git him to come with me this year. he doesn't take much to boatin', an' i have to make things as smooth as possible."
-"but can't you put his cot on deck?" the girl suggested. "i am very sorry that i am giving you so much trouble, but i shall pay you well. money is no object if you will only help me out of my trouble. i am sure you will never regret it."
-"i hope not, miss, fer i don't want to git into any fix. it wouldn't look very nice if the papers got hold of this affair. jist imagine a big write-up about capt. sam'l tobin keepin' a fine lookin' runaway gal on the 'eb an' flo.' why, i'd never be able to hold up me head agin, an' i guess it 'ud about break martha's heart, to say nuthin' about flo. they're mighty pertic'ler about sich things, they surely are."
-"this must never get into the papers," the girl declared, "for you must promise that you will keep it a dead secret, and not tell anyone, not even your own family."
-"i don't see how i kin do that, miss. i guess ye don't know martha as well as i do. if ye did, ye wouldn't talk about keepin' this racket a secret from me family. an' besides, thar's eben, who'll be here in a jiffy now. how am i to explain matters to him? no, miss, i reckon ye'd better light out while the coast is clear. i'll git the boy to take ye ashore, an' tell him that ye hit the wrong craft."
-but the girl was not to be baffled in her purpose. she rose to her feet and stood before the captain. her eyes were wide with a nameless fear, and her face showed very white where the light of the bracket-lamp fell upon it.
-"don't, don't send me away," she pleaded. "let me stay here until you go from this place. then you can put me ashore in the woods, or throw me overboard, i don't care which, but for the love of heaven let me stay now!"
-captain samuel's big right hand dove suddenly into his pocket and clawed forth a clay pipe, a plug of tobacco, and a large jack-knife. he examined them carefully for a few seconds, the girl all the time watching him most intently.
-"you will let me stay, won't you?" she coaxed. "don't send me away."
-"i don't see how i kin, miss. yer here, an' that's all thar is about it. ye won't go of yer own accord, an' i've never yit laid hands on a woman. now, if you was a man i'd show ye a thing or two in a jiffy, but what kin one do with a woman when she once makes up her mind?"
-"oh, thank you so much," and the girl's face brightened. "you will never regret your kindness to me. and look, i'm going to pay you well for letting me stay."
-"pay!" the captain's eyes bulged with astonishment.
-"yes, pay," and the girl smiled. "i'm a passenger, you see, so i'm going to pay my fare. there, you must not object, for i have made up my mind, so it's no use for you to say a word. i'm going to give you fifty dollars now and more later."
-the pipe fell from the captain's hand and broke in two upon the floor.
-"blame it all!" he growled, as he stood staring upon the wreck. "i wonder what's comin' over me, anyway? guess i'm losin' me senses."
-"no you're not; you are just getting them, captain. it's better to break a pipe than a girl's heart, isn't it?"
-"i s'pose so, miss. but a pipe means a good smoke, while a woman means----"
-he paused, and looked helplessly around.
-"what?" the girl's eyes twinkled.
-"trouble; that's what."
-"but isn't she worth it?"
-"that all depends upon what an' who she is."
-"certainly. now you are talking sense. isn't your daughter worth all the trouble she has been to you?"
-"sure, sure; yer sartinly right thar, miss. flo's given me a heap of trouble, but not half as much as eben. that boy's a caution, an' he's given me an' martha no end of worry."
-"in what way?"
-the captain scratched his head in perplexity, and shifted uneasily from one foot to another.
-"i kin hardly explain," he at length replied. "he don't drink, nor swear, nor do nuthin' bad. but the trouble is, he don't do nuthin', an' don't want to do nuthin' but sleep an' eat."
-"perhaps you have not brought him up right, captain."
-"'here i'll raise my ebenezer'."
-"and so you've been singing it ever since, even when scrubbing the cabin?" the girl smiled at the recollection of the suddenly discontinued tune.
-"sure, why shouldn't i? it's a great hymn, it sartinly is, an' it's inspired me many a time. it has kept before me my duty, an' if eben doesn't amount to somethin', it won't be my fault, nor martha's, either, fer that matter."
-"have you taken the same care with your daughter?" the girl asked.
-"no, not as much," was the reluctant confession. "gals don't need sich special care. they ginerally grow up all right, an' git along somehow. but it's different with boys. they're a problem, they sartinly are."
-"and so you have given most of your attention to your son, and let your daughter grow up any way. is that it, captain?"
-"that's about it, miss."
-"and how is your daughter getting along?"
-"fust rate. we've no trouble with her. she's a good worker, happy an' cheerful as a bird, an' does what she's told. she's a fine gal, flo is, an' thar's no mistake about that. i wish to goodness eben was like her."
-"it seems to me, captain, that you tried too hard to raise your son, and spoiled him. isn't that it?"
-"d'ye think so?"
-"i am sure of it. you are not the only ones who have spent all their care upon their sons and let their daughters grow up as they please. i
-"why, hello, hawkins! where'd you fall from? how's things over to homer?"
-sundown took the hint and fabricated a heart-rending tale of an all-night ride on "a cayuse that had been tryin' to get rid of him ever since he started and had finally piled him as the flyer tooted for usher."
-"i sure got room," said sundown. "fetch me a basket of doughnuts and a pail of coffee. that there fly--cayuse sure left me, but he didn't take me appetite."
-after the third cup of coffee and the seventh doughnut, sundown asserted that he felt better. they sauntered out to the street.
-"how in blazes did you get loose?" queried shoop, surveying the unkempt adventurer with frank amazement.
-"blazes is correct. i clumb out of the window."
-"set her on fire?"
-"not with mellishus extent, as the judge says. mebby it was a cigarette. i dunno. first thing i know i was dreamin' i smelt smoke and the dream sure come true. if them bars had been a leetle closter together, i reckon i would be tunin' a harp, right now."
-"how did you happen to jump our train--and get off here?" asked corliss.
-"it was sure lucky," said sundown, grinning. "i run 'round back of the station and snook up and crawled under the platform in front. i could see everybody hoppin' 'round and i figured i was safer on the job, expectin' they'd be lookin' for me to beat it out of town. then you fellas come up and stood talkin' right over me head. bud he says somethin' about eatin' breakfast in usher, and bein' hungry and likin' good comp'ny, i waits till the train pulls up and crawls under the baggage. and here i be."
-"me ranch?" and sundown beamed through his grime. "makes me feel like writin' a pome! now, mebby--"
-they crossed the street. next to the barbershop was a saloon.
-sundown eyed the sign pensively. "i ain't a drinkin' man--regular," he said, "but there are times . . ."
-"there are times," echoed corliss, and the three filed between the swing-doors and disappeared.
-an hour later three men, evidently cow-men from their gait and bearing, passed along the main street of usher and entered the court-house, where they were met by two citizens. the five men were admitted to the inner sanctum of the hall of justice, from which they presently emerged, laughing and joking. the tallest of them seemed to be receiving the humorous congratulations of his companions. he shook hands all around and remarked half-apologetically: "i ain't a drinkin' man, reg'lar . . . but there are times . . ."
-the five men drifted easily toward the swing-doors. presently they emerged. shoop nudged his employer. david loring and his daughter had just crossed the street. the old sheep-man glanced at the group in front of the saloon and blinked hard. of the west, he read at a glance the situation. sundown, corliss, and shoop raised their hats as eleanor loring bowed.
-"i expect him to. that'll be all right."
-"well, you got me. thought i knowed somethin' about your style, but i don't even know your name."
-"let's move on. you go ahead and get the cayuse. i want to talk to sundown."
-then corliss explained his plan. he told sundown to keep the water-hole fenced and so keep the sheep-men from using it. this would virtually control several thousand acres of range around the water-hole ranch. he told sundown that he expected him to homestead the ranch for himself--do the necessary work to secure a title, and then at his option either continue as a rancher or sell the holding to the concho. "i'll start you with some stock--a few head, and a horse or two. all you have to do is to 'tend to business and forget that i have ever spoken to you about homesteading the place. you'll have to play it alone after you get started."
-"suits me, boss. i ain't what you'd call a farmer, but me and chance can scratch around and act like we was. but the smooth gent as pinched me--ain't he goin' to come again?"
-"sure as you're wearing spurs! but you just take it easy and you'll come out all right. loring put jim banks after you. jim is all right and he's business. loring wants the water-hole ranch. so do i. now, if loring tells the sheriff he saw you in usher, and later at the water-hole, jim will begin to think that loring is keeping pretty close trail on you. when jim finds out you've filed on the water-hole,--and he already knows that loring wants it,--he'll begin to figure that loring had you jailed to keep you out of his way. and you can take it from me, jim banks is the squarest man in apache county. he'll give you a chance to make good. if we can keep you out of sight till he hears from over the line, i think you'll be safe after that. if we can't, why, you still have your title to the water-hole ranch and that holds it against trespassers."
-"well, you're sure some shark on the long think! say, i been scared stiff so long i'm just commencin' to feel me legs again. the sun is shinin' and the birds are sawin' wood. i get you, boss! the old guy that owns the wool had me pinched. well, i ain't got nothin' ag'in' him, but that don't say i ain't workin' for you. say, if he comes botherin' around me farm, do i shoot?"
-"no. you just keep right on. pay no attention to him."
-"just sick chance on him, eh?"
-"he'd get chance. i'm going to run some cattle over that way soon. then you'll have company. you needn't be scared."
-"cattle is some comp'ny at that. say, have i got to ride that there bronc bud jest went down the street on?"
-"as soon as we get out of town."
-"which wouldn't be long if we had hosses like him, eh?"
-"i'll give you a note to murphy. he'll send your horse back to usher and let you take a fresh horse when you start for the concho. take it easy, and don't talk."
-"all right, boss. but i was thinkin'--"
-"well, it's men like me and you that puts things through. it takes a man with sand to go around this country gettin' pinched and thrun and burnt up and bein' arrested every time he goes to spit. folks'll be sayin' that there sundown gent is a brave man--me! never shot nobody and dependin' on his nerve, every time. they's nothin' like havin' a bad repetation."
-"nothing like it," assented corliss, smiling. "well, here's your road. keep straight on till you cross the river. then take the right fork and stick to it, and you'll ride right into murphy's. he'll fix you up, all right."
-"did you think in this note to tell him to give me a hoss that only travels one way to onct?" queried sundown.
-corliss laughed. "yes, i told him. don't forget you're a citizen and a homesteader. we're depending on you."
-"you bet! and i'll be there with the bells!"
-shoop and corliss watched sundown top a distant rise and disappear in a cloud of dust. then they walked back to the station. as they waited for the local, shoop rolled a cigarette. "jest statin' it mild and gentle," he said, yawning, "the last couple of weeks has been kind of a busy day. guess the fun's all over. sundown's got a flyin' start; loring's played his ace and lost, and you and me is plumb sober. if i'd knowed it was goin' to be as quiet as this, i'd 'a' brought my knittin' along."
-"there are times . . ." said corliss.
-the walking man
-sundown's sense of the dramatic, his love for posing, with his linguistic ability to adopt the vernacular of the moment so impressed the temperamental murphy that he disregarded a portion of his friend corliss's note, and the morning following his lean guest's arrival at the ranch the jovial irishman himself saddled and bridled the swiftest and most vicious horse in the corral; a glass-eyed pinto, bronc from the end of his switching tail to his pink-mottled muzzle. he was a horse with a record which he did not allow to become obsolete, although he had plenty of competition to contend with in the string of broncs that murphy's riders variously bestrode. moreover, the pinto, like dynamite, "went off" at the most unexpected intervals, as did many of his riders. sundown, bidding farewell to his host, mounted and swung out of the yard at a lope. the pinto had ideas of his own. should he buck in the yard, he would immediately be roped and turned into the corral again. out on the mesas it would be different--and it was.
-he paid no attention to a tumble-weed gyrating across the apache road. neither did he seem disturbed when a rattler burred in the bunch-grass. even the startled leap of a rabbit that shot athwart his immediate course was greeted with nothing more than a snort and a toss of his swinging head. such things were excuses for bad behavior, but he was of that type which furnishes its own excuse. he would lull his rider to a false security, and then . . .
-the pinto loped over level and rise tirelessly. sundown stood in his stirrups and gazed ahead. the wide mesas glowing in the sun, the sense of illimitable freedom, the keen, odorless air wrought him to a pitch of inspiration. he would, just over the next rise, draw rein and woo his muse. but the next rise and the next swept beneath the pinto's rhythmic hoofs. the poetry of motion swayed his soul. he was enjoying himself. at last, he reflected, he had mastered the art of sitting a horse. he had already mastered the art of mounting and of descending under various conditions and at seemingly impossible angles. as hi wingle had once remarked--sundown was the most durable rider on the range. his length of limb had no apparent relation to his shortcomings as a vaquero.
-curiosity, as well as pride, may precede a fall. sundown eventually reined up and breathed the pinto, which paced with lowered head as though dejected and altogether weary--which was merely a pose, if an object in motion can be said to pose. his rider, relaxing, slouched in the saddle and dreamed of a peaceful and domestic future as owner of a small herd of cattle, a few fenced acres of alfalfa and vegetables, a saddle-horse something like the pinto which he bestrode, with chance as companion and audience--and perhaps a low-voiced señora to welcome him at night when he rode in with spur-chains jingling and the silver conchas on his chaps gleaming like stars in the setting sun. "but me chaps did their last gleam in that there fire," he reflected sadly. "but i got me big spurs yet." which after-thought served in a measure to mitigate his melancholy. like a true knight, he had slept spurred and belted for the chance encounter while held in durance vile at antelope. "but me ranch!" he exclaimed. "me! and mebby a tame cow and chickens and things,--eh, chance!" but chance, he immediately realized, was not with him. he would have a windmill and shade-trees and a border of roses along the roadway to the house--like the loring rancho. but the señorita to be wooed and won--that was a different matter. "'t ain't no woman's country nohow--this here arizona. she's fine! but she's a man's country every time! only sech as me and jack corliss and bud and them kind is fit to take the risks of makin' good in this here state. but we're makin' good, you calico-hoss! listen:--
-"oh, there's sunshine on the concho where the little owls are cryin', and red across the 'dobe strings of chiles are a-dryin'; and if arizona's heaven, tell me what's the use of dyin'? yes, it's good enough down here, just breathin' air;
-"for the posies are a-bloomin' and the mockin'-birds are matin', and somewhere in arizona there's a chola girl a-waitin' for to cook them enchiladas while i do the irrigatin' on me little desert homestead over there.
-"while i'm ridin' slow and easy . . ."
-"whoa! wonder what that is? never seen one of them things before. 't ain't a lizard, but he looks like his pa was a lizard. mebby his ma was a toad. kind of a mormon, i guess."
-he leaned forward and gravely inspected the horned toad that blinked at him from the edge of the grass. the pinto realized that his rider's attention was otherwise and thoroughly occupied. with that unforgettable drop of head and arch of spine the horse bucked. sundown did an unpremeditated evolution that would have won him much applause and gold had he been connected with a circus. he landed in a clump of brush and watched his hat sail gently down. the pinto whirled and took the homeward road, snorting and bounding from side to side as the dust swirled behind him. sundown scratched his head. "lemme see. 'we was ridin', slow and easy . . .' huh! well, i ain't cussin' because i don' know how. lemme see . . . i was facin' east when i started. now i'm lit, and i'm facin' south. me hat's there, and that there toad-lizard oughter be over there, if he ain't scared to death. reckon i'll quit writin' po'try jest at present and finish gettin' acquainted with that there toad-lizard. wonder how far i got to walk? anyhow, i was gettin' tired of ridin'. by gum! me eats is tied to the saddle! it's mighty queer how a fella gets set back to beginnin' all over ag'in every onct in a while. now, this mornin' i was settin' up ridin' a good hoss and thinkin' poetical. now i'm settin' down restin'. the sun is shinin' yet, and them jiggers in the brush is chirpin' and the air is fine, but i ain't thinkin' poetical. i'd sure hate to have a real lady read what i'm thinkin', if it was in a book. 'them that sets on the eggs of untruth,' as the parson says, 'sure hatches lies.' jest yesterday i was tellin' in usher how me bronc piled me when i'd been ridin' the baggage, which was kind of a hoss-lie. i must 'a' had it comin'."
-he rose and stalked to the roadway. the horned toad, undisturbed, squatted in the grass and eyed him with bright, expressionless eyes.
-"if i was like some," said sundown, addressing the toad, "i'd pull me six-shooter, only i ain't got it now, and bling you to nothin'. accordin' to law you're the injudicious cause preceding the act, which makes you guilty accordin' to the statues of this here commonwealth, and i seen lots of 'em on the same street, in boston, scarin' hosses to death and makin' kids and nuss-girls cry. but i ain't goin' to shoot you. if i was to have the sayin' of it, i'd kind o' like to shoot that hoss, though. he broke as fine a pome in the middle as i ever writ, to say nothin' of hurtin' me personal feelin's. well, so-long, leetle toad-lizard. just tell them that you saw me--and they will know the rest--if anybody was to ask you, a empty saddle and a man a-foot in the desert is sure circumvential evidence ag'in the hoss. wonder how far it is to the concho?"
-with many a backward glance, inspired by fond imaginings that the pinto might have stopped to graze, sundown stalked down the road. waif of chance and devotee of the goddess "maybeso," he rose sublimely superior to the predicament in which he found himself. "the only reason i'm goin' east is because i ain't goin' west," he told himself, ignoring, with warm adherence to the glowing courses of the sun the frigid possibilities of the poles. warmed by the exercise of plodding across the mesa trail in high-heeled boots, he swung out of his coat and slung it across his shoulder. dust gathered in the wrinkles of his boots, and more than once he stopped to mop his sweating face with his bandanna. rise after rise swept gently before him and within the hour he saw the misty outline of the blue hills to the south. slowly his moving shadow shifted, bobbing in front of him as the sun slipped toward the western horizon. a little breeze sighed along the road and whirls of sand spun in tiny cones around the roots of the chaparral. he reached in his pocket, drew forth a silver dollar, and examined it. "now if they weren't any folks on this here earth, i reckon silver and gold and precious jools wouldn't be worth any more than rocks and mud and gravel, eh? why, even if they weren't no folks, water would be worth more to this here world than gold. water makes things grow and--and keeps a fella from gettin' thirsty. and mud makes things grow, too, but i dunno what rocks are for. just to sit on when you're tired, i reckon." the sibilant burring of a rattler in the brush set his neck and back tingling. "and what snakes was made for, gets me! they ain't good to eat, nohow. and they ain't friendly like some of the bugs and things. i'm thinkin' that that there snake what clumb the tree and got mrs. eve interested in the apple business would 'a' been a whole lot better for folks, if he'd 'a' stayed up that tree and died, instead o' runnin' around and raisin' young ones. accordin' to my way of thinkin' a garden ain't a garden with a snake in it, nohow. now, mrs. eve--if she'd had to take a hammer and nails and make a ladder to get to them apples, by the time she got the ladder done i reckon them apples wouldn't 'a' looked so good to her. that's what comes of havin' a snake handy. 'course, bein' a woman, she jest nacherally couldn't wait for 'em to get ripe and fall off the tree. that would 'a' been too easy. it sure is funny how folks goes to all kinds o' trouble to get into it. mebby she did get kind o' tired eatin' the same breakfast-food every mornin'. lots o' folks do, and hankers to try a new one. but i never got tired of drinkin' water yet. wisht i had a barrel with ice in it. gee gosh! ice! mebby a cup of water would be enough for a fella, but when he's dry he sure likes to see lots ahead even if he can't drink it all. mebby it's jest knowin' it's there that kind o' eases up a fella's thirst. i dunno."
-romance, as romance was wont to do at intervals, lay in wait for the weary sundown. hunger and thirst and a burning sun may not be immediately conducive to poetry or romantic imaginings. but the 'dobe in the distance shaded by a clump of trees, the gleam of the drying chiles, the glow of flowers, offered an acceptable antithesis to the barren roadway and the empty mesas. sundown quickened his pace. eden, though circumscribed by a barb-wire fence enclosing scant territory, invited him to rest and refresh himself. and all unexpected the immemorial eve stood in the doorway of the 'dobe, gazing down the road and doubtless wondering why this itinerant adam, booted and spurred, chose to walk the dusty highway.
-at the gate of the homestead sundown paused and raised his broad sombrero. anita, dusky and buxom daughter of chico miguel, "the little hombre with the little herd," as the cattle-men described him, nodded a bashful acknowledgment of the salute, and spoke sharply to the dog which had risen and was bristling toward the strange wayfarer.
-"agua," said sundown, opening the gate, "mucha agua, senorita," adding, with a humorous gesture of drinking, "i'm dry clean to me boots."
-"i lost me horse--back there. i'm headed for the concho--ma'am. concho," he reiterated in a louder tone. "sabe?"
-the mother of anita nodded. "you sick?" she asked.
-"what? me? not on your life, lady! i'm the healthiest ho--puncher in this here state. you sabe concho?"
-"si! zhack corlees--'juan,' we say. si! you of him?"
-"yes, lady. i'm workin' for him. lost me hoss."
-anita and her mother exchanged glances. sundown felt that his status as a vaquero was in question. would he let the beautiful anita know that he had been ignominiously "piled" by that pinto horse? not he. "circumventions alters cases," he soliloquized, not altogether untruthfully. then aloud, "me hoss put his foot in a gopher-hole. bruk his leg, and i had to shoot him, lady. hated to part with him." and the inventive sundown illustrated with telling gesture the imaginary accident.
-a delicate frown touched the gentle anita's smooth forehead when her mother interrupted sundown with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of frijoles, yet anita realized, as she saw his ardent expression when the aroma of the coffee reached him, that this was a most sensible and fitting climax to his glowing discourse. her frown vanished together with the coffee and beans.
-fortified by the strong black coffee and the nourishing frijoles, sundown rose from his seat on the doorstep and betook himself to the back of the house where he labored with an axe until he had accumulated quite a pile of firewood. then he rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and asked permission to prepare the evening meal. although a little astonished, the señora consented, and watched sundown, at first with a smile of indulgence, then with awakening curiosity, and finally with frank and complimentary amazement as he deftly kneaded and rolled pie-crust and manufactured a pie that eventually had, for those immediately concerned, historical significance.
-the "little hombre," chico miguel, returning to his 'dobe that evening, was greeted with a tide of explanatory utterances that swept him off his feet. he was introduced to sundown, apprised of the strange guest's manifold accomplishments, and partook of the substantial evidence of his skill until of the erstwhile generous pie there was nothing left save tender reminiscence and replete satisfaction.
-later in the evening, when the arizona stars glowed and shimmered on the shadowy adobe, when the wide mesas grew mysteriously beautiful in the soft radiance of the slow moon, chico miguel brought his guitar from the bedroom, tuned it, and struck a swaying cadence from its strings. then anita's voice, blending with the rhythm, made melody, and sundown sat entranced. mood, environment, temperament, lent romance to the simple song. every singing string on the old guitar was silver--the singer's girlish voice a sunlit wave of gold.
-the bleak and almost barren lives of these isolated folk became illumined with a reminiscent glow as the tinkling notes of the guitar hushed to faint echoes of fairy bells hung on the silver boughs of starlit trees. "adios, linda rosa," ran the song. then silence, the summer night, the myriad stars.
-sundown, turning his head, gazed spellbound at the dark-eyed singing girl. in the dim light of the lamp she saw that his lean cheeks were wet with tears.
-on the mesa
-meanwhile he clung tenaciously to the few spanish words he knew, added to which was "linda rosa"--"pretty rose,"--which he intended to use with telling effect when he made his adieux. after breakfast he rose and disappeared. when he again entered the house the keen señora noticed that his shirt front swelled expansively just above his heart. she wondered if the tall one had helped himself to a few of her beloved chiles.
-presently chico miguel appeared with the pony. sundown mounted, hesitated, and then nodded farewell to the señora and the almost tearful anita who stood in the doorway. things were not as sundown would have had them. he was long of arm and vigorous, but to cast a bouquet of hastily gathered and tied flowers from the gateway to the hand of the señorita would require a longer arm and a surer aim than his. "gee gosh!" he exclaimed, dismounting hurriedly. "what's that on his hind foot?"
-he referred to the horse. chico miguel, at the gate, hastened to examine the pony, but sundown, realizing that the señorita still stood beside her mother, must needs create further delay. he stepped to the pony and, assuming an air of experience, reached to take up the horse's foot and examine it. the horse, possibly realizing that its foot was sound, resented sundown's solicitude. the upshot--used advisedly--of it was that sundown found himself sitting in the road and chico miguel struggling with the pony.
-with a scream anita rushed to the gateway, wringing her hands as sundown rose stiffly and felt of his shirt front. the flowers that he had picked for his adored, were now literally pressed to his bosom. he wondered if they "were mushed up much?" yet he was not unhappy. his grand climax was at hand. again he mounted the pony, turned to the señorita, and, drawing the more or less mangled blossoms from his shirt, presented them to her with sweeping gallantry. anita blushed and smiled. sundown raised his hat. "adios! adios! mucha adios! señorita! for you sure are the lindaest little linda rosa of the whole bunch!" he said.
-and with anita standing in rapt admiration, chico miguel wondering if the kick of the horse had not unsettled the strange caballero's reason, and the señora blandly aware that her daughter and the tall one had become adepts in interpreting the language of the eyes, sundown rode away in a cloud of dust, triumphantly joyous, yet with a peculiar sensation in the region of his heart, where the horse had kicked him. when he realized that admiring eyes could not follow him forever, he checked the horse and rubbed his chest.
-"it hurts, all right! but hoss-shoes is a sign of luck--and posies is a sign of love--and them two signs sure come together this mornin'. 'oh, down in arizona there's a--' no, i reckon i won't be temptin' providence ag'in. this hoss might have some kind of a dislikin' for toad-lizards and po'try mixed, same as the other one. i can jest kind o' work the rest of that poem up inside and keep her on the ice till--er--till she's the right flavor. wonder how they're makin' it at the concho? guess i'll stir along. mebby they're waitin' for me to show up so's they can get busy. i dunno. it sure is wonderful what a lot is dependin' on me these here days. i'm gettin' to be kind of a center figure in this here country. lemme see. now i bruk jail--hopped the limited, took out me homesteader papers, got thrun off a hoss, slumped right into love with that sure-enough linda rosa, and got kicked by another hoss. and they say i ain't a enterprisin' guy! gee gosh!"
-never so much at home as when alone, the mellifluous sundown's imagination expanded, till it embraced the farthest outpost of his theme. he became the towering center of things terrestrial. the world revolved around but one individual that glorious morning, and he generously decided to let it revolve. he felt--being, for the first time in his weird career, very much in love--that dame fortune, so long indifferent to his modest aspirations, had at last recognized in him a true adventurer worthy of her grace. he was a remarkable man, physically. he considered himself a remarkable man mentally, and he was, in arizona. "why," he announced to his horse, "they's folks as says they ain't no romantics left in this here world! huh! some of them writin' folks oughter jest trail my smoke for a week, instead o' settin' in clubs and drinkin' high-balls and expectin' them high-balls to put 'em wise to real life! huh! a fella's got to sweat it out himself. the kind of romantics that comes in a bottle ain't the real thing. pickles is all right, but they ain't cucumbers, nohow. wisht i had one--and some salt. the stories them guys write is like pickles, jest two kinds of flavor, sweet and sour. now, when i write me life's history she'll be a cucumber sliced thin with a few of them little red chiles to kind o' give the right kick, and mebby a leetle onion representin' me sentiment, and salt to draw out the proper taste, and 'bout three drops o' vinegar standin' for hard luck, and the hull thing fixed tasty-like on a lettuce leaf, the crinkles representin' the mountings and valleys of this here world, and me name on the cover in red with gold edges. gee gosh!"
-the creak of the saddle, the tinkle of his spurs, the springy stride of the horse furnished a truly pastoral accompaniment to sundown's "romantics."
-as he rode down a draw, he came suddenly upon two coyotes playing like puppies in the sun. he reined up and watched them, and his heart warmed to their antics. "now, 'most any fella ridin' range would nacherally pull his gun and bling at 'em. what for? search me! they ain't botherin' nobody. jest playin'. guess 'most any animals like to play if they wasn't scared o' gettin' shot all the time. funny how some folks got to kill everything they see runnin' wild. what's the use? now, mebby them coyotes is a pa and ma thinkin' o' settin' up ranchin' and raisin' alfalfa and young ones. or mebby he's just a-courtin' her and showin' how he can run and jump better than any other coyote she ever seen. i dunno. there they go. guess they seen me. say! but they are jest floatin' across the mesa--they ain't runnin'. goin' easy, like their legs belonged to somebody else and they was jest keepin' up with 'em. so-long, folks! here's hopin' you get settled on that coyote-ranch all right!"
-thus far on his journey sundown had enjoyed the pleasing local flavor of the morning and his imaginings. the vinegar, which was to represent "hard luck," had not as yet been added to the salad.
-as he ascended the gentle slope of the draw he heard a quick, blunt sound, as though some one had struck a drum and immediately muffled the reverberations with the hand. he was too deeply immersed in himself to pay much attention to this. topping the rise, the fresh vista of rolling mesa, the far blue hills, and a white dot--the distant concho--awakened him to a realization of his whereabouts. again he heard that peculiar, dull sound. he lifted his horse to a lope and swept along, the dancing shadow at his side shortening as noon overtook him. he was about to dismount and partake of the luncheon the kindly señora had prepared for him, when he changed his mind. "lunch and hunch makes a rhyme," he announced. "and i got 'em both. guess i'll jog along and eat at the concho. mebby i'll get there in two, three hours."
-as the white dot took on a familiar outline and the eastern wall of the cañon of the concho showed sharply against the sky, he saw a horseman, strangely doubled up in the saddle, riding across the mesa toward the ranch-house. evidently he also was going to the concho. possibly it was bud, or hi wingle, or lone johnny. following an interval of attending strictly to the trail he raised his eyes. he pulled his horse up and sat blinking. where there had been a horse and rider there was but the horse, standing with lowered head. he shaded his eyes with his palm and gazed again. there stood the horse. the man had disappeared. "fell into one of them injun graves," remarked sundown. "guess i'll go see."
-it took much longer than he had anticipated to come up with the riderless horse. he recognized it as one of the concho ponies. almost beneath the animal lay a huddled something. sundown's scalp tingled. slowly he got from his horse and stalked across the intervening space. he led the pony from the tumbled shape on the ground. then he knelt and raised the man's shoulders. sinker, one of the concho riders, groaned and tore at the shirt over his stomach. then sundown knew. he eased the cowboy back and called his name. slowly the gray lids opened. "it's me, sundown! who done it?"
-the cowboy tried to rise on his elbow. sundown supported his head, questioning him, for he knew that sinker had but little time left to speak. the wounded man writhed impotently, then quieted.
-"god, sun!" he moaned, "they got me. tell jack--mexican--loring--sheep at--waterhole. tried to bluff--'em off--orders not to shoot. they got orders to shoot--all right. tell jack--guess i'm bleedin' inside--so-long--pardner."
-the dying man writhed from sundown's arms and rolled to his face, cursing and clutching at the grass in agony. sundown stood over him, his hat off, his gaze lifted toward the cloudless sky, his face white with a new and strange emotion. he raised his long arms and clenched his hands. "god a'mighty," he whispered, rocking back and forth, "i got to tell you that sech things is wrong. and from what i seen sence i come to this country, you don't care. but some of us does care . . . and i reckon we got to do somethin' if you don't."
-the cowboy raised himself on rigid arms, he lifted his head, and his eyes, filmed with the chill of death, grew clear for an instant. "'sandro--the herder--got me," he gasped. his lips writhed back from his clenched teeth. a rush of blood choked him. he sank to the ground, quivered, and was still.
-"'sandro . . . the herder" . . . whispered sundown. "sinker was me friend. i reckon god's got to leave the finish of this to me."
-to see a man's life go out and to stand by unable to help, unable to offer comfort or ease mortal agony, is a bitter experience. it brings the beholder close to the abyss of eternity, wherein the world shrinks to a speck of whirling dust and the sun is but a needle-point of light. then it is that the fleshless face of the unconquerable one leans close and whispers, not to the insensate clay that mocks the living, but to the impotent soul that mourns the dead.
-that sundown should consider himself morally bound to become one of those who he knew would avenge the killing of the cowboy, and without recourse to law, was not altogether strange. the iron had entered his soul. heretofore at loose ends with the world, the finding of sinker, dying on the mesas, kindled within him righteous wrath against the circumstance rather than the individual slayer. his meandering thoughts and emotions became crystallized. his energies hardened to a set purpose. he was obsessed with a fanaticism akin to that of those who had burned witches and thanked their maker for the opportunity.
-in his simple way he wondered why he had not wept. he rode slowly to the concho. chance leaped circling about his horse. he greeted the dog with a word. when he dismounted, chance cringed and crept to him. without question this was his master, and yet there was something in sundown's attitude that silenced the dog's joyous welcoming. chance sat on his haunches, whined, and did his best by his own attitude to show that he was in sympathy with his master's strange mood.
-john corliss saw instantly that there was something wrong, and his hearty greeting lapsed into terse questioning. sundown pointed toward the northern mesas.
-"what's up?" he queried.
-"sinker--he's dead--over there."
-"sinker?" corliss ran to the corral, calling to wingle, who came from the bunk-house. the cook whisked off his apron, grabbed his hat, and followed corliss. "sinker's done for!" said corliss. "saddle up, hi. sun found him out there. must have had trouble at the water-hole. i should have sent another man with him."
-wingle, with the taciturnity of the plainsman, jerked the cinchas tight and swung to the saddle. sinker's death had come like a white-hot flash of lightning from the bulked clouds that had shadowed disaster impending--and in that shadow the three men rode silently toward the north. again corliss questioned sundown. tense with the stress of an emotion that all but sealed his lips, sundown turned his white face to corliss and whispered, "wait!" the rancher felt that that one terse, whispered word implied more than he cared to imagine. there was something uncanny about the man. if the killing of sinker could so change the timorous, kindly sundown to this grim, unbending epitome of lean death and vengeance, what could he himself do to check the wild fury of his riders when they heard of their companion's passing from the sun?
-corliss, in a burst of wrath, turned on sundown. "damn you, open your mouth. what do you know about this?"
-sundown bit his nails and glowered at corliss. "god a'mighty sent me--" he began.
-with a swift gesture corliss interrupted. "you're working for the concho. was he dead when you found him?"
-sundown slowly raised his arm and pointed across the mesa.
-corliss fingered his belt and bit his lip impatiently.
-"a herder--over there to my ranch--done it. sinker told me--'fore he crossed over. said it was 'sandro. said he had orders not to shoot. he tried to bluff 'em off, for they was bringin' sheep to the water-hole. he said to tell you."
-corliss and wingle turned from looking at sundown and gazed at each other. "if that's right--" and the rancher hesitated.
-"i reckon it's right," said wingle. and he stooped and together they lifted the body and laid it across the cowboy's horse.
-sundown watched them with burning eyes. "we'll ride back home," said corliss, motioning to him.
-"home? ain't you goin' to do nothin'?"
-corliss shook his head. sundown slowly mounted and followed them to the concho. he watched them as they carried sinker to the bunkhouse.
-when corliss reappeared, sundown strode up to him. "this here hoss belongs to that leetle mexican on the apache road, chico miguel--said you knowed him. i was goin' to take him back with my hoss. now i reckon i can't. i kind o' liked it over there to his place. i guess i want my own hoss, pill."
-"yes, if it'll do you any good. what are you going to do?"
-"i got me homesteader papers. i'm goin' to me ranch."
-"but you're not outfitted. there's no grub there. you better take it easy. you'll feel better to-morrow."
-"i don't need no outfit. i reckon i'll saddle pill."
-sundown turned the mexican's pony into the corral and saddled his own horse which he led to the bunk-house. "i ain't got no gun," he said. "the sheriff gent's got mine. mebby you'd be lendin' me one?"
-wingle stepped to the doorway and stood beside corliss. "what does he want, jack?"
-"he's loco. wants to borrow a gun." the rancher turned to sundown. "see here, sun, there's no use thinking you've got to take a hand in this. some of the boys'll get the mexican sure! i can't stop them, but i don't want you to get in trouble."
-"no. you come on in and eat," said wingle. "you got a touch of sun, i guess."
-sundown mounted. "ain't you goin' to do nothin'?" he asked again.
-corliss and wingle glanced at each other. "no, not now."
-"then me and chance is," said sundown. "come on, chance."
-corliss and the cook watched the tall figure as it passed through the gateway and out to the mesa. "i'll go head him off, if you say the word, jack."
-corliss made a negative gesture. "he'll come back when he gets hungry. it's a long ride to the water-hole. sinker had sand to get as near home as he did. it's going to be straight hell from now on, hi."
-wingle nodded. through force of habit he reached for his apron to wipe his hand--his invariable preliminary before he shook hands with any one. his apron being off, he hesitated, then stepped to his employer. "it sure is," he said, "and i'm ridin' with you."
-they shook hands. moved by a mutual impulse they glanced at the long, rigid shape covered with a blanket. "when the boys come--" began wingle.
-"it will be out of our hands," concluded corliss.
-"i ought to ride out after him," said corliss, nodding. "but i can't leave. and you can't."
-wingle stepped to the doorway and shaded his eyes. far out on the mesa the diminishing figure of a horseman showed black against the glare of the sun. wingle turned and, with a glance at the shrouded figure on the bunk-house floor, donned his apron and shuffled to the kitchen. corliss tied his horse and strode to the office.
-hi wingle puttered about the kitchen. there would be supper to get for fifteen hungry--no! fourteen, to-night. he paused, set down the pan that he held and opened the door of the chuck-room. with finger marking the count he totaled the number of chairs at the table. fifteen. then he stepped softly to the bunk-room, took sinker's hat and stepped back to the table. he placed the hat on the dead cowboy's chair. then he closed the door and turned to the preparation of the evening meal. "jack'll report to antelope and try and keep the boys quiet. i'm sure with jack--only i was a puncher first afore i took to cookin'. and i'm a puncher yet--inside." which was his singular and only spoken tribute to the memory of sinker. he had reasoned that it was only right and fitting that the slayer of a cowman should be slain by a cowman--a code that held good in his time and would hold good now--especially when the boys saw the battered stetson, every line of which was mutely eloquent of its owner's individuality.
-sundown sat up suddenly. in the dim light of the moon flickering through the dusty panes he saw chance standing close to the door with neck bristling and head lowered. throwing back his blanket he rose and whispered to the dog. chance came to him obediently. sundown saw that the dog was trembling. he motioned him back and stepped to the door. his slumbers had served to restore him to himself in a measure. his old timidity became manifest as he hesitated, listening. in the absolute silence of the night he thought he heard a shuffling as of something being dragged across the enclosure. tense with anticipating he knew not what, he listened. again he heard that peculiar slithering sound. he opened the door an inch and peered out. in the pallid glow of the moon he beheld a shapeless object that seemed to be crawling toward him. something in the helpless attitude of the object suggested sinker as he had risen on his arm, endeavoring to tell of the disaster which had overtaken him. with a gesture of scorn at his own fear he swung open the door. chance crept at his heels, whining. then sundown stepped out and stood gazing at the strange figure on the ground. not until a groan of agony broke the utter silence did he realize that the night had brought to him a man, wounded and suffering terribly. "who are you?" he questioned, stooping above the man. the other dragged himself to sundown's feet and clawed at his knees. "'sandro . . . it is--that i--die. you don' keel . . . you don' . . ."
-sundown dragged the herder to the house and into the bedroom. he got water, for which the herder called piteously. with his own blanket he made him as comfortable as he could. then he built a fire that he might have light. the herder was shot through the thigh, and had all but bled to death dragging himself across the mesa from where he had fallen from his horse. sundown tried to stop the bleeding with strips torn from his bandanna. meanwhile the wounded man was imploring him not to kill him.
-"i'm doin' me best to fix you up, dago," said sundown. "but you better go ahead and say them prayers--and you might put in a couple for sinker what you shot. i reckon his slug cut the big vein and you got to go. wisht i could do somethin' . . . to help . . . you stay . . . but mebby it's better that you cross over easy. then the boys don't get you."
-the mexican seemed to understand. he nodded as he lay gazing at the lean figure illumined by the dancing light of the open stove. "si. you good hombre, si," he gasped.
-sundown frowned. "now, don't you take any idea like that along to glory with you. sinker--what you shot--was me friend. i ought to kill you like a snake. but god a'mighty took the job off me hands. i reckon that makes me square with--with sinker--and him."
-again sundown brought water to the herder. gently he raised his head and held the cup to his lips. chance stood in the middle of the room strangely subdued, yet he watched each movement of his master with alert eyes. the moonlight faded from the window and the fire died down. the air became chill as the faint light of dawn crept in to emphasize the ghastly picture--the barren, rough-boarded room, the rusted stove, the towering figure of sundown, impassively waiting; and the shattered, shrunken figure of the mexican, hopeless and helpless, as the morning mesas welcomed the golden glow of dawn and a new day.
-the herder, despite his apparent torpor, was the first to hear the faint thud of hoofs in the loose sand of the roadway. he grew instantly alert, raising himself on his elbow and gazing with fear-wide eyes toward the south.
-sundown nodded. "it's the boys," he said, as though speaking to himself. "i was hopin' he could die easy. i dunno."
-'sandro raised his hands and implored sundown to save him from the riders. sundown stepped to the window. he saw the flash of spurs and bits as a group of the concho boys swept down the road. one of them was leading a riderless horse. in a flash he realized that they had found the herder's horse and had tracked 'sandro to the water-hole. he backed away from the window and reaching down took the mexican's gun from its holster. "'t ain't what i figured on," he muttered. "they's me friends, but this is me ranch."
-with a rush and a slither of hoofs in the loose sand the concho riders, headed by shoop, swung up to the gate and dismounted. sundown stepped to the doorway, chance beside him.
-shoop glanced quickly at the silent figure. then his gaze drifted to the ground.
-"'mornin', sun! seen anybody 'round here this mornin'?"
-"mornin', fellas. nope. just me and chance."
-the men hesitated, eyeing sundown suspiciously.
-corliss stepped toward the ranch-house.
-sundown had closed the door of the bedroom. he was at a loss to prevent the men entering the house, but once within the house he determined that they should not enter the bedroom.
-he backed toward it and stood with one shoulder against the lintel. "come right in. i ain't got to housekeepin' yet, but . . ."
-he ceased speaking as he saw corliss's gaze fixed on the kyacks. "where did you get 'em?" queried the rancher.
-the men crowded in and gazed curiously at the kyacks--then at sundown.
-shoop strode forward. "the game's up, sun. we want the mexican."
-"this is me ranch," said sundown. "i got the papers--here. you fellas is sure welcome--only they ain't goin' to be no shootin' or such-like. i ain't joshin' this time."
-a voice broke the succeeding silence. "if the mexican is in there, we want him--that's all."
-sundown's eyes became bright with a peculiar expression. slowly--yet before any one could realize his intent--he reached down and drew the mexican's gun. "you're me friends," he said quietly. "he's in there--dyin'. i reckon sinker got him. he drug himself here last night and i took him in. this is me home--and if you fellas is men, you'll let him die easy and quiet."
-"i'm from missouri," said shoop, with a hard laugh. "you got to show me that he's--like you say, or--"
-some one laughed. corliss touched shoop's arm and whispered to him. with a curse the foreman turned and the men clumped out to the yard.
-"he's right," said corliss. "we'll wait."
-they stood around talking and commenting upon sundown's defense of the mexican.
-"'course we could 'a' got him," said shoop, "but it don't set right with me to be stood up by a tenderfoot. sundown's sure loco."
-"i don't know, bud. he's queer, all right, but this is his ranch. he's got a right to order us out."
-shoop was about to retort when sundown came to the doorway. "i guess you can come in now," he said. "and you won't need no gun." the men shuffled awkwardly, and finally led by corliss they filed into the room and one by one they stepped to the open door of the bedroom and gazed within. then they filed out silently.
-"i'll send over some grub," said corliss as they mounted. sundown nodded.
-the band of riders moved slowly back toward the concho. about halfway on their homeward journey they met loring in a buckboard. the old sheep-man drove up and would have passed them without speaking had not corliss reined across the road and halted him.
-"one of your herders--'sandro--is over at the water-hole," said corliss. "if you're headed for antelope, you might stop by and take him along."
-loring glared at the concho riders, seemed about to speak, but instead clucked to his team. the riders reined out of his way and he swept past, gazing straight ahead, grim, silent, and utterly without fear. he understood the rancher's brief statement, and he already knew of the killing of sinker. 'sandro's assistant, becoming frightened, had left his wounded companion on the mesas, and had ridden to the loring rancho with the story of the fight and its ending.
-"but i ain't no dove--more like a stork, i guess," reflected sundown as he stood in the doorway of his house. "and storks brings responsibilities in baskets, instead of olive branches. no wonder ole man noah fired the dove right out ag'in--bringin' him olives what wa'n't pickled, instead of a bunch of grapes or somethin' you can eat! and that there dove never come back. i reckon he figured if he did, ole man noah'd shoot him. anyhow, if i ain't no dove of peace, i'm goin' to do the best i can. everybody 'round here seems like they was tryin' to ride right into trouble wishful, 'stead of reinin' to one side an' givin' trouble a chance to get past. gee gosh! if i'd 'a' knowed what i know now--afore i hit this country--but i'm here. anyhow, they's nothin' wrong with the country. it's the folks, like it 'most always is. reckon i ought to keep on buildin' fence this mornin', but that there peace idea 's got to singin' in me head. i'll jest saddle up pill and ride over and tell ole man loring that i'm takin' care of his sheep charitable what's been hangin' around here since 'sandro passed over. mebby that'll kind o' start the talk. then i can slip him a couple of ideas 'bout how neighbors ought to act. huh! me nussin' them sheep for two weeks and more, an' me just dyin' for a leetle taste o' mutton. mebby his herders was scared to come for 'em, i dunno."
-sundown was established at the water-hole. corliss had sent a team to antelope for provisions, implements, and fencing. meanwhile, sundown had been industrious, not alone because he felt the necessity for something to occupy his time, but that he wanted to forget the tragedy he had so recently witnessed. and he had dreams of a more companionable future which included mexican dishes served hot, evenings of blissful indolence accompanied by melody, and a señora who would sing "linda rosa, adios!" which would be the "piece de resistance" of his pastoral menu.
-the "tame cow," which he had so ardently longed for, now grazed soulfully in a temporary enclosure out on the mesa. two young and sprightly black pigs prospected the confines of their littered hermitage. four gaunt hens and a more or less dilapidated rooster stalked about the yard, no longer afraid of the watchful chance, who had previously introduced himself to the rooster without the formality of sundown's presence as mediator. sundown was proud of his chickens. the cow, however, had been, at first, rather a disappointment to him. milk had not heretofore been a conspicuous portion of sundown's diet, nor was he versed in the art of obtaining it except over the counter in tins. with due formality and some trepidation he had placed a pail beneath "gentle annie" as he called her, and had waited patiently. so had gentle annie, munching a reflective cud, and sundown, in a metaphorical sense, doing likewise. he had walked around the cow inspecting her with an anxious and critical eye. she seemed healthful and voluptuously contented. yet no milk came. bud shoop, having at that moment arrived with the team, sized up the situation. when he had recovered enough poise to stand without assistance and had wiped the wild tears from his eyes, he instructed the amazed sundown as to certain manipulations necessary to produce the desired result. "huh! folks says cows give milk. but i reckon that ain't right," sundown had asserted. "you got to take it away from 'em." so he had taken what he could, which was not, at first, a great deal.
-this momentous morning he had decided that his unsolicited mission was to induce or persuade loring to arbitrate the question of grazing-rights. it was a strange idea, although not incompatible with sundown's peculiar temperament. he felt justified in taking the initiative; especially in view of the fact that loring's sheep had been trespassing on his property.
-chance followed his master to the road, and there the dog sat gazing at the bobbing figure of sundown until it was but a speck in the morning sunshine. then chance fell to scratching his ear with his hind foot, rose and shook himself, and stalked indolently to the yard where he lay with his nose along his outstretched fore legs, watching the proscribed rooster with an eloquence of expression that illustrated the proverbial power of mind over matter.
-sundown kept pill loping steadily. it was a long ride, but sundown's mind was so preoccupied with the preparing of his proposed appeal to the sheep-man that the morning hours and the sunlit miles swept past unnoticed. the dark green of the acacias bordering the hacienda, the twinkling white of the speeding windmill, and the dull brown of the adobes became distinct and separate colors against the far edge of the eastern sky. he reined his pony to a walk. "when you're in a hurry to do somethin'," he informed his horse, "it ain't always good politics to let folks know it. so we'll ride up easy, like we had money to spend, and was jest lookin' over the show-case." and pill was not averse to the suggestion.
-sundown dismounted, opened the gate, and swinging to the saddle, rode up to the ranch-house. had he known that anita, the daughter of chico miguel, was at that moment talking with the wife of one of loring's herders; that she was describing him in glowing terms to her friend, and moreover, as he passed up the driveway, that anita had turned swiftly, dropping the pitcher of milk which she had just brought from the cooling-room as she saw him, he might well have been excused from promulgating his mission of peace with any degree of coherence. sublimely ignorant of her presence,--spiritualists and sentimentalists to the contrary in like instances,--he rode directly to the hacienda, asked for the patron, and was shown to the cool interior of the house by the mildly astonished señora. señor loring would return presently. would the gentleman refresh himself by resting until the señor returned? possibly she herself could receive the message--or the señorita, who was in the garden?
-"thanks, lady. i reckon pill is dry--wants a drink--agua--got a thirst. no, ma'am. i can wait. i mean me horse."
-"oh! si! but juan would attend to the horse and at once."
-"thanks, lady. and if miss loring ain't too busy, i reckon i'd like to see her a minute."
-the señora disappeared. sundown could hear her call for juan. presently nell loring came to the room, checked an exclamation of surprise as she recognized him, and stepping forward, offered her hand. "you're from mr. corliss. i remember. . . . is chance all right now?"
-"yes, ma'am. he is enjoyin' fust-rate health. he eats reg'lar--and rabbits in between. but i ain't from the concho, lady. i'm from me own ranch, down there at the water-hole. me boss ain't got nothin' to do with me bein' here. it's me own idea. i come friendly and wishful to make a little talk to your pa."
-wondering what could have induced sundown to call at her home, especially under the existing circumstances, nell loring made him welcome. after he had washed and strolled over to the stables to see to his horse. sundown, returning, declined an invitation to come in, and sat on the veranda, smoking cigarettes and making mental note of the exterior details of the hacienda: its garden, shade-trees, corrals, and windmill. should prosperity smile upon him, he would have a windmill, be gosh! not a white one--though white wasn't so bad--but something tasty; red, white and blue, mebby--a real american windmill, and in the front of the house a flagpole with the american flag. and he would keep the sign "american hotel" above the gate. there was nothin' like bein' paterotic. mexican ranches--some of 'em--was purty enough in a lazy kind of style, but he was goin' to let folks know that a white man was runnin' the water-hole ranch!
-and all unknown to him, anita stood in the doorway of one of the herder's 'dobes, more than ever impressed by the evident importance of her beau-idéal of chivalry, who took the kick of horses as a matter of course, and rose smilingly from such indignities to present flowers to her with eyes which spake of love and lips that expressed, as best they could, admiration. anita was a bit disappointed and perhaps a bit pleased that he had not as yet seen her. as it was she could worship from a distance that lent security to her tender embarrassment. the tall one must, indeed, be a great caballero to be made welcome at the patron's home. assuredly he was not as the other vaqueros who visited the patron. he sat upon the veranda and smoked in a lordly way, while they inevitably held forth in the less conspicuous latitude of the bunk-house and its environs. anita was happy.
-sundown, elated by the righteousness of his mission as harbinger of peace, met loring returning from one of the camps with gracious indifference to the other's gruff welcome.
-"i'm goin' to irrigate me ranch," said sundown.
-loring nodded. "and cut off the water from everybody?"
-"not from me friends."
-"which means the concho."
-"sure! jack corliss is me friend. but that ain't all. if you want to be me friend, i ain't kickin' even if you did tell the sheriff he ought to git acquainted with me closer. i'm goin' to speak right out. i reckon it's the best way. i got a proposition. if you'll quit sickin' them herders onto cowboys and if jack'll quit settin' the punchers at your herders, i'll open up me spring and run her down to where they's water for everybody. if cows comes, they drink. if sheep comes, they drink. if folks comes, they drink, likewise. but no fightin'."
-sundown as arbiter of peace felt that he had, in truth, "spoken right out." he was not a little surprised at himself and a bit fearful. yet he felt justified in his suggestion. theoretically he had made a fair offer. practically his offer was of no value. sheep and cattle could not occupy the same range. loring grumbled something and shoved back his chair. they rose and stepped to the veranda.
-"if you can get corliss to agree to what you say--and quit runnin' cattle on the water-hole side--i'll quit runnin' sheep there." and loring waved his hand toward the north.
-"but the concho is on the west side--" began sundown.
-"and cattle are grazin' on the east side," said loring.
-sundown scratched his head. "i reckon i got to see jack," he said.
-"and you'll waste time, at that," said loring. "look here! are you ranchin' to hold down the water-hole for corliss or to make a livin'?"
-sundown hesitated. he gazed across the yard to the distant mesa. suddenly a figure crossed the pathway to the gate. he jerked up his head and stood with mouth open. it couldn't be--but, yes, it was anita--linda rosa! gee gosh! he turned to loring. "i been tellin' you the truth," he said simply. "'course i got to see me boss, now. but it makes no difference what he says, after this. i'm ranchin' for meself, because i'm--er--thinkin' of gettin' married."
-without further explanation, sundown stalked to the stable and got his horse. he came to the hacienda and made his adieux. then he mounted and rode slowly down the roadway toward the gate.
-anita's curiosity had overcome her timidity. quite accidentally she stood toying with a bud that she had picked from the flower-bordered roadway. she turned as sundown jingled up and met him with a murmur of surprise and pleasure. he swung from his horse hat in hand and advanced, bowing. anita flushed and gazed at the ground.
-"'mornin', señorita! i sure am jest hoppin' glad to see you ag'in. if i'd 'a' knowed you was here . . . but i come on business--important. reckon you're visitin' friends, eh?"
-"do you come here reg'lar?"
-"only to see the good aunt sometimes."
-"uhuh. i kind of wish your aunt was hangin' out at the concho, though. this here ain't a reg'lar stoppin'-place for me."
-"you go away?" queried anita.
-"i reckon i got to after what i said up there to the house. yes, i'm goin' back to feed me pigs and chance and the hens. i set up housekeepin' since i seen you. got a ranch of me own--that i was tellin' you about. you ought to see it! some class! but it's mighty lonely, evenin's."
-anita sighed and glanced at sundown. then her gaze dwelt on the bud she held. "si, señor--it is lonely in the evenings," she said, and although she spoke in spanish, sundown did not misunderstand.
-he grinned hugely. "you sure don't need to talk american to tell it," he said as one who had just made a portentous discovery. "it was worryin' me how we was goin' to get along--me short on the spanish and you short on my talk. but i reckon we'll get along fine. your pa in good health, and your ma?"
-anita nodded shyly.
-sundown was at a loss to continue this pleasant conversation. he brightened, however, as a thought inspired him. "and the leetle hoss, is he doin' well?"
-"that sarko i do not like that he should keeck you!" flamed anita, and sundown's cup of happiness was full to overflowing.
-quite unconsciously he was leading his horse toward the gate and quite unconsciously anita was walking beside him. forgotten was the loring ranch, the concho, his own homestead. he was with his inamorata, the "linda rosa" of his dreams.
-at the gateway he turned to her. "i'm comin' over to see your folks soon as i git things to runnin' on me ranch. keeps a fella busy, but i'm sure comin'. i ain't got posies to growin' yet, but i'm goin' to have some--like them," and he indicated the bud which she held.
-"you like it?" she queried. and with bashful gesture she gave him the rose, smiling as he immediately stuck it in the band of his sombrero.
-sundown extended his hand. anita laid her own plump brown hand in sundown's hairy paw. for an instant he hesitated, moved by a most natural impulse to kiss her. her girlish face, innocently sweet and trusting, her big brown eyes glowing with admiration and wonder, as she gazed up at him, offered temptation and excuse enough. it was not timidity nor lack of opportunity that caused sundown to hesitate, but rather that innate respect for women which distinguishes the gentle man from the slovenly generalization "gentleman." "adios! linda rosa!" he murmured, and stooping, kissed her brown fingers. then he gestured with magnificence toward the flowers bordering the roadway. "and you sure are the lindaest little linda rosa of the bunch!"
-and anita's heart was filled with happiness as she watched her brave caballero ride away, so tall, so straight, and of such the gentle manner and the royal air!
-it was inevitable that he should turn and wave to her, but it was not inevitable that she should have thrown him a pretty kiss with the grace of her pent-up emotion--but she did.
-an unexpected visit
-it was late in the evening when sundown returned to his ranch. chance welcomed him with vocal and gymnastic abandon. sundown hastened to his "tame cow" and milked her while the four hens peeped and clucked from their roost, evidently disturbed by the light of the lantern. meanwhile chance lay gravely watching his master until gentle annie had been relieved of the full and creamy quota of her donation to the maintenance of the household. then the wolf-dog followed his master to the kitchen where they enjoyed, in separate dishes, gentle annie's warm contribution, together with broken bread and "a leetle salt to bring out the gamey flavor."
-solicitous of the welfare of his stock, as he termed them, he betook himself to the hen-house to feed the chickens. "huh!" he exclaimed, raising the lantern and peering round, "there's one rooster missin'!" the rooster had in truth disappeared. he put down the lantern and turned to chance. "lemme look at your mouth. no, they ain't no signs on you. hold on! be gosh, if they ain't some leetle red hairs stickin' to your chops. what's the answer?"
-chance whined and wagged his tail. "you don't look like you was guilty. and that there rooster wasn't sportin' red hair the last time i seen him. did you eat him fust and then swaller a rabbit to cover his tracks? i reckon not. you're some dog--but you ain't got boiler-room for a full-size rhode island red and a rabbit and two quarts of bread-and-milk. it ain't reas'nable. i got to investigate."
-jimmy was a sad spectacle. his tail-feathers were about gone and one leg was maimed, yet he still showed the fighting spirit of his new england sires, for, as sundown essayed to pick him up, he pecked and squawked energetically.
-they returned to the house, where sundown examined the bedraggled bird critically. "i ain't no doc, but i have been practiced on some meself. looks like his left kicker was bruk. guess it's the splints for him and nussin' by hand. here, you! let go that button! that ain't a bug! there! 't ain't what you'd call a perfessional job, but if you jest quit runnin' around nights and take care of your health, mebby you'll come through. don' know what them hens'll think, though. you sure ain't no anner dominus no more. if you was a lady hen, you could pertend you was wearin' evenin' dress like--low-neck and suspenders. but bein' a he, 't ain't the style. wonder if you got your crow left? you ain't got a whole lot more to tell you from jest a hen."
-with jimmy installed in a box of straw in the kitchen, the pigs fed, and gentle annie grazing contentedly, sundown felt able to relax. it had been a strenuous day for him. he drew a chair to the stove, and before he sat down he brought forth from beneath the bed a highly colored cardboard box on which was embossed a ribbon of blue sealed with a gold paster-seal. chance watched him gravely. it was a ceremony. sundown opened the box and picking out a chocolate held it up that chance might realize fully that it was a ceremony. the dog's nose twitched and he licked his chops. "tastes good a'ready, eh? well, it's yourn." and he solemnly gave chance the chocolate. "gee gosh! what'd you do with it? that ain't no way to eat candy! you want to chew her slow and kind o' hang on till she ain't there. then you get your money's worth. want another?"
-later sundown essayed to smoke, but found the flavor of chocolate incompatible with the enjoyment of tobacco. chance dozed by the fire, and jimmy, with neck stretched above the edge of the box, watched sundown with beady, blinking eyes.
-sundown slept late next morning. the lowing of gentle annie as she mildly endeavored to make it known that milking-time was past, the muffled grunting of the two pigs as they rooted in the mud or poked flat flexible noses through the bars, the restless padding of chance to and from the bedroom, merely harmonized in chorus with audible slumbers until one of the hens cackled. then jimmy, from his box near the stove, lifted his clarion shrill in reply to the hen. sundown sat up, scratched his ear, and arose.
-he was returning from a practice of five-finger exercise on gentle annie, busy with his thoughts and the balance of the pail, when a shout brought his gaze to the road. john corliss and bud shoop waved him greeting, and dismounting led their horses to the yard.
-"saves me a ride," muttered sundown. then, "how, folks! come right in!"
-he noticed that the ponies seemed tired--that the cinchas were mud-spattered and that the riders seemed weary. he invited his guests to breakfast. after the meal the three foregathered outside the house.
-"that was right good beef you fed us," remarked shoop, slightly raising one eyebrow as corliss glanced at him.
-"the best in the country," cheerfully assented sundown.
-"how you making it, sun?"
-"me? oh, i'm wigglin' along. come home last night and found jimmy with his leg bruk. everything else was all right."
-"uhuh. me rooster."
-"coyote grab him?"
-"uhuh. and chance fixed mr. coyote. i was to loring's yesterday on business."
-shoop glanced at corliss who had thus far remained silent.
-"did he get in a fence?" queried sundown.
-"no. he was killed for beef. we ran across him yesterday and did some looking around last night. trailed over this way to have a talk."
-"i'm right glad to see you. i wanted to speak a little piece meself after you get through."
-"all right. here's the story." and corliss gazed across the mesa for a moment. "the south spring's gone dry. the fork is so low that only a dozen head can drink at once. it's been a mighty dry year, and the river is about played out except in the cañon, and the stock can't get to the water there. this is about the only natural supply outside the ranch. i want to put a couple of men in here and ditch to that hollow over there. it'll take about all your water, but we got to have it. i want you to put in a gas-engine and pump for us. maybe we'll have to pipe to tanks before we get through. i'll give you fifty a month to run the engine."
-"i'll sure keep that leetle ole gas-engine coughin' regular," said sundown. "i was thinkin' of somethin' like that meself. you see i seen loring yesterday. i told him that anybody that was wishful could water stock here so long as she held out--except there was to be no shootin' and killin', and the like. ole man loring says to tell you what i told him and see what you said. i reckon he'll take his sheep out of here if you folks'll take your cattle off the east side. i ain't playin' no favorites. you been my friend--you and bud. you come and make me a proposition to pump water for you--and the fifty a month is for the water. that's business. loring ain't said nothin' about buyin' water from me, so you get it. you see i was kind of figurin' somethin' like this when i first come to this here place--'way back when i met you that evenin'. says i to meself, 'a fella couldn't even raise robins on this here farm, but from the looks of that water-hole he could raise water, and folks sure got to have water in this country.' i was thinkin' of irrigatin' and raisin' alfalfa and veg'tables, but fifty a month sounds good to me. bein' a puncher meself, i ain't got no use for sheep, but i was willin' to give ole man loring a chance. if the mesas is goin' dry on the east side, what's he goin' to do?"
-"i don't know, sun. he's got a card up his sleeve, and you want to stay right on the job. bud here got a tip in antelope that a bunch of mexicans came in last week from loring's old ranch in new mexico. some of 'em are herders and some of 'em are worse. i reckon he'll try to push his sheep across and take up around here. he'll try it at night. if he does and you get on to it before we do, just saddle pill and fan it for the concho."
-"gee gosh! but that means more fightin'!"
-shoop and corliss said nothing. sundown gazed at them questioningly.
-presently corliss gestured toward the south. "they'll make it interesting for you. loring's an old-timer and he won't quit. this thing won't be settled until something happens--and i reckon it's going to happen soon."
-"well, i'm sure sittin' on the dynamite," said sundown lugubriously. "i reckoned to settle down and git m--me farm to goin' and keep out of trouble. now it looks like i was the cat what fell out of a tree into a dog-fight by mistake. they was nothin' left of that cat."
-shoop laughed. "we'll see that you come out all right."
-sundown accepted this meager consolation with a grimace. then his face beamed. "say! what's the matter of me tellin' the sheriff that there's like to be doin's--and mebby he could come over and kind of scare 'em off."
-"the idea is all right, sun. but jim is a married man. most of his deputies are married. if it comes to a mix some of 'em 'd get it sure. now there isn't a married man on the concho--which makes a lot of difference. sabe?"
-"i reckon that's right," admitted sundown, "killin' a married man is like killin' the whole fambly."
-"gee gosh! mebby that ought to make me feel good, but it don't. supposin' a fella was goin' to get married?"
-"then--he'd--better wait," said corliss, smiling at his foreman.
-corliss stood up and yawned. "oh, say, sun, where'd you get that beef?" he asked casually.
-"the beef? why, a chola come along here day afore yesterday and say if i wanted some meat. i says yes. then he rides off and purty soon he comes back with a hind-quarter on his saddle. i give him two dollars for it. it looked kind of funny, but i thought he was mebby campin' out there somewhere and peddlin' meat."
-shoop and corliss glanced at each other. "they don't peddle meat that way in this country, sun. what did the mexican look like?"
-"kind of fat and greasy-like, and he was as cross-eyed as a rabbit watchin' two dogs to onct."
-"that so? let's have a look at that hind-quarter."
-"sure! over there in the well-shed."
-"plenty 'nough for a couple of weeks."
-"all right. so-long. keep your eye on things."
-the intermittent popping of the gasoline engine, as it forced water to the big, unpainted tank near the water-hole, became at first monotonous and finally irritating. sundown, clad in oil-spotted overalls that did not by many inches conceal his riding-boots and his spanish spurs, puttered about the engine until he happened to glance at the distant tank. a silvery rill of water was pouring from the top of the tank. he shut off the engine, wiped his hands, and strode to the house.
-he was gone a long time, so long in fact that chance decided to investigate. the dog got up, stretched lazily, and padded to the doorway. he could hear sundown muttering and shuffling about in the bedroom. chance stalked in quietly and stood gazing at his master. sundown had evidently been taking a bath,--not in the pail of water that stood near him, but obviously round and about it. at the moment he was engaged in tying a knot in the silk bandanna about his neck. chance became animated. his master was going somewhere! sundown turned his head, glancing at the dog with a preoccupied eye. the knot adjusted to his satisfaction, he knelt and drew a large box from beneath the bed. from the box he took an immaculate and exceedingly wide-brimmed stetson with an exceedingly high crown. he dented the crown until the hat had that rakish appearance dear to the heart of the cowboy. then he took the foot-square looking-glass from the wall and studied the effect at various and more or less unsatisfactory angles. again he knelt--after depositing the hat on the bed--and emerged with a pair of gorgeous leather chaps that glittered with the polished silver of conchas from waist-band to heel. next he drew on a pair of elaborate gauntlets embellished with hand-worked silk roses of crimson. then he glanced at his boots. they were undoubtedly serviceable, but more or less muddy and stained. that wouldn't do at all! striding to the kitchen he poked about and finally unearthed a box of stove-polish that he had purchased and laid away for future use against that happy time when stove-polish would be doubly appreciated. the metallic luster of his boots was not altogether satisfactory, but it would do. "this here bein' chief engineer of a popcorn machine ain't what it's said to be in the perspectus. gets a fella lookin' greasy and feelin' greasy, but the pay kind of makes up for it. me first month's wages blowed in for outside decoratin'--but i reckon the grub'll hold out for a spell."
-then he strode from the house and made his rounds, inspecting the pigs, shooing the chickens to their coop, and finally making a short pilgrimage to where gentle annie was grazing. after he had saddled "pill," he returned to the house and reappeared with a piece of wrapping-paper on which he had printed:--
-help yourself to grub--but no fighting on thees premisus.
-"it's all right trustin' folks," he remarked as he gazed proudly at the sign and still more proudly at the signature. "and i sure hate to put up anything that looks kind of religious, but these days i don't trust nobody but meself, and i sure have a hard time doin' that, knowin' how crooked i could be if i tried."
-he rode out to the mesa and, turning from the trail, took as direct a course as he could approximate for the home of chico miguel, and incidentally anita. his mission would have been obvious to an utter stranger. he shone and glistened from head to heel--his face with the inner light of anticipation and his boots with the effulgence of hastily applied stove-polish.
-he rode slowly, for he wished to collect himself, that his errand might have all the grace of a chance visit and yet not lack the most essential significance. he did not stop to reason that anita's father and mother were anything but blind.
-the day was exceptionally hot. the sun burned steadily on the ripening bunch-grass. his pony's feet swept aside bright flowers that tilted their faces eagerly like the faces of questioning children. he glanced at his watch. "got to move along, pill. reckon we'll risk havin' somethin' to say when we get there--and not cook her up goin' along. it sure is hot. huh! that there butte over there looks jest like a city athletic club with muscles all on its front of fellas wrastlin' and throwin' things at themselves. wisht i had a big lookin'-glass so i could see meself comin'. gee gosh, but she's hot!"
-he put the horse to a lope, and with the subdued rhythm of the pony's feet came euterpe with a song. recitation of verse at a lope is apt to be punctuated according to the physical contour of the ground:--
-"in the pull--man car with turnin' fans, the desert looks like a lovely p--lace. but crossin' alone on the burnin' sands, she's hell, with a grin on her face."
-"got to slow up to get that right," he said, "or jest stop an' git off. but we ain't got time. 'oh, down in arizona there's a . . .' no. i reckon i won't. i want to sing, but i can't take no risks."
-that "the colonel's lady and julie o'grady are sisters under their skins," is not to be doubted. that romeo and sundown are brothers, with the odds slightly in favor of sundown, is apparent to those who have been, are, or are willing to be, in love. "will this plume, these trunks and hose, this bonnet please my fair juliet?" sighs romeo to his mirror. and "will these here chaps and me bandanna and me new stetson make a hit with me leetle anita?" asks sundown of the mesas.
-that the little anita was pleased, nay, overwhelmed by the arrival of her gorgeous caballero was more than apparent to the anxious sundown. she came running to the gate and stood with clasped hands while he bowed for the seventh time and slowly dismounted, giving his leg an unnecessary shake that the full effect of spur and concha might not be lost. he felt the high importance of his visit, and anita also surmised that something unusual was about to happen. he strode magnificently to the house and again doffed his stetson to the astonished and smiling señora. evidently the strange vaquero had met with fortune. with experienced eye the mother of anita swiftly estimated the monetary outlay necessary to possess such an equipment. it was well to be courted, of that she was reminiscently certain. yet it was also well to be courted by one who bore the earmarks--so to speak--of prosperity. sundown was made heartily welcome. after they had had dinner,--chico miguel would return at night as usual,--sundown mentally besought his stars to aid him, lend him eloquence and the señora understanding, and found excuse to follow the señora to the kitchen where he offered to wipe the dishes. this she would not hear of, but being wise in her generation she dismissed anita on a trivial errand and motioned her guest to a seat. what was said is a matter of interest only to those immediately concerned. love is his own interpreter and labors willingly, yet in this instance his limitations must be excused by the result. the señora and sundown came to a perfect understanding. the cabellero was welcome to make the state of his heart known to anita. as for her father, she--the señora--would attend to him. and was sundown fond of the tortillas? he was, be gosh! it was well. they would have tortillas that evening. chico miguel was especially fond of the tortillas. they made him of the pleasant disposition and induced him to tune the big guitar.
-the señora would take her siesta. possibly her guest would smoke and entertain anita with news from the concho and of the patron loring and of his own rancho. anita was not of what you say the kind to do the much talking, but she had a heart. of that the señora had reason to be assured. had not anita gone, each day, to the gate and stood gazing down the road? surely there was nothing to see save the mesas. had she not begged to be allowed to visit the loring hacienda not of so very long time past? and anita had not been to the loring hacienda for a year or more. such things were significant. and the señora gestured toward her own bosom, implying that she of a surety knew from which quarter the south wind blew.
-when chico miguel returned in the dusk of evening, humming a song of the herd, he was not a little surprised to find that anita was absent. he questioned the señora, who smiled as she bustled about the table. "tortillas," she said, and was gratified at the change in chico miguel's expression. then she explained the presence of the broad new stetson that lay on a chair, adding a gesture toward the gateway. "it is the tall one and our daughter--he of the grand manner and the sad countenance. it is possible that a new home will be thought of for anita." there had been conversations that afternoon with the tall caballero and understandings. chico miguel was to wash himself and put on his black suit. it was an event--and there were tortillas.
-chico miguel wondered why the hour of eating had been so long past. to which the señora replied that he had just arrived, and, moreover, that she had already called to anita this the third time, yet had had no response. chico miguel moved toward the doorway, but his wife laid her hand on his arm. "it is that you take the big guitar and play the 'linda rosa, adios.' then, to be sure, they will hear and the supper will not grow cold."
-grumblingly chico miguel took his guitar and struck the opening chords of the song. presently up the pathway came two shadowy figures, close together and seemingly in no haste. as they entered the house, sundown apologized for having delayed supper, stating that he had been so interested in discussing with anita the "best breed of chickens to raise for eggs," that other things had for the nonce not occupied his attention. "and we're sure walkin' on music," he added. "jest steppin' along on the notes of that there song. i reckon i got to get one of them leetle potato-bug mandolins and learn to tickle its neck. there's nothin' like music--exceptin'"--and he glanced at the blushing anita--"exceptin' ranchin'."
-it was late when sundown finally departed, he grew anxious as he rode across the mesas, wondering if he had not taken advantage, as it were, of gentle annie's good nature, and whether or not the chickens were very hungry. chance plodded beside him, a vague shadow in the starlight. the going was more or less rough and pill dodged many gopher-holes, to the peril of his rider's equilibrium. yet sundown was glad that it was night. there was nothing to divert him from the golden dreams of the future. he felt that success, as he put it, "was hangin' around the door whinin' to be let in." he formulated a creed for himself and told the stars. "i believe in meself--you bet." yet he was honest with his soul. "i know more about everything and less about anything than anybody--exceptin' po'try and cookin'. but gettin' along ain't jest what you know. it's more like what you do. they's fellas knows more than i could learn in four thousand eight hundred and seventy-six years, but that don't help 'em get along none. it's what you know inside what counts."
-he lapsed into silence and slouched in the saddle. presently he nodded, recovered, and nodded again. he would not wittingly have gone to sleep in the saddle, being as yet too unaccustomed to riding to relax to that extent. but sleep had something to say anent the matter. he dozed, clasping the saddle-horn instinctively. pill plodded along patiently. the east grew gray, then rose-pink, then golden. the horse lifted its head and quickened pace. sundown swayed and nodded.
-his uneasy slumber was broken by an explosive bark from chance. sundown straightened and rubbed his eyes. before him lay the ranch-house, glittering in the sun. out on the mesa grazed a herd of sheep and past them another and another. again he rubbed his eyes.
-then he distinguished several saddle-horses tied to the fence surrounding the water-hole and there were figures of men walking to and from his house, many of them. he set spur to pill and loped up to the fence. a mexican with a hard, lined face stepped up to him. "you vamose!" he said, pointing down the road.
-sundown stared at the men about the yard. among them he recognized several of loring's herders, armed and evidently equipped with horses, for they were booted and spurred. he pushed back his hat. "vamose, eh? i'll be damned if i do."
-the mexican whipped his gun out and covered sundown, who wisely put up his hands. two of the men crawled through the fence, secured sundown's horse, and ordered him to dismount. before both feet had touched the ground one of the mexicans had snatched sundown's gun from its holster. chance leaped at the mexican, but sundown's "here, chance!" brought the dog growling to his master.
-at that moment loring stepped from the house, and shouldering aside the men strode up to sundown. the sheep-man was about to speak when the tall one raised his arm and shook his fist in loring's face.
-"fer two pins i'd jump you and stomp the gizzard out of you, you low-down, dried-up, whisker-faced, mutton-eatin' butcher, you! i goes to you and makes you a square offer and you come pussy-footin' in and steals me ranch when i ain't there! if jack corliss don't run you plumb off the edge afore to-morrow night, i'll sure see if there's any law--" and sundown paused for lack of breath.
-sundown was taken aback. though unversed in the intricacies of the law, he was sensible enough to realize that loring was right. yet he held tenaciously to his attitude of proprietor of the water-hole. it was his home--the only home that he had known in his variegated career. the fact that he was not guilty buoyed him up, however. he decided that discretion had its uses. as his first anger evaporated, he cast about for a plan whereby to notify corliss of the invasion of the water-hole ranch. his glance wandered to chance.
-then he raised his eyes. "well, now the fireworks is burned down, what you goin' to do?"
-loring gestured toward the house. "that's my business. but you can turn in and cook grub for the men. that'll keep you from thinkin' too hard, and we're like to be busy."
-"then you're takin' me prisoner?" queried sundown.
-"how about the law of that?"
-"this outfit's makin' its own laws these days," said loring.
-and so far as loring was concerned that ended the argument. not so, however, with sundown. he said nothing. had loring known him better, that fact would have caused him to suspect his prisoner. with evident meekness the tall one entered the house and gazed with disconsolate eyes at the piled kyacks of provisions, the tarpaulins and sheepskins. his citadel of dreams had been rudely invaded, in truth. he was not so much angered by the possible effects of the invasion as by the fact. gentle annie was lowing plaintively. the chickens were scurrying about the yard, cackling hysterically as they dodged this and that herder. the two pigs, sundown reflected consolingly, seemed happy enough. loring, standing in the doorway, pointed to the stove. "get busy," he said tersely. that was the last straw. silently sundown stalked to the stove, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work. if there were not a score of mighty sick herders that night, it would not be his fault. he had determined on a bloodless but effective victory, wherein soda and cream-of-tartar should be the victors.
-"you come back?" he queried significantly.
-"sure thing! i ain't got a hoss, have i?"
-the mexican nodded. sundown crawled through the fence and strode slowly to the tank. he pretended to examine it first in view of the house and finally on the opposite side. as chance sniffed along the bottom of the tank, sundown spoke to him. the dog's ears pricked forward. sundown's tone suggested action. "here, chance,--you fan it for the concho--jack--the boss. beat it for all you're worth. the concho! sabe?" and he patted the dog's head and pointed toward the south.
-chance hesitated, leaping up and whining.
-"that's all right, pardner. they ain't nothin' goin' to happen to me. you go!"
-chance trotted off a few yards and then turned his head inquiringly.
-"that's right. keep a-goin'. it's your stunt this time." and sundown waved his arm.
-the return of sundown without the dog occasioned no suspicion on the mexican's part. he most naturally thought, if he considered the fact at all, that the dog was hunting the mesas. then sundown entered the house and experimented with soda and cream-of-tartar as though he were concocting a high explosive with proportions of the ingredients calculated to produce the most satisfactory results. his plan, however, was nipped in the bud. that night the herders refused to eat the biscuits after tasting them.
-hi wingle, coming from the bunk-house, wiped his hands on his apron, rolled a cigarette, and squatted in the shade. from within came the clatter of knives and forks and the rattle of dishes. the riders of the concho were about through dinner. wingle, gazing down the road, suddenly cast his cigarette away and rose. the road seemed empty save for a lean brown shape that raced toward the concho with sweeping stride. "it's the dog. wonder what's up now?"
-chance, his muzzle specked with froth and his tongue lolling, swung into the yard and trotted to wingle. "boss git piled ag'in?" queried the cook, patting chance's head. "what you scratchin' about?"
-the dog lay panting and occasionally pawing at his collar.
-"what's the matter? cockle-burr?" and wingle ran his fingers under the collar. "so? playin' mail-man, eh?"
-he spread out the note and read it. slowly he straightened up and slowly he walked to the bunk-house. "no. guess i'll tell jack first."
-he strode to the office and laid the note on corliss's desk. the rancher, busy running up totals on the pay-roll, glanced at the sweat-stained piece of paper. he read it and pushed it from him. "all right, hi."
-wingle hesitated, then stepped out and over to the bunk-house. "takes it mighty cool! wonder what he's got up his sleeve. somethin'--sure!"
-corliss studied the note. then he reached for paper and envelopes and wrote busily. one of the letters was to the sheriff in antelope. it was brief.
-the other letter was to nell loring. then he rose and buckled on his gun. at the bunk-house he gave the letters to lone johnny, who saddled and departed immediately.
-without making the contents of the note known, he told the men that they would join bud shoop and his outfit at the knoll and push the herd north. later he took wingle aside and told him that he could stay and look after the rancho.
-the indignant hi rolled down his sleeves, spat, and glared at corliss. "i quit," he snapped. "you can hire a new cook."
-despite his preoccupation corliss smiled. "all right, hi. now that you're out of a job, you might saddle up and ride with us. we'll need some one to keep us good-natured, i reckon."
-"now you're whistlin'!" said wingle. "got a gun i can use? i give mine to sundown."
-"there's one over in the office on the desk. but we're going to push the herd over to the water-hole. we're not going there to fight."
-"huh! goin' to be quiet, eh? mebby i better take my knittin' along to pass the time."
-and wingle departed toward the office. rejoining corliss they rode with the men to the knoll. bud shoop nodded gravely as his employer told him of loring's occupation of the west bank of the river. then the genial bud rode over to the herd that was bunched in anticipation of just such a contingency as had developed. "it's a case of push 'em along easy--and all night," he told his men. "and if any of you boys is out of cartridges there's plenty in the wagon."
-john corliss rode with his men. he told them to cut out any stray two-bar-o stock they saw and turn them back. toward evening they had the cattle in motion, drifting slowly toward the north. the sixteen riders, including corliss and wingle, spread out and pushed the herd across the afternoon mesas. the day was hot and there was no water between the knoll and sundown's ranch. corliss intended to hold the cattle when within a mile of the water-hole by milling them until daylight. when they got the smell of water, he knew that he would not be able to hold them longer, nor did he wish to. he regretted the fact that chance was running with him, for he knew that loring's men, under the circumstances, would shoot the dog if they had opportunity.
-toward evening the outfit drew up in a draw and partook of a hearty supper. the cattle began to lag as they were urged forward, and chance was called into requisition to keep after the stragglers. as the herd was not large,--in fact, numbered but five hundred,--it was possible to keep it moving steadily and well bunched, throughout the night.
-within a short mile of the water-hole the riders began to mill the herd.
-bud shoop, riding up to corliss, pointed toward the east. "reckon we can't hold 'em much longer, jack. they're crazy dry--and they smell water."
-"all right, bud. hold 'em for fifteen minutes more. then take four of the boys with you and fan it for the road. you can cache in that draw just north of the water-hole. about sunup the herd'll break for water. loring's outfit will be plenty busy on this side, about then. if he's got any gunmen handy, they'll be camped at the ranch. chances are that when the cattle stampede a band or two of sheep, he'll turn his men on us. that's your time to ride down and take possession of the ranch. most likely you won't have to draw a gun."
-shoop reined close to corliss and held out his hand. "mebby not, jack. but if we do--so-long."
-"which loring's goin' to find out right soon," said "mebby-so," a lean texan.
-"sinker's sure goin' to have company, i take it," remarked "bull" cassidy.
-"huh! i'm plumb disappointed," asserted mebby-so. "i was figurin' on singin' hymns and accompanyin' meself on me--me cayuse. listen! somethin' 's broke loose!"
-from the water-hole came shouts, and corliss saw several men come running from the house to seize their horses and ride out toward the cattle. the band of riders opened up and the distant popping of winchesters told him that the herders were endeavoring to check the rush of the thirst-maddened steers. the carcasses of sheep, trampled to pulp, lay scattered over the mesa.
-"it sure is hell!" remarked wingle, riding up to corliss.
-"hell is correct," said corliss, spurring forward. "now i reckon we'll ride over to the rancho and see if loring wants any more of it."
-silently the rancher and his men rode toward the water-hole. as they drew near the line fence, the mexican riders, swinging in a wide circle, spurred to head them off.
-"hold on!" shouted corliss. "we'll pull up and wait for 'em."
-"suits me," said wingle, loosening his gun from the holster.
-the mexicans, led by loring, loped up and reined with a slither of hoofs and the snorting of excited ponies. corliss held up his hand. loring spurred forward and corliss rode to meet him.
-"want any more of it?" queried corliss.
-"i'll take all you got," snarled loring.
-"all right. just listen a minute." and corliss reached in his saddle-pocket. "here's a lease from the government covering the ten sections adjoining the water-hole ranch, on the south and west. and here's a contract with the owner of the water-hole, signed and witnessed, for the use of the water for my stock. you're playing an old-fashioned game, loring, that's out of date. want to look over these papers?"
-"to hell with your papers. i'm here and i'm goin' to stay."
-"well, we'll visit you regular," shouted a puncher.
-"better come over to the house and talk things over," said corliss. "i don't want trouble with you--but my boys do."
-loring hesitated. one of his men, spurring up, whispered to him.
-wingle, keenly alert, restrained a cowboy who was edging forward. "don't start nothin'," he said. "if she's goin' to start, she'll start herself."
-loring turned to corliss. "i'd like to look at them papers," he said slowly.
-"all right. we'll ride over to the house."
-the two bands of riders swung toward the north, passed the tank, and trotted up to the ranch-gate. they dismounted and were met by shoop and his companions. loring blinked and muttered. he had been outgeneraled. one of the concho riders laughed. loring's hand slipped to his belt. "don't," said corliss easily. the tension relaxed, and the men began joking and laughing.
-"where's sundown?" queried corliss.
-loring gestured toward the house.
-"i'll go," said wingle. and he shouldered through the group of scowling herders and entered the house.
-sundown, with hands tied, was sitting on the edge of his bed. "they roped me," he said lugubriously, "in me own house. bud he was goin' to untie me, but i says for the love of mike leave me tied or i'll take a chair and brain that chola what kicked gentle annie in the stummick this mornin'. he was goin' to milk her and i reckon she didn't like his looks. anyhow, she laid him out with a kind of hind-leg upper-cut. when he come to, he set in to kickin' her. i got his picture and if i get me hands on him . . ."
-as they came from the house, loring was reading the papers that corliss had handed to him. the old sheep-man glanced at the signatures on the documents and then slowly folded them, hesitated, and with a quick turn of his wrist tore them and flung the pieces in corliss's face. "that for your law! we stay!"
-corliss bit his lip, and the dull red of restrained anger burned in his face. he had gone too far to retreat or retract. he knew that his men would lose all respect for him if he backed down now. yet he was unable to frame a plan whereby he might avoid the arbitration of the six-gun. his men eyed him curiously. was jack going to show a yellow streak? they thought that he would not--and yet . . .
-sundown raised his long arm and pointed. "there's the gent what kicked me cow," he said, his face white and his eyes burning.
-the punchers of the concho laughed. "jump him!" shouted "bull" cassidy. "we'll stand by and see that there's no monkeyin'."
-corliss held up his hand. the mexicans drew together and the age-old hatred for the gringo burned in their beady eyes.
-"don't shoot, boys!" he shouted.
-his answer was a roar of six-guns. he felt chinook shiver. he jumped clear as the horse rolled to its side. sundown, retreating to the house, flung open the bedroom window and kneeling, laid the barrel of his gun on the sill. deliberately he sighted, hesitated, and flung the gun from him. "god almighty--i ought to--but i can't!" he had seen corliss fall and thought that he had been killed. he saw a mexican raise his gun to fire; saw him suddenly straighten in the saddle. then the gun dropped from his hand, and he bent forward upon his horse, recovered, swayed a moment, and fell limply.
-bud shoop, on foot, ran around to the rear of the house. his horse lay kicking, shot through the stomach. the foreman drew himself up under cover of the hen-house and fired into the huddle of mexicans that swept around the yard as the riders of the concho drove them back. he saw "bull" cassidy in the thick of it, swinging his guns and swearing heartily. finally a mexican pony, wounded and wild with fright, tore through the barb-wire fence. behind him spurred the herders. out on the mesa they turned and threw lead at the concho riders, who retreated to the cover of the house. corliss caught up a herder's horse and rode around to them. shorty, one of his men, grinned, fell to coughing, and sank forward on his horse.
-"loring's down," said wingle, solemnly reloading his gun. "think they got enough, jack?"
-"loring, eh? well, i know who got him. yes, they got enough."
-shorty, vomiting blood, wiped his lips on his sleeve. "well, i ain't--not yet," he gasped. "i'm goin' to finish in a blaze of glory. come on, boys!" and he whirled his horse. swaying drunkenly he spurred around the corner of the house and through the gateway.
-corliss glanced at wingle. "we can't let him ride into 'em by his lonesome," said wingle. "eh, boys?"
-"not on your fat life!" said bull cassidy. "i got one wing that's workin' and i'm goin' to fly her till she gits busted."
-"let's clean 'em up! might's well do a good job now we're at it. where's bud?"
-"he's layin' over there back of the chicken-roost. reckon he's thinkin' things over. he ain't sayin' much."
-"bud down, too? then i guess we ride!" and they swept out after shorty. they saw the diminutive cowboy tear through the band of herders, his gun going; saw his horse stumble and fall and a figure pitch from the saddle and roll to one side. "and if i'm goin'--i want to go out that way," shouted bull cassidy. "shorty was some sport!"
-but the mexicans had had enough of it. they wheeled and spurred toward the south. the concho horses, worn out by the night-journey, were soon distanced.
-"sure! wonder who that is fannin' it this way? don't look like a puncher."
-corliss turned and gazed down the road. from the south came little puffs of dust as a black-and-white pinto running at top speed swept toward them. he paled as he recognized the horse.
-"it's loring's girl," said wingle, glancing at corliss.
-she was on her knees supporting her father's head when they dismounted and shuffled into the yard. the old sheep-man blinked and tried to raise himself. one of the concho boys stepped forward and helped her get the wounded man to the house.
-"no. but i'm feelin' kind of sick. is the ole man dead?"
-"he's hurt, but not bad. we want the bed."
-sundown got to his feet and sidled past the girl as she helped her father to the bed.
-"i sent for the doctor," said corliss.
-the girl whirled and faced him. "you!" she exclaimed--"you!"
-the rancher's shoulders straightened. "yes--and it was my gun got him. you might as well know all there is to it." then he turned and, followed by sundown, stepped to the yard. "we'll keep busy while we're waiting. any of you boys that feel like riding can round up the herd. hi and i will look after--the rest of it."
-"and bud," suggested a rider.
-they found shoop on the ground, the flesh of his shoulder torn away by a .45 and a welt of red above his ear where a mexican's bullet had creased him. they carried him to the house. "sun, you might stir around and rustle some grub. the boys will want to eat directly." and corliss stepped to the water-trough, washed his hands, and then rolled a cigarette. hi wingle sat beside him as they waited for dinner. suddenly corliss turned to his cook. "i guess we've won out, hi," he said.
-"generally speakin'--we sure have," said wingle. "but i reckon you lost."
-"just me and her"
-sheriff banks tossed corliss's note on his desk, reached in his pocket and drew forth a jack-knife with which he began to trim his finger-nails. he paid no apparent attention to the arrival of one of his deputies, but proceeded with his manipulation of the knife. the deputy sidled to a chair and sat watching the sheriff.
-presently banks closed his knife, slid it into his pocket, and leaned back in his chair. "lone johnny gone back?" he queried.
-the deputy nodded.
-banks proffered his companion a cigar and lit one himself. for a while he smoked and gazed at the ceiling. "i got two cards to play," he said, straightening up and brushing cigar-ash from his vest. "last election was pretty close. by rights i ought to be at the county-seat. got any idea why they side-tracked me here in antelope?"
-the deputy grinned. "it's right handy to the line. and i guess they saw what was comin' and figured to put you up against it. they couldn't beat you at the polls, so they tried to put you where you wouldn't come back."
-"correct. and there's no use running against the rope. now i want you to call on every citizen in antelope and tell every dog-goned one of 'em what lone johnny kind of hinted at regarding the concho and loring. and show 'em this note from jack. tell 'em i'm going to swear in each of 'em as a special. i want to go on record as having done what i could."
-the deputy rose. "all right, jim. kind of late to make that move, ain't it?"
-"i got another card," said the sheriff. "tell 'em we'll be ready to start about twelve. it's ten, now."
-"'t ain't that they don't like you," said the deputy. "but they ain't one of 'em that'll do anything for loring or do anything against jack corliss."
-the sheriff smiled. "public opinion is setting on the fence and hanging on with both hands. all right, joe. i'll play her alone. i got a wire from hank that he's got the herder, fernando. due here on the two-thirty. you hang around and tell hank to keep on--take the mexican along up to usher."
-"goin' to go after the concho boys and loring's herders?"
-"sure thing. and i'm going alone. then they won't make a fuss. they'll come back with me all right."
-"but you couldn't get a jury to send one of 'em over--not in this county."
-"correct, joe. but the county's paying me to go through the motions--don't matter what i think personally. if they've pulled off a shooting-match at the water-hole, the thing's settled by this time. it had to come and if it's over, i'm dam' glad. it'll clear the air for quite a spell to come."
-"the papers'll sure make a holler--" began the deputy.
-"not so much as you think. they got one good reason to keep still and that's because the free range is like to be opened up to homesteaders any day. too much noise about cattle-and-sheep war would scare good money from coming to the state. i heard the other day that that sundown jack picked up is settled at the water-hole. i took him for a tenderfoot once. i reckon he ain't. it's hard to figure on those queer kind. well, you meet the two-thirty. i guess i'll ride over to the concho and see the boys."
-the loring-corliss case is now a matter of record in the dusty files of the "usher sentinel" and its decidedly disesteemed contemporary, the "mesa news." the case was dismissed for lack of anything like definite evidence, though loring and corliss were bound over to keep the peace. incidentally one tall and angular witness refused to testify, and was sentenced to pay a not insignificant fine for contempt of court. that his fine was promptly paid by corliss furnished a more or less gratuitous excuse for a wordy vilification of the rancher and his "hireling assassin," "menace to public welfare," and the like. sundown, however, stuck to his guns, even to the extent of searching out the editor of the "mesa news" and offering graciously to engage in hand-to-hand combat, provided the editor, or what was left of him after the battle, would insert an apology in the next issue of the paper--the apology to be dictated by sundown.
-the editor temporized by asking the indignant sundown to frame the apology, which he did. then the wily autocrat of the "mesa news," after reading the apology, agreed to an armistice and mentioned the fact that it was a hot day. sundown intimated that he knew one or two places in usher which he was not averse to visiting under the circumstances. and so the treaty was ratified.
-perhaps among sundown's possessions there is none so cherished, speaking broadly, as a certain clipping from an arizona newspaper in which the editor prints a strangely worded and colorful apology, above his personal signature, for having been misled temporarily in his estimation of a "certain person of warlike proclivities who visited our sanctum bent upon eradicating us in a physical sense." the apology follows. in a separate paragraph, however, is this information:
-"we find it imperative, however, to state that the above apology is a personal matter and in no wise affects our permanent attitude toward the lawlessness manifest so recently in our midst. moreover, we were forced at the muzzle of a six-shooter, in the hands of the above-mentioned sundown, to insert that illiterate and blood-thirsty gentleman's screed in the mesa news, as he, together with the gang of cutthroats with whom he seems in league, stood over us with drawn weapons until the entire issue had been run off. such is the condition of affairs under the present corrupt administration of our suffering state."
-sundown rode to the concho gate, dismounted and opened it. chance ran ahead, leaping up as corliss came from the ranch-house.
-"got them holes plugged in the tank," said sundown. "got the engine runnin' ag'in and things is fine. you goin' to put them cattle back on the water-hole range?"
-"yes, as soon as bud can get around again. he's up, but he can't ride yet."
-"oh, he's all right. mebby-so's laid up yet. he got it pretty bad."
-"i have some good news," said corliss. "got a letter from billy last week. didn't have time to tell you. he's working for a broker in 'frisco. i shouldn't wonder if he should turn up one of these days. how would you like to drive over to antelope and meet him when he comes?"
-"i'd sure be glad. always did like billy. 'course you don't know when he's comin'--and i got to do some drivin' meself right soon."
-"sure! going to antelope?"
-"nope--not first. i got business over to chico miguel's place. i'm goin' to call on a lady."
-"oh, i see! anita?"
-"well, i sure ain't goin' to call on her ma--she's married a'ready."
-despite himself, corliss smiled. "so that's what you wanted that new bed and table and the chairs for. did they get marked up much coming in?"
-"the legs some. i rubbed 'em with that hoss-liniment you give me. you can hardly tell. it kind of smelled like turpentine, and i didn't have nothin' else."
-"well, anything you want--"
-"i know, boss. but this is goin' to be a quiet weddin'. no brass-bands or ice-cream or pop-corn or style. just me and her and--and i reckon a priest, seein' she was brung up that way. i ain't asked her yet."
-"what? about getting married, or the priest?"
-"nothin'. we got kind of a eye-understandin' and her ma and me is good friends. it's like this. bein' no hand to do love-makin' stylish, i just passes her a couple of bouquets onct or twict and said a few words. now, you see, if i get that buckboard and a couple of hosses--i sure would like the white ones--and drive over lookin' like business and slip the ole man a box of cigars i bought, and mrs. miguel that there red-and-yella serape i paid ten dollars for in antelope, and show anita me new contract with the concho for pumpin' water for seventy-five bones a month, i reckon the rest of it'll come easy. i'm figurin' strong on them white hosses, likewise. bein' white'll kind of look like gettin' married, without me sayin' it. you see, boss, i'm short on the spanish talk and so i have to do some figurin'."
-"well, sun, you have come along a lot since you first hit the concho! go ahead, and good luck to you! if you need any money--"
-"i was comin' to that. seein' as you kind of know me--and seein' i'm goin' to git hitched--i was thinkin' you might lend me mebby a hundred on the contrac'."
-"i guess i can. will that be enough?"
-"plenty. you see i was figurin' on buyin' a few head of stock to run with yourn on the water-hole range."
-"why, i can let you have the stock. you can pay me when you get ready."
-"that's just it. you'd kind of give 'em to me and i ain't askin' favors, except the buckboard and the white hosses."
-"but what do you want to monkey with cattle for? you're doing pretty well with the water."
-"well, seein' it's me own brand, i reckon it will be like this: a kind of half-circle for the sun, and a lot of little lines runnin' out to show that it's shinin', and underneath a straight line meanin' the earth, which is 'sundown'--me own brand. could johnny make one like that?"
-"i don't know. that's a pretty big order. you go over and tell johnny what you want. and i'll send the buckboard over saturday."
-out in a field bordered by the roadway a man toiled behind a disk-plough. he trudged with seven-league strides along the furrows, disdaining to ride on the seat of the plough. to effect a comfortable following of his operations he had lengthened the reins with clothes-line. he drove a team of old and gentle white horses as wheelers. his lead animals were mules, neither old nor gentle. it is possible that this fact accounted for his being afoot. he was arrayed in cowboy boots and chaps, a faded flannel shirt, and a stetson. despite the fact that a year had passed since he had practically "lochinvared" the most willing anita,--though with the full and joyous consent of her parents,--he still clung to the habiliments of the cowboy, feeling that they offset the more or less menial requirements of tilling the soil. behind him trailed a lean, shaggy wolf-dog who nosed the furrows occasionally and dug for prairie-dogs with intermittent zest.
-the toiler, too preoccupied with his ploughing to see more than his horses' heads and the immediate unbroken territory before them, did not realize that a team had stopped out on the road and that a man had leaped from the buckboard and was standing at the fence. chance, however, saw the man, and, running to sundown, whined. sundown pulled up his team and wiped his brow. "hurt your foot ag'in?" he queried. "nope? then what's wrong?"
-the man in the road called.
-sundown wheeled and stood with mouth open. "it's--gee gosh! it's billy!"
-he observed that a young and fashionably attired woman sat in the buckboard holding the team. he fumbled at his shirt and buttoned it at the neck. then he swung his team around and started toward the fence.
-will corliss, attired in a quiet-hued business suit, his cheeks healthfully pink and his eye clear, smiled as the lean one tied the team and stalked toward him.
-corliss held out his hand. sundown shook his head. "excuse me, billy, but i ain't shakin' hands with you across no fence."
-and sundown wormed his length between the wires and straightened up, extending a tanned and hairy paw. "shake, pardner! say, you're lookin' gorjus!"
-"my wife," said corliss.
-sundown doffed his sombrero sweepingly. "welcome to arizona, ma'am."
-"this is my friend, washington hicks, margery."
-"yes, ma'am," said sundown. "it ain't my fault, neither. i had nothin' to say about it when they hitched that name onto me. i reckon i hollered, but it didn't do no good. me pals"--and sundown shrugged his shoulder--"mostly gents travelin' for their health--got to callin' me sundown, which is more poetical. 'course, when i got married--"
-"married!" exclaimed corliss, grinning.
-"you needn't to grin, billy. gettin' married's mighty responsible-like."
-corliss made a gesture of apology. "so you're homesteading the water-hole? jack wrote to me about it. he didn't say anything about your getting married."
-"kind of like his not sayin' anything about your gettin' hitched up, eh? he said he was hearin' from you, but nothin' about misses corliss. please to expect my congratulations, ma'am--and you, too, billy."
-"thank you!" said mrs. corliss, smiling. "will has told me a great deal about you."
-"he has, eh? well, i'm right glad to be acquainted by heresy. it kind of puts you on to what to expect. but say, it's hot here. if you'll drive back to me house, i'd sure like to show you the improvements."
-"all right, sun! we'll drive right in and wait for you."
-they did not have to wait, however. sundown, leaving his team at the fence, took a short cut to the house. he entered the back door and called to anita.
-"si! i go queek."
-"why, this is fine!" said corliss, entering, hat in hand, and gazing about the room. "it's as snug and picturesque as a lodge."
-"beautiful!" exclaimed the enthusiastic margery, gazing at the navajo rugs, the clean, white-washed walls against which the red ollas, filled with wild flowers, made a pretty picture, and the great grizzly-bear rug thrown across a home-made couch. "it's actually romantic!"
-"me long suit, lady. we ain't got much, but what we got goes with this kind of country."
-margery smiled. "oh, will, i'd like a home like this. just simple and clean--and comfortable. it's a real home."
-"me wife's comin' in a minute. while she's--er--combin' her hair, mebby you'd like to see some of the improvements." and sundown marched proudly to the new dining-room--an extension that he had built himself--and waved an invitation for his guests to behold and marvel.
-the dining-room was, in its way, also picturesque. the exceedingly plain table was covered with a clean white cloth. the furniture, owing to some fortunate accident of choice, was not ornate but of plain straight lines, redeemed by painted ollas filled with flowers. the white walls were decorated with two pictures, a lithograph of the madonna,--which seemed entirely in keeping with the general tone of the room, but which would have looked glaringly out of place anywhere else,--and an enlarged full-length photograph, framed, of an exceedingly tall and gorgeous cowboy, hat in hand, quirt on wrist, and looking extremely impressive. beside the cowboy stood a great, shaggy dog--chance. and, by chance, the picture was a success.
-"why, it's you, sun!" exclaimed corliss, striding to the picture. "and it's a dandy! i'd hang it in the front room."'
-"that's what neeter was sayin'. but i kind of like it in here. you see, neeter sets there and i set here where i can see me picture while i'm eatin'. it kind of gives me a good appetite. 'course, lookin' out the window is fine. see them there mesas dancin' in the sun, and the grass wavin' and me cows grazing and 'way off like in a dream them blue hills! it's sure a millionaire picture! and it don't cost nothin'."
-"that's the best of it!" said corliss heartily. "we're going to build--over on the mesa near the fork. you remember?"
-sundown's flush was inexplicable to margery, but corliss understood. he had ridden the trail toward the fork one night. . . . but that was past, atoned for. . . . he would live that down.
-"it's a purty view, over there," said sundown gently.
-and the two men felt that that which was not forgotten was at least forgiven--would never again be mentioned.
-"wah! wah! wah!" came in a crescendo from the bedroom.
-sundown straightened his shoulders. "gee gosh, he's gone and give it away, already!"
-corliss and his wife glanced at their host inquisitively.
-"me latest improvement," said sundown, bowing, as anita, a plump brown baby on her arm, opened the bedroom door and stood bashfully looking at the strangers.
-"and me wife," he added.
-corliss bowed, but margery rushed to anita and held out her arms. "oh, let me take him!" she cried. "what big brown eyes! let me hold him! i'll be awfully careful! isn't he sweet!"
-they moved to the living-room where anita and margery sat side by side on the couch with the baby absorbing all their attention.
-sundown stalked about the room, his hands in his pockets, vainly endeavoring to appear very mannish and unconcerned, but his eye roved unceasingly to the baby. he was the longest and most upstanding six-feet-four of proud father that margery or her husband had ever had the pleasure of meeting.
-"he's got neeter's eyes--and--and her--complexion, but he's sure got me style. he measures up two-feet-six by the yardstick what we got with buyin' a case of bakin'-soda, and he ain't a yearlin' yet. i don't just recollec' the day but i reckon neeter knows."
-"he's great!" exclaimed corliss. "isn't he, margery?"
-"he's just the cutest little brown baby!" said margery, hugging the plump little body.
-"he--he ain't so turruble brown," asserted sundown. "'course, he's tanned up some, seein' we keep him outside lots. i'm kind o' tanned up meself, and i reckon he takes after me."
-"he has a head shaped just like yours," said margery, anxious to please the proud father.
-"then," said sundown solemnly, "he's goin' to be a pole."
-anita, proud of her offspring, her husband, her neat and clean home, laughed softly, and held out her arms for the baby. with a kick and a struggle the young sundown wriggled to her arms and snuggled against her, gravely inspecting the pink roses on his mother's white dress. they were new to him. he was more used to blue gingham. the roses were interesting.
-"yes, billy's me latest improvement," said sundown, anxious to assert himself in view of the presence of so much femininity and a correspondingly seeming lack of vital interest in anything save the baby.
-"billy!" said corliss, turning from where he had stood gazing out of the window.
-"uhuh! we named him billy after you."
-corliss turned again to the window.
-sundown stepped to him, misinterpreting his silence. he put his hand on corliss's shoulder. "you ain't mad 'cause we called him that, be you?"
-"mad! say, sun,"--and corliss laughed, choked, and brushed his eyes. "sun, i don't deserve it."
-"well, seein' what i been through since i was his size, i reckon i don't either. but he's here, and you're here and your wife--and things is fine! the sun is shinin' and the jiggers out on the mesa is chirkin' and to-morrow's goin' to be a fine day. there's nothin' like bankin' on to-morrow, 'specially if you are doin' the best you kin today." and with this bit of philosophy, sundown, motioning to corliss, excused himself and his companion as they strode to the doorway and out to the open. there they talked about many things having to do with themselves and others until margery, hailing them from the door, told them that dinner was waiting.
-all of which was in will corliss's mind as he lay smoking and gazing at the cloudless sky. it may be added to his credit that he had not returned because of the money that was his when he chose to claim it. rather, he had realized--and margery had a great deal to do with his newer outlook--that so long as he stayed away from home he was confessing to cowardice. incidentally margery, being utterly feminine, wanted to see arizona and the free life of the range, of which corliss had told her. as for nell loring . . . corliss sighed.
-"it sure is hot," muttered sundown. "'course, you'll stay over and light out in the mornin' cool. you and me can sleep in the front room. 't ain't the fust time we rustled for a roost. and the wimmen-folks can bunk in the bedroom. billy he's right comf'table in his big clothes-basket. he's a sure good sleeper, if i do say it."
-"we could have gone on through," said corliss, smiling. "of course we'd have been late, but margery likes driving."
-"well, if you had 'a' gone through--and i'd 'a' ketched you at it--i--i--i'd 'a' changed billy's name to--to somethin' else." and sundown frowned ferociously.
-corliss laughed. "but we didn't. we're here--and it's mighty good to breathe arizona air again. you never really begin to love arizona till you've been somewhere else for a while."
-"and bein' married helps some, too," suggested sundown.
-"yes, a whole lot. margery's enthusiasm makes me see beautiful things that i'd passed a hundred times before i knew her."
-"that's correc'," concurred sundown. "now, take gentle annie, for instance--"
-"you mean mrs.--er--sundown?"
-"nope! me tame cow. 'annie' is american for 'anita,' so i called her that. now, that there gentle annie's just a regular cow. she ain't purty--but she sure gives plenty milk. neeter got me to seein' that gentle annie's eyes was purty and mournful-like and that she was a right handsome cow. if your wife's pettin' and feedin' somethin', and callin' it them there smooth spanish names, a fella's wise to do the same. it helps things along."
-"little billy, for instance," suggested corliss.
-"leetle billy is right! but he couldn't help bein' good-lookin', i guess. he's different. fust thing your wife said wuz he took after his pa."
-"you haven't changed much," said corliss, smiling.
-"me? mebby not--outside; but say, inside things is different. i got feelin's now what i never knowed i had before. why, sometimes, when neeter is rockin' leetle bill, and singing and me settin' in the door, towards evenin', and everything fed up and happy, why, do you know, i feel jest like cryin'. plumb foolish, ain't it?"
-"i don't know about that, sun."
-"well, you will some day," asserted sundown, taking him literally. "'t ain't gettin' married what makes a man, but it's a dum' poor one what don't make the best of things if he is hitched up to a good girl. only one thing--it sure don't give a fella time to write much po'try."
-corliss did not smile. "you're living the poetry," he said with simple sincerity.
-"which is correc', billy. and speakin' of po'try, i reckon i got to go feed them pigs. they's gruntin' somethin' scand'lous for havin' comp'ny to our house--and anyhow, they's like to wake up leetle bill."
-and sundown departed to feed his pigs.
-a man's country
-"as for that," said john corliss, gazing out across the mesa, "loring and i shook hands--over the line fence. that's settled."
-sundown had just dismounted. he stood holding the reins of his old saddle-horse "pill." he had ridden to the concho to get his monthly pay. "and pore leetle ole fernando--he's gone," said sundown. "that's jest the difference between one fella doin' what he thinks is right and a bunch of fellas shootin' up themselves. the one fella gets it every time. the bunch, bein' so many of 'em, gets off. mebby that's law, but it ain't fair."
-"there's a difference, sun. a fight in the open and downing a man from ambush--two mighty different things."
-"well, mebby. but i'm feelin' sad for that leetle fernando jest the same.--that billy's new house?"
-"yes. they expect to get settled this month."
-"gee gosh! i been so busy i missed a bunch of days. reckon i got to rustle up somethin' for a weddin' present. i know, be gosh! i'll send 'em me picture. billy was kind of stuck on it."
-"good idea, sun. but i guess you'll miss it yourself."
-"i dunno. neeter ain't lookin' at it as much as she used to. she's busy lookin' after leetle bill--and me. 'course i can get another one took most any time."
-"make it two and give me one," said corliss.
-"you ain't joshin'?"
-"no. i'll hang it in the office."
-"then she gets took--immediate."
-chance, who stood watching the two men, rose and wagged his tail.
-chance never failed to recognize that note in his master's voice. it meant that his master was pleased, enthusiastic, happy, and chance, loyal companion, found his happiness in that of his friends.
-"well," said sundown, "i reckon i got to be joggin'. thanks for the check."
-corliss waved his hand. "i'll step over to the gate with you. thought perhaps you'd stay and see billy."
-"nope. i ain't feelin' like meetin' folks today. don' know why. sky's clear and fine, but inside i feel like it was goin' to rain. when you comin' down to see leetle bill and neeter?"
-"pretty soon. is billy well?"
-"well! gee gosh! if you could hear the langwidge he uses when neeter puts him to bed and he don't want to go! why, yesterday he was on the floor playin' with chance and chance got tired of it and lays down to snooze. billy hitches along up to chance, and bim! he punches chance on the nose. made him sneeze, too! why, that kid ain't afraid of nothin'--jest like his pa. i reckon billy told you that his wife said that leetle billy took after me, eh? leave it to a woman to see them things!"
-"well, i'm mighty glad you're settled, and making a go of it, sun."
-"so be i. i was recollectin' when i fust come into this country and landed at that water-hole. it was kind of a joke then, but it ain't no joke now. funny thing--that bunch of punchers what started me lookin' for that there hotel that time--they come jinglin' up last week. didn't know i was the boss till one of 'em grins after sizin' me up and says--er--well, two three words what kids hadn't ought to hear, and then, 'it's him, boys!' then i steps out and says, 'it is, gents. come right in and have dinner and it won't cost you fellas a cent. i told you i'd feed you up good when i got me hotel to runnin'.' and sure enough, in they come and we fed 'em. they was goin' to the blue. they bunked in me hay that night. next mornin' they acted kind of queer, sayin' nothin' except, 'so-long,' when they lit out. and what do you think! they went and left four dollars and twenty-eight cents in the sugar-bowl--and a piece of paper with it sayin', 'for the kid.' we never found it out till i was drinkin' me coffee that night and liked to choked to death on a nickel. guess them punchers ain't so bad."
-"no. they stopped here next day. said they'd never had a finer feed than you gave 'em."
-"neeter is sure some cook. pretty nigh's good as me. well, so-long, jack. i--i--kind of wish you was buildin' a new house yourself."
-corliss, standing with his hand on the neck of sundown's horse, smiled. "arizona's a man's country, sun."
-"she sure is!" said sundown, throwing out his chest. "and lemme tell you, jack, it's a man's business to get married and settle down--and--raise more of 'em. 'specially like me and you and bud and hi--only hi's gettin' kind of old. she's a fine country, but she needs improvin'. sometimes them improvements keeps you awake nights, but they're worth it!"
-"yes, i believe they're worth it," said corliss, "so-long, sun."
-"so-long, jack. i got to get back and milk gentle annie. we're switchin' billy onto the bottle, and he don't like to be kep' waitin'."
-chance, following sundown, trotted behind the horse a few steps, then turned and ran back to corliss. he nuzzled the rancher's hand, whined, and leapt away to follow his master.
-from capetown to ladysmith
-an unfinished record of the south african war
-author of 'with kitchener to khartum,' 'in india,' etc., etc.
-edited by vernon blackburn
-william blackwood and sons, edinburgh and london
-by the same author
-with kitchener to khartum. with 8 maps and plans. twenty-first edition. crown 8vo, 6s.
-"this book is a masterpiece. mr steevens writes an english which is always alive and alert.... the description of the battle of omdurman reaches, we do not hesitate to say, the high-water mark of literature."--spectator.
-"to read this book is a liberal education in one of the most interesting and least known portions of our empire."--st james's gazette.
-the land of the dollar. fourth edition. crown 8vo, 6s.
-"one of the smartest books of travel which has appeared for a long time past.... brings the general appearance of transatlantic urban and rural life so clearly before the mind's eye of the reader, that a perusal of his work almost answers the purpose of a personal inspection. new york has probably never been more lightly and cleverly sketched."--daily telegraph.
-with the conquering turk. with 4 maps. cheaper edition. demy 8vo, 6s.
-"this is a remarkably bright and vivid book. there is a delicious portrait of the jovial aide-de-camp, plenty of humorous touches of wayside scenes, servants' tricks, dragoman's english, and vagaries of cuisine."--st james's gazette.
-egypt in 1898. with illustrations. crown 8vo, 6s.
-"set forth in a style that provides plenty of entertainment.... bright and readable."--times.
-william blackwood and sons, edinburgh and london.
-i. first glimpses of the struggle.
-ii. the army corps--has not left england!
-iii. a pastor's point of view.
-vi. the battle of elandslaagte.
-vii. the bivouac.
-viii. the home-coming from dundee.
-ix. the story of nicholson's nek.
-x. the guns at rietfontein.
-xi. the bombardment.
-xii. the devil's tin-tacks.
-xiii. a diary of dulness.
-from capetown to ladysmith
-first glimpses of the struggle.
-first impressions--denver with a dash of delhi--government house--the legislative assembly--a wrangling debate--a demonstration of the unemployed--the menace of coming war.
-capetown, oct. 10.
-this morning i awoke, and behold the norman was lying alongside a wharf at capetown. i had expected it, and yet it was a shock. in this breathless age ten days out of sight of land is enough to make you a merman: i looked with pleased curiosity at the grass and the horses.
-after the surprise of being ashore again, the first thing to notice was the air. it was as clear--but there is nothing else in existence clear enough with which to compare it. you felt that all your life hitherto you had been breathing mud and looking out on the world through fog. this, at last, was air, was ether.
-right in front rose three purple-brown mountains--the two supporters peaked, and table mountain flat in the centre. more like a coffin than a table, sheer steep and dead flat, he was exactly as he is in pictures; and as i gazed, i saw his tablecloth of white cloud gather and hang on his brow.
-it was enough: the white line of houses nestling hardly visible between his foot and the sea must indeed be capetown.
-all in all, capetown gives you the idea of being neither very rich nor very poor, neither over-industrious nor over-lazy, decently successful, reasonably happy, whole-heartedly easy-going.
-when you go on to look at government house the place keeps its character: government house is half a country house and half a country inn. one sentry tramps outside the door, and you pay your respects to the governor in shepherd's plaid.
-over everything brooded peace, except over one flamboyant many-winged building of red brick and white stone with a garden about it, an avenue--a capetown avenue, shady trees and cool but not large: attractive and not imposing--at one side of it, with a statue of the queen before and broad-flagged stairs behind. it was the parliament house. the legislative assembly--their house of commons--was characteristically small, yet characteristically roomy and characteristically comfortable. the members sit on flat green-leather cushions, two or three on a bench, and each man's name is above his seat: no jostling for capetown. the slip of press gallery is above the speaker's head; the sloping uncrowded public gallery is at the other end, private boxes on one side, big windows on the other. altogether it looks like a copy of the westminster original, improved by leaving nine-tenths of the members and press and public out.
-yet here--alas, for placid capetown!--they were wrangling. they were wrangling about the commandeering of gold and the sjamboking--shamboking, you pronounce it--of johannesburg refugees. there was sir gordon sprigg, thrice premier, grey-bearded, dignified, and responsible in bearing and speech, conversationally reasonable in tone. there was mr schreiner, the premier, almost boyish with plump, smooth cheeks and a dark moustache. he looks capable, and looks as if he knows it: he, too, is conversational, almost jerky, in speech, but with a flavour of bitterness added to his reason.
-everything sounded quiet and calm enough for capetown--yet plainly feeling was strained tight to snapping. a member rose to put a question, and prefaced it with a brief invective against all boers and their friends. he would go on for about ten minutes, when suddenly angry cries of "order!" in english and dutch would rise. the questioner commented with acidity on the manners of his opponents. they appealed to the chair: the speaker blandly pronounced that the hon. gentleman had been out of order from the first word he uttered. the hon. gentleman thereon indignantly refused to put his question at all; but, being prevailed to do so, gave an opening to a minister, who devoted ten minutes to a brief invective against all uitlanders and their friends. then up got one of the other side--and so on for an hour. most delicious of all was a white-haired german, once colonel in the hanoverian legion which was settled in the eastern province, and which to this day remains the loyallest of her majesty's subjects. when the speaker ruled against his side he counselled defiance in a resounding whisper; when an opponent was speaking he snorted thunderous derision; when an opponent retorted he smiled blandly and admonished him: "ton't lose yer demper."
-in the assembly, if nowhere else, rumbled the menace of coming war.
-they had been turned out of work, packed in cattle-trucks, and had come down in sun by day and icy wind by night, empty-bellied, to pack off home again. faster than the ship-loads could steam out the trainloads steamed in. they choked the lodging-houses, the bars, the streets. capetown was one huge demonstration of the unemployed. in the hotels and streets wandered the pale, distracted employers. they hurried hither and thither and arrived nowhither; they let their cigars go out, left their glasses half full, broke off their talk in the middle of a word. they spoke now of intolerable grievance and hoarded revenge, now of silent mines, rusting machinery, stolen gold. they held their houses in johannesburg as gone beyond the reach of insurance. they hated capetown, they could not tear themselves away to england, they dared not return to the rand.
-this little quiet corner of capetown held the throbbing hopes and fears of all johannesburg and more than half the two republics and the mass of all south africa.
-none doubted--though many tried to doubt--that at last it was--war! they paused an instant before they said the word, and spoke it softly. it had come at last--the moment they had worked and waited for--and they knew not whether to exult or to despair.
-the army corps--has not left england!
-a little patch of white tents--a dream of distance--the desert of the karroo--war at last--a campaign without headquarters--waiting for the army corps.
-the wind screams down from the naked hills on to the little junction station. a platform with dining-room and telegraph office, a few corrugated iron sheds, the station-master's corrugated iron bungalow--and there is nothing else of stormberg but veldt and, kopje, wind and sky. only these last day's there has sprung up a little patch of white tents a quarter of a mile from the station, and about them move men in putties and khaki. signal flags blink from the rises, pickets with fixed bayonets dot the ridges, mounted men in couples patrol the plain and the dip and the slope. four companies of the berkshire regiment and the mounted infantry section--in all they may count 400 men. fifty miles north is the orange river, and beyond it, maybe by now this side of it, thousands of armed and mounted burghers--and war.
-i wonder if it is all real? by the clock i have been travelling something over forty hours in south africa, but it might just as well be a minute or a lifetime. it is a minute of experience prolonged to a lifetime. south africa is a dream--one of those dreams in which you live years in the instant of waking--a dream of distance.
-departing from capetown by night, i awoke in the karroo. between nine and six in the morning we had made less than a hundred and eighty miles. now we were climbing the vast desert of the karroo, the dusty stairway that leads on to the highlands of south africa. once you have seen one desert, all the others are like it; and yet once you have loved the desert, each is lovable in a new way. in the karroo you seem to be going up a winding ascent, like the ramps that lead to an indian fortress. you are ever pulling up an incline between hills, making for a corner round one of the ranges. you feel that when you get round that corner you will at last see something: you arrive and only see another incline, two more ranges, and another corner--surely this time with something to arrive at beyond. you arrive and arrive, and once more you arrive--and once more you see the same vast nothing you are coming from. believe it or not, that is the very charm of a desert--the unfenced emptiness, the space, the freedom, the unbroken arch of the sky. it is for ever fooling you, and yet you for ever pursue it. and then it is only to the eye that cannot do without green that the karroo is unbeautiful. every other colour meets others in harmony--tawny sand, silver-grey scrub, crimson-tufted flowers like heather, black ribs of rock, puce shoots of screes, violet mountains in the middle distance, blue fairy battlements guarding the horizon. and above all broods the intense purity of the south african azure--not a coloured thing, like the plants and the hills, but sheer colour existing by and for itself.
-it is sheer witching desert for five hundred miles, and for aught i know five hundred miles after that. at the rare stations you see perhaps one corrugated-iron store, perhaps a score of little stone houses with a couple of churches. the land carries little enough stock--here a dozen goats browsing on the withered sticks goats love, there a dozen ostriches, high-stepping, supercilious heads in air, wheeling like a troop of cavalry and trotting out of the stink of that beastly train. of men, nothing--only here at the bridge a couple of tents, there at the culvert a black man, grotesque in sombrero and patched trousers, loafing, hands in pockets, lazy pipe in mouth. the last man in the world, you would have said, to suggest glorious war--yet war he meant and nothing else. on the line from capetown--that single track through five hundred miles of desert--hang kimberley and mafeking and rhodesia: it runs through dutch country, and the black man was there to watch it.
-war--and war sure enough it was. a telegram at a tea-bar, a whisper, a gathering rush, an electric vibration--and all the station and all the train and the very niggers on the dunghill outside knew it. war--war at last! everybody had predicted it--and now everybody gasped with amazement. one man broke off in a joke about killing dutchmen, and could only say, "my god--my god--my god!"
-i too was lost, and lost i remain. where was i to go? what was i to do? my small experience has been confined to wars you could put your fingers on: for this war i have been looking long enough, and have not found it. i have been accustomed to wars with headquarters, at any rate to wars with a main body and a concerted plan: but this war in cape colony has neither.
-it could not have either. if you look at the map you will see that the transvaal and orange free state are all but lapped in the red of british territory. that would be to our advantage were our fighting force superior or equal or even not much inferior to that of the enemy. in a general way it is an advantage to have your frontier in the form of a re-entrant angle; for then you can strike on your enemy's flank and threaten his communications. that advantage the boers possess against natal, and that is why sir george white has abandoned laing's nek and newcastle, and holds the line of the biggarsberg: even so the boers might conceivably get between him and his base. the same advantage we should possess on this western side of the theatre of war, except that we are so heavily outnumbered, and have adopted no heroic plan of abandoning the indefensible. we have an irregular force of mounted infantry at mafeking, the loyal north lancashire regiment at kimberley, the munster fusiliers at de aar, half the yorkshire light infantry at de aar, half the berkshire regiment at naauwpoort--do not try to pronounce it--and the other half here at stormberg. the northumberlands--the famous fighting fifth--came crawling up behind our train, and may now be at naauwpoort or de aar. total: say, 4100 infantry, of whom some 600 mounted; no cavalry, no field-guns. the boer force available against these isolated positions might be very reasonably put at 12,000 mounted infantry, with perhaps a score of guns.
-mafeking and kimberley are fairly well garrisoned, with auxiliary volunteers, and may hold their own: at any rate, i have not been there and can say nothing about them. but along the southern border of the free state--the three railway junctions of de aar, naauwpoort, and stormberg--our position is very dangerous indeed. i say it freely, for by the time the admission reaches england it may be needed to explain failure, or pleasant to add lustre to success. if the army corps were in africa, which is still in england, this position would be a splendid one for it--three lines of supply from capetown, port elizabeth, and east london, and three converging lines of advance by norval's pont, bethulie, and aliwal north. but with tiny forces of half a battalion in front and no support behind--nothing but long lines of railway with ungarrisoned ports hundreds of miles at the far end of them--it is very dangerous. there are at this moment no supports nearer than england. let the free staters bring down two thousand good shots and resolute men to-morrow morning--it is only fifty miles, with two lines of railway--and what will happen to that little patch of white tents by the station? the loss of any one means the loss of land connection between western and eastern provinces, a line open into the heart of the cape colony, and nothing to resist an invader short of the sea.
-it is dangerous--and yet nobody cares. there is nothing to do but wait--for the army corps that has not yet left england. even to-day--a day's ride from the frontier--the war seems hardly real. all will be done that man can do. in the mean time the good lady of the refreshment-room says: "dinner? there's been twenty-one to-day and dinner got ready for fifteen; but you're welcome to it, such as it is. we must take things as they come in war-time." her children play with their cats in the passage. the railway man busies himself about the new triangles and sidings that are to be laid down against the beginning of december for the army corps that has not yet left england.
-a pastor's point of view.
-an ideal of arcady--rebel burghersdorp--its monuments--dopper theology--an interview with one of its professors.
-burghersdorp, oct. 14.
-the village lies compact and clean-cut, a dot in the wilderness. no fields or orchards break the transition from man to nature; step out of the street and you are at once on rock-ribbed kopje or raw veldt. as you stand on one of the bare lines of hill that squeeze it into a narrow valley, burghersdorp is a chequer-board of white house, green tree, and grey iron roof; beyond its edges everything is the changeless yellow brown of south african landscape.
-go down into the streets, and burghersdorp is an ideal of arcady. the broad, dusty, unmetalled roads are steeped in sunshine. the houses are all one-storeyed, some brick, some mud, some the eternal corrugated iron, most faced with whitewash, many fronted with shady verandahs. as blinds against the sun they have lattices of trees down every street--white-blossoming laburnum, poplars, sycamores.
-despite verandahs and trees, the sunshine soaks down into every corner--genially, languorously warm. all burghersdorp basks. you see half-a-dozen yoke of bullocks with a waggon, standing placidly in the street, too lazy even to swish their tails against the flies; pass by an hour later, and they are still there, and the black man lounging by the leaders has hardly shifted one leg; pass by at evening, and they have moved on three hundred yards, and are resting again. in the daytime hens peck and cackle in every street; at nightfall the bordering veldt hums with crickets and bullfrogs. at morn come a flight of locusts--first, yellow-white scouts whirring down every street, then a pelting snowstorm of them high up over the houses, spangling the blue heaven. but burghersdorp cared nothing. "there is nothing for them," said a farmer, with cosy satisfaction; "the frost killed everything last week."
-british and dutch salute and exchange the news with lazy mutual tolerance. the british are storekeepers and men of business; the boers ride in from their farms. they are big, bearded men, loose of limb, shabbily dressed in broad-brimmed hats, corduroy trousers, and brown shoes; they sit their ponies at a rocking-chair canter erect and easy; unkempt, rough, half-savage, their tanned faces and blue eyes express lazy good-nature, sluggish stubbornness, dormant fierceness. they ask the news in soft, lisping dutch that might be a woman's; but the lazy imperiousness of their bearing stamps them as free men. a people hard to rouse, you say--and as hard, when roused, to subdue.
-i went to see this reverend pastor, who is professor of a school of dopper theology. he was short, but thick-set, with a short but shaggy grey beard; in deference to his calling, he wore a collar over his grey flannel shirt, but no tie. nevertheless, he turned out a very charming, courteous old gentleman, well informed, and his political bias was mellowed with an irresistible sense of humour. he took his own side strongly, and allowed that it was most proper for a briton to be equally strong on his own. and this is more or less what he said:--
-"information? no, i shall not give you any; you are the enemy, you see. ha, ha! they call me rebel. but i ask you, my friend, is it natural that i--i, hollander born, dutch afrikander since '60--should be as loyal to the british government as a britisher should be? no, i say; one can be loyal only to one's own country. i am law-abiding subject of the queen, and that is all that they can ask of me.
-"how will the war go? that it is impossible, quite impossible, to say. the boer might run away at the first shot and he might fight to the death. all troops are liable to panic; even regular troop; much more than irregular. but i have been on commando many times with boer, and i cannot think him other than brave man. fighting is not his business; he wishes always to be back on his farm with his people; but he is brave man.
-"i look on this war as the sequel of 1881. i have told them all these years, it is not finish; war must come. mr gladstone, whom i look on as greatest british statesman, did wrong in 1881. if he had kept promises and given back country before the war, we would have been grateful; but he only give it after war, and we were not grateful. and english did not feel that they were generous, only giving independence after war, though they had a large army in natal; they have always wished to recommence.
-"the trouble is because the boer have never had confidence in the english government, just as you have never had confidence in us. the boer have no feeling about cape colony, but they have about natal; they were driven out of it, and they think it still their own country. then you took the diamond-fields from the free state. you gave the free state independence only because you did not want trouble of basuto war; then we beat the basutos--i myself was there, and it was very hard, and it lasted three years--and then you would not let us take basutoland. then came annexation of the transvaal; up to that i was strong advocate of federation, but after that i was one of founders of the bond. after that the afrikander trusted rhodes--not i, though; i always write i distrust rhodes--and so came the jameson raid. now how could we have confidence after all this in british government?
-"i do not think transvaal government have been wise; i have many times told them so. they made great mistake when they let people come in to the mines. i told them, 'this gold will be your ruin; to remain independent you must remain poor.' but when that was done, what could they do? if they gave the franchise, then the republic is governed by three four men from johannesburg, and they will govern it for their own pocket. the transvaal boer would rather be british colony than johannesburg republic.
-"well, well; it is the law of south africa that the boer drive the native north and the english drive the boer north. but now the boer can go north no more; two things stop him: the tsetse fly and the fever. so if he must perish, it is his duty--yes, i, minister, say it is his duty--to perish fighting.
-"but here in the colony we have no race hatred. not between man and man; but when many men get together there is race hatred. if we fight here on this border it is civil war--the same dutch and english are across the orange as here in albert. my son is on commando in free state; the other day he ride thirteen hours and have no food for two days. i say to him, 'you are free state burgher; you have the benefit of the country; your wife is boer girl; it is your duty to fight for it.' i am law-abiding british subject, but i hope my son will not be hurt. you, sir, i wish you good luck--good luck for yourself and your corresponding. not for your side: that i cannot wish you."
-on the border of the free state--an appeal to the colonial boers--the beginning of warlike rumours--a commercial and social boycott--the boer secret service--the basutos and their mother, the queen--boer brutality to kaffirs.
-the most conspicuous feature of the war on this frontier has hitherto been its absence.
-in the mean time the english doctor attends patients on the other side of the border, and boer riflemen ride across to buy goods at the british stores.
-the proclamation published yesterday morning forbidding trade with the republics is thus difficult and impolitic to enforce hereabouts.
-railway and postal communication is now stopped, but the last mail brought a copy of the bloemfontein 'express,' with an appeal to the colonial boers concluding with the words:--
-"we shall continue the war to the bloody end. you will assist us. our god, who has so often helped us, will not forsake us."
-what effect this may have is yet doubtful, but it is certain that any rising of the colonial dutch would send the colonial british into the field in full strength.
-burghersdorp, through which i passed yesterday, is a village of 2000 inhabitants, and, as i have already put on record, the centre of the most disaffected district in the colony. if there be any dutch rising in sympathy with the free state it will begin here.
-and so there's warlike news at last.
-a boer force, reported to be 350 strong, shifted camp to-day to within three miles of the bridge across the orange river. well-informed dutch inhabitants assert that these are to be reinforced, and will march through aliwal north to-night on their way to attack stormberg junction, sixty miles south.
-the bridge is defended by two cape policemen with four others in reserve.
-the loyal inhabitants are boiling with indignation, declaring themselves sacrificed, as usual, by the dilatoriness of the government.
-besides the boer force near here, there is another, reported to be 450 strong, at greatheads drift, forty miles up the river.
-the boers at bethulie, in the free state, are believed to be pulling up the railway on their side of the frontier, and to be marching to norvals pont, which is the ferry over the orange river on the way to colesberg, with the intention of attacking naauwpoort junction, on the capetown-kimberley line; but as there are no trains now running to bethulie it is difficult to verify these reports, and, indeed, all reports must be received with caution.
-the feeling here between the english and dutch extends to a commercial and social boycott, and is therefore far more bitter than elsewhere. several burghers here have sent their sons over the border, and promise that the loyal inhabitants will be "sjambokked" (you remember how to pronounce it?) when the boer force passes through.
-so far things are quiet. the broad, sunny, dusty streets, fringed with small trees and lined with single-storeyed houses, are dotted with strolling inhabitants, both dutch and natives, engrossed in their ordinary pursuits. the whole thing looks more like arcady than revolution.
-the only sign of movement is that eight young boers, theological students of the dopper or strict lutheran college here, left last night for the free state for active service.
-the boers across the orange river so far make no sign of raiding. many have sent their wives and families here into aliwal north, on our side of the border, in imitation, perhaps, of president steyn, whose wife at this moment is staying with her sister at king william's town, in the cape colony.
-many british farmers, of whom there are a couple of hundred in this district, refuse to believe that the free state will take the offensive on this border, considering that such aggression would be impious, and that the free state will restrict itself to defending its own frontier, or the transvaal, if invaded, in fulfilment of the terms of the offensive and defensive alliance.
-nevertheless there is, of course, very acute tension between the dutch and english here. no boers are to be seen talking to englishmen. the boers are very close as to their feelings and intentions, which those who know them interpret as a bad sign, because, as a rule, they are inclined to irresponsible garrulity. a point in which dutch feeling here tells is that every dutch man, woman, or child is more or less of a boer secret service agent, revealing our movements and concealing those of the boers.
-if there be any rising it may be expected by november 9, when the boers hold their "wappenschouwing," or rifle contest--the local bisley, in fact--which every man for miles around attends armed. also the afrikander bond congress is to be held next month; but probably the leaders will do their best to keep the people together.
-the transvaal agents are naturally doing their utmost to provoke rebellion. a lieutenant of their police is known to be hiding hereabouts, and a warrant is out for his arrest. all depends, say the experts, on the results of the first few weeks of fighting.
-the attitude of the natives causes some uneasiness. every basuto employed on the line here has returned to his tribe, one saying: "be sure we shall not harm our mother the queen."
-many transkei kaffirs also have passed through here, owing to the closing of the mines. sixty-six crammed truckloads of them came by one train. they had been treated with great brutality by the boers, having been flogged to the station and robbed of their wages.
-loyal aliwal: a tragi-comedy.
-the cape police--a garrison of six men--merry-go-rounds and naphtha flares--a clamant want of fifty men--where are the troops?--"it'll be just the same as it was in '81."
-aliwal north, oct. 15.
-"halt! who goes there?" the trim figure, black in the moonlight, in breeches and putties, with a broad-brimmed hat looped up at the side, brought up his carbine and barred the entrance to the bridge. twenty yards beyond a second trim black figure with a carbine stamped to and fro over the planking. they were of the cape police, and there were four more of them somewhere in reserve; across the bridge was the orange free state; behind us was the little frontier town of aliwal north, and these were its sole garrison.
-the river shone silver under its high banks. beyond it, in the enemy's country, the veldt too was silvered over with moonlight and was blotted inkily with shadow from the kopjes. three miles to the right, over a rise and down in a dip, they said there lay the rouxville commando of 350 men. that night they were to receive 700 or 800 more from smithfield, and thereon would ride through aliwal on their way to eat up the british half-battalion at stormberg. on our side of the bridge slouched a score of boers--waiting, they said, to join and conduct their kinsmen. in the very middle of these twirled a battered merry-go-round--an island of garish naphtha light in the silver, a jarr of wheeze and squeak in the swishing of trees and river. up the hill, through the town, in the bar of the ultra-english hotel, proceeded this dialogue.
-a fat man (thunderously, nursing a lee-metford sporting rifle). well, you've yourselves to blame. i've done my best. with fifty men i'd have held this place against a thousand boers, and not ten men'd join.
-a thin-faced man (piping). we haven't got the rifles. every dutchman's armed, and how many rifles will you find among the english?
-fat man (shooting home bolt of lee-metford). and who's fault's that? i've left my property in the free state, and odds are i shall lose every penny i've got--what part? all over--and come here on to british soil, and what do i find? with fifty men i'd hold this place--
-thin-faced man. they'll be here to-night, old de wet says, and they're to come here and sjambok the englishmen who've been talking too much. that's what comes of being loyal!
-fat man. loyal! with fifty men--
-brown-faced, grey-haired man (smoking deep-bowled pipe in corner). no, you wouldn't.
-fat man (playing with sights of lee-metford). what! not keep the bridge with fifty men--
-brown-faced, grey-haired man. and they'd cross by the old drift, and be on every side of you in ten minutes.
-fat man (grounding lee-metford). ah! well--h'm!
-thick-set man. but we're safe enough. has not the government sent us a garrison? six policemen! six policemen, gentlemen, and the boers are at pieter's farrm, and they'll be here to-night and sjambok--
-thin-faced man. where are the troops? where are the volunteers? where are the--
-brown-faced, grey-haired man. there are no troops, and the better for you. the strength of aliwal is in its weakness. (to fat man.) put that gun away.
-thin-faced man, thick-set man, and general chorus. yes, put it away.
-thin-faced man. but i want to know why the boers are armed and we aren't? why does our government--
-brown-faced man. are you accustomed to shoot?
-thin-faced man (faintly). no.
-fat man (returning from putting away lee-metford). but where do you come from?
-brown-faced man. free state, same as you do. lived there five-and-twenty years.
-thin-faced man. any trouble in getting away?
-brown-faced man. no. field-cornet was a good old fellow and an old friend of mine, and he gave me the hint--
-thin-faced man. not much like ours! why, there's a lady staying here that's friendly with his daughters, and she went out to see them the other day, and the old man said they'd stop here and sjam--
-fat man. gentlemen, drinks all round! here's success to the british arms!
-all. success to the british arms!
-thick-set man. and may the british government not desert us again!
-fat man. i'll take a shade of odds about it. they will. i've no trust in chamberlain. it'll be just the same as it was in '81. a few reverses and you'll find they'll begin to talk about terms. i know them. every loyal man in south africa knows them. (general murmur of assent.)
-hotel-keeper. gentlemen, drinks all round! here's success to the british arms!
-all. success to the british arms!
-thick-set man. and where are the british arms? where's the army corps? has a man of that army corps left england? shilly-shally, as usual. south africa's no place for an englishman to live in. armoured train blown up, mafeking cut off, kimberley in danger, and general butler--what? oh yes--general buller leaves england to-day. why didna they send the army corps out three months ago?
-brown-faced man. it's six thousand miles--
-thick-set man. why didna they send them just after the bloemfontein conference, before the boers were ready? british gov--
-brown-faced man. they've had three rifles a man with ammunition since 1896.
-i (timidly). well, then, if the army corps had left three months ago, wouldn't the boers have declared war three months ago too?
-all except brown-faced man (loudly). no!
-brown-faced man (quietly). yes. gentlemen, bedtime! as brand used to say, "al zal rijt komen!"
-all (fervently). al zal rijt komen! success to the british arms! good night!
-it is a shame to smile at them. they are really very, very loyal, and they are excellent fellows and most desirable colonists. aliwal is a nest of green on the yellow veldt, speckless, well-furnished, with maréchal niel roses growing over trellises, and a scheme to dam the orange river for water-supply, and electric light. they were quite unprotected, and their position was certainly humiliating.
-the battle of elandslaagte.
-french's reconnaissance--an artillery duel--beginning of the attack--ridge after ridge--a crowded half-hour.
-ladysmith, oct. 22.
-from a billow of the rolling veldt we looked back, and black columns were coming up behind us.
-along the road from ladysmith moved cavalry and guns. along the railway line to right of it crept trains--one, two, three of them--packed with khaki, bristling with the rifles of infantry. we knew then that we should fight before nightfall.
-major-general french, who commanded, had been out from before daybreak with the imperial light horse and the battery of the natal volunteer artillery reconnoitring towards elandslaagte. the armoured train--slate-colour plated engine, a slate-colour plated loopholed cattle-truck before and behind, an open truck with a maxim at the tail of all--puffed along on his right. elandslaagte is a little village and railway station seventeen miles north-east of ladysmith, where two days before the boers had blown up a culvert and captured a train. that cut our direct communication with the force at dundee. moreover, it was known that the free state commandoes were massing to the north-west of ladysmith and the transvaalers to attack dundee again. on all grounds it was desirable to smash the elandslaagte lot while they were still weak and alone.
-the reconnaissance stole forward until it came in sight of the little blue-roofed village and the little red tree-girt station. it was occupied. the natal battery unlimbered and opened fire. a round or two--and then suddenly came a flash from a kopje two thousand yards beyond the station on the right. the boer guns! and the next thing was the hissing shriek of a shell--and plump it dropped, just under one of the natal limbers. by luck it did not burst; but if the boer ammunition contractor was suspect, it was plain that the boer artillerist could lay a gun. plump: plump: they came right into the battery; down went a horse; over went an ammunition-waggon. at that range the volunteers' little old 7-pounders were pea-shooters; you might as well have spat at the enemy. the guns limbered up and were off. next came the vicious phutt! of a bursting shell not fifty yards from the armoured train--and the armoured train was puffing back for its life. everybody went back half-a-dozen miles on the ladysmith road to modder spruit station.
-the men on reconnaissance duty retired, as is their business. they had discovered that the enemy had guns and meant fighting. lest he should follow, they sent out from ladysmith, about nine in the morning, half a battalion apiece of the devonshire and manchester regiments by train, and the 42nd field battery, with a squadron of the 5th dragoon guards, by road. they arrived, and there fell on us the common lot of reconnaissances. we dismounted, loosened girths, ate tinned meat, and wondered what we should do next. we were on a billow of veldt that heaved across the valley: up it ran, road and rail; on the left rose tiers of hills, in front a huge green hill blocked our view, with a tangle of other hills crowding behind to peep over its shoulders. on the right, across the line, were meadows; up from them rose a wall of red-brown kopje; up over that a wall of grass-green veldt; over that was the enemy. we ate and sat and wondered what we should do next. presently we saw the troopers mounting and the trains getting up steam; we mounted; and scouts, advance-guard, flanking patrols--everybody crept slowly, slowly, cautiously forward. then, about half-past two, we turned and beheld the columns coming up behind us. the 21st field battery, the 5th lancers, the natal mounted volunteers on the road; the other half of the devons and half the gordon highlanders on the trains--total, with what we had, say something short of 3000 men and eighteen guns. it was battle!
-the trains drew up and vomited khaki into the meadow. the mass separated and ordered itself. a line of little dots began to draw across it; a thicker line of dots followed; a continuous line followed them, then other lines, then a mass of khaki topping a dark foundation--the kilts of the highlanders. from our billow we could not see them move; but the green on the side of the line grew broader, and the green between them and the kopje grew narrower. now the first dots were at the base--now hardly discernible on the brown hill flanks. presently the second line of dots was at the base. then the third line and the second were lost on the brown, and the third--where? there, bold on the sky-line. away on their right, round the hill, stole the black column of the imperial light horse. the hill was crowned, was turned--but where were the bo--
-a hop, a splutter, a rattle, and then a snarling roll of musketry broke on the question,--not from the hill, but far on our left front, where the dragoon guards were scouting. on that the thunder of galloping orderlies and hoarse yells of command--advance!--in line!--waggon supply!--and with rattle and thunder the batteries tore past, wheeled, unlimbered as if they broke in halves. then rattled and thundered the waggons, men gathered round the guns like the groups round a patient in an operation. and the first gun barked death. and then after all it was a false alarm. at the first shell you could see through glasses mounted men scurrying up the slopes of the big opposite hill; by the third they were gone. and then, as our guns still thudded--thud came the answer. only where? away, away on the right, from the green kopje over the brown one where still struggled the reserves of our infantry.
-limbers! from halves the guns were whole again, and wheeled away over ploughland to the railway. down went a length of wire-fencing, and gun after gun leaped ringing over the metals, scoring the soft pasture beyond. we passed round the leftward edge of the brown hill and joined our infantry in a broad green valley. the head of it was the second skyline we had seen; beyond was a dip, a swell of kopje, a deep valley, and beyond that a small sugar-loaf kopje to the left and a long hog-backed one on the right--a saw of small ridges above, a harsh face below, freckled with innumerable boulders. below the small kopje were tents and waggons; from the leftward shoulder of the big one flashed once more the boer guns.
-this time the shell came. faint whirr waxed presently to furious scream, and the white cloud flung itself on to the very line of our batteries unlimbering on the brow. whirr and scream--another dashed itself into the field between the guns and limbers. another and another, only now they fell harmlessly behind the guns, seeking vainly for the waggons and teams which were drawn snugly away under a hillside on the right. another and another--bursting now on the clear space in rear of the guns between our right and left infantry columns. all the infantry were lying down, so well folded in the ground that i could only see the devons on the left. the manchesters and gordons on the right seemed to be swallowed by the veldt.
-then between the bangs of their artillery struck the hoarser bay of our own. ball after ball of white smoke alighted on the kopje--the first at the base, the second over, the third jump on the boer gun. by the fourth the boer gun flashed no more. then our guns sent forth little white balloons of shrapnel, to right, to left, higher, lower, peppering the whole face. now came rifle-fire--a few reports, and then a roll like the ungreased wheels of a farm cart. the imperial light horse was at work on the extreme right. and now as the guns pealed faster and faster we saw mounted men riding up the nearer swell of kopje and diving over the edge. shrapnel followed; some dived and came up no more.
-the guns limbered up and moved across to a nearer position towards the right. as they moved the boer gun opened again--lord, but the german gunners knew their business!--punctuating the intervals and distances of the pieces with scattering destruction. the third or fourth shell pitched clean into a labouring waggon with its double team of eight horses. it was full of shells. we held our breath for an explosion. but, when the smoke cleared, only the near wheeler was on his side, and the waggon had a wheel in the air. the batteries unlimbered and bayed again, and again the boer guns were silent. now for the attack.
-the attack was to be made on their front and their left flank--along the hog-back of the big kopje. the devons on our left formed for the front attack; the manchesters went on the right, the gordons edged out to the extreme rightward base, with the long, long boulder-freckled face above them. the guns flung shrapnel across the valley; the watchful cavalry were in leash, straining towards the enemy's flanks. it was about a quarter to five, and it seemed curiously dark for the time of day.
-no wonder--for as the men moved forward before the enemy the heavens were opened. from the eastern sky swept a sheer sheet of rain. with the first stabbing drops horses turned their heads away, trembling, and no whip or spur could bring them up to it. it drove through mackintoshes as if they were blotting-paper. the air was filled with hissing; underfoot you could see solid earth melting into mud, and mud flowing away in water. it blotted out hill and dale and enemy in one grey curtain of swooping water. you would have said that the heavens had opened to drown the wrath of man. and through it the guns still thundered and the khaki columns pushed doggedly on.
-they came to a rocky ridge about twenty feet high. they clung to cover, firing, then rose, and were among the shrill bullets again. a major was left at the bottom of that ridge, with his pipe in his mouth and a mauser bullet through his leg; his company pushed on. down again, fire again, up again, and on! another ridge won and passed--and only a more hellish hail of bullets beyond it. more men down, more men pushed into the firing line--more death-piping bullets than ever. the air was a sieve of them; they beat on the boulders like a million hammers; they tore the turf like a harrow.
-another ridge crowned, another welcoming, whistling gust of perdition, more men down, more pushed into the firing line. half the officers were down; the men puffed and stumbled on. another ridge--god! would this cursed hill never end? it was sown with bleeding and dead behind; it was edged with stinging fire before. god! would it never end? on, and get to the end of it! and now it was surely the end. the merry bugles rang out like cock-crow on a fine morning. the pipes shrieked of blood and the lust of glorious death. fix bayonets! staff officers rushed shouting from the rear, imploring, cajoling, cursing, slamming every man who could move into the line. line--but it was a line no longer. it was a surging wave of men--devons and gordons, manchester and light horse all mixed, inextricably; subalterns commanding regiments, soldiers yelling advice, officers firing carbines, stumbling, leaping, killing, falling, all drunk with battle, shoving through hell to the throat of the enemy. and there beneath our feet was the boer camp and the last boers galloping out of it. there also--thank heaven, thank heaven!--were squadrons of lancers and dragoon guards storming in among them, shouting, spearing, stamping them into the ground. cease fire!
-it was over--twelve hours of march, of reconnaissance, of waiting, of preparation, and half an hour of attack. but half an hour crammed with the life of half a lifetime.
-a victorious and helpless mob--a break-neck hillside--bringing down the wounded--a hard-worked doctor--boer prisoners--indian bearers--an irish highlander in trouble.
-ladysmith, oct. 23.
-pursuing cavalry and pursued enemy faded out of our sight; abruptly we realised that it was night. a mob of unassorted soldiers stood on the rock-sown, man-sown hillside, victorious and helpless.
-out of every quarter of the blackness leaped rough voices. "g company!" "devons here!" "imperial light horse?" "over here!" "over where?" then a trip and a heavy stumble and an oath. "doctor wanted 'ere! 'elp for a wounded orficer! damn you there! who are you fallin' up against? this is the gordon 'ighlanders--what's left of 'em."
-here and there an inkier blackness moving showed a unit that had begun to find itself again.
-but for half an hour the hillside was still a maze--a maze of bodies of men wandering they knew not whither, crossing and recrossing, circling, stopping and returning on their stumbles, slipping on smooth rock-faces, breaking shins on rough boulders, treading with hobnailed boots on wounded fingers.
-at length underfoot twinkled lights, and a strong, clear voice sailed into the confusion, "all wounded men are to be brought down to the boer camp between the two hills." towards the lights and the boer camp we turned down the face of jumbled stumbling-block. a wary kick forward, a feel below--firm rock. stop--and the firm rock spun and the leg shot into an ankle-wrenching hole. scramble out and feel again; here is a flat face--forward! and then a tug that jerks you on to your back again: you forgot you had a horse to lead, and he does not like the look of this bit. climb back again and take him by the head; still he will not budge. try again to the right. bang! goes your knee into a boulder. circle cannily round the horse to the left; here at last is something like a slope. forward horse--so, gently! hurrah! two minutes gone--a yard descended.
-by the time we stumbled down that precipice there had already passed a week of nights--and it was not yet eight o'clock. at the bottom were half-a-dozen tents, a couple of lanterns, and a dozen waggons--huge, heavy veldt-ships lumbered up with cargo. it was at least possible to tie a horse up and turn round in the sliding mud to see what next.
-what next? little enough question of that! off the break-neck hillside still dropped hoarse importunate cries. "wounded man here! doctor wanted! three of 'em here! a stretcher, for god's sake!" "a stretcher there! is there no stretcher?" there was not one stretcher within voice-shot.
-for hours--and by now it was a month of nights--every man with hands and legs toiled up and down, up and down, that ladder of pain. by heaven's grace the boers had filled their waggons with the loot of many stores; there were blankets to carry men in and mattresses whereon to lay them. they came down with sprawling bearers, with jolts and groans, with "oh, put me down; i can't stand it! i'm done anyhow; let me die quiet." and always would come back the cheery voice from doctor or officer or pal,--"done, colour-sergeant! nonsense, man! why, you'll be back to duty in a fortnight." and the answer was another choked groan.
-hour by hour--would day never break? not yet; it was just twenty minutes to ten--man by man they brought them down. the tent was carpeted now with limp bodies. with breaking backs they heaved some shoulder-high into waggons; others they laid on mattresses on the ground. in the rain-blurred light of the lantern--could it not cease, that piercing drizzle to-night of all nights at least? the doctor, the one doctor, toiled buoyantly on. cutting up their clothes with scissors, feeling with light firm fingers over torn chest or thigh, cunningly slipping round the bandage, tenderly covering up the crimson ruin of strong men--hour by hour, man by man, he toiled on.
-and mark--and remember for the rest of your lives--that tommy atkins made no distinction between the wounded enemy and his dearest friend. to the men who in the afternoon were lying down behind rocks with rifles pointed to kill him, who had shot, may be, the comrade of his heart, he gave the last drop of his water, the last drop of his melting strength, the last drop of comfort he could wring out of his seared, gallant soul. in war, they say,--and it is true,--men grow callous: an afternoon of shooting and the loss of your brother hurts you less than a week before did a thorn in your dog's foot. but it is only compassion for the dead that dries up; and as it dries, the spring wells up among good men of sympathy with all the living. a few men had made a fire in the gnawing damp and cold, and round it they sat, even the unwounded boer prisoners. for themselves they took the outer ring, and not a word did any man say that could mortify the wound of defeat. in the afternoon tommy was a hero, in the evening he was a gentleman.
-do not forget, either, the doctors of the enemy. we found their wounded with our own, and it was pardonable to be glad that whereas our men set their teeth in silence, some of theirs wept and groaned. not all, though: we found mr kok, father of the boer general and member of the transvaal executive, lying high up on the hill--a massive, white-bearded patriarch, in a black frock-coat and trousers. with simple dignity, with the right of a dying man to command, he said in his strong voice, "take me down the hill and lay me in a tent; i am wounded by three bullets." it was a bad day for the kok family: four were on the field, and all were hit. they found commandant schiel, too, the german free-lance, lying with a bullet through his thigh, near the two guns which he had served so well, and which no german or dutchman would ever serve again. then there were three field-cornets out of four, members of volksraad, two public prosecutors--heaven only knows whom! but their own doctors were among them almost as soon as were ours.
-under the red cross--under the black sky, too, and the drizzle, and the creeping cold--we stood and kicked numbed feet in the mud, and talked together of the fight. a prisoner or two, allowed out to look for wounded, came and joined in. we were all most friendly, and naturally congratulated each other on having done so well. these boers were neither sullen nor complaisant. they had fought their best, and lost; they were neither ashamed nor angry. they were manly and courteous, and through their untrimmed beards and rough corduroys a voice said very plainly, "ruling race." these boers might be brutal, might be treacherous; but they held their heads like gentlemen. tommy and the veldt peasant--a comedy of good manners in wet and cold and mud and blood!
-and so the long, long night wore on. at midnight came outlandish indians staggering under the green-curtained palanquins they call doolies: these were filled up and taken away to the elandslaagte station. at one o'clock we had the rare sight of a general under a waggon trying to sleep, and two privates on top of it rummaging for loot. one found himself a stock of gent's underwear, and contrived comforters and gloves therewith; one got his fingers into a case and ate cooking raisins. once, when a few were as near sleep as any were that night, there was a rattle and there was a clash that brought a hundred men springing up and reaching for their rifles. on the ground lay a bucket, a cooking-pot, a couple of tin plates, and knives and forks--all emptied out of a sack. on top of them descended from the waggon on high a flame-coloured shock of hair surmounting a freckled face, a covert coat, a kummerbund, and cloth gaiters. were we mad? was it an apparition, or was that under the kummerbund a bit of kilt and an end of sporran? then said a voice, "ould oireland in throuble again! oi'm an oirish highlander; i beg your pardon, sorr--and in throuble again. they tould me there was a box of cigars here; do ye know, sorr, if the bhoys have shmoked them all?"
-the home-coming from dundee.
-superfluous assistance--a smiling valley--the border mounted rifles--a rain-storm--a thirty-two miles' march--how the troops came into ladysmith.
-ladysmith, oct. 27.
-"come to meet us!" cried the staff officer with amazement in his voice; "what on earth for?"
-it was on october 25, about five miles out on the helpmakaar road, which runs east from ladysmith. by the stream below the hill he had just trotted down, and choking the pass beyond, wriggled the familiar tail of waggons and water-carts, ambulances, and doolies, and spare teams of old mules in new harness. a couple of squadrons of lancers had off-saddled by the roadside, a phalanx of horses topped with furled red and white pennons. behind them stood a battery of artillery. half a battalion of green-kilted gordons sunned their bare knees a little lower down; a company or two of manchesters back-boned the flabby convoy. the staff officer could not make out what in the world it meant.
-he had pushed on from the dundee column, but it was a childish superstition to imagine that the dundee column could possibly need assistance. they had only marched thirty odd miles on monday and tuesday; starting at four in the morning, they would by two o'clock or so have covered the seventeen miles that would bring them into camp, fifteen miles outside ladysmith. they were coming to help ladysmith, if you like; but the idea of ladysmith helping them!
-at his urgency they sent the convoy back. i rode on miles through the openest country i had yet seen hereabouts--a basin of wave-like veldt, just growing thinly green under the spring rains, spangled with budding mimosa-thorn. scarred here and there with the dry water-courses they call sluits, patched with heaves of wire-fenced down, livened with a verandah, blue cactus-hedged farmhouse or two, losing itself finally in a mazy fairyland of azure mountains--this valley was the nearest approach to what you would call a smiling country i had seen in africa.
-eight miles or so along the road i came upon the border mounted rifles, saddles off, and lolling on the grass. all farmers and transport riders from the northern frontier, lean, bearded, sun-dried, framed of steel and whipcord, sitting their horses like the riders of the elgin marbles, swift and cunning as boers, and far braver, they are the heaven-sent type of irregular troopers. it was they who had ridden out and made connection with the returning column an hour before.
-no use waiting for sensational stories among these men, going about their daily camp duties as if battles and sieges and forced marches with the enemy on your flank were the most ordinary business of life. no use waiting for fighting either; in open country the force could have knocked thousands of boers to pieces, and there was not the least chance of the boers coming to be knocked. so i rode back through the rolling veldt basin. as i passed the stream and the nek beyond the battery of artillery, the gordons and manchesters were lighting their bivouac fires. this pass, crevicing under the solid feet of two great stony kopjes, was the only place the boers would be likely to try their luck at. it was covered; already the dundee column was all right.
-presently i met the rest of the gordons, swinging along the road to crown the heights on either side the nek. coming through i noticed--and the kilted highlanders noticed, too, they were staying out all night--that the sky over ladysmith was very black. the great inky stain of cloud spread and ran up the heavens, then down to the whole circumference. in five minutes it was night and rain-storm. it stung like a whip-lash; to meet it was like riding into a wall. ladysmith streets were ankle deep in half an hour; the camps were morass and pond. and listening to the ever-fresh bursts hammering all the evening on to deepening pools, we learned that the dundee men had not camped after all, had marched at six, and were coming on all night into ladysmith. thirty-two miles without rest, through stinging cataract and spongy loam and glassy slime!
-before next morning was grey in came the 1st rifles. they plashed uphill to their blue-roofed huts on the south-west side of the town. by the time the sun was up they were fed by their sister battalion, the 2nd, and had begun to unwind their putties. but what a sight! their putties were not soaked and not caked; say, rather, that there may have been a core of puttie inside, but that the men's legs were embedded in a serpentine cast of clay. as for their boots, you could only infer them from the huge balls of stratified mud men bore round their feet. red mud, yellow mud, black mud, brown mud--they lifted their feet toilsomely; they were land plummets that had sucked up specimens of all the heavy, sticky soils for fifteen miles. officers and men alike bristled stiff with a week's beard. rents in their khaki showed white skin; from their grimed hands and heads you might have judged them half red men, half soot-black. eyelids hung fat and heavy over hollow cheeks and pointed cheek-bones. only the eye remained--the sky-blue, steel-keen, hard, clear, unconquerable english eye--to tell that thirty-two miles without rest, four days without a square meal, six nights--for many--without a stretch of sleep, still found them soldiers at the end.
-that was the beginning of them; but they were not all in till the middle of the afternoon--which made thirty-six hours on their legs. the irish fusiliers tramped in at lunch-time, going a bit short some of them, nearly all a trifle stiff on the feet, but solid, square, and sturdy from the knees upward. they straightened up to the cheers that met them, and stepped out on scorching feet as if they were ready to go into action again on the instant. after them came the guns--not the sleek creatures of laffan's plain, rough with earth and spinning mud from their wheels, but war-worn and fresh from slaughter; you might imagine their damp muzzles were dripping blood. you could count the horses' ribs; they looked as if you could break them in half before the quarters. but they, too, knew they were being cheered; they threw their ears up and flung all the weight left them into the traces.
-through fire, water, and earth, the dundee column had come home again.
-the story of nicholson's nek.
-an attenuated mess--a regiment 220 strong--a miserable story--the white flag--boer kindness--ashamed for england.
-the sodden tents hung dankly, black-grey in the gusty, rainy morning. at the entrance to the camp stood a sentry; half-a-dozen privates moved to and fro. perhaps half-a-dozen were to be seen in all--the same hard, thick-set bodies that ladysmith had cheered six days before as they marched in, square-shouldered through the mud, from dundee. the same bodies--but the elastic was out of them and the brightness was not in their eyes. but for these few, though it was an hour after reveillé, the camp was cold and empty. it was the camp of the royal irish fusiliers.
-an officer appeared from the mess-tent--pale and pinched. i saw him when he came in from dundee with four sleepless nights behind him; this morning he was far more haggard. inside were one other officer, the doctor, and the quarter-master. that was all the mess, except a second lieutenant, a boy just green from sandhurst. he had just arrived from england, aflame for his first regiment and his first campaign. and this was the regiment he found.
-a miserable tale is best told badly. on the night of sunday, october 29, no. 10 mountain battery, four and a half companies of the gloucestershire regiment, and six of the royal irish fusiliers--some 1000 men in all--were sent out to seize a nek some seven miles north-west of ladysmith. at daybreak they were to operate on the enemy's right flank--the parallel with majuba is grimly obvious--in conjunction with an attack from ladysmith on his centre and right. they started. at half-past ten they passed through a kind of defile, the boers a thousand feet above them following every movement by ear, if not by eye. by some means--either by rocks rolled down on them or other hostile agency, or by sheer bad luck--the small-arm ammunition mules were stampeded. they dashed back on to the battery mules; there was alarm, confusion, shots flying--and the battery mules stampeded also.
-on that the officer in command appears to have resolved to occupy the nearest hill. he did so, and the men spent the hours before dawn in protecting themselves by schanzes or breastworks of stones. at dawn, about half-past four, they were attacked, at first lightly. there were two companies of the gloucesters in an advanced position; the rest, in close order, occupied a high point on the kopje; to line the whole summit, they say, would have needed 10,000 men. behind the schanzes the men, shooting sparely because of the loss of the reserve ammunition, at first held their own with little loss.
-but then, as our ill-luck or boer good management would have it, there appeared over a hill a new boer commando, which a cool eye-witness put at over 2000 strong. they divided and came into action, half in front, half from the kopjes in rear, shooting at 1000 yards into the open rear of the schanzes. men began to fall. the two advanced companies were ordered to fall back; up to now they had lost hardly a man, but once in the open they suffered. the boers in rear picked up the range with great accuracy.
-and then--and then again, that cursed white flag!
-it is some sneaking consolation that for a long time the soldiers refused to heed it. careless now of life, they were sitting up well behind their breastworks, altering their sights, aiming coolly by the half-minute together. at the nadir of their humiliation they could still sting--as that new-come boer found who, desiring one englishman to his bag before the end, thrust up his incautious head to see where they were, and got a bullet through it. some of them said they lost their whole firing-line; others no more than nine killed and sixteen wounded.
-but what matters it whether they lost one or one million? the cursed white flag was up again over a british force in south africa. the best part of a thousand british soldiers, with all their arms and equipment and four mountain guns, were captured by the enemy. the boers had their revenge for dundee and elandslaagte in war; now they took it, full measure, in kindness. as atkins had tended their wounded and succoured their prisoners there, so they tended and succoured him here. one commandant wished to send the wounded to pretoria; the others, more prudent as well as more humane, decided to send them back into ladysmith. they gave the whole men the water out of their own bottles; they gave the wounded the blankets off their own saddles and slept themselves on the naked veldt. they were short of transport, and they were mostly armed with martinis; yet they gave captured mules for the hospital panniers and captured lee-metfords for splints. a man was rubbing a hot sore on his head with a half-crown; nobody offered to take it from him. some of them asked soldiers for their embroidered waist-belts as mementoes of the day. "it's got my money in it," replied tommy--a little surly, small wonder--and the captor said no more.
-then they set to singing doleful hymns of praise under trees. apparently they were not especially elated. they believed that sir george white was a prisoner, and that we were flying in rout from ladysmith. they said that they had rhodes shut up in kimberley, and would hang him when they caught him. that on their side--and on ours? we fought them all that morning in a fight that for the moment may wait. at the end, when the tardy truth could be withheld no more--what shame! what bitter shame for all the camp! all ashamed for england! not of her--never that!--but for her. once more she was a laughter to her enemies.
-the guns at rietfontein.
-a column on the move--the nimble guns--garrison gunners at work--the veldt on fire--effective shrapnel--the value of the engagement.
-ladysmith, oct. 26.
-the business of the last few days has been to secure the retreat of the column from dundee. on monday, the 23rd, the whisper began to fly round ladysmith that colonel yule's force had left town and camp, and was endeavouring to join us. on tuesday it became certainty.
-altogether, two regiments of cavalry--5th lancers and 19th hussars--the 42nd and 53rd field batteries and 10th mountain battery, four infantry battalions--devons, liverpools, gloucesters, and 2nd king's royal rifles--the imperial light horse, and the natal volunteers. once more, it was fighting. the head of the column had come within three miles or so of modderspruit station. the valley there is broad and open. on the left runs the wire-fenced railway; beyond it the land rises to a high green mountain called tinta inyoni. on the left front is a yet higher green mountain, double-peaked, called matawana's hoek. some call the place jonono's, others rietfontein; the last is perhaps the least outlandish.
-the force moved steadily on towards modderspruit, one battalion in front of the guns. "tell hamilton to watch his left flank," said one in authority. "the enemy are on both those hills." sure enough, there on the crest, there dotted on the sides, were the moving black mannikins that we have already come to know afar as boers. presently the dotted head and open files of a battalion emerged from behind the guns, changing direction half-left to cover their flank. the batteries pushed on with the one battalion ahead of them. it was half-past eight, and brilliant sunshine; the air was dead still; through the clefts of the nearer hills the blue peaks of the drakensberg looked as if you could shout across to them.
-boom! the sound we knew well enough; the place it came from was the left shoulder of matawana's hoek; the place it would arrive at we waited, half anxious, half idly curious, to see. whirr--whizz--e-e-e-e--phutt! heavens, on to the very top of a gun! for a second the gun was a whirl of blue-white smoke, with grey-black figures struggling and plunging inside it. then the figures grew blacker and the smoke cleared--and in the name of wonder the gun was still there. only a subaltern had his horse's blood on his boot, and his haversack ripped to rags.
-but there was no time to look on that or anything else but the amazing nimbleness of the guns. at the shell--even before it--they flew apart like ants from a watering-can. from, crawling reptiles they leaped into scurrying insects--the legs of the eight horses pattering as if they belonged all to one creature, the deadly sting in the tail leaping and twitching with every movement. one battery had wheeled about, and was drawn back at wide intervals facing the boer hill. another was pattering swiftly under cover of a ridge leftward; the leading gun had crossed the railway; the last had followed; the battery had utterly disappeared. boom! whirr--whizz--e-e-e-e--phutt! the second boer shell fell stupidly, and burst in the empty veldt. then bang!--from across the railway--e-e-e-e--whizz--whirr--silence--and then the little white balloon just over the place the boer shell came from. it was twenty-five minutes to nine.
-in a double chorus of bangs and booms the infantry began to deploy. gloucesters and devons wheeled half left off the road, split into firing line and supports in open order, trampled through the wire fences over the railway. in front of the boer position, slightly commanded on the left flank by tinta inyoni, was a low, stony ridge; this the gloucesters lined on the left. the devons, who led the column, fell naturally on to the right of the line; liverpools and rifles backed up right and left. but almost before they were there arrived the irrepressible, ubiquitous guns. they had silenced the enemy's guns; they had circled round the left till they came under cover of the ridge; now they strolled up, unlimbered, and thrust their grim noses over the brow. and then--whew! their appearance was the signal for a cataract of bullets that for the moment in places almost equalled the high-lead mark of elandslaagte. the air whistled and hummed with them--and then the guns began.
-the mountain guns came up on their mules--a drove of stupid, uncontrolled creatures, you would have said, lumbered up with the odds and ends of an ironworks and a waggon-factory. but the moment they were in position the gunners swarmed upon them, and till you have seen the garrison gunners working you do not know what work means. in a minute the scrap-heaps had flow together into little guns, hugging the stones with their low bellies, jumping at the enemy as the men lay on to the ropes. the detachments all cuddled down to their guns; a man knelt by the ammunition twenty paces in rear; the mules by now were snug under cover. "two thousand," sang out the major. the no. 1 of each gun held up something like a cross, as if he were going through a religious rite, altered the elevation delicately, then flung up his hand and head stiffly, like a dog pointing. "number 4"--and number 4 gun hurled out fire and filmy smoke, then leaped back, half frightened at its own fury, half anxious to get a better view of what it had done. it was a little over. "nineteen hundred," cried the major. same ritual, only a little short. "nineteen fifty"--and it was just right. therewith field and mountain guns, yard by yard, up and down, right and left, carefully, methodically, though roughly, sowed the whole of matawana's hoek with bullets.
-it was almost magical the way the boer fire dropped. the guns came into action about a quarter-past nine, and for an hour you would hardly have known they were there. whenever a group put their heads over the sky-line 1950 yards away there came a round of shrapnel to drive them to earth again. presently the hillside turned pale blue--blue with the smoke of burning veldt. then in the middle of the blue came a patch of black, and spread and spread till the huge expanse was all black, pocked with the khaki-coloured boulders and bordered with the blue of the ever-extending fire. god help any wounded enemy who lay there!
-crushed into the face of the earth by the guns, the enemy tried to work round our left from tinta inyoni. they tried first at about a quarter-past ten, but the natal volunteers and some of the imperial light horse met them. we heard the rattle of their rifles; we heard the rap-rap-rap-rap-rap of their maxim knocking at the door, and the boer fire stilled again. the boer gun had had another try at the volunteers before, but a round or two of shrapnel sent it to kennel again. so far we had seemed to be losing nothing, and it was natural to suppose that the boers were losing a good deal. but at a quarter-past eleven the gloucesters pushed a little too far between the two hills, and learned that the boers, if their bark was silent for the moment, could still bite. suddenly there shot into them a cross-fire at a few hundred yards. down went the colonel dead; down went fifty men.
-for a second a few of the rawer hands in the regiment wavered; it might have been serious. but the rest clung doggedly to their position under cover; the officers brought the flurried men up to the bit again. the mountain guns turned vengeful towards the spot whence the fire came, and in a few minutes there was another spreading, blackening patch of veldt--and silence.
-from then the action nickered on till half-past one. time on time the enemy tried to be at us, but the imperious guns rebuked him, and he was still. at length the regiments withdrew. the hot guns limbered up and left rietfontein to burn itself out. the sweating gunners covered the last retiring detachment, then lit their pipes. the boers made a half-hearted attempt to get in both on left and right; but the volunteers on the left, the cavalry on the right, a shell or two from the centre, checked them as by machinery. we went back to camp unhampered.
-and at the end of it all we found that in those five hours of straggling bursts of fighting we had lost, killed and wounded, 116 men. and what was the good? asked doubting thomas. much. to begin with, the boers must have lost heavily; they confessed that aloud by the fact that, for all their pluck in standing up to the guns, they made no attempt to follow us home. second, and more important, this commando was driven westward, and others were drawn westward to aid it--and the dundee force was marching in from the east. dragging sore feet along the miry roads they heard the guns at rietfontein and were glad. the seeming objectless cannonade secured the unharassed home-coming of the 4000 way-weary marchers from dundee.
-long tom--a family of harmless monsters--our inferiority in guns--the sensations of a bombardment--a little custom blunts sensibility.
-"good morning," banged four-point-seven; "have you used long tom?"
-"crack-k--whiz-z-z," came the riving answer, "we have."
-"whish-h--patter, patter," chimed in a cloud-high shrapnel from bulwan. it was half-past seven in the morning of november 7; the real bombardment, the terrific symphony, had begun.
-during the first movement the leading performer was long tom. he is a friendly old gun, and for my part i have none but the kindest feelings towards him. it was his duty to shell us, and he did; but he did it in an open, manly way.
-behind the half-country of light red soil they had piled up round him you could see his ugly phiz thrust up and look hungrily around. a jet of flame and a spreading toad-stool of thick white smoke told us he had fired. on the flash four-point-seven banged his punctilious reply. you waited until you saw the black smoke jump behind the red mound, and then tom was due in a second or two. a red flash--a jump of red-brown dust and smoke--a rending-crash: he had arrived. then sang slowly through the air his fragments, like wounded birds. you could hear them coming, and they came with dignified slowness: there was plenty of time to get out of the way.
-until we capture long tom--when he will be treated with the utmost consideration--i am not able to tell you exactly what brand of gun he may be. it is evident from his conservative use of black powder, and the old-gentlemanly staidness of his movements, that he is an elderly gun. his calibre appears to be six inches. from the plunging nature of his fire, some have conjectured him a sort of howitzer, but it is next to certain he is one of the sixteen 15-cm. creusot guns bought for the forts of pretoria and johannesburg. anyhow, he conducted his enforced task with all possible humanity.
-on this same 7th a brother long tom, by the name of fiddling jimmy, opened on the manchesters and cæsar's camp from a flat-topped kopje three or four miles south of them. this gun had been there certainly since the 3rd, when it shelled our returning reconnaissance; but he, too, was a gentle creature, and did little harm to anybody. next day a third brother, puffing billy, made a somewhat bashful first appearance on bulwan. four rounds from the four-point-seven silenced him for the day. later came other brothers, of whom you will hear in due course.
-in general you may say of the long tom family that their favourite habitat is among loose soil on the tops of open hills; they are slow and unwieldy, and very open in all their actions. they are good shooting guns; tom on the 7th made a day's lovely practice all round our battery. they are impossible to disable behind their huge epaulements unless you actually hit the gun, and they are so harmless as hardly to be worth disabling.
-altogether they were very judiciously handled, though erring perhaps in not firing persistently enough at any one target. but, despite their great altitude, the range--at least 6000 yards--and the great height at which they burst their time shrapnel made them also comparatively harmless.
-there were also one or two of their field-guns opposite the manchesters on the flat-topped hill, one, i fancy, with long tom on pepworth's hill, and a few others on the northern part of lombard's kop and on surprise hill to the north-westward.
-westward, on telegraph hill, was a gun which appeared to prey exclusively on cattle. i am afraid it was one of our own mountain guns turned cannibal. the cattle, during the siege, had of course to pasture on any waste land inside the lines they could find, and gathered in dense, distractingly noisy herds; but though this gun was never tired of firing on the mobs, i do not think he ever got more than one calf.
-there was a gun on lombard's kop called silent susan--so called because the shell arrived before the report--a disgusting habit in a gun. the menagerie was completed by the pompons, of which there were at least three. this noisome beast always lurks in thick bush, whence it barks chains of shell at the unsuspecting stranger. fortunately its shell is small, and it is as timid as it is poisonous.
-altogether, with three long toms, a 5-inch howitzer, silent susan, about a dozen 12-pounders, four of our screw guns, and three maxim automatics, they had about two dozen guns on us. against that we had two 47-inch--named respectively lady ann and bloody mary--four naval 12-pounders, thirty-six field-guns, the two remaining mountain guns, an old 64-pounder, and a 3-inch quickfirer--these two on cæsar's camp in charge of the durban naval volunteers--two old howitzers, and two maxim-nordenfeldts taken at krugersdorp in the jameson raid, and retaken at elandslaagte,--fifty pieces in all.
-on paper, therefore, we had a great advantage. but we had to economise them in four rows on the far side of the fence.
-"is it a task job?" we asked.
-the sergeant did not know.
-"what did they make us bring our shovels for?"
-a voice, mocking such a naïve questioner, answered:
-"don't yer know the army be now?"
-we broke down a section of the fence. two men were assigned to each stack. they loaded each sleeper on to the shoulders of a couple of men who carried it across the railway lines into the field, where it would be received and stacked by other men.
-hour by hour we trudged to and fro in pairs, bearing our wet and heavy loads. we lost consciousness of everything except driving snow, squelching mud, aching backs and sore shoulders. when one shoulder became so sore that mere contact with our load was intensely painful, we changed over to the other, until that too became bruised, and then we would change back again. and so on, hour by hour.
-our legs seemed as heavy as lead and yet they seemed to move of their own accord without any effort of the will. our minds became blurred and numb--a numbness that was broken from time to time by a sharp stab of pain whenever a sleeper was placed across our shoulders.
-"for christ's sake, let's 'ave a blow," said my partner suddenly.
-i looked at my watch. it was a quarter-past ten--nearly two hours more till lunch!
-we observed that only a small number of men were working, and my partner blurted out:
-the wearisome, monotonous trudge began again. as the first stacks disappeared the journey became longer and longer. i again looked at my watch--it was twenty to eleven. the quarter-past ten seemed several hours ago! the way the time dragged drove us to despair. but there was no escape--we had to live through every minute of this dismal day.
-my partner and i worked on in silence. gradually the men slackened their pace and tried to miss their turn. we did the same. others, who were behind us, followed suit, refusing to do more than their share. our progress became slower and slower until at length it stopped altogether. there was a long straggling queue in front of the half-demolished stack. the first pair of men refused to take the sleeper held in readiness for them, protesting that there were others who ought to have gone before, and the others refused to work until the first two had taken their turn. a deadlock ensued and then a sergeant came up with "what's the matter now? this ain't a bleed'n' picnic! don't yer know there's a war on? yer like a lot o' school kids. go an' get a bloody move on!"
-it was good to have an hour's rest before us. as for the afternoon, well, there was no need to think about it, for it was still a long way off. besides, somehow or other, the afternoons always seemed to pass more quickly than the mornings. moreover, we had paraded an hour earlier than usual, so perhaps we would also stop work an hour earlier.
-"'urry up an' dror yer tea," our sergeant shouted. "yer only gettin' 'alf an hour fur yer dinner--we've got ter git the job done ter-day."
-"why didn' yer tell us it was a task job? gorblimy--we ain't done 'alf of it! we won't get 'ome afore five or six o'clock ter-night."
-"i can't 'elp it, 'tain't my fault. yer've got ter git it done, them's me orders!"
-there was vociferous grumbling and swearing that continued while we formed a queue and filed past a man who poured tea in our mugs from three large dixies.
-we sat down by the stacks wherever we could find shelter from the wind. we were still hot and perspiring after our morning's labours. we ate our rations in silence, for the resentful shouting had died down and had given way to a sullen quiet.
-when we had finished our meal we stared vacantly at the snowflakes that were blown over the top of the stack above our heads and whirled round and round in front of our eyes. gradually we began to feel the cold again. many of us got up and walked about, for it was nipping our feet. i was stiff in every limb and full of bitter thoughts. i hoped the half-hour would be over soon.
-at length the sergeant blew the whistle and shouted:
-"fall in! yer'd better put a jerk in it--yer won't go till yer've finished. it's a task job. yer didn't shift 'alf the sleepers this mornin'--there's another couple o' thousand left, so get a bloody move on!"
-the grumbling was renewed in the ranks.
-"it's no good yer bloody well grousin'. the work's got ter be done. carry on!"
-our tedious round began again. the distance from the old stacks to the new increased steadily. we tramped through mud and slush in wind and snow, hour by hour.
-"i'm goin' ter 'ave a rest--i've 'ad enough o' this," said my partner. i felt annoyed, for although i was stiff and tired and sore, i had again relapsed into that state of dulled sensibility in which my limbs seemed to move automatically and time to have no existence at all. although i was aware of pain i was yet indifferent to it. and now my partner was going to drag me back to full consciousness. i gave way to his wish and we leaned against a stack. we stayed there with several others until we were discovered by a corporal who chased us out and abused us roundly.
-we went on with our work. the brief rest had only done harm, for the first sleeper that was subsequently laid on to my shoulders produced such a pang that i had to close my eyes for a moment. nor could i set my stiff limbs in motion without difficulty. i silently cursed my partner.
-the dreary hours dragged on. i tried hard to fall back into my former state of blurred consciousness, but the very attempt itself frustrated the effort. i was full of growing resentment against my partner. my dormant anger was aroused, it had found an object and, against all reason and fairness, demanded vengeance. i pretended to stumble and jerked the sleeper so as to hurt his bruised shoulder.
-"'ere, what yer doin' of?" he shouted, in great pain. "christ almighty--be a bit careful!"
-in a moment i regretted what i had done and said, "sorry, i stumbled over something--i hope i didn't hurt you!" i felt ashamed and all my resentment vanished. thereupon i became too oppressed in spirit even to look at my watch.
-we had been splashing and squelching to and fro, i did not know how long, when an officer arrived. he stood still for a moment and watched us work, and then he said:
-"the job's got to be done this afternoon, my lads, but i'll try to get you a day off to-morrow. who's in charge of the party?"
-we pointed to sergeant hyndman. he was sitting in an improvised shelter in front of a fire, sipping hot tea. he had spent the greater part of the day there and had not observed the arrival of the officer, who was walking slowly towards him. suddenly he jumped up and there was an exchange of words which we could not hear, although we tried hard to do so. the sergeant came over to us, looking rather disconcerted, so we were able to guess the nature of the conversation.
-we felt greatly encouraged and worked with renewed vigour. the stacks vanished one by one. time appeared to slip by with gathering speed. a kind of common rhythm seemed to pervade our movements as we plodded to and fro with mechanical regularity.
-the officer went up to the stacks from which we were removing the sleepers and made a mental calculation. "only four hundred sleepers left now, boys--that's five apiece or ten to each pair. you'll soon be finished, and i've ordered lorries to take you home!"
-his kindness did us good and we worked with a kind of grim determination. my partner was coming to the end of his strength. his knees were bent and from time to time he staggered, jerking the sleeper so as to make me wince with pain. but he kept up obstinately. we counted the sleepers as we received them--one, two, three and so on. this occupied our minds and the time passed all the more quickly. eight ... nine ... ten! at last our work was done! "thank god," said my partner with deep conviction. we rested against one of the newly erected stacks, but it was not long before sergeant hyndman came striding up and addressed us angrily. he had evidently been snubbed by the officer and was giving relief to his mortification by bullying us.
-"what yer doin' there? swingin' it on yer mates, are yer? call yerselves sportsmen, do yer? get back an' bloody well do yer bit!"
-"we've done our share--there were four hundred sleepers left, which makes ten journeys for each pair. if it doesn't work out it's because some of the others have been swinging the lead behind the stacks. we've carried our ten and aren't going to do any more."
-"why d'yer let 'em swing it on yer? it's yer own bleed'n' fault! d'yer think i'm goin' ter stand over yer all day? some o' you blokes is as 'elpless as a lot o' kids--yer want a wet nurse to look arter yer!"
-"that's what you're there for, to look after us!"
-"don't bloody well tell me what i'm there for! i know me job an' don't want no tellin'. get stuck into it an' don't let me 'ave any o' yer bloody lip, else yer'll be up fur orderly room--i shan't give yer another warnin'!"
-seeing that argument was useless, we walked away and crossed the railway lines. my partner growled: "i 'ope i meet 'im in civvy life--i'll give 'im somethin' ter think about--i've seen better things'n what 'e is crorlin' about in cheese!"
-there were fifty or sixty sleepers left. we dawdled on our way back, hoping that there would be enough men in front of us to clear the lot. the officer shouted: "come along, my lads, sharp's the word and quick's the action! you'll be finished in a few minutes."
-the khaki-clad flock straggled forward. the remaining sleepers were loaded on to our shoulders--my partner and i received the last one. as we carried it off a cheer was raised by the other men.
-at last the whistle blew and we fell in. the sky was still covered with dark, heavy clouds, but the snow had ceased to fall and the wind had dropped. we could see the dreary landscape a little better now. the railway lines curved away until, in the far distance, they ran into a ghostly procession of tall, slim poplars that filed across the dim horizon and marked the passage of a main road. on one side of the lines long rows of dark squares in the snow showed where the sleepers had lain before we moved them. a brown stretch of churned and trodden mud and water connected them with the new stacks that extended in four rows along the other side of the lines. we had shifted five thousand eight hundred sleepers in all. around us were level, snow-covered fields unrelieved by anything except an occasional tree and the farm. it consisted of three buildings, a house and two big barns, forming three sides of a square. the cottage had a low, thatched roof, dirty, whitewashed walls, and green shutters. in the middle of the square was a huge muck heap, covered with patches of melting snow. a pig was pushing its snout into it here and there and grunting from time to time. there was no other sign of life anywhere. a dreary, depressing landscape!
-"remember belgium!" said one of the men in the ranks derisively.
-"we won't forget it in a hurry!"
-"fritz can have it for all i care!"
-"he's welcome to it--i don't want it, i want to get back to blighty!"
-we were called to attention. the promised lorries were waiting for us--three lorries for eighty men. we marched towards them in file, but as we got nearer to them, the men broke rank and everybody rushed wildly to get in first so as to secure any available boxes or petrol-tins that might serve as seats. a noisy, turbulent throng clustered round each lorry. we scrambled in, pushing, hustling, and swearing. we were soon so crowded together that there seemed to be no room for any more, but nevertheless more men climbed up and forced an entrance. we formed a compact mass and our picks and shovels were heaped on the floor in everybody's way.
-the lorries started with a lurch so that we all staggered backwards. they raced along, and bumped, and swayed from side to side. the roof of the lorry in which i stood was so low that i had to keep my head bent forward all the time. the fumes from the exhaust made our eyes water and smart.
-we reached camp after about half an hour's ride. we jumped out and lined up on the road. sergeant hyndman perceived the commanding officer strolling about amongst the tents and said to us in an awe-stricken voice:
-"smarten up a bit, for christ's sake--there's the captin walkin' about--don't make no bloomers when yer dismissin' else yer'll get extra shovel-drill an' get me into trouble in the bargin. mind yer salute prop'ly.... party--tshn! inter file, right turn! quick march!"
-we wheeled into the camp holding our picks and shovels at the trail. our commanding officer stood still and watched us. as we passed him the sergeant yelled out with unaccustomed sharpness: "eyes--right!" we all turned our heads smartly to the right and he saluted with strained, affected precision. the captain touched the peak of his cap in a perfunctory manner. he hardly seemed to be looking at us at all, but suddenly he spotted a man who was not holding his shovel perfectly horizontally and thundered:
-"hold your shovel properly, that man there!"
-the man was disconcerted for a moment but soon re-adjusted his shovel to the satisfaction of his superior. the ground was so muddy and uneven that it was sometimes impossible to keep the exact military formation. without having noticed it, i was a little more than the regulation distance from the man in front of me.
-"close in there, you with the glasses," bawled the captain in a resentful voice, as though my transgression were intended as a personal insult. but his anger was diverted by another man and he shouted with gathering fury:
-"that tall man over there--hold your pick properly. not like that, damn it ... hold it at the point of balance--no, no, no, not like that ... here, sergeant, take that man's name and number and give it to the corporal of the police. he'll do half an hour's extra shovel-drill this evening."
-we halted. the sergeant made a note of the offender's name and then said to us in an awestruck whisper: "now mind yer dismiss prop'ly for christ's sake!"
-we faced to the front and on the command "dismiss!" we all turned to the right, raised our picks and shovels and transferred them from our right hands to our left, touched the peaks of our caps with our right hands, turning the palms outwards, paused a moment and then broke away.
-"fall in, fall in--very bad, very bad, absolutely disgraceful!" bawled our infuriated c.o. "if you don't do it correctly this time, you'll get an hour's extra drill every day for a week! now dismiss them again, sergeant!"
-the prospect of extra drill filled us with dismay. sore shouldered, stiff, and aching in every limb, oppressed and wearied in mind and body, we only had one intense desire--to get away, to hide somewhere, to enjoy at least a brief spell of warmth and comfort.
-the sergeant gave the command, and we dismissed a second time. we went through the absurd performance with anxious punctiliousness, but three men, either through fear, weariness or carelessness, made some slight mistakes and their names were taken for extra drill.
-as soon as the men were off the parade ground there was a wild stampede in the direction of the cook-house.
-the scramble became a mad hustle. the men raced along the duckboards or splashed through the mud in a frantic attempt to get served first, pulling their mess-tins and plates out of their haversacks as they ran.
-it was growing dark and a few snowflakes were floating about in the air. the sky was a murky leaden colour.
-as i stood waiting in the dinner queue i had an imaginary fight with our commanding officer. i knocked him down and gloated over him as he lay sprawling in the mud with my hand savagely clutching his throat. our pent up feelings often found relief in vindictive dreams.
-but the front of the cook-house was still closed. the men grew impatient and banged their plates and tins. there were shouts of "get a move on." fretful, smouldering impatience increased until it flared up in anger. "get a bloody move on--we want somethin' ter eat after a 'ard day's work!... we've got a fine bloody lot o' cooks, keepin' us waitin' in the bloody cold--get a move on, for christ's sake!"
-the shout was taken up all along the line--"get a bloody move on"--and tins and plates were banged until the uproar was deafening. it gradually died down again, although curses and resentful remarks were still frequent.
-"'tain't worth eatin' when yer do get it!"
-"bleed'n' stew, i s'pose, 'nough ter make yer go queer!"
-"i wouldn't feed me dog on the stuff they give yer in the army--i wouldn't 'ave the cheek ter orfer it to 'im."
-"come on ... put a jerk in it"--the cry was taken up again. there was hooting and booing and banging of plates until pandemonium reigned once more.
-suddenly the shutter in front of the cook-house was pushed up and one of the cooks appeared in the opening. the booing changed into loud, ironical cheers:
-"what yer bin doin' all day? swingin' the lead?"
-a squeaky voice retorted: "i've bin up since four in the mornin' workin' a bloody sight 'arder 'n what you 'ave. yer never satisfied, yer bleed'n' lot o'...." the rest was drowned in a storm of derisive shouts.
-then the men in the queue took up the argument again.
-"yer too slow--yer could'n catch the measles!"
-"you come an' do my job an' see 'ow yer like it!"
-"do your job! no bloody fear, why, 'tain't a man's job at all, it's only old women what goes inter the cook-'ouse."
-"go on, get a move on--don't stand there talkin'!"
-another cook appeared. he dipped his ladle into a receptacle behind the till and emptied into the first man's plate. the next man held out his plate, and then the next. the cumbrous serpent moved forward inch by inch while a counter movement began of men straggling back through the slush, holding up tins or plates of steaming stew.
-two candles were burning inside my tent. the men were sitting on their kits. the noisy manner in which they ate was irritating beyond measure.
-after the meal i went over to the tent of a friend. he was sitting by a flickering candle in moody silence. i asked him to come with me to the village. he put on his great-coat and we walked along the duckboards on to the road. it was intensely dark and we were conscious of the silent fall of snow.
-"what sort of a day did you have?" i asked.
-all the windows in the streets of the village were shuttered, but the light shone through cracks and chinks--a promise of warmth within that cheered us a little.
-we stepped out into the darkness. the snow had turned into rain that fell in a steady drizzle. i was so tired that i had no desire left except to get back to my tent.
-"i wonder how much longer this is going to last?" i said to my friend.
-"i've given up hoping. the war's a deadlock that may continue for years. all i look forward to now is the spring and the warm weather. and perhaps we shall get leave some day."
-"we've only been out here six weeks--we won't get leave for another eight or nine months."
-"it's something to think about and look forward to, anyhow."
-we said good-night to each other and retired to our tents. most of the men were already in bed. they were smoking their cigarettes as they lay stretched out on the floor. one of them was reading a newspaper by candlelight. i wrapped myself up in my blankets and wedged myself tightly in between my two neighbours. although i was wearied out, i felt compelled to glance at a paper. there might perhaps be some hint of peace, some little glimmer of hope to go to sleep with and dream about. i took up my copy of the times which i received irregularly. i began to read the leading article but was so irritated by its unctuous hypocrisy that i turned the page over and scanned the headlines. suddenly a big drop of water splashed on to it. i became aware of the rain outside, swishing down upon the canvas, and, looking up, i saw a glistening patch of moisture collect above my head. another heavy drop descended, i stretched out my arm and pushing my fist against the wet patch drew it down the canvas as far as the brailing. but the moisture continued to gather, and soon it was dripping in many places. my kit-bag, standing upright next to me, was getting wet, so i placed the times over it and let the water trickle off towards the ditch. then a man shouted from the other side of the tent:
-"it's coming through like anything, my whole pillow's sopping wet."
-the man referred to was rather refined and had resisted the habit of swearing far longer than any of us. i was amused, and my own equanimity, which had been on the verge of collapse, was restored by this incident.
-i was conscious of irresistible weariness and called out with a yawn: "good night all," and the answer came "good-night!" then i heard someone singing ironically: "when you come to the end of a perfect day." i began to feel warm and was filled with a sense of intense comfort. i could hear the water dripping on to my coat, but i had become indifferent to it. my limbs were so tired that to rest them was an exquisite luxury. and then sleep came with a sudden, overwhelming rush.
-we felt refreshed and yet indolent when we heard the steps of the police corporal splashing through the mud at half-past five the next morning. he banged the tent and shouted: "reveillé--breakfast at six, parade at six-thirty." we enjoyed a few minutes in bed. i ran my fingers through my hair and found that it was soaked. my pillow--a shirt stuffed with spare clothing--was wet also, but the rain was no longer beating down on the canvas. the air inside the tent was pervaded by a foul, acrid stench. i threw the flap aside and looked out. the vast expanse of steely blue was dotted with glittering stars and on the eastern horizon it merged into a faint pallor. the air was deliciously fresh. we got up one by one, yawning, groaning and grumbling, and dressed and went out to wash.
-as i stood in the breakfast queue i saw that the east was shot with a delicate rose colour. the purity of the dawn seemed extraordinarily beautiful compared with the sordid dinginess of the mud and khaki that were always with us.
-we paraded, but at first the parade did not seem so tedious as usual. i was in the rearmost rank, standing next to a friend, private cowan, and we were able to converse in whispers. he remarked that the morning was like a "symphony in blue and gold." even the glistening mud, usually so hideous, was flecked with luminous patches. but my feet were becoming numb and cold again. i felt that the pain they were giving me was about to deprive me of all pleasure in the rising sun to which i had been looking forward ever since reveillé. i fought against it, but it was stronger than i. i became angry and trod the mud in order to get warm. i gave up the attempt and waited impatiently for the end of the parade. when the sun's rim cut the horizon and sent a shaft of light across the land, it merely irritated me.
-three lorries arrived, our party was called out, we left the parade ground and scrambled into them. they quickly bore us to the place where we had worked the day before.
-the sun was shining brightly. the long rows of stacked sleepers stretched out before us. we wondered what our work would be. someone suggested we would have to restack the sleepers in their former places and we did not consider the suggestion absurd.
-our sergeant had gone to get instructions. he returned and told us a mistake had been made the day before. we nearly groaned with apprehension. he leered at us and did not, for a moment, say what the mistake had been. then he told us:
-"it's all right, me lads. i was only pullin' yer legs a bit. yer needn't get the wind up, yer 'aven't got ter put 'em back. this is what 'as 'appened. yer was supposed ter spend two days on the job an' yesterday yer did two days' work in one. i see the officer about it an' 'e says yer worked bloody fine an' says 'e won't 'ave yer workin' ter day although there's plenty o' other things ter do. 'e says yer ter go back ter camp an' 'ave a good rest. 'e ain't 'alf a toff, i tell yer."
-this announcement was followed by loud cheers. we scrambled back into the lorries. everyone was jubilant at the prospect of having a holiday, and there was shouting and singing as the lorries sped along. we reached the camp and jumped out. we were dismayed at seeing our commanding officer walking about and conversing with the sergeant-major.
-as we marched into the camp the c.o. said to our sergeant: "where've these men come from?" the sergeant explained. "they've got the day off, have they? kit inspection at ten o'clock!"
-our hearts sank and several of the men muttered something between their teeth. our sergeant, however, screwed up a little courage for once and explained that we had worked exceptionally hard the day before and that the officer in charge had promised us a holiday. the s.m. intervened in the discussion and pleaded on our behalf. at last the c.o., after walking up and down impatiently, said:
-"very well, we'll drop the inspection--they'll have to go to the baths though!"
-we were elated beyond measure and when we were dismissed we saluted with all the smartness of which we were capable in order to please the captain, and walked off the parade ground in the strictest regulation manner. once they were off the parade ground the men rushed towards their tents, hallooing like schoolboys.
-the baths were not unwelcome, although to stand in a tub under a thin drip of hot water in front of a broken window through which a cold gust of wind came and whistled round our shoulders, was no pleasure. but the ordeal was quickly over and before eleven o'clock in the morning most of us were free to do as we pleased. the greater part of the day was still before us and the morrow was a long way off.
-there was much bustling and shouting and singing. it was easy to please us for pleasure was such a rarity. i was scheming how to make the most of this precious holiday. i decided to go for a solitary walk. i left the camp and strolled up a hill from where i could get a fine view of the surrounding country.
-i gazed in an eastward direction. all the snow had melted, the fields, the bare trees and hedges, were steeped in warm sunlight. in the distance there was a gentle slope crowned by a long line of poplars.
-beyond the poplars, about eight miles away, there was something i did not see, although i knew it was there--a stupid, terrible, and uncouth monster that stretched in a zig-zag winding course from the north sea to the alps. it was strangely silent at that hour, but i was fascinated by it and thought about it harder and harder, in spite of myself. i became increasingly conscious of it and it grew upon me until it darkened everything and seemed to crush me beneath its intolerable weight.
-if only the end would come! and, until it does come, give me hard work so that my own thoughts cannot oppress me and i may forget all except sore shoulders and aching limbs!
-the light-railway engine pulled the trucks slowly along by winding circuitous routes. it was a warm, sunny evening. everything was green and peaceful. the farms and cottages bore no signs of war. but soon we saw a number of shell-holes grouped round cross-roads, and gradually, as we proceeded, the fields came to be pitted more and more thickly. we skirted a large village. it was deserted. the roof of the church had three black holes. all the houses were damaged and we could see the splintered rafters standing out darkly against the sky.
-we passed by camouflaged shell dumps and guns of big calibre, camouflaged and concealed amongst trees and bushes, so that often the muzzle alone was visible. shell-holes were dotted everywhere. many of the trees were scarred and their branches wrenched away.
-we steamed into the terminal siding. some distance in front of us was a row of poplars, regular except for the gaps where branch or trunk had been shattered. to the right was a patched-up road with several ruined cottages on either side. to the left of the poplars was a wood in which a large white château was half concealed. it looked very dreary with its black, gaping windows. to our right was a big farmhouse. most of the tiles had been blown from the roof, showing the bare rafters. the door was in splinters, and the walls were riddled. a little lane wound round the farm in a loop and then lost itself in the wood.
-behind us was a hedge and a group of trees amongst which a gun was hidden.
-there was no sound of firing. no birds were singing, although it was spring. all was quiet except for the frogs that uttered raucous musical croaks in a pond near by and puffed out the bladders at the corners of their mouths, so as to produce long-drawn shrill vibrations.
-we shovelled the stones out of the trucks. several of the men expressed disappointment at the fact that there was no "excitement."
-soon after nightfall desultory firing broke out some distance off. then a gun began to fire a long way behind us. the shells passing high overhead made a faint rustling noise, as though they were travelling along in leisurely fashion.
-suddenly all the batteries in the entire neighbourhood joined in. the uproar was like that of innumerable thunderstorms crashing together. the guns bellowed and roared and pounded and deep reverberations filled the night. from behind us there came flashes so dazzling that we could not bear to look at them, and great blasts of air and thunder-claps that seemed to strike our ears with colossal hammers and make them drone intolerably. thunder-clap followed thunder-clap, long jets of white flame pierced the darkness, and now and again the very air seemed to kindle, and brilliant sheets and shreds of flame blazed and crackled round us. above there was a noise as though thousands of devilish creatures were rushing along, helter-skelter, with inconceivable rapidity, howling, shrieking, screaming, wailing, laughing, exulting, whistling and gibbering.
-the shells burst over and beyond the belt of trees in front of us. vivid, multicoloured scintillations and innumerable glittering stars flashed out and thronged the sky. at times the shells fell so thickly that a white flame of dazzling brilliancy would dart writhing along the tree-tops with lightning speed. the booming of the guns and the terrible screeching of the shells continued unabated. we were blinded, deafened, and all our senses were confused.
-at last the tumult began to die down. i looked round, curious to see the effect on the other men. frequent flashes still lit up every detail of our surroundings.
-everyone had stopped working. most of us were gazing ahead, thoroughly scared. standing next to me was someone who said he had always wanted to see a bombardment and now he was satisfied. he was not at all frightened, being one of the few who realized that we had been in no danger. by the light of the gun-flashes i saw, a few yards in front of me, one of our men, a young nervous fellow, stretched out at full length, trembling, and sobbing hysterically and clutching at the grass with hands that opened and closed in mad spasms. another man was cowering down by one of the trucks, his face buried in his arms.
-gradually the firing became less and less frequent, until finally it died down altogether. soon the big yellow disc of the moon rose above the tree-tops and all was silent except for the croaking of the frogs.
-we finished emptying the trucks and then sat down inside them. the engine came along, rattling and puffing. it was coupled to the train, and the return journey began.
-the landscape was plainly visible in the light of the rising moon. shell-holes, torn trees, and ruined houses decreased in number. we passed a straw-thatched cottage nestling amid a group of bushes and poplars. a light shone from the window, a dog barked. a bat flitted silently past. it seemed as though the uproar of the cannonade had been a dream.
-the engine stopped at the siding. we jumped out of the trucks and retired into our tents. not a word was spoken by anyone.
-the following day we again received orders to proceed to the terminal siding by the light railway.
-in the morning our champion boxer had reported sick in anticipation. he looked convincingly pale and complained of the usual "pains all over." the medical officer gave him "light duty" and he spent the day in camp, picking up matches, bits of paper, and miscellaneous rubbish.
-it seemed strange that the ruined houses, the belt of poplars, the damaged farm, and the wood with the white château were still standing there so peacefully after the bombardment of the previous night. the frogs, charming creatures, were still croaking merrily.
-when we had unloaded the trucks we sat down in the grass and awaited the return of the engine.
-the trees were dim in the warm haze. i gazed at the white château. it fascinated me, for some inexplicable reason, and i felt an impulse to go and explore it. i was seized by a mood such as i had rarely felt since childhood, when almost every lonely and desolate building filled me with a sense of awe and mystery, as though it were the home of ghosts or fairies or witches. i was conscious of the absurdity of the emotion, but i surrendered to it and even enjoyed its strangeness.
-there was no sound of firing.
-i obeyed the impulse and strolled down the little winding lane. it led through a gap in the green hedge that surrounded the wood. knowing that the enchantment of the château would vanish as soon as i entered it, i dawdled on the way so as to prolong my pleasure. suddenly the bushes in front of me caught fire and a bright sheet of flame shot upward and almost simultaneously there was a sharp report. i was so thrilled by the mysterious attraction of the château that i barely noticed the event. as i passed a small ruined cottage, which i had not observed before, for it was hidden amongst the trees, there was a short whizz on a high note, and then a loud crash. smoke issued from the windows and the riddled roof, and bits of wood and débris hurtled through the air. then there was a loud wailing noise followed by a terrific detonation. the château was blotted from view by a dense mass of black smoke that rose out of the ground in front of me. the spell was broken. i hesitated whether to go on or not, when i became aware of a voice behind me. i looked round and saw one of our corporals shouting and gesticulating. i turned back and rejoined the others, though not before i had been called a "bloody fool" and threatened with arrest for walking off without permission.
-suddenly the loud, rustling wail was repeated and a portion of the wood was enveloped in a dark cloud. there was a deafening thunder-clap and jagged shell fragments sailed over our heads or dropped in our midst.
-then shell followed shell in rapid succession, all bursting in the wood. a piece of metal whizzed past the ear of a man standing a few yards away. he became unnerved, dashed towards one of the trucks and cowered down by the wheels, trembling in every muscle.
-none of the others showed any sign of fear except anxious looks. we had been in no danger at all during the previous night's bombardment, but many of the men had been terrified. now, when they were in considerable danger, they felt nothing more than anxiety, simply because there was no awe-inspiring display of flame and thunder.
-murky smoke clouds issued from the trees and hung above them in thin streaks. another sound was added to the uproar--a long-drawn whine--and a sepia coloured puff appeared high up in the sky. a sharp ringing crack followed. then another puff appeared, and then another. high-explosive and shrapnel shells continued to burst without intermission.
-the frogs had ceased to croak, for one of our men, standing on the edge of the pond, was throwing pellets of mud at them. all at once he dropped like some inanimate object and lay on his side. at the same time a motor-ambulance came rushing up and stopped at the cross-roads. two soldiers issued from the wood, carrying a stretcher. a wounded man was lying on it. he did not move arms or legs, but he howled and screamed;, his voice rising and falling in a weird inhuman manner. a little after, two more wounded were carried out on stretchers. they were white, silent and motionless.
-a small crowd had gathered round the man who had fallen by the pond. he was laid on to a stretcher. he seemed rather dazed but did not look pale. a shrapnel ball had hit him in the back.
-the human loads were pushed into the ambulance which disappeared in a cloud of dust.
-our anxiety had deepened. many of us were walking up and down in agitation. nevertheless, there was no hysteria and no ignominious expression of fear as there had been on the previous night.
-at last the railway engine appeared, to the immense relief of everyone. we climbed into the trucks and the return journey began. the shelling continued unabated. above the belt of poplars a little black speck was moving along at great speed. around it and trailing behind it were numerous black puffs. the frogs had resumed their concert.
-when we reached our destination we were met by several others of our unit who had arrived during the afternoon and were quartered in the town. two of my friends were amongst them and together we walked over to their billet.
-we entered a huge bare room and sat down on some of the kits that were arranged neatly round the floor.
-"what sort of a time have you had?" i asked.
-"i tell you, i'm jolly glad to be away from headquarters. we've got old rusty in charge of us. he's been a bit of a worry-guts about having cleaned boots and buttons ever since he got his second pip, but he's quite a decent old stick taking him all round. he gets drunk every evening, so that he's generally too far gone to trouble about lights out. he doesn't make a fuss over our letters either--i believe he can only read a very plain hand and has to skip the longer words. a good job, too, for that's one thing i absolutely cannot stick, the way all our letters are read....
-"i hear you've had some excitement? it put my wind up a bit when i heard about it. still, i'm glad in a way--the monotony of our lives was becoming unbearable. i'd rather have shell-bursts than blasts of the s.m.'s whistle. have many been dropping in the town recently?"
-"a good few--i daresay you'll have some to-night if you're lucky. yes, the s.m.'s whistle got on my nerves too. i was longing for a change and frightfully keen on seeing a bit of the war. i confess i wasn't particularly scared by the shells we had--of course, none of them came very near. but i don't want to have any more, not after seeing those wounded carried along on stretchers to-day. you're right in the town here and it's quite likely that you'll make a closer acquaintance with high-explosive shells than i've been able to make...."
-i had hardly spoken when there was a faint muffled boom in the distance and a long, deepening howl, and then a loud explosion that shook the building.
-a few minutes after a second shell passed overhead and exploded somewhere in the town.
-then, without the usual warning, there was a roar that seemed to split our heads and an impact that sent us reeling backwards against the wall. the room was filled with dense, pungent smoke and dust that choked and blinded us. above the violent droning in our ears we could hear the clatter of falling bits of plaster and masonry. a whistle blew and there was a shout of "clear billet." we thronged the doorway and poured down the stairs, panic stricken, but before we had left the building there was another reverberating crash and once again we were enveloped by smoke and dust while the bits of plaster showered down upon us from the ceiling. i bowed my head and held my arm up to protect my face. something whizzed closely by, and a man dropped heavily with a groan in front of me. he lay on his face with one arm doubled up underneath, quite motionless. two men went up to him and crossed their hands under his chest to raise him. his blood was gushing out and forming a pool on the floor. as we dashed out into the road i saw an artilleryman standing alone on the cobbles and looking around in a scared fashion. there was another deafening explosion and dense clouds of smoke issued from a building forty or fifty yards away. suddenly the artilleryman clutched his face with his hand. the blood began to stream through his fingers and down his wrist into his sleeve. he hurried away with staggering steps.
-we left the town behind us and waited near a barn in the open fields. we were joined by the two men who had remained behind to help our wounded fellow soldier.
-"is it serious?" we asked.
-"serious?--he's done for, poor chap! a big bit of shell caught him right in the chest--it didn't half make a hole. we carried him away from the billet and sat him up against a wall. we couldn't stop the blood from flowing. he came to for a few seconds though, and moaned, 'o my poor mother! o my poor mother!' enough to break your heart. and then he seemed to lose consciousness again. the ambulance arrived and we laid him on a stretcher. i expect he died before he got to the hospital."
-"anybody else hit?"
-"two of our fellows--one of them pretty seriously. they could both walk though. a lot of men from other units have been killed. the last shell dropped into a mess-room and laid out a dozen or more, and just as we were coming along we saw an artilleryman lying in the road with a big hole right in the middle of his face. he was still warm but his heart had stopped beating. it's a bloody awful feeling to lose one of your mates, though."
-"i can't make it out, some'ow. 'e was talkin' an' jokin' to me only a few minutes back, an' now 'e's dead. the way 'e said 'o me poor mother!' nearly set me cryin'. poor old chap, 'e was one o' the best--it's allus the best as gets killed an' the rotters left alive."
-no more shells dropped into the town that day, but instead of going back to the billet, the men made their beds in the barn at nightfall. i returned to camp, thinking of the man who was dead and wondering whose turn would come next.
-the casualty clearing station
-"for who feels the horrors of war more than those who are responsible for its conduct? on whom does the burden of blood and treasure weigh most heavily? how can it weigh more heavily on any man or set of men than those on this bench?"
-mr. balfour (house of commons, june 20th, 1918.)
-a drowsy voice growled: "they're at it again--why can't they stop it once and for all." another groaned deeply and muttered: "awful--awful slaughter--blackguards, blackguards."
-the uproar increased. i was filled with a terrible dejection, but i went to sleep in the end.
-it was broad daylight when i woke up to the sound of innumerable motor-cars coming and going out on the road. the wounded were streaming in.
-the operating theatre was alive with figures clothed in white, blood-stained garments, bustling up and down, or standing in groups around the other tables. at the far end of the theatre someone was blubbering like a little child.
-"come along--hold this leg up!"
-i darted to the next table and seized another foot and ankle. there was a greenish festering hole so high up the leg that it was impossible to use a tourniquet. so the surgeon laid bare the main artery by a longitudinal incision and tied it up with catgut to prevent excessive loss of blood. with a rapid stroke of his knife he then made a shallow cut right round the limb above the injured spot, and depressing the blade cut deeply down to the bone. the blood gushed up suddenly, formed a pool on the towels and sheet underneath, overflowed the edge of the table, and splashed down on to the floor in a cascade. the operator paused a moment and then, while the blood continued to stream from the wound, he cut round the bone until flesh was entirely severed from flesh. the upper periosteum was pushed back and held by means of a metal plate. the bone was sawn through--the saw grated and jerked and jarred in a horrible manner. the leg came off and i dropped it into the white enamelled pail. the toe-nails clicked against the enamel, and the thigh, bumping against the rim, overturned it and flopped into the pool of blood under the table.
-"come on--look sharp--never mind that leg--give a help here and remove this man's bandages."
-i was looking at a head that resembled a huge football made of soiled linen. in place of the mouth there was a small, dirty hole through which the fetid breath came and went. above the hole was a big red patch. i unwound the bandages one by one. gradually the face was revealed. between the mouth with black, swollen lips and the bruised eyes, closed by grey greenish lids, there was, where the nose should have been, a red hole big enough to contain a human fist.
-the wounded came and went in an unbroken stream. the tables were always occupied. i went from one to another, unwound bandages, held up limbs for amputation, fetched splints, padding, gauze, or new bandages. i was too busy to think or to feel any horror. i was vaguely conscious of nausea and of a hot, stifling atmosphere heavy with the fumes of chloroform and ether.
-some of the wounded had arms that hung by shreds of muscle and sinew. others had feet that were nothing but masses of clotted blood, lumps of torn flesh, and bits of bone tied up in blood-sodden linen parcels. some had deep holes in their backs, others had gashes in their heads from which soft, pink matter oozed.
-before me lay a man with a blackened face, a shattered knee, and festering holes all over his body. gas-gangrene had set in and the stench was almost unendurable. the surgeon gently felt the injured leg, but the man gave such long-drawn piercing shrieks that he had to be left alone. he was sent to the resuscitation ward to recover strength a little, for he was very weak through loss of blood. in the evening he began to rave--he asked for whisky in a boisterously jovial voice, and then he yelled and cried: "sergeant, sergeant, sergeant, you've ruined my career." in the night he died.
-the wounded were often perfectly silent. but more often they would groan or wail or shout. sometimes they would all howl in chorus like cats on a roof. indeed the weird and terrible howling of wounded men is more like the howling of cats than any other sound i know.
-men regaining consciousness after an operation would sometimes laugh uproariously or cackle fiendishly. or they would break into torrents of filthy language. one man yelled in a crazy voice that england was the most glorious country on earth and that he had done his best to be a good soldier. then he was seized by a fit of violent weeping, while someone at the other end of the theatre was shouting with intense fury: "if i had lloyd george here, i'd shoot the blighter," and another man was carried out with his head lolling from side to side and saying in mad, amiable tones: "zig-zag, zagazig, zig-zag," and so on without a break.
-a man who had undergone an operation some days previously was brought in to have his wound redressed--a deep laceration, that reached from knee to hip and exposed the thigh-bone. the padding was removed, but as soon as the raw flesh was touched he threw back his head, bared his teeth, and uttered shrill, piercing cries in sudden blasts, and nothing could be done to comfort him.
-near by a wounded man had been lying quietly on a table when all at once he gave a yell and, before we could rush to the spot, he plunged head foremost and crashed down on to the floor. we picked him up, but his mind seemed too confused to realize what had happened. he did not struggle any more, but gibbered and whimpered piteously.
-if the chloroform and ether were not administered with great care and skill, the patients would choke and kick and make furious efforts to tear the mask from their faces. and so great was the number of wounded and so rapidly was it necessary to perform each operation, that it was not humanly possible to devote sufficient time to each individual case. gas was the most merciful anodyne, but it could only be used for brief operations. under its influence men became unconscious quickly and without a struggle, and they recovered consciousness without the fearful retching and vomiting that always followed the use of chloroform or ether. and yet, even with gas, haste and carelessness and defective apparatus added suffering to suffering.
-on the table lay a man with a shattered gangrenous knee. he received gas and became unconscious, but, just as the bone was being sawn through, he regained his senses. his face was ashen pale and the sweat ran down it in big drops. he was too weak to struggle, but his eyes were staring in a way that was terrible to see. i held the foot and an orderly held the stump while the saw grated harshly as it cut through the bone, and the man moaned in piteous drawling tones: "jesus christ have mercy upon me, god almighty have mercy upon me, and forgive me all my sins." when the operation was over, he was carried out, making unintelligible sounds.
-he was followed by a man from whose chest i removed a filthy, blood-sodden mass of padding. i observed that his breathing was becoming weaker and weaker. the anæsthetist shouted:
-"fetch the oxygen--look sharp!"
-an orderly brought a long black cylinder along, but the rubber tubing was knotted in a bundle and several seconds passed before it could be disentangled. at last the end of the tube was pushed into the mouth of the dying man. the tap of the cylinder was turned on, but there was no sound of gas running through. the anæsthetist glared angrily around and shouted: "corporal chamberlain!"
-the corporal came and the anæsthetist thundered:
-"go and get a new cylinder--this one's empty--your damned carelessness again--look sharp about it."
-it was the corporal's business to see that the cylinder in the theatre was always full. he fumbled in his pockets for the key to the cupboard in which the reserve cylinders were kept, but he could not find it. he walked out and searched in the shed opposite the theatre. he came back without it.
-"hurry up for god's sake--the man's dying--it'll be too late in a minute!"
-he looked round the theatre with affected deliberation, for the angry shouting of the anæsthetist had wounded his pride. at last he found the key on a shelf. he unlocked the cupboard, fetched out a new cylinder, and placed it beside the table. the tube was pushed into the open mouth, the tap was turned, there was a rush of gas. but it was too late. the man was dead.
-"d'you see what you've done?" shouted the infuriated anæsthetist. "here's a man dead through your neglect. don't you bloody well let it occur again, else i'll put you under close arrest and have you up for a court martial."
-the corporal walked sulking out of the theatre and muttered something about a "bloody fuss."
-one of the orderlies went to the door and shouted:
-"another slab for the mortuary!"--those who died on the operating tables were facetiously called "slabs."
-two bearers came in with a stretcher. the corpse was pushed on to it and carried away to the mortuary. there it would be sewn up in an army blanket, ready for burial. and then a telegram would be sent to a wife or mother, informing her that her husband or son had "died of wounds received in action."
-there was amputation after amputation. the surgeons were tired of cutting off legs and arms--it was "so monotonous and uninteresting," as one of the sisters put it.
-then there came a little variety in the shape of a man with a bullet wound in his throat. he breathed quite normally, but when the bandage was removed, his breath rushed bubbling through the aperture and bespattered all who stood around with little drops of blood. "a most unpleasant case." he was quickly replaced, however, by another who lay on a stretcher white and motionless. his tunic had been unbuttoned. his shirt had been pulled loosely over a big, round object that appeared to be lying on his belly. the surgeon drew back the shirt. the round object was still concealed by a dirty piece of lint. the surgeon lifted it off and revealed a huge coil of bluish red entrail bulging out through a frightful gash in the abdomen.
-"here, crawford, here's something for you!"
-captain crawford was an abdominal specialist, at least he was particularly interested in abdominal cases, or "belly cases" as they were humorously termed. captain wheeler, who had called him, was interested in knee cases. captain maynard, who was working at the far end of the theatre, had a fondness for head cases.
-"such a delightful tummy, isn't it?" said captain wheeler, who spoke in the affected drawl of our public schools and universities.
-"rather," replied captain crawford, who had come over from his table holding a blood-stained scalpel in his hand. he added:
-"just my rotten luck--i've only had amputations."
-he looked at the bulging entrail admiringly and went back to his work. in a few minutes he was ready for the next case--a man whose head was thickly swathed in bandages.
-"that's a bit of a change, anyhow--i'm fed up with legs and arms."
-the bandages were removed. amid a mass of tangled, blood-clotted hair was an irregular patch where a piece of bone had been blown away, leaving the brain-matter exposed.
-the sister looked at it with eager curiosity and said:
-"a most interesting case. i'm sure captain maynard would so love to see it! captain maynard!"
-"one moment, sister!" he was busy with a delicate knee operation. after a little delay he came over and inspected the damaged head.
-"you've got all the luck," he said. "i haven't had a decent head for ages. still, i s'pose we have to put up with these annoyances--horrors of war, you know!" he laughed and the sister smiled. then he went back to his knee while captain wheeler attended to the head.
-it must not be supposed that the surgeons, sisters and orderlies of the ----th c.c.s. were particularly cruel and heartless. they were simply ordinary human beings and the ordinary human being, however he may be horrified by the first sight of wounds and suffering, soon gets used to them and accepts them as facts of everyday life.
-it was growing dark outside and the electric light was switched on. the wounded still arrived in multitudes. towards eight o'clock the day-shift came to an end and the night-shift began. we had no time to clear the theatre. the new surgeons continued where the old had left off. they were in high spirits and set to work merrily, exchanging jokes all the time.
-"poor bearers," said one of the sisters, "i do feel so sorry for them--they have an awfully hard time!"
-captain dowden--another "head specialist"--said to me:
-the bandages were unwound. the man's hair was matted and caked with gore. there were three deep gashes in the skull. the head was washed and shaved and then painted with picric acid. the brilliant electric light, the clean white garments of the fresh teams, the bare head painted bright yellow and the three thin streaks of red blood trickling down made a strange picture. the largest wound was just above one ear. a local anæsthetic was injected and the skin round the injury pushed back. with a pair of curved pincers the surgeon broke away bits of bone from the edge of the hole. then he pushed his little finger deeply into it and fetched out a large bone fragment and a quantity of soft matter, coloured a pale red, which he allowed to flop down on to the floor. the man was motionless except that he violently wagged his left big toe. and all the time he made a continuous cooing, purring noise, like that of a brooding hen.
-the surgeon working at the next table, captain wycherley, received a "case" with a shattered right arm and a right thigh. he called his colleague, captain calthrop, over, and the two operated together, the one amputating the arm and the other the leg.
-meanwhile the head case was replaced by a boy who came walking into the theatre and mounted the table unassisted. his right eye was bandaged. as he became unconscious under gas the bandage was removed. with a few dexterous strokes of his scalpel captain dowden removed all that was left of the eyeball, a dark, amorphous mess. the wound was cleaned, dressed and bandaged. the boy regained consciousness. for a moment he looked vacantly round. then he slowly raised his hand to the bandage, and, turning down the corners of his mouth suddenly broke into bitter weeping. he was gently helped down from the table and led out of the theatre, crying: "they've done for me eye, oh, oh, oh, they've done for me eye!"
-"poor kid," murmured the captain sympathetically, and began to operate on the next man, who had a wound in his shoulder about as large as a hand. in the middle of the raw flesh a short length of undamaged bone was visible. nothing serious, and only a flesh wound. the man inhaled the chloroform and ether fumes without choking or struggling. his wound was excised, "spirit bipped," dressed and bandaged. then he was whisked off the table and carried away to a ward.
-in the doorway appeared a man with his arm in a sling. he was dazzled by the electric light and put his hand over his eyes. captain wycherley called out to him: "come along, my lad, and hop on to this table." he walked up to the table with uncertain steps. an orderly helped him on to it. he lay back and turned his head to one side and looked towards the next table on which captain calthrop was amputating an arm. it came off in the hands of an orderly who dropped it into the bucket. the newcomer followed it with horror-stricken eyes. he continued to gaze, as though fascinated, at the half-closed hand that projected above the edge of the bucket. then he trembled violently.
-captain wycherley observed what was happening and said:
-"come on, don't worry about the next man. let's have a look at your wound."
-"yer not goin' ter take orf me arm, are yer, sir?"
-"no, of course not, don't be so silly!"
-"yer won't 'urt me, sir, will yer?"
-"no, no. pull yourself together now. be a man! you won't feel anything at all."
-the orderly untied the sling and began to unwind the bandage, but the man drew his arm away and cried:
-"oo, oo, oo,--very painful, sir, very painful!"
-the orderly, pleased at being mistaken for an officer, said in a soothing, patronizing voice:
-he went on unwinding the bandage, but the man began to shout and struggle again.
-thereupon the surgeon intervened:
-"for god's sake be quiet. pull yourself together and don't make such a fuss."
-"i can't 'elp it, sir--i couldn't never stick no pain, sir, no, sir, never, sir--it's very painful, sir, very painful. i'll try 'ard, i'll do me best--but it is painful, sir."
-however, as soon as the bandage was pulled a little he yelled and writhed. the surgeon at last lost patience and said: "hold him down."
-two orderlies and two bearers seized his hands and feet while the bandage was quickly removed. he shrieked and struggled violently, but he was firmly held.
-captain dowden was busy with a foot, or all that was left of a foot, a number of crimson shreds hanging from an ankle over a projecting piece of bone. captain calthrop was attending to a "belly case"--he had cut a longitudinal slit in his patient's abdomen and both his hands were groping inside it, buried up to the wrists, while the stomach-wall heaved up and down with the breathing of the unconscious man.
-the orderly came back and reported that there were hardly a dozen.
-"any huns amongst them?"
-"four or five, sir."
-"are we still receiving?"
-"no, sir, we stopped about an hour ago. there won't be any more cases arriving to-night, sir."
-"good--we shall be able to get off early, at two or three in the morning if we're lucky. we can take things easy a bit."
-the bearers came in with a stretcher.
-"take it easy, bearers. there's no hurry--we haven't got many more to do. just put him on that table there."
-"another slab for the mortuary!"
-the remaining tables were empty and no more wounded were brought in for a while. the bearers were obeying the surgeon's order and were taking a rest. the officers and sisters in the theatre were in high spirits. they were trying to speak french and ridiculing each other's efforts. captain wycherley began to hum a tune and wave his amputation knife like the conductor of an orchestra, whereupon the others locked arms and danced up and down the theatre, talking and joking. then captain calthrop broke away and danced by himself, kicking his legs up in the air. the sisters watched him and laughed loudly. one of them could hardly control herself, and shrieking with laughter, cried:
-"oh, captain calthrop, you really are too funny!"
-captain dowden had not joined in the merrymaking. he was standing by the table on which the corpse was lying. he smiled uneasily and said to an orderly: "tie up his jaw and his feet and hands and take him away. and tell the bearers to get a move on. let's get finished as quickly as possible."
-the orderly pushed the dead man's lower jaw sharply against the upper, so that the teeth clicked, and kept it in position by tying a bandage right round the head. then he crossed the dead hands and feet and tied them together also.
-he went to the door and shouted, "bearers!"
-but only one bearer appeared with a stretcher over his shoulder. i helped him to lift the corpse on to it and carry it away. it was an intensely black night. all was silent except for an occasional muffled boom in the distance and the sound of someone whimpering in one of the wards. our load was very heavy and we had to feel our way slowly along the duckboards. when they came to an end we walked through the grass. i was in front and all at once i tripped over some obstacle. with a strenuous effort i retained my balance but nearly tipped the dead man off the stretcher. we walked on, but did not reach the mortuary, although we should have done so long ago. we put the stretcher down and looked around. the darkness enveloped us like a mantle. we could see nothing except a few shafts of light that shone through chinks in the walls of the distant operating theatre. roughly guessing our direction we continued our journey. i felt a tent rope brushing against my leg. i stepped over it and encountered another, while the orderly knocked his foot against a peg. we put the stretcher down a second time. it rested partly on the ground and partly on the ropes, and we held the corpse for fear it should roll off. we shouted for a light. someone answered near by and struck a match. the momentary glimmer was sufficient to show that we were standing amongst the ropes of the mortuary marquee. the man struck another match to show us the way in. we entered and added our burden to a double row of other dead, who lay there in the flickering match-light staring at the roof with sightless eyes and rigid, expressionless faces.
-when we got back to the theatre all the three teams were busy again.
-the bearers came in with a case, and one of them said:
-"this is the last englishman, sir. there's about half a dozen fritzes to do, sir."
-"bring 'em along--let's get the job done."
-the swing-doors were pushed open and two bearers appeared with a stretcher on which a man clothed in grey was lying. his dark hair was matted. his boyish face was intensely white. his eyes were closed. he gave a hardly audible moan with every breath. a blanket was drawn up to his chin.
-"a 'un, sir," said one of the bearers and grinned.
-"dump him on the table!"
-the blanket was removed and a blood-sodden strip of linen unwound from the german boy's right forearm, which was hanging to his shoulder by a few shreds of flesh and sinew.
-"tell him his arm's got to come off."
-i explained to the boy that it would be necessary to remove his arm in order to save his life.
-he did not seem to understand at first and looked at me with a puzzled expression. then he suddenly broke into a wail, like a little child, and cried, "ach jesus, ach jesus, ach jesus ..."
-the chloroform mask soon muffled his cries and he became unconscious. i grasped his cold hand and slender wrist. the arm was rapidly amputated. the red stump with the disc of severed bone in the middle was cleaned and bandaged and he was carried back to the prisoners' ward, retching and vomiting.
-on captain wheeler's table lay a healthy looking german with a bronzed face. his legs were pitted with a great number of small wounds caused by minute bomb fragments. the mask was clapped over his mouth and the chloroform allowed to drip on to it. but he inhaled the fumes with difficulty, and began to choke.
-the anæsthetist got angry and snarled:
-"that's it, choke away--a choker like all the rest of them--you blasted race of murderers--i'm sorry for the individual though, this deluded fool, for instance."
-captain dowden was vainly trying to converse with a german who had been hit in the back. the bullet had passed through the lower part of his lung, and then through the abdomen, leaving a hole through which part of the intestine projected.
-"come along and ask him some questions," he said to me. "don't stand about there doing nothing--make yourself useful. tell him he'll be well treated--better than the english wounded are treated in germany."
-the prisoner answered in a drawling whisper:
-"i never expected bad treatment--the english wounded are not treated badly by us either."
-"aren't they! that's all he knows about it!... ask him if he likes war."
-"o god, no--war's good for the rich, not for the poor."
-"i thought these huns loved warfare--ask him if he thinks germany will win."
-"germany's in a bad way--ach gott, don't ask me any more, give me something to stop my pain!"
-"that's the retort diplomatic! send him off to sleep--let's get the job done."
-when the man had lost consciousness, captain grierson, the anæsthetist, put the chloroform bottle aside, jumped down from the stool, and searched the pockets of his helpless patient. he did not find much, however, only a few letters and picture postcards until he came to a deep trouser pocket from which he drew a big german pipe.
-"not a bad souvenir," he said, as he put it into his own pocket and returned to his stool. of course this was not stealing, it was merely "scrounging" or "pinching" or "collecting souvenirs," which is an entirely different thing.
-for a time the surgeons worked silently, amputating arms and legs, holding the bare skin between two fingers and cutting the flesh, throwing bleeding bits on to the floor, dressing and bandaging stumps and excised wounds.
-captain calthrop was grumbling at the tedium of the work when his anæsthetist lit upon a happy thought and said:
-"how'd you like to try your hand at giving an anæsthetic? i'll have a shot at surgery--i've never done it before. i'd like to see if i'm any good at it."
-"right you are," replied captain calthrop, "we'll change over."
-"jolly good idea," added captain wycherley at the next table, "we'll change over too."
-"right-o," said his anæsthetist.
-and so the two anæsthetists operated and the two surgeons gave anæsthetics. it was, perhaps, rather a dangerous thing to do, but as the wounded men were only germans it did not matter.
-captain dowden took no part in this experiment. in fact he even suggested that it was "a bit thick," but his disapproval did not assume a more tangible form.
-after finishing one case each, the four surgeons and anæsthetists changed back again.
-"surgery, isn't so bad as i thought it would be."
-"isn't it--you wait till you get an abdominal!"
-"giving an anæsthetic's rather a ticklish affair. i thought my man was going to choke to death, he got so blue in the face."
-a few more germans with slight flesh wounds that only required dressing were brought in, and then the work of the night shift was over.
-the surgeons, anæsthetists and sisters trooped out gaily to have tea and cakes in the shed opposite the entrance to the theatre.
-our work was not yet over, for we still had to put everything in order for the day shift.
-a heap of blankets and articles of clothing had been left in a corner. we loaded them on to a stretcher and carried them to a small tent some distance away, taking a candle with us.
-we folded the blankets and stacked them carefully. some of them were clammy and slippery to the touch. others were hard and stiff. the rank smell of stale, clotted blood was sickening.
-the clothing we carried to the pack store, a large marquee, where we sorted it, putting great-coats, tunics and shirts on separate heaps. i was holding a shirt when i became aware of a tickling sensation across one hand. i hurriedly dropped the garment and lowered the candle so that i could see it distinctly. it was swarming with lice.
-we walked out into the darkness and made for our own marquee. as we passed the prisoners' ward an orderly called out from inside:
-"'ere, just come in a minute. 'ere's a fritz been 'ollerin' out all the evenin'--come an' tell us what 'e wants."
-we went in. the prisoners were lying on stretchers in two rows. most of them were asleep, but one was tossing about and crying in piteous tones:
-"hab'ich noch'n arm, oder hab'ich keinen?"
-"'e's bin at it for 'ours, pore bloke. arst 'im what 'e wants--i 'xpect it's somethin' ter do with 'is arm what they took orf early in the evenin'."
-i asked the man what he wanted and noticed that his right arm had been taken off at the shoulder. he was silent for a moment and looked at me with haggard eyes. then suddenly he wailed:
-"kamerad, sag mir doch--comrade, tell me--is my arm still there, or is it gone?"
-"he wants to know if he's still got his arm," i said to the orderly, who turned to the prisoner and exclaimed: "arm bon, goot!"
-"aber ich fühl ja nichts--but i can't feel anything--for god's sake tell me if it's still there!--ach gott, ach gott, ach gott."
-he buried his face in his pillow and sobbed hysterically.
-i explained to him that it had been necessary to remove his arm, but that he would live and be well treated and see no more fighting.
-he turned round and stared at me and then shouted jubilantly:
-"jetzt weiss ich's--now i know--thank god, i shall live, live, live. o du lieber himmel, das glúck ist zu gross."
-somehow it seemed strange that there could be any happiness left in the world.
-"thanks awfully," said the orderly. "it must 'a' bin the uncertainty what upset 'im. i'm bloody glad yer came in. yer've done 'im a world o' good. i took to the pore bloke some'ow--i allus feels pertickler sorry fur wounded fritzes, i dunno why. i 'xpect 'e's got a missis an' kiddies just like meself.... good-night!"
-"good-night," i answered, and added mentally:
-"your profession of soldier, the most degrading on earth, has not degraded you. you are engaged in the most infamous and sordid war that was ever fought, and yet you have remained uncontaminated--there is no honour or decoration in all the armies of the world good enough for you."
-we entered our marquee and made our beds.
-"the war is doing me good as though it were a bath-cure."
-some had dirty bandages round their heads. some had their arms in slings. others had hands so thickly swathed that they looked like the huge paws of polar-bears. many were caked with mud and wore tattered uniforms. some limped or hobbled along. others could walk unaided. some leaned heavily on our shoulders and some we had to carry on our backs.
-as each one entered the waiting-room--a little wooden shed opposite the swing-doors of the operating theatre--we took off his boots and tunic and made him sit down in front of the glowing stove. from time to time an orderly would shout across from the theatre:
-and we would take the "next man" over and help him to mount one of the tables.
-they were all very quiet at first and many sat with bowed heads. some were dreading the operation, others, who were not badly wounded, looked bright and cheerful, as well they might, for they were going to have a holiday, perhaps in england, but anyhow at the base, where they would enjoy a respite from danger, hardship, and misery--a respite that might last for weeks. and in the meantime the war might come to an end--one could never tell.
-two infantrymen with packs and rifles passed by. they had been discharged from the c.c.s. and were going to rejoin their units. they stopped outside the waiting-room for a few minutes and looked enviously at the wounded sitting round the stove inside, and murmured with deep conviction: "lucky devils."
-a patient came out of the theatre with bandaged arm. he held a large, semi-circular piece of iron in his hand.
-"is that what they took out o' yer arm?" said one of the infantrymen.
-"yes--decent bit, isn't it!"
-"gorblimy, i wish i could 'ave a bit like that, in me knee or somewhere, to lay me up for months."
-his comrade added in a voice full of hopeless longing:
-"i wish i were in his shoes. anything to keep out of that hell up the line!"
-"'e's a sure blighty, ain't 'e?"
-the man with the injured arm put on his boots and threw his tunic over his shoulders and walked off, smiling happily.
-a german, looking weak and pale, came in. he was in great agony and had received permission to enter the theatre with the british wounded, so that his pain might be relieved as soon as possible.
-"'ullo, fritzie," said someone in a cheerful voice. "got a blighty?"
-the german did not understand and looked utterly miserable. he sat down timidly with the others. the room was dark except for the glow given out by the stove that lit up the hands and faces of those around it. suddenly a man shouted from the background:
-"them bastard fritzes--i'd poison the 'ole lot." and that started the argument.
-"i reckon one man's as good as another."
-"i reckon a tommy's worth a dozen fritzes. the bleeders ought ter be wiped orf the face o' the bleed'n' earth. i see 'em do a thing or two, i tell yer--me an' my mate was in the line down plugstreet way when they crucified a canadian. i see the tree what they did it on wi' me own eyes--dirty lot o' swine!"
-"bloody lies! yer read it in the paper!"
-"wha' if i did?"
-"yer said yer saw it yerself!"
-"well, i read it in the papers and then i see the tree what they did it on arterwards. the nails was still there. an' what d'you know about it? yer in the artillery, yer don't see no fightin'!"
-"don't see no fightin'! gorblimy, i reckon the infantry wouldn't be much bleedin' cop wi'out the artillery."
-"i'll tell yer what the artillery do--blow up their own mates what's in the front line, there now!"
-"if we'd 'ad artillery in august, 1914, the war'd 'a' bin over in three weeks!"
-"don't yer believe it! it's the infantry what 'as all the danger an' gits all the rotten jobs. the artillery's cushey compared wi' the infantry."
-"the artillery 'as a bloody sight 'eavier losses!"
-"go on--tell us another! it's no good arguin' wi' yer, yer won't see any side 'cept yer own."
-but a third man, bringing the argument back to its original subject, said:
-"go on--tell us another!"
-"i bet yer it's true, now then!"
-"how much do you bet?"
-"fifteen bloody francs!"
-"all right, i'll take yer on!"
-"i reckon the froggies is the worst," said a man who had not spoken before. "i was out 'ere in 1914 an' they didn't 'alf let us down. i was a bloody fool ter join up though--i'd like to strangle meself for it. they won't catch me volunteerin' for the next war, not this child, no bloody fear! look at the way they treat yer--like bleed'n' pigs. there ain't no justice anywhere. there's strong an' 'ealthy fellers at the base just enjoyin' theirselves. then there's the 'eads what 'as servants to wait on 'em--d'yer think french or duggie 'aig ever 'as shells burstin' round 'em? then there's the conchies what 'as a easy time in clink--if i see a conchy in civvy life, i'll knock 'is bloody 'ead orf, struth i will. and the civvies--gorblimy--when i was 'ome on leave they kep' on arstin' me, 'ain't yer wounded yet?' an' 'when are yer goin' back?' but d'yer think they care a damn--not they, you bet yer life on it! they don't want the war to stop--they're earnin' good money an' go to dances an' cinemas. they'd start cryin' if we 'ad peace--i tell yer, i was glad when me leave was over an' i was back wi' me mates. i won't 'alf throw me weight about when i gits out o' the army! i won't 'alf raise 'ell--i'll 'ave a bloody revverlution, you see if i don't!..."
-the shout of "next man" sounded across from the theatre, and the would-be destroyer of the social order got up and walked across.
-"where were you wounded?" asked one of the soldiers of his neighbour who was drawing his breath in sharply between his lips, evidently being in great pain.
-there was a temporary lull in the conversation and then a small, wiry, spiteful looking cockney spoke. he had reddish hair and big round spectacles of the army pattern.
-"i didn' 'alf do it on a fritz afore i was wounded! 'e give 'isself up an' i takes 'im along--i makes 'im walk in front o' me--yer can't take no risks wi' them bastards. 'e turns rahnd an' says ter me in english--'e must 'a' bin a clurk or a scholard--'e says, sarcastic like, 'i s'pose yer think yer goin' ter win the war!' i gets me rag out an' tells 'im ter mind 'is own bleed'n' business. i tells 'im if i catch 'im lookin' rahnd agin i'll kill 'im! we walks on a bit an' suddenly i throws a mills at 'im--gorblimy, it wasn't 'alf a fine shot, it busted right on 'is shoulder. it didn' 'alf make a mess of 'im--i bet 'is own mother wouldn't 'a' rekkernized 'im as 'e lay there wi' 'is clock all smashed up!"
-"i think it's a damned shame to kill a man after he's surrendered," said a tall corporal.
-"i wasn't goin' ter stand no bleed'n' sarcasm! an' fritz does the same to our blokes! it's 'e what started it! we learnt it orf of 'im!"
-"yes, that's what they all say. it's always the other man who's done it first. there's been many a fellow who's quite decent at heart who's murdered a helpless prisoner thinking to avenge some abominable outrage that was never committed, but only dished up by some skunk of a pen-pusher who's never seen any fighting in his life. i don't know much about fritz, he may be worse than us or he may be better, but i've seen our fellows do some bloody awful things. anyhow, i know the german soldier's doing his bit just as we are. he thinks he's in the right and we think we're in the right, and he's just as much entitled to his opinion as we are to ours. and i tell you straight, if i had the choice between killing a german soldier and killing lord northcliffe, i'd shake hands with the german and ask him to help me kill lord northcliffe and a few others like him. and i'm not the only one who's that way of thinking, i can tell you. we call ourselves sportsmen, but have we ever recognized that we got a brave enemy? say what you like about fritz, he may be a brute, but he's got some pluck--he's up against the world, he is. he'll be beaten in the end, that's a cert, but he's putting up a bloody hard fight. i didn't think much of him before i came out, but it's hats off to him now! but d'you think the civvies or the papers admit it? no bloody fear! the other day i saw a picture of the grenades we use--i think it was in the graphic or one of these illustrated rags. it was headed, 'ferreting fritz out of his funk holes.' i know the man who wrote that hasn't been in the trenches himself! he's never seen a lot of germans lying dead round their machine-gun after fighting to the last, as i have! he hasn't even seen a shell burst, not he! i bet he slipped into his funk hole, though, when there was an air-raid on! dirty, filthy swine! when i was home on leave i got so wild at the way the civvies talked that i gave them a piece of my mind and told them a thing or two. and one of them called me a pro-german! he, of course, was a patriot. he was making money out of the war and wanted a fight to a finish. well, i got my rag out properly and i caught him by the throat and shook him till he was blue in the face. it was in the street too, and a lot of people standing about. they didn't say anything more after that, though! i felt i'd done a good deed. i was really glad to feel i'd clutched his windpipe with all my strength. i expect he still wears the marks of my finger-nails, although it happened months ago...."
-"'ere, 'ere! that's the stuff to give 'em! i reckon fritz is a bloody good sport. we ought ter shake 'ands an' make peace now. peace at any price, that's what i say.... i tell yer a thing what 'appened when i was in the line. we 'ad a little dog wi' us an' one night she must 'a' strayed inter fritz's trenches. the next mornin' she came back wi' a card tied round 'er neck an' on the card it 'ad: 'to our comrades in misfortune--what about peace.' i reckon that was a jolly decent thing ter say. jerry wants ter get 'ome to 'is missis an' kiddies just as much as what we do!"
-"next three men," shouted the theatre orderly.
-a number of british soldiers gathered round the entrance of the waiting-room, curious to see the prisoners and hear what they had to say.
-"ask 'em if they're glad to be out of it."
-i put the question and there was a chorus of fervent "ja's" and "gott sei dank's."
-they were all glad to be out of it. no more fighting for them, gott sei dank! war was no good, at least not for the common soldier.
-"ask him what he thinks of hindenburg."
-a cheerful youngster from east prussia answered: "der's' nicht besser als wir--he's no better than we are!"
-"did you ever see him?"
-"yes, he came into the trenches a week ago and gave us cakes and cigars."
-"but that was jolly sporting of him, wasn't it?"
-"he can keep his cigars--he doesn't have to lie in shell holes for days on end."
-"war's no good," said a small man with a protruding forehead and keen eyes and wearing a red-cross on his arm. "ich danke meinem gott--i thank my god that i've never taken up a rifle during the whole war, and i've been in it since the beginning. no human being has lost his life through me, thank god."
-"was für'n zweck hat es--what's the good of shooting each other like this? the heads ought to come and fight it out amongst themselves."
-"it's good for politicians and profiteers--für die ist's gut."
-"ask them what they think of the submarines."
-a lieutenant of the prussian guard answered contemptuously that he didn't think much of them. he didn't believe stories of food-shortage in england, he didn't believe anything the papers said, they were all full of lies.
-"ask them if they're satisfied with their treatment."
-yes, they were all satisfied. the lieutenant pronounced it "blendend" (dazzling). they had not eaten so much and such good food for months and months. oh it was good to be out of the fighting. yes, their treatment was perfect--except for the thieving. why were british soldiers allowed to steal the buttons, caps, rings, and watches belonging to their prisoners?
-a german private, a tall thin man with bushy eyebrows, who had not spoken hitherto, said he didn't mind losing a few buttons--but to rob a man of his marriage ring, that was very mean--eine gemeinheit--his marriage ring had been taken from him: he would have lost anything rather than that, for it always reminded him of home.
-the boy from east prussia said he didn't care what they took from him as long as they didn't take his life. he was safe now and nothing else mattered. he spoke with a polish accent.
-i asked him what town he came from.
-"did you see anything of the russians in 1914?"
-"jawohl"--he had seen plenty of russian troops. they behaved very well. "die sind besser als die deutschen--they're better than the germans...."
-but the theatre orderly interrupted us and asked us to "send two or three across."
-it was quite dark outside. the duckboards were lit up by rows of hurricane lamps. the bombardment was still going on.
-when i got back to the waiting-room all the prisoners were gone and english wounded were taking their places. soon the benches round the stove were crowded with dark figures whose hands and faces were lit up by the glow.
-a man with haggard features and a bandage round his head began to talk in a mournful voice:
-he buried his face in his hands and made no further sound except an occasional sniff and a hasty drawing in of the breath through trembling lips.
-"next man!" the conversation stopped while the next man went across, but having once begun to tell their experiences, the men would not stop altogether, and after a brief silence an elderly little man with a bandaged foot said:
-"'pull yourself together, old chap--you're all right for to-day, anyhow.' i sat bolt upright and stared at him.
-"'they're not going to shoot me?'
-"'not to-day,' he answered. 'cheer up, all sorts of things might happen before to-morrow.'
-"the joy i felt was so big that i can't tell you how big it was. but i soon felt miserable again. i couldn't understand what had happened. i didn't know whether i was going to die or live. the uncertainty became so terrible that i wished i'd been shot that morning--all would have been over then. they brought me a meal, but i couldn't eat. i asked them what was going to happen, but they didn't know. another night came, but i didn't get any sleep at all. i lay tossing about on my bed, now hoping, now despairing. i thought of home mostly, but once or twice i thought of the kids in the school where i taught--to die like this after the send-off they gave me! still, they wouldn't know, they'd think i was killed in an accident, and that was some consolation to me. and the next morning--i can't bear to think of it--nothing happened: that was just the terrible thing about it--nothing happened. the day passed and then another day. at times i longed to be taken out and shot, and once or twice i felt i didn't care about anything. i didn't care whether i died or not. a week passed and then another week. i don't know how i lived through it. then, one day, i was told to pack up and rejoin my unit. i don't know exactly what i did, but i think i must have gone hysterical. i remember some n.c.o. saying i ought to stay a bit because i wasn't well enough to go up the line. he said he'd speak to the officer and get me a few days' rest. but the thought of staying in that place made me shiver. i said i was absolutely all right and went back to my unit.
-"but i never found out what had happened--you see, i was only a common soldier, so they didn't trouble to tell me--until i got a letter from the captain who was in charge of me when i was on that forty-three hour job. he said he'd heard i was in for a court martial for sleeping when on guard, so he wrote to our headquarters to tell them i'd worked forty-three hours on end and wasn't fit to do a guard after a spell like that. then they must have made a lot of inquiries--i expect there's a whole file of papers about me at headquarters. anyhow, that's how i got off--it's more than a month ago now. well, yesterday morning i was put on guard again. i tried to get out of it, but the officer said i was swinging the lead and he wouldn't listen to any excuses. i told him i'd had insomnia overnight and could hardly keep my eyes open. i said i'd do anything rather than a guard--a fatigue job or a patrol, no matter how dangerous, as long as it kept me on the move. the very thought of doing a guard made me tremble all over. he swore at me and said he'd heard these tales before and told me to shut up and get on with it. well, i had to stand in the trench in front of a steel plate with holes in it through which i had to peer. it was just about daybreak. there was a tree growing about fifty yards off. it had been knocked about pretty badly, but there were plenty of leaves left on it. i stared at it, trying hard to keep awake. but soon the trunk began to quiver, then it wobbled with a wavy motion like a snake. then the leafy part seemed to shoot out in all directions until there was nothing but a green blur, and i fell back against the trench wall and my rifle clattered down. i pulled myself together, absolutely mad with fear, because i kept on thinking of the last time i went on guard and the court martial and the death sentence. i ground my teeth and stared at the tree again. but the trunk began to wobble with snaky undulations and the green blur grew bigger and bigger in sudden jerks, while i tried frantically and desperately to keep it small. but it got the better of me and all at once it obscured everything with a rush and i dropped forward and knocked my forehead against the steel plate. i pulled myself together and prayed for a blighty or something that would get me out of this misery. i looked at my watch--o god, only five minutes had gone, one-twelfth of my time! i had a kind of panic then and i dashed my head wildly against the trench wall and i bit my lips--i almost enjoyed the pain. i looked through the hole. the tree was steady at first, but it soon began to wobble again. then i said to myself: 'i don't care, i'll risk it, i won't look out, i'll just keep awake. i don't suppose any fritzes will come along--i'll just peep through the holes from time to time so as to make sure.' i stamped on the duckboard and kicked the sides of the trench and jerked my rifle up and down just to keep myself awake. it was all right at first and i was beginning to think i would get over it somehow, but my feet soon felt as heavy as lead and my head began to swim until i fell forward once again. jesus christ--i didn't know what to do. i thought of looking at my watch, but i hadn't the courage at first. besides, i felt the seconds would slip by while i was hesitating and so i'd gain at least a little time. i counted the seconds--one, two, three ... four ... five ... six ... my head dropped forward and i nearly fell over. i looked at my watch--fourteen minutes had gone, nearly a quarter of an hour! that wasn't so bad. i felt a little relieved, but drowsiness came on again. i fought against it with all my strength, but with an agony no words can describe i realized that it was too strong for me. i pulled myself together with another despairing effort. i noticed that my clothing felt cold and clammy--i had been sweating all over...."
-the theatre orderly burst into the waiting-room and shouted: "are you all deaf? i've been yelling out 'next man' the last five minutes, but you won't take no bloody notice. send us two or three. the colonel's in the theatre--he'll kick up a hell of a row if you don't get a move on."
-we were scared and sent three men across. when they had gone, we asked to hear the end of the story.
-there was silence for a while. it had grown dark outside. but the call from the theatre sounded again. gradually the waiting-room emptied itself until at last there were only two men left sitting in front of the fire. they both seemed depressed and gloomy. then one of them broke the silence and said:
-"we was goin' over when a 'eavy one burst. i didn't 'alf cop a packet in me shoulder. it's the third time too, an' i've got the wind up about goin' up the line agin when i'm out o' dock. the third time's yer last, yer know. fritz'll send one over with me number on it, that's a bloody cert!"
-"if yer number's up it's up," said the other, who had a big patch over his right ear. "if yer've got ter die yer've got ter die, an' it's no use worryin' about it."
-i stood out in the open for a few minutes in order to breathe the fresh air. there was a roar and rumble of distant drum-fire. the trees behind the c.c.s. stood out blackly against the pallid flashes that lit up the entire horizon.
-the mortuary attendant came walking along the duckboards.
-as he passed by me he growled:
-"there's a 'ell of a stunt on--there'll be umpteen slabs for the mortuary."
-it was a warm, sunny afternoon. about a dozen of us were pitching a marquee in leisurely fashion, when suddenly there was a shout of "fritz up!"
-"i bet 'e's took some photographs--'e'll be over to-night. i reckon we're bloody lucky to be at a c.c.s."
-"d'yer think 'e wouldn't bomb a c.c.s.?"
-"course 'e wouldn't--'e knows as well as what we do that there's some of 'is own wounded at c.c.s.'s."
-"yer've got some bleed'n' 'opes--do anythink, 'e would. didn't yer see it in the papers? 'e bombed a french c.c.s. at verd'n an' knocked out umpteen wounded."
-"i bet that's all bloody lies--yer can't believe nothin' what's in the papers."
-"can't yer! if yer don't it's because yer don't want ter. i believe yer a bleed'n' fritz yerself, always stickin' up fer the bastard. everythink what's in the papers is true--the government wouldn't allow it if it wasn't! that's got yer, ain't it?"
-"yer want ter look at it a bit more broad-minded. course 'e makes mistakes sometimes like anybody else--'ow do 'e know it's a c.c.s.--'e can't see no red crorss at night?"
-"mistakes be blowed--'e knows what's what, you take my word for it ..."
-we gathered idly round the disputants, glad of a distraction that would help to pass the time. a third person joined in the argument:
-"if 'e bombs 'orspitals an' c.c.s.'s it's our own bloody fault. look at our c.c.s. 'ere. there's a ordnance park and a r.e. dump up the road. there's a railway in front an' a sidin' where troops is always detrainin'. then there's a gas dump over yonder. an' if we're bloody fools an' leave the lights on at night, 'ow can 'e tell what's what when everything's mixed up together? why the bloody 'ell don't they put c.c.s.'s away from dumps an' railways? why don't they stick 'em right in the fields somewhere? i bet we'll cop it one o' these nights, an' serve us right too."
-german aeroplanes had passed overhead almost every clear windless night, but the buzz of propellers, that often went on for hours, and the dull boom of bombs exploding far away had never caused anything more than slight uneasiness and apprehension.
-one night, after we had been at the c.c.s. for about a month, we heard the uproar of a distant air-raid. early the next morning a number of motor-ambulances arrived with their loads of wounded men. a camp, a mile or two from the station, had been bombed and fifty men had been killed and many more wounded. one of the "cases" brought into the theatre had been hit on the forehead. the bomb-fragment had not penetrated the skull, but had passed along its surface. the scalp hung over the forehead loosely like an enormous flap, the red, jagged edge nearly touching the eyebrows. since then i thought of this man every time there was an air-raid.
-the event increased our uneasiness. after each "bombing-stunt" we thought: "we were lucky this time--it will be our turn next though." moreover, we began to realize our helplessness. we were compelled to remain in our tents during a raid and there was no possibility of taking shelter. we could have put on our steel helmets--they would at least have afforded some head protection, but hardly any of us had the courage to do anything that might be regarded by the others as a sign of fear.
-the discussion about the bombing of hospitals had made us all think of air-raids. we had nearly finished our day's work when we noticed a few clouds on the horizon. we felt relieved. perhaps the sky would be overcast and we would have an undisturbed night.
-"i can't stick night raids," said one of our number. "they don't put my wind up a bit, but they interfere with my sleep and make me feel tired in the mornings."
-a man who had been in the war from the beginning answered:
-we finished our work as the sun was setting. the clouds on the horizon had vanished. one by one the stars came out. it was "an ideal night for a raid."
-soon after dark a man was brought into the station with a crushed knee. immediate operation was necessary. he was carried into the theatre and laid on to one of the tables. he received an anæsthetic and became unconscious. with his scalpel the surgeon made a deep cut in the knee-joint and searched the cavity with his finger. there was a sister standing by. also an orderly who had won the military medal for bravery in an air-raid some months before. suddenly there was an outburst of anti-aircraft firing and a tumultuous whistling of shells overhead. it lasted for several seconds and then with a deafening, reverberating thunder-clap that shook the entire theatre, the first bomb fell. before our ears had ceased drumming another bomb exploded and then another. the orderly, who had held his hands in front of his face, now gave way to fear. he darted madly to and fro and then scuttled beneath a table. the sister, who had remained quite calm, said in an amused voice: "pull yourself together, it's all over now." the orderly got up trembling, his face very white. the surgeon had not moved away. he had just grasped the edge of the table tightly and had bent his head forward, while his muscles seemed stiff with a violent but successful effort at self-control. the anæsthetist, too, had remained on his stool, but was leaning right over his patient. i had been conscious of a powerful impulse to duck down, but i grasped the table and gave way to the impulse so far as to lean slightly forward. this compromise saved me from any violent expression of fear. the sister was the only one of us who showed no sign of fear at all.
-the surgeon went on with his work and extracted several fragments of bone from the injured limb. a few seconds passed and suddenly the electric light went out in accordance with the orders that decreed that all lights should be extinguished on the approach of hostile aeroplanes. the surgeon cursed loudly and the sister fetched an electric torch which she held over the knee. the operation continued, but it was not long before anti-aircraft fire broke out once more. then there was a weird bustling, rushing sound, followed by a roar that again shook the theatre and rattled the windows. six explosions followed in rapid succession. this time the orderly controlled himself, for he knew the sister was watching. nevertheless, his knees trembled violently. the sister held the torch steadily and the surgeon paused for a moment and went on with the operation as soon as all was quiet.
-in a few minutes it was finished. the wound was dressed and bandaged and the patient carried away.
-i stepped out into the clear night. the sky was thronged with glittering stars. everything seemed strangely peaceful. i walked round the station, trying to find out where the bombs had fallen, but nobody knew. i went to the marquee and found private trotter sitting there, breathless and white. the neighbouring c.c.s. a few hundred yards away had been hit. a sister and an orderly had been killed and several patients wounded.
-"it didn't 'alf put me wind up," said trotter, excitedly. "when the first'n drops i lays down flat on the duckboards and one bursts just aside o' me an' smothers me with earth. then another'n bursts an' i 'ears a man 'oller out--krikey, 'e didn't 'alf scream. i gets up and another'n bursts, so i flops down agin, but it didn't come so near that time. i waits a bit an' then i gets up an' goes to see what they done. i couldn't see nothin' at first, but i sees some fellers runnin' about wi' lights. there was a noise in one o' the wards, so i goes in. a bomb must 'a' burst on the roof--there was a big 'ole in the canvas. the bed underneath was all twisted an' torn, but there wasn't nobody in it. there was some wounded lyin' in beds at the fur end of the ward, an' one of 'em was cryin' somethin' chronic. then someone brings a light an' i sees an orderly lyin' by the side o' the bed with a big 'ole in 'is face an' the blood pourin' out. i goes roun' to the other side--gorblimy--an' there i sees the sister lyin' on the floor with 'er 'ead blown clean off--i dunno where it was blown to, i couldn't see it nowhere. krikey, it wasn't 'alf a sight to see 'er body without a 'ead lyin' in a pool o' blood. it made me feel sick, so i ran orf an' came 'ere."
-private trotter was trembling in every limb. he was the pluckiest man i ever knew and capable of any piece of foolhardy daring. but this time he was near a nervous breakdown.
-the next morning was clear and sunny. the sky remained blue all day. not a cloud could be seen. "our turn next"--that was the thought in everybody's mind.
-the evening was starlit once again. as we lay on the floor of the marquee, wrapped up in our blankets, we heard the sound of bombing and firing in the distance.
-clear days and clear nights followed each other. sometimes a train would stop in front of the c.c.s., hissing and puffing, and throwing up a great shaft of light. we would curse it, fearing that it would attract german raiders.
-if only the fine weather would come to an end! give us wind and rain so that we could lie in bed without being oppressed by anxiety! but the sun continued to shine and the stars to glitter.
-the disaster that had befallen the adjoining c.c.s., which had been brilliantly lit up during the raid, had acted as a warning example to us. at nightfall the windows of the theatre were screened with blankets and no lights were allowed to show in the wards or on the duckboards.
-if only the trains would halt somewhere else at night-time!
-one day a number of flemish peasants began to collect hop-refuse in the surrounding fields. they made three great heaps of it and set fire to them. in the evening the heaps were burning brightly, but no one took any notice.
-suddenly the broad white beam of a searchlight swung across the darkness. for a time it seemed to paw the sky in a hesitating fashion and then it remained fixed on one spot.
-"there 'e is! there 'e is!" someone shouted in an excited voice.
-in the white track was a brilliant silver object travelling along at a great speed. a number of anti-aircraft guns opened fire simultaneously, and all around the shining fugitive innumerable stars of pale, liquid gold flashed out and melted away again.
-"i bet they're puttin' 'is bloody wind up! rotten bastard, bombin' a lot o' wounded! if i get 'old of a fritz up the line, i'll murder 'im. yer won't catch me takin' no more pris'ners, i tell yer."
-a flashing star suddenly seemed to envelop the aeroplane.
-"got 'im that time--bloody good shot--'e's comin' down, look, look, 'e's comin' down! look, 'e's all in flames!"
-but the aeroplane sped on, growing smaller and smaller. then the white beam swung back and was extinguished, while the guns ceased firing.
-"fine lot o' gunners we got--couldn't 'it a zep 'alf a yard orf! they ain't worth the grub they get!"
-we returned to our marquee and sat down on our kits. my friend private black came in after us, smiling ruefully. i asked him what was the matter.
-"i was playing the piano in the sergeants' mess when the first one dropped. we all jumped up together and rushed out. then the second one burst and i lost my head and didn't know where i was going. i darted to and fro, tripping over tent-ropes and dashing up against revetments. i never had the wind up so much in all my life. i couldn't get my breath, there was a kind of weight on my stomach and a tightness round my chest and throat, and my knees kept on giving way all the time. the third one burst and i fell down and crawled under some ropes and lay flat against some sand-bags, trembling all over and feeling as though i was going to choke. i waited for a long time, but nothing happened, so i got up and looked round. lucky escape for us! there's a terrific hole by the red cross and another one behind the bath-house. the third's in the next field. only two men hit. o'neil's got it in the elbow--he's all right for blighty. poor old hartog's badly hurt--a frightful gash in the thigh with the piece still in it. i hope he won't have to lose his leg. christ, i'm glad it's all over--i wouldn't like to go through that again."
-there was silence for a while, but soon the silence was broken by the distant muttering of anti-aircraft fire.
-"jesus christ almighty--'e's comin' again--o god, why can't 'e leave us alone."
-we stood outside the marquee and anxiously watched the horizon. we heard a faint humming noise. it grew louder and louder until it became a deep, droning buzz that rose and fell in regular pulsation. then boom--boom--boom--three times the sullen roar of distant explosions sounded. then there came the familiar rushing, whistling noise of a descending bomb. we flung ourselves down in the wet grass. i felt every muscle in my body contract as though i were trying to make myself as small as a pin point in expectation of the terrible moment. there was a dull thud close by and i felt the earth vibrate. the bomb had fallen a few yards away, but had merely buried itself in the earth without exploding.
-there was no anti-aircraft fire, but the droning noise continued loudly, rising and falling. private trotter, who was lying beside me, was drawing his breath in sharply between his lips. our fear of impending disaster was prolonged intolerably. the droning propeller seemed to be directly above us. i tried to analyse my feelings. if one finger is held close to the middle of the forehead a curious sensation of strain seems to gather in that spot. that was precisely the sensation i had at the back of my head and neck, only with far greater intensity. it was the concentrated, agonizing consciousness of the swift descent of a huge iron mass that will strike the base of the head and blow the whole body to pieces. in the region of the solar-plexus i had a feeling of oppression such as one often has before an examination, before jumping into an icy river, before opening a letter that may contain bad news. i also breathed more heavily than usual. i made no attempt to master these sensations. it occurred to me that fear is merely a physical reaction that cannot be avoided. if a man reacts so violently that he is overcome and rushes about as though he were demented, it is no more his fault than if he shivers with cold. a man can stop shivering by an effort of the will, but only to a certain extent. and no effort of the will can prevent him from feeling cold. in the same way, no effort of the will can prevent him from feeling fear, and only to a limited extent can the will control the outward manifestations of fear. nevertheless, some distraction may enable a man to forget his fear for a while, just as it may enable him to forget the cold. i was so intent upon self-analysis that i lost consciousness of everything except my mental concentration, even of those sensations i was trying to analyse, for the very act of analysis was destroying them. as they grew weaker, the effort of my will increased. it became so great that i grew conscious of great mental tension and at the same time i realized that my fear had vanished altogether. for a brief space i had a sensation of vacuity as though i could neither think nor feel. then my mental effort suddenly collapsed, i once more became aware of the droning overhead, and with a rush my former fears were upon me again. i pressed myself flat to earth. i heard the descent of a bomb. i trembled and tried to shrink to nothing. there was a deafening thunder-clap and the ground shook. a quantity of loose earth came down upon us. another bomb descended--every muscle in my body tightened and i stopped breathing altogether. but the explosion that followed was fainter than the last. then there was another, still further off. all my muscles gradually relaxed and a delicious feeling of relief pervaded my whole being. the buzzing noise became more and more feeble. i got up and walked back to the marquee, trembling and weak at the knees. the others followed.
-an hour had hardly passed before distant anti-aircraft fire broke out again. anxiety began to renew its tortures. we heard the dull, sullen roar of bombs exploding at intervals. then fourteen burst in rapid succession as though a gigantic ball of solid iron had bounced fourteen times with thundering reverberations on a resonant surface. but the sound of firing died down and soon all was quiet. and then sleep came upon us and our troubles were over for a time.
-the next morning was windless and clear. all day we kept looking at the sky, but not a cloud was to be seen.
-the evening approached, darkness fell, and the stars shone. "lights out" was sounded and we extinguished our candles. none of us said a word, but everybody knew what everybody else was thinking of. and soon we heard the familiar buzz. at first it only came from one propeller, but others arrived and the sound multiplied and increased in volume, and at the same time it rose and fell in irregular gusts and regular pulsations. anti-aircraft firing burst out suddenly and for a few minutes there was a blending of whining, whistling, rushing sounds overhead punctuated by faint reports. the firing ceased, but the droning noises continued louder than ever. the german aeroplanes seemed to be above us like a swarm of angry wasps, and above us they seemed to remain, hovering and circling. we awaited the downward rush and the deafening thunder-clap that would destroy us all. one man was groaning loudly. another shivered. i could hear the chattering of many teeth. my neighbour trembled violently and cowered beneath his blankets. but his fear grew so strong that he could not bear it any longer. he got up and said in a strained voice, trying to appear calm, "i'm goin' to 'ave a look at 'em." he ran out of the marquee and disappeared. i found my powers of resistance ebbing. i was unable to control my imagination. i saw my comrades and myself blown to pieces. i saw the clerk in the office of the c.c.s. write out the death-intimations on a buff slip and filling in a form. i saw a telegraph boy taking the telegram to my home. he stopped on the way in order to talk to a friend. then he whistled and threw a stone at a dog. he sauntered through the garden gate and knocked at the front door. the door opened ... but i could not face the rest, and with a tremendous mental impulse i turned my mind away to other things. but my terrible thoughts lay in wait for me like tigers ready to rush upon me as soon as my will relaxed its efforts. i tried to compromise, and i imagined myself killed and invented all the details of a post-mortem examination and burial. i found some relief in these imaginings, but soon that implacable telegram claimed my attention once more and drew me on to what i dared not face. i sought distraction by muttering some verses of poetry to myself. they had no meaning to me, they were just empty sound and their rhythm had a hideous pulsation like that other pulsation overhead:
-"he above the rest in shape and gesture proudly eminent stood like a tower...."
-and so on, line after line. the dreariness of the verses grew so intense as to be almost intolerable. at the same time i was dimly conscious of the fact that at one time i thought this passage beautiful. but the beat of the blank verse carried me on. sometimes it seemed to blend with the buzzing of those angry wasps above and sometimes the two rhythms would vie with each other for speed, so that they hurried along each alternately ahead of the other. i came to a line where my memory failed me. i faltered for a moment, but the droning sound seemed to grow into an enormous roar, and i leapt back to the beginning:
-"he above the rest...."
-and then on and on a second time until my head throbbed with the double pulsation.
-suddenly a man who had been lying on the far side of the marquee got up and said:
-"i've had enough of this, i'm going to sleep in a ditch."
-he went off. the wasps were still buzzing, but the interruption had broken the spell. i felt a sense of relief. i became conscious of intense weariness and felt ashamed of my fears. i cursed the german aeroplanes and thought, "let them do their worst, i don't care." i made up my mind to go to sleep and resolutely buried my face in my pillow. then it occurred to me that i would never be able to enjoy paradise lost again, and i was half-amused and agreeably distracted by the trivial thought.
-but the wasps were still buzzing. another man began to groan loudly:
-"gawd--this is bloody awful--why the bloody 'ell can't they leave us alone!"
-thereupon his neighbour tried to create an impression by appearing calm and philosophical. he said in a strained, breaking voice:
-"think of all the waste in life and treasure this frightful war involves. think of the moral degradation. think of the widows and orphans. think of the...." he was unequal to the effort and his voice trailed away and then seemed to catch in his throat. but he recovered and with a kind of gasp he squeezed out a few more words: "bill, forgive me for insulting you to-day--i didn't mean it, bill. forget it, bill, forget it! if you get killed without forgiving me, my conscience will always torture...."
-"for christ's sake shut up, yer bleed'n' 'ypocrite," interrupted the gruff voice of "bill" somewhere out of the darkness. "yer always bleed'n' well preachin'--it's bad enough 'avin' fritz over us without you bloody well rubbin' it in. if yer don't shut yer mouth, i'll come over an' shut it for yer, 'struth i will."
-the philosopher said no more, but another voice made itself heard, that of a good-natured, elderly bachelor, who said with melancholy resignation:
-"it's jolly hard, all the same, to be knocked out like this. you're so helpless--no dug-outs, no shelters anywhere...."
-"it's doubly hard when you're married," said another. "i haven't got the wind up about myself at all, but i can't help thinking about my wife.... they're going away now, thank the lord. you never know when they won't be coming back though--that's just the worst of it."
-the noise of the propellers was indeed dying away.
-another clear day and another clear night. we lay awake listening anxiously to the bursting of bombs and the muttering of anti-aircraft fire. but we went to sleep in the end and felt drowsy all the following day--a clear day. casualties came in from a camp that had been bombed overnight, and we saw shattered limbs, smashed heads, and lacerated flesh. several of our men were looking pale through lack of sleep and had dark rings round their eyes.
-another clear day. would the fine weather never end? late in the afternoon, however, a few clouds collected on the horizon. in the evening the entire sky was overcast and not a star was to be seen. and as we went to bed we heard the rain swishing down upon the canvas roof. the unspeakable joy we all felt at the prospect of an untroubled night!
-"bloody fine, this rain: we'll get some proper sleep now, thank god. i never had the wind up so much in all my life, and i've been out here since '15 and in some pretty hot places too."
-"i reckon the longer yer out 'ere the windier yer get. i joined up in '14 like a bloody fool. at first i didn't care a damn for anything. then i was wounded on the somme an' sent across to blighty. i dreaded comin' back agin. i only 'ad a little wound in me 'and, an' i used ter plug it wi' dubbin' an' boot-polish ter keep it raw. it didn't 'alf 'urt, but it gave me a extra week or two in 'orspittle. i 'ad to go in the end though--the m.o. didn't 'alf give me a tellin' orf. jesus christ, didn't i 'ave the wind up when we went up the line! an' now i'm scared at the slightest sound, an' i sometimes wake up out o' me sleep shiverin' all over. when i was on leave a motor-car backfired in the street--it didn't 'alf make me jump; me mate 'oo was with me said i looked as white as a sheet. the longer yer out 'ere the worse yer get--it's yer nerves, yer know, they can't stand it. in the line it's always the new men what's the most reliable...."
-"that's a bloody fact. when we first come out, i thought all the belgian civvies a lot o' bloody cowards takin' cover whenever fritz came over. we used to stand an' look at 'im. they wasn't cowards, it was us who was bloody fools. they knew summat about it, we didn't. all the same, i know one or two old reg'lars 'oo was in it from the first an' never 'ad the wind up any time--there's not many like that though, generally it's the old soldiers what's the worst o' the lot for wanglin' out o' risky jobs."
-"by the way," i interrupted, "how did that orderly who works in the theatre get his military medal--he had the wind up more than any of us the other night?"
-"i know whom you mean," answered a private of the r.a.m.c. "he got it that bombing-stunt a few months ago. it was bloody awful too--the worst thing i've ever been in. i was standing next to him when the first one exploded. he flopped down and lay flat on the ground, but i rushed away into the fields with a lot of others. when it was all over we went back and heard the wounded crying out in a way that was dreadful to hear. this fellow was still lying on the ground by the duckboards, trembling all over and paralysed with fear. we went to help the wounded, but he was in such a state that he could not come with us, so we left him behind. there was an inquiry afterwards and we got into a frightful row for running away. he got the m.m. for sticking to his post!"
-the german push
-"what madness there is in this arithmetic that counts men by the millions like grains of corn in a bushel.... a newspaper has just written about an encounter with the enemy: 'our losses were insignificant, one dead and five wounded.' it would be interesting to know for whom these losses are insignificant? for the one who was killed?... if he were to rise from his grave, would he think the loss 'insignificant'? if only he could think of everything from the very beginning, of his childhood, his family, his beloved wife, and how he went to the war and how, seized by the most conflicting thoughts and emotions, he felt afraid, and how it all ended in death and horror.... but they try to convince us that 'our losses are insignificant.' think of it, godless writer! go to your master the devil with your clever arithmetic.... how this man revolts me--may the devil take him!"
-throughout the winter one question above all others was discussed by the few who took an interest in the war: "what were the germans going to do?" it was clear that they had been able to withdraw many divisions from their eastern front. would they be numerically equal or superior to the allies on the western front?
-on the whole we were of opinion that, whatever happened, our positions would prove impregnable, although we observed with some astonishment that there were no extensive trench systems or fortified places behind our lines. i doubted whether the germans would even attempt to break through--i thought they would merely hold the western front and throw the allies out of macedonia, palestine, and mesopotamia.
-the winter was over and the fine weather had set in. for several months we had been working in a wood-yard and saw-mills. our lives had become unspeakably monotonous, but the coming of warm days banished much of our dreariness. the hazy blue sky was an object of real delight. i often contrived to slip away from my work and lean idly against a wall in the mild sunshine. at times i was so filled with the sense of physical well-being, and so penetrated by the sensuous enjoyment of warmth and colour, that i even forgot the war.
-at the bottom of the wood-yard was a little stream, and on the far bank clusters of oxlips were in bloom. here we would lie down during the midday interval and surrender to the charm of the spring weather. it seemed unnatural and almost uncanny that we should be happy, but there were moments when we felt something very much like happiness. moreover, it was rumoured that leave was going to start. how glorious it would be to spend a sunny may or june in england!
-once a fortnight we paraded for our pay outside one of the bigger sheds of the yard. as a rule, i was filled with impatience and irritation at having to wait in a long queue and move forward step by step, but now it had become pleasant to tarry in the sunshine. one day, when we were lined up between two large huts, a deep yellow brimstone butterfly came floating idly past. it gave me inexpressible delight, a delight tempered by sadness and a longing for better times. i drew my pay and saluted perfunctorily, being unable and unwilling to think of anything but the beauty of the sky, the sun, and the wonderful insect.
-i held my three ten-franc notes in my hand and thought: "i will enjoy this lovely day to the full. when we get back to camp i will do without the repulsive army fare, i will dine at the st. martin and buy a bottle of the best french wine, even if it costs me twenty francs. and then i'll walk to the little wood on the hill-slope and there i'll lie all the evening and dream or read a book."
-the whistle sounded. it was time to go back to work. but i cursed the work and decided to take the small risk and remain idle for an hour or two. i went to an outlying part of the yard and sat down on a patch of long grass and leant back against a shed. the air was hot and several bees flew by. their buzzing reminded me of summer holidays spent in southern france before the war. i thought of vineyards and orchards, of skies intensely blue, of scorching sunshine, of the tumultuous chirping of cicadas and grasshoppers, and then of the tepid nights crowded with glittering stars and hushed except for the piping of tree-frogs.
-before the war--before the war--i repeated the words to myself. they conveyed a sense of immeasurable remoteness, of something gone and lost for ever. but i wouldn't think about it. i would enjoy the present. but the calm waters of happiness had been ruffled and it was beyond my power to restore their tranquillity. i began to think of many things, of the war itself, of the possible offensive, and soon the fretful rebellious discontent, that obsessed all those of us who had not lost their souls, began to reassert itself.
-but why not desert? why not escape to the south of france? why not enjoy a week, a fortnight, a month of freedom? i would be caught in the end--i would be punished. i would receive number 1 field punishment, and i would be tied to a wheel or post, but nevertheless it would be worth it! i imagined myself slipping out of camp at night and walking until dawn. then i would sleep in some wood or copse and then walk on again, calling at remote farms to buy bread and eggs and milk. i would reach the little village, the main street winding between white houses and flooded with brilliant moonlight. i would climb the wall and drop into the familiar garden and await the morning. then i would knock at the door and i would be welcomed by an old peasant woman, and she would ask: "tu viens en perme?" how could i answer that question? it worried me, i felt it was spoiling my dream. but i dreamt on and at the same time battled against increasing depression. even a few days of freedom would be a break, a change from routine. and would the little village be the same as when i saw it last? no, it would be different, it would be at war. i might escape from the army, but i could never escape from the war. my dream had vanished.
-but i would make the best of things. i would enjoy the immediate present--was i not losing hours of sheer pleasure by harbouring these thoughts and ignoring the beauty of the day?
-some distance ahead was a farm of the usual flemish type--a thatched roof, whitewashed walls, and green shutters. near by was a little pond with willows growing round it. in the field beyond, a cow was grazing peacefully. the sky seemed a deeper blue through the willow-branches. the tender green of the grass was wonderfully refreshing to the eyes. the cow had a beautiful coat of glossy brown that shone in the sunlight. i abandoned myself to the charm of the little idyll that was spread out before me and forgot the war once again.
-and then all at once a gigantic, plume-shaped, sepia coloured mass rose towering out of the ground. there was a rending, deafening, double thunder-clap that seemed to split my head. for a moment i was dazed and my ears sang. then i looked up--the black mass was thinning and collapsing. the cow had disappeared.
-i walked into the yard full of rage and bitterness. all the men had left the sheds and were flocking into the road. some were strolling along in leisurely fashion, some were walking with hurried steps, some were running, some were laughing and talking, some looked startled, some looked anxious, and some were very pale.
-we crossed the road and the railway. then, traversing several fields, we came to a halt and waited. we waited for nearly an hour, but nothing happened and we gradually straggled back to the yard.
-some of us walked to the spot where the shell had burst. there was a huge hole, edged by a ring of heaped-up earth, and loose mould and grassy sods lay scattered all round. here and there lay big lumps of bleeding flesh. the cow had been blown to bits. the larger pieces had already been collected by the farmer, who had covered them with a tarpaulin sheet from which a hoof protruded.
-the next day, at about the same hour, the dark cloud again rose from the ground and the double explosion followed. we again abandoned the yard and waited in the field. but this time there were several further shell-bursts. no dull boom in the distance followed by a long-drawn whine, but only the earth and smoke thrown darkly up and then the deafening double detonation.
-the next day more shells came over, and the next day also.
-the big holes with their earthen rims began to dot the fields in many places. no damage of "military importance" had been done. not even a soldier had been killed, but only an inoffensive cow.
-at night the sky was alive with the whirr of propellers, and shells whistled overhead and burst a long way off.
-one sunday, toward the end of march, when we had a half-holiday, i walked up the hill that was crowned by a large monastery and sat down on the slope by a group of sallows. they were in full bloom. a swarm of bees and flies were buzzing round. peacock and tortoiseshell butterflies were flitting to and fro. the sunlight filtered down through the bluish haze. i rested and let an hour or two slip by. then i got up and crossed a little brook and strolled along a narrow path that wound its way through a copse. the ground was starred with wood-anemones, oxlips, violets, cuckoo-flowers, and in damp places with green-golden saxifrage. i came to a small cottage that had pots of flowers in every window. i sat down while a hospitable old woman made coffee and chattered volubly in flemish. another soldier arrived soon after. had i heard the news? the germans had broken through on the somme and had captured bapaume. i asked him if he had seen it in print. no, he had heard it from an a.s.c. driver. he hoped it wasn't true, but he feared it was.
-i returned to camp full of suppressed excitement.
-something was wrong. the shelling of the back-areas continued; air-raids became more and more frequent. these were ominous signs.
-then the newspapers arrived. the somme front had collapsed. the fifth army was in full retreat. the germans had taken bapaume and peronne and were threatening amiens.
-had i been living in germany during the war i would have felt a powerful tendency to defend the cause of the allies, to excuse their misdeeds, to overrate their ability, while being highly critical and censorious of every german shortcoming.
-a nation at war is a mob whose very blatancy, injustice and cruelty drive one to hatred and opposition. the enemy mob seems less detestable because it is out of sight and one thinks almost involuntarily: "it cannot be as bad as our own."
-i could not bear to hear a victory joyfully announced. the jubilation and the self-glorification of the crowd filled me with loathing, and i could only think of the intensified slaughter and misery that are the price of every victory. they who pay the price, they alone have the right to rejoice, but they do not rejoice. the german mob revealed its depravity when it hung out flags in the streets to celebrate the first german victories. and, when the first battle of cambrai was won, london jeered at the bereaved and mocked the dead by ringing the joy-bells.
-every genuine patriot is called a traitor in his own country. but patriotism, however genuine, is a thing that must be surmounted. there is only one good that war can bring to a nation--defeat. a patriot, loving his own country, would therefore wish his country defeat in war. but he who has surmounted his patriotism and has attained complete impartiality would not selfishly claim the only benefit of war entirely for his own country, but would desire all to share it alike, and would therefore wish defeat for every warring nation.
-if a horde of british and a horde of german soldiers engage in mutual butchery, and if the maimed, broken remnants of the british horde have just enough order left to drive back the remnants of the german horde, leaving innumerable dead and wounded and for ever darkening the lives of countless friends and wives--in other words, if the british army wins what our infamous press would call a "glorious victory"--then all that is evil in the life of the nation is encouraged and justified. it is then that the diplomatists who lied and schemed to bring on the monstrous event, that all the politicians who exploit and foster the nation's madness and misery to enhance their own reputations, that those who batten on the slaughter, and that those who glorify the carnage at a safe distance and fight the enemy with their lying tongues, are justified. they all are justified. but if, instead of victory, there is defeat, then they tremble lest they should be disgraced and lose their places, lest they should be victims of a disillusioned people's anger, lest they should forfeit their plunder, lest they should be called to account for the lies with which they fooled the masses. defeat is the defeat of evil, victory is the victory of evil.
-a second batch of papers arrived. the german advance was continuing. the british reverse was becoming catastrophic. at first i felt a kind of grimness, and then i was thrilled by the thought that perhaps the end of the war might be near. we might not have a good peace, but peace of any kind was preferable to war. the mendacious press talked much about a "dishonourable peace," as though any peace could be as dishonourable as a prolonged war.
-but the immediate reality became too overwhelming. grey multitudes were sweeping khaki multitudes before them. high-explosives, shrapnel, grenades, bombs, bullets were rending, piercing, and shattering the living flesh and muscle and bone. towns and villages were being turned into heaps of brick and wreckage. hordes of old men, women, and children were thronging the roads, and fleeing from approaching disaster.
-we went to work as usual although we worked less than usual, for we now had something to talk about. would the germans reach the coast? if they did, then the northern armies would be cut off and destroyed. a general retreat from our front might be ordered at any moment. we stood in groups and discussed these problems hour by hour.
-then the german advance came to an end. a french army had arrived and saved the situation. the shelling of the back areas had ceased. the danger was over for a time.
-had the germans assembled all their strength for one supreme attempt at breaking through the western front? or was it only the beginning of a whole series of operations?
-one morning, as we woke up, we heard the roar and rumble of a bombardment. we did not take much notice of it, for we had heard the sound so often.
-we paraded, and marched off to work. the continuous roar gradually gave place to irregular, though frequent, outbursts of firing along the entire front.
-the next day the sound seemed to have come nearer. rumours began to circulate--it was said that armentières had fallen, that the portuguese had been annihilated at merville, that the british had counter-attacked and taken lille.
-rations, newspapers and letters were delayed. large bodies of troops passed through the village. we got no definite or official news, and nobody had any clear notion of what was happening.
-but the sound of firing grew louder and louder and our anxiety deepened. there could no longer be any doubt about it--the germans were advancing on our front.
-the sickening certainty transcended all other considerations. a few miles from us thousands were being slaughtered. i ceased to ponder the problems of failure and success. i forgot the politicians and was conscious of only one despairing wish, that the terrible thing might come to an end. victory and defeat seemed irrelevant considerations. if only the end would come quickly--nothing else really mattered.
-i often wondered what was in the minds of the other men. many of them looked anxious, but on the whole they were normal in their behaviour. they grumbled and quarrelled much as usual and talked rather more than usual--but so did i, in spite of my intense mental agitation.
-the sound of firing grew louder.
-we marched to an extensive r.e. park and saw-mill near a railway siding. we had to dismantle the machinery and load everything of any value on to a train. for several hours five of us dragged a huge cylinder and piston along the ground. we toiled and perspired. we made a ramp of heavy wooden beams in front of the train and then we slowly pushed the iron mass into a truck. we went back and, raising a big fly-wheel on its edge and supporting it with a wooden beam under each axle, we rolled it painfully along, swaying from side to side.
-then there came the long-drawn familiar whine, and the black smoke arose behind some trees a hundred yards away and the thunder-clap followed. a jagged piece of steel came whizzing by and lodged in a stack of timber behind us.
-we pushed the wheel up the ramp and returned to fetch heavy coils of wire, bundles of picks and shovels, sacks and barrels of nails. our backs and shoulders ached, our hands and finger-tips were sore.
-another shell came whining over. it burst by a little cottage. its thunder made our ears sing. the fragments of flying metal made us duck or scatter behind the stacks.
-we worked until we almost dropped with sheer fatigue. iron rods and bars for reinforcing pill-boxes, bags of cement, boxes of tools, parts of machinery, all went on to the train. then we entered a big shed, where a number of tar-barrels stood in a row. we rolled them out and placed them by the timber stacks. we laid a pick beside each barrel so that it could be broached, the tar set alight, and the entire park destroyed at a moment's notice.
-it was dark when we stopped work. we reached camp after an hour's wearisome marching. we waited in a long queue outside the cook-house. the cooks served out the greasy stew as quickly as they could, but we were so tired and ill-tempered that we shouted abuse at them without reason and without being provoked, and banged our plates and tins. the war, the advance, the slaughter were forgotten. we were conscious of nothing but weariness, stiffness, and petty irritation.
-in the evening i did not wait in the dinner queue, but went to the st. martin. it was kept by an old woman and her two daughters. they were tortured by anxiety:
-"les allemands vont venir ici--de shermans come heer?" they asked. but i knew no more than they did. i told them, against my own conviction, that the german advance would be held up, but they remained anxious. the uproar of the cannonade was louder than ever. all the windows of the building shook and rattled. the old woman muttered: "'tis niet goet, 'tis niet goet," and the elder daughter echoed: "oh, 'tiss no bon, 'tiss no bon."
-two british officers entered. they looked round and saw that private soldiers were sitting at the tables. but the st. martin was the biggest estaminet in the village and provided the best wines and coffees, so they stood in the doorway, undecided what to do. they asked one of the girls if there was a restaurant for officers in the neighbourhood. she answered: "no--no restaurant for officeerss--you come heer--privates, zey no hurt you--privates, officeerss, all same."
-encouraged by these assurances, one of the newcomers said to the other:
-"come on, let's sit down here and have a coffee--we needn't stop long."
-all the smaller tables were occupied, but there was one long table that stretched across the room and only a few men were sitting at the far end of it. the officers sat down at the near end and ordered coffee. they seemed a little embarrassed at first, but they soon began to talk freely to each other:
-"i wonder if there's a war on in these parts--i hear the huns have made a bit of a push."
-"curse the blighters--they'll mess up my leave, it's due in a week's time."
-"jolly good coffee, this! here, marie, bring us another two cups--der coop der caffay--that's right, isn't it?"
-"dat's right," said the girl, "you speak goot french--vous avez tout a fait l'accent parisien."
-suddenly her sister came running into the room, sobbing loudly:
-"english soldier come round from commandant--he tell us shermans come--ve got to go 'vay at once, ve got to leave everysing--ve go 'vay and english troops steal everysing and shellss come and smash everysing and ve looss everysing."
-the civilians of the village had received orders to leave immediately. through the window we could see groups of people standing in the street and talking together. they were greatly agitated.
-the old woman sniffed and wiped her eyes. the elder daughter was packing a few things in a bundle. one of the officers asked: "what about our coffee?" but she took no notice. her sister had gone out in search of further information.
-she soon returned. yes, they would all have to leave at once, but, if they liked to take the risk, they could come back to-morrow with a wagon, if they could get one, and fetch their belongings.
-they were comforted. they knew where they would be able to get a wagon. they would cart their stock and their household property away on the morrow. they would start another estaminet somewhere. they would suffer loss and inconvenience, but they would not be ruined--their valuable stock of wines would save them from that.
-the bundle was made up and they prepared to leave. we paid our bill and went out into the street. numbers of soldiers were straggling past. they looked wretched and exhausted. their boots and puttees were caked with mud. they had neither rifles nor packs. three men were lying up against a garden wall. we asked them for news. they could not tell us much, except that the germans were still advancing.
-"we was at dickebusch when 'e started slingin' stuff over--gorblimy, 'e don't 'alf wallop yer--umpteen of our mates got bleed'n' well biffed. we cleared out afore it got too 'ot."
-several famished "battle-stragglers" had entered our camp in order to beg for food. they sat round the cook-house and ate in gloomy silence.
-the next morning, about breakfast time, the first shell burst near the camp--a short rapid squeal followed by a sharp report. the second shell burst a few minutes after, throwing up earth and smoke. a steel fragment came sailing over in a wide parabola and struck the foot of a man standing in the breakfast queue. he limped to the first-aid hut, looking very pale. when he got there, he had some difficulty in finding his wound, it was so slight.
-we paraded and marched off. several shells burst in the neighbouring fields. we reached the ration dump and began to load the train. a civilian arrived with the newspapers. our n.c.o.'s were powerless to stop the general stampede that surged towards the paper-vendor.
-the germans had advanced on a wide front ... armentières had fallen. the news was several days old and much might have happened since.
-we went back to our work and discussed events. we were bullied and threatened with arrest, but we talked in groups while we carried cases of rations. would we be involved in the advance? we might even be captured--that would at least be an experience and a change.
-in the evening a few of us went to the st. martin to see if the old woman and her daughter had been able to fetch their property away. we observed that the windows, where tinned fruit, chocolate, cakes, soap, postcards, and other articles used to be exhibited, had been cleared completely. we entered and found one of the girls in tears:
-"all gone--all gone--i show you--you come into de cellar--all de wine gone--bottles all, all broken. english soldiers come in de night and take everysing 'vay--ve nussing left--it's de soldiers in de camp over zair in de field--zey plenty drunk dis morning--ve lose everysing--ve poor now."
-besides the windows, the till and the shelves had been cleared, and empty drawers and boxes had been thrown on to the floor. we went down into the cellar. all the cases had been opened and the stone floor was littered with empty and broken bottles. the girl began to sob again when she saw the ruin that had been inflicted:
-"all gone, all gone--ve poor now."
-"why don't you complain to the town major?" one of us suggested.
-"complain?--vat's de use complain?--de town major, he nice man, he kind to us, but he no find de soldiers dat come, and if he find zem he punish zem but ve get nussing. vat's de use punish zem if ve get nussing? all gone, ve poor now--oh, dis var, dis var--dis de second time ve refugeess--ve lose eversing 1914, ve come here from zandvoorde and ve start again--ve do business vis soldiers, soldiers plenty money, ve do goot business, and now ve refugeess again and ve novair to go. if de shermans come, ve do business vis de shermans--but de shells come first and ve all killed--ah, dis var, dis var! vat's de use fighting? all for nussing! var over, me plenty dance!"
-we ascended the cellar stairs. the mother was in the main room, wiping her eyes. we said good-bye to her and her daughter, feeling ashamed of our uniforms, and walked out into the street.
-a mass of french cavalry were galloping past. it was growing dark. the cannonade had become deafening. over the town a few miles off there was a crimson glare in the sky.
-a horde of civilians was thronging the main street of the village. old men and women were carrying all that was left to them of their property on their backs. others were pushing wheelbarrows heaped up with clothes and household utensils. girls were carrying heavy bundles under their arms and dragging tired, tearful children along. white-faced, sorrowful mothers were carrying peevish babies. great wagons, loaded with furniture and bedding, and whole families sitting on top, were drawn by lank and bony horses. a little cart, with a pallid, aged woman cowering inside, was drawn painfully along by a white-haired man. they passed by us in the gathering gloom, and there seemed to be no end to these straggling multitudes of ruined, homeless people who were wandering westwards to escape the disaster that threatened to engulf us all.
-the eastern sky flickered with vivid gun-flashes and scintillated with brilliant shell-bursts. the night was full of rustling noises and sullen thunder-claps, while a more distant roaring and rumbling seemed to break against some invisible shore like the breakers of a stormy sea.
-we retired to our huts and tents. soon after lights-out the police corporal came round and shouted:
-"parade at 4.45 to-morrow morning in marching order."
-the tumult increased as though the surge were coming nearer and nearer. shells of small calibre passed overhead with a prolonged whistle and burst with a hardly audible report. the thunder of bigger explosions shook the huts and caused the ground to tremble.
-as i woke the next morning the din of the cannonade broke in upon my senses with a sudden impact. rumbling, thundering, bellowing, rushing, whistling, and whining, the tumult seemed all around and above us. sudden flashes lit up the whole camp so that for fractions of seconds every hut and tent was brilliantly illuminated. multitudes of dazzling stars appeared and disappeared.
-we drew our breakfast and packed up our belongings. all was confusion in the hut.
-we paraded, the roll was called, and as the day began to dawn we marched off.
-we passed down the main road in long, swaying columns of fours. we left the woodyard behind us and hoped it would be destroyed--how we hated the place for the dreary months we had spent there! the westward stream of refugees had ceased, but an eastward stream of french infantry and field artillery thronged the roads. the artillerymen were mostly tall and powerfully built. the infantry were nearly all elderly men of poor physique. they looked desperately miserable. we exchanged greetings:
-"it's a good war!"
-"c'est une bonne guerre!"
-and then we broke into song:
-"oh, oh, oh, oh, oh it's a lovely war!"
-the french did not sing, but we, who were escaping destruction, passed from one song to another:
-"i don't want to fight the germans, i don't want to go to war, i'd sooner be in london, dear old dirty london."
-"far, far from ypers, i'd like to be, where german snipers can't get at me."
-"when this bloody war is over, o how happy i shall be, when i get my civvy clothes on, no more soldiering for me."
-and all the other songs familiar to every soldier in the british army.
-we marched all day along straight roads running in between flat fields and past ugly little villages. as we grew tired and footsore our rollicking spirit abated and the singing died down.
-towards nightfall we halted in a large meadow with a pond in one corner. several lorries loaded with tents were waiting for us. we unloaded them, pitched the tents, crept into them, and went to bed.
-the rumble of the cannonade sounded faintly in the far distance.
-"i reckon it's a bloody shame to let the other tommies and the frenchies...."
-the voice seemed to die away into a drawl as weariness overcame me. i continued to hear the sound of words for a little while, but they conveyed no meaning. and then sleep descended and brought entire oblivion.
-home on leave
-"i have several times expressed the thought that in our day the feeling of patriotism is an unnatural, irrational, and harmful feeling, and a cause of a great part of the ills from which mankind is suffering; and that, consequently, this feeling should not be cultivated, as is now being done, but should, on the contrary, be suppressed and eradicated by all means available to rational men."
-a change had come over us all. instead of long spells of dreary silence interrupted by outbursts of irritability, by grumbling and by violent quarrels over nothing, there was animated conversations and sometimes even gaiety. our talk was all about one subject--not about peace, for we had abandoned all hope of peace and hardly ever thought of it--but about leave. we had been waiting for seventeen months when, without warning, a leave allotment was assigned to our unit. about half a dozen men were going every day and no one knew whose turn would come next. we were full of intense excitement and glad expectation, but also of anxiety in case something should happen to stop our leave altogether.
-i made up my mind to enjoy myself thoroughly. i would see parents and friends and forget all about the army and the war. i would be gay and frivolous and go to theatres, music-halls and cafés. and one day i would spend in the british museum and lose myself in books--that would be just like old times! of course, our leave would not last for ever and the return journey would be terrible. no doubt the fortnight would pass very quickly, but i determined to enjoy every single hour with deliberation and understanding, and to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of it. how many hours were there in a fortnight? more than three hundred! many would be wasted in sleep, but still, there would be many left and by dwelling upon each one, the fortnight would seem an age.
-but at last we were on the leave boat. there was another long delay, and then, with a feeling of immense relief, we heard the engines throb and the paddle-wheels begin to turn. i looked overboard and saw white foam hissing along the surface of water rapidly widening between us and the quay.
-seventeen months of exile and slavery had come to an end and before us lay a wonderful fortnight of freedom and happiness. and at the end of the fortnight? there was no need to think of that now.
-the sea was blue and smooth and a cool breeze was blowing. we saw the cliffs of england grow larger and larger. soon we were able to distinguish the town of dover, the houses clustered round the harbour, and the castle up on the cliff. it was there that i had begun my career as a soldier more than two years before. how much had happened since then! i felt that i had become a different being altogether.
-the boat entered the harbour and ran alongside the quay. a train was waiting for us. we poured out of the ship in two streams that spread out fan-wise and flowed into the carriages.
-it was good to sit by the window in a comfortable compartment and lean back against soft cushions.
-glad anticipation and barely suppressed excitement were visible on everybody's face.
-the train sped through familiar country: meadows, pastures, cornfields, orchards and woodlands. people waved their handkerchiefs at us from cottage windows.
-it was growing dark as the first rows of drab suburban houses began to glide past.
-so this was london. i stared out of the window and tried to grasp the tremendous, wonderful fact with all the power of my mind. somehow or other it did not seem real, but i felt i could make it real by an effort of the will.
-streets and houses and moving people soon crowded the whole view. the people filled me with intense curiosity. i longed to talk to them and find out what they felt and thought about the war.
-we entered victoria station. i opened the door of the compartment with hasty, trembling hands. i did not wait to change my french money, but hurried out into a street and got on to a 'bus.
-london, with its subdued lights, lay all around me. it had not changed since i saw it last, and yet i felt it ought to have changed. the reason was that i had changed. and then i began to fear that i had changed beyond the power of recovery. the oppressive sensation that i was in a dream forced itself upon me. i felt that there was only one reality in the whole world--the war. would i ever escape from the war? it would come to an end some day, and i would leave the army, but would not the war obsess me until the end of my life? would i ever be myself again?
-but this was not the way to enjoy my leave! i began to feel disappointed at not being so happy as i had expected to be. why was i not full of rapture? why did not every object fill me with delight? but i ought to have known that habitual discontent and bitterness and revolt are not shaken off in a few hours or a few days, and that they persist even after their immediate cause has been removed.
-i looked round at the other people sitting on the 'bus. i had visited foreign countries in former years, but never before had i felt that i was amongst complete strangers. there are moments when a dog, a horse, or a bird fills us with a sense of the uncanny--its mind is an insoluble mystery, with depths so dark and inscrutable that one feels something that approaches fear and horror. and so it was as i sat on the 'bus. the civilians around me seemed like animals of a different species. they were not human at all--or was it i who was not human?
-i went to another seat in order to listen to a man and woman who were talking together. i felt that if they were to talk about the war, the uncanny spell would be broken, the dream would dissolve and i would be restored to my own fellow creatures. but they spoke about trivial domestic matters and about a flower show. if they had only mentioned the word "war" i would have felt relieved by its familiarity, but they did not mention it once.
-and then, in great mental agony, i said to myself: "i will be happy, i will enjoy my leave." but a number of invisible cobwebs hung between myself and the world around me. i tried to brush them away, but they were so impalpable that the movement of my hand did not disturb them at all.
-i gave up the attempt. i would wait until i got home. then i would talk and forget myself--only by forgetting myself would i enjoy the present. only those who forget themselves are happy. the obsession of self is the most oppressive of all burdens.
-i descended from a 'bus and took a train. a girl sitting opposite me stared at my blue chevrons and whispered to her fellow passenger: "he's just come from the front." so i too was regarded as a strange kind of animal. i got out at my home-station. i showed my leave-warrant to the ticket collector. he was a benevolent looking old man. he smiled and wished me good luck. things began to seem a little less foreign. and then the thought of being home in a few minutes absorbed me entirely.
-i hurried down the street. i knocked at the door, and it opened. the long yearned-for meeting took place at last.
-i threw my pack, equipment and steel helmet contemptuously into a corner. i took an infantile delight in clean, furnished rooms, in the white table-cloth, the shining silver, the cut flowers, and the oil-paintings on the wall. and we talked until late into the night.
-it was good to wake up the next morning and to know that the first day of my leave was still before me. i felt encouraged to face my new surroundings boldly. i would understand them and identify myself with them. if the sensation that i was dreaming came upon me again, i would welcome it and then i would destroy it once and for all. i would enjoy my leave at any cost. it would become my only reality, and when it was over it would be a reality which i would take back to the front. i would hoard it and always think of it out there, so that the war would seem like a dream, the end of which i could await with patience and resignation.
-i went out to seek friends and acquaintances. i also hoped to meet some war enthusiasts. i would tell them something about the war. how would their theories be able to stand before my actual experiences!
-i was soon disillusioned.
-i dined with a wealthy kinsman. the slaughter of millions had brought him prosperity. he had never done any fighting except with his mouth, but it is precisely that kind of fighting that infuriates the spirit, engenders heroic ardour, and causes the nostrils to dilate. he was so bellicose that he even desired to do some real righting, not understanding the difference between the two. he thought of joining an infantry unit--the artillery were not good enough, he did not want to fire at an enemy he could not see, he wanted to use the bayonet and murder his fellow men in hand-to-hand encounters.
-i began to understand why many men i had met were glad to come back from leave.
-i tried to dissuade him, although i felt it would do him good to see something of the war and he would learn a much-needed lesson. and yet i did not want him killed or horribly mutilated, although i knew that he and those like him were alone responsible for the entire war, both at its origins and its continuance.
-but he would not be persuaded. he said he was dying to go out and see the fun.
-at the word "fun" i felt a sudden and violent contraction of all my muscles. i had an almost irresistible impulse to stand up and strike him across the face. but i was in a public restaurant and i controlled myself. he did not seem to notice anything.
-the conversation drifted away from the war and became commonplace. i tried to relate a few of my experiences, but somehow or other they seemed unsuited to the occasion.
-i had set out with the intention of destroying a mouldering, tottering edifice built up of illusions and ignorant prejudices, and i found myself face to face with towering, strong, unshakable walls, strong and unshakable precisely because it was built of illusions, lies, and prejudices.
-i felt the burden of war descending upon me with all its crushing, annihilating weight. i fought a losing fight against the conviction that for the rest of my leave i would be able to talk of nothing else and think of nothing else but the war. if only i could talk to someone who would understand, that at least would bring relief!
-i longed to see my two friends, although i felt some anxiety lest they might have changed, or rather lest they might not have changed with me.
-it was in the evening of my first day that we met. at first the one embarrassed me a little by his apparent cold aloofness. but his caustic observations on the war soon made it clear that he had stood the test. i realized, from the hatred that lay behind them, that he had suffered as much as many a soldier in the trenches.
-then the other said to me:
-"this is a thing i have never told anyone yet, but i will tell it to you now. there are times when i almost wish i could see german troops marching victoriously through the streets of london. it is not my reason that is speaking now, but my bitterness, which has become stronger than my reason."
-i understood him far too well to make any comment.
-and then after a long silence, i said: "i wonder if anybody else thinks like that."
-and he answered: "yes, there are many--more than you would believe."
-but the first added: "we must remain neutral--that is our one and only duty. the more malevolent our neutrality the better, but it must be neutrality. remember that there are germans whose bitterness prompts them to wish that british troops were marching through the streets of berlin. i think their wish is juster than yours, but both wishes cannot be fulfilled, and it is therefore desirable that the next best thing should happen, namely, that both the allies and their enemies should be entirely deprived of victory."
-i agreed, but added:
-"yes, fundamentally one must remain neutral, but in relation to present circumstances one cannot remain neutral. it is our business to arraign england, our own country, and not germany. it is for every nation to discover its own faults. there are many germans of courage and honesty who will condemn their country for the crimes she has committed. but condemnation from outside is useless and is always discredited. in all probability the allies and the central powers are both equally bad, and to denounce the enemy only is mere yelping with the rest of the savage, vindictive pack."
-"that is true, but what is the good of saying it, or thinking it! ignorance, prejudice, and intellectual dishonesty are far stronger than you are. the depravity of mankind is such that only failure and humiliation will carry conviction. mere words are only wasted. if any nation is completely defeated in this war, then its people will rise against its rulers, whether they are guilty or not, and they will fix all the responsibility of war upon them and upon themselves. there will be a frenzy of self-accusation--whether just or unjust it doesn't matter--and as for the victors, they will say: 'our enemies admit their guilt, so what further proof is needed?' where the real guilt is, that is an irrelevant and trivial question. success or failure will be the sole ultimate criterion. there is only one hope for the world--that failure will be so evenly distributed that there will be anxious heart-searchings in every country. failure alone makes ignorant people think. success is taken for granted. even after a single battle lost, the press is full of explanations and excuses, but after a battle won, there is only complacency and self-glorification, and questions as to the why and wherefore are considered out of place or even treasonable."
-when we parted i was seized with a feeling of intense loneliness, but nevertheless i realized with satisfaction that i was not entirely alone. i also gave up the idea of enjoying my leave and conceived a deep aversion for all pleasures and amusements.
-the next day i wandered into the british museum. the 600,000 volumes that surrounded me on the shelves of the reading-room had a depressing effect. i took out a few books, but was too distracted for serious study.
-the sleepy dullness of the museum became unbearable and i walked out into the street.
-i spent the evening with a member of the national liberal club, an intimate family friend, whose intellectual arrogance was one of the evil memories of my childhood, when many eager impulses and aspirations had been turned to bitterness by his lofty depreciation and his imperturbable assumption of superiority based on maturer years and experience. having at different times received material kindnesses at his hands, i knew i could not tell him what i really thought, and the prospect of meeting him filled me with uneasiness. moreover, in his presence i felt a kind of pride which i did not usually feel in the presence of others--a pride that forbade me to express any sentiment or to reveal my inner mind. and yet my inner mind was clamouring intolerably for revelation. i realized the advantage he would derive from his simple attitude and from his lack of mental integrity, which enabled him to ignore any considerations that did not conform to his preconceived notions, and i realized the disadvantage of my complex attitude, made up as it was of so many conflicting impulses, at war with each other and with the world around me.
-my fears were justified.
-at first the conversation was commonplace, and i related various experiences in a desultory fashion. those that were mildly amusing were most appreciated. but gradually we drifted towards more vital issues and then the long and futile argument began. the weapons of sarcasm and denunciation were denied to me by the laws of politeness and etiquette. i beat in vain against the solid walls of obstinate prejudice and superficiality. his statements were uttered with dogmatic emphasis. they expressed beliefs held with all the self-assurance born of ignorance. they were based on no independent reasoning or observation, but had been assimilated either directly from the daily press or from a circle of acquaintances whose entire political outlook was the creation of the press. it was only then that i realized the immense power of newspapers.
-for most people "thinking" is just the discovery of convenient phrases or labels, such as "pessimist," or "socialist," or "pacifist" or "bolshevik." when any puzzling mental attitude comes before their notice, they pin one of their labels to it, and, having labelled it, they think they understand it. the press supplies them with these labels, and, consciously or unconsciously, they store them up in their minds and always have a few ready for immediate use.
-so familiar and commonplace were the phrases which my opponent selected from his store in order to reply to my every utterance, that i could almost tell what he was going to say before he said it. moreover, the fact that he had travelled abroad and had associated with foreigners, instead of widening his view had only narrowed it. had he never travelled he might have been sufficiently modest to admit that he knew nothing of foreign countries and he might have suspended judgment about them; but the mere fact that he had travelled filled him with a deep conviction that he knew all about the places he had visited, and this conviction, enunciated with pompous emphasis, supplanted the real knowledge and understanding derived from honest observation. like so many people who do not possess the faculty of experiencing, he continually appealed to his own experience and continually referred to his maturer years, as though old age of itself brought wisdom.
-as for the war itself he took no deep interest in it, although he glanced at the war news every day. but to understand it, to analyse its causes, to grasp its significance, to realize its true nature, that he never attempted to do. his labels and his alleged experiences and his years were sufficient to cope with the entire question and answer it satisfactorily for himself. i almost envied him for his self-sufficiency. he would never suffer acutely from any mental strife or agitation due to any but immediate and personal causes. perhaps such a stable mentality that can without effort reject all inconvenient data is the most desirable of all and the most conducive to happiness. certain it is that the stability of society and the very existence of civilization itself depend upon the preponderance of that particular type.
-i knew that the argument was hopeless. indeed, it was no argument. it was no exchange of ideas. it was no mutual attempt at discovering truths by an impartial comparison of two different attitudes.
-at times there were signs of heat on both sides. my opponent spoke of "our democratic army" (familiar phrase!) and the overbearing manner in which he connected this dictum with a number of false, irrelevant or arbitrary generalizations made me feel a momentary pang of anger and i wished he could experience a term of military service. nevertheless, there was no actual display of bad temper or emotion and we parted with all the habitual formulae imposed by social decorum.
-i knew i had come into contact with the truly representative man. his opinion and the opinions of those like him, they all made up popular opinion. all other opinion was abnormal and negligible. it was with despair that i realized the hopelessness of my own position and that of my friends.
-the public did not understand the war and did not want to understand it. it was far away from them and they did not realize the amount of suffering caused by it. it also brought wealth to many who would therefore have regretted its sudden termination. this seems a hard thing to say, but nevertheless it is true. the so-called "working-classes" had developed an appetite for wealth and power that nothing could satisfy. this appetite was being fed continually, but the more it devoured the more voracious it became. nor did the shameless profiteering of the wealthy tend to allay it in any way. protests against the war never went beyond the passing of mere resolutions. those who had sufficient humanity and imagination to hate the war in its entirety and to suffer from it, although not necessarily taking any part in it, were too few and too scattered and isolated to take any effective action.
-the extent to which a man can suffer is the precise measure of his merit, and thus it was that our patriots and war-enthusiasts being incapable, by reason of their grossness and vulgarity, of suffering in a spiritual sense, were immune from the misery caused by the war and yet it was they above all others upon whose support the continuance of the war depended.
-this was the terrible fatality. the more a man suffered from the war the smaller was his control over it.
-everywhere, those who deserved to suffer did not suffer and those who did not deserve to suffer suffered. and that was why the war went on. most people were so indifferent that it was impossible to talk to them without anger. i could think of nothing else but the war. i could not escape from its invisible presence. the streets and houses seemed the immaterial creations of some dream, and somewhere behind them the slaughter was going on, and amid the noise of the traffic the throbbing of the bombardment was plainly audible.
-sometimes i felt an impulse to shout from the house-tops like a hebrew prophet and denounce this most wicked of generations. but the very futility of the idea filled me with mortification.
-our enlightened twentieth century has no use for prophets. christ himself would have been arrested as a pacifist or a lunatic if he had spoken his mind in the streets of london. and the clergy would have applauded the imprisonment of a dangerous "pro-german." the scribes and pharisees were more numerous and more powerful than ever before.
-particularly the scribes.
-there never was in all the world an infamy as great as the infamy of our war-time press. a horde of unscrupulous liars and hirelings spat hatred and malice from safe and comfortable positions. they played the hero when no danger threatened. they defied an enemy who could not reach them. they boasted of the deeds they had not done. they gloried in the victories they did not win. they mouthed frantic protestations of injured innocence when they should have felt the burden of guilty shame. they were mawkishly sentimental when they should have felt keen grief and horror. they denounced murder and they urged others to commit murder. they spewed their venomous slime into every spring of healing water. at a time when clear thinking and balanced judgments were needed more desperately than ever before, they squirted into the air thick clouds of lies, and half-truths, and misleading phrases, and judgments distorted by hatred and warped by malice. and as for those who were either lured on to perpetrate the great iniquity by grandiose and seductive falsehoods or were dragged from their homes and families and sent unwilling to the slaughter, these miserable slaves the press of all countries urged on, one against the other, brutally deaf to their misery, representing them as glad and cheerful when they had reached the extreme of human suffering, magnifying them into heroes of epic proportions (before they donned their dingy garb of war they were "lice" that had to be "combed out"), endowing them with absurdly impossible virtues--when they were just ordinary human beings in misfortune with no ambition except to live in peace and comfort--and at the same time bestowing lofty patronage upon them and calling them "tommies" and sending them cigarettes, chocolates and advice, as though they were children to be petted, with no will or intelligence of their own.
-the press, the cinema, the atrocity placards, and propagandist leaflets, they all practised the same deliberate and colossal deceit and kindled hatred against the enemy. and so successful was this diabolical conspiracy that hatred became second nature to vast masses of people. to think evil of the enemy was an article of national faith, and to question this faith, or still more to repudiate it, that was heresy of the most heinous kind. religion died long ago, but the cult of nationalism that replaced it was infinitely more pernicious in its intolerance and cruelty than religion at its very worst.
-individually men are often good, but collectively men are always bad. the national mob had never been so powerful, nor had it ever been so servile, and that was why its passions were those of the coward and not of the brave man; that was why chivalry and generosity and fair-mindedness were execrated, and only hatred and boastfulness and vindictive malice were allowed to live.
-one afternoon, towards the end of the fortnight, i went to kew gardens with my friend.
-the softness of the warm september day, the calm trees, and the flowers that were pure untroubled beauty (how i envied them their dispassionate lives, their tranquil growth, their effortless attainment of perfection, and their unconscious dying!)--all these had a strangely harmonizing influence upon my discordant spirit. we spoke little, and of the war not at all. indeed, the war suddenly seemed curiously remote and i could hardly hear the throbbing of the guns. i knew that this afternoon would never be lost, that i would often think of it when back at the front. it would remain a dream of tranquil beauty that would haunt me at unexpected moments. i felt that for this alone my leave had been worth while.
-the last morning came. i made a successful effort to control myself. i said good-bye. it was all over.
-when i got back to camp all the men were out at work. i sat down alone in my tent. i felt slightly dazed, but not as miserable as i had expected to feel. i did not know how to occupy my time. i had brought several books with me, but i felt no inclination to read. life seemed empty and purposeless. i waited impatiently for the return of the others.
-they arrived and the evening passed quickly in talk. my friend, whose place was next to mine, remarked that i was far more cheerful than men returning from leave usually are.
-the next day and many days after i was unable to shake off the feeling of mental torpor and a vague regret for what had been and what had gone for ever. my leave seemed like a thing i had dreamt of long ago. sometimes i asked myself in a puzzled manner: "have i really been home on leave?"
-the end of the war, no one could tell when that would be. but the next leave--it might come in eight or nine months--that was something to look forward to and i began to think of all the things i would do when it actually did come.
-across the ridges
-"and cuchullain ... deemed it no honour nor deemed he it fair to take horses or garments or arms from corpses, or from the dead."
-there were only a few stars visible above, but the whole eastern horizon was flashing and scintillating. down in the valley, where several british batteries were in action, long thin jets of flame darted forth incessantly.
-as the day dawned we could see that the distant ridges were enveloped in drifts of dense, white fog. from time to time patches of the fog would glow redly and then become brilliantly incandescent and throw up sheets of lurid flame. german shells came whistling over and burst with angry, reverberating roars. black fountains of earth and smoke spurted up from the fields and left slowly thinning clouds that hung suspended for a while and then dissolved in air. sepia-coloured puffs appearing in the sky above were followed by sharp explosions and the rattle of descending shrapnel.
-for several hours the tumult continued unabated and then the whistle of german shells became less frequent until at last it died down altogether.
-towards noon about a hundred german prisoners passed by under armed escort.
-the ridges had been taken.
-our new camp lay at the foot of a gloomy hill. a disused trench ran right across it. rifles, bayonets, bandoliers, grenades, water-bottles, packs, articles of clothing and bits of equipment lay scattered everywhere. barbed wire rusted in coils or straggling lengths. rusty tins and twisted, rusty sheets of shrapnel-riddled corrugated iron littered the sodden mud. water, rust-stained or black and fetid, stagnated in pools and shell-holes. the sides of the trench were moist with iridescent slime. dead soldiers lay everywhere with grey faces, grey hands and mouldering uniforms. their pockets were turned inside out and mud-stained letters and postcards, and sometimes a mildewed pocket-book or a broken mirror, were dispersed round every rotting corpse. in front of my tent the white ribs of a horse projected from a heap of loose earth. near by a boot with a human foot inside emerged from the black scummy water at the bottom of a shell-hole. an evil stench hovered in the air.
-we buried all the dead that lay within the camp-lines. then darkness descended and we crept into our tents.
-we were lying on wet, oozy clay, thinly covered with wisps of soaked grass and decaying straw--there had been a cornfield here a year ago.
-there were thirteen of us in one tent. we were wedged in tightly, shoulder to shoulder, our feet all in one bunch.
-candles were lit and some of the men sat up and searched their clothes. i was conscious of a slight irritation, but was so tired and depressed that i resolved to ignore it and postpone my usual search to the following day.
-but as i lay still, trying hard to fall asleep, the irritation increased. at last it became so maddening that i started up in bitter rage. i lit my candle and pulled off my shirt.
-"i've got a big one crawling about somewhere," i answered. none of us ever admitted that we had more than one or two, even when we knew we had a great many. it was also considered less disreputable to have one "big one" than two small ones.
-"it's the gink's fault--'e swarms with 'em. i was standin' be'ind 'im in the ranks the other day an' i saw three of 'em crorlin' out of 'is collar up 'is neck. 'e never washes and never changes 'is clothes, so what can yer expect?"
-the "gink" flared up at once:
-"yer god-damn son of a bitch--it's youss guys that never washes. i bet yer me borram dollar i ant got a god-damn chat on me...."
-a long wrangle ensued. wild threats and foul insults were flung about. but the quarrel, like nearly all our quarrels, did not go beyond violent words.
-i began to search and soon found a big swollen louse. i crushed it with my thumb-nail so that the blood spurted out. i heard several faint cracks coming from the opposite side of the tent and knew that others were also hunting for vermin.
-i examined the seams of my shirt and found two or three more. then, to my dismay, i discovered several eggs. they are so minute that some are sure to escape the most careful scrutiny. the presence of eggs is always a warning that many nights of irritation will have to pass by before the young grow sufficiently big to be discovered easily.
-i thought i had looked at every square inch of my shirt, but i looked at it a second time in order to make sure. i soon found a whitish elongated body clinging tightly to the cloth. then i found another wedged into the seam.
-meanwhile, my neighbour, who had been tossing about restlessly and scratching himself and sighing with desperate vexation, lit his candle and began to search busily. the sound of an occasional crack showed how successful he was.
-the stifling heat became unbearable, and at the same time the cold, clammy moisture from the soft sodden mud underneath began to penetrate ground-sheet and blankets.
-at length a fitful slumber came upon me and a confusion of rotting bodies swarming with monstrous lice passed before my closed eyes. i was fully awake long before reveillé, sleepy and unrefreshed, and when reveillé came we received orders to move within two hours.
-four of us and one n.c.o. were left behind to load a lorry. and then we, too, packed up and set out to follow the unit.
-thinking to take a short cut across country we ascended the hill-slope, jumping and clambering across shell-holes and striding through long grass and weeds. now and again we would chance upon some narrow winding track that soon lost itself again amid the tangled growth.
-low clouds burdened the sky and a fine rain began to fall. the top of the hill was hidden in grey mist.
-we passed a heap of broken concrete blocks from which the twisted ends of iron rods projected. a little further on a concrete shelter stood intact except for deep vertical fissures. i peered into the narrow entrance that sloped steeply down. i slipped in the soft mud, but by stretching out my arms and clasping the outer wall i just saved myself from falling flat on to a rotting corpse that lay half-immersed in greenish-black water. i drew slowly back, feeling sick with horror.
-as we climbed the hill-side the devastation increased. the trees and bushes were torn, splintered and uprooted. only a few grey trunks remained standing like scarred, bare poles. we approached the summit and crossed shell-hole next to shell-hole, for not a square yard of ground had remained untouched. some of the holes were wide and deeply funnel-shaped, others were shallow, and others were hardly distinguishable, the earth having been churned and tossed up time after time. on the very top of the hill, there was nothing left of the trees that had densely clothed it a few months before, except fragments of wood and stringy lengths of root. even the grass and weeds had been destroyed and blasted by the bursting of innumerable shells.
-we walked along the crest between upright bundles of splinters that projected from the ground in two parallel rows--all that remained of an avenue of pines and larches.
-we descended the further slope by a narrow gulley. here the shell-holes were less frequent. a miry path led through an abandoned camp--a chaos of riddled and shattered boards and contorted iron sheeting. dead frenchmen were lying everywhere. from a drab heap of mud and clothing a human arm projected. the terminal finger-joints had dropped off. the blackened skin was drawn tightly over the back of the hand which seemed to clutch frantically at some invisible object.
-a little further on two soldiers were scraping the soil with sticks.
-"gorblimy--'e ain't 'alf rotten--puh--don't 'e stink! i 'ope 'e's got summat in 'is pockets arter we've bin takin' all this trouble."
-"put yer stick under 'im an' 'eave 'im out!"
-one of the men pushed his stick obliquely into the ground and levered up the putrefying corpse. the other turned the pockets inside out. a few soiled and mouldy bits of paper came to light, but nothing of any value.
-"just our bastard bleed'n' luck! let's see if we can't find a fritz or a tommy!"
-robbing the dead was always a recognized thing at the front, but our corporal, who was rather an unsoldierly individual, did not seem to think it quite the proper thing, and shouted:
-"what d'you want to rob the dead for? why don't you leave them alone?"
-"what's it got ter do wi' you?" answered one of the treasure-seekers. "why don't yer mind yer own bleed'n' business? what's the use o' lettin' good stuff go west? a dead un can't do nothin' wi' watches an' rings an' five-franc notes! gorblimy, 'ave a bit o' sense! it's allus your class o' blokes what makes a bleed'n' fuss!"
-having thus vindicated their rights, the two men turned away in order to continue their search for the legitimate spoils of war.
-we walked on and the gulley widened out into a level crater-field. the hill loomed dimly behind us, and, looking ahead through the rain and mist, we could see the reddish blur of a ruined village.
-a little further on lay another head. the face had been smashed and no features were recognizable except the lobe of one ear, behind which there was a deep triangular hole. two or three yards away there was a booted leg and beyond that a severed hand lying beside a heap of rotting flesh, bone and sodden clothing, all covered with thick brown masses made up of the innumerable empty cases of maggot chrysalids.
-we struck a main road. it was dotted with shell-holes that had recently been filled in with bricks and pieces of stone. to the left of the road were many scarred tree-trunks. some were still erect, others were aslant, while others lay prone, having been broken off short or torn up by the roots. they were all dead and ashen grey. behind them was a broad ring of stagnant water covered with duckweed. on the island within the ring was a huge heap of loose bricks--a few months ago this had been a picturesque château with gabled roofs, surrounded by gardens and a wooded park. amongst the shell-holes and scattered branches and twisted lengths of white railing, a few michaelmas daisies, chrysanthemums, dahlias, and other garden flowers were in bloom.
-further on, to the right of the road, stood the ruins of the church. a few thick pieces of wall were still standing and a part of the steeple pointed upwards like a jagged finger. heaped up inside were brick-fragments and tiles, together with splintered beams and rafters, riddled sheets of lead and zinc, broken chairs, twisted brass candlesticks, bits of stained glass, and here and there chunks of coloured plaster, the remains of apostolic or saintly images. one of the confessionals was still visible, although all the woodwork was shattered. of the altar nothing could be seen. behind a crumbling fragment of brick wall was a band of machine-gun ammunition and a heap of empty cartridge cases.
-the big bronze bell lay outside the church in two pieces. the cemetery had been churned by shell-fire. the tombstones were chipped and broken. one big block of granite had been overturned by a bursting shell and the inscription was so scarred as to be illegible. the stone christ had been hit in many places. his left hand was gone, so that he hung aslant by the other. both his legs had been blown off at the knees and his nose and mouth had been carried away by some flying shell-fragment or shrapnel-ball. all the graves had been thrown into confusion by the violence of innumerable explosions. bits of bone--femurs, ribs, lower jaws--lay scattered about. the hip of a soldier who had been buried in his clothes projected from the soil with the brown mass of maggot chrysalids still clinging to it. two bent knees of a greenish-grey colour, that had only begun to decay, emerged from a patch of trodden mud.
-beyond the church, by the roadside, were the dwelling-houses. some of them were a tangle of rafters mixed up with heaps of brick and miscellaneous rubbish--stoves, pots and pans, chair-legs, pictures, bedding, boxes, and all kinds of household articles. others had been dispersed around. others seemed to have been tipped up bodily, so that all their contents had been spilt into the street, and then to have been dropped back again with such an impact that they had collapsed on their own foundations. the sweet, sickly smell of bodies that had not been decaying long, and the rank, pungent smell of those that were approaching total dissolution emanated from under heaps of wreckage and from hidden cellars.
-the devastation increased with every mile and the shell-holes came closer and closer together. dead horses, shattered guns, wagons, and limbers lay overturned in the ditches. at one spot on the roadside the legs and buttocks of a man, all brown and shrivelled, slanted upwards from a deep, wide rut, many heavy wheels having passed across the small of his back.
-gradually houses, trees and bushes disappeared entirely. we reached the site of a village that before the war had sheltered several thousands of people. nothing remained except small bits of brick mingling with the bare soil, piled up and scooped and churned and tossed by shell-fire.
-here, too, there were many dead. a little way off the road lay an englishman who could not have fallen more than a few days before. his hands were clenched, his mouth wide open, his eyes fixed and staring. near him was a tall german. he lay at full length with arms outstretched and legs crossed. his left hand, immersed in a pool, was white and puffy. his right hand was half closed and only slightly wrinkled. his side had been ripped open and fragments of entrail projected from the rent. the water beneath and around him was stained with blood. his pockets were turned inside out and papers and postcards lay scattered around in the usual manner. his cloak had been thrown across his face.
-other bodies had lain unburied for several months; others for several years, and of these only the mud-stained bones were left.
-we reached the highest point in the series of so-called ridges. the desolate country spread out before us--miles and miles of low undulations ploughed by shell-fire and bared of everything except an occasional concrete shelter or the splintered stump of a dead tree.
-we marched in silence through this dismal land of ruin and desolation. at length, in the distance, we saw a solitary fragment of a brick wall standing in a wide hollow, a sign that we were nearing a habitable region once again.
-we passed by riddled german sign-boards--vormarschstrasse, hohenzollernstrasse, kaiserstrasse, mackensenstrasse, admiral scheerstrasse. we came to a litter of wreckage that had once been a village and then we left the main road and entered a little wood, or rather an assembly of scarred tree-trunks leaning at all angles. it was crossed by a zig-zag trench and all the refuse of battle lay scattered about.
-an australian soldier lay on a low mound. his head had dropped off and rolled backwards down the slope. the lower jaw had parted from the skull. his hands had been devoured by rats and two little heaps of clean bones were all that remained of them. the body was fully clothed and the legs encased in boots and puttees. one thigh-bone projected through a rent in the trousers and the rats had gnawed white grooves along it. a mouldy pocket-book lay by his side and several postcards and a soiled photograph of a woman and a child.
-an attempt had been made to bury some of the dead, and several lay beneath heaps of loose earth with their boots projecting. but the rats had reached them all, and black, circular tunnels led down into the fetid depths of the rotting bodies. the stench that filled the air was so intolerable that we hastened to get out of this dreadful place.
-soon we perceived a church steeple far away. it brought some relief to the feeling of oppression and despair which had begun to burden us. we struck the road once again.
-we passed houses of which the scarred walls were still standing, but with their bare, splintered rafters, empty windows, and riddled doors they looked more gloomy and forlorn than complete ruins. there were more concrete shelters and then some rusty iron cranes and the site of a "munitionslager" from which every shell had been removed. we approached a small town. many of the houses were intact except for scattered tiles and broken windows. the stately church was full of huge holes. all the streets were deserted.
-beyond the town, on either side of the road, was a series of dumps, collecting stations, r.e. parks, workshops, and woodyards--mastenlager, pi-park, gruppenwegebaustofflager, pferdesammelstelle, and others. then a german military cemetery, beautifully kept and planted all over with shrubs and flowers. we had never seen a military cemetery like it before.
-a bend of the road, as it topped a gentle slope, revealed an expanse of smooth green fields dotted with groups of trees. it did our eyes good to see trees that were alive and unharmed. their foliage was autumn-tinted--until now we had hardly realized that autumn was with us. a placid river flowed through the meadows. on the far shore was a town, beyond it a hill crowned by a fine château.
-as we walked on, the scattered houses drew closer and closer together until they formed continuous rows. a civilian passed by, pushing a wheelbarrow that clattered over the cobbles. then there followed a woman with a bundle on her back.
-there was something peculiar about the houses. they were not damaged in the same way as the others we had seen. they were all roofless and floorless, but the walls were unharmed except for occasional holes and scars. then we suddenly realized that the germans had stripped the entire street of all woodwork--of floor-boards, of beams and rafters, of doors and window-frames, leaving only the bare, empty shells of brick.
-we turned a corner and entered another street in which the houses had not been rifled. several were occupied by civilians.
-ever since we had received news of the german peace offers and president wilson's replies, rumours had multiplied enormously--the kaiser had been assassinated, the german fleet had surrendered, german troops were deserting in masses, german submarines were floating on the surface and flying white flags, a german republic had been proclaimed with liebknecht as president.
-one evening after a day of unusually hard labour, we were lying exhausted in our tent. suddenly the flap was thrown open, a man pushed his head in and shouted excitedly:
-"i say, you chaps, the armistice has been signed--it's official!"
-"who says so? did you see it in print?"
-"no, i just heard it from a despatch rider. he got it from his c.o.--it's official."
-"don't believe it. we've heard that tale too often."
-"all right, then, don't!" the man shouted angrily and walked off.
-no sooner had he gone when our corporal said:
-"it wouldn't surprise me if he were right. in any case, even if the germans haven't signed yet, they'll have to do so soon. bulgaria, turkey, and austria have collapsed. the germans have decreasing resources and no reserves. the allies have increasing resources and unlimited reserves. the longer the war goes on, the more desperate is germany's position. she must accept our terms, she can't help herself."
-"i do not think they will sign," i replied. "i think we can expect at least another year of war. i know germany is in a bad way, but our terms mean unconditional surrender. the germans will not be silly enough to imagine that, once they are disarmed and helpless, we shall stick to the fourteen points or be bound by any promises of any kind. no, the germans will fight on, they will shorten their front, and they will at least keep the allies off german territory for an indefinite period until they can secure better terms."
-"you overrate the strength of the germans. i think the german army is becoming completely demoralized. i also think that the blockade has done its work amongst the civilian population. we shall have an armistice within the next few days. perhaps rumour is correct for once and the war is already over. we haven't heard any guns for a long time--the front is extraordinarily quiet."
-"yes, but we would have heard officially--news like that would never be kept from us."
-"that's true enough--i expect the thing is being discussed and a decision will be reached before long."
-we all agreed that as soon as the fighting ceased, we would be informed. the news of the armistice would be telegraphed to every unit and it would reach us within a few minutes from the actual signature. and then, what would we do then? how would our feelings find an outlet? it was impossible to say. shouting, singing, dancing, would they give us relief? speculation was useless, painfully useless. and yet what else could we think about?
-it was sunday, the 10th of november. we had no work to do and wandered restlessly round the town. an official communique was posted up outside the mairie, but it contained nothing new. there was a crowd of soldiers round a belgian boy who was selling english papers. we bought the last copies, but they were of the previous thursday and did not add to our knowledge. the suspense was becoming unbearable. my conviction that the germans would reject the terms of the allies was shaken--not by any further evidence, but by the general atmosphere of excitement and hopeful expectation which communicated itself to me. i kept on repeating to myself, "they will not sign, they will not sign," and intellectually i believed my own words. and yet i was continually imagining the war already over and what i merely thought seemed unessential and irrelevant. the stress of wild hopes and mental agitation became almost a physical pain.
-everybody went mad. the men rushed out of the tents and shouted: "it's over--it's over--it's over!" i could hear one shrill voice screaming wildly: "no more bombs--no more shells--no more misery." the deafening clamour from innumerable throats was topped by the piercing blasts of whistles and the howling of catcalls. a huge bonfire was lit in the camp and sheets of flame shot skyward. the brilliant stars of signal-rockets rose and fell in tall parabolæ and lit up all the neighbourhood. the sergeant-major blew his whistle with the intention of restoring order. he was answered by a hullabaloo of derisive hoots and yells. he gave up the attempt and instead he headed a procession that marched into the town, banging empty tins and whirling trench-rattles. an anti-aircraft battery opened fire with blank charges. aeroplanes flew overhead with all lights on.
-many of us went back into our tents and sang with all the power of our lungs.
-so the war was over! the fact was too big to grasp all at once, but nevertheless i felt an extraordinarily serene satisfaction. then someone said: "the people who've lost their sons and husbands--now's the time they'll feel it." the truth of this remark struck me with sudden violence. my serenity was broken and i looked into the blackness beneath it. i knew what i was going to see, but, nevertheless, i looked, in spite of myself, and saw innumerable rotting dead that lay unburied in all postures on the bare, shell-tossed earth. a horror of death such as i had never known before came upon me--a crushing, annihilating horror that seemed to impart a fiendish character to the shouting and singing in the camp, as though millions of demoniac spirits were howling and dancing with devilish glee over the accomplishment of the greatest iniquity ever known. at the same time i felt ashamed of not joining in the general jubilation, and bitterly disappointed that my own thoughts--always my worst enemies--should obsess me at this supreme hour. but i knew that the war had lasted too long and that the world's misery had been too great ever to be shaken off. i also knew that all the dead had died in vain. in order to escape from my intolerable meditations i sat up and began to talk to my neighbour:
-"i suppose it'll be read out officially to-morrow morning?"
-"sure--and we'll get a day off at least."
-we continued to talk of commonplace things. it was several hours after midnight and the uproar was dying down a little. i felt sleepy and something like contentment was beginning to steal over me once again.
-reveillé did not sound until nine o'clock on the monday morning. the whistle blew for parade. there would, of course, be an official announcement that the armistice had been signed and perhaps a letter of thanks to the "splendid troops who had won the war" (which would bore us extremely) and a holiday (which would be welcomed with loud cheers).
-we paraded. the sergeant-major addressed us:
-"i'm sorry, boys, but nothing official's coom through. you must go to work as usual. it's a damned shame, i know, but i can't help it. i expect the message'll coom during the day and you're sure to get to-morrow off."
-there was a murmur in the ranks, but bewilderment deprived us of the power of taking concerted action. a sudden fear seized me--could last night's celebrations have been the result of a false alarm?
-we marched off. but no one did a stroke of work the whole day. all discipline had gone. the n.c.o.'s had no vestige of authority left. men from other units whom we met knew no more than we did. they said the armistice had been signed, but there had been no official announcement.
-we got back to camp in the afternoon. no official news.
-in the evening the celebrations were renewed. i was troubled by an intense anxiety which began to spread to the others. still, there would certainly be an announcement the following morning.
-"any news?" i asked.
-he gave me the paper. it was dated monday, the 11th november--only a day old. the headline ran: "no armistice yet."
-so sunday's demonstration had been a sham and a fraud!
-i rejoined the others. they, too, had heard that no armistice had been signed by sunday midnight from a despatch rider who had, however, added that signature was expected every minute.
-wednesday morning, and still no definite news. the suspense was becoming unbearable. no work was done. i questioned men from five other units, but none of them were any better informed than we were.
-the expectation of peace had made us forget our bitterness towards the army, but it began to show itself again:
-"they don't want us to know!"
-"they're damned sorry it's all over!"
-"there's too many of 'em wi' soft jobs what wants the war to go on for ever!"
-"what are you grumbling about? what has the armistice got to do with us? the armistice concerns the staff, not us. it's not our business--we're only common soldiers."
-when we got back to camp a boy was selling papers at the entrance. i bought a times. it was tuesday's. the armistice had been signed on the monday morning!
-i went to my tent and sat down and thought it over. the terms were ominous. there was no doubt about it this time--the war had come to an end. i thought of home and of freedom. it almost seemed as though army-life had been a dream. i was still in the army, but a few months more or less would make no difference, for my thoughts would be all in the future.
-then i pondered over the last insult the army had given us--the insult of not even telling us when the war was over, and making no concessions to allow us time for rejoicing or reflection. after having slaved and suffered all these years we were ignored as though we did not exist. still, one insult more or less did not matter, for we would be out of it soon.
-in the evening the celebrations were resumed. they lacked the spontaneity of those that were held on the sunday night. nevertheless, the rejoicing was genuine, for our suspense had been followed by an immense relief.
-as i lay in my tent amid the shouting and singing i again felt that bitter thoughts were gathering, but i was distracted by a man sitting two places from me, who said:
-"it's a bloody shame we can't get any wine or spirits and get bloody well drunk to-night."
-a man lying near him, who had kept very quiet all the evening, suddenly sat up erect, glaring with fury, and shouted:
-"that's all you can think about, getting drunk--you dirty little blackguard! you don't deserve to have peace, you don't! bloody lot of fools--all shouting and singing and wanting to get drunk! they ought to have more respect for the dead! the war's over, and we're bloody lucky to get out of it unharmed, but it's nothing to shout about when there's hundreds and thousands of our mates dead or maimed for life."
-"don't talk bloody sentimental rot--call yourself a soldier? you ought to be a bloody parson!"
-"i don't call myself a soldier--it's a bloody insult to be called a soldier. i'm not a bloody patriot either--i reckon patriotism's a bloody curse. i kept out of the army as long as i could, but they combed me out (that's their polite way of putting it!), and shoved me into khaki, but they never made a soldier of me! i've never been any use to them! i only worked when they forced me to. i've been more expense and trouble to them than i'm worth. i haven't helped to win this wicked war, and i'm proud of it too! sentimental rot be damned--if everyone had been my way of thinking there wouldn't have been a war, no, not in any country. the war's won, i know, and i'm sorry for it. but fritz has come off best, not us. he's lost the war, but he's found his bloody soul! i'll tell the civvies something about war when i get home--i'll tell 'em we rob the dead, i'll tell 'em...."
-"for god's sake chuck it...."
-"all right, i'll chuck it--i know it's no bloody good talking to fellows like you. go and get drunk, then, do as you bloody well please. that's all you're fit for...."
-he flung himself back into bed and wrapped himself up in his blanket and did not say another word.
-garden city press, printers, letchworth, herts.
-the gugs of gosh
-c j dennis
-with illustrations by hal gye
-to my wife
-list of illustrations
-the city of gosh as glug blamed glug "and now," said the teacher . . . o'er the prophecy pored quog took the chair on the royal door-mat taking the air
-let him who is minded to meet with a glug pluck three hardy hairs from a rabbit-skin rug; blow one to the south, and one to the west, then burn another and swallow the rest. and who shall explain 'tis the talk of a fool, he's a glug! he's a glug of the old gosh school! and he'll climb a tree, if the east wind blows, in a casual way, just to show he knows . . . now, tickle his toes! oh, tickle his toes! and don't blame me if you come to blows.
---old gosh rhyme
-i. the glug quest
-follow the river and cross the ford, follow again to the wobbly bridge, turn to the left at the notice board, climbing the cow-track over the ridge; tip-toe soft by the little red house, hold your breath if they touch the latch, creep to the slip-rails, still as a mouse, then . . . run like mad for the bracken patch.
-worm your way where the fern fronds tall fashion a lace-work over your head, hemming you in with a high, green wall; then, when the thrush calls once, stop dead. ask of the old grey wallaby there-- him prick-eared by the woollybutt tree-- how to encounter a glug, and where the country of gosh, famed gosh may be.
-but, if he is scornful, if he is dumb, hush! there's another way left. then come.
-on a white, still night, where the dead tree bends over the track, like a waiting ghost, travel the winding road that wends down to the shore on an eastern coast. follow it down where the wake of the moon kisses the ripples of silver sand; follow it on where the night seas croon a traveller's tale to the listening land.
-step not jauntily, not too grave, till the lip of the languorous sea you greet; wait till the wash of the thirteenth wave tumbles a jellyfish out at your feet. not too hopefully, not forlorn, whisper a word of your earnest quest; shed not a tear if he turns in scorn and sneers in your face like a fish possessed.
-hist! hope on! there is yet a way. brooding jellyfish won't be gay.
-wait till the clock in the tower booms three, and the big bank opposite gnashes its doors, then glide with a gait that is carefully free by the great brick building of seventeen floors; haste by the draper who smirks at his door, straining to lure you with sinister force, turn up the lane by the second-hand store, and halt by the light bay carrier's horse.
-by the carrier's horse with the long, sad face and the wisdom of years in his mournful eye; bow to him thrice with a courtier's grace, proffer your query, and pause for reply. eagerly ask for a hint of the glug, pause for reply with your hat in your hand; if he responds with a snort and a shrug strive to interpret and understand.
-rare will a carrier's horse condescend. yet there's another way. on to the end!
-catch the four-thirty; your ticket in hand, punched by the porter who broods in his box; journey afar to the sad, soggy land, wearing your shot-silk lavender socks. wait at the creek by the moss-grown log till the blood of a slain day reddens the west. hark for the croak of a gentleman frog, of a corpulent frog with a white satin vest.
-go as he guides you, over the marsh, treading with care on the slithery stones, heedless of night winds moaning and harsh that seize you and freeze you and search for your bones. on to the edge of a still, dark pool, banishing thoughts of your warm wool rug; gaze in the depths of it, placid and cool, and long in your heart for one glimpse of a glug.
-"krock!" was he mocking you? "krock! kor-r-rock!" well, you bought a return, and it's past ten o'clock.
-choose you a night when the intimate stars carelessly prattle of cosmic affairs. flat on your back, with your nose pointing mars, search for the star who fled south from the bears. gaze for an hour at that little blue star, giving him, cheerfully, wink for his wink; shrink to the size of the being you are; sneeze if you have to, but softly; then think.
-throw wide the portals and let your thoughts run over the earth like a galloping herd. bounds to profundity let there be none, let there be nothing too madly absurd. ponder on pebbles or stock exchange shares, on the mission of man or the life of a bug, on planets or billiards, policemen or bears, alert all the time for the sight of a glug.
-meditate deeply on softgoods or sex, on carraway seeds or the causes of bills, biology, art, or mysterious wrecks, or the tattered white fleeces of clouds on blue hills. muse upon ologies, freckles and fog, why hermits live lonely and grapes in a bunch, on the ways of a child or the mind of a dog, or the oyster you bolted last friday at lunch.
-heard you no sound like a shuddering sigh! or the great shout of laughter that swept down the sky? saw you no sign on the wide milky way? then there's naught left to you now but to pray.
-pray for the pleasures that he who was you found in the mud of a shower-fed pool, for the fears that he felt and the joys that he knew when a little green lizard crept into the school. pray as they pray who are maddened by wine: for distraction from self and a spirit at rest. now, deep in the heart of you search for a sign-- if there be naught of it, vain is your quest.
-lay down the book, for to follow the tale were to trade in false blame, as all mortals who fail. and may the gods salve you on life's dreary round; for 'tis whispered: "who finds not, 'tis he shall be found!"
-ii. joi, the glug
-the glugs abide in a far, far land that is partly pebbles and stones and sand but mainly earth of a chocolate hue, when it isn't purple or slightly blue. and the glugs live there with their aunts and their wives, in draught-proof tenements all their lives. and they climb the trees when the weather is wet, to see how high they can really get. pray, don't forget, this is chiefly done when the weather is wet.
-and every shadow that flits and hides, and every stream that glistens and glides and laughs its way from a highland height, all know the glugs quite well by sight. and they say, "our test is the best by far; for a glug is a glug; so there you are! and they climb the trees when it drizzles or hails to get electricity into their nails; and the glug that fails is a luckless glug, if it drizzles or hails."
-now, the glugs abide in the lands of gosh; and they work all day for the sake of splosh. for splosh, the first, is the nation's pride, and king of the glugs, on his uncle's side. and they sleep at night, for the sake of rest; for their doctors say this suits them best. and they climb the trees, as a general rule, for exercise, when the weather is cool. they're taught at school to climb the trees when the weather is cool.
-and the whispering grass on the gay green hills and every cricket that skirls and shrills, and every moonbeam, gleaming white, all know the glugs quite well by sight. and they say, "it is safe, it is the test we bring; for a glug is an awful gluglike thing. and they climb the trees when there's a sign of fog, to scan the land for a feasible dog. they love to jog thro' dells in quest of a feasible dog."
-the glugs eat meals three times a day appreciate the exact values of the situation he was not one of those men who are ever completely in the dark in any given set of circumstances. without being humorous he was a good-humoured man. his habitual, gentle smile was a true expression. more of a european than of a spaniard he had that truly aristocratic nature which is inclined to credit every honest man with something of its own nobility and in its judgment is altogether independent of class feeling. he believed lingard to be an honest man and he never troubled his head to classify him, except in the sense that he found him an interesting character. he had a sort of esteem for the outward personality and the bearing of that seaman. he found in him also the distinction of being nothing of a type. he was a specimen to be judged only by its own worth. with his natural gift of insight d'alcacer told himself that many overseas adventurers of history were probably less worthy because obviously they must have been less simple. he didn't, however, impart those thoughts formally to mrs. travers. in fact he avoided discussing lingard with mrs. travers who, he thought, was quite intelligent enough to appreciate the exact shade of his attitude. if that shade was fine, mrs. travers was fine, too; and there was no need to discuss the colours of this adventure. moreover, she herself seemed to avoid all direct discussion of the lingard element in their fate. d'alcacer was fine enough to be aware that those two seemed to understand each other in a way that was not obvious even to themselves. whenever he saw them together he was always much tempted to observe them. and he yielded to the temptation. the fact of one's life depending on the phases of an obscure action authorizes a certain latitude of behaviour. he had seen them together repeatedly, communing openly or apart, and there was in their way of joining each other, in their poses and their ways of separating, something special and characteristic and pertaining to themselves only, as if they had been made for each other.
-what he couldn't understand was why mrs. travers should have put off his natural curiosity as to her latest conference with the man of fate by an incredible statement as to the nature of the conversation. talk about dresses, opera, people's names. he couldn't take this seriously. she might have invented, he thought, something more plausible; or simply have told him that this was not for him to know. she ought to have known that he would not have been offended. couldn't she have seen already that he accepted the complexion of mystery in her relation to that man completely, unquestionably; as though it had been something preordained from the very beginning of things? but he was not annoyed with mrs. travers. after all it might have been true. she would talk exactly as she liked, and even incredibly, if it so pleased her, and make the man hang on her lips. and likewise she was capable of making the man talk about anything by a power of inspiration for reasons simple or perverse. opera! dresses! yes--about shakespeare and the musical glasses! for a mere whim or for the deepest purpose. women worthy of the name were like that. they were very wonderful. they rose to the occasion and sometimes above the occasion when things were bound to occur that would be comic or tragic (as it happened) but generally charged with trouble even to innocent beholders. d'alcacer thought these thoughts without bitterness and even without irony. with his half-secret social reputation as a man of one great passion in a world of mere intrigues he liked all women. he liked them in their sentiment and in their hardness, in the tragic character of their foolish or clever impulses, at which he looked with a sort of tender seriousness.
-he didn't take a favourable view of the position but he considered mrs. travers' statement about operas and dresses as a warning to keep off the subject. for this reason he remained silent through the meal.
-when the bustle of clearing away the table was over he strolled toward mrs. travers and remarked very quietly:
-“i think that in keeping away from us this evening the man of fate was well inspired. we dined like a lot of carthusian monks.”
-“you allude to our silence?”
-“it was most scrupulous. if we had taken an eternal vow we couldn't have kept it better.”
-“did you feel bored?”
-“pas du tout,” d'alcacer assured her with whimsical gravity. “i felt nothing. i sat in a state of blessed vacuity. i believe i was the happiest of us three. unless you, too, mrs. travers. . . .”
-“it's absolutely no use your fishing for my thoughts, mr. d'alcacer. if i were to let you see them you would be appalled.”
-“thoughts really are but a shape of feelings. let me congratulate you on the impassive mask you can put on those horrors you say you nurse in your breast. it was impossible to tell anything by your face.”
-“you will always say flattering things.”
-“madame, my flatteries come from the very bottom of my heart. i have given up long ago all desire to please. and i was not trying to get at your thoughts. whatever else you may expect from me you may count on my absolute respect for your privacy. but i suppose with a mask such as you can make for yourself you really don't care. the man of fate, i noticed, is not nearly as good at it as you are.”
-“what a pretentious name. do you call him by it to his face, mr. d'alcacer?”
-“no, i haven't the cheek,” confessed d'alcacer, equably. “and, besides, it's too momentous for daily use. and he is so simple that he might mistake it for a joke and nothing could be further from my thoughts. mrs. travers, i will confess to you that i don't feel jocular in the least. but what can he know about people of our sort? and when i reflect how little people of our sort can know of such a man i am quite content to address him as captain lingard. it's common and soothing and most respectable and satisfactory; for captain is the most empty of all titles. what is a captain? anybody can be a captain; and for lingard it's a name like any other. whereas what he deserves is something special, significant, and expressive, that would match his person, his simple and romantic person.”
-he perceived that mrs. travers was looking at him intently. they hastened to turn their eyes away from each other.
-“he would like your appreciation,” mrs. travers let drop negligently.
-“i am afraid he would despise it.”
-“despise it! why, that sort of thing is the very breath of his nostrils.”
-“you seem to understand him, mrs. travers. women have a singular capacity for understanding. i mean subjects that interest them; because when their imagination is stimulated they are not afraid of letting it go. a man is more mistrustful of himself, but women are born much more reckless. they push on and on under the protection of secrecy and silence, and the greater the obscurity of what they wish to explore the greater their courage.”
-“do you mean seriously to tell me that you consider me a creature of darkness?”
-“i spoke in general,” remonstrated d'alcacer. “anything else would have been an impertinence. yes, obscurity is women's best friend. their daring loves it; but a sudden flash of light disconcerts them. generally speaking, if they don't get exactly at the truth they always manage to come pretty near to it.”
-mrs. travers had listened with silent attention and she allowed the silence to continue for some time after d'alcacer had ceased. when she spoke it was to say in an unconcerned tone that as to this subject she had had special opportunities. her self-possessed interlocutor managed to repress a movement of real curiosity under an assumption of conventional interest. “indeed,” he exclaimed, politely. “a special opportunity. how did you manage to create it?”
-this was too much for mrs. travers. “i! create it!” she exclaimed, indignantly, but under her breath. “how on earth do you think i could have done it?”
-mr. d'alcacer, as if communing with himself, was heard to murmur unrepentantly that indeed women seldom knew how they had “done it,” to which mrs. travers in a weary tone returned the remark that no two men were dense in the same way. to this mr. d'alcacer assented without difficulty. “yes, our brand presents more varieties. this, from a certain point of view, is obviously to our advantage. we interest. . . . not that i imagine myself interesting to you, mrs. travers. but what about the man of fate?”
-“oh, yes,” breathed out mrs. travers.
-“i see! immensely!” said d'alcacer in a tone of mysterious understanding. “was his stupidity so colossal?”
-“it was indistinguishable from great visions that were in no sense mean and made up for him a world of his own.”
-“i guessed that much,” muttered d'alcacer to himself. “but that, you know, mrs. travers, that isn't good news at all to me. world of dreams, eh? that's very bad, very dangerous. it's almost fatal, mrs. travers.”
-“why all this dismay? why do you object to a world of dreams?”
-“because i dislike the prospect of being made a sacrifice of by those moors. i am not an optimist like our friend there,” he continued in a low tone nodding toward the dismal figure of mr. travers huddled up in the chair. “i don't regard all this as a farce and i have discovered in myself a strong objection to having my throat cut by those gorgeous barbarians after a lot of fatuous talk. don't ask me why, mrs. travers. put it down to an absurd weakness.”
-mrs. travers made a slight movement in her chair, raising her hands to her head, and in the dim light of the lanterns d'alcacer saw the mass of her clear gleaming hair fall down and spread itself over her shoulders. she seized half of it in her hands which looked very white, and with her head inclined a little on one side she began to make a plait.
-“you are terrifying,” he said after watching the movement of her fingers for a while.
-“yes . . . ?” she accentuated interrogatively.
-“you have the awfulness of the predestined. you, too, are the prey of dreams.”
-“not of the moors, then,” she uttered, calmly, beginning the other plait. d'alcacer followed the operation to the end. close against her, her diaphanous shadow on the muslin reproduced her slightest movements. d'alcacer turned his eyes away.
-“no! no barbarian shall touch you. because if it comes to that i believe he would be capable of killing you himself.”
-a minute elapsed before he stole a glance in her direction. she was leaning back again, her hands had fallen on her lap and her head with a plait of hair on each side of her face, her head incredibly changed in character and suggesting something medieval, ascetic, drooped dreamily on her breast.
-d'alcacer waited, holding his breath. she didn't move. in the dim gleam of jewelled clasps, the faint sheen of gold embroideries and the shimmer of silks, she was like a figure in a faded painting. only her neck appeared dazzlingly white in the smoky redness of the light. d'alcacer's wonder approached a feeling of awe. he was on the point of moving away quietly when mrs. travers, without stirring in the least, let him hear the words:
-“i have told him that every day seemed more difficult to live. don't you see how impossible this is?”
-d'alcacer glanced rapidly across the cage where mr. travers seemed to be asleep all in a heap and presenting a ruffled appearance like a sick bird. nothing was distinct of him but the bald patch on the top of his head.
-“yes,” he murmured, “it is most unfortunate. . . . i understand your anxiety, mrs. travers, but . . .”
-“i am frightened,” she said.
-he reflected a moment. “what answer did you get?” he asked, softly.
-“the answer was: 'patience.'”
-d'alcacer laughed a little.--“you may well laugh,” murmured mrs. travers in a tone of anguish.--“that's why i did,” he whispered. “patience! didn't he see the horror of it?”--“i don't know. he walked away,” said mrs. travers. she looked immovably at her hands clasped in her lap, and then with a burst of distress, “mr. d'alcacer, what is going to happen?”--“ah, you are asking yourself the question at last. that will happen which cannot be avoided; and perhaps you know best what it is.”--“no. i am still asking myself what he will do.”--“ah, that is not for me to know,” declared d'alcacer. “i can't tell you what he will do, but i know what will happen to him.”--“to him, you say! to him!” she cried.--“he will break his heart,” said d'alcacer, distinctly, bending a little over the chair with a slight gasp at his own audacity--and waited.
-“croyez-vous?” came at last from mrs. travers in an accent so coldly languid that d'alcacer felt a shudder run down his spine.
-was it possible that she was that kind of woman, he asked himself. did she see nothing in the world outside herself? was she above the commonest kind of compassion? he couldn't suspect mrs. travers of stupidity; but she might have been heartless and, like some women of her class, quite unable to recognize any emotion in the world except her own. d'alcacer was shocked and at the same time he was relieved because he confessed to himself that he had ventured very far. however, in her humanity she was not vulgar enough to be offended. she was not the slave of small meannesses. this thought pleased d'alcacer who had schooled himself not to expect too much from people. but he didn't know what to do next. after what he had ventured to say and after the manner in which she had met his audacity the only thing to do was to change the conversation. mrs. travers remained perfectly still. “i will pretend that i think she is asleep,” he thought to himself, meditating a retreat on tip-toe.
-“these are strange sounds,” he said.
-“yes, i hear,” mrs. travers murmured, uneasily.
-vague shapes glided outside the cage, barefooted, almost noiseless, whispering malay words secretly.
-“it seems as though a boat had come alongside,” observed d'alcacer, lending an attentive ear. “i wonder what it means. in our position. . . .”
-“it may mean anything,” interrupted mrs. travers.
-“a message of some sort has come,” he said. “they will be calling captain lingard. i wonder what thoughts or what dreams this call will interrupt.” he spoke lightly, looking now at mrs. travers who had altered her position in the chair; and by their tones and attitudes these two might have been on board the yacht sailing the sea in perfect safety. “you, of course, are the one who will be told. don't you feel a sort of excitement, mrs. travers?”
-“i have been lately exhorted to patience,” she said in the same easy tone. “i can wait and i imagine i shall have to wait till the morning.”
-“it can't be very late yet,” he said. “time with us has been standing still for ever so long. and yet this may be the hour of fate.”
-“is this the feeling you have at this particular moment?”
-“i have had that feeling for a considerable number of moments already. at first it was exciting. now i am only moderately anxious. i have employed my time in going over all my past life.”
-“can one really do that?”
-“yes. i can't say i have been bored to extinction. i am still alive, as you see; but i have done with that and i feel extremely idle. there is only one thing i would like to do. i want to find a few words that could convey to you my gratitude for all your friendliness in the past, at the time when you let me see so much of you in london. i felt always that you took me on my own terms and that so kindly that often i felt inclined to think better of myself. but i am afraid i am wearying you, mrs. travers.”
-“i assure you you have never done that--in the past. and as to the present moment i beg you not to go away. stay by me please. we are not going to pretend that we are sleepy at this early hour.”
-d'alcacer brought a stool close to the long chair and sat down on it. “oh, yes, the possible hour of fate,” he said. “i have a request to make, mrs. travers. i don't ask you to betray anything. what would be the good? the issue when it comes will be plain enough. but i should like to get a warning, just something that would give me time to pull myself together, to compose myself as it were. i want you to promise me that if the balance tips against us you will give me a sign. you could, for instance, seize the opportunity when i am looking at you to put your left hand to your forehead like this. it is a gesture that i have never seen you make, and so. . . .”
-“jorgenson!” lingard's voice was heard forward where the light of a lantern appeared suddenly. then, after a pause, lingard was heard again: “here!”
-then the silent minutes began to go by. mrs. travers reclining in her chair and d'alcacer sitting on the stool waited motionless without a word. presently through the subdued murmurs and agitation pervading the dark deck of the emma mrs. travers heard a firm footstep, and, lantern in hand, lingard appeared outside the muslin cage.
-“will you come out and speak to me?” he said, loudly. “not you. the lady,” he added in an authoritative tone as d'alcacer rose hastily from the stool. “i want mrs. travers.”
-“of course,” muttered d'alcacer to himself and as he opened the door of the cage to let mrs. travers slip through he whispered to her, “this is the hour of fate.”
-she brushed past him swiftly without the slightest sign that she had heard the words. on the after deck between the cage and the deckhouse lingard waited, lantern in hand. nobody else was visible about; but d'alcacer felt in the air the presence of silent and excited beings hovering outside the circle of light. lingard raised the lantern as mrs. travers approached and d'alcacer heard him say:
-“i have had news which you ought to know. let us go into the deckhouse.”
-d'alcacer saw their heads lighted up by the raised lantern surrounded by the depths of shadow with an effect of a marvellous and symbolic vision. he heard mrs. travers say “i would rather not hear your news,” in a tone that made that sensitive observer purse up his lips in wonder. he thought that she was over-wrought, that the situation had grown too much for her nerves. but this was not the tone of a frightened person. it flashed through his mind that she had become self-conscious, and there he stopped in his speculation. that friend of women remained discreet even in his thoughts. he stepped backward further into the cage and without surprise saw mrs. travers follow lingard into the deckhouse.
-lingard stood the lantern on the table. its light was very poor. he dropped on to the sea-chest heavily. he, too, was over-wrought. his flannel shirt was open at the neck. he had a broad belt round his waist and was without his jacket. before him, mrs. travers, straight and tall in the gay silks, cottons, and muslins of her outlandish dress, with the ends of the scarf thrown over her head, hanging down in front of her, looked dimly splendid and with a black glance out of her white face. he said:
-“do you, too, want to throw me over? i tell you you can't do that now.”
-“i wasn't thinking of throwing you over, but i don't even know what you mean. there seem to be no end of things i can't do. hadn't you better tell me of something that i could do? have you any idea yourself what you want from me?”
-“you can let me look at you. you can listen to me. you can speak to me.”
-“frankly, i have never shirked doing all those things, whenever you wanted me to. you have led me . . .”
-“i led you!” cried lingard.
-“oh! it was my fault,” she said, without anger. “i must have dreamed then that it was you who came to me in the dark with the tale of your impossible life. could i have sent you away?”
-“i wish you had. why didn't you?”
-“do you want me to tell you that you were irresistible? how could i have sent you away? but you! what made you come back to me with your very heart on your lips?”
-when lingard spoke after a time it was in jerky sentences.
-she had listened tense and very attentive, almost stern. and it was without the slightest change of expression that she said:
-“i think that you bore yourself appropriately to the state of life to which it has pleased god to call you.”
-“what state?” muttered lingard to himself. “i am what i am. they call me rajah laut, king tom, and such like. i think it amused you to hear it, but i can tell you it is no joke to have such names fastened on one, even in fun. and those very names have in them something which makes all this affair here no small matter to anybody.”
-she stood before him with a set, severe face.--“did you call me out in this alarming manner only to quarrel with me?”--“no, but why do you choose this time to tell me that my coming for help to you was nothing but impudence in your sight? well, i beg your pardon for intruding on your dignity.”--“you misunderstood me,” said mrs. travers, without relaxing for a moment her contemplative severity. “such a flattering thing had never happened to me before and it will never happen to me again. but believe me, king tom, you did me too much honour. jorgenson is perfectly right in being angry with you for having taken a woman in tow.”--“he didn't mean to be rude,” protested lingard, earnestly. mrs. travers didn't even smile at this intrusion of a point of manners into the atmosphere of anguish and suspense that seemed always to arise between her and this man who, sitting on the sea-chest, had raised his eyes to her with an air of extreme candour and seemed unable to take them off again. she continued to look at him sternly by a tremendous effort of will.
-“how changed you are,” he murmured.
-he was lost in the depths of the simplest wonder. she appeared to him vengeful and as if turned forever into stone before his bewildered remorse. forever. suddenly mrs. travers looked round and sat down in the chair. her strength failed her but she remained austere with her hands resting on the arms of her seat. lingard sighed deeply and dropped his eyes. she did not dare relax her muscles for fear of breaking down altogether and betraying a reckless impulse which lurked at the bottom of her dismay, to seize the head of d'alcacer's man of fate, press it to her breast once, fling it far away, and vanish herself, vanish out of life like a wraith. the man of fate sat silent and bowed, yet with a suggestion of strength in his dejection. “if i don't speak,” mrs. travers said to herself, with great inward calmness, “i shall burst into tears.” she said aloud, “what could have happened? what have you dragged me in here for? why don't you tell me your news?”
-“i thought you didn't want to hear. i believe you really don't want to. what is all this to you? i believe that you don't care anything about what i feel, about what i do and how i end. i verily believe that you don't care how you end yourself. i believe you never cared for your own or anybody's feelings. i don't think it is because you are hard, i think it is because you don't know, and don't want to know, and are angry with life.”
-he flourished an arm recklessly, and mrs. travers noticed for the first time that he held a sheet of paper in his hand.
-“is that your news there?” she asked, significantly. “it's difficult to imagine that in this wilderness writing can have any significance. and who on earth here could send you news on paper? will you let me see it? could i understand it? is it in english? come, king tom, don't look at me in this awful way.”
-she got up suddenly, not in indignation, but as if at the end of her endurance. the jewelled clasps, the gold embroideries, gleamed elusively amongst the folds of her draperies which emitted a mysterious rustle.
-“i can't stand this,” she cried. “i can't stand being looked at like this. no woman could stand it. no woman has ever been looked at like this. what can you see? hatred i could understand. what is it you think me capable of?”
-“you are very extraordinary,” murmured lingard, who had regained his self-possession before that outburst.
-“who?” repeated lingard. “why, that young fellow that blundered on my brig in the dark, bringing a boatload of trouble alongside on that quiet night in carimata straits. the darkest night i have ever known. an accursed night.”
-mrs. travers bit her lip, waited a little, then asked quietly:
-“what difficulty has he got into now?”
-“difficulty!” cried lingard. “he is immensely pleased with himself, the young fool. you know, when you sent him to talk to me that evening you left the yacht, he came with a loaded pistol in his pocket. and now he has gone and done it.”
-“done it?” repeated mrs. travers blankly. “done what?”
-she snatched from lingard's unresisting palm the sheet of paper. while she was smoothing it lingard moved round and stood close at her elbow. she ran quickly over the first lines, then her eyes steadied. at the end she drew a quick breath and looked up at lingard. their faces had never been so close together before and mrs. travers had a surprising second of a perfectly new sensation. she looked away.--“do you understand what this news means?” he murmured. mrs. travers let her hand fall by her side. “yes,” she said in a low tone. “the compact is broken.”
-carter had begun his letter without any preliminaries:
-i fancy i have acted as a seaman and as a seaman i intend to go on acting. now i have made the ships safe i shall set about without loss of time trying to get the yacht off the mud. when that's done i shall arm the boats and proceed inshore to look for you and the yacht's gentry, and shan't rest till i know whether any or all of you are above the earth yet.
-i hope these words will reach you. just as we had done the business of those praus the man you sent off that night in carimata to stop our chief officer came sailing in from the west with our first gig in tow and the boat's crew all well. your serang tells me he is a most trustworthy messenger and that his name is jaffir. he seems only too anxious to try to get to you as soon as possible. i repeat, ships and men have been made safe and i don't mean to give you up dead or alive.
-“you are quick in taking the point,” said lingard in a dull voice, while mrs. travers, with the sheet of paper gripped in her hand, looked into his face with anxious eyes. “he has been smart and no mistake.”
-“he didn't know,” murmured mrs. travers.
-“no, he didn't know. but could i take everybody into my confidence?” protested lingard in the same low tone. “and yet who else could i trust? it seemed to me that he must have understood without being told. but he is too young. he may well be proud according to his lights. he has done that job outside very smartly--damn his smartness! and here we are with all our lives depending on my word--which is broken now, mrs. travers. it is broken.”
-mrs. travers nodded at him slightly.
-“they would sooner have expected to see the sun and the moon fall out of the sky,” lingard continued with repressed fire. next moment it seemed to have gone out of him and mrs. travers heard him mutter a disconnected phrase. . . . “the world down about my ears.”
-“what will you do?” she whispered.
-“what will i do?” repeated lingard, gently. “oh, yes--do. mrs. travers, do you see that i am nothing now? just nothing.”
-he had lost himself in the contemplation of her face turned to him with an expression of awed curiosity. the shock of the world coming down about his ears in consequence of carter's smartness was so terrific that it had dulled his sensibilities in the manner of a great pain or of a great catastrophe. what was there to look at but that woman's face, in a world which had lost its consistency, its shape, and its promises in a moment?
-mrs. travers looked away. she understood that she had put to lingard an impossible question. what was presenting itself to her as a problem was to that man a crisis of feeling. obviously carter's action had broken the compact entered into with daman, and she was intelligent enough to understand that it was the sort of thing that could not be explained away. it wasn't horror that she felt, but a sort of consternation, something like the discomfiture of people who have just missed their train. it was only more intense. the real dismay had yet to make its way into her comprehension. to lingard it was a blow struck straight at his heart.
-he was not angry with carter. the fellow had acted like a seaman. carter's concern was for the ships. in this fatality carter was a mere incident. the real cause of the disaster was somewhere else, was other, and more remote. and at the same time lingard could not defend himself from a feeling that it was in himself, too, somewhere in the unexplored depths of his nature, something fatal and unavoidable. he muttered to himself:
-“no. i am not a lucky man.”
-this was but a feeble expression of the discovery of the truth that suddenly had come home to him as if driven into his breast by a revealing power which had decided that this was to be the end of his fling. but he was not the man to give himself up to the examination of his own sensations. his natural impulse was to grapple with the circumstances and that was what he was trying to do; but he missed now that sense of mastery which is half the battle. conflict of some sort was the very essence of his life. but this was something he had never known before. this was a conflict within himself. he had to face unsuspected powers, foes that he could not go out to meet at the gate. they were within, as though he had been betrayed by somebody, by some secret enemy. he was ready to look round for that subtle traitor. a sort of blankness fell on his mind and he suddenly thought: “why! it's myself.”
-immediately afterward he had a clear, merciless recollection of hassim and immada. he saw them far off beyond the forests. oh, yes, they existed--within his breast!
-“that was a night!” he muttered, looking straight at mrs. travers. he had been looking at her all the time. his glance had held her under a spell, but for a whole interminable minute he had not been aware of her at all. at the murmur of his words she made a slight movement and he saw her again.--“what night?” she whispered, timidly, like an intruder. she was astonished to see him smile.--“not like this one,” he said. “you made me notice how quiet and still it was. yes. listen how still it is.”
-both moved their heads slightly and seemed to lend an ear. there was not a murmur, sigh, rustle, splash, or footfall. no whispers, no tremors, not a sound of any kind. they might have been alone on board the emma, abandoned even by the ghost of captain jorgenson departed to rejoin the barque wild rose on the shore of the cimmerian sea.--“it's like the stillness of the end,” said mrs. travers in a low, equable voice.--“yes, but that, too, is false,” said lingard in the same tone.--“i don't understand,” mrs. travers began, hurriedly, after a short silence. “but don't use that word. don't use it, king tom! it frightens me by its mere sound.”
-lingard made no sign. his thoughts were back with hassim and immada. the young chief and his sister had gone up country on a voluntary mission to persuade belarab to return to his stockade and to take up again the direction of affairs. they carried urgent messages from lingard, who for belarab was the very embodiment of truth and force, that unquestioned force which had permitted belarab to indulge in all his melancholy hesitations. but those two young people had also some personal prestige. they were lingard's heart's friends. they were like his children. but beside that, their high birth, their warlike story, their wanderings, adventures, and prospects had given them a glamour of their own.
-the very day that travers and d'alcacer had come on board the emma hassim and immada had departed on their mission; for lingard, of course, could not think of leaving the white people alone with jorgenson. jorgenson was all right, but his ineradicable habit of muttering in his moustache about “throwing a lighted match amongst the powder barrels” had inspired lingard with a certain amount of mistrust. and, moreover, he did not want to go away from mrs. travers.
-it was the only correct inspiration on carter's part to send jaffir with his report to lingard. that stout-hearted fighter, swimmer, and devoted follower of the princely misfortunes of hassim and immada, had looked upon his mission to catch the chief officer of the yacht (which he had received from lingard in carimata) as a trifling job. it took him a little longer than he expected but he had got back to the brig just in time to be sent on to lingard with carter's letter after a couple of hours' rest. he had the story of all the happenings from wasub before he left and though his face preserved its grave impassivity, in his heart he did not like it at all.
-fearless and wily, jaffir was the man for difficult missions and a born messenger--as he expressed it himself--“to bear weighty words between great men.” with his unfailing memory he was able to reproduce them exactly, whether soft or hard, in council or in private; for he knew no fear. with him there was no need for writing which might fall into the hands of the enemy. if he died on the way the message would die with him. he had also the gift of getting at the sense of any situation and an observant eye. he was distinctly one of those men from whom trustworthy information can be obtained by the leaders of great enterprises. lingard did put several questions to him, but in this instance, of course, jaffir could have only very little to say. of carter, whom he called the “young one,” he said that he looked as white men look when they are pleased with themselves; then added without waiting for a definite question--“the ships out there are now safe enough, o, rajah laut!” there was no elation in his tone.
-lingard looked at him blankly. when the greatest of white men remarked that there was yet a price to be paid for that safety, jaffir assented by a “yes, by allah!” without losing for a moment his grim composure. when told that he would be required to go and find his master and the lady immada who were somewhere in the back country, in belarab's travelling camp, he declared himself ready to proceed at once. he had eaten his fill and had slept three hours on board the brig and he was not tired. when he was young he used to get tired sometimes; but for many years now he had known no such weakness. he did not require the boat with paddlers in which he had come up into the lagoon. he would go alone in a small canoe. this was no time, he remarked, for publicity and ostentation. his pent-up anxiety burst through his lips. “it is in my mind, tuan, that death has not been so near them since that night when you came sailing in a black cloud and took us all out of the stockade.”
-lingard said nothing but there was in jaffir a faith in that white man which was not easily shaken.
-“how are you going to save them this time, o rajah laut?” he asked, simply.
-“belarab is my friend,” murmured lingard.
-in his anxiety jaffir was very outspoken. “a man of peace!” he exclaimed in a low tone. “who could be safe with a man like that?” he asked, contemptuously.
-“there is no war,” said lingard
-“there is suspicion, dread, and revenge, and the anger of armed men,” retorted jaffir. “you have taken the white prisoners out of their hands by the force of your words alone. is that so, tuan?”
-“yes,” said lingard.
-“and you have them on board here?” asked jaffir, with a glance over his shoulder at the white and misty structure within which by the light of a small oil flame d'alcacer and mrs. travers were just then conversing.
-“yes, i have them here.”
-“then, rajah laut,” whispered jaffir, “you can make all safe by giving them back.”
-“can i do that?” were the words breathed out through lingard's lips to the faithful follower of hassim and immada.
-“can you do anything else?” was the whispered retort of jaffir the messenger accustomed to speak frankly to the great of the earth. “you are a white man and you can have only one word. and now i go.”
-a small, rough dug-out belonging to the emma had been brought round to the ladder. a shadowy calash hovering respectfully in the darkness of the deck had already cleared his throat twice in a warning manner.
-“yes, jaffir, go,” said lingard, “and be my friend.”
-“i am the friend of a great prince,” said the other, sturdily. “but you, rajah laut, were even greater. and great you will remain while you are with us, people of this sea and of this land. but what becomes of the strength of your arms before your own white people? where does it go to, i say? well, then, we must trust in the strength of your heart.”
-“i hope that will never fail,” said lingard, and jaffir emitted a grunt of satisfaction. “but god alone sees into men's hearts.”
-“yes. our refuge is with allah,” assented jaffir, who had acquired the habit of pious turns of speech in the frequentation of professedly religious men, of whom there were many in belarab's stockade. as a matter of fact, he reposed all his trust in lingard who had with him the prestige of a providential man sent at the hour of need by heaven itself. he waited a while, then: “what is the message i am to take?” he asked.
-“tell the whole tale to the rajah hassim,” said lingard. “and tell him to make his way here with the lady his sister secretly and with speed. the time of great trouble has come. let us, at least, be together.”
-“right! right!” jaffir approved, heartily. “to die alone under the weight of one's enemies is a dreadful fate.”
-he stepped back out of the sheen of the lamp by which they had been talking and making his way down into the small canoe he took up a paddle and without a splash vanished on the dark lagoon.
-it was then that mrs. travers and d'alcacer heard lingard call aloud for jorgenson. instantly the familiar shadow stood at lingard's elbow and listened in detached silence. only at the end of the tale it marvelled audibly: “here's a mess for you if you like.” but really nothing in the world could astonish or startle old jorgenson. he turned away muttering in his moustache. lingard remained with his chin in his hand and jaffir's last words took gradual possession of his mind. then brusquely he picked up the lamp and went to seek mrs. travers. he went to seek her because he actually needed her bodily presence, the sound of her voice, the dark, clear glance of her eyes. she could do nothing for him. on his way he became aware that jorgenson had turned out the few malays on board the emma and was disposing them about the decks to watch the lagoon in all directions. on calling mrs. travers out of the cage lingard was, in the midst of his mental struggle, conscious of a certain satisfaction in taking her away from d'alcacer. he couldn't spare any of her attention to any other man, not the least crumb of her time, not the least particle of her thought! he needed it all. to see it withdrawn from him for the merest instant was irritating--seemed a disaster.
-d'alcacer, left alone, wondered at the imperious tone of lingard's call. to this observer of shades the fact seemed considerable. “sheer nerves,” he concluded, to himself. “the man is overstrung. he must have had some sort of shock.” but what could it be--he wondered to himself. in the tense stagnation of those days of waiting the slightest tremor had an enormous importance. d'alcacer did not seek his camp bedstead. he didn't even sit down. with the palms of his hands against the edge of the table he leaned back against it. in that negligent attitude he preserved an alert mind which for a moment wondered whether mrs. travers had not spoiled lingard a little. yet in the suddenness of the forced association, where, too, d'alcacer was sure there was some moral problem in the background, he recognized the extreme difficulty of weighing accurately the imperious demands against the necessary reservations, the exact proportions of boldness and caution. and d'alcacer admired upon the whole mrs. travers' cleverness.
-there could be no doubt that she had the situation in her hands. that, of course, did not mean safety. she had it in her hands as one may hold some highly explosive and uncertain compound. d'alcacer thought of her with profound sympathy and with a quite unselfish interest. sometimes in a street we cross the path of personalities compelling sympathy and wonder but for all that we don't follow them home. d'alcacer refrained from following mrs. travers any further. he had become suddenly aware that mr. travers was sitting up on his camp bedstead. he must have done it very suddenly. only a moment before he had appeared plunged in the deepest slumber, and the stillness for a long time now had been perfectly unbroken. d'alcacer was startled enough for an exclamation and mr. travers turned his head slowly in his direction. d'alcacer approached the bedstead with a certain reluctance.
-“awake?” he said.
-“a sudden chill,” said mr. travers. “but i don't feel cold now. strange! i had the impression of an icy blast.”
-“ah!” said d'alcacer.
-“impossible, of course!” went on mr. travers. “this stagnating air never moves. it clings odiously to one. what time is it?”
-“really, i don't know.”
-“the glass of my watch was smashed on that night when we were so treacherously assailed by the savages on the sandbank,” grumbled mr. travers.
-“i must say i was never so surprised in my life,” confessed d'alcacer. “we had stopped and i was lighting a cigar, you may remember.”
-“no,” said mr. travers. “i had just then pulled out my watch. of course it flew out of my hand but it hung by the chain. somebody trampled on it. the hands are broken off short. it keeps on ticking but i can't tell the time. it's absurd. most provoking.”
-“do you mean to say,” asked d'alcacer, “that you have been winding it up every evening?”
-mr. travers looked up from his bedstead and he also seemed surprised. “why! i suppose i have.” he kept silent for a while. “it isn't so much blind habit as you may think. my habits are the outcome of strict method. i had to order my life methodically. you know very well, my dear d'alcacer, that without strict method i would not have been able to get through my work and would have had no time at all for social duties, which, of course, are of very great importance. i may say that, materially, method has been the foundation of my success in public life. there were never any empty moments in my day. and now this! . . .” he looked all round the cage. . . . “where's my wife?” he asked.
-“i was talking to her only a moment ago,” answered d'alcacer. “i don't know the time. my watch is on board the yacht; but it isn't late, you know.”
-mr. travers flung off with unwonted briskness the light cotton sheet which covered him. he buttoned hastily the tunic which he had unfastened before lying down, and just as d'alcacer was expecting him to swing his feet to the deck impetuously, he lay down again on the pillow and remained perfectly still.
-d'alcacer waited awhile and then began to pace the cage. after a couple of turns he stopped and said, gently:
-“i am afraid, travers, you are not very well.”
-“i don't know what illness is,” answered the voice from the pillow to the great relief of d'alcacer who really had not expected an answer. “good health is a great asset in public life. illness may make you miss a unique opportunity. i was never ill.”
-all this came out deadened in tone, as if the speaker's face had been buried in the pillow. d'alcacer resumed his pacing.
-“i think i asked you where my wife was,” said the muffled voice.
-with great presence of mind d'alcacer kept on pacing the cage as if he had not heard.--“you know, i think she is mad,” went on the muffled voice. “unless i am.”
-again d'alcacer managed not to interrupt his regular pacing. “do you know what i think?” he said, abruptly. “i think, travers, that you don't want to talk about her. i think that you don't want to talk about anything. and to tell you the truth i don't want to, either.”
-“there is that in me,” lingard murmured, deeply, “which would set my heart harder than a stone. i am king tom, rajah laut, and fit to look any man hereabouts in the face. i have my name to take care of. everything rests on that.”
-“mr. d'alcacer would express this by saying that everything rested on honour,” commented mrs. travers with lips that did not tremble, though from time to time she could feel the accelerated beating of her heart.
-“call it what you like. it's something that a man needs to draw a free breath. and look!--as you see me standing before you here i care for it no longer.”
-“but i do care for it,” retorted mrs. travers. “as you see me standing here--i do care. this is something that is your very own. you have a right to it. and i repeat i do care for it.”
-“care for something of my own,” murmured lingard, very close to her face. “why should you care for my rights?”
-“because,” she said, holding her ground though their foreheads were nearly touching, “because if i ever get back to my life i don't want to make it more absurd by real remorse.”
-her tone was soft and lingard received the breath of those words like a caress on his face. d'alcacer, in the cage, made still another effort to keep up his pacing. he didn't want to give mr. travers the slightest excuse for sitting up again and looking round.
-“that i should live to hear anybody say they cared anything for what was mine!” whispered lingard. “and that it should be you--you, who have taken all hardness out of me.”
-“i don't want your heart to be made hard. i want it to be made firm.”
-“you couldn't have said anything better than what you have said just now to make it steady,” flowed the murmur of lingard's voice with something tender in its depth. “has anybody ever had a friend like this?” he exclaimed, raising his head as if taking the starry night to witness.
-“and i ask myself is it possible that there should be another man on earth that i could trust as i trust you. i say to you: yes! go and save what you have a right to and don't forget to be merciful. i will not remind you of our perfect innocence. the earth must be small indeed that we should have blundered like this into your life. it's enough to make one believe in fatality. but i can't find it in me to behave like a fatalist, to sit down with folded hands. had you been another kind of man i might have been too hopeless or too disdainful. do you know what mr. d'alcacer calls you?”
-inside the cage d'alcacer, casting curious glances in their direction, saw lingard shake his head and thought with slight uneasiness: “he is refusing her something.”
-“mr. d'alcacer's name for you is the 'man of fate',” said mrs. travers, a little breathlessly.
-“a mouthful. never mind, he is a gentleman. it's what you. . . .”
-“i call you all but by your christian name,” said mrs. travers, hastily. “believe me, mr. d'alcacer understands you.”
-“he is all right,” interjected lingard.
-“and he is innocent. i remember what you have said--that the innocent must take their chance. well, then, do what is right.”
-“you think it would be right? you believe it? you feel it?”
-“at this time, in this place, from a man like you--yes, it is right.”
-lingard thought that woman wonderfully true to him and wonderfully fearless with herself. the necessity to take back the two captives to the stockade was so clear and unavoidable now, that he believed nothing on earth could have stopped him from doing so, but where was there another woman in the world who would have taken it like this? and he reflected that in truth and courage there is found wisdom. it seemed to him that till mrs. travers came to stand by his side he had never known what truth and courage and wisdom were. with his eyes on her face and having been told that in her eyes he appeared worthy of being both commanded and entreated, he felt an instant of complete content, a moment of, as it were, perfect emotional repose.
-during the silence mrs. travers with a quick side-glance noticed d'alcacer as one sees a man in a mist, his mere dark shape arrested close to the muslin screen. she had no doubt that he was looking in their direction and that he could see them much more plainly than she could see him. mrs. travers thought suddenly how anxious he must be; and she remembered that he had begged her for some sign, for some warning, beforehand, at the moment of crisis. she had understood very well his hinted request for time to get prepared. if he was to get more than a few minutes, this was the moment to make him a sign--the sign he had suggested himself. mrs. travers moved back the least bit so as to let the light fall in front of her and with a slow, distinct movement she put her left hand to her forehead.
-“well, then,” she heard lingard's forcible murmur, “well, then, mrs. travers, it must be done to-night.”
-one may be true, fearless, and wise, and yet catch one's breath before the simple finality of action. mrs. travers caught her breath: “to-night! to-night!” she whispered. d'alcacer's dark and misty silhouette became more blurred. he had seen her sign and had retreated deeper within the cage.
-mrs. travers didn't dream of protesting. for the moment she was unable to speak. this man was very fierce and just as suddenly as it had been gripped (making her think incongruously in the midst of her agitation that there would be certainly a bruise there in the morning) she felt her arm released and a penitential tone come into lingard's murmuring voice.
-“and even now it's nearly too late! the road was plain, but i saw you on it and my heart failed me. i was there like an empty man and i dared not face you. you must forgive me. no, i had no right to doubt you for a moment. i feel as if i ought to go on my knees and beg your pardon for forgetting what you are, for daring to forget.”
-“why, king tom, what is it?”
-“it seems as if i had sinned,” she heard him say. he seized her by the shoulders, turned her about, moved her forward a step or two. his hands were heavy, his force irresistible, though he himself imagined he was handling her gently. “look straight before you,” he growled into her ear. “do you see anything?” mrs. travers, passive between the rigid arms, could see nothing but, far off, the massed, featureless shadows of the shore.
-“no, i see nothing,” she said.
-“you can't be looking the right way,” she heard him behind her. and now she felt her head between lingard's hands. he moved it the least bit to the right. “there! see it?”
-“no. what am i to look for?”
-“a gleam of light,” said lingard, taking away his hands suddenly. “a gleam that will grow into a blaze before our boat can get half way across the lagoon.”
-even as lingard spoke mrs. travers caught sight of a red spark far away. she had looked often enough at the settlement, as on the face of a painting on a curtain, to have its configuration fixed in her mind, to know that it was on the beach at its end furthest from belarab's stockade.
-“the brushwood is catching,” murmured lingard in her ear. “if they had some dry grass the whole pile would be blazing by now.”
-“and this means. . . .”
-“it means that the news has spread. and it is before tengga's enclosure on his end of the beach. that's where all the brains of the settlement are. it means talk and excitement and plenty of crafty words. tengga's fire! i tell you, mrs. travers, that before half an hour has passed daman will be there to make friends with the fat tengga, who is ready to say to him, 'i told you so'.”
-“i see,” murmured mrs. travers. lingard drew her gently to the rail.
-“there is no time to lose,” whispered mrs. travers, and lingard, too, spoke very low.
-“no, not if i, too, am to keep what is my right. it's you who have said it.”
-“yes, i have said it,” she whispered, without lifting her head. lingard made a brusque movement at her elbow and bent his head close to her shoulder.
-“and i who mistrusted you! like arabs do to their great men, i ought to kiss the hem of your robe in repentance for having doubted the greatness of your heart.”
-“oh! my heart!” said mrs. travers, lightly, still gazing at the fire, which had suddenly shot up to a tall blaze. “i can assure you it has been of very little account in the world.” she paused for a moment to steady her voice, then said, firmly, “let's get this over.”
-“to tell you the truth the boat has been ready for some time.”
-“well, then. . . .”
-“mrs. travers,” said lingard with an effort, “they are people of your own kind.” and suddenly he burst out: “i cannot take them ashore bound hand and foot.”
-“mr. d'alcacer knows. you will find him ready. ever since the beginning he has been prepared for whatever might happen.”
-“he is a man,” said lingard with conviction. “but it's of the other that i am thinking.”
-“ah, the other,” she repeated. “then, what about my thoughts? luckily we have mr. d'alcacer. i shall speak to him first.”
-she turned away from the rail and moved toward the cage.
-“jorgenson,” the voice of lingard resounded all along the deck, “get a light on the gangway.” then he followed mrs. travers slowly.
-d'alcacer, after receiving his warning, stepped back and leaned against the edge of the table. he could not ignore in himself a certain emotion. and indeed, when he had asked mrs. travers for a sign he expected to be moved--but he had not expected the sign to come so soon. he expected this night to pass like other nights, in broken slumbers, bodily discomfort, and the unrest of disconnected thinking. at the same time he was surprised at his own emotion. he had flattered himself on the possession of more philosophy. he thought that this famous sense of self-preservation was a queer thing, a purely animal thing. “for, as a thinking man,” he reflected, “i really ought not to care.” it was probably the unusual that affected him. clearly. if he had been lying seriously ill in a room in a hotel and had overheard some ominous whispers he would not have cared in the least. ah, but then he would have been ill--and in illness one grows so indifferent. illness is a great help to unemotional behaviour, which of course is the correct behaviour for a man of the world. he almost regretted he was not very ill. but, then, mr. travers was obviously ill and it did not seem to help him much. d'alcacer glanced at the bedstead where mr. travers preserved an immobility which struck d'alcacer as obviously affected. he mistrusted it. generally he mistrusted mr. travers. one couldn't tell what he would do next. not that he could do much one way or another, but that somehow he threatened to rob the situation of whatever dignity it may have had as a stroke of fate, as a call on courage. mr. d'alcacer, acutely observant and alert for the slightest hints, preferred to look upon himself as the victim not of a swindle but of a rough man naively engaged in a contest with heaven's injustice. d'alcacer did not examine his heart, but some lines of a french poet came into his mind, to the effect that in all times those who fought with an unjust heaven had possessed the secret admiration and love of men. he didn't go so far as love but he could not deny to himself that his feeling toward lingard was secretly friendly and--well, appreciative. mr. travers sat up suddenly. what a horrible nuisance, thought d'alcacer, fixing his eyes on the tips of his shoes with the hope that perhaps the other would lie down again. mr. travers spoke.
-“still up, d'alcacer?”
-“i assure you it isn't late. it's dark at six, we dined before seven, that makes the night long and i am not a very good sleeper; that is, i cannot go to sleep till late in the night.”
-“i envy you,” said mr. travers, speaking with a sort of drowsy apathy. “i am always dropping off and the awakenings are horrible.”
-d'alcacer, raising his eyes, noticed that mrs. travers and lingard had vanished from the light. they had gone to the rail where d'alcacer could not see them. some pity mingled with his vexation at mr. travers' snatchy wakefulness. there was something weird about the man, he reflected. “jorgenson,” he began aloud.
-“what's that?” snapped mr. travers.
-“it's the name of that lanky old store-keeper who is always about the decks.”
-“i haven't seen him. i don't see anybody. i don't know anybody. i prefer not to notice.”
-“i was only going to say that he gave me a pack of cards; would you like a game of piquet?”
-d'alcacer made no remark and mr. travers seemed not to have expected any.
-d'alcacer was thankful to be able to say that he didn't see mrs. travers. he didn't even hear any murmurs, though he had no doubt that everybody on board the emma was wide awake by now. but mr. travers inspired him with invincible mistrust and he thought it prudent to add:
-“you forget that your wife has a room in the deckhouse.”
-this was as far as he would go, for he knew very well that she was not in the deckhouse. mr. travers, completely convinced by the statement, made no sound. but neither did he lie down again. d'alcacer gave himself up to meditation. the night seemed extremely oppressive. at lingard's shout for jorgenson, that in the profound silence struck his ears ominously, he raised his eyes and saw mrs. travers outside the door of the cage. he started forward but she was already within. he saw she was moved. she seemed out of breath and as if unable to speak at first.
-“hadn't we better shut the door?” suggested d'alcacer.
-“captain lingard's coming in,” she whispered to him. “he has made up his mind.”
-“that's an excellent thing,” commented d'alcacer, quietly. “i conclude from this that we shall hear something.”
-“you shall hear it all from me,” breathed out mrs. travers.
-“ah!” exclaimed d'alcacer very low.
-by that time lingard had entered, too, and the decks of the emma were all astir with moving figures. jorgenson's voice was also heard giving directions. for nearly a minute the four persons within the cage remained motionless. a shadowy malay in the gangway said suddenly: “sudah, tuan,” and lingard murmured, “ready, mrs. travers.”
-she seized d'alcacer's arm and led him to the side of the cage furthest from the corner in which mr. travers' bed was placed, while lingard busied himself in pricking up the wick of the cage lantern as if it had suddenly occurred to him that this, whatever happened, should not be a deed of darkness. mr. travers did nothing but turn his head to look over his shoulder.
-“one moment,” said d'alcacer, in a low tone and smiling at mrs. travers' agitation. “before you tell me anything let me ask you: 'have you made up your mind?'” he saw with much surprise a widening of her eyes. was it indignation? a pause as of suspicion fell between those two people. then d'alcacer said apologetically: “perhaps i ought not to have asked that question,” and lingard caught mrs. travers' words, “oh, i am not afraid to answer that question.”
-then their voices sank. lingard hung the lamp up again and stood idle in the revived light; but almost immediately he heard d'alcacer calling him discreetly.
-he moved toward them at once. at the same instant mr. travers' head pivoted away from the group to its frontal position.
-d'alcacer, very serious, spoke in a familiar undertone.
-“mrs. travers tells me that we must be delivered up to those moors on shore.”
-“yes, there is nothing else for it,” said lingard.
-“i confess i am a bit startled,” said d'alcacer; but except for a slightly hurried utterance nobody could have guessed at anything resembling emotion.
-“i have a right to my good name,” said lingard, also very calm, while mrs. travers near him, with half-veiled eyes, listened impassive like a presiding genius.
-“i wouldn't question that for a moment,” conceded d'alcacer. “a point of honour is not to be discussed. but there is such a thing as humanity, too. to be delivered up helplessly. . . .”
-“perhaps!” interrupted lingard. “but you needn't feel hopeless. i am not at liberty to give up my life for your own. mrs. travers knows why. that, too, is engaged.”
-“always on your honour?”
-“i don't know. a promise is a promise.”
-“nobody can be held to the impossible,” remarked d'alcacer.
-“impossible! what is impossible? i don't know it. i am not a man to talk of the impossible or dodge behind it. i did not bring you here.”
-d'alcacer lowered his head for a moment. “i have finished,” he said, gravely. “that much i had to say. i hope you don't think i have appeared unduly anxious.”
-“it's the best policy, too.” mrs. travers made herself heard suddenly. nothing of her moved but her lips, she did not even raise her eyes. “it's the only possible policy. you believe me, mr. d'alcacer? . . .” he made an almost imperceptible movement of the head. . . . “well, then, i put all my hope in you, mr. d'alcacer, to get this over as easily as possible and save us all from some odious scene. you think perhaps that it is i who ought to. . . .”
-“no, no! i don't think so,” interrupted d'alcacer. “it would be impossible.”
-“i am afraid it would,” she admitted, nervously.
-d'alcacer made a gesture as if to beg her to say no more and at once crossed over to mr. travers' side of the cage. he did not want to give himself time to think about his task. mr. travers was sitting up on the camp bedstead with a light cotton sheet over his legs. he stared at nothing, and on approaching him d'alcacer disregarded the slight sinking of his own heart at this aspect which seemed to be that of extreme terror. “this is awful,” he thought. the man kept as still as a hare in its form.
-the impressed d'alcacer had to make an effort to bring himself to tap him lightly on the shoulder.
-“the moment has come, travers, to show some fortitude,” he said with easy intimacy. mr. travers looked up swiftly. “i have just been talking to your wife. she had a communication from captain lingard for us both. it remains for us now to preserve as much as possible our dignity. i hope that if necessary we will both know how to die.”
-in a moment of profound stillness, d'alcacer had time to wonder whether his face was as stony in expression as the one upturned to him. but suddenly a smile appeared on it, which was certainly the last thing d'alcacer expected to see. an indubitable smile. a slightly contemptuous smile.
-“my wife has been stuffing your head with some more of her nonsense.” mr. travers spoke in a voice which astonished d'alcacer as much as the smile, a voice that was not irritable nor peevish, but had a distinct note of indulgence. “my dear d'alcacer, that craze has got such a hold of her that she would tell you any sort of tale. social impostors, mediums, fortune-tellers, charlatans of all sorts do obtain a strange influence over women. you have seen that sort of thing yourself. i had a talk with her before dinner. the influence that bandit has got over her is incredible. i really believe the fellow is half crazy himself. they often are, you know. i gave up arguing with her. now, what is it you have got to tell me? but i warn you that i am not going to take it seriously.”
-he rejected briskly the cotton sheet, put his feet to the ground and buttoned his jacket. d'alcacer, as he talked, became aware by the slight noise behind him that mrs. travers and lingard were leaving the cage, but he went on to the end and then waited anxiously for the answer.
-“see! she has followed him out on deck,” were mr. travers' first words. “i hope you understand that it is a mere craze. you can't help seeing that. look at her costume. she simply has lost her head. luckily the world needn't know. but suppose that something similar had happened at home. it would have been extremely awkward. oh! yes, i will come. i will go anywhere. i can't stand this hulk, those people, this infernal cage. i believe i should fall ill if i were to remain here.”
-the inward detached voice of jorgenson made itself heard near the gangway saying: “the boat has been waiting for this hour past, king tom.”
-“let us make a virtue of necessity and go with a good grace,” said d'alcacer, ready to take mr. travers under the arm persuasively, for he did not know what to make of that gentleman.
-but mr. travers seemed another man. “i am afraid, d'alcacer, that you, too, are not very strong-minded. i am going to take a blanket off this bedstead. . . .” he flung it hastily over his arm and followed d'alcacer closely. “what i suffer mostly from, strange to say, is cold.”
-mrs. travers and lingard were waiting near the gangway. to everybody's extreme surprise mr. travers addressed his wife first.
-“you were always laughing at people's crazes,” was what he said, “and now you have a craze of your own. but we won't discuss that.”
-d'alcacer passed on, raising his cap to mrs. travers, and went down the ship's side into the boat. jorgenson had vanished in his own manner like an exorcised ghost, and lingard, stepping back, left husband and wife face to face.
-“did you think i was going to make a fuss?” asked mr. travers in a very low voice. “i assure you i would rather go than stay here. you didn't think that? you have lost all sense of reality, of probability. i was just thinking this evening that i would rather be anywhere than here looking on at you. at your folly. . . .”
-mrs. travers' loud, “martin!” made lingard wince, caused d'alcacer to lift his head down there in the boat, and even jorgenson, forward somewhere out of sight, ceased mumbling in his moustache. the only person who seemed not to have heard that exclamation was mr. travers himself, who continued smoothly:
-“. . . at the aberration of your mind, you who seemed so superior to common credulities. you are not yourself, not at all, and some day you will admit to me that . . . no, the best thing will be to forget it, as you will soon see yourself. we shall never mention that subject in the future. i am certain you will be only too glad to agree with me on that point.”
-“how far ahead are you looking?” asked mrs. travers, finding her voice and even the very tone in which she would have addressed him had they been about to part in the hall of their town house. she might have been asking him at what time he expected to be home, while a footman held the door open and the brougham waited in the street.
-“not very far. this can't last much longer.” mr. travers made a movement as if to leave her exactly as though he were rather pressed to keep an appointment. “by the by,” he said, checking himself, “i suppose the fellow understands thoroughly that we are wealthy. he could hardly doubt that.”
-“it's the last thought that would enter his head,” said mrs. travers.
-“oh, yes, just so,” mr. travers allowed a little impatience to pierce under his casual manner. “but i don't mind telling you that i have had enough of this. i am prepared to make--ah!--to make concessions. a large pecuniary sacrifice. only the whole position is so absurd! he might conceivably doubt my good faith. wouldn't it be just as well if you, with your particular influence, would hint to him that with me he would have nothing to fear? i am a man of my word.”
-“that is the first thing he would naturally think of any man,” said mrs. travers.
-“what made you change your attitude like this?” asked mrs. travers, suspiciously.
-“my regard for you,” he answered without hesitation.
-“i intended to join you in your captivity. i was just trying to persuade him. . . .”
-“i forbid you absolutely,” whispered mr. travers, forcibly. “i am glad to get away. i don't want to see you again till your craze is over.”
-she was confounded by his secret vehemence. but instantly succeeding his fierce whisper came a short, inane society laugh and a much louder, “not that i attach any importance . . .”
-he sprang away, as it were, from his wife, and as he went over the gangway waved his hand to her amiably.
-lighted dimly by the lantern on the roof of the deckhouse mrs. travers remained very still with lowered head and an aspect of profound meditation. it lasted but an instant before she moved off and brushing against lingard passed on with downcast eyes to her deck cabin. lingard heard the door shut. he waited awhile, made a movement toward the gangway but checked himself and followed mrs. travers into her cabin.
-it was pitch dark in there. he could see absolutely nothing and was oppressed by the profound stillness unstirred even by the sound of breathing.
-“i am going on shore,” he began, breaking the black and deathlike silence enclosing him and the invisible woman. “i wanted to say good-bye.”
-“you are going on shore,” repeated mrs. travers. her voice was emotionless, blank, unringing.
-“yes, for a few hours, or for life,” lingard said in measured tones. “i may have to die with them or to die maybe for others. for you, if i only knew how to manage it, i would want to live. i am telling you this because it is dark. if there had been a light in here i wouldn't have come in.”
-“i wish you had not,” uttered the same unringing woman's voice. “you are always coming to me with those lives and those deaths in your hand.”
-“yes, it's too much for you,” was lingard's undertoned comment. “you could be no other than true. and you are innocent! don't wish me life, but wish me luck, for you are innocent--and you will have to take your chance.”
-“all luck to you, king tom,” he heard her say in the darkness in which he seemed now to perceive the gleam of her hair. “i will take my chance. and try not to come near me again for i am weary of you.”
-“i can well believe it,” murmured lingard, and stepped out of the cabin, shutting the door after him gently. for half a minute, perhaps, the stillness continued, and then suddenly the chair fell over in the darkness. next moment mrs. travers' head appeared in the light of the lamp left on the roof of the deckhouse. her bare arms grasped the door posts.
-“wait a moment,” she said, loudly, into the shadows of the deck. she heard no footsteps, saw nothing moving except the vanishing white shape of the late captain h. c. jorgenson, who was indifferent to the life of men. “wait, king tom!” she insisted, raising her voice; then, “i didn't mean it. don't believe me!” she cried, recklessly.
-for the second time that night a woman's voice startled the hearts of men on board the emma. all except the heart of old jorgenson. the malays in the boat looked up from their thwarts. d'alcacer, sitting in the stern sheets beside lingard, felt a sinking of his heart.
-“what's this?” he exclaimed. “i heard your name on deck. you are wanted, i think.”
-“shove off,” ordered lingard, inflexibly, without even looking at d'alcacer. mr. travers was the only one who didn't seem to be aware of anything. a long time after the boat left the emma's side he leaned toward d'alcacer.
-“i have a most extraordinary feeling,” he said in a cautious undertone. “i seem to be in the air--i don't know. are we on the water, d'alcacer? are you quite sure? but of course, we are on the water.”
-“yes,” said d'alcacer, in the same tone. “crossing the styx--perhaps.” he heard mr. travers utter an unmoved “very likely,” which he did not expect. lingard, his hand on the tiller, sat like a man of stone.
-“then your point of view has changed,” whispered d'alcacer.
-“i told my wife to make an offer,” went on the earnest whisper of the other man. “a sum of money. but to tell you the truth i don't believe very much in its success.”
-d'alcacer made no answer and only wondered whether he didn't like better mr. travers' other, unreasonable mood. there was no denying the fact that mr. travers was a troubling person. now he suddenly gripped d'alcacer's fore-arm and added under his breath: “i doubt everything. i doubt whether the offer will ever be made.”
-part vi. the claim of life and the toll of death
-“have you got king tom's watch in there?” said a voice that seemed not to attach the slightest importance to the question. jorgenson, outside the door of mrs. travers' part of the deckhouse, waited for the answer. he heard a low cry very much like a moan, the startled sound of pain that may be sometimes heard in sick rooms. but it moved him not at all. he would never have dreamt of opening the door unless told to do so, in which case he would have beheld, with complete indifference, mrs. travers extended on the floor with her head resting on the edge of the camp bedstead (on which lingard had never slept), as though she had subsided there from a kneeling posture which is the attitude of prayer, supplication, or defeat. the hours of the night had passed mrs. travers by. after flinging herself on her knees, she didn't know why, since she could think of nothing to pray for, had nothing to invoke, and was too far gone for such a futile thing as despair, she had remained there till the sense of exhaustion had grown on her to the point in which she lost her belief in her power to rise. in a half-sitting attitude, her head resting against the edge of the couch and her arms flung above her head, she sank into an indifference, the mere resignation of a worn-out body and a worn-out mind which often is the only sort of rest that comes to people who are desperately ill and is welcome enough in a way. the voice of jorgenson roused her out of that state. she sat up, aching in every limb and cold all over.
-jorgenson, behind the door, repeated with lifeless obstinacy:
-“do you see king tom's watch in there?”
-mrs. travers got up from the floor. she tottered, snatching at the air, and found the back of the armchair under her hand.
-she was also ready to ask: “where am i?” but she remembered and at once became the prey of that active dread which had been lying dormant for a few hours in her uneasy and prostrate body. “what time is it?” she faltered out.
-“dawn,” pronounced the imperturbable voice at the door. it seemed to her that it was a word that could make any heart sink with apprehension. dawn! she stood appalled. and the toneless voice outside the door insisted:
-“you must have tom's watch there!”
-“i haven't seen it,” she cried as if tormented by a dream.
-“look in that desk thing. if you push open the shutter you will be able to see.”
-mrs. travers became aware of the profound darkness of the cabin. jorgenson heard her staggering in there. after a moment a woman's voice, which struck even him as strange, said in faint tones:
-“i have it. it's stopped.”
-“it doesn't matter. i don't want to know the time. there should be a key about. see it anywhere?”
-“yes, it's fastened to the watch,” the dazed voice answered from within. jorgenson waited before making his request. “will you pass it out to me? there's precious little time left now!”
-the door flew open, which was certainly something jorgenson had not expected. he had expected but a hand with the watch protruded through a narrow crack, but he didn't start back or give any other sign of surprise at seeing mrs. travers fully dressed. against the faint clearness in the frame of the open shutter she presented to him the dark silhouette of her shoulders surmounted by a sleek head, because her hair was still in the two plaits. to jorgenson mrs. travers in her un-european dress had always been displeasing, almost monstrous. her stature, her gestures, her general carriage struck his eye as absurdly incongruous with a malay costume, too ample, too free, too bold--offensive. to mrs. travers, jorgenson, in the dusk of the passage, had the aspect of a dim white ghost, and he chilled her by his ghost's aloofness.
-he picked up the watch from her outspread palm without a word of thanks, only mumbling in his moustache, “h'm, yes, that's it. i haven't yet forgotten how to count seconds correctly, but it's better to have a watch.”
-she had not the slightest notion what he meant. and she did not care. her mind remained confused and the sense of bodily discomfort oppressed her. she whispered, shamefacedly, “i believe i've slept.”
-“i haven't,” mumbled jorgenson, growing more and more distinct to her eyes. the brightness of the short dawn increased rapidly as if the sun were impatient to look upon the settlement. “no fear of that,” he added, boastfully.
-it occurred to mrs. travers that perhaps she had not slept either. her state had been more like an imperfect, half-conscious, quivering death. she shuddered at the recollection.
-“what an awful night,” she murmured, drearily.
-there was nothing to hope for from jorgenson. she expected him to vanish, indifferent, like a phantom of the dead carrying off the appropriately dead watch in his hand for some unearthly purpose. jorgenson didn't move. his was an insensible, almost a senseless presence! nothing could be extorted from it. but a wave of anguish as confused as all her other sensations swept mrs. travers off her feet.
-“can't you tell me something?” she cried.
-for half a minute perhaps jorgenson made no sound; then: “for years i have been telling anybody who cared to ask,” he mumbled in his moustache. “telling tom, too. and tom knew what he wanted to do. how's one to know what you are after?”
-she had never expected to hear so many words from that rigid shadow. its monotonous mumble was fascinating, its sudden loquacity was shocking. and in the profound stillness that reigned outside it was as if there had been no one left in the world with her but the phantom of that old adventurer. he was heard again: “what i could tell you would be worse than poison.”
-mrs. travers was not familiar with jorgenson's consecrated phrases. the mechanical voice, the words themselves, his air of abstraction appalled her. and he hadn't done yet; she caught some more of his unconcerned mumbling: “there is nothing i don't know,” and the absurdity of the statement was also appalling. mrs. travers gasped and with a wild little laugh:
-“then you know why i called after king tom last night.”
-he glanced away along his shoulder through the door of the deckhouse at the growing brightness of the day. she did so, too. it was coming. it had come! another day! and it seemed to mrs. travers a worse calamity than any discovery she had made in her life, than anything she could have imagined to come to her. the very magnitude of horror steadied her, seemed to calm her agitation as some kinds of fatal drugs do before they kill. she laid a steady hand on jorgenson's sleeve and spoke quietly, distinctly, urgently.
-“you were on deck. what i want to know is whether i was heard?”
-“yes,” said jorgenson, absently, “i heard you.” then, as if roused a little, he added less mechanically: “the whole ship heard you.”
-mrs. travers asked herself whether perchance she had not simply screamed. it had never occurred to her before that perhaps she had. at the time it seemed to her she had no strength for more than a whisper. had she been really so loud? and the deadly chill, the night that had gone by her had left in her body, vanished from her limbs, passed out of her in a flush. her face was turned away from the light, and that fact gave her courage to continue. moreover, the man before her was so detached from the shames and prides and schemes of life that he seemed not to count at all, except that somehow or other he managed at times to catch the mere literal sense of the words addressed to him--and answer them. and answer them! answer unfailingly, impersonally, without any feeling.
-“you saw tom--king tom? was he there? i mean just then, at the moment. there was a light at the gangway. was he on deck?”
-“no. in the boat.”
-“already? could i have been heard in the boat down there? you say the whole ship heard me--and i don't care. but could he hear me?”
-“was it tom you were after?” said jorgenson in the tone of a negligent remark.
-“can't you answer me?” she cried, angrily.
-“tom was busy. no child's play. the boat shoved off,” said jorgenson, as if he were merely thinking aloud.
-“you won't tell me, then?” mrs. travers apostrophized him, fearlessly. she was not afraid of jorgenson. just then she was afraid of nothing and nobody. and jorgenson went on thinking aloud.
-“i guess he will be kept busy from now on and so shall i.”
-mrs. travers seemed ready to take by the shoulders and shake that dead-voiced spectre till it begged for mercy. but suddenly her strong white arms fell down by her side, the arms of an exhausted woman.
-“i shall never, never find out,” she whispered to herself.
-she cast down her eyes in intolerable humiliation, in intolerable desire, as though she had veiled her face. not a sound reached the loneliness of her thought. but when she raised her eyes again jorgenson was no longer standing before her.
-for an instant she saw him all black in the brilliant and narrow doorway, and the next moment he had vanished outside, as if devoured by the hot blaze of light. the sun had risen on the shore of refuge.
-when mrs. travers came out on deck herself it was as it were with a boldly unveiled face, with wide-open and dry, sleepless eyes. their gaze, undismayed by the sunshine, sought the innermost heart of things each day offered to the passion of her dread and of her impatience. the lagoon, the beach, the colours and the shapes struck her more than ever as a luminous painting on an immense cloth hiding the movements of an inexplicable life. she shaded her eyes with her hand. there were figures on the beach, moving dark dots on the white semicircle bounded by the stockades, backed by roof ridges above the palm groves. further back the mass of carved white coral on the roof of the mosque shone like a white day-star. religion and politics--always politics! to the left, before tengga's enclosure, the loom of fire had changed into a pillar of smoke. but there were some big trees over there and she couldn't tell whether the night council had prolonged its sitting. some vague forms were still moving there and she could picture them to herself: daman, the supreme chief of sea-robbers, with a vengeful heart and the eyes of a gazelle; sentot, the sour fanatic with the big turban, that other saint with a scanty loin cloth and ashes in his hair, and tengga whom she could imagine from hearsay, fat, good-tempered, crafty, but ready to spill blood on his ambitious way and already bold enough to flaunt a yellow state umbrella at the very gate of belarab's stockade--so they said.
-she saw, she imagined, she even admitted now the reality of those things no longer a mere pageant marshalled for her vision with barbarous splendour and savage emphasis. she questioned it no longer--but she did not feel it in her soul any more than one feels the depth of the sea under its peaceful glitter or the turmoil of its grey fury. her eyes ranged afar, unbelieving and fearful--and then all at once she became aware of the empty cage with its interior in disorder, the camp bedsteads not taken away, a pillow lying on the deck, the dying flame like a shred of dull yellow stuff inside the lamp left hanging over the table. the whole struck her as squalid and as if already decayed, a flimsy and idle phantasy. but jorgenson, seated on the deck with his back to it, was not idle. his occupation, too, seemed fantastic and so truly childish that her heart sank at the man's utter absorption in it. jorgenson had before him, stretched on the deck, several bits of rather thin and dirty-looking rope of different lengths from a couple of inches to about a foot. he had (an idiot might have amused himself in that way) set fire to the ends of them. they smouldered with amazing energy, emitting now and then a splutter, and in the calm air within the bulwarks sent up very slender, exactly parallel threads of smoke, each with a vanishing curl at the end; and the absorption with which jorgenson gave himself up to that pastime was enough to shake all confidence in his sanity.
-in one half-opened hand he was holding the watch. he was also provided with a scrap of paper and the stump of a pencil. mrs. travers was confident that he did not either hear or see her.
-“captain jorgenson, you no doubt think. . . .”
-he tried to wave her away with the stump of the pencil. he did not want to be interrupted in his strange occupation. he was playing very gravely indeed with those bits of string. “i lighted them all together,” he murmured, keeping one eye on the dial of the watch. just then the shortest piece of string went out, utterly consumed. jorgenson made a hasty note and remained still while mrs. travers looked at him with stony eyes thinking that nothing in the world was any use. the other threads of smoke went on vanishing in spirals before the attentive jorgenson.
-“what are you doing?” asked mrs. travers, drearily.
-“timing match . . . precaution. . . .”
-he had never in mrs. travers' experience been less spectral than then. he displayed a weakness of the flesh. he was impatient at her intrusion. he divided his attention between the threads of smoke and the face of the watch with such interest that the sudden reports of several guns breaking for the first time for days the stillness of the lagoon and the illusion of the painted scene failed to make him raise his head. he only jerked it sideways a little. mrs. travers stared at the wisps of white vapour floating above belarab's stockade. the series of sharp detonations ceased and their combined echoes came back over the lagoon like a long-drawn and rushing sigh.
-“what's this?” cried mrs. travers.
-“belarab's come home,” said jorgenson.
-“yes, he is home,” he said very low.
-“what's going to happen?” cried mrs. travers. “what's to be done?” jorgenson kept up his appearance of communing with himself.
-“i know what to do,” he mumbled.
-“you are lucky,” said mrs. travers, with intense bitterness.
-it seemed to her that she was abandoned by all the world. the opposite shore of the lagoon had resumed its aspect of a painted scene that would never roll up to disclose the truth behind its blinding and soulless splendour. it seemed to her that she had said her last words to all of them: to d'alcacer, to her husband, to lingard himself--and that they had all gone behind the curtain forever out of her sight. of all the white men jorgenson alone was left, that man who had done with life so completely that his mere presence robbed it of all heat and mystery, leaving nothing but its terrible, its revolting insignificance. and mrs. travers was ready for revolt. she cried with suppressed passion:
-“are you aware, captain jorgenson, that i am alive?”
-he turned his eyes on her, and for a moment she was daunted by their cold glassiness. but before they could drive her away, something like the gleam of a spark gave them an instant's animation.
-“i want to go and join them. i want to go ashore,” she said, firmly. “there!”
-her bare and extended arm pointed across the lagoon, and jorgenson's resurrected eyes glided along the white limb and wandered off into space.
-“no boat,” he muttered.
-“there must be a canoe. i know there is a canoe. i want it.”
-she stepped forward compelling, commanding, trying to concentrate in her glance all her will power, the sense of her own right to dispose of herself and her claim to be served to the last moment of her life. it was as if she had done nothing. jorgenson didn't flinch.
-“which of them are you after?” asked his blank, unringing voice.
-she continued to look at him; her face had stiffened into a severe mask; she managed to say distinctly:
-“i suppose you have been asking yourself that question for some time, captain jorgenson?”
-“no. i am asking you now.”
-his face disclosed nothing to mrs. travers' bold and weary eyes. “what could you do over there?” jorgenson added as merciless, as irrepressible, and sincere as though he were the embodiment of that inner voice that speaks in all of us at times and, like jorgenson, is offensive and difficult to answer.
-“remember that i am not a shadow but a living woman still, captain jorgenson. i can live and i can die. send me over to share their fate.”
-“sure you would like?” asked the roused jorgenson in a voice that had an unexpected living quality, a faint vibration which no man had known in it for years. “there may be death in it,” he mumbled, relapsing into indifference.
-“who cares?” she said, recklessly. “all i want is to ask tom a question and hear his answer. that's what i would like. that's what i must have.”
-along the hot and gloomy forest path, neglected, overgrown and strangled in the fierce life of the jungle, there came a faint rustle of leaves. jaffir, the servant of princes, the messenger of great men, walked, stooping, with a broad chopper in his hand. he was naked from the waist upward, his shoulders and arms were scratched and bleeding. a multitude of biting insects made a cloud about his head. he had lost his costly and ancient head-kerchief, and when in a slightly wider space he stopped in a listening attitude anybody would have taken him for a fugitive.
-he waved his arms about, slapping his shoulders, the sides of his head, his heaving flanks; then, motionless, listened again for a while. a sound of firing, not so much made faint by distance as muffled by the masses of foliage, reached his ears, dropping shots which he could have counted if he had cared to. “there is fighting in the forest already,” he thought. then putting his head low in the tunnel of vegetation he dashed forward out of the horrible cloud of flies, which he actually managed for an instant to leave behind him. but it was not from the cruelty of insects that he was flying, for no man could hope to drop that escort, and jaffir in his life of a faithful messenger had been accustomed, if such an extravagant phrase may be used, to be eaten alive. bent nearly double he glided and dodged between the trees, through the undergrowth, his brown body streaming with sweat, his firm limbs gleaming like limbs of imperishable bronze through the mass of green leaves that are forever born and forever dying. for all his desperate haste he was no longer a fugitive; he was simply a man in a tremendous hurry. his flight, which had begun with a bound and a rush and a general display of great presence of mind, was a simple issue from a critical situation. issues from critical situations are generally simple if one is quick enough to think of them in time. he became aware very soon that the attempt to pursue him had been given up, but he had taken the forest path and had kept up his pace because he had left his rajah and the lady immada beset by enemies on the edge of the forest, as good as captives to a party of tengga's men.
-belarab's hesitation had proved too much even for hassim's hereditary patience in such matters. it is but becoming that weighty negotiations should be spread over many days, that the same requests and arguments should be repeated in the same words, at many successive interviews, and receive the same evasive answers. matters of state demand the dignity of such a procedure as if time itself had to wait on the power and wisdom of rulers. such are the proceedings of embassies and the dignified patience of envoys. but at this time of crisis hassim's impatience obtained the upper hand; and though he never departed from the tradition of soft speech and restrained bearing while following with his sister in the train of the pious belarab, he had his moments of anger, of anxiety, of despondency. his friendships, his future, his country's destinies were at stake, while belarab's camp wandered deviously over the back country as if influenced by the vacillation of the ruler's thought, the very image of uncertain fate.
-at night hassim had to listen to the anguished doubts of immada, the only companion of his life, child of the same mother, brave as a man, but in her fears a very woman. she whispered them to him far into the night while the camp of the great belarab was hushed in sleep and the fires had sunk down to mere glowing embers. hassim soothed her gravely. but he, too, was a native of wajo where men are more daring and quicker of mind than other malays. more energetic, too, and energy does not go without an inner fire. hassim lost patience and one evening he declared to his sister immada: “to-morrow we leave this ruler without a mind and go back to our white friend.”
-indeed, before the fatal magnitude of the fact it seemed even to those malays that there was nothing to say and jaffir, lowering his head, respected his prince's consternation. then, before that feeling could pass away from that small group of people seated round a few smouldering sticks, the noisy approach of a large party of men made them all leap to their feet. before they could make another movement they perceived themselves discovered. the men were armed as if bound on some warlike expedition. amongst them sentot, in his loin cloth and with unbound wild locks, capered and swung his arms about like the lunatic he was. the others' astonishment made them halt, but their attitude was obviously hostile. in the rear a portly figure flanked by two attendants carrying swords was approaching prudently. rajah hassim resumed quietly his seat on the trunk of a fallen tree, immada rested her hand lightly on her brother's shoulder, and jaffir, squatting down again, looked at the ground with all his faculties and every muscle of his body tensely on the alert.
-“tengga's fighters,” he murmured, scornfully.
-in the group somebody shouted, and was answered by shouts from afar. there could be no thought of resistance. hassim slipped the emerald ring from his finger stealthily and jaffir got hold of it by an almost imperceptible movement. the rajah did not even look at the trusty messenger.
-“fail not to give it to the white man,” he murmured. “thy servant hears, o rajah. it's a charm of great power.”
-the shadows were growing to the westward. everybody was silent, and the shifting group of armed men seemed to have drifted closer. immada, drawing the end of a scarf across her face, confronted the advance with only one eye exposed. on the flank of the armed men sentot was performing a slow dance but he, too, seemed to have gone dumb.
-“now go,” breathed out rajah hassim, his gaze levelled into space immovably.
-for a second or more jaffir did not stir, then with a sudden leap from his squatting posture he flew through the air and struck the jungle in a great commotion of leaves, vanishing instantly like a swimmer diving from on high. a deep murmur of surprise arose in the armed party, a spear was thrown, a shot was fired, three or four men dashed into the forest, but they soon returned crestfallen with apologetic smiles; while jaffir, striking an old path that seemed to lead in the right direction, ran on in solitude, raising a rustle of leaves, with a naked parang in his hand and a cloud of flies about his head. the sun declining to the westward threw shafts of light across his dark path. he ran at a springy half-trot, his eyes watchful, his broad chest heaving, and carrying the emerald ring on the forefinger of a clenched hand as though he were afraid it should slip off, fly off, be torn from him by an invisible force, or spirited away by some enchantment. who could tell what might happen? there were evil forces at work in the world, powerful incantations, horrible apparitions. the messenger of princes and of great men, charged with the supreme appeal of his master, was afraid in the deepening shade of the forest. evil presences might have been lurking in that gloom. still the sun had not set yet. he could see its face through the leaves as he skirted the shore of the lagoon. but what if allah's call should come to him suddenly and he die as he ran!
-he drew a long breath on the shore of the lagoon within about a hundred yards from the stranded bows of the emma. the tide was out and he walked to the end of a submerged log and sent out a hail for a boat. jorgenson's voice answered. the sun had sunk behind the forest belt of the coast. all was still as far as the eye could reach over the black water. a slight breeze came along it and jaffir on the brink, waiting for a canoe, shivered a little.
-there was in the bows of the emma an elevated grating over the heel of her bowsprit whence the eye could take in the whole range of her deck and see every movement of her crew. it was a spot safe from eaves-droppers, though, of course, exposed to view. the sun had just set on the supreme content of carter when jorgenson and jaffir sat down side by side between the knightheads of the emma and, public but unapproachable, impressive and secret, began to converse in low tones.
-every wajo fugitive who manned the hulk felt the approach of a decisive moment. their minds were made up and their hearts beat steadily. they were all desperate men determined to fight and to die and troubling not about the manner of living or dying. this was not the case with mrs. travers who, having shut herself up in the deckhouse, was profoundly troubled about those very things, though she, too, felt desperate enough to welcome almost any solution.
-of all the people on board she alone did not know anything of that conference. in her deep and aimless thinking she had only become aware of the absence of the slightest sound on board the emma. not a rustle, not a footfall. the public view of jorgenson and jaffir in deep consultation had the effect of taking all wish to move from every man.
-twilight enveloped the two figures forward while they talked, looking in the stillness of their pose like carved figures of european and asiatic contrasted in intimate contact. the deepening dusk had nearly effaced them when at last they rose without warning, as it were, and thrilling the heart of the beholders by the sudden movement. but they did not separate at once. they lingered in their high place as if awaiting the fall of complete darkness, a fit ending to their mysterious communion. jaffir had given jorgenson the whole story of the ring, the symbol of a friendship matured and confirmed on the night of defeat, on the night of flight from a far-distant land sleeping unmoved under the wrath and fire of heaven.
-jorgenson, with his hands deep in the pockets of his tunic, listened, looking down. jaffir showed as much consternation as his nature was capable of.
-“our refuge is with god,” he murmured. “but what is to be done? has your wisdom no stratagem, o tuan?”
-jorgenson did not answer. it appeared as though he had no stratagem. but god is great and jaffir waited on the other's immobility, anxious but patient, perplexed yet hopeful in his grim way, while the night flowing on from the dark forest near by hid their two figures from the sight of observing men. before the silence of jorgenson jaffir began to talk practically. now that tengga had thrown off the mask jaffir did not think that he could land on the beach without being attacked, captured, nay killed, since a man like he, though he could save himself by taking flight at the order of his master, could not be expected to surrender without a fight. he mentioned that in the exercise of his important functions he knew how to glide like a shadow, creep like a snake, and almost burrow his way underground. he was jaffir who had never been foiled. no bog, morass, great river or jungle could stop him. he would have welcomed them. in many respects they were the friends of a crafty messenger. but that was an open beach, and there was no other way, and as things stood now every bush around, every tree trunk, every deep shadow of house or fence would conceal tengga's men or such of daman's infuriated partisans as had already made their way to the settlement. how could he hope to traverse the distance between the water's edge and belarab's gate which now would remain shut night and day? not only himself but anybody from the emma would be sure to be rushed upon and speared in twenty places.
-he reflected for a moment in silence.
-“even you, tuan, could not accomplish the feat.”
-“true,” muttered jorgenson.
-on the thin face of that old adventurer hidden in the night not a feature moved, not a muscle twitched, as he descended in his turn and walked aft along the decks of the emma. his faded eyes, which had seen so much, did not attempt to explore the night, they never gave a glance to the silent watchers against whom he brushed. had a light been flashed on him suddenly he would have appeared like a man walking in his sleep: the somnambulist of an eternal dream. mrs. travers heard his footsteps pass along the side of the deckhouse. she heard them--and let her head fall again on her bare arms thrown over the little desk before which she sat.
-jorgenson, standing by the taffrail, noted the faint reddish glow in the massive blackness of the further shore. jorgenson noted things quickly, cursorily, perfunctorily, as phenomena unrelated to his own apparitional existence of a visiting ghost. they were but passages in the game of men who were still playing at life. he knew too well how much that game was worth to be concerned about its course. he had given up the habit of thinking for so long that the sudden resumption of it irked him exceedingly, especially as he had to think on toward a conclusion. in that world of eternal oblivion, of which he had tasted before lingard made him step back into the life of men, all things were settled once for all. he was irritated by his own perplexity which was like a reminder of that mortality made up of questions and passions from which he had fancied he had freed himself forever. by a natural association his contemptuous annoyance embraced the existence of mrs. travers, too, for how could he think of tom lingard, of what was good or bad for king tom, without thinking also of that woman who had managed to put the ghost of a spark even into his own extinguished eyes? she was of no account; but tom's integrity was. it was of tom that he had to think, of what was good or bad for tom in that absurd and deadly game of his life. finally he reached the conclusion that to be given the ring would be good for tom lingard. just to be given the ring and no more. the ring and no more.
-“it will help him to make up his mind,” muttered jorgenson in his moustache, as if compelled by an obscure conviction. it was only then that he stirred slightly and turned away from the loom of the fires on the distant shore. mrs. travers heard his footsteps passing again along the side of the deckhouse--and this time never raised her head. that man was sleepless, mad, childish, and inflexible. he was impossible. he haunted the decks of that hulk aimlessly. . . .
-it was, however, in pursuance of a very distinct aim that jorgenson had gone forward again to seek jaffir.
-the first remark he had to offer to jaffir's consideration was that the only person in the world who had the remotest chance of reaching belarab's gate on that night was that tall white woman the rajah laut had brought on board, the wife of one of the captive white chiefs. surprise made jaffir exclaim, but he wasn't prepared to deny that. it was possible that for many reasons, some quite simple and others very subtle, those sons of the evil one belonging to tengga and daman would refrain from killing a white woman walking alone from the water's edge to belarab's gate. yes, it was just possible that she might walk unharmed.
-“especially if she carried a blazing torch,” muttered jorgenson in his moustache. he told jaffir that she was sitting now in the dark, mourning silently in the manner of white women. she had made a great outcry in the morning to be allowed to join the white men on shore. he, jorgenson, had refused her the canoe. ever since she had secluded herself in the deckhouse in great distress.
-jaffir listened to it all without particular sympathy. and when jorgenson added, “it is in my mind, o jaffir, to let her have her will now,” he answered by a “yes, by allah! let her go. what does it matter?” of the greatest unconcern, till jorgenson added:
-“yes. and she may carry the ring to the rajah laut.”
-jorgenson saw jaffir, the grim and impassive jaffir, give a perceptible start. it seemed at first an impossible task to persuade jaffir to part with the ring. the notion was too monstrous to enter his mind, to move his heart. but at last he surrendered in an awed whisper, “god is great. perhaps it is her destiny.”
-being a wajo man he did not regard women as untrustworthy or unequal to a task requiring courage and judgment. once he got over the personal feeling he handed the ring to jorgenson with only one reservation, “you know, tuan, that she must on no account put it on her finger.”
-“let her hang it round her neck,” suggested jorgenson, readily.
-as jorgenson moved toward the deckhouse it occurred to him that perhaps now that woman tom lingard had taken in tow might take it into her head to refuse to leave the emma. this did not disturb him very much. all those people moved in the dark. he himself at that particular moment was moving in the dark. beyond the simple wish to guide lingard's thought in the direction of hassim and immada, to help him to make up his mind at last to a ruthless fidelity to his purpose jorgenson had no other aim. the existence of those whites had no meaning on earth. they were the sort of people that pass without leaving footprints. that woman would have to act in ignorance. and if she refused to go then in ignorance she would have to stay on board. he would tell her nothing.
-as a matter of fact, he discovered that mrs. travers would simply have nothing to do with him. she would not listen to what he had to say. she desired him, a mere weary voice confined in the darkness of the deck cabin, to go away and trouble her no more. but the ghost of jorgenson was not easily exorcised. he, too, was a mere voice in the outer darkness, inexorable, insisting that she should come out on deck and listen. at last he found the right words to say.
-“it is something about tom that i want to tell you. you wish him well, don't you?”
-after this she could not refuse to come out on deck, and once there she listened patiently to that white ghost muttering and mumbling above her drooping head.
-“it seems to me, captain jorgenson,” she said after he had ceased, “that you are simply trifling with me. after your behaviour to me this morning, i can have nothing to say to you.”
-“i have a canoe for you now,” mumbled jorgenson.
-“you have some new purpose in view now,” retorted mrs. travers with spirit. “but you won't make it clear to me. what is it that you have in your mind?”
-“are you really his friend?”
-“he brought me here. you know it. he has talked a lot to you.”
-“he did. but i ask myself whether you are capable of being anybody's friend.”
-“you ask yourself!” repeated jorgenson, very quiet and morose. “if i am not his friend i should like to know who is.”
-mrs. travers asked, quickly: “what's all this about a ring? what ring?”
-“tom's property. he has had it for years.”
-“and he gave it to you? doesn't he care for it?”
-“don't know. it's just a thing.”
-“but it has a meaning as between you and him. is that so?”
-“yes. it has. he will know what it means.”
-“what does it mean?”
-“i am too much his friend not to hold my tongue.”
-“what! to me!”
-“and who are you?” was jorgenson's unexpected remark. “he has told you too much already.”
-“perhaps he has,” whispered mrs. travers, as if to herself. “and you want that ring to be taken to him?” she asked, in a louder tone.
-“yes. at once. for his good.”
-“are you certain it is for his good? why can't you. . . .”
-she checked herself. that man was hopeless. he would never tell anything and there was no means of compelling him. he was invulnerable, unapproachable. . . . he was dead.
-“just give it to him,” mumbled jorgenson as though pursuing a mere fixed idea. “just slip it quietly into his hand. he will understand.”
-“what is it? advice, warning, signal for action?”
-“it may be anything,” uttered jorgenson, morosely, but as it were in a mollified tone. “it's meant for his good.”
-“oh, if i only could trust that man!” mused mrs. travers, half aloud.
-jorgenson's slight noise in the throat might have been taken for an expression of sympathy. but he remained silent.
-“really, this is most extraordinary!” cried mrs. travers, suddenly aroused. “why did you come to me? why should it be my task? why should you want me specially to take it to him?”
-“i will tell you why,” said jorgenson's blank voice. “it's because there is no one on board this hulk that can hope to get alive inside that stockade. this morning you told me yourself that you were ready to die--for tom--or with tom. well, risk it then. you are the only one that has half a chance to get through--and tom, maybe, is waiting.”
-“the only one,” repeated mrs. travers with an abrupt movement forward and an extended hand before which jorgenson stepped back a pace. “risk it! certainly! where's that mysterious ring?”
-“i have got it in my pocket,” said jorgenson, readily; yet nearly half a minute elapsed before mrs. travers felt the characteristic shape being pressed into her half-open palm. “don't let anybody see it,” jorgenson admonished her in a murmur. “hide it somewhere about you. why not hang it round your neck?”
-mrs. travers' hand remained firmly closed on the ring. “yes, that will do,” she murmured, hastily. “i'll be back in a moment. get everything ready.” with those words she disappeared inside the deckhouse and presently threads of light appeared in the interstices of the boards. mrs. travers had lighted a candle in there. she was busy hanging that ring round her neck. she was going. yes--taking the risk for tom's sake.
-“nobody can resist that man,” jorgenson muttered to himself with increasing moroseness. “i couldn't.”
-perhaps at first sight, sending that woman to lingard was not the best way toward that end. jorgenson, however, had a distinct impression in which his morning talk with mrs. travers had only confirmed him, that those two had quarrelled for good. as, indeed, was unavoidable. what did tom lingard want with any woman? the only woman in jorgenson's life had come in by way of exchange for a lot of cotton stuffs and several brass guns. this fact could not but affect jorgenson's judgment since obviously in this case such a transaction was impossible. therefore the case was not serious. it didn't exist. what did exist was lingard's relation to the wajo exiles, a great and warlike adventure such as no rover in those seas had ever attempted.
-it was a distinct overture, a disclosure of the man's innermost mind. jorgenson, of course, had met it with a profound silence. his task was not diplomacy but the care of stores.
-after the effort of connected mental processes in order to bring about mrs. travers' departure he was anxious to dismiss the whole matter from his mind. the last thought he gave to it was severely practical. it occurred to him that it would be advisable to attract in some way or other lingard's attention to the lagoon. in the language of the sea a single rocket is properly a signal of distress, but, in the circumstances, a group of three sent up simultaneously would convey a warning. he gave his orders and watched the rockets go up finely with a trail of red sparks, a bursting of white stars high up in the air, and three loud reports in quick succession. then he resumed his pacing of the whole length of the hulk, confident that after this tom would guess that something was up and set a close watch over the lagoon. no doubt these mysterious rockets would have a disturbing effect on tengga and his friends and cause a great excitement in the settlement; but for that jorgenson did not care. the settlement was already in such a turmoil that a little more excitement did not matter. what jorgenson did not expect, however, was the sound of a musket-shot fired from the jungle facing the bows of the emma. it caused him to stop dead short. he had heard distinctly the bullet strike the curve of the bow forward. “some hot-headed ass fired that,” he said to himself, contemptuously. it simply disclosed to him the fact that he was already besieged on the shore side and set at rest his doubts as to the length tengga was prepared to go. any length! of course there was still time for tom to put everything right with six words, unless . . . jorgenson smiled, grimly, in the dark and resumed his tireless pacing.
-what amused him was to observe the fire which had been burning night and day before tengga's residence suddenly extinguished. he pictured to himself the wild rush with bamboo buckets to the lagoon shore, the confusion, the hurry and jostling in a great hissing of water midst clouds of steam. the image of the fat tengga's consternation appealed to jorgenson's sense of humour for about five seconds. then he took up the binoculars from the roof of the deckhouse.
-the bursting of the three white stars over the lagoon had given him a momentary glimpse of the black speck of the canoe taking over mrs. travers. he couldn't find it again with the glass, it was too dark; but the part of the shore for which it was steered would be somewhere near the angle of belarab's stockade nearest to the beach. this jorgenson could make out in the faint rosy glare of fires burning inside. jorgenson was certain that lingard was looking toward the emma through the most convenient loophole he could find.
-as obviously mrs. travers could not have paddled herself across, two men were taking her over; and for the steersman she had jaffir. though he had assented to jorgenson's plan jaffir was anxious to accompany the ring as near as possible to its destination. nothing but dire necessity had induced him to part with the talisman. crouching in the stern and flourishing his paddle from side to side he glared at the back of the canvas deck-chair which had been placed in the middle for mrs. travers. wrapped up in the darkness she reclined in it with her eyes closed, faintly aware of the ring hung low on her breast. as the canoe was rather large it was moving very slowly. the two men dipped their paddles without a splash: and surrendering herself passively, in a temporary relaxation of all her limbs, to this adventure mrs. travers had no sense of motion at all. she, too, like jorgenson, was tired of thinking. she abandoned herself to the silence of that night full of roused passions and deadly purposes. she abandoned herself to an illusory feeling; to the impression that she was really resting. for the first time in many days she could taste the relief of being alone. the men with her were less than nothing. she could not speak to them; she could not understand them; the canoe might have been moving by enchantment--if it did move at all. like a half-conscious sleeper she was on the verge of saying to herself, “what a strange dream i am having.”
-the low tones of jaffir's voice stole into it quietly telling the men to cease paddling, and the long canoe came to a rest slowly, no more than ten yards from the beach. the party had been provided with a torch which was to be lighted before the canoe touched the shore, thus giving a character of openness to this desperate expedition. “and if it draws fire on us,” jaffir had commented to jorgenson, “well, then, we shall see whose fate it is to die on this night.”
-“yes,” had muttered jorgenson. “we shall see.”
-jorgenson saw at last the small light of the torch against the blackness of the stockade. he strained his hearing for a possible volley of musketry fire but no sound came to him over the broad surface of the lagoon. over there the man with the torch, the other paddler, and jaffir himself impelling with a gentle motion of his paddle the canoe toward the shore, had the glistening eyeballs and the tense faces of silent excitement. the ruddy glare smote mrs. travers' closed eyelids but she didn't open her eyes till she felt the canoe touch the strand. the two men leaped instantly out of it. mrs. travers rose, abruptly. nobody made a sound. she stumbled out of the canoe on to the beach and almost before she had recovered her balance the torch was thrust into her hand. the heat, the nearness of the blaze confused and blinded her till, instinctively, she raised the torch high above her head. for a moment she stood still, holding aloft the fierce flame from which a few sparks were falling slowly.
-a naked bronze arm lighted from above pointed out the direction and mrs. travers began to walk toward the featureless black mass of the stockade. when after a few steps she looked back over her shoulder, the lagoon, the beach, the canoe, the men she had just left had become already invisible. she was alone bearing up a blazing torch on an earth that was a dumb shadow shifting under her feet. at last she reached firmer ground and the dark length of the palisade untouched as yet by the light of the torch seemed to her immense, intimidating. she felt ready to drop from sheer emotion. but she moved on.
-“a little more to the left,” shouted a strong voice.
-it vibrated through all her fibres, rousing like the call of a trumpet, went far beyond her, filled all the space. mrs. travers stood still for a moment, then casting far away from her the burning torch ran forward blindly with her hands extended toward the great sound of lingard's voice, leaving behind her the light flaring and spluttering on the ground. she stumbled and was only saved from a fall by her hands coming in contact with the rough stakes. the stockade rose high above her head and she clung to it with widely open arms, pressing her whole body against the rugged surface of that enormous and unscalable palisade. she heard through it low voices inside, heavy thuds; and felt at every blow a slight vibration of the ground under her feet. she glanced fearfully over her shoulder and saw nothing in the darkness but the expiring glow of the torch she had thrown away and the sombre shimmer of the lagoon bordering the opaque darkness of the shore. her strained eyeballs seemed to detect mysterious movements in the darkness and she gave way to irresistible terror, to a shrinking agony of apprehension. was she to be transfixed by a broad blade, to the high, immovable wall of wood against which she was flattening herself desperately, as though she could hope to penetrate it by the mere force of her fear? she had no idea where she was, but as a matter of fact she was a little to the left of the principal gate and almost exactly under one of the loopholes of the stockade. her excessive anguish passed into insensibility. she ceased to hear, to see, and even to feel the contact of the surface to which she clung. lingard's voice somewhere from the sky above her head was directing her, distinct, very close, full of concern.
-“you must stoop low. lower yet.”
-the stagnant blood of her body began to pulsate languidly. she stooped low--lower yet--so low that she had to sink on her knees, and then became aware of a faint smell of wood smoke mingled with the confused murmur of agitated voices. this came to her through an opening no higher than her head in her kneeling posture, and no wider than the breadth of two stakes. lingard was saying in a tone of distress:
-“i couldn't get any of them to unbar the gate.”
-she was unable to make a sound.--“are you there?” lingard asked, anxiously, so close to her now that she seemed to feel the very breath of his words on her face. it revived her completely; she understood what she had to do. she put her head and shoulders through the opening, was at once seized under the arms by an eager grip and felt herself pulled through with an irresistible force and with such haste that her scarf was dragged off her head, its fringes having caught in the rough timber. the same eager grip lifted her up, stood her on her feet without her having to make any exertion toward that end. she became aware that lingard was trying to say something, but she heard only a confused stammering expressive of wonder and delight in which she caught the words “you . . . you . . .” deliriously repeated. he didn't release his hold of her; his helpful and irresistible grip had changed into a close clasp, a crushing embrace, the violent taking possession by an embodied force that had broken loose and was not to be controlled any longer. as his great voice had done a moment before, his great strength, too, seemed able to fill all space in its enveloping and undeniable authority. every time she tried instinctively to stiffen herself against its might, it reacted, affirming its fierce will, its uplifting power. several times she lost the feeling of the ground and had a sensation of helplessness without fear, of triumph without exultation. the inevitable had come to pass. she had foreseen it--and all the time in that dark place and against the red glow of camp fires within the stockade the man in whose arms she struggled remained shadowy to her eyes--to her half-closed eyes. she thought suddenly, “he will crush me to death without knowing it.”
-he was like a blind force. she closed her eyes altogether. her head fell back a little. not instinctively but with wilful resignation and as it were from a sense of justice she abandoned herself to his arms. the effect was as though she had suddenly stabbed him to the heart. he let her go so suddenly and completely that she would have fallen down in a heap if she had not managed to catch hold of his forearm. he seemed prepared for it and for a moment all her weight hung on it without moving its rigidity by a hair's breadth. behind her mrs. travers heard the heavy thud of blows on wood, the confused murmurs and movements of men.
-a voice said suddenly, “it's done,” with such emphasis that though, of course, she didn't understand the words it helped her to regain possession of herself; and when lingard asked her very little above a whisper: “why don't you say something?” she answered readily, “let me get my breath first.”
-round them all sounds had ceased. the men had secured again the opening through which those arms had snatched her into a moment of self-forgetfulness which had left her out of breath but uncrushed. as if something imperative had been satisfied she had a moment of inward serenity, a period of peace without thought while, holding to that arm that trembled no more than an arm of iron, she felt stealthily over the ground for one of the sandals which she had lost. oh, yes, there was no doubt of it, she had been carried off the earth, without shame, without regret. but she would not have let him know of that dropped sandal for anything in the world. that lost sandal was as symbolic as a dropped veil. but he did not know of it. he must never know. where was that thing? she felt sure that they had not moved an inch from that spot. presently her foot found it and still gripping lingard's forearm she stooped to secure it properly. when she stood up, still holding his arm, they confronted each other, he rigid in an effort of self-command but feeling as if the surges of the heaviest sea that he could remember in his life were running through his heart; and the woman as if emptied of all feeling by her experience, without thought yet, but beginning to regain her sense of the situation and the memory of the immediate past.
-“i have been watching at that loophole for an hour, ever since they came running to me with that story of the rockets,” said lingard. “i was shut up with belarab then. i was looking out when the torch blazed and you stepped ashore. i thought i was dreaming. but what could i do? i felt i must rush to you but i dared not. that clump of palms is full of men. so are the houses you saw that time you came ashore with me. full of men. armed men. a trigger is soon pulled and when once shooting begins. . . . and you walking in the open with that light above your head! i didn't dare. you were safer alone. i had the strength to hold myself in and watch you come up from the shore. no! no man that ever lived had seen such a sight. what did you come for?”
-“didn't you expect somebody? i don't mean me, i mean a messenger?”
-“no!” said lingard, wondering at his own self-control. “why did he let you come?”
-“you mean captain jorgenson? oh, he refused at first. he said that he had your orders.”
-“how on earth did you manage to get round him?” said lingard in his softest tones.
-“i did not try,” she began and checked herself. lingard's question, though he really didn't seem to care much about an answer, had aroused afresh her suspicion of jorgenson's change of front. “i didn't have to say very much at the last,” she continued, gasping yet a little and feeling her personality, crushed to nothing in the hug of those arms, expand again to its full significance before the attentive immobility of that man. “captain jorgenson has always looked upon me as a nuisance. perhaps he had made up his mind to get rid of me even against your orders. is he quite sane?”
-she released her firm hold of that iron forearm which fell slowly by lingard's side. she had regained fully the possession of her personality. there remained only a fading, slightly breathless impression of a short flight above that earth on which her feet were firmly planted now. “and is that all?” she asked herself, not bitterly, but with a sort of tender contempt.
-“he is so sane,” sounded lingard's voice, gloomily, “that if i had listened to him you would not have found me here.”
-“what do you mean by here? in this stockade?”
-“anywhere,” he said.
-“and what would have happened then?”
-“god knows,” he answered. “what would have happened if the world had not been made in seven days? i have known you for just about that time. it began by me coming to you at night--like a thief in the night. where the devil did i hear that? and that man you are married to thinks i am no better than a thief.”
-“it ought to be enough for you that i never made a mistake as to what you are, that i come to you in less than twenty-four hours after you left me contemptuously to my distress. don't pretend you didn't hear me call after you. oh, yes, you heard. the whole ship heard me for i had no shame.”
-“yes, you came,” said lingard, violently. “but have you really come? i can't believe my eyes! are you really here?”
-“this is a dark spot, luckily,” said mrs. travers. “but can you really have any doubt?” she added, significantly.
-he made a sudden movement toward her, betraying so much passion that mrs. travers thought, “i shan't come out alive this time,” and yet he was there, motionless before her, as though he had never stirred. it was more as though the earth had made a sudden movement under his feet without being able to destroy his balance. but the earth under mrs. travers' feet had made no movement and for a second she was overwhelmed by wonder not at this proof of her own self-possession but at the man's immense power over himself. if it had not been for her strange inward exhaustion she would perhaps have surrendered to that power. but it seemed to her that she had nothing in her worth surrendering, and it was in a perfectly even tone that she said, “give me your arm, captain lingard. we can't stay all night on this spot.”
-as they moved on she thought, “there is real greatness in that man.” he was great even in his behaviour. no apologies, no explanations, no abasement, no violence, and not even the slightest tremor of the frame holding that bold and perplexed soul. she knew that for certain because her fingers were resting lightly on lingard's arm while she walked slowly by his side as though he were taking her down to dinner. and yet she couldn't suppose for a moment, that, like herself, he was emptied of all emotion. she never before was so aware of him as a dangerous force. “he is really ruthless,” she thought. they had just left the shadow of the inner defences about the gate when a slightly hoarse, apologetic voice was heard behind them repeating insistently, what even mrs. travers' ear detected to be a sort of formula. the words were: “there is this thing--there is this thing--there is this thing.” they turned round.
-“oh, my scarf,” said mrs. travers.
-a short, squat, broad-faced young fellow having for all costume a pair of white drawers was offering the scarf thrown over both his arms, as if they had been sticks, and holding it respectfully as far as possible from his person. lingard took it from him and mrs. travers claimed it at once. “don't forget the proprieties,” she said. “this is also my face veil.”
-she was arranging it about her head when lingard said, “there is no need. i am taking you to those gentlemen.”--“i will use it all the same,” said mrs. travers. “this thing works both ways, as a matter of propriety or as a matter of precaution. till i have an opportunity of looking into a mirror nothing will persuade me that there isn't some change in my face.” lingard swung half round and gazed down at her. veiled now she confronted him boldly. “tell me, captain lingard, how many eyes were looking at us a little while ago?”
-“do you care?” he asked.
-“not in the least,” she said. “a million stars were looking on, too, and what did it matter? they were not of the world i know. and it's just the same with the eyes. they are not of the world i live in.”
-“you didn't expect . . .” began mrs. travers with some embarrassment before that mute attitude.
-“i doubted my eyes,” struck in d'alcacer, who seemed embarrassed, too. next moment he recovered his tone and confessed simply: “at the moment i wasn't thinking of you, mrs. travers.” he passed his hand over his forehead. “i hardly know what i was thinking of.”
-in the light of the shooting-up flame mrs. travers could see d'alcacer's face. there was no smile on it. she could not remember ever seeing him so grave and, as it were, so distant. she abandoned lingard's arm and moved closer to the fire.
-“i fancy you were very far away, mr. d'alcacer,” she said.
-“this is the sort of freedom of which nothing can deprive us,” he observed, looking hard at the manner in which the scarf was drawn across mrs. travers' face. “it's possible i was far away,” he went on, “but i can assure you that i don't know where i was. less than an hour ago we had a great excitement here about some rockets, but i didn't share in it. there was no one i could ask a question of. the captain here was, i understood, engaged in a most momentous conversation with the king or the governor of this place.”
-he addressed lingard, directly. “may i ask whether you have reached any conclusion as yet? that moor is a very dilatory person, i believe.”
-“any direct attack he would, of course, resist,” said lingard. “and, so far, you are protected. but i must admit that he is rather angry with me. he's tired of the whole business. he loves peace above anything in the world. but i haven't finished with him yet.”
-“as far as i understood from what you told me before,” said mr. d'alcacer, with a quick side glance at mrs. travers' uncovered and attentive eyes, “as far as i can see he may get all the peace he wants at once by driving us two, i mean mr. travers and myself, out of the gate on to the spears of those other enraged barbarians. and there are some of his counsellors who advise him to do that very thing no later than the break of day i understand.”
-lingard stood for a moment perfectly motionless.
-“that's about it,” he said in an unemotional tone, and went away with a heavy step without giving another look at d'alcacer and mrs. travers, who after a moment faced each other.
-“you have heard?” said d'alcacer. “of course that doesn't affect your fate in any way, and as to him he is much too prestigious to be killed light-heartedly. when all this is over you will walk triumphantly on his arm out of this stockade; for there is nothing in all this to affect his greatness, his absolute value in the eyes of those people--and indeed in any other eyes.” d'alcacer kept his glance averted from mrs. travers and as soon as he had finished speaking busied himself in dragging the bench a little way further from the fire. when they sat down on it he kept his distance from mrs. travers. she made no sign of unveiling herself and her eyes without a face seemed to him strangely unknown and disquieting.
-“the situation in a nutshell,” she said. “you have arranged it all beautifully, even to my triumphal exit. well, and what then? no, you needn't answer, it has no interest. i assure you i came here not with any notion of marching out in triumph, as you call it. i came here, to speak in the most vulgar way, to save your skin--and mine.”
-her voice came muffled to d'alcacer's ears with a changed character, even to the very intonation. above the white and embroidered scarf her eyes in the firelight transfixed him, black and so steady that even the red sparks of the reflected glare did not move in them. he concealed the strong impression she made. he bowed his head a little.
-“i believe you know perfectly well what you are doing.”
-“no! i don't know,” she said, more quickly than he had ever heard her speak before. “first of all, i don't think he is so safe as you imagine. oh, yes, he has prestige enough, i don't question that. but you are apportioning life and death with too much assurance. . . .”
-“i know my portion,” murmured d'alcacer, gently. a moment of silence fell in which mrs. travers' eyes ended by intimidating d'alcacer, who looked away. the flame of the fire had sunk low. in the dark agglomeration of buildings, which might have been called belarab's palace, there was a certain animation, a flitting of people, voices calling and answering, the passing to and fro of lights that would illuminate suddenly a heavy pile, the corner of a house, the eaves of a low-pitched roof, while in the open parts of the stockade the armed men slept by the expiring fires.
-mrs. travers said, suddenly, “that jorgenson is not friendly to us.”
-with clasped hands and leaning over his knees d'alcacer had assented in a very low tone. mrs. travers, unobserved, pressed her hands to her breast and felt the shape of the ring, thick, heavy, set with a big stone. it was there, secret, hung against her heart, and enigmatic. what did it mean? what could it mean? what was the feeling it could arouse or the action it could provoke? and she thought with compunction that she ought to have given it to lingard at once, without thinking, without hesitating. “there! this is what i came for. to give you this.” yes, but there had come an interval when she had been able to think of nothing, and since then she had had the time to reflect--unfortunately. to remember jorgenson's hostile, contemptuous glance enveloping her from head to foot at the break of a day after a night of lonely anguish. and now while she sat there veiled from his keen sight there was that other man, that d'alcacer, prophesying. o yes, triumphant. she knew already what that was. mrs. travers became afraid of the ring. she felt ready to pluck it from her neck and cast it away.
-“i mistrust him,” she said.--“you do!” exclaimed d'alcacer, very low.--“i mean that jorgenson. he seems a merciless sort of creature.”--“he is indifferent to everything,” said d'alcacer.--“it may be a mask.”--“have you some evidence, mrs. travers?”
-“no,” said mrs. travers without hesitation. “i have my instinct.”
-d'alcacer remained silent for a while as though he were pursuing another train of thought altogether, then in a gentle, almost playful tone: “if i were a woman,” he said, turning to mrs. travers, “i would always trust my intuition.”--“if you were a woman, mr. d'alcacer, i would not be speaking to you in this way because then i would be suspect to you.”
-the thought that before long perhaps he would be neither man nor woman but a lump of cold clay, crossed d'alcacer's mind, which was living, alert, and unsubdued by the danger. he had welcomed the arrival of mrs. travers simply because he had been very lonely in that stockade, mr. travers having fallen into a phase of sulks complicated with shivering fits. of lingard d'alcacer had seen almost nothing since they had landed, for the man of fate was extremely busy negotiating in the recesses of belarab's main hut; and the thought that his life was being a matter of arduous bargaining was not agreeable to mr. d'alcacer. the chief's dependents and the armed men garrisoning the stockade paid very little attention to him apparently, and this gave him the feeling of his captivity being very perfect and hopeless. during the afternoon, while pacing to and fro in the bit of shade thrown by the glorified sort of hut inside which mr. travers shivered and sulked misanthropically, he had been aware of the more distant verandahs becoming filled now and then by the muffled forms of women of belarab's household taking a distant and curious view of the white man. all this was irksome. he found his menaced life extremely difficult to get through. yes, he welcomed the arrival of mrs. travers who brought with her a tragic note into the empty gloom.
-“suspicion is not in my nature, mrs. travers, i assure you, and i hope that you on your side will never suspect either my reserve or my frankness. i respect the mysterious nature of your conviction but hasn't jorgenson given you some occasion to. . .”
-“he hates me,” said mrs. travers, and frowned at d'alcacer's incipient smile. “it isn't a delusion on my part. the worst is that he hates me not for myself. i believe he is completely indifferent to my existence. jorgenson hates me because as it were i represent you two who are in danger, because it is you two that are the trouble and i . . . well!”
-“yes, yes, that's certain,” said d'alcacer, hastily. “but jorgenson is wrong in making you the scapegoat. for if you were not here cool reason would step in and would make lingard pause in his passion to make a king out of an exile. if we were murdered it would certainly make some stir in the world in time and he would fall under the suspicion of complicity with those wild and inhuman moors. who would regard the greatness of his day-dreams, his engaged honour, his chivalrous feelings? nothing could save him from that suspicion. and being what he is, you understand me, mrs. travers (but you know him much better than i do), it would morally kill him.”
-“heavens!” whispered mrs. travers. “this has never occurred to me.” those words seemed to lose themselves in the folds of the scarf without reaching d'alcacer, who continued in his gentle tone:
-'“however, as it is, he will be safe enough whatever happens. he will have your testimony to clear him.”
-mrs. travers stood up, suddenly, but still careful to keep her face covered, she threw the end of the scarf over her shoulder.
-“i fear that jorgenson,” she cried with suppressed passion. “one can't understand what that man means to do. i think him so dangerous that if i were, for instance, entrusted with a message bearing on the situation, i would . . . suppress it.”
-d'alcacer was looking up from the seat, full of wonder. mrs. travers appealed to him in a calm voice through the folds of the scarf:
-“tell me, mr. d'alcacer, you who can look on it calmly, wouldn't i be right?”
-“why, has jorgenson told you anything?”
-“directly--nothing, except a phrase or two which really i could not understand. they seemed to have a hidden sense and he appeared to attach some mysterious importance to them that he dared not explain to me.”
-“that was a risk on his part,” exclaimed d'alcacer. “and he trusted you. why you, i wonder!”
-“who can tell what notions he has in his head? mr. d'alcacer, i believe his only object is to call captain lingard away from us. i understood it only a few minutes ago. it has dawned upon me. all he wants is to call him off.”
-“call him off,” repeated d'alcacer, a little bewildered by the aroused fire of her conviction. “i am sure i don't want him called off any more than you do; and, frankly, i don't believe jorgenson has any such power. but upon the whole, and if you feel that jorgenson has the power, i would--yes, if i were in your place i think i would suppress anything i could not understand.”
-mrs. travers listened to the very end. her eyes--they appeared incredibly sombre to d'alcacer--seemed to watch the fall of every deliberate word and after he had ceased they remained still for an appreciable time. then she turned away with a gesture that seemed to say: “so be it.”
-d'alcacer raised his voice suddenly after her. “stay! don't forget that not only your husband's but my head, too, is being played at that game. my judgment is not . . .”
-she stopped for a moment and freed her lips. in the profound stillness of the courtyard her clear voice made the shadows at the nearest fires stir a little with low murmurs of surprise.
-“oh, yes, i remember whose heads i have to save,” she cried. “but in all the world who is there to save that man from himself?”
-d'alcacer sat down on the bench again. “i wonder what she knows,” he thought, “and i wonder what i have done.” he wondered also how far he had been sincere and how far affected by a very natural aversion from being murdered obscurely by ferocious moors with all the circumstances of barbarity. it was a very naked death to come upon one suddenly. it was robbed of all helpful illusions, such as the free will of a suicide, the heroism of a warrior, or the exaltation of a martyr. “hadn't i better make some sort of fight of it?” he debated with himself. he saw himself rushing at the naked spears without any enthusiasm. or wouldn't it be better to go forth to meet his doom (somewhere outside the stockade on that horrible beach) with calm dignity. “pah! i shall be probably speared through the back in the beastliest possible fashion,” he thought with an inward shudder. it was certainly not a shudder of fear, for mr. d'alcacer attached no high value to life. it was a shudder of disgust because mr. d'alcacer was a civilized man and though he had no illusions about civilization he could not but admit the superiority of its methods. it offered to one a certain refinement of form, a comeliness of proceedings and definite safeguards against deadly surprises. “how idle all this is,” he thought, finally. his next thought was that women were very resourceful. it was true, he went on meditating with unwonted cynicism, that strictly speaking they had only one resource but, generally, it served--it served.
-he was surprised by his supremely shameless bitterness at this juncture. it was so uncalled for. this situation was too complicated to be entrusted to a cynical or shameless hope. there was nothing to trust to. at this moment of his meditation he became aware of lingard's approach. he raised his head eagerly. d'alcacer was not indifferent to his fate and even to mr. travers' fate. he would fain learn. . . . but one look at lingard's face was enough. “it's no use asking him anything,” he said to himself, “for he cares for nothing just now.”
-lingard sat down heavily on the other end of the bench, and d'alcacer, looking at his profile, confessed to himself that this was the most masculinely good-looking face he had ever seen in his life. it was an expressive face, too, but its present expression was also beyond d'alcacer's past experience. at the same time its quietness set up a barrier against common curiosities and even common fears. no, it was no use asking him anything. yet something should be said to break the spell, to call down again this man to the earth. but it was lingard who spoke first. “where has mrs. travers gone?”
-“she has gone . . . where naturally she would be anxious to go first of all since she has managed to come to us,” answered d'alcacer, wording his answer with the utmost regard for the delicacy of the situation.
-the stillness of lingard seemed to have grown even more impressive. he spoke again.
-“i wonder what those two can have to say to each other.”
-he might have been asking that of the whole darkened part of the globe, but it was d'alcacer who answered in his courteous tones.
-“would it surprise you very much, captain lingard, if i were to tell you that those two people are quite fit to understand each other thoroughly? yes? it surprises you! well, i assure you that seven thousand miles from here nobody would wonder.”
-“i think i understand,” said lingard, “but don't you know the man is light-headed? a man like that is as good as mad.”
-“yes, he had been slightly delirious since seven o'clock,” said d'alcacer. “but believe me, captain lingard,” he continued, earnestly, and obeying a perfectly disinterested impulse, “that even in his delirium he is far more understandable to her and better able to understand her than . . . anybody within a hundred miles from here.”
-“ah!” said lingard without any emotion, “so you don't wonder. you don't see any reason for wonder.”
-“no, for, don't you see, i do know.”
-“what do you know?”
-“men and women, captain lingard, which you. . . .”
-“i don't know any woman.”
-“you have spoken the strictest truth there,” said d'alcacer, and for the first time lingard turned his head slowly and looked at his neighbour on the bench.
-“do you think she is as good as mad, too?” asked lingard in a startled voice.
-d'alcacer let escape a low exclamation. no, certainly he did not think so. it was an original notion to suppose that lunatics had a sort of common logic which made them understandable to each other. d'alcacer tried to make his voice as gentle as possible while he pursued: “no, captain lingard, i believe the woman of whom we speak is and will always remain in the fullest possession of herself.”
-lingard, leaning back, clasped his hands round his knees. he seemed not to be listening and d'alcacer, pulling a cigarette case out of his pocket, looked for a long time at the three cigarettes it contained. it was the last of the provision he had on him when captured. d'alcacer had put himself on the strictest allowance. a cigarette was only to be lighted on special occasions; and now there were only three left and they had to be made to last till the end of life. they calmed, they soothed, they gave an attitude. and only three left! one had to be kept for the morning, to be lighted before going through the gate of doom--the gate of belarab's stockade. a cigarette soothed, it gave an attitude. was this the fitting occasion for one of the remaining two? d'alcacer, a true latin, was not afraid of a little introspection. in the pause he descended into the innermost depths of his being, then glanced up at the night sky. sportsman, traveller, he had often looked up at the stars before to see how time went. it was going very slowly. he took out a cigarette, snapped-to the case, bent down to the embers. then he sat up and blew out a thin cloud of smoke. the man by his side looked with his bowed head and clasped knee like a masculine rendering of mournful meditation. such attitudes are met with sometimes on the sculptures of ancient tombs. d'alcacer began to speak:
-lingard seemed not to have heard a word. his chin rested on his breast. d'alcacer appraised the remaining length of his cigarette and went on in an equable tone through which pierced a certain sadness:
-“no, there are not many of them. and yet they are all. they decorate our life for us. they are the gracious figures on the drab wall which lies on this side of our common grave. they lead a sort of ritual dance, that most of us have agreed to take seriously. it is a very binding agreement with which sincerity and good faith and honour have nothing to do. very binding. woe to him or her who breaks it. directly they leave the pageant they get lost.”
-lingard turned his head sharply and discovered d'alcacer looking at him with profound attention.
-“they get lost in a maze,” continued d'alcacer, quietly. “they wander in it lamenting over themselves. i would shudder at that fate for anything i loved. do you know, captain lingard, how people lost in a maze end?” he went on holding lingard by a steadfast stare. “no? . . . i will tell you then. they end by hating their very selves, and they die in disillusion and despair.”
-as if afraid of the force of his words d'alcacer laid a soothing hand lightly on lingard's shoulder. but lingard continued to look into the embers at his feet and remained insensible to the friendly touch. yet d'alcacer could not imagine that he had not been heard. he folded his arms on his breast.
-“i don't know why i have been telling you all this,” he said, apologetically. “i hope i have not been intruding on your thoughts.”
-“i can think of nothing,” lingard declared, unexpectedly. “i only know that your voice was friendly; and for the rest--”
-“one must get through a night like this somehow,” said d'alcacer. “the very stars seem to lag on their way. it's a common belief that a drowning man is irresistibly compelled to review his past experience. just now i feel quite out of my depth, and whatever i have said has come from my experience. i am sure you will forgive me. all that it amounts to is this: that it is natural for us to cry for the moon but it would be very fatal to have our cries heard. for what could any one of us do with the moon if it were given to him? i am speaking now of us--common mortals.”
-it was not immediately after d'alcacer had ceased speaking but only after a moment that lingard unclasped his fingers, got up, and walked away. d'alcacer followed with a glance of quiet interest the big, shadowy form till it vanished in the direction of an enormous forest tree left in the middle of the stockade. the deepest shade of the night was spread over the ground of belarab's fortified courtyard. the very embers of the fires had turned black, showing only here and there a mere spark; and the forms of the prone sleepers could hardly be distinguished from the hard ground on which they rested, with their arms lying beside them on the mats. presently mrs. travers appeared quite close to d'alcacer, who rose instantly.
-“martin is asleep,” said mrs. travers in a tone that seemed to have borrowed something of the mystery and quietness of the night.
-“all the world's asleep,” observed d'alcacer, so low that mrs. travers barely caught the words, “except you and me, and one other who has left me to wander about in the night.”
-“was he with you? where has he gone?”
-“where it's darkest i should think,” answered d'alcacer, secretly. “it's no use going to look for him; but if you keep perfectly still and hold your breath you may presently hear his footsteps.”
-“what did he tell you?” breathed out mrs. travers.
-after leaving d'alcacer, lingard threading his way between the fires found himself under the big tree, the same tree against which daman had been leaning on the day of the great talk when the white prisoners had been surrendered to lingard's keeping on definite conditions. lingard passed through the deep obscurity made by the outspread boughs of the only witness left there of a past that for endless ages had seen no mankind on this shore defended by the shallows, around this lagoon overshadowed by the jungle. in the calm night the old giant, without shudders or murmurs in its enormous limbs, saw the restless man drift through the black shade into the starlight.
-in that distant part of the courtyard there were only a few sentries who, themselves invisible, saw lingard's white figure pace to and fro endlessly. they knew well who that was. it was the great white man. a very great man. a very rich man. a possessor of fire-arms, who could dispense valuable gifts and deal deadly blows, the friend of their ruler, the enemy of his enemies, known to them for years and always mysterious. at their posts, flattened against the stakes near convenient loopholes, they cast backward glances and exchanged faint whispers from time to time.
-lingard might have thought himself alone. he had lost touch with the world. what he had said to d'alcacer was perfectly true. he had no thought. he was in the state of a man who, having cast his eyes through the open gates of paradise, is rendered insensible by that moment's vision to all the forms and matters of the earth; and in the extremity of his emotion ceases even to look upon himself but as the subject of a sublime experience which exalts or unfits, sanctifies or damns--he didn't know which. every shadowy thought, every passing sensation was like a base intrusion on that supreme memory. he couldn't bear it.
-when he had tried to resume his conversation with belarab after mrs. travers' arrival he had discovered himself unable to go on. he had just enough self-control to break off the interview in measured terms. he pointed out the lateness of the hour, a most astonishing excuse to people to whom time is nothing and whose life and activities are not ruled by the clock. indeed lingard hardly knew what he was saying or doing when he went out again leaving everybody dumb with astonishment at the change in his aspect and in his behaviour. a suspicious silence reigned for a long time in belarab's great audience room till the chief dismissed everybody by two quiet words and a slight gesture.
-with her chin in her hand in the pose of a sybil trying to read the future in the glow of dying embers, mrs. travers, without holding her breath, heard quite close to her the footsteps which she had been listening for with mingled alarm, remorse, and hope.
-she didn't change her attitude. the deep red glow lighted her up dimly, her face, the white hand hanging by her side, her feet in their sandals. the disturbing footsteps stopped close to her.
-“where have you been all this time?” she asked, without looking round.
-“i don't know,” answered lingard. he was speaking the exact truth. he didn't know. ever since he had released that woman from his arms everything but the vaguest notions had departed from him. events, necessities, things--he had lost his grip on them all. and he didn't care. they were futile and impotent; he had no patience with them. the offended and astonished belarab, d'alcacer with his kindly touch and friendly voice, the sleeping men, the men awake, the settlement full of unrestful life and the restless shallows of the coast, were removed from him into an immensity of pitying contempt. perhaps they existed. perhaps all this waited for him. well, let all this wait; let everything wait, till to-morrow or to the end of time, which could now come at any moment for all he cared--but certainly till to-morrow.
-“i only know,” he went on with an emphasis that made mrs. travers raise her head, “that wherever i go i shall carry you with me--against my breast.”
-mrs. travers' fine ear caught the mingled tones of suppressed exultation and dawning fear, the ardour and the faltering of those words. she was feeling still the physical truth at the root of them so strongly that she couldn't help saying in a dreamy whisper:
-“did you mean to crush the life out of me?”
-he answered in the same tone:
-“i could not have done it. you are too strong. was i rough? i didn't mean to be. i have been often told i didn't know my own strength. you did not seem able to get through that opening and so i caught hold of you. you came away in my hands quite easily. suddenly i thought to myself, 'now i will make sure.'”
-he paused as if his breath had failed him. mrs. travers dared not make the slightest movement. still in the pose of one in quest of hidden truth she murmured, “make sure?”
-“yes. and now i am sure. you are here--here! before i couldn't tell.”
-“oh, you couldn't tell before,” she said.
-“so it was reality that you were seeking.”
-he repeated as if speaking to himself: “and now i am sure.”
-her sandalled foot, all rosy in the glow, felt the warmth of the embers. the tepid night had enveloped her body; and still under the impression of his strength she gave herself up to a momentary feeling of quietude that came about her heart as soft as the night air penetrated by the feeble clearness of the stars. ���this is a limpid soul,” she thought.
-“you know i always believed in you,” he began again. “you know i did. well. i never believed in you so much as i do now, as you sit there, just as you are, and with hardly enough light to make you out by.”
-it occurred to her that she had never heard a voice she liked so well--except one. but that had been a great actor's voice; whereas this man was nothing in the world but his very own self. he persuaded, he moved, he disturbed, he soothed by his inherent truth. he had wanted to make sure and he had made sure apparently; and too weary to resist the waywardness of her thoughts mrs. travers reflected with a sort of amusement that apparently he had not been disappointed. she thought, “he believes in me. what amazing words. of all the people that might have believed in me i had to find this one here. he believes in me more than in himself.” a gust of sudden remorse tore her out from her quietness, made her cry out to him:
-“captain lingard, we forget how we have met, we forget what is going on. we mustn't. i won't say that you placed your belief wrongly but i have to confess something to you. i must tell you how i came here to-night. jorgenson . . .”
-he interrupted her forcibly but without raising his voice.
-“jorgenson. who's jorgenson? you came to me because you couldn't help yourself.”
-this took her breath away. “but i must tell you. there is something in my coming which is not clear to me.”
-“you can tell me nothing that i don't know already,” he said in a pleading tone. “say nothing. sit still. time enough to-morrow. to-morrow! the night is drawing to an end and i care for nothing in the world but you. let me be. give me the rest that is in you.”
-she had never heard such accents on his lips and she felt for him a great and tender pity. why not humour this mood in which he wanted to preserve the moments that would never come to him again on this earth? she hesitated in silence. she saw him stir in the darkness as if he could not make up his mind to sit down on the bench. but suddenly he scattered the embers with his foot and sank on the ground against her feet, and she was not startled in the least to feel the weight of his head on her knee. mrs. travers was not startled but she felt profoundly moved. why should she torment him with all those questions of freedom and captivity, of violence and intrigue, of life and death? he was not in a state to be told anything and it seemed to her that she did not want to speak, that in the greatness of her compassion she simply could not speak. all she could do for him was to rest her hand lightly on his head and respond silently to the slight movement she felt, sigh or sob, but a movement which suddenly immobilized her in an anxious emotion.
-about the same time on the other side of the lagoon jorgenson, raising his eyes, noted the stars and said to himself that the night would not last long now. he wished for daylight. he hoped that lingard had already done something. the blaze in tengga's compound had been re-lighted. tom's power was unbounded, practically unbounded. and he was invulnerable.
-jorgenson let his old eyes wander amongst the gleams and shadows of the great sheet of water between him and that hostile shore and fancied he could detect a floating shadow having the characteristic shape of a man in a small canoe.
-“o! ya! man!” he hailed. “what do you want?” other eyes, too, had detected that shadow. low murmurs arose on the deck of the emma. “if you don't speak at once i shall fire,” shouted jorgenson, fiercely.
-“no, white man,” returned the floating shape in a solemn drawl. “i am the bearer of friendly words. a chief's words. i come from tengga.”
-“there was a bullet that came on board not a long time ago--also from tengga,” said jorgenson.
-“that was an accident,” protested the voice from the lagoon. “what else could it be? is there war between you and tengga? no, no, o white man! all tengga desires is a long talk. he has sent me to ask you to come ashore.”
-at these words jorgenson's heart sank a little. this invitation meant that lingard had made no move. was tom asleep or altogether mad?
-“the talk would be of peace,” declared impressively the shadow which had drifted much closer to the hulk now.
-“it isn't for me to talk with great chiefs,” jorgenson returned, cautiously.
-“but tengga is a friend,” argued the nocturnal messenger. “and by that fire there are other friends--your friends, the rajah hassim and the lady immada, who send you their greetings and who expect their eyes to rest on you before sunrise.”
-“that's a lie,” remarked jorgenson, perfunctorily, and fell into thought, while the shadowy bearer of words preserved a scandalized silence, though, of course, he had not expected to be believed for a moment. but one could never tell what a white man would believe. he had wanted to produce the impression that hassim and immada were the honoured guests of tengga. it occurred to him suddenly that perhaps jorgenson didn't know anything of the capture. and he persisted.
-“my words are all true, tuan. the rajah of wajo and his sister are with my master. i left them sitting by the fire on tengga's right hand. will you come ashore to be welcomed amongst friends?”
-jorgenson had been reflecting profoundly. his object was to gain as much time as possible for lingard's interference which indeed could not fail to be effective. but he had not the slightest wish to entrust himself to tengga's friendliness. not that he minded the risk; but he did not see the use of taking it.
-“no!” he said, “i can't go ashore. we white men have ways of our own and i am chief of this hulk. and my chief is the rajah laut, a white man like myself. all the words that matter are in him and if tengga is such a great chief let him ask the rajah laut for a talk. yes, that's the proper thing for tengga to do if he is such a great chief as he says.”
-“the rajah laut has made his choice. he dwells with belarab, and with the white people who are huddled together like trapped deer in belarab's stockade. why shouldn't you meantime go over where everything is lighted up and open and talk in friendship with tengga's friends, whose hearts have been made sick by many doubts; rajah hassim and the lady immada and daman, the chief of the men of the sea, who do not know now whom they can trust unless it be you, tuan, the keeper of much wealth?”
-the diplomatist in the small dugout paused for a moment to give special weight to the final argument:
-“which you have no means to defend. we know how many armed men there are with you.”
-“they are great fighters,” jorgenson observed, unconcernedly, spreading his elbows on the rail and looking over at the floating black patch of characteristic shape whence proceeded the voice of the wily envoy of tengga. “each man of them is worth ten of such as you can find in the settlement.”
-“yes, by allah. even worth twenty of these common people. indeed, you have enough with you to make a great fight but not enough for victory.”
-“god alone gives victory,” said suddenly the voice of jaffir, who, very still at jorgenson's elbow, had been listening to the conversation.
-“very true,” was the answer in an extremely conventional tone. “will you come ashore, o white man; and be the leader of chiefs?”
-“i have been that before,” said jorgenson, with great dignity, “and now all i want is peace. but i won't come ashore amongst people whose minds are so much troubled, till rajah hassim and his sister return on board this ship and tell me the tale of their new friendship with tengga.”
-his heart was sinking with every minute, the very air was growing heavier with the sense of oncoming disaster, on that night that was neither war nor peace and whose only voice was the voice of tengga's envoy, insinuating in tone though menacing in words.
-“no, that cannot be,” said that voice. “but, tuan, verily tengga himself is ready to come on board here to talk with you. he is very ready to come and indeed, tuan, he means to come on board here before very long.”
-“yes, with fifty war-canoes filled with the ferocious rabble of the shore of refuge,” jaffir was heard commenting, sarcastically, over the rail; and a sinister muttered “it may be so,” ascended alongside from the black water.
-jorgenson kept silent as if waiting for a supreme inspiration and suddenly he spoke in his other-world voice: “tell tengga from me that as long as he brings with him rajah hassim and the rajah's sister, he and his chief men will be welcome on deck here, no matter how many boats come along with them. for that i do not care. you may go now.”
-a profound silence succeeded. it was clear that the envoy was gone, keeping in the shadow of the shore. jorgenson turned to jaffir.
-“death amongst friends is but a festival,” he quoted, mumbling in his moustache.
-“it is, by allah,” assented jaffir with sombre fervour.
-thirty-six hours later carter, alone with lingard in the cabin of the brig, could almost feel during a pause in his talk the oppressive, the breathless peace of the shallows awaiting another sunset.
-“i never expected to see any of you alive,” carter began in his easy tone, but with much less carelessness in his bearing as though his days of responsibility amongst the shoals of the shore of refuge had matured his view of the external world and of his own place therein.
-“of course not,” muttered lingard.
-the listlessness of that man whom he had always seen acting under the stress of a secret passion seemed perfectly appalling to carter's youthful and deliberate energy. ever since he had found himself again face to face with lingard he had tried to conceal the shocking impression with a delicacy which owed nothing to training but was as intuitive as a child's.
-while justifying to lingard his manner of dealing with the situation on the shore of refuge, he could not for the life of him help asking himself what was this new mystery. he was also young enough to long for a word of commendation.
-“come, captain,” he argued; “how would you have liked to come out and find nothing but two half-burnt wrecks stuck on the sands--perhaps?”
-he waited for a moment, then in sheer compassion turned away his eyes from that fixed gaze, from that harassed face with sunk cheeks, from that figure of indomitable strength robbed of its fire. he said to himself: “he doesn't hear me,” and raised his voice without altering its self-contained tone:
-“i was below yesterday morning when we felt the shock, but the noise came to us only as a deep rumble. i made one jump for the companion but that precious shaw was before me yelling, 'earthquake! earthquake!' and i am hanged if he didn't miss his footing and land down on his head at the bottom of the stairs. i had to stop to pick him up but i got on deck in time to see a mighty black cloud that seemed almost solid pop up from behind the forest like a balloon. it stayed there for quite a long time. some of our calashes on deck swore to me that they had seen a red flash above the tree-tops. but that's hard to believe. i guessed at once that something had blown up on shore. my first thought was that i would never see you any more and i made up my mind at once to find out all the truth you have been keeping away from me. no, sir! don't you make a mistake! i wasn't going to give you up, dead or alive.”
-he looked hard at lingard while saying these words and saw the first sign of animation pass over that ravaged face. he saw even its lips move slightly; but there was no sound, and carter looked away again.
-“perhaps you would have done better by telling me everything; but you left me behind on my own to be your man here. i put my hand to the work i could see before me. i am a sailor. there were two ships to look after. and here they are both for you, fit to go or to stay, to fight or to run, as you choose.” he watched with bated breath the effort lingard had to make to utter the two words of the desired commendation:
-“and i am your man still,” carter added, impulsively, and hastened to look away from lingard, who had tried to smile at him and had failed. carter didn't know what to do next, remain in the cabin or leave that unsupported strong man to himself. with a shyness completely foreign to his character and which he could not understand himself, he suggested in an engaging murmur and with an embarrassed assumption of his right to give advice:
-he was facing lingard, who stood on the other side of the table in a leaning forward attitude propped up on rigid arms and stared fixedly at him--perhaps? carter felt on the verge of despair. this couldn't last. he was relieved to see lingard shake his head slightly.
-“no, mr. carter. i think i will go on deck,” said the captain of the famous brig lightning, while his eyes roamed all over the cabin. carter stood aside at once, but it was some little time before lingard made a move.
-it was a sentiment perfectly new to him. he had never before felt this sort of solicitude about himself or any other man. his personality was being developed by new experience, and as he was very simple he received the initiation with shyness and self-mistrust. he had noticed with innocent alarm that lingard had not looked either at the sky or over the sea, neither at his own ship nor the schooner astern; not along the decks, not aloft, not anywhere. he had looked at nothing! and somehow carter felt himself more lonely and without support than when he had been left alone by that man in charge of two ships entangled amongst the shallows and environed by some sinister mystery. since that man had come back, instead of welcome relief carter felt his responsibility rest on his young shoulders with tenfold weight. his profound conviction was that lingard should be roused.
-“captain lingard,” he burst out in desperation; “you can't say i have worried you very much since this morning when i received you at the side, but i must be told something. what is it going to be with us? fight or run?”
-lingard turned away, abruptly. carter didn't budge. after a moment he heard himself called from the other side of the deck and obeyed with alacrity.
-“what's that story of a man you picked up on the coast last evening?” asked lingard in his gentlest tone. “didn't you tell me something about it when i came on board?”
-he paused and lingard said: “you have been five times down in the cabin?”
-“yes. and the sixth time i made up my mind to make you take some notice of me. i can't be left without orders. there are two ships to look after, a lot of things to be done. . . .”
-“there is nothing to be done,” lingard interrupted with a mere murmur but in a tone which made carter keep silent for a while.
-“even to know that much would have been something to go by,” he ventured at last. “i couldn't let you sit there with the sun getting pretty low and a long night before us.”
-“i feel stunned yet,” said lingard, looking carter straight in the face, as if to watch the effect of that confession.
-“were you very near that explosion?” asked the young man with sympathetic curiosity and seeking for some sign on lingard's person. but there was nothing. not a single hair of the captain's head seemed to have been singed.
-“near,” muttered lingard. “it might have been my head.” he pressed it with both hands, then let them fall. “what about that man?” he asked, brusquely. “where did he come from? . . . i suppose he is dead now,” he added in an envious tone.
-“no, sir. he must have as many lives as a cat,” answered carter. “i will tell you how it was. as i said before i wasn't going to give you up, dead or alive, so yesterday when the sun went down a little in the afternoon i had two of our boats manned and pulled in shore, taking soundings to find a passage if there was one. i meant to go back and look for you with the brig or without the brig--but that doesn't matter now. there were three or four floating logs in sight. one of the calashes in my boat made out something red on one of them. i thought it was worth while to go and see what it was. it was that man's sarong. it had got entangled among the branches and prevented him rolling off into the water. i was never so glad, i assure you, as when we found out that he was still breathing. if we could only nurse him back to life, i thought, he could perhaps tell me a lot of things. the log on which he hung had come out of the mouth of the creek and he couldn't have been more than half a day on it by my calculation. i had him taken down the main hatchway and put into a hammock in the 'tween-decks. he only just breathed then, but some time during the night he came to himself and got out of the hammock to lie down on a mat. i suppose he was more comfortable that way. he recovered his speech only this morning and i went down at once and told you of it, but you took no notice. i told you also who he was but i don't know whether you heard me or not.”
-“i don't remember,” said lingard under his breath.
-“they are wonderful, those malays. this morning he was only half alive, if that much, and now i understand he has been talking to wasub for an hour. will you go down to see him, sir, or shall i send a couple of men to carry him on deck?”
-lingard looked bewildered for a moment.
-“who on earth is he?” he asked.
-lingard seized hold of the royal backstay within reach of his hand. jaffir! jaffir! faithful above all others; the messenger of supreme moments; the reckless and devoted servant! lingard felt a crushing sense of despair. “no, i can't face this,” he whispered to himself, looking at the coast black as ink now before his eyes in the world's shadow that was slowly encompassing the grey clearness of the shallow waters. “send wasub to me. i am going down into the cabin.”
-he crossed over to the companion, then checking himself suddenly: “was there a boat from the yacht during the day?” he asked as if struck by a sudden thought.--“no, sir,” answered carter. “we had no communication with the yacht to-day.”--“send wasub to me,” repeated lingard in a stern voice as he went down the stairs.
-the old serang coming in noiselessly saw his captain as he had seen him many times before, sitting under the gilt thunderbolts, apparently as strong in his body, in his wealth, and in his knowledge of secret words that have a power over men and elements, as ever. the old malay squatted down within a couple of feet from lingard, leaned his back against the satinwood panel of the bulkhead, then raising his old eyes with a watchful and benevolent expression to the white man's face, clasped his hands between his knees.
-“wasub, you have learned now everything. is there no one left alive but jaffir? are they all dead?”
-“may you live!” answered wasub; and lingard whispered an appalled “all dead!” to which wasub nodded slightly twice. his cracked voice had a lamenting intonation. “it is all true! it is all true! you are left alone, tuan; you are left alone!”
-“it was their destiny,” said lingard at last, with forced calmness. “but has jaffir told you of the manner of this calamity? how is it that he alone came out alive from it to be found by you?”
-“he was told by his lord to depart and he obeyed,” began wasub, fixing his eyes on the deck and speaking just loud enough to be heard by lingard, who, bending forward in his seat, shrank inwardly from every word and yet would not have missed a single one of them for anything.
-“you are the most generous of women,” he said. he bent over her. her eyes were wide open. her lips felt cold. it did not shock him. after he stood up he remained near her. heat is a consuming thing, but she with her cold lips seemed to him indestructible--and, perhaps, immortal!
-again he stooped, but this time it was only to kiss the fringe of her head scarf. then he turned away to meet the three men, who, coming round the corner of the hut containing the prisoners, were approaching him with measured steps. they desired his presence in the council room. belarab was awake.
-they also expressed their satisfaction at finding the white man awake, because belarab wanted to impart to him information of the greatest importance. it seemed to lingard that he had been awake ever since he could remember. it was as to being alive that he felt not so sure. he had no doubt of his existence; but was this life--this profound indifference, this strange contempt for what his eyes could see, this distaste for words, this unbelief in the importance of things and men? he tried to regain possession of himself, his old self which had things to do, words to speak as well as to hear. but it was too difficult. he was seduced away by the tense feeling of existence far superior to the mere consciousness of life, and which in its immensity of contradictions, delight, dread, exultation and despair could not be faced and yet was not to be evaded. there was no peace in it. but who wanted peace? surrender was better, the dreadful ease of slack limbs in the sweep of an enormous tide and in a divine emptiness of mind. if this was existence then he knew that he existed. and he knew that the woman existed, too, in the sweep of the tide, without speech, without movement, without heat! indestructible--and, perhaps, immortal!
-with the sublime indifference of a man who has had a glimpse through the open doors of paradise and is no longer careful of mere life, lingard had followed belarab's anxious messengers. the stockade was waking up in a subdued resonance of voices. men were getting up from the ground, fires were being rekindled. draped figures flitted in the mist amongst the buildings; and through the mat wall of a bamboo house lingard heard the feeble wailing of a child. a day of mere life was beginning; but in the chief's great council room several wax candles and a couple of cheap european lamps kept the dawn at bay, while the morning mist which could not be kept out made a faint reddish halo round every flame.
-belarab was not only awake, but he even looked like a man who had not slept for a long time. the creator of the shore of refuge, the weary ruler of the settlement, with his scorn of the unrest and folly of men, was angry with his white friend who was always bringing his desires and his troubles to his very door. belarab did not want any one to die but neither did he want any one in particular to live. what he was concerned about was to preserve the mystery and the power of his melancholy hesitations. these delicate things were menaced by lingard's brusque movements, by that passionate white man who believed in more than one god and always seemed to doubt the power of destiny. belarab was profoundly annoyed. he was also genuinely concerned, for he liked lingard. he liked him not only for his strength, which protected his clear-minded scepticism from those dangers that beset all rulers, but he liked him also for himself. that man of infinite hesitations, born from a sort of mystic contempt for allah's creation, yet believed absolutely both in lingard's power and in his boldness. absolutely. and yet, in the marvellous consistency of his temperament, now that the moment had come, he dreaded to put both power and fortitude to the test.
-lingard could not know that some little time before the first break of dawn one of belarab's spies in the settlement had found his way inside the stockade at a spot remote from the lagoon, and that a very few moments after lingard had left the chief in consequence of jorgenson's rockets, belarab was listening to an amazing tale of hassim and immada's capture and of tengga's determination, very much strengthened by that fact, to obtain possession of the emma, either by force or by negotiation, or by some crafty subterfuge in which the rajah and his sister could be made to play their part. in his mistrust of the universe, which seemed almost to extend to the will of god himself, belarab was very much alarmed, for the material power of daman's piratical crowd was at tengga's command; and who could tell whether this wajo rajah would remain loyal in the circumstances? it was also very characteristic of him whom the original settlers of the shore of refuge called the father of safety, that he did not say anything of this to lingard, for he was afraid of rousing lingard's fierce energy which would even carry away himself and all his people and put the peace of so many years to the sudden hazard of a battle.
-therefore belarab set himself to persuade lingard on general considerations to deliver the white men, who really belonged to daman, to that supreme chief of the illanuns and by this simple proceeding detach him completely from tengga. why should he, belarab, go to war against half the settlement on their account? it was not necessary, it was not reasonable. it would be even in a manner a sin to begin a strife in a community of true believers. whereas with an offer like that in his hand he could send an embassy to tengga who would see there at once the downfall of his purposes and the end of his hopes. at once! that moment! . . . afterward the question of a ransom could be arranged with daman in which he, belarab, would mediate in the fullness of his recovered power, without a rival and in the sincerity of his heart. and then, if need be, he could put forth all his power against the chief of the sea-vagabonds who would, as a matter of fact, be negotiating under the shadow of the sword.
-belarab talked, low-voiced and dignified, with now and then a subtle intonation, a persuasive inflexion or a half-melancholy smile in the course of the argument. what encouraged him most was the changed aspect of his white friend. the fierce power of his personality seemed to have turned into a dream. lingard listened, growing gradually inscrutable in his continued silence, but remaining gentle in a sort of rapt patience as if lapped in the wings of the angel of peace himself. emboldened by that transformation, belarab's counsellors seated on the mats murmured loudly their assent to the views of the chief. through the thickening white mist of tropical lands, the light of the tropical day filtered into the hall. one of the wise men got up from the floor and with prudent fingers began extinguishing the waxlights one by one. he hesitated to touch the lamps, the flames of which looked yellow and cold. a puff of the morning breeze entered the great room, faint and chill. lingard, facing belarab in a wooden armchair, with slack limbs and in the divine emptiness of a mind enchanted by a glimpse of paradise, shuddered profoundly.
-a strong voice shouted in the doorway without any ceremony and with a sort of jeering accent:
-“tengga's boats are out in the mist.”
-lingard half rose from his seat, belarab himself could not repress a start. lingard's attitude was a listening one, but after a moment of hesitation he ran out of the hall. the inside of the stockade was beginning to buzz like a disturbed hive.
-outside belarab's house lingard slowed his pace. the mist still hung. a great sustained murmur pervaded it and the blurred forms of men were all moving outward from the centre toward the palisades. somewhere amongst the buildings a gong clanged. d'alcacer's raised voice was heard:
-“what is happening?”
-lingard was passing then close to the prisoners' house. there was a group of armed men below the verandah and above their heads he saw mrs. travers by the side of d'alcacer. the fire by which lingard had spent the night was extinguished, its embers scattered, and the bench itself lay overturned. mrs. travers must have run up on the verandah at the first alarm. she and d'alcacer up there seemed to dominate the tumult which was now subsiding. lingard noticed the scarf across mrs. travers' face. d'alcacer was bareheaded. he shouted again:
-“what's the matter?”
-“i am going to see,” shouted lingard back.
-he resisted the impulse to join those two, dominate the tumult, let it roll away from under his feet--the mere life of men, vain like a dream and interfering with the tremendous sense of his own existence. he resisted it, he could hardly have told why. even the sense of self-preservation had abandoned him. there was a throng of people pressing close about him yet careful not to get in his way. surprise, concern, doubt were depicted on all those faces; but there were some who observed that the great white man making his way to the lagoon side of the stockade wore a fixed smile. he asked at large:
-“can one see any distance over the water?”
-one of belarab's headmen who was nearest to him answered:
-“the mist has thickened. if you see anything, tuan, it will be but a shadow of things.”
-the four sides of the stockade had been manned by that time. lingard, ascending the banquette, looked out and saw the lagoon shrouded in white, without as much as a shadow on it, and so still that not even the sound of water lapping the shore reached his ears. he found himself in profound accord with this blind and soundless peace.
-“has anything at all been seen?” he asked incredulously.
-four men were produced at once who had seen a dark mass of boats moving in the light of the dawn. others were sent for. he hardly listened to them. his thought escaped him and he stood motionless, looking out into the unstirring mist pervaded by the perfect silence. presently belarab joined him, escorted by three grave, swarthy men, himself dark-faced, stroking his short grey beard with impenetrable composure. he said to lingard, “your white man doesn't fight,” to which lingard answered, “there is nothing to fight against. what your people have seen, belarab, were indeed but shadows on the water.” belarab murmured, “you ought to have allowed me to make friends with daman last night.”
-a faint uneasiness was stealing into lingard's breast.
-a moment later d'alcacer came up, inconspicuously watched over by two men with lances, and to his anxious inquiry lingard said: “i don't think there is anything going on. listen how still everything is. the only way of bringing the matter to a test would be to persuade belarab to let his men march out and make an attack on tengga's stronghold this moment. then we would learn something. but i couldn't persuade belarab to march out into this fog. indeed, an expedition like this might end badly. i myself don't believe that all tengga's people are on the lagoon. . . . where is mrs. travers?”
-the question made d'alcacer start by its abruptness which revealed the woman's possession of that man's mind. “she is with don martin, who is better but feels very weak. if we are to be given up, he will have to be carried out to his fate. i can depict to myself the scene. don martin carried shoulder high surrounded by those barbarians with spears, and mrs. travers with myself walking on each side of the stretcher. mrs. travers has declared to me her intention to go out with us.”
-“oh, she has declared her intention,” murmured lingard, absent-mindedly.
-d'alcacer felt himself completely abandoned by that man. and within two paces of him he noticed the group of belarab and his three swarthy attendants in their white robes, preserving an air of serene detachment. for the first time since the stranding on the coast d'alcacer's heart sank within him. “but perhaps,” he went on, “this moor may not in the end insist on giving us up to a cruel death, captain lingard.”
-“he wanted to give you up in the middle of the night, a few hours ago,” said lingard, without even looking at d'alcacer who raised his hands a little and let them fall. lingard sat down on the breech of a heavy piece mounted on a naval carriage so as to command the lagoon. he folded his arms on his breast. d'alcacer asked, gently:
-“we have been reprieved then?”
-“no,” said lingard. “it's i who was reprieved.”
-a long silence followed. along the whole line of the manned stockade the whisperings had ceased. the vibrations of the gong had died out, too. only the watchers perched in the highest boughs of the big tree made a slight rustle amongst the leaves.
-“what are you thinking of, captain lingard?” d'alcacer asked in a low voice. lingard did not change his position.
-“i am trying to keep it off,” he said in the same tone.
-“what? trying to keep thought off?”
-“is this the time for such experiments?” asked d'alcacer.
-“why not? it's my reprieve. don't grudge it to me, mr. d'alcacer.”
-“upon my word i don't. but isn't it dangerous?”
-“you will have to take your chance.”
-d'alcacer had a moment of internal struggle. he asked himself whether he should tell lingard that mrs. travers had come to the stockade with some sort of message from jorgenson. he had it on the tip of his tongue to advise lingard to go and see mrs. travers and ask her point blank whether she had anything to tell him; but before he could make up his mind the voices of invisible men high up in the tree were heard reporting the thinning of the fog. this caused a stir to run along the four sides of the stockade.
-lingard felt the draught of air in his face, the motionless mist began to drive over the palisades and, suddenly, the lagoon came into view with a great blinding glitter of its wrinkled surface and the faint sound of its wash rising all along the shore. a multitude of hands went up to shade the eager eyes, and exclamations of wonder burst out from many men at the sight of a crowd of canoes of various sizes and kinds lying close together with the effect as of an enormous raft, a little way off the side of the emma. the excited voices rose higher and higher. there was no doubt about tengga's being on the lagoon. but what was jorgenson about? the emma lay as if abandoned by her keeper and her crew, while the mob of mixed boats seemed to be meditating an attack.
-for all his determination to keep thought off to the very last possible moment, lingard could not defend himself from a sense of wonder and fear. what was jorgenson about? for a moment lingard expected the side of the emma to wreath itself in puffs of smoke, but an age seemed to elapse without the sound of a shot reaching his ears.
-the boats were afraid to close. they were hanging off, irresolute; but why did jorgenson not put an end to their hesitation by a volley or two of musketry if only over their heads? through the anguish of his perplexity lingard found himself returning to life, to mere life with its sense of pain and mortality, like a man awakened from a dream by a stab in the breast. what did this silence of the emma mean? could she have been already carried in the fog? but that was unthinkable. some sounds of resistance must have been heard. no, the boats hung off because they knew with what desperate defence they would meet; and perhaps jorgenson knew very well what he was doing by holding his fire to the very last moment and letting the craven hearts grow cold with the fear of a murderous discharge that would have to be faced. what was certain was that this was the time for belarab to open the great gate and let his men go out, display his power, sweep through the further end of the settlement, destroy tengga's defences, do away once for all with the absurd rivalry of that intriguing amateur boat-builder. lingard turned eagerly toward belarab but saw the chief busy looking across the lagoon through a long glass resting on the shoulder of a stooping slave. he was motionless like a carving. suddenly he let go the long glass which some ready hands caught as it fell and said to lingard:
-“how do you know?” muttered lingard, astounded.
-“there are three empty sampans alongside the ladder,” said belarab in a just audible voice. “there is bad talk there.”
-“talk? i don't understand,” said lingard, slowly.
-but belarab had turned toward his three attendants in white robes, with shaven polls under skull-caps of plaited grass, with prayer beads hanging from their wrists, and an air of superior calm on their dark faces: companions of his desperate days, men of blood once and now imperturbable in their piety and wisdom of trusted counsellors.
-“this white man is being betrayed,” he murmured to them with the greatest composure.
-d'alcacer, uncomprehending, watched the scene: the man of fate puzzled and fierce like a disturbed lion, the white-robed moors, the multitude of half-naked barbarians, squatting by the guns, standing by the loopholes in the immobility of an arranged display. he saw mrs. travers on the verandah of the prisoners' house, an anxious figure with a white scarf over her head. mr. travers was no doubt too weak after his fit of fever to come outside. if it hadn't been for that, all the whites would have been in sight of each other at the very moment of the catastrophe which was to give them back to the claims of their life, at the cost of other lives sent violently out of the world. d'alcacer heard lingard asking loudly for the long glass and saw belarab make a sign with his hand, when he felt the earth receive a violent blow from underneath. while he staggered to it the heavens split over his head with a crash in the lick of a red tongue of flame; and a sudden dreadful gloom fell all round the stunned d'alcacer, who beheld with terror the morning sun, robbed of its rays, glow dull and brown through the sombre murk which had taken possession of the universe. the emma had blown up; and when the rain of shattered timbers and mangled corpses falling into the lagoon had ceased, the cloud of smoke hanging motionless under the livid sun cast its shadow afar on the shore of refuge where all strife had come to an end.
-the first person to recover inside the stockade was belarab himself. mechanically he murmured the exclamation of wonder, “god is great,” and looked at lingard. but lingard was not looking at him. the shock of the explosion had robbed him of speech and movement. he stared at the emma blazing in a distant and insignificant flame under the sinister shadow of the cloud created by jorgenson's mistrust and contempt for the life of men. belarab turned away. his opinion had changed. he regarded lingard no longer as a betrayed man but the effect was the same. he was no longer a man of any importance. what belarab really wanted now was to see all the white people clear out of the lagoon as soon as possible. presently he ordered the gate to be thrown open and his armed men poured out to take possession of the settlement. later tengga's houses were set on fire and belarab, mounting a fiery pony, issued forth to make a triumphal progress surrounded by a great crowd of headmen and guards.
-that night the white people left the stockade in a cortege of torch bearers. mr. travers had to be carried down to the beach, where two of belarab's war-boats awaited their distinguished passengers. mrs. travers passed through the gate on d'alcacer's arm. her face was half veiled. she moved through the throng of spectators displayed in the torchlight looking straight before her. belarab, standing in front of a group of headmen, pretended not to see the white people as they went by. with lingard he shook hands, murmuring the usual formulas of friendship; and when he heard the great white man say, “you shall never see me again,” he felt immensely relieved. belarab did not want to see that white man again, but as he responded to the pressure of lingard's hand he had a grave smile.
-“god alone knows the future,” he said.
-lingard walked to the beach by himself, feeling a stranger to all men and abandoned by the all-knowing god. by that time the first boat with mr. and mrs. travers had already got away out of the blood-red light thrown by the torches upon the water. d'alcacer and lingard followed in the second. presently the dark shade of the creek, walled in by the impenetrable forest, closed round them and the splash of the paddles echoed in the still, damp air.
-“how do you think this awful accident happened?” asked d'alcacer, who had been sitting silent by lingard's side.
-“what is an accident?” said lingard with a great effort. “where did you hear of such a thing? accident! don't disturb me, mr. d'alcacer. i have just come back to life and it has closed on me colder and darker than the grave itself. let me get used . . . i can't bear the sound of a human voice yet.”
-and now, stoical in the cold and darkness of his regained life, lingard had to listen to the voice of wasub telling him jaffir's story. the old serang's face expressed a profound dejection and there was infinite sadness in the flowing murmur of his words.
-“'no, i won't fight you. but even a spider will give the fly time to say its prayers.'
-“tuan jorgenson's voice sounded very strange and louder than ever anybody had heard it before. o rajah laut, jaffir and the white man had been waiting, too, all night for some sign from you; a shot fired or a signal-fire, lighted to strengthen their hearts. there had been nothing. rajah hassim, whispering, ordered jaffir to take the first opportunity to leap overboard and take to you his message of friendship and good-bye. did the rajah and jaffir know what was coming? who can tell? but what else could they see than calamity for all wajo men, whatever tuan jorgenson had made up his mind to do? jaffir prepared to obey his lord, and yet with so many enemies' boats in the water he did not think he would ever reach the shore; and as to yourself he was not at all sure that you were still alive. but he said nothing of this to his rajah. nobody was looking their way. jaffir pressed his lord's hand to his breast and waited his opportunity. the fog began to blow away and presently everything was disclosed to the sight. jorgenson was on his feet, he was holding a lighted cigar between his fingers. tengga was sitting in front of him on one of the chairs the white people had used. his followers were pressing round him, with daman and sentot, who were muttering incantations; and even the pangerans had moved closer to the hatchway. jaffir's opportunity had come but he lingered by the side of his rajah. in the clear air the sun shone with great force. tuan jorgenson looked once more toward belarab's stockade, o rajah laut! but there was nothing there, not even a flag displayed that had not been there before. jaffir looked that way, too, and as he turned his head he saw tuan jorgenson, in the midst of twenty spear-blades that could in an instant have been driven into his breast, put the cigar in his mouth and jump down the hatchway. at that moment rajah hassim gave jaffir a push toward the side and jaffir leaped overboard.
-“he was still in the water when all the world was darkened round him as if the life of the sun had been blown out of it in a crash. a great wave came along and washed him on shore, while pieces of wood, iron, and the limbs of torn men were splashing round him in the water. he managed to crawl out of the mud. something had hit him while he was swimming and he thought he would die. but life stirred in him. he had a message for you. for a long time he went on crawling under the big trees on his hands and knees, for there is no rest for a messenger till the message is delivered. at last he found himself on the left bank of the creek. and still he felt life stir in him. so he started to swim across, for if you were in this world you were on the other side. while he swam he felt his strength abandoning him. he managed to scramble on to a drifting log and lay on it like one who is dead, till we pulled him into one of our boats.”
-wasub ceased. it seemed to lingard that it was impossible for mortal man to suffer more than he suffered in the succeeding moment of silence crowded by the mute images as of universal destruction. he felt himself gone to pieces as though the violent expression of jorgenson's intolerable mistrust of the life of men had shattered his soul, leaving his body robbed of all power of resistance and of all fortitude, a prey forever to infinite remorse and endless regrets.
-wasub raised his dumb old eyes to the white man's face.
-“tuan, it is necessary that you should hear jaffir,” he said, patiently.
-“is he going to die?” asked lingard in a low, cautious tone as though he were afraid of the sound of his own voice.
-“who can tell?” wasub's voice sounded more patient than ever. “there is no wound on his body but, o tuan, he does not wish to live.”
-“abandoned by his god,” muttered lingard to himself.
-wasub waited a little before he went on, “and, tuan, he has a message for you.”
-“of course. well, i don't want to hear it.”
-“it is from those who will never speak to you again,” wasub persevered, sadly. “it is a great trust. a rajah's own words. it is difficult for jaffir to die. he keeps on muttering about a ring that was for you, and that he let pass out of his care. it was a great talisman!”
-“yes. but it did not work this time. and if i go and tell jaffir why he will be able to tell his rajah, o wasub, since you say that he is going to die. . . . i wonder where they will meet,” he muttered to himself.
-once more wasub raised his eyes to lingard's face. “paradise is the lot of all true believers,” he whispered, firm in his simple faith.
-a languid roll of the already glazed eyeballs, a mere stir of black and white in the gathering dusk showed that the faithful messenger of princes was aware of the presence of the man who had been so long known to him and his people as the king of the sea. lingard knelt down close to jaffir's head, which rolled a little from side to side and then became still, staring at a beam of the upper deck. lingard bent his ear to the dark lips. “deliver your message” he said in a gentle tone.
-“the rajah wished to hold your hand once more,” whispered jaffir so faintly that lingard had to guess the words rather than hear them. “i was to tell you,” he went on--and stopped suddenly.
-“what were you to tell me?”
-“to forget everything,” said jaffir with a loud effort as if beginning a long speech. after that he said nothing more till lingard murmured, “and the lady immada?”
-jaffir collected all his strength. “she hoped no more,” he uttered, distinctly. “the order came to her while she mourned, veiled, apart. i didn't even see her face.”
-lingard swayed over the dying man so heavily that wasub, standing near by, hastened to catch him by the shoulder. jaffir seemed unaware of anything, and went on staring at the beam.
-“can you hear me, o jaffir?” asked lingard.
-“i never had the ring. who could bring it to me?”
-“we gave it to the white woman--may jehannum be her lot!”
-“no! it shall be my lot,” said lingard with despairing force, while wasub raised both his hands in dismay. “for, listen, jaffir, if she had given the ring to me it would have been to one that was dumb, deaf, and robbed of all courage.”
-“are you there, sir?” the answer, “you may come in,” comforted the young man by its strong resonance. he went in.
-“jaffir is dead. this moment. i thought you would want to know.”
-lingard looked persistently at carter, thinking that now jaffir was dead there was no one left on the empty earth to speak to him a word of reproach; no one to know the greatness of his intentions, the bond of fidelity between him and hassim and immada, the depth of his affection for those people, the earnestness of his visions, and the unbounded trust that was his reward. by the mad scorn of jorgenson flaming up against the life of men, all this was as if it had never been. it had become a secret locked up in his own breast forever.
-“tell wasub to open one of the long-cloth bales in the hold, mr. carter, and give the crew a cotton sheet to bury him decently according to their faith. let it be done to-night. they must have the boats, too. i suppose they will want to take him on the sandbank.”
-“yes, sir,” said carter.
-“let them have what they want, spades, torches. . . . wasub will chant the right words. paradise is the lot of all true believers. do you understand me, mr. carter? paradise! i wonder what it will be for him! unless he gets messages to carry through the jungle, avoiding ambushes, swimming in storms and knowing no rest, he won't like it.”
-carter listened with an unmoved face. it seemed to him that the captain had forgotten his presence.
-“and all the time he will be sleeping on that sandbank,” lingard began again, sitting in his old place under the gilt thunderbolts suspended over his head with his elbows on the table and his hands to his temples. “if they want a board to set up at the grave let them have a piece of an oak plank. it will stay there--till the next monsoon. perhaps.”
-carter felt uncomfortable before that tense stare which just missed him and in that confined cabin seemed awful in its piercing and far-off expression. but as he had not been dismissed he did not like to go away.
-“everything will be done as you wish it, sir,” he said. “i suppose the yacht will be leaving the first thing to-morrow morning, sir.”
-“if she doesn't we must give her a solid shot or two to liven her up--eh, mr. carter?”
-carter did not know whether to smile or to look horrified. in the end he did both, but as to saying anything he found it impossible. but lingard did not expect an answer.
-“i believe you are going to stay with me, mr. carter?”
-“i told you, sir, i am your man if you want me.”
-“the trouble is, mr. carter, that i am no longer the man to whom you spoke that night in carimata.”
-“neither am i, sir, in a manner of speaking.”
-lingard, relaxing the tenseness of his stare, looked at the young man, thoughtfully.
-“after all, it is the brig that will want you. she will never change. the finest craft afloat in these seas. she will carry me about as she did before, but . . .”
-he unclasped his hands, made a sweeping gesture.
-“you will be soon yourself again, sir,” he said in the kindest possible tone.
-with the same simplicity lingard shook his head. he was thinking of the dead jaffir with his last message delivered and untroubled now by all these matters of the earth. he had been ordered to tell him to forget everything. lingard had an inward shudder. in the dismay of his heart he might have believed his brig to lie under the very wing of the angel of desolation--so oppressive, so final, and hopeless seemed the silence in which he and carter looked at each other, wistfully.
-lingard reached for a sheet of paper amongst several lying on the table, took up a pen, hesitated a moment, and then wrote:
-“meet me at day-break on the sandbank.”
-he addressed the envelope to mrs. travers, yacht hermit, and pushed it across the table.
-in a roomy cabin, furnished and fitted with austere comfort, mr. travers reposed at ease in a low bed-place under a snowy white sheet and a light silk coverlet, his head sunk in a white pillow of extreme purity. a faint scent of lavender hung about the fresh linen. though lying on his back like a person who is seriously ill mr. travers was conscious of nothing worse than a great fatigue. mr. travers' restfulness had something faintly triumphant in it. to find himself again on board his yacht had soothed his vanity and had revived his sense of his own importance. he contemplated it in a distant perspective, restored to its proper surroundings and unaffected by an adventure too extraordinary to trouble a superior mind or even to remain in one's memory for any length of time. he was not responsible. like many men ambitious of directing the affairs of a nation, mr. travers disliked the sense of responsibility. he would not have been above evading it in case of need, but with perverse loftiness he really, in his heart, scorned it. that was the reason why he was able to lie at rest and enjoy a sense of returning vigour. but he did not care much to talk as yet, and that was why the silence in the stateroom had lasted for hours. the bulkhead lamp had a green silk shade. it was unnecessary to admit for a moment the existence of impudence or ruffianism. a discreet knocking at the cabin door sounded deferential.
-mrs. travers got up to see what was wanted, and returned without uttering a single word to the folding armchair by the side of the bed-place, with an envelope in her hand which she tore open in the greenish light. mr. travers remained incurious but his wife handed to him an unfolded sheet of paper which he condescended to hold up to his eyes. it contained only one line of writing. he let the paper fall on the coverlet and went on reposing as before. it was a sick man's repose. mrs. travers in the armchair, with her hands on the arm-rests, had a great dignity of attitude.
-“i intend to go,” she declared after a time.
-“you intend to go,” repeated mr. travers in a feeble, deliberate voice. “really, it doesn't matter what you decide to do. all this is of so little importance. it seems to me that there can be no possible object.”
-“perhaps not,” she admitted. “but don't you think that the uttermost farthing should always be paid?”
-mr. travers' head rolled over on the pillow and gave a covertly scared look at that outspoken woman. but it rolled back again at once and the whole man remained passive, the very embodiment of helpless exhaustion. mrs. travers noticed this, and had the unexpected impression that mr. travers was not so ill as he looked. “he's making the most of it. it's a matter of diplomacy,” she thought. she thought this without irony, bitterness, or disgust. only her heart sank a little lower and she felt that she could not remain in the cabin with that man for the rest of the evening. for all life--yes! but not for that evening.
-“it's simply monstrous,” murmured the man, who was either very diplomatic or very exhausted, in a languid manner. “there is something abnormal in you.”
-mrs. travers got up swiftly.
-“one comes across monstrous things. but i assure you that of all the monsters that wait on what you would call a normal existence the one i dread most is tediousness. a merciless monster without teeth or claws. impotent. horrible!”
-she left the stateroom, vanishing out of it with noiseless resolution. no power on earth could have kept her in there for another minute. on deck she found a moonless night with a velvety tepid feeling in the air, and in the sky a mass of blurred starlight, like the tarnished tinsel of a worn-out, very old, very tedious firmament. the usual routine of the yacht had been already resumed, the awnings had been stretched aft, a solitary round lamp had been hung as usual under the main boom. out of the deep gloom behind it d'alcacer, a long, loose figure, lounged in the dim light across the deck. d'alcacer had got promptly in touch with the store of cigarettes he owed to the governor general's generosity. a large, pulsating spark glowed, illuminating redly the design of his lips under the fine dark moustache, the tip of his nose, his lean chin. d'alcacer reproached himself for an unwonted light-heartedness which had somehow taken possession of him. he had not experienced that sort of feeling for years. reprehensible as it was he did not want anything to disturb it. but as he could not run away openly from mrs. travers he advanced to meet her.
-“i do hope you have nothing to tell me,” he said with whimsical earnestness.
-“i? no! have you?”
-he assured her he had not, and proffered a request. “don't let us tell each other anything, mrs. travers. don't let us think of anything. i believe it will be the best way to get over the evening.” there was real anxiety in his jesting tone.
-“very well,” mrs. travers assented, seriously. “but in that case we had better not remain together.” she asked, then, d'alcacer to go below and sit with mr. travers who didn't like to be left alone. “though he, too, doesn't seem to want to be told anything,” she added, parenthetically, and went on: “but i must ask you something else, mr. d'alcacer. i propose to sit down in this chair and go to sleep--if i can. will you promise to call me about five o'clock? i prefer not to speak to any one on deck, and, moreover, i can trust you.”
-he bowed in silence and went away slowly. mrs. travers, turning her head, perceived a steady light at the brig's yard-arm, very bright among the tarnished stars. she walked aft and looked over the taffrail. it was exactly like that other night. she half expected to hear presently the low, rippling sound of an advancing boat. but the universe remained without a sound. when she at last dropped into the deck chair she was absolutely at the end of her power of thinking. “i suppose that's how the condemned manage to get some sleep on the night before the execution,” she said to herself a moment before her eyelids closed as if under a leaden hand.
-she woke up, with her face wet with tears, out of a vivid dream of lingard in chain-mail armour and vaguely recalling a crusader, but bare-headed and walking away from her in the depths of an impossible landscape. she hurried on to catch up with him but a throng of barbarians with enormous turbans came between them at the last moment and she lost sight of him forever in the flurry of a ghastly sand-storm. what frightened her most was that she had not been able to see his face. it was then that she began to cry over her hard fate. when she woke up the tears were still rolling down her cheeks and she perceived in the light of the deck-lamp d'alcacer arrested a little way off.
-“did you have to speak to me?” she asked.
-“no,” said d'alcacer. “you didn't give me time. when i came as far as this i fancied i heard you sobbing. it must have been a delusion.”
-“oh, no. my face is wet yet. it was a dream. i suppose it is five o'clock. thank you for being so punctual. i have something to do before sunrise.”
-d'alcacer moved nearer. “i know. you have decided to keep an appointment on the sandbank. your husband didn't utter twenty words in all these hours but he managed to tell me that piece of news.”
-“i shouldn't have thought,” she murmured, vaguely.
-“he wanted me to understand that it had no importance,” stated d'alcacer in a very serious tone.
-“yes. he knows what he is talking about,” said mrs. travers in such a bitter tone as to disconcert d'alcacer for a moment. “i don't see a single soul about the decks,” mrs. travers continued, almost directly.
-“the very watchmen are asleep,” said d'alcacer.
-“there is nothing secret in this expedition, but i prefer not to call any one. perhaps you wouldn't mind pulling me off yourself in our small boat.”
-it seemed to her that d'alcacer showed some hesitation. she added: “it has no importance, you know.”
-he bowed his assent and preceded her down the side in silence. when she entered the boat he had the sculls ready and directly she sat down he shoved off. it was so dark yet that but for the brig's yard-arm light he could not have kept his direction. he pulled a very deliberate stroke, looking over his shoulder frequently. it was mrs. travers who saw first the faint gleam of the uncovered sandspit on the black, quiet water.
-“a little more to the left,” she said. “no, the other way. . . .” d'alcacer obeyed her directions but his stroke grew even slower than before. she spoke again. “don't you think that the uttermost farthing should always be paid, mr. d'alcacer?”
-d'alcacer glanced over his shoulder, then: “it would be the only honourable way. but it may be hard. too hard for our common fearful hearts.”
-“i am prepared for anything.”
-he ceased pulling for a moment . . . “anything that may be found on a sandbank,” mrs. travers went on. “on an arid, insignificant, and deserted sandbank.”
-d'alcacer gave two strokes and ceased again.
-“there is room for a whole world of suffering on a sandbank, for all the bitterness and resentment a human soul may be made to feel.”
-“yes, i suppose you would know,” she whispered while he gave a stroke or two and again glanced over his shoulder. she murmured the words:
-“bitterness, resentment,” and a moment afterward became aware of the keel of the boat running up on the sand. but she didn't move, and d'alcacer, too, remained seated on the thwart with the blades of his sculls raised as if ready to drop them and back the dinghy out into deep water at the first sign.
-mrs. travers made no sign, but she asked, abruptly: “mr. d'alcacer, do you think i shall ever come back?”
-her tone seemed to him to lack sincerity. but who could tell what this abruptness covered--sincere fear or mere vanity? he asked himself whether she was playing a part for his benefit, or only for herself.
-“i don't think you quite understand the situation, mrs. travers. i don't think you have a clear idea, either of his simplicity or of his visionary's pride.”
-she thought, contemptuously, that there were other things which d'alcacer didn't know and surrendered to a sudden temptation to enlighten him a little.
-“you forget his capacity for passion and that his simplicity doesn't know its own strength.”
-there was no mistaking the sincerity of that murmur. “she has felt it,” d'alcacer said to himself with absolute certitude. he wondered when, where, how, on what occasion? mrs. travers stood up in the stern sheets suddenly and d'alcacer leaped on the sand to help her out of the boat.
-“hadn't i better hang about here to take you back again?” he suggested, as he let go her hand.
-“you mustn't!” she exclaimed, anxiously. “you must return to the yacht. there will be plenty of light in another hour. i will come to this spot and wave my handkerchief when i want to be taken off.”
-at their feet the shallow water slept profoundly, the ghostly gleam of the sands baffled the eye by its lack of form. far off, the growth of bushes in the centre raised a massive black bulk against the stars to the southward. mrs. travers lingered for a moment near the boat as if afraid of the strange solitude of this lonely sandbank and of this lone sea that seemed to fill the whole encircling universe of remote stars and limitless shadows. “there is nobody here,” she whispered to herself.
-“he is somewhere about waiting for you, or i don't know the man,” affirmed d'alcacer in an undertone. he gave a vigorous shove which sent the little boat into the water.
-“who's that?” he asked in a troubled voice.
-the shadow moved closer: “it's only me, sir,” said carter, who had left orders to be called directly the captain was seen on deck.
-“oh, yes, i might have known,” mumbled lingard in some confusion. he requested carter to have a boat manned and when after a time the young man told him that it was ready, he said “all right!” and remained leaning on his elbow.
-“i beg your pardon, sir,” said carter after a longish silence, “but are you going some distance?”
-“no, i only want to be put ashore on the sandbank.”
-carter was relieved to hear this, but also surprised. “there is nothing living there, sir,” he said.
-“i wonder,” muttered lingard.
-“but i am certain,” carter insisted. “the last of the women and children belonging to those cut-throats were taken off by the sampans which brought you and the yacht-party out.”
-he walked at lingard's elbow to the gangway and listened to his orders.
-“directly there is enough light to see flags by, make a signal to the schooner to heave short on her cable and loose her sails. if there is any hanging back give them a blank gun, mr. carter. i will have no shilly-shallying. if she doesn't go at the word, by heavens, i will drive her out. i am still master here--for another day.”
-the overwhelming sense of immensity, of disturbing emptiness, which affects those who walk on the sands in the midst of the sea, intimidated mrs. travers. the world resembled a limitless flat shadow which was motionless and elusive. then against the southern stars she saw a human form that isolated and lone appeared to her immense: the shape of a giant outlined amongst the constellations. as it approached her it shrank to common proportions, got clear of the stars, lost its awesomeness, and became menacing in its ominous and silent advance. mrs. travers hastened to speak.
-“you have asked for me. i am come. i trust you will have no reason to regret my obedience.”
-he walked up quite close to her, bent down slightly to peer into her face. the first of the tropical dawn put its characteristic cold sheen into the sky above the shore of refuge.
-mrs. travers did not turn away her head.
-“are you looking for a change in me? no. you won't see it. now i know that i couldn't change even if i wanted to. i am made of clay that is too hard.”
-“i am looking at you for the first time,” said lingard. “i never could see you before. there were too many things, too many thoughts, too many people. no, i never saw you before. but now the world is dead.”
-he grasped her shoulders, approaching his face close to hers. she never flinched.
-“yes, the world is dead,” she said. “look your fill then. it won't be for long.”
-he let her go as suddenly as though she had struck him. the cold white light of the tropical dawn had crept past the zenith now and the expanse of the shallow waters looked cold, too, without stir or ripple within the enormous rim of the horizon where, to the west, a shadow lingered still.
-“take my arm,” he said.
-she did so at once, and turning their backs on the two ships they began to walk along the sands, but they had not made many steps when mrs. travers perceived an oblong mound with a board planted upright at one end. mrs. travers knew that part of the sands. it was here she used to walk with her husband and d'alcacer every evening after dinner, while the yacht lay stranded and her boats were away in search of assistance--which they had found--which they had found! this was something that she had never seen there before. lingard had suddenly stopped and looked at it moodily. she pressed his arm to rouse him and asked, “what is this?”
-“this is a grave,” said lingard in a low voice, and still gazing at the heap of sand. “i had him taken out of the ship last night. strange,” he went on in a musing tone, “how much a grave big enough for one man only can hold. his message was to forget everything.”
-“never, never,” murmured mrs. travers. “i wish i had been on board the emma. . . . you had a madman there,” she cried out, suddenly. they moved on again, lingard looking at mrs. travers who was leaning on his arm.
-“i wonder which of us two was mad,” he said.
-“i wonder you can bear to look at me,” she murmured. then lingard spoke again.
-“i had to see you once more.”
-“that abominable jorgenson,” she whispered to herself.
-mrs. travers disengaged her arm and lingard stopped, too, facing her in a long silence.
-“i could not refuse to meet you,” said mrs. travers at last. “i could not refuse you anything. you have all the right on your side and i don't care what you do or say. but i wonder at my own courage when i think of the confession i have to make.” she advanced, laid her hand on lingard's shoulder and spoke earnestly. “i shuddered at the thought of meeting you again. and now you must listen to my confession.”
-“don't say a word,” said lingard in an untroubled voice and never taking his eyes from her face. “i know already.”
-“you can't,” she cried. her hand slipped off his shoulder. “then why don't you throw me into the sea?” she asked, passionately. “am i to live on hating myself?”
-“you mustn't!” he said with an accent of fear. “haven't you understood long ago that if you had given me that ring it would have been just the same?”
-“am i to believe this? no, no! you are too generous to a mere sham. you are the most magnanimous of men but you are throwing it away on me. do you think it is remorse that i feel? no. if it is anything it is despair. but you must have known that--and yet you wanted to look at me again.”
-“i told you i never had a chance before,” said lingard in an unmoved voice. “it was only after i heard they gave you the ring that i felt the hold you have got on me. how could i tell before? what has hate or love to do with you and me? hate. love. what can touch you? for me you stand above death itself; for i see now that as long as i live you will never die.”
-they confronted each other at the southern edge of the sands as if afloat on the open sea. the central ridge heaped up by the winds masked from them the very mastheads of the two ships and the growing brightness of the light only augmented the sense of their invincible solitude in the awful serenity of the world. mrs. travers suddenly put her arm across her eyes and averted her face.
-then he added:
-mrs. travers let fall her arm and began to retrace her steps, unsupported and alone. lingard followed her on the edge of the sand uncovered by the ebbing tide. a belt of orange light appeared in the cold sky above the black forest of the shore of refuge and faded quickly to gold that melted soon into a blinding and colourless glare. it was not till after she had passed jaffir's grave that mrs. travers stole a backward glance and discovered that she was alone. lingard had left her to herself. she saw him sitting near the mound of sand, his back bowed, his hands clasping his knees, as if he had obeyed the invincible call of his great visions haunting the grave of the faithful messenger. shading her eyes with her hand mrs. travers watched the immobility of that man of infinite illusions. he never moved, he never raised his head. it was all over. he was done with her. she waited a little longer and then went slowly on her way.
-shaw, now acting second mate of the yacht, came off with another hand in a little boat to take mrs. travers on board. he stared at her like an offended owl. how the lady could suddenly appear at sunrise waving her handkerchief from the sandbank he could not understand. for, even if she had managed to row herself off secretly in the dark, she could not have sent the empty boat back to the yacht. it was to shaw a sort of improper miracle.
-d'alcacer hurried to the top of the side ladder and as they met on deck mrs. travers astonished him by saying in a strangely provoking tone:
-“you were right. i have come back.” then with a little laugh which impressed d'alcacer painfully she added with a nod downward, “and martin, too, was perfectly right. it was absolutely unimportant.”
-she walked on straight to the taffrail and d'alcacer followed her aft, alarmed at her white face, at her brusque movements, at the nervous way in which she was fumbling at her throat. he waited discreetly till she turned round and thrust out toward him her open palm on which he saw a thick gold ring set with a large green stone.
-“look at this, mr. d'alcacer. this is the thing which i asked you whether i should give up or conceal--the symbol of the last hour--the call of the supreme minute. and he said it would have made no difference! he is the most magnanimous of men and the uttermost farthing has been paid. he has done with me. the most magnanimous . . . but there is a grave on the sands by which i left him sitting with no glance to spare for me. his last glance on earth! i am left with this thing. absolutely unimportant. a dead talisman.” with a nervous jerk she flung the ring overboard, then with a hurried entreaty to d'alcacer, “stay here a moment. don't let anybody come near us,” she burst into tears and turned her back on him.
-lingard returned on board his brig and in the early afternoon the lightning got under way, running past the schooner to give her a lead through the maze of shoals. lingard was on deck but never looked once at the following vessel. directly both ships were in clear water he went below saying to carter: “you know what to do.”
-“yes, sir,” said carter.
-shortly after his captain had disappeared from the deck carter laid the main topsail to the mast. the lightning lost her way while the schooner with all her light kites abroad passed close under her stern holding on her course. mrs. travers stood aft very rigid, gripping the rail with both hands. the brim of her white hat was blown upward on one side and her yachting skirt stirred in the breeze. by her side d'alcacer waved his hand courteously. carter raised his cap to them.
-during the afternoon he paced the poop with measured steps, with a pair of binoculars in his hand. at last he laid the glasses down, glanced at the compass-card and walked to the cabin skylight which was open.
-“just lost her, sir,” he said. all was still down there. he raised his voice a little:
-“you told me to let you know directly i lost sight of the yacht.”
-the sound of a stifled groan reached the attentive carter and a weary voice said, “all right, i am coming.”
-when lingard stepped out on the poop of the lightning the open water had turned purple already in the evening light, while to the east the shallows made a steely glitter all along the sombre line of the shore. lingard, with folded arms, looked over the sea. carter approached him and spoke quietly.
-“the tide has turned and the night is coming on. hadn't we better get away from these shoals, sir?”
-lingard did not stir.
-“yes, the night is coming on. you may fill the main topsail, mr. carter,” he said and he relapsed into silence with his eyes fixed in the southern board where the shadows were creeping stealthily toward the setting sun. presently carter stood at his elbow again.
-“the brig is beginning to forge ahead, sir,” he said in a warning tone.
-lingard came out of his absorption with a deep tremor of his powerful frame like the shudder of an uprooted tree.
-“how was the yacht heading when you lost sight of her?” he asked.
-“south as near as possible,” answered carter. “will you give me a course to steer for the night, sir?”
-lingard's lips trembled before he spoke but his voice was calm.
-“steer north,” he said.
-note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 17131-h.htm or 17131-h.zip: (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/1/3/17131/17131-h/17131-h.htm) or (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/1/3/17131/17131-h.zip)
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-17. crime and insanity. by dr. c.a. mercier, author of text-book of insanity, etc.
-12. the animal world. by prof. f.w. gamble.
-15. introduction to mathematics. by a.n. whitehead, author of universal algebra.
-philosophy and religion
-69. a history of freedom of thought. by john b. bury, m.a., ll.d., regius professor of modern history in cambridge university. summarizes the history of the long struggle between authority and reason and of the emergence of the principle that coercion of opinion is a mistake.
-55. missions: their rise and development. by mrs. mandell creighton, author of history of england. the author seeks to prove that missions have done more to civilize the world than any other human agency.
-52. ethics. by g.e. moore, lecturer in moral science, cambridge. discusses what is right and what is wrong, and the whys and wherefores.
-65. the literature of the old testament. by george f. moore, professor of the history of religion, harvard university. "a popular work of the highest order. will be profitable to anybody who cares enough about bible study to read a serious book on the subject."--american journal of theology
-50. the making of the new testament. by b.w. bacon, professor of new testament criticism, yale. an authoritative summary of the results of modern critical research with regard to the origins of the new testament.
-96. a history of philosophy. by clement c.j. webb, oxford.
-35. the problems of philosophy. by bertrand russell, lecturer and late fellow, trinity college, cambridge.
-44. buddhism. by mrs. rhys davids, lecturer on indian philosophy, manchester.
-46. english sects: a history of nonconformity. by w.b. selbie, principal of manchester college, oxford.
-60. comparative religion. by prof. j. estlin carpenter.
-88. religious development between old and new testaments. by r.h. charles, canon of westminster. shows how religious and ethical thought grew between 180 b.c. and 100 a.d.
-literature and art
-73. euripides and his age. by gilbert murray, regius professor of greek, oxford.
-81. chaucer and his times. by grace e. hadow, lecturer lady margaret hall, oxford; late reader, bryn mawr.
-70. ancient art and ritual. by jane e. harrison, ll.d., d.litt. "one of the 100 most important books of 1913."--new york times review.
-61. the victorian age in literature. by g.k. chesterton.
-97. milton. by john bailey.
-59. dr. johnson and his circle. by john bailey. johnson's life, character, works, and friendships are surveyed; and there is a notable vindication of the "genius of boswell."
-58. the newspaper. by g. binney dibble. the first full account, from the inside, of newspaper organization as it exists to-day.
-62. painters and painting. by sir frederic wedmore. with 16 half-tone illustration.
-64. the literature of germany. by j.g. robertson.
-87. the renaissance. by edith sichel, author of catherine de medici, men and women of the french renaissance.
-101. dante. by jefferson b. fletcher, columbia university, an interpretation of dante and his teachings from his writings.
-93. an outline of russian literature. by maurice baring, author of the russian people, etc. tolstoi, tourgenieff, dostoieffsky, pushkin (the father of russian literature), saltykov (the satirist), leskov, and many other authors.
-27. modern english literature. by g.h. mair. from wyatt and surrey to synge and yeats. "one of the best of this great series."--chicago evening post.
-2. shakespeare. by john masefield. "one of the very few indispensable adjuncts to a shakespearean library."--boston transcript.
-31. landmarks in french literature. by g.l. strachey, scholar of trinity college, cambridge. "it is difficult to imagine how a better account of french literature could be given in 250 pages."--london times.
-38. architecture. by prof. w.r. lethaby. an introduction to the history and theory of the art of building.
-66. writing english prose. by william t. brewster, professor of english, columbia university. "should be put into the hands of every man who is beginning to write and of every teacher of english that has brains enough to understand sense."--new york sun.
-83. william morris: his work and influence. by a. clutton brock, author of shelley: the man and the poet. william morris believed that the artist should toil for love of his work rather than the gain of his employer, and so he turned from making works of art to remaking society.
-75. shelley, godwin and their circle. by h.n. brailsford. the influence of the french revolution on england.
-other volumes in preparation henry holt and company 34 west 33d street new york
-the luck of thirteen
-wanderings and flight through montenegro and serbia
-mr. and mrs. jan gordon
-with photographs and a map tail pieces by cora j. gordon colour plates by jan gordon
-printed by william clowes and sons, limited london and beccles, england
-list of illustrations
-the luck of thirteen
-it is curious to follow anything right back to its inception, and to discover from what extraordinary causes results are due. it is strange, for instance, to find that the luck of the thirteen began right back at the time when jan, motoring back from uzhitze down the valley of the morava, coming fastish round a corner, plumped right up to the axle in a slough of clinging wet sandy mud. the car almost shrugged its shoulders as it settled down, and would have said, if cars could speak, "well, what are you going to do about that, eh?" it was about the 264th mud hole in which jan's motor had stuck, and we sat down to wait for the inevitable bullocks. but it was a sunday and bullocks were few; the wait became tedious, and in the intervals of thought which alternated with the intervals of exasperation, jan realized that he needed a holiday.
-we had a six months of work behind us. we had seen the typhus, and had dodged the dreaded louse who carries the infection, we had seen the typhus dwindle and die with the onrush of summer. we had helped to clean and prepare six hospitals at vrntze or vrnjatchka banja--whichever you prefer. we had helped mr. berry, the great surgeon, to ventilate his hospitals by smashing the windows--one had been a child again for a moment. jo had learned serbian and was assisting dr. helen boyle, the brighton mind specialist, to run a large and flourishing out-patient department to which tuberculosis and diphtheria--two scourges of serbia--came in their shoals. we had endeavoured to ward off typhoid by initiating a sort of sanitary vigilance committee, having first sacked the chief of police: we had laid drains, which the chief serbian engineer said he would pull up as soon as we had gone away. we had helped in the plans of a very necessary slaughter-house, which mr. berry was going to present to the town. there was an excuse for jan's desire. the english papers had been howling about the typhus months after the disease had been chased out by english, french, and american doctors, who had disinfected the country till it reeked of formalin and sulphur; shoals of devoted englishwomen were still pouring over, generously ready to risk their lives in a danger which no longer existed. our own unit, which had dwindled to a comfortable--almost a family--number, with mr. berry as father, had been suddenly enlarged by an addition of ten. these ten complicated things, they all naturally wanted work, and we had cornered all the jobs.
-so, after the fatigues of february, march, and april, and the heat of june, jan quite decided on that uzhitze mud patch that a holiday would do little harm to himself, and good to everybody else. then, however, came the problem of jo. jo is a socialistic sort of a person with conservative instincts. she has the feminine ability to get her wheels on a rail and run comfortably along till jan appears like a big railway accident and throws the scenery about; but once the resolution accomplished she pursues the idea with a determination and ferocity which leaves jan far in the background.
-jo had her out-patient department. every morning, wet or fine, crowds of picturesque peasants would gather about the little side door of our hospital, women in blazing coloured hand-woven skirts, like joseph's coat, children in unimaginable rags, but with the inevitable belt tightly bound about their little stomachs, men covered with tuberculous sores and so forth, on some days as many as a hundred. jo, having finished breakfast, had then to assume a commanding air, and to stamp down the steps into the crowd, sort out the probable diphtheria cases--this by long practice,--forbid anybody to approach them under pain of instant disease, get the others into a vague theatre queue, which they never kept, and then run back into the office to assist the doctor and to translate. all this, repeated daily, was highly interesting of course, and so when jan suggested the tour she "didn't want to do it."
-but authority was on jan's side. jo had had a mild accident: a diphtheria patient fled to avoid being doctored, they often did, and jo had chased after her; she tripped, fell, drove her teeth through her lower lip, and for a moment was stunned. when they caught the patient they found that it was the wrong person--but that is beside the subject. dr. boyle thought that jo had had a mild concussion and threw her weight at jan's side. dr. berry was quite agreeable, and gave us a commission to go to salonika to start with and find a disinfector which had gone astray. another interpreter was found, so jo took leave of her out-patients.
-in serbia it was necessary to get permission to move. jan went to the major for the papers. there were crowds of people on the major's steps, and jan learned that all the peasants and loafers had been called in to certify, so that nobody should avoid their military service. later we parted, taking two knapsacks. dr. boyle and miss dickenson were very generous, giving us large supplies of chocolate, brand's essence, and corned beef for our travels, and we had two boxes of "compressed luncheons," black horrible-looking gluey tabloids which claim to be soup, fish, meat, vegetables and pudding in one swallow.
-the austrian prisoners bade us a sad farewell, but many friends accompanied us to the station, and the rotund major and his rounder wife did us the like honour. our major was a queer mixture: he was jolly because he was fat, and he was stern because he had a beaky nose, and in any interview one had first to ascertain whether the stomach or the nose held the upper hand, so to speak. with the wife one was always sure--she had a snub nose. on this occasion the major furiously boxed the austrian prisoner coachman's ears, telling us that he was the best he had ever had. the unfortunate driver was a picture of rueful pleasure. the two plump dears stood waving four plump hands till we had rumbled round the corner of the landscape.
-in the train to nish it was intensely hot. we had sixteen or seventeen fellow-passengers in our third-class wooden-seated carriage--all the firsts had been removed, because they could not be disinfected--and the windows, with the exception of two, had been screwed tightly down. every time we stood up to look at the landscape somebody slipped into our seat, and we were continually sitting down into unexpected laps. expostulations, apologies, and so on. somebody had gnawed a piece from one of the wheels, and we lurched through the scenery with a banging metallic clangour which made conversation difficult, in spite of which jo astonished the natives by her colloquial and fluent serbian. we had an enormous director of a sanitary department and a plump wife, evidently risen, but fat people rise in serbia automatically like balloons. we had three meagre old gentlemen, one unshaven for a week, one whiskered since twenty years with piccadilly weepers like a stage butler; some ultra fashionable girls and men; and a dear old dumb woman wearing three belts, who had been a former outpatient; and several sticky families of children.
-the old gentlemen took a huge interest in jo. they drew her out in serbian, and at every sentence turned each to the other and elevated their hands, ejaculating "kako!" (how!) in varying terms of admiration and flattery.
-the american has not yet ousted the turk from serbia, and the bite from our wheel banged off the revolutions of our sedate passing. trsternik's church--modern but good taste--gleamed like a jewel in the sun against the dark hills. on either hand were maize fields with stalks as tall as a man, their feathery tops veiling the intense green of the herbage with a film, russet like cobwebs spun in the setting sun. there were plum orchards--for the manufacture of plum brandy--so thick with fruit that there was more purple than green in the branches, and between the trunks showed square white ruddy-roofed hovels with great squat tile-decked chimneys. some of the houses were painted with decorations of bright colours, vases of flowers or soldiers, and on one was a detachment of crudely drawn horsemen, dark on the white walls, meant to represent the heroes of old serbian poetry.
-to krusevatz the valley broadened, and the sinking sun tinted the widening maize-tops till the fields were great squares of gold. we had no lights in the train, and presently dusk closed down, seeming to shut each up within his or her own mind. the hills grew very dark and distant, and on the faint rising mist the trees seemed to stand about with their hands in their pockets like vegetable charlie chaplins.
-a junction, and a rush for tables at the little out-of-door restaurant. in the country from which we have just come all seemed peace, but here in truth was war. passing shadowy in the faint lights were soldiers; soldiers crouched in heaps in the dark corners of the station; yet more soldiers and soldiers again huddled in great square box trucks or open waggons waiting patiently for the train which was four or five hours late. there were women with them, wives or sisters or daughters, with great heavy knapsacks and stolid unexpressive faces.
-while we were dreaming of this romance of war, and of the coming romance of our own tour, a little man dumped himself at our table, explained that he had a pain in his kidneys, and started an interminable story about his wife and a dog. he was jan's devoted admirer, and declared that jan had performed a successful operation upon him, though jan is no surgeon, and had never set eyes upon the man before.
-georgevitch rescued us. georgevitch was fat, tall, young and genial, and was military storekeeper at vrntze. he was an ideal storekeeper and looked the part, but he had been a comitaj. he had roamed the country with belts full of bombs and holsters full of pistols, he and 189 others, with two loaves of bread per man and then "ever forwards." of the 189 others only 22 were left, and one was a patient at our hospital where we called him the "velika dete" or "big child," because of his sensibility. with georgevitch was a dark woman with keen sparkling eyes. alone, this woman had run the typhus barracks in vrntze until the arrival of the english missions. she was a montenegrin; no serbian woman could be found courageous enough to undertake the task. after struggling all the winter, she was taken ill about a fortnight after the arrival of the english. the red cross mission took care of her and she recovered.
-we left our bore still talking about his wife and the dog, and fled to their table, where we chatted till our train arrived. we found a coupé--a carriage with only one long seat--the exigencies of which compelled jan to be all night with jo's boots on his face, and we so slept as well as we were able.
-nish and salonika
-piccadilly weepers vanished and a depressed little quartet was left on the platform--our two selves, a lean schoolmaster, and an egg-shaped man who never spoke a word. we found a clerk sitting in an office. he said we could not leave our bags in his room, but as we made him own that we could not put them anywhere else he looked the other way while we dropped them in the corner.
-in the faint mist of the early morning the great overgrown village of one-storied houses seemed like a real town buried up to its attics in fog. we found a café which was shut, and sat waiting on green chairs outside. around us old men were talking of the news in the papers. they said that bulgaria was making territorial demands, and as the balkan governments covet land above all things they felt pessimistic as to whether serbia would concede anything, and said, shaking their heads, "it will be another belgium."
-we celebrated the opening of the café by ordering five turkish coffees each, and the schoolmaster and we alternately stood treat. jo loaded up with aspirin to deaden a toothache which was worrying her.
-we spent a cynical morning in interviews with people who were supposed to know about missing luggage. both they and we were aware that the first hospital which got a wandering packing-case froze on to it, and if inconvenient people came to hunt for their property the dismayed and guilty ones hurriedly painted the case, saying to each other, "after all it's in a good cause, and it's better than if it were stolen."
-then we went to see the powers who can say "no" to those who want to do pleasant things, and were handed an amendment to a plea for a tour round serbia, including the front, which we had sent to them and which had been pigeon-holed for a month.
-"but we don't want to see a lot of monasteries," said jan, as he gazed at a little circle drawn round the over-visited part of serbia. the powers were adamant and seemed to think they had done very well for us. we went away sadly, for monasteries had not been the idea at all.
-half an hour later we were pursuing an entirely different object. we had discovered that sir ralph paget was housing about £1000 worth of stores destined for dr. clemow's hospital--which was in montenegro--and which needed an escort. he was somewhat puzzled at our altruistic anxiety to take them off his hands, but was much relieved at the thought that he could get rid of them.
-we hurried to the station, rescued our knapsacks under the nose of a new official who looked very much surprised, and boarded the english rest house near by. english people were sitting in deck chairs outside the papier-maché house which stood surrounded by a couple of tents and a wooden kitchen in a field. austrian prisoners were preparing lunch, and we were introduced to seemitch the dog.
-though young, seemitch was fat and exhibited signs of a much-varied ancestry. the original seemitch, an important serb with long gold teeth, was very indignant that a dog, and such a dog, should be called after him, so sir ralph arranged that of the two other puppies one should be called after him and the other after mr. hardinge his secretary. thus the man seemitch's dignity was restored.
-at the station, to our great joy, we met two american doctors from zaichar. one we had mourned for dead and were astonished to see him, shadow-like, stiff-kneed, and sitting uncomfortably on a chair in the middle of the platform. months before he had pricked himself with a needle while operating on a gangrenous case, and had since lain unconscious with blood-poisoning.
-while we were cheering over his recovery, a little frenchman slipped into our reserved compartment, which was only a coupé, and had seized the window seat. jan found him lubricating his mouth, already full of dinner, with wine from a bottle. as he showed no signs of seeing reason from the male, jo tried feminine indignation. "that seat is mine," she snapped to his back-tilted head.
-"good. i exact nothing," he said, wiping his moustache upwards. she suggested that if any exacting was to be done she possessed the exclusive rights.
-"quel pays," he answered. jo thought he was casting aspersions on england and on her as the nearest representative, and the air became distinctly peppery. the frenchman hurriedly explained that he was alluding to serbia, so they buried the hatchet and became acquaintances.
-uskub, or skoplje, and one hour to wait. all about the great plains the mountains were just growing ruddy with the dawn, and we gulped boiling coffee at the station restaurant.
-one of the american doctors seemed restless. some one had told him it was advisable to keep an eye on the luggage. they began to shunt the train, and soon he was stumbling about the sidings in a resolute attempt not to lose sight of the luggage van. we sympathetically wished him good luck and walked past into the turkish quarter, adopted by two dogs which followed us all the way. we had a hurried glimpse of queer-shaped, many-coloured houses, trousered women, and a general turkishness.
-we returned to find our american friend furious, full of the superior methods of luggage registration in the states.
-we had beer with him at the frontier, delicious cool stuff with a mollifying influence. he told us he held the record for one month's hernia operations in serbia. we were later to meet his rival, a canadian doctor, in montenegro.
-locked in the train, we awaited the medical examination, and sat feeling self-consciously healthy. at last the greek doctor opened the door, glanced at a knapsack, and vanished. we were certified healthy.
-it was a beautiful dark blue night when we arrived at salonika. crowds of people were dining at little tables which filled the streets off the quay, in spite of the awful smells which came up from the harbour.
-it is impossible to sleep late in salonika. soon after dawn children possess the town--bootblacks, paper-sellers, perambulating drapers' shops; all children crying their wares noisily. the only commodity that the children don't peddle is undertaken by mules laden with glass fronted cases hanging on each side and which are filled with meat.
-we breakfasted in the street, revelling in the early morning and shooing away the children, who never gave us a moment's grace. in self-defence we had our boots blacked, for the ambulating bootblack molests no longer the owner of a well-polished pair of boots. it is queer to walk about in a town where one-third of the population is only pecuniarily interested in the momentary appearance of feet and never look at a face, like the man with the muckrake with eyes glued on life as it is led two inches from the ground.
-when we had finished searching for disinfectors and dentists we wandered up the hill through the romantic streets. jan sketched busily, but toothache had rather sapped jo's industry, and she generally found some large stone to sit on, whence to contemplate.
-an old woman's face, peering round the doorway, discovered her sitting on the doorstep, a greek dustman gazing stupidly at her.
-in two minutes they were talking hard. the old woman was a bulgarian, but they were able to understand each other. what jo told the old woman was translated to the dustman, and when jan came up they were introduced each to the other, the dustman with his broom bowing to the ground like some old-time court usher.
-once a greek woman offered a chair to jo. she was much embarrassed, as the only greek words she had picked up were "how much?" and "yet another;" and as both seemed unsuitable she tried to put her gratitude into the width of her smile.
-we scrambled on ever afterwards through streets which were more like cliff climbs than roads. the sun grew red till all salonika lay at our feet a maze of magenta shadow. we sat down in an old turkish cemetery, where we could watch the old wall sliding down to plains of gold, where, falling into ruins, it lent its degraded stones for the construction of turkish hovels.
-a kitten with paralysed hind legs crawled up to us and accepted a little rubbing. when dusk came we moved on, marvelling at the inexhaustible picturesqueness of salonika.
-as we clambered down the breakneck paths, the priests were illuminating the minarets with hundreds of twinkling lights.
-the next day was the feast. mahommedans were everywhere. by the women's trousers, which twinkled beneath the shrouding veils, one could see that they were gorgeously dressed. befezzed men were lounging and smoking in all the café's.
-in the evening once more we wandered up through the old turkish quarter. we heard a curious noise like a hymn played by bagpipes, rhythmically accompanied in syncopation by a very flabby drum. round the corner came four jolly niggers blowing pipes, and the drummer behind them. very slim young men with bright sashes and light trousers were twisting, posturing, and dancing joyfully. one of them threw to jo the most graceful kiss she had ever seen.
-we left salonika in the morning, having been wakened by new sounds. thousands of marching feet, songs. this was puzzling.
-in the train a young greek told us that his nation had mobilized against the bulgars, but that it was not very serious. he said that there had been very friendly feeling in greece for england, but that we had done our best to kill it.
-"you see, monsieur," he explained, "your offer to give away our land. it is not yours to give. you say that does not matter, but that colonies, great colonies in africa will replace the small part of land that we may surrender. kavalla is more valuable to grecian hearts than all africa, for how could we desert our grecian brothers and place them beneath the rule of the turk or bulgar?"
-the american doctors and we picnicked together. we ate bully beef and a huge water melon. the heat was awful. the velvet seats seemed to invade one's body and come through at the other side. one of the doctors sat on the step of the train, and jo found him nodding and smiling as he dreamt. she rescued him before he fell off.
-after twelve hours they left us. uskub once more and an hour to wait. we sat behind trees in boxes on the platform and ate omelet with a nice old jew and his ten-year-old daughter, who already spoke five languages.
-what had happened? we looked out. it was barely dawn, and a wretched little orchestra was grouped at the edge of the tiny station. every instrument was cracked and was tuned one-sixteenth tone different from its companions. what it lacked in musical ability it made up in energy.
-why, oh, why at that hour, we never found out. perhaps it was in honour of the princess, poor lady!
-off to montenegro
-back to nish in the rain, and jo was wearing a cotton frock. there may be more dismal towns than this nish, but i have yet to see them, and this, although the great squares were packed with gaily coloured peasants--some feast, we imagined--carts full of melons, melons on the ground, melons framing the faces of the greedy--cerise green-rind moons projecting from either cheek. the montenegrin consul was not at home, so off we went to the foreign office to give a letter to mr. grouitch, who sent us to the sanitary department of the war office (henceforth known as s.d.w.o.). s.d.w.o. wouldn't move without a letter from "sir paget." we got the letter from "sir paget" and back to the s.d.w.o., to find it shut in our faces, and to learn that it did not reopen till four.
-then came the matter of jo's tooth. this abscess had been nagging all the time, it had vigorously tried to get between jo and the scenery. we had sought dentists in salonika, rejecting one because his hall was too dirty, a second because she (yes, a she) was practising on her father's certificates, the third, a little spaniard, had red-hot pokered the gums thereof and only annoyed it. but we had heard there was a russian dentist in nish, a very good one. the russian dentist turned out to be a girl, and tiny--she spoke no serb, but jo managed, by means of the second cousinship of the language, to make out what she said in russian.
-"the tooth must come out," squeaked the small dentist.
-"can't you save it?" prayed jo; "it's the best one i've got, and the one to which i send all the serbian meat."
-"it must come out," squeaked the russ.
-"can't you save it?" prayed jo.
-"it must come out," reiterated the russ.
-"you're very small," said jo, doubtfully.
-this annoyed the dentist. she pushed unwilling jo into a chair, produced a pair of pincers, and, oh, woe! she wrenched to the north, she wrenched to the south, she wrenched to the east, and there was the tooth, nearly as big as the dentist herself.
-"i never can eat serbian meat again," murmured jo as she mopped her mouth.
-after tea we returned to the s.d.w.o., and by means of our letter and our englishness we got in front of all the unfortunate people who had been waiting for hours, and received our passes, etc., immediately.
-sir ralph paget's storekeeper wouldn't work on sunday, so we had also to rest, and we celebrated by staying in bed late and going for a walk in the afternoon with an englishman who was en route for sofia. we came to a little village where every house was surrounded by high walls made of wattle. the women soon crowded round, imagining mr. b---- a doctor. jo pretended to translate, and gave advice for a girl with consumption, and an old woman whose hand was stiff from typhus, and we had to give the money for the latter's unguent. for the consumptive she said, "open the windows, rest, and don't spit"; but that isn't a peasant's idea of doctoring: they want medicine or magic, one or the other, which doesn't matter.
-the train started "after eight" on monday evening. the english boys at the rest house were very good to us, adding to our small stock of necessities a "tommy's treasure," two mackintosh capes, and some oxo cubes. one youth said, "you won't want to travel a second time on a serbian luggage train"; then ruefully, "i've done it! the shunting, phew!"
-a serbian railway station is a public meeting-place; along the platform, but railed off from the train, is a restaurant which is one of the favourite cafés of the town. it is such fun to the still childish serbian mind to sit sipping beer or wine and watch the trains run about, and hear the whistles. we had our supper amongst the gay crowd, and then pushed out into the darkened goods station to find our travelling bedroom, for we were to sleep in the waggons--beds and mattresses having been provided--and we had borrowed blankets from the rest house.
-we found our truck and climbed in. there were certainly beds enough, for there were thirty light iron folding bedsteads piled up at one end. we chose two, and, not satisfied with the stacking of the others, jan repiled them, with an eye on what our friend had said about serbian shunting. even then jo was not happy about them.
-we sat on our beds, reading or staring out of our open door at the twinkle of the station lights, the moving flares of the engines, and the fountains of sparks which rushed from their chimneys; listening to the chains of bumps which denoted a shunting train. we heard another chain of bumps, which rattled rapidly towards us and suddenly--a most awful crash. the candle went out, and we were flung from bed on to the floor. our truck hurtled down the line at about thirty miles an hour, and suddenly struck some solid object. another wild crash, and the whole twenty-eight beds flung themselves upon the place where we had been, and smashed our couches to the ground.
-we have read stories of the spanish inquisition about rooms which grow smaller, and at last crush the unfortunate victim to a jelly: we can now appreciate the feeling of the unfortunate victim aforesaid. there were piles of packing-cases at either end of the van, and for the next hour, as we were hurtled up and down by the serbian engine-driver, at each crash these packing-cases crept nearer and nearer. the beds had fallen across the door, so it was impossible to escape. when the lower cases had reached the beds they halted, but the upper ones still crept on towards us. in the short, wild intervals of peace jan tried to push the cases back and restore momentary stability. in addition to diminishing room, we were flung about with every crash, landing on the corner of a packing-case, on the edge of an iron bedstead, and with each crash the light went out. we will give not one jot of advantage to your prisoner in the spanish inquisition, save that we escaped whereas he did not.
-the engine-driver tired of the sport just in time to save our limbs, if not lives, and he dragged the train out of the station into the dark.
-we returned to the station to unload our trucks, for at this point the broad-gauge line ceases, and there is but a narrow-gauge into the mountains. a band of austrian prisoners were detailed to help us, and they at once recognized us, and knew that we came from vrntze. they were in a wretched condition: their clothes were torn, they said that they had no change of underclothes, and were swarming with vermin, nor could they be cleaned, for they worked even on sundays, and had no time to wash their clothes. they begged us for soap, and asked us to send them a change of raiment from vrntze. we explained sadly that we were not going back just yet, but we could oblige them with the soap, for a case had been broken open, and the waggon was strewn with bars. we also gave some to the engine-driver, as a bribe to shunt us gently.
-we imagined that the soap had burst because of the shunting, but in our second truck discovered that this same shunting had been strangely selective. it had, for instance, opened a case of brandy, it had burst a box of tinned tongue, and even opened some of the tins which were strewn in the truck. and yet the truck had been sealed, both doors. several cases of biscuits, too, had been abstracted, and all this must have happened under the very noses of the englishmen who had supervised the loading. some of the prisoners said that they were starving, so we distributed our spare crusts amongst them, and they ate them greedily enough.
-in the fields by the railway were queer pallid green plants which puzzled us. they were like tall cabbages, and shone with a curious ghostly intensity in the gloaming.
-we dangled our feet over the side of our waggon watching the flitting scenery. at one point we passed a train in which were other english people, who stared amazed at us and waved their hands as we disappeared. dusk was down when we passed vrntze, and we reached the gorges of ovchar in the dark. we thundered through tunnels and out over hanging precipices, the river beneath us a faint band of greyish light in the blackness of the mountains.
-uzhitze in the morning at 4.30; it was cold and wet. jan wanted to hurry off to the hotel, but jo sensibly refused, and we settled down till a decent hour.
-the hotel was a huge room with a smaller yard; on the one side of the yard were the kitchens, etc., and on the other a string of bedrooms. we then crossed the big square to the nachanlik's (or mayor's) office.
-outside the mayor's office we found an old friend. he had been a patient in our hospital, and gangrene, following typhus, had so poisoned his legs that both were amputated. he had been discharged the day before, and had travelled up from vrntze, some eight hours, in an open truck. the serbian authorities had brought him from the station and had propped him on a wooden bench outside the mayor's office, where he had remained all night, and where we found him. he was a charming fellow, though very silent. once when jo had remarked upon this silence he had answered, "when a man has no longer any legs it is fitting that he should be silent."
-he was waiting for his father, who lived twelve hours away in the mountains. the old man came with a donkey, and there was a most affecting meeting between the old father and his poor mutilated son. tears flowed freely on either side, for serbs are still simple enough to be unashamed of emotion. the donkey had an ordinary saddle, on to which our friend was hoisted. he balanced tentatively for a moment, then shook his head. a pack-saddle was substituted.
-"it is hard," he said, "young enough, and yet like a useless bale of goods."
-twenty hours he had endured, and yet had twelve to go--thirty-two hours for a man without legs. this will show of what some serbs are made.
-within the office we found a professor whom we had met before, and who was acting as assistant mayor. we took him to the station and estimated that thirty-two waggons would deal with our stuff.
-jo and jan went for a stroll, uzhitze, especially in the back streets, is like a dürer etching--that one of the prodigal son, for instance, all tiny, peaky-roofed houses. we took a siesta in the afternoon, but jan was dragged out to talk to our professor, who explained that it was impossible for the serbian government to find thirty-two ox-carts at once, so the convoy must make two journeys. he also said that horses would be provided for us, and that we would take two or three days to do the trip, but that the ox-waggons would be at least seven, which was death to our romantic dream of toiling laboriously up almost inaccessible mountains at the head of straining ox-carts, sleeping by the roadside, brigands, and all that.
-we went down to the station, unloaded the truck and checked the numbers. a few were missing, but not so many as we had expected.
-a regiment of soldiers were called up; at a word of command they pounced upon our packing-cases and hurried them off to a storehouse. the smaller cases were left to go on donkeys, two on either side.
-the professor dined with us. he is an anglophile, and was determined after the war to go to england in order to discover the secret of her greatness. he had a theory that it lay in our educational laws, which he wanted to transplant into serbia wholesale. jan thought not, and suggested that it might lie even deeper than that.
-next day was a prazhnik, or feast day, and the great square was crowded with peasantry in their beautiful hand-woven clothes. there were soldiers straight back from the lines chaffing and flirting with the pretty girls, and presently a group began to dance the "kola" about a man who played a pipe. it is not difficult to dance the kola. you join hands till a ring is formed, and then shuffle round and round. if you have aspirations to style you fling your legs about as much as space will allow, and we noticed how much better the men danced than the girls, who were almost all very clumsy.
-we were to be called at six, so went to bed early, and in spite of the odours from the yard slept soundly.
-across the frontier
-we got up in good time, breakfasted, but there was no sign of horses. after waiting two hours a square man was brought up to us by the waiter and introduced as our guide. the professor, who had promised to see us off, was apparently clinging to his bed, for he did not come. our guide was a taciturn, loose-limbed fellow, but had nice eyes and a charming manner; he helped us on to our horses, and off we went. jan was rather anxious at the start, for he had done very little riding since childhood; but his horse was quiet, and soon he had persuaded himself that he was a cavalier from birth. jo was riding astride for the second time in her life.
-we took the road to zlatibor (golden hill). there was a heavy mist, the hills were just outlined in faint washes on the fog, and as we mounted the zig-zag path, higher and higher, the town became small and fairylike beneath us; and a soldiers' camp made a queer chessboard on the green of the valley. jo's horse cast a shoe almost at the start, but the guide said that it did not matter. we went on and ever up, our horses clambering like goats. the scenery was on the whole very english, and not unlike the devonshire side of dartmoor.
-our guide took us a two mile detour to show us his house. later we reached a tiny village with a queer church. we off-saddled for a moment, and were welcomed by the inhabitants, who gave us turkish coffee and plum brandy (rakia), while in exchange we made them cigarettes of english tobacco. at sixteen kilometres we reached a larger village, where we decided to lunch. we were astonished by the sudden appearance of a french doctor. he was delighted to see us, more so when he found that we both spoke french, and invited us to coffee. we lunched with our guide at the local inn. we ordered pig; indeed there was nothing else to order.
-"how much?" said mine host.
-"for three," answered we.
-"but how much is that?" replied mine host. "you see, each man eats differently." so we ordered one kilo to go on with.
-half a pig was wrenched from a spit in front of the big fire, carried sizzling outside to the wood block, where the waiter hewed it apart with the axe.
-we had discovered peculiarities in our horses. they had conscientious objections to going abreast, and always walked single file; this was owing to the narrowness of the mountain paths. jo's horse, which somehow looked like monkey brand, insisted on taking the second place, and would by no means go third. at last we reached the top of zlatibor--which gets its name from a peculiar golden cheese which it produces. the view is like that from the cat and fiddle in derbyshire, only bigger in scale, and from thence the ride began to be interminable. it grew darker, we walked down the hills to ease our aching knees, and jan decided that horse riding was no go.
-finally the guide decided that it was too late to reach novi varosh that night, and so the direction was altered. the road grew stony and more stony. a bitter breeze came up with the evening. we came to a green valley, at the end of which was a rocky gorge, down which ran the twistiest stream: it seemed as though it had been designed by a lump of mercury on a wobbling plate. we turned from the gorge on to a hill so rocky that the path was only visible where former horse-hoofs had stained the stones with red earth.
-the village consisted of an enormous school, a little church, soldiers encamped round fires in the churchyard, and seven or eight wooden hovels. our guide stopped at the door of the dirtiest and rapped. a furtive woman's face peered out into the gloom. we climbed painfully from our saddles, for we had been thirteen hours on the road.
-"beds?" said the guide to the woman.
-"good lord!" thought we.
-she shook her head dolefully and said, "ima," which means "there is." serbians nod for no. the woman slid out into the night and passed to another building, climbed the stairs to a veranda and disappeared.
-it grew colder, the guide was busy unharnessing the horses, so shivering we sought refuge in the dirty house, which was not quite so bad within as we had feared. it was furnished with a long table and two benches only, and was lighted by a small fire which was burning on a huge open hearth, and which gave no heat at all. the woman came back and led us to the other house for supper, which was boiled eggs, and the guide generously shared his own bread with us, as we had none. there was no water to drink, and jo tried, not very successfully, to quench her thirst with rakia.
-there were but two beds, and on inquiry finding that there was no place for the guide, we allotted one bed to him. on our own bed the sheets had evidently not been changed since it was first made, and the pillow which once had been white was a dark ironclad grey. we undid our mackintoshes and spread them over both counterpane and pillow. we lay down clothed as we were, and by the time we had finished our preparations the guide was already snoring.
-as soon as the light was turned out the whole room began to tick like ten agitated clocks, and all about us in the darkness began strange noises of life: rats scampered in all directions and were finally hurdling over our heads. we had taken some aspirin to ward off the stiffness of unaccustomed exercise, but we were sore, and the narrowness of the bed forced us to lie on our backs; exhaustion, however, conquered all discomforts, and we slept. jo awoke in the night and yelped to find that the mackintosh had slipped and that her head was resting on the pillow.
-we were up again at 5.30, and vladimir, the guide, suggested that we should breakfast at novi varosh, four hours on; but our stomachs were not of cast iron, and we clamoured for eggs. we got them, left negbina--that was the name of the village--about seven, and once more adventured on the road.
-by eight we had passed the old serbian frontier: the country was growing more interesting, like the foothills of the tyrol; on the streams were inefficient-looking old wooden mills, the water rushing madly down a slope and hitting a futile little wheel which turned laboriously.
-novi varosh, with roofs of weathered wood gleaming purplish amongst the trees, was a wonderful little town, and quite unlike any other we had seen; clean without, and if the energy of its citizens at the village pump is a good sample, clean within also, for serbia. here are turks too: ladies in veil and trousers, and trousered kiddies with clothes of orange, yellow and purple. twice in the streets we were stopped by authority. our lunch was well cooked, one can clearly see this has not been serbia for long, for the serbs are the worst eaters in the world. jo gave medical advice to a serb, and on once more.
-on the road were travellers never ending in their variety, and one father was mounted with a pack behind him, and on the top of the pack his little daughter clad in many coloured cottons, clasping him tight round the neck and peering inquisitively from behind his ear.
-the serbian town of prepolji introduced itself by six turks lying by the roadside, then there were three turkish families, afterwards an assorted dozen of small girls in trousers, finally, an old man doddering along in a turban and a veiled beggar woman, who demanded backsheesh. "where are the serbs?" we thought.
-the greek church looked as if it had been new built, so that the serbs could claim prepolji as a christian town, and had a biscuit tin roof not yet rusted.
-our hotel was like that where mr. pickwick first met sam weller, a large open court with a crazy wooden balcony at the second story, and the bedrooms opening on to the balcony. when we opened our knapsacks to get out washing materials, we found that the heat of the horse had melted all the chocolate in jan's, and it had run over everything. it was a mess, but chocolate was precious, and every piece had to be rescued. we had only been ten hours in the saddle, but we descended stiffly, and were pounced on by a foolish looking man, with a head to which jo took immediate offence. this fellow attached himself to us during the whole of our stay, and was an intolerable nuisance; we nicknamed him "glue pot," and only at our moment of departure discovered that he was the mayor who had been trying to do us honour.
-the next day was sunday, and the village full of peasants. stiff-legged and groaning a little within ourselves we walked about the town making observations: turkish soldiers, turkish policemen, turkish recruits, but all the peasants serb. the country costume is different from that of the north, the perpendicular stripe on the skirt has here given way to horizontal bands of colour, and some women wear a sort of exaggerated ham frill about the waist. the men's waistcoats were very ornate, and much embroidery was upon their coats.
-an english nurse came into the town in the afternoon. she, a russian girl, and an english orderly had driven from plevlie, en route to uzhitze. half-way along the wheel of their carriage had broken in pieces, so they finished the road on foot. curiously enough we had travelled from england to malta with this lady, sister rawlins, on the same transport. the russian girl had been married only the day before to a montenegrin officer, nephew of the sirdar voukotitch, commander-in-chief of the north, and she was flying back to russia to collect her goods and furniture.
-next day as we were sketching in the picturesque main street, from the distance came the sounds of a weird wailing, drawing slowly closer and closer.
-"hurra," thought we--two minds with but a single, etc.,--"a funeral--magnificent. just the thing to complete the scene."
-a string of donkeys came round the corner, on either flank each animal bore a case marked with a large red cross. amongst the animals were donkey-boys, and it was from their lips came the dismal wailing. never have we seen so ragged and wretched a crew. the boys were evidently the "unfits," and they looked it, every face showed the wan, pallid shadow of hunger and disease. a few old men in huge fur caps, with rifles on their backs, stumbled along, guarding the precious convoy. "glue pot" led us all to a large empty building, once a turkish merchant's store, where the cases were to be housed. the bullock carts with the heavier packages came in in the evening, and we sent the men five litres of plum brandy to put some warmth into their miserable bodies. this moved them once more to singing, but we think the songs sounded a little less dreary.
-the commandant asked for, and got, half a dozen sheets from us as a sort of superior backsheesh, and promised us horses for the morrow.
-the next morning dawned dismally. miss rawlins and her companions were to go on by post cart, and their conveyance arrived first, only two and a half hours late. it was a sort of tinker's tent on four rickety wheels. there seemed to be barely room for one within the dark interior, but both miss rawlins and the little russian climbed in somehow. charlie, the orderly, clung on by his eyelids in front, and off they went. we last saw two faces peering back at us beneath the fringe of the tent. they had no luck. half-way to uzhitze the cart upset and they were all rolled into the ditch, missing a precipice of sixty feet or so by the merest fraction.
-our own horses arrived later, we mounted, and with cheers from the assembled authorities, we rode off.
-the rain came down in a steady drizzle; we discovered that the waterproof cloaks which we had borrowed from nish were not very weathertight. we climbed right up into the clouds, but still the rain held on. from the floating mist jutted great boulders and huge red cliffs. our guide put up an umbrella and rode along crouching beneath it. at 1400 metres we reached an inn, where we lunched. a montenegrin commissioner insisted on paying our bill, and said that we would do the same for him when he came to england. every one in serbia or montenegro is interested in ages. they were astounded at ours. they said that jo would have been seventeen if she were serbian; and one rose, shook jan warmly by the hand and said he must have "navigated" the marriage well.
-we rode over the frontier, but we were not yet in the real montenegro. this is not the black mountain where the last dregs of old serbian aristocracy defied the turk, this is still the sanjak, three years ago turkish, and with pleasant pasturages spreading on either hand.
-at last we came up over plevlie. to one corner we could see the town creeping in a crescent about the foot of a grey hill, far away on the other side was a little monastery, forlorn and white, like a shivering saint, and between a great valley with four purplish humps in the midst of the corn and maize fields, like great whales bursting through a patchwork quilt.
-our horses were thoroughly cheered up, and we passed through the long streets of the town at a lively trot, a thing jo was taught as a child to consider bad form.
-a semi-transparent little man in a black hat stood on the hotel steps beckoning to us. but we had no use for hotel touts, and waved our sticks saying, "hospital." he seemed curiously disappointed.
-the hospital, many long low buildings, lay buried in a park of trees. the staff lived in a tiny house near by, where we were welcomed by the cook, mrs. roworth. she explained that as the house was hardly capable of holding its ten or twelve occupants, a room had been taken for us at the inn, but that we were to meal with them.
-"not that you will like the food," she said, "for it's all tinned, and i have only twenty-five shillings a week to buy milk, bread, and fresh meat."
-we wondered why, in such a fertile country, a party of hard-working people should be condemned to eat tinned mackerel and vegetables brought all the way from england?
-however, the dinner was excellent--all "disguised," she said, for she had during the few weeks she had been there concentrated on the art of disguising bully beef and worse problems, and had sternly put dr. clemow on omelets and beefsteaks, as his digestion had caved in under six months' unadulterated tinned food.
-we met old friends, fellow travellers on the way out. in those days they were a wistful little party, wondering how they were going to reach montenegro, the adriatic being impossible. at last one of the passes was hurriedly improved for them by a thousand prisoners, and they rode through in the snow. since then typhus had raged, two of their number had been very ill, and one had died. their energy had been tremendous, and everywhere in the country they were spoken of as the wonderful english hospital, and even from chainitza, where there was a russian hospital, soldiers walked a long day's march in order to be treated by the english.
-dr. roger's rival was there, the perpetrator of ninety hernia operations a week--or was it more?
-all this on tinned food!
-our hotel room proved large and comfortable with a talkative willing turk in attendance. we slept immensely and were wakened by yet another horrible cock crowing. all balkan cocks seem to have bronchitis.
-plevlie is a red-tiled nucleus with a fringe of wood-roofed serb houses planted round it. there are ten mosques, while the only greek church stands forlorn on the other side of the great hollow two miles away.
-the town is not really montenegrin. it has the cosmopolitan character of all the sanjak, turks, austro-turks and serbs--a mixture like that at marseilles or port said.
-the shops are turkish, though their turbaned owners, sitting cross-legged on the floor-counters, can speak only serb--a thing which puzzled us at the time.
-we saw veiled women and semi-veiled children everywhere, thickly latticed windows with curious eyes peeping through, and yards with high wooden palings above to prevent the possible young men on the houses opposite from catching a glimpse of the fair ladies in the gardens.
-plenty of long-legged montenegrin officers--with flat caps bearing the king's initials, and five rings representing the dynasties of the ruling house--filled the streets, and also the inevitable ragged soldiers with gorgeous bags on their backs.
-some of the women, too, were wearing these caps, but theirs were yet smaller and tipped over their noses, like the pork pie hat of our grandmothers. one closely veiled woman showed the silhouette sticking up through her veil just like a blacking tin.
-the mahommedan is much more fanatic in these parts than his more civilized brother of salonika or constantinople. women of the two religions do not visit. the hatred is partially political, and jo began to realize that her dream of visiting a harem would not be easy to achieve. we met three women walking down a lonely street. although their faces were covered with several thicknesses of black chiffon, they modestly placed them against the wall and stood there, three shapeless bundles, until we were out of sight.
-jan's feelings were very much hurt, but he soon got used to being treated like a dangerous dragon.
-when we reached our hotel again we found the élite of the town waiting in the bar-room for us. there was a huge jolly greek priest, all big hat and velvet, the prefect, the schoolmaster, a linguist, and the little black-hatted man whom we had mistaken for a hotel tout.
-the priest was president of the montenegrin red cross, the prefect was a former prime minister and a voukotitch. all important men who are not petroviches are voukotitches; the first being members of the king's and the second of the queen's family.
-the little black-hatted man was secretary of the red cross, and was formally attached to us while there as cicerone. he explained to us that they had all been in the hotel expecting us the night before, with a beautiful dinner which had been prepared in our honour.
-"did we wish to see the front?"
-certainly, said the prefect, we should have the first horses that should come back to the town, and the little transparent shadow man should accompany us. and our letter to the sirdar voukotitch, commander in chief of the north?--he should be told about it on his return that evening from the front.
-at sunset the muezzin sounded, cracked voices cried unmelodiously from all the minaret tops. immediately, as if it were their signal, all the crows arose from the town, hovered around in batches for a moment, chattering, and flew away up the hill to roost in the trees round the hospital till sunrise.
-salonika rings with children's cries, dawson city with the howlings of dogs, but the towns of the sanjak have no better music than the croaking of carrion crows.
-the montenegrin front on the drina
-when jan awoke it was dark, and he was with difficulty rousing jo when suddenly a voice howled through the keyhole that the horses were waiting. jan grabbed his watch--5 a.m.; but the horses had been ordered for six. hastily chewing dry biscuit, jan jumped into his clothes and ran down. there was a small squat youth with a flabby mongolian face hovering between the yard door and the inn, and jan following him discovered three horses saddled and waiting. he hastily ordered white coffee to be prepared, and ran up again to hurry jo and to pack. he rushed down again to pay the bill, but found that the montenegrin red cross had charged itself with everything, very generously, so he ran up once more to nag at jo. the secretary, whom we called "the shadow," had not appeared, so we inquired from the squint-eyed youth, received many "bogamis" as answer, but nothing definite; so we decided, as it was now past six, that he had changed his mind and had sent this chinee-looking fellow, whom we named "bogami," in his place.
-jan's horse was like an early "john" drawing of a slender but antiquated siren, all beautiful curves. jo's would in england long ago have taken the boat to antwerp; her saddle stood up in a huge hump behind and had a steeple in front, and was covered by what looked like an old bearskin hearthrug in a temper, one stirrup like a fire shovel was yards too long, the other far too short, and were set well at the back.
-"what queer horses!" we remarked.
-"bogami," said bogami; "when there are no horses these are good horses, bogami."
-"where is the secretary?"
-"bogami nesnam" (don't know).
-after a while we began to wonder if it would not be quicker to get off and foot it, but we did catch up and eventually pass a red cross turk. we saw a soldier striding ahead. by kicks and shouts we raised a sprint along the level road; we drew even with him, and then began a race; on the uphills we beat him, on the downhills he caught up and passed in front. he was a taciturn fellow, and save that he was going to fochar we learnt nothing about him. on a long uphill we gained a hundred yards, and by supreme efforts held our gains. he eventually disappeared from view, and we were rejoicing at our speed when we realized that the telegraph wires were no longer with us--one can always find the nearest way by following the telegraph, for governments do not waste wire. jan looked for them and found them streaming away to the left, and among them, well up on the horizon, our enemy the soldier.
-"look," we cried to bogami, "isn't that the shortest way? the wires go there."
-"bogami," he replied; "wires can, horses can't, bogami."
-there is a fine military road to chainitza, made by the austrians, but it remains a white necklace on the hills, almost an ornament to the landscape. no one seemed to use it, while our old turkish road which snaked and twisted up and down was pitted with the hoofs of countless horses. it is a stony path, and our animals were shod with flat plates instead of horseshoes; they slipped and slithered, and we wondered if in youth they had ever had lessons in skating.
-there was a heavy mist, but it began to break up, and through peepholes one caught fleeting glimpses of distant patterning of field and forest, and hints of great hills. the sun showed like a great pale moon on the horizon. there were other travellers on the old turkish trail, horsemen, bosnians in great dark claret-coloured turbans, or montenegrins in their flat khaki caps, peasants in dirty white cotton pyjamas, thumping before them animals with pack-swollen sides, soldiers only recognizable from the peasants by the rifle on their backs, and turks; most were jolly fellows, and hailed us cheerfully.
-from a house by the roadside burst a sheep, followed by five men. they chased the animal down the road whistling to it. we had never heard that whistling was effectual with sheep, and certainly it did not succeed very well in this instance.
-somewhere beyond this house jan's inside began to cry for food, two biscuits and a cup of café au lait being little upon which to found a long day's riding. he tentatively tried a "compressed luncheon." its action was satisfactory, but whether it resulted from real nourishment contained in the black-looking glue, or whether it came from a sticking together of the coating of the stomach, we have not yet decided. jo preferred rather to endure the hunger.
-bogami had quite a charm; for instance, he appreciated our troubles with the beasts we were riding. jo's horse stumbled a good deal on the downhills; her saddle was very uncomfortable and so narrow that she could never change her position. we came into most magnificent scenery, the beauty of which made a deep impression even upon our empty selves. there were deep green valleys, rising to peaks and hills which faded away ridge behind ridge of blue into the distant serbian mountains, great pine woods of delicate drooping trees which came down and folded in on every side, and though it was almost september there were strawberries still ripe at the edge of the road, little red luscious blobs amidst the green.
-metalka at one o'clock, and we were on the real montenegrin frontier. there are two metalkas, a montenegrin and an austrian, and they are divided one from the other by a strip of land some ten yards across which rips the village in two like the track of a little cyclone. bogami directed us to a shanty labelled "hotel of europe." a large woman was blocking the door; we demanded food, she took no notice. hunger was clamouring within us. we demanded a second time. she waved her hand majestically to her rival in austria, at whose tables montenegrin officers were sitting with coffee.
-an officer greeted us.
-"we had expected you yesterday," he said.
-we waved to the horses.
-"that is a pity," he murmured. "you see, there was something to eat yesterday!"
-in spite of his pessimism we got eggs and wine. bogami had a large crowd, to whom he lectured, and we sent him out some eggs.
-after lunch we pushed on, in conquered territory. to chainitza they said was one hour and a half, it proved nearer three.
-we joined some peasants, and they told us that they were going to the great festival. the old mother halted at a sort of sheep pen by the roadside; when she rejoined us she was wiping her eyes.
-"that was my brother," she explained; "he was killed in the war;" for it is the custom to erect memorial stones by the roadside. many of these are very quaint, sometimes painted with a soldier, or else with the rifle, sword, pistols and medals of the deceased.
-chainitza lies in a backwater, where the deep valley makes a sudden bend. when we came to it the sun was in our eyes, and halfway between the crest and the river the town seemed to float in a bluish mist; two white mosques stood out against the trees, and the roof of one was not one dome, but many like an inverted egg frier, or almost as though it was boiling over.
-we were stopped at the entry by a sentry.
-"where are you going?"
-"to the russian hospital."
-he took us in charge and led us, in spite of protestations, to the hotel. a man in a shabby frock-coat received us, and jo, mistaking him for the innkeeper, clamoured once more for the russians. the shabby man explained that he was the prefect, and that this was a state reception. we began to be awed by our own dignity. we explained to him that the shadow had changed his mind and had sent bogami instead.
-bogami brought our knapsacks to our room, where he was immobilized by the sight of himself in the looking-glass of the wardrobe; probably he had never seen such a thing before, and he goggled at it. he at last backed slowly from the room.
-we rested a while, then descended to find--the shadow.
-he was rather hurt with us, and wanted to know why the ---- we had gone off without him. we explained, compared watches, and found that jan's was an hour too fast. the poor shadow had been chasing us on a borrowed horse, with our permissions to travel in his pocket, and wildly hoping that he would catch us up before we were arrested as spies.
-we had tea with the russians in a little arbour on the roadside, and chewed sweets which had just arrived from petrograd, having been three months on the journey, but none the worse for that. many officers came, amongst them the husband of the little russian girl we had met at prepolji. they all seemed to be voukotitches, and at last the sirdar himself honoured us. he is a huge man, and yet seemed to take up more room than his size warrants. he has a flat, almost plate-like face, with pallid blue eyes which seemed to focus some way beyond the object of his regard. were his moustache larger he would be rather like lord kitchener, and he was very pleased at the obvious compliment. he poses a little, moves seldom but suddenly, and shoots his remarks as though words of command. he was very kind to us, and was immensely astonished at jo's serbian, holding up his hands and saying "kako" at every one of her speeches. he suggested that poor bogami should be beaten, but we begged him off. captain voukotitch, the husband of a day, was appointed to be our guide for the morrow--because jo spoke serbian.
-after tea we went up to the bubbly mosque, which was in reality the greek church. we entered a large gate; on the one side of a yard was the church, and on the other a big two-storied rest-house, where one could lodge while paying devotions or doing pilgrimages. its long balconies were filled with country folk all come for the festival, and who were feasting and laughing as though the war did not exist. the courtyard was filled with men and women in bosnian costumes, white and dark red embroideries. through the open door of the church one could see the silhouettes of the peasants bowing before the ikons and relics. it was almost dark, and one man began to play a little haunting melody upon a wooden pipe, but though they linked arms and shuffled their feet, the young men did not dance.
-at supper the shadow revealed a quaint sense of humour, and so to bed.
-the next morning was lovely, and we started at seven with the youngest voukotitch and the others. some officers had lent us their horses, and voukotitch had proudly produced his english saddle for jo. on the road the spirit of mischief entered him.
-"you can ride all right," he said; "wouldn't you like to go to the nearest machine-gun to the austrian lines?"
-"rather," said jo.
-"you'll have to do some stiff riding, though. i know the major, and he is bored to death. he'll let us."
-"but what about the bullets?" said the shadow.
-in time the major was produced, emerging from a cottage by the roadside, other officers with him, and we had a merry coffee party in an arbour. one told jo that he was a lawyer. the few montenegrins who had the misfortune to be educated were not allowed to serve at the front, but he had been lucky enough through influence to be allowed to take a commission. he had not seen much serious fighting, however, as no move had been made for several months.
-then we tackled the hills. "come along," said the major, cheerfully; and his horse's nose went down and its tail went up, and off it slid downhill. we had seen the italian officers do such things on the cinematograph, but little thought that we should be in the same position. we supposed it would be all right. jo's horse became nearly vertical, and she sat back against its tail. jan followed. sometimes a sheet of rock was across the path--then we slid; sometimes the sand became very soft--we slid again. then a muddy bit, and the horse squelched down on his hind quarters.
-here we met a serbian captain who was in charge of the battery. he was very lonely, and delighted to have a chance to talk, and he talked hard all day, showed us a neat reservoir his men had built, explained to us that beautiful uniforms were coming from russia soon for the weirdly garbed beings who were guarding the hills, and asked us to lunch behind the trenches under a canopy of boughs.
-while lunch was being prepared he took us round his artillery, and into his observation station on the top of a crooked tree. below us we could see the river dreina--on the other side of which was gorazhda, held by the austrians--and the fortified hills behind.
-it seemed impossible that this wide peaceful scene was menacing with a threat of death, yet at intervals one could hear a faint "pop! pop!" as though far-away giants were holding feast and opening great champagne bottles. away in the hills could be seen an encampment of white tents, which caused a mild excitement, for they had not been there the day before, and we were told that they were quite out of range.
-during lunch the youngest voukotitch tempted the major--who was in splendid mood--suggesting that it was rather tame to go home after having come within mere bowing distance of the austrians, and that a few stray bullets would not incommode us.
-the major saw reason fairly quickly, so we bestrode our horses again and continued our switchback course. at an open space where the austrians could shoot at us if they wished we had to plunge down the hill quickly, keeping a distance of one hundred yards from each other.
-the little shadow prudently got off his horse and used its body as a shield.
-we banged at the door of a cottage, and a young lieutenant came out; somebody said he was nineteen and a hero.
-here we left our horses and began to scramble through brambles along a narrow path, climbing up the back of a little hill on the crest of which were the machine guns. just before we got to the top we plunged into a tunnel which bored through the hill; at the end was the gun. the hero scrambled in, wriggled the gun about and explained. he invited jo to shoot. she squashed past him; there was a knob at the back of the gun on which she pressed her thumbs, and she immediately wanted another pair with which to stop her ears. the gun jammed suddenly. the hero pulled the belt about, and jo set it going once more.
-the austrian machine guns answered back and kept this up, so jo pressed the knob again and yet again. then we got into the trenches above. whenever jo popped her head over the trenches for a good look there were faint reports from the mountain opposite. one or two bullets whizzed over our heads, and we realized that they were aiming at jo's big white hat.
-jan climbed down the hill and took snap-shots of gorazhda; the enemy got a couple of pretty near shots at him.
-when the montenegrins thought this sport was becoming monotonous they remembered the business of the day. a big house in gorazhda was said to be full of hungarian officers, and they wanted to get the range of this with one of the big guns. this decision had been made a day or two before with much deliberation. this they thought the state could afford. the precious shell was brought out, and every one fondled it.
-men were called out and huge preparations were made for sighting and taking aim. we scuttled round with field glasses, and finally stood on tiptoe behind branches on a mound by the side of the gun. there were many soldiers fussing in the dug-out, and at last they pulled the string.
-"goodness! now we've done it," jo thought, as the mountains sent back the fearful report in decreasing echoes. we seemed to wait an eternity, and then "something white" happened far beyond the village.
-the officers looked at each other with long faces. "a bad miss--the expense."
-we felt the resources of the montenegrin empire were tottering. awful! could they afford another?
-finally, with great courage, they decided that it was better to spend two shells on getting a decent aim than to lose one for nothing. the terrific bang went off again, and this time the "something white" happened right on the roof of the house. the hungarian officers all ran out, and the machine guns below jabbered at them. nobody was killed as far as we know, but every one was content and delighted.
-sunset was approaching, and we rode away quickly, only stopping once to drag a reluctant old turk from the mountain side and make him sing to the accompaniment of a one-stringed goosla. he hated to do it as all his best songs were about triumphant mahommedans crushing serbs, and of course he couldn't sing those.
-he sat grumpily cross-legged on the ground, encircled by our horses, droning a song of two notes, touching the string quickly with the flat lower part of his fingers.
-we left him very suddenly because the darkness comes quickly in those hills, so we made for the high-road as hard as we could.
-we rode back in the moonlight. at one spot on the road was a sawmill, and the huge white pine logs lying all about looked like the fallen columns of some ruined athenian temple. we tried to enjoy the moment, and to brush aside the awful thought that we must remount rosinante and co. next day.
-the shadow was terribly puffed up about his feat. the following morning as we were sketching in the town, an officer approached respectfully.
-"his excellency the sirdar invites you to supper," he said.
-we considered a moment, for we had intended to return to plevlie. the shadow broke in.
-"it is inconvenient to come to supper," he said to our horror. "tell his excellency that the gentleman and lady will come to lunch if he wishes it."
-the sirdar meekly sent answer that lunch would suit him very well, and we could drive back with him to plevlie. "would we come to his house at 12.30?"
-the prefect told us that we ought to go to the lunch at twelve, because the sirdar's clock was always half an hour fast. we arrived, but the sirdar evidently had been considering us, he did not appear for the half an hour, so we sat with his staff sipping rakia by the roadside.
-the lunch was excellent, but the sirdar's carriage, like every other carriage in montenegro, was a weird, ancient, rusty arabesquish affair, tied together with wire. we had two resplendent staff officers, armed to the teeth, who galloped ahead, we had two superior non-coms., also armed to the dentals, galloping behind, while on the box sat a man with gun, pistols, sword, dagger and a bottle of wine and water which we passed round whenever the sirdar became hoarse. the coachman was as old and as shabby as his carriage, and every five miles or so was forced to descend and tie up yet another mishap with wire--ordinary folks' carriages are only repaired with string.
-the sirdar occupied almost the whole of the back seat, and jo was squeezed into the crack which was left. jan was perched on a sort of ledge, facing them. the carriage was narrow, six legs were two too many for the space. jan's were the superfluous ones. he tried this pose, he tried that, but in spite of his contortions he endured much of the seven hours' journey in acute discomfort and the latter part in torture.
-in spite of his throat the sirdar did nearly all the talking. the country we were passing through were scenes of his battles: with one arm he threw a company over this hill, with a hand, nearly hitting jan in the eye, he marched an army corps along that valley; he explained how he had been forced to give up the ministry of war because there was no other efficient commander for the north.
-a blue ridge of pine trees appeared on our right hand.
-"you see those hills," said the sirdar: "i'll tell you the story of a reply of mine, a funny reply. i ordered a general last winter to march across those hills. he said that the troops would starve. i looked him in the eye. then you will eat wolves, i shouted. he went."
-if we passed peasants he stopped them. he seemed to have an extraordinary memory for names and faces.
-"never forget a face," he said, "never forget its name. that is the secret of popularity."
-he was very anxious that we should go to cettinje and to scutari. he kindly promised to see about it, to arrange for our horses and to have our passage telegraphed before us. at podgoritza he said a government motor-car should wait for us. he advised us to make a detour from the straight road and to see the famous black lake of jabliak and the dormitor mountains. we thanked him gratefully. he waved our thanks aside.
-"and i will write to my friend the minister of war. he will arrange that you go to scutari." he then explained all the reasons why montenegro should hold scutari when the war was over.
-"it was ours," he said; "we only gave it up to venice so that she should protect us from the turk. if we do not hold scutari, montenegro can never become a state, so if we cannot keep her we might as well give up cettinje. after all we are but taking back what was once ours."
-he was daily expecting the uniforms from russia, and asked every soldier on the road for news. at last one said that he had seen them.
-"the stuff is rather thin, your excellency, but the boots are splendid."
-we were accosted by a clean-limbed, joyous youth, who bore on his cap the outstretched winged badge of the police. he said--
-"mister sirdar, he tell me take you alon' o' nickshitch."
-sure enough the next morning there he was, with three horses, which if not the identical animals of our chainitza trip were sisters or brothers to them. it was a wretched day, gusty, and the rain sweeping round the corners of the old streets. early as was the hour, the wretched prisoners were peering through the lattice windows of their prison, which evidently once had been the harem of some wealthy turk; where beauties had once lain on voluptuous couches, wretched criminals now crouched half-starved, racked with disease, and as we passed held out skinny arms. all montenegrin saddles are bound on with string, even those of the highest in the land; indeed, one cannot imagine how the people did before string was invented, and ours began to slip before we were well clear of the town. necessary adjustments were made, and on once more.
-our guide was well armed--he carried two murderous-looking pistols, and a long rifle slung over his back. he was in high spirits and showed us that the proper way to ride montenegrin horses was to drop the reins on to the animal's neck, kick it in the stomach with both feet, elevating your arms and uttering the most unearthly yells. thus terrified, the unfortunate wreck would canter a few yards, and our cicerone would turn in his saddle and grin back at us, who were humanely contented with the solemn jog-trot of our aged steeds along the well-worn horse-track--for there was no road.
-we crawled along, wretched in the downpour, the scenery completely hidden by the clouds; but towards midday, as we climbed ever higher and higher, we plunged into pine forests where the rain began to thin to mist, veiling the trees with layers of drifting fog. out of the forests we came--the rain having ceased--into a strange-looking landscape, whose japanesiness is equalled possibly only by japan itself. there were the queer rounded hills, the gnarled and twisted little pines and dim fir-clad slopes cutting the sky with sharp grey silhouettes.
-here we stopped to eat. we opened a tin of meat and made rough sandwiches with the coarse brown or black bread which is the staple food of serbian nations. when we were satisfied there was meat left in the tin. two wretched, ragged children came on the road singing some half-eastern chant, and we hailed them. they refused the food with dignity, and marched on offended.
-we came to the grand canyon of colorado--we beg its pardon--of montenegro, the tara. great cliffs towered high on either side, great grey, rugged cliffs topped with pine and scrub oak. down, down, down to the river, an hour, and we crossed the bridge out of novi bazar into montenegro--thirty years free from the turk. we halted at a little coffee stall made of boughs. jan wanted to get a photo, but the women were so shy that jo had to push them out into the open.
-on the way up the other cliff our guide became communicative. he had been in america, in the mining camps, and spoke fair american.
-"in ole days, dese was de borders," he said; "'ere de serb, 'n dere de turk. natchurally dey 'ate each oder. dey waz two fellers 'ad fair cold feet, one 'ere, one over dere, turk 'n our chapy. every day dey come down to de ribber 'n dey plug't de odder chap wid dere ole pistols what filled at de nose. but dey neber hit nuttin. one day de serb 'e got mad and avade in de ribber, but 'e did'n 'it de turk. nex' day dey hot' avade in 'arf way across. dey miss again. de tird day dey avades in rite ter de middle, 'n each shoots up de odder dead. yessir, 'n dere bodies float down ter 'ere."
-he looked up and pointed.
-"dey was a gooman up dere," he said.
-"yes, a man wat 'ad a gooman all to 'isself."
-"dey was an ole town all made o' stones," our guide explained, "where dis man made 'is gooman. you know wat a gooman is?--kill all de fellers what pass 'n do wat you likes."
-we understood suddenly that "government" was indicated.
-"dat's wat i say," he answered, "gooman--'e was killed by a montenegrin chap wat throwed 'im orf de cliffs, 'n a turk gets all 'is land. dat's 'ow dey was done dose days. dere ain't much 'o de ole town lef now."
-"we 'ad to chase de turk outer 'ere," he went on; "lots 'o fighting, but we 'ad luck. you see, dey 'ad two lines, 'an we got de first line before 'e was ready, 'n wiped 'im out, so de secon' line did'n know if it was 'im retreatin' or us advancin', and we was into 'em before dey 'ad made up dere minds. yessir."
-the ascent was terribly laborious. our animals were sweating, though they were carrying nothing but the knapsacks.
-"ye see dat flat stone?" said the guide. "dat's were de gooman feller 'ide 'is gold. dey was tree italians chaps 'ere 'n dey turn ober dat stone ter roll it downill. 'n underneat was all dat feller's gold. dat madum larf, i tell yer."
-we climbed higher and yet higher; we thought we would never reach the crest. the sweat poured from us, and we were drenched.
-on the top there were but few stones of the old castle, and we rode over the ruins. we passed into a queer pallid country, pale grey houses, pale yellow or pale green fields, grey sky and stones, a violently rolling plain where our guide lost his way, and we became increasingly aware of the discomfort of our saddles, and prayed for the journey to end.
-we refound the route, and asked a peasant, "how far to jabliak?"
-"bogami, quarter of an hour."
-at the end of twenty minutes we asked once more.
-"bogami, quarter of an hour."
-at the end of twenty minutes more we asked again, our spirits were falling.
-"bogami, quarter of an hour."
-we then asked a peasant and his wife. the woman considered for a moment.
-"about an hour," she said.
-her husband turned and swore at her.
-"bogami, don't believe her, gentlemen," he cried, "it's only a quarter of an hour."
-we left them quarrelling.
-it grew dark, and we grew miserable. jabliak seemed like a dream, and we like poor wandering jews, cursed ever to roam on detestable saddles in this queer pallid country.
-at last a peasant said it was five minutes off, and then it really was a quarter of an hour distant.
-we came down from the hills to find the whole aristocracy--one captain--not to say all their populace, out on the green to do us honour. they had been informed by telegraph of our august decision to sleep in their wooden village. when we got off our horses our knees were so cramped that we could scarcely stand, and we hobbled after the captain into a bitterly cold room without furniture. various montenegrins came and looked at us, and an old veterinary surgeon, also en route, but in the opposite direction, conversed in bad german. the old vet. was a roumanian, and the only animal doctor in all montenegro.
-to their great surprise we demanded something to eat.
-"supper is at nine," they said severely.
-"but we have had nothing since ten this morning," we protested.
-"but supper will be ready at nine," they said again.
-after a lot of trouble we got some scrambled eggs, but nothing would persuade our guide, whose name, by the way, was "mike," to have anything. it almost seemed improper to eat at the wrong hours, even if one was hungry.
-after supper we sat growing colder and colder. at last, in desperation, we asked if there were no place in the village which had a fire.
-"oh yes, there is a fire in the other café," and thither we were conducted.
-we were in a jolly wooden room, with a blazing stove and a most welcome fugginess. the hostess brought us rakia, coffee and walnuts, and did her utmost to make us comfortable. montenegrins crowded in, and discussed the probable end of the war. there was little enthusiasm shown, most of the talk was of the hardships, and a little grumbling that the farms were going to pieces because of the lack of men.
-before leaving plevlie, dr. clemow had presented jan with a box of red cross cigars, and he handed one to the captain. the official received it gratefully.
-"ah!" he said. "cigars, eh! one does not often see those nowadays."
-the cigar was a trichinopoli. jan said nothing, but watched. the captain lit the cigar manfully, and for some minutes puffed, looking the apotheosis of aristocracy. presently his puffing ceased, he looked thoughtful, and then saying that he had forgotten an important paper which he had not signed, he fled. we found the cigars most useful afterwards, as a sort of spiritual disinfector, infallible against bores.
-into the cracks of the ceiling were stuck white and yellow flowers, thyme and other plants, till the roof looked like an inverted flower-bed. we had noticed this custom before, and asked mike if it had any significance.
-"oh yes," he answered, "all dose tings, dey stuck up dere 'gainst de fleas 'n bugs."
-this was translated into serbian, and the woman boxed his ears.
-we supped on meat--three courses--meat, meat, meat, and so tough that our teeth bounced off, and we were compelled to bolt the morsels whole. one course tired us out, weary as we already were with our journey, but mike, making up for his former abstinence, wolfed all his own share and what remained over from ours.
-the night was so cold that we went to bed in our clothes, and even then could not sleep for hours.
-we woke with difficulty to a glorious day, and found that what we had thought yesterday to be a plain was in truth a great plateau surrounded by towering grey mountains on which were gulfs and gullies filled with eternal snow. jabliak is a queer village, fifty or sixty weathered wooden houses--with the high-peaked roof of northern serbia--flung down into this wilderness, where the grass and crops fight for existence with the pushing stones, and where the summer is so short that the captain's plum tree--the only one--will not ripen save in exceptional years. never a wheel comes to jabliak, and so it is a village without streets. everything which passes here is horse-or woman-borne, and for hay they use long narrow sledges which slide over the stones and slippery grass as though it were snow.
-"urrgh," said a man, "you should see this in winter. snow ten and twelve feet deep, and only just the roofs and the tops of the telegraph-poles emerging."
-the village escorted us to see the famous black lake below the peaks of dormitor.
-the lake is beautiful enough, but too big for mystery, too small to be impressive. one had imagined it twinkling like the wicked pupil of a witch's eye, with cornea of white stones and eye-lashes of pine trees, and we desecrated even its stillness by shooting at wild duck with a rifle.
-jan had been describing to the villagers how well jo rode; they now think he is a liar. her horse took an unexpected jump at a small obstacle; the huge hump at the back of the saddle rose suddenly, threw her forward, and before she had realized anything, she was hanging almost upside down about the horse's neck, helpless because of the enormous steeple in front. this horse, as though quite used to similar occurrences, stood quietly contemplative, till mike had restored her to a perpendicular.
-then on again. at times the tracks grew very muddy, and the horses side-slipped a good deal. at the top of a pass we halted to get coffee from a leafy hut. before us were the mountains of voynik, a blue ridge with shadowy, strange crevasses and cliffs; behind us dormitor was still visible, a faint stain on the sky, as though that great canopy had been dragging edges in the dew.
-four women clambered up towards us. when they had reached the top they flung down their enormous knapsacks and sat down. they were a cheery, pretty set, and we asked them where they were going.
-"to the front," they said.
-"those are for our husbands and brothers," answered they, patting the huge coloured knapsacks.
-"how far have you to walk?" we asked.
-"four more days."
-"and how far have you walked?"
-no complaining, no repining, just a statement of fact, these women were cheerfully tramping eight days with bundles weighing from 45 to 50 pounds upon their backs, to take a few luxuries, or necessities, to their fighting kin.
-we bade them a jolly farewell, wished them luck, and started downhill.
-the track became so steep that we had to descend from our horses and walk, and so we came to shavnik.
-shavnik is not of wood; it is stone, and as we came into its little square--with the white river-bed on one side--we realized that no welcome attended us. to our indignant dismay the inn was full, and no telegram from the "state" had arrived.
-a man suddenly burst into the office, crying, "sirdar! sirdar!"
-jo and jan made their way through the darkness to the inn, squeezed between sweating horses to the door. we were admitted.
-the sirdar received us kindly, but was dreadfully tired, and looked years older than he had two days before. he had ridden some 150 kilometres in sixteen hours, had left chainitza at two o'clock in the morning, and had been in the saddle ever since. he is a famous horseman, but is no longer young. almost all his escort had succumbed to the speed, and he was full of the story of his orderly's horse which had done 300 kilometres in four days, and was the only animal which had come through with him, he having changed mounts at plevlie. we left him and went straight to bed.
-just as we were comfortably dozing off, a man burst into the room and demanded "mike," and said something about a horse. jan dressed hurriedly and clattered downstairs. it was pitch dark. he ran to the stable, felt his way in, and struck a match. there were two horses, one was lying on its side, evidently foundered and dying but jan felt that they would not have disturbed him for that. by matchlight again he found that his own horses had been turned out by the sirdar's orderly, and that one was missing. mike was not to be found, but the missing horse was discovered by a small boy in the dry river-bed apparently in search of water. jan retired to his bedroom to find that in his absence two more strangers had burst in, to jo's indignation. he pushed them out and locked the door.
-when we awoke the sirdar had already retaken his whirlwind course--evidently grave news called him to cettinje--leaving the orderly's gallant horse dead behind him.
-"he kills many horses," said a peasant, shaking his head; "he rides fast--always."
-we crossed the dry bed of the river and prepared for the hill in front of us. suddenly mike's horse plunged into a bog. the poor beast sprawled in the treacherous green up to its stomach, and, thinking its last hour had come, groaned loudly. mike threw himself from the saddle, and with great effort at last extracted his horse, which emerged trembling and dripping with slime. mike grinned ruefully.
-"i orter remembered," he admitted. "sirdar, 'e get in dere one day 'imself."
-this day's riding was the worst we had yet experienced. our horses were fagged, the road abominable, great stones everywhere on the degenerated turkish roads.
-the turkish road is a narrowish path of flat paving-stones laid directly upon mother earth: but that is the first stage. in the second stage the paving-stones have begun to turn and lie like slates on a roof; in the third they have turned completely on edge, like a row of dominoes, and the horses, stepping delicately between the obstacles, pound the exposed earth to deep trenches of semi-liquid mud. in the fourth stage the stones have entirely disappeared, leaving only the trenches which the horses have formed, so that the path is like a sheet of violently corrugated iron. most of the tracks are now between the third and fourth stages of degeneration. one never knows how far the horse will plunge his legs into the trenches, for sometimes they are very shallow, and sometimes the leg is engulfed to the shoulder.
-jan's horse slipped over one domino, went up to the shoulder into a trench, and off came the rider. luckily he fell upon a heap of stones, and not into the mud, but he decided for all that to walk for a bit.
-every now and then one came across traces of the construction of a great road--white new stone embankments that started out of nothing, and went to nowhere, and mike confessed that he had lost the path once more--
-"when i come out of dat confounded mod!"
-after a hustle across country we found the road, and wished that we had not, for it was a turkish track in its most belligerent form.
-at last we reached the top and rested awhile. mike showed us his revolver.
-"he good revolver," he said. "de las' man i shoot he killin' a vooman. i come. he run away. i tell 'im to stop, but he no stop, so i shoot 'im leg. 'e try to 'it me wi' a gon."
-the man got fourteen years.
-we pushed on again, and on the road picked up an overcoat, which later we were able to restore to its owner, a turk, who was going to nickshitch to buy sugar and salt for plevlie.
-bits of the big white road appeared and reappeared with insistence. we asked who was responsible for its inception.
-"sirdar," said mike; "he good boy. much work."
-the country was now like brown velvet spread over heaps of gigantic potatoes.
-our horses grew slower and slower, and the inn which we were seeking seemed ever further and further away. we passed many peasants, and had evidently entered the land of venus, for each one was more beautiful than the neighbour. since jabliak we had not seen an ugly man or woman, and the dignity of their carriage was exceeded only by the nobleness of their features. ugly women must be valuable in these parts, and probably marry early; humans ever prize the rare above the beautiful.
-mike spoke to many of the girls, asking them their names and of their homes. one had his own name--which we forget--and he said that she must be his cousin, and that if she would wait where she was he would come back later and give her a lift.
-at last we came to the wooden inn.
-the better-class inns have dining-room and kitchen separate, the second-class both are one, but in each case the fire is made on a heap of earth piled in the centre of the floor; there is no chimney, and the smoke fills the room with a blue haze, smarting in the eyes; it drifts up to the roof, where hams are hung, and finds its way out through the cracks in the wooden roofing slats. this inn was second-class, and along one wall was a deep trough, in which were four huge lumps of a white substance which puzzled us. first we thought it was snow, but that seemed impossible; then we thought it was salt--but why?
-it was snow, there being no water fit to drink, so the snow was stored in the winter in huge underground cellars.
-we got coffee and kaimak--a sort of cross between sour milk and cream cheese--and as a great honour the lady of the house, a villainously dirty-looking woman, brought us two eggs. jan's was bad, but he put it aside, saying nothing, for it is impossible to explain to these people what is a "bad" egg--all are alike to them.
-we took an affectionate leave of mike, for here we degenerated to a carriage, which was waiting us, and he rode off, dragging our tired horses behind him.
-as we were getting into the carriage the dirty woman ran up and, before jo could ward it off, planted a loving kiss on either cheek.
-the road was the best we had seen in all the balkans, white and well-surfaced like an english country highway, and at last we clattered into nickshitch, the most important town of northern montenegro. it was like a fair-sized cornish village, with little stone houses and stone-walled gardens filled with sunflowers.
-a charming old major came to the inn to do us the honour we had telegraphed for, and together we strolled about the streets. there is a pretty greek church at one end on a formal mound, and behind the town runs a sheer fin of rock topped by an old castle where once had lived another man who "was a gooman all to hisself;" now it is a monastery, and one of the most picturesque in montenegro.
-we dined upon beautiful trout fresh from the river, and large green figs. undressing, jan found a louse in his shirt--that came from the dirty bedroom at shavnik evidently. he went to bed, but his troubles were not yet over; there was another foreign presence, a presence which raised large and itching lumps. he hunted without success for some time, but at last caught and exterminated an enormous bug. after which there was peace.
-the rain poured all night. at five o'clock they called us, telling us not to wake up as the motor would come later. at six they knocked again, saying--
-"get up quickly; the carriage is at the door."
-we hurried so much that we left our best soap and our mascot, a beautiful little wooden chicken, behind for ever. the major was waiting in the bar room.
-we were sorry to say good-bye, he was lonely, and we liked him; but we lost no time, as we were seven hours from podgoritza and goodness knows how far from cettinje.
-the carriage and coachman were the same as yesterday's, but his expression was so lugubrious in the downpouring rain that he looked another man.
-just outside the village he picked up a friend and put her in the carriage. she was a velvet-coated old lady with a flat white face and two bright birdlike brown eyes which she never took off us. conversation was impossible, as she had only one tooth, round which her speech whistled unintelligibly, and she hiccuped loudly once in every half-hour. we were most uncomfortable. the hood was up, and a piece of tarpaulin was stretched from it across to the coachman's seat, blocking out the view except for the little we could see through a tiny triangle.
-what with three humans, our bags, the old lady's bundle, and an enormous sponge cake, we were very cramped, and whenever we tried to move a stiffened knee her bright eye was on it, and she made some suitable remark to which we always had to answer with "ne rasumem," "i don't understand," the while beaming at her to show we appreciated her efforts to put us at our ease.
-the mist and rain entirely obscured the view. now and then a tree showed as a thumb-mark on the grey. we little knew that we were passing through some of the most marvellous scenery in europe.
-we stopped at wayside inns and politely treated the old lady to coffee at a penny a cup to make up for our inappreciation of her conversational powers.
-women passed carrying the usual enormous bundles. sometimes they were accompanied by husbands or brothers, who strolled along entirely unladen.
-jo busily sketched everybody she saw.
-passers-by demanded, "what is she doing?" and the onlookers answered--
-"she is writing us;" for everything that is done with pencil on paper is to them writing.
-one pretty young woman shook her fist, laughing--
-"if i could write, i would write you," she said.
-we were no longer in the sanjak. turkish influence had vanished, and we longed to see the famous black mountains of old montenegro.
-at danilograd we marvelled at the enormous expensive bridge which seemed to lead to nothing but a couple of tiny villages. we missed the picturesque turkish houses, built indeed only for to-day like their roads, but full of unexpected corners and mysterious balconies. the montenegrin houses were small and simple, four walls and a roof, like the drawing of a three-year-old child. the only thing lacking was the curly smoke coming from the chimney. broad streets lined with these houses were unexhilarating in effect, and would have been more depressing except for the bright colours with which they were painted.
-when the horses were replete after their midday meal we loaded up, adding to our numbers a taciturn man who sat on the box. we rolled on to podgoritza, arriving at two o'clock in a steady downpour.
-podgoritza seemed unaware of our arrival. the streets were empty, and the prefect's offices were tenanted only by the porter, a turk, who remarked that the prefect was taking his siesta, and seemed to think that was the end of it.
-this was awful, after being highnesses for a week, to be treated just like ordinary people, and perhaps to lose all chance of reaching cettinje that night.
-"produce the prefect," said jo, stamping her foot, but the turk only smiled and suggested a visit to the adjutant's office. back to the carriage we went and drove to a place like a luggage depôt. no adjutant, nothing but giggling boys. our coachman became restive and said his horses were tired of the rain, so we deposited the old lady, substituted a man in american clothes who seemed sympathetic, and drove back to the prefect's office with him. there we found a sleepy lieutenant who ordered coffee, while our american-speaking friend explained to him that we were very great people, and that something ought immediately to be done for us. so the officer promised to get the prefect as soon as possible, and we went to the hotel to drink more coffee with our baggy-trousered friend, who told us that he was one of a huge contingent of montenegrins who had travelled from america to fight for the little country. "say, who are your pals?" said a nasal voice, and the owner, a pleasant-looking man in a broad-shouldered mackintosh, took a seat at our table. he was also a montenegrin, and had been mining in america for some years. more coffees were ordered. we confided to the new american montenegrin that we did not like podgoritza, and he tried to find excuses--the hour, the bad weather. the hotel-keeper came up and intimated in awestruck tones that the prefect had just looked in with some friends.
-our appearance did not seem to impress the prefect in the least, and small wonder. he owned to having received a telegram about us, but there was no motor-car available for that day, and he departed.
-"the prefect is only more unpleasant than podgoritza," said jo to the american in the mackintosh; but he deduced dyspepsia.
-the prefect, having been to his office and having seen the lieutenant, came back in five minutes, rather more suave in manner, and announced impressively that he was going to give us his own carriage.
-but the rain, the giggling boys, the smiling turk, and the sudden drop from royalty to insignificance had been rankling in jo's mind. she sat back haughtily and remarked--
-"but the sirdar promised us a motor-car."
-"i will go and see if it is possible," said the prefect, and he dashed out into the rain. he returned full of apologies. all the motors were out, but he would send his carriage round immediately. "a delightful carriage," he added.
-it arrived--a landau such as one would find at waddingsgate-super-mare, so free from scars that every montenegrin turned to look at it.
-the hotel-keepers, our american friends, and the prefect and his captain stood pointing out its beauties, and we left them standing in the rain.
-"i shall always put on side in this country," said jo as she bit a large mouthful of cheese.
-we pounded along, and the day slowly grew darker. we passed an encampment, where the firelight thrown up on to the trees made a weird and jolly sight.
-the hours passed by slowly. suddenly (our coachman was probably dozing) we ran into something. it was a carriage, a square grey thing. our coachman howled to it, and it started slowly forward up the steep hill. a bright light streamed from the windows and cut a radiant path in the foggy rains. some one threw away a cigar-end. the wet road shining in the glare of our pink candles, and the lightning flashing intermittently so that the mountain-tops sprang out to disappear again in the darkness; we felt as if we were living in the introduction of a mystery story from the strand magazine.
-at last in the misty rain we saw the aura of the lights of cettinje. at last we wound slowly into wet streets, passed our mysterious companion without being able to see who was in it, and so to the hotel. since the morning we had driven fourteen hours, and we were glad beyond measure to stretch and to find really comfortable beds.
-the next day we got up early. there was much to do. we were to see the war minister about scutari, to present a letter of introduction to the english minister, and to inspect the town.
-nature has half filled a big crater with silt, and the montenegrins have half covered it with cettinje.
-it is a polychromatic village of little square houses, cheerfully dreary, and one does not see its uses except to be out of the way. the only building with any architectural beauty is the monastery where the old bishops reigned, and which must have many a queer tale to tell.
-asking for the count de salis, the english minister, we were directed to the diplomatic street, a collection of tiny houses grouped respectfully in front of the palace, which itself was no larger than a park lane house laid edgeways, and with the paint peeling from its walls.
-over the front door of each little house a sort of barber's pole stuck outwards, striped with the national colours of the minister living within.
-we noticed with pride and relief that the count de salis' pole was painted a reticent white. the sympathetic old lady who opened the door directed us to the legation. there we found him inspecting the damages wreaked by the storm of overnight. the legation was big and cold, and as the handsome fireplaces sent out by the british board of works were for anthracite only (and montenegro produces only wood), the english minister preferred his warm cottage to the unheated palace.
-he wished us luck in our quest for scutari, and asked us to tea. we then hurried to an awful building where the governing of montenegro was done--a concrete erection, presented to montenegro by the british government, and an exact imitation of one of our workhouses. here we found the minister of war, a gorgeously dressed little man with a pleasant grandfatherly gleam in his eye. he only spoke serbian, but with him was an unshaven young man whose chest was covered with gold danglers, who immediately began to air his quite passable french. we explained what we had been doing and what we wanted to do. the war minister had not heard of us from the sirdar, who had been resting after his terrific ride, but said that they were to see each other that day. the little man beamed upon us, and said they always wished to do anything for the english, but he must first see the sirdar.
-then we all sat down again, a further rendezvous was arranged for the evening, and we left, carrying away the impression that the war minister and we had bowed thirty times to each other before we got out of the door.
-out in the streets, as we were sketching, we saw a large smile under a staff officer's cap bearing down upon us. it was the sirdar, quite rested and looking twenty years younger. he was going to the war minister's, and promised to arrange at once for our visit to scutari. he looked at our cryptic drawings of road scavengers, threw up his hands and ejaculating "kako"--strode out of our lives.
-tea in the little house with the discreet white pole was a great pleasure. such tea we had not drunk since leaving england--butter, jam made by the old housekeeper, who pointed this out to us when she brought in a relay of hot water.
-she was the daughter of a man who had been exiled from his village because he had taken a prominent part in a blood feud, and the old gospodar had told him he would be healthier elsewhere. so they had emigrated as far as serbia, where she had learnt to read and write.
-a lady of good family but bad character suddenly decided to leave montenegro, and fled to the shores of cattaro, carrying with her a large number of state secrets. the court was aghast. what was to be done?
-a villain was needed. the father was decided upon, and with the help of the lady's brothers she was kidnapped, carried back to montenegro, and disappeared for ever. for which noble work he was permitted to return to his village.
-the old lady had a supreme contempt for the montenegrins who had not "travelled," but she looked upon the growing pomp of the court with suspicion.
-"ah," she said, "those were fine days when the king was only the gospodar, and there were none of these gold embroidered uniforms about, and the queen and i used to slide down the palace banisters together."
-in those days the royal family inhabited the top story only, while the ground floor was filled with wood for the winter. just round the corner was the old pink palace, now used as a riding school. it had been the first place in montenegro to possess a billiard-table. so, billiard-tables being rarer and more curious than kings--the palace had been called the billiado.
-the queen, whatever agility she may have possessed once when navigating banisters, is now a sedate and domestic person, and doesn't hold with bluestockings, notwithstanding the "higher education" of some of her daughters.
-the story goes that once when the king was away she inaugurated one of those thorough-paced spring cleanings dear to most women's hearts; ordered the dining-room furniture into the street, and superintended the beating of it. women hold a poor position in montenegro, but one of character can carry all before her. a well-known english nurse was managing a hospital in cettinje during the first balkan war. one of her patients, though well connected as peasants often are in montenegro, was a drunken old reprobate, and she told the authorities he must go. they demurred--his relations must not be offended. she insisted. they did nothing. one morning they found him, bed and all, in the middle of the street opposite the king's palace.
-the authorities swallowed their lesson.
-in the evening we walked over the stony hills with our host, and first had a glimpse of the real character of the country which had for so long kept the turks at bay. one realized how much the people owed to the land for their boasted independence. barren rock and scrub oak, no army could live here in sufficient numbers to subdue even a semi-warlike nation. cettinje has been burned many a time by the moslem, but starvation eventually drove him back to the fatter plains of the sanjak, leaving a profitless victory behind him. napoleon and moscow over again.
-more miners from america passed with their showy machine-woven clothes, accompanied by their wives, who had evidently stayed behind in the old country. otherwise they would have picked up new-fangled ideas about the rights of women, and would certainly have refused to shoulder the enormous american suit cases while their men ambled carelessly in front.
-the next day we had a further interview with the war minister, who introduced to us a man in corduroys, the only really round-faced person we had met in montenegro. part of his name was "ob," so as we forgot the rest of it we called him dr. ob. he was the minister of drains, and such things. as nothing had been previously explained to him about us, he covered his mystification by hailing us jovially, after which he misconstrued everything we said.
-he became very excited when we said we had brought 14,000 kilos of stores into montenegro.
-"but we have not got it yet," he ejaculated. we explained that it was for the english hospital, and he subsided, very disappointed.
-scutari was talked over again, and dr. ob promised to come and tell us that evening if cettinje could supply a motor for the next morning.
-more bows and smiles, and we left wondering. montenegrins always promise even when they have no intention of performance--something like the stage irishman,--and we were surprised when dr. ob met us in the evening and said that the motor was arranged for next morning at eight.
-we tea'd with the count once more. in the next house lived a gorgeous old gentleman, and we heard that he had been war minister for forty odd years. after thirty years or so of office it was considered that he could better uphold the dignity of his position were he able to sign his name. so he had to learn.
-the lake of scutari
-dr. ob, dressed in thick corduroys and an enormous pith helmet, arrived punctually with the motor, a montenegrin government motor. he had two companions, a girl simply dressed with coat and skirt which did not match, and cotton gloves whose burst finger ends were not darned, a miss petrovitch, and an officer. the coachwork--if one may dignify it by such a phrase--which was made from packing cases, had a thousand creaks and one abominable squeak, which made conversation impossible. the scenery was all grey rock and little scrubby trees; the road was magnificent and wound and twisted about the mountain side like a whip lash. driving down these curves was no amateur's game, and we saw immediately that our chauffeur knew his job. we came over a ridge, and in the far distance, gleaming like the sun itself, a corner of the lake of scutari showed between two hill crests.
-we ran into a fertile valley, passed through rieka--where was the first slavonic printing-press--and up into the barren mountains once more. the peasants seem very industrious, every little pocket of earth is here carefully cultivated and banked almost in arab fashion. the houses, too, were better, and rather italian with painted balconies, but are built of porous stone and are damp in winter. the rieka river ran along the road for some way, very green and covered with water-lily pods.
-we passed a standing carriage, in which was a large man in montenegrin clothes, and a little further on passed a man in a grey suit walking. dr. ob gesticulated wildly, and pulled up the motor to gather in a frenchman--somebody in the french legation who was going to scutari for a week end. he turned suddenly to jan.
-"ce n'est pas une vie, monsieur," were the first words he uttered. he admired miss petrovitch very much, and told us in an undertone that she was a daughter of the governor of scutari, niece of the king of montenegro, and one of "les familles le plus chic."
-we descended steeply to the port, ten variously coloured houses and twenty-five variously clothed people. miss petrovitch, to our amazement, embraced a rather dirty old peasant, the doctor disappeared to find us luncheon, the frenchman to wash, and we strolled about.
-a voice hailed us, and turning round, we found our mackintoshed american of pod. we took him to the inn and stood him a drink. dr. ob came in and we introduced; but dr. ob was snifty and the american shy. his home was near by and he wished us to visit him, but there was no time.
-we lunched in a bedroom plastered with pictures. montenegrins seem to be ashamed of walls, and they adore royalty. in every room one finds portraits of the king of montenegro, the queen, the princes, the king of italy, his queen, the tzar of russia, the grand dukes and duchesses, the king of serbia and his princes, and to cap all a sort of comprehensive tableau of all the male crowned heads of europe--including turkey--balanced by another commemorating all the queens of europe--excluding turkey--the spaces left between these august people are filled with family portraits, framed samplers, picture postcards or a german print showing the seven ages of man over a sort of step-ladder.
-after lunch, loaded with grapes which miss petrovitch's peasant friend brought us, we trooped down to the steamer, which had been an old turkish gun monitor and had been captured when the montenegrins took scutari.
-in three hours we reached plavnitza, a quay on the mud, where more passengers were waiting for our already crowded craft. there were officers, peasants, turks, and soldiers clad in french firemen's uniforms. these uniforms, by the way, caused a lot of ill-feeling in montenegro. the french sent them out in a spirit of pure economical charity, and had the frenchmen not been, on the average, small, and the montenegrin, contrariwise, large, perhaps the gift would have been received with a better grace; but the sight of these enormous men bursting in all places from their all too tight regimentals, was ludicrous, and the soldiers felt it keenly.
-two women came aboard, attached to officers, and wearing long light blue coats, the ceremonious dress of all classes; one carried a wooden cradle strapped on her back, the woman with no cradle had in her arms a baby of some ten or eleven months, which she fed alternately on grapes and pomegranate seeds. with each was a large family including a beastly little boy who spat all over the decks, and one of the fathers, a stern gold-laced officer, carried a dogwhip with which to rule his offspring.
-after a while we caught sight of tarabosch, the famous mountain, and then the silhouette of the old venetian fortress. from the water projected the funnels of yet another turkish ship which had been sunk in the balkan war, and we steamed into the amphibious trees on the mudflats of scutari.
-a boat with chairs in it came for us and we disembarked. the boat was rather like one of those that children make from paper, called cocked hats, only rather elongated, and the rowers pushed at the oars which hung from twisted osier loops. governor petrovitch met us on the quay. he was a fine-featured old man dressed in all the barbaric splendour of a full national costume, pale green long-skirted coat, red gold embroidered waistcoat, and baggy dark blue knee breeches with a huge amount of waste material in the seat. he kissed his daughter and greeted us genially. we clambered into the usual dilapidated cab with the usual dilapidated horses, and off to the hotel.
-the women on the roadside were clad in picturesque ever-varying costumes. there were narrow carts with high indian-like wheels studded with large nails; there were albanians in costumes of black and white, everything we had hoped or expected.
-after a wash we went into the streets. it was the orient, just as eastern as colombo or port said. the little fruit and jewellers' shops with square lanterns, the tailors sitting cross-legged in their windows, the strange medley of costumes--even the long lean dogs looked as if they had been kicked from the doors of a thousand mosques.
-we left the shops for further explorations. scutari has always been described as such a beautiful town. the adjective does not seem picturesque: yes, quaint, strange decidedly. one's second impression after the shops is this:--
-miles and miles of walls with great doors. the main streets branch out into thousands of impasses each ending in a locked door. there are hardly any connecting streets, for somebody's walled garden is between. the mahommedans hide in seclusion on one side of the town, while their hated enemies the christians live on the other. each house, turk or christian, has the same air of defiant privacy, the only difference being that the turk's windows are blocked with painted lattice. the mahommedan women's faces are covered with several thicknesses of chiffon, generally black, while the christian peasant women walk about with an eye and a half peering from the shrouding folds of a cotton head shawl which they hold tightly under their noses.
-with difficulty we found the english consul's house, as the albanians speak no serb and montenegrins were not to be found at every street corner. at last we found it appropriately enough in the rue du consulat d'angleterre. a gorgeous old butler resembling a wolf ushered us from the blank walled street into a beautiful square garden filled with flowering shrubs and creepers. not to be outdone by the colours of the flowers, the butler was clad in a red waistcoat, embroidered with gold, a green cloth coat, blue baggy trousers, and a red fez with a tassel nearly a yard long, while a connoisseur's mouth would have watered at the sight of his antique silver watch-chain with its exquisitely worked hanging blobs.
-the interior of the house gave an impression of vast roominess. wide stairs, a huge upper landing like a reception-room, a panelled drawing-room large enough to lose one's self in, ornamented by primitive frescoes on the walls above the panels.
-the english consul was an old albanian gentleman with delightful manners. for a long time he had been suffering from an illness which had started from a wound in the head, received during the siege of scutari. after the inevitable coffee and cigarettes his son wandered out with us and showed us the interesting parts of the town. out of a big doorway came two women in gorgeous clothes. they had been paying a morning call, and bade farewell to their hostess. doubtless they were mother and daughter.
-one was faded and beautiful; the younger was of the plump cream and roses variety with modestly downcast eyes. both wore enormous white lace mary queen of scots' veils, great baggy trousers made of stiff shiny black stuff, which was gathered into hard gold embroidered pipes which encased the ankles and upwards. these pipes were so stiff that they had to walk with straight knees and feet far apart. their full cavalier coats were thickly covered with many kilometres of black braid sewn on in curly patterns, and the girl wore at least a hundred golden coins hung in semicircles on her chest.
-they left the third woman at the door and walked back a few steps down the road, then turned, and laying hand on breast, bowed ceremoniously, first the mother, then the daughter, who never lifted her eyes; another twenty steps and again the same performance; still once more, after which they slowly waddled round the corner. suma told us they wore the costume of the haute bourgeoisie, and probably the girl had been taken to see her future mother-in-law.
-the next vision that met our eyes was the doctor in his best clothes, frock-coat, white spats, gloves, and a minute pork-pie cap perched on the top of his spherical countenance.
-"in scutari it is necessary that i should be en tenue," was his explanation.
-suma parted with us, promising to take us to the bazaar the next day, and we spent the afternoon sketching and avoiding a dumb idiot who tried to amuse us by standing on his head in front of whatever object we chose to sketch, and at intervals thrust into our hands a letter which he thought was a money producing talisman. it said in english, "kick this chap if he bothers you."
-there are other traces of the english soldiery here. little children with outstretched hands flock round, saying in coaxing tones "garn," or "git away you," under the impression that they are saying "please."
-at a street corner we saw a professional beggar, a shattered man of drooping misery, his rags vieing with the colour of the road. jo began to sketch, but he promptly sat up, twirled his long moustaches, and from a worm became a lion. one may be a beggar in albania, but as long as one has moustaches one is at least a man.
-the bazaar next day filled our wildest dreams. queerly clad peasants of all tribes came down from the mountains bearing rugs, rubbish, white cloths, cheese, honey, poultry, pigs, and they sat on the ground behind their wares in the blazing heat, while all the rest of northern albania came to purchase. the little shops set out their pottery, silver-ware and brightly striped veils. jo lifted up a woman's leather belt covered with silver, thinking how nice it would look on a modern skirt; but she dropped it with a crash, for the leather was a quarter of an inch thick, and the silver equally weighty.
-veiled women bargained and chaffered with the rest, some dressed in white with black chiffon covering their faces, and others still more bizarre, wore flowered chiffon, one large flower perhaps covering the area of one cheek and nose.
-more fanatic in religion than their men, they objected to being sketched, crouching to the ground and covering themselves completely with draperies, so we had to desist.
-there can be no arguments about beauty in these lands. it goes by "volume."
-put the ladies on the scales, and in case of a tie, measure them round the hips.
-vendors pressed gold-embroidered zouaves, antique arms and filigree silver-ware upon us; but we ever looked elsewhere, and jo suddenly pounced on a handkerchief, or rather a conglomeration of bits sewn together, each being a remnant of brilliant coloured patterned stuff.
-"but that has no value," said suma, smiling.
-"never mind, i shall wear it as a hat," said jo; and suma, somewhat perplexed, lowered his dignity and bargained for it.
-we next saw a brilliantly striped rug hanging on the wall behind an old woman, red, green, yellow, black and white, just what we wanted. she consented to take thirteen silver cronen for it, but no montenegrin paper. she explained she was poor. she had brought up the sheep, spun and dyed the wool, and had woven the beautiful thing, and now she wanted silver because outside scutari, in which the montenegrins forced acceptance of their notes by corporal punishment, paper was worth nothing. to get the silver we went into a general store and sold a sovereign.
-while we were waiting for the money-changer, two miridite women came in. they had short hair dyed black, white coarse linen chemises with large sleeves, embroidered zouaves, white skirts with front and back aprons lavishly embroidered, striped trousers, and stockings knitted on great diagonal patterns.
-one of them told suma that their village was in possession of essad pacha, that all their husbands had fled, and were still fighting in the hills.
-suma, for a joke, asked her what she thought of jo. passing her eyes over jo's uninflated frame, she hesitated, but was urged to speak the truth.
-"i think she is forty," she remarked; and then somehow jo was not quite pleased.
-the midday heat being overwhelming we took a cab and drove back along two kilometres of dusty road. a veiled woman stopped the coachman, asking him to give her tired little girl a lift. jehu refused, through awe of us; but we insisted on taking her, and begged the woman to come in too. jo held out her hands, but the woman shrank back horrified, though obviously worn out with the heat.
-"that is a pity," laughed suma. "i hoped she would do it. it would have been a new experience for me."
-jo confided to him her burning desire to enter a harem, but as he had no mahommedan friends he thought the possibility remote.
-two more bourgeois women passed. jan photographed them, but not before they hid their faces with umbrellas. even the christian men are intensely jealous, and their women have some turkish ideals. we spent the afternoon sketching outside a barber's shop, coffee being brought to us on a hanging tray with a little fire on it to keep the coffee warm. opposite was a shop which combined the trades of blacksmith and fishmonger. it seemed the strangest mixture.
-we dined with the frenchman. he was a queer fellow, seeming only interested in economies, his digestion and his old age; and he discussed the possible places where an old man might live in comfort. egypt, he dismissed: too hot, and an old man does not want to travel. the greek islands had earthquakes. corfu, he had heard, was depressing; while in the canaries there was sometimes a wind and one might catch cold. we suggested "heaven," and he looked hurt. he had been in scutari in december. he told us that after dark it was impossible to walk down the great main street, which divides christian from turk, without carrying a lighted lantern to signal that you were not on nefarious intent, or you might be shot.
-mr. suma came along the next day in good time and gave jan a letter for the count de salis. we bade him a most cordial farewell, assuring him prophetically that we should revisit scutari--little did we dream in what circumstances,--and he said we would then see the "maison pigit," a show castle which he had, in vain, urged us to visit. paget was an englishman who seems to have spent ten or twelve years dreaming away life in scutari, and collecting ancient weapons. with the outbreak of the south african war he disappeared. he was then heard of fighting for the turk against the italian, and later for the turk against the balkan alliance. he has never returned.
-with dr. ob we drove to the quay, on the road passing an old woman staggering along beneath the weight of a complete iron and brass bedstead.
-as we got out of our carriage we noticed a rabble of turks hurrying towards us. in its midst was a brougham with windows tight shut and veiled, from which we guessed that some light of the harem was to be a fellow passenger. the carriage halted, and whatever was within was hustled from the farthest door and in the midst of the dense mob of men hurried down the quay. the side of the steamer was crowded with craft, so we passed beneath the stern to embark on the far side, to find that the turkish lady and her escort had passed beneath the bows for a similar purpose. we caused a flutter, the beauty was hastily lifted on board like a bale of goods, and we caught a glimpse of magnificent pink brocaded trousers and jewelled shoes beneath her red orange covering. two women--one a christian--followed, and when she was seated, bent over her as a sort of screen to hide even her clothes from the gaze of the naughty infidel.
-governor petrovitch came down to the quay to bid us good-bye. with him came his daughter, who was returning with us. she had nothing interesting to say about scutari. the frenchman had brought with him a cook whom he had engaged to look after his digestion.
-we found comfortable seats on a long box with a bale as a back rest, and the governor sent two chairs for the ladies. as we steamed away we pondered on the problem of scutari.
-there are in all, say, 300,000 serbs, a high estimate, in all montenegro. the population of the sanjak and its cities, plevlie, ipek, berane, and jakovitza, are of course largely mussulman or albanian, and already the balance of people in the little mountain kingdom is wavering. if montenegro adds to herself scutari, a town in which the serb population is practically "nil," the scales swing over heavily against the ruling classes, and either one will see montenegro absorb scutari, to be in turn absorbed by scutari itself; or we shall see the crimes of austro-hungary repeated upon a smaller scale, and montenegro will be some day condemned before a tribunal of europe for continued injustice to the people entrusted to her. the albanians loathe the serb even more than they hate the turk, and at present, in spite of the fact that they are on their best manners, the montenegrin police and soldiery have the appearance of a debt collector in the house of one who has backed a friend's bill.
-an albanian noble said to jan, "we are quiet now: the powers have no time to waste upon us, and we are not going to revolt and let ourselves be murdered without redress. but, if after the war things are not righted, monsieur, there will be a revolution every day."
-we saw a pelican, and of course some one had to try and kill it; but luckily the criminal was an average shot only. the pelican flew off flapping its broad white wings. the frenchman told us that the turkish lady round the corner is a gipsy bride to be. a light dawned upon us. the bed, these boxes we were sitting upon: she was taking her furniture with her. jan peered round at her. she was sitting on a low stool, and the two screens were standing at duty. they had chosen the most secluded spot in the boat, which was next to the boilers. the day itself was very hot, and the atmosphere within the poor bride's thick coverings must have been awful, though when nobody was looking she was allowed to raise for a second the many thicknesses of black chiffon which shrouded her face, and to gasp a few chestfulls of fresh air.
-dr. ob suddenly produced a large sheep's head which he dissected with medical knowledge. he gouged out an eye which he offered to jo; upon her refusing the succulent morsel he gave a sigh of relief and wolfed it himself. one of the men on board had a fiddle, and played us across the lake. some one said, "give us the merry widow."
-he shook his head.
-"come on," said his tempter, "there's no one here. give it us." at last, looking at miss petrovitch and us, the musician timidly started the music, for the "merry widow" is "straffed" in montenegro as one of the characters is a caricature of prince danilo, hence everybody plays it with gusto in private.
-we came again to plavnitza. a huge crowd of turks were waiting for us; one wild befezzed ruffian had a concertina and was capering to his own strains.
-we were suddenly disturbed, the box was wrested away, the bundles also, the bed was carried off, also a tin dish too small for a bath, too big for a basin, and a tin watering pot--the bride's trousseau. the bride was seized by two men, her brothers we were told, and carried up the stairs to a waiting brougham, the trousseau was piled upon a bullock cart, and shouting and singing and dancing the cortège moved out of sight.
-at virbazar the steamer could not come to the quay, so the authorities ran a five-inch rounded tree trunk from the boat to the mud. many dared the perilous crossing, and one nearly fell into the water. dr. ob was furious, and at last a plank was substituted. then we found that the only way off the mud was by clambering round a corner of wall on some shaky stepping stones. dr. ob fumed, his little round face grew rounder, his moustache went up and down, he threatened everybody with instant execution, like the red queen in "alice." then he found that no motor was awaiting us. he rushed to the telephone while we had a belated lunch. no motors; one was out taking the serbian officers for a joy-ride; prince peter had taken the other to antivari. montenegro seemed to have no more. we soothed ourselves with "american" grapes. this grape tastes not unlike strawberries and cream, but not having the same sentimental associations, does not come off quite as well. we heard a motor coming. dr. ob ran out to intercept it. it was crammed. then the telephone boy brought a message that prince peter's motor would not return till to-morrow.
-miss petrovitch wrung her hands.
-"we cannot stay here the night," she said.
-"are the bugs awful?" we asked.
-"it's not the bugs, it's those dreadful women," she answered. "we shall all be murdered in our beds."
-now the women appeared to us most inoffensive.
-dr. ob was purple with rage. he stamped his foot.
-"but i am a minister," he kept repeating crescendo, till he shouted to the villagers, "but i am a minister."
-we rowed out through the half-sunken trees. at the end of a spit of land was a man gnawing a piece of raw beef. we shouted to him to ask what he was doing; and he answered that he was curing his malaria. the two women in the bow were very pretty, one was a mere child.
-there were wisps of sunset cloud in the sky, and soon night came quite down.
-as it grew dark all sense of motion disappeared. the boat shrugged uneasily with the movement of the oars, the rowlocks made of loops of twisted osier creaked, but one could not perceive that one was going forwards. the hills lost their solidity, becoming mere holes in the grey blue of the sky, a bright planet made a light smudge on the ruffled water in which the stars could not reflect. as we crept forwards into the river and the mountains closed in, the water became more calm, and the stars came out one by one beneath us, while in the ripple of our wake the image of the planet ran up continuously in strings of little golden balls like a juggling trick.
-the frenchman turned his head and made a noise like the rowlocks. "il faut chanter quand même," he explained, "pour encourager les autres." jo then started "frère jacques." jan and dr. ob took it up till the frenchman burst in with an entirely different time and key. then one of the oar girls began a queer little melody on four notes only, and all the four women joined, one end of the boat answering the other. they sang through their noses, and high up in the falsetto. by shutting one's eyes one could imagine a great ox waggon drawn uphill by four bullocks and one of the wheels ungreased. yet it was not unpleasing, this queer shrill, recurrent rhythm, the monotonous creak and splash of the oars, the mystery of feeling one's way in the blue gloom, through reed and water-lily beds, up this cliff-bound river, and far away the faint twitter--also recurrent and monotonous--of some nightjar....
-the night grew bitterly cold on the water. one of our passengers, a little russian dressmaker, had malaria and shivered with ague. jo gave her her cloak. the frenchman's cook was unsuitably dressed, for she had on but a thin chiffon blouse. we ourselves had summer clothes, and we were all mightily glad to see the glare of rieka in the sky.
-our luck be praised, there were two old carriages with older horses, and another for the frenchman. we supped moderately at a restaurant kept by an austrian, and still shivering scrambled into the carriages. we had no lights, but the road was visible by the stars.
-the highway of montenegro
-we went next day to see the doctor, who was late, so we strolled out to the market. they were selling grapes and figs, fresh walnuts, and lots of little dried fish, strung on to rings of willow, from the lake of scutari. the scene, with the men in their costumes of red and blue, the women all respectably dressed in long embroidered coats of pale blue or white, and the village idiot, a man prancing about dressed in nothing but a woman's overall, was very gay. we caught the doctor later. he was talking with a mrs. g----, an englishwoman, from the hospital at podgoritza: she was trying to hustle him as one hustles the butcher who has belated the meat. the doctor had let up his efforts since his orgy of respectability in scutari, and his beard and whiskers were enjoying a half-inch holiday from the razor. with him was a slav-hungarian, who recommended us to go home by gussigne, plav and ipek, the best scenery in all montenegro he said; he himself had just returned from scutari, whence he had advanced with a montenegrin army halfway across albania. at each village the natives had fled, burying their corn and driving off their cattle, leaving the villages deserted, and the army, starving, had at last been forced to retire. dr. ob promised us a motor by four, but added that they had no oil and very little benzine. then growing more confidential, he took us by the buttonholes and asked us to use our best influence with the count de salis, and request him to tell the admiralty to allow petrol to be brought up from salonika, where the british had laid an embargo upon it. he promised pathetically that all the petrol would be brought up overland.
-intensely amused by the doctor's idea of our importance, we solemnly delivered his message to the count.
-we went to the serbian minister, a charming man with a freebooter's face, for our passports, and then back to dr. ob. the motor was going off at 6.30 he said. we cheered internally, for we were getting tired of cettinje, which reminded us of a watchmaker's wife with her best silk dress on. on our way downstairs we called in to thank the minister of war for our jolly trip; and he wished us "bon voyage."
-we got en route almost up to time, with us was mrs. g----, who was also going back as far as podgoritza. she was storekeeper and accountant for the wounded allies, and ever had a hard and troublesome task between what she needed and what she could get from the sanitary department. she took the front seat with jo, and inside jan found a french sailor of the wireless telegraphy, who had had typhoid fever, but was now going back to work. as we rattled down the curves and along the edge of the darkening chasms of the mountain side, he summed up with the brevity of a "rapin."
-"dans la journée ici, vous savez, il y'a de quoi faire des clichés."
-we stopped at rieka for water, and then on once more. in the glare of our headlights, little clumps of soldiers, with donkeys loaded with the new uniforms, loomed suddenly out of the darkness. once a donkey took fright and bolted back, and the soldier in charge yelled and pointed his rifle at us. if we had moved he would have shot without compunction. later the men had bivouacked, and all along the rest of the road we passed little fires of fresh brushwood, the sparks pouring up like fountains into the night, round which the soldiers and drivers were sitting and singing their weird songs.
-we got a bedroom in the hotel, and tired out, tried to sleep; but the occupants of the café began a set of howling songs, very unmusical, and kept us awake till past twelve. we have never heard this kind of singing anywhere else.
-next day we crossed the river and explored the quaint and beautiful streets of the turkish quarter. the people are equally offensive on both sides of the town; however, podgoritza seems to be the white-chapel of montenegro--and we finally had to take refuge in the sheds of the french wireless telegraphy. the commandant at the motor depôt again treated us rudely, but the prefect was nice, this time. he promised us a carriage on the morrow if no motor were forthcoming.
-after supper the people began the awful howling songs; also there was a wild orchestra which had one clarinet for melody and about ten deep bass trumpets for accompaniment.
-next morning no carriage came, so off to the prefect. he promised one "odmah," which being translated is "at once," but means really within "eight or nine hours." we waited. nine a.m. passed. ten a.m. went by. a small boy sneaked up and tried to sell some contraband tobacco; but jan had just bought "state." an angry turkish gentleman came and said that his horses had been requisitioned to take us to andrievitza, and that we weren't going to get them till one o'clock, because he was using them. we returned to the prefect, not to complain--oh no--but to ask him to telegraph to andrievitza that we were coming. he was naturally surprised to see us again, and explanations followed. a very humbled and much better tempered turk came to the café to say that the horses would be with us "odmah."
-a drizzle had been falling all the morning; at last the carriage came. our driver was a wretched half-starved, high-cheeked moslem in rags, whose trousers were only made draught proof by his sitting on the holes. he tried to squeeze another passenger upon us; but we were wiser, and were just not able to understand what he was saying. our turk's method of driving was to tie the reins to the carriage rail, flourishing a whip and shouting with vigour; every ten minutes he glanced uneasily backwards to see that nothing had broken loose or come away.
-the valley we entered had been very deep, but at some period had been half filled by a deposit of sand and pebble which had hardened into a crumbling rock. we were driving over the gravelly shelf, above our head rose walls of limestone, and deep below was the river which had eaten the softer agglomerate into a hundred fantastic caverns. all along the road we passed groups of tramping volunteers fresh from america with store clothes and suitcases; the sensible were also festooned with boots. it was pretty cold sitting in the carriage, and it grew colder as we mounted.
-at last we halted to rest the horses at a café. the influence of "pod" was heavy still. a group of grumpy people were sitting around a fire built in the middle of the floor; they did not greet us--which is unusual in montenegro--but continued the favourite serb recreation of spitting. in the centre of them was an old man on a chair, also expectorating, and by his side one older and scraggier, his waistcoat covered with snuff and medals, palpitated in a state of senile decay, holding in a withered hand a palmfull of snuff which he had forgotten to inhale. there were a lot of women saying nothing and spitting. a sour, hard-faced woman admitted that there was coffee.
-jo, trying to cheer things up a bit, said brightly--
-"is it far to andrievitza?"
-a woman mumbled, "far, bogami."
-jo again: "it is cold on the road."
-a long silence, broken with the sound of spitting, followed. at last a woman in the darkest corner murmured--
-it was like the opening of a maeterlinckian play, but we gave it up, sipped our coffee, and when we had finished, fled outside into the cold which, after all, was warmer than these people's welcome. outside we met a young man who spoke german, and as he wanted to show off, he stopped to converse. we were joined by an older man who claimed to be his father. the father was really a jolly old boy. he said his son was a puny weakling, but as for himself he never had had a doctor in his life. so jan tried his mettle with a cigar. an officer, a filthy old peasant in the remains of a battered uniform, joined the group, but he was not charming; however, jan offered him a cigarette. the old yokel rushed on his fate. he said--
-"cigarettes are all very well; but i would rather have one of those you gave to the other fellow."
-the road wound on and up in the usual way, rain came down at intervals, and it grew colder and colder. at last we extracted all our spare clothes from the knapsack and put them on. we reached the top of the pass and began to rattle down the descent on the further side, and we kept our spirits up, in the growing gloom, by singing choruses: "the old swanee river" and "uncle ned."
-we pulled up at dusk at a dismal hovel, on piles, with rickety wooden stairs leading to a dimly lighted balcony over which fell deep wooden eaves.
-"is this jabooka?" we asked, for we had been told to alight at jabooka.
-"no," said the driver; "we cannot reach jabooka to-night. but here are fine beds, fine, fine, fine!"
-we climbed in. the rooms were whitewashed and looked all right, but there was a funny smell. we shall know what it means a second time. there was a crowd of american montenegrin volunteers in the kitchen. one gay fellow was in a bright green dressing-gown like overcoat: he said that his wife--a hard-featured woman who looked as if nobody loved her--had brought his saddle horse. we got some hard-boiled eggs and maize bread. maize bread is always a little gritty, for it has in its substance no binding material, but when it is well cooked and has plenty of crust is quite eatable. french cooking is far away, however, and the bread is usually a sort of soggy, half-baked flabby paste, most unpalatable and most indigestible. here was the worst bread we yet had found.
-our driver was a dilatory dog: we had said that we would leave at five a.m., and at six he was washing his teeth in the little stream which acted as the village sewer. as we were waiting our green-coated friend got away on his saddle horse, with his wife walking at its tail; the other americans climbed into a great three-horse waggon, dragged their suit-cases after them, and off they went. we left nearer seven than six. the air was chilly, and though there were bits of blue in the sky, the hills were floating in mist, and there was a sharp shower. there were more groups of americans trudging along, and also a fair number of peasants, the women, as usual, dignified and beautiful. very hungry we at last came to jabooka. a jolly woman--we were getting away from "pod"--welcomed us and dragged us into the kitchen. she asked jo many questions, one being, "what relation is he to you, that man with whom you travel?" the fire on the floor was nearly out, but she rained sticks on to it, blew up the great central log, which is the backbone, into a blaze, and soon the smoke was pouring into our eyes and filtering up amongst the hams in the roof. we were drinking a splendid café au lait when an old woman peered in at the door.
-"very beautiful jabooka," she said.
-we agreed heartily.
-"not dear either," she said.
-we expressed surprise.
-"you can buy cheap," she went on.
-we regretted that we did not wish to.
-"but you must eat to live," she protested.
-we intimated that this was of the nature of a truism, but failed to see the connection.
-"but look at them," she expostulated, holding out a large basket of apples; and we suddenly remembered that "jabooka" means also apples, and realized that she was not a land agent.
-then on once more. in the deep valleys were large modern sawmills, but the houses were ever poor, and the windows grew smaller and smaller and were without glass. at the junction of the kolashin road, from the north, we picked up a jolly montenegrin with a big dog. he was a driver by profession, and he hurried our lethargic progress a little. then the front spring broke. it was mended with wire and a piece of tree; when we started again the reins snapped.
-"no, you fellers," he said, "there weren't no work for us in 'murrica. mos' o' the places 'ad closed down ter a shift or two at the mos' per wik. and fer fellers wats used to livin' purty well there weren't enough ter pay board alone. we gotter come or we'd a starved." of course this was not true of many.
-on again, rain and sun alternating, but still we were cold, feet especially.
-these mountains, these continual groups of slouching, slouch-hatted "americans," these little weathered log cabins, falling streams, and pine trees reminded one of some tale of bret harte, and one found one's self expecting the sudden appearance of broncho billy or jack hamlin mounted upon a fiery mustang. but we cleared the top of the pass without meeting either, and started on our last long downhill to andrievitza. cheered by the rapidity of our motion the two ruffians on the box started a howling podgoritzian kind of melody, exceedingly discordant. the driver, careless that one of our springs was but wired tree, and that wheels in montenegro are easily decomposed, flogged his horses unmercifully, rattling along the extreme edge of one hundred foot precipices. we stopped at a café for the driver to get coffee; rattled on again, stopped to inquire the price of hay; more rattle; stopped for the driver to say, "how de doo" to a pal; more rattle; stopped to ask a man if his dog has had puppies yet.... but we protested.
-the mayor was a pleasant fellow, speaking french, and he confided in us that he was suffering from a "maladie d'estomac." when we thought we had sympathized enough, we asked him how far it was, and could we have horses to go to petch. he answered that it was two days, or rather one and a half, and that the horses would await us at twelve on the following day. we went to bed early to make up for last night, but jan, having felt rather tickly all day, hunted the corners of his shirt and found--dare we mention it--a louse, souvenir de liéva riéka.
-as we were breakfasting next day our driver, who had been most unpleasant the whole time, sidled up and asked jan to sign a paper. while jan was doing so the driver burst into a volley of explanations. we thought that he was asking for a tip, but made out that he had lost (or gambled) the ten kronen which his employer had given to him for expenses. we had intended to give him no tip, for on the yesterday he had refused to carry our bags, but this made us waver. we asked mr. rad, etc., what we should do.
-"sign his paper," he answered gruffly, "and kick him out; he's only a dirty turk anyhow."
-the mayor sent our horses round early; but we stuck to our decision to start in the afternoon, and ordered lunch at twelve. there was a huge crowd gathered in front of the inn, and we saw that the pasha and his harem were off. one wife wore a blue furniture cover over her, one a green, and one a brown, so that he might know them apart from the outside, for they all had heavy black veils before their faces. the pasha himself seemed rather a decent fellow, and had much of the air of a curate conducting a school feast. four children were thrust into two baskets which were slung on each side of one small horse, and various furniture, including a small bath (or large basin), was strapped on to others, and the pasha followed by his wives set off walking, the pasha occasionally throwing a graceful remark behind him.
-the mayor lunched with us, and for a man who has, as he says, anæmia of the stomach, chronic dysentery, and inflammation of the intestines, he ate most freely, and if such is his daily habit, he deserved all he had got.
-our guide was the most picturesque we have yet had. he was an albanian with a shaven poll save for a tuft by which the angels will one day lift him to heaven, small white cap like a saucer, over which was wound a twisted dirty white scarf, short white coat heavily embroidered with black braid, tight trousers, also heavily embroidered, but the waistband only pulled up to where the buttock begins to slide away--we wondered continuously why they never fell off--and the long space between coat and trousers filled with tightly wound red and orange belt. he called himself ramases, or some such name. our saddles were pretty good, the stirrups like shovels, the horses the best (barring at the front) we had had since prepolji.
-we rode over a creaky bridge, jan's horse refusing, so he went through the river, and out into the new road which is being made to ipek. men and women, almost all in albanian costumes, were scraping, digging, drilling and blasting; some of the women wore a costume we had not yet seen, very short cotton skirt above the knees, and long, embroidered leggings. we passed this high-road "in posse" and, the little horses stepping along, presently caught up a trail of donkeys, the proprietor of which, a friend of ramases, had a face like a post-impressionist sculpture.
-we passed the donkeys and came to the usual sort of café, rough log hut, fire on floor--but one of the women therein gave jo her only apple--decidedly we were away from pod.
-on again along river valleys. jan's saddle had a knob in the seat that began to insinuate. on every hill were cut maize patches, the red stubble in the sunset looking like fields of blood.
-in the dusk we came to velika, a wooden witchlike village, where we were to stay the night, and where, as we had expected, the pasha, ten minutes ahead of us, had commandeered all the accommodation. the captain, however, was very good, and gave us a policeman to find lodgings for us. by this time it was dark. he led us into a pitch black lane where the mud came over our boots, then we clambered up a loose earth cliff and stood looking into a room whose only light was from a small fire, as usual on the floor. over the fire was a large pot, and a meagre-faced woman was stirring the brew. behind her a small baby in a red and white striped blanket was pushed up to its armpits through a hole on four legs, where it hung. in a dark corner a small boy was worrying a black cat.
-"can you give these english a bed?" demanded the policeman.
-the woman shook her head sadly. "mozhe," she said, which means "it is possible."
-after supper, bovril and cheese omelette, we went out to seek the café. we trudged back through the mud and stumbled into a house full of lattice work, like a chinese store. startled we tried another. this time we came into a stable, but there was a ladder leading upwards, and at the top a lighted room, so we decided to explore. we climbed up and came into a large loft in which six long legged, heavily bearded albanians were squatting about a fire; a gipsy woman with wild tousled hair and hanging breasts was in the corner of the hearth, and was telling some long monotonous tale. an albanian, who spoke serb, told us to come in and have coffee. it was like the illustration of some tale from the arabian nights. after a while we climbed out again into the night, and went home. ramases hung about shyly, and the woman explained that he had nowhere to sleep; so we arranged that she should house him also.
-even as we poked our noses out of the door there was a promise of a fine day. below us we could see the pasha up and superintending the packing of his family and furniture. we celebrated by opening our last tin of jam, which we had carried carefully all the way, waiting for an occasion. we left the remains of the jam for the small family, and as we were mounting we saw their faces smeared and streaked with "first quality damson." we started the climb almost at once. the early morning smoke filtering through the slats made an outer cone, of faint blue, above the black roof of every hut and cottage; here and there were traces of roadmaking, groups of albanian workmen on stretches of levelled earth which our trail crossed at irregular intervals. presently we entered the clouds, and were wrapped about with a thin mist faintly smelling of smoke. after a while we climbed above them, and looking down could see the clouds mottling all the landscape, and through holes little patches of sunlit field or wood peering through like the eyes of a turkish woman through her yashmak.
-there was landscape enough here for any budding turners, but we two had still eight hours to go and not money enough to loiter. on the higher peaks of the mountains there was already a fresh powdering of snow; in the valleys the clouds had almost cleared away, leaving a thin film of moisture which made shadows of pure ultramarine beneath the trees. your modern commercial grinder cannot sell you this colour, it needs some of that pure jewel powder which old swan kept in a bottle for use on his masterpiece, but found never a subject noble enough. some of that stuff prepared from the receipt of old cennino cennini which ends "this is a work, fine and delicate, suitable for the hands of young maidens, but beware of old women." pure lapis lazuli.
-but it became difficult even for us to admire landscape, for breakfast had disappeared within us, and lunch seemed far away, so once more recourse to the "compressed luncheon." there are three stages in the taste of the "tabloid." stage one, when it smacks of glue; stage two, when it has a flavour of inferior beef tea, say 11.30 a.m.; stage three, when it resembles nothing but the gravy of the most delicious beef steak. that is about 2.30, and your lunch some hours in retard. we had reached stage three, and even jo succumbed to the charms of the "tab."
-famished we came to a café.
-"eggs?" we gasped to the host.
-"nema" (haven't got any), he replied.
-despairing we swallowed three more luncheon tablets each and whined for tea. ramases, who seemed to get along on tea alone, promised us a well-stocked café in an hour and a half.
-the second café was purely albanian. we climbed up some rickety stairs into a room which had--strange to relate--a fireplace. about the room was a sleeping dais where three or four black and white ruffians were couched. there was a little window with a deep seat into which we squeezed and loudly demanded eggs, bread and cheese. an old woman all rags and tatters came in and squeezed up alongside, where she crouched, spinning a long wool thread and staring up into jo's face. several cats were lounging about the room, but one came close and began to squirm as though she were "setting" a mouse. suddenly she pounced, seized the old woman's food bag from her feet, swept it on to the floor, and disappeared with it beneath the dais, where all the rest of the cats followed. the old woman, who had been plying distaff and spindle the while, let out a yell of fury and half disappeared beneath the platform. we all roared with laughter, while beneath us the cats spat and the old woman cursed, beating about with the handle of her distaff till she had rescued her dinner. she backed out with the bag, sat down again and started spinning once more as though nothing had happened.
-beyond this café the track became very stony and rough. we passed a typical couple. the man was carrying a light bag full of bottles, while the women had on her back a huge wooden chest, in which things rattled and bumped as she stumped along.
-jo looked at her with pity. "that's heavy," she said.
-the woman stared stupidly and answered nothing; but the man smiled and said--
-"yes, heavy. bogami."
-we passed more caravans of that all too soon benzine. cliffs began to tower up on every side, and precipices to fall away beneath our feet to a greenish roaring torrent; great springs spouted from the rocks and dashed down upon the stones below in shredded foam: one was pink in colour. here once a general and his lady were riding, and the lady's horse slipped. the general grasped her but lost his own balance, and both fell into the river and were killed. the track wound up and down, often very slippery underfoot, and the horses, shod with the usual flat plates of iron, were slithering and sliding on the edge of the precipices. at last we got off and walked. it was an immense relief: our saddles were intensely hard, stirrups unequal lengths, and with knots which rubbed unmercifully on the shins. we passed a man who was evidently an englishman, and he stared at us as we passed, but neither stopped. the gorge grew deeper, the stream more rapid. the cliffs towered higher, black and grey in huge perpendicular stripes. we heard sounds of thunder or of blasting which reverberated in the canyon; it was oppressive and gloomy, and one shuddered to think what it would be like if an earthquake occurred. the cliffs ceased abruptly in a huge grass slope on which crowds of people were working on the new road; we crossed the river over a wooden bridge.
-we came down into ipek suddenly, past the old orange towered monastery, which lies, its outer walls half buried, keeping the landslides at bay. ramases, who had suddenly put on another air, flung his leg over the saddle--he had previously been sitting sideways--and twisted his moustache skywards. jo wished to canter on, but he sternly forbade her, flipping her horse on the nose and driving it back when she tried to pass; for it would have damned his manly dignity for ever had a woman preceded him.
-our first view of ipek was of a forest of minarets shooting up from the orchards, not a house was to be seen. ramases tried to make us lodge in a vague looking building. we asked him if that were the best hotel. he answered nonchalantly, "nesnam" (don't know); so we hunted for ourselves, discovering in the main square a blue house labelled "hotel skodar" in large letters.
-ipek, dechani and a harem
-we entered the courtyard of the inn. tiny as it was all ipek seemed to be plucking poultry in it. an urbane old woman came forward, evidently the owner. she had short arms, and her hair grey at the roots was stained with henna, which matched her eyes. a dog fancier once told us never to buy a dog with light-coloured eyes if we wanted a trustful loving nature, so we wondered if it applied to humans.
-she showed us a tiny dungeon-like room entirely filled up by two beds. we were not impressed; but she assured us that we should have a large beautiful room the next day for the same price. so we engaged it and strolled out into the evening.
-buffaloes were sitting in couples round the big square. they chewed the cud with an air of incomparable wisdom so remote from the look of reproachful misery that is generally worn by an ox. goats came in from the hills with their hair clipped in layers, which gave them the appearance of ladies in five-decker skirts; and children were playing a queer game. they jumped loosely round in circles with bent knees, making a whooping-cough noise followed by a splutter. we saw it often afterwards, and decided that it must be the equivalent to our "ring o' roses."
-work was over for the day, the sun set behind the hills which ringed us round, and we went to kill time in a café.
-while we were exchanging coffees with an "american," who was showing us the excellences of his wooden leg which he had made himself, a breathless man ran in.
-he had been searching the town for us. the governor had ordered him to put us up, as his had the notoriety of being a clean house. having taken a room already with the amiable old lady we feared to disappoint her, so we decided not to move. the man piteously hoped that we were not offended; and we explained at length.
-when we reached the hotel again our old hostess bustled up, more sugary than ever.
-"we have just thought of a little rearrangement," she said.
-"well, do you understand, the inn is very full to-night, so we thought it best that you should both take the one bed and i and my daughter will take the other."
-"oh," said we, "in that case we had better move altogether, we have anoth--"
-"indeed, no no," said the old lady, horrified. "stay, stay. there sit down. it is good, keep your beds." she patted us and left us.
-we had an uninspired dinner. greasy soup, tough boiled meat which had produced the soup, minced boiled meat in pepper pods, and two pears which turned out to be bad. the company, composed of officers and nondescripts, pleased us no better than the dinner, so we decided to eat elsewhere on the morrow.
-the governor's secretary came in to arrange for an interview with his chief--yet another petrovitch and brother to the governor of scutari. by this time we had each imbibed a dozen turkish coffees during the day, but we slept for all that from nine until nine in the morning.
-marko petrovitch, whom we saw early, was the best and last petrovitch we met in montenegro. like all the petrovitches he wore national costume. he was handsome, shy, and kindly, said we must go to dechani the most famous of balkan monasteries, and promised us a cart for the journey.
-after leaving the governor we plunged into melodrama.
-we thought it was a policeman arresting an elderly thief; but jo, seeing blood on the lady's face, told him he was a "bad man." he lurched, staring at her stupidly. his companions, more firemen, came forward grinning sheepishly, and we recommended them to lead him away out of mischief. but the next minute a balloon-trousered child rushed up to us and tugged at jan's coat.
-"quick, the devil man is doing more bad things."
-we ran down the road beyond the village and saw him in the distance dancing on an old turk's bare feet with hobnailed boots, alternating this amusement with cuffs on the face. we sprinted along, and seeing a convenient little river wriggling along by the roadside, jan caught him by the neck and the seat of his trousers, swung him round, and pitched him in. the man sat for a moment, bewildered, in the water, and then climbed out uttering dreadful oaths; but as he came up jan knocked him into the water again.
-men in firemen's uniforms appeared from all sides, shouting--
-"what are you doing? you mustn't. who are you?"
-"we know the governor," said jo. the men were making gestures of deference when the reprobate rushed from the river, aiming a whirling blow at jan which missed.
-the men hurled themselves on him, but he grabbed jan's coat to which he clung, howling in unexpected english--
-"shake 'ands wi' y' ennemi." suddenly everybody spoke english, and we wondered into what sort of a fairy tale had we fallen.
-it was lunch time so we did not stay for explanations, but hurried back to the town with the weeping old turk, gave him our small change, which seemed to cure the pains in his feet, and hunted for the other hotel.
-it was tucked away in a romantic back street. the bar room was tiny, but it was very pleasant to sit round little tables under shady trees in the courtyard.
-"what have you for lunch?" we asked a solid-looking waiter boy.
-"give us what you have."
-"we have nothing, bogami."
-"have you soup?"
-"ima, ima, bogami."
-"that will do for us."
-he thereupon brought macaroni soup, boiled meat, roast meat, fried potatoes, cheese, grapes, and coffee.
-we never found out why in montenegro they should make it a point of honour to say they have nothing. it resembles the chinese habit of alluding to a "loathsome" wife and a "disgusting" daughter.
-after lunch we visited our own hotel and found mine hostess waiting for us with her short arms akimbo. she wanted the "beautiful large bedroom" to which we had moved in the morning, finding it the same size as the one below, but rather lighter. its former occupant had arrived, and we were to go back to the dungeon.
-"that is not good," said jo, and we flatly refused to go downstairs.
-"if we leave this room we go altogether."
-she again patted us and begged us to consider the matter closed. we could stick to the room.
-certainly that dog fancier was right.
-there was a very old monastery which we had passed as we rode into ipek.
-although we are more interested in the people of the present than in ruins of the past, these old serbian monuments leave so strange a memory of a civilization suddenly cut off at its zenith that they have an emotional appeal far apart from that of archæology. these little oases of culture preserved amongst a wilderness of turk tempt the traveller with a romance which is now vanishing from roman and greek ruins.
-the ipek monastery is a beautiful old place with the walls half buried on one side. the old church, orange outside, is very dark within, but contains many beautiful paintings. surely here is the home of post impressionism and of futurism. the decorations of the bases of the pillars are quite futuristic even orpeistic.
-the pictures are byzantine. but the turks have picked out the eyes, as they always do. one enormous painting of a head which filled a semicircle over a door is particularly fine. most halos are round, but the painter had deemed the ears and beard worthy of extra bulges in this saint's halo, which added to the decorative effect.
-beautiful apple trees were dotted about the big garden through which the wriggly river ran. ducks, geese and turkeys wandered around, so fat that they were indifferent to the meal that was being served out to them. a boy woke up the mother of a family of young turkeys and pushed her towards the dinner with his foot. she hurried there involuntarily and sat down for a nap with her back to the plate, the picture of outraged dignity.
-"no, no," said he; "i spent two nights under a ceiling which rained bugs upon me, and i know a good bed when i've got it."
-coffee and cigarettes came in, of the best, and the rakia was a thing apart from the acrid stuff we were accustomed to.
-he admitted its superiority. the plums came from his own estate, and were distilled by the monks. the great difficulty was to prevent him from giving us too much.
-we talked of the war, and he related many atrocities, winding up with "of course, england must win; but what will become of us in the meanwhile?"
-that evening we had a visitor. a very large montenegrin in french fireman's uniform knocked at the door. he said his name was nikola pavlovitch. he had been sent by the governor to apologise for the "trouble" jan had had that morning with the drunken soldier.
-"'e in jail now, 'e verry sorry and say if you forgive 'im, mister, 'e never touch rakia, never no more. 'e good chap reely. got too much rakia this mornin', 'e think about turks an' get kinder mad some'ow. 'e don't know what 'e done; first thing 'e knows 'e finds 'imself in river."
-nikola pavlovitch was, though not an officer, the commandant of a contingent of miners from america. the governor had told him also to offer himself as cicerone for the morrow, the cart having been ordered for our trip to dechani.
-we didn't like cicerones and demurred.
-"i kin talk for you," he said. but we owned to speaking serb.
-"i know all de country, kin tell you things: bin 'ere twenty years ago."
-we saw he wanted to come, and noticed that he had a very likable face, strong features, straight kindly eyes. we realized that he would be a very pleasant companion and arranged to meet at the stable the next day.
-and so, at last, we drove in one of the queer little serb carts we had avoided so anxiously. a few planks nailed together and bound around with an insecure rail, four wheels slipped on to the axles with no pins to hold them, a turkish driver dangling his legs--such was our chariot. some hay was produced to improvise a seat; we bought some apples on tick, as the vendor said he had no change for our one shilling note, and off we drove.
-nikola pavlovitch started yarning almost at once, and we never had a dull moment. he was a comitaj once, in the old days when turkey owned macedonia and the sanjak. he said that nearly all comitaj were men of education and intelligence. when turkish rule became oppressive, when too many christian girls were stolen and vanished for ever into harems, the comitaj appeared, farms were raided, minute but fierce battles were fought; but in spite of this continual supervision, occasional and mysterious murders were needed to keep down the excesses of the turk.
-pavlovitch waved a hand towards the sullen mountains of albania, which were on our right.
-every house by the roadside was a fortress, loopholes only in the ground floor, windows peering from beneath the eaves and turrets with gunslits at the second story; here and there were old turkish blockhouses, solid and square, showing how the conquerors had feared the conquered.
-"one o' dese tough fellers 'e kill more'n hundred fellers. great chief 'e is. wen 'e was sixteen 'is fader get condemned ter prison way in mitrovitza. dis young tough 'e walk inter court nex' day, in 'e kill de judge and two of de officers and 'scape inter de mountains."
-nick himself when he was a comitaj had twice been caught by the turks. once he was shot in thirteen places at once, but was found by some christian women and eventually recovered; the second time the turks beat him almost to death with fencing staves, and though they thought him dying put him on an ox cart and sent him to the interior of turkey.
-"i was ravin' mad dat journey," he said. "i don' want ter go ter 'ell if it's like dat."
-they put him in hospital and treated him kindly; but once better they threw him into a turkish gaol. he described how the prison was dark as night, because the poorer prisoners blocked up the windows, stretching their arms through for doles from the passers-by.
-"we was all eaten wi' lice," he went on, "an' if de folks 'adn't sent me money an' food i'd a starved to def, sure. 'n den dey bribes de governor 'n a soldier, 'n dey lets me 'scape."
-he lay a cripple in montenegro six months, but in the summer crawled down to the bocche de cattaro and on the sweltering shores of the adriatic built himself a primitive sweat bath. in a few weeks he was better, and in a few months cured. he then went to the mines in america, for he dared not return to macedonia. he saved £800 and returned with it to his sister's in serbia, but was so oppressed by the misery about him that he gave away all his money and went back.
-"dere's lots a mineral in dese mountains, you feller. i show you one lump feller got a' ipek, an' i guess it's silver, sure. wen de war over you come back an' we'll go over dem places tergedder. dere's coal too. lots."
-he told us that the wretched skeleton who was driving us had power in turkish days to commandeer the services of christian labourers, and to pay them nothing.
-we passed by placid fields containing cows, horses, donkeys. the country seemed untouched by war. those cows could never have drawn heavy carts and lain exhausted and foodless after a heavy day's work. the horses reminded one of the sleek mares owned by old ladies who lived in awe of their coachmen.
-for this all belonged to dechani, and it was beyond the power of the state to touch their riches; nor had they been molested even in the days of turkish rule.
-"you see, monastery 'e pay money to the toughest albanians--albanian they give besa--and nobody never do no 'arm to the monasteries. russia she send much money, she send always her priest to dechani and the turks they keep sorter respectful."
-our first sight of dechani disappointed us a little, the proportions lacked the beauty of the ipek church; but the big old door marked by the fire the turks had built against it, decades before, cheered us up a bit.
-a pleasant priest with a smooth face and ringlets two feet long greeted us and led us to the little russian hospital which was fitted into the abbey, warning us not to bang our heads against the heavy oak beams in the corridors.
-the russians welcomed us heartily, preparing the most wonderful tea, australian butter, white bread made with flour brought from russia.
-pavlovitch enjoyed himself immensely. food was thin in the barracks. but he was very worried about the priest's long ringlets.
-"i'd soon cure 'im, a month diggin' de trench!" he murmured.
-after tea we examined the church. the interior was one miraculous blue: pictures with blue backgrounds, apostles with blue draperies, blue skies, a wonderful lapis lazuli.
-once the moslems had overpowered the defenders of the church and had got in, the eyes of some of the saints were picked through the plaster. legend runs, however, that while they were desecrating the tomb of tzar stephan who founded the church, the tomb of the queen, which lay alongside, exploded with a violent report and terror struck the turks, who fled.
-they showed us the queen's tomb, split from top to bottom. the priests naturally claim a miracle; but pavlovitch said, "i tink dey verry clever, dey done dat wi' gunpowder."
-the tzar stephan had wished to build the church of gold and precious stones, but a soothsayer said--
-"no, my lord, build it of plain stone, for your empire will be robbed from you, and if it be of gold greedy men will tear it to pieces, but if it be of plain stone it will remain a monument for ever."
-so he built it of fine marble. the central pillars were forty feet high, and each cut from a single piece, with grotesque carved capitals. the great screen was wonderfully carved and gilded. wherever one looked was decoration, almost in excess.
-ringlets invited us to tea with the russian bishop who was in charge. he was a stout, sweet-mannered little man, who shook his head woefully over the war.
-somehow pavlovitch discovered that he and the bishop were the same age, forty-eight. we contrasted pavlovitch's spare athletic frame with the well-fed shape of the bishop, and felt instinctively which was the better christian. coffee and slatka were brought in. this slatka is always handed to callers in well-regulated serbian households. it is jam accompanied by many little spoons and glasses of water. each guest dips out a spoonful, licks the spoon, drinks the water, and places his spoon in the glass. there is also a curious custom with regard to the coffee. if a guest outstays his welcome, a second cup is brought in and ceremoniously placed before him--but, of course, this hint depends upon how it is done.
-"it is friday," remarked pavlovitch, regretfully. "odder days we gits mighty good meal." he was very anxious for us to stay the night so that we should fit in a first-class breakfast, but the morrow was the ipek fair, and we could not miss that.
-night was coming so we hurried off and drove away. the horses went quite fast, as we had made them a present of some barley. we had discovered that since the beginning of the war, when they had been requisitioned by the montenegrin government, they had lived on nothing but hay, and the owner, who was driving them, said that they would soon die, and that when they did he would not receive a penny and would be a ruined man. he added pathetically--
-"one does not like to see one's beasts die like that, for after all one is fond of them."
-we arrived after dark, and ordered supper for three. the inn lady was scandalized.
-"but that is a common soldier," she said. "there are many fine folk in the dining-room, arrived to-day. the general--"
-so we dined upon the landing.
-the next day we got up very early, went down to the dining-room and found it was full of sleeping forms; we had coffee in our room.
-we wandered round the market. it was still too early, people were arriving and spreading their wares, men were hanging bright carpets on the white walls. beggars were everywhere, exhibiting their gains in front of them. if one could understand they seemed to cry like this--
-"ere y'are, the old firm; put your generous money on the real thing. i 'as more misery to the square inch than any other 'as to the square yard."
-we found bargaining impossible, as they only spoke albanian, and we could only get as far as "sar," how much.
-pavlovitch turned up later and was very helpful. we hurried him to a silver shop which was displaying a round silver boss. he beat them down from sixteen to ten dinars, after which we plunged into a side street filled with women squatted cross-legged behind a collection of everything that an industrious woman who owns sheep can confection.
-"i have nothing for thee," said an old woman to jo, who peered into her basket--pavlovitch translating.
-jo withdrew a tiny pair of stockings--a marvel of knitting in many coloured patterns.
-"what about these?" she said.
-"hast thou children?"
-"no; but how much?" said jo.
-the price was four piastres. jo gave four groschen and the old woman peered anxiously at the money in her palm.
-"it is too much," she said.
-pavlovitch explained that somehow four groschen worked out to more than four piastres; but we left her to calculate what fractions of a centime she had gained.
-our old innkeeper looked very truculent when we entered.
-"are you going to lunch here?"
-to face page
-mystery no. i
-shin shira appears
-it was very remarkable how i first came to make his acquaintance at all. shin shira i mean. i had been sitting at my desk, writing, for quite a long time, when suddenly i heard, as i thought, a noise in another part of the room. i turned my head hastily and looked towards the door, but it was fast closed and there was apparently nobody in the room but myself.
-"strange!" i murmured, looking about to try and discover what had caused the sound, and then my eyes lighted, to my great surprise, upon a pair of bright yellow morocco shoes with very long, pointed toes, standing on the floor in front of a favourite little squat chair of mine which i call "the toad."
-i gazed at the yellow shoes in amazement, for they certainly did not belong to me, and they had decidedly not been there a short time before, for i had been sitting in the chair myself.
-i had just got up to examine them, when, to my utter astonishment, i saw a pair of yellow stockings appearing above them; an instant later, a little yellow body; and finally, the quaintest little head that i have ever seen, surmounted by a yellow turban, in the front of which a large jewel sparkled and shone.
-it was not the turban, however, but the face beneath it which claimed my greatest attention, for the eyes were nearly starting out of the head with fright, and the expression was one of the greatest anxiety.
-it gave way, however, to reassurance and content directly the little man had given a hurried glance round the room, and he sank comfortably down into "the toad" with a sigh of relief.
-"phew!" he exclaimed, drawing out a little yellow fan from his sleeve and fanning himself vigorously, "that was a narrow squeak! i really don't think that i've been in such a tight corner before for two hundred years at least." and he tucked his fan away again and beamed upon me complacently.
-i was so astounded at the sudden appearance of this remarkable little personage that for the moment i quite lost the use of my tongue; and in the meantime my little visitor was glancing about the room with piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything.
-"h'm!--writer, i suppose?" he said, nodding his head towards my desk, which was as usual littered with papers. "what line? you don't look very clever," and he glanced at me critically from under his bushy eyebrows.
-"i only write books for children," i answered, "and one doesn't have to be very clever to do that."
-"oh, children!" said the little yellow dwarf--as i had begun to call him in my own mind. "no, you don't have to be clever, but you have to be--er--by the way, do you write fairy stories?" he interrupted himself to ask.
-"sometimes," i answered.
-"ah! then i can put you up to a thing or two. i'm partly a fairy myself.
-"you see, it's this way," he went on hastily, seeing, i suppose, that i looked somewhat surprised at this unexpected piece of information. "some hundreds of years ago--oh! ever so many--long before the present japanese empire was founded, in fact, there was a man named shin shira scaramanga manousa yama hawa----"
-"good gracious!" i exclaimed.
-"don't interrupt," said the little yellow dwarf, "it's rude, and besides, you make me forget--i can't even think now what the rest of the gentleman's name was--but anyhow, he was an ancestor of mine, and that much of his name belongs to me."
-"how much?" i inquired.
-"shin shira scaramanga manousa yama hawa," repeated the yellow dwarf; "but you needn't say it all," he added hastily, seeing, i suppose, that i looked rather distressed, "shin shira will do; in fact, that's what i am always called. well, to continue. this ancestor of mine, part of whose name i bear, did something or other to offend his great-grandmother, who was a very influential sort of a fairy--i could tell you the whole story, but it's a very long one and i'll have to tell you that another time--and she was so angry with him that she condemned him to appear or disappear whenever she liked and at whatever time or place that she chose, for ever."
-"for ever?" i inquired incredulously.
-"why not?" asked shin shira. "fairies, you know, are immortal, and my ancestor had fairy blood in his veins. well, to make a long story short, the spell, or whatever you choose to call it, which his great-grandmother cast over him, didn't work in him, nor in his son, nor even in his grandson; but several hundreds of years afterwards i was born, and then it suddenly took effect, and i have always been afflicted with the exceedingly uncomfortable misfortune of having to appear or disappear whenever the old lady likes, and in whatever place she chooses.
-"it's terribly awkward at times, for one minute i may be in china taking tea with a mandarin of the blue button, and have to disappear suddenly, turning up a minute later in a first-class carriage on the underground railway, greatly to the surprise and indignation of the passengers, especially if it happens to be over-crowded without me, as it very often is.
-"not but what it has its advantages too," he added thoughtfully, "and this very power of being able to disappear suddenly has just got me out of a most serious dilemma."
-"won't you tell me about it?" i inquired with considerable curiosity, for i was beginning to be very interested in this singular little person's account of himself.
-"with pleasure," said shin shira; and settling himself more comfortably in "the toad," resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, and placing the tips of his fingers together, he told me the following story.
-"the very last place in which i appeared before turning up here, was in the grounds of the palace belonging to the grand panjandrum--"
-"where is that situated, if you please?" i ventured to inquire.
-shin shira gave me a quick glance.
-"do you mean to say that you actually don't even know where the land of the grand panjandrum is?" he asked. "h'm! well," he continued as i shook my head, "i remarked a short time ago that you didn't look very clever, but really, i couldn't have believed that you were so ignorant as all that. you'd better look it up in your atlas when i am gone, i can't bother to explain where it is now--but to resume my story. i appeared there, as i said, and in the middle of the kitchen garden all amongst the cabbages and beans.
-"i could at first see nobody about, but at last i heard somebody singing, and presently came upon a man carrying a basket in which were some cabbages that he had evidently just gathered.
-"although he was singing so cheerfully, his head was bound up with a handkerchief, and i could see that his face was badly swollen.
-"when he had come a little nearer, i bowed politely and inquired of him what place it was, for my surroundings were quite strange to me, it being my first visit to the neighbourhood.
-"he told me where i was, and explained that he was the grand panjandrum's chief cook, and that he had been to gather cabbages to make an apple pie with."
-i was about to ask how this was possible, when i caught shin shira's eye, and i could see by the light in it that he was expecting me to make some inquiry; but i was determined that he should not again have the opportunity of remarking upon my ignorance, so i held my tongue and said nothing, as though gathering cabbages in order to make an apple pie was the most natural thing in the world to do.
-he waited for a moment and then continued--
-"i stood talking to the man for some time, and at last i asked what was the matter with his face.
-"'i've the toothache,' he said ruefully, 'and that's why i was singing; i'm told that it's a capital remedy.'
-"'i'll see if i can't find a better one,' said i, taking up this little book, which i always carry with me." and shin shira held out for my inspection a tiny volume bound in yellow leather, with golden clasps, which was attached to his girdle by a long golden chain.
-"this," he explained, "is a very remarkable book, and has been in our family for many hundreds of years. it contains directions what to do in any difficulty whatsoever, with the aid of the fairy power, which, as i have told you, i inherit from my fairy ancestor.
-"the only difficulty is that, as i am partly a mortal, sometimes (owing perhaps to my fairy great-great-great-grandmother being in a bad temper at the moment) the fairy spell refuses to work, and then i am left in the lurch.
-"this time, however, it worked splendidly, for i had only to turn to the word 'toothache' to discover that the fairy remedy was to 'rub the other side of the face with a stinging nettle, and the pain and swelling would instantly disappear.'
-"fortunately there were plenty of nettles to be found in a neglected corner of the garden, and i quickly applied the remedy, which worked, as the saying is, 'like magic,' for the grand panjandrum's chief cook's face resumed its normal size at once, and the pain vanished immediately.
-"it is needless to say that he was very grateful, and we were walking back to the palace, where he had just promised to regale me with some of the choicest viands in his larder, when we met, coming towards us, a most doleful-looking individual, clothed in black and wearing a most woebegone visage.
-"'it's the court physician,' said the cook; 'i wonder why he is looking so melancholy. may i venture to ask, sir,' he inquired respectfully, 'the occasion of your sorrow?'
-"'i am to be executed to-morrow by the grand panjandrum's order,' said the court physician dolefully, wiping a tear of self-pity from his eye.
-"the chief cook shrugged his shoulders. 'h'm!' said he, 'if that's the case, and his supreme importance has ordered your execution, nobody can possibly prevent it, and there is nothing left but to grin and bear it.'
-"'no,' said the court physician indignantly. 'i may have to bear it, but i shall not grin. i absolutely refuse! they can't do more than kill me, and i won't grin, so there!'
-"the chief cook looked horrified. 'it's one of the laws of the land,' he said, 'that whenever one suffers anything at the hands of the grand panjandrum, one must grin and bear it; it's a most terrible offence not to do so.'
-"'i don't care,' said the court physician recklessly, 'i shan't grin, and there's an end of it.'
-"'why are you sentenced to death?' i asked.
-"'his supreme importance, the grand panjandrum, has had the toothache for three days, and i have been unable to subdue it without drawing the tooth, which his supreme importance refuses to permit me to do, and in a fit of temper yesterday he said that if he were not better to-day i should be executed to-morrow--and it's worse.'
-"the chief cook looked at me delightedly.
-"'if that's all,' he said, 'this gentleman, whose name i am unfortunately unacquainted with, has a remedy which will soon get you out of your trouble, and i shouldn't wonder if, after all, his supreme importance's toothache were the means of raising us all to honour and distinction;' and he proceeded to tell the court physician how i had been successful in ridding him of the toothache.
-"the court physician was greatly interested, and after i had read to him the directions in the book, he suggested that he should take me to the palace at once and into the presence of the grand panjandrum.
-"'for no doubt the operation must be performed by yourself, since you alone possess the fairy power,' said he. and so we made the best of our way to the beautiful building which i could see in the distance.
-"i wish i could describe to you the magnificence of that marvellous place. the jewelled windows and golden staircase; the wonderful velvety carpets and silken hangings; the hundreds of silent servants dressed in the beautiful royal livery of the grand panjandrum, who flitted about executing immediately the slightest wish echoed in that wonderful place.
-"but it is sufficient to say that, after a lot of ceremony, i was at last ushered into the presence of the grand panjandrum himself.
-"it is forbidden to anyone, under the most awful penalties, to describe his supreme importance's appearance, so i cannot tell you what he was like; but i found him suffering the most excruciating agony with the toothache, and with his face even more swollen than the chief cook's had been.
-"at a sign from the court physician i quickly prepared my nettle leaves, which we had thought to gather on our way to the palace, and began to rub them gently on the grand panjandrum's cheek, on the opposite side of his face to that which was swollen.
-"to my horror and amazement, they had no effect whatever, except immediately to raise a terrible rash upon his supreme importance's cheek, and to cause him such pain that he called out angrily that it was worse than the toothache itself.
-"i hurriedly and anxiously consulted my little book to see if by any mischance i had failed in carrying out any of the directions; but no, there it was in black and white--'rub the other side with a stinging nettle.'
-"i showed it to the court physician, and he said--
-"'try the "other" side, then: you've rubbed one side, try the other.'
-"so in fear and trembling i begged his supreme importance's permission to apply the remedy to his other cheek, and after some demur he agreed, but making it a condition that if it failed to act i was to be immediately beheaded.
-"you may imagine with what anxiety i awaited the result of my experiment, and how carefully i rubbed the nettles on.
-"it was all in vain: the rash spread under the nettles and the swelling grew greater than ever--evidently my fairy power refused to work--and the grand panjandrum was in a fearful rage.
-"'fetch the executioner!' he cried, in terrible tones. 'i will see this impostor executed before my eyes!' and twenty slaves flew to obey his command.
-"'grin!' whispered the court physician behind his hand, 'grin and bear it; it's the only thing to be done.'
-"i gave him a wrathful glance, and was about to speak, when at a sign from the grand panjandrum, two powerful slaves sprang forward and bound and gagged me.
-"there was a sound of approaching footsteps, and from another entrance the executioner appeared, followed by some slaves carrying the block.
-"i thought my last moment had arrived, but just then, to my intense delight, i felt a curious sensation, which told me that i was about to disappear.
-"my feet went first (this is not always the case), and then my legs, and i could see the amazement with which the grand panjandrum and all the assembled company were regarding the, to them, extraordinary phenomenon.
-"the executioner in his agitation dropped his axe, and stood open-mouthed regarding what was left of me; and, although i was rather anxious lest they should make an attempt to chop off my head before it finally disappeared, i managed despite my gag to 'grin' in the grand panjandrum's face, and an instant later i found myself here."
-shin shira, having finished his story, drew his little fan from his sleeve and sat fanning himself with great composure, while he regarded my doubtless astonished face with considerable amusement.
-"i--i'll put that story down at once, if you don't mind," i stammered, hurrying to my desk and getting out some papers.
-the drawer stuck, and it was some seconds before i could get it open, and when i turned round again, to my great dismay, shin shira had almost disappeared.
-the little yellow shoes were still there and part of a stocking, but even as i watched them they too disappeared, the long pointed toes of the shoes waggling a kind of farewell--or so i thought--and my strange little visitor had vanished.
-mystery no. ii
-shin shira and the dragon
-it was during my holidays in cornwall that i next met shin shira.
-i had ridden by motor-car from helston to the lizard, and after scrambling over rugged cliffs for some time, following the white stones put by the coastguards to mark the way, i found myself at last at the most beautiful little bay imaginable, called kynance cove.
-the tide was low, and from the glittering white sands, tall jagged rocks rose up, covered with coloured seaweed; which, together with the deep blue and green of the sky and sea, made a perfect feast of colour for the eyes.
-on the shore i met an amiable young guide, who, for sixpence, undertook to show me some caves in the rocks which are not generally discovered by visitors.
-they were very fine caves, one of them being called the princess's parlour; and while we were exploring this, i suddenly heard a roar as of some mighty animal in terrible pain.
-i turned to the guide with, i expect, rather a white face, for an explanation.
-he smiled at my alarm, however, and told me that it was "only the bellows," and suggested a visit to the spot whence the sound proceeded.
-we scrambled out of the cave and descended to the sands again, and passing behind a tall rock called the tower, we saw a curious sight.
-from between two enormous boulders came at intervals a great cloud of fine spray, which puffed up into the air for about twenty feet, accompanied by the roaring noise that i had previously noticed. my young guide explained to me that the noise and the spray were caused by the air in the hollow between the two boulders being forcibly expelled through a narrow slit in the rocks as each wave of the incoming tide entered. having made this quite clear to me, he took his departure, warning me not to remain too long on the sands, as the tide was coming in rather rapidly.
-i sat for some time alone on the rocks, gazing with fascinated interest at the curious effect produced by the clouds of spray coming from "the bellows," and was at last just turning to go when i started in surprise, for there, sitting on another rock just behind me, was the little yellow dwarf, shin shira, energetically fanning himself with the little yellow fan which i had noticed at our previous meeting.
-"oh! it's you, is it?" he remarked, when he caught sight of my face. "i thought i recognised the back view; you see it was the last i saw of you when i paid you that visit in your study."
-"and disappeared so very suddenly," i answered, going up and offering my hand, for i was very pleased to see the little man again.
-"i was obliged to. you know of my unfortunate affliction in having to appear or disappear whenever my fairy great-great-great-grandmother wishes. he's safe enough, isn't he?" he added, inconsequently nodding his head towards "the bellows."
-"who is? what do you mean?" i inquired.
-"the dragon, of course," said shin shira.
-"the dragon!" i exclaimed.
-"certainly--you know that there's a dragon imprisoned behind those rocks, don't you?"
-"no," i said, "although i must admit that i was at first inclined to think that something of the sort was concealed there. i've had it all explained to me, though," and i proceeded to inform him of what the guide had told me concerning the matter.
-"pooh! rubbish! he doesn't know what he's talking about," said shin shira contemptuously; "i'll tell you the real story of those rocks as it occurred, let's see--about eight or nine hundred years ago. i remember it quite well, for it was one of those occasions when i was most distressed at having to disappear at what was for me the very worst possible moment."
-i settled myself comfortably on the rocks beside shin shira and prepared to listen with great interest.
-"let's think for a moment," said the little yellow dwarf, looking about him.
-"it began--oh, yes! i know now. in that cave over yonder--i was eight or nine hundred years younger then, and a very warm-blooded and impressionable young fellow at that time; and i can remember being struck with the extreme beauty of the charming princess whom i discovered in tears there when i suddenly appeared.
-"the cave itself was hung about with the most beautiful silken curtains and tapestries, and on the floor were spread rugs and carpets and cushions of oriental magnificence. tiny tables, inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, were scattered about, on which were caskets filled with beautiful jewels and rare curios from foreign lands.
-"the princess herself was reclining on one of the cushions, sobbing as though her heart would break, and her beautiful hair was lying in dishevelled glory about her shoulders.
-"i was afraid of alarming her, so i coughed slightly to attract her attention.
-"she started up immediately with a look of terror, but was calmed in an instant when she saw who it was.
-"'oh!' she cried, 'have you slain him? you must have done in order to have reached here. oh! have you come to save me?' and she looked at me with wild, eager eyes.
-"'calm yourself, fair lady!' said i. 'what is it that alarms you? be sure that i will do all in my power to protect you from any evil that threatens you.'
-"'the dragon!' gasped the princess. 'have you not slain him? how else can you have entered? he lies at the door of the cave.'
-"she caught me by the hand and led me to the entrance, and then, clasping one hand over her eyes and shuddering with terror, she pointed to where, a short distance beyond, under the shadow of some rocks, lay a terrible dragon, watching with cruel and expectant eyes for any prey that might come his way.
-"'i cannot get away from here except i pass him, and i have been imprisoned here now for two days,' sobbed the princess. 'the king, my father, must indeed be distraught at my absence,' and she burst into fresh weeping.
-"i pressed her to tell me how she came there, and she explained to me that one day, while walking on the sands with one of her maidens in attendance, they had together discovered this cave, which was only accessible at low tide; and they had secretly brought the rugs and tapestries and other furniture with which the cave was filled and made a bower of it, to which the princess was wont to retire whenever she wished to be alone.
-"and, venturing here two days since without attendance, the princess had found, when she had wished to depart, the terrible monster lying in her path.
-"'and so,' she cried, 'i have been a prisoner all this time.'
-"i cheered her as well as i was able, and turned to my little book to see if by chance it gave me any directions how i might slay a dragon by means of my fairy powers; and i read there that though one might not slay it (for a dragon lives for a thousand years), one might rob it of its power by casting at it a jewel of great brilliancy, at the same time wishing that he might become dazed and impotent till one could escape, and it would be so.
-"i told this to the princess, and she hastened to unfasten from her bosom a jewel of great value set in gold of curious workmanship, which she gave to me, imploring me at the same time to do immediately as the book directed.
-"'nay,' said i, 'the jewel is yours; you must cast it at the dragon, and i will wish that the fairies may aid us.'
-"and so we stood at the door of the cave, and the dragon, seeing us, came forward with wide-opened jaws.
-"the princess clung to my arm with one hand, but with the other she cast the jewel, while with all my desire i wished that my fairy powers might not fail me now.
-"whether, however, it was that the fairies willed it so, or perchance because she was a girl, the princess's aim was not straight, and she hit, not the dragon, but a great boulder in the shadow of which he was lurking; and then a truly remarkable thing occurred, for the boulder, immediately it was struck by the jewel, tumbled forward, and falling upon one beside it, imprisoned the dragon between the two, where he has remained to this day."
-and shin shira pointed dramatically to the rocks, from which an extra large puff of spray belched forth, with a groan and a cry which almost convinced me that what he told me must be true.
-"and what became of the princess after that?" i inquired, being anxious to hear the end of the story.
-"why," resumed shin shira, "we picked up the jewel and hurried away from the spot, and presently came at the top of the cliffs to the castle, the ruins of which may still be seen up yonder--to where the king dwelt.
-"i cannot tell you with what joy the princess was received, nor with what honour and favour i was rewarded by the king--and, indeed, by all of the people--as the princess's deliverer.
-"it is enough to say that the king called a great assembly of people, and before them all said that as a fitting reward he should give me the fairest jewel in all his kingdom, and handed me the very stone which had been cast at the dragon, and which was valuable beyond price, being one of the most perfect and flawless stones in the world.
-"i was glad enough to have the gem, but i had fallen madly in love with the princess's beauty, so i made bold to remind the king that the fairest jewel in his kingdom was not the gem he had given me, but the princess, his daughter.
-"the answer pleased the king and the people, though i remember sometimes sadly, even now, that the princess's face fell as she heard the king declare that his word should be kept, and the fairest jewel of all, even the princess herself, should be mine.
-"but now, alas! comes the sorrowful part, for, before the ceremony of our marriage could be completed, i was doomed by the fairies to disappear, and so i lost for ever my beautiful bride," and shin shira gave a deep sigh. "the jewel though," he added, "remained mine, and i have always worn it in the front of my turban in honour and memory of the lovely princess. you may like to see it," and shin shira reached up to his head for the turban in which i had noticed the jewel sparkling only a moment before.
-it was gone!
-"dear me! i'm disappearing again myself, i'm afraid," said shin shira, looking down at his legs, from which the feet had already vanished.
-"good-bye!" he had just time to call out, before he departed in a little yellow flicker.
-"hi! hi!" i heard voices shouting, and looking up to the cliffs i saw some people waving frantically. "come up quickly, or you'll be cut off," they shouted.
-mystery no. iii
-the magic carpet
-it was just at the end of the school term, and i had received a letter from my young cousin lionel, who was at marlborough, reminding me of my promise that he should spend a part at least of his holidays with me.
-"mind you're at the station in time," he had said; "and, i say! please don't call me lionel if there are any of our fellows about, it sounds so kiddish. just call me sutcliffe, and i'll call you sir--as you're so old--like we do the masters. oh yes! and there's something i want you to buy for me, very particularly--it's for my study. i've got a study this term, and i share it with a fellow named gammage. he's an awfully good egg!"
-"what extraordinary language schoolboys do manage to get hold of," i thought as i re-read the letter while bowling along in the cab on my way to the station, which, a very few minutes later, came in sight, the platform being crowded with parents, relatives and friends waiting to meet the train by which so many marlburians were travelling.
-there was a shriek from an engine, and a rattle and clatter outside the station, as the train, every window filled with boys' excited faces, came dashing up to the platform.
-"there's my people!" "there's tom!" "hi! hi! here i am!" "there's the pater with the trap!" "hooray!" to the accompaniment of a babel of cries like these, and amidst an excited scramble of half-wild schoolboys, i at last discovered my small cousin.
-"there he is!" he said, pointing me out to a young friend who was with him; and coming up he hurriedly offered his hand.
-"how are you, sutcliffe?" i asked, remembering his letter.
-"all right, thanks," he replied. "this is gammage. i wanted to show you to him. he wouldn't believe i had a cousin as old as you are. see, gammage?"
-gammage looked at me and nodded. "'bye, sutcliffe; good-bye, sir," said he, raising his hat to me and hurrying off to his "people."
-"i say! don't forget the rug, sutcliffe!" he bawled over his shoulder before finally disappearing.
-"oh no! i say, sir! that's what i want to ask you about," said sutcliffe, scrambling into the taxi, and settling himself down with a little nod of satisfaction.
-"what?" i inquired, as we bowled out of the station.
-"why, a rug for my--our--study," said the boy. "gammage has bought no end of things to make our room comfortable, and they've sent me up some pictures and chairs and things from home--and--it would be awfully decent of you if you'd buy me a rug to put in front of the fire-place. it's rather cheek to ask, but you generally give me something when i come over to see you, and i arranged with gammage to say i'd rather have that than anything. what sort of a shop do you get rugs at? couldn't we get it on our way now, and then it would be done with? i might forget to ask you about it later on."
-"what sort of a rug do you want?" i asked, as the taxi turned into tottenham court road.
-"oh, i don't know, sir. any sort of an ordinary kind of rug will do. there's some in that window; one of those would do."
-i stopped the taxi and we got out. the window was filled with oriental rugs and carpets, and a card in their midst stated that they were "a recent consignment of genuine old goods direct from arabia."
-"oh, they're too expensive, i expect," i remarked, as we stood amongst a small crowd of people in front of the window, "those oriental rugs are generally so--"
-but sutcliffe suddenly nudged my arm, and, with an amused twinkle in his eye, called my attention to a remarkable little figure standing beside him, dressed in an extraordinary yellow costume, and wearing a turban.
-"why! bless me! it's shin shira!" i exclaimed. "i hadn't noticed you before."
-"no," said the yellow dwarf, "i've only just appeared. how very strange meeting you here!"
-i told him what we were doing, and introduced my young cousin, who was greatly interested and somewhat awe-struck at the extraordinary little personage in the oriental costume, whose remarkable appearance was causing quite a sensation amongst the bystanders.
-"oh, these rugs," he said, looking at them casually. "no, i don't fancy they are much good for your purpose, they seem to be too--hullo!" he suddenly cried excitedly, "what's that? good gracious! i really believe it's--why, yes! i'm sure of it! i recognise it quite well by the pattern. there's not another in the world like it. how could it possibly have got here?"
-"what are you talking about?" i asked.
-"why, this carpet," cried shin shira, pointing excitedly to a very quaint-looking oriental rug in the corner of the window. "it's the magic carpet which everybody has read about in the arabian nights. it enables anybody in whose possession it is to travel anywhere they wish--surely you must have heard about it."
-"no!" cried lionel, his eyes sparkling with eagerness, "not really? oh, sir! do--do please buy it--it will be simply ripping! do! do! why, it will be better than an aeroplane."
-i had never in my life before seen my cousin so excited about anything.
-"i should certainly advise you to purchase it," whispered shin shira. "it is a very valuable rug, and no doubt you would find it very useful in many ways."
-i must confess to a considerable amount of curiosity myself as we entered the shop and asked to be shown the carpet which shin shira declared to be endued with such remarkable properties.
-it was a very handsome one, and the shopkeeper showed it to us with a considerable amount of pride.
-"it's a genuine article, sir," he told me. "came over only last week from arabia in a special parcel purchased by our agent in baghdad--i believe it's very old. these foreigners know how to make things which will last."
-i inquired the price, and hesitated considerably when i found that it was far in excess of the amount i had intended to pay for a rug.
-however, lionel seemed so very eager, and shin shira assured me so positively that it was really a bargain, that, with a sigh at what i feared was a great piece of extravagance on my part, i took out my purse and paid for it. "to where shall i send it?" inquired the shopkeeper.
-"let's ride home on it and save the cab fare," whispered shin shira, pulling me down to his level by my sleeve.
-"good gracious!" i exclaimed.
-"why not? it will be the quickest way home, and certainly the least expensive," persuaded the little yellow dwarf.
-"but--but--" i protested.
-shin shira had already spread the carpet on the ground, and pulling lionel on to it, beckoned me to follow.
-half mechanically i obeyed his instructions, and had no sooner sat down on it, cross-legged, as i saw that shin shira and lionel were doing, than the little yellow dwarf cried out something in a language which i supposed to be arabic--and immediately we began to rise into the air.
-i shall never forget the expression of dismay on the countenance of the shopkeeper and his assistants, when they saw us slowly floating in the air towards the door.
-"open it! open it, somebody!" shouted shin shira, and a bewildered-looking customer who had just entered instinctively pulled the handle. before we knew where we were, we found ourselves out in the open air with a shouting, gesticulating, excited crowd watching us as we rose higher and higher, and floated away over the roofs of the houses.
-the sensation, i must admit, was a pleasant one, and, despite a slight feeling of nervousness (which, however, young sutcliffe did not appear to share), i quite enjoyed the journey to my flat.
-there were, fortunately, but very few people about, and we arrived at the door without attracting much attention.
-one nervous old lady, at whose feet we descended somewhat suddenly, did threaten to call the police--saying rather angrily that "what with motor-cars and such-like," she "didn't know what we were a-coming to, and it wasn't safe for a respectable lady to walk about the streets, what with one thing and another."
-i managed, however, to soothe her ruffled feelings, and, rolling the rug up carefully, we went up to the flat. i threw myself into a chair in the study, thoroughly tired out and not a little bewildered by the strange events of the morning.
-lionel, however, was full of excitement, and eager to be off again for a ride on the marvellous magic carpet.
-"i say! you know! but it's the rippingest thing i've ever heard of. why, we'll be able to go anywhere. just think what an awful lot we'll save in railway fares and cabs and those sort of things. i suppose anybody can use it?" he inquired, turning to shin shira.
-"oh yes, of course," declared the little yellow dwarf, "so long as you say, out loud, where you want to go to."
-"oh! do let's go out again--just for a little while," pleaded lionel. "can't we go to gammage's? he lives over at wimbledon. it's quite easy to get to, and it won't take long. we could be back to lunch, and i should so like him to see the magic carpet. do come, sir."
-"no," i replied, shaking my head, "i'm too tired. you two can go if you like, only be back in an hour and a half."
-"oh, jolly!" cried lionel. "come on, please--let's start at once."
-and he picked up the carpet under his arm.
-"i think it would attract less attention if, instead of starting from the pavement, we went out of the window," said shin shira. "what do you say?"
-"by all means," i replied, "if you think best," for you see, having ridden on it myself, i felt perfectly safe in trusting my young cousin on the magic carpet, and i felt sure that shin shira would not let him come to any harm.
-so we opened the window, and a minute later the two were gaily floating away out of sight, both energetically waving their pocket-handkerchiefs until they disappeared.
-i could tell by the noise in the street that their strange method of conveyance was attracting considerable attention; but as i felt thankful to note, no one seemed to connect their appearance with my rooms.
-the next hour or so passed quickly enough, and i did not begin to get in the least anxious till i heard the clock strike two, and then i suddenly realised that they were over half-an-hour late.
-"oh, they're all right," i consoled myself with thinking. "i expect gammage is so interested in the wonderful carpet that they can't get away."
-when three hours had passed, however, and there was no sign of their return, i began to get seriously alarmed.
-"what can have happened?" i thought, and, to add to my discomfiture, a telegram arrived from lionel's parents inquiring if he had arrived in london safely from marlborough.
-i was able to reply, truthfully, that he had arrived safely, but, as hour after hour passed by without any trace of either shin shira or the boy, i became more and more disturbed.
-at last i could stand it no longer, but putting on my hat, i hurried off to the nearest police station.
-"h'm! what do you say, sir?" said the police inspector whom i found there, seated before a large open book, when in a broken voice i had hurriedly explained that i feared that my young cousin was lost. "went off in company with a foreign-looking gent--just describe him to me, please, as near as you can."
-i described shin shira's appearance as accurately as i could, and the police inspector looked up hurriedly and gave me a searching glance.
-"do you mean to say the gent was going about the streets dressed like that?" he asked, when i had told him about shin shira's yellow costume and turban.
-"yes," i replied in some confusion, "he is a foreigner, you know, and--"
-"where does he come from?"
-"from japan, i think, or china, or--"
-"what's his name?"
-"shin shira scaramanga manousa yama hama is his full name, but--"
-the police inspector laid down his pen and stared again at me.
-"it's a curious name," said he; "i'll get you to write it down for me. i don't think i should be surprised at anything happening to anyone with a name like that. where do you say they were going?"
-"well," i explained, "they set out to go to wimbledon to see a--"
-"wimbledon? let's see, from kensington they'd go by train i suppose, from high street station, and change at--"
-"no, no," i interrupted, "they didn't go by train at all, they--" and here i paused, for i suddenly reflected how exceedingly unlikely the inspector would be to believe me if i told him exactly how they set out for wimbledon. "you see," i began by way of explanation, "i bought a rug this morning that--"
-"excuse me, sir," said the inspector somewhat impatiently, "would you mind keeping to the subject. how did mr. shin--er--the foreigner i mean, and your cousin go to wimbledon? if they didn't go by train, did they drive or go by motor, or what?"
-"well, i was trying to tell you. you see, i bought a rug this morning, that--"
-"i don't want to hear about your rug, sir," said the inspector quite angrily. "if you wish us to try and find the young gentleman you must answer my questions properly. how did he set out to go to wimbledon? come, come! let's begin at the beginning. which way did they turn when they left your door?"
-"you see, they didn't exactly leave by the door," i began.
-"how did they go then, out of the window?" asked the inspector in a somewhat sarcastic voice.
-"yes," i replied, "that's just how they did go."
-the inspector looked bewildered.
-"look here, sir," he said at last, "you told me when you gave me your name and address that you lived in a flat at kensington on the second floor, and now you tell me that your cousin and a foreign gentleman with an outlandish name and dressed like a guy fawkes, left your house by the window. really!"
-"so they did," i explained; "you see, i bought a rug this morning that--"
-"bother the rug, sir!" shouted the inspector, angrily throwing down his pen.
-"if you won't listen to what i have to say," i said with some amount of dignity, "how can i possibly tell you what i know? i am endeavouring to explain that my cousin and the gentleman left in a very remarkable manner by means of a magic carpet, which--"
-i went to several other stations, and finally to scotland yard, but i could get no one to believe my extraordinary story; and at last i went to bed quite bewildered and in a terribly anxious frame of mind, leaving the lights burning and the windows wide open in case the wanderers returned during the night.
-the next day, not hearing any news, i was obliged to telegraph for lionel's father and mother; and i had a terrible scene with them, for they reproached me over and over again for letting their son venture out upon the magic carpet.
-"you must have known," said my aunt tearfully, "that it was dangerous to trust to such heathenish and out-of-date methods of travelling, and now the poor dear boy is probably transformed or bewitched, or done something terrible to by this wretched yellow dwarf friend of yours, with the awful name. it's really disgraceful of you to have let him go at all!"
-and so, amid the most bitter reproaches, although i left no stone unturned in my hopeless search for lionel and shin shira, several days flew by, till one morning i nearly leaped from my chair in surprise and delight, at seeing the following report in the paper--
-"extraordinary rescue at sea
-"by marconigram comes a message from mid-ocean that two days ago the s.s. ruby, from liverpool to new york, picked up at sea, under extraordinary circumstances, an english school-boy who states that he was travelling by means of a magic carpet, which he was unable to manage. he was found to be in a state of complete exhaustion, but has since recovered, and appears to be a lively, intelligent lad. he will be landed at new york."
-it is needless to say that my uncle and myself lost no time in putting ourselves in communication with the steamship people, and of course found that the rescued lad was no other than lionel.
-his father and i crossed over by the next boat, and found him happy and well and being made a tremendous fuss of by everybody at the hotel where we had arranged for him to stay till our arrival.
-"of course," he explained in telling us all about it, "everything went all right at first, and we went to gammage's house in no time, but he was out. we landed in the garden, and nobody saw us, and i went up to the front door and knocked, and when i found gammage wasn't at home i just went back to shin shira and asked where else we could go, because i didn't want to go home so soon.
-"'how would you like to go over to france?' he said; 'we could do it in about twenty minutes.'
-"so of course i said yes, and we were crossing the channel all right when he suddenly began to disappear.
-"you can guess i was in an awful funk when i found myself alone on the beastly old carpet, and i couldn't manage it at all. i suppose it was because i couldn't speak the language; shin shira used arabic or something, wasn't it? i tried all sorts of things too, a little bit of french--you know, 'avez-vous la plume de ma soeur?' and 'donnez-moi du pain,' and things like that out of my french exercises, but it didn't do any good: we only went out to sea.
-"then when i got to new york your cable message was there waiting for me, so i knew it was all right."
-we were very thankful to have found the boy again, and within three weeks we were happily home once more, and the adventure with the magic carpet was a thing of the past.
-the carpet itself was left floating out at sea, and from that day to this i have not heard of it again.
-mystery no. iv
-shin shira and the duchess
-it all began with the collar-stud--at least i put it down at that.
-you see, i was dressing rather nervously to go to a charity "at home" at the duchess of kingslake's. i had not met the lady previously, but some young friends of mine had been invited to the "at home," and they had persuaded the duchess to ask me too.
-i do not know many titled people, and had never before visited a real live duchess, so i was just telling myself that i must really be on my very best behaviour, and above all, that i must not be late in arriving. the card had mentioned "4 to 6.30," and it was past three o'clock now.
-i was just struggling to fix my collar, which was rather stiff and tight, when suddenly the stud popped out and rolled away to--where?
-down i got on my hands and knees, and groped about in every direction that i could think of. i lit a candle, and searched in every available hiding-place; but no--no collar-stud could be anywhere found.
-and the time was going on. i rang the bell for mrs. putchy, my housekeeper.
-"please, mrs. putchy, send at once to the nearest hosier's and buy me a plain collar-stud, and kindly ask mary to get back as quickly as possible. i am expecting the cab every moment."
-"it is at the door, sir," said mrs. putchy; "and i don't know, i'm sure, where mary will be able to get a collar-stud for you to-day. this is thursday, you know, sir, early closing day."
-too true. it was indeed most unfortunate. in my neighbourhood all the shops close at two o'clock thursdays, and it would have been as easy to buy a collar-stud as an elephant at kensington just then.
-what was to be done?
-a sudden inspiration struck me.
-i ran across to the study, and undoing my desk, i found a little yellow-covered book attached to a golden chain which i had picked up just after my friend shin shira had vanished the last time he had visited me.
-it was the book which the fairies had given him, and contained directions as to what to do when in any difficulty. i hurriedly turned to the letter c, intending to look for "collar-stud"--but, to my great disappointment, there was no such word to be found.
-"of course not," i suddenly thought; "the people who live in the land from which shin shira comes don't wear such things," and i let my mind wander back to my little friend with his yellow silk costume and turban.
-"hullo! though," i exclaimed a moment later, "what's this?"
-my eyes had caught the words "to obtain your wishes" at the top of one of the pages.
-i hastily read what followed, and gathered from what was written that anybody could have at least two wishes granted by the fairies if he only went about it in the right way and followed the given directions closely. it appeared that one must hop round three times, first on one foot and then on the other, repeating the following words aloud, and wishing very hard--
-"fairies! fairies! grant my wishes, you can do so if you will, birds and beasts and little fishes one and all obey you still. fairies! please to show me how you can grant my wishes now."
-of course i immediately wished for a collar-stud, and i was just hopping round on my right leg for the third time, having begun with the left one, when mrs. putchy entered the room.
-she looked rather surprised at seeing me engaged in what must have seemed to her rather an extraordinary occupation, but she is so used to strange things happening with me that she made no remark, except to point to a spot just in front of the fire-place, where, to my great surprise, i could see the very collar-stud which i had wanted.
-"the cabman, sir, is getting impatient," said mrs. putchy, as she put down my coat and hat which she had thoughtfully brought to my room.
-"well, we won't keep him waiting long now," i smilingly said as i hurriedly completed my dressing, and a very few minutes later, the cab was quickly bowling me towards my destination.
-the mansion near grosvenor square, at which the duchess resided, was a very grand one, and red carpet was laid down the steps and across the pavement for the convenience of the guests, who were arriving in large numbers at the same time as myself. fortunately, just inside the hall i met my little friends the verrinder children; vera, the little girl, looking very pretty in her white party frock; and her two brothers, dick and fidge, full of excitement and high spirits.
-they fastened on me at once and dragged me most unceremoniously up to our hostess, who it appears was vera's godmother, and introduced me in their own fashion.
-"this is the gentleman who tells stories, godmamma," said vera.
-"and knows all about the wallypug and the dodo and shin shira, and all sorts of things," declared dick.
-"and if you ask him--" began fidge, when the duchess interrupted him.
-"really, children, you mustn't rattle on so. i am very pleased to meet your friend, and i trust that he will have an enjoyable afternoon," and the lady smiled graciously and held out the tips of her fingers for me to shake.
-i bowed as politely as i knew how, and, following the children, was soon in the large drawing-room, which was already half filled with young people who had come to the "at home."
-it appeared that a very grand personage indeed was to be present. a real live princess was coming to receive purses of money which the children had collected themselves, on behalf of the poor and sick in the east-end of london; and, after the purses had been given, there was to be a kind of concert and entertainment.
-footmen were walking about with tea and cakes of all sorts, and the time passed very pleasantly, till presently there was a commotion at the door, and her royal highness the princess entered and was led to the end of the room, where a tiny little girl presented a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
-the princess made a gracious little speech, saying how glad she was to come on behalf of the poor people to receive the purses of money which the children had collected; and then as they passed up one by one and laid their purses on the silver tray beside her, she had a smile and a little happy nod for each of them.
-it was a very pretty sight, but soon over, for the princess, who is devoted to good works, had to hurry away to another work of charity in a distant part of london.
-we were all sorry when she went, but were not allowed to get dull, for almost immediately afterwards the concert began.
-several ladies and gentlemen sang, and a wonderful boy-pianist played some music of his own composing; a little girl played the violin delightfully; and a very humorous gentleman was giving a musical sketch at the piano and making us all laugh very much, when i suddenly noticed that the duchess, who was sitting by herself on a settee, had raised her lorgnette and was staring curiously, and rather apprehensively, at something beside her.
-it was yellow in colour and seemed to grow larger every minute. i had imagined at first that it was a cushion, but now it suddenly occurred to me that it was shin shira appearing.
-of course! and a minute or two later there he sat, cross-legged, composedly fanning himself on the settee beside the duchess.
-i could see her draw her skirts aside and regard the little yellow dwarf in a puzzled and bewildered manner; and, as soon as the musical sketch was concluded, she called one of the footmen to her and told him to "remove that extraordinary-looking person immediately."
-vera and the boys, however, had caught sight of shin shira, and flew forward to claim acquaintance with him.
-"it's shin shira, you know, godmamma. he's a friend of the gentleman who came with us--and--"
-"he was not invited," said the duchess, looking with great disfavour at the little yellow dwarf, "and it was exceedingly impertinent of your friend to bring him without an invitation--i am displeased."
-"madam," said shin shira, getting down to the floor and bowing low in the oriental manner, "you are mistaken in thinking that i came with a friend. i--er--appeared, because i was obliged to do so--i--"
-the duchess came over to where i was sitting.
-"do you know this person?" she inquired, pointing with her glasses towards shin shira. "who and what is he? did you bring him here, and if so why?"
-"i am acquainted with the gentleman, duchess," i admitted, "but he did not come with me. i can tell you, however, that now he is here he can be made very useful in entertaining your guests--he is a conjurer of very remarkable powers, and i've no doubt whatever but that he would be only too happy to exercise them for the amusement of the company."
-"that is a different matter," said the duchess, evidently somewhat mollified. "you may introduce me."
-i went to fetch shin shira, and had soon performed the necessary ceremony.
-"the duchess would be very much obliged if you would perform some conjuring tricks, as i know you will do with pleasure," i whispered.
-"delighted, i'm sure," replied the little yellow dwarf; "that is one thing which i flatter myself i can do very well, owing to my fairy powers," and so it was arranged that he was to begin immediately.
-i cannot possibly tell you of all the wonderful things he showed us. he made flowers grow straight up from the carpet, and turned a gentleman's walking-stick into a kind of christmas-tree, upon which hung a little present for every child in the room: a fan for each of the ladies, and a suitable gift for each of the gentlemen.
-this was a most popular trick, it is needless to say, and the numerous ladies and gentlemen who had by this time joined the party were as delighted as were the children themselves.
-shin shira had become quite a centre of attraction, and the duchess smiled at me approvingly.
-"your friend is a great acquisition," she remarked, coming over to the settee on which i was seated. "look! look! whatever is he going to do now?"
-i was as interested and puzzled as herself, for, knowing of the extraordinary powers which my little friend possessed, i could never be sure what to expect from him in the way of the marvellous.
-this time it was really a most interesting trick.
-first of all he turned an inkstand into a large clear crystal bowl, and placed it on a little table which stood in front of him. then he asked for anything to be given to him which the owner wished to disappear.
-several gentlemen gave their watches, and one or two ladies laughingly took off their bracelets and handed them to shin shira, who immediately placed them in the crystal bowl.
-to our utter astonishment, each article as it was placed into the bowl vanished from sight, and shin shira turned the bowl upside down to show that nothing was inside.
-"it's really most marvellous," murmured the duchess, taking off a most valuable diamond ornament and handing it to the yellow dwarf. "please make this disappear too. i shall value it more highly than ever if i know that it has been through such a wonderful adventure."
-shin shira bowed, and taking the jewelled ornament from the lady, he dropped it into the bowl, where it at once shared the same fate as the other articles.
-"ha! hum!" said a grave and somewhat pompous voice, "our friend here might readily become a very dangerous person if he exercised his remarkable gifts in private, and made things disappear in this extraordinary fashion, and then refused to produce them again. eh? ha! hum!"
-"yes--ha! ha! very good. ha! ha!" laughed a number of people who were standing near to the guest who had spoken.
-"that's the lord chief justice," explained a gentleman who stood near me. "that's why everybody is laughing; it's considered very improper not to laugh when the lord chief justice makes a joke--however feeble it is."
-i hardly listened to what he was saying, though, for i had suddenly noticed something which caused me a good deal of anxiety.
-shin shira was beginning to look very thin and vapoury about the head, and, while i was watching him, to my horror, he began to vanish piecemeal till he had entirely disappeared from sight, after giving me a strange, apologetic look.
-the people clapped and stamped and laughed, evidently imagining that it was all part of the trick--but i--i knew differently, and scarcely dared realise what it all meant for me.
-for a few minutes everybody waited patiently for him to appear again, and clapped and stamped in great good humour. presently, however, they began to get rather tired and impatient, and, after we had waited for about twenty minutes, the delay began to get very awkward.
-"why doesn't he come back?" inquired the duchess, in an impatient voice, coming over to where i was standing. "the delay is becoming very embarrassing."
-i turned very red, i am afraid, for i hardly liked to explain that the probability was that he would not come back at all.
-"several of my guests are wanting to go early, and they must have their jewellery before they depart," she continued. "can you not tell him to hurry up?"
-"i--i--i--am--afraid n--not," i stammered.
-"but you must," insisted the lady. "he's your friend, and you brought him here, and i shall look to you to--"
-"yes, you simply must fetch him back somehow," said the duchess, clutching my arm nervously. "you see my guests are beginning to get alarmed. you must!--you must!"
-"b-but i can't--it's impossible," i endeavoured to explain.
-the duchess grew pale. "do you mean to say," she gasped, "that the man has really disappeared--and--and taken the things with him? it's too terrible--too dreadful! what am i to do? and all my guests! what will they think of me? oh! do--do--do something! i don't mind so much about my beautiful diamond pendant, but do somehow get back the things belonging to my guests. you brought him here. you must!"
-the grown-up guests were whispering together in little anxious and indignant groups, and things were beginning to look very serious--so serious that i sank into a chair and buried my head in my hands, trying to think of some possible way out of the difficulty.
-the duchess was almost in tears, and several ladies were trying to console her, when suddenly i thought of a means of escape. of course! the wish! i had another wish left according to what the little book had told me. i had wished for a collar-stud, and had found my own. perhaps if i wished for the jewellery--
-the thought no sooner entered my head than i jumped up and began hopping on one leg repeating--
-"fairies, fairies! grant my wishes, you can do so if you will, birds and beasts and--"
-"oh, he's mad, he's gone mad. hold him, somebody!" cried the duchess when she saw me hopping about in what must have appeared to her a most eccentric manner; but, though several gentlemen came up and caught hold of me, i managed to get round three times on one leg, and three times on the other, repeating the magic rhyme, and then i wished--wished as hard as ever i could--for the jewellery to be found, before i sank down exhausted with my struggle.
-then a most remarkable thing happened, for the gentleman who had been pointed out to me as the lord chief justice, and who had apparently been more indignant than anyone else at the disappearance of the jewellery, suddenly began behaving in a very strange manner too, diving his hands first into one pocket and then into another and muttering--"strange! remarkable! most extraordinary!" and finally drawing out from every part of his clothing watches, chains, rings, bracelets and jewellery of all kinds, till every missing article, including the duchess's diamond pendant, was restored to its proper owner.
-there was a pause at first, and then everybody began to talk at once--laughing and protesting that "of course they all knew it was part of the trick, and they weren't really anxious at all," and so on, and i knew that the situation was saved.
-even the duchess beamed and admitted that it was "really quite the most marvellous performance she had ever seen," and thanked me over and over again for having introduced such a remarkable conjurer to her party. the guests were all equally delighted, and amidst the laughter and chatter that followed, the verrinder children and myself made good our escape, and i felt very thankful that the fairies' "wish" had got me out of what at one time bid fair to have been a very awkward predicament.
-the duchess called on me the next day to thank me again, and to ask where she might write to my little friend to thank him also. this information, however, i was naturally unable to impart.
-mystery no. v
-shin shira and the lame duck
-it was during the summer holidays and my young cousin lionel was staying with me again. we had been spending the hot afternoon strolling about kensington gardens, and had just been enjoying a cup of tea and some cakes under the trees at the little refreshment place near the albert memorial.
-"i think we'd better be going home now," i said. "we'll get a motor-'bus at the gate."
-"oh! must we go yet?" pleaded lionel. "it's so jolly out here under the trees. let's walk home past the round pond."
-"i've some letters to write before dinner," said i, "but--"
-"oh, bother the old letters!" interrupted lionel. "it won't take much longer to walk, and you'll get them done all right. come on!"
-with a sigh of resignation, i not altogether unwillingly let the young scamp have his way.
-it was the best part of the day: the lengthening shadows and the cool breeze which had sprung up made walking very enjoyable.
-we had nearly reached the round pond when i heard a startled "squ-a-a-k!" at my feet, and a lame duck struggled up from the grass and limped painfully off.
-"some boys," said an indistinct voice close at hand, "some boys threw a stone at it this afternoon and injured its leg."
-we looked round in great surprise, for there seemed to be nobody about to account for the voice; but presently i could just discern shin shira's face and yellow turban appearing.
-"can't shake hands yet," said he, nodding amiably, "for they haven't arrived at present, but i've no doubt they'll be here shortly."
-"i wonder how he'd get on if he wanted to scratch his nose," whispered lionel, who had a keen sense of the ridiculous.
-"it's rude to whisper in company," said shin shira severely, evidently aware that some remark had been made about himself--"but there, you're only a boy, and boys are--hullo! here come my legs! that's all right! i thought i shouldn't have to wait long for them. where are you off to?" and the little yellow dwarf hurried up to us now that he was quite complete.
-"oh, we're just walking home," i replied, "only lionel had a fancy to pass the round pond on our way; the little model yachts one often sees there are very amusing to watch."
-"yes," agreed shin shira. "there's one been left behind to-day," he continued. "the boys who threw the stone at the duck were seen by the park keeper, and when he came after them they ran away, leaving their boat behind them. serve them right if they lose it."
-"oh, yes! there it is now!" cried lionel, running towards the edge of the round pond. "what a jolly little yacht. why, it's a perfect model," and he regarded it with the greatest admiration. he took it from the water and inspected it carefully.
-"i say!" he cried excitedly, "wouldn't it be ripping if we could become small enough to go for a sail in it!"
-"it's a very simple matter to arrange, if you wish it," remarked shin shira composedly.
-"d-do you really m-mean that it would be possible for you to make us as tiny as that?" stammered lionel in his eagerness, his eyes bright with excitement.
-"i couldn't do it, but the fairies might," said the dwarf, taking up the little yellow book which i had restored to him after our last adventure.
-"but should we be able to return to our proper size again?" i inquired carefully, for i remembered from previous experience that shin shira's magical powers had an unfortunate habit of going wrong at times.
-"without the least doubt," replied he; "in fact, from the time that you are reduced to the size which you desire to be, you very gradually increase, till your original size is reached."
-"then there's no danger?" i hazarded.
-"none whatever," was the reassuring reply.
-"then do, do please let us be 'reduced,'" pleaded lionel eagerly.
-"very well, then," said i. "and do you propose that we should go for a trip in the model yacht?"
-"of course!" declared lionel.
-"put it in the water then," said shin shira, "and i'll see what i can do."
-lionel quickly put down the boat, and stood watching shin shira to see what would happen.
-the little yellow dwarf was busily gathering pebbles from the edge of the pond, examining each carefully, and then throwing them down again in what appeared to be an aimless and unintelligible manner.
-presently, however, he said, "there's one," and putting a stone carefully away in his belt, he continued to search till he had found another like it.
-"and there's the other," he said, coming towards us.
-"now then, all you have to do is to swallow these two little white stones and wish to be--let's see--an inch and a quarter high, and there you are."
-"it seems rather a venturesome proceeding," i said, hesitatingly.
-"oh no! it'll be all right! come along! let's swallow them!" cried lionel, suiting the action to the word and popping one of the stones into his mouth without further ado.
-he immediately became so small that i had some difficulty in seeing him at all amongst the stones at the edge of the pond.
-"are you not going to swallow one of the stones too?" i inquired of the dwarf before swallowing mine.
-"no, i think not," was the reply. "i'll remain as i am, i think, in case you may require assistance of a kind which only a larger person than yourself could afford."
-i then swallowed my stone, and immediately became almost as tiny as my small cousin, having, for my part, wished to be reduced to the height of an inch and a half, thinking that some sort of distinction ought to be preserved in our relative sizes.
-"there!" exclaimed lionel in a vexed voice, when i had joined him. "it's no use after all! how on earth are we going to get on board?"
-"ah!" cried shin shira, laughing good-humouredly and now looking, to us, like a good-natured giant, towering as he did high above our heads. "now you see the wisdom of my having remained as i am. i can simply lift you on board and push the boat off for you too."
-suiting the action to the word, he very gently and carefully picked up first lionel and then me from the ground and placed us on board the yacht, then gave the boat a little shove which, though he didn't intend it to do so, sent us both sprawling on the deck and the boat itself well out into the water.
-i think i have mentioned that a slight breeze had sprung up, and the pond was rippled over with tiny waves, upon which our yacht danced merrily, the sails having filled out with wind which drove her along at a fine rate.
-lionel was running all over the deck examining everything eagerly.
-"i wish there was a real cabin," he said; "this is only a dummy one, and i find a lot of the ropes to the sails won't act properly. i wonder how you steer the thing, too."
-"by means of the rudder, i should imagine," i said.
-"of course!" exclaimed lionel impatiently; "any baby would know that; but this one is fastened up so tightly that i can't move it."
-"hullo! look at that!" cried lionel a moment or two later, pointing to the shore.
-the lame duck had been disturbed by shin shira's passing, and was slowly waddling towards the water.
-"she's coming in!" declared lionel. "by jove! doesn't she look a size now we're so tiny!"
-somewhat to our dismay, she seemed impelled by some vague curiosity to swim in our direction, and the situation began to get distinctly alarming as she drew nearer and nearer.
-"what on earth shall we do?" exclaimed lionel. "i hope to goodness she isn't going to attack us. it would be too silly to be swallowed by a duck."
-"i fancy she's only coming to have a look at us," i said, "and at any rate, if we shouted at her loudly if she came too near it would probably frighten her away."
-this seemed to be the only thing to do, and as the duck continued to swim directly towards us we both began to shout and wave our arms about in what must have appeared to shin shira a perfectly mad fashion.
-the noise, however, seemed to have the desired effect, for the duck paused, looked at us in a puzzled manner for a moment, and then turned tail and began moistening her bill in the water, lifting her head and shaking it after each mouthful, as their habit is.
-"i wish she'd get out of the way," said lionel anxiously. "we shall run into her directly, she's right in our course," and he began to shout vigorously again, in the hope of startling her.
-i added my voice to his, and we both yelled our loudest, with not the slightest effect, however, for the duck continued unconcernedly to enjoy herself in her own fashion in the middle of the lake. presently what lionel had feared came to pass, and with a bump which sent us both off our feet, the yacht was driven straight on to the duck, which gave a terrific "quack!" and swam off in a hurry.
-"our bowsprit's broken," announced lionel, directly he had recovered his feet, "and it's fallen in the water and is dragging the sails with it--and--look out!" this as a gust of wind filled the mainsail and caused the boat to careen over on to her side in a highly dangerous manner.
-"look out!" and this time another and a stronger gust completed the matter, and the sail touched the water and immediately became saturated, so that the boat could not right itself.
-"well, we shan't sink, that's one thing," i said, for lionel was looking at me in an alarmed manner. "the water cannot get into the hull, thanks to there not being a 'real' cabin and the hatches only being sham ones."
-"that's all very well," said lionel, though giving a little sigh of relief at my reassuring words, "but we can't stop here for ever. i should like to know how we are to get ashore."
-shin shira, who had seen our accident, was shouting and gesticulating at the edge of the pond, but the wind was blowing in his direction and carried the sound of his voice away from us, so that we couldn't hear a single word of what he was saying.
-"i suppose eventually we shall drift ashore," i said hopefully.
-"yes, but not for hours and hours perhaps," said lionel dolefully, "because the wind may change, you know, and besides it's getting dusk."
-"it certainly isn't a very pleasant look-out," i agreed. "i can't see what we are to do, unless--i say! what's that big box floating towards us?"
-lionel looked in the direction in which i was pointing.
-"it's an empty match-box," he said uninterestedly; "that's no good."
-"i'm not so sure about that," said i. "try and get hold of it as it drifts this way. i've an idea."
-"i can't see what good an empty match-box can be to us," grumbled lionel, doing his best, however, to aid me in capturing the prize as it blew against the side of the overturned yacht, which we at last did with some difficulty.
-it was a very large box and had evidently been in the water for some time; the paper around it had become unstuck from the sides and hung loose in the water beside it.
-"we must get the paper at all cost, and pray be careful not to tear it," i cried.
-"whatever for?" asked lionel in amazement.
-"do as you're told and don't ask questions," i replied rather crossly, for i was very anxious to try an experiment which i had in my mind. so we hauled the paper aboard and stretched it on the bulwarks to dry.
-then we hauled the broken bowsprit aboard and freed it from the broken ropes with our pen-knives--a long and difficult job--and by the time we had finished, the paper which had been around the box had become dry and quite stiff by reason of the gum with which it had been stuck to the sides of the box.
-"oh, i see!" cried lionel, as i clambered on to the box (which was fastened by a rope to the side of the yacht) and began to cut a hole in the middle. "you're going to make a raft."
-"i'm going to try to," i answered grimly, for i wasn't at all sure that my experiment would be a success.
-by dint of real hard work, cutting and contriving, however, we did eventually succeed in making a raft of a sort, the stiff paper, fixed to the broken bowsprit, making a capital sail; and somewhat in fear and trembling, we both got aboard and pushed off from the derelict yacht.
-all went well for some time till we were nearing the shore, and then i noticed something which caused me grave alarm.
-we were both growing rapidly! the raft, which had before been quite large enough to support us, was now low down in the water with our weight, and there was great danger of the water getting into the inside of the box, in which case it would undoubtedly sink.
-lionel noticed the difficulty at the same time as myself, for he gave me a startled glance.
-"we're getting bigger," he said. "do you think the raft will hold out?"
-"i don't think so," i replied, "but we're quite near the water's edge now--perhaps i could swim ashore with you."
-"good gracious! i can swim twice that distance myself, thank you. why, i beat mullings major hollow in the swimming competition last term, and he's four years older than me, and--"
-whatever lionel was going to add was lost, for at that instant he had to put his boasted prowess to the test. the box, having filled with water just as i had feared it would do, sank slowly down, and we were left in the water.
-fortunately lionel's boast was not a vain one, and he reached the shore before i did, laughing and wringing the water out of his clothes.
-"well, it's good to be on dry land once more at any rate," he said, as i waded ashore, "isn't it?"
-"yes," i agreed, looking about to see if i could discover any traces of shin shira in the dusk.
-"there he is!" at last cried lionel, "but his head has vanished, and there are only his legs and arms waving about. they won't be much use to us, and--by jove! yes! look, here comes that wretched old duck after us. we'll have to cut," and he gathered up his things and set the example.
-it was quite true; the old duck had evidently come to the conclusion that we were something dainty to eat--in the frog line probably--and was waddling towards us as quickly as her game leg would allow.
-fortunately we were soon able to out-distance her; and having fixed our latitude by kensington palace, which we could just see in the distance, we set out for the gate.
-to our tiny, but rapidly growing bodies the distance seemed an interminable one, especially as darkness was now quickly falling. we could see the lights in kensington, but they seemed far, far away; and to add to our dismay, when at last, tired and exhausted, we did reach the gate, it was only to find it closed for the night, and that during our journey from the pond we had grown too big to be able to squeeze through the railings.
-we waited a few minutes uncertain what to do, till presently a cab came in sight, the horse walking leisurely and the cabby evidently on the look-out for a fare.
-"cabby! cabby!" i called, and lionel added his shrill voice to mine.
-the cabman looked about in bewilderment.
-"here, by the park gates!" i yelled, and he got down from his seat and came over to where we were standing.
-"well, i'm blowed!" he exclaimed when he had had a good look at us. "what the dickens are you? kids or dwarfs or what?"
-"never mind what we are, cabby; get us out of here somehow, and drive us home to kensington square, and i'll give you a sovereign."
-"will you, though?" said the cabby. "well, i'm gaun to do it, but the question is--how? i'll go and knock up the park keeper."
-"no, no, don't do that!" i said hastily. "he'll want such a lot of explanations, and we're wet and uncomfortable and anxious to get home. do please try and think of some way of getting us out without having to call him."
-our cabby was a man of resource, for having considered for a moment, he backed the horse close against the gate, stood on the top and lowered the horse's nosebag by means of a long rope which he kept by him in case of emergencies, and cried--
-"now then, get in there, one at a time, and i'll soon have you over here."
-lionel got in first, and as the cabby had said, was easily hauled up and deposited on the top of the cab.
-i followed, and in a very short space of time we were both inside the cab and rattling home at a good pace.
-i got the cabby to knock at the door, and mrs. putchy, to whom i quickly explained everything, gave him a sovereign for me. in a very few minutes lionel and i were warm and comfortable each in our respective beds.
-in the morning we had both grown to our original sizes, and the adventure of the day before was nothing but a memory.
-mystery no. vi
-shin shira and the diamond
-i was exceedingly surprised a few weeks after our latest adventure with the little yellow dwarf to receive the following extraordinary letter from him. it was dated from baghdad, and bore two very unusual postage stamps, which lionel promptly claimed for his collection.
-"kind and obliging sir," it began, "i am in great and serious trouble and in danger of my life, and i appeal to you to come to my assistance by the first boat. i will explain everything when we meet, but kindly do not delay, as everything depends upon your presence here.
-"again beseeching you not to delay, "your miserable and much-afflicted friend, "shin shira scaramanga manousa yama hawa.
-"well!" i exclaimed, after perusing this remarkable epistle, "of all the extraordinary requests i have ever received this is the strangest. this man, whom i have only met at the most half-a-dozen times in my life, expects me to neglect my work and rush off to baghdad, of all places in the world, to his assistance, because he has got into some trouble which has landed him in the state prison there. i always thought somehow that those uncanny powers which he possesses would get him into serious difficulties at some time or another. i'll send him a letter stating that i cannot go to him." and here i endeavoured to dismiss shin shira and his affairs from my mind.
-i was so worried about the matter, however, that i couldn't settle to work, so i lit my pipe and settled myself in my easy-chair to think the matter out.
-poor little fellow! if he really was in such desperate straits it seemed very heartless to leave him to his fate if in any way i could be of real assistance to him; and, after all, i could work almost as well while i was away as i could at home, and the voyage would probably give me plenty of new ideas for my book. i thought of all the kind things the little chap had done for me, and how he had always somehow come to the rescue when i had been in difficulties in my adventures with him; and finally i came to the conclusion that it would be most ungrateful and selfish of me if i let anything stand in the way of my going to my friend's assistance.
-i had no sooner made up my mind on this point than i called a cab and set out at once for messrs. cook's office and booked a passage by the next steamer.
-i will not tell you anything about the somewhat uninteresting journey either by sea or land, with the exception that when i at last stepped ashore in an oriental port, i found in the curious costumes and strange surroundings many things to amuse me and to wonder at.
-the entire journey on the whole, however, was decidedly tedious, and i was very glad to find myself at last in the ancient city of baghdad.
-i went at once to the british consul there and told him my object in coming to the city.
-"shin shira!" he exclaimed. "why, there is scarcely anything talked about in these days but shin shira. he has stolen one of the most valuable crown jewels, and was caught with it in his possession. despite the indisputable evidence against him, however, he persists in declaring his innocence, and pleads that, with the assistance of a friend from london, he can prove it conclusively. i suppose, sir, that you are the friend from london."
-"i should be very glad to think so," said the consul, shaking his head, "but i fear it is hopeless. you see, the stone--an almost priceless diamond--was actually found in his possession. but come, you will be anxious to see your friend as soon as possible. i will come with you to the prison and see that you are admitted."
-the kind-hearted official called his carriage, and together we drove through the unfamiliar narrow streets to the dismal-looking building in which my poor friend was confined.
-a brief consultation with the authorities and the signing of various papers made me free to enter the prison, and having thanked the consul for his kind offices, i was led away by one of the officials to a terribly dark dungeon, in which, crouched in a corner, i found my poor friend shin shira, looking the picture of misery.
-his face lit up with a smile of hope, however, when he saw me, and his whole aspect changed.
-"my friend! my deliverer!" he cried, using all kinds of extravagant oriental phrases to express his delight at seeing me. "ah! at last you have come, and i shall be saved! may all the blessings of allah be on your head!"
-the official withdrew, locking the door carefully behind him, having first given me to understand by various signs that he would return for me in about half-an-hour.
-"well, now," i inquired, when we were alone, "what is this terrible trouble which has brought you here? what have you been doing?"
-"nothing!" declared shin shira solemnly. "nothing whatever to merit this punishment. it is all a horrible mistake. let me begin at the beginning. about two months ago, after a series of my usual adventures, i suddenly appeared here in baghdad. now i have been acquainted with the city for many, many years--in fact, ever since the time of sinbad the sailor, whom i knew quite well, and with whom i was at one time very friendly. well, i have many times appeared here since then, and on each occasion i have taken a great interest in the place on account of old associations. i have made many friends here, too; so when i found myself here once more i was greatly delighted, and was making my way to the bazaar, where i knew i should be sure to find some acquaintances, when greatly to my surprise i saw several passers-by stop and stare at me curiously and then, whispering amongst themselves, follow me at some distance behind.
-"it could not be my clothing which was attracting all this attention, for it was more or less of the same pattern to which they were accustomed. i caught sight of myself in a polished steel mirror in one of the shops in the bazaar, and stole a glance at myself, but could see nothing wrong. what could be the cause? i had not long to wait, however, before i found out to my cost what was wrong.
-"the crowd following me had increased in size, and at last two enormous men in uniform came up and seized me by my arms, and i was immediately surrounded by a throng of curious faces.
-"'where did you get that diamond?' demanded one of my captors, pointing to my turban, in which, as you know, i always wear the jewel which the princess gave me.
-"'oh that! that was given to me many years ago by a friend--a princess--who has been dead now for many hundreds of years,' i said.
-"'many hundreds of years? and you say she was a friend of yours?' exclaimed the man. 'absurd!'
-"'preposterous!' declared the other. 'look here! if you can't give us some more reasonable explanation than that, we shall take you off at once to the chief magistrate, and charge you with having stolen it.'
-"'but why?' i gasped. 'why should you think that i have stolen it?'
-"'a diamond of exactly that size and colour has disappeared from amongst the crown jewels, and it strikes me very forcibly that this is the very one.'
-"it was in vain for me to protest. i was taken before the magistrate, and experts were called to examine the jewel.
-"they weighed it and examined it carefully through powerful magnifying glasses, and finally unanimously agreed that it was indeed the missing jewel.
-"i was closely cross-questioned as to how it came into my possession, and also as to my movements during the past six months. my explanations were considered most unsatisfactory, and no one would believe me; consequently i was thrown into prison and condemned to death. it was only by the most earnest pleading that i managed to gain time for you to get here, as i assured them that you would be able to put everything right, and explain matters to their entire satisfaction."
-"i?" i stammered. "i am very, very sorry for you, my poor friend, and i would do anything to help you, but what am i to say or do which will convince them when you tell me that you have failed to do so?"
-"it is easy--easy," declared shin shira hopefully. "now attend carefully to what i say. i am of course not allowed outside the prison walls, and there is no one here whom i would dare to trust with an important commission.
-although i could not in the least see what shin shira wanted the crystal for, i was careful to execute his commission to the letter.
-i found no difficulty in reaching the bazaar, and, once there, soon found out mustapha. i did not like the look of the man at all.
-he was a fawning, obsequious little man, with shifting eyes which never looked you straight in the face.
-he stood bowing and smiling and rubbing his hands when i entered the shop and asked to see the crystal.
-"ah yea--very fine crystal--for those who know how to use it. very vallyble--lot money. you know this? you got?" and he gave me a searching glance with his little bead-like eyes.
-"oh yes, i can pay for it if i want it," i said, "but what do you call a lot of money? how much do you want for it?"
-he named a price which i knew to be very excessive, and i shook my head decidedly.
-"no! too much!" i declared.
-"oh! but see! beautiful crystal!" he argued.
-"and you give me little present besides?" pleaded mustapha.
-"not a penny," said i.
-the man gave a little sigh.
-"oh well, you take him," he said. "not enough money, but mustapha very poor, must sell him. i wrap him up for you, see!"
-i paid him the money and hurried out of the shop, for i must confess that i had taken a great dislike to the little man with his smooth, oily manner.
-however, i had got the crystal, and that was the main thing.
-i hastened back to the prison, and after a long argument with the authorities, i managed to gain permission to see the prisoner once more.
-i found shin shira all eagerness to know if i had secured the crystal, and when he saw it in my hand, his joy knew no bounds.
-"now it is all easy," said he, "and i shall soon be free. this is a magic crystal, and by wishing very hard to see any particular object and gazing at it steadily for a moment or two, you will see just what you wish to see reflected in it. now i'm just going to wish to--er--to--er--er--o--o-h! i'm going to vanish! to think that i've been here all this time hoping every day that i should be able to disappear, and now, just as i was about to get myself free--i--good-bye--!"
-and to my horror, the little yellow dwarf suddenly faded away, and i was left alone in the dungeon.
-he saw at once that shin shira was not there, and in a great state of excitement plied me with questions.
-i felt, however, that the best thing to do was to preserve silence: it would at least gain time; so i shook my head and pretended not to understand a word of what he was saying in his broken english.
-the man doubly locked the door and hurried off to inform his superior officers, and i was left alone once more.
-my eyes fell upon the crystal, and i suddenly thought of what shin shira had said. holding it carefully in my hands, i wished to see the real thief who had stolen the crown jewel.
-a vague mist spread over the crystal, which gradually cleared away, and i distinctly saw revealed the features of--mustapha. then i wished to see what he had done with the stone, and after gazing a moment or two longer, i saw him take it down to a cellar under his shop and bury it in a tin box under a stone, which he lifted up from the floor.
-that was enough for me. when the jailer and the other officers came hurrying back i was ready for them.
-"where is the prisoner?" they demanded.
-"he has escaped," i replied coolly.
-"what!" they exclaimed. "you dare to admit this, and that you assisted him to do so? you shall take his place here, and will no doubt receive the punishment which was intended for him."
-"he is an innocent man," said i calmly, "and ought never to have been imprisoned. he did not steal the diamond."
-"how can you say that when we found it upon him? why, he was actually impudent enough to go walking about in the street with it boldly stuck in his turban."
-"the stone he was wearing was his own, and he had every right, to wear it where and how he liked," i replied steadily.
-"his own! pooh! a likely story. where is the missing jewel then? can you tell me that?"
-"yes," i replied, to their great astonishment.
-"and the thief?" they questioned eagerly.
-"i know who he is too. take me before the magistrate at once, and i will soon restore the lost jewel."
-my assured tone of voice seemed somewhat to impress the officials, and they left me for a few moments to consult amongst themselves as to what was best to be done.
-presently they returned and told me to follow them.
-i found myself conducted to a plainly-furnished room where a dignified-looking gentleman was seated at a table strewn with papers. he looked up at me sharply as we entered the room, and addressing me in excellent english, said--
-"what is this extraordinary story i hear about the escape of the prisoner shin shira, and that you are prepared to inform us of another person who has, as you say, the crown jewel in his possession?"
-"it is true," said i, "and if you will allow some of your officers to accompany me into the bazaar i will point out the thief at once, and show you where he has hidden the stone."
-the wretched man gave a start and turned very pale when he saw us, but endeavouring to put a bold face upon it, he came bowing and cringing towards us, smiling and wringing his hands.
-"what an honour to my poor house!" he exclaimed. "how unworthy am i to receive such august guests!"
-"we've come to see if you have any more crystals like the one i bought of you to-day, mustapha," i said.
-"alas! honoured patron, none!" cried mustapha in a relieved voice, thinking that he now knew the object of our visit.
-"think--think, mustapha," said i. "have you no piece of clear glass that could be used in its place?"
-"alas, none!" he replied, shaking his head.
-"look about," said i. "here in the shop--and down in the cellar."
-the little man's face turned green.
-"the cellar? noble patron, how should i find such a thing there?"
-"lead the way and i will try to show you," said i; and despite his agonised protests, the trembling wretch was made to lead us to the very spot where the jewel was hidden.
-i took up the stone and showed the magistrate the box in which the diamond was concealed, while mustapha grovelled on the ground, pleading for mercy.
-what followed was a matter of course. the merchant mustapha was arrested, i was released and commissioned to let shin shira know that if he applied in person for his jewel it would be returned to him, and an apology offered for his unwarranted arrest.
-and so i was set free--a stranger and alone in baghdad.
-mystery no. vii
-shin shira and the roc
-when i found myself alone in baghdad after my extraordinary adventure with the magic crystal, my first intention was to return at once to england.
-i found, however, that it would be impossible for me to do so for at least four days; so i prepared to make the best of matters by doing a little sight-seeing while i was still confined to the ancient and interesting city.
-there were two additional reasons which made the delay less disagreeable to me.
-the first one was that i might possibly happen to meet shin shira again before i departed; and the other was that, on the second day of my stay, i saw a printed notice to the effect that, according to the ancient usage of the country relating to condemned prisoners, all of mustapha's goods were to be immediately sold by public auction, and the money realised was to be confiscated by the crown.
-i had noticed a number of very quaint and curious articles in the shop, and thought that it would be an excellent opportunity for me to purchase some souvenirs of my visit, to take back with me to england.
-the sale took place the next day, and i was able to secure several interesting pieces, which have a place in my study to this day. in fact, i was tempted to buy so many things that i began to fear that i should soon not have enough money left to take me back again to london; and i was just about to leave the auction, in order to be out of the way of temptation, when i caught sight of the quaintest, most uncanny-looking brass lamp being offered for sale that you could possibly imagine.
-i was right, and to my great delight it was knocked down to me for a mere trifle.
-clutching my treasures about me, i hurried back to my hotel, and spent the whole of the rest of the day examining and admiring my purchases.
-the lamp, though, pleased me most of all, although it was so old and battered. it was so very quaint and uncommon, and so typically oriental in design--in fact, i felt sure there was not another like it in the world.
-the time came, however, for packing up, and i had to get everything ready for the morning, so that i might be in time for the early train.
-i had carefully wrapped up the other things, and was just taking a last look at the lamp before putting it into the bag, when, turning around for no apparent reason, i caught sight of a yellow turban on the floor.
-"dear me!" i thought, "i suppose i must have brought this away from the bazaar, with my other things, by mistake. what a nuisance! now i shall have to take it back again, i suppose, or--no! it's shin shira's. and here comes the rest of him!" for i could see a little hazy yellow figure gradually growing out of nothing.
-"ah! just in time, i see," said the little fellow, when he had quite appeared. "i did so hope that i should be able to be visible again before you left baghdad. well, how did you get on? you've got out of prison, i'm glad to see."
-i told him about the crystal, and how i discovered that it was mustapha who stole the diamond.
-"phew!" he whistled when he heard this. "i felt sure someone had stolen it, but i didn't think of mustapha. i never liked the man, though, personally, and i'm glad he's found out at last. he has done a lot of harm to many people in baghdad, and he will be rightly punished. what is to be done with my diamond?" he inquired anxiously.
-"oh, you're to have it back whenever you like to go for it, and you'll receive an apology at the same time," said i.
-"very well, then, i'm off to get it first thing in the morning," said the little fellow gleefully. "i prize that stone far above its intrinsic value, for it was given to me by my beautiful princess, you know, and i would not lose it for anything. but, i say! what's that curious-looking old lamp in your hand? may i look at it?"
-i handed it over to him.
-"it's just a little thing which took my fancy at mustapha's sale, and which i picked up for a trifle," said i.
-"it's very dirty--wants cleaning badly," declared shin shira. "why, i believe it's solid brass, though it looks like rusty iron in its present neglected state," and he seized a duster which was lying handy and gave the lamp several smart rubs.
-"just as i thought," said he, going on vigorously with the polishing. "why, it's splendid--"
-"oh!" i exclaimed, sinking into a chair. "see! see what you've done!"
-an enormous form was rising from the floor, and presently stood before us making a deep salaam.
-"w-who are you?" i stammered.
-"the slave of the lamp, master," said he.
-"good gracious!" i exclaimed, "you don't mean to say that this is--"
-"aladdin's lamp," burst in shin shira. "i thought somehow that it looked familiar. i knew aladdin well, and i've often handled this lamp before."
-"impossible!" i exclaimed, gazing at the big black giant who stood, with his arms folded, in dignified silence before us.
-"nothing is impossible in the east," said shin shira, "as you'll quickly find out if you remain here long. and now--now that you are the possessor of aladdin's lamp--what are you going to do with it?"
-"i--i don't know," i stammered. "i must have time to think."
-"i should have diamonds," advised shin shira: "they're so easy to carry and can always be converted into money. command him to bring you a bag full of diamonds of all sizes."
-"but, but," i said hesitatingly, as visions of untold wealth floated before my eyes, "will he really do it?"
-"try him and see," said shin shira. so i took the lamp in my hand, and rather nervously commanded the slave to bring me a bag of diamonds.
-the slave fell to the ground and touched his head to the floor, paying me the deepest mark of respect.
-"alas, master, that it should be so, but you ask your slave that which is impossible, unless you would have me take from the shops that which is not thine."
-"not for worlds," i interrupted. "but how is it that you cannot get me the diamonds from the mines as you used to do for your former master aladdin in the olden days?"
-a bitter smile spread over the slave's face.
-"the age, master, has greatly changed, and now the mines in africa, which were known only to us, are being worked by greedy men with noisy machinery, and we may not be seen there under peril of death. this is the will of the spirit of the lamp of whom i am the slave, and who also calls you master, though you will never see her."
-"oh, well then, that's all knocked on the head," i said to shin shira, who had been listening attentively. "i'll dismiss the man now, shall i, and we'll talk over what's best to be done?"
-shin shira nodded, so i told the slave i had no further use for him at the moment, and he vanished.
-i stood looking at my little friend in great bewilderment.
-"it is a great power to possess," i said, regarding the lamp with awe and amazement. "i hope i shan't do anything foolish with it."
-"don't be silly," said shin shira crossly. "i only wish i had your chance. why, you can do anything with a power like that. leave it to me to think over for to-night, and i'll tell you the best thing to do in the morning."
-"but i'm starting for england the first thing to-morrow," i objected.
-"oh! you must put that off for the present," was the decided reply. "i'll be here about eleven, and we'll talk over what's best to be done. good-night!" and the little fellow held out his hand and strutted off.
-i had arrived at no definite decision as to what was best to be done, however, by eleven the next morning, when, punctual to the minute, shin shira, looking very spruce and alert, knocked at my door.
-i noticed with considerable interest that he wore in his turban the diamond which i had so often admired, and he saw me looking at it at once.
-"yes," he said, with a series of little nods, "it was very easy. an hour ago i called on the chief magistrate, and found him full of apologies and quite convinced that he had made a grievous mistake. it appears that the original diamond, which mustapha stole, when found, had some of the gold setting still attached to it, proving beyond doubt that it was the missing jewel, so that my own was returned to me; and the magistrate even insisted on providing a new aigrette and in having it replaced in my turban by a skilled person. so here it is," and he took off his head-dress and regarded it with considerable pride. "but now to your affairs. i am still in favour of the idea of the diamonds."
-"but how--" i began, when shin shira interrupted me.
-"are you game for a very exciting adventure?" said he.
-"i--don't know." i hesitated. "i seem to have had about enough of exciting adventures."
-"it will be something to write about," suggested the dwarf, "and will undoubtedly make your fortune."
-"well," i said, "what is it? let's hear."
-"do you remember where sinbad the sailor got his diamonds from?"
-"yes, of course!" i replied, for i knew my arabian nights by heart.
-"very well, then," said shin shira. "all you've got to do is to get the slave of the lamp to bring us the roc, which i happen to know is still alive; we can then fasten ourselves to his claws, and he will fly back to his home with us, and there, as you know, the ground is strewn with precious stones."
-"but why not send the slave for them?" i argued.
-"he evidently doesn't know where they are, and it's as well to keep him ignorant on the subject, in case the lamp passed out of your power, in which case he might use his knowledge in favour of his next master. and, besides, the roc couldn't carry him there."
-"he wouldn't have to," said i. "the slave evidently has the power of being able to transport himself to any place at will."
-"but we don't know where to direct him to," said shin shira impatiently. he was evidently bent upon carrying out his project, and at last i somewhat weakly consented to his proposal.
-i rubbed the lamp and summoned the slave, who appeared promptly as before.
-"i'm sorry to ask such a difficult thing, but can you catch the roc for me and bring it here?" said i, somewhat apologetically.
-"it shall be here, master, in twenty minutes," replied the slave imperturbably, vanishing again at a wave from my hand.
-"i don't know, i'm sure, what i want diamonds for, when i have such a willing servant," i grumbled, still rather unwilling to venture upon what i regarded as an uncanny undertaking.
-"he can't provide you with money," said shin shira.
-"why not?" i asked.
-"he'd have either to steal it or make it. if he did the latter it wouldn't be legal, and, besides, if it was found out, you might be arrested for circulating unauthorised coin."
-"oh, very well, then, let's go on this wild-goose chase if you're so bent upon it," i said, seeing that he was determined to have his way. a few minutes later we heard a great commotion in the courtyard, and looking from the balcony we saw my slave carrying by the legs an enormous bird, who turned his head about from side to side, staring stupidly at everything around him. shin shira bustled about and got ropes and straps, and with the assistance of the landlord and one or two onlookers, we were soon harnessed in quite an ingenious manner to the claws of our strange steed (if one may call him so).
-the slave released him, and the roc immediately flew slowly up into the air, violently shaking his claws now and then in a vain endeavour to get rid of the unusual weight. fortunately, however, the straps and ropes, which had been fastened over the bird's back as well, were very strong, and so the worst thing that happened to us was a thorough shaking.
-this was of no consequence, and when i realised that i was quite safe, i began actually to enjoy the strange experience of being carried through the air, i knew not whither. in this case, however, the distance was not nearly so great as one might have expected, for leaving the city, the great bird soared over a tract of forest land, above one or two more towns, and so out into the open desert, in the midst of which was a range of rocky mountains. his pinions were strong and mighty, so that he flew very rapidly, and in a little less than two hours he had alighted on a kind of tableland, at the top of one of the mountain peaks, and we were at our journey's end.
-there was no doubt but that we were at the right place, for the ground was strewn with stones which, though uncut, sparkled, in the places where they had been chipped or broken, with a hundred different brilliant colours and shades.
-shin shira drew his knife and quickly cut the ropes and straps which bound us to the now struggling bird, and he was soon released from his uncomfortable burden.
-he shook himself once or twice and preened his great feathers, and then stalked off to where an enormous nest could be seen in a cleft in the rocks.
-i have no doubt the patient and stupid bird told his mate in bird language what a very strange and uncomfortable experience he had had, and at all events he kept out of our sight from that moment.
-shin shira at once busied himself by gathering some of the largest gems as quickly as possible; and taking from his pockets some strong linen bags which he had thoughtfully provided, he handed two to me and told me to fill them for myself.
-this i did, and also put several into my various pockets. i was just about to say that i thought we had sufficient, when shin shira called my attention to a balloon hovering just above our heads.
-there were two people in the basket, and they were peering at us over the edge through glasses.
-presently one of them shouted an order, and the balloon quickly descended, so that we could hear the rush of escaping gas as it was being released.
-"hullo there!" shouted a voice over our heads, "who are you? we've never before heard that these mountains were inhabited."
-"neither are they," replied shin shira. "we are geologists from baghdad, and are taking home specimens of the rocks and stones."
-"oh, we're going to baghdad. can we give you a lift?" said the voice kindly, and the balloon descended still further, till at last we were able to see the two occupants distinctly.
-"it's really very kind of you;--i--i think we will accept your offer," said i, while shin shira frowned disapproval.
-"don't go," he whispered, "we can get some more precious stones if we wait a little longer."
-"but how are we to get back?" i answered.
-"the magic lamp," said he.
-"oh, but i've left that behind at the hotel," i replied.
-"in that case," said shin shira regretfully, "there's nothing else to be done, i suppose."
-so we thankfully accepted the aeronauts' kind invitation, and were soon floating comfortably towards baghdad.
-i must confess that it was far more pleasant than the outward journey had been.
-before we got to baghdad, though, shin shira had the misfortune to disappear, much to the horror of the aeronauts, who thought he had fallen out of the basket, and who would scarcely credit my explanation when i told them of shin shira's peculiar misfortune in this respect.
-he left the two bags of precious stones behind him, and they stood beside mine at the bottom of the basket.
-for a few minutes the balloon, being freed from shin shira's weight, rapidly ascended, but presently there was a terrible escape of gas and we began to descend again at a great rate.
-"throw out the ballast!" cried one of the aeronauts, and the other, seeing the four bags of what he thought were worthless stones, in his haste and eagerness thrust them overboard.
-i was too alarmed at the moment to notice what he was doing, and it was only when matters had been put right, by stopping the escape of gas, that i realised what had happened.
-it was useless, however, to cry over spilt milk, and all my thought now was to get back to the hotel in safety.
-this we eventually did, and my ballooning friends accepted my invitation to take dinner at the hotel with me, so that after my adventure of the day i had a very pleasant evening. it was not till the next morning that i discovered that aladdin's lamp had vanished--had, in fact, probably been stolen.
-there was nothing left to do now but to set out for england, which i eventually reached; and on arriving in london, and having the stones which i had brought back in my pockets valued, i found that there were many worthless ones among them, and that the few good ones, when sold, only realised sufficient to pay the rather heavy expenses of my journey to and from baghdad, with a very little over for myself to repay me for the loss of my time.
-mystery no. viii
-shin shira and the mad bull
-the verrinder children were in a state of great excitement and glee, for we were going to spend the day at burnham beeches.
-the plan was to drive over in a wagonette and have a picnic under the trees in the middle of the day.
-lionel was amongst the party, and lady betty, a young friend of the verrinders, so that we were a merry crowd as we scrambled into the wagonette.
-"it doesn't matter about your being old," said fidge, snuggling up to me and catching hold of my arm; "you're not like most grown-ups, and don't mind us larking about a bit."
-"i hope not," i said smilingly.
-"besides, he isn't old," chimed in lady betty, "at least not very," she qualified. "he hasn't even got a beard, and if he wasn't a little bit grown-up he couldn't afford to take us about," she added practically.
-"i expect we'll have some jolly decent grub," i heard dick whisper to lionel. "mrs. putchy makes ripping pastry. i know, because we used to stay at his place sometimes before you came."
-marjorie looked up from her book and smiled and nodded across at me. "it's lovely," she said, as we drove along. "we're going to have a perfectly splendid day."
-we were sitting three aside, and there was just comfortable room for us; and when we had got well into the country i began to tell the younger ones, fidge and lady betty, a story. marjorie closed her book too and leaned forward to listen, but the two big boys, evidently considering it infra dig. to listen to anything so childish, were eagerly comparing school experiences. dick was at harrow and lionel at marlborough, so they had a lot to talk about.
-presently, in the middle of my story, marjorie called out, without looking up, "move further along, dick, don't crowd so."
-"oh, it's this cushion," cried marjorie, turning about and trying to remove what looked at first like a yellow silk cushion beside her.
-it was evidently too heavy though, and she gave a start as she touched it. "why!" she exclaimed, "it's got something alive in it!"
-we all turned around to see what she meant, and at once i knew that it was shin shira appearing.
-"oh, jolly!" cried all the children but lionel, when i explained to them what was happening.
-"it's all very well, and he's good fun and all that," said my young cousin, "but if you'd had the experience that i had with his old magic carpet, you'd be very careful not to have much to do with him--he's rather dangerous."
-"but think of the adventures you have with him," said dick enviously. "i wouldn't funk it if he asked me to go anywhere with him."
-"who's funking it?" demanded lionel angrily.
-"well, you didn't seem to have much desire to repeat your experiences, my friend," laughed shin shira. "my head and ears just happened to arrive in time for me to gather that."
-lionel turned very red. "oh well, sir, i did have rather a rough time on the magic carpet, you know."
-"so you did, so you did," agreed shin shira, amiably beaming on us all. "and where may all you young people be off to this fine day?"
-"we're having a picnic," said lady betty shyly.
-"going to have, you mean," corrected fidge. "it isn't a picnic till you begin to eat, you know."
-"would you mind if i joined you?" asked the yellow dwarf, appealing to me.
-"well, it strikes me that you have done so," i laughed; "but we shall be delighted with your company if you care to stay."
-"that's all right then," said shin shira, settling down comfortably; "there's nothing i should like better this warm day," and he took off his turban and rubbed his little bald head with a yellow silk handkerchief.
-the sight of the jewel in it reminded him to ask me what became of the two bags of diamonds he left in the basket of the balloon when he disappeared on our way back to baghdad.
-i told him what had happened, and how i had lost all of mine except the few almost worthless ones which i had put in my pocket.
-"i was rather more fortunate," said shin shira, "for amongst those which i saved were one or two very valuable ones, and several more which i can sell at a very good price when it becomes necessary."
-"but i thought you could have whatever you wished for?" said dick.
-"oh no," replied the dwarf, "not money, you know--almost anything else, but not money, because, you see, it wouldn't be legal to make money, and i can tell you i have often found it very awkward to have appeared in a strange place with no money at all in my pocket. i have indeed once or twice almost been tempted to sell even the jewel which the princess gave me. now fortunately that will never be necessary."
-"what part of burnham beeches do you wish me to drive to, sir?" asked the coachman at this moment; "we're just coming to the village."
-"oh, you'd better put the horses up at the stables, and get a man to help you with the hampers, and we'll walk on to the wood. you know where i generally have luncheon."
-"very well, sir!" said the man, touching his hat with his whip and stopping at the old-fashioned inn in the village.
-we were all very glad to stretch our legs after the long ride, and having had some lemonade and fruit at a little shop in the high street, we quite enjoyed the walk up to the wood.
-here under the trees in a beautiful spot we sat down to wait for the men with the hampers.
-after waiting for some time with growing impatience, our coachman turned up with a rueful face.
-"there ain't no hamper, sir," he said.
-"what?" i exclaimed. "no hamper! what do you mean?"
-"there ain't no hamper in the trap, sir. i didn't have it up in front, so i thought you had it in with you. do you think it's fallen out, sir?"
-"by jove, sir!" cried lionel suddenly, "it's my fault. you told me to see that the man put the hampers on in front, and i clean forgot all about it."
-if it hadn't been such a serious matter it would have been highly amusing to watch the blank dismay depicted on every face on hearing this disastrous news.
-"what on earth are we to do?" exclaimed dick, with almost tragic concern.
-"there's only one thing to be done, i suppose," said i resignedly, after sending the man away; "we shall have to return to the village and have our luncheon at the inn."
-"it won't be a picnic at all then," pouted lady betty ruefully.
-shin shira was the only one who did not seem distressed about the matter. he had seated himself cross-legged on the ground under one of the old beeches, and was slowly turning over the leaves of the little yellow book fastened to his belt with a golden chain, which he always wore.
-"i think i can be of some assistance to you here," said he, getting up after a time and coming towards me. "has anybody some paper and a pencil?"
-this seemed a strange request at such a moment, but between us we managed to find what he asked for.
-the dwarf suddenly tore the paper into seven parts, handing us each one and keeping one for himself.
-"now," said he, "each of you write on the piece of paper the name of something you would wish for luncheon."
-he handed me the pencil first, and just for fun i wrote "lobster salad."
-marjorie wrote "game pie."
-dick thought that "pies and tarts and plenty of them" was a suitable thing to ask for.
-lionel could imagine nothing more to be desired than "ham and tongue sandwiches."
-lady betty wanted "fruit and nuts," and fidge, after various painful attempts, wrote "something nice to drink."
-shin shira read them out one by one.
-"yes," he said, "they're all very well, but how are you going to eat them when you have got them? now you see what i wish for," and he carefully wrote on his slip of paper, "tablecloth, serviettes, plates, dishes, knives, forks, spoons, salt, pepper, mustard, oil, vinegar, glasses and a corkscrew." "there!" he exclaimed, "i think that will put us right. now watch carefully. you see there is no deception!" and he laughingly rolled up his sleeves like a professional conjurer.
-he placed the paper upon which he had written his list into his turban, shaking it violently.
-to our surprise, in a few seconds it sounded as though there was something in it, and an instant later he drew forth from it a neatly folded snow-white tablecloth, the serviettes, spoons, forks, and in fact all the articles which he had named.
-he set the children to work laying the cloth, while he placed the other lists in his turban, and in turn, beginning with a deliciously fresh-looking lobster salad, and a large game pie, he brought forth every one of the good things which had been wished for.
-fidge's "something nice to drink" turned out to be bottles of lemonade, milk, soda water, and a bottle of wine for the grown-ups.
-a more delicious feast it would be impossible to imagine.
-we were just sitting down to enjoy it, and i had stuck the knife and fork into the game pie, when marjorie sprang up with a little scream, brushing something from her face.
-"ough! a horrid caterpillar!" she cried.
-"and here's another!" declared fidge, knocking one from his coat.
-"and an earwig!" exclaimed dick, picking one up from the cloth.
-"oh! and spiders!" screamed lady betty, jumping up and shaking her frock.
-"dear! dear! this will never do!" i said, for the place was swarming with insects, owing to the very dry summer which we had had.
-"there ought to be a marquee like we had at the choir treat," said fidge.
-"oh, i vote we get on with the grub," said dick greedily. "the insects won't kill us."
-"no, but a marquee would certainly be more comfortable," said shin shira. "come into the meadow just over there, and i'll see if i can provide one."
-leaving lionel to guard our feast, the rest of us all trailed after him, over the fence into the meadow, which was carpeted with soft long grass.
-"the only thing is, i can't exactly remember what a marquee is like," he said. "think, my dear boy, what the one was like which you had in your mind."
-"why, it had four poles, one at each corner," said fidge, "and some iron things connecting them at the top, and it was covered all over and round the sides with some stripey stuff. then there were ropes and things, and pegs driven into the ground to tie the poles to, and a trestle table and two long forms each side. that's all. oh, yes, and piggott & son, tentmakers, was written in big letters on the stripey stuff."
-"ah!" said shin shira, "i think i shall be able to imagine it sufficiently well now. i'll try," and after consulting his little yellow book again for instructions, he called for a stick, which the boys soon cut from the hedge, and marked out a large square space in the meadow; and then, using some magic words, he waved the stick three times, and there stood the very marquee which fidge had described, even to the words piggott & son, tentmakers, on the canvas covering.
-"now go and bring the luncheon, children, and we'll try again," said shin shira, in a rare good humour with himself (the little fellow was evidently delighted to find that his fairy powers were acting so well to-day); and soon we were seated around the table, which, i must confess, i found a more comfortable way of enjoying my luncheon.
-to say that we did full justice to the good things provided, is but mildly describing the way the food disappeared.
-the two elder boys in particular seemed as though they would never leave off, but at last we settled down comfortably to the fruit and nuts, and were just discussing what we should do with the marquee and its contents, when we suddenly all started to our feet in alarm.
-a loud bellowing, combined with a dull sound of galloping hoofs, told us that something was coming our way.
-i rushed to the door and looked out.
-"good heavens! a mad bull!" i cried, "tearing this way at a furious pace."
-shin shira sprang to the opening.
-"i'll attract him in another direction, and while he is after me you all escape over the fence," he cried hurriedly, and snatching a red silk handkerchief from lionel's pocket, he rushed out into the open.
-the bull paused, and though i frantically shouted to shin shira to come back, the brave little fellow flourished the red handkerchief to attract the creature's attention. with a bellow of anger the infuriated animal, holding his head down, tore after the dwarf, who ran with surprising swiftness in the opposite direction to the marquee.
-"now children, quickly!" i cried, catching lady betty by the hand, and we all made for the fence as quickly as possible.
-we were no sooner in safety than we turned to see how our gallant little friend was faring.
-the yellow figure, still waving the red handkerchief, was running ahead of the bull, but to our great distress we could see that the beast was gaining on him.
-"oh dear! he'll never reach the other side in time," cried marjorie, hiding her eyes in her hands and sinking to the ground in a panic of fear and fright.
-presently the boys gave an excited shout--"hurrah! bravo!" they cried, jumping from the fence and skipping about, tossing their caps into the air in an excess of relief. i sat down beside marjorie and explained to her what had happened.
-the bull was rapidly gaining on shin shira and the little fellow was becoming exhausted, when, by a happy chance, at that very moment he began to disappear, and before the bull could reach him he had vanished altogether.
-the bull was rushing frantically about, bellowing and snorting and looking in vain for him, and at last, turning his attention to the marquee, he dashed into it, ripping up the canvas and over-turning the table, smashing the dishes, and altogether making a most terrific commotion.
-now that we were all safe we could make light of the loss of the marquee and its contents, and could even smile at the quaint remark of lady betty when she said solemnly--
-"in future i shall prefer to picnic where there are spiders, instead of where mad bulls are about. in fact, i shall rather like spiders after this: they're so gentle and don't bellow at all."
-the boys were still watching the havoc which the bull was creating, when they noticed a man walking towards us beside the fence.
-he was a big, burly farmer and looked very angry.
-"now then," he cried, in a surly voice, "what do you mean by all this?"
-"i don't understand you," i answered.
-"i speak plain english, don't i?" he said. "wasn't it you that's been trampling in my long grass, and building tents and what not on private property? i'll learn you that i won't have no strangers in my meadows, i can tell ye."
-"i'm very sorry if i've done any harm," said i, "and i'm sure if--"
-"if you've done any harm!" shouted the farmer. "look at all that long grass trampled down all over the meadow."
-"yes," i interrupted, "but it was your bull which did that."
-"he wouldn't have done it if you hadn't teased him," said the farmer obstinately. "i saw one of you myself teasing him with a red rag and making him furious. i'm not going to have any of it. off you come with me to the police station."
-"no, no, i can't do that," i cried in alarm; "i have these children with me."
-"people shouldn't take children out if they can't do without getting into mischief," grumbled the farmer. "no, you come along of me," and he caught hold of my arm.
-"i'll give you my card," i said, "and if you have any serious complaint to make you can write to me."
-"aye, a likely story; and when i write to you, as likely as not i'll find you've given me a wrong address."
-"come back with me then to the inn: they know me there and will tell you whether or no the address is a correct one."
-the old farmer was gradually persuaded to this course, though he grumbled all the way there that i ought to be "locked up," while the children, thoroughly subdued, walked in silence behind us.
-"you'll have to pay a pretty penny for damages," said he warningly, when he had satisfied himself at the inn that i was known as "a gentleman who often drove over there in the summer, and always paid for what he had."
-i assured him that he should have what was just, and when he had gone i ordered tea in the arbour at the end of the old-fashioned garden, and over it we forgot the unfortunate, but exciting, termination to our picnic.
-we arrived home quite safely. sure enough, a few days afterwards i received a preposterous claim for damage to the farmer's grass, which i left my solicitor to deal with; and more extraordinary still, i had a claim from messrs. piggott & son for damages to a tent, which they "could not trace as having been hired to me, but which i must have hired at some time or another, since it bore their name marked as they only marked their tents let out on hire."
-this letter also went to my solicitor, and to this day i've heard nothing further about either matter.
-mystery no. ix
-shin shira and the queen of hearts
-it was many months after this last adventure before i saw my friend shin shira again.
-the summer was past, and it was the time of fires and warm drawn curtains. one evening, after dinner, i was sitting alone in my study, puzzling over a chess problem, when the servant brought me a card on which i read--
-"dr. shin shira scaramanga manousa yama hawa."
-"oh!" i laughed, "show him in at once, please." for i had been longing for an opportunity of thanking the gallant little fellow for the bravery he had shown in the matter of the mad bull--a bravery to which some of us, at all events, probably owed our lives.
-"come in, come in! delighted to see you!" i cried, getting up and making him comfortable in "the toad," the chair which i know he likes best. i got out the tobacco jar, and we were soon chatting comfortably over our pipes.
-"by the way," i said, picking up his card again and looking at it, when we had exhausted most of the topics of conversation which came to our minds, "i didn't know before that you were a doctor."
-"oh, i don't practise, and i seldom use the title except on my cards. it was given to me by the king of hearts very many years ago. ha-ha-ha!" and shin shira laughed heartily at what was evidently a humorous recollection.
-"won't you tell me about it, please?" said i.
-"i don't know," replied the dwarf, "that there is much to tell.
-"it was while i was travelling round the world in my earlier days, and i had come, in the course of my wanderings, upon the country ruled over by the king of hearts and his most charming queen.
-"talk about turtle-doves! i had never seen such a perfectly devoted couple before in my life. they were like a pair of happy lovers, although they must have been married several years before i knew them.
-"i happened to appear at their majesties' dinner-table one evening when they were dining alone, just as dinner was being served.
-"of course they were greatly astonished at seeing me suddenly appear in their presence, especially as i arrived at a particularly awkward moment, when, the servants being busy with the dishes and having their backs turned, the king was squeezing her majesty's hand under the table, and looking lovingly into her eyes.
-"the king turned to the lord chief butler, when that official returned, and looking at me curiously, said, 'it's very thoughtless of me, but i do not remember that i invited any guests for this evening.'
-"'i had heard nothing of it either, your majesty,' said the lord chief butler, pursing up his lips and looking at me severely. 'shall i request the lord high footman and the lord under footman to remove the person?'
-"'by no means,' said the king kindly; 'i will ask him myself what brings him here.'
-"'it was a matter of compulsion, rather than of inclination, your majesty,' said i. and i explained as well as i was able the curious affliction from which i suffer, of having to appear and disappear at the fairies' pleasure.
-"'most interesting--most!' said the queen, smiling sweetly, 'and we should be most inhospitable if we did not make you welcome here for so long as the fairies will spare you to us.'
-"this gracious speech, and the queen's beauty, quite won my heart, and putting my hand on my heart, i bowed in the most graceful manner that i could command.
-"the lord chief butler, seeing that i was in favour with their majesties, now brought me a plate, and some glasses, and waited upon me most obsequiously.
-"'tarts, my lord!' he announced, handing me a silver dish on which were piled some rather stodgy-looking jam affairs.
-"'no thank you,' i replied.
-"the man looked horrified, and the king and queen greatly embarrassed by my refusal. 'er--tarts--er--your highness,--er--her majesty's own make,' whispered the lord chief butler.
-"'oh, then by all means i will change my mind,' said i gallantly, and i took two of the tarts on my plate, while the king and queen looked on approvingly.
-"i can safely say that in all my wanderings, through all these years, i have never before or since tasted such exceedingly unpleasant tarts.
-"i hesitate to say more, out of respect to the most beautiful and gracious queen who ever lived, but i could say a great deal.
-"however, i managed to get through them, even to the bitter end, and had the satisfaction of seeing her majesty look greatly delighted.
-"'i really must have another one, my love,' declared the king; 'they are most delicious, made as they were by your own royal and beautiful hands.'
-"'no--no--dearest,' smiled the queen, her pride in her pastry battling with her consideration for her husband's health, 'you have already had two.'
-"'perhaps, my darling, you are right,' replied the king, with a sigh of relief, and hurriedly motioning to the lord chief butler to remove his plate.
-"'perhaps our guest, though--' began the queen sweetly.
-"'no--no--thank you, your majesty,' i hastened to say. 'i never--never--by any chance indulge in more than two, under doctor's strict orders.'
-"'very well then,' said her majesty, 'we will have dessert.'
-"the rest of the dinner was uneventful, and i was more and more impressed as the time went on with the gracious and simple bearing of the exalted personages of whom i was an uninvited guest.
-"at last her majesty rose, gave me a bow, and was led with old-fashioned courtesy by his majesty to the door, which was thrown open by the servants, and the king and i were left alone to our coffee and cigars. after we had talked on various subjects for some time, i ventured to express my admiration of, and devotion to, the gracious lady who had just left us, and the king's eyes sparkled with delight.
-"'you may well admire her, sir; she is rightly beloved for her graciousness and beauty from one end of my kingdom to the other, and her thoughtfulness and kindness to myself are beyond expression.
-"'i must tell you of a little incident (which you have just shared in) to prove to you how wholly devoted she is to my interests.
-"'i have, as many other royal personages have at times, some difficulty in regulating my affairs so as to make both ends meet comfortably.
-"'her majesty knew of this, and immediately began to take cooking lessons with a view to cooking for us when we are alone, and thus saving expenses in the kitchen. the tarts you tasted to-day are her majesty's first attempt.'
-"'r-eally!' i murmured, seeing that the king paused as though he expected me to say something.
-"'yes,' continued his majesty, 'and to-morrow she has made me promise to catch her some blackbirds, with which to make a pie.'
-"'catch them?' i cried; 'why not shoot them?'
-"'oh! the queen wouldn't think of letting me do anything so cruel, she is so tender-hearted. but you'll come with me to-morrow, and help me to catch some, won't you?'
-"i assured his majesty that unless i had unfortunately to disappear before then, i should be delighted, and we went up to join her majesty in the drawing-room.
-"we found the queen surrounded by her maids of honour, of whom some were sitting at the tambour frames, others doing fine embroidery, while two of their number were at the piano playing and singing.
-"i was presented to these ladies, and, at the queen's request, related some of the extraordinary adventures which, as you know, have, at one time or another in my long career, befallen me. the evening was quite a success, and i felt that i had indeed fallen upon my feet in such charming company.
-"at a moderately early hour we retired, and in the morning, soon after breakfast, his majesty and i started on our expedition in quest of blackbirds for the queen's pie.
-"her majesty and the maids of honour watched us start off from the balcony, and several retainers followed at a respectful distance, carrying various bags and implements of which i could not even imagine the uses.
-"when we had got some distance from the castle, his majesty whispered to me confidentially that he must confess that he didn't know much about this sort of thing.
-"'er--do you recommend--er--salt for blackbirds?' he inquired anxiously.
-"'what for?' i asked.
-"'to put on their tails, you know,' said the king. 'i have a recollection of hearing something, somewhere, about catching birds by putting salt on their tails. but perhaps that doesn't refer to blackbirds?' he added.
-"i couldn't help smiling a little at the simple, good-natured, inexperienced king, but suggested immediately afterwards that some grain scattered before and inside a sieve propped up with a stick, to which some string was attached, would probably be a more effectual way of catching the birds.
-"'what a brilliant idea!' said the king. 'i'll send the salt back and order some sieves, grain, sticks and string, as you suggest. is there anything else?'
-"'something to put the birds in if we catch any, your majesty,' said i.
-"'oh! i've thought of that,' said the king, 'and have several baskets ready.'
-"the men were soon back with the sieves, and i quickly rigged up two of them as traps; and having baited them, i showed the king how to hide and pull the string directly one of the birds was under the sieve.
-"fortunately, blackbirds seemed to abound in that country, and there were soon several fluttering about, pecking at and picking up the grain.
-"presently, one got under my sieve, and pulling the support away by the string, i was fortunate enough to catch it. the king was delighted, and the more so when a few minutes afterwards he trapped two at once, in the same manner.
-"after this, the 'sport,' if it could be called so, became fast and furious, and ended in our catching four-and-twenty birds between us.
-"this the king considered would be sufficient, so we set off to the castle again, the men bearing the baskets in triumph before us.
-"'oh! the dear, sweet little things!' cried her majesty, when she was shown our captives, 'and how clever of you to have caught them all! they'll make a perfectly lovely pie!' and she set off in high glee to the kitchens, to try her hand at the culinary art again.
-"the afternoon was spent in the beautiful gardens surrounding the castle, playing fives, for which there was a specially built court, and practising at archery, so that the time quickly passed, till we were called in by the first dinner gong.
-"the maids of honour, together with some of the state ministers, joined us at dinner, and i could see that the queen, though sweet and gracious as ever, was very anxious as the dinner proceeded.
-"presently there was a flourish of trumpets heard at the door, and two pages appeared, bearing a silver salver upon which was an enormous pie. this was carefully set before the king, and his majesty, after smiling at the queen rather nervously, put the knife into the crust and removed a portion of it.
-"immediately afterwards, there was a great commotion heard from inside the pie, and first one bird and then another began to sing, hopping out of the pie and on to the table, evidently delighted at regaining its liberty.
-"finally, amid the breathless silence of all about the table, they flew off through the open window, and nothing was left but the crust.
-"the queen sat back in her chair looking half-triumphant and half-ashamed.
-"'i'm afraid it isn't a very satisfactory pie, from the eating point of view,' she faltered, 'but i couldn't have the poor pretty little things killed, and so i put them in the dish alive, and when the crust, which i baked separately, was nearly cold, i cut a hole in the top, so that they could breathe, and put it over them.'
-"'it does your heart much credit, my love,' cried the king, 'and, the thought of cutting a hole in the crust was a very kind one.'
-"and indeed, wherever and in whatever country i have been since that time, many years ago, and have related the story, the ladies of that country have always made a hole in the top of their pies, in honour of the beautiful and kind queen who first invented it.
-"i did not hear much more of the conversation which followed this episode, for unfortunately, just then, i felt myself disappearing, and had only just time to incline my head respectfully to the king and queen before i had vanished."
-"but," i remarked, when shin shira left off speaking, "you haven't told me yet how you came to get the title of 'doctor.'"
-"oh, that's all part of the same story," said shin shira, refilling his pipe; "it has a sequel. about seven months after the events which i have narrated" (you'll have noticed that shin shira loved using long words when he could), "i found myself again in the same country, and i thought i could not leave it without paying my respects to the amiable king and queen; so, one fine afternoon, i made my way up to the castle.
-"i found the king in his counting-house, industriously counting out his money. he left off when he saw me, though, and came forward to greet me heartily.
-"'the queen, bless her! will be as delighted to see you as i am,' said he; 'we'll go and find her. i fancy i know where she is.'
-"he led the way at once to the parlour, and there we found her majesty looking sweet and amiable as ever.
-"she was rather confused at being discovered in the act of eating some bread and honey.
-"'i am suffering from a very poor appetite,' her majesty explained, after she had made me welcome, 'and have eaten nothing at all to-day, and just now i fancied a little honey, for which i have a great liking.'
-"'i hope your majesty is not unwell, that your appetite is so feeble?' i inquired with great solicitation.
-"'oh no!' replied the queen, with an effort at brightness; 'i'm a little worried, that's all.'
-"'we're all worried, more or less,' chimed in the king. 'you remember that blackbird pie, don't you?'
-"'yes, your majesty, of course i do,' said i, smiling at the recollection.
-"'well, those birds, the ones which were put into it, have become very spiteful and dangerous. they have taken to haunting the precincts of the castle, and attack the servants when they go into the garden, particularly the laundry maids; for, when they go into the garden to hang out the clothes, they have to use both hands to do so, and then these wretched birds fly down and peck at their noses. one poor creature lost hers altogether, with the result that all of the maids have given notice, and we can't get laundry maids for love or money.'
-"'it's very trying,' said the queen; 'the poor king has to wear his things much longer than he should, and i have a difficulty in even getting a clean pocket-handkerchief.'
-"it was a curious difficulty to be in, certainly, and i felt very anxious to help them if i could, so i asked permission to be allowed to visit the servants' hall, and talk to the maids on the subject.
-"this was readily given, and i spoke to them as earnestly as i could about their good queen and mistress, and how willing and eager they ought to be to do everything they could for her.
-"i could see that they felt this keenly themselves, for some of them were in tears when i spoke of the queen's goodness to everybody about her.
-"'b--but our precious noses, sir!' sobbed one good-natured girl; 'we can't afford to lose them, can we now?'
-"'no,' i said, 'but i have thought of a way by which it will be quite safe for you to go into the garden.
-"'now, like good creatures, the first thing in the morning, set to and get some laundry work done, and i'll go out and hang up some of the clothes, and you'll see that the birds won't hurt me.'
-"'so you shall,' said i, and went up to my room to make preparations for the morning.
-"it was quite simple. i sent for some coloured wax, and having made a wooden model of a nose, i made on it some little waxen cases which could be worn over one's own nose, and then, if the birds pecked at it, it wouldn't matter in the least.
-"in the morning, the wax cases were quite set and hard, and when the maid and i went out to hang up the clothes, it was great fun to see the bewilderment of a large blackbird when he flew away with the maid's false nose, and she calmly stuck on another.
-"the birds soon gave up their evil ways after that, but for some months, as a precaution, the maids never ventured out without a nose protector.
-"it was for this useful invention that the king of hearts bestowed on me the title of 'doctor to his majesty's household.'"
-"h'm!" i remarked, when he had finished, "it's a very remarkable story. i seem to have heard of some of the incidents before, somehow."
-"very likely, very likely," said shin shira, "well, i must be going now." and he shook hands and went out by the door, in a sensible way for once.
-as he went out of the house, i heard him singing softly--
-"the queen of hearts, she made some tarts all on a summer's day"--
-and then he changed his song to--
-"sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye, four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
-"the maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes, and along came a blackbird and nipped off her nose."
-and i remembered then why his story had seemed so familiar.
-mystery no. x and last
-shin shira disappears
-the day after my little friend had related to me his experiences in the land of the king and queen of hearts, i was surprised to receive a portmanteau addressed to me, which, on my opening it, i found to contain the little yellow costume, including the turban with the diamond ornament, which shin shira had always worn.
-there was no note enclosed, and i naturally wondered very much what had occasioned this strange parcel being sent to me.
-i had no means of communicating with shin shira, and so had to wait with what patience i could summon for an explanation from him.
-i had not long to wait, fortunately, for in the afternoon of the same day the little fellow burst in upon me, clothed in a frock coat, tall hat and regulation costume of a gentleman in easy circumstances.
-i must say he was not nearly such a picturesque looking person as he had been in his oriental dress. he threw himself into a chair and seemed overflowing with news.
-"i've decided to settle down," he said breathlessly. "i didn't tell you yesterday because my arrangements were not quite completed, but i've begun now, and i'm going to settle down."
-"what do you mean?" i inquired, utterly bewildered by my friend's abrupt statement.
-"why," he began, "i'm tired of this constant changing from one place to another; and as i've not had to disappear now for some time, i've come to the conclusion that the fairies have overlooked the misdeeds of my ancestors and are going to give me a rest. i've taken a house in the highly respectable neighbourhood of russell square, and i've furnished it by means of my fairy powers with everything that is necessary; besides this, i've realised the full value of all my precious stones, except, of course, that which the dear princess gave me, and have opened a banking account. there!" and the little fellow sat back, evidently feeling quite exhausted by his long speech and vainly searching for his little fan, which, of course, was not there.
-i scarcely knew what to say to this surprising statement, and waited for further developments before replying. "i've engaged a housekeeper to look after me, and two servants also; and--as you see--have discarded my oriental costume for one more suitable to this country and climate; i sent you my old costume and turban by a trustworthy messenger this morning, having changed at my tailor's into the attire in which you see me. i hope it has arrived safely?"
-i assured him that it had, and sent for the portmanteau in order that he might see for himself.
-"that's all right, then," he said with a sigh of relief; "and now i want to hand you this blank cheque which i have signed, and, in case i disappear, i want you to draw out the whole amount standing to my account at the bank at the time, so that i may be able to get it in case i appear again. i have an idea that i shall not have to undergo these changes many more times. of course, if i never come back, the money will be yours, as i have no one else to leave it to."
-i thanked him very heartily for the trust he reposed in me, and assured him that his wishes should be carried out to the letter.
-"that's all right, then!" he exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction; "and now i want to arrange for a nice little party at my new home to act as a kind of--er--home warming--i think you call it. ask the children and any of your friends who know me, and, if you let me know beforehand how many are coming, i will arrange for what, i hope, will turn out to be a very enjoyable evening."
-we fixed the date, and after my little friend had gone, i wrote informally, as shin shira wished, to as many of my friends as would be likely to wish to come, to ask them to attend.
-nearly everybody accepted--for the little fellow was a great favourite with everybody who knew him--and, as shin shira looked in every day to know how the replies were coming in, i was able to tell him in a few days that we might expect from twenty to twenty-five guests.
-from then till the date fixed shin shira was very busy, and i only saw him once or twice, and on the eventful day i did not see him at all.
-the verrinder children were coming in the carriage with me, and, according to arrangement, we were the first to arrive.
-there was an awning at the door and a red carpet laid down the steps and across the pavement; the house was brilliantly lighted, and evidently grand preparations had been going on.
-i hurried up the steps, followed by marjorie, dick and fidge.
-the servant who stood at the open door, and who knew me by sight, was looking very anxious, and whispered, "the housekeeper would like to speak to you at once in the dining-room, sir."
-"anything the matter?" i asked.
-"yes, sir, the master--he--he can't be found," said the man.
-i hurried down to the dining-room, and found the housekeeper in her best black silk dress, looking even more distressed than the manservant had been.
-"the master, sir," she began at once when i entered the room. "whatever is to be done? he can't be found anywhere--and the guests beginning to arrive--"
-"never mind," said i, after thinking a moment. "i've no doubt he'll be here presently--and, in the meantime, as i know most if not all of the guests, i'll receive them, and explain that he has probably been called away and will no doubt be back presently."
-i hurried up into the drawing-room, and found that by this time several guests had arrived, and were looking greatly surprised at finding no host to receive them.
-i apologised for my friend as well as i was able, and pointed out that probably he would soon return, and, in the meantime, he would doubtless wish us to make ourselves at home.
-we found everything arranged for our comfort. professional singers gave an excellent concert in the drawing-room--an excellent supper was served downstairs.
-the children were not forgotten, and, while the concert had been proceeding in the drawing-room, an amusing entertainment was provided for them in another room. beside each plate at supper, also, there was a little present, chosen carefully, and our names written distinctly on each.
-everything was thoroughly well thought out and provided for--but--there was no host to receive our thanks and to bid us "good-bye" when we went.
-the whole affair, therefore, though i naturally did my best for my friend's sake to "keep things going," concluded rather flatly, and i went home after it was all over feeling not a little depressed and anxious.
-i called the next day, and the day after, but shin shira had not returned, nor had anything been heard of, or from him.
-it was most mysterious, and i could only account for it by the fact that the fairies may have, in fact must have, caused him to disappear once more.
-the housekeeper told me, on my inquiring of her, that he had been at home the whole of the day on which the party had been held, superintending all the arrangements, and had gone up early to his room to dress, and from that time all trace of him had been lost.
-i was very sorry, and the more so as days and weeks flew by and nothing happened to give us any clue as to his whereabouts.
-after a couple of months, i told the servants that they had better seek other situations, and when they had done so i let them go. i closed the house, and waited for events.
-it must have been quite a year later when i received the following letter--
-"isle of san sosta, " south pacific.
-"my dear friend,
-"i write once more to let you know that i am again in great trouble, but this time there is nothing in which you can help me, though i know, in the goodness of your heart, you would wish to do so if it were possible.
-"when, in accordance with the fairies' decree, to which i must always most humbly bow, i was called upon to disappear at the very moment when i was hoping to welcome my guests to my newly established home, i found myself most unexpectedly in this place.
-"it is an island very little known, and far out of the beaten track of vessels.
-"once a year, however, a trader calls, bringing and taking letters and exchanging for the produce of this place such necessities as we require from more civilised lands.
-"the people of this country are very simple and of primitive habits, so much so that it is the custom here if a maiden remains unmarried after a certain age, and becomes a burden to her parents, to turn her out of the community, and leave her to seek food for herself or starve in the desert.
-"this cruel and unnatural law i have constantly tried to get altered, and the king and his advisers consent to do so only on one condition, and that is, that i find a husband for the only unmarried daughter of the king, who is at present an outcast in the wilderness, being of most uncomely appearance and greatly deformed.
-"i have been out into the wilderness to see the poor creature myself. she is indeed in a pitiful plight, being far from fair to look upon, and gaunt and thin with exposure and suffering.
-"i conversed with her and found her intelligent, and patient under her great afflictions; in fact, her sad case so touched my heart that, not only for her sake, but for the sake of the other unfortunate maidens who, unless this cruel law is altered, may have to suffer a fate similar to hers, i have decided to marry her myself, and thus rescue her and others who may follow her.
-"i think of my sweet princess and feel that she would approve--for never shall i see her dear face again--and in making this marriage she would know i was inclined to it from pity and not from any untruthfulness to her most dear memory.
-"the stone she gave me i cannot bear to see any more, and this i ask you to keep until i claim it again; all my other goods and the money in the bank i leave to you absolutely.
-"i feel that i may never see you again, and if this be so, accept my hearty and devoted thanks for all you have done for me. think of me sometimes and
-"believe me to be, "your friend always, "shin shira scaramanga manousa yama hawa."
-i sat a long while after i had read this letter, thinking of all the strange happenings since i had known my little friend.
-i had grown quite to love and respect him, and when i thought of the noble and chivalrous deed he intended performing in order to save the poor creature in that far-off island, i felt that he was indeed worthy of all admiration.
-i got down a map, and tried in vain to find the island he mentioned. it was not marked in any of those which i had by me.
-then i found the portmanteau which shin shira had left with me, and looked at the little yellow costume, which reminded me so much of my friend.
-in lifting it from the bag, something heavy dropped from between the folds. it was the magic crystal. i held it in my hand, and wished i could see what shin shira was doing at that moment. the thought had no sooner entered my head than i gave an exclamation of surprise.
-a mist in which vague figures were moving filled the crystal, and presently i could see distinctly a large crowd of people gathered together. a man and woman stood beneath a canopy--the man i soon perceived was shin shira himself, still clothed in the immaculate frock coat and tall hat in which i had last seen him dressed. the woman was a poor, deformed thing and pitifully plain--her gaudy dress and many jewels but helped to point the contrast.
-before them stood a priest, and at the side the king, surrounded by his warriors. it was evidently the celebration of a wedding, and the ceremony was over, for the bridegroom led the bride from under the canopy and knelt with her before the king, who stretched out his hands as though he were giving them his blessing--and then, to my astonishment, a most marvellous thing happened. a blaze of light flashed across the scene, and a beautiful being, who i am convinced was the fairy queen herself, floated down from the heights above, accompanied by a crowd of beings nearly as beautiful as herself. she waved her wand three times, and the bride became a beautiful princess, and shin shira grew tall, young and handsome in an instant.
-the king and his court gazed in amazement at the scene, and the princess fell into shin shira's arms.
-the fairy waved her wand again, and a bright crown appeared on shin shira's head, in which flashed a single stone of great brilliancy. at the same instant the jewel vanished from the yellow turban beside me.
-the crystal grew clear as the beautiful scene faded away, and that was the last glimpse i ever had of my little friend.
-i often think of him, and i like to imagine, as, indeed, i believe to be the case, that the fairies have restored to him his full powers, and that the bride he had so unselfishly wedded turned out to be the very princess to whom he had been faithful throughout his long life.
-it may be so--if the crystal spoke truly. who knows?
-ben blair the story of a plainsman
-by will lillibridge
-author of "where the trail divides," etc.
-a. l. burt company, publishers new york
-entered at stationers' hall, london
-all rights reserved
-to my wife
-in rude border-land
-even in a community where unsavory reputations were the rule, mick kennedy's saloon was of evil repute. in a land new and wild, his establishment was the wildest, partook most of the unsubdued, unevolved character of its surroundings. there, as irresistibly as gravitation calls the falling apple, came from afar and near--mainly from afar--the malcontent, the restless, the reckless, seeking--instinctively gregarious--the crowd, the excitement of the green-covered table, the temporary oblivion following the gulping of fiery red liquor.
-great splendid animals were the men who gathered there; hairy, powerful, strong-voiced from combat with prairie wind and frontier distance; devoid of a superfluous ounce of flesh, their trousers, uniformly baggy at the knees, bearing mute testimony to the many hours spent in the saddle; the bare unprotected skin of their hands and faces speaking likewise of constant contact with sun and storm.
-by the broad glow of daylight the place was anything but inviting. the heavy bar, made of cottonwood, had no more elegance than the rude sod shanty of the pioneer. the worn round cloth-topped tables, imported at extravagant cost from the east, were covered with splashes of grease and liquor; and the few fly-marked pictures on the walls were coarsely suggestive. scattered among them haphazard, in one instance through a lithographic print, were round holes as large as a spike-head, through which, by closely applying the eye, one could view the world without. when the place was new, similar openings had been carefully refilled with a whittled stick of wood, but the practice had been discontinued; it was too much trouble, and also useless from the frequency with which new holes were made. besides, although accepted with unconcern by habitués of the place, they were a source of never-ending interest to the "tenderfeet" who occasionally appeared from nowhere and disappeared whence they had come.
-but at night all was different. encircling the room with gleaming points of light were a multitude of blazing candles, home-made from tallow of prairie cattle. the irradiance, almost as strong as daylight, but radically different, softened all surrounding objects. the prairie dust, penetrating with the wind, spread itself everywhere. the reflection from cheap glassware, carefully polished, made it appear of costly make; the sawdust of the floor seemed a downy covering; the crude heavy chairs, an imitation of the artistic furniture of our fathers. even the face of bartender mick, with its stiff unshaven red beard and its single eye,--merciless as an electric headlight,--its broad flaming scar leading down from the blank socket of its mate, became less repulsive under the softened light.
-with the coming of fall frosts, the premonition of winter, the frequenters of the place gathered earlier, remained later, emptied more of the showily labelled bottles behind the bar, and augmented when possible their well-established reputation for recklessness. about the soiled tables the fringe of bleared faces and keen hawk-like eyes was more closely drawn. the dull rattle of poker-chips lasted longer, frequently far into the night, and even after the tardy light of morning had come to the rescue of the sputtering stumps in the candlesticks.
-on such a morning, early in november, daylight broadened upon a characteristic scene. only one table was in use, and around it sat four men. one by one the other players had cashed out and left the game. one of them was snoring in a corner, his head resting upon the sawdust. another leaned heavily upon the bar, a half-drained glass before him. even the four at the table were not as upon the night before. the hands which held the greasy cards and toyed with the stacks of chips were steady, but the heads controlling them wavered uncertainly; and the hawk eyes were bloodshot.
-a man with a full beard, roughly trimmed into the travesty of a vandyke, was dealing. he tossed out the cards, carefully inclining their faces downward, and returned the remainder of the pack softly to the table.
-"pass, damn it!" growled the man at the left.
-"pass," came from the next man.
-"pass," echoed the last of the quartette.
-five blue chips dropped in a row upon the cloth.
-"i open it."
-the dealer took up the pack lovingly.
-the man at the left, tall, gaunt, ill-kempt, flicked the pasteboards in his hand to the floor and ground them beneath his heavy boots.
-"give me five."
-the point of the vandyke beard was aimed straight past the speaker.
-"cards?" repeated the dealer.
-"five! can't you hear?"
-the man braced against the bar looked around with interest. in the mask of mick kennedy the single eye closed almost imperceptibly. slowly the face of the dealer turned.
-"i can hear you pretty well when you cash into the game. you already owe me forty blues, blair."
-the long figure stiffened, the face went pale.
-"you--mean--you--" the tongue was very thick. "you cut me out?"
-for a moment there was silence; then once more the beard pointed to the player next beyond.
-"cards?" for the third time.
-five chips ranged in a row beside their predecessors.
-a hand, almost the hand of a gentleman, went instinctively to the gaunt throat of the ignored gambler and jerked at the close flannel shirt; then without a word the owner got unsteadily to his feet and followed an irregular trail toward the interested spectator at the bar.
-"have a drink with me, pard," said the gambler, as he regarded the immovable mick. "two whiskeys, there!"
-kennedy did not stir, and for five seconds blair blinked his dulled eyes in wordless surprise; then his fist came down upon the cottonwood board with a mighty crash.
-"wake up there, mick!" he roared. "i'm speaking to you! a couple of 'ryes' for the gentleman here and myself."
-another pause, momentary but effective.
-"i heard you." the barkeeper spoke quietly but without the slightest change of expression, even of the eye. "i heard you, but i'm not dealing out drinks to deadbeats. pay up, and i'll be glad to serve you."
-swift as thought blair's hand went to his hip, and the rattle of poker-chips sympathetically ceased. a second, and a big revolver was trained fair at the dispenser of liquors.
-"curse you, mick kennedy!" muttered a choking voice, "when i order drinks i want drinks. dig up there, and be lively!"
-the man by the speaker's side, surprised out of his intoxication, edged away to a discreet distance; but even yet the irishman made no move. only the single headlight shifted in its socket until it looked unblinkingly into the blazing eyes of the gambler.
-"tom blair," commanded an even voice, "tom blair, you white livered bully, put up that gun!"
-slowly, very slowly, the speaker turned,--all but the terrible cyclopean eye,--and moved forward until his body leaned upon the bar, his face protruding over it.
-"put up that gun, i tell you!" a smile almost fiendish broke over the furrows of the rugged face. "you wouldn't dast shoot, unless perhaps it was a woman, you coward!"
-"what do i owe you altogether, mick?" asked a changed and subdued voice. "make it as easy as you can."
-kennedy relaxed into his lounging position.
-"thirty-five dollars. we'll call it thirty. you've been setting them up to everybody here for a week on your face."
-"can't you give me just a little more credit, mick?" an expression meant to be a smile formed upon the haggard face. "just for old time's sake? you know i've always been a good customer of yours, kennedy."
-"not a cent."
-"but i've got to have liquor!" one hand, ill-kept, but long of fingers and refined of shape, steadied the speaker. "i can't get along without it!"
-the man thought a moment and shook his head.
-"i haven't anything to sell; you know that. it's the wrong time of the year." he paused, and the travesty of a smile reappeared. "next winter--"
-"you've got a horse outside."
-for an instant blair's gaunt face darkened at the insult; he grew almost dignified; but the drink curse had too strong a grip upon him and the odor of whiskey was in the air.
-"yes, i've a good horse," he said slowly. "what'll you give for him?"
-"he's a good horse, worth a hundred."
-"i'm glad of that, but i'm not dealing in horses. i make the offer just to oblige you. besides, as you said, it's an off season."
-"you won't give me more?"
-blair looked impotently about the room, but his former companions had returned to their game. filling in the silence, the dull clatter of chips mingled with the drunken snores of the man on the floor.
-"very well, give me forty," he said at last.
-"you accept, do you?"
-blair waited a moment. "aren't you going to give me what's coming?" he asked.
-slowly the single eye fixed him as before.
-"i didn't know you had anything coming."
-"why, you just said forty dollars!"
-there was no relenting in kennedy's face.
-"you owe that gentleman over there at the table for forty blues. i'll settle with him."
-instinctively, as before, blair's thin hand went to his throat, clutching at the coarse flannel. he saw he was beaten.
-"well, give me a drink, anyway!"
-silently mick took a big flask from the shelf and set it with a decanter upon the bar. filling the glass, blair drained it at a gulp, refilled and drained it--and then again.
-"a little drop to take along with me," he whined.
-kennedy selected a pint bottle, filled it from the big flask, and silently proffered it over the board.
-blair took the extended favor, glanced once more about the room, and stumbled toward the exit. mick busied himself wiping the soiled bar with a towel, if possible, even more filthy. at the threshold, his hand upon the knob, blair paused, stiffened, grew livid in the face.
-"may satan blister your scoundrel souls, all of you!" he cursed.
-not a man within sound of his voice gave sign that he had heard, as the opened door returned to its casing with a crash.
-ten miles out on the prairies,--not lands plane as a table, as they are usually pictured, but rolling like the sea with waves of tremendous amplitude--stood a rough shack, called by courtesy a house. like many a more pretentious domicile, it was of composite construction, although consisting of but one room. at the base was the native prairie sod, piled tier upon tier. above this the superstructure, like the bar of mick kennedy's resort, was of warping cottonwood. built out from this single room and forming a part of it was what the designer had called a woodshed; but as no tree the size of a man's wrist was within ten miles, or a railroad within fifty, the term was manifestly a misnomer. wood in any form it had never contained; instead, it was filled with that providential fuel of the frontiersman, found superabundantly upon the ranges,--buffalo chips.
-from the main room there was another and much smaller opening into the sod foundation, and below it,--a dog-kennel. slightly apart from the shack stood a twin structure even less assuming, its walls and roof being wholly built of sod. it was likewise without partition, and was used as a barn. hard by was a corral covering perhaps two acres, enclosed with a barbed-wire fence. these three excrescences upon the face of nature comprised the "improvements" of the "big b ranch."
-within the house the furnishings accorded with their surroundings. two folding bunks, similar in conception to the upper berths of a pullman car, were built end to end against the wall; when they were raised to give room, four supports dangled beneath like paralyzed arms. a home-made table, suggesting those scattered about country picnic grounds, a few cheap chairs, a row of chests and cupboards variously remodelled from a common foundation of dry-goods boxes, and a stove, ingeniously evolved out of the cylinder and head of a portable engine, comprised the furniture.
-the morning sunlight which dimmed the candles of mick kennedy's saloon drifted through the single high-set window of the big b ranch-house, revealing there a very different scene. from beneath the quilts in one of the folding bunks appeared the faces of a woman and a little boy. at the opening of the dog-kennel the head of a mottled yellow-and-white mongrel dog projected into the room, the sensitive muzzle pointing directly at the occupied bunk. the eyes of woman, child, and beast were open and moved restlessly about.
-"mamma," and the small boy wriggled beneath the clothes, "mamma, i'm hungry."
-the white face of the woman turned away, more pallid than before. an unfamiliar observer would have been at a loss to guess the age of the owner. in that haggard, non-committal countenance there was nothing to indicate whether she was twenty-five or forty.
-the boy closed his eyes dutifully, and for perhaps five minutes there was silence; then the blue orbs opened wider than before.
-"never mind, benjamin. the horses, the rabbits, the birds,--all get hungry sometimes." a hacking cough interrupted her words. "snuggle close up to me, little son, and keep warm."
-"but, mamma, i want something to eat. won't you get it for me?"
-"i can't, son."
-he waited a moment. "won't you let me help myself, then, mamma?"
-the eyes of the mother moistened.
-"mamma," the child repeated, gently shaking his mother's shoulder, "won't you let me help myself?"
-"there's nothing for you to eat, sonny, nothing at all."
-the blue child-eyes widened; the serious little face puckered.
-"why ain't there anything to eat, mamma?"
-"because there isn't, bubby."
-the reasoning was conclusive, and the child accepted it without further parley; but soon another interrogation took form in his active brain.
-"it's cold, mamma," he announced. "aren't you going to build a fire?"
-again the mother coughed, and a flush of red appeared upon her cheeks.
-"no," she answered with a sigh.
-"why not, mamma?"
-there was not the slightest trace of irritation in the answering voice, although it was clearly an effort to speak.
-"i can't get up this morning, little one."
-mysteries were multiplying, but the small benjamin was equal to the occasion. with a spring he was out of bed, and in another moment was stepping gingerly upon the cold bare floor.
-"i'm going to build a fire for you, mamma," he announced.
-the homely mongrel whined a welcome to the little lad's appearance, and with his tail beat a friendly tattoo upon the kennel floor; but the woman spoke no word. with impassive face she watched the shivering little figure as it hurried into its clothes, and then, with celerity born of experience, went about the making of a fire. suddenly a hitherto unthought-of possibility flashed into the boy's mind, and leaving his work he came back to the bunk.
-"are you sick, mamma?" he asked.
-instantly the woman's face softened.
-"yes, laddie," she answered gently.
-carefully as a nurse, the small protector replaced the cover at his mother's back, where his exit had left a gap; then returned to his work.
-"you must have it warm here," he said.
-not until the fire in the old cylinder makeshift was burning merrily did he return to his patient; then, standing straight before her, he looked down with an air of childish dignity that would have been comical had it been less pathetic.
-"are you very sick, mamma?" he said at last, hesitatingly.
-"i am dying, little son." she spoke calmly and impersonally, without even a quickening of the breath. the thin hand, lying on the tattered cover, did not stir.
-"mamma!" the old-man face of the boy tightened, as, bending over the bed, he pressed his warm cheek against hers, now growing cold and white.
-at the mouth of the kennel two bright eyes were watching curiously. their owner wriggled the tip of his muzzle inquiringly, but the action brought no response. then the muzzle went into the air, and a whine, long-drawn and insistent, broke the silence.
-the boy rose. there was not a trace of moisture in his eyes, but the uncannily aged face seemed older than before. he went over to a peg where his clothes were hanging and took down the frayed garment that answered as an overcoat. from the bunk there came another cough, quickly muffled; but he did not turn. cap followed coat, mittens cap; then, suddenly remembering, he turned to the stove and scattered fresh chips upon the glowing embers.
-"good-bye, mamma," said the boy.
-the mother had been watching him, although she gave no sign. "where are you going, sonny?" she asked.
-"to town, mamma. someone ought to know you're sick."
-there was a moment's pause, wherein the mongrel whined impatiently.
-"aren't you going to kiss me first, benjamin?"
-the little lad retraced his steps, until, bending over, his lips touched those of his mother. as he did so, the hand which had lain upon the coverlet shifted to his arm detainingly.
-"how were you thinking of going, son?"
-a look of surprise crept into the boy's blue eyes. a question like this, with its obvious answer, was unusual from his matter-of-fact mother. he glanced at her gravely.
-"i'm going afoot, mamma."
-"it's ten miles to town, benjamin."
-"but you and i walked it once together. don't you remember?"
-an expression the lad did not understand flashed over the white face of jennie blair. well she remembered that other occasion, one of many like the present, when she and the little lad had gone in company to the settlement of which mick kennedy's place was a part, in search of someone whom after ten hours' delay they had succeeded in bringing home,--the remnant and vestige of what was once a man.
-"yes, i know we did, bennie."
-the boy waited a moment longer, then straightened himself.
-"i think i'd better be starting now."
-but instead of loosening its hold, the hand upon the boy's shoulder tightened. the eyes of the two met.
-"you're not going, sonny. i'm glad you thought of it, but i can't let you go."
-again there was silence for so long that the waiting dog, impatient of the delay, whined in soft protest.
-"why not, mamma?"
-"because, benjamin, it's too late now. besides, there wouldn't be a person there who would come out to help me."
-the boy's look of perplexity returned.
-"not if they knew you were very sick, mamma?"
-"not if they knew i was dying, my son."
-the boy took off hat, mittens, and coat, and returned them to their places. never in his short life had he questioned a statement of his mother's, and such heresy did not occur to him now. coming back to the bunk, he laid his cheek caressingly beside hers.
-"is there anything i can do for you, mamma?" he whispered.
-"nothing but what you are doing now, laddie."
-tired of standing, the mongrel dropped within his tracks flat upon his belly, and, his head resting upon his fore-paws, lay watching intently.
-when the door of mick kennedy's saloon closed with an emphasis that shook the very walls, it shut out a being more ferocious, more evil, than any beast of the jungle. for the time, blair's alcohol-saturated brain evolved but one chain of thought, was capable of but one emotion--hate. every object in the universe, from its creator to himself, fell under the ban. the language of hate is curses; and as he moved out over the prairie there dripped from his lips continuously, monotonously, a trickling, blighting stream of malediction. swaying, stumbling, unconscious of his physical motions, instinct kept him upon the trail; a providence, sometimes kindest to those least worthy, preserved him from injury.
-two hours later, when it was past noon, an uncertain hand lifted the wooden latch of the big b ranch-house door, and, heralded by an inrush of cold outside air, tom blair, master and dictator, entered his domain. the passage of time, the physical exercise, and the prairie air, had somewhat cleared his brain. just within the room, he paused and looked about him with surprise. with premonition of impending trouble, the mongrel bristled the yellow hair of his neck, and, retreating to the mouth of his kennel, stood guard; but otherwise the scene was to a detail as it had been in the morning. the woman lay passive within the bunk. the child by her side, holding her hand, did not turn. the very atmosphere of the place tingled with an ominous quiet,--a silence such as one who has lived through a cyclone connects instinctively with a whirling oncoming black funnel.
-the new-comer was first to make a move. walking over to the centre of the room, he stopped and looked upon his subjects.
-"well, of all the infernally lazy people i ever saw!" he commented, "you beat them, jennie! get up and cook something to eat; it's way after noon, and i'm hungry."
-the woman said nothing, but the boy slid to his feet, facing the intruder.
-"mamma's sick and can't get up," he explained as impersonally as to a stranger. "besides, there isn't anything to cook. she said so."
-the man's brow contracted into a frown.
-"speak when you're spoken to, young upstart!" he snapped. "out with you, jennie! i don't want to be monkeyed with to-day!"
-he hung up his coat and cap, and loosened his belt a hole; but no one else in the room moved.
-"didn't you hear me?" he asked, looking warningly toward the bunk.
-"yes," she replied.
-autocrat under his own roof, the man paused in surprise. never before had a command here been disobeyed. he could scarcely believe his own senses.
-"you know what to do, then," he said sharply.
-for the first time a touch of color came into the woman's cheeks, and catching the man's eyes she looked into them unfalteringly.
-"since when did i become your slave, tom blair?" she asked slowly.
-the words were a challenge, the tone was that of some wild thing, wounded, cornered, staring death in the face, but defiant to the end. "since when did you become my owner, body and soul?"
-any sportsman, any being with a fragment of admiration for even animal courage, would have held aloof then. it remained for this man, bred amid high civilization, who had spent years within college halls, to strike the prostrate. as in the frontier saloon, so now his hand went involuntarily to his throat, clutched at the binding collar until the button flew; then, as before, his face went white.
-"since when!" he blazed, "since when! i admire your nerve to ask that question of me! since six years ago, when you first began living with me. since the day when you and the boy,--and not a preacher within a hundred miles--" words, a flood of words, were upon his lips; but suddenly he stopped. despite the alcohol still in his brain, despite the effort he made to continue, the gaze of the woman compelled silence.
-"you dare recall that memory, tom blair?" the words came more slowly than before, and with an intensity that burned them into the hearer's memory. "you dare, knowing what i gave up for your sake!" the eyes blazed afresh, the dark head was raised on the pillows. "you know that my son stands listening, and yet you dare throw my coming to you in my face?"
-white to the lips went the scarred visage of the man, but the madness was upon him.
-"i dare?" to his own ears the voice sounded unnatural. "i dare? to be sure i dare! you came to me of your own free-will. you were not a child!" his voice rose and the flush returned to his face. "you knew the price and accepted it deliberately,--deliberately, i say!"
-impassive but intent listener, an instinct now sent the boy benjamin back to his post.
-"mamma," he said gently. "mamma!"
-there was no answer, nor even a responsive pressure of the hand.
-"mamma!" he repeated more loudly. "mamma! mamma!"
-still no answer, only the limp passivity. then suddenly, although never before in his short life had the little lad looked upon death, he recognized it now. his mamma, his playmate, his teacher, was like this; she would not speak to him, would not answer him; she would never speak to him or smile upon him again! like a thunderclap came the realization of this. then another thought swiftly followed. this man,--one who had said things that hurt her, that brought the red spots to her cheeks,--this man was to blame. not in the least did he understand the meaning of what he had just heard. no human being had suggested to him that blair was the cause of his mother's death; but as surely as he would remember their words as long as he lived, so surely did he recognize the man's guilt. suddenly, as powder responds to the spark, there surged through his tiny body a terrible animal hate for this man, and, scarcely realizing the action, he rushed at him.
-"she's dead and you killed her!" he screamed. "mamma's dead, dead!" and the little doubled fists struck at the man's legs again and again.
-oblivious to the onslaught, tom blair strode over to the bunk.
-"jennie," he said, not unkindly, "jennie, what's the matter?"
-again there was no response, and a shade of awe crept into the man's voice.
-"jennie! jennie! answer me!" a hand fell upon the woman's shoulder and shook it, first gently, then roughly. "answer me, i say!"
-behind him the boy benjamin, his sudden hot passion over, stood watching intently,--his face almost uncanny in its lack of childishness.
-for a time there was absolute silence, the hush of a death-chamber; then of a sudden the boy was conscious that the man was looking at him in a way he had never looked before. deep down below our consciousness, far beneath the veneer of civilization, there is an instinct, relic of the vigilant savage days, that warns us of personal danger. by this instinct the lad now interpreted the other's gaze, and knew that it meant ill for him. for some reason which he could not understand, this man, this big animal, was his mortal enemy; and, in the manner of smaller animals, he began to consider an avenue of escape.
-"ben," spoke the man, "come here!"
-tom blair was sober now, and wore a look of determination upon his face that few had ever seen there before; but to his surprise the boy did not respond. he waited a moment, and then said sharply:
-"ben, i'm speaking to you. come here at once!"
-for answer there was a tightening of the lad's blue eyes and an added watchfulness in the incongruously long childish figure; but that was all.
-another lagging minute passed, wherein the two regarded each other steadily. the man's eyes dropped first.
-"you little devil!" he muttered, and the passion began showing in his voice. "i believe you knew what i was thinking all the time! anyway, you'll know now. you said awhile ago that i was to blame for your mother being--as she is. you're liable to say that again." a horror greater than sudden passion was in the deliberate explanation and in the slow way he rose to his feet. "i'm going to fix you so you can't say it again, you old-man imp!"
-then a peculiar thing happened. instead of running away, the boy took a step forward, and the man paused, scarcely believing his eyes. another step forward, and yet another, came the diminutive figure, until almost within the aggressor's reach; then suddenly, quick as a cat, it veered, dropped upon all fours to the floor, and head first, scrambling like a rabbit, disappeared into the open mouth of the dog-kennel.
-too late the man saw the trick, and curses came to his lips,--curses fit for a fiend, fit for the irresponsible being he was. he himself had built that kennel. it extended in a curve eight feet into the solid sod foundation, and to get at the spot where the boy now lay he would have to tear down the house itself. the temper which had made the man what he now was, a drunkard and fugitive in a frontier country, took possession of him wholly, and with it came a madman's cunning; for at a sudden thought he stopped, and the cursing tongue was silent. five minutes later he left the place, closing the door carefully behind him; but before that time a red jet of flame, like the ravenous tongue of a famished beast, was lapping at a hastily assembled pile of tinder-dry furniture in one corner of the shanty.
-the box r ranch
-mr. rankin moved back from a well-discussed table, and, the room being conveniently small, tilted his chair back against the wall. the protesting creak of the ill-glued joints under the strain of his ponderous figure was a signal for all the diners, and five other men likewise drew away from around the board. rankin extracted a match and a stout jack-knife from the miscellaneous collection of useful articles in his capacious pocket, carefully whittled the bit of wood to a point, and picked his teeth deliberately. the five "hands," sun-browned, unshaven, dissimilar in face as in dress, waited in expectation; but the housekeeper, a shapeless, stolid-looking woman, wife of the foreman, graham, went methodically about the work of clearing the table. rankin watched her a moment indifferently; then without turning his head, his eyes shifted in their narrow slits of sockets until they rested upon one of the cowboys.
-"what time was it you saw that smoke, grannis?" he asked.
-the man addressed paused in the operation of rolling a cigarette.
-"'bout an hour ago, i should say. i was just thinking of coming in to dinner."
-the lids met over rankin's eyes, then the narrow slit opened.
-"it was in the no'thwest you say, and seemed to be quite a way off?"
-"yes; i couldn't make out any fire, only the smoke, and that didn't last long. i thought at first maybe it was a prairie fire, and started to see; but it was getting thinner before i'd gone a mile, so i turned round and by the time i got back to the corral there wasn't nothing at all to see."
-two of the other hands solemnly exchanged a wink.
-"think you must have eaten too many of ma graham's pancakes this morning, and had a blur over your eyes," commented one, slyly. "prairie fires don't stop that sudden when the grass is like it is now."
-the portly housewife paused in her work to cast a look of scorn upon the speaker, but grannis rushed into the breach.
-"don't you believe it. there was a fire all right. somebody stopped it, or it stopped itself, that's all."
-tilting his chair forward with an effort, rankin got to his feet, and, as usual, his action brought the discussion to an end. the woman returned to her work; the men put on hats and coats preparatory to going out of doors. only the proprietor stood passive a moment absently drawing down his vest over his portly figure.
-"graham," he said at last, "hitch the mustangs to the light wagon."
-the man addressed paused.
-"throw in a couple of extra blankets."
-out of doors the men took up the conversation where they had left off.
-"you better begin to hope the old man finds something that's been afire up there, grannis," said the joker of the house. "if he don't, you've cooked your goose proper."
-grannis was a new-comer, and looked his surprise.
-"why so?" he asked.
-"you'll find out why," retorted the other. "fire here's 'most as uncommon as rain, and the boss don't like them smoky jokes."
-"but i saw smoke, i tell you," reiterated grannis, defensively; "smoke, dead sure!"
-"all right, if you're certain sure."
-"marcom knows what he's talking about, grannis," said graham. "he tried to ginger things up a bit when he was new here, like you are; found a litter of coyotes one september--thought they were timber wolves, i guess, and braced up with his story to the old man." the speaker paused with a reflective grin.
-"well, what happened?" asked grannis.
-"what happened? the boss sent me dusting about forty miles to get some hounds. nearly spoiled a good team to get back inside sixteen hours, and--they found out bill here in the next thirty minutes, that was all!" once more the story ended in a grin.
-"what'd rankin say?" asked grannis, with interest.
-"how about it, bill?" suggested graham.
-the big cowboy looked a trifle foolish.
-"oh, he didn't say much; 'tain't his way. he just remarked, sort of off-hand, that as far as i was concerned the next year had only about four pay-months in it. that was all."
-whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing at once. this was the motto of the master of the box r ranch. in ten minutes' time rankin's big shapeless figure, seated in the old buckboard, was moving northwest at the steady jog-trot typical of prairie travel, and which as the hours pass by annihilates distance surprisingly. simply a fat, an abnormally fat, man, the casual observer would have said. it remained for those who came in actual contact with him to learn the force beneath the forbidding exterior,--the relentless bull-dog energy that had made him dictator of the great ranch, and kept subordinate the restless, roving, dissolute men-of-fortune he employed,--the deliberate and impartial judgment which had made his word as near law as it was possible for any mandate to be among the motley inhabitants within a radius of fifty miles. had rankin chosen he could have attained honor, position, power in his native eastern home. no barrier built of convention or of conservatism could have withstood him. society reserves her prizes largely for the man of initiative; and, uncomely block as he was, rankin was of the true type. but for some reason, a reason known to none of his associates, he had chosen to come to the west. some consideration or other had caused him to stop at his present abode, and had made him apparently a fixture in the midst of this unconquered country.
-not until he was within a mile of the "big b" property, and a rise in the monotonous roll of the land brought him in range of vision, did rankin show that he felt more than ordinary interest in his expedition; then, shading his eyes, he looked steadily ahead. the sod barn stood in its usual place; the corral, with its posts set close together, stretched by its side; but where the house had stood there could not be distinguished even a mound. the hand on the reins tightened meaningly, and in sympathy the mustangs moved ahead at a swifter pace, leaving behind a trail of tobacco-smoke denser than before.
-when the little benjamin blair, fugitive, had literally taken to the earth, it was with definite knowledge of the territory he was entering. he had often explored its depths with childish curiosity, to the distress of his mother and the disgust of the rightful owner, the mongrel dog. retreating to the farther end of the cave, the instinct of self-preservation set hands and feet to work like the claws of a gopher, filling with loose dirt the narrow passage through which he had entered. panting and perspiring with the effort, choked with the dust he raised, all but suffocated, he dug until his strength gave out; then, curling up in his narrow quarters, he lay listening. at first he heard nothing, not even a sound from the dog; and he wondered at the fact. he could not believe that tom blair would leave him in peace, and he breathlessly awaited the first tap of an instrument against his retreat. a minute passed, lengthened to five--to ten--and with the quick impatience of childhood he started to learn the reason of the delay. his active little body revolved in its nest. in the darkness a wiry arm scratched at the recently erected barricade. a head with a tousled mass of hair poked its way into the opening, crowded forward a foot--two feet, then stopped, the whole body quivering. he had passed the curve, and of a sudden it was as though he had opened the door of a furnace and gazed inside. instead of the familiar room, a great sheet of flame walled him in. instead of silence, a roar as of a hurricane was in his ears. never in his life had he seen a great fire, but instantly he understood. instantly the instinctive animal terror of fire gripped him; he retreated to the very depths of the kennel, and burying his small head in his arms lay still. but not even then, child though he was, did he utter a cry. the endurance which had made jennie blair stare death impassively in the face was part and parcel of his nature.
-for the space of perhaps a minute ben lay motionless. louder than before came to his ears the roar of the fire. occasionally a hot tongue of flame intruded mockingly into the mouth of his retreat. the confined air about him grew close, narcotic. he expected to die, and with the premonition of death an abnormal activity came to the child-brain. whatever knowledge he possessed of death was connected with his mother. it was she who had given him his vague impression of another life. she herself, as she lay silent and unresponsive, had been the first concrete example of it. inevitably thought of her came to him now,--practical, material thought, crowding from his brain the blind terror that had been its predecessor. where was his mother now? he pictured again the furnace into which he had gazed from the mouth of the kennel. though perhaps she would not feel it, she would be burned--burned to a crisp--destroyed like the fuel he had tossed into the makeshift stove! instinctively he felt the sacrilege, and the desire to do something to prevent it. something--yes, but what? he was himself helpless; he must seek outside aid--but where? suddenly there occurred to the child-mind a suggestion applicable to his difficulty, an adequate solution, for it involved everything he had learned to trust in life. he remembered a being more powerful than man, more powerful than fire or cold,--a being whom his mother had called god. believing in him, it was necessary only to ask for whatever one wished. for himself, even to save his life, he would not call upon this being; but for his mamma! in childish faith he folded his hands and closed his eyes in the darkness.
-"god," he prayed, "please put out this fire and save my mamma from burning!"
-the small hands loosened and the lips parted to hear the first diminution in the growl of the flame. but it roared on.
-"god!" the hands were clasped again, the voice vibrant with pleading. "god, please put out the fire! please put it out!"
-silence again within, but without only the steady roaring crackle. could it be possible the petition had not been heard? the childish hands met more tightly than before. the small body fairly writhed.
-"god! god!" he implored for the third time. "listen to me, please! save my mamma, my mamma!"
-for a moment the little figure lay still. surely there would be an answer now. his mamma had said there would be, and whatever his mamma had told him had always come true. the air about him was so close he could scarcely breathe; but he did not notice it. reversing head and feet, he started out of the kennel. it was certainly time to leave. the roar he had heard must have been of the wind. assuredly god had acted before this. head first, gasping, he moved on, reached the curve, and looked out.
-indignation took possession of the little figure. the fingers clinched until the nails bit deep into the soft palms. the whole body trembled in impotent anger and outraged self-respect. upon the face of the small man was suddenly written the implacable defiance which one sees in carnivora when wounded and cornered--intensified as an expression can only be intensified upon a human face--as, almost unconsciously, he returned to the hollow he had left, and fairly thrust his tousled head into the kindly earth.
-how long he remained there he did not know. the stifling atmosphere of the place gradually overcame him. anger, wonder, the multitude of thoughts crowding his child-brain, slowly faded away; consciousness lapsed, and he slept.
-when he awoke it was with a start and a vague wonder as to his whereabouts. then memory returned, and he listened intently. not a sound could he distinguish save his own breathing, as he slowly made his way to the mouth of the kennel. before him was the opposite sod wall of the house standing as high as his head; above that, the blue of the sky; upon what had been the earthen floor, a strewing of ashes; over all, calm, glorious, the slanting rays of the low afternoon sun. a moment the boy lay gazing out; then he crawled to his feet, shaking off the dirt as a dog does. one glance about, and the blue eyes halted. a moisture came into them, gathered into drops, and then, breaking over the barrier of the long lashes, tears flowed through the accumulated grime, down the thin cheeks, leaving a clean pathway behind. that was all, for an instant; then a look--terrible in a mature person and doubly so in a child--came over the long face,--an expression partaking of both hate and vengeance. it mirrored an emotion that in a nature such as that of benjamin blair would never be forgotten. some day, for some one, there would be a moment of reckoning; for the child was looking at the charred, unrecognizable corpse of his mother.
-a half-hour later, rankin, steaming into the yard of the big b ranch, came upon a scene that savored much of a play. it was so dramatic that the big man paused in contemplation of it. he saw there the sod and ashes of what had once been a home. the place must have burned like tinder, for now, but a few hours from the time when grannis had first given the alarm, not an atom of smoke ascended. at one end of the quadrangular space enclosed by the walls stood the makeshift stove, discolored with the heat, as was the length of pipe by its side. near by was a heap of warped iron and tin cooking utensils. at one side, covered by an old gunny-sack and a boy's tattered coat, was another object the form of which the observer could not distinguish.
-in the middle of the plat, standing a few inches below the surface, was a small boy, and in his hands a very large spade. he wore a man's discarded shirt, with sleeves rolled up at the wrist, and neck-band pinned tight at one side. obviously, he had been digging, for a small pile of fresh dirt was heaped at his right. now, however, he was motionless, the blue eyes beneath the long lashes observing the new-comer inquiringly. that was all, save that to the picture was added the background of the unbroken silence of the prairie.
-the man was the first to break the spell. he got out of the wagon clumsily, walked around the wall, and entered the quadrangle by what had been the door.
-"what are you doing?" he asked.
-"digging," replied the boy, resuming his work.
-the boy lifted out a double handful of dirt upon the big spade.
-the man glanced about again.
-"for some pet?"
-the boy shook his head.
-"no--sir," the latter word coming as an after-thought. his mother had taught him that title of respect.
-rankin changed the line of interrogation.
-"where's tom blair, young man?"
-"i don't know, sir."
-"your mother, then, where is she?"
-"my mother is dead."
-the child's blue eyes did not falter.
-"i am digging her grave, sir."
-for a time rankin did not speak or stir. amid the stubbly beard the great jaws closed, until it seemed the pipe-stem must be broken. his eyes narrowed, as when, before starting, he had questioned the cowboy grannis; then of a sudden he rose and laid a detaining hand upon the worker's shoulder. he understood at last.
-"stop a minute, son," he said. "i want to talk with you."
-"how did it happen--the fire and your mother's death?"
-no answer, only the same strangely scrutinizing look.
-rankin repeated the question a bit curtly.
-ben blair calmly removed the man's hand from his shoulder and looked him fairly in the eyes.
-"why do you wish to know, sir?" he asked.
-the big man made no answer. why did he wish to know? what answer could he give? he paced back and forth across the narrow confines of the four sod walls. once he paused, gazing at the little lad questioningly, not as one looks at a child but as man faces man; then, tramp, tramp, he paced on again. at last, as suddenly as before, he halted, and glanced sidewise at the uncompleted grave.
-"you're quite sure you want to bury your mother here?" he asked.
-the lad nodded silently.
-again the nod.
-"yes, i heard her say once she wished it so."
-without comment, rankin removed his coat and took the spade from the boy's hand.
-"i'll help you, then."
-for a half-hour he worked steadily, descending lower and lower into the dry earth; then, pausing, he wiped the perspiration from his face.
-"are you cold, son?" he asked directly.
-"not very, sir." but the lad's teeth were chattering.
-"a bit, though?"
-"yes, sir," simply.
-"all right, you'll find some blankets out in the wagon, ben. you'd better go out and get one and put it around you."
-the boy started to obey. "thank you, sir," he said.
-rankin returned to his work. in the west the sun dropped slowly beneath the horizon, leaving a wonderful golden light behind. the waiting horses, too well trained to move from their places, shifted uneasily amid much creaking of harness. within the grave the digger's head sunk lower and lower, while the mound by the side grew higher and higher. the cold increased. across the prairie, a multitude of black specks advanced, grew large, whizzed overhead, then retreated, their wings cutting the keen air, and silence returned.
-darkness was falling when at last rankin clambered out to the surface.
-"another blanket, ben, please."
-without a glance beneath, he wrapped the object under the old gunny-sack round and round with the rough wool winding-sheet, and, carrying it to the edge of the grave, himself descended clumsily and placed it gently at his feet. the pit was deep, and in getting out he slipped back twice; but he said nothing. outside, he paused a moment, looking at the boy gravely.
-"anything you wish to say, benjamin?"
-the lad returned the gaze with equal gravity.
-"i don't know of anything, sir."
-the man paused a moment longer.
-"nor i, ben," he said gently.
-again the spade resumed its work; and the impassive earth returned dully to its former resting-place. dusk came on, but rankin did not look about him until the mound was neatly rounded; then he turned to where he had left the little boy so bravely erect. but the small figure was not standing now; instead, it was prone on the ground amid the dust and ashes.
-"ben!" said rankin, gently. "ben!"
-"ben!" he repeated.
-for a moment a small thin face appeared above the dishevelled figure, and a great sob shook the little frame. then the head disappeared again.
-"i can't help it, sir," wailed a muffled voice. "she was my mamma!"
-ben's new home
-supper was over at the box r ranch. from the tiny lean-to the muffled rattle of heavy table-ware proclaimed the fact that ma graham was putting things in readiness for breakfast. beside the sheet-iron heater in the front room, her husband, carefully swaddled in a big checked apron with the strings tied in a bow under his left ear, was busily engaged in dressing the half-dozen prairie chickens he had trapped that day. as fast as he removed the feathers he thrust them into the stove, and the pungent odor mingled with the suggestive tang of the bacon that had been the foundation of the past supper, and with the odor of cigarettes with which the other four men were permeating the place.
-graham critically held up to the light the bird upon which he had just been operating, removed a few scattered feathers, and, with practised hand, attacked its successor.
-"if i were doing this job for myself," he commented, "i'd skin the beasts. life is too blamed short to waste it in pulling out feathers!"
-grannis, the new-comer from no one knew where, smiled.
-"it would look to me that you were doing it," he remarked. "i'd like to ask for information, who is if you ain't?"
-the clatter of dishes suddenly ceased, and graham's labor stopped in sympathy.
-"my boy," he asked in reply, "were you ever married?"
-beneath its coat of tan, grannis's face flushed; but he did not answer.
-a second passed; then the plucking of feathers was continued.
-"i reckon you've never been, though," graham went on, "else you'd never ask that question."
-during the remainder of the evening, grannis sought no further information; and to ma graham's narrow life a new interest was added.
-at last, when the silence had become oppressive, the foreman took the pipe from his mouth and blew a short puff of smoke.
-"seems like the boss ought to've got back before this," he said with a sidelong glance at his wife.
-ma graham nodded corroboration.
-"yes; must have found something wrong, i guess." she refolded her hands, and once more relapsed into silence.
-it was the breaking of the ice, however.
-"where d'ye suppose the trouble could have been, graham?" it was another late-comer, bud buck, young and narrow of hips, who spoke.
-"at blair's," was the answer. "the big b is the closest."
-"blair?" the questioner puffed at his cigarette thoughtfully. "guess i never heard of him."
-"must be a stranger in these parts, then," said marcom. "most everybody knows tom blair." he paused to give an all-including glance. "at least physician, especially the psychopathologist, sociologist, and economist. the slogan of the modern criminologist is, "intensive study of the individual delinquent from all angles and points of view", rather than mere insistence upon the precise application of a definite kind of punishment to a definite crime as outlined by statute. indeed, the whole idea of punishment is giving way to the idea of correction and reformation. this radical change of tendency cannot be looked upon as a mere misdirected sentimentality on the part of modern society, but is the inevitable result of the final conviction that the solely punitive criminology upon which society has been relying in its efforts to eradicate criminal behavior from its midst has proved a total failure. the idea of punishment as a deterrent of crime is, as a consequence, gradually losing its hold upon modern criminologists, and in its stead we have been experimenting for some time past with such measures as probation, suspended or indeterminate sentence, and parole. now it can not be too strongly emphasized that in giving these measures a fair trial we ought to guard against those very same grave errors which were chiefly responsible for the failure of the old, solely punitive methods, namely, the dealing with the criminal act rather than with the individual committing it. if these new measures of probation, suspended sentence, and parole, which are perfectly adequate in theory, are to justify their existence in the practical everyday handling of the problem of criminology, we must not fail to take into full account the very obvious natural phenomenon that human beings vary within very wide limits in their susceptibility to correction or reformation, that some individuals because of their psychological make-up, either qualitative or quantitative, are absolutely and permanently incorrigible and present a problem which can be dealt with in only one effective way--namely, permanent segregation and isolation from society. it is on this very important account that the psychopathologist's place in criminology is fully justified. in endeavoring to aid in the solution of the problem of criminology, the psychopathologist need not seek new methods of procedure but may safely rely upon those which have aided him in elucidating in a very large measure the problem of mental disease. for criminology is an integral part of psychopathology, crime is a type of abnormal conduct which expresses a failure of proper adjustment at the psychological level.
-it was not until the advent of the kraepelinian school of psychiatry, with its intensive search for facts and the resultant more accurate delineation and classification of types of mental disorder, that we began to acquire real insight into psychopathology and were enabled to render more accurate prognoses. this more or less purely descriptive method of study is at present being followed by an intensive analysis of the facts thus gained as exemplified in the present psychoanalytic movement. it is conceded by all thoughtful observers that criminology will have to follow the same route on its way to final solution. the series of studies here presented reflect an effort in this direction. it is aimed to present a series of well-rounded-out case histories of criminal types as studied from the psychopathologist's viewpoint, and in one instance, at least, an attempt is made at an accurate and intensive psychological analysis of the biological forces which were at the bottom of a career of habitual stealing. no attempt is made at hard and fast formulations. our knowledge concerning the criminal is still too meager to justify one in drawing dependable conclusions. but it is felt that this clinical material emphasizes sufficiently the necessity of the psychopathological mode of approach to the problem of criminology. for that matter, the excellent work being carried on by dr. william healy in connection with the chicago juvenile court and by psychopathologists in a number of other cities attests that this need is being gradually recognized by society. one desires only to express the hope that the time is not far distant when our penal and reformatory institutions will likewise serve the purpose of clinics for the study of the delinquent, and that such clinical instruction will form part of the curriculum of at least every public prosecutor.
-i desire to express my indebtedness to messrs. lea and febiger, the j. b. lippincott co., and to the editors of the american journal of insanity, and the journal of the american institute of criminal law and criminology, for their kind permission to reprint some of the material herein presented.
-before concluding this preface i desire to avail myself of this opportunity of expressing my sincere gratitude to dr. william a. white, superintendent of the government hospital for the insane, for his kind and very stimulating advice and encouragement which made these studies possible.
-government hospital for the insane, january, 1916.
-studies in forensic psychiatry
-psychogenesis in the psychoses of prisoners
-that mental disorder may be due to causes purely psychic in nature is acknowledged by everyone. the older psychiatrists laid much stress on this point, a revival of which may be seen in the present-day widespread psychoanalytic movement. the reaction to the all too-embracing materialistic tendencies which have dominated psychiatric thought in recent decades was bound to come. it was especially the clinician who gave the impetus to this movement, because in pursuing the materialistic bent he found himself totally helpless as a therapeutist in the great majority of mental cases, and was therefore eventually forced to seek more promising paths.
-bleuler's attitude towards this question, because of the prominent position he occupies in the world of psychiatry, is interesting.
-the results already achieved by this change of attitude in psychiatry are sufficient justification for its existence.
-one became especially convinced of the potency of mental factors in the production of mental disease from the observation and study of the psychoses of criminals. here the conflicts which lead an individual to seek in mental disorder a satisfactory compromise are so concrete as to leave no doubt concerning cause and effect.
-the psychogenetic origin of the psychoses of criminals can be established far more clearly in prisoners awaiting trial. here the deleterious effect of confinement upon the physical health can be ruled out almost entirely, and the etiologic factor must be sought for exclusively in the emotional shock which the commission of the crime and its attending consequences provoke. the strong effect upon the psyche produced by the detection and confinement, the raking hearings and cross-examinations, and the uncertainty and apprehension of the outcome of it all are the factors that are at play here.
-numerous discussions concerning this disease-picture have appeared of late years in literature. the ganser syndrome, or twilight state, has been enlarged upon, and several variations of this condition have been isolated. the chief contention, however, of the various authors on this subject seems to be whether this symptom-complex should be considered as hysterical or whether it should be placed among the large group of degenerative states. both views are ably defended by prominent psychiatrists. i have recently observed the ganser syndrome in an undoubted case of toxic-exhaustion psychosis.
-it may, perhaps, be of interest to finally mention here raecke's fantastic form of degenerative psychosis, which is nothing more nor less than another attempt at describing the original ganser twilight state in a modified form.
-it will be seen from the preceding that the disease-pictures described by reich, moeli, kutner, ganser, rish, and others, are so closely related that any attempt at separation must of necessity be more or less of an artificiality. the question whether this condition, because of certain isolated hysterical components, deserves to be considered as hysterical in nature, is by no means solved. the mere presence of physical, so-called hysterical, stigmata, is not sufficient to call a disorder hysterical. bonhoeffer, who, in opposition to such authors as wilmanns, birnbaum, siefert, and others, insists that this so-called prison-psychotic-complex in its narrower sense is of hysterical nature, does so because he claims to be able to see in these patients the dominance of a wish factor, namely, the wish to be considered insane, and consequently to be transferred to an institution for the insane.
-he explains the recovery of these patients upon being transferred to such an institution on the basis of the fulfillment of this wish. my experience has been that it is very difficult in most instances to differentiate these acute psychogenetic states from certain hysterical conditions. some of them show a good many hysterical symptoms, while in others such symptoms are absolutely wanting. one of the cases herein reported illustrates this point especially well. this patient was admitted to our hospital on two occasions, the first time while awaiting trial on a charge of murder, and the second time soon after conviction and sentence to life imprisonment. his first attack showed very little, if anything, of a hysterical nature, while his second attack had so many features of hysteria that it could hardly be considered anything but a psychosis of an hysterical nature.
-case i.--e. e., negro, aged 32 years. one sister insane, a brother is said to be subject to convulsions. patient's birth and childhood normal; attended school for three or four years, where he made normal progress. he entered upon the life of a common laborer when quite young, and always managed to earn a substantial livelihood for himself and family. with the exception of typhoid fever at six or seven years, he was never ill before. he used alcoholics in moderation, and denies venereal history. criminal history is uncertain; according to his statements he was arrested but once before, for fighting. it appears that he was working as usual until august 19th, when he was arrested on a charge of assault and robbery. the patient has a hazy recollection of this; he cannot say how long ago it was, but thinks it was sometime in august; he was arrested at night; cannot state at just what time, but is certain that it was after sunset; does not know who arrested him; says there were several of them; does not know whether they were policemen or detectives. the police records show that he was arrested on the night of august 19th, after a desperate fight. the following day he suddenly became insane in his cell at the fourth precinct station house. he became very excited; commenced to shout that he had been shot in the abdomen by an enemy. when offered food he threw it at the policeman through the bars of his cell door, and then began beating his head against the walls of his cell. he was transferred to the observation ward at the washington asylum hospital. the records of that institution show the following: on admission he was yelling, cursing, and very much excited; completely disoriented; repeated the same sentence over and over again in a singing fashion. he talked to the lord, and answered imaginary questions; had auditory and visual hallucinations, and various delusional ideas; thought someone was talking to him constantly; that he was being shot at every few minutes, and yelled with anguish at every supposed shot. he cried and sang alternately. owing to his marked excitement he had to be kept in constant restraint.
-august 25th:--continues in the same stuporous state; absolutely oblivious to his surroundings; refuses food; untidy in habits. aside from an unintelligible word or two, has not spoken any since admission. there are several beginning pustules on his back.
-august 28th:--some improvement noted; asks for water spontaneously; when spoken to says his back aches, and that they are pouring water on him. "i read the book, i went to church." unable to feed himself or dress without assistance; totally disoriented.
-september 3d:--the patient suddenly became clear mentally this morning; seems to have completely recovered from his stupor; attends to his wants, and answers questions in a clear, coherent manner. approached the physician this morning and asked for a laxative; says that he remembers nothing that transpired during the period since his arrest, and a day or two ago, when he began to see things more clearly; complains of pain in back; does not know where he is, and thinks he came here yesterday.
-"what is your name?"
-"i will be 33 the 16th of this coming april."
-"when were you born?"
-"what is your occupation?"
-"i am supposed to be a huckster."
-"where were you born?"
-"at columbus, south carolina."
-"what day is this?"
-"date, month and year?"
-"it's the 9th month, 1911, i don't know the date; i have not seen an almanac."
-"what is the time?"
-"i don't know, sir; i think it is pretty near one o'clock." (correct)
-"where did you come from?"
-"i don't know where i came from; they hit me over the head."
-"when did you come here?"
-"how long did it take you to get here?"
-"i don't know, sir."
-"name of this place?"
-"you've got me now."
-"where is it located?"
-"it seems to be in anacostia, the way i can figure it out." (correct)
-"what sort of a place is it?"
-"well, to my judgment, it looks as though it's all right."
-"who are these people about you?"
-"i don't know, sir."
-"is there anything wrong with them?"
-"well, i don't know, i am afraid to say; i don't know the nature of anybody but myself."
-"why do you suppose you are being asked these questions?"
-"well, i think it is to sound my knowledge."
-"why were you sent here?"
-"i don't know, sir."
-"how do you feel?"
-"i feel all right, with the exception of my back."
-"are you happy or sad?"
-"well, i am neither one."
-"are you worried about anything?"
-"did anything strange happen to you for which you can't give yourself an account?"
-"i can't understand what happened to me, or why i am here."
-"do you hear voices talking to you?"
-"do you see any strange things?"
-"no, sir, i don't see anything strange, only my surroundings."
-"do you ever have fits or convulsions?"
-"did you ever try to commit suicide?"
-"no, sir, and ain't never going to try it."
-"is anybody trying to harm you in any way?"
-"yes, i really believed somebody tried to do something to me."
-the foregoing questions were answered without any hesitation and in a prompt manner.
-september 6th:--today, patient gave in a coherent and relevant manner his past history. he talked freely, and all evidence of suspiciousness or evasiveness was absent. upon examination he was found to be perfectly oriented in all spheres; free from delusions and hallucinations, and possessing quite a degree of insight into his recent mental disorder. while reluctant to admit that he had been insane, he fully realized that something was wrong with him. he showed a normal emotional reaction to the situation at hand; felt satisfied with his surroundings, and was very much concerned and anxious about his release. special intelligence tests failed to reveal any intellectual defect. he was found, however, to be a rather ignorant negro. memory and attention were unimpaired. apperception good; physical examination showed him to be a well-developed man of medium size, height five feet, three inches, weight 150 pounds. aside from several pustules on the back, he showed no physical disorders. neurological examination, negative.
-september 14th:--patient was today discharged by a jury, as not insane. he presented a normal appearance upon leaving the hospital. insight was good, and there existed a total amnesia for the period between august 19th, when he was arrested, and september 3d, when he recovered from his stupor.
-this case illustrates in an excellent manner the development of a mental disorder as an immediate consequence of a situation strongly affective in nature,--in this instance, threatened imprisonment for a grave offense.
-the emotional shock of the arrest called forth in this, to all appearance, previously normal individual, a marked excitement accompanied by hallucinations and fleeting delusional formations. this excitement, which required the application of constant restraint, was followed by a stuporous state and total clouding of consciousness. upon being removed to a hospital, and surrounded by a new environment, patient gave evidence, after a sojourn of only a few days, of the salutary effect of such procedure. on september 3d, ten days after admission, the stupor disappears, and the only residue of the one-time psychosis is a complete amnesia for the entire period. the amnesia and the hypalgesia, which the patient manifested on admission, are the two symptoms which may perhaps be considered as more or less hysterical in nature. aside from this, it is difficult to see wherein the psychosis resembles an hysterical disorder. another point which should be mentioned here in passing, and which will be dilated upon later, is the medico-legal importance of this class of cases. this patient was wanted for assault and robbery in an adjoining state. upon his admission to this institution an inquiry was received from the u. s. attorney for the district of columbia as to the probable duration and course of this man's disorder, as they had in possession extradition papers from the authorities of the state in which the crime was committed. it was only by recognizing the nature of this disorder that we were able to furnish the authorities with intelligent information concerning the prognosis of the case, and which the course of the disease corroborated in every detail. by recognizing the fact that these disorders are consequences of the criminal act, the possibility of considering the man insane at the time of the commission of the act is obviated in a large measure.
-case ii.--r. s. c., a white male, age 48 years, who is now serving a life sentence for murder. one brother and one sister died of tuberculosis. another sister and two maternal aunts were insane. father alcoholic. patient has always been regarded as rather sickly. had the usual diseases of childhood and has been subject all his lifetime to frequent headaches. his school career was very irregular in character and he never advanced beyond the elementary subjects. socially, he belonged to a very ordinary stock of frontiersmen and his chief occupation consisted of farming and certain minor speculations. he apparently led an honest and more or less industrious life. married in 1886, and his conjugal career is uneventful. in march, 1901, he moved to addington, indian territory. this was a newly-established frontier town and he had bought, sometime previously, several lots there, intending to establish himself in the lumber business. soon after this he got into some financial difficulty with a town-site boomer, and finally, in a fit of passion, shot and killed the latter and wounded a relative of his own. he was admitted to the government hospital for the insane, december 13, 1901, from the indian territory. from the medical certificate which accompanied him on admission it appeared that soon after the commission of the crime the patient began to show evidence of insanity by incoherent talk, false ideas, nervousness, and outbursts of vicious excitement. later, this was followed by mutism, refusal to eat, and stupor. on admission to this hospital he was in a deep stupor, absolutely oblivious to everything about him. eyes were wide open and staring, pupils dilated, voluntary movements markedly in abeyance. he was mute except for an occasional incoherent mumbling to himself. he evidenced no initiative in feeding himself, but swallowed food when it was placed in his mouth. habits were very untidy; involuntary evacuation of bladder and bowels were present. his mental content could not be determined at the time, as his replies were indistinct and monosyllabic, and were obtained only after much effort. he appeared to comprehend what was wanted of him, although this was not absolutely certain. his perception was very dull, ideation slow and laborious. his attention could be gained only after considerable difficulty, and he had to be aroused first from a more or less profound stupor. spontaneous speech was almost wholly absent, but occasionally he would utter a word or two about his wife and children. no delusions or hallucinations could be elicited. physical examination showed him to be quite thin and emaciated. gait slow and unsteady. voluntary movements retarded. knees trembled and knocked against each other. no paralyses or pareses noted. marked general tremors were occasionally seen. musculature well developed but flaccid. all deep reflexes diminished. cremasteric absent. other superficial reflexes were noted to be normal. organic reflexes abolished. involuntary urination and defecation. there was a systolic murmur present and a slight impairment of the upper lobe of the right lung. breath very offensive. he remained in this stuporous condition, leading a more or less passive existence, for about a month after admission. for two months following this he was quite agitated, and his outward reactions indicated that he was quite depressed. on april 25th, about four and a half months after admission, when asked how long he had been in the hospital, he replied three days. from that time on he began to improve. consciousness became clearer. in june, he talked and acted quite rationally. he had a total amnesia of what had transpired during his stuporous and agitated states and a retrograde amnesia for several days prior to, and including the commission of the murder. he continued clear mentally and in a more or less normal state until the latter part of november, 1902, when he again went into a stupor. from this time until the later part of april, 1903, he had alternating periods of stupor and lucidity, with amnesia for the stuporous states. on june 21, 1903, he was discharged as recovered and returned to the indian territory to undergo trial for his offense. unfortunately, no mention is made in the hospital records of any possible relation between his periodic stuporous states and any environmental condition which may have provoked these; nor does there appear in the hospital records any mention of the degree of insight, if any, the patient possessed at the time of his release from the institution.
-he remained in jail at ardmore, i. t., until april 8, 1904, when he was tried and found guilty of murder in the first degree. he was then returned to jail and after about a year's sojourn there was sentenced to life imprisonment and transferred to the united states penitentiary at leavenworth. he was readmitted to the government hospital for the insane on march 25, 1906, from the united states penitentiary at leaven worth. no medical certificate accompanied him on admission and it is therefore impossible to set, even an approximate date, for the onset of his present mental disorder; but inasmuch as he had not been in prison even a year before his transfer to our hospital, and as it usually takes several months to carry out the required legal proceedings, his mental disorder must have set in quite soon after his confinement in the penitentiary.
-he was again in a stuporous condition on his readmission to our hospital, and absolutely oblivious to his surroundings. for about twenty-four hours he was wholly inaccessible, would not reply when spoken to, and had to be aroused from a sort of lethargic state before his attention could be gained at all. on the following day consciousness cleared up to some extent and he recognized some of the attendants whom he had known on his previous admission. he remained, however, more or less confused for several days, after which his mental horizon became clear, and simultaneously with this, delusions of suspicion and persecution became evident. he did not know how long he had been in this confused state and had a complete amnesia for the entire period. stated that he had been poisoned and that attempts to kill him had been made at the penitentiary. he knew he had been doped any number of times. aside from this paranoid complex he had a complete left-sided functional hemiplegia with all the concomitant signs. left visual field considerably contracted. from may, 1906, to february, 1907, he passed through a number of stuporous periods, during which he was confined to bed from a few days to a week at a time. at these times he would lie with a vacant and staring expression, and questioning would often fail to elicit any reply. at times he would partake only of liquid nourishment, then again would have to be spoon-fed. during his lucid intervals he would be up and about and more or less cheerful. occasionally played games with his fellow patients. he continued to be very suspicious; frequently spoke of being doped and poisoned. refused to take medicine, and at times refused to take nourishment because he believed it to be doped. a stenogram of february 10, 1907, shows him to have acquired some grandiose ideas and to be still disoriented to a large extent. some of his replies were absolutely unreliable. for instance, when asked how long he had been here he replied: "if i came on march 25th, i have been here for three hundred and sixty-five thousand days. it is reasonable but you wouldn't understand it. when a man is answering for something he should not answer for, every day amounts to a thousand years with the lord." he stated that he knew that attempts were being constantly made to affect him with chemical substances; these were placed in his food and rubbed on the walls of his room, making him dizzy and giving him a sort of peculiar feeling, etc. he could hear of things occurring in distant places and even in foreign countries just as though he were there. he could tell what was going to happen; had no trouble at all to look into the future. he attributed this ability to some superhuman power, but which was natural to him. this power was bestowed upon him by the superhuman power itself. in prison every possible means to kill him were used but without success. they even tried to chloroform him for a day and a night, but could not kill him.
-may, 1907:--still delusional, hypochondriacal; paralysis very much improved. complains at times of quiverings in the right extremities and a numbness of the left side.
-august, 1907:--has been again in a stuporous state for four days. still entertains paranoid ideas, hypochondriacal. this was followed by a lucid period which lasted until november 25th, when he again went into a profound stupor and became totally oblivious to everything about him.
-april, 1909:--very much disturbed for about a week. complained that the physicians and attendants were torturing him in order to drive him insane. called them brutes and threatened to starve himself to death.
-december, 1909:--neurological examination--hemiplegia almost entirely disappeared, but numerous physical stigmata still persist. has been uninterruptedly clear mentally since his last stuporous state, in november, 1908.
-august, 1911:--no change from the above note except that the physical stigmata have almost completely disappeared. patient has an adequate amount of insight into his stuporous state, but does not realize that his entire make-up is more or less pathological in character.
-the patient had finally sufficiently recovered to be able to be returned to the penitentiary, and as he was very desirous of the change, he was, accordingly, discharged from further treatment, march 25th, 1912, to be returned to the united states penitentiary, leavenworth, kansas. at this date, november, 1915, i am informed that the patient gets along very well at the penitentiary, working in the hospital of that institution.
-we are dealing here with an individual who, to start with, comes from a badly tainted family. he leads an honest, more or less industrious life, until one day, in a fit of passion, he shoots and kills a man with whom he has some financial differences. being uncorrupted and of a non-criminal make-up, the enormity of his crime suddenly dawns upon him with its full force. he is unable to withstand the emotional shock which the realization of his deed provokes, breaks down under the stress, and develops a mental disorder. he is removed to a hospital and under the salutary influence of new environment gradually recovers his normal mental health. simultaneously with this he begins to nourish the hope that he may escape punishment for his deed. the amnesia for the period during which the crime was committed lends support to his optimistic views concerning the outcome of the case, and his mind becomes, in consequence, wholly taken up with the idea of being acquitted of the murder charge. he remembers nothing of the deed, and therefore must have been absolutely unaware of what he was doing at the time. his hopes are shattered when he is found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. his nervous system is unable to withstand this blow and it yields a second time, only in a more pronounced manner.
-one need not enter into a lengthy discussion in order to show that we have here a mental disorder, the origin of which can be definitely traced to psychic causes, the emotional shock accompanying the crime and conviction. cause and effect are clearly in evidence here. we have before us a well-defined psychogenetic psychosis. in addition to this the course of this man's mental disturbance was influenced to such an extent by his immediate environment that one could practically shape the symptomatology thereof at will. once, after a prolonged period of a state which might be considered almost normal to the individual, he induced the attending physician to bring his case for consideration before the staff conference with a view to being returned to prison. at this conference it was decided that in view of the very deleterious influence which prison life has had in the past upon this patient it would not be advisable at this date to send him to the penitentiary. upon being told that he would have to remain at the hospital, patient again became morose, hypochondriacal, refused nourishment, and commenced to hold himself aloof from the other patients. his suspiciousness and vague persecutory ideas with reference to the personnel of the hospital became more pronounced, and he could see no other reason for being kept here than that the officials are continuing in their persecutions of him. i am convinced, without a doubt, that should this man be pardoned, all the manifestation which he now possesses, and which may be considered as pathologic in character, would at once disappear. the difference in the symptomatology of the two attacks serves to illustrate how difficult it is to positively state what relation these disorders have to hysteria. here we have an individual whose past life fails to indicate anything which may be taken as of an hysterical character. he develops a psychogenetic disorder in consequence of his crime, the symptomatology of which shows little, if anything, of an hysterical nature. in due course of time he gets well, and after having thrust upon him a life sentence, again returns to us with a mental disorder, the chief feature of which is a functional hemiplegia. there is very little doubt that by studying a cross-section of his second attack we could easily place it under the group of hysteria. considering, however, the history of the case in toto, we would have to proceed rather cautiously in judging of the hysterical element thereof.
-case iii.--g. w. w., white, male, aged 26 years, whose hereditary history cannot be definitely determined. it appears that mother was a janitress in boston, and had several children by various fathers. patient grew up in an orphanage, and worked on farm until age of 18, when he drifted to denver, colorado, and enlisted in the u. s. navy. he served one enlistment with a good record, was a good sailor, and got along well in every respect. he reënlisted the second time about the middle of 1909, when at the instigation of a fellow sailor he deserted from the navy in company with the latter. on august 20, 1910, they held up the captain of a ship with the intention of obtaining some money which was stored on board the vessel. in the encounter the captain was killed by the patient's companion, who made his escape, while the patient was apprehended and held on a charge of murder. on august 24th, he was placed in jail at oakland, california. from the beginning he was regarded by the jail officials as rather silly and defective. he did not appear to be very much interested in his case, and never spoke of his own initiative to his attorney about it. on may 8, 1911, he was seen for the first time by a psychiatrist. he was then found to be very distractible and inattentive, seemed suspicious and excited and assumed stiff attitudes. he was well oriented, and recognized that he was on trial for murder. it might be mentioned here that although the jail officials apparently noted from the first that the patient was not right, the legal proceedings were continued, and it was only on the 4th or 5th day of his trial that his conduct became such as to strongly suggest that he was insane. a psychiatrist was then called in and he pronounced the patient insane, whereupon the proceedings were stopped at this juncture. examination at that time revealed the following:--general sensation markedly reduced; hypalgesia, he allowed needles to be stuck into his tongue without flinching; walked in a stiff and stooping fashion; no romberg; moderate vaso-motor stasis, with bluish, cold hands. gait uncharacteristic. eyes reacted to light, directly and consensually, and to accommodation. patellar, achilles and arm reflexes markedly exaggerated and equal. no foot clonus, no babinski; abdominal reflexes present, cremasteric not elicited; catalepsy not always present.
-mental examination:--attitude was variable, but was distinctly that of one in a stupor. arms, hands and legs, placed in uncomfortable positions, would remain fixed indefinitely, i.e., so observed from 20 to 30 minutes. did not resent liberties taken with him; smiled in a silly fashion at each person. orientation perfect; no insight; hallucinations and delusions could not be elicited. attention could only be gained with great difficulty, and held for a very short time. retardation was present; movements were slow and stiff. when stimulated, however, he responded promptly and had no retardation. speech and writing showed nothing characteristic.
-may 11:--flexibilitas cerea more marked; mutism; retention of saliva; eats food voluntarily; bowels require frequent attention.
-may 20:--requires spoon-feeding; sleeps well; remains always in bed in stiff attitudes.
-june 1:--for three or four days refused food, except for one or two meals daily. at times suddenly surprises attendants by sensible remarks, as: another patient said, "that is g. w. w.," and patient promptly replied, "no, it is rip van winkle." negativistic signs more marked. knows physician when eyes are pushed open. at times tries to whistle.
-june 13:--for past week has been noisy and excited. when he hears dishes rattle, yells "chow-chow" for a long time. continued hot bath for one hour always relieves this excitement. physical signs negative; wassermann negative; blood and urinary analysis negative.
-june 18:--admitted to the government hospital for the insane. the marshal who accompanied the patient from california to this institution states that the patient was resistive and negativistic; that he assumed various constrained attitudes; was untidy, mute, and refused food. all these tendencies were markedly influenced, however, by positive requests of the marshal. when told that he would be chastised if he did not give up his untidy habits, these disappeared, etc. on admission to the government hospital for the insane the patient had to be carried into the ward, as he refused to walk. he was mute, negativistic, and assumed various uncomfortable and constrained attitudes. every now and then he would snap at those who handled him, and this would be accompanied by a growl. he was very resistive to the taking of a bath, and suddenly snapped at the attendants who cared for him. when reprimanded, however, by the supervisor, and told that he would have to take the bath, he quietly underwent the procedure.
-physical examination:--pupils widely dilated. face somewhat distorted. pupillary reflexes normal; although limbs would remain in a fixed attitude when so placed, he did not evidence the typical flexibilitas cerea. it seems as though he anticipated the passive movements, and there was present a certain amount of voluntary intent. all superficial reflexes active; winced when pricked with a pin but there was a decided hypalgesia present. he refused food; was mute, and apparently oblivious of everything about him. this, however, was only apparently so, as he showed by various acts that he was more or less aware of his surroundings. for instance, during the examination he suddenly snapped at the examiner, and upon the latter's discomfiture he emitted a momentary giggle. when feeding-tube was placed in his nose, preparatory to feeding, he jumped up and said, "i'll drink it," and drank the entire contents of the pitcher. while some parts of his body remained absolutely fixed, restrained and immovable, his face was constantly undergoing various grimacing motions, accompanied now and then by the snapping of his jaws and a growl. during the following several nights he was very noisy, excitable, singing and shouting throughout the night. mental content could not be determined at this date.
-june 28, 1911:--he remains in same apparent stuporous and catatonic attitude. for past few days has exhibited various childish and silly acts of a meaningless and monotonous nature. still mute except for an occasional growl. became very untidy today, but when reprimanded and told he must use the toilet he did so.
-july 1, 1911:--patient has been very noisy on several occasions in the past few days, but always becomes quiet when requested to do so. continues negativistic, stuporous and attitudinizing. today he was overheard saying: "i am a monkey; want to go out in the yard and sit on the benches; there was no plea of insanity; who are those boys? come in, boys; water, won't drink it because there is poison in it, it looks good, so try it. don't believe there is anything in it." he persevered in repeating these phrases.
-july 2:--sang all morning in an undertone. would stop singing and recommence his facial grimaces when anyone entered his room.
-july 3:--for the first time since admission patient answered examiner to questions.
-q. "what is your name?"
-a. "george washington."
-q. "how old are you."
-q. "when born?"
-q. "where born?"
-a. "around boston."
-q. "what day is this?"
-a. "someone says tuesday."
-q. "what date?"
-a. "june 17, 1911."
-q. "how long have you been here?"
-a. "i cannot tell you."
-q. "what is the name of this place?"
-a. "u. s. hospital."
-q. "who brought you here?"
-a. "can't tell you, he looks like a monkey."
-q. "how long did it take you to get here?"
-a. "one night and twenty-four hours."
-q. "when did you come here?"
-a. "i cannot tell you when i did come here."
-q. "don't you really know the name of this place?"
-a. "well, sailors in the navy call it the 'red house.'"
-q. "where is it located?"
-a. "washington, d.c."
-q. "what sort of a place is it?"
-a. "why, it's as good as any place else."
-q. "who are these people about you?"
-a. "they might be soldiers; what are they out there for?"
-q. "is there anything wrong with them?"
-a. "how should i know?"
-q. "are any of them insane?"
-a. "darn'd if i know."
-q. "how do you feel?"
-a. "how did i get cured of my headache? i'll stick a pitchfork through you, and if a pitchfork goes through you, it will go through me too."
-q. "are you sick?"
-a. "i was sick; had a pain in the head."
-q. "how do you feel now?"
-a. "oh, pretty good."
-q. "is there anything wrong with your mind?"
-a. "i don't know, i can't tell you."
-q. "do you hear any strange noises or voices?"
-a. "can you go over to that tree? sounds like a baby squealing; it's the man that choked the baby."
-q. "do you ever see strange things?"
-a. "did i ever see strange things? i might read about them in the magazine."
-q. "do you ever hear voices?"
-a. "i hear voices say to you; 'you are not guilty.'"
-q. "how much money are you worth?"
-a. "$100; i'll give it you for my life."
-as will be seen from the foregoing stenogram, the patient is only partially oriented, perhaps more so than he shows, because of his tendency to answer questions in a sort of careless manner. there is a slight suggestion of "by speaking" (vorbeireden). the stenogram also suggests the possibility of the existence of fallacious sense perceptions. of the utmost importance, however, for our consideration, is the fact that the occurrence which brought about the mental breakdown plays an important rôle in the consciousness of the patient. amid what may be considered an almost total oblivion to his immediate environment, he hears the voices tell the examiner that he is not guilty, he would give the $100 which he possesses for his life. these are unmistakable signs of the psychogenetic nature of the disorder.
-july 31:--patient is well oriented, talks in a retarded manner; questions are answered for the most part correctly; occasionally, only nearly correct. his memory is good for remote events, but very much clouded for events which have transpired since the commission of the crime. partial insight is present. he realizes that there must have been something wrong with him. emotionally not deteriorated. refuses to discuss his crime, saying it makes him feel bad; talks in a childish, affected tone of voice, and undergoes various grimacing movements; gives frequent evidence of being fully aware of occurrences in his environment; talks and eats voluntarily and is tidy in habits. occasionally laughs in a silly, affected manner. flexibilitas cerea and catalepsy entirely disappeared; gained considerably in weight; continues to show marked tendency to be influenced by occurrences in his environment. in general, shows a decided improvement in his condition.
-another feature which removes all doubt of the psychogenetic nature of this disorder is the important part which the mental experience which was active in the production of the disorder played in the fashioning of its symptomatology. i alluded before to the patient's answer to the question of whether he heard voices.
-the disorder itself, as far as the symptomatology is concerned, is not absolutely typical of any one of the acute psychogenetic states. it partakes of kutner's "catatonic states in degenerates" as well as raecke's confusional hallucinatory disturbances in these individuals. that the patient can be classed as one having a degenerative soil is not at all certain in this case.
-i have considered briefly the importance of a proper recognition of these cases from the viewpoint of rendering a proper prognosis. there is another important question which must be discussed in connection with these cases and that is the question of malingering. picture to yourself an individual, who, to all appearances, has led a normal existence, and never showed anything mentally which might be considered pathologic. he commits a crime, and upon being arrested or upon being placed on trial for his offense, suddenly lapses into a condition of apparently complete dementia. the man, who formerly showed nothing in his conduct and behavior indicative of a mental disorder, suddenly changes into a state where he does not know his name, age, or his whereabout. his answers to questions are irrelevant and of a remarkedly silly coloring. he begins to act in a childish, affected manner, executing many silly, meaningless acts, or he may break out in a wild furious excitement, loudly proclaiming his innocence, and threatening those who arrested him. in addition to this, it is noted that this apparently pathologic condition can be definitely influenced by using strict and positive measures. the untidy habits of the patient may be corrected by urging or threats. the man who has been mute and refuses to eat can be made to talk and eat voluntarily by threatening him with tube-feeding. furthermore, in the midst of this apparently total dementia, total blocking of all thought processes, the patient frequently surprises those about him by very sensible remarks of a very clever and pertinent nature, indicating that although apparently oblivious of his environment, he knows what is going on about him.
-a picture like this may readily arouse the suspicion that we are dealing with a malingerer, and, indeed, some very prominent german psychiatrists have reported as malingerers cases similar to this. the trained psychiatrist, if unfamiliar with this class of cases, will find himself at a loss to know under what known group of mental disorders to place this condition, as it will at once become apparent to him that it does not fit into any of the well-known psychoses.
-in defense of the genuineness of the psychotic manifestations of these patients, i would recall again the transitory mental disturbances of students undergoing examinations. the genuine loss of all knowledge of well-known facts which the old-time strict and severe schoolmasters frequently provoked in school children, differs very little from the pseudo-dementia with which we are dealing here. it concerns a similar total blocking and inhibition of all thought processes, and, like all psychogenetic disorders, has a tendency to disappear upon the removal of the causative factor.
-still, nobody would think for one moment that the child malingers when it is unable to answer questions, though these might concern well-known facts. the consequences of failure to recognize this acute prison-psychotic-complex as a genuine mental disorder may prove to be very disastrous when we remember to what extent the symptomatology of these psychoses is dependent upon environmental conditions.
-the degenerative psychoses
-i have considered thus far those psychogenetic mental disorders, the etiologic factor of which consisted of a single, more or less isolated emotional occurrence. we have seen that the majority of these patients showed very little, if anything, in their past life which was in any way incompatible with leading a more or less successful existence in the community in which they lived. these patients, we might say, would never have been brought to the attention of the psychiatrist had it not been for the occurrence in their life of an experience which provoked a mental breakdown.
-i will now consider a group of cases, in whom the degenerative soil is so prominent that they have been properly called "psychoses of degeneracy." they should, however, be considered here, because the various psychotic manifestations of these individuals are purely psychogenetic in nature, and evoked by a certain milieu in which the individual was placed. as my material is derived from the criminal department of the government hospital for the insane, the causative factor in these cases will again be found to be imprisonment. these cases differ from the so-called acute prison-psychotic-complex in that the etiologic factor does not consist in a single emotional experience. we are not dealing here with patients in whom the commission of a crime is an accidental occurrence in their life, that is, still uncorrupted individuals upon whom the criminal act in itself might act in a deleterious manner. the patients belonging to this group are, as a rule, old offenders, who have long been hardened to crime, and whose entire life is an uninterrupted chain of conflicts with the law. to this group also belong those high-strung individuals with early antisocial tendencies, who from childhood show a marked degree of egotism and self-love; who are very vindictive and revengeful in their reaction to frictions in social life. upon falling into the hands of the law, they are incapable of adjustment to the new situation, react in an insane and wild manner to the prison routine, and, in consequence, frequently commit grave offenses during imprisonment.
-we owe our present knowledge of the psychopathology of these individuals to the excellent work of the followers of the great magnan, who contributed so richly to the study of degeneracy.
-siefert divides his fifty-four cases of degenerative prison psychoses into the following groups:--
-first:--hysterical degenerative state. these consist of undoubted cases of grave hysteria, with convulsions, physical stigmata, endogenous states of ill-temper, confusional states, ganser twilight syndromes, etc.
-second:--simple degenerative states. these differ from the preceding group in that hysterical stigmata are wanting. these patients are subject to severe maniacal outbreaks, motor excitements, mutism, attacks of anxious, delirious states, with confusion, etc.
-third:--fantastic degenerative forms. this group concerns markedly degenerated individuals with a pathologically exaggerated imaginative faculty, a strong auto-suggestibility, a tendency to deceit and lying, to inherent fluctuations of mood and hysterical stigmata. on this basis there develop conditions of pseudologia-phantastica, systematized delusional formations of all sorts, delirious psychoses, etc.
-fourth:--paranoid degenerative forms. this group he again subdivides into the querulent and hallucinatory paranoid forms. the former may resemble the typical "querulantenwahn", a psychosis artificially built up out of extraneous circumstances, and one which rarely develops in freedom, but is of very frequent occurrence in prison. the hallucinatory paranoid form consists of fallacious sense perceptions and delusions of a persecutory nature, often substantiated by a strongly hypochondriacal element; in short, a picture which simulates very closely the real paranoid state.
-fifth:--prison psychotic states with simulated symptoms.
-sixth:--dementia-like processes. the individuals belonging to this group are habitual criminals in whom the criminal tendencies become evident at a very early period in life, and who, without giving distinct evidence in their past history of a mental disturbance, develop after prolonged confinement a progressive change of character which eventually leads to frequent rebellious outbreaks against the prison management. they become absolutely unmanageable, neglect their work and duties, and finally have to be transferred to an insane asylum. here they show nothing characteristic of the well-known dementing processes, as hebephrenia, for example; but very frequently, although quite young, their entire manner and behavior suggest a certain dilapidation and deterioration.
-siefert considers the above-mentioned disease processes as entirely dependent upon and provoked by prison life, in individuals with a tendency to mental deterioration. he comes to the conclusion that the prison psychoses are reactions of pathologic nervous organizations to definite deleterious conditions of life. they are nothing more than irradiations, distortions, and new creations, on the same degenerative soil which also conditioned the crime.
-the importance of siefert's momentous work cannot be doubted, but whether he was justified in his many subdivisions of the degenerative states is questionable. his own description of the various forms immediately suggests the difficulty of clearly differentiating one from the other.
-these psychogenetic excitements of degenerates often simulate symptomatologically genuine epilepsy so far as the ferocity of the excitement and the state of consciousness are concerned. in some cases the retention of suggestibility during the attacks shows clearly the psychogenetic character of the disorder, while in others the tendency toward the theatrical and exaggeration is so marked that we are forced to think of an hysterical component. certain slight symptomatologic features of these psychogenetic states of excitement in degenerates appear to furnish a differentiating point between them and the true epileptic condition. bonhoeffer refers to the strong tendency to disgust-evoking manifestations, to copro-practice which manifest themselves in the soiling of the walls and face with excrements, the drinking of urine, etc. another characteristic is the frequent total misunderstanding of the situation by these individuals in that they consider themselves to be threatened with impending grave physical danger. in consequence of this they manifest a certain over-aggressiveness, which goes far beyond mere protective reactions, and manifests itself in a senseless breaking and demolishing of furniture. these individuals can be easily distinguished by their superficial intellectual endowment, by a tendency to change of occupation, and early criminality. during imprisonment and under the influence of the stress incident thereto, they develop an acute paranoid symptom-complex, a delirium of reference, accompanied by ideas of prejudice, isolated elementary hallucinations, and irresistible desire to a depressive recapitulation of their past, and a nervous, irritable temper. consciousness is not clouded, and they remain perfectly oriented in all spheres. the duration of the disorder may vary from a few months to two years, with occasional intermissions. the delusional formation continues only for a short period, and in no instance leads to a retrospective change of the content of consciousness. very frequently the process subsides upon the removal of the patient into a new environment without leaving any change in the personality of the individual. insight is not always perfect. the delirium of reference and prejudicial ideas concerning the prison personnel may remain unconnected.
-the cases belonging to his second group are those well-known pestilent individuals who from childhood show an abnormally affective reaction to frictions in social life, in so far as their highly exaggerated, egocentric self-consciousness permits them to endow every unpleasant experience with a personal note of prejudice. they are the poor martyrs, who somehow never seem to get what is coming to them in this world, who are ever ready to assert their rights and leave no stone unturned until they receive what they consider full justice. such individuals may pass through life, if fortunate enough, without developing a real psychosis. they are then merely burdensome and uncheering elements within their narrow social sphere. should they, however, meet with an experience, which to them appears as an injustice, they may at once develop typical paranoid pictures, the characteristic feature of which is that the psychic experience which forms the origin of the trouble remains always in the foreground. bonhoeffer identifies these conditions with wernicke's psychoses of hyperquantivalent ideas. he very justly says: "the narrower the sphere of activity in which these individuals live, the more frequent the opportunities for conflict are offered by law, discipline, and subordination, the easier it is to develop a psychotic exacerbation of the abnormal temperament even on a lesser pathological basis. this is the reason why officialdom and especially the narrow limits of prison life bring out so forcibly these psychogenetic disorders. in prisoners the psychogenetic character of the disorder becomes especially apparent. one sees how in many cases the transfer from one prison to another, to an observation station, to an insane asylum, puts an end to the process. in certain instances the process seems to revive itself again when the individual is placed in a similar environment."
-that these conditions deserve a more definite classification than the nondescript paranoid state cannot be doubted. these paranoid manifestations are distinct reactions to a definite situation, in this instance, conviction and imprisonment, of individuals whose peculiarly degenerative make-up makes such reactions possible. the question of the particular coloring which these disorders may assume can only take a secondary position to that of the character or make-up with which we are dealing.
-bonhoeffer further speaks of a certain hysterical element in these cases, but does not believe that on this account these paranoid manifestations should be considered as hysterical. he rather believes that they are more closely allied to the epileptoid temperament. the hysterical component manifests itself in either hysterical stigmata, or, as has often appeared to him, in the fact that the falsifications of memory which these individuals frequently manifest concern themselves solely with the simple overvalued paranoid ideas, and lead to a complete blocking out of unpleasant recollections of the individual's past career. thus, previous sentences, imprisonments, etc., are totally forgotten. in this, perhaps, we might see the well-known wish factor of hysteria.
-the cases which comprise his third group show such a varying symptomatology that it is difficult to form an exact idea of just what characterizes them.
-thus we see that the distinguishing feature of birnbaum's degenerative psychoses does not lie in their mode of appearance, in their symptomatology, but in the mechanism of their evolution, and, above all, in their total dependence upon extraneous influences. they are typical psychogenetic disorders, the psychic etiology of which is potent not only in the incitation of the processes, but in the modeling and fashioning of them. although birnbaum notices the close relation that exists between these psychoses and the hysterical psychotic manifestations, he would separate them distinctly from hysteria.
-december 22, 1910:--while nurse miller was taking the afternoon temperatures of the several patients at the guard's desk, he was suddenly attacked by m., who began to beat miller about the head and face, drawing blood. it was noted that m. and another prisoner had resolved themselves into a select coterie for the purpose of being loud and boisterous and disobeying the hospital rules generally. not a day passes that some gross breach of prison discipline is not committed by them.
-december 23, 1910:--m. told the nurse: "if my wife don't write pretty soon, i am going to jump off the landing and kill myself." he complained that the attendant and nurses were talking about him, and that he feels sometimes like going over and smashing some of them, adding: "i know i am a damn fool for thinking that they are fixing up against me, but i can't help it. i know i am going crazy; i wish i could kill myself, cut my throat or something." this patient is decidedly worse, easily excited, suspicious, hypersensitive, imagines persons are plotting against him. when in conversation, gesticulates with both hands, wags his head and looks wildly out of the eyes. a particular instance of his excitable temper is a startled wild look upon being awakened to have his temperature taken in the morning.
-december 24, 1910:--says he is scared of something, doesn't know what, and wants to go to bed. continues to receive epilepsy tablets.
-january 2, 1911:--complains of pains through the head and acts as if frightened. his eyes have a glassy appearance and pupils are dilated. at times a suicidal mania attacks him, seemingly using all his strength to overcome it.
-the records of that institution show the following:--
-august 16:--became very profane during the afternoon and evening, declaring that the prison authorities were holding up his mail from his wife, and was very profane and vindictive in speaking of the officials.
-august 17:--cursing the prisoners of parole room i as they were coming in from exercise, stating that they were a lot of g.d d....d s..s of b.....s and that they were holding up his mail.
-august 18:--shouting and cursing through his window during the evening. got out of bed at 2 a.m., and began to swear and fight an imaginary foe, keeping it up for two hours.
-august 19:--continues to use the most profane language he can towards the prisoners or anyone whom he chances to see.
-august 20:--was very excitable and irritable during the day and evening. attempted to throw his food in the guard's face, cursing the officials for keeping his wife away from him; claims that he can hear her calling him outside of his cell at night.
-august 21:--cursed the guard because he would not allow him to go out of isolation; sang and whistled during the evening.
-august 22:--very profane and vindictive in his accusations towards the prison officials.
-august 23:--denounced the guard as a black-hander, and said that the guard is bribing the prison officials to hold him in isolation, but that he will not give the guard a damned nickel.
-august 29:--actions and language continue along the same line except that they are growing progressively worse; cursing the officials, prisoners, etc.; claims they are keeping his wife away from him, and that his mail is being held up; is afraid of being murdered, and says that he is being kept here while his wife is starving; constantly uses loud and profane language.
-august 30:--prisoner whistled and sang during the evening, interspersed with very vile language.
-august 31:--became very violent today, cursing officials, claiming that he was being kept away from his wife and child who were starving. kept shouting, singing and cursing at intervals all day and far into the night.
-september 7:--continues to have periods of violence almost daily; has hallucinations that he is being haunted by some imaginary foe, whom he sees sitting on his bed when he wakes up at night--a red-headed fellow by the name of smith. says that he can hear his wife and child crying outside of his cell, and repeatedly requests that he be allowed to go home to them. says that his wife and children are starving, and that the prison officials are trying to starve him. complains of pains in his head, and that his eyes hurt him and that he is going blind. he is inclined to be destructive of late, breaking his electric globes, smashing stool, throwing magazines against window and cell bars.
-september 14, 1911:--says he knows that red-haired smith is trying to steal his wife, and that he is following him all over the country; that he was about to kill him in jacksonville, florida, but that he jumped out of a window. his violent attacks are becoming more severe and pronounced, and he requires constant watching to prevent him from doing himself bodily harm. he was also noted to have occasional mild attacks of petit mal.
-on his way to washington from the penitentiary at leavenworth, upon his second transfer to this institution, the patient had been shackled to another prisoner who was supposed to be suffering from pulmonary tuberculosis. m. kept on begging the guards to be separated from this prisoner, and this request was finally granted. while going through the state of iowa he jumped out through the window of the moving train. he was handcuffed at the time. after having gone about thirty miles he was recaptured. he had removed handcuffs soon after his escape from the train.
-september 27:--on admission the patient limped and complained of great pain in both knees. knees were swollen, bruised and discolored, and there was marked tenderness on touching. patient entered the ward quietly, recognized those about him, and answered questions rationally. said that aside from having been hurt in the knees, his left shoulder pained him a great deal. upon being placed in bed he was asked by the examiner why he was sent here, to which he replied: "to get killed, i suppose." further questions failed to elicit any answers, and the interview had to be discontinued.
-september 28:--patient answered the following questions to the attendant on the ward:--
-q. "what is your name (full christian name and surname)?"
-a. "j. j. m."
-q. "how old are you?"
-q. "when were you born?"
-q. "what is your occupation?"
-a. "railroad man."
-q. "where were you born?"
-a. "charleston, south carolina."
-q. "what day is this?"
-a. "don't know."
-q. "what month, date and year is it?"
-a. "august, 1911. don't know date of month."
-q. "what time is it?"
-a. "don't know."
-q. "where did you come from?"
-q. "who brought you here?"
-a. "bunch of cut-throats, sons of ---- tried to starve me to death all the way down."
-q. "how long were you in coming?"
-a. "don't know."
-q. "when did you come?"
-a. "don't know what time it was."
-q. "what is the name of this place?"
-a. "don't know."
-q. "where is it?"
-a. "on an island, i guess, some damn thing across the river."
-q. "what sort of a place is this?"
-q. "who are these people about you?"
-a. "here to murder me."
-q. "is there anything wrong with them?"
-a. "nothing but black-hands anarchists."
-q. "who am i?"
-a. "j. s." (correct)
-q. "why do you suppose i am asking you all these questions?"
-a. "don't know."
-q. "why were you sent here?"
-a. "to be dumped off, i guess."
-q. "how do you feel?"
-a. "pretty bad this morning, my head hurts me."
-q. "are you sad or happy?"
-a. "neither one."
-q. "are you worried about something?"
-a. "why, sure i am."
-q. "did anything strange happen to you for which you can't give yourself an account?"
-q. "do you hear voices talking to you?"
-a. "yes, hear you talking to me now."
-q. "do you see any strange things?"
-q. "do you ever have fits or convulsions?"
-q. "did you ever try to commit suicide?"
-q. "is there anybody trying to harm you in any way?"
-a. "yes, those black-hands anarchists."
-q. "how much money are you worth?"
-the foregoing two cases are representative of a group which unquestionably forms the most difficult part in the problem of caring for the insane criminals. here we have a couple of individuals whose entire psychotic manifestations, if such they may be considered, consist of a most wild and vicious rebellion against imprisonment. they are individuals who cannot be kept under any prescribed mode of living, and when this is insisted upon, they react to it in an insane manner.
-looking at the life history of the two foregoing patients we find them both to be of the most depraved class of society. the one is a professional prostitute; the other subsisting upon the earnings of a prostitute. their relation with man has always been characterized by a sort of vicious vindictiveness. their high-strung emotional make-up brought them into serious conflict with those about them on many occasions before. being finally taken hold of by the law and made to submit to a certain well-regulated mode of existence, their inherent characteristics assert themselves in a most decisive way and they react to the situation in the manner of a trapped tiger, stopping at no means to gain their point. the one commits a homicide during one of her outbreaks of passion; the other risks his life to obtain his purpose, by jumping out of a moving train with his hands shackled. their life seems to be one long series of impulsions, fostered and sustained by the extreme lability of their emotions. intellectually they show no defect. they are keen and alert to every opportunity which presents itself to them and are very shrewd in the execution of their criminal acts. finding themselves under a régime which exacts from them a certain submission to rules, to regulations, they begin to misinterpret ordinary occurrences in their environment in a sort of delusional manner: they are persecuted by the warden because the latter insists upon making them behave themselves; the keepers are a bunch of anarchists, whose entire occupation seems to be to persecute them and down them. this for no other reason than because they are made to work and to behave themselves. j. j. m. tells me that he will not behave himself, that he is not here to please anyone but himself and recognizes no authority other than that of christ. the other says she raised so much hell at the prison that they had to send her back to the hospital. the distinguishing feature of their psychotic manifestations is that they are provoked essentially by definite situations. they are not a mere wild, misdirected, meaningless series of insane acts, such as one would expect from a demented person, but distinct reactions to situations. refuse them a request and they at once become wild, abusive and vicious, smashing up everything that they can lay hands on; conversely, when granted some of their unreasonable requests, it serves at once to appease them for the time being at least. their conduct, however, is very detrimental to the prison régime, as discipline cannot be maintained with such disturbing elements about. their interpretations of discipline are considered as delusions of persecution, their outbursts of temper as typical maniacal outbreaks, and consequently they are shipped off to an insane asylum. now the question arises whether we are doing our duty by society in declaring these individuals as irresponsible for their acts. in other words, should these individuals with marked and incorrectible criminalistic tendencies, be, so to speak, licensed to ignore the law in its entirety by giving them the protection of an insane asylum? of course, from a broad, humane point of view, we must realize and appreciate that there is something distinctly wrong with these individuals, that their mental endowments are the essential factors which determine their behavior. on the other hand, we must not forget that these individuals fully realize that once they have been sent to an insane asylum, they are protected from punishment by law for all future time and they are ever ready to utilize this knowledge, as has been my experience with quite a number of recidivists, who somehow never get into an insane asylum until they are in the hands of the law. the scope of this paper will not permit me to enter into an extensive discussion on the treatment of these cases. i will say this, however,--that we are very far from having solved satisfactorily the question of the care of this particular class of insane criminals. as this paper is not primarily a discussion of the degenerative psychoses, i will refrain from reporting further cases. i believe i have shown by the preceding two cases that the mental disturbances of the degenerative individuals are essentially psychogenetic in origin.
-the nature and treatment of the psychoses of prisoners
-those who still believe in an exclusively materialistic theory of mental disorder must find it extremely difficult to maintain their doctrine in the face of the many incontrovertible facts brought to light through modern research in the field of psychopathology.
-the modern trend in psychiatry is distinctly in the opposite direction. we no longer today insist upon material changes in cells and tissues for every psychotic phenomenon, but rather endeavor to investigate mental life, be it normal or abnormal, from the biologic point of view. we are being constantly confronted with the undeniable fact that whatever may be the physical substratum of mental disorder, it does not aid us in understanding the peculiar expression which a given psychosis chooses to assume. why it is that one paretic greets us with the exalted mien of his grandiose delirium, while another spreads about him the gloom of a depressive delirium--the changes in the pyramidal cells do not explain. there must be, then, factors other than material ones which determine this.
-mental life, after all, expresses itself in a series of reactions destined to result in a proper adaptation to environmental conditions, and the causes which determine a given reaction may be psychic as well as physical in nature. indeed, in the realm of psychopathology we see indubitable evidence of the predominance of psychic causes of mental disorder over physical ones, and the subject under discussion here further emphasizes this.
-the problem of the prison psychoses, although extensively discussed in psychiatric literature in the last half century, is far from being solved, and for this and many other reasons deserves further attention. the psychotic manifestations of prison life are of sufficient frequency to deserve some definite place in our nosological tables; they develop in a milieu artificially created by society, and if this milieu is responsible for the production of mental disorder, it is of the utmost importance, both from a preventative and curative standpoint, to investigate the causes operative here, and lastly, these psychoses concern individuals who form one of the most important problems society has to deal with, and any light which the study of psychotic conditions in these individuals may throw upon the general problem of crime and the criminal, should be very much welcomed.
-i fully believe that in time the study of the psychotic phenomena developing in criminals will give us a correct insight into the nature of the criminal personality and thus aid in the solution of that problem which baffles criminologists today.
-we know that while pure experimental psychology and psychopathology have aided us in understanding the human mind both in health and disease, we owe the bulk of our knowledge in this field to the investigations of nature's phenomena and experiments. the human mind, the most complex and intricate organ, lends itself but very feebly to analysis when all its component parts work in unison, and it is only when through disease it has become, so to speak, disintegrated into its various units, that a more ready access to it becomes possible. this is being fully appreciated both by psychologists and psychopathologists. mental medicine, however, if it is viewed from the present-day broad conception of the term, must not confine itself exclusively to psychotic manifestations in the strictest sense of the word, but should embrace within its realm that great mass of unfortunates who populate our prisons, poorhouses and reformatories. it is now being universally recognized that the pauper, the prostitute, and the criminal classes are primarily products of mental defect and degeneracy and as such must come within the purview of mental medicine. this being the case, the same truisms which apply to the insane in general must likewise apply to the above-mentioned types.
-we are here especially concerned with criminals who, because of a mental breakdown, have come under the observation of a psychiatrist, and if we agree with many eminent criminologists that the present juvenile state of this science and the ineffective methods of dealing with crime are due to a lack of proper scientific understanding of that anomalous species which is grouped under the term "criminal man", why not endeavor to solve this problem by approaching it from the psychiatric point of view. if the study of psychopathology has given us such valuable data concerning the normal mind, why not expect that a similar study applied to the insane criminal will bring to light some important facts concerning crime and the criminal in general. it is for this reason that that large group of mental disorders developing in criminals during imprisonment which has been included under the term "prison psychoses" is of special importance to the psychiatrist.
-the older extensive literature on this subject, although very interesting from an historical standpoint, offers very little that is of scientific value, and it is only within recent years that a more rational approach to this problem has been attempted. it is easily conceivable that this branch of mental medicine must have shared the fortunes of psychiatry in general in its various phases of evolution, so that in the history of the prison psychoses are reflected the various views which in their day have dominated psychiatry. at present it is the school of degeneracy of magnan and moebius which is especially concerned with this problem.
-briefly stated, the exponents of this subject belong in a general way to either of the following two schools. the one maintains that the mental disorders occurring in prison differ in no way from those met with in freedom and that imprisonment at most but lends to them a peculiar common coloring which in itself, however, is not of essential importance. the other school takes a directly opposite view. the followers of the latter maintain that the mental disorders which they are wont to term "prison psychoses" are products of predisposition plus external factors. they differ from the true endogenous psychoses in that they are purely psychogenetic in character, and that their highly colored and extremely variable symptomatology is nothing more than a reactive manifestation of a particularly predisposed psyche to definite environmental conditions. according to them we are not dealing here with mental disorders whose origin, course, and termination are independent of the crime and imprisonment, as is the case in the ordinary well-known forms of functional and organic disorders developing in prison, but with psychotic manifestations which bear the most intimate relation to some definite situation, and which are characteristically colored and shaped by the prison milieu.
-the term "reactive manifestation", as applied here, is a happy one, and inasmuch as the accidental criminal differs from the habitual criminal as day differs from night, we will expect a different sort of reaction to a more or less similar situation in the two instances. to illustrate:--an apparently healthy and in most instances law-abiding and non-corrupt individual, as a result of a series of overwhelming and uncontrollable circumstances, commits murder in a fit of passion. upon being arrested and upon the sudden realization of the enormity of his deed the entire constitution experiences a tremendous shock and reacts to it accordingly. he falls into a stupor, into utter oblivion of the world about him, becomes in turn excited and confused, his senses begin to functionate in a fallacious manner, and he thus succeeds in shutting out from consciousness, for the time being at least, the entire unbearable situation. upon emerging from his stupor he has a more or less complete amnesia for the deed and its attending circumstances, and finding himself confronted with accusations, cross-examinations, and lastly, conviction, he at once sets about, so to speak, to square himself with the situation. what does he do? he develops a quite limited, well-organized delusional system in which he finds himself absolutely innocent, his accusers are the guilty ones, and the entire situation is nothing more nor less than a well-planned plot to destroy him. his supposed victim has not been murdered at all, but is living and secretly active in plotting and scheming against him, the accused.
-in this artificially created world he lives with comparative ease, and has thus succeeded in reaching a proper adjustment to the situation.
-the most interesting part of it all is that this so well-organized and apparently fixed delusional system may disappear at once and the various false ideas may become entirely corrected as soon as the provocative agent which is at the bottom of it all is removed. this is a fair example of what has been termed an acute prison psychosis, and occurs with considerable frequency among prisoners awaiting trial. naturally, these psychoses, being, as they are, psychologically motived, are extremely variable in their manifestations, but at the root they are all alike and impress the observer as something entirely different from the pure endogenous mental disorders. they are all psychically evoked reactive manifestations of a particularly predisposed constitution to definite deleterious environmental conditions. some of the cases reported in the first paper of this series are good examples of this type of mental disorder.
-we owe our knowledge of these disorders to the contributions of reich, moeli, kutner, ganser, rish and others, authors who, although describing a more or less identical symptom-complex, have given to it different names, such as hysterical stupor, ganser symptom-complex, catatonia of degenerates, etc. the distinguishing features of this disorder are its psychic origin, that is, its development in consequence of some strongly affective experience, and its high grade of impressionability to things in the environment which may at any time suddenly cause a complete transition from deep stupor to normal manner and behavior.
-the symptomatology consists of an acute delirioid, hallucinatory episode, usually followed by a more or less complete amnesia which may go back far enough to include the experience which provoked the disorder. such delusional formation as takes place after the disappearance of the fulminant symptoms may well be considered as part of the repair process, a mechanism which in most instances reflects the individual's endeavor to adjust himself to an unpleasant, unbearable situation, and must not be looked upon necessarily as an indication of the progressiveness of the disorder.
-as we have stated before, complete correction of all delusional ideas may suddenly take place upon the removal of the causative factor at the bottom of the entire situation.
-as to the treatment of this acute prison psychotic complex theoretically, we should have no difficulty in deciding this question. we are dealing with the sequelæ of some definite situation, and the removal of that situation may be, and actually is, in most instances, sufficient to bring about recovery. when we come, however, to deal with concrete instances in daily practice, the problem does not lend itself so easily to solution.
-what of the man who upon being arrested following the commission of murder, develops a psychosis while awaiting trial, or who having been found guilty of murder develops a psychosis while awaiting execution? the first question which the psychiatrist is called upon to decide in many instances is that of malingering. to the lay mind and to the minds of many of our eminent--but psychiatrically uninformed--jurists the question of malingering suggests itself at once. to them it is perfectly evident that this development of a mental disorder, in the wake of a criminal act, is nothing but a timely preparation for the "insanity dodge." the clinical pictures presented by the acute prison psychosis are especially apt to awaken suspicions of malingering in the minds of the untrained. we see individuals who apparently never before showed any evidence of mental disorder, and who immediately following the commission of a criminal act manifest pictures of grave alienation. many of them don't know how much twice two is, are absolutely ignorant of the most elementary subjects, remember nothing of the deed, and most important of all fashion their deliria in such a way as to entirely negate the deed, or at any rate justify it.
-society looks on complacently at the repeated sentencing of the habitual criminal and watches without alarm the never failing phenomenon of how each successive imprisonment only serves to deprave him more profoundly; it never considers the danger of letting this type of criminal loose to prey upon it; just so he has served his just and legally prescribed sentence. but let the victim of the "insanity dodge" prejudice endeavor to gain his freedom, and society is at once up in arms.
-thus the matter stands, and until the public learns to know its criminals as they actually are, this problem will remain unsolved. the prognosis of the acute prison psychotic complex is good in the majority of instances. the removal to a hospital régime usually serves to put a stop to the process and it is important for the expert witness to bear this in mind for obvious reasons.
-we have thus far discussed the psychoses developing in prisoners awaiting trial, and we shall now turn to that group of cases which are sent to us from penal institutions which serve for the confinement of the convicted criminal.
-at the outset we shall endeavor to draw a distinction between the class of individuals we have just discussed, and that which we are about to consider now. we have seen that the former is made up of individuals who in most instances have come in conflict with the law for the first time, and that the mental disorder which they develop stands in the closest relation with some definite experience in their life. the patients who come to us from prisons and penitentiaries on account of some mental disorder which developed while they were undergoing sentence are in most instances habitual criminals with a marked criminal career back of them. they differ so essentially from the preceding group, that what has been said about the former can hardly apply here.
-"the true psychoses develop out of endogenous causes, attack and manifest themselves in the prisoner in the same way as in any law-abiding individual in freedom. they are not essentially influenced by changes of environment and there exists no intimate relation between the coloring of the symptomatology and the influence of the imprisonment. the degenerative psychoses, on the other hand, develop upon the well-characterized degenerative soil of the habitual criminal, and are products of predisposition plus environmental influence. they stand in the most intimate relation to the deleteriousness of prison life, and are therefore influenced to the greatest extent by change of environment."
-on studying critically siefert's work one gains the conviction that the author not only undertakes to solve certain clinical questions, but endeavors to investigate the problem of the relation between crime and mental disorder. although he paid the strictest attention to the individual symptoms and described in an excellent manner the manifold and varying symptomatology of these psychoses, he did not succeed in isolating a symptom-complex which might be considered as typical of the degenerative psychoses, and thus deserve the independence of a distinct clinical entity. above all he occupied himself with the investigation and delineation of the various anomalous individualities, the degenerative constitutions upon which these psychotic manifestations engraft themselves. thus he divided his prison psychoses into groups like the "simple degenerative", "hysterical degenerative", "phantastic degenerative", etc. siefert undoubtedly overshot the mark in his clear-cut differentiation between the various types, but he unquestionably contributed a most important work on this subject.
-let us now endeavor to illustrate what he means by this degenerative soil giving rise to these psychoses. as we have stated, the great majority of them are full-fledged habitual criminals and can be easily recognized by their "degenerative habitus." they are that indolent, obstinate, querulent, unapproachable, and irritable class of prisoners who form the bane of prison officials. constantly in trouble of some sort, they are subject to frequent disciplinary measures, which, however, serve not in the least to improve their conduct. their extremely fluctuating mood and emotional instability calls forth a quite unfounded wild rebellion against the prison régime. they are constantly after the physician with numerous hypochondriacal complaints, such as a nervous heart, digestive disturbances, insomnia, etc. in short, they impress one as something abnormal, something entirely different from the ordinary prisoner. on this basis, now and then more marked, definite psychotic manifestations engraft themselves. here and there one of them starts to speak of nightly visions, complains about a feeling of anxiety, speaks of suspicious noises and voices in the vicinity, and finally makes a superficial, ineffectual attempt at suicide. others become suddenly more antagonistic, vehemently assert their innocence, speak of being the victims of false accusations, etc. still others suddenly develop a wild, maniacal state, destroy everything within reach, become markedly hallucinated, elaborate various persecutory ideas, and finally have to be transferred to an insane asylum. here they soon quiet down, the active symptoms subside without leaving any trace behind them, insight may or may not be complete. the characterological anomaly which is at the bottom of the disorder, however, remains, and any necessity for the application of more stringent administrative measures may serve to set the entire process aflame again.
-another group of psychopaths who are prone to develop prison psychoses are those primitive, superficially endowed individuals with a high degree of auto-suggestibility, a marked tendency to phantastic lying, and instability of mood, individuals who have always led a sort of humdrum existence without aim or goal of any kind in view. they drift very early into a life of crime and vagabondage, become addicted to all of the vices which cross their path, are markedly egotistical, have no conception of social life, frequently desert their wives and families, and a great many of them finally end their days in jails or poorhouses.
-upon being imprisoned they are unable to adjust themselves to the strict régime, find difficulty in acquainting themselves with the prison regulations and in consequence have to be frequently disciplined. as a result they begin to misinterpret things in the environment and see in these disciplinary measures nothing but persecution on the part of the prison officials. they become suspicious, seclusive, introspective, spend sleepless nights, until suddenly, in the stillness of night, they perceive isolated phonemes. this strengthens their suspicions. they refuse food, become apprehensive, the hallucinations reach a more definite character, until finally they manifest a well-marked persecutory delirium, or may fall into a semi-delirious stuporous state, show numerous catatonic symptoms, become destructive and untidy, and in general present a picture very similar to true catatonia.
-removal to the hospital ward frequently serves to put a stop to the process at once, and often before reaching the hospital for the insane they show no traces of the acute mental disorder.
-the foregoing are types of degenerative psychoses met with in imprisonment, and there can be no question that the prison milieu is the etiologic factor here.
-to speak here of a progressive disorder to which imprisonment only gives a characteristic coloring is entirely erroneous. a psychosis which is definitely brought on by a certain environment and which is corrected as soon as the environment is changed, must be looked upon as the product of that environment. that the degenerative soil which permits of the development of these disorders cannot be looked upon as a basic disorder, something like dementia præcox, is likewise unquestionable. these individuals have always shown the same traits of character; it is these very same anomalies which brought them in their childhood days in conflict with the school authorities, which later made them inmates of reformatories, and which finally were at the bottom of their habitual criminality. finally, the total absence of progression to more or less definite end-results excludes the possibility of an organically determined progressive disorder. a psychosis which develops in imprisonment and progresses irrespective of the change of milieu is not a prison psychosis in the sense that this term is here used. the following cases are illustrative of the type under discussion.
-case i.--a. f., aged 31 years; admitted to the government hospital for the insane april 7, 1911. father alcoholic; died of cancer of liver and stomach. mother died of tuberculosis. one brother has been confined in the gowanda state hospital for the insane for past five or six years; has always been an excessive alcoholic. one sister, aged 42, has tuberculosis. one of her children died of tuberculosis of the bones. another sister is hyper-religious and eccentric.
-patient was born at olean, new york, in 1871. he knows of nothing unusual attending his birth or childhood. he entered school at the age of six, and attended irregularly for six or seven years. he was usually older than the other children in his class, and was held back a year in the third and fourth grades. he left school at the age of fourteen, while in the fourth grade. he then worked in a shoe store, commencing at a salary of four dollars per week, and receiving six dollars per week at the time of his separation. as far as is known he did his work well, as he was promoted during his stay there. soon after commencing to earn money he began to indulge in alcoholics. he became intoxicated one day and set fire to a store, which resulted in the death of a human being. it did not take much at that time to intoxicate him--two or three glasses of whiskey being sufficient. he does not definitely say why he set the place on fire; adding, "perhaps i was drunk and did not know what i was doing and maybe i just wanted to see the fire. i always did like to see fires. of course, i did not know that somebody was going to get burned to death." he is not certain whether he felt sorry for the deed, adding: "why should i care? i did not know the man that was burned. he was no relative or friend of mine; anyway, the people around there said he was no good, and that it served him right." he was sent to the elmira reformatory, where he remained three years, when he was transferred to the new york state hospital for criminal insane at matteawan. he did not like the reformatory a bit, they were nagging him all the time. he says it was like a deaf and dumb asylum; a fellow could not even talk when he wanted to, and if he did he was paddled for it. the paddling didn't make him behave, because, he adds: "you can't make a fellow behave by beating him all the time." he was later transferred to dannemora, spending about two years in all, in both these institutions. he did not like it at the hospital either, because they made him work, and he hated to work; so finally he asked to be transferred back to elmira, which request was granted him. on returning there he was put to work at brick-laying, but could not get along with the fellow in charge, the latter was too much of a bully and worked him too hard, so finally, they shipped him to the new reformatory at napanoch, new york. here he was given employment by the physician in charge of the hospital, and after ten months of good conduct, was paroled. he says he behaved well these ten months because he was treated well by the doctor. upon being paroled, he returned to olean and obtained a position in a tannery where he worked for six months, receiving two dollars per night. he was drinking heavily all this time, and one night, failing to return to work, owing to his intoxicated condition, was discharged. he states that the above is the longest he ever worked at any occupation since. shortly after being discharged, he was arrested in company with several others for robbing a post office. he was about twenty-three years of age then. he claims that he had nothing to do with this robbery, and it was just an unfortunate accident that he got mixed up in it. he was placed in the jail, and while there the warden tried to poison him. he developed various ideas that poison was placed in his food, that his stomach was all dried up, and because he would not eat, he adds: "they sent him over to this hospital,--the government hospital for the insane."
-on august 1st, he eloped while at work in company with another patient. the record of his mental disturbance at that time is very meagre, and nothing of a definite nature can be obtained from it.
-from here he beat part of his way, and walked part of the way to cincinnati, where he had a sister living. one night he heard her talking to her husband about sending him back to the hospital, so he robbed them of what money they had in the house, bought a revolver and returned to olean. he says he bought the revolver to protect himself from a certain police captain at olean. he frequently refers to this man in a vindictive and abusive manner. states that this police captain was after him all the time; that whenever any crime was committed in the city, he was immediately suspected. he was "tired of this" and bought the gun, intending to kill the police officer if he should bother him any more. here he adds: "anyhow, the cur was killed afterwards, i am glad of it." after a series of crimes, tramping and debauchery, during which he suffered from an attack of delirium tremens, and served a sentence of nine months in a pennsylvania jail, he was again arrested for a post office robbery and sentenced to five years at leavenworth, whence he was transferred to this institution april 7, 1911.
-the medical certificate on his present admission stated that on the night of march 20, 1911, the patient was reported for shouting while in his cell, claiming that invisible enemies were shocking him with electricity. there were no symptoms observable before that. has delusions of persecution in which invisible enemies are continually shocking him with electricity and other means and are planning to do him other bodily harm.
-he complained of not being able to sleep and of being tortured. said they wired his cell and gave him an electric shock; that he spoke to the president of the united states and was told that the latter would visit him.
-on march 22d, complained of being choked by supposed workmen. later he stated that he had been kidnapped at erie, pennsylvania, and expected the president of the united states to get him out in a few days. he requested the doctor to send for a priest, complained that they had failed to send for the president as promised. said that he had received a severe shock the night before from the people upstairs, and stated that they had stored two thousand volts to turn on him. following this, he was restless at night and was apprehensive of being burned to death. finally he wrote a letter to the president in which he complained that his life and health were in grave danger; that he was the victim of a conspiracy, and was being detained illegally at the penitentiary, stating that when he was walking peaceably along the railroad track, he was kidnapped by enemies who had a design upon his life. he was arrested and while in jail these same officers robbed the post office and later accused him of the crime. they bribed a witness to testify at the trial against him and because of this he received an unjust sentence of five years. he believed that the friends of the chief of police of his home town, olean, new york, were paying large sums of money to the warden of the leavenworth penitentiary in an endeavor to have him electrocuted, and that their efforts had nearly proven successful, as he had been tortured night and day for the past month, in fact he was unable to stand it any longer, and if the president did not come to his relief at once, he intended to take the matter in his own hands and make short work of the warden. he thought he was accused of the murder of the police officer who was killed in his home town, but he insisted that at the time of the murder he was locked up in jail, hence could not have done this.
-the patient continued in this trend of thought and conduct until his transfer to this institution, april 7, 1911.
-on admission here he talked in a coherent manner, was clear mentally and quite well oriented. he reiterated the story given above, namely,--that he was kidnapped in pennsylvania on a trumped-up charge of post office robbery, was tried by a "phony" court and sentenced to five years at leavenworth. soon after arriving there the warden had an electrical apparatus rigged up with which he was tortured constantly. he complained to the doctor about this and begged to be put in a cell so he could get some sleep as he could not sleep in his cell on account of these electric shocks. he heard them saying from above that they were going to torture him. one night they had him paralyzed on one side.
-in an endeavor to explain these persecutions he stated that probably the railroad police who arrested him were friends of the police captain at olean with whom he had had trouble for a long time, and who was later killed by someone; that probably they blamed him for this killing, and that for this reason they framed up the charge of post office robbery against him. he believed that the electrocuting which he was receiving at leavenworth was a part of this scheme to get rid of him, as he knew that the police captain at olean was a friend of the warden of the penitentiary. in giving this recital he was somewhat irritable and nervous, constantly rubbing his head and face in a troubled manner. he kept to himself, making no acquaintances with those about him and was apparently somewhat worried and apprehensive. he slept well the first night, stating that nobody bothered him. he stated that he was not insane, that there was nothing wrong with his mind. when asked why he was sent here, said simply because of a trick, that he was told that he was coming to the president to secure a pardon, and instead of this, was brought to this institution. he was quite unstable emotionally, very surly and irritable, and soon transferred his persecutory ideas to the officials of this institution. he complained of having electricity on him; stated that the warden at leavenworth rigged up a wireless apparatus whereby he could send wireless messages to him constantly. stated that he had been chloroformed at night and that his body was lined with electric wires through which electricity was running all the time. he became very abusive to the physician, stating that the latter was in league with the officials at the penitentiary to torture him. this state of affairs continued, with the addition of the delusional idea that the physician was endeavoring to hypnotize him, until the early part of september, 1911, when he acquired full insight into his mental disturbance, realizing fully that the various ideas which he expressed were delusional, and that he must have been suffering from mental disorder at the time.
-mental examination revealed no defect, and his knowledge was quite in accord with his educational advantages. morally, he was distinctly defective. physical examination showed various stigmata of degeneration, such as asymmetry of the face; large outstanding and flattened ears; narrow and dome-shaped palate; irregularly placed teeth; prominent parietal bones; two symmetrical depressions on the occiput; congenital flat-footedness; and a sullen facial expression. his arms were covered with tattoo marks. sense of pain somewhat diminished. sympathetic reactions could not be elicited. wassermann reaction with blood serum nearly complete positive.
-the patient finally recovered from his mental disorder, and on january 16, 1912, was returned to the penitentiary to serve out the remainder of his sentence. at this writing, november, 1915, nothing further has been heard from him.
-we have before us an individual who to start with, is badly tainted hereditarily. his childhood history is indefinite, aside from his statements of having been usually the lowest in his class at school. he launched upon an industrial career at a very early period in life and simultaneously with commencing to earn money he began to indulge in alcoholics. his industrial career was cut short soon after. he gets drunk and sets fire to a store, causing the death of a human being. this, at the age of seventeen. his moral status can readily be surmised when we remember his reply to the question as to whether he was sorry for the deed. "why should i be sorry? i didn't know the man that was burned." the usual course of the law was taken in the case and he was placed in a reformatory. he spent nearly six years between that institution and hospitals for the criminal insane, when he was released on parole. it is of interest to note here how he reacted to the stress of confinement in the reformatory. we find that on two occasions during this period it became necessary to transfer him to an insane asylum. we shall have occasion to refer to this again later.
-if there ever existed in him any chance for reform, the reformatory apparently killed it, for his life since then has been an uninterrupted chain of crime and debauchery. he has been a prey to all the vices of modern civilization; he is a confirmed alcoholic, was addicted to the habitual use of morphine and cocaine; has been infected on numerous occasions with gonorrhœa; has contracted syphilis and received a serious burn during an attack of delirium tremens. in all, he spent eight of the past fourteen years in penitentiaries, jails, and institutions for the criminal insane, and has, now, an indictment for larceny hanging over him. released from a six years' confinement he finds himself thrown upon his own resources and is confronted for the first time with the problem of providing for himself. the poorly-begotten organism, whose start in life, already deficient in those attributes and forces which are so essential for an effective struggle for existence and which was rendered still more deficient by a six years' sojourn among criminals, finds himself unable to cope with conditions as they exist, and several months after his release from imprisonment we again find him arrested for robbery. being taken hold of by the law does not mend matters in the least. on the contrary, we see the same tendency to break under the stress of imprisonment, with the overwhelming burden of an enforced routine existence, reassert itself as on the former occasion, and in reaction to the situation he develops a psychosis which necessitates his transfer to an insane asylum. placed under the less exacting régime of a hospital, he soon recovers and avails himself of the first opportunity for an escape which presents itself. finding himself again at freedom he endeavors to find some explanation for his unfortunate position in life and in the midst of this he discovers that his sister is planning to return him to the hospital. even his own sister is against him. he begins to assume that paranoid view of life which characterizes his later existence. now he knows where the trouble lies. the whole world is against him; no wonder he can't get along; his own sister is trying to force him back into the hands of his persecutors. his own deficiencies and incapacities he projects upon the environment. it is the world about that is at fault; not he. they are after him all the time. he buys a gun with which to protect himself, and with renewed antagonism against society in general he defiantly launches upon a career of crime and vice. again taken hold of by the law, the old story repeats itself. he lands in an insane asylum.
-upon an analysis of the content of his psychosis, we find that he elaborates a story of having been kidnapped in pennsylvania, upon a trumped up charge of robbery, taken before a "phony" judge and given an unjust sentence of five years. the police officers who arrested him were friends of the murdered police captain at olean and were hired to do this job, because he (the patient) was suspected of having had something to do with this murder. he dreads being placed in the penitentiary because he knows the warden is likewise against him, being a friend of the murdered police captain and might perhaps be in league with his persecutors and take this opportunity of avenging himself upon the suspected murderer, and sure enough, soon after his arrival at the penitentiary, the warden has an electrical apparatus rigged up with which to torture him, etc. his psychosis takes the usual course, he recovers soon after having been removed from the oppressing environment.
-case ii.--j. h., aged 37. admitted to the government hospital for the insane, march 8, 1909. maternal grandfather died suddenly from unknown cause. was a race-track operator. father alcoholic. mother suffered from vertiginous attacks. there were twenty-one children in the family, fifteen of whom died in infancy. one brother died of brain tumor. one sister is neurotic; her eight year old son suffers from congenital heart disease. patient was born in manchester, england. he was the twentieth child; mother was over forty years old at the time of his birth. he was an unusually small and puny infant and remembers using crutches when a child. at seven he was bitten by a dog and dragged about on the ground for a great distance; when finally rescued was unconscious for a long time. no further ill-effects. school life was characterized throughout by truancy and disobedience and finally terminated in expulsion. at that early period of life he already showed marked egotism, extreme vindictiveness and an utter disregard for consequences. the immediate cause of his expulsion from school was a fistic encounter with a teacher. at the age of eleven, his family immigrated to this country. he states that he was different from other boys of his age, did not care for the ordinary childhood sports, and the only friends he had were a young sister and a dog. he states that he couldn't get along somehow with the other boys, that he often thought that the whole world was trying to down him and persecute him. about that time someone stole his dog. he brooded over this so much that he finally jumped into a creek, intending to commit suicide, but was rescued by bystanders. he has made several other attempts at suicide in later life. in describing these he elaborates them with a lot of fanciful trimming, dilates on the importance of the various situations attending them, and how much uproar they caused among those who knew of them. at the age of fourteen he had a quarrel with another boy. upon being reprimanded by the latter's father, he could not rest until he had obtained a gun and fired at the boy's father while the latter was sitting at the supper table with his family. in relating this incident he states with great vanity that he fully intended to kill the boy's father; he wasn't going to be insulted by anyone and let it go at that. here was probably the first well-illustrated instance of his pathologic emotionalism, the tendency to a complete dominance of a certain affect. he was committed to some sort of an industrial school for a year. upon his release from there he went to work in a machine shop in his native town. one day a couple of gentlemen and a lady walked through the shop and stopped in front of the machine on which he was working. he did not like this, became angered, picked up the dog which followed them and threw it into the oil tank which fed his machine. at sixteen he ran away from home. he gives a history of an industrial career and apparently he had no difficulty in learning a trade, and it is quite likely that he was a skilled workman. his entire industrial career, however, is characterized by an inability to fit harmoniously into the situation at hand, not because of an intellectual deficiency, but because of the disharmony between his various mental faculties. his extreme sensitiveness and emotionalism, his vindictiveness, the total lack of a sense of responsibility, his impulsive existence, all these, were always at play in his relations with man. if to these be added his extreme egotism and vanity, the reasons for his conflicts become clear. "here, the foreman thought he knew more than i did." "there, i did not like the way they were running the business," etc. among his occupations, saloon-keeping and professional gambling played an important rôle. he finally gave up all attempts at leading an honest existence and turned to crime. our record of the man in this regard is rather incomplete, but according to his record at the secret service bureau, he was sentenced in 1890 to a two years' term for highway robbery. in 1902 to three years for counterfeiting; in 1904 to three and a-half, and in 1908 to six years for the same offense. these sentences were incurred under various aliases. he married at a very early age. he says he made up his mind one night to get married and two days later was married. his conjugal life, like everything else he engaged in, proved a failure and was characterized by repeated desertions. he commenced using alcoholics at a very early age and has indulged excessively all his lifetime. he has had several gonorrhœal infections, and has an active luetic infection at the present time. on may 5, 1908, he was sentenced to a six years' term of imprisonment. soon after it became necessary to perform an operation for appendicitis, and upon recovering he began to complain of having been cut open and of having had poison put inside of him. the u. s. government sent men down to the prison who were threatening to kill him. he saw detectives from washington whom he recognized. he was very apprehensive and refused to submit himself to an examination, and made homicidal attacks upon the officers. on march 8, 1909, he was admitted to this institution. his conduct here was characterized throughout his entire stay by the same attributes of character which were at play throughout his entire antisocial existence. he was at all times very emotional. he was very sensitive, becoming offended on the least provocation, and when laboring under some imaginary grievance his antagonism and vindictiveness knew no bounds. he was constantly plotting and scheming some means of inciting a revolt among the other inmates and took every opportunity to put himself forth as the champion of the other patients. he was very egotistical and vain and showed a marked tendency to interpret most trivial occurrences in his environment as having some reference to him. he was always ready to endow every incident with a personal note of prejudice. he showed throughout marked fluctuations of mood. one never knew what sort of a reception one would meet. he was a pathological liar, was keenly alert to everything that transpired about him and was always ready to utilize every incident to his own advantage. he was depraved to a very marked degree morally. he gave his past history without the least sign of regret and when questioned concerning the reason of his criminal life, he objected strenuously to being called a criminal, insisting that what he did was right. at times he impressed one by his mode of reaction to various daily occurrences as being as naïve as a child and suggestible to a very marked degree. he frequently threatened to commit suicide if refused some of his impossible requests and showed a marked tendency to hypochondriasis and exaggeration of actual ills. on this basis he developed various persecutory ideas, exclusively against those who had anything to do with his care and safe-keeping. the warden at the jail before he came here tried to poison him and took the opportunity of accomplishing this while he (the patient) was undergoing an operation. the government sent secret service men down to watch him and persecute him. here the physicians are doing the same thing. they are trying to down him, to make his life miserable for him, etc. throughout his sojourn here he was clearly oriented, knew everything that was going on and failed to show the least indication of the existence of a deteriorating process. he showed also a marked tendency to write a good deal of poetry and fiction in which he spoke of himself as a martyr who had been persecuted and downed all his lifetime. his stories were of a fantastic, adventurous kind, in which gambling, shooting, and similar highly melodramatic situations were enacted. on july 17, 1911, he was returned to prison as recovered. another point of interest in this case and one to which i have briefly alluded before, was his tendency to the exaggeration of symptoms and to malingering, but the malingering which he manifested was of the kind that the child manifests in an endeavor to attract attention to itself and to arouse the sympathy of those about him.
-here again we have before us a kaleidoscopic picture of the life of a human being who from childhood showed tendencies so antisocial, so criminalistic, that it is hard to get away from the belief that most of the attributes which went to make him just what he is, must have been inherited. let us take this poorly-begotten organism and follow it through life. we shall see how its existence has been a continuous round of conflicts with everything it came in contact. he entered school and meets with the first obligation, with the first necessity for a well-regulated, purposive existence. what is the result? truancy, disobedience, and finally expulsion--not because of intellectual deficiency, but because of those same attributes which later served to put him in the penitentiary. it was the first evidence of his pathologic emotionalism and vindictiveness. we next see him in an effort to lead an industrial life, but here, too, everything he does proves a failure, and likewise not because of intellectual deficiency, but because of a disharmony, a disproportion, between his various mental faculties. he could not, somehow, submit himself to any well-regulated existence. his egotism and absolute lack of the sense of responsibility made it impossible for him to adjust himself effectively to the world about him. he next tries matrimony, and the same story reasserts itself. his conjugal life is characterized by repeated desertions; and thus he becomes steadily more debased, more depraved, sinks to the level of the professional gambler and finally even this becomes too strenuous for him, and he turns to a life of crime. at the age of forty we find him with a record of numerous arrests, and as far as known, one-fourth of his lifetime has thus far been spent in jails and penitentiaries. the characterological anomalies at the bottom of his career came to the front already in his childhood days. before completing his fourteenth year we find him deliberately planning the murder of a human being because of an insult. his idea concerning that situation has not changed in the least since then. he now speaks of it without the least sign of remorse or regret. as a matter of fact, he is inclined to impress one as being rather proud of that deed, and he cannot see the criminality of it. the atavistic nature of his act in throwing the dog into the oil tank is quite evident. then his attempts at suicide throughout his lifetime, evidence of a pathologic emotionalism, must also be remembered. these are a few examples of his mode of reaction to everyday occurrences in life. is it at all strange that he has developed finally into the habitual criminal? on the contrary, it would be rather strange that an individual with such attributes should turn out to be an honest, peaceful citizen. he likewise was a prey to all the vices of modern civilization, and these, as in the preceding case, unquestionably added to the dissolution of the originally defective organism. we finally meet with an illustration of the other phase of his mode of reaction. following imprisonment on a charge of robbery, he develops a psychosis which necessitates his transfer to an insane asylum. brief as the description of his psychosis has been, it is sufficient to illustrate that here we are likewise dealing with a psychogenetic disorder manifesting itself as a reactive expression of a degenerative constitution to an unpleasant situation. shortly after his arrest he is being operated upon for appendicitis and upon recovery elaborates the idea that the warden of the jail, one of the members of that large class against whom he has been warring all his lifetime, takes this opportunity of placing poison in his body. he sees and hears people around his cell whom he recognizes as secret service men sent down from washington to torture him. on his transfer to our hospital he readily carries over his delusional ideas to the officials here. he is simply being persecuted by a bunch of anarchists, who are trying to down him and make life miserable for him.
-it has long ago been questioned by psychiatrists whether these so-called delusional ideas of this class of patients deserve to be endowed with the value of delusions. let us not forget that a similar attitude toward officialdom exists in the minds of criminals enjoying a respite from the law. it is the officers of the law, society's institution for the prevention and punishment of crime, that these people have to fear, and when they speak of being persecuted by those who have their care and safe-keeping in hand, it is not, necessarily, a pathological manifestation. the only difference between such paranoid ideas in the criminal at freedom and the one in confinement is that in the latter case, coupled with the stress of confinement, the stress of a forced routine existence, these ideas assume enormous proportions and in some instances become supported by fallacious sense perceptions. their exaggerated self-consciousness, their great tendency to introspection, a tendency which is very much enhanced by confinement and plenty of leisure time for such indulgence, and their paranoid attitude toward law and its officers, makes it possible for them to endow the least significant occurrence in their environment with a personal note of prejudice. the least deviation from the normal routine has a meaning to them, a meaning which is readily interpreted as some evidence of persecution, of prejudice, etc. the course of their disorder shows so much evidence of this psychogenetic character that it is impossible to think that we are dealing with a psychosis which apparently has no relation to the situation at hand. every symptom which they manifest can be traced to some definite cause and can be clearly explained as being of the nature of a reaction, of a motivated expression to a definite experience. it is, i believe, unnecessary to enter into a lengthy discussion to show that we are not dealing here with a case of dementia præcox, but with one of the degenerative psychoses and we will consider the criminal tendencies of this individual likewise as expressions of that same degenerative soil which permitted of the development of the psychosis. on july 17, 1911, the patient was returned to the penitentiary to serve out the remainder of his sentence.
-father is a chronic alcoholic; one brother a wanderer, has not been heard from for twenty years; one sister a suicide; one sister left home at the age of eighteen and has not been heard from since.
-patient was born in england in 1868. was a healthy child as far as he knows; no history of spasms or convulsions. talked and walked at the usual age. of the diseases of childhood he had whooping cough, measles and scarlet fever, from which he apparently made good recoveries. entered school at the age of seven; attended irregularly until he was twelve years old. after leaving school he made an attempt at learning a trade and worked as apprentice for some time. at fifteen he endeavored to enlist in the british navy, but was rejected on account of palpitation of the heart. in 1884, at the age of sixteen, he joined the royal marines; soon found this to be disagreeable to his tastes, and wanting to secure his discharge, he stole a suit of clothes off a dummy with the avowed purpose of being discharged for the offense. was arrested, plead guilty, and served a sentence of one month. in 1886, at the age of eighteen, he enlisted in the royal fusileers and deserted therefrom about a month later. he then reënlisted in the eighteenth royal irish fusileers, shortly after deserted, and then gave himself up; was court-martialed, dishonorably discharged, and given a sentence of six months which he served in brixton's military prison, london. in 1887, at the age of nineteen, under the name of henry sayers, he joined the welsh division of the royal artillery, whence he deserted two months later and sold a kit and coat belonging to another recruit; was apprehended, tried and given a sentence of six months. in all, he was dishonorably discharged from the service seven times. in 1892, at the age of twenty-four, he immigrated to this country. on arriving here he worked about a month at railroading and then enlisted in the army, deserted after serving three months, and crossed the canadian border. he subsequently returned and gave himself up to a sheriff, was court-martialed, dishonorably discharged, and given a sentence of one year and a half. after being released he resumed his nomadic existence but in a more pronounced manner. since 1895, he has had no definite occupation, subsisting on begging, stealing, and peddling minor articles, chiefly on the two former. he has spent most of his life since then in penitentiaries and workhouses, and when at liberty, in cheap boarding-houses and missions. as far as he can recall he has been arrested twenty-two times for vagrancy since 1895, served four years at moundsville and atlanta for robbery, and six months for theft. he commenced to indulge in alcoholics at a very early age and has been an excessive drinker all his life. has been intoxicated on numerous occasions and has had delirium tremens twice. in 1897 he indulged in opium smoking for thirteen days and in 1904 sniffed cocaine for a similar period. on three or four occasions in his life he has had sexual experiences with men and there is a definite history of inversion. he has been married twice. his conjugal life with his first wife was a very unhappy one. he attributes this entirely to his own fault. there were three children from this union, all of whom died in infancy. he left his first wife without obtaining a divorce from her and subsequently, in 1898, married again. this union was happier than the former one. his second wife, however, died in 1905. there were no children from this union. he acquired gonorrhœa and syphilis in 1899. in 1907 he prepared an elaborate attempt at suicide, purchased a dagger for this purpose, and set june 13th for the date. he was, however, arrested shortly before this and thus his plan was frustrated. he stated that it was not disgust of life that drove him to do this. he simply had a desire to see whether he had the nerve to execute such an act. on february 2, 1910, was arrested for vagrancy and begging, and given a sentence of 180 days in the workhouse. while in his cell he attempted suicide by inflicting superficial cuts over the præcordium, wrists and calves of his legs with a piece of broken table knife. these were very insignificant in nature. while confined in the workhouse he developed various fallacious sense perceptions, saw visions of weird and fantastic nature, and frequently these would take on a religious and sexual coloring--he would see nuns' heads. he also developed auditory hallucinations and would hear voices of a disagreeable nature. he was subject to peculiar sensations as though there was a wire framework inside him which made him squirm. this necessitated his transfer to this institution.
-on admission he was well-nourished, but prematurely gray. he had numerous tattoo marks on his body; on the right forearm a woman in tights and the head of another; on the left forearm initials u. s., flag, ship and cross; over the dorsum of left hand a star, and a band across the wrist. his vision was impaired to some extent; otherwise negative. aside from a futile attempt at suicide which he made shortly after admission, his conduct has been excellent. he has never been known to become involved in altercations or quarrels with his fellow patients and has obeyed fully the rules and regulations of the hospital. he was somewhat circumstantial during a lengthy conversation, but in a superficial interview he made quite a natural impression. he was clearly oriented and showed no memory defect. his answers to the intelligence tests failed to show any intellectual impairment. his emotional tone was unvaried. he was always very polite, courteous and optimistic, and very popular with the attendants. he willingly assisted with the ward work at all times, was keen and alert, fully cognizant of everything that transpired about him. he spent his time reading and rarely associated with his fellow patients, whom he considered below him intellectually. he believed in reincarnation, and thought himself to have been in a former being pharaoh of egypt and the earl of warwick. he had tactile, auditory and visual hallucinations of a religious and sexual coloring. these were, however, transitory in type and perhaps better called pseudo-hallucinations, as he was able to bring them on and cause their disappearance at will. he was frank in his statements and discussed the various ideas without hesitation. he was inclined to write a great deal, especially poetry of the waste-basket variety, and considered himself quite proficient in this respect. on february 2, 1911, he appeared before the staff conference where the advisability of granting him parole of the grounds was considered. upon being refused this privilege he again attempted suicide by making several superficial cuts across the wrists. these were quite insignificant in nature. at the present writing the patient, i am told, if anything, had improved somewhat. at any rate he shows no intellectual impairment nor evidence of any progressive mental disorder. patient was eventually discharged on april 7, 1915, as unimproved and went to work in a steel-plant in the district of columbia. he soon, however, reverted to his old alcoholic habits, came in conflict with the law and was sentenced to the workhouse. while his strictly psychotic symptoms subsided it is quite evident that the original defective constitution which has been responsible for all of his past difficulties has not improved.
-here is another individual who started out in life with a heavy hereditary burden. his early childhood, as far as can be determined, was normal. he entered school and here met the first obligation. he wavered, showed a tendency, that early, to be unable to lead a well-regulated life and in consequence his school attendance was irregular. the next difficulty he met was in attempting to learn a trade. he soon found this too strenuous and sought an environment less exacting in nature, and at fifteen we see him endeavoring to enlist in the navy. this is probably the first indication of his "wanderlust." he was rejected, and after another year's effort to get along in his immediate environment, finally succeeded in entering the navy. soon, however, he found out that navy life was not what he had pictured it to be. it, likewise, was too exacting. he had to live up to prescribed rules, obey orders--things to which he could not reconcile himself, and in consequence failed of a proper adjustment. he knew he could not stand it, he must get out. he must seek something more suitable, something less exacting. in looking for a way out of the situation he availed himself of the first opportunity, stole a suit of clothes with the avowed purpose of being discharged for the offense. here is the starting point of his criminal career. he did not reflect upon the consequences. he knew he must gratify his desire to get out of the navy, must do it at any cost, and yielded to temptation. this yielding to temptation, this lack of power of resistance, characterized his entire life. he yielded to every vice that crossed his path; he stole, he drank, he became a morphine habitué, he sniffed cocaine, acquired gonorrhœa and syphilis in his promiscuous sexual trends, and lastly yielded to sexual perversion. after having served his first sentence he was released and again found himself thrown upon his own resources. he had not, as yet, reached the stage of the habitual criminal with the utter disregard for property rights, nor had he reached that nonchalance of the hobo, whose philosophy rests upon the dogma that the world owes him a living, that tomorrow will provide for itself somehow. he began to yearn for the service again. there, at least, he was provided with shelter and food. there, at least, he did not have to worry for the tomorrow. he entered the army, deserted, re-entered, deserted again, and kept this up until he was dishonorably discharged seven times. he could stand it just so long. his lack of stability, his inability for any continuous purposive effort, made him slip from under the stress. he has less dread for the future now. he was beginning to acquire that naïve philosophy that somehow the world would provide for him. we next hear of him across the ocean. here his "wanderlust", his love of adventure, reasserts itself, but somehow he did not fit into existing conditions, and unable, because of his particular organization, because of his disequilibrated mentality, to create for himself a suitable environment, his existence continued to be an unbroken chain of conflicts, of contradictions, and of failure. he finally tried matrimony, but here, too, he soon felt the overwhelming burden of duties and obligations. he was not assisted in sustaining these by any moral sense, by any paternal feelings--and after a more or less continuous struggle to cope with the situation, left wife, situation and all. he realized subjectively that he and his wife were not congenial. as a matter of fact, his entire life has been a continual round of uncongenialities, of inability for a proper concourse with men and things in the world. throughout his life his ego occupied the center of the stage. it is he that has to be satisfied first. after leaving his wife he resumed his nomadic existence and sometime later married again. but by this time he was a full recidivist, as well as an accomplished hobo. the nomad was no longer able to adjust himself to a communal existence. besides, it required effort. he was expected to provide and he could not be expected to do anything. fate was in his favor--his wife died. it must not be forgotten that by this time he had made full use of the kind oversight of the law. he had been arrested innumerable times, he had breathed the atmosphere of the workhouse and partaken of the penitentiary menu. the once unfinished product had been shaped and polished by the machinery of the law and order of our modern civilization so that all dread and fear of punishment had lost its value with him. at last the organism which was originally begotten from decayed stock, which had been tossed and knocked about through its entire existence, and preyed upon by all the vices that modern civilization affords, began to falter and shake. he developed a psychosis. i shall not enter here into an extensive discussion as to the diagnosis of the disorder. the total absence of any indication of progression in this man's mental disorder, the pliability of the various delusional ideas and hallucinatory experiences, his perfect control over them in the matter of bringing them on and causing their disappearance at will, speaks sufficiently against dementia præcox.
-birth and childhood of patient apparently uneventful. during childhood fell from a fence following which he was unconscious for some time. entered school between the ages of seven and eight, and attended regularly for about two years, when he became unruly and ungovernable--would play truant on frequent occasions, and finally left school before finishing the fourth grade. he worked around home for a little while, and was arrested the first time when eleven or twelve years old, for assault. at fourteen he was again arrested for some minor offense, and shortly afterwards was sentenced to one year in jail. on august 20, 1902, at the age of eighteen was arrested for carrying concealed weapons and discharging them in the street, for which offense he served five months in jail. march 3, 1903, sentenced to serve thirty days for larceny, and on the same date was further charged with disorderly conduct, for which he was given fifteen days in the workhouse. may 1, 1903, he was sentenced to sixty days in jail for petty larceny; july 18, 1903, charged with fornication, but charge was withdrawn. august 31, 1903, sentenced to thirty days in jail for being drunk and disorderly, and committing assault. november 1, 1903, sentenced to fifteen days in the workhouse on a charge of disorderly conduct. november 17, 1903, sentenced to twelve years for assault and highway robbery. he commenced using alcoholics at a very early age, and has indulged heavily since then. he was admitted to the moundsville penitentiary, december 13, 1903, where he remained until july 4, 1908, when he was transferred to leavenworth. his record at the penitentiary is a very bad one, he was frequently punished for various offenses and showed a constant tendency to disobey rules and get into altercations with fellow prisoners. he was in solitary confinement several times, and forfeited almost all of his good time. frequently became mildly excited, singing, shouting, praying and cursing in the most irrational manner. this state of excitement persisted unremittingly for seventy-two hours on one occasion. he declared that his lungs were rotting with tuberculosis or some other foul disease, and that he was suffocating. he persisted in exposing himself in a nude condition and refused nourishment.
-he was admitted to the government hospital for the insane, december 24, 1909.
-physical examination showed him to be a well-developed, healthy negro. both deep and superficial reflexes exaggerated; ankle clonus both sides; hyperæsthesia of abdomen and face. he stated that two or three months prior to his admission to this hospital he became suspicious of his food; had a burning in his stomach after eating; believed that his health was failing him; his breath became short; voice weak and lungs rotting. early in december, 1909, he believed that he had been chloroformed by the prison officials for five days; he was not certain how this was done but believed that it might have been poured through the keyhole. during this period he sang like a graphophone; voices said "move his head", and his head would move itself. when his eyes were open he saw nothing unusual but when they were shut he could hear them operating a machine on his body; they were pumping his stomach, and he became a skeleton. this was done to him through prejudice; did not know who was prejudiced against him, but at the prison they know all about it. said he had not slept a wink since his admission to the hospital; his breath is short; he has pains around his heart, but thinks he is getting better now.
-he was a negro of limited mental capacity and possessed very little acquired knowledge. he was clean and tidy in his habits, keenly interested in his environment, and well oriented in all spheres. he lacked insight into the nature of his trouble. attention could be easily gained and held; he comprehended well and readily, and showed no memory defect. there was a very marked tendency to hypochondriasis and exaggeration of actual ills. soon after admission the active symptoms of his disorder disappeared, and he gradually acquired an adequate amount of insight, realizing that he had been insane. his conduct, at first orderly, now assumed the same character as that at prison. he frequently became involved in altercations with other patients and on several occasions manifested decidedly vicious tendencies. he was almost absolutely unamenable to the hospital regulations and on that account had to be frequently reprimanded. he incited the other patients in his ward to all sorts of misdemeanors, and when not having any complaints himself, would fight the other patients' battles. he remained clearly oriented throughout. he was decidedly deficient morally--could not see where his life had been an unsocial one, and did not even promise to lead a better one in the future.
-here, again, we see disease and crime rampant in the family history of a man who himself began to manifest criminal tendencies at a very early age. his school career is characterized by truancy, and he never made an effort at an industrial career. at the age of eleven or twelve, we already find him arrested for an offense against the person, and before having reached his twentieth year he has received a penitentiary sentence of twelve years. his psychosis is unquestionably one belonging to that large group developing on a degenerative basis, the same soil which is at the bottom of his criminal career. what his future life is going to be may readily be surmised; he has not yet reached his thirtieth year--and by turning him loose at the expiration of his present sentence, society adds only another parasitic and infective organism to gnaw at its roots. it would be indeed ridiculous to expect the boy who at the age of nineteen was placed in the environment of a penitentiary--the hot-bed of crime--to be turned out a better man after having spent twelve years there. something over two years has elapsed since the original publication of this paper and i am able to furnish some additional data concerning this case.
-upon the expiration of his sentence we were obliged to discharge the patient because he showed no symptoms of mental disease, and in consequence we had no authority for holding him in a hospital for the insane. he was discharged in march, 1912. in october of the same year he was again arrested, charged with assault with a dangerous weapon and received a seven-year penitentiary sentence.
-there can be very little doubt as to what his future career will be following this second penitentiary sentence.
-patient learned to talk and walk at the age of five, when he was severely scalded which necessitated his confinement to bed for a long time. entered school at the age of seven and attended for about eight years, reaching the 6th grade. he experienced no difficulty in learning but played truant on frequent occasions. his industrial career constitutes an uninterrupted chain of failures. he was frequently discharged for various offenses and quarrels with his associates. he commenced to indulge in alcoholics at a very early age and has been an excessive drinker all his life. married in his twentieth year and managed to live with his wife for six years, when she left him on account of infidelity, non-support and drunkenness. one miscarriage and one apparently healthy child were the results of this union.
-he came in conflict with the law for the first time at the age of twelve or thirteen for some offense against the person. we have an incomplete record of his criminal career, but this can easily be surmised when we take into consideration that part of it which we do possess. between march, 1903, and december, 1910, he was arrested thirteen times for assault, twenty-eight times for disorderly, and drunk and disorderly, twice for housebreaking, once for petty larceny and twice for vagrancy. habitual drunkenness, destruction of private property, and depredation on house furniture, add to the list of charges against him. during this period he served a penitentiary sentence, was tried for murder, and acquitted on a second trial on a plea of self-defense, and on four different occasions, was ordered to be examined mentally. following a debauch, during which he was arrested three times for assault, he developed a mental disorder in jail while awaiting trial, which necessitated his transfer to the government hospital for the insane.
-he developed the idea that someone was always around him looking for a chance to kill him. continually heard strange voices and noises. was very nervous and irritable.
-the records accompanying him stated that for years he had had a particularly bad and dangerous temper. that he had had several previous attacks of mental disorder; had repeatedly committed assaults, and was found not guilty of murder seven years ago--an act of insanity. had been arrested by the washington police about seventy-five times.
-his mental disturbance soon cleared up, and on admission to the hospital he was absolutely free from any psychotic manifestations.
-he was a well-developed man of average intellectual attainments. he was somewhat unstable emotionally, and his promises to lead a better life in the future were usually accompanied by a good deal of crying. he was a monumental liar, and although endeavoring to impress the examiner with the idea of being quite remorseful about his past life, it was clearly evident that his moral status was a very low one and that his promises and resolutions were merely brought forth to aid him in securing his freedom. he was extensively tattooed and showed remains of an old syphilitic lesion.
-upon his release from the government hospital for the insane, he was given a year's sentence in the workhouse, and the press has been reporting frequent misdemeanors performed by him in the workhouse.
-this case is interesting only in so far as it illustrates exceptionally well the rôle of alcoholism in the habitual criminal. it is, however, very difficult to decide whether the alcohol should be considered here the cause of the man's degeneracy or its result. it would appear that whatever injurious effect inebriety had upon this man, and unquestionably it had, he owes his anomalies of character to causes over which he had no control. we find that his father was a chronic alcoholic, his mother a neurotic, a maternal aunt insane, and an uncle a suicide. that these pathological traits in the antecedents left their impressions on him cannot be doubted for one minute. he was abnormal before environment and personal habits had had time to make themselves felt. he, too, oscillated between penal institutions and the hospital for the insane all his lifetime. that the same degenerative basis lies at the bottom of both his moral and mental alienation, cannot be doubted. here, too, we are able at this date to furnish other additional information. the patient was eventually discharged from the hospital for a similar reason as in the preceding case, and in spite of all his promises and new resolutions was readmitted to the hospital on october 13, 1913 with an attack of delirium tremens.
-let us endeavor to see now in what respects the above individuals simulate one another, and whether this similarity is of sufficient import to warrant the grouping of them into one category. commencing with the family history we find disease and crime manifest in the antecedents, either direct or indirect, of all of them, that in all probability because of this, not one of these unfortunates was brought into the world with a sufficient impetus to carry him successfully to his goal. in every instance we find that the characterological anomaly became manifest already during their school career. it was the persistent truancy, disobedience and antagonism to submission to a well-regulated existence and not so much the incapacity to learn, which distinguished them from the other children in school. the same attributes of character which were at the bottom of their conflicts with the school authorities brought them into the hands of the police authorities soon afterwards. the contact with the outside world soon served to bring out other pathological traits of character. we now see them manifest a pathologic emotionalism, an unbounded egotism, a relentless vindictiveness and an apparently total disregard of consequences. frictions with the surrounding world, which a normal individual meets in an ordinary manner with a view towards an efficient adaptation to existing conditions, were reacted to by them in a distinctly antisocial manner, with methods entirely void of consideration of the rights of others, an attribute so essential for a proper concourse with man. thrown finally upon their own resources, when they had to rely for their existence upon some industrial pursuit, we find them lacking the most essential prerequisite for the efficient struggle for existence--definiteness of purpose, and continuity and persistence of effort. we find them leading a harum-scarum existence, drifting from place to place, and from occupation to occupation, never able to remain at any one undertaking for any length of time.
-the next features which stand out prominently in the lives of these individuals are their recidivism and the fact that every one of them came under the observation of an alienist on one or more occasions in his life. what is at the bottom of all this? we cannot, of course, deny the very evident fact that these individuals differ from normal man and that this difference is due to their inferiority. but what characterizes this inferiority? is it the lack of something which normal man possesses, or is it rather a disproportion, a disharmony between the various individual mental faculties of these individuals? in other words, is their inferiority a quantitative or qualitative one? taking pure intelligence into consideration we find that they show no deficiency in this particular sphere. on the contrary, most or all of them show a degree of shrewdness and keenness which absolutely precludes the existence of an intelligence defect per se. their recidivism is not due to an inability to distinguish between right and wrong. they know very well what is and what is not right, at any rate, as well as the average person, but they feel decidedly different from the average person about this distinction. they are what they are because of a discord, a disproportion between their various psychic attributes. the exaggerated egotism, which is so common to these individuals, serves to establish a pathologic degree of self-consciousness. this in turn makes them feel with an extraordinary keenness the everyday frictions in life, and now the pathologic emotionalism comes into play and being unsupported by any sense of altruism and morality they give way to their feelings in some criminal act. their pathologic vindictiveness should also be mentioned. a sustained real or imaginary injury can never be forgotten by them.
-these, in brief, i believe to be the characterological anomalies which distinguish the individuals herein reported from normal man and which at the same time are sufficiently common to all of them to justify their segregation into one distinct group of criminals.
-i shall not enter here into a discussion of what part, if any, environment played in the shaping of the lives of these individuals, for several reasons, chief among which, however, is the fact that i have not had the opportunity of investigating thoroughly the environmental conditions in which they grew up and am therefore unable to evaluate properly this phase of the question. the fact, however, that my cases were culled from various sources and that the anomalous traits manifested by them were already present at an age when environment could hardly have had any lasting influence upon them, leads me to believe that it is heredity that is responsible for the major portion of this anomalous product. however, we shall leave this question to the decision of the practical eugenists. personally i fully believe that we are dealing here with a type in which heredity plays an important rôle. i fully believe that these individuals were always the same as they are now and that the probabilities are that they will always remain so. assuming then, for the moment, that we are correct, the question arises:--"has society dealt with these individuals in a proper manner?"
-this question must be answered decidedly in the negative. i will not enter here into an extensive discussion of a system of penology which might be specifically applicable to this class of individuals. i can only agree fully with the current opinions of eminent criminologists on this subject.
-at the 1911 congress of criminology and anthropology at cologne, the following resolution among others was adopted:--"hardened and professional criminals, recidivists, who present a great danger to society must be deprived of their liberty for as long a time as they are dangerous to the mass. their liberty should be as a general rule, conditional."
-archibald hopkins, esq., has been recently quoted by gault as follows:--"the head of scotland yard, in london, said not long ago that nine-tenths of the serious crimes there were committed by men who had served one or more terms of imprisonment and who might be regarded as belonging permanently to the criminal class. his judgment was that if they could be eliminated from such a situation, violation of the law would be diminished to less than a third of what it has been. why cannot this be done? let the courts be clothed with power, after two or more offenses, in its discretion, to pronounce a man incorrigible, who shall be sentenced for life, to whom no pardon shall issue. by an arrangement between the general government and the states, a colony could be established, say in the island of guam, where escape would be impossible, and where, under military guard, convicts could be made to earn their own living. surely society has the right to protect itself from these incorrigibles, who are released only to prey on it again. they also are the class who rapidly produce their kind, and at present society puts no obstacle in the way.
-the only argument, and a very weighty one it is, which can be raised against the foregoing proposition, is whether the incorrigible criminal is sufficiently characterized by such unmistakable features as would enable us to recognize him when we see him, and thus justify his permanent isolation from the community. i believe he is, and the cases here reported are fair representatives of that class. another problem which presents itself is: "where shall we put the incorrigible criminal?" if we agree that he owes his criminality to causes over which he has no control and that the crime here is the outgrowth of a degenerative personality, a personality which is distinctly abnormal, it would seem that he belongs in a hospital rather than a penal institution, but is this unequivocally so? it is unquestionably true that these individuals are abnormal, that without actually being insane they evidence from their earliest childhood a more or less distinct deviation from the normal; they may therefore be considered as "border-line cases," i.e., cases which deviate from normal man and incline toward the insane through numerous gradations. as soon, however, as their abnormality manifests itself in distinct incorrigible antisocial tendencies, the right of society to protect itself from such an element must be considered. when free from actual psychotic manifestations (which very easily engraft themselves upon this degenerative soil) these individuals do not belong in a hospital for the insane. here they serve only as a very troublesome and disturbing element, and wield an undesirable influence over many easily impressionable insane patients. they do not belong in a general penal institution because of the very deleterious influence they exert on the accidental but uncorrupted convict with whom they come in close contact in these institutions. it is my opinion that these individuals, forming as they do a distinct species of humanity, should be segregated into colonies especially designed for them, where under proper medical supervision, they should be made to earn their subsistence by means of some useful occupation. it is very obvious that an indeterminate sentence is the only rational way of approach to this problem and this should be supplemented by the vesting of the parole power in the hands of a board composed, not exclusively of members of the legal profession, but largely of physicians, and particularly those trained in psychopathology.
-the foregoing cases, while distinctly abnormal mentally, owe their recidivism to a qualitative rather than a quantitative defect.
-since the original publication of this paper, i have had occasion to observe a number of recidivists in whom the defect was essentially a quantitative one, i.e., patients ranging in intelligence all the way from idiocy to moronism.
-the following case is a good illustration of this type:--
-r. w. (colored) was admitted to this hospital for the first time from the district of columbia reform school on february 8, 1898. he was at that time serving a sentence for housebreaking. he was twenty years of age at that time and examination showed him to possess the intelligence of an imbecile. during his sojourn here he had several maniacal outbreaks, but recovered from these and was discharged into the care of his parents on november 23, 1898. sometime in 1900 he was again sent to the reform school and was readmitted to this hospital on november 17, 1900. he suffered at this time from an acute hallucinatory episode from which he soon recovered and was allowed to go out on a visit on february 20, 1901. he never returned from this visit but on july 23, 1902, was sentenced to twelve months imprisonment for larceny. while serving this sentence he was admitted to the state hospital for the insane at norristown, pennsylvania, where he suffered from an acute maniacal attack with persecutory delusions. he was discharged from that institution, by order of the court, on september 29, 1903. on january 1, 1904, he was arrested for housebreaking and sentenced to three years imprisonment at the united states penitentiary at moundsville, virginia. from the above institution he was admitted to this hospital on may 8, 1905, suffering from an acute maniacal attack. he soon recovered again and was discharged on august 18, 1906, with a diagnosis of imbecility with recurrent mania. he was readmitted here october 3, 1907, and discharged april 1, 1909. on january 23, 1910, he was given a two months workhouse sentence for petty larceny. on september 7, 1912, he was again sentenced to four years in the penitentiary for grand larceny, from which institution he was readmitted here on january 19, 1915.
-i shall not enter into a detailed discussion of this case. it is simply quite illustrative of the absolute necessity for permanent segregation of mental defectives.
-when some of this clinical material was first published in 1912 it met with very gratifying recognition at the hands of those who were interested in criminalistics.
-i wish to take this opportunity of expressing my particular appreciation of dr. healy's kind words of approbation and encouragement.
-we all must agree that the first essential step towards a better understanding of criminal types consists in a thorough study of the criminal individual, such as is reflected, for instance, in the very excellent book by healy on the "individual delinquent." such studies have thus far, however, with but rare exceptions, not been made at the proper source,--that is, in the criminal laboratory, the penal institution.
-the work which is being done with the juvenile offender is, of course, very important and very valuable; but in order that this work may be checked up scientifically it must be supplemented by thorough catamnestic studies of the juvenile offenders. this, i believe to be the only rational way of approach to the problem.
-this will in time, i believe, furnish us data concerning the criminal which will enable us to evaluate in a correct manner the various traits and characteristics of the juvenile offender and thus enable us to render a correct prognosis in a given case. once we shall reach a stage in the science of criminology when we shall dare to say of a juvenile offender, as we now unhesitatingly say of the leper, "here is a human being who will always be a danger to his fellow-man and, therefore, should be permanently isolated from his fellow-man", the problem of recidivism will be solved.
-we cannot, however, arrive at a proper conception of the nature of a juvenile offender by merely studying a cross section of him at any given moment of his life. in order to understand man, especially abnormal man, we must study him in a longitudinal section; we must note his mode of reaction to experiences in everyday life, under all manner of conditions and circumstances; we must investigate the motives and desires which prompt his conduct; we must find out how effectually he adapts himself to the environment in which he happens to be placed and in how far he is able to modify the world about him so as to make it subservient to his needs and wants. the same problems which confront criminology today, psychiatry had to face some years ago. in order to be able to rationally and scientifically deal with the insane the psychiatrist found it essential to establish certain criteria which might enable him to tell, with some degree of certainty, what the future life of a given insane person will be. in the last analysis it is this same thing which we are aiming to attain in our dealings with the criminal. the problem which is constantly before us in dealing with juvenile delinquency is what might be expected of the future life of the juvenile under consideration and what must be done towards directing his future into proper channels. so, after all, it should be our aim to establish certain criteria by means of which we should be able to render a proper prognosis. that we possess no such criteria at present can be denied by no one.
-as i have already stated, psychiatry had to face the same problems. with the advent, however, of the kraepelinian school these have in a great measure been solved. kraepelin, by studying the entire life history of his patients, was able to show that certain disease pictures when studied in cross section may simulate one another very closely clinically and at the same time be of the most diverse significance prognostically. he further showed that certain acute psychotic disturbances are merely the outward expressions of an underlying progressive disorder, and though the acute manifestations may disappear and leave no apparent trace behind them, the great majority of these individuals will spend the rest of their lives in institutions for the insane. by calling attention to certain symptom-complexes, which are especially characteristic of certain mental disorders, he gave us the means by which we are able at the present time to predict with a fair degree of certainty what the future life of a given patient will be. we can now tell without great fear of contradiction which of our patients are going to spend the rest of their lives in institutions.
-now, criminality is generally conceded to be an expression of a diseased personality and there is no reason why the same principles which served to advance our knowledge of psychiatry should not be employed here.
-in the foregoing study we aimed to carry out these principles, but we believe that better results still could be obtained at the hands of a trained psychiatrist right at the penitentiary. the reasons for this are quite obvious. the relationship between prisoner and physician would then be quite a different one, the data could be more readily verified with the assistance of the machinery of the law, and the subjects would be in a more accessible mood than when suffering from a mental disorder. as a matter of fact the best work thus far done on the mentality and disorders of mentality of prisoners was done by a prison physician, dr. siefert, of halle.
-thus we see that the question of the degenerative prison psychoses has an important relation to the question of criminology in general.
-this becomes at once apparent, if we accept the contention of many authorities that the degenerative soil which makes the development of these psychoses possible, is likewise responsible for the criminality of these individuals; in other words,--if we agree that crime and psychosis are here branches of the same tree. manifestly any discussion of the treatment of these psychoses must of necessity touch upon the vastly broader problem of the treatment of the habitual criminal, the recidivist, and therefore a slight digression from the subject at hand will be unavoidable.
-if we admit that it is the prison environment which serves to bring out the prison psychosis, it is perfectly evident that the first therapeutic indication is the removal of the prisoner from that environment as soon as the disorder is recognized. this problem is at present dealt with in several ways. there are certain penal institutions, especially in europe, which have within their walls a psychiatric department for the reception of these cases. others send their insane convicts to the criminal department of some hospital for the insane. in this country there are states in which still a third system is in vogue, namely, the confinement of these cases in special hospitals for insane criminals. now the points to be kept in mind in the treatment of the insane criminal are, briefly stated, these:--first, they should of course come under the supervision of a trained psychiatrist. second, the transfer from prison to hospital must take place with as little delay as possible and not be burdened with a lot of red-tape procedures. third, the hospitals for the housing of these patients must be fully equipped in accordance with the modern ideas of hospital construction, and at the same time afford ample security for the prevention of escapes. fourth, the interest of the inmates of the general hospital for the insane and the feelings of their friends and relatives must be kept in mind, when we begin to advocate the populating of our hospitals for the insane with criminal characters.
-the psychiatric annex in connection with the penal institution meets all these requirements better than any arrangement for the care of the insane criminal. an annex of say fifty beds, in connection with every state penitentiary would obviate entirely the delay in transferring a patient from prison to hospital and vice versa. as soon as a prisoner begins to show signs of mental disorder, and a prison physician trained in psychiatry will be able to recognize these early signs, or as soon as there is the least suspicion of mental disorder, the patient could be transferred without delay to the psychiatric department. here they should be kept under observation for at least six months. this will be sufficiently long in most instances to enable the physician to determine whether he is dealing with a progressive deteriorating psychosis or with one of those transitory prison psychoses. in the cases of the former, i.e., if it is definitely established that the patient is a dementing præcox or a paretic, the fact that he happens likewise to be a criminal is really of little or no importance. a demented individual is never dangerous enough to require confinement in an especially secure hospital, though he is a prisoner, and unless he is criminally insane, i.e., unless he manifests dangerous or criminal tendencies as a result of his mental disorder, really forms no special administrative problem. he could be kept either in the prison annex until the expiration of his sentence, if there be room for him, or could be transferred to the nearest hospital for the insane and treated the same as any other insane patient.
-it is the second group, however, i.e., those patients suffering from the transitory prison psychoses, which especially justify the establishment of psychiatric annexes in connection with prisons. we have seen how detrimental to prison discipline these individuals are, even when in a condition which might be considered normal to them, and we can easily surmise what it must mean to care for them in prison during one of their mental upsets. it is therefore of the utmost importance, both for the prison administration and for the individual, that these patients should be transferred to a properly appointed hospital in as short a time as possible, and this can be done most readily when the hospital and prison are within the same walls, and more or less under the same management. on the other hand, we owe it to the prisoner to bring him under proper care as soon as possible. the practice of sending these individuals to criminal departments of general hospitals for the insane has many objections. in the first place, no matter how modern the equipment of such departments, most of them cannot afford the proper kind of treatment to these individuals. the idea that the removal from prison to a criminal department of an insane hospital will have a beneficial effect upon the prisoner because of the more lenient environment into which he is taken is entirely delusional in the case of the degenerated habitual criminal. these individuals, if the public safety is to be kept in mind, can receive but very limited privileges in a hospital for the insane. the modern hospital is not constructed with the idea of caring for dangerous criminals, and in many instances the habitual criminal, who because of his dangerous tendencies and ever readiness to escape, has to be constantly kept under lock and key, would be much better off if he were treated within the enclosure of the prison. there the construction of the place permits of a wider latitude of outdoor exercise. an annex located within the enclosure of a prison could well afford to allow its patients the freedom of the enclosure, while this can manifestly not be done in a general hospital for the insane. then again, there is the unavoidable delay attendant upon the commitment of a prisoner to an insane hospital. as i have already stated elsewhere, it is not a rare occurrence to receive patients into the hospital who have entirely recovered from their mental disorder before leaving the prison. furthermore, the expense and danger always connected with the transfer of insane criminals from prison to hospital and back again, if the hospital is any distance from the prison, must be kept in mind.
-a word to those who, from a false altruistic standpoint, insist that the insane criminal requires no different treatment from that which the ordinary insane patient does. this is very true in the case of prisoners who develop mental disorders which have no relation to crime or imprisonment. these do not require special measures of treatment. it is likewise true of the psychoses of the accidental criminal, but it is entirely different with the criminal who suffers from a degenerative prison psychosis. here we are not dealing with individuals who tend to dement, who have little or no conception of whether they are in a prison or in a hospital. in short, we are not dealing here with paretics or senile dements, who, although being at the same time prisoners, remain subject to the same unavoidable lot of the paretic or the senile dement. the habitual criminal who suffers from a degenerative psychosis, unless he is in a stupor, is constantly on the alert for a chance to escape. no matter how delusional or hallucinated he may be, he always manages to keep in mind that the thing which he most desires is to be free from the hands of his captors, and anyone who has had to deal with this class will bear me out in this. the shrewdness with which they carry out their escapes is amazing, and some of the more depraved ones do not hesitate to commit serious assaults in order to gain their freedom. here, measures other than those used with the ordinary insane patient are required.
-now as to special hospitals for insane criminals which certain states have. of course the same objections, namely, as to the delay in getting the patient under treatment and the danger of transfer, etc., hold true also here; but these hospitals, it seems to me, have the additional disadvantage that they necessitate the segregation of all insane criminals, irrespective of whether they suffer from a recoverable psychosis or from a dementing process. in other words, here we have an admixture of cases who unfortunately fell into the hands of the law because of some mental disorder and who certainly should be confined as any other patient in an ordinary hospital for the insane, and patients in whom the crime and mental disorder are expressions of the same underlying degenerative defect, and who in a great majority of instances suffer from recoverable transitory mental disorders.
-to insist upon keeping a paretic all his lifetime in such an institution is highly irrational, to say the least. the most rational, and the only scientific way, of dealing with the insane criminal is to bring about a state when the psychiatric hospital will be made accessible to him just as easily as the surgical and medical wards are, and this can only be accomplished by having psychiatric annexes in connection with prisons. the only serious objection which can be raised against this plan is that in time the annex will be made up exclusively of a very dangerous and troublesome population, but this objection likewise applies to the special hospital for the insane criminal. certainly it is far safer to have this class of cases within the prison enclosure than to allow their accumulation in a general hospital for the insane.
-lastly, the psychiatric annex in the penitentiary would form the proper nucleus for the scientific study of the criminal, whence that much needed information concerning this type of man could emanate and be utilized for the rational treatment of the problem of crime.
-we have thus far discussed the treatment of prison psychoses in these individuals while undergoing sentence, but what of them after the expiration of their sentences? we are now approaching the problem of recidivism.
-certain it is that society has thus far failed to deal effectually with this problem, and one need not search very deeply for the cause of this. society has been relying principally upon its punitive methods in dealing with the habitual criminal, and so long as a given offense was punished according to a given statute it felt that it had done its duty. the factor of the personality of the criminal was entirely neglected. in time we have come to realize that our punitive methods not only do not tend to do away with recidivism, but enhance it. it is an undeniable fact that each additional imprisonment only serves to deprave the habitual criminal more deeply, and to release him after the expiration of an arbitrary sentence is to let loose another parasite to prey upon society. of late years, however, there has been a tendency toward individualization in criminology. "it is the criminal and not the crime that we must deal with," is the modern slogan, and starting from this point of view we have already found out some very interesting facts. we find in looking over the life histories of our habitual criminals that they had shown antisocial and abnormal traits from their earliest youth; that in their early manhood they populated the reformatories and that their recidivism is due to some underlying anomaly which always differentiates them from normal men.
-in this chapter we have seen how this underlying anomaly served under certain stressful situations to give rise to mental disorder, and have concluded that crime and psychosis must be, in these individuals, branches of the same tree. if this is true the question arises whether the habitual criminal does not rather belong in a hospital than in a prison. it is a little premature to decide this at the present day, but it is unquestionably certain that it is the psychiatrist who will in time furnish us the most valuable data concerning the "criminal character." it is he who will eventually bring to light unshakable proof that in the habitual criminal we must see an anomalous human being, who stands in the same relation to normal man as disease does to health, and then, the problem of recidivism as well as that of the psychoses of criminals will be easier of solution.
-the forensic phase of litigious paranoia
-no small amount of the disrepute into which expert medical testimony has fallen is due precisely to a failure on the part of the legal profession to appreciate these truisms. to the legal mind the transition from mental well-being to mental disease is exemplified by that wholly artificial, and to the psychiatrist's mind, subsidiary question of legal certification. the law takes no cognizance of the conditions necessitating this change; it only concerns itself with the delimiting frontier, viz.:--certification. legally, the insane has become such through the filling out and signing of certain papers and through having submitted himself to a certain prescribed legal procedure. the physician, on the other hand, because of his peculiar relationship to the patient, and as a result of his particular training, looks upon this legal procedure as a necessary evil and merely as typifying the conventional mode by which society settles its accounts with its diseased members. our legal brethren fail to appreciate, furthermore, the fact that an individual may be very seriously ill mentally and urgently require hospital treatment, without, however, showing those gross disorders of conduct which go to make up the legal evidence and diagnosis of insanity. neither do they seem to recognize the possibility of a seriously unbalanced individual making quite a normal impression, at any rate before a jury of laymen at the time of his appearance in court. nowhere in psychiatry is this so apt to be the case as in that form of mental disease known as paranoia, where we are dealing with a diseased personality which in many respects still approaches and resembles normal man.
-the paranoiac, while he may harbor the most intricate and well-organized system of delusions, still remains approachable to us, and intellectually may be not only on a par with the average normal individual, but not infrequently gives the impression of being his superior. nevertheless, this usually well-endowed human being at a certain point in his career goes off at a tangent and spends the rest of his life in the pursuit of a phantom. the paranoiac, starting out with vague, ill-defined ideas, succeeds in elaborating, step by step, a well-organized system of thought, of ideas which finally assume an all importance in the conduct of his life and remain unshakable.
-this is precisely what happened with the patients whose histories are here recorded. with all this the paranoiac remains plausible, converses rationally and coherently, shows himself to be exceedingly well-informed on current events, amazes his listeners with his really wonderful memory and his ability to quote ad infinitum from law books and statutes. absence of hallucinations is the rule. memory and the capacity to acquire new knowledge remain intact, and reasoning and judgment on matters of everyday life which do not touch his more or less circumscribed delusional field may remain quite normal. in short, he shows none of those tangible signs and symptoms upon which we must so frequently rely in our efforts to convince a jury of laymen of the existence of mental disorder. it is only when we take into consideration the entire life history of a paranoiac, which unfortunately is frequently ruled out as hearsay evidence, that the real state of affairs becomes manifest. we then see that where it concerns his delusional field the paranoiac's judgment is formed, not as a result of observation, or logic and reasoning, but as a result of an emotion, a mere feeling that this or that proposition is true. in every adverse decision of the court he sees a deep-laid conspiracy to deprive him of his rights. his lawyers are incompetent and in collusion with his persecutors; the judge is corrupt or ignorant of the law, and the legislators negligent in their duties in not writing into the statutes laws which would take care of his grievance. he constantly harps upon what he calls "the principle of the thing", losing, gradually, all concern in the real issues involved.
-this author relates the case of a paranoiac woman who was in litigation with her father over some trifling inheritance left by her mother, and who accused her father of a murder, and insinuated that she had heard her grandfather call him a fratricide.
-the reputation and character of the objects of their delusions are unsparingly attacked by the paranoiac litigant, and this not infrequently results in bringing matters to a head, where as defendant in a criminal suit for libel the paranoiac is recognized in his true light and sent to a hospital for the insane. before, however, this final scene in the litigious career is enacted, especially where the persecuted has turned persecutor, the objects of his delusions have not infrequently suffered an untold amount of anguish and financial ruin, through having been obliged to play the part of defendants in civil suits based on nothing else but the distorted fancy of a diseased mind.
-while one may readily detect the part played by avarice in the pursuits and activities of these individuals, it requires close contact with them, especially in the capacity of one who stands between them and freedom, in order to fully appreciate the degree of malevolence which they frequently exhibit. indeed, the study of litigious paranoia, more than anything else, illustrates how much method there may really be in madness. were an alleged lunatic standing as a defendant in a criminal suit to use one-tenth of the amount of ingenuity and conscious direction of his symptoms that the average paranoiac uses, he would furnish the champions of the idea of malingering of mental disease with enough material to convict a dozen lunatics.
-the cases herein reported have been under my observation now for several years at the government hospital for the insane, and i am indebted for permission to report them to dr. william a. white, superintendent of the hospital.
-case i is a white man, aged 64 on his first admission to the government hospital for the insane, july 9, 1907. this commitment was the direct outcome of a trial for perjury which took place in may, 1906, in the supreme court of the district of columbia, at which the patient was found guilty. while awaiting sentence he was adjudged insane and sent to this hospital. the evidence was gathered from the reports of the maryland court of appeals, dating as far back as 1874, and forms only an incomplete account of the patient's legal activities, inasmuch as many of his law transactions never reached the higher courts and consequently are not reported. in setting aside 1,296 magistrate's judgments obtained by the patient and amounting in the aggregate to $127,836 debt and $2,348 costs, the court states, among other things, as follows:--
-"the gross iniquity of this whole transaction, manifest enough upon its face, is abundantly so by proof. the inference is irresistible that the magistrate who issued these judgments merely wrote them out on his docket without summoning witnesses and without the semblance even of an ex parte trial."
-a prominent maryland judge, who had known x---- for over forty years, had the following to say concerning him:--"i have known x---- for forty years, and he is a general nuisance and menace; he is crazy on getting money, and for years has been manufacturing bogus judgments against citizens of this and montgomery counties and the a. e. company. at one time he held judgments against that company for a million dollars for an imaginary wrong, all of which were eventually gotten rid of on the ground that they were fraudulent. he also, in some fraudulent way obtained judgments against our county commissioners, without their knowledge, for $1,500, which were impounded by judge m---- of the united states court at b----, where as a then non-resident he brought suit to recover on them. he then went down to dickinson county, a remote section of southwestern virginia, and obtained other judgments for some four or five million dollars against the county and various citizens, which were obtained by perjury and forgery. they were eventually set aside. his brother died in 1907, and i became one of the sureties on the executor's bond; last year a judgment turned up here against the executor and his sureties for $17,000, which purported to have been given by the circuit court for said d---- county. it was a forgery all the way through; even the seal of the court to the certificate was a forgery. i wrote the judge of the court and he answered very promptly, stating that no such suit had ever been entered and that the judgment was a myth. we succeeded in impounding this judgment. no one up here feels safe when x---- is at large. we have suffered a great deal of trouble and expense in trying to protect ourselves against him, and everybody regards him as being not only insane but also a very dangerous man."
-on admission to the government hospital for the insane, july 9, 1907, he was found to be a fairly well-preserved man for his age, entered freely into conversation, comprehending readily what was said to him and exhibiting no difficulty in elaborating his ideas. he talked in a slow, deliberate and rather mysterious manner and a low tone of voice. the family history as given by him was negative. he himself had the usual diseases of childhood, but, aside from chronic indigestion, had had no severe illness. he gave his occupation as that of physician. in 1862 he enlisted in the union army as a nurse and was discharged six months later; claims that in 1865 he graduated in medicine from the university of maryland, which profession he practiced at w---- until 1881. he then moved to ohio, because, he says, he could endure no longer the persecution of a good many enemies which he had made on account of his service in the union army. in ohio, he states, he engaged in the manufacture of proprietary medicines and claims to have sold out his business sometime later for $50,000.
-some idea of the patient's daily conduct may be had from the statements of his landlady, with whom he lived for a considerable time.
-it seems that he occupied a room on the top floor, which he would allow no one to enter. if anyone rapped on the door he would open it very slightly and cautiously, conducting conversation through a crack in the door. he led the life of a hermit, living in absolute seclusion, cooking his own meals in his room. after he was removed to the hospital this room was entered and newspapers were found piled as high as the ceiling; many of the articles in them were underscored, and numerous clippings were pasted on doors and windows as well as on walls; everything was covered with dirt and dust, and the cooking utensils were strewn all over the room. this lady said that during his stay there he was always very suspicious, kept the blinds drawn, and seemed to be constantly afraid that something was going to happen.
-examination of the patient soon after admission revealed a well-organized and very extensive delusional system, which, according to his story, apparently had its inception during the civil war. it seems that he had caused the apprehension and execution of a confederate spy, and ever since then, he states, the relatives and friends of this man have been persecuting him. in 1889 he was granted a pension of $25 per month, but he did not think that this was a fair deal inasmuch as he was not a nurse, but a physician, and should receive at least a hundred dollars per month. he states that he came originally to washington to have this matter straightened out, but on account of his enemies was unsuccessful. his worst persecutions he believed to have been instigated by the a. e. company because he had judgment against this company for about $50,000. he stated that this was obtained in a damage suit which he brought against this company because they wanted to charge him expressage of something like 40¢ on a prepaid package. following this damage suit, the express company's agents, especially members of the r. family, have been spying on him and persecuting him; he finally sued a member of this r. family and obtained judgment against him in the circuit court of virginia for $9,000. when asked to explain how he figures out these exact amounts of damage, he is ready with a thousand plausible reasons why the amounts were as he gives them. he was finally charged with perjury, found guilty, and while awaiting sentence was adjudged by a jury to be of unsound mind and sent to the government hospital for the insane.
-he believes that members of this r. family were behind this because they were afraid that the patient would collect on his judgments, which by this time, amounted to something like $20,000, and which, as he put it, "were good, valid and subsisting, not reversed or otherwise vacated."
-during his sojourn in the government hospital for the insane, he was always very suspicious and seclusive, keeping to his room practically all the time and aloof from the other patients in the ward. he adhered very tenaciously to his delusional system and believed himself fully justified in all his litigious pursuits. with all this he was clear and coherent in conversation, his memory was quite well-preserved, and he had no difficulty in keeping himself fully informed on current events. aside from the very evident caution and very profound suspicious attitude which he manifested during a conversation, he made no abnormal impression.
-in october, 1908, he was paroled by a justice of the district of columbia supreme court to his brother's care in ohio; and patient's reasons for this parole are interesting: he states that he was told by the district attorney that he would be paroled if he were to go to ohio and vote for president taft. this he says he did, believing he had carried out the terms of his parole, promptly returned to washington and resumed his former activities. the first thing he did upon his return was to have the following two bills introduced in congress, both of which are wholly based on his delusional ideas:--
-"h. r. bill xxxx, january 11, 1910. mr. a. introduced the following bill, which was referred to the committee on military affairs and returned to be printed:--a bill to correct the military record of x----. be it enacted in the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america, in congress assembled, that the secretary of war be and is hereby authorized and directed to correct and amend the military record of x----, late assistant surgeon instead of nurse, so as to read: x----, assistant surgeon of the united states army, on the 12th day of april, 1863, and to place the name of x---- upon the retired list of the united states army as assistant surgeon."
-the second bill was as follows:--
-"senate bill xxx. referred to the committee on claims. a bill for the relief of x----. be it enacted by the senate and house of representatives of the united states of america, in congress assembled, that the secretary of the treasury be and he is hereby authorized to pay out of any money in the treasury, not otherwise appropriated, to x----, formerly a resident of w., in the state of maryland, the sum of $45,600, being the amount of the loss sustained by said x---- in property and business while he was performing important service for the government in the year 1863, and in recognition of valuable service rendered the united states, and compensation for loss resulting from his causing the arrest of a confederate spy, at the opening of the gettysburg campaign, thereby defeating the confederate plan to capture the two thousand or more government wagons loaded with the munitions of war of the union army, which sum shall be in full of all claims and demands upon the part of said x---- against the government of the united states by reason of the premises."
-the patient was soon apprehended and returned to the government hospital for the insane, where he is at present.
-in an extremely interesting brief of his case, prepared by the patient himself, which, unfortunately, is too lengthy to be given in its entirety here, he states, among other things:--
-"i was indicted on the 2nd of april, 1906, by the grand jury of said court, for perjury; the grand jury was about to adjourn, as they had no evidence upon which to indict me, but they were called back to do so in order to please the a. e. company. the grand jury was authorized to indict me in order to please the a. e. company, as i was later told by several members of that jury. i have also been told by numerous detectives that they were hired by the a. e. company to watch me." he continues in his brief:--"i was kept in jail until the eve of the 13th of february, 1905, when the jail doors were suddenly thrown open and i was told to go home, the same as the circumstances related in the bible concerning st. paul and silas, who were in prison and during the night their chains fell off, the prison doors opened and they were set free by the hand of god. i believe the same thing happened to me; i was released by the hand of god."
-he further states:--"there are more than 17,000 newspapers in the united states, and these people had it printed in 10,000 of them that i had committed perjury. i sued them for slander, and a more just and upright case or grievance for bringing suit could never be found."
-attention might be called here to the grandiose phase of his disorder. his was no common slander; it was published in 10,000 newspapers. neither was his release from prison an ordinary everyday occurrence, but resembled the biblical episode of st. paul's release from prison. later on, when through advancing years his intellect is becoming more and more enfeebled, he expresses his grandiose ideas in a more direct and naïve manner. he tells the physician that he knows the law better than any living authority; that none of the so-called judges around town can compare with him; that he has made a brief of a case which could not be duplicated by anyone. he is likewise the greatest physician, and he will prove this when he gets to court. at this writing he is beginning to show evidence of senile deterioration and is no longer the keen manipulator of the law of years ago. he endeavors now to gain his ends by more direct and extremely puerile and childish methods. to illustrate:--his physician had left the institution about a year ago, and soon afterwards x---- produced an affidavit purporting to have been made by this physician in which he set forth that x---- was sound mentally; that this physician came to this conclusion after a thorough examination of x----, etc., etc. upon the physician's return to the hospital x---- was asked concerning this by him, but he stolidly maintained that it was genuine and given him by the questioner. this famous litigant has reached a stage where things simply are as he wants them to be. whether this poor derelict will be permitted by his deluded or unscrupulous attorneys to end his days in peace at the hospital, time alone will tell. thus far his lunacy case has been carried by them to the court of appeals.
-case ii.--y. was found guilty of libel in the criminal court of the district of columbia, and while awaiting sentence was adjudged insane by a jury and admitted to the government hospital for the insane, june 22, 1911, at the age of 56. y. is an attorney by profession, comes from a prominent family in ohio, and has received an excellent education. according to information obtained from his father and sister, it appears that one sister and a nephew are insane; that the patient himself has been considered insane by members of his immediate family since 1889, when, as the result of a court-martial for disobedience, he was discharged from the navy, where he then held the grade of ensign. immediately following this discharge he took up the study of law and began to specialize in maritime affairs, handling almost exclusively sailors' grievances against the navy department. he spent a great deal of time working up these cases, occasionally writing contributions to the maritime register, for which publication he was a regular correspondent for several years. in these papers he would constantly harp on the irregularities and illegalities of many of the government affairs. at home he always acted in a peculiar manner, never had much to say to anyone, was unreasonable, fault-finding and complaining; he always wanted things his own way. several years ago he came to live with his sister, accompanied by his wife and child. although he paid nothing for board and lodging for the three, he complained about the food and had something to say in criticism for every little inconvenience. he would frequently leave town without saying a word to any member of his family, and would reappear just as suddenly. he kept to his room almost constantly, leaving same only for his meals. on one occasion he wrote his wife, who at the time was staying with her child at his sister's house, that she should watch this sister, as he feared she might try to poison the child. sometime in 1910, he came to his home town, had an interview with the judge of the probate court, and left town without visiting any of his relatives, although they lived only four squares distant. at that time this judge told the patient's father that he thought the patient was mentally unbalanced. he was always considered by his relatives as being of a morose disposition, vindictive and selfish. on a later visit to his parental home he acted very strangely about the house, disarranged things, kept the rooms in disorder, and was busy writing constantly. at this time he left home suddenly without taking leave of anyone. a few years ago, while home on a visit, he declared that his father was incompetent to manage his own affairs, instituted legal proceedings to have himself appointed committee for his father, petitioning the court on the ground of his father's insanity. in this, of course, he was defeated.
-the patient himself states that he graduated from annapolis in 1878, between which year and 1883 he traveled in europe and south america as midshipman. in 1883 he entered the cincinnati law school, where he remained one year. after this he states he acted in the capacity of judge advocate general for a short time while on shore duty. he then went to sea again and finally resigned from the navy in 1887, with the grade of ensign. (as has already been indicated above, the patient was dismissed from the navy for disobedience and disrespect.) he then entered the practice of law in cincinnati, at which he continued until his appointment to the department of the interior on june 1, 1904, at a salary of $1,000 per annum. here he remained until 1908 in the capacity of clerk, when he resigned, receiving at that time the same salary. he says he was moderately successful financially as a lawyer, and did a good deal of literary work. he is especially proud of a case which he conducted in the court of appeals, where he obtained a decision setting aside a naval court-martial. he says that this is the only decision of its kind ever rendered, and on that account he is very proud of this. according to his own story, he was always moderate in his habits, and prior to his marriage in november, 1902, he had never come in conflict with anyone. the latter part of this statement is contradicted by his relatives, who state that for more than twenty years past, the patient has exhibited an uncontrollable desire to sue people for all sorts of imaginary grievances, and that on this account he frequently came into serious conflicts. the patient is inclined to put all the blame for his difficulties to his wife, whom he describes with a great deal of rancor as the descendant of an insane and illegitimate grandfather and illy-favored mother. he thinks that his wife was slightly unbalanced, accuses her of being responsible for the death of their first child, and of various other misconduct. however, everything went tolerably well until april, 1906, when their second child was born. the doctor who attended mrs. y. during her confinement, a very prominent local physician, testified in open court at that time, that from his observation of the patient's acts he believed him to be insane. this, the patient said, precipitated a lot of trouble between him and his wife. he does not enter into details concerning the difficulties he had with the physician, but the details are extremely illuminating. it appears that the patient refused to pay this doctor's bill and was sued for the debt. at the time of the trial he gave as his defense the following two reasons why he should not pay this bill:--the first one was that inasmuch as this doctor lived in a part of the city which would necessitate the crossing of a railroad grade in order to reach the patient's house, and that on this account there was a possibility of his being detained at the crossing during an emergency call, he had no right to take the case in the first place, and therefore he was not entitled to payment. his second reason was that inasmuch as this doctor wore a beard, he carried more germs into the house than would otherwise have had access to it; therefore he should forfeit his fee. in 1907 his wife obtained a divorce on the grounds of cruelty and non-support, and was given the custody of the child; this had the effect of launching the patient upon a new series of litigation. his first retaliating measure was the abduction of the child, which brought about his indictment by a grand jury and subsequent arrest. the reason he gave for taking the child out of the district was that his wife lived in a house over an old abandoned cellar, and that it was therefore an unhealthy place for the child. upon regaining his freedom he began to investigate the ground upon which the grand jury indicted him, and soon, he states, he discovered that the district attorney's office committed a gigantic fraud by having maliciously misrepresented the case to the grand jury; this body, he says, was led to believe that the ohio decree granting his wife the guardianship of the child held good in the district, whereas the law of the district specifically states that no extra-territorial decree should be recognized within the district. he further discovered that mr. j., his wife's attorney, knowingly and maliciously became a party to this fraud, and he immediately proceeded to file charges of mal-practice against this attorney before the grievance committee of the district bar association. the result of this was that the patient was charged with libel in the criminal court. to his great surprise, he says, the court recognized this charge and found him guilty of same. while awaiting sentence he was adjudged insane by a jury and committed to the government hospital for the insane. he believes this commitment is the result of a deep-laid conspiracy on the part of the district attorney's office and some of the district judges. these officials, he believes, were afraid of him because at a hearing before a senate committee he started to expose their fraudulent conduct. the judges were prejudiced against him throughout, and it might be interesting to mention here that among the multitudinous bills which he had proposed for enactment into law since in the government hospital for the insane, there is one which is intended to abolish entirely the courts of the district of columbia, so that unfortunates like him might get a chance before unprejudiced judges. this deep conspiracy against him, he is convinced, dates as far back as 1906, when the ohio courts appointed his wife guardian of his child.
-no great difficulty need be experienced in forming an opinion of this man's mental status after having followed his history thus far, but when we further read that, during his sojourn in the government hospital for the insane, he has evinced the most persistent tendency to weave into his delusional system every important occurrence of local or even national interest, that he sees a clear relationship between his case and the recent change of administration, and is fully convinced that many important officials held over from the last administration owe considerable gratitude to him; when he is seen in his self-assumed most important rôle of the man of destiny, flooding congress, the courts and many high officials with petitions, charges, writs, and proposed investigations; when one sees the criminal code as transformed by him; then one begins to get a proper perspective of the grandiose phase of this man's mental disorder. it is impossible, of course, with the limited space at our disposal, to even give the briefest outline of his activities, but it might be stated that only within the past several months he has succeeded in very ingeniously getting his case before a considerable number of senators and congressmen and many other prominent officials. among the bills which he proposes to have enacted into law, is one, as has been mentioned, to abolish entirely the courts of the district of columbia. of course, courts which cannot administer justice, as he sees it, must be abolished.
-on his admission to the government hospital for the insane, he really welcomed the procedure, stating that at last he had the opportunity to be under the supervision of a trained physician who would soon discover that he was absolutely sane and would render a report to that effect, thus vindicating him. unfortunately for the physician, he did not see his way clear to render such a report, and y's amiability soon changed into a very bitter antagonism towards the one who had immediate charge of him, showing a great deal of rancor in his attacks upon him, in spite of the fact that he has been accorded all sorts of privileges. he has, of course, by this time consigned many hospital officials to life imprisonment, and the amount of damages which he expects to collect from them and the government runs into fabulous sums. he soon began to solicit the grievances of his fellow patients, establishing, so to speak, a law office in miniature upon the ward; and whereas formerly these patients in the criminal department merely aired their grievances as they saw them, they now accompany them with quotations from the statutes concerning these points furnished by this legal missionary. soon, however, even the insane patients on his ward began to distrust him, and at the present time there is hardly an attendant or patient in the building who cares to associate with y. he missed no opportunity of playing upon the credulity of the younger and less sophisticated attendants in the criminal building, at first begging and urging them to carry his petitions to their destination in a surreptitious manner, and finding this of no avail threatening them with fines and imprisonment as accomplices in this gigantic crime of keeping him confined in a hospital. when not out walking he keeps himself constantly busy making out documents, briefs, petitions, bills, etc. he is very seclusive, keeping himself aloof from the other patients, as he considers himself very much their superior.
-now this master litigant, this profoundly diseased man, succeeds in making quite a normal impression in a casual interview, and in his writings he frequently succeeds in conveying the idea of being quite normal. each isolated fact looks plausible enough to the casual observer. he talks quite rationally, shows a remarkably well-preserved memory, has never exhibited hallucinations or those gross disorders of conduct which to the lay mind form the sine qua non of mental disease. it is only after a close study of the entire life history, of the many fine shades of deviation from the normal which this man exhibits, that one discovers that his mind is very seriously affected indeed, and that because of his plausibility he belongs to a rather dangerous type of mentally diseased individuals.
-the chief aim of this paper has already been indicated, and we shall adhere to our original intention of rendering it as free from purely didactic considerations as is consistent with clearness. for this reason the case histories given above were considerably abbreviated and only such an account rendered as would suffice to convince even a layman that the two individuals in question are seriously affected mentally. of this there should not be the slightest doubt in anyone's mind, neither should one encounter here any diagnostic difficulties. the only difficult point, and a point which may become of considerable forensic importance, is the exact estimation of the duration of the illness in each instance. from the available data at hand it would seem that in the case of x----, the disease had its inception in the episode during the late civil war, though the possibility of retrospective falsification must be kept in mind; while y seems to have been launched upon his litigious career by his dismissal from the navy. it is therefore but fair to assume that in both instances the disease has existed for a great number of years. nevertheless, it was only when these individuals faced the bar as defendants in criminal suits that the disease was recognized in either case. one may readily see, therefore, how easily mental disease may remain undetected, especially if one neglects to take an inventory of the individual's past life. i have already alluded to the difficulty frequently experienced in having evidence of this nature accepted in a court of law, and here, it seems to me, is room for a good deal of reform in procedure. thus far society's side of this problem has been chiefly emphasized; but what about these unfortunate derelicts, x---- and y? both of them are at present confined in the criminal department of the government hospital for the insane with criminal charges pending against them. assuming that our contentions with respect to their mental status are correct, what possible justification is there to hold them responsible before the law for their acts? nevertheless, the same sort of procedure is constantly taking place; individuals are being sent daily to hospitals for the insane, presumably for the purpose of giving them the best possible chance for recovery, the best modes of treatment, while at the same time the law persists in carrying them as individuals charged with crime, thus throwing many obstacles in the way of proper care and treatment. with many of these individuals the mere fact that there is still a criminal charge pending against them seems to act in a deleterious manner upon their mentality, while in the great majority of instances, owing to the fact that they must be carried as criminals, unusual precautions have to be resorted to both in their confinement and in the matter of various privileges, thereby vitiating in a great measure all attempts at treatment.
-these are some of the problems which present themselves from a study of life histories such as are here reported, a better mutual understanding concerning which between the lawyer and the physician would unquestionably tend to a more enlightened administration of the law.
-the malingerer: a clinical study
-the following study is undertaken less for the purpose of discussing the psychology of malingering than with the object in view of illustrating by means of clinical records the type of individual who malingers. the opinion is a general one that malingering is a form of mental reaction to which certain individuals resort in their effort to adjust themselves to a difficult situation of life. being a form of human behavior, it should have been approached, therefore, with the same attitude of mind as any other type of behavior.
-a perusal, however, of the literature on the subject, especially of the contributions of the older writers, reveals that with certain isolated exceptions the subject was viewed primarily from the standpoint of the moralist. even today one sees in certain quarters a good deal made--certainly a great deal more than the facts would justify--of the "insanity dodge" in criminal cases. it is true that today, notwithstanding the still broadly prevalent tendency to view with suspicion every mental disorder which becomes manifested in connection with the commission of crime, the danger of error in this respect has been reduced to a minimum owing to the more advanced stage of psychiatry, and therefore the practical importance of the subject of malingering is not so great as it was formerly. we find, nevertheless, justification for the further study of this subject in the fact that, aside from its purely psychiatric importance, the more intensive study of the malingerer offers a solution for some of the important problems in criminology. as one of the results of this more intensive study may be mentioned the gradually-gained conviction that malingering and actual mental disease are not only not mutually exclusive phenomena in the same individual, but that malingering itself is a form of mental reaction manifested almost exclusively by those of an inferior mental make-up; that is, by individuals concerning whom there must always be considerable doubt as to the degree of responsibility before the law. as a result of this recognition cases of pure malingering in individuals absolutely normal mentally are becoming rarer every day in psychiatric experience.
-the conviction was further gained that malingering as well as lying and deceit in general, far from being a form of conduct deliberately and consciously selected by an individual for the purpose of gaining a certain known end, is in a great majority of instances wholly determined by unconscious motives, by instinctive biologic forces over which the individual has little or no control. this is one of the factors which determines the growing realization among present-day psychiatrists of the extreme difficulty to state in a given case which is malingered and which genuine in the symptomatology. that such views should encounter opposition among our jurists is perfectly natural, threatening as it does with complete annihilation that wholly artificial concept of the "freedom of will" upon which our laws are based.
-in touching upon the subjects of "responsibility" and "freedom of will" i incur the danger of adding to the general misunderstanding which still exists between the physician and jurist concerning crime and the criminal.
-speaking from personal convictions, i see no real justification whatever for this misunderstanding, unless it be the difference in the mode of approach to the subject on the part of the two. the jurist is compelled by existing statutes to look upon crime largely in the abstract--not as it concerns the individual who committed the deed, but as it is affected by the statutes covering it. the physician, on the other hand, sees in the criminal act a form of reaction to an intrinsic or extrinsic stimulus by a feeling, willing, and acting human being, and proceeds accordingly to analyze in a concrete manner the forces which brought about this particular form of reaction in this particular individual. as a result of this mode of approach to the subject he is enabled to conceive of "responsibility" as something fluid, something extremely variable, and which may be affected by a thousand-and-one things, and not as something absolutely fixed and invariable and which may be definitely foreseen by a set of statutes.
-any attempt to bring about this most desirable uniformity of approach to the subject of criminology between the jurist and the physician must be based primarily upon intensive study of the personality of the criminal. such is the aim of this paper.
-in the last analysis malingering is to be looked upon as a special form of lying, and its proper understanding will necessitate a clear insight into lying in general.
-lying, a very natural and generally prevalent phenomenon, may manifest itself in all gradations--from the occasional, quite innocent "white lie" as it occurs in a perfectly normal individual to the pathological lying exhibited in that mental state known as "pseudologia phantastica." its proper understanding, however, no matter under what circumstances and to what degree it be manifested, will be possible only through a strict adherence to the theory of absolute psychic determinism.
-lying, like every other psychic phenomenon, never occurs fortuitously, but always has its psychic determinants which determine its type and degree.
-naturally many of these determinants are quite obvious and readily ascertainable. one has only to recall the lying and deceit practiced by children. but many others, if indeed not most of them, are active in the individual's unconscious motives and accessible objectively as well as subjectively only with great difficulty and by means of special psychological methods.
-the degree of participation of unconscious motives in lying will be determined in the individual case by the extent of repression necessitated because of social, ethical, and æsthetic considerations. it is for this reason that lying is most prevalent and exhibited with the least amount of critique in those individuals who either have never developed those restraining tendencies which a normal appreciation of social, ethical, and æsthetic consideration demands, or in whom these restraining influences have been weakened or abolished by some exogenous insult to the nervous system--as, for instance, the tendency to fabrication dependent upon chronic alcoholism or morphinism. a beautiful illustration of the latter type is furnished by general ivolgin in dostoieffsky's "idiot."
-the child's tendency to lying and deceit is dependent to a large extent upon the undeveloped state of those restraining forces. to state, however, that this is the sole mechanism underlying the phenomenon of lying would be to state only half a truth. for it is an undeniable fact that, no matter how strongly endowed an individual may be with ethical or moral feelings, still there comes a time when these are entirely forgotten and neglected; when, finding himself in a stressful situation, the instinctive demands for a most satisfactory and least painful adjustment, no matter at what cost, assert themselves. it is then that the lie serves the purpose of a more direct, less tedious gratification of an instinctive demand. the resort to this mode of reaction, to evasion of real issues for the purpose of gratification of instinctive demands, is not characteristic of man alone, but is quite prevalent even in some very low forms of life. we will have more to say about this later. it is an important tool in the struggle for existence among all living beings; it is one of the mechanisms by means of which the weaker inferior being escapes annihilation at the hands of the stronger, superior being.
-malingering, it will be seen later, appears to certain individuals to be the only possible means of escape from and evasion of a stressful and difficult situation of life. the lack of critique which permits such an abortive attempt at adjustment and the inherent weakness and incapacity to meet life's problems squarely in the face which drives them to resort to such a means of defense are some of the traits of character which serve to distinguish these individuals from what is generally conceived to be normal man.
-the psychic mechanism of lying is the same both in the occasional and in the pathological liar--in both it is the expression of a wish--but the difference in the personalities of the two is a very decided one. on the and dignity were satisfied and so fell back slowly towards cape helles to try the effect of his guns on the barbed wire entanglements. a good deal of ammunition was expended but only one hit on the entanglement was registered, and that did not seem to do any harm. the fire was described to me as inaccurate. the fact is, as was agreed between the two services at malta, the whole principle of naval gunnery is different from the principles of garrison or field artillery shooting. before they will be much good at landmarks, the sailors will have to take lessons in the art.
-passed a very interesting evening, every one excited, i with my aeroplane reports; the staff with the powder they had smelt.
-two of the australian commanding officers dined and i showed them the aerial photographs of the enemy trenches, etc. the face of one of them grew very long; so long, in fact, that i feared he was afraid; for i own these photos are frightening. so i said, "you don't seem to like the look of that barbed wire, colonel?" to which he replied, "i was worrying how and where i would feed and water the prisoners."
-colonel napier, military attaché at sofia, and braithwaite came in after these pseudo-secrets had been discussed and joined in the conversation. i doubt whether either fitzmaurice or napier have solid information as to what is in front of us, and their yarns about balkan politics are neither here nor there. john bull is quite out of his depth in the defiles of the balkans. with just so much pull over the bulk of my compatriots as has been given me by my having spent a little time with their armies, i may say that the balkan nations loathe and mistrust one another to so great a degree that it is sheer waste of time to think of roping them all in on our side, as fitzmaurice and napier seem to propose. we may get greece to join us, and russia may get roumania to join her--if we win here--but then we make an enemy of bulgaria, and vice versa. if they will unearth my 1909 report at the war office they will see that, at that time, one bulgarian battalion of infantry was worth two battalions of roumanian infantry--which may be a help to them in making their choice. the balkan problem is so intricate that it must be simply handled. the simple thing is to pay your money and pick the best card, knowing you can't have a full hand. so let us have no more beating about the bush and may we be inspired to make use of the big boom this expedition has given to great britain in the balkans to pick out a partner straightway.
-birdie came later and we took stock together of ways and means. we see eye to eye now on every point. just before lunch we heard the transport manitou had been attacked by a turkish torpedo boat from smyrna. the first wireless came in saying the enemy had made a bad shot and only a few men had been drowned lowering the boats. admiral rosy wemyss and hope, the flag-captain, of the q.e. were my guests and naturally they were greatly perturbed. late in the evening we heard that the turkish t.b. had been chased by our destroyers and had run ashore on a greek island where she was destroyed (international laws notwithstanding) by our landing parties.
-went ashore in the afternoon to watch the australian artillery embark. spoke to a lot of the men, some of whom had met me during my tour through australia last year.
-general paris came to see me this evening.
-went ashore in the afternoon and saw big landing by australians, who took mules and donkeys with them and got them in and out of lighters. these australians are shaping into marines in double quick time and cairo high jinks are wild oats sown and buried. where everyone wants to do well and to do it in the same way, discipline goes down as slick as mother's milk. action is a discipline in itself.
-the three officers forming the french mission to my headquarters made salaams, viz., captain bertier de sauvigny, lieutenant pelliot and lieutenant de la borde. the first is a man of the world, with manners suave and distinguished; the second is a savant and knows the habits of obscure and out of the way people. what de la borde's points may be, i do not know: he is a frank, good looking young fellow and spoke perfect english.
-20th april, 1915. s.s. "arcadian." lemnos. a big wind rose in the night.
-a clerk from my central office at the horse guards developed small pox this morning. no doubt he has been in some rotten hole in alexandria and this is the result,--a disgusting one to all of us as we have had to be vaccinated.
-ready now, but so long as the wind blows, we have to twiddle our thumbs.
-got the full text of d'amades' orders for his kum kale landing as well as for the besika bay make-believe.
-21st april, 1915. s.s. "arcadian." lemnos. blowing big guns. the event with which old mother time is in labour is so big that her pains are prodigious and prolonged out of all nature. so near are we now to our opening that the storm means a twenty four hours' delay.
-have issued my orders to the troops. yesterday our plans were but plans. to-day the irrevocable steps out on to the stage.
-general headquarters, 21st april, 1915.
-soldiers of france and of the king.
-before us lies an adventure unprecedented in modern war. together with our comrades of the fleet, we are about to force a landing upon an open beach in face of positions which have been vaunted by our enemies as impregnable.
-the landing will be made good, by the help of god and the navy; the positions will be stormed, and the war brought one step nearer to a glorious close.
-"remember," said lord kitchener when bidding adieu to your commander, "remember, once you set foot upon the gallipoli peninsula, you must fight the thing through to a finish."
-the whole world will be watching your progress. let us prove our selves worthy of the great feat of arms entrusted to us. ian hamilton, general.
-charley burn, king's messenger, came; with him a captain coddan, to be liaison between me and istomine's russians.
-the king sends his blessing.
-general headquarters, 22nd april, 1915.
-the following gracious message has been received to-day by the general commanding:--
-"the king wishes you and your army every success, and you are constantly in his majesty's thoughts and prayers."
-23rd april, 1915. s.s. "arcadian." lemnos. a gorgeous day at last; fitting frame to the most brilliant and yet touching of pageants.
-all afternoon transports were very, very slowly coming out of harbour winding their way in and out through the other painted ships lying thick on the wonderful blue of the bay. the troops wild with enthusiasm and tremendously cheering especially as they passed the warships of our allies.
-nunc dimittis, o lord of hosts! not a man but knows he is making for the jaws of death. they know, these men do, they are being asked to prove their enemies to have lied when they swore a landing on gallipoli's shore could never make good. they know that lie must pass for truth until they have become targets to guns, machine guns and rifles--huddled together in boats, helpless, plain to the enemy's sight. and they are wild with joy; uplifted! life spins superbly through their veins at the very moment they seek to sacrifice it for a cause. o death, where is thy sting? o grave, where is thy victory?
-a shadow has been cast over the wonders of the day by a wireless to say that rupert brooke is very dangerously ill--from the wording we fear there can be no hope.
-dent, principal naval transport officer, left to-day to get ready. wemyss said good-bye on going to take up command of his squadron.
-have got d'amade's revised orders for the landing at kum kale and also for the feint at besika bay. very clear and good.
-"please communicate the following messages at a propitious moment to each of those concerned.
-"(1) my best wishes to you and all your force in carrying to a successful conclusion the operations you have before you, which will undoubtedly have a momentous effect on the war. the task they have to perform will need all the grit britishers have never failed to show, and i am confident your troops will victoriously clear the way for the fleet to advance on constantinople.
-"(2) convey to the admiral my best wishes that all success may attend the fleet. the army knows they can rely on their energy and effective co-operation while dealing with the land forces of the enemy.
-"(3) assure general d'amade and the french troops of our entire confidence that their courage and skill will result in the triumph of their arms.
-"(end of message)--" personal:
-"all my thoughts will be with you when operations begin."
-we, here, think of lord k. too. may his shadow fall dark upon the germans and strike the fear of death into their hearts.
-just got following from the admiral:--
-"h.m.s. queen elizabeth, "23rd april, 1915.
-"my dear general,
-"i have sent orders to all admirals that operations are to proceed and they are to take the necessary measures to have their commands in their assigned positions by sunday morning, april 25th!
-"i pray that the weather may be favourable and nothing will prevent our proceeding with the scheme. 'may heaven's light be our guide' and god give us the victory.
-"think everything is ready and in some ways the delay has been useful, as we have now a few more lighters and tugs available.
-"yours sincerely, (sd.) "j. m. de robeck."
-i have sent a reply:--
-"s.s. arcadian, 23rd april, 1915.
-"my dear admiral,
-"your note just received gives expression to my own sentiments. the sooner we get to work now the better and may the best cause win.
-"yours sincerely, (sd.) "ian hamilton."
-rupert brooke is dead. straightaway he will be buried. the rest is silence.
-twice was "the sight" vouchsafed me:--in london when i told eddie i would bespeak the boy's services; at port said when i bespoke them.
-death on the eve of battle, death on a wedding day--nothing so tragic save that most black mishap, death in action after peace has been signed. death grins at my elbow. i cannot get him out of my thoughts. he is fed up with the old and sick--only the flower of the flock will serve him now, for god has started a celestial spring cleaning, and our star is to be scrubbed bright with the blood of our bravest and our best.
-youth and poetry are the links binding the children of the world to come to the grandsires of the world that was. war will smash, pulverise, sweep into the dustbins of eternity the whole fabric of the old world: therefore, the firstborn in intellect must die. is that the reading of the riddle?
-almighty god, watchman of the milky way, shepherd of the golden stars, have mercy upon us, smallest of the heavenly shiners. our star burns dim as a corpse light: the huge black chasm of space closes in: if only by blood ...? thy will be done. en avant--at all costs--en avant!
-i hope i may sleep to-night. i think so. if not, my wakefulness will wish the clock's hand forward.
-25th april, 1915. h.m.s. "queen elizabeth." our queen chose the cold grey hour of 4 a.m. to make her war toilette. by 4.15 she had sunk the lady and put on the man of war. gone were the gay companions; closed the tight compartments and stowed away under armour were all her furbelows and frills. in plain english, our mighty battleship was cleared for action, and--my mind--that also has now been cleared of its everyday lumber: and i am ready.
-if this is a queer start for me, so it is also for de robeck. in sea warfare, the fleet lies in the grip of its admiral like a platoon in the hands of a subaltern. the admiral sees; speaks the executive word and the whole fleet moves; not, as with us, each commander carrying out the order in his own way, but each captain steaming, firing, retiring to the letter of the signal. in the navy the man at the gun, the man at the helm, the man sending up shells in the hoist has no discretion unless indeed the gear goes wrong, and he has to use his wits to put it right again. with us the infantry scout, a boy in his teens perhaps, may have to decide whether to open fire, to lie low or to fall back; whether to bring on a battle or avoid it. but the fleet to-day is working like an army; the ships are widely scattered each one on its own, except in so far as wireless may serve, and that is why i say de robeck is working under conditions just as unusual to him as mine are to me.
-my station is up in the conning tower with de robeck. the conning tower is a circular metal chamber, like a big cooking pot. here we are, all eyes, like potatoes in the cooking pot aforesaid, trying to peep through a slit where the lid is raised a few inches, ad hoc, as these blasted politicians like to say. my staff are not with me in this holy of holies, but are stowed away in steel towers or jammed into 6-inch batteries.
-so we kept moving along and at 4.30 a.m. were off sedd-el-bahr. all quiet and grey. thence we steamed for gaba tepe and midway, about 5 o'clock, heard a very heavy fire from helles behind us. the turks are putting up some fight. now we are off gaba tepe!
-the day was just breaking over the jagged hills; the sea was glassy smooth; the landing of the lads from the south was in full swing; the shrapnel was bursting over the water; the patter of musketry came creeping out to sea; we are in for it now; the machine guns muttered as through chattering teeth--up to our necks in it now. but would we be out of it? no; not one of us; not for five hundred years stuffed full of dullness and routine.
-by 5.35 the rattle of small arms quieted down; we heard that about 4,000 fighting men had been landed; we could see boat-loads making for the land; swarms trying to straighten themselves out along the shore; other groups digging and hacking down the brushwood. even with our glasses they did not look much bigger than ants. god, one would think, cannot see them at all or he would put a stop to this sort of panorama altogether. and yet, it would be a pity if he missed it; for these fellows have been worth the making. they are not charging up into this sari bair range for money or by compulsion. they fight for love--all the way from the southern cross for love of the old country and of liberty. wave after wave of the little ants press up and disappear. we lose sight of them the moment they lie down. bravo! every man on our great ship longs to be with them. but the main battle called. the admiral was keen to take me when and where the need might most arise. so we turned south and steamed slowly back along the coast to cape helles.
-both battalions, the plymouth and the k.o.s.b.s, had climbed the high cliff without loss; so it was signalled; there is no firing; the turks have made themselves scarce; nothing to show danger or stress; only parties of our men struggling up the sandy precipice by zigzags, carrying munitions and large glittering kerosine tins of water. through the telescope we can now make out a number of our fellows in groups along the crest of the cliff, quite peacefully reposing--probably smoking. this promises great results to our arms--not the repose or the smoking, for i hope that won't last long--but the enemy's surprise. in spite of egypt and the egyptian gazette; in spite of the spy system of constantinople, we have brought off our tactical coup and surprised the enemy chief. the bulk of the turks are not at gaba tepe; here, at "y," there are none at all!
-in a sense, and no mean sense either, i am as much relieved, and as sanguine too, at the coup we have brought off here as i was just now to see birdie's four thousand driving the turks before them into the mountains. the schemes are not on the same scale. if the australians get through to mal tepe the whole turkish army on the peninsula will be done in. if the "y" beach lot press their advantage they may cut off the enemy troops on the toe of the peninsula. with any luck, the k.o.s.b.s and plymouths at "y" should get right on the line of retreat of the turks who are now fighting to the south.
-the point at issue as we sailed down to "x" beach was whether that little force at "y" should not be reinforced by the naval division who were making a feint against the bulair lines and had, by now, probably finished their work. braithwaite has been speaking to me about it. the idea appealed to me very strongly because i have been all along most keen on the "y" beach plan which is my own special child; and this would be to make the most of it and press it for all it was worth. but, until the main battle develops more clearly at gaba tepe and at sedd-el-bahr i must not commit the only troops i have in hand as my commander-in-chief's reserve.
-when we got to "x" beach the foreshore and cliffs had been made good without much loss in the first instance, we were told, though there is a hot fight going on just south of it. but fresh troops will soon be landing:--so far so good. further round, at "w" beach, another lodgment had been effected; very desperate and bloody, we are told by the naval beachmaster: and indeed we can see some of the dead, but the lancashire fusiliers hold the beach though we don't seem yet to have penetrated inland. by sedd-el-bahr, where we hove to about 6.45, the light was very baffling; land wrapped in haze, sun full in our eyes. here we watched as best we could over the fight being put up by the turks against our forlorn hope on the river clyde. very soon it became clear that we were being held. through our glasses we could quite clearly watch the sea being whipped up all along the beach and about the river clyde by a pelting storm of rifle bullets. we could see also how a number of our dare-devils were up to their necks in this tormented water trying to struggle on to land from the barges linking the river clyde to the shore. there was a line of men lying flat down under cover of a little sandbank in the centre of the beach. they were so held under by fire they dared not, evidently, stir. watching these gallant souls from the safety of a battleship gave me a hateful feeling: roger keyes said to me he simply could not bear it. often a commander may have to watch tragedies from a post of safety. that is all right. i have had my share of the hair's breadth business and now it becomes the turn of the youngsters. but, from the battleship, you are outside the frame of the picture. the thing becomes monstrous; too cold-blooded; like looking on at gladiators from the dress circle. the moment we became satisfied that none of our men had made their way further than a few feet above sea level, the queen opened a heavy fire from her 6-inch batteries upon the castle, the village and the high steep ground ringing round the beach in a semi-circle. the enemy lay very low somewhere underground. at times the river clyde signalled that the worst fire came from the old fort and sedd-el-bahr; at times that these bullets were pouring out from about the second highest rung of seats on the west of that amphitheatre in which we were striving to take our places. ashore the machine guns and rifles never ceased--tic tac, tic tac, brrrr--tic tac, tic tac, brrrrrr...... drowned every few seconds by our tremendous salvoes, this more nervous noise crept back insistently into our ears in the interval. as men fixed in the grip of nightmare, we were powerless--unable to do anything but wait.
-when we saw our covering party fairly hung up under the fire from the castle and its outworks, it became a question of issuing fresh orders to the main body who had not yet been committed to that attack. there was no use throwing them ashore to increase the number of targets on the beach. roger keyes started the notion that these troops might well be diverted to "y" where they could land unopposed and whence they might be able to help their advance guard at "v" more effectively than by direct reinforcement if they threatened to cut the turkish line of retreat from sedd-el-bahr. braithwaite was rather dubious from the orthodox general staff point of view as to whether it was sound for g.h.q. to barge into hunter-weston's plans, seeing he was executive commander of the whole of this southern invasion. but to me the idea seemed simple common sense. if it did not suit hunter-weston's book, he had only to say so. certainly hunter-weston was in closer touch with all these landings than we were; it was not for me to force his hands: there was no question of that: so at 9.15 i wirelessed as follows:
-"g.o.c. in c. to g.o.c. euryalus."
-"would you like to get some more men ashore on 'y' beach? if so, trawlers are available."
-three quarters of an hour passed; the state of affairs at sedd-el-bahr was no better, and in an attack if you don't get better you get worse; the supports were not being landed; no answer had come to hand. so repeated my signal to hunter-weston, making it this time personal from me to him and ordering him to acknowledge receipt. (lord bobs' wrinkle):--
-"general hamilton to general hunter-weston, euryalus.
-"do you want any more men landed at 'y'? there are trawlers available. acknowledge the signal."
-at 11 a.m. i got this answer:--
-"from general hunter-weston to g.o.c. queen elizabeth.
-"admiral wemyss and principal naval transport officer state that to interfere with present arrangements and try to land men at 'y' beach would delay disembarkation."
-about noon, a naval officer (lieutenant smith), a fine fellow, came off to get some more small arm ammunition for the machine guns on the river clyde. he said the state of things on and around that ship was "awful," a word which carried twentyfold weight owing to the fact that it was spoken by a youth never very emotional, i am sure, and now on his mettle to make his report with indifference and calm. the whole landing place at "v" beach is ringed round with fire. the shots from our naval guns, smashing as their impact appears, might as well be confetti for all the effect they have upon the turkish trenches. the river clyde is commanded and swept not only by rifles at 100 yards' range, but by pom-poms and field guns. her own double battery of machine guns mounted in a sandbag revetment in her bows are to some extent forcing the enemy to keep their heads down and preventing them from actually rushing the little party of our men who are crouching behind the sand bank. but these same men of ours cannot raise head or hand one inch beyond that lucky ledge of sand by the water's brink. and the bay at sedd-el-bahr, so the last messengers have told us, had turned red. the river clyde so far saves the situation. she was only ready two days before we plunged.
-at 1.30 heard that d'amade had taken kum kale. de robeck had already heard independently by wireless that the french (the 6th colonials under nogués) had carried the village by a bayonet charge at 9.35 a.m. on the asiatic side, then, things are going as we had hoped. the russian askold and the jeanne d'arc are supporting our allies in their attack. being so hung up at "v," i have told d'amade that he will not be able to disembark there as arranged, but that he will have to take his troops round to "w" and march them across.
-nor does hunter-weston. we had a hurried dinner, de robeck, keyes, braithwaite, godfrey, hope and i, in the signal office under the bridge. as we were finishing hunter-weston came on board. after he had told us his story, breathlessly and listened to with breathless interest, i asked him what about our troops at "y"? he thought they were now in touch with our troops at "x" but that they had been through some hard fighting to get there. his last message had been that they were being hard pressed but as he had heard nothing more since then he assumed they were all right--! anyway, he was cheery, stout-hearted, quite a good tonic and--on the whole--his news is good.
-to sum up the doings of the day; the french have dealt a brilliant stroke at kum kale; we have fixed a grip on the hills to the north of gaba tepe; also, we have broken through the enemy's defences at "x" and "w," two out of the three beaches at the south point of the peninsula. the "hold-up" at the third, "v" (or sedd-el-bahr) causes me the keenest anxiety--it would never do if we were forced to re-embark at night as has been suggested--we must stick it until our advance from "x" and "w" opens that sally port from the sea. there is always in the background of my mind dread lest help should reach the enemy before we have done with sedd-el-bahr. the enveloping attacks on both enemy flanks have come off brilliantly, but have not cut the enemy's line of retreat, or so threatened it that they have to make haste to get back. at "s" (eski hissarlick or morto bay) the 2nd south wales borderers have landed in very dashing style though under fire from big fortress artillery as well as field guns and musketry. on shore they deployed and, helped by sailors from the cornwallis, have carried the turkish trenches in front of them at the bayonet's point. they are now dug in on a commanding spur but are anxious at finding themselves all alone and say they do not feel able, owing to their weakness, to manoeuvre or to advance. from "y," opposite krithia, there is no further news. but two good battalions at large and on the war path some four or five miles in rear of the enemy should do something during the next few hours. i was right, so it seems, about getting ashore before the enemy could see to shoot out to sea. at gaba tepe; opposite krithia and by morto bay we landed without too much loss. where we waited to bombard, as at helles and sedd-el-bahr, we have got it in the neck.
-this "v" beach business is the blot. sedd-el-bahr was supposed to be the softest landing of the lot, as it was the best harbour and seemed to lie specially at the mercy of the big guns of the fleet. would that we had left it severely alone and had landed a big force at morto bay whence we could have forced the sedd-el-bahr turks to fall back.
-one thing is sure. whatever happens to us here we are bound to win glory. there are no other soldiers quite of the calibre of our chaps in the world; they have esprit de corps; they are volunteers every one of them; they are for it; our officers--our rank and file--have been so entered to this attack that they will all die--that we will all die--sooner than give way before the turk. the men are not fighting blindly as in south africa: they are not fighting against forces with whose motives they half sympathise. they have been told, and told again, exactly what we are after. they understand. their eyes are wide open: they know that the war can only be brought to an end by our joining hands quickly with the russians: they know that the fate of the empire depends on the courage they display. should the fates so decree, the whole brave army may disappear during the night more dreadfully than that of sennacherib; but assuredly they will not surrender: where so much is dark, where many are discouraged, in this knowledge i feel both light and joy.
-here i write--think--have my being. to-morrow night where shall we be? well; what then; what of the worst? at least we shall have lived, acted, dared. we are half way through--we shall not look back.
-as night began to settle down over the land, the queen elizabeth seemed to feel the time had come to give full vent to her wrath. an order from the bridge, and, in the twinkling of an eye, she shook from stem to stern with the recoil from her own efforts. the great ship was fighting all out, all in action. every gun spouted flame and a roar went up fit to shiver the stars of heaven. ears stopped with wax; eyes half blinded by the scorching yellow blasts; still, in some chance seconds interval, we could hear the hive-like b rr rr rr rr rr r r r r of the small arms plying on the shore; still see, through some break in the acrid smoke, the profile of the castle and houses; nay, of the very earth itself and the rocky cliff; see them all, change, break, dissolve into dust; crumble as if by enchantment into strange new outlines, under the enormous explosions of our 15-in. lyddite shells. buildings gutted: walls and trenches turned inside out and upside down: friend and foe surely must be wiped out together under such a fire: at least they are stupefied--must cease taking a hand with their puny rifles and machine guns? not so. amidst falling ruins; under smoke clouds of yellow, black, green and white; the beach, the cliffs and the ramparts of the castle began, in the oncoming dusk, to sparkle all over with hundreds of tiny flecks of rifle fire.
-just before the shadows of night hid everything from sight, we could see that many of our men, who had been crouching all day under the sandy bank in the centre of the arena, were taking advantage of the pillars of smoke raised between them and their enemy to edge away to their right and scale the rampart leading to the fort of sedd-el-bahr. other small clusters lay still--they have made their last attack.
-26th april, 1915. h.m.s. "queen elizabeth." at 12.5 a.m. i was dragged out of a dead sleep by braithwaite who kept shaking me by the shoulder and saying, "sir ian! sir ian!!" i had been having a good time for an hour far away somewhere, far from bloody turmoil, and before i quite knew where i was, my chief of staff repeated what he had, i think, said several times already, "sir ian, you've got to come right along--a question of life and death--you must settle it!" braithwaite is a cool hand, but his tone made me wide awake in a second. i sprang from bed; flung on my "british warm" and crossed to the admiral's cabin--not his own cabin but the dining saloon--where i found de robeck himself, rear-admiral thursby (in charge of the landing of the australian and new zealand army corps), roger keyes, braithwaite, brigadier-general carruthers (deputy adjutant and quartermaster-general of the australian and new zealand army corps) and brigadier-general cunliffe owen (commanding royal artillery of the australian and new zealand army corps). a cold hand clutched my heart as i scanned their faces. carruthers gave me a message from birdwood written in godley's writing. i read it aloud:--
-"both my divisional generals and brigadiers have represented to me that they fear their men are thoroughly demoralised by shrapnel fire to which they have been subjected all day after exhaustion and gallant work in morning. numbers have dribbled back from firing line and cannot be collected in this difficult country. even new zealand brigade which has been only recently engaged lost heavily and is to some extent demoralised. if troops are subjected to shell fire again to-morrow morning there is likely to be a fiasco as i have no fresh troops with which to replace those in firing line. i know my representation is most serious but if we are to re-embark it must be at once. (sd.) "birdwood."
-the faces round that table took on a look--when i close my eyes there they sit,--a look like nothing on earth unless it be the guests when their host flings salt upon the burning raisins. to gain time i asked one or two questions about the tactical position on shore, but carruthers and cunliffe owen seemed unable to add any detail to birdwood's general statement.
-i turned to thursby and said, "admiral, what do you think?" he said, "it will take the best part of three days to get that crowd off the beaches." "and where are the turks?" i asked. "on the top of 'em!" "well, then," i persisted, "tell me, admiral, what do you think?" "what do i think: well, i think myself they will stick it out if only it is put to them that they must." without another word, all keeping silence, i wrote birdwood as follows:--
-"your news is indeed serious. but there is nothing for it but to dig yourselves right in and stick it out. it would take at least two days to re-embark you as admiral thursby will explain to you. meanwhile, the australian submarine has got up through the narrows and has torpedoed a gunboat at chunuk. hunter-weston despite his heavy losses will be advancing to-morrow which should divert pressure from you. make a personal appeal to your men and godley's to make a supreme effort to hold their ground. (sd.) "ian hamilton."
-the men from gaba tepe made off with this letter; not the men who came down here at all, but new men carrying a clear order. be the upshot what it may, i shall never repent that order. better to die like heroes on the enemy's ground than be butchered like sheep on the beaches like the runaway persians at marathon.
-de robeck and keyes were aghast; they pat me on the back; i hope they will go on doing so if things go horribly wrong. midnight decisions take it out of one. turned in and slept for three solid hours like a top till i was set spinning once more at 4 a.m.
-at dawn we were off gaba tepe. thank god the idea of retreat had already made itself scarce. the old queen let fly her first shot at 5.30 a.m. her shrapnel is a knockout. the explosion of the monstrous shell darkens the rising sun; the bullets cover an acre; the enemy seems stunned for a while after each discharge. one after the other she took on the turkish guns along sari bair and swept the skyline with them.
-at a quarter past ten we steamed, with anxious minds, for cape helles, and on the way there, braithwaite and i finished off our first cable to k.:--
-"thanks to god who calmed the seas and to the royal navy who rowed our fellows ashore as coolly as if at a regatta; thanks also to the dauntless spirit shown by all ranks of both services, we have landed 29,000 upon six beaches in the face of desperate resistance from strong turkish infantry forces well backed by artillery. enemy are entrenched, line upon line, behind wire entanglements spread to catch us wherever we might try to concentrate for an advance. worst danger zone, the open sea, now traversed, but on land not yet out of the wood. our main covering detachment held up on water's edge, at foot of amphitheatre of low cliffs round the little bay west of sedd-el-bahr. at sunset last night a dashing attack was made by the 29th division south-west along the heights from tekke burnu to set free the dublins, munsters and hants, but at the hour of writing they are still pinned down to the beach.
-"the australians have done wonderfully at gaba tepe. they got 8,000 ashore to one beach between 3.30 a.m. and 8.30 a.m.: due to their courage; organisation; sea discipline and steady course of boat practice. navy report not one word spoken or movement made by any of these thousands of untried troops either during the transit over the water in the darkness or nearing the land when the bullets took their toll. but, as the keel of the boats touched bottom, each boat-load dashed into the water and then into the enemy's fire. at first it seemed that nothing could stop them, but by degrees wire, scrub and cliffs; thirst, sheer exhaustion broke the back of their impetus. then the enemy's howitzers and field guns had it all their own way, forcing attack to yield a lot of ground. things looked anxious for a bit, but by this morning's dawn all are dug in, cool, confident.
-"the french have stormed kum kale and are attacking yeni shahr. although you excluded asia from my operations, have been forced by tactical needs to ask d'amade to do this and so relieve us from artillery fire from the asiatic shore.
-"deeply regret to report the death of brigadier-general napier and to say that our losses, though not yet estimated, are sure to be very heavy.
-relief about gaba tepe is almost swallowed up by the "y" beach fiasco--as we must, i suppose, take it to be. no word yet from hunter-weston.
-at helles things are much the same as last night; only, the south wales borderers are now well dug in on a spur above morto bay and are confident.
-at 1.45 d'amade came aboard in a torpedo boat to see me. he has been ashore at kum kale and reports violent fighting and, for the time being, victory. a very dashing landing, the village stormed; house to house struggles; failure to carry the cemetery; last evening defensive measures, loopholed walls, barbed wire fastened to corpses; at night savage counter attacks led by germans; their repulse; a wall some hundred yards long and several feet high of turkish corpses; our own losses also very heavy and some good officers among them. all this partly from d'amade to me; partly his staff to my staff. nogués and his brave lads have done their bit indeed for the glory of the army of france. meanwhile, d'amade is anxious to get his men off soon: he cannot well stay where he is unless he carries the village of yeni shahr. yeni shahr is perched on the height a mile to the south of him, but it has been reinforced from the besika bay direction and to take it would be a major operation needing a disembarkation of at least the whole of his division. he is keen to clear out: i agreed, and at 12.5 he went to make his preparations.
-ten minutes later, when we were on our way back to gaba tepe, the admiral and braithwaite both tackled me, and urged that the french should be ordered to hold on for another twenty-four hours--even if for no longer. had they only raised their point before d'amade left the queen elizabeth! as it is, to change my mind and my orders would upset the french very much and--on the whole--i do not think we have enough to go upon to warrant me in doing so. the admiral has always been keen on kum kale and i quite understand that naval aspect of the case. but it is all i can do, as far as things have gone, to hang on by my eyelids to the peninsula, and let alone k.'s strong, clear order, i can hardly consent, as a soldier, to entangle myself further in asia, before i have made good achi baba. we dare not lose another moment in getting a firm footing on the peninsula and that was why i had signalled d'amade from gaba tepe to bring up all the rest of his troops from tenedos and to disembark them at "w" (seeing we were still held up at "v") and why i cannot now perceive any other issue. we are not strong enough to attack on both sides of the straits. given one more division we might try: as things are, my troops won't cover the mileage. on a small scale map, in an office, you may make mole-hills of mountains; on the ground there's no escaping from its features.
-whilst having a hurried meal, jack churchill rushed down from the crow's nest to say that he thought we had carried the fort above sedd-el-bahr. he had seen through a powerful naval glass some figures standing erect and silhouetted against the sky on the parapet. only, he argued, british soldiers would stand against the skyline during a general action. that is so, and we were encouraged to be hopeful.
-on to gaba tepe just in time to see the opening, the climax and the end of the dreaded turkish counter attack. the turks have been fighting us off and on all the time, but this is--or rather i can happily now say "was"--an organised effort to burst in through our centre. whether burglars or battles are in question, give me sunshine. what had been a terror when braithwaite woke me out of my sleep at midnight to meet the gaba tepe deputation was but a heightened, tightened sensation thirteen hours later.
-no doubt the panorama was alarming, but we all of us somehow--we on the q.e.--felt sure that australia and new zealand had pulled themselves together and were going to give enver and his army a very disagreeable surprise.
-here come the turks! first a shower of shells dropping all along the lower ridges and out over the surface of the bay. very pretty the shells--at half a mile! prince of wales's feathers springing suddenly out of the blue to a loud hammer stroke; high explosives: or else the shrapnel; pure white, twisting a moment and pirouetting as children in their nightgowns pirouette, then gliding off the field two or three together, an aerial ladies' chain. next our projectiles, thursby's from the queen, triumph, majestic, bacchante, london, and prince of wales; over the sea they flew; over the heads of our fighters; covered the higher hillsides and skyline with smudges of black, yellow and green. smoky fellows these--with a fiery spark at their core, and wherever they touch the earth, rocks leap upwards in columns of dust to the sky. under so many savage blows, the labouring mountains brought forth turks. here and there advancing lines; dots moving over green patches; dots following one another across a broad red scar on the flank of sari bair: others following--and yet others--and others--and others, closing in, disappearing, reappearing in close waves converging on the central and highest part of our position. the tic tac of the machine guns and the rattle of the rifles accompanied the roar of the big guns as hail, pouring down on a greenhouse, plays fast and loose amidst the peals of god's artillery: we have got some guns right up the precipitous cliff: the noise doubled; redoubled; quadrupled, expanded into one immense tiger-like growl--a solid mass of the enemy showed itself crossing the green patch--and then the good queen lizzie picked up her targets--crash!!! stop your ears with wax.
-the fire slackened. the attack had ebbed away; our fellows were holding their ground. a few, very few, little dots had run back over that green patch--the others had passed down into the world of darkness.
-a signaller was flag-wagging from a peak about the left centre of our line:--"the boys will never forget the queen elizabeth's help" was what he said.
-jack churchill was right. at 1.50 a wireless came in to say that the irish and hants from the river clyde had forced their way through sedd-el-bahr village and had driven the enemy clean out of all his trenches and castles. ah, well; that load is off our minds: every one smiling.
-passed on the news to birdwood: i doubt the turks coming on again--but, in case, the 29th division's feat of arms will be a tonic.
-hove to off cape helles at quarter past five. joyous confirmation of sedd-el-bahr capture and our lines run straight across from "x" to morto bay, but a very sad postscript now to that message: doughty wylie has been killed leading the sally from the beach.
-for myself, in the secret mind that lies beneath the conscious, i think i had given up hope that the covering detachment at "v" would work out their own salvation. my thought was to keep pushing in troops from "w" beach until the enemy had fallen back to save themselves from being cut off. the hampshires, dublins and munsters have turned their own tight corner, but i hope these fine regiments will never forget what they owe to one doughty wylie, the mr. greatheart of our war.
-the admiral and braithwaite have been at me again to urge that the french should hang on another day at kum kale. they point out that the crisis seems over for the time being both at helles and gaba tepe and argue that this puts a different aspect on the whole question. that is so, and on the whole, i think "yes" and have asked d'amade to comply.
-so now we stand on turkish terra firma. the price has been paid for the first step and that is the step that counts. blood, sweat, fire; with these we have forged our master key and forced it into the lock of the hellespont, rusty and dusty with centuries of disuse. grant us, o lord, tenacity to turn it; determination to turn it, till through that open door queen elizabeth of england sails east for the golden horn! when in far off ages men discuss over vintages ripened in mars the black superstitions and bloody mindedness of the georgian savages, still they will have to drain a glass to the memory of the soldiers and sailormen who fought here.
-27th april, 1915. getting on for midnight. h.m.s. "queen elizabeth." all sorts of questions and answers. at 2 a.m. got a signal from admiral guépratte, "situation at kum kale excellent, but d'amade gave orders to re-embark. it has begun. much regret it is not in my power to stop it."
-well, so do i regret it. with just one more brigade at our backs we would have taken yeni shahr and kept our grip on kum kale; helping along the fleet; countering the big guns from asia. but, there it is; as things are i was right, and beggars can't be choosers. the french are now free to land direct at sedd-el-bahr, or "v," instead of round by "w."
-during the small hours i wrote a second cable to k. telling him hunter-weston could not attack achi baba yesterday as his troops were worn out and some of his battalions had lost a quarter of their effectives: also that we were already short of ammunition. also that "sedd-el-bahr was a dreadful place to carry by open assault, being a labyrinth of rocks, galleries, ruins and entanglements." "with all the devoted help of the navy, it has taken us a day's hard fighting to make good our footing. achi baba hill, only a cannon shot distant, will be attacked to-morrow, the 28th."
-after shipping ammunition for her big guns the q.e. sailed at 7 a.m. for gaba tepe where we found birdwood's base, the beach, being very severely shelled. the fire seemed to drop from half the points of the compass towards that one small strip of sand, so marvellously well defiladed by nature that nine-tenths of the shot fell harmlessly into the sea. the turkish gunners had to chance hitting something by lobbing shrapnel over the main cliff or one of the two arm-like promontories which embraced the little cove,--and usually they didn't! yet even so the beach was hardly a seaside health resort and it was a comfort to see squads of these young soldiers marching to and fro and handling packing cases with no more sign of emotion than railway porters collecting luggage at margate.
-have been speaking to the sailors about getting man-killing h.e. shell for the mediterranean squadron instead of the present armour piercers which break into only two or three pieces and are, therefore, in the open field, more alarming than deadly. they don't seem to think there would be much good gained by begging for special favours through routine channels. officialdom at the admiralty is none too keen on our show. if we can get at winston himself, then we can rely on his kicking red tape into the waste-paper basket; otherwise we won't be met half way. as for me, i am helpless. i cannot write winston--not on military business; least of all on naval business. i am fixed, i won't write to any public personage re my wants and troubles excepting only k. braithwaite agrees that, especially in war time, no man can serve two masters. there has been so much stiletto work about this war, and i have so often blamed others for their backstairs politics, that i must chance hurt feelings and shall not write letters although several of the powers that be have told me to keep them fully posted. the worst loss is that of winston's ear; high principles won't obtain high explosives. as to writing to the army council--apart from k., the war office is an oubliette.
-a wireless from wemyss to say that the whole of hunter-weston's force has advanced two miles on a broad front and that the enemy made no resistance.
-at 7 hunter-weston came on board and dined. he is full of confidence and good cheer. he never gave any order to evacuate "y"; he never was consulted; he does not know who gave the order. he does well to be proud of his men and of the way they played up to-day when he called upon them to press back the enemy. he has had no losses to speak of and we are now on a fairly broad three-mile front right across the toe of the peninsula; about two miles from the tip at helles. had our men not been so deadly weary, there was no reason we should not have taken achi baba from the turks, who put up hardly any fight at all. but we have not got our mules or horses ashore yet in any numbers, and the digging, and carriage of stores, water and munitions to the firing line had to go on all night, so the men are still as tired as they were on the 26th, or more so. the intelligence hear that enemy reinforcements are crossing the narrows. so it is a pity we could not make more ground whilst we were about it, but we had no fresh men to put in and the used battalions were simply done to a turn.
-we did not talk much about the past at dinner, except--ah me, how bitterly we regretted our 10 per cent. margin to replace casualties,--a margin allowed by regulation and afforded to the b.e.f. just think of it. to-day each battalion of the 29th division would have been joined by two keen officers and one hundred keen men--fresh--all of them fresh! the fillip given would have been far, far greater than that which the mere numbers (1,200 for the division) would seem to imply. hunter-weston says that he would sooner have a pick-me-up in that form than two fresh battalions, and i think, in saying so, he says too little.
-tired or not tired, we attack again to-morrow. we must make more--much more--elbow room before the turks get help from asia or constantinople.
-are we to strike before or after daylight? hunter-weston is clear for day and we have made it so. the hour is to be 8 a.m.
-showed h.w. the cable we got at tea time from k., quoting some message de robeck has apparently sent home and saying, "maxwell will give you any support from the garrison of egypt you may require." i am puzzled how to act on this. maxwell won't give me "any support" i "may require"; otherwise, naturally, i'd have had the gurkhas with me now: he has his own show to run: i have my own show to run: it is for k. to split the differences. k. gave me fair warning before i started i must not embroil him with french, france, or british politicians by squeezing him for more troops. it was up to me to take the job on those terms or leave it--and i took it on. i did think egypt might be held to be outside this tacit covenant, but when i asked first, directly, for the indian brigade; secondly, for the brigade or even for one gurkha battalion, i only got that chilliest of refusals--silence. since then, there has been some change in his attitude. i do wish k. would take me more into his confidence. never a word to me about the indian brigade, yet now it is on its way! also, here comes this offer of more troops. hunter-weston's reading of the riddle is that troops ear-marked for the western front are still taboo but that k. finds himself, since our successful landing, in a more favourable political atmosphere and is willing, therefore, to let us draw on egypt. he thinks, in a word, that as far as egypt goes, we should try and get what we can get.
-said good-night with mutual good wishes, and have worked till now (1 a.m.) answering wireless and interviewing winter and woodward, who had come across from the arcadian to do urgent administrative work. each seems satisfied with the way his own branch is getting on: winter is the quicker worker. wrote out also a second long cable to k. (the first was operations) formally asking leave to call upon maxwell to send me the east lancs. division and showing that maxwell can have my second mounted division in exchange.
-have thought it fair to cable maxwell also, asking him to hold the east lancs. handy. k.'s cable covers me so far. no commander enjoys parting with his troops and maxwell may play on one of the tenderest spots in k.'s adamantine heart by telling him his darling egypt will be endangered; still it is only right to give him fair warning.
-lord hindlip, king's messenger, has brought us our mails.
-28th april, 1915. h.m.s. "queen elizabeth." off gallipoli. at 9 a.m. general d'amade came aboard and gave me the full account of the kum kale landing, a brilliant piece of work which will add lustre even to the illustrious deeds of france. i hope the french government will recognize this dashing stroke of d'amade's by something more solid than a thank you.
-at 9.40 general paris and the staff of the naval division also came aboard, and were telling me their doings and their plans when the noise of the battle cut short the pow-wow. the fire along the three miles front is like the rumble of an express train running over fog signals. clearly we are not going to gain ground so cheaply as yesterday.
-at 10 o'clock the q.e. was steaming slowly northwards and had reached a point close to the old "y" landing place (well marked out by the glittering kerosine tins). suddenly, inland, a large mass of men, perhaps two thousand, were seen doubling down a depression of the ground heading towards the coast. we had two 15-inch guns loaded with 10,000 shrapnel bullets each, but there was an agony as to whether these were our fellows falling back or turks advancing. the admiral and keyes asked me. the flag captain was with us. the thing hung on a hair but the horror of wiping out one of my own brigades was too much for me: 20 to 1 they were turkish reinforcements which had just passed through krithia--50 to 1 they were turks--and then--the ground seemed to swallow them from view. ten minutes later, they broke cover half a mile lower down the peninsula and left us no doubt as to what they were, advancing as they did in a most determined manner against some of our men who had their left flank on the cliffs above the sea.
-to-day's experiences have been of the strangest. as armies have grown and as the range of firearms has increased, the commander-in-chief of any considerable force has been withdrawn further and further from the fighting. to-day i have stood in the main battery which has fired a shot establishing, in its way, a record in the annals of destruction.
-hunter-weston is confident as ever and says once his men have dug themselves in, even a few inches, they will hold what they have gained against any number of turks.
-we have been handicapped by the trouble that is bred in the bone of any landing on enemy soil. the general wants to strike quick and hard from the outset. to do so he must rush his men ashore and by very careful plans he may succeed; but even then, unless he can lay hands upon wharves, cranes, and all the mechanical appliances to be found in an up-to-date harbour, he cannot keep up the supply of ammunition, stores, food, water, on a like scale. he cannot do this because, just in proportion as he is successful in getting a large number of men on shore and in quickly pushing them forward some distance inland, so will it become too much for his small craft and his beach frontage to cope with the mule transport and carts. hence, shortage of ammunition and shortage of water, which last was the worse felt to-day. but the heavy fighting at the landings was what delayed us most.
-an enemy aeroplane (a taube) has been dropping bombs on and about the river clyde.
-there is little of the "joy of the contest" in fighting battles with worn-out troops. even when the men respond by doing wonders, the commander is bound to feel his heart torn in two by their trials, in addition to having his brain tortured on anxiety's rack as to the result. the number of officers we have lost is terrible.
-seen from the flagship, the sun set exactly behind the purple island of imbros, and as it disappeared sent out long flame-coloured streamers into the sky. the effect was that of a bird of paradise bringing balm to our overwrought nerves.
-have published the following order:--
-"i rely on all officers and men to stand firm and steadfast to resist the attempt of the enemy to drive us back from our present position which has been so gallantly won.
-"the enemy is evidently trying to obtain a local success before reinforcements can reach us; but the first portion of these arrive to-morrow and will be followed by a fresh division from egypt.
-"it behoves us all, french and british, to stand fast, hold what we have gained, wear down the enemy and thus be prepared for a decisive victory.
-"our comrades in flanders have had the same experience of fatigue after hard won fights. we shall, i know, emulate their steadfastness and achieve a result which will confer added laurels to french and british arms. "ian hamilton, "general."
-two cables from k.:--
-the first repeats a cable he has sent maxwell. he begins by saying, "in a cable just in from the dardanelles french admiral, i see he thinks reinforcements are needed for the troops landed on gallipoli. hamilton has not made any mention of this to me. all the same yesterday i cabled him as follows:--"
-k. goes on, "i hope all your troops are being kept ready to embark, and i would suggest you should send the territorial division if hamilton wants them. peyton's transports, etc., etc., etc."
-bravo k.! but kind as is your message the best buck up for the army will be the news that the lads from manchester are on their way to help us.
-the cable people have pinned a minute to these two messages saying that the two hours' pull we have over greenwich time ought to have let k. get my message before he wired to maxwell. he may think maxwell will take it better that way.
-before going to bed, i sent him (k.) two cables:--
-29th april, 1915. h.m.s. "q.e." off the peninsula. a biggish sea running, subsiding as the day went on--and my mind grew calmer with the waves. for we are living hand-to-mouth now in every sense. two days' storm would go very near starving us. until we work up some weeks' reserve of water, food and cartridges, i shan't sleep sound. have lent birdwood four battalions of the royal naval division and two more battalions are landing at helles to form my own reserve. two weak battalions; that is the exact measure of my executive power to shape the course of events; all the power i have to help either d'amade or hunter-weston.
-water is a worry; weather is a worry; the shelling from asia is a thorn in my side. the sailors had hoped they would be able to shield the southern point of the peninsula by interposing their ships but they can't. their gunnery won't run to it--was never meant to run to it--and with five going aeroplanes we can't do the spotting. our regiments, too, will not be their superb selves again--won't be anything like themselves--not until they get their terrible losses made good. there is no other way but fresh blood for it is sheer human nature to feel flat after an effort. any violent struggle for life always lowers the will to fight even of the most cut-and-come-again:--don't i remember well when sir george asked me if the elandslaagte brigade had it in them to storm pepworth? i had to tell him they were still the same brigade but not the same men. no use smashing in the impregnable sea front if we don't get a fresh dose of energy to help us to push into the, as yet, very pregnable hinterland. since yesterday morning, when i saw our men scatter right and left before an enemy they would have gone for with a cheer on the 25th or 26th,--ever since then i have cursed with special bitterness the lack of vision which leaves us without that 10 per cent. margin above strength which we could, and should, have had with us. the most fatal heresy in war, and, with us, the most rank, is the heresy that battles can be won without heavy loss--i don't care whether it is in men or in ships. the next most fatal heresy is to think that, having won the battle, decimated troops can go on defeating fresh enemies without getting their 10 per cent. renewed.
-at 9 o'clock i boarded h.m.s. kennett, a destroyer, and went ashore. commodore roger keyes came along with me, and we set foot on turkish soil for the first time at 9.45 a.m. at "w" beach. what a scene! an ants' nest in revolution. five hundred of our fighting men are running to and fro between cliffs and sea carrying stones wherewith to improve our pier. on to this pier, picket boats, launches, dinghies, barges, all converge through the heavy swell with shouts and curses, bumps and hair's-breadth escapes. other swarms of half-naked soldiers are sweating, hauling, unloading, loading, road-making; dragging mules up the cliff, pushing mules down the cliff: hundreds more are bathing, and through this pandemonium pass the quiet stretchers bearing pale, blood-stained, smiling burdens. first we spent some time speaking to groups of officers and men and hearing what the beachmasters and engineers had to say; next we saw as many of the wounded as we could and then i walked across to the headquarters of the 29th division (half a mile) to see hunter-weston. a strange abode for a boss; some holes burrowed into a hillock. in south africa, this feature which looks like, and actually is, a good observing post, would have been thoroughly searched by fire. the turks seem, so far, to have left it pretty well alone.
-after a long talk during which we fixed up a good many moot points, went on to see general d'amade. unluckily he had just left to go on to the flagship to see me. i did not like to visit the french front in his absence, so took notes of the turkish defences on "v" and had a second and a more thorough inspection of the beach, transport and storage arrangements on "w."
-roper, phillimore (r.n.) and fuller stood by and showed me round.
-towards evening we re-embarked on the colne and at the very moment of transhipment from the picquet boat the enemy opened a real hot shrapnel fire, plastering with impartiality and liberality our trenches, our beaches and the sea. the colne was in strangely troubled water, but, although the shot fell all about her, neither she nor the picquet boat was touched. five minutes later we should have caught it properly! the turkish guns are very well hidden now, and the q.e. can do nothing against them without the balloon to spot; we can't often spare one of our five aeroplanes for gaba tepe. going back we had some long range shots with the 15-inch guns at batteries in rear of achi baba.
-anchored off cape helles at dark. a reply in from maxwell about the east lancs. they are coming!
-the worst enemy a chief has to face in war is an alarmist. the turks are indeed stout and terrifying fellows when seen, not in a poetry book but in a long line running at you in a heavy jogtrot way with fixed bayonets gleaming. but they don't frighten me as much as one or two of my own friends. no matter. we are here to stay; in so far as my fixed determination can make it so; alive or dead, we stay.
-saw hunter-weston: he is quite happy. touched on "y" beach; concluded least said soonest mended. the issues of the day before yesterday's battle seem certainly to have hung on a hair. apart from "y" beach might-have-beens, it seems that, further inland, detachments of our men got into a position dominating krithia; a position from which--could they have held it--turkish troops in or south of krithia could have been cut off from their supplies. these men saw the turks clear out of krithia taking machine guns with them. but after half an hour, as we did not come on, they began to come back. we were too weak and only one battalion was left of our reserves--otherwise the day was ours. street, the g.s.o.i. of the division, was in the thick of the battle--too far in for his rank, i am told, and he is most emphatic that with one more brigade achi baba would now be in our hands. he said this to me in presence of his own chief and i believe him, although i had rather disbelieve. to my mind "a miss is as good as a mile" should run a "miss is far worse than a mile." he is a sober-spoken, most gallant officer. but it can't be helped. this is not the first time in history when the lack of a ha'porth of tar has spoilt the ship of state. i would bear my ills without a groan were it not that from the very moment when i set eyes on the narrows i was sent to prize open, i had set my heart upon just this very identical ha'porth of tar--videlicet, the indian brigade.
-our men are now busy digging themselves into the ground they gained on the 28th. the turks have done a good lot of gunnery but no real counter-attack. hunter-weston's states show that during the past twenty-four hours well over half of his total strength are getting their artillery ashore, building piers, making roads, or bringing up food, water and ammunition into the trenches. this does not take into account men locally struck off fighting duty as cooks, orderlies, sentries over water, etc., etc. altogether, it seems that not more than one-third of our fast diminishing total are available for actual fighting purposes. had we even a brigade of those backward territorial reserve battalions with whom the south of england is congested, they would be worth i don't know what, for they would release their equivalent of first-class fighting men to attend to their own business--the fighting.
-there are quite a little budget of knotty points to settle between hunter-weston and d'amade, so i made a careful note of them and went along to french headquarters. by bad luck d'amade was away, up in the front trenches, and i could not well deliver myself to des coigns. so i said i would come again sometime to-morrow and once more wended my way along the busy beaches, and in doing so revisited the turkish defences of "v" and "w." the more i look, the more do i marvel at the invincible spirit of the british soldier. nothing is impossible to him; no general knows what he can do till he tries. therefore, he, the british general, must always try! must never listen to the rule-of-thumb advisers who seek to chain down adventure to precedent. but our wounds make us weaker and weaker. oh that we could fill up the gaps in the thinned ranks of those famous regiments....!
-on my way back to the arcadian (we are leaving the queen elizabeth for a time)--i met a big batch of wounded, knocked out, all of them, in the battle of the 28th. i spoke to as many of them as i could, and although some were terribly mutilated and disfigured, and although a few others were clearly dying, one and all kept a stiff upper lip--one and all were, or managed to appear--more than content--happy! this scene brought tears into my eyes. the courage of our soldiers goes far beyond belief. were it not so war would be unbearable. how strongly god keeps the balance even. in fullest splendour the soul shines out amidst the dark shadows of adversity; as a fire goes out when the sunlight strikes it, so the burning, essential quality in men is stifled by prosperity and success.
-later. our battleships have been bombarding chunuk--chucking shells into it from the aegean side of the peninsula--and a huge column of smoke is rising up into the evening sky. a proper bonfire on the very altar of mars.
-1st may, 1915. h.m.s. "arcadian." went ashore first thing. odd shells on the wing. visited french headquarters. again d'amade was away. had a long talk with des coigns, the chief of staff, and told him i had just heard from lord k. that the 1st brigade of the new french division would sail for the dardanelles on the 3rd inst. des coigns is overjoyed but a tiny bit hurt, too, that french headquarters should get the news first from me and not from their own war ministry. he insists on my going round the french trenches and sent a capitaine de la fontaine along with me. until to-day i had quite failed to grasp the extent of the ground we had gained. but we want a lot more before we can begin to feel safe. the french trenches are not as good as ours by a long chalk, and bullets keep coming through the joints of the badly built sandbag revetment. but they say, "un peu de repos, après, vous verrez, mon général." during my peregrinations i struck the headquarters of the mediterranean brigade under general vandenberg, who came round his own men with me. a sturdy, thickset fair man with lots of go and very cheery. he is of dutch descent. later on i came to the colonial brigade headquarters and made the acquaintance of colonel ruef, a fine man--every inch a soldier. the french have suffered severely but are in fine fighting form. they are enchanted to hear about their second division. for some reason or another they have made up their minds that france is not so keen as we are to make a present of constantinople to russia. their intelligence on european questions seems much better than ours and they depress me by expressing doubts as to whether the grand duke nicholas has munitions enough to make further headway against the turks in the caucasus: also, as to whether he has even stuff enough to equip istomine and my rather visionary army corps.
-by the time we had passed along the whole of the french second line and part of their front line trenches, i had had about enough. so took leave of these valiant frenchmen and cheery senegalese and pushed on to the advanced observation post of the artillery where i met general stockdale, commanding the 15th brigade, r.f.a., and not only saw how the land lay but heard some interesting opinions. also, some ominous comments on what armies spend and what governments scrimp:--that is ammunition.
-the intelligence have just translated an order for the 25th april found upon the dead body of a turkish staff officer. "be sure," so it runs, "that no matter how many troops the enemy may try to land, or how heavy the fire of his artillery, it is absolutely impossible for him to make good his footing. supposing he does succeed in landing at one spot, no time should be left him to co-ordinate and concentrate his forces, but our own troops must instantly press in to the attack and with the help of our reserves in rear he will forthwith be flung back into the sea."
-2nd may, 1915. h.m.s. "arcadian." had a sleepless night and strain was too great to write or do anything but stand on bridge and listen to the firing or go down to the general staff and see if any messages had come to hand.
-soon, amidst the dazzling yellow flashes of the bursting shells and star bombs, there rose in beautiful parabolas all along our front coloured balls of fire, green, red or white; signals to their own artillery from the pistols of the officers of the enemy. an ugly feature, these lights so beautiful, because, presumably, in response to their appeal, the turkish shell were falling further down the peninsula than at first, as if they had lengthened their range and fuse, i.e., as if we were falling back.
-by now several disquietening messages had come in, especially from the right, and although bad news was better than no news, or seemed so in that darkness and confusion, yet my anxious mind was stretched on the rack by inability to get contact with the headquarters of the 29th division and the french. bullets or shell had cut some of the wires, and the telephone only worked intermittently. at 2 in the morning i had to send a battalion of my reserve from the royal naval division to strengthen the french right. at 3 a.m. we heard--not from the british--that the british had been broken and were falling back upon the beaches. at 4 we heard from hunter-weston that, although the enemy had pierced our line at one or two points, they had now been bloodily repulsed. thereupon, i gave the word for a general counter-attack and our line began to advance. the whole country-side was covered with retreating turks and, as soon as it was light enough to see, our shrapnel mowed them down by the score. we gained quite a lot of ground at first, but afterwards came under enfilade fire from machine guns cunningly hidden in folds of the ground. there was no forcing of these by any coup de main especially with worn out troops and guns which had to husband their shell, and so we had to fall back on our starting point. we have made several hundreds prisoners, and have killed a multitude of the enemy.
-i took braithwaite and others of the g.s. with me and went ashore. at the pier at "w" were several big lighters filled with wounded who were about to be towed out to hospital ships. spent the best part of an hour on the lighters. the cheeriness of the gallant lads is amazing--superhuman!
-went on to see hunter-weston at his headquarters,--a queer headquarters it would seem to our brethren in france! braithwaite, street, hunter-weston and myself.
-some of our units are shaken, no doubt, by loss of officers (complete); by heavy losses of men (not replaced, or replaceable, under a month) and by sheer physical exertion. small wonder then that one weak spot in our barrier gave way before the solid mass of the attacking turks, who came on with the bayonet like true ghazis. the first part of the rifle fire last night was entirely from our own men. the break by one battalion gave a grand chance to the only territorial unit in the 29th division, the 5th royal scots, who have a first-class commanding officer and are inspired not only by the indomitable spirit of their regular comrades, but by the special fighting traditions of auld reekie. they formed to a flank as if on a peace parade and fell on to the triumphant turkish stormers with the cold steel, completely restoring the fortunes of the night. it would have melted a heart of stone, hunter-weston said, to see how tired our men looked in the grey of morning when my order came to hand urging them to counter-attack and pursue. not the spirit but the flesh failed them. with a fresh division on the ground nothing would have prevented us from making several thousand prisoners; whether they would have been able to rush the machine guns and so gain a great victory was more problematical. anyway, our advance at dawn was half heroic, half lamentable. the men were so beat that if they tripped and fell, they lay like dead things. the enemy were almost in worse plight and so we took prisoners, but as soon as we came up against nerveless, tireless machine guns we had to stagger back to our trenches.
-as i write dead quiet reigns on the peninsula, literally dead quiet. not a shot from gun or rifle and the enemy are out in swarms over the plain! but they carry no arms; only stretchers and red crescent flags, for they are bearing away their wounded and are burying their piles of dead. it is by my order that the turks are being left a free hand to carry out this pious duty.
-the stretcher-bearers carry their burdens over a carpet of flowers. life is here around us in its most exquisite forms. those flowers! poppies, cornflowers, lilies, tulips whose colours are those of the rainbow. the coast line curving down and far away to meet the extravagant blueness of the aegean where the battleships lie silent--still--smoke rising up lazily--and behind them, through the sea haze, dim outlines of imbros and samothrace.
-going back, found that the lighter loads of wounded already taken off have by no means cleared the beach. more wounded and yet more. here, too, are a big drove of turkish prisoners; fine-looking men; well clothed; well nourished; more of them coming in every minute and mixing up in the strangest and friendliest way with our wounded with whom they talk in some dumb-crambo lingo. the turks are doing yeoman service for germany. if only india were pulling her weight for us on the same scale, we should by now be before the gates of vienna.
-in the afternoon d'amade paid me a long visit. he was at first rather chilly and i soon found out it was on account of my having gone round his lines during his absence. he is quite right, and i was quite wrong, and i told him so frankly which made "all's well" in a moment. my only excuse, namely, that i had been invited--nay pressed--to do so by his own chief of staff, i thought it wiser to keep to myself. yesterday evening he got a cable from his own war ministry confirming k.'s cable to me about the new french division; numbered the 156th, it is to be commanded by bailloud, a distinguished general who has held high office in africa--seventy years old, but sharp as a needle. d'amade is most grateful for the battalion of the naval division; most complimentary about the officers and men and is dying to have another which is, évidemment, a real compliment. he promises if i will do so to ration them on the best of french conserves and wine. the fact is, that the proportion of white men in the french division is low; there are too many senegalese. the battalion from the naval division gives, therefore, greater value to the whole force by being placed on the french right than by any other use i can put it to although it does seem strange to separate a small british unit by the entire french front from its own comrades.
-when d'amade had done, de robeck came along. no one on the q.e. slept much last night: to them, as to us, the dark hours had passed like one nightmare after another. were we miles back from the trenches as in france, and frankly dependent on our telephones, the strain would be softened by distance. here we see the flashes; we hear the shots; we stand in our main battery and are yet quite cut off from sharing the efforts of our comrades. too near for reflection; too far for intervention: on tenter hooks, in fact; a sort of mental crucifixion.
-cox is not going to take his punjabi mahommedans into the fighting area but will leave them on "w" beach. he says if we were sweeping on victoriously he would take them on but that, as things are, it would not be fair to them to do so. that is exactly why i asked k. and fitz for a brigade of gurkhas; not a mixed brigade.
-birdie boarded us at 9 a.m. and told us his troubles. he has straightened out his line on the left; after a fierce fight which has cost him no less than 700 fresh casualties. but he feels safer now and is pretty happy! he is sure he can hold his own against anything except thirst. his band-o-bast for taking water up to the higher trenches is not working well, and the springs he has struck along the beach and in the lower gullies are brakish. we are going to try and fix this up for him.
-at 10 o'clock went ashore with braithwaite and paid visits to hunter-weston and to d'amade. we had a conference with each of them, generals and staff who could be spared from the fighting being present. the feeling is hopeful if only we had more men and especially drafts to fill up our weakened battalions. the shell question is serious although, in this respect, thank heavens, the french are quite well found. when we got back to the ship, heard a taube had just been over and dropped a bomb, which fell exactly between the arcadian and the ammunition ship, anchored only about 60 or 70 yards off us!
-in writing k. i try to convey the truth in terms which will neither give him needless anxiety or undue confidence. the facts have been stated very simply, plus one brief general comment. i tell him that the turks would be playing our game by these assaults were it not that in the french section they break through the senegalese and penetrate into the position. i add a word of special praise for the naval division, they have done so well, but i know there are people in the war office who won't like to hear it. i say, "i hope the new french division will not steam at economic, but full, speed"; and i sum up by the sentence, "the times are anxious, but i believe the enemy's cohesion should suffer more than ours by these repeated night attacks."
-to-day, the 4th, shells were falling from asia on both "v" and "w" beaches. we have landed aeroplanes on the peninsula. the taube has been bothering us again, but wound up its manoeuvres very decently by killing some fish for our dinner. approved an out-spoken cable from my ordnance to the war office. heaven knows we have been close-fisted with our meagre stocks, but when the turks are coming right on to the assault it is not possible to prevent a spurt of rapid fire from men who feel the knife at their throat. "ammunition is becoming a very serious matter, owing to the ceaseless fighting since april 25th. the junia has not turned up and has but a small supply when she does. 18 pr. shell is vital necessity."
-5th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." a wearing, nerve-racking, night-long fire by the turks and the french 75's. they, at least, both of them, seem to have a good supply of shell. to the jews, god showed himself once as a pillar of fire by night; to the french soldier whose god is the 75 he reveals himself in just the same way, safeguarding his flimsy trenches from the impact of the infidel horde. the curse of the method is its noise--let alone its cost. but last night it came off: no turks got through anywhere on the french front and the men had not to stand to their arms or use their rifles. we british, worse luck, can't dream of these orgies of explosives. our batteries last night did not fire a shot and the men had to drive back the enemy by rifle fire. they did it easily enough but the process is wearing.
-an answer has come to my prayer for 18 pr. stuff: not the answer that turns away wrath, but the answer that provokes a plaster saint.
-"we have under consideration your telegram of yesterday. the ammunition supply for your force, however, was never calculated on the basis of a prolonged occupation of the gallipoli peninsula, we will have to reconsider the position if, after the arrival of the reinforcements now on their way out to you, the enemy cannot be driven back and, in conjunction with the fleet, the forts barring the passage of the dardanelles cannot be reduced. it is important to push on."
-now von donop is a kindly man despite that overbearing "von": yet, he speaks to us like this! the survivors of our half dead force are to "push on"; for, "it is important to push on" although whitehall seems to have time and to spare to "consider" my cable and to "reconsider the position." death first, diagnosis afterwards. wherever is the use of reconsidering the position now? the position has taken charge. when a man has jumped off westminster bridge to save a drowning russian his position has got beyond reconsideration: there is only one thing to do--as quickly as you can, as much help as you can--and if it comes to a choice between the quick and the much: hark to your swimmer and hear him cry "quick! quick!! quick!!!"
-the war office urge me to throw my brave troops yet once more against machine guns in redoubts; to do it on the cheap; to do it without asking for the shell that gives the attack a sporting chance. i don't say they are wrong in so saying; there may be no other way out of it; but i do say the war office stand convicted of having gone hopelessly wrong in their estimates and preparations. for we must have been held up somewhere, surely; we must have fought somewhere. i suppose, even if we had forced the straits--even if we had taken constantinople without firing a shot, we must have fought somewhere! otherwise, a child's box of tin soldiers sent by post would have been just the thing for the dardanelles landing! no; it's not the advice that riles me: it's the fact that people who have made a mistake, and should be sorry, slur over my appeal for the stuff advances are made of and yet continue to urge us on as if we were hanging back.
-a strong wind blows and helles is smothered in dust. hunter-weston spent an hour with me this morning and an hour with the g.s. putting the final touches to the plan of attack discussed by us yesterday. the lancashire brigade of the 42nd division has landed.
-hunter-bunter stayed to lunch.
-later. in the afternoon went ashore and inspected the lancashire brigade of the east lancs. division just landed; and a very fine lot of officers and men they are. they are keen and ready for to-morrow. yes, to-morrow we attack again: i have men enough now but very, very little shell. the turks have given us three bad nights and they ought to be worn out. with our sea power we can shift a couple of brigades from gaba tepe to helles or vice versa quicker than the turks can march from the one theatre to the other. so the first question has been whether to reinforce gaba tepe from helles or vice versa. for reasons too long to write here i have decided to attack in the south especially as i had a cable from k. himself yesterday in which he makes the suggestion:--
-"i hope," he says, "the 5th" (that's to-day) "will see you strong enough to press on to achi baba anyway, as delay will allow the turks to bring up more reinforcements and to make unpleasant preparations for your reception. the australians and new zealanders will have had reinforcements from egypt by then, and, if they hold on to their trenches with the help of the naval division, could spare you a good many men for the advance."
-old k. is as right as rain here but a little bit after the shower. had he and maxwell tumbled to the real situation when i first saw with my own eyes the lie of the land instead of the lies on their maps; and had they let me have the brigade of gurkhas i asked for by my letters and by my cable of 24th march, and by word of mouth and telephone up to the last moment of my leaving egypt, these homilies about the urgency of seizing achi baba would be beside the mark, seeing we should be sitting on the top of it.
-in the matter of giving k. is built on the model of pharaoh: nothing less than the firstborn of the nation will make him suffer his subjects to depart from egypt; and maxwell sees eye to eye with him--that is natural. no word of the bombs and trench mortars i asked for six weeks ago, but the "bayonets" are coming in liberally now.
-two of birdwood's brigades sail down to-night and join up with a brigade from the naval division, thus making a new composite division for the southern theatre. the 29th, who have lost so very heavily, are being strengthened by the new lancashire fusilier brigade, and cox's indian brigade. by no manner the same thing, this, as getting drafts to fill up the ranks of the 29th. always in war there is three times better value in filling up an old formation than in making up the total by bringing in a new formation. i have given the french the naval brigade; the new, naval-australian division is to form my general reserve.
-hard up as we are for shell he thinks it best to blaze it away freely before closing and to trust our bayonets when we get in. he and d'amade have both of them their western experience to guide them. i have agreed, subject only to the condition that we must keep some munitions in reserve until we hear for certain that more is on its way.
-the enemy had trusted to their shore defences. there was no second line behind them--not this side of achi baba, at least. now, i.e., ever since the failure of their grand attempt on the night of the 2nd-3rd may, they have been hard at work. already their lines cover quite half the ground between the aegean and the straits; whilst, in rear again, we can see wired patches which we guess to be enfilading machine gun redoubts. we must resolutely and at all cost make progress and smash up these new spiders' webs of steel before they connect into elastic but unbreakable patterns.
-first i had better fix the sequence of the munition cables, for upon them the whole attack has hung--or rather, hung fire.
-on the 6th, the evening of the opening day, we received a postscript to the refusal already chronicled:--
-"until you can submit a return of the amount you have in hand to enable us to work out the rates of expenditure, it is difficult to decide about further supplies of ammunition."
-when i read this i fell on my knees and prayed god to grant me patience. am i to check the number of rounds in the limbers; on the beaches and in transit during a battle? two days after my s.o.s. the war office begin to think about tables of averages!
-i directed my answer to lord k. himself:--
-"battle in progress. advance being held up by stubborn opposition."
-within a few hours k.'s reply came in; he says:--
-"it is difficult for me to judge the situation unless you can send me your expenditure of ammunition for which we have repeatedly asked. the question is not affected by the other considerations you mention." if space and time have no bearing on strategy and tactics, then k. is right. if ships sail over the sea as fast as railways run across the land; if helles is nearer woolwich than calais; then he is right. i use the capital k. here impersonally, for i am sure the great man did not indite the message himself even though it may be headed from him to me.
-late that night came another cable from the master general of the ordnance saying he was sending out "in the next relief ship 10,000 rounds of 18 pr. shrapnel, and 1,000 rounds of 4.5 inch high explosive."
-but why the next relief ship? it won't get here for another three weeks and by that time we should be, by all the laws of nature and of war, in davy jones's locker. true, we don't mean to be, whatever the ordnance may do or leave undone but, so far as i can see, that won't be their fault. neither i nor my staff can make head or tail of these cables. they seem so unlike k.; so unlike all the people. here we are:--the turks in front of us--too close: the deep sea behind us--too close. we beg them "instantly" to send us 4.5 inch and other ammunition; "instantly, via marseilles":--they tell us in reply that they will send 1,000 rounds of the vital stuff, the 4.5 high explosive, "in the next relief ship"!
-why, even in the south african war, before the siege of ladysmith, one battery would fire five hundred rounds in a day. and this 1,000 rounds in the next relief ship (via alexandria) will take three weeks to get to us whereas stress was laid by me upon the marseilles route.
-very well. now for my last night's cable which, in the opinion of my officers, summarises general result of lack of shell:--
-"for the past three days we have fought our hardest for achi baba winding up with a bayonet charge by the whole force along the entire front, from sea to sea. faced by a heavy artillery, machine gun and rifle fire our troops, french and british alike, made a fine effort; the french especially got well into the turks with the bayonet, and all along, excepting on our extreme left, our line gained ground. i might represent the battle as a victory, as the enemy's advanced positions were driven in, but essentially the result has been failure, as the main object remains unachieved. the fortifications and their machine guns were too scientific and too strongly held to be rushed, although i had every available man in to-day. our troops have done all that flesh and blood can do against semi-permanent works, and they are not able to carry them. more and more munitions will be needed to do so. i fear this is a very unpalatable conclusion, but i see no way out of it.
-"i estimate that the turks had about 40,000 opposed to our 25,000 rifles. there are 20,000 more in front of australian-new zealand army corps' 12,000 rifles at gaba tepe. by bringing men over from the asiatic side and from adrianople the turks seem to be able to keep up their strength. i have only one more brigade of the lancashire territorial division to come; not enough to make any real effect upon the situation as regards breaking through."
-hard must be the heart that is not wrung to think of all these brave boys making their effort; giving their lives; all that they had; it is too much; almost more than can be borne.
-now to go back and make my notes, day by day, of the battle:--
-at 4.30 we dropped our high-vaulting achi baba aspirations and took to our spades.
-the hood battalion of the royal naval division had been roughly handled. in the hospital clearing tent by the beach i saw and spoke to (amongst many others) young asquith, shot through the knee, and commander wedgwood, who had been horribly hurt by shrapnel. each in his own way was a calm hero; wrapped in the mantle bequeathed to english soldiers by sir philip sidney. coming back in the evening to the ship we watched the manchester brigade disembarking. i have never seen a better looking lot. the 6th battalion would serve very well as picked specimens of our race; not so much in height or physique, but in the impression they gave of purity of race and distinction. here are the best the old country can produce; the hope of the progress of the british ideal in the world; and half of them are going to swap lives with turks whose relative value to the well-being of humanity is to theirs as is a locust to a honey-bee.
-that night bailloud, commander of the new french division, came to make his salaam. he is small, alert, brimful of jokes and of years; seventy they say, but he neither looks it nor acts it.
-the 7th was stormy and the sea dangerously rough. at 10 a.m. the lancashire fusilier brigade were to lead off on our left. they could not get a move on, it seemed, although we had hoped that the shelling from the ships would have swept a clear lane for them.
-the thought that "y" beach, which was holding up this brigade, was once in our hands, adds its sting to other reports coming from that part of the field. in france these reports would have been impersonal messages arriving from afar. in asia or africa i would have been letting off the steam by galloping to d'amade or hunter-weston. here i was neither one thing nor the other:--neither a new fangled commander sitting cool and semi-detached in an office; nor an old fashioned commander taking personal direction of the show. during so long drawn out a suspense i tried to ease the tension by dictation. from the carbons i select these two paragraphs: they occur in a letter fired off to colonel clive wigram at "11.25 a.m., 7th may, 1915."
-"were we still faced by the divisions which originally held the gallipoli peninsula we would by now, i firmly believe, be in possession of the kilid bahr plateau. but every day a regiment or two dribble into gallipoli, either from asia or from constantinople, and in the last two days an entire fresh division has (we have heard) arrived from adrianople, and is fighting against us this morning. the smallest demonstration on the part of bulgaria would, i presume, have prevented this big reinforcement of fresh troops reaching the enemy, but it seems beyond the resources of diplomacy to get anyone to create a diversion."
-at 4.30 i ordered a general assault; the 88th brigade to be thrown in on the top of the 87th; the new zealand brigade in support; the french to conform. our gunners had put more than they could afford into the bombardment and had very little wherewith to pave the way.
-we are now on our last legs. the beautiful battalions of the 25th april are wasted skeletons now; shadows of what they had been. the thought of the river of blood, against which i painfully made my way when i met these multitudes of wounded coming down to the shore, was unnerving. but every soldier has to fight down these pitiful sensations: the enemy may be harder hit than he: if we do not push them further back the beaches will become untenable. to overdrive the willingest troops any general ever had under his command is a sin--but we must go on fighting to-morrow!
-as that moment befell, the wide plain before us became alive. bayonets sparkled all over the wide plain. under our glasses this vague movement took form and human shape: men rose, fell, ran, rushed on in waves, broke, recoiled, crumbled away and disappeared.
-at the speed of the minute hand of a watch the left of our line crept forward.
-on the right, at first nothing. then suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, the whole of the northern slopes of the kereves dere ravine was covered by bright coloured irregular surging crowds, moving in quite another way to the khaki-clad figures on their left:--one moment pouring over the debatable ground like a torrent, anon twisted and turning and flying like multitudes of dead leaves before the pestilent breath of the howitzers. no living man has ever seen so strange a vision as this: in its disarray; in its rushing to and fro; in the martial music, shouts and evolutions!
-my glasses shook as i looked, though i believe i seemed very calm. it seemed; it truly seemed as if the tide of blue, grey, scarlet specks was submerging the enemy's strongholds. a thousand of them converged and rushed the redoubt at the head of the kereves dere. a few seconds later into it--one! two!! three!!! fell from the clouds the turkish six inchers. where the redoubt had been a huge column of smoke arose as from the crater of a volcano. then fast and furious the enemy guns opened on us. for the first time they showed their full force of fire. again, the big howitzers led the infernal orchestra pitting the face of no man's land with jet black blotches. the puppet figures we watched began to waver; the senegalese were torn and scattered. once more these huge explosions unloading their cargoes of midnight on to the evening gloom. all along the zouaves and senegalese gave way. another surge forward and bayonets crossed with the turks: yet a few moments of tension and back they fell to their trenches followed by salvo upon salvo of shell bursts. night slid down into the smoke. the last thing--against the skyline--a little column of french soldiers of the line charging back upwards towards the lost redoubt. after that--darkness!
-the battle is over. both sides have fought with every atom of energy they possessed. the heat is oppressive. a heavy mail from england. on shore all quiet. a young wounded officer of the 29th division said it was worth ten years of tennis to see the australians and new zealanders go in. began writing at daylight and now it is midnight. no word yet of the naval offer to go through.
-issued a special order to the troops. they deserve everything that anyone can give them in this world and the next.
-general headquarters, 9th may, 1915.
-"sir ian hamilton wishes the troops of the mediterranean expeditionary force to be informed that in all his past experiences, which include the hard struggles of the russo-japanese campaign, he has never seen more devoted gallantry displayed than that which has characterised their efforts during the past three days. he has informed lord kitchener by cable of the bravery and endurance displayed by all ranks here and has asked that the necessary reinforcements be forthwith dispatched. meanwhile, the remainder of the east lancashire division is disembarking and will henceforth be available to help us to make good and improve upon the positions we have so hardly won."
-10th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." fell asleep last night thinking of admirals, commodores and men-o'-war and of how they might, within the next forty-eight hours, put another complexion upon our prospects. so it seemed quite natural when, the first thing in the morning, a cable came in with the tea asking me whether i have been consulting de robeck as to "the future operations that will be necessary." k. adds, "i hope you and the admiral will be able to devise some means of clearing a passage."
-have just cabled back "every day i have consultations with the admiral": i cannot say more than this as i am not supposed to know anything about de robeck's cable as to the "means of clearing a passage" which went, i believe, yesterday. no doubt it lay before k. when he wired me. i have not been shown the cable; i have not been consulted about it, nor, i believe, has braithwaite, but i do happen to be aware of its drift.
-without embarking on another endless yarn let me note the fact that there are two schools amongst our brethren afloat. roger keyes and those of the younger school who sport the executive curl upon their sleeves are convinced that now, when we have replaced the ramshackle old trawlers of 18th march by an unprecedented mine-sweeping service of 20-knot destroyers under disciplined crews, the forcing of the straits has become as easy ... well; anyway; easier than what we soldiers tried to do on saturday. upon these fire-eaters de robeck has hitherto thrown cold water. he thought, as we thought, that the army would save his ships. but our last battle has shown him that the army would only open the straits at a cost greater than the loss of ships, and that the time has come to strike home with the tremendous mechanism of the fleet. on that basis he quickly came to terms with the views of his thrusting lieutenants.
-on two reservations, he still insisted: (1) he was not going to deprive me of the close tactical support of his battleships if there was the least apprehension we might be "done in" in his absence. (2) he was not going to risk his ships amongst the mines unless we were sure, if he did get through, we could follow on after him by land.
-on both issues there was, to my thinking, no question:--(1) although we cannot push through "under present conditions without more and more ammunition," vide my cable of yesterday, all the turks in asia will not shift us from where we stand even if we have not one battleship to back us.
-we know enough now about the communications and reserves of food and munitions of the turks to be positively certain they cannot stick it on the peninsula if they are cut off from sea communication with asia and with constantinople. within a fortnight they will begin to run short; we are all agreed there.
-so now, (i.e., yesterday) the admiral has cabled offering to go through, and "now" is the moment of all others to let lord k. clearly face the alternative to that proposal. so i have said (in the same cable in which i answer his question about consultations with the admiral) "if you could only spare me two fresh divisions organized as a corps i could push on with great hopes of success both from helles and gaba tepe; otherwise i am afraid we shall degenerate into trench warfare with its resultant slowness."
-birdie ran down from anzac and breakfasted. he brings news of an a.1 affair. two of his battalions, the 15th and 16th australians, stormed three rows of turkish trenches with the bayonet, and then sat down in them. at dawn to-day the enemy counter-attacked in overwhelming strength. the healthy part of the story lies herein, that our field guns were standing by in action, and as the enemy came on they let them have it hot with shrapnel over a space of 300 yards. terrible as this fire was, it failed to beat off the turks. they retook the trenches, but they have paid far more than their price, for birdwood assures me that their corpses lie piled up so thick one on top of the other that our snipers can take cover behind them.
-were an example to be sought of the almighty influence of "time" none better could be found than in the fact that, to-day, i have almost forgotten to chronicle a passage in k.'s cable aforesaid that might well have been worth the world and the glories thereof only forty-eight short hours ago. k. says, "more ammunition is being pushed out to you via marseilles." i am glad. i am deeply grateful. our anxieties will be lessened, but that same message, had it only reached us on saturday morning, would have enabled us to fire 5,000 more shrapnel and 500 more 4.5 howitzer h.e. to cover our last assault!
-two corps or an ally?
-11th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." day dull and overcast. vice-admiral came over to see me in the morning. neither of us has had a reply to his cable; instead, he has been told two enemy submarines are on their way to pay us a visit. the approach of these mechanical monsters opens up vistas thronged with shadowy forebodings. de robeck begs me to set his mind at ease by landing with my staff forthwith. have sent officers to survey the ground between helles and sedd-el-bahr and to see if they can find room for us. we would all rather be on shore than board ship, but helles and "v" beaches are already overcrowded, and we should be squeezed in cheek by jowl, within a few hundred yards of the two divisional headquarters staffs.
-12th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." raining hard. busy all morning. a cable from lord k. to say he is sending out the lowland division. we are all as pleased as punch! especially (so braithwaite tells me) roger keyes who looks on this as a good omen for the naval attack proposals. had he not meant the fleet to shove in k. must have made some reference to the second division, surely. have cabled back at once to k. giving him warmest thanks and begging him to look, personally, into the question of the command of the coming division. have begged him to take leslie rundle's opinion on the point and have pressed it by saying, "imperturbable calm in the commander is essential above all things in these operations." most of the troop transports have left their anchorage and gone back to mudros for fear of submarines.
-went ashore at 3 o'clock. saw hunter-weston and then inspected the 29th division just in from the firing line. the ground was heavy and sloppy after the rain. i walked as far as the trenches of the 86th brigade and saw amongst other corps the essex, hants, lancashire fusiliers and 5th royal scots. spent over an hour chatting to groups of officers and men who looked like earth to earth, caked as they were with mud, haggard with lack of sleep, pale as the dead, many of them slightly wounded and bandaged, hand or head, their clothes blood-stained, their eyes blood-shot. who could have believed that only a fortnight ago these same figures were clean as new pins; smart and well-liking! two-thirds of each battalion were sound asleep in pools of mud and water--like corpses half buried! this sounds horrible but the hearty welcome extended to us by all ranks and the pride they took in their achievements was a sublime triumph of mind over matter. our voluntary service regulars are the last descendants of those rulers of the ancient world, the roman legionaries. oh that their ranks could be kept filled and that a mould so unique was being used to its fullest in forming new regulars.
-on my way back to the beach i saw the plymouth battalion as it marched in from the front line. they were quite different excepting only in the fact that they also had done marvels of fighting and endurance. they were done: they had come to the end of their tether. not only physical exhaustion but moral exhaustion. they could not raise a smile in the whole battalion. the faces of officers and men had a crushed, utterly finished expression: some of the younger officers especially had that true funeral set about their lips which spreads the contagion of gloom through the hearts of the bravest soldiers. as each company front formed the knees of the rank and file seemed to give way. down they fell and motionless remained. an hour or two of rest, their colonel says, will make all the difference in what the french call their allure, but not quite so soon i think. these are the new armies. they are not specialised types like the old army. they have nerves, the defects of their good qualities. they are more susceptible to the horrors and discomforts of what they were never brought up to undergo. the philosophy of the battlefield is not part of their panoply. no one fights better than they do--for a spell--and a good long spell too. but they have not the invincible carelessness or temperamental springiness of the old lot--and how should they?
-by order of the vice-admiral this ship is to anchor at tenedos. my informal confab with the heroes of the 29th division, and their utter unconsciousness of their own glorious conduct have moved me to write these few words in their honour:--
-general headquarters, 12th may, 1915.
-for the first time for 18 days and nights it has been found possible to withdraw the 29th division from the fire fight. during the whole of that long period of unprecedented strain the division has held ground or gained it, against the bullets and bayonets of the constantly renewed forces of the foe. during the whole of that long period they have been illuminating the pages of military history with their blood. the losses have been terrible, but mingling with the deep sorrow for fallen comrades arises a feeling of pride in the invincible spirit which has enabled the survivors to triumph where ordinary troops must inevitably have failed. i tender to major-general hunter-weston and to his division at the same time my profoundest sympathy with their losses and my warmest congratulations on their achievement.
-ian hamilton, general.
-also i have penned a farewell line to d'amade:
-general headquarters, medn. exped. force, 12th may, 1915.
-with deep personal sadness i learn that your country has urgent need of your great experience elsewhere.
-from the very first you and your brave troops have done all, and more than all, that mortal man could do to further the cause we have at heart. by day and by night, for many days and nights in succession, you and your gallant troops have ceaselessly struggled against the enemy's fresh reinforcements and have won from him ground at the bayonet point.
-the military records of france are most glorious, but you, mon général, have added fresh brilliancy, if i may say so, even to those dazzling records.
-the losses have been cruel: such losses are almost unprecedented, but it may be some consolation hereafter to think that only by so fierce a trial could thus have been fully disclosed the flame of patriotism which burns in the hearts of yourself and your men.
-with sincere regrets at your coming departure but with the full assurance that in your new sphere of activity, you will continue to render the same valuable service you have already given to france.
-i remain, mon général, your sincere friend, ian hamilton, general.
-13th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." hot and bright. dead calm sea. last night a dense fog during which a turkish torpedo boat sneaked down the straits and torpedoed the goliath. david and his sling on the grand scale. no details yet to hand. the enemy deserve decorations--confound them!
-got hold of a fleet-sweeper and went off to cape helles. again visited headquarters 29th division, and afterwards walked through the trenches of the 87th brigade. saw that fine soldier, brigadier-general marshall, in command. chatted to no end of his men--inniskillings, dublin fusiliers, etc. they have recovered their exhaustion; have cleaned up, and look full of themselves, twice the size in fact. as i stepped on to the little pier at cape helles an enemy's six-incher burst about 50 yards back, a lump of metal just clearing my right shoulder strap and shooting into the sea with an ugly hiss. not a big fragment but enough!
-the gurkhas have stalked the bluff redoubt and have carried it with a rush! they are absolutely the boys for this class of country and for this class of enemy.
-cabled lord k. about the weakness of the 29th division. at the very moment when we are hoping so much from a fresh push made in conjunction with a naval attack, the division, the backbone of my force, are short by over 11,000 men and 400 officers! as a fighting unit they are on their last legs and when they will be set upon their feet again lord k. knows. were we in france we'd get the men to-morrow. if i had my own depots in egypt still i could see my way, but, as things are, there seems no chance of getting a move on for another fortnight. have cabled k. saying, "i hope the 29th division is soon to be made up to strength. i had no idea when i left england that the customary 10 per cent. reinforcement was not being taken with it by the division although it was to operate at so great a distance from its base." if k. gets into a bad temper over the opening of my cable, its tail end should lift him out again. for the enemy's extremely tenacious right has been shifted at last. under cover of a hooroosh by the manchesters, the gurkhas have rushed a bluff 600 yards ahead of our line and are sticking to their winnings.
-14th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." hot day, smooth sea. disembarking to bivouac on shore. what a contrast we must present to the headquarters in france! there the stately château; sheets, table-cloths and motor cars. here the red tab patricians have to haul their own kits over the sand.
-in the afternoon d'amade came back with general gouraud, his successor, the new chief of the french. a resolute, solid looking gaillard is gouraud. he brings a great reputation with him from the western front.
-quite late the admiral came over to see me. he brings bad news. roger keyes and the forwards will be cut to the heart. the admiralty have turned down the proposal to force the straits simultaneously by land and sea. we are to go on attacking; the warships are to go on supporting.
-the admiral has changed his mind about our landing and thinks it would be best not to fix g.h.q. at tenedos; first, because there might be delay in getting quickly to anzac; secondly, because tenedos is so close to asia that we might all be scuppered in our beds by a cutting-out party of besika bay ruffians, unless we had a guard. but we can't run to the pomp and circumstance of a commander-in-chief's guard here.
-16th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." de robeck came off the lord nelson, his new flagship, in the morning. the submarines are shadowing him already, and there seems little doubt they are on their way.
-bridges has been badly wounded. the news upset me so got hold of h.m.s. rattlesnake (commander wedgwood), and started off for anzac. went ashore and saw birdie. doing so, i received a different sort of salute from that to which a commander-in-chief landing on duty is entitled by regulation. quite a shower of shell fell all about us, the turks having spotted there was some sort of "bloke" on the rattlesnake. we went round a bit of the line, and found all well, the men in great heart and, amidst a constant crackle of musketry, looking as if they liked it. birdie himself is still a little shaken by his wound of yesterday. he had a close shave indeed. a bullet came through the chinks of a sandbag and scalped him. he fell to the ground senseless and pouring with blood, but when he had been picked up and washed he wanted to finish his round of the trenches.
-embarked again under brisk shell fire and proceeded to the hospital ship gascon where i saw general bridges. he looked languid and pale. but his spirit was high as ever and he smiled at a little joke i managed to make about the way someone had taken the shelling we had just gone through. the doctors, alas, give a bad, if not desperate, account of him. were he a young man, they could save him by cutting off his leg high up, but as it is he would not stand the shock. on the other hand, his feet are so cold from the artery being severed that they anticipate mortification. i should have thought better have a try at cutting off the leg, but they are not for it. bridges will be a real loss. he was a single-minded, upright, politics-despising soldier. with all her magnificent rank and file, australia cannot afford to lose bridges. but perhaps i am too previous. may it be so!
-spent a good long time talking to wounded men--australians, new zealanders and native indians. both the former like to meet someone who knows their native country, and the natives brighten up when they are greeted in hindustani. on returning to imbros, got good news about the lancashire territorials who have gained 180 yards of ground without incurring any loss to speak of. they are real good chaps. they suffer only from the regular soldiers' fault; there are too few of them here.
-actually, after much heart searching and head scratching, my mind has made itself up and has gone home by cable to-day. the statement is entirely frank and covers all the ground except as regards the fleet, a pidgin which flies out of range:--
-"your no. 4644 cipher, of the 14th instant. the following is my appreciation of the situation:
-"on the one hand, there are at present on the peninsula as many troops as the available space and water supply can accommodate.
-"if the present condition of affairs in this respect were changed by the entry into the struggle of bulgaria or greece or by the landing of the russians, my present force, kept up to strength by the necessary drafts, plus the army corps asked for in my no. m.f. 216 of the 10th may, would probably suffice to finish my task. if, however, the present situation remains unchanged and the turks are still able to devote so much exclusive attention to us, i shall want an additional army corps, that is, two army corps additional in all.
-"i could not land these reinforcements on the peninsula until i can advance another 1,000 yards and so free the beaches from the shelling to which they are subjected from the western side and gain more space; but i could land them on the adjacent islands of tenedos, imbros and lemnos and take them over later to the peninsula for battle. this plan would surmount the difficulties of water and space on the peninsula and would, perhaps, enable me to effect a surprise with the fresh divisions.
-"i believe i could advance with half the loss of life that is now being reckoned upon, if i had a liberal supply of gun ammunition, especially of high explosive."
-only bitterest experience has forced me to insert the two stipulations which should go without saving, (1) that my force is kept up to strength, (2) that i have a decent allowance of gun ammunition, especially of high explosives.
-will lord k. meet us half way, i wonder? he is the idol of england, and take him all in all, the biggest figure in the world. he believes, he has an instinct, that here is the heel of the german colossus, otherwise immune to our arrows. let him but put his foot down, and who dare say him nay?
-the most vital of my demands is that my formations should be kept full. an extra 50,000 men in the shape of a new army corps is one thing. an extra 50,000 men to feed war-trained units already in the field is another, and very different, and very much better thing. the value of keeping the veteran corps up to strength and the value of the same number of rifles organized into raw battalions commanded by inexperienced leaders is as the value of the sun to the moon. but k. and i have never seen eye to eye here, and never will. the spirit of man is like a precious stone: the greater it is the more room in it for a flaw. who in the world but k. would have swept up all the odds and ends of detachments from about twenty different regiments of mine sent from pretoria to elandsfontein to bring up remounts and clothing to their units; who but k. could have conceived the idea of forming them into a new corps and expecting them to fight as well as ever--instead of legging it like the wind as they did at the first whistle of a bullet? on the other hand, who but k., at that time, could have run the war at all?
-the 29th division have managed to snatch another 150 yards from the enemy, greatly strengthening the bluff upon which the gurkhas dug themselves in.
-18th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." villiers stuart, birdie's staff officer, has been killed on anzac by a shell. the submarine e.14 sailed into harbour after a series of hair-raising adventures in the sea of marmora. she is none the worse, bar the loss of one periscope from a turkish lucky shot. her commander, boyle, comes only after nasmith as a pet of roger keyes! she got a tremendous ovation from the fleet. the exploits of the submarine give a flat knock-out to norman angell's contention that excitement and romance have now gone out of war.
-have asked that the maoris may be sent from malta to join the new zealanders at anzac. i hope and believe that they will do well. their white comrades from the northern island are very keen to have them.
-19th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian". compton mackenzie has come on board. he is to be attached to the intelligence. general gouraud and his chief of staff, girodon, lunched. i do not know many french officers, but girodon happens to be an old acquaintance. i met him six years ago on the austrian manoeuvres. he is a delightful personality; a very sound soldier and a plucky one also. i reminded him how, in 1906, he had told me that the germans would end by binding together all the other peoples of europe against the common danger of their dominance. this was at teschen on the borderland between austrian and prussian silesia during the austrian manoeuvres. he remembered the occasion and the remark. well, he has proved a true prophet!
-a cable from k. in answer to mine giving two more army corps as my minimum unless some neutral or allied power is going to help us against the turks. i knew he would be greatly upset:--
-"private and personal. with reference to your telegram no. m.f. 234, i am quite certain that you fully realize what a serious disappointment it has been to me to discover that my preconceived views as to the conquest of positions necessary to dominate the forts on the straits, with naval artillery to support our troops on land, and with the active help of naval bombardment, were miscalculated.
-"a serious situation is created by the present check, and the calls for large reinforcements and an additional amount of ammunition that we can ill spare from france.
-"from the stand-point of an early solution of our difficulties, your views, as stated, are not encouraging. the question whether we can long support two fields of operation draining on our resources requires grave consideration. i know that i can rely upon you to do your utmost to bring the present unfortunate state of affairs in the dardanelles to as early a conclusion as possible, so that any consideration of a withdrawal, with all its dangers in the east, may be prevented from entering the field of possible solutions.
-"when all the above is taken into consideration, i am somewhat surprised to see that the 4,500 which maxwell can send you are apparently not required by you. with the aid of these i had hoped that you would have been in a position to press forward.
-"the lowland division is leaving for you."
-as to that passage about the 4,500 australians, a refusal of australians would indeed be good cause for surprise--only--it has never taken place, and never will take place. i can only surmise that my request made to maxwell that these 4,500 men should come to me as drafts for my skeleton units, instead of as a raw brigade, has twisted itself, going down some office corridor, into a story that i don't want the men! k. tells me egypt is mine and the fatness thereof; yet, no sooner do i make the most modest suggestion concerning anything or anyone egyptian than k. is got at and i find he is the barmecide and i schac'abac. "how do you like your lentil soup?" says k. "excellently well," say i, "but devil a drop is in the plate!" i have got to enter into the joke; that's the long and the short of it. but it is being pushed just a trifle too far when i am told i apparently do not require 4,500 australians!
-the whole of k.'s cable calls for close thinking. how to try and help him to pump courage into faint-hearted fellows? how to do so without toning down my demands for reinforcements?--for evidently these demands are what are making them shake in their shoes. here is my draft for an answer: i can't change my estimate: it was the least i could safely ask for: but i can make it clear i do not want to ask for more than he can give:--
-"with reference to your no. 4726, cipher. private and personal. you need not be despondent at anything in the situation. remember that you asked me to answer on the assumption that you had adequate forces at your disposal, and i did so.
-"maxwell must have misinformed you. i want the australian reinforcements to fill existing cadres. maxwell, possibly not to disappoint senior officers, has sent them as weak brigades, which complicates command and organization exceedingly.
-tidings of great joy from anzac. the whole of the enemy's freshly-arrived contingent have made a grand assault and have been shattered in the attempt. samson dropped bombs on them as they were standing on the shore after their disembarkation. next, they were moved up into the fight where a tremendous fire action was in progress. last, they stormed forward in the densest masses yet seen on the peninsula. then, they were mown down and driven back headlong. so they have had a dreadnought reception. this has not been a local trench attack but a real battle and a fiery one. i have lost no time in cabling the glorious news to k. the cloud of these coming enemy reinforcements has cast its shadow over us for awhile and now the sun shines again.
-20th may, 1919. h.m.t. "arcadian." aubrey herbert saw me before dinner. he brings a message from birdie to say that there has been some sort of parley with the enemy who wish to fix up an armistice for the burial of their dead. herbert is keen on meeting the turks half way and i am quite with him, provided birdie clearly understands that no corps commander can fix up an armistice off his own bat, and provided it is clear we do not ask for the armistice but grant it to them--the suppliants. herbert brings amazing fine detail about the night and day battle on the high ridges. birdie has fairly taken the fighting edge off liman von sanders' two new divisions: he has knocked them to bits. a few more shells and they would have been swept off the face of the earth. as it is we have slaughtered a multitude. since the 18th we are down to two rounds per gun per diem, but the turks who have been short of stuff since the 8th instant are now once more well found. admiral thursby tells me he himself counted 240 shells falling on one of birdwood's trenches in the space of ten minutes. i asked him if that amounted to one shell per yard and he said the whole length of the trench was less than 100 yards. on the 18th fifty heavy shells, including 12-inch and 14-inch, dropped out of the blue vault of heaven on to the anzacs. everyone sorry to say good-bye to thursby who goes to italy.
-rumours that winston is leaving the admiralty. this would be an awful blow to us out here, would be a sign that providence had some grudge against the dardanelles. private feelings do not count in war, but alas, how grievous is this set-back to one who has it in him to revive the part of pitt, had he but pitt's place. haldane, too. are the benefits of his organization of our army to be discounted because they had a german origin? fas est et ab hoste doceri. half the guns on the peninsula would have been scrap-iron had it not been for haldane! but if this turns out true about winston, there will be a colder spirit (let them appoint whom they will) at the back of our battleships here.
-quite apart from any high politics, or from my coming to a fresh, clear, close understanding with k. on subjects neither of us understood when last we spoke together, i wish, on the grounds of ordinary tactics, he could make up his mind to come out. the man who has seen gains self-confidence and the prestige of his subject when he encounters others who have only heard and read. k. might snap his fingers at the new hands in the cabinet once he had been out and got the real gallipoli at their tips.
-i can't keep my thoughts from dwelling on the fate of winston. how will he feel now he realizes he is shorn of his direct power to help us through these dark and dreadful straits? since i started nothing has handicapped me more than the embargo which a double loyalty to k. and to de robeck has imposed upon my communications to winston. what a tragedy that his nerve and military vision have been side-tracked: his eclipse projects a black shadow over the dardanelles.
-very likely the next great war will have begun before we realize that the three days' delay in the fall of antwerp saved calais. no more brilliant effort of unaided genius in history than that recorded in the scene when winston burst into the council chamber and bucked up the burgomeisters to hold on a little bit longer. any comfort our people may enjoy from being out of cannon shot of the germans--they owe it to the imagination, bluff and persuasiveness of winston and to this gallant naval division now destined to be starved to death!
-sent my first despatch home to-day by king's messenger. never has story been penned amidst so infernal a racket.
-22nd may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." news in to say that yesterday, whilst herbert was here to take orders about an armistice, some sort of an informal parley actually took place. both sides suddenly got panic stricken, thinking the others were treacherous, and fire was opened, some stretcher bearers being killed. nothing else was to be expected when things are done in this casual and unauthorized way. i felt very much annoyed, but aubrey herbert was still on board and i saw him before breakfast and told him walker seemed to have taken too much upon himself parleying with the turks and that birdwood must now make this clear to everyone for future guidance. although aubrey herbert is excessively unorthodox he quite sees that confabs with enemies must be carried out according to cocker.
-after breakfast landed at cape helles. inspected the detachment of the works department of the egyptian army as it was on its way to the french headquarters. colonel micklem was in charge. at sedd-el-bahr lunched with gouraud and his staff. general bailloud rode up just as i was about to enter the porch of the old fort. he was in two minds whether or not to embrace me, being in very high feather, his men having this morning carried the haricot redoubt overlooking the kereves dere. at lunch he was the greatest possible fun, bubbling over with jokes and witty sallies. just as we were finishing, news came through the telephone that bailloud's brigade had been driven in by a big turkish counter-attack, with a loss of 400 men and some first class officers. most of us showed signs, i will not say of being rattled, but of having stumbled against a rattlesnake. gouraud remained unaffectedly in possession of himself as host of a lunch party. he said, "we will not take the trenches by not taking the coffee. let us drink it first, and then we will consider." so we drank our coffee; lit our smokes, and afterwards gouraud, through girodon, issued his orders in the most calm and matter-of-fact way. he declares the redoubt will be in our hands again to-morrow.
-our lunch was to furnish us with yet another landmark for bad luck. as we were leaving, a message came in to say that an enemy submarine had been sighted off gaba tepe. the fresh imprint of a tiger's paw upon the pathway gives the same sort of feel to the indian herdsman. tall stories from neighbouring villages have been going the round for weeks, only half-believed, but here is the very mark of the beast; the horror has suddenly taken shape. he mutters the name of god, wondering what eyes may even now be watching his every movement; he wonders whose turn will come first--and when--and where. this was the sort of effect of the wireless and in a twinkling every transport round the coast was steering full steam to imbros. in less than no time we saw a regatta of skedaddling ships. so dies the invasion of england bogey which, from first to last, has wrought us an infinity of harm. born and bred of mistrust of our own magnificent navy, it has led soldiers into heresy after fallacy and fallacy after heresy until now it is the cause of my divisions here being hardly larger than brigades, whilst the men who might have filled them are "busy" guarding london! if one rumoured submarine can put the fear of the lord into british transports how are german or any other transports going to face up to a hundred british submarines? the theory of the war office has struggled with the theory of the admiralty for the past five years: now there is nothing left of the war office theory; no more than is left of a soap bubble when you strike it with a battleaxe. some other stimulus to our territorial recruiting than the fear of invasion will have to be invented in future.
-after lunch went to the headquarters of the 29th division where all the british divisional generals had assembled together to meet me. the same story everywhere--lack of men, meaning extra work--which again means sickness and still greater lack of men. on my return found a letter from the turkish commander-in-chief giving his "full consent" to the armistice he himself had asked me for! a save-face document, no doubt: the wounded are all turks as our men did not leave their trenches on the 19th; the dead, also, i am glad to say, almost entirely turks; but anyway, one need not be too punctilious where it is a matter of giving decent burial to so many men.
-grand quartier général de la 5me armée ottomane. le 22 mai 1915.
-"j'ai l'honneur d'informer votre excellence que les propositions concernant la conclusion d'un armistice pour enterrer les morts et secourir les blessés des deux parties adverses, ont trouvé mon plein consentement--et que seule nos sentiments d'humanité nous y ont déterminés.
-"j'ai investi le lieutenant-colonel fahreddin du pouvoir de signer en mon nom.
-"j'ai l'honneur d'être avec l'assurance de ma plus haute considération.
-"commandant en chef de la 5me armée ottomane.
-"commandant en chef des forces britanniques, sir john hamilton, excellence."
-23rd may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." blazing hot. wrote all day. had an hour and a half's talk with de robeck--high politics as well as our own rather anxious affairs. no one knows how the new first lord will play up, but asquith, for sure, chucks away his mainspring if he parts with winston: as to fisher, he too has energy but none of it came our way so he will have no tears from us, though he has friends here too. the submarine scare is full on; the beastly things have frightened us more than all the turks and all their german guns.
-24th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." vice-admiral nicol, french naval commander-in-chief, came aboard to pay me a visit.
-the burial of 3,000 turks by armistice at anzac seems to have been carried out without a hitch. all these 3,000 turks were killed between the 18th and 20th instant. by the usual averages this figure implies over 12,000 wounded so the lord has vouchsafed us a signal victory indeed. birdwood's men were all out and his reserves, or rather the lack of them, would not permit him to counter-attack the moment the enemy's assault was repulsed. when we read of battles in histories we feel, we see, so clearly the value of counter-attack and the folly of passive defence; but, in the field, the struggle has sometimes been so close that the victorious defence are left gasping. the enemy were very polite during the armistice, and by way of being highly solemn and correct, but they could not refrain from bursting into laughter when the australians held up cigarettes and called out "baksheesh."
-last night the french and the naval brigade made a good advance with slight loss. the east lancs also pushed on a little bit.
-26th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." entertained a small party of australian officers as my private guests for 48 hours, my idea being to give them a bit of a rest. colonel monash, commanding 4th australian infantry brigade, was the senior. he is a very competent officer. i have a clear memory of him standing under a gum tree at lilydale, near melbourne, holding a conference after a manoeuvre, when it had been even hotter than it is here now. i was prepared for intelligent criticisms but i thought they would be so wrapped up in the cotton wool of politeness that no one would be very much impressed. on the contrary, he stated his opinions in the most direct, blunt, telling way. the fact was noted in my report and now his conduct out here has been fully up to sample.
-a special order to the troops:--
-general headquarters, 25th may, 1915.
-1. now that a clear month has passed since the mediterranean expeditionary force began its night and day fighting with the enemy, the general commanding desires me to explain to officers, non-commissioned officers and men the real significance of the calls made upon them to risk their lives apparently for nothing better than to gain a few yards of uncultivated land.
-2. a comparatively small body of the finest troops in the world, french and british, have effected a lodgment close to the heart of a great continental empire, still formidable even in its decadence. here they stand firm, or slowly advance, and in the efforts made by successive turkish armies to dislodge them the rotten government at constantinople is gradually wearing itself out. the facts and figures upon which this conclusion is based have been checked and verified from a variety of sources. agents of neutral powers possessing good sources of information have placed both the numbers and the losses of the enemy much higher than they are set forth here, but the general commanding prefers to be on the safe side and to give his troops a strictly conservative estimate.
-before operations began the strength of the defenders of the dardanelles was:--
-all the troops on the gallipoli peninsula and fifty per cent. of the troops on the asiatic side were nizam, that is to say, regular first line troops. they were transferable, and were actually transferred to this side upon which the invaders disembarked. our expeditionary force effected its landing it will be seen, in the face of an enemy superior, not only to the covering parties which got ashore the first day, but superior actually to the total strength at our disposal. by the 12th may, the turkish army of occupation had been defeated in several engagements, and would have been at the end of their resources had they not meanwhile received reinforcements of 20,000 infantry and 21 batteries of field artillery.
-still the expeditionary force held its own, and more than its own, inflicting fresh bloody defeats upon the newcomers and again the turks must certainly have given way had not a second reinforcement reached the peninsula from constantinople and smyrna amounting at the lowest estimate to 24,000 men.
-3. from what has been said it will be understood that the mediterranean expeditionary force, supported by its gallant comrades the fleet, but with constantly diminishing effectives, has held in check or wrested ground from some 120,000 turkish troops elaborately entrenched and supported by a powerful artillery.
-the enemy has now few more nizam troops at his disposal and not many redif or second class troops. up to date his casualties are 55,000, and again, in giving this figure, the general commanding has preferred to err on the side of low estimates.
-daily we make progress, and whenever the reinforcements close at hand begin to put in an appearance, the mediterranean expeditionary force will press forward with a fresh impulse to accomplish the greatest imperial task ever entrusted to an army.
-27th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." the majestic has been torpedoed and has sunk off cape helles. got the news at mid-day. fuller, my artillery commander, and ashmead-bartlett, the correspondent, were both on board, and both were saved--minus kit! about 40 men have gone under. bad luck. a naval officer who has seen her says she is lying in shallow water--6 fathoms--bottom upwards looking like a stranded whale. he says the german submarine made a most lovely shot at her through a crowd of cargo ships and transports. like picking a royal stag out of his harem of does. to my staff, they tell me, he delivered himself further but, as i said to the officer who repeated these criticisms to me, "judge not that ye be not judged."
-28th may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." went for a walk with the admiral. he refuses any longer to accept the responsibility of keeping us afloat. as helles, anzac and tenedos have each been ruled out, we are going to doss down on this sandbank opposite us. one thing, it will be central to both my theatres of work.
-when we got on to the pier, which ends in the river clyde, we found another destroyer, the wolverine, under lieutenant-commander keyes, the brother of the commodore. she was to take us across, and (of all places in the world to select for a berth!) she had run herself alongside the river clyde which was, at that moment, busy playing target to the heavy guns of asia. i imagined that taking aboard a boss like the commander-in-chief, as well as that much bigger boss (in naval estimates) his own big brother, the commodore, our lieutenant-commander would nip away presto. not a bit of it! no sooner had he got us aboard than he came out boldly and very, very slowly, stern first, from the lee of the river clyde and began a duel against asia with 4-inch lyddite from the wolverine's after gun. the fight seems quite funny to me now but, at the time, serio-comic would have better described my impressions. shells ashore are part of the common lot; they come in the day's work: on the water; in a cockleshell--well, you can't go to ground, anyway!
-heavy fighting at anzac. the turks fired a mine under quinn's post and then rushed a section of the defence isolated by the explosion. at 6 in the morning the crater was, birdie says, most gallantly retaken with the bayonet. there are excursions and alarms; attacks and counter-attacks; bomb-showers to which the bayonet charge is our only retort--but we hold fast the crater!
-when i tell them at home that if they will give me munitions enough to let me advance two miles i will give them constantinople, that is the truth. on paper, the turks no doubt might assert with equal force that if they got forces enough together to drive the australians back a short two hundred yards they could give the sultan the resounding prestige of a peninsula freed from the giaour. but that would require more turks than the turks could feed, whereas we know we could do it now, as we are--given the wherewithal--trench mortars, hand grenades and bombs, for example.
-a message from hanbury williams, who is with the grand duke nicholas, to say that all idea of sending me a russian army corps to land at the bosphorus has been abandoned!!!
-there are poets and writers who see naught in war but carrion, filth, savagery and horror. the heroism of the rank and file makes no appeal. they refuse war the credit of being the only exercise in devotion on the large scale existing in this world. the superb moral victory over death leaves them cold. each one to his taste. to me this is no valley of death--it is a valley brim full of life at its highest power. men live through more in five minutes on that crest than they do in five years of bendigo or ballarat. ask the brothers of these very fighters--calgoorlie or coolgardie miners--to do one quarter the work and to run one hundredth the risk on a wages basis--instanter there would be a riot. but here,--not a murmur, not a question; only a radiant force of camaraderie in action.
-the turks have heaps of cartridges and more shells, anyway, than we have. they have as many grenades as they can throw; we have--a dozen per company. there is a very bitter feeling amongst all the troops, but especially the australians, at this lack of elementary weapons like grenades. our overseas men are very intelligent. they are prepared to make allowances for lack of shell; lack of guns; lack of high explosives. but they know there must be something wrong when the turks carry ten good bombs to our one bad one; and they think, some of them, that this must be my fault. far from it. directly after the naval battle of the 18th march--i.e., over two months ago, i wrote out a cable asking for bombs. i sent this on my own happy thought, and i had hoped for a million by the date of landing five weeks later. but i got, practically, none; nor any promise for the future. in default of help from home, we have tried to manufacture these primitive but very effective projectiles for ourselves with jam pots, meat tins and any old rubbish we can scrape together. de lothbinière has shown ingenuity in thus making bricks without straw. the fleet, too, has played up and de robeck has guaranteed me two thousand to be made by the artificers on the battleships. maxwell in egypt has been improvising a few; methuen at malta says they can't make them there. but what a shame that the sons of a manufacturing country like great britain should be in straits for engines so simple.
-yesterday and to-day we have fired, for us, a terrible lot of shells (1,800 shrapnel) but never was shot better spent. we reckon the enemy's casualties between 1,000 and 2,000 mainly caused by our guns playing on the columns which came up trying to improve upon their lodgment in quinn's post. add this to the 3,000 killed, and, say, 12,000 wounded on the 18th instant, and it is clear no troops in the world can stand it very long. but we are literally at the end of our shrapnel; and as to high explosive, according to the standards of the gunners, we have never had any!
-left on a picket boat with birdie to board my destroyer to an accompaniment of various denominations of projectiles. one or two shells burst hard by just as we were scrambling up her side.
-vice-admiral nicholls called after my return. courtauld thomson, the red cross man, dined; very helpful; very well stocked with comforts and everyone likes him, even the r.a.m.c.
-31st may, 1915. h.m.t. "arcadian." worked in the forenoon. gouraud, girodon and hunter-weston lunched and we spent the afternoon at the scheme for our next fight. each of us agreed that fortune had not been over kind. by one month's hard, close hammering we had at last made the tough moral of the turks more pliant, when lo and behold, in broad daylight, thousands of their common soldiery see with their own eyes two great battleships sink beneath the waves and all the others make an exit more dramatic than dignified. most of the armada of store ships had already cleared out and now the last of the battleships has offed it over the offing; a move which the whole of the german grand fleet could not have forced them to make! what better pick-me-up could providence have provided for the badly-shaken turks? no more inquisitive cruisers ready to let fly a salvo at anything that stirs. no more searchlights by night; no more big explosives flying from the aegean into the dardanelles!
-1st june, 1915. imbros. came ashore and stuck up my 80-lb. tent in the middle of a sandbank whereon some sanguine greek agriculturalist has been trying to plant wheat.
-we shall live the simple life; the same life, in fact, as the men, but are glad to be off the ship and able to stretch our legs.
-hard fighting in the north zone and the south. both outposts captured by us on the 29th may at anzac and on the french right at helles heavily attacked. in the north we had to give ground, but not before we had made the enemy pay ten times its value in killed and wounded. had we only had a few spare rounds of shrapnel we need never have gone back. the war office have called for a return of my 4.5 howitzer ammunition during the past fortnight, and i find that, since the 14th may, we have expended 477 shell altogether at anzac and helles combined. in the south the enemy twice recaptured the redoubt taken by the french on the 29th, but gouraud, having a nice little parcel of high explosive on hand, was able to drive them out definitely and to keep them out.
-de robeck and keyes are quite as much at sea as braithwaite and myself about this original scheme of the british government for treating a tearing, raging crisis; i.e., by taking no notice of it. i guess that never before in the history of war has a commander asked urgently that his force might be doubled and then got no orders; no answer of any sort or kind!
-when i sent k. my m.f. 234 of the 17th may asking for two corps, or for allies, one or the other, i got a reply by return expressing his disappointment; since then, nothing. during that fortnight of silence the whole of the turkish empire has been moving--closing in--on the dardanelles. then, by a side-wind i happen to hear of the abstraction of a russian army corps from my supposed command; an army corps, who by the mere fact of "being," held off a large force of turks from gallipoli.
-so i have put down a few hard truths. unpalatable they may be but some day they've got to be faced and the sooner the better. time has slipped away, but to-day is still better than to-morrow.
-what a change since the war office sent us packing with a bagful of hallucinations. naval guns sweeping the turks off the peninsula; the ottoman army legging it from a british submarine waving the union jack; russian help in hand; greek help on the tapis. now it is our fleet which has to leg it from the german submarine; there is no ammunition for the guns; no drafts to keep my divisions up to strength; my russians have gone to galicia and the greeks are lying lower than ever.
-"no. m.f. 288. from general sir ian hamilton to earl kitchener. with reference to my telegrams no. m.f. 274 of 29th may, and no. m.f. 234 of 17th may. if the information sent by hanbury-williams, to which i referred in my no. m.f. 274, is correct it is advisable that i should send you a fresh appreciation of the situation.
-"i assumed in my no. m.f. 234 that you had adequate forces at your disposal, but on the other hand i assumed that some 100,000 turks would be kept occupied by the russians. by the defection of russia, 100,000 turks are set free in the caucasus and european turkey. after deduction of casualties there are at least 80,000 turks now against us in the peninsula. there are 20,000 turks on the bulgarian frontier which, assuming that bulgaria remains neutral, are able to reinforce gallipoli; some, in fact, have already arrived showing the restoration of turkish confidence in king ferdinand. close by on the asiatic side there remain 10,000 turks, making a total of 210,000, to which must be added 65,000 who are under training in europe.
-"the movement of the turkish troops has already begun. there are practically no troops left in smyrna district, and there are already in the field numbers of troops from european garrisons, while recently it was reported that more are coming.
-"the movement of a quarter of a million men against us seems to be well under way, and although many of these are ill-trained still with well-run supply and ammunition columns and in trenches designed by germans the turk is always formidable.
-"as regards ammunition, the enemy appears to have an unlimited supply of small-arm ammunition and as many hand-grenades as they can fling. though there is some indication that gun ammunition is being husbanded, it was reported as late as 27th may, that supplies of shells were being received via roumania, and yesterday it was suggested that artillery ammunition can be manufactured at constantinople where it is reported that over two hundred engineers have arrived from krupp's.
-"at the same time, the temporary withdrawal of our battleships owing to enemy submarines has altered the position to our disadvantage; while not of the highest importance materially this factor carries considerable moral weight.
-"taking all these factors into consideration, it would seem that for an early success some equivalent to the suspended russian co-operation is vitally necessary. the ground gained and the positions which we hold are not such as to enable me to envisage with soldierly equanimity the probability of the large forces adumbrated above being massed against my troops without let or hindrance from elsewhere. fresh light may be shed on the matter by the battle now imminent, but i am cabling on reasoned existing facts. time is an object, but if greece came in, preferably via enos, the problem would be simplified. it is broadly my view that we must obtain the support of a fresh ally in this theatre, or else there should be got ready british reinforcements to the full extent mentioned in my no. m.f. 234, though as stated above the disappearance of russian co-operation was not contemplated in my estimate."
-3rd june, 1915. imbros. meant to go to anzac; sea too rough; in the afternoon saw de robeck and roger keyes. braithwaite came over and we went through my cable of yesterday. the sailors would just as soon i had left out that remark about the enemy being bucked up by the retreat of our battleships. but the passage implied also that their mere visible presence was shown to be most valuable. both of them agree that i am well within the mark in saying what i did about the loss of my russian army corps. roger keyes next launched a dry land criticism. he rightly thinks that the weakness of our present units is the real weakness: he thinks we are far more in need of drafts than of fresh units; he suggests that a rider be sent now to insist that the estimates in yesterday's cable were only made on the assumption that my present force is kept up to strength. i did press that very point in my first cable of 17th may, which is referred to in the opening of this cable; further, we keep on saying it every week in our war office cable giving strengths. after all, k. is 65. he still believes "a man's a man and a rifle's a rifle"; i still believe that half the value of every human being depends upon his environment:--we are not going to convert one another now.
-as we were actually talking, williams brought over an answer:--
-"no. 5104, cipher. from earl kitchener to general sir ian hamilton. with reference to your no. m.f. 288. owing to the restricted nature of the ground you occupy and the experience we have had in flanders of increased forces acting in trench positions, i own i have some doubts of an early decisive result being obtained by at once increasing the forces at your disposal, but i should like your views as soon as you can--to-day if possible. are you convinced that with immediate reinforcements to the extent you mention you could force the kilid bahr position and thus finish the dardanelles operations?
-"you mentioned in a previous telegram that you intended to keep reinforcements on islands, is this your intention with regard to the lowland division, now on its way to you, and the other troops when sent?"
-k.'s brief cable is intensely characteristic. i have taken down hundreds of his wires. we are face to face here with his very self at first hand. how curiously it reveals the man's instinct, or genius--call it what you will.
-k. sees in a flash what the rest of the world does not seem to see so clearly; viz., that the piling up of increased forces opposite entrenched positions is a spendthrift, unscientific proceeding. he wishes to know if i mean to do this. to draw me out he assumes if i get the troops, i would at once commit them to trench warfare by crowding them in behind the lines of helles or anzac. actually i intend to keep the bulk of them on the islands, so as to throw them unexpectedly against some key position which is not prepared for defence. but i have to be very careful what i say, seeing that the turks got wind of the date of our first landing from london via vienna. least said to a cabinet, least leakage.
-that is not all. curt as is the cable it has yet scope to show up a little more of our great k.'s outfit. his infernal hurry. "to-day":--i am to reply, to-day! he has taken some two and a half weeks to answer my request for two army corps and i am to answer a far more obscure question in two and a half minutes. why, since my appeal of 17th may the situation has not stood still. a commander in the field is like a cannon ball. if he stops going ahead, he falls dead. you can't stop moving for a fortnight and then expect to carry on where you left off; i think the duke of wellington said this; if he didn't he should have. to err is to be human and the troops, if sent at once, may or may not, fulfil our hopes. all we here can say is this:--
-braithwaite, de robeck and keyes agree to (1) and (2) but the cabled answer will not be so simple and, in spite of k.'s sudden impatience, i must sleep over it first.
-written whilst williams waits:--
-"no. m.f. 292. from general sir ian hamilton to earl kitchener. secret. to-morrow, 4th june, i am fighting a general action. therefore i feel sure that you will wish me to defer my answer to your telegram no. 5104, cipher, until i see the result."
-these lofty strategical questions must not make me forget an equally vital munitions message just to hand. i have cabled k. twice in the past day or two about shells. on the 1st instant i had said, "i still await the information promised in your x. 4773, a. 5, of 19th instant. in my opinion the supply of gun ammunition can hardly be considered adequate or safe until the following conditions can be filled:--(1) that the amounts with units and on the lines of communication should be made up to the number of rounds per gun which is allowed in war establishment figures of 29th division. (2) that these full amounts should be maintained and despatched automatically without any further application from us, beyond a weekly statement of the expenditure which will be cabled to you every saturday. (3) in view of the number and the extent of the entrenchments to be dealt with it is necessary that a high proportion of high explosive shell for 18 pounder and howitzers be included in accordance with the report of my military advisers."
-we now have his reply:--
-"no. 5088, cipher. from earl kitchener to sir ian hamilton. with reference to your telegrams no. m.f. 281 and no. m.f.g.t. 967. we cannot supply ammunition to maintain a 1,000 rounds a gun owing to the demands from france, but consignments are being sent which amount to 17 rounds per gun per day for the 18 pounder and 4.5.-inch howitzer; this is considered by general joffre and sir john french as necessary. as much as possible of other natures will be sent. as regards quantities, you will be informed as early as possible. as available, h.e. shells will be sent for 18 pounder guns and howitzers."
-if we get 17 rounds per gun per day for the 18 pounders and 4.5 howitzers we shall indeed be on velvet. to be given what satisfies joffre and french--that sounds too good to be true. so ran my thoughts and braithwaite's on a first reading. then came the c.r.a. who puts another light on the proposal and points out that the implied comparison with france is fallacious. we are undergunned here as compared with france in the proportion of 1 to 3. i mean to say that, in proportion to "bayonets" we have rather less than one third of the "guns." therefore, if we were really to have munitions on the scale "considered necessary by general joffre and sir john french," we ought to have three times 17 rounds per day per gun; i.e. 51 rounds per day per gun. but never mind. if we do get the 17 rounds we shall be infinitely better off than we have been: "and so say all of us!" putting this cable together with yesterday's we all of us feel that the home folk are beginning to yawn and rub their eyes and that ere long they may really be awake.
-4th june, 1915. imbros. left camp after breakfast and boarded the redoubtable wolverine under that desperado lieutenant-commander keyes. the general staff came alongside and we made our way to cape helles through a blinding dust storm--at least, the dust came right out to sea, but it was on shore that it became literally blinding.
-on the pier i met gouraud who walked up with me. gouraud was very grave but confident. my post of command had been "dug out" for me well forward on the left flank by hunter-weston. in that hole two enormous tarantulas and i passed a day that seems to me ten years. the torture of suspense; the extremes of exaltation and of depression; the red indian necessity of showing no sign: all this varied only by the vicious scream of shell sailing some 30 feet over our heads on their way towards the 60 pounders near the point. a commander feels desperately lonely at such moments. on him, and on him alone, falls the crushing onus of responsibility: to be a corps commander is child's play in that comparison. the staff are gnawed with anxiety too--are saying their prayers as fast as they can, no doubt, as they follow the ebb and flow of the long khaki line through their glasses. yes, i have done that myself in the old days from charasia onwards. yet how faintly is my anguish reflected in the mere anxiety of their minds.
-going back we fell in with a blood-stained crowd from the hood, howe and anson battalions. down the little gully to the beach we could only walk very slowly. at my elbow was colonel crauford stuart, commanding the hood battalion. he had had his jaw smashed but i have seen men pull longer faces at breaking a collar stud. he told me that the losses of the naval division has been very heavy, the bulk of them during their retreat. from the moment the turks drove the french out of the "haricot" the enfilade fire became murderous.
-on the beach was general de lisle, fresh from france. he is taking over the 29th division from hunter-weston who ascends to the command of the newly formed 8th army corps. de lisle seemed in very good form although it must have been rather an eye-opener landing in the thick of this huge stream of wounded. how well i remember seeing him galloping at the head of his mounted infantry straight for pretoria; and my rage when, under orders from headquarters, i had to send swift messengers to tell him he must rein back for some reason never made clear.
-6th june, 1915. imbros. a very hot and dusty day. still sweeping up the débris of the battle. besides my big cable have been studying strengths with my a.g. the battalions are dwindling to companies and the divisions to brigades.
-the cable is being ciphered: not a very luminous document: how could it be? the great men at home seem to forget that they cannot draw wise counsels from their servants unless they confide in them and give them all the factors of the problem. if a client goes to a lawyer for advice the first thing the lawyer asks him to do is to make a clean breast of it. before k. asks me to specify what i can do if he sends me these unknown and--in great britain--most variable quantities, territorial or new army divisions, he ought to make a clean breast of it by telling me:--
-after all, the armies of the caucasus and of mesopotamia are not campaigning in the moon. they are two allied armies working with me (or supposed to be working with me) against a common enemy.
-the first part of my cable i discuss the cause which led to the disappointing end to the battle of the 4th already described and then go on to say, "i am convinced by this action that with my present force my progress will be very slow, but in the absence of any further important alteration in the situation such as a definite understanding between turkey and bulgaria, i believe the reinforcements asked for in my no. 234 will eventually enable me to take kilid bahr and will assuredly expedite the decision. i entirely agree that the restricted nature of the ground i occupy militates against me in success, however much i am reinforced; that was why in my nos. m.f. 214 and m.f. 234 i emphasized the desirability of securing co-operation of new allied forces acting on a second line of operations. i have been very closely considering the possibility of opening a new line of operations myself, via enos, if sufficient reinforcements should be available. the vice-admiral, however, is at present strongly averse to the selection of enos owing to the open and unprotected nature of anchorage and to the presence of enemy submarines. otherwise enos offers very favourable prospects, both strategically and tactically, and is so direct a threat to constantinople as to necessitate withdrawal of turkish troops from the peninsula to meet it. smyrna or even adramyti which are not open to the same objections are too far from me, but the effect of entry of a fresh ally at either place would inevitably make itself felt before very long in preventing further massing of the turkish army against me, and perhaps even in drawing off troops; a considerable moral and political effect might also be produced, and all information points to those districts being denuded of troops.
-"with regard to the employment of the reinforcements asked for in my no. m.f. 234, general birdwood estimates that four brigades are necessary to clear and extend his front sufficiently to prepare a serious move towards maidos. i should therefore allocate a corps to the australian-new zealand army corps as the other two brigades would be required to give weight to his advance. the french force as at present constituted, and the naval division which has been roughly handled, would be replaced in front of the line by the other corps. this reinforcement to be exclusive of any help we may receive from allied troops operating on a second line of operations so distant as smyrna.
-"with reference to your last paragraph i have no alternative, until achi baba is in my possession, but to keep reinforcements on islands or elsewhere handy. i have made arrangements at present, however, for one infantry brigade and engineers of the lowland division on the peninsula, one infantry brigade at imbros and the remaining infantry brigade at alexandria to be ready to start at 12 hours' notice whenever i telegraph for it. besides all the reasons given above, no troops in existence can continue fighting night and day without respite."
-three weeks have passed now since i asked for two british corps or for allies and still no reply or notice of any sort except that message of the 3rd instant expressing doubts as to whether any good purpose will be served by sending us help "at once." well; there hasn't been much "at once" about it but i have not played the sybilline book trick or doubled my demand with each delay as i ought perhaps to have done. now i think we are bound to hear something but i can't make out what has come over k. of k. in the old days his prime force lay in his faculty of focusing every iota of his energy upon the pivotal project, regardless (so it used to appear) of the other planks of the platform. a "side show" to him meant the non-vital part of the business, at that moment: it was not a question of troops or of ranks of generals. for the time being the interests of an enterprise of five thousand would obliterate those of fifty. no man ever went the whole hog better. he would turn the whole current of his energy to help the man of the hour. the rest were bled white to help him. if they howled they found that k. and his staff were deaf, and for the same reason, as the crew of ulysses to the sirens. several times in south africa k., so doing, carried the imperial standard to victory through a series of hair's breadth escapes. but to-day, though he sees, the power of believing in his own vision and of hanging on to it like a bulldog, seems paralysed. he hesitates. ten short years ago, if k.'s heart had been set on constantinople, why, to constantinople he would have gone. paris might have screamed; he would not have swerved a hair's breadth till he had gripped the golden horn.
-7th june, 1915. imbros. left camp early and went to cape helles on a destroyer. on our little sandbag pier, built by egyptians and turkish prisoners, i met general wallace and his a.d.c. (a son of walter long's). wallace has come here to take up his duty as inspector-general of communications. about ten days ago he was forced upon us. he is reputed a good executive brigadier of the indian army, but we want him, not to train sepoys but to create one of the biggest organizing and administrative jobs in the world. his work will comprise the whole of the transhipment of stores from the ships to small craft; their dispatch over 60 miles of sea to the peninsula, and the maintenance of all the necessary machinery in good running order. the task is tremendous, and here is a simple soldier, without any experience of naval men or matters, or the british soldier, or of administration on a large scale, or even of superior staff duties, sent me for the purpose. we want a competent business man at mudros, ready to grapple with millions of public money; ready to cable on his own for goods or gear by the ten thousand pounds worth. we want a man of tried business courage; a man who can tackle contractors. we are sent an indian brigadier who has never, so far as i can make out, in his longish life had undivided responsibility for one hundred pounds of public belongings. i cabled to k. my objection as strongly as seemed suitable, but he tells me to carry on. he tells me to carry on and, in doing so, throws an amusing sidelight upon himself. into his cable he sticks the words, "ellison cannot be spared." k. believes that my protest re wallace has, at the back of it, a wish to put in the staff officer he took from me when i started. he doesn't believe in my zeal for efficiency at mudros; he thinks my little plan is to work general ellison into the billet. certainly, i'd like an organizer of ellison's calibre, but he had not, it so happens, entered my mind till k. put him there!
-i stayed the best part of an hour with gouraud. he can throw no light from the french side upon the reason for the strange hesitations of our governments. as he says, after reporting an entirely unexpected and unprepared for situation and asking for the wherewithal to cope with it, a commander should get fresh orders. either: we cannot give you what you ask, so fall back onto the defensive; or, go ahead, we will give you the means. taking leave we came back again by the 29th headquarters where i saw douglas, commanding the 42nd division. got home latish. as i was on my way to our destroyer took in a wireless saying that submarine e.11 had returned safely after three fruitful weeks in the marmora.
-a most singular message is in:--
-"from earl kitchener to general sir ian hamilton.
-"with reference to your telegram no. m.f. 301, instead of sending such telegrams reporting operations, privately to earl kitchener, will you please send them to the secretary of state. a separate telegram might have been sent dealing with the latter part about doran."
-may the devil fly away with me if i know what that means! braithwaite is as much at a loss as myself. no one knows better than we do how much store k. sets on having all these messages addressed to him personally. there's more in this than meets the common or garden optic!
-very heavy firing on the peninsula at 8 o'clock; a ceaseless tremor of the air which--faint here--denotes tremendous musketry there.
-a decision and the plan
-8th june, 1915. imbros. we are getting "three divisions of the new army"! the cabinet "are determined to support" us! and why wouldn't they be? thus runs the cable:--
-"(no. 5217, cipher). your difficulties are fully recognized by the cabinet who are determined to support you. we are sending you three divisions of the new army. the first of these will leave about the end of this week, and the other two will be sent as transport is available.
-"the last of the three divisions ought to reach you not later than the first fortnight in july. by that time the fleet will have been reinforced by a good many units which are much less vulnerable to submarine attack than those now at the dardanelles, and you can then count on the fleet to give you continuous support.
-"while steadily pressing the enemy, there seems no reason for running any premature risks in the meantime."
-in face of k.'s hang-fire cable of the 3rd, and in face of this long three weeks of stupefaction, thank god our rulers have got out of the right side of their beds and are not going to run away.
-just as the admiral was going, ward (of the intelligence) crossed over with a nasty little damper. the turks keep just one lap ahead of us. two new divisions have arrived and have been launched straightway at our trenches. at the moment we get promises that troops asked for in the middle of may will arrive by the middle of july the turks get their divisions in the flesh:--so much so that they have gained a footing in the lines of the east lanes: but there is no danger; they will be driven out. we have taken some prisoners.
-dined on board the triad. sat up later than usual. not only had we news from home and the news from the peninsula to thresh out, but there was much to say and hear about e.11 and that apple of roger keyes' eye, the gallant nasmith. their adventures in the sea of marmora take the shine out of those of the argonauts.
-coming back along the well-beaten sandy track, my heart sank to see our mess tent still lit up at midnight. it might be good news but also it might not. fortunately, it was pleasant news; i.e., colonel chauvel, commanding 1st australian light horse brigade, waiting to see me. i had known him well in melbourne where he helped me more than anyone else to get the hang of the australian system. he stays the night.
-9th june, 1915. imbros. a cable saying the new divisions will form the 9th corps and asking me my opinion of mahon as corps commander. i shall reply at once he is good up to a point and brave, but not up to running a corps out here.
-have been sent a gas-mask and a mosquito-net. quite likely the mask is good bizz and may prolong my poor life a little bit, but this is problematical whereas there's no blooming error about the net. this morning instead of being awakened at 4.30 a.m. by a cluster of house-flies having a garden party on my nose i just opened one eye and looked at them running about outside my entrenchments, then closed it and fell asleep again for an hour.
-10th june, 1915. imbros. nothing doing but sheer hard work. the sailors the same. sent one pretty stiff cable as we all agreed that we must make ourselves quite clear upon the question of guns and shell. after all, any outsider would think it a plain sailing matter enough--a demand, that is to say, from simpson-baikie at helles that he should be gunned and shell supplied on the same scale as the formations he quitted on the western front only a few weeks ago. simpson-baikie has been specially sent to us by lord k., who has a high opinion of his merits. a deep-thinking, studious and scientific officer. well, baikie says that to put him on anything like the western front footing he wants another forty-eight 18-pounders; eight 5-inch hows.; eight 4.5. hows.; eight 6-inch; four 9.2 hows.; four anti-aircraft guns and a thousand rounds a month per field gun; these "wants" he puts down as an absolute minimum. he also wishes me at once to cable for an aeroplane squadron of three flights of four machines each, one flight for patrol work; the other two for spotting.
-there is no use enraging people for nothing and "nothing" i am sure would be the result of this demand were it shot in quite nakedly. but i have pressed baikie's vital points home all the same, vide attached:--
-"(no. m.f. 316).
-"your no. 5088. after a further consideration of the ammunition question in light of the expenditure on the 4th and 5th june, i would like to point out that i have only the normal artillery complement of two divisions, although actually i have five divisions here. consequently, each of my guns has to do the work which two and a half guns are doing in flanders. any comparison based on expenditure per gun must therefore be misleading. also a comparison based on numbers of troops would prove to be beside the point, for conditions cannot be identical. therefore, as i know you will do your best for me and thus leave me contented with the decision you arrive at, i prefer to state frankly what amount i consider necessary. this amount is at least 30 rounds a day for 18-pr. and 4.5 howitzer already ashore, and i hope that a supply on this scale may be possible. the number of guns already ashore is beginning to prove insufficient for their task, for the enemy have apparently no lack of ammunition and their artillery is constantly increasing. therefore i hope that the new divisions may be sent out with the full complement of artillery, but, if this is done, the ammunition supply for the artillery of the fresh divisions need only be on the normal scale.
-"since the above was written, i have received a report that the enemy has been reinforced by 1,300 germans for fortress artillery; perhaps their recent shooting is accounted for by this fact."
-as to our air service, the way this feud between admiralty and war office has worked itself out in the field is simply heart-breaking. the war office wash their hands of the air entirely (at the dardanelles). i cannot put my own case to the admiralty although the machines are wanted for overland tactics--a fatal blind alley. all i could do i did this afternoon when the admiral came to tea and took me for a good stiff walk afterwards.
-11th june, 1915. imbros. sailed over to anzac with braithwaite. took birdwood's views upon the outline of our plan (which originated between him and skeen) for entering the new army against the turks. to do his share, durch und durch (god forgive me), he wants three new brigades; with them he engages to go through from bottom to top of sari bair. well, i will give him four; perhaps five! our whole scheme hinges on these crests of sari bair which dominate anzac and maidos; the dardanelles and the aegean. the destroyers next took us to cape helles where i held a pow wow at army headquarters, generals hunter-weston and gouraud being present as well as birdwood and braithwaite. everyone keen and sanguine. many minor suggestions; warm approval of the broad lines of the scheme. afterwards i brought birdie back to anzac and then returned to imbros. a good day's work. half the battle to find that my corps commanders are so keen. they are all sworn to the closest secrecy; have been told that our lives depend upon their discretion. i have shown them my m.f. 300 of the 7th june so as to let them understand they are being trusted with a plan which is too much under the seal to be sent over the cables even to the highest.
-every general i met to-day spoke of the shortage of bombs and grenades. the anzacs are very much depressed to hear they are to get no more bombs for their six japanese trench mortars. we told the ordnance some days ago to put this very strongly to the war office. after all, bombs and grenades are easy things to make if the tails of the manufacturers are well twisted.
-12th june, 1915. imbros. stayed in camp where de robeck came to see me. i wonder what k. is likely to do about mahon and about ammunition. when he told me joffre and french thought 17 rounds per gun per day good enough, and that he was going to give me as much, there were several qualifications to our pleasure, but we were pleased, because apart from all invidious comparisons, we were anyway going to get more stuff. but we have not yet tasted this new french ration of 17 rounds per gun.
-are we too insistent? i think not. one dozen small field howitzer shells, of 4.5. calibre, save one british life by taking two turkish lives. and although the 4.5. are what we want the old 5-inch are none so bad. where would we be now, i wonder, had not haldane against press, public and four soldiers out of five stuck to his guns and insisted on creating those 145 batteries of territorial field artillery?
-a depressing wire in from the war office expressing doubt as to whether they will be able to meet our wishes by embarking units complete and ready for landing; gear, supplies, munitions all in due proportion, in the transports coming out here from england. should we be forced to redistribute men and material on arrival, we are in for another spell of delay.
-altogether i have been very busy on cables to-day. the war office having jogged my elbow again about the bulair scheme, i have once more been through the whole series of pros and cons with the admiral who has agreed in the reply i have sent:--clear negative. three quarters of the objections are naval; either directly--want of harbours, etc.; or indirectly--as involving three lines of small craft to supply three separate military forces. the number of small craft required are not in existence.
-13th june, 1915. imbros. the war office forget every now and then other things about the coastline above the narrows. i have replied:
-"your first question as to the fortification of the coast towards gallipoli can be satisfactorily answered only by the navy as naval aeroplane observation is the only means by which i can find out about the coast fortifications. from time to time it has been reported that torpedo tubes have been placed at the mouth of soghan dere and at nagara point. these are matters on which i presume admiral has reported to admiralty, but i am telegraphing to him to make sure as he is away to-day at mudros. i will ask him to have aeroplane reconnaissance made regarding the coast fortifications you mention, to see if it can be ascertained whether your informant's report is correct, but there are but few aeroplanes and the few we have are constantly required for spotting for artillery, photographing trenches, and for reconnaissances of the troops immediately engaged with us."
-i am being forced by war office questions to say rather more than i had intended about plans. the following cable took me the best part of the morning. i hope it is too technical to effect a lodgment in the memories of the gossips:--
-"(no. m.f. 328). from general sir ian hamilton to war office. with reference to your no. 5441, cipher. from the outset i have fully realized that the question of cutting off forces defending the peninsula lay at the heart of my problem. see my no. m.f. 173, last paragraph, and paragraphs 2 and 7 of my instructions to general officer commanding australian and new zealand army corps, of 13th april, before landing. i still consider, as indicated therein, that the best and most practicable method of stopping enemy's communications is to push forward to the south-east from australian and new zealand army corps.
-"the attempt to stop bulair communications further north than the australian and new zealand army corps position would give the turks too much room to pass our guns. an advance of little more than two miles in a south-eastern direction would enable us to command the land communications between bulair and kilid bahr. this, in turn, would render ak bashi liman useless to the enemy as a port of disembarkation for either chanak or constantinople. it would enable us, moreover, to co-operate effectively with the navy in stopping communication with the asiatic shore, since kilia liman and maidos would be under fire from our land guns.
-"it was these considerations which decided me originally to land at australian and new zealand army corps position, and in spite of the difficulties of advancing thence, i see no reason to expect that a new point of departure would make the task any easier. i have recently been obliged by circumstances to concentrate my main efforts on pushing forward towards achi baba so as to clear my main port of disembarkation of shell fire. i only await the promised reinforcements, however, to enable me to take the next step in the prosecution of my main plan from the australian and new zealand army corps.
-"i cannot extend the present australian position until they arrive. see my no. m.f. 300, as to estimate of troops required, and my no. 304, 7th june, as to state of siege at australian and new zealand army corps. if i succeed the enemy's communications via bulair and, with the navy's help, via asiatic coast should both be closed, as far as possible, by the one operation. if, in addition, submarines can stop sea communications with constantinople the problem will be solved.
-"with regard to supplies and ammunition which can be obtained by the enemy across the dardanelles, since panderma and karabingha are normally important centres of collection of food supplies, both cereals and meat, and since the panderma-chanak road is adequate, it would be possible to provision the peninsula from a great supply depot at chanak where there are steam mills, steam bakeries and ample shallow draught craft. if land communications were blocked near bulair, ammunition could only be brought by sea to panderma, and thence by road to chanak or by sea direct to kilid bahr.
-"either for supplies or ammunition, however, the difficulty of effectively stopping supply by sea may be increased by the large number of shallow craft available at rodosto, chanak, constantinople and panderma. but as soon as i can make good advance south-east from australian and new zealand army corps, my guns, plus the submarines, should be able to make all traffic from the asiatic shore very difficult for the enemy.
-"it is vitally important that future developments should be kept absolutely secret. i mention this because, although the date of our original landing was known to hardly anyone here before the ships sailed, yet the date was cabled to the turks from vienna."
-the message took some doing and could not, therefore, get clear of camp till 11 o'clock when i boarded the destroyer grampus, and sailed for helles. lunched with hunter-weston at his headquarters, and then walked out along the new road being built under the cliffs from "w" beach to gurkha gully. on the way i stopped at the 29th divisional headquarters where i met de lisle. thence along the coast where the 88th brigade were bathing. in the beautiful hot afternoon weather the men were happy as sandboys. their own mothers would hardly know them--burnt black with the sun, in rags or else stark naked, with pipes in their mouths. but they like it! after passing the time of day to a lot of these boys, i climbed the cliff and came back along the crests, stopping to inspect some of the east lancashire division in their rest trenches.
-got back to hunter-weston's about 6 and had a cup of tea. there cox of the indian brigade joined me, and i took him with me to imbros where he is going to stay a day or two with braithwaite.
-14th june, 1915. imbros. k. sends me this brisk little pick-me-up:--
-"report here states that your position could be made untenable by turkish guns from the asiatic shore. please report on this."
-no doubt--no doubt! yet i was once his own chief of staff into whose hands he unreservedly placed the conduct of one of the most crucial, as it was the last, of the old south african enterprises: i was once the man into whose hands he placed the defence of his heavily criticized action at the battle of paardeburg. there it is: he used to have great faith in me, and now he makes me much the sort of remark which might be made by a young lady to a marine. the answer, as k. well knows, depends upon too many imponderabilia to be worth the cost of a cable. the size and number of the turkish guns; their supplies of shell; the power of our submarines to restrict those supplies; the worth of our own ship and shore guns; the depth of our trenches; the moral of our men, and so on ad infinitum. the point of the whole matter is this:--the turks haven't got the guns--and we know it:--if ever they do get the guns it will take them weeks, months, before they can get them mounted and shells in proportion amassed.
-k. should know better than any other man in england--lord bobs, alas, is gone--that if there was any real fear of guns from asia being able to make us loosen our grip on the peninsula, i would cable him quickly. then why does he ask? well--and why shouldn't he ask? i must not be so captious. much better turn the tables on him by asking him to enable us to knock out the danger he fears:--
-"(no. m.f. 331). from general sir ian hamilton to earl kitchener. with reference to your telegram no. 5460. as already reported in my telegram, fire from the asiatic shore is at times troublesome, but i am taking steps to deal with it. of course another battery of 6-inch howitzers would greatly help in this."
-by coincidence a letter has come in to me this very night, on the very subject; a letter written by a famous soldier--gouraud--the lion of the ardennes, who is, it so happens, much better posted as to the asiatic guns than the jeremiah who has made k. anxious. the french bear the brunt of this fire and gouraud's cool decision to ignore it in favour of bigger issues marks the contrast between the fighter who makes little of the enemy and the writer who makes much of him. i look upon gouraud more as a coadjutor than as a subordinate, so it is worth anything to me to find that we see eye to eye at present. for, there is much more in the letter than his feelings about the guns of asia: there is an outline sketch, drawn with slight but masterly touches, covering the past, present and future of our show:--
-q.g. le 13 juin 1915.
-corps expéditionnaire d'orient.
-cabine du général.
-n. cab. secret.
-le général de division gouraud, commandant le corps expéditionnaire d'orient, à sir ian hamilton, g.c.b., d.s.o., commandant le corps expéditionnaire méditerranéen. quartier général.
-vous avez bien voulu me communiquer une dépêche de lord kitchener faisant connaître que le gouvernement anglais allait envoyer incessamment aux dardanelles trois nouvelles divisions et des vaisseaux moins vulnérables aux sous-marins. d'après les renseignements qui m'ont été donnés, on annonce 14 de ces monitors; 4 seraient armés de pièces de 35 à 38 m/ 4 de pièces de 24, les autres de 15.
-c'est donc sur terre et sur mer un important renfort.
-j'ai l'honneur de vous soumettre ci-dessous mes idées sur son emploi.
-jetons d'abord un coup d'oeil sur la situation. il s'en dégage, ce me semble, deux faits.
-d'une part, le combat du 4 juin, qui, malgré une préparation sérieuse n'a pas donné de résultat en balance avec le vigoureux et couteux effort fourni par les troupes alliées, a montré que, guidés par les allemands, les turcs ont donné à leur ligne une très grande force. la presqu'île est barrée devant notre front de plusieurs lignes de tranchées fortement établies, précédées en plusieurs points de fil de fer barbelés, flanquées de mitrailleuses, communiquant avec l'arrière par des boyaux, formant un système de fortification comparable à celui du grand front.
-dans ces tranchées les turcs se montrent bons soldats, braves, tenaces. leur artillerie a constamment et très sensiblement augmenté en nombres et en puissance depuis trois semaines.
-dans ces conditions, et étant donné que les turcs ont toute liberté d'amener sur ce front étroite toute leur armée, on ne peut se dissimuler que les progrès seront lents et que chaque progrès sera couteux.
-les allemands appliqueront certainement dans les montagnes et les ravins de la presqu'île le système qui leur a réussi jusqu'ici en france.
-d'autre part l'ennemi parait avoir changé de tactique. il a voulu au début nous rejeter à la mer; après les pertes énormes qu'il a subi dans les combats d'avril et de mai, il semble y avoir renoncé du moins pour le moment.
-son plan actuel consiste à chercher à nous bloquer de front, pour nous maintenir sur l'étroit terrain que nous avons conquis, et à nous y rendre la vie intenable en bombardant les camps et surtout les plages de débarquement. c'est ainsi que les quatre batteries de grosses pièces récemment installées entre erenkeui et yenishahr ont apporté au ravitaillement des troupes une gêne qu'on peut dire dangereuse, puisque la consommation dans dernières journées a légèrement dépassé le ravitaillement.
-au résumé nous sommes bloqués de front et pris par derrière. et cette situation ira en empirant du fait des maladies, résultant du climat, de la chaleur, du bivouac continuel, peut être des épidémies, et du fait que la mer rendra très difficile tout débarquement dès la mauvaise saison, fin août.
-ceci posé, comment employer les gros renforts attendus. plusieurs solutions se présentent à l'esprit.
-primo, en asie.
-c'est la première idée qui se présente; étant donné l'intérêt de se rendre maître de la région yenishahr-erenkeui, qui prend nos plages de débarquement à revers.
-mais c'est là une mesure d'un intérêt défensif, qui ne fera pas faire un pas en avant. il est permis d'autre part de penser que les canons des monitors anglais, qui sont sans doute destinés à détruire les défenses du détroit, commenceront par nous débarrasser des batteries de l'entrée. enfin nous disposerons d'ici peu d'un front de mer seddul-bahr eski hissarlick, dont les pièces puissantes contrebattront efficacement les canons d'asie.
-secundo, vers gaba-tépé.
-au sud de gaba tépé s'étend une plaine que les cartes disent accessible au débarquement. des troupes débarquées là se trouvent à 8 kilomètres environ de maidos, c'est à dire au point où la presqu'île est la plus étroite.
-sans nul doute, trouveront elles devant elles les mêmes difficultés qu'ici et il sera nécessaire notemment de se rendre maître des montagnes qui dominent la plaine au nord. mais alors que la prise d'achi baba ne sera qu'un grand succès militaire, qui nous mettra le lendemain devant les escarpements de kilid-bahr, l'occupation de la région gaba tépé-maidos nous placerait au delà des détroits, nous permettrait d'y constituer une base où les sous-marins de la mer de marmara pourraient indéfiniment s'approvisionner.
-si le barrage des dardanelles n'était pas brisé, il serait tourné.
-tertio, vers boulair.
-cette solution apparait comme le plus radicale, celui qui déjouerait le plan de l'ennemi. constantinople serait directement menacé par ce coup retentissant.
-toute la question est de savoir si, avec leurs moyens nouveaux, les monitors, les amiraux sont en mesure de protéger un débarquement, qui comme celui du 25 avril nécessiterait de nombreux bateaux.
-en résumé, j'ai l'honneur d'émettre l'avis de poser nettement aux amiraux la question du débarquement à boulair, d'y faire reconnaître l'état actuel des défenses par bateaux, avions et si possible agents, sans faire d'acte de guerre pour ne pas donner l'éveil.
-au cas où le débarquement serait jugé impossible, j'émet l'avis d'employer les renforts dans la région gaba-tépé, où les australiens ont déjà implanté un solide jalon.
-concurremment, je pense qu'il serait du plus vif intérêt pour hâter la décision, de créer au gouvernement turc des inquiétudes dans d'autres parties de l'empire, pour l'empêcher d'amener ici toutes ses forces.
-dans cet ordre d'idées on peut envisager deux moyens. l'un, le plus efficace, est l'action russe ou bulgare. la grêce est mal placée géographiquement pour exercer une action sur la guerre. seule la bulgarie, par sa position géographique, prend les turcs à revers. sans doute, à voir la façon dont les turcs amènent devant nous les troupes et les canons d'adrianople, ont ils un accord avec la bulgarie, mais la guerre des balkans prouve que la bulgarie n'est pas embarrassée d'un accord si elle voit ailleurs son intérêt. la question est donc d'offrir un prix fort à la bulgarie.
-l'autre est de provoquer des agitations dans différentes parties de l'empire, d'y faire opérer des destructions par des bandes, d'obliger les turcs à y envoyer du monde. cela encore vaut la peine d'y mettre le prix.
-je suis, avec un profond respect, mon général,
-votre très dévoué, (sd.) gouraud.
-boarded a destroyer at 11.15 a.m. and sailed straight for gully beach. then into dinghy and paddled to shore where i lunched with de lisle at the 29th divisional headquarters. hunter-weston had come up to meet me from corps headquarters.
-with both generals i rode a couple of miles up the gully seeing the 87th brigade as we went. when we got to the mouth of the communication trench leading to the front of the indian brigade, bruce of the gurkhas was waiting for us, and led me along through endless sunken ways until we reached his firing line.
-every hundred yards or so i had a close peep at the ground in front through de lisle's periscope. the enemy trenches were sometimes not more than 7 yards away and the rifles of the turks moving showed there was a man behind the loophole. many corpses, almost all turks, lay between the two lines of trenches. there was no shelling at the moment, but rifle bullets kept flopping into the parapet especially when the periscope was moved.
-at the end of the gurkha line i was met by colonel wolley dod, who took me round the fire trenches of the 86th brigade. the dublin fusiliers looked particularly fit and jolly.
-getting back to the head of the gully i rode with hunter-weston to his corps headquarters where i had tea before sailing.
-when i got to imbros the fleet were firing at a taube. she was only having a look; flying around the shipping and headquarters camp at a great height, but dropping no bombs. after a bit she scooted off to the south-east. cox dined.
-15th june, 1915. imbros. yesterday i learned some detail about the conduct of affairs the other day--enough to make me very anxious indeed that no tired or nervy leaders should be sent out with the new troops. so i have sent k. a cable!--
-"(no. m.f. 334). from general sir ian hamilton to earl kitchener.
-"with reference to the last paragraph of your telegram no. 5250, cipher, and my no. m.f. 313. i should like to submit for your consideration the following views of the qualities necessary in an army corps commander on the gallipoli peninsula. in that position only men of good stiff constitution and nerve will be able to do any good. everything is at such close quarters that many men would be useless in the somewhat exposed headquarters they would have to occupy on this limited terrain, though they would do quite good work if moderately comfortable and away from constant shell fire. i can think of two men, byng and rawlinson. both possess the requisite qualities and seniority; the latter does not seem very happy where he is, and the former would have more scope than a cavalry corps can give him in france."
-left camp the moment i got this weight off my chest; boarded the savage, or rather jumped on her ladder like a chamois and scrambled on deck like a monkey. it was blowing big guns and our launch was very nearly swamped. crossing to helles big seas were making a clean sweep of the decks. jolly to look at from the bridge.
-after a dusty walk round piers and beaches lunched with hunter-weston before inspecting the 155th and 156th brigades. on our road we were met by brigadier-generals erskine and scott-moncrieff. walked the trenches where i chatted with the regimental officers and men, and found my compatriots in very good form.
-went on to the royal naval division headquarters where paris met me. together we went round the 3rd marine brigade section under brigadier-general trotman. these old comrades of the first landing gave me the kindliest greetings.
-got back to 8th corps headquarters intending to enjoy a cup of tea al fresco, but we were reckoning without our host (the turkish one) who threw so many big shell from asia all about the mound that, (only to save the tea cups), we retired with dignified slowness into our dugouts. whilst sitting in these funk-holes, as we used to call them at ladysmith, general gouraud ran the gauntlet and made also a slow and dignified entry. he was coming back with me to imbros. as it was getting late we hardened our hearts to walk across the open country between headquarters and the beach, where every twenty seconds or so a big fellow was raising cain. fortune favouring we both reached the sea with our heads upon our shoulders.
-an answer is in to our plea for a western scale of ammunition, guns and howitzers. they cable sympathetically but say simply they can't. soft answers, etc., but it would be well if they could make up their minds whether they wish to score the next trick in the east or in the west. if they can't do that they will be doubly done.
-a purely passive defence is not possible for us; it implies losing ground by degrees--and we have not a yard to lose. if we are to remain we must keep on attacking here and there to maintain ourselves! but; to expect us to attack without giving us our fair share--on western standards--of high explosive and howitzers shows lack of military imagination. a man's a man for a' that whether at helles or ypres. let me bring my lads face to face with turks in the open field, we must beat them every time because british volunteer soldiers are superior individuals to anatolians, syrians or arabs and are animated with a superior ideal and an equal joy in battle. wire and machine guns prevent this hand to hand, or rifle to rifle, style of contest. well, then the decent thing to do is to give us shells enough to clear a fair field. to attempt to solve the problem by letting a single dirty turk at the maxim kill ten--twenty--fifty--of our fellows on the barbed wire,--ten--twenty--fifty--each of whom is worth several dozen turks, is a sin of the holy ghost category unless it can be justified by dire necessity. but there is no necessity. the supreme command has only to decide categorically that the allies stand on the defensive on the west for a few weeks and then von donop can find us enough to bring us through. joffre and french, as a matter of fact, would hardly feel the difference. if the supreme command can't do that; and can't even send us trench mortars as substitutes, let them harden their hearts and wind up this great enterprise for which they simply haven't got the nerve.
-if only k. would come and see for himself! failing that--if only it were possible for me to run home and put my own case.
-talking of commanders, my appeal for a young corps commander of a "good stiff constitution" has drawn a startling reply:--
-"(no. 5501, cipher). from earl kitchener to sir ian hamilton. your no. m.f. 334. i am afraid that sir john french would not spare the services of the two generals you mention, and they are, moreover, both junior to mahon, who commands the 10th division which is going out to you. ewart, who is very fit and well, would i think do. i am going to see him the day after to-morrow.
-"mahon raised the 10th division and has produced an excellent unit. he is quite fit and well, and i do not think that he could now be left behind."
-so the field of selection for the new corps is to be restricted to some lieutenant-general senior to mahon--himself the only man of his rank commanding a division and almost at the top of the lieutenant-generals! oh god, if i could have a corps commander like gouraud! but this block by "mahon" makes a record for the seniority fetish. i have just been studying the army list with pollen. excluding indians, marines and employed men like douglas haig and maxwell, there are only about one dozen british service lieutenant-generals senior to mahon, and, of that dozen only two are possible--ewart and stopford! there are no others. ewart is a fine fellow, with a character which commands respect and affection. he is also a cameron highlander whose father commanded the gordons. as a presence nothing could be better; as a man no one in the army would be more welcome. but he would not, with his build and constitutional habit, last out here for one fortnight. despite his soldier heart and his wise brain we can't risk it. we are unanimous on that point. stopford remains. i have cabled expressing my deep disappointment that mahon should be the factor which restricts all choice and saying,
-"with regard to ewart. i greatly admire his character, but he positively could not have made his way along the fire trenches i inspected yesterday. he has never approached troops for fifteen years although i have often implored him, as a friend, to do so. would not stopford be preferable to ewart, even though he does not possess the latter's calm?"
-i begin to think i shall be recalled for my importunity. but, in for a penny in for a pound, and i have fired off the following protest to a really disastrous cable from the war office saying that the new army is to bring no 4.5-inch howitzers with it; no howitzers at all, indeed, except sixteen of the old, inaccurate 5-inch territorial howitzers, some of which "came out" at omdurman and were afterwards--the whole category--found so much fault with in south africa. unless they are going to have an august push in france they might at least have lent us forty-eight 4.5 hows. from france to see the new army through their first encounter with the enemy. they could all be run back in a fast cruiser and would only be loaned to us for three weeks or a month. if the g.s. at whitehall can't do those things, they have handed over the running of a world war to one section of the army. i attach my ultimatum: i cannot make it more emphatic; instead of death or victory we moderns say howitzers or defeat:--
-"(no. 5489, cipher, m.g.o.) from war office to general officer commanding-in-chief, mediterranean expeditionary force. your no. m.f. 316. it is impossible to send more ammunition than we are sending you. 528 rounds per 18-pr will be brought out by each division. instead of 4.5-inch howitzers we are sending 16 5-inch howitzers with the 13th division, as there is more 5-inch ammunition available. by the time that the last of the three divisions arrive we hope to have supplied a good percentage of high explosive shells, but you should try to save as much as you can in the meantime. until more ammunition is available for them, we cannot send you any 4.5-inch howitzers with the other two divisions, and even if more 5-inch were sent the fortnightly supply of ammunition for them would be very small."
-"(no. m.f. 337). from general sir ian hamilton to war office. with reference to your no. 5489, cipher. i am very sorry that you cannot send the proper howitzers, and still more sorry for the reason, that of ammunition. the turkish trenches are deep and narrow, and only effective weapon for dealing with them is the howitzer. i realize your difficulties, and i am sure that you will supply me with both howitzers and ammunition as soon as you are able to do so. i shall be glad in the meantime of as many more trench mortars and bombs as you can possibly spare. we realize for our part that in the matter of guns and ammunition it is no good crying for the moon, and for your part you must recognize that until howitzers and ammunition arrive it is no good crying for the crescent."
-the admiral and godley paid me a visit; discussed tea and sea transport, then a walk.
-there is quite a break in the weather. very cold and windy with a little rain in the forenoon.
-17th june, 1915. imbros. smoother sea, but rough weather in office. a cable from the master general of the ordnance in reply to my petition for another battery of 6-inch howitzers:--
-"(no. 5537, cipher, m.g.o.) from war office to the general officer commanding-in-chief, mediterranean expeditionary force. your telegram no. m.f. 331. we can send out another battery of 6-inch howitzers, but cannot send ammunition with it. moreover, we cannot increase the present periodical supply, so that if we send the additional howitzers you must not complain of the small number of rounds per gun sent to you, as experience has shown is sometimes done in similar cases. it is possible that the navy may help you with 6-inch ammunition. please say after consideration of the above if you want the howitzers sent."
-my mind plays agreeably with the idea of chaining the m.g.o. on to a rock on the peninsula whilst the asiatic batteries are pounding it. that would learn him to be an m.g.o.; singing us departmental ditties whilst we are trying to hold our asiatic wolf by the ears. i feel very depressed; we are too far away; so far away that we lie beyond the grasp of an m.g.o.'s imagination. that's the whole truth. were the army in france to receive such a message, within 24 hours the commander-in-chief, or at the least his chief of the staff, would walk into the m.g.o.'s office and then proceed to walk into the m.g.o. i can't do that; a bad tempered cable is useless; i have no weapon at my disposal but very mild sarcasm:--
-"(no. m.f. 343). from general sir ian hamilton to war office. your no. 5537, cipher, m.g.o. please send the battery of 6-inch howitzers. your admonition will be borne in mind. extra howitzers will be most useful to replace pieces damaged by enemy batteries on the asiatic side of the dardanelles. no doubt in time the ammunition question will improve. only yesterday prisoners reported that 14 more turkish heavy guns were coming to the peninsula."
-have written another screed to french. as it gives a sort of summing up of the state of affairs to-day i spatchcock (as buller used to say) the carbon:--
-"general headquarters, "mediterranean expeditionary force, 17th june, 1915.
-"my dear french,
-"it must be fully a month since i wrote you but no one understands better than you must do, how time flies under the constant strain of these night and day excursions and alarms. between the two letters there observation, experience varying degrees of nausea or "morning sickness." this troublesome symptom makes its appearance usually about the fourth week of pregnancy and lasts from six to eight weeks.
-on attempting to rise from the bed, there is an uncomfortably warm feeling in the stomach followed by a welling up into the throat of a warmish, brackish tasting liquid which causes the patient to hasten to rid herself of it; or, as she rides on the train, on the street cars, in a carriage or automobile, she frequently senses the same unpleasant and nauseating symptoms during the second and third months of pregnancy. normally, this uncomfortable symptom quite disappears by the end of the third month. a number of remedies have been suggested for it, but that which seems to help one, gives little or no relief to another; we therefore mention a variety of remedies which may be tried.
-when the attack comes on during a train ride, open the window and breathe deeply, this, with the aid of a clove or the tasting of a bit of lemon, will usually give relief. in extreme instances the patient should lie down flatly on the back, with the eyelids closed. go to the rear of the street car, so that you can get off quickly if necessity demands; breathe deeply of the air; resort to the use of cloves or lemons; and thus by many and varied methods will the expectant mother be enabled to continue her journey or finish her shopping errand. we would suggest that, as far as possible, walking should be substituted for riding. i have never heard of a woman being troubled with nausea while walking in the parks, on shady streets, along the country road, or on the beach.
-of the medicines prescribed for "morning sickness" and the nausea of pregnancy, cerium oxalate taken three times a day in doses of five grains each, is probably one of the best.
-the persistent or pernicious vomiting which continues on through pregnancy will be spoken of later.
-acid eructations are spoken of as "heartburn," and are occasioned by the increased activity of the acid making glands of the stomach. under certain conditions this acid content of the stomach is regurgitated back into the throat and even belched up into the mouth. in this condition it is well to avoid most acid fruits. ice cream and other frozen desserts are beneficial. the lowered temperature of cold foods depresses the activity of the acid glands, as also does the fats of the cream, while protein food substances such as white of egg, cheese, and lean meat, help by combining with the excess of acid present in the stomach. buttermilk or the prepared lactic acid milk, if taken very cold, is often helpful, notwithstanding it is an acid substance, in connection with the dietetic management of heartburn. if the acid eructations be troublesome between the meals, the taking of calcined magnesia (one round teaspoon in a glass of cold water), or, one-half teaspoon of common baking soda in a glass of water, will afford immediate and temporary relief. simply nibbling a little from a block of magnesia will often give instant relief. these alkalines effectively neutralize the mischievous acids which cause the so-called "heartburn."
-irritability of the bladder
-should the urine at any time become highly colored, take a specimen to your physician at once. twenty-four hour specimens of urine should be taken by the patient to her physician every two weeks. do not send it--take it.
-while leucorrhea is an unusual complication of pregnancy, it is often very troublesome and sometimes irritating. do not take a vaginal douche unless it has been ordered by your physician, and even then make sure that the force of the flow of water is very gentle. the bag of the fountain syringe should be hung only about one foot above the hips. soap and water used externally, followed by vaseline or zinc ointment, will usually relieve the accompanying irritation.
-in the third chapter attention was called to the formation of the placenta or "after birth," on the site of the attachment of the cocoon embryo. at this particular time of the pushing away of the embryo from the uterine wall, one of the accidents of pregnancy occurs, in which the embryo becomes completely detached and starts to escape from the uterus, accompanied by varying degrees of pain and hemorrhage. the symptoms of this threatened abortion are:
-1. heavy menstrual pains. 2. backache. 3. hemorrhage.
-the approach of the calendar date of the third month of pregnancy should be watched for, and all work of a strenuous nature studiously avoided; while at the first signs of the backache or any unusual symptom, the expectant mother should immediately go to bed and send for the physician. one patient who had aborted on four different occasions was able to pass this danger period by adhering to a rigid program of prevention during her fifth pregnancy. two weeks before the third month arrived she discontinued her teaching and went to bed. she remained there four weeks, thus running over into the middle of the following month. gradually, she resumed her duties of teaching, carried her precious bundle of life to full term, and is now the proud and happy mother of a splendid baby girl.
-should abortion seem imminent, from one-eighth to one-fourth of a grain of morphine sulphate will greatly reduce all uterine contractions, and this, with the general quieting effect on the whole system, will usually suffice to prevent an abortion. the patient should quietly remain in bed from three days to one week.
-if the abortion takes place--if a clot accompanied by hemorrhage is passed--save everything, lie in bed very quietly and send for your physician at once; and when he does arrive, be content if he does not make an internal examination at once, for if he should there is more or less danger of infection. and i repeat--throw nothing away--burn nothing up, save everything that passes until your physician has carefully examined it.
-sudden abdominal pain
-sudden or severe pains in the abdomen should be reported at once to your physician, while you should immediately go to bed and quietly remain there until you receive further instruction from your doctor when he calls.
-in the later stages of pregnancy any appearance of blood should likewise be noted and reported without delay. these symptoms may not always be serious, but they are also associated with grave complications, and should, therefore, be given prompt attention.
-abortion is a term used to designate the loss of the embryo prior to or at the third month. miscarriage applies to the expulsion of the fetus or emptying of the uterus after the third month. it is possible for a miscarriage to occur anytime during the interim between the fourth and ninth months. after the uneventful passing of the third month, if an accident threatens, we instruct the mother to remain quietly in bed three to five days at the calendar date comparable with each menstrual period; and as she approaches the seventh month, we adjure her to be unusually careful and prudent.
-the causes of miscarriages are many: disease of the embryo, imperfect fetal development, some constitutional disease of the mother, a faulty position of the uterus, or it may result from something unusual about the lining of the uterus such as an endometritis--an inflammation of the mucus membrane.
-expectant mothers who manifest symptoms of a threatened miscarriage should studiously avoid such exercises as climbing, riding, skating, tennis, golf, dancing, rough carriage or automobile riding, and such taxing labor as sweeping, lifting, washing, running the sewing machine, window cleaning, the hanging of pictures, draperies, etc.
-within reason, a pregnant mother should follow her natural appetite and satisfy her dietetic longings. should she desire unusual articles of food, as far as possible she should have them. the idea has long prevailed that if the mother does not get what her longing soul supremely desires, that the on-coming baby is going to cry and cry until it is given what the mother wanted with all her heart and did not get. such an idea is the very quintessence of folly and the personification of foolishness and superstition.
-many a precious babe has suffered as a victim of this notion of "craving" and "marking." one mother gave her baby a huge mouthful of under-ripe banana because "she knew that was just what he wanted, because, when pregnant, she had craved and craved bananas and for some reason or another she did not get them." the soft, smooth piece of banana slipped down the baby's throat--on into the stomach and intestines--caused intestinal obstruction and finally the end came; and we registered one more victim to the fallacies of fear and the superstitious belief in "cravings" and "markings." occasionally some cravings are unusual and freakish, for instance, egg shells, leather, candles, chalk, and other abnormal tastes are developed. of these we have only to say, "rise above them, become mistress of the situation and change your longings." if such abnormal cravings come to you in the kitchen, don your bonnet and go at once out of doors and take a walk. don't be foolish just because somebody told you foolish stories about these things.
-bowel hygiene is an important part of the management of pregnancy. constipation often proves to be very troublesome. in another chapter this subject is treated at some length. here, we pause only long enough to say that habit has much to do with this difficulty. a regular time should be set apart each day for attending to this important matter.
-of all the maladies that the human family falls heir to, hemorrhoids are among the commonest and, we may add, the most neglected. any woman who enters pregnancy, suffering from hemorrhoids, is going to have her full share of suffering and pain before she has finished with her labors. taken early, they may be greatly helped, if not entirely relieved, by the daily use of the medicated suppository (see appendix). the bowel movements should never be allowed to become hard, the dietetic advice of another chapter should be carefully followed and the oil enema, as described in the appendix, should be used if necessary. for immediate relief, hot witch-hazel compresses may be applied; or, in the case of badly protruding piles, the patient should immerse the body in a warm bath and by the liberal use of vaseline they can usually be replaced. the physician should be called and he will advise any further treatment the case may require.
-varicose veins or the distension of the surface veins of the legs are very common among women in general and pregnant women in particular. the legs should be elevated whenever the patient sits, while in bad cases they should be bandaged while standing. there are many elastic surgical stockings on the market today that, if put on before rising in the morning, will give much relief and comfort all during the day. any large medical house or physician's supply house can furnish them according to your measurements--which should be taken before getting out of bed in the morning. these measurements are taken according to instructions and usually are of the instep, ankle, calf of leg, length of ankle to knee, etc.
-cramps are sharp, exceedingly painful muscular spasms occurring in the muscles of the calf of the leg, the toes, etc. the expectant mother in the later months of pregnancy awkwardly turns in bed, is suddenly awakened and without a moment's warning, is seized with a most excruciating pain in her leg or toe. the most effectual treatment for these cramps is quickly to apply a very cold object to the cramping muscle. extremes of either heat or cold usually relieve as well as the vigorous grasping or kneading of the muscle. a hot foot bath on going to bed will often prevent an attack. a long walk in the latter months of pregnancy should invariably be followed by a short hot bath or a foot bath. many attacks may be avoided by this procedure.
-all swellings should be taken seriously by the pregnant mother to this extent, that she save a twenty-four hour specimen of urine and that she personally take it to her physician, with a report of her "swellings." this symptom may or may not indicate kidney complications. the blood-pressure together with chemical and microscopical analysis of the urine will determine the cause.
-slight swelling of the feet is often physiological and is due to pressure of the heavily weighted uterus upon the returning veins of the legs. the progress of the veinous blood is somewhat impeded, hence the accumulation of lymph in the tissues of the legs, ankles, and feet.
-never allow yourself to guess as to the cause of swellings, always take urine to the physician and allow him definitely to ascertain the true cause. all tight bands of the waist and knee garters must be discarded at this time. the same general treatment suggested for varicose veins holds here.
-the enlargement of the thyroid gland--goitre--is physiological during pregnancy, and is believed to be caused by the throwing into the maternal blood stream of special protein substances derived from the fetus. as just stated, this is more or less physiological, will usually pass away after the babe is born, and, therefore, need give the mother no particular concern. tight neck bands should be replaced by low, comfortable ones. the bowels should move freely every day, and water drinking be increased as well as sweating of the skin encouraged by a short, hot bath, followed by the dry blanket pack, while the head is kept cool by compresses wrung from cold water. in this manner the elimination of these poisons is increased through both the skin and the kidneys.
-persistent, prolonged, and very much aggravated cases of morning sickness are termed pernicious vomiting. the patient emaciates because of the lack of ability to keep food long enough to receive any benefits therefrom.
-after installing a new maid who had a sense of service and daintiness, and who took real pleasure in the selection of the dishes for the tray, as well as the quality and quantity of food served in them, our patient made speedy recovery, went on to full term and became a happy mother.
-there is no doubt that the mind has very much to do with this vexing complication of pregnancy. one mother immediately stopped vomiting everything she ate when told by her husband that "the doctor said he was coming in the morning to take you away from me to the hospital if you didn't stop vomiting." everything known should be tried for the relief of these patients and in extreme cases, when the mother's life is endangered, pregnancy should be terminated.
-the neutral full bath, temperature 97 f., maintained for twenty minutes to one-half hour, should be taken just on going to bed. the patient must not talk--must rest in the bath--absolutely quiet. the causes of insomnia should be determined if possible, and proper measures employed to remove them. they may consist of backache, cramps, frequent urination, pressure of the uterus on the diaphragm or pressure against the sides of the abdomen. the bed should be large, thus giving the patient ample room to roll about.
-the following procedures may be tried in an effort to relieve the sleeplessness:
-rubbing of the spine, alcohol or witch-hazel rubbing of the entire body, the neutral bath, or the application of the electric photophore--described a few pages back--may be made to the painful part. do not resort to drugs, unless you are directed to do so by your physician.
-headaches should not be allowed to continue unobserved by the attending physician. measure the daily output of urine, which should be at least three pints or two quarts. in case of daily or frequent headaches, notify your physician at once and take a twenty-four hour specimen of urine to him. headache is an early symptom of retained poisons and if early reported to the physician quick relief can be given the patient and often severe kidney complications be avoided by the proper administration of early sweating procedures. water drinking should be increased to two quarts (about ten glasses) a day. less food and more water are the usual indications in the headaches of pregnancy.
-blood-pressure is called high when the systolic pressure registers above 150 to 160 millimeters of mercury. pressure above 165 should be taken seriously and the patient should keep in close touch with her physician. tri-weekly examinations of the urine should be made, while eliminating baths should be promptly instituted. the subject of blood-pressure in relation to pregnancy will be fully dealt with in the next chapter--in connection with toxemia, eclampsia, etc.
-toxemia and its symptoms
-at the close of the preceding chapter on the complications of pregnancy, brief mention was made of blood-pressure as a possible source of anxiety. this chapter will be devoted to a further discussion of the subjects of toxemia, eclampsia, convulsions, and especially blood-pressure--in connection with other leading symptoms of these serious complications of pregnancy.
-in a former chapter we learned that the developing child nearly doubled its weight in the last two months of pregnancy. as the child grows, its metabolic waste matter is greatly increased, while all these poisonous substances must finally be eliminated by the mother. now, the mother's waste matter is of itself considerably increased; and so, if the kidneys, the liver, and the skin are already over-taxed in their work of normal elimination--if they are already doing their full quota of work--we can readily see that the additional waste matter of the unborn child will throw much extra work on the already overworked eliminative organs, and this results in a condition of toxemia. certain symptoms accompany this state of constitutional poisoning or auto-intoxication--the chief of which are:
-1. headache. 2. dizziness. 3. blurring of the vision. 4. swelling of the feet and hands, or puffiness of the face. 5. diminished urine. 6. vomiting. 7. high blood-pressure. 8. albumin and casts in the urine.
-any one of these symptoms may or may not indicate toxemia; but it should be reported at once to the attending physician. in the presence of one or more of these symptoms an expectant mother is always safe, while awaiting the physician's advice, in carrying out the following program:
-1. drink more water or lemonade. 2. take a mild cathartic. 3. avoid eating much meat and other highly protein foods.
-convulsions of pregnancy
-this serious complication of the last weeks of pregnancy demands immediate attention. they may almost invariably be avoided if the blood-pressure and the urine are studiously watched during the latter part of the expectant period.
-if you are unable to get your physician at once, the following treatment should be administered immediately.
-1. a hot colonic flushing (see appendix).
-2. a hot bath followed by the hot blanket pack (see appendix).
-3. one drop of croton oil on a bit of sugar may be placed on the back of the tongue.
-4. chloroform may be administered, provided a competent nurse or other medical person is present.
-the appearance of convulsions which have been preceded by one or more of the symptoms noted under the head of "toxemia," indicates that the patient has become so profoundly intoxicated and poisoned by the accumulating toxins, that the lives of both mother and child are jeopardized by threatened eclampsia. at such a time, the attending physician will immediately set about to bring on labor, and thus seek to empty the uterus at the earliest possible moment.
-cardinal symptoms of toxicity
-since toxemia (eclampsia) is one of the complications of pregnancy most to be dreaded, it is fortunate that it almost invariably exhibits early danger signals which, if recognized and heeded, would enable the patient and physician to initiate proper measures to avert danger and escape the threatened disaster. the presence of this toxic danger is indicated by the persistent presence of the following three symptoms:
-1. persistent, dull headache. 2. presence of casts in the urine. 3. persistent high blood-pressure, with tendency to increase.
-of course, albumin will probably appear in the urine along with the casts, but it is the continued appearance of the casts that is of more importance as a danger signal. albumin is quite common in the urine of the expectant mother, but casts--long continued--suggest trouble. headache as an indicator of toxemia is of special significance when coupled with the other two cardinal symptoms of eclampsia--urinary casts and increasing high blood-pressure. therefore, the necessity for frequent urinary tests and blood-pressure examinations during the last weeks of pregnancy--especially, if the patient has suffered from headaches and has been running albumin in the urine.
-blood-pressure is a term used to indicate the actual pressure of the blood stream against the walls of the blood vessels. the blood-pressure machine tells us the same story about our circulatory mechanism, that a steam gauge does about a high-pressure boiler (see fig. 4). the normal blood-pressure varies according to the age of the patient. for instance, the normal pressure of a young person, say up to twenty years of age, runs from 100 to 120 millimeters of mercury; and then, as the age advances, the blood-pressure increases in direct ratio; for every two years additional age the blood-pressure increases about one point--one millimeter.
-the average pregnant woman starts in her pregnancy with a blood-pressure of say, 125 millimeters, but as pressure symptoms increase, and as constipation manifests itself, and as the circulating fluids are further burdened with the toxins which are eliminated from the child, the blood-pressure normally increases to about 140 mm., and later, possibly to 150 mm. if the pressure goes no higher, we are not alarmed, for we have come to recognize a blood-pressure of 140 as about the normal pressure of the pregnant woman.
-there are a number of factors which enter into the raising of the blood-pressure. for instance, at any time during the pregnancy, if the eliminative organs of the mother are doing inefficient work, if she falls a victim to a torpid liver, diseased kidneys, decreased skin elimination, or sluggish bowels, then, with the added and extra excretions from the child, there is superimposed upon the mother far more than the normal amount of eliminative work--and then, because of improper and incomplete elimination, the blood-pressure is increasingly raised.
-this whole subject can best be illustrated by relating a story, the actual experience of mrs. a. this patient came to the office with a history of bright's disease (albumin and casts in the urine), and chronic appendicitis. while treating her for the kidney condition, preparatory to an operation for the removal of the troublesome appendix--in the very midst of this treatment--she became pregnant, and great indeed was our dismay. we entertained little hope of getting both the mother and child safely through. frequent examination of urine was instituted, the albumin did not increase and the blood-pressure remained at normal--about 124 mm. she paid weekly or bi-weekly visits to the office and carefully followed the regime outlined. she drank abundantly of water and strictly followed the dietary prescribed. weeks and months passed uneventful, until we approached the last six weeks of pregnancy, and then we found to our surprise one day that the blood-pressure had made a sudden jump up to 175 mm., while the urine revealed the presence of numerous casts and albumin--in the meantime the albumin had entirely disappeared. there were also other urinary findings which showed that the liver was not doing its share in the work of burning up certain poisons.
-in her home we began the following program: every day we had her placed in a bathtub of hot water, keeping cold cloths upon her brow, face and neck, and then, by increasing the temperature of the bath, we produced a very profuse perspiration. she was taken out of this bath and wrapped in blankets, thus continuing the sweat. all meat, baked beans, and such foods as macaroni and other articles containing a high per cent of protein were largely eliminated from her diet. at times she did not even eat bread. her chief diet was fruit, vegetables, and simple salads, and yet the albumin and casts continued to increase in the urine and the blood-pressure climbed up to 190 mm.
-as we approached the last two weeks of pregnancy, this little woman was taken to the hospital and systematic daily treatment with sweating procedures was begun. among other things, she had a daily electric light bath. after each of these baths she was wrapped in blankets and the sweating continued for some time. careful estimations of albumin were made daily and the blood-pressure findings noted three times a day. during the last week of pregnancy she lived on oranges and grapes. day by day she was watched until the eventful hour arrived. she went into the delivery room and gave birth to a perfectly normal child. the albumin and casts quickly cleared up, the blood-pressure lowered, and today the little woman is a fond mother of a beautiful baby boy.
-it is hard to estimate what might have taken place had not her elimination been stimulated. the blood-pressure was our guide. had the albumin (without casts) appeared in the latter weeks of pregnancy with a blood-pressure of 140 or 150 mm., we would not have become excited, for the reason that in every normal pregnancy there is often present a trace of albumin in the latter weeks; but when the blood-pressure jumped to 170 or 190, then we knew that toxemia--eclampsia--convulsions--were imminent. so we have in recent years, come to look upon the blood-pressure as an exceedingly important factor--as an infallible indicator of approaching trouble--as a red signal light at the precipice or the point of danger; and it not only warns us of the danger, but it tells us about how near the boilers are to the bursting point. the glassy eye, the headache, the full bounding pulse and the blurring of vision, are all symptoms accompanying this high blood-pressure, so that in these enlightened days no practitioner can count himself worthy the name, or in any way fit to carry a pregnant woman through the months of waiting, unless he sees, appreciates, and understands the value of blood-pressure findings in pregnancy.
-preparations for the natal day
-two months before baby is to arrive, the expectant mother should pay particular attention to the conservation of her strength. the woman who is compelled to leave her home for the factory, the laundry, the office, or other place of employment, should stop work during these last two or three months. the active club woman should pass the burdens on to others, and the woman of leisure should withdraw from active social life with its varied obligations. during the final weeks of pregnancy, the prospective mother needs the same hygienic care regarding fresh air, exercise, diet, and water drinking, as outlined in a former chapter.
-the final weeks
-as the gravid uterus rises higher in the abdomen, increased pressure is exerted on the stomach, the lungs, and upon the nerve centers of the back; and it is because of this situation, that the duties and obligations of the prospective mother should be reduced to a minimum, that she may feel at liberty to lie down several times during the day on the porch or in a well-ventilated room, in the midst of the best possible surroundings. sexual intercourse should be largely discontinued during the last months of pregnancy.
-i sometimes wish the prospective mothers in our dispensary districts might have some of the care and the kind treatment which is bestowed upon an ordinary prospective mother horse, which at least enjoys a vacation from heavy labor, and whose food is eaten with calm nerves and in the quietness of a clean stall. while the state of the mother's mind does not materially influence the child; nevertheless, the state of the mother's body, the weary over-worked muscles and nerves of hot, tired women, bending over cook stoves, laundry tubs, or scrubbing floors, does materially derange the mother's health and digestion, which in turn, reflexly interferes with the growth and physical development of her child. extra strength is required for the day of labor, and since the baby doubles its weight during the last two months, the mother is living for two, and should, therefore, avoid extreme fatigue, over tiring, and irksome labor during these final weeks of watchful waiting.
-selection of the home
-it may or may not be within the province of prospective parents to rearrange, rebuild, or otherwise change the home. usually the size of the pocketbook, the bank account, or the weekly pay envelope decide such things for us. the home may be in the country or suburbs, with its wide expanse of lawns, its hedges of shrubbery, and with its spacious rooms and porches; or it may be a beautifully equipped, modern apartment on the boulevard of a city, with its sun parlors, large back porches, conveniently located near some well-kept city park, or it may be one of those smaller but "snug as a bug in a rug" apartments, in another part of the city, where usually there is a sunny back porch; or again some of my readers may themselves be, or their friends may be, in a darkened basement with broken windows, illy ventilated rooms, with no porches, no yards, no bright rays to be seen coming in through windows--and yet into all of these varied homes there come little babies--sweet, charming little babies, to be cared for, dressed, fed, and reared. and we must now proceed to the subject of making the most of what we have--to create out of what we have, as best we can, that which ought to be.
-engaging the doctor
-as suggested elsewhere, as soon as the expectant mother is aware that she is pregnant, she should engage her physician. and since these are days of specialists, he may or may not be the regular family doctor. the husband and friends may be consulted, but the final choice should be made by the prospective mother herself. "the faith which casts out fear, the indefinable sense of security which she feels in her chosen physician, supports her through the hours of confinement." twenty-four hour specimens of urine should be saved and taken to the physician twice each month and oftener during later months of pregnancy. the chosen physician's instructions and suggestions should be carried out and counsel should be sought of him as to the place of confinement.
-the place of confinement
-there are a number of factors that enter into the selection of the place of confinement. in the first place, if the home be roomy, bathroom convenient, if the required preparation of all necessities for the day of labor can be effected, and it is further possible to prepare a suitable delivery-room at home with ample facilities for emergencies and complications, and you can persuade your physician to do it--then the best place in the world for the mother to be confined is within the walls of her own home. but such is the case in but one home out of hundreds, and i regret that time and space will not allow me to describe and portray the many untimely deaths that might have been avoided if this or that supply had only been ready at the moment of the unexpected complication of delivery. why should we needlessly risk the lives of prospective mothers, when, in every up-to-date hospital delivery-room, all these life-saving facilities are freely provided? here in the modern hospital, the mothers from small homes and apartments, the mothers who live in stuffy basements, as well as those from the average home in the average neighborhood, can come with the assurance of receiving the best possible care and attention. every woman who can arrange or afford it, should plan to avail herself of the benefits, comforts, quietness, and calm of a well-equipped hospital and the surgical cleanliness and safety of its aseptic delivery-room.
-fortunately, the mother of the basement home may have the same clean, sterile dressings used upon her as does the mother of the boulevard mansion. the maternity ward bed at $8.00 to $10.00 a week can be just as clean as the bed of the $40.00 a week room. the methods and procedures of the delivery-room can be just as good in the case of the very poor woman as in the case of the magnate's wife. in no way and for no reason fear the hospital. it is the cleanest, safest, and by far the cheapest way. the weekly amount paid includes the board of the patient, the routine care, and all appliances and supplies of every sort that will be used. under no circumstances should a midwife be engaged. any reputable physician or any intellectual minister will advise that. let your choice be either the hospital or the home; but always engage a physician, never a midwife.
-after selecting the place of confinement, the question of the nurse may next be considered. if it is to be the hospital, you need give little further thought to the nurse, for your physician will arrange for the nurse at the time you enter the hospital. she will be a part of the complete service you may enjoy. you will find her on duty as you, quietly resting in your room, awaken in the sweet satisfaction that at last it is all over--at last your baby is here.
-a competent nurse is a necessity, if the confinement takes place in the home. she may be a visiting nurse, who, for a small fee, will not only come on the day of labor, but will make what is known as "post-partum calls" each day for ten or twelve days. these are short calls, but are long enough to clean up the mother and wash and dress the babe. she is not supposed to prepare any meals or care for the home. then there is the practical nurse--women who have prepared themselves along these lines of nursing, whose fees range from $12.00 to $18.00 a week. if your physician recommends one to you, you may know she is clean and dependable. the trained nurse, who has graduated from a three years' course of training, is prepared for every emergency, and will intelligently work with the physician for the patient's welfare and comfort. her fees range from $25.00 to $35.00 a week.
-both the practical and the trained nurses are human beings, and require rest and sleep the same as all other women do. one nurse, after having faithfully remained at her post of duty some sixty hours reminded the husband and sister of the patient that she must now have five hours of unbroken rest and they replied in a most surprised manner, "why we are paying you $30.00 a week, and besides, we understood you were a trained nurse."
-preparations for a home delivery
-the supplies should all be in the home and ready, as the seventh month of pregnancy draws near. in the first place, select the drawer or closet shelf where the supplies are to remain, untouched, until your physician orders them brought out. the supplies requiring special preparation and sterilization are:
-three pounds of absorbent cotton. one large package of sterile gauze (25 yards). four rolls of cotton batting. two yards of stout muslin for abdominal binders. two old sheets. twelve old towels or diapers. one yard of strong narrow tape for tying the cord. three short obstetrical gowns for the patient. two pairs of extra long white stockings. four t-binders.
-other articles needed by physician, nurse, and patient are:
-just before confinement send for one ounce of fluid extract of ergot and an original pint bottle of squibb's chloroform.
-the preparation of the supplies
-1. the sanitary pad is used to absorb the lochia after confinement, and needs to be changed many times during the day and night; fully five or six dozen will be required. they are usually made from cotton batting and a generous layer of absorbent cotton. if made entirely from absorbent cotton they mat down into a rope-like condition. they are four and one-half to five inches wide and ten inches long. the sterile cheesecloth is cut large enough to wrap around the cotton filling and extends at both ends three inches, by which it is fastened to the abdominal binder. with a dozen or fifteen in each package these vulva pads are wrapped loosely in pieces of old sheets and pinned securely and marked plainly on the outside.
-2. delivery pads. these pads should be thirty-six inches square and about five inches thick, three or four inches of which may be the cotton batting and the remainder absorbent cotton. three of these are needed. each should be folded, wrapped in a piece of cloth and likewise marked.
-3. gauze squares. five dozen gauze squares about four inches in size may be cut, wrapped and marked. these are needed for the nipples, baby's eyes, etc.
-5. the bobbin. cut the bobbin or tape into four nine-inch lengths and wrap and mark.
-6. the tooth picks are left in the original package and do not require sterilization.
-7. sterilization. before steaming and baking, wrap each bundle in another wrapping of cloth and pin again securely. mark each package plainly in large letters or initials. these packages may be sent to the hospital for sterilization in the autoclave or they may be steamed for one hour in the large wash boiler, by placing them loosely into a hammock-like arrangement made by suspending a firm piece of muslin from one handle of the boiler to the other. the center of the hammock should come to within five inches of the bottom of the boiler which contains three inches of boiling water. the cover of the boiler is now securely weighed down and the water boils hard for one hour, at the end of which time they are removed and placed in a warm oven to dry out. the outer wrapping may be slightly tinged with brown by this baking. after a thorough drying they are allowed to remain in the same wrappings into which they were first placed and put away in a clean drawer awaiting the "natal day."
-requisites for the hospital
-each hospital has its own methods and regulations for caring for obstetrical patients and it is well for the expectant mother to visit the obstetrical section, the delivery-room and the baby's room, that she may personally know more about the place where she is to spend from ten days to two weeks. here she may ascertain from the superintendent just what she will need to bring for the baby. many of the hospitals furnish all the clothes needed for the baby while in the hospital; in such instances, the hospital also launders them. other hospitals require the baby's clothes to be brought in, in which case the mother looks after the laundry. the mother always takes her toilet articles, a warm bed jacket with long sleeves, several night dresses and a large loose kimono or wrapper to wear to the roof garden or porch in the wheel chair. warm bedroom slippers and a scarf for the head completes the outfit.
-baby's basket on the day of confinement should contain:
-one pound of absorbent cotton. one pint of liquid albolene. one half ounce of argyrol (mentioned in the mother's list). safety pins of assorted sizes. a powder box containing powder and puff. an old soft blanket in which to receive the child after birth. a soft hair brush. three old towels. small package of sterile gauze squares. scales. diapers. a silk and wool shirt (size no. 2). an abdominal band to be sewed on with needle and thread. a pair of silk and wool stockings. a flannel skirt. an outing flannel night dress. a woolen wrapper.
-the confinement room
-by special preparation, the ordinary bedroom may be fashioned into a delivery-room. carpets, hangings and upholstered furniture must be removed. clean walls, clean floors, and a scrupulously clean bed must be maintained throughout the puerperium. bathroom, and if possible, a porch should be near by. in the wealthy home, a bedroom, bathroom and the nursery adjoining is ideal; but i find that real life is always filled with anything but the ideal.
-the dispensary doctor is compelled to depend upon clean newspapers to cover everything in the room he finds his patient in. the only sterile things he uses he brings with him, and should he have to spend the night, the floor is his only bed. a student who was in my service told me that there was not one article in the entire home, which consisted of but one room, that could be used for the baby. he wrapped his own coat about it and laid it carefully in a market basket and placed it on the floor at the side of the pallet on which the mother lay and by the aid of a nearby telephone secured clothes from the dispensary for the babe.
-always select the best room in the house for a home confinement. if the parlor is the one sunny room, take it; remove all draperies, carpet, etc., and make it as near surgically clean as possible. while sunshine is desirable, ample shades must be supplied, as the eyes of both mother and babe must be protected.
-a three-quarter bed is more desirable than a double bed. if it is low, four-inch blocks should be placed under each leg, the casters having been removed to prevent slipping. the bed should be so placed that it can be reached from either side by the nurse and physician. the mattress may be reenforced by the placing of a board under it if there is a tendency to sag in the middle. over this mattress is securely pinned the strip of rubber sheeting or table oilcloth. a clean sheet covers mattress and rubber cloth and at the spot where the hips are to lie may be placed the large sterile pad to absorb the escaping fluids. the floor about the bed is protected by newspapers or oilcloth. good lighting should always be provided. much trouble and possible infection may be avoided by clean bedding, plenty of clean dressings, boiled water, rubber gloves, and clean hands.
-the day of labor
-as the two hundred and seventy-three days come to a close, our expectant mother approaches the day of labor with joy and gladness. the long, long waiting days so full of varied experiences, so full of the consciousness that she, the waiting mother, is to bring into the world a being which may have so many possibilities--well, even the anticipated pangs of approaching labor are welcomed as marking the close of the long vigil. these days have brought many unpleasant symptoms, they have been days of tears and smiles, of clouds and sunshine.
-the time of waiting
-the prospective mother has thought many times, "will my baby ever come?" but nature is very faithful, prompt, and resourceful. she ushers in this harvest time under great stress and strain, for actual labor is before us--downright, hard labor--just about the hardest work that womankind ever experiences--and, as a rule, she needs but little help--good direction as to the proper method of work and the economical expenditure of energy. in the case of the average mother this is about all that is needed, and if these suggestions come from a wise and sympathetic physician--one who understands and appreciates asepsis--she may count herself as fortunately situated for the oncoming ordeal.
-in the days of our grandmothers it was almost the exception rather than the rule to escape "child-bed fever," "milk leg," etc.; but in these enlightened days of asepsis, rubber gloves, and the various antiseptics, puerperal infection is the exception, while a normal puerperium is the rule; and this work of prevention lies in the scrupulous care taken by anyone and everyone concerned in any way with the events of the day of labor.
-on this day of labor, the mother, who has gone through the long tedious days of waiting, should see to it that nothing unclean--hands, sponges, forcep, water, cloth--is allowed to touch her. above all things do not employ a physician who has earned the reputation of being a "dirty doctor." puerperal infection is almost wholly a preventable disease and every patient has a right to insist upon protection against it.
-in a former chapter will be found a detailed description of the "delivery bed." beside this bed, or near by, are to be found the rack on which are airing the necessary garments for the baby's reception--the receiving blanket and other requisites for the first bath--together with numerous other articles essential to safety and comfort.
-there should be an easy chair in the room for the mother to rest in between her walking excursions during the first stages of labor. the sterilized pads and necessary articles mentioned in an earlier chapter are, of course, close at hand.
-first symptoms of labor
-regular, cramp-like pains in the lower portion of the abdomen which are frequently mistaken for intestinal colic, often beginning in the lower part of the back, and extending to the front and down the thigh, are often the first symptoms of the approaching event. with each cramp or pain the abdomen gets very hard and as the pain passes away the abdomen again assumes its normal condition. these regular cramp-like pains are the result of the early dilation of the cervix--the first opening of the door to the uterine room which has housed our little citizen through the developmental stages of embryonic life--and as a result of this stretching and dilating there soon appears that special blood-tinged mucus flow commonly known as "the show."
-the preliminary bath
-at this time a very thorough-going colonic flushing should be administered. the patient takes the "knee-chest" position, or the "lying-down" position, and there should flow into the lower bowel three pints of soapy water; this should be retained for a few moments; and after its expulsion, a short, plain water injection should be given. now follows the preliminary general bath.
-just prior to the bath, the pubic hair should be clipped closely, or better shaved. then should follow a thorough soap wash, with patient standing up in the tub, using plenty of soap, applied with a shampoo brush or rough turkish mit. the rinsing now takes place by either a shower or pail pour. do not sit down in the tub. this is a rule that must not be broken, because of the danger of infection in those cases where the bag of waters may have broken early in the labor.
-a weak antiseptic solution, prepared by putting two small antiseptic tablets into one pint and a half of warm water, is now applied to the body from the breasts to the knee. put on a freshly laundered gown, clean stockings and wrapper. the head should be cleansed and hair braided in two braids.
-the progress of labor
-if all the mothers who read this volume could bear children with the comfort mrs. c. does, i should be happy, indeed.
-at four o'clock one morning a very much excited father telephoned me, "hurry, quick, doctor, it's almost here." it was well that we did hurry, for the first sign the little mother had was the deluge of the waters--at this point the husband ran to telephone for the doctor--no more pains for thirty-eight minutes (just as we entered the door) and the baby was there. but such is not usually the case, nor will it be, as labor usually progresses along the lines of conscious dilating pains, occurring at intervals twenty minutes apart at first, later drawing nearer together until they are three to five minutes apart. this "first stage of labor" lasts from one to fifteen hours--during which time the tiny door to the uterine room which was originally about one-eighth of an inch open--dilates sufficiently to allow the passage of the head, shoulders and body of the fully developed child.
-about this time the bag of waters usually bursts, and, as a rule, this marks the beginning of the "second stage of labor." the amount of water passed varies in amount. should the rupture take place before the door is fully open, then labor proceeds with difficulty and the condition is known as "dry labor."
-the head after proper rotation now begins the descent; and here the pains begin to change from the sharp, lancinating, cramp-like pains which begin in the back and move around to the front, to those of the "bearing down" variety, while at the same time there begins to appear the bulging at the perineum, which means that the head is about to be born. at this time great stress is brought to bear upon the perineum and often, in spite of anything that can be done to prevent it, the perineum is more or less lacerated.
-as soon as the baby is born the "second stage of labor" has passed and within thirty to fifty minutes the close of the third stage of labor is marked by the passage of the placenta or "afterbirth."
-false labor pains
-sometimes, as long as two weeks before the birth of the child, certain irregular, heavy, cramp-like pains occur in the abdomen and back. for a half-dozen pains they may show some signs of regularity; but they usually die down only to start up again at irregular intervals. these are known as "false pains."
-when the pains begin to take on regularity and gradually grow heavier and it is near the appointed time for the labor, the patient should prepare to start for the hospital; or, if it is to be a home delivery, the physician should be called. as noted above, the first subjective symptom may be the rupture of the bag of waters, and it is imperative to prepare at once for the labor. it is far better to spend the day at the hospital, or even two days waiting, rather than to run the risk of giving birth to the child in a taxicab or street car; or, in the event of a home labor, to have the child born before the doctor arrives.
-what to do in the absence of a doctor
-it is often the case that when we need our physician the most, he is busy with another patient and cannot come, or perhaps an automobile accident detains the man of the hour. the hospital delivery always possesses this advantage over the home--physicians are always on hand. we deem it wise to relate in detail the method of procedure during the rapid birth of a child; that the husband or nurse may give intelligent and clean service.
-and now if the pains are returning every three to five minutes or if the bag of waters has broken, the patient should go to bed. she will lie down on her back with the knees drawn up and spread apart. the patient, having had the cleansing bath, is now washed with the disinfectant bath (2 antiseptic tablets to 1½ pints of water), from the breasts to the knees. another member of the family takes the outer wrappings off the sterilized delivery pad and the "clean" helper places the sterile delivery pad under the expectant mother, who is directed to "bear down" when her pains come. she may be supported during these pains by pulling on a sheet that has been fastened to the foot of the bed.
-the clean, helper then sits by her constantly until the baby is born but under no circumstances should touch her until after the head appears. immediately after the birth of the head, the shoulders usually follow with the next pain, which ought to occur within two or three minutes. occasionally the face turns blue, in such an instance, the mother is directed to strain vigorously and presses down heavily on the abdomen with both her hands, this usually hurries matters materially, and the body of the child follows quickly. the baby should cry at once. if the child does not show signs of life, quick, brisk slapping on the back usually brings relief. during the birth of the head it is imperative that, in the event of liquid passing at the same time, no water or blood be sucked into the mouth by the baby. great care must be exercised in this matter. should the baby remain blue, lay it quickly upon its right side near the mother, and after the pulse of the cord has stopped beating the clean helper ties the cord twice, two inches from the child and again two inches from this tying toward the mother, and then the cord is cut between the two tyings with scissors that have been boiled twenty minutes.
-should there be more difficulty with the breathing of the new born child, if slapping it on the back brings no relief, its back (with face well protected) may be dipped first in good warm water, then cold, again in the warm, again in the cold--this seldom fails. the child should then be kept very warm, lying on its right side.
-care of the mother
-all this time, a member of the family has been firmly grasping the mother's abdomen, and within an hour the afterbirth passes out through the birth canal. if the physician has not yet arrived, all dressings, the pad, the afterbirth, must all be saved for his inspection.
-the inside of the thighs and the region about the vagina is now washed with bichloride solution, the soiled delivery pad removed, a clean delivery pad is placed under her; an abdominal binder is applied and two sterile vulva pads are placed between the legs, and hot water bottles are put to her feet, as usually at this stage there is a slight tendency toward chilliness. she should now settle down for rest. fresh air should be admitted into the room. there may be some hemorrhage, and if it is excessive, grasp the lower abdomen and begin to knead it until you distinctly feel a change in the uterus from the soft mass to a hard ball about the size of a large grape fruit; thus contraction has been brought about which causes the hemorrhage to decrease. if the doctor has not yet arrived put the baby to the breast, and place an ice bag for ten or fifteen minutes on the abdomen just over the uterus. should there be lacerations, the doctor will attend to their repair when he comes. one teaspoonful of the fluid extract of ergot is usually given at this time, if possible get in touch with the physician before it is administered.
-care of the baby
-after the mother is comfortable, your attention is directed to the baby; the condition of the cord is noted; should it be bleeding, do not disturb the tying, but tie again, more tightly just below the former tying, and with the long ends of the tape, tie on a sterile gauze sponge or a piece of clean untouched medicated cotton, thus efficiently protecting the severed end of the cord. no further dressing is needed until the doctor arrives.
-grave disorders have arisen from infection through the freshly cut umbilical cord.
-should the doctor be longer delayed, one drop of twenty per cent argyrol should be dropped in each of the infant's eyes and separate pieces of cotton should be used for each eye to wipe the surplus medicine away.
-this application must not be long neglected, for a very large per cent of all the blindness in this world might have been avoided had this medicine been placed in each eye soon after birth.
-the warmed albolene is now swabbed over the entire body of the infant (this is done with a piece of cotton), the arm pits, the groins, behind the ears, between the thighs, the bend of the elbow, etc, must all receive the albolene swabbing. in a few minutes, this is gently rubbed off with a piece of gauze or an old soft towel, and the baby comes forth as clean and as smooth as a lily and as sweet as a rose.
-the garments are now placed on the child--first the band, then shirt, diaper, stockings, flannel skirt, and outing flannel gown--and it is put to rest after the administration of one teaspoonful of cooled, boiled water. in six to eight hours it will be put to the breast.
-twilight sleep and painless labor
-in recent years much has appeared in both the popular magazines and the medical press concerning the so-called "twilight sleep" and other methods of producing "painless childbirth." many of these popular articles in the lay press cannot be regarded in any other light than as being in bad taste and wholly unfortunate in their method and manner of presenting the subject; nevertheless, these writings have served to arouse such a general public interest in the subject of obstetric anesthetics, that we deem it advisable to devote two chapters to the brief and concise consideration of the subjects of pain and anesthetics in relation to the day of labor.
-the pain of labor
-first, let us briefly consider the question of pain in connection with childbirth. many women--normal, natural, and healthy women--suffer but comparatively little in giving birth to an average-sized baby during an average and uncomplicated labor. like the indian squaw, they suffer a minimum of pain at childbirth--at least this is largely true after the birth of the first baby; and so there is little need of discussing any sort of anesthesia for this group of fortunate women; for at most, all that would ever be employed in the nature of an anesthetic in such cases, would be a trifle of chloroform to take the edge off the suffering at the height or conclusion of labor.
-but the vast majority of american mothers do not belong to this fortunate and normal class of women who suffer so little during childbirth; they rather belong to that large and growing class of women who have dressed wrong; who have lived unhealthful and sometimes indolent lives; who are more or less physically and temperamentally unfitted to pass through the experiences of pregnancy and the trials of labor.
-the average american woman shrinks from the thought and prospect of suffering pain; she is quite intolerant with the idea of undergoing even the few brief moments of physical suffering attendant upon childbirth. she refuses to contemplate the day of labor in any other light than that which insures her against all possible pain and other physical suffering.
-and it is just this unnatural and abnormal fear of labor-pains--this unwomanly dread of the slightest degree of physical suffering--that has indirectly led up to so much discussion regarding the employment of "twilight sleep" and other forms of obstetric anesthesia.
-while the authors recognize the great blessing of anesthesia to the woman in labor--and almost unfailingly make use of it in some form--nevertheless, we also recognize that it would be a fine form of mental discipline and mighty good moral gymnastics, if a great many self-centered and pampered women would "spunk right up" and face the ordeal of labor with natural courage and normal fortitude. it would be "the making of them," it would make new women out of them, it would start them out on the road to real living. at the same time we do not mean to advocate that women should suffer unnecessary pain in childbirth any more than we allow them to suffer in connection with surgery.
-preparation for labor
-while so much is being written about "twilight sleep" and "painless labor," it might be well to remind the american mother that much can be done to lessen the sufferings of the day of labor by one's method of living prior to the confinement.
-we believe that child-bearing is a perfectly normal physical function for a healthy and normal woman--that it is even essential to her complete physical health, mental happiness, and moral well-being. theoretically, child-bearing ought to be but little more painful than the functionating of numerous other vital organs--stomach, heart, bladder, bowels, etc.--and, indeed, it is not in the case of certain savage tribes and other aboriginal people, such as our own north american indian.
-but we must face the facts. the average american woman does suffer at childbirth; and she suffers more than we are disposed to allow her, or more than she, as a general rule, is willing to suffer. so, while we discuss appropriate methods of lessening the pain of labor and the pangs of childbirth by the scientific use of anesthetics, let us also call attention to certain things which may aid in decreasing the amount of pain which may reasonably be expected to attend child bearing.
-to assist in bringing about this preparation for decreased pain at childbirth, mothers should teach their daughters how to develop, strengthen, and preserve their physical, mental, and moral resistance. the young mother should be taught by both her mother and her physician how to dress, how to work, and how to eat. every care should be given to the hygiene of pregnancy and labor.
-the expectant mother should have plenty of fruits and fruit juices, and if not physically well endowed to give birth to a large babe, she should have her diet restricted in meat, bread and milk, as well as the cereals. overeating during pregnancy should be carefully guarded against, as emphasized in an earlier chapter. deformities of the pelvis, etc., should rule out a consideration of pregnancy.
-while artificial painless childbirth by means of "twilight sleep" and other similar methods all have their place; nevertheless, these procedures should not lead to the neglect of those natural methods and preventive practices which aid in preparing the normal expectant mother for nature's relatively painless labor. when so much anesthesia has to be used in a normal labor, it cannot but strongly suggest that both patient and physician have neglected those common but efficient methods which contribute indirectly to lessening the pangs of child bearing.
-what is twilight sleep?
-"twilight sleep" is a recent term which has become associated in the public mind with "painless labor." the reader should understand that "twilight sleep" is not a new method of obstetric anesthesia. while this method of inducing "painless labor" has been brought prominently before the public mind in recent years by much discussion and by numerous magazine articles--being often presented in such a way as sometimes to lead the uninstructed layman to infer that a new method of obstetric anesthesia had just been discovered--it has, nevertheless, been known and more or less used since 1903. later known as the "freiburg method," and as the "dammerschlaf" of gauss, and still later popularized as "twilight sleep," this "scopolamin-morphin" method of obstetric anesthesia, has gained wide attention and acquired many zealous advocates.
-"twilight sleep" is, therefore, nothing new--it is simply a revival of the old combination of scopolamin and morphin anesthesia. while many different methods of administering "twilight sleep" have been devised, the following general plan will serve to inform the reader sufficiently regarding the technic of this much-talked-of procedure.
-technic of "twilight sleep"
-the "twilight-sleep" injections are not started until the patient is in the stage of active labor. the initial injection consists of the proper dose of scopolamin and morphin (or some of their derivatives), while the patient's pupils, pulse, and respiration are carefully noted, as also are the character of the uterine contractions and the character of the fetal heart action.
-usually within an hour, a second dose of scopolamin is given, while the application of so-called "memory tests" serves to indicate whether it is advisable to administer additional injections. some leading advocates of this method claim that the majority of the unfavorable results attendant upon "twilight sleep" are the direct result of failure to control the dosage of the drug by these "memory tests;" and they call attention to the large percentage of "painlessness" as proof of probable overdosing. if the patient's memory is clear and she is not yet under the influence of the drug, a third dose is soon given. if, however, the patient is in a state of amnesia (lack of memory), this third injection is not commonly given until about one hour after the second injection. the amount of amnesia present is used as a guide for repeated injections at intervals of one to one and a half hours. as a rule, the morphin is not repeated.
-it must be evident that the success of such a method of anesthesia must depend entirely upon thoroughgoing personal supervision of the individual patient by a properly trained and experienced physician; and it is for just these reasons that "twilight sleep" is destined to remain largely a hospital procedure for a long time to come.
-experience has shown that those cases of "twilight sleep" that are not under the influence of scopolamin over five or six hours do vastly better than those under a longer time. when employed too long before labor this method seems to favor inertia and thus tends to increase the number of forceps deliveries.
-the number of injections may run from one to a dozen or more, and patients have come through without accident with fifteen or more doses, running over a period of twenty-four hours.
-the claims of "twilight sleep"
-while "twilight sleep" as a method of anesthesia is not altogether new, many of the claims made for it by recent advocates are more or less new; and, to enable the reader clearly to comprehend both the advantages and disadvantages of this method, both the favorable and unfavorable facts and contentions will be summarized in this connection. the favorable claims made for "twilight sleep" are:
-1. that eighty to ninety per cent of all women who use this method can be carried through a practically painless labor.
-2. that there is practically no danger to the mother (some degree of danger to the child is admitted by most of its champions) other than those commonly attendant on the older and better known methods in general use.
-3. that "twilight sleep," being almost exclusively a hospital procedure, would result in more women going to the hospital for their confinement--if it were used more; and would, therefore, tend to bring about more careful supervision and individual care on the part of the attending obstetrician.
-4. that by lessening the dread of labor and the fear of painful childbirth, there will probably occur an increase in the birth rate of the so-called "higher classes of society"--the social circles which now show the lowest birth rates.
-5. that it is of special value in the cases of certain neurotic women and those of low vital resistance; especially those patients suffering from certain forms of heart, respiratory, kidney, and other organic diseases.
-6. some authorities maintain that "twilight sleep" is of value even in threatened eclampsia, although they admit it tends to produce a rise in blood-pressure.
-7. it is supposed to shorten the first stage of labor--by facilitating the dilation of the cervix--owing to the painless stretching; although the majority of its special advocates admit that it lengthens the second stage of labor, during which the patient must be very closely watched.
-8. that even in those cases where the sense of pain is not entirely destroyed, the patient seems to possess little or no subsequent memory of any physical suffering or other disagreeable sensations.
-9. that the method is of special value in sensitive, high-strung, nervous women of the "higher classes," who so habitually shun the rigors of child bearing--especially in the instance of their first child.
-10. that the action of scopolamin is chiefly upon the central nervous system--the cerebrum--that it diminishes the perception of pain without apparently decreasing the contractile power of the uterus; labor may, therefore, proceed with little or no interruption, while the patient is quite oblivious to the accompanying pains.
-11. that the physical and nervous exhaustion is quite entirely eliminated--especially in the case of the first labor--that patients who have had this method of anesthesia appear refreshed and quite themselves even the first day after labor.
-12. that there is decidedly less "trauma" (appreciable injury) to the nervous system and therefore less "shock;" and that all this saving of nervous strain tends greatly to hasten convalescence.
-13. and, finally, that "twilight sleep" does not interfere with the carrying out of any other therapeutic measures which may be deemed necessary for a successful termination of the labor.
-dangers of twilight sleep
-while we are recounting the real and supposed advantages of "twilight sleep"--especially in certain selected cases--it will be wise to pause long enough to give the same careful consideration to the known and reputed dangers and drawbacks which are thought to attend this method of anesthesia in connection with labor cases.
-we desire to state that these expressions, both for and against "twilight sleep," are not merely representative of our own experience and attitude; but that they also represent, as far as we are able to judge at the time of this writing, the consensus of opinion on the part of the most reliable and experienced observers and practitioners who have used and studied this method in both this country and europe. the dangers and difficulties of "twilight sleep" may be summarized as follows:
-1. that this method tends to weaken the mental resistance of many women; to lessen their natural courage and to decrease that commendable fortitude which is such a valuable feature of the character endowment of the normal woman.
-2. that "twilight sleep" is essentially a hospital method and is, therefore, inaccessible to the vast majority of women belonging to the middle and lower classes of society, as well as to those women who live in rural communities.
-3. that in fifteen or twenty per cent, the method fails to produce the desired results--at least, when administered in amounts which are deemed safe.
-4. that this method does decrease the baby's chances of living; that the second stage of labor is definitely prolonged; that from ten to fifteen per cent of the babies are sufficiently under the influence of the anesthesia when born as to be unable to breathe or cry without artificial stimulus.
-5. that it is a method requiring special training and experience; that it will be many years before the average practitioner will become proficient in its use; and that the older methods are probably far safer for the average physician.
-6. that the method requires more care in its administration than can be expected outside of the hospital in order to avoid the dangers of fetal asphyxiation--which danger has led not a few obstetricians to abandon it.
-7. that a satisfactory technic is almost impossible of development; that every patient must be individualized; that the chief dangers are connected with the over dosage of morphin; that the method is not adaptable to the general practice of the average doctor.
-8. that by prolonging the second stage of labor and by sometimes giving too much morphin, the number of forceps deliveries is greatly increased, with their attendant and increased dangers to both mother and child.
-9. that the prospects of passing through labor which may be rendered painless by artificial methods, tends to produce an attitude of carelessness and indifference towards those natural methods of living and other hygienic practices which so greatly contribute to naturally painless confinements.
-10. that this method as sometimes practiced greatly increases the dangers of a general anesthetic, if such should be found necessary later on during the labor.
-11. that "twilight sleep" is contra-indicated (should not be used) in the following conditions: primary inertia (abnormally delayed and slow labor); expected short labor--especially in women who have already borne children; when the fetal head is known to be large and the mother's pelvis small; placenta praevia (abnormal placental attachment); accidental hemorrhage; absent or doubtful fetal heart beat; when labor is already far advanced; and in threatened convulsions and eclampsia.
-conclusions regarding twilight sleep
-having presented the evidence both for and against "twilight sleep," it may be of assistance to the lay reader to have placed before her the personal conclusions and working opinions of the authors. we, therefore, undertake to summarize our present attitude and outline our practice as follows:
-1. "twilight sleep" as a method of obstetric anesthesia in certain selected cases and in well-equipped hospitals, and in the hands of careful and experienced practitioners, has demonstrated that it is a scientific reality--and has probably come to stay--at least until better and safer methods of affecting a relatively painless confinement are discovered; although we are compelled to state that it is not the panacea the lay press has led many of our patients to believe. (that we believe a much better and safer method has been devised, the next chapter will fully disclose.)
-2. we do not expect this method ever to become general in its use; we do not look for a chain of special "twilight hospitals" to stretch across the continent and then to overrun the country. we expect much of the recent forced enthusiasm to die down, while scopolamin-morphin anesthesia takes it proper place among other scientific methods of alleviating the pangs of labor.
-3. we know that standard and fresh solutions--as already noted--are absolutely essential for the success of this method.
-5. the patient must be in a quiet and partially darkened room. she must not be disturbed; while the physician, or a competent trained nurse, must be in constant attendance.
-6. while this method of treatment is best carried out in the well-appointed hospital, there is no real reason why it cannot be fairly well carried out in a well-regulated private home, provided the necessary preparations have been made, a trained nurse is present, and provided, further, that the physician is willing to remain in the home with the patient the length of time required properly to supervise the treatment.
-7. even when the treatment is not instituted early in labor, it can, in certain selected and appropriate cases, be utilized even in the second stage of labor--thus saving these special cases much unnecessary pain; in fact, some authorities regard it as a valuable adjunct in the management of "borderland contractions" as it allows the patient a full test of labor.
-8. in our opinion, this method has little effect on the first stage of labor if properly administered; but it does undoubtedly prolong and tend to complicate the second stage; in fact, we are coming to look upon "twilight sleep" as being more distinctly a first stage procedure; that it bears the same relation to the first stage of labor that chloroform bears to the second stage--relieving the pain but not stopping the progress of labor.
-9. that when safe amounts of the drug are used the pain is greatly lessened in all cases--the subsequent memory of pain is absent in the majority of the patients--but the labor is not always entirely painless as is popularly supposed.
-10. we do not believe that this method when properly administered increases the number of forceps deliveries--at least not in the case of high forceps operations. it undoubtedly does cover up the symptoms of a threatened rupture of the uterus, and thus increases danger from that source; nevertheless it may be safely stated that this method does not in any way greatly interfere with any other measures which might be found necessary to institute in order to bring about a successful termination of the labor.
-11. the baby's heart beat must be carefully and constantly watched; sudden slowing means that the treatment must be discontinued and the child delivered as soon as possible; even then, difficulty may be experienced in getting the baby's breathing started after it is born. in the vast majority of cases where the baby does not cry or breathe at birth, the usual methods employed in such cases serve quickly to establish normal respiration, and the baby seems to be but little the worse for the experience.
-12. while altogether too much has been claimed for "twilight sleep" at the same time many false fears have also been suggested, among which may be mentioned the fear of the mother losing her mind after the treatment; the undue fear of asphyxiation on the part of the baby; the fear of post-partum hemorrhage; and the fear that it will lessen the milk supply. we cannot deny that the child's dangers are often increased; but in other respects, this method (in properly selected cases) presents little more to worry us than the older methods of anesthesia.
-13. we are inclined to the belief that this method has but little influence on the course of convalescence following labor. certain nervous and highly excitable women certainly seem to do better, as a result of experiencing less pain and nervous shock; while other cases do not turn out so well. it certainly does not retard repair and recovery during the puerperium.
-15. this method as has already been intimated, is most useful in the case of the first baby, or in the case of women who have established a record of tedious and painful labors. it has no place in normal and short labors; although it may be used to great advantage in certain cases during the first stage of labor--being carefully and lightly administered--while chloroform or gas is utilized at the end of the second stage just as has been our custom for a generation.
-16. as noted under the special claims made for this method, it is (as also is nitrous oxid) the ideal procedure in cases of heart, respiratory, kidney, and other organic difficulties, the details of which have already been noted, and their repetition here is not necessary.
-17. it must be remembered that scopolamin and morphin are more or less uncertain in their action; scopolamin is variable in its results, often producing such marked nervous excitement in the patient as greatly to interfere with the carrying out of an aseptic technic; while morphin has been shunned by obstetricians for a whole generation, because of its well-known bad effects on the unborn child as well as its interference with muscular activity on the part of the mother.
-18. in presenting these facts and opinions regarding "twilight sleep," the reader should bear in mind that we are not only endeavoring to state our own views and experience, but also to give the reader just as clear and fair an idea of what other and experienced physicians think of the method, both favorably and unfavorably; and we will draw these conclusions to a close by citing the opinion of one or two who have had considerable experience with the method and who, in summing up their observations, say:
-the disadvantages of the method are entirely with the accoucheur and not to the mother or child. it requires his presence at the bedside from the time the treatment is undertaken until the completion of labor, not so much because of any danger, but to keep the patient evenly under anesthesia on a line midway between consciousness and unconsciousness, for if she is allowed to go above that line in several instances she will have several so-called "isles of memory," and will be able to draw a picture of her labor in her mind and thus lose the benefit of the treatment.
-this chapter has been devoted to "twilight sleep;" the following chapter will consider "nitrous oxid" and other methods of anesthesia in connection with labor, and should be read along with the foregoing discussion in order to obtain an intelligent view of the whole subject of "painless labor."
-sunrise slumber and nitrous oxid
-since the public has already been told so much about obstetric anesthesia, we deem it best to go into the whole subject thoroughly, so that the expectant mothers who read this book will be able to form an intelligent opinion regarding the question, and thus be in a position to give hearty cooperation to the decision of their physician to employ, or not to employ, any special form of anesthesia or analgesia in their particular case. in order to give the reader a complete understanding of "painless labor," it will be necessary to give attention to that newer and more safe method of obstetric anesthesia called "sunrise slumber." this method of anesthesia consists in the employment of nitrous oxid or "laughing gas," and will be fully considered in this chapter.
-in this connection we desire to reiterate and further emphasize some statements made in the preceding chapter concerning the unnatural fear and abnormal dread of childbirth.
-we feel that it is very important in connection with this new movement in obstetrics to reduce the woman's pain and suffering to the lowest possible minimum, that the trials of labor should not be overdrawn and the pangs of confinement overestimated. we must not educate the normal woman to look upon labor as a terrible ordeal--something like a major surgical operation--which, since it cannot be escaped, must be endured with the aid of a deep anesthesia.
-the facts are that a very small per cent of healthy women suffer any considerable degree of severe pain--at least not after the first child. we often observe that judicious mental suggestion on the part of the physician or nurse in the form of encouraging words and supporting assurances tends to exert a marked influence in controlling nervousness and subduing the sufferings of the earlier labor pains.
-we must not allow the efforts of medical science to lessen the sufferings of child-bearing, to rob womankind of their natural and commendable courage, endurance, and self-reliance.
-we do not mean to perpetuate the old superstition that pain and suffering are the necessary and inevitable accompaniments of child-bearing--that the pangs of labor are a divine sentence pronounced upon womankind--and that, therefore, nothing should be done to lessen the sufferings of confinement. severe and unnatural pain is not at all necessary to childbirth, and there exists no reason under the sun why women should suffer and endure it, any more than they should suffer the horrors of a very painful surgical operation without an anesthetic. in this connection, it should be recalled that analgesic drugs have been introduced into obstetric practice only during the last fifty years, while such methods of relieving pain have been used in general surgery for a much longer period. it is now only sixty-nine years since simpson first employed anesthetic in obstetrics, while six years afterwards queen victoria gave her seal of approval to the use of chloroform in labor cases.
-thirty years ago, in speaking of the expectant mothers, lusk warned us:
-as the nervous organization loses in the power of resistance as the result of higher civilization and of artificial refinement, it becomes imperatively necessary for the physician to guard her from the dangers of excessive and too prolonged suffering.
-nitrous oxid--"laughing gas"
-nitrous oxid, or "laughing gas," was first used in labor cases in 1880 by a russian physician. during the last twenty-five years it has been used off and on by numerous practitioners in connection with confinement, but not until the last few years has this method of relieving labor pain come into prominent notice.
-while the "laughing gas" method of obstetric anesthesia did not gain notoriety and publicity from being exploited in magazines and other lay publications, it did get its initial boost in a very unique and unusual manner. a gentleman who manufactured and sold a "laughing gas" and oxygen mixing machine for the use of dentists, insisted that this method of anesthesia should be used in the case of his daughter, who was about to be confined. this patient was kept under this nitrous oxid anesthetic for six hours--came out fine--no accidents or other undesirable complications affecting either mother or child, and thus another and safe method of reducing the sufferings of childbirth has been fully demonstrated and confirmed, although it had previously been known and used in labor cases to some extent.
-analgesia vs. anesthesia
-the reader should understand the difference between analgesia and anesthesia. anesthesia refers to the condition in which the patient is more or less unconscious--wholly or partially oblivious to what is going on, and, of course, entirely insensible to all pain. analgesia is a term applied to the loss of pain sensation. the patient may not be wholly or even partially unconscious--merely under the influence of some agent which dulls, deadens, or otherwise destroys the realization of pain. this is the condition aimed at by the proper administration of any form of "twilight sleep," whether by the scopolamin-morphin method, or by the nitrous oxid ("sunrise slumber") method.
-any method of treatment which can more or less destroy the pain of labor without in any way interfering with its progress, and which in no way complicates its course or leaves behind any bad effects on either mother or child, must certainly be hailed with joy by both the patient and the physician. while chloroform has served these purposes fairly well, there have been numerous drawbacks and certain dangers; and it was the knowledge of these limitations in the use of both chloroform and ether, that has led to further experimentation and the development of these newer methods of producing satisfactory analgesia--freedom from pain--without bringing about such a state of profound anesthesia as accompanies the administration of the older methods.
-it should be borne in mind that in using "sunrise slumber" (nitrous oxid) for labor pains, the gas is so administered that the patient is just kept on the "borderline"--in a typical "twilight" state--and not in the condition of deep anesthesia which is developed when nitrous oxid is employed by physicians and dentists as an anesthetic for major and minor surgical operations.
-analgesia is the first stage of anesthesia--the "twilight zone" of approaching unconsciousness--in which the sense of pain is greatly dulled or entirely lost, while even that which is experienced is not remembered. it seems to the authors that "gas" is the ideal drug for producing this condition whenever it is necessary, as nitrous oxid is the most volatile of anaesthetics, acts most quickly, and its effects pass away most rapidly, while its administration is under the most perfect control--it may be administered with any desired proportion of oxygen--and may be discontinued on a moment's notice. it is practically free from danger even when continued as an analgesic for several hours. nitrous oxid never causes any serious disturbance in the unborn child, as chloroform sometimes does when used too liberally.
-effects of nitrous oxid
-1. it can accomplish its purpose--can quite satisfactorily relieve the mother of severe pain--when employed as an analgesic. it is not necessary to administer the gas to the point of anesthesia except at the height of suffering at the end of the second stage of labor, when the head of the child is passing through the birth canal.
-2. this method can be stopped at any moment--the patient ran be brought out from under its influence entirely and almost instantaneously. it is not like a hypodermic injection of a drug which may exert a varying and unknown influence upon the patient, and which, when once given, cannot be recalled.
-3. it is a method which may be used in the patient's home just as safely as in a hospital; the only drawback being the inconvenience of transporting the gas-containing cylinders back and forth. this is even now partially overcome by the improved combination gas and oxygen form of apparatus which has been devised.
-4. the administration of nitrous oxid analgesia or anesthesia does not interfere with or lessen the uterine contractions or expulsive efforts on the part of the mother--at least not to any appreciable extent.
-6. this method ("sunrise slumber") is certainly far more safe in ordinary and unskilled hands than the "twilight sleep" procedure. the patient is more safe with this method in the hands of the average doctor or trained nurse.
-7. it has been our experience that nitrous oxid in the smaller, interrupted and analgesic doses, actually tends to stimulate the uterine pains and contractions, while at the same time rendering the patient quite oblivious to their presence. when properly administered, the freedom from pain is perfect.
-8. under the influence of "gas," patients often appear to "bear down" with increased energy. it certainly does not lessen their cooperation in this respect.
-9. we have not observed, nor have we learned of, any cases of inertia (weak and delayed contractions), post partum hemorrhage, or shock, as a result of "laughing gas" or "sunrise slumber" analgesia.
-10. this method lends itself to perfect control--it may be decreased, increased, or discontinued, at will; it may be given light now and heavy at another time; while, at the height of labor, it may be pushed to the point of complete anesthesia, if desired.
-12. a possible objection to the nitrous-oxid method is the cost, especially in the private home. the average cost in the hospitals where we are using this method runs about $2.00 for the first hour and $1.50 for each hour thereafter. this is the cost when using large tanks of gas, and is, of course, somewhat increased when the smaller tanks are used in the patient's home.
-method of administration
-since it was thought best to give the reader some idea of the technic for the administration of "twilight sleep," it may not be amiss to explain how "sunrise slumber" is usually employed in labor cases. the technic is very simple. the administration of the gas is generally begun about the time the patient begins seriously to complain of the severity of the second stage pains; although, of course, the gas can be given during the first stage pains if desired. in the vast majority of cases, however, we think it is best to encourage the patient to endure these earlier and lighter pains without resorting to analgesic procedures.
-the form of apparatus used is the same as that employed by dentists and contains both nitrous oxid and oxygen cylinders. a small nasal inhaler is best, although the ordinary mouthpiece will do very well. the gasbag attached to the tank should be kept under low pressure and, as a pain begins, the patient is told to breathe quietly, keeping the mouth closed. as a rule this sort of light inhalation serves to produce the desired analgesic effect. it is not necessary to put the patient deeply under in order to relieve the pain.
-it is our custom to begin "sunrise slumber" as soon as the uterine contractions become painful. the earlier the gas is started, the more oxygen should be used. two or three inhalations will suffice to take the "edge" off the earlier and lighter pains. when the pains grow heavier we use less oxygen and permit three or four deep inhalations just before a bearing-down pain. at the first suggestion of a contraction, the patient must begin to inhale the gas; while after the patient has pulled hard on the traction strops--just as the contraction pain is passing--she is given an inhalation containing a larger percentage of oxygen.
-at the beginning of a pain, pure nitrous oxid is administered, and the patient is instructed to breathe deeply and rapidly through the nose. the gasbags should be about half filled. the mixture of gas and oxygen must be determined by the severity of the pains and individual behavior of the patient.
-four to six inhalations of the gas are sufficient to produce the required analgesia in the average case. following the first few deep inspirations through the nose, the patient can be instructed to breathe through the mouth, while the gas is well diluted with oxygen and continued until the end of the pain. in this way a satisfactory analgesia is maintained throughout the "pain" with a minimum of "gas." the proportion of oxygen used will run from nothing up to ten per cent. this procedure is repeated with the occurrence of each pain.
-the use of the "mask" is just as effective as a nasal inhaler, but wastes more gas and so is more costly.
-when the head is passing the perineum the gas should be pushed to the point of anesthesia, while the patient's color will suggest the amount of oxygen to be used as well as serve to control the administration of the nitrous oxid.
-chloroform and ether
-for many years chloroform and ether have been used to alleviate the pains of women in labor. valuable as these agents are when deep anesthesia is required for the carrying out of operative procedures, they have not proved satisfactory as analgesic agents. if administered in small quantities at the commencement of a strong uterine contraction, the patient does not usually inhale sufficient to abolish pain. she is then apt to be irritated and is certain to insist on being given a larger quantity. if a sufficient amount be administered to satisfy the woman, the continued repetition gradually inhibits the power both of the uterus and of the accessory muscles, so that labor is unnecessarily prolonged, and, possibly, the life of the fetus endangered. physicians have, therefore, been accustomed to employ these drugs very sparingly, restricting their use to the very end of the second stage, during the painful passage of the head through the vulva. the results of the administration at this time are also uncertain. if delivery be rapid the woman may not be able to inhale sufficient to abolish her consciousness of pain. if it be slow she may take too much and weaken the muscular powers, thereby prolonging labor and, often, necessitating forceps delivery. it is not surprising, therefore, that the medical profession has long been hoping that a more satisfactory method of relieving the pain of labor would be found.
-in summing up our conclusions regarding analgesia and anesthesia in labor cases, the authors would state their present position as follows:
-1. that anesthetics or analgesics are a necessary accompaniment of confinement in this day and age; that the average labor case demands some sort of pain-relieving agent at some time during its progress; but that intelligent efforts should be put forth to limit and otherwise control their use. while we recognize the necessity for avoiding needless suffering, at the same time we must also avoid turning our women into spineless weaklings and timid babies.
-2. that we should seek to develop, strengthen, and train our girls for a normal and natural maternity; that we should study to attain something of the naturalness and the painlessness of the labors of indian tribes; and, even if we partially fail in this effort, we shall at least leave our women with ennobled characters and strengthened wills.
-3. that the scopolamin-morphin method of inducing "twilight sleep" has its place--in the hands of experts--and in the hospital; and that in many cases it probably represents the best method of obstetric anesthesia which can be employed.
-4. that as a general rule and in general practice, the safest and best method of inducing the "twilight" state of freedom from severe pain, is by the use of nitrous oxid or "laughing gas"--the "sunrise slumber" method. it has been our practice to start all general ether anesthetics with "gas" for a number of years, while we have been doing an increasing number of both minor and major operations with "gas" alone.
-5. that we still employ general ether or chloroform anesthesia in cesarean sections and other major obstetric operations, although several operators are beginning to use "gas" in even these heavy cases.
-6. that the intelligent and careful use of pituitary extract in certain cases of labor serves greatly to shorten the second stage; that it is of great value in certain "slow cases," and serves greatly to reduce the use of low forceps.
-we have treated the subject of obstetric anesthesia in this full manner, because of the fact that so much has appeared in the public press on these subjects, and, further, because we desired that our readers should have placed before them the facts on all sides of the question just as fully as a work of this scope would permit.
-the convalescing mother
-popularly spoken of as the "lying-in period," and medically known as the puerperium, this time of convalescence immediately following childbirth is usually occupied by two important things: the restoration of the pelvic organs to their normal condition before pregnancy, and the starting of that wonderfully adaptative mechanism concerned with the production of the varying and daily changing food supply of the offspring.
-during this period of the puerperium a member of the family, a neighbor, a visiting nurse, a practical nurse, or a trained nurse, looks after the mother and gives to the babe its first care; whoever it may be, certain laws of cleanliness must be carried out if infection is to be guarded against. if there are daily or semi-daily calls made by the physician, a member of the family may be trained to care for the mother with proper cleanliness and asepsis; but it is far better for the mother, if possible, to secure the services of a trained nurse, or the visiting nurse, in which instance she will call each day, wash and dress the baby, clean up the mother and care for the breasts. she is not supposed to clean the room, make the bed or prepare the food. if a trained nurse can be in charge, the convalescing time is usually shortened as the responsibilities are taken from the mother, her mind freed from care and it is her's to improve, rest, and wait for the restoration of the pelvic organs, when she may again go forth among her family.
-the nurse may have to sleep in the same room; but, if it be possible, she should occupy an adjoining room, she should have a regular time each day for an hour's walk in the fresh air, she should be served regular meals, and be allowed some time out of the twenty-four hours for unbroken slumber. in return she will intelligently cooperate with the physician in bringing about the restoration of body and upbuilding of the mother's nerves.
-rest and exercise
-from a monetary standpoint there can be nothing so wasteful or extravagantly expensive in the home as to allow the mother to drag about from day to day and week to week with chronic weakness or invalidism because she did not have proper care during her already too short puerperium, or because she got up too soon.
-having a baby is a perfectly normal, physiological procedure. it is also, usually, downright hard work; and, beside the hard laborious work, there is not only a wearied and severely shocked nervous system to be restored, but there is also a certain amount of uterine shrinkage which must take place--and this requires from four to eight weeks; and so our mother must be allowed weeks or even a month or two to rest, to enjoy a certain amount of well-directed exercise, to have an abundance of fresh air, to be wheeled or lifted out of doors if possible into the sunshine, that she may be the better prepared for the additional duties and responsibilities the little new comer entails. sunshine and fresh air are wonderful health restorers as is also a well-directed cold water friction bath administered near the close of the second week of a normal puerperium. during the second week a few carefully selected exercises such as the following are not only beneficial, but tend to increase circulation and thus to promote the secretion of milk and the shrinking of the uterus.
-1. head raising, body straight and stiffened. 2. arm raising, well extended. 3. leg stretching, with knees stretched and toe extended. 4. massage, administered by the nurse.
-a splendid tonic circulatory bath may be administered at the close of the second week (in normal puerperium), known as the "cold mitten friction," which is administered as follows: the patient is wrapped in a warm blanket, hot water bottle at feet, and each part of the body--first one arm then the other; the chest, the legs, one at a time--is briskly rubbed with a coarse mit dipped in ice water. as one part is dried it is warmly covered, while the next part is taken, and so on until the entire body has been treated. the body is now all aglow, the blood tingling through the veins, and the patient refreshed by this wide-a-wake bath. properly given, the cold-mitten friction bath is one of the most enjoyable treatments known and under ordinary conditions, if intelligently administered, may be given as early as the eighth day.
-after the birth of the first baby the uterus usually is in a state of constant contraction, hence there are no "after pains;" but after the birth of the second or third child, the uterine muscle has lost some of the tone of earlier days--there is a tendency toward relaxation--so that when the uterine muscle does make renewed efforts at contraction, these "after pains" are produced. they usually disappear by the third day. nothing should be done for them, indeed they should be welcomed, for their presence means good involution (contraction) of the uterus.
-careful notations of the temperature should be made during the first week. a temperature chart should be accurately kept and if the temperature should rise above 100° the physician should be notified at once. the third day temperature is watched with expectancy, for if an accidental infection occurred at the time of labor, it is usually announced by a chill and sudden rise of temperature on the third day. this may be as good a place as any to mention the commonly met night sweating. this is due to a marked accentuation of the function of the skin. it is not at all unusual for a sleeping mother in the early puerperium to wake up in a sweat with night gown very nearly drenched. the gown should be changed underneath the bedding, while alcohol is rubbed over the moistened skin surface.
-these sweats will disappear as soon as the mother begins to regain her strength. a vinegar rub administered on going to bed may often prevent these sweats.
-the toilet of the vulva
-immediately after the birth of the baby and the expulsion of the afterbirth, the thighs and vulva are cleansed as follows: into a basin of warm, boiled water are dropped four small antiseptic tablets of bichlorid of mercury; this gives a proper antiseptic wash. into this solution are placed four pieces of sterile cotton two of these are used, one at a time, without being returned to the solution to wash each inside of the thigh, the remaining two to cleanse the vulva. without drying the vulva, two sterile pads are applied and pinned to the binder. these pads are changed every hour during the first day or two because of the profuse lochial flow.
-after each urination and bowel movement, a lysol solution (prepared by putting one teaspoonful of lysol in a quart of sterile water) is poured from a clean pitcher over the vulva into the bed pan, and fresh pads applied. this toilet continues until the close of the second week or longer, if there is a lochial flow.
-these sterile pads not only absorb the lochia but also, among ignorant or thoughtless mothers, prevent contamination by the patient's hands.
-the patient should be encouraged to urinate during the first few hours after labor; catheterization should not take place until every effort has been made to bring about normal urination; or, until there is a well marked tumor above the bony arch of the pelvis in the lower part of the abdomen. it is far less harmful to the patient for her to sit up on the jar placed on the edge of the bed, than to undergo the risk of inflammation of the bladder which so often follows catheterization.
-the first few days the lochia is very red because of the large amount of blood which it contains. after the third or fourth day it is paler and after the tenth it assumes a whitish or yellowish color. during the three changes it should always smell like fresh blood. any foul, putrifying odor should be promptly reported to the physician.
-if on getting up at the close of the second week the lochia should resume its red color, the patient should return to bed and notify her physician.
-the abdominal binder
-after the tenth day, the abdominal binder may be pinned as tightly as the patient desires, but prior to the tenth day many physicians believe the exceedingly tight binder causes misplacements of the enlarged, softened, and boggy uterus. it should be pinned snugly; but not drawn as tight as possible with the idea of keeping the uterus from relaxing, for at best, it does not do it; while tight constriction may produce a serious turning or flexion of the uterus. the breast binder is applied during the first twenty-four hours to support the filling breasts, loosely at first, and as they increase in size, as the glands become engorged, the binder is drawn more tightly. a sterile piece of gauze is placed over the nipples.
-on the morning of the second day a cathartic is usually given--say one ounce of castor oil or one-half bottle of citrate of magnesia. the bowels should move at least once during each twenty-four hours; if they are obstinate, a simple laxative may be nightly administered. certain constipation biscuits, sterilized dry bran, or agar-agar may be eaten with the breakfast cereal. prunes and figs should be used abundantly. bran bread should be substituted for white bread. the enema habit is a bad one and should not be encouraged; however, the enema is probably less harmful than the laxative-drug habit. mineral oil is useful as a mild laxative, and does not produce any bad after results.
-care of the nipples
-fissures of the nipples should be reported to the physician at once. there are many good remedies which the physician may suggest; in his absence, balsam peru may be advantageously applied. boracic acid solution should be applied before and after each nursing from the very first day; in this way much nipple trouble may be prevented through cleanliness and care. the nipples should be kept thoroughly dry between nursings nipple shields should be used where fissures persist.
-the constant coaxing of the mother with "do drink this," and "you must drink this, or you won't have any milk," not only saddens her but seriously upsets digestion and thus indirectly interferes with normal lactation.
-everybody should stay at home and away from the mother and her new born child until after the seventh day, and then, if our patient is normal, visitors may call, but should not stay longer than five minutes. the convalescing mother will improve faster without the neighborhood gossip, or the tales of woe so often carried by well-meaning, but woefully ignorant acquaintances.
-when the hard ball-like mass can no longer be felt in the lower abdomen, when the lochia has passed through the three changes already mentioned, and the flow is whitish or yellowish, scanty and odorless, the patient may sit up in a chair increasingly each day. such conditions are usually found anywhere from the tenth to the fifteenth day. the patient first sits up a little in a chair--she has already been exercising some in bed--and this enables her to sit up with ease for a half-hour the first day, increasing one-half hour each day during the week following. at the end of three weeks, she may be taken down stairs providing there is ample help to carry her back up stairs. after another week (at the close of the fourth), if the lochia is entirely white or yellow, with no blood, she may begin carefully to go about the house. there should be no lifting, shoving, pulling, wringing, sweeping, washing, ironing, or other heavy exercise for at least another two weeks, better four weeks. any variance from this program usually means backache, lassitude, diminished milk supply, and frequently a general invalidism for weeks or months--sometimes years.
-cystitis, or painful urination, is avoided by tardy "getting up;" quietly, slowly moving about; abundant water drinking; and the avoidance of catheterization.
-infection is manifested by chilly sensations or a distinct chill followed by fever, usually on the third day. take a cathartic; notify the physician at once and follow his directions.
-mastitis, inflammation or caking of the breasts. very hot fomentations wrung out of boiling water, alternating with ice-cold compress, should be applied to the breast for an hour or more, three or four times a day. cathartics should be administered, and eliminative measures instituted such as the hot-blanket pack.
-pneumonia. keeping the arms and chest well protected by a long-sleeved coat of warm texture, should help in preventing this serious complication. pneumonia complicating labor is usually the result of carelessness and exposure.
-baby's early days
-happy is the mother and fortunate is the home that possesses the intelligent services of a trained attendant during the early days of the baby's career. a century or more ago skilled nurses were unheard of, and both mothers and babies seemed to thrive on the unskilled but faithful and sympathetic care given by the willing neighbor who "thought i'd just run over and help out." who of us cannot remember the days when mother was "gone to a neighbor's" to give this same willing but unskilled care at the time of "confinement."
-and why are we so concerned today about asepsis, sterilization, etc., when a generation ago they were not? we used to live more slowly than we do now. then it took the entire day to do the marketing for the week, now we take a receiver from the hook and a telephone wire transmits the verbal message. our days are literally congested with events that were almost impossibilities a century ago. the ease and leisure of former days are unknown and unheard of today. the artificial way in which we live exerts more or less of a strain upon the present generation; the average woman's nervous system is keyed up to a high pitch; her general vital resistance is running at a low ebb; while child-bearing brings a certain added stress and strain that requires much planning to avoid and overcome.
-for many days and ofttimes weeks the mother is unfit--physically unable--properly to care for her child, and so whether it be the trained assistant in constant attendance or the visiting nurse in her daily calls, or the kind, willing, but unskilled neighbor--each helper must acquaint herself, in varying degrees, with the physical, nervous, and mental needs of the child, as well as take into account and anticipate the numerous habits and wants of the new born babe, such as urination, bowel movement, pulse, respiration, temperature, etc.
-at birth, the head is remarkably large as compared to the rest of the body, for, surprising as it may seem, the distance from the crown to the chin is equal to the length of the baby's trunk; and, too, if birth has been prolonged this large head has also been pressed or squeezed somewhat out of shape. this state of affairs, however, need give no cause for either alarm or anxiety, for the head will shape itself to the beautiful rotundity of the normal baby's head within a few days.
-the general shape of the baby's head, as seen from above is oval. just back of the forehead is formed a diamond-shaped soft spot known as the anterior fontanelle which should measure a little more than one inch from side to side. on a line just posterior to this soft spot and to the back of the head, is found another soft spot somewhat smaller than the one in front. gradual closure of these openings in the bones occurs, until at the end of six or eight months, the posterior fontanelle is entirely closed; while eighteen months are required for the closure of the anterior fontanelle.
-these "soft spots" should not be depressed neither should they bulge. the head is usually covered with a growth of soft, silky hair which will soon drop out, to be replaced, however, by a crop of coarser hair in due season. the scalp should always be perfectly smooth. any rash or crusts or accumulation of any kind on the scalp is due to uncleanliness and neglect, and should be carefully removed by the thorough application of vaseline followed by a soap wash. the vaseline should be applied daily until all signs of the accumulation are entirely removed. the eyes of all babies are generally varying tints of blue, but usually change to a lighter or darker hue by the seventh or eighth week. the whitish fur which often is seen on the baby's tongue is the result of a dry condition of the mouth which disappears as soon as the saliva becomes more abundant.
-chest, abdomen, and legs
-the baby's chest, as compared to the size of the head and abdomen, appears at a disadvantage, while the arms are comparatively short and the legs particularly so, since they measure about the same as the length of the trunk. they naturally "bow in" at birth so that the soles of the feet turn decidedly toward each other. all these apparent deformities, as a rule, right themselves without any help or attention whatsoever.
-pulse and respiration
-the pulse may be watched at the anterior fontanelle or soft spot on top of the head while the child quietly sleeps and should record, at varying ages, as follows:
-the above table is correct for the inactive normal child. muscular activity, such as crying and sucking, increases the pulse rate from 10 to 20 beats per minute.
-the respiration of the baby often gives us no small amount of real concern at the first. the baby may be limp and breathless for some few moments at birth, and this condition calls for quick action on the part of the nurse and doctor.
-the utmost care to avoid the "sucking in" of any liquid or blood during its birth must be exercised, for this often seriously interferes with the breathing. sometimes this condition is not relieved until a soft rubber catheter is placed in the throat and the mucus is removed by quick suction. when you are reasonably sure that there is no more mucus in the throat, then sudden blowing into the baby's lungs (its lips closely in touch with the lips of the nurse or physician) often starts respiration. slapping it on the back also helps, while the quick dip into first hot then cold water seldom fails to give relief.
-a quiet-sleeping infant breathes as shown below at varying ages. an increase of six to ten breaths per minute may be allowed for the time it is awake or otherwise active.
-the normal weight of the average baby is seven to seven and one-half pounds. its length may range anywhere from sixteen to twenty-two inches.
-there is an initial loss of weight during the first few days; however, after the milk has been established the child should make a weekly gain of four to eight ounces until it is six months old, after which time the usual gain is from two to four ounces per week.
-if the weight has been doubled at six months and the weight at one year is three times the birth weight, the child is said to have gained evenly and normally.
-at birth the skin of the baby is red and very soft owing to the presence of a coating of fine down. a blue-tinged skin may be occasioned by unnecessary exposure or it may be due to an opening in the middle partition of the heart which should close at birth. as soon as the baby is born, it should be placed on its right side while the cord is being tied, as this position facilitates closure of this embryonic heart opening. with the provision for a little additional heat the blue color should disappear, if it is not due to this heart condition. at the close of the first week the red color of the skin changes to a yellow tint due to the presence of a small amount of bile in the blood. this sort of jaundice is very common and is in no wise evidence of disease. the "down" falls off with the peeling of the skin which takes place during the second week; by the end of which time, the skin is smooth and assumes that delightful "baby" character so much admired.
-the cord dressing
-the cut end of the tied umbilical cord is swabbed and squeezed with a sterile sponge saturated with pure alcohol. it is then wrapped in a sterile dressing made as follows: four or five thicknesses of sterile cheese cloth are cut into a four-inch square with a small hole cut in the center and one side cut to this center. this is slipped about the stump of the cord and wrapped around and about in such a manner as entirely to cover the stump of the cord. the wool binder is then applied and sewed on, thus avoiding both pressure and the prick of pins. if it remains dry this dressing is not disturbed until the seventh or eighth day, when the cord ordinarily drops off. should it become moistened the dressing is removed and the second dressing is applied exactly like the first.
-the closed eyes of the newly born child are generally covered with mucus which should be carefully wiped off with a piece of sterile cotton dipped in boracic acid solution, in a manner not to disturb the closed lid. a separate piece of cotton is used for each eye and the swabbing is done from the nose outward. the physician or nurse drops into each opened eye two drops of twenty per cent argyrol, the surplus medicine being carefully wiped off with a separate piece of cotton for each eye. the baby should now be placed in a darkened corner of the room, protected from the cold.
-the eyes are washed daily by dropping saturated solution of boracic acid into each eye with a medicine dropper. separate pieces of gauze or cotton are used for each eye.
-the first oil bath
-as soon as the cord and the eyes have received the proper attention and the mother has been made comfortable, the baby is given its initial bath of oil. this oil may be lard, olive oil, sweet oil, or liquid vaseline. the oil should be warmed and the baby should be well covered with a warm blanket and placed on a table which is covered with a thick pad or pillow. the temperature of the room should be at least eighty degrees fahrenheit. quickly, thoroughly, and carefully the entire body is swabbed with the warmed oil--the head, neck, behind the ears, under the arms, the groin, the folds of the elbow and knee--no part of the body is left untouched, save the cord with its dressing. this oil is then all gently rubbed off with an old soft linen towel.
-the first clothing
-after the oil bath, the silk and wool shirt (size no. 2), the diaper and stockings are quickly put on to avoid the least danger of chilling. the band having been applied at the time of the dressing of the cord, our baby is now ready for the flannel skirt. this should hang from the shoulders by a yoke of material adapted to the season, cotton yoke without sleeves if a summer baby, and a woolen yoke with woolen sleeves if a winter baby. the outing-flannel night dress completes the outfit and should be the only style of dress worn for the first two weeks. loosely wrapped in a warm shawl, the baby is about ready for its first nap, save for a drink of cooled, boiled water.
-this cooled, boiled, unsweetened water should be given in increasing amounts every two hours until the child is two or three years of age. it is usually given the child in a nursing bottle. in this way it is taken comfortably, slowly, can be kept clean and warm, and should the babe be robbed of its natural food and transferred to the bottle as a substitute for mother's milk, it will already be acquainted with the bottle and thus one-half of a hard battle has already been fought and won.
-baby's first nap
-the baby's bed should be separate and apart from the mother's. it may be a well-padded box, a dresser drawer, a clothes basket, or a large market basket. a folded comfortable slipped in a pillow slip makes a good mattress. a most ideal bed may be made out of a clothes basket; the mattress or pad should come up to within two or three inches of the top, so the baby may breathe good fresh air and not the stale air that is always found in a deeply made bed. into this individual bed the baby is placed as soon as it is dressed; and a good sleep of four to six hours usually follows.
-frequent observations of the cord dressing should be made as occasionally hemorrhage does take place, much to the detriment of the babe. if bleeding is at any time discovered the cord is retied just below the original tying. by the time baby has finished a six- or eight-hour nap the mother is wondrously refreshed and is ready to receive it to her breast.
-putting to the breast
-during the first two days the baby draws from the breasts little more than a sweetened watery fluid known as the colostrum; but its intake is essential to the child in that it acts as a good laxative which causes the emptying of the alimentary tract of the dark, tarry appearing stools known as the meconium. on the third day this form of stool disappears and there follows a soft, yellow stool two or three times a day.
-the child should be put to the breast regularly every four hours; two things being thus encouraged: an abundant supply of milk on the third day and the early shrinking of the uterus. more than once a mother has missed the blessed privilege of suckling her child because some thoughtless person told her "why trouble yourself with nursing the baby every four hours, there's nothing there, wait until the third day;" and so when the third day came, there was little more than a mere suggestion of a scanty flow of milk, which steadily grew less and less.
-the urine of the very young child should be clear, free from odor and should not stain the diaper, nor should it irritate the skin of the babe. often urination does not take place for several hours, sometimes not at all during the first twenty-four hours. if the infant does not show signs of distress, there is no cause for alarm; the urine should pass, however, within thirty hours. as a rule there are usually between ten and twenty wet diapers during each twenty-four hours. the following table shows about the amounts of urine at different ages:
-genitals of the male child
-the foreskin of the male child is often long, tight, and adherent, and is often the direct cause of irritability, nervousness, crying, and too frequent urination. it should be closely examined by both physician and nurse and when the foreskin does not readily slip back over the acorn-like head of the organ, circumcision is advised early in the second week. this simple operation will start the child out on his career with at least one moral handicap removed and one desirable possibility established--that of being able to keep himself clean.
-post-operative care of circumcision
-the dressings that are loosely applied at the time of the operation should remain untouched (especially those next to the skin), unless otherwise directed by the physician, until the seventh or eighth day when the babe is placed in a warm soap bath, at which time the dressings all come off together. clean sterile gauze is so placed as entirely to protect the inflamed skin from the diaper at all times before this bath, and these same dressings should be continued for at least another week. sterile vaseline (from a tube) should be applied twice a day after the original dressings are removed in the bath at the end of the first week. there should be little or no bleeding following the operation, neither should the penis swell markedly; if either complication should occur, the physician should be promptly notified.
-care of the female genitals
-the girl baby is often neglected in respect to the proper care of the genitals. the lips of the vulva should be separated and thorough but careful cleaning should be the daily routine. the foreskin or covering of the clitoris should not be adherent; while the presence of mucus, pus, or blood in the vulva should be at once reported to the physician; in his absence, the application of twenty per cent argyrol should be made daily.
-handling the baby
-handle the baby as little as possible. turn occasionally from side to side, feed it, change it, keep it warm, and let it alone; crying is absolutely essential to the development of good strong lungs. a baby should cry vigorously several times each day. if the baby is to be handled, support the back carefully (fig. 6).
-the early baths
-during the first week the baby is oiled daily over his entire body, with the exception that the cord dressing remains untouched. the face, hands, and buttocks are washed in warm water. after the third week the bathroom is thoroughly warmed and the small tub is filled with water at temperature of 100 f. the baby having been stripped and wrapped in a warm turkish towel, is placed on a table protected by a pillow, while the caretaker stands by and vaselines the creases of the neck, armpits, folds of the elbows, knees, thighs, wrists, and genitals; and then, with her own hands, she applies soap suds all over the body--every portion of which is more quickly and readily reached--than by the use of a wash cloth. and now, with the bath at 100 f., with a folded towel on the bottom of the small tub, the soapy child is placed into the water and after a thorough rinsing is lifted out again to a warm fresh towel on the table and the careful drying is quickly begun. after the bath all the folds and creases are given a light dusting with a good talcum.
-during hot weather the bath should be given daily, soap being used twice a week. on the other days there should be the simple dipping of the child into the tub. during the cold weather the full bath is given but twice a week, while on the other days a sponge bath or an oil rub may be administered.
-a weak, delicate child should not be exposed to the daily full bath, but rather the semi-weekly sponge bath and the daily oil rub should be administered. we have found the late afternoon hour to be better than the early morning hour for baby's bath. it requires too much vital resistance to react to an early morning bath, especially when the house is cool.
-care of the umbilicus
-tight bands should not be placed about the babe. if the umbilicus protrudes, do not endeavor to hold it in by a tight band, but consult your physician about the use of a bit of folded cotton and adhesive plaster, and then allow the child the freedom of the knitted bands, with skirts suspended from yokes. the day of tight bands and pinning blankets with their additional and traditional windings is over. after the complete healing of the cord, the need for a snug binder to hold the dressings in place is over. should the baby cry violently, the umbilicus should be protected in the manner described above--the fold of cotton and the adhesive plaster.
-the diaper, stockings, shirt, skirt, and dress with an additional wrapper for cold days completes the outfit at this age.
-"one of the most important services to render the newborn baby is to have his birth promptly and properly registered."
-in most states the attending physician or midwife is required by law to report the birth to the proper authority, who will see that the child's name, the date of his birth, and other particulars are made a matter of public record. birth registration may be of the greatest importance when the child is older, and parents should make sure this duty is not neglected.
-a public health official some time ago epitomized some of the uses of birth registration as follows:
-there is hardly a relation in life from the cradle to the grave in which such a record may not prove to be of the greatest value. for example, in the matter of descent; in the relations of wards and guardians; in the disabilities of minors; in the administration of estates; the settlement of insurance and pensions; the requirements of foreign countries in matters of residence, marriage, and legacies; in marriage in our own country; in voting and in jury and militia service; in the right to admission and practice in the professions and many public offices; in the enforcement of laws relating to education and to child labor, as well as to various matters in the criminal code; the irresponsibility of children under ten for crime or misdemeanor; the determination of the age of consent, etc., etc.
-we wish it were possible for every mother who reads this book to have a special baby's room or nursery. some of our readers have a separate nursery-room for the little folks, and so we will devote a portion of this chapter to the description of what seems to us a model arrangement for such a room; but, realizing that ninety-five per cent of our readers can only devote a corner of their own bedroom to the oncoming citizen, we have also carefully sought to meet their needs and help them to take what they have and make it just as near like the ideal nursery as possible.
-the separate nursery
-the nursery should be a quiet room with a south or southwesterly exposure. the bathroom should adjoin or at least be near. a screened-in porch is very desirable.
-draperies that cannot be washed, and upholstered furniture, do not belong in the baby's room. a hardwood floor is better than a carpet or matting; while a few light-weight rugs, easily cleaned, are advisable. enameled walls are easily washed and are, therefore, preferable to wall paper or other dressings.
-the windows should be well screened, for by far the greatest dangers to which the baby is exposed, are flies and mosquitoes--carriers of filth and disease. flies, mosquitoes, cockroaches, bed bugs, cats, dogs, lice, and mice are all disease carriers and must therefore be kept out of baby's room.
-at each window should be found dark shades, and if curtains are desired they should be of an easily washable material, such as mull, swiss, lawn, voile, or scrim. the hardwood floor may be covered where necessary with easily handled rugs which should be aired daily. the other necessary articles of furniture are a crib of enameled iron whose bedding will be described elsewhere in this chapter, a chest for baby's clothes and other necessary supplies, a screen or two, a low table and a low rocker, a small clothes rack on which to air the clothes at night, a pair of scales, and a medicine chest placed high on the wall.
-if the room will conveniently admit it, a couch will add greatly to the mother's comfort; and, if possible, it should be of leather upholstery; otherwise, it should possess a washable cover, for all articles that promote the accumulation of dust are not to be allowed in the nursery. in these early weeks and months baby will not benefit from pictures or other wall decorations, and so let him have clean walls that are easily washed and quickly dusted.
-the necessities for baby's personal care are:
-since the days of solomon, accidents have occurred where mother and babe have occupied the same bed. not only is there the ever-present danger of smothering the babe, but there are also many other reasons why a baby should have its own bed. the constant tendency to nurse it too often and the possibility of the bed clothing shutting off the fresh air supply, are in and of themselves sufficient reasons for having a separate bed for baby.
-the first bed is usually a basinet--a wicker basket with high sides--with or without a hood. a suitable washable lining and outside drape present a neat as well as sanitary appearance. the mattress of the basinet is usually a folded clean comfort slipped into a pillow slip; this is to be preferred to a feather pillow, as it is cooler and in every way better for the babe.
-drapes about the head of the basinet are not only often in the way, shutting out air, etc., but they also gather dust and are unsanitary. screens are movable--they may be used or put away at will--and are, therefore, very convenient about the nursery.
-the basinet may be dispensed with entirely if the sides of the enameled crib are lined to cut off draughts and the babe is properly supported by pillows. after the baby is four to six months of age it is transferred to the crib. the basinet has an advantage over the crib during those early weeks in that its high sides protect the babe from draughts, and the comforts and blankets can be more easily tucked about the little fellow to keep him warm. the sides should not extend more than four inches above the lying position of the child.
-the enameled iron crib should be provided with a woven-wire mattress, over which is placed a mattress; hair is best as a filling for the mattress, wool next, and cotton last. over the mattress should be placed a rubber sheet, and over all a folded sheet.
-a pillow of hair or down is not to be discarded; for recent investigation has shown that the pillow favors nasal drainage, while lying flat encourages the retaining of mucus in the nose and nasal chambers--the sinuses. the pillow slip should be of linen texture.
-during the winter a folded soft blanket over the rubber sheet increases both softness and warmth. no top sheet is used during the first months, particularly if the first months are the winter months. the baby is wrapped loosely in a light weight clean blanket or shawl, and other blankets--as many as the season demands are tucked about the child. these blankets should be aired daily, and the one next to the baby changed, aired, or washed very often.
-the sleeping blanket
-to prevent baby from becoming uncovered the sleeping blanket has been devised. the blanket is folded and stitched in such a way as completely to envelop the sleeping babe, and at the same time afford the utmost freedom (fig. 7). the babe may turn as often as he desires, but cannot possibly uncover himself. bed clothes fasteners are also used--an elastic tape being securely fastened to the head posts and then by means of clamps or safety pins attachment is made to the blankets on either side. the elasticity allows considerable freedom to the child in turning (see fig. 8).
-nursery heating and ventilation
-the subject of ventilation has been so fully discussed by the authors in another work that we refer the reader to the science of living, or the art of keeping well.
-for the first two or three weeks the nursery temperature should be maintained at seventy degrees fahrenheit by day and from sixty degrees to sixty-five degrees by night. in the third week the day temperature should be sixty-eight degrees fahrenheit measured by a thermometer hanging three feet from the floor. after three months the night temperature may go as low as fifty-five degrees fahrenheit, and after the first year it may go as low as forty-five degrees.
-the heating of the nursery is usually controlled by the general heating plant, and no matter what system of heating is maintained, humidifiers must be used, the necessity for which is doubled when the system is that of the hot-air furnace.
-these shallow pans of water with large wick evaporating surfaces will evaporate from three to four quarts during the twenty-four hours. the humidity should be fifty throughout the seasons of artificial heating.
-many colds may be entirely avoided by the use of humidifiers or evaporators. the open grate is one of the very best means of nursery heating. gas and oil heaters should not be depended upon for nursery heat. only in an emergency should they be used at all, and the electric heater is by far the best device for such occasions.
-baby's corner in mother's room
-it is probably a conservative estimate to say that ninety-five per cent of all the babies occupy a corner of mother's and father's bedroom for the first two or three years. and believing this estimate to be correct, it is advisable to give the matter some consideration. to begin with, a lot of the non-essentials, ruffles and fluffles of the average bedroom, must go. the good father's chiffonier may have to be put in the bath room; heavy floor coverings must be discarded, to be replaced by one or two small, light-weight rugs; wall decorations and the usual bric-a-brac of dressers, tables, etc., should be carefully packed away. in fact, there should be nothing in the room save the parents' bed, dresser (several drawers of which must be devoted to baby's necessities), table, low rocker, a stool, baby's bed and a good big generous screen, made out of a large clothes horse enameled white and filled with washable swiss.
-window draperies must be taken down and packed away, while they are replaced with simple muslin which can go to the laundry twice a month. if it be within the means of the family purse, it is well to renovate the walls just prior to the advent of the little stranger.
-and now the baby's bed is placed in the corner most protected from draughts and the glare of the sunlight. if it can be so arranged that baby looks away from the light, and not at it, we are guarding it from defective vision in the future.
-many a beautiful artistic creation so much admired in this world is found to be, on closer inspection, a very ordinary thing which has received an artistic touch; and so, many convenient, sanitary, and beautiful cribs are fashioned from market baskets fastened to tops of small tables whose legs are sawed off a bit; from soap boxes fastened to a frame, and from clothes baskets. a can of white enamel, a paint brush and the deft hand of a merry, cheery-hearted expectant mother can work almost miracles. remember, please, that all draperies must be washable and attached with thumb tacks so as to admit of easy and frequent visits to the laundry.
-a medium-sized clothes basket will take care of our baby for four or five months. the same general plan for the mattress and bedding is followed as before described.
-extra heat to the crib
-if necessary--and it usually is, especially during the winter months--a hot-water bottle may be placed underneath the bedding on top of the mattress. this insures a steady, mild, uniform warmth and it not only saves the baby from the danger of being burned, but it also obviates the temporary overheating of the child which usually occurs when the bottle is placed inside the bed, next to the baby. if the bed is properly made--the blankets coming from under the babe up and over--there is little or no need for extra heat for well babies after the first month.
-lighting baby's room
-if electric lighting is not an equipment of the home neither gas or oil lamps should be allowed to burn in the room for long periods. for emergency night lighting a well-protected wax candle should be used. however, don't go to sleep and allow a candle to burn unprotected as did one tired, exhausted mother. the father, suddenly aroused from his sleep, saw a large flame caused by the overturning of a wax candle into a box of candles, while the lace drapery of the basinet was within a few inches of the flame and the baby just beyond. grabbing a pillow he smothered the flames and saved baby and all.
-plenty of fresh air and lots of sunshine should enter baby's room. the large screen amply shields from draughts, and when thus protected there need be no unnecessary concern about cool fresh air, especially after two or three months, as it is invigorating and prevents "catching cold." warm, stuffy air is devitalizing and even during the early weeks when the fresh air must be warm, an electric fan should be advantageously placed so that many times each day the warm fresh air may be put in motion without creating a harmful draught.
-warm stuffy air makes babies liable to catch cold when taken out into the open.
-throw open the windows several times each day and completely change the air of baby's room. in the absence of the large screen, a wooden board five or six inches high is fitted into the opening made by raising the lower window sash. then as the upper sash is lowered the impure air readily escapes while fresh air is admitted.
-the bath equipment
-make early preparations for bathing the baby in the easiest possible manner; in fact, the young mother should seek to attend to all her duties--the family, the home, and the baby--in the easiest way. for the administration of a bath during the early months, a table is needed, protected by oilcloth on which is placed a roomy bathtub with a folded turkish towel on the bottom for baby to sit on. in addition to the tub, have:
-see that the bathtub is clean and enamel unbroken, and if it has been used by another babe, freshen it with a coat of special enamel sold for that purpose.
-a bath at ninety-eight degrees is a neutral bath, and after the baby is six months and over, the bath may be given at this temperature, and at the close quickly cooled to ninety degrees.
-the nursery should furnish the baby's first protection from contagious diseases. it must be a veritable haven of safety. therefore, no house work of any kind should be done in the room, such as washing or drying the baby's clothes. the floors and the furniture should be wiped daily with damp cloths. a dry cloth or feather duster should never be used to scatter dust around the room.
-all bedding and rugs should receive their daily shaking and airing out of doors, remembering that particles of dust are veritable airships for the transportation of germs. in every way possible avoid raising a dust. so much of the lint which commonly comes from blankets may be avoided with the daily shaking out of doors.
-soiled diapers should not accumulate in a corner or on the radiator; their removal should be immediate, and if they must await a more opportune time, soak them in a receptacle filled with cold water. even those diapers slightly wetted should never be merely dried and used again, but should be properly washed and dried. no washing soda should be used in the cleansing of diapers--just an ordinary white soap, a good boil, and plenty of rinse water, with drying in the sun if possible. they require no ironing. hands that come in contact with soiled or wet diapers must be thoroughly cleansed before caring for the baby or preparing his food.
-as before mentioned, and it will bear repetition often, all windows and doors must be well screened, for flies and mosquitoes are dreaded foes in any community and in babyland in particular. all used bottles and nipples as well as used cups, pitchers, bits of used cotton, should be removed at once. the washcloth is a splendid harbinger of germs. there should be one for the face, and one for the body and bath, and both should receive tri-weekly boiling. bath towels should not be used more than twice, better only once.
-the technic of bathing, together with the location, furnishings, and cleanliness of the baby's sick room, will be taken up in later chapters.
-why babies cry
-it is surprising how soon even a young and inexperienced mother will learn to distinguish between the pain cry and the plain cry of her baby; for most crying can easily be traced to some physical discomfort which can be relieved, or to some phase of spoiling and indulgence which can be stopped.
-normal healthy crying
-the young baby can neither walk, talk nor engage in gymnastics, except to indulge in those splendid physical exercises connected with a good hearty cry. to be good and healthy, an aggregate of an hour a day should be spent in loud and lusty crying. he should be allowed to kick, throw his arms in the air and get red in the face; for such gymnastics expand the lungs, increase general circulation and promote the general well-being of the normal child. as the child grows older and is able to engage in muscular efforts of various sorts, these "crying exercises" should naturally decrease in frequency and severity. when baby cries, see that the abdominal band is properly applied, that rupture need not be feared.
-the birth cry
-the sound most welcomed by both doctor and nurse is the cry of the newly born child, for it shows that the inactive lungs have opened up and the baby has begun to use them, for all the time baby was living in the uterine room he did not breathe once, the lungs having been in a constant state of collapse; and not until now, the very moment the air comes in contact with his skin, do the lungs begin to functionate as he emits his first lusty holler.
-the cry is said to be abnormal when it continues too long or occurs too often. it may be strong and continuous, quieting down when he is approached or taken up; or it may be a worrying, fretful cry, a low moan or a feeble whine. and now as we take up the several cries, their description, cause, and treatment, we desire to say to the young mother: do not yourself begin to fret and worry about deciding just which class your baby's cry belongs to; for help, knowledge, and wisdom come to every anxious mother who desires to learn and who is willing to be taught by observation and experience.
-the hunger cry
-the continuous, fretful cry, accompanied by vigorous sucking of the fists, both of which stop when hunger has been satisfied, is without question the hunger cry.
-if this cry is constant with regular feedings, then the quantity of the food must be increased, or the quality improved. the tired, fretful hunger cry must not be neglected; the cause must be removed, for it points to malnutrition.
-the cry of thirst
-one day when lecturing at an iowa chautauqua, i remained in the beautiful park for the noonday meal. it was a warm day and the tables in the well-screened dining tent were filled with mothers who, like myself, preferred the cool shade of the park to the hot ride through the city to the home or hotel dinner. at my table a baby was pitifully crying. the mother had offered the little child seated in a small uncomfortable go-cart, milk, bread, and a piece of cake--all of which were ruthlessly pushed aside. my little son, then only four and a half, said "mamma, maybe the baby's thirsty," and up he jumped, hurried to the mother's side with his glass of water, saying, "i haven't touched it, maybe the baby's thirsty." the mother brushed the boy aside, saying, "no, i never give the baby water." in spite of the mother's remonstrance, the baby cried on and on, and finally on "trying" the water, the child drank fully one-half the glass and the crying was hushed.
-babies should be given water regularly--many times every day--from birth, in varying amounts from two teaspoons to one-half cup, according to the age of the child. the water should be boiled for the first few months, and longer if there is any suspicion of impurities.
-milk to the nursing infant is like beefsteak and potatoes to the adult; and many times the milk bottle or the breast is just as nauseating to the thirsty babe, as meat would be to the very thirsty adult whose hunger has previously been fully satisfied.
-the fretful cry
-the babe who is wet, soiled, too hot, or is wrapped too tightly, or who has on a tight, uncomfortable belly band, or whose clothing is full of wrinkles, has only one way to tell us of his discomfort, and that is to cry. it is a fretful cry and should command an immediate investigation as to the possible cause. it takes but a moment to discover a wet diaper; to run the hand up the back under the clothes; to sprinkle with talcum if perspiring; to straighten out the wrinkled clothing; to find the unfastened pin that pricks; or to loosen the tight band. acquire the art of learning to perform these simple tasks easily, and any or all of these services should be rendered without taking the child from its bed.
-let the child early learn to rest happily and quietly in his own bed. the pillow or mattress may be turned or perhaps the mattress be raised nearer the edge of the basinet. one poor youngster instantly stopped his fretful cry when his mattress was raised four or five inches so he could get the air, at the same time taking him out of his hot room to a cooler room with raised windows. babies like cold air. they cry when the air is hot, or even warm and close. every day--rain or shine, wind or sleet--babies should nap out of doors on the porch, in a well-sheltered corner. a screen or a blanket protects from the wind, sleet, or rain; and if the baby's finger tips are warm, you can rest assured the feet and body are warm. scores of babies will sleep out on the porch, on the protected fire escape, or in a room with opened windows, from one bottle or feeding to another; being aroused at the end of the three or four hour interval just enough to nurse, when back they go to their delightful, warm nest in the cool, fresh air to sleep for another period. babies should never sleep in a room with closed windows.
-one of the incidents that surprised me most in my early work with dispensary babies was the utter misconception of the purpose of the belly band. invariably it was put on so tightly that i could not slip a finger between it and the babe. it is not a surgical instrument, neither is it a truss. these tight belly bands are a source of much fretting and crying.
-the pain cry
-the little pinched look about the face, the drawing up of the legs, the jerking of the head, arms, or legs, associated with a strong, sharp, unceasing or intermittent cry, demands immediate attention our first work should be to go about quietly, painstakingly, and systematically to locate the cause of this "cry of pain."
-there are often some accompanying symptoms to the cry of pain which demand skilled medical advice and attention, such as the arching of the body backward, the drawing of the head strongly to one side, the inability to use one side of the body, or the presence of fever. there may be an earache, an abdominal complication, or a sore throat, any one of which will be detected by the skilled doctor.
-earache frequently occurs in young babies who have been taken out of doors without proper protection to the ears; or, it may be associated with a cold in the head, which is not detected until the mischief has already been done, while the resulting running ear tells the tale of woeful suffering. earache must always be thought of as a possible cause when the cry of pain accompanies a cold in the head, and if medical aid is secured early, the abscess may be aborted and the deafness of later years entirely avoided. there is only one home remedy for earache, and that is the application of external heat, either by a hot-water bottle or hot-salt bag. medical advice should be sought before anything whatsoever is dropped into the baby's ear.
-in this connection should be mentioned the wild cry at night which so often accompanies tuberculosis of the bone. a careful x-ray examination will reveal the disease, and proper medical measures should be instituted at once. other fretful night crying will be mentioned further on.
-by the frequent repetition of actions, habits are formed. when the baby is two or three days old, he is so new to us and we have waited for him so long, and it is such a great big world that he has come into, that we jump, dance, and scramble to attend to his every need and adequately to provide for his every want. at this very early, tender age whenever he opens his mouth to cry or even murmur--some fond auntie or some overly indulgent caretaker flies to his side as if she had been shot out of a gun, grabs him up and ootsey tootsey's him about as she endeavors to entertain and quiet him. the next time and the next time and the succeeding time he whimpers--like a flash someone dashes to the side of the basket, and baby soon learns that when he opens his mouth and yells, somebody comes. in less than a week the mischief has been done and baby is badly spoiled. no other factor enters so largely into the sure "spoiled" harvest as picking a new baby up every time he cries. often in the early days some indulgent parent will say, "oh, don't turn out the light, something might happen to the dear little thing"--and old mother nature sees to it that a constant repetition of "leaving the light on" brings its sure harvest of "he just won't go to sleep without the light." and then, "just once" he had the pacifier--perhaps to prevent his crying disturbing some sick member of the family--and so we go on and on. if a thing is bad, it is bad, and a supposedly good excuse will not lessen the evil when the habit has been thus started and acquired.
-the temper cry
-nobody is particularly attracted to the spoiled baby. after the over-indulgent parent and caretaker have completed their thoughtless work, they themselves are ashamed of it and not infrequently begin to criticise the product of their own making--the formation of these unpleasant bad habits. more than anything else, the spoiled child needs a new environment, new parents, and a new life.
-the spoiled baby
-seek to find out if possible--and it usually is possible--just what he is crying for. it may be for the pacifier, for the light, or to be rocked, jolted, carried, taken up and rocked at night, or a host of other trifles; and if he is immediately hushed on getting his soul's desire--then we know he is "spoiled."
-the unfortunate thing about it all is that the one who has indulged and spoiled the baby usually does not possess the requisite nerve, grit, and will power to carry out the necessary program for baby's cure. and the pity of it all is that overindulgence in babyhood so often means wrecked nerves and shattered happiness in later life. so, fond, indulgent parents, do your offspring the very great kindness to fight it out with them while they are young, even if it takes all summer, and thus spare them neurasthenia, hysteria, and a host of other evils in later life.
-this sort of "spoiled baby crying" can be stopped only through stern discipline--simply let the baby "cry it out." the first lesson may require anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour and thirty minutes. the second lesson requires a much shorter time, and, in normal babies with a balanced nervous system, a third or fourth lesson is not usually required.
-the cry of serious illness
-the cry of the severely sick child is the saddest cry of all. the low wail or moan strikes terror to the saddened mother-heart. it is often moaned out when the child is ill with "summer complaint" or other intestinal disturbances. instant help must be secured, and, if medical help is not obtainable, remember, with but one or two exceptions, you are safe in carefully washing out the bowels, in applying external heat and giving warmed, boiled water to drink.
-another cry which demands immediate attention, and the faithful carrying out of the doctor's orders, is the hoarse, "throaty" cry indicative of croup or bronchitis.
-the colicky cry
-perhaps the greatest cause of the most crying during infancy, next to that of over-indulgence, is ordinary colic which--
-... manifests itself in every degree of disturbance from mere peevishness and fretfulness to severe and intensely painful attacks in which restlessness passes into grunting, writhing, and kicking; the forehead becomes puckered and the face has an agonized expression; the baby tends to scream violently and draws his thighs up against his belly, which will usually be found to be hard and more or less distended.
-a colicky baby completely upsets the household and greatly disturbs the mother, who requires both quiet and rest that she may the better produce the life-sustaining stream so much needed for the upbuilding and development of the growing child.
-colic in the breast-fed
-while colic is so often seen in the bottle-fed babe, it often occurs in the breast-fed child, and is usually traceable to some error in the mother's diet or to some other maternal nutritional disturbance. one mother who was sure she had eaten nothing outside the diet suggestions she had received, was requested to bring to the office a fresh voiding of her own urine which was found to be highly acid. the administration of an alkaline such as simple baking soda or calcined magnesia to the mother, corrected this acidity, and the colic in the baby entirely disappeared. i recall the case of one mother who ate her dinner in the middle of the day, with a light meal in the evening and thereby stopped the colic in her babe.
-another source of colic in the breast-fed baby is the unclean nipple. the nipples should be washed with soap and water and rinsed in boracic acid solution before each nursing. if the mother worries greatly, or thoughtlessly "gets very angry" just before the nursing hour, there is a substance known as "epinephrin" secreted by the glands located just above the kidneys which is thrown into the blood stream and which raises the blood pressure of the mother and often produces not only colic in the babe, but many times throws him into severe convulsions.
-colic in bottle-fed babies
-there are many opportunities for colic in the bottle-fed baby; for instance, dirty bottles, dirty nipples, careless cleansing of utensils used in the preparation of baby's food, improper mixtures, too much flour, the wrong kind of sugar, too much cream or too little water--all these things help to produce wind under pressure in the intestine, which is commonly known as colic. underfeeding or overfeeding, too rapid feeding or too frequent feeding also contribute their mite in producing colic.
-as a rule, the bottle-fed child is fed too often. in the new born, the interval between feeds should be three hours from the start; after six months the interval may be lengthened to four hours.
-colic and chilliness
-hiccough--a spasm of the diaphragm--often accompanies colic, and, in the case of infants, is usually due to the swallowing of air or over-filling the stomach; gentle massage, external heat, and a few sips of very warm water usually corrects the condition.
-the chilling of the skin very often produces a temporary intestinal congestion with colic as the result. cold feet, wet diapers, and loitering at bath are all very likely to produce colic; and when it is thus caused by chilling, quickly prepare a bath at 100 f., and after immersing the child for five minutes, wrap up well in warm blankets.
-the treatment of colic
-occasionally with the aid of the photophore, and even without it, the warm two-ounce enema containing a level teaspoon of baking soda and a level teaspoon of salt to a pint of water when allowed to flow into the bowel, will soon bring down both gas and feces to the great relief of the baby. warm water to drink is also very helpful. putting the feet in very warm water is also quieting to the crying colicky babe.
-it is often necessary in cases of repeated and persistent colic, to give a full dose of castor oil to clear out the bowel tract. do not jolt or bounce the baby, do not carry him about, and don't walk the floor with him.
-heat him up inside and outside, warm his clothing and his bedding, and thus bring about relief without sowing seeds for future trouble--the sorrow of a spoiled child.
-one very quiet little baby was one day brought to the dispensary whose mother said: "doctor, i didn't bring him 'cause he's sick, but 'cause he looks so pale; he's as quiet as a mouse; he never cries any more since i got to giving him medicine." on examination of the baby and on inquiring about the medicine, we found that the baby was dead drunk all the time. some "neighbor friend" had told the tired out mother, "give him a teaspoon of whiskey at each feeding and that'll fix him all right." if a few more states go dry maybe it will not be so easy for the ignorant mother to dope and drug her helpless baby.
-and neither is paregoric to be administered wholesale for colic. it contains an opiate, and should not be given without definite orders from a physician. and so as a parting word on "why babies cry," we ask each mother to run over the following summary of the chapter, and thus seek to find out why her baby cries.
-baby cries because:
-he is hungry. he is thirsty. he has been given a dirty bottle. his mother has failed properly to cleanse the nipples. his food is not prepared right. his food is too cold. his bowels are constipated. his band is too tight. his clothes are wrinkled. his diaper is wet. he is too hot. he wants fresh air. he is too cold. he is in pain. he is very sick. his throat is sore. his ear aches. he has been rocked, carried, or bounced. he has been given a pacifier. he has had too much excitement. his mother has eaten the wrong food.
-the nursing mother and her babe
-happy is the mother, and thrice blessed is the babe when he is able to enjoy the supreme benefits of maternal nursing. the benefits to the child are far reaching; he stands a better chance of escaping many infantile diseases; the whole outlook for health--and even life itself--is greatly improved in the case of the nursing babe, as compared with the prospect of the bottle-fed child. maternal nursing lays the foundation for sturdy manhood and womanhood.
-out of every one hundred bottle-fed babies, an average of thirty die during the first year, while of the breast-fed babies, only about seven out of every one hundred die the first year. at the same time, nursing the babe delivers the mother from all the work and anxiety connected with the preparation of the artificial food, the dangers and risks of unclean milk, and the ever-present fear of disease attendant upon this unnatural feeding. the mother who nurses her child can look forward to a year of joy and happiness; whereas, if the babe is weaned, she is compelled to view this first year with many fears and forebodings. mother's milk contains every element necessary for the growth and development of the child, and contains them in just the proportions required to adapt it as the ideal food for that particular child.
-a dirty baby, properly fed, will thrive. a baby deprived of fresh air, but wisely fed, will survive and even develop into a strong healthy man or woman. but the baby raised according to the latest and most approved rules of sanitation and hygiene, if improperly fed, will languish and die.
-hygiene of nursing mothers
-outings and exercise. it is most highly important that the nursing mother should be able thoroughly to digest her food; otherwise the flow of milk is likely to contain irritants that will disturb the baby's digestion, even to the point of making him really sick. in order to avoid these complications, exercise and outings are absolutely essential for the mother. a vigorous walk, gardening, light housework or other light athletics, greatly facilitate digestion and increase the bodily circulation, as well as promote deep breathing, all of which are of paramount importance to a good appetite and good digestion.
-the bowels. the bowels should move regularly and normally once or twice during the twenty-four hours. unfortunately, this is not usually the case: and in this connection we would refer our reader to the chapter on "the hygiene of pregnancy," particularly those sections relative to the care of the bowels, recipes for bran bread, lists of laxative foods and other suggestions pertaining to the hygiene of the nursing mother.
-care of the skin. salt-rub baths are very beneficial taken once a week. the daily cold-friction rub described elsewhere, will tone up the system and increase digestion and improve the general well being. the soap wash may be taken once a week. the thorough cleansing of the breasts, and the frequent changing of the undergarments, will help to keep the baby happy; for oftentimes it is the odor of perspiration as well as the smell of soiled clothing that spoils the appetite of the baby, causing it to refuse food.
-recreation. pleasant diversion is very essential for the mother, and should be indulged in at least once a week. the bedtime hours, however, should not be interfered with and the recreation should be selected with a view to amuse, refresh and create a harmless diversion for the mother's mind. under no circumstances should the mother settle down to the thought: "no, i can't go out any more. i can't leave my baby." you should get away from the baby a short time each day, and go out among your former friends and acquaintances. many a wrecked home--a shattered domestic heaven--dates its beginnings back to the days when the over-anxious young mother turned her back on her husband and looked only into the face of her (their) child. nothing should come in between the filial friendship of husband and wife, not even their child. so, dear mother, if you can, go out occasionally, away from the baby, and enjoy the association of your husband and keep in touch not only with his interests, but with the outside world. you will come back refreshed and wonderfully repaid, and the face of the adored infant will appear more beautiful than ever.
-diet of the nursing mother
-the eating of food or the drinking of nourishing drinks between the meals not only interferes with digestion and disturbs the mother, but it also upsets the baby; and it is often the reason why the appetite of the mother is so deranged at the meal time, her spirits depressed, and her milk diminished. plenty of good nourishing food, taken three times a day with an abundance of water drinking between the meals, together with a free happy frame of mind occasioned by the recreation before mentioned, usually produces good milk and plenty of it. a nap between meals will probably produce more milk than eating between meals.
-all foods that cause indigestion in the mother or babe should be avoided.
-some mothers continue to eat tomatoes, peaches, sour salads, acid fruits, and it appears in no way to interfere with baby's comfort; but they are the exception rather than the rule. usually tomatoes, acid salad dressings, and mixed desserts must be avoided. each mother is a law unto herself. certainly none of our readers will selfishly continue any food she feels will make her baby cry. all acid fruits, rich desserts, certain coarse vegetables, concoctions of all descriptions such as rarebit, condiments, highly seasoned sauce, etc., should be avoided.
-acid fruitades, such as lemonade, limeade and orangeade, can be taken by a small per cent of nursing mothers; and, since fruit acids are neutralized and alkalized in the process of digestion and assimilation, and since they are the very fruit-drinks we prescribe for patients suffering with an increased acidity, it would appear that they were in every way wholesome for the mother--if they in no way interfere with the baby. practically, they do as a rule disturb the baby's digestion and should be avoided by those mothers who have found this to be the case.
-during the first week of lactation the milk tubes of the breasts very often become blocked and the breasts become engored with milk, this condition being known as "caked breasts." at this particular time of the baby's life, he takes little more than an ounce of milk at a feed; so, beside the incoming engorgement of milk, an additional burden is thrown upon the milk tubes of the breasts in that they are not entirely emptied each nursing time by the young infant. when the breasts threaten to "cake," immediate steps must be taken to relieve the condition--to empty the breasts--and this is usually accomplished in the following manner: with hands well lubricated with sweet oil or olive oil the nurse begins gentle manipulation of the breasts toward the nipple in circular strokes, with the result that the milk soon begins to ooze out. this massage should be continued until relief is obtained; or the breast pump may be applied. hard nodules should not be allowed to form or to remain in the breasts. hot compresses (wrung from boiling water by means of a "potato ricer") may be applied to the caked breast which is protected from the immediate heat by one thickness of a dry blanket flannel. these hot compresses should be removed every three minutes until three have been applied, then an ice water compress is quickly applied, to be followed by more hot ones and then a cold; and so on, until as many as four sets each have been administered.
-the nipple must be kept dry between nursings, which should be limited to twenty minutes. regularity should be maintained. the nipples should never be touched or handled by hands that have not been scrubbed with soap and a nail brush. during the early nursing days they are wet much of the time and are subject to much stress and strain in the "pulling effort" of the baby, as a result of which they become very tender, chapped, cracked, and often bleed. allowing the baby to go to sleep with the nipple in his mouth also exposes the nipple to unnecessary moisture which increases the possibility of painful cracking. the pain occasioned by nursing at this time is truly indescribable, and is most often the cause of absolute refusal on the part of the mother to nurse her babe--with the result that it is put on the bottle. again, the fear and dread of being hurt so often tends to diminish the flow of milk. it is entirely possible so to prepare the nipple for this exposure, during the last months of pregnancy, that all this discomfort and pain may be entirely avoided (see chapter, "the hygiene of pregnancy").
-before the mother is put to rest after the birth of the baby the breasts are prepared as follows: a thorough cleansing with soap and water is followed by a careful disinfection with alcohol which leaves the nipple perfectly dry. a soft sterile pad is then applied and held in place by a breast binder. before and after each nursing the nipple and surrounding area is swabbed with boracic acid (saturated solution) and carefully dried by applying a clean, dry, sterile pad.
-painful cracks and fissures are nearly always due to lack of the care described above, and are almost wholly preventable. when the first crack appears and nursing becomes painful, the baby's mouth should not touch the nipple again until healing has taken place. a thorough cleansing with boiled water should be made and then the sterile nipple shield should be applied through which baby will get abundant satisfaction, while the mother is spared the pain, and the nipple has an opportunity to get well.
-in the case of sore and cracked nipples, thorough cleansing with boiled water and boracic acid solution follows each nursing seance; and, after careful drying, balsam peru--equal parts with glycerine--may be applied with a tiny piece of sterile gauze or cotton; a sterile cotton pad is then applied to each breast which is held in place by a breast binder.
-the nipple shield, when employed, is boiled after each nursing and washed in boracic acid solution just before each nursing. the strictest cleanliness must be observed, and then we hope to bring relief and comfort to the mother, and effect the saving of nature's best food for the baby.
-constituents of mother's milk
-mother's milk--that wonderfully adaptable, ever-changing food, so accurately and scientifically suited to the hourly and daily needs of the growing child--is composed of five different parts, totally unlike in every particular, and each part exactly suited to the needs which it supplies. the cream of the milk, as well as the lactose or sugar, builds up the fatty tissues of the body as well as helps provide the energy for crying, nursing, kicking, etc. the proteins (the curd of the milk) are exceedingly important; they are especially devoted to building up the cells and tissues of the body of the growing child. the salts form a very small part of the baby's food, but an important one, for they are needed chiefly for the bones and the blood. the fats, sugars, proteins, and salts, taken together, form the solids of mother's milk, and are held in solution in the proportion of thirteen parts of solids to eighty-seven parts of water; which so holds these solids in solution that the baby can digest and assimilate these necessary food elements. the mother's milk increases in strength day by day and month by month as the baby grows, and is the only perfect infant food on earth.
-the time of the first feeding
-the baby gets but little nourishment during the first two days, but that which he does get is essential; for the colostrum--the first milk--is highly laxative in nature and serves the important purpose of cleaning out the intestinal tract of that first tarry, fecal residue, the meconium. this early sucking of the child accomplishes another purpose besides the obtaining of this important laxative--it also reflexly increases the contractibility of the muscles of the womb, which is an exceedingly important service just at this time.
-should the mother or caretaker feel that baby will starve before the milk comes, or that it is necessary to provide "sweetened water;" let us assure them that nothing is needed except what nature provides. nature makes the babe intensely hungry during these first two days, so that he will suck well, and if he is fed sweetened water, gruel, or anything else, he will not suck forcefully; and so nature's plan for securing extra or increased uterine contractions and the stimulation of the breast glands will be seriously interfered with.
-as soon as the new born babe is washed and dressed he is given two teaspoons of warmed, boiled water; and this practice is continued every two hours during the day, until as much as two to four ounces of unsweetened water is taken by the tiny babe during the twenty-four hours. inanition fever--the fever that sometimes follows a failure to give water to the new born infant--is thus avoided. the bottle from which the water is given should be scalded out each time, the nipple boiled, and just before the "water nursing" the nipple should be swabbed with boracic acid solution.
-regularity in feeding
-the baby is ordinarily allowed to remain at the breast for about twenty minutes. he may often be satisfied with one breast if the milk is plentiful; if not, he is given both breasts; and may we add the following injunction? insist that nothing shall go into your baby's mouth but your own breast milk and warm or cool-boiled water; no sugar, whiskey, paregoric, or soothing syrup should be given, no matter how he cries. never give a baby food merely to pacify him or to stop his crying; it will damage him in the end. more than likely he is thirsty, and milk to him is what bread and meat are to you, neither of which you want when you are thirsty.
-position of mother during the nursing
-a perfectly comfortable position during nursing for both mother and babe is necessary for satisfactory results. during the lying-in period the mother should rest well over on her side with her arm up and her hand under her head, the other hand supports the breast and assists in keeping the nipple in the baby's mouth, as well as preventing the breast from in any way interfering with baby's breathing. a rolled pillow is placed at the mother's back for support.
-after the mother leaves the bed, she will find a low chair most convenient when nursing the baby, and if an ordinary chair be used, she will find that a footstool adds greatly to her comfort. once during the forenoon and once during the afternoon the nursing mother will find it a wonderful source of rest and relaxation if she removes all tight clothing, dons a comfortable wrapper, and lies down on the bed to nurse her babe; and as the babe naps after the feed, she likewise should doze and allow mother nature to restore, refresh, and fit her for restful and happy motherhood.
-worry, grief, fatigue, household cares, loss of sleep, social debauches, emotional sprawls--all debilitate the mother, and usually decrease the flow of milk.
-nursing when angry and overheated
-overheating, irritability, and sudden anger, almost invariably tend to raise the blood-pressure, which means the entry into the blood stream of an increased amount of epinephrin, which disturbs the baby greatly, often throwing him into convulsions or other sudden, acute illness.
-menstruation often interferes with the nursing mother, the milk becoming weaker at this time; however, if the infant continues to gain and the mother feels comparatively well, no attention need be paid to this fact.
-another pregnancy demands a drying up of the breast at once, as the tax is too great on the mother.
-the stools of the breast-fed baby do not require as much attention as those of the bottle-fed child. in cases of constipation, after four months, from one teaspoon up to one-half cup of unsweetened prune juice may be given one hour before the afternoon feed.
-in instances of colic with signs of fermentation in the stool, the mother may take several doses (under her physician's orders) of common baking soda; or, if she is constipated, calcined magnesia will usually right the condition. nature's mother milk is so beautifully adapted to the baby's needs that it is the rule for baby to have perfectly normal stools.
-symptoms of successful nursing
-a happy baby is a satisfied baby. he lies quietly in a sleepy, relaxed condition if he has enough to eat, provided he is otherwise comfortable and dry. he awakens at the end of two hours and perhaps cries; but plain, unsweetened, warm, boiled water quenches his thirst, and he lies content for another hour, when he is regularly nursed. he gains on an average of about one ounce a day.
-earmarks of unsuccessful nursing
-constant discomfort, vomiting, fretful crying, passing and belching of gas, colicky pain, disturbed sleep, greenish stools with mucus, are among the more prominent earmarks of unsuccessful nursing. these symptoms appearing in a pale, flabby, listless, indifferent or cross baby, with steady loss of weight continued over a period of three or four weeks, point to "nursing trouble;" which, if not corrected, will lead to that much dreaded infantile condition--malnutrition.
-bolting of food or overeating results in vomiting and gas, and thus interferes with normal nursing, as also may tongue-tie. a condition in the mouth, medically known as "stomatitis," and commonly known as "thrush," often gives rise to a fretful cry when nursing is attempted. in the first place, the baby cannot "hold on" to the nipple; while, in the second place, it hurts his inflamed mouth when he makes an effort to nurse.
-long continued nursing covering three-fourths of an hour or more, seizing of the nipple for a moment and then discarding it, apparently in utter disgust, are the earmarks of very scanty milk supply and should receive immediate attention.
-aids to the milk supply
-believing that many more mothers than do so should nurse their babies, we have carefully tabulated a number of aids to the milk supply, which we hope will be most earnestly tried before the baby is taken from the breast--for so many, many more bottle-fed babies die during the first year than the breast fed. the dangers of infection, the worry of the food preparation, the uncertainty of results, all call for a most untiring effort on the part of every doctor, nurse, and mother, in their endeavors to secure maternal nursing. the following is a summary of "aids to the milk supply:"
-1. regular periodical sucking of the breasts from the day of baby's birth.
-2. systematic applications of alternate hot and cold compresses, followed by massage to the breasts.
-3. three good nourishing meals each day, eaten with merriment and gladness of heart.
-4. a glass of "cream gruel," milk, cocoa, or eggnog at the close of each meal, with a glass just before retiring.
-5. three outings each day in the open air.
-6. nurse the baby regularly and then turn its care over to another, you seek the out of doors and engage in walking, rowing, riding and other pleasurable exercise.
-8. you can bank on fretting and stewing over the hot cook stove to decrease your milk. it seldom fails to spoil it.
-9. regular body bathing, with cold friction rubs to the skin.
-10. a happy, carefree mental state. nothing dries up milk so rapidly as worry, grief, or nagging.
-11. the administration, preferably in the early days, of desiccated bovine placenta; although it may be given at any time during the period of nursing.
-when the baby should not be nursed
-as much as we desire maternal nursing for the babe, there do occur instances and conditions which demand a change to artificial feeding, such as the following:
-1. a new pregnancy. 2. mothers with uncontrollable tempers. 3. cases of breast abscess. 4. prolonged illness of the mother with high fever. 5. wasting diseases such as tuberculosis, bright's disease, heart disease, etc. 6. maternal syphilis. 7. when maternal milk utterly fails, or is wholly inadequate.
-when a maternal anesthetic is to be administered, or in case of inflammation of the breast or during a very short illness not covering more than two or three days, then the breast pump may be used regularly every three hours to both breasts; the baby may be artificially fed and then returned to the breast after the effects of the anesthetic has worn off or the temperature has been normal for twenty-four hours.
-there may also appear definite indications in certain children which make it imperative that the nursing child should early be weaned. these manifestations of disordered nutrition and failing health admonish us to put the baby on properly modified milk, or to transfer it to a wet nurse.
-these conditions are:
-1. progressive loss in weight.
-2. a bad diarrhea of long standing; one which does not yield to the usual remedies, at least not as long as the baby continues to feed from the breast. these diarrheas are especially serious when accompanied by a steady loss in weight.
-3. excessive vomiting accompanied by progressive loss in weight.
-the wet nurse
-because of the rarity of good, healthy wet nurses, it is always better to attempt to feed the baby with scientifically modified milk (not proprietary foods), good, clean, cow's milk properly modified to suit the weight and age of the child. we put weight first, for we prepare food for so many pounds of baby rather than for the number of months old he is.
-if modified food has failed and the best specialist within your reach orders a wet nurse; she must have the following qualifications:
-1. she must be free from tuberculosis and syphilis. 2. she should be between twenty and thirty years of age. 3. she should abstain from all stimulants. 4. she should be amiable, temperate, and should sense her responsibility.
-if an unmarried mother of her first child is engaged as a wet nurse, she should not be "stuffed" or allowed to overeat, which is commonly the result of moving her from her lower life into more comfortable surroundings, or given ale or beer to increase her milk. she should continue her normal eating, take light exercise, which does not mean the scrubbing of floors or doing the family washing, and live under the same hygienic regime outlined for the nursing mother. should she be the mother of the second or third illegitimate child, then she is quite likely to be mentally deficient and she should not be engaged. her own babe will have to be fed artificially as very few mothers can endure the strain of two suckling children.
-the baby's own mother should keep general supervision and not turn her babe entirely over to the care of the wet nurse. remember always that no one in the wide world will ever take the same mother interest in your offspring that can spring from your own mother heart.
-the bottle-fed baby
-in taking up the subject of the bottle-fed baby, we must repeat that the only perfect baby food on earth is the milk that comes from the breast of a healthy mother.
-but sudden illness, accident, chronic maladies, or possibly the death of the mother, often throw the helpless babes out into a world of many sorts and kinds of artificial foods--foods that are prepared by modifying cow's, ass', or goat's milk; foods arranged by the addition to the milk of various specially prepared cereals, albumens or malted preparations, otherwise known as "proprietary foods." we shall endeavor, then, in this chapter and in that on "the feeding problem," to lay down certain general suggestions to both the nurse and the mother, which may assist them in their effort to select the food which will more nearly simulate nature's wondrous mother-food, and which will, at the same time, be best suited to some one particular baby.
-the hourly schedule
-should the baby continue to awaken during the night before six in the morning, unless he is under weight, a bottle of warm, boiled, unsweetened water should be given.
-quantity of food
-the quantity of food to be given is always determined by the size of the baby's stomach, which, of course, depends somewhat upon the age of the child; for instance, the stomach of the average baby one week old holds about one ounce, while at the age of three months the stomach holds five ounces; so it would not only be folly to give two ounces at one week and seven ounces at three months, but it would also be very detrimental to the babe, causing severe symptoms due to the overloading of the stomach.
-careful study of the size of the stomach at different ages in infancy, together with the quantity of milk drawn from the breast by a nursing baby, has led to the following conclusions regarding the capacity of the baby's stomach:
-it is highly important that the day's feedings be kept in a cold place, free from the odors of other foods as well as free from dust, flies, and filth. in order that this may be accomplished, the well-protected bottles, each containing its baby-meal, are placed in a covered pail containing ice and water. this covered receptacle is now put in an ice box; and, in order that our most economical reader--one who may feel that she cannot afford to keep up the daily expense of the family refrigerator--may herself prepare a simple home refrigerator, the following directions are given (fig. 9).
-homemade ice box
-procure a wooden box about eighteen inches square and sixteen or eighteen inches deep and put four inches of sawdust into the bottom; now fill in the space between a ten-quart pail, which is set in the middle of the box with more sawdust. a cover for the box is now lined with two or three inches of newspaper, well tacked on, and is fastened to the box by hinges. we are now ready for the inside pail of ice, into which is carefully placed the well-protected bottles of milk, all of which is then set into the ten-quart pail in the box. five cents worth of ice each day will keep baby's food cool, clean, and provide protection against the undue growth of germs.
-preparing the bottle
-at each feeding hour, one of baby's bottled meals is taken from the ice box and carefully dipped in and out of a deep cup of hot water. a very convenient receptacle is a deep, quart aluminum cup, which may be readily carried about. the hot water in the cup should amply cover the milk in the bottle (fig. 10).
-to test the warmth allow a few drops to fall on the inner side of the arm, where it should feel quite warm, never hot. a baby's clean woolen stocking is now drawn over the bottle, which keeps it warm during the feeding. no matter how great the danger of offending a fond grandparent or a much adored friend never allow anyone to put the nipple in her mouth to make the test for warmth of baby's food.
-there are many contrivances, both electrical and alcoholic, for heating baby's bottle, many of which are both convenient and inexpensive.
-position during feeding
-and now we realize that we are about to advise against the time-honored injunction which has been handed down from "grandma this" and "mother that" to all young mothers who have lived in their neighborhoods: "my dear young mother, if you can't nurse your precious infant, you can at least 'mother it' at the nursing time by holding it in your arms and gently rocking it to and fro as you hold the bottle to its lips." this so-called "mothering" has resulted in regurgitation, belching, and numerous other troubles, as well as the formation of the "rocking habit."
-a young mother came running into my office one day saying: "doctor, it won't work, the food's all wrong; my baby is not going to live, for he throws up his food nearly all the time." we arranged to be present when the next feeding time came and watched the proceedings. a dear old friend had told her "she must 'mother' her baby at the nursing time," and so she had held the child in a semi-upright position as she endeavored to hold the bottle as near her own breast as was possible. the hole in the nipple was a bit large, which occasioned the subsequent bolting of the food, and then to continue the "mothering" she swayed him to and fro, all of which was interrupted suddenly by the vomiting of a deluge of milk.
-i drew the shade in an adjoining room, opened the windows, and into a comfortable carriage-bed i placed the baby on his side. seating myself beside him i held the warm, bottled meal as he nursed. several times i took it from his mouth, or so tipped it that "bolting" was impossible. gradually, carefully, and slowly, i took the empty bottle away from the sleepy babe, and as i closed the door the mother said in anxious amazement: "he won't forget i'm his mother if i don't hold him while he nurses?" you smile as i smiled at this girl-mother's thought; but, nevertheless there are many like her--anxious, well-meaning, but ignorant.
-the infant stomach is little more than a tube, easily emptied if the baby's position is not carefully guarded after nursing. no bouncing, jolting, patting, rocking, or throwing should take place either just before, during, or immediately after meals.
-time allowance for one feeding
-from twelve to twenty minutes is long enough time to spend at a bottle meal. the nipple hole may have to be made larger, or a new nipple with a smaller hole may have to be purchased. when new, you should be able to just see a glimmer of light through the hole, and if the infant is too weak to nurse hard, or the hole too small, it may be made larger by a heated hatpin run from the inside of the nipple out; great care must be taken, else you will do it too well. if the nipple hole is too large, bolting is the sure result; while too small a hole results in crying and anger on the part of the hungry child, because he has to work too hard to get his meal.
-after the feed
-we have seen some mothers, in their anxiety to prevent the sucking in of air from the emptied bottle, rush in and jerk the nipple from the going-to-sleep babe so forcibly that all thoughts of sleep vanished and a crying spell was initiated. the tactful mother is the quiet one who slowly, quietly, draws the empty bottle with its "much loved nipple" from the lips. if you observe that the babe is going to sleep, with an occasional superficial draw at the nipple, wait a moment; he will drop it himself, and you can pick it up as you quietly leave the room. in all instances, whether it be indoors or out of doors, arrange the babe in a comfortable sleeping position, remembering that nursing is warm exercise and the babe gets uncomfortably sweaty if overbundled, especially about the head and neck. no one should unnecessarily touch the babe immediately after feeding; even his diaper may be changed without awakening him while he is thus lying quietly in his bed.
-intervals between meals
-the three-hour interval is reckoned from the beginning of the meal, and not from its close. more than two hours is spent in the stomach digestion, and any food or sweetened water which may enter between meals only tends to cause indigestion and other disturbances. and that this important organ may have a bit of rest, we fix the interval at three hours, which in our experience and that of many other physicians, has yielded good results. as a rule we have no regurgitation and no sour babies on the three-hour schedule. sick babies, very weak babies, and their feeding time, will be discussed in a later chapter.
-at six months, and often as early as four, in cases of constipation, unsweetened, well-strained prune juice may be given, beginning with one-half teaspoon one hour before the afternoon feed and increasing it daily until two tablespoons are taken. at six months, both orange juice and vegetable broths are given, whose vegetable salts add a very important food element to the baby's diet--an element which our grandmothers thought could only be obtained through the time-honored "bacon rind" of by-gone days.
-food for the traveling babe
-baby travel should be reduced to a sheer necessity; never should the babe be subjected to the exposure of disease germs, the change of food, the possibilities of draughts and chilling, for merely a pleasure trip--the risks are too great and the possibilities of future trouble too far reaching.
-if you are in touch with the milk laboratory of a large city, you will find that they make a specialty of preparing feedings which are good for a number of days for the traveling baby, and we strongly advise that their preparations be accepted; but in the event of not being in touch with such a laboratory we suggest the making of a carrying ice-box covered with wicker, which must be kept replenished with ice. food kept in such a device may be kept fresh for twenty-four to forty-eight hours. plans other than the laboratory preparations or the ice-box are risky, and should not be depended upon.
-many of our railway dining cars now pick up fresh, certified milk at stations along the line for use on their tables, and where such is the case fresh preparations of milk may be made on a trans-continental trip by the aid of an alcohol stove. malted milk may also be used, provided you have accustomed the baby to its use a week before leaving home, by the gradual substitution of a fourth to a half ounce each day in the daily food; all of which, of course, should be done under your physician's direction.
-if possible, leave baby at home in his familiar, comfortable environment in the care of a trained nurse and a trusted relative, and under the supervision of the baby's own physician. he is much better off, much more contented, and we are all aware of the fact that contentment and familiarity of sights and people promote good appetite, good digestion, and happiness--the very essentials of success in baby feeding. we speak touchingly and sympathetically to the mother who must leave her babe; and likewise we wish to cheer her as we remind her that by wireless messages and night letters it is possible to keep in touch with loved ones though a thousand miles away.
-the sanitation and modification of cow's milk, as well as stools, etc., are taken up in later chapters.
-rules for the bottle-fed
-1. never play with a baby during or right after a meal. 2. lay the baby on his side when nursing the bottle. 3. three full hours should intervene between feedings. 4. don't give the food too hot--it should just be warm. 5. make the test for warmth on the inner side of your arm. 6. give a drink of water between each meal if awake. 7. never save the left-overs for baby. 8. if possible, give three feedings each day in the cool air, with baby comfortably warm. 9. do not jump, bounce, pat, or rock baby during or after meals. 10. never coax baby to take more than he wants, or needs. 11. no solid foods are given the first year. 12. orange juice may be given at six months; while, after four months, unsweetened prune juice is better than medicine for the bowels.
-cow's milk, like mother's milk, is made up of solids and water. in a previous chapter we learned that in one-hundred parts of mother's milk, eighty-seven parts were water and thirteen parts were solid. these thirteen parts of solids consist of sugar, proteins, and salts; this is likewise the case with cow's milk, except that in the case of the cow's milk, the sugar is decreased while the proteins are increased as will be noted by the accompanying comparative analysis:
-mother's milk is absolutely sterile, that is, free from the presence of germs; on the other hand, cow's milk is anything but sterile--the moment it leaves the udder it begins to accumulate numerous bacteria, all of which multiply very rapidly. cow's milk is generally twenty-four to forty-eight hours old before it can possibly reach the baby. it is just as important to keep in mind these facts of milk contamination--dirt, filth, flies, and bacteria--as it is to plan for the modification of cow's milk for the purpose of making it more nearly resemble mother's milk. while mother's milk has about the same percentage of fat as cow's milk, it is almost twice as rich in sugar, and has only one-fourth to one-third as much protein. this protein is vastly different from that found in cow's milk, which you recall has a tough curd, as seen in cottage cheese. while mother's milk contains a small amount of casein similar to that found in the cheese of the cow's milk, the principal protein constituent is of another kind (lactalbumin), and is much more easy of digestion than the casein of cow's milk.
-this is a most important point to remember, because the baby's stomach is not at first adapted to the digestion of the heavier and tougher protein curds of cow's milk. it requires time to accustom the infant stomach to perform this heavier work of digestion. there are a number of factors which must be borne in mind in the modification of milk, whether it be cow's milk, or goat's milk (for many european physicians use goat's milk entirely in the artificial feeding of infants): namely, the cleanliness of the milk, the acidity of milk, the difference in the curd, the percentage of sugar, and the presence of bacteria.
-in the modification of cow's milk, sugar must be added to make up for the sugar which is decreased when the water was added to reduce the protein. there are several sorts of sugar used in the modification of milk. these sugars are not added to sweeten the milk alone, but to furnish a very important element needed for the growth of the baby. sugar is the one element which the infant requires in the largest amount.
-milk sugar is probably most universally used in the modification of milk, but a good grade of milk sugar is somewhat expensive, costing from thirty to sixty cents a pound, and this places it beyond the reach of many mothers. it is added to the food mixtures in the proportion of one ounce to every twenty ounces of food. cane sugar (table sugar) may also be used, but it must be clean and of good quality. it is used in rather less quantity than that of milk sugar, usually from one-half to one-third of an ounce by measure to each twenty ounces of food. dextri-maltose (malt sugar) is very easy of digestion and may be used in the modification of milk. maltose seems to help the children to gain more rapidly in weight than when only milk or cane sugar is used. it is also exceedingly useful in constipation, as its action is more laxative than any of the other sugars; but it should not be given to children who vomit habitually or have loose stools.
-like mother's milk, the cow's milk is neutral as it comes from the udder; but, on standing, it quickly changes, soon becoming slightly acid, as shown by testing with blue litmus paper. in fact, what is known as ordinarily fresh milk, if subjected to the litmus paper test, always gives an acid reaction. this acidity is neutralized by adding lime water to the formula in the proportion of one ounce to each twenty-ounce mixture. ordinary baking soda is sometimes prescribed by physicians in place of the lime water. in the event of obstinate constipation, milk of magnesia is sometimes added to the day's feedings.
-there may be procured in any large city an instrument called the cream gauge, which registers approximately (not accurately) the richness of milk. some milk, even though rich, parts with its cream very slowly; while some poor milk allows nearly all the cream quickly to rise to the surface. we know of no way for the mother to determine the amount of cream (without the cream gauge) except by the color and richness of the milk. in cities it is very convenient to send a specimen of the milk to the laboratories to be examined by experts, who will gladly render a report to both physician and mother.
-the lactometer is a little instrument used to estimate the specific gravity of milk. an ordinary urinometer such as used by physicians in estimating the specific gravity of urine may also be used. the specific gravity of cow's milk should not register below 1028 or above 1033.
-courtesy of lakewood farm
-milk from a single cow is not to be desired for baby's food because of its liability to vary from day to day, not to mention the danger of the cow's becoming sick. authorities have agreed that herd milk of holstein or ordinary grade cows is best for infant feeding. this mixed-herd milk contains just about the proper percentage of fat; whereas, if jersey milk must be used, some of the cream should be taken away. our milk should come from healthy cows which have been tested for tuberculosis at least every three months.
-annatto is sometimes added to milk to increase its richness of color. to test for annatto proceed as follows: to a couple of tablespoons of milk add a pinch of ordinary baking soda. insert one-half of a strip of filter paper in the milk and allow it to remain over night. annatto will give a distinct orange tint to the paper. the commonly used milk preservatives are boracic acid, salicylic acid, and formaldehyde, any of which may be readily detected by your health officials.
-in close proximity to most large cities there is usually to be found one or more sanitary dairies. it is a joy indeed to visit a farm of this kind with its airy stables and concrete floors, which are washed with water coming from a hose. the drainage is perfect--all filth is immediately carried off (fig. 11). the cows are known to be free from tuberculosis, actinomycosis (lumpy jaw), and foot and mouth disease. the milkmen on this farm wear washable clothes at the milking time, and their hands are painstakingly cleansed just before the milking hour. previous to the milking the cattle have been curried outside the milking room and their udders have received a careful washing. the milkman grasps the teat with clean hands, while the milk is allowed to flow through several thicknesses of sterilized gauze into the sanitary milking pail. this milk is at once poured into sterile bottles, is quickly cooled and shipped in ice to the substations where the delivery wagon is waiting. in the ideal delivery wagon there are shallow vats of ice in which the bottles are placed, thus permitting the milk to reach the baby's home having all the while been kept at a temperature just above the freezing point.
-and why all this trouble? why all this worry over temperature and cleanliness? babies were not so cared for in the days of our grandmothers. the old-fashioned way of milking the cows with dirty clothes and soiled hands, while cattle were more or less covered with manure, with their tails switching millions of manure germs into the milking pail, produced a milk laden not only with manure germs--the one great cause of infantile diarrhea--but also swarming with numerous other mischief making microbes. even tuberculosis, that much dreaded disease germ of early infancy, may come from the dairy hands as well as from infected cows.
-there used to be many dairymen like the old farmer who, when interrogated by the health commissioner concerning the cleanliness of his milk, laughed as he reached down into the bottom of a pail of yellow milk and grabbing up a handful of manure and straw, said: "that's what makes the youngsters grow." but it does not make them grow; it often causes them to die, and even if they do live, they live in spite of such contaminated food, for the germ which is always found in the colon of the cow (coli communis), probably kills more babies every year than any other single thing.
-it is possible to reduce the growth of these germs by keeping the milk at a very low temperature from the time it leaves the cow until the moment it gets to the home refrigerator. those which survive this process of refrigeration may be quickly rendered harmless by pasteurizing or sterilizing at the time of preparing baby's food.
-in the absence of the modern sanitary dairy, we would suggest that the milk supply be improved by giving attention to the following:
-the cattle should be tested for tuberculosis every three months. the walls of the cowhouse should be whitewashed three times a year. the manure should be stored outside the barn. the floor of the cowhouse should be sprinkled and swept each day. the cattle should be kept clean--curried each day, and rubbed off with a damp cloth before milking. the udders should be washed before each milking. the milker can wear a clean white gown or linen duster which should be washed every two days, while his hands should be washed just before the milking. the milking pail should be of the covered sanitary order. the barn should be screened.
-immediately after leaving the cow, the milk should be cooled to at least 45 f. it should at once be put into bottles that have been previously sterilized and then be tightly covered, and should be kept in ice water until ready for consumption. no matter how carefully the milk is handled, it is infected with many bacteria, but if it is quickly cooled, the increase of the bacteria is greatly retarded. under no circumstances buy milk from a grocery store out of a large can. go to your health officer and encourage him in his campaign for sanitary dairies and certified milk.
-such milk as we have described under the head of sanitary dairies, when it has been tested by the board of health and has received the approval of the medical profession, is known as "certified milk;" and, although the price is usually fifteen to twenty cents a quart, when compared with the cost of baby's illness it will prove to be cheaper than the dirty milk which sickens and kills the little folks.
-there is no doubt that the increased use of "certified milk" has been a great factor in the reduction of deaths from infant diarrhea in recent years.
-boiling the milk
-when certified milk cannot be had, it is absolutely dangerous to give raw, unboiled, or unpasteurized milk to the baby, particularly in warm weather; for the countless millions of manure germs found in each teaspoon of ordinary milk not only disturbs the baby's digestion, but actually makes him sick, causing colic, diarrhea, and cholera infantum. the only way this milk can be rendered safe is by cooking it--actually killing the bacteria. this process of boiling, however, does not make good milk out of bad milk nor clean milk out of that which is dirty, it simply renders the milk less dangerous.
-there are two methods of killing bacteria--sterilization and pasteurization. by sterilization is meant the process of rendering the milk germ free by heating, by boiling. many of the germs found in milk are comparatively harmless, merely causing the souring of milk; but other microbes are occasionally present which cause serious diseases, such as measles, typhoid and scarlet fever, diphtheria, tuberculosis, and diarrhea. it is always necessary to heat the milk before using in warm weather, and during the winter it is also important when infectious or contagious diseases are prevalent.
-milk should be sterilized when intended for use on a long journey, and may be eaten as late as two or three days afterward.
-to sterilize milk, place it in a well-protected kettle and allow to boil for one hour and then rapidly cool. this process renders it more constipating, and for some children many of its nutritive properties seem to be destroyed, as scurvy is often the result of its prolonged use. when a child must subsist upon boiled milk for a long period, he should be given the juice of an orange each day. children are not usually strong and normal when fed upon milk of this character for indefinite periods. all living bacteria (except the spores or eggs) may be destroyed by boiling milk for one or two minutes.
-when baby is to use the milk within twenty-four hours, "pasteurization" is better than boiling as a method of destroying microbes.
-there are many pasteurizers on the market which may be depended upon, among which are the walker-gordon pasteurizer, and freeman's pasteurizer; but in the absence of either of these pasteurization may be successfully accomplished by the following method:
-never let pasteurized milk stand in the room, nor put it near the ice when warm. it must be cooled rapidly, as described above; that is, within fifteen or twenty minutes.
-the "spores" of the milk are not killed by pasteurization and they hatch out rapidly unless the milk is kept very cold, and, as already stated, it should be used within twenty-four hours after pasteurization.
-the care of bottled milk
-the certified milk or the ordinary milk that has been delivered to your home and is to be used without pasteurization or sterilization, should receive the following care:
-1. it should be placed at once in a portion of the ice box that is not used to store such foods as radishes, cabbage, meats or any other open dishes of food whose odors would quickly be absorbed by the milk. the milk should never be left standing on the doorsteps in the sun, for many reasons: the sun heats the milk, encourages the growth of bacteria, and a passing cat or dog, whose mouth often contains the germs of scarlet fever, tonsilitis, and diphtheria, should it be hungry, laps the tops of the bottles, particularly in the winter when the cream has frozen and is bulging over the edge.
-2. it should never be kept in the warm kitchen, as when visiting her sick baby we discovered one young mother doing. in answer to my question, she explained; "doctor, we do not take ice in the winter time, everything is ice outdoors, so i just set the bottle outside the window bringing it in whenever i need to give the baby some food. i forget to put it out sometimes, but really now, does it matter?" it really matters much, for you see, reader, the milk is first freezing then thawing and it is rendered entirely unfit for the baby.
-3. milk should be kept covered and protected from dust and flies; it should be kept in glass jars which have been sterilized by boiling before being filled, and then placed in the refrigerator. if the milk is sour, or if there is any sediment in the bottle, it is unfit for baby's use.
-home modification of milk
-in a previous chapter it was found from comparing the analysis of mother's milk with that of cow's milk, that they widely differed in the proteins and sugar. the art of so changing cow's milk that it conforms as nearly as is possible to mother's milk is known as "modification." where protein, sugar, and fat are given in proper amounts, healthy infants get along well; but when either the fats or proteins are given in excess, or when the digestion of the child is deranged, there is often no end of mischief.
-there are two groups of milk formulas that are useful. first, those in which the fats and proteins are about the same, known as "whole milk," or "straight" milk mixtures; second, those in which the fats are used in larger proportions than proteins, and known as "top milk"--milk taken from the upper part of the bottle after the cream has risen. and since the larger proportion of babies take the lower fats or "whole milk" formulas, and seem to get along better than the babies who have the "top milk" formulas, we will first take up the consideration of the modification of whole milk.
-preparation for modification
-to begin with, everything that comes in contact with the preparation of baby's food must be absolutely clean. the table on which the articles are placed, and any towel that comes in contact with the articles or the mother's hands, or those of the nurse, must be thoroughly scrubbed.
-there is only one way to prepare the utensils that are to be used in making the baby's food, and that is to put them in a large kettle and allow them to boil hard for fifteen minutes just before they are to be used. the articles needed are (fig. 12):
-bottles and nipples
-there is but one bottle which can be thoroughly washed and cleaned, and that is the wide-mouthed bottle. it should hold eight ounces and should have the scale in ounces blown in the side (fig. 10). the nipple for this bottle is a large, round breast from which projects a short, conical nipple, which more nearly resembles the normal breast than do the old-fashioned nipples so frequently seen on the small-necked nursing bottles. there is a great advantage in this, in that the baby cannot grasp the nipple full length and thus cause gagging. these bottles and nipples are known as the "hygeia," and have proven to be a great source of comfort to the baby as well as to the mother or nurse whose duty it is to keep them clean. there are a number of other nursing bottles on the market, which, if they are used, must be thoroughly cleansed with a special bottle brush each day. the neck is small and the nipple is small and great care must be taken in the cleansing of both of them.
-care of bottles and nipples
-when there is a bottle for each individual feeding in the day, immediately after each nursing both bottle and nipple should be rinsed in cold water and left standing, filled with water, until the bottles for one day's feeding have all been used. the nipples should be scrubbed, rinsed, and wiped dry and kept by themselves until their boiling preparation for the following day's feeding.
-if the same bottle is to be used for the successive feedings during the day, it should be rinsed, washed with soap and water, and both bottle and nipple placed in cold water and brought quickly to the boiling point and allowed to boil for fifteen minutes. no bottles or nipples must ever be used after a mere rinsing; boiling, preceded by a thorough washing in soap and water, must take place before they are used a second time.
-new nipples are often hard and need to be softened, which is readily done by either prolonged boiling or rubbing them in the hands.
-all new bottles should be annealed by placing them on the stove in a dishpan of cold water and allowing them to boil for twenty minutes, and then allowing them to remain in the water until they are cold. when bottles are treated in this manner they do not break so readily when being filled with boiling water or hot food.
-preparing the food
-having been given your formula by your physician, proceed in the following way. suppose we were preparing the food for a normal two-months old baby that weighed ten pounds, with the prescription as follows:
-baby smith. r{x}
-details of preparation
-two level tablespoons of cane sugar are placed in the agate cup and
-"maybe that's it. i don't think you trust me, either."
-"ten thousand is a lot of money. but we're not going to get it by sitting in a coffee shop arguing over it."
-"i guess you're right."
-"then let's go."
-they left the coffee shop and, as they walked the four blocks that separated them from the room where he was ashamed to take rhoda kane, frank corson analyzed his own mood and attitude. he decided it wasn't that he mistrusted king, or that he actually thought the deal had any frightening elements in it. in plain truth, he was ashamed of himself. somehow, in his own mind, he was degrading his profession. his love of rhoda kane, his need of money, his impatience with time and circumstance, had forced him into what seemed like a cheap intrigue. there was, somehow, a bad taste to the whole thing.
-but it was too late to back out now. and what the hell! if there was ten thousand dollars lying around, why shouldn't he get a piece of it? what was wrong with that? he unlocked the door to his room.
-he took a step forward and stopped, blocking the entrance.
-"oh, my god!"
-les king pushed through. his eyes widened, but that was his only reaction. then his camera swung up into position. the bulb flashed. he lowered the camera.
-"somebody cut the bastard's throat!" he marveled.
-frank corson moved forward. "good lord! it looks as though he just sat there and let himself be murdered."
-"no knife close enough. it's over there in the sink."
-"well, he didn't cut his own throat and then walk back here."
-frank corson had been studying the wound. he pressed his fingers against the crimson shirt front and rubbed them together, testing the feel of the blood with his thumb.
-"what's wrong?" king asked.
-"i don't know. that's an odd color for coagulating blood. it doesn't feel right, either."
-"do you think he was sick?"
-"there's just something crazy about this whole thing. the man had two hearts."
-king was both amazed and angered. "what the hell are you talking about?"
-"i didn't get a chance to tell you. this man was a freak. i found it out last night. he had two hearts. i'm sure of it."
-"no chance to tell me? why, goddamn it, we sat in that coffee shop for half an hour while i leveled with you. no chance! you held out on me." king laughed cynically. "i guess that's human nature. with a couple of bucks at stake even honest men go cagey."
-corson ignored the jibe. "listen, for christ sake! this is murder! can't you understand that?"
-"of course, it's murder--in your room, with your knife. you'll have some explaining to do."
-king's face hardened. he became subtly remote, impersonal. his eyes turned cold as he began inserting flash-bulbs into his camera and snapping the room and the body from various angles.
-frank corson, out of his depth for sure now, stood helpless. les king looked up from his work. "well, don't just stand there, doctor. you've got a murder to report. get with it."
-as corson turned helplessly toward the door, king grinned faintly. "me, i'm just a free-lance photographer trying to make an honest buck."
-brent taber stared icily down at frank corson and les king. they looked up at him sullenly, looming over them as he did, from the position of authority. a little like two schoolboys being punished by the principal, they lowered their eyes. defiantly, each told himself that he was a free citizen and didn't have to take this from taber, even if he did represent governmental authority.
-still, they sat and took it.
-"of course," taber said, "you have the universal alibi. you didn't know how serious this thing was. so far as you were concerned, you'd located a man with a reward on his head." he shook his head deprecatingly. "if we hadn't sent out a top-secret bulletin to all the big-city police chiefs to be on the lookout for this guy you'd have had it spread in some tabloid."
-"a person has a right to make a buck," king said stubbornly.
-"oh, sure. again the universal defense. make the buck first and then think about your patriotic duty."
-"patriotic duty, hell! there wasn't any as far as i was concerned. when i found out about that--what the hell did you call him? the android?--he was already dead."
-"and you'll do very well with the pictures you took."
-"they're my pictures."
-"the hell they are. we're confiscating them and you'll keep your mouth shut about this."
-"then the people haven't got a right to know--"
-"damn the people!" brent snarled, and wished instantly that he hadn't said it. he didn't mean it, of course. he'd just been pressed too hard. in a sense, he was taking his own frustrations out on these two because they were handy.
-and yet, damn it all, he was right! nobody gave a hoot for the welfare of the country!
-"you," he said, turning on frank corson. "in the course of your duty as a doctor, you came upon something very strange."
-"i wasn't sure!"
-"you found a man with two hearts. what should you have done as a doctor? reported it through recognized channels. if you'd done that, do you realize we might have got word? we might have been able to act? we might have saved that creature's life. that may well have been the difference between life and death for this country. for this planet."
-"are you sure you're not exaggerating things a little?" king asked the question and lit a cigarette as his self-confidence began to return. "isn't the whole thing pretty far-fetched?"
-brent held his temper. "i suppose you have every right to assume we aren't really sure ourselves. but please listen to me now and give me the benefit of the doubt. we have reason to believe that these creatures--there have been others--are a menace to our survival. we're also pretty sure that there's another one roaming around. it's my opinion that the last one, the tenth one, may have had something to do with what happened in dr. corson's room. i don't know whether your lives are in danger or not, but please co-operate with us. please report immediately anything of a suspicious nature that you see."
-"of course, we will," frank corson said. "i didn't see any signs of hostility in the other one, though."
-"be that as it may, we must get our hands on him."
-"if he did kill the one with the broken leg," king said, "wouldn't he have left town?"
-"if he thinks like a murderer, yes. but he probably doesn't. that's the trouble. we don't know how he thinks or what he's here for. we're playing it by ear."
-"i think we understand," frank corson said.
-"thank you. and i'm sorry if i antagonized you. that wasn't my purpose. i'm just trying to do my job." he smiled and held out his hand. "this is all strictly confidential, of course."
-"thanks for coming."
-they left, but brent taber's frustrations remained with him. earlier that day, in washington, he'd stood on the carpet himself, before higher authority, and played the part of the reprimanded schoolboy.
-"it would appear," authority said, "that you went out of your way to antagonize senator crane."
-"i'm sorry if that's the opinion up above."
-"it is not a matter of opinion, one way or another. it's a matter of expediency. the administration has to get along with congress. senator crane is in a powerful position. he is on three committees that can hamper legislation the administration is vitally interested in."
-"i understand. and i didn't pick the quarrel with senator crane. he picked it with me. in my judgment, he is not the kind of person to be trusted with information of this vital nature."
-"you consider senator crane an unreliable demagogue?"
-"i didn't say that."
-authority smiled wryly. "i'll concede that the senator's type is rare in american politics--at least among those who get elected to high office. but the fact remains--he is a power."
-"if you agree that the information should have been withheld--"
-"i didn't agree on that at all," authority said quickly. "and don't quote me as having said so. i'll deny it."
-"i'm sorry," brent taber said. "i was put in charge of this project and i used my judgment--"
-"we are not questioning your over-all judgment," authority assured him.
-then what in the hell are you gabbling about? this question was also asked inwardly as brent said, "i felt the gravity of the situation merited extreme care."
-"it does. but life must go on. the government must still function."
-that's right, play it from both ends, brent taber thought bitterly. ride the fence. stay in a position to jump either way.
-"what do you wish me to do about senator crane?"
-"i'd stay out of his way if i were you."
-"whatever damage you say i have done can be corrected with a ten-minute briefing."
-"that's up to you," authority answered nimbly. "as you say, you've been put in charge of the project."
-"then i'll leave things as they are."
-"very well. i just wanted to go on record."
-"thank you," brent taber said. "thank you very much."
-frank corson and les king walked north together after their interview with brent taber.
-"i guess we got off lucky," king said. "those washington appointees can be tough."
-"he seems to have a pretty tough job."
-"they all think they've got tough jobs."
-"it's still a murder as far as the new york police are concerned. what do you think will happen?"
-"they turned us over to taber, didn't they?" king asked. "that shows how they're playing it. the new york cops have enough murders to worry about. they like to pass them on to somebody else."
-"then they won't question us any further?"
-king shrugged. "who knows? you've got nothing to worry about, though. just sit tight. in fact, you're damned lucky."
-"this killing is under wraps. nobody's talking. that means you won't get in trouble at the hospital." king grinned. "your ethics won't come under scrutiny."
-frank corson flushed and said nothing. king, after a moment's silence, said, "i've been thinking about that tenth android."
-"do you think there's as much danger in this thing as taber says?"
-"i hope you're right."
-"but about that android that's supposed to be walking around loose."
-"what about him?"
-"those bastards confiscated all my stuff. the shots i made in your room--everything. but if i could get some shots of the other one--"
-"you're actually going to work on your own? in spite of what taber said?"
-"it's a free country," king retorted hotly. "i've got a right to follow my profession. what i was going to say was that you're in a position to help yourself a little, too."
-"only you and i know what we're looking for. if you spot the android, see him hanging around anywhere, and let me know, i'll--"
-"you can go to hell, king. i want no part of any more of your ideas. i've had it. if i see the creature i'll call taber and nobody else. i'm going to do exactly what he told me to do. mark me off your list."
-frank corson strode away. les king stood watching him. king shrugged. just another bewildered citizen who thought god lived in washington. afraid to spit if some washington bureaucrat wagged a finger.
-well, the hell with corson. the hell with taber. the hell with all of them. if les king stood to make an honest buck, he was going to do his damnedest until somebody passed a law making it illegal.
-brent taber was drawn to doctor entman. he found, in the ugly little scientist, a rapport that seemed to exist nowhere else. at the moment, entman was having a fine, stimulating time dissecting the cadaver of the android. his ugly little eyes were bright. "it's a miracle, my friend! a positive miracle. the thing these people have been able to do!"
-"people? you've used that word before."
-entman waved an impatient hand. "oh, don't quibble! why, the creation of an artificial digestive system alone is awesome--not to mention the creation of a synthetic brain."
-"the brain is what interests me."
-"i can hardly wait to get into that area. certain aspects are obvious, though. these creatures must have mental powers far beyond ours--in certain areas, that is."
-"tell me more."
-"that's merely a matter of logic. we know that homo sapiens--because of his free choice, so to speak--uses, on an average, not more than a tenth of his mental ability. all right. these people have created, to all intents and purposes, a man. they surely had sense enough to remove the free-choice element. the creature surely has judgment, even cunning, but it is no doubt pointed totally and completely toward the objective of its being."
-"whatever the hell that objective is!"
-entman was mildly surprised by taber's exclamation. he held up a warning finger. "nerves, boy, nerves. you must watch that. as to the objective--i'm sure it's something pointed at our destruction."
-"what powers were you referring to?"
-"hypnotism, i should think. any of the mental processes through which one human being strives to assert control over another. we are aware of several of these. they may have found others."
-"you won't be able to define them by cutting up that brain?"
-"i doubt it. we could know them only by watching one of the creatures in action." entman sighed. "if we only had other facts."
-entman's smile was almost patronizing. "you're tired, aren't you, son? you're not thinking very well."
-"goddamn it! quit treating me like a cretin!"
-"temper, temper! look at it analytically, son, analytically. suppose we knew who these people are. what distances have they covered in arriving here? what is their method of conveyance?"
-"the distance? light years, i would assume. the conveyance? a spaceship, or a projectile along basic lines but farther advanced."
-"all right. we know they've sent ten creatures to our planet from infinity--that's as good a word to use as any. the next question is, why?"
-"damnit, that question is obvious."
-"and from my point of view, the answer is obvious."
-"then i wish to hell you'd give it to me."
-"logic, man, logic! a race as far advanced as this one could certainly move in and occupy us without trouble. wouldn't you think?"
-"certainly. that's what bothers me. why all the pussy-footing around with synthetic men who keep dropping dead?"
-"i think it's because they themselves are unable to exist in the climatic and atmospheric conditions existent on our planet."
-brent taber's eyes opened as entman went on. "they plan to occupy us, certainly--this we must assume--so they're trying to create an entity through which they can do it. the process is really no different, even though a little more dramatic, than our science creating a mechanical unit that functions to the best efficiency under specified conditions."
-"you get the point," entman beamed.
-"they'd like the data you're assembling--those reports you've got in front of you."
-"i imagine they'd find them quite interesting."
-"do you think we can assume the tenth android died also?"
-"perhaps. we have no proof that it killed the one found slain in greenwich village."
-"i'm satisfied to assume that. but i'm wondering just what contact those 'people,' as you call them, had with their androids. could a part of the brain have been a sending and receiving device?"
-"it would be difficult to tell. i delved in far enough to find a mechanical device, if there had been one. it did not exist in those i dissected. there is another possibility though, except that we often make the mistake of assuming that what we humans on earth can't do, can't be done. consider telepathy. who's to say they were not made capable of communicating in that way--at whatever distance?" he paused for a moment, deep in thought, before going on. "has it occurred to you that the tenth android might be a supervisor, the boss, the captain? if he is still alive, why haven't you found him? you have the men and facilities at your command."
-brent taber sprang to his feet. "doctor," he answered, scowling, "did you ever hear of a project so secret that it couldn't even be given enough personnel to make it work?"
-entman smiled sympathetically. "washington is a strange place in some ways, son. usually it's the other way around. you get so much help they get in each other's way. i'm glad i'm not involved in those phases of it."
-brent paced the floor, occupied with his own thoughts. it was more than mere frustration. it went deeper. there was his resentment of the dressing-down he'd taken from authority; the subtle coolness that had begun to permeate his relations with those upstairs.
-he jerked his mind away from such thoughts. nerves. that was it. he was tense. he was imagining things. they were certainly too well aware of the gravity of this situation to let petty politics interfere.
-or were they?
-"okay, doc," brent said crisply. "thanks for letting me pick your brain."
-"good luck, son."
-entman went back to his work and taber left. as he walked down the corridor, he analyzed the cheerful tone of entman's voice and told himself that even entman didn't really believe it. entman had the evidence before his eyes but he still couldn't get the concept of alien creatures from space really taking us over. it was too unbelievable.
-am i the only one who really believes it? he asked himself this question as he hailed a cab in the street and watched a fat man in a bowler hat slip in and take it away from him.
-"you're slipping, taber," he muttered. "you're definitely slipping."
-the bell rang. rhoda kane opened the door. the man standing there was not extraordinary in any way. he appeared just short of middle age. he wore a blue suit and a blue necktie. the word for him was quiet. he was a man who did not stand out.
-"my name is john dennis," he said. "i would like to speak to you."
-the abrupt demand annoyed rhoda. she frowned and was about to retort just as peremptorily, but an odd bemusement tempered her mood. the man was uncivil enough to be interesting. she said, "i'm busy now," but instead of closing the door, she stepped back into the room. the man came in and it was he who closed the door.
-"i don't wish to alarm you, miss kane."
-"i'm not in the least alarmed."
-as she spoke, rhoda wondered if this was true. but the wondering itself was on such an impersonal basis that it didn't seem to make much difference.
-also, she was noticing that john dennis was not quite as he'd first appeared. he was much younger than middle-aged, really--somewhere in his thirties. he was quiet, yes, but handsome, too. there was a rugged individuality about him that was easily missed at first glance. a definite attractiveness.
-"i want to ask you about a friend of yours. frank corson."
-this seemed like a logical request. it definitely seemed that way but, at the same time, rhoda was confused as to why it should appear to be. a man came and knocked on the door and entered and asked a question like that. it shouldn't have been all right, but it was. he probably had the right, she told herself, else he would not have asked.
-"what do you wish to know?"
-"tell me about him."
-"he is a doctor. frank is an intern at park hill hospital. after he finishes there he will go into practice. i guess that's about all there is to it."
-"he had a patient named william matson."
-"william matson? i don't know. he doesn't discuss his work with me."
-"this was a patient with a broken leg who was taken to the hospital night before last."
-"he did mention one man. i don't know his name, though. a man frank said had two hearts."
-"what else did he tell you about this man?"
-"nothing else. frank had the case in emergency. we came home--came here--and then frank was bothered. he went back and examined the man and came out and said he had two hearts."
-"that was all he said?"
-john dennis looked around. then, when rhoda stirred and passed a hand quickly through her hair, he brought his eyes back to bear on hers. rhoda lowered her hand.
-"does frank corson live here?"
-"no. this is my home. frank lives in the village."
-"greenwich village. it's a part of new york. are you a stranger?"
-john dennis did not answer. "why doesn't he live here with you?"
-"why--why, we're not married. we are only engaged."
-"that means you will get married later?"
-"i hope to."
-"does he hope to?"
-"yes--i'm sure he does."
-"then he will live here with you?"
-"i don't know. we may find another place."
-"what's wrong with this one?"
-"why, nothing--nothing at all--"
-such strange questions, rhoda thought. why was he asking them? no doubt he had a reason. it somehow did not occur to her to wonder why she was answering. her own thoughts on the matter did not seem important.
-"he lives here with you sometimes, doesn't he?"
-"he stays over once in a while."
-"why doesn't he stay over all the time?"
-"because we're not married."
-"what do you do when he stays over?"
-"is that all?"
-"we make love."
-"how do you do that?"
-rhoda hesitated for the first time. "we--haven't you ever made love?"
-his words came a little sharper. "how do you make love?"
-"we lie in each other's arms. we show affection for each other."
-"you lie in the same bed together?"
-"yes. of course."
-"if you were married, what would you do?"
-"i said--we would live together."
-"would you make love?"
-"would you lie in the same bed together?"
-"is there anything you would do if you were married that you don't do now?"
-"of course. we would live together. we would be man and wife. it would be--well, legal."
-"it is not legal to make love and lie in the same bed together now?"
-"no--well, yes--you see--"
-he was joking, of course. rhoda was sure of this. she wanted to explain it all to him but he suddenly lost interest.
-"frank corson knew nothing else about william matson?"
-"the man with two hearts?"
-"it was all he told me."
-"i think he knows more. i want you to ask him. then i will come and ask you."
-"i'll ask him if he knows anything more than what he told me."
-"ask him if he knows of any other men with two hearts. i want to know where they are and what happened to them."
-"i'll try to find out."
-"you must find out."
-"will you come back soon?"
-"i will come back. you must do as i tell you."
-"i will do as you tell me."
-john dennis had been sitting by the window so that rhoda had to stare into the light. he got up and approached her. she stood up and waited for him, motionless. he came close and looked at her curiously. his eyes went up and down her body. he laid a hand on her left breast and pressed gently. she did not move.
-"i will come back. you will not tell anyone i have been here or that we talked." he left without saying good-bye.
-after he was gone, rhoda stood where she was, motionless, for several minutes. her mind was on the place he had touched her. she had never before experienced such a reaction. never before had a man's hand, even on her bare flesh, produced such thrill and excitement. desperately, her common sense struggled with this new thing. she dismissed with annoyance the callow, schoolgirl thought that this was the way love finally came--in the door, unannounced, to take over a woman's heart and soul and body. ridiculous.
-the intellectual rhoda agreed, but the emotional rhoda continued to toy with the idea, finding it a fascination, a joy. but there was something more than the intellectual and the emotional; a deeper, frightening numbness; a strange paralysis of mind she could not come to grips with; it kept eluding her even as she reached out for it.
-fear? she wondered.
-but mainly she thought of john dennis, the strange man who had walked in her door and to whom she had surrendered without a struggle.
-my god. what happened to me? what happened to rhoda kane?
-abruptly she dropped the thought--it did not seem important.
-senator crane sat in the dining room of the mayflower hotel. his guest was matthew porter, a mystery man, also, of the brent taber type, but a little more clearly defined in that he had a title and a department of government. but far more important to crane, he outranked taber.
-one other point of importance: matthew porter was, in the terms even senator crane used, "something of a fathead."
-"maybe i am a senator," crane said jovially, "and maybe we boys up there think we have a hand in directing you fellows--still i'm flattered that you could find time to lunch with me."
-porter had a thin, aristocratic face, delicate features. his expression was usually benign, but there was steel behind it. he could scowl and hurl righteous invective, for instance, when a policeman questioned his right to park by a fireplug in spite of his official license plates.
-but mainly he was a shy person who nursed his inferiority complex in secret.
-"that's very flattering, senator. but the truth is quite the opposite. it's we fellows who are honored to put ourselves at your beck and call. after all, you're the ones the people elect to office."
-the flattery boomeranged nicely and put porter one up on crane.
-"the people must be served, of course," crane said, "and that's one of the things i want to talk to you about. the people's interests."
-matthew porter cocked an alarmed eye as he bit into a roll. "have their interests been violated?"
-crane glanced around and lowered his voice. "there's been too much loose talk going around about that project you've got brent taber on."
-porter laid the roll down very carefully, as though he feared it might go off. "i'm not sure i know what you're referring to, senator."
-"your reticence is quite understandable. that i bring it up at all must shock you, but--" crane hesitated, a touch of sadness brushing across his face.
-"but what, senator?"
-"you understand, certainly, that i hold the greatest respect for brent taber. that's why i hesitated to come to you."
-"it seems to me halliday said something about calling taber in. it had to do with a mild reprimand over taber's attitude on legislative-executive relations."
-"halliday?" senator crane asked innocently. "he's another of the really good men you picked for government service."
-"i trust halliday implicitly, but he's carrying a big load so i'm glad you came directly to me, senator. exactly what is the trouble?"
-"in plain words, there have been some bad leaks out of taber's office. there is in existence a taped recording of a meeting."
-porter was aghast. he tried to hide it, which made his greenish expression all the more ludicrous--as though he'd swallowed a worm out of his salad.
-"you'd think so, with all the top-secret precautions that have been taken."
-"how did you discover this?"
-crane held up a restraining hand. "i'd be happy to tell you if it would serve any purpose, but believe me, it wouldn't. i would only tend to eliminate a contact who is extremely loyal to me and--i might add--to good government."
-"i understand. but i certainly can't imagine what has happened to taber. i would have backed him with my last dime."
-"i actually don't think it was taber's fault. a man can't personally see to every detail in his department."
-"that's the responsibility of whoever is in charge."
-crane sighed. "yes, i guess that's a cold, hard fact of life in this time of danger. but don't be too hard on him. perhaps there's an explanation."
-"he'll have his chance to explain," porter said grimly.
-"i'm sure you understand how it pains me to have to--well, put this black mark on the record of a good man. i debated many hours and searched my soul before i came to you. with a man's career at stake--"
-"men are expendable," porter snapped. "the nation's safety is not."
-again crane glanced around. "are the russians really that far ahead?"
-porter's eyes narrowed just a shade. "the russians? did you listen to the tape you mentioned?"
-"only sketchily. i assumed--"
-"the danger is far greater. a senatorial committee was briefed on the thing. i honestly think you should have been on that committee, senator. by coming to me you've done far more toward protecting the nation's safety--and that of the world--than have any of your colleagues."
-"let's just say i had more opportunity."
-"your modesty is becoming."
-"and now," crane said wryly, "now that i've done all i can, i wish i could forget the whole thing. but with the gravity of the situation--"
-"i'll see that you get a complete briefing."
-"thank you. and i promise i'll be most discreet."
-a little while later, on the way back to his office, crane smiled. now maybe that self-important little son-of-a-bitch, taber, would find out what it meant to insult a united states senator.
-from there, his mind went to another insult. so they'd passed him up in forming the committee to hear about the damned androids, had they? well, by god, he'd show them the people of his state wouldn't tolerate that, either.
-the people back home were going to hear about their senator.
-it probably wouldn't even be necessary to campaign next year.
-"if you've changed your mind about anything--about us, maybe--just say so. i'll understand." frank corson felt he had to make this point--at this particular time. there was something inevitable in the need to do so.
-"you're being ridiculous. the old thing about money again," rhoda parried.
-"there's nothing old about money. the problem is ever new. it's always with us."
-rhoda kane wanted to cry. she sat on the floor beside the sofa on which frank corson lay, his hands behind his head, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. she wanted to say, darling, what's happened to me? what is this thing inside me that keeps blocking me away from you? why can't i tell you about it?
-but she could not say this. she could only push the tears back and lay her head seductively on his chest. "you're just tired, dear. you've been working too hard."
-he ran his hand petulantly through her hair. "it isn't me. it's you, rhoda. half the time you don't even realize i'm talking to you. you're getting such a faraway look in your eyes i'm beginning to think there's another man."
-"that's silly," she said lightly. "let me make you a drink."
-"i don't want a drink."
-the way he responded to her kiss indicated he didn't want to make love, either. rhoda settled back to the floor and said, "darling--"
-suddenly she couldn't go on. somewhere inside, a dam broke; the strange, bewildering block tottered and began to fall. "darling--there's something i want to tell you--"
-frank corson indicated with a jerk of his head. "the phone's ringing."
-"let it ring. darling, i--"
-"for heaven's sake, answer it, rhoda. it might be important."
-"this is john dennis."
-she felt that frightening excitement again--that feeling of dangerous delight at something forbidden. "yes?"
-"do you remember what i told you to do?"
-"has it been done?"
-"why have you not done it?"
-"i haven't had a chance."
-"you have a chance now. frank corson is in your home."
-"yes. i have a chance now."
-the phone clicked. rhoda put it down and went back to the sofa. as she sank to the floor, frank corson looked at her questioningly.
-"that was certainly a cryptic conversation."
-when rhoda didn't answer, he scowled and snapped, "there you go again. into the brown study."
-"oh, i'm sorry, dear."
-"what was the phone call about?"
-"my hairdresser. it was nothing."
-"weird conversation to have with a hairdresser."
-"he's a weird hairdresser."
-"what had you started to say when the phone rang?"
-"it just occurred to me--you never told me what happened when that government man talked to you."
-but if that was the way brent taber wanted it, all right. frank was amazed at how smoothly everything had been handled. there hadn't even been a police car at the door--just an unmarked delivery truck and two men carrying out what might have been a rolled-up rug.
-and that had been that.
-"he didn't say much. actually, there was no point in mentioning it to you."
-"what ever happened to the man with two hearts?"
-"i was wrong. he just had a peculiar heartbeat. as a matter of fact, everybody's heart beats all over their body. nothing strange about that."
-"but there's something strange about a doctor not being able to tell the difference between one heart and two. frank, you are keeping something from me."
-"rhoda! for heaven's sake! the government man told me to keep my mouth shut about it."
-"does that mean you can't tell even me?"
-he turned his head and looked into her eyes. "this isn't like you, rhoda. not like you at all."
-"that's silly. i haven't changed."
-"yes, you have."
-"it's hard to say. you don't seem to have the same sense of values any more. you've--"
-"just how have they changed?"
-if he sensed any inner fright in her question he said nothing about it. "for instance, when i told you i'd given up all ideas of going into research, when i said i'd decided to finish out my internship and establish a practice, you hardly twitched an eyebrow. i thought that would make you happy."
-"it did, darling. i was delighted. but i'm still a woman and that gives me a right to be curious. what did the government man say?"
-he sighed and drew her cajoling hand out of his hair. "they've got some wild idea the man who broke his leg wasn't a man at all. they think he was a synthetic of some kind. an android."
-"why, that's ridiculous. you saw him. you certainly know a man when you see one."
-"according to brent taber, these androids are men, to all intents and purposes, but they're manufactured."
-"that's just utterly insane. are we paying taxes just to keep a lot of people in washington who don't know the difference between a human being and a--"
-"rhoda! please! i'm sick of the whole thing and i'd rather not talk about it."
-"but he must have told you more than that. where do these--these androids come from?"
-"he didn't tell us any more than he had to, but i got the idea they think they're from outer space."
-rhoda laughed. "i never heard such foolishness in my life." she stopped laughing abruptly. "who's us?"
-"you said, 'he didn't tell us any more than he had to ...' who was with you?"
-"oh. les king. you don't know him."
-she seemed satisfied with the information and probed no farther.
-he drew her close and looked very seriously into her eyes. "you have changed, rhoda. what's got into you?"
-she put her lips to his and whispered, "is this changed?" she ran one hand softly and seductively down his body. "or that?"
-he took her in his arms. "no, baby, that hasn't changed. i guess i was wrong."
-and as she kissed him, she saw the oddly expressionless face, the cold empty eyes--of john dennis.
-and she was afraid.
-something in the mind that had been given him--the synthetic duplicate of what had once been a part of sam baker--told the tenth android that women were attractive. for just what reason, he could not tell. there was nothing in his practical working structure that had any need of women. still, the attraction was there in the memory patterns that had been transferred.
-there were other attractions just as puzzling to him. he had vague memories of people with whom he felt no affinity except as vaguely nostalgic memories--sam baker's mother, his father, the blurred faces of friends he had known. and, at times, there were faint tinges of the terror sam had known that night when a quick light flashed down from nowhere and he was abducted into a world too strange and terrible to be real. yet it had been real.
-there were no birth memories in the android, but there were the vestiges of sam's death memories: the endless torture under a machine so sensitive that, while it had no definition of a woman, it was able to discern--in the names thefted from sam's memory and used as names for the ten androids--those which applied to males and those that did not.
-but of all these traces of memories, those concerning women nagged the android most. and now, as it turned his empty gaze on rhoda kane, it was with a little more personal interest than before.
-"what did frank corson tell you?"
-"he said the man in the hospital with a broken leg was not a man. he was an android."
-the term, grotesquely enough, meant nothing to the creature who called himself john dennis. in the strange pattern of his consciousness there were no patterns of definitive difference. though in many respects more able than the humans against whom he was pitted, he was no more aware of himself as different than a dog is aware of its differences from a man. the concept didn't take shape in the android's synthetic mind.
-"did he tell you where the man with the broken leg came from?"
-"he said they thought it came from somewhere in outer space."
-"there were others. did he know of them?"
-"no. he only told me about a man named les king."
-"what did he say about les king?"
-"king was there when the government man talked to frank. that was all. the government wanted them to say nothing."
-"but frank corson told you."
-"he would not tell anyone else, though. he is not interested in the androids. he wants to forget them."
-"but les king does not want to forget them?"
-"i don't know."
-"will he talk about them?"
-"i don't know that, either. i have never seen les king."
-"can the government man keep les king from talking about the man with the broken leg?"
-"i doubt if he can force him to."
-john dennis again left the window and approached rhoda kane. she was wearing a housecoat, a brassiere and panties underneath.
-"take off your clothes."
-rhoda unbuttoned the housecoat and slipped it off. that strange excitement showed in her eyes now.
-the android pointed. "take those off."
-as she unhooked her brassiere, rhoda said, "my head aches."
-"your head does not ache."
-"you are right, my head does not ache."
-she slipped out of the panties and stood naked. the android regarded her. "you are different."
-"of course. i am a woman."
-"i want to make love." as rhoda stood motionless, helpless, he spoke very positively. "you make love on the bed. we will go into the bedroom ..."
-later, she was never able to recall any details of that next half-hour. in defense of her own sanity, she was able to block the incident from her mind. but as she lay naked on the bed, looking up at the man she knew as john dennis, she thought of her mind as being in two sections. one section, the part of her consciousness that clung to reality, kept saying, i want to cry. if i could cry, everything would be all right. why can't i cry?
-the other part was a pool of quivering excitement. she lay motionless, watching john dennis undress, garment by garment, until he, too, was naked.
-his body was not perfect, yet it had an individual perfection of its own in rhoda's eyes. the skin was smooth and white, the legs and hips firm and masculine. the chest was broad and rhoda wanted to put her hands on it and feel john dennis' hands on her own body.
-he stood looking at her, a little like a child, she thought tenderly; a child waiting to be told what to do. she did not account this as strange--only as a shyness in him. she held out her arms.
-he lowered himself onto the bed beside her. she put her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. she waited. nothing happened.
-he was neither cold nor passionate. he was neither hostile nor friendly. he was nothing.
-"you wanted to make love," rhoda whispered. "here i am. take me. take me."
-instead, he disengaged himself, raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. "you are quite different."
-she did not know whether to be complimented or offended. "i'm about the same as every other woman."
-"you are different than i am."
-"of course i'm different." was he joking? he didn't seem to be. he was deadly serious as he began examining her breasts.
-this is mad. this is insane. why can't i cry?
-but the other part of her mind quivered with her body as john dennis went over it, inch by inch. he appeared to be trying to memorize it. she moved and turned as his hands directed, a new kind of fire rising within her. she waited. he touched her and waited for a response. there was none; nor any feeling within her at that moment except the strange fire inside and the ache of her taut groin tendons.
-john dennis touched her again and noted the sudden jerk and quiver of her response. he became grotesquely, academically interested. he touched the same nerve surface again and studied her face for the response.
-her eyes were closed and her lower lip was gripped in her teeth. "no," she gasped. "not that way. not that way--please."
-she could have been pleading with a brick wall. john dennis continued--her natural reactions interested him. he frowned and seemed puzzled by the excitement he generated within her.
-then she cried out and rolled away from him and lay sobbing, her face buried in the pillow. but they were dry sobs; strange, tense sounds filling a questionable and dubious ecstasy.
-"you are cruel," she whimpered.
-"you make love so brutally."
-he considered this and then got off the bed. "i do not like making love."
-he began putting on his clothes. she watched him, completely defeated. "where do you come from?" she demanded. "who are you? why did you want to know about the man with the broken leg?"
-he turned from putting on his shirt and stood motionless, looking down into her eyes and after a moment or two it did not matter to rhoda again. it mattered no more than it had in the beginning. the strange fire had not been quenched by what had occurred. it was still there, in her mind more than in her body, but finding its boundaries was not important either.
-"are you going?"
-"will you come back?"
-"i will come back. i want you to find out from frank corson what happened to the androids."
-"he doesn't know."
-"have him find out for you."
-"i can't do that."
-"then i will not come back."
-somehow, in the part of rhoda kane's mind that was beyond her control, the thought that john dennis might not return took on the proportions of a disaster. her feeling was akin to panic as she said, "i will make him find out."
-"then i will come back."
-"please. i will wait for you."
-les king answered the knock on the door and broke into a smile. "well, talk about luck! i've been looking all over hell for you. come in. come in."
-the tenth android was already in. he walked across the room and turned to look back at les king with the outside light behind him.
-king returned the gaze and wondered if he was afraid. it was an odd thing to wonder about. a man should know his own emotions. but king could not quite analyze the ones that struck him at that moment. for one thing, he'd discounted most of what taber had said. there was something going on here, true--something big. when the government could cover up a murder in greenwich village, there had to be a big score at stake. and there had been a murder--but no cops, no police cars, nothing. only a couple of guys in an unmarked truck walking out with what could have been a rolled-up carpet. they'd swiped his pictures and told him to keep his mouth shut.
-this last was what made les king mad. he'd found the story. it was his by every right. but when they were ready to break it they'd do it through some privileged washington newspaperman who'd get it on a silver platter. the hell with that stuff. it would take more than a shadowy character like brent taber to scare him off.
-he looked at the man in the blue suit and said, "you've been lucky. they're after you."
-"who is they?"
-"taber. the government crowd. the police, too, maybe. you killed that guy in the village, didn't you?" les king had decided a bold approach was the best way. but he was no fool. he kept his hand on the doorknob and watched the man carefully. "by the way, you haven't told me your name."
-"you look like a man named sam baker. he disappeared about ten years ago--from a little town upstate."
-"i am john dennis."
-king shrugged. "okay, you're john dennis. all i want to do is stay on top of this thing and have the inside track when it breaks."
-"brent taber told you to forget about it."
-king did not like the odd feeling of helplessness that seemed to have a grip on him. he was not alarmed, though. over and above this was a sense of excitement. there was money here--he knew damned well there was money here.
-"you want money, don't you?"
-the question startled king. could the guy read his mind? "who the hell doesn't?" he retorted defensively. "if you're heeled you've got it made."
-somehow king felt that the pressure, the odd excitement, lessened in intensity. his nerves, he conceded, were sure playing tricks.
-"there are some things i want. i will tell you where they are. i will give you money for them."
-an espionage approach? king wondered. in a way, he hoped it was. he could always get clear. when the time was right, when he had the story locked, he'd go to the fbi with it. he had a quick vision of a spread in life, a title: "i broke the russian spy ring." his own by-line.
-"that sounds touchy," he said.
-"i will tell you where to go and what to do."
-"i'll have to know more than that."
-"i will tell you what to do."
-john dennis left without saying good-bye.
-les king stared at the inner side of the closed door. "jesus!" he muttered.
-but the excitement was creeping back.
-brent taber stood in front of the desk of authority and said, "mr. porter, i don't think you people realize the gravity of this situation."
-porter's eyes were frosty. "and just what gives you that idea?"
-"the fact that i'm being hamstrung at every turn. men i assigned to search out the last android have been taken off the job, transferred away from me without notice."
-"you speak of being hamstrung." porter pronounced the term with an inflection of disgust, as though it were a vulgarism no gentleman would use. "you say we do not realize the gravity of the situation. perhaps we realize it far more than you do. it may be that your activities have been indirectly curtailed because you have not recognized the vital need of harmony in government."
-"are you telling me crane's ego is still smarting?"
-"senator crane did, in the spirit of co-operation, mention certain leaks in your department."
-"what in hell are you talking about?"
-"i'd watch my tone if i were you, taber. you aren't talking to one of your legmen now!"
-taber's teeth came tight together. "i'm sorry. let me repeat the question. exactly what was the nature of the leak to which the senator referred?"
-"a tape--transcribed at one of your top-secret meetings."
-taber's fist closed and opened. "i guess maybe i have been lax," he said softly.
-porter, grimly happy to have made his point, went on. "as to policy up above, i'll be quite frank. we have not necessarily gone along with your theory that the so-called androids were from outer space."
-"then where do you think they originated?"
-"we have put data into the calculators on that point. so far, the results have been inconclusive."
-"that's too bad."
-"your sarcasm is uncalled for. i am quite willing to tell you, however, that we have been proceeding in the matter. you are aware, no doubt, of the recent space shot that ended disastrously?"
-still insistent upon treating taber like a backward child, porter said, "the missile was safely launched and made five orbits and then suffered destruction."
-"there was a lot of newspaper copy written on the failure; a lot of questions asked as to the cause."
-"the releases were entirely true," porter said with prim severity. "there was malfunction of crucial units under stress. but another phase was not made public. the astronaut's mission--one of them, at least--was to hunt outer space for foreign bodies of any description."
-"what did he report?"
-"i recall a story printed by some washington columnist that some of the code picked up from the missile was not translated for the press. this, he stated, in view of the administration's current 'open end' policy on such matters, was strange."
-"if you're implying that we censored certain information, that's quite true. in the public interest."
-"to keep scientific information out of russian hands?"
-"in this case, no. the astronaut fell victim to a psychological stress that was unforeseen. what he sent made no sense whatever. we blame the medical men for not finding the flaw in his psyche."
-"and i would be entirely out of line in assuming he did discover hostile foreign bodies and was destroyed by them?"
-"entirely," porter snapped.
-brent taber's eyes were stony. "but i am to assume that you're asking for my resignation."
-now porter shrugged. "if that is the way you see it, i can, of course, only tender my regrets."
-"well, you won't have to. i'm not resigning."
-the sharp declaration made porter blink. "it's rather unusual that a man, after a vote of no confidence--"
-"to hell with that. if a tape got out of my office, it's my fault. i'll grant that. but there's more to this. i'm willing to bet the man who told you was the same one who engineered the steal."
-"that's ridiculous! are you accusing senator crane of--?"
-"i'm accusing an opportunist-demagogue of playing fast and loose with national safety to further his own ends and salve his ego. i'm accusing the men above me of being too weak-kneed to back their own against outside interference."
-"i'll stand for no insults from you, taber!"
-"you'll take it and like it," brent taber said savagely. "you'll take it because you can't knock me out of my office overnight. it will take time. you've got to go up through the command and you'll have to go pretty high before you'll find anyone who'll do it with the stroke of a pen. nobody wants to stick their neck out."
-"of course," porter replied icily, "if you care to keep functioning as a discredited person--"
-"i can. and i will. i'd be a coward if i didn't."
-porter was obviously disappointed but he shrugged. "that's your privilege. you, of course, will not be taken off the payroll."
-"the payroll be damned. send my checks to the red cross!"
-and brent taber strode out of porter's office, a man who stood alone in the washington jungle of clashing ambitions, of purposes and cross-purposes--but a man who had no thought of quitting.
-after brent left, porter put through a call to senator crane's office.
-" ... so, while severing brent taber from official activity would be rather difficult, senator, i have, in the interests of efficiency, withdrawn most of his facilities."
-"a wise move, porter. a very wise move."
-"by the way, senator, that hydroelectric project on the panamint river your conservation people have in the works. i'm quite interested in it."
-"is that so?" crane asked guardedly.
-"yes. perhaps because of my experience along those lines in south america. i consider it a great opportunity to serve and i understand the administrator's post is still open."
-porter's tone was vague. "yes. i believe it is."
-"of course, i'm quite happy where i am, you understand. i'm not looking for a change. however, the challenge does intrigue me."
-"i'll give you a ring, porter. just sit tight until you hear from me."
-after hanging up, porter sat back and wondered. he tried to analyze the tone in which crane had made the promise to call. it had been falsely cordial, beyond a doubt. maybe crane figured taber's scalp was too small a price to pay for the hydroelectric plum. well, in that case, porter philosophized, he hadn't lost a great deal. it was all in the game.
-frank corson was confused and troubled by the changes that continued to come over rhoda kane. he could not quite put his finger on the start of it, but as he saw her now, a scant two weeks after the incident of the man with two hearts, he could clearly see the changes. where she had been a beautiful, poised, self-controlled woman, she was now more nervous and quick of movement, brighter of eye, full of a new restless energy he could not account for.
-also, the dominance in their affair had shifted. he had always, it seemed, been the dominant factor, in that rhoda had continually catered to his moods and bent to the winds of his own unrest and dissatisfaction.
-but one evening when he was free of duty at park hill, rhoda came home and entered the apartment without glancing toward the double-width sofa by the window. frank, stretched out with a drink in his hand, watched her as she took her key out of the lock and put it back in her purse. he was struck by the fact that with this new "personality" that had become a part of her, she was even more attractive than before. a glow had been added. the quiet, dignified, statuesque beauty of before had been mysteriously vitalized by a new kind of inner life.
-she turned from the door and, looking into the bright glare of the eight-foot windows, she saw him on the sofa and took a quick step forward.
-"oh," she cried. "it's you!"
-"of course, it's me."
-rhoda stopped dead and frank was sure that the look of eagerness died as suddenly as it had been born.
-"well, good lord! whom were you expecting?"
-rhoda laughed. "you just surprised me, that's all."
-"well, you gave me the keys to your apartment. wasn't i supposed to use them?"
-"of course, silly." she came across the room and sat down on the sofa beside him. she bent down and kissed him.
-"golly," he said, sarcastically enthusiastic, "that was about as stimulating as a meeting between two dead fish."
-"frank! for heaven's sake! what's got into you lately?"
-"i think that question should be reversed. 'what's got into you?"
-"i think you're being unreasonable."
-"am i? is it unreasonable to wonder why you did a complete about-face?"
-"i don't understand."
-"you understand. i've brought it up before. you spent weeks convincing me i ought to carry through with my internship and establish a practice. you said the time element didn't make any difference to you. you talked me out of the silly idea i had about cashing in on the man with two hearts. i admitted it was a silly idea. i turned away from it completely. then you did the world's fastest about-face and began asking questions. you began pushing me in the direction you'd been arguing against."
-rhoda refused to match his serious mood. she ran a playful hand through his hair. "a woman has a right to change her mind, hasn't she?"
-"oh, stop it, rhoda. you're avoiding the issue."
-"all right. i still maintain i have a right to change my mind, but in making it all seem completely unnatural you neglected to mention why you changed yours. because a man named brent taber slapped your wrist like a little boy and scared you. it wasn't my influence that turned you around and started you walking the other way. it was a big man from washington who said naughty, naughty and suddenly you were a nice little intern again, afraid to ask questions."
-"it was more dangerous than you know, rhoda."
-"oh, i'm sure it was. do you want another drink?"
-"no." frank looked out the window and scowled. "rhoda, there was something i didn't tell you about that affair."
-"was there? i'll bet you told brent taber, though."
-"it was what brought brent taber into it. there was a murder in my room."
-"and when brent taber came on the scene--" rhoda stopped and stared down at him. "what did you say?"
-"a man was killed in my room. the man with the broken leg. he didn't just go on his way, as i told you; he got his throat cut in my room."
-rhoda continued to stare. "and you didn't tell me about it."
-"brent taber told me to keep my mouth shut."
-"i suppose if brent taber had said, 'i don't want you to see that woman again,' you wouldn't even have dropped around to say good-bye."
-"rhoda--you're being unreasonable."
-"unreasonable to expect the man who says he loves me to confide in me?"
-"all right. i was wrong. what happened is this: when william matson was ready to leave park hill, he had no place to go, so i took him down to my room. i went back to the hospital and les king contacted me. he said william matson was really a man named sam baker who'd disappeared from his home in upstate new york ten years ago. we went down to see him and found him sitting in a chair with his throat cut."
-"you've been involved in a murder and you didn't say a single, solitary word--"
-"rhoda! i said i was sorry."
-"i didn't see anything about it in the papers. i'm sure it wasn't on any of the newscasts."
-"of course, it wasn't. the police didn't even question me. i called the police and they came--two prowl-car men. then they told les and me to wait. we waited, and after a while this brent taber came in. he told us to go home and keep our mouths shut. later, we were called downtown and taber talked to us."
-"he told you to go home," rhoda said sarcastically. "you also said the man was killed in your room. just where is your home, mr. corson?"
-"i came here, rhoda. i spent that night here."
-"with a possible murder charge hanging over your head, you came here and didn't say a word!"
-frank sprang up from the couch and turned, scowling. "goddamn it! don't you believe me? do you think i'm lying?"
-"i don't know what to believe. i just feel--betrayed. but something else is more important."
-"you acted like a child. just because some man appeared out of nowhere, you said yes, sir and no, sir and sorry, sir and walked away. frank! i'm ashamed of you!"
-in quick anger, his hand came back as though to slap her. but he dropped it to his side and strode across the room and picked up his jacket.
-"and so now you're walking out again. you just can't face up to anything, can you, doctor corson."
-he turned on her, his eyes blazing. "all right. maybe everything you say is true. maybe i've seesawed and acted like a kid. if i have, it's because of you. the thing in the village had nothing to do with me changing my mind about going into research. i did it because i thought you wanted me to."
-now rhoda was on her feet, too, her patrician nostrils flaring. "well, don't do me any favors."
-"from now on, i wouldn't dream of it."
-as he pulled on his jacket, rhoda sat down on the sofa and lit a cigarette. "i'm convinced that if you'd gone along with les king you would have been on the right road. king wasn't frightened off by a man who said he represented the government. he saw a chance to make some money and is probably going ahead with it right now."
-"i don't give a damn what les king is doing!"
-"of course not. but there's another little thing you overlooked. don't you suppose this brent taber will toss that murder right back into your lap if it suits his purpose? the body was in your room. you're probably the chief suspect. so you sit back and let brent taber play whatever game he's got in mind. and if it goes wrong, frank corson gets picked up for murder."
-"it can't possibly happen that way."
-"why not? who is brent taber, really?"
-"i told you--a government man."
-"what government? where can you get in touch with him?"
-"i don't know. he gave me a phone number in case i ever saw a certain man again."
-"rhoda! they aren't men at all. they're androids!"
-rhoda froze and stared at him in consternation. "you actually believe that fairy tale? frank, i just don't understand you."
-"i told you about it before."
-"but for the life of me i didn't think you took it seriously."
-"i just didn't care. i'd had it. i wanted out."
-"but you're involved in it, up to your neck, and if you had any guts you'd face taber and make him tell you all the facts--and what's behind them."
-"i have no intention of calling him."
-"i guess that's the rock we split on then," rhoda said coldly. she couldn't understand herself, even while she knew, deep down, that she wanted more information for him--john dennis. any other reason or excuse she used was a sham, a self-delusion.
-if she expected a protest, she didn't get it. rhoda took a long, calm drag on her cigarette. she ground it into the ash tray. she raised her eyes and looked levelly at frank.
-"very well," he said, finally, "it was nice knowing you."
-"shut the door quietly on the way out," she retorted.
-he stared at her, his face revealing nothing. he turned, went to the door, and opened it. he looked back. she had not moved. he left without a word.
-rhoda kane lit another cigarette. she stared out across the east river at the expensive view that went with her high-rent apartment. she got up and went to the liquor cabinet and made herself a drink.
-she was back on the sofa when a key turned in the lock. the door opened. frank corson came in, walked to her and stood looking down at her. there was misery in his face, a beaten look in his eyes.
-"you knew i couldn't do it."
-"couldn't do what, sweet?"
-"walk out on you. i'm in love with you, goddamn it. if i stayed away tonight, i'd be back tomorrow."
-rhoda set her glass down and held out her arms. "darling," she whispered. "you wouldn't have had to. i'd have been down in the village after you."
-he kissed her hungrily and she pressed her hand against the back of his head, holding his mouth tight to hers. his hand slipped inside her blouse. she laid her own hand on it and held it firm.
-"it's for your own good, darling, that i want you to contact this taber and demand what you're entitled to. you have a right to know. if you don't find out, there might be a policeman at your door, any minute of the day or night."
-"i'll call him."
-"and if he tells you it's none of your business, stand up to him."
-she allowed his hand to go on with its exploring now. his finger touched her nipple, played with it. she closed her eyes as his mouth again sought hers. "darling ..." she murmured.
-but she was speaking to a man who had come from nowhere and had identified himself only as john dennis. she had no number at which to call him. she could only wait until he returned again, if he ever did.
-she thought: oh, god, john dennis. why do you turn away from me? why did you strip me naked and look at me as though i were a statue? will you come back again? please come back and make love to me.
-she felt frank corson unsnapping her brassiere. she closed her eyes and lay back and waited, and for all the effect he had on her, frank corson could have been a statue.
-at the last moment she insisted, "remember, frank, you've got to find out everything!"
-the man had sallow skin; the look of a consumptive. he sat in a chair beside crane's desk and dropped the ash from his cigar on crane's wall-to-wall carpeting. crane scowled, but let it pass.
-"all right. dorfman, what have you got to show for the money i've paid you?"
-dorfman, an old hand at confidential snooping, refused to quail before the much-publicized senatorial scowl. "it's tough putting on a hunt when you're not quite sure what you're after."
-"i told you what i wanted. i wanted you to watch for any new york contacts brent taber might be using at the present time. that's simple enough, isn't it?"
-"taber contacts a lot of people. and he's a dangerous man to tail. he knows all the tricks."
-"are you telling me he caught you following him? if he did, you're no longer of any value to me."
-"he didn't spot me," dorfman said. "i followed him to new york and kept tabs on a manhattan office, one he uses as his headquarters there."
-"a directory check would tell me that."
-"take it easy. i staked out the place all day yesterday. five men entered and left. four were his own men."
-crane made a notation on a pad. he knew about those men. they'd been pulled off taber's staff without notice. no doubt they'd made their last report to taber and had headed back to washington for reassignment. dorfman would not know this, of course.
-or so crane thought. dorfman smiled as though he'd read crane's mind and said, "i think taber's losing his staff. they were government men--four of them--reporting in or out. my guess was out." he peered keenly at crane for a moment. "who's slicing away at taber behind his back?"
-"that's none of your--look here, dorfman, i can get a better man than you at half the price!"
-"no, you can't," dorfman said easily. "like i told you, there were five. the other one turned out to be a doctor frank corson, an intern at park hill hospital in manhattan."
-crane made another quick notation. a manhattan doctor. one of the androids had been found in the east river with its throat slit and a broken leg. now a doctor had contacted taber. was there a connection? somehow, crane had to get on the track of the tenth android taber was hunting. cutting the ground out from under taber had been a satisfying victory but it wasn't enough. to be of service to his electorate, senator crane realized, he had to have something tangible in the way of evidence. the only way to get this was to ferret out taber's contacts and locate the tenth android himself, or at least be there when taber located the creature.
-a man of supreme confidence in his destiny, crane had been working on the speech he would make when he was ready for the i accuse scene from the senate floor. he had even gone so far as to alert a fashionable washington hotel to be ready with a suite at a moment's notice. crane felt his office would be far too small to handle the traffic that would result from his revelation.
-it did not occur to crane to compliment dorfman on his skill as an operative, for getting the book so completely and swiftly on a casual visitor to taber's office. he said, "you've got this doctor's address?"
-dorfman put a folded slip of paper on the desk. "another little item i'll throw in as a bonus. taber had another tail--here in washington."
-this disturbed crane. did he have competition in the matter of the android? was someone else trying to get into the act?
-"a new york free-lance photographer named king. i didn't have to check on him. i recognized him. he's been around manhattan for years."
-"a photographer. what do you suppose he's up to?"
-"no way of telling, at the moment. want me to switch to him?"
-"no. stay on taber. there's more chance there."
-dorfman got up from his chair, stepping on the ashes as he did so and ground them into the rug. "okay, i'll report tomorrow."
-after dorfman left, crane pondered the situation. were the russians behind this? somehow, he was beginning to doubt it. and this dismayed him somewhat. he was enough of a realist to know that even a possible invasion from outer space--if that talk hadn't been a cover-up--would not carry the power of a russian plot.
-a space invasion? too science-fictional. it had been done by h. g. wells and god knew how many other writers. break a yarn like that and nobody would believe it. still, if he could get his hands on the evidence.
-he scowled as he contemplated the one stone wall he hadn't been able to penetrate. no connection he had, no contact, would reveal the secret laboratory where the dissection of the androids had taken place, or the specialist who'd done the job. porter might give it to him in exchange for a guarantee of the hydroelectric post. but crane suspected that even porter did not have this information. the higher you went in these top-secret projects, the more silence and stubbornness you found. the men up above, it seemed, were never as open to discussion as were the lower-echelon eager beavers. they indulged in horse-trading and played politics to a certain extent, but the lines of demarcation were sharper. that was why he could get taber discredited, even crippled. but knocking a man of his proven ability completely out was another matter. the men on the top floor measured a lot of evidence before they acted.
-but the body of one of the androids--there should be a way--there had to be a way.
-suddenly crane smiled. then he chuckled. then he took an address book out of his desk drawer and thumbed through the pages.
-frank corson stared dejectedly at the carpet in rhoda kane's apartment. "i tried," he said. "i tried damned hard. but it just didn't do any good."
-rhoda sat beautifully poised, a picture of sophisticated perfection. she wore an obviously expensive costume featured by lounging slacks that could have been molded to her body. the afternoon sun glinted on a hairdo right out of vogue or harper's bazaar. her expression was distant; a look of impersonal pity showed on her face as she regarded frank.
-"tell me about it, sweetie."
-frank cringed inwardly at the appellation. in manhattan, everyone called everyone else sweetie.
-"there wasn't much to it. i called taber and then went down to see him. i told him exactly how i felt about things and demanded more information."
-rhoda frowned. "you demanded? frank! i'm disappointed in you. the indignant citizen bit, i suppose. don't you know how to talk to people? your bedside manner must be tremendous."
-"rhoda! for god's sake!"
-she brushed his anger away with a graceful, deprecating wave of her hand. "what did you say to him?"
-"i was just telling you. i said that with a man killed in my room i had a right to some protection. i--"
-"protection! what did you do? ask the man to hide you? why didn't you get down on your knees and beg his pardon for living?"
-frustrated anger made corson's lips tremble. "i did the best i could! i told him that if i couldn't find out from him what was going on, i'd go to the new york police. i told him i had a right to know about these androids."
-"and he told you the only right you had was to drop dead, i suppose."
-frank corson got to his feet. his face was stiff. his eyes were tortured. he ran a helpless hand along his jaw.
-"all right, rhoda. all right. if this is the way you want it, there's nothing i can do."
-"what do you mean--the way i want it? all i've been trying to do is put a little courage into you? didn't taber tell you a thing about the androids?"
-"he wasn't as brutal as i made it sound. in fact, he's a rather nice guy in a tough spot."
-"i'm sure of that, but we couldn't care less. what did he say about the androids?"
-a new, desperate wariness had been born in frank corson. he could take only so much and now he regarded rhoda with a hostility of his own. "a short time ago you hooted the android idea. what changed you?"
-"i use it as a term of identification! good heavens! you act like a child. all i'm trying to do is get a little information--"
-"for whom, rhoda?"
-he threw the question so suddenly it put rhoda off balance. quick fear flashed into her eyes. then it vanished behind a wall of defiance.
-"are you out of your mind? why would i have any interest in this mess except by way of protecting your interests?"
-"my interests. i can remember not long ago when you'd have called them our interests."
-"there you go again. talking like a child!"
-frank crossed the room and stood close to rhoda's chair. he looked down at her, and when he spoke there was a change in his manner. now there was a finality in his tone that had ice in it.
-"i don't know what this is all about, rhoda, but i'm not as much of a child as you seem to think. subjectiveness does make a person sound and act that way at times. this is a reflection of inner confusion and bewilderment. i'll admit i'm confused and bewildered. but i'm getting your message, too. i think you're telling me that whatever has happened to you is none of my business. very well. you know where to find me if you need me."
-he was walking toward the door, his back turned, so he did not see the mute appeal in rhoda's face. "frank--!"
-he had opened the door and turned. "i'm sorry, rhoda. i thought we had something. i'll admit i didn't handle it very well but i did my best."
-he went out and closed the door softly behind him and was gone.
-pure tragedy ripped across rhoda's eyes as she sprang to her feet, took several steps toward the door, and stopped. a wordless cry rose within her and came out as a miserable little kitten whimper.
-but then she stiffened. the moment of panic passed. she straightened and touched a displaced lock of hair. the warmth of the new excitement she lived with gushed anew, and the bright, nervous smile touched her lips.
-she went over, made herself a drink and went to the window. she looked down. he was out there somewhere, going about his mysterious business. the smile she thought of as soft and tender was really brittle and quite hard. she downed her drink thirstily as though it helped quench the fever in her throat.
-she put the glass down and heard a whisper: "john, john, why don't you come to me? i'll help you. i'll understand. i'll teach you to make love. let me help you, darling."
-the whisper was her own and it ended in a sob.
-brent taber was studying some reports on his desk. they were not sources of satisfaction in any sense. most of them were memos noting changes in the departmental assignments of staff men: due to unforeseen emergencies and the reassessment of current workloads it has become necessary to transfer from your subdepartment three ... two ... four ...
-and so it went.
-he sat back and closed his eyes. he was tired and he conceded it, which was a stark admission for brent taber. and he wondered: was it worth it? banging your head against a stone wall. it would be so easy to say, okay, it's your world, too. if you aren't worried why should i bother? maybe it's not worth it. why not assume that if there is a superior race standing off somewhere in space, they're only a bunch of paper tigers and to hell with it. or maybe they wish us only the best. maybe--
-the door opened. marcia holly pushed her head in. "have you eaten anything today?"
-"get lost, sweetheart," brent said absently.
-"maybe you look on eating as a bad habit, like sleeping, but it would be nice to avoid a breakdown and stay out of the hospital, too."
-"you're such a pleasant person to have around, except when you get up off your chair and start making noises like a woman."
-"just to accommodate you, i'll change my sex. but right now, there's a man to see you."
-"tell him to go to hell but don't offend him."
-"i think you ought to see him. he's got an official paper of some kind. you didn't steal a car or anything, did you?"
-"i parked in the middle of an intersection, but i didn't think they'd mind." brent taber sighed. "all right. send him in."
-the man was small, ingrown and, as brent taber learned, somewhat stubborn.
-"my name is charles blackwell," he said. "my brother has been lost for over two months now."
-"i'm sorry," brent said politely.
-"my brother was a source of concern to us--"
-"who is us?"
-"why, the family. who else? we all worried about charlie. he had fits of depression. kind of a maniac-depressive."
-"manic-depressive," taber corrected gently.
-"yeah, that kind, ah--kind of. well anyhow, he hides from us sometimes and we worry."
-"who sent you to me?"
-charles blackwell waved a vague hand, "oh, they told me you were the man to see."
-"tell me their names," brent said politely. "i'd like to thank them personally."
-"oh that won't be necessary--not necessary at all. you see the thing is, my brother jack has accidents sometimes and so we figured he might have broken a leg or something, maybe, and it seems you--well, you kind of turned out to be the man to see about it." charles blackwell waved the paper. "with this."
-good lord, taber groaned inwardly. this thing is turning into a comic opera--plain slapstick.
-"and why am i the man to see?"
-"because they said you knew about a man with a broken leg who got killed or something."
-"they said that?"
-"uh-huh, and if you'd just let me see the man, i could tell in a jiffy whether he's jack or not."
-it had been a pretty long speech and charles blackwell seemed happy to get it off his chest. he felt he'd earned a cigarette so he lit one.
-brent taber watched the match go out and then said, "you're the goddamnedest phony i've met this week."
-"they said you'd say that, but all i want is to see the man and then i'll know. i'll tell you in a jiffy if he's my brother."
-charles blackwell gulped a throatful of smoke in disbelief. evidently they'd told him it wouldn't be as easy as this. they must have told him it would be as hard as hell, because he stared at brent as though the latter hadn't played fair.
-brent reached into a drawer and took out a glossy photo. he pushed it across the desk. charles blackwell craned his neck, looked, and saw what appeared to be a man lying naked on a marble slab with his throat cut.
-blackwell swallowed hard and nodded and said, "yeah, that's jack, all right."
-"how do you know?"
-"i can tell."
-charles blackwell got a little indignant. "of course, i can. don't you think a man knows his own brother?"
-"that depends on which man and what brother."
-"i want the body of my relative," charles blackwell said.
-"i'll see you in hell first," brent taber replied pleasantly. "now get out of my office before i send for the man who uses the broom around here."
-charles blackwell was more comfortable now--more confident. "that's what they told me you'd say, so they gave me this to bring. it's a court order signed by a judge who sits in a court and listens to people's beefs about getting pushed around and does something about it."
-brent taber took the paper and peered at the signature. "it figures," he said softly. "it figures right down the line."
-"he's a fine judge," charles blackwell said virtuously.
-"he's a skunk. he'll sign anything there's a buck in, and sometimes he'll do it for fifty cents. he'd be a disgrace even to a park bench, and why they haven't caught up with him i'll never know."
-"a fine man," charles blackwell said, "and the paper is as legal as--"
-"oh, it's legal all right."
-brent taber lapsed into silence and charles blackwell seemed happy to allow him this privilege. all i need, brent thought, is a court-defiance rap charged against me. is that what crane is trying to get? did he expect me to throw this creep out of my office and leave myself wide open? maybe, maybe not. if not, what is crane after? he's certainly achieved his purpose in getting even with an upstart government appointee.
-"okay," brent taber said decisively. "you can have the body. come with me."
-six flights lower down, blackwell gasped, "why don't we use the el--elevator?"
-brent ignored him and went down seventeen more flights. charles blackwell was livid when they reached the bottom.
-"for christ sake--!"
-taber walked to the curb and dived out into traffic. blackwell plunged out after him, horns snarling and general indignation ruling above the chaos.
-they reached the opposite curb through some obscure miracle, with blackwell hanging on grimly until taber pushed a door open and plunged into a thick odor of formaldehyde.
-"have you still got that court order?" taber asked as though hopeful of a negative answer.
-blackwell held it up triumphantly. a few minutes later, he was gaping down at a hasty reassembly of what had once been the ninth android.
-he swallowed hard and said, "nope. it ain't jack."
-"you're sure?" taber said sarcastically. "it looks just like the picture.
-"not quite. anyhow, it ain't jack."
-the mystified dr. entman eyed taber quizzically. "what's this all about?"
-taber jerked a thumb in the direction of blackwell. "the eleventh android," he said tersely, and strode out of the laboratory.
-dr. entman shook his head sadly, certain that taber had slipped a cog.
-charles blackwell, a trifle ill from the smell of formaldehyde, stood on the corner, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. when he opened his eyes a man in a blue suit was standing beside him.
-"i would like you to answer some questions for me," the man said.
-blackwell gulped and blinked. "sorry, mister, i'm kind of a stranger here myself."
-"that man you entered this building with--what business did you have with him?"
-it should have occurred to charles blackwell that this was none of the stranger's business, but it didn't. that thought came later but, at the moment, as he looked into the man's oddly empty eyes, his question seemed entirely justified.
-"well, you see, my brother jack bothers us, kind of. he gets manic-depressive spells."
-"what did that have to do with brent taber?"
-"we thought maybe my brother broke his leg and then dropped dead or--or something. anyhow, i got this here court order--they gave it to me--and i showed it to taber--"
-"who are they?"
-blackwell felt strangely excited. he felt as though this man were a friend, although he didn't know quite why.
-"well, you see i've been around a long time. i run errands and things for senator crane. i'm confidential to him, you understand, because i never talk. i always keep my mouth shut. so he trusts me and he gave me this here court order--"
-"who is senator crane?"
-"you don't know senator crane? you new in this country maybe?"
-"he is a government official?"
-"he's elected to office. he's a united states senator. anyhow, brent taber showed me this here guy all cut up and i said it wasn't jack and--well, that was that."
-"what room did brent taber take you to?"
-"the damn place smelled like a skunk factory."
-"what room number?"
-"ten twenty-six--i think. yeah, ten twenty-six it was, and i'm telling you, if you go in there, for christ sake wear a gas mask. i damn near--"
-but charles blackwell was talking to himself. the man had turned away abruptly and was now disappearing around the corner.
-"i wonder what the hell he wanted?" blackwell asked plaintively. then he hailed a cab and went to report to senator crane.
-the tenth android stood with his back to the window in les king's room in manhattan and said, "there is something i want you to do. if you are very careful, you will succeed. if you succeed, there is a great deal of money in it for you."
-the fear that grew in les king when they were apart, the uneasy feeling that maybe money wasn't the most important thing in the world, died automatically as john dennis stared at him through those strangely empty eyes.
-"is it something i can handle?"
-"yes." dennis handed king a folded slip of paper. "i have written down an address there. it is in washington, d.c. i want you to enter those premises--that room--and find some reports that should be there."
-"reports on what?"
-"it is a dissecting place of some kind. that's where the bodies of the androids are. the man who is doing it must have reports. there must be records that tell what was wrong with the androids. it must be put down somewhere why they died."
-"does it matter?"
-"it is a matter of vital importance. there will be much money for you if you get those reports and give them to me."
-"who pays the money?"
-"i will pay it to you if you get the reports."
-the prospect was exciting to king. later, there could be a story about how he got vital pictures of the project. his thinking had changed, but this did not seem odd to him. all thought of functioning in counterespionage against the russians had moved into the back of his mind. he was in the game now for the money. oh was it that? maybe he was in it for the excitement. there was something in the man who called himself john dennis that generated excitement. it was like living a melodrama. it tingled in the blood and took a man out of the drab world where every day was like the one before it.
-"i'll try," les king said.
-"you will succeed."
-"i will succeed."
-jesus! this man had a thing about him. he inspired you. when he looked at you with those weird eyes, you just knew you couldn't fail.
-the doorbell rang. rhoda kane sprang up from the sofa and almost spilled her drink. she was halfway across the room before she realized she was almost running. she stopped. the hand that held the cocktail glass shook.
-resolutely, she steadied, crossed to the liquor cabinet, put down the glass, and went calmly to the door.
-he stood there looking at her through those oddly empty eyes which, through some contradiction of all probability, warmed her.
-he came in and closed the door, saying nothing. a touch of panic rippled through her. he was so silent, so unbending, so impersonal. was this a reflection of her inability to communicate with him? could their relationship fail because of this shortcoming on her part? what good was love if you couldn't communicate it to the loved one?
-she moved into his arms and raised her lips. his arms went around her, but there was no pressure or affection in them. their lips were an inch apart. her urge was to give full rein to the heady happiness and excitement within her--to show her love in a kiss.
-but she held off and, after a few moments, he drew, back, raised one hand and passed it through her hair. not with affection, she thought, but rather with curiosity; almost as though he were preoccupied with its composition. he rolled a strand of hair between thumb and finger, testing it.
-"it needs cutting," rhoda said.
-"do you cut it?"
-she laughed nervously. "you don't know much about women, do you."
-"i know nothing about woman."
-trying to inject a gay note into her voice, she said, "we eat, we sleep, we--we're very functional, really."
-he rubbed a finger down her cheek. he pressed the flesh on her neck and watched the muscle spring back as he withdrew his finger.
-"do that to me," he said.
-mystified, rhoda pressed her finger against his neck until she could feel a pulse in his throat. she withdrew the finger. "like that?"
-"did it leave a mark?"
-"no. is there something wrong? do you have a sore throat?"
-"my throat is not sore."
-rhoda's frustration was a pitiful thing. how could she get to him? how could she break through his shyness?
-"i think you're afraid of me," she said lightly.
-he did not answer. he took a backward step and regarded her for a moment with a frown. then he began to unbutton her blouse.
-rhoda wanted to object. an instinctive protest caused her to draw back. his only reaction to this was to step forward and continue to unbutton her blouse. she wanted to resist but the fear of driving him away held her mute; that and something in his eyes that told of excitement, an unformed phantom of delight that had never materialized but still held sway over her through promise.
-he stripped the blouse off. she wore no brassiere underneath, and he regarded her breasts somberly. he pressed a nipple with the tip of one finger and watched it spring back into place.
-he ignored her. he pressed the nipple again and then found the zipper on the side of her slacks. he pulled it down and pushed the slacks down over her hips. she lifted each foot obediently.
-he was on his knees now, running his fingers gently down her thighs. rhoda trembled at the touch. then she realized it was not love-making on his part--not in any sense. he was preoccupied with the fine hair on her skin. he studied it closely.
-"i should have shaved my legs," rhoda said uncertainly. he raised his head, the cold eyes trained into hers. "this hair grows, too?"
-rhoda caught her lower lip between her teeth. tears were close to the surface.
-this is crazy. this is utterly insane. i'm mad or he's mad. i don't know. i just don't know ...
-the last garment was removed and she was naked there in the middle of the living room. he studied her body again, that passionless, preoccupied frown on his face. he drew her down onto the floor and, for a moment, the room spun around rhoda, her emotional entrapment now the focal point, the eye of the storm that raged in her being. he went on with his minute inspection of her person.
-no--no. please don't. please don't treat me like this. i'm a woman. don't be contemptuous of me. oh, no--please. don't degrade and humiliate me like this.
-there was sudden pain. rhoda's body wrenched and heaved upward. with a sob, she sank back to the floor.
-i must fight. i must not allow this. i must not let him do these cruel, degrading things to me. i must fight but i am afraid to. i am afraid he'll go away and never come back--and if he did that, there would be nothing left for me.
-john dennis seemed to become aware for the first time that certain manipulations caused reaction--the jerking of rhoda's body and her involuntary cry of pain. he repeated the manipulation with his eyes on her face.
-i cannot allow this. i must fight. i must resist. oh, rhoda kane, what has happened to you? frank, please help, help me. frank--
-but something seemed to flow out of john dennis and into her mind and soul and spirit; something that made the flesh and what was done to the flesh unimportant.
-the touch of john dennis' hand brought fright as it foretold further pain and degradation. rhoda sobbed inwardly and braced herself to withstand whatever was to come.
-but it meant nothing.
-the building was not for tourists. it wasn't like the pentagon or the white house or any of the other historical or glamour symbols in washington, d.c. it was on a side street, and while no one associated it with governmental activity, it was of a size and importance that justified a uniformed attendant in the lobby.
-he was a hard-bitten old irishman named callahan, and nobody got past him without justification. also, he was a man of robust hates and great loyalties; a man whom brent taber was honored to call friend.
-he was also a man brent taber was waiting to hear from.
-the call came late in the afternoon of the day following charles blackwell's search for his would-be brother. taber picked up the phone.
-"it's me--callahan. he's here, mr. taber."
-"thanks. i'll be right over."
-"and be hurrying right along if you want to get here in time. he's not one to be restrained indefinitely."
-"tell him the elevator's busted."
-brent taber slammed the phone down and left. he used an elevator this time and went across town in a cab. even then, he was almost too late. as he arrived at his destination, senator crane was protesting loudly.
-"it's just plain stupidity. elevators don't quit running for no reason. find a burnt-out fuse. do something! and do it quick or i'll phone somebody who will!"
-"well, i'll be blessed," callahan said, completely crest-fallen. "it was the switch, senator. the blessed switch was off."
-"well, turn it on and get me up to ten."
-"good afternoon, senator."
-crane whirled. "brent taber!" he threw a quick scowl at callahan and was on the verge of accusing the irishman of high treason, but he said, "all right. i'm glad you're here, taber. we might as well get this thing into the open. are you going to take me to room ten twenty-six or do i have to take steps to force your co-operation?"
-taber stared morosely at crane's nose. "why, senator, where did you get the idea my department wouldn't help a member of congress to the utmost?"
-"none of your sarcasm. let's go upstairs."
-"all right, callahan. let's go upstairs."
-they got off on ten and walked down the corridor. "ten twenty-eight, you said?"
-"you know damned well what i said."
-taber opened the door. he stood aside. crane walked in and stopped dead. he again whirled on crane.
-"that's right. i could have told you downstairs but you wouldn't have believed me. what were you looking for? new quarters?"
-"taber, i'll break you for this! if you think you can thwart the will of the united states senate--"
-"you've been doing a pretty good job of breaking already."
-"i haven't even begun!"
-"that still doesn't tell me what you thought you'd find."
-"quit being cute. this time yesterday there were cadavers in here. this was a laboratory!"
-brent looked wearily at his watch. "you're wrong, senator. this place was vacated exactly an hour and fifteen minutes after your stooge used his court order to locate the cadavers."
-"then you admit you defied a court order--"
-"oh, come off of it. the court order said nothing about leaving things as they were. but that's not important. the important thing is that you give me some understanding and sympathy."
-this obviously astounded crane. "from you? that from the cocky, self-sufficient brent taber? that's a little different tune from the one you sang in your office, not too long ago."
-"all right. i'll concede that. let's say you've got me licked. i'll admit i should have reacted a little less arrogantly. my nerves were shot. i'd been up late too often. now i'm ready to be reasonable."
-crane was scowling. "this isn't like you, taber--not like you at all. i'm suspicious. why are you suddenly so agreeable?"
-"because i believe the nation--the world--is in great danger. i think we should all realize that danger and work together."
-"then why have you been fighting me?"
-"because i honestly felt it was the best thing to do. i've changed my mind. i'm willing to tell you the whole story."
-"i've heard the whole story. i--"
-"then it was you who had my office taped."
-"exactly. i'm not ashamed of it. when i'm fighting for my constituents i use every weapon at my command."
-brent taber regarded crane narrowly. "i underestimated your abilities, senator. that was fast work. twenty minutes after i refused you permission to attend that meeting, you had your man briefed and in action. it was the waiter who brought in the coffee, wasn't it?"
-before crane could answer, taber gestured and said, "never mind. that's not important. you've heard the tape, so tell me--what do you want from me? how can i earn your co-operation?"
-"quite simply, taber. by recognizing my authority as a united states senator. by keeping me briefed on your progress against this terrible thing that menaces our people. by accepting my active co-operation in destroying it."
-"what exactly do you mean by active?"
-"just what the word implies. have the men on the senatorial committee you briefed been at all active in helping you?"
-"then what right have they to expect any rewards--shall we say?--for their efforts?"
-"you may have a point."
-"i believe in rewards where rewards are due."
-"and you want--?"
-"in plain terms, the right to association in the public mind with the effort to protect the nation."
-"you want favorable publicity if and when this matter makes headlines?"
-"is that too much to ask?"
-brent taber suddenly seemed lost and, in truth, he was wondering why in hell he'd approached crane in this way. he felt ashamed for even considering the possibility of bending to the will of a windbag like crane. good lord, he thought, i must be tired. i was on the point of playing the jellyfish.
-abruptly his voice sharpened. "i'm sorry, i can't promise you that."
-"taber, you're a fool! i'll get it anyhow. i told you i'd break you if you got in my way, and you've been almost discredited already. don't you know when to quit?"
-"maybe that's my trouble, senator. maybe i'm bull-headed. anyhow, right or wrong, i'll play out this string to the end. good day--and i hope you enjoy your new offices."
-an hour later, back at his own phone, taber got a second call from callahan. "there's another one."
-"another one? i don't follow you."
-"a photographer from new york city. he's being real cagey, this one, but i know the breed. the kind that's so stupid-clever he outsmarts himself."
-"what's he after?"
-"sounds to me like he wants the same thing as the senator."
-"hmmm," taber mused. "those are mighty popular cadavers, aren't they, callahan?"
-"i'm blessed if they aren't."
-"all right. you tell mr. king--that is his name, isn't it?"
-"you've got good eyesight--reading a blasted press card from clear across town."
-"i'm clairvoyant, callahan. tell you what you do--give me fifteen minutes to make a phone call and then send him after the bodies."
-"to the right place?"
-"to the right place. and hold out for a good price. get what the traffic will bear. i'd say maybe fifty dollars. allow yourself to be bribed real good."
-"i'll do that."
-as with rhoda kane's mind, les king's seemed to be divided into two sections. one of these kept him in a state of perpetual uneasiness at what the other was forcing him to do. he realized that venting your frustrations against bureaucrats was one thing, but actively engaging in dangerous snooping was quite another.
-in the moments of uncertainty after john dennis sent him to washington, d.c. with orders to get his hands on certain data, les king bolstered his courage by telling himself that, what the hell, he'd planned all along to go right ahead and dig out the complete android through whatever means possible. therefore, meeting and teaming up with dennis had been a big break.
-the rationalization wasn't too comforting, though, because he knew he could never have gone ahead on his own. also, he realized he and dennis weren't a team at all. dennis ordered; he obeyed. still, the sense of excitement dennis generated in him had its effect on the other part of his mind, and this was the stronger; this held sway. somehow, there was the certainty that dennis did not make mistakes; that everything would work out.
-this conviction was jarred a little when he got past the lobby man in the washington building--a feat easily accomplished--climbed ten flights of stairs, and found room ten twenty-eight empty. obviously, dennis had goofed.
-king's first instinct was to retreat as quietly as he'd advanced; to get away from the place and report failure to dennis. but as he went back downstairs, the thought of dennis' disapproval began weighing more heavily. maybe something unforeseen had happened. maybe he could still pull this one out of the fire.
-with this hope foremost in his mind, he went into the lobby, assumed a bold front, and demanded: "where in the hell did the people in ten twenty-eight go?"
-and the front worked. the lobby man, a big irishman, was so impressed he didn't even ask king how he'd gotten into the building. he blinked politely and said, "blessed if i'm not new here myself. this is my first day. what room was it?"
-then the big irishman went to a phone to check, and came back with a georgetown address written out on a slip of paper. georgetown seemed like an unlikely place to find cadavers and, under normal conditions, king would have been highly suspicious of the whole thing. but what the hell? nothing was normal about this project, so why not follow through?
-king, you're crazy. you're out of your stupid mind.
-he raised his hand and a cab cut in toward the curb.
-when he arrived at the address, he found himself standing on the walk in front of a large, imposing house. the place still seemed unlikely but you never could tell. the way things were these days, any house in whatever neighborhood was a potential location for almost anything. the way this one was laid out, there could possibly have been a laboratory in the back. a narrow walk led in that direction and, instead of climbing the front steps, king followed it around the corner and found a basement door at the foot of a flight of steps.
-he hesitated before ringing the bell. what kind of an approach would he use? the idea was to get inside and see the layout--spot the office, the file cabinets. the feature-story bit? it might work, but who the hell lived here? he'd checked the mailbox beside the front porch but there'd been no name.
-deciding he could only play it by ear, he pulled in his diaphragm and rang the bell.
-the door opened quickly--too quickly, it seemed--and king realized he'd struck a pay lode in the myopic-looking little jerk who stood peering out at him. the guy wore a white laboratory coat with two bloodstains on it and was holding a scalpel in his hand.
-"i'm doctor entman. can i help you?"
-entman--entman--for christ sake. oh, sure, a neurologist. had to be the same guy. international authority. the times once did a feature on his arrival at idlewild. un stuff.
-"i'm king of the herald tribune," les said, lying easily. "we're shaping up a feature on the more advanced neurological techniques--sunday supplement material. they sent me down to see if you'd give us some of your views."
-"i'd be delighted. come in. come in."
-"i'm not imposing on your time, i hope."
-"not at all!"
-the guy was almost too cordial, but what the hell? all their noses twitched at the smell of publicity.
-entman led him down a cement-floored corridor, the smell of formaldehyde thickening as they went, then into a small office with an open door, on the far side through which les king was confronted with a frankly gruesome sight--a dissecting room with parts of cadavers lying around like orders in a meat packer's shipping room.
-"won't you sit down, please? there by the desk."
-as entman gestured, he noted king's reaction to the sight and the smell of the dissecting room.
-"just a moment. i'll close that door."
-"no, don't bother, doctor. i'd better get the authentic atmosphere. it makes a better story."
-"i admire your courage, young man."
-king pointed toward the room. "something important?"
-then, to les king's practiced eye, entman proved it wasn't routine at all by entering the laboratory and gathering up a loose pile of notes lying there on a table. he seemed to momentarily forget king's presence as he went through the notes, sorted them carefully, and brought them back into the office.
-king watched as entman then deposited them in a small safe. he closed the safe but didn't lock it. then he turned, beamed myopically at his visitor, and said, "now i'm at your service, young man."
-"fine, doctor. now, this series we're planning will highlight modern techniques with an eye to illustrating ..."
-while king asked questions and entman answered, another part of king's mind was busy with the real problem at hand. entman would, no doubt, lock the safe before he left the office. burglary--a risk king was willing to take--would get him back into the office when no one was around, but how could he open the safe? walking straight to the thing he was after had been fine. having been put in a position to get to know what the notes looked like was another astounding piece of good fortune. all this, however, could turn out to mean nothing because he didn't know how to crack a safe.
-he would have to report failure after being so close.
-"as i said," entman prattled on happily, "when i was at johns hopkins i--"
-"not at all," les king assured him. "i'd like to do a little work on these notes to see if i left out anything."
-"so good of you. boring people, really. i'll get rid of them as soon as possible."
-but he didn't even have to fight what common sense was telling him. he was too busy opening the safe, spreading the data out on the desktop, and using a small camera he carried in the side pocket of his jacket.
-then, he put the data back in the safe and felt the hot, excitement surge up through his body.
-"i'm afraid i owe you a drink," entman said ruefully.
-"you were right. when i got back to the office, he was gone."
-brent taber grinned, but only with his mouth--his eyes remained somber and weary. "the data was back in the safe?"
-"right where i put it. i'll swear it hadn't been moved."
-"he was photographing it thirty seconds after you left."
-"but how can you be sure?"
-brent taber pulled at his ear and stared at a renoir on the wall of entman's drawing room without seeing it. "i can't, of course. we can't be sure of anything. it's all based on an idea you gave me."
-"you told me the results of your research on the androids would be valuable to whoever built them--as a guide to perfecting androids that wouldn't die under earth conditions."
-"that was obvious logic."
-"and it ties in with another thought. a race of beings as advanced as these could take us over without trouble, it would seem."
-"quite true. except--"
-"except that they themselves may not be able to exist on earth, either; no more so than we could exist on the moon without creating conditions favorable to our physical capabilities."
-"so i'm betting that the ten androids were sent here on a trial-and-error basis, with the objective of perfecting them and creating an android army to move in and take us over."
-"it's a thought, but with their power they could achieve the same result with less effort by pulverizing us. or so it would seem to me."
-"true, but maybe they don't want us pulverized; maybe they'd rather take over a working planet than a lot of rubble."
-"all that follows logically," entman admitted, "provided the original hypothesis is true--that they cannot invade us in person."
-"right. but i've got to start somewhere and hope i'm on the right track."
-"one thing occurs to me. eight of the androids died and one was killed. what if all ten had succumbed? how did they plan to get their data?"
-"who knows? i'm not saying the idea is foolproof. but a certain amount of risk had to be involved. if the ten died, they would have missed. maybe they'd try again in that case. but they were lucky--one survived."
-entman was peering thoughtfully at nothing. "your idea is bolstered by the fact that the androids were found all over the country. they could have been testing various climates."
-"but it's weakened by the creatures being found in cities--the least likely places to escape detection. why didn't they stay in isolated sections?"
-entman smiled. "i like the way you reach out for arguments against your own theory, but you reached too far for that one. if they'd done that, who would find the androids and do the research work?"
-brent taber brightened. "you comfort me, doctor. that little thread got lost in my maze. they wanted the creatures to be found. they didn't expect to fool us. why else would the one in chicago go brazenly into a tavern, start to drink and then get into an argument?"
-"that's right. the argument must have been started deliberately." entman beamed on taber. "i think we deserve another scotch."
-entman poured the drink. he looked kindly at taber as he handed it to him, and made what seemed an abrupt change in subject. "they're giving you a very hard time, aren't they, son?"
-taber considered the question as he downed a healthy belt from the glass. "i guess you could call it that. i'm getting pretty unpopular in some places. as a matter of fact, i've wondered why you stick by me."
-entman poured himself a drink. "that hurts me a little, son."
-"i'm sorry. it's getting so i don't even know how to treat a friend."
-entman raised his glass in salute. "i'm afraid this sentimental chit-chat doesn't become either of us. let's go back to our friend from the herald tribune. you're sure he photographed the data?"
-"i think we can depend on it."
-"when i got your call, i acted as fast as i could. the data looks authentic, i'm sure, but it was a quick job of fiction. now i'd like to know the rest--whatever you didn't have time to tell me."
-"it's still a logic-chain, with some pretty flimsy strands in some places, but i'm afraid i'm stuck with it. king was greedy and hungry when i first talked to him, but i think i scared him off. i think, left to himself, he would have let the thing alone.
-"so i was surprised when he showed up at the old location. my first thought was that crane had sent him. it would have been logical--crane sending a man to try and find out where we'd taken the cadavers he obviously wants to get his hands on.
-entman frowned as he toyed with the idea. "why, good lord--!"
-"you said yourself that the androids probably possessed extraordinary powers."
-"all right. if we accept the need-of-data theory, which we have to, what would the tenth android be doing? trying to get his hands on it. he could conceivably have made contact with king. king took a picture of the ninth android. our still able and functioning number ten found his way to doctor corson's room in greenwich village and demolished number nine, for reasons of his own, so he could have made contact with king, put him under domination, and sent him after the data."
-"how could he know where the data was?"
-taber shrugged. "i said there were some pretty weak strings in my logic. but it so shaped, as i saw it, where it would stand or smash on one point. if king had waited in your office for your return, i would have been forced to assume he was there on his own. but he left, so i'm going to figure he took what he came for--the bait you dangled under his nose."
-"that brings up a question in my mind. if you're right, king will now make contact with the android, will he not?"
-"i assume he will."
-"and that will give you a chance to capture him and have the whole ten accounted for?"
-"i don't want him until he sends the data back to whoever is waiting for it."
-"you'd like to have them build their synthetic army on the specifications i made out?"
-"i'd dearly love that."
-"do you know where to contact king again?"
-"he's being tailed. they stripped me, but i still have two men left."
-"you're being treated miserably!" entman scowled. "i'm going to talk to some people about this. i refuse to allow--"
-"thanks, but not for a while. i've shaped my operation on a one-man basis. i'd be embarrassed if they relented. i wouldn't know what to do with all the men."
-entman's little eyes shone with affection. "i can only wish you good luck."
-"thanks. i'll need it."
-"and one more thing i was wondering."
-"why do you suppose the tenth android killed the one in the village?"
-"another case of taking one reason for want of a better one. i think it was his way of delivering the creature to us for research. he couldn't know for sure that we already had his 'brothers.'"
-"you're right--you must be," entman agreed.
-"small consolation. i'd like a few facts to go on for a change instead of having to depend on logic all the time," taber growled.
-"what are you referring to?"
-"the data. i'm assuming, if that's what's important, that the tenth creature has a way of getting the stuff back up there."
-"i can help a little on that," entman said. "i can assure you that from what i've found in those brains, the data could, most likely, be sent mentally."
-"you're sure of that?"
-"i've found a certain part of those brains developed in a peculiar way--"
-taber smiled. "you're sure of that?"
-"well ... that's my theory. it would appear logical that--"
-taber leaned forward suddenly and extended his glass, the grin on his face showing some genuine humor. "let's have another drink, doctor. then i'll go. i love the factual way this scotch of yours hits my stomach."
-frank corson entered the office of wilson maynard, superintendent of park hill hospital. maynard looked out over the tops of his old-fashioned pince-nez glasses and said, "oh, doctor corson. you phoned for a chat."
-it was the rather pompous superintendent's way of saying he was happy to give frank corson a little time. he considered all the doctors and nurses at park hill his "boys and girls," and he did the "father" bit very well.
-maynard peered even harder. "you don't look well, frank. pale. you've been working too hard."
-"nothing important, doctor maynard."
-"sit down. will you have a cigarette?"
-"no, thank you. i just wanted to ask you about a transfer."
-"a transfer!" this was amazing. "aren't you happy at park hill?"
-"i've been very happy."
-"then i'd planned to enter private practice. but something personal has come up and i think a change is for the best."
-"i'm certainly sorry to hear that."
-"one of the men i graduated with went to a hospital in a small minnesota town. we've corresponded and he's given me a pretty clear picture--a nice town, a need for doctors and physicians--"
-"but we need them here in the east, too."
-"i realize that, and i'm making the move with some regret. but, frankly, new york city no longer appeals to me. i think perhaps a small hospital is more suited to my temperament."
-"thank you, sir."
-after frank corson left, superintendent maynard sorted a memo out of the pile on his desk. the memo concerned frank corson. superintendent maynard reread it and thought how well things usually worked out. now it wouldn't be necessary to have that talk with corson about sloppy work. obviously there had been something on the young intern's mind for weeks now. too bad. but let the minnesota hospital, wherever it was, worry about the trouble and perhaps put corson on the right track again.
-he was their baby now.
-maynard took corson's card from the files and wrote across it: transfer approved with regret.
-brent taber stood in the shelter of a doorway on the lower east side of manhattan and watched an entrance across the street. he had been there for over an hour.
-another hour passed and taber shifted from one aching foot to the other as a man in a blue suit emerged from the entrance and moved off down the street.
-when the man had turned a corner, taber crossed over and looked up at the brownstone. it was a perfect place to hide--one of the many rooming houses in the city where, if you paid your rent and kept your peace, no one cared who you were or where you came from.
-not even, taber reflected, if you had been born in a laboratory and had come from someplace among the stars.
-he climbed the steps of the brownstone and tried the knob. the door opened. he went inside and found himself in a drab, dark hall furnished with an umbrella stand, a worn carpet, and a table spread with mail.
-there was a bell on the table. he tapped it and, after a lazy length of time, a shapeless woman came through a door on the right and regarded him with no great show of cordiality.
-"nothing vacant, mister. everything i've got is rented."
-"i wasn't looking for a room. i'm just doing a little checking."
-"my license is okay," the woman said belligerently. "the place is clean and orderly."
-"that's not what i'm checking about. there's been some counterfeit money passed in this neighborhood and we're trying to trace it down."
-the woman had a pronounced mustache that quivered at this news. "counterfeit! my roomers are honest."
-"i'm sure they are. but some people carry counterfeit money without knowing it. do they all pay in cash?"
-"only two of them."
-"men or women?"
-"one girl--katy wynn."
-"where does she work?"
-"down in wall street."
-"not much chance we're interested. this money has been turning up around times square."
-"the other's a man--quiet, no trouble, pays his rent right on the dot every week. john dennis his name is and he doesn't look like no counterfeiter."
-"six--on the second floor. but he isn't in now. he just went out."
-"okay. maybe i'll be back. as i said, we don't suspect anybody. we're just checking for sources."
-taber turned toward the door. the woman vanished back into her own quarters as taber snapped the lock. he stood in the vestibule for a minute or two, studying some cards he took from his pocket, and when she did not reappear, he opened the door, went back in, and climbed the stairs.
-the door to number six was not locked. taber went inside. the window was small and gave on an areaway. he could see nothing until he turned on the light. even then, he could see nothing of interest--the room was ordinary in every sense.
-but as brent taber checked it out, some unusual aspects became apparent. there were two pieces of luggage in the closet. one, an oversized suitcase, stood on end.
-and jammed neatly down behind it was the body of les king. his throat had been cut.
-brent taber stared down into the closet for what seemed like an interminable time. his eyes were bleak and his mouth was grim and stiff as he passed a slow hand along his jaw.
-he took a long, backward step and closed his eyes for a moment as though hoping the whole improbable mess would go away. but it was still there when he opened them again.
-he turned, went downstairs, and took the receiver off the phone on the wall by the front door.
-the shapeless landlady came out again. she scowled at taber. "what are you doing here?"
-he regarded her with a kind of affectionate weariness. "have you got a dime, lady?"
-gaping, she pawed into her apron pocket and handed him a coin.
-"thanks much." he dialed. "is captain abrams there?"
-there was a wait, during which brent taber asked the oddly bemused landlady: "are you afraid of the dead?"
-but before she could decide whether she was or not, taber turned to the phone. "captain?.... that's right, brent taber ... no, right, here in manhattan. there's been a little trouble. you'd better come over personally."
-he turned to the landlady. "what's the address here, sister?"
-and later, with the landlady back in her lair, brent taber sat down on the stairs to wait; sat there with surprise at the feeling of relief that filled his mind. he had no feeling of triumph about it; no sense of a job well done. but there was no great guilt at having failed, either.
-mostly, he thought, it was the simplification that had come about. there had been so many confusing and bewildering complications in the affair; improbability piled on the impossible; the ridiculous coupled with the incredible.
-but now, with one stroke of a knife, it had been simplified and brought into terms everyone could understand; into terms captain abrams of the new york police department would grasp in an instant.
-a killer was on the loose.
-one of senator crane's priceless gifts was a sense of timing. much of his success had sprung from the instinctive knowledge of when to act. he had a sense of the dramatic which never deserted him. as a result, he had been known to turn in an instant from one subject to another--to dodge defeats and score triumphs with bewildering agility.
-his preoccupation on this particular day was with a home-state issue--the location of a government plant. after he obtained the floor, he counted the house and noted that only a bare quorum was present. gradually, the members of the senate of the united states would drift to their seats. so crane began reading letters which tended to support his state's claim to the new plant and the benefits that would accrue therefrom.
-crane droned on. the vice-president of the united states looked down on the top of senator crane's massive head and became fruitfully preoccupied with thoughts of his own.
-then, quite suddenly, the line of crane's exposition changed. the vice-president wasn't quite sure at what precise point this had come about. he wasn't aware of the change until some very strange words penetrated:
-" ... so, therefore, it has become starkly apparent that the american people have been denied the information which would have made them aware of their own deadly danger. invasion from space is now imminent."
-the vice-president tensed. had the stupid idiot gone mad? or had he, the vice-president, been in a fog when vital, top-secret information had been made public?
-he banged the gavel down hard, for want of a better gesture, and was grateful when a tall, dignified man with a look of deepest concern on his face rose from behind his desk out on the floor.
-"will the senator yield to his distinguished colleague from pennsylvania?"
-crane turned, scowling. "i will yield to no man on matters of grave import." with that he turned and continued with his revelations. "the people of this nation have been deprived of the knowledge that the invasion from space has already begun. a vanguard of hideous, half-human creatures have even now achieved a beach-head on our planet. even now, the evil hordes from beyond the stars ..."
-the vice-president looked around in a daze. had someone forgotten to brief him? had that project come to a head overnight? the last he'd heard there had been much doubt as to--
-" ... the injustice perpetrated on the american people in this matter has been monstrous. and this is not because of any lack of knowledge on the part of the government. it has been because of the petty natures of the men to whom this secret has been entrusted. jealousies have dictated policy where selfless public service was of the most vital importance ..."
-and the vice-president was wondering why he hadn't had the good sense to refuse the nomination.
-" ... these invaders from another planet are not strangers to the men in power. it is on record that they are inhuman monsters capable of killing without mercy--yet they are quite ordinary in appearance. they walk the streets, unsuspected, among us. it is on record right here in washington that these creatures are not human but, rather, soulless androids, manufactured to destroy us, by a race so far ahead of us in scientific knowledge that we are like children by comparison ..."
-"will the senator yield to the senator from alabama?"
-"i will not. i refuse to be gagged in the process of acquainting the american people with facts upon which their very survival depends."
-the floor was crowded now. the press and the visitors' galleries were packed as senator crane's words continued to boom forth.
-and in the press gallery a reporter from the sioux city clarion looked at a representative of the london times, and said, "good god! he's gone off his rocker!"
-the englishman, aloof but definitely enthralled, touched his mustache delicately and answered, "quite."
-frank corson rang the bell and waited at the door of rhoda kane's apartment. the door opened. she wore a pale blue brunch coat. her hair glowed in the light of midmorning, but her face was pale and a little drawn.
-her eyes were slightly red, as though she might have been crying.
-"i really didn't expect to find you. i was going to write a note and slip it under the door."
-"i didn't feel well today so i didn't go to work."
-"may i come in?"
-inside, a shadow of concern moved like a quick cloud across her beautiful face. "you don't look well, frank."
-"i'm quite all right, really. haven't been sleeping too well, but there's been a lot on my mind."
-"i've been hoping you'd phone."
-"i wanted to but there didn't seem to be anything to say. nothing except that i'm sorry i let you down so miserably."
-"frank! you didn't. you really didn't. it was just that--oh, it's not important any more."
-"no. it's not important now."
-"would you like a drink?"
-"thanks, no. i've come to say good-bye."
-behind the new glitter of her eyes there was stark misery. "frank--frank--what went wrong with us?"
-the appeal was a labored whisper.
-"i don't know, rhoda. i should know but i don't. i should have known what was wrong so i could have done something about it. it just went sour, i guess."
-she turned and walked to the window. he wondered if there were tears in her eyes.
-"good-bye, frank. i'm sorry."
-the door hadn't quite closed. now, as frank corson turned, he found it open. a man stood there--a man in a blue suit with empty eyes.
-frank stared at the man for long seconds. his eyes went toward the window. rhoda had turned. she was watching the man in the doorway, looking past frank at the creature from somewhere in space who was neither man nor machine. but how--? frank corson asked himself the question. good god! how had this thing come about?
-"not--not him," he finally exploded.
-rhoda was walking forward. the look of fevered excitement was in her eyes. "please leave, frank." she did not look at him as she spoke. she kept her eyes on the man in the blue suit.
-"please leave, frank."
-but it was too late. the door had closed. the man was looking at frank. "sit down," he said.
-frank corson sat down. he saw the man and he saw rhoda, but they seemed unimportant. something had happened to his mind and he was busy struggling with it. that was all that was important.
-the strange lethargy that came like a cloud over his mind was beyond understanding.
-captain abrams looked into the closet and back at brent taber. his lips were back a little off his teeth. with abrams, this indicated anger.
-"all right. what does washington do about this one? does washington tell us to be good little boys and go hand out parking tickets?"
-"it wasn't like that," taber said.
-"it doesn't much matter how it was. the thing is--how is it going to be now?"
-"you got a murder, friend. plain and simple. what do the new york police do when they get a murder?"
-abrams spoke bitterly. "sometimes they let a panel truck drive in and haul the body away and that's that."
-"let's save the sarcasm until later. i called you in. it's your case. what do you want me to do?"
-"talk a little, maybe. the other one--now this one. the same killer?"
-"i think so."
-"what does he look like?"
-"medium height. one-eighty. around forty. and dangerous."
-"dangerous, he says," abrams muttered. "any idea where we might go to have a little talk with him?"
-"no, can't say that i have."
-"try the streets of manhattan--is that it?"
-"i guess that's about it." taber paused. "wait a minute. if he's looking for a spot to hide in he wouldn't come back here and he certainly wouldn't try king's room. there's just a wide-open chance he might have another location. wait a minute while i look up an address."
-an hour after he'd finished delivering his speech on the floor of the senate, crane held a press conference in one of washington's most important hotels. the place was crowded. he stood on a platform, looked out over a sea of heads, and pointed at an upraised hand for the first question.
-"senator, have you gotten any reaction from the people of your state on the revelations contained in your speech?"
-"there has been very little time, but telegrams have been pouring in."
-"what is the reaction?"
-"frankly, i haven't had time to read them. however, i think there is little doubt as to the mood of my people. they will be indignant and angry at washington bungling."
-he pointed to another hand.
-"senator, granting the details you outlined are accurate, have you any knowledge as to--"
-"young man. every detail i outlined was completely accurate." senator crane withered the reporter with a hostile look and pointed elsewhere.
-"senator, did you consult with the people responsible for handling the situation before making your speech?"
-"i tried. i was willing to co-operate in every way, but my patience ran out. also, i was alarmed at the bungling and inefficiency i saw. for that reason i went straight to the people with my story."
-"senator, i have a wire from the governor of your state. it just arrived in response to my query as to his attitude on this affair. the governor says, quote, no comment, unquote. would you care to comment on his statement?"
-senator crane thought he heard a faint ripple of mirth drift across the room. but, of course, he had to be mistaken. "i think the governor replied wisely. i expect to return home and confer with him as soon as possible."
-"senator, can you explain why, out of all the able, sincere officials in washington, d.c., elected or otherwise, you were the only one with enough wisdom and courage to put this matter before the people?"
-"young man, i am not going to pass judgment on anyone in washington or elsewhere. each of us, i'm sure, does his duty as he sees it."
-again it seemed to senator crane that he heard a ripple of mirth--louder this time. it had to be something to do with the acoustics. except that he was suddenly aware of smiles, too. the next question had to do with possible consultation with russia on the matter of the coming space invasion.
-senator crane agreed that such consultation should be made and then retired hastily into seclusion. a touch of panic hit him. he felt like a man who was far out in the water without a boat, with the closest land a few hundred feet straight down. good god! had he miscalculated? of course not. he had only to await the verdict of the nation's top newspapers before proceeding with the publicity program that might well make him presidential timber.
-john dennis, for the first time since rhoda had known him, seemed nervous. he kept licking his lips and shifting his eyes from rhoda to frank corson.
-frank corson sat quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself. rhoda crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured a double scotch. she went to the sofa and sat down a little uncertainly.
-"i guess you two haven't met. john, this is frank corson."
-john dennis paid no attention. he walked to the sofa, sat down, and took a sheaf of notes from his jacket pocket.
-"i've known mr. dennis for quite some time," frank commented wryly.
-john dennis' tone was neither hostile nor friendly. they were the words of a person whose mind was on other things. they watched him as his eyes scanned the notes.
-he appeared to be memorizing them.
-the air became somewhat electric, the silence so deep it seemed to scream. rhoda looked across at frank corson. frank's expression was empty, as though he'd suffered some traumatic emotional blow and was struggling to recover.
-they watched as he went back to work, leafing through the notes, one at a time. as he came close to the end, he lifted his head and shook it violently, as though from sudden pain. he scowled at the empty glass he'd handed back to rhoda.
-"do you want another?" she inquired.
-"give me another."
-she poured a second scotch and handed it to him. he drank it like so much water.
-the last sheet of notations was covered. then john dennis sat motionless for a minute, his frown and uncertainty returning. "it's hard to project the details," he said. "all this detail. difficult."
-he dropped the last sheet and got up and poured himself another scotch. "they will make an army now," he said. the scotch went down smoothly. he went to the window and looked out. "this planet is different. the sun there is blue and the air is very thin. their bodies are nothing, but their heads are very big. now they will create an army and take this planet."
-frank corson was shaking his head slowly like a groggy fighter. rhoda sat huddled on the sofa, her mind such a mixture of tumbling emotions that it seemed to be trying to tear itself out of her head. john dennis came back and stood in the middle of the room. he swayed drunkenly. "so many things i don't understand. i see people i know--or i should know. i--" he turned his eyes--eyes no longer empty--on rhoda.
-"i want to make love!"
-frank corson got up from his chair and hurled himself on dennis.
-senator crane sat at his desk. there were a pile of newspapers in front of him. the first one carried a front page story with the headline:
-senator crane warns of space invasion
-shades of orson wells' martian scare stalks capitol corridors.
-crane tossed the paper aside listlessly and picked up the second one:
-senators voice concern for sanity of colleague
-crane in stunning tirade warns of science-fiction disaster.
-the third paper featured an internationally syndicated columnist, famous for his biting wit:
-senator crane today launched a one-man campaign to make america space-conscious. if there was any madison avenue thinking behind the launching it was certainly lower madison avenue.
-in order to make his point--exactly what this was confused a vast roomful of newspapermen--the senator invented a race of creatures called androids. these androids, it seems, look exactly like tom smith down the block except that they'd just as soon cut your throat as not.
-we fear the senator must have been watching the wrong television shows--knives yet, ugh!--possibly jim bowie, because there wasn't a ray gun nor a disintegrator in his whole bag of exhibits.
-all in all, it would appear that the project was pointed toward making the people senator crane-conscious rather than aiming their attention at the deadly heavens.
-senator crane put that paper aside and looked at the next. this one, more so than all the rest, was completely factual:
-senator crane deluged with wires from home
-constituents claim washington ridicule heaped on senator reflects against state.
-crane dropped the paper and got up from the desk. that son-of-a-bitch taber was to blame for this. shaping up a goddamn hoax and feeding it out piecemeal. by god--!
-he went to the desk and dialed, and when the answer came he said, "halliday? senator crane here. i want to have a little talk with you about that damned tape. it's pretty obvious now that taber planted it in a deliberate attempt to ... what's that? an appointment! why, goddamn it, who the hell do you think you are?.... fifteen minutes next wednesday? you're talking to a united states senator--"
-crane dialed another number. a pleasant female voice said, "matthew porter's office."
-"this is senator crane. put porter on."
-"just a moment."
-crane waited. he waited for what seemed like ages, but a glance at his watch told him it had been less than five minutes. he disconnected and dialed again.
-"this is crane. we got cut off. i want to talk to porter."
-"i'm sorry but mr. porter has gone for the day."
-"well, where can i reach him? it's important."
-"i'm sorry. mr. porter left no number."
-"when will he be back?"
-"he didn't say."
-crane slammed the phone down. "the bastards!" he snarled. "the lousy, crummy bastards. running like a pack of scared rats. bureaucrats! damned, cowardly, self-appointed opportunists!"
-he stopped cursing and sat for a while.
-when he got up and left the office he looked and felt old but he had faced a truth. it would not be necessary to campaign next year.
-it wouldn't be of any use.
-john dennis showed human surprise as frank corson lunged at him. he had either been lax in using the controlling power he'd been given, or else frank corson had an exceptional resistance.
-dennis released rhoda, swayed drunkenly under frank corson's clumsy football-type tackle, and swung his arm like a pivoting beam. the blow was a lucky one. his fist smashed low on corson's jaw, numbing the nerves of his neck on the left side.
-corson went down and, as he lay helpless, dennis kicked him twice--once in the side and once, viciously effectively, in the head. corson rolled over and lay still.
-dennis looked down at him in a drunken daze. "they will make an army and bring it here."
-rhoda, standing in the center of an emotional maelstrom, watched the struggle from the prison of her own horror. at that moment she was physically, mentally and spiritually ill; a human being caught in the midst of forces beyond her knowledge and control.
-dennis laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "i want to make love."
-the drunkenness ebbed slightly and his eyes emptied. they looked into rhoda's. she shivered. he took the neck of her brunch coat in his fist and jerked downward. she had just come from the shower when she'd first opened the door for frank corson, and the vicious denuding gesture left her completely naked.
-dennis went clumsily to his knees, his arms around her, and he pulled her to the floor. she sobbed, but the tears were gone now and they were dry, wracking sobs.
-she fumbled with his jacket and pulled it off while he knelt there in anticipation of he knew not what; wondering, wanting, knowing only an urge he could not understand but which had become a compulsion.
-she took off his necktie and unbuttoned his shirt. frank corson stirred but did not regain consciousness. "please," rhoda said, "let me help him."
-in answer, dennis put his arms around her and drew her to him. "we will make love."
-"yes--yes, we will make love--"
-the ring of the doorbell was like thunder in the room. dennis tensed, his eyes widened, and he got to his feet and stood swaying. looking up at him, rhoda saw a trapped animal, but the excitement was still there and she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him and protect him from the world.
-but he had forgotten her. a cunning sneer took the place of the slavering animal look and he ran to the kitchen to reappear moments later with a butcher knife in his hand.
-the bell rang again. dennis snarled at the door and, in some kind of sheer ecstatic bravado, emitted a tarzan roar.
-instantly a weight hit the door from the outside. it shuddered but did not give. dennis crouched, gripping his knife. frank corson staggered to his feet and hurled himself groggily at the android. dennis roared again, pushed away and arced the knife at his throat.
-rhoda screamed and lunged at dennis' legs. "no! no! stop it! please!"
-dennis teetered under her weight and the knife slanted downward across frank's chest. it ripped a red gash as the door shuddered a third time.
-dennis turned in that direction and crouched. the door splintered and flew open. dennis lunged, like a line-bucking football player. he hit both brent taber and captain abrams simultaneously, sprawling them both and sending abrams' gun spinning out of his hand.
-he leaped over them and dashed down the hall where the elevator man waited uncertainly, not sure whether to dispute the right of way or not. his indecision was fatal. dennis wrapped an arm around his neck, pulled his head back and cut his throat with one slash of the knife.
-captain abrams' head had hit a doorjamb opposite the entrance to rhoda's apartment. he stirred and tried to come erect but he was unable to make it.
-brent taber clawed the gun off the floor and came to one knee. he got off one shot as the elevator door was closing and saw the android spin away from the controls as the impact of the slug smashed the bone of his shoulder.
-taber lunged to his feet and went for the stairs.
-there was no one in the lobby when he arrived there--no dead bodies, either. but on the sidewalk, in front of the building, a woman lay dead in a pool of blood.
-in a sick rage, taber looked in both directions and saw the android dive through a group of people half a block away. he tipped them over like tenpins and ran on. taber gripped the gun tight and started in pursuit.
-he could not fire because there was enough sidewalk traffic to make it dangerous. on ahead, the android's path was blocked by a man. he sought to get clear but the android passed him close enough to jam the knife into his neck and send him screaming to the sidewalk.
-a uniformed patrolman appeared on the other side of the street, further down. he took the situation in and understood taber's frantic gesture. a car screamed to a halt as the patrolman raced across the street, drawing his gun.
-the android, seeing his escape cut off, veered into an areaway. the patrolman got there first and plunged in after him.
-taber, gasps tearing at his lungs, arrived thirty seconds later. during that time, he'd expected the sound of shots from the patrolman's gun. but there was silence.
-he braked on his heels, skidded into the areaway, and saw the android advancing on the patrolman. the latter stood motionless, the gun hanging useless at his side.
-"drop! drop!" taber yelled. he cursed as he tried to angle in the narrow areaway in order to get a clear shot.
-the android advanced with his knife raised. in desperation, taber fired at the lethal fist that held the weapon. and he was lucky. the hand snapped open under the ripping impact of the bullet and the knife rang sharply against the wall as it ricocheted to the ground.
-he hesitated. there was only one slug left in the revolver. if the three didn't spot the android, he planned to wait for closer contact and put the sixth slug into the forehead.
-the android shuddered. the fire and frenzy went out of him. he tried to lift a leg and was surprised when it didn't move. he looked down at it. completely bemused, he peered down at his crimson chest. he looked up at taber without anger, only with surprise. a distinct expression of wistful regret crossed his face as he sank to the ground.
-the tenth android was dead.
-the patrolman came shakily to his feet. his face was as pale as death. "i--i don't know what happened. buck fever. pure buck fever, and i've been on the force for ten years."
-"don't worry about it," taber said.
-"don't worry. all of a sudden i freeze under pressure and he says, 'don't worry.'"
-"i meant it. this is no ordinary man. it wasn't buck fever at all. i couldn't have faced him myself if i hadn't rattled him with that lucky shot."
-the patrolman wanted to believe. he most pathetically wanted to believe. "honest?"
-"it's the god's honest truth. no man could have stood in front of that killer and pulled a trigger. he's a master hypnotist. you're all right. we won't say a word about what happened in here. and you'll have no trouble in the future."
-the patrolman shook his head. "still, i gotta do something about it."
-"talk to your psychiatrist," taber said. "in the meantime, keep that crowd out there from spilling in here."
-taber pushed out through the choked entrance to the areaway and went back up the street. it was alive with activity now and he passed unnoticed. no one recognized him as the man who had given chase in the bloody business that would make headlines that evening in every new york newspaper.
-and yet the radio and tv news commentators gave it no special attention. it went in along with other items of the day's news as a more or less routine big-city happening.
-one national-hookup headliner stated: "in new york city today, a man identified as john dennis, address unknown, went berserk in a fashionable upper east side apartment. dennis, wielding a knife, killed a man and a woman, and seriously wounded another man before he was cut down by police bullets.
-"a jet airliner, down in the north atlantic today, imperiled the lives of seventy-six ..."
-frank corson lay propped on two pillows in a private room of the park hill hospital. rhoda kane sat in a chair beside the bed. she was pale and very beautiful. the fire was now gone from her body and the fever from her eyes.
-"they say he wasn't human. they say he was an android." she shuddered, looked down quickly, then slowly raised her head.
-"i'll--i'll never understand. i get sick thinking about it. i'll just never understand."
-"he was human and yet not human. he had extraordinary powers that we don't begin to understand, so that what happened to you is no disgrace."
-"it's a terrible disgrace."
-"it happened to me, too. when he told me to sit down i had to do it. i was helpless."
-"but you fought! you overcame it."
-frank corson smiled wryly. "no, i didn't. it was just that he'd had little time to work on me. it was a single mental blow, so to speak, that laid me out. like one punch in the ring. gradually, i came out of it."
-"i think i tried to fight."
-"of course, you did. the disgrace was mine. i acted like a child. i should have realized that something extraordinary had happened. but i nursed my miserable little ego like a three-year-old."
-"how could you know? my cruelty to you--"
-"don't talk like that! i knew about the ninth android, and i met the tenth one in front of your apartment that second morning. i should have associated. brent taber did, otherwise we might both be dead."
-"it's all over now. it doesn't make any difference."
-"no, it doesn't make any difference."
-she looked at him in silence for several moments. "you've changed, frank."
-"yes, i guess i have. i guess we all grow up eventually. we all face reality and live with it."
-"frank--i think i'm going to cry."
-he could not turn his eyes in her direction. he looked straight ahead but his voice was soft. "go ahead, rhoda. i understand."
-they were silent for a time, then rhoda began to cry quietly into her handkerchief. after a while even that sound was stilled.
-he turned to look at her. she was standing beside the bed. he almost reached out and took her hand, but drew his own back at the last minute.
-"how soon will you be leaving?" she asked.
-"the wound was superficial. i really didn't need to be hospitalized. i'm being released tomorrow morning. i'll probably leave immediately."
-"you'll make a fine doctor, frank."
-"thank you, i'll try."
-she turned and fled.
-and judging by the deep sadness in his soul, he knew he had hit bottom.
-brent taber's phone rang.
-"hello, taber. halliday here."
-"how are you, halliday."
-"tops, old man. ragged by the stress of it all, of course, but tops."
-taber waited. halliday waited. seeing that he would get no help, he said, "by the way, that little ... misunderstanding we had, the senator crane thing, i'm sure you realized that our talk was ... well, the words were put into my mouth. i felt the same way about the oaf as you did. but sometimes, in the line of duty, old man ... well, i know you were reading between my lines all the time."
-"i'm pretty good at that."
-"i knew we understood each other."
-"is that what you called about?"
-"yes, but i've got a little tip for you. they want to see you upstairs. i happen to know they liked the way things turned out. just between you and me, the humiliation of crane made certain high officials pretty happy. i was queried and i gave you all the credit."
-"before or after the good senator fell on his face?"
-halliday laughed. "okay, pal. you're entitled to your little dig. but you know this--i'm with you and i always will be."
-the phone rang again. automatically, brent picked up the receiver.
-"brent? porter on this end. how is it with you, old man?"
-"ducky. just ducky."
-porter laughed. "just called to say, 'good job well done.'"
-"want to give you a little tip, too. they want you upstairs. a commendation. not generally known, though. and you deserve it. you'll be called up tomorrow."
-"you never know the day or the hour."
-the laugh came again. "you're humor is priceless, old man."
-"another thing--i got pretty hot when i got wind of how the ground was being cut out from under you. i made it my business to do something about it. i hate to see a good man pushed around. of course i okayed the orders cutting you down--a matter of routine--i had to follow through. but then i got busy. a thing like that won't happen again."
-"thanks, porter. it warms a man to know he's got a friend--a friend like you."
-"just between us, old man, i'm one of your admirers." porter laughed and sprayed charm through the phone like perfume from an atomizer. "but if you quote me, i'll deny it."
-"oh, i wouldn't think of quoting you, old man," taber replied in a kindly voice and put down the phone.
-he sat back and closed his eyes. three people dead. one person maimed. blood in the streets.
-good job well done.
-he opened a drawer of his desk and reached for the scotch bottle.
-at the newark airport he would not trust his suitcase to a porter because the leather loop holding one side of the handle was very thin and he was afraid it would break.
-once he had been ashamed of the shabbiness of the bag and had planned to buy a new one, but now there was an affinity between them, a kind of warmth.
-were they companions in misery?
-he asked the question with a quick smile and then realized he was not miserable. a little bleak of mind, perhaps, with minnesota and what lay ahead affording no glow of anticipation in his mind. but that would pass. no, he had relegated the hurt to a mental pigeonhole; maybe he would bring it out and look at it once in a while, after enough time had passed.
-but he was not miserable.
-he went to the counter, checked in, and they told him his plane would take off on time. he glanced at his watch. thirty-two minutes.
-he went back to the bench and found rhoda kane sitting beside his suitcase.
-she wore a plain, black suit with a ridiculous little black hat and she was so beautiful he was angry with her. he hated her. this good-bye wasn't necessary. why had she come?
-her face was pale and drawn; her smile was as abstract as the mystery on the lips of the mona lisa. she laid a hand on the suitcase.
-"we had our first quarrel over it, remember? we went to puerto rico for that week and i wanted to use mine but you said, 'goddamn it, if you're ashamed of my suitcase you're ashamed of me, so the hell with it.'"
-he sat down beside her, lit a cigarette, and then dropped it on the floor and stepped on it. they both looked straight ahead.
-"take me with you, frank."
-"i know, but take me with you."
-"there will be no money. i'll live in a stuffy room somewhere."
-"what difference does that make? take me."
-"i don't have any job. i quit. i was halfway through a piece of copy--very important copy--and i got up and walked into mr. frankel's office. i said, 'mr. frankel, it's been very nice working for you. i appreciate all you've done but i'm leaving now. the pencils are all sharpened on my desk and the next girl can have the new leather-bound address book in the lower right hand drawer that i bought but never used! that was a silly thing to say, wasn't it?"
-"i suppose so."
-"and the way i phrased it. i actually said i'd bought the lower right hand drawer and hadn't used it--take me with you, frank."
-"rhoda, i was so wrong in--"
-"i was wrong, frank. i was trying to mold you into my way of life. i wanted you, but only as a part of my own eager little world. i had money so i furnished my apartment. i put this here and that there, and hung a toothbrush over the sink as necessarily functional, and then i decided i needed a man in the same way and so i picked you.
-"but i found out that the man in the bed was the most important part of it and without him there wasn't anything. without him i didn't want any of the other. now ... i want to be a wife. a wife is a person who goes where her husband goes and lives where he lives and shares what he has. you don't barter and trade--this for that--give up this part to get that. you give up everything and yet it isn't like that at all because you're really getting everything."
-he took out another cigarette.
-"oh, frank, it's all mixed up and i'm going to cry, i think."
-"it's not mixed up at all," he said quietly. he turned to look at her, half frowning, half smiling. "now why in the hell couldn't you have given me a little notice? twenty minutes to plane time and i've got to get another reservation."
-"i'm sorry, frank."
-"maybe there isn't a seat."
-"wouldn't that be terrible?"
-"then we'll have to wait over."
-"why don't you go and see?"
-five minutes later they were walking down the west tunnel to gate twenty-six.
-frank corson grinned. "come on, woman, i'm going to take you across state lines for immoral purposes."
-"how wonderful," she breathed.
-brent taber was human and his triumph had been a thing of satisfaction to him--but only momentarily. now it had a slightly sour taste.
-not that he was unhappy. he was content and almost relaxed as he sat in doctor entman's patio and worked on a scotch and soda.
-"a nice night," entman said.
-"beautiful. those stars are about ready to fall into our laps."
-"menace out there? it seems unthinkable."
-"the human animal is a strange creature. he's so capable of refusing to believe what he doesn't want to believe."
-"maybe he's smarter than we think. maybe there's no point in looking at a pending disaster from every angle. the what-will-be-will-be attitude isn't necessarily like that of the ostrich which sticks its head in the sand."
-"do the people inside really believe?" entman asked.
-"it's pretty difficult to tell. sometimes i wonder what my own real feelings are."
-"i wasn't completely briefed on how it ended," entman said delicately.
-"i think the phony specifications got through."
-"if they did--if things are really as they appear--"
-taber smiled in the darkness. "are you beginning to doubt, doctor?"
-"oh, be quiet," entman said with friendly petulance. "i was going to say that i was rather proud of those details. if our hostiles out there follow my specifications, they'll create androids with much smaller lungs and non-porous skin that will give them no end of trouble when they start chasing frightened householders down the streets of the world."
-taber chuckled. "i remember a story about the japanese navy. they were supposed to have built some ships to specifications stolen in england. when launched, they slid out into the bay and tipped over."
-entman sighed. "i wish i could get some of the data those creatures used in the construction of the androids."
-"you'd like to make one of your own?"
-"it would solve the servant problem. terrible here in washington."
-"labor unions would holler bloody murder."
-"you can't stop progress."
-suddenly entman got to his feet. he walked to the edge of the patio and looked upward. taber saw his face in the light streaming from the living room--he seemed frightened.
-"brent! it's such a helpless feeling. what do we do?"
-brent taber got up and went over and stood beside entman. he, too, looked up into the velvet night; the beautiful, quiet, impersonal night.
-the sinister night.
-"we watch the stars," brent said. "and we wait."
-other significant monarch books
-ms8 the cold war by deane and david heller (a monarch select book) 50¢
-ms7 forget about calories by leland h. o'brian (a monarch select book) 35¢
-ms6 the naked rise of communism by frank l. kluckhohn (a monarch select book) 75¢
-ms5 planned parenthood by henry de forrest, m.d. (a monarch select book) 50¢ a study of safe and practical approaches to birth control.
-ms4 the rise and fall of the japanese empire by gary gordon 50¢
-ms3a america: listen! by frank l. kluckhohn (revised ed.) 75¢
-ms2 the berlin crisis by deane and david heller 50¢
-k67 doris day by tedd thomey 35¢
-k66 robert f. kennedy: assistant president by gary gordon (a monarch select book) 35¢
-k65 s o s: the world's great sea disasters by keith jameson 50¢
-k64 eisenhower by george johnson (a monarch select book) 35¢
-k61 eleanor roosevelt by george johnson 35¢
-k60 princess grace kelly by robert newman 35¢
-k59 pope john xxiii: pastoral prince by randall garrett 50¢
-k57 richard nixon by george johnson 35¢
-k56 sir winston churchill by edgar black 50¢
-k54 jacqueline kennedy by deane and david heller 35¢ the fascinating story of america's glamorous first lady.
-mb528 medical problems of women by martin james, m.d. (a monarch select book) 50¢
-mb512 folk and modern medicine by don james 50¢
-mb509 the book of miracles by zsolt aradi 50¢
-ma328 admiral "bull" halsey by jack pearl (a monarch select book) 35¢
-ma321 tarawa by tom bailey 50¢
-ma319 u. s. marines in action by t. r. fehrenbach 50¢
-ma312 the kennedy cabinet by deane and david heller 35¢
-available at all newsstands and bookstores
-if you are unable to secure these books at your local dealer, you may obtain copies by sending the retail price plus 5¢ for handling each title to monarch books, inc., mail order department, capital building, division street, derby, connecticut.
-a terrifying tale of horror in the skies
-the flying eyes
-by j. hunter holly
-author of encounter and the green planet
-linc hosler was sitting in a packed football stadium when the flying eyes appeared and cast their hypnotic power over half the crowd. thousands of people suddenly began marching zombie-like into the woods where they vanished into a black pit.
-linc used every resource of the space research lab and the national guard to destroy the eyes. but nothing could stop them, for they proved immune to bullets and bombs.
-in desperation, linc captured an eye and found a way to communicate with it through his mind. he learned that radiation was fuel for the creatures' lives. and then they issued their terrible ultimatum: explode a series of atom bombs to supply them with radiation or they would turn the world's population into mindless robots.
-it gave the world two harrowing choices--self-destruction via fallout from the bombs or annihilation via the sinister flying eyes....
-a monarch science-fiction classic available at all newsstands and bookstores 35¢
-if you are unable to secure this book at your local dealer, you may obtain a copy by sending 35¢ plus 5¢ for handling to monarch books, inc., mail order department, capital building, derby, connecticut.
-a destroyer from another planet--bent on mastery of the world
-by j. hunter holly author of the green planet
-it came plummeting out of the sky--a soundless, streaking, purple glow, moving faster and faster until it ripped at the trees, crashed through them and struck sickeningly against a hill. momentarily it flared brightly, then went out.
-it was not long after that the murders began--strange, inexplicable deaths, all the victims found with their heads crushed as if their skulls had exploded outward.
-the trail of victims lead from arkansas to tennessee, to kentucky, illinois and michigan--sixteen unrelated people who had only one thing in common: all of their brains were withered, as if sucked dry of their contents ...
-and somewhere wandered an evil stranger from another planet, his personality expanding, his brain power increasing, preparing for the inevitable encounter that could make him master of the world!
-a science fiction thriller from
-monarch books, inc.
-available at all newsstands and bookstores 35¢
-if you are unable to secure this book at your local dealer, you may obtain a copy by sending 35¢ plus 5¢ for handling to monarch books, inc., mail order division, capital building, derby, connecticut.
-the power of evil
-"you might call it a fight," elizabeth said, "but they never actually laid a hand on each other."
-dr. carew stared at her in puzzlement as she went on. "they threw every hard thing in the room at each other, without ever touching anything. it was like some ghastly, murderous game. a clock flew through the air like a cannonball, straight at joseph's head, and some unseen force seemed to stop it. for a second it hung there and trembled in the air--with nothing under it; then it turned and flew like lightning at quincy; he barely dodged it.
-"finally a vase did find its mark and quincy fell to the floor. joseph stepped over him and came toward me. i ran, slamming the door in his face, locking him in. he laughed evilly and called after me, 'why waste time running away, elizabeth? i'll come to get you, and you won't be able to resist me now!'"
-this is one of the unforgettable scenes from monarch books' new fiction thriller--
-by evangeline walton
-a spine-tingling tale of a group of tormented men and women forced to live in a house saturated with evil.
-on sale at all newsstands and bookstores 35¢
-if you are unable to secure this book at your local dealer, you may obtain a copy by sending 35¢ plus 5¢ for handling to monarch books, inc., mail order department, capital building, derby, connecticut.
-revenge in an alien world
-when gail loring chose bill drake to be her husband--in name only--for the duration of the flight to mars, she didn't know that she had just signed his death warrant.
-jealous dr. spartan, leader of the expedition, swore to get revenge and force gail to share his maniacal plan for power.
-bound together in space, five men and a woman strained against the powerful tug of twisted emotions and secret ambitions.
-but all plans were forgotten when they landed on the red planet and encountered the martians--half animal, half vegetable, with acid for blood and radar for sight.
-when the martians launched an assault against the space ship, linking their electrical energy in an awesome display of power, spartan realized that this was the perfect moment for personal revenge--and touched off his own diabolical plan of destruction against his fellow crewmen ...
-this is the exciting plot of the new monarch books science-fiction thriller--
-the red planet
-by russ winterbotham
-a tense novel of violence and intrigue--a million miles in space.
-on sale at all newsstands and bookstores 35¢
-if you are unable to secure this book at your local dealer, you may obtain a copy by sending 35¢ plus 5¢ for handling to monarch books, inc., mail order department, capital building, derby, connecticut.
-it spread a new electrical virus that turned men into ruthless monsters
-the space egg
-by russ winterbotham
-flying forty-two miles above kansas, something phenomenal had happened to test pilot fayburn. a space egg had smashed through the cockpit plexi-glass and then pierced his pressurized suit.
-blood on the pilot's seat indicated that he had been injured, but there was no wound. the loss of pressure in the cockpit and in his suit should have killed him instantly--yet here he was, alive and unharmed, but definitely a changed man.
-always a mild, considerate person he had, in a matter of minutes, become a madman. what had brought about the change? was he still human or was he now out of this world?
-only time would tell as he daringly laid siege to an important air base and began using his frightening power to force men and women to serve his evil purpose.
-a monarch science-fiction classic
-available at all newsstands and bookstores 35¢
-if you are unable to secure this book at your local dealer, you may obtain a copy by sending 35¢ plus 5¢ for handling to monarch books, inc., mail order department, capital building, derby, connecticut.
-ten from infinity
-ten men walked earth--ten men in different cities in the united states. each one was the exact replica of the other--from the tips of his fingers down to the beating of his twin hearts.
-where they came from, they were called androids--synthetic men, conditioned by their masters to complete their deadly purpose on earth as advance agents for an invasion from space.
-the only man who knew of their existence was brent taber, secret agent, specially commissioned to find out their plans and avert the world's destruction.
-the big problem was to figure out a way to appeal to the mindless, soulless creatures who knew no emotion--pleasure or pain. but every move he had made so far had ended in failure and time was running out--for him and everyone on the face of the earth ...
-published by monarch books, inc.
-beginning a thrilling new serial of interplanetary life and travel by edward e. smith, ph.d.
-author of "skylark of space" and "skylark three"
-spacehounds of ipc
-a good many of us, who are now certain beyond a doubt that space travel will forever remain in the realm of the impossible, probably would, if a rocket that were shot to the moon, for instance, did arrive, and perhaps return to give proof of its safe arrival on our satellite, accept the phenomenon in a perfectly blasé, twentieth century manner. dr. smith, that phenomenal writer of classic scientific fiction, seems to have become so thoroughly convinced of the advent of interplanetary travel that it is difficult for the reader to feel, after finishing "spacehounds of ipc," that travel in the great spaces is not already an established fact. dr. smith, as a professional chemist, is kept fairly busy. as a writer, he is satisfied with nothing less than perfection. for that reason, a masterpiece from his pen has become almost an annual event. we know you will like "spacehounds" even better than the "skylark" series.
-illustrated by wesso
-the ipv arcturus sets out for mars
-a burly young man made his way through the throng about the entrance, nodded unconcernedly to the gatekeeper, and joined the stream of passengers flowing through the triple doors of the double air-lock and down a corridor to the center of the vessel. however, instead of entering one of the elevators which were whisking the passengers up to their staterooms in the upper half of the enormous football, he in some way caused an opening to appear in an apparently blank steel wall and stepped through it into the control room.
-"hi, breck!" the burly one called, as he strode up to the instrument-desk of the chief pilot and tossed his bag carelessly into a corner. "behold your computer in the flesh! what's all this howl and fuss about poor computation?"
-"hello, steve!" the chief pilot smiled as he shook hands cordially. "glad to see you again--but don't try to kid the old man. i'm simple enough to believe almost anything, but some things just aren't being done. we have been yelling, and yelling hard, for trained computers ever since they started riding us about every one centimeter change in acceleration, but i know that you're no more an i-p computer than i am a digger indian. they don't shoot sparrows with coast-defense guns!"
-"thanks for the compliment, breck, but i'm your computer for this trip, anyway. newton, the good old egg, knows what you fellows are up against and is going to do something about it, if he has to lick all the rest of the directors to do it. he knew that i was loose for a couple of weeks and asked me to come along this trip to see what i could see. i'm to check the observatory data--they don't know i'm aboard--take the peaks and valleys off your acceleration curve, if possible, and report to newton just what i find out and what i think should be done about it. how early am i?" while the newcomer was talking, he had stripped the covers from a precise scale model of the solar system and from a large and complicated calculating machine and had set to work without a wasted motion or instant--scaling off upon the model the positions of the various check-stations and setting up long and involved integrals and equations upon the calculator.
-the older man studied the broad back of the younger, bent over his computations, and a tender, almost fatherly smile came over his careworn face as he replied:
-"early? you? just like you always were--plus fifteen seconds on the deadline. the final dope is due right now." he plugged the automatic recorder and speaker into a circuit marked "observatory," waited until a tiny light above the plug flashed green, and spoke.
-"ipv arcturus; breckenridge, chief pilot; trip number forty-three twenty-nine. ready for final supplementary route and flight data, tellus to mars."
-"meteoric swarms still too numerous for safe travel along the scheduled route," came promptly from the speaker. "you must stay further away from the plane of the ecliptic. the ether will be clear for you along route e2-p6-w41-k3-r19-s7-m14. you will hold a constant acceleration of 981.27 centimeters between initial and final check stations. your take-off will be practically unobstructed, but you will have to use the utmost caution in landing upon mars, because in order to avoid a weightless detour and a loss of thirty-one minutes, you must pass very close to both the martian satellites. to do so safely you must pass the last meteorological station, m14, on schedule time plus or minus five seconds, at scheduled velocity plus or minus ten meters, with exactly the given negative acceleration of 981.27 centimeters, and exactly upon the pilot ray m14 will have set for you."
-"all x." breckenridge studied his triplex chronometer intently, then unplugged and glanced around the control room, in various parts of which half a dozen assistants were loafing at their stations.
-"control and power check-out--hipe!" he barked. "driving converters and projectors!"
-the first assistant scanned his meters narrowly as he swung a multi-point switch in a flashing arc. "converter efficiency 100, projector reactivity 100; on each of numbers one to forty-five inclusive. all x."
-two more gleaming switches leaped from point to point. "converter efficiency 100, projector reactivity 100, dirigibility 100, on each of numbers one to thirty-two, inclusive, of upper band; and numbers one to thirty-two, inclusive, of lower band. all x."
-"35,000. drivers in equilibrium at ten degrees plus. all x."
-"upper lights and lookout plates!"
-the second assistant was galvanized into activity, and upon a screen before him there appeared a view as though he were looking directly upward from the prow of the great vessel. the air above them was full of aircraft of all shapes and sizes, and occasionally the image of one of that flying horde flared into violet splendor upon the screen as it was caught in the mighty, roving beam of one of the twelve ultra-light projectors under test.
-"upper lights and lookout plates--all x," the second assistant reported, and other assistants came to attention as the check-out went on.
-"lower lights and lookout plates!"
-"all x," was the report, after each of the twelve ultra-lights of the stern had swung around in its supporting brackets, illuminating every recess of the dark depths of the bottom well of the berth and throwing the picture upon another screen in lurid violet relief.
-"lateral and vertical detectors!"
-"laterals xp2710--all x. verticals aj4290--all x."
-"15,270 kilofranks--all x."
-"700,000 kilofrank-hours--all x."
-having thus checked and tested every function of his department, breckenridge plugged into "captain," and when the green light went on:
-"chief pilot check-out--all x," he reported briefly.
-"all x," acknowledged the speaker, and the chief pilot unplugged. fifteen minutes remained, during which time one department head after another would report to the captain of the liner that everything in his charge was ready for the stupendous flight.
-"all x, steve?" breckenridge turned to the computer. "how do you check acceleration and power with the observatory?"
-"not so good, old bean," the younger man frowned in thought. "they figure like astronomers, not navigators. they've made no allowances for anything, not even the reversal--and i figure four thousands for that and for minor detours. then there's check station errors...."
-"check-station errors! why, they're always right--that's what they're for!"
-"don't fool yourself--they've got troubles of their own, the same as anybody else. in fact, from a study of the charts of the last few weeks, i'm pretty sure that e2 is at least four thousand kilometers this side of where he thinks he is, that w41 is ten or twelve thousand beyond his station, and that they've both got a lateral displacement that's simply fierce. i'm going to check up, and argue with them about it as we pass. then there's another thing--they figure to only two places, and we've got to have the third place almost solid if we expect to get a smooth curve. a hundredth of a centimeter of acceleration means a lot on a long trip when they're holding us as close as they are doing now. we'll ride this trip on 981.286 centimeters--with our scheduled mass, that means thirty six points of four seven kilofranks plus equilibrium power. all set to go," the computer stated, as he changed, by fractions of arc, the course-plotters of the automatic integrating goniometer.
-"you're the doctor--but i'm glad it's you that'll have to explain to the observatory," and breckenridge set his exceedingly delicate excess power potentiometer exactly upon the indicated figure. "well, we've got a few minutes left for a chin-chin before we lift her off."
-"what's all this commotion about? dish out the low-down."
-"you're getting rotten computation, that's a sure thing, and i don't blame you pilots for yelling, but i don't believe that you've got the right answer. i can't help but think that the astronomers are lying down on the job. they are so sure that you pilots are to blame that it hasn't occurred to them to check up on themselves very carefully. however, we'll know pretty quick, and then we'll take steps."
-"i'll say they will. i know just how the passengers will howl if we hold them weightless for half an hour, waiting for those two moons to get out of the way, and i know just what the manager will do if we check in minus thirty-one minutes. wow! he'll swell up and bust, sure. but don't worry, breck--if we don't check in all right, anybody can have my head that wants it, and i'm taking full responsibility, you know."
-"you're welcome to it." breckenridge shrugged and turned the conversation into a lighter vein. "speaking of weightlessness, it's funny how many weight-fiends there are in the world, isn't it? you'd think the passengers would enjoy a little weightlessness occasionally--especially the fat ones--but they don't. but say, while i think of it, how come you were here and loose to make this check-up? i thought you were out with the other two of the big three, solving all the mysteries of the universe?"
-"had to stay in this last trip--been doing some work on the ether, force-field theory, and other advanced stuff that i had to go to mars and venus to get. just got back last week. as for solving mysteries, laugh while you can, old hyena. you and a lot of other dim bulbs think that roeser's rays are the last word--that there's nothing left to discover--are going to get jarred loose from your hinges one of these days. when i came in nine months ago they were hot on the trail of something big, and i'll bet they bring it in...."
-out upon the dock an insistent siren blared a crescendo and diminuendo blast of sound, and two minutes remained. in every stateroom and in every lounge and saloon speakers sounded a warning:
-"for a short time, while we are pulling clear of the gravitational field of the earth, walking will be somewhat difficult, as everything on board will apparently increase in weight by about one-fifth of its present amount. please remain seated, or move about with caution. in about an hour weight will gradually return to normal. we start in one minute."
-"hipe!" barked the chief pilot as a flaring purple light sprang into being upon his board, and the assistants came to attention at their stations. "seconds! four! three! two! one! lift!" he touched a button and a set of plunger switches drove home, releasing into the forty-five enormous driving projectors the equilibrium power--the fifteen-thousand-and-odd kilofranks of energy that exactly counterbalanced the pull of gravity upon the mass of the cruiser. simultaneously there was added from the potentiometer, already set to the exact figure given by the computer, the plus-equilibrium power--which would not be changed throughout the journey if the ideal acceleration curve were to be registered upon the recorders--and the immense mass of the cruiser of the void wafted vertically upward at a low and constant velocity. the bellowing, shrieking siren had cleared the air magically of the swarm of aircraft in her path, and quietly, calmly, majestically, the arcturus floated upward.
-breckenridge, sixty seconds after the initial lift, actuated the system of magnetic relays which would gradually cut in the precisely measured "starting power," which it would be necessary to employ for sixty-nine minutes--for, without the acceleration given by this additional power, they would lose many precious hours of time in covering merely the few thousands of miles during which earth's attraction would operate powerfully against their progress.
-faster and faster the great cruiser shot upward as more and more of the starting power was released, and heavier and heavier the passengers felt themselves become. soon the full calculated power was on and the acceleration became constant. weight no longer increased, but remained constant at a value of plus twenty three and six-tenths percent. for a few moments there had been uneasy stomachs among the passengers--perhaps a few of the first-trippers had been made ill--but it was not much worse than riding in a high-speed elevator, particularly since there was no change from positive to negative acceleration such as is experienced in express elevators.
-the computer, his calculations complete, watched the pilot with interest, for, accustomed as he was to traversing the depths of space, there was a never-failing thrill to his scientific mind in the delicacy and precision of the work which breckenridge was doing--work which could be done only by a man who had had long training in the profession and who was possessed of instantaneous nervous reaction and of the highest degree of manual dexterity and control. under his right and left hands were the double-series potentiometers actuating the variable-speed drives of the flight-angle directors in the hour and declination ranges; before his eyes was the finely marked micrometer screen upon which the guiding goniometer threw its needle-point of light; powerful optical systems of prisms and lenses revealed to his sight the director-angles, down to fractional seconds of arc. it was the task of the chief pilot to hold the screened image of the cross-hairs of the two directors in such position relative to the ever-moving point of light as to hold the mighty vessel precisely upon its course, in spite of the complex system of forces acting upon it.
-for almost an hour breckenridge sat motionless, his eyes flashing from micrometer screen to signal panel, his sensitive fingers moving the potentiometers through minute arcs because of what he saw upon the screen and in instantaneous response to the flashing, multi-colored lights and tinkling signals of his board. finally, far from earth, the moon's attraction and other perturbing forces comparatively slight, the signals no longer sounded and the point of light ceased its irregular motion, becoming almost stationary. the chief pilot brought both cross-hairs directly upon the brilliant point, which for some time they had been approaching more and more nearly, adjusted the photo-cells and amplifiers which would hold them immovably upon it, and at the calculated second of time, cut out the starting power by means of another set of automatically timed relays. when only the regular driving power was left, and the acceleration had been checked and found to be exactly the designated value of 981.286 centimeters, he stood up and heaved a profound sigh of relief.
-"well, steve, that's over with--we're on our way. i'm always glad when this part of it is done."
-"it's a ticklish job, no fooling--even for an expert," the mathematician agreed. "no wonder the astronomers think you birds are the ones who are gumming up their dope. well, it's about time to plug in on e2. here's where the fireworks start!" he closed the connections which transferred the central portion of the upper lookout screen to a small micrometer screen at breckenridge's desk and plugged it into the first check-station. instantly a point of red light, surrounded by a vivid orange circle, appeared upon the screen, low down and to the left of center, and the timing galvanometer showed a wide positive deflection.
-"hashed again!" growled breckenridge. "i must be losing my grip, i guess. i put everything i had on that sight, and missed it ten divisions. i think i'll turn in my badge--i've cocked our perfect curve already, before we got to the first check-station!" his hands moved toward the controls, to correct their course and acceleration.
-"as you were--hold everything! lay off those controls!" snapped the computer. "there's something screwy, just as i thought--and it isn't you, either. i'm no pilot, of course, but i do know good compensation when i see it, and if you weren't compensating that point i never saw it done. besides, with your skill and my figures i know darn well that we aren't off more than a tenth of one division. he's cuckoo! don't call him--let him start it, and refer him to me."
-"all x--i'll be only too glad to pass the buck. but i still think, steve, that you're playing with dynamite. who ever heard of an astronomer being wrong?"
-"you'd be surprised," grinned the physicist, "since this fuss has just started, nobody has tried to find out whether they were wrong or not...."
-"ipv arcturus, attention!" came from the speaker curtly.
-"ipv arcturus, breckenridge," from the chief pilot.
-"you have been on my ray almost a minute. why are you not correcting course and acceleration?"
-"doctor stevens is computing us and has full control of course and acceleration," replied breckenridge. "he will answer you."
-"i am changing neither course nor acceleration because you are not in position," declared stevens, crisply, "please give me your present supposed location, and your latest precision goniometer bearings on the sun, the moon, mars, venus, and your tellurian reference limb, with exact time of observations, gyroscope zero-planes, and goniometer factors!"
-"correct at once or i shall report you to the observatory," e2 answered loftily, paying no attention to the demand for proof of position.
-"be sure you do that, guy--and while you're at it report that your station hasn't taken a precision bearing in a month. report that you've been muddling along on radio loop bearings, and that you don't know where you are, within seven thousand kilometers. and speaking of reporting--i know already that a lot of you astronomical guessers have only the faintest possible idea of where you really are, plus, minus, or lateral; and if you don't get yourselves straightened out before we get to w41, i'm going to make a report on my own account that will jar some of you birds loose from your upper teeth!" he unplugged with a vicious jerk, and turned to the pilot with a grin.
-"guess that'll hold him for a while, won't it?"
-"he'll report us, sure," remonstrated breckenridge. the older man was plainly ill at ease at this open defiance of the supposedly infallible check-stations.
-"not that baby," returned the computer confidently. "i'll bet you a small farm against a plugged nickel that right now he's working his goniometer so hard that it's pivots are getting hot. he'll sneak back into position as soon as he can calculate his results, and pretend he's always been there."
-"the others will be all right, then, probably, by the time we get to them?"
-"gosh, no--you're unusually dumb today, breck. he won't tell anybody anything--he doesn't want to be the only goat, does he?"
-"oh, i see. how could you dope this out, with only the recorder charts?"
-"because i know the kind of stuff you pilots are--and those humps are altogether too big to be accounted for by anything i know about you. another thing--the next station, p6, i think is keeping himself all x. if so, when you corrected for e2, which was wrong, it'd throw you all off on p6, which was right, and so on--a bad hump at almost every check-station. see?"
-"how do we check on chronometers?" asked p6 when stevens had been introduced. "by my time you seem to be about two and a half seconds plus?"
-"all x--two points four seconds plus--we're riding on 981.286 centimeters, to allow for the reversal and for minor detours. bye."
-"all this may have been coincidence, breck, but we'll find out pretty quick now," the computer remarked when the flying vessel was nearing the third check-station. "unless i'm all out of control we'll check in almost fourteen seconds minus on w41, and we may not even find him on the center block of the screen."
-when he plugged in w41 was on the block, but was in the extreme upper right corner. they checked in thirteen and eight-tenths seconds minus on the station, and a fiery dialogue ensued when the computer questioned the accuracy of the location of the station and refused point-blank to correct his course. "not i, my friend, i have robbed you enough."
-"and about time for the luck to turn, isn't it? well, i don't care! what shall we do?"
-"what you will," answered the frenchman absently.
-benham pulled his beard, then leant forward and put a question with an intoxicated leer. a laugh of feigned reproof burst from gaspard. benham seemed to urge him, and at last he said,
-"oh, if you're bent on it, i can be your guide."
-the two men left the house arm-in-arm, went down the street, and crossed digby square. it was late, and few people were about, but gaspard saw one acquaintance. the doorkeeper was strolling along on his way home, and gaspard bade him good-night in a cheery voice as they passed him. the doorkeeper stood and watched the pair for a minute as they left the square and turned down a narrow street which led to the poorer part of the town, and thence to the quays. he heard gaspard's high-pitched voice and shrill laughter, and, in answer, benham's thick tones and heavy shout of drunken mirth. once or twice these sounds repeated themselves, then they ceased; the footsteps of the frenchman and his companion died away in the distance. the doorkeeper went on his way, thinking with relief that mr. gaspard, for all his tall talk, was more at home with a bottle than with a knife or a bomb.
-notwithstanding his dissipation, gaspard was afoot very early in the morning. it was hardly light, and the deep scratch of finger-nails on his face--it is so awkward when drunken fools wake at the wrong minute--attracted no attention from the few people he encountered. he did not give them long to look at him, for he hurried swiftly through the streets, towards the quays where the ships lay loading their cargoes. he seemed to have urgent business to transact down there, business that would brook no delay, and that was, if one might guess from his uneasy glances over his shoulder, of a private nature. with one hand he held tight hold of something in his trousers pocket, the other rested on his belt, hard by a little revolver. in his business it is necessary to be ready for everything.
-meanwhile mr. benham, having no affairs to trouble him, and no more business to transact, stayed where he was.
-at an early hour on sunday all kirton seemed astir. the streets were alive with thronging people, with banners, with inchoate and still amorphous processions, with vendors of meat, drink, and newspapers. according to the official arrangements, the proceedings were not to begin till one o'clock, and, in theory, the forenoon hours were left undisturbed; but, what with the people who were taking part in the demonstration, and those who were going to look on, and those who hoped to suck some profit to themselves out of the day's work, the ordinary duties and observances of a sunday were largely neglected, and mr. puttock, passing on his way to chapel at the head of his family, did not lack material for reprobation in the temporary superseding of religious obligations.
-the governor and his family drove to the cathedral, according to their custom, eleanor scaife having pleaded in vain for leave to walk about the streets instead. lady eynesford declined to recognise the occasion, and eleanor had to content herself with stealthy glances to right and left till the church doors engulfed her. the only absentee was alicia derosne, and she was not walking about the streets, but sitting under the verandah, with a book unopened on her knees, and her eyes set in empty fixedness on the horizon. the luxuriant growth of a southern summer filled her nostrils with sweet scents, and the wind, blowing off the sea, tempered the heat to a fresh and balmy warmth; the waves sparkled in the sun, and the world was loud in boast of its own beauty; but poor alicia, like many a maid before, was wondering how long this wretched life was to last, and how any one was ever happy. faith bruised and trust misplaced blotted out for her the joy of living and the exultation of youth. if these things were true, why did the sun shine, and how could the world be merry? if these things were true, for her the sun shone no more, and the merriment was stilled for ever. so she thought, and, if she were not right, it needed a philosopher to tell her so; and then she would not have believed him, but caught her woe closer to her heart, and nursed it with fiercer tenderness against his shallow prating. perhaps he might have told her too, that it is cruel kindness unasked to set people on a pinnacle, and, when they cannot keep foothold on that slippery height, to scorn their fall. other things such an one might well have said, but more wisely left unsaid; for cool reason is a blister to heartache, and heartache is not best cured by blisters. never yet did a child stop crying for being told its pain was nought and would soon be gone. yet this prescription had been lady eynesford's--although she was no philosopher, to her knowledge--for alicia, and it had left the patient protesting that she felt no pain at all, and yet feeling it all the more.
-"what do you accuse me of? why do you speak to me?" she had burst out. "what is it to me what he has done or not done? what do you mean, mary?"
-before this torrent of questions lady eynesford tactfully retreated a little way. a warning against hasty love dwindled to an appeal whether so much friendliness, such constant meetings, either with daughter or with father, were desirable.
-"i'm sure i'm sorry for the poor child," she said; "but in this world----"
-"suppose it's all a slander!"
-"my dear alicia, do they say such things about a man in his position unless there's something in them?"
-"it's nothing to me," said alicia again.
-"of course, you can do nothing abrupt; but you'll gradually withdraw from their acquaintance, won't you?"
-alicia had escaped without a promise, pleading for time to think in the same breath that she denied any concern in the matter. she was by way of thinking now, and all that lady eynesford had said repeated itself in her mind as she looked out on the garden and the glimpses of the town beyond. she understood now dick's banishment, her sister-in-law's unresting hostility to the medlands, and the reason why she had been pressed to go to australia. she spared a minute to grief for daisy, but her own sorrow would not be denied, and engrossed her again. in the solitude she had sought, she cried to herself, "why didn't they tell me before? what's the use of telling me now?" then she would fly back to the hope that the thing was not true, that her friends had clutched too hastily at anything which would save her from what they dreaded, and, she confessed to herself, rightly dreaded. no, she would not believe it yet; and, if it were not true, why should she not be happy? why should she not, even though she did what dick had not dared to do, and what, when coxon asked her, she had laughed at for an absurdity?
-there began to be more movement outside the gates. the first note of band-music was wafted to her ear, and the roll of wheels announced the return of the church-goers. she roused herself and went to meet them. they were agog with excitement, partly about the meeting, partly about the murder. while eleanor was trying to tell her of the state of popular feeling, the governor seized her arm and began to detail the story of the discovery.
-"you remember the man?" he asked. "he was at our flower-show--had a sort of row with medland, you know. well, he's been found murdered (so the police think) in a low part of the town! the woman who keeps the house found him. he didn't come down in the morning, and, as she couldn't make him hear, she forced the door, and found him with his throat cut."
-"awful!" shuddered lady eynesford. "he looked such a respectable man too."
-"ah, i fancy he'd gone a bit to the bad lately--taken to drinking and so on."
-"he was a friend of mr. kilshaw's, wasn't he?" asked alicia.
-"a sort of hanger-on, i think. anyhow, there he was dead, and with his pockets empty."
-"perhaps he killed himself," she suggested.
-"they think not. they've arrested the woman, but she declares she knows nothing about it!"
-"poor man!" said alicia; and, at another time, she might have thought a good deal about the horrible end of a man whom she had known as an acquaintance. but, as it was, she soon forgot him again, and, leaving the rest, returned to her solitary seat.
-in the town, the news of the murder was but one ruffle more on the wave of excitement, and not a very marked one. few people knew benham's name, and when the first agitation following on the discovery of the body died away and the onlookers found there was no news to be had, they turned away to join the processions or to stare at them. the police were left to pursue their investigations in peace, and they soon reached a conclusion. the landlady of the house where benham died lived alone, save for the occasional presence of her son: he was away at work in an outlying district, and she had been the only person in the house that night. she let beds to single men, she said, and the night before two men had arrived, one the worse for drink. they had asked for adjoining rooms. as they went up-stairs, she had heard the one who had been drinking say to the other, "what are you bringing me here for? this isn't the place for what i want." his companion, the shorter of the two, whom she thought she would know again, had answered--"all in good time; you go and lie down, and i'll fetch what you want." soon after, the short one came down and asked if she had any brandy; she gave him a bottle half full and he went up-stairs again. she heard voices raised as if in dispute for a few minutes, and one of them--she could not say which--said something which sounded like "well, finish the drink first, and then i'll go." silence followed, at least she could not hear any more talking; and presently, it not being her business to spy on gentlemen, she went to bed, and knew nothing more till she woke at seven o'clock. going up-stairs, she found one door open and the room empty, not the room the two men had been in together, but the other. the second door was locked, and she did not knock; gentlemen often slept late. at half-past ten she ventured to knock, got no answer, knocked again and again, and finally, with the help of the man from next door, broke the lock and found the taller of the two men dead on the bed. she had at once summoned the police; and that, she concluded, was all she knew about the matter, and she was a respectable, hard-working woman, a widow who could produce her marriage certificate in case any person present desired to inspect it.
-the superintendent listened to her protestations of virtue with an ironical smile, told her the police knew her house very well, frightened her wholesomely, took down her very vague description of the missing man, and kept her in custody; but he did not seriously doubt the truth of her story, and, if it were true, the man he wanted was evidently the sober man, the shorter man, who had introduced his friend to the house on a pretext, had called for drink, and vanished in the early morning, leaving a dead man behind him. who was this man? where did he come from? had he been missing since last night? on these inquiries the superintendent launched several intelligent men, and then was forced for the time to turn his attention to the business of the day.
-to search a large town for a missing man takes time, and the searchers did not happen to fall in with company b of procession 3, which at one o'clock had mustered in digby square, prepared to march to the public park. had they done so, it might or might not have seemed to them worth noticing that company b of procession 3, which was composed of carpenters and joiners, had missed some one, namely the officer whom they called their "marshal," and who was to have ordered their ranks and marched at their head; and the name of their marshal was none other than françois gaspard. the superintendent himself was keeping watch over company b, but, in a professionally olympian scorn of processions, he was far from asking or caring to know who the marshal was, and indeed, if he had known, he would scarcely have drawn such a lightning-quick inference as that the missing marshal and the missing murderer were one and the same. so mr. gaspard's absence was passed over with a few curses on his laziness, or, from the more charitable, a surmise that there had been a misunderstanding, and company b, having appointed a new marshal, went on its way.
-one demonstration of the public will is much like another in the shape it takes and the incidents it produces. this sunday's was, however, as friends and foes agreed, remarkable not only for the numbers who took part, but still more for the spirit which animated it, and when the premier and his colleagues made their appearance on the great platform there was no room to doubt that somehow, by his gifts or his faults, his policy or his demagogic arts, his love of humanity or his adroit wooing of popularity, medland held a position in the eyes of the common people of the capital which had seldom or never been equalled in the history of the colony. he had caused them to be called together in order to raise their enthusiasm, and to elicit from them a visible, unmistakable pledge of support. but, when he stood before them, bareheaded, in vain beckoning for silence, their cries and cheers told him that his task was rather to moderate than to stir up, and the first part of his speech was a somewhat laboured proof of the consistency of gatherings of that nature with the proper independence of representative assemblies. the people heard him through this argument in respectful silence, clapping their hands when, at the end of it, he paused before he passed to the second part of his speech. at the first sign of attack, at the first quietly drawn contrast between what the seceders had promised and what they were doing, his audience was a changed one. fierce murmurs of assent and groans became audible now, and when medland, caught by the contagion that spread to him from his listeners, gave rein to his feelings, and launched into a passionate declaration that, to his mind, the liberty claimed for members did not mean liberty to betray those who had trusted them, the murmurs and groans rose into one tumult of savage applause, and men raised both hands over their heads and shook them, as though they would have clenched every word that fell from him with a blow of the fist.
-daisy medland sat just behind her father, exulting in his triumph, and, at every happy stroke, glancing at norburn, and by sharing her joy with him doubling his. when the premier had finished, and the last resolution had been carried, she ran to him, crying, "splendid! i never heard you so good. wasn't he splendid?" and looking so completely joyful that medland was sure she must quite have forgotten dick derosne. she took his arm, and they made their way together to a carriage which was in waiting. an escort of police surrounded it, to save the premier from his friends, and he, with daisy, norburn, and mr. floyd, the treasurer, got in without disturbance. the coachman drove off rapidly down the main avenue, distancing the enthusiasts who would have had the horses out of the shafts. they passed a long row of carriages, belonging to people who had not feared to come and look on from a distance, and at last, knowing the procession would go back another way, medland bade his driver stop under the trees, and lit a cigar.
-"and i wonder if it will all make any difference!" said he, puffing delightedly. he had all an old political organiser's love for a big meeting, which does not exclude scepticism as to its value.
-"oh, you gave it 'em finely," said the treasurer.
-"i believe it'll frighten two or three anyhow," observed norburn.
-"i know we shall win to-morrow," cried daisy, squeezing her father's arm.
-"ah! here's a special sunday evening paper--how we encourage wickedness!" said the premier, seeing a newsvendor approaching. "let's see what they say of us!"
-"i've seen it all for myself," remarked daisy, and she went on chattering to the other two, who were ready to talk over every incident of the meeting, as people who have been to meetings ever are. on they went, reminding one another of the bald man in the third row who cheered so lustily, of the fat woman who had somehow got into the front row and fanned herself all the time, of rude things shouted about messrs. puttock and coxon, and so forth. the premier, listening with one ear, opened his paper; but the first thing he saw was not about his procession. he started and looked closer, then gave a sudden, covert glance at his companions; they were busy in talk, and, with breathless haste, he devoured the meagre details of benham's wretched death. the end reached, he let the paper fall on his knees, lay back, and took a long pull at his cigar. he was shocked--yes, he supposed he was shocked. he had known the man, and it was shocking to think of his throat being cut; yes, he had known him, and he didn't like to think of that. but--the premier gave a long-drawn sigh of relief. that unknown murderer's hand had done great things for him. his daughter was safe now--anyhow, she was safe. she could never be subject to the degradation the dead man had once hinted at; and when he thought of what the man had threatened, pity for him died out of medland's heart. more--although kilshaw no doubt knew something--there was a chance that benham had kept his own counsel, and that his employer would be helpless without his aid. medland's sanguine mind caught eagerly at the chance, and in a moment turned it into a hope--almost a conviction. then the whole thing would go down to the grave with the unlucky man, and not even its spectre survive to trouble him. for if no one had certain knowledge, if there were never more than gossip, growing, as time passed, fainter and fainter from having no food to feed on, would not utter silence follow at last, so that the things that had been might be as if they had never been?
-"well, what do they say about us?" asked the treasurer.
-"oh, nothing much," he answered, thrusting the paper behind him with a careless air. he did not want to discuss what the paper had told him.
-"what's happened to-day," said daisy, "ought to make all the difference, oughtn't it, father?"
-"i hope it will," replied the premier; but, for once in his life, he was not thinking most about political affairs.
-the law versus rule 3.
-among the many tired but satisfied lovers of liberty who sought their houses that night, while an enthusiastic remnant was still parading the streets, illuminations yet shining from windows, and weary police treading their unending beats, was the doorkeeper, who had borne a banner in company a of procession 1. his friend the watchmaker came with him, to have a bit of supper and exchange congratulations and fulminations. hardly, however, had the doorkeeper pledged the cause in a first draught when his wife broke in on his oration by handing him a letter, which she said a boy in a blue jersey had left for him about ten o'clock in the morning, just after he had started to join his company. the envelope was cheap and coarse; there was no direction outside. the doorkeeper opened it. it was addressed to no named person and it bore no signature. it was very brief, being confined to these simple words--"you did not see me last night. remember rule 3."
-the doorkeeper laid the letter down, with a hurried glance at his friend, whose face was buried in a mug. he knew the handwriting; he knew who it was that he had not seen; he remembered rule 3, the rule that said--"the only and inevitable penalty of treachery is death." he turned white and took a hasty gulp at his liquor.
-"who brought this?" he asked.
-"i told you," answered his wife; "a lad in a blue jersey; he looked as if he might be from the harbour." she put food before them, adding as she did so--"i suppose you've been too full of your politics to hear much about the murder?"
-"the murder?" exclaimed the watchmaker. the doorkeeper crumpled up his letter and stuffed it into the pocket of his coat, while his wife read to them the story of the discovery. the watchmaker listened with interest.
-"benham!" he remarked. "i never heard the name, did you?"
-"you know him, ned," said the doorkeeper's wife; "him as mr. gaspard used to go about with."
-by a sudden common impulse, the eyes of the two men met; the woman went off to brew them a pot of tea, and left them fearfully gazing at one another.
-"what stuff!" said the watchmaker uneasily. "it was only his blow. what reason had he--?" he paused and added, "seen him to-day, ned?"
-"no," answered ned, fingering his note.
-"wasn't he in the procession?"
-"i didn't see him."
-"when did you see him last?"
-the doorkeeper hesitated.
-"night of our last committee," he whispered finally.
-"oh, there's nothing in it," said the watchmaker reassuringly. he had not a letter in his pocket.
-the doorkeeper opened his mouth to speak, but seeing his wife approaching, he shut it again and busied himself with his meal.
-"what was the letter, ned?"
-"oh, about the procession," he answered.
-"then you got it too late. who was it from?"
-"if you'd give us the tea," he broke out roughly, "and let the damned letter alone, it 'ud be a deal better."
-"la, you needn't fly out at a woman so," said mrs. evans. "it ain't the way to treat his wife, is it, mister?"
-"mister" gallantly reproved his friend, but pleaded that they were both weary, and weary legs made short tempers. giving them the tea, she left them to themselves; her work was not finished till three small children were safely in bed.
-the sensation of having one's neck for the first time within measurable distance of a rope must needs be somewhat disquieting. the doorkeeper, in spite of his secret society doings, was a timid man, with a vastly respectful fear of the law. to talk about things, to vapour idly about them over the cups, is very different from being actually, even though remotely, mixed up in them. ned evans was a man of some education: he read the papers, accounts of crimes and reports of trials; he had heard of accessories after and before the fact. was he not an accessory after the fact? he fancied they did not hang such; but if they caught him, and all that about gaspard and the society came out, would they not call him an accessory before the fact? the noose seemed really rather near, and in his frightened fancy, as he lay sleepless beside his snoring wife, the rope dangled over his head. the poor wretch was between the devil and the deep sea--between stern law and cruel rule 3. he dared not toss about, his wife would ask him what ailed him; he lay as still as he could, bitterly cursing his folly for mingling in such affairs, bitterly cursing the frenchman who led him on into the trap and left him fast there. how could he save his neck? and he restlessly rent the band of his coarse night-shirt, that pressed on his throat with a horrible suggestion of what might be. where was that gaspard? had he fled over the sea? ah, if he could be sure of that, and sure that the dreaded man would not return! or was he lurking in some secret hole, ready to steal out and avenge a violation of rule 3? the doorkeeper had always feared the man; in the lurid light of this deed, gaspard's image grew into a monster of horror, threatening sudden and swift revenge for disobedience or treachery. no; he must stand firm. but what of the police? well, men sleep somehow, and at last he fell asleep, holding the band of the night-shirt away from his throat: if he fell asleep with that pressing on him, god knew what he might dream.
-"it's very lucky," remarked the superintendent of police, who had a happy habit of looking at the bright side of things, to one of his subordinates, "that this benham seems to have had no relations and precious few friends."
-"no widows coming crying about," observed the subordinate, with an assenting nod.
-"nothing known of him except that he came to kirton a few months back, did nothing, seemed to have plenty of money, took his liquor, played a hand at cards, hurt nobody, seemingly knew nobody."
-"why, i saw him with mr. puttock."
-"yes; but mr. puttock knows nothing of him, except that he said he came from shepherdstown. that's why puttock was civil to him. the place is in his constituency."
-"got any idea, sir?" the subordinate ventured to ask.
-the superintendent was about to answer in the negative, when a detective entered the room.
-"well, i've found one missing man for you," he said, in a satisfied tone.
-"one missing man!" echoed his superior, scornfully. "in a place o' this size i'd always find you twenty."
-the sergeant went on, unperturbed,
-"françois gaspard, known as politician and agitator, didn't go home to his lodgings in kettle street last night, was to have acted as marshal in company b of procession 3 to-day, didn't turn up, hasn't turned up to-night, don't owe any rent, hasn't taken any clothes."
-"oh!" said the superintendent morosely. "left an address?"
-"left no address, sir."
-"how did he go, and where?"
-"not known, sir."
-"good lord!" moaned the superintendent, "and what's your salary?"
-the sergeant's good-humour was impregnable.
-"give me time," he said, and the sentence was almost drowned in a loud knock at the door. an instant later kilshaw rushed in.
-"what's this, dawson?" he cried to the superintendent; "what's this about the murder?"
-"you haven't heard, sir?"
-"i went out of town to avoid this infernal row to-day, and am only just back."
-dawson smiled discreetly. he could understand that the proceedings of the day would not attract mr. kilshaw.
-"but is it true," kilshaw went on eagerly, "that mr. benham has been murdered?"
-"well, it looks like it, sir," and dawson gave a full account of the circumstances.
-"and the motive?" asked kilshaw.
-"robbery, i suppose. his pockets were empty, and according to our information he was generally flush of money; where he got it, i don't know."
-"ah!" said kilshaw meditatively; "his pockets empty! and have you no clue?"
-"not what you'd call a clue. did you know the gentleman, sir?"
-kilshaw replied by saying that mr. puttock had introduced benham to him and the acquaintance had continued--it was a political acquaintance purely.
-"you don't know anything about him before he came here?"
-kilshaw suddenly perceived that he was being questioned, whereas his object had been to question.
-"you say," he observed, "that you haven't got what you'd call a clue. what do you mean?"
-"you can tell mr. kilshaw, if you like," said the superintendent to the sergeant, who repeated his information.
-"gaspard! why that's the fellow the premier--" and mr. kilshaw stopped short. after a moment, he asked abruptly, "were there any papers on the body?"
-"i suppose there's nothing really to connect this man gaspard with it?"
-"oh, nothing at present, sir. did you say you'd known the deceased before he--?"
-"if i'm called at the inquest, i shall tell all i know," said kilshaw, rising. "it's not much."
-"happen to know if he had any relations, sir?"
-"h'm. he was a widower, i believe."
-"really," said mr. kilshaw, with a faint smile, "i don't know."
-and he escaped from pertinacious mr. dawson with some alacrity. when he was outside, he stopped suddenly. "shall i tell 'em to apply to medland?" he asked himself, with a malicious chuckle. "no, i'll wait a bit yet," and he walked on, wondering whether by any chance mr. benham had been done to death to save the premier. this fanciful idea he soon dismissed with a laugh; it never entered his head, prejudiced as he was, to think that medland himself had any hand in the matter. after all, he was a man of common sense, and he quickly arrived at a conclusion which he expressed by exclaiming,
-"the poor fool's been showing his money. who's got my five hundred now, i wonder?"
-his wonderings would have been satisfied, had aladdin's carpet or other magical contrivance transported him to where the steamship pride of the south was ploughing her way through the waves, bound from kirton to san francisco, with liberty to touch at several south american ports. a thick-set, short man, shipped at the last moment as cook's mate, in substitution for a truant, was lying on his back, smoking a cigarette, looking up at the bright stars, and ever and again gently pressing his hand on a little lump inside his shirt. he seemed at peace with all the world, though he was ready to be at war, if need be, and his knife, burnished and clean, lay handy to his fingers. he turned on his side and composed himself to sleep, his chest rising and falling with regular, uninterrupted breathing. once he smiled: he was thinking of ned evans, the doorkeeper; then he gave himself a little shake, closed his eyes, and forgot all the troubles of this weary world. so sleep children, so--we are told--the just: so slept m. françois gaspard, on his way to seek fresh woods and pastures new.
-all there was to tell.
-the custom in new lindsey was that every monday during the session of parliament the executive council should meet at government house, and, under the presidency of the governor, formally ratify and adopt the arrangements as to the business of the coming week which its members had decided upon at their cabinet meetings. it is to be hoped that, in these days, when we all take an interest in our empire, everybody knows that the executive council is the outward, visible, and recognised form of that impalpable, unrecognised, all-powerful institution, the cabinet, consisting in fact, though not in theory, of the same persons, save that the governor is present when the meeting is of the council, and absent when it is of the cabinet--a difference of less moment than it sounds, seeing that, except in extreme cases, the governor has little to do but listen to what is going to be done. however, forms doubtless have their value, and at any rate they must be observed, so on this monday morning the executive council was to meet as usual, although nobody knew where the cabinet would be that time twenty-four hours. lady eynesford, who wanted her husband to drive her out, thought the meeting under the circumstances mere nonsense--which it very likely was--and said so, which betrayed inexperience, and alicia derosne asked what time it took place.
-"eleven sharp," said the governor, and returned to the account of the murder.
-time after time in the last few days alicia had told herself that she could bear it no longer. at one moment she believed nothing, the next, nothing was too terrible for her to believe; now she would fly to australia, or home, or anywhere out of new lindsey; now a straightforward challenge to medland alone would serve her turn. sometimes she felt as if she could put the whole thing on one side; five minutes later found her pinning her whole life on the issue of it. under her guarded face and calm demeanour, the storm of divided and conflicting instincts and passions raged, and long solitary rambles became a necessary outlet for what she dared show to none. she shrank from seeing medland, and yet longed to speak with him; she felt that to mention the topic to him was impossible, and yet, if they met, inevitable; that she would not have strength to face him, and yet could not let him go without clearing up the mystery. she told herself at one moment that she hardly knew him, at the next that between them nothing could be too secret for utterance.
-what she hoped and feared befell her that morning. she went out for a walk in the park, and before long she met the premier, with his daughter and norburn. the two last were laughing and talking--their quarrel was quite forgotten now--and medland himself, she thought, looked as though his load of care were a little less heavy. the two men explained that they were on their way--a roundabout way, they confessed--to the council, and had seized the chance of some fresh air, while daisy was full of stories about yesterday's triumph, that left room only for a passing reference to yesterday's tragedy.
-"i didn't like him at all," she said; "but still it's dreadful--a man one knew ever so slightly!"
-alicia agreed, and the next instant she found herself practically alone with medland; for daisy ran off to pick a wild-flower that caught her eye in the wood, and norburn followed her. not knowing whether to be glad or sorry, she made no effort to escape, and was silent while medland began to speak of his prospects in that evening's division.
-suddenly she paused in her walk and lifted her eyes to his.
-"you look happier," she said.
-medland's conscience smote him: he was looking happier because the man was dead.
-"it's at the prospect of being a free man to-morrow," he answered, with a smile. "you know, cincinnatus was very happy."
-"but you're not like that."
-"no, i suppose not. say it's----"
-after a pause she made another attempt.
-"you've been very good to me--yes, very good."
-he turned to her with a gesture of disclaimer. she thought he was going to speak, but he did not.
-"whatever happens, i shall always remember that with--with deep gratitude."
-"what is going to happen?" he asked, with an uneasy smile.
-"oh, how can i?" she burst out. "how can i say it? how can i ask you?"
-as she spoke she stopped, and he followed her example. they stood facing one another now, as he replied gravely,
-"whatever you ask--let it be what it will--i will answer, truthfully." a pause before the last word perhaps betrayed a momentary struggle.
-"what right have i? why should you?"
-"the right my--my desire to have your regard gives you. how can i ask for that, unless i am ready to tell you all you can wish to know?"
-"i have heard," she began falteringly, "i have been told by--by people who, i suppose, were right to tell me----"
-in a moment he understood her. a slight twitch of his mouth betrayed his trouble, but he came to her rescue.
-"i don't know how it reached you," he said. "perhaps i think you might have been--you need not have known it. but there is only one thing you can have heard, that it would distress you to speak of."
-she said nothing, but fixed her eyes on his.
-"i am right?" he asked. "it is about--my wife?"
-she bowed her head. he stood silent for a moment, and she cried,
-"it was only gossip--a woman's gossip; i did wrong to listen to it."
-"gossip," he said, "is often true. this is true," and he set his lips.
-the worst often finds or makes people calm. she had flushed at first, but the colour went again, and she said quietly,
-"if you have time and don't mind, i should like to hear it all."
-she had forgotten what this request must mean to him, or perhaps she thought the time for pretence had gone by. if so, he understood, for he answered,
-"it's your right."
-her eyes sank to the ground, but she did not quarrel with his words. she stood motionless while he told his story. he spoke with wilful brevity and dryness.
-"i was a young man when i met her. she was married, and i went to the house. her husband----"
-"did he ill-treat her?"
-"no. in his way, i suppose he was fond of her. but--she didn't like his way. she was very beautiful, and i fell in love with her, and she with me. and we ran away."
-"is--is that all? is there no----?"
-"no excuse? no, i suppose, none. and i lived with her till she died four years ago. and--daisy is our daughter."
-"and he--the husband?"
-"he did not divorce her. i don't know why not, perhaps because she asked him to--anyhow he didn't. and he outlived her: so she died--as she had lived."
-"and is he still alive?"
-"no; he is dead now." he was about to go on, but checked himself. why add that horror? how the man died was nothing between her and him.
-"have you no--nothing to say?" she burst out, almost angrily. "you just tell me that and stop!"
-"what is there to say? i have told you all there is to tell. i loved her very much. i did what i could to make her happy, and i try to make up for it to daisy. but there is nothing more to say."
-she was angry that he would not defend himself. she was ready--ah, so ready!--to listen to his pleading. but he would not say a word for himself. instead, he went on,
-"she didn't want to come, but i made her. she repented, poor girl, all her life; she was never quite happy. it was all my doing. still, i think she was happier with me, in spite of it."
-a movement of impatience escaped from alicia. seeing it he added,
-"i beg your pardon. i didn't want you to think hardly of her."
-"i don't want to think of her at all. was she--was she like daisy?"
-"yes; but prettier."
-"i don't know what you expect me to say," she exclaimed. "i know--i suppose some men don't think much of--of a thing like that. to me it is horrible. you simply followed your-- ah, i can't speak of it!" and she seemed to put him from her with a gesture of disgust.
-he walked beside her in silence, his face set in the bitter smile it always wore when fate dealt hardly with him.
-"i think i'll go straight home," she said, stopping suddenly. "you can join the others."
-"yes, that will be best. i'm not due at the council just yet."
-"i suppose i ought to thank you for telling me the truth. i--" her false composure suddenly gave way. with a sob she stretched out her hands towards him, crying, "why didn't you tell me sooner?" and before he could answer her she turned and walked swiftly away, leaving him standing still on the pathway.
-she was hardly inside the gates of government house when she saw eleanor scaife, who hurried to meet her.
-"only think, alicia!" she cried. "dick is on his way home, and with such good news. we've just had a cable from him."
-"yes. he's engaged! he met the grangers on their tour round the world--you know them, the great cotton people?--at sydney, and he's engaged to the youngest girl, violet--you remember her? it all happened in a fortnight. mary and lord eynesford are delighted. it's just perfect. she's very pretty, and tremendously well off. i do declare, i never thought dick would end so well! what a happy thought it was sending him away! aren't you delighted?"
-"it sounds very nice, doesn't it? i don't think i knew her more than just to speak to."
-"dick'll be here in four days. i've been looking for you to tell you for the last hour. where have you been?"
-"in the park."
-"alone, as usual, you hermit?"
-"well, i met the medlands and mr. norburn, and talked to them for a little while."
-"alicia! but it's no use talking to you. come and find mary."
-"no, eleanor, i'm tired, and--and hot. i'll go to my room."
-"oh, you must come and see her first."
-"she'll be hurt, alicia. she'll think you don't care. come, dear."
-"tell her--tell her i'm coming directly. eleanor, you must let me go," and breaking away she fled into the house.
-eleanor went alone to seek lady eynesford. somehow alicia's words had quenched her high spirits for the moment.
-"poor child! i do hope she hasn't been foolish," she mused. "surely after what mary told her--! oh dear, i'm afraid it isn't all as happy as it is about dick!"
-and then she indulged in some very cynical meditations on the advantages of being a person of shallow emotions and changeful fancies, until she was roused by the sight of medland and norburn walking up to the house, to attend the executive council. from the window she closely watched the premier as he approached; her mood wavered to and fro, but at last she summed up her impressions by remarking,
-"well, i suppose one might."
-the story of a photograph.
-mr. coxon may be forgiven for being, on this same important monday, in a state of some nervous excitement. he had a severe attack of what are vulgarly called "the fidgets," and sir john, who was spending the morning at the club (for his court was not sitting), glanced at him over his eye-glasses with an irritated look. the ex-attorney-general would not sit still, but flitted continually from window to table, and back from table to window, taking up and putting down journal after journal. much depended, in mr. coxon's view, on the event of that day, for sir john spoke openly of his approaching retirement, and an appointment sometimes thought worthy of a premier's acceptance might be in coxon's grasp before many weeks were past, if only medland and his noxious idea of getting a first-class man out from england could be swept together into limbo.
-"what's the betting about to-night?" asked the chief justice, as in one of his restless turns the brooding politician passed near.
-"we reckon to beat him by five," answered coxon.
-"unless any of your men turn tail, that is? i hear fenton's very wobbly--says he daren't show his face in the north-east ward if he throws medland over."
-"oh, he's all right."
-"been promised something?"
-"you might allow some of us to have consciences, chief justice," said coxon, with an attempt at geniality.
-"oh, some of you, yes. but i'll pick my men, please," remarked sir john, with a pleasant smile. "perry's got a conscience, and kilshaw--well, kilshaw's got a gadfly that does instead, and of course, coxon, i add you to the list."
-"much obliged for your testimonial," said coxon sourly.
-"i add any man i'm talking to, to the list," continued the chief justice. "i expect him to do the same by me. but, honestly, i add you even in your absence. you're not a man who puts party ties above everything."
-mr. coxon darted a suspicious glance at the head of his profession, but the chief justice's air was blandly innocent.
-"my party's my party," he remarked, "just so long as it carries out my principles. i don't say either party does it perfectly."
-"i dare say not; but of course you're right to act with the one that does most for you."
-again the chief justice had hit on a somewhat ambiguous expression. coxon detected a grin on the face of captain heseltine, who was sitting near, but he could not hold sir john's grave face guilty of the captain's grin.
-"i see," remarked the captain, perhaps in order to cover the retreat of his grin, "that they've discharged the woman who was arrested last night for the murder."
-"really no evidence against her," said the chief justice. "but, heseltine, wasn't this man benham the fellow medland had a sort of shindy with at that flower-show?"
-"yes, he was. kilshaw seemed to know all about him."
-"he was talking to miss medland."
-"and the premier had her away from him in no time. queer start, sir john?"
-"oh, well, he seems to have been a loose fellow, and i suppose was murdered for the money he had on him. but i mustn't talk about it. i may have to try it."
-"gad! you'll be committing contempt of yourself," suggested the captain.
-"like that snake that swallows itself, eh?"
-"what snake?" asked the captain, with interest.
-"the snake in the story," answered the chief justice; and he added in an undertone--"why can't that fellow sit still?"
-mr. coxon had wandered to the window again, and was thrumming on the panes. he turned on hearing some one enter. it was sir robert perry.
-"well," he began, "i bring news of the event of the day."
-"about to-night?" asked coxon eagerly.
-"to-night! that's not the event of the day. ministers are a deal commoner than murders. no, last night."
-coxon turned away disappointed.
-"the murder!" exclaimed the captain.
-"don't talk to me about it, perry," the chief justice requested, opening a paper in front of his face. he did not, however, withdraw out of earshot.
-"they've got a sort of a clue. a wretched hobbledehoy of a fellow, something in the bookseller's shop at the corner of kettle street, has come with a rigmarole about a society that he and a few more belonged to, including this françois gaspard, who is missing. he protests that the thing was legal, and all that--only a radical inner ring--but he says that at the last meeting this fellow was dropping hints about putting somebody out of the way. dyer--that's the lad's name--swears the rest of them disowned him and said they'd have nothing to do with it, and hoped he'd given up the idea."
-"i suppose he's in a blue funk?" asked the captain.
-"he is no doubt alarmed," said sir robert. "he gave the police the names of the rest of their precious society, and, oddly enough, ned evans, of the house--you know him, coxon?--was one."
-"heard such an awful lot of debates, poor chap," observed captain heseltine.
-"well, they went to evans' and collared him. for a time he stuck out that he knew nothing about it, but they threatened him with heaven knows what, and at last he confessed to having seen this gaspard in company with the murdered man in digby square a little before twelve on the night."
-"by jove! that's awkward!" said the captain.
-coxon showed more interest now, and remarked,
-"why, gaspard was one of medland's organisers. i saw him with both medland and norburn on saturday."
-"i don't suppose they were planning to murder this benham. indeed, i don't see that the thing can have been political at all. what did it matter whether benham lived or died?"
-"i don't see that it did, except to benham," assented the captain. "but what's become of gaspard?"
-"ah, that they don't know. he's supposed to have taken ship, and they've cabled to search all ships that left the port that morning."
-"he'll find the man in blue--or the local equivalent--on the wharf," said the captain. "rather a jar that, sir robert, when you're in from a voyage. what are they doing now?"
-"well, the superintendent said they were going to have a thorough search through the dead man's lodgings, to see if they could find out anything about him which would throw light on the motive. the police don't think much of the political theory of the crime."
-"dashed nonsense, i should think," said the captain, and he sauntered off to play billiards.
-"that young man," said the chief justice, "is really not a fool, though he does his best to look like one."
-"that queer conduct seems to me rather common in young men at home. i noticed it when i was over."
-"is it meant to imply independent means?"
-"i dare say that idea may be dormant under it somewhere. my wife says the girls like it."
-"then your wife, perry, is a traitor to her sex to make such confessions. besides, they didn't in my time."
-"come, you know, you're a forlorn bachelor. what can you know about it?"
-"bachelors, perry, are the men who know. which gathers most knowledge from a vivisection, the attentive student or the writhing frog?"
-"the operator, most of all."
-"and that's the woman. therefore, oakapple, you're wrong and my wife's right."
-"the deuce!" said the chief justice. "i wonder how i ever got any briefs."
-in the afternoon, when these idlers had one and all set out for the legislative assembly, some to work, others still to idle, mr. kilshaw felt interest enough in the fate of his late henchman to drop in at the police office on his way to the same destination. he was well known, and no one objected to his walking in and making for the door of the superintendent's room. an officer to whom he spoke told him that ned evans was in custody, and that it was rumoured that some startling discoveries had been made at benham's lodgings.
-"indeed, sir," said the man, "i believe the superintendent wished to see you."
-"ah, i dare say," said kilshaw. "tell him i'm here."
-when he was ushered into the inner room, the superintendent confirmed the officer's surmise.
-"i was going to send a message to ask you to step round, sir," he remarked.
-"here i am, but don't be long. i don't want to miss the premier's speech."
-"mr. medland speaking to-day?"
-"of course. it's a great day with us at the house."
-"i think it looks like being a great day all round. well, mr. kilshaw, you told me you knew the deceased."
-"yes, i knew benham."
-"benyon," corrected the superintendent.
-"yes, that was his real name," assented kilshaw.
-"at his lodgings there was found a packet. that's the wrapper," and he handed a piece of brown paper to kilshaw.
-"in case," kilshaw read, "of my death or disappearance, please deliver this parcel to mr. kilshaw, legislative assembly, kirton."
-"i'm sorry to say, sir," said the superintendent, "that the detective sergeant conducting the search took upon him to open this packet in the presence of one or two persons. it ought to have been opened by no one but----"
-"pardon me, but myself," said the superintendent, with a slight smile. "owing to the inexcusable blunder, i'm afraid something about what it contains may leak out prematurely. those pests, the reporters, are everywhere; you can't keep 'em out."
-"well, what does it contain?" asked kilshaw. he was annoyed at this unsought publicity, but he saw at once that he must show no sign of vexation.
-"that, for one thing," and the superintendent handed kilshaw a photograph of two persons, a young woman and a young man. "look at the back," he added.
-kilshaw looked, and read--"my wife and m."
-"that's the deceased's handwriting?"
-"and you know the persons?"
-"i've no doubt about them. it's the premier--and--and mrs. medland."
-"exactly. now read this," and he gave him the copy of a certificate of marriage between george benyon and margaret aspland.
-"quite so," nodded kilshaw.
-kilshaw took the slip of newspaper, old and yellow. it contained a few lines, briefly recording that mrs. benyon had left her home secretly by night, in her husband's absence, and could not be found.
-kilshaw nodded again.
-"it doesn't surprise me," he said. "i knew all this. i was in mr. benyon's confidence."
-"perhaps you can tell us how he lived?" hazarded the superintendent, with a shrewd look.
-mr. kilshaw looked doubtful.
-"the inquest is fixed for to-morrow. the more we know now, the less it will be necessary to protract it."
-"i have been helping him lately," admitted kilshaw; and he added, "look here, superintendent, i don't want that more talked about than necessary."
-"you needn't say a word to me now unless you like, sir; but i only want to make things as comfortable as i can. you see, the coroner is bound to look into it a bit. had you given him money lately?"
-kilshaw leant forward and answered, almost in a whisper,
-"five hundred on friday night," and in spite of himself he avoided the superintendent's shrewd eye. but that officer's business was not to pass moral judgments. law is one thing, morality another.
-"then the thing's as plain as a pikestaff. this gaspard got to know about the money, and murdered him to get it. we needn't look further for a motive."
-"i suppose all this will have to come out? i wonder if gaspard knew who benham was?"
-"it's not necessary to suppose that, unless we believe all evans says. certainly, if we trust evans, gaspard hinted designs on some one before he could have known benyon had this money. could he have known he was going to have it?"
-"benyon may have told him i had promised to help him."
-"well, sir, we must see about that. we shall want you at the inquest, sir."
-"i suppose you will, confound you! and i should think you'd want a greater man than i am, too."
-the superintendent looked grave.
-"i am going up to try and see the premier at the house to-day," he said. "i think we shall have to trouble him. you see, he knew gaspard as well as the deceased."
-"i'll give you a lift. you can keep out of the way till he's at leisure."
-at this moment one of the police entered, and handed the superintendent a copy of the evening mail.
-"it's as you feared, sir," he remarked as he went out.
-the superintendent opened the paper, looked at it for an instant, and then indicated a passage with his forefinger.
-"it is rumoured," read mr. kilshaw, "that certain very startling facts have come to light regarding the identity of the deceased man benham, and that the name of a very prominent politician, now holding an exalted office, is likely to be introduced into the case. as the matter will be public property to-morrow, we may be allowed to state that trustworthy reports point to the fact of the premier being in a position to give some important information as to the past life of the deceased. it is said that a photograph of two persons, one of whom is mr. medland, has been discovered among the papers at mr. benham's (or we should say benyon's) lodgings. further developments of this strange affair will be awaited with interest."
-"i wish," commented the superintendent grimly, "that my men could keep a secret as well as their man can sniff one out."
-but mr. kilshaw was too excited to listen.
-"by jove," he cried, "the news'll be at the house by now! come along, man, come along!"
-and, as they went, they read the rest; for the paper had it all--even a copy of that marriage certificate.
-an orator's rival.
-the house was crowded, and every gallery full. lady eynesford and eleanor scaife, attended by captain heseltine, occupied their appointed seats; the members of the legislative council overflowed from their proper pen and mingled with humbler folk in the public galleries; reporters wrote furiously, and an endless line of boys bearing their slips came and went. the great hour had arrived: the battle-field was reached at last. sir robert perry sat and smiled; puttock played with the hair chain that wandered across his broad waistcoat; coxon restlessly bit his nails; norburn's face was pale with excitement, and he twisted his hands in his lap; the determined partisans cheered or groaned; the waverers looked important and felt unhappy; all eyes were steadily fixed on the premier, and all ears intent on his words.
-for the moment he had forgotten everything but the fight he was fighting. no thought of the wretched benham, who lay dead, no thought of his daughter, who watched him as he spoke, no thought of alicia derosne, who stayed away that she might not see him, crossed his brain now, or turned his ideas from the task before him. it was no ordinary speech, and no ordinary occasion. he spoke only to five men out of all his audience--the rest were his, or were beyond the power of his charm; on those five important-looking, unhappy-feeling men he bent every effort of his will, and played every device of his mind and his tongue. now and then he distantly threatened them, oftener he made as though to convince their cool judgment; again he would invoke the sentiment of old alliance in them, or stir their pity for the men whose cause he pleaded. once he flashed out in bitter mockery at coxon, then jested in mild irony at puttock and his "rich man's revolution." returning to his text, he minutely dissected his own measure, insisting on its promise, extenuating its fancied danger, claiming for it the merits of a courageous and well-conceived scheme. through all the changes that he rang, he was heard with close attention, broken only by demonstrations of approval or of dissent. at last one of his periods extorted a cheer from a waverer. it acted on him as a spur to fresh exertions. he raised his voice till it filled the chamber, and began his last and most elaborate appeal.
-suddenly a change came over his hearers. the breathless silence of engrossed attention gave place to a subdued stir; whispers were heard here and there. men were handing a newspaper about, accompanying its transfer with meaning looks. he was not surprised, for members made no scruple of reading their papers or writing their letters in the house, but he was vexed to see that he had not gripped them closer. he went on, but that ever-circulating paper had half his attention now. he noticed kilshaw come in with it and press it on sir robert's notice. sir robert at first refused, but when kilshaw urged, he read and glanced up at him, so medland thought, with a look of sadness. coxon had got a paper now, and left biting his nails to pore over it; he passed it to puttock, and the fat man bulged his cheeks in seeming wonder. even his waverer, the one who had cheered, was deep in it. only norburn was unconscious of it. and, when they had read, they all looked at him again, not as they had looked before, but, it seemed to him, with a curious wonder, half mocking, half pitying, as one looks at a man who does not know the thing that touches him most nearly. he glanced up at the galleries: there too was the ubiquitous sheet; the chief justice and the president of the legislative council were cheek by jowl over it, and it fell lightly from lady eynesford's slim fingers, to be caught at eagerly by eleanor scaife.
-"what is it?" he whispered impatiently to norburn; but his absorbed disciple only bewilderedly murmured "what?" and the premier could not pause to tell him.
-now followed what sir robert maintained was the greatest feat of oratory he had ever witnessed. gathering his wandering wits together, medland plunged again whole-heartedly into his speech, and slowly, gradually, almost, it seemed, step by step and man by man, he won back the thoughts of his audience. he wrestled with that strange paper rival and overthrew it. man after man dropped it; its course was stayed; it fell underfoot or fluttered idly down the gangways. the nods ceased, the whispers were hushed, the stir fell and rose no more. once again he had them, and, inspired by that knowledge, the surest spur of eloquence, there rang from his lips the last burning words, the picture of the vision that ruled his life, the hope for the days that he might not see.
-"believe!" he cried, in passionate entreaty, "believe, and your sons shall surely see!"
-he sank in his seat, and the last echo of his resonant voice died away. first came silence, and then a thunder of applause. men stood up and waved what they had in their hands, hats or handkerchiefs or papers; women sat with their eyes still on him, or, with a gasp, leant back and closed their lids. he sat with his head sunk on his breast, till the tumult died away. no one rose. the speaker looked round once and again. could it be that no one----? slowly he began to rise. the movement caught sir robert's attention: he signed to puttock, who sprang heavily to his feet. puttock was no favourite as a speaker, and generally his rising was a signal for the house to thin. he began his speech with his stolid deliberation. not a man stirred. they waited for something still.
-"and now," whispered medland to the treasurer, who sat by him, "let's see what it was in that infernal paper."
-the treasurer handed him what he asked.
-"you ought to see it," he whispered back.
-mr. puttock's voice droned on, and his sheaf of notes rustled in his hand. no one looked at him or listened to him. their eyes were still on medland. the premier read--it seemed so slowly--put the paper down, and gazed first up at the ceiling; then he glanced round, and found all the attentive eyes on him: he smiled--it was just a visible smile, no more--and his head fell again on his breast, while his hand idly twisted a button on his coat.
-the show was over, or had never come, and the deferred rush to the doors began. they almost tumbled over one another now in their haste to reach where their tongues could play freely. kilshaw and perry, the treasurer and the waverers, all slipped out, and norburn, knowing nothing but simply wearied of puttock, followed them. scarce twenty were left in the house, and the galleries had poured half their contents into the great room which served for a lobby outside. there the talk ran swift and eager. the very name of "benyon" was enough for many, who remembered that it had always been said to be the maiden name of medland's wife. could any one doubt who the other person in that strangely revealed photograph was, or fail to guess the relation between the man they had been listening to and the man who was dead? a few had known benyon, more gaspard, all medland--the three figures of this drama; many remembered the fourth, the central character, who had not tarried for the end of it: the man was rare who did not spend a thought on the bright girl, whose face was so familiar in these walls, and who must be dragged into it. where was she? asked one. she was gone. norburn, with rapid instinct, as soon as he had read, had run to her and forced her to go home. he was back from escorting her now, and walked up and down with hands behind him, speaking to no one among all the busily babbling throng.
-the waverers stood in a little group by themselves, talking earnestly in undertones, while men wondered whether the paper would undo what the speech had done, and whether the premier's words had won a victory, only for his deeds to leap to light and rob it from him again.
-inside, the debate lagged on, surely the dullest, emptiest, most neglected debate that had ever decided the fate of a government. the men who had been set down to speak came in and spoke and went out again; a house was kept, but with little to spare. sir robert went in and took his place, opposite medland, who never stirred through all the hours. presently sir robert wrote a note, twisted it, and flung it to the premier. "a splendid performance of yours, mes compliments," it said, and, when medland looked across to acknowledge it, sir robert smiled kindly, and nodded his silver head, and the premier answered him with a glad gleam in his deep-set eyes. these two men, who were always fighting, knew one another, and liked one another for what they knew. and this little episode done, sir robert rose and pricked and pinked the premier's points, making sharp fun of his heroics, and weightily criticising his proposals. now the house did fill a little, for after all the debate was important, and the hour of the division drew near; and when the question was put and the bell rang, nearly half the house trooped out with virtuous air to join the other half, persistently gossiping in the lobby, and, with them, decide the fateful question.
-one more strange thing was to happen at that sitting.
-it was not strange that the government were beaten by three votes, that only one of those wavering men voted with his old party at last, but it was strange that when this result was announced, and medland's followers settled sturdily in their seats to endure the celebration of the triumph, the celebration did not come. there was hardly a cheer, and medland himself, whom the result seemed hardly to have roused, woke with a start to the unwonted silence. it struck to his heart: it seemed like a tribute of respect to a dead enemy. but he rose and briefly said that on the next day an announcement of the government's intentions would be made by himself--he paused here a moment--or one of his colleagues. he sat down again. the sitting was at an end, and the house adjourned. members began to go out, but, as the premier rose, they drew back and left a path for him down the middle of the house. as he went, one or two thrust out their hands to him, and one honest fellow shouted in his rough voice--he was a labouring-man member--"you're not done yet, jimmy!"
-the shout touched him, he lifted his head, looked round with a smile, and, just raising again the hat he had put on as he neared the door, took norburn's arm and passed out of the house.
-when sir robert followed, he found the chief justice waiting for him, and they walked off together. for a long while neither spoke, but at last sir robert said peevishly,
-"i wish this confounded thing hadn't happened. it spoils our win."
-the chief justice nodded, and whistled a bar or two of some sad ditty.
-"i'm glad she's dead, poor soul, perry," he said.
-"there's the girl," said sir robert.
-"ay, there's the girl."
-they did not speak again till they were just parting, when the chief justice broke out,
-"why the deuce couldn't the fellow take his beastly photograph with him?"
-"it's very absurd," answered sir robert, "but i feel just the same about it."
-"i'm hanged if you're not a gentleman, perry," said the chief justice, and he hastened away, blowing his nose.
-three against the world.
-though the house had risen early that evening, the central club sat very late. the smoking-room was crowded, and tongues wagged briskly. every man had a hare to hunt; no one lacked irrefragable arguments to prove what must happen; no one knew exactly what was going to happen. the elder men gathered round puttock and jewell, and listened to a demonstration that the premier's public life was at an end; the younger rallied coxon, whose premature stateliness sometimes invited this treatment, dubbing him "kingmaker coxon," and hilariously repudiating the idea that he did not enjoy the title. captain heseltine dropped in about eleven; cross-questioning drew from him the news that communications had passed, informal communications, he insisted, from the governor to sir robert, as well as to the premier.
-"in fact," he said, "poor old flemyng's cutting up and down all over the place. glad it's his night on duty."
-presently mr. flemyng himself appeared, clamorous for cigars and drink, but mighty discreet and vexatiously reticent. yes, he had taken a letter to medland; yes, and another to perry; no, he had no idea what the missives were about. he believed medland was to see the governor to-morrow, but it was beyond him to conjecture the precise object of the interview. was it resignation or dissolution? really, he knew no more than that waiter--and so forth; very likely his ignorance was real, but he diffused an atmosphere of suppressed knowledge which whetted the curiosity of his audience to the sharpest edge.
-a messenger entered and delivered a note to puttock and another to coxon. the two compared their notes for a moment, and went out together. the arguments rose furiously again, some maintaining that medland must disappear altogether, others vehemently denying it, a third party preferring to await the disclosures at the inquest before committing themselves to an opinion. an hour passed; the noise in the streets began to abate, and the clock of the roman catholic cathedral hard by struck twelve. captain heseltine yawned, stretched, and rose to his feet.
-"come along, flemyng," he said. "the show's over for to-night."
-he seemed to express the general feeling, but men were reluctant to acknowledge so disappointing a conclusion, and the preparations for departure were slow and lingering. they had not fairly begun before mr. kilshaw's entrance abruptly checked them. instantly he became the centre of a crowd.
-"now, kilshaw," they cried, "you know all about it. oh, come now! of course you do! secret? nonsense! out with it!" and one or two of his intimates added imploringly, "don't be an ass, kilshaw."
-kilshaw flung himself into a chair.
-"they resign," he said.
-"yes. perry's to be sent for. medland, i'm told, insists on going. for my own part, i think he's right."
-"of course," said somebody sapiently, "he doesn't want to dissolve with this affair hanging over him."
-"it comes to the same thing," observed kilshaw. "perry will dissolve; the governor has promised to do it, if he likes."
-"yes," nodded kilshaw. "you see--" he paused and added, "our present position isn't very independent."
-everybody understood what he hinted. sir robert did not care to depend on the will of coxon and his seceders.
-"and what about coxon and puttock?" was the next question.
-"haven't i been indiscreet enough?"
-"well, what are you going to do yourself?"
-"my duty," answered mr. kilshaw, with a smile, and the throng, failing to extract any more from him, did at last set about the task of getting home to bed in good earnest.
-they could rest sooner than the man who occupied so much of their interest. it had been a busy evening for the defeated minister; he had colleagues to see, letters to write, messages to send, conferences to hold. no doubt there was much to do, and yet norburn, who watched him closely, doubted whether he did not make work for himself, perhaps as a means of distraction, perhaps as a device for postponing an interview with his daughter. he had seen her for a minute when he came in, and told her he would tell her all there was to tell some time that night; but the moment for it was slow in coming. norburn had been struck with daisy's composure. she had seen the evening mail, and, without attempting to discuss the matter with him, she expressed her conviction that there could be nothing distressing behind the mysterious paragraph. norburn did not know what to say to her. he felt that in a case of this sort a girl's mind was a closed book to him. he had himself, on the way back from the house, heard a brief account of the whole matter from the premier's lips; it seemed to him, in the light of his ideas and theories, a matter of very little moment. he was of course aware how widely the judgment of many would differ from his, and when his mind was directed to the political aspect of the situation, he acknowledged the gravity of the disclosure. but honestly he could not pretend to think it a thing which should alter or lessen the esteem or love in which medland's friends held him. and even if the original act were seriously worthy of blame, the lapse of years made present severity as unreasonable as it would be unkind. in vain medland reminded him that, let the act be as old and long past as it would, the consequences remained.
-"what!" norburn cried, "would any one think the worse of daisy? the more fools they!" and he laughed cheerfully, adding, "i only wish she'd let me show her i think none the worse of her. why, it's preposterous, sir!"
-"preposterous or not," answered medland, "half the people in the place will let her know the difference. i may agree with you--god knows how i should like to be able to!--but there's no blinking the fact. well, i must tell her."
-he recollected telling the same story to the other woman he loved, and he shrank in sudden dread, lest his daughter should say what alicia had said, "to me it is--horrible!" the words echoed in his brain. "ah, i can't speak of it," she had cried, and the gesture of her hand as she repelled him lived before his eyes again. surely daisy would not do that to him!
-"i should be like lear--without a grievance," he said to himself, with a wry smile. "the very height of tragedy!"
-it was near midnight before he put away his work. norburn had left him alone two hours before, and he rose now, laid down his pipe, and went to look for his daughter in her little sitting-room. his heart was very heavy; he must make her understand now why a man who made love to her should be hastily sent away by his friends, what her father had condemned her to, what manner of man he was; he must seem to destroy or impair the perfect sweetness of memory wherein she held her mother.
-he opened the door softly. she was sitting in a large armchair, over a little bit of bright fire; save for gleams suddenly coming and going, as a coal blazed and died down again, the room was in darkness. he walked up to her and knelt by the chair, his head almost on a level with hers.
-"well, daisy, what are you doing?"
-she put out a hand and laid it on his with a gentle pressure.
-"i'm thinking," she said. "do you want a light?"
-"no, i like it dark best--best for what i have to say."
-suddenly she threw her arms round his neck, drawing him to her and kissing his face.
-"i'd do the same if you'd killed him yourself," she whispered in the extravagance of her love, and kissed him again.
-"but, daisy, you don't know."
-"yes, i do. he told me. he's been here."
-"jack norburn. he said you would hate telling me, so he did. you mustn't mind, dear, you mustn't mind. oh, you didn't think it would make any difference to me, dear, did you? what do i care? mrs. puttock may care, and lady eynesford, and all the rest, but what do i care if i have you and him?"
-"me and him, daisy?"
-"yes," she answered, smiling boldly. "he's asked me to marry him--just to show he didn't mind--and i think i will, father. we three against the world! what need we care? father, we'll beat sir robert!" and she seized his two hands and laughed.
-in vain medland tried to tell her what he had come to say. mighty as his relief and joy were, he still felt a burden lay on him. she would not hear.
-"don't you see i'm happy?" she cried. "it can't be your duty to make me unhappy. jack doesn't mind, i don't mind!" her voice sank a little and she added, "it can't hurt mother now. oh, don't be unhappy about it, dear--don't, don't!"
-they were standing now, and his arm was about her. looking up at him, she went on,
-"they shan't beat us! they shan't say they beat us. we three, father!"
-he stooped and kissed her. there is love that lies beyond the realm of giving or taking, of harm or good, of wrong, or even of forgiveness. with all his faults, this love he had won from his daughter, and it stood him in stead that night. he drew himself up to his height, and the air of despondency fell from him. the girl's brave love braced him to meet the world again.
-"no, by jove, we're not beat yet, daisy!" he said, and she kissed him again and laughed softly as she made him sit, and herself sat upon his knee.
-the truth too late.
-"the lady," he said, "is mrs. benyon. the other figure is that of myself. i had not seen the deceased for many years."
-"you were not on terms with him?" asked the coroner, who, in common with half the listeners, had known the lady as mrs. medland.
-"no," said mr. medland; "i lost sight of him."
-"you did not hear from--from any one about him?"
-he gave the dates when he had last seen benyon in old days. asked whether he had communicated with him between that date and the dead man's reappearance, he answered,
-"once, about four years ago. i wrote to tell him of that lady's death," and he pointed again to the picture, and went on to tell the details of benyon's subsequent application to him for a post under government.
-"you refused it?" he was asked.
-"yes, i refused it. i spoke to him once again, when we met on a social occasion. we had a sort of dispute then. i never saw him again to speak to."
-"it was all done," said mr. duncombe, describing the scene, "in a repressed way that was very effective--to a house that knew the circumstances most effective. and the other fellow--kilshaw--he gave some sport too. the coroner (they told me he was one of medland's men, and i noticed he spared medland all he could) was inclined to be a bit down on kilshaw. kilshaw was cool and handy in his answers, but, lord love you! his game came out pretty plain. a monkey! you don't give a man a monkey unless there's value received! so people saw, and mr. kilshaw looked a bit uncomfortable when he caught medland's eye. he looked at him like that," and mr. duncombe assumed the finest wronged-hero glance in his repertory.
-"oh, come, old chap, i bet he didn't," observed captain heseltine. "we've seen him, you know."
-duncombe laughed good-humouredly.
-"at any rate he made kilshaw look a little green, and some of the people behind called out 'shame!' and got themselves sat upon. then they had medland up again and twisted him a bit about his acquaintance with gaspard; but the coroner didn't seem to think there was anything in it, and they found murder against gaspard, and rang down the curtain. and when we got outside there was a bit of a rumpus. they hooted kilshaw and cheered medland, and yelled like mad when a dashed pretty girl drove up in a pony-cart and carried him off. altogether it wasn't half bad."
-"glad you enjoyed yourself," observed captain heseltine. "if it amuses strangers to see our leading celebrities mixed up in a murder and other distressing affairs, it's the least we can do to see that they get it."
-the captain's facetiousness fell on unappreciative ears. most of mr. duncombe's audience were too alive to the serious side of the matter to enjoy it. to them it was another and a very striking scene in the fight which had long gone on between medland and kilshaw, and had taken a fresh and fiercer impetus from the well-remembered day when medland had spoken his words about kilshaw and his race-horses. nobody doubted that kilshaw had kept this man benyon, or benham, as a secret weapon, and that the murder had only made the disclosure come earlier. kilshaw's reputation suffered somewhat in the minds of the scrupulous, but his partisans would hear of no condemnation. they said, as he had said, that in dealing with a man like medland it would have been folly not to use the weapons fate, or the foe himself by his own misdeeds, offered. as for the disapprobation of the kirton mob, they held that in high scorn.
-"they'd cheer burglary, if medland did it," said one.
-"well, he wants to, pretty nearly," added a capitalist.
-"but the country will take a very different view. puttock'll rub it into all his people: they'll not vote for him. what do you say, coxon?"
-"i think we shall beat him badly," said that gentleman, as he rose and went out.
-captain heseltine soon followed, and was surprised to see coxon's figure just ahead of him as he entered the gates of government house.
-"hang the fellow! what does he want here?" asked the captain.
-mr. coxon asked for lady eynesford. when he entered, she rose with a newspaper in her hand.
-"what a shocking, shameful thing this is!" she said. "what a blessing it is that the government was beaten!"
-coxon acquiesced in both these opinions.
-"i never thought well of him," continued the lady. "now everybody sees him in his true colours. and it's you we have chiefly to thank for our deliverance."
-coxon murmured a modest depreciation of his services, and said,
-"i hope miss derosne is well?"
-something in his tones brought to his hostess one of those swift fits of repentance that were apt to wait for her whenever she allowed herself to treat this visitor with friendliness. he was so very prompt in responding!
-"she is not very well," she answered, rather coldly.
-"i--i hope i shall have the pleasure of seeing her?"
-mr. coxon's wishes were fulfilled to the moment. the door opened and alicia came in. on seeing him she stopped.
-"come in, alicia," said lady eynesford. "here's mr. coxon come to be congratulated."
-coxon stood up with a propitiatory smile.
-"how do you do, mr. coxon?" said alicia, giving him a limp hand. "shall i ring for tea, mary?"
-"they'll bring it. you haven't wished him joy."
-"oh, are you in the new ministry?"
-"i have that honour, miss derosne. i hope you are on our side?"
-"i don't quite know which side you are on--now," observed alicia, in slow but distinct tones.
-coxon grew red.
-"i--i have joined sir robert perry's ministry," he answered.
-"of course he has, alicia," interposed lady eynesford hastily.
-alicia seated herself on the sofa, remarking as she did so,
-"well, you do change a good deal, don't you?"
-"really, miss derosne," he stammered, "i don't understand you."
-"oh, i only mean that you were first with sir robert, then with mr. medland, and now with sir robert again! and presently with mr. medland again, i suppose?"
-"she doesn't appreciate the political reasons," began lady eynesford, with troubled brow and smiling lips; but coxon, frowning angrily, broke in,
-"not the last, i promise you, anyhow, miss derosne."
-"what, you think he's finally beaten then?"
-"that's not the question. beaten or not, he is discredited, and no respectable man would act with him."
-"we needn't discuss--" began lady eynesford again, but this time alicia was the interrupter. she spoke in a cold, hard way, very unlike her own.
-"if he won, you would all be at his feet."
-coxon was justified in being angry at her almost savage scorn of him; regardless of anything except his wrong, he struck back the sharpest blow he could.
-"i know some people are very ready to be at his feet," he said, with a sneering smile.
-his shaft hit the mark. alicia flushed and sat speechless. a glance at lady eynesford's face told him the scene had lasted too long: he rose and took his leave, paying alicia the homage of a bow, but not seeking her hand. she took no notice of his salute, and lady eynesford only gasped "good-bye."
-the two sat silent for some moments after he had gone; then lady eynesford remarked,
-"were you mad, alicia? see what you laid yourself open to! oh, of course a gentleman wouldn't have said it, but you yourself didn't treat him as if he was a gentleman. really, i can make a great deal of allowance for him. your manner was inexcusable."
-alicia did not attempt to defend herself.
-"you are out of temper," continued her sister-in-law, "and you choose to hit the first person within reach; if you can do that you care nothing for my dignity or your own self-respect. you parade your--your interest in this man----"
-"i shall never speak to him again."
-"i'm glad to hear it, and, if you come into my drawing-room, i will thank you to behave yourself properly and be civil to my guests," and lady eynesford walked out of the room.
-a footstep roused her; she sat up, hurriedly smoothing her hair and clutching at a book that lay on the table by her. the intruder was her brother, and fortunately he was too intent on the tidings he brought to notice her confusion.
-"great news, al!" he cried. "they've offered me ireland. we shall start home in a month."
-"home in a month?" she echoed.
-"yes. splendid, isn't it?"
-"you're pleased, willie?"
-the governor was very pleased. he liked the promotion, he liked going home; and finally, pleasant as his stay in new lindsey had been on the whole, there were features in the present position which made him not sorry to depart.
-"i shall just see the elections through, and perry well started--at least, i suppose it'll be perry--and then we'll be off. shan't you be glad to see the old home again, al?"
-"it's so sudden," she said. "i shall be sorry to leave here."
-"oh, so shall i--very sorry to leave some of the people too. still, it's a good thing. where's eleanor? i must tell her. i say, dick gets here to-morrow."
-"oh, i'm so glad."
-the governor hurried out again, and alicia returned to the sofa. the knot of her troubles had been rudely cut. perhaps this summary ending was best. she herself would not, she knew, have had the strength to tear herself away from that place, but if fate tore her--perhaps well and good. nothing but unhappiness waited there for her; it seemed to her that nothing but unhappiness waited anywhere now; but at least, over at home, she would not have to fear the discovery of her secret, the secret she herself kept so badly, nor to endure the torture of gossip, hints, and clumsy pity. no one, over at home, would think of medland; they might just know his name, might perhaps have heard him rumoured for a dangerous man and a vexatious opponent of good sir robert. certainly they would never think of him as the cause of bruising of heart to a young lady in fashionable society. so he would pass out of her life; she would leave him to his busy, strenuous, happy-unhappy life, so full of triumphs and defeats, of ups and downs, of the love of many and the hate of many. perhaps she, like the rest, would read his name in the times now and then, unless indeed he were utterly vanquished. no, he was not finally beaten. of that she was sure. his name would be read often in cold print, but the glow of the life he lived would be henceforth unknown to her. she would go back to the old world and the old circle of it. what would happen after that she was too listless to think. it was summed up in negations; and these again melted into one great want, the absence of the man to whom her imagination and her heart blindly and obstinately clung.
-lady eynesford had left her newspaper, and alicia found her hand upon it. taking it up, she read medland's evidence at the inquest. a sudden revulsion of feeling seized her. was this the man she was dreaming about, a man who calmly, coolly, as though caring nothing, told that story in the face of all the world? was she never to get rid of the spell he had cast on her before she knew what he really was? for a man like this she had sacrificed her self-respect, bandied insults with a vulgar upstart, and brought on her head a reproach more fitting for an ill-mannered child. she threw the paper from her and rose to her feet. she would think no more of him; he might be what he would; he was no fit subject for her thoughts, and he and the place where he lived and all this wretched country deserved nothing better than to be forgotten, resolutely, utterly, soon.
-"i am very sorry, mary," she was saying, ten minutes later; "i deserved all you said. i don't know what foolishness possessed me. see, i have written and apologised to mr. coxon."
-and lady eynesford kissed her and thanked heaven that they would soon have done with mr. coxon and--all the rest.
-the unclean thing.
-a few days later, mr. dick derosne was walking in the park at noon. he had been down to the club and found no one there. everybody except himself was at work: the politicians were scattered all over the colony, conducting their election campaign. medland himself had gone to his constituency: his seat was very unsafe there, and he was determined to keep it if he could, although, as a precaution, he was also a candidate for the north-east ward of kirton, where his success was beyond doubt. his friends and his foes had followed him out of town, and the few who were left were busy in the capital itself. such men as these when at the club would talk of nothing but the crisis, and, after he had heard all there was to hear about the benyon affair, the crisis began to bore dick. after all, it mattered very little to him; he would be out of it all in a month, and the medlands were not, when he came to think of it, people of great importance. why, the grangers had never heard of them! decidedly, he had had enough and to spare of the medlands.
-nevertheless, he was to have a little more of them, for at this instant he saw daisy medland approaching him. escape was impossible, and dick had the grace to shrink from appearing to avoid her.
-"the deuce!" he thought, "this is awkward. i hope she won't--" he raised his hat with elaborate politeness.
-daisy stopped and greeted him with much effusion and without any embarrassment. dick thought that odd.
-"i was afraid," she said, "we were not going to see you again before you disappeared finally with the governor."
-"yes, thank you. did you have a pleasant trip?"
-"yes, very," he answered, wondering if she knew of his engagement.
-"we missed you very much," she went on.
-"awfully kind of you to say so."
-"you started so suddenly."
-"oh, well--yes, i suppose i did. it just struck me i ought to see australia."
-"how funny!" she exclaimed, with a little laugh.
-"why funny?" asked dick, rather stiffly.
-"i mean that it should strike you just like that. however, it was very lucky, wasn't it?"
-"you mean i----"
-"yes, i mean you--" said daisy, who had no intention of saving dick from any floundering that might befall him. mercy is all very well, but give us justice sometimes.
-"you heard of my--my engagement?"
-"i saw it in the papers. a miss granger, isn't it?"
-"a miss granger!" thought dick. everybody knew the grangers.
-"i'm sure i congratulate you. you lost no time, mr. derosne."
-dick stammered that it was an old acquaintance renewed.
-"oh, then you've been in love with her a long while?" asked daisy, with a curiosity apparently very innocent.
-"not exactly that."
-"then you did fall in love very quickly?"
-"well, i suppose i did," admitted dick, as if he were rather ashamed of himself.
-"oh, i mustn't blame you," said daisy, with a pensive sigh.
-dick, on the look-out for a hint of suppressed suffering, saw what he looked for. she was taking it very well, and it was his duty to say something nice. moreover, daisy medland was looking extremely pretty, and that fact alone, in dick's view, justified and indeed necessitated the saying of something nice. violet granger was leagues away, and a touch of romance could not disquiet or hurt her.
-"indeed i am anxious to hear that you don't," he said, accompanying his remark with a glance of pathetic anxiety.
-"why should i?" she asked.
-this simple question placed dick in a difficulty, and he was glad when she went on without waiting for an answer.
-"indeed i should have no right to. love is sudden and--and beyond our control, isn't it?"
-"and yet," said dick, "a man is bound to consider so many things."
-"i was thinking of a girl's love. she just gives it and thinks of nothing. doesn't she?" and she looked at him with an appeal to his experience in her eyes.
-"does she?" said dick, who began to feel uncomfortable.
-"and when she has once given it, she never changes."
-if this last remark were a generalisation, it was certainly an audacious one, but dick was thinking only of a personal application. daisy's words, as he understood their meaning, were working on the better nature which lay below his frivolity. he began to suffer genuine shame and remorse at the idea that he had caused suffering--lasting pain--to this poor unsophisticated child who had loved him so readily. moved by this honourable, if tardy, compunction, he ejaculated,
-"oh, don't say that, miss medland. i never thought--i--i mean, surely you don't mean--?" and then he came to a dead stop for a moment; only to start abruptly again the next, with--"it would spoil my happiness, if i thought--you don't really mean it, do you? i don't know how i should ask you to forgive me, if you do."
-daisy's plot (which it is not sought to justify) had been crowned with success. a mischievous smile replaced her innocent expression.
-"what do you mean, mr. derosne? forgive you? i was speaking of my own feelings."
-"yes, so--so i understood, and i wanted to say that i hoped you wouldn't think i had been inconsid----"
-"what does it matter to me, how long or how short your wooing is? they say lovers are self-centred, but really i think you're the worst i ever met. i must confess i wasn't thinking of you, mr. derosne."
-"what?" exclaimed dick.
-"is it possible you haven't heard of my engagement?" she asked in the sweetest tone.
-"yes--to mr. norburn," and she watched the effect with obvious pleasure.
-dick pulled himself together. she had made a fool of him; that was pretty clear now it was too late to help it.
-"i hadn't heard. i congratulate you," he said, stiffly and awkwardly.
-"thanks. of course that was what i meant when i said my feelings could never change. how odd you must have thought it of me, if you didn't know!"
-"well, i--i didn't quite understand."
-"you seemed puzzled and i couldn't understand why. we were both thinking of ourselves too much, i suppose!"
-"may i ask if you have been engaged long?"
-"oh, not actually engaged very long, but, like yours, it's been an old acquaintance, and--if you won't betray me--perhaps a little more for ever so long."
-dick was not quite sure whether he believed the lady or not. he ought to have wished to believe her; as a fact, he was extremely reluctant to do so, but daisy's look was so candid and at the same time so naturally shy, in making her little avowal, that he was almost convinced that the semi-tragedy of their parting scene a few weeks before had been all acting on her side. alicia could have undeceived him, but, for reasons tolerably obvious, dick did not rehearse this interview to alicia or to any one else.
-"ah! here comes mr. norburn!" cried daisy, rosy with delight. "you must congratulate one another."
-this very hollow ceremony was duly performed, and dick left the lovers together. in fact he may be said to have made his exit in a somewhat shamefaced manner. fortune put him at a disadvantage in that his partner was far away, while daisy stood triumphant by the side of hers and watched him.
-"upon my honour," he exclaimed, hitting viciously at a flower, "i believe she was humbugging me all the time!" and from that day to this he thinks miss medland a flirt, and is very glad, for that among other weighty reasons, that he had nothing more to do with her.
-her behaviour towards dick derosne was fairly typical of daisy medland's attitude towards the world at large at this time. she made the mistake, natural enough, of being defiant, of emphasising outwardly an indifference that she did not feel, of anticipating slights and being ready to resent slurs which were never intended or inflicted. there are so many people in the world who want only an excuse for being kind, but yet do want that, and who are ready to give much, but must be asked. there were many among the upper circles of kirton society who would have been ready enough to act a friendly part, to overlook much, to play protector to the girl, and do a favour to a man who had been and might again be powerful; but they too needed to be asked--not of course in words, but by a hint of gratitude waiting for them, a touch of deference, some kind of appeal from the loneliness and desolation of a doubtful position to the comfortable regions of unaspersed respectability. they could not help feeling that daisy, though by no fault of hers, was yet one who should ask and accept as favours what among equals are no more than courtesies. the knowledge of this point of view drove daisy into strong revolt against it: she was more, not less, offhand than of yore; more, not less, ready to ignore people with whom she was not in sympathy; more, not less, unscrupulous in outraging the small conventions of society. and, unfortunately, norburn was a man to encourage instead of discouraging her in this course, for conventions and respectability had always been a red rag to him. in the result the isolation of the medland household from most of the families of their own level in the town, and from all of a higher, if there were any such, grew from day to day, until it seemed that daisy's "we three against the world!" was to come true so far as the world meant the social circle of their neighbours. medland himself was too engrossed with larger matters to note the progress of this outlawry: when he did for a moment turn his thoughts from the campaign he was engrossed with, there was only one face in kirton society whose countenance or aversion troubled him: and that one was sternly and irrevocably turned away.
-"you are alone, aren't you? i saw mr. medland was away."
-"yes, i am alone," said daisy, doubtful whether to put on her armour or not.
-"oh, daisy, i've never been able to come and wish you joy yet. i wouldn't do it by letter. i'm so glad. you are happy, aren't you?" and she took daisy's two hands and kissed her.
-"yes, i am very happy. it's sweet of you to come. how did you manage it?"
-neither cared to pretend that lady eynesford would approve of such a visit.
-"oh, i slipped out," said alicia, nestling beside her friend. "poor child! what things you have been through! still--you have mr. norburn."
-"yes; with him and father i really don't mind." she paused, and then there slipped out, in lower tone, a tell-tale "much."
-alicia answered it with a caress.
-"how brave you are!" she said. "does--does he mind?"
-"i meant your father."
-"he has no time to mind now. we are fighting," said daisy.
-"ah, a man can fight, can't he?"
-"oh, but so can a girl. i'm fighting too."
-"i've no one to fight for."
-daisy turned quickly towards her: there were tears in her eyes. surely she was a sorry comforter: perhaps she had come as much seeking as to bring comfort.
-"you don't look very happy," remarked daisy.
-"don't talk about me, daisy. it will never make the least difference between you and me. i wanted to tell you. you know we are going? you must write to me, dear, and some day you and mr. norburn must come to england and stay with me, when i have my own house. promise now! i--i don't want to lose you quite."
-"of course i will write, but you won't care for our news when you are gone."
-"indeed i shall care to hear of you and mr. norburn, and--of your father too."
-"will you really? oh, then i shall have lots to say. father always gives one lots to say about him," said daisy proudly.
-"tell him he mustn't despair."
-"no, no. from you."
-"oh, of course i tell him that."
-"i--i mustn't send him any message."
-"you're not against him too, are you, alicia?"
-"i'm not much against him," whispered alicia. "and, if any one says i am, daisy, don't believe it of me. i must go, dear. i shall be missed. i shall come again."
-"do," said daisy. "i'm just a little lonely now," and she nearly broke down, as alicia took her in her arms.
-"it is like you," he said simply.
-she shook her head.
-"i--i did not know you were here."
-"i am not supposed to be," he answered, kissing his daughter.
-alicia hastily said good-bye, medland not trying to detain her. but he signed to daisy to stay in the room and escorted alicia down-stairs.
-at the hall door he kept her, laying his hand on the door.
-"yes, that was very kind. poor child! she wants friends."
-"i can do very little--i----"
-"yes, i know. and you are going?"
-"yes, in three weeks."
-he was silent for a moment: then he looked in her eyes.
-"you know the worst now," he said in a low voice.
-"yes," she murmured, trying to escape his gaze.
-"and you still say what you said before?"
-"i--i say nothing. i must go."
-"very likely we shall never speak alone again as long as we live--perhaps never at all."
-"isn't it best?" she murmured.
-"best!" he echoed. "you are happy in it then?"
-"i happy! ah!"
-he could not miss the meaning of her tone.
-"most people," he said, "would call me a criminal for what i am going to say--and you a fool if you listen. alicia, will you face it all and come to me?" and he drew nearer to her. "i know what i ask--but i know too what i have to give."
-"let me go," she gasped, as though his hand were on her.
-"can you do it?" he asked. "i needn't tell you to think what it means."
-"i don't mind that," she broke out suddenly. "don't think it's that. i would face all that if--if i could----"
-she bowed her head.
-"you can never trust me again?"
-"why make me say it?"
-"but it is so?"
-again she bowed her head.
-"it is still--horrible?"
-he drew back and opened the door, letting in the cool night air.
-"good-bye," he said. "it's your last word?"
-she seemed to sway towards him and away again.
-"i shan't ask again," he went on, still in that calm, low voice. "i shall accept what you say now. you think me--unclean?"
-her silence was answer as she stepped out into the path.
-"for the last time!"
-"i can't," she said, with a sob. "you--you know why."
-"and yet, if you loved me!"
-"loved you!" she cried. "but no, no, no!" and she turned and disappeared in the gloom.
-the decision of the oracle.
-"i see from tomes," observed eleanor scaife to the chief justice, as he handed her a cup of tea, "that all the elections are on the same day in new lindsey."
-"they are," he answered. "a good thing, don't you think?"
-"but if a man wants to vote in two places?"
-"then it's kind to prevent him, because if he does it he's sent to prison."
-"oh! and when do the results appear?"
-"here at kirton? oh, any time between nine and midnight, or an hour later. one or two are left over as a rule. they're published at the town-hall, and it's generally rather a lively scene."
-"and how is it going to go?"
-the chief justice lowered his voice.
-"medland will be beaten. he can't believe it and his friends won't, but he'll be beaten badly all over the country, except here in kirton. kirton he'll carry pretty solid, but that won't be enough."
-"how many seats are there here?"
-"oh, here and in this district, which is under kirton influence, about two-and-twenty, and he ought to get eighteen or nineteen of them; but what's that out of eighty members?"
-"and what's the reason? merely his policy or----?"
-"well, his policy a good deal. all the manufacturers and capitalists are straining every nerve to give him such a thrashing as will keep him out for years, and they spare neither time nor money nor hard words. i don't blame 'em. and then, of course, the other thing counts. it hits him where he was strong--among the religious folk. puttock's their special man, and puttock never lets it alone."
-"what, do they talk about it in public?"
-"well, i should rather think they did. oh, we fight with the gloves off in new lindsey."
-"after all, if it's a matter that ought to count, it ought to be talked about," remarked miss scaife thoughtfully.
-"i suppose so," answered sir john doubtfully; "only it always sounds a little mean, you know."
-eleanor did not attempt to reconcile this seeming contradiction.
-"so sir robert will be back? well, mary will be delighted."
-"it doesn't so much matter to her, as you're going."
-"no, but she will. for my own part, i like sir robert, but his government rather lacks variety, doesn't it? it's not exactly thrilling."
-"that's very high praise."
-"i hardly meant it to be," laughed eleanor. "however, as you say, it doesn't matter much now to us."
-"no, nor to me."
-"then it's true you're resigning?"
-"yes, in a few weeks. i'm just holding on to----"
-"see this crisis through, i suppose?"
-"oh dear, no. the crisis, as you call it, miss scaife, don't matter to me--nor i to it. i'm holding on to complete another year's service and get fifty pound more pension."
-"you're very practical, sir john."
-"high praise again!"
-"perhaps hardly meant again!"
-"i'm sure lady eynesford teaches her household the value of practicality."
-"well, mary is practical; and i suppose dick must be called so now--miss granger's an excellent match. oh, i suppose we all pass muster pretty well, except alicia."
-"miss derosne is a visionary?"
-"a little bit of one, i often tell her."
-"it's an added grace in a pretty girl," said sir john.
-"i said i was practical," observed miss scaife.
-"but you need no added graces," he returned, smiling.
-"a palpable evasion!"
-some days had passed since medland's interview with alicia. he had left kirton the morning after, and, as the day of the election drew nearer and nearer, news of him came from all parts of the colony. wherever the opposition was strongest and hostility most bitter, he flung himself into the fray; at moments it seemed as though he would wrest victory from an adverse fate, but when he went away, the effect of his presence gradually evaporated, and his work was half undone before he had been gone a day. in the governor's household the accounts of his doings were allowed to pass in silence; they had become a forbidden topic. alicia might devour them in solitude, and the governor himself watch them with an almost sympathetic interest; lady eynesford ignored them altogether, and seemed not to see medland's colours and his watchwords that glared at her in the streets of kirton. sir robert was quietly confident, and kilshaw fiercely exultant; medland's friends hoped against hope, and, secure of their position in the capital, flooded the country with eager missionaries. passion ran high, and there had been one or two disturbing incidents. sir robert was refused a hearing in the jubilee hall; kilshaw had been forced to escape violence by a hasty flight, when he tried to address a meeting in the north-east ward; and there had been something like a free fight between the factions in kettle street. captain heseltine stated his opinion that if sir robert won, there would be "some fun" in kirton, and was understood to mean that the queen's peace would be broken. apparently the police authorities were of the same way of thinking, for at their request all preparations were made for calling out the mounted volunteers. lord eynesford declared that he would stand no nonsense, and a certain number of timid persons made arrangements to be out of kirton on the all-important day.
-at last it came, and wore itself away in a fever of excitement. while the poll was open there was no time to waste in quarrelling or parading, but in the evening, when the ballot-boxes were giving up their secret, the streets were crowded with dense throngs. the political leaders came dropping in from the country round. medland was away and did not return, but kilshaw was at the club, and puttock, all the local politicians, and most other men of note; for the club was nearly opposite the hall, where the crowd was thickest, and where the result would soon be proclaimed. just below, one todd, a well-known mob-orator, had mounted on a large packing-case and was exhorting the people to stand by medland, happen what might; the police had tried to get near him and prevent him causing an obstruction, but his friends formed so dense a ring and offered such resistance that the attempt was prudently abandoned, and the sound of mr. todd's sweeping denunciations fell on the ears of the members as they talked within.
-"i say, kilshaw," called captain heseltine, who was by the window, "if you want to hear what you are, you'd better come here. todd's letting you have it."
-kilshaw lounged to the window and put his head out, smiling scornfully.
-"a lot of loafers and thieves," he remarked.
-the crowd saw him. he was the especial object of their anger, ever since his share in benyon's career had become public. he was greeted with an angry yell; the orator, seizing the occasion, shook a huge fist at him. kilshaw laughed in reply, holding his cigar in his hand. there was an ugly rush at the club door; an answering charge from the police; some oaths and some screams.
-"you'd better vanish," suggested the captain. "your popularity is momentarily eclipsed."
-"damn the fellows," said kilshaw. "they may storm the place if they like--i'll not move."
-matters were indeed becoming somewhat critical, when a loud shout was heard from in front of the hall. the crowd forgot kilshaw, forgot mr. todd, and rushed across the road. the first result was up!
-for the next half-hour wild exultation reigned in the streets, and gloom predominated in the club. the kirton returns came out first, and, as the chief justice had prophesied, medland swept the capital from end to end. a solid band of twenty members was elected in his interest, and he himself had an immense majority. the crowd was beside itself; all thought of defeat was at an end; they began to laugh, and smoke, and dive into the taverns in friendly groups to drink; they even flung jests up at kilshaw, and only hooted good-humouredly when he cried,
-"wait a bit, my boys!"
-thus an hour passed without further news. then the country results began to arrive. among the first was that from medland's own constituency: he was beaten by above a hundred votes. anticipated as this issue was, it was greeted with a loud groan, soon changed to an exultant cheer when it was declared that coxon had lost his seat; no event, short of the defeat of kilshaw himself, would have pleased the crowd so much; even in the club men seemed very resigned; only coxon's little band mourned the fall of their chief.
-"a facer for him," remarked the captain. mr. kilshaw smiled.
-"coxon generally falls on his feet," he remarked.
-this victory was almost the last excuse the crowd found for cheering. the figures came in thick and fast now, and the tale they told was of medland's utter defeat. by twelve o'clock the issue in seventy-five seats was declared; of the other five, four were safe for sir robert; and medland had only twenty-nine supporters. puttock and sir robert were returned, and kilshaw had a triumphant majority. his was among the last announcements, and it was greeted with an angry roar of such volume that the club window filled in a moment. the crowd, tired of their disappointing watch, turned away from the jubilee hall, and flocked together underneath the window.
-"why don't you return thanks?" asked captain heseltine.
-kilshaw was drinking a glass of brandy and soda-water. he jumped up, glass in hand, and, going to the window, bowed to the angry mob and drank a toast to his own success before their eyes. mr. todd's gross bulk pushed its way to the front.
-"come down here," he shouted, "and talk to us, if you dare!"
-kilshaw smilingly shook his head.
-"three cheers for sir robert!" he cried.
-"how's your friend benham?" shouted one.
-"we'll serve you the same," yelled another; "come down;" and a third, whose partisanship outran his moral sense, proposed a cheer for mr. françois gaspard.
-"i think you'll have to sleep here," said the captain.
-"not i," answered kilshaw. "they daren't touch me."
-"hum!" said the captain, doubtfully regarding the crowd. "i don't know that i'd care to insure you, if you go down now."
-"we'll take you through," cried half-a-dozen young men, the sons of well-born or rich families, who were heart and soul with him, and asked for nothing better than a "row," with any one indeed, but above all with the mob which they scorned, and which had out-voted them in their own town.
-the tramp of horses was heard outside. two lines of mounted police were making their way slowly down the street. a moment later two voices sounded loud in altercation. the officer in command of the force was remonstrating with big todd; big todd was asserting that he had as much right as any one else to stand in the middle of victoria street and speak to his friends; the officer, strong in the letter of the law, maintained that no one, neither big todd nor another, had a right to adopt this course of action, or to do anything else than walk along the street whither his business might lead him.
-"and they call this free speech!" cried big todd.
-"get on with you," said the officer.
-"now's your time," remarked the captain. "slip in between the two lines and you'll get through."
-kilshaw and his volunteer escort accepted the suggestion, and, linking arms, walked down-stairs. the captain, after a brief inward struggle, followed them. their appearance at the club door was the signal for fresh hoots and groans.
-"now then, are you going?" said the officer to big todd.
-the burly fellow cast a look round on his supporters.
-"when i'm tired o' being here," he answered.
-kilshaw's band slipped in between the first and second rank. the officer touched his horse with the spur, and it sprang forward. big todd, with an oath, caught the bridle, and another man seized the rider by the leg. he struck out sharply, and the line of police moved forward.
-"stand up to 'em, boys," cried big todd, and he aimed a blow with his stick at his antagonist.
-the young men round kilshaw looked at one another and began to press forward. they wanted to join in.
-a voice from behind them cried out warningly,
-"none of that, gentlemen! you must leave it to us," and at the same instant the first rank seemed to leave them. the order to advance had been given, and the mêlée had begun. the rear rank advancing covered the members of the club from attack.
-"we seem to be spectators," observed captain heseltine, in a disappointed tone. he had earnestly hoped that some one would assault him.
-just ahead the fight was hot round big todd. the police were determined to arrest him, and had closed round where he stood. the big man was fighting like a lion, and some half-dozen were trying to protect him. on either side of this group the line of police passed on, driving the crowd before them. their horses were trotting now, and the people ran before them or dodged into side streets and escaped. big todd and his little band were sore pressed. todd was bleeding from the head and his right hand was numbed from a blow. he was down once, but up again in a second. as he rose, he caught sight of kilshaw's scornful smile, and, swearing savagely, with a sudden rush he burst the ring round him and made for the arch-enemy. kilshaw raised his arm to shield himself, captain heseltine stepped forward and deftly put out his foot. big todd, tripped in the manner of the old football, fell heavily to the ground, striking his bullet poll on the hard road.
-hector was slain. the trojans scoured over the plain. victoria street was cleared, and big todd was borne on a stretcher to the police-station hard by.
-"that fellow would have caught me a crack but for you, heseltine," said mr. kilshaw.
-"if you'd go home, gentlemen," he said, "our work would be easier. the trouble's not all over yet, i'm afraid. i'll send some of my men with you, mr. kilshaw, if you please, sir."
-kilshaw made a wry face.
-"i wish i had my men," he said. "the mounted volunteers would teach these fellows a lesson."
-"well, we may see that before we're many days older, sir," answered the officer. "mr. medland'll be here to-morrow, and heaven knows what they'll be up to then."
-stealing a march.
-alicia derosne had a fantastic dream that night. she saw medland again chasing a butterfly, as she had seen him on the day he came to government house to receive his office. the butterfly floated always just over his head, and he always came near to catching it, yet never caught it. then, by one of sleep's strange transformations, she seemed to be herself in spirit in the butterfly, and she knew that it flew so near because desire brought it, that it longed to be caught, and yet, at the last, by some sudden impulse, avoided his net. at last, as if wearied, he turned from her to another fluttering thing, and that he caught. and she heard a great murmur of voices applauding him, and he smiled and was content with his prize. then she, the first butterfly, could not be happy unless she were caught also, envying the other, and she went and fluttered and spread her wings before his eyes, but he would not heed her, nor stretch the net over her, but smiled in triumph at the bright colours of his prize and the murmur of applause. and, with drooping wings, the first butterfly fell to the ground and died.
-it needed no joseph to interpret this dream. when he had called, she would not come. now he would forget her and turn to the life of ambition and power that he loved. he would rule men, and trouble his head or his heart no more with the vagaries of girls and the strict scruples of their code. and she--what was there left for her? "the last time," he had said. there was nothing for her to do but what the neglected butterfly had done. in a few weeks more the sea would lie between them, and she would be no more to him, nor he to her, than a memory--a memory soon to fade in him, whose days and thoughts were so full; in her, it seemed, always to endure, ousting everything else, reigning in triumphant sorrow in an empty heart.
-the news of the final result of the elections which eleanor scaife brought her in the morning while she was still in bed, presented to her mind another picture of the man, which appealed to her almost more strongly.
-"it's a knock-down blow for mr. medland, isn't it?" asked eleanor, sitting on the side of the bed. "as we're alone together, i may dare to say that i'm rather sorry. i didn't want him to win, but it's very hard on him to be crushed like this. how he must feel it!"
-"he seems to have won in kirton."
-"oh yes, just the town mob is with him. fancy coming down to that! of course he'll be quite powerless, compared to what he was. i wonder if he'll stay in politics. captain heseltine said some people thought that he'd throw the whole thing up and retire into private life."
-"yes, i'm sorry too," said alicia, who lay all this while with her face away from eleanor and towards the wall.
-"and then his daughter's going to be married, and, of course, can never be such a companion to him as she has been; he'll be very much alone. upon my word, alicia, i'm getting quite sentimental about the man, and it's all his own fault, really. why does he make it impossible for respectable people to follow him?" after a short pause, miss scaife suddenly laughed. "do you know," she asked, "what that shameless dick says? he says i ought to marry mr. medland, because we're both 'emancipated.' really i'm not quite so 'emancipated' as mr. medland seems to be."
-alicia smiled faintly.
-"what an idea!" she said, at last turning her face to her friend.
-"i thought all the excitement was over," said alicia languidly.
-"oh, no. there was a riot in the streets last night, and they arrested some popular favourite and took him to prison. the mob's furious, and the police are afraid of a disturbance when he's brought before the magistrate this morning. then mr. medland is to arrive at twelve o'clock, and they're afraid of another riot then. sir robert was here at half-past eight, and at his request the governor authorised calling out the mounted volunteers to keep order. lord eynesford says he'll go with them. do get up," and eleanor went off, eager to hear the latest news. the present situation was justifying her tenacious opinion that new communities were interesting.
-in spite of her many inquiries, her intelligence was not quite the latest. the police had stolen a march on the crowd, and big todd had been quietly brought before the seat of justice at nine o'clock, remanded for a week, and carried off to the prison, which was situated outside the town, about half-a-mile beyond government house. the van containing the captive had rolled unsuspected through the streets, and it was not till the crowd had waited an hour outside the court that the secret leaked out. the outwitted men were in a fury. the mounted police lined the sides of the street, and their impassive demeanour seemed to rouse the mob to fresh anger. there had been a plan to rescue big todd, now it was too late, and men looked at one another in sullen wrath. the crowd drifted off towards the railway station, thinking to welcome medland. the mounted volunteers were on guard there. they saw kilshaw at the head of his company and hailed him with a groan. behind the ranks, the governor sat on his horse, flanked by his aides-de-camp and talking to sir robert perry. no one was allowed within the station-yard, every one was compelled to move about, the preparations were complete, to riot would be to run against a stone wall.
-suddenly an idea, a suggestion, flew through the crowd. it was greeted with surly smiles and emphatic nods. to the surprise of the officers and of the governor, the crowd began to melt away. splitting up in twos and threes, it sauntered off, as if it had made up its mind to submit quietly to the inevitable. soon only women and children were left, and the governor began to feel that the array of force was almost ridiculously out of proportion to the need. the whole thing was, as captain heseltine regretfully observed, "fizzling out," and he proposed to go home to lunch.
-medland's train arrived half-an-hour later, and he came out of the station, looking round in surprise at the martial aspect of the scene. then he smiled.
-"we look rather asses," whispered heseltine. "i wonder if they did it on purpose."
-medland came down the steps and found himself almost face to face with kilshaw. the ex-premier was smoking a cigar, and he took it out of his mouth, in order to smile more freely.
-"if," he said to kilshaw, "it's not dangerous to public order, i should like a cab."
-kilshaw heard a shamefaced, stifled giggle from his men behind him and turned very red. the next minute sir robert came up, holding out his hand.
-"this is a great compliment to you," he said, smiling.
-"evidently beyond my deserts," answered medland, getting into his cab. "to my house," he called to the man, and was driven rapidly away.
-the governor rode up to sir robert with a look of vexation on his face.
-"the sooner we end this farce the better," he said. "i'm going home. i suppose you'll send the men to quarters."
-"i really don't understand it," protested sir robert. "they looked like mischief."
-"i suppose we frightened them. oh, no doubt you were right," and the governor turned his horse.
-suddenly the figure of a man on horseback, going at a gallop, was seen in the distance. the governor drew rein and waited. the man came nearer, and, as soon as he was within earshot, he shouted.
-"the prison! the prison! they've all gone to the prison."
-"what?" cried the governor.
-"by jove, they've jockeyed us!" cried captain heseltine, and he turned to his chief for orders.
-"we must be after them," exclaimed the governor. "let the orders be given. you, heseltine, go and bring up the police. this looks like business."
-the column was soon on the march, followed by a string of women and children, which was speedily outstripped when the word to trot was given. the outskirts of the town were reached; they met man after man who told them of a gathering crowd round the prison; they overtook more men, armed with cudgels, who slunk on one side and tried to hide their sticks. they reached the gates of government house, and lord eynesford spied his wife and alicia looking out of the windows of the lodge.
-"go and tell them what's up," he said to flemyng. "say there's no danger," and the column trotted on.
-"this is what mr. medland has brought us to," observed lady eynesford, when mr. flemyng made his report. "i'm glad we've done with him, anyhow, aren't you, eleanor?"
-"perhaps we haven't," suggested eleanor. "i wonder if he's come back."
-"no doubt he's encouraging this riot. i only hope he'll get the treatment he deserves."
-alicia stood by in silence. the little room felt close and hot. she was tired and worn out, for she had spent the morning writing a letter that seemed very hard to write.
-"mightn't we go into the garden?" she asked. "there's no danger to us, is there, mr. flemyng?"
-"oh dear, no, miss derosne. they're only thinking of big todd. i'll go on if you don't want me, lady eynesford."
-he trotted off and overtook the rest just as they came in sight of the prison. the crowd was thick round it.
-"by heaven, they've got the door open!" cried heseltine.
-they had. the heavy door hung on its hinges, and, as the governor drew nearer, he saw the prisoner, big todd himself, in the centre of the crowd. there were near three thousand there, almost all men; most had sticks, here and there the sun caught the gleam of a knife or the glint from a revolver-barrel. a rude kind of rampart of the tables and chairs from the gaol formed a slight makeshift barricade, and behind it, the crowd, backed by the building, stood waiting for the attack.
-the governor halted.
-"it really looks rather serious," he said.
-sir robert perry, whose fat cob was panting with unusual exertions, nodded assent.
-"we don't want bloodshed, if we can help it," he observed.
-"no, but we'll have that fellow," said the governor curtly, "or i'll know the reason why."
-his old instincts were astir in him. he had been a soldier in his time, and he almost regretted that his first duty was to reason with these men. endeavouring to carry out this duty, he said to heseltine,
-"go and say i'll give them three minutes to hand over todd and disperse."
-heseltine rode forward till he came to the barricade and delivered his message, adding,
-"come and fetch me," grinned big todd.
-"so we will," answered the captain, smiling, "but you'd better come quietly."
-"look here, sir. say no more about what happened last night and we'll give the governor back his prison. we ain't hurt it, not to speak of."
-"you're an insolent scoundrel," he said.
-"you'd better get a bit further off before you talk like that, young man," growled a fierce-looking little fellow.
-"let the gentleman alone, tim," said big todd. "he's a flag o' truce."
-"then you won't come?" asked the captain.
-"declined with thanks, sir," bowed big todd.
-heseltine rode back and delivered the reply. an angry flush crossed lord eynesford's face.
-"very well," he said shortly, and turned to the colonel. "colonel," he said, "i want your men to scatter that crowd and bring todd here. don't fire without asking me again. use the flat of the sword unless the crowd use knives or shoot; if they do, use the edge. i can't come with you, i wish i could."
-"may i go, sir?" broke simultaneously from dick and heseltine.
-"no," answered lord eynesford shortly.
-"what a damned shame!" grumbled dick.
-the colonel had spoken to the captains of his two companies, kilshaw and another, and they in their turn had briefly communicated the governor's orders to their men. everything was ready, and the colonel turned a last inquiring glance towards the governor.
-"yes," said lord eynesford; but at the same moment a loud cheer rang out from the defenders of the gaol--
-"three cheers for jimmy medland!" they cried.
-the governor turned and saw the ex-premier leaping from a cab and hurrying towards them.
-"stop!" cried medland. "stop!"
-a beaten man's thoughts.
-on reaching his home, medland had found that norburn had arrived before him, and was engaged in the task of consoling daisy for the untoward issue of the fight. daisy, on her part, was full of praise for the valour of big todd, and delighted to hear of the sort of fiasco that had waited on the military display at the station. safe from the eyes of all save those who loved him, medland did not maintain the indifferent air that he had displayed in public. in vain they reminded him of the swift reactions in political affairs, of the sturdy band that still owned his leadership, and of the devotion of all kirton to him, or bade him think that he was himself almost a young man, and that this defeat was but a check and not an end to his career. for the moment the buoyancy was out of him; he did not care to discuss hopes or projects, and sat silent in his chair, while norburn sketched new campaigns and energetic raids on sir robert's position. daisy knew her father: these hours of despondency were the penalty he paid for the glowing confidence and rebounding hope that had made him the man and the power he was.
-"let him alone a little while," she whispered to her lover. "something will rouse him soon, and he'll be himself again."
-she put his letters by him, and the two left him to solitude in his study. he was vaguely surprised that no crowd had assembled to escort him to his house, and that the street was so quiet; he supposed that his adherents felt much as he did, too discouraged to make a parade, or try to hide their wounds under the pretence of a brave show; yet he was sensitive enough to every breath of popular sentiment to be hurt at the first sign of neglect. perhaps they had had enough of him, perhaps they were looking for a new leader. no; that could hardly be, or they would not have elected all his friends. it was just that they felt as he did, beaten, soundly beaten, and had fled to their dens to lick their sores.
-he listlessly stretched out his hand towards the letters and began to open them. here were belated requests for help or advice, calculations of majorities and prophecies of victory, written at the last moment in unquenchable faith, to be read now with a weary smile of irony. here too were honest, admiring condolences. "better luck next time"--"never despair," and so forth--side by side with anonymous and scurrilous gloatings over his fall. once he laughed out loud: a zealous student compared him at length and in detail to cleon, and ended with an ode of triumph which, he said, would appear in the press the next day or so. medland pushed the heap away with an impatient sigh, but one note remained under his hand and he took it up, for it seemed different from the rest. he undid the envelope and glanced at the signature; then he sat up in sudden interest, for it was signed "alicia derosne."
-"you will be surprised," she said, "that i should write; but i doubted if you understood the other night, and i can't be misunderstood by you. if you were what i once thought you, i would do all you ask, whatever it cost me, but i can't now. it's all different now. that thing makes it all different. you will think it a poor reason and a strange idea--i know you will; but your thinking it strange is just what makes it strongest to me. you may not understand--i'm afraid you won't--but you must believe that that is the only thing. please don't try to see me, but send one line to say you believe me.--alicia derosne. good-bye."
-at first he thought of what he read only as a fresh defeat, another drop of bitterness in a brimming cup, and he let the letter fall, despising himself for caring about such a matter. but he took it up again and re-read it, and the "good-bye" at the end--the stifled cry of pain--touched him; she had finished the letter before she wrote that, for its ink was paler; the rest had dried, that had been hastily blotted; it was an after-impulse, a hint of the struggle with which she left her tenderness unexpressed. he pictured so well how she looked writing it, making her sacrifice at the altar of what she held holy in herself. whether she were right or wrong seemed now to his softer mood to be of little moment. he could not think that she was right, and yet it suited her so well to be wrong on such a point that he could hardly wish her to have been what to his mind seemed right. with the strange feeling of the end of things, of finality, that his defeat and despondency had brought to him, her decision fitted well. she would not come to him, but the ideal of her rested beautiful in the delicate pride and fastidiousness of her scruples and her purity. the sort of life he must lead, no less than that he had led, must needs have soiled the image and stained its spotless white. he was conscious that his reception of what she said was half the outcome of the moment in which her decision reached him; but yet he could not look before him, and the idea of himself, restored to his former mind, scornfully mocking what now claimed reverence, angrily fighting against a merely fanciful hindrance, failed to dress itself like reality, though experience, half-smothered, protested that it would prove real. now he was very sorry for her and for himself; but it was the sorrow of acquiescence, the pain of a vision that never could have had fulfilment not the fierce disappointment of well-grounded hope. though she were passing out of his life, yet she would always be in it and of it, and their unhappiness seemed to him a tie as close as could have been knit between them by any union.
-he was interrupted by the entrance of his daughter and norburn. they were troubled, as a glance at their happy faces told him, by no sense of the end of things; they were at the beginning, and he was amused to find that, while they deplored his defeat sincerely and resented it hotly, it yet had a bright side to them. it set jack norburn at liberty; he had now no official ties and there would be a lull in politics. how should two young people use such an interval better than in getting married?
-"how indeed?" said mr. medland, smiling.
-"then when we're comfortably married," said daisy, "and you've had a little rest, we'll have at sir robert again, father! oh, and i'm so glad those tiresome eynesfords are going--except alicia, i mean; i like her. i do hope the next people won't be quite so--" and daisy's gesture indicated the inhuman exclusiveness and pride supposed to be harboured at government house.
-"well, we go our way and they go theirs," said norburn, with his good-humoured laugh. "we're happy in ours, i hope they're happy in theirs. then, as soon as daisy can be ready, sir?"
-"yes, as soon as daisy can be ready," assented medland.
-when, after thanks and some more rose-coloured prophecies, they were gone together, he rose and, hands in pockets, paced up and down the narrow room.
-"really, young norburn has got the philosophy of it," he mused. "he takes my daughter, and his philosophy takes the only other woman i care about! but i believe, after all, that it's bad philosophy."
-he stretched his arms in weariness.
-"ah, i feel burnt out!" he said, sinking back into his chair. "i must answer this," and he took up alicia's note again, only to fold it up and put it in his pocket.
-"i can't do it now. i must have some fresh air," he exclaimed petulantly. "this place suffocates me."
-he opened the window and hailed a hack-victoria that was crawling by. calling to daisy to tell her he was going for a drive, he ran down-stairs and jumped in.
-"go to the park," he said. "you needn't hurry."
-the air revived his spirits. he leant back, sniffing its freshness, and finding the world very good. he met few people about and no one that he knew. the park was empty, and the old horse jogged along peacefully. insensibly he found himself thinking about what would happen when the new house met, and sparing a smile for coxon's defeat, though he was afraid that gentleman would be only too well provided for. it struck him that a pitfall or two lay in sir robert's path, and he saw his way to giving kilshaw a bad quarter of an hour over one of his election speeches. the only thing that he could not get away from was the thought of alicia derosne. he knew that there was to be nothing more between him and her, and that she was going away soon, never to return to, soon in all probability to forget, new lindsey; yet all his doings and activities in the future--and his brain began now to be swift to plan them again--presented themselves to him, not in the actual happening, but as they would look when read by her. this lover's madness irritated him so much that at last he took her letter from his pocket and tore it into little bits, scattering them on the breeze. he could answer it well enough from memory, and perhaps it would be easier to be his own man again when he had no tangible, material reminder of her with him. these things only made a man nurse and cosset fine-drawn feelings, spying curiously into a heart that might get well if it were covered up and left alone.
-a cheery voice roused him, and his carriage stopped.
-"well, tearing up your bills, eh?" called the chief justice from the side-walk. "you must be glad to be out of it."
-"not i," answered medland, smiling. "among other things, i wanted to appoint your successor."
-"ah, dreadful, dreadful! young coxon, isn't it? i've been laid up with a cold, and seen and heard nothing, but i fancy that's right."
-"i suppose he'll do pretty well, but he's not the right man to come after you. however, i am powerless now."
-"yes, order is safe again. by the way, i hear your friends made a little disturbance last night."
-"oh, yes; that headstrong fellow todd. we can never hold him. it came to nothing, i suppose?"
-"they arrested him, you know. but, medland, i doubt----"
-the driver turned round suddenly.
-"did you say medland, sir?" he asked the chief justice. "is this gentleman mr. medland?"
-"what, didn't you know me?"
-"no, sir; i'm only just out from england. but, if you're mr. medland, don't you know, sir--begging your pardon--what's happened about todd?"
-"there's a fine row up at the prison, sir. two or three thousand of 'em went up there this morning to take him out, and the governor's up there with the volunteers, and they say there's going to be a big fight and----"
-"the fools!" exclaimed medland. "i must go, chief justice."
-"why, what can you do?"
-"stop it, of course. here, drive to the prison--drive like fury. good-bye, chief justice. come and see me soon. get on, man, get on!"
-the old horse was whipped up unmercifully, and the chief justice watched medland disappear in a cloud of dust. he took off his hat to wipe his brow. two little fragments of the white paper which medland scattered had settled upon it.
-"poof!" the chief justice blew them off and they fluttered down on the grass. he stooped and picked up the larger bit. if he had looked at it, he would have read "good-bye"; but he did not. the amber end of his cigarette-tube was loose: he unscrewed it, twisted the little bit of paper round the screw, and fitted the end on again.
-"capital!" said the chief justice. "it might have been made for it. poor old medland!"
-the end of a tumult.
-"stop!" he shouted; "stop!" and, taking advantage of the momentary pause, he made his way to the governor.
-"let me speak to them, sir," he said; "i think i can bring them to reason."
-but lord eynesford's spirit was roused.
-"i must request you to leave the matter to me, mr. medland," he answered stiffly. "they have had their opportunity of submitting to the law peaceably, and they have chosen to disregard it."
-"if you will give me five minutes, sir," said medland very humbly. he loved the rough fellows who were acting so foolishly: perhaps something in his words had given them an excuse. he could not bear to think of them coming to harm, even through their own fault.
-"i can't, sir," answered the governor sharply. "i have the dignity of the crown, which i represent, to think of. pray stand aside, sir;" and he added to the colonel--"your orders are not altered."
-medland's quick eye measured the distance between him and the rioters. he was standing near the governor, at the side of the troops, but a little in advance of their line. a run might bring him to them before the troops could reach them. if they did not resist there could be no bloodshed. there was yet a chance, and suddenly he dashed across in front of the line, crying, "don't resist! don't resist!"
-at the very moment of his start the colonel had given the word to charge. no man saw clearly how it happened, but there was a forward dash, then an exclamation from one of the volunteers, as he reined his horse back on its haunches, a wild cry from the barricade, and a loud shout, "halt!" from kilshaw. the line was stopped, and kilshaw rode swiftly up to where the trooper had wrenched back his horse. medland lay on the ground in front of the horse. the man had seen him too late to avoid him; he had been knocked down and trampled with the hoofs. his face was pale, and a slight twist of the features told of pain. he held his hand to his right side.
-kilshaw was off his horse in an instant.
-"back there, back!" he cried. "don't crowd on him."
-the governor rode up; a group gathered round. there was no more thought of the charge. the rioters, after an instant, broke the barricade and came out, one by one, timidly making for the spot.
-"here," whispered kilshaw to dick derosne, "you lift his head. he won't want to see me," and he drew back behind the wounded man.
-the governor dismounted and stood by his brother, but before dick could lift medland's head, a rough woman, in a coarse gown, pushed through, elbowing him and lord eynesford aside.
-the governor handed his, and she wiped the clammy moisture from the forehead and hands.
-medland opened his eyes.
-"the horse kicked me in the side," he murmured faintly, "here, on the right--low down. i'm in pain."
-then he saw dick derosne.
-"mr. derosne!" he called faintly, and dick knelt down to listen. "tell your sister i believe."
-"what?" asked dick in sheer surprise.
-"you heard?" asked medland petulantly.
-"yes--that you believe."
-"well, tell her," and he turned away his head.
-there was a little bustle outside the group, and then big todd burst through.
-"is he killed?" he cried.
-medland saw him and stretched out his hand. big todd caught it, and the dying man pressed the fellow's knotted fist. perhaps he saw in todd the type of the "great beast," clumsy, often wrong-headed, but honest at heart, that he loved and worked for.
-"what did you want to be such an infernal fool for, man?" he said, with a little smile. then his eyes closed, and the woman wiped his forehead and kissed him.
-the group round him drew back, leaving the woman and todd near him. presently some dozen of the rioters brought the top of a table from their barricade, and lifted him on to it. then big todd spoke to the governor.
-"there'll be no more fighting," he said. "i'll give myself up, but i'd like to help the chaps to take him home first."
-the governor nodded, and they raised the table on their shoulders and set out for kirton. behind them came the woman and a few more of the same class; some children stole out from the back of the gaol and took their places. after them marched the rioters, and last of all the governor, his party, and the troops. and in this order the procession passed along. and some time before it had gone far, medland bled to death inwardly; his strength failed him and he gave a convulsive shiver, opened his eyes for the last time to the sky, and then lay still under the rough coat that big todd had thrown over him.
-"dick, dick," whispered the governor, when they came near government house, "ride on and tell them."
-"what is it, dick?" cried lady eynesford. "willie's not hurt?"
-"no--it's--it's mr. medland."
-eleanor was standing by alicia, and she felt a sudden clutch on her arm.
-"what has happened?" she asked.
-"i'm afraid he's very badly hurt," answered dick, and drawing near his sister he whispered, "al, he sent you a message. i don't know what it means, but--he believes."
-one swift glance told him she heard, then her eyes fixed themselves on the advancing crowd, and the burden the men carried.
-alicia swayed heavily against eleanor scaife. eleanor threw her arm round her waist, and answered the moan she heard with--"hush, darling!" while alicia, with parted lips and straining eyes, watched him carried by.
-as they had escorted him home on the day when he first became their ruler, so they took him to his home now, the throng of mourners ever growing as the people poured out of the town to meet them, until they reached his house and halted before his door, waiting for some one who should dare to carry the news to the fair-haired girl who had met him in triumph when he came before.
-in kirton the name of "jimmy medland" is still remembered, and his grave does not lack continual flowers. in far-off england few remember him, and his name is seldom spoken, save when a very old white-haired man comes to stay with a lady in one of the midland shires. then, when they are alone, when her husband has gone hunting and the children are away, and there is no other ear to listen, alicia will sometimes talk to sir john of mr. medland, what he was and was not, what he did and dreamed, how he lived and died, and how the men of kirton love his memory.
-"it all seems like a dream now," she says, "but it's a dream i can never forget."
-and sir john presses her hand, for perhaps he guesses what she has not told him.
-his daughter wrote on his tomb nothing except his name; but a wandering englishman, who heard his story, and recollected the grave of another who died with his work undone, has rudely scratched at the base, near the ground, where the grass half hides it, an epitaph for him--plura moliebatur. and he told big todd, whom he chanced to find smoking his evening pipe hard by, that it meant "he had more work in hand."
-"ay, trust old jimmy!" said big todd, with a curious wave of his great hand towards the grave. had such a thing been at all in his way, one might have thought it was a benediction.
-richard clay & sons, limited, london and bungay.
-an englishwoman’s home
-the removing of those things that are shaken, ... that those things which cannot be shaken may remain.
-new york george h. doran company
-copyright, 1918, by george h. doran company
-printed in the united states of america
-theodate pope riddle
-and the dear american war women who opened to me their hearts and homes, this record of true happenings in the english war zone is affectionately and gratefully inscribed
-it was in "aldersyde" many years ago that i first met mrs. burnett smith, writing then as during the intervening years under the pen name of annie s. swan, beloved of all readers of wholesome books.
-many times since i have met her—acquaintance ripened into friendship—visit succeeded visit, until now upon the occasion of her official visit to the united states it has been the good fortune of myself and my family to entertain her as an honoured guest.
-in the course of our quiet talks mrs. burnett smith has told me the story of her life in england, just outside of london, since war began. her experiences were so varied, yet so typical of what the englishwoman has been called upon to endure, that i begged of her to make record of them for her friends in america. she demurred until i reminded her that she was in our debt many letters—hence the intimate form of this narrative. indeed it was only by urging the personal obligation that she has been persuaded to tell her story, which it is my proud privilege to publish in this form.
-new york, may 10, 1918.
-my dear: to-day i opened the cedar wood box—i can see the little wrinkle of your level brows over these cryptic words, can almost hear you ask why something so simple should be chronicled as a war time event.
-i expect you remember just where the box stood on the little very old table at the left side of my study window. it was often between us, when we had those wonderful talks in the summer of 1913. once i remember i removed it gently out of your reach, as you thumped its precious lid rather hard to emphasise your indignation over the accumulated injustices of life.
-it is far removed now from the delicate setting you so much approved, the red rose of the window hangings no longer accentuates its quaint outline.
-it now stands bald and bare on the workman-like writing table in the smoking room of our kingdom by the sea. you never achieved acquaintance with this dear place in your extensive yet inadequate travel year, owing to george’s feverish desire to transport you to the particular bit of germany he had so long idealised. i am thinking now of his chastened demeanour when he brought you back. something had gone out of his early dream; that elusive essence which once gone can never be recaptured. youth is ours only once—we may go on pretending; but there comes no second spring.
-your letters—and certain of george’s—considered by his critic worthy of the privilege, have always been "taken care of" (i love that comforting american phrase) in the cedar wood box. it so happens that it is the one intimate thing i have brought here with me. it was picked up in the garden with part of its contents scattered, after making a hasty exit through the window—heavens! i hear you say—what can she be talking about—and why is she so far from her base in war time? here is the bald and awful fact—
-there is no more north house. have you taken it in, cornelia? you loved its simple dignity, its old-world repose. you had no fault to find because it did not spread itself to any great extent, and lacked all the wonderful conveniences to which you are accustomed in your own home. you allowed it the defects of its quality, nay, i even believe that you loved them. did you not put your hand over my mouth when i audibly wished that my mauve thistle spare bedroom had been a more spacious chamber, where you could sit or stand at an angle immune from draughts, or from bumping against some aggressive article of furniture.
-i often apologised for the one bathroom, small at that, and for the inadequate supply of hot water. then you would point to the moss-grown terrace at the back, the cedar tree on the lawn, sloping to the winding river, and the delicate vistas beyond. "oh yes," i said, "it is the only garden in the world, but the house could be improved on." did i really say that? i know i did, not once, but a thousand times, and now i am the prey of a most unendurable kind of remorse, that which we feel when something we loved is removed permanently from our sight and we know we belittled it.
-now perhaps you will understand, cornelia,—the home we all loved together—though often belittling it in the grumpy scotch way—is dead. it will never be ours any more. its roof can never shelter those we love, nor its walls echo the happy laughter which doeth good like a medicine. i see the bewilderment gathering in your quizzical eyes, and you wonder what it is all about, and whether i have taken leave of the small modicum of sense himself and you allotted to me the last time we discussed the question together.
-the truth is, i am afraid to begin. i do not know how to tell it. the world is full of words—but there do not seem to be any to fit this case. but i must try. i have been sitting ever so long, looking out to the sea, which is no longer a pathway to the sun, but a menacing grey highway across which awful shapes may at any moment race to destroy our peace, and fill us with terror and dismay. to the left, as i turn my eyes, through the window i see the gleaming nozzle of one of the big guns, with the gunners ready beside it. they are there night and day. so even our summer home is in the grip of the war monster from which there is no escape. it is the 16th of october and the skies are very grey, the air heavy with a strange chill, the sea mists are creeping up—and the moan of the breakers against the rocks seems to presage some coming doom.
-it was very lovely in hertfordshire in october—its early weeks gave us a taste of the most beautiful indian summer i have ever seen. our chestnut trees were never more glorious, nor more vividly clad. flame was the keynote of the colour scheme, and it lingered—wonderfully blent with all the undertones of departing summer, till the picture our garden presented was so entrancing, i could not attend to my ordinary tasks, grudging every moment spent away from it. we were clearing the herbaceous borders—and planning a new scheme for enhancing the beauty of the lily pond. i had long serious discussions with the gardener, an understanding creature, about economy in bulbs. the true garden-lover would do without clothes, rather than raiment for her garden; but we had to patriotically compromise, and, with a little ingenuity and extra planning, saw a very promising vista for the spring. you have noticed, indeed, it was, i think, more than once the subject of our talk, that the last summer of a person’s life is often the most beautiful. it was so with our boy.
-do you remember how i told you that when our little fishing expedition at amulree came to an end in 1910, and the children were so loth to leave the old inn and the everlasting hills, i said to him, "never mind, son, next summer when dad and i go to america to visit uncle george and aunt cornelia, you and effie will come here all by yourselves, or with aunt jack, and have it all over again."
-he turned his big quiet grey eyes on mine and said very simply, "these things don’t happen, mummy." he was very young when he learned that lesson. it all came true, not in my sense, but in his.
-before the next summer came, his dear beautiful body was laid on the cliff side at the kingdom by the sea and his soul had stolen "away" to his appointed place in his father’s house.
-that was the most beautiful summer in our lives—not in his only, but in our whole family life, of a richness and nearness and dearness, to describe which, there are no words.
-well, and this the last summer of our garden’s life, in so far as it concerned us, was the most beautiful we have ever known, in a circle of many summers, all beautiful.
-never had there been such wealth of bloom. the roses! they simply flung themselves in regal magnificence at our feet. the more you cut and gave away the more persistently they insisted upon coming on; not in single spies, but in battalions.
-the old walled vegetable garden which you so loved, being invariably found, when missing, between its box hedges, surpassed itself. we could not use the stuff. our belgian household over the way, of whose doing and being i as chairman of the belgian guest committee have written you so much, had access to the garden to help themselves. it is a royal memory we have; but only a memory. sometimes it seems as if soon, all life would be only a memory.
-hope seems—for the moment—to have folded her tent like the arabs, and silently stolen away.
-on the 12th effie came home from france in her first leave from active service. you can imagine the excitement in the household, the somewhat tremulous expectancy of himself and myself.
-the one ewe lamb, as you know right well, is a kind of desperate possession. once or twice i have recalled your warning counsel not to let her leave us; but, my dear, you would have to be here to understand the strange new blood that is firing the veins of both youth and maturity and age, the red blood of patriotism. she was very young to go out to that strange awful sublime place they call the war zone. but she came back to us radiant, quite unchanged; but yes, there is a change. she has the eyes of one who, born in a great time, is striving to live greatly. she was, before the war, one of the lotus flowers to whom the call came opportunely, and now she is blooming for others all unconscious of herself. you who have known and shared my anxieties about her future, will rejoice with me, i know. she is not a good letter writer, she has the very scotch habit of leaving out all you want to know.
-a dear english friend of mine, whose name i must not tell you, speaking of her husband, one day in a moment of exasperation said, "you have to take too much for granted with a scotch husband." i smiled comprehendingly, having lived so long with himself.
-effie is a little like that. you never know what is shut up inside of her. the boy was so different, so easy to know—and so lovely when you did know him. well i suppose it would not be good for us to be given without effort or seeking the key to every treasure house. heavens, how i wander! i must come back and tell about the thing to which effie came home.
-we had had a quiet lovely day together. i had managed to worm a little out of her about her beloved camp at etaples, not half enough—but just enough to know what this wonderful new life of service for others is doing for the child.
-himself was rather busy, and had to go out after dinner to see some patients who required a late visit. the house surgeon from the hospital had just dropped in asking for him and we kept him, expecting that himself would be back quickly.
-i had a restless feeling that night. it was very dark, with a close sultry air, and i went upstairs throwing open windows that had been shut. i was standing at the open window of himself’s dressing room when i heard the unmistakable whirr of the zeppelin engine.
-i have tried to describe it to you before. it is a sinister grinding noise, unlike anything on earth. i flew down to tell them that the zeppelins were out. effie, eager with the quick longing of youth for every adventure, said, "no such luck," and we immediately went out on the terrace to crane our necks in an endeavour to discover the marauder’s silver silhouette against the clear dark sky. then quite suddenly there was the most terrific bang, and somewhere in the near distance strange lights like shooting stars seemed to descend upon our little inoffensive town—we stood dumb, holding our breath, while the bangs continued getting louder and louder. presently, we were joined by the terrified servants, who, at their supper in the basement kitchen, unaware that the zeppelins were in the neighbourhood, came rushing out. the young ones were inclined to scream. i remember laying my hand on somebody’s arm, and saying, "hush, be still!" to me it was a stupendous moment, during which the whole fabric of existence seemed to be tottering—and we on the edge of some unimaginable abyss. i remember effie’s face lit by the weird glare from the incendiary bombs now falling in rapid succession from the upper air.
-there was no fear upon it, only a kind of uplifted spirituelle look. i seem to remember that she said, "do you think it will be this one, mummy?" but she stoutly denies having uttered any such words. presently, however, "this one" descended and found its mark. the din was indescribable; conceive of forty-two bombs dropping in a limited area in the space of four minutes, the glare of their bursting, the air full of sulphurous fumes and an awful indescribable sense of evil, imminent, devilish, against which we were absolutely helpless and unarmed. as we stood there in absolute silence, holding on one to another, we had no sort of knowledge or information that our very own house was being destroyed. to you this may seem incredible, when you reflect that the terrace, though wide, is joined to the house.
-it was all so quick and so terrible, that we felt it must be the end of the world, the total destruction of everything we had considered stable in our earthly life. presently, the voice of the man beside us spoke: "i think it’s over now, and we’re safe." the air-ship, sailing low, so that we saw it distinctly between the cone of the cedar tree and the sky, disappeared rapidly and the noise of explosions ceased—only to be replaced by the cries of excited people, and the moans of the hurt and dying in the street. the darkness was profound, the power station having been destroyed early in the attack.
-quickly people began to climb in upon our ruins, seeking presumably for us or for our remains. presently, among them, very white in the face, and very glassy about the eyes, appeared himself, wheeling his bicycle. they had told him down the street that his home and every one in it had been destroyed. he counted us,—we clung together for just a moment, then he said, "i must go." "where?" i asked, still holding on. "to my job," he answered as he unstrapped his emergency bag from his machine and strode away. we did not see him any more till the early morning, he and his colleagues being busy at the hospital. then the whole population seemed to be crowding us where we stood. we had no lights but a few stray candles. police and military presently appeared to take possession, and the general public were excluded. the accredited powers climbed across the debris to reach the garden, when a strange sight presented itself. five incendiary bombs which had been dropped after the explosive ones and were intended to complete the work of destruction, had only sunk in the soft earth, and were burning there like bale fires. the authorities were hunting for unexploded bombs, always a terrific menace until handled by experts and shorn of their hellish power. they said, and say still, that one is at the bottom of the river where it can’t do any harm. we tried to go up what remained of the staircase. the secondary staircase which connected the old wing with the more modern part, was blown into space; not a step of it remained. the beds, which had been in the rooms of the old wing, were outside somewhere, their twisted metal work and torn mattresses being afterwards found near the railings of the front garden.
-you remember the mysterious little passage with the double doors that led from my bedroom into the old wing; well, it was entirely gone; cut off as clean as if a knife had done it. we were very adventurous, climbing about trying to see by candlelight the full extent of the damage, and with nobody to tell us that we took our lives in our hands every minute where walls were tottering, and ceilings, so to speak, hanging by a thread. my eight-foot old mahogany wardrobe which you admired so much had climbed upon my bed, and half the ceiling was on the top of that. conceive what would have happened had the attack come without warning, when we were asleep in our beds!
-it has happened in other places. the protecting mercy of god was over and round about us—our time had not yet come. i had then no feeling of anguish over my ruined home, none of us had. to effie, it was a great adventure—the war in concrete visible tangible form! we simply did not realise what it all meant; i suppose we shall realise it right enough later on.
-midnight came—one o’clock in the morning—two o’clock—himself turned up at last and insisted that i should find a billet somewhere and lie down. he and effie determined to keep a vigil in the ruins. a fine rain had begun to fall, but there were dry places in the house, a corner of the drawing room queerly almost untouched. the vagaries of the concussion were beyond belief. the gable end of the dining room left standing was stripped inside of every scrap of plaster, leaving the lathes naked and bare. an old chippendale mirror still stuck heroically to its nail, above the mantel, or rather the place where the mantel had been, not shattered or scratched. but all the lovely old ladder-back chairs are gone and the sideboard. i shan’t really know till i go back whether we have anything left.
-effie took me up to my billet in a neighbour’s house, and as we groped our way by the railings in the inky darkness i suddenly clutched something soft. the flashlight revealed part of our dining room curtains—heavy silk damask ones, that had evidently been blown clean out up the street, and twisted round the railings by invisible hands.
-i did not sleep any, you may be sure. i was the slave of physical fear after the excitement had died down. shaking in every limb, even to my lips, i lay till about six o’clock, then got up again and dressed to go and seek my treasures.
-the sun was shining cheerfully as i wended my way through the gaping crowds which had come from god knows where, getting a sympathetic word and grip here and there from familiar friends.
-and presently i came to the north house gate, oh cornelia!
-it all looked so piteous in the clear sunlight, the shell of the dear home; the inextricable mass of plaster and bricks and broken wood work and all the belongings of a house. the crowds, there seemed to be millions of them, everywhere fell back to let me go in. himself met me, smiling bravely, but a little grim about the eyes.
-"we are going to breakfast at the odell’s," he said, "and after that you and effie go off to scotland; it is all arranged."
-it was no use protesting—you know how himself can look, and what it means when he says a thing has got to be done.
-we hung about a little, and i had a sort of resentment because the public were all over the place where my house had been. they were not our own townsfolk, but incomers, who had arrived in motors, in horse traps, on bicycles from miles away. the north road was simply black with them. we went off presently in a cab to our kind neighbour’s house, where we had a good breakfast and much sympathy, which seemed to put fresh heart into us. when we got back, it was to get ready for our journey to scotland.
-somebody found my clothes; people i had never seen before seemed to be packing them up in trunks, not ours, which appeared mysteriously from the outside. kind hands brought us lunch, already prepared, and so we got ready to go away. but before the end i had a hard task. poor tubby, the lovely old mother chow, had gone mad, or at least become dangerous through sheer terror. you know how sensitive she was. she had to be shot and nobody could get her out of the kennel but me. i went and dragged her forth and put the collar around her neck and took her to the place of execution, where the man with the gun was waiting.
-how did i do it? god knows, cornelia. but it was absolutely necessary for the safety of human creatures, and i know she has forgiven me in the happy hunting ground where she has gone. she knew i loved her; but when i heard the report of the gun the iron seemed to enter into my soul. wang has gone too, and satan, the impish and delicious persian cat that became an inmate of this animal-loving house after you left, was found stark by the edge of the immense crater made in the front garden by the bursting shell. it wiped out his favorite laurel bush, under which we suppose he had been sleeping when the terror came.
-he was not injured in any way—he died of the same concussion which split the old cedar tree and broke it right in two. soon after eleven we trundled away to the station en route for london and scotland, leaving himself to make shift alone. it was his ordination, and we seemed too dazed to stand up against it. we have been here three days, and already effie and i are both very restless. i expect in a few more days in spite of himself we shall be speeding back, for there is much to do there. first and foremost we have to find another roof to cover us.
-i will write as soon as i get back, and can co-ordinate my thoughts.
-you and george will mourn with us, and i have no doubt george’s sentiments on the subject of america entering without further parley will be vivified and strengthened. as i write i see the desolate ruins—the broken and desecrated household gods, the crowds of gaping strangers who regarded it as a spectacle without appearing to sense its tragedy. other houses in the town were destroyed, but i have presently no knowledge or cognisance of them.
-all sorrow and loss must be intensive at the first. this certainly is. it is a poor devilish kind of sport, to rain death upon non-combatants and sail away immune from punishment or reprisal. it makes women dumb and men desperate. i know what is in the mind of himself. loathing of the age limit, longing to defy the years and be out with the fighting forces in the field. i shall never keep him after this, cornelia. he will slip through another door.
-is there a light? yes, i remember kind faces i never saw before looking eloquently into mine, the clasp of strange but friendly hands, the offer of a score of homes. the gleam of brotherhood and sisterhood lightens the dark places of the earth, and defies organised and perfected cruelty to do its worst.
-it is three weeks since i wrote my last letter—two weeks and three days since i came back—no, not home, only back. we have no home any more—as we used to have it, though we have found a roof to cover us.
-i got your cablegram yesterday—it was dear of you to send it, but my spirit quailed at what it must have cost you to send such a lengthy despatch. of course we knew how george and you would feel about it, and there was a curious softness in himself’s eyes when i showed it to him; we even discussed whether we should launch out into a similar extravagance. we decided, however, that no adequate presentment of what we were doing could be offered in any cablegram, and that we must ask you to wait for another letter. himself even said, he would write it, but you know how he lives, and what stacks of unanswered ones lie in his pigeon-holes. i heard him say in an exasperated moment, that his private and particular hell would be a place where there were unending streams of letters of no importance, which he would be compelled to answer by return of post. it was he who suggested the one word, "reconstructing," and we both hope you grasped its full significance. it is a big word, and it means a lot. before there can be reconstruction, there has to be destruction, and the hun has done it very thoroughly for us.
-i had better go back, i think, to where i left off. i told you, i remember, that after three days both effie and i grew restless, and on the sixth we wired himself that we were coming back and that he must find a place for us. we knew that he was still sleeping on a shake-down in the corner of the drawing room where the free winds of heaven blew in upon him—and the rain when it chanced that way.
-you know how he loved everything in the house, how much of it was his individual choice, only the grouping left to me. and he was hanging on desperately to the remnant of his treasure house—though forbidden by official orders to touch anything until the representative from the government air raid insurance should come to inspect the premises, and the damage.
-when we arrived we found it arranged for us to stay at the wrights’ house. you remember how you liked them, free, jolly, unconventional people, who understand hospitality in the big sense, which makes you feel at home in their house. i can never forget what they have done for us at this time; and they were only two out of many. effie remained only long enough to collect her kit and go back to her beloved camiers—of course the house couldn’t mean as much to her; and for the time being she is detached from us and her usual surroundings. she went off gaily and gladly, not aware i am sure of the heartache she left behind. she will be the heroine of a great adventure when she gets back to her comrades. but i am sure she will never tell how fearlessly she carried herself through it.
-to us—that is to me, principally, is left the work of reconstruction.
-we have got the loan of a house from a kind neighbour who volunteered to find his family other quarters. they all felt that himself must have quarters as near as possible to the old place, so that his patients could easily find him, and his professional work be carried on.
-you will remember the house, a wide red brick many-windowed structure, standing sheer on the street just opposite st. andrew’s church. you will particularly remember it because you asked me what style of architecture its porch was supposed to represent. i replied that i had been told it was chinese chippendale.
-you said, "whatever is that, anyway?" and we both laughed. behold us then, installed in the house of the chinese chippendale porch. it’s just round the corner from the north house, less than two minutes’ walk. it is very strange and rather awful, i find, to live with other people’s things. they don’t belong to you. there is no intimate touch, and you don’t in the least want to arrange them or show them to the best advantage.
-there are more chairs in this house than in any house i have ever seen or heard tell of—the sort you don’t want to sit on.
-it is too full of everything for comfort, but the beds are beautiful, and it is such a relief to have a shelter, that we never can be grateful enough.
-cornelia, i wonder if you will understand that i was two whole days here, nearly three, indeed, before i dared to go round the corner. i simply couldn’t; but at last, quite early one morning before many people were about, and himself was safely out of the way, i stole round. there was a policeman at the gate, for there were heaps of things that could easily be removed by predatory hands. wooden barricades had been erected everywhere, and what windows were left were boarded over. the man touched his hat to me, but did not open his mouth. he was an understanding creature, who saw how it was with me.
-a cup here and there, with the handle off, or a gash in its side is all that is left of my crown derby, my old worcester, my lowestoft. it is all very awful. but these are only things. they don’t at this moment matter. what does matter is that the monster of war has laid its foul desecrating hand on the sanctuary of my home.
-in a flash of lightning, the suffering of france, of belgium and all the invaded countries stood revealed. i understand, and i know why our sweet dignified old belgian refugee guest, madame savarin, spat upon the remnants of the bomb i showed her yesterday.
-himself got george’s second cable this morning. when i read it the words of the old hymn flashed back, "death like a narrow sea divides that happy land from ours."
-i wonder if you just quite know how safe and free and happy you are on the other side of the atlantic. i see you knit your brows, and hear george’s language, occasionally,—i regret to say, not quite fit to grace any very genteel chronicle. i hope this is going to be a little more than that anyway. i will take back the last adjective, and beg you to thank god that you are safe and free for a little while longer. happy i know you and your kind will never be until you are standing shoulder to shoulder with us in this awful but glorious fight. i don’t know how george’s cable ever got through, really, on your side or ours. conceive what would have happened had he presented it at any telegraph office in germany. his head would have paid the forfeit. i am going to set it down here just to see how it looks in real writing with the cold official script.
-there, what do you think of it? i only hope you are properly proud of george.
-all the georges are nice. there is something comforting about them. shall i ever forget the other george, whom you too liked, who flew to us when the heavens darkened in 1910. he was here again at this time, the moment he could be of any use. when we are in trouble, his own affairs, however urgent, have to stand by. it is wonderful to have friends like that. they are a shield and buckler in the day of trouble.
-well, i laughed out loud when i read george’s cablegram and it did me so much good that i wish he would think up a new one every day, each one more violent than the other. it would never exceed or even fit the crime. perhaps you wonder how i can joke and play about with words in the midst of what is happening. i have to, cornelia. don’t you understand? if i didn’t i should never be able to carry on? and when i sit down in obedience to george’s express command by cable to tell you every single solitary thing—though how he ever expects it to be allowed out of the country i don’t know, my spirit positively quails.
-it is very awful, my dear—much more awful than it seemed at first. i am now spending all my days in the ruins, mostly quite alone, trying to retrieve what remains of our household gods. i am allowed to do this since the day the government insurance inspector came, and, having inspected, pronounced and assessed the damage, unsealed the debris, and went away—i don’t doubt, quite satisfied with himself. i suppose there is some kind of a system for the appointment of such officials, perhaps the less they know about their job the better. this one had no sort of conception of values. i tried to explain some of them, but soon gave out, and let him carry on. let me try to give you some idea of the tragic comedy. he was elderly, quiet and polite, not in the least sympathetic, because i am only one of many similarly placed, and sentiment interferes with business. his job was to minimise our loss. what was mine, i wonder? i’m not sure, but this i do know, that it hurt, hurt desperately, to have to stand by, and hear this well-meaning person make light of what had happened. once or twice i longed to see wang come bounding out of the unknown with his lovely face distorted, his bristles standing up and his growls like distant thunder in the air, but alas, i have to go through this thing quite alone. himself couldn’t do it—even if he weren’t too busy. he would just have a stand-up fight with the government representative, and that would be an end of compensation, though no doubt himself would enjoy the tussle immensely. we didn’t know quite where to begin. a table was erected in what is left of the library, and he spread out his inventory sheets and we started in. i had made an inventory too, and the contents of the dining room came under discussion first. he had a copy of this which had been previously submitted to him through our lawyer. his business was now to assess the amount they would pay. he put down the entire contents of the glass cupboard at ten pounds. fifty dollars of your money. i gently but firmly pointed out that there were single pieces in it that had cost that. he shook his head, and explained that in that case each piece should have been insured separately, as in the case of articles of jewellery. that was the platform from which he never departed, and i quickly realised that our cause was lost. six dollars he allowed for that priceless old chamberlain worcester tea service over which you raved so often, warning me that it should not be used every day. but you know we have never kept anything just for ornament; or lived in a house as a mere show place. the other george, of whom i’ve just been speaking, once told me i could make a home out of a cave, supposing i had only a handful of twigs to start with. well, that is how we have lived. the insurance gentleman was more reasonable about large solid articles of furniture, with which he seemed to be quite familiar. i don’t suppose he observed at what an early stage i gave up the ghost and simply allowed him to carry on, and put down what figures he liked. he visibly brightened, however, as the ghastly inspection proceeded, and became more and more friendly every minute, but not any more understanding.
-i got even with him over effie’s clothes. you know she wears only uniform in france, with one simple silk or crêpe-de-chine frock for the rare occasions when she goes out to dine, or to some informal hospital dance. so all her clothes were down in the wardrobe room, and they had been pulled out of the debris, and laid, a melancholy array, on the only bed left standing, which happened to be her own. you can imagine what last year’s frocks look like, especially when they have been a good deal worn, and finally come through an air raid. a torn and crumpled mass of satin and lace and chiffon, stained with lime and water. the sight seemed to affect the official mind profoundly; though my shattered treasures had left him cold. he asked their values, touching them rather pitifully; perhaps he visualised the radiant youth they had once enfolded, and i may have been misjudging him all along.
-he then asked bluntly what they had cost. i replied vaguely about ten pounds each. he put down fifty pounds without a murmur, and hurried out of the room as if he had had enough.
-it took the whole long, long day, cornelia, and when he went out for his lunch i sat among the ruins, and ate the dry sandwich florence had put up for me. i fear i watered it with my tears. i never knew there could be so many tears in the world. i had none to shed when the boy went away; but somehow this has unsealed the fount. it is a different kind of grief; it tears you a thousand ways; sometimes you are shaken with an impotent rage. of course it means that it will be more evanescent.
-how pleased i was to get them, you can’t think! i held them tight quite a long time, gave them a little polish with the corner of my apron, and then took them to the pantry shelf aforesaid, where i regarded them with a species of adoration as the nucleus of some future glass cupboard collection, when war has ceased to be.
-but i think it is ordained that for me there shall be no new glass cupboard. when i got back next day, two of them had gone. i pinched myself, wondering whether, like some of the college boys after a night out, i had been seeing double.
-then my friend, the big policeman, told me he had turned out some well-dressed people wandering through the ruins after i had left. it was no common thief who took these little things. there were articles of more value beside them. no, it was some horrible woman who coveted a souvenir from the zeppelined house, and took what she fancied most. i rather wish she had taken the four, then i might have amused myself by dreaming that they had been found.
-it was a mean cold-blooded unsisterly kind of theft. it almost deserves to have the adjective hunnish attached as a label.
-every day this sad task of mine has been going on, for more than a week, and now, tomorrow, this being sunday, the workmen are coming in and the removal men, and the few sticks, at least such as are worth removing, will be taken away to a furniture hospital for repair.
-your housewifely soul, already rent, i am sure, by this recital of my woes will be still further exercised by a brief description of what happened to my store cupboard. it was very full this autumn, owing to the garden abundance aforesaid, and our conspicuous industry and success in bottling, preserving and pickling,—the shelves simply groaned with good things, and now it is all one inextricable sticky mass of jam, and fruit, and broken glass, and lathe and plaster. you could not imagine anything more disgusting. it is part of the needless waste of war—a little bit, however, that just comes right home.
-just one more straw, surely the last. friend government assessor valued the stock of my store cupboard at ten shillings, two dollars and a half. and i just let him, because it was so funny, and there didn’t seem to be any use telling him any more about anything.
-when i write again i expect it will be all over and the lid shut down on the place that was once a home.
-i sat a little while to-day on the mossy wall beside the lily pond, one of your numerous garden thrones.
-do you remember the day they cleaned it out, and your excitement over the queer little black fresh water cray fish the men took out with their hands and laid on the grass while they swept and scoured the concrete bottom of the pond? they crawled about so painfully, poor things, and if they thought at all, i suppose they must have imagined it the end of the world. then how pleased you were, and they too, i expect, when they were put back, and the lovely clean water from the upper river ran in on them. it is very clear to-day, and there is a crooning sound in the voice of the waterfall—it sounds almost like a dirge. summer is quite gone, and the yellowing leaves are drifting down everywhere. some of them have camouflaged the horrid burned places the incendiary bombs made in the grass. a few late roses hang about rather wistfully, but there doesn’t seem to be any hope anywhere. we don’t quite know what is going to happen, whether this house is going to be rebuilt, and we come back to it.
-there are immense legal and technical difficulties in a situation for which no precedent or legislation exists. we do not own, but only lease the property, and at the moment don’t know where our responsibility begins or ends.
-himself is wrestling with the problem, and the little lines are gathering about his eyes and mouth.
-he does not say very much at all, and he won’t go near the north house any more. i know he can’t bear it.
-you and i have often talked of how dear they are, and how they never, never grow up, but are just boys all their days.
-they can do the fighting, but they can’t do the enduring. that is our bit.
-i am trying to do mine, all i know how, but i am hard hit this time, cornelia. i am on my knees.
-such a lot has happened since i wrote last. i am beginning to regard these letters as a real and faithful record of this strange phase of our life. i know how faithfully you will keep them as i do yours. they may come in handy one day to the person who may gather up the fragments of my achievement—when finis has been written across the last page.
-you see, cornelia, here we have to keep rather quiet and lift a gallant head—noblesse oblige has to be the watchword. this for two reasons, that so many people require bolstering, who if they detected any weakening in this direction would feel that the front line had broken.
-then it is necessary for our inward life. you know how much i have been through, and unless i had held my head high right along why then, it would just have meant the end of all things. but oh, how we can be misunderstood!
-in the dark days of 1910 i met a woman in the street about three months after the boy had passed, and after we had exchanged greetings she remarked with a charming smile, "how nice that you have got over it so easily." my smile was a little sickly as i replied steadily, "yes, isn’t it very nice?"
-i did not see anything very clearly for quite a while after i had passed on.
-just for a moment, i wondered whether it had been all wrong to bury that irreparable loss so deep that nobody suspected its existence, as a loss. i had been rather proud because i had been able to "carry on," but these careless words suddenly awoke in me a passion of remorse lest i had been disloyal to his precious memory. then i just laughed weakly as i wiped my nose and eyes. am i not his mother, and do mothers ever forget or prove disloyal? another of "that sort of person" said to me on the morning of the raid as i was hurrying to the bank to get some money, "so sorry; you have had bad luck, haven’t you, since you came here?" have we, i wonder? and what is luck anyway? you and i both know there is no such thing.
-there have been developments since i wrote you, chiefly regarding our tenancy of the north house. it happens that under the terms of our english lease we are responsible for this damage, and will have to rebuild for the proprietor at our own expense. preposterous, you exclaim! so do we, and himself has got his mind firmly made up that he will fight it out. some of our advisers would like us to take it to the law courts and make a test case of it, but our adviser-in-chief—that dear friend and great law lord who made such fun of your nipigon fishing story at our big dinner party, is strongly against it. he says, "pay up whatever it costs. the case simply bristles with litigious points and i see it going on indefinitely and finally coming up before me at the house of lords." himself is in fighting trim, however, and the decision will rest with him.
-meanwhile we have got to do something about our future, as we can’t go on living in this furnished house, which gives me the queer unhappy feeling of not belonging anywhere in particular. the kind neighbour who offered us the shelter had another proposition, that he should vacate altogether and have us take over his lease. we are going to do it, but will have to wait some time before the transaction is completed, because we have no furniture except the broken stuff which is being mended up at the furniture dealer’s in the town.
-i have to go down almost daily to consult and decide whether this or that article is worth repairing. it usually resolves itself into an argument with the expert. the more he says it can’t be done, the more i want it done. of course, it is our dearest treasures that have received the deadliest damage. meanwhile, my dear, all these matters merely fade into insignificance beside the one great tremendous yet glorious fact. himself is going to the war.
-you know how hard and often he has hammered on the war office doors, and how his age was hurled at him, and he was bidden go and carry on the good work he was doing in his own town. well, he has got a commission at last through the intervention of an old college friend who occupies the exalted position of a.d.m.s. to a part of the northern army. that means that he is the director of medical service. himself will be attached to the black watch and report himself first to the headquarters in perthshire.
-is he pleased about it? he does not say much, but he has been far more restless since the raid. am i pleased? cornelia, honestly i don’t know. every woman wants her man to be in this tremendous fight, but i think i am a little afraid.
-this morning i read a wonderful verse in hebrews. every bit of the bible takes on new meanings these days. i can’t recall the chapter at this moment. i daresay, you will remember it at once. "yet once more, signifieth the removal of these things that are shaken—as of things that are made, that those things which cannot be shaken may remain." what do these words mean quite? have i been clinging too frankly to the things that are made, and must they all go one by one, so that i may realise and grip the things that cannot be shaken?
-perhaps that is the war in a nut-shell. it is a poignant, almost a terrifying thought.
-he went this morning, cornelia, new year’s morning, "in a blast of januar wind that blew hansel in on robin." he looked so dear and splendid in his perfect-fitting uniform (you know he never leaves anything of that kind to chance and would go without food any day if the fit of his clothes depended on it). i was worshipping all the time and cook, our faithful chauffeur, left the car at the door to come and see whether he could help with the leggings which were rather stiff and new—and just to take a general view. he was the picture of desolation and woe. old servants don’t like those cataclysms. they have no reserve weapons to deal with them. they are conservative to the innermost fibre of their being.
-at last they drove away to catch the north-going train at the junction.
-i have often envied other women when i heard them speak with conscious pride of their men at the front—but oh, cornelia, when the door was shut and the toot of the horn echoed faintly in my ears, i forgot to be proud—and was nothing at all but a lone woman, left desolate in the house of her dreams.
-reconstruction is now my job. everything that could be removed from the wreckage at the north house has been removed and the ruins left to the owls and the bats. the retrieval was conducted during days of pitiless rain which accentuated the desolation. but it is all accomplished now, and i don’t go around there any more.
-we had twenty tons of coal buried in the debris of the old stabling, where it was housed, and the police came to tell me it would have to be removed, if i wanted to get the benefit of any, as a steady pilfering was going on. it was a tremendous job but with coal at its present price an effort had to be made to get it out. it has just been put down in the cellar of this house and the transfer cost four pounds.
-in the absence of himself, i have concluded the arrangements for an actual possession of this house, which we have taken for a term of three years. no more leaseholds for me in this country, and though a casually rented house gives one an odd feeling of insecurity—anything may happen in three years. there will have to be a little papering and painting done, just to make it clean and wholesome, and then i will bring back my poor sticks from the repairing shops, and group them in this strange new setting. it is really quite a nice house, with some points the other lacked. a great advantage when one has a depleted staff is a kitchen on the ground floor. it is a thoroughly bad kitchen, dark and gloomy, and the hot water arrangements, and facilities for cooking are positively the worst i, an experienced housewife, have ever encountered. if i had not two specimens of the salt of the earth in these regions beyond, the situation would be impossible. they are quite selfless, as far as their own comfort and accommodations are concerned. they think only of us. such personal devotion takes the edge off many sorrows.
-already i have a scheme which perhaps in the far future will convert this house into a real home. how ineradicable is the instinct to reconstruct in the human breast! that it cannot be killed has been incontestably proved by the persistence with which our poor french and belgian confrères creep back to their ravaged fatherland and begin again.
-himself builded better than he knew when he began to talk of reconstructing the moment the shock was over. he is always distressingly right in the fundamentals, and our small internal wars have invariably been caused by my refusal to admit it. but life is not all fundamental, cornelia, it needs camouflage, needs it desperately. all women know it.
-there are gleams of glory. the finest is the love of the people for my lover. a poor woman rushed up to me to-day to ask the latest news of him. from her i learned that they call him "the friend of the poor." if i were to die to-morrow, cornelia, i could ask no sweeter epitaph.
-i have decided that the house is not bad at all, and i am beginning to sit up and take a little notice. only i must not look out of the back windows.
-you remember the enchanting vistas spread before the green bedroom, and the study window around the corner. there was no fret of the spirit that could not be healed and comforted, always there was beauty to lift you up, and a message, no matter how bleak the prospect elsewhere. it was that dear intimate kind of a garden where there was something for every mood.
-doctor horton once came to dine and sleep when speaking at a meeting here, and at six next morning he was out roaming about, to the disquiet of the staff. he had visions of a hermit’s study cell in the ruined tower by the waterfall, and wondered why i did not establish a writing room out of doors.
-i explained that my writing was a stern business which would admit of no distractions. i have found that even a very comfortable study is a bad place for the cultivation of thought. a wooden bench and bare walls, or the "fender end" of my childhood and a block on my knee produced the best results.
-but to return to the only thing that matters at the moment. i am reduced to a cabbage patch. even that is a misnomer, for there is not even a "kailyaird runt" i.e. remnant, on that little ugly bit of mother earth.
-it is a slice of no man’s land that has never grown anything but weeds. it is relieved by a background of trees, our own chestnuts, cornelia, whose glory of pink-and-white cones we used to watch till they were mirrored in all their majesty in the clean depths of the backwater above the fall.
-when i want positively to revel in heartbreak, to be homesick and unashamedly miserable (which i fear i am most of the time, since himself retired from the scene), i go to the uttermost edge of my no man’s land, where i can hear the rush and tumble of the waterfall, though i cannot see its foaming tears.
-to descend to mundane things, let me explain that this house belonged to a master-builder who once upon a time had his workshop and all the paraphernalia of his business in the backyard. after a while he secured more ambitious premises, and carried away all the plant, leaving us the legacy of a concrete floor in the very middle of the patch.
-so before we can obey the food administrator’s order to plant potatoes, the concrete will have to be broken up and removed by the hand of george cook.
-my war-work has had to call a halt till i get through with this business of home making; that being the duty that lies nearest. you think i’m not saying so much as usual about himself? i can’t, because, oh, cornelia, he seems to have passed out of my life! i get his dear letters, but they are all about people i have never seen and don’t want to see, because they are there with him, seeing him every day, and i am not. he is loving the life—you know how he would—and the boys with whom he lives in the mess, himself the biggest boy of all.
-in every letter i can sense the buoyancy of spirit that comes with the laying down of responsibility. here he had so much, and now he is only a nut in the great machine of war, and so long as he does his duty and obeys orders he can have an easy and comfortable mind.
-he is stationed at the moment up in what is the frozen north, but they are the hills of home, and he is assuredly content. he is not even homesick, though always asking when i am coming. i am waiting for effie’s next leave, when we will go up together. meanwhile i must hold the fort here, or all the wrong wall papers will go up, and there might even be structural undoing if the workmen were left to their own sweet wills. but it is an empty life, cornelia, out of which the soul has gone. even the picture in uniform, on my desk, the man of the house at war, fails to afford the uplift or the comfort once imagined. i must get through with this reconstruction job as it affects material things, and start the reconstruction of my own inner life. i, too, must go to the war.
-i had your dear letter yesterday and have every word of it by heart, even george’s postscript. i always knew him to be an understanding creature, but his knowledge of human beings, more especially the heart of woman, is a wee bit uncanny.
-i remember wanting to say that the criticism did not, and could not, apply to scotch husbands. but perhaps wisely i held my peace.
-we left it, what is called in scotland "a moot point"—and a moot point, i guess, it must remain. anyway, wherever george got his knowledge, whether natural or acquired, he has gripped the essence of this thing when he calls separation the supreme test of the bond. i am going to write to him when i am through with this, and you are not to see that letter, nor yet ask to see it—i need him—i want the man’s point of view.
-what is this all about anyway? i think i hear you say with the uplift of the brows which is your very own.
-you, in america, with your semi-detached ideas of marriage, which enable you to bear six months’ or a year’s separation without any sinking of heart, or vague questionings, must naturally find it difficult to realise our point of view. with us marriage is "for keeps," as you say, and when upheaval comes, it seems always to spell disaster.
-perhaps our theory is all wrong, and an unwarrantable interference with the freedom of the individual. but i can’t be happy thinking of himself with a whole lot of new interests i can’t share, making shoals of friends, which is as easy to him as breathing the air, friends whom probably i shall never see. he can guess pretty well what i am about, but i can’t visualise him. just think of the hundreds of wives, and of other women who are feeling like this, and who are at war with the war, that has brought it about.
-there is another side to the picture, the side that proves the part truth of your assertion that we don’t bring up our husbands properly. let me present a little cameo of the times in which we live. i was at a war tea at a women’s club in london the other day, and there met an old acquaintance i had not seen for some time. she was quite middle-aged—and had been rather dowdy, not paying much attention to her clothes. before i spoke to her, i was arrested by a subtle change in her outward appearance. she had a smart suit on, and wore a distinctly youthful hat with a rakish air.
-the thing interested me, and i had to find out its meaning.
-when we exchanged greetings she informed me that her husband, retired, had gone back to professional work, which meant that he could not live at home, but at a military headquarters.
-i sympathised and asked how she got through the lonely days which i was feeling so desperately. she looked at me queerly through her shrewd candid grey eyes.
-"oh, i’m not lonely," she assured me. "in fact, entre nous, i’m having the time of my life."
-"tell me about it," i asked breathlessly, and she told——
-"well, i go out and in as i like, do all the things i have always wanted to do, but could not. nobody now asks me where i’ve been or what i’ve spent. in fact, i don’t really think i have any more use for dan."
-there, cornelia—it will make you smile, perhaps, but there is a tragedy behind it. poor old dan! comfortable, complacent, no doubt inflated by a new sense of his own importance because his country still needs him, to what strange and hostile atmosphere will he return! i can imagine him rubbing his eyes and wiping his pince nez and saying, "tut, tut, this will never do!"
-but he won’t be able to put back the clock. he’ll have to march to the new marching tune.
-i foresee ructions in the household of dan.
-meanwhile, she is having the time of her life!
-it makes no appeal to me, because i have always been able to have the time of my life, as she understands it. i have gone in and out without let or hindrance, none daring to make me afraid. and now, i am just a lonely creature like a bit of drift on the shore.
-there is another side to which george calls the supreme test—a horrible sordid side. hear it now. when i went to france first in 1915, to talk to the boys, i was asked whether i would go to a small forage camp in a god-forsaken place away up near abbeville, beyond the british headquarters. it was a kind of no man’s land which nobody ever visited. lectures and concert parties passed it by. i said, "of course i’ll go, it is what i’ve come out for."
-so effie and i got up at four o’clock in the morning to catch the only available civilian train leaving rouen for "up the line." the distance could not be far, according to the map, but it took us till three o’clock in the afternoon to get there. we were shunted into sidings to let troop trains and ammunition trains and hospital trains go by, and there were no passengers in ours except french officers and other people connected with the war.
-no women, but we two. i was so thankful to have effie. her gay inconsequence, her complete disregard of everything but the great adventure, helped us over every stony bit of the ground. gendarmes, sentries with fixed bayonets, grumpy passport and permit officials—she captured them all. youth is quite invincible, and when its smile is sweet like hers obstacles melt like mist before the rising sun. if i had even attempted that wonderful journey through the war zone without her i should either have been shot as a spy, or interned for the duration. it is short shrift for the middle-aged and the ordinary beings who can’t explain their business in the area where death and destiny walk side by side. well, in course of time, through several minor adventures, we reached our destination.
-a sturdy little divinity student from aberdeen was holding the fort there for the y.m.c.a. and holding it well. when he went first to give them a bit of humanizing christian comradeship, he had to sleep with a revolver under his pillow, fully aware that any night he might get his throat cut. these men were not soldiers, though they wore khaki, but rough east-enders, dock laborers, most of them, with lawless anarchic blood in their veins. they had spent the major part of their lives rebelling against law and order. they were the husbands of some of the women whose faces broke your heart when i took you to my big mothers’ meeting "down east" two years ago. the fortunes of war had cut them off from the grime and glory of the barking road, and those in authority found them a tough proposition in that sweet valley in the pleasant land of france.
-we pottered about the camp till nightfall, when the men gathered into the tent to hear the woman who had brought them a message from home.
-i knew when i stood up in front of them and saw their faces, looking grim and unrelenting through the haze of tobacco smoke and the reek of the oil lamp, that i was up against something, and would need not only all my art, but the grace of god to help me through.
-but i got them after a bit, got them in the hollow of my hand—playing on their hearts with memories of home, though all the time i knew the kind of homes they had left, and how hard most of them had made it there for the women they had vowed to love, honour and cherish.
-when the talk was over they crowded round and one particularly unattractive person with a scowling eye inquired whether he could have a word with me privately. we managed it later on in a remote corner, hard by one of the evil-smelling lamps.
-"’ere, missus," he began. "do yer ’appen to know the barkin’ road?"
-i eagerly asserted my complete familiarity with the barking road, the kings’ highway to dockland! i was even ready to proclaim it the finest thoroughfare in the world.
-"see here, then, lidy, thet was good talk, but it don’t go far enough. maybe i weren’t all i should a bin w’en i was back there, but my missus she ain’t played the game, she’s played it low down on me since i’ve been in this ’ere war. i ain’t had no letters from ’er for over four months, and i carnt ’ear nuthink about the four kids nah, but a bloke wot lives dahn our street sends me word that she’s sold up the whole bloomin’ shoot and nobody knows where she is, and the kids is in the union. an’ i carnt git out of this blarsted ’ole to see to the kids and give ’er wot for. wot are ye goin’ to do about it, lidy?" that was what people call a tough proposition, cornelia, the whole tragedy of one-half of the war in a nutshell.
-i did what i could. i tried to comfort him and took down all the particulars in the note book already bulging with behests, which it will probably take me the rest of my natural life to fulfil.
-when i got back to england i made the inquiries, put the salvation army angel on the track, and found it all just as he described. his missus has never been found—she has gone down in the underworld, urged there by the very same temptations which made dan’s wife say she had no more use for dan. tasting independence of action and of purse for the first time, she lost her sense of proportion. with the well-to-do, it is the sweets of independence that is testing them—with the other sort, the lure of the separation allowances, which means more money in hand than they had ever dreamed of before in their poor, narrow, sordid lives.
-there’s something all wrong with life, cornelia. it will have to be straightened out and evened up, and the poor and the oppressed will have to taste a little of the glory and the beauty and the dignity of life.
-perhaps that is what the war is for.
-meanwhile the poor bond!
-it will have to be recast in the new world we are coming to.
-how many of us will stand the test?
-himself has been back on his first leave. it is sunday night, he has just gone, and the door is shut again; leaving me inside while he is speeding away back to the unknown. it has been a lovely heartbreaking time. but he is detached, cornelia, he doesn’t belong any more. i had made superhuman efforts to get the whole house in order, sitting up late at night to cover cushions and put in all the fixings that make the real home. he was very polite, looking industriously at everything, and all the time his eyes were not seeing my poor little attempts at home-making—but something else far away. all he said was, "it’s very nice, but i have all i want in a tent," he didn’t mean to be cruel; he was only gripped by his new life, saw the mess table with his comrades round about him—the route march—the sham attack, all the pomp and preparation for the real war they are going out to presently. the things no woman can share; or can be asked to share!
-it is the man’s life, the big grey splendid thing which we are outside of, not once in a while, but forever and ever.
-he has changed, cornelia—not to me, but he has gotten the vision of the fierce arena where men are fighting and dying that liberty may live; has not only gotten the vision, but has become part of it.
-and i am only the woman left by the fireside. i don’t see the glory of the war as i used. the envy i felt towards the women who spoke proudly of their men at the front has died utterly. i don’t want him at the front. i want him here desperately, every minute of the time. he doesn’t feel like that. he can do without me.
-you said somewhere that since george heard that himself has gone, he is, like carlyle, "gey ill to live with," cursing the waiting policy of the president, the everlasting framing of notes full of dignified protest about nothing in particular.
-he wants to have a hand in the great big game, i know. but if the time should come, soon or late, when your roads and streets shall resound with the beat of armed and arming men, put the lid on george. never mind how, but just do it.
-it is hell!
-i am writing this quite a long way from my base. the black watch, to which regiment himself now belongs, has been sent to the east coast and i am here in a billet with him for a few weeks.
-it is the loveliest old city, interwoven with all the ancient history, when flemings and danes and all kinds of weird aliens invaded or flocked to these shores. it is beloved by your american tourists; if george and you did not differ from all american tourists whatsoever, you would have been here long ago, and could tell me far more about it than is to be obtained out of the most authenticated guide book. you, however, have always preferred to take your travel in microscopic doses, to make a little bit your intimate and dear possession for all time. i am surprised to find this old norwich such a noble city, and i should love to show you the ancient landmarks. it is full of treasures, of values which cannot be told, or was, rather, for the powers that be have mysteriously spirited them away, and the priceless stained glass windows have been boarded up—the very most priceless of all has been taken down. the fate of rheims and louvain and ypres has made the city fathers wise. but it is an omen, cornelia, which keeps me awake o’ nights and gives me the jumps when i hear the streets resound with the tramp of armed men in the silent watches—himself having been summoned with the rest to "stand to" as they call it, with their faces toward the sea.
-my war experiences are widening. yesterday we had a bombardment from the sea—not of norwich, of course—if you remember your geography you will know that it is not possible—but of the coast places, yarmouth and lowestoft, less than twenty miles away.
-of course i liked it, and we took some of the bigger children with us—it was easter week and they were all at home from school, round-eyed, eager, fearless about the war, which to them is nothing but the great adventure. we hardly expected to get through the military barrier, but we did, and saw what had been done.
-it is the same pitiful tale of destruction which follows in the zeppelin’s track, senseless, horrible war on defenceless folk who have little or nothing to protect them. these delightful east-coast watering places are all ruined, because everybody who could afford it has "quit" as you say, and the boarding houses and hotels are empty, and will be for the "duration."
-it was very typically british to find the front thronged with spectators, women wheeling babies in perambulators, all gazing upon the scene, but not apparently frightened at the wreckage. the story was soon told. some battle-cruisers suddenly appeared about six miles out and opened fire for twenty minutes or so, and then ran. there was no patrol to attack them, if it was anybody’s business to be on the outside there, they were off guard. the only criticism one is inclined to make is that it could not happen in germany.
-this pleasant east anglian land is lovely beyond compare in the exquisite spring unfolding, but the blight of war seems over all.
-they are getting ready great camps nearer the sea, and the troops will be taken out of their winter billets.
-himself is very busy inspecting and reporting, and generally proving as efficient and thorough in military life as he is in civilian.
-i begin to understand the lure of the life. there is perpetual movement, excitement, expectation. there is a certain kind of social life, lunches and dinners and other entertainment offered by hospitable people to the incomers, the great highland host that has invaded their stately precincts. there are lots of little war brides here with their young soldier husbands, and maturer matrons, some of them with considerable families, living in furnished houses trying to make a bit of home for the soldier men, and very interested themselves, though it is all so strange and inconvenient and far from home.
-we have delightful rooms in a comfortable house; it is quite a rest for me, and i am getting through with my next book.
-when they get into camp i shall have to go back home to the loneliness that is only companioned by fear.
-we are kept in inky darkness here on account of the frequent air raids. a month’s imprisonment without the option of a fine is the sentence for striking a match in the street. the authorities are lynx-eyed and vigilant, their reward is that this beautiful old city in its historic setting has remained immune through more than a score of attacks from the air. it is protected, too, by the trees, which add so much to its beauty.
-it has been an experience, cornelia, it is all part of the strange upheaval men call war, the outward fringes of it only, yet how deeply, inextricably woven in with the whole woof of life!
-every day one hears of the most extraordinary war marriages, rushed into, too often, after a few days’ acquaintance, without a thought given to the awful indissolubility of the bond. for whatever the experience of matrimony may be like, you can never be as you were before. already there has been much repenting at leisure, and when the glamour of the khaki is off, the tragedy will deepen and enfold the helpless creatures who cannot free themselves, and have no basis for a future.
-there are scandals, too, and tragedies too deep for tears, broken vows, faithless lovers and husbands, all the cursed things born of abnormal situations, and the kind of feverish false atmosphere created by war.
-these things cry as loud to heaven as the blood and sorrow from the battlefields, and make thoughtful people reiterate the prayer, oh, lord! how long?
-they are what we call "after the war problems." some of them will never be tackled—there is no machinery known to the human understanding capable of tackling them—many will just have to be buried deep, and no cross left to mark the burying place.
-there stands out for me here the joy of comradeship as men understand it, gripping it to their souls with hooks of steel.
-we don’t have it, cornelia—we women, i mean—it is something we do not get, nor perhaps understand. it is not that we are too petty, but rather, i think, because we have to keep ourselves more detached and selfless for all that men need and must have from us, if the family is to be held together.
-i have never seen anything more lovely than the tie between himself and the young officers, these splendid boys, pictures, every one in their kilts, and all the panoply of war. old enough to be father to any one of them, he has kept the boy’s heart, so that he is not only with them at the mess, but one of them. he is so wise and tender with them, that they come to him in every trouble. it makes me weep, and yet feel so proud, but not in the least surprised. did i ever tell you about the bundle of letters, docketed, dated and tied up, i found among the boy’s things after he went away? his father’s letters—which revealed to me a side of himself i had never seen.
-they ought to be printed, but i suppose other fathers write the same kind of letters to their sons at schools, letters that help the sensitive young souls to grapple with the mysteries of life. it is all part of their nature—the bit that isn’t ours—comradeship between man and man! when found between father and son, it is the most beautiful thing in life.
-you will be stunned by the news of kitchener’s passing. it created a panic here among the common folk.
-i met a woman in the street, with a crushed copy of the evening paper under her arm, wringing her hands and crying out that "all was lost." it shows what a hold he had upon the popular imagination. his has been, and is, a name to conjure with. the product of his vast personal magnetism is on every fighting front, and in every training camp at home. he was a great man—but his work was done—others will reap where he has sown.
-the memorial services in the cathedral here were fitting and fine, massed and muffled bands, a dense crowd of khaki-colored men. generals and high military personages galore, all the pride and pomp of war. but kitchener will live in the hearts of the people—his true memorial is to be found in the serried rows of crosses in france and flanders where so much of the army he called into being lies in consecrated dust that is "forever england."
-i am back again in old hertford to find letters urging my return to france.
-it is sweet to hear, not only from effie, who says it in almost every letter from camiers, but from those in authority, that the boys are always asking when i am coming back.
-the time-limit is the difficulty—everywhere, but more especially in the war zone, the restrictions are growing in intensity, and permits for foreign service to civilians are now almost impossible to obtain. if i agree to stay three months, i can go to-morrow, but how can i leave home for three months, as long as himself is still on this side of the water, liable to come on leave any day, or even just to say good-bye before he sails?
-i can’t do it, so i am compromising by agreeing to go for a spell to the home camps.
-the winchester command has asked me for a month and i’ll try to put in a part of it soon. effie is due on leave immediately, but she is finding
-all these facts constitute a series of very delicate problems of chronology and interrelation, and it would be rash to attempt to solve them en bloc. probably there is a different answer in each particular case, and i am afraid that some cases must always remain unsolved. we may speak of "vespers of isis" or of a "eucharist of mithra and his companions," but only in the same sense as when we say "the vassal princes of the empire" or "diocletian's socialism." these are tricks of style used to give prominence to a similarity and to establish a parallel strongly and closely. a word is not a demonstration, and we must be careful not to infer an influence from an analogy. preconceived notions are always the most serious obstacles to an exact knowledge of the past. some modern writers, like the ancient church fathers, are fain to see a sacrilegious parody inspired by the spirit of lies in the resemblance between the mysteries and the church ceremonies. other historians seem disposed to agree with the oriental priests, who claimed priority for their cults at rome, and saw a plagiarism of their ancient rituals in the christian ceremonies. it would appear that both are very much mistaken. resemblance does not necessarily presuppose imitation, and frequently a similarity of ideas and practices must be explained by common origin, exclusive of any borrowing. {xix}
-an illustration will make my thought clearer. the votaries of mithra likened the practice of their religion to military service. when the neophyte joined he was compelled to take an oath (sacramentum) similar to the one required of recruits in the army, and there is no doubt that an indelible mark was likewise branded on his body with a hot iron. the third degree of the mystical hierarchy was that of "soldier" (miles). thenceforward the initiate belonged to the sacred militia of the invincible god and fought the powers of evil under his orders. all these ideas and institutions are so much in accord with what we know of mazdean dualism, in which the entire life was conceived as a struggle against the malevolent spirits; they are so inseparable from the history even of mithraism, which always was a soldiers' religion, that we cannot doubt they belonged to it before its appearance in the occident.
-if we consider that the gospel preached peace, that for a long time the christians felt a repugnance to military service, where their faith was threatened, we are tempted to admit a priori an influence of the belligerent cult of mithra upon christian thought. {xx}
-but this is not the case. the theme of the militia christi appears in the oldest ecclesiastical authors, in the epistles of st. clement and even in those of st. paul. it is impossible to admit an imitation of the mithraic mysteries then, because at that period they had no importance whatever.
-it is our belief that the main point to be cleared up is the composite religion of those jewish or jewish-pagan communities, the worshipers of hypsistos, the sabbatists, the sabaziasts and others in which the new creed took root during the apostolic age. in those communities the mosaic law had become adapted to the sacred usages of the gentiles even before the beginning of our era, and monotheism had made concessions to idolatry. many beliefs of the ancient orient, as for instance the ideas of persian dualism regarding the infernal world, arrived in europe by two roads, the more or less orthodox judaism of the communities of {xxii} the dispersion in which the gospel was accepted immediately, and the pagan mysteries imported from syria or asia minor. certain similarities that surprised and shocked the apologists will cease to look strange as soon as we reach the distant sources of the channels that reunited at rome.
-but these delicate and complicated researches into origins and relationships belong especially to the history of the alexandrian period. in considering the roman empire, the principal fact is that the oriental religions propagated doctrines, previous to and later side by side with christianity, that acquired with it universal authority at the decline of the ancient world. the preaching of the asiatic priests also unwittingly prepared for the triumph of the church which put its stamp on the work at which they had unconsciously labored.
-through their popular propaganda they had completely disintegrated the ancient national faith of the romans, while at the same time the cæsars had gradually destroyed the political particularism. after their advent it was no longer necessary for religion to be connected with a state in order to become universal. religion was no longer regarded as a public duty, but as a personal obligation; no longer did it subordinate the individual to the city-state, but pretended above all to assure his welfare in this world and especially in the world to come. the oriental mysteries offered their votaries radiant perspectives of eternal happiness. thus the focus of morality was changed. the aim became to realize the sovereign good in the life hereafter instead of in this world, as the greek philosophy had done. no longer did man act in view of tangible {xxiii} realities, but to attain ideal hopes. existence in this life was regarded as a preparation for a sanctified life, as a trial whose outcome was to be either everlasting happiness or everlasting pain.
-as we see, the entire system of ethical values was overturned.
-the salvation of the soul, which had become the one great human care, was especially promised in these mysteries upon the accurate performance of the sacred ceremonies. the rites possessed a power of purification and redemption. they made man better and freed him from the dominion of hostile spirits. consequently, religion was a singularly important and absorbing matter, and the liturgy could be performed only by a clergy devoting itself entirely to the task. the asiatic gods exacted undivided service; their priests were no longer magistrates, scarcely citizens. they devoted themselves unreservedly to their ministry, and demanded of their adherents submission to their sacred authority.
-preface to the second edition.
-in this second edition the eight lectures forming the reading matter of this book have suffered scarcely any change, and, excepting the chapter on syria, the additions are insignificant. it would have been an easy matter to expand them, but i did not want these lectures to become erudite dissertations, nor the ideas which are the essential part of a sketch like the present to be overwhelmed by a multiplicity of facts. in general i have therefore limited myself to weeding out certain errors that were overlooked, or introduced, in the proofreading.
-the notes, however, have been radically revised. i have endeavored to give expression to the suggestions or observations communicated to me by obliging readers; to mention new publications and to utilize the results of my own studies. the index makes it easy to find the subjects discussed.
-and here i must again thank my friend charles michel, who undertook the tedious task of rereading the proofs of this book, and whose scrupulous and sagacious care has saved me from many and many a blunder.
-paris, france, february, 1909.
-rome and the orient.
-but if we calmly consider the real facts, avoiding the optical illusion that makes things in our immediate {2} vicinity look larger, we shall form a quite different opinion. it is beyond all dispute that rome found the point of support of its military power in the occident. the legions from the danube and the rhine were always braver, stronger and better disciplined than those from the euphrates and the nile. but it is in the orient, especially in these countries of "old civilization," that we must look for industry and riches, for technical ability and artistic productions, as well as for intelligence and science, even before constantine made it the center of political power.
-rome's institutions remained those of a city. it was difficult to apply them to the vast territory she attempted to govern with their aid. they were a clumsy {4} apparatus that worked only by sudden starts, a rudimentary system that could not and did not last.
-what do we find three centuries later? a strongly centralized state in which an absolute ruler, worshiped like a god and surrounded by a large court, commanded a whole hierarchy of functionaries; cities divested of their local liberties and ruled by an omnipotent bureaucracy, the old capital herself the first to be dispossessed of her autonomy and subjected to prefects. outside of the cities the monarch, whose private fortune was identical with the state finances, possessed immense domains managed by intendants and supporting a population of serf-colonists. the army was composed largely of foreign mercenaries, professional soldiers whose pay or bounty consisted of lands on which they settled. all these features and many others caused the roman empire to assume the likeness of ancient oriental monarchies.
-in the austere temple of law the orient held as yet only a minor position; everywhere else its authority was predominant. the practical mind of the romans, which made them excellent lawyers, prevented them from becoming great scholars. they esteemed pure science but little, having small talent for it, and one notices that it ceased to be earnestly cultivated wherever their direct domination was established. the great astronomers, mathematicians, and physicians, like the originators or defenders of the great metaphysical systems, were mostly orientals. ptolemy and plotinus were egyptians, porphyry and iamblichus, syrians, dioscorides and galen, asiatics. all branches of learning were affected by the spirit of the orient. the clearest minds accepted the chimeras of astrology and magic. philosophy claimed more and more to derive its inspiration from the fabulous wisdom of chaldea and egypt. tired of seeking truth, reason abdicated and hoped to find it in a revelation preserved in the mysteries of the barbarians. greek logic strove to coordinate into an harmonious whole the confused traditions of the asiatic religions.
-letters, as well as science, were cultivated chiefly by the orientals. attention has often been called to the fact that those men of letters that were considered the purest representatives of the greek spirit under the empire belonged almost without exception to asia minor, syria or egypt. the rhetorician dion chrysostom came from prusa in bithynia, the satirist lucian from samosata in commagene on the borders of the euphrates. a number of other names could be cited. {7} from tacitus and suetonius down to ammianus, there was not one author of talent to preserve in latin the memory of the events that stirred the world of that period, but it was a bithynian again, dion cassius of nicea, who, under the severi, narrated the history of the roman people.
-it is a characteristic fact that, besides this literature whose language was greek, others were born, revived and developed. the syriac, derived from the aramaic which was the international language of earlier asia, became again the language of a cultured race with bardesanes of edessa. the copts remembered that they had spoken several dialects derived from the ancient egyptian and endeavored to revive them. north of the taurus even the armenians began to write and polish their barbarian speech. christian preaching, addressed to the people, took hold of the popular idioms and roused them from their long lethargy. along the nile as well as on the plains of mesopotamia or in the valleys of anatolia it proclaimed its new ideas in dialects that had been despised hitherto, and wherever the old orient had not been entirely denationalized by hellenism, it successfully reclaimed its intellectual autonomy.
-her levantine subjects not only taught italy the artistic solution of architectonic problems like the erection of a cupola on a rectangular or octagonal edifice, but also compelled her to accept their taste, and they saturated her with their genius. they imparted to her their love of luxuriant decoration, and of violent polychromy, and they gave religious sculpture and painting the complicated symbolism that pleased their abstruse and subtle minds.
-the invasion of the barbarian religions was so open, so noisy and so triumphant that it could not remain unnoticed. it attracted the anxious or sympathetic attention of the ancient authors, and since the renaissance modern scholars have frequently taken interest in it. possibly however they did not sufficiently understand that this religious evolution was not an isolated and extraordinary phenomenon, but that it accompanied and aided a more general evolution, just as that aided it in turn. the transformation of beliefs was intimately connected with the establishment of the monarchy by divine right, the development of art, the prevailing philosophic tendencies, in fact with all the manifestations of thought, sentiment and taste.
-we shall attempt to sketch this religious movement with its numerous and far-reaching ramifications. first we shall try to show what caused the diffusion of the oriental religions. in the second place we shall examine those in particular that originated in asia minor, egypt, syria and persia, and we shall endeavor to {11} distinguish their individual characteristics and estimate their value. we shall see, finally, how the ancient idolatry was transformed and what form it assumed in its last struggle against christianity, whose victory was furthered by asiatic mysteries, although they opposed its doctrine.
-but before broaching this subject a preliminary question must be answered. is the study which we have just outlined possible? what items will be of assistance to us in this undertaking? from what sources are we to derive our knowledge of the oriental religions in the roman empire?
-it must be admitted that the sources are inadequate and have not as yet been sufficiently investigated.
-but everything is gone, and thus we lose the possibility of studying from the original documents the internal development of the pagan religions.
-as a rule, all we find in literature on this subject are a few incidental remarks and passing allusions. history is incredibly poor in that respect. this poverty of information was caused in the first place by a narrowness of view characteristic of the rhetoric cultivated by historians of the classical period and especially of the empire. politics and the wars of the rulers, the dramas, the intrigues and even the gossip of the courts and of the official world were of much higher interest to them than the great economic or religious transformations. moreover, there is no period of the roman empire concerning which we are so little informed as the third century, precisely the one during which the oriental religions reached the apogee of their power. from herodianus and dion cassius to the byzantines, and from suetonius to ammianus marcellinus, all narratives of any importance have been lost, and this deplorable blank in historic tradition is particularly fatal to the study of paganism.
-some of these polemicists nevertheless directed their attacks against the divinities of the orient and their latin votaries. either they derived their information from converts or they had been pagans themselves during their youth. this was the case with firmicus maternus who has written a bad treatise on astrology and finally fought the error of the profane religions. however, the question always arises as to how much they can have known of the esoteric doctrines and the ritual ceremonies, the secret of which was jealously guarded. they boast so loudly of their power to disclose these abominations, that they incur the suspicion that the discretion of the initiates baffled their curiosity. in addition they were too ready to believe all the calumnies that were circulated against the pagan mysteries, {16} calumnies directed against occult sects of all times and against the christians themselves.
-in short, the literary tradition is not very rich and frequently little worthy of belief. while it is comparatively considerable for the egyptian religions because they were received by the greek world as early as the period of the ptolemies, and because letters and science were always cultivated at alexandria, it is even less important for phrygia, although cybele was hellenized and latinized very early, and excepting the tract by lucian on the goddess of hierapolis it is almost nothing for the syrian, cappadocian and persian religions.
-the insufficiency of the data supplied by writers increases the value of information furnished by epigraphic and archeological documents, whose number is steadily growing. the inscriptions possess a certainty and precision that is frequently absent in the phrases of the writers. they enable one to draw important conclusions as to the dates of propagation and disappearance of the various religions, their extent, the quality and social rank of their votaries, the sacred hierarchy and sacerdotal personnel, the constitution of the religious communities, the offerings made to the gods, and the ceremonies performed in their honor; in short, conclusions as to the secular and profane history of these religions, and in a certain measure their ritual. but the conciseness of the lapidary style and the constant repetition of stereotyped formulas naturally render that kind of text hardly explicit and sometimes enigmatical. there are dedications like the nama sebesio engraved upon the great mithra bas-relief preserved in the louvre, that caused a number of {17} dissertations to be written without any one explaining it. and besides, in a general way, epigraphy gives us but little information about the liturgy and almost nothing regarding the doctrines.
-but, as far as the oriental religions are concerned, the results of all the laborious investigations now being made in the classical countries can be indirectly controlled, and this is a great advantage. to-day we are tolerably well acquainted with the old religions of egypt, babylonia and persia. we read and translate correctly the hieroglyphics of the nile, the cuneiform tablets of mesopotamia and the sacred books, zend or pahlavi, of parseeism. religious history has profited more by their deciphering than the history of politics or of civilization. in syria also, the discovery of aramaic and phoenician inscriptions and the excavations made in temples have in a certain measure covered the deficiency of information in the bible or in the greek writers on semitic paganism. even asia minor, that is to say the uplands of anatolia, is beginning to reveal herself to explorers although almost all the great sanctuaries, pessinus, the two comanas, castabala, are as yet buried underground. we can, therefore, even now form a fairly exact idea of the beliefs of some of the countries that sent the oriental mysteries to rome. to tell the truth, these researches have not been pushed far enough to enable us to state precisely what form religion had assumed in those regions at the time they came into contact with italy, and we should be likely to commit very strange errors, if we brought together practices that may have been {19} separated by thousands of years. it is a task reserved for the future to establish a rigorous chronology in this matter, to determine the ultimate phase that the evolution of creeds in all regions of the levant had reached at the beginning of our era, and to connect them without interruption of continuity to the mysteries practiced in the latin world, the secrets of which archeological researches are slowly bringing to light.
-we are still far from welding all the links of this long chain firmly together; the orientalists and the classical philologists cannot, as yet, shake hands across the mediterranean. we raise only one corner of isis's veil, and scarcely guess a part of the revelations that were, even formerly, reserved for a pious and chosen few. nevertheless we have reached, on the road of certainty, a summit from which we can overlook the field that our successors will clear. in the course of these lectures i shall attempt to give a summary of the essential results achieved by the erudition of the nineteenth century and to draw from them a few conclusions that will, possibly, be provisional. the invasion of the oriental religions that destroyed the ancient religions and national ideals of the romans also radically transformed the society and government of the empire, and in view of this fact it would deserve the historian's attention even if it had not foreshadowed and prepared the final victory of christianity.
-why the oriental religions spread.
-when, during the fourth century, the weakened empire split asunder like an overburdened scale whose beam is broken, this political divorce perpetuated a moral separation that had existed for a long time. the opposition between the greco-oriental and the latin worlds manifests itself especially in religion and in the attitude taken by the central power toward it.
-neither pontifical law nor augural science ever obtained credit outside of the latin world. it is a characteristic fact that the worship of the deified emperors, the only official worship required of every one by the government as a proof of loyalty, should have originated of its own accord in asia, received its inspiration from the purest monarchic traditions, and revived in form and spirit the veneration accorded to the diadochi by their subjects.
-if we yielded to the tendency of many excellent minds of to-day and regarded history as the resultant of economic and social forces, it would be easy to show their influence in that great religious movement. the industrial and commercial preponderance of the orient was manifest, for there were situated the principal centers of production and export. the ever increasing traffic with the levant induced merchants to establish themselves in italy, in gaul, in the danubian countries, in africa and in spain; in some cities they formed real colonies. the syrian emigrants were especially numerous. compliant, quick and diligent, they went wherever they expected profit, and their colonies, scattered as far as the north of gaul, were centers for the religious propaganda of paganism just as the jewish communities of the diaspora were for christian {24} preaching. italy not only bought her grain from egypt, she imported men also; she ordered slaves from phrygia, cappadocia, syria and alexandria to cultivate her depopulated fields and perform the domestic duties in her palaces. who can tell what influence chambermaids from antioch or memphis gained over the minds of their mistresses? at the same time the necessities of war removed officers and men from the euphrates to the rhine or to the outskirts of the sahara, and everywhere they remained faithful to the gods of their far-away country. the requirements of the government transferred functionaries and their clerks, the latter frequently of servile birth, into the most distant provinces. finally, the ease of communication, due to the good roads, increased the frequency and extent of travel.
-thus the exchange of products, men and ideas necessarily increased, and it might be maintained that theocracy was a necessary consequence of the mingling of the races, that the gods of the orient followed the great commercial and social currents, and that their establishment in the occident was a natural result of the movement that drew the excess population of the asiatic cities and rural districts into the less thickly inhabited countries.
-it cannot be denied that souls and morals appear to have become coarser during the roman decline. society as a whole was deplorably lacking in imagination, intellect and taste. it seemed afflicted with a kind of cerebral anemia and incurable sterility. the impaired reason accepted the coarsest superstitions, the most extreme asceticism and most extravagant theurgy. it resembled an organism incapable of defending itself against contagion. all this is partly true; but the theories summarized proceed from an incorrect conception of things; in reality they are based on the illusion that asia, under the empire, was inferior to europe. while the triumph of the oriental religions sometimes assumed the appearance of an awakening of savagery, these religions in reality represented a more advanced type in the evolution of religious forms than the ancient national devotions. they were less primitive, less simple, and, if i may use the expression, provided with more organs than the old greco-roman idolatry. we have indicated this on previous occasions, and hope to bring it out with perfect clearness in the course of these studies.
-in order to gain the masses and the cream of roman society (as they did for a whole century) the barbarian mysteries had to possess a powerful charm, they had to satisfy the deep wants of the human soul, and their strength had to be superior to that of the ancient greco-roman religion. to explain the reasons for their victory we must try to reveal the nature of this superiority--i mean their superiority in the struggle, without assuming innate superiority.
-i believe that we can define it by stating that those religions gave greater satisfaction first, to the senses and passions, secondly, to the intelligence, finally, and above all, to the conscience.
-the oriental religions touched every chord of sensibility and satisfied the thirst for religious emotion that the austere roman creed had been unable to quench. {31} but at the same time they satisfied the intellect more fully, and this is my second point.
-in very early times greece--later imitated by rome--became resolutely rationalistic: her greatest originality lies here. her philosophy was purely laical; thought was unrestrained by any sacred tradition; it even pretended to pass judgment upon these traditions and condemned or approved of them. being sometimes hostile, sometimes indifferent and some times conciliatory, it always remained independent of faith. but while greece thus freed herself from the fetters of a superannuated mythology, and openly and boldly constructed those systems of metaphysics by means of which she claimed to solve the enigmas of the universe, her religion lost its vitality and dried up because it lacked the strengthening nourishment of reflection. it became a thing devoid of sense, whose raison d'être was no longer understood; it embodied dead ideas and an obsolete conception of the world. in greece as well as at rome it was reduced to a collection of unintelligible rites, scrupulously and mechanically reproduced without addition or omission because they had been practised by the ancestors of long ago, and formulas hallowed by the mos maiorum, that were no longer understood or sincerely cherished. never did a people of advanced culture have a more infantile religion.
-this state of affairs proved detrimental to the progress of science. researches were conducted according to preconceived ideas and were perverted through strange prejudices. astrology and magic were the monstrous fruit of a hybrid union. but all this certainly gave religion a power it had never possessed either in greece or rome.
-but, you will say, since in the classic age philosophy also claimed to lead to morality through instruction and to acquaint man with the supreme good, why did it yield to oriental religions that were in reality neither original nor innovating? quite right, and if a powerful rationalist school, possessed of a good critical method, had led the minds, we may believe that it would have checked the invasion of the barbarian mysteries or at least limited their field of action. however, as has frequently been pointed out, even in ancient greece the philosophic critics had very little hold on {34} popular religion obstinately faithful to its inherited superstitious forms. but how many second century minds shared lucian's skepticism in regard to the dogmatic systems! the various sects were fighting each other for ever so long without convincing one another of their alleged error. the satirist of samosata enjoyed opposing their exclusive pretensions while he himself reclined on the "soft pillow of doubt." but only intelligent minds could delight in doubt or surrender to it; the masses wanted certainties. there was nothing to revive confidence in the power of a decrepit and threadbare science. no great discovery transformed the conception of the universe. nature no longer betrayed her secrets, the earth remained unexplored and the past inscrutable. every branch of knowledge was forgotten. the world cursed with sterility, could but repeat itself; it had the poignant appreciation of its own decay and impotence. tired of fruitless researches, the mind surrendered to the necessity of believing. since the intellect was unable to formulate a consistent rule of life faith alone could supply it, and the multitudes gravitated toward the temples, where the truths taught to man in earlier days by the oriental gods were revealed. the stanch adherence of past generations to beliefs and rites of unlimited antiquity seemed to guarantee their truth and efficacy. this current was so strong that philosophy itself was swept toward mysticism and the neo-platonist school became a theurgy.
-the oriental mysteries, then, could stir the soul by arousing admiration and terror, pity and enthusiasm in turn. they gave the intellect the illusion of learned depth and absolute certainty and finally--our third {35} point--they satisfied conscience as well as passion and reason. among the complex causes that guaranteed their domination, this was without doubt the most effective.
-in every period of their history the romans, unlike the greeks in this respect, judged theories and institutions especially by their practical results. they always had a soldier's and business man's contempt for metaphysicians. it is a matter of frequent observation that the philosophy of the latin world neglected metaphysical speculations and concentrated its attention on morals, just as later the roman church left to the subtle hellenes the interminable controversies over the essence of the divine logos and the double nature of christ. questions that could rouse and divide her were those having a direct application to life, like the doctrine of grace.
-all these puerile and monstrous beliefs that burdened {37} the religion of the latins had thrown it into disrepute. its morality no longer responded to the new conception of justice beginning to prevail. as a rule rome remedied the poverty of her theology and ritual by taking what she needed from the greeks. but here this resource failed her because the poetic, artistic and even intellectual religion of the greeks was hardly moral. and the fables of a mythology jeered at by the philosophers, parodied on the stage and put to verse by libertine poets were anything but edifying.
-this attempted reform failed entirely. making religion an auxiliary to moral policing is not a means of establishing its empire over souls. formal reverence for the official gods is not incompatible with absolute and practical skepticism. the restoration attempted by augustus is nevertheless very characteristic because it is so consistent with the roman spirit which by temperament and tradition demanded that religion should support morality and the state.
-it is a noteworthy fact that the rulers who most loudly proclaimed their autocratic pretentions, like {39} domitian and commodus, were also those that favored foreign creeds most openly.
-we can readily understand that these beliefs and institutions were bound to establish the oriental religions and their priests on a strong basis. their influence must have been especially powerful at the time of the cæsars. the laxity of morals at the beginning of our era has been exaggerated but it was real. many unhealthy symptoms told of a profound moral anarchy weighing on a weakened and irresolute society. the farther we go toward the end of the empire the more its energy seems to fail and the character of men to weaken. the number of strong healthy minds incapable of a lasting aberration and without need of guidance or comfort was growing ever smaller. we note the spread of that feeling of exhaustion and debility which follows the aberrations of passion, and the same weakness that led to crime impelled men to seek absolution in the formal practices of asceticism. they applied to the oriental priests for spiritual remedies.
-the worship of the roman gods was a civic duty, the worship of the foreign gods the expression of a personal belief. the latter were the objects of the thoughts, feelings and intimate aspirations of the individual, not merely of the traditional and, one might say, functional adoration of the citizen. the ancient municipal devotions were connected with a number of earthly interests that helped to support each other. they were one of various forms of family spirit and patriotism and guaranteed the prosperity of the community. the oriental mysteries, directing the will toward an ideal goal and exalting the inner spirit, were less mindful of economic utility, but they could produce that vibration of the moral being that caused emotions, stronger than any rational faculty, to gush forth from the depths of the soul. through a sudden illumination {45} they furnished the intuition of a spiritual life whose intensity made all material happiness appear insipid and contemptible. this stirring appeal of supernatural life made the propaganda irresistible. the same ardent enthusiasm guaranteed at the same time the uncontested domination of neo-platonism among the philosophers. antiquity expired and a new era was born.
-the first oriental religion adopted by the romans was that of the goddess of phrygia, whom the people of pessinus and mount ida worshiped, and who received the name of magna mater deum idea in the occident. its history in italy covers six centuries, and we can trace each phase of the transformation that changed it in the course of time from a collection of very primitive nature beliefs into a system of spiritualized mysteries used by some as a weapon against christianity. we shall now endeavor to outline the successive phases of that slow metamorphosis.
-this religion is the only one whose success in the latin world was caused originally by a mere chance circumstance. in 205 b. c, when hannibal, vanquished but still threatening, made his last stand in the mountains of bruttium, repeated torrents of stones frightened the roman people. when the books were officially consulted in regard to this prodigy they promised that the enemy would be driven from italy if the great mother of ida could be brought to rome. nobody but the sibyls themselves had the power of averting the evils prophesied by them. they had come to italy from asia minor, and in this critical situation their sacred poem recommended the practice of their native religion as a remedy. in token of his {47} friendship, king attalus presented the ambassadors of the senate with the black aerolite, supposed to be the abode of the goddess, that this ruler had shortly before transferred from pessinus to pergamum. according to the mandate of the oracle the stone was received at ostia by the best citizen of the land, an honor accorded to scipio nasica--and carried by the most esteemed matrons to the palatine, where, hailed by the cheers of the multitude and surrounded by fumes of incense, it was solemnly installed (nones of april, 204). this triumphal entry was later glorified by marvelous legends, and the poets told of edifying miracles that had occurred during cybele's voyage. in the same year scipio transferred the seat of war to africa, and hannibal, compelled to meet him there, was beaten at zama. the prediction of the sybils had come true and rome was rid of the long punic terror. the foreign goddess was honored in recognition of the service she had rendered. a temple was erected to her on the summit of the palatine, and every year a celebration enhanced by scenic plays, the ludi megalenses, commemorated the date of dedication of the sanctuary and the arrival of the goddess (april 4th-10th).
-the religion of phrygia was perhaps even more violent than that of thrace. the climate of the anatolian uplands is one of extremes. its winters are rough, long and cold, the spring rains suddenly develop a vigorous vegetation that is scorched by the hot summer sun. the abrupt contrasts of a nature generous and sterile, radiant and bleak in turn, caused excesses of sadness and joy that were unknown in temperate and smiling regions, where the ground was never buried under snow nor scorched by the sun. the phrygians mourned the long agony and death of the vegetation, but when the verdure reappeared in march they surrendered to the excitement of a tumultuous joy. in asia savage rites that had been unknown in thrace or practiced in milder form expressed the vehemence of those opposing feelings. in the midst of their orgies, and after wild dances, some of the worshipers voluntarily wounded themselves and, becoming intoxicated with the view of the blood, with which they besprinkled their altars, they believed they were uniting themselves with their divinity. or else, arriving at a paroxysm of frenzy, they sacrificed their virility to the gods as certain russian dissenters still do to-day. these men became priests of cybele and were called galli. violent ecstasis was always an endemic disease in phrygia. as late as the antonines, montanist prophets that arose in that country attempted to introduce it into christianity.
-such is the religion which the rough romans of the punic wars accepted and adopted. hidden under theological and cosmological doctrines it contained an ancient stock of very primitive and coarse religious ideas, such as the worship of trees, stones and animals. besides this superstitious fetichism it involved ceremonies that were both sensual and ribald, including all the wild and mystic rites of the bacchanalia which the public authorities were to prohibit a few years later.
-but the phrygian religion kept alive in spite of police surveillance, in spite of precautions and prejudices; a breach had been made in the cracked wall of the old roman principles, through which the entire orient finally gained ingress.
-the rites of her cult were even more sanguinary and savage than those of pessinus, and she had assumed or preserved a warlike character that gave her a resemblance to the italian bellona. the dictator sulla, to whom this invincible goddess of combats had appeared in a dream, was prompted by his superstition to introduce her worship into rome. the terrible ceremonies connected with it produced a deep impression. clad in black robes, her "fanatics," as they were called, would turn round and round to the sound of drums and trumpets, with their long, loose hair streaming, and when vertigo seized them and a state of anesthesia was attained, they would strike their arms and bodies great blows with swords and axes. the view of the running blood excited them, and they besprinkled the statue of the goddess and her votaries with it, or even drank it. finally a prophetic delirium would overcome them, and they foretold the future.
-after the establishment of the empire the apprehensive distrust in which the worship of cybele and attis had been held gave way to marked favor and the original restrictions were withdrawn. thereafter roman citizens were chosen for archigalli, and the holidays of the phrygian deities were solemnly and officially celebrated in italy with even more pomp than had been displayed at pessinus.
-this popular zeal was the result of various causes. ancient authors describe the impression produced upon the masses by those magnificent processions in which cybele passed along on her car, preceded by musicians playing captivating melodies, by priests wearing gorgeous costumes covered with amulets, and by the long line of votaries and members of the fraternities, all barefoot and wearing their insignia. all this, however, created only a fleeting and exterior impression upon the neophyte, but as soon as he entered the temple a deeper sensation took hold of him. he heard the pathetic story of the goddess seeking the body of her lover cut down in the prime of his life like the grass of the fields. he saw the bloody funeral services in which the cruel death of the young man was mourned, {59} and heard the joyful hymns of triumph, and the gay songs that greeted his return to life. by a skilfully arranged gradation of feelings the onlookers were uplifted to a state of rapturous ecstasy. feminine devotion in particular found encouragement and enjoyment in these ceremonies, and the great mother, the fecund and generous goddess, was always especially worshiped by the women.
-another agent in favor of this imported religion was, as we have stated above, the fact of its official recognition. this placed it in a privileged position among oriental religions, at least at the beginning of the imperial régime. it enjoyed a toleration that was neither precarious nor limited; it was not subjected to arbitrary police measures nor to coercion on the part of magistrates; its fraternities were not continually threatened with dissolution, nor its priests with expulsion. it was publicly authorized and endowed, its holidays were marked in the calendars of the pontiffs, its associations of dendrophori were organs of municipal life in italy and in the provinces, and had a corporate entity.
-we do not know the internal development of the {61} phrygian mysteries sufficiently to give details of the addition of each individual part. but we can prove that in the course of time certain religions were added to the one that had been practised in the temple of the palatine ever since the republic.
-this powerful divinity penetrated into greece at an early period. among the mixed populations of the ægean seaports, in the piræus, at rhodes, delos and thasos, religious associations for his worship were {62} founded. in attica the presence of the cult can be traced back to the fourth century, and its monuments rival those of cybele in number and variety. in the latin occident, however, no trace of it can be found, because it had been absorbed by the worship of magna mater. in asia itself, attis and mèn were sometimes considered identical, and this involved the roman world in a complete confusion of those two persons, who in reality were very different. a marble statue discovered at ostia represents attis holding the lunar crescent, which was the characteristic emblem of mèn. his assimilation to the "tyrant" of the infernal regions transformed the shepherd of ida into a master of the underworld, an office that he combined with his former one as author of resurrection.
-we shall now take up the difficult question of the influence of judaism upon the mysteries during the alexandrian period and at the beginning of the empire. many scholars have endeavored to define the influence exercised by the pagan beliefs on those of the jews; it has been shown how the israelitic monotheism became hellenized at alexandria and how the jewish propaganda attracted proselytes who revered the one god, without, however, observing all the prescriptions of the mosaic law. but no successful researches have been made to ascertain how far paganism was modified through an infiltration of biblical ideas. such a modification must necessarily have taken place to some extent. a great number of jewish colonies were scattered everywhere on the mediterranean, and these were long animated with such an ardent spirit of proselytism that they were bound to impose some of their conceptions on the pagans that surrounded them. the magical texts which are almost the only original literary documents of paganism we possess, clearly reveal this mixture of israelitic theology with that of other peoples. in them we frequently find names like iao (yahveh), sabaoth, or the names of angels side by side with those of egyptian or greek divinities. especially in asia {64} minor, where the israelites formed a considerable and influential element of the population, an intermingling of the old native traditions and the religion of the strangers from the other side of the taurus must have occurred.
-everywhere in the empire the two religions lived in intimate communion. by ingratiating themselves with the phrygian priests, the priests of mithra obtained the support of an official institution and shared in the protection granted by the state. moreover, men alone could participate in the secret ceremonies of the persian liturgy, at least in the occident. other {66} mysteries, to which women could be admitted, had therefore to be added in order to complete them, and so the mysteries of cybele received the wives and daughters of the mithraists.
-this union had even more important consequences for the old religion of pessinus than the partial infusion of judaic beliefs had had. its theology gained a deeper meaning and an elevation hitherto unknown, after it had adopted some of the conceptions of mazdaism.
-the ideas on which the immolation was based were originally just as barbarous as the sacrifice itself. it is a matter of general belief among savage peoples that one acquires the qualities of an enemy slain in battle or of a beast killed in the chase by drinking or washing in the blood, or by eating some of the viscera of the body. the blood especially has often been considered as the seat of vital energy. by moistening his body with the blood of the slaughtered steer, the neophyte believed that he was transfusing the strength of the formidable beast into his own limbs.
-we could also outline the transformation of other phrygian ceremonies, of which the spirit and sometimes the letter slowly changed under the influence of more advanced moral ideas. this is true of the sacred feasts attended by the initiates. one of the few liturgic formulas antiquity has left us refers to these phrygian banquets. one hymn says: "i have eaten from the tambourine, i have drunk from the cymbal, i have become a mystic of attis." the banquet, which is found in several oriental religions, was sometimes simply the {69} external sign indicating that the votaries of the same divinity formed one large family. admitted to the sacred table, the neophyte was received as the guest of the community and became a brother among brothers. the religious bond of the thiasus or sodalicium took the place of the natural relationship of the family, the gens or the clan, just as the foreign religion replaced the worship of the domestic hearth.
-but all efforts to maintain a barbarian religion stricken with moral decadence were in vain. on the very spot on which the last taurobolia took place at the end of the fourth century, in the phrygianum, stands to-day the basilica of the vatican.
-there is no oriental religion whose progressive evolution we could follow at rome so closely as the cult of cybele and attis, none that shows so plainly one of the reasons that caused their common decay and disappearance. they all dated back to a remote period of barbarism, and from that savage past they inherited a number of myths the odium of which could be masked but not eradicated by philosophical symbolism, and practices whose fundamental coarseness had survived from a period of rude nature worship, and could never be completely disguised by means of mystic interpretations. never was the lack of harmony greater between the moralizing tendencies of theologians and the cruel shamelessness of tradition. a god held up as the august lord of the universe was the pitiful and abject hero of an obscene love affair; the taurobolium, performed to satisfy man's most exalted aspirations for spiritual purification and immortality, looked like a {72} shower bath of blood and recalled cannibalistic orgies. the men of letters and senators attending those mysteries saw them performed by painted eunuchs, ill reputed for their infamous morals, who went through dizzy dances similar to those of the dancing dervishes and the aissaouas. we can imagine the repugnance these ceremonies caused in everybody whose judgment had not been destroyed by a fanatical devotion. of no other pagan superstition do the christian polemicists speak with such profound contempt, and there is undoubtedly a reason for their attitude. but they were in a more fortunate position than their pagan antagonists; their doctrine was not burdened with barbarous traditions dating back to times of savagery; and all the ignominies that stained the old phrygian religion must not prejudice us against it nor cause us to slight the long continued efforts that were made to refine it gradually and to mould it into a form that would fulfil the new demands of morality and enable it to follow the laborious march of roman society on the road of religious progress.
-we know more about the religion of the early egyptians than about any other ancient religion. its development can be traced back three or four thousand years; we can read its sacred texts, mythical narratives, hymns, rituals, and the book of the dead in the original, and we can ascertain its various ideas as to the nature of the divine powers and of future life. a great number of monuments have preserved for our inspection the pictures of divinities and representations of liturgic scenes, while numerous inscriptions and papyri enlighten us in regard to the sacerdotal organization of the principal temples. it would seem that the enormous quantity of documents of all kinds that have been deciphered in the course of nearly an entire century should have dispelled every uncertainty about the creed of ancient egypt, and should have furnished exact information with regard to the sources and original character of the worship which the greeks and the romans borrowed from the subjects of the ptolemies.
-and yet, this is not the case. while of the four great oriental religions which were transplanted into the occident, the religion of isis and serapis is the one whose relation to the ancient belief of the mother country we can establish with greatest accuracy, we {74} know very little of its first form and of its nature before the imperial period, when it was held in high esteem.
-a purely egyptian worship would not have been acceptable to the greco-latin world. the main merit of the mixed creation of the political genius of the ptolemies consisted in the rejection or modification of everything repugnant or monstrous like the phallophories of abydos, and in the retention of none but {79} stirring or attractive elements. it was the most civilized of all barbarian religions; it retained enough of the exotic element to arouse the curiosity of the greeks, but not enough to offend their delicate sense of proportion, and its success was remarkable.
-why was this egyptian worship the only one of all oriental religions to suffer repeated persecutions? there were two motives, one religious and one political.
-in the first place, this cult was said to exercise a corrupting influence perversive of piety. its morals were loose, and the mystery surrounding it excited the worst suspicions. moreover, it appealed violently to the emotions and senses. all these factors offended the grave decency that a roman was wont to {82} maintain in the presence of the gods. the innovators had every defender of the mos maiorum for an adversary.
-as we have stated, the chapels consecrated to isis were demolished in the year 48 b. c. after cæsar's death, the triumvirs decided in 43 b. c. to erect a temple in her honor out of the public funds, undoubtedly to gain the favor of the masses. this action would have implied official recognition, but the project appears never to have been executed. if antony had succeeded at actium, isis and serapis would have entered rome in triumph, but they were vanquished with cleopatra; and when augustus had become the master of the empire, he professed a deep aversion for the gods of his former enemies. moreover, he could not have suffered the intrusion of the egyptian clergy into the roman sacerdotal class, whose guardian, restorer and chief he was. in 28 b. c. an ordinance was issued forbidding the erecting of altars to the alexandrian divinities inside the sacred enclosure of the pomerium, and seven years later agrippa extended this prohibitive regulation to a radius of a thousand paces around the {83} city. tiberius acted on the same principle and in 19 a. d. instituted the bloodiest persecution against the priests of isis that they ever suffered, in consequence of a scandalous affair in which a matron, a noble and some priests of isis were implicated.
-the resistance still offered by the central power could not last much longer. it was impossible to dam in this overflowing stream whose thundering waves struck the {84} shaking walls of the pomerium from every side. the prestige of alexandria seemed invincible. at that period the city was more beautiful, more learned, and better policed than rome. she was the model capital, a standard to which the latins strove to rise. they translated the works of the scholars of alexandria, imitated her authors, invited her artists and copied her institutions. it is plain that they had also to undergo the ascendancy of her religion. as a matter of fact, her fervent believers maintained her sanctuaries, despite the law, on the very capitol. under cæsar, alexandrian astronomers had reformed the calendar of the pontiffs, and alexandrian priests soon marked the dates of isis holidays upon it.
-by what secret virtue did the egyptian religion exercise this irresistible influence over the roman world? what new elements did those priests, who made proselytes in every province, give the roman world? did the success of their preaching mean progress or retrogression from the standard of the ancient roman faith? these are complex and delicate questions that would require minute analysis and cautious treatment with a constant and exact observation of shades. i am compelled to limit myself to a rapid sketch, which, i {87} fear, will appear rather dry and arbitrary, like every generalization.
-but we have said that egypt was full of contradictions, and when a more exacting morality demanded that the gods should make man virtuous, the alexandrian mysteries offered to satisfy that demand.
-at all times the egyptian ritual attributed considerable importance to purity, or, to use a more adequate term, to cleanliness. before every ceremony the officiating priest had to submit to ablutions, sometimes to fumigations or anointing, and to abstain from certain foods and from incontinence for a certain time. originally no moral idea was connected with this purification. it was considered a means of exorcising malevolent demons or of putting the priest into a state in which the sacrifice performed by him could have the expected effect. it was similar to the diet, shower-baths and massage prescribed by physicians for physical health. the internal status of the officiating person was a matter of as much indifference to the celestial spirits as the actual worth of the deceased was to osiris, the judge of the underworld. all that was necessary to have him open the fields of aalu to the soul was to pronounce the liturgic formulas, and if the soul declared its innocence in the prescribed terms its word was readily accepted.
-however, in this regard, as in their conception of the divinity, the egyptian mysteries followed the general progress of ideas more than they directed it. {93} philosophy transformed them, but found in them little inspiration.
-how could a religion, of which neither the theology nor the ethics was really new, stir up at the same time so much hostility and fervor among the romans? to many minds of to-day theology and ethics constitute religion, but during the classical period it was different, and the priests of isis and serapis conquered souls mainly by other means. they seduced them by the powerful attraction of the ritual and retained them by the marvelous promises of their doctrine of immortality.
-but while the ceremonial of the initiations and even the production of the liturgic drama were thus adapted to the religious habits of the greeks, the doctrinal contents of the alexandrian mysteries remained purely egyptian. the old belief that immortality could be secured by means of an identification of the deceased with osiris or serapis never died out.
-the power and popularity of that belief in future life has left traces even in the french language, and in concluding this study, from which i have been compelled to exclude every picturesque detail, i would like to point out how a french word of to-day dimly perpetuates the memory of the old egyptian ideas.
-the religions of syria never had the same solidarity in the occident as those from egypt or asia minor. from the coasts of phoenicia and the valleys of lebanon, from the borders of the euphrates and the oases of the desert, they came at various periods, like the successive waves of the incoming tide, and existed side by side in the roman world without uniting, in spite of their similarities. the isolation in which they remained and the persistent adherence of their believers to their particular rites were a consequence and reflection of the disunited condition of syria herself, where the different tribes and districts remained more distinct than anywhere else, even after they had been brought together under the domination of rome. they doggedly preserved their local gods and semitic dialects.
-it would be impossible to outline each one of these religions in detail at this time and to reconstruct their history, because our meager information would not permit it, but we can indicate, in a general way, how they penetrated into the occidental countries at various periods, and we can try to define their common characteristics by showing what new elements the syrian paganism brought to the romans.
-this picturesque description, based on a novel by {105} lucius of patras, is undoubtedly extreme. it is difficult to believe that the sacerdotal corps of the goddess of hierapolis should have consisted only of charlatans and thieves. but how can the presence in the occident of that begging and low nomadic clergy be explained?
-during the imperial period, however, the slaves were no longer the only missionaries that came from syria, and atargatis was no longer the only divinity from that country to be worshiped in the occident. the propagation of the semitic worship progressed for the most part in a different manner under the empire.
-in pagan times the religious ascendency of that immigrant population was no less remarkable. the merchants always took an interest in the affairs of heaven as well as in those of earth. at all times syria was a land of ardent devotion, and in the first century its children were as fervid in propagating their barbarian gods in the occident as after their conversion they were enthusiastic in spreading christianity as far {110} as turkestan and china. as soon as the merchants had established their places of business in the islands of the archipelago during the alexandrian period, and in the latin period under the empire, they founded chapels in which they practised their exotic rites.
-besides these half hellenized religions, others of a more purely semitic nature came from the interior of the country, because the merchants frequently were natives of the cities of the hinterland, as for instance apamea or epiphanea in coele-syria, or even of villages in that flat country. as rome incorporated the small kingdoms beyond the lebanon and the orontes that had preserved a precarious independence, the current of emigration increased. in 71 commagene, which lies between the taurus and the euphrates, was annexed by vespasian, a little later the dynasties of chalcis and emesa were also deprived of their power. nero, it appears, took possession of damascus; half a century later trajan established the new province of arabia in the south (106 a. d.), and the oasis of palmyra, a great mercantile center, lost its autonomy at the same time. in this manner rome extended her direct authority as far as the desert, over countries that were only superficially hellenized, and where the native devotions had preserved all their {111} savage fervor. from that time constant communication was established between italy and those regions which had heretofore been almost inaccessible. as roads were built commerce developed, and together with the interests of trade the needs of administration created an incessant exchange of men, of products and of beliefs between those out-of-the-way countries and the latin provinces.
-the sovereigns, then, twice attempted to replace the capitoline jupiter by a semitic god and to make a semitic religion the principal and official religion of the romans. they proclaimed the fall of the old latin idolatry and the accession of a new paganism taken from syria. what was the superiority attributed to the creeds of that country? why did even an illyrian general like aurelian look for the most perfect type of pagan religion in that country? that is the problem to be solved, but it must remain unsolved unless an exact account is given of the fate of the syrian beliefs under the empire.
-that question has not as yet been very completely elucidated. besides the superficial opuscule of lucian on the dea syria, we find scarcely any reliable information in the greek or latin writers. the work by philo of byblos is a euhemeristic interpretation of an alleged phoenician cosmogony, and a composition of little merit. neither have we the original texts of the semitic liturgies, as we have for egypt. whatever we have learned we owe especially to the inscriptions, and while these furnish highly valuable indications as to the date and area of expansion of these religions, they tell us hardly anything about their doctrines. light on this subject may be expected from the excavations that are being made in the great sanctuaries of syria, and also from a more exact interpretation {116} of the sculptured monuments that we now possess in great numbers, especially those of jupiter dolichenus.
-we have seen that the gods from alexandria gained souls especially by the promise of blessed immortality. those from syria must also have satisfied doubts tormenting all the minds of that time. as a matter of fact the old semitic ideas on man's fate in after-life were little comforting. we know how sad, dull and hopeless their conception of life after death was. the dead descended into a subterranean realm where they led a miserable existence, a weak reflection of the one they had lost; since they were subject to wants and suffering, they had to be supported by funeral offerings placed on their sepulchers by their descendants. those ancient beliefs and customs were found also in primitive greece and italy.
-everywhere the narrow and divided polytheism showed a confused tendency to elevate itself into a superior synthesis, but in syria astrology lent the firmness of intelligent conviction to notions that were vague elsewhere. the chaldean cosmology, which deified all elements but ascribed a predominant influence to the stars, ruled the entire syrian syncretism. it considered the world as a great organism which was kept intact by an intimate solidarity, and whose parts continually influenced each other.
-the ancient semites believed therefore that the divinity could be regarded as embodied in the waters, in the fire of the lightning, in stones or plants. but the most powerful gods were the constellations and the planets that governed the course of time and of all things.
-the dominant historical fact in western asia in ancient times was the opposition between the greco-roman and persian civilizations, which was itself only an episode in the great struggle that was constantly in progress between the orient and the occident in those countries. in the first enthusiasm of their conquests, the persians extended their dominion as far as the cities of ionia and the islands of the ægean sea, but their power of expansion was broken at the foot of the acropolis. one hundred and fifty years later, alexander destroyed the empire of the achemenides and carried hellenic culture to the banks of the indus. after two and a half centuries the parthians under the arsacid dynasty advanced to the borders of syria, and mithradates eupator, an alleged descendant of darius, penetrated to the heart of greece at the head of his persian nobility from pontus.
-the "invincible" star of the persians might wane and vanish, but only to reappear in greater glory. the political and military strength displayed by this nation through the centuries was the result of its high intellectual and moral qualities. its original culture was always hostile to such an assimilation as that experienced in different degrees by the aryans of phrygia, the semites of syria and the hamites of egypt. hellenism and iranism--if i may use that term--were two equally noble adversaries but differently educated, and they always remained separated by instinctive racial hostility as much as by hereditary opposition of interests.
-when rome extended her conquests into asia minor and mesopotamia, the influence of persia became much more direct. superficial contact with the mazdean populations began with the wars against mithradates, but it did not become frequent and lasting until the first century of our era. during that century the empire gradually extended its limits to the upper euphrates, and thereby absorbed all the uplands of anatolia and commagene south of the taurus. the native dynasties which had fostered the secular isolation of those distant countries in spite of the state of vassalage to which they had been reduced disappeared one after another. the flavians constructed through those hitherto almost inaccessible regions an immense network {140} of roads that were as important to rome as the railways of turkestan or of siberia are to modern russia. at the same time roman legions camped on the banks of the euphrates and in the mountains of armenia. thus all the little mazdean centers scattered in cappadocia and pontus were forced into constant relation with the latin world, and on the other hand the disappearance of the buffer states made the roman and parthian empires neighboring powers in trajan's time (98-117 a. d.).
-from these conquests and annexations in asia minor and syria dates the sudden propagation of the persian mysteries of mithra in the occident. for even though a congregation of their votaries seems to have existed at rome under pompey as early as 67 b. c., the real diffusion of the mysteries began with the flavians toward the end of the first century of our era. they became more and more prominent under the antonines and the severi, and remained the most important cult of paganism until the end of the fourth century. through them as a medium the original doctrines of mazdaism were widely propagated in every latin province, and in order to appreciate the influence of persia upon the roman creeds, we must now give them our careful attention.
-however, it must be said that the growing influence of persia did not manifest itself solely in the religious sphere. after the accession of the sassanid dynasty (228 a. d.) the country once more became conscious of its originality, again resumed the cultivation of national traditions, reorganized the hierarchy of its official clergy and recovered the political cohesion which had been wanting under the parthians. it felt {141} and showed its superiority over the neighboring empire that was then torn by factions, thrown upon the mercy of manifestoes, and ruined economically and morally. the studies now being made in the history of that period show more and more that debilitated rome had become the imitator of persia.
-just as we cannot understand the character of the mysteries of isis and serapis without studying the circumstances accompanying their creation by the ptolemies, so we cannot appreciate the causes of the power attained by the mysteries of mithra, unless we go far back to their origin.
-here the subject is unfortunately more obscure. the ancient authors tell us almost nothing about the origin of mithra. one point on which they all agree is that he was a persian god, but this we should know from the avesta even if they had not mentioned it. but how did he get to italy from the persian uplands?
-these two authors agree then in fixing in asia minor the origin of this persian religion that later spread over the occident, and in fact various indications direct us to that country. the frequency of the name mithradates, for instance, in the dynasties of pontus, cappadocia, armenia and commagene, connected with the achemenides by fictitious genealogies, shows the devotion of those kings to mithra.
-as we see, the mithraism that was revealed to the romans at the time of pompey had established itself in the anatolian monarchies during the preceding period, which was an epoch of intense moral and religious unrest. unfortunately we have no monuments of that period of its history. the absence of direct testimony on the development of mazdean sects during the last three centuries before our era prevents us from gaining exact knowledge of the parseeism of asia minor.
-thus the basis of the religion of the magi of asia minor was mazdaism, somewhat changed from that of the avesta, and in certain respects holding closer to the primitive nature worship of the aryans, but nevertheless a clearly characterized and distinctive mazdaism, which was to remain the most solid foundation for the greatness of the mysteries of mithra in the occident.
-there it spread with lightning rapidity from the time it was first introduced. when the progressive march of the romans toward the euphrates enabled them to investigate the sacred trust transmitted by persia to the magi of asia minor, and when they became acquainted with the mazdean beliefs which had matured in the seclusion of the anatolian mountains, they adopted them with enthusiasm. the persian cult was spread by the soldiers along the entire length of the frontiers towards the end of the first century and left numerous traces around the camps of the danube and the rhine, near the stations along the wall of britain, and in the vicinity of the army posts scattered along the borders of the sahara or in the valleys of the asturias. at the same time the asiatic merchants introduced it in the ports of the mediterranean, along the great waterways and roads, and in all commercial cities. it also possessed missionaries in the oriental slaves who were to be found everywhere, engaging in every pursuit, employed in the public service as well as in domestic work, in the cultivation of land as well as in financial and mining enterprises, and above all in the imperial service, where they filled the offices.
-the originality and value of the persian religion lay not in its doctrines regarding the nature of the celestial gods. without doubt parseeism is of all pagan religions the one that comes closest to monotheism, for it elevates ahura mazda high above all other celestial spirits. but the doctrines of mithraism are not those of zoroaster. what it received from persia was chiefly its mythology and ritual; its theology, which was thoroughly saturated with chaldean erudition, probably did not differ noticeably from the syrian. at the head of the divine hierarchy it placed as first cause an abstraction, deified time, the zervan akarana of the avesta. this divinity regulated the revolutions of the stars and in consequence was the absolute master of {151} all things. ahura mazda, whose throne was in the heavens, had become the equivalent of ba'al samin, and even before the magi the semites had introduced into the occident the worship of the sun, the source of all energy and light. babylonian astrology and astrolatry inspired the theories of the mithreums as well as of the semitic temples, a fact that explains the intimate connection of the two cults. this half religious, half scientific system which was not peculiarly persian nor original to mithraism was not the reason for the adoption of that worship by the roman world.
-neither did the persian mysteries win the masses by their liturgy. undoubtedly their secret ceremonies performed in mountain caves, or at any rate in the darkness of the underground crypts, were calculated to inspire awe. participation in the liturgical meals gave rise to moral comfort and stimulation. by submitting to a sort of baptism the votaries hoped to expiate their sins and regain an untroubled conscience. but the sacred feasts and purifying ablutions connected with the same spiritual hopes are found in other oriental cults, and the magnificent suggestive ritual of the egyptian clergy certainly was more impressive than that of the magi. the mythic drama performed in the grottoes of the persian god and culminating in the immolation of a steer who was considered as the creator and rejuvenator of the earth, must have seemed less important and affecting than the suffering and joy of isis seeking and reviving the mutilated body of her husband, or than the moaning and jubilation of cybele mourning over and reviving her lover attis.
-but persia introduced dualism as a fundamental principle in religion. it was this that distinguished {152} mithraism from other sects and inspired its dogmatic theology and ethics, giving them a rigor and firmness unknown to roman paganism. it considered the universe from an entirely new point of view and at the same time provided a new goal in life.
-but a theoretical adherence of the mind to dogmas that satisfy it, does not suffice to convert it to a new religion. there must be motives of conduct and a basis for hope besides grounds for belief. the persian dualism was not only a powerful metaphysical conception; it was also the foundation of a very efficacious system of ethics, and this was the chief agent in the success of the mysteries of mithra during the second and third centuries in the roman world then animated by unrealized aspirations for more perfect justice and holiness.
-unhappily the text of the mithraic decalogue has not been preserved and its principal commandments can be restored only by implication.
-however, although resistance to sensuality is laudable and although the ideal of perfection of this mazdean sect inclined towards the asceticism to which the manichean conception of virtue led, yet good does not consist exclusively in abnegation and self-control, but also in action. it is not sufficient for a religion to classify moral values, but in order to be effective it must furnish motives for putting them into practice. dualism was peculiarly favorable for the development of individual effort and human energy; here its influence was strongest. it taught that the world is the scene of a perpetual struggle between two powers that share the mastery; the goal to be reached is the disappearance of evil and the uncontested dominion, the exclusive reign, of the good. animals and plants, as well as man, are drawn up in two rival camps perpetually hostile, and all nature participates in the eternal combat of the two opposing principles. the demons created by the infernal spirit emerge constantly from the abyss and roam about the earth; they penetrate everywhere carrying corruption, distress, {158} sickness and death. the celestial spirits and the supporters of piety are compelled constantly to baffle their ever renewed enterprises. the strife continues in the heart and conscience of man, the epitome of the universe, between the divine law of duty and the suggestions of the evil spirits. life is a merciless war knowing no truce. the task of the true mazdean consisted in constantly fighting the evil in order to bring about the gradual triumph of ormuzd in the world. the believer was the assistant of the gods in their work of purification and improvement.
-however, when the world came to an end the body also was to share in that happiness because it was believed as in egypt that the whole person would enjoy eternal life. after time had run its course mithra would raise all men from the dead, pouring out a marvelous beverage of immortality for the good, but all evil doers would be annihilated by fire together with ahriman himself.
-we might dwell at some length on these contrasting possibilities, but it is hard to find a mental pastime less profitable than the attempt to remake history and to conjecture on what might have been had events proved otherwise. if the torrent of actions and reactions that carries us along were turned out of its course what imagination could describe the unknown regions through which it would flow?
-astrology and magic.
-the entire existence of states and individuals, down to the slightest incidents, was thought to depend on the stars. the absolute control they were supposed to exercise over everybody's daily condition, even modified the language in every-day use and left traces in almost all idioms derived from the latin. if we speak of a martial, or a jovial character, or a lunatic, we are unconsciously admitting the existence, in these heavenly bodies (mars, jupiter, luna) of their ancient qualities.
-it must be acknowledged, however, that the grecian spirit tried to combat the folly that was taking hold of the world, and from the time of its propagation astrology found opponents among the philosophers. the most subtle of these adversaries was the probabilist carneades, in the second century before our era. the topical arguments which he advanced, were taken up, reproduced, and developed in a thousand ways by later polemicists. for instance, were all the men that perish together in a battle, born at the same moment, because they had the same fate? or, on the other hand, do we not observe that twins, born at the same time, have the most unlike characters and the most different fortunes?
-but dialectics are an accomplishment in which the greeks ever excelled, and the defenders of astrology found a reply to every objection. they endeavored especially to establish firmly the truths of observation, upon which rested the entire learned structure of their art: the influence of the stars over the phenomena of nature and the characters of individuals. can it be {167} denied, they said, that the sun causes vegetation to appear and to perish, and that it puts animals en rut or plunges them into lethargic sleep? does not the movement of the tide depend on the course of the moon? is not the rising of certain constellations accompanied every year by storms? and are not the physical and moral qualities of the different races manifestly determined by the climate in which they live? the action of the sky on the earth is undeniable, and, the sidereal influences once admitted, all previsions based on them are legitimate. as soon as the first principle is admitted, all corollaries are logically derived from it.
-this way of reasoning was universally considered irrefutable. before the advent of christianity, which especially opposed it because of its idolatrous character, astrology had scarcely any adversaries except those who denied the possibility of science altogether, namely, the neo-academicians, who held that man could not attain certainty, and such radical sceptics as sextus empiricus. upheld by the stoics, however, who with very few exceptions were in favor of astrology, it can be maintained that it emerged triumphant from the first assaults directed against it. the only result of the objections raised to it was to modify some of its theories. later, the general weakening of the spirit of criticism assured astrology an almost uncontested domination. its adversaries did not renew their polemics; they limited themselves to the repetition of arguments that had been opposed, if not refuted, a hundred times, and consequently seemed worn out. at the court of the severi any one who should have denied the influence of the planets upon the events of this world {168} would have been considered more preposterous than he who would admit it to-day.
-the sacred character of astrology revealed itself in some passages that escaped the orthodox censure and in the tone some of its followers assumed, but we must go further and show that astrology was religious in its principles as well as in its conclusions, the debt it owed to mathematics and observation notwithstanding.
-the chaldaei, however, claimed a predominant power for the stars. in fact, they were regarded as gods par excellence by the religion of the ancient chaldeans in its beginnings. the sidereal religion of babylon concentrated deity, one might say, in the luminous moving bodies at the expense of other natural objects, such as stones, plants, animals, which the primitive semitic faith considered equally divine. the stars always retained this character, even at rome. they were not, as to us, infinitely distant bodies moving in space according to the inflexible laws of mechanics, and whose chemical composition may be determined. to the latins as to the orientals, they were propitious or baleful deities, whose ever-changing relations determined the events of this world.
-the religious foundation of the rules of astrology, however, can not always be recognized. sometimes it is entirely forgotten, and in such cases the rules assume the appearance of axioms, or of laws based upon long observation of celestial phenomena. here we have a simple aspect of science. the process of {174} assimilation with the gods and catasterism were known in the orient long before they were practiced in greece.
-"fata regunt orbem, certa stant omnia lege."
-if, from the reading of ptolemy's tetrabiblos, we pass on to read a magic papyrus, our first impression is that we have stepped from one end of the intellectual world to the other. here we find no trace of the systematic order or severe method that distinguish the work of the scholar of alexandria. of course, the doctrines of astrology are just as chimerical as those of magic, but they are deduced with an amount of logic, entirely wanting in works of sorcery, that compels reasoning intellects to accept them. recipes borrowed from medicine and popular superstition, primitive practices rejected or abandoned by the sacerdotal rituals, beliefs repudiated by a progressive moral religion, plagiarisms and forgeries of literary or liturgic texts, incantations in which the gods of all barbarous nations are invoked in unintelligible gibberish, odd and disconcerting ceremonies--all these form a chaos in which the imagination loses itself, a potpourri in which an arbitrary syncretism seems to have attempted to create an inextricable confusion.
-like astrology, then, magic was a science in some respects. first, like the predictions of its sister, it {184} was partly based on observation--observation frequently rudimentary, superficial, hasty, and erroneous, but nevertheless important. it was an experimental discipline. among the great number of facts noted by the curiosity of the magicians, there were many that received scientific indorsement later on. the attraction of the magnet for iron was utilized by the thaumaturgi before it was interpreted by the natural philosophers. in the vast compilations that circulated under the venerable names of zoroaster or hostanes, many fertile remarks were scattered among puerile ideas and absurd teachings, just as in the greek treatises on alchemy that have come down to us. the idea that knowledge of the power of certain agents enables one to stimulate the hidden forces of the universe into action and to obtain extraordinary results, inspires the researches of physics to-day, just as it inspired the claims of magic. and if astrology was a perverted astronomy, magic was physics gone astray.
-moreover, and again like astrology, magic was a science, because it started from the fundamental conception that order and law exist in nature, and that the same cause always produces the same effect. an occult ceremony, performed with the same care as an experiment in the chemical laboratory, will always have the expected result. to know the mysterious affinities that connect all things is sufficient to set the mechanism of the universe into motion. but the error of the magicians consisted in establishing a connection between phenomena that do not depend on each other at all. the act of exposing to the light for an instant a sensitive plate in a camera, then immersing it, according to given recipes, in appropriate liquids, and of making {185} the picture of a relative or friend appear thereon, is a magical operation, but based on real actions and reactions, instead of on arbitrarily assumed sympathies and antipathies. magic, therefore, was a science groping in the dark, and later became "a bastard sister of science," as frazer puts it.
-buxton (leland), his black sheep of the balkans, 289, 290. -- -- his unfortunate proposal, 221.
-čabrinović and the sarajevo crime, 216, 218.
-čačak and miloš, 137.
-cahun (l.), his introduction à l'histoire de l'asie, 36.
-čarnoević (arsenius), the patriarch, 72 et seq.
-cattalinich, his memorie, 92.
-cattaro, see kotor.
-cavour, 66, 123, 140 et seq.
-chiala (gl.), his letters of count cavour, 141.
-chopin (j.), his le complot de sarajevo, 218.
-christić (annie) on serb women in the war, 260.
-christoff, see tartaro-bulgar.
-cippico (antonio), his arguments, 144-5.
-čiprovtsi, its outbreak, 71.
-clergy in croatia, 129. -- in czecho-slovakia, 130 et seq.
-codelli (baron), his rules, 96.
-constantine (king) and the serbs, 252-3.
-corfu, declaration of, 271-2. -- serbs at, 270.
-crijević (elias), the renegade, 65.
-croats, their history, 25, 29, 30-1, 38, 40, 46 et seq., 69, 112 et seq., 119 et seq., 125. -- relations with serbs, 177, 187-8, 205, 239 et seq., 254 et seq., 275 et seq.
-ćuk (madame), her good work, 228.
-čuplikac (colonel), the voivoda, 119, 123.
-cvijić (prof.), 14, 36, 175.
-cyril (saint), 29.
-czecho-slovakia, disapproval of, 10. -- its national church, 130 et seq.
-daily telegraph, quoted, 284.
-dalmatia, its christianity, 29. -- suggested settlers, 94. -- and venice, 40, 41, 47, 50 et seq., 64. -- see morlaks and tommaseo.
-dandolo (vincenzo), 100.
-danica, the brotherhood, 113.
-danilo (crown prince), the financier, 201 et seq., 209 et seq., 264, 276. -- (prince), his death, 145-6.
-deak (francis), his liberal methods, 143, 160.
-debidour, his histoire diplomatique, 154.
-democracy of serbs, 61, 233.
-devil, see alphabet.
-devine (a.), the apologist, 204, 211.
-d'intignano (f. m.), his i morlacchi, 54.
-djakovica, some years ago, 73.
-dobrila (bishop george), 142.
-dolci, his fate, 99, 100.
-drašković, his exhortation, 112.
-drljević (dr. s.) on danilo, 209. -- -- on montenegrin red cross, 274.
-dubrovnik, her dissolution, 101. -- her glory, 41, 48-9, 64 et seq. -- her moral height, 91. -- her poets, 54, 65-6.
-durham (edith), her high albania, 73. -- -- her partiality, 206. -- -- in praise of albanians, 198, 259. -- -- her twenty years of balkan tangle, 206.
-dušan (emperor), 26. -- -- his ambitions, 43. -- -- his code, 43. -- -- his greatness, 42, 69. -- -- his sister, 68.
-eliot (sir charles), his turkey in europe, 36, 167.
-england in the adriatic, 104 et seq.
-essad pasha, at scutari, 211.
-evans (sir arthur), 39, 176.
-exarchate, its beginning, 159. -- and the serbs, 168.
-ex-king nicholas of montenegro and his court, 217, 270.
-fiume, see rieka.
-francis ferdinand (archduke), his murder, 212-3. -- -- -- various mysteries, 214 et seq.
-francis joseph, 123, 133, 143, 162.
-frankopan (christopher), 71.
-frederick barbarossa, 37.
-friedjung (prof.) and the forgeries, 205-6.
-gaj (ljudevit), the patriot, 112 et seq., 119.
-gatalo (danilo) exposes nikita, 266.
-gauvain exposes nikita, 269.
-gavrilović (dr. michael), 16, 98.
-gazette de lausanne, quoted, 266.
-george (prince), his ways, 231-2.
-georgov (prof.), 35.
-german colonists, 82 et seq.
-germans favoured by habsburgs, 127-8, 143. -- appraised by haeckel, 243.
-geschichte der franzfelder gemeinde, 82.
-ghevgeli, a typical macedonian town, 168 et seq.
-giacich on rieka, 122.
-giesl (baron) and the montenegrins, 209, 211-2.
-gladstone and montenegro, 210. -- his preface, 152. -- and strossmayer, 133.
-glagolitic, 29, 30, 63-4, 120.
-goad (h. e.), comments on, 18-9.
-gopčević, his bad book, 178.
-gorica, 39, 127, 278.
-gortchakoff, his inspirations, 153, 177. -- his instructions, 159.
-greek in macedonian churches, 155 et seq., 218. -- -- schools, 137 et seq. 169.
-gregory (pope), quoted, 29.
-grimm (jacob), his enthusiasm, 109.
-grün (anastasius), the slovene, 112.
-gundulić, his works, 65-6.
-habsburgs and the croats (and see rieka), 69, 127. -- and the magyars, 119 et seq. -- and montenegro (and see lovčen), 201-2, 209, 211-2. -- and the pragmatic sanction, 78. -- and the serbian regiments, 82. -- and the serbs, 213. -- and the slovenes (and see triest), 127-8.
-hajduković, nikita's minister, 268.
-hajić (dr.), against grammar, 109.
-hartwig, the russian minister, 214-5.
-hegedüs, the villain, 235 et seq.
-heiduks, 59 et seq.
-hektorović, the famous poet, 66.
-helen (queen), 42.
-herzegović (achmet pasha), 56.
-herzegovina, the dialect (and see bosnia), 65.
-hibben (paxton), on venizelos, 252.
-hodges (colonel), 112.
-homer, on atrocities, 14.
-hoste (commodore), 104, 105.
-hupka (lieut.-colonel) and lovčen, 263.
-hussarek (baron), his optimism, 297-8.
-hussein, the dragon, 117.
-hvar, bombarded by russians, 101. -- in the middle ages, 50, 66. -- revolts against napoleon, 102.
-ignatieff (count), and the exarchate, 159.
-iorga (prof.), his suggestion, 189, 190.
-irby (miss), benefactress and traveller, 12, 152. -- -- her the turks, the greeks and the slavons, 152, 176.
-isonzo, important river (and see mazzini), 39, 102.
-istria in distress, 69, 70. -- its population, 141-2.
-italianized party, 94, 108, 115.
-italians, their austrian testimonials, 282 et seq. -- help the serbs, 265. -- surrendering to, 281, 285 et seq.
-italians, their union, 140 et seq. -- against yugoslavia, 243, 245 et seq., 261, 282 et seq.
-ivanović, the russian, 126.
-jeglić (prince-bishop), 30, 298, 299.
-jellačić (j. j.), his decline, 125-6. -- -- his expedition, 121. -- -- governor of dalmatia, 123. -- -- his proclamation, 119.
-jireček (dr. c.), his history of the bulgars, 33. -- -- on the morlaks, 54.
-jones (fortier), his with serbia into exile, 258.
-jovius (paulus), the historian, 56.
-julia (princess), and palmerston, 147.
-kačić, his long work, 66.
-kanchov (basil) and the macedonians, 168.
-kara george, his end, 110. -- -- his first insurrection, 57, 81, 98. -- -- his internal enemies, 107.
-karajić (vuk), his great work, 61, 109, 113.
-karaveloff (ljuba), his articles, 139, 154, 172.
-khuen-héderváry (count), 186, 188.
-kiepert (h.), the geographer, 23, 173.
-klobučarić, the police-captain, 257.
-kohler (prof.), the jurist, 215, 217.
-kolomon (king), 40.
-kossovo, the great battle, 46, 47, 49.
-kossuth, 121 et seq., 125, 132, 200.
-kotča (captain), 81.
-kotor, 7, 285 et seq.
-kovačica, magyar excesses at, 292-3.
-kronimirović, the chieftain, 31.
-kukuš, the strange movement, 155, 157, 159.
-ladislas, the traitor, 47.
-lajnšić (dr. s.) and the rise of the slovenes, 299, 300.
-lamartine, quoted, 57.
-landowners in croatia, 128. -- in macedonia, 134 et seq.
-language, serbo-croat (and see albanian and bulgar), 112 et seq.
-lansdowne (lord) on macedonia, 220.
-lazar (prince), 45 et seq.
-lazarević (lazar), the militant priest, 101.
-leiper (r.) on montenegro, 183.
-liubica (princess), the strong-minded, 110.
-loiseau (c.), his le balkan slave, 44, 66.
-lovčen, 126, 201, 262 et seq.
-lucić, the lyric poet, 66.
-macedonia and the allied advance, 239, 240. -- examined, 43, 166 et seq. -- in old times, 33, 42. -- under the turks, 134 et seq., 137 et seq., 218 et seq.
-machiedo (dr.), what he read, 263.
-magyars, atrocities at arad, 235 et seq. -- against croats, 116, 119 et seq., 200-1. -- measures in the war, 290 et seq. -- see kossuth and rieka.
-maister (general), patriot and poet, 299, 300.
-manchester guardian, quoted, 238.
-maravić, the good policeman, 257.
-marko kraljević, 44-5.
-marković (dr. lazar), his serbia and europe, 216.
-marković (svetozar), 139.
-marmont (general), 102-3.
-martinović (general), friend of russia, 202, 203.
-massarechi (gregory), a missionary, 74.
-matthew corvinus (king), 62.
-mazuranić, poet and ban, 114, 143.
-mazzini and the isonzo, 102.
-meletios, the savage bishop, 156.
-methodus (saint), 29.
-metternich, 39, 108, 119.
-michael (prince) of serbia, 12, 117, 145 et seq., 154.
-miklosić (f.), his monumenta serbica, 49.
-miladinoff (dimitri), 132-3, 137-8.
-milan (prince, afterwards king), his abdication, 194. -- -- -- his aims, 175-6. -- -- -- considered, 179 et seq.
-miletić (dr. slavko) in the war, 291.
-miletić (dr. svetozar), against the magyars, 191-2.
-millo (admiral), 19.
-miloš (prince), 110 et seq., 137.
-milovanović (dr.) on macedonia, 220.
-milutine (king), 42.
-mirko (prince), the unregretted, 210, 264, 267.
-mišić (marshal), commander-in-chief, 243, 290. -- -- on officials in macedonia, 221.
-miuškević, the premier, 203, 264, 267.
-momchiloff (dr.), his pronouncement, 35.
-montenegrin bulletin, 268-9.
-montenegrin vespers, 75.
-montenegro, a disgrace, 230-1. -- her purity, 36. -- and the turks, 134. -- see nicholas, peter i. and peter ii.
-morlaks, of dalmatia, 39, 54-5, 91.
-morning post, quoted, 183.
-morrison (colonel) and serbia's wounded, 244-5.
-mousset (a.), his le progrès politique, etc., 226.
-muhammedan ascendancy, 48, 73.
-muir mackenzie (miss), 12, 152-3.
-murko (dr.), his die südslavischen literaturen, 65.
-musachi, the chronicler, 45.
-napoleon and dalmatia, 100 et seq. -- his fleet in the adriatic, 104-5. -- his illyria, 102 et seq. -- and the slovenes, 39, 91.
-nationality, unstable in those parts, 171.
-naumović (risto), a macedonian victim, 169.
-near east, quoted, 13.
-nekludoff, his diplomatic reminiscences, 194, 204.
-nemania (stephen), 37-8, 41.
-nešić (ljuba), his varied activities, 199, 200.
-neue freie presse, admits austria's guilt, 217.
-newton (lord and lady), on the magyars, 238.
-nicholas of montenegro, his early fame, 145-6. -- -- the secret clause, 147. -- -- dealings with the press, 204, 275. -- -- the cloven hoof, 147-8, 181 et seq., 201 et seq., 259, 273 et seq. -- -- works against the serbs, 217, 234-5, 261 et seq.
-nikita, see nicholas of montenegro.
-nineteenth century and after, quoted, 217, 238.
-nodier (charles), the editor, 103.
-novi bazar, and the austrians, 192.
-novi sad, 7, 118.
-obilic, the hero, 46.
-obradović, monk and minister, 80-1.
-omladina, a society, 137, 145 et seq.
-omladinac, their review, 136 et seq.
-omortag, his inscription, 34. -- his sons, 35.
-oraovac (tomo), his grandfather, 185. -- -- his red house, 182-3. -- -- his seventy-five questions, 269.
-padua university, its diplomas, 52.
-païssu, the monk, 80-1.
-paneff (theodore), his ideas, 35, 36.
-pašić (nicholas), his exile, 180. -- -- his methods, 180-1, 195, 254, 271.
-pasvantoölu (osman pasha), 57.
-pavlović (count) and austrian atrocities, 225-6.
-peć, 56, 61, 63, 72, 198, 199, 258-9.
-pešić (general) and nikita, 234-5, 236.
-pester lloyd, quoted, 35.
-peter i., the energetic bishop, of montenegro, 99, 106.
-peter i. (king) of serbia and yugoslavia, his accession, 196. -- -- -- his good work, 197, 202. -- -- -- his old age, 232, 243-4, 259, 261.
-peter ii., the great poet, of montenegro, 123 et seq.
-peter (prince) of lovčen, 263, 266. -- -- -- the lover, 269, 270.
-pharos (prof.), his the trial of the authors of the sarajevo crime, 215.
-pisani (abbé), his la dalmatia, 105.
-pius x. (pope), and the liturgy, 30.
-podgorica skupština, 275.
-politika, quoted, 11.
-pomaks, 60, 223.
-popoff (s.), his engaging monograph, 220-1.
-popov (prof.), his obzor chronografov, 34.
-popović (eugene), the aged premier, 268.
-porphyrogenetos (constantine), 31.
-potiorek (general) in bosnia, 213. -- -- in the war, 214, 239.
-pragmatic sanction, and the croats, 78.
-premrou (m.), his monimenta sclavenica, 27-8.
-preradović (peter), poet and general, 113-4.
-prezzolini (g.), his arguments, 144-5. -- -- his la dalmazia, 66.
-pribram (dr.), on eastern roumelia, 193.
-pribičević (svetozar), his zeal, 205.
-price (crawfurd), his serbia's part in the war, 230.
-prizren, as it was, 73.
-propaganda, albanian, 198. -- austrian, 272. -- bulgarian, 14, 15. -- german, 299. -- italian, 277. -- serbian, 14, 15, 272, 277. -- roumanian, 167.
-putnik (marshal), his end, 243, 259.
-rački (f.), the historian, 29, 133, 161.
-radeff (s.), his la macedoine, 32.
-radić (s.) of croatia, 187.
-radonić (dr. y.), croat historian, 29.
-radoslavoff (dr.) and the war, 248, 249.
-radovanović, and michael's death, 147.
-radović (andrija), 203, 264, 267-8.
-radulić and his son's nationality, 291-2.
-ragusa, see dubrovnik.
-rajacsich (baron joseph), 296-7.
-rajacsich (patriarch), 119, 120.
-rajić (blaško), the priest, 87.
-rakovski, 139, 149 et seq.
-raška, 28, 30 et seq., 37.
-rauch (baron), the drastic ban, 162, 200-1.
-resto del carlino, quoted, 247.
-revue de paris, quoted, 269.
-revue des deux mondes, quoted, 260.
-rieka, 7, 42, 122. -- "corpus separatum," 78, 115. -- magyar machinations, 161.
-rilski (neophyte), 111.
-rizvanbegović (ali pasha), 117.
-romanzoff (count), quoted, 16.
-roumanians in banat, 58-9, 188 et seq. -- and the serbian church, 79.
-rukavina (general), 92.
-russia, her activities in the balkans, 25, 153-4, 172 et seq. -- in the adriatic, 99 et seq. -- and macedonia, 220. -- and montenegro, 185.
-samo, an old prince, 28, 38.
-san stefano, the unfortunate treaty, 172 et seq.
-sarajevo and the world war, 213 et seq., 234. -- see čabrinović, francis ferdinand, potiorek and tankosić.
-sarpi (fra paolo), his warning, 52.
-sava (saint), 17, 38, 41-2, 45.
-saxons in the balkans, 24.
-sazonov, restrains serbia, 252.
-schools, croats' vain demand for, 115-6, 129, 163. -- in macedonia, 137-8, 169, 170, 178, 222-3. -- in montenegro, 185. -- and the pomaks, 60.
-schools in serbia, 226. -- serbo-croat, under napoleon, 100. -- slovene, 127-8.
-scutari, 7, 208 et seq., 260, 266.
-secolo, on reception of italians in austria, 283.
-sekulić (isidora), her the question, 259.
-serbo-croat coalition, 200-1. -- language (and see gaj and karajić), 139, 140, 144.
-sesan (ante), his enterprise, 285 et seq.
-seton-watson (dr. r. w.), 162, 271, 272. -- -- his the southern slav question, 133, 205.
-shade of the balkans, 59.
-shishmanoff (prof.), 152, 166.
-šibenik, 30-1, 41, 51.
-simeon (tzar), 32, 42.
-sinan pasha, 56.
-sindjelinić, the hero, 107.
-sišić (f.), a writer, 29, 243.
-slava, a serbian custom, 165.
-slovenia, suggested name, 26.
-slovenes free themselves, 298 et seq. -- their history, 25, 27-8, 38, 48, 91, 127-8. -- their language, 13.
-šokci, of baranja, 88.
-sokolović (mehemet), 56, 61.
-sokolski, who decamped, 158.
-sonnino (baron) and the adriatic, 247-8.
-spectator, quoted, 246.
-stability of yugoslavia, 11, 223, 270.
-starčević party, 186.
-steed (h. wickham) and corfu declaration, 271, 272.
-stephen the little, 93.
-stiljanović (stephen), his corpse, 62.
-stojanović, his measures against austria, 199.
-strossmayer, the great bishop, 114. -- his origin, 132. -- his work, 132 et seq., 138, 161, 162, 186 et seq.
-stulli (j.), his vocabulario, 103.
-südland (l. von), his die südslavische frage, 213.
-susmel (edoardo) of rieka, 116, 122, 162 et seq.
-tajsić (ranko) answered by pašić, 180. -- -- his blunt demand, 179.
-tankosić and the sarajevo crime, 216.
-tartaro-bulgar, 34, 36.
-taylor (a. h. e.), his the future of the southern slavs, 12-3.
-temešvar and the serbs, 118.
-teodosijević (a.), his device, 226.
-thoreau, quoted, 17.
-thurn (count raymond von), 91-2, 108.
-times, quoted, 193, 229.
-tisza (count) and the great war, 213.
-tolerance among yugoslavs, 37, 48, 129.
-tomassich (general), 106.
-tomić (vladimir) and nikita, 183.
-tomić (yovan), the librarian, 73.
-tomislav (prince), 31.
-tommaseo (nicolo), 53, 142 et seq.
-treaty of berlin, 176. -- of london, 245 et seq., 254. -- of pressburg, 100. -- of san stefano, 172 et seq. -- of schoenbrunn, 102. -- of tilsit, 101. -- between milan and austria, 193.
-trevelyan (g. m.), 246-7.
-triest, slovene efforts at, 127, 141, 164. -- against venice, 47, 70.
-trogir, 31, 50.
-trumbić (dr. ante), 278, 288.
-turks and dubrovnik, 67. -- in macedonia, 134 et seq., 178. -- in montenegro, 134, 145-6. -- against serbs, 62, 107, 110 et seq. -- in yugoslavia, 55 et seq., 70.
-tvertko, the ban, 45-6.
-tzankoff, 154, 155, 157.
-ulrich (count), his funeral, 38.
-urach, its printing-press, 63.
-ušeničnik (prof.), his deafness, 298.
-varady (f.), his baranja multja es jelenje, 62.
-veglia, see krk.
-velimirović (bishop), 17.
-venetians and dalmatia, 40-1, 47, 50 et seq., 64. -- and dušan, 43. -- their last stand, 39, 91. -- their submission, 30, 31.
-vis, after the battle, 141. -- and the british, 104-5.
-vlacić (matthew), 63.
-voujošević (n.), the hero, 183.
-vukalović of herzegovina, 148.
-vukotić (yanko), denounces nikita, 267.
-wallisch (dr.) on serbian schools, 226.
-waring (miss), her serbia, 29, 176.
-weigand (gustav) and the aromunes, 167.
-weisner (baron), his report, 213.
-wendel (h.), his südosteuropäische fragen, 43.
-westlake (prof.), his international law, 245.
-wiles (j. w.), the translator, 114.
-xenia (princess), the "femme fatale," 201-2, 268.
-yovanović (ljuba), the idealist, 200.
-yugoslav committee, 245, 271.
-yugoslavia, the word, 8, 26-7, 271.
-yugoslavs in america, 272-3. -- in russia, 281-2.
-zadar, 31, 40-1, 51 et seq., 66, 91, 106, 282.
-zagreb, military courts, 278, 279. -- trial, 205-6. -- see croats.
-zara, see zadar.
-zeta, 31, 32, 37.
-ziliotto (dr.) of zadar, 261, 282.
-zmejanović (bishop), 61.
-zoranić, of zadar, 66.
-zrinsky (peter), 71.
-printed by morrison and gibb limited, edinburgh
-obvious printer's errors have been fixed. see below for the more detailed list.
-the formatting of the project has been reproduced as true to the original images as possible.
-the etiquette of to-day
-by edith b. ordway
-handbook of the operas
-george sully & company new york
-the etiquette of to-day
-revised and enlarged
-edith b. ordway
-author of "the opera book," etc.
-new york george sully and company
-copyright, 1918 by sully and kleinteich
-revised edition, copyright, 1920 by george sully and company all rights reserved
-printed in u. s. a.
-the customs of social life need frequent restating and adaptation to new needs. they are customs because they are the best rules of conduct that have been garnered from the experiences of succeeding generations under common conditions.
-to know them, to catch their spirit, and to follow them in an intelligent way, without slavish punctiliousness but with careful observance, make one skillful in the art of social intercourse, and at home in any society.
-etiquette will not take the place of character, nor of an accurate knowledge of human nature and the arts of practical life. given these, however, it will unlock to any man or woman doors of success and profit and real happiness which, without it, would have remained forever closed.
-e. b. o.
-"we feel 'at home' wherever we know how to conduct ourselves."
-t. l. nichols
-"the secret of success in society is a certain heartiness and sympathy. a man who is not happy in the company cannot find any word in his memory that will fit the occasion. all his information is a little impertinent. a man who is happy there finds in every turn of the conversation equally lucky occasions for the introduction of that which he has to say. the favorites of society, and what it calls whole souls, are able men, and of more spirit than wit, who have no uncomfortable egoism, but who exactly fill the hour and the company, contented and contenting, at a marriage or a funeral, a ball or a jury, a water party or a shooting match."
-the etiquette of to-day
-the rewards of etiquette
-society is a game which all men play. "etiquette" is the name given the rules of the game. if you play it well, you win. if you play it ill, you lose. the prize is a certain sort of happiness without which no human being is ever quite satisfied.
-because the demand for social happiness is thus fundamental in human nature, the game has to be played quite seriously. if played seriously, it is perforce successful, even when the outward signs of triumph are lacking. played seriously, it becomes a worthy part of the great enterprise of noble living, the science of which is called "ethics." therefore the best etiquette is that which is based upon the fundamental principles of ethics.
-the etiquette, as well as the ethics, of to-day may well be summed up in the one maxim known as the "golden rule": "do unto others as you would that others should do unto you." or in the philosophic statement of it, given by kant: "act so that the maxim of thy conduct shall be fit to be universal law."
-a certain social sense is, therefore, the foundation upon which all concerted action rests; and this, permeating the character and winning conformity in the life, produces a social order which is at once the criterion of civilization and the source of its power.
-every social code presupposes the trained personality, that is, the individual who is intelligent enough and controlled enough to conform to the rules prescribed for the good of all. it is only in the common good that true individual good can be found. therefore is it so essential that every man regard his brother's welfare as anxiously as his own, and permit himself to be curbed in his extravagances, limited in the indulgence of even legitimate desires, in order that he may not defraud another, or menace the general well-being.
-not only in social life, but in business, politics, and international relations, this principle of the common good as the ultimate goal, the supreme authority for conduct, holds good. to it society approaches, now by direct progress and now by seeming reaction, but ever with a higher evaluation of justice. this is shown in the fulfillment of both small and large obligations.
-following the rules of courtesy, men give to each other that deference which each believes is his own due, and each receives in return twofold the deference that he sincerely gives. men show, at home and abroad, the courtesy to women in general that they would wish shown to those of their family, and thereby the standard of respect for woman is so lifted that even the city street at night is a safe place for a woman to pass unaccosted, if it is necessary for her to go unattended.
-rigidly do we hold ourselves to the established rules of good breeding, endeavoring to make of ourselves all that nature will permit; and we are surprised to find that nature's own gentlemen and gentlewomen gather about us, and rare souls look to us for companionship, as finding in us kindred spirits.
-no field so surely bears a like harvest as the one sown with the seeds of good-will and consideration for others.
-etiquette tells us how to accomplish what we desire,--to make clear the path to the goal of high companionship with many worthy minds,--and enables us to get out of social intercourse the honey that is hidden there. without it, as social beings, we should be as workmen without tools, architects without material, musicians without instruments.
-after all, however, etiquette is only a tool, and should never be mistaken for the finished work itself. how you carry yourself at a reception is not a matter of so great moment, as is the fact that you went, and there exchanged certain worth-while thoughts with certain people. it is the people, the thoughts they gave you and you gave them, and the practical influence on your life of those people and those thoughts, which are of moment.
-just as, from a musicale, you must carry the music away in your soul, either in definite memories or in a refreshed and more joyous frame of mind, or it is of no avail that you attended, so from social intercourse it is absolutely necessary that you carry away the inspiration of meeting others and the thoughts that they have given you, and garner from those help and guidance in your life, or the most elaborate of toilets, the most perfect of manners, and the most ceremonious of customs are of little worth.
-the tool, however, becomes invaluable when the master desires to create. therefore, if we wish to gain from social life the enjoyment and happiness and help which it should yield, we should become familiar with the practice of the best forms of etiquette, so that we shall have skill and aptitude in their application.
-the rewards of etiquette are, therefore, both spiritual and material. that fine poise of soul which restrains all selfish and unlovely tendencies, that clear insight which sees the individual as but a single unit in the composite of the human race, that high aspiration which culls only the best from the mingled elements of life,--all these come from a true and sincere adherence to the spirit of courteous observances, and each of these is its own reward.
-on the other hand, human hearts open only to gentle influences, and all that it is in the power of human beings to bestow upon one another comes most readily and most lavishly to those who outrage no social instinct. to be highly and sincerely honored socially means to be well loved, and that must mean to be lovable. wealth and family position are matters of chance as far as the individual is concerned, but good breeding is a matter of personal desire and effort. it makes for power and influence, and often literally commands the wealth and position which the accident of birth has refused. it is the necessary colleague of intellectual ability in winning the farthest heights of success, and makes the plains of mediocre attainment habitable and pleasant.
-the social world is a world of personalities. each individual has a value and importance according to the sum total of his characteristics, physical, mental, and moral. other and more external facts enter into his social position, but in the circle of his friends and acquaintances, in whatever grade of society he may move, his place is determined by his personality. personality alone is the final test of a man's worth to society.
-a man's worth to the business world as a doer, maker, or as any other executive, his worth to the state as an incorruptible official, his worth to his family as a devoted husband and father, his worth to literature or art as a thinker or maker,--these values are imprinted upon his personality, howbeit with almost imperceptible lines.
-if a man would present a pleasing personality as his claim for recognition in society, he must not neglect his mental attitude, his appearance, his manners, or his speech. they are all true expressions of his real self, and they, together with his deeds, are all that his fellow men have by which to appraise his real worth.
-character is the foundation of all true courtesy, for manners are but minor morals, as many a writer has shown. it is not the part of a book on etiquette to tell how to keep out of prison, or to explain that one should be honorable and should do no murder. no book or person, however, can inculcate etiquette without showing that the roots of all true courtesy lie deep in the spirit of unselfish consideration for others. to master this spirit until it becomes one's own is the best fitting one can have for social achievement. such consideration is the touchstone by which all social customs are tried, to see whether they be worthy of perpetuation or not. it is the sure test of correct conduct under all circumstances, and can be so utilized in case of doubt.
-a veneer of virtue long passes as currency in no society. it is necessary to have character in order to be respected. as etiquette is founded upon certain simple virtues, it is necessary, at least, to affect the semblance of them. to be long effective they must be sincere, as a little experience shows.
-among the minor moral virtues which in social life are of major importance are those of self-control, sincerity, and unselfishness.
-there is no place for anger in social life. to give expression among a group of people to any strong feeling, no matter how justified it may be, is not courteous, because you may be inadvertently treading upon the beliefs or prejudices of some of your hearers. there are times when debate and the taking of sides on questions of common interest are in order, but that is not usually in the mixed society of men and women, who are supposedly dropping, for a time, the burdens of life for the sake of enjoyment and recreation.
-self-control is necessary not only in the constant curbing of anger and the more violent emotions, but in pushing into the background one's personal desires in order that one may do one's social duty. a bridesmaid may have assumed the obligations of that honor, and then found that, for personal reasons, they were distasteful to her. she should not, however, permit herself to fail in one iota of her duty. the always-remembered disappointment of the bride, or bridegroom, if either bridesmaid or best man should fail, at a time when life should be as full of happiness as it possibly could, should more than offset the pain of even difficult control on the part of the chosen friend, in order to carry out his or her obligations satisfactorily.
-in thousands of minor circumstances the need of absolute self-command for the sake of social virtues is evident. the man and woman who can so control themselves, and think only of others, win warm places in the hearts of their friends.
-it is a dreary thing to be always sustaining a sham of any sort. sincerity has its pleasure as well as its virtue. one should seek to be sincere, as perhaps no social virtue is of greater importance than this. the possibilities of development of character and of the betterment of social customs depend upon the exercise of this virtue. for that reason it is well to follow carefully the acknowledged rules of etiquette, in the hope and expectation of growing into the attitude of mind which will make them a natural expression of one's self.
-"the little observances of social life," says dr. t. l. nichols in his book on "social life," "are more important than many people think them. the outward signs or expressions of any sentiment not only manifest it to others, but help to keep it active in ourselves. this is the use of all ceremony and ritualism in religion . . . and the same principle governs all social ceremonies and observances."
-without unselfishness and a fine consideration for others, the art of etiquette would be impossible. true etiquette learns no maxims to practise mechanically. rather, it learns all the maxims upon which it may have to draw, and practises them only as the considerate heart sees an opportunity and desires to embrace it.
-personal appearance is next to character in importance. the most important factors in this, with the average person, are not those that nature alone is responsible for, but those that the individual himself is alone responsible for. beauty is a pleasant thing, and not to be despised, although beauty alone is of little worth. the social conquests of history have not been confined to the possessors of beauty, and there have been many notable cases where decided plainness and even ugliness was the lot of one who nevertheless was a person of great charm.
-one's figure and bearing count perhaps for most, as they give the first and distant impression, and are, as it were, the outlines of the picture.
-self-consciousness, for any reason and to even the slightest degree, is a great barrier to social intercourse and to mental freedom. it shows as often in a person's carriage as in his words or features. it should be broken down at all costs, and this can be done only by the person himself. it may be done, usually with comparative ease, by becoming and staying interested in something. then awkwardness, and a defiant attitude of spirit and body, will vanish. haughtiness is usually the outward sign of a great inner self-consciousness. all of these traits, as well as their opposites, stamp themselves upon the bearing of the body, and reveal there the clearest manifestations of character.
-dress is almost as essential. by this is not meant a rigid adherence to fashion,--the stamp of a weak mind,--or even good taste, but an eye to the appropriate and fitting. first of all, dress should be subordinated to character, that is, it should be no more costly than the wearer can afford, and no more striking than modesty and good taste allow.
-good taste in dress means plain and simple styles, but material as elegant, serviceable, and pleasing as one's purse permits. it means also a few things well chosen and kept in good order, rather than many things more or less untidy; that one's wardrobe will be harmonious,--not a cheap, shabby garment to-day, and an expensive, showy one to-morrow. it means also that the wardrobe throughout, not only the external garments, is equally well chosen and well cared for.
-one should not mix one's wardrobe. a coat of one suit and the skirt of another should not be worn together. a carriage parasol should not be used on a sunny promenade, nor an umbrella in a carriage, or open automobile.
-it is necessary to wear a dress appropriate to the occasion in order to be well dressed. no matter how excellent one's costume may be, if it does not suit the time and place it is absurd and incongruous. some of the major rules for appropriate dress are as follows:
-full evening dress demands one's most elaborate gown, made of silk, satin, velvet, lace, or crêpe-de-chine, as costly as one's purse permits, with décolleté effects, gained by either actual cut or the use of lace and chiffon. one should wear delicate shoes, white or light-colored gloves, and appropriate jewels, of which it is not good taste to have too lavish a display.
-as hostess at an afternoon reception or luncheon one may wear an elaborate gown of the richest materials, with either long sleeves and high neck, or elbow sleeves and slightly low neck. as guest one may wear a walking suit, with pretty blouse, white gloves, and decorative hat.
-the usual dress for a formal breakfast is much the same as for a luncheon,--a pretty afternoon street costume, with a dainty blouse, gloves, and "picture" hat, which is not removed. in summer, a gown of light material, such as organdie, muslin, or other soft goods, dainty and somewhat elaborate, is in good taste. hat and gloves are invariably worn with this gown if the affair is ceremonious.
-for church wear, a quiet, rather simple street dress, which does not proclaim that either money or time has been spent upon it to any notable extent, is by far the most appropriate. the suit should be becoming but inconspicuous.
-ball costume is conventionally gay and elaborate, the lightest of materials being used, especially by those who intend to take part in the dancing, and a dainty effect being sought. any costly, rich-looking materials are used, and a wide range of fashion is permitted. the gown is cut short-sleeved and décolleté, and the dancing shoes are of satin or very fine kid. jewels are worn but sparingly by young women in their first season in society. the costume of a débutante at her first ball is usually white.
-at an informal dinner, any pretty gown may be worn, with special attention to the coiffure.
-black should never be worn at a wedding. if one does not care to lay it aside for the time being, one should not attend.
-for men, the proper costume for an early morning breakfast is the black cutaway coat with gray trousers, and other details as for a formal breakfast. in summer a gray morning suit with fancy waistcoat, or white flannels or linen, with appropriate hat, shoes, and tie, is permissible.
-at a formal breakfast men wear frock coats, fancy waistcoats, gray trousers, patent-leather shoes, large ties, high hats, and gray gloves.
-afternoon dress for formal functions between noon and evening consists of a double-breasted black frock coat, or a black cutaway coat, with either light or dark waistcoat, gray trousers, patent-leather shoes, light four-in-hand tie, and light gloves.
-evening dress is the correct attire for all occasions after six o'clock. it consists of a black suit,--coat cut "swallow-tail," and waistcoat cut low and in the shape of a "u,"--with white lawn tie, patent-leather pumps, black silk stockings, white gloves, and no jewelry but shirt studs, cuff links, and an inconspicuous watch fob. a black overcoat of some stylish cut and a silk hat or crush or opera hat is also worn.
-full evening dress is a man's costume for a formal dinner. the tuxedo or short dinner coat with a black tie is intended only for dinners where women are not present. although its use on other occasions is common, it is not correct, and ill accords with the elaborate gown which is usually worn at the formal dinner.
-one should always have the appearance of being "well-groomed." it is a minor matter to add to habits of personal cleanliness, which every man and woman of refinement adheres to with scrupulous conscientiousness, that attention to the little details and finishing touches of dressing, which give the impression conveyed in that graphic expression "well-groomed." the niceties of life are always matters of small care but great moment.
-the aim to be beautiful is a legitimate one, and worthy of the attention of every lover of beauty. to make the most of one's self, both for one's own sake and that of those about one, is a duty. much can be done if good taste is consulted, and one's salient good points studied and emphasized. one can at least dress characteristically, and so bring out the ideals to which one gives adherence.
-for instance, the business woman, in business hours, dresses with that same effort after efficiency and economy of time and strength that she has to put into her business to make it successful. she is, therefore, besides being scrupulously neat, perfectly plainly and yet durably and comfortably dressed. the sudden storm does not catch her unprepared, for she cannot afford to lose even an hour's work next day because she "caught cold." she permits no fussing with her garments, therefore they have to be in perfect working order, as fussing takes time, and time is money. her hair is done neatly, and as becomingly as possible, but securely for the day.
-if, on the other hand, the business woman be a milliner, whose own artistic personality must be her best advertisement, she takes pains to dress artistically even though she wear less serviceable and more elaborate costumes. she should, however, give the same impression of neatness and businesslike serviceableness, with the additional artistic impression which is going to show her customer that she knows how to bring out the telling points in her own personality, and create a charming effect.
-the housewife needs, in her choice of morning garments, the same effectiveness as the business woman, for she must also work with real efficiency; but, in addition, she needs to give the impression of homelike abandon, as well as beauty and grace, which shall appear restful.
-the art of correct speech and intelligent conversation is one which every one who wishes to hold an envied place in society should possess. there is no more attractive accomplishment. others have only a limited use and give only an occasional pleasure, while good conversation is appropriate to almost any occasion, and amuses and entertains when all other interests have palled.
-if one does not undertake to cultivate the art of conversation, one should at least be correct in speech. one should not permit slovenly expressions, or slang, or the thousand and one faults of mispronunciation and ungrammatical construction into which people fall, to be characteristic of one's speaking. for if one has time to go into society, one should have time and money enough to make one's self presentable mentally as well as physically, and nothing so clearly shows lack of intelligence and appreciation of the matters of the intellect, as carelessness and neglect of the words one uses and the thoughts one utters. no physical defect is more glaring than the mental defect revealed in every sentence of such a person.
-mannerisms of speech or act are glaring flaws in the personality which would delight to charm, and successfully preclude the possibility of popularity among refined people. many a man and woman of character have been barred from the pleasurable enjoyment of society, even by people of less character though of more surface refinement than themselves, because they lacked the intelligence and the good sense to abolish certain mannerisms of act or expression, which, though they may have had normal and logical causes, were not such as society could enjoy or approve, and would not tend to anything but harm if characteristic of many people.
-certain rather glaring faults are quite conspicuous among all classes of women, for reasons which are hard to determine, but which must be general as the faults are so prevalent. women, as a rule, do not respect an appointment and keep it punctually, interrupt conversation repeatedly and ruthlessly, keep visitors waiting by needless delays, and do not seem to notice or regret the sacrifice that some courtesy to them may have caused another.
-the arraignment of women for these faults is indeed serious, for social misdemeanors could not easily be much worse. it means that the deep heart-feeling of courtesy is quite lacking from certain classes of women,--classes not to be marked off distinctly from any grade of wealth or learning. if the ladies of a fashionable and progressive intellectual club will not, after two or three years of repeated requests, make it a habit, one and all, to remove their hats during a dinner and the subsequent speeches in a crowded and level-floored club dining-room, it is useless to look for any finer courtesy among the "cultured" than among the work-worn "laboring" classes.
-as a rule the women least at fault in these matters are the business women, a fact which would seem to prove that lack of business and professional training was in part responsible for the general apathy and indifference toward these matters of ordinary courtesy.
-courtesy, like honesty, is the best policy in all our dealings with our fellow men. therefore, we cannot afford to neglect to exercise it.
-politeness and interest in others alike lead one to make those inquiries concerning friends and their families which show real concern in their welfare, and which are exceedingly gratifying to all. often this kindly trait alone gives one a reputation for charm, although it has its disadvantages, to be sure, in its demands upon one's sympathy and patience.
-we each know that we are worth while. we should, therefore, treat others on that assumption, and thereby make them rise to their potential worth. the good that a person, who thus calls out the good within people, may do is limited only by his acquaintance.
-personality is, after all, one's greatest asset in life. no thought or effort should be spared in making it pleasing and inspiring,--a fit expression of one's character and ideals, and a worthy gift to the world.
-the permanence of a courteous manner is the test of its sincerity. if one is polite invariably everywhere but at home, one's politeness is as superficial as a disguise, and as easily penetrated by the discerning.
-unselfish consideration for others meets its sternest discipline in the home and in family relations, and becomes, under that discipline, a reliable guide, instinctively consulted in every emergency.
-without manners at home, it is impossible to preserve the real nobility and unselfishness of character which make a man or a woman socially desirable.
-obligations of the married
-the marriage relation, while based upon certain fundamental principles, and not to be preserved without adherence to them, has some little etiquette of its own which adds to its happiness.
-the solemnization of marriage is a sacred ceremony and should be observed in a reverent spirit. to partake of its home intimacies for the first time as of a sacrament, and to perpetuate that same spirit on the anniversaries of the day, will do much toward making it a holy and a happy union.
-every marriage should be at least a perfect friendship; so a married couple should observe with each other the same little courtesies that they would observe if still only friends, being as deferential in greeting one another in public, as careful of each other's feelings, and as observant of each other's preferences.
-a woman should remember to accept from her husband, as her due and without surprise or awkwardness, the little attentions which she expects and receives in society. a man, also, should expect, and not be disappointed in receiving, the graceful little appreciations and courtesies which the woman of charm extends to the man of achievement in her social circle. the difference between the appreciations of society and those of the family is mainly that, in society, only the men of mark receive them, while, in the home, every man should receive his due; for there his efforts are known, even though they are not signal enough for society to recognize.
-as equality is the only basis upon which the authority of the home can happily rest, so a complete union of interests is the only basis for the successful financing of a home.
-while all the virtues of good management of her household, economy in the expenditure of money, taste in dressing herself and her children, and promptness and charm in fulfilling her social duties are expected of a wife, and should be fulfilled to the best of her ability, there are some minor things which make for happiness which should not be neglected.
-the wife who shines socially should remember that her family needs the charm of her presence more than society does, and it should be a daily household quality rather than for use only on state occasions.
-the wife should confide in her husband on every matter of importance. she should not trouble him with trivial things, but, if a matter is of concern to her, she should not fail to let him know about it, and get his advice upon it. the cement of love is mutual confidence.
-if a wife takes pains to understand her husband, to be his companion, and to do her full duty by him, by her children, and by her home, she cannot fail, under the ordinary circumstances of the american home, of winning happiness and making her husband happy. it is in the lack of desire to understand and love that the real menace to the happiness of the home lies. the deep-hearted and thoughtful people approach nearest the ideal of love.
-it is taken for granted that the husband will perform the major duties of his relation, such as being a good citizen, a good business man, and hence a good provider for his family, and that he will in all things seek the mutual happiness of his family and himself.
-he must be considerate to his wife if he would keep her love and respect. he should confide his business to her as far as she, in her inexperience, is able to grasp it, and he should teach her the things about it which it is important for her to know. through his conversation alone she can get the rudiments of a good business training, and she will at least be able to comprehend the changes he may make or the difficulties in which he may find himself, and, seeing their cause, thus be able to sympathize, and not to blame, if reverses come. he should so train her in business ways and methods that, in case of his death or disability, she could attend to the business of his estate, even though she could not, or need not, earn money for the family.
-the work of adjusting the labors of each to those of the other, so that there shall be time for recreation and social life together, should be a matter of mutual effort, and should not be dropped until solved to mutual satisfaction. if the members of the family cannot move in the same social circle, and together, a serious breach of family happiness is threatened.
-there is no marriage license which gives the right to constant harping upon one another's faults. in this, as in all other respects, the rule of friendship should prevail.
-a husband should not open his wife's letters, nor should a wife her husband's.
-all invitations are sent to a husband and wife jointly, except those for such occasions as a stag dinner, or a luncheon or "shower" to which ladies only are invited. if for any reason either the husband or the wife cannot attend a function, the other also must decline. the exceptions to this rule are those cases where a man or a woman of particular talent moves in a circle the interests of which are not especially enjoyable to the other one of the couple, or where the health of the one precludes the possibility of attendance upon affairs of which the other should not be deprived. too long or too frequent use of the excuses which cover these exceptions, reflects seriously upon the marital happiness of the pair.
-although present together at a function, husband and wife are not paired off together in their entertainment. he takes some other woman out to dinner, and she is escorted by some other man. even at dances and balls it is not good form for them to dance together too frequently, except at public dances where they are two of a private party of four or six, in which case rotation of partners would bring them together more frequently than if a larger number of their personal friends were present.
-in america a wife never shares her husband's titles.
-consultation and advice together on everything which concerns either is one of the privileges as well as the duties of marriage.
-to reproach for errors which were made with good motives and the best of judgment available at the time is always unjust.
-always to greet and to part from each other with affection is the source of much happiness.
-neither parent should be overambitious. their personalities make the home, and if they are overworked and crowded with care, the home is not happy.
-the mother should always remember that home comes first, and should not absent herself from it save at those times and for that length of time when she is really not needed there.
-neither husband nor wife should confide family matters to any one but each other, nor discuss each other with any other person.
-companionship means the willingness to let one's own mood be dominated by another. therefore, if they would be companionable, a husband and wife should meet each other's moods halfway. for what is lost personally now and then, far more of greater mutual value is obtained; and it is largely by a habit of companionableness that the happiness of the home can be made so satisfying that there can arise no question of its permanence.
-to keep one's self up to one's best standard of speech and conduct is necessary, for only thus can the family standard be kept high.
-an arbitrary disposition in the home ruins the comfort of all. companionship and mutual authority and helpfulness are the only foundations for a happy home.
-general rules of conduct
-seek the companionship of the refined and the gentle-mannered if you would be the same. move in that society in whose ways you are versed and whose rules you practice, if you would be appreciated or met with like courtesy.
-never fail to say kind words to those in distress whom you meet. the kindness, however, must be genuine, and come from the heart, never in stereotyped and hollow phrases.
-the courtesy which offers attentions should be met with graciousness in receiving them. surprise is a sign that one rates one's self lower than did the person who showed the courtesy. attentions should be warmly accepted, and the gratitude expressed should be of the sort which does not forget.
-a woman, when in the presence of the men of the family, should expect that doors will be opened for her, that she will pass through them first, that packages will be carried, and errands run. she should not, however, let these little attentions be paid her by her father or an elderly relative.
-enter a room filled with people in a dignified manner and with a slight bow to the general company. "we all do stamp our value on ourselves" is true enough, and our private stamp is never more conspicuous than when we confront a roomful of people. if we show modesty but intense self-respect in our bearing, there is no one who will not raise his personal estimate of us no matter what it was.
-the head should be well up, the body squarely erect, the chest out. self-consciousness at such a time is a mistake, if natural, and shows the actual littleness which one is trying by an upright bearing to conceal. one should train one's self until the meeting of people, no matter who they may be, whether singly or in large numbers, is a matter of no particular concern as to deportment.
-never enter a room noisily, nor fail to close a door after you, without slamming.
-never take another's seat unless you give it up upon his return.
-dignified postures in sitting are marks of respect to yourself and the company you are with. a gentleman does not sit astride a chair, nor with legs spread out, nor a lady with her legs crossed. never put out your foot, in the street car or elsewhere, or place it where it may trouble others in passing by.
-when several people enter a room in a private house where you are sitting, always rise, especially if they are older than you. when an elderly person enters the room alone, it is always a graceful show of deference for all younger than he to rise and remain standing until he is seated.
-the greetings of night and morning are due to all members of one's household, and should not be omitted. the one who enters a room where others are assembled gives the salutation first.
-"good morning" is the appropriate greeting till noon. "good afternoon" and "good evening" are the greetings for the later hours of the day. "good-by" is, however, the common and most acceptable form of farewell. after an evening's entertainment, it is permissible also to say "good night" instead. "good day," "good afternoon," and "good evening," used in farewell, are provincial.
-"i beg pardon," spoken with an inquiring inflection, is much better than simply "what?" when you do not hear what is said. the abruptness of the latter savors of rudeness.
-whispering is not permissible in company, and it is not necessary in private. therefore, whisper not at all, especially not in a sick-room or in church, where the whisper is far more penetrating than a low, distinct tone.
-the calling up or down stairs is inconsiderate, for you attract the attention of two floors of people, as well as publish your message. to carry on a conversation over the banisters is also equally bad. even a word of inquiry should usually be spoken at short distance in a hall which leads to several rooms, and where many people may hear or be disturbed by the noise. such calling should never be permitted to servants or children, for once begun its convenience will demand its continuance.
-interrupting another's conversation is a serious breach of courtesy.
-finding fault is a very disturbing feature of home life, no matter how glaring the faults which may be criticised. faults have to be remedied, but every effort should be made to do it skillfully, and not make the remedy worse than the disease.
-do not open your letters in company, except in case of emergency, and in the latter, ask the permission of the company to do so. never, under any circumstances, open a private letter addressed to another. if the one to whom it is addressed is near enough to give you permission to open it, he can usually open it himself; if he is not by to give permission, the letter should go to his legal representative, who then acts according to the law.
-politeness as well as pity impel one to be especially polite to the caller or visitor who is uncongenial, or stupid, or unattractive. by even an excess of hospitality one should try to make up for the inevitable slight which society always puts upon such a one.
-impartial courtesy is the right of all guests. the close friend and the distant and far less welcome relative are entitled to equal courtesy.
-the holding of a grudge, and the failing to forgive a slight for which apology has been made, are the height of discourtesy. it is invariably true that the same spirit with which you mete out social slights will be shown you in return. resent each one, whether intentional or a mere oversight, and you will surely crush the spontaneity out of all attentions shown you, and be met only with distrust.
-when applied to for a favor, if you intend to grant it, grant it graciously and readily; if you intend to refuse, refuse with equal civility even though firmly. none but the unmannerly will urge a request when the slightest token of refusal has been given.
-a gentleman may offer personal service to a lady, if there is need, tying her shoe, or hooking or buttoning her dress, or doing any other little act which she cannot herself do.
-in a company of people, it is the height of rudeness to call attention to the form or features or dress of any one present.
-in using a handkerchief, always do so unobtrusively. at the dining table it should be used very sparingly. better retire than be obnoxious to even the most fastidious.
-never look over the shoulder of any one who is reading or writing, whether in the home, of in a car, or at a concert, or anywhere else.
-do not touch any one in order to arrest his attention, but address him.
-to lend a borrowed article is an appropriation of it which is next to stealing, unless one has permission of the owner to do so.
-self-control in excitement of any sort is a most valuable trait. it always makes for comfort of one's self and of others, and often for safety.
-do not pass between two persons who are talking together, if avoidable. if it is not, then apologize.
-never refuse to receive an apology. courtesy requires, no matter how unforgivable the offense, that an apology should be accepted. friendship may not be restored, but friendly courtesy should always thereafter be maintained.
-never neglect to perform a commission which a friend intrusted to you. forgetfulness denotes lack of regard for the friend.
-never fail to be punctual at the time appointed, in keeping every engagement.
-to make yourself the hero of your own story, or to speak much of your own performances, denotes deep-seated self-conceit, and may be very distasteful to others, who also have achieved.
-one's social obligations should never be neglected unless one is determined to drop out from one's place entirely. to acknowledge one invitation and not another is surely to be discredited with all.
-never question a child or a servant upon family matters.
-fulfill your promises,--or do not promise.
-deaf persons should be treated with special consideration. act as though they could hear what is being said, yet without laying the burden of reply upon them, and without permitting it to be conspicuous in any way that they may have lost the drift of the talk. it is well to talk both louder and more expressively when they are present, but always more distinctly, and somewhat more slowly. never shout at them, or attract their attention by touching them suddenly. this latter is not polite to any one, but the stronger impulse to do it in case of the deaf must be withstood. it is always better to come within the range of their vision before speaking to them.
-a man should not seat himself at the dinner table until his wife or his hostess is seated. this rule holds good in the home, for if it is not practised there, it will not be observed gracefully in society.
-seat yourself not too close to nor too far from the table.
-erect position at table is the first requisite. one should so place one's seat that correct position is possible, and then should keep it.
-elbows should never be placed upon the table.
-the hands should be kept quietly in the lap while not busy with the food. one should sit quietly at the table, without handling the cutlery or making useless motions, while waiting to be served. if there is some form of grace said, or some simple ceremony preliminary to the meal, one should pay respectful attention silently.
-do not seem impatient to be served. the meal is a social occasion and the food is an adjunct to friendly intercourse. the success of the meal depends equally perhaps upon the food and the conversation. because of the interruptions of service, conversation cannot be long continued, or deeply thoughtful. it must be on subjects of no great moment nor grave interest, or on such subjects lightly touched; but it should be on bright, cheerful topics, and as witty as the talent of the company affords.
-eating should be slow, and mastication of the food thorough, for reasons of health as well as for the sake of appearance. no meal can be eaten properly and adequately in less than thirty minutes, but more than an hour for a meal is sheer waste of both time and food, unless the company is large, the times of waiting between courses long, and the portions served very small.
-eat silently. the noise of food being masticated is very distressing, and except in cases of crusts and crisp vegetables, perfectly unnecessary.
-in case you do not care for a course, you should not refuse it. receive it, and take what part of it you desire, trying to take some; or, if you wish, leave it untouched, but do not have the appearance of being neglected or ill-provided for, even if you do not eat of it. a little more attention to conversation on your part may make unnoticeable to those about you the fact that you do not eat of a certain course.
-if your preference is consulted as to food, whether the matter be trivial to you or not, express some preference so that the one who is serving, and who has asked to be guided, may be so far assisted.
-never place food or waste matter upon the tablecloth. an exception to this may be made in regard to hard breads and celery, when individual dishes for these are not furnished. always use the side of some one of the dishes about you for chips and scraps.
-the fork is used in general except with semi-liquid sauces, where a spoon is of necessity used. it is not permissible to eat peas with a spoon.
-the mouth should be closed while it contains food. it should not be too full, as it is often necessary to reply to some question when there is food in the mouth.
-do not leave the table until you have quite ceased chewing.
-be dainty and skillful in using your napkin and cutlery, avoiding soiling the tablecloth.
-discussions and unpleasant topics of conversation should never be introduced. one should regard not only one's own aversions but those of the others present.
-never put your finger in your mouth at table, nor pick your teeth.
-tidiness of personal appearance is never at a higher premium than at the dining table. soiled hands, negligee dress, shirt sleeves, and disheveled hair are disgusting there.
-it is quite proper to take the last helping of any dish which may be passed you. to refrain looks as if you doubted the supply.
-bread is not cut, but broken into fairly small pieces. one should never nibble from a large piece.
-it is permissible to eat crackers, olives, celery, radishes, salted nuts, crystallized fruits, corn on the cob, bonbons, and most raw fruits from the fingers. apples, pears, and peaches are quartered, peeled, and then cut into small pieces. cherries, plums, and grapes are eaten one by one, the stones being removed with the fingers and laid upon the plate.
-cheese may be laid in small pieces on bread or crackers, and conveyed to the mouth in that way.
-asparagus should be eaten with the fork, the part which is not readily broken off by it being left.
-at a formal meal a second helping of a dish is never offered, and should never be asked for; but at an informal dinner party it is not out of place to accept a second helping, if one is offered, but is complimentary to the hostess, who is responsible for the cook.
-in passing the plate for a second helping, the knife and fork should be laid across it full length,--not held in the hand until the plate returns.
-one may ask the waiter for a second or third glass of water, as even at a formal dinner that is always permissible.
-lettuce, cress, and chicory are never cut with a knife, but rolled up on the fork and so conveyed to the mouth.
-spoons are used for grape fruit and oranges, when cut in halves and put upon a plate, for soft-boiled eggs, puddings, custards, and gelatins.
-with fruit, finger-bowls should always be passed. a bowl half-full of water is placed upon a plate covered with a doily. unless the fruit is passed upon a second plate, the bowl and doily are removed from this and set at one side, the fruit being eaten from this plate. the fingers are then dipped, one hand at a time, into the water, and wiped upon the napkin.
-salt should never be put upon the tablecloth, but always on the side of the plate, unless the individual salts are provided.
-never spit out a prune, peach, or cherry stone.
-never hold food on the fork while you are talking, ready as soon as you reach a period to be put into your mouth. having once picked it up, eat it promptly.
-a bit of bread, but nothing else, may be used, if necessary, to help one put food upon the fork.
-if one tastes of something which one does not care to swallow, it may be removed from the mouth with the closed left hand and placed on the plate. this should be done silently and with as little attention as possible.
-never take a chicken or chop bone in the fingers. cut the meat from the bone, leaving all that does not readily separate.
-bread and butter plates, with the butter spreader, are always used, except at formal dinners, when the dinner-roll is laid in the fold of the napkin.
-the knife is used only for cutting, and for spreading butter on bread in the absence of butter spreaders.
-the soup spoon is an almost circular and quite deep spoon. therefore it is obvious that the soup should be noiselessly sipped from the side of it. when the oval dessert spoon is used for soup, it is especially necessary to sip the liquid from the side.
-special spoon-shaped forks are provided for salads, ices, and creams, but for these spoons may always be substituted.
-no hot drink should be poured from the cup into the saucer to cool it.
-toothpicks should not be passed at the table. they may be left on the sideboard, and if one is needed, it may be requested of the waiter or taken as you leave the room, but always used in private.
-wherein elderly people do differently from the established ways of to-day, they are not to be criticised. manners change even several times within a generation, and such may be simply following the customs they were taught. when the three-tined fork was the only one in common use, the blade of the knife was much more in requisition than now.
-on leaving the table the dishes of the last course should be left exactly as used, and the napkin left unfolded by the side of the plate. in case one is at home, or visiting a friend, and the napkins usually serve for two or three meals, then neatly fold it. many families have clean napkins once a day, that is, at dinner.
-the chair should either be pushed quite back from the table, or close to it, so that others may easily pass by.
-if obliged to leave the table in the midst of a meal, one should address the hostess, saying, "please excuse me," as he rises.
-the observance of family festivals is a great bond of union when there are different ages and temperaments and interests represented in the family circle. in the home holidays, all meet on a common ground, and get once more into touch with each other. yet the observance of such festivals should never be more elaborate than the purse will justify, nor should it be allowed to become a burden upon any one, even the most willing. the festive spirit is lost if it becomes obligatory.
-the observance of wedding anniversaries is usually an honored custom in the case of happy marriages, where children grow up who take delight in making much of the days which are sacred to their parents. where this observance is not a matter of form or done with any ulterior motive, but is spontaneous and joyous, it adds much to the family happiness and strengthens the bonds, not only between parents but between parents and children.
-it is customary to make gifts of the sort signified in the name of the anniversary, and much ingenuity can be exercised in carrying out the idea. the anniversaries are named as follows:
-at the end of the first year comes a cotton wedding; at the end of the second, a paper wedding; the third, a linen wedding; the fifth, a wooden; the tenth, a tin wedding; the fifteenth, a crystal; the twentieth, linen; the twenty-fifth, silver; the thirtieth, pearl; fortieth, ruby; fiftieth, a golden wedding; and the sixtieth, a diamond wedding.
-these anniversaries may be added to, as by celebrating a leather wedding the third year, instead of two of linen; a woolen one the seventh; and a china one the twelfth.
-a birthday anniversary is a momentous event in the life of a child. disregard of it is a heart-breaking slight. the celebrations of these events, even in families where they are numerous and resources few, can be made joyous if there is love enough to do it, even without money.
-the giving of presents
-the members of a family who have each other's welfare at heart, often have the impulse to give each other something which they may know is needed or wanted. while this impulse should be cultivated even with the most limited means, and the sense of generosity preserved even among the poorest,--where, to be frank, it is more apt to be found than among the rich,--there should be no counting upon such presents, nor obligation to make them imposed. this destroys their value as expressions of affection, and makes the custom harmful. for that reason it is not well to adhere to times and seasons, but at any time when the right opportunity offers and the impulse moves, give the gift that one desires to give.
-where such an impulse is characteristic of a family, the members will naturally take pride in expressing in that way their appreciation of individual achievement, as when a member graduates from a high school or college, or attains his majority, or makes some special advance in any way. the spirit which welcomes achievement and recognizes it, becomes an incentive, perhaps the strongest there is, and surely the most noble, that of satisfying and pleasing a loved one. life holds too much of defeat for the average person, for its minor victories to be passed over in silence and indifference.
-one's attitude toward intimate friends is either a pleasant memory or a sad revelation. if one holds them a little lower than one's family, and expends upon them effort to charm second only to the effort habitually given to those whom one loves, then intimacy becomes a privilege, no matter what the circumstances, and a lifelong gratification and pleasure. if, however, one considers that intimate friends are entitled to less courtesy than the public, and are to be made to serve one's purpose more effectually than mere acquaintances do, then the burden of friendship is great, and soon dropped. affection is not mercenary.
-some people seem naturally predisposed to this sort of friendship, and as soon as the intellectual zest is gone from absorbing companionship with one person, they turn to another. one such instance showed through twenty years a series of such friendships on the part of a well-meaning but foolish woman, in which her husband figured briefly, passing on and off the stage as violently as, and even more speedily than, the other "friends."
-too great familiarity with new acquaintances is impolite as well as unwise. it cannot fail of seeming forced, and even if the friendship is to be close and permanent, a hastily-laid foundation is never the most secure.
-one should never call a friend by his christian name until he requests one to do so.
-illness in the home
-illness means that the order of the home life must be seriously disturbed. consideration for the one who is ill, and effort to alleviate the suffering, should take the place of every other thought and ambition. it is necessary, of course, that the routine of living should be sufficiently preserved for the health of the others not to be affected, but matters of comfort and well-being for all take precedence of everything else.
-the well should make all wise sacrifices for the sake of the ill, such as being quiet about the house; never complaining at late or simple meals; setting aside personal plans and comfort in order to assist, if needed, in the care of the ill; looking out for the relief and comfort of the nurse, upon whom the major part of the responsibility rests; never grudging time or money in the effort to restore health; and, above all, making these sacrifices in the spirit of love and not in that of martyrdom. many people, who make even unreasonable sacrifices for others in times of emergency, do it so ungraciously, that one does not feel that they are entitled to the thanks which they still actually deserve and should receive.
-courtesy demands that the claims of the nurse and doctor be settled promptly and generously. they were prompt in meeting the emergency. there should be no delay in acknowledging the obligation to them, even though their promptness is looked upon, by them and by society, as part of their professional duty.
-the convalescent takes such abnormally keen delight in being remembered, that it is obligatory upon the rest of his family and his friends not to forget him. kindly messages should be frequent. trifling gifts frequently are better than large gifts occasionally, unless the large gift is something greatly desired.
-one should never fail to offer the easiest and best seat in the room to an invalid, an elderly person, or a lady.
-courtesy to servants
-it is safe to predict that, if the acumen of the business man, and the courtesy of the social leader and woman of true refinement were brought to bear upon the servant problem, that would soon assume a different aspect.
-if the consideration that would be shown an ailing guest were shown an ailing servant, service would be more generously and more faithfully rendered.
-the waitress at the table is entitled to courtesy, but not to apologetic efforts to diminish her task. appreciation may be shown in a "thank you," or, "if you please," but such notice of her should be unobtrusively spoken, so as not to interfere with the general conversation about the table.
-the servant has every human right to civility, and the withholding of wages is no more culpable, if more illegal, than is the withholding of civil treatment, and the infliction of the indignity of impatience and harsh and unmerited reproof.
-all servants need careful training.
-neatness is the first requisite. the lack of it most seriously reflects upon the management of the household.
-servants should be trained to answer the door-bell promptly, reply civilly to questions, and in all things represent their master and mistress in a dignified and courteous way. they should not admit one person who calls socially, and deny another, unless under special and exceptional orders. they should not fail to deliver promptly all notes, messages, and cards which may be received. verbal messages should be received and given with accuracy.
-the direct neglect of orders is unpardonable in an intelligent servant who has been well trained, and will not occur, even in the absence of the mistress, if the training has been explicit and complete and the servant is honorable,--as he should be in order to retain any position. a certain degree of initiative, too, should be cultivated in a servant who is given responsibility, so that he may meet an emergency with resourcefulness, in the absence of orders or specific instructions.
-the servant needs to respect his master and mistress. the firm, strong, honest, and just control is respected by servants, and is much preferred to the irresolute one, even when the latter overflows frequently in lax kindness. each man needs to be made to do his duty, and the power that forces him to do it should be gracious but must be firm.
-to be familiar with servants is a fatal mistake, and eventually upsets and destroys all discipline.
-servants should never be reproved in the presence of guests, or members of the family, or other servants, but should be talked with singly, and considerately, but plainly.
-conversation and correspondence
-the art of conversation
-conversation is a game we all play, but most of us with ill success. we do not take pains to learn the rules, and we do not consider the honor of winning sufficiently great. it is, however, an accomplishment that all who will may possess, that consumes a great deal of the time of all of us, and that yields great pleasure and profit if skillfully used.
-the subject of conversation should be pertinent, and of interest to all, or at least the majority, of those in the group of talkers. the treasures of experience and of knowledge should be grouped about the topic, and every one who contributes should take care to proffer nothing that the conversation has not logically called forth. then the pleasure and the success of the time thus spent is measured only by the wit and mental resources of the talkers.
-news which has a universal interest is always a legitimate subject of discussion. personal news which has only the interest of gossip or scandal is never permitted among cultured people, no more than are physiological facts or the records of criminology. it is a safe rule to speak of things rather than of persons.
-the brilliant conversationalist never monopolizes the talk, as such a method would prevent his most telling points or his keenest wit from having dramatic expression. if he tells an anecdote which holds the attention of the table or of the circle of listeners, he permits his duller neighbor to tell the next, not only that his own wit may have a foil, but that his next anecdote may meet the sharp edge of whetted appetites.
-if dining out or being entertained, do not play the host or hostess by leading the conversation, even though your talent in that direction be far superior to theirs. you thereby do them an injustice which is exceedingly discourteous on the part of one who has accepted of hospitality.
-never interrupt. it kills the expression of any thought to interrupt the speaker, and every person, no matter how badly he may express himself, has a right to the effort and to what he can win of the hearer's attention.
-to supply a word which seems to fail the speaker is perhaps a friendly service, if he be a foreigner, but should never be tendered to a countryman, nor often to even the most grateful wrestler with the english language. it confuses any one, and the only polite way is to wait quietly until the speaker collects himself and finds his words.
-do not contend any point. among intelligent people questions may be pleasantly and earnestly debated, arguments weighed and tested, and yet the conversation be absolutely courteous, although conviction be deep on both sides. the impossibility, among untrained people, of debate without great emotion is what retards the progress of the intellectual life in many circles.
-one should never answer questions in general company that have been put to another.
-one should not note the points of discrepancy in the remarks of another, or the points of divergence in opinion. in society the subjects of conversation are subordinated to the human interest of the gathering, and points of harmony and agreement should be emphasized, leaving all others unnoted. one does not need to conceal his opinions, but he should not arrogantly or dogmatically publish them. not opinions but individuals are of greater interest at that time, and the battle of ideas should be fought in another arena.
-this is the only safe rule to follow in mixed companies, or with people imperfectly trained socially. with highly intelligent people of congenial tastes, people who have ideas and convictions of great worth, and who are controlled enough to express them without undue or foolish emotion, the battle of ideas is fought most effectively and most to the benefit of society, in the drawing-room of that host and hostess whose own talents make them able to draw talent about them.
-here all the rules of polite society may be observed, and yet the inner convictions, whether political, religious, or moral, of the circle, may find welcome expression and fair hearing. the growth of ideas and the progress of ideals in such a society is rapid and along the right lines.
-never try to have the last word, but always refrain from saying it.
-do not enter into tête-à-tête conversation in the presence of others, or refer to any topic of conversation which is not of common interest and commonly known. mysterious allusions or assumed understandings with one or two members of a group are insults to the others.
-inquiries into private affairs should never be made, but those on the subjects of age and income are especially obnoxious, and merit for the inquirer the cool silence which they usually obtain.
-the loud-voiced, aggressive person, whose opinions are alone of vital moment in his estimation, and who will not yield a point in an argument, is much to be dreaded in any company, and effectually brings to an end any general conversation into which he intrudes.
-when addressing people face to face, it is necessary to give them their social or professional titles, if the latter be such as have influence on social rank, no matter if such titles are not inscribed on the visiting card of the person possessing them, or are purely honorary.
-it is not now customary to add "madam," or "sir," or the colloquial equivalent of the former,--"m'am" or "m'm,"--to "yes" and "no," even by children.
-letter writing is a high art, and can give great pleasure to one's friends. it must not, however, be intemperately indulged in, either in frequency, length of letters, or freedom of expression. a timely note is a great binder of friendship, and may give comfort and satisfaction much greater than a longer letter at a less important moment.
-the danger of letter writing is that one is tempted to pour out one's inmost feelings with thoughtless abandon, and find later that the relative or friend to whom the letter was addressed was unworthy of the confidence, or, if not unworthy, was repelled by it, or indiscreet in guarding it. it is always wise for one to restrain his expression of himself, when writing or speaking, within the bounds of dignity and a self-respecting reserve.
-the classic letters of literature are usually those the fervor of expression and self-revelation of which gave them a strong human interest, but in the preservation and publication of which sacred confidence was violated. the average letter of the average man or woman is by no means a classic, or worthy of preservation. it should be destroyed when it has fulfilled the immediate purpose for which it was written. it may otherwise sometime be instrumental in bringing ridicule, if not shame, upon the unsuspecting writer.
-as letter writing is the most common form of composition, the general rules pertaining to that art should be observed in even the most informal of letters.
-all letters should be concise and definite. an involved style is a great waste of time and mental power, and has no advantage.
-a letter should be written on consecutive pages, unless it be very short, in which case it is preferable to use the first and third, rather than only the first and second, pages. it should never be written so that the sheet has to be turned around and the pages read at different angles. the turning over of the pages should be all that is necessary.
-if, however, social note paper is used for a short business letter to a business man, open the sheet out flat, turn it so that the left side becomes the top of the sheet, and use as you would a single large sheet of commercial paper. this enables the reader to see the whole matter at a glance.
-do not scrawl your letter over the page; but do not, on the other hand, appear to economize in paper. make the place and date lines clear and distinct. set off the salutation from the body of the letter, and make the form of the letter upon the page artistic and concise. paper is cheap, and the delight of receiving a letter well framed in even margins and written on regular, if invisible, lines is a pleasure easily afforded a friend.
-the letter should be begun about two inches down from the upper edge of the paper. the left-hand margin should be three-quarters of an inch, with paragraph indention an inch more. the lower margin also should be three-quarters of an inch, and the right margin should be kept even and, for best effect, almost as wide as the left margin.
-do not run on the letter without paragraphing it, but place each subject in a paragraph by itself.
-a business letter should always go straight to the point.
-a note of apology should be direct, and say but the one thing which is its subject.
-a note asking a favor should do it simply and without unnecessary preamble. the sense of freedom or intimacy which permits one to ask a favor, should be great enough to obviate the necessity of long explanation, which seems like coaxing.
-the refusal of a request requires tact, and may necessitate less directness than courteous explanation: but it should not be so extended as to be apologetic.
-a letter of thanks is difficult, but too great effusiveness is as disgusting as too great abruptness is unsatisfactory. the elusive but happy medium is the work of the socially well-trained.
-the grade of paper used is a matter of no small moment. some people affect a fastidiousness in color and quality quite out of keeping with the purpose to which the paper is to be put. others affect an opposite slovenliness, which shows equal disregard of use and effectiveness.
-a good quality of paper is essential to elegance. plain white or cream white paper, unlined, with either rough or smooth finish, is always correct, and is the only kind for formal social correspondence. for more intimate letters ladies sometimes use a pale blue, delicate pearl-gray, light lavender or heliotrope, or a colonial buff. there has lately been imported the style of an envelope with lining of another color and paper to match, in a variety of bright tints and striking designs. these styles, even in the daintier variations of them, appeal only to the younger members of the "smart set." gentlemen never use any but white stationery.
-correspondence cards are a great convenience for the very shortest of messages, where even the small note paper is too large. they are to social letter writing what the postal is in business. they, like the postal, should be used only for brief messages of no special importance, or for notifications.
-it is a matter of taste and of expense to have one's monogram or home address engraved at the top of choice note paper or letter paper. this may be in gilt, silver, or colors.
-the more common forms of heading are centered an inch below the top of the paper, but may be placed somewhat lower down, and to the right, leaving about three-quarters of an inch margin. in this case the date line follows. engraved and embossed headings are the most elegant, and printed ones should be used only for business purposes. there can, however, be no objection to a very neatly printed small heading for personal business correspondence, if it is tastefully done in a quiet color. while it would not be acceptable for formal social correspondence, it does very well on more intimate letters and saves the necessity of writing each time the home address. it is best to use printed letterheads, rather than commit the blunder now so common, among those who do not habitually use engraved paper, of omitting the address from the letter. this, in case the letter is misdirected, and travels to the dead-letter office, prevents effectually its restoration to the writer.
-the size of note paper suited to the letter to be written should be used. do not start with a small note size, and run on over several sheets. the letter size should have been taken in the first place, as the note is only for such messages as are essentially short.
-the forms of heading which are permissible at the top of the personal letter paper are the following: a crest, monogram, or the separate initials; the name of the home if, as an estate, it has a special title; the name of the city and state; or the street address, with the name of the city and state beneath.
-when in mourning, it is customary to use a note paper and envelopes surrounded with a narrow black border. the border should not exceed three-eighths of an inch in width, and three-sixteenths of an inch during the period of half mourning. sometimes only a black line with the monogram is used.
-scented note paper is not in good taste, except perhaps that which has a very faint odor of violets or of orris root, or, in the southland, of orange blossoms.
-colored inks are not liked or approved of by society. a good blue-black ink is the best for all writing.
-pale inks, too faint to be easily seen, and too lacking in stock to last any length of time, are useless.
-illegibility in handwriting, or a stilted and difficult hand, is a great waste of time and energy, mainly the would-be reader's. there is no excuse, in these days of the typewriter and of common knowledge of stenography, for an illegible letter or manuscript, and the carelessness which writes too hurriedly to form the letters is excusable only in the gravest emergency and between intimate friends, where the inconvenience caused by it will be, for personal reasons, gladly forgiven. some handwritings which are thoroughly legible are extremely tiring to the reader, and the simpler, less ornate hand is for every purpose preferable.
-the affectation of a handwriting which enables you to put but few words on a page, is absurd and vulgar in the extreme. yet, on the other hand, a too delicate or minute hand is not desirable. legibility, neatness, and clearness are the salient virtues of a letter.
-the use of the typewriter is confined to business. it is still very bad form to use it for personal letters; but should elegant script and small, clear forms of type, such as are furnished by one or two of the machines now on the market, be in common use, there is little doubt but what the speed of service and the advantages of clearness would bring the typewriter into use in intimate, and perhaps at last into more formal, social correspondence. the tendency seems to lie in that direction.
-sealing, stamping, and directing envelopes
-neatness is especially necessary in the folding of letters, and in addressing, stamping, and sealing the envelopes. haste and slovenliness here take away the suggestion of compliment in the courtesy of the note, and are as insulting as any rudeness of manner can well be.
-the fastidious and leisurely still seal their envelopes with wax, imprinting thus their monogram. the well-gummed envelope now in vogue makes this superfluous for the ordinary informal letter. addresses should be written with an eye to legibility, and the stamp should be affixed to the upper right-hand corner of the envelope with care and neatness. social invitations, although engraved and therefore containing no handwriting, should always be sent with letter postage.
-letters should be plainly and completely addressed to insure their safe and prompt delivery.
-persons who have a large business correspondence should use for it envelopes on which their name and post office address are printed in the upper left-hand corner. in social correspondence these should be clearly written or engraved upon the back of the envelope.
-sometimes where a business firm is small or little known, it facilitates the delivery of a business letter to place the number of the office room in a building upon the envelope. where, however, the firm is so large that probably the entire mail is carried from the post office in bags, or where a post office box is doubtless made use of instead of the carriers' delivery, even the street number is superfluous. letters for departments should be so marked.
-if the city is one of the largest in the country, the name of the state is not added; as, new york city, boston, chicago, and philadelphia would stand alone.
-only a business letter should have the word "city" in place of the name of the city, and it is better to write the name, omitting, if you choose, the state. this is permissible only when the central post office is used, as the postmark of any suburban station might cause confusion, and railway post office clerks, especially, should not be expected to guess accurately the intents of a writer.
-when street addresses like "broadway," "park row," "aborn drive," are written, it is superfluous to write "st." after them.
-the older form of writing an address was to end each line with a comma. the more recent style, and one coming into quite common use, is to omit the comma, using only such punctuation as the sense of the words within the line demands. either way is permissible.
-uniformity and concise clearness are characteristics of a well-written address. an address should be written as follows:
-mr. frankel banchman, 15 westland avenue, philadelphia, pa.
-if the directions are to be included, then the following arrangement is better:
-the sign of per cent is no longer used to signify "care of."
-a letter to the president of the united states should be addressed simply with that title and with no further specification of name, whether it be official or social: as, "to the president of the united states, executive mansion, washington, d. c." the salutation should be simply "sir." the conclusion should be, "i have the honor to remain your obedient servant." if a social letter it may be addressed either formally or "to the president of the united states, (christian name and surname), executive mansion," etc. the salutation would then be "my dear mr. president."
-the vice president should be addressed officially in the same form; that is, "to the vice president, hon. chester a. arthur." he should be saluted, officially, "mr. vice president, sir;" socially, "my dear mr. arthur."
-in addressing the governor of a state the superscription should be, "to his excellency, the governor of massachusetts, state house, boston." the salutation should be "sir," if official, but "dear governor barnard," if social. the conclusion of an official letter should read, "i have the honor to be, sir, your excellency's most obedient servant."
-the mayor of a city is addressed, "to his honor, the mayor of chicago." within, he is saluted officially as "your honor," socially as "my dear mayor sewall."
-ambassadors of any country, whatever their personal distinction, may be given the title of "honorable," and their rank placed after the surname. as, "honorable whitelaw reid, ambassador to the court of st. james." they may always be addressed as "your excellency."
-the members of the cabinet of the president of the united states are always addressed as "honorable," and the name of their department, or their title added: as, "the honorable, the secretary of state." to give the name would be superfluous, as in the case of the president. on formal invitations, however, when the secretary and his wife are entertaining, the form is, "the secretary of state and mrs. hay request the honor," etc.
-invitations which come to one because of his official position are not intended for personal compliments, hence are addressed to the office, not to the man personally.
-an invitation from the president of the united states is equal to a command, and may not be declined. other engagements must be broken for it, and only grave calamity or illness should excuse one, the excuse being frankly stated instead of mere formal expressions of regret.
-in ceremonious notes abbreviations should never be used.
-should one address the ruler of england, the superscription would be, "his majesty, the king, london." the salutation would be, "sir;" the conclusion, "i have the honor to be, sir, your majesty's most obedient servant."
-"his grace the duke of fife" is the form of address for a duke; "my lord duke" being the salutation, and "your grace's most obedient servant" the subscription.
-in writing to the pope of the roman catholic church, one should address the letter to "his holiness, pope ----, rome." the salutation should be "your holiness," but the conclusion remains the same form as for other dignitaries. a cardinal of the same church is addressed "to his eminence (christian name) cardinal (surname)," and greeted as "your eminence." formality should be strictly observed.
-in the united states the bishops of the protestant episcopal church, who are not here lords, are addressed, singly, as "the right reverend (christian name and surname). d. d.," or "the right reverend bishop of (name of diocese)." they are saluted, singly, "most reverend sir."
-the word "to" may precede a formal or ceremonious address, adding to the formality.
-an envelope containing a letter or card of introduction should never be sealed, if presented in person by the party introduced. if, however, he should deliver it by messenger,--an exceptional procedure, and one not to be followed by a man except in unusual circumstances,--the envelope may be sealed.
-no letter sent through the kindness of a friend should ever be sealed. the envelope should bear, in the lower left-hand corner, the acknowledgment of the favor in words like "kindness of miss hallowell."
-salutation, conclusion, and signature of letters
-a stranger should be saluted as follows: "mr. eugene motley, my dear sir;" "mrs. alonzo parmenter, dear madam;" or "eugene motley, esq., my dear sir." these are forms slightly more formal than "my dear mr. motley," or "my dear mrs. parmenter," which in america are strangely considered more formal than "dear mr. motley," or "dear mrs. parmenter," although in england the reverse is true. therefore, a mere acquaintance is addressed "my dear mrs. judson," while a friend is addressed "dear mr. clark."
-a married woman signs her name, as "ethel husted," and then puts her formal name, "mrs. hollis husted," in brackets a little to the left of and a little below the other.
-never sign a title. the name only is your signature. it may be necessary to write the title in brackets and at the left, as "(miss)" or "(mrs.)," but it should never be part of the signature. such notes as demand the use of the title are put in the third person.
-the date should be at the end of a social note, in the lower left-hand corner, and should be written out, with the name of the year omitted and no figures used. the grammatical form is "the ninth of december," never "december the ninth," nor "december ninth."
-in business letters the salutation for a firm name is "dear sir," or "gentlemen." where two married women go into business together, there seems to be in english no combined title to take the place of the french, so that is generally used, and that is "mesdames," abbreviated "mmes." before their names.
-the formal conclusions of letters are: "respectfully yours," used to a superior; "sincerely yours," or "truly yours," used largely in business, or the same forms with the adverb "very" preceding them. less formal terms are: "cordially yours," "fraternally yours," or the pronoun with any appropriate adverb which the originality of the writer may suggest. less abrupt, but not less formal, endings are: "with best regards, i am," etc.; "with kindest regards, i remain," etc.; "believe me very sincerely yours."
-for intimate letters either to relatives or friends no specified suggestions are needed. the ordinary form, "your affectionate daughter," or "niece," etc., may, however, be employed, in dearth of special inspiration.
-distinction is sometimes made between business and social letters by the position of "yours,"--it being placed before the adverb in social correspondence, and after in business. the tone of the letter may be left to guide in this matter. there is an abruptness always somewhat unpleasant in the use of the adverb alone.
-make the beginning and ending of a letter the same in degree of cordiality. do not begin formally "my dear madam," and end "cordially yours."
-every letter should be signed with the full name of the writer. a possible exception might be made of those addressed to members of one's own family, where the use of the christian name only would mean no ambiguity, or where the signing of the surname gives a touch of formality. it is well, however, to remember that letters placed in the post take the chances of fortune, and, with the plainest of addresses, may, by the absence of the person or for some other cause, bring up in the dead-letter office. their resurrection there will depend upon their containing the full name of the sender as well as his address. if a letter is valuable enough to send, it is valuable enough to sign, even if the signature be double,--first the familiar or given name, and then, in the lower left-hand corner, the full name.
-it is well to use always the name which is your legal signature. this will prevent confusion, and forestall the possibility of your putting, from force of habit, the wrong form of your name upon a legal document.
-it is well to write one's name in full. three complete names are none too many for individual distinction in so crowded a world as is ours. if, however, the middle one is represented by an initial only, always write it uniformly. it is better, if the form with initial only has not become really established, to use the full name, although it may be long.
-the form of one's signature and the style of the handwriting soon become habitual. therefore, every effort should be made to make and keep it legible. an illegible signature is unpardonable,--save perhaps on a page at the top of which a printed or engraved letterhead gives the name in full. there is, however, the danger that the writer of the illegible signature will sometime sign his name on a legal document, or a sheet not bearing his letterhead, and the signature stand for nothing.
-letters of introduction
-a letter of introduction should never be requested. if it is offered it is a sign of great regard. if it is greatly desired, it might be well to acquaint the person, in whose power it is to offer it, with the circumstances and interests which make it desirable, but never to do more than this.
-the advisability of giving letters of introduction depends upon the circumstances. between business acquaintances and for business purposes, it is a common form of establishing connection among various interests, and, if done with discrimination, is to be approved. it should, however, even in business be done sparingly, as it is a matter of personal friendship, usually, and as no one has a right to make numerous or exacting demands upon one's friends.
-socially it is a matter of great delicacy, and should have even more restrictions put upon it than does the introduction in company. for the written introduction is used because distance prevents the personal one, and that usually throws the recipient of such a letter into the position of host to the traveler or newcomer, or at least of benefactor to some degree. it places upon him an obligation not involved in the verbal introduction, and the presumption is that he is to do some favor, or show some special attention.
-letters of introduction may be explanatory or brief. brevity is preferable, but circumstances must determine.
-a brief form of letter simply says: "permit me to introduce to your favorable notice mr. silas emerson."
-a more explicit form would be a letter the body of which would resemble the following:
-"the bearer, mr. mark w. allen, who is an old friend and neighbor of mine, represents the altmann irrigation company, and is desirous of obtaining information in regard to the system of waterways lately put into your county. knowing your influential position in regard to all matters of public interest, i have sent him to you in the hope that you may be able to put him in touch with the people who will give him the desired information. any favor that you may do mr. allen, or any courtesy that you may extend to him, will be deeply appreciated by me."
-a purely social letter of introduction would say in substance: "mrs. arthur l. westmore, who presents this letter to you, is an intimate and cherished friend of mine, and one whom i know you would desire to meet. she is to spend some little time in your city, and any courtesy that you may do her i shall deeply appreciate. i have told her of our friendship, and she knows how highly i value you, and is eager to meet you."
-when a letter of introduction is given, it is well to write the receiver concerning the friend who will present it, that he may not be taken unawares, nor continue long ignorant of the claims of that friend upon him.
-a gentleman usually presents such a letter by calling in person and sending in the letter, together with one of his personal cards, by the servant who answers the bell, or by the office boy. a lady usually mails the letter and one of her cards giving her address. she should receive an acknowledgment with a call or offer of hospitality within a day or two.
-a person who makes use of a letter of introduction should acknowledge to the giver the courtesy he has received, with due gratitude.
-letters of recommendation
-letters of recommendation should be sparingly given. it is becoming less and less important, in the minds of experienced employers, to demand references. the personality of the applicant counts, and the varying traits which different positions cultivate make the experiences of the past of but little guidance, save in a broad and general way.
-the giving of recommendations at random, "to whom it may concern," is also less done than formerly, as there is such uncertainty in regard to their use. instead of this, the servant is told that she may use the former mistress's name as reference. the new, would-be employer then writes a note of inquiry to the former employer.
-in replying to such a note great conscientiousness should be shown. full justice should be done the servant. only the truth should be told, and as much of it as a generous heart and wise conscience, coupled with a sense of responsibility toward the inquirer, permit. these letters should be brief and not effusive on any point, nor evasive of the issue at stake.
-never write to another, asking for information, or a favor of any kind, without enclosing a stamped and addressed envelope for reply.
-letters are written in the third person in answer to formal invitations so worded, and in correspondence between people but slightly acquainted or known to each other only by reputation, persons not social equals, and by tradespeople and their patrons.
-great care should be taken to preserve the impersonal diction throughout the letter, and to refrain from signing it. the tone should always be formal and very polite.
-an order may take the form of a request, as "will mr. sutherland please . . . and oblige," with the signature of the writer.
-informal invitations and announcements
-in inviting a friend to visit you, it is customary to mention the length of the visit, setting a definite date for it and limit to it. this makes it possible for both hostess and guest to arrange other engagements.
-a time-table of the trains, if the guest comes from the distance, with an account of the trolley lines, if from near at hand, should be enclosed.
-the engagement of a daughter may be announced by informal notes to one's whole circle of friends and acquaintances. the following form of note may serve as a suggestion: "i am sure that you will join our household in sympathy with eleanor in her happiness when i tell you that she has just announced her engagement to mr. harold farnham, a man of whom her father and i thoroughly approve. the wedding will not take place for some months, but felicitations are in order."
-letters of condolence
-a letter of condolence should be short and quite sincere, or else the courteous custom of sending it is more honored in the breach than in the observance.
-such letters should be sent very promptly.
-to expatiate to any extent whatever upon the bereavement is heartless or thoughtless, and as there is no danger of ambiguity, the letter does not need to account for itself in any way.
-the following letter is as explicit as any letter of condolence need ever be, and the second form is preferable, unless great intimacy makes the less abrupt one permissible.
-"dear mr. legrow:
-i have read of your bereavement with the deepest sorrow. i cannot tell you how fully i sympathize with you and your children, or how my heart aches for you in your loneliness. may you have strength and grace to bear up under the great loss you have sustained.
-sincerely yours, margaret edelstone."
-"dear mrs. hilcox: you have my deepest sympathy. ever cordially yours, mildred hasseltine."
-business letters should be answered by return mail, as should also all invitations to dinner or luncheon.
-all invitations should be answered within a day if possible, because delay looks like a reluctance to accept. they should certainly be answered, either personally or by letter, within a week after the invitation is received.
-friendly letters should have such promptness of response as circumstances and the intimacy of the friendship demand.
-notes of congratulation and felicitation should be sent promptly after receiving the card or note announcement of an engagement or a birth, and in the latter case at least, should be followed by a call.
-a personal visiting card, with the words "thank you for sympathy" written over the name, is sufficient acknowledgment of letters of condolence. to very intimate friends, however, the spontaneous note of thanks would be more courteous. as it is almost impossible, at such a time, to attend to matters of social intercourse, the sending of the card is always permissible, and can occasion no offense, even if the more intimate acknowledgment was hoped for.
-casual meetings and calls
-greetings and recognitions
-the bow and the handshake are the accepted forms of greeting in the united states to-day. the bow varies from a very slight inclination of the head, as one gentleman passes another, or from the quick touching of the hat with the hand, in a sort of reminiscence of the military salute, to the various degrees of elaborate bow which savors of european ceremonial courtesy.
-the usual form is a bending of the head and shoulders, with the eyes kept on those of the person greeted, the hat being removed from the head and held in the right hand during the bow,--which is at once brief, deferential, and dignified. it may be accompanied by the handshake, in which case the hat is lifted by the left hand.
-the degree of the depth of the bow is usually spontaneous, determined by the deference felt, or the emotions which the meeting may summon. it is useless to bow low to conceal scorn or real disdain, for they are sure to reveal themselves in the artificiality of the pose, or in the carriage of the shoulders, or in the movement of an eyelash, and usually nobody is deceived.
-the correct position for an extreme bow is with the feet near together, the legs straight, and the entire body inclined from the hips. this is somewhat too extreme for common use, and should be modified always in public, the less elaborate bow being much preferable upon the street or in public places.
-a woman bows more erectly than a man does, and gives perhaps as cordial an impression by the greater expressiveness of her greeting, which should always be characteristic, and never mechanical, or in imitation of others, whose natural traits may be far different, however admirable she may consider their style to be. it is only when she meets some one her senior, or in much more important social position, or one whom she specially delights to honor, that she elaborates her bow, or curtsies if not in public and if the occasion admit of the formality.
-a lady should be straightforward in her greeting, never condescending to the coquettish mannerism of letting the eyes fall during the bow. she should sink her personal consciousness in the fact of meeting another, and should not intrude it into the intellectual interest of such a meeting.
-the handshake is accomplished by extending the right hand horizontally from the elbow and clasping, between the closed four fingers and thumb of the hand, the closed four fingers of the friend's right hand, then quietly shaking it. this is sometimes varied by lifting the clasped hands,--not the elbow,--to the height of the shoulders, and there mildly shaking them, or clasping them with a slight pressure and letting them drop,--styles savoring of affectation. the impulse prompting the handshake,--that of getting together in intimate personal greeting,--is accomplished when the clasp is ended, and vigorous and prolonged shaking, or special pressure, or continued holding of the hand, are all alike unpardonable.
-the bow is the least sign of recognition, and may mean little or much, but its significance is known only to the two concerned. while it is permissible in public places to make its cordiality, or lack of it, apparent, it is not permissible to greet fellow guests at any private social function with either more or less than a uniform and impartial courtesy.
-the bow does not mean that one has a calling acquaintance. it may mean only a casual knowledge of one another's existence, due to some brief coming together. intentionally to neglect to bow, after a bowing acquaintance has once been established, is an open affront, and denotes either extreme rudeness or veiled insult. the dropping of an acquaintance by refusal to recognize, may, in our complicated social system, sometimes be necessary, but it is only justified by the necessity for society to safeguard itself against some of the more flagrant social abuses.
-it is a woman's privilege, in meeting a man whom she knows, to bow first. indeed, the man always waits for her to do so, unless he is a very intimate friend. a woman should always be sure, before bowing to a man, that she knows him and that she has caught his eye.
-when a gentleman is walking with a lady, he lifts his hat when she bows to an acquaintance, even if the person is not known to him. so, also, when he is alone and meets a man whom he knows, who is in the company of a lady, he lifts his hat. when, walking with a lady, he meets a gentleman whom he knows, he removes his hat.
-when a gentleman meets a party of ladies or stops to speak with one only, it is customary for him to retain his hat in his hand until she requests him to replace it. this is done with social superiors and to show great respect, being more ceremonial than finds common acceptance among americans.
-when he is with a gentleman who bows to a lady, he also lifts his hat. it is proper for him to lift the hat when offering any courtesy to a lady, even though a total stranger, and upon leaving a lady with whom he or a person accompanying him has been talking.
-it is well to return a bow which is directed to you, even if you do not know the one bowing. this often saves considerable embarrassment to the one who has for the moment mistaken you for some one else.
-when passing before ladies seated in a lecture hall, or concert, a gentleman always asks their pardon for troubling them.
-in passing or repassing on the street or promenade, a single bow is sufficient recognition, even though you may meet an acquaintance several times.
-a lady, receiving in her own home, shakes hands with the stranger with the same cordiality as with the friend.
-a gentleman when greeting a lady never takes the initiative in hand-shaking. if a lady offers her hand, however, it would be very rude indeed for a gentleman not to accept the courtesy.
-persons who have met at the house of a mutual friend, but have not been introduced, are under no obligation to bow when they meet elsewhere afterward, and usually do not.
-when a man passes a lady on a staircase, in the corridor of a hotel, in the elevator of a private apartment house, or in the public rooms of a hotel, he lifts his hat although she may be a stranger.
-this rule does not prevail on the staircases and in the corridors of office buildings, with the exception, perhaps, of banks and such offices as people of wealth frequent; for a new fineness of courtesy has made men feel that, as women are winning an equality of position in the business field, a delicate way of recognizing that equality is by giving them a comradely deference rather than paying them the social attentions. another marked expression of this is in the fact that a business man, when walking on the street with a business woman, does not interrupt their conversation by changing sides with her in order to keep constantly on the outside of the walk.
-an indication of the two kinds of courtesy, social and business, is often grotesquely shown when a woman in social life, perhaps the wife of one of the men present, enters an office where there are both men and women of equal business importance and social rank. there is an elaborate social courtesy paid to the wife, who is in private life, which would not be paid, and would seem grotesque and ill-mannered if paid, to the business woman, even though she were at once the active vice president of the corporation and wife of the president.
-the usual form of introduction is, "mrs. allen, may i present mr. brown?" or, "mrs. allen, let me present mr. brown." or, "mrs. caldwell, allow me to present colonel glazier." where, however, the permission need not be suggested, and the relative standing of the people is the same, the form may be only, "mrs. gleason, mr. ansel."
-when it is necessary to introduce one person to several, the form is, "mrs. gladstone, i want you to meet mrs. falmouth, miss washburn, mr. cronkshaw, and mr. edgerton." the one introduced simply repeats each name and smiles as she greets each in turn.
-another form much in use is, "miss hanscom, i want you to know my friend, mr. thompson, the artist," and is preferable because of its definiteness.
-the response to an introduction is, "i am happy to meet you," or, "i am very glad to meet you."
-if one does not catch the name of the person introduced, it is proper to ask it, saying, "pardon me, but i did not understand the name."
-introductions should always be spoken distinctly, especially the names. if, in introducing, one can add a sentence which will give a subject of conversation, the preliminaries of acquaintance may be speedily passed, and memorable information and real profit be gleaned from even a casual meeting.
-it is a mark of intelligence and social instinct to be quick to catch and retain in memory a face and name from even a brief introduction, and the tacit compliment to the person so remembered is apt to win his favor.
-persons who have not been introduced are not considered acquainted. the exceptions to this rule are the guests under a common roof, while they are there.
-introductions should never be indiscriminately made. there should be willingness, if not eagerness, on the part of both to meet. a hostess is, however, warranted in introducing two people who she knows will be congenial, or if they have before expressed a desire to become acquainted. if any doubt exists as to how the introduction will be received by either, they should not be introduced.
-one should never introduce two acquaintances who reside in the same town but move in different social circles, unless each had desired the introduction.
-if there is a difference of station or age, then it is necessary only to ask the older or more prominent person whether the introduction would be acceptable. this should be done quietly, and quite out of hearing or knowledge of the other person concerned.
-a gentleman should ask a mutual friend for an introduction to a lady whom he wishes to meet. unless there is no possible objection, the mutual friend should not introduce the gentleman until he has made sure that the lady is willing.
-it is not well to introduce gentlemen to one another indiscriminately, nor should ladies be so introduced. one wishes to keep the boundaries of one's acquaintance within certain definite limits, and choice is easier made before acquaintance than after. so, one shows great care in offering introductions to others, and exercises the same care for one's self.
-if a hostess and her guest are out walking together, the hostess would introduce to her guest every friend who happened to stop and speak with her, and the guest, should she meet acquaintances of her own, would introduce each of them to her hostess. this is practically the only case where indiscriminate introducing is good form, and here the obligations of hospitality safeguard it.
-a lady usually offers her hand to a gentleman who has been introduced to her, but a bow, a smile, and a repetition of the name are all that is necessary where several introductions are being made, as at a large reception or dancing party.
-a gentleman always offers his hand to another gentleman on being introduced.
-an elderly lady may offer her hand in all introductions with perfect propriety.
-if, while walking out with a friend, you meet another, do not introduce the two. a transient meeting is of no particular moment to them, and their friendship or acquaintance with you is not necessarily of strong enough interest to make them desire acquaintance. if, however, you meet at some public place, and are detained there together for several minutes, then the introduction should be given.
-when meeting at the house of a mutual acquaintance, friends may introduce friends, but it is preferable to leave the introductions to the hostess.
-it is no longer necessary to introduce each guest to everybody else at a party. introductions are made as opportunity or necessity may dictate. this abolishing of promiscuous and wholesale introductions relieves two very embarrassing situations,--that of being introduced by announcement to a whole roomful of people, and that of being taken around and introduced to them singly.
-a mother may present her son, or a sister her brother, or a wife her husband, if she so desires, without any question as to the propriety of it. a man should not, on the other hand, introduce another man to his wife, or a son or brother make a presentation of a man to his mother or sister, unless he knows that such acquaintance could not but be agreeable to the lady, and unless it meets with his own approval. for it is a man's place always to safeguard a woman against undesirable acquaintances.
-a woman, in introducing her husband, gives him his title, if he has one, as "judge hartwell," "doctor foley." the wife of the president of the united states speaks of him only as "the president," and in presenting people to him, he is always addressed as "mr. president," with the invariable omission of his surname.
-a friend or acquaintance, no matter how distinguished, is always presented to one's father or mother or one's intimate relative, where the intimacy of the relation makes an honor more distinguishing, in the mind of the introducer, than any of reputation or position.
-a young man should be introduced to an older man, a young woman to an older woman.
-a man is always presented to a woman, never the reverse.
-if a lady is seated and a man is presented to her, she need not rise. if two ladies, both seated, are introduced to each other, they should rise, unless one is old or an invalid, in which case both remain seated. two gentlemen, though both are seated, rise and shake hands when introduced.
-a young lady always rises when an elderly person is introduced.
-introductions are not made at table. the guests at a dinner party should be presented to one another in the drawing-room before coming to the table, and if that is impossible, as many should be introduced as may be, especially those who are to sit beside or near or opposite each other. if one is seated beside a guest whom he has not met, the man takes the initiative in speaking a few words as soon as he takes his seat, to which the lady responds always cordially, keeping up more or less of a conversation during the dinner.
-at dancing parties all those who are giving the party, as well as all the ushers and those who receive, make introductions as general as possible, so as to insure the pleasure of the guests during the evening.
-an introduction at a dance carries with it the obligation on the part of the man to ask the woman for a dance, and on her part to grant his request unless her card is full.
-when traveling great care should be taken as to introductions.
-as a guest one should be ready and willing to meet any one whom his host or hostess may introduce, even though it be an enemy. the obligations of hospitality rest nowhere more heavily than in this matter. they demand that impartial courtesy should be shown to every one.
-calls must be made in person, rather than by card left by messenger or post, after an invitation to dinner, luncheon, supper, or similar function, and that within a week or, at farthest, two weeks of the date of the affair. one should also call in person within two weeks of any entertainment to which one has been asked, especially if one has attended.
-one need repay formal calls, where no invitation to any social occasion has been received, only once a year. even in this case, cards may be sent by mail. in the country it is usual to go in person, though one does not ask if the lady of the house is at home.
-calls should be made upon the "at home" day, if one is engraved upon the card. if a person is ill, a near relative, or intimate friend, may leave a card for her at the house of the friend upon whom she wished to call.
-society holds young people who are free to attend parties and entertainments under stern obligation to pay their social calls. young mothers, professional women, students, invalids, and semi-invalids are not expected to conform rigidly to the same rules. if a young woman can go to a party to amuse herself, she must call afterwards to acknowledge the courtesy of the invitation.
-if a mother cannot call in person, her daughter or some one else may pay the necessary calls in her stead. or she may invite the people whom she would otherwise call on, to an afternoon tea, which is more of a compliment than a call.
-in calling at a house, should the door be opened by a member of the family, the caller does not present her card to the lady or gentleman, but steps in, asking for the person whom she wants to see. she may leave her card unobtrusively on the table when she goes out.
-if a maid opens the door, the card is handed to her and received on a small tray. no well-trained maid ever extends her hand to receive a visiting card.
-if a caller wishes to be very formal, she leaves a card for every lady in the family on whom she wishes to call.
-in the beginning of the season a wife always leaves her husband's card with her own, and she usually does this also when making a call at the close of the season.
-an unmarried woman calling on a married friend leaves only one card. if the friend has daughters or is entertaining a guest, a card may be left for each.
-a lady always rises to receive a visitor.
-it takes good judgment to know when to go, but it should be cultivated and practised. lingering in taking one's leave is a great weariness, to one's hostess if not to one's self.
-after a birth calls are made upon the mother after the child is a month old.
-after a death the friends of the family should call in person inside of a month. the members of the family do not receive them, however, unless they wish to do so.
-social calls of men
-a man never carries or leaves the cards of other men, nor can he leave cards for any of the women of his family.
-a gentleman who calls on a lady's afternoon at home leaves in the card tray, on entering the house, a card for his hostess and one for his host. the card for his host must be left, even if that gentleman does not appear in the drawing-room, provided the caller is acquainted with him, and providing he is calling in acknowledgment of some hospitality recently received.
-if there is a host, hostess, and young lady daughter in the house, and the caller is a friend of the latter, he leaves three cards.
-the man who is making his first or last call for the season on the regular afternoon at home, leaves one card for each of the ladies, and each one of the men of the household whose acquaintance he can claim.
-when a man calls on a lady's day at home, and his call has no reference to any social debts, he leaves only one card in the tray. if he is somewhat intimate in the house where the call is paid, he leaves no card at all.
-a man does not call upon a woman unless she invites him, or some member of her family does, or he goes with a mutual friend who has made sure of his welcome. a woman may say to a man, "mother and i are usually at home fridays, and would like to have you call," or some other form of invitation which denotes cordiality.
-a man who desires to call in particular upon one lady, in a family where there are several, hands his card to the servant with the words, "please give this to miss curley, and i would like to see all the other ladies also." the ladies appear and greet him, withdrawing that he may call upon the one he especially wished to see.
-if calling upon a guest in a home, you always ask for the hostess also.
-a man retains his hat, gloves, and walking stick in hand during a formal call, though he may have left his overcoat in the hall.
-in america it is the usual custom for residents of the city or town to call first upon newcomers. washington is a well-known exception to this rule, as strangers there call first upon government officials and their families. in most european cities newcomers call first upon those already in residence. the residents, from the officials down, return their cards, and the visitor or newcomer receives invitations to social functions.
-in practice the resident does not usually know anything about the stranger, and may not have even heard of her arrival. sometimes the newcomer sends out cards for several days in a month, to those with whom she would like to become acquainted. if she can enclose the card of a mutual friend, as a silent voucher for her social standing, her position is more quickly and more surely granted her.
-clergymen and their families, brides, and persons of note are entitled to receive first calls. the older residents of the community are expected to lead in the list of callers who welcome the newcomers.
-first calls should be promptly returned, within a week at the very latest.
-a married woman making a first call upon a married friend sends one of her own and two of her husband's cards to her new acquaintance.
-the personal card and the engraved invitation
-form of card
-a man's card is usually one and a half by three inches in size, and made of fairly stiff bristol board. a woman's card is usually about two and three-sixteenths by three inches, and made of dull-finish, fine, medium-weight bristol board.
-the color of cards is a fine pearl white. cream or tinted cards are never in good form.
-the engraving varies from plain script to elaborate old english text, or shaded roman type, according to the fashion. the engraver may be trusted to know the style and stock most in use.
-the card of an unmarried lady should be somewhat smaller than that of the married. this distinction is made, however, only in case of the card of the débutante.
-if there is room across the card the full name should be engraved. if the names are too long, only the initials of given names should be used.
-all inscriptions on one card should be in the same style of type.
-"mr." is prefixed, unless there is a special title, such as, "reverend," "doctor," "colonel," etc. if a man should, in an emergency, write his own name on a card, he would not prefix the "mr.," or any other title. the name should be written in full and should be an autograph.
-a married lady should have her husband's full name, or such form or parts of it as he uses, with the title "mrs.," and not her own name.
-a young woman has the title "miss" engraved before her name, even though she be only a schoolgirl.
-a young man has no title at all on his card, but simply his full name.
-the newly married couple use a card with the title of "mr. and mrs." for the first year after marriage, in returning their ceremonious calls after the wedding, and paying formal calls when the husband is unable to accompany the wife. these cards should have the address in the lower right-hand corner, and the reception day or days in the lower left. after the first year they are seldom used in paying calls, but can be used for condolence, congratulation, or farewell where both husband and wife desire to be formally represented.
-a woman who is personally distinguished, who occupies a high social position, or whose husband stands at the head of his family, may have only "mrs. barnaby," not "mrs. john barnaby," upon her cards. it is better, however, not to do so unless one has the indisputable right to be considered as the mrs. barnaby of the locality. it is customary for the wife of the oldest brother of the oldest branch of the family alone to have the privilege of this form.
-the same rule of precedence applies to single women. the oldest unmarried daughter of the oldest brother, and she alone, has the right to use "miss campbell" on her card, although she may have a cousin who is much older than herself, but who is the daughter of a younger brother of the same family.
-a widow has no cards during her year of mourning, as she makes no formal visits. after that, cards with black border to any depth desired may be used.
-a widow has no legal right to retain her husband's christian name, but she often prefers to do so, and it is entirely proper, the question being one of sentiment alone. in case there is a married son of the same name as the father, then it is proper for the mother to put "sr." for senior, at the end of her name, should she desire still to retain her husband's christian name.
-in such a case widows occasionally prefer to use their own names or initials.
-in this country a married woman merges her name with that of her husband. it is not uncommon nowadays for married women to sign their own christian name, their maiden surname, and their husband's surname as their signature. there is value in this as it preserves the family identity of the married woman, but the question of its legality may always be raised.
-the name of daughter or daughters is often engraved below that of the mother on her card, before the young woman enters formally into society. the form "the misses smith" may be used, or the names given separately. in new york in some circles the débutante is not given a separate card until she has been in society a year. as american schoolgirls often have a card with the prefix "miss," the débutante may use this among her girl friends.
-a business or professional woman may have, in addition to her society card, a card with her own name for business purposes. this usually has a word or two denoting her profession in the lower left-hand corner, and her business address in the lower right.
-a lady's card should always contain her home address in the lower right-hand corner. her afternoon "at home" is usually given in the lower left.
-the address is often omitted from cards for men, being engraved on those of the women of the family. men belonging to a fashionable or well-known club put its name, instead of their residence, on their cards. this is especially the case when they do not live at home. if living at a club, the address is put on the lower left-hand corner; if living at home, the lower right-hand corner.
-on a man's business cards the title "mr." is omitted, the name of his firm, their business, and address, being engraved in the lower left-hand corner.
-titles which signify permanent rank, or profession that lasts for life, and which are allied to a man's identity or distinctly bear upon his social standing, should be used.
-temporary titles, which have no special social rank or bearing, or professional titles, such as "esquire" for lawyers, which have no social significance, are not used.
-for the same reason that temporary or technical titles are not used, honorary titles are omitted. there should be no pretense in regard to social position, as pretense is easy and futile. a man appears in society simply as an ordinary individual, to win favor and position by force of his personality, or to lose it thereby.
-no title below the rank of captain is used on the card in military circles. a lieutenant's card would give his full name with the prefix "mr." and below it the words, "lieutenant of fifth cavalry, united states army," or simply, "united states coast guard service."
-the etiquette of the visiting card is a fluctuating one. it cannot be laid down for all time, or even for next season.
-on entering at a reception, or afternoon tea, one leaves a card in the salver offered by the butler or attendant who opens the door, or upon the hall table, as a reminder to the hostess, who can hardly be expected to remember, if entertaining a large number, every one who has been there.
-one does not leave cards at a wedding reception, however.
-at an afternoon tea, it is no longer necessary to leave a card apiece from all the members of the invited families to all the members of the family of the hostess and her guests also. the single card for the host and hostess is all that is required.
-should one be invited to a series of receptions, one leaves cards only once although one may attend twice. leaving cards in person after a tea or reception is good form only for ceremonious affairs. after the usual private reception one should certainly call.
-if only one member of a family can attend a reception to which the others have been invited, she may leave the cards of the others, together with her own, with perfect propriety.
-also when one is not able to attend a reception or an afternoon tea, cards may be sent by mail, although it is better to send them by messenger, to arrive on the day of the entertainment. one should call within a fortnight.
-it is not now considered necessary to call in person where formerly it was so held. the sending of the personal card often takes the place of the call. nor need this be done by messenger. cards for any purpose may now be sent by mail.
-after removing from one part of the city to another, it is customary for ladies to send engraved cards with their new address and with their reception day to all of their circle of acquaintances.
-a woman who is stopping for a brief time in a city where she has friends, sends to them her card containing her temporary address and the length of her stay, as "here until june second," or "here until sunday."
-a man, however, calls upon his friends, and if they are absent leaves his card giving the same information.
-if a son old enough to go into society wishes to do so, his card is left with his father's and mother's at the beginning of the season. he will then be invited to the functions given by the friends of his parents.
-when there is illness or mourning in the household, friends leave their cards with the words "to inquire," "sincere condolence," or "sympathy" written upon them.
-the card which accompanies wedding gifts should be the joint card of "mr. and mrs.," if the gift is sent jointly, and may well have the words "best wishes and congratulations," written upon it.
-it is no longer permissible to fold over the ends of a card, to signify that it was intended for all the members of the family.
-the birth of a child may be announced by a small card containing the full name of the child daintily engraved, with the date of the birth in the lower left-hand corner. the card is tied to the mother's card by white ribbon, and both are enclosed in one envelope and sent by post.
-visiting cards for those who are in mourning are the same size as the ordinary card. the width of the black border is regulated by the degree of the relationship to the deceased.
-the engraved invitation
-a fine grade of heavy, unglazed, pure white paper, suède finish, in double sheet folded to a size about five by seven and a half inches, or less, inserted in an envelope of the same width but half the length, is used for the billet on which wedding invitations and announcements are engraved. the impress of the plate demarks a margin of about an inch.
-a heavy or medium grade of white bristol board is used for invitations to "at homes," dinner, receptions, dances, and all like social functions for which the common visiting card is not used. the size used varies with the number of words in the invitation, and may be quite large, as for a club or society reception, or formal openings or special occasions where a business corporation is the host. these cards have the same plate margin as the wedding invitation, although it is much narrower. only the most formal invitations have space left for the writing in of the name of the guest.
-the billet, however, has certain advantages, especially where the occasion is very formal and select, and the information which should be furnished the guest is considerable. elegance of this sort is now very costly.
-several styles of type are in use: namely, the script having close round letters, and being as nearly black as roman or old english when engraved; a script lighter and more cursive; an old english lettering; a shaded roman letter, which is constantly growing in popularity; shaded caxton; solid and shaded french script; and a plain roman block letter.
-the script is the type most commonly used, both because of its beauty and legibility, and because of the comparative inexpensiveness of engraving, the cost being about half of that of either the old english or the shaded roman type.
-it is obvious that the size of page in this book will not permit facsimile reproductions of specimens of invitations and other social forms, which in nearly every case require a different proportion of space than the page offers. therefore, to reproduce the style of lettering used for these forms has not been attempted. the examples present correct wording and proportionate arrangement.
-the following plates, which are exact photographs of steel and copper engraving, present several styles of script, old english, and shaded and plain roman faces, but do not represent more than a few sizes, and those the most common.
-at the church of the messiah
-two dancing parties
-request the pleasure of
-mrs. william howell meade
-dining and party invitations
-the engraved card invitation for a luncheon is usually worded as follows:
-mrs. everetts s. sinclair requests the pleasure of your company at luncheon on tuesday, february nineteenth at one o'clock hotel willard
-the dinner invitation is identical, except that for "luncheon" is substituted "dinner," and the hour is usually half after seven or eight o'clock. to this, or to any other dining invitation, may be added in the lower left-hand corner the words "please reply," or, "the favor of a reply is requested."
-the party invitation may take either of the two following forms:
-mrs. harold harmon williams requests the pleasure of your company at a dancing party to be given at the glendale country club wednesday evening, december the twenty-ninth from eight until eleven o'clock
-mr. and mrs. samuel fairfield watson request the pleasure of
-the blank invitation is very convenient, as it may be sent out at short notice, and is definite and personal. the following is a form which lends itself to any one of the usual kinds of home entertainment:
-mr. and mrs. st. john ambrose lockwood request the pleasure of
-97 washington avenue
-when, on an engraved invitation of any sort, be it wedding or dinner or any other, a blank line or lines are left for the insertion of the name of the guest, there is danger that, unless this is done with great care and by an able penman, the beauty of the invitation be ruined, and therefore its cost thrown away. for that reason a wholly engraved invitation is perhaps better, unless the work of addressing them and inserting the name is to be done by a professional penman. of course, when this is done and well done, there is a personal touch, a suggestion of individual welcome, which can be gained in no other way, and which the wholly engraved invitation lacks.
-when an entertainment is given by a family at some place other than their home, the invitations have the name of the place and the street address put in at the usual place on the invitation, and then in the lower right-hand corner the words "please reply," with the home address.
-a bachelor or widower uses his name alone at the top of the invitation. he will, of course, provide a chaperon, who in many respects takes the place of a hostess and so acts, but her name does not appear upon his invitation, unless she be his sister or near relative. the invitation then becomes a joint one, after the usual form.
-a widower with daughters may send out invitations headed in either of the following forms:
-mr. john marquand miss marquand miss estelle marquand
-mr. john marquand the misses marquand
-for a dinner followed by a dance there are two invitations, the one a dinner invitation at an early hour for the favored few, the other a dancing party invitation at a later hour.
-clubs have blanks which may be filled in by their members when they wish to entertain. these are issued in the club name, and are like any other private invitation, except that at the bottom and to the left "compliments of" is engraved, and the name of the member who is special host is written in.
-invitations containing the words "bal poudre" signify that the entertainment is a masquerade or fancy dress party, and the guests are expected to come in fancy costume with powdered hair.
-the word "ball" is used of an elaborate formal dance, usually a public one given by some club or for charity, and rarely of a private dance.
-in spite of the predominance of the engraved invitation for the most formal affairs, still small dinners, and even receptions and dancing parties, are sometimes announced by the handwritten invitations. the form should be the same as the engraved one, although to very intimate friends it should be changed to a friendly note.
-acceptances are in the form of the invitation. if that is an informal note, the acceptance or regret is sent in the same style. if the invitation is formal, the reply also should be written in the third person and be about as follows:
-mr. and mrs. allston b. sinclair accept with pleasure the kind invitation of mr. and mrs. arthur emanuel farrington for dinner on thursday, the ninth of december at half after eight o'clock
-the reply to an invitation should be sent to the person or persons who issued it, never to any other member of the family, although such a one may be better known.
-to write the word "regrets" on one's visiting card and send it in declination of any invitation is bad form, even if the invitation come in similar shape. one should always write a note of regret.
-bachelors and widowers, who entertain at their apartments or studio or club, and army and navy officers never use the words "at home," but always "request the pleasure (or honour) of your presence."
-if one is entertaining a guest and an invitation is received, one may with propriety ask the hostess for an invitation for one's guest, if the form of entertainment is so general as to make this right and reasonable; otherwise one must decline the invitation. it would not be right to ask for another dinner invitation, or one to a select group of people, where the guest would be an intruder.
-if a son should return from college or other absence, and the parents wish to entertain for him, their invitations would have at the bottom the word "for" followed by his name.
-in sending out invitations, one should be sent to the father and mother jointly, one to each son separately, and one to the daughters jointly, the latter being addressed "the misses estabrook."
-invitations should be sent to people in mourning, although they are not expected to accept. they should not be slighted or forgotten during such a period.
-wedding invitations and announcements
-the following are the usual forms of wording for the wedding invitation:
-mr. and mrs. reinhard ernst ormond request the honour of your presence at the marriage of their daughter eida to dr. otto bertelli on wednesday, the first of april nineteen hundred and thirteen at twelve o'clock church of the messiah st. louis, missouri
-dr. and mrs. maurice howe cavanaugh request the honour of
-presence at the marriage of their daughter rebecca falmouth to mr. charles hunnewell clark on monday, the ninth of july at eight o'clock church of the redeemer washington
-the usual form of marriage announcement is as follows:
-mr. and mrs. william t. kimball announce the marriage of their daughter dorothy lucinda to mr. leroy l. hallock on wednesday, the first day of december one thousand nine hundred and twelve chicago, illinois
-mr. arthur edmand sawyer and miss emma pauline farrington announce their marriage on sunday the sixteenth of july one thousand nine hundred and ten at boston, massachusetts
-the "at home" card of the bridal couple, which goes with a wedding invitation, does not have the name of the couple upon it, but reads simply
-at home after the first of november 1219 pennsylvania avenue washington
-when an "at home" card is included in a wedding announcement, however, the name of the couple appears upon it, as follows:
-mr. and mrs. albion frederick marston
-for the card of invitation to the wedding reception the wording is as follows:
-reception immediately after the ceremony eight salem street
-reception immediately after the ceremony in the church parlors
-in the case of a church wedding, it is always well to enclose with the invitation a small card reading: "please present this card at the church on august the third."
-in case the wedding takes place in the country and invitations are sent to many friends in the city, a card giving directions as to what train to take, and where, which is to be presented to the conductor instead of a ticket, and which entitles the possessor to special accommodations, is enclosed with the invitation.
-wedding invitations, or announcements, and their accompanying cards, are enclosed in two envelopes, one within the other, of the same stock as the billets. upon the outer is written the name of the person and his street address; upon the inner only the name of the one for whom it is intended.
-wedding invitations should be addressed to "mrs. chandler jones," on the outside envelope. within this is a second envelope addressed to "mr. and mrs. chandler jones." the older custom is to address the outside envelope to "mr. and mrs. chandler jones," as well as the inside. the lady of the house is now, however, beginning to be looked upon as head of its social affairs, as her husband is of its business affairs, and hence the style of addressing invitations to her.
-the words "and family" are no longer used after the parents' names, but separate invitations are sent to the members.
-it is quite the courteous thing to include among the people invited to a wedding, especially if it is to be in a church, the special business friends and associates of the bridegroom-elect, his father, and the bride's father.
-in case the invitations are for the ceremony only at a church wedding, the address of the bride's parents should be embossed upon the outside envelope.
-acquaintances purely professional do not receive cards to a wedding. one's physician, however, if his family is prominent socially, may be included among the guests.
-announcement cards should be quite ready to post immediately after the ceremony. they should be sent to all the circle of friends and acquaintances of both the bride's and the bridegroom's families, save to those who have been invited to the marriage or the wedding reception.
-the announcement of an "at home" or reception should always be made on a separate card,--not on a corner of the wedding invitation or announcement.
-an immediate reply is necessary when one is invited to a home wedding. if the wedding is a church wedding, and there is no reception following it, one makes no reply if one intends to be present, but sends one's card upon the date set, if one cannot attend.
-various announcement cards
-in case of the postponement of a wedding or a dinner or reception because of some grave accident or illness, the cancellation of the invitations, or the announcement of the postponement, should be engraved and sent out at the earliest possible date.
-for a wedding it may read somewhat as follows:
-mr. and mrs. maynard s. taylor regret to announce that on account of serious illness in the family the marriage of their daughter emmeline and mr. fosdick arlington will be indefinitely postponed
-a family which has passed through a period of calamity and bereavement may wish to make some acknowledgment of the attentions of friends, and may do so in some such form as follows:
-the brothers and sisters of dr. ralph j. harkins gratefully acknowledge your kind expression of sympathy
-the special "at home" card which is used for a reception in honor of a friend or guest may contain the name of the friend either on the first or the last line of the invitation, with the words "to meet" before it; as:
-mrs. ernest l. lafricain at home thursday, december twenty-third from four to six 275 grand pré avenue, montreal to meet mrs. jackson seymour montgomery
-for a general reception the following form is good:
-mr. and mrs. henry illington bray mr. and mrs. harold bray request the honor of your presence on new year's day from four until half after seven o'clock 174 albemarle street winnipeg
-the private engraved card for christmas and new year greetings, which may be sent to one's entire list of friends, is much in favor. great distinction and individuality of design and selection of sentiment may be obtained by this means. the following is an appropriate form:
-"the glory breaks and christmas comes once more"
-mr. and mrs. nathaniel clarke sutherland cordially greet
-with every good wish of the season
-behavior in public
-the test of the depth of one's courtesy is found in one's attitude to strangers and the public at large. if one observes toward them the little courtesies, then one may be safely trusted to keep to the highest ideal of social intercourse in times of emergency and rigid testing.
-always in a public place the real gentleman and lady will be unobtrusive, speaking quietly, and showing in their manner that they each believe himself and herself but a single unit in the world of humanity, and therefore not entitled to monopolize attention. they will go about their business with none of that idle curiosity which forms the street crowd.
-in places of public amusement, they will show true courtesy by not coming in late,--that is, by being on time or missing the performance. they will not rustle their programs needlessly. they will so dispose of their coats and wraps that others will not be inconvenienced by them, even if it takes them an extra ten minutes at the close of the evening to obtain them from the cloak room.
-they will not talk or whisper to each other during speaking or singing on the stage, or at any time when so doing will make it difficult for others to hear what is going on. they will applaud temperately, and with only that degree of fervor which is for the best interests of the audience and the actors as a whole. that is, at a concert they will not so applaud one artist as to break up the program.
-at formal business meetings they will take pains to conform to parliamentary usage, which is really only the etiquette of debate, and will not insist upon rights which have been ruled out, or in word or manner express a disorderly spirit. "the greatest good of the largest number" will be the rule of their deportment in public.
-at a social occasion of any sort, every one present is under obligation to do what he can to add to the general pleasure. if he cannot or will not, he should remain away. if he is asked to play a musical instrument or sing, he should do so without urging, for his talents, except in very special cases wherein he would not be asked, are or should be at the disposal of the company, or at the request of his hostess. any voluntary or requested performance of this sort may be as brief as he pleases, and should be brief, unless his talent is so great that there can be no possible doubt of its acceptability, and he is in a generous mood,--a combination of circumstances rare in any but the most talented circles.
-if you turn the pages of music for a musician, do so in a quiet and self-forgetful manner. interest in you is quite subordinate to interest in the performer.
-do not by extravagant applause encourage parlor recitations, for mediocre talent is always profuse.
-it is a mark of good breeding to control or at least conceal one's moods, so that in company one always appears to be content, if not happy. it adds much to the happiness of others to give this impression, and is therefore generous as well as wise.
-it is always rude to interrupt with conversation, or yawning, or any motion, a musical performance, or any entertainment whether public or private, in which those about one are interested. one should retire if he cannot refrain.
-behavior in church may be taught in one great principle, providing that principle is fundamental enough. the sense of reverence for the things of the spiritual life may be felt, if not comprehended, by even the child. no amount of "don't's," if the spirit of worship be not instilled, will avail to make the child of any age an attentive and reverent worshiper or even attendant at church.
-the sense of worship will forbid whispering and chatting with friends, the noisy turning of the leaves of hymn-book or bible, or an indifferent or scornful attitude when any are in prayer.
-another sign of the same reverence is the careful observance of punctuality at the service. a church service is, by its very nature, a more intimate and important service to the attendant than any other. therefore, to come in late, thus distracting the attention of those who have gone to church for meditation or worship, is a far more flagrant offense against the rights of others, than is the disturbing of their pleasure at a theatre or a concert by a tardy entrance.
-the habit of a vacant or absent mind in company is a grave fault, and works greatly to the detriment of one's reputation for intelligence, in spite of all else that one may do to establish it.
-straightforward attentiveness is the attitude of most profit and enjoyment in society. one learns then what other people are thinking about, and becomes more and more active mentally. such an attitude establishes the confidence of others in one's sincerity and intelligence.
-inquisitiveness is fatal to real charm. no one cares to talk twice with a person who, no matter what his wit or ability to entertain, has betrayed one into divulging facts or making remarks which he regrets.
-upon the street a gentleman always takes the outside of the walk, when with a lady, the custom having come down from the days when dangers beset the path, and the man had to be at the point of vantage for the protection of the woman.
-when a married woman and an unmarried girl are walking together, the married woman takes the outside of the walk.
-in passing single file other people or some obstacle, the gentleman always steps back and allows the lady to precede him. if, however, the way is crowded or there is necessity that she should be protected, he goes first.
-in entering a hotel dining-room the lady always goes first.
-a lady never takes a gentleman's arm unless she is blind, infirm, or crippled, or in a turbulent crowd.
-the considerate person will not enter even a public hotel late at night, much less a home, his own or any other, in a noisy, careless fashion. those who are asleep deserve as great consideration as if they were awake, and more also.
-the modern courtesy of letting each one pay for himself in a car, a train, a restaurant, or a theatre, is a much more rational one than the older form of permitting one to act as host, as if he were in his own house. a gentleman might offer to pay for others, if he wished to, but he should not insist upon paying; nor should any one carelessly or designedly permit his expenses to be paid by another, unless he himself expects to offer equal hospitality at another time.
-in entering a carriage or automobile, one should step promptly, without either loitering or haste. if one is to sit facing the horses or the front of the automobile, and there is but one step to take, one puts the left foot on it. if there are two steps, the right foot should take the first, the left the second. if one is to face in the opposite direction from what the vehicle is going, one should use the right foot first in case of the one step, and the left foot first in case of the two.
-when two ladies who are guest and hostess are driving together, the guest should enter first, taking the farther seat, facing the front of the carriage, so that it will not be necessary for her hostess to pass her. when a mother and daughter enter a carriage, the mother precedes, and the daughter sits by her side if no other lady is present. in case of two daughters, the elder sits by the side of the mother, and the younger sits opposite.
-the fashionable hours for driving are from two-thirty to five in the winter, and from three to six-thirty in the summer.
-young women never ride horseback in cities or in public parks without an escort. in the country the rule is not so rigidly enforced. in case a groom is the escort, he rides slightly behind, keeping watch that he may be of service.
-a riding-habit should be absolutely neat, simple, and inconspicuous. the hat should be plain, the hair compactly done, and the whole effect of the costume trim serviceableness and grace, rather than prettiness.
-in mounting a horse a woman gathers up her habit in her left hand, and stands close to the horse with her right hand on the pommel of the saddle. the man who assists her stoops and places his right hand with the palm up at a convenient distance from the ground. the lady then puts her left foot into his hand, and springs up into the saddle with his assistance.
-it is necessary, first, to have a firm seat; secondly, a skillful hand on the rein. one should sit in the middle of the saddle, in an easy, natural position, with the body not stiff but supple and responsive to the motion of the horse. the elbows should be well in to the side, in a line with the shoulders, and the hands should be relaxed and yet responsive to the slightest pull of the rein.
-it is no longer considered wise and necessary for a woman to use a side saddle. in the freedom of a graceful divided skirt, she strides the saddle as do the men, and therefore has an equal chance with them to ride gracefully and safely,--a privilege which fashion long denied.
-to keep to the right always is the only safe rule in the united states. in england and canada the rule of keeping to the left is observed with the same rigidity.
-in business life it is not good form to dine with your employer. this does not include a ban upon those business dinners, where there is a group of people, the majority of them men, with one or two unmarried business women of equal or superior business standing, who meet over the dinner table to talk of business problems. that occasion has its own etiquette, and one which the business man or woman readily fashions for himself or herself, and which follows the rules of business expediency rather than social life.
-it is not necessary to recognize in society a strictly business acquaintance unless you wish to do so.
-neatness demands that the traveler always carry his own toilet articles, and not depend upon the public supplies, which are, however, supposedly safe and sanitary for use in emergencies.
-the dress for traveling should be plain and simple, suited to the need rather than elaborate. the effect of crumpled finery is so very unpleasant that no person of taste will make a display of it in a public conveyance.
-if you wish to leave your seat in a train, a coat or bag placed upon it is sufficient to reserve it for you. the removal of a coat or bag so placed is a very great rudeness.
-a gentleman will give up his seat to two ladies, or to a gentleman and lady traveling together, as he can be more readily accommodated in the single seats than can they.
-it is courteous for a gentleman who has a vacant place in the seat with him to offer it to a lady who is standing, and so prevent her from feeling that she is intruding in taking it, if there are no other seats vacant.
-when a man opens a door for a woman who is a stranger, or offers her any other civility, or begs pardon for some blunder, he takes off his hat to her.
-while traveling alone, it is not necessary or wise to be resentful of polite remarks or attentions. they should be met with equal politeness. quiet dignity and tact will terminate without offense any conversation which has grown too familiar or tedious.
-the comfort of all in the car, not of one individual, should be consulted in the opening of windows and doors, and the consent of those sitting near should be gained.
-it is a grave breach of good manners to monopolize a dressing-room for quite a period of time. one should be as expeditious as possible, and should not seriously inconvenience others, even if he deprives himself of some of the comfort he desires.
-it is not well to travel unless you can afford it. if you can and do travel, deal courteously and generously with those who serve you.
-ask questions only of officials of the road or the ship, or of policemen in the street.
-the exchange of visiting cards with strangers, unless under unusual circumstances, is unwise and bad form.
-ordinarily a lady pays her fare herself, unless she is under escort of a relative or intimate friend to whom she gives the right to pay for her. when she enters a car alone and there meets an acquaintance, she always pays her own fare, unless the acquaintance may be an old and intimate friend.
-when a lady is taking a long trip under escort of some gentleman friend, it is proper for her to reimburse him for his expenditures in her behalf. she should hand him her purse with which to purchase her ticket.
-the munching of nuts, fruit, or candy in a crowded public conveyance is a serious offense against those about you. a neat lunch, quietly eaten at an appropriate hour, is not offensive and is quite permissible. but one should not impose even the odor of food upon people who are forced to be near, and who may find it extremely disagreeable.
-the recent passage and enforcement of laws regarding expectoration in public places is a great step in advance, and must be rigidly maintained for the sake of the public health. the chewing of gum, while no menace to society, is as unesthetic and disgusting as expectoration, and should fall under as righteous if not as severe a ban.
-in a car or train do not fan yourself so vigorously that the person in front of you feels the air current upon the back of his neck. a book or newspaper should not be placed so that it rubs constantly against the hat of the person in the seat in front.
-pushing, shoving, and all like methods of getting people to move out of your way, or of getting ahead of others, are marks of great rudeness, and have a tendency to retard rather than aid one's progress through a crowd or into a car. the quiet, good-natured crowd disperses most rapidly.
-at the ferry and all prepayment places, have the right change in hand, so that you do not keep back those who are in a rush to catch a boat or a car, by fumbling for your money or making the receiver make change.
-do not carry an umbrella carelessly. you are as culpable if you injure another as another would be if he injured you.
-to converse in loud tones or talk of personal matters anywhere in public shows great lack of fine feeling and good breeding.
-never show hostility, nor permit people to quarrel with you. the irritability which crowded conditions aggravate makes it necessary to adhere, from principle, to the rule of strict good-will toward all.
-if you are escorting a woman, do not permit her to suffer any discomfort; but if, by chance, she does, do not pick a quarrel with the person who caused it. firmly but quietly afford her protection, but do not demand satisfaction for discomforts or insults for which there is no satisfaction and whose discussion only increases the offense.
-a lady need feel no embarrassment if she is obliged to spend a few days in a hotel alone. upon entering she would go to the desk and make arrangements for a room. when the choice is made she surrenders her hand bag to the bell-boy, who conducts her to her room. she should, for her own convenience and protection, deposit valuables or large sums of money with the hotel proprietor in the office safe. then the responsibility becomes his, but he does not assume it if they are left in the room. upon leaving her room, she should lock her trunks and door, and leave the key with the clerk at the desk.
-a lady's deportment in a hotel is that of quiet reserve, but not of haughty distance. she should dress simply and plainly, so as not to attract attention, as she is in a public place. the only time when elegant dress is permissible at a hotel is when one is with an escort, or is one of a group of people so dressed in order to attend some function.
-a lady will not stand or linger in the halls of a hotel, will not loiter about the hotel office, or walk out alone upon the piazza or any conspicuous place, or stand at the windows of the parlor. she will remember that she is in a public place, where she may encounter all classes of people, so she will not permit herself any of the liberties of a home. she will not go through the halls humming or singing, or take a book or newspaper from the public parlor and carry it off to her room, even if she does shortly return it. she will not, even in her own room, make such noise as will attract attention or disturb other guests.
-she will not call a cab herself, but will summon a bell-boy and have him attend to it. after her baggage is packed she will let the servants attend to it, even to the handing her of her umbrella and hand bag after she is in the carriage. she will never take the liberty of chiding a servant, but will make a necessary complaint to the clerk at the desk.
-to open a window in the parlor of a hotel, when others are by and may be discomforted, is a breach of politeness. also it is not right that even an accomplished musician or singer should use the piano of the hotel parlor, if others are in the room, unless he has received a unanimous invitation to do so.
-one may greet fellow guests in the parlor or the dining-room without being thought forward or intrusive, and also may respond to such greetings without compromise, as such acquaintance does not imply or demand recognition elsewhere.
-a lady, when alone at a hotel dining table, will decide quickly what dishes she wishes, and order them distinctly but quietly. she will wait patiently to be served, without any display of embarrassment. it is allowable to read a newspaper while waiting for breakfast, but not good taste to bring books to the table at any time. if she desires a dish which she sees, but the name of which she does not know, she will not point to it, but will indicate it to the waiter by her glance and her description.
-if she has friends or makes table acquaintances, she will talk with them in a low tone. she will never talk with some one at another table, nor laugh loudly. if any civility, such as the passing of food, is offered her by either a lady or a gentleman, she will express her thanks, but will not start a conversation.
-the usual good manners of cultivated people, emphasized by the additional restraint which the presence of the public imposes, is a safe standard of etiquette in a hotel.
-the art of being a guest
-just as the host and hostess, in sending out an invitation, obligate themselves to make everything as enjoyable as possible for their guest, so a guest, in accepting, obligates himself or herself to meet the efforts of the host and hostess at least halfway. success in the art of being a guest depends more upon the spirit in which one accepts of entertainment than upon the entertainment offered.
-a formal dinner is one of the most solemn obligations of society. after having once accepted the invitation, only death or mortal illness is an excuse for not attending.
-one may attend a formal reception and not expend more than twenty minutes of time, if one wishes to be very prompt. the round of social duty there is brief. a lady removes her wrap, but not her hat or gloves, in the dressing-room, and thence goes directly to the drawing-room. the guest here greets the host and hostess, briefly if the reception is large and the flow of incoming guests constant, then passes to the room where the refreshments are served. after partaking of these, the guest may leave without bidding adieu to the hostess, unless the reception is small and she is free to speak a second time with her guests.
-if one is present at an afternoon tea or reception, it is not always necessary to call afterwards; yet, many hostesses expect such a call if the affair has been formal. one should certainly call after a tea given to introduce a débutante, or a wedding reception, or one given in honor of some special person or event.
-if a guest is not pleased with the food provided at a luncheon or dinner, or for any special reason cannot eat of any one dish, he should try and satisfy himself with something else, and make no comment upon it, doing his utmost to prevent his hostess from thinking that she has not well provided for him.
-at a dancing party a young man should assist his hostess in seeing that all the young ladies have an equal chance to dance, and that none are obliged to sit out dances because of a dearth of partners. his obligation to his hostess and to society should be thus honored, as it is not, of course, a private affair for his own amusement, and as upon him, more than upon the young women, depends its success.
-it is necessary that introductions be freely made at a dancing party, in order that all may enjoy the evening, and every one should try to make all his friends acquainted with each other.
-a young woman remains seated by the side of her chaperon until asked to dance. after a dance her partner returns with her to the chaperon.
-if the son of the hostess requests a dance of a young woman, she should give it unless her program is quite full. if for any reason she refuses a dance to one man, she should not give it to another, but should sit it out. a woman, having once promised a dance, should fulfill her promise unless too ill to do so, in which case she will dance no more during the evening. the young man who is thus refused is free, having returned with her to her chaperon, to seek another partner.
-unless a young couple are engaged to each other, they should not dance together so often as to be conspicuous. nor may they disappear into secluded corners and sit out dances. it is poor taste and very questionable etiquette, even if engaged.
-when asked to dance, a woman hands the man her program, saying, "i am not engaged for that dance, and will be pleased to give it to you." after the dance the man may thank the woman for it, and she may make some remark to express her pleasure in it.
-if a man is delayed in claiming a woman for the promised dance, he should make profuse apologies.
-a man dances first with the woman he escorts, or with the daughters of the hostess, or her guests in the house. afterward he may choose for himself, always remembering that he should assist his hostess in giving a good time to all.
-a woman always makes the first move toward going home at every social gathering. at a dance it is not necessary to say good-night to the hostess unless there is a good opportunity.
-if a man is suddenly called away, he should try to find partners for the ladies with whom he engaged dances, and should explain his leaving to them.
-it is not obligatory, but simply a pleasant custom, for a man to send flowers to the young woman whom he is going to escort to a dancing party. when she is his fiancée, it is especially appropriate and appreciated.
-when one is on a visit, or at a house or weekend party, one has to follow the style of dress of the people whom one is visiting, so no hard and fast rules can be laid down. one should have suitable garments for each of the forms of recreation which one is to enjoy, and should follow quite closely the requirements of the hour.
-when traveling, small, plain hats and tidily draped veils are necessary. for mountain visits, thicker clothing and heavier wraps will be in demand, than are used in the city. when it is the custom to dress for dinner, one should always adhere to it, and so plan one's hours that nothing interferes with so doing and being prompt as well.
-a guest should not claim the entire time of her hostess. the hours between breakfast and lunch belong to the hostess for the doing of her household and family duties, and the guest should entertain herself during them.
-no guest should ever accept an invitation to an entertainment, a drive, or any other amusement without first consulting with her hostess. if, having friends in the same city or town, she has invitations from them for special occasions, she should inform her hostess of them promptly, that two plans may not be made for the same date.
-unless a guest is ill or very old and feeble, she never suggests retiring. that is the duty of the hostess.
-a guest should take pains to arrive when expected. if she has promised a visit, she should keep her promise, unless matters of serious illness or grave moment forbid it, in which case a prompt and explanatory apology is imperative.
-the guest should decide with her hostess, early in her stay, upon the date of her departure, if that has not been already settled in the form of the invitation, and should then abide rigidly by it, allowing nothing but the most earnest importunity on the part of her hostess personally, and for clearly shown and newly arising reasons, to detain her longer.
-the guest should be pleased and well entertained with everything that is done for her amusement, or should appear to be so. if she cannot give herself up to the enjoyment of the sort of entertainment which her host and hostess provide, she should not accept the invitation to visit them.
-the guest should be punctual at meals and conform in every particular to the ways of the household. she should not arrive in the living-room or drawing-room at hours when there will be none to entertain her, and when it would embarrass her hostess to know that she was unattended. to sit up after the family has gone to bed, to lie in bed after the entire family have risen, to be late at meals, to be writing an important letter or doing some mending when the carriage is at the door for a drive, or wish to go to drive when the carriage has been dismissed, to be too tired to attend the dinner or reception given in one's honor, to fail to keep appointments for the stroll or some sport because one wants to do something else,--these things show a total lack of consideration on the part of the guest, and make it impossible to enjoy her stay or wish for her return.
-at times which seem appropriate it is well to retire to one's room and leave the family by themselves. it is not necessary for the family life and comfort to be sacrificed constantly to the guest. hospitality would be more generously shown if it did not make so many unnecessary demands upon the time and comfort of the members of the family.
-the guest should never take sides in any family discussion, and if anything unpleasant occurs, she should ignore it entirely, and not seem to know anything about it or take any interest in it.
-it is an unpardonable breach of loyalty to one's hosts to retail any information one may have acquired on a visit, or discuss their characteristics and management with any one.
-a guest need not attend religious services, or be present at the calls of commonplace people, or enter into local philanthropies, unless he wishes to do so. true hospitality relieves him from all sense of obligation in these matters. if, however, carriages are provided so that guests may attend church, or guests are told of the hour for family worship and are invited to be present, it is more courteous to attend.
-guests at country houses should be willing to take hold and help in any emergency, such as the absence or sickness of the servants, and should be willing to join heartily in the country frolics where work is usually to be shared by all.
-in the country people visit in large parties, so when one is invited to go on an excursion or with a crowd to visit some neighbor, one should not hesitate for fear of being one too many.
-one should follow the wish of the host or hostess in regard to giving the servants some gratuity for service rendered, if that wish is known; otherwise, unless there is an accepted rule to the contrary, it is well to give, when leaving, a small gift of money to such of the servants as have been especially helpful. one should always treat servants with consideration and kindness, if not with generosity. it is better to be less lavish with money and more painstaking in remembering personally the people who have served you, renewing acquaintance with them if opportunity offers, treating them in a human way, and not with the indifference with which you would treat a mechanism.
-if a gift is given, it should be done unostentatiously. the tactful, quiet way of doing it, free from patronage, and showing only good-will and gratitude for service rendered, is the only polite way. money never compensates for haughtiness and brusqueness, and the gentleman or lady in spirit will not be unmindful of the feelings of even an incompetent servant.
-the duties of host and hostess
-hospitality is a great pleasure to people of a sociable nature, and its obligations have a most refining influence. the generous consideration of others reaches its acme when one is constantly entertaining little circles of friends, with no thought but to give happiness.
-the pleasant custom of serving tea each day at five o'clock is one which admits of great enjoyment. the man of the house tries to be at home for the quiet social hour before the family dinner. the young people of the family are gathering after the day's dispersion. the friends, who are out calling or on their way home, drop in for a pleasant chat; and the charming hostess has time for many glimpses of friends, and chance also to say the right word to some friend in need of cheer, who knew that she could be found at her daily hour of welcome.
-the custom of receiving on a certain day of the week is a sensible and hospitable one. if one has such an "at home" day, it is more polite for friends to call on that day than on any other. if a lady has, however, sent out cards announcing that she is "at home" on "wednesdays in january and february," one should not call on those days unless one has received the card having the special invitation.
-some receive once a month during the season. they have the day engraved on their card, as "the first friday until lent," or "the second wednesday until april."
-the custom of sending out cards for a certain day throughout one month avoids a "crush" on any one day, and enables a hostess to receive informally without giving up a great part of her time.
-the informal entertainment is a greater compliment to guests than any formal entertainment, however splendid.
-the hostess should preserve the happy medium between neglecting and overattending to her guests.
-when a hostess wishes to have her friends meet an expected guest, she should inform them of the intended visit beforehand, and so enable them to make an engagement to meet her, or plan entertainment for her. invitations to a reception in honor of a friend can well be, and should be, sent out in advance of her coming, if her stay is to be short, and if the dates of her stay are definitely known.
-at a reception for the introduction of a friend, the hostess and the guest of honor will stand near the door of the drawing-room and receive. if the reception is very large, the butler announces the names of the guests as they enter. the hostess gives her hand to the newcomer, and presents her to the guest of honor. after a few words of greeting, the caller passes on into the room where the refreshments are served.
-the refreshments usually consist of dainty sandwiches, salads, perhaps creamed oysters or chicken, bouillon, chocolate, coffee, or lemonade.
-afternoon teas are less formal and less elaborate than receptions. the refreshments consist of tea, with thin slices of bread and butter, thin biscuits, and cake.
-at a dancing party the hostess receives, together with her daughters and any guests whom she honors by asking. the host may receive, as well, but his chief duty is to keep a watchful eye upon his guests, looking out for the chaperons, and seeing that the young people are supplied with partners for the dances.
-at a débutante party the mother stands nearest the drawing-room door, the daughter next her, and the father beyond. the mother greets each guest and then introduces the daughter. at the supper or dinner her brother or father takes out the débutante, who sits at her father's left. in case her brother takes her out, her father takes out the oldest or most honored lady present.
-the successful host and hostess see to it that all their guests are introduced to each other, if this is possible, so that the best of cordiality and the least restraint may characterize their mingling.
-breakfasts and luncheons
-breakfasts may be homelike, informal affairs, or quite ceremonious. the hour of this meal is at any time before one o'clock, usually twelve or twelve-thirty. after one o'clock the affair becomes a luncheon.
-men are invited to a breakfast, but usually at a luncheon the guests are all women.
-a real breakfast menu, such as is often served on sunday mornings in the country, consists of fruit, cereal, a chop, or steak, or fishballs, with potatoes, eggs in some form, muffins or hot rolls, and coffee, waffles or hot cakes, or, in new england, doughnuts.
-the menu for luncheon consists usually of soup, fruit, lobster in cutlets or croquettes, with mushrooms, or omelet, or fish; broiled chicken, or lamb chops, with green peas and potatoes; a salad, crackers and cheese; ice cream, with coffee, tea, or chocolate.
-at a breakfast or luncheon, as at a dinner, every effort should be made to be punctual. the success of such an occasion may be ruined by a tardy guest.
-at a luncheon one removes wraps and veils in the dressing-room, retaining one's hat and gloves, the latter being removed at table, and resumed in the drawing-room after the meal, unless cards are the form of entertainment.
-as the guests enter the drawing-room the hostess shakes hands with them and introduces them to one another before going to the dining-room. when no men are present the hostess leads the way to the dining-room, and the guests find their places at the table by the name cards. when men are present the procedure to the dining-room follows the custom at a formal dinner.
-it is becoming customary to use the daylight as much as possible at all social functions; and, indeed, at no affair, unless it be very late in the afternoon and very ceremonious, is the daylight excluded and the candles and chandeliers lighted.
-the formal dinner
-the most enjoyable dinner is that with four or six guests, which is served in a simple and only semiformal way. this enables a hostess to bring together only congenial people, and the group is small enough for the talk to be largely general, and thence especially valuable, as each brings his wittiest stories, his clearest thoughts, and his best self to the appreciative and inspiring circle.
-the formal dinner is usually set for seven o'clock, or half after, or eight. the elaborate dinner will take from an hour to two hours, according to the number of courses and the efficiency of the service. there should be a waiter for every six people, although at a small dinner an efficient maid may serve eight covers without much delay.
-the invitations to a formal dinner are sent out two weeks ahead. no more people should be asked than can be comfortably seated and speedily served. twenty inches at the very least should be allowed to each cover. children are never present at a ceremonious dinner.
-in choosing guests every effort should be made to have them congenial, with no glaring divergence of opinions, which would by any means make any one uncomfortable if the conversation were to become general. in seating the guests, only congenial people should be placed side by side. the intellectual harmony of a dinner is as important as the culinary harmony.
-ladies wear gloves at a formal dinner, and remove them only at table, resuming them when dinner is over and the guests have returned to the drawing-room.
-the dining-room must be quietly but well lighted. there should be no glaring lights, but a soft radiance which is so general as to make everything clear. an electric light hanging eighteen inches above the table, or a tall lamp whose light is at about the same height, either a war somebody makes money and everybody loses it. now you see they're using a awful lot of sharpnel over there--bullets packed up in packages ready to be busted open. it takes a certain kind of lathe to turn them sharpnel, and there is only one kind of lathe in this country that does it faster than any other; and the people that makes sharpnel can't get enough of them. well, i bought the control of that there lathe. looking around not long ago, i found a little stove factory down in the sand hills; and i bought it and put a few of them lathes in there and started a little company.
-"besides, i control them lathes that goes into all the other factories where they make sharpnel. shouldn't wonder if we'd run into a little money before long--enough to buy a car--five hundred thousand dollars or so. if they got to have sharpnel i suppose we might as well make 'em and make 'em good."
-"well, colonel," says i, "i hope you'll find enough to do, so that one of these days you can be right comfortable."
-"so do i," says he, and he sticks out his legs again, with his hands in his pockets. "but sometimes i almost lose heart about it. things looks mighty sad to me, because i can't find no game that's interesting for to play."
-"how about that running-for-alderman business?" says i.
-"i'm looking that over," says he. "i know a good many of the fellows over on the west side of our ward. my freckles helps me some in that part of the ward. they can't look at freckles like mine and call me anything but a honest man. our ward is in two parts, and a little wears silk socks and a good deal of it don't. wisner, he's strong with them that does. he maybe ain't so strong with them that makes eight dollars a week. maybe none of them works for wisner, but plenty of other people that works for eight dollars a week does work for him."
-"he shore makes plenty of money," says i. "i expect he's got more money than anybody in town."
-"i'm willing to stack up a little money in this alderman game against him if i thought i'd get any fun out of it. i'm just marking time here, the way it is."
-"doing what?" i ast him.
-"making money and waiting."
-"what for?" says i, not understanding.
-"for some man," says he.
-"what man?" i ast him, still not understanding.
-"that's what i don't know. for some man that will make bonnie bell happy. but all the young men in a city talk alike and look alike and dress alike. i ain't seen more than one or two that was worth a cuss--not a one i thought was good enough for my girl. and yet it stands to reason that something will happen; and it might be any time. it makes me uneasy."
-i couldn't see why more folks didn't come into our house, like they used to out on the circle arrow; and i said that.
-"it's easy to see why they don't," says old man wright, and he busts the glass top of his table with his fist. "it's plumb plain to see why. it's them wisners has blocked our game. they coppered us from the start--that's what! we got in wrong at the start with them; we didn't kotow to them and they've always been expecting it."
-"that puts us in pretty hard," says i.
-"it wouldn't be hard for you or me, curly," says he. "there ain't a game on earth that that pie-faced old hypocrite can play that i can't beat him at; i don't fear him no more than i like him. but when i see how easy it was for him and his folks to make my girl miserable---- it ain't on account of myself, curly," says he, and he sweeps his hand over the desk and knocks every paper and everything else on the floor. "she's all i got," says he. "i loved her ma and i love her. whatever goes against her happiness goes against me all the way through. and," says he, "i'll buck this here city game until some day i bust the bank!"
-i left him setting there, sort of looking down at his feet, with his hands in his pockets and his legs stretched out. he wasn't happy none at all, though all the time he'd been hollering for some game that he couldn't beat.
-us and their fence
-we went on thataway a good while into the summer and nothing much happened between us and our neighbors. maybe once in a while our dog peanut would get over in their back yard and scratch up their pansies. peanut always liked to lay in fresh dirt, and he seemed to know instinctive which was our pansy beds and which was theirn. their hired man only laughed when i seen him and apologized.
-he used to come over once in a while, their hired man did, and meet me on the dock back of the boathouse, where i give him lessons in roping. i showed him a few things--how to let go when he got his rope straight, and to give hisself plenty of double back of the hondoo. we used to rope the snubbing posts where we tied the boats. sometimes we'd practice for a hour or so and he begun to get on right well. we visited that way several days, usual of mornings.
-"don't the lady ever come down to the boats no more?" says he one time.
-"no," says i. "her pa's afraid she'll get drownded."
-"does she ever talk about saving the life of anybody?" he ast.
-"no," i says; "she's used to such things. she don't take no account anyways of saving the life of a laboring man," says i. "it's nothing to her."
-"ain't it funny," says he, "how things work out sometimes? at first, you know, i thought she was one of your housemaids."
-"you done what?" says i.
-"well, i don't deny it. when i first seen her in the yard, the time she chased that dog over, i thought she was one of the maids--you see, she had on a cap and a apern. i didn't know at all. the old lady thinks it yet."
-"she's mighty kind-hearted, even with the lower classes," says i. "she even gives money to them people that play music in front of our house every morning. i wish they wouldn't."
-"i wish she wouldn't do that," says he. "we have a awful time with that band. the old man said if he ever got to be alderman he'd get a ordinance through abolishing them off the streets. they play something fierce!" says he.
-"is he going to run for alderman?" says i. "i seen something in the papers about it."
-"well, yes; i believe he will--i heard him say he would."
-"if he does," says i, "i reckon hell will pop in this ward."
-"why?" says he.
-"well, my boss is figuring he may run for alderman hisself--he's naturalized here now. he used to be sher'f out in cody whenever he wanted to be. when he wants anything, seems like he can't hardly help getting it. it's a way he has."
-he looks kind of thoughtful at that.
-"well, now," says he, "well now, what do you know about that! as you say, curly, ain't that hell?"
-he swore so easy and natural that i kind of liked him, and the way he taken up roping was to my thinking about the best of any tenderfoot i ever seen.
-"what are they piling up them rocks along the side of the yard for, jimmie?" i ast him after a while.
-you see, there was several wagonloads of brick and stuff had been put in there that morning.
-"i don't know," says he. "something the old man ordered, i reckon. he's away right now. they don't always tell me about things as much as i think they might."
-"i've often wondered they didn't fire you," says i.
-"they can't," says he. "i told you i've got too much on 'em. they don't dast to fire me none at all. i defy 'em!" says he.
-"well, you better be a little careful," says i. "i've seen people felt that way about their boss before now, and right often they got the can. you better not get fired till you know a little bit more about roping and riding."
-"hush!" says he. "i think i heard someone over in our boathouse. good-by! i'll come round again tomorrow morning."
-he went on down the dock into their boathouse. i set down not far from the door, smoking and looking out over the lake. i heard someone in there begin to talk. it was him and old lady wisner--i'd heard her before once in a while. i couldn't help hearing them if i'd wanted to, and i did want to.
-"james," says she, "where have you been? i've been looking everywhere for you."
-"why, nowhere especial," says he carelesslike. "i was just over on the dock doing some roping stunts with curly."
-"i suppose you mean that red-headed, pigeon-toed brute that hangs around the wrights' place," says she.
-say, when she said that i half riz up, for i shore was mad. i may be the way she said, but i don't allow no one else to say so. but she wasn't a man anyway; so i had to stand it. i read somewhere in a book it ain't correct to listen when folks don't know you're hearing them; but that didn't go with me no more, especial when people was talking about me and my hair and legs thataway. so i set down and listened some more.
-"well," says jimmie, "i haven't ever noticed that at all. but he's a good scout and i like him," says he.
-that made me feel just a little easier anyways.
-"well, it's no matter what you were doing over there," says she vicious. "you're not to have nothing more to do with such can-nye no more. why can't you attend to your own business?"
-"i'm just going to," says he. "you ain't ast my consent about mussing up my flower beds. what's all that rock and brick doing up in the yard?" say, he was a sassy one!
-"since you ast me, i'll tell you. it's a fence we're going to build."
-"a fence?" says he. "we got a perfectly good fence now."
-"oh, have we? well, it ain't high enough to keep out our people from mixing with them can-nye." i wondered again what can-nye was. "i'll not have you talking with their maids."
-"is that so?" says he. "i hadn't noticed much of that going on lately," says he. "i wish it was."
-"james!" says she, so mad she couldn't hardly speak. "james!" and about all she could do was to guggle in her throat and say: "james!"
-"well," says i to myself, "here's where he gets the can tied to him, all right. it don't stand to reason she'll allow that kind of talk."
-well now, they was talking about that fence. in two or three days it was easy enough to see what the wisners was going to do: they was going to cut out the herd law and fence in their own range.
-it wasn't a fence at all. it was a wall they built, day after day--a regular wall! pretty soon it was up as high as our second-story window, and it keep on a-going. it took them weeks to finish it. when it was done it run clean from the sidewalk back to their boathouse. from our side, on the ground, you couldn't only see the top of their house, and from their side you couldn't only see the top of ours.
-well, anyway, the wall went up and we didn't stop it, because we couldn't. it was like we was living in two different worlds, with that wall between us, and that was the way they meant it. nothing could cross from one side to the other. it was the coldest deal i ever seen one set of folks give another. and why? i couldn't figure why.
-bonnie bell was right still and quiet. old man wright he went around thoughtful for quite a while. he seen this was a insult put on him, but he didn't know what to do. at last he goes to bonnie bell one day, and says he:
-"sis, it's coming along kind of hot in the summer. how'd you like to go to white sulphur or somewheres for a few months?" says he. "you're looking kind of pale now for the last few weeks," says he, "and i don't like to see it."
-she turns and looks at him square in the eyes for a minute, and pointed out the window.
-"with that thing going on?" says she. "i'll see them damned first!" says she.
-that was the first time i ever heard bonnie bell cuss. i liked her for saying it, and so did her pa.
-"it's a hard game we got to play, sis," says he; "but we'll play it."
-she nods, and we let it go at that.
-that fence ruined the street, as far as our end of it was concerned. them that lived north of it could look on up the lake for quite a ways, but for more than a quarter of a mile down toward the park there couldn't nobody see down that part of the street at all. the papers got to talking about it, and some complaints was printed too. old man wright he only sort of laughed. the papers made fun of the wisners for building that fence--sort of treating the whole thing like a joke.
-about now the campaign for alderman got busier. old man wright printed a full page in all the papers, with a picture of hisself, and saying that j. w. wright was running for alderman in that ward. right opposite his full-page ad was about six or eight inches, with a smaller picture of old man wisner with it; and he said that mr. david abraham wisner begged to submit his name as a candidate for the sufferedges for alderman in that ward. i didn't know what sufferedges was at first, but i knew what my boss was out after--it was votes, and he was liable to get 'em.
-from that time on the boss was busier than he had been before. he got better acquainted over on the west side of our ward. sometimes he wouldn't get back till midnight, but he always come home under his own steam. in his office i saw all sorts of people. he seemed to take to this alderman business natural.
-"you see," says he, "all them people up there north of us on the row they ain't got only a little bit of land for their houses. me, i'm going to have a place with half a mile or so of ground to it. bonnie bell has got to have a place to herself for to raise crocuses and other flowers," says he, "and to cultivate her boston dog."
-it was kind of hard times right then and a good many men was out of work. old man wright put a lot of 'em to work on his new bonnie bell addition, as he called it. he dug it up and smoothed it down and laid it out, and planted it with trees and sodded it. and then, down at the far end of it, he just puts up a high wall like the wisners', but 'way off from it. then we dug down along the wisner wall.
-folks used to go along and wonder what it was done for and who done it. and later on some folks farther up the drive allowed it was some kind of a new italian garden and some of them begun to put up them walls too. it got right fashionable. the whole looks of that part of town was changed. but, while they had little bits of yards you couldn't swing a cat in, we had land enough to start a hay ranch if we had of wanted to.
-"i can afford it," says old man wright.
-and by the time he had the improvements started the real-estate men come and pestered him to take at least three times as much money as he give for it.
-"i may sell it sometime," says he, "but not now," says he. "i like it. my girl likes to raise crocuses, and what she likes she gets. we're going to raise plenty of crocuses and tulips and hollyhocks," says he.
-it wouldn't be right to say bonnie bell didn't have no friends. once there come quite a bunch of girls from out of town--girls she had knew in smith's; and they had quite a visit. they tore up the house and for a week or so bonnie bell was right happy; but by and by they went away again. then nobody come into our place, the sort we wanted to come.
-there was one man come to call on us--it was henderson, of our old hotel. we used to go down there and eat sometimes, and every time we done so he'd come to stand around. he couldn't keep his eyes off bonnie bell. i reckon he was about forty years old.
-"mr. wright," says he, "i won't waste time. i'm used to doing business in a direct way. so today i come down--i come down--that is to say, i come today----" says he.
-"well, for a direct man, you're taking some time to say what you want to say," says old man wright; "but maybe i can guess it if you can't say it. it's my girl you come to talk about?"
-i didn't hear him say anything, but i guess he must have nodded.
-"you want to ast me?" says old man wright. "why didn't you ast her?"
-"i thought it better to see if you would consider me as a suitor, sir," says he. "it seemed a fairer thing."
-"i don't know as a parent ought to consider any man that would ast him first," says old man wright thoughtful; "but in some ways you're a good man, and square and successful."
-"my profession--my business--being an innkeeper isn't exactly the highest form of business----"
-"hell! that's got nothing to do with it," says old man wright. "i imagine my girl might marry most any kind of man if he was the right sort. but now let's figure on this, mr. henderson," says he, "because i like you. you're some older than she is."
-"yes," says he; "old enough to know a splendid woman like miss wright when i see her. in my business i've seen plenty that ain't."
-"that's good," says old man wright. "i like to hear you say that. i don't blame you for feeling the way you do. and i feel kind to you too, sir. you're the first man that ever said a kind word to me and my girl in this town. you're almost the last, as far as that goes. you're as good as us and we're as good as you, if it comes to that. but now let's figure a little further. the man that marries my girl, marries her--there ain't a-going to be no divorce. there may be a funeral if there's trouble, but there ain't going to be no divorce for bonnie bell. it's death that's going to part her and her husband. you see i got to be careful about her, don't you?"
-"they ain't, in business," says old man wright. "but now look-a-here: as you live along together she'll be still young when you're pretty old. take ten or fifteen years off of you and ten or fifteen thousand cocktails, and i'd say 'god bless you!' but the years and the cocktails is there permanent. you're kind of soft around the stomach, mr. henderson, i'm sorry to say. ain't you making a mistake in wanting to marry my girl at all, sir?"
-i don't reckon he was happy; yet he certainly was game.
-"mr. wright," says he at last, "that's why i come to you first! i was conscious of them ten million cocktails--it's nearer ten million than ten thousand, i reckon, in my business. it seemed to me fairer to talk to you first. i'm not apt to forget her very soon--i'm not apt to look at any woman at all. i reckon i don't want to get married if i can't marry her. maybe it ain't fair for a man at my time of life and way of life to think of marrying a girl like her. i reckon i been selfish. i reckon maybe you set me right."
-"where did you come from?" says old man wright.
-"the south," says he.
-"i know that; but what state?"
-"kentucky," says he. "i been living here a great many years."
-"you're a gentleman, mr. henderson," says old man wright. "i wisht things wasn't just the way they are. but now, on the level, do you think we'd better say anything to bonnie bell at all about this here?"
-henderson must have thought it over quite a while. then i heard him take a step or so. maybe he picked up his hat. maybe his cane knocked against a chair. maybe they shook hands.
-"i don't want to do anything that isn't best for her," says he at last. "i reckon maybe i ain't a good-enough man to marry her. i reckon maybe you're right, sir," says he.
-old man wright he don't talk no more for a little while. i heard them walk toward the door.
-"no," says he at length. "mr. henderson, i don't reckon we'll say anything about this to bonnie bell after all. good-by, sir. i wish i could ast you to come here often."
-"good-by," says he.
-i seen him go down the walk after a while. he forgot all about his car waiting by the sidewalk and walked half a block before he come to. of course, he couldn't come to see us no more after that.
-as for me, i didn't have no friends either. jimmie the hired man was about the only friend around there i cared much for, and now he was gone--fired, i supposed. times got even lonesomer than ever.
-"well," says she, "i was just wondering about the seeds for them big flower beds we've been making," says she. "i'll be wanting to plant them next spring, at least. if i had some experienced man that knew about flowers now--"
-"why don't you go down to the park," says i, "and talk to some of them dutch gardeners that raises the flower beds down there? they'll know all about them things," says i.
-"curly," says she, "you're only a cowpuncher, ain't you?"
-"that's all," says i.
-"well, that accounts for you not having no sense at all," says she.
-us being alderman
-really, that fence must of hurt the wisners as bad as it done anybody else. us having plenty of ground, our house wasn't built so close to the line as theirs was. the fence must of cut off more light for them than it did for us. besides, when you looked at it from the street, unless you lived around there and knowed about it, you'd of thought it was us built that fence to spite them and not them to spite us.
-well, they held the election along in november. i might of knowed how it would come out. they ain't done counting all the wright votes yet over in that ward of ours. at about half past six they'd had time enough to count all the sufferedges that old man wisner taken down in the silk-stocking part of that ward.
-at about half past three in the afternoon the papers come out with bulletins and says the ward was "conceded to wright." i should say it was conceded! i conceded it, anyways, as soon as i knowed he wanted to run.
-well, sir, it was more like old times then than we'd seen since we moved in there--like the times when we was sher'f in the yellow bull country. the old man he come in a-laughing along about suppertime and under his own steam, and says he:
-"bonnie bell, your pa is going to be high in the nation's councils right soon, because he is going to be alderman in one of the most important wards in this here town. i may be mayor some day; and when you're mayor you're due to chirk up and think of being president--if you are a humorist. also, your pa is hungry. please get curly and me all the ham shanks and greens they is in the house.
-"and, besides," says he when bonnie bell was going out, "pull the front door wide open tonight. take the lock out and hide william where they can't any of my horny-handed friends find him. they'll be in here tonight, a bunch of them, to sort of celebrate our glorious victory. there may be several bands along in here--i hope and trust so. i shorely am fond of music and i like bands. whenever i get elected sher'f or anything i want the band to play--all the bands they is."
-well, that was some night! i was glad for once we had come to chicago, for there is more bands in a town that size than there is in cody.
-old man wright he was more natural than i'd ever saw him for a long while. i don't know if it was quite fair the way he done, because it ain't held christian to set on a man when he's down. but what he done was to get that dutch band with five pieces that played in front of our house every morning--they come in first. he stations them at the side of the road right square in front of old man wisner's house, and he tells them to play everything they knew and then play it all over again, and keep on playing. we was setting eating dinner, enjoying their music as much as we could, when the leader of the band comes in; and says he:
-"mein herr, wir sind schon ausgeblasen."
-"is that so?" says old man wright. "well, have a drink, and go out and begin over again."
-about now come the rest of the bands, six or eight or so, and back of them was the merry villagers. they filled up the whole street in front of our steps and in front of the wisners, and up and down the row; and some of 'em stepped on bonnie bell's new tulip beds in the yard south of us.
-"unto them that hath is gave," says old man wright, looking peaceful. "like enough, most all the bands in this part of town'll be here before long. pore old dave wisner, he don't seem to have no band; so i'll fix him up--he don't seem cheerful, with his blinds down thataway. round up our bands, curly," says he, "and line some of 'em up in front of his house on the other side of the street. get some of 'em and stand 'em up on our side of his fence. make a line of 'em back to the boathouse. tell 'em to play--i ain't particular what they play. they don't even need to play the same piece unless they want to; but keep 'em busy--play everything they have and then repeat softly, and if they get tired feed 'em and give 'em something to drink. and tell johnson, the precinct captain, when he comes about eight o'clock, to come on in with his friends, the whole gang--the door is open and there's no strings on it, and no strings on the new alderman."
-old man wisner must have been enjoying his life that evening while we was celebrating our being alderman. bonnie bell she didn't approve of this none, but she knowed that when her pa was in one sort of mood she'd better leave him alone and let him have his way--there wasn't no stopping him.
-after a while johnson, the precinct captain that had had this election in charge, he come in to have a talk with the new alderman, him and a lot more. there was a good many swedes up in his ward, and plenty of these folks was blue-eyed and had yellow hair, and some of 'em had long whiskers. on the whole they carried their liquor pretty well, and they had plenty. old man wright was in his shirt sleeves--rolled up so that his freckles would show--and he had two or three cases of red liquor, and not a cork in the room!
-"so far as sunday closing is concerned," says he, "it ain't sunday yet."
-they taken something with the new alderman and hollered for a speech.
-"men," says he, "we licked 'em like i said we would--only more. i don't ast any of you to show me how to make any more money, for i've got enough. we made this fight on the lake electric ordinance. the intention of the other gang was to hold up all you people that has homes of your own. every one of you has to use electric light. it's only right you ought to pay a fair price, but nothing more. let me tell you that's all you're going to pay. i've bought into that company, and me and my bank crowd can run it. let me tell you the prices will be right: don't you worry about that none at all. for once you'll get a square deal here; or if you don't, then elect some other man the next time."
-"hooray for our new alderman!" says johnson, jumping up then.
-they all jumps up too. they had their glasses in their hands--plenty of men standing there in our ranch room, rather big men with yellow whiskers, a good many.
-about then bonnie bell she comes down the front stairs. she was all dressed up in silk, in a low-necked dress and a good many jewels on. you wouldn't hardly of thought it was her pa standing in his shirt sleeves in the room.
-"gentlemen," says old man wright, "this is my daughter."
-what them men did was not to compare them two at all. they just stood in line and every one of 'em raised his glass like she was a real queen; and they give her three cheers. bonnie bell she drops them a curtsy.
-you see, them folks saw that, while we had the price and had the class, and could play some games, we was just folks. they felt all the time that they was just folks too. when you can play that game square and on the level, like old man wright done, they can't beat you in politics.
-them people went away at last--even our little dutch band, though they give up hard. the wisner house was dark, while ours was all lit up--everything in it, including me, curly. the papers said that the new alderman kept open house until a late hour. there was some truth in that--the door was open all night long.
-at breakfast old man wright was hungry, though he hadn't been to bed. he set, with his hands in his pockets, and looked out at wisner's brick wall; and says he to me:
-"this here is going to be a changed ward. i ain't in no man's vest pocket. i ain't done yet. this is just the beginning. but where's the kid, curly?"
-i went and found her. william was still hid somewhere--the night's doings had grieved him plenty. she come in and set down by her pa.
-"well, sis," says he, "you see your dad is getting some of them better things we come to chicago after."
-"dad," says she, pushing back a little way from him and looking into his face, "tell me something."
-"what is it, honey?"
-"the truth now--the truth."
-"did you sell out the circle arrow and come to town on account of me?"
-he didn't speak at first.
-"yes, i did, honey," says he at last. "i said i'd tell you the truth. that was why we sold the old ranch--so as you could come here. i wanted you to go as high as any american woman could go. we educated you for that--we brought you up for it, curly and me."
-"we didn't win, did we, dad?" says she, slow like. "how is it done, dad?"
-"gawd knows," he says. "tell me, sis, if we pulled out of here and went to some other town, would you be better? how about kansas city?"
-"no," says she. "our feet ain't headed that way. i won't quit, dad."
-"you'll break your heart first, and your dad's?"
-"yes, if necessary."
-"all to break into them sepulchers?"
-"no," says she; "there's a lot of things worth while more than that. these brick-and-stone houses are the trenches. they may be hard to take. but back of them lies the country, and it's the country that's worth while. you found it--over on the other side of the ward. for me--don't mind if i haven't found it just yet."
-"ain't you happy, sis?" says he.
-"no," says she, quiet like; "i'm not."
-he pats her on the back.
-"get out of doors," says he. "do something--work at something! look upwards and outside, and don't get to looking inwards," says he. "that ain't the way. think what's in the fields beyond."
-"life, dad," says she, slow; and it seemed to me like she was sad. "life!"
-"life?" says he. "sis, what do you mean? tell your old dad, can't you?"
-she told him, then. she put her haid down on his neck.
-"oh," says she, "it's all right for you two--you've got something to do--you can work and fight; but what can i do? what is there for me to do in all the world? and you tried so hard to make me happy!"
-"and you ain't happy?" says her pa.
-"dad!" says she. "dad!" and she went on crying down his neck.
-ain't women hell? i went on away.
-us and the freeze-out
-more and more folks begun to talk about us and our place since we got to be alderman. of course more and more people begun to come in and visit with us now; but not one from millionaire row, though, if i do say it, we had the best-looking place now in the whole row of houses.
-it was one of bonnie bell's ideas to make one of them sunken gardens, which she said was always done in italy.
-"i'll tell you," says she; "we'll build our sunken garden right up against old man wisner's wall. how would it do to plant a few ivy vines to run up the side of the wall, dad?" she ast her pa.
-"why, all right," says he; "but you be mighty careful not to plant any olive branches."
-so bonnie bell and me we was busy quite a while making plans for this here sunken garden. we read all the books we could find; still, she wasn't happy.
-"i need some skilled gardener in this," says she; "them dutch down at the park are no good at all. i wonder where the wisners' gardener went."
-"that fellow wasn't so much," says i to bonnie bell.
-"what makes you say that, curly?" says she.
-"well, i heard him talking one morning and i didn't like it. for that matter, i didn't like the way he talked about you neither. i told him we couldn't have nothing to do with the lower classes--let alone now, when we're alderman, we couldn't do that. he was fired and he ought to of been."
-"how did you come to know all this, curly?" says she.
-"i heard him down at the boathouse talking to old lady wisner. i think we're mighty well shut of the whole bunch of them--though i will say he was learning to rope all right, and i could of made a cowhand out of him if i'd had time."
-"what did she say, curly?" she asked me then, "did she really talk about us?"
-"yes, she did. she thought you was a hired girl. and she says we was can-nye, and he wasn't to mix with us. can-nye--what is can-nye, bonnie?" says i.
-she got red in the face and was shore mad at something.
-"can-nye, eh!" says she. "can-nye! so that's what she thinks we are."
-"well, that was before we was alderman," says i. "maybe they think different now, whatever can-nye is. what is it, anyway?"
-"it means something common, vulgar and low down, curly," says she.
-"that wasn't no bouquet, then, was it?" says i. "well, i didn't think so then, though i never heard it called to nobody in my life. i made it plain, though, to that hired man that he didn't have no chance to break into our house."
-"did he want to come over, curly?" she ast.
-"crazy to! he wanted to get a look in our ranch room. i told you he was hankering to be a cowpuncher."
-"well, why didn't you bring him over if he was trying to learn things you could teach him?"
-"what! me bring him in our place? i reckon not! now look here, kid," says i, "you don't half know how good-looking you are."
-"i'm not," says she. "i got a freckle right on my nose. it don't come off neither."
-"well, maybe one freckle or so," says i; "but that don't kill off your looks altogether. let me tell you, when it comes to common people like him talking your name out in public, why, it don't go!" says i. "besides, another thing"--i went on talking to her right plain. "look at the money you'll come into sometime! he has got to show me a-plenty what right he had to say you was wonderfully beautiful. you are, kid--but what business was it of his?"
-"he has been gone four months and eight days," says she, thoughtful.
-"how do you know he has? do you keep a calendar on folks like him?"
-"no; i was just thinking," says she, "that if he was here i might ask him about my sunken garden."
-"that would be fine, wouldn't it?" says i. "but then, come to think of it, he wasn't in favor of that fence hisself. he was right free-spoken; i'll say that for him."
-"he didn't like that fence idea?"
-"of course he didn't. he knew it wasn't right."
-"well," says she, "i'm going to plant ivy on it. if it runs over the top of the wall and hangs down on their side i'm not going to try to stop it."
-now, why she said that i never could figure out at all. i suppose women is peacefuller than men.
-the folks in the ward where we live at they allowed their new alderman was on the square. i reckon it must of been them freckles. there ain't no way of beating a man in politics that has freckles and that can carry his liquor. so by and by all the papers come out and begun to say maybe mr. john william wright would be a candidate for treasurer next election. that is about as high as you can get in city politics. treasurers make a heap more than their salaries usual in any large town. the people don't seem to mind it neither.
-times out on the range wasn't so good now as they might of been. them high benches along the mountains never was made for farming. the new settlers that had come in under our old patents, through this here yellow bull colonization and improvement company, they was shore having hard sledding along of their having believed everything they seen in the papers. they'd allowed they was going into the promised land. it was--but it wasn't nothing else but a promise.
-it was old man wisner's fault really. though, after his usual way in side lines, he never showed his hand, he was deep in that company hisself. it was him now that had to hold the thing together. the settlers got sore and some of them quit, and most of them didn't pay their second or third payments. of course that didn't make no difference, so far as we was concerned, for the yellow bull colonization and improvement company had to make their deferred payments just the same to us. but when the company's money run out, and they maybe had to assess the stockholders, some of the stockholders got almighty cold feet.
-"well, colonel," says i, "i reckon we'll get back our ranch some of these days, won't we? i shore wish we would."
-"so do i, curly; but i'm afraid not," says he.
-"why not?" i ast him.
-"well, it's old man wisner--that's the reason," says he. "you see, it's his money that they are working with now," says he. "their new ditch has cost them more than four times what the engineer said it would--a ditch always does. they've been wasting the water, like grangers always do, and they're fighting among themselves. these states people has to learn how to farm all over again when they go out into that sort of country. as to them pore stockholders, i reckon you could buy them out right cheap; but, cheap or not, old man wisner's in more than he ever thought he'd be," says he.
-"ain't you going to let the old man off on none of them deferred payments?" says i, grinning.
-"i am, of course, curly," says he, solemn. "seeing what he has done for us, i'm just hankering for some chance of doing him a kindness!" says he.
-i begun to believe that before this here game was all played there'd be some fur flying between them two old hes, neither of which was easy to make quit.
-us and a accidental friend
-bonnie bell she was busy, after her little ways, fixing her garden or laying out her flower beds, or reading, or studying about pictures. she drove her electric brougham a good deal, riding around.
-she was riding along one day in the park below our house when she seen a girl go riding by, with some others and a young man or two, on horseback, bouncing along bumpety-bump, rising up every jump as though the saddle hurt 'em. one of the girls was on a mean horse, but she was going pretty well and didn't seem to mind it. but this horse he taken a scare at a automobile that was letting off steam, and, first thing you know, up went the horse in front and the girl got a fall.
-there wasn't any of them very good riders, and this horse, being a bad actor, scared the others. they all bolted off, not seeming to know that this girl had fell off. she lit on her head.
-now that girl was pretty as a picture herself, with light hair and blue eyes, and kind of a big mouth. she was smiling even when she didn't know a thing. she was always smiling. she was dressed like she had lots of money; and she was fixed for riding--boots and some sort of pants.
-bonnie bell couldn't bring her to and she concludes to take her home to our house. first thing i know, there she was outside, hollering for me.
-"come here quick, curly!" says she. "come help me carry her into the house."
-so i helped her. the girl still had her quirt in her hand and she was kind of white.
-"who is she, bonnie bell?" says i; and she says she didn't know, and tells me to go and get a doctor.
-but while i was getting william to telephone--i couldn't use them things much myself--the girl comes to, all right; and she sets up and rubs her head.
-"oh, what do you know about that!" says she. "he got me off. i thank you so much. which way did he go?" she ast.
-"he was headed to the riding-school barn," says bonnie bell, "the last i saw of him. your friends were all going the same way. so i thought the best thing i could do was to bring you here till you felt better."
-i don't reckon the girl was hurt bad, she being young; and such girls is tough.
-"well," says she, "it certainly was nice of you. and how am i to thank you?" she kissed bonnie bell then for luck. "you're nice," says she, "and i like you."
-bonnie bell, if you'll believe me, was kind of timid and scared, with it being so long since any woman had said a kind word to her. she didn't hardly know what to say, at first, till the girl kissed her again.
-"i am katherine kimberly," says she. "we live just above the park. where is this?"
-"this is just above the park too," says bonnie bell--"on the boulevard. this is mr. john william wright's place," says she, "and i'm miss wright. can i serve some tea to you?" so she calls william.
-when william brings in the tea them two set up and begun to talk right sociable. this here kimberly girl she rubbed her head once in a while, but she wasn't hurt much along of having so much hair to fall on her head with. the tea fixed her all right.
-"i hit my coco a jolt!" says she. "gee! i was going some. i'll never ride that long-legged old giraffe again; he's nothing but a dog after all--not that i'm afraid, but i don't like him," says she. "do you ride?"
-"would you like to come and see my horses?" says bonnie bell. "if you like horses----"
-"do i like them? i'm crazy over them! can you ride?"
-"oh, some," says bonnie bell. "curly says i can."
-"curly?" and she looks at me.
-"he's our foreman," says bonnie bell. "talk to him if you want to know about riding--he's a rider."
-"i was once, ma'am," says i, "but not no more. i wouldn't get on a mean horse now for a thousand dollars. i'm scared of horses, ma'am; but she ain't"--meaning bonnie bell. "she still thinks she can ride any of 'em."
-"yes," says bonnie bell; "and, as far as that goes, if i could get you to come with me i would always ride a horse and not go in a car or boat."
-"boat?" says miss kimberly. "oh, of course you have 'em too."
-"come down," says bonnie bell, "and you and i can look at my horses and boat and things. after that i'll take you home."
-"oh, may i go?" says this katherine girl. "you see, i suppose i must get home before they tell mommah."
-well, she hadn't more than got out on our porch than she knew in a minute where she was. this was where she showed she was a lady born and a good girl too. she never let on beyond that first look--she seen she had been brought into the house of us can-nyes. this was the house with the wall, where nobody of the row ever went.
-"how lovely it is!" says she. "do you know you have the nicest place on this whole street? it's tasteful. i like this little sunken garden--it's a dear! and see how the ivy grows on the wall! and over there's the boathouse. may i see your things?"
-now what she said last wasn't any bluff. it was just the girl in her talking to another girl. i seen bonnie bell give her another look, kind of asting like--she herself was free and friendly every way; but she hadn't been used to this right along lately. so she looks at this katherine kimberly right close for about half a second, till she seen she was on the square.
-then this kimberly girl puts her arm round bonnie bell. that was the way them two went down to the boathouse--their arms around one another. when they come back, in about ten minutes or so, they was talking so fast neither one of them could of heard what the other was saying.
-"oh, my goodness!" says katherine after a little. "i must be going home. it isn't far, you know."
-"yes; i know," says bonnie bell, quiet.
-"and you said you'd take me home in your car?"
-"and you want me to?" says bonnie bell, kind of funny.
-"i wish you would--if you will. of course i could walk."
-"does your head hurt now?" ast bonnie bell.
-the girl looked at her straight. then i knew she was on the square.
-"no, it don't," says she; "but i'd like it if you would take me home in your car," says she. "i want you to come in and meet my mommah. we want to come down here if you'll let us, all of us. will you let us? will you let us, bonnie?" says she.
-now, ain't it funny how much can happen quiet and easy? i expect more had happened for bonnie bell this last hour or so than had in a whole year before--and all by accident, like most good things comes to us. not a woman in that block had ever called on bonnie bell and it didn't look like they ever would. we wasn't on the map--even me, that ain't got any brains at all, knowed that.
-of course, living there so long, i couldn't help knowing some of the things along the row. i knowed there was a sort of a fight there as to which was the queen of millionaire row, which was the same as being the queen of the society of this here city of chicago. either it was this mrs. henry d. kimberly or else it was mrs. david abraham wisner. the kimberlys was in wholesale leather, while the wisners was in wholesale beef and pork, and them things. most everybody in the row, it seemed to me, had something to do with a cow, one shape or another, except us--which, dealing with cows on the hoof, might of been said to be at the bottom of the whole game. but that ain't respectable, like i told you. sausage or hides or leather is better--especial if wholesale.
-bonnie bell was quiet. she taken up the collar of this katherine girl and looks at the little pin she wore on it.
-"what year was yours?" says she.
-"last june," says katherine.
-then i seen they was both scholars of that same old man smith, where bonnie bell had went to school. they had on some sort of pins so they knew each other, like masons. not having nothing better to do, they kissed each other again.
-by the time bonnie bell had drove over to the kimberlys' house folks had found katherine's horse, but not her; so her ma was scared silly, natural enough. when she seen her long-lost daughter coming with bonnie bell, both of them able to walk and talk, she was right glad, and fell on the necks of both of them, weeping some.
-"and who is this young lady," says she, meaning bonnie bell, "who has been so kind as to bring you home to your mother?"
-and she smiled at bonnie bell, her being the second woman to do that in chicago in two years. you see, if a girl is handsome women mostly hate her; the men don't--which is why.
-"this is our neighbor, miss wright, mommah," says katherine. "they live just below us a little way."
-she got red in the face then, for everybody on the street there knew about us and the high fence; yet nobody knew us personal. but katherine's ma was different from most of these other people. besides, you only needed one good look at bonnie bell to see that she wasn't any common folks.
-"she left smith the year before i went in, mommah," says katherine, "and she's in my sororyety; and she's been here ever since they built their fine house; and she's a dear and i love her." katherine had a way of talking all in one breath, like a sprinter running a hundred yards flat. "i want you to love her, too," says she to her ma.
-and then old lady kimberly she taken bonnie bell in her arms and kissed her some more; and the kid, like enough, come near to spilling over then.
-"come right in and have a cup of tea," says she.
-so they went into the house, and the kimberlys' sad man, which was named william, too, brought them some tea. they didn't need it none, because they was full of it already; but women can hold plenty of tea. when they was drinking that and, like enough, all three of them talking at once, katherine tells her ma all about how she got threw from her horse, and how bonnie bell saved her life and carried her home and took care of her, and now brought her back.
-"mommah, their place is lovely," says she. "they've all sorts of nice things and we're going to call as soon as bonnie bell will let us."
-"yes, indeed," says her ma, who was going to back any play her girl made.
-"bonnie bell," says she--"that is a odd name and a very pretty one."
-bonnie bell laughed at that.
-"it's one my dad gave me," says she. "my real name is mary isabel. my dad always called me bonnie bell; and so did curly."
-"curly?" says the old lady, not knowing who that was--me.
-"oh, curly's a dear," says katherine then. "he's a cowboy, or was when he was younger; but he isn't young now. and he can ride any sort of horse living, and rope things--i think he must be the stableman."
-"indeed he isn't," says bonnie bell. "he's our foreman."
-they didn't know what that was, being city people; so she told them. them kimberlys couldn't see why they took me to the city when they didn't have no cows. i reckon they must of talked of me and old man wright plenty--you see, bonnie bell told me of it like it happened. she told me what katherine's ma wore and what their william looked like, and what sort of pictures was on the walls. womanfolks can see more than a man and remember it better.
-well, sir, it wasn't any more than a week before old lady kimberly drove up to our house in her car; and she come right up the walk herself and didn't send in any of them little cards that says: "tag; you're it."
-she come into our parlor, and our william went out and got bonnie bell for her, and them two must of had a regular visit, because katherine's ma insisted on seeing our ranch room, which pleased her mighty much. she said she certainly was going to bring her husband over, because he would be crazy over it.
-"tell me," says she--"when can we come?"
-"why," says bonnie bell, "in a real ranch there isn't a time of the day or night when you can't come and be welcome. everybody's welcome at a ranch, you know."
-old lady kimberly, she seemed kind of thoughtful over that; but she didn't say nothing about being slow starting. says she:
-"if you'd let us come we'd all be so glad to come and sit in your ranch room--it's new to us and we like it. i know my husband would like it very much. as for katherine, i don't think i'll be able to keep her away after this."
-well, that afternoon, late, katherine calls up on the telephone again--about the eighth time she had already that day--and she ast might her pa and ma and her come over that evening to see our ranch room. of course bonnie bell told them to come.
-"well, what do you know, curly?" says she to me. "this ain't according to hoyle. mrs. kimberly ought to of waited till i returned her call, and till maybe one or the other of us had invited the other to a reception, or to a dinner or something."
-"what's a reception?" says i.
-"something we never had yet, curly," says she. "it's a place where people ain't happy; but there's plenty of 'em. maybe tonight is the closest we've come to it."
-well, they all came that night, all three of 'em--twicet in one day, which was going pretty strong; and, like enough, something they hadn't never done before in all their lives.
-"no you don't!" says mrs. kimberly when bonnie bell was going to take 'em into the parlor. "we're going right into the ranch room and sit there, all of us--mayn't we, please?"
-so they come in and old man kimberly he walked around and looked through the place; and he was like a kid.
-"by golly, wright!" says he. "i didn't know a alderman could have as much sense as this," says he. "this is the real goods," says he--"you can set down in one of those chairs and not break its legs off. and here's tobacco handy, and matches all over the place. now over in the club all you get is a place to smoke and a big chair, and a fireplace to look into. ain't a city a cold old place, john wright?" says he.
-"well, you see," says old man wright by and by--"you see, folks get to be pretty busy with one thing and another. i know they all mean right well," says he, "but they get so busy in a town like this they don't have time for anything."
-that was about all that ever was said about our being neighbors on our street. nobody apologized for not having done this or that. we just dropped in like we'd always been doing that way.
-"well, alderman," says old man kimberly after a time, "you certainly know how to live. i'm going to drop in here every day or so, evenings, because i can't get a match at the club without calling a boy, and here you can just reach out and get plenty."
-"come in as often as you like, neighbor," says my boss; and he fills his own pipe and passes the fine-cut.
-sometimes i think, after all, folks is a good deal alike inside, and what makes good in one place will in another. we used these people like we was all out on the yellow bull; and here was old man kimberly feeling better than he had in two years and all of 'em glad to come back to our place. which all happened right soon--and because of them two girls.
-"well," says katherine's pa after a while, "if i had to choose i believe i'd rather be a ranchman out west than anything in the world. tell me--what made you sell out and come east to live? why couldn't you be content where you was at?"
-"well," says my boss, kind of smiling crooked out of the end of his mouth, "we come east to get some of the better things."
-they looked then, both of 'em, over at the two young girls on the sofa. they was so busy talking they didn't know anybody was looking at 'em. when we was all quiet they both spoke out right at the same time. "i got mine at madeleine's," katherine was saying; and bonnie bell says: "we fry ours in butter." the lord only knows what they'd been talking about; but it didn't make no difference.
-well, anyways, we all had quite a fine time, setting there in our ranch room, with the smoky mantelpiece and the old tables and chairs, and the sofa covered with a hide, where the two girls was setting.
-by and by they all got up and said they had to go home. old man kimberly he held out his hand to my boss, and they shook hands quite a while together, not saying very much.
-"will you come over some evening?" he ast old man wright.
-and he says:
-about then katherine's ma was kissing bonnie bell some more--she seemed never to get tired of kissing bonnie bell. then them two girls they walks off to the front door, their arms around each other. i seen 'em standing there under the light. by and by katherine picks up bonnie bell's hand and looks it over, and there wasn't no rings on it.
-"are you engaged yet, bonnie?" she ast.
-bonnie bell kind of blushed at that.
-"no," says she. "are you?"
-"no. mommah says i'm too young," says she; "but then----"
-"yes," says bonnie bell; "but then----"
-old man wright he turns to me after they'd all went away.
-"well, curly," says he, thoughtful, "i reckon we're coming on."
-"yes," says i; "but then----"
-them and the range law
-when they all went home us three set quite a while in our ranch room, looking at the fire. it wasn't winter yet, but sometimes we lit the fire in the fireplace. old man wright he seemed to be thinking of something, or trying to. at last he says:
-"sis, go get the fine-toothed comb and comb your pa's head--won't you, sis?" says he.
-"can't your barber do that for you?" ast she.
-"he does; but no barber can really comb a alderman's head soothing," says he, "not like his own kid can. now a alderman that's soothed proper might be induced to do almost anything, and combing him on his head is like scratching a pig along its back with a cob. you try it, kid; it might be perductive of a new car or something for you," says he.
-"curly," says he to me after a while, "what would you say if we had a chance to buy in the circle arrow ranch again?"
-"i'd say it was the finest thing in the world," says i. "them grangers ain't got a chance on earth. it takes a long course for to learn how to understand a cow's mind," says i.
-"that's what they call sikeology in smith," says bonnie bell.
-"well," says i, "you can't get no course in cow sikeology in no four years; it takes more than that on the range, like your pa and me done. they can't raise nothing out there in the yellow bull but cows, and they don't know how to raise them. colonel," says i, "ain't them deferred payments deferring all right?"
-"some," says he. "they didn't pay nothing this year yet and it's way past due. looks like there might be some trouble in there, don't it?"
-"well then," says bonnie bell, "where does that leave us? look at this place; look at all our expense." she stopped combing then.
-"don't worry about that," says her pa. "we've made plenty of money other ways than that. for instance, i got a offer right now to sell out all our land below here toward the park for about three times what we paid for it. the second calvary regiment wants to put up a barracks, or a armory or something, in there. also, a french milliner wants in, just below here."
-"what!" says bonnie bell. "that would ruin the whole row. what do you mean by that?"
-"huh!" says her pa. "that's what they all say. old man wisner was crazy when he heard something about it--he was going to get out a injunction. i hope he'll try it; for he can't. seems like most of the things he's been trying on us he couldn't make go."
-"well, dad, i don't believe i'd like that barracks on our land either. suppose we all think it over a little bit."
-"all right," says he. "there may be other ways of having fun with dave. i just thought of that one. oh, well, i bought the lot north of them, and i'm thinking of putting a old people's home in there," says he. "across the street from there i'm thinking of putting up a statue of kaiser wilhelm; some of my constituents they would come there sunday and hold services," says he.
-"anything else you got on your mind, colonel?" i ast him.
-"well, i just seen a chance to make a little speculation in a moving-picture company," says he. "i didn't put in much--only two, three hundred thousand dollars; but i didn't know but what it might make some money after a while. how would you like to be a actor man in our company, curly?" says he. "the worst it could do would be to spoil a puncher that never was much good anyhow."
-"no," says i; "it's too much like work."
-"well, we could make other pictures," says he, smiling contented. "for instance, we could set up two or three cameras right acrost the street from old man wisner's 'most any morning. then, when old man wisner come out we could take his picture and show him how he looks when he has got a grouch. or we could take a picture of the old lady getting in her car or getting out. neither one of 'em has got much girlish figure now.
-"why, there's loads of pictures that we could take. if you didn't like to work much riding or anything in the movies," says he, "you could be taken leaning kind of careless on our gate and looking over the wisners' fence--for instance, talking to their hired man.... don't you dig my head no more, kid," says he. "i ain't no bomb-proof, like you think."
-"dad," says bonnie bell, "i ain't going to comb your head no more."
-"why?" says he.
-"you're a mean and revengeful old man," says she. "it ain't right for us to treat our neighbors thataway," says she, "and i won't have it."
-"i'm living up to my laws," says he, calm. "i've got to hand wisner what he's trying to hand to me. you know the law that's been good enough for us. that's the range law."
-"this ain't the range," says she.
-"ain't it?" says he. "this looks like a ranch house some. if you'll run your comb along over my dome, too, you'll find, unless i'm awful mistaken, something like the head of a cowman. feel with your thumb good, bonnie bell," says he. "see if you can find any soft spot in there, like in a melon. see if you can find any place where it feels like i was going to lay down and let any yellow-livered son-of-a-gun try to ride me, and me not resent it," says he. "they started this and it's got to be finished--that's the law. believe me, one way or the other, that old white-face over there is going to be a good oxen sometime, and he'll come up and feed outen my hand."
-bonnie bell she quits combing and goes over and sets down on the lounge, and don't say nothing; nor me neither. we both knew about the old man when he started after anybody. he was that kind of a sher'f. it didn't look peaceful none to me what might happen now.
-"lock, stock and barrel?" says he to himself. "lock, stock and barrel--that's the way we done. i dislike the color of their hair and eyes. lock, stock and barrel," says he, "they got to settle! i don't want no truck with dave wisner, nor his old lady, nor their ox, nor their ass, nor their manservant, nor their maidservant, nor the stranger inside their gates--everything north of that fence is hostile to us and everything south of it is hostile to them. there's no crossing."
-"their maidservant and their manservant, dad?" says bonnie bell.
-"you heard me!"
-"what's their maidservant or their manservant got to do with it, dad?" ast she. she was setting on the lounge now, with the fine-tooth comb in her hand.
-"he'd better not have nothing to do with it," said old man wright. "curly, you're foreman--see to it that not one of them crosses the line."
-"all right, colonel," says i; "orders is orders."
-how their hired man come back
-there was only one thing kept that armory from going up right on our flower beds. the weak side of old man wright was, he couldn't help doing anything a woman ast him to do. this katherine girl, one day she comes down to our place, with the paper in her hand, and she says to him:
-"look here, colonel wright," says she, "what's in the paper! is that true?"
-"if it ain't true," says he, "it may be before long."
-"why, colonel wright," says she, looking at him with her eyes wide open--and when she looked at you thataway couldn't no man help liking her--"i wisht you wouldn't do that, sir--please!" says she.
-"why not?" says he.
-"well," says she, "because."
-he turns around and throws up both hands. he never said another word about it after that. but after a while the calvary regiment went somewheres else--on some more land he had bought, so it turned out. nobody knew what changed his mind. it was katherine, the first girl friend that bonnie bell had had in the city.
-you see, katherine used to come to our house regular now; her and bonnie bell was right thick together. one time katherine come in quite excited.
-"my brother tom's coming back next week," says she. "ain't that fine?"
-"is that so?" says bonnie bell. "i'd like to see him."
-"tom's going to live with us," says katherine, "and be in the office downtown--unless he gets married, or something of that kind. i wisht he would. now i wisht he would get engaged. i'd like to see how he'd act. you can't guess what i'd like!"
-"no," says bonnie bell; "i can't."
-"well, he's awfully good-looking," says katherine. "he hasn't got much sense though. he dances and can play a mandolin, and has been around the world a good bit. he's sweet-tempered, but he smokes too much. sometimes of mornings he's cross. but you can't guess what i'd like!"
-"no; i can't," says bonnie bell.
-then katherine kissed her and taken her hands.
-"why," says she, "i'd like it awfully if you and tom could hit it off together," says she. "i think it would be lovely--perfectly lovely! then we'd be sisters, wouldn't we?" bonnie bell she blushed a-plenty.
-"why, how you talk!" says she. "i've never seen your brother yet and he's never seen me."
-"i've told him you're lovely," says katherine. "i'll bring him over sometime."
-"i don't know how i could allow it after what you said," says bonnie bell; "but if he's as nice as you i'll jump right square down his throat. could you ask me to do anything more than that?"
-they giggled, then, and held hands, and ate candy and drank tea, and talked, both with their mouths full.
-"oh, look at the wisners' new car!" says katherine after a while, and she run to the window.
-their car was just coming in to the sidewalk at their curb now. from where i set i could see it. their driver opened the door and old lady wisner got out; then a young man. they both went out of sight right away around the fence--you couldn't see into their yard from where we set.
-the girls by this time had got so sometimes they'd talk about the wisners. bonnie bell says now:
-"why don't you call on the wisners any more?"
-"oh, because," says katherine. "we're friendly, of course, for the families have lived in here so long; but mrs. wisner and mommah haven't been very warm since the last charity ball business."
-"i don't know about that," says bonnie bell.
-"oh, lord! yes," says katherine. "they didn't speak for a while. you know, honey, the wisners are among our best people. but then, mommah's a daughter of the revolution and a colonial dame, and a patriot son, or something of the sort besides. mrs. wisner, she's only a daughter and not a dame; so she doesn't rank quite as high as mommah. some said that she faked her ancestors when she come in too. anyway, when she tried for the dames they threw her down. mommah was regent or something of the dames then too--not that i think mommah would do anything that isn't fair. but old lady wisner got her back up then, and she's been hard to curry ever since. we don't try."
-"well," says bonnie bell, "isn't that strange? i thought everybody in the row was friendly except--except----"
-"except the wisners?" laughed katherine. "but don't you worry. there's plenty of differences in the row. they have their fallings out. you see, they all want to be leaders."
-"i know," says bonnie bell. "in any pack train there always had to be one old gray critter, with the bell."
-"that's it!" says katherine. "well now, all these leaders of our best people they want to carry the bell and go on ahead. that's what mrs. wisner wants--and maybe mommah, though she has a different way of doing things. mommah's a dear! so are you, honey; and i do wish tom and you----"
-"i was just wondering who it was got out of their car just now," says bonnie bell. "but the fence----"
-"ain't the ivy pretty on your side of your fence?" says katherine.
-bonnie bell stood in front of her and looked at her square.
-"look here, kitty kimberly, you're as sweet as can be and i love you, but don't try to keep up the bluff about that fence. they built it to keep us--to keep us----"
-"well, maybe," says katherine. "but they can't."
-"they built it to show us our place," says bonnie bell, brave as you like. "they didn't think that--they didn't know----"
-"it was cruel," says katherine, red in her face now, she was so mad about it. "i'm glad you mentioned that fence--i couldn't; but all my people said it was the meanest thing ever done. it was vulgar! it was low! that's what my mommah says. we were always sorry for you, but we didn't know how---- but, honey, i'm glad you planted the ivy on it. it shows you're forgiving."
-"we're not," says bonnie bell. "we're far from it--at least my dad. he's awful when you cross him. he won't quit--he'll never quit!"
-"we all know that," says katherine. "everybody in the row does."
-"i don't know how much you know," says bonnie bell. "i don't know how much people have talked about us."
-"well, i can tell you one thing," says katherine. "we heard some of the talk; and i want to say that it isn't favorable to the wisners. there are others in town besides them. tell me, honey, aren't you all the way american?"
-"yes," says bonnie bell. "i can be a daughter of the revolution and a colonial dame, and a patriot son, and all the rest, so far as having ancestors is concerned."
-"could you?" says katherine. "then i rather guess you will!"
-"we go back to the carrolls a good deal, in maryland," says bonnie bell. "you see, my mother married my father and went west, and out there we didn't pay much attention to such things. i didn't know they cared so much here. but my people were first settlers and builders, and always in the army and navy."
-"how perfectly dear!" says katherine. "we'll start you in as a daughter; that'll make old lady wisner mad, but she can't help it--mommah will take care of that. then we'll make you a dame next--that'll help things along. and when you're in two or three more of these colonial businesses, where the wisners can't get--well, then i'll be more comfortable, for one.
-"i don't blame your poppah for feeling savage towards the wisners," says she after a while. "who're the wisners anyways? carrolls--huh! i guess that's about as good as coming from iowa and carrying your dinner in a pail while you're getting your start selling sausage casings in a basket. i don't think a packer's much nohow. we're in leather.
-"but, good-by," says she now. "i've got to go home. i've got to tell mommah to get those papers started. pretty soon i'll bring tom over."
-nothing much happened around our place for a little while. i didn't see nobody from the wisners' and i didn't care to. kind of from force of habit i used to walk up and down the line fence once in a while, just to have a eye on it. i done that one evening and walked back towards our garridge, for it seemed to me i heard some sort of noise down that way. it wasn't far from the end of the wall that was close to the lake. i set down and waited. it seemed to me like someone was trying to break a hole through the wall. i could hear it plunk, plunk, like someone was using a chisel or crowbar, soft and easy, like he didn't want to be heard. i waited to see what would happen.
-by and by i seen a brick fall out on our side of the wall. i just picked it up and set there waiting to bust in the head of anybody that come through after the brick if he couldn't explain what he was about.
-the fellow on the other side kept on working. he pulled bricks out on his side now. by and by i could see light through--it wasn't right dark in the yard yet. he pulled out the bricks and made quite a little hole close to the ground.
-"hello there!" says he, soft like. "is that you, curly?" says he.
-"who're you and what do you want?" says i.
-"i am the hired man, jimmie," says he. "i've come back."
-"the hell you have!" says i. "well, i can't talk to you. what made you come back? where you been?"
-"out west," says he, "on the circle arrow ranch."
-"what's that!" says i. "what do you mean?"
-"just what i said. i've been working out there. i found i could rope a little and i didn't always fall off a horse. you see, the old man owns a lot in that company."
-"why didn't you tell me you was going out there?" says i. "and how come these folks to take you back?"
-"they couldn't help it," he says. "i told you i had too much on them. you'd ought to see how things is going out there! they had to take me back."
-"well, what are you breaking a hole in our fence for?" says i. "quit it! do you want to get buried in a sunk garden, instead of on the lone prairee? leave our fence alone."
-"your fence? it's our fence. don't i know all about it? it was a damn shame, curly."
-"what business is it of yours?" says i to him.
-"well, i hate to see the family i work for make such fools of theirselfs." he was setting up close to the wall now, looking through. he went on talking: "if i put the bricks in again on my side, and you on yours, who'll know the hole's there?"
-"we've got ivy on our side," says i. "it's green and 'most to the top of the wall. but i don't know now why you broke that hole through."
-"curly," says he, "i want to let peanut through, so's he can have a good friendly fight with my dog once in a while. sometimes i'll pull some of the bricks out. i reckon peanut'll do the rest."
-"peanut'll not do no more visiting," says i; "and i've got orders not to have any sort of truck with anyone on your side of the fence."
-he set quite a while quiet, and then says he:
-"is that so, curly?" says he.
-"it certainly is," i answered him. "when a thing starts, till it's settled you can't stop old man wright. sometimes he pays funeral expenses," says i, "but when anybody gets on the prod with him i never saw him show no sign of beginning to quit. he can't," says i; "none of them wrights can."
-"do you mean they're all that way, curly?"
-"the whole kit of 'em, me included," says i, "and the servants within our gate, and our ox, and our hired girl, and all our hired men."
-"even the maidservant within your gates?" ast he of me.
-"shore!" says i. "her especial and worst of any."
-"but you don't take no hand in this war?" says he.
-"that's just what i do," says i to him. "that's what a foreman's for. you'd better plug up that hole and stay on your own side of the fence."
-he set quiet for a time and then he says:
-"i'm darned if i do!"
-"good-by, jimmie," says i.
-"oh, shucks!" says he. "i'll see you from time to time."
-i didn't make no answer but to put the bricks back in the hole on our side.
-now for reasons of my own, not wanting to rile old man wright, i didn't say nothing to him about this hole in the fence. neither did i say anything to bonnie bell about the hired man having came back; because she was doing right well the last day or so, brighter and more cheerful than she had been. that, of course, was because of what katherine'd told her about her brother tom. any girl likes to hear about a young man coming around, of course. far as any of us could tell, tom kimberly might be all right.
-bonnie bell now, all at once, she taken to wanting to go on the lake with her boat, and she insists our chauffore and her and me must go down and fix up the boat. we didn't none of us like it especial, but she said she hadn't been on the lake for so long she wanted to go once more before it got too cold.
-i didn't know nothing about boats, but sometimes i'd go down to the boathouse and watch bonnie bell while she was tinkering with the engine or something. one day i went down to the boathouse about the middle of the afternoon, expecting to meet her out on the dock. all at once i hear voices out there, one of them hers. i stopped then, wondering who could of got on our dock.
-i said i heard bonnie bell's voice. she was talking; who she was talking to, i didn't know.
-"it's all wrong!" says she. "you are presuming too much. of course i pulled you out of the lake--i would anybody; but your employers are not friends of ours. even if they were you've no right in the world to speak to me."
-then i heard another voice. i knew it was jimmie, their hired man. he spoke out and i heard him plain.
-"i know i haven't," says he, "none in the world; but i've got to."
-"you must not!" says she. "go away!"
-"i'll not," says he. "i can't help it! i tell you i can't help it."
-me being foreman, i reached around now to get hold of a brick or something. i couldn't help hearing what they said.
-he'd been ordered off; yet here he was talking to bonnie!
-the commandment that was broke
-"from the first minute i saw you," says he, "i couldn't help it. i swore then i'd meet you some day, and sometime----"
-"is this the way?" i heard her say, low.
-"it's the only way i have," says he. "if there was a better, don't you think i'd take it? but what chance did i have? i had to make some way; i wouldn't of been any sort of man if i hadn't."
-she must just of stood looking at him. i couldn't see.
-"i had to find some way to tell you," says he. "what part have i had in this foolish squabble? was that my fault? i'm only a servant now; but give me a chance to break out of that. why, when i was out west----"
-"were you out west?" says she, sudden.
-"yes; in the yellow bull valley, among the cowmen--among the real people. you came from that valley yourself."
-"yes, we did," says she; "and we'd far better of stayed there."
-"you couldn't of stayed there," says he. "and besides, if you'd stayed there i'd never of met you, or you me."
-"indeed! was that all my fortune--to meet the servant of my father's enemy?"
-"it's all of mine! i'm not your enemy. but suppose now i went to your father and told him--what would he do?"
-"he'd maybe kill you," says bonnie bell simply; "or else curly would."
-"i wouldn't blame either of them," says he. "i don't want to sneak around. i'm going away again----"
-"what made you come back?" she says.
-"because i was sick in my heart. because i thought i could look over once in a while and see you. but when i came back, here was this cursed fence and i couldn't see you any more. i thought i'd go mad. maybe i have; i don't know."
-"with or without the fence," says bonnie bell, "how could our circles cross, yours and mine?"
-"circles!" says he. "circles! what are circles? i've heard this talk of circles all my life," says he. "i've seen it going on all around me. it's rot--rot! it's my misfortune to find one so far above me."
-"my money?" says she, scornful. "i've a lot of it."
-he didn't say a word to that for a long time.
-"did you really think that of me for a minute?" says he at last.
-"you take it for granted that i've thought of you at all?" says she.
-"i wouldn't of dared," says he--and it sounded like the truth, through the door. "don't class me that way!"
-"how can a girl tell?" says she. "men talk like this to girls----"
-"have they talked to you? who was it?"
-"my social opportunities," says she slow and bitter-like, "seem to be confined to our neighbors' gardener."
-"don't!" says he. "oh, don't! i don't want to see you hurt, even by your own tongue."
-i never'd heard any man hand out any talk of this sort to any girl before. it was right interesting and i was glad i listened.
-"how can a girl tell?" says she, like she was talking to herself.
-"shorely she can't tell all at once," he answers. "i'd never ask you to do more than wait. i'd want to go away and stay away till i could come in at your front door and be welcome," says he. "i wouldn't ask you to decide one thing now. but, as for me, i decided everything long ago."
-she didn't say nothing.
-"as to your money," says he after a while, "listen to me. look at me--look close. look into my eyes. am i not honest? tell me--if truth like mine can be mistaken for deceit, then what chance has any man on earth?"
-she didn't answer, and he goes on like he had stepped up closer--i don't know but what he did.
-"look into my eyes," says he. "look at me close. maybe that'll help me some, for shorely you can see how much i----"
-"don't!" says she. "don't!"
-i don't believe she looked into his eyes at all.
-"i wouldn't touch you," says he. "i wouldn't touch your hand--i wouldn't touch the hem of your garment. it wouldn't be right. it maybe ain't right for me to think of meeting you again; but it's right this once."
-she didn't answer at all. he come to what seemed to trouble him.
-"is it the money?" he says again. "what's money if you've got nothing else?"
-"not much," says she; "not very much."
-"i've not coveted it," says he. "it's another commandment i've broke. i've coveted that which was my neighbor's. i've coveted you--no more, so much! if you and i had a shack on the yellow bull out there, and forty acres to start with," says he, "out where the sun shines all the time, and the wind is sweet, and the mountains rise up around you----"
-"don't!" says she again. "don't! please go away--i can't stand that."
-i couldn't stand it neither; so i opened the door.
-how i was foreman
-they jumped apart--or farther apart--when i walked out. they wasn't holding hands, but she must of been looking at him and him at her.
-"miss wright," says i, quiet--the first time i ever called her miss wright in all my life--"miss wright," says i, "come up to the house."
-"curly," says she, "oh, don't--don't!"
-but she seen i didn't have no gun.
-"get across there quick!" says i to him.
-"you overheard!" says he. "you overheard what i've been saying?"
-"all of it," says i. "it was my business to. of all the low-down things any man ever done in all his life, that's what you done now. i heard it all."
-"stop!" says he. "i won't stand that for a minute."
-"you'll stand it for a lot longer than that," says i. "if you show this side the fence again i'll kill you!"
-"curly!" says he. "why, curly!"--like he was surprised. "is it like that?"
-"that's what it's like," says i. "don't never doubt we can take care of our womenfolks. it's my own fault this has happened. i ought to of watched her closter. i ought never to of allowed you on our dock, let alone mixing with you. i thought you was more of a man than this," says i.
-when i said that bonnie bell jumped and throwed her arms around my neck, and held on with both hands.
-"curly," says she, "stop! i'll not have this. stop, i say!"
-"you'll have this, and a lot more," says i to her, "till this thing is settled. let me alone with him. haven't your pa and me give up our lives for you? it's a fine trade you're trying to make; to trade us for a low-down coward like this. they built that fence, not us. hell could freeze before your pa or me would ever cross it; but here you're talking the way you done with their hired man--that has sneaked around here to meet you."
-he didn't give back none, though he couldn't talk at once.
-"go slow!" says he. "curly, be careful! i didn't have any other chance."
-"any other chance?" says i. "for what? to make love to a girl that ain't had much experience--to make love to her because she's got a load of money? i've seen some sort of dirt done in my life," says i, "but this is the lowest down i ever seen," says i.
-"and bonnie bell," says i--she still had me around the neck, holding my arms down, and i didn't want to hurt her--"how'll i tell the old man? you know i've got to come through with him. you, the girl we loved so much, bonnie bell," says i, "we never thought you'd class yourself below your own level."
-"she hasn't!" says he, right sudden then. "it wasn't her fault. she hasn't promised a thing to me, and you know that. she's not to blame for a thing, and you know that too. she hasn't said a word she couldn't say before all the world. what more do you want? she's too good a girl to get the worst of it. her father's too good a man to get the worst of it too. she'd never let him."
-"she won't have to do that," says i. "i'll take care of that. that's my business."
-"curly," says she, "what are you going to do? don't you love my father at all--or me? you're like another father to me. and i've loved you; and i always will, whatever you do to me."
-i couldn't put her arms down--i wasn't very strong, because i was thinking.
-"if you tell my father," says she, "you'd break his heart. cover it up for me, curly--i've not promised anything. but, oh, curly, i didn't mean harm to anyone; and i'll never be happy any more."
-"you see what you've done!" says i to him after a while.
-he got white now, instead of red.
-"how can i make it up? i can't stand to hear her talk that way," he says.
-"whose business is it how she talks?" says i to him. "damn you! what right have you to come here and make her unhappy for a minute? didn't you know how we loved her?"
-"everyone does," says he. "till i die i'll do that. how can i help it any more than you can? and if i've hurt her now," says he, "god do so to me and more also. but i've declared myself--i'll not take back a word. i didn't lie then and i won't now."
-he seemed game. still, so long as it's just talking, you can't always tell how much of a bluff a man is throwing.
-"if it'll make her happy for me to go away and never come back," says he, "i'll do that. i don't want to play any game except on the square. don't start anything that can't be ever mended," says he.
-"it's started now," says i. "maybe you can talk a girl down, but you can't us."
-"what're you going to do, bonnie bell?" says i to her, and i taken her hands now in mine. "you've heard me and you've heard him. which do you want, him or us--us that's loved you and give you everything we had, or him, this here coward, that come in the back way--our worst enemy's hired man? you got to choose."
-i felt her slip loose from my neck then. she'd kept tight hold of me all the time, so i couldn't do anything. i looked down at her, and she was all loose and white. i reckon she fainted, though i never seen anyone do that before.
-i laid her down on the boards, and i was so cold mad clean through now i couldn't of said a word. i've felt that way before. there ain't no law then. but he was white as she was.
-"curly," says he, "what have we done to the poor child?"
-"she ain't your pore child," says i; and, with her in my arms and me helpless, i felt hot in my eyes. "she's our pore child. shut up and go home!"
-he didn't go home, but went and got some water in his hat.
-"it's cruel, cruel--it's all been cruel for her, who deserves the best that life could give. can't you believe me, man?" says he.
-"lord help us all!" says i. "for now it's a hard thing to say what's best. tell me," says i, "was there anything i didn't hear? did she make any sort of promise to you?"
-"not a word," says he--"not a word."
-"that's lucky," says i. "the circle arrow never went back on its word. i'm glad she didn't promise you nothing," says i.
-"there's nothing matters now," he says.
-he set back on his heels, looking at me in a way i couldn't stand--with us both bending over her, trying to bring her to.
-"i'm better than you think," says he, after a little while. "all this happened because things got criss-crossed."
-"you queered the game the way you played it," says i to him. "the circle arrow plays wide open, with all the cards on the table. it beats hell how the luck runs in a square game sometimes! the front door is the place for a man that talks to a girl--like katherine kimberly comes in, or her brother, tom."
-"does she know him?" says he, sudden.
-"that's our business," says i. i still was pouring water on bonnie bell.
-"yes," says he, "that's true. he's not your enemy's servant."
-about then bonnie bell begun to move her hands and i raised her up against my knees. she set there looking him in the face.
-"kid," says i, "you needn't rub your eyes and ast, 'where am i?' i'll tell you. you're right in the middle of one hell of a muss!"
-him and the front door
-i sent the kid up stairs to her room to think things over. then i set down in our ranch room to think things over myself, because i didn't hardly know what to do.
-while i was setting there in come old man wright hisself from down town, and he was so happy i was shore he'd thought out some new devilment for his neighbor wisner.
-"well, curly," says he, "what do you know?"
-"i don't know nothing that's pleasant," says i.
-"huh!" says he. "don't you like the grub here no more, or what is it?"
-"i don't like nothing about the place no more," says i. "i wish you'd foreclose on the circle arrow right away and us all go back there," says i. "of course you wouldn't, but that's where you overlook a big bet, colonel."
-he looks at me serious.
-"is it as bad as that, curly?" says he. "sometimes i feel thataway myself, although along of me being so busy i can stand it better'n you maybe. but what kick have you got? you ain't got nothing to do--take it all around, i never seen a foreman that had less," says he.
-"huh!" says i. "that's all you know."
-"don't i know all there is to know?" he ast me.
-"no, you don't," says i. "don't i have to ride that line fence of ours and ain't it the worst one i ever traveled in all my life?"
-"don't let that bother you, son," says he. "i'll do the worrying about that."
-now when he said this i begun to think of all he'd done for me all my life; of how he'd paid all the bills, and taken the responsibility, and give me my wages. i didn't want to rake him up the shoulder now by telling him what i was just about going to tell him. i knowed if i told him that his girl had anyways gone against his will it'd nigh kill him--and as for this! but i argued i had to tell him. then i thought that what a cowpuncher concludes deliberate is mighty apt to be the wrong thing. so where does that leave me? for the first time in my life i didn't know whether to back or copper my own bet.
-the old man staved it off a little while, anyway. he goes over to the table and begins to fill his pipe.
-"well, curly," says he, "i couldn't foreclose on the circle arrow if i wanted to now--they paid their deferred payment for this year. old wisner, he got backing from three banks and he come through. that leaves only one payment more. somebody's going to be out in the cold before long; but it won't be us."
-"no," says i; "it'll be them grangers."
-"it ain't them that's going to get the worst of it--it's old man wisner," says he. "as for us, we can't go back there no more--we're city folks now. i've got to stay here to watch old man wisner a while and you've got to ride that fence.
-"where's bonnie bell?" says he then.
-"huh!" says i. "where is she? that's what i'd like to know too."
-"come to that, after all," says he, smoking and looking into the fireplace, "the girl's got me guessing lately. she don't look well. now she's up and now she's down--her actions don't track none. if i didn't know better i'd say she was in love. that couldn't be, for there ain't been no chance."
-"well," says i, "there's other kinds of deferred payments, ain't there, colonel?"
-"maybe so," says he, sort of sighing. "we'll let it run as it lays; we can't help it much. mostly a handsome girl finds somebody somewhere or somehow; or sometime----"
-"ain't that the god's truth, colonel!" says i.
-i was just on the point of telling him all i knew.
-"if only she was safe from the sharks!" says he. "if i found any young man that i thought was after her money, not after her--why, i don't know what i'd do to him!"
-"i know what you'd do, colonel," says i; and i was glad i hadn't told him.
-"well, maybe. the trouble is to find any young man that's halfway as good as her, with some sort of folks back of him and some sort of way of making a living. you see, curly, you can't tell much about things ten or twenty years ahead. a pore man may get money or a rich man may lose money. now her ma married me when i didn't have no chance on earth ever to be anybody or to have any money; but we got on and was right happy--anyways i was--and i wasn't rich then.
-"i'm awful rich now, curly," says he, "though i don't know as i'm any happier. it bores me. for instance, i was looking around today for a chance to invest a little more money; not much, only about half of this here last deferred payment that come in--all old man wisner's money--and i seen in the papers that we haven't got no potash works in america to amount to much, and that potash is shore worth plenty of money--whatever potash is. so i went out to look over things and i concluded to invest a few hundred thousand dollars in making potash. i've got a good man, with specs, that knows how to make it out of seaweed, or something that grows raw and is plenty, i reckon. i suppose pretty soon we'll be making forty to fifty per cent; maybe more. that's what bothers me--i can't find no hard game to play. i can't hardly take no interest in life.
-"i was looking around some more and i seen where this country ain't got no dye works--the kind of dyes they make outen coal tar, which is made outen coal. yet we've got plenty of coal and i own several coal mines out in wyoming. i got another man, with specs, and i shouldn't wonder if we'd be making plenty of dyes before long, same as they used to import.
-"well," says he, filling up his pipe again, "i'd be happy enough fooling around this way, pushing in a few white checks once in a while--a few hundred thousand dollars. anyways, i'd like it if i could lose once in a while--but then there's the kid."
-"it comes around to her after all, colonel, don't it?" says i.
-"that's right," he says. "i play the game; she uses the winnings. she's going to be one of the richest girls in this whole town."
-seems like i couldn't get to tell him what i ought to. every time he came around to the same place, talking about the kid. he didn't know as much as i did. i knew what'd make old man wisner the happiest man alive--he'd feel that way if he knowed his hired man had got thick with our girl! he'd of encouraged that any way he could if he'd knowed anything about it. that would of pleased him. i had in my mind, too, how bonnie bell had looked at that hired man. so i set there, not having said a word yet and not daring to. it just seemed like i couldn't tell the old man.
-it was getting towards night now before long and i hadn't made no break at all. i set and set, and didn't have no nerve. by and by it was too late to say anything that night.
-we heard bonnie bell coming down the staircase, and we went to the door to meet her, like we did usual, because we liked to do that; she was so pretty when she was ready for dinner. the servants didn't look up to her pa and me very much, but they'd jump through hoops all the time for her.
-she was dressed all up now in a pale blue dress, some sort of soft silk, and she had on all her diamonds, for she was shining all over. her hair was high up and it had a little band on it, and a little pile of it stuck up behind on her head. her neck was cut low, like they wore 'em at the hotel where we lived once, and her dress didn't have no sleeves in it. she had rings on her fingers, though not no bells on her toes--only little blue slippers; and her socks was pale blue, like we could see when she come down the stairs.
-i don't expect there was any handsomer woman in the world than she was then--they don't make 'em any handsomer. we stood looking at her, us two cowmen, both in clothes that was always getting mussed up, and with tobacco in the pockets. we couldn't say a word. we got scared of her, i said; you would, often, when you looked at bonnie bell, she was so pretty. yet she didn't know she had such looks.
-"daughter," says old man wright, and he went up to her slow, like he was afraid of her, "you're very beautiful tonight," says he. "what makes you pale? you're a mighty fine girl. dast you kiss your old pa before he goes in and gets into togs fit to eat with you?"
-she looks at me and then at him, and she knows i haven't said nothing about that talk with the hired man. she was pale and didn't smile. she went up to her pa like she was tired--she didn't have much color that night in her face--and she just puts up her arms around her pa's neck and laid her head down on his shoulder, and didn't say a word. she didn't cry; she just let her head lay there.
-i seen his arm go around on her bare shoulders easylike--he didn't hardly touch her for fear she'd break; and he didn't say a word. he was that sort of man that almost any sort of woman would like to put her arms around his neck and lay her head on him if she was in trouble.
-"what is it, honey?" says he at last.
-"why, nothing, dad," says she. "i love you--that's all. you believe it, don't you?"
-"will you always, sis?" says he, sort of funny.
-you see, i was one of the family. i maybe gave them plenty of trouble, but they never'd let me eat anywheres but with them all the time. by this time i'd learned quite a few things from bonnie bell--about how not to put a napkin up too high, or to break my bread up into little pieces and pile them up, or to pour out my coffee, or to use the same spoon for coffee and other vittles, or to sidle up my plate for the last drop of soup there was in it--oh, several tricks like that; though i knew the game was a heap complicated and i hadn't learned it all yet.
-she looks at me when i went out the door and i shook my head to show i hadn't said nothing. she set down, all in her silk and her shining rings and things, right on our old hide lounge; and she was looking at our painting of the yellow bull valley and the old ranch house. i left her there, all in her diamonds, her hair tied up high--about the richest girl in chicago and, like enough, the miserablest right then. but she didn't have nothing on me at that.
-when we come back, all fixed up the best we could, she was still setting there. she was pretty--lord, how pretty!--but sad.
-she gets up now and begins to laugh and talk right fast to the old man, and by and by, before anything broke, old man kimberly and old lady kimberly drifted in.
-"the young folks'll be over before long," says he; "we didn't wait for 'em, because i just wanted a taste of the old bourbon that i find here and can't find anywheres else. where did you get it, colonel?" says he.
-most everybody called him colonel now, from me doing it first, and then katherine.
-"we had a few barrels out on the old ranch," says the boss. "a little of it escaped in the massacree. i'm glad you like it."
-"why, wilfred!" says his wife to him, "i'm surprised!"
-"it's funny how you're surprised," says he, chuckling in his shirt front; "but i'm glad to have you keep up my reputation by saying you're surprised."
-somehow it was with them like it is with plenty of folks in the states--the women always seem finer, more delercate than the men; yet they seem to like men that ain't fussy. old man kimberly was a good sort; but to look at her you'd wonder why she married him. she always set up straight, away from a chair or a sofa back, and she had a face that was clean-cut, like one of them cameo faces on cuff buttons. katherine was some like her pa, and a good sort too.
-"how sweet you look tonight!" says old lady kimberly to bonnie bell after a time.
-she always seemed to want to reach out and touch bonnie bell, or kiss her once in a while--they natural liked each other--bonnie bell especial, from never having no ma of her own, very much.
-but after a time our william come to the door and stood there like he was a pointer dog and had found some birds; and says he, with a stop between, like he always did:
-"miss kimberly--ahum! mr. thomas kimberly--ahum!"
-how tom stacked up
-i reckon if katherine's brother, tom kimberly, had of knowed how much we was waiting for a look at him he might of been some fussed up about it; but when our william brought him and katherine in he didn't seem rattled.
-"honey," says she to bonnie bell, "i've brought over my brother tom; and i want you to like him and i want him to like you."
-"that's going to be the easiest thing you know," says he smiling.
-he had right good teeth. bonnie bell she give him her hand, her arm straight out in front of her, and i didn't think she shook hands very hard; but he did. he kept on looking at her like he was fascernated. it was plain to see that the kid had him on the ropes in the first round.
-we went on to the big dining-room right soon. this was the first time the kimberlys had ever et at our house, except cookies and tea and things in the parlor or in the ranch room. when mrs. kimberly come into our big dining-room she taken one look up and down. maybe she'd been thinking it was like the ranch room all the way through. that showed how little she knew about bonnie bell.
-we had a good dining-room--large, with white trimmings--and some carpets that cost as much as two thousand dollars each, and chairs that matched the table, and plenty of pictures.
-besides them, if you've got a good house you've got to have one picture about twilight on a lake, with a broken tree on it and some weeds, and a crane standing there like it didn't have no friends. we had one of them crane pictures too.
-when old lady kimberly seen we had sheep and gondolas and weeds and cranes in our house, same as anybody else, she seemed to feel more comfortable. i told katherine some of those things i'd found out about art and she come near choking in her soup, and said i was awful funny, though i was serious.
-"everything you've got," says she, "is perfectly lovely."
-"she done it," says i, which was true. the old man and me, if we was left alone, would never of had even a picture of sheep in the whole house.
-like enough you've been at dinners in cities where they don't have everything on the table in big dishes, like at a ranch, but a little at a time; so you've got to guess frequent whether you're going to get enough to eat out of things that's coming on later. we was pretty well trained, old man wright and me, since we come to our new house, for bonnie bell and william and all the rest run a regular city system on us.
-bonnie bell was easy as mrs. kimberly would of been at her house. she didn't have to say a word to william; he shore was some butler--i reckon he buttled as good as anyone in the row. i reckon he was born a orphan, he looked so sad.
-we had some soup made out of turtle, which is better'n you'd think, to look at a turtle. afterward was fish i couldn't name. then there was ducks and potatoes, cooked together so you couldn't tell 'em apart, and considerable other birds with things put on; and alfalfa, with kerosene on it, maybe. after a while comes soft cheese, with strawberries, and yet softer cheese, with little onions cut in it, if you liked that better--i can't remember all them things now or how they come, but we was a couple of hours there and got considerable to eat before we quit. also, old man kimberly got plenty to drink. he says to the boss:
-"you'll excuse me, colonel," says he, "but i can't help saying a word in favor of your choice in wines."
-and then--"wilfred!" says his wife, as though it wasn't polite to say you liked things.
-since katherine was talking to me all the time, and since tom couldn't see nothing but bonnie bell, i reckon the whole party was pretty well suited.
-after dinner, while we was setting in the ranch room--which they all liked so well--and could have sherry or coffee, or both, or maybe scotch, mrs. kimberly kept on saying to the old man:
-"wilfred, i'm surprised!"
-"so'm i, my dear," says he--"surprised that we've never been here all the time before. you may mark us down as steadies now," says he.
-we had in the middle of the house, offen the ranch room, a long room, with a piano in it, and a smooth floor, and rugs that could be easy pushed away. nothing'd do for them folks but they must go to dancing now. sometimes katherine played the piano and sometimes bonnie bell; she shore could slug a piano plenty when she wanted. she didn't get to play much, because tom he wanted to dance with her all the time--turkeys' trots, i think they called it, or fox hops, or something of the kind.
-seems like she could do that, too, for she had lessons downtown. when katherine got old man wright to dance with her there wasn't no one left to play; so we set a music box going, and katherine made me play on a jew's-harp too.
-tom kimberly certainly was up in all the late steps of dancing; that was one thing he could do. while him and bonnie bell was dancing i could see all the old folks looking at them quietlike. it was plain that he was mighty hard hit with bonnie bell. old man wright he'd look at him once in a while--right close too. as for bonnie bell, she was pleasant, like she always was; but it didn't seem to me she laughed as much as usual. we was all of us showing off our goods.
-when they come to go away, katherine she hugged bonnie bell tighter than ever, and old man kimberly held her hand for quite a while.
-"you'll take pity on a old man, won't you," says he, "and come to see us often? you really must."
-"yes, my dear," says mrs. kimberly; "come and liven us up sometimes. it's been very delightful to see you young people enjoy yourselves so much--and you old people too," says she, and laughed at her husband, who maybe was some illuminated.
-it was plain enough to me when they went away that our place had turned out better'n they thought it would. bonnie bell, too, if she'd been on inspection for them, same as tom kimberly was with us, certainly'd more than made good. likewise, i suppose our sheep and gondola pictures must of made good too. we couldn't exactly of been classed as heathen--not unless me and old man wright was.
-we didn't say nothing to bonnie bell about these things, and pretty soon she kissed her pa good night and went upstairs to her room. the old man and me set for a while thinking things over.
-"what do you think of him, curly?" says he to me after a while.
-"well," says i, "it ain't just as though the cat had brought him in. he's good-looking," says i, "and he can dance; and he's a pleasant fellow enough. i only sort of got it in for people that drink cocktails instead of straight liquor and push their hair back thataway."
-"well now," he went on, "you've got to allow for differences in different places. riding and roping ain't so important in chicago as dining and dancing--not among our best people," says he. "you've got to take account of that. a girl might do a lot worse."
-"there ain't nobody good enough for bonnie bell," says i, "when it comes to that; but i was just sort of thinking i like a man to know something about riding and shooting, and that sort of thing, as well as dancing."
-"curly," says he, "you said your pa was a hard-shell?"
-"yes," says i.
-"a hard-shell presbyterian?" says he. "anyhow, your folks must of been right exacting. now don't be too hard on young folks."
-"listen to me, colonel," says i. "suppose you had two of 'em right here--one that didn't have no family nor no money, but took to ranch work sort of natural; and one that could dance and dine like you say. one of these men parts his hair on one side and one combs it back, without no part. which one of 'em would you like most?"
-"i'd have to see both men and size 'em up," says he. "but what makes you ask? the other kind of young man you're talking about ain't showed up yet. besides, one thing that favors tom is he don't have to marry for money. bless you; he ain't thinking of her money--not one dollar; just thinking of her, right the way she is. he's gone--that's what he is."
-"that's so," says i; "that's certainly so. but how about her?"
-"they all take their chances," says old man wright, solemn, after a while. "anyway you can fix it a woman takes a chance. she's in a gamble all her whole born life. she's a gamble herself and she has to play in a gamble from the time she begins to toddle till the time they fold her hands. she can't tell if her husband's going to stick; she can't tell if her husband's going to make good; she can't tell how her kids is going to turn out--that's all a gamble too.
-"do your best, curly, and try your damnedest, there ain't no way you can protect no woman against them gambles. if i wait for exactly the right man to come along, that don't comb his hair back, how do i know he'll ever come? if he does come maybe he'll have a eye on her bank roll, or maybe he'll measure forty inches around his pants. either one--ary one--it's all a gamble for a girl.
-"no," he went on; "about the only thing she can do, after all, is to use her own head and her own heart. it ain't in the nature of things that you can look ahead and see how the game's coming out for any girl--she has to take her chances. we've got to stand by and see her do it. i wisht it wasn't so. i loved her ma so much, and she looks so much like her ma--why, i wisht--why, i wisht---- damn it, don't i wisht it wasn't such a dash-blamed, all-fired, hell-for-certain gamble for the kid!"
-it wasn't no time for me to say anything about any hired man now! by and by the old man quit looking into the fire and got up and went off to bed.
-them and bonnie bell
-it was a right fine place for me--probably not. here i was, foreman under full pay, and bound to play on the level with the boss, to say nothing of the long time i'd worked for him. of course i ought to tell him all about that wisners' hired man; but how could i?
-it come to a question whether i liked the boss best or bonnie bell, which is no fair place to put a man. any man is apt to want to favor the woman in a case like that. come to get down to cases, i found i liked bonnie bell a lot more than i ever'd realized i did. i was part her dad, you know, and i couldn't stand to see her unhappy.
-the trouble with a cowpuncher, like i said, is that he hasn't got no real brains. i never used to notice that before, because it don't need no brains to be a puncher, as long as you stick to the ranch. but here i needed 'em right keen now.
-every day i walked the line fence; but there wasn't no work about that, for the bricks was mostly stuck back in the hole, and the hired man that had made all the trouble he kept on his own side--i didn't never see him no more at all.
-bonnie bell didn't say a word to me, nor me to her. i thought she ought to come to me and talk things over; but she didn't. i knowed she hadn't said a word to her pa, and i knowed i hadn't neither.
-tom he called three times the first week. i didn't care much for him someways, though i knowed i ought. bonnie bell knowed she ought too. her pa knowed he ought too. if ever a fellow played in a game like that, with all the ways greased for him, tom was him.
-old man wright he turns to me one evening when we was setting by the fire in our room, and he says to me:
-"well, curly, how are you enjoying yourself now in this hard and downtrod position that life has gave to you?"
-"i don't like it none, colonel," says i; "not none at all, nohow."
-"why don't you join a cowpunchers' union, then?" he ast. "pshaw! this is a good town and i rather like it. the game here is easy to beat--easier than it was in wyoming. for instance, just the other day i bought a bunch of timber land out in arizony--a place where i've never been nor want to go, because they've got the tick fever down there scandalous, and irrigation, which is a crime. well, i only bought in on this timber because a friend of mine wanted me to come in with him; and, figuring i didn't know nothing about it, i allowed i certainly would lose for once--i couldn't tell a pine tree from a spruce to save my life."
-"huh!" says i. "i suppose then somebody comes along and offers you twice your money for it, maybe?"
-"no; they didn't," says he. "i was hoping they would; but they didn't. no, it was old uncle sam come along through that part of the state, and he sees where we've got about all the best timber left on top of a range of mountains in there, and he allows he ought to keep that timber from ever being cut; so he buys it off us for four times what we give for it--not twice. uncle sam pays in real money."
-"huh!" says i. "i never did have no trouble like you have, colonel, to find a game where i could lose money. i suppose maybe you made seegar money out of that too?"
-"a little, maybe. i only put in a little in the first place--two, three hundred thousand dollars; not much. i was so in hopes i could lose some money so as to sort of encourage me like, you know. but it's no use, curly!" and he sighs right heavy.
-"you have my symperthy, colonel," says i. "if ever you want any help, so as to make the game more interesting, just let me set in and take your hand for you--i'll guarantee on my record that i'll open your eyes in ways how to lose money."
-"all right, curly," says he. "i'll ast you sometime and maybe copper your bets. i always do that when my lawyer or my stockbroker gives me any tips. it's the surest way in the world to make a killing in this here, now, stock market.
-"i'm setting aside two-thirds of all i make in this here city in the kid's name, curly," says he. "it's a five per cent trust for keeps. it's getting to be something awful how much that fund of hers is! and, the best i can do, i can't help its increasing right along. there don't seem to be no way in which we can get broke and go back to honest work again, such as raising cows--though making four calves grow where there wasn't none in the sage brush before, that's really being useful in the world, war or no war."
-he set there for some time looking in the fire, serious, and he come around again to the same old place.
-"curly," says he, "if there is any created critter on this human footstool that i hate and despise, and that every he-man in the world hates and despises, it's the man that'll marry a girl for her money. look at them dukes and things that come over here and marry our american girls. i never shot a duke, but i will if one of 'em blows in here and starts anything like that with our girl."
-"maybe he won't come," says i. "you never can tell."
-"curly," says he, "you can always tell! listen to me. there's just one thing certain in the whole world--or two. if a girl's handsome men'll come around. if she's rich men'll come around. they fall out of the sky. they come up out of the ground. they break in through the fence----"
-"what's that?" says i. "colonel, what do you mean about fences?"
-"i mean to say that there ain't no fence on earth you could build that'd keep out young men from a handsome girl that's got money."
-"ain't that the god's truth, colonel!" says i. "how come you to figure that out?"
-"how? how come me to break through the fence that was built around bonnie bell's ma, back in maryland, and carry her away from there? but when i think that, like enough, some low-down cuss like me'll come around and break through my fence and carry off my girl, to take such chances as her ma done--i tell you it makes the sweat come right out on me."
-"well, colonel," says i, "i reckon if any young man comes along here, no matter if he gets in at the front door or crawls in under the fence, he's got to show some revenue as well as be all right other ways?"
-he set some time thinking before he answered.
-"that's a right hard question, curly," says he. "i wouldn't bar a poor man if i was shore he was on the square. it wouldn't be so hard to decide if she didn't have any money; but she has, and it can't be concealed much longer."
-he gets up and walks up and down a while talking.
-"i declare, if i was a young man i'd never ast no rich young woman to marry me at all. i'd be afraid to ast her, for fear she'd spot me or accuse me, whichever way it was. i can't agree to no pore young man for her, for i couldn't trust him. and i can't agree to no rich young man for her, because none of 'em ain't worth a damm, as far as i've seen."
-"it looks like a awful thing, colonel, to have a cheeild that's rich and lovely."
-"yes," says he; "and it ain't no joke neither."
-"well now, colonel," says i, "take the houses in this row where we live. how many young men is there that we can tally out?"
-he shook his head.
-"there ain't none at all worth mentioning--believe me!" says he.
-i did believe him. that left just tom for the entry in the bonnie bell stakes. looked like he couldn't lose.
-what our william done
-it used to be that bonnie bell didn't care so much for her piano as for things out of doors, but now she taken to soaking that pore helpless thing--sometimes sad and lonesome, and then again so hard she'd near bust the keys. then, maybe after she'd pasted the stuffing out of it a few times, she'd set looking out of the window with her hands in her lap--and so forgetful of her hands that they lay there, little as they was, on their backs, with the fingers turned up on the ends, and even her thumbs. it made me sorry.
-then again she'd cut off the music for days and go to reading books, mostly in the window seat, her head puckered, like it was hard work.
-"what're you reading, hon?" says i one day. "seems to me it must be a bad-luck story. also, why have you took to reading books upside down?"
-"nonsense!" says she. "i been brushing up in my sikeology," says she. "that was one of our senior studies--the last year i had in smith's, you know."
-"what's it for?" says i. "does it say anything about whether it's going to rain next tuesday?" i ast her.
-"well, it's something needed to train us to meet the problems of life as they arrive, curly," says she.
-"does it show you how to look any young fellow in the face," says i--"one that's got his hair combed back and no part in it, and playing la paloma on a banjo or a guitar, and guess what he's thinking about, bonnie?" says i.
-she got a little red and tapped her foot on the carpet.
-"what do you mean, curly?" says she.
-"nothing," says i. "only i was wondering if they'd put me in a long coat at the wedding. i never was backed into one of 'em in my whole life."
-"well, curly," says she, "if you wait for my wedding you may need the long coat for your funeral first."
-"huh!" says i. "huh! is that so? you don't know your pa none," says i.
-"he ain't going to be boarding you all your life, kid," says i. "he can't noways afford it."
-"i reckon dad isn't worried much," says she.
-"are you so shore, kid?" says i to her. "now look here: i'm, say, half your pa. i haven't said a word to you about certain things. what's more, i haven't said a word to your pa about them neither."
-"i know it, curly," says she, looking at me sudden. "i love you for it. you're one grand man, curly!"
-"i'm one worried man," says i. "i've gone back on my job with your pa."
-"do you feel that way, curly?" says she, and she looked scared. "and is that my fault?"
-"i shore do and it shore is," says i.
-"but you haven't said a word."
-"don't, curly!" says she, right quick. "don't--oh, please don't!"
-she puts her hand on my arm then and looks into my eyes.
-she had me buffaloed right there. i couldn't get her hand off'n my arm. i couldn't help patting it when it laid there.
-"aw, shucks!" says i to her. "come now!"
-right then our william he come in at the door, and stood there and coughed like he done when he had anything on his mind.
-"ahum!" says he, sad like.
-"what is it, william?" says bonnie bell, looking round at him.
-"beg pardon, ma'am, but might hi speak with mr. wilson for a moment?"
-you see, he called me mr. wilson, that being my last name. it was in the bible, or else i probably would of forgot it.
-"oh, all right," says i; and i got up and went out with him.
-he was standing in his little hall when i come out, and he has our boston dog, peanut, tied to a chair leg there with a piece of rope. peanut barked joyful at me, thinking i was going to take him outdoors maybe.
-"hexcuse me, sir," says william, right sad, "but this little dog is a hobject of my suspicion, sir."
-"what's that?" says i. "what do you suspect him of--embeazlement, maybe?"
-william he stoops down then and unties something that peanut has fastened in his collar. it was a envelope. it didn't have no name on it.
-"this is the third one hi found on 'im," says william. "hi 'ave the other two in my desk. hi don't know, sir, for whom they may be hintended, sir."
-"well, who sent 'em? is anybody going to blow up our place unlessen we put twelve thousand dollars under a stone on the front sidewalk?"
-"that's what hi wish to hinquire, sir. hi became alarmed," says william. "hi thought hi'd awsk you about it, sir, mr. wright not being at 'ome."
-"why didn't you awsk miss wright?" says i.
-"hi didn't wish to alarm her, possibly."
-we stood there, with this letter in our hands, looking it over.
-"you say you don't know where this dog's been?" says i.
-"oh, no, sir; quite the contrary. i don't doubt he's often been through the--ahum!--ahum!----"
-"well, how often has he been through the ahum, william?" says i. "what made you let him go? you know it's against orders."
-"hi am quite hinnocent of hany hinfraction of my duties," says he. "on the contrary, hi've watched this peanut dog most closely, sir. yet at times 'e is habsent. hi'm of the belief that the notes come from the hother side of the fence, sir. but has to their haddress, and has to their contents, sir, hi assure you hi'm hutterly hignorant; and hit was for that reason that hi awsked you to come and see this one. hit's just at 'and, sir."
-i taken all three of them letters away from him and opened them, me being foreman; but when i begun to read i didn't tell william what they was. i only laughed out loud, hard as i could.
-"this is just a joke, william," says i. "don't pay no attention to it. you see, peanut's been over there again, digging up some petunies," says i.
-i went back into the room where bonnie bell was. i looked at her for a while.
-"miss wright," says i--the second time i ever called her that--"i've played the game with you on the square, haven't i? you thanked me for that."
-"yes, curly; yes," says she, "why?"
-"have you played in on the square with me?"
-"yes, curly, i have."
-"i told you not to have nothing more to do across the fence, didn't i?"
-"yes. i haven't."
-"is that so, bonnie bell wright?" says i. "then what's this?"
-i put in her hand the note--the one i'd read. it was my business to do that, the way it come to me.
-"read it," says i to her.
-near as i can remember, it run about like this:
-why don't you come again? when shall i see you? i'm in the same place every day and i wait and wait. please! please! please!
-it wasn't signed with no name--only just "the man next door."
-bonnie bell went pale as a sheet when she read that.
-"curly," says she, "i never saw it before."
-i believed her. she'd of died rather 'n lie straight out to me. maybe she'd lie some--almost any woman would--but not straight out from the shoulder between the eyes. so i believed her now.
-"read the next one," says i.
-"have you read my letters, curly?" says she. she looked at me savage now.
-"i read one of 'em," says i, "and part of the next one. i didn't only read the first page on that one. i didn't read the other one at all. but i read enough."
-on the first page of this second letter was something more:
-right there's where the first page ended and the second page begun.
-"did you read it all, curly?" says she to me once more.
-"no; only the first page," i says. "this last one we just took off'n peanut's collar. he brought 'em over."
-she was reading the last letter now--the one i never did see. her face got soft somehow. her eyes got bigger and brighter, and softer, somehow, too.
-she folded the letters all up and put 'em in her lap and looked up at me.
-"you didn't read all my letters, curly?" says she.
-"no," says i; "and i won't never read no more. there mustn't be no more, bonnie bell. you know that."
-"yes," says she; "i know that."
-but somehow she didn't seem unhappy like she ought to of been. i could see that.
-"how did peanut get through the fence, curly?" says she at last.
-"there's a hole in the lower corner near the garridge. i thought it was kept shut. their hired man dug it through. he said it was to let peanut through to enjoy hisself digging up their petunies," says i, "or to have a sociable fight with their dog. i reckon that's how peanut got through. it was easy enough to fasten things on his neck. whether it was a square thing to do, him knowing what he does--well, that's something you ought to know."
-she didn't say anything at that.
-"a honorable man," says i, "would of come around to the front door, bonnie bell."
-"he had no part in this quarrel," says bonnie bell; at last, quiet like. "why blame him?"
-that made me hot.
-"why blame him?" i broke out "didn't i see him? ain't i heard him? can't i see now? he ain't no part of a man at all or he wouldn't of done this way. now," says i, "i've shore got to tell the old man. i hoped i wouldn't ever have to. but now i got to. the safest bet you ever made is that hell will pop!"
-she turned around right quick then and jumped up on her feet, and her face was so white it scared me. she come up again and put her arms right around my neck and looked at me.
-"honey," says i, "you got us in wrong--awful wrong! now us men has got to square it the best we can."
-"stop, curly!" says she, and she shook me by the shoulder. "stop! he's--he's a good man. he's--he's honest. he's meant all right. give him a chance."
-"he don't deserve no chance," says i, "and he won't get none."
-"it was the best he could do! he had no chance to come here openly--not a chance in the world. maybe he only wanted to say good-by--oh, how do you know?"
-"did he say good-by or good morning in that last letter, bonnie bell?" i ast her. "not that it makes much difference either way."
-"i won't tell you what he said, curly," she flared up at me now. "i only say he did the best he could. he asked for his chance--that's all."
-"his chance! the hired man of the worst enemy we got! his chance! his chance! what chance has he give you? how fair is he playing the game where all your happiness is up? oh, bonnie, shore you don't care for him?" says i. "now do you?"
-she didn't say a word and i turned toward the door.
-"where you going, curly?" says she, coming after me.
-"i'm going downtown," i says to her.
-"to see your pa," says i. "i got to tell him all about this, and do it now."
-she made a quick run at me then, and her arms come around my neck again.
-"oh, curly! curly!" she says; and she was crying now. "oh, what have i done? it'll kill dad if anything of this gets out--i couldn't stand it. i can't stand to think of it, curly. i can't! i can't!"
-"why can't you, bonnie?" says i.
-"because, curly"--she got me by the arms again and she was crying hard--"because---- i'll have to tell you--i'll have to, curly. i can't help it! i didn't want it to happen--i fought it to keep it from happening as long as i could--i didn't want it to be this way. it was hard--so awfully hard. i tried every way i could; but i can't--i can't help it, curly! i can't! i can't! it's no use!" she just run on, over and over.
-"what is it, bonnie?" says i. "do you love him?"
-"yes, yes; it's true! i do, curly--i love him!"
-her pa's way of thinking
-"near as i can figure, curly," says old man wright to me soon after what had happened between me and bonnie bell--"near as i can figure, old man wisner's been advertising that the old circle arrow range is a great little place for the honest granger to raise bananas, pineapples and other tropical fruits."
-"it ain't," says i, "except tomatoes--and them in tin cans."
-"the honest yeoman," says he, "according to old man wisner's description, he don't never have to eat anything as common as bread and butter, not after he's bought some of that land at four hundred and fifty dollars a acre. he lives after that time on bird tongues and omelet souflay, and all he has to do is to set on his wide veranda and watch his lowing herds increase and multiply at eighty-five dollars a head--and prices going up all the time. ain't that fine, curly? things never used to happen just thataway when you and me owned that range, did they?"
-"not hardly," says i.
-"no," says the old man, falling into one of them thinking spells. "no; they didn't."
-then after about half a hour he says:
-"nor they can't, neither. it'll cost that old miser, dave wisner, about three or four million dollars," says he. "he's put up his life, his fortune and his sacred honor on that irrigation scheme, and he's going to be lucky if he gets through with any of them before i call it off."
-"colonel," says i, "you and him remind me of two old galloways out on the range, standing head to head, and pushing for a couple of hours or so at a time--only, you two been pushing for a couple of years."
-"uh-huh!" says he. "but i'm right cheerful; and i don't feel my neck giving none yet," says he; and he rubs his hand up and down it.
-"has tom kimberly been here lately?" the old man ast me, real suddenlike, right soon after that, though i hadn't said nothing to him.
-"he was here this afternoon," says i. "he ast after miss bonnie. she says she was sick, had a cold, and couldn't see no one."
-"i'll give tom sixty days for to propose to bonnie bell," says he. "if he don't, then i'll have to. it don't stand to reason that girl's going to have a bad cold that's going to last for sixty days; so she'll be home sometimes when he comes over. i know how his ma and pa feel about it, and i know how i feel too. maybe we can get tom to part his hair after a while, or take up some manly habit like chawing tobacco instead of touching the light guitar. just to take a look at him, i'd say he shaved with one of them little razors like a hoe. for all i know, he may wear garters. still, time alters many things.
-"he's marrying into crowned heads when he comes into our family," says he, going on, "because i'm alderman here, and if my freckles lasts i'm liable to keep on being alderman. sometimes i wisht i'd put in the papers that i was clean broke and depended on the savings which a faithful old servitor--that's you, curly--had brung me in my time of need. but i'm afraid it's too late for that now, though the time to test them things is before the wedding obsequies and not after."
-"colonel," says i, "suppose a young man would of come along that didn't have no family back of him, nor no money, but parted his hair, and shaved with a real razor, and wore no garters, and et tobacco, and was right husky looking--what would you think?"
-"i'd think the millennium had came, here in chicago," says old man wright. "i won't deny, curly, if i had found a young man that could ride setting down, and chawed tobacco, i wouldn't needed to of thought about him twice--always provided he played a wide-open game and acted like he knew what he wanted."
-"we don't seem to get together none," says i, despondent.
-"get together!" says he. "what do you mean?"
-"oh, nothing," says i.
-me and their line fence
-i had to own it up to myself--i'd lost my nerve. i tried more'n fifteen times to come out and tell old man wright about them peanut letters from their hired man to bonnie bell, and i couldn't--i would see her face every time come in between him and me.
-i kept my eyes on that hole in the fence. i was setting there fixing up the bricks, ready to put them in, when i heard some one talking on the other side of the fence. you couldn't see nobody through the fence, no more'n if they was a thousand miles away; but you could hear 'em talk, all right, there, through the hole. i could tell who one of 'em was--it was the voice of old lady wisner. she had the sort of a voice a woman has who has got a nose like a eagle. but i couldn't tell who she was talking to, for nobody seemed to answer much at first.
-"james," says she--"james, what are you doing there?"
-no one answered, but i felt sure now she was talking to their gardener. so he was home!
-"who made that hole? who has done this, james?" says she again. "who made that hole in the wall?"
-still, he didn't answer none; and she went on:
-"i see! it must of been some of them awful wrights that live acrost there. how dare they break through our fence? i'll have them sued!"
-"oh, no, you won't. it was done from this side--i can tell you that."
-i knew his voice. it was him.
-"no--that same awful little cur?" says she. "they are the worst people, james! i certainly am glad you want nothing to do with them, even their dog. but, of course, you couldn't."
-"no; it seemed not," says he.
-"what do you mean?" says she, harshlike. "as for that maid of theirs, i was inexpressibly shocked, james, when i found that you so far forgot yourself--"
-"i wouldn't say any more," says he.
-"i shall say all i like, and you'll please remember who you are! the david wisners can't afford to have it understood that they associate any way whatsoever with the wright family. not even our servants can visit acrost. i've been suspecting for some time."
-"well, that's plain enough," says he. "i don't see any use trying to make it any plainer. there's no use rubbing it in."
-"if i had a servant," says she, right pointed, "who'd look at the best of them i'd discharge him as soon as i knew it. i've got my eye on emmy, my second-floor maid, too. all i can say is, you'd all better be more careful, or, the first thing some of you know----"
-"naturally," says he, "i can imagine that," says he. "it's hell to belong to the lower classes!"
-"what do you mean, james?" says she, solemn, "i'll not have profanity from you! besides, you talk like a socialist person, and i'll not have that."
-"socialist, eh? well, i'll admit, if i had all the money in the world," says he, "no wall nor bars would make any difference to me. nor they wouldn't when i didn't have."
-"james, continually you shock me beyond words!" says she, gasping. "what words from one in your position in life!"
-he didn't say much then, but only sort of growled, like he was mad.
-"james," says she, "what on earth are you doing--what's that you're eating?"
-"it's good old tobacco i'm eating," says he. "i found the brand out west and i've used no other since."
-"james! james!" says she. "you to chew the filthy weed! it's impossible!"
-"no, it ain't," says he. "you watch me and i'll show you how far it is from impossible. i chaw it and i like it, same as any other socialist; and i want you to understand, ma'am, that i'm my own man, tobacco and all, while i stay here. if you don't like it, fire me again!"
-she begun to gasp again, like i heard her before.
-"you don't care!" says she. "nothing is sacred to you!"
-them two had me guessing. i'd heard of middle-age women getting infaturated with chauffores. why not gardeners, then? something was going on between them two, else why should she be so damned jealous? and why should he be so damned sassy to her? i wondered what old man wisner would think if he knew what i knew now about his wife. didn't this even things up some? i wouldn't tell him, of course; but didn't it beat all how many secrets i was getting into?
-them folks didn't have so much on us, after all; for that hired man was shore a gay bird, and playing both sides the fence. i seen he was a socialist, all right--but, lord, her, with that face!
-tom and her
-tom kimberly he come to our house steady now. every day he sent flowers in bundles, like he owned a flower ranch somewhere. bonnie bell put them in the dining-room, and the music room, and the reception parlors, and the staircase, and the bedrooms--and even in our ranch room.
-"whatever the papers says about bad crops, sis," says i one morning when a bunch of red roses come in about as big as a sheaf from a self-binder, "the flower crop is shore copious this year, ain't it? likewise it seems to be getting better right along."
-"he's a good boy," says she after a while--"a fine boy. and he comes of such a good family, and i like all his people so much. and katherine--what could i do without katherine?"
-"uh-huh!" says i. "of course if you like a young man's sister, you ought to marry him. that stands to reason, don't it?" says i.
-"and dad likes 'em all--mr. kimberly and tom's mother."
-"shore he does! for all them reasons you ought to marry the boy. never mind about love."
-"they're the best people we've met in this town," says she, "and there aren't any better in any town. they're not only charming people but good people. they've everything you could ask, curly."
-"yes," says i; "so it stands to reason you ought to marry that family," says i. "here's them better things we come for. love ain't in it."
-you see, i was half her pa. us two had raised her from a baby together. i couldn't tell the old man what i knew, but i had to talk to her like her pa would of talked. i allowed, if she'd get married to tom kimberly right quick, that'd sort of keep things from breaking loose the way they might, and keep me from having to tell old man wright about the man next door. i knew plenty more about him now that i wouldn't tell her. i thought she'd forget him.
-well, she set around all that day sort of moping, with a green poetry book in her lap; and she had a letter in her hands. it didn't come by the peanut route, neither, but by the postman. it was square.
-"tell me, is that from tom kimberly, bonnie?" says i.
-"it's absolutely none of your business, mr. curly wilson," says she; "and i wouldn't tell you in any circumstances. but it is."
-"let me see it," says i.
-"indeed!" she looks me square in the face.
-"don't tell me a word, sis," says i. "i'm not so hard as you think."
-"he's coming over tonight," says bonnie bell to me after a time.
-"that's to get his answer?" asts i; and she nodded then.
-"well, colonel," says i to the old man that evening when he come in and we was having a nip before dinner, "i reckon i got this thing all fixed up at last. it's been a hard pull for me, being half a pa to a girl like ours; but i done it."
-"is that so, curly?" says he. "well, it's been some chore, ain't it, for both of us? well, how!"
-when old man wright taken a drink he never did say "here's how!" he just said "how!" which is western. when a man says "here's how!" he comes from the east and is trying his best to hide it.
-"how!" says i. "and a good health to the young and happy couple."
-"what's that?" says he, sudden. "has anything happened? she hasn't said anything to me. why is she so tight-mouthed with me, curly, and so free with you?"
-"oh, it's a way i have with women," says i.
-"they all come and tell me their troubles. it's because i got red hair and a open countenance."
-"tell me, what's my girl confided to your red hair and open face?" says he. "i'd like to know."
-"you notice a good many flowers around the last few weeks?" says i.
-"i haven't noticed nothing else," says he.
-"and that didn't make nothing occur to your mind?"
-"oh, yes, it did; only i didn't want to say anything to the kid--i didn't want to try to influence her in any way, shape or manner, in a time like this. only i told her quite a while ago that tom kimberly was the only young man i seen in town that i'd allow to come around at all. i only said to her that the old man was my best friend and i liked tom's ma as much as i could any woman with gray hair.
-"still, i said gray hair was all right for a grandma. why, curly," says he, "i been plumb thoughtful and tactful. i ain't said a word to let bonnie bell know what i thought about tom kimberly. i believe in leaving a young girl plumb free to follow her own mind and heart."
-"uh-huh! yes, you do!" says i. "the truth is, colonel, you believe in running the whole ranch here like you done out west. now if you'd only keep out of this game and leave me alone in it you'd find things would come out a heap better," says i.
-"but i just said i ain't said a word," says he. "she can do whatever she likes about getting married----"
-"just so she married tom kimberly," says i. "ain't that about it?"
-"well," says he at length, "maybe that's about it; yes."
-i got up and went out of the room. i wouldn't talk to him no more. he wasn't noways consistent with hisself and every time i talked with him it got harder for me to hold down my job.
-it wasn't right for me to think of them young people, i reckon; but i set there restless, knowing what was going on and how much it meant, and all the time wondering just what them two young folks was talking about. it made me feel sort of dreamy, too, and i begun to figure on this whole damn question of girls and young men. i begun to see that what old man wright and me had worked for all our lives was just this one hour or so in our conswervatory. it was for her--that was all. if she chose right now she'd be happy, and so would we. but if she didn't, what was the use of all her pa's money and all her pa's work?
-what chance for happiness would there be in this world for him if she wasn't happy? he loved the girl from the top of her head to her feet, like he'd loved her ma. he was wrapped up in her. if things didn't come right it was going to be mighty hard for him. he'd never get over anything that meant the unhappiness of bonnie bell.
-so what tom was doing in our conswervatory around ten or eleven o'clock was settling the happiness of bonnie bell and her pa--and me, if you can say i counted.
-"well," says i to myself at last, "this is the way the game is played in the cities. the girl's got to figure on heaps of things that don't bother so much in wyoming. it ain't the same as if bonnie bell was pore and he was pore too. it's a good match--if any match can be good enough for her. she'll forget."
-i could just almost see her standing there all in her pale-blue silk and little pale-blue slippers, with her hair done up in a band, like she was when she come down the stair that night, smiling but still ca'm, when she knew tom was coming. i could see her---- aw, shucks! what's a cowpuncher got to do with things like that? i wisht i was out on the range, where i belonged.
-i set there i don't know how long--maybe i went to sleep once or twice--when i heard the front door close easylike and knew somebody had went out--i didn't know who it was. i waited for a long time after that, but no one come in and no one spoke.
-by and by i heard her dress rustle, and she come into our room, where i was setting.
-she was white as a ghost--i never seen anyone as white as she was. she didn't know i was there, and she threw her hands up to her face and almost screamed when i moved. then she went over to our rawhide lounge and set down, and held her hands together so tight i could see her knuckles was white. she knew i was there, but she didn't seem to see me.
-i didn't say a word. when a woman's fighting out things in that way it ain't no time to meddle. i wisht i was out of there, but i didn't dare go. she set and looked at the fire and wrung her hands. whenever you see a horse wring his tail, he's done for. whenever you see a woman wring her hands that way, she's all in; and she's shore suffering. but i had to stay there and see her suffer.
-"bonnie," says i, "what is it?"
-she turns her eyes on me, and they was wide open and awful.
-"curly," says she, "i'm in trouble. it's awful! i don't know----"
-"what's awful?" says i. "what's happened, bonnie, girl? tell old curly, and he won't say a word to a living soul. i'm in with you, any sort of play--only don't look that way no more."
-"curly," says she, "it's come! i--i didn't know----"
-"what's come?" says i. "tell old curly, can't you? i'll help all i can."
-she set for a while, and when she spoke it was only in a whisper.
-"i--i'm a woman!" says she. "i didn't know! i'm--i'm a woman. i'm not a girl any more. i'm a woman...."
-she got up now and stood there as straight as though she was cut out of marble, and her silk dress hung round her legs, and she was still wringing her hands, and her eyes was wide open. but she wasn't crying.
-"i didn't know," says she. "i never knew it would be this way. i didn't know."
-"you didn't know what, honey?" says i. "there's heaps of things we all don't know. but is there anything your old friend curly can do for you now? listen, sis, i've got you mighty much to heart," says i. "tell old curly, can't you, what's gone wrong? your pa he's just gone to bed. shall i go and get him?"
-"no, no, no! for gawd's sake, no! i can't see him--i could never tell him."
-"it's got to be told," says i.
-then she nodded up and down, fastlike, and didn't say anything.
-"it ain't really any of my business," says i, "but have you and him---- well now----"
-"you men----" she broke down. "you men--what do you know about a girl? what have you men done to me?"
-"we done all in god almighty's world we knew how to do for you," says i. "we'd of done more for you if we'd knowed how."
-"ah, is it so! you've made me the most unhappy girl in all the world."
-i couldn't say a word to that. it went through me like a knife-cut. i was glad that old man wright wasn't there to hear it. i seen then that him and me had failed. we could never play no other game, for this was the only girl we had.
-"you've brought me here," says she, "and i've been like a prisoner. but i've done all i could."
-"didn't you like it here?" says i. "we done considerable on your account. don't you like us none?"
-"like you, curly?" says she. "i love you! i love you!"
-she come now and taken me by the shoulders and shook me. i didn't know she was so strong before.
-"i love you--love both of you," says she. "i'd die for you any minute," says she. "i'd try to cut my heart out for either of you now--if it come to that. i tried it now, tonight. i tried it for an hour--two hours. i didn't know what it meant before."
-"he ast you, bonnie?" says i.
-"yes, yes," says she. "the poor boy! i like him so much--i pity him."
-"my gawd! bonnie, you haven't refused him?" say i. "you haven't done that? you haven't broke the pore fellow's heart?" says i. "why did you----"
-"why did you!" says she after me. "i told you he made it plain to me."
-"what was it he made plain, bonnie?" says i. "i suppose he, now, made some sort of love? it ain't for me to talk of that."
-"yes, yes!" she says it out sharp and high. "he did. i know now what it means to be a woman and in love. i never knew that before. but it wasn't--it wasn't for him! he held me--i was a woman--and it wasn't for him. how can i love---- what can i do? why, i love you all, curly--i love you all! i love tom in one way; and i'm sorry, because he's good. but that isn't being a woman. it wasn't for him--it wasn't for him!"
-she was sort of whispering by now.
-"so he went right away?" says i.
-"maybe i've broken his heart. i've broken yours and my father's and my own--all because i couldn't help being a woman. and i'm the unhappiest woman in all the world. i want to die! i don't know what to do. i want to be square and i don't know how."
-"bonnie," says i after a while, slow, "i know all about it now. you've been plumb crazy and you're crazy now. you've kept on remembering that low-down sneak next door. you've turned down a high-toned gentleman like tom--and you done it for what? you ain't acted on the square, bonnie bell wright," says i. "it ain't needful for me to tell all i know about him now. i could tell you plenty more."
-"no," says she, and she was crying now; "it was an evil thing of me ever to listen to him. i've done wrong," says she. "but what must i do?" says she, "must i lie all my life? i can't do that."
-"well, some women are able to--just a little," says i. "maybe you'd get over that business of that man next door if you was married and had a few kids of your own running around. you'd be happy with tom. we'd all be happy. you'd forget--of course you'd forget. women are built that way," says i. "i reckon i know!"
-"curly----" and, though she looked just like she always had, young and white and beautiful, and fit only to be loved by anybody, her face had something in it that made her look old, real old, like one of them statutes in our front yard.
-she was twenty-three, and pretty as anything ever made in marble--and white as anything in marble; but she looked a thousand years old as she stood there then. there was something in her face that seemed to come down from 'way back in the past. she was--well, i reckon she was what she said--a woman!
-"curly," says she, "some women may be able to forget. it's the easiest way--maybe most of them do it. the average woman lives that way. but i can't, curly; i can't--it isn't in my blood. women like me have got to follow their own hearts, curly--no matter what it means.
-"i tried with all my heart to lie to tom tonight. i even told him i wouldn't answer now--even told him to come back again after while; but i knew all the time i couldn't lie forever. i knew i could love some man--a man--but it wasn't for him. i'm like my father and like my mother, curly. do you want to crush the life out of me? do you want to make me do something we'd all regret as long as ever we lived?"
-she stopped talking then; but, sort of swinging around, she went on:
-"it's been but a little while, curly," says she. "it's been but such a little time! i don't know whether i can get over it--i don't know whether i can forget. but, oh, curly, for one hour let me open my heart--for just this time let me be a woman!... but it wasn't for him!"
-and now she was whispering again.
-"i'm a thief, curly!" says she after a while. "i've stolen your life and dad's. i've taken all you gave me. i don't deserve it."
-"oh, yes, you do," says i; "you deserved all we done for you. we loved you, honey, and we do now."
-"but you can't any more, curly," says she. "i've been a thief. i've stolen your lives--from you two big, splendid men. but, oh! give me my hour--the one hour out of all my life.
-"i stole from him too--from tom," says she. "i've taken from him what i didn't pay for and can't. i never can. at least i can't until i've had--my hour.
-"a woman has to face things all her life, curly," says she; "and always she says: 'well, let it be!' she takes her losses, curly, and sometimes she forgets. but if she ever forgets what is in my heart tonight--if she forgets that--then life is never worth while to her again. there's nothing to do then--it's all a sham and a fraud. if that's what life means i don't want to live any more."
-"bonnie," says i, "you mustn't talk that way." i sort of drew her down on my knee now, and pushed her hair back and looked at her. "listen at you--you that used to be up in the morning so early and hoorahing all through the ranch--your cheeks red with the sun, and your hair blowing, and your eyes like a deer's! why, nothing but life was in the world for you then--nothing but just being alive."
-"i wasn't a woman then, curly," says she. "i didn't know."
-"i didn't neither," says i; "and i don't know now."
-"you can't," says she. "it's terrible! i'm--i think i'll go now."
-she taken herself off my knee then; and, the first thing i know, she was gone.
-i stayed there looking at the place where she'd been. i knew that now there shore was hell to pay!
-how bonnie bell left us all
-i never went to bed none at all that night. i couldn't of slept, nohow. i set there in the ranch room thinking and trying to figure out what i had ought to do. i concluded that might depend some on what bonnie bell was going to do; and i couldn't tell what that was, for she didn't seem clear about it herself.
-along about daybreak, maybe sooner, when i set there--maybe i'd been asleep once or twice a little--i heard the noise of a car going out not far from us. i suppose, like enough, it was over at the wisners'; maybe some of their folks was going or coming. in the city, folks don't use the way they do on a ranch and night goes on about the same as daytime.
-i'd been studying so hard over all these things, trying to see how i'd have to play the game, that i didn't notice old man wright when he come in that morning, about the time he usual got up for breakfast. he wasn't worried none, but seemed right happy, like something was clear in his mind.
-"well, curly," says he, "you're up right early, ain't you? what makes you so keen to hear the little birds sing this morning?"
-he fills up his pipe. i didn't say nothing.
-"well," says he after a time, smoking and looking out the window, "i suppose i'm a fond parent again right now. maybe i'll be a grandpa before long--who can tell? i never did figure on being a grandpa in my born days," says he; "but such is life."
-"what do you mean, colonel?" i ast him.
-"well," says he, "i ain't a real grandpa yet, maybe, but i reckon it's like enough. all them flowers and that sort of thing--and that late executive session last night. when's the day?"
-he still looks right contented. what could i say to him then?
-"too bad," says he, "you couldn't of stayed up to get the happy news, curly!" says he. "i expect tom kimberly would of been right glad to tell you or me; but i knew how the thing was going. i been a young man once myself. he don't want old people setting round--he wants the whole field clear for hisself. it takes young folks several hours sometimes to set and tell things to each other that could be told in just a minute. proposing is a industrial waste, the way it's done customary.
-"well, well!" he goes on. "i'm glad my little girl's going to be so happy. she's a good girl and she loves her pa. sometimes i even think she's right fond of you, curly," says he. "i can't see why. you're a mighty trifling man, curly," says he. "i don't see why i keep you."
-then i knowed he was feeling good. he wouldn't turn me off noways in the world, but he liked to joke thataway sometimes.
-"well," says he after a while, "what do you say about it your own self, curly?"
-"i say she loves you as much as any girl ever did her pa. she loves me, too, though i don't know why, neither."
-"shore she does!" he nods. "and she'll do the square thing by us two--that's shore."
-"is it?" says i. "well, who knows what's the square thing in the world? sometimes it's hard to tell what is."
-"that's so," says he, thoughtful. "sometimes it is. i might of liked some other man better'n tom, maybe, if there'd been any other man; but there isn't. i'm glad she's taken him. he'll turn out all right. he's a good boy and his folks is good. he'll come out all right--don't you worry."
-"no," says i; "i reckon it'll do no good to worry, colonel."
-"what do you mean?" says he. "ain't it all right?" says he.
-"that remains to be saw," says i.
-"she accepts him, don't she?"
-"if i knew i'd tell you," says i; "but i don't know for shore."
-"of course," he says to me, "the girl wouldn't be apt to talk very free to you about it, especial since you was in bed."
-"was i?" says i. "oh, all right, if i was in bed! if i didn't talk to bonnie bell a while here last night, then everything is done, and i'm glad to know it."
-"well, where's she now?" says he. "i'm hungry as all get out; and you know i can't eat till she comes down to breakfast--i've got to have her setting right across the table from me, like her ma used to set. oh, hum! i suppose some day she won't be setting there no more. just you and me'll be setting there, looking at each other like two damn old fools. that's what fathers is for, curly," says he. "that's the best they can get out of the draw.
-"well, that's what i've been living for ever since she was knee-high--just to make her happy; just to give her, like her ma told me i must, the place in life that she had coming to her. no little calico dress and a wide hat for miss mary isabel wright now, i reckon, curly. her game is different now. them better things is coming her way, i reckon now, curly. she's left the ranch and is playing a bigger game--and she's won it. well, i'll tell 'em both how glad i am; but i wisht she'd come down to breakfast, for i'm getting right hungry."
-she didn't come. i couldn't say anything to him yet, for i didn't exactly know what the truth was; bonnie bell hadn't told me whether or not she accepted tom, but only said he was going to come back again. i wisht she'd come down and take this thing off my hands, for i was getting cold feet as shore as you're born.
-he walks up and down, getting hungrier all the time, and singing "tom bass he was a ranger!" but she didn't come. at last he calls our william; and says he to william:
-"go send annette up to ask miss bonnie if she's ready for breakfast."
-"yes, sir; very well, sir. hit's all growing quite cold, sir," says william; and he went away.
-he come back in a few minutes and stood in the door and said his ahum! like he always did, and the old man turned to him.
-"beg pardon, sir, but miss wright's mide says miss wright 'as not come in."
-"not come in! what do you mean?"
-"she's not in her room, sir. the mide thinks she's not been in her room during the night."
-"what's that? what's that?" says he. "curly, didn't you just now say she was here? wasn't you up after i was?"
-"i seen her around midnight," says i--"maybe later; i don't know. i thought she went to bed. i never did hear her go out. she couldn't of gone out--i'd of heard her."
-"you'd of heard her! with you in bed yourself? what do you mean?"
-the old man turned to me now and seen my face. he come close up to me.
-"where was you?" says he. "what do you mean?"
-"colonel," says i, "she was here after midnight. i ain't been to bed at all tonight."
-"what did she say to you? why didn't you go to bed? where is she? what have you done?"
-"i ain't done nothing," says i. "i've been trying to talk to you for days, and i couldn't. i didn't know what to do. i didn't want to interfere in any girl's business and this shore is hers."
-"it's hers?" says he, cold and hard. "i'm in this too. there's something in here that's got to come out. come!" says he.
-he motioned to me and i followed him up the staircase to the part of the house that was bonnie bell's--the second story and on the corner toward the lake. she had a fine, big bedroom, with wide windows, all the wood in white, and all the silks a sort of pale green.
-we walked into the room; and he didn't knock. the room was empty! her bed hadn't been slept in. on a chair, smoothed out, was her pale blue dress, which i remembered.
-"that's the one she wore last," says i, pointing to it. "she's changed it."
-"she's--she's gone!" says her pa. "gone--without asking me--without telling me! where's she gone? tell me, curly. has--has anybody---- my girl--where is she? tell me!"
-he had hold of my shoulders then and shook me; and i ain't no chicken neither.
-i got a look at the bed then, and there was something on the pillow. i showed it to him. it was a letter.
-if you've ever seen a man shot, you know how it gets him. he'll stand for a time like he ain't hurt so bad. then his face'll pucker, surprised, and he'll begin to crumble down slow. that was the way old man wright done when he read the letter. it was like he was shot and trying to stand and couldn't, only a little while.
-"she's--she's gone!" says he, like he was talking, to someone else. "she's run away--from me! she's gone, curly!" he says it over again, and this time so loud you could of heard it for a block. "our girl's left here--left her father after all! curly, tell me, what was this? could she--did she---- how could she?"
-i taken the piece of paper from his hand when he didn't see me. it said:
-well, that was all. the letter had been all over wet--and a man can't cry.
-"curly," says her pa to me--"why, curly, it can't be! she's hiding--she's just joking; she wouldn't do this with her old pa. she's scared me awful. come on, let's find her, and tell her she mustn't do this way no more. there's some things a man can't stand."
-"colonel," says i, "we got to stand it. she's gone and it ain't no joke."
-"how do you know?" he turned on me savage now. "damn you! what do you know? there's nothing wrong about my girl--you don't dare to tell me that there is! she couldn't do no wrong; it wasn't in her."
-"no," says i; "she wouldn't do anything but what she thought was right, i reckon. but, you see, you and me, we never knew her at all. i didn't till last night about half past twelve or one o'clock."
-"what do you mean? what did she say?"
-"she told me she'd got to be a woman."
-he stood and looked at me; and now i seen i had to come through, for the girl couldn't be saved no more.
-"oh, hell, colonel," says i, "i might of known all along the thing would have to come out--it was due to break some day. i ought to of told you, of course."
-"what do you mean?" says he; and he caught me once more in his hands--he's strong too.
-"turn me loose, colonel!" says i. "there can't no man put hands on me--i won't have it. i worked for you all my life pretty near, and i done right, near as i knew. turn loose of me!"
-he let go easy like, but kept his eyes on me.
-"i want to be fair," says he, and he half whispered--"i want to be fair; but, the man that's done this'll have to settle with me! tell me, did you and her plot against me?"
-"i didn't plot none," says i. "i was only hoping she'd forget all about it and get married and settle down."
-"forget about what? did she have any affairs that you knew about?"
-i nods then. i was glad to get it off'n my mind.
-"yes," says i; "she did."
-"who was it, curly?" says he, quiet.
-"it was the man next door--the wisners' hired man," says i.
-i'd rather of shot old man wright and killed him decent than say what i did then.
-"you're a damn liar!" says he to me at length, quiet like.
-"colonel," says i, "you can't call that to me, nor no other man, and you know it."
-"i do call it to you!" says he. "my girl couldn't of done that."
-"i wish i was a liar, colonel," says i; "but i ain't. i'll give you one day to take that back, and you ain't going to study about no proofs neither. i've worked for you a long time. i've loved the girl like you did. it ain't no way for you to do to talk thataway to me. i'll say i've knew this some time and tried to stop it--it was my business to stop it. i tried a hundred times to tell you about it, but i couldn't without pretty near killing her and you too. she ast me not to tell you and--why, hell! i loved her, same as you did."
-"how far has it gone, curly?" says he. he come over now and patted his hand up and down my shoulder, looking away, which was his way of saying he was sorry. "don't mind me, curly," says he. "i'm crazy! you mustn't mind me, but tell me all you know now. i know you couldn't lie to either of us if you tried."
-"yes, i could too," says i; "but i haven't tried. but i just couldn't go to you and tell you all this thing, for i knew what it would mean to you.
-"it's been going on quietlike for quite a while and i've been doing all i could to stop it. it begun maybe when she hauled him out of the lake--i don't know. they didn't meet often. i heard 'em talking once on the dock, and i told him i'd run him off if he come across the fence or said another word to her. she begged for him then; but i never promised her nothing. i knew it was my job as your foreman to take care of that, so i didn't go to you."
-"go on," says he. "tell me!"
-"she didn't say nothing to him for a long time--she didn't meet him, not after she said she wouldn't. then he sent letters over--tied to the collar of our little dog--two or three letters; maybe four or five, for all i know. he was crazy over her. all the time he owned up to her and me that he oughtn't to do what he done. he said in his letters he oughtn't to raise his eyes to her--he knowed he ought to of come around to the front door and not to the back door; and he said that very thing. but he said, like a man will, that he couldn't help it.
-"she didn't never answer his letters, so far as i know. i don't know as she ever got any word to him at all. so far as i know, they never did talk much, only that one time when i heard 'em. but, as to something going on--why, yes, it's been going on for quite a little while. and i've knew it; i've knew i ought to go and tell you. and all the time i couldn't, because i loved her and she ast me not to tell."
-"did she ever tell you anything? do you think she cared anyway for him? you see," he goes on, "i never seen him to know him. i don't know who he is. i didn't hardly know he was alive on earth. gawd forgive me! i ought to of known. i told her once not to talk to that hired man; but if i'd thought anything of this i'd maybe of killed him then."
-"yes; and i ought to of told you, colonel," says i. "it was only the way things happened and because she ast me not to."
-"she had that secret from her father!" says he, slow. "who can tell what's in a woman's heart?"
-"that's it," says i; "now you got it. she was a woman--she told me so."
-"what more did she say, curly?"
-"once she come to me crying, and she says, 'curly, i love him!'--she meant that man next door. and i know for shore now he wasn't fit to wipe her feet on."
-old man wright he set down then, quiet like. i couldn't help him none, i had to set and see him take it. it was awful.
-"she said that--she loved him? how long ago?"
-"a few weeks, maybe," says i. "i never could get the nerve to tell you then. i hoped she'd get to see how foolish it was for her to care for a cheap gardener--i thought she'd be too proud for that. and then i allowed she'd, like enough, marry tom kimberly, and that'd change her and it'd all come out all right. all the time i was hoping and trying to save both her and you. i been nigh about crazy, colonel. and all the time, of course, i was only a damn fool cowpuncher, without any brains."
-"she's gone!" says he, after a time.
-"yes," says i; "near as i can figure, she's thought about it all night and concluded it'd be best for her not to marry tom, feeling like she did about this other man. she's shook us, colonel. but, believe me, she wasn't never happy doing that. it must of been like death to her."
-"why did she do it, curly?" he whispered. "how could she? why?"
-"i done told you, colonel," says i. "it was because she found she was a woman. she hadn't knew that before--nor us neither."
-at length he got up, but he couldn't stand up straight.
-"how can we keep this quiet?" says he.
-we couldn't keep it quiet at all. it was all over the house right now. that annette girl had read all them peanut letters before william ever got 'em. like enough he'd read 'em too. they was scared when we walked into their part of the house.
-"where's that dog?" says old man wright.
-william, he got pale.
-"very good, sir," says he, and pretends to go after peanut, which he knows wasn't there.
-"hi suppose she took 'im along with 'er, sir," says william after a while.
-annette she chips in:
-"oui, oui--yes, yes; she took him with her."
-"took him with her? what do you mean? what do you know about it? keep quiet, you people!" says old man wright. "get into that room!" he locked them in.
-"now, curly----" says he.
-i knew he was clear in his own mind by now that the girl had run away with that gardener. he'd maybe go over there.
-"no, colonel," says i; "you keep out of this."
-"what do you mean?" says he. "ain't you my friend at all? ain't i got a friend in all the world?"
-"you're alderman here," i says, "and that's the same as being sher'f. when you was sher'f you couldn't do what the law said you couldn't--now could you? you have to keep up the law when you're a alderman or sher'f. with me, it's different. besides, this is my job, not yours."
-"curly," says he, and i could see his jaw get hard all along the aidge, "curly, ain't there no place on earth for a pore old broken-hearted man?"
-"never mind just yet, colonel," says i. "it ain't your turn," says i--"that's all. sometimes," i says to him, "it's best to go a little slow at first and not make no foolish breaks. let's just take it easy till we see which way the cat has jumped--we don't know much yet."
-"she--she wouldn't kill herself?" says he sudden; and he got even whiter.
-"i don't think so," i says; "and i'll tell you why. i don't think she was thinking so much of dying when she said 'i am a woman.' it was life!"
-he looked at me quiet.
-"she said that?"
-"uh-huh!--sever'l times. and it was like you said, colonel, after all. there ain't no fence high enough to keep a young man and a young woman apart. it was bound to come, and we didn't know it--that's all."
-"we give her every chance. there was tom."
-"yes," says i; "and there was the man next door. these things goes by guess and by gawd. for instance," says i, "what in the world could bonnie bell's ma ever see in you, colonel?"
-that hit him hard, though i didn't mean it that way. he turned his face away, like he seen something awful before him.
-"my gawd!" says he. "i done that my own self! i stole her ma away. she loved me and i loved her. ain't there no one to show a pore old helpless man what he ought to do?"
-"it's life, and she showed us the way," says i. "when you stole bonnie bell's ma you was ready to meet her folks, i reckon, if they come to take her away. you taken your chance when you married her. so's the man that's run off with bonnie bell. let him have a even break, colonel. he loves her, maybe--and he seems to have a way with women."
-"he's ruined her!" says old man wright. "it's marriage he was after, of course; but look at the difference. i never touched a cent of her ma's money. we made our own way. but here's a low-down sneak that's come in at our back door and run away with my girl for her money! don't you see the difference? what's this skunk like?" he says to me after a time.
-"they all are--the damn fortune-hunting curs! i can believe that."
-"i was too much a coward to tell you, colonel," says i. "i love that girl a awful lot. i'd do anything i could to help the kid, even now when she's in so bad."
-"yes," says he.
-"she had it in her natural," says i. "her pa and ma run away. she was plumb gentle till she bolted--and then all hell couldn't hold her. ain't that like her pa?"
-"yes," says he, humble; "it's like her pa."
-"and she's handsome, and soft, and kind, and gentle--so any man couldn't help loving her. ain't she like her ma thataway? wasn't she thataway too?"
-"yes," says he, choking up like; "she's like her ma."
-"well, then?" says i. "well then?"
-so i pushed him outen the room and went on out down the walk.
-i looked around at our house as i was going out. it was big and fine, but somehow the curtains looked dull and dirty to me. everything was shabby-looking someways. this place was where we'd failed. and then i seemed to see my own self like i was--curly, a bow-legged cowpuncher offen the range, with no use for him in the world but just to get things mixed up, like i had. and old man wright--that used to be our sher'f and the captain of the round-up, and the best cowman in wyoming--what had come to him here at this place?
-i turned around to look back. just then he come out the room where i'd pushed him in.
-he was a tall man, but now he stood stooped down like. his red mustache was ragged where he'd gnawed the ends for the last half hour. his face seemed different colors and wasn't red like usual. he seemed to have got leaner all at once. his knees didn't seem to keep under him good and his back was bowed. he'd changed a lot in less than a hour. he seemed to be thinking of what i was thinking of, and he sort of taken a look around at the house too.
-"i made it, curly," says he, and his voice was sort of loose and trembling, like he was old. "i made it for her. i made a lot of money for her. i tried to make her believe i was happy here, but i never was. i ain't been happy here, not a hour since we come. it's all been a mistake."
-he hammers his fist on the wall by the door where he stood.
-"brick on brick," says he, "i built it for her. i pretended i liked all these things, but i didn't care a damn for 'em. it's all been a bluff; we've bluffed to each other and we've all been wrong. it's been a failure; all we tried to do for her has been no good. she's throwed us down. curly, i don't count for nothing no more."
-it was true, all he'd said. we'd played our little game and lost it. i never felt so bow-legged in my life, or so red-headed, as i did when i turned to walk down from our house to wisner's. i looked back just once. there was old man wright standing in the door, tall and bent over, a hand against each side of the door frame.
-i left him there, holding onto the frame of the front door of what he called our home, that he'd worked so hard for--that we'd both tried so hard to make her happy in. he'd found one game at last where he couldn't win.
-and she'd shook us now--our girl--shook us for a man that never had knocked at our front door!
-me and them
-i was almost down to our front gate, with half a notion to go over and have a talk with them wisner people, when i heard our william calling to me; he'd got out of the room where we locked him up and run around the back of the house.
-"oh, mr. wilson! mr. wilson!" says he. "hi beg of you, don't!" says he; and he come running after me.
-"what's the matter with you?" i ast him.
-"hi beg your pardon, sir," says he; "but hi'm most deeply concerned in hall of this," he says.
-"what do you mean, you shrimp?" says i. "have you been mixed up in anything here?"
-"hit was the mide across the way, sir--across the wall, that is to say. well, perhaps hi've been too attentive to their hemmy, sir, from the hupper-story window; but she was that pretty and so fond of me! hi 'ope hi did no wrong, sir; but you see, sometimes when all was quite still, sir, hi did flash a light across from my window on 'ers, and we did 'ave a 'appy time, sir, come midnight--quite silent, sir, and quite far apart; quite respectable, hi assure you, sir--nothing more--all above the wall; for otherwise hi couldn't 'ave seen 'er at all."
-"was you busy with that sort of thing about one or two o'clock this morning?" i ast him. "i want to know what you done--what happened?"
-"a great deal 'appened, sir. quite without plan, i saw a man appear at the window of this 'ouse across the wall; 'e was right by the window and looking across. at first hi thought 'e was looking at my window and hi stepped back, not wishing to compromise a lady like hemmy--that being the 'ousemide's name across the wall, sir."
-"what was this man doing?"
-"hi cawn't 'ardly tell, sir. 'e looked and 'e made some motions. there seemed a light on 'is window too; in fact, all between the two 'ouses seemed quite bright at the time, what with 'im and what with me. a short time afterwards a car went out."
-i turned on down toward the gate.
-"oh, hi beg of you," says he, "to say nothing over there. knowing as hi do that both you and mr. wright are very violent men, and caring as hi do for hemmy, the 'ousemide, sir, hi feel most uneasy--hi do, indeed."
-"well, if that's the way you feel, william," says i, "you go on back in the house."
-"you don't mean any violence, hi 'ope, sir?"
-"i don't know yet what i mean; but go on back in."
-he turns around just about in time, for now i seen two or three people coming in at our front gate. i didn't know any of them. they was young fellows. one of them ast me if i knew anything about the alleged elopement. then i seen word had got out somehow--like enough from our annette or their emmy, and these was maybe newspaper reporters come up to see about it.
-"i haven't heard of any elopement," says i. "i was just calling our butler down for flirting some with one of their hired girls over there."
-"may we talk to your butler?" ast one of them.
-"no; you can't," says i, "because he's gone in to see about breakfast."
-one of the young fellows looked up and sort of scratched his head with a lead pencil.
-"i say," says he, "are we on a high love story or one of the servants' quarters? tell us, friend"--he says to me--"can't you help us out on this?"
-"it ain't in my line of business," says i; "but it seems plain, if their hired man has run away with our maid, or our butler run away with theirs, it ain't story enough to bother a alderman or his foreman about before breakfast."
-"well, lemme get a picture of the wall, anyways," says he; and he done that before i could help it.
-"have you got one of your butler?" he ast.
-"no, we ain't; and you can't get none. we don't bother about the lower classes," says i.
-so they laughed and bimeby went on away. i give them some cigarettes--all i had; and they said i was a good scout, like enough.
-well, of all the papers that tried to get a story that morning, not one printed a word except one. it come out with about a colyum in the paper all about a mysterious disappearance in millionaire row. it allowed that nobody could tell who had disappeared, but some said that old man wisner had run off with one of alderman wright's hired girls, and others said that old man wright had eloped with mrs. wisner, while others declared that the wrights' butler had eloped with the second-floor maid of the wisner household; though still others insisted the wisner gardener had disappeared with the heiress of alderman wright, the well-known citizen whose re-election at the coming term was practically assured.
-that paper printed some pictures too--one of old man wisner and one of bonnie bell, allowing that he was our butler and the one of bonnie bell was the picture of the second-floor maid of the wisner household. i reckon they had them pictures already in their newspaper office. but they printed a new picture of the wisner wall and said some more funny things about that, like they had before.
-this wasn't no funny time for us. the next day there was a big fire or something, and all those people got to writing about something else; and they let us alone.
-after they'd gone away that morning old man wright ast me if i'd learned anything. then i told him about how william had made signs that morning across the wall to people in that house.
-"now it seems to me like this, colonel," says i: "i never went to sleep that night, and neither did bonnie bell. when she seen them lights on the windows, maybe she went to her own window. he was maybe standing there and seen her. maybe she seen him. maybe all at once it come over her that she'd have to--she'd have to---- well, you know what i mean."
-he nodded then.
-"you see, it must of come over the pore girl all at once," says i; for, to save my life, i couldn't help trying to excuse her every way i could. "she hadn't sent no word over to him and he hadn't got no word to her for weeks so far as i knew. it must of all come to them both just in that one minute. it was like cap and powder--you can't help the explosion then. i reckon maybe she's somewhere--with him."
-"yes; with him!" breaks out old man wright. "it was neck against neck--me and wisner. i had him beat; i'd of had him on his knees. and now he's put the greatest disgrace on us any man could of figured out, no matter how hard he tried--his hired man has run away with my daughter! i could of laughed at wisner once. can i laugh at him now?"
-"that ain't the worst," says i.
-"no," says he; "it ain't the worst. the worst is, she's married a low-down cur that's been after her money all this time. all this time, curly--and i didn't know it. and you let him go thataway--right here; you heard the wheels that took 'em away!"
-"yes, colonel," says i; "that's true. now it's a little late, but i'm going to get on this job the best i know how from this time down. that means i've got to go away from town for a little while, colonel. i want you to set here and leave this thing to me. please don't say 'no' to that. i may need you after a while--in case i locate them. since the newspapers has got fooled by this thing we pulled off this morning, maybe the best thing i can do is to go away while things is quiet.
-"stay here, then, colonel," says i. "don't drink no more and no less than you been doing. if anybody comes tell them bonnie bell is sick. wait till you hear from me."
-how i went back
-i argued that when you look for a man who has done a crime you got to figure on what he said and done last, so as to get a line on what he's going to do next; and when i come to study over that hired man had mostly said to me i remembered it was about wyoming and ropes and cows--things like that. i knowed he was batty, like so many people is, about western things--not that western men is any different from anybody else, though a lot of people think they are.
-now i figured that the place he'd make a break to was, like enough, the range. he'd told me he knowed the circle arrow, too, his boss being a whole lot interested in the circle arrow.
-i put one thing together with another; and, without saying anything to old man wright about it, i bought a ticket for the yellow bull country and pulled out for there as fast as i could go.
-it was a good bet. when i got to the station for our old ranch, below cody, forty miles from where our ranch was when we lived there, there wasn't very many people around the station that i knew. a good many new men was there, with wide hats, and leggings on their legs, and breeches that buttons on the side--folks that had come out west to be right western. most of 'em come out to raise bananas on the yellow bull and be gentlemen farmers, i reckon.
-i looks around among these people for a good while. none of them paid much attention to me. at last i seen him. yes; it was that hired man. he was getting ready to drive out of town with a pair of mules hitched to a buckboard. he was fixing in some boxes and things. i knowed him in a minute.
-but where was she? i waited to see if bonnie bell would come out anywhere; but she didn't.
-i walked over to him; and he seen me standing there looking at him just as he was going to pull out. i went on over and got onto the seat with him.
-"drive right on straight out of town," says i, quiet. "don't say anything. just act like nothing had happened," says i.
-under my coat i pushed the muzzle of my gun into his ribs. he looked straight ahead and done what i told him to. if he was scared bad he didn't let on.
-"i haven't got any gun," says he after a while. "i don't pack one."
-"i haven't packed one for years myself," says i. "sometimes a man has to pack one for coyotes and such things," says i.
-he got kind of red in his face, but he didn't say anything.
-"i'm just that kind of a man--when it comes to a show-down i don't care what happens," says i. "and i reckon you see it's a show-down now. tell me where she is."
-"she's out at our place," says he; "forty miles or so--you know where it is. i've got the arrow head spring homestead; i bought it a while ago. i've got a few cows--not many. you see," says he, "i've saved a little money--not a whole lot. our property isn't paid for yet. we've got a quarter section, but you know the range is in back of it. we think we can make some sort of a start."
-"with her? her that was used to so much?" says i. "are you married? but, of course, that was what you was after--her money, not her."
-he flushed plumb red then, and sort of swallowed several times.
-"you think high of me and her, don't you, curly?" says he.
-i seen that, after all, i was too late; and my gun dropped down into the bottom of the buckboard, and neither of us noticed it.
-"you married her--our girl," says i, "that we'd tried so hard to get a place for? she could of owned the whole ranch--and you give her forty acres, part paid for! that's fine--for the girl we loved so much!"
-"you don't love her no more than i do," says he. "you never tried harder for her than i'll try for her. love--why, what do you know about it? if she hadn't loved me do you think she'd of done what she done and run away with me? do you think she'd of broke her father's heart and forgot all that had been done for her if it hadn't been for love? if it hadn't been for thinking of those things we'd be the happiest two young fools in all the world. we are now! she's some happy anyway. but it breaks my own heart to think she isn't any happier."
-after a while he goes on:
-"what could i do, curly? it's a awful thing to love a woman this way; it's a terrible thing. there's no sense nor reason about it at all," says he. "but now if i only could have had any decent chance----"
-"pick up your gun," says he after a while; "it might fall out."
-we rode on for quite a while. he made like he was going to reach into his pocket for something and i covered him quick, but he only hauled out a piece of arrow head plug. he offered me a chaw, absent-minded.
-"no," says i; "i can't take no chaw of tobacco with such as you."
-he put it back in his pocket, then, and didn't take none his own self. his face was right red and troubled now.
-"curly," says he, "what am i going to do? what's right to do? i hadn't much to give up, but such as it was i give it up gladly for her; i'd give up everything in the world--if i had everything--for her. that's what she means to me," says he. "we are so much to one another that i haven't any time to be scared of you. we haven't got around to that yet--not that i'm so cheap as to believe you're bluffing; i know you're not."
-"if you want to kill her too," says he, "all right--then shoot me down. ride on out then and explain to her what you've done. look at her face the way it will be then. maybe you can tell then whether she cares anything for me or not. do you want to see a woman's face looking thataway--see it all your life? and do you think you can square things or end things by killing me or her, or both of us? maybe you'd murder more--who knows? we're man and wife. would that square things, curly? i don't know much myself, but i don't seem to think it would."
-it was curious, but it seemed like it was true--he didn't seem to have got around to thinking of whether he was in danger or not. and i knowed he wasn't running any cheap bluff, neither, any more than me. he looked right on ahead and didn't pay no attention to my gun.
-"curly," says he, "you didn't make this and you can't end it. this is a case of man and woman, the way god made them. 'male and female made he them.' if i died today--if she did too--i'd thank god that we had gone this far anyways together.
-"why," says he, going on like he was half talking to hisself, "i didn't believe in anything much--i was a atheist and a socialist--till i saw her. i couldn't see anything much worth while in the world--till i saw her. i didn't want to do or be anything much--till i saw her. and now, i see it all--everything! i see how much worth while the world is, and how much worth while she is and i am, and how much worth while other people are too. i just didn't know it before--till i saw her. then i knew what life was all about. do you think you can settle this now, or help it, curly? no; it's too late."
-we drove on quite a little way yet.
-"curly," says he at last, "i've made my talk. if any man says i married bonnie bell for anything but love--the best and cleanest of love--he's making the cruelest mistake in the world; and he's a damned liar too. you ask her, curly."
-"what's that?" says i. "me ask her? i didn't come for that. i couldn't look at her. that girl can get my goat any station. i don't want to talk to her."
-"but you wouldn't of lynched a cow thief on the range in the old days on such a showing as this."
-"thief?" says i to him. "she said she was a thief--she'd stole the life and happiness of her pa and others----"
-"that's true," says he quiet like. "when you think of it, all life is only a theft every way. each human being steals from all others. that's the way the world goes on. the coming generation steals always from the one that has gone by. tell me, is that wrong? and tell me, can you and i judge if it is?"
-i set and thought for quite a while, trying to figure out things. i couldn't. at last i reached up and threw my gun away into the sage.
-how i quit old man wright
-i went back to the railroad station as soon as a wagon come along that would give me a ride, about half a hour after i left the hired man in the buckboard. then i went on up to cody. when i got there i done what anybody who knows cowpunchers knows i'd do in them circumstances. i certainly did run true to form.
-first, i went to the telegraph office and sent a telegram to old man wright: "don't do nothing till you hear from me." next, i showed i was a good business man by going and buying a railroad ticket back to chicago; and i left it and ten dollars with the clerk at the hotel.
-it might of been seven or eight days i was busy celebrating my losing my job like a cowpuncher almost always does. having so much money it took me quite a while to finish decorating cody the way i liked it best. still, after a while, being down to ten dollars and the railroad ticket, i concluded to go back home.
-when i got back to chicago i found old man wright setting right where i'd left him and he looked like he really hadn't done nothing since. his hair was right long and his face was full of whiskers.
-"well, i found 'em," says i.
-"what did you do, curly?" says he.
-"i didn't shoot him none," says i. "so to speak, he taken my gun away from me."
-"huh! where is she? how is she?"
-i had to tell him i didn't bring no word from bonnie bell at all, and hadn't seen her even.
-"i couldn't stand it, colonel," says i. "he made a awful strong talk to me, colonel," says i.
-he didn't say nothing for a long time. he begin to talk right slow then.
-"i thought i had one friend in the world," says he, "one man i could rest on. but even you've gone back on me--even you failed me, curly."
-he only set and looked at me, and i had a hard time trying to talk. i told him where them two was living.
-then all at once the whole picture of the old days, when him and me was young, seemed to come up before him. he flared up like only part of him had been afire inside. he got up and walked up and down, with his hands clinched tight.
-"damn you all!" says he, and his eyes was like coals now. "what have i done to any of you? what have i done wrong to anybody that i should deserve this? can't you remember when you was a man, curly? can't you remember when you and me set on the gate of the big pasture, with our rifles acrost our knees, and waited for them sheepmen to come up and try to get them sheep through us? did they get through? no; no one had us buffaloed. that was when you and me was men, curly.
-"what have we done now? we let this damn hypocrite, dave wisner, get the best of us all the way down the line. he's married his hired man to my girl; and he's set up that hired man out on the old home ranch, where her ma and me made our first start. could anything be harder for me to bear than that? you was on the gate, curly; and you let 'em through."
-"he said they was plumb happy--them two, colonel," says i. "what in hell could i do, colonel? it all come over me. i could see the sun shining; i could feel the wind blowing again, like it was in the old days."
-"happy!" says he. he was half whispering now and his voice was like that of a right old man. "happy! so was i--so was her ma--out there in the old log house, with the mountains, and the sun shining, and the wind blowing. curly," says he, "what made her throw her life away? what made us come here at all?"
-"i wish you'd stake me to some ham and aigs, colonel," says i, "before i go. i met a fellow a while back that was broke; so i haven't et much."
-"go eat, man," says he, "and don't talk to me about going away."
-"what's that?" says i.
-"you're a damn, worthless, trifling cowhand and you'll never be anything different. i ought to fire you--ought to of done it long ago; but i fire my own men--they don't fire theirselfs. go eat."
-"can't you eat none now, too, colonel?" i ast him.
-"not yet," says he. "maybe after a while."
-i went out and got the first square meal i'd had for two days. when i couldn't eat no more right then, i sort of taken a pasear around the house, which was looking like hell by now. when i come back i seen a electric brougham out at our front yard. tom kimberly was just coming in. out in the brougham i seen two girls. one was katherine and the other seemed like it was sally henderson.
-"i shan't try to say anything, mr. wright," says tom kimberly after a while to the old man--"only, whatever bonnie bell's done, she's done because she's thought it was best. she's tried to do what was honest and fair. if she didn't love me it wouldn't have been fair to marry me. she never said she'd marry me; she said she'd tell me sometime. it was her right to decide for herself. i wish her well, hard as that is for me to say."
-"yes; i know," says the old man. "she was a fine girl, tom. but she ain't the only one in the world at that; and she had freckles, some--they get worse when they get old. there's plenty girls in the world handsomer'n her--always is plenty. if i hadn't happened to marry her ma, tom, i'd of married any other of half a dozen more girls, like, just as they come along. they're all alike, anyways, you see; so don't take it hard."
-he was a damn old liar! he never would of married no other woman in the world but the one he did marry, and he knew it; but he was trying to make tom feel more comfortable. so tom he set there and lit a cigarette. his trousers was right short, and when he hitched 'em up i seen he wore garters--blue ones. i was reconciled then.
-after a time he got up and said good-by to us. then he went out to where the brougham was standing in the street. one of the girls inside opened the door for him to get in--maybe sally henderson.
-the hole in the wall
-a paper come out, with a picture of the wisner fence, showing the place where the hole had been broke through. it was marked with a star to show where it was at. the man that wrote the story said here was a modern case of pyramus and thisbe. who they was i don't know; but like enough they lived on the south side. there was pictures this time of our william and their emmy. i didn't read any more about the thing, for i was sore on the whole business, and considerable worried about old man wright, what he was going to do. but at part of the piece it said something i happened to see.
-i read that far to old man wright and then he broke out.
-"war loan!" says he. "it's a loan for his own self that he's looking for. he's lost four million dollars on that irrigation scheme of his when he bought our ranch. now i'm going to foreclose and he knows it. he's got his funds tied up in cargoes of meat and grain that ain't cashed in. he's short, and damn short! and i know it; and these are times when banks ain't loosening much. war--yes; i'll show him war! there can't nobody get title to a foot of that land till old man wisner gets his title from me--and he ain't never going to get it. if it's my last act i'll ruin him. i trusted you, and you turned me down. i trusted her, and she threw me down. i won't trust nobody no more, except myself.
-"what's it come to?" says he to hisself after a while, looking around at the big rooms. "what did it all come to, what i done for her? and i give up the ranch for her and give up the life i loved!"
-"the sun was on the hills when i was out there, colonel," says i to him, sudden, happening to think of something, "and the sky was blue as it ever was; and the wind was just carrying the smell of the sage, like it used to; and the river was running white on the riffles, same as it did before. and the cows----"
-"don't, curly!" says he. "don't!"
-"i won't no more, colonel," says i. "i won't be on your pay roll much longer; but them old days----"
-"don't!" says he. "i can't think about the old days no more. i'm closing the books now, curly."
-"so'm i," says i.
-"what do you mean?" says he. "i ain't right clear about some things."
-"no; you ain't," says i. "so long as it's fair war i'm in with you; but when it comes to making war on women and children--i ain't in."
-"children! curly, what do you mean?"
-"children," says i, "is all there is to things. buck the game the way you want to, colonel," says i; "but when you buck the child game you're bucking god almighty his own self. he's got it framed up so he can't lose. them two couldn't help theirselfs. i've got to finish some day, same as you. all right; i'll finish with them."
-then i shooked hands with him and he done so with me. he looks me keen in the eyes and i looks him keen back. we didn't neither of us weaken. this was a heap the hardest thing we'd ever faced together, but we didn't neither of us flicker. we'd both decided what we thought was right.
-"son," says he after a while, "you're some man after all." and he puts his hand on my shoulder; like he used to.
-"she ain't got no ma," says i to him the last thing. "i'm half her pa, the only half she's got left; and i'll stick if her father don't. but she ain't got no ma. that's what makes me so sorry for the kid," says i.
-he looks at me, with his eyes wide open, but he don't talk none.
-"i seen her setting right there, colonel," says i, "in this room, on our old hide lounge--her wringing her hands like she'd tear 'em apart. she was bucking a hard game then, and doing her best to play it fair--her just a kid, with no special chance to be so very wise, and not having no ma. she didn't have a soul to go to, and all that was worrying her was which side of the game she really was on. for she knowed, even if we didn't, like i told you just now--she must of knowed it somehow--there's one particular game that god almighty plays so he can't lose."
-he groaned like i hated to hear. but he didn't weaken. i knowed he couldn't quit.
-how the game broke
-today was the day old man wisner was to get home; and that evening me and old man wright laid out to go over there and have a talk with him. so a lot of things had to be done that day.
-old man wright he got up at sunup, and almost all day he was busy in the room he used for a office at the house; he hadn't hardly went downtown at all since bonnie bell run away. he had a desk full of papers here, and now he sent for his lawyer and his barber to come over early in the day.
-"why, alderman," says the lawyer man, "you act like you was making your last will and testament, and getting ready to close up business."
-he laughs then; but old man wright don't laugh.
-"i am," says he. "it's time; i've been dead more'n a week now."
-they made out some papers about houses and lots and stocks and things, how they was to be distributed in case of the deemise of the said john william wright. then after a while they come around to the papers in the big case we had against old man wisner for the last deferred payment on the circle arrow trade that hadn't been paid yet and wouldn't be. old man wright sets back and looks at them papers right ca'm.
-"i know what old man wisner's been east for," says he. "he couldn't raise that much money--nigh on a million dollars--on anything as wildcat as strawberries and cream in wyoming; not these times. even the banks is wise onto that now. stenographers and clerks and ministers and doctors don't bite like they used to no more; it's harder to find people that's willing to pay in so much a month for a bungalow in florida or wyoming while they set home engaged in light and genteel employment. every oncet in a while the american people gets took with a spasum of a little horse sense. there's places for peaches and cream, and there's places for cows, but you don't want to get your wires crossed.
-"so," says he, "i know i've got old man wisner broke right now. he's been over to holland to see if he couldn't form a dutch syndicate for to unload on. the dutch is the last resort of the american landboomer. when you can't sell out a bunch of greasewood land for a pineapple colony to no one else, go over and sell it to them dutch; they're easy. i seen a man one time sell almost all the north end of new mexico to a dutch syndicate for a coffee plantation. it was good for cows; but he had pictures of steamboats and canals and things out there in the sagebrush--you've got to have a canal on your blueprint if you sell anything to them holland people. like enough old man wisner had pictures of canals. but he couldn't sell this property none, following on the war over there; they're busy with other things.
-"the result is he's come back here broke. he knows the banks has got wise and they ain't going to back him no further than they have. they're too busy lending a billion dollars or so to the folks over in europe to help blow up some steamboats for us.
-"therefore," says he, jarring the paper weight on the table when he brings down his fist, "if times gets any harder, as like enough they will, dave wisner's got to let that property go on the market for what it'll bring inside his one year of grace after foreclosure. i know what that means; it'll mean i got a few thousand acres of land more to distribute among my heirs and assigns, my executors, friends, faithful servitors, villagers and others--however you got that figured out in them papers.
-"let me see them papers," says he after a while. "are you shore you got my girl's name spelled katherine? and that she gets this city residence here?"
-then they went over it again. but after a while the lawyer got done, and so did the barber, and they both went away; and the old man turns to me.
-"curly," says he, "i'm rich. i'm awful rich. i didn't know how rich i was till i begun to figure it up with fanstead, maclay & horn, my lawyers here. i reckon, taking fair values, i'm worth ten or twelve million dollars--maybe twenty or forty--most of it made in this here town in a couple of years or so, and all out of the wisner money we got for the ranch, which we're going to get back pretty nigh clean of cost, you might say. i didn't mean to; but i'm rich--awful rich!
-"and so, seeing i ain't got no heirs of my own blood and kin, i been looking around for a few others. there's that katherine; she's a good girl. she kissed me right here once." and the old man put his hand on the top of his head. "i'm going to give her a little something after i'm dead; for instance, this house and the things here--half a million dollars maybe. likewise, i've fixed up a few things for my faithful servitor aforesaid, henry absalom wilson--which is you, curly. i give you only enough for cigarette money," says he; "never mind how much. and as for them two," says he--"her and the wisners' hired man--not a cent! not a damned cent! i'll show him!
-"the old ranch," says he, "is going to be fixed up sometime--some of my heirs and executors'll get a hold of that. it's easy to get plenty of heirs if you have twelve or fifty million dollars. i've left instructions to make improvements out there. it'll sort of be the best apology i can make to the woman that's buried out there--gawd bless her!--as good a woman as ever lived on earth. i can't see how she could have such a girl like she done. well," he finishes, sort of sighing. "i done my best. i may not live more'n thirty or forty years more.
-"so, now then, curly," says he after a while, "since we've finished all our day's work and have a little time left, we can now engage in some simple pastime, such as mumblety-peg, or maybe marbles, till later in the evening. i'm through cutting her off, curly, and i'm happy. i've left it as clean as i know how. now i'll bet you a thousand dollars i can beat you three games out of five at mumblety-peg. my executor, without bond," says he, going right on, "is old man kimberly."
-"you're on, colonel," says i; "though i don't know where i'll get a thousand till after your will is probated."
-so we went outdoors and set down on the grass and played mumblety-peg--me losing that thousand, natural. then we sort of fussed around outdoors one way or another till it come towards dark. he left me after a while and went into the house alone.
-we didn't enjoy nothing much to eat, not even ham and aigs. it begun to get dark right soon after that and i sort of wandered out on the front walk to look around. old man wright was in the house by hisself.
-right then i seen a car come in right fast and pull up at the sidewalk about halfway between our house and the wisners'. someone got out of the car and come running up our walk. i could see it was a woman. not wishing no one to be bothered then, i went down to meet her.
-it was bonnie bell! she'd come home then.
-i run down the walk to meet her and pushed her away. i knew it wouldn't do for them two to meet now. but she run up and put her arms around my neck. she was alone, though there was someone in the car that hadn't got out.
-"curly!" says she, "curly! i saw you standing there and i came in. where is he, curly?"
-i nods behind me.
-"in there," says i. "don't go in--you mustn't."
-"i must, sometime. let me go now."
-"no you don't," says i. "you can't. it's too late."
-"too late? too late? why, what do you mean, curly? i've--i've come back! i want to see my dad! i've got to see my dad. there's lots i must tell him. he don't know--i didn't know."
-"you can't see your dad no more, kid," says i. "that time has went by. i'm foreman here till midnight of today; and while i am there ain't nobody going to bother him. he's had trouble enough already."
-she stood sort of shaking. i had her wrists in my hands now.
-"when it's all over," says i--"meaning a few things we're going to settle tonight--i'll come out to you in wyoming. i won't be foreman here no more. i'm going to go and throw in with you, even against the old man."
-she begun to cry now.
-"what are you talking about? i want him!" says she. "i want to see my dad. i need him--and he needs me!"
-"i must go in, curly," says she.
-"no; you can't," says i. "i'm foreman and i won't let you. he wouldn't want it; he's marked you off his books--we just been doing that today, with a lawyer and a barber."
-"but, curly, he doesn't know----"
-"huh!" says i. "well, he thinks he does. he figures you're the same as if you was dead."
-"curly!" she cries now hard. "curly, it mustn't be! it's all a mistake; it's all been a mistake. i've come back----"
-"yes," says i; "it was a mistake. it ain't been nothing but a mistake all down the line. but, as far as it can be squared, the old man and me we've set out to square it tonight. him and me is going to call on old man wisner this evening," says i. "we're going over as soon as old man wisner gets home. i'm going with your pa, bonnie. you know me and i reckon you know him too. i reckon there may be some plain conversation."
-"i've got to see him!" says she over and over again.
-"well, if you want to see him," says i, "you go on over there and, like enough, you will see him before long. you belong that side the wall now. tonight is when old man wright and me settles with old man wisner, and settles permanent. we live on this side."
-she turns now and runs away so fast i couldn't catch her.
-i seen someone get out of the car now--a man; and she taken his arm and they both went out of sight around the end of the wall. i allowed they'd went up to the door. right soon i seen a light in their higher windows above the wall--you could just see that much from where i was standing. if i'd wanted to go upstairs i might of seen more from our windows; but i wouldn't do that now.
-i went back in the house and stood near our door, watching the street. in about half or three-quarters of a hour i seen old man wisner's car coming in; there was lights in the car and i could see him plain. he was setting with his head kind of bent down. i suppose, like enough, he'd already been served with them papers of ours down town. he'd got into town early that morning and been busy all day at his office. he was just getting home now. he must of knowed he was busted.
-i waited for half a hour more, so things could get right settled down over there, and then i went in and found old man wright. he was setting still as a dead man, looking into the fireplace in our ranch room, though there wasn't no fire. he was all dressed up in his evening clothes; and now i seen why he'd had the barber come. there wasn't a finer-looking gentleman in all the town than old man wright was right then--though him pale and sad. lord, how sad he was! but not can-nye--none whatever, him, even if old lady wisner had called us all that.
-"he's come, colonel," says i, quiet, turning from one sad old man to another sad old man.
-i didn't say nothing to him about who else i'd seen in our front yard; i didn't want to stir him all up, for i knowed he'd marked bonnie bell off'n his books and closed the books for keeps. when i spoke to him he turns around and stands up, quiet.
-"very well," says he; "we'll go on over now."
-so us two walk together out of our front door. he shuts the door then behind him and we go on down the walk together. he only turns once and looks back at the house.
-the whole street laid there in front of us when we walked out from our yard to go over into theirs. the lights was all lit now, miles and miles of 'em; and below us was the hundreds of thousands more of the lights of the big city--the city that hadn't made us as happy as we thought it was going to. i heard a boat whistle deep somewheres out on the lake--it repeated.
-"you've just told me a horrible thing," she whispered; "that life is so dreadful that the only way we can get through it at all is by never looking at--"
-paul actually shook her in his exasperation. "gee whiz, lydia! you're enough to drive a man to drink! i never told you any such melodramatic nonsense. i told you straight horse sense, which is that if you took more interest in your work, in the work that every woman of your class and position has to do, you'd have less time to think foolishness--and your husband would have an easier life."
-her trembling lips opened to speak again, but he closed them with a firm hand. "and now, as your natural guardian, i'm not going to let you say another word about it. you dear little silly! however did you get us so wound up! blessed if i have any idea what it's all been about!"
-he was determined to end the discussion. he was relieved beyond expression that he had been able to get through it without saying anything unkind to his wife. he never meant to do that. he now went on, shaking a finger at her:
-"you listen to me, lydia-emery-that-was! do you know what we are going to do? we're going out into that howling desolation that mary has probably left in the kitchen, and we're going to see if we can find a couple of clean glasses, and we're going to have a glass of beer apiece and a ham sandwich and a piece of the pie that's left over from dinner. you don't know what's the matter with you, but i do! you're starved! you're as hungry as you can be, aren't you now?"
-lydia had sunk into a chair during this speech and was now regarding him fixedly, her hands clasped between her knees. at his final appeal to her, she closed her eyes. "yes," she said with a long breath; "yes, i am."
-"the american man"
-a ripple from the surging wave of culture which, for some years, had been sweeping over the women's clubs of the middle west, began to agitate the extremely stationary waters of endbury social life. the women's literary club felt that, as the long-established intellectual authority of the town, it should somehow join in the new movement. the organization of this club dated back to a period now comparatively remote. mrs. emery, who had been a charter member, had never been more genuinely puzzled by dr. melton's eccentricities than when he had received with a yell of laughter her announcement that she had just helped to form a "literary club," which would be the "most exclusive social organization" in endbury. it had lived up to this expectation. to belong to it meant much, and both paul and flora burgess had been gratified when, on her mother's resignation, lydia had been elected to the vacant place.
-this close corporation, composed of ladies in the very inner circle, felt keenly the stimulating consciousness of its importance in the higher life of the town, and had too much civic pride to allow endbury to lag behind the other towns in ohio. columbus women, owing to the large german population of the city, were getting a reputation for being musical; cincinnati had always been artistic; toledo had literary aspirations; cleveland went in for civic improvement. the leading spirits of the woman's literary club of endbury cast about for some other sphere of interest to annex as their very own property.
-they were hesitating whether to undertake a campaign of municipal house-cleaning, or to devote themselves to the study of the sonnet form in english verse, when an unusual opportunity for distinction opened before them. the daughter of the club's president was married to a professor in the state university of michigan, and on one of her visits home she suggested that her mother's club invite to address it the alliance française lecturer of that year. he had to come out to ann arbor, anyhow--ann arbor was not very far from endbury--not far, that is, as compared with the journey the lecturer would have made from columbia and harvard to "michigan state." one of the club husbands was a railroad man and, maybe, could give them transportation. frenchmen were always anxious to make all the money they could--she was sure that m. buisine could be induced to come for a not extravagant honorarium. why should not endbury go in for cosmopolitanism? that certainly would be something new in ohio.
-and so it was arranged for an afternoon for the first week in december, a very grand "house-darkened-and-candle-lighted performance," as madeleine lowder labeled this last degree of endbury ceremonious elaboration. it was held at the house of paul's aunt, so that, naturally, lydia could by no means absent herself. madeleine came for her, and together they took ariadne to marietta's house and left her there for safe-keeping. lydia was intensely conscious, under her sister's forbearing silence, that marietta had never been asked to join the woman's literary club. even the jaunty madeleine was aware of a tension in the brief conversation over the child's head, and remarked as she and lydia walked away from the house: "well, really now, was that the most tactful thing in the world?"
-"what else could i do?" asked lydia, at her wit's end. "i don't dare leave ariadne with those awful things from the employment agencies, and 'stashie's not coming back till next week."
-"oh, she's coming again, is she?" commented her companion. "well, that'll mean lots of fun watching paul squirm. but don't mind him, lydia." madeleine was one of the women who prided herself on her loyal sense of solidarity among her sex. "if he says a word, you poke him one in the eye. keep her till after your confinement, anyhow. a woman ought to be allowed to run her house without any man butting in. we let them alone; they ought to let us."
-there never was a person in the world, lydia thought, in whom marriage had made less difference than in paul's sister. she was exactly the same as in her girlhood. lydia wondered at her with an ever-growing amazement. the enormous significance of the marriage service, the mysteries of the dual existence, her new responsibilities,--they all seemed non-existent. paul said approvingly that madeleine knew how to get along with less fuss than any woman he ever saw. her breezy high spirits were much admired in endbury, and her good humor and prodigious satisfaction with life were considered very cheerfully infectious.
-the two women had reached madame hollister's house while madeleine was expounding her theory of matrimony, and now took their places in the throng of extremely well-dressed women sitting on camp chairs, the rows of which filled the two parlors. the lecturer with the president of the club, occupied a dais at the other end of the room. he was a tall, ugly man, with prominent blue eyes, gray hair upstanding in close-cropped military stiffness, and a two-pronged grizzled beard. he was looking over his audience with a leisurely smiling scrutiny that roused in lydia a secret resentment.
-"he's very distinguished looking, isn't he?" whispered madeleine. "so different! and cool! i'd like to see pete lowder sit up there to be stared at by all this gang of women."
-"oh, he's probably used to it," said her neighbor on the other side. "they say he's spoken before any number of women's clubs. he does two a day sometimes. he's seen lots of american society women before now."
-madeleine stared at him curiously. "i wonder what he thinks of us! i wonder! i'd give anything to know!" she said. she repeated this sentiment in varying forms several times.
-lydia wondered why madeleine should care so acutely about the opinion of a stranger and a foreigner, and finally, in her naïve, straightforward way, she put this question to her. madeleine was not one of the many who evaded lydia's questions, or answered them only with a laugh at their oddity. she was very straightforward herself and generally had a very clear idea of what underlay any action or feeling on her part. but this time her usual rough-and-ready methods of analysis seemed at fault.
-"oh, because," she said indefinitely. "don't you always want to know what men are thinking of you?"
-"men that know something about me, maybe," lydia amended.
-madeleine laughed. "they're the ones that don't think at all, one way or the other," she reminded her sister-in-law.
-the president of the club rose. her introduction of the speaker was greeted with cordial, muted applause from gloved hands. there was a scraping of chairs, a stir of draperies, and little gusts of delicate perfumes floated out, as the hundred or more women settled themselves at the right angle, all their keen, handsome, nervous faces lifted to the speaker in a pleasant expectancy. not only were they agreeably aware that they were forming part of one of the most recherché events of endbury's social life, but they were remembering piquant rumors of m. buisine's sensational attacks on american materialism. the afternoon promised something more interesting than their usual programme of home-made essays and papers.
-their expectation was not disappointed. in fluent english, apparently smooth with long practice on the same theme, he wove felicitous and forceful elaborations on the proverb relating to people who are absent and the estimation in which they are held by those present. he had seen in america, he said, everything but the american man. he had seen hundreds and thousands of women as well-dressed as parisiennes (and, as a rule, much more expensively), as self-possessed as english great ladies, as cultivated as russian princesses, as universally and variously handsome as visions in a painter's dream--("he's not afraid of laying it on thick, is he?" whispered madeleine with an appreciative laugh)--but, except for a few professors in college, he had seen no men. he had inquired for them everywhere and was told that he did not see them because he was a man of letters. if he had been the inventor of a new variety of railroad brake he would have seen millions. he was told that the men, unlike their wives, had no intellectual interests, had no clubs with any serious purposes, had no artistic aims, had no home life, no knowledge of their children, no interest in education--that, in short, they left the whole business of worthy living to their wives, and devoted themselves exclusively to the wild-beast joys of tearing and rending their business competitors.
-he gave many picturesque instances of his contention, he sketched several lively and amusing portraits of the one or two business men he had succeeded in running down; their tongue-tied stupefaction before the ordinary topics of civilization, their scorn of all æsthetic considerations; their incapacity to conceive of an intellectual life as worthy a grown man; the stone-age simplicity with which they referred everything to savage cunning; their oblivion to any other standard than "success," by which they meant possessing something that they had taken away by force from somebody else.
-it was indeed a very entertaining lecture, a most stimulating, interesting experience to the crowd of well-dressed women; although perhaps some of them found it a little long after the dining-room across the hall began to be filled with waiters preparing the refreshments and an appetizing smell of freshly-made coffee filled the air. still, it was a lecture they had paid for, and it was gratifying to have it so full and conscientiously elaborated.
-the ideas promulgated were not startlingly new to them, since they had read magazine articles on "why american women marry foreigners" and similar analyses of the society in which they lived; but to have it said to one's face, by a living man, a tall, ugly, distinguished foreigner, with the ribbon of the legion of honor in his buttonhole,--that brought it home to one! they nodded their beautifully-hatted heads at the truth of his well-chosen, significant anecdotes, they laughed at his sallies, they applauded heartily at the end when the lecturer sat down, the little smile, that lydia found so teasing, still on his bearded lips.
-"well, he hit things off pretty close, for a foreigner, didn't he?" commented madeleine cheerfully, gathering her white furs up to the whiter skin of her long, fair throat and preparing for a rush on the refreshment room. "he must have kept his eyes open pretty wide since he landed."
-lydia did not answer, nor did she join in the stampede to the dining-room. she sat still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes very bright and dark in her pale face. she was left quite alone in the deserted room. across the hall was the loud, incessant uproar of feminine conversation released from the imprisonment of an hour's silence. from the scraps of talk that were intelligible, it might have been one of her own receptions. lydia heard not a mention of the opinions to which they had been listening. apparently, they were regarded as an entertaining episode in a social afternoon. she listened intently. she looked across at the crowd of her acquaintances as though she were seeing them for the first time. in their midst was the tall foreigner, smiling, talking, bowing, drinking tea. he was being introduced in succession to all of his admiring auditors.
-lydia rose to go and made her way to the dressing-room on the second floor for her wraps. as she returned toward the head of the stairs she saw a man's figure ascending, and stood aside to let him pass. he bowed with an unconscious assurance unlike that of any man lydia had ever seen, and looked at her pale face and burning eyes with some curiosity. a faint aroma of delicate food and fading flowers and woman's sachet-powder hung about him. it was the lecturer, fresh from his throng of admirers. lydia's heart leaped to a sudden valiant impulse, astonishing to her usual shyness, and she spoke out boldly, hastily: "why did you tell us all that about our men? didn't you think any of us would realize that they are good--our men are--good and pure and kind! didn't you think we'd know that anything that's the matter with them must be the matter with us, too? they had mothers as well as fathers! it's not fair to blame everything on the men! it's not fair, and it can't be true! we're all in together, men and women. one can't be anything the other isn't!"
-she spoke with a swift, grave directness, looking squarely into the man's eyes, for she was as tall as he. they were quite alone in the upper hall. from below came the clatter of the talking, eating women. the frenchman did not speak for a moment. for the first time the faint smile on his lips died away. he paid to lydia the tribute of a look as grave as her own. finally, "madame, you should be french," he told her.
-the remark was so unexpected an answer to her attack that lydia's eyes wavered. "i mean," he went on in explanation, "that you are acting as my wife would act if she heard the men of her nation abused in their absence. i mean also that i have delivered practically this same lecture over thirty times in america before audiences of women, and you are the first to--madame, i should like to know your husband!" he exclaimed with another bow.
-"my husband is like all other american men," cried lydia sharply, touched to the quick by this reference. "it is because he is that i--" she broke off with her gesture of passionate unresignation to her lack of fluency. already the heat of the impulse that had carried her into speech was dying away. she began to hesitate for words.
-"oh, i can't say what i mean--you must know it, anyhow! you blame the fathers for leaving all the bringing-up of the children to their wives, and yet you point out that the sons keep growing up all the time to be--to be--to be all you blame their fathers for being! if we women were half so--fine--as you tell us, why haven't we changed things?"
-the foreigner made a vivid, surprised, affirmatory gesture. "exactly! exactly! exactly, madame!" he cried. "it is the question i have asked myself a thousand times: why is it--why is it that women so strong-willed, so unyielding in the seeking what they desire, why is it that apparently they have no influence on the general fabric of the society in--"
-"perhaps it is," said lydia unsparingly, her latent anger coming to the surface again and furnishing her fluency, "perhaps it is because people who see our faults don't help us to correct them, but flatter us by telling us we haven't any, and all the time think ill of us behind our backs."
-the lecturer began to answer with aplomb and an attempt at graceful cynicism: "ah, madame, put yourself in my place! i am addressing audiences of women. would it be tactful to--" but under lydia's honest eyes he faltered, stopped, flushed darkly under his heavy beard, up over his high, narrow forehead to the roots of his gray hair. he swallowed hard. "madame," he said, "you have rebuked me--deservedly. i--i demand your pardon."
-"oh, you needn't mind me," said lydia humbly; "my opinion doesn't amount to anything. i oughtn't to talk, either. i don't do anything different from the rest--the women downstairs, i mean. i can only see there's something wrong--" she found the other's gaze into her troubled eyes so friendly that she was moved to cry out to him, all her hostility gone: "what is the trouble, anyhow?"
-the lecturer flushed again, this time touched by her appeal. "i proudly put at your service any reflections i have made--as though you were my daughter. i have a daughter about your age, who is also married--who faces your problems. madame, you look fatigued--will you not sit down?" he led her to a sofa on one side of the hall and took a seat beside her. "is not the trouble," he began, "that the women have too much leisure and the men too little--the women too little work, the men too much?"
-"oh, yes, yes, yes!" lydia's meditations had long ago carried her past that point; she was impatient at his taking time to state it. "but how can we change it?"
-"you cannot change it in a day. it has taken many years to grow. it has seemed to me that one way to change it is by using your leisure differently. even those women who use their leisure for the best self-improvement have not used it well. many of my countrymen say that the culture of american women is like a child's idea of ornamentation--the hanging on the outside of all odd bits of broken finery. i have not found it always so. i have met many learned women here, many women more cultivated than my own wife. but listen, madame, to the words of an old man. culture is dust and ashes if the spiritual foundations of life are not well laid; and, believe me, it takes two, a man and a woman, to lay those foundations. it can not be done alone."
-"but how, how--" began lydia impatiently.
-"in the only way that anything can be accomplished in this world, by working! your women have not worked patiently, resolutely, against the desertion of their men. worse--they have encouraged it! have you never heard an american, woman say: 'oh, i can't bear a man around the house! they are so in the way!' or, 'i let my husband's business alone. i want him to let--'"
-he imitated an accent so familiar to lydia that she winced. "oh, don't!" she said. "i see all that."
-"you must find few to see with you."
-"but how to change it?" she leaned toward him as though he could impart some magic formula to her.
-"with the men, work to have them share your problems--work to share theirs. do not be discouraged by repeated failure. defeat should not exist for the spirit. and, oh, the true way--you pointed it out in your first words. you have the training of the children. their ideals are yours to make. a generation is a short--"
-his face answered more and more the eager intentness of her own. he raised his hand with a gesture that underlined his next words: "but remember always, always, what amiel says, that a child will divine what we really worship, and that no teaching will avail with him if we teach in contradiction to what we are."
-they were interrupted by a loud hail from the stairs. madeleine lowder's handsome head showed through the balustrade, and back of her were other amused faces.
-"i started to look you up, lydia," she said, advancing upon them hilariously, "i thought maybe you weren't feeling well, and then i saw you monopolizing the lion so that everybody was wondering where in the world he was, and you were so wrapped up that you never even noticed me, so i motioned the others to see what a demure little cat of a sister i have."
-she stood before them at the end of this facetious explanation, laughing, frank, sure of herself, and as beautiful as a great rosy flower.
-"your sister," said the lecturer incredulously to lydia.
-"my husband's sister," lydia corrected him, and presented the newcomer in one phrase.
-"isn't she a sly, designing creature, mr. buisine?" cried madeleine, in her usual state of hearty enjoyment of her situation. "you haven't met many as up-and-coming, have you now?"
-"i do not know the meaning of your adjective, mademoiselle; but it is true that i have met few like your brother's wife."
-"i'm not mademoiselle!" madeleine was greatly amused at the idea.
-the lecturer looked at her with a return to his enigmatic smile of the earlier afternoon. "i never saw a person who looked more unmarried than yourself, mademoiselle," he persisted.
-"oh, we american women know the secret of not looking married," said madeleine proudly.
-"you do indeed," said the frenchman with the manner of gallantry. "all of you look unmarried."
-lydia rose to go. the lecturer looked at her, his eyes softening, and made a silent gesture of farewell.
-he turned back to madeleine. "but i am," she assured him, pleased and flattered with the centering of their persiflage on herself. she made a gesture toward lydia, disappearing down the stairs. "i'm as much married as she is!"
-m. buisine continued smiling. "that is quite, quite incredible," he told her.
-"... in tragic life, god wot, no villain need be. passions spin the plot."
-"say, lydia," said madeleine with her bluff good humor, coming into the house a few days after the french lecture, "say, i'm awfully sorry i told paul! i never supposed he'd go and get mad. it was just my fool notion of being funny."
-lydia was dusting the balustrade, her back to her visitor. she tingled all through at this speech, and for an instant went on with her work, trying to decide if she should betray the fact that she knew nothing of the incident to which madeleine's remark seemed to refer, or if she should, as she had done so many times already, conceal under a silence her ignorance of what her husband told other people. she never learned of matters pertaining to paul's profession except from chance remarks of his business associates. he had not even told her, until questioned, about his great inspiration for rearranging the territory covered in that region by his company; a plan that must have engrossed his thoughts and fired his enthusiasm during months of apparently common life with his wife. and paul had been genuinely surprised, and a little put out at her desire to know of it.
-she decided that she dared not in this instance keep silent. she was too entirely in the dark as to what madeleine had done. "i don't know what you're talking about, madeleine," she said, turning around, dust-cloth in hand, trying to speak casually.
-her sister-in-law stared. "didn't paul come home and give it to you? he looked as though he were going to."
-lydia's heart sank in a vague premonition of evil. "paul hasn't said anything to me. why in the world should he? is it about 'stashie? she's been back several days now, but i thought he hadn't noticed her much."
-"well, he hasn't said anything, that's a fact!" exclaimed madeleine, with the frank implication in her voice that she had not before believed lydia's statement. "my, no! it's not about 'stashie. it's about the french lecturer."
-lydia's astonishment at this unexpected answer quite took away her breath. "about the--" she began.
-"why, look-y here, it was this way," explained madeleine rapidly. "i told you i was only joking. i thought it would be fun to tease paul about the mash you made on old what's-his-name--about your sitting off on a sofa with him, and being so wrapped up you didn't even notice when the whole gang of us came to look at you--and maybe i stretched it some about how you looked leaning forward and gazing into his eyes--" she broke off with a laugh, cheerfully unable to continue a serious attitude toward life. "oh, never you mind! it does a married man good to make him jealous once in a while. keeps 'em from getting too stodgy and husbandy."
-"jealous!" cried lydia. "paul jealous! of me! never!" her certainty on the point was instant and fixed.
-"well, you'd ha' thought he was, if you'd seen him. i was jollying him along--we were in the trolley, going to endbury. i had to take that early car so's to keep a date with briggs, and, oh, lydia! that brown suit he's making for me is a dream, simply a dream! he's put a little braid, just the least little bit, along--"
-"what did paul say?"
-"paul? oh, yes--how'd i get switched off onto briggs? why, paul didn't say anything; that was what made me see he wasn't taking it right. he just sat still and listened and listened till it made me feel foolish. i thought he'd jolly me back, you know. he's usually a great hand for that. and then when i looked at him i saw he looked as black as a thundercloud--that nasty look he has when he's real mad. when we were children and he'd look that way, i'd grab up any old thing and hit him quick, so's to get it in before he hit me. well, i was awfully sorry, and i said, 'why, hold on a minute, paul, let me tell you--' but he said he guessed i'd told him about enough, and before i could open my mouth he dropped off the car. we'd got in as far as hayes avenue. i wanted to explain, you know, that the frenchman was old enough to be our grandfather!"
-"when did this happen?"
-"oh, i don't know; three or four days ago--why, thursday, it must have been, for after i got through with briggs i went on to that--"
-"and this is monday," said lydia; "four days."
-at the sight of her sister-in-law's troubled eyes, madeleine was again overcome with facile remorse. she clapped her on the shoulder hearteningly. "i'm awfully sorry, lyd, but don't you go being afraid of paul. you're too gentle with him, anyhow. a married woman can't afford to be. you have to keep the men in their places, and you can't do that if you don't knock 'em the side of the head once in so often. it's good for 'em. honest! and about this, don't you worry your head a minute. like as not paul's forgot everything about it. he'd forget anything, you know he would, if an interesting job came up in business. and if he ever does say anything, you just laugh and tell him about old thingamajig's white hair and pop eyes, and he'll laugh at the joke on himself."
-lydia drew back with a gesture of extreme repugnance. "don't talk so--as though paul could be so--so vulgar."
-madeleine laughed. "i guess you won't find a man in this world that isn't 'vulgar' that way."
-"why, i've been married to paul for years--he wouldn't think i--no matter what you told him, he couldn't conceive of my--"
-mrs. lowder, as usual, found her brother's wife very diverting. "of your doing a little hand-holding on the side? oh, go on! flirting's no crime! and you did--honest to goodness, you did, turn that old fellow's head. you ought to have seen the way he looked after you."
-lydia cut her off with a sharp "oh, don't!" she was now sitting, still absently grasping the dust-cloth.
-madeleine stood for a moment looking at her in a meditative silence rather unusual for her. "lydia, you don't look a bit well," she said kindly. "are you still bothered with that nausea?" she sat down by her sister-in-law and put her arms around her with an impulse of affectionate pity that almost undid lydia, always so helplessly responsive to tenderness. "what's the matter, lyd?" madeleine went on. "something's not going just right. are you scared about this second confinement? is paul being horrid about something? you just take my advice, and if you want anything out of him, you fight for it. nobody gets anything in this world if they don't put up a fight for it."
-lydia began to say that there were some things which lost their value if obtained by fighting, but suddenly she stopped her faltering words, drew a long breath, and laid her head on the other's shoulder. more than wifely loyalty kept her silent. all her lifelong experience of madeleine crystallized into a certainty of her limitations, and with this certainty came the realization that madeleine stood for all the circle of people about her. lydia had learned one lesson of life. she knew, she now knew intensely, that there was no cry by which she could reach the spiritual ear of the warm human beings so close to her in the body. she knew there was no language in which she could make intelligible her travail of soul. in the moment the two women sat thus, she renounced, once for all, any hope of outside aid in her perplexities. they lay between herself and paul. she could hope to find expression and relief for them only through that unique privilege of marriage, utter intimacy.
-she kissed her husband's sister gently, comforted somewhat by the mere fact of her presence. "you're good to bother about me, maddely," she said, using a pet name of their common childhood. "i guess i'm not feeling very well these days. but that's to be expected."
-"well, i tell you what, i wouldn't be so patient about it as you are!" cried the other wife. "it's simply horrid to have all this a second time, and ariadne so little yet. it's mean of paul."
-she continued voicing an indignant sympathy with her usual energy. lydia looked at her with a vague smile. at the first words of the childless woman, she had been filled with the mother-hunger which gave savor to her life during those days. as madeleine went on, she sat unheeding, lost in a fond impatience to feel the tiny body on her knees, the downy head against her cheek. her arms ached with emptiness. for an instant, so vivid was her sense of it, the child seemed to be there, in her arms. she felt the eager tug of the soft lips at her breast. she looked down--"well, anyhow, you poor, dear thing! i hope you will bottle-feed this one! it would be just a little too much if they made you nurse it!"
-lydia did not even attempt a protest. her submissive, entire acceptance of spiritual isolation seemed an answer to many of the conflicting impulses which had hitherto distracted her. she wished that she could reassure madeleine by telling her that she would never again make another "odd" speech to her. she renounced all common life except the childlike, harmless, animal-like one of mutual material wants, and this renunciation brought her already a peace which, though barren, was infinitely calming after her former struggling uncertainties. "how did those waists come out that you sent to the cleaner's, madeleine?" she asked, in a bright, natural tone of interest. "i hope the blue one didn't fade."
-madeleine reported to her husband that lydia had seemed in one of her queer notional moods at first, but cheered up afterward and talked more "like folks," and seemed more like herself than she had since her father died. they had a real good visit together she said, and she began to think she could get some good satisfaction out of having lydia for a neighbor, after all.
-but after lydia was alone, there sprang upon her the terror of living on such terms with paul. no, no! never that! it would be dying by inches! beaten back to this last inner stronghold of the dismantled castle of her ideals of life, she prepared to defend it with the energy of desperation.
-she did not believe madeleine's story, or, at least, not her interpretation of paul's attitude, but she felt a dreary chill at his silence toward her. it seemed to her that their marriage ought to have brought her husband an irresistible impulse to have in all their relations with each other a perfect openness. she resolved that she would begin to help him to that impulse that very day; now, at once.
-when paul came in, he seemed abstracted, and went directly upstairs to pack a satchel, stating with his usual absence of explanatory comment that he was called to evanston on business. he ate his dinner rather silently, glancing furtively at the paper. only at the breakfast-table--such was their convention--did he allow himself to become absorbed in the news.
-ariadne prattled to her mother of her adventures in the kitchen, where patsy o'hern, 'stashie's cousin patsy, was visiting her, and he made ariadne a "horse out of a potato and toothpicks for legs, and a little wagon out of a matchbox, and a paper doll to sit and drive, and patsy was perfectly loverly, anyhow, and he was making such a lot of money every day, and, oh, he made the wheels out of potato, too, as round as could be he cut it, and he gave every cent of it to his grandmother and she loved him as much as she did 'stashie, and wasn't it good to have 'stashie back, and--"
-paul frowned silently over his pie.
-"come, dear; it's seven o'clock and bedtime," said lydia, leading the little girl away.
-when she came back she noticed by the clock that she had been gone almost half an hour. she was surprised to see paul still in the dining-room, as though he had not stirred since she left him. he was sitting in an attitude of moody idleness, singular with him, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands. he looked desperately, tragically tired.
-no inward monitor gave any warning to lydia of what the next few moments were to be in her life. she crossed the room quickly to her husband, feeling a great longing to be close to him.
-as she did so, a rattling clatter of tin was heard from the kitchen, followed by a shout of roaring laughter. something in paul's tense face snapped. he started up, overturning his chair. "oh, damn that idiot!" he cried.
-the door opened behind them. 'stashie stood there, her red hair hidden in a mass of soft dough that was beginning to ooze down over her perspiring, laughing face. "i just wanted to show you what a comycal thing happened, mis' hollister," she began, in her familiar way. "'twould make a pig laugh, now! i'd begun my bread dough, and put it on a shelf, an'--"
-"oh, get out of here!" paul yelled at her furiously. "and less noise out of you in the kitchen!"
-he slammed the door shut on her retreat, and turned to lydia with a face she did not recognize. the room grew black before her eyes.
-"i suppose you still prefer that dirty irish slut to my wishes," he said.
-his words, his accent, the quality of his voice, were the zigzag of lightning to his wife. the storm burst over her head like thunder.
-she was amazed to feel a great wave of anger surge up in her, responsive to his own. she cried, in outraged resentment at his injustice: "you know very well--" and stopped, horrified at the passion which rose clamoring to her lips.
-"i will dismiss 'stashie to-morrow," returned lydia with a bitter, proud brevity.
-"you're rather slow to take a hint. how long has she been with us? as for your saying that you can't get anyone else, and can't keep house decently as other decent people do, there isn't a word of truth in it! you can do whatever you care enough about to try to do. you didn't make an incompetent mess of taking care of the baby as you did out of that disgusting dinner party!"
-it was the first time he had ever spoken outright to her of that experience. lydia was transfixed to hear the poison of the memory as fresh in his voice as though it had happened yesterday.
-"i'm simply not worth putting yourself out for," went on paul, turning away and picking up his overcoat. "i'm only a common, ignorant, materialistic beast of an american husband!" he added in an insulting tone: "i suppose you'd like two husbands; one to earn your living for you, and one to talk to about your soul and to exchange near-culture with!"
-he had not looked at lydia as he poured out this sudden flood of acrimony, but at her quick, fierce reply, he faced her.
-"i'd like one husband," she cried white with indignation.
-"and i'd like a wife!" paul flashed back at her hotly. "a wife that'd be a help and not a hindrance to everything i want to do--a wife that'd be loyal to me behind my back, and not listen to sneaking foreigners telling her that she's a misunderstood martyr--martyr!" his sense of injury exalted him. "yes; all you american wives are martyrs, all right, i must say. while your husbands are working like dogs to make you money, you're sitting around with nothing to do but drink tea and listen to a foreigner who tells you--in summer time, while you're enjoying the cool breeze out here on a--maybe you think a dynamo-room's a funny place to be, with the thermometer standing at--what am i doing when i'm away from you? enjoying myself, no doubt. maybe you think it's enjoyment to travel all night on a--maybe you think it's nice to make yourself conspicuous with another man that's been abusing your--"
-lydia could hear no more for a loud roaring in her ears. she knew then the blackest moment of her life--a sickening scorn for the man before her. madeleine had been right, then. they were of the same blood. his sister knew him better than--she, his wife, his wedded wife, was not to be spared the pollution of having her husband--
-"i didn't take any stock in madeleine's nasty insinuations about your flirting with him, of course, but it showed me what you've been thinking about me all this time i've been working like a--"
-lydia drew the first conscious breath since the beginning of this nightmare. the earth was still under her feet, struck down to it though she was. the roaring in her ears stopped. she heard paul say:
-"maybe you think i'm made of iron! i tell you i'm right on my nerves every minute! dr. melton threatens me with a breakdown every time i see him!" there was a sort of angry pride in this statement. "i can't sleep! i'm doing ten men's work! and what do i get from you? any rest? any quiet? why, these first years, when you might have made things easier for me by taking all other cares off my mind and leaving me free for business--they've actually been harder because of you!"
-he thrust his arms into his overcoat and caught up his satchel. "i haven't wanted anything so hard to give! good lord! all i asked for was a well-kept house where i could invite my friends without being ashamed of it, and to live like other decent people!" he moved to the door, and put one hand, one strong, thin hand, on the knob. with the unearthly clearness of one in a terrible accident, lydia noticed every detail of his appearance. he was flushed, a purple, congested color, singularly unlike his usual indoor pallor; hurried pulses throbbed visibly, almost audibly, at his temples; one eyelid twitched rapidly and steadily, like a clock ticking. with a gesture as automatic as drawing breath, he jerked out his watch and looked at it, apparently to make sure of catching his trolley, although his valedictory was poured out with such a passionate unpremeditation that the action must have been involuntary and unconscious. "but i don't even ask that now--since it doesn't suit you to bother to give it! all i ask now ought to be easy enough for any woman to do--not to bother me! leave me alone! keep your everlasting stewing and fussing and hysterical putting-on to yourself! i don't bother you with my affairs--i haven't, and i never will--why, for god's sake, can't you-- some men marry women who help them, and pull with them loyally, instead of pulling the other way all the time! such a woman would have made me a thousand times more successful than i--"
-lydia broke in with a loud voice of anguished questioning: "do they make them better men?" she asked piercingly.
-her husband looked at her over his shoulder. "oh, you and your goody-goody cant!" he said, and going out without further speech, closed the door behind him.
-the clock struck the half-hour. their conversation had lasted less than five minutes.
-tribute to the minotaur
-the scene of paul's departure was no worse than many an outbreak in the ordinary married life of ordinary, quick-tempered, over-tired married people, for whom an open quarrel brings relief like the clearing of the air after an electric storm, but to lydia it was no such surface manifestation of nerves. the impulse that had made them both break out into the cruel words came from some long-gathering bitterness, the very existence of which was like the end of all things to her. a single flash of lightning had showed her to the edge of what a terrifying precipice they had strayed, and then had left her in darkness.
-that was how it seemed to her; she was in the most impenetrable blackness, though the little girl played on beside her with a child's cheerful blindness to its elder's emotion, and anastasia detected nothing but that her mistress had a better color than before and stepped about quite briskly.
-it was the restless activity of a tortured animal which drove lydia from one household task to another, hurrying her into a trembling physical exhaustion, which, however, brought with it no instant's cessation of the tumult in her heart. the night after paul's departure was like a black eternity to her turning wildly on her bed, or rising to walk as wildly about the silent house. "but i can't stand this!--to hate and be hated! i can not bear it! i must do something--but what? but what?" once she feared she had screamed out these ever-recurring words, so audibly like a cry of agony did they ring in her ears; but, forcing herself to an instant's immobility, she heard ariadne's light, regular breathing continue undisturbed.
-she sat down on her bed and told herself that she would go out of her mind if she could not think something different from this chaos of angry misery. she fell on her knees, she sent her soul out in a supreme appeal for help and, still kneeling, she felt the intolerable tension within her loosen. she began to cry softly. the unnatural strength which had sustained her gave way; she sank together in a heap, her head leaning against the bed, her arms thrown out across it. here anastasia found her the next morning, apparently asleep, although upon being called she seemed to come to herself from a deeper unconsciousness.
-whatever it had been, the hour or two of oblivion that lay back of her was like a wall between her soul and the worst phase of her suffering. in answer to her cry for help, perhaps an appeal to the best in her own nature, there had come a cessation of what was to her the only unbearable pain--the bitter, blaming anger which had flared up in her, answering her husband's anger like the reflection of a torch in a mirror. in that silent hour before dawn, she had seen paul suddenly as a victim to forces outside himself quite as much as she was; poor, tired paul, with his haggard face, flushed with a wrath that was not his own, but an involuntary expression of suffering, the scream of a man caught in the cogs of a great machine. she hung before her mental vision now, constantly, the picture of paul as she had seen him when she came downstairs; paul leaning his chin on his hands, his jaded face white and drawn under his thinning, graying hair.
-the alleviation which came through this conception of her husband was tempered by the final disappearance of her old feeling that paul was stronger, clearer-headed, than she, and that if she could but once make him stop and understand the forces in their life which she feared, he could conquer them as easily as he conquered obstacles in the way of their material success. she now felt that he was not even as strong as she, since he could not get even her faint glimpse of their common enemy, this minotaur of futile materialism which had devoured the young years of their marriage and was now threatening to destroy the possibility of a great, strongly-rooted affection which had lain so clearly before them. she felt staggered by the responsibility of having to be strong enough for two; and as another day wore on this new preoccupation became almost as absorbing an obsession as her anger of the night before.
-but this was steadying in the very velocity with which her mind swept around the circle of possible courses of action. her thoughts hummed with a steady, dizzy speed around and around the central idea that something must be done and that she was now the only one to do it. 'stashie thought to herself that she had never seen mrs. hollister look so well, her eyes were so bright, her cheeks so pink.
-lydia had set herself the task of getting down and sorting the curtains in the house, preparatory to sending them to the cleaner. above the piles of dingy drapery, her face shone, as 'stashie had noted, with a strange, feverish brightness. her knees shook under her, but she walked about quickly. ariadne ran in and out of the house, chirping away to her mother of various wonderful discoveries in the world of outdoors. lydia heard her as from a distance, although she gave relevant answers to the child's talk.
-"it has come down," she was saying to herself, "to a life-and-death struggle. it isn't a question now of how much of the best in paul, in me, in our life, we can save. it's whether we can save any! how dirty lace curtains get! it must be the soft coal--yes, it is a life and death struggle--i must see to ariadne's underwear. it is too warm for these sunny days.--oh! oh! paul and i have quarreled! and what about! about such sickeningly trivial things--how badly 'stashie dusts! there are rolls of dust under the piano--but i thought people only quarreled--quarreled terribly--over great things: unfaithfulness, cruelty, differences in religion! oh, if i only now had a religion, a religion which would--yes, ariadne; but only to the edge of the driveway and back. how muddy the driveway is! paul said it should have more gravel--paul! how can he come back to me after such--madeleine says married people always quarrel--how can they look into each other's eyes again! we must escape that sort of life! we must! we must!"
-the thought of what she had hoped from her marriage and of what she had, filled her with the most passionate self-reproach. it must be at least half her fault, since she and paul made up but one whole. as she helped 'stashie sort the dingy curtains, she was saying over and over to herself that she was responsible, responsible as much as for ariadne's health. this conception so possessed her now that she felt herself able to accomplish anything, even the miracle needed.
-to have achieved this state of passionate resolution gave her for a moment the sense of having started upon the straight road to escape from her nightmare; and for the first time since the door had slammed behind paul she drew a long breath and was able to give more than a blind gaze to the world about her.
-she noticed that, though it was after twelve o'clock, ariadne had not been told to come to luncheon. when the little girl came running at her mother's call, her vivid face flushed with happy play, lydia knew a throb of that exquisite, unreasoning parent's joy, lying too near the very springs of life for any sickness of the spirit to affect it. like everything else, however, the touch of the child's tight-clinging arms about her neck brought her back to her preoccupation. ariadne must not be allowed to grow up to such a regret as she felt, that she had never known her father. there were moments, she saw them clearly, when paul realized with difficulty the fact of his daughter's existence, and he never realized it as a fact involving any need for a new attitude on his part.
-"when is daddy coming back to us vis time?" asked ariadne over her egg.
-anastasia paused furtively at the door. she had had a divination of trouble in the last talk between her master and mistress. the door had slammed. mr. hollister had not called for the tie she was pressing for him in the kitchen--'stashie told herself fiercely that "killing wud be too good for her, makin' trouble like the divil's own!" she listened anxious for lydia's answer.
-"daddy's coming back to us as soon as his business is done," said paul's wife. at the turn of her phrase she turned cold, and added with a quick vehemence: "no, no! before that! long before that!" she went on, to cover her agitation and get the maid out of the room, "'stashie, get the baby a glass of milk."
-"the front door bell's ringin'," said 'stashie, departing in that direction, with the assurance of her own ability to choose the proper task for herself, so exasperating to her master.
-she came back bringing miss burgess in her wake, miss burgess apologizing for "coming right in, that way," exclaiming effusively at the pretty picture made by mother and child,--"she must be such company for you, miss lydia"--miss burgess, deferential, sure of her own position and her hostess', and determinedly pleased with the general state of things. lydia repressed a sigh of impatience, but, noting the tired lines in the little woman's face, told anastasia to make another cup of tea for miss burgess and cook her an egg.
-"oh, delighted, i'm sure! quite an honor to have the same lunch with little miss hollister."
-ariadne did not smile at this remark, though from the speaker's accent it was meant as a pleasantry.
-miss burgess cast about in her mind for another bit of suitable badinage, but finding none, she began at once on the object of her visit.
-"now, my dear, i want you to listen to all i have to say before you make one objection. it's an idea of my very own. you'll let me get through without interruption?"
-"yes, oh, yes," murmured lydia, lifting ariadne down from her high-chair and untying the napkin from about her thin little neck.
-the introduction of a new element in her surroundings had for a moment broken the thread of her exalted resolutions. she wondered with a sore heart, as though it had been a common lovers' quarrel, how she and paul could ever get over the first sight of each other again. she was wondering how, with the most passionate resolve in the world, she could do anything at all under the leaden garment of physical fatigue which would weigh her down in the months to come.
-miss burgess began in her best style, which she so evidently considered very good indeed, that she could not doubt lydia's attention. it was all about a home for working-women she explained; a new charity which had come from the east, had caught on like anything among the smart set of columbus, and was about to be introduced into endbury. the most exclusive young people in columbus--the east end set (miss burgess had a genius for achieving oral capitalization) gave a parlor play for the first benefit there, in one of the old broad street homes, and they were willing to repeat it in endbury to introduce it there. a perfectly splendid crowd was sure to come, tickets could be any price, and the hostess who lent her house to it could have the glory of a most unique affair. mrs. lowder would be overwhelmed with delight to have the pick of the society of the capital at her house, but miss burgess had thought it such an opportunity for miss lydia to come out of mourning with, since it was for charity. she motioned lydia, about to speak, sternly to silence: "you said you wouldn't interrupt! and you haven't let me say half yet! that's your side of it--the side your dear mother would think of if she were only here; but there's another side that you can't, you oughtn't to resist!" she finished her tea with a hasty swallow and, going around the table, sat down by lydia, laying her hand impressively on the young matron's slim arm. "you're the sweetest thing in the world, of course, but, like other people of your fortunate class, you can't realize how perfectly awfully lucky you are, nor how unlucky poor people are! of course it stands to reason that you can't even imagine the life of a working-woman--you, a woman of entire leisure, with every want supplied before you speak of it by a husband who adores you! why, miss lydia, to give you some idea let me tell you just one little thing. lots and lots of the working-women of endbury live with their families in two or three rooms right on that horrid main street near their work because they can't afford carfares!"
-lydia looked at her without speaking. she remembered her futile, desperate, foolish proposition to paul to get more time together by living near his work. with a roar, the flood of her bewilderment, diverted for a time, broke over her again. she braced herself against it. through her companion's dimly-heard exhortations that, from her high heaven of self-indulgence, she stoop to lend a hand to her less favored sisters, she repeated to herself, clinging to the phrase as though it were a magic formula: "if i can only wish hard enough to make things better, nothing can prevent me."
-the telephone bell rang, and miss burgess interrupted herself to say: "it's for me, i know. i told them at the office to call me up here." she got herself out of the room in her busy way, her voice soon coming in a faint murmur from the far end of the hall.
-lydia walked to the window to call ariadne in to put on a wrap, the thought and action automatic. she had buttoned the garment about the child's slender body before she responded again to the little living presence. then she took her in a close embrace. with the child's breath on her face, with her curls exhaling the fresh outdoor air, there came to pass for poor lydia one of the strange, happy mysteries of the contradictory tangle that is human nature. she had felt it often with paul after one of their long separations--how mere physical presence can sometimes bring a consolation to the distressed spirit.
-as she held her child to her heart, things seemed for a moment quite plain and possible. why, paul was ariadne's father! as soon as he was with her again, all would be well. it must be. nothing could separate her from the father of her baby! they were one flesh now. there was still all their lifetime to grow to be one in spirit. she had only to try harder. they had simply started on a false track. they were so young. so many years lay before them. there was plenty of time to turn back and start all over again--there was plenty of time to--
-"oh, my dear! my dear!" miss burgess faltered weakly into the room and sank upon a chair.
-lydia sprang up, ariadne still in her arms, and faced her for a long silent instant, searching her face with passion. then she set the little girl down gently. "run out and play, dear," she said, and until the door had shut on the child she did not stir. her hand at her throat, "well?" she asked.
-miss burgess began to cry into her handkerchief.
-"it's paul!" said lydia with certainty. she sat down.
-the weeping woman nodded.
-"he has left me," lydia continued in the same dry tone of affirmation. "i know. we had a quarrel, and he has left me."
-miss burgess looked up, quite wild with surprise, her sobs cut short, her face twisted. "oh, no--no--no!" she cried, running across the room and putting her arms about the other. "no; it's not that! he--he--the man who telephoned said they were testing the dynamo, and your husband insisted on--"
-lydia came to life like a swimmer emerging into the air after a long dive. "oh, he's hurt! he's hurt!" she cried, bounding to her feet. "i must go to him. i must go to him!"
-she tore herself away from the reporter and darted toward the door. the older woman ran after her, stumbling, sobbing, putting hands of imploring pity on her.
-although no word was spoken, lydia suddenly screamed out as though she had been stabbed. "no! not that!" she cried.
-"yes, yes, my poor darling!" said the other.
-lydia turned slowly around. "then it is too late. we never can do better," she said.
-miss burgess tried helplessly to unburden her kind heart of its aching sympathy. "you spoke of a little disagreement, but, oh, my dear, don't let that be the last thought. think of the years of perfect love and knowledge you had together."
-"we never knew each other," said lydia. her voice did not tremble.
-"oh, don't! don't!" pleaded miss burgess, alarmed. "you mustn't let it unhinge you so! such a perfect marriage!"
-"we were never married," said lydia. she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
-"oh, help! someone!" called the poor reporter. "somebody come quick."
-lydia opened her eyes. she spoke still in a low, steady voice, but in it now was a shocking quality from which the other shrank back terrified. "i could have loved him!" she said.
-"quick--'stashie--hurry--keep the baby out of the room! your mistress has fainted!"
-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
-"but it is not too late for ariadne"
-protection from the minotaur
-dr. melton burst open the door of the house in the black rock woods, and running to the owner caught hold of his bared brown arm. "paul hollister is dead!" he cried.
-"i read the papers," said rankin, looking down at him without stirring.
-"the damn fool!" cried the doctor, his face working. "just now! there's another child expected."
-rankin's inscrutable gravity did not waver at this speech. he felt the hand that rested on his arm tremble, and he was thinking, as judge emery had so often thought, that perhaps one reason for the doctor's success in treating women was a certain community of too-responsive nerves. "you can hardly blame a man because the date of his death is inconvenient," he said reasonably. he drew up one of his deep chairs and pushed the doctor into it. "sit down and get your breath. you look sick. how do you happen to be up so early? it's hardly daylight."
-"up! you don't suppose i've been to bed! lydia--" his voice halted.
-rankin's quiet face stirred. "she feels it--terribly?"
-"i can't make her out! i can't make her out!" the doctor flung this confession of failure before him excitedly. "i don't know what's in her mind, but she's evidently dangerously near--women in her condition never have a very settled mental poise, anyhow, and this sudden shock--they telephoned it--and there was nobody there but that fool flora--"
-"do you mean that mrs. hollister is out of her mind?" asked rankin squarely.
-"i don't know! i don't know, i tell you! she says strange things--strange things. when i got there yesterday afternoon, she was holding ariadne--you knew, didn't you? that she called their little girl ariadne--?"
-rankin sat down, white to the lips. "no," he said, "i didn't know that. i never heard anything about--about her married life."
-"well, she was holding ariadne as close as though she was expecting kidnapers. i came in and she looked up--god! rankin, with what a face of fear! it wasn't grief. it was terror! she said: 'i must save the children--i mustn't let it get the children, too.' i asked her what she meant, and she went on in a whisper that fairly turned the blood backward in my veins, 'the minotaur! he got paul--i must hide the children from him!' and that's all she would say. i managed to put ariadne to bed, though lydia screamed at the idea of having her out of her sight, and i gave lydia a bromide and made her lie down. i think she knew me--oh, yes, i'm sure she did--why, she seemed like herself in every way but that one--but all night long she has wakened at intervals with a shriek and would not be quieted until she had felt of ariadne. nothing i said has had the slightest effect. i'm at my wits' end! if she doesn't get quieted soon--i finally gave her an opiate--enough to drug her senseless for a time--i don't know what to do! i don't know what to do!" he dropped his head into his hands and sat silent, shivering.
-rankin was looking at him, motionless, his powerful hands gripping his knees. he did not seem to breathe at all.
-the doctor sprang up and began to trot about, kicking at the legs of the furniture and biting his nails. "yes, i can, too! i do blame him for the date of his death!" he went back angrily to an earlier remark. "hollister killed himself as gratuitously as if he had taken a pistol! and he did it out of sheer, devilish vanity--ambition! he had worked himself almost insane, anyhow. i'd warned him that he must take it easy, get all the rest he could. his nerves were like fiddle-strings. and what did he do? made a night trip to evanston to superintend a job entirely outside his work. the inspector gave the machines the regular test; but paul wasn't satisfied. said they hadn't come up to what he'd guaranteed to get the contract; took charge of the test himself, ran the speed up goodness knows how high. the inspector said he warned him, but paul had got going and nothing could stop him--speed-mad--efficiency-mad--whatever you call it. and at last the fly-wheel on the engine couldn't stand it. it went through four floors and tore a hole in the roof--they say, in their ghastly phrase, there isn't enough left of him for a funeral! the other men left widows and children, too, i suppose--oh, damn! damn! damn!" he stopped short in the middle of the floor, his teeth chattering, his hand at his mouth.
-rankin's face showed that he was making a great effort to speak. "would i be allowed to see her?" he asked finally.
-the doctor spun round on him, amazed. "you? lydia? why in the world?"
-"perhaps i could quiet her. i have been able to quiet several delirious sick people when others couldn't."
-"i don't even know she's delirious--that's what puzzles me. she seems--"
-"will you let me try?" asked rankin again.
-when they reached the house in bellevue, lydia was still in a heavy stupor, so mrs. sandworth told them, showing no surprise at rankin's appearance. the two men sat down outside the door of her room to wait. it was a long hour they passed there. rankin sat silent, holding on his knee little ariadne, who amused herself quietly with his watch and the leather strap that held it. he took the back off, and let her see the little wheel whirring back and forth. his eyes never left the child's serious, rosy face. once or twice he laid his large, work-roughened hand gently on her dark hair.
-dr. melton fidgeted about, making excursions into the sick room and downstairs to look after his business by telephone, and, when he sat by the door, relieving his overburdened heart from time to time in some sudden exclamation. "paul hasn't left a penny, of course," one of these ran, "and he hadn't finished paying for the house. but she'll come naturally to live with julia and me." at these last words, in spite of his painful preoccupation, a tender look of anticipation lighted his face.
-again, he said: "what crazy notion can it be about the whatever-it-was getting paul?" later, "was there ever such a characteristic death?" finally, with a long sigh: "poor paul! poor paul! it doesn't seem more than yesterday that he was a little boy. he was a brave little boy!"
-mrs. sandworth came to the door. "she's beginning to come to herself, i think. she stirs, and moves her hands about."
-as she spoke, there was a scream from the bedroom: "my baby! my baby!"
-rankin sprang to his feet, holding ariadne on one arm, and stepped quickly inside. "here is the baby," he said in a quiet voice. "i was holding her all the time you slept. i will not let the minotaur come near her."
-lydia looked at him long, with no sign of recognition. the room was intensely silent. a drop of blood showed on dr. melton's lower lip where his teeth gripped it.
-"nobody else sees it," said lydia in a hurried, frightened tone. "they won't believe me when i say it is there. they won't take care of ariadne. they can't--"
-"i see it," rankin broke in. he went on steadily: "i will take care that it does not hurt ariadne."
-"do you promise?" asked lydia solemnly.
-"i promise," said rankin.
-lydia looked about her wonderingly, with blank eyes. "i think, then, i will lie down and rest a little," she said, in a thin, weak voice. "i feel very tired. i can't seem to remember what makes me so tired." she sank back on the pillows and closed her eyes. her face was like a sick child's in its appealing, patient look of suffering. she looked up at rankin again. "you will not go far?" she asked.
-"i shall be close at hand," he answered.
-"you are very kind," murmured lydia, closing her eyes again. "i am sorry to be so much trouble to you--but it is so important about ariadne. i am sorry to be so--you are--very--"
-melton touched the other man's arm and motioned him to the door.
-as ariadne saw it
-all that day, the tall, ruddy-haired man in working clothes sat in the hall, within sight, though not within hearing, of the sick room, playing with the rosy child, and exerting all his ingenuity to invent quiet games that they could play there "where muvver tan see us"; ariadne soon learned the reason for staying in one place so constantly. she was very happy that day. never in her life had she had so enchanting a playfellow. he showed her a game to play with clothespins and tin plates from the kitchen--why, it was so much fun that 'stashie herself had to join in as she went past. and he told one story after another without a sign of the usual grown-up fatigue. they had their lunch there at the end of the hall, on the little sewing-table with two dolls beside them and the new man made ariadne laugh by making believe feed the dolls out of her doll's tea-set.
-it was a little queer, of course, to stay right there all the time, and to have muvver staring at them from the bedroom at the other end of the hall, and not to be allowed to do more than tiptoe in once or twice and kiss her without saying a word; but when ariadne grew confused with trying to think this out, and the little eyes drooped heavily, the new man picked her up and tucked her away in his arms so comfortably that, though she meant to reach up and feel if his beard felt as red as it looked, she fell asleep before she could raise her hand.
-the new man stood up, still holding ariadne. how tall he was! she kept going up and up, and when she peered over his shoulder she found herself looking down on uncle marius' white head.
-"how about to-morrow?" asked the new man.
-"we'll see. we'll see," said dr. melton; and then they all went downstairs and had toast and boiled eggs for supper. ariadne informed her companions, looking up from her egg with a yolky smile, "daddy told muvver the other day that 'stashie had certainly learned to boil eggs something fine! and he laughed, but muvver didn't. was it a joke?"
-"they are very good eggs indeed, and well boiled," the new man answered. she loved the way in which he conversed with her.
-"ought we to give her some idea?" asked the doctor in a low voice.
-"i would wait until she asks," said the other.
-but paul's child never asked. once or twice she remarked that daddy was away longer than usual "vis time," but he had never been a very steadily recurrent phenomenon in her life, and soon her little brain, filled with new impressions, had forgotten that he ever used to come back.
-there were many new impressions. a great deal was happening nowadays. every morning something different, every day new people going and coming. aunt marietta, auntie madeleine, uncle george from cleveland, whom she'd seen only once or twice before, and great-aunt hollister, whom she knew very well and feared as well as she knew her. after a time even the husbands began to appear, the husbands she had seen so rarely; aunt marietta's husband, and aunt madeleine's--fat, bald mr. lowder, who smelled of tobacco and soap and took her up on his lap--as much as he had--and gave her a big round dollar and kissed her behind her ear and smiled at her very kindly and held her very close. he said he liked little girls, and he wished auntie madeleine would get him one some day for a christmas present. she informed him, filled with admiration at the extent of her own knowledge, that he couldn't get a christmas present some day, but only just christmas day.
-mostly, however, they paid no attention to her, these many aunts and uncles who came and went. and, oddly enough, uncle marius always shut the door to muvver's room when they came, and wouldn't let them, no matter how much they wanted to, go in and see muvver, who was, she gathered, very sick. ariadne didn't see, really, why they came at all, since they couldn't see muvver and they certainly never so much as looked at 'stashie, dear darling 'stashie--more of a comfort these queer days than ever before--and they never, never spoke to the new man, who came and went as though nobody knew he was there. they would look right at him and never see him. everything was very hard for a little girl to understand, and she dared ask no questions.
-everybody seemed to be very angry, and yet not at her. indeed, she took the most prodigious care to avoid doing anything naughty lest she concentrate on herself this now widely diffused disapprobation. never in her life had she tried so hard to be good, but nobody paid the least attention to her--nobody but the new man and 'stashie, and they weren't the angry ones. the others stood about in groups in corners, talking in voices that started in to be low and always got loud before they stopped. ariadne added several new words to her vocabulary at this time, from hearing them so constantly repeated. when her dolls were bad now, she shook them and called them "indecent! indecent!" and asked them, with as close an imitation as she could manage, of great-aunt hollister's tone, "what do you suppose people are thinking! what do you suppose people are thinking!" or she knocked them into a corner and said "shocking! shocking!"
-one day she stopped uncle marius, hurrying past her up the stairs, and asked him: "what are you thinking of, uncle marius?"
-"what am i thinking of? what do you mean?" he repeated, his face and eyes twitching the way they did when he couldn't understand something right off.
-"why, auntie madeleine keeps asking everybody all the time, 'what can the doctor be thinking of?' i just wondered."
-he bent to kiss her raspingly--there were stiff little stubby white hairs coming out all over his face--and he said, as he trotted on up the stairs, "i am thinking of making sure that you have a mother, my poor dear."
-and then there was a bigger change one day. she went to bed in her own little crib, and when she woke up she wasn't there at all, but in a big bed in a room at aunt julia's; and aunt julia was smiling at her, and hugging her, and saying she was so glad she had come to live with her and uncle marius for a while. ariadne found out that uncle marius had brought her and muvver the night before in a carriage all the way from bellevue. she regretted excessively that she had not been awake to enjoy the adventure.
-at aunt julia's, things were quieter. all at once the other people, the other uncles and aunts, had disappeared. that, of course, was because she and muvver were at aunt julia's. she conceived of the house in bellevue as still filled with their angry faces and voices, still echoing to "indecent! indecent!" and "what do you suppose people are saying?"
-there was a long, long time after this when nothing special happened. the new man continued to come here, and his visits were the only events in ariadne's quiet days. apparently he came to see ariadne, for he never went to see muvver at all, as he used to do in bellevue. he took ariadne out in the back yard as the weather began to get warmer, and showed her lots of outdoor plays. he was as nice as ever, only a good deal whiter; and that was odd, for they were now in may, and from playing outdoors all the time ariadne herself was as brown as a berry. at least, that was what aunt julia said. ariadne accepted it with her usual patient indulgence of grown-ups' mistakes. there was not, of course, a single berry that was anything but red or black, or at least a sort of blue, like huckleberries in milk. she and 'stashie had gone over them, one by one; they knew.
-uncle marius remembered to shave himself nowadays. in fact, everything was more normal. ariadne began to forget about the exciting time in bellevue. muvver wasn't in bed all the time now, but sat up in a chair for part of the day and even, if one were ever so quiet, could listen to accounts of what happened in ariadne's world and could be told how aunt julia said that 'stashie was quite a help as second girl if you just remembered to put away the best china, and that they had had eight new cooks since ariadne had been there, but the second would have stayed, only her mother got sick. the others just left. but aunt julia didn't mind. when there wasn't any cook, if it happened to be 'stashie's day off, they all had bread and milk for supper, just as she had, and they let her set the table, and she could do it ever so well only she forgot some things, of course, and uncle marius never got mad. he just said he hoped eating bread and milk like her would make him as good as she was--and she was good--oh, muvver, she was trying ever so hard to be good--
-"come, dear," said aunt julia, "mother's getting tired. we'd better go."
-it was only after she went away, sometimes only when she lay awake in her strange big bed, that ariadne remembered that muvver never said a word, but only smoothed her hair and kissed her.
-she and the new man used to play out in the old grape-arbor in the back yard, and it was there, one day in mid-may, that uncle marius came teetering out and called the new man to one side, only ariadne could hear what they said. uncle marius said: "it's no use, rankin. it's a fixed idea with her. she isn't violent any more, but she hasn't changed. she is certainly a little deranged, but not enough for legal restraint. she could take ariadne and disappear any day. i'm in terror lest she do that. i've no authority to prevent her. she won't talk to me freely about what she is afraid of. she doesn't seem to trust me--me!"
-ariadne found the conversation as dull as all overheard grown-ups' talk, and tried to busy herself with a corn-cob house the new man had been showing her how to build. two or three times lately he had taken her out to his little house in the woods and showed her a lot of tools, and told her what they were for, and said if she were older he would teach her how to use them. ariadne's head was full of the happy excitement of those visits. corn-cob houses were for babies, she thought now.
-after a time, uncle marius went away, slamming the front gate after him and stamping away up the street as though he were angry, only he did all kinds of queer things without being angry. in fact, she had never seen him angry. perhaps he and muvver were different from other people and never were.
-she looked up with a start. the new man had come back to the arbor, but he did not look like play. he looked queer, so queer that ariadne's sensitive lower lip began to tremble and the corners of her mouth to draw down. she could not remember having done anything naughty. she was frightened by the way he looked. and yet, he picked her up quite gently, and held her on his knee, and asked her if muvver could walk about the house yet.
-"oh, yes," she told him, "and came down to dinner last night."
-the new man put her down, and asked her with a "please" and "i'd be much obliged" as though she were a grown-up herself, if she would do something for him--go to muvver and ask her if she felt strong enough to come down into the grape-arbor to see him. tell her he had something very special to say to her.
-ariadne went, skipping and hopping in pleasurable excitement at her own importance, and returned triumphantly to say that muvver said she would come. she wondered if he felt too grown-up for cob houses himself. he hadn't built it any higher when she was gone. he looked as if he hadn't even winked. while she stood wondering at his silence, his face got very white. he stood up looking toward the house. muvver was coming out, very slowly, leaning on the railing to the steps--muvver in the nightgowny dress aunt julia had made her, only it wasn't really nightgowny, because it was all over lace--muvver with her hair in two braids over her shoulders and all mussed up where she'd been lying down. ariadne wondered that she hadn't smoothed it a little. she knew what people would say to her if she came around with her hair looking like that.
-the man went forward to meet muvver, and gave her his hand, and they neither of them smiled or said how do you do, but came back together toward the arbor. and when they got there muvver sat down quick, as though she were tired, and laid her head back against the chair. the man lifted ariadne up and kissed her--he had never done that before. now she knew how his beard felt--very soft. she felt it against her face for a long time. and he told her to go into the house to 'stashie.
-so she went. ariadne always did as she was told. 'stashie was trying to make some ginger cookies, and the oven "jist would not bake thim," she said. they were all doughy when they came out, very much as they were when they went in; but the dough was deliciously sweet and spicy. 'stashie and ariadne ate a great deal of it, because 'stashie knew very well from experience that the grown-ups have an ineradicable prejudice against food that comes out of the oven "prezackly" the way it went in.
-after that they had to wash their hands, all sticky with dough, and after that 'stashie took ariadne on her lap and told her irish fairy stories, all about cap o'rushes and the leprechaun, till they were startled by the boiling over of the milk 'stashie had put on the stove to start a pudding. 'stashie certainly did have bad luck with her cooking, as she herself frequently sadly admitted.
-she was putting more milk on the stove when in dashed uncle marius, his mouth wide open and his hands jumping around. "where's your mother? where's mrs. hollister?" he cried.
-"out in the arbor," said ariadne.
-"oh, no--" ariadne began to explain, but the doctor had darted to the window. you could see the grape-arbor plainly from there--muvver sitting with her hair all mussed up around her face, listening to the new man, who sat across the table from her and talked and talked and talked, and never moved a finger. uncle marius put his hand up quick to his side and said something ariadne couldn't catch. she looked up, saw his face, and ran away, terrified, to hide her face in 'stashie's dirty apron. now she knew how uncle marius looked when he was angry. she heard him go out and down the steps, and went fearfully to watch him. he went across the grass to the arbor. the others looked toward him without moving, and when he came close and leaned against the table, muvver looked up at him and said something, and then leaned back again, her head resting against the chair, her eyes closed, her hands dropped down. how tired muvver always looked!
-and just then 'stashie spilled all the cocoa she was going to use to flavor the pudding with. she spilled it on the stove, and it smoked and stinked--there was nobody nowadays to forbid ariadne to use 'stashie's words--and 'stashie said there wasn't any more and they'd have to go off to the grocery-store to get some, and if ariadne knew where that nickel was mis' sandworth give her, they could get a soda-water on the way, and with two straws it would do for both.
-what is best for the children?
-lydia lifted her face, white under the shadow of her disordered hair, and said: "it is mr. rankin who must take care of the children--ariadne, and the baby if it lives."
-she spoke in a low, expressionless voice, as though she had no strength to spare. dr. melton's hand on the table began to shake. he answered: "i have told you before, my dear, that there is no reason for your fixed belief that you will not live after the baby's birth. you must not dwell on that so steadily."
-lydia raised her heavy eyes once more to his. "i want him to have the children," she said.
-the doctor took a step or two away from the table. he was now shaking from head to foot, and when he came back to the silent couple and took a chair between them he made two or three attempts at speech before he could command his voice. "it is very hard on me, lydia, to--to have you turn from me to a--to a stranger." his voice had grotesque quavers.
-lydia raised a thin, trembling hand, and laid it on her godfather's sinewy fingers. she tried to smile into his face. "dear godfather," she said wistfully, "if it were only myself--but the children--"
-"what do you mean, lydia? what do you mean?" he demanded with tremulous indignation.
-she dropped her eyes again and drew a long, sighing breath. "i haven't strength to explain to you all i mean," she said gently, "and i think you know without my telling you. you have always known what is in my heart."
-"i had thought there was some affection for me in your heart," said the doctor, thrusting out his lips to keep them from trembling.
-lydia's drooping position changed slightly. she lifted her hands and folded them together on the table, leaning forward, and bending full on the doctor the somber intensity of her dark, deep-sunken eyes. "dear godfather, i have no time or strength to waste." the slowness with which she chose her words gave them a solemn weight. "i cannot choose. if it hurts you to have me speak truth, you must be hurt. you know what a failure i have made of my life, how i have missed everything worth having--"
-dr. melton, driven hard by some overmastering emotion, drew back, and threw aside precipitately the tacit understanding he and lydia had always kept. "lydia, what are you talking about! you have been more than usually favored--you have been loved and cherished as few women--" his voice died away under lydia's honest, tragic eyes.
-she went on as though he had not spoken. "my children must know something different. my children must have a chance at the real things. if i die, who can give it to them? even if i live, shall i be wise enough to give them what i had not wisdom or strength enough to get for myself?"
-"you speak as though i were not in the world, lydia," the doctor broke in bitterly, "or as though you hated and mistrusted me. why do you look to a stranger to--"
-"could you do for my children what you have not done for yourself?" she asked him earnestly. "how much would you see of them? how much would you know of them? how much of your time would you be willing to sacrifice to learn patiently the inner lives of two little children? you would be busy all day, like the other people i know, making money for them to dress like other well-to-do children, for them to live in this fine, big house, for them to go to expensive private schools with the children of the people you know socially--for them to be as much as possible like the fatherless child i was."
-the doctor made a shocked gesture. "but, lydia, someone must earn the livings. you are--"
-lydia broke in fiercely: "they are not earning livings--they are earning more dresses and furniture and delicate food than their families need. they are earning a satisfaction for their own ambitions. they are willing to give their families anything but time and themselves."
-"lydia! lydia! i never knew you to be cruel before! they can not help it--the way their lives are run. it's not that they wish to--they can not help it! it is against an economic law you are protesting."
-"that economic law has been broken by one person i know," said lydia, "and that is the reason i--"
-the doctor flushed darkly. the tears rose to his eyes. "lydia, oh, my dear! trust me--trust me! i, too, will--i swear i will do all that you wish--don't turn away from me--trust me--!"
-lydia's mouth began to quiver. "ah! don't make me say what must sound so cruel!"
-the doctor stared at her hard. "make you say, you mean, that you don't trust me."
-she drew a little, pitiful breath, and turned away her head. "yes; that is what i mean," she said. she went on hurriedly, putting up appealing hands to soften her words, "you see--it's the children--i must do what is best for them. it must be done once for all. suppose you found you couldn't now, after all these years, turn about and be different? suppose you found you couldn't arrange a life that the children could be a part of, and help in, and really do their share and live with you. you mean to--i'm sure you mean to! but you never have yet! how dare i let you try if you are not sure? i can't come back if i am dead, you know, and make a new arrangement. mr. rankin has proved that he can--"
-at the name, the doctor's face darkened. he shot a black look at the younger man sitting beside him in his strange silence. "what has rankin done?" he asked bitterly. "i should say the very point about him is that he has done nothing."
-"he has tried, he has tried, he is trying," cried lydia, beating her hands on the table. "think! of all the people i know, he is the only one who is even trying. that was all i wanted myself. that is all i dare ask for my children--a chance to try."
-"to try what?" asked the doctor challengingly.
-"to try not to have life make them worse instead of better. that's not much to ask--but nobody i know, but one only has--"
-"simplicity and right living don't come from camping out in a shed," said the doctor angrily. "externals are nothing. if the heart is right and simple--"
-"if the heart is right and simple, nothing else matters. that is what i say," answered lydia.
-dr. melton gave a gesture of cutting the question short. "well, of course it's quite impossible! rankin can't possibly have any claim on your children in the event of your death. think of all your family, who would be--"
-"i think of them," said lydia with an accent so strange that the doctor was halted. "oh, i have thought of them!" she said again. she put her hands over her eyes. "could i not make a will, and appoint as guardian--" she began to ask.
-dr. melton cut her short with a sound like a laugh, although his face was savage. "did you never hear of wills being contested? how long do you suppose a will you make under the present circumstances would stand against an attack on it by your family and the hollisters, with their money and influence!"
-"oh! oh!" moaned lydia, "and i shall not be here to--"
-rankin stirred throughout all his great height and broke his silence. he said to lydia: "there is some way--there must be some way. i will find it."
-lydia took down her hands and showed a face so ravaged by the emotions of the colloquy that the physician in her godfather sprang up through the wounded jealousy of the man. "lydia, my dear, you must stop--this is idiotic of me to allow you--not another word. you must go into the house this instant and lie down and rest--"
-he bent over her with his old, anxious, exasperated, protecting air. lydia seized his hands. her own were hot and burning. "rest! i can't rest with all this unsettled! i go over and over it--how can i sleep! how can you think that your little opiates will make me forget that my children may be helpless, with no one to protect them--" she looked about her wildly. "why, little ariadne may be given to madeleine!" her horrified eyes rested again on her godfather. she drew him to her. "oh, help me! you've always been kind to me. help me now!"
-there was a silence, the two exchanging a long gaze. the man's forehead was glistening wet. finally, his breath coming short, he said: "yes; i will help you," and, his eyes still on hers, put out a hand toward rankin.
-the younger man was beside them in a stride. he took the hand offered him, but his gaze also was on the white face of the woman between them. "we will do it together," he told her. "rest assured. it shall be done."
-the corners of lydia's mouth twitched nervously. "you are a good man," she said to her godfather. she looked at rankin for a moment without speaking, and then turned toward the house, wavering. "will you help me back?" she said to the doctor, her voice quite flat and toneless; "i am horribly tired."
-when the doctor came back again to the arbor, mrs. sandworth was with him, her bearing, like his, that of a person in the midst of some cataclysmic upheaval. it was evident that her brother had told her. without greeting rankin, she sat down and fixed her eyes on his face. she did not remove them during the talk that followed.
-the doctor stood by the table, drumming with his fingers and grimacing. "you must know," he finally made a beginning with difficulty, "i don't know whether you realize, not being a physician, that she is really not herself. she has for the present a mania for providing as she thinks best for her children's future. of course no one not a monomaniac would so entirely ignore your side, would conceive so strange an idea. she is so absorbed in her own need that she does not realize what an unheard-of request she is making. to burden yourself with two young children--to mortgage all your future--"
-rankin broke in with a shaking voice and a face of exultation: "good god, doctor! don't grudge me this one chance of my life!"
-the doctor stared, bewildered. "what are you talking about?" he asked.
-"about myself. i don't do it often--let me now. do you think i haven't realized all along that what you said of me is true--that i have done nothing? done nothing but succeed smugly in keeping myself in comfort outside the modern economic treadmill! what else could i do? i'm no orator, to convince other people. i haven't any universal panacea to offer! i'm only an inarticulate countryman, a farmer's son, with the education the state gives everyone--who am i, to try to lead? apparently there was nothing for me to do but ignobly to take care of myself--but now, god be thanked! i have my chance. someone has been hurt in their infernal squirrel-cage, and i can help--"
-the older man was looking at him piercingly, as though struck by a sudden thought. he now cut him short with, "you're not deceiving yourself with any notion that she--"
-the other answered quickly, with a smile of bitter humility: "you have seen her look at me. she does not know whether i am a human being or not--i am to her any strong animal, a horse, an ox--any force that can carry ariadne safely!" he added, in another tone, his infinitely gentle tone: "i see in that the extremity of her anxiety."
-the doctor put his hand on the other man's powerful arm. "do you realize what you are proposing to yourself? you are human. you are a young man. are you strong enough to keep to it?"
-rankin looked at him. mrs. sandworth leaned forward.
-"i am," said rankin finally.
-the words echoed in a long silence.
-after he had left them the brother and sister did not speak for a time. then the doctor said, irritably: "julia, say something, for heaven's sake. what did you think of what he said?"
-"i didn't hear what he said," answered mrs. sandworth; "i was looking at him."
-"well?" urged her brother.
-"he is a good man," she said.
-a sense that she was holding something in reserve kept him silent, gazing expectantly at her.
-"how awfully he's in love with her!" she brought out finally. "that's the whole point. he's in love with her! all this talk about 'ways of living' and theories and things that they make so much of--it just amounts to nothing but that he's in love with her."
-"oh, you sentimental idiot!" cried the doctor. "i hoped to get some sense out of you."
-"that's sense," said mrs. sandworth.
-"it hasn't anything to do with the point! why, as for that, paul was in love with--"
-"he was not!" cried mrs. sandworth, with a sudden loud certainty.
-the doctor caught her meaning and considered it frowningly. when he spoke, it was to burst out pathetically: "i have loved her all her life."
-"oh, you!" retorted his sister, with a sad conclusiveness.
-ariadne came running out to them. "i just went to look into muvver's room, and she was sound asleep! honest! she was!"
-the child had heard enough of the doctor's long futile struggles with the horrors of lydia's sleepless nights to divine that her news was important. she was rewarded with a startled look from her elders. "come!" said the doctor.
-mrs. sandworth's hand went to her throat. she looked at her brother through misty eyes. he closed the door gently, and drew her away, making the gesture of a man who admits his own ignorance of a mystery.
-through the long night
-"they must have gone crazy, simply crazy!" said madeleine, making quick, excited gestures. "mrs. sandworth, of course--a person can hardly blame her for anything! she's a cipher with the rim off when the doctor has made up his mind. but, even so, shouldn't you think in common decency she'd have let us know what they were up to in time to prevent it? i never heard a word of this sickening business of ariadne's adoption till day before yesterday. did you?" she ended half-suspiciously.
-mrs. mortimer stopped her restless pace up and down the old-fashioned, high-ceilinged room, and made a gesture for silence. "i thought i heard something--up there," she explained, motioning to the upper part of the house. "i wonder what made lydia so sure beforehand that she wouldn't live through this?"
-"well, i guess from what the nurse told me there isn't much chance for her," said madeleine in a hard voice. her color was not so high as usual, her beautiful face looked grim, and she spoke in a bitter tone of seriousness that made her seem quite another person. marietta's thin, dark countenance gave less indication of her mood, whatever it was. she looked sallow and worn, and only her black eyes, hot and gloomy, showed emotion.
-both women were silent a moment, listening to the sound of footsteps overhead. "it seems as though it must be over soon now!" cried the childless one of the two, drawing in her breath sharply. "it makes me furious to think of women suffering so. bertha williamson was telling me the other day about when her little walter was born--it made me sick!"
-the matron looked at her and shivered a little, but made no response.
-"the nurse says lydia is mostly unconscious now. perhaps the worst is over for her! poor lyd! what do you suppose made her act so?" went on madeleine, moving about restlessly, her voice uncertain. she went to the window, and drew aside the shade to look out into the blackness. "oh, i wish the men would come! what time is it, do you suppose? yes, i see; half-past three. oh, it must be over soon! i wish they'd come! you telegraphed george, didn't you? heavens! how it rains!"
-"he was to come on the midnight train. is your husband--"
-"oh, he was horrid about it--wanted me to do it all myself. he's in the midst of some big deal or other. but i told him he'd have to come and help out, or i'd--i'd kill him! he'll bring the lawyer."
-"where do you suppose?" began marietta, looking over her shoulder.
-"out in his shanty in the black rock woods," said madeleine harshly, "with no idea of what's going on. just before you came, the doctor sent out for a messenger to take him word, and you'd better believe i got hold of that messenger!"
-"of course that'll make things easier," said marietta.
-"oh, it won't be hard at all," madeleine assured her; "the lawyer'll be right at hand; it'll be over in a minute."
-marietta's face altered. she drew back from the other woman. "oh, madeleine! you act as though--you were counting on lydia's--"
-"no; i'm not. i used to think a lot of lydia before she disgraced poor paul's memory in this way! but you see it'll be easy to do, one way or the other. if she--if she doesn't--why, marietta, you know lydia! she never can hold out against you and george, the nearest she has in the world. i should think you'd feel awfully about what people are saying--her letting ariadne be adopted in that scandalous way when she had brothers and sisters. i should think you'd feel like asserting yourselves. i do, certainly! i'm just as near to ariadne as you are! and i know george is perfectly furious about the whole business!"
-"but maybe the doctor won't let us go in, right in to her--"
-a long-cherished grudge rose to the surface in mrs. lowder's energetic reply: "well, i guess this is one time when the high-and-mighty dr. melton'll have to be shoved on one side, and if necessary i'll do the shoving!"
-"you feel justified?"
-"justified! i should think i do! justified in keeping my brother's child out of the clutches of that--and if my husband and your brother together can't raise the cash and the pull to get ariadne away from him, too, i miss my guess. they will; of course they will, or what's the use of having money when you go to law!"
-marietta was silent. madeleine took her lack of responsiveness as due to the resentment of a poor person to her remarks as to the value of wealth in a democracy. she frowned, regretting a false step, and went on conciliatorily: "of course we're only doing what any decent family is bound to do--protecting the children. it's what lydia herself would want if she were in her right mind."
-she fell silent now, restless, fidgeting about, picking up small objects and setting them down unseeingly, and occasionally going to the window to look out at the hot, rainy night. she was in mourning for paul, and above her black draperies her face was now like marble.
-mrs. mortimer, also in black, sat in a determinedly passive silence.
-finally, the younger woman broke out: "oh, i'll go crazy if i just stay here! i'm going upstairs to see the nurse again."
-in an instant she was back, her face whiter than before.
-"it's a boy--alive, all right--half an hour ago. would you think they'd let us sit here and never tell us--" her voice changed. "a little boy--" she sat down.
-"how is lydia?" asked lydia's sister.
-"--a little boy," said madeleine. she addressed the other woman peremptorily. "i want him! you can have ariadne!" she flushed as she spoke, and added defiantly: "i know i always said i didn't want children!"
-"how is lydia?" marietta broke in with an angry impatience.
-"very low, the nurse said; dr. melton wouldn't give any hope."
-marietta's face twitched. her large white hands clasped each other hard.
-"i'm going into the doctor's office to telephone my husband," went on madeleine; "there's not a minute to lose."
-after she was alone, mrs. mortimer's thin, dark face settled into tragic repose. she leaned back her head and closed her eyes, from which a slow tear ran down over her sallow cheeks. there was no sound but the patter of summer rain on the porch roof outside.
-firm, light steps came hastily to the outer door, the door clicked open and shut, the steps came down the hall. mrs. mortimer sat up and opened her eyes. she saw a tall man in rough clothes, hatless, with raindrops glistening on his bright, close-cropped hair and beard. he was hesitating at the foot of the stairs, but at her slight movement he caught sight of her and rushed toward her. "has she--is there--" he began.
-mrs. mortimer gazed intently into his quivering face. "my sister has given birth to a son, and lies at the point of death," she said with her unsparing conciseness, but not harshly.
-behind them was the sound of a shutting door and a key turned in the lock. they both spun about and saw mrs. lowder slip the key into the bosom of her dress. her aspect of white determination suited this theatrical gesture, as she placed herself quickly before the door. "if you will promise me solemnly that you will leave the house at once, i will let you out," she said, in a high, shaking voice.
-rankin did not answer. he looked at her as though he did not see her.
-"what business have you here, anyhow?" she went on fiercely.
-"i am here to adopt mrs. hollister's second child," stated rankin, collecting himself with an effort.
-mrs. lowder's pale face flushed. "you'll do nothing of the sort. i shall adopt my brother's child myself! how dare you--a perfect stranger--"
-"mrs. hollister wishes it," said rankin.
-"lydia is out of her mind--if she is alive!" said madeleine, trembling excitedly, "and the child's own relatives are the proper--you needn't think you are going to keep ariadne, either! it can be proved in any court that lydia was crazy, and that her family are the ones that ought to--"
-"that will be decided in the future," said rankin. "for the present i have a legal right to ariadne, and i shall have to the boy!"
-"do you mean you would dare to lay hands on a woman?" cried madeleine, extending her arms across the door.
-rankin turned, and in one stride had reached the window, which stood open to the hot, rainy summer night. he was gone in an instant.
-"quick! quick! lock the front door!" cried madeleine, fumbling with the key. she turned it and darted into the hallway, and fell back, crying angrily: "oh, no! there's the back door--and the doctor's office and all the windows. it's no use! it's no use!" she broke into a storm of sobs. "you didn't help a bit!" she cried furiously to the other woman. "you didn't even try to help!"
-it was an accusation against which marietta did not attempt to defend herself.
-the swaying balance
-"no messenger came--only 'stashie just now. i started the instant she--"
-"have you the paper--the contract--whatever it--"
-rankin showed a flash of white in his pocket. "is she able to sign it?"
-"oh, she must! she won't have an instant's peace until she does. she has been wild because you were so late in--"
-their hurried, broken colloquy was cut short by a nurse who came to dr. melton, saying, "the patient is always asking if the gentleman who is to--"
-"yes, yes; he is here." the doctor motioned her to precede them. "go in; you're needed as a witness."
-he held rankin back an instant at the door. "remember! no heroics! just have the signing done as quickly as possible and get out!" his little wizened face looked ghastly in the dim light of the hall, but his voice was firm, and his hand did not tremble.
-rankin followed him into the bedroom, which was filled with a strong odor of antiseptics. the nurse turned on the electric light, shading it with her hand so that the light fell only on the lower part of the bed, leaving lydia's head in the shadow.
-she lay very straight and stark, as though, thought rankin despairingly, she were already dead. her right arm was out over the sheet, her thin hand nerveless. her face was very white, her lips swollen and bleeding as though she had bitten them repeatedly. she was absolutely motionless, lying on her back with closed eyes. at the slight sound made by the men in entering, she opened her eyes and looked at them. every vestige of color dropped out of rankin's face. her eyes were alive, sane, exalted--lydia's own eyes again.
-he was holding the paper open in his hand, and without a word knelt down by the bed, offering it to her mutely. their eyes met in a long gaze. the doctor and nurse looked away from this mute communion. rankin put a pen in lydia's fingers and held up the paper. with, a faint, sighing breath, loud in the silent room, she raised her hand. it fell to the bed again. dr. melton then knelt beside her, put his own sinewy, corded fingers around it and guided it to the paper. the few lines were traced. lydia's hand dropped and her eyes closed. rankin stood up to go.
-the nurse turned off the light and the room was again in a half obscurity, the deep, steady voice of the rain coming in through the open windows, the sweet summer-night smells mingling with the acrid odor of chemicals, lydia lying straight and stark under the sheet--but now her eyes were open, shining, fixed on rankin. their light was the last he saw as he closed the door behind him.
-after a time the doctor came out and joined rankin waiting at the head of the stairs. he looked very old and tired, but the ghastly expression of strain was replaced with a flickering restlessness. he came up to rankin, blinking rapidly, and touched him on the arm. "look here!" he whispered. "her pulse has gone down from a hundred and fifty to a hundred and thirty."
-he sat down on the top step, clasped his hands about his knees, and leaned his white head against the balustrade. he looked like some small, weary, excited old child. "lord, rankin! sit down when you get a chance!" he whispered. "if you'd been through what i have! and you needn't try to get me to add another word to what i've just told you. i don't dare! it may mean nothing, you know. it may very likely mean nothing. good heavens! the mental sensitiveness of women at this time! it's beyond belief. i never get used to the miracle of it. everything turns on it--everything! if the pulse should go down ten more now, i should--oh, heaven bless that crazy celt for getting you here! good lord! if you hadn't come when you did! i don't see what could have become of the messenger i sent--why, hours ago--i knew that nothing could go right if you weren't--is that the door?" he sprang up and sank back again--"i told the nurse to report as soon as there was any change--i was afraid if i stayed in the room she would feel the twitching of my damned nerves--yes, really--it's so--she's in a state when a feather's weight--suppose 'stashie hadn't brought you! i couldn't have kept madeleine off much longer--god! if madeleine had gone into that room, i--lydia--but nobody told 'stashie to go! it must have been an inspiration. i thought of course my messenger--i was expecting you every instant. she's been crouching out here in the hall all night, not venturing even to ask a question, until i caught sight of her eyes--she loves lydia too! i told her then the baby had come and that her mistress had no chance unless you were here. she must have--when did she--"
-rankin gave a sound like a sob, and leaned against the wall. he had not stirred before since the doctor's first words. "you don't mean there's hope?" he whispered, "any hope at all?"
-the doctor sprang at him and clapped his hand over his mouth. "i didn't say it! i didn't say it!"
-the door behind them opened, and the nurse stepped out with a noiseless briskness. the doctor walked toward her steadily and listened to her quick, low-toned report. then he nodded, and she stepped back into the bedroom and shut the door. he stood staring at the floor, one hand at his lips.
-rankin made an inarticulate murmur of appeal. his face glared white through the obscurity of the hall.
-the older man went back to him, and looked up earnestly into his eyes. "yes; there's every hope," he said. he added, with a brave smile: "for you and lydia there's every hope in the world. for me, there's the usual lot of fathers."
-another day begins
-they started. from below came a wail of fright. as they listened the sound came nearer and nearer. "that's ariadne--a bad dream--get her quiet, for the lord's sake."
-"where is she sleeping?"
-"in the room next the parlor."
-rankin gave an exclamation, and leaped down the stairs. at the foot he was met by a little figure in sleeping-drawers. "favver! favver!" she sobbed, holding up her arms.
-rankin caught her up and held her close. "you promised you wouldn't get so afraid of dreams, little daughter," he said in a low, tender voice of reproach.
-"but this was a nawful one!" wept ariadne. "i fought i heard a lot of voices, men's and ladies' as mad--oh! awful mad--and loud!" she went on incoherently that she had been too frightened to stir, even though after a while she dreamed that the front door slammed and they all went away. but then she was too frightened, and came out to find favver.
-rankin took her back to her bed, and sat down beside it, keeping one big hand about the trembling child's cold little fingers. "it was only a bad dream, ariadne. just go to sleep now. father'll sit here till you do."
-"you won't let them come back?" asked the child, drawing long, shaken breaths.
-"no," he said quietly.
-"you'll always be close, to take care of me?"
-"and of muvver and 'stashie?"
-there was a pause.
-ariadne spoke in grieved astonishment. "why, of course of muvver and 'stashie, favver."
-rankin took a sudden great breath. "i hope so, ariadne."
-"well, you can if you want to," the child gravely gave her assent.
-she said no more for a time, clutching tightly to his hand. then, "favver."
-"i fink i could go to sleep better if i had my bunny."
-"yes, dear," said the man patiently; "where is he?"
-"i fink he's under ve chair where my clothes are--ve big chair. 'stashie lets me put my clothes on ve biggest chair."
-the man fumbled about in the dark. then, "here's your bunny, ariadne."
-the child murmured something drowsily unintelligible. the man took his seat again by the bed. there was a pause. the child's breathing grew long and regular. the rain sounded loud in the silence.
-in the distance a street-car rattled noisily by. ariadne started up with a scream: "favver! favver!"
-"right here, dear. just the trolley-car."
-"yes, dear; but only for to-night because of the bad dream."
-there were little nestling noises, gradually quieting down. then, sleepily:
-"i fink i could go all to sleep if you'd pit your head down on my pillow next my bunny."
-a stir in the darkness, and an instant's quiet, followed by, "why, favver, what makes your face all over water?"
-there was no answer.
-there was no sound at all in the room but the swift, light voice of the watch calling out that time, time, time can cure all, can cure all, can cure all--and outside the brooding murmur of the rain.
-a faint, clear gray began to show at the windows.
-romain rolland's jean-christophe dawn · morning · youth · revolt translated by gilbert cannan.
-it commences with vivid episodes of this musician's childhood, his fears, fancies, and troubles, and his almost uncanny musical sense. he plays before the grand duke at seven, but he is destined for greater things. an idol of the hour, in some ways suggesting richard strauss, tries in vain to wreck his faith in his career. early love episodes follow, and at the close the hero, like wagner, has to fly, a hopeful exile.
-"'hats off, gentlemen--a genius.' ... has the time come for the 20th century to uncover before a master work? a book as big, as elemental, as original as though the art of fiction began to-day."--springfield republican. (entire notice on application.)
-"the most momentous novel that has come to us from france, or from any other european country, in a decade.... highly commendable and effective translation ... the story moves at a rapid pace. it never lags."--e. f. edgett in boston transcript.
-jean-christophe in paris the market-place antoinette · the house
-a writer in the london daily mail comments on the french volumes here translated as follows:--"in 'the market-place,' we are with the hero in his attempt to earn his living and to conquer paris. the author introduces us to the numberless 'society' circles in paris and all the cliques of so-called musicians in pages of superb and bitter irony and poetic fire. christophe becomes famous. in the next volume, antoinette is the sister of christophe's great friend, olivier. she loves christophe.... this, the best volume of the series, is a flawless gem. 'the house' introduces us to the friends and enemies of the young musician. they gravitate around christophe and olivier, amid the noisy and enigmatic whirl of parisian life."
-it is worth adding that toward the close of this book a war-cloud appears between france and germany. christophe, with olivier, visits his mother and his fatherland.
-henry holt and company publishers -- new york
-william de morgan's joseph vance
-a touching story, yet full of humor, of lifelong love and heroic sacrifice. while the scene is mostly in and near the london of the fifties, there are some telling glimpses of italy, where the author lives much of the time ($1.75).
-"the book of the last decade; the best thing in fiction since mr. meredith and mr. hardy; must take its place as the first great english novel that has appeared in the twentieth century."--lewis melville in new york times saturday review.
-"if the reader likes both 'david copperfield' and 'peter ibbetson,' he can find the two books in this one."--the independent.
-william de morgan's alice-for-short
-this might paradoxically be called a genial ghost-and-murder story, yet humor and humanity again dominate, and the most striking element is the touching love story of an unsuccessful man. the reappearance in nineteenth century london of the long-buried past, and a remarkable case of suspended memory, give the dramatic background ($1.75).
-"really worth reading and praising ... will be hailed as a masterpiece. if any writer of the present era is read a half century hence, a quarter century, or even a decade, that writer is william de morgan."--boston transcript.
-"it is the victorian age itself that speaks in those rich, interesting, over-crowded books.... will be remembered as dickens' novels are remembered."--springfield republican.
-william de morgan's somehow good
-the purpose and feeling of this novel are intense, yet it is all mellowed by humor, and it contains perhaps the author's freshest and most sympathetic story of young love. throughout its pages the "god be praised evil has turned to good" of the old major rings like a trumpet call of hope. this story of to-day tells of a triumph of courage and devotion ($1.75).
-"a book as sound, as sweet, as wholesome, as wise, as any in the range of fiction."--the nation.
-"our older novelists (dickens and thackeray) will have to look to their laurels, for the new one is fast proving himself their equal. a higher quality of enjoyment than is derivable from the work of any other novelist now living and active in either england or america."--the dial.
-henry holt and company 34 west 33d street new york
-william de morgan's it never can happen again
-this novel turns on a strange marital complication. the beautiful judith arkroyd, with her stage ambitions, the pathetic lizarann and her father, blind jim, are striking figures. there are strong dramatic episodes ($1.75).
-"de morgan at his very best, and how much better his best is than the work of any novelist of the past thirty years."--the independent.
-"there has been nothing at all like it in our day. the best of our contemporary novelists ... do not so come home to our business and our bosoms ... most enchanting ... infinitely lovable and pathetic."--the nation.
-william de morgan's an affair of dishonor
-a dramatic story of england in the time of the restoration. it commences with a fatal duel, and shows a new phase of its remarkable author ($1.75).
-"an artistic triumph.... he is a persistent humorist."--boston transcript.
-"a better story than any of the others, so far as sustained interest is concerned.... the rich, suggestive, highly metaphorical the m. i. style.... a marvelous example of mr. de morgan's inexhaustible fecundity of invention.... shines as a romance quite as much as 'joseph vance' does among realistic novels."--chicago record-herald.
-william de morgan's a likely story $1.35 net.
-"begins comfortably enough with a little domestic quarrel in a studio.... the story shifts suddenly, however, to a brilliantly told tragedy of the italian renaissance embodied in a girl's portrait ... which speaks and affects the life of the modern people who hear it.... the many readers who like mr. de morgan will enjoy this charming fancy greatly."--new york sun.
-"in the forefront of english fiction.... both ingenious and amusing.... all in his highly personal and individual manner, the result of which is a novel with an emphatic difference from all other works of contemporary fiction."--boston transcript.
-"one sparkling stream, where realism in its sweeter, human and humorous aspects shall appear at its best.... humor, wisdom, artists' jargon from the studios, psychic phenomena.... all in mr. de morgan's best vein.... the advancing chapters ... how realistically modern they are, with the exactness of finish, appositeness of delineation, humor in dialog, and condensed dramatic action!"--the independent.
-a thirty-two page illustrated leaflet about mr. de morgan, with complete reviews of his first four books, sent on request.
-henry holt and company publishers -- new york
-inez haynes gillmore's janey illustrated by ada c. williamson. $1.25 net.
-"being the record of a short interval in the journey thru life and the struggle with society of a little girl of nine, in which she repudiates her duties as an amateur mother, snares the most blundering of birds, successfully invades grub street, peers behind the veil of the seen into the unseen, interprets the great bard, grubs at the root of all evil, faces the three great problems--birth--death--time--and finally, in passing thru the laborious process of becoming ten, discovers the great illusion," says the descriptive title.
-"our hearts were captive to 'phoebe and ernest,' and now accept 'janey.' ... she is so engaging.... told so vivaciously and with such good-natured and pungent asides for grown people."--outlook.
-"janey's naturalness in quest of the whys of life is the naturalness of the child who lives in the world instead of between the covers of a delightfully written book."--washington evening star.
-"depicts youthful human nature as one who knows and loves it. her 'phoebe and ernest' studies are deservedly popular, and now, in 'janey,' this clever writer has accomplished an equally charming portrait."--chicago record-herald.
-inez haynes gillmore's phoebe and ernest with 30 illustrations by r. f. schabelitz. $1.50.
-parents will recognize themselves in the story, and laugh understandingly with, and sometimes at, mr. and mrs. martin and their children.
-youths and maidens will understand phoebe and ernest's experiences and problems.
-"attracted delighted attention in the course of its serial publication. sentiment and humor are deftly mingled in this clever book."--n. y. tribune.
-"we must go back to louisa alcott for their equals."--boston advertiser.
-"for young and old alike we know of no more refreshing story."--new york evening post.
-henry holt and company publishers -- new york
-henry williams's the united states navy a handbook.
-by henry williams, naval constructor, u. s. navy. with 32 full-page illustrations and a number in the text. 12mo. $1.50 net; by mail, $1.67.
-this is a neat, crisp, matter-of-fact account of our navy, with an occasional illuminating anecdote of famous court-martials and such. it has been passed by high authorities and its publication officially sanctioned. the contents includes: naval history--the navy's organization--the navy's personnel--man-of-war in commission--classes of ships in the navy--description--high explosives; torpedoes; mines; aeroplanes--designing and building a warship; dry docks--the national defense.
-thomas leaming's a philadelphia lawyer in the london courts
-illustrated by the author. 8vo. $2.00 net; by mail, $2.15. (circular on application.)
-a trained observer's graphic description of the english law courts, of their ancient customs yet up-to-date methods; of the lives and activities of the modern barrister and solicitor--the "k. c.," the "junior," the "devil"--and of the elaborate etiquette, perpetuated by the inns of court, which still inflexibly rules them, despite the tendencies of the times and growth of socialism.
-nation:--"the style of narrative, the conciseness of statement, and the wealth of allusion make this book one which certainly the lawyer, and probably many laymen, will wish to finish at one sitting, and not hurriedly.... we hope to see the author appear again, and as a philadelphia lawyer at home."
-bookman:--"this quiet recital of facts ought of itself to create a revolution in this country.... he disclaims any intention of entering upon odious comparisons.... when the bar of america is aroused to the necessity of reform it will find these observations ... a mine of well-digested information and helpful suggestions."
-dial:--"his interesting account of the trial and conviction of madar la dhingra."
-new york evening sun:--"a suitable mixture of anecdote and generalization to give the reader a pleasant and clear idea of english courts, their ways and plan.... one of the most valuable chapters relates to the discipline of the bar."
-philadelphia press:--"a vast deal of useful and often fascinating information.... an eminently readable volume, which, although designed primarily for the lay reader, has already elicited hearty commendation from not a few leaders of the profession.... american lawyers are beginning to see that much may be learned from modern english practice.... on the subject of the ethics of the english bar mr. leaming has much to say that is worth careful perusal."
-henry holt and company 34 west 33d street new york
-sixth edition, enlarged and with portraits
-hale's dramatists of to-day
-rostand, hauptmann, sudermann, pinero, shaw, phillips, maeterlinck
-by prof. edward everett hale, jr., of union college. with gilt top, $1.50 net; by mail, $1.60.
-since this work first appeared in 1905, maeterlinck's sister beatrice, the blue bird and mary magdalene, rostand's chantecler and pinero's mid-channel and the thunderbolt--among the notable plays by some of dr. hale's dramatists--have been acted here. discussions of them are added to this new edition, as are considerations of bernard shaw's and stephen phillips' latest plays. the author's papers on hauptmann and sudermann, with slight additions, with his "note on standards of criticism," "our idea of tragedy," and an appendix of all the plays of each author, with dates of their first performance or publication, complete the volume.
-bookman: "he writes in a pleasant, free-and-easy way.... he accepts things chiefly at their face value, but he describes them so accurately and agreeably that he recalls vividly to mind the plays we have seen and the pleasure we have found in them."
-new york evening post: "it is not often nowadays that a theatrical book can be met with so free from gush and mere eulogy, or so weighted by common sense ... an excellent chronological appendix and full index ... uncommonly useful for reference."
-dial: "noteworthy example of literary criticism in one of the most interesting of literary fields.... provides a varied menu of the most interesting character.... prof. hale establishes confidential relations with the reader from the start.... very definite opinions, clearly reasoned and amply fortified by example.... well worth reading a second time."
-new york tribune: "both instructive and entertaining."
-brooklyn eagle: "a dramatic critic who is not just 'busting' himself with titanic intellectualities, but who is a readable dramatic critic.... mr. hale is a modest and sensible, as well as an acute and sound critic.... most people will be surprised and delighted with mr. hale's simplicity, perspicuity and ingenuousness."
-the theatre: "a pleasing lightness of touch.... very readable book."
-henry holt and company publishers -- new york
-volunteer, and dan muller
-up from slavery: an autobiography
-by booker t. washington
-this volume is dedicated to my wife margaret james washington and to my brother john h. washington whose patience, fidelity, and hard work have gone far to make the work at tuskegee successful.
-this volume is the outgrowth of a series of articles, dealing with incidents in my life, which were published consecutively in the outlook. while they were appearing in that magazine i was constantly surprised at the number of requests which came to me from all parts of the country, asking that the articles be permanently preserved in book form. i am most grateful to the outlook for permission to gratify these requests.
-i have tried to tell a simple, straightforward story, with no attempt at embellishment. my regret is that what i have attempted to do has been done so imperfectly. the greater part of my time and strength is required for the executive work connected with the tuskegee normal and industrial institute, and in securing the money necessary for the support of the institution. much of what i have said has been written on board trains, or at hotels or railroad stations while i have been waiting for trains, or during the moments that i could spare from my work while at tuskegee. without the painstaking and generous assistance of mr. max bennett thrasher i could not have succeeded in any satisfactory degree.
-in turn, samuel armstrong, the founder of hampton institute, took up his work as a trainer of youth. he had very raw material, and doubtless most of his pupils failed to get the greatest lessons from him; but, as he had been a peculiarly receptive pupil of dr. hopkins, so booker washington became a peculiarly receptive pupil of his. to the formation of mr. washington's character, then, went the missionary zeal of new england, influenced by one of the strongest personalities in modern education, and the wide-reaching moral earnestness of general armstrong himself. these influences are easily recognizable in mr. washington to-day by men who knew dr. hopkins and general armstrong.
-the first time that i went to tuskegee i was asked to make an address to the school on sunday evening. i sat upon the platform of the large chapel and looked forth on a thousand coloured faces, and the choir of a hundred or more behind me sang a familiar religious melody, and the whole company joined in the chorus with unction. i was the only white man under the roof, and the scene and the songs made an impression on me that i shall never forget. mr. washington arose and asked them to sing one after another of the old melodies that i had heard all my life; but i had never before heard them sung by a thousand voices nor by the voices of educated negroes. i had associated them with the negro of the past, not with the negro who was struggling upward. they brought to my mind the plantation, the cabin, the slave, not the freedman in quest of education. but on the plantation and in the cabin they had never been sung as these thousand students sang them. i saw again all the old plantations that i had ever seen; the whole history of the negro ran through my mind; and the inexpressible pathos of his life found expression in these songs as i had never before felt it.
-it was then more clearly than ever before that i understood the patriotic significance of mr. washington's work. it is this conception of it and of him that i have ever since carried with me. it is on this that his claim to our gratitude rests.
-to teach the negro to read, whether english, or greek, or hebrew, butters no parsnips. to make the negro work, that is what his master did in one way and hunger has done in another; yet both these left southern life where they found it. but to teach the negro to do skilful work, as men of all the races that have risen have worked,--responsible work, which is education and character; and most of all when negroes so teach negroes to do this that they will teach others with a missionary zeal that puts all ordinary philanthropic efforts to shame,--this is to change the whole economic basis of life and the whole character of a people.
-the plan itself is not a new one. it was worked out at hampton institute, but it was done at hampton by white men. the plan had, in fact, been many times theoretically laid down by thoughtful students of southern life. handicrafts were taught in the days of slavery on most well-managed plantations. but tuskegee is, nevertheless, a brand-new chapter in the history of the negro, and in the history of the knottiest problem we have ever faced. it not only makes "a carpenter of a man; it makes a man of a carpenter." in one sense, therefore, it is of greater value than any other institution for the training of men and women that we have, from cambridge to palo alto. it is almost the only one of which it may be said that it points the way to a new epoch in a large area of our national life.
-to work out the plan on paper, or at a distance--that is one thing. for a white man to work it out--that too, is an easy thing. for a coloured man to work it out in the south, where, in its constructive period, he was necessarily misunderstood by his own people as well as by the whites, and where he had to adjust it at every step to the strained race relations--that is so very different and more difficult a thing that the man who did it put the country under lasting obligations to him.
-it was not and is not a mere educational task. anybody could teach boys trades and give them an elementary education. such tasks have been done since the beginning of civilization. but this task had to be done with the rawest of raw material, done within the civilization of the dominant race, and so done as not to run across race lines and social lines that are the strongest forces in the community. it had to be done for the benefit of the whole community. it had to be done, moreover, without local help, in the face of the direst poverty, done by begging, and done in spite of the ignorance of one race and the prejudice of the other.
-no man living had a harder task, and a task that called for more wisdom to do it right. the true measure of mr. washington's success is, then, not his teaching the pupils of tuskegee, nor even gaining the support of philanthropic persons at a distance, but this--that every southern white man of character and of wisdom has been won to a cordial recognition of the value of the work, even men who held and still hold to the conviction that a mere book education for the southern blacks under present conditions is a positive evil. this is a demonstration of the efficiency of the hampton-tuskegee idea that stands like the demonstration of the value of democratic institutions themselves--a demonstration made so clear in spite of the greatest odds that it is no longer open to argument.
-consider the change that has come in twenty years in the discussion of the negro problem. two or three decades ago social philosophers and statisticians and well-meaning philanthropists were still talking and writing about the deportation of the negroes, or about their settlement within some restricted area, or about their settling in all parts of the union, or about their decline through their neglect of their children, or about their rapid multiplication till they should expel the whites from the south--of every sort of nonsense under heaven. all this has given place to the simple plan of an indefinite extension among the neglected classes of both races of the hampton-tuskegee system of training. the "problem" in one sense has disappeared. the future will have for the south swift or slow development of its masses and of its soil in proportion to the swift or slow development of this kind of training. this change of view is a true measure of mr. washington's work.
-the literature of the negro in america is colossal, from political oratory through abolitionism to "uncle tom's cabin" and "cotton is king"--a vast mass of books which many men have read to the waste of good years (and i among them); but the only books that i have read a second time or ever care again to read in the whole list (most of them by tiresome and unbalanced "reformers") are "uncle remus" and "up from slavery"; for these are the great literature of the subject. one has all the best of the past, the other foreshadows a better future; and the men who wrote them are the only men who have written of the subject with that perfect frankness and perfect knowledge and perfect poise whose other name is genius.
-mr. washington has won a world-wide fame at an early age. his story of his own life already has the distinction of translation into more languages, i think, than any other american book; and i suppose that he has as large a personal acquaintance among men of influence as any private citizen now living.
-his own teaching at tuskegee is unique. he lectures to his advanced students on the art of right living, not out of text-books, but straight out of life. then he sends them into the country to visit negro families. such a student will come back with a minute report of the way in which the family that he has seen lives, what their earnings are, what they do well and what they do ill; and he will explain how they might live better. he constructs a definite plan for the betterment of that particular family out of the resources that they have. such a student, if he be bright, will profit more by an experience like this than he could profit by all the books on sociology and economics that ever were written. i talked with a boy at tuskegee who had made such a study as this, and i could not keep from contrasting his knowledge and enthusiasm with what i heard in a class room at a negro university in one of the southern cities, which is conducted on the idea that a college course will save the soul. here the class was reciting a lesson from an abstruse text-book on economics, reciting it by rote, with so obvious a failure to assimilate it that the waste of labour was pitiful.
-i asked mr. washington years ago what he regarded as the most important result of his work, and he replied:
-"i do not know which to put first, the effect of tuskegee's work on the negro, or the effect on the attitude of the white man to the negro."
-the race divergence under the system of miseducation was fast getting wider. under the influence of the hampton-tuskegee idea the races are coming into a closer sympathy and into an honourable and helpful relation. as the negro becomes economically independent, he becomes a responsible part of the southern life; and the whites so recognize him. and this must be so from the nature of things. there is nothing artificial about it. it is development in a perfectly natural way. and the southern whites not only so recognize it, but they are imitating it in the teaching of the neglected masses of their own race. it has thus come about that the school is taking a more direct and helpful hold on life in the south than anywhere else in the country. education is not a thing apart from life--not a "system," nor a philosophy; it is direct teaching how to live and how to work.
-to say that mr. washington has won the gratitude of all thoughtful southern white men, is to say that he has worked with the highest practical wisdom at a large constructive task; for no plan for the up-building of the freedman could succeed that ran counter to southern opinion. to win the support of southern opinion and to shape it was a necessary part of the task; and in this he has so well succeeded that the south has a sincere and high regard for him. he once said to me that he recalled the day, and remembered it thankfully, when he grew large enough to regard a southern white man as he regarded a northern one. it is well for our common country that the day is come when he and his work are regarded as highly in the south as in any other part of the union. i think that no man of our generation has a more noteworthy achievement to his credit than this; and it is an achievement of moral earnestness of the strong character of a man who has done a great national service.
-walter h. page.
-up from slavery
-chapter i. a slave among slaves
-i was born a slave on a plantation in franklin county, virginia. i am not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at any rate i suspect i must have been born somewhere and at some time. as nearly as i have been able to learn, i was born near a cross-roads post-office called hale's ford, and the year was 1858 or 1859. i do not know the month or the day. the earliest impressions i can now recall are of the plantation and the slave quarters--the latter being the part of the plantation where the slaves had their cabins.
-my life had its beginning in the midst of the most miserable, desolate, and discouraging surroundings. this was so, however, not because my owners were especially cruel, for they were not, as compared with many others. i was born in a typical log cabin, about fourteen by sixteen feet square. in this cabin i lived with my mother and a brother and sister till after the civil war, when we were all declared free.
-of my ancestry i know almost nothing. in the slave quarters, and even later, i heard whispered conversations among the coloured people of the tortures which the slaves, including, no doubt, my ancestors on my mother's side, suffered in the middle passage of the slave ship while being conveyed from africa to america. i have been unsuccessful in securing any information that would throw any accurate light upon the history of my family beyond my mother. she, i remember, had a half-brother and a half-sister. in the days of slavery not very much attention was given to family history and family records--that is, black family records. my mother, i suppose, attracted the attention of a purchaser who was afterward my owner and hers. her addition to the slave family attracted about as much attention as the purchase of a new horse or cow. of my father i know even less than of my mother. i do not even know his name. i have heard reports to the effect that he was a white man who lived on one of the near-by plantations. whoever he was, i never heard of his taking the least interest in me or providing in any way for my rearing. but i do not find especial fault with him. he was simply another unfortunate victim of the institution which the nation unhappily had engrafted upon it at that time.
-the cabin was not only our living-place, but was also used as the kitchen for the plantation. my mother was the plantation cook. the cabin was without glass windows; it had only openings in the side which let in the light, and also the cold, chilly air of winter. there was a door to the cabin--that is, something that was called a door--but the uncertain hinges by which it was hung, and the large cracks in it, to say nothing of the fact that it was too small, made the room a very uncomfortable one. in addition to these openings there was, in the lower right-hand corner of the room, the "cat-hole,"--a contrivance which almost every mansion or cabin in virginia possessed during the ante-bellum period. the "cat-hole" was a square opening, about seven by eight inches, provided for the purpose of letting the cat pass in and out of the house at will during the night. in the case of our particular cabin i could never understand the necessity for this convenience, since there were at least a half-dozen other places in the cabin that would have accommodated the cats. there was no wooden floor in our cabin, the naked earth being used as a floor. in the centre of the earthen floor there was a large, deep opening covered with boards, which was used as a place in which to store sweet potatoes during the winter. an impression of this potato-hole is very distinctly engraved upon my memory, because i recall that during the process of putting the potatoes in or taking them out i would often come into possession of one or two, which i roasted and thoroughly enjoyed. there was no cooking-stove on our plantation, and all the cooking for the whites and slaves my mother had to do over an open fireplace, mostly in pots and "skillets." while the poorly built cabin caused us to suffer with cold in the winter, the heat from the open fireplace in summer was equally trying.
-the early years of my life, which were spent in the little cabin, were not very different from those of thousands of other slaves. my mother, of course, had little time in which to give attention to the training of her children during the day. she snatched a few moments for our care in the early morning before her work began, and at night after the day's work was done. one of my earliest recollections is that of my mother cooking a chicken late at night, and awakening her children for the purpose of feeding them. how or where she got it i do not know. i presume, however, it was procured from our owner's farm. some people may call this theft. if such a thing were to happen now, i should condemn it as theft myself. but taking place at the time it did, and for the reason that it did, no one could ever make me believe that my mother was guilty of thieving. she was simply a victim of the system of slavery. i cannot remember having slept in a bed until after our family was declared free by the emancipation proclamation. three children--john, my older brother, amanda, my sister, and myself--had a pallet on the dirt floor, or, to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of filthy rags laid upon the dirt floor.
-i was asked not long ago to tell something about the sports and pastimes that i engaged in during my youth. until that question was asked it had never occurred to me that there was no period of my life that was devoted to play. from the time that i can remember anything, almost every day of my life had been occupied in some kind of labour; though i think i would now be a more useful man if i had had time for sports. during the period that i spent in slavery i was not large enough to be of much service, still i was occupied most of the time in cleaning the yards, carrying water to the men in the fields, or going to the mill to which i used to take the corn, once a week, to be ground. the mill was about three miles from the plantation. this work i always dreaded. the heavy bag of corn would be thrown across the back of the horse, and the corn divided about evenly on each side; but in some way, almost without exception, on these trips, the corn would so shift as to become unbalanced and would fall off the horse, and often i would fall with it. as i was not strong enough to reload the corn upon the horse, i would have to wait, sometimes for many hours, till a chance passer-by came along who would help me out of my trouble. the hours while waiting for some one were usually spent in crying. the time consumed in this way made me late in reaching the mill, and by the time i got my corn ground and reached home it would be far into the night. the road was a lonely one, and often led through dense forests. i was always frightened. the woods were said to be full of soldiers who had deserted from the army, and i had been told that the first thing a deserter did to a negro boy when he found him alone was to cut off his ears. besides, when i was late in getting home i knew i would always get a severe scolding or a flogging.
-i had no schooling whatever while i was a slave, though i remember on several occasions i went as far as the schoolhouse door with one of my young mistresses to carry her books. the picture of several dozen boys and girls in a schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon me, and i had the feeling that to get into a schoolhouse and study in this way would be about the same as getting into paradise.
-so far as i can now recall, the first knowledge that i got of the fact that we were slaves, and that freedom of the slaves was being discussed, was early one morning before day, when i was awakened by my mother kneeling over her children and fervently praying that lincoln and his armies might be successful, and that one day she and her children might be free. in this connection i have never been able to understand how the slaves throughout the south, completely ignorant as were the masses so far as books or newspapers were concerned, were able to keep themselves so accurately and completely informed about the great national questions that were agitating the country. from the time that garrison, lovejoy, and others began to agitate for freedom, the slaves throughout the south kept in close touch with the progress of the movement. though i was a mere child during the preparation for the civil war and during the war itself, i now recall the many late-at-night whispered discussions that i heard my mother and the other slaves on the plantation indulge in. these discussions showed that they understood the situation, and that they kept themselves informed of events by what was termed the "grape-vine" telegraph.
-during the campaign when lincoln was first a candidate for the presidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation, miles from any railroad or large city or daily newspaper, knew what the issues involved were. when war was begun between the north and the south, every slave on our plantation felt and knew that, though other issues were discussed, the primal one was that of slavery. even the most ignorant members of my race on the remote plantations felt in their hearts, with a certainty that admitted of no doubt, that the freedom of the slaves would be the one great result of the war, if the northern armies conquered. every success of the federal armies and every defeat of the confederate forces was watched with the keenest and most intense interest. often the slaves got knowledge of the results of great battles before the white people received it. this news was usually gotten from the coloured man who was sent to the post-office for the mail. in our case the post-office was about three miles from the plantation, and the mail came once or twice a week. the man who was sent to the office would linger about the place long enough to get the drift of the conversation from the group of white people who naturally congregated there, after receiving their mail, to discuss the latest news. the mail-carrier on his way back to our master's house would as naturally retail the news that he had secured among the slaves, and in this way they often heard of important events before the white people at the "big house," as the master's house was called.
-i cannot remember a single instance during my childhood or early boyhood when our entire family sat down to the table together, and god's blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized manner. on the plantation in virginia, and even later, meals were gotten by the children very much as dumb animals get theirs. it was a piece of bread here and a scrap of meat there. it was a cup of milk at one time and some potatoes at another. sometimes a portion of our family would eat out of the skillet or pot, while some one else would eat from a tin plate held on the knees, and often using nothing but the hands with which to hold the food. when i had grown to sufficient size, i was required to go to the "big house" at meal-times to fan the flies from the table by means of a large set of paper fans operated by a pulley. naturally much of the conversation of the white people turned upon the subject of freedom and the war, and i absorbed a good deal of it. i remember that at one time i saw two of my young mistresses and some lady visitors eating ginger-cakes, in the yard. at that time those cakes seemed to me to be absolutely the most tempting and desirable things that i had ever seen; and i then and there resolved that, if i ever got free, the height of my ambition would be reached if i could get to the point where i could secure and eat ginger-cakes in the way that i saw those ladies doing.
-of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in many cases, often found it difficult to secure food for themselves. i think the slaves felt the deprivation less than the whites, because the usual diet for slaves was corn bread and pork, and these could be raised on the plantation; but coffee, tea, sugar, and other articles which the whites had been accustomed to use could not be raised on the plantation, and the conditions brought about by the war frequently made it impossible to secure these things. the whites were often in great straits. parched corn was used for coffee, and a kind of black molasses was used instead of sugar. many times nothing was used to sweeten the so-called tea and coffee.
-the first pair of shoes that i recall wearing were wooden ones. they had rough leather on the top, but the bottoms, which were about an inch thick, were of wood. when i walked they made a fearful noise, and besides this they were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding to the natural pressure of the foot. in wearing them one presented an exceedingly awkward appearance. the most trying ordeal that i was forced to endure as a slave boy, however, was the wearing of a flax shirt. in the portion of virginia where i lived it was common to use flax as part of the clothing for the slaves. that part of the flax from which our clothing was made was largely the refuse, which of course was the cheapest and roughest part. i can scarcely imagine any torture, except, perhaps, the pulling of a tooth, that is equal to that caused by putting on a new flax shirt for the first time. it is almost equal to the feeling that one would experience if he had a dozen or more chestnut burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, in contact with his flesh. even to this day i can recall accurately the tortures that i underwent when putting on one of these garments. the fact that my flesh was soft and tender added to the pain. but i had no choice. i had to wear the flax shirt or none; and had it been left to me to choose, i should have chosen to wear no covering. in connection with the flax shirt, my brother john, who is several years older than i am, performed one of the most generous acts that i ever heard of one slave relative doing for another. on several occasions when i was being forced to wear a new flax shirt, he generously agreed to put it on in my stead and wear it for several days, till it was "broken in." until i had grown to be quite a youth this single garment was all that i wore.
-one may get the idea, from what i have said, that there was bitter feeling toward the white people on the part of my race, because of the fact that most of the white population was away fighting in a war which would result in keeping the negro in slavery if the south was successful. in the case of the slaves on our place this was not true, and it was not true of any large portion of the slave population in the south where the negro was treated with anything like decency. during the civil war one of my young masters was killed, and two were severely wounded. i recall the feeling of sorrow which existed among the slaves when they heard of the death of "mars' billy." it was no sham sorrow, but real. some of the slaves had nursed "mars' billy"; others had played with him when he was a child. "mars' billy" had begged for mercy in the case of others when the overseer or master was thrashing them. the sorrow in the slave quarter was only second to that in the "big house." when the two young masters were brought home wounded, the sympathy of the slaves was shown in many ways. they were just as anxious to assist in the nursing as the family relatives of the wounded. some of the slaves would even beg for the privilege of sitting up at night to nurse their wounded masters. this tenderness and sympathy on the part of those held in bondage was a result of their kindly and generous nature. in order to defend and protect the women and children who were left on the plantations when the white males went to war, the slaves would have laid down their lives. the slave who was selected to sleep in the "big house" during the absence of the males was considered to have the place of honour. any one attempting to harm "young mistress" or "old mistress" during the night would have had to cross the dead body of the slave to do so. i do not know how many have noticed it, but i think that it will be found to be true that there are few instances, either in slavery or freedom, in which a member of my race has been known to betray a specific trust.
-as a rule, not only did the members of my race entertain no feelings of bitterness against the whites before and during the war, but there are many instances of negroes tenderly caring for their former masters and mistresses who for some reason have become poor and dependent since the war. i know of instances where the former masters of slaves have for years been supplied with money by their former slaves to keep them from suffering. i have known of still other cases in which the former slaves have assisted in the education of the descendants of their former owners. i know of a case on a large plantation in the south in which a young white man, the son of the former owner of the estate, has become so reduced in purse and self-control by reason of drink that he is a pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstanding the poverty of the coloured people themselves on this plantation, they have for years supplied this young white man with the necessities of life. one sends him a little coffee or sugar, another a little meat, and so on. nothing that the coloured people possess is too good for the son of "old mars' tom," who will perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any remain on the place who knew directly or indirectly of "old mars' tom."
-i have said that there are few instances of a member of my race betraying a specific trust. one of the best illustrations of this which i know of is in the case of an ex-slave from virginia whom i met not long ago in a little town in the state of ohio. i found that this man had made a contract with his master, two or three years previous to the emancipation proclamation, to the effect that the slave was to be permitted to buy himself, by paying so much per year for his body; and while he was paying for himself, he was to be permitted to labour where and for whom he pleased. finding that he could secure better wages in ohio, he went there. when freedom came, he was still in debt to his master some three hundred dollars. notwithstanding that the emancipation proclamation freed him from any obligation to his master, this black man walked the greater portion of the distance back to where his old master lived in virginia, and placed the last dollar, with interest, in his hands. in talking to me about this, the man told me that he knew that he did not have to pay the debt, but that he had given his word to the master, and his word he had never broken. he felt that he could not enjoy his freedom till he had fulfilled his promise.
-from some things that i have said one may get the idea that some of the slaves did not want freedom. this is not true. i have never seen one who did not want to be free, or one who would return to slavery.
-i pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body of people that is so unfortunate as to get entangled in the net of slavery. i have long since ceased to cherish any spirit of bitterness against the southern white people on account of the enslavement of my race. no one section of our country was wholly responsible for its introduction, and, besides, it was recognized and protected for years by the general government. having once got its tentacles fastened on to the economic and social life of the republic, it was no easy matter for the country to relieve itself of the institution. then, when we rid ourselves of prejudice, or racial feeling, and look facts in the face, we must acknowledge that, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral wrong of slavery, the ten million negroes inhabiting this country, who themselves or whose ancestors went through the school of american slavery, are in a stronger and more hopeful condition, materially, intellectually, morally, and religiously, than is true of an equal number of black people in any other portion of the globe. this is so to such an extent that negroes in this country, who themselves or whose forefathers went through the school of slavery, are constantly returning to africa as missionaries to enlighten those who remained in the fatherland. this i say, not to justify slavery--on the other hand, i condemn it as an institution, as we all know that in america it was established for selfish and financial reasons, and not from a missionary motive--but to call attention to a fact, and to show how providence so often uses men and institutions to accomplish a purpose. when persons ask me in these days how, in the midst of what sometimes seem hopelessly discouraging conditions, i can have such faith in the future of my race in this country, i remind them of the wilderness through which and out of which, a good providence has already led us.
-ever since i have been old enough to think for myself, i have entertained the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel wrongs inflicted upon us, the black man got nearly as much out of slavery as the white man did. the hurtful influences of the institution were not by any means confined to the negro. this was fully illustrated by the life upon our own plantation. the whole machinery of slavery was so constructed as to cause labour, as a rule, to be looked upon as a badge of degradation, of inferiority. hence labour was something that both races on the slave plantation sought to escape. the slave system on our place, in a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and self-help out of the white people. my old master had many boys and girls, but not one, so far as i know, ever mastered a single trade or special line of productive industry. the girls were not taught to cook, sew, or to take care of the house. all of this was left to the slaves. the slaves, of course, had little personal interest in the life of the plantation, and their ignorance prevented them from learning how to do things in the most improved and thorough manner. as a result of the system, fences were out of repair, gates were hanging half off the hinges, doors creaked, window-panes were out, plastering had fallen but was not replaced, weeds grew in the yard. as a rule, there was food for whites and blacks, but inside the house, and on the dining-room table, there was wanting that delicacy and refinement of touch and finish which can make a home the most convenient, comfortable, and attractive place in the world. withal there was a waste of food and other materials which was sad. when freedom came, the slaves were almost as well fitted to begin life anew as the master, except in the matter of book-learning and ownership of property. the slave owner and his sons had mastered no special industry. they unconsciously had imbibed the feeling that manual labour was not the proper thing for them. on the other hand, the slaves, in many cases, had mastered some handicraft, and none were ashamed, and few unwilling, to labour.
-finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came. it was a momentous and eventful day to all upon our plantation. we had been expecting it. freedom was in the air, and had been for months. deserting soldiers returning to their homes were to be seen every day. others who had been discharged, or whose regiments had been paroled, were constantly passing near our place. the "grape-vine telegraph" was kept busy night and day. the news and mutterings of great events were swiftly carried from one plantation to another. in the fear of "yankee" invasions, the silverware and other valuables were taken from the "big house," buried in the woods, and guarded by trusted slaves. woe be to any one who would have attempted to disturb the buried treasure. the slaves would give the yankee soldiers food, drink, clothing--anything but that which had been specifically intrusted to their care and honour. as the great day drew nearer, there was more singing in the slave quarters than usual. it was bolder, had more ring, and lasted later into the night. most of the verses of the plantation songs had some reference to freedom. true, they had sung those same verses before, but they had been careful to explain that the "freedom" in these songs referred to the next world, and had no connection with life in this world. now they gradually threw off the mask, and were not afraid to let it be known that the "freedom" in their songs meant freedom of the body in this world. the night before the eventful day, word was sent to the slave quarters to the effect that something unusual was going to take place at the "big house" the next morning. there was little, if any, sleep that night. all as excitement and expectancy. early the next morning word was sent to all the slaves, old and young, to gather at the house. in company with my mother, brother, and sister, and a large number of other slaves, i went to the master's house. all of our master's family were either standing or seated on the veranda of the house, where they could see what was to take place and hear what was said. there was a feeling of deep interest, or perhaps sadness, on their faces, but not bitterness. as i now recall the impression they made upon me, they did not at the moment seem to be sad because of the loss of property, but rather because of parting with those whom they had reared and who were in many ways very close to them. the most distinct thing that i now recall in connection with the scene was that some man who seemed to be a stranger (a united states officer, i presume) made a little speech and then read a rather long paper--the emancipation proclamation, i think. after the reading we were told that we were all free, and could go when and where we pleased. my mother, who was standing by my side, leaned over and kissed her children, while tears of joy ran down her cheeks. she explained to us what it all meant, that this was the day for which she had been so long praying, but fearing that she would never live to see.
-for some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanksgiving, and wild scenes of ecstasy. but there was no feeling of bitterness. in fact, there was pity among the slaves for our former owners. the wild rejoicing on the part of the emancipated coloured people lasted but for a brief period, for i noticed that by the time they returned to their cabins there was a change in their feelings. the great responsibility of being free, of having charge of themselves, of having to think and plan for themselves and their children, seemed to take possession of them. it was very much like suddenly turning a youth of ten or twelve years out into the world to provide for himself. in a few hours the great questions with which the anglo-saxon race had been grappling for centuries had been thrown upon these people to be solved. these were the questions of a home, a living, the rearing of children, education, citizenship, and the establishment and support of churches. was it any wonder that within a few hours the wild rejoicing ceased and a feeling of deep gloom seemed to pervade the slave quarters? to some it seemed that, now that they were in actual possession of it, freedom was a more serious thing than they had expected to find it. some of the slaves were seventy or eighty years old; their best days were gone. they had no strength with which to earn a living in a strange place and among strange people, even if they had been sure where to find a new place of abode. to this class the problem seemed especially hard. besides, deep down in their hearts there was a strange and peculiar attachment to "old marster" and "old missus," and to their children, which they found it hard to think of breaking off. with these they had spent in some cases nearly a half-century, and it was no light thing to think of parting. gradually, one by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves began to wander from the slave quarters back to the "big house" to have a whispered conversation with their former owners as to the future.
-chapter ii. boyhood days
-after the coming of freedom there were two points upon which practically all the people on our place were agreed, and i found that this was generally true throughout the south: that they must change their names, and that they must leave the old plantation for at least a few days or weeks in order that they might really feel sure that they were free.
-in some way a feeling got among the coloured people that it was far from proper for them to bear the surname of their former owners, and a great many of them took other surnames. this was one of the first signs of freedom. when they were slaves, a coloured person was simply called "john" or "susan." there was seldom occasion for more than the use of the one name. if "john" or "susan" belonged to a white man by the name of "hatcher," sometimes he was called "john hatcher," or as often "hatcher's john." but there was a feeling that "john hatcher" or "hatcher's john" was not the proper title by which to denote a freeman; and so in many cases "john hatcher" was changed to "john s. lincoln" or "john s. sherman," the initial "s" standing for no name, it being simply a part of what the coloured man proudly called his "entitles."
-as i have stated, most of the coloured people left the old plantation for a short while at least, so as to be sure, it seemed, that they could leave and try their freedom on to see how it felt. after they had remained away for a while, many of the older slaves, especially, returned to their old homes and made some kind of contract with their former owners by which they remained on the estate.
-my mother's husband, who was the stepfather of my brother john and myself, did not belong to the same owners as did my mother. in fact, he seldom came to our plantation. i remember seeing him there perhaps once a year, that being about christmas time. in some way, during the war, by running away and following the federal soldiers, it seems, he found his way into the new state of west virginia. as soon as freedom was declared, he sent for my mother to come to the kanawha valley, in west virginia. at that time a journey from virginia over the mountains to west virginia was rather a tedious and in some cases a painful undertaking. what little clothing and few household goods we had were placed in a cart, but the children walked the greater portion of the distance, which was several hundred miles.
-i do not think any of us ever had been very far from the plantation, and the taking of a long journey into another state was quite an event. the parting from our former owners and the members of our own race on the plantation was a serious occasion. from the time of our parting till their death we kept up a correspondence with the older members of the family, and in later years we have kept in touch with those who were the younger members. we were several weeks making the trip, and most of the time we slept in the open air and did our cooking over a log fire out-of-doors. one night i recall that we camped near an abandoned log cabin, and my mother decided to build a fire in that for cooking, and afterward to make a "pallet" on the floor for our sleeping. just as the fire had gotten well started a large black snake fully a yard and a half long dropped down the chimney and ran out on the floor. of course we at once abandoned that cabin. finally we reached our destination--a little town called malden, which is about five miles from charleston, the present capital of the state.
-at that time salt-mining was the great industry in that part of west virginia, and the little town of malden was right in the midst of the salt-furnaces. my stepfather had already secured a job at a salt-furnace, and he had also secured a little cabin for us to live in. our new house was no better than the one we had left on the old plantation in virginia. in fact, in one respect it was worse. notwithstanding the poor condition of our plantation cabin, we were at all times sure of pure air. our new home was in the midst of a cluster of cabins crowded closely together, and as there were no sanitary regulations, the filth about the cabins was often intolerable. some of our neighbours were coloured people, and some were the poorest and most ignorant and degraded white people. it was a motley mixture. drinking, gambling, quarrels, fights, and shockingly immoral practices were frequent. all who lived in the little town were in one way or another connected with the salt business. though i was a mere child, my stepfather put me and my brother at work in one of the furnaces. often i began work as early as four o'clock in the morning.
-the first thing i ever learned in the way of book knowledge was while working in this salt-furnace. each salt-packer had his barrels marked with a certain number. the number allotted to my stepfather was "18." at the close of the day's work the boss of the packers would come around and put "18" on each of our barrels, and i soon learned to recognize that figure wherever i saw it, and after a while got to the point where i could make that figure, though i knew nothing about any other figures or letters.
-from the time that i can remember having any thoughts about anything, i recall that i had an intense longing to learn to read. i determined, when quite a small child, that, if i accomplished nothing else in life, i would in some way get enough education to enable me to read common books and newspapers. soon after we got settled in some manner in our new cabin in west virginia, i induced my mother to get hold of a book for me. how or where she got it i do not know, but in some way she procured an old copy of webster's "blue-back" spelling-book, which contained the alphabet, followed by such meaningless words as "ab," "ba," "ca," "da." i began at once to devour this book, and i think that it was the first one i ever had in my hands. i had learned from somebody that the way to begin to read was to learn the alphabet, so i tried in all the ways i could think of to learn it,--all of course without a teacher, for i could find no one to teach me. at that time there was not a single member of my race anywhere near us who could read, and i was too timid to approach any of the white people. in some way, within a few weeks, i mastered the greater portion of the alphabet. in all my efforts to learn to read my mother shared fully my ambition, and sympathized with me and aided me in every way that she could. though she was totally ignorant, she had high ambitions for her children, and a large fund of good, hard, common sense, which seemed to enable her to meet and master every situation. if i have done anything in life worth attention, i feel sure that i inherited the disposition from my mother.
-in the midst of my struggles and longing for an education, a young coloured boy who had learned to read in the state of ohio came to malden. as soon as the coloured people found out that he could read, a newspaper was secured, and at the close of nearly every day's work this young man would be surrounded by a group of men and women who were anxious to hear him read the news contained in the papers. how i used to envy this man! he seemed to me to be the one young man in all the world who ought to be satisfied with his attainments.
-about this time the question of having some kind of a school opened for the coloured children in the village began to be discussed by members of the race. as it would be the first school for negro children that had ever been opened in that part of virginia, it was, of course, to be a great event, and the discussion excited the wildest interest. the most perplexing question was where to find a teacher. the young man from ohio who had learned to read the papers was considered, but his age was against him. in the midst of the discussion about a teacher, another young coloured man from ohio, who had been a soldier, in some way found his way into town. it was soon learned that he possessed considerable education, and he was engaged by the coloured people to teach their first school. as yet no free schools had been started for coloured people in that section, hence each family agreed to pay a certain amount per month, with the understanding that the teacher was to "board 'round"--that is, spend a day with each family. this was not bad for the teacher, for each family tried to provide the very best on the day the teacher was to be its guest. i recall that i looked forward with an anxious appetite to the "teacher's day" at our little cabin.
-this experience of a whole race beginning to go to school for the first time, presents one of the most interesting studies that has ever occurred in connection with the development of any race. few people who were not right in the midst of the scenes can form any exact idea of the intense desire which the people of my race showed for an education. as i have stated, it was a whole race trying to go to school. few were too young, and none too old, to make the attempt to learn. as fast as any kind of teachers could be secured, not only were day-schools filled, but night-schools as well. the great ambition of the older people was to try to learn to read the bible before they died. with this end in view men and women who were fifty or seventy-five years old would often be found in the night-school. some day-schools were formed soon after freedom, but the principal book studied in the sunday-school was the spelling-book. day-school, night-school, sunday-school, were always crowded, and often many had to be turned away for want of room.
-the opening of the school in the kanawha valley, however, brought to me one of the keenest disappointments that i ever experienced. i had been working in a salt-furnace for several months, and my stepfather had discovered that i had a financial value, and so, when the school opened, he decided that he could not spare me from my work. this decision seemed to cloud my every ambition. the disappointment was made all the more severe by reason of the fact that my place of work was where i could see the happy children passing to and from school mornings and afternoons. despite this disappointment, however, i determined that i would learn something, anyway. i applied myself with greater earnestness than ever to the mastering of what was in the "blue-back" speller.
-my mother sympathized with me in my disappointment, and sought to comfort me in all the ways she could, and to help me find a way to learn. after a while i succeeded in making arrangements with the teacher to give me some lessons at night, after the day's work was done. these night lessons were so welcome that i think i learned more at night than the other children did during the day. my own experiences in the night-school gave me faith in the night-school idea, with which, in after years, i had to do both at hampton and tuskegee. but my boyish heart was still set upon going to the day-school, and i let no opportunity slip to push my case. finally i won, and was permitted to go to the school in the day for a few months, with the understanding that i was to rise early in the morning and work in the furnace till nine o'clock, and return immediately after school closed in the afternoon for at least two more hours of work.
-the schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace, and as i had to work till nine o'clock, and the school opened at nine, i found myself in a difficulty. school would always be begun before i reached it, and sometimes my class had recited. to get around this difficulty i yielded to a temptation for which most people, i suppose, will condemn me; but since it is a fact, i might as well state it. i have great faith in the power and influence of facts. it is seldom that anything is permanently gained by holding back a fact. there was a large clock in a little office in the furnace. this clock, of course, all the hundred or more workmen depended upon to regulate their hours of beginning and ending the day's work. i got the idea that the way for me to reach school on time was to move the clock hands from half-past eight up to the nine o'clock mark. this i found myself doing morning after morning, till the furnace "boss" discovered that something was wrong, and locked the clock in a case. i did not mean to inconvenience anybody. i simply meant to reach that schoolhouse in time.
-the lesson that my mother taught me in this has always remained with me, and i have tried as best as i could to teach it to others. i have always felt proud, whenever i think of the incident, that my mother had strength of character enough not to be led into the temptation of seeming to be that which she was not--of trying to impress my schoolmates and others with the fact that she was able to buy me a "store hat" when she was not. i have always felt proud that she refused to go into debt for that which she did not have the money to pay for. since that time i have owned many kinds of caps and hats, but never one of which i have felt so proud as of the cap made of the two pieces of cloth sewed together by my mother. i have noted the fact, but without satisfaction, i need not add, that several of the boys who began their careers with "store hats" and who were my schoolmates and used to join in the sport that was made of me because i had only a "homespun" cap, have ended their careers in the penitentiary, while others are not able now to buy any kind of hat.
-my second difficulty was with regard to my name, or rather a name. from the time when i could remember anything, i had been called simply "booker." before going to school it had never occurred to me that it was needful or appropriate to have an additional name. when i heard the school-roll called, i noticed that all of the children had at least two names, and some of them indulged in what seemed to me the extravagance of having three. i was in deep perplexity, because i knew that the teacher would demand of me at least two names, and i had only one. by the time the occasion came for the enrolling of my name, an idea occurred to me which i thought would make me equal to the situation; and so, when the teacher asked me what my full name was, i calmly told him "booker washington," as if i had been called by that name all my life; and by that name i have since been known. later in my life i found that my mother had given me the name of "booker taliaferro" soon after i was born, but in some way that part of my name seemed to disappear and for a long while was forgotten, but as soon as i found out about it i revived it, and made my full name "booker taliaferro washington." i think there are not many men in our country who have had the privilege of naming themselves in the way that i have.
-more than once i have tried to picture myself in the position of a boy or man with an honoured and distinguished ancestry which i could trace back through a period of hundreds of years, and who had not only inherited a name, but fortune and a proud family homestead; and yet i have sometimes had the feeling that if i had inherited these, and had been a member of a more popular race, i should have been inclined to yield to the temptation of depending upon my ancestry and my colour to do that for me which i should do for myself. years ago i resolved that because i had no ancestry myself i would leave a record of which my children would be proud, and which might encourage them to still higher effort.
-the world should not pass judgment upon the negro, and especially the negro youth, too quickly or too harshly. the negro boy has obstacles, discouragements, and temptations to battle with that are little known to those not situated as he is. when a white boy undertakes a task, it is taken for granted that he will succeed. on the other hand, people are usually surprised if the negro boy does not fail. in a word, the negro youth starts out with the presumption against him.
-the influence of ancestry, however, is important in helping forward any individual or race, if too much reliance is not placed upon it. those who constantly direct attention to the negro youth's moral weaknesses, and compare his advancement with that of white youths, do not consider the influence of the memories which cling about the old family homesteads. i have no idea, as i have stated elsewhere, who my grandmother was. i have, or have had, uncles and aunts and cousins, but i have no knowledge as to where most of them are. my case will illustrate that of hundreds of thousands of black people in every part of our country. the very fact that the white boy is conscious that, if he fails in life, he will disgrace the whole family record, extending back through many generations, is of tremendous value in helping him to resist temptations. the fact that the individual has behind and surrounding him proud family history and connection serves as a stimulus to help him to overcome obstacles when striving for success.
-the time that i was permitted to attend school during the day was short, and my attendance was irregular. it was not long before i had to stop attending day-school altogether, and devote all of my time again to work. i resorted to the night-school again. in fact, the greater part of the education i secured in my boyhood was gathered through the night-school after my day's work was done. i had difficulty often in securing a satisfactory teacher. sometimes, after i had secured some one to teach me at night, i would find, much to my disappointment, that the teacher knew but little more than i did. often i would have to walk several miles at night in order to recite my night-school lessons. there was never a time in my youth, no matter how dark and discouraging the days might be, when one resolve did not continually remain with me, and that was a determination to secure an education at any cost.
-soon after we moved to west virginia, my mother adopted into our family, notwithstanding our poverty, an orphan boy, to whom afterward we gave the name of james b. washington. he has ever since remained a member of the family.
-after i had worked in the salt-furnace for some time, work was secured for me in a coal-mine which was operated mainly for the purpose of securing fuel for the salt-furnace. work in the coal-mine i always dreaded. one reason for this was that any one who worked in a coal-mine was always unclean, at least while at work, and it was a very hard job to get one's skin clean after the day's work was over. then it was fully a mile from the opening of the coal-mine to the face of the coal, and all, of course, was in the blackest darkness. i do not believe that one ever experiences anywhere else such darkness as he does in a coal-mine. the mine was divided into a large number of different "rooms" or departments, and, as i never was able to learn the location of all these "rooms," i many times found myself lost in the mine. to add to the horror of being lost, sometimes my light would go out, and then, if i did not happen to have a match, i would wander about in the darkness until by chance i found some one to give me a light. the work was not only hard, but it was dangerous. there was always the danger of being blown to pieces by a premature explosion of powder, or of being crushed by falling slate. accidents from one or the other of these causes were frequently occurring, and this kept me in constant fear. many children of the tenderest years were compelled then, as is now true i fear, in most coal-mining districts, to spend a large part of their lives in these coal-mines, with little opportunity to get an education; and, what is worse, i have often noted that, as a rule, young boys who begin life in a coal-mine are often physically and mentally dwarfed. they soon lose ambition to do anything else than to continue as a coal-miner.
-in those days, and later as a young man, i used to try to picture in my imagination the feelings and ambitions of a white boy with absolutely no limit placed upon his aspirations and activities. i used to envy the white boy who had no obstacles placed in the way of his becoming a congressman, governor, bishop, or president by reason of the accident of his birth or race. i used to picture the way that i would act under such circumstances; how i would begin at the bottom and keep rising until i reached the highest round of success.
-in later years, i confess that i do not envy the white boy as i once did. i have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome while trying to succeed. looked at from this standpoint, i almost reached the conclusion that often the negro boy's birth and connection with an unpopular race is an advantage, so far as real life is concerned. with few exceptions, the negro youth must work harder and must perform his tasks even better than a white youth in order to secure recognition. but out of the hard and unusual struggle through which he is compelled to pass, he gets a strength, a confidence, that one misses whose pathway is comparatively smooth by reason of birth and race.
-from any point of view, i had rather be what i am, a member of the negro race, than be able to claim membership with the most favoured of any other race. i have always been made sad when i have heard members of any race claiming rights or privileges, or certain badges of distinction, on the ground simply that they were members of this or that race, regardless of their own individual worth or attainments. i have been made to feel sad for such persons because i am conscious of the fact that mere connection with what is known as a superior race will not permanently carry an individual forward unless he has individual worth, and mere connection with what is regarded as an inferior race will not finally hold an individual back if he possesses intrinsic, individual merit. every persecuted individual and race should get much consolation out of the great human law, which is universal and eternal, that merit, no matter under what skin found, is, in the long run, recognized and rewarded. this i have said here, not to call attention to myself as an individual, but to the race to which i am proud to belong.
-chapter iii. the struggle for an education
-one day, while at work in the coal-mine, i happened to overhear two miners talking about a great school for coloured people somewhere in virginia. this was the first time that i had ever heard anything about any kind of school or college that was more pretentious than the little coloured school in our town.
-in the darkness of the mine i noiselessly crept as close as i could to the two men who were talking. i heard one tell the other that not only was the school established for the members of any race, but the opportunities that it provided by which poor but worthy students could work out all or a part of the cost of a board, and at the same time be taught some trade or industry.
-as they went on describing the school, it seemed to me that it must be the greatest place on earth, and not even heaven presented more attractions for me at that time than did the hampton normal and agricultural institute in virginia, about which these men were talking. i resolved at once to go to that school, although i had no idea where it was, or how many miles away, or how i was going to reach it; i remembered only that i was on fire constantly with one ambition, and that was to go to hampton. this thought was with me day and night.
-after hearing of the hampton institute, i continued to work for a few months longer in the coal-mine. while at work there, i heard of a vacant position in the household of general lewis ruffner, the owner of the salt-furnace and coal-mine. mrs. viola ruffner, the wife of general ruffner, was a "yankee" woman from vermont. mrs. ruffner had a reputation all through the vicinity for being very strict with her servants, and especially with the boys who tried to serve her. few of them remained with her more than two or three weeks. they all left with the same excuse: she was too strict. i decided, however, that i would rather try mrs. ruffner's house than remain in the coal-mine, and so my mother applied to her for the vacant position. i was hired at a salary of $5 per month.
-i had heard so much about mrs. ruffner's severity that i was almost afraid to see her, and trembled when i went into her presence. i had not lived with her many weeks, however, before i began to understand her. i soon began to learn that, first of all, she wanted everything kept clean about her, that she wanted things done promptly and systematically, and that at the bottom of everything she wanted absolute honesty and frankness. nothing must be sloven or slipshod; every door, every fence, must be kept in repair.
-i cannot now recall how long i lived with mrs. ruffner before going to hampton, but i think it must have been a year and a half. at any rate, i here repeat what i have said more than once before, that the lessons that i learned in the home of mrs. ruffner were as valuable to me as any education i have ever gotten anywhere else. even to this day i never see bits of paper scattered around a house or in the street that i do not want to pick them up at once. i never see a filthy yard that i do not want to clean it, a paling off of a fence that i do not want to put it on, an unpainted or unwhitewashed house that i do not want to paint or whitewash it, or a button off one's clothes, or a grease-spot on them or on a floor, that i do not want to call attention to it.
-from fearing mrs. ruffner i soon learned to look upon her as one of my best friends. when she found that she could trust me she did so implicitly. during the one or two winters that i was with her she gave me an opportunity to go to school for an hour in the day during a portion of the winter months, but most of my studying was done at night, sometimes alone, sometimes under some one whom i could hire to teach me. mrs. ruffner always encouraged and sympathized with me in all my efforts to get an education. it was while living with her that i began to get together my first library. i secured a dry-goods box, knocked out one side of it, put some shelves in it, and began putting into it every kind of book that i could get my hands upon, and called it my "library."
-notwithstanding my success at mrs. ruffner's i did not give up the idea of going to the hampton institute. in the fall of 1872 i determined to make an effort to get there, although, as i have stated, i had no definite idea of the direction in which hampton was, or of what it would cost to go there. i do not think that any one thoroughly sympathized with me in my ambition to go to hampton unless it was my mother, and she was troubled with a grave fear that i was starting out on a "wild-goose chase." at any rate, i got only a half-hearted consent from her that i might start. the small amount of money that i had earned had been consumed by my stepfather and the remainder of the family, with the exception of a very few dollars, and so i had very little with which to buy clothes and pay my travelling expenses. my brother john helped me all that he could, but of course that was not a great deal, for his work was in the coal-mine, where he did not earn much, and most of what he did earn went in the direction of paying the household expenses.
-perhaps the thing that touched and pleased me most in connection with my starting for hampton was the interest that many of the older coloured people took in the matter. they had spent the best days of their lives in slavery, and hardly expected to live to see the time when they would see a member of their race leave home to attend a boarding-school. some of these older people would give me a nickel, others a quarter, or a handkerchief.
-finally the great day came, and i started for hampton. i had only a small, cheap satchel that contained a few articles of clothing i could get. my mother at the time was rather weak and broken in health. i hardly expected to see her again, and thus our parting was all the more sad. she, however, was very brave through it all. at that time there were no through trains connecting that part of west virginia with eastern virginia. trains ran only a portion of the way, and the remainder of the distance was travelled by stage-coaches.
-the distance from malden to hampton is about five hundred miles. i had not been away from home many hours before it began to grow painfully evident that i did not have enough money to pay my fare to hampton. one experience i shall long remember. i had been travelling over the mountains most of the afternoon in an old-fashion stage-coach, when, late in the evening, the coach stopped for the night at a common, unpainted house called a hotel. all the other passengers except myself were whites. in my ignorance i supposed that the little hotel existed for the purpose of accommodating the passengers who travelled on the stage-coach. the difference that the colour of one's skin would make i had not thought anything about. after all the other passengers had been shown rooms and were getting ready for supper, i shyly presented myself before the man at the desk. it is true i had practically no money in my pocket with which to pay for bed or food, but i had hoped in some way to beg my way into the good graces of the landlord, for at that season in the mountains of virginia the weather was cold, and i wanted to get indoors for the night. without asking as to whether i had any money, the man at the desk firmly refused to even consider the matter of providing me with food or lodging. this was my first experience in finding out what the colour of my skin meant. in some way i managed to keep warm by walking about, and so got through the night. my whole soul was so bent upon reaching hampton that i did not have time to cherish any bitterness toward the hotel-keeper.
-by walking, begging rides both in wagons and in the cars, in some way, after a number of days, i reached the city of richmond, virginia, about eighty-two miles from hampton. when i reached there, tired, hungry, and dirty, it was late in the night. i had never been in a large city, and this rather added to my misery. when i reached richmond, i was completely out of money. i had not a single acquaintance in the place, and, being unused to city ways, i did not know where to go. i applied at several places for lodging, but they all wanted money, and that was what i did not have. knowing nothing else better to do, i walked the streets. in doing this i passed by many food-stands where fried chicken and half-moon apple pies were piled high and made to present a most tempting appearance. at that time it seemed to me that i would have promised all that i expected to possess in the future to have gotten hold of one of those chicken legs or one of those pies. but i could not get either of these, nor anything else to eat.
-i must have walked the streets till after midnight. at last i became so exhausted that i could walk no longer. i was tired, i was hungry, i was everything but discouraged. just about the time when i reached extreme physical exhaustion, i came upon a portion of a street where the board sidewalk was considerably elevated. i waited for a few minutes, till i was sure that no passers-by could see me, and then crept under the sidewalk and lay for the night upon the ground, with my satchel of clothing for a pillow. nearly all night i could hear the tramp of feet over my head. the next morning i found myself somewhat refreshed, but i was extremely hungry, because it had been a long time since i had had sufficient food. as soon as it became light enough for me to see my surroundings i noticed that i was near a large ship, and that this ship seemed to be unloading a cargo of pig iron. i went at once to the vessel and asked the captain to permit me to help unload the vessel in order to get money for food. the captain, a white man, who seemed to be kind-hearted, consented. i worked long enough to earn money for my breakfast, and it seems to me, as i remember it now, to have been about the best breakfast that i have ever eaten.
-my work pleased the captain so well that he told me if i desired i could continue working for a small amount per day. this i was very glad to do. i continued working on this vessel for a number of days. after buying food with the small wages i received there was not much left to add on the amount i must get to pay my way to hampton. in order to economize in every way possible, so as to be sure to reach hampton in a reasonable time, i continued to sleep under the same sidewalk that gave me shelter the first night i was in richmond. many years after that the coloured citizens of richmond very kindly tendered me a reception at which there must have been two thousand people present. this reception was held not far from the spot where i slept the first night i spent in the city, and i must confess that my mind was more upon the sidewalk that first gave me shelter than upon the recognition, agreeable and cordial as it was.
-when i had saved what i considered enough money with which to reach hampton, i thanked the captain of the vessel for his kindness, and started again. without any unusual occurrence i reached hampton, with a surplus of exactly fifty cents with which to begin my education. to me it had been a long, eventful journey; but the first sight of the large, three-story, brick school building seemed to have rewarded me for all that i had undergone in order to reach the place. if the people who gave the money to provide that building could appreciate the influence the sight of it had upon me, as well as upon thousands of other youths, they would feel all the more encouraged to make such gifts. it seemed to me to be the largest and most beautiful building i had ever seen. the sight of it seemed to give me new life. i felt that a new kind of existence had now begun--that life would now have a new meaning. i felt that i had reached the promised land, and i resolved to let no obstacle prevent me from putting forth the highest effort to fit myself to accomplish the most good in the world.
-after some hours had passed, the head teacher said to me: "the adjoining recitation-room needs sweeping. take the broom and sweep it."
-it occurred to me at once that here was my chance. never did i receive an order with more delight. i knew that i could sweep, for mrs. ruffner had thoroughly taught me how to do that when i lived with her.
-i swept the recitation-room three times. then i got a dusting-cloth and dusted it four times. all the woodwork around the walls, every bench, table, and desk, i went over four times with my dusting-cloth. besides, every piece of furniture had been moved and every closet and corner in the room had been thoroughly cleaned. i had the feeling that in a large measure my future depended upon the impression i made upon the teacher in the cleaning of that room. when i was through, i reported to the head teacher. she was a "yankee" woman who knew just where to look for dirt. she went into the room and inspected the floor and closets; then she took her handkerchief and rubbed it on the woodwork about the walls, and over the table and benches. when she was unable to find one bit of dirt on the floor, or a particle of dust on any of the furniture, she quietly remarked, "i guess you will do to enter this institution."
-i was one of the happiest souls on earth. the sweeping of that room was my college examination, and never did any youth pass an examination for entrance into harvard or yale that gave him more genuine satisfaction. i have passed several examinations since then, but i have always felt that this was the best one i ever passed.
-i have spoken of my own experience in entering the hampton institute. perhaps few, if any, had anything like the same experience that i had, but about the same period there were hundreds who found their way to hampton and other institutions after experiencing something of the same difficulties that i went through. the young men and women were determined to secure an education at any cost.
-the sweeping of the recitation-room in the manner that i did it seems to have paved the way for me to get through hampton. miss mary f. mackie, the head teacher, offered me a position as janitor. this, of course, i gladly accepted, because it was a place where i could work out nearly all the cost of my board. the work was hard and taxing but i stuck to it. i had a large number of rooms to care for, and had to work late into the night, while at the same time i had to rise by four o'clock in the morning, in order to build the fires and have a little time in which to prepare my lessons. in all my career at hampton, and ever since i have been out in the world, miss mary f. mackie, the head teacher to whom i have referred, proved one of my strongest and most helpful friends. her advice and encouragement were always helpful in strengthening to me in the darkest hour.
-i have spoken of the impression that was made upon me by the buildings and general appearance of the hampton institute, but i have not spoken of that which made the greatest and most lasting impression on me, and that was a great man--the noblest, rarest human being that it has ever been my privilege to meet. i refer to the late general samuel c. armstrong.
-it has been my fortune to meet personally many of what are called great characters, both in europe and america, but i do not hesitate to say that i never met any man who, in my estimation, was the equal of general armstrong. fresh from the degrading influences of the slave plantation and the coal-mines, it was a rare privilege for me to be permitted to come into direct contact with such a character as general armstrong. i shall always remember that the first time i went into his presence he made the impression upon me of being a perfect man: i was made to feel that there was something about him that was superhuman. it was my privilege to know the general personally from the time i entered hampton till he died, and the more i saw of him the greater he grew in my estimation. one might have removed from hampton all the buildings, class-rooms, teachers, and industries, and given the men and women there the opportunity of coming into daily contact with general armstrong, and that alone would have been a liberal education. the older i grow, the more i am convinced that there is no education which one can get from books and costly apparatus that is equal to that which can be gotten from contact with great men and women. instead of studying books so constantly, how i wish that our schools and colleges might learn to study men and things!
-general armstrong spent two of the last six months of his life in my home at tuskegee. at that time he was paralyzed to the extent that he had lost control of his body and voice in a very large degree. notwithstanding his affliction, he worked almost constantly night and day for the cause to which he had given his life. i never saw a man who so completely lost sight of himself. i do not believe he ever had a selfish thought. he was just as happy in trying to assist some other institution in the south as he was when working for hampton. although he fought the southern white man in the civil war, i never heard him utter a bitter word against him afterward. on the other hand, he was constantly seeking to find ways by which he could be of service to the southern whites.
-it would be difficult to describe the hold that he had upon the students at hampton, or the faith they had in him. in fact, he was worshipped by his students. it never occurred to me that general armstrong could fail in anything that he undertook. there is almost no request that he could have made that would not have been complied with. when he was a guest at my home in alabama, and was so badly paralyzed that he had to be wheeled about in an invalid's chair, i recall that one of the general's former students had occasion to push his chair up a long, steep hill that taxed his strength to the utmost. when the top of the hill was reached, the former pupil, with a glow of happiness on his face, exclaimed, "i am so glad that i have been permitted to do something that was real hard for the general before he dies!" while i was a student at hampton, the dormitories became so crowded that it was impossible to find room for all who wanted to be admitted. in order to help remedy the difficulty, the general conceived the plan of putting up tents to be used as rooms. as soon as it became known that general armstrong would be pleased if some of the older students would live in the tents during the winter, nearly every student in school volunteered to go.
-i was one of the volunteers. the winter that we spent in those tents was an intensely cold one, and we suffered severely--how much i am sure general armstrong never knew, because we made no complaints. it was enough for us to know that we were pleasing general armstrong, and that we were making it possible for an additional number of students to secure an education. more than once, during a cold night, when a stiff gale would be blowing, our tent was lifted bodily, and we would find ourselves in the open air. the general would usually pay a visit to the tents early in the morning, and his earnest, cheerful, encouraging voice would dispel any feeling of despondency.
-i have spoken of my admiration for general armstrong, and yet he was but a type of that christlike body of men and women who went into the negro schools at the close of the war by the hundreds to assist in lifting up my race. the history of the world fails to show a higher, purer, and more unselfish class of men and women than those who found their way into those negro schools.
-life at hampton was a constant revelation to me; was constantly taking me into a new world. the matter of having meals at regular hours, of eating on a tablecloth, using a napkin, the use of the bath-tub and of the tooth-brush, as well as the use of sheets upon the bed, were all new to me.
-i sometimes feel that almost the most valuable lesson i got at the hampton institute was in the use and value of the bath. i learned there for the first time some of its value, not only in keeping the body healthy, but in inspiring self-respect and promoting virtue. in all my travels in the south and elsewhere since leaving hampton i have always in some way sought my daily bath. to get it sometimes when i have been the guest of my own people in a single-roomed cabin has not always been easy to do, except by slipping away to some stream in the woods. i have always tried to teach my people that some provision for bathing should be a part of every house.
-for some time, while a student at hampton, i possessed but a single pair of socks, but when i had worn these till they became soiled, i would wash them at night and hang them by the fire to dry, so that i might wear them again the next morning.
-the charge for my board at hampton was ten dollars per month. i was expected to pay a part of this in cash and to work out the remainder. to meet this cash payment, as i have stated, i had just fifty cents when i reached the institution. aside from a very few dollars that my brother john was able to send me once in a while, i had no money with which to pay my board. i was determined from the first to make my work as janitor so valuable that my services would be indispensable. this i succeeded in doing to such an extent that i was soon informed that i would be allowed the full cost of my board in return for my work. the cost of tuition was seventy dollars a year. this, of course, was wholly beyond my ability to provide. if i had been compelled to pay the seventy dollars for tuition, in addition to providing for my board, i would have been compelled to leave the hampton school. general armstrong, however, very kindly got mr. s. griffitts morgan, of new bedford, mass., to defray the cost of my tuition during the whole time that i was at hampton. after i finished the course at hampton and had entered upon my lifework at tuskegee, i had the pleasure of visiting mr. morgan several times.
-after having been for a while at hampton, i found myself in difficulty because i did not have books and clothing. usually, however, i got around the trouble about books by borrowing from those who were more fortunate than myself. as to clothes, when i reached hampton i had practically nothing. everything that i possessed was in a small hand satchel. my anxiety about clothing was increased because of the fact that general armstrong made a personal inspection of the young men in ranks, to see that their clothes were clean. shoes had to be polished, there must be no buttons off the clothing, and no grease-spots. to wear one suit of clothes continually, while at work and in the schoolroom, and at the same time keep it clean, was rather a hard problem for me to solve. in some way i managed to get on till the teachers learned that i was in earnest and meant to succeed, and then some of them were kind enough to see that i was partly supplied with second-hand clothing that had been sent in barrels from the north. these barrels proved a blessing to hundreds of poor but deserving students. without them i question whether i should ever have gotten through hampton.
-when i first went to hampton i do not recall that i had ever slept in a bed that had two sheets on it. in those days there were not many buildings there, and room was very precious. there were seven other boys in the same room with me; most of them, however, students who had been there for some time. the sheets were quite a puzzle to me. the first night i slept under both of them, and the second night i slept on top of them; but by watching the other boys i learned my lesson in this, and have been trying to follow it ever since and to teach it to others.
-i was among the youngest of the students who were in hampton at the time. most of the students were men and women--some as old as forty years of age. as i now recall the scene of my first year, i do not believe that one often has the opportunity of coming into contact with three or four hundred men and women who were so tremendously in earnest as these men and women were. every hour was occupied in study or work. nearly all had had enough actual contact with the world to teach them the need of education. many of the older ones were, of course, too old to master the text-books very thoroughly, and it was often sad to watch their struggles; but they made up in earnest much of what they lacked in books. many of them were as poor as i was, and, besides having to wrestle with their books, they had to struggle with a poverty which prevented their having the necessities of life. many of them had aged parents who were dependent upon them, and some of them were men who had wives whose support in some way they had to provide for.
-the great and prevailing idea that seemed to take possession of every one was to prepare himself to lift up the people at his home. no one seemed to think of himself. and the officers and teachers, what a rare set of human beings they were! they worked for the students night and day, in seasons and out of season. they seemed happy only when they were helping the students in some manner. whenever it is written--and i hope it will be--the part that the yankee teachers played in the education of the negroes immediately after the war will make one of the most thrilling parts of the history off this country. the time is not far distant when the whole south will appreciate this service in a way that it has not yet been able to do.
-at the end of my first year at hampton i was confronted with another difficulty. most of the students went home to spend their vacation. i had no money with which to go home, but i had to go somewhere. in those days very few students were permitted to remain at the school during vacation. it made me feel very sad and homesick to see the other students preparing to leave and starting for home. i not only had no money with which to go home, but i had none with which to go anywhere.
-in some way, however, i had gotten hold of an extra, second-hand coat which i thought was a pretty valuable coat. this i decided to sell, in order to get a little money for travelling expenses. i had a good deal of boyish pride, and i tried to hide, as far as i could, from the other students the fact that i had no money and nowhere to go. i made it known to a few people in the town of hampton that i had this coat to sell, and, after a good deal of persuading, one coloured man promised to come to my room to look the coat over and consider the matter of buying it. this cheered my drooping spirits considerably. early the next morning my prospective customer appeared. after looking the garment over carefully, he asked me how much i wanted for it. i told him i thought it was worth three dollars. he seemed to agree with me as to price, but remarked in the most matter-of-fact way: "i tell you what i will do; i will take the coat, and will pay you five cents, cash down, and pay you the rest of the money just as soon as i can get it." it is not hard to imagine what my feelings were at the time.
-with this disappointment i gave up all hope of getting out of the town of hampton for my vacation work. i wanted very much to go where i might secure work that would at least pay me enough to purchase some much-needed clothing and other necessities. in a few days practically all the students and teachers had left for their homes, and this served to depress my spirits even more.
-after trying for several days in and near the town of hampton, i finally secured work in a restaurant at fortress monroe. the wages, however, were very little more than my board. at night, and between meals, i found considerable time for study and reading; and in this direction i improved myself very much during the summer.
-when i left school at the end of my first year, i owed the institution sixteen dollars that i had not been able to work out. it was my greatest ambition during the summer to save money enough with which to pay this debt. i felt that this was a debt of honour, and that i could hardly bring myself to the point of even trying to enter school again till it was paid. i economized in every way that i could think of--did my own washing, and went without necessary garments--but still i found my summer vacation ending and i did not have the sixteen dollars.
-one day, during the last week of my stay in the restaurant, i found under one of the tables a crisp, new ten-dollar bill. i could hardly contain myself, i was so happy. as it was not my place of business i felt it to be the proper thing to show the money to the proprietor. this i did. he seemed as glad as i was, but he coolly explained to me that, as it was his place of business, he had a right to keep the money, and he proceeded to do so. this, i confess, was another pretty hard blow to me. i will not say that i became discouraged, for as i now look back over my life i do not recall that i ever became discouraged over anything that i set out to accomplish. i have begun everything with the idea that i could succeed, and i never had much patience with the multitudes of people who are always ready to explain why one cannot succeed. i determined to face the situation just as it was. at the end of the week i went to the treasurer of the hampton institute, general j.f.b. marshall, and told him frankly my condition. to my gratification he told me that i could reenter the institution, and that he would trust me to pay the debt when i could. during the second year i continued to work as a janitor.
-the education that i received at hampton out of the text-books was but a small part of what i learned there. one of the things that impressed itself upon me deeply, the second year, was the unselfishness of the teachers. it was hard for me to understand how any individuals could bring themselves to the point where they could be so happy in working for others. before the end of the year, i think i began learning that those who are happiest are those who do the most for others. this lesson i have tried to carry with me ever since.
-i also learned a valuable lesson at hampton by coming into contact with the best breeds of live stock and fowls. no student, i think, who has had the opportunity of doing this could go out into the world and content himself with the poorest grades.
-perhaps the most valuable thing that i got out of my second year was an understanding of the use and value of the bible. miss nathalie lord, one of the teachers, from portland, me., taught me how to use and love the bible. before this i had never cared a great deal about it, but now i learned to love to read the bible, not only for the spiritual help which it gives, but on account of it as literature. the lessons taught me in this respect took such a hold upon me that at the present time, when i am at home, no matter how busy i am, i always make it a rule to read a chapter or a portion of a chapter in the morning, before beginning the work of the day.
-whatever ability i may have as a public speaker i owe in a measure to miss lord. when she found out that i had some inclination in this direction, she gave me private lessons in the matter of breathing, emphasis, and articulation. simply to be able to talk in public for the sake of talking has never had the least attraction to me. in fact, i consider that there is nothing so empty and unsatisfactory as mere abstract public speaking; but from my early childhood i have had a desire to do something to make the world better, and then to be able to speak to the world about that thing.
-at the end of my second year at hampton, by the help of some money sent me by my mother and brother john, supplemented by a small gift from one of the teachers at hampton, i was enabled to return to my home in malden, west virginia, to spend my vacation. when i reached home i found that the salt-furnaces were not running, and that the coal-mine was not being operated on account of the miners being out on "strike." this was something which, it seemed, usually occurred whenever the men got two or three months ahead in their savings. during the strike, of course, they spent all that they had saved, and would often return to work in debt at the same wages, or would move to another mine at considerable expense. in either case, my observations convinced me that the miners were worse off at the end of the strike. before the days of strikes in that section of the country, i knew miners who had considerable money in the bank, but as soon as the professional labour agitators got control, the savings of even the more thrifty ones began disappearing.
-my mother and the other members of my family were, of course, much rejoiced to see me and to note the improvement that i had made during my two years' absence. the rejoicing on the part of all classes of the coloured people, and especially the older ones, over my return, was almost pathetic. i had to pay a visit to each family and take a meal with each, and at each place tell the story of my experiences at hampton. in addition to this i had to speak before the church and sunday-school, and at various other places. the thing that i was most in search of, though, work, i could not find. there was no work on account of the strike. i spent nearly the whole of the first month of my vacation in an effort to find something to do by which i could earn money to pay my way back to hampton and save a little money to use after reaching there.
-toward the end of the first month, i went to a place a considerable distance from my home, to try to find employment. i did not succeed, and it was night before i got started on my return. when i had gotten within a mile or so of my home i was so completely tired out that i could not walk any farther, and i went into an old, abandoned house to spend the remainder of the night. about three o'clock in the morning my brother john found me asleep in this house, and broke to me, as gently as he could, the sad news that our dear mother had died during the night.
-this seemed to me the saddest and blankest moment in my life. for several years my mother had not been in good health, but i had no idea, when i parted from her the previous day, that i should never see her alive again. besides that, i had always had an intense desire to be with her when she did pass away. one of the chief ambitions which spurred me on at hampton was that i might be able to get to be in a position in which i could better make my mother comfortable and happy. she had so often expressed the wish that she might be permitted to live to see her children educated and started out in the world.
-in a very short time after the death of my mother our little home was in confusion. my sister amanda, although she tried to do the best she could, was too young to know anything about keeping house, and my stepfather was not able to hire a housekeeper. sometimes we had food cooked for us, and sometimes we did not. i remember that more than once a can of tomatoes and some crackers constituted a meal. our clothing went uncared for, and everything about our home was soon in a tumble-down condition. it seems to me that this was the most dismal period of my life.
-my good friend, mrs. ruffner, to whom i have already referred, always made me welcome at her home, and assisted me in many ways during this trying period. before the end of the vacation she gave me some work, and this, together with work in a coal-mine at some distance from my home, enabled me to earn a little money.
-at one time it looked as if i would have to give up the idea of returning to hampton, but my heart was so set on returning that i determined not to give up going back without a struggle. i was very anxious to secure some clothes for the winter, but in this i was disappointed, except for a few garments which my brother john secured for me. notwithstanding my need of money and clothing, i was very happy in the fact that i had secured enough money to pay my travelling expenses back to hampton. once there, i knew that i could make myself so useful as a janitor that i could in some way get through the school year.
-three weeks before the time for the opening of the term at hampton, i was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter from my good friend miss mary f. mackie, the lady principal, asking me to return to hampton two weeks before the opening of the school, in order that i might assist her in cleaning the buildings and getting things in order for the new school year. this was just the opportunity i wanted. it gave me a chance to secure a credit in the treasurer's office. i started for hampton at once.
-during these two weeks i was taught a lesson which i shall never forget. miss mackie was a member of one of the oldest and most cultured families of the north, and yet for two weeks she worked by my side cleaning windows, dusting rooms, putting beds in order, and what not. she felt that things would not be in condition for the opening of school unless every window-pane was perfectly clean, and she took the greatest satisfaction in helping to clean them herself. the work which i have described she did every year that i was at hampton.
-it was hard for me at this time to understand how a woman of her education and social standing could take such delight in performing such service, in order to assist in the elevation of an unfortunate race. ever since then i have had no patience with any school for my race in the south which did not teach its students the dignity of labour.
-during my last year at hampton every minute of my time that was not occupied with my duties as janitor was devoted to hard study. i was determined, if possible, to make such a record in my class as would cause me to be placed on the "honour roll" of commencement speakers. this i was successful in doing. it was june of 1875 when i finished the regular course of study at hampton. the greatest benefits that i got out of my my life at the hampton institute, perhaps, may be classified under two heads:--
-first was contact with a great man, general s.c. armstrong, who, i repeat, was, in my opinion, the rarest, strongest, and most beautiful character that it has ever been my privilege to meet.
-second, at hampton, for the first time, i learned what education was expected to do for an individual. before going there i had a good deal of the then rather prevalent idea among our people that to secure an education meant to have a good, easy time, free from all necessity for manual labour. at hampton i not only learned that it was not a disgrace to labour, but learned to love labour, not alone for its financial value, but for labour's own sake and for the independence and self-reliance which the ability to do something which the world wants done brings. at that institution i got my first taste of what it meant to live a life of unselfishness, my first knowledge of the fact that the happiest individuals are those who do the most to make others useful and happy.
-i was completely out of money when i graduated. in company with other hampton students, i secured a place as a table waiter in a summer hotel in connecticut, and managed to borrow enough money with which to get there. i had not been in this hotel long before i found out that i knew practically nothing about waiting on a hotel table. the head waiter, however, supposed that i was an accomplished waiter. he soon gave me charge of the table at which there sat four or five wealthy and rather aristocratic people. my ignorance of how to wait upon them was so apparent that they scolded me in such a severe manner that i became frightened and left their table, leaving them sitting there without food. as a result of this i was reduced from the position of waiter to that of a dish-carrier.
-but i determined to learn the business of waiting, and did so within a few weeks and was restored to my former position. i have had the satisfaction of being a guest in this hotel several times since i was a waiter there.
-at the close of the hotel season i returned to my former home in malden, and was elected to teach the coloured school at that place. this was the beginning of one of the happiest periods of my life. i now felt that i had the opportunity to help the people of my home town to a higher life. i felt from the first that mere book education was not all that the young people of that town needed. i began my work at eight o'clock in the morning, and, as a rule, it did not end until ten o'clock at night. in addition to the usual routine of teaching, i taught the pupils to comb their hair, and to keep their hands and faces clean, as well as their clothing. i gave special attention to teaching them the proper use of the tooth-brush and the bath. in all my teaching i have watched carefully the influence of the tooth-brush, and i am convinced that there are few single agencies of civilization that are more far-reaching.
-there were so many of the older boys and girls in the town, as well as men and women, who had to work in the daytime and still were craving an opportunity for an education, that i soon opened a night-school. from the first, this was crowded every night, being about as large as the school that i taught in the day. the efforts of some of the men and women, who in many cases were over fifty years of age, to learn, were in some cases very pathetic.
-my day and night school work was not all that i undertook. i established a small reading-room and a debating society. on sundays i taught two sunday-schools, one in the town of malden in the afternoon, and the other in the morning at a place three miles distant from malden. in addition to this, i gave private lessons to several young men whom i was fitting to send to the hampton institute. without regard to pay and with little thought of it, i taught any one who wanted to learn anything that i could teach him. i was supremely happy in the opportunity of being able to assist somebody else. i did receive, however, a small salary from the public fund, for my work as a public-school teacher.
-during the time that i was a student at hampton my older brother, john, not only assisted me all that he could, but worked all of the time in the coal-mines in order to support the family. he willingly neglected his own education that he might help me. it was my earnest wish to help him to prepare to enter hampton, and to save money to assist him in his expenses there. both of these objects i was successful in accomplishing. in three years my brother finished the course at hampton, and he is now holding the important position of superintendent of industries at tuskegee. when he returned from hampton, we both combined our efforts and savings to send our adopted brother, james, through the hampton institute. this we succeeded in doing, and he is now the postmaster at the tuskegee institute. the year 1877, which was my second year of teaching in malden, i spent very much as i did the first.
-it was while my home was at malden that what was known as the "ku klux klan" was in the height of its activity. the "ku klux" were bands of men who had joined themselves together for the purpose of regulating the conduct of the coloured people, especially with the object of preventing the members of the race from exercising any influence in politics. they corresponded somewhat to the "patrollers" of whom i used to hear a great deal during the days of slavery, when i was a small boy. the "patrollers" were bands of white men--usually young men--who were organized largely for the purpose of regulating the conduct of the slaves at night in such matters as preventing the slaves from going from one plantation to another without passes, and for preventing them from holding any kind of meetings without permission and without the presence at these meetings of at least one white man.
-like the "patrollers" the "ku klux" operated almost wholly at night. they were, however, more cruel than the "patrollers." their objects, in the main, were to crush out the political aspirations of the negroes, but they did not confine themselves to this, because schoolhouses as well as churches were burned by them, and many innocent persons were made to suffer. during this period not a few coloured people lost their lives.
-as a young man, the acts of these lawless bands made a great impression upon me. i saw one open battle take place at malden between some of the coloured and white people. there must have been not far from a hundred persons engaged on each side; many on both sides were seriously injured, among them general lewis ruffner, the husband of my friend mrs. viola ruffner. general ruffner tried to defend the coloured people, and for this he was knocked down and so seriously wounded that he never completely recovered. it seemed to me as i watched this struggle between members of the two races, that there was no hope for our people in this country. the "ku klux" period was, i think, the darkest part of the reconstruction days.
-i have referred to this unpleasant part of the history of the south simply for the purpose of calling attention to the great change that has taken place since the days of the "ku klux." to-day there are no such organizations in the south, and the fact that such ever existed is almost forgotten by both races. there are few places in the south now where public sentiment would permit such organizations to exist.
-the years from 1867 to 1878 i think may be called the period of reconstruction. this included the time that i spent as a student at hampton and as a teacher in west virginia. during the whole of the reconstruction period two ideas were constantly agitating in the minds of the coloured people, or, at least, in the minds of a large part of the race. one of these was the craze for greek and latin learning, and the other was a desire to hold office.
-it could not have been expected that a people who had spent generations in slavery, and before that generations in the darkest heathenism, could at first form any proper conception of what an education meant. in every part of the south, during the reconstruction period, schools, both day and night, were filled to overflowing with people of all ages and conditions, some being as far along in age as sixty and seventy years. the ambition to secure an education was most praiseworthy and encouraging. the idea, however, was too prevalent that, as soon as one secured a little education, in some unexplainable way he would be free from most of the hardships of the world, and, at any rate, could live without manual labour. there was a further feeling that a knowledge, however little, of the greek and latin languages would make one a very superior human being, something bordering almost on the supernatural. i remember that the first coloured man whom i saw who knew something about foreign languages impressed me at the time as being a man of all others to be envied.
-naturally, most of our people who received some little education became teachers or preachers. while among those two classes there were many capable, earnest, godly men and women, still a large proportion took up teaching or preaching as an easy way to make a living. many became teachers who could do little more than write their names. i remember there came into our neighbourhood one of this class, who was in search of a school to teach, and the question arose while he was there as to the shape of the earth and how he could teach the children concerning the subject. he explained his position in the matter by saying that he was prepared to teach that the earth was either flat or round, according to the preference of a majority of his patrons.
-the ministry was the profession that suffered most--and still suffers, though there has been great improvement--on account of not only ignorant but in many cases immoral men who claimed that they were "called to preach." in the earlier days of freedom almost every coloured man who learned to read would receive "a call to preach" within a few days after he began reading. at my home in west virginia the process of being called to the ministry was a very interesting one. usually the "call" came when the individual was sitting in church. without warning the one called would fall upon the floor as if struck by a bullet, and would lie there for hours, speechless and motionless. then the news would spread all through the neighborhood that this individual had received a "call." if he were inclined to resist the summons, he would fall or be made to fall a second or third time. in the end he always yielded to the call. while i wanted an education badly, i confess that in my youth i had a fear that when i had learned to read and write very well i would receive one of these "calls"; but, for some reason, my call never came.
-when we add the number of wholly ignorant men who preached or "exhorted" to that of those who possessed something of an education, it can be seen at a glance that the supply of ministers was large. in fact, some time ago i knew a certain church that had a total membership of about two hundred, and eighteen of that number were ministers. but, i repeat, in many communities in the south the character of the ministry is being improved, and i believe that within the next two or three decades a very large proportion of the unworthy ones will have disappeared. the "calls" to preach, i am glad to say, are not nearly so numerous now as they were formerly, and the calls to some industrial occupation are growing more numerous. the improvement that has taken place in the character of the teachers is even more marked than in the case of the ministers.
-it is easy to find fault, to remark what might have been done, and perhaps, after all, and under all the circumstances, those in charge of the conduct of affairs did the only thing that could be done at the time. still, as i look back now over the entire period of our freedom, i cannot help feeling that it would have been wiser if some plan could have been put in operation which would have made the possession of a certain amount of education or property, or both, a test for the exercise of the franchise, and a way provided by which this test should be made to apply honestly and squarely to both the white and black races.
-though i was but little more than a youth during the period of reconstruction, i had the feeling that mistakes were being made, and that things could not remain in the condition that they were in then very long. i felt that the reconstruction policy, so far as it related to my race, was in a large measure on a false foundation, was artificial and forced. in many cases it seemed to me that the ignorance of my race was being used as a tool with which to help white men into office, and that there was an element in the north which wanted to punish the southern white men by forcing the negro into positions over the heads of the southern whites. i felt that the negro would be the one to suffer for this in the end. besides, the general political agitation drew the attention of our people away from the more fundamental matters of perfecting themselves in the industries at their doors and in securing property.
-the temptations to enter political life were so alluring that i came very near yielding to them at one time, but i was kept from doing so by the feeling that i would be helping in a more substantial way by assisting in the laying of the foundation of the race through a generous education of the hand, head, and heart. i saw coloured men who were members of the state legislatures, and county officers, who, in some cases, could not read or write, and whose morals were as weak as their education. not long ago, when passing through the streets of a certain city in the south, i heard some brick-masons calling out, from the top of a two-story brick building on which they were working, for the "governor" to "hurry up and bring up some more bricks." several times i heard the command, "hurry up, governor!" "hurry up, governor!" my curiosity was aroused to such an extent that i made inquiry as to who the "governor" was, and soon found that he was a coloured man who at one time had held the position of lieutenant-governor of his state.
-but not all the coloured people who were in office during reconstruction were unworthy of their positions, by any means. some of them, like the late senator b.k. bruce, governor pinchback, and many others, were strong, upright, useful men. neither were all the class designated as carpetbaggers dishonourable men. some of them, like ex-governor bullock, of georgia, were men of high character and usefulness.
-of course the coloured people, so largely without education, and wholly without experience in government, made tremendous mistakes, just as many people similarly situated would have done. many of the southern whites have a feeling that, if the negro is permitted to exercise his political rights now to any degree, the mistakes of the reconstruction period will repeat themselves. i do not think this would be true, because the negro is a much stronger and wiser man than he was thirty-five years ago, and he is fast learning the lesson that he cannot afford to act in a manner that will alienate his southern white neighbours from him. more and more i am convinced that the final solution of the political end of our race problem will be for each state that finds it necessary to change the law bearing upon the franchise to make the law apply with absolute honesty, and without opportunity for double dealing or evasion, to both races alike. any other course my daily observation in the south convinces me, will be unjust to the negro, unjust to the white man, and unfair to the rest of the state in the union, and will be, like slavery, a sin that at some time we shall have to pay for.
-in the fall of 1878, after having taught school in malden for two years, and after i had succeeded in preparing several of the young men and women, besides my two brothers, to enter the hampton institute, i decided to spend some months in study at washington, d.c. i remained there for eight months. i derived a great deal of benefit from the studies which i pursued, and i came into contact with some strong men and women. at the institution i attended there was no industrial training given to the students, and i had an opportunity of comparing the influence of an institution with no industrial training with that of one like the hampton institute, that emphasizes the industries. at this school i found the students, in most cases, had more money, were better dressed, wore the latest style of all manner of clothing, and in some cases were more brilliant mentally. at hampton it was a standing rule that, while the institution would be responsible for securing some one to pay the tuition for the students, the men and women themselves must provide for their own board, books, clothing, and room wholly by work, or partly by work and partly in cash. at the institution at which i now was, i found that a large portion of the students by some means had their personal expenses paid for them. at hampton the student was constantly making the effort through the industries to help himself, and that very effort was of immense value in character-building. the students at the other school seemed to be less self-dependent. they seemed to give more attention to mere outward appearances. in a word, they did not appear to me to be beginning at the bottom, on a real, solid foundation, to the extent that they were at hampton. they knew more about latin and greek when they left school, but they seemed to know less about life and its conditions as they would meet it at their homes. having lived for a number of years in the midst of comfortable surroundings, they were not as much inclined as the hampton students to go into the country districts of the south, where there was little of comfort, to take up work for our people, and they were more inclined to yield to the temptation to become hotel waiters and pullman-car porters as their life-work.
-during the time i was a student at washington the city was crowded with coloured people, many of whom had recently come from the south. a large proportion of these people had been drawn to washington because they felt that they could lead a life of ease there. others had secured minor government positions, and still another large class was there in the hope of securing federal positions. a number of coloured men--some of them very strong and brilliant--were in the house of representatives at that time, and one, the hon. b.k. bruce, was in the senate. all this tended to make washington an attractive place for members of the coloured race. then, too, they knew that at all times they could have the protection of the law in the district of columbia. the public schools in washington for coloured people were better then than they were elsewhere. i took great interest in studying the life of our people there closely at that time. i found that while among them there was a large element of substantial, worthy citizens, there was also a superficiality about the life of a large class that greatly alarmed me. i saw young coloured men who were not earning more than four dollars a week spend two dollars or more for a buggy on sunday to ride up and down pennsylvania avenue in, in order that they might try to convince the world that they were worth thousands. i saw other young men who received seventy-five or one hundred dollars per month from the government, who were in debt at the end of every month. i saw men who but a few months previous were members of congress, then without employment and in poverty. among a large class there seemed to be a dependence upon the government for every conceivable thing. the members of this class had little ambition to create a position for themselves, but wanted the federal officials to create one for them. how many times i wished then, and have often wished since, that by some power of magic i might remove the great bulk of these people into the county districts and plant them upon the soil, upon the solid and never deceptive foundation of mother nature, where all nations and races that have ever succeeded have gotten their start,--a start that at first may be slow and toilsome, but one that nevertheless is real.
-in washington i saw girls whose mothers were earning their living by laundrying. these girls were taught by their mothers, in rather a crude way it is true, the industry of laundrying. later, these girls entered the public schools and remained there perhaps six or eight years. when the public school course was finally finished, they wanted more costly dresses, more costly hats and shoes. in a word, while their wants have been increased, their ability to supply their wants had not been increased in the same degree. on the other hand, their six or eight years of book education had weaned them away from the occupation of their mothers. the result of this was in too many cases that the girls went to the bad. i often thought how much wiser it would have been to give these girls the same amount of maternal training--and i favour any kind of training, whether in the languages or mathematics, that gives strength and culture to the mind--but at the same time to give them the most thorough training in the latest and best methods of laundrying and other kindred occupations.
-chapter vi. black race and red race
-during the year that i spent in washington, and for some little time before this, there had been considerable agitation in the state of west virginia over the question of moving the capital of the state from wheeling to some other central point. as a result of this, the legislature designated three cities to be voted upon by the citizens of the state as the permanent seat of government. among these cities was charleston, only five miles from malden, my home. at the close of my school year in washington i was very pleasantly surprised to receive, from a committee of three white people in charleston, an invitation to canvass the state in the interests of that city. this invitation i accepted, and spent nearly three months in speaking in various parts of the state. charleston was successful in winning the prize, and is now the permanent seat of government.
-the reputation that i made as a speaker during this campaign induced a number of persons to make an earnest effort to get me to enter political life, but i refused, still believing that i could find other service which would prove of more permanent value to my race. even then i had a strong feeling that what our people most needed was to get a foundation in education, industry, and property, and for this i felt that they could better afford to strive than for political preferment. as for my individual self, it appeared to me to be reasonably certain that i could succeed in political life, but i had a feeling that it would be a rather selfish kind of success--individual success at the cost of failing to do my duty in assisting in laying a foundation for the masses.
-at this period in the progress of our race a very large proportion of the young men who went to school or to college did so with the expressed determination to prepare themselves to be great lawyers, or congressmen, and many of the women planned to become music teachers; but i had a reasonably fixed idea, even at that early period in my life, that there was a need for something to be done to prepare the way for successful lawyers, congressmen, and music teachers.
-i felt that the conditions were a good deal like those of an old coloured man, during the days of slavery, who wanted to learn how to play on the guitar. in his desire to take guitar lessons he applied to one of his young masters to teach him, but the young man, not having much faith in the ability of the slave to master the guitar at his age, sought to discourage him by telling him: "uncle jake, i will give you guitar lessons; but, jake, i will have to charge you three dollars for the first lesson, two dollars for the second lesson, and one dollar for the third lesson. but i will charge you only twenty-five cents for the last lesson."
-uncle jake answered: "all right, boss, i hires you on dem terms. but, boss! i wants yer to be sure an' give me dat las' lesson first."
-soon after my work in connection with the removal of the capital was finished, i received an invitation which gave me great joy and which at the same time was a very pleasant surprise. this was a letter from general armstrong, inviting me to return to hampton at the next commencement to deliver what was called the "post-graduate address." this was an honour which i had not dreamed of receiving. with much care i prepared the best address that i was capable of. i chose for my subject "the force that wins."
-as i returned to hampton for the purpose of delivering this address, i went over much of the same ground--now, however, covered entirely by railroad--that i had traversed nearly six years before, when i first sought entrance into hampton institute as a student. now i was able to ride the whole distance in the train. i was constantly contrasting this with my first journey to hampton. i think i may say, without seeming egotism, that it is seldom that five years have wrought such a change in the life and aspirations of an individual.
-at hampton i received a warm welcome from teachers and students. i found that during my absence from hampton the institute each year had been getting closer to the real needs and conditions of our people; that the industrial teaching, as well as that of the academic department, had greatly improved. the plan of the school was not modelled after that of any other institution then in existence, but every improvement was made under the magnificent leadership of general armstrong solely with the view of meeting and helping the needs of our people as they presented themselves at the time. too often, it seems to me, in missionary and educational work among underdeveloped races, people yield to the temptation of doing that which was done a hundred years before, or is being done in other communities a thousand miles away. the temptation often is to run each individual through a certain educational mould, regardless of the condition of the subject or the end to be accomplished. this was not so at hampton institute.
-the address which i delivered on commencement day seems to have pleased every one, and many kind and encouraging words were spoken to me regarding it. soon after my return to my home in west virginia, where i had planned to continue teaching, i was again surprised to receive a letter from general armstrong, asking me to return to hampton partly as a teacher and partly to pursue some supplementary studies. this was in the summer of 1879. soon after i began my first teaching in west virginia i had picked out four of the brightest and most promising of my pupils, in addition to my two brothers, to whom i have already referred, and had given them special attention, with the view of having them go to hampton. they had gone there, and in each case the teachers had found them so well prepared that they entered advanced classes. this fact, it seems, led to my being called back to hampton as a teacher. one of the young men that i sent to hampton in this way is now dr. samuel e. courtney, a successful physician in boston, and a member of the school board of that city.
-on going to hampton, i took up my residence in a building with about seventy-five indian youths. i was the only person in the building who was not a member of their race. at first i had a good deal of doubt about my ability to succeed. i knew that the average indian felt himself above the white man, and, of course, he felt himself far above the negro, largely on account of the fact of the negro having submitted to slavery--a thing which the indian would never do. the indians, in the indian territory, owned a large number of slaves during the days of slavery. aside from this, there was a general feeling that the attempt to educate and civilize the red men at hampton would be a failure. all this made me proceed very cautiously, for i felt keenly the great responsibility. but i was determined to succeed. it was not long before i had the complete confidence of the indians, and not only this, but i think i am safe in saying that i had their love and respect. i found that they were about like any other human beings; that they responded to kind treatment and resented ill-treatment. they were continually planning to do something that would add to my happiness and comfort. the things that they disliked most, i think, were to have their long hair cut, to give up wearing their blankets, and to cease smoking; but no white american ever thinks that any other race is wholly civilized until he wears the white man's clothes, eats the white man's food, speaks the white man's language, and professes the white man's religion.
-when the difficulty of learning the english language was subtracted, i found that in the matter of learning trades and in mastering academic studies there was little difference between the coloured and indian students. it was a constant delight to me to note the interest which the coloured students took in trying to help the indians in every way possible. there were a few of the coloured students who felt that the indians ought not to be admitted to hampton, but these were in the minority. whenever they were asked to do so, the negro students gladly took the indians as room-mates, in order that they might teach them to speak english and to acquire civilized habits.
-i have often wondered if there was a white institution in this country whose students would have welcomed the incoming of more than a hundred companions of another race in the cordial way that these black students at hampton welcomed the red ones. how often i have wanted to say to white students that they lift themselves up in proportion as they help to lift others, and the more unfortunate the race, and the lower in the scale of civilization, the more does one raise one's self by giving the assistance.
-this reminds me of a conversation which i once had with the hon. frederick douglass. at one time mr. douglass was travelling in the state of pennsylvania, and was forced, on account of his colour, to ride in the baggage-car, in spite of the fact that he had paid the same price for his passage that the other passengers had paid. when some of the white passengers went into the baggage-car to console mr. douglass, and one of them said to him: "i am sorry, mr. douglass, that you have been degraded in this manner," mr. douglass straightened himself up on the box upon which he was sitting, and replied: "they cannot degrade frederick douglass. the soul that is within me no man can degrade. i am not the one that is being degraded on account of this treatment, but those who are inflicting it upon me."
-in one part of the country, where the law demands the separation of the races on the railroad trains, i saw at one time a rather amusing instance which showed how difficult it sometimes is to know where the black begins and the white ends.
-there was a man who was well known in his community as a negro, but who was so white that even an expert would have hard work to classify him as a black man. this man was riding in the part of the train set aside for the coloured passengers. when the train conductor reached him, he showed at once that he was perplexed. if the man was a negro, the conductor did not want to send him to the white people's coach; at the same time, if he was a white man, the conductor did not want to insult him by asking him if he was a negro. the official looked him over carefully, examining his hair, eyes, nose, and hands, but still seemed puzzled. finally, to solve the difficulty, he stooped over and peeped at the man's feet. when i saw the conductor examining the feet of the man in question, i said to myself, "that will settle it;" and so it did, for the trainman promptly decided that the passenger was a negro, and let him remain where he was. i congratulated myself that my race was fortunate in not losing one of its members.
-my experience has been that the time to test a true gentleman is to observe him when he is in contact with individuals of a race that is less fortunate than his own. this is illustrated in no better way than by observing the conduct of the old-school type of southern gentleman when he is in contact with his former slaves or their descendants.
-an example of what i mean is shown in a story told of george washington, who, meeting a coloured man in the road once, who politely lifted his hat, lifted his own in return. some of his white friends who saw the incident criticised washington for his action. in reply to their criticism george washington said: "do you suppose that i am going to permit a poor, ignorant, coloured man to be more polite than i am?"
-while i was in charge of the indian boys at hampton, i had one or two experiences which illustrate the curious workings of caste in america. one of the indian boys was taken ill, and it became my duty to take him to washington, deliver him over to the secretary of the interior, and get a receipt for him, in order that he might be returned to his western reservation. at that time i was rather ignorant of the ways of the world. during my journey to washington, on a steamboat, when the bell rang for dinner, i was careful to wait and not enter the dining room until after the greater part of the passengers had finished their meal. then, with my charge, i went to the dining saloon. the man in charge politely informed me that the indian could be served, but that i could not. i never could understand how he knew just where to draw the colour line, since the indian and i were of about the same complexion. the steward, however, seemed to be an expert in this manner. i had been directed by the authorities at hampton to stop at a certain hotel in washington with my charge, but when i went to this hotel the clerk stated that he would be glad to receive the indian into the house, but said that he could not accommodate me.
-an illustration of something of this same feeling came under my observation afterward. i happened to find myself in a town in which so much excitement and indignation were being expressed that it seemed likely for a time that there would be a lynching. the occasion of the trouble was that a dark-skinned man had stopped at the local hotel. investigation, however, developed the fact that this individual was a citizen of morocco, and that while travelling in this country he spoke the english language. as soon as it was learned that he was not an american negro, all the signs of indignation disappeared. the man who was the innocent cause of the excitement, though, found it prudent after that not to speak english.
-at the end of my first year with the indians there came another opening for me at hampton, which, as i look back over my life now, seems to have come providentially, to help to prepare me for my work at tuskegee the kingdom be at peace, and provoke the lion to a dose of physic!"
-the value of geoffrey is not in his fictions about past history, but in his influence on the literature and ideas of the future. he stands at the beginning of a new age: he is the first spokesman of the age of the new chivalry. read his glowing account of arthur's court, where "the knights were famous for feats of chivalry, and the women esteemed none worthy of their love but such as had given proof of their valour in three several battles. thus was the valour of the men an encouragement for the women's chastity, and the love of the women a spur to the knight's bravery." or, as an old french version has it, "love which made the women more chaste made the knights more valorous and famous." we have here a new conception of love which has profoundly influenced life and thought ever since--love no longer a weakness as in the ancient world, or a sin as it seemed to the ascetic spirit of the church, but a conscious source of strength, an avowed motive of heroism. and it was round arthur and his court that the french poets of the next generation wove their romances inspired by this conception--the offspring of the union of norman strength and celtic gentleness.
-gerald the welshman was certainly one of the most remarkable men of letters that the middle ages produced--remarkable not merely for the great range of his knowledge, or the voluminousness of his writings, but for the originality of his views and variety of his interests.
-in this lecture i intend to give first a general account of his life, and then deal in more detail with his itinerary through wales.
-we know a great deal about gerald; he was interested in many things, and not least in himself; he was not troubled by that shrinking sense of his own worthlessness--with the feeling of being not an individual, but a part of a community--which is so characteristic of mediæval writers, and led them often to omit to mention their own names.
-gerald was born about 1146, at manorbier, in pembroke--"the most delightful spot in wales." his ancestry is interesting. his father was a norman noble, holding of glamorgan, william de barri by name; his mother was the daughter of another norman noble, gerald de windsor of pembroke, and the famous nest, daughter of rhys ap tudor, the helen of wales. he was cousin of the fitzgeralds who played so important a part in the conquest of ireland, and connected with richard strongbow and the great house of clare. he thus "moved in the highest circles," and lived in an atmosphere of great deeds and great traditions.
-he was from the first marked out by his own inclinations for an ecclesiastical career. he tells us that when he and his elder brothers used to play as children on the sands of manorbier his brothers built castles but he always built churches. he received an elementary education from the chaplains of his uncle, the bishop of st. david's; he seems to have been slow at learning when a child, and his tutors goaded him on not by the birch rod, but by sarcasm--by declining "stultus, stultior, stultissimus." his higher education was not obtained in wales, and it is singular that he does not notice any place of learning in wales in all his writings. he studied at gloucester, and then at paris, the greatest mediæval university. we have it on his own authority that he was a model student. "so entirely devoted was he to study, having in his acts and in his mind, no sort of levity or coarseness, that whenever the masters of arts wished to select a pattern from among the good scholars, they would name gerald before all others." later he lectured at paris on canon law and theology; his lectures, he tells us, were very popular. he returned thence in 1172, two years after the martyrdom of thomas becket, whose example and struggle for the rights of the church made a deep and lasting impression on him. gerald soon obtained preferment: he held three livings in pembroke, one in oxfordshire, and canonries at hereford and st. david's. his energy soon made itself felt. he excommunicated the welshmen and flemings who would not pay tithes; and then attacked the sins of the clergy. most of the welsh clergy were married, contrary to the laws of the church. gerald hated a married priest even more than he hated a monk. the welsh priest, he says, was wont to keep in his house a female (focaria) "to light his fire but extinguish his virtue." "how can such a man practice frugality and self-denial with a house full of brawling brats, and a woman for ever extracting money to buy costly robes with long skirts trailing in the dust?" gerald hated women--the origin of all evil since the world began: observing that in birds of prey the females are stronger than the males, he remarks that this signifies "the female sex is more resolute in all evil than the male." among the married clergy he attacked was the archdeacon of brecon; and the old man, being forced to choose between his wife and his archdeaconry, preferred his wife. gerald was made archdeacon of brecon. in later years he had qualms of conscience about the part he took in this business.
-in 1188 he accompanied the archbishop of canterbury in his tour through wales to preach the third crusade. with this we shall deal later.
-he was abroad with henry ii. at the time of the old king's death, and has left a valuable account of his later years in the book "on the instruction of princes." his connection with the court gave him opportunities for studying the great characters of the time at close quarters, and we have from his pen graphic sketches of many of them. take this description of henry ii.: "he had a reddish complexion, rather dark, and a large round head. his eyes were gray, bloodshot, and flashed in anger. he had a fiery face; his voice was shaky; he had a deep chest, and long muscular arms, his great round head hanging somewhat forward. he had an enormous belly--though not from gross feeding. indeed he was temperate in all things, for a prince. to keep down his corpulency, he took immoderate exercise. even in times of peace he took no rest--hunting furiously all day, and on his return home in the evening seldom sitting down either before or after supper; for in spite of his own fatigue, he would weary out the court by being constantly on his legs."
-the whole is very interesting and full of life. it occurs in the "conquest of ireland," and is quoted in several of his other works. gerald's favourite author was gerald of barry, archdeacon of brecon.
-the next important episode in his life was the struggle for st. david's (1198-1203). it was really a fight for the independence of the welsh church from england and its direct dependence on the pope. gerald was elected bishop by the canons of st. david's, in opposition to the will of king john (whose consent was necessary) and of hubert walter, archbishop of canterbury (whose rights as metropolitan were attacked). gerald hastened off to rome to get the pope's support, taking with him the most precious offering that he could think of--six of his own books; for rome had a bad name for bribery--and who could resist such a bribe? but he found it advisable to supplement his books by other promises, especially by the offer to the pope of tithes from wales.
-the pope at this time was innocent iii.--the greatest of all the popes--who brought kings and nations under his feet and held despotic sway over the universal church, and stamped out heresy in blood. in the references to him in gerald's works he appears in much more human guise. we see him after supper unbending and laughing at gerald's anecdotes and cracking jokes of a somewhat risky character with the archdeacon. it is clear that the pope thoroughly enjoyed the welshman's company, but also that he did not take him very seriously as an ecclesiastical statesman. "let us have some more stories about your archbishop's bad latin," he would say, when gerald was getting too urgent on the independence of the welsh church or his own right to the see of st. david's.
-this archbishop was hubert walter, who was much more of a secular administrator than an ecclesiastic, and whose latin though clear and ready might show a fine contempt for all rules of grammar. gerald was a stickler for correct latin grammar; he is great on "howlers." there is one of his stories, illustrating both the avarice of the norman prelates and the ignorance of the welsh clergy: a welsh priest came to his bishop and said, "i have brought your lordship a present of two hundred oves." he meant "ova"; but the bishop insisted on the sheep; and the priest probably rubbed up his latin grammar. gerald had also other patriotic reasons for his hostility to the archbishop, who as chief justiciary--i.e., chief minister of the king--had recently attacked and defeated the welsh between the wye and the severn. "blessed be god," writes gerald sarcastically to him, "who has taught your hands to war and your fingers to fight, for since the days when harold almost exterminated the nation, no prince has destroyed so many welshmen in one battle as your grace."
-gerald continued the struggle till 1203, though deserted by the welsh clergy. "the laity of wales," he said, "stood by me; but of the clergy whose battle i was fighting, scarce one." he was proclaimed as a rebel, and had some narrow escapes of imprisonment or worse--escapes which he owed to his ready wit and which he delights to tell. at last he gave way, and during the remainder of his life we find him at rome, lincoln, st. david's, revising his works and writing new ones, modifying some of his judgments (especially that on hubert walter), and encouraging stephen langton in the great struggle against john. he was buried at st. david's, probably in 1223.
-the itinerary (which was later dedicated to stephen langton) contains in the author's words an account of "the difficult places through which we passed, the names of springs and torrents, the witty sayings, the toils and incidents of the journey, the memorable events of ancient and modern times, and the natural history and description of the country."
-the route pursued was as follows: from hereford to radnor, brecon, abergavenny, caerleon, newport, cardiff, llandaff, ewenny, margam, swansea, kidweli, carmarthen, haverford, st. david's, cardigan, strata florida, thence keeping close to the coast, through bangor and chester; and then south by oswestry, shrewsbury, ludlow, to hereford.
-the travellers were well received and entertained both by the lords marcher and the welsh princes. it was especially to the welsh that their attention was directed, and welsh princes accompanied them through their territories. the chief was rhys ap gruffydd (gerald's uncle), prince of south wales, who was then at the height of his power, and had been made chief justice of south wales by henry ii., to whom he faithfully adhered. gwynedd and powys were then divided among several heirs. one of the princes of powys, owain cyfeiliog, the poet, was distinguished as being the only prince who did not come to meet the archbishop with his people; for which he was excommunicated. gerald notes that he was an adherent of henry ii., and was "conspicuous for the good management of his territory." perhaps that is why he would not have anything to do with the crusade.
-how far was the expedition successful in its primary object in gaining crusaders? the archbishop and justiciar had already taken the cross; they remained true to their vows and went to the holy land, the archbishop dying at the siege of acre, heartbroken at the wickedness of the army. gerald himself was the first to take the cross in wales, not acting under the influence of religious enthusiasm, but (as he says himself) "impelled by the urgent requests and promises of the king and persuasions of the archbishop," who wanted him to act as historian; but gerald, after setting the example, bought a dispensation and did not go. a number of the lesser welsh princes soon took the cross. the lord rhys himself was eager to do so, but "his wife by female artifices diverted him wholly from his noble purpose." the wives were all dead against the whole affair. at hay the wives caught hold of their husbands, and the would-be crusaders had literally to run away from them to the castle, leaving their cloaks behind them. a nobler spirit of self-sacrifice was shown by the old woman of cardigan, who, when her only son took the cross, said: "o most beloved lord jesus christ, i give thee hearty thanks for having conferred on me the blessing of bringing forth a son worthy of thy service." this son was probably worth more than the twelve archers of the castle of st. clears who were forcibly signed with the cross for committing a murder; and one may reasonably look with suspicion on the sudden conversion of "many of the most notorious murderers and robbers of the neighbourhood" at usk. it was this kind of thing that turned the holy land into a sort of convict settlement.
-one serious difficulty they had was that none of them, not even gerald, knew welsh sufficiently well to preach in it, though they generally had interpreters. the archbishop, who would sometimes preach away for hours without result, felt this much more than gerald. he declares he moved crowds to tears though they did not understand a word of what he was saying. but one may take the words of prince rhys's fool as evidence (if any were needed) that ignorance of welsh weakened the effect. "you owe a great debt, rhys, to your kinsman the archdeacon, who has taken a hundred or so of your men to serve the lord; if he had only spoken in welsh, you wouldn't have had a soul left."
-in all about three thousand took the cross; but the crusade was delayed, zeal cooled, and it is probable that comparatively few went. the itinerarium regis ricardi mentions, i think, only one exploit by a welshman in the third crusade; he was an archer, and so a south walian.
-this brings me to one of the incidental notes of great value scattered about the itinerary. speaking of the siege of abergavenny (1182), gerald tells us that the men of gwent and glamorgan excelled all others in the use of the bow, and gives curious evidence of the strength of their shooting. thus the arrows pierced an oak door four inches thick; they had been left there as a curiosity, and gerald saw them with their iron points coming through on the inner side. he describes these bows as "made of elm--ugly, unfinished-looking weapons, but astonishingly stiff, large, and strong, and equally useful for long and short shooting." add to this that the longbow was not a characteristic english weapon till the latter part of the thirteenth century, that the first battle in which an english king made effective use of archery (at falkirk, 1298), his infantry consisted mainly of welshmen; and there can be little doubt that the famous longbow of england, which won the victories of creçy and poitiers and agincourt, and indirectly did much to destroy feudalism and villenage, had its home in south wales.
-gerald was also a keen observer of nature, and his knowledge of the ways of animals is extensive and peculiar. perhaps even more marked is his love of the supernatural; he could believe anything, if it was only wonderful enough--except geoffrey of monmouth's history. but i must confine myself to one story--the story of the boy in gower who (as the root of learning is bitter) played truant and found two little men of pigmy stature, and went with them to their country under the earth, and played games with golden balls with the fairy prince. these little folk were very small--of fair complexion, and long luxuriant hair; and they had horses and dogs to suit their size. they hated nothing so much as lies; "they had no form of public worship, being lovers and reverers, it seemed, of truth." the boy often went, till he tried to steal a golden ball, and then he could never find fairyland again. but he learnt some of the fairy language, which was like greek. and then gerald compares words in different languages, and notes how, for instance, the same word for salt runs through greek and british and irish and latin and french and english and german, and the fairy language, which suggests a close relation between all these peoples in past ages. it is very modern; and it is not without reason that gerald has been called "the father of comparative philology."
-in his "description of wales" gerald describes the manner of life and characteristics of the people. all are trained to arms, and when the trumpet sounds the alarm, the husbandman rushes as eagerly from his plough as the courtier from his court. agricultural work takes up little of their time, as they are still mainly in a pastoral stage, living on the produce of their herds, and eating more meat than bread. they fight and undergo hardships and willingly sacrifice their lives for their country and for liberty. they wear little defensive armour, and depend mainly on their mobility; they are not much good at a close engagement, but generally victors in a running fight, relying more on their activity than on their strength.
-it was the fashion to keep open house for all comers. "those who arrive in the morning are entertained till evening with the conversation of young women and the music of the harp; for each house has its young women and harps allotted for the purpose. in each family the art of playing on the harp is held preferable to any other learning; and no nation is so free from jealousy as the welsh." after a simple supper (for the people are not addicted to gluttony or drunkenness), "a bed of rushes is placed along the side of the hall, and all in common lie down to sleep with their feet towards the fire. they sleep in the thin cloak and tunic they wear by day. they receive much comfort from the natural heat of the persons lying near them; but when the underside begins to be tired with the hardness of the bed, or the upper one to suffer from the cold, they get up and go to the fire; and then returning to the couch they expose their sides alternately to the cold and to the hardness of the bed."
-gifted with an acute and rich intellect they excel in whatever studies they pursue, notably in music. they are especially famous for their part-singing, "so that in a company of singers, which one very often meets with in wales, you will hear as many different parts and voices as there are performers,"(!) and this gift has by long habit become natural to the nation.
-"they show a greater respect than other nations to churches and ecclesiastics, to the relics of saints, bells, holy books, and the cross; and hence their churches enjoy more than common tranquillity."
-he then goes on to the other side of the picture: "for history without truth becomes undeserving of its name." "these people are no less light in mind than in body, and by no means to be relied on. they are easily urged to undertake any action, and as easily checked from prosecuting it.... they never scruple at taking a false oath for the sake of any temporary advantage.... above all other peoples they are given to removing their neighbours' landmarks. hence arise quarrels, murders, conflagrations, and frequent fratricides. it is remarkable that brothers show more affection to each other when dead than when living; for they persecute the living even unto death, but avenge the dead with all their power."
-finally, as a scientific observer of politics, he discusses how wales may be conquered and governed, and how the welsh may resist.
-a prince who would subdue this people must give his whole energies to the task for at least a whole year. he must divide their strength, and by bribes and promises endeavour to stir up one against the other, knowing the spirit of hatred and envy which generally prevails among them. he must cut off supplies, build castles, and use light-armed troops and plenty of them; for though many english mercenaries perish in a battle, money will procure as many more; but to the welsh the loss is for the time irreparable. he recommends that all the english inhabitants of the marches should be trained to arms; for the welsh fight for liberty and only a free people can subdue them. his advice to the welsh is: unite. "if they would be inseparable, they would be insuperable, being assisted by these three circumstances--a country well defended by nature, a people contented to live upon little, a community whose nobles and commoners alike are trained in the use of arms; and especially as the english fight for power, the welsh for liberty; the english hirelings for money, the welsh patriots for their country."
-i hope i may persuade some who do not yet know gerald to make his acquaintance, and to read either his works on ireland and wales, translated in bohn's library, or mr. henry owen's brilliant and delightful volume, "gerald the welshman," my indebtedness to which i wish to acknowledge. gerald tells us many miracles; but he has himself performed a miracle as wonderful as any he relates; he has kept all the charm and freshness of youth for more than seven hundred years.
-wales is pre-eminently the land of castles. there are between thirty and forty in glamorgan alone. the accompanying map, though it is by no means exhaustive, shows the general lie of the castles, which may be divided into three groups, having as their respective bases chester, shrewsbury, and gloucester. but though there is some evidence of an organised plan for the conquest of wales in the time of william rufus, it is useless to look for any great and general system of offence or defence, because most of the castles were not built by a centralised government with any such object in view, but by individuals to guard their own territories and protect their independence against either their neighbours or the english king. the great age of castle-building was between 1100 and 1300. castles play a very small part in the fighting in wales till the end of the eleventh century. before that time indeed there were few stone castles anywhere; the usual type, even of the early norman castles, was a moated mound surrounded by wooden palisades. one hears for instance of a castle being built by william the conqueror in eight days. an example of this early type of fortress was pembroke castle at the end of the eleventh century, "a slender fortress of stakes and turf," which had the good fortune to be in charge of gerald of windsor, grandfather of giraldus cambrensis. it stood several sieges, which shows that the siege engines of the welsh were of a very poor and primitive type. one of these sieges was turned into a blockade, and the garrison was nearly reduced by starvation. the constable had recourse to a time-honoured ruse. "with great prudence he caused four hogs which still remained to be cut into small pieces and thrown down among the enemy. the next day he had recourse to a more refined stratagem: he contrived that a letter from him should fall into the hands of the enemy stating that there was no need for assistance for the next four months." the besiegers were taken in and dispersed to their homes.
-the characteristic types of castles in the twelfth century were the rectangular keep and the shell keep; in the thirteenth the concentric castle. of the two last we have splendid examples in cardiff and caerphilly. of rectangular keeps there are very few in wales--chepstow is the only important one--though there are several on the borders, notably ludlow. the square keep seems to us most characteristic of norman military architecture; the tower of london, rochester, newcastle, castle rising, are well-known examples, and there are many more in a good state of preservation; there are many more solid square keeps than shell keeps well preserved, but this is simply due to the greater solidity of the former; the shell keeps were far more numerous in the twelfth century; and the reasons for this are obvious--the rectangular keep was much more expensive to build, and it was too heavy to erect on the artificial mounds on which the norman architects generally founded their castles.
-the keep of cardiff castle is one of the most perfect shell keeps in existence. it is built on a round artificial mound, surrounded by a wide and deep moat--the mound and moat being, of course, complements of each other. such mounds and moats are common in all parts of england, and in normandy. they are not roman, nor british, nor are they, as mr. g. t. clark maintained, characteristic of anglo-saxon work. they are essentially norman, and a good representation of the making of such a mound may be seen in the bayeux tapestry, under the heading--'he orders them to dig a castle.' when was the cardiff mound made? perhaps the short entry in the brut gives the answer: "1080, the building of cardiff began." it would then be surrounded by wooden palisades, and surmounted by a timber structure, as a newly made mound would not stand the masonry. the shell keep was probably built by robert of gloucester, and it was probably in the gate-house of this keep, that robert of normandy was imprisoned. a shell keep was a ring wall eight or ten feet thick, about thirty feet high, not covered in, and enclosing an open courtyard, round which were placed the buildings--light structures, often wooden sheds, abutting on the ring wall--such as one may see now in the courtyard of castell coch. the shell keep was the centre of robert's castle, but not the whole. from this time dated the great outer walls on the south and west--walls forty feet high and ten feet thick and solid throughout. the north and east and part of the south sides of the castle precincts are enclosed by banks of earth, beneath which, the walls of a roman camp have recently been discovered. these banks were capped by a slight embattled wall. outside along the north, south and east fronts was a moat, formerly fed by the taff through the mill leat stream which ran along the west front. the present lodgings, or habitable part of the castle built on either side of the great west wall, date mostly from the fifteenth century. the earlier lodgings were, perhaps, on the same site--though only inside the wall; a great lord did not as a rule live in the keep, except in times of danger.
-the area of the enclosure is about ten acres--more suited to a roman garrison than to a lord marcher of the twelfth century. that the castle was difficult to guard is shown by the success of ivor bach's bold dash, c. 1153-1158. ivor ap meyric was lord of senghenydd, holding it of william of gloucester, the lord of glamorgan, and, perhaps, had his headquarters in the fortress above the present castell coch. "he was," says giraldus cambrensis, "after the manner of the welsh, owner of a tract of mountain land, of which the earl was trying to deprive him. at that time the castle of cardiff was surrounded with high walls, guarded by 120 men at arms, a numerous body of archers and a strong watch. yet in defiance of all this, ivor, in the dead of night secretly scaled the walls, seized the earl and countess and their only son, and carried them off to the woods; and did not release them till he had recovered all that had been unjustly taken from him," and a goodly ransom in addition. perhaps the most permanent result of this episode was the building of a wall 30 feet high between the keep and the black tower--dividing the castle enclosure into two parts and forming an inner or middle ward of less extent, and less liable to danger from such sudden raids.
-caerphilly castle had not the political importance of cardiff, but far surpasses it as a fortress. by the strength and position of caerphilly, one may measure the power of llywelyn ap gruffydd after the barons' war and before the accession of edward i. the prince of wales had extended his sway down as far as brecon, and welshmen everywhere were looking to him as the restorer of their country's independence. among them was the welsh lord of senghenydd, one of the chief "members" of glamorgan, and his overlord probably saw reason to suspect his loyalty. an alliance between him and llywelyn would open the lower taff valley to the welsh prince and give him command of the hill country north of cardiff. it was on the lands of the lord of senghenydd that gilbert de clare, earl of gloucester, built castell coch and caerphilly.
-caerphilly is described by the latest historian of the art of war as the grandest specimen of its class; it represents the high-water mark of mediæval military architecture in this country, and was the model of edward i.'s great castles in the north. it illustrates the influence of the crusades on western europe, being an instance of the "concentric" system of defences, of which the walls of constantinople afford the most magnificent example, and which the crusaders adopted in many of their great fortresses in the east.
-caerphilly castle consists of three lines of defences, and the way in which these supplement each other shows that the work in all essentials was designed as a great whole; it did not grow up bit by bit. there are of course many evidences of alterations and rebuilding at later times; the buildings in the middle ward, on the south side, seem to be later additions; the hall appears to have been enlarged, and the tracery of the windows suggests the fourteenth century; the state-rooms to the west of the hall have been much altered; but such alterations as appear are confined to the habitable part of the castle, and do not affect it as a military work. it has been suggested that the castle may have been greatly enlarged in the latter years of edward ii., when it played an important part in connection with the division of the gloucester inheritance and the younger despenser's ambitions. there are a number of notices of the castle in the chronicles and public records of that time, but apparently no references to any building operations. and the unity of plan is evidence that the whole dated from the same time.
-the castle is built on a tongue of gravel nearly surrounded by low, marshy land, forming a sort of peninsula; a stream on the south running eastwards to the rhymny; and two springs on the north. by damming these waters and cutting through the tongue of gravel an artificial island was secured for the site of the castle. the inner ward, or central part of the castle, consists of a quadrangle with a large round tower at each corner: in the centre of the east and west side are massive gate-houses defended by portcullises; from the projecting corner towers all the intervening wall was commanded. the gateways communicate with the second line of defence or middle ward. this completely encircles the inner ward, on a much lower level; it is a narrow space bounded by a wall, with low, semi-circular bastions at the corners; it is commanded at every point from the inner ward; the narrowness of the space would prevent the concentration of large bodies of assailants or the use of battering-rams, and communication is at several points stopped by walls or buildings jutting out from the inner ward. the middle ward had strong gate-houses at the east and west ends, and was completely surrounded by water--east and west by a moat, north and south the moat widens into lakes: note how on the north a narrow ridge of gravel has been used to ensure a water moat on that side, in case there was not enough water to flood the whole lake. these lakes form part of the third line of defence or outer ward, which includes also on the west the "horn-work" and on the east the grand front. the horn-work is about three acres in extent, surrounded by a wall 15 feet high, which is of the nature of an escarpment, the ground rising above it. it is entirely surrounded by a moat, and connected with the middle ward on one side and the mainland on the other by drawbridges. it would probably be used for grazing purposes, and thus would be of great value to the garrison; but so far as the actual defences of the castle are concerned, a lake would have been much more effective; the nature of the ground would however have prevented this. the horn-work was intended to cover the only side upon which the castle was open to an attack from level ground, and to occupy what would otherwise have been a dangerous platform.
-the eastern side of the outer ward--the grand front--is a most imposing structure. it is a wall about 250 yards long, and in some parts 60 feet high, furnished with buttresses and projecting towers from which the intervening spaces are easily commanded, culminating in the great gate-house near the centre, and terminating at both ends in clusters of towers which protect the sally-ports. on the outside is a moat spanned by a double drawbridge. the northern part of this front, which was probably occupied by stables, would in dry weather be the least defensible part of the castle; but it was cut off from the rest by an embattled wall running from the gate-house to the inner moat and pierced only by one small and portcullised gate. the southern half was more important and stronger. it crossed the stream at the dam, the walls being 15 feet thick where subjected to the pressure of the water, and the strong group of towers at the end--on the other side of the stream--guarded the dam on which the safety of the castle largely depended; the wall and towers here form a semicircle, curving back into the edge of the lake, so as to avoid the danger of being outflanked.
-on the inside of the grand front were various buildings, such as the mill. this eastern line was divided from the middle ward by a moat 45 feet wide--a space which is too wide to be spanned by a single drawbridge, and as there are no signs of the foundations of a central pier, it seems probable that the bridge rested on a wooden support, which could be removed when necessary, and the assailants plunged into the moat below.
-there are a large number of interesting details connected with both the military functions of the castle and its domestic economy. there were at least four exits (not counting the two water-gates); this would give the garrison opportunities of harassing assailants by sallies, and would make a much larger army necessary in order to blockade the castle; contrast the single narrow entrance to the norman keep--high up in the wall and visible to all outside. the water-gates are worth studying, especially the methods of protecting the eastern water-gate--two grates with a shoot above and between them. one should notice, too, the "splaying" of the outer wall, by which missiles from the top would be projected outwards; and also the use of the mill-stream to carry away the refuse of the garderobe tower. and there are many other points, to which one would like to call attention, if time allowed.
-the history of caerphilly in the middle ages need not detain us long. it was besieged by llywelyn in 1271, while it was being built. llywelyn declared he could have taken it in three days if he had not been persuaded to submit the dispute to the arbitration of the king. it is clear that the castle was not finished; shortly after this gilbert de clare obtained license from the king to "enditch" the castle: such license was not, as a rule, required in the marches (as it was in england) and was only necessary now because the king was acting as arbitrator. the earl of gloucester kept possession. we next hear of it in 1315, when it resisted the attack of llywelyn bren. it was then in the hands of the king, pending the division of the gloucester inheritance among the three co-heiresses. in 1318 caerphilly, with the rest of glamorgan, was granted to the younger despenser, who perhaps enlarged the hall and made the other alterations referred to above. edward ii. was there for a few days when flying for his life; had he trusted to caerphilly, instead of fleeing further through south wales, he might have saved his head and his crown; at any rate, there would have been a great siege to add to the history of mediæval warfare. the king's adherents held out in caerphilly for months, and only surrendered when, the king being dead, there was nothing more to fight for, and they were allowed to go free. happy is the castle which has no history. the perfection of caerphilly as a fortress saved it from serious attacks.
-in conclusion, i will give two illustrations of the relations between the garrison of a castle and those outside. the first refers to swansea. there is a curious charter of king john to the good men of swansea, in which he releases them from the "custom of eating" forced on them by the men of the castle. this would be a solid variation of the liquid scot-ales or free drinks which officials and garrisons were in the habit of exacting from their neighbours, and which were among the most persistent grievances in the middle ages.
-the second concerns builth, and is taken from the patent rolls of edward ii. in 1315. builth was then in the hands of the king, to whom the townsfolk appeal for redress of grievances. the community complain that, though they are only bound to carry timber to the castle twice a week, they are often forced to carry it three times a week and more, and victuals too; and the men of the castle compel them to plough their lands and cut their corn, and hold them to ransom if they refuse; and they carry away from the houses of the said complainants divers kind of victuals--lambs, geese, hens, &c.--and pay only one quarter of their value, or nothing at all; and though the complainants gave the keeper of the castle £120 that they might be free from such oppressions, he took the money and oppresses them just the same. further, the courts which the people have to attend are multiplied; and recently the court was held at a time when so great a flood had happened that neither horsemen nor footmen could approach the court, and so thirty-six men and women, fearing the cruelty of the bailiffs, entered a boat and were overwhelmed in the rush of the river. and one night men of the castle, maliciously seeking occasion against the commonalty of the town, went out of the castle and pretended to besiege it and shot arrows at it; and then secretly re-entered the castle and declared the townsfolk had been attacking the castle. and on this account many burgesses were imprisoned in the castle and ill-treated, and their swine maliciously killed. and things are so intolerable that many of the greater burgesses have left the country, and the residue, without speedy remedy, cannot remain.
-life was evidently dull in a castle: one had to play practical jokes to relieve the monotony; and life was anything but pleasant outside a castle. the castles of wales are much more attractive to us to-day than they were to those who lived in them or round them six or seven hundred years ago.
-in speaking of the religious houses in wales i shall deal with those which flourished in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries--the period we have hitherto been studying--though it is tempting to go back to the glories of the old welsh monasteries of the sixth century, such as llantwit major and bangor iscoed, whose dim memories must always exercise a strong fascination. the monasteries of this early type had fallen on evil days in wales, as in ireland and elsewhere, before the twelfth century, many had been wiped out by the danes; and those that remained seem to have lost the spirit of life (save in a few distant islands or inaccessible mountains), and made no struggle for existence against the vigorous invasion of the new monasticism.
-we shall be concerned with two kinds of religious houses--namely, the houses of monks and the houses of friars. and, first, let us consider in briefest outline the main course of development of the religious orders in the roman church. the rule of st. benedict (+541) was adopted by all monks: the essential features of it were prayer, labour, silence, a common life and common property. but among the early benedictines each monastery was independent and self-governing, though an abbey might have priories in some measure connected with it. the result was that in the course of time the discipline and life of monasteries varied infinitely; and there was no co-operation for self-defence among the various monasteries. hence in the tenth century arose the cluniac order--the first attempt at organisation--the abbot of clugny became head of a vast number of monasteries in different countries of europe; the priors of these owed allegiance to the abbot of clugny, were appointed by him, and paid revenues to the head abbey and the general fund of the order. this organisation was thus monarchical--despotic; the abbot of clugny was a pope of monasticism. the movement acquired enormous influence on the church as a whole, getting control of the papacy, insisting that the church should be independent of the state, and that celibacy of the clergy should be practically enforced. but the cluniacs instead of withdrawing from the world began to dominate it, losing many of the essential features of monasticism. hence another reform movement arose about 1100, that of the cistercian order, which is associated with the name of st. bernard. this aimed at reviving the benedictine rule in all its strictness, insisting especially on manual labour. cistercian houses were founded in desolate places, as far removed from populous centres as possible. but the order differed from the early benedictines in organisation. each cistercian house was independent and self-governing, electing its own abbot; but all the abbots were bound to come together at stated times for general assemblies or chapters, and these general assemblies were the supreme governing body in the order. thus unity was established; the organisation was close, but not monarchical; the order was a great federation. this is the highest point reached in monastic development.
-but about the time of the crusades another ideal made itself felt. hitherto the religious man withdrew from the world: but, as an old chronicler put it, "god found out the crusades as a way to reconcile religion and the world"--was it not possible to serve god in the world? the knight did it; he went on fighting, but he fought for the holy sepulchre. the military orders (templars and hospitallers) combined the life of a monk with the life of a soldier. the regular or augustinian canons combined the life of a monk with the life of a parish priest. and this ideal--new to the middle ages--received its highest realisation in the dominican and franciscan friars. the monk left the world in order to become religious; the friar aimed at making the world religious. the monk's main object was to save his own soul; the friar's, to save the souls of others.
-we will now turn to the monasteries in wales. of the older benedictine houses there were about fifteen, almost all in south wales, and all except one were not abbeys but priories, or cells, i.e., they were dependent on some abbey elsewhere. a number of them belonged to some foreign abbey, especially the earliest. this was the case with the priory of monmouth, founded by the breton wihenoc, which belonged to the abbey of st. florence of saumur (anjou); and this was the case too with the priories of abergavenny and pembroke. these "alien priories" were simply used by the abbeys abroad as sources of revenue; they were foreign, unpopular, and during the french war in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries most of them were suppressed and their revenues appropriated by the crown. the same applies to the three cluniac cells established in wales, such as st. clears, which seems only to have contained the prior and one monk, who did not live with much strictness, though gerald of barry says the cluniacs here were better than they were abroad, and not nearly so bad as the cistercians. the life of monks in these outlying cells, where they were not under any supervision, and where there was no "public opinion" of the monastery to keep them straight, was generally very lax; they lived liked laymen, looking after the estates (generally wasting them), and without much regard to their vows: "they lived like beasts," says gerald. thus the lord rhys had to eject the monks from one cell, because of the charges brought against them by the fathers and husbands of the surrounding district, who declared that they would leave and go to england if the evil was not stopped.
-another class of houses were those founded as priories or cells of english abbeys. thus the priory at brecon was a cell of battle abbey, founded by bernard of newmarch, and largely endowed by the braoses; ewenny, founded by maurice de londres, was a cell to st. peter's, gloucester. all these of course, like the alien priories, were founded by the norman conquerors, and for two purposes: firstly, for the souls of the founder and his family, a very necessary provision; the normans were in their way a devout people and made sacrifices to win the favour of heaven. william de braose used to give his clerks "something extra" for inserting pious expressions in his legal documents. secondly, these houses also served as castles and stations for garrisons. take, for instance, ewenny; it is much more like a castle than a religious house, with its great embattled walls and towers, and magnificent gate-house furnished with a triple portcullis and "shoots," or holes in the roof above for pouring molten lead on the assailants' heads. the de londres family were businesslike as well as pious; ewenny's prime object was to help them to gain heaven, it also helped them to gain the earth. the close and constant connection which these houses maintained with their mother abbeys in england and abroad always kept them anglo-norman in sympathies--foreign garrisons. but while recognising this aspect of the monastic houses in wales, one must avoid exaggerating it, as, e.g., mr. willis bund does. he regards all the monasteries as founded solely with this political object: "to represent," he says, "a welsh prince as founder of a religious house in south wales after 1066 is representing him as the worst of traitors. bad as the welsh chieftains were, even they would have hesitated to introduce into their country what were really norman garrisons;" and he rejects the idea of a welsh prince founding strata florida. now these remarks are only applicable to those religious houses which were dependencies on some english or foreign abbey; they do not apply to the cistercian monasteries, all of which were practically equal and self-governing; each elected its own head and was not under foreign dictation. while the whole cistercian order formed an united body for purposes of monastic life and discipline, each abbey identified itself in a very remarkable way with the local or national aspirations of the people round, from whom its monks were drawn. some of the cistercian monasteries in ireland refused to admit any englishman. some of the cistercian abbeys in wales were the warmest supporters of welsh independence.
-the welsh princes felt the need of providing for the safety of their souls just as the norman barons did, and the souls of both parties needed a great deal of saving. further, the welsh were not cut off from the great movements of the world; they felt like every other country in europe the waves of religious enthusiasm, which resulted in the twelfth century in the spread of the cistercians, in the thirteenth century in the spread of the friars. in the twelfth century the acts most pleasing to god were generally thought to be taking the cross and endowing a cistercian monastery. again, though many of the welsh chiefs were mere creatures of impulse, there were others who looked to the future. the lord rhys was an acute man of the world, who was not averse to improving his property. he possessed great tracts of mountain land, which was practically worthless; he saw cistercian monks elsewhere, not exactly making such tracts blossom like the rose, but, at any rate, utilising them for pasture land, keeping flocks of sheep, becoming the great wool-growers for all europe; why should he not hand over his worthless property to cistercians, and by so doing lay up for himself treasure in heaven and on earth? mr. willis bund says, "how unnatural for any welsh prince to found a cistercian abbey!" surely it was the most natural thing in the world.
-the cistercians certainly drove hard bargains, and insisted on their rights to the uttermost farthing. in reading the history of any of these cistercian houses--the history, say, of margam by mr. trice martin--one's first feeling is one of disappointment: it is nearly all about property. when one looks through to find evidences of spiritual influence one finds instead prosecutions for poaching. did they have schools and teach the youth of the country round? i have found no evidence of it. why should they? monks never professed to be learned men or to be teachers. many were both, but it was a disputed question whether they were not in this contravening their rule. at any rate, it was going outside their duty. their business was to serve god--to perform divine services--and in the intervals to keep out of mischief by manual labour, and to perform works of charity. margam was specially famous for this last.
-margam abbey was founded by robert of gloucester, in 1147, and the brother of st. bernard, abbot of clairvaux, the most important man in europe in his time, came over to arrange about the establishment of the house. it was endowed with lands by both english and welsh, such as the earl of gloucester and the lord of senghenydd. william marshall, earl of pembroke, granted the monks freedom from toll in all his boroughs in wales and ireland. the braoses gave them the privilege of "buying and selling freely all manner of merchandise without toll" in gower, and they had the right to all wrecks along the coast near kenfig. we find the abbot asserting his fishing rights sometimes by excommunicating poachers, sometimes by the more effective method of haling them before the shire court at cardiff and getting them fined 3d. a head. the monks of margam obtained also a footing in bristol through the earls of gloucester, a great commercial advantage to them for the sale of their wool both in england and abroad.
-their lands and privileges were not always, of course, free gifts. thus in the twelfth century gilbert burdin grants land to margam, and in return the abbot gives 20s. to the grantor, a gold coin to his wife, and red shoes to each of his children. in 1325 john nichol, of kenfig, gave his property to the abbey in return for a life annuity. he was to receive daily one loaf, two cakes, and a gallon of beer; also 6s. 8d. for wages, four pairs of shoes (price 12d.), a quarter of oats, and pasture for two beasts.
-the annual revenue of margam was returned as 500 marks in 1383, but before that time the abbey had suffered severely from inundations, sea and sand covering whole villages and much of the best property of the house; and the finances were in a bad way. these were improved by grants of the tithes of parish churches--a favourite form of gift to a monastery, but a great scandal. the rectorial tithes were paid to a monastery, while the monks at best put in some under-paid vicar to look after the parish. generally, wherever there is a vicar instead of a rector in england or wales the explanation is the appropriation of the tithes by a monastery.
-what did margam do with its income? the first charge was the support of about forty monks and forty lay brethren. next there were the construction and keeping in repair of the church and other monastic buildings; and, thirdly, the expense of charity and hospitality. the monasteries were the hotels of the middle ages, except that they made no charges, and margam was celebrated for its hospitality for centuries. gerald, the enemy of monks, says: "this noble abbey was more celebrated for its charitable deeds than any other of that order in wales. and as a reward for that abundant charity which the monastery had always, in times of need, exercised towards strangers and the poor, in a season of approaching famine their corn and provisions were divinely increased, like the widow's cruse of oil." two centuries later we find the pope bearing witness to the well-known and universal hospitality of the abbey of margam. it was placed on the main road between bristol and ireland, at a distance from other places of refuge, and so was continually overrun by rich and poor strangers, the poor evidently preponderating. in this connection i will give one instance of wise charity on the part of these monks from the end of the twelfth century. hugh, son of robert of llancarven, gives the abbey some land in return for "four marks of silver and a young ox, given to him in his great need by the abbot." the monastery performed some of the services of the modern bank.
-the patriotic tone of strata florida is expressed in the welsh chronicles written there. the later part of the annales cambriæ was written there, and the brut y tywysogion. at margam also a chronicle was composed which has been preserved. when an abbey decided to begin a chronicle, the first step was to borrow a chronicle from some other house; thus margam, founded by robert of gloucester, copied out the chronicle of william of malmesbury, which was dedicated to robert of gloucester. the monks of strata florida copied out the earlier portion of the annales cambriæ. these chronicles of course only became of historical value when they become independent and contemporary. they do not confine themselves to the monastery or local history, but relate events of general interest--to the whole of britain and to all europe--intermixed with notices of the burning of a monastic barn or the death of the local abbot. knowledge of the great world came to an abbey through the travellers who stayed there; through political or ecclesiastical assemblies held there; and through public documents sent to the monks for safekeeping or to be copied. we generally do not know who wrote these chronicles; they were rather the work of the community than of the individual monks. "every year (so runs a regulation on the subject) the volume is placed in the scriptorium, with loose sheets of paper or parchment attached to it, in which any monk may enter notes of events which seem to him important. at the end of the year, not any one who likes, but he to whom it is commanded, shall write in the volume as briefly as he can what he thinks of all these loose notes is truest and best to be handed down to posterity." "thus it was that a monastic chronicle grew, like a monastic house, by the labour of different hands and at different times; but of the heads that planned it, of the hands that executed it, no satisfactory record was preserved. the individual is lost in the community."
-coming now to the friaries in wales, we find ourselves in a different atmosphere. the friars were not troubled with questions of property: they had none; they depended for their livelihood on the alms of the faithful. again, speaking generally, one may say that while the benedictine priory is found under the shadow of a castle, and the cistercian abbey in the heart of the country, the friaries were built in the slums of the towns. as there were few towns in wales, the houses of the mendicant orders were not numerous or important. the dominicans (or black friars) had houses at bangor, rhuddlan, brecon, haverfordwest, and cardiff; the franciscans (or grey friars) at cardiff, carmarthen, and llanfaes; the carmelites (or white friars) at denbigh; and the austin friars at newport in monmouthshire. it is remarkable that the dominicans had more houses in wales than the franciscans; though the franciscans--the mystic apostles of love--were more in sympathy with the celtic spirit than the dominicans, the stern champions of orthodoxy. francis of assisi strove to reproduce again on earth the life of christ--in the letter and in the spirit; and the religious poetry of wales in the thirteenth century is saturated with franciscan feeling--full of intense realisation of the childhood and suffering of christ, the humanity of god. this may be illustrated by the following poem by a welsh friar of the thirteenth century, madawc ap gwallter:--
-"a son is given us, a kind son is born ... a son to save us, the best of sons.
-a god, a man, and the god a man with the same faculties. a great little giant, a strong puny potentate of pale cheeks.
-richly poor our father and brother, exalted, lowly, honey of minds; with the ox and ass, the lord of life lies in a manger; and a heap of straw as a chair, clothed in tatters;
-velvet he wants not, nor white ermine-- to cover him; around his couch rags were seen instead of fine linen."
-i do not know the dates of the foundations of the welsh franciscan houses; the dates given in mr. newell's scholarly "history of the church in wales" are impossible. llanfaes is said to have been established by llywelyn ap iorwerth, and franciscan influence would come to wales through thomas the welshman, bishop of st. david's (1247), who had been lecturer to the franciscans at oxford, and was famous for his piety and learning. another franciscan i wish to mention is friar john the welshman, who in his old age was employed to negotiate with the welsh in 1282. he had studied and taught at oxford and paris, and made a creditable show beside such intellectual giants as thomas aquinas and roger bacon, his contemporaries. the widespread and lasting popularity of his works is shown by the large number of manuscripts and early printed editions which have come down to us. but his chief interest and life-work was the popularisation of knowledge in the service of morality. he devoted his energies to training up lecturers who should go to the franciscan friaries in the chief towns in england and wales and teach friars and clergy the art of popular preaching. friar john of wales was one of the chief inspirers of the "university extension" movement of the middle ages. these popular preachers or lecturers did not do much for the advancement of sound learning, because they did not study any science for its own sake, but only for the moral lessons they could find in it. but, to rouse some intellectual interest in the people at large, and stimulate their moral sense, was a work not unworthy of the universities; and this aim was to some degree attained. one of the favourite ways of spending a holiday in the middle ages was to go and hear a friar preach. here is a summary of a friar's sermon constructed after the method of friar john of wales, on the relative merits of the ass and the pig.
-"the pig and the ass live not the same life: for the pig during his life does no good, but eats and swills and sleeps; but when he is dead, then do men make much of him. the ass is hard at work all his days and does good service to many; but when he dies, there is no profit. and that is the way of the world. some do no good thing while they live, but eat and drink and wax fat, and then they are dragged off to the larder of hell, and others enrich themselves with their goods. whereby i know that those, who for god's sake live the life of holy poverty, shall never lack substance, because their heavenly father has pigs to kill. for as the good man before the season will kill a pig or two to give puddings to his children, so will our lord kill those hardened sinners before their time, and give their goods to the children of god. so the psalmist says: 'the bloodthirsty and deceitful men shall not live out half their days,' because they do no work to keep their bodies healthy. nothing is so healthful for body and soul as honest work. work is the life of man, the guardian of health; work drives away sin, and makes people sleep well at night. work is the strength of feebleness, the health of sickness, the salvation of men,--quickener of the senses, foe of sloth, nurse of happiness, a duty in the young and in the old a merit. therefore it is better to be an ass than a pig."
-one of the most able of these "extension lecturers" was another welshman--probably a native of cardiff--friar john david, whose lectures at hereford were so successful that after a year both the friars and the clergy of the city declared he was indispensable, and petitioned for his reappointment. he became the head of the franciscan province of england, and lies buried among the ruins of the church of the grey friars in cardiff.
-llywelyn ap gruffydd and the barons' war
-in 1255 occurred three events of great importance to wales: (1) llywelyn overthrew his brothers in battle; (2) edward longshanks took possession of his chester estates; (3) edmund crouchback was formally proclaimed king of sicily.
-1. david, younger son of llywelyn ap iorwerth, died in 1246, leaving no descendants, and the principality was seized by the three sons of his elder brother gruffydd--owain the red, llywelyn, and david. for some years they held together, because henry iii. opposed the accession of any of them, claiming the principality as a lapsed fief under a treaty made with the last prince, david ap llywelyn. but after a time the king accepted the homage and recognised the rights of the sons of gruffydd. being thus freed from direct hostility of the english king, the joint rulers soon quarrelled, and came to open war in 1255. "by the instigation of the devil," says the brut y tywysogion, "a great dissension arose between the sons of gruffydd--namely, owain the red and david on the one side, and llywelyn on the other. and thereupon llywelyn and his men awaited without fear, trusting in god, at bryn derwin the cruel coming of his brother accompanied by a vast army, and before the end of one hour owain was taken and david fled, after many of the army were killed and others captured, and the rest had taken to flight. and then owain the red was imprisoned; and llywelyn took possession of the territory of owain and david without any opposition." thus gwynedd was united under one ruler.
-2. it was the policy of henry iii. to collect the earldoms into the hands of his relations. thus the great palatine earldom of chester, having lapsed to the crown through failure of heirs, was granted in 1254 to the king's eldest son, edward. besides chester and its dependencies edward received montgomery and the royal lands in south wales (cardigan and carmarthen), ireland and gascony--in fact all the territory outside england over which the king had rights. these possessions were calculated to give the heir to the throne a varied experience and splendid training in the art of government. edward was in need of such training, as the story of his early years shows. he was only sixteen years of age in 1255, but in the middle ages men lived short lives and matured very early. edward was married in 1254, and had much experience in war and statesmanship before he was twenty. it was a wild time, and young edward was among the wildest spirits; as he rode through the country, accompanied by his two hundred followers--mostly rollicking and arrogant foreign adventurers--who robbed and devastated the land, and thrashed and even mutilated passers-by for fun, people looked forward with great fear to the accession of such a ruffian. a few years of responsibility, and failure, soon changed him into the noblest and most law-abiding of the plantagenets. it was wales which gave him his first lesson. he first tried his hand at the reorganisation of the "middle country," making it "shire-land," introducing the english law and administrative system; the same policy was put in force in cardigan and carmarthen, which formed one shire with a shiremoot and the usual institutions of an english county. some welshmen had already petitioned the king for the introduction of english law into wales, complaining that by welsh law the crime of the guilty is visited on the innocent relations. at best it was a task which required very careful management, and edward and his advisers were as yet quite unfitted for it, prone as they were to violent methods, having an insolent contempt for all customs and habits which differed from those to which they were used, and all classes except their own. the result is thus expressed by the welsh chronicler: after edward returned to england, "the nobles of wales came to llywelyn, having been robbed of their liberties and made captives, and declared they would rather be killed in war for their liberty than suffer themselves to be trampled on by strangers. and llywelyn was moved at their tears, and invaded the middle country and subdued it all before the end of the week." in this work llywelyn was assisted by descendants of rhys, the princes of south wales, who in cardigan suffered from prince edward's policy in the same way as the men of the middle country or four cantreds. this union of north and south wales is one of the special characteristics of the struggle under llywelyn ap gruffydd. that the welsh of the north should join those of the south was, notes matthew paris, "a circumstance never known before." and llywelyn was statesman enough to see the importance of this union and take steps to strengthen it. after recovering the middle country, he marched south, took possession of cardigan and builth--then a possession of the crown, though in the custody of mortimer--and gave these districts to meredydd, grandson of the lord rhys, to hold as vassal--a wise measure, intended to bind the south to him by common interests. matthew paris, who holds up the welsh resistance to tyranny as an example to the english, puts in llywelyn's mouth a striking speech in favour of unity: "let us then stand firm together; for if we remain inseparable we shall be insuperable"--the very words of gerald of barry, whose advice had borne some fruit. but meredydd soon proved a traitor, and the failure of henry iii.'s campaign in 1257 was less due to the union of the welsh than to the disunion of the english.
-3. this brings us to the third event referred to above--the proclamation of edmund as king of sicily. the pope was trying to conquer sicily, but wanted some one else to pay the war budget. after trying various people he induced henry iii. to accept the crown of sicily for edmund and promise enormous sums for the payment of the papal armies, and pledge his whole kingdom as security for the payment. this, coming on the top of many years of misgovernment and a long series of extortions, led directly to the crisis of the reign--the revolution known as the provisions of oxford in 1258, by which the powers of government were taken away from the crown and given to committees of barons.
-the disaffection against henry iii. at once made itself felt in the welsh war. "those who had promised the king assistance did not come;" and when the whole knighthood of england were called out to meet at chester, only "manifold complaints and murmurs were heard." we might have expected the marcher lords at any rate to rally round the king; but they were not disposed to assist in building up a royal power in wales which would endanger their independence, and were glad enough to stand by and see the scheme thwarted. some of them even went so far as to send secret information to the welsh prince. the king had to retreat ingloriously, pursued by llywelyn, and followed by the derisive sneers of the enemy. it may interest some of us to note that in this war the english army fought, as often, under the dragon standard; probably the dragon made in 1244 by edward fitz odo, the king's goldsmith, who was commanded to make it "in the manner of a standard or ensign, of red samit, to be embroidered with gold, and his tongue to appear as though continually moving, and his eyes of sapphire or other stones agreeable to him." this was in 1257; the king was still less able to attack llywelyn in 1258 and the following years, and had to agree to an ignominious truce.
-almost the whole english baronage under the leadership of simon de montfort, earl of leicester, and richard de clare, earl of gloucester, combined against the king, who was only supported by the royal family and those of his foreign relations to whom he had given earldoms and baronies and bishoprics in england or wales. if llywelyn had contented himself with occupying the royal lands in wales--the territories granted to edward--and with seizing powys, which held to the english king, he would have had nothing to fear at this time from the english baronage, and the crown was powerless to resist. it is clear from the english chroniclers that there was a genuine admiration for the welsh resistance on the part of the english people. "their cause," says matthew paris, "seemed a just one even to their enemies." but llywelyn attacked the great marcher lords; it was difficult for a champion of welsh patriotism to avoid doing so--it may be also that llywelyn failed to grasp thoroughly the political situation in england, as he certainly failed to grasp it after the accession of edward i. the first to suffer severely from him was roger mortimer, lord of the middle march; thus llywelyn drove him out of gwerthrynion and maelienydd, and added these territories to his own. successes like these roused great enthusiasm among the welsh gentry, though they excited the alarm and jealousy of some of the princes (such as meredydd, and llywelyn's brother david, who "by the instigation of the devil" deserted the cause and went over to the english). but the good men of brecon revolted from their lord, the earl of hereford, and adhered to llywelyn, who came down and received their homage in 1262.
-the general situation was altered by these events. it became clear to the lords marchers that their power was endangered by llywelyn's success, and that they must make common cause with prince edward. the lords marchers began to form the royalist party. thus mortimer, who in 1258 was among the leaders of the baronial opposition to the crown, was in 1260 acting with the king against the barons. the mortimers were the most directly affected of all the marchers by the successes of llywelyn, not only because their territories lay near gwynedd, but because nearly all their lands lay in or close to the marches; they had all their eggs in the same basket, while the other leading lords marchers had large possessions elsewhere, from which they drew the bulk of their revenues, using their march lands as a recruiting-ground for their troops. thus to the de clares their estates in kent were probably worth more as a source of income than the whole of glamorgan; and they also had estates in hertford and suffolk and hampshire, and elsewhere; the fitzalans were great landowners in sussex; the bohuns of hereford had broad acres in huntingdon, essex, and hertford. to these men the limitation of the royal powers--especially of the power of taxing, and the king's right to employ foreigners in places of trust--was more important than the checking of llywelyn's advance, which certainly weakened the king and made it easier to enforce constitutional rights against him.
-still we have here one of the causes which broke the unity of the baronage, which created a royalist party, and led to open war. this has hardly been enough emphasised. it is generally said that the question on which the barons split was the question of the recognition of popular representation in the government of the country--the question, in a word, of a house of commons--simon de montfort being the leader of the popular cause, richard de clare, earl of gloucester (till his death in july, 1262), the leader of the oligarchic party, which aimed merely at transferring the royal power to a committee of barons. this was undoubtedly the most important cause of the quarrel, because it was a question of principle big with results for the future, affecting the whole course of english history, while the attitude which the barons ought to take towards llywelyn was merely for the barons a matter of political tactics. but it is probable that the latter loomed larger in the eyes of contemporaries--certainly in the eyes of most of the lords marchers.
-hence it came about that, when war actually broke out in the spring of 1263, the elder of the lords marchers fought on the side of the king--such as roger mortimer and humphrey de bohun--though the younger men--young gilbert of gloucester and humphrey de bohun, the son of hereford--remained under the spell of simon de montfort's fascination and high-minded enthusiasm. the war began in the welsh marches, simon attacking the forces of edward of chester and roger mortimer--the principal royalists. as these were also the most formidable enemies of the welsh, llywelyn at the same time attacked them from the other side, the baronial party and welsh co-operating, though without any formal alliance or friendly feelings. thus in 1263 the baronial army besieged shrewsbury, which defended itself till "a countless host" of welshmen, came up and began to attack it from the other side; the town then surrendered to the barons lest it should fall into the hands of the welsh.
-this campaign led to a very great defection from the baronial side: the lord marchers generally--such as clifford and fitzalan--deserted simon, who appeared as a traitor to the country. how great the defection is shown by simon's words: "though all should leave me, yet with my four sons i will stand true to the just cause, which i have sworn to uphold for the honour of the church and the good of the kingdom; i have been in many lands, pagan and christian, but in none have i found such faithlessness as in england."
-the royalists were now the strongest party in the marches, and in 1264 edward and mortimer gained a number of successes over the troops of simon and llywelyn (who seem to have been acting together) and captured brecon. but they were called off to the main seat of war in the midlands, and simon inflicted a crushing defeat on the royalists at lewes, in sussex, 1264. it appears that welsh archers fought in simon's army, but these would be south welsh, not north welsh, the troops of gilbert de clare, not those of llywelyn. the marchers who escaped from lewes were followed up by simon, and being encircled by his forces and those of llywelyn, submitted in december, 1264.
-but simon in the hour of triumph was now near his fall, which was made inevitable by the defection of gilbert de clare and whole of the gloucester interest. the causes of the quarrel as given in the chronicles are mainly personal. simon, with all his greatness, was quick-tempered and overbearing, inclined to seize power for himself, and perhaps even avaricious; one may infer this from the statement of a friendly chronicler, william rishanger: "his habitual prayer to god was that he would save him from avarice and covetousness of worldly goods." but, apart from merely personal questions, it is to be noticed that the closer the relations between simon and llywelyn became, the less cordial became his relations to gilbert de clare. thus when simon co-operated with llywelyn in bringing mortimer and the marchers to submission in december, 1264, gilbert began to intrigue with them; and soon after the famous parliament of 1265 had transferred to simon the earldom of chester--thus relieving llywelyn of his most dangerous neighbour, prince edward--gilbert definitely joined mortimer and edward. the meeting between the three at ludlow is very important; for prince edward now, at the instance of gloucester, definitely pledged himself to the cause of reform and good government. it may be said for the red earl of gloucester that in deserting simon he did not desert his cause. to ensure the future of english liberties it was no longer necessary to support de montfort: "henceforth it was not simon but edward who best represents the cause of orderly national progress."
-a few days after the desertion of gloucester simon made his first formal treaty with llywelyn, ceding to him hawarden, ellesmere, montgomery, maud's castle, a line of fortresses along the eastern border, recognising his right to the title of prince of wales, and to the homage of all the welsh barons, while llywelyn engaged to supply simon with five thousand spearmen and raid the estates of mortimer and de clare. the first part of the campaign of evesham was carried out in gwent. prince edward held the line of the severn, separating simon at hereford from his english partisans. simon, while waiting for his english supporters to concentrate, entered monmouthshire, where llywelyn's spearmen joined him and ravaged the gloucester estates, trying to entice the royalists into wales. edward followed; but--his pupil in war as in politics--the young prince outgeneralled him at every point, and simon only escaped at newport by hurried flight across the river, burning the bridge behind him. he kept the usk between him and his enemy, but this involved a long march north, through mountains and barren country, and he got back to hereford with a half-starved army, only to find the line of the severn held more strongly than ever. we cannot follow out the rest of the campaign, marked as it was by brilliant strategy on the part of the young edward, which proved him a born master of the art of war. in the final battle all the advantages were on his side, and one cannot blame the spearmen of gwynedd for trying to save themselves by flight at the "murder of evesham." the body of the great earl of leicester was shamefully mutilated by the conquerors, and his head sent as a fitting present to matilda de braose, wife of roger mortimer.
-the struggle continued for two years both in england and wales. in england simon's adherents held out owing to the severity of the terms which the victorious party insisted on. they are known as "the disinherited," and their cause was championed by the two enemies--llywelyn and gilbert de clare. the "brut" states that in 1267, "llywelyn confederated with earl clare; and then the earl marched with an immense army to london; and through the treachery of the citizens he got possession of the tower. and when king henry and his son edward heard of this they collected an immense army and marched to london and attacked it, and upon conditions they compelled the earl and citizens to submit." "the annals of winchester," a contemporary english chronicle, relate the same event, but omit any mention of llywelyn: "earl gilbert took london, and the disinherited flocked to him as to their saviour; peace was settled in june, and many of the disinherited were pacified at the instance of the earl of gloucester." it is clear that each of these rivals posed as champion of the disinherited, but for opposite reasons. llywelyn's object was to encourage their resistance and keep england divided by civil war; gilbert's to insist on better terms in order to induce them to yield. gilbert was successful in bringing about peace and reform. the disinherited were allowed to pay a fine instead of losing all their property, and many of the legal reforms demanded by the baronial party at the beginning of the struggle were embodied in the statute of marlborough. and now the earl of gloucester employed his resources in strengthening his glamorgan lordship to resist the threatened invasion of llywelyn by building castell coch and caerphilly.
-llywelyn continued his victorious career as long as war lasted. in 1266 he inflicted a crushing defeat on mortimer at brecon. in the autumn of next year, when peace had been established in england, he came to terms, through the mediation of the papal legate, in the treaty of montgomery. llywelyn kept the four cantreds of the middle country; also cydewain, ceri, gwerthrynion, builth, and brecon. but maelienydd was restored to roger mortimer, though llywelyn reserved his right to appeal to the law against this article. further, the prince of gwynedd received the hereditary title of prince of wales, and was recognised as overlord of all the welsh barons in wales, except meredydd ap rhys, who remained immediate vassal of the king of england: his territories therefore in the vale of towy were withdrawn from the power of llywelyn. the prince of wales in return did homage and agreed to pay him 25,000 marks by instalments. the treaty is less favourable to llywelyn than that of 1265. his rights in deheubarth were curtailed, and he gave up his claims to ellesmere and montgomery, and possession of maelienydd.
-"his bards are comely about his tables, i have seen him generously distributing his wealth, and his meadhorns filled with generous liquors. i never returned empty-handed from the north. the bards prophesy that he shall have the government and sovereign power; every prediction is at last to be fulfilled."
-but if llywelyn lacked the hard head of the practical statesman, if he did not, like his grandfather, merit the title of "the great," he will always remain an attractive and striking figure in history; he possessed qualities which made him an ideal representative of the cymric race in the middle ages:--
-"a bold and bounteous lion--the most reckless of givers, man whose anger was destructive; most courteous prince; a man sincere in grief, true in loving, perfect in knowledge."
-unwin brothers, the gresham press, woking and london.
-edited by owen m. edwards, author of "wales." each volume foolscap 8vo. 2s. cloth, 1s. paper.
-london: t. fisher unwin.
-minor typographic errors in punctuation and variations in hyphenation have been corrected without note.
-the following amendments have been made:
-page vi--cymry amended to kymry--"... thomas stephens, "literature of the kymry"; ..."
-page 21--harminously amended to harmoniously--"... and a prince of north wales working harmoniously together."
-page 34--fitzhamon amended to fitzhamon--"... daughter and heiress of fitzhamon, conqueror of glamorgan."
-page 37--caradog amended to caradoc--"... attributed to caradoc of llancarven, on which his biographers ..."
-page 80--omitted word 'the' added--"... fighting in wales till the end of ..."
-page 84--senghennydd amended to senghenydd--"ivor ap meyric was lord of senghenydd, ..."
-the single oe ligature (in coeur), and superscripts within century numbers have not been retained in this version. the single dagger symbol is indicated using a + symbol.
-the illustration on page 88 (cardiff and caerphilly castles) has been moved so that it is not in the middle of a paragraph.
-repeated headings at the start of each essay have been deleted so there is only one instance left for each.
-by roger dee
-the cool green disk of alphard six on the screen was infinitely welcome after the arid desolation and stinking swamplands of the inner planets, an airy jewel of a world that might have been designed specifically for the hard-earned month of rest ahead. navigator farrell, youngest and certainly most impulsive of the three-man terran reclamations crew, would have set the marco four down at once but for the greater caution of stryker, nominally captain of the group, and of gibson, engineer, and linguist. xavier, the ship's little mechanical, had--as was usual and proper--no voice in the matter.
-"reconnaissance spiral first, arthur," stryker said firmly. he chuckled at farrell's instant scowl, his little eyes twinkling and his naked paunch quaking over the belt of his shipboard shorts. "chapter one, subsection five, paragraph twenty-seven: no planetfall on an unreclaimed world shall be deemed safe without proper--"
-farrell, as stryker had expected, interrupted with characteristic impatience. "do you sleep with that damned reclamations handbook, lee? alphard six isn't an unreclaimed world--it was never colonized before the hymenop invasion back in 3025, so why should it be inhabited now?"
-gibson, who for four hours had not looked up from his interminable chess game with xavier, paused with a beleaguered knight in one blunt brown hand.
-"no point in taking chances," gibson said in his neutral baritone. he shrugged thick bare shoulders, his humorless black-browed face unmoved, when farrell included him in his scowl. "we're two hundred twenty-six light-years from sol, at the old limits of terran expansion, and there's no knowing what we may turn up here. alphard's was one of the first systems the bees took over. it must have been one of the last to be abandoned when they pulled back to 70 ophiuchi."
-"and i think you live for the day," farrell said acidly, "when we'll stumble across a functioning dome of live, buzzing hymenops. damn it, gib, the bees pulled out a hundred years ago, before you and i were born--neither of us ever saw a hymenop, and never will!"
-"but i saw them," stryker said. "i fought them for the better part of the century they were here, and i learned there's no predicting nor understanding them. we never knew why they came nor why they gave up and left. how can we know whether they'd leave a rear-guard or booby trap here?"
-he put a paternal hand on farrell's shoulder, understanding the younger man's eagerness and knowing that their close-knit team would have been the more poorly balanced without it.
-"gib's right," he said. he nearly added as usual. "we're on rest leave at the moment, yes, but our mission is still to find terran colonies enslaved and abandoned by the bees, not to risk our necks and a valuable reorientations ship by landing blind on an unobserved planet. we're too close already. cut in your shields and find a reconnaissance spiral, will you?"
-grumbling, farrell punched coordinates on the ringwave board that lifted the marco four out of her descent and restored the bluish enveloping haze of her repellors.
-stryker's caution was justified on the instant. the speeding streamlined shape that had flashed up unobserved from below swerved sharply and exploded in a cataclysmic blaze of atomic fire that rocked the ship wildly and flung the three men to the floor in a jangling roar of alarms.
-"so the handbook tacticians knew what they were about," stryker said minutes later. deliberately he adopted the smug tone best calculated to sting farrell out of his first self-reproach, and grinned when the navigator bristled defensively. "some of their enjoinders seem a little stuffy and obvious at times, but they're eminently sensible."
-when farrell refused to be baited stryker turned to gibson, who was busily assessing the damage done to the ship's more fragile equipment, and to xavier, who searched the planet's surface with the ship's magnoscanner. the marco four, ringwave generators humming gently, hung at the moment just inside the orbit of alphard six's single dun-colored moon.
-gibson put down a test meter with an air of finality.
-"nothing damaged but the zero interval transfer computer. i can realign that in a couple of hours, but it'll have to be done before we hit transfer again."
-stryker looked dubious. "what if the issue is forced before the zit unit is repaired? suppose they come up after us?"
-"i doubt that they can. any installation crudely enough equipped to trust in guided missiles is hardly likely to have developed efficient space craft."
-stryker was not reassured.
-"that torpedo of theirs was deadly enough," he said. "and its nature reflects the nature of the people who made it. any race vicious enough to use atomic charges is too dangerous to trifle with." worry made comical creases in his fat, good-humored face. "we'll have to find out who they are and why they're here, you know."
-"they can't be hymenops," gibson said promptly. "first, because the bees pinned their faith on ringwave energy fields, as we did, rather than on missiles. second, because there's no dome on six."
-"there were three empty domes on five, which is a desert planet," farrell pointed out. "why didn't they settle six? it's a more habitable world."
-gibson shrugged. "i know the bees always erected domes on every planet they colonized, arthur, but precedent is a fallible tool. and it's even more firmly established that there's no possibility of our rationalizing the motivations of a culture as alien as the hymenops'--we've been over that argument a hundred times on other reclaimed worlds."
-"but this was never an unreclaimed world," farrell said with the faint malice of one too recently caught in the wrong. "alphard six was surveyed and seeded with terran bacteria around the year 3000, but the bees invaded before we could colonize. and that means we'll have to rule out any resurgent colonial group down there, because six never had a colony in the beginning."
-"the bees have been gone for over a hundred years," stryker said. "colonists might have migrated from another terran-occupied planet."
-"we've touched at every inhabited world in this sector, lee, and not one surviving colony has developed space travel on its own. the hymenops had a hundred years to condition their human slaves to ignorance of everything beyond their immediate environment--the motives behind that conditioning usually escape us, but that's beside the point--and they did a thorough job of it. the colonists have had no more than a century of freedom since the bees pulled out, and four generations simply isn't enough time for any subjugated culture to climb from slavery to interstellar flight."
-stryker made a padding turn about the control room, tugging unhappily at the scanty fringe of hair the years had left him.
-"if they're neither hymenops nor resurgent colonists," he said, "then there's only one choice remaining--they're aliens from a system we haven't reached yet, beyond the old sphere of terran exploration. we always assumed that we'd find other races out here someday, and that they'd be as different from us in form and motivation as the hymenops. why not now?"
-gibson said seriously, "not probable, lee. the same objection that rules out the bees applies to any trans-alphardian culture--they'd have to be beyond the atomic fission stage, else they'd never have attempted interstellar flight. the ringwave with its zero interval transfer principle and instantaneous communications applications is the only answer to long-range travel, and if they'd had that they wouldn't have bothered with atomics."
-stryker turned on him almost angrily. "if they're not hymenops or humans or aliens, then what in god's name are they?"
-"aye, there's the rub," farrell said, quoting a passage whose aptness had somehow seen it through a dozen reorganizations of insular tongue and a final translation to universal terran. "if they're none of those three, we've only one conclusion left. there's no one down there at all--we're victims of the first joint hallucination in psychiatric history."
-stryker threw up his hands in surrender. "we can't identify them by theorizing, and that brings us down to the business of first-hand investigation. who's going to bell the cat this time?"
-"i'd like to go," gibson said at once. "the zit computer can wait."
-stryker vetoed his offer as promptly. "no, the zit comes first. we may have to run for it, and we can't set up a transfer jump without the computer. it's got to be me or arthur."
-farrell felt the familiar chill of uneasiness that inevitably preceded this moment of decision. he was not lacking in courage, else the circumstances under which he had worked for the past ten years--the sometimes perilous, sometimes downright charnel conditions left by the fleeing hymenop conquerors--would have broken him long ago. but that same hard experience had honed rather than blunted the edge of his imagination, and the prospect of a close-quarters stalking of an unknown and patently hostile force was anything but attractive.
-"you two did the field work on the last location," he said. "it's high time i took my turn--and god knows i'd go mad if i had to stay inship and listen to lee memorizing his handbook subsections or to gib practicing dead languages with xavier."
-stryker laughed for the first time since the explosion that had so nearly wrecked the marco four.
-"good enough. though it wouldn't be more diverting to listen for hours to you improvising enharmonic variations on the lament for old terra with your accordion."
-gibson, characteristically, had a refinement to offer.
-"they'll be alerted down there for a reconnaissance sally," he said. "why not let xavier take the scouter down for overt diversion, and drop arthur off in the helihopper for a low-level check?"
-stryker looked at farrell. "all right, arthur?"
-"good enough," farrell said. and to xavier, who had not moved from his post at the magnoscanner: "how does it look, xav? have you pinned down their base yet?"
-the mechanical answered him in a voice as smooth and clear--and as inflectionless--as a 'cello note. "the planet seems uninhabited except for a large island some three hundred miles in diameter. there are twenty-seven small agrarian hamlets surrounded by cultivated fields. there is one city of perhaps a thousand buildings with a central square. in the square rests a grounded spaceship of approximately ten times the bulk of the marco four."
-they crowded about the vision screen, jostling xavier's jointed gray shape in their interest. the central city lay in minutest detail before them, the battered hulk of the grounded ship glinting rustily in the late afternoon sunlight. streets radiated away from the square in orderly succession, the whole so clearly depicted that they could see the throngs of people surging up and down, tiny foreshortened faces turned toward the sky.
-"at least they're human," farrell said. relief replaced in some measure his earlier uneasiness. "which means that they're terran, and can be dealt with according to reclamations routine. is that hulk spaceworthy, xav?"
-xavier's mellow drone assumed the convention vibrato that indicated stark puzzlement. "its breached hull makes the ship incapable of flight. apparently it is used only to supply power to the outlying hamlets."
-the mechanical put a flexible gray finger upon an indicator graph derived from a composite section of detector meters. "the power transmitted seems to be gross electric current conveyed by metallic cables. it is generated through a crudely governed process of continuous atomic fission."
-farrell, himself appalled by the information, still found himself able to chuckle at stryker's bellow of consternation.
-"continuous fission? good god, only madmen would deliberately run a risk like that!"
-farrell prodded him with cheerful malice. "why say mad men? maybe they're humanoid aliens who thrive on hard radiation and look on the danger of being blown to hell in the middle of the night as a satisfactory risk."
-"are thrust reaction jets," stryker finished in an awed voice. "primitive isn't the word, gib--the thing is prehistoric! rocket propulsion hasn't been used in spacecraft since--how long, xav?"
-xavier supplied the information with mechanical infallibility. "since the year 2100 when the ringwave propulsion-communication principle was discovered. that principle has served men since."
-farrell stared in blank disbelief at the anomalous craft on the screen. primitive, as stryker had said, was not the word for it: clumsily ovoid, studded with torpedo domes and turrets and bristling at either end with propulsion tubes, it lay at the center of its square like a rusted relic of a past largely destroyed and all but forgotten. what a magnificent disregard its builders must have had, he thought, for their lives and the genetic purity of their posterity! the sullen atomic fires banked in that oxidizing hulk--
-stryker said plaintively, "if you're right, gib, then we're more in the dark than ever. how could a terran-built ship eleven hundred years old get here?"
-gibson, absorbed in his chess-player's contemplation of alternatives, seemed hardly to hear him.
-"logic or not-logic," gibson said. "if it's a terran artifact, we can discover the reason for its presence. if not--"
-"any problem posed by one group of human beings," stryker quoted his handbook, "can be resolved by any other group, regardless of ideology or conditioning, because the basic perceptive abilities of both must be the same through identical heredity."
-"if it's an imitation, and this is another hymenop experiment in condition ecology, then we're stumped to begin with," gibson finished. "because we're not equipped to evaluate the psychology of alien motivation. we've got to determine first which case applies here."
-he waited for farrell's expected irony, and when the navigator forestalled him by remaining grimly quiet, continued.
-"the obvious premise is that a terran ship must have been built by terrans. question: was it flown here, or built here?"
-"it couldn't have been built here," stryker said. "alphard six was surveyed just before the bees took over in 3025, and there was nothing of the sort here then. it couldn't have been built during the two and a quarter centuries since; it's obviously much older than that. it was flown here."
-"we progress," farrell said dryly. "now if you'll tell us how, we're ready to move."
-"i think the ship was built on terra during the twenty-second century," gibson said calmly. "the atomic wars during that period destroyed practically all historical records along with the technology of the time, but i've read well-authenticated reports of atomic-driven ships leaving terra before then for the nearer stars. the human race climbed out of its pit again during the twenty-third century and developed the technology that gave us the ringwave. certainly no atomic-powered ships were built after the wars--our records are complete from that time."
-farrell shook his head at the inference. "i've read any number of fanciful romances on the theme, gib, but it won't stand up in practice. no shipboard society could last through a thousand-year space voyage. it's a physical and psychological impossibility. there's got to be some other explanation."
-gibson shrugged. "we can only eliminate the least likely alternatives and accept the simplest one remaining."
-"then we can eliminate this one now," farrell said flatly. "it entails a thousand-year voyage, which is an impossibility for any gross reaction drive; the application of suspended animation or longevity or a successive-generation program, and a final penetration of hymenop-occupied space to set up a colony under the very antennae of the bees. longevity wasn't developed until around the year 3000--lee here was one of the first to profit by it, if you remember--and suspended animation is still to come. so there's one theory you can forget."
-"arthur's right," stryker said reluctantly. "an atomic-powered ship couldn't have made such a trip, gib. and such a lineal-descendant project couldn't have lasted through forty generations, speculative fiction to the contrary--the later generations would have been too far removed in ideology and intent from their ancestors. they'd have adapted to shipboard life as the norm. they'd have atrophied physically, perhaps even have mutated--"
-"and they'd never have fought past the bees during the hymenop invasion and occupation," farrell finished triumphantly. "the bees had better detection equipment than we had. they'd have picked this ship up long before it reached alphard six."
-"but the ship wasn't here in 3000," gibson said, "and it is now. therefore it must have arrived at some time during the two hundred years of hymenop occupation and evacuation."
-farrell, tangled in contradictions, swore bitterly. "but why should the bees let them through? the three domes on five are over two hundred years old, which means that the bees were here before the ship came. why didn't they blast it or enslave its crew?"
-"we haven't touched on all the possibilities," gibson reminded him. "we haven't even established yet that these people were never under hymenop control. precedent won't hold always, and there's no predicting nor evaluating the motives of an alien race. we never understood the hymenops because there's no common ground of logic between us. why try to interpret their intentions now?"
-farrell threw up his hands in disgust. "next you'll say this is an ancient terran expedition that actually succeeded! there's only one way to answer the questions we've raised, and that's to go down and see for ourselves. ready, xav?"
-but uncertainty nagged uneasily at him when farrell found himself alone in the helihopper with the forest flowing beneath like a leafy river and xavier's scouter disappearing bulletlike into the dusk ahead.
-we never found a colony so advanced, farrell thought. suppose this is a hymenop experiment that really paid off? the bees did some weird and wonderful things with human guinea pigs--what if they've created the ultimate booby trap here, and primed it with conditioned myrmidons in our own form?
-suppose, he thought--and derided himself for thinking it--one of those suicidal old interstellar ventures did succeed?
-xavier's voice, a mellow drone from the helihopper's ringwave-powered visicom, cut sharply into his musing. "the ship has discovered the scouter and is training an electronic beam upon it. my instruments record an electromagnetic vibration pattern of low power but rapidly varying frequency. the operation seems pointless."
-stryker's voice followed, querulous with worry: "i'd better pull xav back. it may be something lethal."
-"don't," gibson's baritone advised. surprisingly, there was excitement in the engineer's voice. "i think they're trying to communicate with us."
-farrell was on the point of demanding acidly to know how one went about communicating by means of a fluctuating electric field when the unexpected cessation of forest diverted his attention. the helihopper scudded over a cultivated area of considerable extent, fields stretching below in a vague random checkerboard of lighter and darker earth, an undefined cluster of buildings at their center. there was a central bonfire that burned like a wild red eye against the lower gloom, and in its plunging ruddy glow he made out an urgent scurrying of shadowy figures.
-"i'm passing over a hamlet," farrell reported. "the one nearest the city, i think. there's something odd going on down--"
-catastrophe struck so suddenly that he was caught completely unprepared. the helihopper's flimsy carriage bucked and crumpled. there was a blinding flare of electric discharge, a pungent stink of ozone and a stunning shock that flung him headlong into darkness.
-he awoke slowly with a brutal headache and a conviction of nightmare heightened by the outlandish tone of his surroundings. he lay on a narrow bed in a whitely antiseptic infirmary, an oblong metal cell cluttered with a grimly utilitarian array of tables and lockers and chests. the lighting was harsh and overbright and the air hung thick with pungent unfamiliar chemical odors. from somewhere, far off yet at the same time as near as the bulkhead above him, came the unceasing drone of machinery.
-at his rising, a white-smocked fat man with anachronistic spectacles and close-cropped gray hair came into the room, moving with the professional assurance of a medic. the man stopped short at farrell's stare and spoke; his words were utterly unintelligible, but his gesture was unmistakable.
-farrell followed him dumbly out of the infirmary and down a bare corridor whose metal floor rang coldly underfoot. an open port near the corridor's end relieved the blankness of wall and let in a flood of reddish alphardian sunlight; farrell slowed to look out, wondering how long he had lain unconscious, and felt panic knife at him when he saw xavier's scouter lying, port open and undefended, on the square outside.
-the mechanical had been as easily taken as himself, then. stryker and gibson, for all their professional caution, would fare no better--they could not have overlooked the capture of farrell and xavier, and when they tried as a matter of course to rescue them the marco would be struck down in turn by the same weapon.
-the fat medic turned and said something urgent in his unintelligible tongue. farrell, dazed by the enormity of what had happened, followed without protest into an intersecting way that led through a bewildering succession of storage rooms and hydroponics gardens, through a small gymnasium fitted with physical training equipment in graduated sizes and finally into a soundproofed place that could have been nothing but a nursery.
-the implication behind its presence stopped farrell short.
-"a creche," he said, stunned. he had a wild vision of endless generations of children growing up in this dim and stuffy room, to be taught from their first toddling steps the functions they must fulfill before the venture of which they were a part could be consummated.
-one of those old ventures had succeeded, he thought, and was awed by the daring of that thousand-year odyssey. the realization left him more alarmed than before--for what technical marvels might not an isolated group of such dogged specialists have developed during a millennium of application?
-such a weapon as had brought down the helihopper and scouter was patently beyond reach of his own latter-day technology. perhaps, he thought, its possession explained the presence of these people here in the first stronghold of the hymenops; perhaps they had even fought and defeated the bees on their own invaded ground.
-he followed his white-smocked guide through a power room where great crude generators whirred ponderously, pouring out gross electric current into arm-thick cables. they were nearing the bow of the ship when they passed by another open port and farrell, glancing out over the lowered rampway, saw that his fears for stryker and gibson had been well grounded.
-the marco four, ports open, lay grounded outside.
-farrell could not have said, later, whether his next move was planned or reflexive. the whole desperate issue seemed to hang suspended for a breathless moment upon a hair-fine edge of decision, and in that instant he made his bid.
-he reached the marco four with the startled shouts of his guide ringing unintelligibly in his ears. the port yawned; he plunged inside and stabbed at controls without waiting to seat himself. the ports swung shut. the ship darted up under his manipulation and arrowed into space with an acceleration that sprung his knees and made his vision swim blackly.
-he was so weak with strain and with the success of his coup that he all but fainted when stryker, his scanty hair tousled and his fat face comical with bewilderment, stumbled out of his sleeping cubicle and bellowed at him.
-"what the hell are you doing, arthur? take us down!"
-farrell gaped at him, speechless.
-stryker lumbered past him and took the controls, spiraling the marco four down. men swarmed outside the ports when the reclamations craft settled gently to the square again. gibson and xavier reached the ship first; gibson came inside quickly, leaving the mechanical outside making patient explanations to an excited group of alphardians.
-gibson put a reassuring hand on farrell's arm. "it's all right, arthur. there's no trouble."
-farrell said dumbly, "i don't understand. they didn't shoot you and xav down too?"
-it was gibson's turn to stare.
-"no one shot you down! these people are primitive enough to use metallic power lines to carry electricity to their hamlets, an anachronism you forgot last night. you piloted the helihopper into one of those lines, and the crash put you out for the rest of the night and most of today. these alphardians are friendly, so desperately happy to be found again that it's really pathetic."
-"friendly? that torpedo--"
-"it wasn't a torpedo at all," stryker put in. understanding of the error under which farrell had labored erased his earlier irritation, and he chuckled commiseratingly. "they had one small boat left for emergency missions, and sent it up to contact us in the fear that we might overlook their settlement and move on. the boat was atomic powered, and our shield screens set off its engines."
-farrell dropped into a chair at the chart table, limp with reaction. he was suddenly exhausted, and his head ached dully.
-"we cracked the communications problem early last night," gibson said. "these people use an ancient system of electromagnetic wave propagation called frequency modulation, and once lee and i rigged up a suitable transceiver the rest was simple. both xav and i recognized the old language; the natives reported your accident, and we came down at once."
-"they really came from terra? they lived through a thousand years of flight?"
-"the ship left terra for sirius in 2171," gibson said. "but not with these people aboard, or their ancestors. that expedition perished after less than a light-year when its hydroponics system failed. the hymenops found the ship derelict when they invaded us, and brought it to alphard six in what was probably their first experiment with human subjects. the ship's log shows clearly what happened to the original complement. the rest is deducible from the situation here."
-farrell put his hands to his temples and groaned. "the crash must have scrambled my wits. gib, where did they come from?"
-"from one of the first peripheral colonies conquered by the bees," gibson said patiently. "the hymenops were long-range planners, remember, and masters of hypnotic conditioning. they stocked the ship with a captive crew of terrans conditioned to believe themselves descendants of the original crew, and grounded it here in disabled condition. they left for alphard five then, to watch developments.
-"succeeding generations of colonists grew up accepting the fact that their ship had missed sirius and made planetfall here--they still don't know where they really are--by luck. they never knew about the hymenops, and they've struggled along with an inadequate technology in the hope that a later expedition would find them. they found the truth hard to take, but they're eager to enjoy the fruits of terran assimilation."
-stryker, grinning, brought farrell a frosted drink that tinkled invitingly. "an unusually fortunate ending to a hymenop experiment," he said. "these people progressed normally because they've been let alone. reorienting them will be a simple matter; they'll be properly spoiled colonists within another generation."
-farrell sipped his drink appreciatively.
-"but i don't see why the bees should go to such trouble to deceive these people. why did they sit back and let them grow as they pleased, gib? it doesn't make sense!"
-"but it does, for once," gibson said. "the bees set up this colony as a control unit to study the species they were invading, and they had to give their specimens a normal--if obsolete--background in order to determine their capabilities. the fact that their experiment didn't tell them what they wanted to know may have had a direct bearing on their decision to pull out."
-farrell shook his head. "it's a reverse application, isn't it of the old saw about terrans being incapable of understanding an alien culture?"
-"of course," said gibson, surprised. "it's obvious enough, surely--hard as they tried, the bees never understood us either."
-this etext was produced from amazing science fiction stories january 1960. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
-for greater things the story of saint stanislaus kostka
-by william t. kane, s.j. with a preface by james j. daly, s.j.
-among christian evidences the heroic virtue and holiness of catholic youth must not be overlooked. juvenile and adolescent victories of a conspicuous kind, over the flesh, the world, and the devil, can be found in no land and in no age, except a christian land and age, and in no church except the catholic church. it is of all excellences the very rarest and most difficult, this triumphant mastery over human weakness and human pride. it has defied the life-long strivings of men whom the world recognizes as beings of superior wisdom and power of will. the philosophers who have described it most beautifully and encouraged its pursuit in the most glowing and impressive terms remain themselves sad examples of human futility in the struggle to disengage the spirit from the claws of dragging and unclean influences. for the forces of evil are infinite in their variety, insidious beyond the ability of natural sharpness to detect and guard against, and unsleeping in the pressure of their siege upon the heart of man. who will explain how it comes to pass that youth, whose callowness and inexperience are the mockery of the world, has laid prostrate in single combat this giant of evil and won fields where the reputations of the world's wisest and noblest and most tried lie buried?
-it is a matter of idle curiosity with us how an unbelieving generation, ingenious in devising natural explanations (which are most unnatural) of supernatural phenomena, would explain away the wonder of the young saint's life which is the subject of the following pages. it presents to us a picture of divine condescension guiding and inspiring and aiding human effort, so convincingly clear and transparent in its smallest details and in its general effect as to seem outside the pale of all possible mutilation and misinterpretation by malice or skeptical analysis. natural reaction against sinful excess, thwarted ambitions, disappointed hopes, meek conformity with environment, ecclesiastical manipulation of pliant material, tame acquiescence in family traditions and arrangements, these and all the other stock "explanations," with which a groveling world seeks to pull down the saints to its own dreary level, cannot be invoked to dissipate the mystery and the glory surrounding stanislaus. how did he come so early in life, and in a nobleman's family, to set such store upon spiritual values? how did his tender and immature mind grasp with such swift sureness the one lesson of all philosophies, that life on its material side is an incident rather than the sum of human existence and can never satisfy the soul's desires ? how could this mere boy have developed, so young, an iron will which wrought that hardest of all laborious tasks, namely, the conformation of conduct with lofty ideals? there are supernatural answers to these and similar questions which might be raised concerning the brief career of st. stanislaus. we know of no merely natural answers.
-the lively and energetic style adopted in the present biography may create a trace of mild surprise in older readers. sanctity, it is true, some one may say, is a very beautiful achievement in a world of poor and, at best, mediocre performance; but, after all, the business of sanctity is a serious business. it calls for grit and endurance, and, as a picture, is only saved from the sordid by spiritual motives which are unseen. if all moral life is a monotonous warfare, the life of a saint is warfare in the very first ranks where the trenches are filled with water and the shells fall thickest and the general discomfort and pettiness are at their maximum. it is misleading and not in strict accord with known realities, to paint the portrait of a saint in rose color and sunlight, diffusing an iridescent atmosphere of cheerful gayety and buoyancy.
-still it may not be quite clear to the inquiring mind why the desperate difficulties of sainthood can be truthfully viewed in the light of a breathless adventure. learn, then, the great secret. the love of god in the heart is the magical light which touches the dreariness and hardship of self-thwarting with a splendor of sublime romance. you cannot have holiness without love. holiness can be either greater nor less than the love of god. let this love faint or grow cold, there is at once a loss of holiness, even though it retain all its external gear. this is a cardinal truth; it is a key which will solve many a puzzle. it will explain why fanatics and similar oddities are not saints, though secular history sometimes honors them with the title.
-merely concede that the saint possesses love for god in an extraordinary measure and degree, and it is the most comprehensible thing in the world that he will not only accept all tests of his love readily, but will go forth in search of them with eager alacrity. first and last and always the only keen satisfaction of great love, whether human or divine, is to welcome opportunities of proving itself in some heroic form of courage and endurance. danger, suffering, battling against odds, discouragement, overwork, pain of mind and body, failure, want of recognition, rebuffs, contempt and persecution, are no longer the subject matter of a strong-jawed stoicism or a submissive patience but rather the quickening bread and wine of an intense and high-keyed life. this is why the saints, be the provocation ever so great, never develop nerves, or experience those melancholy and humiliating reactions which are the natural ebb-tide of spiritual energies. this is why saints can fast and keep their temper sweet, can wear hair-shirts without cultivating wry faces, can be passed by in the distribution of honors without being soured, can pray all night without robbing the day of its due meed of cheerfulness, can rise superior to frailties and weaknesses without despising those who cannot, can be serious without being testy and morose, can live for years in a cell or a desert or a convent-close without perishing of ennui or being devoured by restlessness, and can mingle with life, where all its currents meet, without losing their heads or swerving a hairbreadth from the straight line of a most uncommon and most impressive kind of common sense.
-unless we keep before our eyes this mainspring of a saint's life, that life will be as enigmatical to us as it is to the world. jesus balked at no test of the love which he bore towards us: nay, he devised tests passing all human imagining. let him make trial of our love for him! we are unhappy till he does! and with this daring spirit in his heart every saint enters upon a career of romance in its sweetest and highest form. and, we submit, to recur to the literary style of the following biography, romance is light-hearted, light-stepping, cheerful, with the starlight on its face and in its eyes.
-james j. daly, s.j.
-for greater things
-on the road
-mid-august in vienna, the year 1567: when shakespeare was still a little boy; twenty years before philip ii fitted out the spanish armada; forty years before the first english colony settled in america. the sun had just well risen, the gates of vienna had been opened but a few hours. through the great western gate, which cast its long shadow on the road to augsburg, came a strange-looking boy.
-he lacked but a month or two of seventeen years, was some five feet two or three inches in height, had an oval face of remarkable beauty and liveliness, jet black hair, and eyes in which merriment dwelt as in its home. he was dressed as became a noble of the time, and in apparel of unusual splendor and costliness; plumed bonnet, slashed velvet doublet, tight silken hose, jeweled dagger at his girdle.
-but it was odd to see so brilliant a figure on foot in the dusty highway; still more odd that be carried a rough bundle slung on a staff over his and that, peasant fashion, he munched at a loaf of bread as he trudged the road.
-by no means stalwart-looking, still he swung along with an easy stride and a confident strength that many a stouter man might envy. he was bound for augsburg, 400 miles to the west, and he set himself thirty miles a day as his rate of travel.
-he wore splendid clothes, because he was stanislaus, the son of john kostka, lord of kostkov, senator, and castellan of zakroczym in the duchy of mazovia, poland. he ate his rough breakfast, like a peasant, on the road, because he had just been to mass and received holy communion at the jesuit church in vienna. he carried a bundle on his staff, because he laughed merrily at fine clothes and had in the bundle a coarse tunic and a stout pair of brogans, which he meant to put on as soon as he got well out of the city. and his face and his eyes shone with joy, because he loved god most wonderfully and was as happy a boy as ever moved through this dull world.
-every age has its adventurers: men who for fame, or for place, or for money, cross wide seas, fight brave battles, endure great hardships. the age in which stanislaus lived was filled with them. all the world reads with delight the story of such men. and every decent boy who reads feels himself, if only for the moment, their fellow in spirit, eager to do what they did and as bravely as they did.
-but was there ever adventure finer than this, ever spirit more gayly daring? stanislaus kostka, son of a noble house, a boy in years, starting without a copper in his pocket to cross half of europe afoot! and for what? not to have men say what a brave chap he was; not to win a name, or rank, or money: but because god would be pleased by his doing it, because god called him to do something which he could not do in vienna.
-he felt he had a vocation to be a jesuit. he knew his father would not consent. he took six months to think it over, to pray for light, to make sure it was no mere whim or fancy of his own, but the very voice of god. and when he felt sure, he left a letter for his brother paul and his tutor, bilinski, with whom he had been studying in vienna; he gave his money to a couple of beggars; he said, "if god wants me to do this, he'll furnish the means"; he put on his best attire, tied up a rough suit in a cloth, took a stout staff in his hand, and with god's blessing upon him and his eucharistic presence in his heart, stepped out cheerfully on a journey that would stagger most men.
-that is the stuff of which heroes are made. if stanislaus had done this for the glory of the world, we should have his praises in our histories, we should have stories woven about him, the whole world would cry "bravo!" but he did it for god, and the world cannot understand him at all: the world is silent.
-an hour or so of that steady, tireless stride carried him well away from vienna. he slipped off his velvet and silk, put on his coarse tunic - a shirt-like garment that came below his knees - girded himself with a bit of rope, tied his stout shoes on his feet, and took the road again. there were folk aplenty journeying from the countryside to vienna in the early morning. stanislaus picked out one of the poorest-looking peasants and handed him the gala dress he had just taken off.
-"i can't carry these with me, friend," he said. "won't you please take them? i have no use for them, and perhaps you can sell them in the city."
-and he was gone before the peasant, gaping in wonder at the rich garments and dagger in his hands, could much more than catch a glimpse of that bright face and those laughing eyes.
-he tramped all day, and made his thirty miles. when he was hungry, he asked some one he met for food. it is not likely that any one would refuse the smiling, handsome boy, from whose face innocence simply shone. but if any one had refused him, it would not have annoyed stanislaus. his good humor came from heaven, as well as from his own cheery soul - and you cannot rebuff that kind of good humor.
-night came down at last, and he was tired out. he came to an inn and asked for shelter.
-"i have no money," he told the landlord, smiling, "and i have no claim upon you. will you take me in?"
-the landlord looked at him shrewdly a little, then said with respect:
-"but what is your grace doing in such a garb?"
-stanislaus thought for a moment that he was recognized; but he put on a bold front, and laughed as he said:
-"i am not 'your grace. i am what you see me, and i have a long journey to make."
-in those days it was not unusual for even nobles to go, roughly clad, upon pilgrimages of devotion. that stanislaus was a noble, the landlord was quite certain. that he might be engaged on some such pious business, was possible. but who ever heard of a mere boy going upon pilgrimage?
-the whole affair puzzled the landlord more than a little. however, the face of the boy reassured him. at least there could be no evil behind that frank, brave countenance. so he shook his head, saying:
-"i do not understand. but come in. you are welcome."
-he gave stanislaus his supper and a bed to sleep in.
-"you shall not be the poorer for this," said stanislaus, as he thanked him. "you know god makes it up to us for even a cup of cold water given in his name."
-and as the boy spoke, the landlord saw his face glow when he spoke of god and he was very glad at heart that he had given shelter and food, to this strange boy.
-stanislaus slept soundly. but he was up with the sun, washed and dressed quickly, and went to thank his host again before setting out.
-"but you will have something to eat before you go?" cried the man, as stanislaus stood before him, staff in hand, ready for the road.
-"it is good of you to offer it," the boy answered. "but perhaps i shall find a church before long, and i must go fasting to holy communion."
-then the landlord marvelled again, for at that period even good people did not go very often to holy communion, especially when they were traveling hard, as stanislaus evidently was. and his admiration and liking grew for this boy with the merry face and the heart so near heaven.
-"at least," he said, "you must take something with you for the way."
-and that stanislaus did not refuse, but accepted gratefully, and so parted from the kind landlord, leaving him gazing in the doorway with wonder in his eyes.
-his legs were a bit stiff and sore this second day. but the first few miles wore that off, and he swung on his way as bravely and gayly as before.
-meanwhile, there was a hubbub in vienna. stanislaus had lived in that city about three years with his brother paul, who was about a year older than he, and in the care of a tutor, a young man named bilinski. he had left them in the early morning. as the day wore on and he did not return home, they became uneasy. they went about all afternoon, inquiring amongst their friends and acquaintance if any had seen him. only one or two were in the secret, and they kept discreet silence.
-unable therefore to get any trace of stanislaus, they soon came to the conclusion that he had fled. and, as we shall see, they had good reason in their own hearts for guessing that from the first. they returned to the house of the senator kimberker, where they were all lodging, and taking kimberker, who was a lutheran, into their confidence, they held a council of war.
-it was decided that stanislaus must have gone to augsburg. paul recalled something that stanislaus had said to him only the day before, when he had threatened plainly to run away. and they had heard him say, another time, that at augsburg was peter canisius, the provincial of the german jesuits. of course they were going to follow him and bring him back. but night had come on before their inquiries and deliberations were finished. they must wait till the next day.
-"have you seen a boy of seventeen, a polish noble, pass westward along this road yesterday or today?"
-but the landlord was shrewd, and though the whole matter was beyond him, he fancied somehow that these eager folk were no great friends of the boy who had lodged with him. and as he trusted that boy and could scarcely help being loyal to him, he shrugged his shoulders and answered:
-"how should i know? so many travel this road."
-then bilinski described stanislaus and his doublet of velvet and hose of silk and jeweled dagger. but at that the landlord shook his head in denial.
-"i have seen no such person as your graces describe," he said.
-bilinski called out to the coachman:
-"drive on. we have nothing to learn here."
-but paul said: "nq let us turn back. he cannot have walked this far in one day. we must have passed him on the road."
-"perhaps you could not have walked so far," said bilinski, with a sneer. "but stanislaus could. drive on!"
-forty miles or more out of vienna, they saw a boy trudging ahead of them, in a rough tunic, rope-girdled, with a staff in his hand. at the noise of the hurrying wheels the boy glanced back, then quickly turned up a lane which there entered the road. he did not look in the least like a nobleman's son, and the carriage passed the bottom of the lane without so much as slacking speed.
-stanislaus ran up the lane until he came to where it ended at a rough, brawling stream. without a moment's hesitation he put off his shoes, tucked up his tunic, and began wading in the course of the stream. the water was cold, the sharp stones in the bed of the stream bruised his feet, at any moment he might fall into a deep hole and be drowned. but he splashed and stumbled ahead, as fast as he could go, praying to his guardian angel to have care of him. a little farther, he knew, the highway crossed this stream by a bridge, and there he could leave the water and regain the road.
-the carriage meantime kept on and came to this bridge. but paul had been thinking of the young fellow who took to the lane when he saw the carriage approach and a shrewd suspicion came into his head.
-"did you see that boy who ran up the lane?" he cried at length to bilinski. "i believe it was stanislaus."
-"but he was dressed like a peasant," said bilinski. "and stanislaus had on a handsome suit."
-they debated for a time, but paul prevailed. round they turned and drove furiously back to the lane. but as the driver tried to turn his horses into it, the animals reared and balked and refused to enter. blows and curses were showered on them; they merely stood and trembled; no efforts could urge them into the lane. then the driver grew afraid, and cried out:
-"my lord paul, we cannot go into this lane. and before god, i have fear upon me! never have the horses acted this way."
-and indeed fear seized them all. they saw the hand of god in this strange obstinancy of their beasts. even kimberker cried the pursuit.
-"fear god!" he said. "for this is no common mishap!"
-and when they turned the horses' heads again toward vienna, the animals snorted and pranced and went very willingly.
-and so, when stanislaus came to the bridge, the highway was clear. after a look about, he put on his shoes, gripped his staff afresh, and took up again cheerily as ever his thirty miles a day to augsburg.
-day after day, tired and footsore, he told off the long miles, begging his food and lodging as he went; fearless and happy, praying like an angel of god as he walked along.
-many were kind to him for the brave, bright spirit that shone out in his face. many remembered those words of our lord, "whatsoever you have done unto the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me," and willingly sheltered the boy and gave him to eat. sometimes he turned into the fields beside the road and slept through the warm august night beneath the open sky. whenever he came to a church in the morning, he heard mass and received holy communion, for he started out each morning fasting. and on the fourteenth day he reached augsburg.
-god asked a fearfully hard thing of him; to leave his people, his home; to set out afoot on an enormous journey; to undergo no end of hardships and humiliations; to live in a strange land, among strange people. and he did it, did it smilingly, joyfully, with a simple, quiet bravery seldom if ever matched by any other boy in the world.
-the one thing that staggers us is his reason for doing it, his great love for god. and that is because we have not got, what we could easily get, his secret. he prayed, he kept close in thought to god always. god and heaven and our lady were as familiar to his mind as the sun and the earth and the air are to our mind's. the earth to him was only the antechamber of heaven. he looked upon life as one looks upon a little delay at a railway station before the train leaves; the only important thing is to catch the train.
-bilinski and paul kostka went back to vienna, much troubled at heart. they really loved stanislaus, for one thing, though they had been pretty rough with him. and for another, they had to face the anger of the lord john kostka, when he should hear of stanislaus' flight.
-shortly after they had got back, a young friend of the runaway came to them and said:
-"if you look between the leaves of such-and-such a book, you will find a letter which stanislaus left for you."
-they looked and found the letter. it was very simple and straightforward, a genuine boy's letter. he had run away, he said, because he had to. he was called to enter the society of jesus. he had to do what god wanted of him. he knew they would prevent him if they could. and so he just went. he left them messages of affectionate regard, and begged them to forward his letter to his father.
-bilinski sent this letter on at once. paul also wrote, as did kimberker and even the servant who had gone with them in the carriage. each tried to shift the blame from himself, told of the strange behavior of the horses, explained that everything possible had been done to overtake the fugitive.
-he was a great lord, the lord john. he loved his second son, stanislaus, most dearly, and he loved dearly the honor of his house, which he thought that son had stained by hi& conduct. a son of his in beggar's garb, tramping the highways of europe, begging his bread from door to door! it nearly broke his heart.
-he had princely blood in his veins, he was a senator of poland, he might even become a king. his dearest hopes were in stanislaus, his second son. paul, the eldest, was wild and unsteady. and though there were two other sons and a daughter, none gave such promise as stanislaus. so that the lord john looked chiefly to him to carry on the great name and make it more glorious still. no wonder he raged!
-stanislaus had figured all that out beforehand. it hurt him too, hurt terribly. but what can one do when god calls? god had made all the kostkas, given them name and rank. god was the lord of lords. it was heart-breaking to stanislaus to leave his father in anger. yet he trusted that since that was god's will - well, god would find a way to bring peace out of all this trouble. he put all his fears and heartache away from him, and went out to do what god wanted.
-we think things come easy to the saints. we read or hear of wonders in their lives, which are evidently god's doing; and we say:
-"of course the saint was good and holy. but it was all done for him. god made everything smooth. the saint was never in my boots for a minute."
-and all the time we forget the things which the saint himself did, the superb efforts he had to make.
-so stanislaus began to pray as soon as he well began to speak. do you think he would not sooner have kept on with his play? do you think he did not naturally hate the effort just as any boy naturally hates effort?
-he lived amongst rough men, men used to the ways of camps and the speech of soldiers. yet he not merely kept his own lips" clean, but he shrank, as from a blow, from every coarse or indecent speech in others. he did not go around correcting people. he was too sensible for that. he was not a prig or a prude. but he knew, as we know, that vile speech is hateful to god; and, as so many of us do not do, he set his face against it.
-did that cost him no effort? had he no human respect to fight against? think of how many times you may have grinned, cowardly, at a gross remark or shady story of a comrade - because you were not fighter enough to resent it! and then give this stanislaus, who did resent, credit for his stouter courage, his more manly spirit.
-his biographers tell us that he was simply' free from temptations against purity. that does not mean what many may think it means: that he was physically unlike other boys, that he had no animal desires, that he had nothing to fight against. it means that he was such a magnificent fighter that he had won the battle almost from the start. it means that he was not content, as so many of us are, with merely pushing a temptation a little aside, and then looking around in surprise to find it still there. he was like a skillful boxer, who wards off every blow of his adversary, so that he goes through the contest absolutely untouched. he watched, as we are too lazy to watch; he kept out of danger, where we foolishly run into it; he did not wait until temptation had set upon him and nearly battered him down before he began to resist; he saw it coming afar off, just as we can if we look out, and he met it with a rush that sent it again beyond reach or even sight.
-of course he was the same as other boys; of course he had the same inclinations, the same promptings of the animal man; but with them he had more daring, more force and energy of will to cooperate with god's grace.
-you always find it that way. the things the saints seem to do with ease are terrifically hard things, huge battles, regular slugging fights. the ease, if there be any, is not in the things they did, but in the men who did them.
-you have seen skilled pianists sit down at their instruments and run off into brisk flowing music what looks like a hopeless jumble of notes. you may have seen an artist sketch in, whilst chatting idly, a swift, striking portrait. well, all really good men are artists too; artists in fighting. and stanislaus was one of the cleverest and strongest artists of the lot.
-he began early, just as the musician mozart did, just as the painter raffaele did; and he studied hard at his art, just as all great artists have done. he began by saying his prayers well, not mere lip prayers, but heart prayers. he began by getting on easy terms with god, with our lord in the blessed sacrament, with our blessed lady. he learned to talk with them as we learn to talk with our fathers and mothers. he told them his troubles, his plans. he talked everything over with them. and it no more made him queer or stiff or unpleasant than talking things over with your comrades or your parents makes you queer or stiff or unpleasant. if you believe in god, it is the most natural thing in the world to try to take him into your confidence.
-then it is easy to see how, as stanislaus grew older, he liked to pray, he liked to talk about god and our lady. you see, he had grown to know them. they were not remote, far away. they were as near to him as his own folk. they were his own folk. and it is easy to see how, keeping in god's sight all the time, he kept his soul clean and his heart merry.
-off to vienna
-in this way stanislaus went on until he was nearly fourteen years old and his brother paul was approaching fifteen. then the lord john kostka thought his boys had better continue their studies, not at home, but at a regular school. he picked out john bilinski, a young man who had lately completed his college course, as tutor for them. he gave them a couple of servants, mounted them all on good horses, and sent them off six hundred miles or more on horseback to vienna.
-you may be sure stanislaus enjoyed the long ride. it would be strange if he, a nobleman of the finest cavalry nation in the world, were not a good horseman. he loved the smell of the open fields, he loved the boisterous song of the mountain torrent. the hills and the plains were his home, for the hills and the plains were nearer to god than the houses of men.
-in those days all travel was on foot or on horseback. the wealthy and noble rode, the poor footed it. great highways cut europe from end to end; though there were tracts in stanislaus' country where the roadway was only the broad steppe, where the grasses waved and tossed like the sea, where men were few and their dwellings scattered far apart.
-they crossed great rivers, they climbed the foothills of the carpathian mountains. many a night paul and stanislaus, with their people, slept under the stars. many a wild, rough border town they passed. many a great forest they penetrated, the home of the wild boar and the aurochs.
-and the tar burners in the forests looked up from under their matted brows at the fair oval face of the polish boy, and said:
-"he is like a wild flower blown by the wind. he is like the violets that laugh in spring at the sun."
-and the shaggy fighting-men of the frontier villages watched him ride through their streets, and thought:
-"this is an angel. he looks toward heaven because he sees his brothers there."
-they crossed themselves piously as he passed. and some of the light and laughter of his face glowed 'for a moment in their dark lives, as a gloomy glen in the forest is brightened up by a darting ray of sunlight.
-he was wonderful, but he was always a boy. he was glad to feel the good horse under him, to grip the tartar saddle with his knees, to feel the air rush by his cheek.
-sometimes they met poor people staggering wearily afoot along the road. often stanislaus checked his horse and lightly dismounted.
-"get up, get up, old father!" he would cry. "my legs are stiff from the saddle. i want to walk."
-and though a peasant might often be afraid to accept the favor from a noble, or be surly and churlish, the folk never were so with stanislaus. up climbed the old father into the saddle, and stanislaus stepped out by his side.
-"god give your grace long years!" said the thankful old man.
-"long years!" cried stanislaus. i want more than that. i want eternity. i was born for greater things than long years."
-and the old man would understand; for he was of the poor, and the poor know more of this longing for heaven than do the rich. but he looked almost with awe at this richly dressed noble boy who had learned even now to value life so justly. then it was easy for stanislaus to talk of heaven to the old man.
-"old father, in the barony of the lord jesus there is no poverty or old age or weariness. nor is there any difference of rank there as here, for we shall all be great lords and castellans in heaven."
-"aye, but your grace will be a hetman surely in the army of the lord jesus," said the old man.
-"who knows!" cried stanislaus. "i should love that dearly. though the generals in his kingdom are not always from amongst the nobles. it may be that you will be hetman, and i a common soldier. but it is good to be even a common soldier with him."
-"i went against the tartars in my youth," said the old man. "perhaps we shall have a campaign against that dog-brother lucifer, and saint michael and saint wenceslaus will lead us under the lord jesus; and our lady of yasna gora will look on when we come back victorious!"
-and so they talked on until it was time to set the old man down, and stanislaus mounted again to catch up with his party, which had gone ahead.
-"with god!" cried the old man.
-"with god!" echoed stanislaus. 'and if you go to heaven before me, father, do not forget to plead for me with the lord jesus and with his mother."
-then he clattered along the road, and shortly came up with bilinski and paul.
-sometimes they came to districts infested by robbers, and waited to join themselves to some larger party for protection. sometimes they made long stretches of many hours in the saddle, when the inns were far apart and they could get no food on the road. sometimes they tarried a day or two in a little town to rest their horses.
-vienna was a great city, even in those days, since for a long time it had been the residence of the roman emperors of the west. it was a catholic city, though even in 1564, little more than forty years after luther's revolt, the lutherans in the city had begun to be quite numerous.
-the society of jesus had been founded in 1540, only ten years before stanislaus was born. but it had spread quickly. for some years now there had been a jesuit house in vienna. in i56o, four years before stanislaus came to vienna, the emperor ferdinand i had loaned to the viennese jesuits a large house next to their own, which they might use as a college. the fathers built a connection between the two houses, so that they became practically one. here they received boys from the city, from the country round about, even from hungary and far poland. here stanislaus took up his residence.
-it was a simpler, less formal sort of school than we perhaps are accustomed to. the fathers and the boys lived together, almost as one big family. they ate together in one large dining hall. there were always some of the fathers with the boys in their games, as well as in their studies. it was a very pleasant place, and a very good place.
-in those early days of protestantism, catholics, even catholic boys, felt that they were in a fighting situation. the attacks upon the old faith woke new courage and devotion in those who remained faithful to the church of the ages. and so, filled with that spirit of loyalty, that new earnestness which the times called forth, and living under the example of the simple manly piety of their jesuit teachers, it is no wonder that the boys in the college of vienna were an unusually good set of boys.
-they had their regular classes, in languages, mathematics, and such science as the age knew. latin was then the language of all educated people in europe, the language of courts, the common meeting ground of all nations. many a time, both in those days and later; a noble proved his rank and saved himself from mischance by the mere fact that he spoke latin. it was not a dead language then, as it is now. it was in current use. greek was comparatively new in western schools. and though from their beginnings the jesuits were famous teachers, we can hardly suppose that in their new and small college at vienna the boys were much troubled by the speech of plato and demosthenes.
-of their games it is hard to know much at this late day. sword-play and bouts of a soldierly sort were common enough. these boys were almost all of noble birth; most of them perhaps looked for-ward to the army for their profession. so they held mimic tournaments and played games in which they hurled lances through suspended rings; they shot with bows and arrows; and of course they had matches in running, jumping and wrestling.
-we know that stanislaus did uncommonly well in the schools. he was quick, had a good memory, and was too sensible to be lazy. and though the writers of his life say nothing about it, we are quite sure that he excelled in games and sports also. for one thing, he as a general favorite, esteemed by all his fellows; and that must mean that he was one with them in their play. for another, he was naturally no dreamer or moper, but the jolliest, cheeriest sort of boy. and finally, the boy who walked twelve hundred miles in a few weeks must have been well accustomed to using his legs. try thirty miles a day on foot, day after day, you football players and baseball players, you trained athletes, and say whether it is the work of a weakling or of a boy who never played.
-but it takes more than success in studies and in games to account for his great popularity with the other college boys. such success may win a certain admiration and respect, but it does not of itself win friends. and stanislaus had pretty nearly every one for his friend. to do that requires other gifts, gifts of character. everybody liked him, because he had such gifts. he was pious, but not merely pious; much more than pious, he was good. that means he was unselfish. there is only one way to make people really love you, and that is to love them. that is what stanislaus did; he loved the people he lived with. he was naturally good hearted, and big hearted. he had kept away from petty meannesses. he had fought down his natural selfishness. he had learned not to be always seeking his own little advantage, not to put himself forward for praise, not to insist on his " rights," not to boast and carry a high hand with his comrades, not to talk a lot about himself. he had learned to forgive little offenses, and big ones, too, for that matter. he knew all about how our lord had suffered and put up with things and forgiven those who hurt him. and he loved our lord so much, was so much at home with him, that almost without effort he acted as our lord would want him to act. he had plenty of spirit, and a whole world of pluck and daring; but he was not quarrelsome. then he was as cheerful as sunshine, and he made every one else cheerful. why, the boys could not help loving a boy like him.
-sodalities were rare in those days; but the college boys of vienna had a sodality, devoted to the honor of our lady, and under the patronage of saint barbara. at their meetings; the sodalists in turn had to address their companions, give a little talk about the blessed virgin, or on some virtue, or the like.
-whenever stanislaus' turn came, the boys were all expectation. he was no older than most of them; indeed, younger perhaps. but he had an older head. he had done more thinking than they, and a deal more praying. he had no false shame or babyish timidity. if he had anything to say, he was not afraid to say it. and he certainly had something to say. it had come to be as easy for him to talk about our lady and heaven as for other boys to talk about their mothers at home. he had treasured up stories of the blessed virgin's help, with which catholic poland was filled. he spoke simply, unaffectedly, of our lady's love for us, of her power, her willingness to aid us. and from him, though simply their school mate, the boys heard these things eagerly. he seemed well privileged to speak, as indeed he was.
-to talk about pious things, and do it acceptably, is a mighty hard matter. you have to know how. and the first part of knowing how is to be at home with pious things, to have thought about them, often and long, to have woven them into your life as stanislaus had done.
-the trouble with us is that we live so far removed from thoughts of god, of his mother, that they never cease to be strange to us. we go blunderingly about mention of them, or we lack the courage to speak at all. but why should they be strange or remote? we are destined to live forever in heaven, we are the daily recipients of god's favors, we are sheltered, protected, every way by our lady's loving care.
-the things that touch us most nearly are the things of the spiritual world; they are the most thrillingly important; they are the only really important things. we are not afraid to talk baseball, or politics, or business. why be afraid to talk of god's power, his dominion over us, his love for us, our duties to him, the helps he gives us, the reward he holds out to us? there is only one answer: we don't think enough about these things. there is only one remedy: do thing about them, as saint stanislaus did.
-in the house of kimberker
-the house which the jesuits in vienna used for their boarding college was not theirs. it belonged to the emperor ferdinand i, who had merely loaned it to them. now the emperor ferdinand had died on july 25, 1564, the day before paul and stanislaus came to vienna. the new emperor, maximilian ii, left the house with the jesuits for a time; but in march, 1565, withdrew it from their use. of course, that meant the breaking up of the boarding-school. the fathers still had their own residence, and they could teach a small number of day scholars. many of their pupils went to their homes when they could no longer live with the jesuits. those who remained had to take lodgings elsewhere in the city.
-it was decided that paul and stanislaus should be amongst the latter number. at once bilinski set out with the two to get a house. in the platz kiemark, a fashionable quarter of the town, there was a splendid mansion, belonging to a lutheran noble, the senator kimberker.
-it took paul's fancy immensely. on inquiry, they found that kimberker used less than half of the house, for it was a huge building with many rooms, and that he was more than willing to rent the unused rooms to the young poles. stanislaus felt a little ill at ease over living with a lutheran. but bilinski and paul pooh- poohed at his fears, and had their own way in the matter.
-so in a few days they moved in, and fitted up a couple of the vacant rooms. stanislaus was to live more than two years in this house, two years filled with a great deal of annoyance and pain, and yet blessed in wonderful ways. his difficulties began almost at once, and they were no slight difficulties. of course, he and paul went daily for classes to the jesuits' house, and met daily the few boys who continued their studies in vienna. but the old companionship, the old life of the boys in common, was gone. only two or three of his best friends remained, and these were scattered through the city. he saw them for a little while after classes, he might now and then go out with them on a holiday. but for the most part he was thrown back upon the company of his tutor and his elder brother.
-both paul and bilinski liked a good time." they were far removed from the authority of home. bilinski, who was in charge, was only a few years older than paul; and whilst a good fellow in the main, was little able, or perhaps little willing, to put much check upon him.
-and paul was a pretty gay blade. rough, boisterous, wild in manner, he picked companions like himself. kimberker' 5 house soon became a noisy place. there were dinners at which the wine went round very freely, plenty of cards and dice, now and then brawling quarrels. it did not suit stanislaus at all. he was too much of a gentleman, and too good, to act unpleasantly or resent the rough company that paul brought home. but he could not mix freely with them, he did not like their talk or their manners, and he slipped quietly away from their noisy gatherings as soon as he decently could.
-how did he do it? the fact is, he refused to be alone. as his friends in vienna left him, he simply turned more to his friends in heaven. and heaven came down to him. any old vacant room in the big, half-empty house was his chapel. and through the long, lonely days, often through great part of the night, he prayed.
-if you could have seen him pray! imagine any good-hearted boy who has been away from home for a long stretch, say a couple of years, and who comes back and meets father, mother, brothers, sisters. he may not say much, but he looks a good deal, and he feels more than any words can say. that is the way stanislaus prayed. he just turned to god and his mother in heaven, with all his love in his eyes and immense happiness in his heart. and if he spoke, or said things to them in his mind, he could speak simply, like a little child, because no one else would hear him and he would not need be shy or bashful.
-if you could have seen him pray, you would never think, as so many do, that praying is a gloomy business. his face was lit up, his eyes bright, his whole body spoke of peace and courage and joy. he kept thinking so much about heaven that he seemed to live there in advance. everybody knows how, when the school year is nearly over and vacations are at hand, there is a joyful atmosphere about the days. lessons do not seem so hard, though they really are just the same old lessons. classes seem to have more life and spirit in them. boys are in better temper. every detail of work and play is colored by expectation, as if the relief of vacation were already foretasted. stanislaus looked forward just that way to the great vacation, to going home forever. he knew that even the longest life. ends soon, that all its difficulties and troubles pass away and eternity begins; and he felt so light-hearted looking ahead to that eternity that nothing happening here could sadden him - except sin, and he kept away from that.
-the test of courage
-paul was the worst at this teasing; nor did it stop at mere teasing. he was not a really bad fellow, but he was selfish, set upon having his own will in everything, and had a very quick and fierce temper. stanislaus' quiet refusal to join in the noisy revels of himself and his companions, his unaffected piety, his long hours of prayer, were things he could not understand. they seemed a sort of standing rebuke to him, and they constantly nettled him. of course he sought reasons to justify himself, as we all do when we are in the wrong. when they were alone, he and bilinski fell to scolding stanislaus.
-"you shame us!" paul would cry. "you do not act like a nobleman, but like some boorish peasant."
-then stanislaus would be troubled. he knew he was in the right. he simply could not stand the free ways and freer speech of paul and his companions. but how could he justify himself? how could he defend his own position without at least seeming to attack his brother's? and that last he would never do. s6metimes he tried to smooth matters over by saying:
-"we take different ways, paul. i do not condemn yours. why not let me alone in mine?"
-but oftenest he could only smile and say nothing. and whether he answered or kept silence, paul was sure to grow more irritated. then bilinski tried to exert his authority.
-"your father gave you into my charge," he would say. "i order you to act like the rest of us and not make yourself odd and shame us by your conduct."
-but stanislaus knew well enough what were the limits of bilinski's authority and he was not at all the sort of boy to be easily bullied by a mere assumption of authority that did not exist.
-the result always was that stanislaus continued to do what his own conscience urged him to do, and that bilinski and paul felt helpless in the face of his quiet, fearless persistence. and that made them the more vexed with him. they nicknamed him "the jesuit," they mimicked him, they sneered at him. he had a pretty hot temper himself, but he kept himself well in hand, and was always kind and pleasant with these cross-grained comrades. he was not the least bit afraid. whenever he thought that speaking would do any good, he spoke up without hesitation. many a time, when paul taunted him with acting in a way to bring discredit upon his name, he answered:
-"no man shames his name by trying to please god. as for what men may think or say, that does not matter much. do you think we shall bother much about that in eternity?"
-there were two cousins of theirs who often stayed with the kostkas; one of them was also called stanislaus, the other, who afterwards rose to high rank in his native country, was named rozrarewski. these sided with paul and did their best to help him in making stanislaus' life miserable.
-it was not long before paul went on from words to blows. one day stanislaus quietly tried to answer some of paul's sneers. paul sprang at him in a rage and, striking out savagely, knocked him down. bilinski interfered, and when he had drawn off paul, proceeded to scold stanislaus as being the cause of all the trouble. such meanness and injustice must have made the boy's blood boil. but he mastered himself and said nothing.
-that afternoon paul was going out riding. he could not find his spurs. "take mine," said stanislaus, pleasantly, as if nothing had happened. and paul took them, a little ashamed, saying to himself:
-"he's a decent little beggar, after all - if only he weren't so insufferably pious!"
-but paul, though he might be touched for the moment by his brother's readiness to forgive, continued to grow even more irritated with him. many and many a time he struck stanislaus; and often, after knocking him down, kicked him and then tramped on him. and bilinski always took the same line, trying to make peace by blaming everything on stanislaus.
-now stanislaus was very nearly paul's equal in size, and easily his match in strength. he lived simply and frugally, kept himself in condition, did not over-eat and over-drink as paul did. he could, without much difficulty, have met paul's brutality in kind, and very likely have given him a good beating. and he knew well enough that if he did so, paul would let him alone. for when was there ever a bully who was not also a coward?
-and you may be sure he felt like doing it. he was in the right, and knew he was. he was high-spirited and utterly without fear. and yet he never even defended himself. lie let paul bully him and beat him. he endured to have himself looked upon as a coward - although you may observe that all the time he did not budge an inch from the line of conduct he had chosen. and why? well, for a lot of reasons.
-in the first place, he kept saying to himself, "what difference does it make for eternity? then, he knew his own high temper and he would not let himself go, for fear he should commit a sin - and he hated sin with all his soul.
-and then he recalled what our lord had suffered for him, and he said:
-"if you will give me the courage to stand it, i'll be glad, lord, to suffer this much for you."
-and that last was the reason why, in the midst of this real persecution, he never lost his cheerfulness. more than that, he never missed a chance to do paul and his friends a good turn. he said:
-"when men were treating our lord worst, even killing him, that was when he was opening heaven for them. and i'm sure he would like me to be kind as he was kind to those who treated him meanly."
-he did what he could to avoid annoying paul. he kept out of everybody's way when he wanted to pray. he used to wait at night till the others were asleep, for they all slept in one great room together, and then slip out of bed and on to his knees. sometimes his cousins, thinking it a great joke, would pretend to stumble over him in the half-dark, and kick him as hard as they could.
-and this went on for two years. he could have stopped the whole matter with no trouble at all, by simply writing to his father. but he never so much as hinted to any one at home of the way paul and bilinski and his cousins treated him. he was as plucky as he was gentle and forgiving. although, for good reasons, he would not quarrel, he had the tenacity of a bull-dog, he held on to the hard purpose he had formed and nothing could beat him off.
-and that is the very highest sort of courage, the courage that endures, that has no show or heroics about it. again i say, if he had done all this, put up with all this, to gain riches, to make a name for himself, the world would understand and would praise him tremendously. it is his motive that leaves the world cold, it is the source and reason of his courage that the world cannot understand.
-yet he was not obstinate and pig-headed, bound to do as he wished just because he wished it. no, he was very sensible and did everything with reason. he would not stop saying his prayers when bilinski and paul objected, he would not join in gay dinners and drinking-bouts and gambling, he would not sit and smile at shady stories or smutty wit. he would no? do anything his conscience forbade. but he was most ready to do anything else they wanted.
-for instance, he had been used to give his rich clothes away to the poor, and dress very simply. bilinski and paul insisted on his dressing as became his rank, and he yielded readily. bilinski wanted him to take dancing lessons, and he took them, and learned to dance very well. he was not keen about any of these things, because he reckoned they would not count for much in eternity. but neither was he foolish, nor a fanatic, nor one who saw evil where no evil was. he was simply a level-headed boy, who figured out the business of life clearly and convincingly, and who had the courage of a hero in living up to his convictions.
-in danger of death
-two years of loneliness; when his brother and his cousins and his tutor, who should have been his comrades, were his persecutors; two years in which he was always under a strain, always having to control his anger, to be patient and sweet-tempered amidst a thousand vexations; two years, moreover, in which the bodily exercise he was used to, and which he needed as every growing boy needs it, was cut down to a minimum; two such years would have broken the health even of a grown, strong man. and stanislaus was not a grown, strong man, but a boy of sixteen. it is remarkable that he should have held out so long. it shows what courage and goodness and trust in god can do. but finally, towards the end of november, 1566, his body and brain could stand it no longer. he fell sick, with fever.
-he was not a baby. he did not complain, or even tell any one that he felt unwell. he kept to his feet for weeks, trying to go on as usual with his work and his prayers. the feast of saint barbara, who had been the patroness of the boys' sodality in vienna, was drawing near. stanislaus prepared for it with particular care and devotion. saint barbara was the patroness of a happy death and her clients always besought of her the special grace of receiving the holy viaticum when dying.
-december 4th, the feast of the saint, came and passed. stanislaus grew weaker, his fever increased. about the middle of the month he had to keep his bed, and his condition quickly became serious. then bilinski and paul forgot their anger against the boy. they called in the best physicians of the city, they spared no pains or expense. the servants, who had always loved this gentle master, were all kindness and attention. but despite the efforts of all, stanislaus became steadily worse.
-he was entirely at peace, not at all afraid. yet he felt that death was coming near. he prayed whole hours, smiling gladly in talk with our lord, with the blessed virgin, with his guardian angel. he was ready, even eager, to go home. the evil spirit wondered at this boy of sixteen, who had fought him off so bravely through his life and who was dying now so fearlessly.
-one day, when his people and even the servants had left him for a little while, stanislaus saw an enormous black dog with glaring eyes and hideous foaming jaws rush across the room toward his bed. the door was closed. it was impossible for the beast to have entered the room in any ordinary way. stanislaus had no notion how it could have come there. but if he was frightened for the moment, he did not lose his wits. with an effort, he sat up in bed and made the sign of the cross. "in the name of the father, son and holy ghost!" he cried aloud. instantly the huge, snarling dog fell to the floor with a thud as if struck by a sword. but after a few moments he sprang up again, and first circling the room, came crouching to the bed, howling as no mortal dog could howl, making ready to spring at the sick boy. again stanislaus made the sign of the cross. again the terrible dog was stricken to the floor. a third time he came, only to be beaten back in the same way. and then, standing with bristling hair and horrible cries in the middle of the room, he vanished from sight. stanislaus fell back on the bed, fearfully exhausted, and with tears in his eyes thanked god for his deliverance.
-the shock of this dreadful incident prostrated him. he failed more and more. the doctors, coming several times a day, shook their heads in despair.
-"we can do no more," they said, "the end is now only a question of time."
-for seven days and nights bilinski sat by his bed, snatching only a few hours' sleep now and then, for he feared that stanislaus might die any moment.
-yet in all this long time they had brought no priest to the dying boy. every day he begged them earnestly that he might receive the holy viaticum. but they lied to him. bilinski said:
-"you will soon be well. the doctors will cure you. don't think of death or go frightening yourself."
-"i am not afraid," said stanislaus. "but i know i am dying. do not let me die without holy communion."
-but bilinski still put him off, and tried to tease him jokingly with charges of cowardice.
-the fact was, bilinski and paul were afraid of their lutheran landlord, the senator kimberker. his anti-catholic prejudice was intense. they feared he might put them, sick boy and all, out of his house, if they dared to bring a priest and the blessed sacrament into it.
-that was a hard trial for stanislaus. but he met it as he had met every difficulty, bravely, hopefully, cheerfully. he remembered saint barbara, of whom he had asked 'the grace of not dying without the holy viaticum. he renewed his prayers for her intercession. he laid his whole case with confidence before god, and with confidence waited.
-bilinski still sat by his bed, watching anxiously. the day passed, the light failed, darkness and night came on. stanislaus all the time had lain quiet, his face smiling as ever, his lips moving in prayer. suddenly he turned to bilinski, radiant, glowing with joy.
-"kneel down, kneel down!" he said, in a clear but low voice. "two angels of god are bringing the blessed sacrament, and with them comes saint barbara!"
-then, worn out though he was by his long sickness, stanislaus raised himself, knelt on the bed, and struck his breast as he three times repeated:
-"lord, i am not worthy!"
-then he raised his face, and opening his lips received his sacramental lord. bilinski looked on with awe and almost terror, unable to say a word. stanislaus, when he had received the blessed sacrament, lay down again in bed and began his thanksgiving.
-he was more than ever ready for death now. but still death held off. all the next day he passed in quiet. the doctors said:
-"now is the end. he may die at any moment."
-but he was not to die yet. toward evening our lady herself came to him, carrying in her arms the infant jesus. the sick boy looked up in wonder and delight. there was his mother, smiling at him, and in her arms the laughing infant. the divine child stretched out his little hands to stanislaus, and stanislaus, sitting up in his bed, took him into his arms.
-what passed in his soul then, what joy filled his heart, we cannot know until we shall come to heaven and taste for ourselves of that joy.
-and the blessed virgin and the child jesus spoke to him and comforted him. but stanislaus was too overcome to say anything. only tears streamed down from his eyes as he pressed the infant savior to his breast.
-our lady said to him:
-"you must end your days in the society that bears my son's name. you must be a jesuit."
-but so soon as he had taken the infant into his arms, stanislaus felt that the fever left him, his strength came back, the blood coursed through his body with a new sense of vigor and vitality.
-then our lady received her child back from his hands, smiled at him and blessed him, and so vanished from his sight.
-"it cannot be!" they cried.
-"but you see that it is," said stanislaus. "i am as well as ever. our lady and the little jesus came and cured me. and now i must go to the church and thank them."
-nor did the fever return. he was entirely recovered.
-the house in which this occurred is now a sanctuary, and in the room in which stanislaus had received such favors from god an altar stands, and above it a statue of the saint.
-when our lady came to cure stanislaus, she told him absolutely that he must become a jesuit. that was not the first idea stanislaus had had of his vocation. even some months before his illness he had felt himself drawn to enter the society of jesus. but now, all doubts removed, he made a vow in thanksgiving to obey our lady's command.
-he went to his confessor, the jesuit father doni, and told him of the vision of the blessed virgin and her order to become a jesuit. father doni believed him readily enough, but he said:
-"i can do nothing myself in the matter. you must go to the provincial, for only he can admit you. but i am afraid there will be difficulties."
-stanislaus was not merely afraid, he was quite certain, there would be difficulties. however, he assured father doni:
-"even if there be no end of difficulties, still i shall be a jesuit. since our lady has commanded me, she will find a way."
-the provincial, father laurence maggi, received stanislaus kindly, of course, yet with anything but encouragement. there had been trouble for the society shortly before, though in another place, because of some novices admitted without their parents' consent. the provincial did not wish to risk having a like disturbance brought about his own ears.
-"but the blessed virgin will take care of the whole business, father," said stanislaus. "she will quiet any opposition my father may make."
-well, the provincial was willing to believe that too. but he knew that god wants us to use our own common sense and not to act rashly and then rely upon him, or upon our lady's intercession with him, to get us out of scrapes. so he had to give the only answer which prudence could give, to all stanislaus' petitions.
-"you must either get your father's permission, or you must wait until you are of age and your own master."
-now, stanislaus was quite certain his father would not hear for a moment of his becoming a jesuit. on the other hand, he did not want to wait four or five years until he should come of age. he had that peculiar courage, which many people cannot understand at all, the courage to be afraid. he was very much afraid, afraid to trifle with god's grace, afraid lest if he did not take the favor now when it was offered him, it might not be offered another time.
-he thought of another means of persuading the provincial. the apostolic legate of pope saint pius v to the court of the emperor at vienna was cardinal commendoni. this cardinal had been nuncio, and afterwards legate, to poland, and had come from poland only a year or so before. he was well acquainted with the lord john kostka and with stanislaus. when he came to vienna, paul and stanislaus had visited him, and stanislaus had made the cardinal, as he did most people, his friend.
-so he went to cardinal commendoni. he figured hopefully that, as the cardinal was the pope's representative, he could easily impose his will on the jesuit provincial; and of course he would do so as his friend.
-commendoni welcomed the boy, listened to him attentively, marvelled at his unaffected goodness and at the heavenly favors shown him. stanislaus told him of the distressing obstinacy of the provincial.
-"but how about your father?" the cardinal asked.
-"oh, my father is more hopeless than the provincial," stanislaus answered. "if i so much as mentioned the matter to him, he would bring me back to poland, and i should have no chance at all."
-as commendoni knew the lord john pretty well, he said nothing to that. but he thought to himself that stanislaus was fairly accurate in his forecast.
-after a moment's thought, he said:
-"you certainly have a right to follow your vocation. god's will comes before even your father's. but it is not going to be easy. however, i shall speak to the father provincial, and do what i can."
-stanislaus went away with good hopes. he was to return in a few days to hear the result of commendoni's plea. but when he came back to the cardinal, he found only another disappointment. the provincial not merely was as stubborn as ever, he had even won the cardinal to his way of thinking. it was too risky to admit him, it was altogether unwise.
-but even with his mind fairly made up, he sought more guidance. a young portuguese jesuit, father antoni, had lately come to vienna as preacher to the empress maria. every one was talking about his ability, his prudence, his zeal. stanislaus went to him, and laid his troubles before him.
-father antoni took some little time to think it all over, then decided very definitely. he called stanislaus to him.
-"do you understand," he asked, "what it will mean to go away, to leave your people, to live in a strange country?"
-stanislaus said, yes, he understood perfectly.
-"and that you are closing the door on your return, that in no case will you ever be received again at kostkov?"
-yes, stanislaus knew that too.
-"and that you will have to go an immense journey on foot, with plenty of hardships; to find at the end of it a life that is not easy, to live at the beck and call of another, to do menial work, to endure humiliations, to sacrifice everything that the world holds. dear?"
-stanislaus smiled at him. he had reckoned it all out, he had "counted the cost" long before, he was ready.
-then, in god's name, go! " said father antonie "and may god be with you in all. i'll give you letters to father canisius, the provincial in augsburg, and to father francis borgia, the general, who is in rome."
-he was going to run away. but he was not going to sneak away. he was just as kind and forgiving to paul as he had always been. he bore him no ill-will for his three years of abuse, now that he had determined upon a course of action, which would free him from a continuance of it. he had often felt angry over paul's treatment of him, but he had kept down his anger under his vigorous will.
-but now he made up his mind that paul would receive something of a shock the next time he had resort to his now almost habitual amusement of beating his younger brother. meantime, he bought a peasant's tunic and a pair of rough shoes that would be serviceable for his long march.
-it was not long before something or other stanislaus did or said woke paul's easily aroused rage. he began with oaths, of which he seemed to possess a pretty stock. he worked himself up into greater and greater heat of temper - a substitute for courage with many people. finally he sprang at stanislaus. formerly, on such occasions stanislaus was so busy holding his own temper in check that he could do little else, he stood almost like a statue. but this time paul felt there was something wrong. stanislaus was looking straight at him. when he leaped to strike him, stanislaus quietly and skillfully thrust him aside. paul stumbled, staggered, recovered himself. but when he looked again, fear took hold of him. he was afraid of what he saw in stanislaus' eyes. the younger boy spoke quietly, coolly.
-"that will be about enough," he said; "i've put up with your cowardice and brutality for three years. i'll stand it no longer. since i cannot have peace here, well,. i'll look for it somewhere else. you can answer to our father, and tell him how it happened."
-paul was still frightened. the situation was extremely novel to him. the turning of the worm! what would happen next! he was afraid at first that stanislaus was going to give him his long-due payment, and he had no stomach to face the reckoning. he had not noticed before how wiry and strong stanislaus looked. but when he saw that the boy made no movement, only spoke in that quiet voice, he plucked up a little courage. he began to bluster and swear.
-"you'll go away, will you?" he cried. "what the devil do i care? go, and be hanged to you!" - that was the gist of it, only a trifle more ornamental.
-"don't forget! " said stanislaus. " send word to father. i'm certainly going away."
-paul was waxing eloquent again, but stanislaus turned on his heel and walked away. nor did the bullying big brother venture to follow him. he contented himself with calling him hard names which he could not hear, and muttering savagely to himself for some time. but, naturally, he did not believe at all that stanislaus was really going to run away9 he looked upon the words as an empty threat.
-and so it was all over. stanislaus sighed a sigh of relief. there was nothing ahead of him now save the road to augsburg. he said his prayers tranquilly and went to bed.
-morning came, or the dawn that precedes the morning. stanislaus got up, selected his finest suit of clothes, and dressed. his first care was to write the letter for paul and his father. this he put between the leaves of a book.
-the servants, of course, even in the primitive housekeeping of the kostkas, slept in another room than the big common apartment of their masters. stanislaus went to the bed of one of them, named pacifici, who was rather particularly devoted to him, and who afterwards became a franciscan. he shook pacifici and woke him. the servant rubbed his eyes sleepily, then gazed in astonishment at the brilliant figure standing in the half-light beside his bed. what was the lord stanislaus doing, dressed in this unusual finery, at such an unearthly hour!
-"listen," said stanislaus, "i am going out for the day. i have received an invitation which i must accept. i am going now. if bilinski or the lord paul ask for me, tell them that."
-"i will, your grace, i will," said pacifici. but he was almost too astonished to speak.
-stanislaus left the room and the house. he walked quickly to the jesuit church, where he heard mass and received holy communion. at mass he met a young hungarian, with whom he had been very intimate. he beckoned him aside and whispered:
-"wait for me a minute. i just want to say a word to father antoni."
-then he hurried away, but was back shortly at his friend's side, eyes dancing, lips smiling, hand outstretched.
-"i have just bid father antoni good-by," he said, with a little excitement. "i am running away. i am going to augsburg' to ask admission into the society of jesus. i told paul yesterday that i should not stay with him, and i have written a letter and put it in a book. do not tell any one what i tell you now. but after a few days, please go and point out the letter to paul."
-his friend listened with wonder. going away!' going to augsburg!
-"but how?" he asked. "not on foot?"
-"on foot, to be sure," answered stanislaus gayly. "do you think i have a horse secreted about me? or could i take one of ours and wake the house?"
-"and you will be a jesuit, and teach, and never ride a good horse again, and give up your people and your place in the world!"
-"i shall be a jesuit, if i can," said stanislaus. "as for what i shall give up, well, i'd have to give it up when death came, wouldn't i? and since god wants it, i'd sooner give it up now."
-but he had not much time for talk. day was growing; he must be off. he got his friend's promise about the letter, bade him good-by heartily and cheerily, and turned his face towards the augsburg road. what happened else that day we have already seen, and how paul and bilinski followed him, and how he got away, and how he did walk, bravely, gayly, in less than two weeks the four hundred miles to augsburg.
-it was well on in the afternoon of august 30th or 31st when stanislaus arrived at augsburg. the town was strange to him. he had to ask his way to the jesuit house.
-"i want to see father canisius," he told the porter at the door. "i have a letter of introduction to him."
-the porter was very sorry, but father canisius was not in augsburg. stanislaus' heart fell. not in augsburg! his four hundred miles on foot for nothing! it was a terrible disappointment.
-"wait a moment," said the porter, "until i call one of the fathers."
-as stanislaus waited, he kept asking himself, "what shall i do? what shall i do now?" and for a little while he could not think clearly. he felt almost sick. but he was not the kind to be discouraged long, and before the porter returned with the father he had made up his mind.
-"since canisius is not in augsburg, well, i'll go to whatever place he is in.
-the father who came was all regrets. canisius had gone to dillingen. but would not stanislaus come in, and at least rest a few days before seeking him further? no, stanislaus was going on - at once.
-"how far is it?" he asked. "and can you point me out the road?"
-"it is about thirty-five miles," the father answered. "but you can't go on this evening. you must be dreadfully tired."
-yes, he was tired, but not so tired that he could not go to dillingen.
-it is only a little way, after all," he said, smiling as he always smiled. but he stopped to eat something with the jesuits, both because he was hungry, and because it would be discourteous to refuse all their kind offers.
-one of the lay-brothers had to go on business to dillingen, so he hastened to accompany stanislaus. it is from his testimony that we know what happened on the way.
-before the sun had quite set, he was on the road once more. he slept in a field that night. he was up early the next morning, and stepped out bravely, fasting, and hoping for a chance to go to holy communion.
-the evening before, he had left augsburg a good many miles behind. a few miles more in the early morning brought him to a little village. from some distance he saw the spire of its church. he hastened his steps, lest mass should be over before he reached the place.
-when he came to the church, he saw through its open door a scattered little congregation at their prayers. he entered quickly, sank to his knees, and dropping his face between his hands began to pray. but somehow the place felt strange. after a bit he looked about him, and saw with astonishment that he was in a lutheran church. the lutheran heresy was still young and kept up many catholic practices. it was easy to be deceived.
-he felt a little shocked. he had been preparing to receive holy communion, and now he should have to go without. but as he looked about, the church to his eyes glowed with light. out of the light came a troop of blessed angels and drew near to him. he was frightened, delighted, all at once. then he saw that one of the angels bore with deep reverence the blessed sacrament, and that god had granted his desire for holy communion. he received it with quiet joy, but simply, humbly, for he knew that this miracle of its coming to him was as nothing to the miracle that there should be any blessed sacrament at all. since god had stooped to leave us his flesh and blood, the manner in which he gave it was of quite secondary importance.
-it would have astounded us to be in his place in the little lutheran church that morning. we try to fancy how we should feel, if we too saw a host of angels approach us. yet every day we may avail ourselves of that more wonderful miracle, before which even visions of angels pale - the miracle of having god himself for our meat and drink.
-that day brought him to dillingen and peter canisius, the "watch-dog of germany," as he was called, for his vigilance against heresy. canisius read the letter of father antoni, and listened to stanislaus' story. it was all quite wonderful. as the boy talked, canisius looked at him and studied him: not quite seventeen, lively, handsome, full of spirit and daring, quick in speech, eager, affectionate, pious.
-you might call canisius a man of war, an old veteran. his hair had grown gray in battles of the soul, in fighting back heresy, in strengthening weak hearts through that age of trial. he knew the value of enthusiasm, but he knew its weakness, too.
-"a very taking lad," he thought to himself. "he flashes like a rapier. but will his metal stand hard use?"
-it was the thought of common sense. he did not mistrust stanislaus. but, on the other hand, what did he know about him? he had not much to go by as yet; only antoni's letter, and the boy's engaging presence. he would take no definite step about admitting stanislaus into the society until he did know more.
-"yon want to be a jesuit?" he said, with thoughtful brows. "when?"
-it was on stanislaus' tongue to say, "now, at once." but he hesitated a moment, and said instead, "as soon as you think fit."
-you are a stranger to us, you know," canisius went on, smiling a little, but pleasantly. "and before we admit men amongst us, we need to know that they have something more than a mere desire to join us.. that takes time to find out. are you willing to stop in the college here for a while?"
-stanislaus answered promptly, "of course i am."
-"not as a student," said canisius. "but as a servant?"
-"as anything you want," stanislaus agreed.
-"well, come with me," canisius said, and he led the way to the kitchen.
-"here's a new cook," he said to the brother in charge. "at least, he may have in him the makings of a cook. can you give him something to do?"
-it was not a very encouraging reception, although it was not so bad as it may sound, condensed as it is in these pages. neither was it meant to be encouraging. it was meant to test.
-stanislaus was as cheerful as a lark. he rolled up his sleeves, smiled at the brother, and waited orders. the brother smiled back, and said:
-"first, i think you will have something to eat. then we shall see about work."
-the jesuit college at dillingen, saint jerome's, was a big place and numbered many students. many students mean many cooks and servers at table and servants about the house. stanislaus took his place amongst a score of such. he washed dishes, helped prepare food, swept, scrubbed -whatever he was told to do. he ate with the servants, took his recreations with them. and he went about it all as simply and naturally as if he had been doing nothing else all his life.
-his jolliness and kindness won him friends on all sides, as they had always done. he kept up his prayers, you may be sure; ran in to visit our lord in the blessed sacrament whenever he was free to do so; made all he did into a prayer. and of course that irritated some of the other servants, just as it had irritated his brother paul. and so he had no lack of teasing and petty insults. but he just smiled his way through them and kept on.
-he was perfectly happy, entirely confident that he was doing god's will. as for the work, he chuckled to himself at the idea that canisius thought this a test! he would willingly do a thousand times harder things than that for almighty god. and after all, he said, it really was not so hard. many a better man than he had to work much harder, at much more unpleasant tasks. and what would it matter in eternity, if he scrubbed pots and pans and floors and windows all his life? the only thing that mattered was to please god, and just now this sort of work was what pleased god.
-the road to rome
-canisius kept stanislaus at his work in the kitchen and about the house for a couple of weeks. he noted his cheerfulness, his love of prayer, his readiness to do any sort of work, and best of all, his simplicity, his entire lack of pose. he saw that this senator's son made no virtue of taking on himself such lowly tasks, and he knew, therefore, that he was really humble.
-then he called the boy to him. he said:
-"if i admit you into the society here, your father may still annoy you. it is better you should go to rome and become a novice there. i shall give you a letter to the father general, francis borgia. in a few days two of ours are to go to rome. you can go with them."
-stanislaus was delighted. he was come into quiet waters at last. but canisius spoke further:
-"first, however, you must get some decent clothes. your old tunic," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "might do well enough for a noble, but not for a future jesuit."
-so the college tailor made stanislaus a simple, neat suit of clothes. and about september 20th he set out for rome. he went on foot, of course; in the company of jacopo levanzio, a genoese, and fabricius reiner, of liége.
-they struck south through bavaria to the tyrolese alps. by what pass they crossed the alps we do not know. but stanislaus saw first from afar the white peaks, with their everlasting snows, shining in the sun. then he went up and up, into cooler and rarer air, where one's lungs expand and one's step is light and buoyant, but where one gets tired more easily than in the plains. high up in the passes he felt the cold of winter, although it was as yet early autumn.
-then he came down the southern slopes of the great mountain-wall that locks in italy, and with him came the headwaters of great rivers. he came down through bare rocks, then through twisted mountain-pines, then through green and lovely valleys, and so into the plains of northern italy. he saw the mountain torrents leap and flash, and grow always bigger and stronger. he saw them slack their speed and widen their beds in the upland valleys. he saw them grow sluggish, tawny with mud, in the plain.
-he saw the many spires of milan's wonderful cathedral as they drew near the city. and when they tarried there a little while for rest, he saw the famous armor made there, hung up for show in little shop- windows. he passed great cavalcades of nobles and soldiers, and marvelled at their straight, slim rapiers, so different from the heavy polish saber. he heard italian speech for the first time, and tried to get at its meaning through his latin.
-but he and his companions had not over-much time for observing. they were traveling pretty swiftly. from dillingen to rome is a matter of about eight hundred miles. they left dillingen september 20th; they reached rome october 25th. that figures out to an average of about twenty-two miles each day. then, if you remember that they had to climb mountains the first part of the way, that there were delays entering towns, delays of devotion when they came to great churches, you can see that many a day they must have equaled or surpassed stanislaus' thirty miles a day from vienna.
-as the three went on they lightened the road with pious songs, they heard mass and received holy communion whenever occasion offered, they knelt by many a wayside shrine, a crucifix, or statue of our lady, scattered everywhere through catholic italy.
-it did not take the two jesuits long to appreciate stanislaus and delight in his company. he was so light-hearted, so merry in all the discomforts and hardships of the long road, so thoroughly and simply good. they wondered at his physical endurance, at the ease and buoyancy with which the lad of seventeen kept up that hard march, day after day.
-the grasses of the campagna were brown and brittle, the trees sere and yellow in the autumn, when they came to the eternal city, the center of the world then as now. the saintly general francis borgia, busy as he was with the cares of the widespread society, found time to welcome the three travelers, and to hear stanislaus' wonderful story in full.
-there were so many novices in rome then that no single house of the jesuits there could hold them all. so they were scattered through three houses, each one spending a part of his two years' noviceship successively in each house. stanislaus went first to the professed house, then called santa maria della strada, and afterward the site of the famous gesu, one of the notable churches of rome. from there he passed in time to the roman college, then to the noviciate proper at sant' andrea.
-the society of jesus was then in its early youth, in the midst of that first brilliant charge against the ranks of heresy without, and against the huge sluggish inertia so striking within the church itself.
-he was fellow-novice with claude acquaviva, son of the duke of atri, and afterwards one of the greatest generals of the society, which he ruled for thirty years. with him were also claude's nephew, rudolph acquaviva, who died a martyr; torres, a great theologian; prando, the first philosopher at the university of bologna; fabio de' fabii, who traced his descent from the great roman family of that name; the pole, warscewiski, formerly ambassador to the sultan and secretary of state in poland, who first wrote a life of stanislaus; and many more, distinguished for birth, learning, holiness.
-most of these were a great deal older, too, than stanislaus. many of them had already made their names familiar to men. yet the boy of seventeen, who came quietly and modestly amongst them, was somehow soon looked up to by all. they felt the force of something in him which made him their superior. heaven was wonderfully near him. he was not old-fashioned; he was always a boy, unconscious of anything unusual in himself; not solemn nor impressive nor austere in manner. all that he did, he did with perfect naturalness; for to him the supernatural had become almost natural.
-most of us, perhaps, think of the saints as men and women who accomplished visibly great things. saint paul, saint augustine, saint patrick, saint theresa, saint philip neri, saint francis xavier: such names as these come first to our minds when we think of "a saint." yet the fact is that the greater number of saints are men and women who never did anything that the world would consider great or striking. saint joseph was of that sort. even the blessed virgin lived and died in obscurity, made no stir in the world.
-sanctity is measured not so much by what one does as by how one does all things. externally a saint may not differ at all from other people. it is his soul that is different.
-and so, a visitor to the professed house in rome in 1567, meeting stanislaus kostka, would see a handsome, pleasant-looking polish boy of seventeen, with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, with an apron over his cassock, carrying wood for the kitchen fires, washing dishes, serving at table, sweeping corridors and rooms.
-he got up at half past four, or five o'clock, every morning. he spent half an hour in meditation, in thinking over some incident in our lord's life or some great truth, as that death is near to each of us, that this life is only the vestibule of eternity, that our whole business in life is to do what god wants us to do, or the like.
-after that came mass and, once or twice a week, holy communion and his thanksgiving. then breakfast, taken in silence. he read in a spiritual book for half an hour or so after breakfast, then went to the kitchen or the dining hall or the scullery, where he set to work under the orders of the cook.
-in the course of the morning there might be a talk or instruction from the priest in charge of the novices. there surely would be one or more visits to the chapel. when the hour for dinner came, stanislaus probably served at table, taking his own meal later. after dinner there was an hour for recreation, when the novices walked and chatted in the garden or about the house.
-the afternoon, like the morning, was taken up with lowly work, with prayer, and a little reading or instruction. toward evening, he again spent half an hour in meditation. then came the evening meal, another hour of recreation, a little reading in preparation for next morning's meditation, and examination of conscience as to how the day had been spent, and then bed.
-two or three days a week, this routine was broken. sometimes the novices walked out into the country to a villa, where they had games and ate their dinner. at other times they left their work to go with one of the fathers to some church or other, upon business.
-it was a quiet, humble life, full of peace, near to god, hidden away from men. in this life the novices had to continue for two years, before they took upon themselves the obligation of vows, and before they began the long studies that prepare a jesuit for his work. during those two years they tested their vocation, making sure that god really called them to that life; and they tested their own wills to see if they were ready to endure what such a life demanded of them.
-stanislaus did just what the other novices did, did nothing out of the ordinary. yet, of course, he was different from the others; he was a saint. what was the difference? just this: they did things more or less well; he did things perfectly. if he prayed, he put his whole mind and soul into his prayer. if he worked, he obeyed orders absolutely, because in doing so he was obeying god.
-there is in the jesuit noviciate at angers a series of paintings portraying incidents in the life of stanislaus. in one he is shown carrying on his arm two or three bits of wood towards the kitchen. underneath is written, "he will err if he carry more."
-the painting commemorates an occasion when stanislaus and claude acquaviva were put by the cook to carry wood and told to carry only two or three pieces at a time. acquaviva, when the two came to the wood-pile, said laughingly:
-"does the cook think we are babies? why, we can each carry twenty or thirty of such little pieces of wood."
-"to be sure we can," stanislaus answered. "but do you think god wants us to carry twenty or thirty pieces now? the cook said two or three, and the cook just at present takes the place of god to command us."
-and so it was in everything. he studied singly to see what would please god most, and no matter how trifling seemed the command he did just that, with all his heart.
-no one ever heard a sharp word from him, or saw him take offense at anything, or act in the least way out of vanity or selfishness.
-and, of course, he was entirely unconscious that he was different from the rest. he knew he was trying to do his best in everything, but he supposed every one else was doing the same. and with all his earnestness and exactness, he was as simple and boyish as he had ever been.
-one day cardinal commendoni, the legate to vienna, and a great friend of stanislaus, came to rome and hurried over to the roman college to call upon stanislaus. stanislaus, as soon as he heard of his arrival, ran off to meet him just as he was, sleeves rolled up, apron on, straight from the scullery - just as any boy would do.
-he was in everything perfectly at ease; content in his little round of little tasks; going ahead toward heaven without any show or heroics. he was doing just exactly the little things that god wants us to do, and he was entirely happy in so doing.
-it is true he had never been really unhappy in his whole life. people who keep close to god never are. they have hard things to put up with; they may be poor, or fall sick, or lose their relatives or friends by death; they may have to fight very strong temptations. they feel all these things as keenly as others feel them. but they do not become unhappy. we may say they have a world of their own to live in, that their inmost lives are spent in that world, very little touched by the changes and accidents of the outer world. they see that there is an outer world, but they choose deliberately to ignore it; they will not go into it.
-you know that if you go down deep into the sea, as men go in submarines, you find calm there always, even though a storm be raging up above and the waves toss with angry violence. so if you once get inside your life, under the surface, in the heart of life where god is, you will find calm there also and a certain peace which is as near as we can come to entire happiness in this world.
-and as he was young and ardent, he was in danger of overdoing things. prayer, even when it is a joy, is always hard work for us poor mortals. stanislaus gave himself so heartily now to praying that he ran risk of losing his strength and health. so his superiors, being sensible men, stepped in and moderated his energy. he was made to work more and pray less, told to be prudent, to husband his strength for future work. and, of course, he did as he was told.
-but god had special designs on stanislaus. he was never to use his health and energy in work as a priest or teacher. indeed, his work was nearly over, though it had been so brief. he had no long career before him on this earth; he was going home, and going soon.
-when stanislaus had been a novice nine months, peter canisius came one day to rome on business. at this time stanislaus was living in the noviciate proper, sant' andrea on the quirinal. of course the novices were all keen to see and hear the great canisius, the man who had done such superb work in germany. and whatever curiosity they had was satisfied, for canisius came to the community at sant' andrea and gave a little sermon or talk.
-it was the first of august, the month always most dangerous to health in rome. just for that reason, perhaps, the old romans had made the beginning of that month a time of feasting and boisterous holiday. and an old proverb had come down, "ferrare agosto - give august a jolly welcome"
-canisius took this proverb for his text, but turned it to say, "give every month a jolly welcome, for it may be your last."
-after the talk, the novices, according to custom, discussed amongst themselves what had been said. it came stanislaus' turn to speak. he said:
-"what father canisius has just told us is a holy warning for all, of course. but for me it is something more, because this month of august is to be really my last month 'upon earth."
-to be sure, no one paid special attention to this strange remark. novices often say things that will not bear too much analysis. particularly no one would look seriously upon what stanislaus had said, since he was at the time in perfect health.
-four days later, the feast of our lady of the snows, stanislaus had occasion to go with the great theologian, father emmanuel de sa, to the church of santa maria maggiore. for there the beautiful feast is kept with singular ceremony, as that church is the one connected with the origin of the feast. each year, during vespers on august 5th, a shower of jasmin leaves sifts down from the high dome of a chapel in santa maria maggiore, to commemorate the miraculous snow in august which marked out the spot where the church was to be built.
-as they went along, de sa turned the talk to the coming feast of the assumption of our blessed lady. stanislaus spoke with delight, as he always spoke of our lady.
-"when our lady entered paradise," he said, "i think god made a new glory for his mother, and all the saints made a court about her and did reverence to her as we do to a king. and i hope," he added; "that i shall be up there myself to enjoy this coming feast."
-again his words were not taken at their face value. father de sa thought he spoke of being in heaven in spirit for the feast.
-the practice, now common, was new then, of alloting to each in the community as special patron some particular saint whose feast occurred during the month. stanislaus had drawn saint lawrence for his patron. the feast of the saint is celebrated on august 10th. stanislaus, who had clear intimations of his quickly approaching death, and was eager to go to heaven, asked saint lawrence to intercede for him that his home-going might be on the feast of the assumption. he got permission to practice some penances in honor of the saint. he prepared for the feast with unusual devotion. on the morning of the 10th when he went to holy communion, he carried on his breast a letter he had written to our lady. it was such a letter as a boy, away from home, and homesick, might write to his mother, asking her to bring him home.
-after breakfast, stanislaus, still in entire health, was sent to work in the kitchen, where he spent the rest of the morning, washing dishes, carrying wood for the fire, helping the cook generally.
-but by evening he was decidedly unwell. to the fellow-novice who helped him to bed he said quietly, "i am going to die, you know, in a few days."
-claude acquaviva hurried to him as soon as he learned he was ailing. father fazio, the novice-master, also came. stanislaus told each of the favor he had begged from our lady, and that he hoped strongly his request would be granted.
-that was on the evening of wednesday, the 10th. he appeared to be no better or worse on thursday and friday. but friday evening he was moved from his ordinary room to a quieter place in a higher story of the house. those who went with him noted that before he lay down, he knelt on the floor and prayed a while and made the sign of the cross over the bed, saying, "this is my deathbed."
-now they began to believe him and were frightened a little. so stanislaus added, with a smile, "i mean, of course, if it so please god." he continued in about the same condition until sunday, august 14th. that day he said to the laybrother who was taking care of him:
-"brother, i'm going to die to-night."
-the brother laughed at him, and said:
-"nonsense, man! why, it would take a greater miracle to die of so trifling a matter than to be cured of it."
-but by noon of that day stanislaus became unconscious. father fazio was with him at once and administered restoratives. very soon stanislaus was himself again, bright and smiling as ever. father fazio began to joke with him.
-"o man of little heart!" he said. "to give up courage in so slight a sickness!"
-stanislaus answered, "a man of little heart i admit i am. but the sickness, father, is not so very slight, since i'm going to die of it."
-and, indeed, he began to fail rapidly. by evening the death-sweat stood out upon him, the vital warmth little by little withdrew from hands and feet to the citadel of his heart. when the last light of day was gone from the sky, he made his confession and received the holy viaticum. a great many of his fellow-novices were present, and some wept. he was a good comrade, they did not want to see him depart from them.
-then he received extreme unction. he made the answers to the prayers himself. afterward he confessed again, in order to receive the plenary indulgence granted for the hour of death. and after that he talked for a little time, kindly and cheerfully, to those about him, and bidding them good-by, turned his mind and his heart to heaven.
-three fathers stayed with him through the silence of the night, when the rest had gone to bed. most of the time he prayed, either aloud with his watchers, or silently by himself. he left messages to his more intimate friends, and asked the fathers to beg pardon for any offense he had given.
-during the evening he had begged to be laid on the bare ground, that he might die as a penitent. toward midnight, as he still asked it, they lifted him on the little mattress of his bed and placed him on it upon the floor. there he lay, very quiet, whilst midnight tolled from the great churches of the city. the fathers knelt beside him, praying silently with him, or giving him from time to time the crucifix to kiss.
-at length, about three o'clock in the morning, he stopped praying, and a great joy shone in his face. he looked about him from side to side, and seemed with his eyes to ask his companions to join him in reverencing some one who was present.
-father ruiz bent over and asked him:
-what is it, stanislaus?
-"our lady!" he whispered. "our lady has come, just as in vienna."
-then he seemed to listen to voices they could not hear. his lips moved silently, forming inaudible words. his eyes were bright and joyful. he stretched out his arms, fell back, and died with a smile upon his lips. our lady had come for him, and with her he went home. dawn was breaking on the feast of the assumption, 1568.
-stanislaus lacked six or eight weeks of being eighteen years old when he died. he had not been a preacher or writer or engaged in any public work. only a handful of people in rome so much as knew of his existence. yet no sooner was he dead than crowds flocked about him as about a dead saint.
-the general, francis borgia, ordered the body to be put into a coffin, which was an unusual thing at that time, and to be buried at the right hand of the high altar in the church.
-meantime the lord john kostka still raged in poland. he had written a most severe letter to stanislaus shortly after stanislaus arrived in rome: a letter full of threats and anger, to which stanislaus had replied kindly and affectionately, explaining to his father that he had to follow god's call at any cost
-paul traveled in some state and with no great haste. he reached rome in the middle of september, 1568, to find that god had been beforehand with him, and that stanislaus had indeed already gone home, to heaven.
-he had been greatly impressed at the time of stanislaus' flight from vienna, by the incidents which seemed to show god's direct guidance and protection in regard to his brother. now, when the fathers led him to the still new tomb of stanislaus, he broke down utterly and cried like a child. he stayed a time beside the tomb, and when he came forth he was a different paul.
-every one was talking with admiration of stanislaus and of the marvels that had surrounded his life and death. paul hurried back to poland with his story, at once sad and joyful. the heart of the old castellan was moved. he had lost a son, but he had gained a saint.
-a year later appeared two short lives of stanislaus, one in polish by father warscewiski, his fellow-novice, another in latin. all through poland the devotion to the young novice spread rapidly. soon authoritative "processes" toward his beatification were drawn up under the care of the bishops of various places in which stanislaus had spent his short years.
-thirty-six years after his death, pope clement viii issued a brief (february 18, 1604) in which he declared stanislaus "blessed" and granted indulgences on the anniversary of his death.
-but long before this the lord john had died, and his youngest son, albert, struck by sudden congestion of the lungs before his father's body was laid to rest, died also, and was buried in the same grave with him.
-of the four sons only paul was left. from the day he stood by the tomb of stanislaus, he had changed entirely. bitter remembrance of his harshness and brutality to the dead saint was with him always and urged him to a life of penance and prayer. he never married, but passed his days largely at the castle of kostkov in retirement with his widowed mother.
-he busied himself in constant works of charity, spending his great fortune in helping the poor and in establishing hospitals and building churches. he wore himself out in prayer and labor and fasting. men marveled at him, and many sneered at him, as he had once sneered at stanislaus.
-but those long, hard years were not unhappy for him. he and his mother, margaret kostka, had learned stanislaus' secret of happiness, and lived in spirit in that bright home to which stanislaus had gone.
-then margaret died, and paul was alone. he had wished to withdraw from the world altogether. but he felt unworthy to ask admission into a religious order. however, realizing at length that his death could not be far distant, and that he could at worst be a burden for only a very short time, he wrote to claude acquaviva, who was then general of the society of jesus, and begged that he might at least die in the society to which stanislaus had belonged. acquaviva readily dispensed with the impediment of age and ordered the provincial of poland, father strinieno, to receive him.
-bilinski, too, the tutor of stanislaus, showed in after life the fruit of stanislaus' prayers. he became canon of pultowa and plock and lived holily. it was his privilege to bear testimony to many events in the life of stanislaus, and he was a very valuable witness in the "processes" for his pupil's beatification. when death came, stanislaus appeared to him in vision, consoling and encouraging him, and he died in great peace.
-all this time the people of poland had been eager in their devotion to the blessed stanislaus. many cures and miracles had been wrought through his intercession. in 1621, under the polish king, sigismund iii, and again in 1676, under yan sobieski, the poles won pronounced victories over turkish armies which far outnumbered their own, and attributed these preternatural successes to the prayers of stanislaus.
-the whole nation, through its kings, repeatedly petitioned that stanislaus might be declared their patron. this was at first refused, as only canonized saints were given the title of patron of a nation. but clement x granted the request in 1671, setting aside the decree which forbade it.
-the church is slow in declaring any one a saint. it was not until december 13, 1726, one hundred and fifty-eight years after the death of stanislaus, that benedict xiii solemnly celebrated his canonization in the basilica of st. peter. it was a double ceremony, for it was also the occasion of the canonization of saint aloysius, who had been born in march of the same year in which stanislaus died.
-this little account has not done justice to the life of stanislaus kostka; and, indeed, it is very hard to do justice to it. he was a most human and lovable boy, but he was besides a wonderful, bright being that eludes the grip of our common minds. he was a citizen of heaven, who lived here amongst us, kindly and companionable indeed, during eighteen years of exile. to try to describe him is like trying to describe a star in the far sky of night.
-that love for god, of which we speak so brokenly, which at its best in us is so small and cold, was the soul of his soul, the inner core and substance of his life. here, in the misty country of faith, he had something of that radiant and rapturous union with god which all of us, as we hope, shall one day have in heaven.
-all the sweet and strong twining of our hearts about father and mother and relatives and dear friends, all that binds us in affection to those we love in life, was multiplied and made many times stronger in his rare nature and lifted up by god's grace to fix itself upon god, the infinite goodness, the supreme beauty.
-god was not a mere name or a power to him, not even the mere lord and master of all: god was his friend, his dearest intimate, his sure, strong, patient, loving counselor; whose presence was with him, waking and sleeping; whose interests were nearest his heart; whose commands it was a delight to obey; whose slightest wish and beckoning was eagerly watched for and joyously followed.
-to catch the secret and true meaning of his life, one must feel how that love for god thrilled through him, was his. courage in action, his endurance in suffering, his sweetness and kindness in all dealings with other men. it was his life. and when we have said and realized that, we have come nearest to knowing who and what really was stanislaus kostka.
-minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
-obsolete spellings have been retained.
-the war in south africa
-its cause and conduct
-a. conan doyle
-author of 'the great boer war'
-published by smith, elder, & co., 15 waterloo place, london, s.w.
-all copies for the colonies and india supplied by g. bell & sons, london and bombay
-for some reason, which may be either arrogance or apathy, the british are very slow to state their case to the world. at present the reasons for our actions and the methods which we have used are set forth in many blue-books, tracts, and leaflets, but have never, so far as i know, been collected into one small volume. in view of the persistent slanders to which our politicians and our soldiers have been equally exposed, it becomes a duty which we owe to our national honour to lay the facts before the world. i wish someone more competent, and with some official authority, had undertaken the task, which i have tried to do as best i might from an independent standpoint.
-there was never a war in history in which the right was absolutely on one side, or in which no incidents of the campaign were open to criticism. i do not pretend that it was so here. but i do not think that any unprejudiced man can read the facts without acknowledging that the british government has done its best to avoid war, and the british army to wage it with humanity.
-to my publisher and to myself this work has been its own reward. in this way we hope to put the price within the reach of all, and yet leave a profit for the vendor. our further ambition is, however, to translate it into all european tongues, and to send a free copy to every deputy and every newspaper on the continent and in america. for this work money will be needed--a considerable sum. we propose to make an appeal to the public for these funds. any sums which are sent to me or to my publisher will be devoted to this work. there cannot be too much, for the more we get the more we shall do.
-i may add that i have not burdened my pages with continual references. my quotations are reliable and can always, if necessary, be substantiated.
-a. conan doyle. undershaw, hindhead: january, 1902.
-its cause and conduct
-the boer people
-it is impossible to appreciate the south african problem and the causes which have led up to the present war between the british empire and the boer republics without some knowledge, however superficial, of the past history of south africa. to tell the tale one must go back to the beginning, for there has been complete continuity of history in south africa, and every stage has depended upon that which has preceded it. no one can know or appreciate the boer who does not know his past, for he is what his past has made him.
-it was about the time when oliver cromwell was at his zenith--in 1652, to be pedantically accurate--that the dutch made their first lodgment at the cape of good hope. the portuguese had been there before them, but, repelled by the evil weather, and lured forward by rumours of gold, they had passed the true seat of empire, and had voyaged farther, to settle along the eastern coast. but the dutchmen at the cape prospered and grew stronger in that robust climate. they did not penetrate far inland, for they were few in number, and all they wanted was to be found close at hand. but they built themselves houses, and they supplied the dutch east india company with food and water, gradually budding off little townlets, wynberg, stellenbosch, and pushing their settlements up the long slopes which lead to that great central plateau which extends for 1,500 miles from the edge of the karoo to the valley of the zambesi.
-for a hundred more years the history of the colony was a record of the gradual spreading of the africanders over the huge expanse of veldt which lay to the north of them. cattle-raising became an industry, but in a country where six acres can hardly support a sheep, large farms are necessary for even small herds. six thousand acres was the usual size, and 5l. a year the rent payable to government. the diseases which follow the white man had in africa, as in america and australia, been fatal to the natives, and an epidemic of smallpox cleared the country for the new-comers. farther and farther north they pushed, founding little towns here and there, such as graaf-reinet and swellendam, where a dutch reformed church and a store for the sale of the bare necessaries of life formed a nucleus for a few scattered dwellings. already the settlers were showing that independence of control and that detachment from europe which has been their most prominent characteristic. even the mild sway of the dutch company had caused them to revolt. the local rising, however, was hardly noticed in the universal cataclysm which followed the french revolution. after twenty years, during which the world was shaken by the titanic struggle in the final counting up of the game and paying of the stakes, the cape colony was added in 1814 to the british empire.
-in all the vast collection of british states there is probably not one the title-deeds to which are more incontestable than to this. britain had it by two rights, the right of conquest and the right of purchase. in 1806 troops landed, defeated the local forces, and took possession of cape town. in 1814 britain paid the large sum of six million pounds to the stadtholder for the transference of this and some south american land. it was a bargain which was probably made rapidly and carelessly in that general redistribution which was going on. as a house of call upon the way to india the place was seen to be of value, but the country itself was looked upon as unprofitable and desert. what would castlereagh or liverpool have thought could they have seen the items which they were buying for six million pounds? the inventory would have been a mixed one of good and of evil: nine fierce kaffir wars, the greatest diamond mines in the world, the wealthiest gold mines, two costly and humiliating campaigns with men whom we respected even when we fought with them, and now at last, we hope, a south africa of peace and prosperity, with equal rights and equal duties for all men.
-the title-deeds to the estate are, as i have said, good ones, but there is one singular and ominous flaw in their provisions. the ocean has marked three boundaries to it, but the fourth is undefined. there is no word of the 'hinterland,' for neither the term nor the idea had then been thought of. had great britain bought those vast regions which extended beyond the settlements? or were the discontented dutch at liberty to pass onwards and found fresh nations to bar the path of the anglo-celtic colonists? in that question lay the germ of all the trouble to come. an american would realise the point at issue if he could conceive that after the founding of the united states the dutch inhabitants of the state of new york had trekked to the westward and established fresh communities under a new flag. then, when the american population overtook these western states, they would be face to face with the problem which this country has had to solve. if they found these new states fiercely anti-american and extremely unprogressive, they would experience that aggravation of their difficulties with which british statesmen have had to deal.
-at the time of their transference to the british flag the colonists--dutch, french, and german--numbered some thirty thousand. they were slaveholders, and the slaves were about as numerous as themselves. the prospect of complete amalgamation between the british and the original settlers would have seemed to be a good one, since they were of much the same stock, and their creeds could only be distinguished by their varying degrees of bigotry and intolerance. five thousand british emigrants were landed in 1820, settling on the eastern borders of the colony, and from that time onwards there was a slow but steady influx of english-speaking colonists. the government had the historical faults and the historical virtues of british rule. it was mild, clean, honest, tactless, and inconsistent. on the whole, it might have done very well had it been content to leave things as it found them. but to change the habits of the most conservative of teutonic races was a dangerous venture, and one which has led to a long series of complications, making up the troubled history of south africa.
-the imperial government has always taken an honourable and philanthropic view of the rights of the native and the claim which he has to the protection of the law. we hold, and rightly, that british justice, if not blind, should at least be colour-blind. the view is irreproachable in theory and incontestable in argument, but it is apt to be irritating when urged by a boston moralist or a london philanthropist upon men whose whole society has been built upon the assumption that the black is the inferior race. such a people like to find the higher morality for themselves, not to have it imposed upon them by those who live under entirely different conditions.
-and the separation soon became more marked. with vicarious generosity, the english government gave very lenient terms to the kaffir tribes who in 1834 had raided the border farmers. and then, finally, in this same year there came the emancipation of the slaves throughout the british empire, which fanned all smouldering discontents into an active flame.
-it must be confessed that on this occasion the british philanthropist was willing to pay for what he thought was right. it was a noble national action, and one the morality of which was in advance of its time, that the british parliament should vote the enormous sum of twenty million pounds to pay compensation to the slaveholders, and so to remove an evil with which the mother country had no immediate connection. it was as well that the thing should have been done when it was, for had we waited till the colonies affected had governments of their own it could never have been done by constitutional methods. with many a grumble the good british householder drew his purse from his fob, and paid for what he thought to be right. if any special grace attends the virtuous action which brings nothing but tribulation in this world, then we may hope for it over this emancipation. we spent our money, we ruined our west indian colonies, and we started a disaffection in south africa, the end of which we have not seen.
-but the details of the measure were less honourable than the principle. it was carried out suddenly, so that the country had no time to adjust itself to the new conditions. three million pounds were ear-marked for south africa, which gives a price per slave of from 60l. to 70l., a sum considerably below the current local rates. finally, the compensation was made payable in london, so that the farmers sold their claims at reduced prices to middlemen. indignation meetings were held in every little townlet and cattle-camp on the karoo. the old dutch spirit was up--the spirit of the men who cut the dykes. rebellion was useless. but a vast untenanted land stretched to the north of them. the nomad life was congenial to them, and in their huge ox-drawn wagons--like those bullock-carts in which some of their old kinsmen came to gaul--they had vehicles and homes and forts all in one. one by one they were loaded up, the huge teams were inspanned, the women were seated inside, the men with their long-barrelled guns walked alongside, and the great exodus was begun. their herds and flocks accompanied the migration, and the children helped to round them in and drive them. one tattered little boy of ten cracked his sjambok whip behind the bullocks. he was a small item in that singular crowd, but he was of interest to us, for his name was paul stephanus kruger.
-it was a strange exodus, only comparable in modern times to the sallying forth of the mormons from nauvoo upon their search for the promised land of utah. the country was known and sparsely settled as far north as the orange river, but beyond there was a great region which had never been penetrated save by some daring hunter or adventurous pioneer. it chanced--if there be indeed such an element as chance in the graver affairs of man--that a zulu conqueror had swept over this land and left it untenanted, save by the dwarf bushmen, the hideous aborigines, lowest of the human race. there were fine grazing and good soil for the emigrants. they travelled in small detached parties, but their total numbers were considerable, from six to ten thousand according to their historian, or nearly a quarter of the whole population of the colony. some of the early bands perished miserably. a large number made a trysting-place at a high peak to the east of bloemfontein, in what was lately the orange free state. one party of the emigrants was cut off by the formidable matabeli, a branch of the great zulu nation.
-the final victory of the 'voortrekkers' cleared all the country between the orange river and the limpopo, the sites of what have been known as the transvaal and the orange free state. in the meantime another body of the emigrants had descended into natal, and had defeated dingaan, the great chief of the zulus.
-and now at the end of their great journey, after overcoming the difficulties of distance, of nature, and of savage enemies, the boers saw at the end of their travels the very thing which they desired least--that which they had come so far to avoid--the flag of great britain. the boers had occupied natal from within, but england had previously done the same by sea, and a small colony of englishmen had settled at port natal, now known as durban. the home government, however, had acted in a vacillating way, and it was only the conquest of natal by the boers which caused them to claim it as a british colony. at the same time they asserted the unwelcome doctrine that a british subject could not at will throw off his allegiance, and that, go where they might, the wandering farmers were still only the pioneers of british colonies. to emphasise the fact three companies of soldiers were sent in 1842 to what is now durban--the usual corporal's guard with which great britain starts a new empire. this handful of men was waylaid by the boers and cut up, as their successors have been so often since. the survivors, however, fortified themselves, and held a defensive position--as also their successors have done so many times since--until reinforcements arrived and the farmers dispersed. natal from this time onward became a british colony, and the majority of the boers trekked north and east with bitter hearts to tell their wrongs to their brethren of the orange free state and of the transvaal. that certainly puts all the owners of slum property, all the grasping shipowners, all those who batten and fatten on other people's welfare in a most favourable light. we have been thinking them almost criminals when they were in reality public benefactors. they lead to many improvements, and even though the improvements come too late to benefit those who suffer from the evils, yet they do come--sometimes. certainly it might give some comfort if the sufferers knew what it was they were being sacrificed for, and that others would be benefited by their death. but they do not, and we are therefore bound to conclude that whatever satisfaction is felt is by those who survive. when a titanic sinks it must be the people on shore who see the element of goodness in it since it makes travelling easier for them. and the kindness developed in one who can excuse the brutalities of nature because it brings some benefit to himself is of a rather startling nature.
-the fundamental fault in all reasoning of this order lies in the assumption that pain ceases to be pain if it can be shown to bring good to some one. but that it not so. pleasure and pain are not quantitative things, increments of which can be carried on from generation to generation and a balance struck at the end, much as one strikes a balance between the profits and losses of a year's trading. all suffering and all enjoyment are of necessity personal. suffering is not increased by extending it over a million instances. there was not more pain because a larger number happened to be be killed in the european war than are killed in a borderland skirmish. there were a larger number of people involved in the one case than in the other, but that is all. multiplying the number of cases makes a greater appeal to a sluggish imagination, but it adds nothing substantial to the fact. feeling, whether it be pleasant or painful, is a matter of individual experience, and that being so it is not the number of people who suffer through no fault of their own, and, so far as one can see, without any benefit proportionate to the suffering experienced, but the fact of there being this suffering at all. that is the point the theist must face; it is the one point he systematically avoids.
-another form of the same argument meets us in the familiar plea that bodily pain "sounds the alarm bell of disease in time for its removal." in some sense it may be admitted that a painful feeling, in certain circumstances, does act as a warning that persistence will lead to disaster. but it is not universally true in the sense and in the degree that is needed to justify the argument, and it is a "warning" out of all proportion to the danger faced. in the first place, pain cannot be a warning against disease, it can only be an indication of its presence. it does not warn us against the dangers of a contemplated course of conduct, nor can it tell us what conduct has led to the pain experienced. and in the case of contagious diseases, what amount of warning is there given? in some case the victim is stricken and is dead in so short a time as not to know with what it is he has been afflicted, and certainly without any chance of being warned. what warning is there in the case of a violent poison? or what relation is there between pains felt and dangers run? the most dangerous diseases may have painless beginnings, and be well rooted in the system before the victim is driven by discomfort to seek medical advice. on the other hand, a corn or a toothache, neither of them very deadly ailments, create pain out of all proportion to their gravity. and if we take the case of excessive cold we have here an instance where instead of pain acting as a warning, the danger just acts as an anæsthetic. the victim is oppressed by drowsiness, sinks into insensibility, finally death. here it is not the approach of death that is painful, but the return to life, the pain of restoring circulation being very severe indeed.
-fear, which may be classed as a species of pain, appears to act, in the majority of instances, as an enemy, rather than as a friend to the animal experiencing it. thus professor mosso points out that in the animal organism there exists a number of harmful reactions that increase in number the graver the peril becomes. we have all read of the "fascination" of the bird by the serpent, and there are other animals that in the presence of an enemy become so palsied with fear as to become incapable of defence, even that of flight. and with man it is not as the danger becomes most acute that his nerves become steadier and his courage firmer. the opposite is probably more often the case. in all these cases it is as though nature had lured the animal or man into a position of grave danger, and then does its best to divest him of adequate means of defence against it.
-common sense revolts against the doctrine that pain is a good thing, and the fact of this is everywhere seen in the attempt of man to get rid of it. no one trusts it as a sure warning against disease, no one turns to it as a means of purifying character. all these pleas are the mere platitudes of a religious apologetic trying to harmonise a primitive theory of things with a larger knowledge and a more developed moral sense. pain and suffering in the world remain facts whether we believe in the existence of a god or not, but we are at least freed from the paralysing horror of the belief that all the suffering and pain in nature is part of a plan. if man realised all that that belief involved it might indeed rob his mind of all strength to struggle against the forces that make for his destruction. fortunately no race of people could act upon the logical implications of the theistic theory and maintain its existence. in practice, as well as in theory, theism has had to come to terms with facts. and now the series of adjustments have almost reached their end. the belief in god has been traced to its origin, and we know it to have issued in an altogether discredited view of the world and of man. we know that man does not discover god, he invents him, and an invention is properly discarded when a better instrument is forthcoming. to-day the hypothesis of god stands in just the same relation to the better life of to-day as the fire drill of the savage does to the modern method of obtaining a light. the belief in god may continue awhile in virtue of the lack of intelligence of some, of the carelessness of others, and of the conservative character of the mass. but no amount of apologising can make up for the absence of genuine knowledge, nor can the flow of the finest eloquence do aught but clothe in regal raiment the body of a corpse.
-substitutes for atheism.
-a question of prejudice.
-it affords some ground for surprise that there should be so great a resentment shown against religious disbelief in general and against atheism in particular. we have here more than the mere rejection of a theory or view of life. there is a certain emotional resentment, a shrinking from the one who is guilty of disbelief, such as is not explainable on ordinary grounds. the attitude is ridiculous, so ridiculous that many who adopt it are ashamed to openly acknowledge it, but it is there, and its existence calls for explanation.
-we believe this is to be found in the peculiar history of the god-idea combined with primitive theories of social life. like many frames of mind that persist in civilised society, this attitude towards disbelief has its roots in a conception of the world that has been generally discarded and in social conditions that have ceased to exist among civilised people. to begin with, we have the fact that religion dominates the life of primitive man to a degree that is almost inconceivable to the modern mind. the anger of the tribal gods has to be always reckoned with. what they desire must be done, what they do not desire must be avoided. in the next place there exists a very strong sense of collective responsibility. what one member of a tribe does the whole of the tribe is responsible for, both to the members of other tribes and to the gods. we see a survival of this in the reversion to a more primitive state of things that takes place during a war. in some circumstances hatred of the whole of a people with whom a nation is at war becomes a duty, and all are responsible for the offences of each. so in primitive times an offence against the gods became an act of treason against the tribe. it might expose the whole of the tribe to disaster.
-it is not, it must be noted, that primitive man is fond of the gods, or jealous of their honour; he is not any more fond of them than is the modern citizen of the tax-collector. and no one will ever really understand the question of religion until he rids himself of the notion that primitive man spends his time looking for gods or that he is happy in their company. he is simply afraid that a single unruly member may get the whole tribe into a serious difficulty. the savage is severely practical; his conduct rests upon grounds of, to him, the most obvious utility, and his treatment of the heretic leaves little to be desired on the score of effectiveness. the unbeliever is a dangerous person, and he is promptly suppressed. the first heretic died a martyr to the tribe; the last heretic will die a martyr to the race.
-primitive conditions die out, but primitive feelings linger, and although in theory we have reached the stage of believing that each person must bear the consequences of his own religious opinions, the deeply rooted dislike to the man who rejects the rule of the gods remains.
-historically we have also to reckon with the operations of an interested priesthood, but leaving that on one side as a secondary development it would seem that one must trace to some such cause as the one above indicated the deep and widespread dislike to such a term as atheism, even by many who to all intents and purposes are atheist in their opinion. certainly in this country, where compromise is more fashionable than in many other places, the dislike to the word is partly due to its uncompromising character. it is clear cut and definite. its connotations cannot be misunderstood by any one who takes the word in its literal meaning. the theist is one who believes in a personal god. the atheist is one who is without belief in a personal god. the meaning is clear, and the implied mental attitude is plain. it is opposed to theism, and has no significance apart from theism. and, as will be seen, when non-theists quarrel with it, it is only because it is mis-stated or misunderstood.
-but most people dislike clear cut terms. they prefer to exist in an atmosphere of mental ambiguity and intellectual fog which blurs outlines and obscures differences. unbeliever is preferable to some, sceptic--presumably because of its age and philosophical associations, is a greater favourite, and agnostic is more beloved than either--the latter has indeed been pressed into the service of a more or less nebulous "religion." as it is said, "we are all socialists nowadays," so it is said that we are unbelievers or agnostics nowadays. but no one says we are all atheists nowadays. timidity can find no use for a word of that character. of course, if a man believes that some word other than atheism best describes his state of mind, he has a perfect right to select the one that seems fittest. but when one finds non-theists repudiating the name of atheist with as much moral indignation as though they had been accused of shoplifting, one cannot help the suspicion that the heat displayed is not unconnected with some lurking fear of the "respectabilities." it does seem that while many may have outgrown all fear of the god of orthodoxy, the fear of the god of social pressure remains.
-so far as the theist is concerned it is quite understandable that his objection to atheism should involve a certain moral element. that would result from what has already been said concerning the cause of the fear of heresy. still one would have thought that in these days it would require a person of almost abnormal stupidity to assume that disbelief in god has its roots in a defective moral character. the facts would warrant a quite opposite conclusion. in the first place, the rejection of any well-established belief argues a degree of independence of mind that is, unfortunately, not common. the ordinary mind follows the common route. it is the extraordinary mind that strikes out from the beaten path. the heretic, whether in politics or in religion, may be wrong, but there is always with him the guarantee of a certain measure of mental strength that is not, on the face of the matter, present with one who follows the orthodox path. and that in itself represents a type of mind of no little social value. moreover, i for one, am quite ready to assert that, class for class, the freethinker does represent a type of mind considerably above the average. that this is not more generally recognised is due to the policy of the religious advocate in contrasting the uneducated freethinker with the educated believer.
-secondly, it strikes one as almost insane to assume that in a christian country atheism should be professed as a cloak or as an excuse for misconduct. they who talk in this strain greatly undervalue the accommodating power of religion. is there a single form of rascality known to man for which religion has not been able to provide a sanction? if there is i have failed to come across it. the use of religion made by tyranny in all ages and in all countries is proof of how accommodating it is to man's passions and interests. the picture of the dying murderer meeting his end, filled with the consolation of religion, and certain of his speedy salvation, contains a lesson that all may read if they will.
-error there may be in any case where opinion is concerned, but profession of an opinion that paves the way for suspicion and persecution provides a prima facie guarantee of honesty that cannot be furnished by the advocacy of one that stands high in the public favour. for aught i know to the contrary, every one of england's bishops may be quite honest men. but there can be no certainty about it so long as the profession carries with it all it does. the dice are loaded in favour of conviction. but the man who faces social ostracism, and even loss of liberty in defence of an opinion, is giving a hostage to truth such as none other can give.
-this association of heresy with a defective moral character is a very old game. it has been played by all religions, and, it must be admitted, with considerable success. writing in the second century lucian shows us the same policy at work in his day. in one of his dialogues, when the atheist has refuted one after another the theistic arguments of his opponent, the defender of the gods turns on his opponent with--
-you god robbing, shabby, villainous, infamous, halter-sick vagabond! does not everybody know that your father was a tatterdemalion, and your mother no better than she should be? that you murdered your brother and are guilty of other execrable crimes? you lewd, lying, rascally, abominable varlet.
-that type of disputant is still with us, and is still supporting his beliefs with the same tactics. and it is successful with some. there is a certain snobbishness in human nature that makes it seek the association of well-known names and shun all of those with an unfashionable reputation. to observe the way in which some people will introduce into their conversation, speeches, or writings, the names of well-known men, is a revelation of this mental snobbery. and the moral equivalent of this is the fear of being found in the company of an opinion that has been branded as immoral. such people have all the fear of an unpopular opinion that a savage has of a tribal taboo--it is, in fact, a survival of the same spirit that gave the tribal taboo its force. it is, thus, not a very difficult matter to warn people off an undesirable opinion. samuel taylor coleridge relates how the clergy raised the cry of atheism against him, although he had never advanced further than deism. and it is to his credit that in referring to this charge he said:--
-little do these men know what atheism is. not one man in a thousand has either strength of mind or goodness of heart to be an atheist. i repeat it. not one man in a thousand has either strength of mind or goodness of heart to be an atheist.
-and we have also the oft-quoted testimony of the late professor tyndall:--
-it is my comfort to know that there are amongst us many whom the gladiators of pulpit would call atheists and materialists, whose lives, nevertheless, as tested by any accessible standard of morality would contrast more than favourably with the lives of those who seek to stamp them with this offensive brand. when i say "offensive," i refer merely to the intention of those who use such terms, and not because atheism or materialism, when compared with many of the notions ventilated in the columns of religious newspapers has any particular offensiveness to me. if i wish to find men who are scrupulous in their adherence to engagements, whose words are their bond, and to whom moral shiftiness of any kind is subjectively unknown, if i wanted a loving father, a faithful husband, an honourable neighbour, and a just citizen, i would seek him among the band of atheists to which i refer. i have known some of the most pronounced amongst them, not only in life, but in death--seeing them approaching with open eyes the inexorable goal, with no dread of a "hangman's whip," with no hope of a heavenly crown, and still as mindful of their duties, as if their eternal future depended upon their latest deeds.
-still the moral cry is too useful with the crowd to lead to the conviction that anything one could say would lead to its disuse. in the dialogue of lucian's to which we have referred, and after the theist has been refuted by the atheist, hermes consoles the chief deity, zeus, by telling him that even though a few may have been won over by the arguments of the atheist, the vast majority, "the whole mass of uneducated greeks and the barbarians everywhere," still remain firm in their faith. and although zeus replies that he would prefer one sensible man to a thousand fools, when a case depends upon the adherence of the relatively foolish, numbers will always bring some consolation to the champions of an intellectually distressed creed.
-what is atheism?
-it is now my purpose to take a few of these substitutes for atheism by the aid of which some persons seek to mark themselves off from a declared and reasoned unbelief. as outstanding examples of this one may take two men of no less eminence than herbert spencer and professor huxley. both of these men have rendered great service to advanced thought, but both have only succeeded in repudiating atheism by misstating and misrepresenting it. in addition to the service that spencer unwittingly rendered the current religion by his use of the "unknowable" (with which we deal fully later), a further help was given by his destruction of an atheism that had no existence. this remarkable performance will be found in the first part of his "first principles." respecting the origin of the universe, he tells us, there are three intelligible propositions--although neither of these, on his own showing, is intelligible. we may assert that it is self-existent, that it is self-created, or that it is created by an external agency. all three propositions, he proceeds to show, are equally inconceivable. the noticeable thing about the performance is that atheism is identified with the proposition that the universe is self-existent. a very slight acquaintance with the writings of representative atheists would have shown mr. spencer that "the origin of the universe" is one of those questions on which atheism has wisely been silent, and it has also insisted that all attempts to deal with such a question can only result in a meaningless string of words. to the atheist, "the universe"--the sum of existence--is a fact that no amount of reasoning can get behind or beyond. to think of the universe as a whole is an impossibility; while to talk of its origin is to assume, first, that it did originate, and, second, that we have some means by which we can transcend all the known limits of the human mind. the atheist can say, and has said, with mr. spencer himself--whose final statement of agnosticism differs in no material respect from atheism, that in discussing the "origin of the universe," we can only succeed in multiplying impossibilities of thought "by every attempt we make to explain its existence." no one has pointed out more clearly than mr. spencer that "infinity" is not a conception, but the negation of one. the pity is that he did not realise that in taking up this position he was on exactly the same level of criticism that atheists have pursued. for them the universe is an ultimate fact; all that we can do is to mark the ceaseless changes always going on around us, and to develope our capacity for modifying their action in the interests of human welfare. farther than this our knowledge does not and cannot go; and it may be added that even though our knowledge could go beyond the world of phenomena, such knowledge would not be of the slightest possible value.
-it may also be pointed out that, just as it is not true that atheism attempts to explain the origin of the universe, so it is unfair to tie the atheist down to any particular theory of cosmic evolution. as a mental attitude atheism is quite independent of any theory of cosmic working, so long as that theory does not involve an appeal to deity. as we shall see, atheism, from the point of view both of history and etymology, stands for the negation of theism, and its final justification must be found in the untenability of the theistic position.
-rightly enough it may be argued that the acceptance of atheism implies a certain general mental attitude towards both cosmic and social questions, but the atheist, as such, is no more committed to a special scientific theory than he is committed to a special theory of government. of course, it is convenient for the theist to first of all saddle his opponent with a set of social or scientific beliefs, and then to assume that in attacking those beliefs he is demolishing atheism, but it is none the less fighting on a false issue. all that atheism necessarily involves is that all forms of theism are logically untenable, and consequently the only effective method of destroying atheism is to establish its opposite.
-professor huxley's treatment of atheism proceeds on similar lines to that already dealt with, but is more elaborate in character. discussing the nature of his own opinions he repudiates all sympathy with atheism, because:
-"the problem of the ultimate cause of existence is one which seems to me to be hopelessly out of reach of my poor powers. of all the senseless babble i have ever had occasion to read, the demonstrations of those philosophers who undertake to tell us about the nature of god would be the worst, if they were not surpassed by the still greater absurdities of the philosophers who try to prove there is no god." (on the hypothesis the animals are automata.)
-here, again, we have the common error that atheism seeks in some way to explain the ultimate cause of existence. and this in spite of continuous disclaimers that all search for a "first cause," or for a "cause of existence" is midsummer madness. the fault here, we suspect, is that both writers took their statement of atheism, not from atheistic writers but from their opponents. but it is none the less surprising that it was not recognised that both "a first cause" and an "ultimate cause of existence," are, strictly speaking, theistic questions. i do not mean that these questions may not suggest themselves to non-theists, but that when they are raised clearly and definitely they are seen to belong to a class of questions to which no rational answer is possible. to the theist, however, the questions arise from his primary assumptions. his theory is one of final causes; his deity is postulated as the cause of existence, and he cannot give up the questions as hopeless without admitting his position to be indefensible. it is quite usual for the theist to propound problems which only arise on his own assumptions, and then call upon his opponents for answers to them, but there is no justification whatever for non-theists playing the same game. atheism has nothing to do with final causes, and therefore is not concerned with defending its illogicalities. theism is a doctrine of final causes, and in arguing that it is absurd to express an opinion upon the subject professor huxley was adding a good reason in support of the position he believed himself to be destroying.
-huxley's other objection to atheism is that it perpetuates the absurdity of trying to prove there is no god. how far is that true? or in what sense is it true? the danger in all discussion on this point lies in our taking it for granted that "god" conveys a definite and identical meaning to all people. but this is very far from being the case. what anyone means by "god" it is impossible to say until some further description has been given. when this has been done, and not until then, "god" may become the subject of affirmation or denial. until then we are playing with empty words. by itself "god" means nothing. it offers the possibility of neither negation nor affirmation.
-now professor huxley would have readily admitted that the truth of a proposition may be denied whenever its terms involve a contradiction. and the ground of this is the sheer impossibility of bringing the terms together in thought. that a circle may be square, or that parallel lines may enclose a space, are propositions the truth of which may be denied offhand. the ground of this is that the conception of squareness and circularity, of straight lines and an enclosed space are mutually destructive, they cancel each other. and so far as atheism may be said to involve the denial of particular gods that denial is based upon precisely similar grounds. when defined it is seen that the attributes of this defined god cancel each other as effectually as squareness rules out the idea of a circle; either this or they are simply unthinkable. you cannot have an infinite personality any more than you can have a six-sided octagon, nor can you posit an infinite personality without divesting the terms of all meaning.
-it may also be noted in passing that both the theist and the agnostic actually do deny the existence of particular gods without the least hesitation. no rational agnostic would hesitate to deny the existence of jupiter, javeh, allah, or brahma. no christian would hesitate to deny the existence of the gods of a tribe of savages. even believers in the current theology have evolved beyond the stage of the primitive christians, who accepted the existence of the pagan deities with the proviso that they were demons. and it is a mere verbal quibble to say that these people merely deny each other's conception of deity. each man's conception of god is his god, and to say that no being answering to that conception exists is to say that his god does not exist, and in relation to the god denied the denier is in exactly the position in which he places the atheist.
-so far then the atheism of each is just a question of degree or of relation. so far as atheism involves the denial of deity the follower of one religion is an atheist in relation to the followers of every other religion. each religion--among civilised people--is atheistic from the standpoint of the followers of other gods. the affirmation of one god involves the denial of other gods. this would really seem to be the historical significance of the term. the early christians were called atheists by the pagans, and some of them accepted it without demur. at a later date spinoza, voltaire, paine, and others were called atheists, and the epithet has lost its force to-day only because the evolution of thought has broken down many religious barriers, and is rapidly dividing people into two groups--those who believe in some god and who believe in none at all. now all that atheism--conscious and reflective atheism--does is to carry a step further the restricted denial of the ordinary religionist. the christian theist denies every god but his own. the atheist, seeing no more evidence for the existence of the christian deity than for the existence of any of the deities discarded by the christian, seeing, further, that there are exactly the same contradictions involved in assuming the existence of any one of the world's deities, places the christian deity on the list as among those gods in whose existence he does not believe, and whose existence, so far as it is defined, may be logically denied.
-the really distinguishing feature of philosophic atheism is its comprehensiveness, the ranking of all known deities, big and little, ancient and modern, savage and civilised, gross and subtle, upon the same level. historically, we see them all originating in the same conditions, passing through substantially the same phases of development, finally to meet with the same fate as civilisation developes. in this respect atheism has to be considered in its historic developments. it begins, as we have seen in the rejection of a particular god, in favour of some other deity. it is only at a very much later stage that the whole idea of god is subjected to examination and analysis in such a way as to lead to the rejection of the conception of god as a whole. but with that aspect of the subject we shall be concerned later.
-but does atheism deny the existence of any possible god? this question might admit of a simple answer if one only knew precisely what it meant. it is easy enough to understand what is meant by god so long as we keep to any or all of the gods of the world's religions. but what is meant by god standing alone and undefined? historically "god" means a deity believed in by some people, some where, at some time. and if we put on one side these particular gods we have nothing left that can be either affirmed or denied. god in the abstract is not a real existence any more than tree in the abstract is a real existence. there is a pine tree, a pear tree, an apple tree, etc., but there is and can be no "tree" apart from some particular tree. so with "god." there are particular gods, but if we do away with these, we have no god left as a separate existence. "god" then becomes a mere word conveying no meaning whatever. atheism does not deny the existence of a god for the same reason that it does not deny the existence of abracadabra--both terms mean as much, or as little. and it is more than absurd for people who have rejected theism to continue using the word "god" as though it had a quite definite meaning apart from the gods of the various theologies. we have professor huxley admitting that "there is no evidence of the existence of the god of the theologians," and we imagine that he would have met the affirmation of their existence with a flat contradiction. at any rate he would have been quite justified in doing so. but when he asserts, with a show of logical precision, but in reality with great looseness, that "it is preposterous to assert that there is no god because he cannot be such as we think him to be," he is using language for which no precise meaning can be found. to be intelligible, the sentence implies that we have some conception answering to the terms used, and this, as we have pointed out with almost wearisome insistence, is not the case. it is not a case of saying to the theist, "i fully understand your hypothesis, but as at present i do not see enough evidence to convince me of its truth or to demonstrate its error i must suspend judgment." we do not understand it. and when we seek to we discover that the terms of the proposition we are asked to accept refuse to be brought together within the compass of a single conception. suspended judgment where the subject under discussion is understandable is right and proper, but it is quite out of place, and indeed cannot exist, where the proposition before us is void of meaning. in such circumstances suspended judgment is absurd, and it may be added that the affirmation or negation of such a proposition is absurd likewise.
-only one other word need be said on this point. it may be urged that educated believers mean by "god" not the anthropomorphic deity of the theologies, but a personal intelligence controlling things. but this is really not less anthropomorphic than the form in which the god idea meets us in the popular theologies. its anthropomorphism is only, to unobservant minds, less apparent. the conception of an intelligent, personal being controlling nature is not fundamentally less objectionable than the frankly man-like being of the early theologies. intelligence, as we know it (and to talk of an intelligence that is unlike the intelligence we know is absurd) is as much a characteristic of human, or animal, organisation, as arms and legs are. mind, after all, is only known to us as a function of an organism. that it is more than this, or other than this, is a pure assumption. and to divest "god" of all physical parts, while retaining his functions, is sheer nonsense. there is the personal intelligence of smith, or brown, or robinson, but it is absurd to wipe out all the particular smiths, and browns, and robinsons, and then talk as though their qualities continue in existence. so with god. if we reject all the gods of the theologies one after another, what god have we left to talk about? all we have left is the memory of a delusion.
-it is equally fallacious to talk of "god" as an equivalent of force in the abstract, or as the equivalent of some non-intelligent force. this is not what people ever meant, or mean, by god. what religious folk believe in, what they pray to, is a person who can hear them, and who can do things. a god only dimly apprehended may be tolerated, but for how long will faith continue to worship an existence that can neither do nor hear nor sympathise? there is a limit to even religious folly. and even a savage only worships "sticks and stones" after he endows them with life and intelligence.
-spencer and the unknowable.
-we have already referred to the use made by religionists of spencer's "unknowable." this theory was not without its forerunners, and in england was already in the field in the teachings of hamilton and mansel. spencer gave it a still greater vogue. as he presented it, it came before the world with all the prestige attaching to its association with one of the most comprehensive of modern thinkers, and one of the most influential in the schools of evolutionary philosophy. it was also connected with a world theory that claimed to be strictly scientific in its character. it became not only a fashion in certain circles, it founded a school, and gained numerous followers in the religious world. its author propounded it as a basis on which to reconcile religion and science, and many were ready to accept it as such. printed in all the glory of capital letters, appearing sometimes as "the ultimate reality," sometimes as the "unconditioned," sometimes as an "infinite and eternal energy," it was equally impressive under all its forms. it provided just that solemn kind of formula that the religious mind is accustomed to hear, and if it was as meaningless as the athanasian creed, is was, for that reason, quite as satisfying. it gave all the comfort of a religious confession of faith, and it has been the parent of a whole host of more recent apologies for god.
-in itself the "unknowable" was harmless enough. its philosophic value is not great, its scientific utility is nil. to say that everything proceeds from an "ultimate reality" is not very helpful, and to follow on with the declaration that we know nothing about it, and that it would be of no use to us if we did, does not sound very encouraging. it reminds one of the description of the horse that had only two faults--one that it was hard to catch, and the other that it was no good when it was caught. we repeat with all solemnity the formula that all things proceed from an infinite and eternal energy, and that this is the ultimate reality, and then find that in relation to any and every question we are precisely where we were. its acceptance in certain religious circles, and its use later, may be taken as evidence of the fact that what the pious mind longs for is not sense but satisfaction.
-still there remains cause for wonder that this "unknowable" should ever have been taken as affording foundation for the belief in deity. the most extreme materialist or atheist need not be in the slightest degree disconcerted on being told things proceed from an "infinite and eternal energy." it is only what the atheist has said, minus the capital letters. he has affirmed his conviction, that all phenomena result from the permutations of matter and force, which are eternal because no time limit can be placed to their operations. and you do not add anything material to the statement by printing it in capital letters. that the spencerian abstraction should have been taken as a substitute for deity proves how desperate the situation is. drowning men clutch at straws, and a disintegrating deity hopes to renew his strength by the lavish use of capital letters.
-for, after all, what the theist needs is, not an eternal energy, but a personality. an inscrutable existence will not do. there is no dispute that something exists. there is no quarrel over mere existence. it is with the nature of what exists and the mode of its operation that the issue arises. the theist needs a special kind of energy, a special form of existence, a special kind of "reality" if his case is to be established. it will not do for mr. spencer to assure him that this "ultimate reality" is higher than personal. how mr. spencer knows that something, the nature of which is unknown, is higher than something else, is more than one can tell. but that does not matter. higher or lower, it is all the same. either way it is different from personal, and if it is different it is not the same, it is not personal. whatever other qualities this "ultimate reality" has or lacks, it must have that one if it is to be of use to the theist. and to say that it is higher than personal is to say that it is not personal at all, and to repeat in a roundabout manner what the atheist has been saying all the time.
-what now is spencer's theory of an ultimate reality that must for ever remain unknowable? following a line of thought that had been steadily gaining ground since hume--although much older than hume--spencer holds that in final analysis all our knowledge is a knowledge of mental states and their relations. beyond this we know nothing, and can never know anything. nevertheless, while we cannot know anything beyond consciousness, the conditions of thinking oblige us to assume that something exists as the cause of our states of mind. just as black implies something that is not black, hard something that is not hard, so we must conceive, as against the conditioned, relative existence of our conscious states, an unconditioned, absolute existence as their cause. it is this assumed, but completely unknown cause of our conscious states, and of all else, that spencer distinguishes as the unknowable, the unconditioned, the absolute, etc., and which appears to have brought so much consolation to hard-pressed theists.
-i have no intention of discussing here the philosophic value of the "unknowable." but one may say, in passing, that even from that point of view spencer is untrue to his own agnosticism in speaking of the unconditioned as the cause of phenomena. for causation is a category of the conditioned, it belongs to the world we know. it is not something that exists beyond consciousness, it is something that is supplied by consciousness and which possesses validity only within the world of phenomena. on spencer's own theory of relativity a cause only exists in relation to an effect. destroy the one and you destroy the other. thus, if the unknowable is a cause of phenomena it ceases to be the unconditioned and becomes part of the phenomenal order. if, on the other hand, it is not part of the phenomenal sequence, it cannot stand to phenomena in a genuine casual relation. it is, however, only fair to point out that between the unknowable and the evolutionary philosophy of spencer the only connection between them is that they are both in the same work. in all probability it is an unconscious survival of spencer's earlier theism, which was active at the time the synthetic philosophy was originally planned, but which became more and more attenuated as spencer grew older, and disappears entirely from the more important volumes of the series. and but for the help it has been supposed to give the belief in god, the "unknowable" would only have ranked as a harmless speculation of no value to anyone or to anything. this is substantially admitted in a postscript to the 1899 edition of "first principles." at the conclusion of the section entitled "the unknowable," he says:--
-the reader is not called on to judge respecting any of the arguments or conclusions contained in the foregoing five chapters and in the above paragraphs. the subjects on which we are about to enter are independent of the subjects thus far discussed; and he may reject any or all of that which has gone before while leaving himself free to accept any or all of that which is now to come.
-the curious thing is that mr. spencer really offers his readers two theories of the nature of religion. one is contained in his "principles of sociology," and so far as it traces all religious ideas to the delusions and illusions of the primitive savage is substantially that held by all modern anthropologists. the other is contained in his "first principles," and the two theories, like parallel lines, never meet. though born in the same brain they are quite distinct, and even contradictory.
-the substance of this second theory may be summarised as follows:--
-1. the conditions of human thought compel the recognition of an unknowable reality of which all phenomena are the expression.
-2. the function of religion, from the earliest time, has been the assertion of the existence of an unknowable reality, and to keep alive a consciousness of the insoluble mystery surrounding it.
-3. the function of science is to deal with the known and the knowable, with all that is presented in experience, with the world of phenomena exclusively.
-4. religion having for its subject matter the unknown and unknowable, while science has for its subject matter the known and the knowable, religion and science are not antagonistic, but complementary. conflicts only arise when one trespasses on the other's department, and a recognition of the true line of demarcation effectually reconciles these hitherto hostile forces.
-a very obvious criticism of number one is in affirming a consciousness of an "unknowable," its quality of unknowableness is annihilated. existence can only be predicated of that which affects consciousness in some manner; and so far as i have the slightest apprehension or consciousness of anything existing, to that extent it ceases to be the unknowable. our knowledge of it may be imperfect or altogether erroneous; we may feel it impossible that we should ever rightly understand it; but so far as we think about it we are bound to assimilate it to the best of our knowledge, even though it be only under the category of force. in brief, "unknowableness" is not a property or quality by which a thing may be apprehended; it is a name for complete mental vacuity. it does not refer to the thing itself, it refers only to us. it is a pure negation which spencer, by sheer verbal play converts into a quasi-positive conception. a consciousness of things unknown can never be more than a consciousness of ignorance. there is only one way to prove the existence of an unknowable, and that is to know nothing about it--not even to know that there is something about which we know nothing.
-but, says spencer, "to say that we cannot know the absolute is, by implication, to affirm that there is an absolute." certainly, if we take an infirmity of language to be the equivalent of a necessity of existence, not otherwise. when i say that we cannot know a four-sided triangle i do not affirm by implication that a four-sided triangle exists. i am asserting that the phrase, a four-sided triangle, involves conceptions that cannot be brought together in consciousness, and so dismiss it as being without meaning.
-the truth is that every one of spencer's attempts to prove the existence of an unknowable turns out on examination to be no more than a proof of the existence of an unknown, and this is not disputed at any time or by anyone. thus, after being told that a known cannot be thought of apart from an unknown, we are informed:--
-positive knowledge does not, and never can, fill the whole region of possible thought. at the utmost reach of discovery there arises, and must ever arise, the question, what lies beyond? as it is impossible to think of a limit to space so as to exclude the idea of space lying outside that limit, so we cannot conceive of any explanation profound enough to exclude the question, what is the explanation of the explanation?
-with this we can all agree, but it does not bring us any nearer an "unknowable." it is perfectly true that thought can never be comprehensive enough to exhaust the possibilities of existence, since it is of the essence of thinking to limit and define. but it is a sheer impossibility to think of what lies beyond the boundary of our knowledge as unknowable, so far as we think of it at all, we must conceive it as the unknown but possibly knowable. the unknown can only be thought of thus because it is only as it is, by assumption, brought into line with what is already known that it can be thought about at all. we are compelled to think of what lies beyond the limits of our actual knowledge in the same way as a traveller thinks of the fauna and flora of an untravelled country. the new region may present many new features, but until actual observation has taken place, these new features will only be thought of as more or less unusual combinations of known animal and vegetable life. they are substantially identical with what is already known.
-no stranger notion ever occurred to a great thinker than that religion and science represent parallel and distinct lines of development, each having its own sphere of operation. it is all the more remarkable when we remember that with spencer "religion" means all religion, past and present, civilised and savage. and no one is more precise in pointing out how all religious ideas find their beginnings in the conditions of primitive life. and that being the case, one wonders whether we are to picture primitive man as a profound metaphysical philosopher, speculating on that which lies behind phenomena, contemplating an "insoluble mystery," and paying homage to an "ultimate reality"? nothing could be more absurd. thinking begins in concrete images, not in abstractions. we have only to note the development of intelligence in children to realise this. and primitive man, not being a mystic nor a metaphysician, bases his religion, not upon a reality that transcends experience, but upon a presumed fact, and what is to him the best known of all facts. and even with modern men it may safely be said that they worship god for what they believe they know about him, not because they believe him to be unknown and unknowable.
-spencer himself may be cited in support of this. in his "principles of sociology," where the unknowable plays no part whatever, he concludes after an elaborate survey of the facts, that the imagination of primitive man is reminiscent, not constructive; his power of thought is feeble, he is without the quick curiosity of civilised man, there is an absence of the conception of causation, he accepts things as they appear, without any vivid desire to inquire into their real nature or their connection with other events, and is without abstract ideas. clearly, here is not a very promising subject from which to derive even the germ of the idea of a "reality transcending experience." spencer also, and quite properly, insists that religious ideas are, under the condition of their origin, national ideas; that we must accept the truth that the laws of thought are everywhere the same, and that, given the data as known to primitive man, the inference drawn by him is a reasonable inference.
-with this we agree, but it gives the death blow to the previous statement as to the essential nature of religion, and its essential differentiation from science. for given the constitution of the primitive mind, its ignorance of causation and general lack of knowledge, religion commences not in some search after an eternal reality, but in a natural misunderstanding of observed facts. primitive religion is just a reasoned misunderstanding of phenomena that in later, and better informed ages, are given an altogether different explanation.
-must we recognise a single exception to the general truth thus far verified everywhere? while among all races in all regions, from the earliest times down to the present, the conceptions of deities have been naturally evolved in the way shown, must we conclude that a small clan of the semitic race had given to it supernaturally a conception which, though superficially like the rest, was in substance absolutely unlike them.
-and in about half a dozen pages he shows conclusively that the biblical god had exactly a similar origin to other gods.
-in spite, however, of all opposition the mechanical theory of things develops, and in developing establishes a clear division between the two conceptions of nature. but the line of demarcation is not that stated by spencer. religion no more asserts the existence of an "unknown verity," than it asserts a fourth dimension of space. nor is science concerned with denying the existence of something of which we know nothing, and can never know anything. the essential feature of religion is that it offers a vitalistic explanation of the world as against the mechanical explanation offered by science. and in this religion stands for the earlier as against the later expression of human knowledge. it is the eternal champion of savage thought against civilised intelligence. its whole significance lies in the persistence of animistic modes of thinking under civilised conditions.
-this conclusion, be it observed, is one that is quite borne out by spencer's own explanation of the nature of religion. nor do we know of a more remarkable instance of a front rank thinker propounding in one part of his work a theory bearing no relation whatever to the remaining portion, and in addition disproving his own theory at every point.
-spencer's reconciliation of science and religion, which in one form or another is continually in evidence, is only one degree less remarkable than the fact of its being accepted by so many religionists as satisfactory. following the line of his untenable theory that religion and science pursue parallel lines, he points out that "the agent which has effected the purification (of religion) has been science." that is, the growth of the mechanical theory has driven back the vitalistic one. this is purification only in the sense that a defaulting cashier purifies the firm he robs. "as fact or experience proves that certain familiar changes always happen in the same sequence, there begins to fade from the mind the conception of a special personality to whose variable will they were before ascribed." this process of annexation is, says spencer, science teaching religion its true function. as a matter of fact, science has given religion no instruction, it has merely issued prohibitions. it has warned religion that there are certain things it must not meddle with, certain departments on which it must not encroach. in this way religion has been forced farther and farther back, until it is left with what? not with anything that can be known, or is known; it is left supreme in the kingdom of nowhere, ruling over an empire of nothing at all. and so long as religion strives for a more tangible possession so long must there be a conflict between science and religion. but--"as the limits of possible cognition are established, the causes of possible conflict will diminish. and a permanent peace will be reached when science becomes fully convinced that its explanations are proximate and relative; while religion becomes fully convinced that the mystery it contemplates is ultimate and absolute." so, when science has monopolised the entire field of human knowledge, actual and possible, and when religion is satisfied that it knows nothing, and never can know anything of the object of its worship, that it can offer nothing in the shape of counsel or advice, but that its function is to sit in owl-like solemnity, contemplating nothing, meanwhile offering man an eternal conundrum that he must everlastingly give up, then, and not till then, there will be peace between science and religion. and this is called a reconciliation. mr. spencer finds two combatants engaged in deadly conflict, he murders one and offers the other the corpse, with the hope that now they will live peacefully together. the scientist is asked to be content with all there is. the religious man is asked to find comfort in the reflection that science must eventually monopolise the entire field of knowledge, but that, in return, religion will be left free to work in an unknowable region, to occupy itself with an unknowable object, and to eternally cry "all is mystery" in an amended philosophic version of the athanasian creed.
-as a piece of humour this is superb. so also is the following: "science has been obliged to abandon the attempt to include within the boundaries of knowledge that which cannot be known, and so has yielded up to religion that which of right belonged to it." capital! science gives up to religion that which cannot be known, and as it does not know what it is, that cannot be known, it surrenders to religion absolute vacuity as the proper sphere for its operations. and even this is accompanied with the proviso that if it happens to have made a mistake, the ceded territory will be at once reclaimed. science would certainly be vindictive if after having murdered religion it declined to live peaceably with its corpse.
-the distinction between science and religion is, in truth, neither fundamental nor original. it is one that arises gradually in the history of mental development. and, therefore, when a man such as professor arthur thomson describes religion as being concerned with the recognition of the existence of an independent "spiritual reality," the reply is that religion commences as just an explanation of nature in terms of the then existing knowledge and culture. religion is just a crude form of science. the separation of the world into a religious and a scientific sphere arises when the religious interpretation of natural happenings gets discredited by advancing knowledge. if one takes such an illustration as that of witchcraft the nature of the process is clear. first we have the interpretation of certain forms of dementia and delusion in terms of religion. later we have the same facts interpreted in terms of positive knowledge and the religious explanation is rejected. and that, in a sentence is the whole history of religion, once we have cleared away the verbiage with which the subject is surrounded.
-the truth of what has just been said is often obscured by unintelligible talk of growth in religion. it is claimed that we acquire truer views of deity, and a process of growth is asserted analogous to that which meets us in knowledge in general. let us see what truth there is in this.
-in ordinary instances when we speak of growth we imply one of three things. either there is increase in size, or there is an enlargement of function, or there is an increase in knowledge. so long as we keep to these plain meanings of "growth" there can be no confusion. but none of these meanings fit the case of religion. certainly there has been no increase in the size of religion--it does not, that is, cover a larger area. on the contrary it is continually being warned off more and more territory. it becomes more and more a negligible quantity. one need not go back to primitive times to prove this, any country will supply instances. the displacement of religious by other considerations is observable on all sides.
-there has certainly been no growth in the functions exercised by religion. its function as law-giver in the physical world is now definitely abandoned, and all it asks is that science will let it alone. in ethics and sociology it still maintains a precarious kind of an existence, but it no longer claims supreme power. it is content to urge its utility as a source of inspiration, to rank as one among a number of other forces that are frankly secular in nature. finally there has been no growth in the shape of an extension of knowledge of the object of religious belief. of the nature of deity we know no more than did our earliest ancestors. in earlier generations the nature of god, his aims and intentions, were discussed with the same degree of confidence that one now sees displayed in discussing schemes of sanitation. the modern believer is now more anxious to impress upon the world how little he knows about god, or how little it is possible for him to know. this is not surprising except in the fact that it is called religious growth. and if this be a sign of growth one wonders what would be considered indications of decay. historically religious life presents us, not with a process of growth, but one of shrinkage. to reduce the gods from many to few, and from a few to one is not growth. to limit the functions of deity from those of a direct, particular, and universal character, to an indirect, general form is not growth. to refine the idea of a personal deity until it becomes that of a mere abstract force, is not growth. all these are so many modifications of the religious idea under pressure of advancing knowledge--so many attempts to state religion in such a way that it can conflict with nothing we know to be true because it answers to nothing of which we are certain.
-the idea of god, the idea of religion, does not begin in a mystery or in some abstract conception, but in an assumed knowledge of certain concrete facts of experience. man believes in the gods because of what he thinks he knows about them, not because of what he does not know. the talk of a mystery is the jargon of a priesthood which finds it profitable to keep the lay mind at a distance. increased emphasis is placed on mystery because religious teachers are alive to the danger of basing their beliefs upon matters that can be brought to the test of experience. mystery mongering is not the beginning of religion, but a sign of its approaching demise. mysticism, too, is no more than a cover for a sanctuary that has been emptied of all worthy of respect. but if religion is to really live, it must have some knowledge, no matter how little or how imperfect, of the subject with which it professes to deal. a religion that does not possess this, but is compelled to hand over the whole of life to secular science, signs its own death warrant. it commits suicide to save itself from execution. and as people realise this they turn to clear-eyed science for guidance, leaving religion to such representatives of primitive animism as still survive in a civilised community.
-the primary difficulty in dealing with agnosticism is its elusive character. it is a word of various and vague meanings, and many of those who use it seem to have no great anxiety to fix its meaning with any degree of precision. it is used now in a philosophic and now in a religious sense, and its use in the one connection is justified by its use in another. it has become, in the half century of its existence, as indefinite as "religion," and about as enlightening. on the one side it appears as a counsel of mental integrity with which everyone will agree, and on the other, the religious side, it will vary from a form that is identical, with that much-dreaded "atheism," to a religious or "reverent" agnosticism that reminds one--mentally and morally--of methodism minus its creed. indeed, to say that a man is an agnostic nowadays tells one no more than calling a man religious indicates to which one of the world's sects he gives his adherence.
-the only aspect of agnosticism that we are here vitally concerned with is its relation to religion, or specifically with the god-idea. but it will be necessary to say a word, in passing, on at least one other phase.
-when it comes to a definition of agnosticism professor huxley's position becomes still more difficult of understanding. agnosticism, he says, is a method the essence of which may be expressed in a single principle. "positively the principle may be expressed; in matters of the intellect follow your reason so far as it will take you without regard to any other consideration. and negatively; in matters of the intellect, do not pretend that conclusions are certain which are not demonstrated or demonstrable." so far as this goes we have here perfectly sound advice. but why call it agnosticism? it is no more than the perfectly sound advice that we must be honest in our investigations, and make no claim to certainty where the conditions of certainty do not exist. but we have no more right to call this agnosticism than we have to give the multiplication table a sectarian or party label.
-nor do we believe for a moment that what huxley had in view, or what other agnostics have in view, is no more than a counsel of intellectual perfection. what is really at issue here is one's attitude of mind in relation to the belief in god. it is in pretending to know about god that the theist finds himself at issue with the agnostic, and it is to mark himself off from the theist that the agnostic gives himself a special label. and the trouble of the agnostic is that so soon as he begins to justify his position, either he states the atheistic case or he fails altogether to make his case good.
-there is, perhaps, one other topic on which agnosticism may be professed, and that is in connection with the question of what is known as the problem of existence. we may profess our belief in the reality of an external world, but deny that any knowledge of it is possible. here we assert that what "substance," or "reality," or "thing in itself," is we do not know and cannot know. but while many attempts are made under the name of "the absolute," etc., to identify this with "god," it is really nothing of the kind. the belief or disbelief in an external "reality" is a problem in philosophy, it has no genuine connection with theology. to identify the two is a mere dialectical subterfuge. mere existence is an ultimate fact that must be accepted by all. it is only on the question of its nature that controversy can arise.
-whatever may be claimed on behalf of agnosticism, it certainly cannot be claimed that it carries a clear and a definite meaning. as we have seen, professor huxley used the word to indicate the fact that he was without knowledge of certain things. but what things? to answer that we have to go beyond the word itself--that is, we have to define the definition. as it stands we may profess agnosticism in relation to anything from the prospects of a general election within a given period to the question of whether mars is inhabited or not. if, then, it is said that what is implied is that the agnostic is without a knowledge of god, or without a belief in god, the reply is that is exactly the position of the atheist. and there was no need whatever to coin a new word, if all that was wanted was to express the atheistic position. still less justifiable was it to proceed to misinterpret atheism in order to justify a departure that need never have been made.
-one cannot at this point forbear a word on mr.--afterwards sir--leslie stephen's curious justification of his choice of the word agnosticism. after the enlightening remark that the word "atheist" carries with it an unpleasant connotation, he says:--
-and he then goes on to assert that the subject matter of theology lies beyond these limits.
-now putting on one side this perversion of the meaning of atheism, was it really worth while to coin a new word to affirm what no one denies? theists do not deny the limitations of knowledge, on the contrary, they are always affirming it. neither do all theists deny that "god" is unknowable. that has been affirmed by them over and over again. what they have claimed is that "god" is apprehended rather than known, and they affirm his existence on much the same grounds that others assert the real existence of an external world. professor flint's comments on stephen's performance are quite to the point, and the more noteworthy as coming from a clergyman. he says:
-the more carefully one examines the reasons given for the preference for the word agnosticism, the clearer it becomes that the real motive is not the wish to obtain mental clarity, but the desire to avoid association with a term that carries, religiously, disagreeable associations. the care taken by so many who call themselves agnostics to explain to the religious world that they are not atheists, is almost enough to prove this. indeed, the position is well summed up by mr. john m. robertson:--
-the best argument for the use of the name agnostic is simply that the word atheist has been so long covered with all manner of ignorant calumny that it is expedient to use a new term which though in some respects faulty, has a fair start, and will in time have a recognised meaning. the case, so stated, is reasonable; but there is the per contra that whatever the motive with which the name is used, it is now tacked to half a dozen conflicting forms of doctrine, varying loosely between theism and pantheism. the name of atheist escapes that drawback. its unpopularity has saved it from half-hearted and half-minded patronage.
-so that, on the best showing, we are to take "agnostic" on the professed ground that it is more exact than "atheism," but on the real ground that it is less unpopular, waiting meanwhile for the time when it shall have become more exact than it is by becoming accepted in the same sense as the atheism that has previously been rejected. courage and straightforwardness saves a lot of trouble.
-for here are the plain facts of the situation. if we ask the agnostic whether he suspends judgment concerning the existence of the gods of any savage peoples, the reply is in the negative. if we put the same question concerning the god of the bible, or of the mohammedan, or of any other of the world's theologies we receive the same answer. there is nothing here to suspend judgment about, the characters and qualities of the gods being such that there admits of no doubt as to their imaginary character. or if it is said that the agnostic, while dismissing the gods of the various theologies, savage and civilised, as being impossible, suspends judgment as to the existence of a "supreme mind," or of a "creative intelligence," the reply is that one cannot suspend judgment as to the possible existence of an inconceivability. for "mind" must be mind, as we know it. and it is a downright absurdity to speak of the possible existence of a "mind" while divesting it of all the qualities that characterise mind as we know it. really between the statement that a. does not exist, and the affirmation that a. does exist, but differs in every conceivable particular from all known a.'s there is no difference whatever. we are denying its existence in the very act of affirming it.
-a less common plea on behalf of agnosticism, but one on which a word must be said, is that the agnostic attitude is more "reverential" than that of atheism. but why in the name of all that is reasonable should one profess reverence towards something of which one knows nothing? reverence, to be intelligible, must be directed towards an intelligent object, and we must have grounds for believing it to be worthy of reverence. reverence towards our fellow creatures is a reasonable enough sentiment, but what is there reasonable in an expression of reverence towards something that can only be thought of--and even this is unwarranted--as a force? the truth is that this expression of reverence is no more than the flickering survival of religion. numbers have reached the stage at which they can perceive the unreasonable nature of religious beliefs, but they have not yet managed to achieve liberation from the traditional emotional attitude towards these beliefs. in other words, the development of the emotional and the intellectual sides of their nature have been unequal, and for these the "unknowable" has simply served as a peg on which to hang religious feelings that have been robbed of all intellectual support. the semi-religious agnostic thus represents a transition form, interesting enough to all who observe how curiously decaying types strive to perpetuate themselves, but which is bound to disappear in the process of intellectual evolution.
-finally, one would like from the agnostic some authoritative announcement as to his position in relation to what is known concerning the origin of the god-idea. so far as professed theists are concerned one expects this to be ignored. on the part of non-theists one expects a more logical attitude. in this case it is common ground with the atheist and the agnostic that the idea of god owes its beginnings to the ignorance of primitive man. we know the facts on which this idea was based, and we know that all these are now differently explained. the belief that there is a god governing nature is just one of those blunders made by primitive man, and is on all fours with the numerous other blunders he makes concerning himself and the world around him. knowing this, and accepting this, believing that "god" springs from the same set of conditions that gave rise to fairies and spirits of various kinds, one would like to know on what ground the agnostic definitely rejects the grounds on which the idea of god is based, while professing a state of suspended judgment about the existence of the object created by this primitive blunder. it is certainly surprising to find those who accept the natural origin of the god-idea, when they come to deal with current religion talk as though it were merely a question of the inconclusiveness of religious arguments. it is nothing of the kind. the final reply to the arguments set forth on behalf of theism is, not that they are inconclusive, but that they are absolutely irrelevant to the question at issue. we cannot remain undecided because there is nothing to remain undecided about. we know that the idea of god is pure myth, and was never anything but myth. a belief that began in error, and which has no other basis than error, cannot by any possible argument be converted into a truth. the old question was, "can man by searching find out god?" the modern answer is an emphatic affirmative. substantially we have by searching found out god. we know the origin and history of one of the greatest delusions that ever possessed the human mind. god has been found out. analytically and synthetically we understand the god-idea as previous generations could not understand it. it has been explained; and the logical consequence of the explanation is--atheism.
-ultimately, then, we come to this: (1) the agnosticism that concerns itself with a confession of ignorance concerning the nature of "existence," has no necessary connection with religion, and is only made to have such by a confusion of two distinct things. (2) the plea of a suspended judgment is invalid, since there is nothing about which one can suspend a decision. (3) the agnosticism that professes a semi-religious feeling of reverence towards the "unknowable" is fundamentally upon all fours with the religious feelings of the ordinary believer. worshipping the unknowable is more ridiculous than worshipping huxley's "wilderness of apes." the apes might take some intelligent interest in the antics of their devotees; but to print our hypostatised ignorance in capital letters and then profess a feeling of veneration for it is as ridiculous a proceeding as the world has seen. after all, an absurdity is never quite so grotesque as when it is tricked out in scientific phrases and paraded as the outcome of profound philosophic thinking. (4) the only agnosticism that seems capable of justifying itself is an agnosticism that is indistinguishable from atheism. to again cite professor flint, atheist "means one who does not believe in god, and it means neither more nor less." the agnostic is also one who is without belief in a god, every argument he uses to justify his position is and has been used as a justification of atheism. atheist is really "a thoroughly honest, unambiguous term," it admits of no paltering and of no evasion, and the need of the world, now as ever, is for clear-cut issues and unambiguous speech.
-atheism and morals.
-looking at the world as it is one cannot forbear a mild wonder at the fears expressed at the probable consequences to morals of a general acceptance of atheism. one would have thought that the world would not run a very great danger of becoming worse on that account, and that, seeing the way in which all forms of rascality have flourished, and still maintain themselves, without in the least disturbing people's religious convictions, one might even feel inclined to risk a change in the hopes of improvement. mainly, indeed, one might say that those who are affected by religious belief are such as can very well do without it, while those who stand in urgent need of moral improvement seldom show that their religious belief has any very beneficial effect on their conduct.
-yet nothing is more common than to find the theist, when driven off all other grounds of defence, protesting against a deliberate propaganda of atheism on the ground of its probable harmful consequences to morals. this, not because those who have publicly professed atheism are open to the charge of loose living, but on account of those who at present believe in religion, and whose loss of belief would possibly upset their moral equilibrium. it is a curious position for a theist to take up, since it implies that while the atheist as we know him shows no deterioration of character in consequence of his loss of belief, we cannot be so certain of the present believers in deity. they are formed of poorer clay, and once convinced that there is no god with whom they have to reckon, there is no telling what will happen. so we are urged to let well alone, and leave believers with their illusions lest their loss should present us with a very unpleasant reality.
-this fear is expressed in various ways, but in one way or another it is tolerably common. the following which reached me from a well known man of letters probably puts the argument as fairly and as temperately as it can be put, and therefore in dealing with that i cannot be accused of taking the theist at an unfair advantage. his conclusions are summarised in the following paragraphs. (the summary is the author's, not mine.)
-now these statements put the case for the theist as moderately and as well as it can be put, and i think that they are worthy of a little careful examination. it may be observed that there is no insinuation that atheists are actually worse than other people, only the fear that in the absence of some form of theism the higher ethical motive cannot be roused, and that therefore character will suffer. well, we are none of us free from the contagion of our environment, and the most powerful influences are often enough those that it would be difficult to specify in any given instance. it is not only that the influence of the higher members of society affect the lower. the lower is not without its influence on the higher. but the question here is not really whether we are all exposed to the general influence of the group to which we belong, that, i think, is undeniable, the real question at issue is whether the determining influence on conduct is theistic or not. and i think it will be found that while the one thing is asserted it is the other that is proven.
-so far as the first proposition is concerned it may be taken for granted that our present state is the product of all past evolution, and that in the course of that evolution theistic beliefs have been closely--not inextricably--connected with morals. but this is not alone true of morality, it is true of every branch of human thought and of every aspect of human life. art, science, literature, have all been closely connected with religious beliefs. necessarily so. early human history is spent under the shadow of superstition, and its dominating influence affects the form of every aspect of life. but as the course of development has been to separate the essential from the non-essential and to place most of each department of life on a self-supporting basis, it would not seem an unreasonable conclusion that ethics will follow the same lines. in fact, it is following the same lines. there are few educated people nowadays who would claim that morality cannot exist apart from religion, they are content to say, as my correspondent does, that in the absence of religion belief the higher aspects of morality will suffer.
-our morality, we are told, is the outcome of all the human ages. i go further than that and assert that it is the outcome of all the human and of all the animal ages. there is no break in nature, and to the evolutionist the development of the human from the animal is plain. and it should scarcely need pointing out nowadays that nearly every one of the fundamental qualities of man can be seen in germ in the animal world. i only emphasise the point here because it is so often forgotten that morality is fundamentally the expression of those conditions under which associated life is found possible and profitable, and that so far as any quality is declared to be moral its justification and meaning must be found in that direction. the question of incentive we will come to later; for the moment it is enough to insist upon the fact that morality is fashioned, in its fundamentals, with reference to facts, not with reference to speculative beliefs. beliefs may influence morality for awhile, but the persistent operation of social selection secures a general conformity between conduct and the conditions upon which life depends. that is the fundamental fact to be remembered in all discussions of morality, although it is the fact that is most often ignored. ultimately life determines moral teaching, it is not moral teaching that determines life.
-life not alone determines morality, but it determines religion as well. what else is the meaning of all those discarded forms of religious belief, those bodies of dead gods, that meet the student of history as the remains of extinct animals meet the geologist in his unravelment of the story of the earth's vicissitudes? they are the result of a lack of adaptation to new conditions to which they could not accommodate themselves. once the gods lorded it over man as the gigantic dinosaur lorded it in his day over lesser animals. and in the one case, as in the other, a change in the environment brought about their doom. natural selection determines the survival of religions as of animal forms, and a religion to survive must become increasingly utilitarian in character, certainly there is a point beyond which the opposite tendency cannot be carried.
-assume, for example, that a religion existed of a grossly anti-social character, one that teaches doctrines that are subversive of the general social well-being. one of two things must result. if the religion is strong enough to enforce its teaching the society it dominates will disappear, and the religion will die out with it. if, on the other hand, it cannot enforce its teaching, or can get it accepted only in a modified form, then either the religion disappears in its original form, or it is modified to get itself established. to live, religion must establish some sort of harmony between its teachings and the conditions of life. it may retard the development of life, but it must not retard to the point of destruction. this is all that is really involved in what is called the purification of religious teaching. in reality there is no such thing. the purification is a modification, and it is modified in order that it may become acceptable to the society in which it is existing. the ascetic epidemic, the various disgusting sects that have sprung into existence from time to time during the course of christian history, have all died out from this cause. as with the individual, so with society, the forces of which we are conscious generally move upon the surface. of the underlying ones we are mostly unaware.
-the truth is, then, that behind all our consciously elaborated theories of life there are operative the unconscious or sub-conscious forces of evolution. there is, of course, a certain area of conduct in which speculative opinions play their part, and where actions may be arbitrarily classed as good or bad. but this area is, of necessity, limited, and for the reasons that have been given above. properly understood morality is not something very abstract, but something that is very concrete. the underlying reason for morality is always the same, and we are compelled to hark back to it for justification. and no rejection of religion can alter the basis upon which morality rests.
-the proposition that atheist, agnostic, and theist breathe the same atmosphere and are affected by the same influences is, therefore, one that is two-edged. if our intellectual atmosphere is saturated with religious influences, it is also saturated with social influences of a much more fundamental character, and which have been perpetually correcting religious extravagances. and it is at least open to the atheist to retort that we have to thank this circumstance that religious beliefs have not been more injurious than has been actually the case. if, for example, the ascetic epidemic of the early christian centuries had increased in force and had continued operative, european society would have disappeared. that this was not the case was due to the strength of the sexual and social instincts, against which religion was unable to maintain its hold. in the change of opinion over the better way to spend sunday, or in the decay of the doctrine of eternal damnation, we have the same point illustrated. right through history it has been the social instincts that have acted as a corrective to religious extravagance. and it is worth noting that with the exception of a little gain from the practice of casuistry, religions have contributed nothing towards the building up of a science of ethics. on the contrary it has been a very potent cause of confusion and obstruction. fictitious vices and virtues have been created and the real moral problem lost sight of. it gave the world the morality of the prison cell, instead of the tonic of the rational life. and it was indeed fortunate for the race that conduct was not ultimately dependent upon a mass of teachings that had their origin in the brains of savages, and were brought to maturity during the darkest period of european civilisation.
-in dealing with the two first propositions i have, by implication, answered the third--namely, that a wholly secular authentic code of morals would be inadequate to form the highest type of character; it might supply a "must," but it could not supply an "ought."
-the first and obvious reply to an objection of this kind is that our working code of morals is secular already. in life, if we observe without prejudice, it is not difficult to see that one's neighbours, friends, social class, etc., have far more force in shaping conduct than speculative theories. in its widest sense natural selection determines what actions shall be declared to be moral. of this we may take the universal feeling against homicide. this is but an expression of the truth that social life would be impossible were it otherwise. and when we pass from the general to the special we meet with much the same principle operating in society. the average burglar pursues his calling with no special sense of its wrongness, although he may have a keen sense of its dangers. but while burgling with a fairly easy conscience, he does flinch at breaking the code of honour set up by his fellow-burglars. and at the other extreme we have the "gentleman" with his code of honour which forbids him not to pay a gambling debt, but takes no count of keeping a poor tradesman out of his money. in each of these cases the determining factor is not theory but fact, and the fact here is association with our fellow countrymen or with a special social class. morality, in short, is social or nothing. moral laws are meaningless apart from social life. every moral command implies the existence of a social medium, and it is no more than a study in history to see how this social medium has been continuously shaping and reshaping human nature. the determination here is not conscious, but it is real, however much disguised it may be by various forms or theories. and when we realise this, it is no more than a truism to say that a change in religious belief can no more destroy morality than a change in government can destroy society.
-but in saying that the essence of morality is unreasoning i do not mean that it is unreasonable. all i mean is that it can receive a reasonable justification, and that no matter how lofty the development it has its basis in the fundamental conditions of associated animal and human life. we may surround the subject with a vague and attractive idealistic verbalism, but we come back to this as a starting point. the love of family, with all its attendant values, rests upon the fact of crude sexual desire, refined, of course, during the passing of many generations, but dependent upon it all the same. remove the sexual desire and the family feelings are inexplicable. thus, the reason for the existence of the sexual instinct is race preservation, but the end has been achieved in a quite unreasoning manner. in the animal world at large there is certainly no conscious desire for the production of offspring, nor is there with the mass of human beings. there is the desire to gratify an impulse, and very little more. and for the strengthening of an instinct there need not be, nor is there, any consciousness of its social value. all that is necessary is that it shall be useful. natural selection attends to the rest.
-this will, i think, supply an answer to the contention that secular ethics can supply a "must," but not an "ought"; that is, it may show that an individual should act in accordance with his inclinations, but in cases where these clash with the social well being, it can supply no reason why the former should give way to the latter.
-the argument rests upon a dual confusion. first, the moral "ought" is no more than an organised and conscious form of "must," and not something distinct from it. one may test the matter by taking a case. a man says, i ought so to work as to promote the general welfare of society. if we seek to find the source of this feeling we come ultimately upon the feeling of tribal solidarity in virtue of which certain tribes survive in the struggle for existence. it is gregariousness struggling into consciousness. the moral "ought" is an idealised form of the primitive tribal "must." and the "must" of primitive life is encouraged and developed because it is one of the conditions of survival.
-the second point of confusion is based upon a supposed opposition between individual inclinations and an ideal conception of duty. that the two are often, as a matter of fact, in conflict, must be admitted. and the cause is that while our inclinations represent a heritage from the past, our ideals are a projection into the future. but the contention is based upon their supposed permanent hostility, and that need not be taken for granted. for the whole course of social evolution tends to bring about a substantial identification of personal and social well-being. more and more as the race develops it is being recognised that there is no real individual life apart from social life, of which it is the creation and the expression. such antagonism as exists is the inevitable result of a conflict between an organism and its adaptation to a changing environment. and from this point of view the whole growth of man is in the nature of an expansion of his sympathies and sense of duty over an ever-widening area. the primitive egoism of the tribal individual is extended to the nation, that of the nation to the empire, and thence to the whole of humanity. there is no destruction or denial of self in such cases, it is a development of the sense of self over an enlarging area.
-finally, if a secular code of morals will not suffice, it is sheer rhetoric to say that religion is powerful enough to operate where naturalism fails. on the contrary, in a civilised community religious appeals tend to become secular appeals in disguise. on the admission of christian advocates the two most powerful appeals that can be made are on the one hand, in the name of the fatherhood of god, and on the other, the conception of the mother and the child. and what are these but appeals to the secular and social feelings of man in the name of religion? it may be granted that atheism in its appeals to mankind often fails, but in this respect is it any worse off than religion? why, one of the standing complaints of religious preachers in all ages is that their message falls so frequently on deaf ears. there is no more certainty that the religious appeal will meet with success, than there is that any other appeal will be successful. and there is the unquestionable fact that morality has become stronger as the power of religion has weakened. the higher qualities have asserted themselves during a period of religious disintegration, and the student of morals sees in this a promise of a further development in the future.
-and to all prophecies as to the effects of atheism on the morality of the future there is the apt reply that they are prophecies and nothing else. and in this respect it is dangerous for the christian theist to appeal to history. for while the consequences of atheism can be no more than a forecast, which may or may not be justified, the record of christianity is before the world. and we know that the period during which the influence of christian theism was strongest, was the period when the intellectual life of civilised man was at its lowest, morality at its weakest, and the general outlook most hopeless. religious control gave us heresy hunts, and jew hunts, burnings for witchcraft, and magic in the place of medicine. it gave us the inquisition and the auto da fé, the fires of smithfield and the night of st. bartholomew. it gave us the war of sects and it helped powerfully to establish the sect of war. it gave us life without happiness, and death cloaked with terror. the christian record is before us, and it is such that every church blames the others for its existence. quite as certainly we cannot point to a society that has been dominated by freethinking ideas, but we can point to their existence in all ages, and can show that all progress is due to their presence. we can show that progressive ideas have originated with the least, and have been opposed by the most religious sections of society. what religion has done for the world we know; what freethought will do we can only guess. but we are confident that as honesty is possible without the falsity of religion, as duty may be done with no other incentive than its visible consequences on the people around us, so life may be lived in honour and closed in peace with no other inspiration than comes from the contemplation of the human stream from which we emerge and into which we finally go.
-between theism and atheism the logical mind may halt, but it cannot rest for long, and in the end the logic of fact works its way. compromise, while it may delay the end without preventing its inevitability, is quite out of place in matters of the intellect. in the world of practice compromise is often unavoidable, but in that of ideas the sole concern should be for truth. when whately said that the man who commenced by loving christianity more than truth would continue by loving his own sect more than any other, and end by loving himself more than all, he placed his finger on the great moral danger of compromise where opinion is concerned. it begins, ostensibly, by considering the respect due to an opponent's case, it continues by sacrificing the respect that is due one's own, and it ends by giving a new sense of value to the very opinion it aims at destroying. "no quarter" is the only sound rule in intellectual warfare, where to take prisoners is only one degree less dishonouring than to be taken captive oneself. and the value of an opinion is never wholly in the opinion itself. no small part of its worth is derived from the way in which it is held, and the importance which is placed upon it.
-when professor tylor said that the deepest of all divisions in the history of human thought was that which divided animism from materialism, he was saying what i have been endeavouring to say, in another manner, in the foregoing pages. atheism and supernaturalism are fundamental divisions in human thought, and divisions that connote an irreconcilable antagonism. the terms not only mark a division, they are the badges of a movement, the indication of a pilgrimage. dr. tylor's own work and the work of his fellow labourers tell the story in detail, and although no one is in a position to write "finis" to it, there is no doubt as to what its end will be. and the manner of the pilgrimage is quite plain. the starting point is the creation by the befogged ignorance of primitive man of that welter of ghosts and gods which make so much of early existence a veritable nightmare. the journey commences in a world in which the "supernatural" is omnipresent, in which man's chief endeavours is given to win the good will or avert the anger of the ghosts and gods to whom he has himself given being. and the end, the last stage of the pilgrimage, is a world in which mechanical operations take the place of disembodied intelligences, or of supernatural powers. from a world in which the gods are everything and do everything to a world in which the gods are nothing and do nothing. the story of that transition is the record of one of the greatest revolutions that has happened in the history of mankind. its real greatness and far-reaching significance is not always adequately recognised, even by those who welcome it gladly. indeed, the narrower interests that suffer from this revolution are more keenly alive to its importance than are those who benefit from its consummation. that is, perhaps, what one ought to expect from the known course of human history. for history would not be what it is, nor would reforms be so difficult of accomplishment were it not possible to persuade the slave that his servitude guards him from the very evils it perpetuates.
-incidentally the nature of that revolution has been indicated in the preceding pages. but a more connected view will form a fitting close to this work. nothing more than the barest of outlines can be attempted, but such as it is it may serve to illustrate the truth that atheism is more than the speculative philosophy of a few, that it is in sober truth the logical outcome of mental growth. so far as any phase of human life can be called inevitable atheism may lay claim to being inescapable. all mental growth can be seen leading to it, just as we can see one stage of social development giving a logical starting point for another stage, and which could have been foretold had our knowledge of all the forces in operation been precise enough. atheism is, so to speak, implicit in the growth of knowledge; its complete expression is the consummation of a process that began with the first questionings of religion. and the completion of the process means the death of supernaturalism in all its forms.
-religion, it has already been said, is something that is acquired, and although that sounds little better than a commonplace, yet reflection proves it to contain an important truth. for it is in the nature of the acquisition that its significance lies. whatever be the earliest stages of religion it is at all events clear that its earliest form is in the nature of a hypothesis, even though only of the semi-conscious kind that exists when man is brought into touch with some new and overpowering experience. religious ideas are put forth in explanation of something. but all explanation whether by savage or civilised man, must be in terms of existing knowledge. no other method is possible. we must explain the unknown in terms of the known, and our explanation will be the more elaborate and the nearer the truth as our knowledge of the nature of the forces are the more exact and extensive. a knowledge of the laws of condensation and evaporation enables a modern to give an explanation of the meaning of a shower of rain that is simply impossible to man in an earlier stage of culture. in every case the facts are the same, and in each case the explanation given depends upon the knowledge acquired.
-now one radical distinction between an early and a modern explanation of the world is that whereas the former moves from within outward, the latter moves from without inward. uncivilised man explains the world by himself; civilised man explains himself by the world. the savage describes the world in terms of his own feelings and passions, the scientist regards human qualities as resulting from the relation which man holds to the forces around him. the process, while presenting a radical difference in form, is yet fundamentally one in essence. ignorant of all that we connote by such an expression as "natural forces," whatever explanation is offered by the savage is necessarily in terms of the only force with which he is acquainted. but it happens that the only forces which he then fancies he understands are those represented by his own organisation. what he is conscious of doing is prompted by his own will and intelligence. he hurts when he is angry, he rewards when he is pleased, and he makes the same assumption regarding the things around him. so far as he explains nature he vitalises it. vital force becomes the symbol of all force. and this result expresses a mental law that is universally operative. the civilised mind differs from the savage mind not because the brain functions differently in the two cases, but solely in consequence of the wider and truer knowledge of the causes of natural phenomena which civilised man possesses. we arrive at different conclusions because we start from different premises. inevitably, therefore, the first attempt of man to deal with nature takes the form of assuming the operation of a number of personal intelligences. natural objects are alive, and everything that happens to man, from the cradle to the grave, is thought of as being either alive or controlled by living beings. the world is filled with a crowd of ghostly beings exercising more or less discordant functions. against this riot of gods the conception of natural law developes but slowly. quite apart from the natural inertia of the human mind, the fact of questioning the power of these assumed beings involves to the primitive mind an element of grave danger. all sorts of things may happen if the gods are offended, and in self-defence the tribe feels bound to suppress the critic of religion and of religious ideas. but once the step is taken, the area over which the gods rule is to that extent restricted, and with that step atheism may be said to be born.
-what lange said in the opening sentences of his classic "history of materialism," that "materialism is as old as philosophy, but not older," may be said with equal truth of atheism. that, too, is as old as philosophy, since it begins with man's attempts to break away from that primitive interpretation of nature which sees in all phenomena the action of personal intelligences. it is of no importance in which branch of knowledge the departure was made, whichever department one takes the process can be seen at work. astronomy appears to have been the branch of knowledge in which the powers of the gods were earliest restricted, although it was not until the discoveries of copernicus, galileo, newton, and laplace were given to the world that "god" vanished altogether from that region. geology follows with the teaching that chemical, thermal, and other known forces leave nothing for the gods to accomplish. biology and sociology, dealing with more complex forces, are much later in the field, but they tread the same path. they provide a refuge for "god" for awhile, but it is evident that their complete dispossession is no more than a question of time. and even though the very complex character of the forces working in these latter departments should prevent us ever acquiring the same degree of prevision that exists in other classes, no difference will be made to the general result. the principle will be fairly established and our ignorance of details will no longer be made the ground for assertions which, if made at all, should rest upon the most exact knowledge. "god" will be left with nothing to do, and man will not for ever go on worshipping a god whose sole recommendation is that he exists, nor will the common sense of civilised people hold on to a hypothesis when there is nothing left for that hypothesis to explain.
-the single and outstanding characteristic of the conception of god at all times and under all conditions is that it is the equivalent of ignorance. in primitive times it is ignorance of the character of natural forces that leads to the assumption of the existence of gods, and in this respect the god-idea has remained true to itself throughout. even to-day whenever the principle of "god" is invoked a very slight examination is enough to show that the only reason for this being done is our ignorance of the subject before us. why does anyone assume that we must believe in god in order to explain the beginnings of life? why is "god" assumed to be responsible for the order of nature? why must we assume "god" to explain mind? the answer to these and to all similar questions is that we do not know, in the sense that we know the cause of planetary motions, how these things came to be. it is not what we know about them that leads to the assumption of god, but what we do not know. and the converse of that is that so soon as knowledge replaces ignorance "god" will be dispensed with. it is never a case of believing in god because of the actual knowledge we possess, but always the appeal to weakness and ignorance. from this point of view the colloquial "god only knows!" expresses the appeal to ignorance even more clearly than the elaborate argument of the sophisticated apologist.
-this aspect of the matter was well put by spinoza. believers in the argument from design, he says, have a method of argument that is a reduction, not to the impossible, but to ignorance. thus,
-if a stone falls from a roof on to someone's head and kills him, they will demonstrate by their new method that the stone fell to kill the man; for if it had not by god's will fallen with that object, how could so many circumstances (and there are often many concurrent circumstances) have all happened together by chance. perhaps you will answer that the event is due to the facts that the wind was blowing, and the man was walking that way. "but why," they will insist, "was the wind blowing, and why was the wind at that very time blowing that way?" if you again answer, that the wind had then sprung up because the sea had begun to be agitated the day before, the weather having been previously calm, and that the man had been invited by a friend, they will again insist: "but why was the sea agitated, and why was the man invited at that time?" so they will pursue their question from cause to cause, till at last you take refuge in the will of god--in other words, the sanctuary of ignorance. (appendix to ethics; pt. 1)
-the sanctuary of ignorance "god" has always been, and the sanctuary of ignorance it will remain to the end. it has no other function in life. a consciousness of this is shown by the upholders of theism in the eagerness with which they welcome every supposed demonstration of the impotence of science, and of the resistance everywhere offered to the development of scientific advance.
-so far, then, as the progress of life makes for the growth of knowledge, so far may we safely claim that the development of thought makes for atheism, as we have just said, and to do the religious world justice it has always been quick to realise this, and every great scientific generalisation--as well as many smaller ones, has been resisted on the ground that they were atheistic in character and tended to take the control of the world out of god's hands. present-day theists are apt to condemn this attitude of their predecessors, but it can hardly be denied that the logic lies with the earlier representatives. a god who does nothing might, for all practical purposes, as well be non-existent. and a god who is merely in the background of things, who may be responsible for their origin, but having originated them surrenders all control over their operations, is hardly more serviceable. the modern theist saves his god only by leaving him a negligible quantity in a universe he is supposed to sustain and govern.
-a study of the nature and tendency of human development does, therefore, provide a very strong presumption in favour of atheism. all growth here is in favour of atheism and away from theism. in the beginning we have the gods everywhere and dominating everything. they do everything and control everything. "god" is the one universal primitive hypothesis. and all subsequent development is to its discrediting. there is no growth in the idea of god, there is only an attenuation. the gods grow fewer as the race approaches maturity. their activities cease as man becomes aware of the character of the forces around him. and it may be further noted that this decline of the belief in deity is brought about as much by sheer pressure of experience as by pure reason. the majority of people do not reason themselves out of the belief in god, they outgrow it. people cease to believe in the gods because they experience no compulsion to believe in them. the logic of fact is ultimately more powerful than the logic of theory, and as environmental forces brought the gods into existence, so environmental forces carry them out again.
-now atheism does but make explicit in words what has long been implicit in practice. it takes the god-idea, examines it, and explains it out of existence. it admits the reality of gods as it admits the reality of ghosts and fairies and witches. they are subjective, not objective, realities. atheism takes the god-idea, explains its origin, describes its subsequent development, and in so doing indicates its ultimate fate. in this sense atheism is, as i have said, no more than the final stage of a long historical process. the theistic phase of thought is an inevitable one in human evolution, but it is no more a permanent one than is the belief in hobgoblins. one might here paraphrase bacon and say, "a little philosophy inclineth a man to belief in the gods, but depth in philosophy leads to their rejection as a false and useless hypothesis." it is true that thinking brought the gods into the world; it is also true that adequate thinking carries them out again.
-the cardinal truth is, of course, that the hypothesis of mind in nature does not owe its existence to an exact knowledge of things but to its absence. its origin must be sought in a pre-scientific age and its persistence in a number of extraneous circumstances which have perpetuated a belief that would otherwise have inevitably disappeared. and it would indeed be a matter for surprise if this belief--said by theists to be of all beliefs the most profound--should be the one speculation on which savage thought has justified itself. on no other question did the primitive mind reach truth. universally its speculations concerning the world were discovered to be wrong. on this one topic we are asked to believe that the savage was absolutely right.
-from the age of fetichism--rightly called by comte the creative age in theology--the history of the god-idea has been a history of a series of modifications and rejections. scarce an invention that has not slain a god, scarce a discovery has not marked the burying-place of a discarded deity. criticism reduced the gods in number and limited them in power. advancing knowledge pushed them back till nature, "rid of her haughty lords," is conceived as a huge mechanism, self-acting, self-adjusting, and self-repairing. even in the mouths of religionists "god" to-day stands for little more than a force. we must not describe him as personal, as intelligent, or as conscious, and between this and the existence assumed by atheistic science it is impossible to detect any vital difference. atheism, then, takes its stand upon the observed trend of human history, upon a scrutiny of the facts of nature, and upon an examination of the origin and contents of the god-idea. and upon these grounds it may fairly claim to be irrefutable and inevitable. circumstances may obstruct its universal acceptance as a reasoned mental attitude, but that merely delays, it does not destroy the certainty of its final triumph.
-with the supposed direful consequences that would follow the triumph of atheism i have not dealt with at length. these are the bugbears which the designing normally employ in order to frighten the timid and credulous. mental uprightness and moral integrity are certainly not the property of one religion, nor can it be said with truth that they belong to any. and examining the histories of religion it is a fair assumption that in whatever direction the world may suffer from the disappearance of religion there will be no moral catastrophe. looking at the whole course of human history, and noting how the vilest and most ruinous practices have been ever associated with religion, and have ever relied upon religion for support, the cause for speculation is, not what will happen to the world when religion dies out, but how human society has managed to flourish while the belief in the gods ruled.
-fortunately for human society nature has not left the operation of the fundamental virtues dependent upon the acceptance of this or that theory of the world. the social and family instincts, which are inseparable from our nature as men and women, and which operate in ways of which we are largely unconscious, are the grounds of all the higher and finer virtues, and while a change in opinion may affect their operation here and there, it can never alter their fundamental character. conduct, in short, comes from life, it is not the creation of a theory to be dismissed by resolution or refashioned by a vote.
-what atheism would mean in practice would be an enormous concentration of energy upon purely human affairs, and a judgment of conduct in terms of human happiness and prosperity. and that certainly furnishes no cause for alarm. it is, indeed, our greatest need. we need an awakening to the untapped power and possibilities of human nature. if the gods die, man their creator still lives; and the creative energy which once covered the face of nature with innumerable gods, which spent itself in the attempt to win their favour, and which called forth a heaven in the endeavour to redress the wrongs of earth, may, if properly applied, yet cover the earth with homes in which men and women, rendered purer by love and stronger by knowledge, will rise superior to the fabled gods before whom they once bowed in blind adoration.
-the kirk on rutgers farm
-to the men and women who gave that the old church might remain at market and henry streets
-it is evident that the preparation of this volume has been a labor of love.
-of the sanctuary which, for one hundred years, has stood on the corner of market and henry streets, the author, like many others who have put their lives into it, might well say:
-"thy saints take pleasure in her stones, her very dust to them is dear."
-the story of "the kirk on rutgers farm" is one of pathetic interest. in its first half-century it sheltered a worshipping congregation of staid knickerbocker type, which, tho blest with a ministry of extraordinary ability and spiritual power, succumbed to its unfriendly environment and perished.
-in its second half-century it became the home of a flock of god, poor in this world's goods, but rich in faith, to whom the environment even when changing from bad to worse, was a challenge to faith and valiant service. those of us who in our unwisdom said a generation ago that it ought to die judged after the outward appearance. those who protested that it must not die, took counsel with the spirit that animated them, saw the invisible and against hope believed in hope.
-not the least impressive pages of this book are the pages which record the names of ministers and other toilers for christ, who in this field of heroic achievement have lived to serve or have died in service.
-the author has very skilfully concealed his personal connection with the history of which he might justly say: "magna pars fui." but for his wise and winsome leadership the chronicle would have closed a quarter of a century ago.
-by putting in form and preserving the memories which cluster about the church of the sea and land, he is performing a real service to the christian community and earning the gratitude of fellow-laborers to whom it has been a shrine of their heart's devotion.
-if there be one thing certain about new york it is that nothing remains unchanged. not only do public works like the bridges change the face of things, but private activity effaces great structures to build up still greater ones. this march of progress is as relentless as a modern army, levelling all before it.
-in other lands churches have been spared tho other buildings went down, but even these in new york have disappeared, whole districts being deliberately deserted because churches were no longer able to maintain themselves there financially. this is especially true of the great down-town section of manhattan, the old new york, in which only two churches remain that have stood unchanged for a century. trinity church let old st. john's go, and sixty churches have disappeared in forty years on the lower east side alone. we lose much when old landmarks go, when we can not make history more vivid for our children by pointing out where the great men of another day worshipt, men of a day when other public assemblies were rare, and the church was the center that radiated influence. the old building is of value because of the living beings associated with it that were the life of the community.
-new york has hardly appreciated what its great families have meant for it in the past. the members of the rutgers family, for instance, always had a noble share in the day and generation in which they lived. their ancestor came over in the early days from holland, spent some time about albany, and then came to new york, branching out till rutgers bouweries and rutgers breweries were found in more than one place.
-a rutgers was on the jury in the great zenger trial that establisht the freedom of the colonial press,--"the germ of american freedom." the rutgers were sons of liberty and the rutgers farm near golden hill was one of their meeting places. a rutgers was a member of the new york provincial congress and also of the stamp act congress. alexander hamilton was engaged in a famous case when a rutgers defended herself against a tory who had taken possession of her property during the revolution.
-it was a rutgers who drained the marshes west of the old collect pond and so laid the foundations for the lispenard fortunes: a lispenard married a fair daughter of his neighbor rutgers. that stream still runs into the broadway subway at canal street apparently uncontrollable.
-one rutgers fell in the battle of long island, and while the old father died in albany, the british revenged themselves on the younger brother by making a hospital of his fine house in new york. the owner kept on fighting for freedom during the whole revolutionary war, distinguishing himself at white plains.
-this was henry rutgers, in whom culminated many of the finest characteristics of a noble ancestry. his breadth of view in an age not quite so broad, is well shown in his attitude towards churches and schools. when he decided to open up his farm in the seventh ward for building purposes he gave land at oliver and henry streets, at market and henry streets and at rutgers and henry streets for churches, and there was more for the asking, tho only the baptists, the dutch reformed and the presbyterians took advantage of the offer. the rutgers street site became the birthplace of the rutgers presbyterian church, beginning may 13, 1798, in a frame building 36×64. in 1841 the present stone church was built, and in 1862, as did others, this organization moved uptown. a mr. briggs, who was holding the property for a protestant denomination, finally tired of waiting and sold the building to the roman catholic church, in whose hands it remains.
-in 1806 rutgers gave the land for the second free school, and he succeeded governor clinton in 1828 as president of the free school society. before that day education was not a state matter, but left to private enterprise, and the free schools then establisht were for the poor. rutgers more than once paid salaries and other school bills out of his own pocket. he was a regent of the university of the state of new york for twenty-four years, and a trustee of princeton.
-rutgers was not above mixing in with the political life of his time: he was a member of the legislature four times and took a prominent part in the election of thomas jefferson as president of the united states.
-in 1811 he raised funds for the first tammany hall, then a benevolent organization.
-during the war of 1812, rutgers presided at a large mass meeting calling for the defense of new york when the port was blockaded and it seemed as if the british would attack it. he was a large contributor to the fund from which forts were hurriedly erected to keep the enemy out.
-rutgers was a member of a committee of correspondence formed in 1819 to check slavery. he lived to see the day, in 1827, when slavery was abolisht in new york state.
-his services to the dutch church and his munificence brought about a change of name of the college at new brunswick from queens to rutgers college. it is true the sum given was only $5,000 and rutgers was one of the richest men in new york. in our day when only billions seem to count we may well hark back to the days of simpler things.
-for many years henry rutgers gave a cake and a book to every boy who called on him on new year's day. the children gathered about his door and he made an address "of a religious character."
-colonel rutgers lived in "a large, superbly furnished mansion," on rutgers place, "for many years a capitol of fashion, where met all the leaders of the day." here was given "the most notable reception of the time to general washington and colonel willett," after the latter's return from his mission to the creek indians, the most powerful confederacy then on our borders. here, also, in 1824, lafayette was entertained "like a prince," so the great frenchman said.
-the house was built in 1755 by the colonel's father, with brick brought from holland. it stood on monroe street till 1865. but it was none too fine for the owner to give his fences for firewood one hard winter when fuel was scarce and trees in the streets were cut down to burn. next summer the rutgers orchard was said to have been safer than if the fence had been there.
-"the well-beloved citizen" died february 17, 1830, in the mansion in which he had lived nearly eighty years. on february 28, a great memorial service was held in the market street church. dr. mcmurray, the pastor, whose tablet is opposite that of rutgers in the church, preached the sermon, which was printed later, speaking of his "unimpeachable moral character, his uniform consistency," and saying that there was "scarcely a benevolent object or humane institution which he had not liberally assisted." colonel rutgers spent one-fourth of his income in charity, many of his benevolences being personal, gifts not only of money, but advice and sympathy.
-rutgers was a bachelor and on his death the bulk of his estate, over $900,000, went to the grandson of his sister catherine, william b. crosby. "uncle rutgers" had virtually adopted the boy when early left an orphan. among the provisions of the rutgers will was one that bespoke the testator: hannah, a superannuated negress, was to be supported by the estate for the rest of her life. this while slavery was still legal in 1823.
-william b. crosby was a colonel in the war of 1812. he died march 18, 1865. a son of his was howard crosby, more than a generation ago one of the best-known preachers of new york, a man great physically and spiritually. he was moderator of the presbyterian general assembly and one of the revisers of the bible. he died in 1891. another crosby was in the state legislature.
-the direct line of the rutgers family died out, but they were intermarried with about every prominent family of the city. the daughters were more numerous than the sons and appear to have had a reputation for good looks and good works. they were the wives of rectors, bishops, postmasters, mayors, secretaries of state, judges, and so on.
-on november 25, 1816, rutgers had deeded five lots for a dutch reformed church.
-the neighborhood in which the market street church was to be located was redolent with historic associations. the british provost marshal hung nathan hale on "an apple tree in the rutgers orchard," the exact spot adjoining the church property. nearby on cherry hill, in the franklin house, the first president of the united states lived for a time, as did john hancock and members of washington's cabinet on the inauguration of the federal government.
-in the immediate vicinity was the walton house, referred to in parliament as so richly furnished that the colonies needed no relief from taxation.
-close by the church lands, on july 27, 1790, rutgers on his own grounds paraded the militia before president washington, governor clinton and visiting indian chiefs, and thereafter he was colonel rutgers. gilbert stuart painted washington's portrait at that time and it was a prized possession in the rutgers mansion.
-just north on the bowery was the old bull's head tavern, "the last stop before entering town." on the evacuation of new york, washington and his officers rested here before re-occupying the city. in connection with it the astor fortunes were laid, and astor was not very popular with the other butchers either, because of his business methods.
-in cherry street a hundred years ago a sea captain and his wife made the first american flag of the present type: thirteen stripes and an ever-expanding starry field.
-at the foot of pike street,--the river then was nearer the church than now,--robert fulton built his first steamboat in 1807, and in may, 1819, just one hundred years ago, the savannah docked in the same place, after the first steamboat trip across the ocean, made in twenty-two days.
-not quite so pleasant a memory is the fact that market street was the new name for george street, of not very favorable repute, until the quiet quakers built fine little houses there, surrounded by gardens, driving out denizens of a less sedate disposition.
-a fine story is told of an old lady, who was advised not to go to the market street church because of the neighborhood it was in. she replied that colonel rutgers was going there "and where colonel rutgers goes any lady can go."
-in 1819 wolves were still killed on the "outskirts," that being the present gramercy park.
-to make the market street building possible rutgers gave a large sum, and he named the trustees "under whose superintendence" the building was to be erected. they were a noble group:
-dr. milledoler was one of the great men of the time. he was born in rhinebeck, september 22, 1775, and educated in edinburgh. he was one of the founders of the american bible society, and secretary of the board of trustees of the presbyterian church. in november, 1803, he became colleague pastor of the first collegiate church, and in april, 1809, on division by presbytery, sole pastor of the rutgers presbyterian church. he remained here until 1813, when he entered the reformed church. he was president of rutgers college from 1823 to 1841.
-dr. peter wilson was professor of languages in the university, as was also isaac heyer.
-matthias bruen was "one of the merchant princes of new york."
-peter sharpe was a "whip manufacturer" and william b. crosby is listed as "gentleman."
-nothing is known of the architect or builder, tho they were probably the same, as was the fashion of the time. the building was required by the deed "to be of brick or stone materials, and the whole building of a size not less than that of the presbyterian church in rutgers street." a hundred years have proven the substantial character of the market street church. the men of that day did their work well. whether it was a simplified copy of the north dutch church or not is not known. it looks much like it, tho the tower is simpler and the two rows of windows in the fulton street building become one row of great windows on henry street. but it has all stood the test of time. the old hand-hewn oak timbers still span the lofty ceiling, the glistening gray stone walls still stand four-square against all the winds that blow. the hand-made hinges and numbers are still on the pew doors, and the so-called slave galleries are still there, tho neither colored servants nor sunday school children are consigned to them now. hidden away, but still there are the hand-made laths, the shingles under the tin roof and the four-foot thick foundations.
-the old tower is there, for many years untenanted, until the men came who worked and lived there, a place of seclusion in a busy time and neighborhood, and if the symbols on the rough walls have made their thoughts roam to the early christian days the telephone brings them back again into 1919.
-the years have brought some changes; better heating than the first stoves,--the first coal bill was paid in february, 1832, and a new furnace cost $150 in 1848; better lighting than in 1819,--they had no gas till may, 1843,--but there have always been men who studied to maintain the quiet simplicity and beauty of the house, never more marked than in the days of its centennial.
-the first minister of the church was william mcmurray, d.d., "who with fidelity and zeal" served from 1820 to may, 1835.
-dr. mcmurray was born of scotch-irish parents in washington in 1783, and graduated from union college in 1804, studying theology under the famous j. m. mason. he was a great worker, preached three times each sunday, conducted catechism classes, and is said to have known nearly everyone in the seventh ward. he contracted typhoid fever, lingered for a while and died september 24, 1835.
-a sunday school was started in 1821.
-in 1834 the elders and deacons are recorded as being: crosby, hoxie, andrews, doig, moore, herrick, cisco, montanye, conover and mccullough, all famous names. hoxie and cisco were wholesale clothing merchants in cherry street then the center for that trade.
-in august, 1836, dr. mcmurray was succeeded by isaac ferris. he was a new yorker, entered columbia when only fourteen years old, graduated with first honors and fought in the war of 1812 with his father. the sunday school reported 213 pupils at the time of his coming, which soon increased, for dr. ferris paid special attention to the school. he was president of the new york sunday school union and first president of the foreign mission board of the dutch church. the church had 600 communicants, and was described as "a fashionable church in the aristocratic seventh ward."
-his son, dr. john ferris, spent much of his earlier life with his father. dr. isaac ferris died june 13, 1873. he was tall, broad shouldered and of commanding presence.
-in 1843, on the land back of the church the "consistory building" was erected. it was a plain brick building with a high stoop and heavy wooden shutters. the upper floor was for the sunday school and provided with circular seats for classes. in an alcove on one side and closed by glass doors was the library railed off from the rest of the school. on the main floor was the lecture room, the floor of which rose in the back. between the stairways leading to the next floor was a platform with two heavy greek columns and a reading desk between them. it was a bold boy who would run back there thru the dark when the "infant class" met in the room. the columns were removed in the seventies and later on the rounded stiff seats went too. then the floor had to be leveled so that the room could be put to general use. before that it was possible to reach most of the seats only by passing between the "leader" and the audience.
-in the basement in dingy quarters in the rear lived the sexton. he had the great improvement of having water brought into the house in june, 1847, by a sixty-foot hose. six years later the hydrant was put up in the front church yard, remaining there until quite recently.
-to the right and under the stoop there was a hallway, which later was changed to the "pastor's study," in which all smaller important meetings were held. it was in this little room that the session received members and for many it holds very sacred memories.
-there were no pictures in the building, but later a few mottoes with bible texts were hung about.
-in early days a part of the building was rented for use as a school. the rental was only nominal. at the time of the erection of the consistory building the sidewalks around the whole property were flagged and the iron fence erected.
-in 1848 the upper floor was arranged for the sunday school at a cost of $500. about 1871 doors were cut thru to the galleries of the church from the upper floor. for more than twenty years this had been urged.
-john crosby is recorded as "paying off the church debt of $10,542" in june, 1852.
-dr. ferris left in 1853 to become chancellor of the university of new york, succeeding his friend, theodore frelinghuysen. the first chancellor had been dr. matthews, a trustee of the church, and the successors of dr. ferris were howard crosby, john hall and henry m. mccracken. so of six chancellors of the university, four were vitally interested in the market street church.
-with the coming of theodore cuyler a new era opened up for the old market street church. two years before dr. cuyler had spoken at a large temperance meeting in tripler hall, together with general houston, henry ward beecher, horace mann and other celebrities. it was his first public address in a city that was to know much of him.
-in 1853 mr. cuyler was called and installed by the south classis of new york, november 13, 1853. he says that while walking along henry street judge hoxie said to mr. lyles: "if our young brother will come and work in the market street church we might do something yet."
-cuyler lived at pike and madison streets and later in rutgers street. his salary was $1,500, advanced later to $2,500. the church building was painted, and in 1855 a new roof was put on at the expense of the pewholders.
-opposite the church on the northeast corner was a large and select private school. at 11 market street later was a smaller one, headed by a german patriot, whose son-in-law was one of the great generals during the rebellion.
-in his address in the church at the eightieth anniversary, dr. cuyler called it "fighting the adversary of souls and geography," for even in dr. ferris's time there were indications of waning strength because of "the continued emigration of the more substantial class of church members from the down-town districts of the city uptown."
-but the indefatigable cuyler postponed the evil day, and for seven years of intensest activity he remained in market street.
-to quote dr. cuyler: "i looked around me and saw there were a good many substantial families that could support a church and east broadway swarmed with young men."
-"here was the lord of the manor, the nephew of colonel rutgers, wm. b. crosby. what a devoted christian he was. his good old gray head moved up to the pew every sunday, rain or shine. there was a deacons' pew, and in the center sat the best-known man in new york, judge joseph hoxie. when we said the creed and nobody joined he shouted it, and in song his voice was heard above the choir. there sat jacob westervelt, the mayor of new york, and he boasted that he was the only member of the dutch church who could read a dutch bible."
-the galleries were packed with young men. one, a young irish boy, robert mcburney, became the great secretary of the young men's christian association. charles briggs was another young member, and around him later raged the bitterest theological controversy of the century.
-in 1855 the seats in the gallery were changed from four rows to three rows, and the infant school was held in the "scholars' gallery" of the church. the low seats are still in the second gallery.
-a stove was put in, too, as the heating was not satisfactory.
-in 1855, a. d. stowell came as bible class teacher at a salary of $12 per month.
-dr. cuyler rightly referred to it as a busy old hive, for from market street church emanated some of the greatest religious movements of the century.
-howard crosby, son of william b. crosby, and brought up in the market street church, was the first president of the young men's christian association. cuyler became interested in it the second year of its existence in new york, and during his long lifetime he never ceased to work for it. but if the church had done nought else than bring robert mcburney to the association it would have been amply repaid. the master spirit in the association for thirty years mcburney's name is written in golden letters in the city's history. morris k. jesup and william e. dodge, life-long friends of the church, were early association supporters.
-a work typical of market street church was the fulton street prayer-meeting, started by jeremiah c. lamphier, who sang in the church choir. dr. cuyler credits this with being the first move in the tremendous revival that from 1856 to 1858 swayed the city, and went on to other cities, gathering momentum. cuyler says: "in three or four weeks the revival so absorbed the city that business men crowded into the churches from 12 to 3 each day, and when horace greeley was asked to start a new philanthropic enterprise he said: 'the city is so absorbed with this revival that it has no time for anything else.'"
-market street church gathered in 150 new members, and 1859 was one of the glorious ones in the history of the church.
-mr. lamphier died december 26, 1898.
-in the temperance cause, dr. cuyler was also a ceaseless worker. from 1851 to 1857 he was in close alliance with neal dow, then at the height of his fame as a prohibition advocate.
-in a day when such things were not common market street church got deeply into matters civic. "the most hideous sink of iniquity and loathsome degradation was in the then famous five points," baxter, worth, mulberry, park streets, not far from the church. an old building, honeycombed with vaults and secret passages, called the old brewery, was the center of a locality that boldly flouted the police. indeed, for years the old brewery was a harbor of refuge for any criminal, for the law never reached him there, nor were the five points ever a safe place to walk thru. at night no one dared be seen there. for some years the five points had played a physical part in the elections, and many a riot had its inception there.
-then the city put thru worth street, formerly known as anthony street, after a rutgers, and the old brewery mission was establisht there. thru mrs. pease, a member of the market street church, whose husband was the brave projector of the five points house of industry, the church became interested in improving conditions. when mr. pease went south, his place was taken by benjamin r. barlow, one of the market street elders.
-in his autobiography, dr. cuyler tells how he "used to make nocturnal explorations of some of those satanic quarters" to keep public interest awake in the mission work at the five points. new yorkers who remember the house of industry of thirty years ago and who now look at mulberry bend park may well thank the old market street church that the cow bay, bandit's roost, the old brewery and cut throat alley are things of the past, and that the five points are known to this later day only as a name. no second charles dickens will cross the ocean to tell us that "all that is loathsome, drooping and decayed is here."
-few men have been in touch with so many public movements as dr. cuyler. he was the personal friend of statesmen, churchmen, professors, lecturers, teachers, philanthropists, diplomats, poets and presidents. and as was the minister so were the people of the market street church: forward in every movement for the betterment of mankind, the coming of the kingdom. some of the best families of new york were connected there, and as fathers bought pews for the sons when they married it was a family church. these names are frequent: duryee, crosby, mersereau, brinkerhoff, poillon, zophar mills, ludlam, suydam, westervelt, waydell, chittenden, bartlett, mckee, purdy and a host of others.
-small wonder that from among men like these great institutions should come, that the park bank and the nassau bank should be founded by market street church men. the annual pew rents were $5,000, then a large sum.
-perhaps it was their very farsightedness that made the people of the church think of moving uptown. the "brownstone front" was drawing people northward, and dr. cuyler started a movement "to erect a new edifice on murray hill, and to retain the old building in market street as an auxiliary mission chapel." subscriptions were secured, william e. dodge heading the list. but the new site at park avenue and thirty-fifth street did not find favor, and many were opposed to the whole project, so when in 1860 the consistory was to vote the first payment, the whole enterprise failed by one vote.
-dr. cuyler said he would thank the good old man who cast that vote--meade was his name--if he ever met him in the other world. he resigned from market street church, his ministry ending april 7, 1860, and accepted a call from the little lafayette avenue presbyterian church in brooklyn. his friend, henry ward beecher, did not see how he could get a congregation there, but after many years of ever-increasing usefulness mr. beecher lived to say to dr. cuyler: "you are now in the center, and i am out on the circumference."
-it was strange that a man of the forceful type of cuyler should leave a church because it would not move away, and that thirty years later he should preach in it, rejoicing in its continuing prosperity. strange, too, that cuyler left the dutch church for the presbyterian, and that the old building "changed its faith" in like manner.
-in december, 1859, the courts had already given permission for a sale, but on condition that another church be built uptown with the proceeds. this having failed, under a revised order of the court the building was deeded to hanson k. corning in 1866, another congregation having meanwhile inaugurated services there.
-the old consistory lived on till june 2, 1869, when it held its last meeting at the home of r. r. crosby, in twenty-second street. a committee had secured the necessary legal modifications so that the temporalities could be disposed of. the distribution was as follows:
-to st. paul's reformed church on twenty-first street, $15,000; $8,000 to the prospect hill reformed church on eighty-fifth street, and about $18,000 to the northwest reformed church on twenty-third street. a $500 united states bond was given by william b. crosby to the sunday school of the twenty-first street church. the baptismal font was presented to st. paul's church, the splendid communion service to the prospect hill church. all these churches have past out of existence. the organ was presented to the church of the sea and land; "the property right in the henry rutgers tablet was given to r. r. crosby; the mcmurray tablet to henry rutgers mcmurray. a vault in twenty-second street was given to the prospect hill church. the bell, now loaned to the church of the sea and land, was given in a revisionary right to the consistory of the collegiate church, in case it ever ceases to ring for a protestant church." it still rings undisturbed, tho it has not in the memory of man swung on its wheel. only recently has it been given back one of its earliest powers: it is to ring the alarum if all modern means fail. it was cast in troy in 1847, and the committee (crosby, conover and lyles) spent $365.14 for it. the congregation thought too much of it in 1848 to allow its use by engine company 42 for fire alarms. the books of the market street church were left to the collegiate church and are now at new brunswick.
-all this having been done, the president of the consistory, mahlon t. hewitt, handed out the remaining letters of dismissal to d. w. woodford, robert r. crosby, william lain, dr. veranus morse, john van flick, henry taylor and albert i. lyon, and made a formal closing address in which he offered "a sincere prayer that its old walls may still stand, and that it may continue to be the birthplace of souls into the kingdom of christ." the prayer has been answered.
-thus ended the protestant reformed dutch church in market street after just fifty years.
-where fulton had built his first steamboat fifty years before huge yellow dry-docks now rose. additional land had been gained so that water, front and south streets grew out of the river. all along the river front sailing vessels pushed their bowsprits and gilded figureheads far over the streets almost into the windows of the sail-lofts that were numerous along south street.
-on december 26, 1865, the following trustees were chosen: john h. cassidy, john simmons, henry h. smith, henry harrison, david robb, john neal, and jas. mcglashan. at this time there were 74 members and the year's receipts were $2,372.67.
-the sunday school was organized january 1, 1865, 25 being present, soon growing to 80. it had a library of 400 volumes, costing $122.25. john h. cassidy was superintendent and t. m. may secretary. wm. mccracken was president of the temperance meeting and joseph w. cassidy president of the band of hope.
-but the man that was most prominent at this time in the church's history is never mentioned in the official records.
-hanson k. corning was a shipping merchant, who knew from his own business connections the helpless condition of seamen when in port.
-he was born in 1810 in hartford. the cornings conducted a large south american import business, with offices at 74 south street. three generations were active in it.
-hanson k. corning lived in brazil for a few years, paying special attention to the rubber business and also acting as united states consul.
-on his return to the united states he became a member of the firm, and the business prospered greatly. altho mr. corning in later life became an invalid, he went to his south street office until 1860. thereafter he gave his time completely to religious and philanthropic work.
-when, in the early sixties, the decline of the market street church became evident, mr. corning conceived the idea of making it a sailors' church.
-he entered into negotiations with the consistory and on may 1, 1866, he became owner of the property, paying $36,500 for it. the church of the sea and land moved into the building about this time. the congregation occupied the premises rent free, and in october, 1868, the property was transferred to the presbytery of new york, to insure greater permanence. mr. corning sold it for $25,000, which meant a gift of some $10,000 from him, the church itself giving about $1,500. james lenox contributed $1,000.
-the deed was a peculiar one, making the church of the sea and land a third party, and giving it the right of occupancy as long as it was in ecclesiastical connection with the presbytery, "or until in the judgment and by vote of three-fourths of the members present at any regular meeting of the presbytery it shall be decided to be no longer expedient to continue or sustain religious services or missionary work in that church or locality."
-it was also stated in the deed that all seats should be free, whereas in the dutch church the pews were private property except that one-tenth of the pews were to "be free forever for the use of the poor and of strangers," and such pews were marked on the doors as free.
-this is why the new church boldly painted "seats free" over the doorway.
-mr. corning was a member of the brick presbyterian church, to which he gave considerable sums. he contributed liberally to many objects, but not indiscriminately, and the mission fields in brazil, the american bible society and many other organizations were stronger for his munificence and wise counsel. mr. corning died april 22, 1878. a gift of mr. corning that the church still cherishes is its pulpit bible.
-mr. corning's interest in the church that practically was founded by him has never ceased, for after his death his daughter and son again became interested, and the third generation is still represented in the officers of the church and among its givers.
-in november, 1868, mr. lyle was deposed by presbytery. he died in 1881.
-edward hopper came in 1868 and on june 29, 1869, he was installed as pastor.
-mr. hopper was born on february 17, 1816, graduating from union seminary in 1842. he was pastor at greenville, n. y., eight years, at sag harbor, l. i., eleven years. after a short time at plainfield, n. j., he accepted the call to new york. in 1871 lafayette college conferred the degree of doctor of divinity on him.
-dr. hopper wrote a number of poems that were publisht in three volumes. during his sea and land ministry he was brought in contact with seamen and this finds expression in his later works taking character from life on the sea. many of his verses have found place in christian hymnology, notably such a lyric as "jesus, savior, pilot me over life's tempestuous sea," with that sweet verse "as a mother stills her child thou canst hush the ocean wild." another hymn was "wrecked and struggling in mid ocean, clinging to a broken spar."
-during the civil war dr. hopper had written some stirring verses, one on the old flag being especially noted.
-he was of fine literary taste and culture, proud of his knickerbocker ancestry. physically as well as intellectually he was every inch a man, with his bright eye, fine face and, in later years, a snow-white beard. even in his three score years and ten a decline was hardly perceptible until in the fall of 1887 the companion of his lifetime and partner of his literary pursuits was taken from him.
-on april 22, 1888, his text was: "watch, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the son of man cometh." next day at noon his niece found him in his study chair, his pencil dropt from his lifeless hand. before him was a poem: "heaven."
-he left to his nieces a rather large estate, consisting principally of railroad stocks, with legacies for home and foreign missions. his investments had been made on the advice of his friend, john taylor johnson, the railroad president, who presented to the church the communion service that was in use for over fifty years.
-in dr. hopper's time the work of the church for seamen reached its highest development, and that was due to christian a. borella. he was a missionary of the american seamen's friend society for twenty-one years, stationed at the sailors' home in cherry street, and surely a man of god. borella never came to church or prayer-meeting alone: he always had men in tow.
-there was an upper room at the sailors' home that meant much to many men, and there borella did a work that resulted in great acquisitions to the church. it is true that many "going down to the sea in ships" were never heard of again, and years afterwards nearly 400 names of seamen were at one time removed from the roll by the session. but again and again word came from all parts of the earth and in many languages from men that called the church blessed. it was only an exemplification of the wide scope of sea and land when a generation later one of its ministers chanced across one of these men in western australia.
-a feature of the prayer-meeting in those days was the reading of these seamen's letters, giving account of themselves to borella. they always stirred the man, who would add words of christian admonition that lacked nothing in definiteness.
-he was the right hand of dr. hopper, re-wrote records and generally made himself useful.
-but in his olden days he became restless and as no mission board would take a man of sixty-four years he went, after dr. hopper's death, to africa at his own expense. he soon attached himself to bishop william taylor and with his master's certificate ran the missionary boat anne taylor on the congo.
-physically he was stockily built, well knit and evidently a strong man, always neat, but exceedingly plain in dress. he was born in southern denmark, of spanish ancestry. his modest fortune he had made in california in '49, and his conversion was under father taylor when borella came under his influence in boston. it was father taylor of whom walt whitman said that he was "the one essentially perfect orator" he had ever heard.
-after several voyages borella became "cold and a backslider," and an eye disease nearly blinded him. "the lord cured my blindness, physical and spiritual, and i promist him then that i would serve him the rest of my life," and he did it with the virility and sternness of an old testament prophet.
-borella was succeeded by captain william dollar, a dear old saint, who was stationed at the sailors' home for twelve years.
-the church's work in these earlier days was simple enough, prayer-meeting thursdays, then wednesdays, and temperance meeting under mcclellan and campbell on friday. but on sunday, besides the two long church services there was sunday school, morning and afternoon, and young people's meeting preceding the evening service.
-when the sailing vessels were still along south street, meetings were held on ships as opportunity offered.
-in 1882 the interior of the church was papered and painted by elder b. a. carlan at a cost of less than $1,000. new cushions, carpets, etc., brought the total up to $1,564.
-the one annual event was the sunday school excursion, when all went on board a barge, which was towed by a tug to a grove on the sound or on the hudson. dancing was tabooed, but a "melodeon" was carted to the dock and hymns were sung. the tickets were fifty cents for adults, but sunday school children were free. robert s. taylor, veteran secretary, was chief ticket seller, not only on the dock that morning, but in wall street for weeks before. the president of the temperance society once or twice put in an excursion just ahead of that of the sunday school, and there was dancing. but this was generally disapproved.
-miss fanny crosby often came to the primary in those days and many of her hymns were first sung there. mr. blackwood, her attendant, married miss devlin, the teacher of the class.
-in those days market and henry streets had many two-story and attic houses and in almost every one of those about the church people lived who went there.
-teachers whose names stand out about this time were: hans norsk, james brown, thomas miller, william stevenson, evan price, james smith, william gibson, robert pierce, dr. theodore a. vanduzee, jesse povey, mrs. b. c. lefler, mrs. s. m. nelson.
-the excursions gave rise to a committee of young people who started to provide amusements other than dancing: swings, songs, and so on. there came also an "executive committee" that asked many questions, and dr. hopper, in a courteous and kindly way answered them in full: that was the first report made to the congregation. till then the annual meeting had consisted of reading the names of the subscribers who had contributed by means of the monthly envelopes, and the amounts they gave.
-but charles j. lemaire could not understand why this excursion amusement committee should not become a permanent organization with literary purposes. thus began the lylian association that for twenty years was a mainstay of the church and in its days of dire necessity was a vital factor. from it came the young men that in later years were trustees, and it was the opening wedge that was to transform the whole church work.
-when two of the young men came to the trustees for permission for a literary society to meet weekly, it was questioned whether anything but religious meetings might be held in the building. but after serious reflection the two were made personally responsible for good order, provided always meetings were opened and closed with prayer.
-in a day when the young people had no outlet whatever for their active spirits the lylian association became a training school for the church. the debates of that day will never be forgotten, notably when the lylians wrested the laurel wreath from the goldeys at clarendon hall, and that other one, when dr. hopper suddenly appeared at a meeting and after an impromptu debate "showing every evidence of being well prepared," as he said, some consciences were ill at ease.
-then there was the gossip's journal, provoking endless parliamentary wrangles, and perhaps helping to develop later on an editor. memorable were the young people's conventions of 1886 and 1887, and lylians will never forget the patriot kromm, spoopendyke shreve, the poet laureate and a dozen others. the fourth of july picnics at pamrapo and nyack are happy memories for many.
-like the old market street stoop with its fancy iron posts and rails the lylian association has seen its day, but it amply justified its existence.
-when one monday evening mr. pinkham, the church treasurer, announced to the lylians the sudden death of dr. hopper, there was consternation and adjournment.
-andrew beattie, a theological student, had been called before this as co-pastor. he was installed as pastor may 29, 1888, having been persuaded to give up his intention of going to the foreign field. mr. beattie lived down town, and his bachelor apartments on east broadway were a gathering place for the young men, many of whom were in his sunday school class. he with others worked out the system of quarterly written examination and grading that since 1888 have been uninterruptedly in force in the sunday school, long before other schools thought of such things.
-the school was flourishing with many young people as officers and teachers, all the activities of the church being centered on its nursery. the records were systematized, and articles in the church papers printed on the system, electric bells were installed, fire drills were inaugurated, discipline was rigid, visiting by teachers and districts was carefully regulated, the library given attention. mr. beattie returned to his first love, resigning after eight months to go to the foreign mission field. after years of greatest usefulness in canton, china, his health necessitated his return. dr. beattie is with his family in california, where he is in charge of a presbyterian orphanage.
-reverend alexander w. sproull followed mr. beattie on january 5, 1890, serving for three years. he had been synodical missionary in florida. after leaving sea and land he was incapacitated for further active service. he died december 13, 1912.
-another breach was made in the conservatism of the old church when one of the young trustees proposed to let the new york kindergarten association use the room rent free for a kindergarten, then new in the neighborhood. the older, wiser heads were gravely shaken at this remarkable innovation, but it came on march 31, 1892, and with it the beloved anna e. crawford as teacher. the fairy godmother who maintained it was mrs. francis g. shaw, giving the kindergarten the name of her son, robert gould shaw. it was a happy combination this, and the little boys became strong men in the memory of the young colonel who gave his life at fort wagner at the head of the first colored regiment. they buried him disdainfully "with his niggers," but robert gould shaw lived again in the lives of little boys trained to sacrifice at sea and land. nor will the colonel's sister be forgotten: mrs. charles russell lowell, who gave her young husband in the same cause and thereafter lived a life that merited william rhinelander stewart calling her "one of the most useful and remarkable women of the nineteenth century." her spirit of service was renewed in the little girls of the shaw kindergarten. the beautiful bas relief by st. gaudens on boston common is less of a memorial than the kindergarten in henry street.
-mrs. shaw died december 29, 1902, having supported the kindergarten for eleven years.
-another departure was an open air meeting establisht by mr. sproull, gathering at the church door sunday afternoons. first things are hard things.
-but a storm was brewing. uptown churches needed money, their pastors were influential in the denomination and it seemed to many good business to dispose of the market street church.
-so, on march 13, 1893, presbytery ordered the church sold, declaring, to comply with the corning deed, that "missionary work in the church or in that locality was no longer expedient." the church pointed out that 29 of the 57 churches in new york presbytery had received less members during the preceding year, 16 churches had fewer members, 14 churches raised less money, and that 6 churches made a worse showing than sea and land in every single item reported on. there were then only 4 protestant churches for 60,000 people. the battle was on, and the bitterness of the briggs trial had not yet subsided,--the same briggs who as a young man belonged to market street church.
-mr. sproull's small salary allowance was discontinued and he was forced to resign, july 1, 1893. then came hard times, no friends, no minister, no funds. but when the tale of bricks was doubled moses came.
-it was in the shape of a legacy from borella. that saint on his death in africa had left his estate in america to the church of the sea and land and the american seamen's friend society jointly. if borella had lived he could not have arranged it for a better time.
-meanwhile by an accident the press of the city gained the whole story from the church's viewpoint, and thereafter all the news reports were tinged favorably to the down-town church that insisted on living. there were illustrated articles on the church's history, caustic editorial comments, letters from correspondents, and everybody talked about the church. the ash barrels and the church doors had bills posted on them announcing that the church of the sea and land would be sold at auction on april 19, 1893. the property, however, was withdrawn when the best offer was $15,000 short of what was expected. there was a lull.
-in the spring of 1894 it became necessary to devise some means of helping the new york presbyterian church on 127th street, which was buried by mortgages amounting to $118,000, about to be foreclosed. sea and land was to furnish part of this and a mortgage was suggested. the church trustees opposed this successfully, altho at first it was supposed their consent was not required. without the knowledge of the church a sale was then again ordered january 18, 1895.
-preceding this, beginning october 1, 1894, the church had "affiliated" with the madison square presbyterian church. as presbytery had formally approved this the madison square church remonstrated vigorously thru dr. parkhurst, but feeling that presbytery's action could not be relied on the madison square church withdrew at the expiration of its one year of affiliation.
-committees of prominent clergymen visited the church and were "warmly" welcomed. it was suggested that sea and land unite with other churches, but it is a singular fact that, as when the reformed church disbanded, so now, not a single church is in existence that was then mentioned for a refuge. a case in point is the allen street presbyterian church. they had sold their building near grand street and for a time worshipt in the market street church. but in spite of earnest solicitation they erected an unfortunate structure in an unfortunate location in forsyth street. after a short existence there they united with the fourteenth street church, and that church is no more!
-even the strong madison square church no longer preserves its identity.
-meanwhile work went on, at first in desultory fashion, two or three times the young men had to conduct services. but thru it all dr. a. f. schauffler, of the new york city mission society, was the church's consistent friend. his order to the city missionaries at the church to stay until the doors were shut was the one heartening feature of a time when the officers ordered the blue church flag raised and "no one from sea and land will ever take it down."
-the women's branch always ably seconded these efforts under mrs. lucy s. bainbridge and later miss edith n. white.
-instead of slowly dying out the work of the church gained momentum from day to day: lodging house meetings, sunday afternoon teas, free concerts, addresses by gompers, mcglynn, henry george, parkhurst and others, sermons "against thugs in politics," and so on.
-a permanent accomplishment of the nine months' intense régime of alexander f. irvine was the starting of the sea and land monthly, the first number of which appeared in october, 1893. with characteristic impetuosity mr. irvine launched it, and it has been afloat for more than a quarter century.
-the monthly has been a great storehouse: not only did it give from month to month the happenings at the church, but it brought to later generations an appreciation of the goodly heritage of years that had gone before.
-the vital events in the congregation's history were recorded, but so was the personal history of its people. the coming of little messengers to the homes, their baptism, their reception into the church, their marriage, their death. then began another cycle like unto the first.
-and the monthly kept alive the interest of many a sea and lander who was adrift. it gave account of its stewardship to the friends of the church who supported its work. few churches ever publish with such detail the annual reports as does sea and land.
-many are the kind words from near and far that have been said about the sea and land monthly.
-but if the madison square church withdrew officially it left behind more than the old church ever expected. it was a young man who, in october, 1894, reported to the sunday school superintendent as coming from madison square. he was john hopkins denison, a grandson of mark hopkins, of fine new england stock. he had come to new york to become dr. parkhurst's assistant when he was making war on tammany. those were the days of the city vigilance league, when unsavory revelations were necessary to effect a change in city government. there was a meeting which crowded the old church to the second galleries when dr. parkhurst spoke. it was a noble battle and not without its dangers.
-so when the madison square church went, mr. denison staid, and he was a prodigious worker. the quarters in the tower were enlarged for there were many visitors who bunked there.
-mr. denison set out to prove the right of the church to existence and he did it. he did more: he brought no end of friends that remained to the church. the thought of cuyler to establish a mission, of parkhurst to affiliate the church with a stronger one, was developed under denison into an organization amply supported by the whole church, working out by itself its own local problems. it was no longer a self-evident proposition that a church not able to support itself must go.
-one of the early steps was the establishment of a church house at 52 henry street. mr. denison said: "it was not an institution--it was not even a settlement; it was simply a house where people lived. the time is gone by for men and women to come down as outsiders and pry into the homes of poverty and sin, and then return to their own life far away. one must live in a community, one must be a neighbor."
-mr. john crosby brown was the munificent friend who made the house possible, miss mae m. brown being a deeply interested resident there. mrs. rockwell was in charge, then miss eleanor j. crawford. it was the center for all social activities, tastefully fitted up, the ladies working at the church living on the upper floors. in the same house sea and land people had lived for many years: the stevensons, the boyces, miss mcgarry.
-in 1906 the building was torn down and other arrangements had to be made. for a time apartments were occupied at 138 henry street and 51 market street.
-the fresh air work, too, was put on a permanent basis. besides making the church the local station for the tribune fresh air fund, houses were rented at rockaway for five years, later at huntington, until in a more recent time staten island property was bought. later years saw an extension of this work to schenectady, where dr. bigelow of blessed memory headed it.
-under the auspices of william w. seymour,--of course he was not mayor of tacoma then,--the first boys' camp was establisht at north hero, vt., and is still a glorious memory. the girls were welcomed at litchfield and saybrook.
-not only did money flow in readily, but it was quite the thing for young ministers and theological students to spend a year, a summer or a winter at sea and land, and they did not study books: they worked on men and women at all hours. if some wretch got into trouble some one to whom he was assigned had not been vigilant enough. before hoover made a world reputation for himself, denison studied food economics, and he proved it by having the group live on a minimum allowance. then he preached on what was economical living.
-the most prominent men spoke in the church: dr. paton from the new hebrides; dr. grenfell from labrador, dr. van dyke and a hundred others.
-university extension ideas were anticipated in courses of study, the men of the church were put to work writing independent sunday school lessons, the teachers had pedagogical talks and studied biblical masterpieces. the girls were taken to sing in rutgers square and it was not always safe to do it either. the upper room was establisht in rutgers street, then the lighthouse in water street, a fine stereopticon was in frequent use. the men's club, under george m. bailey, prospered like the green bay tree, drawing men of all classes. a design for a church flag was adopted. sports were encouraged. numerous clubs were organized, among them the good time club, also the penny provident and the helping hand. nursing was taken up; sewing and cooking classes, model flats and cottage meetings started. magazine and newspaper articles commented on unusual sermons, such as the one on the balloons. addresses at northfield, silver bay and other places called attention to the church's work in ever-widening circles, hamilton house came into being, but without organic connection with the church.
-in short, mr. denison's compelling personality and enormous capacity for work put others to work, so that in the summer of 1895 9,546 persons were brought together in the old church in five weeks.
-so men and women came and went, some of them wrote books and magazine articles about the work with more or less accuracy. mr. denison's own poems were more appreciated by those who knew.
-the force of it all was irresistible, and so the last trace of opposition in presbytery and elsewhere disappeared. on november 11, 1895, the sale of the property was called off, and $2,000 a year paid for three years. ever since presbyterians and others have been proud of the outpost the united church is maintaining at market and henry streets. it is a happy memory that all of the men who in presbytery supported sale resolutions became staunch friends of the church.
-mr. denison was not ordained when first he came to market street, but this was done later at williamstown in the college chapel. on entering new york presbytery his installation as regular pastor of the church of the sea and land was effected march 23, 1899.
-in 1894 mrs. shaw spent considerable money fixing up the lecture room and in 1896 a new roof was put on the church at an expense of $600.
-mr. denison made a tour of the world, being absent from november, 1900, to october, 1901.
-among the men working under mr. denison was horace day, a young theological student who gave his life after a brief but intense period of work.
-in mr. denison's time, too, falls the best work of mrs. eliza e. rockwell. she was indefatigable, beloved of many, none too far gone to merit her attention, nothing too hard to do. she, too, laid down her life as a sacrifice. even mr. denison's book, "beside the bowery," insufficiently tells the full measure of her devotion for the thirteen years she was at sea and land. her last message to the trustees was: "i died in harness." it was on march 14, 1908.
-one of the men of that day was edward dowling. as a tinker he wandered about distributing tracts, speaking the word in truth, and returning during the winter to be factotum in the tower. in that kindly old soul few guessed the old fighter in india. did he really know the place where priceless treasures were hid beside an old idol?
-one of the men in whom united the sea and land of the staid old ways and the boundless energy of later days was john denham. he lived to see the day when the boy in the primary of the school of which he was superintendent for years sat beside him in the session. he was the living embodiment of that perennial spirit in the church of christ which ever adjusts itself to new conditions and never loses sight of its main object.
-mr. denham's strong point was with the older people. it was characteristic to have him read his bible, quietly take up his hat nearby and pay a visit.
-when on february 4, 1910, john denham went home to the master whom he had served thru a long life the younger men first felt the burden of things: the senior elder was no more. he had held open the door of the church for many a one and they had entered in.
-mr. denison left the church december 31, 1902, to take up work in boston. it was a great loss, but as one of the officers said: "what shall we do when mr. denison leaves? why, what we always do at sea and land: the best we know how."
-dr. william adams brown said: "none know better than the people of sea and land how costly the contribution which they have been called to make to the spiritual welfare of a sister city."
-it was h. roswell bates, who, in the spring street presbyterian church, worked out mr. denison's plans, as he had helped to formulate them at the old market street church while he was resident there.
-mr. denison was succeeded by his assistant, william raymond jelliffe. they had been close friends, mr. jelliffe leaving business and entering the ministry while at sea and land. he was ordained june 7, 1900, having been at the church since may, 1893. he left december 31, 1905, to join mr. denison in boston, and later came to the madison avenue presbyterian church as assistant. mr. jelliffe did fundamental work with the young people's society, that has been a staunch support of the church ever since.
-in 1909 the old consistory building was torn down. it held precious memories for many, for in spite of its limitations it had in its 66 years given a service that had included about everything one could imagine connected with church work. it had sheltered sunday school, lylians, innumerable clubs, a kindergarten, not to speak of the earlier days when prayer-meetings, school, temperance and young men's christian association meetings exerted an influence that went out far beyond its narrow walls. even the stoop that had been worn by many feet, some very little, had caused a poet to sing. it all went.
-the new building that took its place was splendidly planned by cady & gregory. it houses every activity of a modern church. club rooms for girls, boys and men, gymnasium, showers, kitchens, kindergarten rooms, first-aid rooms, and quarters for the ladies in residence. there is a roof garden where on hot summer evenings services and other gatherings may be held.
-the friends of the church came to its assistance in such munificent manner that not a single contract was made until subscriptions covering it were in the hands of the trustees, and in every instance the actual cash was in the treasury before payments came due. when, on may 3, 1910, the building was opened with appropriate exercises there was a balance on hand more than sufficient for all claims. it cost $43,000.
-another important achievement comes in this time. for years the church had been moving about in rented quarters for fresh air work, finally landing on staten island for several years. an option had been secured on a house with over eight acres of ground at oakwood heights, and after a year's occupancy that proved its availability, it was bought december 30, 1912, and next year some additional land was acquired, including ocean front. the funds collected were sufficient to pay for house and land, as well as a new bungalow and thoro overhauling of the old but substantial house. as in the case of the new sixty one all moneys needed were in hand before they were required. on every occasion the people of the church themselves have contributed amounts that were sacrifices considering their limited means.
-the fresh air fund is entirely separate from the general fund of the church, and each year the expenses are covered by special subscriptions, in the collection of which mr. george c. fraser and mrs. stephen baker have greatly interested themselves for many years. in its early days miss helen gould was one of the good friends of the fresh air fund.
-in 1917 mr. steen left suddenly for france in company with mr. gregory for young men's christian association work with the army, mr. denison being there also.
-on mr. steen's leaving a hurry call brought mr. alfred d. moore back once more, under whom the preparations for the church's centennial were taken up in spite of stress of war and inadequate assistance.
-work among the cosmopolitan population surrounding the church has had various phases during these years.
-in dr. hopper's time the scandinavian element among borella's men predominated, and there was also a small syrian group at the church, but no services in any language but english were maintained.
-later, home classes in german for the parents of many of the children were kept up for a number of years.
-work among the jews was carried on for several years and with success, if numbers count. but the methods of the leader were not approved and so the trustees after investigation discontinued the meetings. dr. john hall, of the fifth avenue church, then most prominent, earnestly supported the man, but in afteryears the correctness of the position taken by market street was abundantly proven.
-greek services were supported for quite a while, and since 1914 russian has been maintained under mr. nicholas motin.
-the advice and active support of men great in business have for many years been at the disposal of the church. from the days of matthias bruen, the merchant princes of this great city have been loyal friends, to mention only hanson k. corning, father, daughter, grandson, william e. dodge--for three generations,--and john crosby brown and his family.
-along with the sainted denham should be mentioned benjamin f. pinkham, who for twenty years acted as treasurer of the church. he was a quiet man, faithful in every duty, averse to discussion. when the lord called him home his accounts were in perfect order: a few minutes proved his balance, a space was left for next sunday's collection in his book.
-thru the years some who have cared for the buildings stood out. charles greer in the early days, evan price, a sturdy welshman, who died in service, christian c. pedersen, who returned to the same post years afterwards. in mr. denison's time david j. ranney served, attaining later to the dignity of city missionary and an autobiography. john a. ross will be remembered for his omniscience as to people and things about the old church.
-so the old kirk on rutgers farm has stood a hundred years. from its vaulted dome have echoed with no uncertain sound the voices of men like the scholarly milledoler or the indefatigable denison, a hundred leaders of men whose words and works have swayed the hearts of men.
-down the broad aisles walked the stately dutchman, the proud knickerbocker, the great merchant, the stolid seaman, the busy new yorker,--to go out and by deeds of victory in times of peace and unflinching loyalty when war's heavy heels trod the land they helped make a great city greater and a mighty nation mightier still.
-never has this been a selfish, self-contained organism, but a living, throbbing influence that went out beyond the shadow of its gray walls, prodigal in giving to others the good things of the gospel that were fostered there. many a church at home and abroad has cause to bless market street for the men and women that she brought up in the nurture and admonition of the lord.
-"we are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, a great multitude, which no man could number." all who have come have felt the spell of the place, for in its dim seclusion still speak the men of old. it is peopled with a long procession of saints and sages, mariners and merchants, scholars and poets, now of the church triumphant: memories that consecrate the souls of men and banish ignoble thoughts. here is an altar sacred to hosts of men and women, the holy of holies of their noblest aspirations.
-"mark well her bulwarks, that ye may tell it to the generation following." as the years roll on children and children's children will arise and call those blessed whose fidelity thru a century has preserved for them a holy place where "men still renew their youth."
-jesus, savior, pilot me
-jesus, savior, pilot me, over life's tempestuous sea; unknown waves before me roll, hiding rock and treacherous shoal; chart and compass come from thee, jesus, savior, pilot me.
-when the apostle's fragile bark struggled with the billows dark on the stormy galilee, thou didst walk upon the sea; and when they beheld thy form safe they glided thru the storm.
-tho the sea be smooth and bright, sparkling with the stars of night, and my ship's path be ablaze with the light of halcyon days, still i know my need of thee; jesus, savior, pilot me.
-when the darkling heavens frown. and the wrathful winds come down, and the fierce waves, tost on high, lash themselves against the sky, jesus, savior, pilot me. over life's tempestuous sea.
-as a mother stills her child thou canst hush the ocean wild; boisterous waves obey thy will when thou sayest to them "be still." wondrous sovereign of the sea, jesus, savior, pilot me.
-when at last i near the shore, and the fearful breakers roar, 'twixt me and the peaceful rest, then, while leaning on thy breast, may i hear thee say to me, "fear not, i will pilot thee."
-the old church
-the old church long has stood,-- for ages may it stand, storehouse of heavenly food and lighthouse of the land.
-within its sacred walls what thousands, now asleep, where its blest shadow falls have bowed to pray and weep!
-old church, with doctrines old as god's eternal truth, within its sacred fold men still renew their youth.
-still in its water springs, whose streams are never dry, hope bathes her drooping wings, and gathers strength to fly.
-still from its tower of light the radiant truth is given to cheer men thru the night and guide them on to heaven.
-the old flag
-flag of the brave and free! flag of our liberty! of thee we sing; flag of our father's pride, with their pure heart's-blood dyed, when fighting side by side, our pledge we bring.
-by their pure martyr-blood poured on columbia's sod for liberty; by all their deeds of old, their hunger, thirst and cold, their battles fierce and bold, we'll stand by thee!
-thy 'venging stripes shall wave to guard the homes they gave; thy stars shall shine upon oppression's night, to give the patriot light and make the dark world bright with hope divine.
-we pledge our heart and hand to bear thee o'er the land that god made free,-- till all its vales and hills, its rivers and its rills,-- till the whole nation thrills with victory!
-fear not, o ship of state! tho pirates with fierce hate may cross thy sea:-- fear not; at thy mast head we've nailed the blue, white, red old flag! our fathers bled, and so can we!
-we love each tattered rag of that old war-rent flag of liberty! flag of great washington! flag of brave anderson! flag of each mother's son who dares be free!
-o god, our banner save! make it for ages waves! god save our flag! preserve its honor pure, unstained may it endure, and keep our freedom sure; god save our flag!
-soldier, hast thou halted,-- shrinking from the foe,-- friendless, beaten, taunted, helpless in thy woe? rally to the standard! god shall surely win! with him thou shall triumph over death and sin!
-hast thou stumbled, fallen? have they passed thee by? in the filth, despairing, have they let thee lie? up! rise up, and follow yonder folds of white! thou shalt share their brightness, triumph in their light!
-dost thou feel the darkness near the gates of death? dost thou shrink in terror at its icy breath? lo! the flag is o'er thee with its field of blue! it shall guide thee homewards! man, thy god is true!
-the red cross.
-is the conflict bitter? art thou faint; at last, struggling, panting, straining, foul fiends hold thee fast? rouse thyself and smite them! raise thy standard high! see, its cross is o'er thee! christ, the lord, is nigh!
-the spade and anchor.
-christian, hast thou left us-- left the battle line? idling, straggling, wand'ring, heedless of the sign? hark! the trumpet calls thee! with us heart and hand raise the spade and anchor! strike for sea and land!
-john hopkins denison.
-the shadow of the wall
-let us stay a while and listen to the voices of the past, softly echoing, vaguely lingering, e'er they fade away at last, dreaming in a dusky corner of the quaint, blue-panelled pew while the massive walls of granite shut the hurrying crowds from view, and the street's loud clang and clatter, screams of rage and cries of pain, and the endless plodding, thudding, of tired feet in quest of gain muffled by a shroud of silence sounds a thousand miles away, and the past is hovering round us with its ghostly, dim array, flitting by in vague procession, up the aisleway, down the hall, while we lurk here, snugly sheltered, shadowed by the massive wall.
-stately dominies, wig-powdered, all in gowns of silk arrayed; fairest dames, slim and high-waisted, clad in flowered, quaint brocade; smart young captains, bold as pirates, with their slaves all gaunt and black; stout old dutchmen and their ladies, gowned as in a miller's sack-- how they flit past in the gloaming, thru the huge, high-vaulted hall, while we lurk here, snugly sheltered, shadowed by the massive wall.
-others come, some wan and haggard, heavy-lined and weary-eyed; some with faces flushed and fevered, hearts aflame and hands fast tied. others stand with frozen heart-strings, bitter, haughty, desolate; some creep past in shame, fresh quivering from some thrust of scorn or hate. in they throng, all seeking respite from the cruel world's maddening call, seeking peace in the dim silence, shadowed by the massive wall.
-other voices, sweet and child-like, linger in the dusky vault, cries of babes and tiny maidens, sweet since free from conscious fault, here they gather, brown and rosy, golden-haired and crowned with jet, glowing cheeks and eyes that dance, where innocence and joy are met. while without are screams and curses, loathsome vice and drunken brawls, here within, god's flowers are sheltered in the shadow of these walls.
-still they stand, a hold unshaken, while the turbid stream of life swirls around their bulwarks, brawling, black with sin, with sorrows rife, while still from the dizzy whirlpool drowning souls creep to the door; for the house of god, unchanging, stands now and forevermore. struggling in life's lonely battle, wounded, faint with many falls we have found a mighty fortress in the shadow of these walls.
-john hopkins denison.
-market street dutch reformed church
-presbyterian church of the sea and land
-students at market street church, ordained later
-"it has been the high purpose of this church to train a type of minister for whom the hard places of life are places of honor, and who have been going out from there spreading the contagion of that idea in the ministry of to-day, making this church a great training school for a new order of ministers."--george alexander, d.d.
-men workers at market street church
-women workers at market street church
-died in service
-james f. coupar, president. herman d. schlichting, secretary. frederick brückbauer, treasurer. louis j. audley. orrin g. cocks. george a. ferris. george c. fraser. willard a. hildreth. artemus r. richtmyer.
-old church buildings
-1766 st. paul's chapel, episcopal, broadway and fulton sts.
-1819 church of the sea and land, dutch reformed. 1866 presbyterian, market and henry sts.
-1820 church of the transfiguration, episcopal. 1853 roman catholic, mott and park sts.
-1825 first moravian church, baptist, then episcopalian, 30th st. and lexington ave.
-1828 all saints' church, episcopal, henry and scammel sts.
-1829 st. mark's church, episcopal, stuyvesant place. rebuilt 1858.
-1833 st. mary's church, roman catholic, grand and ridge sts. brick front recent.
-1836 spring street presbyterian church, 246 spring st.
-1836 allen memorial church, methodist. 1888 jewish synagog.
-1838 st. peter's church, roman catholic, barclay and church sts.
-1841 john street church, methodist, 44 john st.
-1841 st. teresa's church, presbyterian. 1863 roman catholic, rutgers and henry sts.
-1842 st. andrew's church, roman catholic, duane st. and city hall place.
-1843 mariners' temple, baptist, oliver and henry sts.
-1846 trinity church, episcopal, broadway at wall st.
-east side streets
-chatham square, after william pitt, earl of chatham, our friend in 1776.
-bayard street, after a mayor, nephew of peter stuyvesant.
-canal street, had a forty-foot canal in center, fine shaded houses at sides.
-division street, the dividing line between the rutgers and the delancey farms.
-east broadway, formerly harmon street, after a rutgers.
-henry street, after henry rutgers.
-madison street, after the president, formerly bancker street, after a rutgers son-in-law.
-monroe street, after the president, formerly lombardy street.
-rutgers place, site of the rutgers mansion.
-hamilton street, after alexander hamilton, formerly cheapside.
-cherry street, formerly a cherry orchard.
-oliver street, formerly fayette street.
-catherine street, after catherine rutgers.
-market street, formerly george street, after king george of england.
-pike street, war of 1812, formerly charlotte street, after a queen of england.
-rutgers street, after the rutgers family.
-jefferson street, after the president.
-clinton street, after governor clinton.
-montgomery street, after the general who fell at quebec in 1775.
-gouverneur street, after a new york family.
-jackson street, after the president; formerly walnut street.
-corlears street, after jacobus van corlear.
-chrystie street, after an officer of war of 1812.
-forsyth street, war of 1812.
-eldridge street, after lieut. joseph c. eldridge, war of 1812.
-allen street, after capt. william henry allen, war of 1812.
-recollections of a long life: theodore l. cuyler.
-beside the bowery: john hopkins denison.
-from the bottom up: alexander f. irvine.
-dave ranney: david j. ranney.
-nooks and corners of old new york: charles hemstreet.
-new york old and new: rufus rockwell wilson.
-a tour around new york: john flavel mines.
-when old new york was young: charles hemstreet.
-historic new york: half-moon papers.
-the leaven in a great city: lillian w. betts.
-the better new york: tolman and hemstreet.
-the new york public school: a. emerson palmer.
-helping the helpless in lower new york: lucy s. bainbridge.
-the fire on the hearth: edward hopper.
-one wife too many: edward hopper.
-old horse gray: edward hopper.
-echoes from the song of songs: margaretta hopper.
-an oriental land of the free: john h. freeman.
-one hundred poems: jane a. van allen.
-american notes: charles dickens.
-valentine's manual of the common council.
-new york genealogical and biographical record.
-records of the market street dutch reformed church.
-records of the presbyterian church of the sea and land.
-the sea and land monthly.
-handbooks of the presbytery of new york.
-printed in the united states of america.
-chats on household curios
-books for collectors
-with frontispieces and many illustrations large crown 8vo, cloth.
-chats on english china. by arthur hayden.
-chats on old furniture by arthur hayden.
-chats on old prints. by arthur hayden.
-chats on costume. by g. woolliscroft rhead.
-chats on old lace and needlework. by e. l. lowes.
-chats on oriental china. by j. f. blacker.
-chats on old miniatures. by j. j. foster, f.s.a.
-chats on english earthenware. by arthur hayden.
-chats on autographs. by a. m. broadley.
-chats on pewter. by h. j. l. j. massé, m.a.
-chats on postage stamps. by fred. j. melville.
-chats on old jewellery and trinkets. by maciver percival.
-chats on cottage and farmhouse furniture. by arthur hayden.
-chats on old coins. by fred. w. burgess.
-chats on old copper and brass. by fred. w. burgess.
-chats on household curios. by fred. w. burgess.
-chats on bargains. by charles e. jerningham.
-chats on japanese prints. by arthur davison ficke.
-chats on old clocks and watches. by arthur hayden.
-chats on old silver. by arthur hayden.
-london: t. fisher unwin. new york: f. a. stokes company.
-chats on household curios
-fred. w. burgess
-author of "chats on old coins," "chats on old copper and brass," etc.
-with 94 illustrations
-t. fisher unwin adelphi terrace
-there is a peculiar charm about the relics found in an old home--a home from which many generations of fledglings have flown. as each milestone in family history is passed some once common object of use or ornament is dropped by the way. such interesting mementoes of past generations accumulate, and in course of time the older ones become curios.
-it is to create greater interest in these old-world odds and ends--some of trifling value to an outsider, others of great intrinsic worth--that this book has been written. the love of possession is to some possessors the chief delight; to others knowledge of the original purposes and uses of the objects acquired affords still greater pleasure. my intention has been rather to assist the latter class of collectors than to facilitate the mere assemblage of additional stores of curiosities. it is truly astonishing how rapidly the common uses of even household furnishings and culinary utensils are forgotten when they are superseded by others of more modern type.
-the modern art of to-day and the revival of the much older furniture of the past have driven out the household gods of intermediate dates, and it is in that period intervening between the two extremes that most of the household curios reviewed in this work are found. although many of the finest examples of household curios are now in museums, private collectors often possess exceptional specimens, and sometimes own the most representative groups of those things upon which they have specialized.
-the examples in this book have been drawn from various sources. as in "chats on old copper and brass" (which may almost be regarded as a companion work), the illustrations are taken from photographs of typical museum curios and objects in private collections, or have been specially sketched by my daughter, who has had access to many interesting collections, to the owners of which i am indebted for the illustrations i am able to make use of.
-my thanks are due to the directors of the british museum, who have allowed their printers, the university press, oxford, to supply electros of some exceptional objects now in the museum; also to the director of the victoria and albert museum, at south kensington; and the director of the london museum, now located at stafford house.
-dr. hoyle, the director of the national museum of wales, at cardiff, has most kindly had specially prepared for this work quite a number of photographs of very uncommon household curios. the curator of the hull museum has loaned blocks, and photographs have been sent by messrs. egan and co., ltd., of cork; mr. wayte, of edenbridge; and mr. phillips, of the manor house, hitchin. to mr. evans, of nailsea court, somerset, i am indebted for the loan of his unrivalled collection of ancient nutcrackers, some of which have been sketched for reproduction. i have also made use of examples in the collections of private friends, and illustrated some of my own household curios, many of them family relics.
-the story of domestic curios is made the more useful by these illustrations, and also by references to well-known collections. there is much to admire in the once common objects of the home, now curios, and it is in the hope that some may be led to appreciate more the antiques with which they are familiar that these pages have been penned. if that is achieved my object will have been accomplished.
-fred. w. burgess.
-no place like home--curios in the making--the influence of prevailing styles--a cultivated taste.
-fire-making appliances--tinder boxes--the fireplace--andirons and fire-dogs--sussex backs--fireirons and fenders--trivets and stools--bellows.
-rushlights and holders--candles, moulds, and boxes--snuffers, trays, and extinguishers--oil lamps--lanterns.
-cutlery: knives, forks, and spoons--salt cellars--cruet stands--punch and toddy--porringers and cups--trays and waiters--the tea table--cream jugs--sugar tongs and nippers--caddies--cupids--nutcrackers--turned woodware.
-the kitchen grate--boilers and kettles--grills and gridirons--cooking utensils--warming pans.
-mantelpiece ornaments--vases--derbyshire spars--jade or spleen stone--wood carvings--old gilt.
-waterford, bristol, and nailsea--ornaments of glass--enamels on metal.
-spanish leather--cuir boulli work--tapestry and upholstery--leather bottles and drinking vessels--leather curios--shoes--horn work.
-the table and its secrets--combs--patch boxes--enamelled objects--perfume boxes and holders--dressing cases--scratchbacks--toilet chatelaines--locks of hair--jewel cabinets.
-spinning wheels--materials and work--little accessories--cutlery--quaint woodwork--the needlewoman--old samplers.
-from cover to cover--old scrap books--almanacs--the writing table.
-old pipes--pipe racks--tobacco boxes--smokers' tongs and stoppers--snuff boxes and rasps.
-amulets--horse trappings--emblems of luck--love spoons--glass curios.
-clocks--watches--watch keys--watch stands.
-early examples--whistles and pipes--violins and harps.
-dolls--toys--old games--outdoor amusements--relics of sport.
-dower chests--medicine chests--old lacquer--the tool chest--egyptian curios--ancient spectacles--curious chinaware--garden curios--the mounting of curios--obsolete household names.
-list of illustrations
-1. old fireplace, showing sussex back, andirons, and trivet frontispiece
-“watch want?” from the composing-room.
-“got room for about two sticks more?”
-“yes, guess so. if it don't run over that.”
-a brief silence. then:
-“is it 'had have,' or 'had of?”
-“what's the connection?”
-“why-ah. 'if the gallant fire-laddies, under the able direction of chief charley lomax, had of had a sufficiency of water with which to cope with the devouring element--'etc.”
-“'had have,' i guess. i don't know.”
-“guess you're right. run it that way anyhow.”
-only the other day, the man that in all this country knows better than anybody else how a circus should be advertised, said (with some sadness, i do believe) that it didn't pay any longer to put up showbills; the money was better invested in newspaper advertising.
-“it doesn't pay.” ah, me! how the commercial spirit of the age plays whaley with the romance of existence! you shall not look long upon the showbill now that there is no money to be had from it. “youth's sweet-scented manuscript” is about to close, but ere it does, let us turn back a little to the pages illuminated by the glowing colors of the circus poster.
-saturday afternoon when we went by the enginehouse, its brick wall fluttered with the rags and tatters of “esther, the beautiful queen,” and the lecture on “the republic: will it endure?” (gee! but that was exciting!) sunday morning, after sunday-school, there was a sudden quickening among the boys. we stopped nibbling on the edges of the lesson leaf and followed the crowd in scuttling haste. miraculously, over-night, the shabby wall had blossomed into thralling splendor. what was daniel in the lions' den, compared with herr alexander in the same? not, as the prophet is pictured, in the farthest corner from the lions, and manifestly saying to himself: “if i was only out of this!” but with his head right smack dab in the lion's mouth. right in it. yes, sir.
-“s' posin'!” we gasped, all goggle-eyed, “jist s'posin' that there lion was to shut his mouth! ga-ash!”
-the golden text? it faded before the lemon-and-scarlet glories of the golden chariot. drawn by sixteen dappled steeds, each with his neck arching like a fish-hook and reined with fancy scalloped reins, it occupied the center of the foreground. the band rode in it, far more fortunate than our local band whose best was, charley wells's depot 'bus. and nobler than all his fellows was the bass-drummer. he had a canopy over him, a carved and golden canopy, on whose top revolved a clown's head with its tongue stuck out. on each quarter of this rococo shallop a golden circus-girl in short skirts gaily skipped rope with a nubia or fascinator, or whatever it is the women call the thing they wrap around their heads in cold weather when they hang out the clothes. there were big pieces of looking-glass let into the sides of the band-wagon, and every decorator knows that when you put looking-glass on a thing it is impossible to fix it so that it will be any finer.
-winding back and forth across the picture was the long train of tableau-cars and animal cages, diminishing with distance until away, 'way up in the upper left-hand corner the hindmost van was all immersed in the blue-and-yellow haze just this side of out-of-sight. that with our own eyes we should behold the glories here set forth we knew right well. cruel fortune might cheat us of the raptures to be had inside the tents, but the street-parade was ours, for it was free.
-it seems to me that we did not linger so long before these pictures, nor before those of the rare and costly animals, which, if we but knew it, were the main reason why we were permitted to go (if we did get to go). to look at these animals is improving to the mind, and since we could not go alone, an older person had to accompany us, and... and... i trust i make myself clear. but we didn't want to improve our minds if it was a possible thing to avoid it. the pictures of these animals were in the joggerfy book anyhow, though not in colors, unless we had a box of paints. there can be no doubt that the show-bill pictures of the menageries were in colors. i seem to recollect that mr. galbraith, who kept the dry-goods store across the street from the engine-house, was very much exercised in his mind about the way one of these pictures was printed. it was the counterfeit presentment of the hip-po-pot-a-mus, or behemoth of holy writ. his objection to the hip--you know was not because its open countenance was so fearsome, but because it was so red. six feet by two of flaming crimson across the street in the afternoon sun made it necessary for him to take the goods to the back window of the store to show to customers. he didn't like it a bit.
-no. neither before the large and expensive pictures of the street-parade, nor the large and expensive wild beasts did we linger. the swarm was thickest, sand the jabbering loudest, the “o-o-oh's,” the “m! looky's” the “geeminently's” shrillest, in front of where the deeds of high emprise were set forth. men with their fists clenched on their breasts, and their neatly slippered toes touching the backs of their heads, crashed through paper-covered hoops beneath which horses madly coursed; they flew through the air with the greatest of ease, the daring young men on the flying; trapeze, or they posed in living pyramids.
-and as the sons of men assembled themselves together, satan came also, the spirit i, that evermore denies.
-“a-a-ah!” sneers his embodiment in one whose crackling voice cannot make up its mind whether to be bass or treble, “a-a-ah, to the show they down't do hay-uf what they is in the pitchers.”
-a chilling silence follows. a cold uneasiness strikes into all the listeners. we are all made wretched by destructive criticism. let us alone in our ideals. let us alone, can't you?
-“now... now,” pursues the crackle-voiced mephisto, pointing to where japanese jugglers defy the law of gravitation and other experiences of daily life, “now, they cain't walk up no ladder made out o' reel sharp swords.”
-“they can so walk up it,” stoutly declares one boy. hurrah! a champion to the rescue! the others edge closer to him. they like him.
-“nah, they cain't. how kin they? they'd cut their feet all to pieces.”
-the little boys breathe easier, but fearing another onslaught, make all haste to call attention to the most fascinating one of all, the picture of a little boy standing up on top of his daddy's head. and, as if that weren't enough, his daddy is standing up on a horse and the horse is going round the ring lickety-split. and, as if these circumstances weren't sufficiently trying, that little show-boy is standing on only one foot. the other is stuck up in the air like five minutes to six, and he has hold of his toe with his hand. i'll bet you can't do that just as you are on the ground, let alone on your daddy's head, and him on a horse that's going like sixty. now you just try it once. just try it.... aa-ah! told you you couldn't.
-now, how the show-actors can do that looks very wonderful to you. it really is very simple. i'll tell you about it. all show-actors are born double-jointed. you have only two hip-joints. they have four. and it's the same all over with them. where you have only one joint, they have two. so, you see, the wonder isn't how they can bend themselves every which way, but how they can keep from doubling up like a foot-rule.
-and i suppose you know the reason why they stay on the horse's back. they have rosin on their feet. did you ever stand up on a horse's back? i did. it was out to grandpap's, on old tib.... no, not very long. i didn't have any rosin on my feet. i was going to put some on, but my uncle jimmy said: “hay! what you got there?” i told him. “well,” he says, “you jist mosey right into the house and put that back in the fiddle-box where you got it. go on, now. and if i catch you foolin' with my things again, i'll.... well, i don't know what i will do to you.” so i put it back. anyhow, i don't think rosin would have helped me stay on a second longer, because old tib, with an intelligence you wouldn't have suspected in her, walked under the wagon-shed and calmly scraped me off her back.
-and did you ever try to walk the tight-rope? you take the clothes-line and stretch it in the grape-arbor--better not make it too high at first--and then you take the clothes-prop for a balance-pole and go right ahead--er--er as far as you can. the real reason why you fall off so is that you don't have chalk on your shoes. got to have lots of chalk. then after you get used to the rope wabbling so all-fired fast, you can do it like a mice. and while i'm about it, i might as well tell you that if you ever expect to amount to a hill of beans as a trapeze performer you must have clear-starch with oil of cloves in it to rub on your hands. finest thing in the world. my mother wouldn't let me have any. she said she couldn't have me messing around that way, i blame her as much as anybody that i am not now a competent performer on the trapeze.
-i don't know that i had better go into details about the state of mind boys are in from the time the bills are first put up until after the circus has actually departed. i don't mean the boys that get to go to everything that comes along, and that have pennies to spend for candy, and all like that, whenever they ask for it. i mean the regular, proper, natural boys, that used to be “back home,” boys whose daddies tormented them with: “well, we il see--” that's so exasperating!--or, “i wish you wouldn't tease, when you know we can't spare the money just at present.” a perfectly foolish answer, that last. they had money to fritter away at the grocery, and the butcher-shop, and the dry-goods store, but when it came to a necessity of life, such as going to the circus, they let on they couldn't afford it. a likely story.
-“only jist this little bit of a once. aw, now, please. please, cain't i go? aw now, i think you might. aw now, woncha? aw, paw. i ain't been to a reely show for ever so long. aw, the scripture pammerammer, that don't count. aw, paw. please cain't i go? aw, please!” and so forth and so on, with much more of the same sort. no, i can't go into details, it's too terrible.
-but some of the boys lay there in the grass with their hands under their heads, looking up at the sky, and making little white spots come in and out on the corners of their jaws, they had their teeth set so hard, and were chewing so fiercely. you could almost hear their minds creak, scheming, scheming, scheming. i suppose there were ways for boys to make money in those times, but they always fizzled out when you came to try them, to say nothing of the way they broke into your day. why, you had scarcely any time to play in. you 'd go 'round to some neighbor's house with a magazine, and you'd say: “good afternoon, mrs. slaymaker. do you want to subscribe for this?” just the way you had studied out you would say. and she'd take it, and go sit down with it, and read it clear through while you played with the dog, and then when she got all through with it, and had read all the advertisements, she'd hand it back to you and say: no, she didn't believe she would. they had so many books and papers now that she didn't get a chance hardly to read in any of them, let alone taking any new ornes. were you getting many new subscribers? just commenced, eh? well, she wished you all the luck in the world. how was your ma? that's good. did she hear from your uncle john's folks since they moved out to kansas?
-i have heard that there were boys who, under the dire necessity of going to the circus, got together enough rags, old iron, and bottles to make up the price, sold 'em, collected the money, and went. i don't believe it. i don't believe it. we all had, hidden under the back porch, our treasure-heap of rusty grates, cracked fire-pots, broken griddles and lid-lifters, tub-hoops and pokers, but i do not believe that any human boy ever collected fifty cents' worth. i want you to understand that fifty cents is a whole lot of money, particularly when it is laid out in scrap-iron. only the tin-wagon takes rags, and they pay in tinware, and that's no good to a boy that wants to go to the circus. and as for bottles--well, sir, you wash out a whole, whole lot of bottles, a whole big lot of 'em, a wash-basket full, and tote 'em down to mr. case's drug--and book-store, as much as ever you and your brother can wag, and see what he gives you. it's simply scandalous. you have no idea of how mean and stingy a man can be until you try to sell him old bottles. and the cold-hearted way in which he will throw back ink-bottles that you worked so hard to clean, and the ones that have reading blown into the glass--oh, it's enough to set you against business transactions all your life long. there's something about bargain and sale that's mean and censorious, finding this fault and finding that fault, and paying just as little as ever they can. it gets on one's nerves. it really does.
-the boys that made the little white spots come on the corners of their jaws as they lay there in the grass, scheming, scheming, scheming, planned rags, and bottles, and scrap-iron, and more also. sometimes it was a plan so much bigger that if they had kept it to themselves, like the darkey's cow, they would have “all swole up and died.”
-“sst! come here once. tell you sumpum. now don't you go and blab it out, now will you? hope to die? well.... now, no kiddin'. cross your heart? well.... ah, you will, too. i know you. you go and tattle everything you hear.... well.... cheese it! here comes somebody. make out we're talkin' about sumpum else. ah, he did, did he? what for, i wonder? (say sumpum, can't ye?) why 'nu' ye say sumpum when he was goin' by? now he'll suspicion sumpum 's up, and nose around till he.... aw, they ain't no use tellin' you anything.... well. put your head over so 's i can whisper. sure i am.... well, i could learn, couldn't i? now don't you tell a living soul, will you? if anybody asts you, you tell 'em you don't know anything at all about it. say, why 'n't you come along? i promised you the last time. that's jist your mother callin' you. let on you don't hear her. aw, stay. aw, you don't either have to go. say. less you and me get up early, and go see the circus come in town, will you? i will, if you will. all right. remember now. don't you tell anybody what i told you. you know.”
-if a fellow just only could run off with a circus! wouldn't it be great? no more splitting kindling and carrying in coal; no more: “hurry up, now, or you'll be late for school;” no more poking along in a humdrum existence, never going any place or seeing anything, but the glad, free, untrammeled life, the life of a circus-boy, standing up on top of somebody's head (you could pretend he was your daddy. who'd ever know the difference?) and your leg stuck up like five minutes to six, and him standing on top of a horse--and the horse going around the ring, and the ring master cracking his whip--aw, say! how about it?
-maybe the show-people would take you even if you didn't have two joints to common folks' one, and hadn't had early advantages in the way of plenty of snakes to try the grease out of. and then... and then.... travel all around, and be in a new town every day! and see things! the water-works, and main street, and the soldiers' monument, and the second presbyterian church. all the sights there are to see in strange places. and then when the show came back to your own home-town next year, people would wonder whose was that slim and gracile figure in the green silk tights and spangled breech-clout that capered so nimbly on the bounding courser's back, that switched the natty switch and shrilly called out: “hep! hep!” they'd screw up their eyes to look hard, and they'd say: “yes, sir. it is. it's him. it's willie bigelow. well, of all things!” and they'd clap their hands, and be so proud of you. and they'd wonder how it was that they could have been so blind to your many merits when they had you with them. they'd feel sorry that they ever said you were a “regular little imp,” if ever there was one, and that you had the old boy in you as big as a horse. they'd feel ashamed of themselves, so they would. and they'd come and apologize to you for the way they had acted, and you'd say: “oh, that's all right. forgive and forget.” and they'd miss you at home, too. your daddy would wish he hadn't whaled you the way he did, just for nothing at all. and your mother, too, she'd be sorry for the way she acted to you, tormenting the life and soul out of you, sending you on errands just when you got a man in the king row, and making you wash your feet in a bucket before you went to bed, instead of being satisfied to let you pump on them, as any reasonable mother would. she'll think about that when you're gone. it'll be lonesome then, with nobody to bang the doors, and upset the cream-pitcher on the clean table-cloth, and fall over backward in the rocking-chair and break a rocker off. your daddy will sigh and say:
-“i wonder where willie is to-night. poor boy, i sometimes fear i was too harsh with him.” and your mother will try to keep back her tears, but she can't, and first thing she knows she'll burst out crying, and... and... and old maje will go around the house looking for you, and whining because he can't find his little playmate.... it will seem as if you were dead--dead to them, and.... smf! smf!
-all the town is asleep when this boy slips out of his front-gate and snicks the latch behind him softly. it is very still, so still that though he is more than a mile away from the railroad he can hear johnny mara, the night yardmaster, bawl out: “run them three empties over on number four track!” the short exhaust of the obedient pony-engine, and the succeeding crash of the cars as they bump against their fellows. it is very still, scarey still. the gas-lamp flaring and flickering among the green maples at the corner has a strange look to him. his footfalls on the sidewalk sound so loud he takes the soft middle of the dusty road. he hears some one pursuing him and his bosom contracts with fear, as he stands to see who it is. although he hardly knows the boy bound on the same errand as his, he takes him to his heart, as a chosen friend. they are kin.
-on the freight-house platform they find other boys. some of them have waited up all night so as not to miss it. they are from across the tracks. they have all the fun, those fellows do. they can swear and chew tobacco, and play hookey from school and have a good time. they get to go barefoot before anybody else, and nobody tells them it will thin their blood to go in swimming so much. yes, and they can fight, too. they'd sooner fight than eat. our boys, conscious of inferiority, keep to themselves. the boys from across the tracks show off all the bad words they can think of. one of them has a mouth-harp which he plays upon, now and then opening his hands hollowed around the instrument. patsy gubbins dances to the music, which is a thing even more reckless and daredevil than swearing. patsy's going with a “troupe” some day. or else, he's going to get a job firing on an engine. he isn't right sure which he wants to do the most.
-now and then a brakeman goes by swinging his lantern. the boys would like to ask him what time it is, but for one thing they're too bashful. being a brakeman is almost as good as going with a “troupe” or a circus. you get to go to places that way, too, marysville, and mechanicsburg, and harrod's--that is, if you're on the local freight, and then you lay over in cincinnati. some ways it's better than firing, and some ways it isn't so good. and then there is another reason why they don't ask the brakeman what time it is. he'd say it was “forty-five” or maybe “fifty-three,” and never tell what hour.
-“say! do you know it's cold? you wouldn't think it would be so cold in the summer-time.”
-the maple-trees, from being formless blobs, insensibly begin to look like lace-work. presently the heavens and the earth are bathed in liquid blue that casts a spell so potent on the soul of him that sees it that he yearns for something he knows not what, except that it is utterly beyond him, as far beyond him as what he means to be will be from what he shall attain to. one dreams of romance and renown, of all that should be and is not. and as he dreams the birds awaken. in the east there comes a greenish tinge. far up the track, there is a sullen roar, and then the hoarse diapason of an engine whistle. the roar strengthens and strengthens. it is the circus train.
-under the witchcraft of the dreaming blue, each boy had a firm and stubborn purpose. over and over again he rehearsed how he would go up to the man that runs the show, and say: “please, mister, can i go with you?” and the man would say, “yes.” (as easy as that.) but the purpose wavered as he saw the roustabouts come tumbling out, all frowsy and unwashed, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, cross and savage. and the man whose word they jump to obey, he's kind of discouraging, it's all business with him. the fellows may plead with their eyes; he never sees them. if he does, he tells them where to get to out of that and how quick he wants it done, in language that makes the boldest efforts of the boys from across the tracks seem puny in comparison. the lads divide into two parties. one follows the buggy of the boss canvasman to vandeman's lots where the stand is made. they will witness the spectacle of the raising of the tents, but they will also be near the man that runs the show, and if all goes well it may be he will like your looks and saunter up to you and say: “well, bub, and how would you like to travel with us?” you don't know. things not half so strange as that have happened. and if you were right there at the time....
-the other party lingers awhile looking up wistfully at the unresponsive windows of the sleeping-cars, behind which are the happy circus-actors. perhaps the show-boy that stands up on top of his daddy's head will look out. if he should raise the window and smile at you, and get to talking with you maybe he would introduce you to his pa, and tell him that you would like to go with the show, and his pa would be a nice sort of a man, and he'd say: “why, yes. i guess we can fix that all right.” and there you'd be.
-or if it didn't come out like that, why, maybe the boy would be another “little arthur, the boy circus-rider,” like it told about in he ladies' repository. it seems there was a man, and one day he went by where there was a circus, and in a quiet secluded, vine-clad nook only a few steps from the main tent, he heard somebody sigh, oh, so sadly and so pitifully! come to find out, it was little arthur, the boy circus-rider. he had large sensitive violet eyes, and a wealth of clustering ringlets, and he was very, very unhappy. so the man took from his pocket a bible that he happened to have with him, and he read from it to little arthur, which cheered him up right away, because up to that moment he had only heard of the bible. (think of that!) and that night at the show, what do you s'pose? little arthur fell off the horse and hurt himself. and this man was at the show and he went back in the dressing-room, and held little arthur's hand. and the clown was crying, and the actors were crying, for they all loved little arthur in their rude, untutored way. and little arthur opened his large sensitive violet eyes, and saw the man, and said off the text that the man taught him that afternoon.
-and then he died. it was a sad story, but it made you wish it had been you that happened to have a bible in your pocket as you passed the secluded, vine-clad nook only a few paces from the main tent, and had heard little arthur sigh so pitifully. it was those sensitive eyes we looked for in the sleeping-car windows, and all in vain. i think i saw the wealth of clustering ringlets, or at least the makings of it. i am almost positive i saw curl-papers as the curtain was drawn aside a moment.
-but whether a boy stands gazing at the sleepers, or runs over to the lots, there is something pathetic about it, something almost terrible. it is the death of an ideal. i can't conceive of a boy coming down to the depot to see the circus train come in another time. hitherto, the show has been to him the ne plus ultra of romance. it comes in the night from 'way off yonder; it goes in the night to 'way off yonder. it is all splendor, all deeds of high emprise. it stands to reason then, that the closer you get to it, the closer you get to pure romance. and it isn't that way at all.
-what gravels a boy the most of all is to have to do the same old thing over and over again, day after day, week in, week out. once he has seen the circus come in, he cannot blind himself to the fact that everything is marked and numbered; that all is system, and that everything is done today exactly as it was done yesterday, and as it will be done tomorrow.
-“what town is this?” he hears a man inquire of another.
-“blest if i know. what's the odds what town it is?”
-didn't know what town it was! didn't care!
-the keen morning air, or something, makes a fellow mighty unromantic, too. perhaps it was the thin blue wood-smoke from the field-stoves, and the smell of the hot coffee and the victuals the waiters are carrying about, some to the tent where the bare tables are for the canvasmen, some to the table covered with a red and white table-cloth as befits performers. these have no rosy cheeks. their lithe limbs are not richly decked with silken tights. insensibly the upper lip curls. they're not so much. they're only folks. that's all, just folks.
-but when ideals die, great truths are born. to such a boy at such a moment there comes the firm conviction which increasing years can only emphasize: home is but a poor prosaic place, but home--ah, my brother, think on this--home is where breakfast is.
-“hay! wait for me, you fellows! hay! hold on a minute. well, ain't i a-comin' jis' 's fast 's ever i kin? what's your rush?”
-it is the exceptional boy has this experience. the normal one preserves the delicate bloom of romance, by never seeing the show until it makes its grand triumphal entree in a pageant of unparalleled magnificence far surpassing the pomp and splendor of oriental potentates.
-the hitching-posts are full of whinnering country horses, and people are in town you wouldn't think existed if you hadn't seen their pictures in puck and yudge, people from over by muchinippi, and out noodletoozy way, big, red-necked men with the long loping step that comes from walking on the plowed ground. following them are lanky women with their front teeth gone, and their figures bowed by drudgery, dragging wide-eyed children whose uncouth finery betrays the “country jake,” even if the freckles and the sun-bleached hair could keep the secret. from the far-off fastnesses, where there are still log-cabins chinked with mud, they have ventured to see the show come into town, and when they have seen that, they will retire again beyond our ken. how every sense is numbed and stunned by the magnificence and splendor of the painted and gilded wagons as they rumble past, the driver rolling and pitching in his seat, as he handles the ribbons of eight horses all at once! the farmer's heart is filled with admiration of his craft, as much as the children's hearts are at the gaudy pictures.
-the allegorical tableau-car solemnly waggles past, europe, and asia, and africa, and australia brilliant in grease-paint and gorgeous cheesecloth robes. and can you guess who the fat lady is up on the very tip-top of all, on the tip-top where the wobble is the worst? our own columbia! it must be fine to ride around that way all dressed up in a flag. but a sourer lot of faces you never saw in your life. no. i am wrong. for downright melancholy and despondency you must wait till the funny old clown comes along in his little bit of a buggy drawn by a little bit of a donkey.
-“and, oh, looky! here comes the elephants, just the same as in the joggerfy books. and see the men walking beside them. they come from the place the elephants do. see, they have on the clothes they wear in that country. don't they look proud? who wouldn't be proud to get to walk with an elephant? and if you ever do anything to an elephant to make him mad, he'll always remember it, and some day he'll get even with you. one time there was a man, and he gave an elephant a chew of tobacco, and--o-o-ooh! see that man in the cage with the lions! don't it just make the cold chills run over you? i wouldn't be there for a million dollars, would you, ma?
-“whoa, nell, whoa there! steady, gal, steaday! ho, there! ho! whoa--whoa-hup! whad dy y' about? fool horse. whoa... whoa so, gal, soo-o. lion, i guess, or a tagger, or sumpum or other.”
-and talk about music. you thought the band was grand. you just wait. don't you hear it down the street? it'll be along in a minute now.
-there it is. that's the cally-ope. that's what the show bills call: “the steam car of the muses.”... mm-well, i don't know but it is just a leetle off the pitch, especially towards the end of a note, but you must remember that you can't haul a very big boiler on a wagon, and the whistles let out an awful lot of steam. it's pretty hard to keep the pressure even. but it's loud. that's the main thing. and the man that plays on it--no, not that fellow in the overalls with a wad of greasy waste in his hand. he 's only the engineer. i mean the artist, the man that plays on the keys. well, he knows what the people want. he has his fingers on the public pulse. does he give them a bach fugue, or guillmant's “grand choeur?” 'deed, he doesn't. he goes right to the heart, with “patrick's day in the morning,” and “the carnival of venice,” and “home, sweet home,” and “oh, where, oh where has my little dog gone?” he knows his business. a shade off the key, perhaps, but my! ain't it grand? so loud and nice!
-“well, that's all of it.... why, child, i can't make it any longer than it is.”
-“what do you want me to drive round into the other street for? you've seen all there is to see. got all your trading done, mother? well, then i expect we'd better put for home. now, eddy, i told you 'no' once, and that's the end of it. hush up now! look here, sir! do you want me to take and 'tend to you right before everybody? well, i will now, if i hear another whimper out o' ye. ck-ck-ck! git ep there, nelly.”
-some day, when we get big, and have whole, whole lots of money we're going to the circus every time it comes to town, to the real circus, the one you have to pay to get into. for if merely the street parade is so magnificent, what must the show itself be?
-how people can sit at the table on circus day and stuff, and stuff the way they do is more than i can understand. you'd think they hadn't any more chances to eat than they had to go to the show. and they can find more things to do before they get started! and then, after the house is all locked up and everything, they've got to go back after a handkerchief! what does anybody want with a handkerchief at a circus?
-it's exasperating enough to have to choose between going in the afternoon and not going at all. why, sure, it's finer at night. lots finer. you know that kind of a light the peanut-roaster man has got down by the post-office. burns that kind of stuff they use to take out grease-spots. ye-ah. gasoline. well, at the circus at night, they don't have just one light like that, but bunches and bunches of them on the tentpoles. no, silly! of course not. of course they don't set the tent afire. but say! what if they did, eh? the place would be all full of people, laughing at the country jake that comes out to ride the trick-mule, and you'd happen to look up and see where the canvas was ju-u-ust beginning to blaze, and you'd jump up and holler: “fire! fire!” as loud as ever you could because you saw it first, and you'd point to the place. excitement? well, i guess yes. the people would all run every which way, and fall all over themselves, and the women would squeal--and do you know what i'd do? wouldn't just let myself down between the kind of bedslat benches, and drop to the ground, and lift up the canvas and there i'd be all safe. and after i was all safe, then i'd go back and rescue folks.
-we-ell, i s'pose i'd have to rescue a girl. it seems they always do that. but it would be nicer, i think, to rescue some real rich man. he'd say: “my noble preserver! how can i sufficiently reward you?” and take out his pocketbook. and wouldn't say: “take back your proffered gold,” and make like i was pushing it away, “take back your proffered gold. i but did my duty.” and then wouldn't forget all about it. and one day, after i'd forgotten all about, it, the man would die, and will me a million dollars, or a thousand, i don't know. enough to make me rich.
-and say! wouldn't the animals get excited when they saw the show was afire? they'd just roar and roar, and upset the cages, and maybe they'd get loose. o-o-o-oh! how about that? if there was a lion come at me i'd climb a tree. what would you do? ah, your pa's shot-gun nothing! why, you crazy, that would only infuriate him the more. what you want to do is to take an express rifle, like doo challoo did, and aim right for his heart. an express rifle is what you send off and get, and they ship it to you by express.
-so you see what a fellow misses by having to go to the show in the afternoon, like the girls and the a-b-abs. the boys from across the tracks get to go at night. they have all the fun. when they go they don't have to poke along, and poke along, and keep hold of hands so as not to get lost.... aw, hurry up, can't you? don't you hear the band playing? it'll be all over before we get there.
-but finally the lots are reached, and there are the tents, with all kinds of flags snapping from the centerpoles and the guy-ropes. and there are the sideshows. alas! you never thought of the sideshows when you asked if you could go. and now it's too late. it must be fine in the side-shows. i never got to go to one. i didn't have the money. but if the big, painted banners, bulging in and out, as the wind plays with them, are anything to go by, it must be something grand to see the fat lady, and the circassian beauty, whose frizzled head will just about fit a bushel basket, and the armless wonder. they say he can take a pair of scissors with his toes and cut your picture out of paper just elegant.
-oh, and something else you miss by going in the afternoon. at night you can sneak around at the back, and when nobody is looking you can just lift up the canvas and go right in for nothing.... why, what's wrong about that? ah, you're too particular.... and if the canvasman catches you, you can commence to cry and say you had only forty cents, and wanted to see the circus so bad, and he'll take it and let you in, and you can have ten cents, don't you see, to spend for lemonade, red lemonade, you understand; and peanuts, the littlest bags, and the “on-riest” peanuts that ever were.
-well, when mr. barnum first came to our town, all around one tent were vans full of the very identical moral waxworks that we had read about, and had given up all hopes of ever seeing because new york was so far away. there was the dying zouave. oh, that was a beauty! the advance courier said that “the crimson torrent of his heart's blood spouted in rhythmic jets as the tide of life ebbed silently away;” but i guess by the time they got to our town they must have run all out of pokeberry juice, for the “crimson torrent” didn't spout at all. but his bosom heaved every so often, and he rolled up his eyes something grand! i liked it, but my mother said it was horrid. that's the way with women. they don't like anything that anybody else does. there's no pleasing 'em. and she thought the drunkard's family was “kind o' low.” it wasn't either. it was fine, and taught a great moral lesson. i told her so, but she said it was low, just the same. she thought the temperance family was nice, but it wasn't anywhere near as good as the drunkard's family. why, let me tell you. the drunkard's wife was in a ragged calico dress, and her eye was all black and blue, where he had hit her the week before. and the drunkard had hold of a black quart bottle, and his nose was all red, and he wore a plug hat that was even rustier and more caved in than elder drown's, if such a thing were possible. and there was--but i can't begin to tell you of all the fine things mr. barnum had that year, but never had again.
-another thing mr. barnum had that year that never appeared again. it may be that after that time the funny old clown did crack a joke, but i never heard him. the one that mr. barnum had got off the most comical thing you ever heard. i'll never forget it the longest day i live. laugh? why, i nearly took a conniption over it. it seems the clown got to crying about something.... now what was it made him cry? let me see now.... ain't it queer i can't remember that? fudge! well, never mind now. it will come to me in a minute.
-yes, sir, there are heads of families to-day, i'll bet you, that have grown up without ever having heard a clown sing a comic song, and ask the audience to join in the chorus. and if you say to such people: “here we are again, mr. merryman,” or “bring on another horse,” or “what will the little lady have now? the banners, my lord?” they look at you so funny. they don't know what you mean, and they don't know whether to get huffy or not. well, i suppose it had to be that the funny old clown with all his songs, and quips, and conundrums, and comical remarks should disappear. perhaps he “didn't pay.”
-i can't see that the rest of the show has changed so very much. perhaps the trapeze performances are more marvelous and breath-suspending than they used to be. but they were far and far beyond what we could dream of then, and to go still farther as little impresses us as to be told that people live still even westerly of idaho. the trapeze performers are up-to-date in one respect. the fellow that comes down with his arms folded, one leg stuck out and the other twined around the big rope, revolving slowly, slowly--well, the band plays the intermezzo from “cavalleria rusticana” nowadays when he does that. it used to play: “o thou, sweet spirit, hear my prayer!” but the lady in the riding-habit still smiles as if it hurt her when her horse walks on its hind legs; the bareback rider does the very same fancy steps as the horse goes round the ring in a rocking-chair lope; the attendants still slant the hurdles almost flat for the horse to jump; they still snake the banners under the rider's feet as he gives a little hop up, and they still bang him on the head with the paper-covered hoop to .... hold on a minute. now.
-now... that story the clown told that was so funny, that had something to do with those hoops. i wish i could think of it. it would make you laugh, i know.
-people try to lay the blame of the modern circus's failure to interest them on the three rings. they say so many things to watch at once keeps them from being watching properly any one act. they can't give it the attention it deserves. but i'll tell you what's wrong: there isn't any funny old clown, a particular one, to give it human interest. it is all too splendid, too magnificent, too far beyond us. we want to hear somebody talk once in awhile.
-they pretended that the tent was too big for the clown to be heard, but i take notice it wasn't too big for the fellow to get up and declaim “the puffawmance ees not yait hawf ovah. the jaintlemanly agents will now pawss around the ring with tickets faw the concert.” i used to hate that man. when he said the performance was not yet half over, he lied like a dog, consarn his picture! there were only a few more acts to come. he knew it and we knew it. we wanted the show to go on and on, and always to be just as exciting as at the very first, and it wouldn't! we had got to the point where we couldn't be interested in anything any more. we were as little ones unable to prop their eyelids open and yet quarreling with bed. we were surfeited, but not satisfied. we sat there and pouted because there wasn't any more, and yet we couldn't but yawn at the act before us. we were mad at ourselves, and mad at everybody else. we clambered down the rattling bedslats seats, sour and sullen. we didn't want to look at the animals; we didn't want to do this, and we didn't want to do that. we whined and snarled, and wriggled and shook ourselves with temper, and we got a good hard slap, side of the head, right before everybody, and then we yelled as if we were being killed alive.
-“now, mister, if i ever take you any place again, you'll know it. i'd be ashamed of myself if i was you. hush up! hush up, i tell you. now you mark. you're never going to the show again. do you hear me? never! i mean it. you're never going again.”
-but at eventide there was light. after supper, after a little rest and a good deal of food, while chopping the kindling for morning (it's wonderful how useful employ tends to induce a cheerful view of life) out of her dazzling treasure-heap of jewels, memory took up, one after another, a glowing recollection and viewed it with delight. the evening performance, the one all lighted up with bunches and bunches of lights, was a-preparing, and in the gentle breeze the far-off music waved as it had been a flag. a harsh and rumbling noise as of heavy timbers falling tore through the tissue of sweet sounds. the horses in the barn next door screamed in their stalls to hear it. ages and ages ago, on distant wind-swept plains their ancestors had hearkened to that hunting-cry, and summoned up their valor and their speed. it still thrilled in the blood of these patient slaves of man, though countless generations of them had never even so much as seen a lion.
-“and is that all the difference, pa, that the lion roars at night and the ostrich in the daytime?”
-out on the back porch in the deepening dusk we sat, with eyes relaxed and dreaming, and watched the stars that powdered the dark sky. before our inward vision passed in review the day of splendor and renown. we sighed, at last, but it was the happy sigh of him who has full dined. ambition was digesting. in our turn, when we grew up, we, too, were to do the deeds of high emprise. we were to be somebody.
-the next day we visited the lots. it was no dream. see the litter that mussed up the place.
-we were all there. none had heard the man that runs the show say genially: “yes, i think we can arrange to take you with us.” here was the ring; here the tent-pole holes, and here a scrap of paper torn from a hoop the bareback rider leaped through.... oh, now i know what i was going to tell you that the clown said. the comicalest thing!
-he picked up one of these hoops and began to sniffle.
-so the ring-master asked him what he was crying about.
-“i--i--was thinking of my mother. smf! my good old mother!”
-so the ring-master asked him what made him think of his mother.
-the ring-master couldn't see how that put the clown in mind of his mother. he was awful dumb, that man.
-“it looks just like the pancakes she used to make for us.”
-well, sir, we just hollered and laughed at that. and after we had quieted down a little, the ringmaster says: “as big as that?”
-“bigger,” says the clown. “why, she used to make 'em so big we used 'em for bedclothes.”
-“indeed” (just like that. he took it all in, just as if it was so.)
-“oh, my, yes! i mind one time i was sleeping with my little brother, and i waked up just as cold--brr! but i was cold!”
-“but how could that be, sir? you just now said you had pancakes for bedclothes.”
-“yes, but my little brother got hungry in the night, and et up all the cover.”
-good-by, old clown, friend of our childhood, goodby, good-by forever! and you, our other friend, the street parade, must you go, too? and you, the gorgeous show-bills, must you tread the path toward the sundown? good-by! good-by! in that dreary land where you are going, the kingdom of the ausgespielt, it may comfort you to recollect the young hearts you have made happy in the days that were, but never more can be again.
-the county fair
-whether or not the name had an influence on the weather, i don't know. perhaps it did rain some years, but, as i remember, county fair time seems to have had a sky perfectly cloudless, with its blue only a little dulled around the edges where it came close to the ground and the dust settled on it. things far off were sort of hazy, but that might have been the result of the bonfires of leaves we had been having evenings after supper. in fair weather, when the sun had been up long enough to get a really good start, it was right warm, but in the shade it was cool, and nights and mornings there was a chill in the air that threatened worse things to come.
-the harvest is past, the summer is ended. down cellar the swing-shelf is cram-jam full of jellyglasses, and jars of fruit. out on the hen-house roof are drying what, when the soap-box wagon was first built, promised barrels and barrels of nuts to be brought up with the pitcher of cider for our comforting in the long winter evenings, but what turns out, when the shucks are off, to be a poor, pitiful half-peck, daily depleted by the urgent necessity of finding out if they are dry enough yet. folks are picking apples, and koontz's cider-mill is in full operation. (do you know any place where a fellow can get some nice long straws?) out in the fields are champagne-colored pyramids, each with a pale-gold heap of corn beside it, and the good black earth is dotted with orange blobs that promise pumpkin-pies for thanksgiving day. no. let me look again. those aren't pie-pumpkins; those are cow-pumpkins, and if you want to see something kind of pitiful, i'll show you abe bethard chopping up one of those yellow globes--with what, do you suppose? with the cavalry saber his daddy used at gettysburg.
-the harvest is past, the summer is ended. as a result of all the good feeding and the outdoor air we have had for three or four months past, the strawberry shortcakes, and cherry-pies, and green peas, and new potatoes, and string beans, and roasting-ears, and all such garden-stuff, and the fresh eggs, broken into the skillet before speckle gets done cackling, and the cockerels we pick off the roost saturday evenings (you see, we're thinning 'em out; no sense in keeping all of 'em over winter)--as a result, i say, of all this good eating, and the outdoor life, and the necessity of stirring around a little lively these days we feel pretty good. and yet we get kind of low in our minds, too. the harvest is past, the summer is ended. it's gone, the good playtime when we didn't have to go to school, when the only foot-covering we wore was a rag around one big toe or the other; the days when we could stay in swimming all day long except mealtimes; the days of sabbath-school picnics and excursions to the soldiers' home--it's gone. the harvest is past, the summer is ended. the green and leafy things have heard the word, and most of them are taking it pretty seriously, judging by their looks. but the maples and some more of them, particularly the maples, with daredevil recklessness, have resolved, as it were, to die with their boots on, and flame out in such violent and unbelievable colors that we feel obliged to take testimony in certain outrageous cases, and file away the exhibits in the family bible where nobody will bother them. the harvest is past, the summer is ended. rainy days you can see how played-out and forlorn the whole world looks. but at fair time, when the sun shines bright, it appears right cheerful.
-it seems to me the fair lasted three days. one of them was a holiday from school, i know, and unless i'm wrong, it wasn't on the first day, because then they were getting the things in, and it wasn't on the last day, because then they were taking the things out, so it must have been on the middle day, when everybody went. charley wells had both the depot 'buses out with “county fair” painted on muslin hung on the sides. the cornet band rode all round town in one, and so on over to the “scene of the festivities” as the weekly examiner very aptly put it, and then both 'buses stood out in front of the american house, waiting for passengers, with dinny enright calling out: “this sway t' the fair groun's! going right over!” only he always waited till he got a good load before he turned a wheel. (dinny's foreman at the chair factory now. did you know that? doing fine. gets $15 a week, and hasn't drunk a drop for nearly two years.)
-everybody goes the middle day of the fair, everybody that you ever did know or hear tell of. you'll be going along, kind of half-listening to the man selling temperance bitters, and denouncing the other bitters because they have “al-cue-hawl” in them, and “al-cue-hawl will make you drunk,” (which is perfectly true), and kind of half-listening to the man with the electric machine, declaring: “ground is the first conductor; water is the second conductor,” and you'll be thinking how slippery the grass is to walk on, when a face in the crowd will, as it were, sting your memory. “i ought to know that man,” says you to yourself. “now, who the mischief is he? barker? no, 't isn't barker, barkdull? no. funny i can't think of his name. begins with b i'm pretty certain.” and you trail along after him, as if you were a detective, sort of keeping out of his sight, and yet every once in a while getting a good look at him. “mmmmmm!” says you. “what is that fellow's name? why, sure. mcconica.” and you walk up to him and stick out your hand while he's gassing with somebody, and there's that smile on your face that says: “i know you but you don't know me,” and he takes it in a limp sort of fashion, and starts to say: “you have the advantage of--” when, all of a sudden, he grabs your hand as if he were going to jerk your arm out of its socket and beat you over the head with the bloody end, and shouts out: “why, hello, billy! well, suffering cyrus and all hands round! hold still a second and let me look at you. gosh darn your hide, where you been for so long? i though you'd clean evaporated off the face the earth. why, how air you? how's everything? that's good. let me make you acquainted with my wife. molly, this is mr.--” but she says: “now don't you tell me what his name is. let me think. why, willie smith! well, of all things! why, how you've changed! honest, i wouldn't have knowed you. do you mind the time we went sleigh-ridin' the whole posse of us, and got upset down there by hanks's place?” and then you start in on “d' you mind?” and “don't you recollect?” and you talk about the old school-days, and who's married, and who's moved out to kansas, and who's got the elias hoover place now, and how ella trimble--you know ella diefenbaugh, old jake diefenbaugh's daughter, the one that lisped. course you do. well, she married ed trimble, and he died along in the early part of the summer. typhoid. was getting well but he took a relapse, and went off like that! and now she's left with three little ones, and they guess poor ella has a pretty hard time making out. and this old schoolmate that you start to tell a funny story about is dead, and the freckle-faced boy with the buck teeth that put the rabbit in the teacher's desk, he's dead, too, and the boy that used to cry in school when they read:
-“give me three grains of corn, mother, only three grains o f corn; to save what little life i have, mother, till the coming o f the morn.”
-well, he studied law with old judge rodehaver, and got to be prosecuting attorney, but he took to drinking--politics, you know--and now he's just gone to the dogs. smart as a steel-trap, and bright as a dollar. oh, a terrible pity! a terrible pity. and as you hear the fate of one after another of the happy companions of your childhood, and the sadness of life comes over you, they start to tell something that makes you laugh again. i tell you. did you ever see one of these concave glasses, such as the artists use when they want to get an idea of how a picture looks all together as a whole, and not as an assemblage of parts? well, what the concave glass is to a picture, so such talk is to life. it sort of draws it all together, and you see it as a whole, its sunshine and its shadow, its laughter and its tears, its work and its play, its past and its present. but not its future. the good man has mercifully hidden that from us.
-it does a body good to get such a talk once in a while.
-and there are the young fellows and the girls. this young gentleman in the rimless eye-glasses, who is now beginning to “go out among 'em” the last time you saw him was in meeting when elder drown was preaching, and my gentleman stood up in the seat and shouted shrilly: “'t ain't at all, man. 't ain't at all!” and this sweet girl-graduate--the last time you saw her was just after becky daly, in the vain effort to “peacify” the squalling young one, had given her a fresh egg to play with. i kind o' like the looks of the younger generation of girls. but i don't know about the young fellows. they look to me like a trifling lot. nothing like what they were in our young days. i don't see but what us old codgers had better hold on a while longer to the county clerk's office, and the sheriff's office, and the probate judgeship, and the presidency of the national bank. it wouldn't be safe to trust the destinies of the country in the hands of such heedless young whiffets. engaged to be married! oh, get out! what? those babies?
-i kept awake most of the time the man was lecturing on: “the republic: will it endure?” but i don't remember that he said anything in it about the crops. (we can't go 'round meeting the folks all day. we really must give a glance at the exhibition.) and i am one of those who hold to the belief that while the farmers can raise ears of corn as long as from your elbow to your fingertips, as big 'round as a rollingpin, and set with grains as regular and even as an eight-dollar set of artificial teeth; as long as they grow potatoes the size of your foot, and such pretty oats and wheat, and turnips, and squashes, and onions, and apples and all kinds of truck, and raise them not only in increasing size but increasing quantities to the acre i feel as if the republic would last the year out anyway. not that i have any notion that mere material prosperity will make and keep us a free people, but it goes to show that the farmers are not plodding along, doing as their fathers did before them, but that they are reading and studying, and taking advantage of modern methods. there are two ways of increasing your income. one is by enlarging your output, and the other is by enlarging your share of the proceeds from the sale of that output. the grand dukes will not always run this country. the farmers saved the union once by dying for it; they will save it again by living for it.
-the scientific fellows tell us that we have not nearly reached the maximum of yield to the acre of crops that are harvested once a year, but in regard to the crops that are harvested twice a day it looks to me as if we were doing fairly well. nowadays we hardly know what is meant by the expression, “spring poor.” it is a sinister phrase, and tells a story of the old, cruel days when farmers begrudged their cattle the little bite they ate in wintertime, so that when the grass came again the poor creatures would fall over trying to crop it. they were so starved and weak that, as the saying went, they had to lean up against the fence to breathe. they don't do that way now, as one look at the fine, sleek cows will show you. a cow these days is a different sort of a being, her coat like satin, and her udder generous, compared with the wild-eyed things with burrs in their tails, and their flanks crusted with filth, their udders the size of a kid glove, and yielding such a little dab of milk and for such a short period. hear the dairymen boast now of the miraculous yearly yield in pounds of butter and milk, and when they say: “you've got to treat a cow as if she were a lady,” it sounds like good sense.
-the pigs nowaday aren't as smart as that, but they cut up better at hog-killing time. they aren't quite so trim; indeed, they are nothing but cylinders of meat, whittled to a point at the front end, and set on four pegs, but as you lean on the top-rail of the pens out at the county fair and look down upon them, you can picture in your mind, without much effort, ham, and sidemeat, and bacon, and spare-ribs, and smoked shoulder, and head-cheese, and liver-wurst, and sausages, and glistening white lard for crullers and pie-crust--yes, i think pigs are right interesting. i know they've got scripture for it, the folks that think it is wrong to eat pork, but somehow i feel sorry for them; they miss such a lot, not only in the eating line, but other ways. they are always being persecuted, and harassed, and picked at. whereas the pork-fed man, it seems to me, sort of hankers to be picked at. it gives him a good chance to slap somebody slonchways. he feels better after he has seen his persecutors go away with a cut lip, and fingering of their teeth to see if they're all there.
-you'll just have to take me gently but firmly by the sleeve and lead me past the next exhibit, the noisy one, where there's so much cackling and crowing. i give you fair warning that if you get me started talking about chickens, the county fair will have to wait till some other time. i don't know much about ducks, and geese, and guinea-hens, and pea-fowl, and turkeys, but chickens--why, say. we had a hen once (plymouth rock she was; we called her henrietta), and honestly, that hen knew more than some folks. one time she--all right. i'll hush. let's go in here.
-i don't remember whether the pies, and cakes, and canned fruit, and such are in pomona hall or the fine arts hall. fine arts hall i think. they ought to be. i speak to be one of the judges that give out the premiums in this department. i'd be generous and let somebody else do the judging of the cakes, because i don't care much for cake. oh, i can manage to choke it down, but i haven't the expert knowledge, practical and scientific, that i have in the matter of pie. i'd bear my share of the work when it came to the other things, jellies and preserves, and pies, but not cake. wouldn't know just exactly how to go at it in the matter of jellies. i'd take a glass of currant, and hold it up to the light to note its crimson glory. and i'd lift off the waxed paper top and peer in, and maybe give the jelly a shake. and then i'd take a spoon and taste, closing my eyes so as to appear to deliberate--they'd roll up in an ecstacy anyhow--and i'd smack my lips, and say: “mmmmm!” very thoughtfully, and set the glass back, and write down in my book my judgment, which would invariably be: “first prize.” because if there is anything on top of this green earth that i think is just about right, it is currant jelly. grape jelly is nice, and crab-apple jelly has its good points, and quince jelly is very delicate, but there is something about currant jelly that seems to touch the spot. quince preserves are good if there is enough apple with the quince, and watermelon preserves are a great favorite, not because they are so much better tasting, but because the lucent golden cubes in the spicy syrup appeal so to the eye. but if you want to know what i think is really good eating in the preserve line, you just watch my motions when i come to the tomato preserves, these little fig-tomatoes, and see how quick the red card is put on them. yes, indeed. it's been a long time, hasn't it? since you had any tomato-preserves, you that haven't been “back home” lately.
-it's no great trick to put up other fruit so that it will keep, but i'd look the canned tomatoes over pretty carefully, and if i saw that one lady had not only put them up so that they hadn't turned foamy, but had also succeeded with green corn, and that other poser, string beans, i'd give her first premium, because i'd know she was a first-rate housekeeper, and a careful woman, and one that deserved encouragement.
-but i'd save myself for the pies. i can tell a rich, short, flaky crust, and i can tell the kind that is as brown as a dried apple, and tough as the same on the top, and sad and livery on the bottom. and i know about fillings, how thick they ought to be, and how they ought to be seasoned, and all. particularly pumpkin-pies, because i had early advantages that way that very few other boys had. i was allowed to scrape the crock that had held the pumpkin for the pies. so that's how i know as much as i do.
-i suppose, however, when all is said and done, that there is no pie that can quite come up to an apple-pie. you take nice, short crust that's been worked up with ice-water, and line the tin with it, and fill it heaping with sliced, tart apples--not sauce. mercy, no!--and sweeten them just right, and put on a lump of butter, and some allspice, and perhaps a clove, and a little lemon peel, and then put on the cover, and trim off the edge, and pinch it up in scallops, and draw a couple of leaves in the top with a sharp knife, and have the oven just right, and set it in there, and i tell you that when ma opens the oven-door to see how the pie is coming on, there distils through the house such a perfume that you cry out in a choking voice: “say! ain't dinner 'most ready?”
-but i fully recognize the fact that very often our judgment is warped by feeling, and i am inclined to believe that even the undoubted merit of the apple-pie would not prevail against a vinegar-pie, if such should be presented to me for my decision. a vinegar-pie? well, it has a top and bottom crust, the same as any other pie, but its filling is made of vinegar, diluted with water to the proper degree of sub-acidity, sweetened with molasses, thickened with flour, and all baked as any other pie. you smile at its crude simplicity, and wonder why i should favor it. to you it doesn't tell the story that it does to me. it doesn't take you back in imagination to “the airly days,” when folks came over the mountains in covered wagons, and settled in the western reserve, leaving behind them all the civilization of their day, and its comforts, parting from relatives and friends, knowing full well that in this life they never more should look upon their faces--leaving everything behind to make a new home in the western wilds.
-is was a land of promise that they came to. the virgin soil bore riotously. there were fruit-trees in the forest that johnny appleseed had planted on his journeyings. the young husband could stand in his dooryard and kill wild turkeys with his rifle. they fed to loathing on venison, and squirrels, and all manner of game, and once in a great while they had the luxury of salt pork. they were well-nourished, but sometimes they pined for that which was more than mere food. they hungered for that which should be to the meals' victuals what the flower is to the plant.
-“i whoosh't--i woosh't was so we could hev pie,” sighed one such. (let us call him uriah kinney). i think that sounds as if it were his name.
-“land's sakes!” snapped his wife, exasperated that he should be thinking of the same thing that she was. “land's sakes! haow d' ye s'pose i kin make a pie when i hain't got e'er a thing to make it aout o'? you gimme suthirnn to make it aout o', an' you see haow quick--”
-“i ain't a-faultinn ye, mary ann,” interposed uriah gently. “i know haow 't is. i was on'y tellin' ye. i git i git a kind o' hum'sick sometimes. 'pears like as if i sh'd feel more resigned like.... don't ye cry, mary ann. i know, i know. you feel julluk i do 'baout back home, an' all luk that.”
-o woman! when the heft of thy intellect is thrown against a problem, something has got to give. not long after, uriah sits down to dinner, and can hardly ask a blessing, he has to swallow so. a pie is on the table!
-“gosh, mary ann, but this is good!” says he, holding out his hand for the third piece. “this is lickinn good!” and he celebrates her achievement far and wide.
-“my mary ann med me a pie t' other day, was the all-firedest best pie i ever et.”
-“med you what?”
-“med me a pie.”
-“pie? whutch talkinn' baout? can't git nummore pies naow. frot 's all gin aout.”
-“i golly, she med it just the same. smartest woman y' ever see.” the man dribbled at the mouth.
-“what sh' make it aout o'?”
-“vinegar an' worter, i think she said. i d' know 's i ever et anythinn i relished julluk that. my mary ann, tell yew! she's 'baout's smart 's they make 'em.”
-i wish i knew who she really was whom i have called mary ann kinney, she that made the first vinegar-pie. i wish i knew where her grave is that i might lay upon it a bunch of flowers, such as she knew and liked--sweet-william, and phlox, and larkspur, and wild columbine. it couldn't make it up to her for all the hardships she underwent when she was bringing up a family in that wild, western country, and especially that fall when they all had the “fever 'n' ager” so bad, uriah and the twins chilling one day, and hiram and sophronia jane the next, and she just as miserable as any of them, but keeping up somehow, god only knows how. it couldn't make it up to her, but as i laid the pretty posies against the leaning headstone on which is written:
-“a loving wife, a mother dear, faithful friend lies buried here.”
-i believe she 'd get word of it somehow, and understand what i was trying to say by it.
-i'll ask to be let off the committee that judges the rest of the exhibits in the fine arts hall, the quilts and the battenberg, and the crocheting, and such. i know the log cabin pattern, and the mexican feather pattern, and i think i could make out to tell the hen-and-chickens pattern of quilts, but that's as much as ever. and as to the real, hand-painted views of fruit-cake, and grapes and apples on a red table-cloth, i am one of those that can't make allowances for the fact that she only took two terms. i call to mind one picture that miss alvalou ashbaker made of her pap, old “coonrod” ashbaker. the lord knows he was a “humbly critter,” but he wasn't as “humbly” as she made him out to be, with his eyes bulging out of his head as if he was choking on a fishbone. and, instead of her dressing him up in his sunday clothes, i wish i may never see the back of my neck if that girl didn't paint him in a red-and-black barred flannel shirt, with porcelain buttons on it! and his hair looked as if the calf had been at it. wouldn't you think somebody would have told her? and that isn't all. she got the premium!
-neither am i prepared to pass judgment on the fancy penmanship displayed by professor swope, framed elegantly in black walnut, and gilt, depicting a bounding deer, all made out of hair-line, shaded spirals, done with his facile pen. (no wonder a deer can jump so, with all those springs inside him.) professor swope writes visiting cards for you, wonderful birds done in flourishes and holding ribbons in their bills. he puts your name on the ribbon place. neatest and tastiest thing you can imagine. i like to watch him do it, but it makes me feel unhappy, somehow. i never was much of a scribe, and it's too late for me to learn now.
-i don't feel so downcast when i examine the specimens of writing done by the children of district no. 34. i can just see the young ones working at home on these things, with their tongues stuck out of one corner of their mouths.
-“rome was not built in a day rome was not built in a day rome was not built in a day”
-and so on, bearing down hard on the downstroke of the curve in the capital “r,” and clubbing the end of the little “t.” and in the higher grades, they toil over “an original social letter,” describing to an imaginary correspondent a visit to crystal lake, or the magnetic springs. i can hear them mourn: “what shall i say next?” and “ma, make effie play some place else, won't you? she jist joggles the table like everything. now, see what you done! now i got to write it all over again. no, i cain't 'scratch it out. how'd it look to the county fair all scratched out? plague take it all!”
-the same hands have done maps of north and south america, and red-and-blue ink pictures of the circulation of the blood. it does beat all how smart the young ones are nowadays. i could no more draw off a picture of the circulation of the blood--get it right, i mean--why, i wouldn't attempt it.
-i am kind of mixed up in my recollection of the hall right next to the fine arts. you know it had two doors in each end. sometimes i can see the central space between the doors, roped off and devoted to sewing-machines with persons demonstrating that they ran as light as a feather, and how it was no trouble at all to tuck and gather, and fell; to organs, which struck me with amaze, because by some witchcraft (octave coupler, i think they called it) the man could play on keys that he didn't touch, and pianos, whereon young ladies were prevailed to perform “silvery waves”--that's a lovely piece, i think, don't you?--and
-“listen to the mocking-bird, tee-die-eedle-dong lisen to the mocking-bird, teedle-eedle-ee-dle dong the mocking-bird still singing oer her grave, toomatooral-oo-cal-lee!”
-and then again i can see that central, roped-off space given over to reckless deviltry, sheer impudent, brazen-faced, bold, discipline-defying er--er--wickedness. i had heard that people did things like that, but this was the first time i had ever caught a glimpse of such carryings-on in the broad open daylight, right before everybody. i stood there and watched them for hours, expecting every minute to see fire fall from heaven on them and burn up every son and daughter of belial. but it didn't.
-i seem to recollect that it was a hot day, and that, tucked away where not a breath of air could get to them, were three fellows in their shirtsleeves, one playing on an organ, one on a yellow clarinet, and one on a fiddle. every chance he could get, the fiddler would say to the organist: “gimme a, please,” and saw away trying to get into some sort of tune, but the catgut was never twisted that would hold to pitch with the perspiration dribbling down his fingers in little rills. the clarinet man looked as if he wanted to cry, and he had to twitter his eyelids all the time to keep the sweat from blinding him, and every once in a while, his soggy reed would let go of a squawk that sounded like a scared chicken. but the organ groaned on unrelentingly, and the tune didn't matter so much as the rhythm which was kept up as regular as a clock, whack! whack! whack! whack! and there were two or three other fellows with badges on that went around shouting: “select your podners for the next quadrille! one more couple wanted right over here!”
-the fiddler “called off” and chanted to the tune, with his mouth on one side: “sullootch podners! first couple forward and back. side couples the same. doe see do-o-o-o. al-lee-man left! ballunce all! sa-weeny the corners!” i don't know whether i get the proper order of these commands or not, or whether my memory serves me as to their effect, but it seems to me that at “bal-lunce all!” the ladies demurely teetered, first on one foot and then on the other, like a frozen-toed rooster, while the gents fairly tore themselves apart with grape-vine twists and fancy steps, and slapped the dust out of the cracks in the floor. when it came to “saweeng your podners!” the room billowed with flying skirts, and the ladies squealed like anything. it made you a little dizzy to watch them do “graaan' right and left,” and you could understand how those folks felt--there were always one or two in each set--who had to be hauled this way and that, not sure whether they were having a good time or not, but hoping they were, their faces set in a sickly grin, while their foreheads wrinkled into a puzzled: “how's that? i didn't quite catch that last remark” expression. i don't know if it affected you in the same way that it did me, but after i had stood there for a time and watched those young men and women thus wasting the precious moments that dropped like priceless pearls into the ocean of eternity, and were lost irrevocably, young, men and women giving themselves up to present enjoyment without one serious thought in their minds as to who was going to wash the supper dishes, or what would happen if the house took fire while they were away i say i do not know how the sight of such reckless frivolity affected you, but i know that after so long a time my face would get all cramped up from wearing a grin, and i'd have to go out and look at the reapers and binders to rest myself so i could come back and look some. there are two things that you simply have to do at the county fair, or you aren't right sure you've been. one is to drink a glass of sweet cider just from the press, (which, i may say in passing, is an over-rated luxury. cider has to be just the least bit “frisky” to be good. i don't mean hard, but “frisky.” you know). and the other is to buy a whip, if it is only the little toy, fifteen-cent kind. on the next soap-box to the old fellow that comes every year to sell pictorial bibles and red, plush-covered albums, the old fellow in the green slippers that talks as if he were just ready to drop off to sleep--on the next soap-box to him is the man that sells the whips. you can buy one for a dollar, two for a dollar, or four for a dollar, but not one for fifty cents, or one for a quarter. don't ask me why, for i don't know. i am just stating the facts. it can't be done, for i've seen it tried, and if you keep up the attempt too long, the whip-man will lose all patience with your unreasonableness, and tell you to go 'long about your business if you've got any, and not bother the life and soul out of him, because he won't sell anything but a dollar's worth of whips, and that's all there is about it.
-he sells other things, handsaws, and pencils, and mouth-harps, and two knives for a quarter, of such pure steel that he whittles shavings off a wire nail with 'em, and is particular to hand you the very identical knife he did it with. he has jewelry, though i don't suppose you could cut a wire nail with it. you might, at that.
-to him approaches a boy.
-“got 'ny collar-buttons?”
-“well, now, i'll just look and see. here's a beautiful rolled-plate gold watch-chain, with an elegant jewel charm. lovely blue jewel.” he dangles the chain and its rich glass pendant, and it certainly does look fine. “that'd cost you $2.50 at the store. how'd that strike you?”
-“hpm. i want a collar-button.”
-“well, now, you hold on a minute. lemme look again. ah, here's a package 'at orta have some in it. yes, sir, here's four of 'em, enough to last you a lifetime; front, back, and both sleeves, the kind that flips and don't tear the buttonholes. well, by ginger! now, how'd that git in here, i want to know? that gold ring? well, i don't care. it'll have to go with the collar-buttons. tell you what i'll do with you: i'll let you have this elegant solid gold rolled-plate watch-chain and jewel, this elegant, solid gold ring to git married with--hay? how about it?--and these four collar-buttons for--for--twenty-five cents, or a quarter of a dollar.”
-that boy never took that quarter out of his breeches pocket. it just jumped out of itself. but i see that you are getting the fidgets. you're hoping that i'll come to the horse-racing pretty soon. you want to have it all brought back to you, the big, big race-track which, as you remember it now, must have been about the next size smaller than the earth's orbit around the sun. you want me to tell about the old farmer with the bunch of timothy whiskers under his chin that gets his old jingling wagon on the track just before a heat is to be trotted, and all the people yell at him: “take him out!” you want me to tell how the trotters looked walking around in their dusters, with the eye-holes bound with red braid, and how the drivers of the sulkies sat with the tails of their horses tucked under one leg. well, i'm not going to do anything of the kind, and if you don't like it, you can go to the box-office and demand your money back. i hope you'll get it. first place, i don't know anything about racing, and consequently i don't believe it's a good thing for the country. all i know is, that some horses can go faster than others, but which are the fastest ones i can't tell by the looks, though i have tried several times.... i did not walk back. i bought a round-trip ticket. they will tell you that these events at the county fair tend to improve the breed of horses. so they do--of fast horses. but the fast horses are no good. they can't any of them go as fast as a nickel trolley-car when it gets out where there aren't any houses. and they not only are no good; they're a positive harm. you know and i know that just as soon as a man gets cracked after fast horses, it's good-by john with him.
-in the next place, i wouldn't mind it if it was only interesting to me. but it isn't. it bores me to death. you sit there and sit there trying to keep awake while the drivers jockey and jockey, scheming to get the advantage of the other fellow, and the bell rings so many times for them to come back after you think: “they're off this time, sure,” that you get sick of hearing it. and when they do get away, why, who can tell which horse is in the lead? on the far side of the track they don't appear to do anything but poke along, and once in a while some fool horse will “break” and that's annoying. and then when they come into the stretch, the other folks that see you with the field-glasses, keep nudging you and asking: “who 's ahead, mister? hay? who's ahead?” and it's ruinous to the voice to yell: “go it! go it! go it, ye devil, you!” with your throat all clenched that way and your face as red as a turkey-gobbler's. and that second when they are going under the wire, and the horse you rather like is about a nose behind the other one that you despise--oh, tedious, very tedious. ho hum, harry! if i wasn't engaged, i wouldn't marry. did you think to put a saucer of milk out for the kitty before you locked up the house?
-no. horse-racing bores me to death, and as i am one of the charter members of the anti-other-folks-enjoyment society, organized to stop people from amusing themselves in ways that we don't care for, you can readily see that it is a matter of principle with me to ignore horseracing, and not to give it so much encouragement as would come from mentioning it.
-“that don't make no difference.”
-“yes, it does, too, make a difference. straight ahead four inches. that's the rule.”
-“well, didn't they go straight ahead four inches? what's a matter with ye?”
-“i'll darn soon show ye what's the matter with me, you come any o' your shenanigan around here.”
-“mighty ready to accuse other folks o' shenannigan, ain't ye? for half a cent i'd paste you in the moot.”
-“now, boys! now boys! none o' that.”
-lots more excitement than a horse-race. lots more improving to the mind, and beneficial to the country.
-around back of the old settlers' cabin, where they have the relics, the spinning-wheel, the flax-hackle, and the bunch of dusty tow that nobody knows how to spin in these degenerate days; the old flint-lock rifle, and the powder-horn; the tinder-box, and the blue plate, “more'n a hundred years old;” the dog-irons, tongs, poker, and turkey-wing of an ancient fireplace--around back of the old settlers' cabin all the early part of the day a bunch of dirty canvas has been dangling from a rope stretched between two trees. it was fenced off from the curious, but after dinner a stranger in fringy trousers and a black singlet went around picking out big, strong, adventurous young fellows to stand about the wooden ring fastened to the bottom of the bunch of canvas, which went over the smoke-pipe of a sort of underground furnace in which a roaring fire had been built. as the hot air filled the great bag, it was the task of these helpers to shake out the wrinkles and to hold it down. older and wiser ones forbade their young ones to go near it. supposing it should explode; what then? but we have always wanted to fly away up into the air, and what did we come to the fair for, if not for excitement? the balloon swells out amazingly fast, and when the guy-ropes are loosened and drop to the ground, the elephantine bag clumsily lunges this way and that, causing shrill squeals from those who fear to be whelmed in it. the man in the singlet tosses kerosene into the furnace from a tin cup, and you can see the tall flames leap upward from the flue into the balloon. it grows tight as a drum.
-“watch your horses!” he calls out. there is a pause.... “let go all!” the mighty shape shoots up twenty feet or so, and the man in the singlet darts to the corner to cut a lone detaining rope. as he runs he sheds his fringy trousers.
-“good-by, everybody!” he cries out, and the sinister possibilities in that phrase are overlooked in the wonder at seeing him lurch upward through the air, all glorious in black tights and yellow breech-clout. up and up he soars above the tree-tops, and the wind gently wafts him along, a pendant to a dusky globe hanging in the sky. he is just a speck now swaying to and fro. the globe plunges upward; the pendant drops like a shot. there is a rustling sound. it is the intake of the breath of horror from ten thousand pairs of lungs. look! look! the edges of the parachute ruffle, and then it blossoms out like an opening flower. it bounces on the air a little, and rocking gently sinks like thistle-down behind the woods.
-it is all over. the fair is over. let's go home. isn't it wonderful though, what men can do? you'll see; they'll be flying like birds, one of these days. that's what we little boys think, but we overhear old nate wells say to tom slaymaker, as we pass them: “well, i d' know. i d' know 's these here b'loon ascensions is worth the money they cost the 'sociation. i seen so many of 'em, they don't interest me nummore. 'less, o' course, sumpun should happen to the feller.”
-christmas back home
-it was the time of year when the store windows are mighty interesting. plotner's bakery, that away, 'way back in the summer-time, was an ice-cream saloon, showed a plaster man in the window, with long, white whiskers, in top boots and a brown coat and peaked hat, all trimmed with fur, and carrying a little pinetree with arsenical foliage. over his head dangled a thicket of canes hanging by their crooks from a twine string stretched across. they were made of candy striped spirally in red and white. there were candy men and women in the window, and chocolate mice with red eyes, and a big cake, all over frosting, with a candy preacher on it marrying a candy man and lady. the little children stood outside, with their joggerfies, and arithmetics, and spellers, and slates bound in red flannel under their arms, and swallowed hard as they looked. whenever anybody went in for a penny's worth of yeast and opened the door, that had a bell fastened to it so that mrs. plotner could hear in the back room, and come to wait on the customer, the smell of wintergreen and peppermint and lemonsticks and hot taffy gushed out so strong that they couldn't swallow fast enough, but stood there choking and dribbling at the mouth.
-the little boys kicked their copper-toed boots to keep warm and quarreled about which one chose the train of cars first, and then began to quarrel over an army of soldiers.
-“i choose them!”
-“a-aw! you choosed the ingine and the cars.”
-“dung care. i choose everything in this whole window.”
-“a-aw! that ain't fair!”
-in the midst of the wrangle somebody finds out that johnny pym has a piece of red glass, and then they begin fighting for turns looking through it at the snow and the court-house. but not for long. they fall to bragging about what they are going to get for christmas. eddie cameron was pretty sure he 'd get a spy-glass. he asked his pa, and his pa said “mebby. he'd see about it.” then, just in time, they looked up and saw old man nicholson coming along with his shawl pinned around him. they ran to the other side of the street because he stops little boys, and pats them on the head, and asks them if they have found the savior. it makes some boys cry when he asks them that.
-the rowan twins--alfaretta and luanna may--are working a pair of slippers for their pa, one apiece, because it is such slow work. along about suppertime they make elmer lonnie stay outside and watch for his coming, and he has to say: “hello, pa!” very loud, and romp with him outside the gate so as to give the twins time to gather up the colored zephyrs and things, and hide them in the lower bureau drawer in the spare bedroom. at such a time their mother finds an errand that takes her into the parlor so that she can see that they do not, by any chance, look into the middle drawer in the farther left-hand corner, under the pillow-slips.
-one night, just at supper-time, elmer lonnie said: “hello, pa!” and then they heard pa whispering and elmer lonnie came in looking very solemn--or trying to--and said: “ma, miss waldo wants to know if you won't please step over there a minute.”
-“did she say what for? because i'm right in the midst of getting supper. i look for your pa any minute now, and i don't want to keep him waiting.”
-“no 'm, she didn't say what for. she jist said: 'ast yer ma won't she please an' step over here a minute.' i wouldn't put anythin' on. 't ain't cold. you needn't stay long, only till... i guess she's in some of a hurry.”
-“well, if harriet waldo thinks 'at i haven't anythin' better to do 'n trot around after her at her beck an'.... all right, i'll come.”
-the twins got their slippers hid, and mrs. rowan threw her shawl over her head, and went next door to take mrs. waldo completely by surprise. the good woman immediately invented an intricate problem in crochet work demanding instant solution. mr. rowan had brought home a crayon enlargement of a daguerreotype of ma, taken before she was married, when they wore their hair combed down over their ears, and wide lace collars fastened with a big cameo pin, and puffed sleeves with the armholes nearly at the elbows. they wore lace mitts then, too. the twins thought it looked so funny, but pa said: “it was all the style in them days. laws! i mind the first time i took her home from singin' school.... tell you where less hide it. in between the straw tick, and the feather tick.” and luanna may said: “what if company should come?” elmer lonnie ran over to mrs. waldo's to tell ma that pa had come home, and wanted his supper right quick, because he had to get back to the store, there was so much trade in the evenings now.
-“i declare, emmeline rowan, you're gettin' to be a reg'lar gadabout,” said mr. rowan, very savagely. “gad, gad, gad, from mornin' till night. ain't they time in daylight fer you an' hat waldo to talk about your neighbors 'at you can't stay home long enough to git me my supper?”
-he winked at the twins so funny that alfaretta, who always was kind of flighty, made a little noise with her soft palate and tried to pass it off for a cough. luanna may poked her in the ribs with her elbow, and mrs. rowan spoke up quite loud: “why, pa, how you go on! i wasn't but a minute, an' you hardly ever come before halfpast. and furthermore, mister, i want to know how i'm to keep this house a-lookin' like anything an' you a-trackin' in snow like that. just look at you. i sh'd think you'd know enough to stomp your feet before you come in. luanna may, you come grind the coffee. alfie, run git your pa his old slippers.” that set both of them to giggling, and mrs. rowan went out into the kitchen and began to pound the beefsteak.
-“d' you think she sispicioned anythin'?” asked mr. rowan out of one side of his mouth, and elmer lonnie said, “no, sir,” and wondered if his pa “sispicioned anythin”' when ma said, “run git the old slippers.”
-“i'll just bet i can.”
-“no, you can't. it's awful pretty--i mean, they're awful pretty. somepin you want, too.” how could he guess with her fingering his tarnished cuff buttons and looking down at them every minute or two?
-“well, now, let me see. is it a gold watch?”
-“aw, now! i jist set my heart on a gold watch and chain.”
-“well, but it'd cost more money 'n i got. three or fifteen dollars, mebby.”
-“well, let me see. is it a shotgun?”
-“no, sir. oh, you just can't guess it.”
-“is it a--a--is it a horse and buggy?”
-“aw, now, you're foolin'. no, it ain't a horse and buggy.”
-“i know what it is. it's a dolly with real hair that you can comb, and all dressed up in a blue dress. one that can shut its eyes when it goes bye-bye.”
-he hears her deliver the message, and also the word her mother sends back: “tell him to hold his horses. it 'll be ready in a minute.”
-“it will, eh? well, i can't wait a minute, an' i'm goin' to take a hog-bite right out of you!” and he snarls and bites her right in the middle of her stomach, and if there is anything more ticklesome than that, it hasn't been heard of yet.
-after supper, little eddie allgire teases his brother d. to tell him about santa claus. d. is cracking walnuts on a flat-iron held between his knees.
-“is they any santy claus, d.?”
-“w'y, cert, they is. who says not?”
-“bunty rogers says they ain't no sech a person.”
-“you tell bunt rogers that he's a-gittin' too big fer his britches, an' first thing he knows, he'll whirl round an' see his naked nose. tell him i said so.”
-“well, is they any santy claus?”
-“w'y cert. ain't i a-tellin' you? laws! ain't you never seen him yet?”
-“i seen that kind of a idol they got down in plotner's winder.”
-“well, he looks jist like that, on'y he's alive.”
-“did you ever see him, d.?”
-“o-oh, well! think i'm goin' to tell everything i know? well, i guess not.”
-“well, but did you now?”
-“m-well, that 'd be tellin'.”
-“aw, now, d., tell me.”
-“look out what you're doin'. now see that. you pretty near made me mash my thumb.”
-“aw, now, d., tell me. i think you might. i don't believe you ever did.”
-“oh, you don't, hey? well, if you had 'a saw what i saw. m-m! little round eyes an' red nose an' white whiskers, an' heard the sleigh bells, an' oh, my! them reindeers! cutest little things! stompin' their little feet” here he stopped, and went on cracking nuts.
-“tell some more. woncha, please? ma, make d. tell me the rest of it.”
-“huck-uh! dassant. 't wouldn't be right. like's not he won't put anythin' in my stockin' now fer what i did tell.”
-“how'll he know?”
-“how'll he know? easy enough. he goes around all the houses evenings now to see how the young ones act, an' if he finds they're sassy, an' don't mind their ma when she tells them to leave the cat alone, an' if they whine: 'i don' want to go out an' cut the kindlin'. why cain't d. do it?' then he puts potatoes an' lumps o' coal in their stockin's. oh, he'll be here, course o' the evenin'.”
-“d' you s'pose he's round here now?” eddie got a little closer to his brother.
-“i wouldn't wonder. yes, sir. there he goes now. sure's you're alive.”
-“right over yan. aw, you don't look. see? there he is. aw! you're too slow. didn't you see him? now the next time i tell you--look, look! there! he run right acrost the floor an' into the closet. plain 's day. didn't you see him? you saw him, mother?”
-mrs. allgire nodded her head. she was busy counting the stitches in a nubia she was knitting for old aunt pashy, roebuck.
-“w'y, you couldn't help but see him, didn't you take notice to his white whiskers?”
-“ye-es,” said the child, slowly, with the wide-open stare of hypnosis.
-“didn't you see the evergreen tree he carried?”
-“m-hm,” said eddie, the image taking shape in his mind's eye.
-“and his brown coat all trimmed with fur, an' his funny peaked hat? an' his red nose? w'y, course you did.” the boy nodded his head. he was sure now. yes. faith was lost in sight. he believed.
-“i expect he's in the closet now. go look.”
-“no. you.” he clung to d.
-“i can't. i got this flat-iron in my lap, an' wouldn't spill the nut-shells all over the floor. you don't want me to, do you, ma?”
-mrs. allgire shook her head.
-“well, now,” said d. “anybody tell you they ain't sich a person as santy claus, you kin jist stand 'em down 'at you know better, 'cause you seen him, didn't you?”
-eddie nodded his head. anyhow, what d. told him was “the lord said unto moses,” and now that he had the evidence of his own eyes--well, the next day he defied bunt rogers and all his works. to tell the plain truth, bunt wasn't too well grounded in his newly cut infidelity.
-in the public schools the children were no longer singing:
-“none knew thee but to love thee, thou dear one of my heart; oh, thy mem'ry is ever fresh and green. the sweet buds may wither and fond hearts be broken, still i love thee, my darling, daisy deane.”
-they turned over now to page 53, and there was a picture of santa claus just as in plotner's window, except that he had a pack on his back and one leg in the chimney. this is what they sang:
-“ho, ho, ho! who wouldn't go? ho, ho, ho! who wouldn't go? up on the house-top, click, click, click down through the chimney with good st. nick.”
-miss munsell, who taught the d primary, traded rooms with miss crutcher, who taught the “a-b abs.” miss munsell was a big fat lady, and she smiled so that the dimples came in both cheeks and her double chin was doubter than ever, when she told the children what a dear, nice teacher miss crutcher was, and how fond she was of them, and wouldn't they like to make a christmas present to their dear, kind teacher? they all said “yes, mam.” well, now, the way to do would be for each child to bring money (if miss munsell had smiled at a bird in the tree as she did then, it would have had to come right down and perch in her hand), just as much money as ever they could, and all must bring something, because it would make miss crutcher feel so bad to think that there was one little boy or one little girl that didn't love her enough to give her a christmas present. and if everybody brought a dime or maybe a quarter, they could get her such a nice present. if their papas wouldn't let them have that much money, why surely they would let them have a penny, wouldn't they, children? and the children said: “yes, mam.”
-“and now all that love their dear, kind teacher, raise their hands. why, there's a little girl over that hasn't her hand up! that's right, dear, put it up, bless your little heart! now, we mustn't say a word to miss crutcher, must we? no. and that will be our secret, won't it? and all be sure to have your money ready by to-morrow. now, i wonder if you can be just as still as little mice. i'm going to give this little girl a pin to drop and see if i can hear it out in the hall.”
-then she tiptoed down the hall clear to her own room and mary ellen waldo let the pin drop, and miss mussell didn't come back to say whether she heard the pin drop or not. the children sat in breathless silence. selma morgenroth knocked her slate off and bit her lip with mortification while the others looked at her as much as to say: “oh, my! ain't you 'shamed?” then miss crutchet came back and smiled at the children, and they smiled back at her because they knew something she didn't know and couldn't guess at all. it was a secret.
-the next morning miss crutchet traded rooms again, and the little children gave miss mussell their money, and she counted it, and it came to $2.84. the next day she came again because there were three that hadn't their money, so there was $2.88 at last. miss mussell had three little girls go with her after school to pick out the present. they chose a silver-plated pickle caster, which is exactly what girls of seven will choose, and, do you know, it came exactly to $2.88?
-then, on the last day of school, miss mussell came in, and, with the three little girls standing on the platform and following every move with their eyes as a dog watches his master, she gave the caster to miss crutchet and miss crutchet cried, she was so surprised. they were tears of joy, she said. after that, she went into miss munsell's room, and three little girls in there gave miss mussell a copy of tennyson's poems that cost exactly $2.53, which was what miss crutchet had collected, and miss mussell cried because she was so surprised. how they could guess that she wanted a copy of tennyson's poems, she couldn't think, but she would always keep the book and prize it because her dear pupils had given it to her. and just as selma morgenroth called out to the monitor, charley freer, who sat in miss crutchers chair, while she was absent: “teacher! make miky ryan he should ka-vit a-pullin' at my hair yet!” and the school was laughing because she called charley freer “teacher,” in came miss crutchet as cross as anything, and boxed miky ryan's ears and shook selma morgenroth for making so much noise. they didn't give anything, though they promised they would.
-it was not alone in the day schools that there were extra preparations. the sunday-schools were getting ready, too, and when janey pettit came home and told her pa how big her class was, he started to say something, but her ma shook her head at him and he looked very serious and seemed to be trying hard not to smile. he was very much interested, though, when she told him that iky morgenroth, whose father kept the one-price clothing house down on main street, had joined, and how he didn't know enough to take his hat off when he came into church. patsy gubbins and miky ryan and six boys from the baptist sunday-school had joined, too, and they all went into miss sarepta downey's class, so that she had two whole pews full to teach, and they acted just awful. the infant class was crowded, and there was one little boy that grabbed for the collection when it was passed in front of him, and got a whole handful and wouldn't give it up, and they had to twist the money out of his fist, and he screamed and “hollered” like he was being killed. and coming home, sophy perkins, who goes to the baptist church, told her that there wasn't going to be any christmas tree at their sabbath-school. she said that there wasn't hardly anybody out. the teachers just sat round and finally went into the pastor's bible class. mr. pettit said he was surprised to hear it. it couldn't have been the weather that kept them away, could it? janey said she didn't know. then he asked her what they were going to sing for christmas, and she began on “we three kings of orient are,” and broke off to ask him what “orient” meant, and he told her that orient was out on the sunbury pike, about three miles this side of olive green, and her ma said: “lester pettit, i wish't you'd ever grow up and learn how to behave yourself. why, honey, it means the east. the three wise men came from the east, don't you mind?”
-at the centre street m. e. church, where janey pettit went to sunday-school, there were big doings. little lycurgus emerson, whose mother sent him down to littell's in a hurry for two pounds of brown sugar, and who had already been an hour and a half getting past plotner's and case's, heard brother littell and abel horn talking over what they had decided at the “fishery meetin'.” (by the time curg got so that he shaved, he knew that “officiary” was the right way to say it, just as “certificate” is the right way to say “stiffcut.”) there was going to be a christmas tree clear up to the ceiling, all stuck full of candles and strung with pop-corn, and a chimney for santa claus to climb down and give out the presents and call out the names on them. every child in the sunday-school was to get a bag of candy and an orange, and there were going to be “exercises.” curg thought it would be kind of funny to go through gymnastics, but, just then, he saw uncle billy nicholson come in, and he hid. he didn't want to be patted on the head and--asked things.
-uncle billy had his mouth all puckered up, and his eyebrows looked more like tooth-brushes than ever. he put down the list of groceries that aunt libby had written out for him, because he couldn't remember things very well, and commenced to lay down the law.
-“such carryin's on in the house o' god!” he snorted. “why the very idy! talk about them pharisees an' sadducees a-makin' the temple a den o' thieves! w'y, you're a-turnin' it into a theayter with your play-actin' tomfoolery! they'll be no blessin' on it, now you mark.”
-“aunt libby say whether she wanted stoned raisins?” asked brother littell, who was copying off the list on the order book.
-abel horn (abel led the singing in meeting, and had a loud bass voice; he always began before everybody and ended after everybody) was standing behind uncle billy, and lycurgus could see him with his head juked forward and his eyebrows up and his mouth wide open in silent laughter, very disconcerting to brother littell, who didn't want to anger uncle billy, and maybe lose his trade by grinning in his face.
-“an' now you got to go an' put up a christmas tree right in the altar,” stormed uncle billy, “an' dike it all out with pop-corn an' candles. you're gittin' as bad 's the catholics, every bit. worse, i say, becuz they never had the gospel light, an' is jist led round by the priest an' have to pay to git their sins forgive. but you, you're a-walkin' right smack dab into it, weth your eyes open, teachin' fer gospel the inventions o' men.”
-“w'y what, uncle billy?”
-“w'y, this here santy claus a-climbin' down a chimley an' a-cuttin' up didoes fer to make them little ones think they is a reel santy claus 'cuz they seen him to the meetin' house. poot soon when they git a little older 'n' they find out how you been afoolin' 'em about santy claus, they'll wonder if what you been a-tellin' 'em about the good man ain't off o' the same bolt o' goods, an' another one o' them cunningly devised fables. think they'll come any blessin' on tellin' a lie? an' a-actin' it out? no, sir. no, sir. ain't ary good thing to a lie, no way you kin fix it. how kin they be? who's the father of lies? w'y the old scratch! that's who. an' here you go a--”
-the old man was so wroth that he couldn't finish and turned and stamped out, slamming the door after him.
-brother littell winked and waited till mr. nicholson got out before he mildly observed “kind o' hot in under the collar, 'pears like.”
-“righteous mad, i s'pose,” said abel horn.
-“you waited on yit, bub?” asked brother littell. “i betchy he's a-thinkin' right now he'll take his letter out o' centre street an' go to the barefoot church. he would, too, if 't wasn't clean plumb at the fur end o' town an' a reg'lar mud-hole to git there.”
-“who's a-goin' to be santy claus?” asked brother littell, with cheerful irrevelance.
-“the committee thought that had better be kept a secret,” replied abel, with as much dignity as his four feet nine would admit of.
-“ort to be somebody kind o' heavy-set, ort n't it?” hinted the grocer, giving a recognizable description of himself.
-“well, i don' know 'bout that,” contested abel. “git somebody kind o' spry an' he could pad out weth a pilfer. a pussy man 'd find it rather onhandy comin' down that chimbly an' hoppin' hether an' yan takin' things off o' the tree. need somebody with a good strong voice, too, to call off the names.... woosh's you'd git them things up to the house soon 's you kin, otho. ma's in a hurry fer 'em.”
-“betchy two cents,” said brother littell to his clerk, clarence bowersox, “'at abel horn 'll be santy claus.”
-“git out!” doubted clarence.
-“'ll, you see now. he's the daggonedest feller to crowd himself in an' be the head leader o' everything. w'y, he ain't no more call to be santy claus 'n that hitchin' post out yan. little, dried-up runt, bald 's a apple. told me one time: 'i never grow'd a' inch tell i was sixteen 'n' then i shot up like a weed.'... bub, you tell yer ma if she wants a turkey fer christmas she better be gittin' her order in right quick.”
-the mystic hour draws near. sometime in the night will come the jingle of silver bells, and the patter of tiny hoofs. old santa will halloo: “whoa!” and come sliding down the chimney. the drowsing heads, fuddled with weariness, wrestle clumsily with the problem, “how is he to get through the stove without burning himself?” reason falters and faith triumphs. it would be done somehow, and then the reindeer would fly to the next house, and the next, and so on, and so on. the mystic hour draws near. like a tidal wave it rolls around the world, foaming at its crest in a golden spray of gifts and love. the mystic hour.
-“oh, just a little longer, just a little longer.”
-“no, no. you cain't hardly prop your eyes open now. come now. get to bed. now, elmer lonnie; now, mary ellen; now, janey; now, eddie; now, lycurgus. don't be naughty at the last minute and say, 'i don't want to,' or else santa claus won't come a-near. no, sir.”
-after the last drink of water and the last “now i lay me,” a long pause.... then from the spare bedroom the loud rustling of stiff paper, the snap of broken, string, and whispers of, “won't her eyes stick out when she sees that!” and, “he's been just fretting for a sled; i'm so glad it was so 't we could get it for him,” and, “i s'pose we ort n't to spent so much, but seems like with such nice young ones 's we've got 't ain't no more 'n right we should do for 'em all we can afford, 'n' mebby a little more. janey 's 'stiffcut' said she was 100 in everything, deportment an' all.”
-at one house something white slips down the staircase to where a good view can be had through the half-open parlor door. it pauses when a step cracks loudly in the stillness. the parlor door is slammed to.
-“d' you think he saw?”
-“i don't know. i'm afraid so. little tyke!”
-something white creeps back and crawls into bed. a heart thumps violently under the covers, and two big, round eyes stare up at the dark ceiling. somebody has eaten of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and the gates of eden have shut behind him forever.
-he does not sense that now; he is glad in the exulting consciousness that he is “a little kid” no longer. pretty soon he'll be a man, and then.... and then.... oh, what grand things are to happen then!
-the mutual gifts are brought out with many a shamefaced: “it looks awful little, but 't was the best i could do for the money. you see i spent more on the children than i lotted to,” and many a cheerful fib of: “why, that's exactly what i've been wishing for.” some poor fools, that have never learned and never will learn that the truest word ever spoken is: “it is more blessed to give than to receive,” make their husbands a present of a parlor lamp or a pair of lace curtains, and their wives a present of a sack of flour, or enough muslin to make half a dozen shirts. and there are deeper depths. there are such words as: “what possessed you to buy me that old thing? well, i won't have it! now!” the stove-door is slammed open and the gift crammed in upon the coals, and two people sit there with lips puffed out, chests heaving and hearts burning with hate.
-the mystic hour is come. the town sleeps. the moon rides high in the clear heavens. the wind sighs in the fir trees. faint and far-off across the centuries sounds the chant of angels.
-the hour is come.
-children of our town
-by e. mars and m. h. squire
-with verses by carolyn wells
-children of our town
-children of our town
-pictured by e. mars and m. h. squire
-with verses by carolyn wells
-published by r. h. russell new york
-copyright, 1902, by robert howard russell
-a blustering windy day's just right for boys who want to fly a kite; and it affords the greatest joy to make and use the pretty toy.
-but aged duffers, do not try a large-sized paper kite to fly; you could not manage tail or string, and ten to one you'd spoil the thing.
-boats on the lake
-a morning full of happiness any boy may find by sailing boats upon the lake, if he is so inclined; the wind it drives them out to sea, he pulls them back, and then they jerk and struggle to be free--away they go again! they wibble-wobble as they sail, and sometimes they upset,-- of course he reaches out for them,--of course he gets quite wet.
-but aged grandsires, if you must sail boats in central park, play properly, don't splash yourself, and run back home ere dark.
-at coney island
-see proud belinda smartly dressed in all her flaunting sunday best; with muslin hat and ruffles big she cannot comfortably dig.
-ask her if she would like to play,-- she will not answer either way; she'll only shake herself, and then, just pout and grin and pout again.
-dear grandams, meekly learn from this, how very ill-advised it is to don a costume fine and grand when you go playing in the sand.
-instead of your bespangled net, or moire velvet edged with jet, just wear a gingham, simply made, so you can tuck it up and wade.
-in central park
-in central park, along the mall, we see the gay goat-carriage crawl; with little boys and girls inside, enjoying their exciting ride.
-right willingly each nimble steed exerts his very utmost speed; and o'er the smooth hard road they race at something like a turtle's pace.
-but stout old men and portly dames, pray, do not urge your rightful claims; and even though you have the price, listen, i beg, to my advice.
-do not insist on getting in the little carriage for a spin; you'd not look picturesque at all careering up and down the mall.
-the first of april
-'tis taught by philosophic schools the human race is mostly fools. and once a year you see this truth ably set forth by jocund youth, who broach the tenets of the creed plainly that he who runs may read.
-but aged idiots, 'tis not meet for you to run along the street, and with a manner bold and sly pin tags on ladies passing by, or sit upon the curb and look for fools to snatch your pocket-book.
-their costumes are not quite correct, they have no pretty tricks; lucinda! pray be more select, in higher circles mix.
-ah, sweet lucinda, best of girls, how quick to take advice. behold her with unpapered curls, and frock so rich and nice!
-her haughty stare! who would suppose that dress would change her so oh, blessed influence of fine clothes, how much to thee we owe!
-dear lady-readers of whatever age, look backward and with me enjoy this page. what happy moments have we often spent thus to our frenzied anger giving vent. ah, me, the long-lost joys of being young! to make up faces, and stick out one's tongue; how those occasions of xantippish strife gave zip and zest to our dull childish life.
-the eternal feminine
-ah, truly, as the tree is bent the tiny twig's inclined, and in the very littlest girls we see the contradictious tendencies of woman's wayward mind developed to a marvellous degree. for each small daughter of her mother will say one thing and do the other.
-for instance, when some little girls just hate to go to school and beg that they may stay at home and play; and then, permission given, these same children, as a rule, delight in playing school the livelong day! ah, no wonder poets feature woman as a captious creature.
-baby and sis and me stand by the fence and see picnickers munch lots o' good lunch, jes' givin' nothin' to we.
-baby and sis and me, hungry as we can be, haven't no right to be 'spectin' a bite,-- but we're glad lookin' is free.
-kindness to animals
-the bison, though he seems so grim, is very sensitive; and when the children stare at him, he wants to cease to live.
-he hears them wonder why he's there, and why he can't break through; and why he has such funny hair, and why he doesn't moo.
-but, grown-up people, let me pray you'll not behave like this; the bison pet,--and, when you may, give him a friendly kiss.
-a cold day
-in winter time when ice and sleet make slidy places on the street, the children early leave their beds and rush out with their skates and sleds.
-all merrily the little dears throw snowballs in each other's ears; and thus with pretty playful ways beguile the white and wintry days.
-oh, venerable veterans, i hate to disarrange your plans; but truly, if you try this game you will go home all stiff and lame.
-a blithesome boy this picture shows; he has a true mercurian pose, like winged heels his roller-skates send him fast-flying past his mates. when one is young, 'tis very nice to skate on rollers or on ice.
-but ancient gaffers, do not try with active boys like this to vie. for if you get a skate on, you acquire a rolling gait, 'tis true. but soon this proverb you'll endorse,-- a rolling gait gathers remorse.
-the excursion boat
-into the boat the breeze blows fair, it blows across the deck; it blows the little children's hair,-- they get it in the neck.
-and in this picture you may see the happy girls and boys, so true to life,--but thankful be you cannot hear the noise.
-the great steam-whistle's fearful squeaks. the band, ill-tuned and loud; the babies with their screams and shrieks, the bustle of the crowd.
-grown people, you'd prefer, afloat, a private yacht, i'm sure; then shun the gay excursion boat unless you're very poor.
-these merry children, i'll be bound in careless pleasure ride around; unthinking as they onward go, what pedigree their horses show.
-but, graybeard, you learned when a boy about the wooden horse of troy; and you assume these steeds to be the trojan sire's posterity.
-well, there you're wrong! you have forgot. they're flying horses, are they not? and, scions of a noble name, from pegasus descent they claim.
-but, graybeards, curb your mad desires to mount upon these whizzing flyers. for there's the very strongest chance you'd go home in an ambulance.
-with new, ill-fitting gloves, with frocks as white as snow, by two and two these little loves to first communion go.
-i watch them as they pass,-- somehow, i shrewdly guess each child thinks little of her mass and much about her dress.
-but you, dear aged saint, whose eyeballs upward roll, i trust you have no worldly taint upon your gentle soul.
-joe munn who has a penny has friends and friends a-many; they hang around him eagerly and offer him advice. tim lanigan states clearly that he loves taffy dearly and butterscotch is awful good and chocolates is nice.
-jane said, but no one heard her, "an orange would go furder," while billy barlow's heart beat high inside his chubby shape. it needs no divination to see the application,-- until your purse is empty from your friends you can't escape.
-this picture (as you can see, i hope) shows a fat little maiden skipping rope. she can jump "highwater" and "pepper" too, but, fat old ladies, let me tell you, if you jump "highwater" you'll lose your breath, and to jump "pepper" might cause your death.
-on the east side any day, when the street pianos play you can see the children dancing with a rhythmic whirl and sway.
-all untaught their native grace, joy in every grinning face, to the music they are gaily keeping perfect time and pace.
-but, infirm and aged crones, do not risk your ancient bones; your old nerves would suffer sadly jarred and jolted by the stones.
-a ball game
-there never was a place so bad but one redeeming trait it had.
-now harlem is no good at all save as a place for playing ball.
-but there the boys will run and play their favorite game 'most every day.
-but, reverend sir, 'twould foolish be to play, with your rheumatic knee.
-and, deacon, do not try, i beg, to play the game with your game leg.
-the rival queens
-now wasn't this ridiculous? essie and mamie had a fuss, and each declared she wouldn't play unless she could be queen of may.
-"you think you're smart!" miss essie said, and mamie sneered and tossed her head. and each one angrily declared there'd be no queen for all she cared!
-mamie was mad as she could be, and essie pouted sulkily; with angry looks they onward stalked, while no one 'neath the may-bower walked.
-oh! social queens, this lesson learn if for supremacy you yearn, and of your fitness there is doubt, see that your rival too's kept out.
-the little mothers of the poor they lead a jolly life, i'm sure; for without being gray and old, they've all a mother's right to scold. as eagerly each day they meet to pass the gossip of the street, her baby-cart, each states with pride, is finest on the whole east side. and each, her small charge will declare the handsomest baby anywhere. oh, grown-up mothers, learn to praise your children and their pretty ways.
-other little mothers
-the little mothers of the rich are really works of art, they are dressed up to such a pitch in frocks so fine and smart.
-they do not have to take the charge of baby boys or girls; no, they have dolls exceeding large with silky, flaxen curls.
-ah, mothers in society, accept this reasoning sound; dolls far less troublesome would be than children bothering round.
-fourth of july
-these boisterous boys, with bang and fizz, they make such noisy noise; but, then, perhaps the reason is, they are such boysy boys.
-the girls as well,--from early morn they shoot and shoot and shoot; and on a trumpet or a horn they toot and toot and toot.
-but you, whose locks are bleached by time, (or by the chemist's aid), heed my admonitory rhyme, nor join the gay parade.
-when autumn brings around the day devoted to thanksgiving, the children scream with laughter gay for very joy of living.
-and every sort of escapade receives their commendation; but all agree a masquerade is best for celebration.
-the boys and girls all swarm around the crowd is hourly growing; straw hatted and grotesquely gowned,-- with tin horns loudly blowing.
-but dear old dames with snowy puffs, tulle caps and mechlin laces, don't scramble out and join the toughs in boys' clothes and false faces.
-to bob and sue, who have ice-cream, life is a glowing, halcyon dream, while tom stands empty by; and says, "gee! fellers, ain't it prime? say, i had ice-cream too, one time, and it was great! oh, my!"
-ah, beaux and belles at rout or ball, does ice-cream on your palate pall? is it to you no treat? you never ate it from the can, come, patronize the ice-cream man, come down to mulberry street!
-the boys of crawford's basin
-the story of a mountain ranch in the early days of colorado
-by sidford f. hamp
-author of "dale and fraser, sheepmen," etc.
-illustrated by chase emerson
-w. a. wilde company boston chicago
-by w. a. wilde company
-all rights reserved
-the boys of crawford's basin
-in relating the adventures of "the boys of crawford's basin," the author has endeavored to depict the life of the ranchman in the mountains of colorado as he knew it towards the end of the "seventies" of the century just past.
-at that date, the railroads, after their long climb from the missouri river to the foot of the rocky mountains, were still seeking a practicable passage westward over that formidable barrier, and in consequence, the mountain ranchman--who, by the way, was also sometimes a prospector and frequently a hunter--having no means of shipping his produce to the outside world, depended for his market upon one or another of the many little silver-mining camps scattered over the state.
-that infant state was but just learning to walk without leading-strings; and it has been the aim of the author to show how two stout young fellows, prone to honesty and not afraid of hard work, were able to do their share in advancing the prosperity of the growing commonwealth in which their lot was cast.
-it may not be out of place, perhaps, to mention that, besides having had considerable experience in ranching, the author was, about the date of the story, himself prospecting for silver and working as a miner. he would add, too, that several of the incidents related therein, and those in his opinion the most remarkable, are drawn from actual facts.
-the boys of crawford's basin
-big reuben's raid
-"wake up, boys! wake up! tumble out, there! quick! big reuben's into the pig-pen again!"
-our bedroom door was banged wide open, and my father stood before us--a startling apparition--dressed only in his night-shirt and a pair of boots, carrying a stable-lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other.
-"what is it?" cried joe, as he bounced out of bed; and, "where is it?" cried i, both of us half dazed by the sudden awakening.
-"it's big reuben raiding the pig-pen again! can't you hear 'em squealing? come on at once! bring the eight-bore, joe; and you, phil, get the torch and the revolver. quick; or he'll kill every hog in the pen!"
-big reuben was not a two-legged thief, as one might suppose from his name. he was a grizzly bear, a notorious old criminal, who, for the past two or three years, had done much harm to the ranchmen of our neighborhood, killing calves and colts and pigs--especially pigs.
-like a robber-baron of old, he laid tribute on the whole community, raiding all the ranches in turn, traveling great distances during the night, but always retreating to his lair among the rocks before morning. this had gone on for a long time, when one day, in broad daylight, while ole johnson, the swede, was plowing his upper potato-patch, the grizzly jumped down from a ledge of rocks and with one blow of his paw broke the back of ole's best work-steer; ole himself, frightened half to death, flying for refuge to his stable, where he shut himself up in the hay-loft for the rest of the day.
-this outrage had the effect of waking up the county commissioners, who, understanding at last that we had been terrorized long enough, now offered a reward of one hundred dollars for bruin's scalp--an offer which stimulated all the hunters round about to run the marauder to his lair.
-but big reuben was as crafty as he was bold. his home was up in one of the rocky gorges of mount lincoln to the west of us, where it would be useless to try to trail him; and after jed smith had been almost torn to pieces, and his partner, baldy atkins, had spent two nights and a day up a tree, the enthusiasm of the hunters had suddenly waned and big reuben's closer acquaintance had been shunned by all alike. thereafter, the bear had continued his depredations unchecked.
-among his many other pieces of mischief, he had killed a valuable calf for us once, once before he had raided the pig-pen, and now here he was again.
-without waiting to put on any extra clothing, joe and i followed my father through the kitchen, i grabbing a revolver from its nail in the wall, and joe snatching down the great eight-bore duck-gun and slipping into it two cartridges prepared for this very contingency, each cartridge containing twelve buck-shot and a big spherical bullet--a terrific charge for close quarters. once outside the kitchen-door, i ran to the wood-shed and seized the torch which, like the cartridges, had been made ready for this emergency. it consisted of a broom-handle with a great wad of waste, soaked in kerosene, bound with wire to one end of it.
-lighting the torch, i held it high and followed two paces behind the others as they advanced towards the pig-pen. we had not progressed twenty yards, however--luckily for us, as it turned out--when there issued through the roof of the pen a great dark body, dimly seen by the light of the torch.
-"there he is!" cried my father, as the bear dropped out of sight behind the corral fence. "look out, now! we'll get a shot at him as he runs up the hill!"
-but big reuben had no intention whatever of running up the hill; he feared neither man nor beast, and the next moment he appeared round the corner of the corral, charging full upon us, open-mouthed.
-with a single impulse, we all fired one shot at him and then turned and fled, helter-skelter, for the kitchen, all tumbling in together, treading on each others' heels; my father slamming behind us the door, which fortunately opened outward.
-the kitchen was a slight frame structure, built on to the back of the house as a t-shaped addition. we were barely inside when bang! came a heavy body against the door, with such force as to send several milk-pans clashing to the floor.
-joe, who was standing just opposite the window, jumped backward, and catching his heels against the great tub wherein the week's wash was soaking, he sat down in it with a splash. seeing this, i sprang forward and thrust my torch into the bear's face; upon which he dropped to the ground again. a half-second later, joe, still sitting in the tub, fired his second barrel. it was a good shot, but just a trifle too late, and its only effect was to blow my torch to shreds, leaving us with the dim light of the lantern only.
-"into the house!" shouted my father; whereupon we all retreated from the kitchen into the main building. there, while joe held the door partly open and i held the lantern so as to throw a light into the kitchen, my father knelt upon the floor waiting for the bear to give him another chance. but big reuben was much too clever to do anything of the sort; he was not going to put himself into any such trap as that; and presently my mother from up-stairs called out that she could see him going off.
-by sunrise next morning we were all out to see what damage had been done. the bear had torn a great hole in the roof of the pen, had jumped in and had killed and partly eaten one pig, choosing, as a bear of his sagacity naturally would, the best one. we were fortunate, though, to have come off so cheaply; doubtless the light of our torch shining through the chinks of the logs had disturbed him.
-if there had been any question as to the marauder's identity, that was settled at once. his tracks were plain in the dust, and as one of his hind feet showed no marks of claws, we knew it was big reuben; for big reuben had once been caught in a trap and had only freed himself by leaving his toe-nails behind him.
-outside the kitchen door and window the tracks were very plain; there was also a good deal of blood, showing that he had been hit at least once. but it was evident also that he had not been hurt very seriously, for there was no irregularity in his trail--no swaying from side to side, as from weakness--though we followed it up to the point where, at the upper end of our valley, the bear had climbed the cliff which bounded the second mesa. though on this occasion he had thought fit to run away, there was little doubt but that he would live to fight another day.
-"father," said i, as we sat together at breakfast, "may joe and i go and trail him up? if he keeps on bleeding it ought to be easy, and it is just possible that we might find him dead."
-"we'll take care, father," said i. "we'll stick to our ponies, and then we shall be all safe."
-"very well, then; be off with you."
-with this permission we set off, i carrying a rifle and joe his "old cannon," as he called the big shotgun; each with a crust of bread and a slice or two of bacon in his pocket by way of lunch. picking up the trail where we had left it at the foot of the second mesa, we scrambled up the little cliff, looking out very sharply lest big reuben should be lying in wait for us in some crevice, and finding that the tracks led straight away for mount lincoln, we followed them, i doing the tracking while joe kept watch ahead. the surface of the second mesa was very uneven: there were many little rocky hills and many small cañons, some of the latter as much as a hundred feet deep, so, keeping in mind the bear's crafty nature, whenever the trail led us near any of these obstacles i would stand still while joe examined the cañon or the rocks, as the case might be.
-every time we did this, however, we drew a blank. the trail continued to lead straight away for the mountain without diverging to one side or the other, and for five or six miles we followed it until the stunted cedars began to give place to pine trees, when we decided that we might as well stop, especially as for some time past there had ceased to be any blood-marks on the stones and we had been following only the occasional imprint of the bear's paws in the patches of sand.
-"the trail is headed straight for that rocky gorge, phil," said my companion, pointing forward, "and it's no use going on. even if your father hadn't forbidden it, i wouldn't go into that gorge, knowing that big reuben was in there somewhere, not if the county commissioners should offer me the whole county as a reward."
-"nor i, either," said i. "big reuben may have his mountain all to himself as far as i'm concerned. so, come on; let's get back. what time is it?"
-"after noon," replied joe, looking up at the sun. "we've been a long time coming, but it won't take us more than half the time going back. let's dig out at once."
-turning our ponies, we set off at an easy lope, and had ridden about two miles on the back track when, skirting along the edge of one of the little cañons i have mentioned, we noticed a tiny spring of water, which, issuing from the face of the cliff close to the top, fell in a thin thread into the chasm.
-"joe," said i, "let's stop here and eat our lunch. i'm getting pretty hungry."
-"all right," said joe; and in another minute we were seated on the edge of the cliff with our feet dangling in space, munching our bread and bacon, while the ponies, with the reins hanging loose, were cropping the scanty grass just behind us.
-about five feet below where we sat was a little ledge some eighteen inches wide, which, on our left, gradually sloped upward until it came to the top, while in the other direction it sloped downward, diminishing in width until it "petered out" entirely. the little spring fell upon this ledge, and running along it, fell off again at its lower end. as the best place to fill our tin cup was where the water struck the ledge, we, when we had finished our lunch, walked down to that point.
-"duck!" yelled joe; and down we went--only just in time, too, for the bear's great claws rattled on the surface of the rock as he made a slap at us.
-where had he come from? had he followed us back from the mountain? hardly: we had come too quickly. had he seen us coming in the early morning, and, making a circuit out of our sight, lain in wait for us as we returned? such uncanny cleverness seemed hardly possible, even for big reuben, clever as he was known to be.
-these questions, however, did not occur to us at the moment. all that concerned us just then was that there was big reuben, looking down at us from the edge of the cliff.
-there was no doubt that it was the same bear we had interviewed in the night, for all the hair on one side of his face was singed off where i had thrust at him with the torch, while one of his ears was tattered and bloody, showing that some of joe's buck-shot, at least, had got him as he dropped from the window.
-joe and i were on our hands and knees, when the bear, going down upon his chest, reached for us with one of his paws. he could not quite touch us, but he came so uncomfortably close that we crept away down the ledge, which, dipping pretty sharply, soon put us out of his reach altogether.
-seeing this, the bear rose to his feet again, gazed at us for a moment, and then stepped back out of sight.
-"has he gone?" i whispered; but before joe could answer big reuben appeared again, walking down the ledge towards us. of course we sidled away from him, until the ledge had become so narrow that i could go no farther; and lucky it was for us that the ledge was narrow, for what was standing-room for us was by no means standing-room for the bear: his body was much too thick to allow him to come near us, or even to approach the spot whence we had just retreated.
-as it was obvious that the bear could advance no farther, for he was standing on the very edge of the ledge and there was a bulge in the rock before him which would inevitably have pushed him off into the chasm had he attempted to pass it, joe and i returned to the spring, where we had room to stand or to sit down as we wished.
-the enemy watched our approach, with a glint of malice in his little piggy eyes, but when he saw that we intended to come no nearer, he lay down where he was and began unconcernedly licking his paws.
-"he thinks he can starve us out," said joe; "but if i'm not mistaken we can stand it longer than he can, even if he did eat half a pig last night. and there's one thing certain, phil: if we don't get home to-night, somebody will come to look for us in the morning."
-by standing upright we could see my rifle lying on the ground and joe's big gun standing with its muzzle pointed skyward, leaning against a boulder. they were only six feet away, but six feet were six feet: we could not reach them without climbing up, and that was out of the question--the bear could get there much more quickly than we could.
-"phil!" exclaimed my companion, suddenly. "have you got any twine in your pocket?"
-"yes," i replied, pulling out a long, stout piece of string. "why?"
-"perhaps we can 'rope' my gun. see, its muzzle stands clear. then we could drag it within reach."
-i very soon had a noose made, and being the more expert roper of the two i swung it round and round my head, keeping the loop wide open, and threw it. my very first cast was successful. the noose fell over the muzzle of the gun and settled half way down the barrel, where it was stopped by the rock.
-"good!" whispered joe. "now, tighten it up gently and pull the gun over."
-i followed these directions, and presently we heard the gun fall with a clatter upon the rocks; for, fearing it might go off when it fell, we had both ducked below the rim of the wall.
-our actions had made the bear suspicious, and when the gun came clattering down he rose upon his hind feet and looked about him. seeing nothing moving, however, he came down again, when i at once began to pull the gun gently towards me, keeping my head down all the time lest one of the hammers, catching against a rock, should explode the charge.
-at length, thinking it should be near enough, i ceased pulling, when joe straightened up, reached out, and, to my great delight, when he withdrew his hand the gun was in it.
-ah! what a difference it made in our situation!
-joe, first opening the breach to make sure the gun was loaded, advanced as near the bear as he dared, and kneeling down took careful aim at his chest. but presently he lowered the gun again, and turning to me, said:
-"phil, can you do anything to make him turn his head so that i can get a chance at him behind the ear? i'm afraid a shot in front may only wound him."
-"all right," said i. "i'll try."
-with my knife i pried out of the face of the cliff a piece of stone about the size and shape of the palm of my hand, and aiming carefully i threw it at the bear. it struck him on the very point of his nose--a tender spot--and seemingly hurt him a good deal, for, with an angry snarl, he rose upright on his hind feet.
-at that instant a terrific report resounded up and down the cañon, the whole charge of joe's ponderous weapon struck the bear full in the chest--i could see the hole it made--and without a sound the great beast dropped from the ledge, fell a hundred feet upon the rocks below, bounded two or three times and then lay still, all doubled up in a heap at the bottom.
-big reuben had killed his last pig!
-you might think, perhaps, as many people in our neighborhood thought, that joe was my brother. as a matter of fact he was no relation at all; he had dropped in upon us, a stranger, two years before, and had stayed with us ever since.
-it was in the haying season that he came, at a moment when my father and i were overwhelmed with work; for it was the summer of 1879, the year of "the leadville excitement," when all the able-bodied men in the district were either rushing off to leadville itself or going off prospecting all over the mountains in the hope of unearthing other leadvilles. ranch work was much too slow for them, and as a consequence it was impossible for us to secure any help that was worth having.
-nevertheless, as what could not be cured must be endured, my father and i tackled the job ourselves, working early and late, and we were making very good progress, all things considered, when we had the misfortune to break a small casting in our mowing-machine; a mishap which would probably entail a delay of several days until we could get the piece replaced.
-it was just before noon that this happened, and we had brought the machine up to the wagon-shed and had put up the horses, when, on stepping out of the stable, we were accosted by a tall, black haired, blue eyed young fellow of about my own age, who asked if he could get a job with us.
-"yes, you can," replied my father, promptly; and then, remembering the accident to the machine, he added, "at least, you can as soon as i get this casting replaced," holding out the broken piece as he spoke.
-"may i look at it?" asked the young fellow; and taking it in his hand he went on: "i see you have a blacksmith-shop over there; i think i can duplicate this for you if you'll let me try: i was a blacksmith's apprentice only a month ago."
-"do you think you can? well, you shall certainly be allowed to try. but come in now: dinner will be ready in five minutes; you shall try your hand at blacksmithing afterwards. what's your name?"
-"joe garnier," replied the boy. "i come from iowa. i was going to leadville, but i met so many men coming back, with tales of what numbers of idle men there were up there unable to get work, that, hearing of a place called sulphide as a rising camp, i decided to go there instead. this is the right way to get there, isn't it?"
-"yes, this is the way to sulphide. did you expect to get work as a miner?"
-"well, i intended to take any work i could get, but if you can give me employment here, i'd a good deal rather work out in the sun than down in a hole in the ground."
-"you replace that casting if you can, and i'll give you work for a month, at least, and longer if we get on well together."
-"thank you," said the stranger; and with that we went into the house.
-the newcomer started well: he won my mother's good opinion at once by wiping his boots carefully before entering, and by giving himself a sousing good wash at the pump before sitting down to table. it was plain he was no ordinary tramp--though, for that matter, the genus "tramp" had not yet invaded the three-year-old state of colorado--for his manners were good; while his clear blue eyes, in contrast with his brown face and wavy black hair, gave him a remarkably bright and wide-awake look.
-as soon as dinner was over, we all repaired to the blacksmith-shop, where joe at once went to work. it was very evident that he knew what he was about: every blow seemed to count in the right direction; so that in about half an hour he had fashioned his piece of iron into the desired shape, when he plunged it into the tub of water, and then, clapping it into the vise, went to work on it with a file; every now and then comparing it with the broken casting which lay on the bench beside him.
-"there!" he exclaimed at last. "i believe that will fit." and, indeed, when he laid them side by side, one would have been puzzled to tell which was which, had not the old piece been painted red while the other was not painted at all.
-joe was right: the piece did fit; and in less than an hour from the time we had finished dinner we were at work again in the hay-field.
-the month which followed was a strenuous one, but by the end of it we had the satisfaction of knowing that we had put up the biggest crop of hay ever cut on the ranch.
-our new helper, who was a tall, stout fellow for his age, and an untiring worker, proved to be a capital hand, and though at first he was somewhat awkward, being unused to farm labor, before we had finished he could do a better day's work than i could, in spite of the fact that i had been a ranch boy ever since i had been a boy at all.
-we all took a great liking for joe, and we were very pleased, therefore, when, the hay being in, it was arranged that he should stay on. for there was plenty of work to be done that year--extra work, i mean--such as building fences, putting up an ice-house and so forth, in which joe, having a decided mechanical turn, proved a valuable assistant. so, when the spring came round again it found joe still with us; and with us he continued to stay, becoming so much one of the family that many people, as i said, who did not know his story, supposed that he and i were brothers in fact, as we soon learned to become brothers in feeling.
-long before this, of course, joe had told us all about himself and how he had come to leave his old home and make his way westward.
-of french-canadian descent, the boy, left an orphan at three years of age, had been taken in by a neighbor, a kind-hearted blacksmith, and with him he had lived for the twelve years following, when the blacksmith, now an old man, had decided to go out of business. just at this time "the leadville excitement" was making a great stir in the country; thousands of men were heading for the new eldorado, and joe, his old friend consenting, determined to join the throng.
-it was, perhaps, lucky for the young blacksmith that he started rather late, for, on his approach to the mountains, he encountered files of disappointed men streaming in the opposite direction, and hearing their stories of the overcrowded condition of things in leadville, he determined to try instead the mining camp of sulphide, when, passing our place on the way he was caught by my father, as i have described, and turned into a ranchman.
-such was the condition of affairs with us when big reuben made his final raid upon our pig-pen.
-the reward of one hundred dollars which the county paid us for our exploit in ridding the community of big reuben's presence came in very handily for joe and me. it enabled us to achieve an object for which we had long been hoarding our savings--the purchase of a pair of mules.
-for the past two years, in the slack season, after the gathering of our hay and potato crops, we had hired out during the fine weather remaining to a man whose business it was to cut and haul timbers for the mines in and around the town of sulphide, which lay in the mountains seven miles southwestward from our ranch. we found it congenial work, and joe and i, who were now seventeen years old, hardened to labor with ax, shovel or pitchfork, saw no reason why we should not put in these odd five or six weeks cutting timbers on our own account. no reason but one, that is to say. my father would readily lend us one of his wagons, but he could not spare a team, and so, until we could procure a team of our own, we were obliged to forego the honor and glory--to say nothing of the expected profits--of setting up as an independent firm.
-now, however, we had suddenly and unexpectedly acquired the necessary funds, and with the money in our pockets away we went at once to ole johnson's, from whom we bought a stout little pair of mouse-colored mules upon which we had long had an eye.
-but though the firm of crawford and garnier might now, if it pleased, consider itself established, it could not enter upon the practice of its business for some time yet. it was still the middle of summer, and there was plenty to do on the ranch: the hay and the oats would be ready to cut in two weeks, while after that there were the potatoes to gather--a very heavy piece of work.
-all these tasks had to be cleared out of the way before we could move up to sulphide to begin on our timber-cutting enterprise. but between the harvesting of the oats and the gathering of the potato-crop there occurred an incident, which, besides being remarkable in itself, had a very notable effect upon my father's fortunes--and, incidentally, upon our own.
-to make understandable the ins and outs of this matter, i must pause a moment to describe the situation of our ranch; for it is upon the peculiarity of its situation that much of my story hinges.
-anybody traveling westward from san remo, the county seat, with the idea of getting up into the mountains, would encounter, about a mile from town, a rocky ridge, which, running north and south, extended for several miles each way. ascending this bluff and still going westward, he would presently encounter a second ridge, the counterpart of the first, and climbing that in turn he would find himself upon the wide-spreading plateau known as the second mesa, which extended, without presenting any serious impediment, to the foot of the range--itself one of the finest and ruggedest masses of mountains in the whole state of colorado.
-in a deep depression of the first mesa--known as crawford's basin--lay our ranch. this "basin" was evidently an ancient lake-bed--as one could tell by the "benches" surrounding it--but the water of the lake having in the course of ages sawed its way out through the rocky barrier, now ran off through a little cañon about a quarter of a mile long.
-the natural way for us to get from the ranch down to san remo was to follow the stream down this cañon, but, curiously enough, for more than half the year this road was impassable. the lower end of crawford's basin, for a quarter of a mile back from the entrance of the cañon, was so soft and water-logged that not even an empty wagon could pass over it. in fact, so soft was it that we could not get upon it to cut hay and were obliged to leave the splendid stand of grass that grew there as a winter pasture. in the cold weather, when the ground froze up, it was all right, but at the first breath of spring it began to soften, and from then until winter again we could do nothing with it. it was, in fact, little better than a source of annoyance to us, for, until we fenced it off, our milk cows, tempted by the luxuriant grass, were always getting themselves mired there.
-this wet patch was known to every teamster in the county as "the bottomless forty rods," and was shunned by them like a pestilence. its existence was a great drawback to us, for, between san remo, where the smelters were, and the town of sulphide, where the mines were, there was a constant stream of wagons passing up and down, carrying ore to the smelters and bringing back provisions, tools and all the other multitudinous necessaries required by the population of a busy mining town. had it not been for the presence of "the bottomless forty rods," all these wagons would have come through our place and we should have done a great trade in oats and hay with the teamsters. but as it was, they all took the mesa road, which, though three miles longer and necessitating the descent of a long, steep hill where the road came down from the first mesa to the plains, had the advantage of being hard and sound at all seasons of the year.
-my father had spent much time and labor in the attempt to make a permanent road through this morass, cutting trenches and throwing in load after load of stones and brush and earth, but all in vain, and at length he gave it up--though with great reluctance. for, not only did the teamsters avoid us, but we, ourselves, when we wished to go with a load to san remo, were obliged to ascend to the mesa and go down by the hill road.
-the cause of this wet spot was apparently an underground stream which came to the surface at that point. the creek which supplied us with water for irrigation had its sources on mount lincoln and falling from the second mesa into our basin in a little waterfall some twelve feet high, it had scooped out a circular hole in the rock about a hundred feet across and then, running down the length of the valley, found its way out through the cañon. now this creek received no accession from any other stream in its course across the basin, but for all that the amount of water in the cañon was twice as great as that which came over the fall; showing conclusively that the marsh whence the increase came must be supplied by a very strong underground stream.
-the greater part of crawford's basin was owned by my father, philip crawford, the elder, but a portion of it, about thirty acres at the upper end, including the pool, the waterfall and the best part of the potato land, was owned by simon yetmore, of sulphide.
-my father was very desirous of purchasing this piece of ground, for it would round out the ranch to perfection, but yetmore, knowing how much he desired it, asked such an unreasonable price that their bargaining always fell through. being unable to buy it, my father therefore leased it, paying the rent in the form of potatoes delivered at yetmore's store in sulphide--for simon, besides being mayor of sulphide and otherwise a person of importance, was proprietor of yetmore's emporium, by far the largest general store in town.
-he was an enterprising citizen, simon was, always having many irons in the fire; a clever fellow, too, in his way; though his way was not exactly to the taste of some people: he drove too hard a bargain. in fact, the opinion was pretty general that his name fitted him to a nicety, for, however much he might get, he always wanted yet more.
-my father distrusted him; yet, strange to say, in spite of that fact, and of the added fact that he had always fought shy of all mining schemes, he and yetmore were partners in a prospecting venture. it was, in a measure, an accident, and it came about in this way:
-the smelter-men down at san remo were always crying out for more lead-ores to mix with the "refractory" ores produced by most of the mines in our district, publishing a standing offer of an extra-good price for all ores containing more than a stated percentage of lead. in spite of the stimulus this offer gave to the prospecting of the mountains, north, south and west of us, there had been found but one mine, the samson, of which the chief product was lead, and this did not furnish nearly enough to satisfy the wants of the smelter-men.
-its discovery, however, proved the existence of veins of galena--the ore from which lead chiefly comes--in one part of the district, and the prospectors became more active than ever; though without result. that section of country where the samson had been discovered was deeply overlaid with "wash," and as the veins were "blanket" veins--lying flat, that is--and did not crop out above the surface, their discovery was pretty much a matter of chance.
-among the prospectors was one, tom connor, who, having had experience in the lead-mines of missouri, proposed to adopt one of the methods of prospecting in use in that country, to wit, the core-drill. but to procure and operate a core-drill required money, and this tom connor had not. he therefore applied to simon yetmore, who agreed to supply part of the necessary funds--making good terms for himself, you may be sure--if tom would provide the rest. the rest, however, was rather more than the sum-total of tom's scanty capital, and so he came to my father, who was an old friend of his, and asked him to make up the difference.
-my father declined to take any share in the enterprise, for, though most of the ranchmen round about were more or less interested in mining, he himself looked upon it as being too near akin to gambling; but feeling well disposed towards tom, and the sum required being very moderate, he lent his friend the money, quite prepared, knowing tom's optimistic, harum-scarum character, never to see it again.
-in this expectation, however, he was happily deceived. it is true he did not get back his money, but he received his money's worth, and that in a very curious way.
-three months had elapsed when tom connor turned up one day with a very long face. all his drilling had brought no result; he was at the end of his tether; he could see no possible chance of ever repaying the borrowed money, and so, said he, would my father take his interest in the drill in settlement of the debt?
-very reluctantly my father consented--for what did he want with a one-third share in a core-drill?--whereupon tom, the load of debt being off his mind, brightened up again in an instant--he was a most mercurial fellow--and forthwith he fell to begging my father's consent to his making one more attempt--just one. he was sure of striking it this time, he had studied the formation carefully and he had selected a spot where the chances of disappointment were, as he declared, "next-to-nothing."
-my father knew tom well enough to know that he had been just as sure twenty times before, but tom was so eager and so plausible that at last he agreed that he should sink one more hole--but no more.
-"and mind you, tom," said he, "i won't spend more than fifty dollars; that is the very utmost i can afford, and i believe i am only throwing that away. but i'll spend fifty just to satisfy you--but that's all, mind you."
-"fifty dollars!" exclaimed tom. "fifty! bless you, that'll be more than enough. twenty ought to do it. i'm going to make your fortune for twenty dollars, mr. crawford, and glad of the chance. you've treated me 'white,' and the more i can make for you the better i'll be pleased. inside of a week i'll be coming back here with a lead-mine in my pocket--you see if i don't."
-"all right, tom," said my father, laughing, as he shook hands with him. "i shall be glad to have it, even if it is only a pocket edition. so, good-bye, old man, and good luck to you."
-it was two days after this that my father at breakfast time turned to us and said:
-"boys, how would you like to take your ponies and go and see tom connor at work? there is not much to do on the ranch just now, and an outing of two or three days will do you good."
-needless to say, we jumped at the chance, and as soon as we could get off, away we went, delighted at the prospect of making an expedition into the mountains.
-"what are they up to?" asked joe. "have they lost something?"
-connor sprang to his feet and ran towards us, crying:
-"what did i tell you, boys! what did i tell you! get off your ponies, quick, and come and see!"
-he was wild with excitement.
-we slid from our horses, and joining the other two, went down on our knees beside them. upon the ground before them lay the object of their worship: a "core" from the drill, neatly pieced together, about eight feet long and something less than an inch in diameter. of this core, four feet or more at one end and about half a foot at the other was composed of some kind of stone, but in between, for a length of three feet and an inch or two, it was all smooth, shining lead-ore.
-tom connor had struck it, and no mistake!
-"tom," said yetmore, as we all rose to our feet again, "this looks like a pretty fair strike; but you've got to remember that we know nothing about the extent of the vein--one hole doesn't prove much. it is three feet thick at this particular point, but it may be only three inches five feet away; and as to its length and breadth, why, that's all pure speculation. all the same i'm ready to make a deal with you. i'll buy your interest or i'll sell you mine. what do you say?"
-"what's the use of that kind of talk?" growled connor. "you know i haven't a cent to my name. besides, i haven't any interest."
-"you--what!--you haven't any interest!" cried the other. "what do you mean?"
-"i've sold it."
-"sold it! who to?"
-"to mr. crawford, two days ago."
-"well, you are a----" yetmore began; but catching sight of tom's glowering face he stopped and substituted, "well, i'm sorry to hear it."
-"well, i ain't," said tom, shortly. "if mr. crawford makes a fortune out of it i'll be mighty well pleased. he's treated me 'white,' he has."
-from the tone and manner of this remark it was easy to guess that tom did not love mr. yetmore: he had found him a difficult partner to get along with, probably.
-"i certainly hope he will," said yetmore, smiling, "for if he does i shall. sold it to mr. crawford, eh? so that accounts for you two boys being up here. got here just in time, didn't you? you'll stay over to-morrow, of course, and see tom uncover the vein?"
-"are you proposing to uncover it, tom?" i asked.
-"yes. it's only four feet down; one shot will do it. you'll stay too, i suppose, mr. yetmore?"
-"certainly," replied the other. but as he said it, i saw a change come over his face--it was a leathery face, with a large, long nose. some idea had occurred to him i was sure, especially when, seeing that i was looking at him, he dropped his eyes, as though fearing they might betray him.
-whatever the idea might be, however, i ceased to think of it when tom suggested that it was getting late and that we had better adjourn to the cabin for supper.
-early next morning we walked about half a mile up the mountain to the scene of the strike, when, having first shoveled away two or three feet of loose stuff, tom and his helper set to work, one holding the drill and the other plying the hammer, drilling a hole a little to one side of the spot whence the core had come.
-they were no more than well started when yetmore, remarking that he had forgotten his tobacco, walked back to the cabin to get it--an action to which joe and i, being interested in the drilling, paid little attention. it was only when connor, turning to select a fresh drill, asked where he was, that we remembered how long he had been gone.
-"gone back to the cabin, has he?" remarked tom. "well, he's welcome to stay there as far as i'm concerned."
-the work went on, until presently tom declared that they had gone deep enough, and while we others cleared away the tools, connor himself loaded and tamped the hole.
-"now, get out of the way!" cried he; and while we ran off and hid behind convenient trees, tom struck a match and lighted the fuse. the dull thud of an explosion shortly followed; but on walking back to the spot we were all greatly surprised to see that the rock had remained intact--it was as solid as ever.
-it did not take long to put in three short holes, and these being charged and tamped, we once more took refuge behind the trees while tom touched them off. this time there were three sharp explosions, a shower of fragments rattled through the branches above our heads, and on going to inspect the result we found that the rock had been so shattered that it was an easy matter to pry out the pieces with pick and crowbar--a task of which joe and i did our share.
-at length, the hole being now about three feet deep, joe, who was working with a crowbar, gave a mighty prod at a loose piece of rock, when, to the astonishment of himself and everybody else, the bottom of the hole fell through, and rock, crowbar and all, disappeared into the cavity beneath.
-"well, what kind of a vein is it, anyhow?" cried tom, going down upon his knees and peering into the darkness. "blest if there isn't a sort of cave down here. knock out some more, boys, and let me get down. this is the queerest thing i've struck in a long time."
-we soon had the hole sufficiently enlarged, when, by means of a rope attached to a tree, tom slid down into it, and lighting a candle, peered about.
-poor old tom! the change on his face would have been ludicrous had we not felt so sorry for him, when, looking up at us he said in lugubrious tones: "done again, boys! come down and see for yourselves."
-we quickly slid down the rope, when, our eyes having become accustomed to the light, tom pointed out to us the extraordinary accident that had caused him to believe he had struck a three-foot vein of galena.
-though there was no sign of such a thing on the surface, it was evident that the place in which we stood had at one time been a narrow, water-worn gully in the mountain-side. ages ago there had been a landslide, filling the little gully with enormous boulders. that these rocks came from the vein of the samson higher up the mountain was also pretty certain, for among them was one pear-shaped boulder of galena ore, standing upright, upon the apex of which rested the immense four-foot slab of stone through which tom had bored his drill-hole. by a chance that was truly marvelous, the drill, after piercing the great slab, had struck the very point of the galena boulder and had gone through it from end to end, so that when the core came up it was no wonder that even tom, experienced miner though he was, should have been deceived into the belief that he had discovered a three-foot vein of lead-ore.
-as a matter of fact, there was no vein at all--just one single chunk of galena, not worth the trouble of getting it out. connor's lead-mine after all had turned out to be only a "pocket edition."
-tom's disappointment was naturally extreme, but, as usual, his low spirits were only momentary. we had hardly climbed up out of the hole again when he suddenly burst out laughing.
-"ho, ho, ho!" he went, slapping his leg. "what will yetmore say? i'm sorry, phil, that i couldn't keep my promise to your father, but i'll own up that as far as yetmore is concerned i'm rather glad. i don't like the honorable simon, and that's a fact. what's he doing down at the cabin all this time, i wonder. come! let's gather up the tools and go down there: there's nothing more to be done here."
-on arriving at the cabin, yetmore's non-appearance was at once explained. fastened to the table with a fork was a piece of paper, upon which was written in pencil, "gone to look for the horses."
-of course, joe and i at once ran over to the stable. it was empty; all three of the horses were gone.
-"queer," remarked joe. "i feel sure i tied mine securely, but you see halters and all are gone."
-"yes," i replied. "and i should have relied upon our ponies' staying even if they had not been tied up; you know what good camp horses they are. let's go out and see which way they went."
-we made a cast all round the stable, and presently joe called out, "here they are, all three of them." i thought he had found the horses, but it was only their tracks he had discovered, which with much difficulty we followed over the stony ground, until, after half an hour of careful trailing, they led us to the dusty road some distance below camp, where they were plainly visible.
-"our ponies have followed yetmore's horse," said joe, after a brief inspection. "do you see, phil, they tread in his tracks all the time?"
-for the tracks left by our own ponies were easily distinguishable from those of yetmore's big horse, our animals being unshod.
-"what puzzles me though, joe," said i, "is that there are no marks of the halter-ropes trailing in the dust; and yet they went off with their halters."
-"that's true. i don't understand it. and there's another thing, phil: yetmore hasn't got on their trail yet, apparently; see, the marks of his boots don't show anywhere. he must be wandering in the woods still."
-"i suppose so. well, let us go on and see if they haven't stopped to feed somewhere."
-we went on for half a mile when we came to a spot where the tracks puzzled us still more. for the first time a man's footmarks appeared. that they were yetmore's i knew, for i had noticed the pattern of the nails in the soles of his boots as he had sat with his feet resting on a chair the night before. but where had he dropped from so suddenly? we could find no tracks on either side of the road--though certainly the ground was stony and would not take an impression easily--yet here they were all at once right on top of the horses' hoof-prints.
-"well, this is a puzzler!" exclaimed joe, taking off his hat and rumpling his hair, as his habit was in such circumstances. "how do you figure it out, phil?"
-"why," said i. "i'll tell you what i think. yetmore has caught sight of the horses strolling down the road and has followed them, keeping away from the road himself for fear they should see him and take alarm. dodging through the scrub-oak and cutting across corners, he has come near enough to them to speak to his own horse; the horse has stopped and yetmore has caught him. that was where his tracks first showed in the road. then he has jumped upon his horse and galloped after our ponies, which appear to have bolted."
-"that sounds reasonable," joe assented; "and in that case he'll head them and drive them back; so we may as well walk up to the cabin again and wait for him."
-to this i agreed, and we therefore turned round and retraced our steps.
-"there's only one thing about this that i can't understand," remarked joe, as we trudged up the hill, "and that is about the halters--why they leave no trail. that does beat me."
-"yes, that is certainly a queer thing; unless they managed to scrape them off against the trees before they took to the road. in that case, though, we ought to have found them; and anyhow it is hard to believe that all three horses should have done the same thing."
-we found tom very busy packing up when we reached the cabin, and on our telling him the result of our horse-hunt he merely nodded, saying, "well, they'll be back soon, i suppose, and then i'll ride down with you."
-"why, are you going to quit, tom?" i asked.
-"yes," he replied. "your father limited me to one more hole, you remember, and if i know him he'll stick to it; and as to working any longer for yetmore, no thank you; i've had enough of it."
-so saying, tom, who had already cleaned and put away the tools, began tumbling his scanty wardrobe into a gunny-sack, and this being done, he turned to us and said:
-"i've got a pony out at pasture about a mile up the valley. i'll go and bring him down; and while i'm gone you might as well pitch in and get dinner ready. you needn't provide for sandy yates: he's gone off already to see if he can get a job up at the samson."
-sandy yates was the helper.
-in an hour or less tom was back and we were seated at dinner, without yetmore, who had not yet turned up, when the conversation naturally fell upon the subject of the runaway horses. we related to tom how we had trailed them through the woods down to the road, told him of the sudden appearance of yetmore's tracks, and how the horses had then set off at a run, followed by yetmore.
-"but the thing i cannot understand," said joe, harking back to the old subject, "is why the halter-ropes don't show in the dust."
-"don't they?" exclaimed tom, suddenly sitting bolt upright and clapping his knife and fork down upon the table. "don't they? just you wait a minute."
-with that he jumped up, strode out of the cabin, and went straight across to the stable. in two minutes he was back again, and standing in the doorway, with his hands in his pockets, he said:
-"boys, i've got another surprise for you: yetmore's saddle's gone!"
-"his saddle gone!" i exclaimed. "is that why you went to the stable? did you expect to find it gone?"
-"that's just what i did."
-"you did! why?"
-without replying directly, tom came in, sat down, and leaning his elbows on the table, said, with a quiet chuckle, the meaning of which we could not understand:
-"should you like to know, boys, what yetmore did when he came down for his tobacco this morning? he went to the stable, saddled his horse, untied your two ponies and led them out. then he mounted his horse and taking the halter-ropes in his hand he led your ponies by a roundabout way through the woods down to the road. after leading them at a walk along the road for half a mile he dismounted--that was where his tracks showed--and either took off the halters and threw them away, or what is more likely, tied them up around the ponies' necks so that they shouldn't step on them. then he mounted again and went off at a gallop, driving your ponies ahead of him."
-as tom concluded, he leaned back in his chair, bubbling with suppressed merriment, until the sight of our round-eyed wonder was too much for him and he burst into uproarious laughter, which was so infectious that we could not help joining in, though the cause of it was a perfect mystery to us both.
-at length, when he had laughed himself out, he leaned forward again, and rubbing the tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he said:
-"can't you guess, boys, why yetmore has gone off with your horses?"
-i shook my head. "no," said i, "unless he wants to steal them, and he'd hardly do that, i suppose."
-"no; anyhow not in such a bare-faced way as that. what he's after is to make you boys walk home."
-"make us walk home!" cried joe. "what should he want to do that for?"
-tom grinned, and in reply, said: "yetmore thought that as soon as we uncovered that fine three-foot vein of galena you would be for getting your ponies and galloping off home to tell mr. crawford of the great strike, and as he wanted to get there first he stole your ponies--temporarily--to make sure of doing it."
-"but why should he want to get there first?" i asked. "you are talking in riddles, tom, and we haven't the key."
-"no, i know you haven't. you don't know yetmore. i do. he's gone down to buy your father's share in the claim for next-to-nothing before he hears of the strike!"
-the whole thing was plain and clear now; and the hilarity of our friend, connor, was explained. he had no liking for yetmore, as we have seen, and it delighted him immeasurably to think of that too astute gentleman rushing off to buy my father's share of a valuable mine, and, if he succeeded, finding himself the owner of a worthless boulder instead.
-for myself, i was much puzzled how to act. naturally, i felt pretty indignant at yetmore's action, and it seemed to me that if, in trying to cheat my father, he should only succeed in cheating himself, it would be no more than just that he should be allowed to do so. but at the same time i thought that my father ought to be informed of the state of the case as soon as possible--he, not i, was the one to judge--and so, turning to connor, i asked him to lend me his pony so that i might set off at once.
-"what! and spoil the deal!" cried connor; and at first he was disposed to refuse. but on consideration, he added: "well, perhaps you're right. your father's an honest man, if ever there was one, and i doubt if he'd let even a man like yetmore cheat himself if he could help it; and so i suppose you must go and tell him the particulars as soon as you can. all i hope is that he will have made his deal before you get there. yes, you can take the pony."
-but it was not necessary to borrow connor's steed after all, for when we stepped outside the cabin, there were our own ponies coming up the road. the halters were fastened up round their necks, and they showed evident signs of having been run hard some time during the morning. presumably yetmore had abandoned them somewhere on the road and they had walked leisurely back.
-"well, boys," said connor, "we may as well all start together now; but as your ponies have had a good morning's work already, we can't expect to make the whole distance this evening. we'll stop over night at thornburg's, twenty miles down, and go on again first thing in the morning."
-this we did, and by ten o'clock we reached home, where the first person we encountered was my father.
-"well, tom," he cried, as the miner slipped down from his horse. "so you made a strike, did you?"
-at this tom opened his eyes pretty widely. "how did you know?" he asked.
-"i didn't know," my father replied, smiling, "but i guessed. does it amount to much?"
-"well, no, i can't say it does," tom replied, as he covered his mouth with his hand to hide the grin which would come to the surface. "yetmore's been here, i suppose?" he added, inquiringly.
-"yes, he has," answered my father, surprised in his turn. "why do you ask?"
-"oh, i just thought he might have, that's all."
-"yes, he was here yesterday afternoon. i sold him my one-third share."
-"did you?" asked tom, eagerly. "i hope you got a good price."
-"yes, i made a very satisfactory bargain. i traded my share for his thirty acres here, so that now, at last, i own the whole of crawford's basin, i'm glad to say."
-"bully!" cried tom, clapping his hands together with a report which made his pony shy. "that's great! tell us about it, mr. crawford."
-"why, yetmore rode in yesterday afternoon, as i told you, on his way to town--he said. but i rather suspected the truth of his statement. he had come in a desperate hurry, for his horse was in a lather, and if he was in such haste to get to town, why did he waste time talking to me, as he did for twenty minutes? but when, just as he was starting off again, he turned back and asked me if i wanted to sell my share in the drill and claim, i knew that that was what he had come about, and i had a strong suspicion that he had heard of a strike of some sort and was trying to get the better of me. so when he asked what i wanted for my share, i said i would take his thirty acres, and in spite of his protestations that i was asking far too much, i stuck to it. the final result was that i rode on with him to town, where we exchanged deeds and the bargain was completed."
-"that's great!" exclaimed connor once more, rubbing his hands. "and now i'll tell you our part of the story."
-when he had finished, my father stood thinking for a minute, and then said: "well, the deal will have to stand. yetmore believed we had a three-foot vein of galena, and it is perfectly evident that he meant to get my share out of me at a trifling price before i was aware of its value. it was a shabby trick. if he had dealt squarely with me, i would have offered to give him back his deed, but, as it is, i shan't. the deal will have to stand."
-thus it was that my father became sole owner of crawford's basin.
-lost in the clouds
-the fact that he had lost his little all in the core-boring venture did not trouble tom connor in the least; the money was gone, and as worrying about it would not bring it back, tom decided not to worry. the same thing had happened to him many a time before, for his system of life was to work in the mines until he had accumulated a respectable sum, and then go off prospecting till such time as the imminence of starvation drove him back again to regular work.
-it was so in this case; and being known all over the district as a skilful miner, his specialty being timber-work, he very soon got a good job on the pelican as boss timberman on a section of that important mine.
-one effect of tom's getting work on the pelican was that he secured for joe and me an order for lagging--small poles used in the mines to hold up the ore and waste--and our potato-crop being gathered and marketed, my father gave us permission to go off and earn some extra money for ourselves by filling the order which tom's kindly thoughtfulness had secured for us.
-the place we had chosen as the scene of our operations was on the northern slope of elkhorn mountain, which lay next south of mount lincoln, and one bright morning in the late fall joe and i packed our bedding and provisions into a wagon borrowed from my father and set out.
-we had chosen this spot, after making a preliminary survey for the purpose, partly because the growth of timber was--as it nearly always is--much thicker on the northern slopes of elkhorn than on the south side of lincoln, and also because, being a rather long haul, it had not yet been encroached upon by the timber-cutters of sulphide.
-on a little branch creek of the stream which ran through sulphide we selected a favorable spot and went to work. it was rather high up, and the country being steep and rocky, we had to make our camp about a mile below our working-ground, snaking out the poles as we cut them. this, of course, was a rather slow process, but it had its compensation in the fact that from the foot of the mountain nearly all the way to sulphide our course lay across the second mesa, which was fairly smooth going, and as it was down hill for the whole distance we could haul a very big load when we did start. in due time we filled our contract and received our pay, after which, by advice of tom connor, we branched out on another line of the same business.
-being unable to get a second contract, and being, in fact, afraid to take one if we could get it on account of the lateness of the season--for the snow might come at any moment and prevent our carrying it out--we consulted tom, who suggested that we put in the rest of the fine weather cutting big timbers, hauling them to town, and storing them on a vacant lot, or, what would be better, in somebody's back yard.
-"for," said he, "though the pelican and most of the other mines have their supplies for the winter on hand or contracted for, it is always likely they may want a few more stulls or other big timbers than they think. i'll keep you in mind, and if i hear of any such i'll try and make a deal for you, either for the whole stick or cut in lengths to order."
-as this seemed like good sense to us, we at once went off to find a storage place, a quest in which we were successful at the first attempt.
-among my father's customers was the widow appleby, who conducted a small grocery store on a side street in town. she was accustomed to buy her potatoes from us, and my father, knowing that she had a hard struggle to make both ends meet, had always been very easy with her in the matter of payment, giving her all the time she needed.
-this act of consideration had its effect, for, when we went to her and suggested that she rent us her back yard for storage purposes, she readily assented, and not only refused to take any rent, but gave us as well the use of an old stable which stood empty on the back of her lot.
-this was very convenient for us, for though a twenty-foot pole, measuring twelve inches at the butt is not the sort of thing that a thief would pick up and run away with, it was less likely that he would attempt it from an enclosed back yard than if the poles were stored in an open lot. besides this, a stable rent-free for our mules, and a loft above it rent-free for ourselves to sleep in was a great accommodation.
-returning to the elkhorn, therefore, we went to work in a new place, a place where some time previously a fire had swept through a strip of the woods, killing the trees, but leaving them standing, stark and bare, but still sound as nuts--just the thing we wanted. our chief difficulty this time was in getting the felled timbers out from amidst their fellows--for the dead trees were very thick and the mountain-side very steep--but by taking great care we accomplished this without accident. the loading of these big "sticks" would have been an awkward task, too, had we not fortunately found a cut bank alongside of which we ran our wagon, and having snaked the logs into place upon the bank we kidded them across the gap into the wagon without much difficulty.
-we had made three loads, and the fine weather still holding, we had gone back for a fourth and last one, when, having got our logs in place on the cut bank all ready to load, joe and i, after due consultation, decided that we would take a day off and climb up to the saddle which connected the two mountains. we had never been up there before, and we were curious to see what the country was like on the other side.
-knowing that it would be a long and hard climb, we started about sunrise, taking a rifle with us; not that we expected to use it, but because it is not good to be entirely defenseless in those wild, out-of-the-way places. following at first our little creek, we went on up and up, taking it slowly, until presently the pines began to thin out, the weather-beaten trees, gnarled, twisted and stunted, becoming few and far between, and pretty soon we left even these behind and emerged upon the bare rocks above timber-line. here, too, we left behind our little creek.
-for another thousand feet we scrambled up the rocks, clambering over great boulders, picking our way along the edges of little precipices, until at last we stood upon the summit of the saddle.
-to right and left were the two great peaks, still three thousand feet above us, but westward the view was clear. as far as we could see--and that, i expect, was near two hundred miles--were ranges and masses of mountains, some of them already capped with snow, a magnificent sight.
-"that is fine!" cried joe, enthusiastically. "it's well worth the trouble of the climb. i only wish we had a map so that we could tell which range is which."
-"yes, it's a great sight," said i. "and the view eastward is about as fine, i think. look! that cloud of smoke, due east about ten miles away, comes from the smelters of san remo, and that other smoke a little to the left of it is where the coal-mines are. there's the ranch, too, that green spot in the mesa; you wouldn't think it was nearly a mile square, would you?"
-"that's sulphide down there, of course," remarked joe, pointing off towards the right. "but what are those other, smaller, clouds of smoke?"
-"those are three other little mining-camps, all tributary to the smelters at san remo, and all producing refractory ores like the mines of sulphide. my! joe!" i exclaimed, as my thoughts reverted to tom connor and his late core-boring failure. "what a great thing a good vein of lead ore would be! better than a gold mine!"
-"i expect it would. poor old tom! he bears his disappointment pretty well, doesn't he?"
-"he certainly does. he says, now, that he's going to stick to straightforward mining and leave prospecting alone; but he's said that every year for the past ten years at least, and if there's anything certain about tom it is that when spring comes and he finds himself once more with money in his pocket, he'll be off again hunting for his lead-mine."
-"sure to. well, phil, let's sit down somewhere and eat our lunch. we mustn't stay here too long."
-"all right. here's a good place behind this big rock. it will shelter us from the east wind, which has a decided edge to it up here."
-for half an hour we sat comfortably in the sun eating our lunch, all around us space and silence, when joe, rising to his feet, gave vent to a soft whistle.
-"phil," said he, "we must be off. no time to waste. look eastward."
-"yes, we must be off," said i. "it won't do to be caught up here in the clouds: it would be dangerous getting down over the rocks. and besides that, it might turn cold and come on to snow. let us be off at once."
-it was fortunate we did so, for, though we traveled as fast as we dared, the cloud, coming at first in thin whisps and then in dense masses, enveloped us before we reached timber-line, and the difficulty we experienced in covering the small intervening space showed us how risky it would have been had the cloud caught us while we were still on the summit of the ridge.
-as it was, we lost our bearings immediately, for the chilly mist filled all the spaces between the trees, so that we could not see more than twenty yards in any direction. as to our proper course, we could tell nothing about it, so that the only thing left for us to do was to keep on going down hill. we expected every moment to see or hear our little creek, but we must have missed it somehow, for, though we ought to have reached it long before, we had been picking our way over loose rocks and fallen trees for two hours before we came upon a stream--whether the right or the wrong one we could not tell. right or wrong, however, we were glad to see it, for by following it we should sooner or later reach the foot of the mountain and get below the cloud.
-but to follow it was by no means easy: the country was so unexpectedly rough--a fact which convinced us that we had struck the wrong creek. as we progressed, we presently found ourselves upon the edge of a little cañon which, being too steep to descend, obliged us to diverge to the left, and not only so, but compelled us to go up hill to get around it, which did not suit us at all.
-after a time, however, we began to go down once more, but though we kept edging to the right we could not find our creek again. the fog, too, had become more dense than ever, and whether our faces were turned north, south or east we had no idea.
-we were going on side by side, when suddenly we were astonished to hear a dog bark, somewhere close by; but though we shouted and whistled there was no reply.
-"it must be a prospector's dog," said joe, "and the man himself must be underground and can't hear us."
-"perhaps that's it," i replied. "well, let's take the direction of the sound--if we can. it seemed to me to be that way," pointing with my hand. "i wish the dog would bark again."
-the dog, however, did not bark again, but instead there happened another surprising thing. we were walking near together, carefully picking our way, when suddenly a big raven, coming from we knew not where, flew between us, so close that we felt the flap of his wings and heard their soft fluff-fluff in the moisture-laden air, and disappeared again into the fog before us with a single croak.
-it was rather startling, but beyond that we thought nothing of it, and on we went again, until joe stopped short, exclaiming:
-"phil, i smell smoke!"
-i stopped, too, and gave a sniff. "so do i," i said; "and there's something queer about it. it isn't plain wood-smoke. what is it?"
-"sulphur," replied joe.
-"sulphur! so it is. what can any one be burning sulphur up here for? anyhow, sulphur or no sulphur, some one must have lighted the fire, so let us follow the smoke."
-we had not gone far when we perceived the light of a fire glowing redly through the fog, and hurried on, expecting to find some man beside it.
-but not only was there nobody about, which was surprising enough, but the fire itself was something to arouse our curiosity. beneath a large, flat stone, supported at the corners by four other stones, was a hot bed of "coals," while upon the stone itself was spread a thin layer of black sand. it was from these grains of sand, apparently, that the smell of sulphur came; though what they were or why they should be there we could not guess.
-we were standing there, wondering, when, suddenly, close behind us, the dog barked again. round we whirled. there was no dog there! instead, perched upon the stump of a dead tree, sat a big black raven, who eyed us as though enjoying our bewilderment. bewildered we certainly were, and still more so when the bird, after staring us out of countenance for a few seconds, cocked his head on one side and said in a hoarse voice:
-"gim'me a chew of tobacco!"
-and then, throwing back his head, he produced such a perfect imitation of the howl of a coyote, that a real coyote, somewhere up on the mountain, howled in reply.
-all this--the talking raven, the mysterious fire, the encompassing shroud of fog--made us wonder whether we were awake or asleep, when we were still more startled by a voice behind us saying, genially:
-round we whirled once more, to find standing beside us a man, a tall, bony, bearded man, about fifty years old, carrying in his hand a long, old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifle. he was dressed all in buckskin, while the moccasins on his feet explained how it was he had been able to slip up on us so silently.
-naturally, we were somewhat taken aback by the sudden appearance of this wild-looking specimen of humanity, when, thinking that he had alarmed us, perhaps, the man asked, pleasantly: "lost, boys?"
-"yes," i replied, reassured by his kindly manner. "we have been up to the saddle and got caught in the clouds. we don't know where we are. we are trying to get back to our camp on a branch of sulphide creek."
-"ah! you are the two boys i've seen cutting timbers down there, are you? well, your troubles are over: i can put you on the road to your camp in an hour or so; i know every foot of these mountains."
-"but come in," he continued. "i suppose you are hungry, and a little something to eat won't be amiss."
-when the man said, "come in," we naturally glanced about us to see where his house was, but none being visible we concluded it must be some distance off in the mist. in this, however, we were mistaken. the side of the mountain just here was covered with enormous rocks--a whole cliff must have tumbled down at once--and between two of these our guide led the way. in a few steps the passage widened out, when we saw before us, neatly fitted in between three of these immense blocks of stone--one on either side and one behind--a little log cabin, with chimney, door and window all complete; while just to one side was another, a smaller one, which was doubtless a storehouse. past his front door ran a small stream of water which evidently fell from a cliff near by, for, though we could not see the waterfall we could hear it plainly enough.
-"well!" i exclaimed. "whoever would have thought there was a house in here?"
-"no one, i expect," replied the man. "at any rate, with one exception, you are the first strangers to cross the threshold; and yet i have lived here a good many years, too. come in and make yourselves at home."
-though we wondered greatly who our host could be and were burning to ask him his name, there was something in his manner which warned us to hold our tongues. but whatever his name might be, there was little doubt about his occupation. he was evidently a mighty hunter, for, covering the walls, the floor and his sleeping-place were skins innumerable, including foxes, wolves and bears, some of the last-named being of remarkable size; while one magnificent elk-head and several heads of mountain-sheep adorned the space over his fireplace.
-our host having lighted a fire, was busying himself preparing a simple meal for us, when there came a gentle cough from the direction of the doorway, and there on the threshold stood the raven as though waiting for permission to enter.
-the man turned, and seeing the bird standing there with its head on one side, said, laughingly: "ah, sox, is that you? come in, old fellow, and be introduced. these gentlemen are friends of mine. say 'good-morning.'"
-"good-morning," repeated the raven; and having thus displayed his good manners, he half-opened his wings and danced a solemn jig up and down the floor, finally throwing back his head and laughing so heartily that we could not help joining in.
-"clever fellow, isn't he?" said the man. "his proper name is socrates, though i call him sox, for short. he is supposed to be getting on for a hundred years old, though as far as i can see he is just as young as he was when i first got him, twenty years ago. here,"--handing us each a piece of meat--"give him these and he will accept you as friends for life."
-whether he accepted us as friends remained to be seen, but he certainly accepted our offerings, bolting each piece at a single gulp; after which he hopped up on to a peg driven into the wall, evidently his own private perch, and announced in a self-satisfied tone: "first in war, first in peace," ending up with a modest cough, as though he would have us believe that he knew the rest well enough but was not going to trouble us with any such threadbare quotation.
-this solemn display of learning set us laughing again, upon which socrates, seemingly offended, sank his head between his shoulders and pretended to go to sleep; though, that it was only pretense was evident, for, do what he would, he could not refrain from occasionally opening one eye to see what was going on.
-having presently finished the meal provided for us, we suggested that we ought to be moving on, so, bidding adieu to socrates, and receiving no response from that sulky philosopher, we followed our host into the open.
-that he had not exaggerated when he said he knew every foot of these mountains, seemed to be borne out by the facts. he went straight away, regardless of the fog, up hill and down, without an instant's hesitation, we trotting at his heels, until, in about an hour we found ourselves once more below the clouds, and could see not far away our two mules quietly feeding.
-"now," said our guide, "i'll leave you. if ever you come my way again i shall be glad to see you; though i expect it would puzzle you to find my dwelling unless you should come upon it by accident. good-bye."
-"good-bye," we repeated, "and many thanks for your kindness. if we can do anything in return at any time we shall be glad of the chance. we live in crawford's basin."
-"oh, do you?" said our friend. "you are mr. crawford's boys, then, are you? well, many thanks. i'll remember. and now, good-bye to you."
-with that, this strange man turned round and walked up into the clouds again. in two minutes he had vanished.
-"well, that was a queer adventure," remarked joe. "i wonder who he is, and why he chooses to live all by himself like that."
-"yes. it's a miserable sort of existence for such a man; for he seems like a sociable, good-hearted fellow. it isn't every one, for instance, who would walk three or four miles over these rough mountains just to help a couple of boys, whom he never saw before and may never see again. i wish we could make him some return."
-"well, perhaps we may, some day," joe replied.
-whether we did or not will be seen later.
-what we found in the pool
-though we got back to camp pretty late, we set to work to load our poles at once, fearing that there was going to be a fall of snow which might prevent our getting them to town. this turned out to be a wise precaution, for when we started in the morning the snow was already coming down, and though it did not extend as far as sulphide, the mountains were covered a foot deep before night.
-this fall of snow proved to be much to our advantage, for one of the timber contractors, fearing he might not be able to fill his order, bought our "sticks" from us, to be delivered, cut into certain lengths, at the senator mine.
-this occupied us several days, when, having delivered our last load, we thanked mrs. appleby for the use of her back yard--the only payment she would accept--and then set off home, where we proudly displayed to my father and mother the money we had earned and related how we had earned it; including, of course, a description of our meeting with the wild man of the woods.
-"and didn't he tell you who he was?" asked my father, when we had finished.
-"no," i replied; "we were afraid to ask him, and he didn't volunteer any information."
-"and you didn't guess who he was?"
-"no. why should we? who is he?"
-"why, peter the hermit, of course. i should have thought the presence of the raven would have enlightened you: he is always described as going about in company with a raven."
-"so he is. i'd forgotten that. but, on the other hand he is always described also as being half crazy, and certainly there was no sign of such a thing about him that we could see. was there, joe?"
-"no. nobody could have acted more sensibly. who is he, mr. crawford? and why does he live all by himself like that?"
-"i know nothing about him beyond common report. i suppose his name is peter--though it may not be--and because he chooses to lead a secluded life, some genius has dubbed him 'peter the hermit'; though who he really is, or why he lives all alone, or where he comes from, i can't say. some people say he is crazy, and some people say he is an escaped criminal--but then people will say anything, particularly when they know nothing about it. judging from the reports of the two or three men who have met him, however, he appears to be quite inoffensive, and evidently he is a friendly-disposed fellow from your description of him. if you should come across him again you might invite him to come down and see us. i don't suppose he will, but you might ask him, anyhow."
-"all right," said i. "we will if we get the chance." and so the matter ended.
-it was just as well that we returned to the ranch when we did, for we found plenty of work ready to our hands, the first thing being the hauling of fire-wood for the year. to procure this, it was not necessary for us to go to the mountains: our supply was much nearer to hand. the whole region round about us had been at some remote period the scene of vigorous volcanic action. both the first and second mesas were formed by a series of lava-flows which had come down from mount lincoln, and ending abruptly about eight miles from the mountains, had built up the cliff which bounded the first mesa on its eastern side. then, later, but still in a remote age, a great strip of this lava-bed, a mile wide and ten or twelve miles long, north and south, had broken away and subsided from the general level, forming what the geologists call, i believe, a "fault," thus causing the "step-up" to the second mesa. the second mesa, because the lava had been hotter perhaps, was distinguished from the lower level by the presence of a number of little hills--"bubbles," they were called, locally, and solidified bubbles of hot lava perhaps they were. they were all sorts of sizes, from fifty to four hundred feet high and from a hundred yards to half a mile in diameter. viewed from a distance, they looked smooth and even, like inverted bowls, though when you came near them you found that their sides were rough and broken. i had been to the top of a good many of them, and all of those i had explored i had found to be depressed in the centre like little craters. from some of them tiny streams of water ran down, helping to swell the volume of our creek.
-most of these so-called "bubbles," especially the larger ones, were well covered with pine-trees, and as there were three or four of them within easy reach of the ranch, it was here that we used to get our fire-wood.
-there was a good week's work in this, and after it was finished there was more or less repairing of fences to be done, as there always is in the fall, and the usual mending of sheds, stables and corrals.
-the weather by this time had turned cold, and "the bottomless forty rods" having been frozen solid enough to bear a load, joe and i were next put to work hauling oats down to the livery stable men in san remo, as well as up to sulphide.
-before this task was accomplished the winter had set in in earnest. we had had one or two falls of snow, though in our sheltered basin the heat of the sun was still sufficient to clear off most of it again, and the frost had been sharp enough to freeze up our creek at its sources, so that our little waterfall was now converted into a motionless icicle. fortunately, we were not dependent upon the creek for the household supply of water: we had one pump which never failed in the back kitchen and another one down by the stables.
-the pool, as i have said, measured about a hundred feet each way, though on account of its shallowness around the edges we could only cut ice over a surface about fifty feet square. being frozen a foot thick, however, this gave us an ample supply for all our needs.
-the labor of cutting, hauling and housing the ice fell to joe and me, my father having generally plenty of other work to do. he had taken in a number of young cattle for a neighboring cattleman for the winter, and having sold him the bulk of our hay crop and at the same time undertaken to feed the stock, this daily duty alone took up a large part of his time. besides this, "the forty rods" having become passable, the freighters and others now came our way instead of taking the longer hill-road, and their frequent demands for a sack, or a load, of oats, and now and then for hay or potatoes, added to the work of stock-feeding, kept my father pretty well occupied.
-joe and i, therefore, went to work by ourselves, beginning operations on that part of the pool nearest the point where the water used to pour in. we had taken out ten or a dozen loads of beautiful, clear ice, when, one day, yetmore, who was riding down to san remo, seeing us at work, stopped to watch us.
-he was a queer fellow. though he must have been perfectly well aware that we distrusted him; and though, after the late affair of the lead-boulder--a miscarriage of his schemes which was doubtless extremely galling to him--one would think he would have rather avoided us than not, he appeared to feel no embarrassment whatever, but with a greeting of well-simulated cordiality he dismounted and walked over to the pool to see what we were doing. perhaps--and this, i think, is probably the right explanation--if he did entertain the idea of some day "getting even" with us, he had decided to postpone any such attempt until he saw an opportunity of doing so at a profit.
-"fine lot of ice," he remarked, after standing for a moment watching joe as he plied the saw. "does this creek always freeze up like this?"
-"yes," i replied. "it heads in mount lincoln, and is made up of a number of small streams which always freeze up about the first of november. that reduces the flow to about one-third its usual size; and when the little streams which come down from three or four of the 'bubbles' freeze up too, the creek stops entirely; which makes it mighty convenient for us to cut ice, as you see."
-"i see. is the pool the same depth all over?"
-"no," i answered. "just here, under the fall, it is deepest, but round the edges it is so shallow that we can't take a stroke with the saw, the sand comes so close up to the ice. in fact, in some places, the ice rests right upon the sand."
-"how deep is it here?"
-"four or five feet, i think. try it, joe."
-joe, who had just laid down the saw and had taken up the long ice-hook we used for drawing the blocks of ice within reach, lowered the hook, point downward, into the water. then, pulling it out again, he stood it up beside him, finding that the wet mark on the staff came up to his chin.
-"five feet and three or four inches," said he.
-"is the bottom solid or sandy?" asked yetmore.
-"i didn't notice. i'll try it."
-with that joe lowered the pole once more.
-"seems solid," he remarked, giving two or three hard prods. but he had scarcely said so, when, to our surprise, several bits of rough ice about as big as my hand bobbed up from the bottom.
-"hallo!" exclaimed yetmore. "ground ice!"
-"what's ground ice?" i asked.
-"why, ice formed at the bottom of the pool. it is not uncommon, i believe, though i don't remember to have seen any before. pretty dirty stuff, isn't it? must be a sandy bottom."
-so saying, he stooped down, and picking up the only bit of ice which happened to be within reach, he examined its under side. as he did so, i saw him give a little start, as though there were something about it to cause him surprise, but just as i reached out my hand to ask him to let me see it, he threw it back into the water out of reach--an action which struck me as being hardly polite.
-"i must be off," said he, in apparent haste, "so, good-bye. hope you will get your crop in before it snows. looks threatening to me; you'll have to hurry, i think."
-this prediction seemed to me rather absurd, with the thermometer at zero and the sky as clear as crystal; but yetmore was an indoor man and could not be expected to judge as can one whose daily work depends so much upon what the weather is doing or is going to do. it did not occur to me then--though it did later--that he only wanted us to get to work again at once, and so divert our minds from the subject of the ground ice.
-as i made no comment on his remark, yetmore walked away, remounted his horse and rode off; while joe and i went briskly to work again.
-we had been at it some time, when joe stopped sawing, and straightening up, said:
-"it's queer about those bits of ground ice, phil. do you notice how they all float clean side up? wait a bit and i'll show you."
-taking the ice-hook, he turned over one of the bits with its point, showing its soiled side, but the moment he released it, the bit of ice "turned turtle" again.
-"do you see?" said he. "the sand acts like ballast. it must be heavy stuff."
-"yes," said i. "hook a bit of it out and let's look at it."
-this was soon done, when, on examining it, we found the under side to be crusted with very black sand, which, whatever might be its nature, was evidently heavy enough to upset the balance of a small fragment of ice.
-"what is it made of, i wonder?" said joe.
-"i don't know," i replied, "but perhaps it is that black sand which the prospectors are always complaining of as getting in their way when they are panning for gold."
-"that's what it is, phil, i expect," cried joe. "and what's more, that's what yetmore thought, too, or else why should he throw that bit of ice back into the water so quickly when you held out your hand for it? he didn't want you to see it."
-"it does look like it," i assented. "poke up a few more, joe, and we will take them home and show them to my father: perhaps he'll know what the stuff is."
-he was much interested in hearing of the ground ice and of the way it brought up the black sand with it, and still more so in our description of yetmore's action.
-"let me look at it," said he; and taking one of our specimens, he stepped to the door to examine it, the light in the shop being too dim. he came back smiling.
-"queer fellow, yetmore!" said he. "one would think that the lesson of the lead-boulder might have taught him that a man may sometimes be too crafty. i think this is likely to prove another case of the same kind. i believe he has made a genuine discovery here--though what it may lead to there is no telling--and if he had had the sense to let you look at that piece of dirty ice, instead of throwing it back into the water, thus arousing your curiosity, he would probably have kept his discovery to himself. as it is, he is likely to have tom connor interfering with him again--that is to say, if this sand is what i think it is. i don't think it is the 'black sand' of the prospectors--it is too shiny, and it has a bluish tinge besides--i think it is something of far more value. we'll soon find out. give me that piece of an iron pot, phil; it will do to melt the ice in."
-having broken up some of our ice into small pieces, we placed it in a large fragment of a broken iron pot, and this being set upon the forge, joe took the bellows-handle and soon had the fire roaring under it. it did not take long to melt the ice, when, pouring off the water, we added some more, repeating the process until there was no ice left. the last of the water being then poured away, there remained nothing but about a spoonful of very fine, black, shiny sand.
-the receptacle was once more placed upon the fire, and while my father kept the contents stirred up with a stick, joe seized the bellows-handle again and pumped away. presently he began to cough.
-"what's the matter, joe?" asked my father, laughing.
-"sulphur!" gasped joe.
-"sulphur!" cried i. "i don't smell any sulphur."
-"come over here, then, and blow the bellows," replied joe.
-i took his place, but no sooner had i done so than i, too, began to cough. the smell of sulphur evidently came from our spoonful of sand, and as i was standing between the door and the window the draft blew the fumes straight into my face. on discovering this, i pulled the bellows-handle over to one side, when i was no more troubled.
-the iron pot, being set right down on the "duck's nest" and heaped all around with glowing coals, had become red-hot, when my father, peering into it, held up his hand.
-"that'll do, phil. that's enough," he cried. "give me the tongs, joe."
-my father removed the melting-pot, and making a hole with his heel in the sandy floor of the shop, he poured the contents into it.
-"lead!" we both cried, with one voice.
-"yes, lead," my father replied. "galena ore, ground fine by the action of water."
-"do you mean," i asked, "that there is a lead-mine in the bottom of the pool?"
-"no, no. but there is a vein of galena, size and value unknown, somewhere up on lincoln mountain. the fine black sand sticking to the ground ice was brought down by our stream, being reduced to powder on the way, and deposited in the pool, where its weight has kept it from being washed out again."
-"i see. and do you suppose yetmore recognized the sand as galena ore? would he be likely to know it in the form of sand?"
-"i expect so. he's a sharp fellow enough. he must have seen pulverized samples of galena many a time in the assayers' offices. i've seen them myself: that was what gave me my clue."
-"and what do you suppose he'll do?"
-"he is pretty certain, i think, to try to get hold of some of the stuff, so that he may test it and make sure; though how he will go about it there's no telling. it will be interesting to see how he manages it."
-"and what shall you do, father? go prospecting?"
-my father laughed, knowing that this was a joke on my part; for i was well aware that he would not think of such a thing.
-"not for us, phil," he answered. "we have our mine right here. raising oats and potatoes may be a slow way of getting rich, but it is a good bit surer than prospecting. no, we'll tell tom connor about it and let him go prospecting if he likes. you shall go up to sulphide the first saturday after the ice-cutting is finished and give him our information. there's no hurry about it: he can't go prospecting while the mountains are all under snow. come along in to supper now. you've fed the mules, i suppose."
-it was a snapping cold night that night, and about half-past eight i went into the kitchen to look at the thermometer which hung outside the door. as i came back, i happened to glance out of the west window, when, to my surprise, i thought i saw a glimmer of light up by the pool. stepping quickly into the house again, i went to the front door and looked out. yes, there was a light up there!
-"father," i called out, "there's somebody up at the pool with a light."
-my father sprang out of his chair. "is there?" he cried. "then it's yetmore, up to some of his tricks. get into your coats, boys, and let's go and see what he's about."
-as we went out i took down the unlighted stable-lantern and carried it with me in case we might need it, and shutting the door softly behind me, ran after the others. we had not covered half the distance to the pool, however, when the light up there suddenly went out, and a minute later we heard the sound of galloping hoofs, muffled by the thin carpet of snow, going off in the direction of sulphide. our visitor, whoever he was, had departed.
-"well, come on, anyhow," said my father. "let us see what he was doing."
-as the thermometer was then standing at three degrees below zero, we knew that the sheet of clear water we had left in the afternoon should have been solidly frozen over again by this time. what was our surprise, therefore, to find that such was not the case: there was only a thin film of ice; it was but just beginning to form.
-"that is easily explained," remarked my father. "the ice did form, but some one has chopped it out and thrown it to one side there. see?"
-"yes," replied joe, "and then he took the ice-hook, which i know i left standing upright against the rocks, and poked up the ground ice. see, there are several bits floating about, and i remember quite well that we cleared out every one of them this afternoon. didn't we, phil?"
-"yes," said i, "i'm sure we did, because i remember that those two or three bits that had no sand in them we threw into that corner instead of pitching them into the water again. i suppose it's yetmore, father."
-"oh, not a doubt of it. did he leave any tracks?"
-by the light of the lantern we searched about, and though there were no tracks to be seen on the smooth ice, there were plenty in the snow below the pool. they were the foot-prints of a smallish man, for his tracks, in spite of his wearing over-shoes, were not so big as the prints made by joe's boots--though, as joe himself remarked, that was not much to go by, he being a six-footer with feet to match, "and a trifle over," as his friends sometimes considerately assured him.
-following these foot-prints, we were led to the south gate, where, it was easy to see, a horse had been standing for some time tied to the gate-post.
-"well, he's got off with his samples all right," remarked my father. "he's a smart fellow, and enterprising, too. he would deserve to win, if only he were not so fond of taking the crooked way of doing things. come along. let's get back to the house. there's nothing more to be done about it at present."
-long john butterfield
-"boys," said my father next morning, "i've been thinking over this discovery of ours. it won't do to wait till you've finished the ice-cutting to notify tom connor. he has been a good friend to us, and i feel that we owe him some return for enabling me to get this piece of land from yetmore, even though it was, in a manner, accidental; and as tom is sure to go off prospecting in the spring, whether or no, we may as well give him the chance--if he wants it--to go hunting for this supposed vein of galena."
-"he's pretty sure to want to," said i.
-"yes, i think he is. and as yetmore will certainly find out the nature of the black sand, and will be sending out a prospector or two himself as soon as the snow clears off, we must at least give tom an equal chance. so, instead of waiting for you to finish cutting the ice, i'll write him a letter at once, telling him all about it, and send it up by this morning's coach."
-one of the advantages to us of the frosty weather was that the mail coach between san remo and sulphide came our way instead of taking the hill-road, so that during the winter months we received our mail daily, whereas, through the greater part of the year, while the "forty rods" were "bottomless," we had to go ourselves to san remo to get it. the coach, going up, passed our place about ten in the morning, and by it my father sent the promised letter.
-we quite expected that tom would come flying down at once, but instead we received from him next morning a reply, stating that he could not leave his work, and asking my father to allow us boys to do a little prospecting for him--which, i may say, we boys were ready enough to do if my father did not object.
-he did not object; being, indeed, very willing that we should put in a day's work for the benefit of our friend. for, as he said, to undertake one day's prospecting for a friend was a very different matter from taking to prospecting as a business.
-it is a fascinating pursuit; men who contract the prospecting disease seldom get the fever entirely out of their systems again, and it was for this reason my father was so set against it, considering that no greater misfortune could befall two farmer-boys like ourselves than to be drawn into such a way of life. now that we were seventeen years old, however, and might be supposed to have some discretion, he had little fear for joe and me, knowing, as he did, that we shared his sentiments. we had seen enough of the life of the prospector to understand that a more precarious way of making a living could hardly be invented.
-how many men get rich at it? i have heard it estimated at one man in five thousand; and whether this estimate--or, rather, this guess--is right or wrong, it shows the trend of opinion.
-suppose a prospector does strike a vein of ore: what is the common result? by the time he has sunk a shaft ten feet deep he must have a windlass and a man to work it, and being in most cases too poor to hire a miner, his only way of getting help is to take in a partner. the two go on sinking, until presently the hole is too deep to use a windlass any more--a horse-whim is needed and then a hoisting engine. but it is seldom that the ore dug out of a shaft will pay the expense of sinking it--for powder and drills, ropes, buckets and timbers, are expensive things--much less enable the owner to lay by anything, and the probability is that to buy a hoisting engine he must sell another portion of his claim. and so it goes, until, by the time his claim has been turned into a mine--for, as the common and very true saying is, "mines are made, not found"--his share of it will probably have been reduced to one-quarter or less; while it is quite within the limits of probability that, becoming wearied by long waiting for the slow development of his prospect, he will have sold out for what he can get and gone back to his old life.
-but though i do not advocate the business of prospecting as a way of making a living--i had rather pitch hay or dig potatoes myself--i am far from wishing to disparage the prospector himself or to belittle the results of his work. he is the pioneer of civilization; and personally he is generally a fine fellow. at the same time, as in every other profession, the ranks of the prospectors include their share of the riff-raff. it was so in our district, and we were destined shortly to come in contact with one of them.
-tom connor in his letter instructed us as to what he wished us to do: it was very simple. he asked us to walk up the little cañon along which our stream flowed, when it did flow, and to examine the bed of each of its feeders as we came to them, to determine, if possible, which of the branch streams it was that brought down the powdered lead-ore. he also suggested that we get out some more of the black sand from the bottom of the pool for him to see, and at the same time ascertain, if we could, how much of a deposit there was there.
-the last request we performed first. taking down to the pool a long, pointed iron rod, we lowered it into the water, marking the depth by tying a bit of string round the rod at high-water-mark, and then bored a hole down through the frozen sand until we struck bed-rock. by this means we discovered that the deposit was five inches thick at the upper end of the pool. a few feet further from the waterfall, however, the deposit was thicker, but we noticed at the same time that the ground ice which came up carried with it more or less yellow sand. the further we retreated from the waterfall, too, the larger became the proportion of the visitation.
-we were at our supper of beef stew and dried apples when he trotted in as if on the heels of a dog team, and made one of the mess at our table. with the freedom of the camps he assaulted our ears and claimed the fellowship of men lost in the wilds of a hash house. we embraced him as a specimen, and in three minutes we had all but died for one another as friends.
-he was rugged and bearded and wind-dried. he had just come off the “trail,” he said, at one of the north river ferries. i fancied i could see the snow dust of chilcoot yet powdering his shoulders. and then he strewed the table with the nuggets, stuffed ptarmigans, bead work and seal pelts of the returned klondiker, and began to prate to us of his millions.
-“bank drafts for two millions,” was his summing up, “and a thousand a day piling up from my claims. and now i want some beef stew and canned peaches. i never got off the train since i mushed out of seattle, and i’m hungry. the stuff the niggers feed you on pullmans don’t count. you gentlemen order what you want.”
-and then milly loomed up with a thousand dishes on her bare arm—loomed up big and white and pink and awful as mount saint elias—with a smile like day breaking in a gulch. and the klondiker threw down his pelts and nuggets as dross, and let his jaw fall half-way, and stared at her. you could almost see the diamond tiaras on milly’s brow and the hand-embroidered silk paris gowns that he meant to buy for her.
-at last the bollworm had attacked the cotton—the poison ivy was reaching out its tendrils to entwine the summer boarder—the millionaire lumberman, thinly disguised as the alaskan miner, was about to engulf our milly and upset nature’s adjustment.
-kraft was the first to act. he leaped up and pounded the klondiker’s back. “come out and drink,” he shouted. “drink first and eat afterward.” judkins seized one arm and i the other. gaily, roaringly, irresistibly, in jolly-good-fellow style, we dragged him from the restaurant to a café, stuffing his pockets with his embalmed birds and indigestible nuggets.
-there he rumbled a roughly good-humoured protest. “that’s the girl for my money,” he declared. “she can eat out of my skillet the rest of her life. why, i never see such a fine girl. i’m going back there and ask her to marry me. i guess she won’t want to sling hash any more when she sees the pile of dust i’ve got.”
-“you’ll take another whiskey and milk now,” kraft persuaded, with satan’s smile. “i thought you up-country fellows were better sports.”
-kraft spent his puny store of coin at the bar and then gave judkins and me such an appealing look that we went down to the last dime we had in toasting our guest.
-then, when our ammunition was gone and the klondiker, still somewhat sober, began to babble again of milly, kraft whispered into his ear such a polite, barbed insult relating to people who were miserly with their funds, that the miner crashed down handful after handful of silver and notes, calling for all the fluids in the world to drown the imputation.
-thus the work was accomplished. with his own guns we drove him from the field. and then we had him carted to a distant small hotel and put to bed with his nuggets and baby seal-skins stuffed around him.
-“he will never find cypher’s again,” said kraft. “he will propose to the first white apron he sees in a dairy restaurant to-morrow. and milly—i mean the natural adjustment—is saved!”
-and back to cypher’s went we three, and, finding customers scarce, we joined hands and did an indian dance with milly in the centre.
-this, i say, happened three years ago. and about that time a little luck descended upon us three, and we were enabled to buy costlier and less wholesome food than cypher’s. our paths separated, and i saw kraft no more and judkins seldom.
-but, as i said, i saw a painting the other day that was sold for $5,000. the title was “boadicea,” and the figure seemed to fill all out-of-doors. but of all the picture’s admirers who stood before it, i believe i was the only one who longed for boadicea to stalk from her frame, bringing me corned-beef hash with poached egg.
-i hurried away to see kraft. his satanic eyes were the same, his hair was worse tangled, but his clothes had been made by a tailor.
-“i didn’t know,” i said to him.
-“we’ve bought a cottage in the bronx with the money,” said he. “any evening at 7.”
-“then,” said i, “when you led us against the lumberman—the—klondiker—it wasn’t altogether on account of the unerring artistic adjustment of nature?”
-“well, not altogether,” said kraft, with a grin.
-memoirs of a yellow dog
-i don’t suppose it will knock any of you people off your perch to read a contribution from an animal. mr. kipling and a good many others have demonstrated the fact that animals can express themselves in remunerative english, and no magazine goes to press nowadays without an animal story in it, except the old-style monthlies that are still running pictures of bryan and the mont pélee horror.
-but you needn’t look for any stuck-up literature in my piece, such as bearoo, the bear, and snakoo, the snake, and tammanoo, the tiger, talk in the jungle books. a yellow dog that’s spent most of his life in a cheap new york flat, sleeping in a corner on an old sateen underskirt (the one she spilled port wine on at the lady longshoremen’s banquet), mustn’t be expected to perform any tricks with the art of speech.
-from a pedigreed yellow pup i grew up to be an anonymous yellow cur looking like a cross between an angora cat and a box of lemons. but my mistress never tumbled. she thought that the two primeval pups that noah chased into the ark were but a collateral branch of my ancestors. it took two policemen to keep her from entering me at the madison square garden for the siberian bloodhound prize.
-by sirius! there was a biped i felt sorry for. he was a little man with sandy hair and whiskers a good deal like mine. henpecked?—well, toucans and flamingoes and pelicans all had their bills in him. he wiped the dishes and listened to my mistress tell about the cheap, ragged things the lady with the squirrel-skin coat on the second floor hung out on her line to dry. and every evening while she was getting supper she made him take me out on the end of a string for a walk.
-if men knew how women pass the time when they are alone they’d never marry. laura lean jibbey, peanut brittle, a little almond cream on the neck muscles, dishes unwashed, half an hour’s talk with the iceman, reading a package of old letters, a couple of pickles and two bottles of malt extract, one hour peeking through a hole in the window shade into the flat across the air-shaft—that’s about all there is to it. twenty minutes before time for him to come home from work she straightens up the house, fixes her rat so it won’t show, and gets out a lot of sewing for a ten-minute bluff.
-i led a dog’s life in that flat. ‘most all day i lay there in my corner watching that fat woman kill time. i slept sometimes and had pipe dreams about being out chasing cats into basements and growling at old ladies with black mittens, as a dog was intended to do. then she would pounce upon me with a lot of that drivelling poodle palaver and kiss me on the nose—but what could i do? a dog can’t chew cloves.
-i began to feel sorry for hubby, dog my cats if i didn’t. we looked so much alike that people noticed it when we went out; so we shook the streets that morgan’s cab drives down, and took to climbing the piles of last december’s snow on the streets where cheap people live.
-one evening when we were thus promenading, and i was trying to look like a prize st. bernard, and the old man was trying to look like he wouldn’t have murdered the first organ-grinder he heard play mendelssohn’s wedding-march, i looked up at him and said, in my way:
-“what are you looking so sour about, you oakum trimmed lobster? she don’t kiss you. you don’t have to sit on her lap and listen to talk that would make the book of a musical comedy sound like the maxims of epictetus. you ought to be thankful you’re not a dog. brace up, benedick, and bid the blues begone.”
-the matrimonial mishap looked down at me with almost canine intelligence in his face.
-“why, doggie,” says he, “good doggie. you almost look like you could speak. what is it, doggie—cats?”
-cats! could speak!
-but, of course, he couldn’t understand. humans were denied the speech of animals. the only common ground of communication upon which dogs and men can get together is in fiction.
-in the flat across the hall from us lived a lady with a black-and-tan terrier. her husband strung it and took it out every evening, but he always came home cheerful and whistling. one day i touched noses with the black-and-tan in the hall, and i struck him for an elucidation.
-“see, here, wiggle-and-skip,” i says, “you know that it ain’t the nature of a real man to play dry nurse to a dog in public. i never saw one leashed to a bow-wow yet that didn’t look like he’d like to lick every other man that looked at him. but your boss comes in every day as perky and set up as an amateur prestidigitator doing the egg trick. how does he do it? don’t tell me he likes it.”
-“him?” says the black-and-tan. “why, he uses nature’s own remedy. he gets spifflicated. at first when we go out he’s as shy as the man on the steamer who would rather play pedro when they make ’em all jackpots. by the time we’ve been in eight saloons he don’t care whether the thing on the end of his line is a dog or a catfish. i’ve lost two inches of my tail trying to sidestep those swinging doors.”
-the pointer i got from that terrier—vaudeville please copy—set me to thinking.
-one evening about 6 o’clock my mistress ordered him to get busy and do the ozone act for lovey. i have concealed it until now, but that is what she called me. the black-and-tan was called “tweetness.” i consider that i have the bulge on him as far as you could chase a rabbit. still “lovey” is something of a nomenclatural tin can on the tail of one’s self respect.
-at a quiet place on a safe street i tightened the line of my custodian in front of an attractive, refined saloon. i made a dead-ahead scramble for the doors, whining like a dog in the press despatches that lets the family know that little alice is bogged while gathering lilies in the brook.
-“why, darn my eyes,” says the old man, with a grin; “darn my eyes if the saffron-coloured son of a seltzer lemonade ain’t asking me in to take a drink. lemme see—how long’s it been since i saved shoe leather by keeping one foot on the foot-rest? i believe i’ll—”
-i knew i had him. hot scotches he took, sitting at a table. for an hour he kept the campbells coming. i sat by his side rapping for the waiter with my tail, and eating free lunch such as mamma in her flat never equalled with her homemade truck bought at a delicatessen store eight minutes before papa comes home.
-when the products of scotland were all exhausted except the rye bread the old man unwound me from the table leg and played me outside like a fisherman plays a salmon. out there he took off my collar and threw it into the street.
-“poor doggie,” says he; “good doggie. she shan’t kiss you any more. ’s a darned shame. good doggie, go away and get run over by a street car and be happy.”
-i refused to leave. i leaped and frisked around the old man’s legs happy as a pug on a rug.
-“you old flea-headed woodchuck-chaser,” i said to him—“you moon-baying, rabbit-pointing, egg-stealing old beagle, can’t you see that i don’t want to leave you? can’t you see that we’re both pups in the wood and the missis is the cruel uncle after you with the dish towel and me with the flea liniment and a pink bow to tie on my tail. why not cut that all out and be pards forever more?”
-maybe you’ll say he didn’t understand—maybe he didn’t. but he kind of got a grip on the hot scotches, and stood still for a minute, thinking.
-“doggie,” says he, finally, “we don’t live more than a dozen lives on this earth, and very few of us live to be more than 300. if i ever see that flat any more i’m a flat, and if you do you’re flatter; and that’s no flattery. i’m offering 60 to 1 that westward ho wins out by the length of a dachshund.”
-there was no string, but i frolicked along with my master to the twenty-third street ferry. and the cats on the route saw reason to give thanks that prehensile claws had been given them.
-on the jersey side my master said to a stranger who stood eating a currant bun:
-“me and my doggie, we are bound for the rocky mountains.”
-but what pleased me most was when my old man pulled both of my ears until i howled, and said: “you common, monkey-headed, rat-tailed, sulphur-coloured son of a door mat, do you know what i’m going to call you?”
-i thought of “lovey,” and i whined dolefully.
-“i’m going to call you ‘pete,’” says my master; and if i’d had five tails i couldn’t have done enough wagging to do justice to the occasion.
-the love-philtre of ikey schoenstein
-the blue light drug store is downtown, between the bowery and first avenue, where the distance between the two streets is the shortest. the blue light does not consider that pharmacy is a thing of bric-a-brac, scent and ice-cream soda. if you ask it for pain-killer it will not give you a bonbon.
-the blue light scorns the labour-saving arts of modern pharmacy. it macerates its opium and percolates its own laudanum and paregoric. to this day pills are made behind its tall prescription desk—pills rolled out on its own pill-tile, divided with a spatula, rolled with the finger and thumb, dusted with calcined magnesia and delivered in little round pasteboard pill-boxes. the store is on a corner about which coveys of ragged-plumed, hilarious children play and become candidates for the cough drops and soothing syrups that wait for them inside.
-ikey schoenstein was the night clerk of the blue light and the friend of his customers. thus it is on the east side, where the heart of pharmacy is not glacé. there, as it should be, the druggist is a counsellor, a confessor, an adviser, an able and willing missionary and mentor whose learning is respected, whose occult wisdom is venerated and whose medicine is often poured, untasted, into the gutter. therefore ikey’s corniform, be-spectacled nose and narrow, knowledge-bowed figure was well known in the vicinity of the blue light, and his advice and notice were much desired.
-ikey roomed and breakfasted at mrs. riddle’s two squares away. mrs. riddle had a daughter named rosy. the circumlocution has been in vain—you must have guessed it—ikey adored rosy. she tinctured all his thoughts; she was the compound extract of all that was chemically pure and officinal—the dispensatory contained nothing equal to her. but ikey was timid, and his hopes remained insoluble in the menstruum of his backwardness and fears. behind his counter he was a superior being, calmly conscious of special knowledge and worth; outside he was a weak-kneed, purblind, motorman-cursed rambler, with ill-fitting clothes stained with chemicals and smelling of socotrine aloes and valerianate of ammonia.
-the fly in ikey’s ointment (thrice welcome, pat trope!) was chunk mcgowan.
-mr. mcgowan was also striving to catch the bright smiles tossed about by rosy. but he was no outfielder as ikey was; he picked them off the bat. at the same time he was ikey’s friend and customer, and often dropped in at the blue light drug store to have a bruise painted with iodine or get a cut rubber-plastered after a pleasant evening spent along the bowery.
-one afternoon mcgowan drifted in in his silent, easy way, and sat, comely, smooth-faced, hard, indomitable, good-natured, upon a stool.
-“ikey,” said he, when his friend had fetched his mortar and sat opposite, grinding gum benzoin to a powder, “get busy with your ear. it’s drugs for me if you’ve got the line i need.”
-ikey scanned the countenance of mr. mcgowan for the usual evidences of conflict, but found none.
-mr. mcgowan smiled. “not them,” he said. “not any dagoes. but you’ve located the diagnosis all right enough—it’s under my coat, near the ribs. say! ikey—rosy and me are goin’ to run away and get married to-night.”
-ikey’s left forefinger was doubled over the edge of the mortar, holding it steady. he gave it a wild rap with the pestle, but felt it not. meanwhile mr. mcgowan’s smile faded to a look of perplexed gloom.
-“that is,” he continued, “if she keeps in the notion until the time comes. we’ve been layin’ pipes for the getaway for two weeks. one day she says she will; the same evenin’ she says nixy. we’ve agreed on to-night, and rosy’s stuck to the affirmative this time for two whole days. but it’s five hours yet till the time, and i’m afraid she’ll stand me up when it comes to the scratch.”
-“you said you wanted drugs,” remarked ikey.
-mr. mcgowan looked ill at ease and harassed—a condition opposed to his usual line of demeanour. he made a patent-medicine almanac into a roll and fitted it with unprofitable carefulness about his finger.
-“i wouldn’t have this double handicap make a false start to-night for a million,” he said. “i’ve got a little flat up in harlem all ready, with chrysanthemums on the table and a kettle ready to boil. and i’ve engaged a pulpit pounder to be ready at his house for us at 9.30. it’s got to come off. and if rosy don’t change her mind again!”—mr. mcgowan ceased, a prey to his doubts.
-“i don’t see then yet,” said ikey, shortly, “what makes it that you talk of drugs, or what i can be doing about it.”
-“old man riddle don’t like me a little bit,” went on the uneasy suitor, bent upon marshalling his arguments. “for a week he hasn’t let rosy step outside the door with me. if it wasn’t for losin’ a boarder they’d have bounced me long ago. i’m makin’ $20 a week and she’ll never regret flyin’ the coop with chunk mcgowan.”
-“you will excuse me, chunk,” said ikey. “i must make a prescription that is to be called for soon.”
-“say,” said mcgowan, looking up suddenly, “say, ikey, ain’t there a drug of some kind—some kind of powders that’ll make a girl like you better if you give ’em to her?”
-ikey’s lip beneath his nose curled with the scorn of superior enlightenment; but before he could answer, mcgowan continued:
-“tim lacy told me he got some once from a croaker uptown and fed ’em to his girl in soda water. from the very first dose he was ace-high and everybody else looked like thirty cents to her. they was married in less than two weeks.”
-strong and simple was chunk mcgowan. a better reader of men than ikey was could have seen that his tough frame was strung upon fine wires. like a good general who was about to invade the enemy’s territory he was seeking to guard every point against possible failure.
-“when is this foolishness of running away to be happening?” asked ikey.
-“nine o’clock,” said mr. mcgowan. “supper’s at seven. at eight rosy goes to bed with a headache. at nine old parvenzano lets me through to his back yard, where there’s a board off riddle’s fence, next door. i go under her window and help her down the fire-escape. we’ve got to make it early on the preacher’s account. it’s all dead easy if rosy don’t balk when the flag drops. can you fix me one of them powders, ikey?”
-ikey schoenstein rubbed his nose slowly.
-“chunk,” said he, “it is of drugs of that nature that pharmaceutists must have much carefulness. to you alone of my acquaintance would i intrust a powder like that. but for you i shall make it, and you shall see how it makes rosy to think of you.”
-ikey went behind the prescription desk. there he crushed to a powder two soluble tablets, each containing a quarter of a grain of morphia. to them he added a little sugar of milk to increase the bulk, and folded the mixture neatly in a white paper. taken by an adult this powder would insure several hours of heavy slumber without danger to the sleeper. this he handed to chunk mcgowan, telling him to administer it in a liquid if possible, and received the hearty thanks of the backyard lochinvar.
-the subtlety of ikey’s action becomes apparent upon recital of his subsequent move. he sent a messenger for mr. riddle and disclosed the plans of mr. mcgowan for eloping with rosy. mr. riddle was a stout man, brick-dusty of complexion and sudden in action.
-“much obliged,” he said, briefly, to ikey. “the lazy irish loafer! my own room’s just above rosy’s. i’ll just go up there myself after supper and load the shot-gun and wait. if he comes in my back yard he’ll go away in a ambulance instead of a bridal chaise.”
-with rosy held in the clutches of morpheus for a many-hours deep slumber, and the bloodthirsty parent waiting, armed and forewarned, ikey felt that his rival was close, indeed, upon discomfiture.
-all night in the blue light drug store he waited at his duties for chance news of the tragedy, but none came.
-at eight o’clock in the morning the day clerk arrived and ikey started hurriedly for mrs. riddle’s to learn the outcome. and, lo! as he stepped out of the store who but chunk mcgowan sprang from a passing street car and grasped his hand—chunk mcgowan with a victor’s smile and flushed with joy.
-“pulled it off,” said chunk with elysium in his grin. “rosy hit the fire-escape on time to a second, and we was under the wire at the reverend’s at 9.30¼. she’s up at the flat—she cooked eggs this mornin’ in a blue kimono—lord! how lucky i am! you must pace up some day, ikey, and feed with us. i’ve got a job down near the bridge, and that’s where i’m heading for now.”
-“the—the—powder?” stammered ikey.
-“oh, that stuff you gave me!” said chunk, broadening his grin; “well, it was this way. i sat down at the supper table last night at riddle’s, and i looked at rosy, and i says to myself, ‘chunk, if you get the girl get her on the square—don’t try any hocus-pocus with a thoroughbred like her.’ and i keeps the paper you give me in my pocket. and then my lamps fall on another party present, who, i says to myself, is failin’ in a proper affection toward his comin’ son-in-law, so i watches my chance and dumps that powder in old man riddle’s coffee—see?”
-mammon and the archer
-old anthony rockwall, retired manufacturer and proprietor of rockwall’s eureka soap, looked out the library window of his fifth avenue mansion and grinned. his neighbour to the right—the aristocratic clubman, g. van schuylight suffolk-jones—came out to his waiting motor-car, wrinkling a contumelious nostril, as usual, at the italian renaissance sculpture of the soap palace’s front elevation.
-“stuck-up old statuette of nothing doing!” commented the ex-soap king. “the eden musee’ll get that old frozen nesselrode yet if he don’t watch out. i’ll have this house painted red, white, and blue next summer and see if that’ll make his dutch nose turn up any higher.”
-and then anthony rockwall, who never cared for bells, went to the door of his library and shouted “mike!” in the same voice that had once chipped off pieces of the welkin on the kansas prairies.
-“tell my son,” said anthony to the answering menial, “to come in here before he leaves the house.”
-when young rockwall entered the library the old man laid aside his newspaper, looked at him with a kindly grimness on his big, smooth, ruddy countenance, rumpled his mop of white hair with one hand and rattled the keys in his pocket with the other.
-“richard,” said anthony rockwall, “what do you pay for the soap that you use?”
-richard, only six months home from college, was startled a little. he had not yet taken the measure of this sire of his, who was as full of unexpectednesses as a girl at her first party.
-“six dollars a dozen, i think, dad.”
-“and your clothes?”
-“i suppose about sixty dollars, as a rule.”
-“you’re a gentleman,” said anthony, decidedly. “i’ve heard of these young bloods spending $24 a dozen for soap, and going over the hundred mark for clothes. you’ve got as much money to waste as any of ’em, and yet you stick to what’s decent and moderate. now i use the old eureka—not only for sentiment, but it’s the purest soap made. whenever you pay more than 10 cents a cake for soap you buy bad perfumes and labels. but 50 cents is doing very well for a young man in your generation, position and condition. as i said, you’re a gentleman. they say it takes three generations to make one. they’re off. money’ll do it as slick as soap grease. it’s made you one. by hokey! it’s almost made one of me. i’m nearly as impolite and disagreeable and ill-mannered as these two old knickerbocker gents on each side of me that can’t sleep of nights because i bought in between ’em.”
-“there are some things that money can’t accomplish,” remarked young rockwall, rather gloomily.
-“now, don’t say that,” said old anthony, shocked. “i bet my money on money every time. i’ve been through the encyclopaedia down to y looking for something you can’t buy with it; and i expect to have to take up the appendix next week. i’m for money against the field. tell me something money won’t buy.”
-“for one thing,” answered richard, rankling a little, “it won’t buy one into the exclusive circles of society.”
-“oho! won’t it?” thundered the champion of the root of evil. “you tell me where your exclusive circles would be if the first astor hadn’t had the money to pay for his steerage passage over?”
-“and that’s what i was coming to,” said the old man, less boisterously. “that’s why i asked you to come in. there’s something going wrong with you, boy. i’ve been noticing it for two weeks. out with it. i guess i could lay my hands on eleven millions within twenty-four hours, besides the real estate. if it’s your liver, there’s the rambler down in the bay, coaled, and ready to steam down to the bahamas in two days.”
-“not a bad guess, dad; you haven’t missed it far.”
-“ah,” said anthony, keenly; “what’s her name?”
-richard began to walk up and down the library floor. there was enough comradeship and sympathy in this crude old father of his to draw his confidence.
-“why don’t you ask her?” demanded old anthony. “she’ll jump at you. you’ve got the money and the looks, and you’re a decent boy. your hands are clean. you’ve got no eureka soap on ’em. you’ve been to college, but she’ll overlook that.”
-“i haven’t had a chance,” said richard.
-“make one,” said anthony. “take her for a walk in the park, or a straw ride, or walk home with her from church. chance! pshaw!”
-“you don’t know the social mill, dad. she’s part of the stream that turns it. every hour and minute of her time is arranged for days in advance. i must have that girl, dad, or this town is a blackjack swamp forevermore. and i can’t write it—i can’t do that.”
-“tut!” said the old man. “do you mean to tell me that with all the money i’ve got you can’t get an hour or two of a girl’s time for yourself?”
-“i’ve put it off too late. she’s going to sail for europe at noon day after to-morrow for a two years’ stay. i’m to see her alone to-morrow evening for a few minutes. she’s at larchmont now at her aunt’s. i can’t go there. but i’m allowed to meet her with a cab at the grand central station to-morrow evening at the 8.30 train. we drive down broadway to wallack’s at a gallop, where her mother and a box party will be waiting for us in the lobby. do you think she would listen to a declaration from me during that six or eight minutes under those circumstances? no. and what chance would i have in the theatre or afterward? none. no, dad, this is one tangle that your money can’t unravel. we can’t buy one minute of time with cash; if we could, rich people would live longer. there’s no hope of getting a talk with miss lantry before she sails.”
-“all right, richard, my boy,” said old anthony, cheerfully. “you may run along down to your club now. i’m glad it ain’t your liver. but don’t forget to burn a few punk sticks in the joss house to the great god mazuma from time to time. you say money won’t buy time? well, of course, you can’t order eternity wrapped up and delivered at your residence for a price, but i’ve seen father time get pretty bad stone bruises on his heels when he walked through the gold diggings.”
-that night came aunt ellen, gentle, sentimental, wrinkled, sighing, oppressed by wealth, in to brother anthony at his evening paper, and began discourse on the subject of lovers’ woes.
-“oh, anthony,” sighed aunt ellen, “i wish you would not think so much of money. wealth is nothing where a true affection is concerned. love is all-powerful. if he only had spoken earlier! she could not have refused our richard. but now i fear it is too late. he will have no opportunity to address her. all your gold cannot bring happiness to your son.”
-at eight o’clock the next evening aunt ellen took a quaint old gold ring from a moth-eaten case and gave it to richard.
-“wear it to-night, nephew,” she begged. “your mother gave it to me. good luck in love she said it brought. she asked me to give it to you when you had found the one you loved.”
-young rockwall took the ring reverently and tried it on his smallest finger. it slipped as far as the second joint and stopped. he took it off and stuffed it into his vest pocket, after the manner of man. and then he ’phoned for his cab.
-at the station he captured miss lantry out of the gadding mob at eight thirty-two.
-“we mustn’t keep mamma and the others waiting,” said she.
-“to wallack’s theatre as fast as you can drive!” said richard loyally.
-they whirled up forty-second to broadway, and then down the white-starred lane that leads from the soft meadows of sunset to the rocky hills of morning.
-“i’ve dropped a ring,” he apologised, as he climbed out. “it was my mother’s, and i’d hate to lose it. i won’t detain you a minute—i saw where it fell.”
-in less than a minute he was back in the cab with the ring.
-but within that minute a crosstown car had stopped directly in front of the cab. the cabman tried to pass to the left, but a heavy express wagon cut him off. he tried the right, and had to back away from a furniture van that had no business to be there. he tried to back out, but dropped his reins and swore dutifully. he was blockaded in a tangled mess of vehicles and horses.
-one of those street blockades had occurred that sometimes tie up commerce and movement quite suddenly in the big city.
-“why don’t you drive on?” said miss lantry, impatiently. “we’ll be late.”
-richard stood up in the cab and looked around. he saw a congested flood of wagons, trucks, cabs, vans and street cars filling the vast space where broadway, sixth avenue and thirty-fourth street cross one another as a twenty-six inch maiden fills her twenty-two inch girdle. and still from all the cross streets they were hurrying and rattling toward the converging point at full speed, and hurling themselves into the struggling mass, locking wheels and adding their drivers’ imprecations to the clamour. the entire traffic of manhattan seemed to have jammed itself around them. the oldest new yorker among the thousands of spectators that lined the sidewalks had not witnessed a street blockade of the proportions of this one.
-“i’m very sorry,” said richard, as he resumed his seat, “but it looks as if we are stuck. they won’t get this jumble loosened up in an hour. it was my fault. if i hadn’t dropped the ring we—”
-“let me see the ring,” said miss lantry. “now that it can’t be helped, i don’t care. i think theatres are stupid, anyway.”
-at 11 o’clock that night somebody tapped lightly on anthony rockwall’s door.
-“come in,” shouted anthony, who was in a red dressing-gown, reading a book of piratical adventures.
-somebody was aunt ellen, looking like a grey-haired angel that had been left on earth by mistake.
-“they’re engaged, anthony,” she said, softly. “she has promised to marry our richard. on their way to the theatre there was a street blockade, and it was two hours before their cab could get out of it.
-“and oh, brother anthony, don’t ever boast of the power of money again. a little emblem of true love—a little ring that symbolised unending and unmercenary affection—was the cause of our richard finding his happiness. he dropped it in the street, and got out to recover it. and before they could continue the blockade occurred. he spoke to his love and won her there while the cab was hemmed in. money is dross compared with true love, anthony.”
-“all right,” said old anthony. “i’m glad the boy has got what he wanted. i told him i wouldn’t spare any expense in the matter if—”
-“but, brother anthony, what good could your money have done?”
-“sister,” said anthony rockwall. “i’ve got my pirate in a devil of a scrape. his ship has just been scuttled, and he’s too good a judge of the value of money to let drown. i wish you would let me go on with this chapter.”
-the story should end here. i wish it would as heartily as you who read it wish it did. but we must go to the bottom of the well for truth.
-the next day a person with red hands and a blue polka-dot necktie, who called himself kelly, called at anthony rockwall’s house, and was at once received in the library.
-“i paid out $300 more of my own,” said kelly. “i had to go a little above the estimate. i got the express wagons and cabs mostly for $5; but the trucks and two-horse teams mostly raised me to $10. the motormen wanted $10, and some of the loaded teams $20. the cops struck me hardest—$50 i paid two, and the rest $20 and $25. but didn’t it work beautiful, mr. rockwall? i’m glad william a. brady wasn’t onto that little outdoor vehicle mob scene. i wouldn’t want william to break his heart with jealousy. and never a rehearsal, either! the boys was on time to the fraction of a second. it was two hours before a snake could get below greeley’s statue.”
-“thirteen hundred—there you are, kelly,” said anthony, tearing off a check. “your thousand, and the $300 you were out. you don’t despise money, do you, kelly?”
-“me?” said kelly. “i can lick the man that invented poverty.”
-anthony called kelly when he was at the door.
-“you didn’t notice,” said he, “anywhere in the tie-up, a kind of a fat boy without any clothes on shooting arrows around with a bow, did you?”
-“why, no,” said kelly, mystified. “i didn’t. if he was like you say, maybe the cops pinched him before i got there.”
-“i thought the little rascal wouldn’t be on hand,” chuckled anthony. “good-by, kelly.”
-springtime à la carte
-it was a day in march.
-never, never begin a story this way when you write one. no opening could possibly be worse. it is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. but in this instance it is allowable. for the following paragraph, which should have inaugurated the narrative, is too wildly extravagant and preposterous to be flaunted in the face of the reader without preparation.
-sarah was crying over her bill of fare.
-think of a new york girl shedding tears on the menu card!
-to account for this you will be allowed to guess that the lobsters were all out, or that she had sworn ice-cream off during lent, or that she had ordered onions, or that she had just come from a hackett matinee. and then, all these theories being wrong, you will please let the story proceed.
-the gentleman who announced that the world was an oyster which he with his sword would open made a larger hit than he deserved. it is not difficult to open an oyster with a sword. but did you ever notice any one try to open the terrestrial bivalve with a typewriter? like to wait for a dozen raw opened that way?
-sarah had managed to pry apart the shells with her unhandy weapon far enough to nibble a wee bit at the cold and clammy world within. she knew no more shorthand than if she had been a graduate in stenography just let slip upon the world by a business college. so, not being able to stenog, she could not enter that bright galaxy of office talent. she was a free-lance typewriter and canvassed for odd jobs of copying.
-the most brilliant and crowning feat of sarah’s battle with the world was the deal she made with schulenberg’s home restaurant. the restaurant was next door to the old red brick in which she hall-roomed. one evening after dining at schulenberg’s 40-cent, five-course table d’hôte (served as fast as you throw the five baseballs at the coloured gentleman’s head) sarah took away with her the bill of fare. it was written in an almost unreadable script neither english nor german, and so arranged that if you were not careful you began with a toothpick and rice pudding and ended with soup and the day of the week.
-the next day sarah showed schulenberg a neat card on which the menu was beautifully typewritten with the viands temptingly marshalled under their right and proper heads from “hors d’oeuvre” to “not responsible for overcoats and umbrellas.”
-schulenberg became a naturalised citizen on the spot. before sarah left him she had him willingly committed to an agreement. she was to furnish typewritten bills of fare for the twenty-one tables in the restaurant—a new bill for each day’s dinner, and new ones for breakfast and lunch as often as changes occurred in the food or as neatness required.
-in return for this schulenberg was to send three meals per diem to sarah’s hall room by a waiter—an obsequious one if possible—and furnish her each afternoon with a pencil draft of what fate had in store for schulenberg’s customers on the morrow.
-mutual satisfaction resulted from the agreement. schulenberg’s patrons now knew what the food they ate was called even if its nature sometimes puzzled them. and sarah had food during a cold, dull winter, which was the main thing with her.
-and then the almanac lied, and said that spring had come. spring comes when it comes. the frozen snows of january still lay like adamant in the crosstown streets. the hand-organs still played “in the good old summertime,” with their december vivacity and expression. men began to make thirty-day notes to buy easter dresses. janitors shut off steam. and when these things happen one may know that the city is still in the clutches of winter.
-one afternoon sarah shivered in her elegant hall bedroom; “house heated; scrupulously clean; conveniences; seen to be appreciated.” she had no work to do except schulenberg’s menu cards. sarah sat in her squeaky willow rocker, and looked out the window. the calendar on the wall kept crying to her: “springtime is here, sarah—springtime is here, i tell you. look at me, sarah, my figures show it. you’ve got a neat figure yourself, sarah—a—nice springtime figure—why do you look out the window so sadly?”
-sarah’s room was at the back of the house. looking out the window she could see the windowless rear brick wall of the box factory on the next street. but the wall was clearest crystal; and sarah was looking down a grassy lane shaded with cherry trees and elms and bordered with raspberry bushes and cherokee roses.
-spring’s real harbingers are too subtle for the eye and ear. some must have the flowering crocus, the wood-starring dogwood, the voice of bluebird—even so gross a reminder as the farewell handshake of the retiring buckwheat and oyster before they can welcome the lady in green to their dull bosoms. but to old earth’s choicest kin there come straight, sweet messages from his newest bride, telling them they shall be no stepchildren unless they choose to be.
-on the previous summer sarah had gone into the country and loved a farmer.
-sarah stayed two weeks at sunnybrook farm. there she learned to love old farmer franklin’s son walter. farmers have been loved and wedded and turned out to grass in less time. but young walter franklin was a modern agriculturist. he had a telephone in his cow house, and he could figure up exactly what effect next year’s canada wheat crop would have on potatoes planted in the dark of the moon.
-it was in this shaded and raspberried lane that walter had wooed and won her. and together they had sat and woven a crown of dandelions for her hair. he had immoderately praised the effect of the yellow blossoms against her brown tresses; and she had left the chaplet there, and walked back to the house swinging her straw sailor in her hands.
-they were to marry in the spring—at the very first signs of spring, walter said. and sarah came back to the city to pound her typewriter.
-a knock at the door dispelled sarah’s visions of that happy day. a waiter had brought the rough pencil draft of the home restaurant’s next day fare in old schulenberg’s angular hand.
-sarah sat down to her typewriter and slipped a card between the rollers. she was a nimble worker. generally in an hour and a half the twenty-one menu cards were written and ready.
-to-day there were more changes on the bill of fare than usual. the soups were lighter; pork was eliminated from the entrées, figuring only with russian turnips among the roasts. the gracious spirit of spring pervaded the entire menu. lamb, that lately capered on the greening hillsides, was becoming exploited with the sauce that commemorated its gambols. the song of the oyster, though not silenced, was dimuendo con amore. the frying-pan seemed to be held, inactive, behind the beneficent bars of the broiler. the pie list swelled; the richer puddings had vanished; the sausage, with his drapery wrapped about him, barely lingered in a pleasant thanatopsis with the buckwheats and the sweet but doomed maple.
-sarah’s fingers danced like midges above a summer stream. down through the courses she worked, giving each item its position according to its length with an accurate eye. just above the desserts came the list of vegetables. carrots and peas, asparagus on toast, the perennial tomatoes and corn and succotash, lima beans, cabbage—and then—
-sarah was crying over her bill of fare. tears from the depths of some divine despair rose in her heart and gathered to her eyes. down went her head on the little typewriter stand; and the keyboard rattled a dry accompaniment to her moist sobs.
-for she had received no letter from walter in two weeks, and the next item on the bill of fare was dandelions—dandelions with some kind of egg—but bother the egg!—dandelions, with whose golden blooms walter had crowned her his queen of love and future bride—dandelions, the harbingers of spring, her sorrow’s crown of sorrow—reminder of her happiest days.
-madam, i dare you to smile until you suffer this test: let the marechal niel roses that percy brought you on the night you gave him your heart be served as a salad with french dressing before your eyes at a schulenberg table d’hôte. had juliet so seen her love tokens dishonoured the sooner would she have sought the lethean herbs of the good apothecary.
-but what a witch is spring! into the great cold city of stone and iron a message had to be sent. there was none to convey it but the little hardy courier of the fields with his rough green coat and modest air. he is a true soldier of fortune, this dent-de-lion—this lion’s tooth, as the french chefs call him. flowered, he will assist at love-making, wreathed in my lady’s nut-brown hair; young and callow and unblossomed, he goes into the boiling pot and delivers the word of his sovereign mistress.
-by and by sarah forced back her tears. the cards must be written. but, still in a faint, golden glow from her dandeleonine dream, she fingered the typewriter keys absently for a little while, with her mind and heart in the meadow lane with her young farmer. but soon she came swiftly back to the rock-bound lanes of manhattan, and the typewriter began to rattle and jump like a strike-breaker’s motor car.
-at 6 o’clock the waiter brought her dinner and carried away the typewritten bill of fare. when sarah ate she set aside, with a sigh, the dish of dandelions with its crowning ovarious accompaniment. as this dark mass had been transformed from a bright and love-indorsed flower to be an ignominious vegetable, so had her summer hopes wilted and perished. love may, as shakespeare said, feed on itself: but sarah could not bring herself to eat the dandelions that had graced, as ornaments, the first spiritual banquet of her heart’s true affection.
-at 7:30 the couple in the next room began to quarrel: the man in the room above sought for a on his flute; the gas went a little lower; three coal wagons started to unload—the only sound of which the phonograph is jealous; cats on the back fences slowly retreated toward mukden. by these signs sarah knew that it was time for her to read. she got out “the cloister and the hearth,” the best non-selling book of the month, settled her feet on her trunk, and began to wander with gerard.
-the front door bell rang. the landlady answered it. sarah left gerard and denys treed by a bear and listened. oh, yes; you would, just as she did!
-and then a strong voice was heard in the hall below, and sarah jumped for her door, leaving the book on the floor and the first round easily the bear’s. you have guessed it. she reached the top of the stairs just as her farmer came up, three at a jump, and reaped and garnered her, with nothing left for the gleaners.
-“why haven’t you written—oh, why?” cried sarah.
-“new york is a pretty large town,” said walter franklin. “i came in a week ago to your old address. i found that you went away on a thursday. that consoled some; it eliminated the possible friday bad luck. but it didn’t prevent my hunting for you with police and otherwise ever since!
-“i wrote!” said sarah, vehemently.
-“never got it!”
-“then how did you find me?”
-the young farmer smiled a springtime smile.
-“i dropped into that home restaurant next door this evening,” said he. “i don’t care who knows it; i like a dish of some kind of greens at this time of the year. i ran my eye down that nice typewritten bill of fare looking for something in that line. when i got below cabbage i turned my chair over and hollered for the proprietor. he told me where you lived.”
-“i remember,” sighed sarah, happily. “that was dandelions below cabbage.”
-“i’d know that cranky capital w way above the line that your typewriter makes anywhere in the world,” said franklin.
-“why, there’s no w in dandelions,” said sarah, in surprise.
-the young man drew the bill of fare from his pocket, and pointed to a line.
-sarah recognised the first card she had typewritten that afternoon. there was still the rayed splotch in the upper right-hand corner where a tear had fallen. but over the spot where one should have read the name of the meadow plant, the clinging memory of their golden blossoms had allowed her fingers to strike strange keys.
-between the red cabbage and the stuffed green peppers was the item:
-“dearest walter, with hard-boiled egg.”
-the green door
-suppose you should be walking down broadway after dinner, with ten minutes allotted to the consummation of your cigar while you are choosing between a diverting tragedy and something serious in the way of vaudeville. suddenly a hand is laid upon your arm. you turn to look into the thrilling eyes of a beautiful woman, wonderful in diamonds and russian sables. she thrusts hurriedly into your hand an extremely hot buttered roll, flashes out a tiny pair of scissors, snips off the second button of your overcoat, meaningly ejaculates the one word, “parallelogram!” and swiftly flies down a cross street, looking back fearfully over her shoulder.
-that would be pure adventure. would you accept it? not you. you would flush with embarrassment; you would sheepishly drop the roll and continue down broadway, fumbling feebly for the missing button. this you would do unless you are one of the blessed few in whom the pure spirit of adventure is not dead.
-true adventurers have never been plentiful. they who are set down in print as such have been mostly business men with newly invented methods. they have been out after the things they wanted—golden fleeces, holy grails, lady loves, treasure, crowns and fame. the true adventurer goes forth aimless and uncalculating to meet and greet unknown fate. a fine example was the prodigal son—when he started back home.
-half-adventurers—brave and splendid figures—have been numerous. from the crusades to the palisades they have enriched the arts of history and fiction and the trade of historical fiction. but each of them had a prize to win, a goal to kick, an axe to grind, a race to run, a new thrust in tierce to deliver, a name to carve, a crow to pick—so they were not followers of true adventure.
-in the big city the twin spirits romance and adventure are always abroad seeking worthy wooers. as we roam the streets they slyly peep at us and challenge us in twenty different guises. without knowing why, we look up suddenly to see in a window a face that seems to belong to our gallery of intimate portraits; in a sleeping thoroughfare we hear a cry of agony and fear coming from an empty and shuttered house; instead of at our familiar curb, a cab-driver deposits us before a strange door, which one, with a smile, opens for us and bids us enter; a slip of paper, written upon, flutters down to our feet from the high lattices of chance; we exchange glances of instantaneous hate, affection and fear with hurrying strangers in the passing crowds; a sudden douse of rain—and our umbrella may be sheltering the daughter of the full moon and first cousin of the sidereal system; at every corner handkerchiefs drop, fingers beckon, eyes besiege, and the lost, the lonely, the rapturous, the mysterious, the perilous, changing clues of adventure are slipped into our fingers. but few of us are willing to hold and follow them. we are grown stiff with the ramrod of convention down our backs. we pass on; and some day we come, at the end of a very dull life, to reflect that our romance has been a pallid thing of a marriage or two, a satin rosette kept in a safe-deposit drawer, and a lifelong feud with a steam radiator.
-rudolf steiner was a true adventurer. few were the evenings on which he did not go forth from his hall bedchamber in search of the unexpected and the egregious. the most interesting thing in life seemed to him to be what might lie just around the next corner. sometimes his willingness to tempt fate led him into strange paths. twice he had spent the night in a station-house; again and again he had found himself the dupe of ingenious and mercenary tricksters; his watch and money had been the price of one flattering allurement. but with undiminished ardour he picked up every glove cast before him into the merry lists of adventure.
-one evening rudolf was strolling along a crosstown street in the older central part of the city. two streams of people filled the sidewalks—the home-hurrying, and that restless contingent that abandons home for the specious welcome of the thousand-candle-power table d’hôte.
-the young adventurer was of pleasing presence, and moved serenely and watchfully. by daylight he was a salesman in a piano store. he wore his tie drawn through a topaz ring instead of fastened with a stick pin; and once he had written to the editor of a magazine that “junie’s love test” by miss libbey, had been the book that had most influenced his life.
-during his walk a violent chattering of teeth in a glass case on the sidewalk seemed at first to draw his attention (with a qualm), to a restaurant before which it was set; but a second glance revealed the electric letters of a dentist’s sign high above the next door. a giant negro, fantastically dressed in a red embroidered coat, yellow trousers and a military cap, discreetly distributed cards to those of the passing crowd who consented to take them.
-this mode of dentistic advertising was a common sight to rudolf. usually he passed the dispenser of the dentist’s cards without reducing his store; but tonight the african slipped one into his hand so deftly that he retained it there smiling a little at the successful feat.
-rarely did the arch sprite adventure need to beckon twice to rudolf steiner, his true follower. but twice it had been done, and the quest was on.
-rudolf walked slowly back to where the giant negro stood by the case of rattling teeth. this time as he passed he received no card. in spite of his gaudy and ridiculous garb, the ethiopian displayed a natural barbaric dignity as he stood, offering the cards suavely to some, allowing others to pass unmolested. every half minute he chanted a harsh, unintelligible phrase akin to the jabber of car conductors and grand opera. and not only did he withhold a card this time, but it seemed to rudolf that he received from the shining and massive black countenance a look of cold, almost contemptuous disdain.
-the look stung the adventurer. he read in it a silent accusation that he had been found wanting. whatever the mysterious written words on the cards might mean, the black had selected him twice from the throng for their recipient; and now seemed to have condemned him as deficient in the wit and spirit to engage the enigma.
-standing aside from the rush, the young man made a rapid estimate of the building in which he conceived that his adventure must lie. five stories high it rose. a small restaurant occupied the basement.
-the first floor, now closed, seemed to house millinery or furs. the second floor, by the winking electric letters, was the dentist’s. above this a polyglot babel of signs struggled to indicate the abodes of palmists, dressmakers, musicians and doctors. still higher up draped curtains and milk bottles white on the window sills proclaimed the regions of domesticity.
-after concluding his survey rudolf walked briskly up the high flight of stone steps into the house. up two flights of the carpeted stairway he continued; and at its top paused. the hallway there was dimly lighted by two pale jets of gas—one far to his right, the other nearer, to his left. he looked toward the nearer light and saw, within its wan halo, a green door. for one moment he hesitated; then he seemed to see the contumelious sneer of the african juggler of cards; and then he walked straight to the green door and knocked against it.
-a faint rustle was heard inside, and the door slowly opened. a girl not yet twenty stood there, white-faced and tottering. she loosed the knob and swayed weakly, groping with one hand. rudolf caught her and laid her on a faded couch that stood against the wall. he closed the door and took a swift glance around the room by the light of a flickering gas jet. neat, but extreme poverty was the story that he read.
-the girl lay still, as if in a faint. rudolf looked around the room excitedly for a barrel. people must be rolled upon a barrel who—no, no; that was for drowned persons. he began to fan her with his hat. that was successful, for he struck her nose with the brim of his derby and she opened her eyes. and then the young man saw that hers, indeed, was the one missing face from his heart’s gallery of intimate portraits. the frank, grey eyes, the little nose, turning pertly outward; the chestnut hair, curling like the tendrils of a pea vine, seemed the right end and reward of all his wonderful adventures. but the face was wofully thin and pale.
-the girl looked at him calmly, and then smiled.
-“fainted, didn’t i?” she asked, weakly. “well, who wouldn’t? you try going without anything to eat for three days and see!”
-he dashed out the green door and down the stairs. in twenty minutes he was back again, kicking at the door with his toe for her to open it. with both arms he hugged an array of wares from the grocery and the restaurant. on the table he laid them—bread and butter, cold meats, cakes, pies, pickles, oysters, a roasted chicken, a bottle of milk and one of red-hot tea.
-“this is ridiculous,” said rudolf, blusteringly, “to go without eating. you must quit making election bets of this kind. supper is ready.” he helped her to a chair at the table and asked: “is there a cup for the tea?” “on the shelf by the window,” she answered. when he turned again with the cup he saw her, with eyes shining rapturously, beginning upon a huge dill pickle that she had rooted out from the paper bags with a woman’s unerring instinct. he took it from her, laughingly, and poured the cup full of milk. “drink that first” he ordered, “and then you shall have some tea, and then a chicken wing. if you are very good you shall have a pickle to-morrow. and now, if you’ll allow me to be your guest we’ll have supper.”
-he drew up the other chair. the tea brightened the girl’s eyes and brought back some of her colour. she began to eat with a sort of dainty ferocity like some starved wild animal. she seemed to regard the young man’s presence and the aid he had rendered her as a natural thing—not as though she undervalued the conventions; but as one whose great stress gave her the right to put aside the artificial for the human. but gradually, with the return of strength and comfort, came also a sense of the little conventions that belong; and she began to tell him her little story. it was one of a thousand such as the city yawns at every day—the shop girl’s story of insufficient wages, further reduced by “fines” that go to swell the store’s profits; of time lost through illness; and then of lost positions, lost hope, and—the knock of the adventurer upon the green door.
-but to rudolf the history sounded as big as the iliad or the crisis in “junie’s love test.”
-“to think of you going through all that,” he exclaimed.
-“it was something fierce,” said the girl, solemnly.
-“and you have no relatives or friends in the city?”
-“i am all alone in the world, too,” said rudolf, after a pause.
-“i am glad of that,” said the girl, promptly; and somehow it pleased the young man to hear that she approved of his bereft condition.
-very suddenly her eyelids dropped and she sighed deeply.
-“i’m awfully sleepy,” she said, “and i feel so good.”
-then rudolf rose and took his hat. “i’ll say good-night. a long night’s sleep will be fine for you.”
-he held out his hand, and she took it and said “good-night.” but her eyes asked a question so eloquently, so frankly and pathetically that he answered it with words.
-“oh, i’m coming back to-morrow to see how you are getting along. you can’t get rid of me so easily.”
-then, at the door, as though the way of his coming had been so much less important than the fact that he had come, she asked: “how did you come to knock at my door?”
-he looked at her for a moment, remembering the cards, and felt a sudden jealous pain. what if they had fallen into other hands as adventurous as his? quickly he decided that she must never know the truth. he would never let her know that he was aware of the strange expedient to which she had been driven by her great distress.
-“one of our piano tuners lives in this house,” he said. “i knocked at your door by mistake.”
-the last thing he saw in the room before the green door closed was her smile.
-at the head of the stairway he paused and looked curiously about him. and then he went along the hallway to its other end; and, coming back, ascended to the floor above and continued his puzzled explorations. every door that he found in the house was painted green.
-wondering, he descended to the sidewalk. the fantastic african was still there. rudolf confronted him with his two cards in his hand.
-“will you tell me why you gave me these cards and what they mean?” he asked.
-in a broad, good-natured grin the negro exhibited a splendid advertisement of his master’s profession.
-“dar it is, boss,” he said, pointing down the street. “but i ’spect you is a little late for de fust act.”
-looking the way he pointed rudolf saw above the entrance to a theatre the blazing electric sign of its new play, “the green door.”
-“i’m informed dat it’s a fust-rate show, sah,” said the negro. “de agent what represents it pussented me with a dollar, sah, to distribute a few of his cards along with de doctah’s. may i offer you one of de doctah’s cards, sah?”
-at the corner of the block in which he lived rudolf stopped for a glass of beer and a cigar. when he had come out with his lighted weed he buttoned his coat, pushed back his hat and said, stoutly, to the lamp post on the corner:
-“all the same, i believe it was the hand of fate that doped out the way for me to find her.”
-which conclusion, under the circumstances, certainly admits rudolf steiner to the ranks of the true followers of romance and adventure.
-from the cabby’s seat
-the cabby has his point of view. it is more single-minded, perhaps, than that of a follower of any other calling. from the high, swaying seat of his hansom he looks upon his fellow-men as nomadic particles, of no account except when possessed of migratory desires. he is jehu, and you are goods in transit. be you president or vagabond, to cabby you are only a fare, he takes you up, cracks his whip, joggles your vertebrae and sets you down.
-when time for payment arrives, if you exhibit a familiarity with legal rates you come to know what contempt is; if you find that you have left your pocketbook behind you are made to realise the mildness of dante’s imagination.
-it is not an extravagant theory that the cabby’s singleness of purpose and concentrated view of life are the results of the hansom’s peculiar construction. the cock-of-the-roost sits aloft like jupiter on an unsharable seat, holding your fate between two thongs of inconstant leather. helpless, ridiculous, confined, bobbing like a toy mandarin, you sit like a rat in a trap—you, before whom butlers cringe on solid land—and must squeak upward through a slit in your peripatetic sarcophagus to make your feeble wishes known.
-then, in a cab, you are not even an occupant; you are contents. you are a cargo at sea, and the “cherub that sits up aloft” has davy jones’s street and number by heart.
-one night there were sounds of revelry in the big brick tenement-house next door but one to mcgary’s family café. the sounds seemed to emanate from the apartments of the walsh family. the sidewalk was obstructed by an assortment of interested neighbours, who opened a lane from time to time for a hurrying messenger bearing from mcgary’s goods pertinent to festivity and diversion. the sidewalk contingent was engaged in comment and discussion from which it made no effort to eliminate the news that norah walsh was being married.
-in the fulness of time there was an eruption of the merry-makers to the sidewalk. the uninvited guests enveloped and permeated them, and upon the night air rose joyous cries, congratulations, laughter and unclassified noises born of mcgary’s oblations to the hymeneal scene.
-close to the curb stood jerry o’donovan’s cab. night-hawk was jerry called; but no more lustrous or cleaner hansom than his ever closed its doors upon point lace and november violets. and jerry’s horse! i am within bounds when i tell you that he was stuffed with oats until one of those old ladies who leave their dishes unwashed at home and go about having expressmen arrested, would have smiled—yes, smiled—to have seen him.
-among the shifting, sonorous, pulsing crowd glimpses could be had of jerry’s high hat, battered by the winds and rains of many years; of his nose like a carrot, battered by the frolicsome, athletic progeny of millionaires and by contumacious fares; of his brass-buttoned green coat, admired in the vicinity of mcgary’s. it was plain that jerry had usurped the functions of his cab, and was carrying a “load.” indeed, the figure may be extended and he be likened to a bread-waggon if we admit the testimony of a youthful spectator, who was heard to remark “jerry has got a bun.”
-from somewhere among the throng in the street or else out of the thin stream of pedestrians a young woman tripped and stood by the cab. the professional hawk’s eye of jerry caught the movement. he made a lurch for the cab, overturning three or four onlookers and himself—no! he caught the cap of a water-plug and kept his feet. like a sailor shinning up the ratlins during a squall jerry mounted to his professional seat. once he was there mcgary’s liquids were baffled. he seesawed on the mizzenmast of his craft as safe as a steeple jack rigged to the flagpole of a skyscraper.
-“step in, lady,” said jerry, gathering his lines. the young woman stepped into the cab; the doors shut with a bang; jerry’s whip cracked in the air; the crowd in the gutter scattered, and the fine hansom dashed away ’crosstown.
-when the oat-spry horse had hedged a little his first spurt of speed jerry broke the lid of his cab and called down through the aperture in the voice of a cracked megaphone, trying to please:
-“where, now, will ye be drivin’ to?”
-“anywhere you please,” came up the answer, musical and contented.
-“’tis drivin’ for pleasure she is,” thought jerry. and then he suggested as a matter of course:
-“take a thrip around in the park, lady. ’twill be ilegant cool and fine.”
-“just as you like,” answered the fare, pleasantly.
-the cab headed for fifth avenue and sped up that perfect street. jerry bounced and swayed in his seat. the potent fluids of mcgary were disquieted and they sent new fumes to his head. he sang an ancient song of killisnook and brandished his whip like a baton.
-inside the cab the fare sat up straight on the cushions, looking to right and left at the lights and houses. even in the shadowed hansom her eyes shone like stars at twilight.
-when they reached fifty-ninth street jerry’s head was bobbing and his reins were slack. but his horse turned in through the park gate and began the old familiar nocturnal round. and then the fare leaned back, entranced, and breathed deep the clean, wholesome odours of grass and leaf and bloom. and the wise beast in the shafts, knowing his ground, struck into his by-the-hour gait and kept to the right of the road.
-habit also struggled successfully against jerry’s increasing torpor. he raised the hatch of his storm-tossed vessel and made the inquiry that cabbies do make in the park.
-“like shtop at the cas-sino, lady? gezzer r’freshm’s, ’n lish’n the music. ev’body shtops.”
-“i think that would be nice,” said the fare.
-they reined up with a plunge at the casino entrance. the cab doors flew open. the fare stepped directly upon the floor. at once she was caught in a web of ravishing music and dazzled by a panorama of lights and colours. some one slipped a little square card into her hand on which was printed a number—34. she looked around and saw her cab twenty yards away already lining up in its place among the waiting mass of carriages, cabs and motor cars. and then a man who seemed to be all shirt-front danced backward before her; and next she was seated at a little table by a railing over which climbed a jessamine vine.
-there seemed to be a wordless invitation to purchase; she consulted a collection of small coins in a thin purse, and received from them license to order a glass of beer. there she sat, inhaling and absorbing it all—the new-coloured, new-shaped life in a fairy palace in an enchanted wood.
-at fifty tables sat princes and queens clad in all the silks and gems of the world. and now and then one of them would look curiously at jerry’s fare. they saw a plain figure dressed in a pink silk of the kind that is tempered by the word “foulard,” and a plain face that wore a look of love of life that the queens envied.
-twice the long hands of the clocks went round, royalties thinned from their al fresco thrones, and buzzed or clattered away in their vehicles of state. the music retired into cases of wood and bags of leather and baize. waiters removed cloths pointedly near the plain figure sitting almost alone.
-jerry’s fare rose, and held out her numbered card simply:
-“is there anything coming on the ticket?” she asked.
-a waiter told her it was her cab check, and that she should give it to the man at the entrance. this man took it, and called the number. only three hansoms stood in line. the driver of one of them went and routed out jerry asleep in his cab. he swore deeply, climbed to the captain’s bridge and steered his craft to the pier. his fare entered, and the cab whirled into the cool fastnesses of the park along the shortest homeward cuts.
-at the gate a glimmer of reason in the form of sudden suspicion seized upon jerry’s beclouded mind. one or two things occurred to him. he stopped his horse, raised the trap and dropped his phonographic voice, like a lead plummet, through the aperture:
-“four dollars!” laughed the fare, softly, “dear me, no. i’ve only got a few pennies and a dime or two.”
-“come on, you,” he said, roughly.
-his fare came forth with the casino dreamy smile still on her plain face. jerry took her by the arm and led her into the police station. a gray-moustached sergeant looked keenly across the desk. he and the cabby were no strangers.
-“sargeant,” began jerry in his old raucous, martyred, thunderous tones of complaint. “i’ve got a fare here that—”
-jerry paused. he drew a knotted, red hand across his brow. the fog set up by mcgary was beginning to clear away.
-“a fare, sargeant,” he continued, with a grin, “that i want to inthroduce to ye. it’s me wife that i married at ould man walsh’s this avening. and a divil of a time we had, ’tis thrue. shake hands wid th’ sargeant, norah, and we’ll be off to home.”
-before stepping into the cab norah sighed profoundly.
-“i’ve had such a nice time, jerry,” said she.
-an unfinished story
-we no longer groan and heap ashes upon our heads when the flames of tophet are mentioned. for, even the preachers have begun to tell us that god is radium, or ether or some scientific compound, and that the worst we wicked ones may expect is a chemical reaction. this is a pleasing hypothesis; but there lingers yet some of the old, goodly terror of orthodoxy.
-there are but two subjects upon which one may discourse with a free imagination, and without the possibility of being controverted. you may talk of your dreams; and you may tell what you heard a parrot say. both morpheus and the bird are incompetent witnesses; and your listener dare not attack your recital. the baseless fabric of a vision, then, shall furnish my theme—chosen with apologies and regrets instead of the more limited field of pretty polly’s small talk.
-i had a dream that was so far removed from the higher criticism that it had to do with the ancient, respectable, and lamented bar-of-judgment theory.
-gabriel had played his trump; and those of us who could not follow suit were arraigned for examination. i noticed at one side a gathering of professional bondsmen in solemn black and collars that buttoned behind; but it seemed there was some trouble about their real estate titles; and they did not appear to be getting any of us out.
-a fly cop—an angel policeman—flew over to me and took me by the left wing. near at hand was a group of very prosperous-looking spirits arraigned for judgment.
-“do you belong with that bunch?” the policeman asked.
-“who are they?�� was my answer.
-“why,” said he, “they are—”
-but this irrelevant stuff is taking up space that the story should occupy.
-dulcie worked in a department store. she sold hamburg edging, or stuffed peppers, or automobiles, or other little trinkets such as they keep in department stores. of what she earned, dulcie received six dollars per week. the remainder was credited to her and debited to somebody else’s account in the ledger kept by g–––– oh, primal energy, you say, reverend doctor—well then, in the ledger of primal energy.
-during her first year in the store, dulcie was paid five dollars per week. it would be instructive to know how she lived on that amount. don’t care? very well; probably you are interested in larger amounts. six dollars is a larger amount. i will tell you how she lived on six dollars per week.
-one afternoon at six, when dulcie was sticking her hat-pin within an eighth of an inch of her medulla oblongata, she said to her chum, sadie—the girl that waits on you with her left side:
-“say, sade, i made a date for dinner this evening with piggy.”
-“you never did!” exclaimed sadie admiringly. “well, ain’t you the lucky one? piggy’s an awful swell; and he always takes a girl to swell places. he took blanche up to the hoffman house one evening, where they have swell music, and you see a lot of swells. you’ll have a swell time, dulce.”
-dulcie hurried homeward. her eyes were shining, and her cheeks showed the delicate pink of life’s—real life’s—approaching dawn. it was friday; and she had fifty cents left of her last week’s wages.
-the streets were filled with the rush-hour floods of people. the electric lights of broadway were glowing—calling moths from miles, from leagues, from hundreds of leagues out of darkness around to come in and attend the singeing school. men in accurate clothes, with faces like those carved on cherry stones by the old salts in sailors’ homes, turned and stared at dulcie as she sped, unheeding, past them. manhattan, the night-blooming cereus, was beginning to unfold its dead-white, heavy-odoured petals.
-dulcie stopped in a store where goods were cheap and bought an imitation lace collar with her fifty cents. that money was to have been spent otherwise—fifteen cents for supper, ten cents for breakfast, ten cents for lunch. another dime was to be added to her small store of savings; and five cents was to be squandered for licorice drops—the kind that made your cheek look like the toothache, and last as long. the licorice was an extravagance—almost a carouse—but what is life without pleasures?
-dulcie lived in a furnished room. there is this difference between a furnished room and a boarding-house. in a furnished room, other people do not know it when you go hungry.
-dulcie went up to her room—the third floor back in a west side brownstone-front. she lit the gas. scientists tell us that the diamond is the hardest substance known. their mistake. landladies know of a compound beside which the diamond is as putty. they pack it in the tips of gas-burners; and one may stand on a chair and dig at it in vain until one’s fingers are pink and bruised. a hairpin will not remove it; therefore let us call it immovable.
-so dulcie lit the gas. in its one-fourth-candlepower glow we will observe the room.
-couch-bed, dresser, table, washstand, chair—of this much the landlady was guilty. the rest was dulcie’s. on the dresser were her treasures—a gilt china vase presented to her by sadie, a calendar issued by a pickle works, a book on the divination of dreams, some rice powder in a glass dish, and a cluster of artificial cherries tied with a pink ribbon.
-against the wrinkly mirror stood pictures of general kitchener, william muldoon, the duchess of marlborough, and benvenuto cellini. against one wall was a plaster of paris plaque of an o’callahan in a roman helmet. near it was a violent oleograph of a lemon-coloured child assaulting an inflammatory butterfly. this was dulcie’s final judgment in art; but it had never been upset. her rest had never been disturbed by whispers of stolen copes; no critic had elevated his eyebrows at her infantile entomologist.
-for the room, dulcie paid two dollars per week. on week-days her breakfast cost ten cents; she made coffee and cooked an egg over the gaslight while she was dressing. on sunday mornings she feasted royally on veal chops and pineapple fritters at “billy’s” restaurant, at a cost of twenty-five cents—and tipped the waitress ten cents. new york presents so many temptations for one to run into extravagance. she had her lunches in the department-store restaurant at a cost of sixty cents for the week; dinners were $1.05. the evening papers—show me a new yorker going without his daily paper!—came to six cents; and two sunday papers—one for the personal column and the other to read—were ten cents. the total amounts to $4.76. now, one has to buy clothes, and—
-piggy needs but a word. when the girls named him, an undeserving stigma was cast upon the noble family of swine. the words-of-three-letters lesson in the old blue spelling book begins with piggy’s biography. he was fat; he had the soul of a rat, the habits of a bat, and the magnanimity of a cat . . . he wore expensive clothes; and was a connoisseur in starvation. he could look at a shop-girl and tell you to an hour how long it had been since she had eaten anything more nourishing than marshmallows and tea. he hung about the shopping districts, and prowled around in department stores with his invitations to dinner. men who escort dogs upon the streets at the end of a string look down upon him. he is a type; i can dwell upon him no longer; my pen is not the kind intended for him; i am no carpenter.
-at ten minutes to seven dulcie was ready. she looked at herself in the wrinkly mirror. the reflection was satisfactory. the dark blue dress, fitting without a wrinkle, the hat with its jaunty black feather, the but-slightly-soiled gloves—all representing self-denial, even of food itself—were vastly becoming.
-dulcie forgot everything else for a moment except that she was beautiful, and that life was about to lift a corner of its mysterious veil for her to observe its wonders. no gentleman had ever asked her out before. now she was going for a brief moment into the glitter and exalted show.
-the girls said that piggy was a “spender.” there would be a grand dinner, and music, and splendidly dressed ladies to look at, and things to eat that strangely twisted the girls’ jaws when they tried to tell about them. no doubt she would be asked out again. there was a blue pongee suit in a window that she knew—by saving twenty cents a week instead of ten, in—let’s see—oh, it would run into years! but there was a second-hand store in seventh avenue where—
-somebody knocked at the door. dulcie opened it. the landlady stood there with a spurious smile, sniffing for cooking by stolen gas.
-“a gentleman’s downstairs to see you,” she said. “name is mr. wiggins.”
-by such epithet was piggy known to unfortunate ones who had to take him seriously.
-dulcie turned to the dresser to get her handkerchief; and then she stopped still, and bit her underlip hard. while looking in her mirror she had seen fairyland and herself, a princess, just awakening from a long slumber. she had forgotten one that was watching her with sad, beautiful, stern eyes—the only one there was to approve or condemn what she did. straight and slender and tall, with a look of sorrowful reproach on his handsome, melancholy face, general kitchener fixed his wonderful eyes on her out of his gilt photograph frame on the dresser.
-dulcie turned like an automatic doll to the landlady.
-“tell him i can’t go,” she said dully. “tell him i’m sick, or something. tell him i’m not going out.”
-after the door was closed and locked, dulcie fell upon her bed, crushing her black tip, and cried for ten minutes. general kitchener was her only friend. he was dulcie’s ideal of a gallant knight. he looked as if he might have a secret sorrow, and his wonderful moustache was a dream, and she was a little afraid of that stern yet tender look in his eyes. she used to have little fancies that he would call at the house sometime, and ask for her, with his sword clanking against his high boots. once, when a boy was rattling a piece of chain against a lamp-post she had opened the window and looked out. but there was no use. she knew that general kitchener was away over in japan, leading his army against the savage turks; and he would never step out of his gilt frame for her. yet one look from him had vanquished piggy that night. yes, for that night.
-when her cry was over dulcie got up and took off her best dress, and put on her old blue kimono. she wanted no dinner. she sang two verses of “sammy.” then she became intensely interested in a little red speck on the side of her nose. and after that was attended to, she drew up a chair to the rickety table, and told her fortune with an old deck of cards.
-“the horrid, impudent thing!” she said aloud. “and i never gave him a word or a look to make him think it!”
-at nine o’clock dulcie took a tin box of crackers and a little pot of raspberry jam out of her trunk, and had a feast. she offered general kitchener some jam on a cracker; but he only looked at her as the sphinx would have looked at a butterfly—if there are butterflies in the desert.
-“don’t eat it if you don’t want to,” said dulcie. “and don’t put on so many airs and scold so with your eyes. i wonder if you’d be so superior and snippy if you had to live on six dollars a week.”
-it was not a good sign for dulcie to be rude to general kitchener. and then she turned benvenuto cellini face downward with a severe gesture. but that was not inexcusable; for she had always thought he was henry viii, and she did not approve of him.
-at half-past nine dulcie took a last look at the pictures on the dresser, turned out the light, and skipped into bed. it’s an awful thing to go to bed with a good-night look at general kitchener, william muldoon, the duchess of marlborough, and benvenuto cellini. this story really doesn’t get anywhere at all. the rest of it comes later—sometime when piggy asks dulcie again to dine with him, and she is feeling lonelier than usual, and general kitchener happens to be looking the other way; and then—
-as i said before, i dreamed that i was standing near a crowd of prosperous-looking angels, and a policeman took me by the wing and asked if i belonged with them.
-“who are they?” i asked.
-“why,” said he, “they are the men who hired working-girls, and paid ’em five or six dollars a week to live on. are you one of the bunch?”
-“not on your immortality,” said i. “i’m only the fellow that set fire to an orphan asylum, and murdered a blind man for his pennies.”
-the caliph, cupid and the clock
-prince michael, of the electorate of valleluna, sat on his favourite bench in the park. the coolness of the september night quickened the life in him like a rare, tonic wine. the benches were not filled; for park loungers, with their stagnant blood, are prompt to detect and fly home from the crispness of early autumn. the moon was just clearing the roofs of the range of dwellings that bounded the quadrangle on the east. children laughed and played about the fine-sprayed fountain. in the shadowed spots fauns and hamadryads wooed, unconscious of the gaze of mortal eyes. a hand organ—philomel by the grace of our stage carpenter, fancy—fluted and droned in a side street. around the enchanted boundaries of the little park street cars spat and mewed and the stilted trains roared like tigers and lions prowling for a place to enter. and above the trees shone the great, round, shining face of an illuminated clock in the tower of an antique public building.
-prince michael’s shoes were wrecked far beyond the skill of the carefullest cobbler. the ragman would have declined any negotiations concerning his clothes. the two weeks’ stubble on his face was grey and brown and red and greenish yellow—as if it had been made up from individual contributions from the chorus of a musical comedy. no man existed who had money enough to wear so bad a hat as his.
-prince michael sat on his favourite bench and smiled. it was a diverting thought to him that he was wealthy enough to buy every one of those close-ranged, bulky, window-lit mansions that faced him, if he chose. he could have matched gold, equipages, jewels, art treasures, estates and acres with any croesus in this proud city of manhattan, and scarcely have entered upon the bulk of his holdings. he could have sat at table with reigning sovereigns. the social world, the world of art, the fellowship of the elect, adulation, imitation, the homage of the fairest, honours from the highest, praise from the wisest, flattery, esteem, credit, pleasure, fame—all the honey of life was waiting in the comb in the hive of the world for prince michael, of the electorate of valleluna, whenever he might choose to take it. but his choice was to sit in rags and dinginess on a bench in a park. for he had tasted of the fruit of the tree of life, and, finding it bitter in his mouth, had stepped out of eden for a time to seek distraction close to the unarmoured, beating heart of the world.
-these thoughts strayed dreamily through the mind of prince michael, as he smiled under the stubble of his polychromatic beard. lounging thus, clad as the poorest of mendicants in the parks, he loved to study humanity. he found in altruism more pleasure than his riches, his station and all the grosser sweets of life had given him. it was his chief solace and satisfaction to alleviate individual distress, to confer favours upon worthy ones who had need of succour, to dazzle unfortunates by unexpected and bewildering gifts of truly royal magnificence, bestowed, however, with wisdom and judiciousness.
-and as prince michael’s eye rested upon the glowing face of the great clock in the tower, his smile, altruistic as it was, became slightly tinged with contempt. big thoughts were the prince’s; and it was always with a shake of his head that he considered the subjugation of the world to the arbitrary measures of time. the comings and goings of people in hurry and dread, controlled by the little metal moving hands of a clock, always made him sad.
-by and by came a young man in evening clothes and sat upon the third bench from the prince. for half an hour he smoked cigars with nervous haste, and then he fell to watching the face of the illuminated clock above the trees. his perturbation was evident, and the prince noted, in sorrow, that its cause was connected, in some manner, with the slowly moving hands of the timepiece.
-his highness arose and went to the young man’s bench.
-“i beg your pardon for addressing you,” he said, “but i perceive that you are disturbed in mind. if it may serve to mitigate the liberty i have taken i will add that i am prince michael, heir to the throne of the electorate of valleluna. i appear incognito, of course, as you may gather from my appearance. it is a fancy of mine to render aid to others whom i think worthy of it. perhaps the matter that seems to distress you is one that would more readily yield to our mutual efforts.”
-the young man looked up brightly at the prince. brightly, but the perpendicular line of perplexity between his brows was not smoothed away. he laughed, and even then it did not. but he accepted the momentary diversion.
-“glad to meet you, prince,” he said, good humouredly. “yes, i’d say you were incog. all right. thanks for your offer of assistance—but i don’t see where your butting-in would help things any. it’s a kind of private affair, you know—but thanks all the same.”
-prince michael sat at the young man’s side. he was often rebuffed but never offensively. his courteous manner and words forbade that.
-“clocks,” said the prince, “are shackles on the feet of mankind. i have observed you looking persistently at that clock. its face is that of a tyrant, its numbers are false as those on a lottery ticket; its hands are those of a bunco steerer, who makes an appointment with you to your ruin. let me entreat you to throw off its humiliating bonds and to cease to order your affairs by that insensate monitor of brass and steel.”
-“i don’t usually,” said the young man. “i carry a watch except when i’ve got my radiant rags on.”
-“i know human nature as i do the trees and grass,” said the prince, with earnest dignity. “i am a master of philosophy, a graduate in art, and i hold the purse of a fortunatus. there are few mortal misfortunes that i cannot alleviate or overcome. i have read your countenance, and found in it honesty and nobility as well as distress. i beg of you to accept my advice or aid. do not belie the intelligence i see in your face by judging from my appearance of my ability to defeat your troubles.”
-the young man glanced at the clock again and frowned darkly. when his gaze strayed from the glowing horologue of time it rested intently upon a four-story red brick house in the row of dwellings opposite to where he sat. the shades were drawn, and the lights in many rooms shone dimly through them.
-“ten minutes to nine!” exclaimed the young man, with an impatient gesture of despair. he turned his back upon the house and took a rapid step or two in a contrary direction.
-“remain!” commanded prince michael, in so potent a voice that the disturbed one wheeled around with a somewhat chagrined laugh.
-“i’ll give her the ten minutes and then i’m off,” he muttered, and then aloud to the prince: “i’ll join you in confounding all clocks, my friend, and throw in women, too.”
-“sit down,” said the prince calmly. “i do not accept your addition. women are the natural enemies of clocks, and, therefore, the allies of those who would seek liberation from these monsters that measure our follies and limit our pleasures. if you will so far confide in me i would ask you to relate to me your story.”
-the young man threw himself upon the bench with a reckless laugh.
-“your royal highness, i will,” he said, in tones of mock deference. “do you see yonder house—the one with three upper windows lighted? well, at 6 o’clock i stood in that house with the young lady i am—that is, i was—engaged to. i had been doing wrong, my dear prince—i had been a naughty boy, and she had heard of it. i wanted to be forgiven, of course—we are always wanting women to forgive us, aren’t we, prince?”
-“‘i want time to think it over,’ said she. ‘there is one thing certain; i will either fully forgive you, or i will never see your face again. there will be no half-way business. at half-past eight,’ she said, ‘at exactly half-past eight you may be watching the middle upper window of the top floor. if i decide to forgive i will hang out of that window a white silk scarf. you will know by that that all is as was before, and you may come to me. if you see no scarf you may consider that everything between us is ended forever.’ that,” concluded the young man bitterly, “is why i have been watching that clock. the time for the signal to appear has passed twenty-three minutes ago. do you wonder that i am a little disturbed, my prince of rags and whiskers?”
-“let me repeat to you,” said prince michael, in his even, well-modulated tones, “that women are the natural enemies of clocks. clocks are an evil, women a blessing. the signal may yet appear.”
-prince michael smiled his enigmatic, gentle, comprehending smile and caught the coat sleeve of the other. the brilliant light in the prince’s eyes was softening to a dreamier, cloudy translucence.
-“wait,” he said solemnly, “till the clock strikes. i have wealth and power and knowledge above most men, but when the clock strikes i am afraid. stay by me until then. this woman shall be yours. you have the word of the hereditary prince of valleluna. on the day of your marriage i will give you $100,000 and a palace on the hudson. but there must be no clocks in that palace—they measure our follies and limit our pleasures. do you agree to that?”
-“of course,” said the young man, cheerfully, “they’re a nuisance, anyway—always ticking and striking and getting you late for dinner.”
-he glanced again at the clock in the tower. the hands stood at three minutes to nine.
-“i think,” said prince michael, “that i will sleep a little. the day has been fatiguing.”
-he stretched himself upon a bench with the manner of one who had slept thus before.
-“you will find me in this park on any evening when the weather is suitable,” said the prince, sleepily. “come to me when your marriage day is set and i will give you a cheque for the money.”
-“thanks, your highness,” said the young man, seriously. “it doesn’t look as if i would need that palace on the hudson, but i appreciate your offer, just the same.”
-prince michael sank into deep slumber. his battered hat rolled from the bench to the ground. the young man lifted it, placed it over the frowsy face and moved one of the grotesquely relaxed limbs into a more comfortable position. “poor devil!” he said, as he drew the tattered clothes closer about the prince’s breast.
-sonorous and startling came the stroke of 9 from the clock tower. the young man sighed again, turned his face for one last look at the house of his relinquished hopes—and cried aloud profane words of holy rapture.
-from the middle upper window blossomed in the dusk a waving, snowy, fluttering, wonderful, divine emblem of forgiveness and promised joy.
-by came a citizen, rotund, comfortable, home-hurrying, unknowing of the delights of waving silken scarfs on the borders of dimly-lit parks.
-“will you oblige me with the time, sir?” asked the young man; and the citizen, shrewdly conjecturing his watch to be safe, dragged it out and announced:
-“twenty-nine and a half minutes past eight, sir.”
-and then, from habit, he glanced at the clock in the tower, and made further oration.
-“by george! that clock’s half an hour fast! first time in ten years i’ve known it to be off. this watch of mine never varies a—”
-but the citizen was talking to vacancy. he turned and saw his hearer, a fast receding black shadow, flying in the direction of a house with three lighted upper windows.
-and in the morning came along two policemen on their way to the beats they owned. the park was deserted save for one dilapidated figure that sprawled, asleep, on a bench. they stopped and gazed upon it.
-“it’s dopy mike,” said one. “he hits the pipe every night. park bum for twenty years. on his last legs, i guess.”
-the other policeman stooped and looked at something crumpled and crisp in the hand of the sleeper.
-“gee!” he remarked. “he’s doped out a fifty-dollar bill, anyway. wish i knew the brand of hop that he smokes.”
-and then “rap, rap, rap!” went the club of realism against the shoe soles of prince michael, of the electorate of valleluna.
-sisters of the golden circle
-the rubberneck auto was about ready to start. the merry top-riders had been assigned to their seats by the gentlemanly conductor. the sidewalk was blockaded with sightseers who had gathered to stare at sightseers, justifying the natural law that every creature on earth is preyed upon by some other creature.
-the megaphone man raised his instrument of torture; the inside of the great automobile began to thump and throb like the heart of a coffee drinker. the top-riders nervously clung to the seats; the old lady from valparaiso, indiana, shrieked to be put ashore. but, before a wheel turns, listen to a brief preamble through the cardiaphone, which shall point out to you an object of interest on life’s sightseeing tour.
-swift and comprehensive is the recognition of white man for white man in african wilds; instant and sure is the spiritual greeting between mother and babe; unhesitatingly do master and dog commune across the slight gulf between animal and man; immeasurably quick and sapient are the brief messages between one and one’s beloved. but all these instances set forth only slow and groping interchange of sympathy and thought beside one other instance which the rubberneck coach shall disclose. you shall learn (if you have not learned already) what two beings of all earth’s living inhabitants most quickly look into each other’s hearts and souls when they meet face to face.
-the gong whirred, and the glaring-at-gotham car moved majestically upon its instructive tour.
-on the highest, rear seat was james williams, of cloverdale, missouri, and his bride.
-capitalise it, friend typo—that last word—word of words in the epiphany of life and love. the scent of the flowers, the booty of the bee, the primal drip of spring waters, the overture of the lark, the twist of lemon peel on the cocktail of creation—such is the bride. holy is the wife; revered the mother; galliptious is the summer girl—but the bride is the certified check among the wedding presents that the gods send in when man is married to mortality.
-the car glided up the golden way. on the bridge of the great cruiser the captain stood, trumpeting the sights of the big city to his passengers. wide-mouthed and open-eared, they heard the sights of the metropolis thundered forth to their eyes. confused, delirious with excitement and provincial longings, they tried to make ocular responses to the megaphonic ritual. in the solemn spires of spreading cathedrals they saw the home of the vanderbilts; in the busy bulk of the grand central depot they viewed, wonderingly, the frugal cot of russell sage. bidden to observe the highlands of the hudson, they gaped, unsuspecting, at the upturned mountains of a new-laid sewer. to many the elevated railroad was the rialto, on the stations of which uniformed men sat and made chop suey of your tickets. and to this day in the outlying districts many have it that chuck connors, with his hand on his heart, leads reform; and that but for the noble municipal efforts of one parkhurst, a district attorney, the notorious “bishop” potter gang would have destroyed law and order from the bowery to the harlem river.
-but i beg you to observe mrs. james williams—hattie chalmers that was—once the belle of cloverdale. pale-blue is the bride’s, if she will; and this colour she had honoured. willingly had the moss rosebud loaned to her cheeks of its pink—and as for the violet!—her eyes will do very well as they are, thank you. a useless strip of white chaf—oh, no, he was guiding the auto car—of white chiffon—or perhaps it was grenadine or tulle—was tied beneath her chin, pretending to hold her bonnet in place. but you know as well as i do that the hatpins did the work.
-and on mrs. james williams’s face was recorded a little library of the world’s best thoughts in three volumes. volume no. 1 contained the belief that james williams was about the right sort of thing. volume no. 2 was an essay on the world, declaring it to be a very excellent place. volume no. 3 disclosed the belief that in occupying the highest seat in a rubberneck auto they were travelling the pace that passes all understanding.
-just in front of mrs. james williams sat a girl in a loose tan jacket and a straw hat adorned with grapes and roses. only in dreams and milliners’ shops do we, alas! gather grapes and roses at one swipe. this girl gazed with large blue eyes, credulous, when the megaphone man roared his doctrine that millionaires were things about which we should be concerned. between blasts she resorted to epictetian philosophy in the form of pepsin chewing gum.
-at this girl’s right hand sat a young man about twenty-four. he was well-built, active, strong-jawed and good-natured. but if his description seems to follow that of james williams, divest it of anything cloverdalian. this man belonged to hard streets and sharp corners. he looked keenly about him, seeming to begrudge the asphalt under the feet of those upon whom he looked down from his perch.
-while the megaphone barks at a famous hostelry, let me whisper you through the low-tuned cardiaphone to sit tight; for now things are about to happen, and the great city will close over them again as over a scrap of ticker tape floating down from the den of a broad street bear.
-the girl in the tan jacket twisted around to view the pilgrims on the last seat. the other passengers she had absorbed; the seat behind her was her bluebeard’s chamber.
-her eyes met those of mrs. james williams. between two ticks of a watch they exchanged their life’s experiences, histories, hopes and fancies. and all, mind you, with the eye, before two men could have decided whether to draw steel or borrow a match.
-the bride leaned forward low. she and the girl spoke rapidly together, their tongues moving quickly like those of two serpents—a comparison that is not meant to go further. two smiles and a dozen nods closed the conference.
-and now in the broad, quiet avenue in front of the rubberneck car a man in dark clothes stood with uplifted hand. from the sidewalk another hurried to join him.
-the girl in the fruitful hat quickly seized her companion by the arm and whispered in his ear. that young man exhibited proof of ability to act promptly. crouching low, he slid over the edge of the car, hung lightly for an instant, and then disappeared. half a dozen of the top-riders observed his feat, wonderingly, but made no comment, deeming it prudent not to express surprise at what might be the conventional manner of alighting in this bewildering city. the truant passenger dodged a hansom and then floated past, like a leaf on a stream between a furniture van and a florist’s delivery wagon.
-the girl in the tan jacket turned again, and looked in the eyes of mrs. james williams. then she faced about and sat still while the rubberneck auto stopped at the flash of the badge under the coat of the plainclothes man.
-“what’s eatin’ you?” demanded the megaphonist, abandoning his professional discourse for pure english.
-“keep her at anchor for a minute,” ordered the officer. “there’s a man on board we want—a philadelphia burglar called ‘pinky’ mcguire. there he is on the back seat. look out for the side, donovan.”
-donovan went to the hind wheel and looked up at james williams.
-“come down, old sport,” he said, pleasantly. “we’ve got you. back to sleepytown for yours. it ain’t a bad idea, hidin’ on a rubberneck, though. i’ll remember that.”
-softly through the megaphone came the advice of the conductor:
-“better step off, sir, and explain. the car must proceed on its tour.”
-james williams belonged among the level heads. with necessary slowness he picked his way through the passengers down to the steps at the front of the car. his wife followed, but she first turned her eyes and saw the escaped tourist glide from behind the furniture van and slip behind a tree on the edge of the little park, not fifty feet away.
-descended to the ground, james williams faced his captors with a smile. he was thinking what a good story he would have to tell in cloverdale about having been mistaken for a burglar. the rubberneck coach lingered, out of respect for its patrons. what could be a more interesting sight than this?
-“my name is james williams, of cloverdale, missouri,” he said kindly, so that they would not be too greatly mortified. “i have letters here that will show—”
-“you’ll come with us, please,” announced the plainclothes man. “‘pinky’ mcguire’s description fits you like flannel washed in hot suds. a detective saw you on the rubberneck up at central park and ’phoned down to take you in. do your explaining at the station-house.”
-james williams’s wife—his bride of two weeks—looked him in the face with a strange, soft radiance in her eyes and a flush on her cheeks, looked him in the face and said:
-“go with ’em quietly, ‘pinky,’ and maybe it’ll be in your favour.”
-and then as the glaring-at-gotham car rolled away she turned and threw a kiss—his wife threw a kiss—at some one high up on the seats of the rubberneck.
-“your girl gives you good advice, mcguire,” said donovan. “come on, now.”
-and then madness descended upon and occupied james williams. he pushed his hat far upon the back of his head.
-“my wife seems to think i am a burglar,” he said, recklessly. “i never heard of her being crazy; therefore i must be. and if i’m crazy, they can’t do anything to me for killing you two fools in my madness.”
-whereupon he resisted arrest so cheerfully and industriously that cops had to be whistled for, and afterwards the reserves, to disperse a few thousand delighted spectators.
-at the station-house the desk sergeant asked for his name.
-“mcdoodle, the pink, or pinky the brute, i forget which,” was james williams’s answer. “but you can bet i’m a burglar; don’t leave that out. and you might add that it took five of ’em to pluck the pink. i’d especially like to have that in the records.”
-in an hour came mrs. james williams, with uncle thomas, of madison avenue, in a respect-compelling motor car and proofs of the hero’s innocence—for all the world like the third act of a drama backed by an automobile mfg. co.
-after the police had sternly reprimanded james williams for imitating a copyrighted burglar and given him as honourable a discharge as the department was capable of, mrs. williams rearrested him and swept him into an angle of the station-house. james williams regarded her with one eye. he always said that donovan closed the other while somebody was holding his good right hand. never before had he given her a word of reproach or of reproof.
-“if you can explain,” he began rather stiffly, “why you—”
-“dear,” she interrupted, “listen. it was an hour’s pain and trial to you. i did it for her—i mean the girl who spoke to me on the coach. i was so happy, jim—so happy with you that i didn’t dare to refuse that happiness to another. jim, they were married only this morning—those two; and i wanted him to get away. while they were struggling with you i saw him slip from behind his tree and hurry across the park. that’s all of it, dear—i had to do it.”
-thus does one sister of the plain gold band know another who stands in the enchanted light that shines but once and briefly for each one. by rice and satin bows does mere man become aware of weddings. but bride knoweth bride at the glance of an eye. and between them swiftly passes comfort and meaning in a language that man and widows wot not of.
-the romance of a busy broker
-pitcher, confidential clerk in the office of harvey maxwell, broker, allowed a look of mild interest and surprise to visit his usually expressionless countenance when his employer briskly entered at half past nine in company with his young lady stenographer. with a snappy “good-morning, pitcher,” maxwell dashed at his desk as though he were intending to leap over it, and then plunged into the great heap of letters and telegrams waiting there for him.
-the young lady had been maxwell’s stenographer for a year. she was beautiful in a way that was decidedly unstenographic. she forewent the pomp of the alluring pompadour. she wore no chains, bracelets or lockets. she had not the air of being about to accept an invitation to luncheon. her dress was grey and plain, but it fitted her figure with fidelity and discretion. in her neat black turban hat was the gold-green wing of a macaw. on this morning she was softly and shyly radiant. her eyes were dreamily bright, her cheeks genuine peachblow, her expression a happy one, tinged with reminiscence.
-pitcher, still mildly curious, noticed a difference in her ways this morning. instead of going straight into the adjoining room, where her desk was, she lingered, slightly irresolute, in the outer office. once she moved over by maxwell’s desk, near enough for him to be aware of her presence.
-the machine sitting at that desk was no longer a man; it was a busy new york broker, moved by buzzing wheels and uncoiling springs.
-“well—what is it? anything?” asked maxwell sharply. his opened mail lay like a bank of stage snow on his crowded desk. his keen grey eye, impersonal and brusque, flashed upon her half impatiently.
-“nothing,” answered the stenographer, moving away with a little smile.
-“mr. pitcher,” she said to the confidential clerk, “did mr. maxwell say anything yesterday about engaging another stenographer?”
-“he did,” answered pitcher. “he told me to get another one. i notified the agency yesterday afternoon to send over a few samples this morning. it’s 9.45 o’clock, and not a single picture hat or piece of pineapple chewing gum has showed up yet.”
-“i will do the work as usual, then,” said the young lady, “until some one comes to fill the place.” and she went to her desk at once and hung the black turban hat with the gold-green macaw wing in its accustomed place.
-he who has been denied the spectacle of a busy manhattan broker during a rush of business is handicapped for the profession of anthropology. the poet sings of the “crowded hour of glorious life.” the broker’s hour is not only crowded, but the minutes and seconds are hanging to all the straps and packing both front and rear platforms.
-and this day was harvey maxwell’s busy day. the ticker began to reel out jerkily its fitful coils of tape, the desk telephone had a chronic attack of buzzing. men began to throng into the office and call at him over the railing, jovially, sharply, viciously, excitedly. messenger boys ran in and out with messages and telegrams. the clerks in the office jumped about like sailors during a storm. even pitcher’s face relaxed into something resembling animation.
-on the exchange there were hurricanes and landslides and snowstorms and glaciers and volcanoes, and those elemental disturbances were reproduced in miniature in the broker’s offices. maxwell shoved his chair against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a toe dancer. he jumped from ticker to ’phone, from desk to door with the trained agility of a harlequin.
-in the midst of this growing and important stress the broker became suddenly aware of a high-rolled fringe of golden hair under a nodding canopy of velvet and ostrich tips, an imitation sealskin sacque and a string of beads as large as hickory nuts, ending near the floor with a silver heart. there was a self-possessed young lady connected with these accessories; and pitcher was there to construe her.
-“lady from the stenographer’s agency to see about the position,” said pitcher.
-maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of papers and ticker tape.
-“what position?” he asked, with a frown.
-“position of stenographer,” said pitcher. “you told me yesterday to call them up and have one sent over this morning.”
-“you are losing your mind, pitcher,” said maxwell. “why should i have given you any such instructions? miss leslie has given perfect satisfaction during the year she has been here. the place is hers as long as she chooses to retain it. there’s no place open here, madam. countermand that order with the agency, pitcher, and don’t bring any more of ’em in here.”
-the silver heart left the office, swinging and banging itself independently against the office furniture as it indignantly departed. pitcher seized a moment to remark to the bookkeeper that the “old man” seemed to get more absent-minded and forgetful every day of the world.
-the rush and pace of business grew fiercer and faster. on the floor they were pounding half a dozen stocks in which maxwell’s customers were heavy investors. orders to buy and sell were coming and going as swift as the flight of swallows. some of his own holdings were imperilled, and the man was working like some high-geared, delicate, strong machine—strung to full tension, going at full speed, accurate, never hesitating, with the proper word and decision and act ready and prompt as clockwork. stocks and bonds, loans and mortgages, margins and securities—here was a world of finance, and there was no room in it for the human world or the world of nature.
-when the luncheon hour drew near there came a slight lull in the uproar.
-maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and memoranda, with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging in disorderly strings over his forehead. his window was open, for the beloved janitress spring had turned on a little warmth through the waking registers of the earth.
-and through the window came a wandering—perhaps a lost—odour—a delicate, sweet odour of lilac that fixed the broker for a moment immovable. for this odour belonged to miss leslie; it was her own, and hers only.
-the odour brought her vividly, almost tangibly before him. the world of finance dwindled suddenly to a speck. and she was in the next room—twenty steps away.
-“by george, i’ll do it now,” said maxwell, half aloud. “i’ll ask her now. i wonder i didn’t do it long ago.”
-he dashed into the inner office with the haste of a short trying to cover. he charged upon the desk of the stenographer.
-she looked up at him with a smile. a soft pink crept over her cheek, and her eyes were kind and frank. maxwell leaned one elbow on her desk. he still clutched fluttering papers with both hands and the pen was above his ear.
-“miss leslie,” he began hurriedly, “i have but a moment to spare. i want to say something in that moment. will you be my wife? i haven’t had time to make love to you in the ordinary way, but i really do love you. talk quick, please—those fellows are clubbing the stuffing out of union pacific.”
-“oh, what are you talking about?” exclaimed the young lady. she rose to her feet and gazed upon him, round-eyed.
-“don’t you understand?” said maxwell, restively. “i want you to marry me. i love you, miss leslie. i wanted to tell you, and i snatched a minute when things had slackened up a bit. they’re calling me for the ’phone now. tell ’em to wait a minute, pitcher. won’t you, miss leslie?”
-the stenographer acted very queerly. at first she seemed overcome with amazement; then tears flowed from her wondering eyes; and then she smiled sunnily through them, and one of her arms slid tenderly about the broker’s neck.
-“i know now,” she said, softly. “it’s this old business that has driven everything else out of your head for the time. i was frightened at first. don’t you remember, harvey? we were married last evening at 8 o’clock in the little church around the corner.”
-after twenty years
-the policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively. the impressiveness was habitual and not for show, for spectators were few. the time was barely 10 o’clock at night, but chilly gusts of wind with a taste of rain in them had well nigh de-peopled the streets.
-trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements, turning now and then to cast his watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare, the officer, with his stalwart form and slight swagger, made a fine picture of a guardian of the peace. the vicinity was one that kept early hours. now and then you might see the lights of a cigar store or of an all-night lunch counter; but the majority of the doors belonged to business places that had long since been closed.
-when about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. in the doorway of a darkened hardware store a man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. as the policeman walked up to him the man spoke up quickly.
-“it’s all right, officer,” he said, reassuringly. “i’m just waiting for a friend. it’s an appointment made twenty years ago. sounds a little funny to you, doesn’t it? well, i’ll explain if you’d like to make certain it’s all straight. about that long ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands—‘big joe’ brady’s restaurant.”
-“until five years ago,” said the policeman. “it was torn down then.”
-the man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. the light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. his scarfpin was a large diamond, oddly set.
-“twenty years ago to-night,” said the man, “i dined here at ‘big joe’ brady’s with jimmy wells, my best chum, and the finest chap in the world. he and i were raised here in new york, just like two brothers, together. i was eighteen and jimmy was twenty. the next morning i was to start for the west to make my fortune. you couldn’t have dragged jimmy out of new york; he thought it was the only place on earth. well, we agreed that night that we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come. we figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our destiny worked out and our fortunes made, whatever they were going to be.”
-“it sounds pretty interesting,” said the policeman. “rather a long time between meets, though, it seems to me. haven’t you heard from your friend since you left?”
-the waiting man pulled out a handsome watch, the lids of it set with small diamonds.
-“three minutes to ten,” he announced. “it was exactly ten o’clock when we parted here at the restaurant door.”
-“did pretty well out west, didn’t you?” asked the policeman.
-“you bet! i hope jimmy has done half as well. he was a kind of plodder, though, good fellow as he was. i’ve had to compete with some of the sharpest wits going to get my pile. a man gets in a groove in new york. it takes the west to put a razor-edge on him.”
-the policeman twirled his club and took a step or two.
-“i’ll be on my way. hope your friend comes around all right. going to call time on him sharp?”
-“i should say not!” said the other. “i’ll give him half an hour at least. if jimmy is alive on earth he’ll be here by that time. so long, officer.”
-“good-night, sir,” said the policeman, passing on along his beat, trying doors as he went.
-there was now a fine, cold drizzle falling, and the wind had risen from its uncertain puffs into a steady blow. the few foot passengers astir in that quarter hurried dismally and silently along with coat collars turned high and pocketed hands. and in the door of the hardware store the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment, uncertain almost to absurdity, with the friend of his youth, smoked his cigar and waited.
-about twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man in a long overcoat, with collar turned up to his ears, hurried across from the opposite side of the street. he went directly to the waiting man.
-“is that you, bob?” he asked, doubtfully.
-“is that you, jimmy wells?” cried the man in the door.
-“bless my heart!” exclaimed the new arrival, grasping both the other’s hands with his own. “it’s bob, sure as fate. i was certain i’d find you here if you were still in existence. well, well, well!—twenty years is a long time. the old restaurant’s gone, bob; i wish it had lasted, so we could have had another dinner there. how has the west treated you, old man?”
-“bully; it has given me everything i asked it for. you’ve changed lots, jimmy. i never thought you were so tall by two or three inches.”
-“oh, i grew a bit after i was twenty.”
-“doing well in new york, jimmy?”
-“moderately. i have a position in one of the city departments. come on, bob; we’ll go around to a place i know of, and have a good long talk about old times.”
-the two men started up the street, arm in arm. the man from the west, his egotism enlarged by success, was beginning to outline the history of his career. the other, submerged in his overcoat, listened with interest.
-at the corner stood a drug store, brilliant with electric lights. when they came into this glare each of them turned simultaneously to gaze upon the other’s face.
-the man from the west stopped suddenly and released his arm.
-“you’re not jimmy wells,” he snapped. “twenty years is a long time, but not long enough to change a man’s nose from a roman to a pug.”
-“it sometimes changes a good man into a bad one,” said the tall man. “you’ve been under arrest for ten minutes, ‘silky’ bob. chicago thinks you may have dropped over our way and wires us she wants to have a chat with you. going quietly, are you? that’s sensible. now, before we go on to the station here’s a note i was asked to hand you. you may read it here at the window. it’s from patrolman wells.”
-the man from the west unfolded the little piece of paper handed him. his hand was steady when he began to read, but it trembled a little by the time he had finished. the note was rather short.
-bob: i was at the appointed place on time. when you struck the match to light your cigar i saw it was the face of the man wanted in chicago. somehow i couldn’t do it myself, so i went around and got a plain clothes man to do the job.
-lost on dress parade
-mr. towers chandler was pressing his evening suit in his hall bedroom. one iron was heating on a small gas stove; the other was being pushed vigorously back and forth to make the desirable crease that would be seen later on extending in straight lines from mr. chandler’s patent leather shoes to the edge of his low-cut vest. so much of the hero’s toilet may be intrusted to our confidence. the remainder may be guessed by those whom genteel poverty has driven to ignoble expedient. our next view of him shall be as he descends the steps of his lodging-house immaculately and correctly clothed; calm, assured, handsome—in appearance the typical new york young clubman setting out, slightly bored, to inaugurate the pleasures of the evening.
-chandler’s honorarium was $18 per week. he was employed in the office of an architect. he was twenty-two years old; he considered architecture to be truly an art; and he honestly believed—though he would not have dared to admit it in new york—that the flatiron building was inferior in design to the great cathedral in milan.
-out of each week’s earnings chandler set aside $1. at the end of each ten weeks with the extra capital thus accumulated, he purchased one gentleman’s evening from the bargain counter of stingy old father time. he arrayed himself in the regalia of millionaires and presidents; he took himself to the quarter where life is brightest and showiest, and there dined with taste and luxury. with ten dollars a man may, for a few hours, play the wealthy idler to perfection. the sum is ample for a well-considered meal, a bottle bearing a respectable label, commensurate tips, a smoke, cab fare and the ordinary etceteras.
-this one delectable evening culled from each dull seventy was to chandler a source of renascent bliss. to the society bud comes but one début; it stands alone sweet in her memory when her hair has whitened; but to chandler each ten weeks brought a joy as keen, as thrilling, as new as the first had been. to sit among bon vivants under palms in the swirl of concealed music, to look upon the habitués of such a paradise and to be looked upon by them—what is a girl’s first dance and short-sleeved tulle compared with this?
-up broadway chandler moved with the vespertine dress parade. for this evening he was an exhibit as well as a gazer. for the next sixty-nine evenings he would be dining in cheviot and worsted at dubious table d’hôtes, at whirlwind lunch counters, on sandwiches and beer in his hall-bedroom. he was willing to do that, for he was a true son of the great city of razzle-dazzle, and to him one evening in the limelight made up for many dark ones.
-chandler protracted his walk until the forties began to intersect the great and glittering primrose way, for the evening was yet young, and when one is of the beau monde only one day in seventy, one loves to protract the pleasure. eyes bright, sinister, curious, admiring, provocative, alluring were bent upon him, for his garb and air proclaimed him a devotee to the hour of solace and pleasure.
-at a certain corner he came to a standstill, proposing to himself the question of turning back toward the showy and fashionable restaurant in which he usually dined on the evenings of his especial luxury. just then a girl scuddled lightly around the corner, slipped on a patch of icy snow and fell plump upon the sidewalk.
-chandler assisted her to her feet with instant and solicitous courtesy. the girl hobbled to the wall of the building, leaned against it, and thanked him demurely.
-“i think my ankle is strained,” she said. “it twisted when i fell.”
-“does it pain you much?” inquired chandler.
-“only when i rest my weight upon it. i think i will be able to walk in a minute or two.”
-“if i can be of any further service,” suggested the young man, “i will call a cab, or—”
-“thank you,” said the girl, softly but heartily. “i am sure you need not trouble yourself any further. it was so awkward of me. and my shoe heels are horridly common-sense; i can’t blame them at all.”
-chandler looked at the girl and found her swiftly drawing his interest. she was pretty in a refined way; and her eye was both merry and kind. she was inexpensively clothed in a plain black dress that suggested a sort of uniform such as shop girls wear. her glossy dark-brown hair showed its coils beneath a cheap hat of black straw whose only ornament was a velvet ribbon and bow. she could have posed as a model for the self-respecting working girl of the best type.
-a sudden idea came into the head of the young architect. he would ask this girl to dine with him. here was the element that his splendid but solitary periodic feasts had lacked. his brief season of elegant luxury would be doubly enjoyable if he could add to it a lady’s society. this girl was a lady, he was sure—her manner and speech settled that. and in spite of her extremely plain attire he felt that he would be pleased to sit at table with her.
-these thoughts passed swiftly through his mind, and he decided to ask her. it was a breach of etiquette, of course, but oftentimes wage-earning girls waived formalities in matters of this kind. they were generally shrewd judges of men; and thought better of their own judgment than they did of useless conventions. his ten dollars, discreetly expended, would enable the two to dine very well indeed. the dinner would no doubt be a wonderful experience thrown into the dull routine of the girl’s life; and her lively appreciation of it would add to his own triumph and pleasure.
-“i think,” he said to her, with frank gravity, “that your foot needs a longer rest than you suppose. now, i am going to suggest a way in which you can give it that and at the same time do me a favour. i was on my way to dine all by my lonely self when you came tumbling around the corner. you come with me and we’ll have a cozy dinner and a pleasant talk together, and by that time your game ankle will carry you home very nicely, i am sure.”
-the girl looked quickly up into chandler’s clear, pleasant countenance. her eyes twinkled once very brightly, and then she smiled ingenuously.
-“but we don’t know each other—it wouldn’t be right, would it?” she said, doubtfully.
-“there is nothing wrong about it,” said the young man, candidly. “i’ll introduce myself—permit me—mr. towers chandler. after our dinner, which i will try to make as pleasant as possible, i will bid you good-evening, or attend you safely to your door, whichever you prefer.”
-“but, dear me!” said the girl, with a glance at chandler’s faultless attire. “in this old dress and hat!”
-“never mind that,” said chandler, cheerfully. “i’m sure you look more charming in them than any one we shall see in the most elaborate dinner toilette.”
-“come then, miss marian,” said the young architect, gaily, but with perfect courtesy; “you will not have far to walk. there is a very respectable and good restaurant in the next block. you will have to lean on my arm—so—and walk slowly. it is lonely dining all by one’s self. i’m just a little bit glad that you slipped on the ice.”
-when the two were established at a well-appointed table, with a promising waiter hovering in attendance, chandler began to experience the real joy that his regular outing always brought to him.
-the restaurant was not so showy or pretentious as the one further down broadway, which he always preferred, but it was nearly so. the tables were well filled with prosperous-looking diners, there was a good orchestra, playing softly enough to make conversation a possible pleasure, and the cuisine and service were beyond criticism. his companion, even in her cheap hat and dress, held herself with an air that added distinction to the natural beauty of her face and figure. and it is certain that she looked at chandler, with his animated but self-possessed manner and his kindling and frank blue eyes, with something not far from admiration in her own charming face.
-then it was that the madness of manhattan, the frenzy of fuss and feathers, the bacillus of brag, the provincial plague of pose seized upon towers chandler. he was on broadway, surrounded by pomp and style, and there were eyes to look at him. on the stage of that comedy he had assumed to play the one-night part of a butterfly of fashion and an idler of means and taste. he was dressed for the part, and all his good angels had not the power to prevent him from acting it.
-so he began to prate to miss marian of clubs, of teas, of golf and riding and kennels and cotillions and tours abroad and threw out hints of a yacht lying at larchmont. he could see that she was vastly impressed by this vague talk, so he endorsed his pose by random insinuations concerning great wealth, and mentioned familiarly a few names that are handled reverently by the proletariat. it was chandler’s short little day, and he was wringing from it the best that could be had, as he saw it. and yet once or twice he saw the pure gold of this girl shine through the mist that his egotism had raised between him and all objects.
-“this way of living that you speak of,” she said, “sounds so futile and purposeless. haven’t you any work to do in the world that might interest you more?”
-“my dear miss marian,” he exclaimed—“work! think of dressing every day for dinner, of making half a dozen calls in an afternoon—with a policeman at every corner ready to jump into your auto and take you to the station, if you get up any greater speed than a donkey cart’s gait. we do-nothings are the hardest workers in the land.”
-the dinner was concluded, the waiter generously fed, and the two walked out to the corner where they had met. miss marian walked very well now; her limp was scarcely noticeable.
-“thank you for a nice time,” she said, frankly. “i must run home now. i liked the dinner very much, mr. chandler.”
-he shook hands with her, smiling cordially, and said something about a game of bridge at his club. he watched her for a moment, walking rather rapidly eastward, and then he found a cab to drive him slowly homeward.
-in his chilly bedroom chandler laid away his evening clothes for a sixty-nine days’ rest. he went about it thoughtfully.
-“that was a stunning girl,” he said to himself. “she’s all right, too, i’d be sworn, even if she does have to work. perhaps if i’d told her the truth instead of all that razzle-dazzle we might—but, confound it! i had to play up to my clothes.”
-thus spoke the brave who was born and reared in the wigwams of the tribe of the manhattans.
-the girl, after leaving her entertainer, sped swiftly cross-town until she arrived at a handsome and sedate mansion two squares to the east, facing on that avenue which is the highway of mammon and the auxiliary gods. here she entered hurriedly and ascended to a room where a handsome young lady in an elaborate house dress was looking anxiously out the window.
-“oh, you madcap!” exclaimed the elder girl, when the other entered. “when will you quit frightening us this way? it is two hours since you ran out in that rag of an old dress and marie’s hat. mamma has been so alarmed. she sent louis in the auto to try to find you. you are a bad, thoughtless puss.”
-the elder girl touched a button, and a maid came in a moment.
-“marie, tell mamma that miss marian has returned.”
-“don’t scold, sister. i only ran down to mme. theo’s to tell her to use mauve insertion instead of pink. my costume and marie’s hat were just what i needed. every one thought i was a shopgirl, i am sure.”
-“dinner is over, dear; you stayed so late.”
-“i know. i slipped on the sidewalk and turned my ankle. i could not walk, so i hobbled into a restaurant and sat there until i was better. that is why i was so long.”
-“we will have to marry some day,” she said dreamily—“both of us. we have so much money that we will not be allowed to disappoint the public. do you want me to tell you the kind of a man i could love, sis?”
-“go on, you scatterbrain,” smiled the other.
-it was neither the season nor the hour when the park had frequenters; and it is likely that the young lady, who was seated on one of the benches at the side of the walk, had merely obeyed a sudden impulse to sit for a while and enjoy a foretaste of coming spring.
-she rested there, pensive and still. a certain melancholy that touched her countenance must have been of recent birth, for it had not yet altered the fine and youthful contours of her cheek, nor subdued the arch though resolute curve of her lips.
-a tall young man came striding through the park along the path near which she sat. behind him tagged a boy carrying a suit-case. at sight of the young lady, the man’s face changed to red and back to pale again. he watched her countenance as he drew nearer, with hope and anxiety mingled on his own. he passed within a few yards of her, but he saw no evidence that she was aware of his presence or existence.
-some fifty yards further on he suddenly stopped and sat on a bench at one side. the boy dropped the suit-case and stared at him with wondering, shrewd eyes. the young man took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. it was a good handkerchief, a good brow, and the young man was good to look at. he said to the boy:
-“i want you to take a message to that young lady on that bench. tell her i am on my way to the station, to leave for san francisco, where i shall join that alaska moose-hunting expedition. tell her that, since she has commanded me neither to speak nor to write to her, i take this means of making one last appeal to her sense of justice, for the sake of what has been. tell her that to condemn and discard one who has not deserved such treatment, without giving him her reasons or a chance to explain is contrary to her nature as i believe it to be. tell her that i have thus, to a certain degree, disobeyed her injunctions, in the hope that she may yet be inclined to see justice done. go, and tell her that.”
-the young man dropped a half-dollar into the boy’s hand. the boy looked at him for a moment with bright, canny eyes out of a dirty, intelligent face, and then set off at a run. he approached the lady on the bench a little doubtfully, but unembarrassed. he touched the brim of the old plaid bicycle cap perched on the back of his head. the lady looked at him coolly, without prejudice or favour.
-“lady,” he said, “dat gent on de oder bench sent yer a song and dance by me. if yer don’t know de guy, and he’s tryin’ to do de johnny act, say de word, and i’ll call a cop in t’ree minutes. if yer does know him, and he’s on de square, w’y i’ll spiel yer de bunch of hot air he sent yer.”
-the young lady betrayed a faint interest.
-“a song and dance!” she said, in a deliberate sweet voice that seemed to clothe her words in a diaphanous garment of impalpable irony. “a new idea—in the troubadour line, i suppose. i—used to know the gentleman who sent you, so i think it will hardly be necessary to call the police. you may execute your song and dance, but do not sing too loudly. it is a little early yet for open-air vaudeville, and we might attract attention.”
-“awe,” said the boy, with a shrug down the length of him, “yer know what i mean, lady. ’tain’t a turn, it’s wind. he told me to tell yer he’s got his collars and cuffs in dat grip for a scoot clean out to ’frisco. den he’s goin’ to shoot snow-birds in de klondike. he says yer told him not to send ’round no more pink notes nor come hangin’ over de garden gate, and he takes dis means of puttin’ yer wise. he says yer refereed him out like a has-been, and never give him no chance to kick at de decision. he says yer swiped him, and never said why.”
-the slightly awakened interest in the young lady’s eyes did not abate. perhaps it was caused by either the originality or the audacity of the snow-bird hunter, in thus circumventing her express commands against the ordinary modes of communication. she fixed her eye on a statue standing disconsolate in the dishevelled park, and spoke into the transmitter:
-“tell the gentleman that i need not repeat to him a description of my ideals. he knows what they have been and what they still are. so far as they touch on this case, absolute loyalty and truth are the ones paramount. tell him that i have studied my own heart as well as one can, and i know its weakness as well as i do its needs. that is why i decline to hear his pleas, whatever they may be. i did not condemn him through hearsay or doubtful evidence, and that is why i made no charge. but, since he persists in hearing what he already well knows, you may convey the matter.
-“tell him that i entered the conservatory that evening from the rear, to cut a rose for my mother. tell him i saw him and miss ashburton beneath the pink oleander. the tableau was pretty, but the pose and juxtaposition were too eloquent and evident to require explanation. i left the conservatory, and, at the same time, the rose and my ideal. you may carry that song and dance to your impresario.”
-“i’m shy on one word, lady. jux—jux—put me wise on dat, will yer?”
-“juxtaposition—or you may call it propinquity—or, if you like, being rather too near for one maintaining the position of an ideal.”
-the gravel spun from beneath the boy’s feet. he stood by the other bench. the man’s eyes interrogated him, hungrily. the boy’s were shining with the impersonal zeal of the translator.
-the young man gave a low whistle and his eyes flashed with a sudden thought. his hand flew to the inside pocket of his coat, and drew out a handful of letters. selecting one, he handed it to the boy, following it with a silver dollar from his vest-pocket.
-“give that letter to the lady,” he said, “and ask her to read it. tell her that it should explain the situation. tell her that, if she had mingled a little trust with her conception of the ideal, much heartache might have been avoided. tell her that the loyalty she prizes so much has never wavered. tell her i am waiting for an answer.”
-the messenger stood before the lady.
-“de gent says he’s had de ski-bunk put on him widout no cause. he says he’s no bum guy; and, lady, yer read dat letter, and i’ll bet yer he’s a white sport, all right.”
-the young lady unfolded the letter; somewhat doubtfully, and read it.
-dear dr. arnold: i want to thank you for your most kind and opportune aid to my daughter last friday evening, when she was overcome by an attack of her old heart-trouble in the conservatory at mrs. waldron’s reception. had you not been near to catch her as she fell and to render proper attention, we might have lost her. i would be glad if you would call and undertake the treatment of her case.
-the young lady refolded the letter, and handed it to the boy.
-“de gent wants an answer,” said the messenger. “wot’s de word?”
-the lady’s eyes suddenly flashed on him, bright, smiling and wet.
-“tell that guy on the other bench,” she said, with a happy, tremulous laugh, “that his girl wants him.”
-the furnished room
-restless, shifting, fugacious as time itself is a certain vast bulk of the population of the red brick district of the lower west side. homeless, they have a hundred homes. they flit from furnished room to furnished room, transients forever—transients in abode, transients in heart and mind. they sing “home, sweet home” in ragtime; they carry their lares et penates in a bandbox; their vine is entwined about a picture hat; a rubber plant is their fig tree.
-hence the houses of this district, having had a thousand dwellers, should have a thousand tales to tell, mostly dull ones, no doubt; but it would be strange if there could not be found a ghost or two in the wake of all these vagrant guests.
-one evening after dark a young man prowled among these crumbling red mansions, ringing their bells. at the twelfth he rested his lean hand-baggage upon the step and wiped the dust from his hatband and forehead. the bell sounded faint and far away in some remote, hollow depths.
-to the door of this, the twelfth house whose bell he had rung, came a housekeeper who made him think of an unwholesome, surfeited worm that had eaten its nut to a hollow shell and now sought to fill the vacancy with edible lodgers.
-he asked if there was a room to let.
-“come in,” said the housekeeper. her voice came from her throat; her throat seemed lined with fur. “i have the third floor back, vacant since a week back. should you wish to look at it?”
-the young man followed her up the stairs. a faint light from no particular source mitigated the shadows of the halls. they trod noiselessly upon a stair carpet that its own loom would have forsworn. it seemed to have become vegetable; to have degenerated in that rank, sunless air to lush lichen or spreading moss that grew in patches to the staircase and was viscid under the foot like organic matter. at each turn of the stairs were vacant niches in the wall. perhaps plants had once been set within them. if so they had died in that foul and tainted air. it may be that statues of the saints had stood there, but it was not difficult to conceive that imps and devils had dragged them forth in the darkness and down to the unholy depths of some furnished pit below.
-“this is the room,” said the housekeeper, from her furry throat. “it’s a nice room. it ain’t often vacant. i had some most elegant people in it last summer—no trouble at all, and paid in advance to the minute. the water’s at the end of the hall. sprowls and mooney kept it three months. they done a vaudeville sketch. miss b’retta sprowls—you may have heard of her—oh, that was just the stage names—right there over the dresser is where the marriage certificate hung, framed. the gas is here, and you see there is plenty of closet room. it’s a room everybody likes. it never stays idle long.”
-“do you have many theatrical people rooming here?” asked the young man.
-“they comes and goes. a good proportion of my lodgers is connected with the theatres. yes, sir, this is the theatrical district. actor people never stays long anywhere. i get my share. yes, they comes and they goes.”
-he engaged the room, paying for a week in advance. he was tired, he said, and would take possession at once. he counted out the money. the room had been made ready, she said, even to towels and water. as the housekeeper moved away he put, for the thousandth time, the question that he carried at the end of his tongue.
-“a young girl—miss vashner—miss eloise vashner—do you remember such a one among your lodgers? she would be singing on the stage, most likely. a fair girl, of medium height and slender, with reddish, gold hair and a dark mole near her left eyebrow.”
-“no, i don’t remember the name. them stage people has names they change as often as their rooms. they comes and they goes. no, i don’t call that one to mind.”
-no. always no. five months of ceaseless interrogation and the inevitable negative. so much time spent by day in questioning managers, agents, schools and choruses; by night among the audiences of theatres from all-star casts down to music halls so low that he dreaded to find what he most hoped for. he who had loved her best had tried to find her. he was sure that since her disappearance from home this great, water-girt city held her somewhere, but it was like a monstrous quicksand, shifting its particles constantly, with no foundation, its upper granules of to-day buried to-morrow in ooze and slime.
-the guest reclined, inert, upon a chair, while the room, confused in speech as though it were an apartment in babel, tried to discourse to him of its divers tenantry.
-a polychromatic rug like some brilliant-flowered rectangular, tropical islet lay surrounded by a billowy sea of soiled matting. upon the gay-papered wall were those pictures that pursue the homeless one from house to house—the huguenot lovers, the first quarrel, the wedding breakfast, psyche at the fountain. the mantel’s chastely severe outline was ingloriously veiled behind some pert drapery drawn rakishly askew like the sashes of the amazonian ballet. upon it was some desolate flotsam cast aside by the room’s marooned when a lucky sail had borne them to a fresh port—a trifling vase or two, pictures of actresses, a medicine bottle, some stray cards out of a deck.
-one by one, as the characters of a cryptograph become explicit, the little signs left by the furnished room’s procession of guests developed a significance. the threadbare space in the rug in front of the dresser told that lovely woman had marched in the throng. tiny finger prints on the wall spoke of little prisoners trying to feel their way to sun and air. a splattered stain, raying like the shadow of a bursting bomb, witnessed where a hurled glass or bottle had splintered with its contents against the wall. across the pier glass had been scrawled with a diamond in staggering letters the name “marie.” it seemed that the succession of dwellers in the furnished room had turned in fury—perhaps tempted beyond forbearance by its garish coldness—and wreaked upon it their passions. the furniture was chipped and bruised; the couch, distorted by bursting springs, seemed a horrible monster that had been slain during the stress of some grotesque convulsion. some more potent upheaval had cloven a great slice from the marble mantel. each plank in the floor owned its particular cant and shriek as from a separate and individual agony. it seemed incredible that all this malice and injury had been wrought upon the room by those who had called it for a time their home; and yet it may have been the cheated home instinct surviving blindly, the resentful rage at false household gods that had kindled their wrath. a hut that is our own we can sweep and adorn and cherish.
-the young tenant in the chair allowed these thoughts to file, soft-shod, through his mind, while there drifted into the room furnished sounds and furnished scents. he heard in one room a tittering and incontinent, slack laughter; in others the monologue of a scold, the rattling of dice, a lullaby, and one crying dully; above him a banjo tinkled with spirit. doors banged somewhere; the elevated trains roared intermittently; a cat yowled miserably upon a back fence. and he breathed the breath of the house—a dank savour rather than a smell—a cold, musty effluvium as from underground vaults mingled with the reeking exhalations of linoleum and mildewed and rotten woodwork.
-then, suddenly, as he rested there, the room was filled with the strong, sweet odour of mignonette. it came as upon a single buffet of wind with such sureness and fragrance and emphasis that it almost seemed a living visitant. and the man cried aloud: “what, dear?” as if he had been called, and sprang up and faced about. the rich odour clung to him and wrapped him around. he reached out his arms for it, all his senses for the time confused and commingled. how could one be peremptorily called by an odour? surely it must have been a sound. but, was it not the sound that had touched, that had caressed him?
-“she has been in this room,” he cried, and he sprang to wrest from it a token, for he knew he would recognize the smallest thing that had belonged to her or that she had touched. this enveloping scent of mignonette, the odour that she had loved and made her own—whence came it?
-the room had been but carelessly set in order. scattered upon the flimsy dresser scarf were half a dozen hairpins—those discreet, indistinguishable friends of womankind, feminine of gender, infinite of mood and uncommunicative of tense. these he ignored, conscious of their triumphant lack of identity. ransacking the drawers of the dresser he came upon a discarded, tiny, ragged handkerchief. he pressed it to his face. it was racy and insolent with heliotrope; he hurled it to the floor. in another drawer he found odd buttons, a theatre programme, a pawnbroker’s card, two lost marshmallows, a book on the divination of dreams. in the last was a woman’s black satin hair bow, which halted him, poised between ice and fire. but the black satin hair-bow also is femininity’s demure, impersonal, common ornament, and tells no tales.
-and then he traversed the room like a hound on the scent, skimming the walls, considering the corners of the bulging matting on his hands and knees, rummaging mantel and tables, the curtains and hangings, the drunken cabinet in the corner, for a visible sign, unable to perceive that she was there beside, around, against, within, above him, clinging to him, wooing him, calling him so poignantly through the finer senses that even his grosser ones became cognisant of the call. once again he answered loudly: “yes, dear!” and turned, wild-eyed, to gaze on vacancy, for he could not yet discern form and colour and love and outstretched arms in the odour of mignonette. oh, god! whence that odour, and since when have odours had a voice to call? thus he groped.
-he burrowed in crevices and corners, and found corks and cigarettes. these he passed in passive contempt. but once he found in a fold of the matting a half-smoked cigar, and this he ground beneath his heel with a green and trenchant oath. he sifted the room from end to end. he found dreary and ignoble small records of many a peripatetic tenant; but of her whom he sought, and who may have lodged there, and whose spirit seemed to hover there, he found no trace.
-and then he thought of the housekeeper.
-he ran from the haunted room downstairs and to a door that showed a crack of light. she came out to his knock. he smothered his excitement as best he could.
-“will you tell me, madam,” he besought her, “who occupied the room i have before i came?”
-“yes, sir. i can tell you again. ’twas sprowls and mooney, as i said. miss b’retta sprowls it was in the theatres, but missis mooney she was. my house is well known for respectability. the marriage certificate hung, framed, on a nail over—”
-“what kind of a lady was miss sprowls—in looks, i mean?”
-“why, black-haired, sir, short, and stout, with a comical face. they left a week ago tuesday.”
-“and before they occupied it?”
-“why, there was a single gentleman connected with the draying business. he left owing me a week. before him was missis crowder and her two children, that stayed four months; and back of them was old mr. doyle, whose sons paid for him. he kept the room six months. that goes back a year, sir, and further i do not remember.”
-he thanked her and crept back to his room. the room was dead. the essence that had vivified it was gone. the perfume of mignonette had departed. in its place was the old, stale odour of mouldy house furniture, of atmosphere in storage.
-the ebbing of his hope drained his faith. he sat staring at the yellow, singing gaslight. soon he walked to the bed and began to tear the sheets into strips. with the blade of his knife he drove them tightly into every crevice around windows and door. when all was snug and taut he turned out the light, turned the gas full on again and laid himself gratefully upon the bed.
-it was mrs. mccool’s night to go with the can for beer. so she fetched it and sat with mrs. purdy in one of those subterranean retreats where house-keepers foregather and the worm dieth seldom.
-“i rented out my third floor, back, this evening,” said mrs. purdy, across a fine circle of foam. “a young man took it. he went up to bed two hours ago.”
-“now, did ye, mrs. purdy, ma’am?” said mrs. mccool, with intense admiration. “you do be a wonder for rentin’ rooms of that kind. and did ye tell him, then?” she concluded in a husky whisper, laden with mystery.
-“rooms,” said mrs. purdy, in her furriest tones, “are furnished for to rent. i did not tell him, mrs. mccool.”
-“’tis right ye are, ma’am; ’tis by renting rooms we kape alive. ye have the rale sense for business, ma’am. there be many people will rayjict the rentin’ of a room if they be tould a suicide has been after dyin’ in the bed of it.”
-“as you say, we has our living to be making,” remarked mrs. purdy.
-“yis, ma’am; ’tis true. ’tis just one wake ago this day i helped ye lay out the third floor, back. a pretty slip of a colleen she was to be killin’ herself wid the gas—a swate little face she had, mrs. purdy, ma’am.”
-“she’d a-been called handsome, as you say,” said mrs. purdy, assenting but critical, “but for that mole she had a-growin’ by her left eyebrow. do fill up your glass again, mrs. mccool.”
-the brief début of tildy
-if you do not know bogle’s chop house and family restaurant it is your loss. for if you are one of the fortunate ones who dine expensively you should be interested to know how the other half consumes provisions. and if you belong to the half to whom waiters’ checks are things of moment, you should know bogle’s, for there you get your money’s worth—in quantity, at least.
-bogle’s is situated in that highway of bourgeoisie, that boulevard of brown-jones-and-robinson, eighth avenue. there are two rows of tables in the room, six in each row. on each table is a caster-stand, containing cruets of condiments and seasons. from the pepper cruet you may shake a cloud of something tasteless and melancholy, like volcanic dust. from the salt cruet you may expect nothing. though a man should extract a sanguinary stream from the pallid turnip, yet will his prowess be balked when he comes to wrest salt from bogle’s cruets. also upon each table stands the counterfeit of that benign sauce made “from the recipe of a nobleman in india.”
-at the cashier’s desk sits bogle, cold, sordid, slow, smouldering, and takes your money. behind a mountain of toothpicks he makes your change, files your check, and ejects at you, like a toad, a word about the weather. beyond a corroboration of his meteorological statement you would better not venture. you are not bogle’s friend; you are a fed, transient customer, and you and he may not meet again until the blowing of gabriel’s dinner horn. so take your change and go—to the devil if you like. there you have bogle’s sentiments.
-the needs of bogle’s customers were supplied by two waitresses and a voice. one of the waitresses was named aileen. she was tall, beautiful, lively, gracious and learned in persiflage. her other name? there was no more necessity for another name at bogle’s than there was for finger-bowls.
-the name of the other waitress was tildy. why do you suggest matilda? please listen this time—tildy—tildy. tildy was dumpy, plain-faced, and too anxious to please to please. repeat the last clause to yourself once or twice, and make the acquaintance of the duplicate infinite.
-the voice at bogle’s was invisible. it came from the kitchen, and did not shine in the way of originality. it was a heathen voice, and contented itself with vain repetitions of exclamations emitted by the waitresses concerning food.
-will it tire you to be told again that aileen was beautiful? had she donned a few hundred dollars’ worth of clothes and joined the easter parade, and had you seen her, you would have hastened to say so yourself.
-the customers at bogle’s were her slaves. six tables full she could wait upon at once. they who were in a hurry restrained their impatience for the joy of merely gazing upon her swiftly moving, graceful figure. they who had finished eating ate more that they might continue in the light of her smiles. every man there—and they were mostly men—tried to make his impression upon her.
-aileen could successfully exchange repartee against a dozen at once. and every smile that she sent forth lodged, like pellets from a scatter-gun, in as many hearts. and all this while she would be performing astounding feats with orders of pork and beans, pot roasts, ham-and, sausage-and-the-wheats, and any quantity of things on the iron and in the pan and straight up and on the side. with all this feasting and flirting and merry exchange of wit bogle’s came mighty near being a salon, with aileen for its madame récamier.
-if the transients were entranced by the fascinating aileen, the regulars were her adorers. there was much rivalry among many of the steady customers. aileen could have had an engagement every evening. at least twice a week some one took her to a theatre or to a dance. one stout gentleman whom she and tildy had privately christened “the hog” presented her with a turquoise ring. another one known as “freshy,” who rode on the traction company’s repair wagon, was going to give her a poodle as soon as his brother got the hauling contract in the ninth. and the man who always ate spareribs and spinach and said he was a stock broker asked her to go to “parsifal” with him.
-“i don’t know where this place is,” said aileen while talking it over with tildy, “but the wedding-ring’s got to be on before i put a stitch into a travelling dress—ain’t that right? well, i guess!”
-in steaming, chattering, cabbage-scented bogle’s there was almost a heart tragedy. tildy with the blunt nose, the hay-coloured hair, the freckled skin, the bag-o’-meal figure, had never had an admirer. not a man followed her with his eyes when she went to and fro in the restaurant save now and then when they glared with the beast-hunger for food. none of them bantered her gaily to coquettish interchanges of wit. none of them loudly “jollied” her of mornings as they did aileen, accusing her, when the eggs were slow in coming, of late hours in the company of envied swains. no one had ever given her a turquoise ring or invited her upon a voyage to mysterious, distant “parsifal.”
-tildy was a good waitress, and the men tolerated her. they who sat at her tables spoke to her briefly with quotations from the bill of fare; and then raised their voices in honeyed and otherwise-flavoured accents, eloquently addressed to the fair aileen. they writhed in their chairs to gaze around and over the impending form of tildy, that aileen’s pulchritude might season and make ambrosia of their bacon and eggs.
-and tildy was content to be the unwooed drudge if aileen could receive the flattery and the homage. the blunt nose was loyal to the short grecian. she was aileen’s friend; and she was glad to see her rule hearts and wean the attention of men from smoking pot-pie and lemon meringue. but deep below our freckles and hay-coloured hair the unhandsomest of us dream of a prince or a princess, not vicarious, but coming to us alone.
-there was a morning when aileen tripped in to work with a slightly bruised eye; and tildy’s solicitude was almost enough to heal any optic.
-“fresh guy,” explained aileen, “last night as i was going home at twenty-third and sixth. sashayed up, so he did, and made a break. i turned him down, cold, and he made a sneak; but followed me down to eighteenth, and tried his hot air again. gee! but i slapped him a good one, side of the face. then he give me that eye. does it look real awful, til? i should hate that mr. nicholson should see it when he comes in for his tea and toast at ten.”
-tildy listened to the adventure with breathless admiration. no man had ever tried to follow her. she was safe abroad at any hour of the twenty-four. what bliss it must have been to have had a man follow one and black one’s eye for love!
-among the customers at bogle’s was a young man named seeders, who worked in a laundry office. mr. seeders was thin and had light hair, and appeared to have been recently rough-dried and starched. he was too diffident to aspire to aileen’s notice; so he usually sat at one of tildy’s tables, where he devoted himself to silence and boiled weakfish.
-one day when mr. seeders came in to dinner he had been drinking beer. there were only two or three customers in the restaurant. when mr. seeders had finished his weakfish he got up, put his arm around tildy’s waist, kissed her loudly and impudently, walked out upon the street, snapped his fingers in the direction of the laundry, and hied himself to play pennies in the slot machines at the amusement arcade.
-for a few moments tildy stood petrified. then she was aware of aileen shaking at her an arch forefinger, and saying:
-“why, til, you naughty girl! ain’t you getting to be awful, miss slyboots! first thing i know you’ll be stealing some of my fellows. i must keep an eye on you, my lady.”
-another thing dawned upon tildy’s recovering wits. in a moment she had advanced from a hopeless, lowly admirer to be an eve-sister of the potent aileen. she herself was now a man-charmer, a mark for cupid, a sabine who must be coy when the romans were at their banquet boards. man had found her waist achievable and her lips desirable. the sudden and amatory seeders had, as it were, performed for her a miraculous piece of one-day laundry work. he had taken the sackcloth of her uncomeliness, had washed, dried, starched and ironed it, and returned it to her sheer embroidered lawn—the robe of venus herself.
-the freckles on tildy’s cheeks merged into a rosy flush. now both circe and psyche peeped from her brightened eyes. not even aileen herself had been publicly embraced and kissed in the restaurant.
-tildy could not keep the delightful secret. when trade was slack she went and stood at bogle’s desk. her eyes were shining; she tried not to let her words sound proud and boastful.
-“a gentleman insulted me to-day,” she said. “he hugged me around the waist and kissed me.”
-“that so?” said bogle, cracking open his business armour. “after this week you get a dollar a week more.”
-at the next regular meal when tildy set food before customers with whom she had acquaintance she said to each of them modestly, as one whose merit needed no bolstering:
-“a gentleman insulted me to-day in the restaurant. he put his arm around my waist and kissed me.”
-the diners accepted the revelation in various ways—some incredulously, some with congratulations; others turned upon her the stream of badinage that had hitherto been directed at aileen alone. and tildy’s heart swelled in her bosom, for she saw at last the towers of romance rise above the horizon of the grey plain in which she had for so long travelled.
-for two days mr. seeders came not again. during that time tildy established herself firmly as a woman to be wooed. she bought ribbons, and arranged her hair like aileen’s, and tightened her waist two inches. she had a thrilling but delightful fear that mr. seeders would rush in suddenly and shoot her with a pistol. he must have loved her desperately; and impulsive lovers are always blindly jealous.
-even aileen had not been shot at with a pistol. and then tildy rather hoped that he would not shoot at her, for she was always loyal to aileen; and she did not want to overshadow her friend.
-at 4 o’clock on the afternoon of the third day mr. seeders came in. there were no customers at the tables. at the back end of the restaurant tildy was refilling the mustard pots and aileen was quartering pies. mr. seeders walked back to where they stood.
-tildy looked up and saw him, gasped, and pressed the mustard spoon against her heart. a red hair-bow was in her hair; she wore venus’s eighth avenue badge, the blue bead necklace with the swinging silver symbolic heart.
-mr. seeders was flushed and embarrassed. he plunged one hand into his hip pocket and the other into a fresh pumpkin pie.
-“miss tildy,” said he, “i want to apologise for what i done the other evenin’. tell you the truth, i was pretty well tanked up or i wouldn’t of done it. i wouldn’t do no lady that a-way when i was sober. so i hope, miss tildy, you’ll accept my ’pology, and believe that i wouldn’t of done it if i’d known what i was doin’ and hadn’t of been drunk.”
-with this handsome plea mr. seeders backed away, and departed, feeling that reparation had been made.
-but behind the convenient screen tildy had thrown herself flat upon a table among the butter chips and the coffee cups, and was sobbing her heart out—out and back again to the grey plain wherein travel they with blunt noses and hay-coloured hair. from her knot she had torn the red hair-bow and cast it upon the floor. seeders she despised utterly; she had but taken his kiss as that of a pioneer and prophetic prince who might have set the clocks going and the pages to running in fairyland. but the kiss had been maudlin and unmeant; the court had not stirred at the false alarm; she must forevermore remain the sleeping beauty.
-yet not all was lost. aileen’s arm was around her; and tildy’s red hand groped among the butter chips till it found the warm clasp of her friend’s.
-“don’t you fret, til,” said aileen, who did not understand entirely. “that turnip-faced little clothespin of a seeders ain’t worth it. he ain’t anything of a gentleman or he wouldn’t ever of apologised.”
-archive.org <http://www.archive.org/details/onceontime00miln> and edited by padraig o hiceadha.
-this text was typed for project gutenberg by k hindall <kkh2atcornell.edu> from a pdf at archive.org <http://www.archive.org/details/onceontime00miln> and edited by padraig o hiceadha.
-once on a time
-grosset & dunlap
-a. a. milne
-this book was written in 1915, for the amusement of my wife and myself at a time when life was not very amusing; it was published at the end of 1917; was reviewed, if at all, as one of a parcel, by some brisk uncle from the tiny tots department; and died quietly, without seriously detracting from the interest which was being taken in the world war, then in progress.
-it may be that the circumstances in which the book was written have made me unduly fond of it. when, as sometimes happens, i am introduced to a stranger who starts the conversation on the right lines by praising, however insincerely, my books, i always say, "but you have not read the best one." nine times out of ten it is so. the tenth takes a place in the family calendar; st. michael or st. agatha, as the case may be, a red-letter or black-letter saint, according to whether the book was bought or borrowed. but there are few such saints, and both my publisher and i have the feeling (so common to publishers and authors) that there ought to be more. so here comes the book again, in a new dress, with new decorations, yet much, as far as i am concerned, the same book, making the same appeal to me; but, let us hope, a new appeal, this time, to others.
-but i am very sure of this: that no one can write a book which children will like, unless he write it for himself first. that being so, i shall say boldly that this is a story for grown-ups. how grown-up i did not realise until i received a letter from an unknown reader a few weeks after its first publication; a letter which said that he was delighted with my clever satires of the kaiser, mr. lloyd george and mr. asquith, but he could not be sure which of the characters were meant to be mr. winston churchill and mr. bonar law. would i tell him on the enclosed postcard? i replied that they were thinly disguised on the title-page as messrs. hodder & stoughton. in fact, it is not that sort of book.
-but, as you see, i am still finding it difficult to explain just what sort of book it is. perhaps no explanation is necessary. read in it what you like; read it to whomever you like; be of what age you like; it can only fall into one of two classes. either you will enjoy it, or you won't.
-it is that sort of book.
-a. a. milne.
-i.--the king of euralia has a visitor to breakfast
-ii.--the chancellor of barodia has a long walk home
-iii.--the king of euralia draws his sword
-vi.--there are no wizards in barodia
-vii.--the princess receives a letter and writes one
-viii.--prince udo sleeps badly
-ix.--they are afraid of udo
-x.--charlotte patacake astonishes the critics
-xi.--watercress seems to go with the ears
-xii.--we decide to write to udo's father
-xiii.--"pink" rhymes with "think"
-xvi.--belvane enjoys herself
-xvii.--the king of barodia drops the whisker habit
-xviii.--the veteran of the forest entertains two very young people
-xix.--udo behaves like a gentleman
-xx.--coronel knows a good story when he hears it
-xxi.--a serpent coming after udo
-xxii.--the seventeen volumes go back again
-a map of euralia showing the adjacent country of barodia and the far-distant araby
-he was a man of simple tastes
-"most extraordinary," said the king
-he found the king nursing a bent whisker and in the very vilest of tempers
-"try it on me," cried the countess
-five times he had come back to give her his last instructions
-armed to the teeth, amazon after amazon marched by
-when the respective armies returned to camp they found their majesties asleep
-the rabbit was gone, and there was a fairy in front of her
-as evening fell they came to a woodman's cottage at the foot of a high hill
-"coronel, here i am," said udo pathetically, and he stepped out
-twenty-one minutes later henrietta crossbuns was acknowledging a bag of gold
-princess hyacinth gave a shriek and faltered slowly backwards
-"now we can talk," said hyacinth
-he forgot his manners, and made a jump towards her
-she glided gracefully behind the sundial in a pretty affectation of alarm
-when anybody of superior station or age came into the room she rose and curtsied
-and then she danced
-"good morning," said belvane
-the tent seemed to swim before his eyes, and he knew no more
-she turned round and went off daintily down the hill
-let me present to you my friend the duke coronel
-as the towers of the castle came in sight, merriwig drew a deep breath of happiness
-belvane leading the way with her finger to her lips
-merriwig following with an exaggerated caution
-he was a pleasant-looking person, with a round clean-shaven face
-the king of euralia has a visitor to breakfast
-king merriwig of euralia sat at breakfast on his castle walls. he lifted the gold cover from the gold dish in front of him, selected a trout and conveyed it carefully to his gold plate. he was a man of simple tastes, but when you have an aunt with the newly acquired gift of turning anything she touches to gold, you must let her practise sometimes. in another age it might have been fretwork.
-"ah," said the king, "here you are, my dear." he searched for his napkin, but the princess had already kissed him lightly on the top of the head, and was sitting in her place opposite to him.
-"good morning, father," she said; "i'm a little late, aren't i? i've been riding in the forest."
-"any adventures?" asked the king casually.
-"nothing, except it's a beautiful morning."
-"ah, well, perhaps the country isn't what it was. now when i was a young man, you simply couldn't go into the forest without an adventure of some sort. the extraordinary things one encountered! witches, giants, dwarfs----. it was there that i first met your mother," he added thoughtfully.
-"i wish i remembered my mother," said hyacinth.
-the king coughed and looked at her a little nervously.
-"seventeen years ago she died, hyacinth, when you were only six months old. i have been wondering lately whether i haven't been a little remiss in leaving you motherless so long."
-the princess looked puzzled. "but it wasn't your fault, dear, that mother died."
-"oh, no, no, i'm not saying that. as you know, a dragon carried her off and--well, there it was. but supposing"--he looked at her shyly--"i had married again."
-the princess was startled.
-"who?" she asked.
-the king peered into his flagon. "well," he said, "there are people."
-"if it had been somebody very nice," said the princess wistfully, "it might have been rather lovely."
-the king gazed earnestly at the outside of his flagon.
-"why 'might have been?'" he said.
-the princess was still puzzled. "but i'm grown up," she said; "i don't want a mother so much now."
-the king turned his flagon round and studied the other side of it.
-"a mother's--er--tender hand," he said, "is--er--never----" and then the outrageous thing happened.
-it was all because of a birthday present to the king of barodia, and the present was nothing less than a pair of seven-league boots. the king being a busy man, it was a week or more before he had an opportunity of trying those boots. meanwhile he used to talk about them at meals, and he would polish them up every night before he went to bed. when the great day came for the first trial of them to be made, he took a patronising farewell of his wife and family, ignored the many eager noses pressed against the upper windows of the palace, and sailed off. the motion, as perhaps you know, is a little disquieting at first, but one soon gets used to it. after that it is fascinating. he had gone some two thousand miles before he realised that there might be a difficulty about finding his way back. the difficulty proved at least as great as he had anticipated. for the rest of that day he toured backwards and forwards across the country; and it was by the merest accident that a very angry king shot in through an open pantry window in the early hours of the morning. he removed his boots and went softly to bed. . . .
-it was, of course, a lesson to him. he decided that in the future he must proceed by a recognised route, sailing lightly from landmark to landmark. such a route his geographers prepared for him--an early morning constitutional, of three hundred miles or so, to be taken ten times before breakfast. he gave himself a week in which to recover his nerve and then started out on the first of them.
-now the kingdom of euralia adjoined that of barodia, but whereas barodia was a flat country, euralia was a land of hills. it was natural then that the court geographers, in search of landmarks, should have looked towards euralia; and over euralia accordingly, about the time when cottage and castle alike were breakfasting, the king of barodia soared and dipped and soared and dipped again.
-"a mother's tender hand," said the king of euralia, "is--er--never--good gracious! what's that?"
-there was a sudden rush of air; something came for a moment between his majesty and the sun; and then all was quiet again.
-"what was it?" asked hyacinth, slightly alarmed.
-"most extraordinary," said the king. "it left in my mind an impression of ginger whiskers and large boots. do we know anybody like that?"
-"the king of barodia," said hyacinth, "has red whiskers, but i don't know about his boots."
-"but what could he have been doing up there? unless----"
-there was another rush of wind in the opposite direction; once more the sun was obscured, and this time, plain for a moment for all to see, appeared the rapidly dwindling back view of the king of barodia on his way home to breakfast.
-merriwig rose with dignity.
-"you're quite right, hyacinth," he said sternly; "it was the king of barodia."
-hyacinth looked troubled.
-"he oughtn't to come over anybody's breakfast table quite so quickly as that. ought he, father?"
-"a lamentable display of manners, my dear. i shall withdraw now and compose a stiff note to him. the amenities must be observed."
-looking as severe as a naturally jovial face would permit him, and wondering a little if he had pronounced "amenities" right, he strode to the library.
-the library was his majesty's favourite apartment. here in the mornings he would discuss affairs of state with his chancellor, or receive any distinguished visitors who were to come to his kingdom in search of adventure. here in the afternoon, with a copy of what to say to a wizard or some such book taken at random from the shelves, he would give himself up to meditation.
-and it was the distinguished visitors of the morning who gave him most to think about in the afternoon. there were at this moment no fewer than seven different princes engaged upon seven different enterprises, to whom, in the event of a successful conclusion, he had promised the hand of hyacinth and half his kingdom. no wonder he felt that she needed the guiding hand of a mother.
-the stiff note to barodia was not destined to be written. he was still hesitating between two different kinds of nib, when the door was flung open and the fateful name of the countess belvane was announced.
-the countess belvane! what can i say which will bring home to you that wonderful, terrible, fascinating woman? mastered as she was by overweening ambition, utterly unscrupulous in her methods of achieving her purpose, none the less her adorable humanity betrayed itself in a passion for diary-keeping and a devotion to the simpler forms of lyrical verse. that she is the villain of the piece i know well; in his euralia past and present the eminent historian, roger scurvilegs, does not spare her; but that she had her great qualities i should be the last to deny.
-she had been writing poetry that morning, and she wore green. she always wore green when the muse was upon her: a pleasing habit which, whether as a warning or an inspiration, modern poets might do well to imitate. she carried an enormous diary under her arm; and in her mind several alternative ways of putting down her reflections on her way to the palace.
-"good morning, dear countess," said the king, rising only too gladly from his nibs; "an early visit."
-"you don't mind, your majesty?" said the countess anxiously. "there was a point in our conversation yesterday about which i was not quite certain----"
-"what were we talking about yesterday?"
-"oh, your majesty," said the countess, "affairs of state," and she gave him that wicked, innocent, impudent, and entirely scandalous look which he never could resist, and you couldn't either for that matter.
-"affairs of state, of course," smiled the king.
-"why, i made a special note of it in my diary."
-she laid down the enormous volume and turned lightly over the pages.
-"here we are! 'thursday. his majesty did me the honour to consult me about the future of his daughter, the princess hyacinth. remained to tea and was very----' i can't quite make this word out."
-"let me look," said the king, his rubicund face becoming yet more rubicund. "it looks like 'charming,'" he said casually.
-"fancy!" said belvane. "fancy my writing that! i put down just what comes into my head at the time, you know." she made a gesture with her hand indicative of some one who puts down just what comes into her head at the time, and returned to her diary. "'remained to tea, and was very charming. mused afterwards on the mutability of life!'" she looked up at him with wide-open eyes. "i often muse when i'm alone," she said.
-the king still hovered over the diary.
-"have you any more entries like--like that last one? may i look?"
-"oh, your majesty! i'm afraid it's quite private." she closed the book quickly.
-"i just thought i saw some poetry," said the king.
-"just a little ode to a favourite linnet. it wouldn't interest your majesty."
-"i adore poetry," said the king, who had himself written a rhymed couplet which could be said either forwards or backwards, and in the latter position was useful for removing enchantments. according to the eminent historian, roger scurvilegs, it had some vogue in euralia and went like this:
-"bo, boll, bill, bole. wo, woll, will, wole."
-a pleasing idea, temperately expressed.
-the countess, of course, was only pretending. really she was longing to read it. "it's quite a little thing," she said.
-"hail to thee, blithe linnet, bird thou clearly art, that from bush or in it pourest thy full heart! and leads the feathered choir in song taking the treble part."
-"beautiful," said the king, and one must agree with him. many years after, another poet called shelley plagiarised the idea, but handled it in a more artificial, and, to my way of thinking, decidedly inferior manner.
-"was it a real bird?" said the king.
-"an old favourite."
-"was it pleased about it?"
-"alas, your majesty, it died without hearing it."
-"poor bird!" said his majesty; "i think it would have liked it."
-meanwhile hyacinth, innocent of the nearness of a mother, remained on the castle walls and tried to get on with her breakfast. but she made little progress with it. after all, it is annoying continually to look up from your bacon, or whatever it is, and see a foreign monarch passing overhead. eighteen more times the king of barodia took hyacinth in his stride. at the end of the performance, feeling rather giddy, she went down to her father.
-she found him alone in the library, a foolish smile upon his face, but no sign of a letter to barodia in front of him.
-"have you sent the note yet?" she asked.
-"note? note?" he said, bewildered, "what--oh, you mean the stiff note to the king of barodia? i'm just planning it, my love. the exact shade of stiffness, combined with courtesy, is a little difficult to hit."
-"i shouldn't be too courteous," said hyacinth; "he came over eighteen more times after you'd gone."
-"eighteen, eighteen, eight--my dear, it's outrageous."
-"i've never had such a crowded breakfast before."
-"it's positively insulting, hyacinth. this is no occasion for notes. we will talk to him in a language that he will understand."
-and he went out to speak to the captain of his archers.
-the chancellor of barodia has a long walk home
-once more it was early morning on the castle walls.
-the king sat at his breakfast table, a company of archers drawn up in front of him.
-"now you all understand," he said. "when the king of baro--when a certain--well, when i say 'when,' i want you all to fire your arrows into the air. you are to take no aim; you are just to shoot your arrows upwards, and--er--i want to see who gets highest. should anything--er--should anything brush up against them on their way--not of course that it's likely--well, in that case--er--in that case something will--er--brush up against them. after all, what should?"
-"quite so, sire," said the captain, "or rather, not at all."
-"very well. to your places."
-each archer fitted an arrow to his bow and took up his position. a look-out man had been posted. everything was ready.
-the king was decidedly nervous. he wandered from one archer to another asking after this man's wife and family, praising the polish on that man's quiver, or advising him to stand with his back a little more to the sun. now and then he would hurry off to the look-out man on a distant turret, point out barodia on the horizon to him, and hurry back again.
-the look-out knew all about it.
-"royalty over," he bellowed suddenly.
-"when!" roared the king, and a cloud of arrows shot into the air.
-"well done!" cried hyacinth, clapping her hands. "i mean, how could you? you might have hurt him."
-"hyacinth," said the king, turning suddenly; "you here?"
-"the king of barodia, of course."
-"the king of---- my dear child, what could the king of barodia be doing here? my archers were aiming at a hawk that they saw in the distance." he beckoned to the captain. "did you hit that hawk?" he asked.
-"with one shot only, sire. in the whisk--in the tail feathers."
-the king turned to hyacinth.
-"with one shot only in the whisk--in the tail feathers," he said. "what was it, my dear, that you were saying about the king of barodia?"
-"oh, father, you are bad. you hit the poor man right in the whisker."
-"his majesty of barodia! and in the whisker! my dear child, this is terrible! but what can he have been doing up there? dear, dear, this is really most unfortunate. i must compose a note of apology about this."
-"i should leave the first note to him," said hyacinth.
-"yes, yes, you're right. no doubt he will wish to explain how he came to be there. just a moment, dear."
-he went over to his archers, who were drawn up in line again.
-"you may take your men down now," he said to the captain.
-"yes, your majesty."
-his majesty looked quickly round the castle walls, and then leant confidentially towards the captain.
-"er--which was the man who--er"-- he fingered his cheek--"er--quite so. the one on the left? ah, yes." he went to the man on the left and put a bag of gold into his hand.
-"you have a very good style with the bow, my man. your wrist action is excellent. i have never seen an arrow go so high."
-the company saluted and withdrew. the king and hyacinth sat down to breakfast.
-"a little mullet, my dear?" he said.
-the hereditary grand chancellor of barodia never forgot that morning, nor did he allow his wife to forget it. his opening, "that reminds me, dear, of the day when----" though the signal of departure for any guests, allowed no escape for his family. they had to have it.
-and indeed it was a busy day for him. summoned to the palace at nine o'clock, he found the king nursing a bent whisker and in the very vilest of tempers. his majesty was for war at once, the chancellor leant towards the stiff note.
-"at least, your majesty," he begged, "let me consult the precedents first."
-"there is no precedent," said the king coldly, "for such an outrage as this."
-"not precisely, sire; but similar unfortunate occurrences have--occurred."
-"it was worse than an occurrence."
-"i should have said an outrage, your majesty. your late lamented grandfather was unfortunate enough to come beneath the spell of the king of araby, under which he was compelled--or perhaps i should say preferred--to go about on his hands and knees for several weeks. your majesty may recall how the people in their great loyalty adopted a similar mode of progression. now although your majesty's case is not precisely on all fours----"
-"not at all on all fours," said the king coldly.
-"an unfortunate metaphor; i should say that although your majesty's case is not parallel, the procedure adopted in your revered grandfather's case----"
-"i don't care what you do with your whiskers; i don't care what anybody does with his whiskers," said the king, still soothing his own tenderly; "i want the king of euralia's blood." he looked round the court. "to any one who will bring me the head of the king, i will give the hand of my daughter in marriage."
-there was a profound silence. . . .
-"which daughter?" said a cautious voice at last.
-"the eldest," said the king.
-there was another profound silence. . . .
-"my suggestion, your majesty," said the chancellor, "is that for the present there should be merely an exchange of stiff notes; and that meanwhile we scour the kingdom for an enchanter who shall take some pleasant revenge for us upon his majesty of euralia. for instance, sire, a king whose head has been permanently fixed on upside-down lacks somewhat of that regal dignity which alone can command the respect of his subjects. a couple of noses, again, placed at different angles, so they cannot both be blown together----"
-"yes, yes," said the king impatiently, "i'll think of the things, if once you can find the enchanter. but they are not so common nowadays. besides, enchanters are delicate things to work with. they have a habit of forgetting which side they are on."
-the chancellor's mouth drooped piteously.
-"well," said the king condescendingly, "i'll tell you what we'll do. you may send one stiff note and then we will declare war."
-"thank you, your majesty," said the chancellor.
-so the stiff note was dispatched. it pointed out that his majesty of barodia, while in the act of taking his early morning constitutional, had been severely insulted by an arrow. this arrow, though fortunately avoiding the more vital parts of his majesty's person, went so far as to wound a favourite whisker. for this the fullest reparation must be made . . . and so forth and so on.
-euralia's reply was not long delayed. it expressed the deepest concern at the unhappy accident which had overtaken a friendly monarch. on the morning in question, his majesty had been testing his archers in a shooting competition at a distant hawk; which competition, it might interest his majesty of barodia to know, had been won by henry smallnose, a bowman of considerable promise. in the course of the competition it was noticed that a foreign body of some sort brushed up against one of the arrows, but as this in no way affected the final placing of the competitors, little attention was paid to it. his majesty of barodia might rest assured that the king had no wish to pursue the matter farther. indeed, he was always glad to welcome his barodian majesty on these occasions. other shooting competitions would be arranged from time to time, and if his majesty happened to be passing at the moment, the king of euralia hoped that he would come down and join them. trusting that her majesty and their royal highnesses were well, . . . and so on and so forth.
-the grand chancellor of barodia read this answer to his stiff note with a growing feeling of uneasiness. it was he who had exposed his majesty to this fresh insult; and, unless he could soften it in some way, his morning at the palace might be a painful one.
-as he entered the precincts, he wondered whether the king would be wearing the famous boots, and whether they kicked seven leagues as easily as they strode them. he felt more and more that there were notes which you could break gently, and notes which you couldn't. . . .
-five minutes later, as he started on his twenty-one mile walk home, he realised that this was one of the ones which you couldn't.
-this, then, was the real reason of the war between euralia and barodia. i am aware that in saying this i differ from the eminent historian, roger scurvilegs. in chapter ix of his immortal work, euralia past and present, he attributes the quarrel between the two countries to quite other causes. the king of barodia, he says, demanded the hand of the princess hyacinth for his eldest son. the king of euralia made some commonplace condition as that his royal highness should first ride his horse up a glassy mountain in the district, a condition which his majesty of barodia strongly resented. i am afraid that roger is incurably romantic; i have had to speak to him about it before. there was nothing of the sentimental in the whole business, and the facts are exactly as i have narrated them.
-the king of euralia draws his sword
-no doubt you have already guessed that it was the countess belvane who dictated the king of euralia's answer. left to himself, merriwig would have said, "serve you jolly well right for stalking over my kingdom." his repartee was never very subtle. hyacinth would have said, "of course we're awfully sorry, but a whisker isn't very bad, is it? and you really oughtn't to come to breakfast without being asked." the chancellor would have scratched his head for a long time, and then said, "referring to chap vii, para 259 of the king's regulations we notice . . ."
-but belvane had her own way of doing things; and if you suggest that she wanted to make barodia's declaration of war inevitable, well, the story will show whether you are right in supposing that she had her reasons. it came a little hard on the chancellor of barodia, but the innocent must needs suffer for the ambitions of the unprincipled--a maxim i borrow from euralia past and present; roger in his moral vein.
-"well," said merriwig to the countess, "that's done it."
-"it really is war?" asked belvane.
-"it is. hyacinth is looking out my armour at this moment."
-"what did the king of barodia say?"
-"he didn't say anything. he wrote 'w a r' in red on a dirty bit of paper, pinned it to my messenger's ear, and sent him back again."
-"how very crude," said the countess.
-"oh, i thought it was--er--rather forcible," said the king awkwardly. secretly he had admired it a good deal and wished that he had been the one to do it.
-"of course," said the countess, with a charming smile, "that sort of thing depends so very much on who does it. now from your majesty it would have seemed--dignified."
-"he must have been very angry," said the king, picking up first one and then another of a number of swords which lay in front of him. "i wish i had seen his face when he got my note."
-"so do i," sighed the countess. she wished it much more than the king. it is the tragedy of writing a good letter that you cannot be there when it is opened: a maxim of my own, the thought never having occurred to roger scurvilegs, who was a dull correspondent.
-the king was still taking up and putting down his swords.
-"it's very awkward," he muttered; "i wonder if hyacinth----" he went to the door and called "hyacinth!"
-"coming, father," called back hyacinth, from a higher floor.
-the countess rose and curtsied deeply.
-"good morning, your royal highness."
-"good morning, countess," said hyacinth brightly. she liked the countess (you couldn't help it), but rather wished she didn't.
-"oh, hyacinth," said the king, "come and tell me about these swords. which is my magic one?"
-hyacinth looked at him blankly.
-"oh, father," she said. "i don't know at all. does it matter very much?"
-"my dear child, of course it matters. supposing i am fighting the king of barodia and i have my magic sword, then i'm bound to win. supposing i haven't, then i'm not bound to."
-"supposing you both had magic swords," said belvane. it was the sort of thing she would say.
-the king looked up slowly at her and began to revolve the idea in his mind.
-"well, really," he said, "i hadn't thought of that. upon my word, i----" he turned to his daughter. "hyacinth, what would happen if we both had magic swords?"
-"i suppose you'd go on fighting for ever," said hyacinth.
-"or until the magic wore out of one of them," said belvane innocently.
-"there must be something about it somewhere," said the king, whose morning was in danger of being quite spoilt by this new suggestion; "i'd ask the chancellor to look it up, only he's so busy just now."
-"he'd have plenty of time while the combat was going on," said belvane thoughtfully. wonderful creature! she saw already the chancellor hurrying up to announce that the king of euralia had won, at the very moment when he lay stretched on the ground by a mortal thrust from his adversary.
-the king turned to his swords again.
-"well, anyway, i'm going to be sure of mine," he said. "hyacinth, haven't you any idea which it is?" he added in rather a hurt voice, "naturally i left the marking of my swords to you."
-his daughter examined the swords one by one.
-"here it is," she cried. "it's got 'm' on it for 'magic.'"
-"or 'merriwig,'" said the countess to her diary.
-the expression of joy on the king's face at his daughter's discovery had just time to appear and fade away again.
-"you are not being very helpful this morning, countess," he said severely.
-instantly the countess was on her feet, her diary thrown to the floor--no, never thrown--laid gently on the floor, and herself, hands clasped at her breast, a figure of reproachful penitence before him.
-"oh, your majesty, forgive me--if your majesty had only asked me--i didn't know your majesty wanted me--i thought her royal highness---- but of course i'll find your majesty's sword for you." did she stroke his head as she said this? i have often wondered. it would be like her impudence, and her motherliness, and her---and, in fact, like her. euralia past and present is silent upon the point. roger scurvilegs, who had only seen belvane at the unimpressionable age of two, would have had it against her if he could, so perhaps there is nothing in it.
-"there!" she said, and she picked out the magic sword almost at once.
-"then i'll get back to my work," said hyacinth cheerfully, and left them to each other.
-the king, smiling happily, girded on his sword. but a sudden doubt assailed him.
-"are you sure it's the one?"
-"try it on me," cried the countess superbly, falling on her knees and stretching up her arms to him. the toe of her little shoe touched her diary; its presence there uplifted her. even as she knelt she saw herself describing the scene. how do you spell "offered"? she wondered.
-i think the king was already in love with her, though he found it so difficult to say the decisive words. but even so he could only have been in love a week or two; a fortnight in the last forty years; and he had worn a sword since he was twelve. in a crisis it is the old love and not the greater love which wins (roger's, but i think i agree with him), and instinctively the king drew his sword. if it were magic a scratch would kill. now he would know.
-her enemies said that the countess could not go pale; she had her faults, but this was not one of them. she whitened as she saw the king standing over her with drawn sword. a hundred thoughts chased each other through her mind. she wondered if the king would be sorry afterwards; she wondered what the minstrels would sing of her, and if her diary would ever be made public; most of all she wondered why she had been such a fool, such a melodramatic fool.
-the king came to himself with a sudden start. looking slightly ashamed he put his sword back in its scabbard, coughed once or twice to cover his confusion, and held his hand out to the countess to assist her to rise.
-"don't be absurd, countess," he said. "as if we could spare you at a time like this. sit down and let us talk matters over seriously."
-a trifle bewildered by the emotions she had gone through, belvane sat down, the beloved diary clasped tightly in her arms. life seemed singularly sweet just then, the only drawback being that the minstrels would not be singing about her after all. still, one cannot have everything.
-the king walked up and down the room as he talked.
-"i am going away to fight," he said, "and i leave my dear daughter behind. in my absence, her royal highness will of course rule the country. i want her to feel that she can lean upon you, countess, for advice and support. i know that i can trust you, for you have just given me a great proof of your devotion and courage."
-"oh, your majesty!" said belvane deprecatingly, but feeling very glad that it hadn't been wasted.
-"hyacinth is young and inexperienced. she needs a--a----"
-"a mother's guiding hand," said belvane softly.
-the king started and looked away. it was really too late to propose now; he had so much to do before the morrow. better leave it till he came back from the war.
-"you will have no official position," he went on hastily, "other than your present one of mistress of the robes; but your influence on her will be very great."
-the countess had already decided on this. however there is a look of modest resignation to an unsought duty which is suited to an occasion of this kind, and the countess had no difficulty in supplying it.
-"i will do all that i can, your majesty, to help--gladly; but will not the chancellor----"
-"the chancellor will come with me. he is no fighter, but he is good at spells." he looked round to make sure that they were alone, and then went on confidentially, "he tells me that he has discovered in the archives of the palace a backward spell of great value. should he be able to cast this upon the enemy at the first onslaught, he thinks that our heroic army would have no difficulty in advancing."
-"but there will be other learned men," said belvane innocently, "so much more accustomed to affairs than us poor women, so much better able"--("what nonsense i'm talking," she said to herself)--"to advise her royal highness----"
-"men like that," said the king, "i shall want with me also. if i am to invade barodia properly i shall need every man in the kingdom. euralia must be for the time a country of women only." he turned to her with a smile and said gallantly, "that will be--er---- it is--er--not--er----. one may well--er----"
-it was so obvious from his manner that something complimentary was struggling to the surface of his mind, that belvane felt it would be kinder not to wait for it.
-"oh, your majesty," she said, "you flatter my poor sex."
-"not at all," said the king, trying to remember what he had said. he held out his hand. "well, countess, i have much to do."
-"i, too, your majesty."
-she made him a deep curtsey and, clasping tightly the precious diary, withdrew.
-the king, who still seemed worried about something, returned to his table and took up his pen. here hyacinth discovered him ten minutes later. his table was covered with scraps of paper and, her eyes lighting casually upon one of them, she read these remarkable words:
-"in such a land i should be a most contented subject."
-she looked at some of the others. they were even shorter:
-"that, dear countess, would be my----"
-"a country in which even a king----"
-the last was crossed out and "bad" written against it.
-"whatever are these, father?" said hyacinth.
-the king jumped up in great confusion.
-"nothing, dear, nothing," he said. "i was just--er---- of course i shall have to address my people, and i was just jotting down a few---- however, i shan't want them now." he swept them together, screwed them up tight, and dropped them into a basket.
-and what became of them? you ask. did they light the fires of the palace next morning? well, now, here's a curious thing. in chapter x of euralia past and present i happened across these words:
-"the king and all the men of the land having left to fight the wicked barodians, euralia was now a country of women only--a country in which even a king might be glad to be a subject."
-now what does this mean? is it another example of literary theft? i have already had to expose shelley. must i now drag into the light of day a still worse plagiarism by roger scurvilegs? the waste-paper baskets of the palace were no doubt open to him as to so many historians. but should he not have made acknowledgments?
-i do not wish to be hard on roger. that i differ from him on many points of historical fact has already been made plain, and will be made still more plain as my story goes on. but i have a respect for the man; and on some matters, particularly those concerning prince udo of araby's first appearance in euralia, i have to rely entirely upon him for my information. moreover i have never hesitated to give him credit for such of his epigrams as i have introduced into this book, and i like to think that he would be equally punctilious to others. we know his romantic way; no doubt the thought occurred to him independently. let us put it at that, anyhow.
-belvane, meanwhile, was getting on. the king had drawn his sword on her and she had not flinched. as a reward she was to be the power behind the throne.
-"not necessarily behind the throne," said belvane to herself.
-the princess hyacinth leaves it to the countess
-it is now time to introduce wiggs to you, and i find myself in a difficulty at once. what was wiggs's position in the palace?
-this story is hard to tell, for i have to piece it together from the narratives of others, and to supply any gaps in their stories from my knowledge of how the different characters might be expected to act. perhaps, therefore, it is a good moment in which to introduce to you the authorities upon whom i rely.
-first and foremost, of course, comes roger scurvilegs. his monumental work, euralia past and present, in seventeen volumes, towers upon my desk as i write. by the merest chance i picked it up (in a metaphorical sense) at that little shop near--i forget its name, but it's the third bookshop on the left as you come into london from the new barnet end. upon him i depend for the broad lines of my story, and i have already indicated my opinion of the value of his work.
-secondly, come the many legends and ballads handed on to me years ago by my aunt by marriage, one of the cornish smallnoses. she claims to be a direct descendant of that henry smallnose whose lucky shot brought about the events which i am to describe. i say she claims to be, and one cannot doubt a lady's word in these matters; certainly she used to speak about henry with that mixture of pride and extreme familiarity which comes best from a relation. in all matters not touching henry, i feel that i can rely upon her; in its main lines her narrative is strictly confirmed by scurvilegs, and she brought to it a picturesqueness and an appreciation of the true character of belvane which is lacking in the other; but her attitude towards henry smallnose was absurd. indeed she would have had him the hero of the story. this makes roger and myself smile. we give him credit for the first shot, and then we drop him.
-thirdly, belvane herself. women like belvane never die, and i met her (or a reincarnation of her) at a country house in shropshire last summer. i forget what she calls herself now, but i recognised her at once; and, as i watched her, the centuries rolled away and she and i were in euralia, that pleasant country, together. "stayed to tea and was very charming." would she have said that of me, i wonder? but i'm getting sentimental--roger's great fault.
-these then are my authorities; i consult them, and i ask myself, what was wiggs?
-roger speaks of her simply as an attendant upon the princess. now we know that the princess was seventeen; wiggs then would be about the same age--a lady-in-waiting--perhaps even a little older. why not? you say. the lady wiggs, maid-of-honour to her royal highness the princess hyacinth, eighteen and a bit, tall and stately. since she is to endanger belvane's plans, let her be something of a match for the wicked woman.
-yes, but you would never talk like that if you had heard one of my aunt's stories. nor if you had seen belvane would you think that any grown-up woman could be a match for her.
-wiggs was a child; i feel it in my bones. in all the legends and ballads handed down to me by my aunt she appears to me as a little girl--alice in a fairy story. roger or no roger i must have her a child.
-and even roger cannot keep up the farce that she is a real lady-in-waiting. in one place he tells us that she dusts the throne of the princess; can you see her ladyship, eighteen last february, doing that? at other times he allows her to take orders from the countess; i ask you to imagine a maid-of-honour taking orders from any but her own mistress. conceive her dignity!
-a little friend, then, of hyacinth's, let us say; ready to do anything for anybody who loved, or appeared to love, her mistress.
-the king had departed for the wars. his magic sword girded to his side, his cloak of darkness, not worn but rolled up behind him, lest the absence of his usual extensive shadow should disturb his horse, he rode at the head of his men to meet the enemy. hyacinth had seen him off from the palace steps. five times he had come back to give her his last instructions, and a sixth time for his sword, but now he was gone, and she was alone on the castle walls with wiggs.
-"saying good-bye to fathers is very tiring," said hyacinth. "i do hope he'll be all right. wiggs, although we oughtn't to mention it to anybody, and although he's only just gone, we do think it will be rather fun being queen, don't we?"
-"it must be lovely," said wiggs, gazing at her with large eyes. "can you really do whatever you like now?"
-"i always did whatever i liked," she said, "but now i really can do it."
-"could you cut anybody's head off?"
-"easily," said the princess confidently.
-"i should hate to cut anybody's head off."
-"so should i, wiggs. let's decide to have no heads off just at present--till we're more used to it."
-wiggs still kept her eyes fixed upon the princess.
-"which is stronger," she asked, "you or a fairy?"
-"i knew you were going to ask something horrid like that," said hyacinth, pretending to be angry. she looked quickly round to see that nobody was listening, and then whispered in wiggs's ear, "i am."
-"o--oh!" said wiggs. "how lovely!"
-"isn't it? did you ever hear the story of father and the fairy?"
-"his majesty the king of euralia. it happened in the forest one day just after he became king."
-did you ever hear the story? i expect not. well, then, you must hear it. but there will be too many inverted commas in it if i let hyacinth tell you, so i shall tell you myself.
-it was just after he became king. he was so proud that he used to go about saying, "i am the king. i am the king." and sometimes, "the king am i. the king i am." he was saying this one day in the forest when a fairy overheard him. so she appeared in front of him and said, "i believe you are the king?"
-"i am the king," said merriwig. "i am the king, i am the----"
-"and yet," said the fairy, "what is a king after all?"
-"it is a very powerful thing to be a king," said merriwig proudly.
-the king thought anxiously for a moment.
-"i should like to be a small sheep," he said.
-the fairy waved her wand.
-"then you can be one," she said, "until you own that a fairy is much more powerful than a king."
-"well?" said the fairy.
-"well?" said the king.
-"which is more powerful, a king or a fairy?"
-"a king," said merriwig. "besides being more woolly," he added.
-there was silence for a little. merriwig began to eat some grass.
-"i don't think much of fairies," he said with his mouth full. "i don't think they're very powerful."
-the fairy looked at him angrily.
-"they can't make you say things you don't want to say," he explained.
-the fairy stamped her foot.
-"be a toad," she said, waving her wand. "a nasty, horrid, crawling toad."
-"i've always wanted--" began merriwig--"to be a toad," he ended from lower down.
-"well?" said the fairy.
-"i don't think much of fairies," said the king. "i don't think they're very powerful." he waited for the fairy to look at him, but she pretended to be thinking of something else. after waiting a minute or two, he added, "they can't make you say things you don't want to say."
-the fairy stamped her foot still more angrily, and moved her wand a third time.
-"be silent!" she commanded. "and stay silent for ever!"
-there was no sound in the forest. the fairy looked at the blue sky through the green roof above her; she looked through the tall trunks of the trees to the king's castle beyond; her eyes fell upon the little glade on her left, upon the mossy bank on her right . . . but she would not look down to the toad at her feet.
-no, she wouldn't. . . .
-she wouldn't. . . .
-it was too much for her. she could resist no longer. she looked at the nasty, horrid, crawling toad, the dumb toad at her feet that was once a king.
-and, catching her eye, the toad--winked.
-some winks are more expressive than others. the fairy knew quite well what this one meant. it meant:
-"i don't think much of fairies. i don't think they're very powerful. they can't make you say things you don't want to say."
-the fairy waved her wand in disgust.
-"oh, be a king again," she said impatiently, and vanished.
-and so that is the story of how the king of euralia met the fairy in the forest. roger scurvilegs tells it well--indeed, almost as well as i do--but he burdens it with a moral. you must think it out for yourself; i shall not give it to you.
-wiggs didn't bother about the moral. her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her hands, she gazed at the forest and imagined the scene to herself.
-"how wonderful to be a king like that!" she thought.
-"that was a long time ago," explained hyacinth. "father must have been rather lovely in those days," she added.
-"it was a very bad fairy," said wiggs.
-"it was a very stupid one. i wouldn't have given in to father like that."
-"but there are good fairies, aren't there? i met one once."
-"you, child? where?"
-i don't know if it would have made any difference to euralian history if wiggs had been allowed to tell about her fairy then; as it was, she didn't tell the story till later on, when belvane happened to be near. i regret to say that belvane listened. it was the sort of story that always got overheard, she explained afterwards, as if that were any excuse. on this occasion she was just too early to overhear, but in time to prevent the story being told without her.
-"the countess belvane," said an attendant, and her ladyship made a superb entry.
-"good morning, countess," said hyacinth.
-"good morning, your royal highness. ah, wiggs, sweet child," she added carelessly, putting out a hand to pat the sweet child's head, but missing it.
-"wiggs was just telling me a story," said the princess.
-"sweet child," said belvane, feeling vaguely for her with the other hand. "could i interrupt the story with a little business, your royal highness?"
-at a nod from the princess, wiggs withdrew.
-"well?" said hyacinth nervously.
-belvane had always a curious effect on the princess when they were alone together. there was something about her large manner which made hyacinth feel like a schoolgirl who has been behaving badly: alarmed and apologetic. i feel like this myself when i have an interview with my publishers, and roger scurvilegs (upon the same subject) drags in a certain uncle of his before whom (so he says) he always appears at his worst. it is a common experience.
-"just one or two little schemes to submit to your majesty," said the countess. "how silly of me--i mean, your royal highness. of course your royal highness may not like them at all, but in case your royal highness did, i just--well, i just wrote them out."
-she unfolded, one by one, a series of ornamental parchments.
-"they are beautifully written," said the princess.
-belvane blushed at the compliment. she had a passion for coloured inks and rulers. in her diary the day of the week was always underlined in red, the important words in the day's doings being frequently picked out in gold. on taking up the diary you saw at once that you were in the presence of somebody.
-the first parchment was headed:
-scheme for economy in realm
-"economy" caught the eye in pale pink. the next parchment was headed:
-scheme for safety of realm
-"safety" clamoured to you in blue.
-the third parchment was headed:
-scheme for encouragement of literature in realm
-"encouragement of literature" had got rather cramped in the small quarters available for it. a heading, belvane felt, should be in one line; she had started in letters too big for it, and the fact that the green ink was giving out made it impossible to start afresh.
-there were ten parchments altogether.
-by the end of the third one, the princess began to feel uncomfortable.
-by the end of the fifth one she knew that it was a mistake her ever having come into the royal family at all.
-by the end of the seventh she decided that if the countess would forgive her this time she would never be naughty again.
-by the end of the ninth one she was just going to cry.
-the tenth one was in a very loud orange and was headed:
-scheme for assisting calisthenics in realm
-"yes," said the princess faintly; "i think it would be a good idea."
-"i thought if your royal highness approved," said belvane, "we might just----"
-hyacinth felt herself blushing guiltily--she couldn't think why.
-"i leave it to you, countess," she murmured. "i am sure you know best."
-it was a remark which she would never have made to her father.
-belvane indulges her hobby
-in a glade in the forest the countess belvane was sitting: her throne, a fallen log, her courtiers, that imaginary audience which was always with her. for once in her life she was nervous; she had an anxious morning in front of her.
-i can tell you the reason at once. her royal highness was going to review her royal highness's army of amazons (see scheme ii, safety of realm). in half an hour she would be here.
-and why not? you say. could anything be more gratifying?
-i will tell you why not. there was no army of amazons. in order that her royal highness should not know the sad truth, belvane drew their pay for them. 'twas better thus.
-in any trouble belvane comforted herself by reading up her diary. she undid the enormous volume, and, idly turning the pages, read some of the more delightful extracts to herself.
-"monday, june 1st," she read. "became bad."
-she gave a sigh of resignation to the necessity of being bad. roger scurvilegs is of the opinion that she might have sighed a good many years before. according to him she was born bad.
-"tuesday, june 2nd," she read on. "realised in the privacy of my heart that i was destined to rule the country. wednesday, june 3rd. decided to oust the princess. thursday, june 4th. began ousting."
-what a confession for any woman--even for one who had become bad last monday! no wonder belvane's diary was not for everybody. let us look over her shoulder and read some more of the wicked woman's confessions.
-"friday, june 5th. made myself a----" oh, that's quite private. however we may read this: "thought for the week. beware lest you should tumble down in reaching for another's crown." an admirable sentiment which roger scurvilegs would have approved, although he could not have rhymed it so neatly.
-the countess turned on a few more pages and prepared to write up yesterday's events.
-"tuesday, june 23rd," she said to herself. "now what happened? acclaimed with enthusiasm outside the palace--how do you spell 'enthusiasm'?" she bit the end of her pencil and pondered. she turned back the pages till she came to the place.
-"yes," she said thoughtfully. "it had three 's's' last time, so it's 'z's' turn."
-she wrote "enthuzziazm" lightly in pencil; later on it would be picked out in gold.
-she closed the diary hastily. somebody was coming.
-it was wiggs.
-"oh, if you please, your ladyship, her royal highness sent me to tell you that she would be here at eleven o'clock to review her new army."
-it was the last thing of which belvane wanted reminding.
-"ah, wiggs, sweet child," she said, "you find me overwhelmed." she disappeared behind a forest of upraised arms.
-the babble of voices, each one trying to outshout the other, made daoud's head ache. men elbowed those beside them and pushed their hands into one another's faces. daoud even saw one man claw his way up the backs of two who stood in front of him and climb over their shoulders to get closer to qutuz.
-from his position near the front of the hall daoud could catch only glimpses of the sultan's green turban from time to time and follow his progress by watching where the turmoil was fiercest. the melee was like one of those towering dust storms that whirl across the desert, and qutuz was at the center.
-when daoud judged that qutuz was halfway to the throne, he began to move.
-he plunged now into that black cave where god dwelt somewhere in infinite spaces. doubt and fear he left at the mouth of that cave. he must give all his strength and will to what he was about to do.
-he charged into the storm around qutuz. though these magistrates and merchants were feeble compared to him, their frenzy and the mere weight of their struggling bodies formed a wall that took all his strength to break through. each man was so intent upon his own desperate need to reach the sultan that none of them seemed to feel daoud forcing his way past them.
-qutuz saw him coming. the dark brown eyes met daoud's, questioning, frowning. a mameluke emir of daoud's rank did not usually join a crowd of petitioners. the sultan's arms and hands were full of scrolls. his chamberlain had long since been carried away from him in the crush.
-"oh, sultan, grant my prayer!" daoud shouted in a loud voice.
-for your death.
-qutuz's jaw clenched, and his eyes widened in the beginning of fear as daoud bore down on him.
-daoud had reached the center of the storm. color and movement whirled about him. shouts deafened him. he forced his mind to blot out the chaos all around and to focus totally on qutuz. he made himself as oblivious to the shrieking men around him as they were to him.
-he threw his arms around the sultan, crushing the satin of his kaftan and his armload of scrolls against his body.
-when daoud's arms came together behind qutuz's back, his right hand reached into his left sleeve and pulled the dagger from its sheath.
-daoud stretched out his right arm, and then with all the strength in that arm drove the dagger into the sultan's back. he struck for the center of the back, between two ribs, so that the point would reach and stop qutuz's heart.
-his thrust went true. the strong, lean body jerked violently, then went limp in his arms. qutuz was a weight against him, sliding downward. daoud was sure he was already dead, because he did not move or cry out.
-triumph blazed up within him. he had done it. he had killed the sultan.
-daoud let go of the dagger, hilt-deep in qutuz's back. he stepped backward quickly, pressing himself into the crowd around them. his heartbeat was thundering in his ears and his knees were quivering.
-qutuz toppled toward him as he moved back.
-"the sultan falls!" a man next to him screamed.
-hands reached out to catch qutuz as he fell. cries of "the sultan has fainted!" "god help us!" "the sultan is hurt!" went up all around daoud.
-he continued to back away through the crowd. if attacked, he had decided, he would draw his saif and fight. if he must die, he desperately wanted to die fighting, not on the headsman's block.
-he had not truly believed he could strike qutuz down without being seen, but no one was yet pointing at him.
-"blood!" someone shrieked. "a dagger!" the shrieks and prayers were deafening.
-all the men who had clustered around the fallen sultan backed away. daoud was carried farther from the dead qutuz by the crowd. craning his neck over the heads around him, he could see the body lying sprawled face down on the green marble floor, a spreading bright red stain in the black and silver robes around the dagger's hilt.
-the babble of voices was so confused that daoud could no longer tell what anyone was saying. mansur ibn ziri, commander of the halkha, and anis, master of the hunt, pushed their way through to qutuz's body, while some men still clutching scrolls ran from the chamber. they must fear even being in the room where the sultan was murdered.
-i have killed the sultan.
-though his whole body shook with reaction and his limbs felt weak, his heart was full of joy.
-his hand on his sword hilt, daoud surveyed the large chamber. the mameluke emirs were looking, not at qutuz's body, but at one another. and they kept glancing at daoud.
-they had seen daoud throw his arms around qutuz. they knew who had killed qutuz. and they knew why he had done it.
-baibars still stood apart in a far corner. his good eye met daoud's, but his face was a mask.
-as the last of the local men fled the place of death, a silence fell over the room. the mamelukes were alone with the body of their sultan. the men of the halkha, the sultan they were sworn to protect now dead, looked at the emirs. the only voices now were the murmured words of mansur and anis as they bent over qutuz's body.
-with an effort mansur pulled the dagger from qutuz's back. anis grunted when he saw the twisting blade.
-heart hammering, daoud tensed himself. would mansur turn and accuse him? he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was behind him and took gliding steps backward until his shoulders were pressed against a pillar.
-mansur said in a voice that carried through the room, "the flame dagger. our lord has been struck down by the hashishiyya."
-daoud almost laughed aloud with relief. with an immense effort he held himself rigid, his fists clenched so tightly at his side they hurt. mansur was telling everyone who knew what had happened what they were to tell everyone who did not know.
-would anyone contradict mansur? no one did. relief spread through him.
-carefully, almost delicately, mansur laid the dagger on the floor beside qutuz. he stood up, wiping his hands on his mantle.
-with rapid strides the commander of the halkha crossed the chamber toward baibars. to arrest him? what choice had mansur made?
-to bow deeply before baibars. he made a graceful, sweeping gesture toward the vacant throne.
-"my lord, the power is yours."
-praise to god!
-baibars's single-eyed gaze paused for an instant, daoud saw, as it fell upon each of the emirs. in the look he fixed upon each there was both question and challenge.
-some of the emirs bowed their turbaned heads slightly. others, like kalawun al-elfi, simply looked back at him in silence, and that was assent enough.
-baibars raised his right hand toward the vaulted ceiling, the wide sleeve of his robe falling away from his powerful arm.
-"with your help, o god." he did not shout, but his deep voice carried through the room.
-slowly but with a terrible firmness he walked across the room. so quiet was the audience chamber that daoud at the other end of the room could hear the scrape of baibars's boots on the three marble steps to the throne. baibars turned and sat on the throne, resting his hands on its arms. he leaned back a little, and his eye seemed to rest on some spot above and beyond the heads of those who watched him.
-mansur ibn ziri turned to an officer of the halkha. "let runners be sent to el kahira. let them tell the people, 'pray for god's mercy on el malik al-mudhaffar qutuz. pray for the long life of your sultan baibars.'"
-let me hail him first, thought daoud. and if he wants to kill me for what i did, let it be now.
-trembling with exhilaration, he strode through the crowd and up the center of the room toward the throne. "lord sultan!" he said in a loud voice, "el malik dahir! victorious king!"
-he dropped to his knees and prostrated himself, striking his forehead on the hard, cold floor.
-hearing a knock at his chamber door, daoud rolled up the slip of thin parchment and dropped it into the purse at his belt.
-sordello entered at his command, greeting and saluting him.
-"i see you are one of us, messer david."
-"one of who?"
-sordello pointed to the writing desk where daoud had been standing and the sheaf of quill pens. "one who had his letters. i write down all my songs."
-daoud had no wish to feel kinship with sordello. the bravo had not bothered to clean the whiskers from his face for several days, and there was untidy-looking gray stubble, like fur, under his nose and on his cheeks and chin. a man should grow a beard, daoud thought, or keep his cheeks smooth.
-"what brings you to me?" daoud asked curtly.
-"the count de gobignon sent a message to me by way of ana, the bulgarian woman. would you care to read it?"
-de gobignon's note read: "the lady sophia, cardinal ugolini's niece, has represented herself to me as an honest woman who knows nothing of politics and takes sides neither for nor against the tartar alliance. find out if she is telling the truth. report to me in three days' time."
-daoud felt pleased with himself. turning sordello into a spy for himself was yielding useful results. it was not surprising that the frenchman was suspicious of sophia. she was so close to the party opposing the alliance; how could he think otherwise? but now, daoud thought happily, they had the means to put his suspicions to rest.
-daoud handed the note back to sordello, saying, "that is short and to the point, but he does not tell you how you are to learn whether madonna sophia is telling him the truth or not."
-"i could tell him that i have sung at dinner for the cardinal's household," said sordello. "i could report a conversation at table which shows madonna sophia to be the innocent he would like to think she is."
-"you keep talking about your songs and your singing," daoud said. "answer me truly--are you any good at those things?"
-sordello shrugged. "i could claim to be one of the finest trovatores in all italy, but if i did, you would rightfully ask why i have to make my living as a hired man-at-arms. so i will say only that i am good enough that i wish i could spend all my time making poetry and singing."
-a worthy wish, daoud thought. hearing his careful self-estimate, daoud's respect for the man increased a bit.
-"then you will sing at the cardinal's table. your suggestion is a good one. i will also arrange for you to be with madonna sophia at other times as well, so that you can honestly claim to know something about her."
-"very good, messer david." sordello turned to go, then turned back again. "messere?"
-"do you think you might send me on another trip to paradise sometime soon?" the eager light in his eyes sickened daoud.
-"do your work well, and i will see that you are properly rewarded."
-sordello left, and daoud brooded over his shame at what he had done to the man--turned him into something less than human, less than animal, a kind of demon with a single appetite.
-after a moment he forced himself to put that out of his mind. a fighter in jihad, holy war, must do many an ugly thing, but all was for the greater glory of god.
-the hymn "o salutaris hostia," sung by over a thousand strong voices abetted by several thousand more uncertain ones, echoed from the hillsides. the entire clergy of orvieto, from the pope down to the lowliest subdeacon, had come out of the city, and so had most of the lay population. but daoud's attention was drawn, not by the great procession coming down the cliffside road, or by the crowd in the meadow around him, but by the astonishing change that had come over the landscape.
-it was as if some devastating disease had struck all the growing things of the region, from the tallest trees to the very blades of grass. the leafless groves raised black, skeletal arms up to the bright blue sky, like men praying. the vineyards on the slopes were gray clumps of shrubbery. the meadow grass on which he stood was yellow and brittle; it broke to bits underfoot.
-he had known, of course, that such changes came over the european landscape each winter. but to see such desolation with his own eyes was more amazing, even frightening, than he realized it would be. soon the christians would be celebrating the birth of jesus the messiah, whom they believed was god. seeing death in the landscape all around him, daoud found it easier to understand why these idolators might feel driven to worship a god who rose from the dead.
-he hoped it would help his mission that the wave of enthusiasm for the miracle at bolsena had swept everyone in orvieto from the pope on down. he hoped they would have neither time to think about the tartars nor interest in dealing with them.
-but this miracle and all the talk about it made him uneasy. the frenzy in the christian faces around him might be turned, he thought, in any direction. it must be the same frenzy that had driven generations of crusaders to hurl themselves against the dar al-islam.
-fra tomasso was at the very center of the furor. it was he who had sent word from bolsena that in his judgment the miracle was indeed authentic. might this new preoccupation distract him from his efforts to prevent the alliance?
-and there was something else, something that revived a terror buried deep in daoud's soul. jesus, the crucified god of the christians, stirred in this miracle. as a boy growing up among muslims, daoud had renounced belief in the crucifixion and resurrection of jesus. now he felt again his father's ghostly hand on his shoulder, and the hairs lifted on the back of his neck.
-"look at the sick people and the cripples lining the road," said lorenzo. "i would not have thought there could be that many infirm people in orvieto." he and daoud stood side by side, at a spot where the road between bolsena and orvieto passed through a wide valley, their horses tethered in a nearby grove of poplar trees. they had moved back a few paces from the edge of the road to make room for a dozen men and women on stretchers, wrapped in blankets, who had been carried here by franciscan friars from their hospital.
-all around lorenzo and daoud stood cardinal ugolini's men-at-arms, servants, and maids. ugolini's entire household was here except for the few of highest rank who would march with the cardinal, who marched behind the pope.
-fearing that scipio would go uncared for, lorenzo had brought him along, holding him on a thick leather leash. the gray boarhound paced nervously and growled from time to time.
-in the meadow across the road the pope's servants had erected a pavilion without walls--just a roof of silk, gold and white, the papal colors, coming to three points held up by a dozen or more stout poles. there pope urban would say mass after receiving the sanctified cloth.
-daoud glanced down the road to where sophia stood. they had agreed that in public it would be best for them to appear far apart from each other. she was dressed as any well-to-do italian woman might be, her hair covered with a round, flat linen cap bound under her chin, a midnight-blue chemise with long, tight sleeves, and a sleeveless gown of light blue silk over it. beside sophia stood a slighter figure in gray veil and gown. they had their heads close together, talking.
-"who is that with sophia?" daoud asked lorenzo.
-"oh, rachel, i think." lorenzo studiously examined scipio's head for fleas.
-"she appears in public with rachel?" daoud said angrily.
-"i did not like sophia visiting rachel," daoud said. "even less do i like their being seen together in public."
-trumpets shrilled and drums sounded as the hymn came to an end. daoud looked toward orvieto. the road that wound down past the gray-yellow folds of tufa was filled with people.
-at the head of the procession walked the pope in gold and white, and the cardinals of the sacred college in bright red. the middle of the long line was bright with the purples of archbishops and bishops and the variegated raiment of the nobility. the rear was dark with the grays and browns of common folk.
-from this distance daoud could not see pope urban's face, but there was no mistaking the beehive-shaped mitre with its glittering triple crown.
-lucky for the pope the weather was cold, thought daoud. wearing those heavy vestments on a hot day would surely kill the old man. that today he chose to go on foot showed how much this miracle meant to him.
-daoud turned and looked to the west. the marchers from bolsena were close, and people were falling to their knees all over the meadow.
-i will have to kneel, too, and seem to worship their idols. forgive me, god.
-daoud saw sophia and rachel drop to their knees.
-surely they think as little of this as i do.
-coming toward daoud from the west was a great banner that offended his every religious feeling. painted on the red cloth were the head and shoulders of a bearded man, jesus the messiah, with huge, staring eyes. on his head was a plaited wreath of thorns, and behind it a disk of gold. from the nail holes that pierced his upraised palms fell painted drops of blood.
-an idol, such as the koran forbade and the prophet had come into this world to destroy.
-and then he thought of the great crucifix that hung in the chapel of château langmuir outside ascalon, and his mother taking him by the hand to pray before it.
-"because he lived and died here," he remembered her sweet voice saying, "that is why we are here in this holy land."
-he felt momentarily dizzy. they, his mother and father and all these people here, thought that the bearded man, with the wounds of crucifixion in his hands, was god. and he had believed it once, too.
-no, god was one. he could not be a father who reigned in heaven and a son who came down to earth. god was glorious and all-powerful; he could not be crucified. god was the creator; he could not be part of his creation.
-and yet--the cold hand still lay upon his shoulder. a gentle hand, but it frightened him.
-all around daoud the infidels were throwing themselves on their knees, even on their faces, in the road before the advancing banner. a man in a black robe was walking before the banner bearer. despite his long gray beard there was something about his staring eyes and wide, downturned mouth that reminded daoud of a fish.
-the bearded priest, father kyril, was holding up by its corners a white square of linen. that, thought daoud, must be the altar cloth on which the drops of blood had fallen from the wafer of bread. as he walked he slowly, solemnly, turned from side to side to allow people on both sides of the road to see the cloth.
-"kneel, david, for god's sake!" lorenzo ground out beside him.
-his curiosity had made him forget himself. he dropped to his knees, feeling dry grass prick his skin through his silk hose. lorenzo knelt beside him, gripping the dog's collar. the sick and crippled people lying beside the road were wailing and holding up their arms in supplication.
-again daoud asked god's forgiveness for his seeming idolatry.
-father kyril and the altar cloth were only a dozen paces away, and now daoud could see the brown bloodstains on the white cloth. amazingly they appeared to form the profile of a bearded man.
-as a cold wind against his spine, he felt his long-buried fear of the wrath of the christian god.
-the big hound, right beside him, let out a thunderous bark. daoud started with surprise. his heart pounded in his chest.
-scipio barked and barked, so loudly daoud put his hands over his ears. father kyril took a step backward. people who had been venerating the bloodstained cloth turned with angry shouts. the hands of the men-at-arms escorting father kyril twitched, groping for the weapons they were not carrying.
-"scipio!" lorenzo gave the hound a sharp slap on the side of the head. the dog kept up its barking. father kyril had stopped walking and looked frightened. he clutched the stained cloth to his breast. at a word from him, daoud thought, the crowd would tear to pieces the dog, lorenzo, and perhaps daoud himself.
-lorenzo grabbed scipio's muzzle with both hands, forcing it shut. scipio kept up a growling through his teeth. lorenzo growled back, "be still!" he wrestled the dog down until the lean gray head was pressed into the grass.
-"barking is the only way he knows to greet the savior," said lorenzo with an ingratiating grin, looking up at the people glaring at him.
-"there could be a devil in that dog," a brown-robed friar said ominously. but scipio relaxed under lorenzo's hands, and those around daoud and lorenzo turned back to the procession.
-daoud was furious. lorenzo's damned dog had been like a stone in his shoe ever since they set out from lucera. lorenzo was a valuable man, but he insisted on attaching others to him who caused endless trouble. like the dog. like rachel.
-a scream rose above the music, so shrill daoud put his hands over his ears again.
-"my god! i can see!" a woman was standing, clasping her hands together and flinging them wide again and again. one of the franciscans threw his arms around her, whether to rejoice with her or restrain her, daoud could not tell. but she pushed him away and went stumbling after father kyril. from the way her hands pawed the air, daoud suspected she could not see very well, but she shouted with joy all the same.
-she joined a crowd of people, many of them waving walking sticks and crutches, others with bloodstained bandages trailing from their hands. one man, daoud saw to his horror, was missing a foot and was limping along in the dirt road, without the aid of crutch or cane, on one whole leg and one stump bound with a dirty cloth that ended at the ankle. his face was red, sweat-slick, and blindly ecstatic.
-behind the rejoicing invalids walked rows of clergymen from bolsena. daoud recognized a familiar figure in the foreground, fra tomasso d'aquino, his cheeks crimson with cold and exertion, his black mantle blowing in the wind. he had spent the last two weeks, daoud knew, in bolsena investigating the miracle and overseeing preparations for the altar cloth to be brought to pope urban.
-what did he think now, daoud ached to know. would he still work as hard to defeat the tartar alliance? did this miracle mean daoud had gained ground or lost ground?
-a sudden silence fell over the meadow. pope urban, with trembling hands upraised, approached father kyril, whose back was to daoud.
-father kyril went down on his knees before the pope, holding up the white cloth over his head like a banner. then the pope also knelt, somewhat shakily, with the assistance of two young priests in white surplices and black cassocks. urban reached up for the cloth and pulled it down to his face and kissed it.
-he is seeing that cloth for the first time, and yet he seems to have no doubt that he is looking at the blood of his god that died.
-daoud felt a chill that was colder than the december air.
-daoud pushed his way to the edge of the open pavilion, where the pope, assisted by father kyril and fra tomasso, was saying high mass. a band of musicians blew on hautboys and clarions, sawed at vielles, stroked harps, and thumped on drums.
-the white cloth with its strange rust-colored stain was stretched on a gilded frame above the altar. daoud felt uneasy whenever he looked at it. just when it seemed he had found the key to wrecking the union of tartars and crusaders--a miracle. what did it portend?
-memory showed him his mother and father celebrating easter, standing hand in hand before the altar at château langmuir, receiving holy communion--the sacred host--from their chaplain. when he was old enough, his mother had told him he, too, would be allowed to take jesus into his heart by swallowing the communion wafer. what a strange belief! but at the time it had seemed beautiful.
-i bear witness that god is one, that muhammad is the messenger of god....
-he glanced around the pavilion, and saw many faces he had come to know in the last few months. there was cardinal de verceuil with his big nose and small mouth. there was ugolini, the size of a child, dressed up as a cardinal, blinking rapidly, looking rather bored. in the front row of standing worshipers were john and philip, the tartars, in silk robes. beside them, friar mathieu, the franciscan, cleverest of daoud's opponents. daoud gauged him to be a genuinely holy man, if an infidel could be called holy.
-and next to him was the pale young face of the count de gobignon.
-as daoud looked at him, de gobignon looked back, and his eyes widened slightly.
-one day, count, you will die by my hand.
-the mass began, and even though there must have been five thousand people in the valley, there was complete silence. the quiet was eerie. at a muslim religious celebration this large, the crowd would be chanting in unison, there would be music, dervishes singing and dancing; impromptu sermons would be delivered in various parts of the crowd by mullahs or by ordinary men moved to speak. here all was focused on the center.
-pope urban rose to speak. he had removed his mitre to say mass. his white hair, his long beard, and his trailing mustache seemed much more sparse than they had been when daoud had first seen the pope, last summer. his face was as pale as his hair, and his hands trembled.
-a few months ago daoud had heard urban's voice rise robustly from the center of his body. today his voice was high and thin and seemed to come from his throat. he told the story of the miracle of bolsena, and explained that father kyril was a priest from bohemia who had developed doubts about whether christ was really present in each and every consecrated communion wafer. could a small piece of bread really become the body of jesus when a priest said a few words over it?
-where is the illness? daoud's sufi-trained eye told him it was deep within pope urban; it had sunk its claws into his chest.
-i do not think this pope has long to live.
-ugolini had told daoud that urban wanted desperately, before he himself died, to strike a death blow against the hohenstaufen family. he wanted count charles d'anjou, brother of the king of france, to wrest the crown of sicily from manfred, but king louis had thus far forbidden his brother to make war on manfred.
-king louis wanted a different war, a joint war of christians and tartars against islam. thus far, the pope had withheld his approval of any christian monarch's allying himself with the tartars.
-as urban heard the approaching wings of the angel of death, might he be more inclined to grant louis what he wanted?
-the crowd was no longer silent. daoud heard waves of murmuring run through it as people relayed the pope's words to those who were too far away to hear him. he noticed now the hawklike profile of the contessa di monaldeschi. she was seated in a chair in front of the worshipers on the side of the pavilion opposite daoud. a plump young boy in red velvet stood beside her.
-seeing her, daoud looked for marco di filippeschi. he could not be sure, but the back of a dark head on this side of the pavilion looked like that of the filippeschi chieftain. those organizing this ceremony would, of course, be careful to separate the leaders of the two feuding families.
-pope urban continued: father kyril, realizing that he was doomed to eternal damnation if he did not overcome his doubts, had set out on a pilgrimage to rome. but rome had fallen on evil days, its streets turned into battlefields by the ghibellini followers of the vile hohenstaufens, and father kyril found no peace there. he decided to ask the prayers of the pope himself at orvieto. that decision was rewarded before he even reached here. two months ago, while saying mass at bolsena, on his way to orvieto, and praying that his doubts be resolved, father kyril raised the sacred host over his head after the consecration, and hundreds of witnesses saw drops of blood fall from it to the cloth spread on the altar.
-and now--pope urban gestured to the cloth spread above the altar--we can behold with our own eyes the blood of christ himself and see this proof--which, having faith, we should not need to see--that jesus lives in the blessed sacrament.
-"we propose to offer triple thanks to god for his generosity in granting us this miracle," said pope urban. "first, let the day on which father kyril saw the host bleed be celebrated henceforward as the feast of the body of christ, corpus christi. let this be proclaimed throughout christendom.
-"second, to house and display this most sacred relic, the blood of our savior himself, let a great and beautiful new cathedral be built here at orvieto, which will forever be the center for the veneration of the body of christ."
-daoud sighed inwardly at the thought of still another great building dedicated to idolatry.
-yet the chapel at château langmuir had been such a lovely and quiet place.
-as the pontiff's words were repeated, the murmuring grew louder. someone near daoud said, "but the miracle happened in bolsena." someone else hushed the person who protested.
-i should not wonder if these cities went to war with each other over such a relic, thought daoud.
-"finally," said pope urban, oblivious of the discontent his previous proclamation had caused among the citizens of bolsena, "we command that all priests of holy church shall read a special office on the feast of corpus christi of each year, commemorating this miracle. god has willed that there should be dwelling with us here at orvieto the most gifted scholar and writer of this age, fra tomasso d'aquino."
-daoud saw that fra tomasso's face was almost as bright a red as a cardinal's hat.
-"and we charge our beloved and most gloriously gifted son, fra tomasso, with the duty of writing this office."
-d'aquino rose heavily from a bench on the right side of the altar. puffing, sweating despite the chill of the day, he bowed to the pope with hands clasped before him.
-a great honor, that must be, daoud thought. fra tomasso was silent for the moment, but he would write words that would be repeated by thousands of priests all over the world as long as christians celebrated this feast. d'aquino was more than ever indebted to the pope. if the pope were to want d'aquino's help in persuading the french to go to war against manfred, he would collect that debt.
-looking at fra tomasso as he sat listening to pope urban talk on about his plans for the feast, for the cathedral, for the office, daoud saw a glow on those rounded features that made him uneasy. daoud had felt that with cardinal ugolini and fra tomasso stirring up opposition to the alliance throughout christendom, he had but to wait for the plan to die of old age.
-he could no longer be sure of that. fra tomasso's opposition to the alliance had a fragile basis at best, and this miracle might have shattered it.
-the blood of the messiah had power to change the course of events. daoud felt himself trembling.
-daoud's hands were cold and his heart was racing. he had been waiting all morning for ugolini to come back from the dominican convent.
-he sat at ugolini's worktable, trying to read. he had found an old book in arabic in ugolini's library, the aphorisms of ibn zaina, a book saadi had often praised. at another time he would have devoured it, but his mind refused to follow the words. sending ugolini to fra tomasso was his final effort to learn what had gone wrong and to see what might be saved.
-what would fra tomasso say to ugolini? at least ugolini could be trusted not to make things worse, as de verceuil had for their opponents.
-this was the christian month of february, and the chill that pervaded daoud's body came from the air around him as well as from his troubled spirit. the small wood fire that burned on the hearth beside the table did little to dispel the cold in the room.
-in the two months that followed the coming of the bloodstained altar cloth to orvieto, tomasso d'aquino had gradually, but completely, reversed himself. according to a dominican in ugolini's pay, the philosopher had sent new letters to the european kings confessing that his opposition to an alliance between christians and tartars had been an error. at least three italian cardinals had told ugolini that fra tomasso had come to them personally with the same message. cardinal gratiano marchetti whispered that pope urban, who did not expect to live through the winter, had promised the stout friar a voice in the election of the next pope. where urban had been neutral toward the alliance, perhaps even opposed, something now caused him to favor it. just as the tumbling of a single grain of sand could bring a whole dune crashing down to bury a caravan, so those drops of blood at bolsena had been the start of an avalanche of reversals.
-daoud awaited ugolini's coming, and the message he bore, as a man accused of a capital crime awaits the verdict of his judge.
-and if it was true that fra tomasso had irrevocably turned against them? daoud must begin all over again with a new plan to stop the alliance.
-the fire gave off the sour odor of strange substances ugolini had previously burned on the hearth. daoud pushed himself out of the cardinal's chair and went to get a breath of fresh air. he opened the casement window and saw ugolini's sedan chair, borne by four servants, turning in toward the door of the mansion.
-the cardinal's chair passed the shop across the street, where rows of large and small pots, brightly painted with floral designs, were laid out on a large blanket. the potter and his wife, bundled up in heavy cloaks, were calling out for the cardinal's blessing. daoud saw a tiny hand emerge from the curtains of the sedan chair, closed against the february cold. the hand shaped the sign of the cross in the air as the shopkeepers fell to their knees.
-daoud wondered whether the potter and his wife felt they had an unlucky spot to offer their wares. that was where, last august, de verceuil's archers had shot down two men in the crowd when the tartars were entering the city. and it was in front of that shop, shuttered then for the night, that alain de pirenne's body had been found. had the shopkeeper or his wife seen anything, and were they keeping silent only out of fear? months had gone by, but the podesta, d'ucello, was still investigating the killing, questioning and requestioning everyone who might know something about it.
-daoud paced the room anxiously until ugolini came in, throwing his fur-trimmed cape and his wide-brimmed red hat to a servant. he sat down in the chair daoud had been using. daoud closed the door.
-as a man dying of thirst begs for water, daoud prayed for good news.
-but ugolini's pale face, haggard eyes, and downturned mouth told a different tale. daoud's heart plunged into despair.
-"has he turned against us?" he hated the note of pleading he heard in his voice.
-ugolini went to his worktable, sighed, and sat down heavily. his eyes seemed to be crossed, staring down his pointed nose at the painted skull that grinned back at him. his restless fingers found the dioptra lying on the table, and he started to roll the brass tube in his hand.
-"i used every argument i could think of," he said. "i even repeated back to him the arguments he used in the letters and sermons he wrote against the tartars."
-"arguing with fra tomasso is like trying wrestle a djinn," daoud said. "i admire your courage in even trying."
-ugolini raised a finger. "i thought i was getting somewhere with him. he kept trying to change the subject. he kept asking me, if the earth moves while the sun stands still--he seems to be convinced that is what happens--then what path does the earth follow? i told him that the greeks"--he stopped and stared at daoud--"oh, never mind the greeks. the point is, he was mocking me."
-"yes, talking about the heavenly bodies. he was referring to that scroll you gave me to present to him, that work of aristotle. what a waste, giving that to him. what would i not give to have it myself."
-"why did he keep changing the subject? did he never tell you where he stands on the alliance?"
-ugolini closed his eyes and nodded. "yes, finally. he said he made a grave mistake opposing the alliance. he said that if christians do not seize this chance, the tartars may be converted to the religion of mohammed, as those in russia already have been, which would be the worst of all possible disasters." he opened his eyes and looked at daoud. "we have lost him."
-"is there nothing we can do to change his mind?"
-"i truly believe it is hopeless."
-hearing those words, daoud felt drained. he sagged against the wall of ugolini's cabinet, wanting to sit on the floor but unable to do so because then he could not see the cardinal.
-"it is urban who has done this to us," said ugolini. "he must have decided that supporting the alliance is the only way he can get french help against king manfred. he tempted fra tomasso with something far more valuable to him than an old scroll. he offered him greater glory and power in the church."
-the angel of death, thought daoud, had done it. feeling himself mortally ill, the pope had realized he could no longer bargain with the king of france on an equal basis. he would have to offer louis what he wanted, permission to ally himself with the tartars.
-"will the pope now support the alliance openly?" if daoud chose to fight, he thought, he would have to strike hard and fast. he would have to strike at the tartars.
-despite the downward turn of his fortunes, daoud felt a strange lightness of heart as he considered the prospect. he had tried every other way of preventing tartars and christians from forming an alliance--persuasion, bribery, the spreading of lies.
-now he could turn to the way he was best at. war.
-"urban will not come out for the alliance at once," said ugolini. "before bolsena, fra tomasso and my italian colleagues in the sacred college stirred up so much feeling against the tartars that urban would lose support all over europe if he were to call now for a pact between christians and tartars. so he must move slowly, with fra tomasso now working with him, winning approval for the alliance."
-"what if the french sent an army to him now?" daoud asked.
-ugolini laughed. "do you think king louis of france can sow dragon's teeth and have an army spring up in his fields overnight? he would have to summon the great barons of france. they would have to decide whether they support his cause, then assemble the lesser barons and knights. supplies must be gathered, money found to pay the knights and men-at-arms. it can take years to raise an army big enough to wage a war."
-the mamelukes would be ready to ride in a day.
-how had the crusaders managed to make any inroads at all in the dar al-islam?
-"if the pope is not ready to declare for the alliance, there is time," said daoud. "nothing is settled yet."
-"time for what? what will you do now?"
-he pushed himself away from the wall, went to a mullioned window, and pulled open one of the casements. to the northwest a tower of orange brick with square battlements looked arrogantly down upon the huddled masses of peaked red roofs. from the tower fluttered the orange and green banner of the monaldeschi. there the tartars were.
-he turned from the window and moved slowly toward ugolini's table.
-"i am sorry," he said as gently as he could. "this is not ended."
-ugolini had been playing with the dioptra. he dropped it with a clank.
-"what do you mean?" fear made his voice shrill and quavering.
-"i mean, i must attack the palazzo monaldeschi."
-"attack the monaldeschi!" it was almost a scream.
-daoud spread his hands. "i have no choice."
-ugolini sprang to his feet. "pazzia! you are mad!"
-it is you who are almost mad, with terror, daoud thought. he was going to have trouble with ugolini, no question.
-aloud he said only, "we will discuss it. you can help us plan. pardon me, your eminence, while i send for lorenzo."
-"it will have to be late at night, of course," said lorenzo. "and i would think a friday evening would be best, when the men-at-arms will be off their guard and many of them out carousing. but it finally depends on when marco di filippeschi says his family's men can be ready. they need to buy weapons."
-daoud and lorenzo stood by the cardinal's table while ugolini paced with many short steps between the windows and the hearth. he muttered to himself, and his hands trembled as he ran them through his tufts of white hair.
-"what of our men?" said daoud.
-"we have over two hundred now, scattered throughout the city," said lorenzo.
-if i could be in the palazzo before the fighting begins ...
-ugolini stopped his pacing and faced them. "you talk like moonstruck men! you would unleash a civil war right here in orvieto?"
-"not us, your eminence," said lorenzo. "have not these two families been fighting for generations?"
-"what is your objection?" said daoud gently.
-ugolini fixed them with a ferocious glare. "for six months, half a year, i have lain awake imagining arrest, disgrace, torture, execution. through miracles you have managed to carry out your plans without being caught. now you want to launch still wilder plans--incredible, fantastic things. i have had enough. god has kept me alive this long. i will not tempt him further."
-"my dear cardinal," daoud said, "once the tartars are dead, this will all be over. i will go back to egypt. lorenzo and sophia will return to manfred's kingdom. you will have nothing further to fear."
-"you could have tried to kill the tartars at any time since they came here," said ugolini. "why now?"
-"i needed to create as much ill will as possible between christians and tartars," said daoud. "if i had killed the tartars at once, i could not have had them discredit themselves out of their own mouths. fra tomasso and your colleagues among the italian cardinals could not have stirred up so much fear and hatred toward them. now, though, i have done all i can along those lines, and fra tomasso is already undoing what together we have accomplished."
-"and why involve the monaldeschi and the filippeschi?" ugolini pressed him.
-"to make it seem that the tartars have been killed by feuding italians. then hulagu khan will think again about whether he wants such people as his allies."
-ugolini shook his head. "i do not have to tell you, of all people, what war is like. and i think messer lorenzo, by the way he carries himself, has known battle more than once. you both know that chance rules every moment in war."
-"true," said daoud.
-and if chance decided against them? for a moment he saw sophia naked, being torn apart by the torturers' pincers. he almost shuddered, and had to hold himself rigid.
-"i take it you intend to be part of this attack on the monaldeschi," ugolini went on.
-"i do," said daoud.
-ugolini threw up his hands as if daoud had already proved his case for him. "well then, what if someone recognizes you attacking the palace?"
-"i will not openly lead. i will enter the palace and kill the tartars."
-"so," said ugolini. "you will not just be somewhere in the street outside the palazzo monaldeschi. you will be in the palace. in the midst of all your enemies. alone. attempting to assassinate the tartars. tell me, does that sound like the plan of a reasonable, cautious man to you?"
-daoud thought it sounded as if he were, to put it as ugolini had, tempting god. but ugolini did not understand that daoud had not only the skills of mameluke, but had also received the secret training of the hashishiyya fighters, the fedawi, whose powers many in the lands of islam thought magical.
-"i will be masked. i will be dressed in garments that will make it almost impossible to see me. i will not expose myself. i will move in darkness. i have been trained to find my way in darkness as surely as if it were sunlight."
-ugolini shook his head. "understand me. i would not go on arguing with you like this did i not feel i am arguing for my life. and tilia's, and the lives of those who depend on you. you must admit that you might be captured or killed. my house guest, found trying to murder the tartar ambassadors."
-daoud spread his hands. "you would then denounce me. you say you never knew what a demon you had taken into your home."
-ugolini laughed loudly and bitterly. "are our opponents fools? do you really think they would believe me, even for a moment? after perhaps hundreds of people have been killed, after a civil war in orvieto, anyone who is even suspect will die. the monaldeschi, the french, the church authorities, all will take their revenge. surely you understand that."
-daoud's heart grew cold as he looked along the road ugolini was describing and saw defeat, massacre, the hideous deaths of his comrades, and beyond that iron waves of crusaders and endless columns of tartar horsemen sweeping over the dar al-islam. and he could not look into ugolini's eyes and declare that all would turn out well.
-but what would happen if he did nothing? he looked down that path and saw the same masses of crusaders and tartars, saw the burning mosques, the emptied cities, the heaps of corpses. he saw the gray mosque in el kahira ruined, his teacher saadi hacked to pieces by crusader swords.
-then he heard words saadi had spoken: we are god's instruments, by which he brings about that which he wills. the fool does nothing and leaves the outcome to god. the ordinary man acts and prays that god will grant a good result. the wise man acts and leaves the outcome to god.
-he would act.
-he turned to lorenzo, standing near him by the cardinal's table.
-"your life is at stake in this. what do you think?"
-lorenzo's face was as grave as daoud had ever seen it. "if the filippeschi attack the palazzo monaldeschi, they will be driven off. but with more than five hundred men attacking the palace, it will be impossible for the french to guard the tartars adequately. if you get in, kill them, and get out safely, i think we can hide our part in the fighting. if you are caught or killed, i think it is as the cardinal says. we are all doomed."
-"exactly!" cried ugolini from where he stood behind his table. "then why risk it?"
-"because we must," lorenzo said to him. "if we do not stop the alliance by force, the pope will strike a bargain with the king of france. there will be a french army marching against my king manfred, and after that crusaders and tartars will fall upon messer david's people."
-ugolini uttered a deep groan and sank into his chair.
-relief swept over daoud. he had already decided to make the attempt on the palazzo monaldeschi even if lorenzo opposed it, but to have lorenzo side with him gave him more confidence that he could carry it off.
-lorenzo turned those somber eyes to him again. "it all depends on you. i am gambling that you can do it."
-daoud felt a powerful warmth toward the sicilian. there were times when he had wished lorenzo were not with him, times when he distrusted him. the foolishness of involving them with rachel and her husband. the fact that lorenzo was a jew who had abandoned his religion. even his dog was a nuisance. but at this moment to have lorenzo's support made him feel as strong and confident as if the mameluke orta he commanded had suddenly appeared in orvieto.
-he grinned at lorenzo. "you proved how good a gambler you are by losing to de verceuil."
-lorenzo chuckled. "what must we do first?"
-daoud said, "arrange for me to meet secretly with marco di filippeschi. and send word to king manfred that the pope and the french are about to reach agreement on the tartar alliance, and when they do the french will come pouring into italy. tell him now is the time for his ghibellino allies in the north to march on orvieto."
-lorenzo nodded. "i will send one of my men to lucera." he shook his head. "my god, how i wish i could go myself!"
-"once the tartars are dead," daoud said, "we will all go home. now, find sordello and send him to my room."
-as daoud left ugolini's cabinet, he glanced back to see the little cardinal slumped over the table, knotting his fingers in his fuzzy white hair. he would have to spend more time with him, to build up his courage.
-sophia was standing in the hallway when daoud emerged from his room that night, on his way to meet with the filippeschi chieftain. he was not surprised to see her. someone, ugolini or lorenzo, would have told her about his new plan. he beckoned her into his room and closed the door.
-each time the thought of defeat arose in his mind, he had felt the greatest anguish over what it would mean for sophia. that forced him to admit to himself how much he cared for her. now that he looked into her amber eyes and told her what he intended to do, the pain he felt was sharper than ever. he wanted to persuade her that she had nothing to fear. but he knew that would be a lie.
-he tried to keep what he said simple, practical. "you, like sordello, will bear witness that lorenzo and i had gone to perugia while the monaldeschi palazzo was under siege. lorenzo has allies in perugia who will confirm that."
-sophia stared at him with wide, solemn eyes. "you are risking everything." she reached out and seized his hand, gripping it urgently. "if they find out who you are while you are in the monaldeschi palace, it will be the end for all of us."
-he felt the strength in her fingers, the softness of her palm, and wanted to take her in his arms, but he held himself in check. there could be nothing between them as long as de gobignon was alive.
-"i know a hundred ways to get into a castle and out again," he said, wishing there had been time to share with her more of his life. "once i am inside, i will search out and kill the two tartars while all the armed men are occupied with the fighting outside. and then i will leave." he spread his hands to show how easy it would be.
-inwardly he was ashamed. he was preparing to sacrifice this woman's life, knowing that she might die a terrible death--rape, torture, mutilation, public execution. how could he face her at all? that he had made his decision in order to save hundreds of thousands of his people from slaughter, his faith from destruction, was no comfort at this moment alone with sophia.
-"will you fight simon?"
-he felt his blood go hot. that she should think at all of de gobignon at this moment rather than of herself--or of him--made him so angry he forgot for a moment his own guilt and fear for her life.
-"the young count will probably be leading the fight on the battlements." daoud tasted the venom in what he was about to say, but he could not help himself. "it will be quite a shock when he finds the tartars dead and realizes how he has failed."
-sophia stood breathing hard, her eyes glistening with tears. "if only you were not--"
-daoud was already wishing he had not spoken so to her. "not what?"
-"not blind!" she cried.
-she turned swiftly and reached for the door handle. but daoud could not let her go. he was there before her, and he faced her and seized her hand.
-"i am not blind," he rasped. "i see that pretending to be what you are not is tearing you apart. i wish we could be our true selves with each other--"
-"we cannot," she said bitterly. "and to speak of it only makes it hurt more. let me go."
-he relaxed his grip on her hand, and she was gone.
-some day, he thought. some day, sophia.
-looking at the closed door, daoud felt an almost unbearable inner pain. he had thrust her at simon. he had lashed out at her, hurt her unjustly. having done that to her, he was about to put her in far worse danger.
-how could he claim, even in the secrecy of his own heart, that he loved her?
-daoud's hashishiyya-trained senses needed no light to see by. he had learned to see with his ears as well as with his sense of smell. he could sense what weapons marco di filippeschi was wearing--a shortsword and two daggers at his belt, and, from the difference in footfalls, a third dagger in a sheath in his right boot. he knew the position of marco's hands, and he knew that marco had told the truth when he said he had come to this rendezvous alone.
-lorenzo had assured him that marco would leap like a hungry wolf at any chance to avenge himself on the monaldeschi. but daoud wondered, would the volatile young clan chieftain really be willing to undertake an attack on the monaldeschi that had more chance of failing than succeeding?
-"i can offer you over two hundred lusty bravos collected by one who is known to you," daoud said. hoping to make marco a little less certain about who his ultimate benefactor was, he avoided naming giancarlo. marco could destroy daoud and all his comrades by revealing the identity of the man who had incited his attack on the monaldeschi. if he were captured and tortured, strong and fierce though he might be, it was likely he would tell everything.
-daoud reached into the purse at his belt, where he had earlier put two emeralds. he held them out in his open palm so that the moonlight glistened on their polished surfaces.
-"please accept these as a gift," he said. "if you decide to assault the palazzo monaldeschi, your preparations will be costly."
-the jewels must be called a gift. the capo della famiglia filippeschi was not a man you paid to do your work for you.
-marco's hand closed around the emeralds, and his other hand seized daoud's forearm.
-"i shall spend this on weapons," he said. "crossbows to kill more monaldeschi. stone guns to batter down their walls. i care not what price i must pay."
-that is good, thought daoud, because the price may be very high.
-"i will need until spring," marco continued. "it will take that long to buy the weapons. i must work slowly and quietly so the old vulture does not get wind of what i am doing."
-"the monaldeschi are collaborating with this french pope and his french cardinals," daoud said to spur marco on. "and the french party is about to invite an army under charles of anjou into italy."
-"damn the french!" said marco. "and damn that putana and her family for working with them."
-"also, as everyone knows," daoud said, "the pope has not long to live. strike a blow now for italy, and you will frighten the cardinals at a time when they will soon be choosing the next pope. so your attack had better come no later than spring."
-"we filippeschi are as loyal to the papacy as the monaldeschi. perhaps more."
-"my master, whom i prefer not to name," said daoud, knowing that marco would think he meant king manfred, "does not wish to see the pope in league with the french."
-"this war of guelfi and ghibellini leaves us prey to every french and german ladrone who wants to come down and loot our country," said marco. obviously he had no great love for the hohenstaufens, either.
-"how will you start the fighting?" daoud asked him.
-"two or three of my cousins will take a walk in the piazza before the palazzo monaldeschi on a friday evening, when everybody strolls," marco said. "if their mere presence in that part of the city does not cause an incident, they will step on a few toes."
-"it will take some courage to go into the lion's den," daoud remarked.
-the young filippeschi chieftain laughed ruefully. "we possess more of courage than we do of anything else."
-if they did not also possess some prudence and the ability to keep a secret, daoud thought, everything was lost.
-the stained glass in the cathedral's deeply recessed rear windows broke the sunlight of the april morning into blue, yellow, and red beams. walking slowly through the nave, simon wondered why sordello had insisted this time on meeting him in person in the cathedral rather than sending his news through ana. the departure from their routine gave simon an uneasy feeling that some disaster was about to befall him.
-the miraculous altar cloth with the dark spots in its center was mounted in a gilded frame above the altar. on each side of it a tall white candle burned. at the foot of the altar two priests in black cassocks and white surplices knelt on benches, their heads resting on their folded arms so that it was impossible to tell whether they were sleeping or praying. in the four months since the cloth had been brought to orvieto, it had never been left unattended. the pope had decreed that priests in hourly shifts would watch day and night before the blood of the savior.
-simon suspected reverence was not the only motive for this vigil. he knew several tales of famous relics being stolen, not only from pious zeal, but because relics attracted pilgrims and their money. and the people of bolsena might still be jealous.
-hearing footsteps behind him, simon approached the altar, genuflected, and walked into the shadows on the left side of the cathedral. he paused by a fluted pillar that rose like a tree trunk. approaching him was a beggar in a tattered gray cloak that hung to his ankles. a deep hood hid his face. the man gripped simon's arm. the face of sordello looked out of the shadows under the hood. simon pulled his arm free.
-"i have something important to tell your signory, but it is not about cardinal ugolini and his circle." sordello spoke in a hoarse whisper. "the filippeschi are going to make a surprise attack on the palazzo monaldeschi."
-the news hit simon like a kick in the belly.
-the tartars--and he and his men--would be caught in the middle. he thought back to alain's murder. even since then he had felt that orvieto could be a death trap for him and all his men.
-simon leaned forward to peer into sordello's pinkish eyes. "when will the attack come?"
-"tonight, after vespers."
-tonight! now simon's blood froze. no time! no time! a voice shrieked inside him. he wanted to run back to the palace shouting warnings all the way. it took all his strength to keep him standing with sordello, to force his mind, galloping like a runaway horse, to slow down and frame questions.
-"how did you find out?"
-"tavern talk. some of giancarlo's hired bravos were drinking with filippeschi men."
-sweat that felt like a cold rain broke out all over simon's body. the tartars--he must get them out of the monaldeschi palace. but the contessa had been his hostess for many months. he himself had no quarrel with the filippeschi, but he had an obligation to defend the contessa.
-"how long have you known this?"
-"i just learned it last night, but they must have been preparing for months."
-sordello's eyes met his. "the filippeschi think the monaldeschi are betraying italy to you french."
-if the filippeschi were attacking now because he was at the palazzo monaldeschi, then indeed he had a quarrel with them, whether or not he wanted one. and it was his fault, in a sense, that the contessa was in danger.
-"betraying italy to the french? what does that mean?"
-sordello ticked off points on his fingers. "the pope is french. he asks the contessa to take the tartars into her house. then you and cardinal de verceuil come with the tartars. and now everyone has heard that the pope wants charles d'anjou to come in and take sicily and southern italy from king manfred. the filippeschi want to turn the tide now, they say, before the french own all of italy."
-the face of uncle charles flashed vividly before simon's mind, the big nose, the staring eyes. when they had talked of this mission over a year ago at the louvre, he had said nothing of sicily, had spoken only of the liberation of jerusalem and the destruction of islam. was sicily what he really wanted--or perhaps even all of italy?
-what should he do? it struck simon with frightening force that there was no one but he to take the responsibility. he was in command. he must make the plans and the decisions. his heart thudded frantically, and he prayed that sordello could not see the consternation that filled him.
-"what forces do they have, what weapons?"
-sordello shook his head. "as to that, your signory, i know very little. i have been at cardinal ugolini's mansion, not among the filippeschi. i would guess they must have at least five hundred men and siege weapons. they would be mad to start this thing with less."
-"five hundred men and siege weapons!"
-simon pictured the monaldeschi palace with its great tower crumbling under a bombardment of boulders. he saw men swarming over it like ants. he saw the defenders lying dead in the ruins--de puys, thierry, the armenians, the venetians--himself. he saw the tartars with their throats cut.
-again he felt the urge to run back to the palace to prepare at once. again he suppressed the urge so he could ask more questions.
-"where did they get such forces?"
-sordello shrugged. "they are a big family. they have relatives in the outlying towns."
-simon bent down to look deep into sordello's bloodshot eyes. "are you sure ugolini and david of trebizond and the rest are not involved? if we french and the tartars are the provocation, ugolini must be behind this."
-sordello tapped his cheek just under his right eye. "your signory, i watch them as closely as those priests watch the miraculous altar cloth. ugolini has been in despair all winter, since fra tomasso changed sides. he buries himself in his cabinet with his magical instruments. david has lost interest in the tartars and thinks only about trade. he talks to giancarlo of making up a caravan to go back to trebizond. the two of them left for perugia on business yesterday."
-"what about giancarlo's bravos?"
-"altogether, giancarlo has hired only a dozen such men, including myself. we guard david's goods and escort his caravans." sordello waved a hand in dismissal.
-"and what of the cardinal's niece?" said simon, trying not to sound especially interested.
-sordello shrugged. "that lovely lady stays apart. she goes to church, she reads, she paints."
-worried though he was about the impending filippeschi attack, simon's heart felt lightened by joy. sophia was innocent. his love for her was vindicated. after this was over he would come to her and broach marriage.
-"you must watch madonna sophia for me," simon said. "stay close to her. do not let her go out tonight."
-"stay close to her." sordello grinned. "that will not be hard, your signory."
-simon seized the front of sordello's tunic. "never speak that way of her."
-sordello jerked away from simon and brushed his tunic. "i am a man, your signory. do not treat me like a slave." the coarse face was pale with outraged pride.
-he forgets his place so easily. but there is no one else to guard sophia for me.
-"i want you to be thinking about her safety, and that alone," he said in a calmer voice.
-sordello bowed. "i understand, your signory." but resentment still burned in his narrowed eyes.
-in the midst of his fear, like a single candle glowing in a pitch-black cathedral, simon felt a tingle of anticipation. there was something in him, deeply buried but powerful, that keenly looked forward to taking command in battle.
-"if you learn any more, try to get word to me," he told sordello.
-he turned and hurried through the nave of the cathedral to the front doors, still holding in check the urge to run.
-"for them to attack is pazzia," said the contessa. "we have twice the men-at-arms they do. yet i pray god this rumor is true. by tomorrow morning marco di filippeschi will be hanging from our battlements." the cords in her neck stood out, her nose was thrust forward like a falcon's beak, and her eyes glittered.
-simon said, "with respect, contessa, they must have more men than you do. i was told they might have five hundred. and siege machines."
-they were seated in the small council room of the monaldeschi palace--simon, the contessa, de verceuil, sire henri de puys, and friar mathieu--around a circular table of warm brown wood.
-"but surely we have better men," said henri de puys in french. "what sort of fighters could these philippe-whatever-they-are muster? routiers, highwaymen?"
-friar mathieu turned to de verceuil. "might i suggest that your eminence use your influence with pope urban. perhaps his holiness can stop this battle."
-"yes," said de verceuil. "i will try to speak to him. but he is sick, and pays little attention to anything."
-probably de verceuil is annoyed because he did not think first of going to the pope.
-"i should think it would endanger his health even more if a war broke out in orvieto," said friar mathieu.
-"i will see him," said de verceuil. "but i will also arm myself and my men to help defend this place."
-simon expected de verceuil to next propose himself as commander of the defense, but, to his delight, the cardinal had nothing more to say. then the suspicion crossed his mind that de verceuil did not want to have to take the blame in case of defeat.
-"grazie, your eminence," said the contessa.
-simon said, "i must go to signore d'ucello. surely the podesta will not let civil war break out in the city he governs."
-the contessa laughed, a knowing cackle. "go to him if you like, but you waste your time. he cannot--will not--stop the filippeschi. he has filippeschi relatives, you know. but he could not stop me, either, if i chose to attack them."
-friar mathieu said, "perhaps we should take the ambassadors to the papal palace. that would get them out of harm's way until this is over."
-simon's body went rigid. the tartars were his responsibility. he would never give them up to the pope's men-at-arms.
-"no!" he said. "the duty of guarding them is mine, and i will surrender it to no one."
-de puys struck the table with his open palm. "bravely spoken, monseigneur."
-friar mathieu sighed.
-de verceuil pointed a finger at simon. "count, you have no right to risk the ambassadors' lives just for your own glory."
-simon looked around the table. he was the youngest person here, and they were treating him like a child. he remembered the doge zeno's threat to have him thrown into the water of venice's san marco canal. he remembered the many times de verceuil had been overbearing with him. to think that man would accuse anyone else of being too concerned with his own glory.
-he was about to shout defiance when he thought of royal councils he had attended as a page to king louis. those close to the king often disagreed with him, but they usually ended up doing what he wanted. louis was perhaps the strongest man, in his gentle way, simon had ever met, but he had never heard him raise his voice.
-instead of defying de verceuil and the others, he tried to speak with dignity, even humility, as king louis himself might.
-"his majesty's brother, count charles, entrusted this task to me. shall i give it up at the first threat? shall i turn over the ambassadors' protection to men unknown to me, some of whom may be moved by the same hatred of us french that moves the filippeschi? i have a duty not to let the ambassadors go beyond the walls i guard."
-when he finished there was silence.
-friar mathieu said, "count simon makes an excellent point. john and philip may well be safer guarded by our men, even under attack."
-now that they had agreed, simon's heart sank. if the tartars were killed in the coming battle because he had insisted on keeping them in the palace, he would bear the guilt. instead of restoring his name, he would end by plunging it deeper into the mire.
-de puys looked from simon to the cardinal and said, "perhaps our knights and crossbowmen could go with the tartars to the pope's palace."
-"no!" cried the contessa. "now, when i am attacked because i opened my home to the tartars and the french, will you all abandon me? all the men of my family are dead but the boy vittorio." she turned to simon and seized his wrist with her clawlike hand. "you must stay and defend me. you must be my cavaliere."
-simon pressed her hand in both of his and saw tears running down her withered cheeks.
-"i would not think of leaving you, contessa."
-"but, contessa," said friar mathieu, "if the tartars were to leave your palace, the filippeschi might not attack you."
-"no, no." the contessa shook her head. "if they think they are strong enough to attack me, they will. they have long sought to kill me and vittorio. canaglia! may god send that little bastard marco and all the filippeschi straight to hell!"
-friar mathieu winced and made the sign of the cross.
-inwardly simon winced, too, as he always did at the word bastard. but, bastard or not, he was about to command a palace under siege. he felt his chest swelling at the thought.
-the candlelit audience chamber of the podesta was hung with somber maroon drapes drawn against the night air. on the wall behind d'ucello, a tapestry depicted jesus and barabbas being offered to the crowd in jerusalem while pilate washed his hands. simon had never seen such a large scene with such finely embroidered figures, and he admired it aloud.
-"i keep it here as a reminder that a judge who heeds the popular clamor may make a grave error," said the small man behind the large table. "how may i serve you, count?"
-as simon told the podesta what he knew of the planned filippeschi assault on the contessa's palace, d'ucello leaned back in a tall chair that seemed too big for him, his eyes distant, the corners of his mouth turned down under his thin mustache.
-when simon finished, d'ucello asked, "are cardinal ugolini or any of his guests involved in this?"
-the very question i asked sordello. interesting that the podesta shares my suspicions.
-"the person who warned me said they were not."
-d'ucello peered at him. "and who warned you?"
-"i would rather not say. i have an informant in cardinal ugolini's household."
-"really? good for you." the podesta gave him a look of amused respect that kindled a warm glow of pride in him. "well, your signory, if there is a battle between the monaldeschi and the filippeschi, i can do nothing about it."
-simon was swept by strange mixed feelings. he was ready to do almost anything to prevent the coming battle. but in the midst of his despair at d'ucello's refusal to help, he kept seeing himself in armor rallying his men on the monaldeschi battlements.
-"is it not your duty to keep the peace in orvieto?"
-"all my watchmen together are not a tenth of the number of armed men the monaldeschi and the filippeschi can put into the streets. i assure you that if the watch did try to stop the fight, the monaldeschi and the filippeschi would join forces and annihilate my men before they went on to tear each other to pieces. look, your signory, mine is a lifetime appointment, which means that how long i live depends on how well i please those who appointed me. the families wish me to prevent or punish fraud, theft, rape, and murder. but when the families have quarrels that can be settled only by bloodshed, they want no interference. did the contessa send you here to appeal for my help?"
-"no, she told me you could not stop the filippeschi," said simon, appalled at this glimpse of the chaos that lay under the pretty surface of this town.
-d'ucello nodded with a look of satisfaction. "of course. no doubt she sees this as her chance to kill off marco di filippeschi, something she has longed to do for years. i cannot do what you ask. i know the limits of my power."
-power, thought simon. brute strength. that was what would decide this clash, and all he could do was make sure his side was stronger. he felt a resolve, at once grim and gleeful, growing inside him.
-he stood up and inclined his head. the stout little man rose and bowed back.
-"then i cannot rely on you?" simon said.
-he thinks i was talking about sophia.
-simon wished he could go to sophia. what if he were killed tonight and never saw her again? he wished there was at least time to send her a poem.
-d'ucello had probably guessed that simon was visiting sophia when alain was murdered. simon felt his face grow hot with chagrin. he had failed to keep his secret--his and sophia's.
-he remembered sordello telling him that david and giancarlo had gone to perugia. simon could save d'ucello from a waste of time by telling him that.
-but why bother? he's been no help to me.
-angry with the podesta and with himself, and unwilling to yield any more information to the little man, simon took his leave.
-with two of his knights, the sires de borione and de vilbiz, flanking him, simon hurried back from the podesta's palace to the palazzo monaldeschi. they looked over their shoulders so often as they strode through the darkening street that simon began to feel they were looking backward as much as forward. but no bravos sprang at them from ambush, no arrows flew from housetops. indeed, the streets were unusually quiet and empty for late saturday afternoon, with the clink of the knights' spurs and the tramp of their heels on the cobbles the loudest sounds of all.
-windows were shuttered, doors closed tight. the whole neighborhood, thought simon, must be aware of what was about to happen.
-they turned a corner into the square before the monaldeschi palace and heard the sound of hammers. simon had ordered de puys to supervise the building of slanting wooden screens above the battlements to be covered with wet blankets to protect the roof from fire arrows. the job was almost done, and simon reminded himself to compliment de puys when he saw him.
-his first task here at the palace was to insure the safety of the tartars. he had already decided that the safest place in the palace was the spice pantry in the cellar.
-and what if the palace were overwhelmed and the tartars were trapped and killed in the spice pantry? simon made up his mind that he himself would not surrender. the filippeschi would have to kill him to get to the tartars.
-friar mathieu answered simon's knock. simon had never seen the tartars' chambers before, and he was shocked. mattresses covered with blankets lay along the walls. rugs and cushions were scattered about, but there was no bed, table, or chair to be seen. an overpowering smell of burnt meat filled the first room simon entered. in the center of the wooden floor an area about three feet across was covered with blackened flagstones, and atop the stones was a heap of charred wood. beside this crude hearth was a pile of broken animal bones, melon rinds, and other refuse. an open wine barrel added its sweetish smell to the general odor of smoke and decay.
-simon wondered whether the contessa had seen this squalor. she had shown the tartars special favor, giving them three rooms in the northwest corner of the third floor. in most palaces a single room was the most even a very distinguished visitor could expect. if she thought they were savages after david of trebizond had baited them at her reception, what would she think after seeing this pigsty?
-john and philip rose at simon's entrance and bowed, smiling broadly. they seemed not the least embarrassed by the foul condition of their chambers. simon bowed back, trying also to smile.
-"if cardinal ugolini were to show these rooms to the sacred college, many of the cardinals would join him in detesting the tartars," simon said to friar mathieu. "a wonder the smoke has not smothered them."
-with a wry smile friar mathieu pointed at the ceiling. an irregular hole had been broken through above the tartars' hearth.
-"fortunately for everyone, they are on the top floor of the palace," the franciscan said. "all they have tried to do is reproduce the kind of home they are used to living in, even to the smoke hole in the roof."
-the white-bearded john said something in the tartar tongue to friar mathieu.
-"they have heard of the coming fight," the franciscan said. "they want weapons and a place on the battlements. they say it is their duty as guests to defend their hostess, the contessa."
-simon tensed himself for trouble. he had feared this. he chose his words carefully.
-"i am sure the contessa will be overwhelmed with gratitude when i tell her of such a gracious offer. but we would not want to have to answer to the mighty hulagu khan if something happened to them or to their noble mission. tell them that, and that it is our duty to keep them safe. there is a stone storeroom underneath the kitchen, a spice pantry. i have explored the palace, and that is the securest place. they must go there the moment the filippeschi attack. they should take the armenians with them."
-the tartars looked angry and shouted vigorous staccato protests when friar mathieu translated this. philip, the younger, black-haired one, especially addressed himself to simon. philip seized the oblong gold tablet of office that hung around his neck and shook it at simon.
-"he reminds you that his title is baghadur, which means valiant. he says you insult him by asking him to hide in the cellar. among his people nobody hides. even the women and children fight."
-simon felt his assurance collapsing. what if the tartars simply refused to seek safety? he could not put them in chains.
-earnestly he said, "tell them it is their duty to their khan to stay alive and continue negotiations. be as courteous as you have the power to be in their language."
-"oh, i am being very polite. one always is, with them."
-after another exchange friar mathieu said, "they say hulagu khan would expect them to fight."
-simon had a sudden inspiration. "tell them that if they were to fight and if anything happened to them, even the slightest injury, the king of france would cut my head off."
-there was a particle of truth in that, simon thought as friar mathieu translated. kindly as king louis was, decapitation would be preferable to facing his reproach if simon's weakness caused the tartars' death.
-john shrugged and answered friar mathieu quietly. simon held his breath, praying that this last effort would work.
-friar mathieu said, "john says that you are a brave young warrior, and it would be a shame to have your head cut off when you have a lifetime of battles ahead of you. for your sake they will forgo the pleasure of this fight. but they insist on taking only two guards with them. they insist that the rest of their men fight beside yours."
-relief washed over simon. he hoped he would be able to think as quickly in the coming battle as he had just then.
-"i can use their other men. have whatever the ambassadors need for their comfort carried to the spice pantry." he looked again at the pile of garbage. "tell them they will be next to the kitchen. they should like that."
-"count simon!" simon recognized the crackling voice of the contessa.
-she was wearing a floor-length gown of deep purple velvet. she held up a disk-shaped bronze medallion on a silver chain.
-"please take this, my young paladino. wear it into battle for me."
-simon went to her, his steel-shod feet echoing in the hallway. all his movements felt slow and clumsy in the mail shirt that hung to his thighs and the mail breeches that protected him from waist to ankle.
-embossed on the medallion was a mounted knight driving his lance into a coiling bat-winged dragon baring huge fangs in rage. where the lance pierced the scales was set a tiny, teardrop-shaped ruby.
-she reached up and put it around his neck. he could feel its weight through his mail shirt.
-"san giorgio. it was my husband's, and i have kept it locked away in my jewel casket since the day the puzzolenti filippeschi murdered him. it is yours now. san giorgio will give you victory." she raised her thin body on tiptoe and he felt her dry lips press against his cheek.
-"i will never forget this moment, madonna." he touched her yellow cheeks with his fingertips to brush away her tears.
-he did not want her to know that this was his first--his very first--battle.
-climbing the spiral stairs to the tower, his legs ached as he pushed his mailed weight upward, and his neck felt strained under his mail hood and steel helmet. it had been weeks since he had worn his mail, days since he had practiced his sword drill. he swore at himself.
-he emerged through a trapdoor onto a square platform paved with flagstone. three helmeted heads turned to him: de puys, his head covered with tight-laced mail leaving only a circle for his eyes, nose, and mustached mouth; teodoro, capitano of simon's venetian crossbowmen, wearing a bowl-shaped helmet; and de verceuil, whose tall helmet was painted bright red and shaped like a cardinal's mitre covering his entire face with the stem of a gold cross running up the center and the arms of the cross spread over the eyeholes.
-dressed for war, de verceuil looked more like a cardinal than he usually did, simon thought ironically.
-of the four men on the tower platform, de verceuil wore the most elaborate armor with steel plates over his mail at his shoulders, knees, and shins. hanging from a broad belt at his side was a mace, an iron ball on the end of a steel handle a foot long. this was, simon knew, the proper weapon for a clergyman, who was not supposed to shed blood.
-over his mail shirt de verceuil wore a long crimson surcoat sewn with cloth-of-gold maltese crosses. de puys, like simon, wore a purple surcoat on which the three gold crowns of gobignon were embroidered over and over again. teodoro's simple breastplate of hardened leather was reinforced with steel plates.
-leaning into a crenel between two square merlons, simon took a deep breath of the mild spring air. it would be a pleasant evening, did he not know that many men were going to die.
-he watched the last wagons bringing in casks of water and wine, loads of hay and sacks of grain and beans--supplies in case the fighting dragged on--over the drawbridge through the rear gate. water, especially, was in short supply in the city on the rock. the palace had its own spring, but it did not produce enough water to supply the whole establishment. simon remembered sophia drinking from his hands in the garden.
-he stopped short at the thought of her to whisper a little prayer for her safety. but she was in no danger. no one was threatening cardinal ugolini.
-simon had ordered that every cask of water available in orvieto be bought and every vessel filled. the attackers would surely use fire as a weapon. he had also sent for a supply of rocks from a quarry outside the city, extra ammunition for the stone casters mounted on the roof.
-he recalled that sordello had said the filippeschi intended a surprise attack. they were certain to learn of these preparations and realize that the monaldeschi had discovered their plan. what if they did not come at all?
-if the fact that the monaldeschi were ready was enough to prevent the attack, that would be the best possible outcome. but simon realized with a pang that if the filippeschi did not come, he would be terribly disappointed.
-he shook his head at his own madness.
-sunset reddened the tile roofs surrounding the monaldeschi palace. from up there simon could see the tall campaniles of orvieto's five churches and the towers of the other palaces--all battlements square, because this was a guelfo city. a green flag, too small from this distance to make out the device on it, flew over a tower on the southwest side of the city, the palace of the filippeschi.
-he went to the other side of the tower to look at the city wall. orange and green monaldeschi banners flew there. he had assigned twenty monaldeschi archers, all he dared subtract from the defenders of the palace, to secure the nearest section of the wall. he had wanted to station men in the houses near the palace as well, but de puys persuaded him that such outposts would surely be overrun and the men speedily lost. better to concentrate his forces in the palace itself.
-he could not make out cardinal ugolini's house, somewhere to the southeast of him. it had no tower to distinguish it. but he thought again of sophia. how lovely it would be to be with her sitting and chatting instead of up in this tower awaiting a deadly onslaught. how wonderful if his only worry were whether or not she would accept his marriage proposal.
-he stared out over the city and thought, somewhere out there was another enemy. even if, as sordello reported, cardinal ugolini were not behind this attack, there might be someone behind both the filippeschi and cardinal ugolini. ever since he had come to orvieto, simon had sensed the presence in this city of a hidden enemy. an enemy who knew him and watched him, but whom he did not know. the one--simon was sure of it--who had killed alain.
-i am waiting for you, he said, gripping the red bricks of the battlements.
-every old soldier simon had ever talked to had said that war consisted more of waiting than of fighting. simon found the combination of boredom and fear well nigh unbearable.
-de puys sat with his back against the battlements and dozed like a large cat. de verceuil also sat, his helmet on the tower floor beside him, reading from a small leather-bound book, whispering the latin words. simon supposed it must be his office, the prayers every priest was required to say every day. the cardinal would have to get today's office read quickly; the light was fading fast.
-capitano teodoro preferred to be busy. he kept shuttling back and forth between the tower and rooftop two stories below, where his men were deployed. teodoro would make a circuit of the tower battlements, frowning down at his company of archers. then he would go down and order six or so men to change position. he would inspect everyone's weapons. he inspected the bows of even the eight armenians, in their bright red surcoats, who would fight beside the venetians. the friction between the armenians and the venetians, simon had noticed, had lessened considerably after he promoted teodoro. he was a good leader. at the contessa's request teodoro inspected the monaldeschi men-at-arms, who were mostly stationed at the two gates and in the hallways and apartment windows.
-after each inspection tour, teodoro would come back up, study the situation, then go down and rearrange the men, likely as not returning them to their earlier positions.
-but staying busy made sense. it kept everyone alert.
-simon left the tower once to visit his four knights on the rooftop, each one stationed, with six men-at-arms, by a stone caster at a corner of the roof. so that their missiles would clear the screening he had built over the battlements, the long-armed machines were set well back from the edge of the roof. the knights did not like supervising the stone casters. they wanted, they told him, a chance to charge the enemy during the attack. simon tried to be good-humored about insisting that they remain within the palace, but it was hard giving orders to men who were older than himself and combat veterans. he missed alain, realizing only now how much he had relied on his young friend as a go-between for himself and the other knights.
-returning to the tower roof, simon kept pacing from one corner to the other. he fingered the jeweled hilt of his scimitar. he tried to divert himself by thinking of sophia, by imagining how he would phrase his marriage proposal to her. he dreaded the fighting, but wished it would start.
-like a rising tide the shadows spread and deepened, swallowing up the hills beyond the city, then the city walls, then the towers. the four men stood in darkness, no torchlight up here to make them an easy target. the only light on the roof below was the shimmer of charcoals burning in four braziers for fire arrows.
-an orange glow appeared over the hills to the east, the moon starting to rise.
-simon heard distant shouting. battle cries.
-"filippeschi!" it was teodoro's voice.
-simon saw flickering red light dancing on house walls coming toward them, converging from front, sides, and rear. the streets were too narrow to permit sight of the advancing bravos and their torches.
-so, even though they know we are ready for them, they have come.
-from the street directly opposite the main entrance to the palace a long, dark shape emerged, like a gigantic tortoise. similar shapes issued from other streets opening on the piazza. the tortoises were big enough to shelter at least a dozen men. there were six of them, crawling across the open space.
-"use the fire arrows!" simon shouted. teodoro repeated the order to his men. on the roof below, men raced from the battlements to the braziers and back again, and streaks of light arced from the rooftop at the tortoise shapes.
-simon could hear the burning arrows sizzle on the wet wooden frameworks and wet hides. the hides did not burn, but the light from the arrows made it easier for the crossbowmen shooting from the battlements to see their targets. teodoro was down on the roof directing their fire. the archers volleyed at the closest tortoise. the steel bolts tore right through the skins, piercing the men beneath. simon heard the thump of thirty bolts striking a tortoise at once, then screams. the framework stopped moving, and simon saw men crawling from under it. some ran frantically back to the shelter of the side streets; others crept a few paces and collapsed.
-something whizzed past simon's head and struck the brick merlon beside him. a shower of chips clattered on his mail. one stung his cheek.
-"shooting back," said teodoro. "from the sides."
-torchlight flickered from behind wooden mantlets at the mouths of the streets approaching the palace from the north and south. the rectangles of wood filled the street from side to side. from this height simon could see the crowds of men behind each mantlet.
-fire arrows from mantlets and tortoises hissed overhead and fell, trailing sparks, into the atrium of the palace. simon heard splashes as servants threw water on the trees.
-"put more of your men on the sides," he said to teodoro, who hurried down the stairs inside the tower.
-the moon was now a red oval low in the eastern sky. the light would help the filippeschi target the defenders on the rooftop, but it would not expose them in the streets.
-a loud crash startled simon, and he felt the tower floor shake. another crash and another. stone casters. the stones were coming from all directions, and simon could hear screams.
-he turned to de puys. "fire our stone casters."
-with de puys gone, only simon and the cardinal were left in the tower. they had nothing to say to each other. the cardinal had donned his miter-shaped helmet at the first sign of the filippeschi, and simon could not see his face. simon longed for teodoro to come back.
-it was simon's equerry, thierry, who pushed open the trapdoor. "capitano teodoro is hit."
-"blood of god!" simon pushed past de puys to hurry down the tower's inner staircase.
-teodoro lay near the entrance to the tower, surrounded by a crowd of men-at-arms. his breathing came in hoarse gasps, alternating with grunts of pain. it was too dark for simon to see him well. he knelt beside teodoro, and a vile smell of excrement choked him. someone beside simon was sobbing. teodoro had been much liked among the venetians.
-carefully simon felt down the capitano's body. the hard leather cuirass he wore was cracked down the center. just below his chest simon's hand met the huge rock. it was wet, probably with teodoro's blood.
-"it caught him right in the middle," said an archer standing over simon. "broke him in two. crushed his belly and his spine. only the part of him above the stone is alive."
-a gurgling sound rose in teodoro's throat. he was vomiting, and warm liquid gushed over simon's hand. his own stomach writhed, and bile burned his throat. he stood up suddenly, and instantly regretted it, because he had wanted to comfort teodoro in his dying. but the gasping had stopped.
-teodoro had probably never known he was there.
-simon's hands and knees were trembling.
-so this is what it is like to be killed in battle.
-he wiped his hand on his surcoat. careful to make his voice firm, he ordered the archers back to their positions. the weight of his mail almost unbearable, he stumbled back to the doorway to the tower.
-he felt his arm gripped and heard friar mathieu's voice. "simon, i heard you lost your capitano of archers."
-"this is much worse than i ever thought it would be, father," he whispered, almost as if confessing.
-the hand on his arm squeezed through his mail. "trust yourself, simon. you will do what you must do."
-by the light of a fire arrow burning itself out in the overhead screen, simon saw the contessa, her purple gown tied up to her knees so she could move more quickly. she called friar mathieu to see to a wounded man, then greeted simon.
-she thinks i am a hero. if only she knew the horror i feel.
-who was teodoro's second-in-command? yes, peppino. peppino was the one who had fought with the armenians at alain's funeral, but a new capitano must be appointed immediately. there was no time to balance considerations.
-he managed to find peppino and appointed him to lead the venetians. then on shaking legs he pushed himself back up to the roof of the tower.
-"they are bombarding the rear gatehouse with mangonels," de puys said. simon heard rocks thudding against the drawbridge at the rear of the palace, the entrance for horses and wagons. by moonlight he was able to make out, across the street from the rear of the palace, four mangonels, stone guns shaped like giant crossbows.
-"where did the filippeschi get so many men and machines?" simon wondered aloud.
-"one would suppose you could answer that," said de verceuil, his voice muffled by his helmet. "are you not our military expert?"
-simon was still too gripped by horror to be angry. but a part of his mind somehow kept trying to think about what the filippeschi intended.
-he became lost in thought as he gnawed at the problem, and all but forgot the battle raging around him. numerous as they seemed, the filippeschi had just a chance, no more than that, of overwhelming the monaldeschi palace, especially having lost the advantage of surprise. was their hatred of the monaldeschi so deep that such an uncertain chance was reason enough for them to make this effort?
-if i could but capture marco di filippeschi and force him to tell me why he is doing this ...
-what if this attack were a diversion, a cover for the real blow, to be struck by stealth?
-simon's body went cold.
-"i must see to the tartar ambassadors," he said. he turned toward the trapdoor in the tower roof.
-"monseigneur--look--the filippeschi are attacking again," de puys protested. simon turned back, looked over the edge, and saw the tortoise shapes moving forward again over the piazza while stones from mangonels slammed into the second-story gatehouse.
-no, he thought. even if they break down the door, they could never get up the stairs. this attack is a feint.
-"i believe the ambassadors are in danger," he said.
-"by god's robe!" de verceuil boomed from under his helmet. "you are quitting the battle?"
-"the battle is where the ambassadors are," simon said. "the whole purpose of this attack is to get at them."
-"the whole purpose of your saying that is to get out of danger," de verceuil retorted.
-simon quivered with rage. de verceuil's eyes glittered coldly at him in the moonlight through holes cut in the blood-red helmet. simon wished he could draw his sword and swing it at the damned cardinal's head. but he felt as if he were suddenly wrapped in chains. with de verceuil accusing him of cowardice, how could he leave the tower?
-de puys put a steadying hand on his arm. "monseigneur, no one can get at the ambassadors. not as long as we hold fast here."
-in the florid face with its drooping mustaches simon saw pity, but also a trace of contempt. the old warrior, too, thought his young seigneur wanted to run away. if simon left the tower now, he would have to bear his vassal's scorn. nor was it likely that de puys would keep silent about this. the tale would spread throughout the gobignon domain.
-but i know i am not a coward.
-searching his heart, he knew that though he was afraid of the flying crossbow bolts and stones, he could direct the battle from the tower all night if need be. even after teodoro's death, and the blood still sticky on the mailed glove that hung from his right wrist, he felt strong enough to go on fighting.
-if he went to the ambassadors and no one struck at them, he would have been mistaken, but his leaving here would not affect the outcome of the battle. what was happening out here was a simple matter of force against force. if he remained here and the tartars were attacked and murdered, all would be lost.
-if i do not do what i believe i should because i am afraid of what these men think, then truly i am a coward.
-he tried to make the other two understand. "the safety of the ambassadors is my first obligation. enemies could be in the palace now."
-de verceuil brought his steel-masked face close to simon's. "it is known that there is tainted blood in your family."
-simon's face went as hot as if a torch had suddenly been thrust at him. it was a moment before he could speak.
-"if you were not a man of the church, i would kill you for saying that." his voice trembled.
-"really? i doubt you would dare." de verceuil turned away.
-"monseigneur!" de puys cried, his face redder than ever. "do not make me ashamed to wear the purple and gold."
-that hurt even more than what de verceuil had said. it hurt so much simon wanted to weep with anger and frustration.
-instead, he bent forward and lifted the trapdoor and hurried down the steps. he heard de verceuil say something to de puys, but he could not hear what it was. fortunately.
-he stopped on the roof to look for friar mathieu. groups of crossbowmen were running from one side to the other. friar mathieu was making the sign of the cross over a fallen man.
-"i think the tartars may be in danger, friar mathieu," simon said. "i want you to come with me so that i can talk to them."
-to simon's relief the old franciscan did not object. "let us take two of the armenians with us," he said. "if there is danger, you should not go alone."
-now that he was away from de verceuil and de puys, simon could reflect that he might, indeed, be mistaken. but he had to act, even though he doubted himself.
-simon, friar mathieu, and two armenian warriors named stefan and grigor hurried down the tower's inner staircase to the ground floor. single candles, burning low, lit the corridor at long intervals. here were storerooms and cubbyholes where servants worked and lived. the relentless pounding of rocks reverberated in the stone walls, punctuated by occasional screams penetrating through the arrow slits.
-monaldeschi men-at-arms standing at the embrasures with crossbows kept their backs turned to simon as he hurried past. an odor of damp stone pervaded the still air. simon noted that as he had ordered, buckets of water had been placed along the corridor to douse fires.
-the kitchen was on the north side of the building. it was dark as a cave. the cooking fire in the great fireplace, big enough for a man to walk into it, had been put out. they passed empty cauldrons, piles of full sacks, rows of barrels, all barely visible in the light of a half-consumed taper in a candlestick on a table. a large water cask surrounded by buckets and pots stood in the center of the kitchen.
-attackers could be hiding here. but simon knew he did not have enough men to search. he must get to the tartars and stay with them.
-the pantry where the contessa kept her costly stock of spices imported from the east was below ground. stefan lifted a heavy trapdoor, and one by one they climbed down a narrow flight of wooden steps without a banister. grigor, bringing up the rear, held a candle to light their way.
-a door of rough oaken planks bound together with iron straps stood before him. he felt his stomach knot as he walked up to it. what if he were too late?
-simon had ordered that the square black iron lock set in the door be left unlocked in the case the tartars should have to escape. he pulled on the handle. the door was bolted from the inside, of course, with a bolt he had only that afternoon ordered the monaldeschi carpenter to install. from the other side a voice asked a half-audible question.
-"it is count simon," he said. "let us in." friar mathieu added a few words in the tartar tongue.
-the bolt slid back and the door opened inward. simon stepped forward to see how his charges had fared.
-the storeroom was dimly lit by a small oil lantern. the two armenians within had risen from chairs. they had their bows in their hands, arrows nocked. they stood in front of the tartars. john, the white-haired tartar, and philip, the black-haired one, sat on cushions on the floor, leaning back against the shelves of spice jars that covered three walls of the room. their bows were on the table and their curving swords, in scabbards, lay in their laps.
-simon was pleased to see that they looked alert. it must be maddening to sit down here in semidarkness and do nothing while a battle raged above.
-he reminded himself that if no one attacked the tartars while the filippeschi besieged the palace, his reputation would be ruined. he felt a momentary pang of anguish, and found himself actually hoping that the enemy would come here. quickly he stifled the feeling.
-do not call on the devil. he may hear you and come.
-hidden in the cellar behind a rack of wine barrels, daoud watched the frankish count, the old priest, and the two armenians as they paused before the door of the spice pantry.
-he thought: man can plan and plan, but god will surprise and surprise.
-he had been just about to try to trick the tartars into letting him into the spice pantry when de gobignon and the others came down the stairs. he suppressed his fury and forced himself to stay calm.
-the spice pantry door opened for de gobignon and those with him. from his hiding place daoud caught just a glimpse of the tartars, both sitting with sheathed swords in their laps, their two guards standing in front of them. their refuge appeared to be lit by a single lantern.
-daoud was perhaps only twelve paces from the doorway, but the cellar was mostly in darkness, and he was dressed entirely in black, his head covered with a tight black hood, his face masked. for ease and silence of movement he wore no mail. the garb of a fedawi, a hashishiyya fighter.
-with gestures de gobignon ordered his two armenians to stand guard outside the door. one set a candle in a sconce high in the cellar wall. then they unslung their bows and nocked arrows and stood on either side of the door, which closed behind gobignon and the old priest. daoud heard a bolt slide shut with a clank.
-he would have to change his plan of attack.
-to get into the monaldeschi palace he had used a peasant's cloak and high boots like those he had worn last summer when he'd landed at manfredonia. it had been an easy matter paying a few silver denari to a farmer and then helping with the loading and unloading of sacks of rice being delivered to the monaldeschi. once inside the palace courtyard it had been the work of a moment to slip away from the carts and hide himself in the maze of dark rooms on the ground floor of the palace. there he had shed the peasant costume, leaving his black hashishiyya garb, and he'd pulled the hood and mask over his head.
-but the very thing that made it easy for him to get into the palace with that cartload of rice left him shocked and uneasy. the monaldeschi were preparing for a siege. he had seen screens against fire arrows being set up on the roof and householders in the neighborhood locking their doors and fleeing.
-someone had warned the monaldeschi. when the filippeschi came tonight, their hereditary enemies would be ready for them.
-heart pounding, he pondered. what if the filippeschi called off the attack? he tried to tell himself that it would not matter. even the expectation of a siege would so distract the tartars' protectors that he would be able to get at them.
-and, he promised himself, if he came out alive, he would search out and repay whoever had betrayed him.
-he had rechecked his weapons--the strangling cord, the scorpion, the tiny vessel of greek fire in its padded pouch, the disk of hindustan and a dagger, its blade painted black. after nightfall he would seek out the tartars' apartment, which he knew was on the third floor of the palace, where the best rooms were. in the meantime, he had hidden in a corner of the kitchen behind a large water cask. he had squatted there and waited, taut as a bowstring, to find out whether the filippeschi would attack.
-when he heard the first battle shouts through the narrow embrasures on the ground floor, he let out a little sigh of relief. of course marco di filippeschi would go through with the attack. even without surprise, he was doubtless better prepared tonight to fight the monaldeschi than ever before in his life. and marco was not the sort of man who, once committed to a course, would turn back.
-even as these thoughts passed through his mind, daoud had been surprised to see the two tartars with two of their armenian guards stride past him.
-of course, he thought, de gobignon must have realized that the tartars might be a target, and he was moving them to a safer place.
-for a moment the tartars had been abreast of him. two poisoned darts from the scorpion would do it.
-but, just then, a dozen or so monaldeschi archers, crossbows loaded and cranked back, had trotted into the kitchen and nearby rooms and taken up stations by the embrasures. daoud, his body aquiver with excitement, the little crossbow already in his hands, had sunk back into hiding. if he shot the tartars, he might have been able to escape the two armenians, but so many men-at-arms would certainly kill or, worse, capture him. and once they discovered who he was, sophia, ugolini, all those working with him, would swiftly be in the hands of the franks.
-seething with frustration, he had watched an armenian open a cellar trapdoor. the two tartars and the two armenian guards descended out of sight.
-daoud, still crouched behind the water cask, then decided that god had been kind to him. even if he had been denied this opportunity to kill them, at least he had seen where the tartars were.
-he had sat in his hiding place, relaxed but alert, listening to the monaldeschi bowmen shout encouragement to one another as they fired on the filippeschi trying to cross the piazza. the arrow slits were cut through the thick walls in angled pairs so that two archers side by side would have a full field of fire. after a while daoud began to despair of ever getting into the cellar.
-several times servants came running to fill buckets from the cask to put out fires in the atrium. crouched in the darkness behind the cask, daoud saw, grouped around it, buckets, pots, and kettles, all sorts of vessels, already filled with water for immediate use.
-long after the battle began, a pageboy came running down the stairs to the ground floor with an order for the archers to come up to the roof.
-they left only one man to watch through the arrow slots. his back, sheathed in a shiny brown leather cuirass, was turned toward daoud. the noise of fighting from outside was loud enough, daoud thought, to mask any sound he might make.
-he slipped from behind the cask and picked up a wooden bucket full of water. carrying the bucket he stepped, silent on his soft-soled boots, to the cellar trapdoor. keeping his eyes on the crossbowman, he put the bucket down and, holding his breath, grasped the handle of the trapdoor and lifted it. the archer moved as daoud crouched by the open trapdoor. daoud froze. but the man's back remained turned. he was only shifting from one arrow slot to the one beside it, to get a view of the piazza from a different angle.
-when the archer was settled in his new position, daoud crept down the cellar stairs, bucket in one hand, and lowered the door over his head. he watched the archer until the slab of wood cut off his view. he was in a pitch-black cellar smelling of wine.
-he saw a crack of light from under a door and heard voices. he was about to go and knock, pretending to be a man-at-arms with a message. when the two armenians within opened the door, he would douse their lantern with the water he was carrying, and then move in on the tartars in the dark.
-just then the trapdoor above had opened. he hid behind the wine barrels as de gobignon, the friar, and two more armenians came down to join their tartar charges.
-stones were slamming into the walls in such rapid succession that the building was continually shaking. this must be the climax of the filippeschi attack. next would come a rush of all the fighting men. they would storm the palace and either break through or be driven off. probably, daoud thought, the attack would fail. but even so, it would give him the opportunity he needed.
-the two armenian guards held their bows laxly, resting their backs against the wall by the door. the candle in the sconce was six paces away from the guards. silently he lifted the bucket of water he had brought down with him and moved it out in front of the wine barrel rack so that later he could quickly reach it. then he loaded the scorpion, drawing back its string.
-he stepped out from behind the barrels, aiming for the eye of the nearest guard, and fired. the steel dowels snapped forward, propelling the bolt through the eyeball and into the skull. the man collapsed without an outcry. his body, clad in leather and steel, hit the stone floor with a crash.
-the other armenian gave a shrill shout in his native tongue. he stared in horror at daoud, and his heavy compound bow was up, the iron arrowhead pointing at daoud's chest.
-daoud had already taken the disk of hindustan out of the flat pouch on the left side of his belt. dropping the scorpion into its pocket, he transferred the disk to his right hand. the disk was heavy; by frankish weight it would probably be half a pound. its center was of strong, flexible steel; bonded to its edges was a more brittle steel that would take an edge sharp enough to slice a hair lengthwise.
-daoud scaled the disk at the candle that rested in the sconce at the door to the pantry. it sliced through the candle's tip, just below the wick. the flame went out, plunging the cellar into total darkness. the disk rang against the stone wall, then clanged to the floor. daoud's trained hearing registered the place where it fell. the armenian's bolt whistled past him and hit the wall with a sharp crack.
-voices from inside the spice pantry shouted questions. that must be the two armenians who had first gone in there with the tartars. the man outside answered, and daoud could hear fear in his voice. de gobignon would not want to open the door to help the armenian, for fear of endangering the tartars.
-somehow, he had to be made to open the door.
-daoud stood still, listening to the guard's rapid, heavy breathing, the scraping of his boot soles on the stone floor.
-after a moment he tiptoed to the side of the chamber, retrieved his disk, and dropped it into its pouch in his tunic.
-silently picking up the water bucket in front of the wine barrel rack, he drifted closer to the guard, thinking of smoke, as the hashishiyya had taught him, to make himself move even more quietly.
-he heard the armenian sling his bow over his shoulder, and the slithering of his sword coming out of his scabbard.
-daoud set the water down and crept close to the guard, utterly silent, listening for the many small noises that would tell him where the man was and how he was standing--breathing, swallowing and the licking of lips, the creak of leather armor, the rustle of cloth, the clink of steel. slowly and very carefully daoud reached out toward the guard's throat, then with a sudden movement seized it, his thumb and fingers gripping like a falcon's talons.
-his action had the desired effect. the armenian screamed, forcing air through his constricted throat again and again.
-he tried to slash at daoud's arm but missed.
-with his free hand daoud grabbed the guard's wrist and gave it a sharp turn. he let go of his opponent's throat and used both hands to force his sword arm down. he straightened the arm out and brought his knee down hard on the elbow, throwing all his weight on it.
-the guard screamed with pain, and his sword clattered to the floor. daoud kicked it off into the darkness, then danced away. the armenian fell back against the spice pantry door, groaning in pain and fear.
-daoud heard muffled cries from the other side of the door. they demanded to know what was happening. they begged to know what was happening.
-the armenian's agonized voice cried out to them, also begging, to be let in, to be saved from the man who was killing him in the blackness.
-he heard the men on the other side of the door slide back the iron bolt. it was the only thing they could do, daoud thought. the other armenians could not bear to keep the door shut and let their comrade die.
-the wooden door swung inward. light sprang out into the cellar from only one oil-fed lantern, but dazzled daoud because he had been in complete darkness since he put out the candle. he now saw the man he had been fighting, a squat man with a thick black mustache, tears of pain running from his eyes, his right arm dangling limply.
-in the fraction of an instant before his enemies saw him, daoud took in everything in the spice pantry.
-de gobignon was standing just inside the door, holding his beautiful scimitar out before him in his right hand. with his left hand he reached for the wounded guard to pull him in. on either side of him were the other two armenians, bows drawn, ready to fire. beyond them daoud glimpsed the tartars, also with bows loaded and pulled, and the old priest.
-but the most important thing in there was that small, weak flame flickering behind sheets of horn in a box-shaped lantern on the table in the center of the room.
-daoud stepped as close as he dared into the doorway and raised the bucket high, heaving the water in a stream at the table.
-he heard a bow thrum and an arrow whistle past his shoulder. his eyes met de gobignon's just as the light went out.
-like a stone fired from a catapult he hurled himself, crouching low, into the pantry.
-landing silently inside the room, he changed direction once, twice, a third time, ending up at the door. he slammed it shut and bolted it. they should all now be thoroughly confused.
-in total darkness, seeing with his senses of hearing, smell, and touch, he began to stalk the tartars.
-simon heard the thick door slam and the iron bolt driven into place. he stood in a blackness darker than any night outdoors would have been, his scimitar heavy and invisible in his hand. it was all he had against an enemy who was also invisible. he felt death rushing upon him out of the darkness.
-except for the occasional vibrations of a rock hitting the palace wall, all sounds of battle were blocked out of the spice pantry. in the deep silence, simon's heartbeat thundered in his ears like a kettledrum.
-it was my stupidity that opened the door to him.
-he had caught only a glimpse of the enemy. all in black from head to foot, eyes shining through oval holes in his mask. truly like a devil.
-the stalker had deliberately doused the light, which must mean he could find his victims in the dark.
-simon's body went from hot to cold. while he stood here helplessly, the men with him could be dying. he tried to force himself to think, but his mind was motionless as a stone.
-all around simon was confusion. he heard grigor, the guard who had staggered into the room just before the light went out, moaning with pain. he heard men stumbling about. they kept bumping into him. he lowered his scimitar to avoid stabbing someone by accident.
-next he would start killing them, one by one.
-god, if only i had some light. just a little.
-the odors of the precious spices the monaldeschi stored in this pantry pervaded the air--saffron, cardamom, pepper, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon. when simon had first entered the spice pantry a short time ago it had seemed a pleasant enough smell. now it was making him sick.
-was there still a lighted candle in the cellar outside?
-"the door!" he shouted. "get the door open." friar mathieu repeated his command in the armenian tongue.
-he heard a scraping, as of someone pulling on the heavy bolt that held the door shut. then a thud and a choking cry of pain. then a sound like a heavy sack being dropped.
-simon groaned inwardly. he could picture what had happened. now the door was held shut, not just by a bolt, but by a dead body.
-he felt ice cold, but sweat trickled under his mail. the blackness was thick, a blanket, smothering him. the smells of the spices were cloying, dizzying. his stomach felt queasy.
-"flint and tinder!" simon shouted, and friar mathieu repeated his words for the armenians and tartars. everything he said had to be translated. the delay was maddening.
-and, simon realized, anyone who tried to strike a light would make himself the enemy's next target.
-god's blood, even by answering friar mathieu the tartars would give away their location to the stalker. the man in black must be able to find his victims by listening for them.
-so, if sound would make them visible, then the only way to thwart this demon would be by silence. and even now men were starting to answer simon's call for flint.
-"silence!" he shouted. his voice sounded shrill in his ears, like a frightened boy's.
-for a moment there was no sound in the blackness.
-"he finds us by the sounds we make," simon said. "everyone remain still, and we will hear him when he moves."
-as friar mathieu translated, simon realized that either he or friar mathieu could be the next victim. the stalker would want to kill the franciscan so simon could not communicate with the others.
-and one armenian was badly hurt, one was probably dead outside and one dead by the door. left able to fight were only simon, the tartars, and one armenian guard. they had swords and bows, but the bows would just be encumbrances in this total blackness.
-in minutes the ambassadors could be dead. simon felt terrified, drowning in darkness, almost overcome with helplessness.
-i must make him come to me.
-the thought frightened simon even more. he did not know whether he would have the courage to act on it.
-what weapons did the stalker have? in the glimpse simon had of him before he put the candle out, the man in black had seemed to be empty-handed. his weapons must be small ones that could kill, but might not be quite so dangerous to a man in mail.
-"everyone remain still," simon said loudly. "you will hear me moving steadily about. if you hear someone else as well, it is the enemy."
-he racked his brain to remember the size and shape of the room. holding his sword low, he put his hand up before his face and forced himself to take one step, then another. an attack might come from any direction. the trembling of his hands and knees made his mail jingle faintly.
-the mailed glove dangling from his wrist rattled as his bare hand encountered a man's face. the man gasped and pulled away.
-"c'est moi," said simon, just to let the man hear his voice, knowing it did not matter what language he spoke. he was not afraid of calling attention to himself. he wanted the stalker to come for him. and he wanted those on his side to know where he was so they would not attack him by mistake.
-the face he felt was hot, sweaty, with a bushy mustache--one of the armenians. the killer had been masked. simon patted the man on the shoulder and moved on. he doubted that he could find the man in black this way. if the stalker were as skilled at moving about in the dark as he seemed to be, he could easily evade simon.
-the tartars seemed to have understood the peril they were in; they had been silent now for a long time.
-the thought struck him like ice between his shoulder blades: what if the killer had already gotten to them, and they were silent because they were dead? he wanted to call out to them, or to friar mathieu, to be sure they were all right. he suppressed the urge and reached out for another face.
-this time he felt a beard. it was long and full. friar mathieu.
-"c'est moi," simon said again, and a hand reached up and squeezed his reassuringly.
-the next face was hard, bony. there was a mustache that his fingers followed long below the mouth. the beard was thin, sprouting from the chin only. one of the tartars. simon felt the face move under his touch. thank god, the man was alive.
-he reached beyond the tartar and felt a shoulder. this must be the other tartar. but no--the shoulder was high, as high as the tartar's head.
-just as he was about to jump back he felt something brush over his hair.
-a cord was around his neck.
-it jerked tight with such force that simon's breath was instantly cut off. pain circled his neck like a band of fire.
-his scream forced its way through his throat as a drawn-out grunt as the cord tightened still more. he could feel the blood in his head pressing out against his temples and eyeballs. he felt as if nails were being driven into his head.
-he had his scimitar. he raised it and drove it back over his right shoulder. it went through empty air. the killer had felt it coming and ducked out of the way. but for a moment the cord cutting into simon's throat let up just a bit.
-he heard voices all around him. the others knew what was happening. they stumbled about, but they could not see to reach him. he felt himself being dragged backward, pulled away from his comrades. the cord was digging into his windpipe harder and harder. in a moment his mind would go black. he would not even know when he died. he fought his terror, knowing that if he yielded to it, he would surely die.
-he would live. he would see sophia again.
-he tried to lean forward, to bend his knees, to find some purchase on the stone for his iron-shod feet. still, the attacker pulled him. simon felt he had only a child's strength compared to the man in black.
-dizzily simon remembered tug-of-war games when he had been a page at the royal palace.
-when one side lets go, everyone on the other side falls down.
-with his last bit of consciousness, simon squeezed his whole body into a crouch, then sprang up and backward, like a bow released.
-his mail-clad weight and the attacker's momentum threw them both backward. they crashed together against shelving, and simon heard porcelain shatter. clouds of ground spices enveloped them, and they fell sideways to the floor, simon on top of his attacker.
-he heard a gasp as the man's breath was knocked out of him. and now he could breathe. he choked on air saturated with cinnamon and curry, but the cord was loose.
-the fall had knocked his scimitar out of his hand. anguished, he felt for it, but it was as if it had fallen into a well.
-"simon! where are you?" friar mathieu shouted.
-"ah! ah!" simon let his breath out and sucked it in, gasping. he wanted to cry for help, but he could not use his voice. his body shook with terror.
-and he felt the body under him moving with swift and terrible power. the cord snapped tight again.
-but not before simon got his right hand under it. the killer gave a vicious jerk on the thin cord, and it felt as if it might slice through his fingers. but simon pushed against it with all the strength in his right arm, and loosened the cord enough to be able to pull air into his throat. he worked his other hand under it.
-his shout burst from his throat. "m'aidez! help me! here! here!"
-boots pounded toward him. he felt men around him. he heard them coughing and sneezing from the spices that filled the air. a sword poked him through his mail.
-"under me! stab! stab! you cannot hurt me!"
-the cord went lax. the attacker had let go of it. simon drew air frantically through his tortured windpipe.
-before he could get to his feet, an arm, hard as if clad in mail, whipped around his neck, clamping him to his enemy. he felt the edge of a dagger at his throat.
-how can the devil be so silent?
-he heard men speaking above him and feet shuffling around him, but despite his command, no swords were jabbing downward. they were afraid of stabbing him, even though he was wearing mail.
-he arched his body and brought all his mailed weight down hard. he felt the edge of the enemy's dagger scrape across the chain around his neck. a bolt of terror shot through him. if not for that medallion, he would be bleeding to death right now. simon thrust his steel-encased elbows into his enemy's ribs. the gasp was louder this time, and with a violent heave he freed himself.
-he twisted over, arms reaching to wrap around his enemy.
-i have to pin him down. i cannot let him get loose in this room again.
-but the knees below him drew up and the feet kicked against him, throwing him back.
-"right in front of me!" simon cried. "get him!" and then he realized despairingly that none of the armed men on his side could understand him.
-and no one, it seemed, had flint and steel to strike a light. he knew he was carrying none. such a simple thing, yet tonight its lack might be his death.
-his foot kicked something that rang against the stone floor. his sword. he swooped down on it, seized it, and thrust blindly straight ahead. the point struck a stone wall, and he felt the blade bend. he checked his thrust just in time to keep the scimitar from breaking.
-he heard a movement to his left and stabbed again. again he struck blank stone.
-the devil is somewhere in this part of the room.
-"the door!" simon shouted. "mathieu, get the door open."
-he heard the iron bolt shoved back, the creak of hinges, the scrape of a body being pushed aside.
-but the blackness remained absolute.
-he must have put out the candle in the cellar before he broke in here.
-simon heard running footsteps outside the spice pantry. sandals slapping up wooden stairs. the creaking of the trapdoor at the top of the cellar steps. and then there was light. gray, faint, but after what seemed like hours spent in utter darkness, it was as if the sun had suddenly risen.
-god bless you, mathieu.
-scimitar at the ready, simon swept the room with his gaze.
-a shadowy figure stood halfway along one of the side walls, holding something out before him in both hands. a miniature crossbow, a vicious-looking thing. simon turned to see where it was pointed.
-he saw john chagan on the other side of the pantry facing the killer.
-but grigor, the armenian who had been hurt outside the spice pantry, had stepped between john and the crossbow, and he took the bolt in his leather cuirass. simon felt his mind moving much more slowly than things were happening, trying to grasp it all.
-grigor's eyes opened wide. perhaps, simon thought, he had expected that a bolt from such a little bow would merely bounce off his hardened leather armor. or perhaps he knew that it would kill him.
-in the semidarkness simon could not see the hole in the cuirass, but grigor's hand went to his chest, and then he toppled over.
-the tartar philip had picked up a bow from the floor, and so had the other armenian. both raised their weapons toward the man in black.
-now we have him cornered and in a moment i will rip off his mask and know who he is.
-the stalker's black-gloved hand flashed upward and he threw a tiny, round object into the pile of broken wooden shelves on the floor. a roar deafened simon, and a blaze of white flame blinded him. the wooden shelves were afire, the flames feeding on the powdered spices that floated in the air. heat seared simon's face.
-death of god! he truly is a devil!
-by the time simon and the others had recovered from the burst of fire, the enemy was out the door and running for the cellar stairs. simon cried out wordlessly in frustrated rage. he must not get away, not after all he had done to them.
-the man reached down and with a sudden movement snapped away the arrow shaft. he drew a dagger with a strange blade that did not gleam; it was dead black. he raced on up the stairs, limping, but with inhuman strength and speed. two more arrows flew at him, but missed, clattering against the cellar walls.
-friar mathieu stood at the top of the stairs. he held his arms out, a lit white candle in one hand, blocking the stalker's path. the man came at him with the dagger.
-"no!" simon screamed.
-with a sweep of his arm the man in black threw friar mathieu down from the banisterless stairs. the old priest fell six feet to the cellar floor, struck with a loud, sickening thump, and lay there, still.
-and the enemy was gone.
-by the time simon and the others had climbed up to the kitchen, the man in black had vanished into the maze of dark rooms on the first floor of the palace.
-simon, wild with rage and grief, forced himself to think. he was alive, god be thanked, and he had saved the tartars, but just for this moment. the man in black, seemingly routed, might renew his attack at any time.
-and friar mathieu. dear god, don't let him be dead!
-what was the creature simon had fought in the darkness? christian? saracen? or, as his most frightening imaginings hinted, a being from hell itself?
-clearly it was not some filippeschi bravo who had somehow broken through the palace's defenses. simon's inspiration on the battlements had been right; the filippeschi attack had been only a diversion.
-if a demon of this sort opposed the alliance, simon felt more than ever determined that the alliance must succeed. this was the hidden enemy whose presence he had sensed since coming to orvieto. the force determined to prevent the alliance of christians and tartars. the one who had incited orvieto's people against the tartars when they first came. who had set that poor devil of a heretic to draw his dagger against them in the cathedral. alain's murderer. stalker. enemy. killer. devil.
-hatred blazed up within simon.
-if only he could have killed the man in black or caught him before he escaped. now he must guard against an enemy as evil as satan. an enemy powerful enough to throw an army against a fortified palace, subtle enough to reach into an impregnable chamber and strike at his intended victims. a being whose strength and skills made him seem more than human. cruel and pitiless, ready to murder anyone who stood in his way.
-it was as certain as the judgment of god that they would fight again. this was war to the death.
-to be concluded in the holy war book two of the saracen
-about the author
-robert shea has given his full time to writing novels since 1977. he is the co-author of the science-fiction novel illuminatus!, which won the hall of fame award of the libertarian futurist society and was produced as a play in the united states and in europe. his historical novels are shike, set in medieval japan, and all things are lights, which, like the saracen, takes place in the era of the crusades. he was a magazine editor for twenty years and is also a prolific magazine writer. he lives with his wife and son near chicago.
-in the sweeping fires of the thirteenth century, a bold new world is forged....
-the man is the one they call the white emir, the blond assassin and spy skilled in combat and sorcery, who moves adeptly and lethally through the worlds of both east and west. against him stands simon de gobignon, a proud, young nobleman from one of the great--and accursed--houses of france. each fights gallantly and desperately for the civilization he serves--and for the love of the ravishing sophia, whose powerful erotic allure no other mortal woman can surpass, and no man alive can resist.
-the charge toward destiny
-daoud slung his bow across his back and drew his long, curving saif from the scabbard. the noonday sun flashed on it as he held it high. his men roamed and brandished their own swords.
-the band had caught up with them, and the trumpets and hautboys screamed death to the enemy while the kettledrums rumbled.
-there was nothing left to protect charles d'anjou now. there was not even time for the french leader to run. he seemed to know it. he had his sword out and he held up a white shield with a red cross.
-urging the arabian on, shouting the name of god, daoud raced toward triumph....
-also by robert shea:
-illuminatus! (with robert anton wilson)
-shike: time of the dragons
-shike: last of the zinja
-the saracen: the holy war
-ballantine books · new york
-copyright © 1989 by robert shea
-all rights reserved under international and pan-american copyright conventions. published in the united states of america by ballantine books, a division of random house, inc., new york, and simultaneously in canada by random house of canada limited, toronto.
-manufactured in the united states of america
-minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. variant spellings remain as printed, whilst inconsistent hyphenation has been standardised.
-thanks to michael shea for giving project gutenberg permission to distribute the saracen: the holy war.
-a summary of the saracen book one, land of the infidel
-feverish, his arrow-wounded leg throbbing, daoud ibn abdallah lies in bed after a night of battle and defeat. as dawn lights the eggshell-white windowpanes in his room, he recalls the events that led him to this bitter hour.
-daoud was born to an english crusading family that had settled in palestine. captured by muslims as a child, he was taken to el kahira, cairo, chief city of egypt, and selected for the mamelukes, the elite corps of slave warriors gathered from all parts of the middle east to serve the sultans of el kahira.
-he became a favorite of a leading mameluke emir, baibars. young and in need of comfort, he converted to islam. he came to love the faith of muhammad, totally and humbly dedicating himself to its tenets and to the welfare of the muslim people. he studied with sheikh saadi, a sufi mystic, and with the hashishiyya, the dreaded sect known in europe as the assassins.
-in those years the tartars, invincible legions of mounted barbarians, had come out of asia, invading the islamic world. a huge army led by hulagu, grandson of the tartar conqueror, genghis khan, had already conquered persia and syria and was poised to attack egypt. and hulagu was sending ambassadors to the pope to urge christian europe to join with the tartars in destroying the muslims.
-should tartars and crusaders strike at egypt simultaneously, the people and faith daoud has come to love would perish. daoud has seen with his own eyes how the tartars obliterated baghdad, its 200,000 men, women, and children slaughtered to the last soul, the city leveled, a wasteland. he is determined that the same fate not befall his adopted el kahira.
-baibars--having made himself sultan of el kahira--sent daoud into the land of the infidel. because daoud is blond and gray-eyed, no one would ever suspect him to be a saracen, as christians call all muslims.
-daoud's mission was to go to the court of the pope and use every means necessary--from intrigue and bribery to assassination and outright war--to stop christians and tartars from forming an alliance against islam.
-he went first to manfred, king of southern italy and sicily. king manfred's family, the imperial german house of hohenstaufen, had been at war with the popes for generations, and manfred had among his subjects many sicilian muslims. manfred agreed to help daoud. but to protect his own interests manfred insisted that daoud take with him lorenzo celino, a middle-aged sicilian warrior, and sophia karaiannides, a beautiful byzantine woman. lorenzo brought along his huge, formidable dog, scipio. journeying northward, the three rescued rachel, a jewish girl, from tavern ruffians. daoud agreed, with misgivings, to let her travel with them.
-hulagu khan's ambassadors to the pope, christianized tartars named john chagan and philip uzbek, arrived in orvieto two weeks after daoud. a young french nobleman, count simon de gobignon, commanded their military escort. daoud had arranged for garbage-throwing hecklers to mar the ambassadors' procession. the arrogant cardinal paulus de verceuil, accompanying the tartars, was hit by excrement. he ordered the hired venetian crossbowmen to fire into the crowd, killing two innocent bystanders.
-calling himself david of trebizond, a merchant from the eastern shore of the black sea, daoud appeared publicly for the first time at a council of church leaders called by pope urban. he spoke from firsthand knowledge of the horrors committed by the tartars. but friar mathieu d'alcon, the tartars' interpreter, testified that in his opinion the tartar empire was no longer a danger to europe.
-the tartar ambassadors and their entourage were guests at the palace of orvieto's most powerful family, the monaldeschi. when contessa elvira di monaldeschi gave a reception for the emissaries, daoud drew them into drunken gloating over their atrocities and boasting of their plans for world conquest. pope urban and many other church dignitaries were appalled listeners.
-with ugolini's help, daoud was able to persuade the influential dominican philosopher fra tomasso d'aquino to write and preach against the alliance. but then, subjected to unknown pressures, fra tomasso suddenly changed his position.
-daoud now felt that he could do no more through intrigue. he had been in contact with the filippeschi, an orvieto clan who were hereditary enemies of the monaldeschi family. and through lorenzo he had been quietly recruiting a company of bravos--armed adventurers. offering the help of his mercenaries, he persuaded the filippeschi to attack the monaldeschi palace. with de gobignon and the tartars' other guards diverted, he could enter the palace and kill the ambassadors.
-while the filippeschi prepared for the attack, daoud discovered that andrea sordello, one of his hired bravos, had been set to spy on him by simon de gobignon. in tilia's brothel, daoud subjected sordello to a hashishiyya initiation, using drugs and women to make the spy his slave. he implanted in sordello's mind a command that if he should see a silver locket that daoud keeps on his person, he would immediately kill simon de gobignon. and henceforth sordello was to give simon only the information daoud wanted him to have.
-after the initiation daoud was troubled. he had been taught how to do this, but had never done it before. had he truly and completely subjugated sordello's soul?
-on the night of the attack he was dismayed to discover the monaldeschi ready for a siege. but, garbed in black as a hashishiyya fighter, daoud went ahead and slipped into the monaldeschi palace.
-the tartars, with simon de gobignon, friar mathieu, and four guards, were in the most secure room in the palace, the cellar pantry, where costly spices from the east were kept behind a thick door with a strong lock.
-trained by the hashishiyya to use his senses other than sight to fight in the dark, daoud forced his way into the spice pantry and put out the lantern. he struggled with simon in pitch blackness and came close to killing him. swords thrust at him from all directions. he had the tartars' lives almost in his grasp, but de gobignon was thwarting him. he tried frantically to kill de gobignon and was no more able to do it than if the man were a djinn.
-then the old priest escaped from the cellar and came back with a lighted candle. gripped by the terrible fear that he would be caught and exposed, daoud raced up the cellar stairs. despair almost killed him when he felt the searing pain of a tartar arrow in his leg.
-he felt terror when he saw the white-bearded friar on the stairs blocking his way, even though the old man held no weapon in his outstretched arms.
-he had been about to stab the friar, who was too useful to the tartars and the christians to be allowed to live. but his arm could not move. it was as if a powerful hand held it, and he seemed to hear a voice booming in his head, you dare to murder a priest?
-in his dread he hesitated, but if he did not escape sophia would die. the moment of paralysis passed, and instead of killing friar mathieu, he thrust him aside, to fall from the banisterless stairs.
-as he lies in bed the following morning in ugolini's mansion, daoud forces himself to think. he has extended himself to the limit of his powers and failed, but he must try again. he has to find a new plan, lest his faith and his people, his whole world, meet annihilation.
-in a room near daoud's, sophia karaiannides kneels before an icon of saint simon stylites that she herself painted. she is thankful that daoud escaped alive from the monaldeschi palace. she is glad that simon, who coincidentally shares the name of her favorite saint, is alive, too. but how much longer, she wonders, will she have to live here in the midst of enemies with the fear of a hideous death as a spy and an enemy of the church dogging her day and night?
-sophia was born in constantinople during the years when it was ruled by french invaders. as a very young woman she had seen her parents and her lover slaughtered by rampaging french troops. she went on to serve the byzantine general michael paleologos, who drove out the french and became the basileus, emperor of constantinople.
-michael sent sophia as a confidential envoy to his ally, manfred, and she and manfred became lovers. but when the blond saracen who called himself david of trebizond arrived at manfred's court, manfred told her she must help david in his mission of preventing the christian-tartar alliance. manfred hinted at danger to her if she stayed with him. though heartbroken at being sent away by manfred, sophia accepted the undertaking because another french crusade might well lead to another french attack on "the polis," her beloved home city.
-when rachel joined their party, sophia, remembering her own orphan girlhood, befriended her. but daoud insisted, to protect the secrecy of the mission, that after they arrived in orvieto, rachel be sent to the brothel run by tilia caballo, cardinal ugolini's mistress.
-after a few months in daoud's company, sophia felt powerfully attracted to him. the saracen admitted that he was likewise drawn to her, but insisted that they deny any loving feelings, because he must use sophia to corrupt and defeat the advocates of the tartar-christian alliance.
-and he did so at the contessa di monaldeschi's reception for the tartars, sending sophia to lure simon de gobignon away from the great hall of the palace while he tempted the tartars to discredit themselves. sophia and simon went for a walk in the atrium, and in a dark corner she let him kiss her.
-a month after the reception simon and she had a clandestine tryst in her room at ugolini's. though she was ready to take him to bed, simon insisted that they remain chaste, according to the customs of courtly love, thereby endearing himself to her all the more.
-she is surprised to realize that she has come to care deeply for the idealistic, innocent young frenchman. but her feeling for the saracen is stronger. more than once the ruthless things daoud has done in pursuit of his mission have made her almost hate him. even so, when sophia is with daoud she feels a fire building in herself to match the fire she perceives behind those gray eyes.
-she glances at an hourglass, sighs, and rises from where she has been kneeling before the saint's icon. it is time to prepare a fresh poultice for daoud's wound.
-morning at the palazzo monaldeschi. the dead are laid out and wept over, the debris of the siege cleared away, repairs begun on the damaged walls. simon de gobignon strips off his mail shirt, about to step into a hot bath. he is profoundly grateful to be alive and relieved that he successfully protected the tartar ambassadors from being murdered by the man in black. but relief turns to anguish each time he is reminded that his friend and adviser, friar mathieu, has been cruelly hurt by his fall and may yet die.
-count charles d'anjou, brother of king louis of france, commissioned simon to guard the tartar ambassadors. king louis wants to go on crusade to win back the holy land with the help of the tartars. pope urban, however, is not interested in a crusade in the middle east, but wants the help of the french in wresting southern italy and sicily away from manfred von hohenstaufen. he has offered manfred's crown to count charles, but king louis so far has not agreed to let his brother make the attempt. so the two strongest leaders in christendom are stalemated.
-simon is desperately determined that the alliance of tartars and christians succeed. as he has confessed to friar mathieu, he bears a double dishonor. the world despises him as the son of count amalric de gobignon, whose treachery caused the disastrous defeat of his king and the death of thousands of his comrades on crusade in egypt fourteen years earlier. but only simon and his parents know that simon is in truth the offspring of an adulterous affair between his mother, nicolette de gobignon, and the troubadour roland de vency. ultimately roland killed amalric in a duel and nicolette married him. and simon, though not amalric's son, inherited the title and the domain of the count de gobignon. simon has undertaken the task of guarding the tartars as a way of restoring the honor of the name de gobignon and proving to himself his right to bear that name.
-the cause of the alliance has met with many setbacks in orvieto, and simon suspects a secret enemy is behind them. but in recent months the influential fra tomasso became a vigorous supporter of the alliance. and sophia, cardinal ugolini's lovely niece from sicily, responded favorably to simon's attentions. events seemed to be taking a turn for the better.
-but then sordello warned simon that the filippeschi were planning to attack the monaldeschi palace. preparing to defend his hostess, the contessa, simon insisted that the tartars, despite their desire to fight, be kept safe in the spice pantry. directing the defense of the palace from its tower, simon suddenly sensed that the attack must be only a diversion, that the tartars were the real target of whoever was behind the filippeschi. he abruptly left the tower and rushed down to the spice pantry.
-he had barely gotten there when a man all in black forced his way in and doused the lights. in darkness the stalker killed two of the tartars' guards and almost strangled simon.
-simon fought off the killer long enough to give friar mathieu time to open doors and let in light. one of the tartars managed to wound the man in black with an arrow. the attacker threw friar mathieu from the stairs and vanished into the maze of rooms on the first floor of the palace.
-now, simon thinks as he eases himself into his bath, he has met the hidden enemy whose presence he felt ever since coming to orvieto. evil as satan, powerful enough to throw an army against a fortified palace, subtle enough to strike at victims no matter how well protected. a being of almost inhuman strength and skill. cruel and pitiless, ready to murder anyone who stands in his way.
-certain as the judgment of god it is that simon and the man in black will fight again. this is war to the death.
-the holy war
-"that which striketh! what is that which striketh? ah, who will convey to thee what the striking is?" --the koran, surah ci
-"how many men have slept in happiness, unaware that sudden death was about to strike them?" --hulagu khan
-daoud drifted in and out of consciousness for two days after the fight at the monaldeschi palace. sleeping was much better than being awake and remembering failure.
-in dreams he rode once again with his khushdashiya, his brother mamelukes.
-a yellow silk banner rippled in the breeze before them, declaring, wage war utterly on the idolators, as they wage war utterly on you.
-dust clouds swirled around them as they thundered down upon a row of frankish knights. from a distance daoud sent bolt after bolt from his compound bow whistling into the dark line of mail-clad men. he saw men clutch at their throats and topple from the saddle.
-screaming, he charged into the midst of the franks, whirling his saif over his head, his lance in his left hand. a knight galloped into his path, holding up a shield white as an eggshell, emblazoned with a red cross. daoud brought the saif down, and the knight raised his shield to fend off the blow. that left the crusader momentarily blind, and daoud thrust under the shield with his lance.
-the lance went in as if the knight wore no mail. as the frank fell backward from his horse, daoud saw that it was simon de gobignon.
-sophia's light touch on his shoulder woke daoud. he was lying on his stomach. he propped himself up on his elbows and saw the glowing, diamond-shaped windowpanes and the familiar white walls of his room on the upper floor of cardinal ugolini's mansion. he turned his head to look at sophia. her dark eyes comforted him.
-"time for your poultice," she said.
-he tried to smile at her. "and something to drink. my mouth tastes dry and foul."
-"by the archangel, no! the juice of oranges, and later kaviyeh."
-sophia laughed. "oranges? in april? you must be dreaming. trees do not bear fruit all year round in this part of the world, david. your bitter beverage i can supply. but let me see to your wound first." she raised the blanket that covered his body. he felt his skin grow hot from scalp to toes. she was gazing upon his nude body. he was glad he was lying on his stomach rather than on his back.
-did his nakedness mean anything to her? among christians, he knew, men and women often saw each other naked. not only did women go through the streets with their faces uncovered, but in warm weather the common folk, men and women both, walked to the public baths with barely a bit of cloth wrapped around their loins. and all christians slept naked. when sophia saw his body like this, was it just another unclothed body, like the many she had doubtless seen in her lifetime? did she feel any embarrassment? or desire? as for himself, his sense of helplessness made him feel only embarrassed, nothing more.
-he turned his head again to look at her. she was intent on administering the poultice, and that doubtless took her mind off his nakedness. she had lifted off the old cloth, stained an ugly yellow-brown, and dropped it to the floor. he got a glimpse of the wound, a red slit about half a finger's length with black knots of thread in it in the back of his right leg, halfway between knee and buttock. gently she patted and stroked on the wound a paste made of ground rose petals, lime water, and egg white, the sufi remedy he had taught her to make.
-lorenzo had used his knife to open the hole made by the arrow so that he would not tear daoud's flesh pulling the barbed head out. while lorenzo worked over him, daoud drew upon saadi's final teaching to him to defend himself against the pain. in his mind he began to create the drug called soma. he envisioned it as a bowl of glowing, silver-colored liquid, and he believed it could form a capsule around any part of his body where there was pain and wall it off from the rest of himself, at the same time filling him with a feeling of well being.
-once you have experienced the effects of material drugs on your body and learned to master them, saadi said to him, you have the knowledge you need to create a drug of the mind, soma. this is more powerful and more reliable, and it will not harm your body in any way. indeed, soma will make your body stronger. it will calm your mind, fill you with peace, sometimes give you visions. but if you should suddenly need all your faculties, they are yours at once. the drug is gone in an instant.
-it was saadi's teaching that whatever a man could accomplish with drugs, he could accomplish more effectively and reliably with his mind alone. a trained man could envision a drug that would serve any desired purpose. and thus a man could transcend the hashishiyya reliance on administered drugs.
-while he had drunk from the bowl of soma and it had flooded through his body, daoud's fingers had gripped the little leather case hung around his neck that contained the sufi tawidh, the numerological invocation that he believed would speed his healing. a river of blood had poured out of his leg when lorenzo drew out the arrow, and he had fainted. sophia had stitched the wound with cotton thread that was now black with congealed blood.
-now sophia laid a clean, folded linen cloth over the wound, used another strip of linen to tie the poultice to his leg, and then pulled the blanket up over him. their eyes had not met once during the time she was caring for him. he found to his surprise that he had to know what she was thinking and feeling.
-as if sensing his need, she spoke. "i have wanted to tell you, but you were too sick to understand me. d'ucello, the podesta, came here the night of the uprising, looking for you and lorenzo. as we planned, i told him you had both gone to perugia."
-daoud's body went cold. he felt as if he were being stalked, and the hunter was closing in.
-"did he believe you?" he asked.
-she shrugged. "he blustered some, but the cardinal ordered him off in the end. i think he must have hoped to find you among the dead or wounded at the monaldeschi palace."
-daoud rolled over in bed, the wooden frame creaking, and the pain tore through his leg like the slash of a scimitar. he groaned through clenched teeth. despite his ability to shield his mind from pain when it took him unexpectedly like this, it could hurt like the torments of the damned.
-"what are you doing?"
-"you are in more danger from fever than you are from d'ucello," she said, letting her hand rest on his forehead.
-"you will be surprised at how quickly the wound heals," he said, touching the tawidh at his neck. "as for fever, it is healthy. it burns out impurities." he laughed bitterly. "i hope it is burning the stupidity out of me."
-"you--stupid?" she laughed.
-he did not join her. it pleased him a little, in the midst of his anguish and self-disgust, to see that she thought well of him. but she was wrong about him--and her life depended on him, and that thought made him feel worse.
-"de gobignon was waiting for me. he knew i was coming for the tartars. he knew."
-"how much could he have known?" she asked. "no one knew what your plans were."
-"sophia, if de gobignon had not been there, i would have been able to kill those two barbarian pigs easily. i did my best, with all my skill, all my training, all my experience, and it went for nothing."
-that was a pain soma would not shield him from, the pain of failure. it felt like a mace blow to his chest every time he remembered the fight in the blackness of the spice pantry.
-to drive away the damnable memory of being routed by the christians, he had to concentrate on the present and the future.
-"send someone to fetch sordello to me."
-"you should be resting."
-he laughed and touched her hand lightly. "resting! our enemies are not resting." she sighed, but went.
-when sordello entered daoud's room, lorenzo followed him closely, eyes boring into the back of the mercenary's skull. sophia entered behind lorenzo.
-trembling, sordello knelt by daoud's bed. "i feared for you, messer david. i am happy to see you looking so well."
-would sordello give up the pleasures of hashish and the promise of a paradise with beautiful women? what reward could simon de gobignon offer him that could be more enticing?
-yet, i have always known that this man was a two-edged sword that could turn in my hand.
-"the monaldeschi were prepared for us," said daoud. "they were armed and on their battlements when we came. someone warned them."
-"you do not suspect me, messer david?" sordello, crouched on the floor by daoud's bed, looked up slyly sideways at him. "i would be a fool to injure one who has been so great a benefactor to me."
-daoud felt rage boil up inside him at sordello's false abjectness. he glared at the old bravo and saw a faint tremor in his jaw.
-propping himself up on one elbow, he leaned toward sordello. "your fawning insults me. i think you lie."
-hatred briefly twisted sordello's face. then a knowing smile made it even uglier.
-"messer david, if i had told the count de gobignon what i know about you, you would surely be dead by now."
-daoud forced himself to his feet. the pain shot through him like a lightning bolt, but in his fury he ignored it. he bent down and seized sordello's throat with his right hand. he fell back sitting on the bed, pulling the popeyed bravo toward him so that his good knee pressed into the sordello's chest.
-somewhere, nearby, he heard sophia cry out in protest, but he paid no attention.
-"confess that it was you, and i will kill you quickly," daoud whispered. "i have shown you paradise, and i can show you hell. if you do not give yourself up now, and i find out later that it was you, i will inflict torments of mind and body on you beyond your imagining."
-"david, stop, you will kill him!" sophia screamed. she gripped daoud's arm, digging her nails into his muscle.
-gradually daoud released his hold on the corded throat. with his eyes alone, employing the hashishiyya "look that imprisons," he held sordello fast. the bravo's eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed.
-he was glad sophia had stopped him. she must have realized that he would regret it if he killed sordello in a fit of rage. if sordello had not betrayed them, his false reports to simon de gobignon would still be useful. and in any case his sudden disappearance immediately after the attack on the monaldeschi palace would draw de gobignon's attention.
-"if it is not you, then there is another among us who told simon de gobignon about my plans. if you want to save your life, you will find out who it is."
-"i promise you, messere." sordello's voice was a hoarse croak. "whoever the escremento is, i will deliver his life into your hands."
-sordello stood up, then turned to sophia and bowed.
-"madonna," sordello gasped. "my eternal gratitude--"
-"just get out," sophia snapped.
-was there a suggestion of a leer in sordello's lumpy face as he stared at sophia? but pain spread from the wound in daoud's leg in great ripples through him, and he lay back and concentrated on the sufi exercise that detached him from his body.
-the heavy oak door closed behind sordello. they were all three silent for a moment. then lorenzo jerked the door open and looked out into the corridor. he nodded, indicating sordello had truly gone.
-"it might have been wiser to strangle him," said lorenzo. "he has all our lives in his hands."
-daoud held up his hand. "what he said was true. he could have delivered us to our enemies before the attack. i believe he is still in my power."
-when alone with sophia, daoud lay back on his cushions. she stood looking down at him, and he wondered if that was pity he saw in her face.
-"you are in such pain," she said.
-he shook his head. "it is nothing."
-"i do not mean the pain of the body."
-she understood, then, what he was feeling. he smiled at her and shut his eyes.
-she sat in silence on the edge of the bed while he lay there, brooding. again he escaped into drowsiness. his mind drifted back to the sands of egypt. he dreamed again of riding as a mameluke.
-when he woke, a short time had passed, and sophia was still sitting there, gazing down at him.
-hints of a new plan began to come together in his mind. as fever purged him of poison, it had brought him dreams of battle. not of intrigues with the priests and bishops around the pope. not of ambushes in narrow streets. rather, open war.
-that was the meaning of those dreams. perhaps god himself had sent them. he was called upon to wage jihad against the enemies of islam as a mameluke, on horseback, at the head of an army.
-later that morning, a heavy spring rain hammered on the windows of ugolini's cabinet. the storm had so darkened the room that the cardinal's servants had lit extra candles. daoud, lorenzo, and sophia sat in a semicircle across from ugolini's worktable.
-the painted glass eyes of ugolini's stuffed owl glared disapprovingly down from the bookshelves at daoud, who had a sense that the cardinal felt as the owl looked. the skull on the table seemed to be laughing at him.
-he understood now what he had to do, but would the others, especially ugolini, go along with it? over ugolini's frantic protests he had insisted on inciting the filippeschi to attack the palazzo monaldeschi. that attack having failed of its purpose, would the three of them still accept daoud's authority? ugolini, surely, would think that events had proved him right about the futility of the attack on the monaldeschi. how could he be won over to the idea of a wider war? make war utterly on the idolaters--that, he had decided, was the meaning of his dream.
-"manfred's supporters, the ghibellini, must take the pope captive," he said. "i know that you would prefer peace to war, but now that i have tried to kill the tartars and failed, we do not have that choice." it was best, he thought, to admit his failure openly before ugolini threw it in his face.
-the cardinal's eyes were almost as wide and as stark as the owl's. "you would plunge the whole of italy into war?"
-"no," said daoud, "but that is what is going to happen. the one thing that has kept the french out of italy is the pope's refusal to give the christian kings, especially the king of france, permission to ally themselves with the tartars. but now that urban is ill, he may give king louis what he wants. when the pope allows the alliance, louis will give his brother charles permission to attack manfred. it is not i who will plunge italy into war. i am proposing only that we act before the french do."
-ugolini shook his head. "what do you mean, take the pope captive?"
-"the papal states are surrounded by cities ruled by manfred's ghibellino supporters. the nearest is siena. with gold and with timely warnings about the danger from the french, we can persuade siena to move against the pope." he held up his fist. "and then we can make sure that the next pope elected is favorable to manfred. and through him, well disposed toward peace with islam."
-it was the same sort of plan, daoud thought, as inciting the filippeschi against the monaldeschi. but lorenzo had already visited siena and made sure that the ghibellini of siena, with daoud's help, could raise a far greater army than the pope could muster in orvieto. this time he would succeed.
-"impossible!" ugolini cried. "no king can control the papacy. the hohenstaufen have been trying to rule over the popes for centuries, and for centuries they have failed."
-"perhaps it takes a stranger to see that where the hohenstaufen failed, the french are about to succeed," said daoud. "france is now the strongest kingdom in europe. if manfred does not get control of the pope and the cardinals, the next pope will be under the protection of the french, and will have to do whatever they want."
-"urban is a sick man," said ugolini. "there is not a cardinal who would risk a wager that he will live to see the year 1265. he will not call for the french to save him when he knows the angels are coming to get him."
-"no, there i must disagree with your eminence," said lorenzo, lounging in a large chair facing ugolini's table. "urban is a frenchman, and he will work to bring the french into italy until the moment the angels knock at his door."
-sophia, who had been sitting quietly in an armless straight-back chair with her hands folded in her lap, said, "the pope will blame the ghibellini for the attack on the monaldeschi. he will want help, and he will ask it from the french even if it means christians joining the tartars in a crusade the pope does not really want."
-"very shrewd," said daoud with a smile in her direction. "except that the pope had decided before the attack on the monaldeschi to approve the alliance with the tartars. as we know from his persuading fra tomasso to switch sides. it was because the pope had clearly turned against us that i planned to kill the tartars."
-daoud was tired of sitting. despite the pain in his leg, he used his stick to push himself to his feet and stepped out of the window recess. he limped over to ugolini's table.
-"we must send lorenzo to siena with enough of our precious stones to raise an army big enough to overwhelm the papal soldiery and the orvieto militia. it may take time to persuade the sienese to act. it will take more time to muster an army and march on orvieto. we must begin as quickly as we can. with the pope in ghibellino hands, with the ghibellini in a position to sway the outcome of the next papal election, we may yet keep the french out of italy."
-and that, he thought, would keep crusaders and tartars out of the dar al-islam.
-ugolini's shrug spoke more of despair than of acquiescence. "certainly the french will come if we do nothing. you are right about that. do as you will. it is a miracle we have survived this long."
-strange, daoud thought. ugolini saw their mere survival as miraculous. to daoud, failure so far to put a final stop to the alliance of christians and tartars made him wonder whether god disapproved of him.
-once he accepted the fact that he had to go, lorenzo had hoped the rain would continue. under its cover his leaving the city was less likely to be noticed or impeded. but by mid-afternoon, the hour of none, when he was packed and mounted, a spare horse trotting behind him, a bright, hot sun had come out, and the puddles in the narrow streets were turning to steam.
-at the porta maggiore he stopped when he saw two clerks seated at tables on either side of the gateway, one questioning each person entering the town, the other examining those leaving. a dozen of the podesta's men in yellow and blue stood by to keep people in line. each clerk consulted what appeared to be a list on a scroll and on another scroll wrote down the names of those he questioned.
-only two days ago sophia had told d'ucello that david of trebizond and his man giancarlo were in perugia. now, lorenzo thought, those damned clerks were probably watching for their return. they could have been set at the gate the morning after the attack on the monaldeschi palace.
-he smiled ironically as he remembered how, last summer, he had sat as these clerks did now, at the gateway to lucera waiting to catch a certain saracen newly arrived from egypt.
-now, thought lorenzo, if he tried to leave orvieto he would not only be stopped and possibly arrested, he would be as good as telling the podesta that he and david had never been out of the town at all.
-lorenzo clenched his fists. he felt like a tuna caught in a net.
-and if i stand here much longer staring they'll notice me and haul me in.
-he quickly turned his horses away from the gate and headed back to ugolini's mansion.
-at the beginning of the third nocturn, lorenzo, david, and a servant of ugolini's named riccardo, whom they had chosen for his size and strength, emerged from an alley near the north side of the city wall.
-david wore a hood pulled low over his face. he limped and walked with a stick. lorenzo had advised against his being out in the street at all, but david had answered that the watch did not know he was in orvieto and would not be looking for him.
-lorenzo was amazed at how rapidly david had gotten better. he had never seen a man walking only two days after taking a bad arrow wound in the leg. the muslims who taught david the art of healing must be even better than jewish physicians.
-as they walked, lorenzo made david recite the names of half a dozen prominent perugian merchants who were supporters of king manfred. if the podesta were to question david about his whereabouts the night of the filippeschi uprising, these men would bear witness that david and lorenzo had been in perugia.
-"if d'ucello does question you, how will you explain that you are back in orvieto without having been seen entering through the gate?" lorenzo asked him.
-"i will tell him--with the greatest reluctance--that the line was very long when i arrived and that i was in haste to enter, so i bribed the men on duty to let me by. the more time passes before he discovers my presence in orvieto, the more believable that will be."
-"if he suspects you of anything, he will arrest you no matter how good a story you tell him," lorenzo said.
-david stopped walking and rested his hand on lorenzo's shoulder. "that is why you must go tonight, my friend. and come back quickly with an army from siena."
-lorenzo had a pack over his shoulder and wore a long traveling cloak. riccardo carried a coil of rope. ahead of them was a small stone shed built against the wall, beside one of the round guard towers.
-lorenzo was not particularly frightened by the ordeal ahead. he had done enough climbing in his younger days. but he was repelled by the thought that through the large opening in the floor of the little house the people of this quarter dumped, not only their garbage, but also the contents of their chamber pots.
-they went quietly to the door of the shed. there was a guard in the tower above them, though he would have no reason to watch the garbage chute.
-riccardo put a meaty hand on the rough-hewn door. it gave without a struggle. not even locked, thought lorenzo. he supposed the podesta, may his ballocks wrinkle up like prunes, had not thought that anyone would choose this ignominious way to escape from the city.
-"sophia told me to tell you she would miss you," david said.
-"kiss her for me," said lorenzo.
-wonder if david has bedded sophia yet.
-riccardo filled the little room so that lorenzo felt himself being crowded to the edge of the chute.
-"hey! riccardo! push me down after you have the rope around me."
-"sorry, messere." the burly man tied the rope tightly around lorenzo's waist, just above the belt that held the jewels, and they both pulled hard on the knot to test it. tying the knots in the dark, they had to be doubly careful. then riccardo tied the other end of the rope around his own waist and donned heavy oxhide gloves.
-it was a warm april night, and lorenzo smelled a horrid odor of garbage and excrement coming up from the pit. it was not actually a pit, but a crevice in the face of the cliff on which orvieto was built. lorenzo had hoped the day's heavy rain would have washed the cliffside clean. but the people of orvieto had been dumping offal here for centuries.
-"your final instructions?" he said to david.
-"ugolini's servant guglielmo seems to have gotten safely out of the city with your horses and baggage," said david. "he must not have been on any list. he will meet you at the shrine of saint sebastian on the road to siena. from there you know what you have to do."
-david grasped him by the shoulders and then patted his back. they had become good friends, lorenzo realized. look how david was trusting him to ride with a fortune in gems to siena, meet the right parties, bargain with them, deliver the gems to them and come back to orvieto with a ghibellino army. that was much to expect of a man. yet david seemed not to doubt that lorenzo would do it.
-lorenzo felt warm when he thought how much david meant to him. he had come on this mission as king manfred's man, but he was going to siena just as much for david as for manfred. bringing the sienese into the struggle might keep the french away, though, and that would help manfred as much as it would the muslims.
-"lower away, then," lorenzo said to riccardo.
-david stepped back. riccardo and lorenzo both took hold of the rope. lorenzo stepped over the edge of the chute. his legs dangled, and he tried not to think about how much empty space was between him and the rocks at the base of orvieto's mountain. the rope cut painfully into his waist and back. he gripped it tightly with his gloved hands and wrapped his legs around it to take some of the strain off the loop around his waist.
-grunting, riccardo slowly lowered lorenzo through the chute. david was standing beside ugolini's man and had laid a protective hand on the rope. the hole in the floor was just wide enough for lorenzo's shoulders to pass through. then he was hanging free below the city wall, his back to the cliff, staring out at a starry black sky and the silhouettes of distant hillsides. he felt dizzy and shut his eyes.
-"turn me," he whispered hoarsely up at the opening above him.
-after a moment he felt his body rotating, and again he had to fight dizziness. he was facing in toward the smelly crevice, and he drew up his legs and planted his feet firmly on its walls. with the help of the rope he could walk down the cliffside. riccardo let out the rope a little more, and lorenzo's boot sole scraped loudly against the crumbling tufa surface, releasing a shower of pebbles.
-"who's down there?" a distant voice shouted, and lorenzo felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over him. that was the guard in the tower high above. he wondered if the guard could see him down here. he tried to grip the sides of the crevice with his feet and pull himself closer to the cliff face.
-"i am taking a piss, buon'amico!" riccardo called up to the guard. "do you mind?"
-"that place is not for pissing," the guard called back.
-"would you rather i sprinkled your tower?"
-there was no answer this time, and riccardo began whistling loudly to cover any further noises lorenzo might make. lorenzo hoped the guard would not come down to investigate. what if he did, and riccardo felt he must let go of the rope?
-riccardo must have had the same thought, because he began paying out the rope more rapidly, and lorenzo's feet flew over the crackling rock. he was like a man running furiously backward. it would be comical, he thought, were he not in danger of breaking his neck.
-this was a time when he wished he had clung to a religion of some sort rather than abandoning the faith of his fathers and replacing it with nothing. it would be so comforting to pray to an all-powerful being who might be kind enough to protect him. just hoping not to get hurt seemed stupid and futile.
-he felt the cliff wall beginning to slant outward a bit under his feet. the whistling from the shed had stopped. he looked up and saw that he was halfway down the side of the cliff. the backs of his legs ached from the strain of supporting his weight, and his shoulders and arms hurt too. he began to worry, not so much about whether he would fall as what he might land in when he reached the bottom.
-and the smell of rot and filth all around him might choke him before he ever got down. he saw directly below him a pit of blackness surrounded by trees that were only a little less dark. the muck might be over his head; he might just sink into it.
-as he reached the level of the trees he drew his knees up and then straightened them hard, giving himself a push away from the cliff. he was still being lowered, so that when he swung back to the cliff he was much farther down. this time his boots hit a coating of soft stuff on the rock, and the smell was unbearable.
-i'd rather break my neck than smother in shit.
-he kicked again with his legs, and when he hit the end of the outward swing, the rope feeling as if it would cut him in two, he grabbed for a tree branch, barely visible in the darkness. it hit him in the stomach and knocked all the wind out of him, but he clung to it desperately.
-bent double over the tree limb, he looked down and saw shadows that might be forest floor as far below him as his own height. then again, he might be seeing the tops of other trees. he drew his dagger and cut the rope around his middle but held it with one hand. he took deep, relieved breaths when the constraint was gone. he gave three sharp jerks on the rope, the signal that he was down. after a moment all tension left the rope, and he felt it falling in the darkness. another moment and he heard rustlings, thumps, and splashes as the rope landed at the bottom of the crevice. tomorrow's dumping, he thought, would quite conceal it.
-he wondered briefly if david and riccardo had safely left the dumping shed and were on their way back to ugolini's. he looked down again into the darkness, realizing that if he jumped from here he might fall far enough to kill himself. having swung away from the pile of offal, he was now more worried about breaking his neck. he pulled himself up, straddling the tree and facing in toward the trunk. he slid down to the trunk, then tried to feel about with his foot for another branch.
-his feet met nothing. he swung over the side of the branch, feeling the trunk with one hand and the space below him with his feet. still nothing. now he was dangling from the limb, holding on with two aching hands. if he had not worn gloves, he would have no skin left on his palms.
-well, here goes one hopeful atheist. he let go.
-he fell a short distance, feetfirst, into a pool of water. it came up over his low boots, soaking his hose. there was no smell; apparently it was a pure forest pool, probably a puddle enlarged by the recent rain. sighing, he sloshed out of it. small creatures hopped and scurried away from him.
-it could have been much, much worse.
-glad to feel his feet on the ground, he hoped the rest of his journey to siena would be less exciting than the beginning.
-friar mathieu sat in a cushion-lined armchair in the cloistered garden of the hospital of santa clara, the white wisps of his beard ruffling like feathers in the morning breeze. the dappled shade of a pear tree protected him from the june sun.
-a young franciscan, his tonsured head a gleaming pink spot surrounded by a wreath of close-cropped black hair, stood at a tall desk beside friar mathieu, writing on a piece of parchment.
-"all things lead to good if one looks at them aright," friar mathieu said with a chuckle. "that murderer in black gave me the time i needed to do something needful--get the story of my journey among the tartars written before it is lost in my failing memory. a good thing i did not land on my head."
-despite the pain he felt at friar mathieu's injuries, simon had to smile at the old franciscan's little joke. and indeed, he might look small and fragile huddled in his chair, but he was showing energy and zest for life. he was pulling through.
-"and behold," friar mathieu went on, lifting his bandaged right arm, "i myself am exempted from writing. friar giuseppe must do the work while i sit here and explore my memory. and when i grow tired of even that little bit of work, friar giuseppe reads to me from the newly arrived manuscript on mathematics, called de computo naturali, by our gifted brother friar bacon of oxford. i could almost be grateful to that assassin."
-simon stood awkwardly, looking unhappily down at him, till friar mathieu motioned him to sit on the ground beside him. to make room for himself, simon moved a pair of crutches out of the way. it was worrisome that so soon--only a few weeks after the fall that had almost killed him--friar mathieu had started hobbling about on crutches and had begun dictating, sitting painfully upright, to friar giuseppe. even though one leg was certainly broken and there were probably a dozen other cracks in his arms and ribs, friar mathieu insisted that he was more likely to die if he remained in bed than if he was up and moving about.
-"you are looking well today, father." he had to admit it, even though the old priest was not taking proper care of himself.
-"i am lucky this happened to me in the spring," said friar mathieu. "the sun and air help me mend. but i fear you will not see my complete recovery, since you will have to leave orvieto shortly."
-"leave? why, father? has something gone wrong?" his first thought, as always, was for the safety of the tartars. ever since that terrible night in april, he dreaded leaving them out of his sight.
-instead of answering, friar mathieu asked friar giuseppe for privacy. the young priest bowed deeply and touched the old man's hand reverently before gathering up his writing materials and turning to go.
-"you have not heard, then? a courier brought the news to the pope's palace last night. all through the north, the ghibellini are on the move. siena, it seems, has been quietly raising an army to send against orvieto. and the ghibellino party has taken power in pisa and lucca. it appears the ghibellini have decided to seize all of italy before the french come in and take it."
-but we are french, thought simon, and we have no ambitions in italy.
-uncle charles does.
-in this quiet garden it was hard to believe that an army could be preparing to march against orvieto. or even that the attack on the palazzo monaldeschi had happened in the same city. simon watched a friar in his brown robe serenely weeding. the rows of plants were already tall and thick--peas, haricots, lettuce, cabbage, carrots. at gobignon this time of year the seedlings would not be half as high.
-"will the sienese besiege orvieto?" he asked.
-another battle? and another attempt on the tartars?
-"pope urban will not wait to see what they do," said friar mathieu. "he feels threatened from both north and south, and intends to move away from here as soon as possible. there is a rumor that manfred of sicily himself may invade the papal states this summer."
-simon sprang to his feet and threw his arms wide in astonishment. "and what about the tartars?"
-"they will certainly go where his holiness goes."
-"god's blood!" simon struck his forehead with his hand. "forgive me, father. but if the pope has not enough troops to keep him safe in orvieto, surely he is in even more danger on the road. and if the tartars are with him, we could lose everything."
-friar mathieu shook his head, absently rubbing his bound right arm with his left hand. "we can gain everything. his holiness needs help desperately. now he can be persuaded to give king louis permission to join with the tartars." the old franciscan's eyes fixed on simon's. "you must go to the pope."
-simon felt the palms of his hands grow cold. "the pope will not listen to me, father."
-friar mathieu chuckled. "is he more likely to listen to that fool--god forgive me--de verceuil?"
-"yes," said simon after a moment's thought. "de verceuil is a cardinal. and is it not his task to treat with the pope? mine is to guard the ambassadors."
-"are you not close to king louis, simon? almost a foster son?"
-simon hesitated. "that is putting it a bit strongly. but he knows me well."
-friar mathieu gestured with his left hand. "then you are the person to carry his holiness's appeal for help to king louis."
-the suggestion dismayed simon. it meant he would have to leave the tartars for months. and just when they would be much more vulnerable to attack, following the pope from one city to another.
-"no, father," he said. "i cannot leave the tartars."
-friar mathieu shook his head patiently. "do you not see, simon? if the pope does decide to approve an alliance with the tartars, john and philip's work is done."
-standing on the gravel walk of the franciscan cloister garden, simon felt as if the earth were shaking under him. he could not picture himself speaking to the pope as one statesman to another. persuade the pope suddenly to take a stand, when he had vacillated for nearly a year? and yet, he told himself, he was the count de gobignon, and the lands he held were larger than some kingdoms.
-but that only reminded him that he held the title through a lie.
-the courtyard before the papal palace was crowded with covered wagons and open carts, horses and donkeys, men carrying crates and bales. here and there, mailed papal archers in gold and white surcoats strode, crossbows on their shoulders, alert for pilfering. simon asked a series of servants for the pope's majordomo and was directed to that official, clad in a glittering embroidered tunic, who stood at the center of the papal library overseeing the packing of books and scrolls. simon summoned up all his confidence and presented himself to the man.
-"the count de gobignon of france?" the horse-faced majordomo repeated. "i will try to find his holiness for you, your signory."
-they found pope urban in a tiny chamber on the second floor of the palace, writing furiously at a desk that faced a window opposite the door. he was wearing a white cassock with a white linen hood drawn up over his head. on his desk simon saw a jar of ink, a sheaf of quills, and a stack of parchment sheets. a wrought-iron stand held a black earthenware pitcher over a candle flame.
-"holy father--" the majordomo began, addressing the pope's back. simon watched with fascination the rapid movements of pope urban's right arm as his quill raced over the parchment, leaping after each line to the ink jar and back again.
-"maledizione!" the pope exclaimed. "not now, ludovico. god's pity, let me get at least one letter done without you interrupting me. the archangel michael run you through if you speak another word to me."
-simon was momentarily shocked, but then recalled that the pope was a shoemaker's son. once a bourgeois, always a bourgeois, he thought, even if one becomes god's vicar on earth. but, by god's robe, the man could write fast. in a moment he had filled a sheet of parchment with the short, unadorned black strokes of a chancery hand. simon estimated it would take him the better part of a morning to write that much. of course pope urban, being a churchman all his life, had a good deal more practice at writing.
-urban folded the parchment and poured melted red wax from the black pitcher to seal it. he took the large gold ring from his finger and stamped it into the wax. without looking around, he handed the letter to his majordomo.
-"to duke alberto baglione at perugia by our best horses," said pope urban. "have pietro pettorini carry it; he is our fastest man."
-"holiness," said the majordomo diffidently, taking the letter, "the count de gobignon wishes to see you."
-"ah!" urban half turned in his chair to look at simon. simon saw that the pope's wrinkled face was a deep pink, and his eyes glittered. loose strands of gray hair escaping from under his hood quivered as his head shook with a slight, constant tremor. simon had heard that men sometimes rallied in the final stages of an illness, before the slide into darkness. that, perhaps, accounted for the pope's color and energy. simon's heart ached for the old man. this was the spiritual father of the world, and his troubles, troubles simon had in part brought to him, were aiding whatever disease was destroying him.
-"simon de gobignon!" urban cried, raising bony hands in benediction. "if you had not come to me, i should have sent for you." his pale blue eyes shifted from side to side, and simon felt even more pain for him.
-this man should not think of traveling. it will kill him.
-urban half stood, and his majordomo rushed past simon to turn his chair so that the pope could face his visitor. he was sitting in a simple straight-back chair without arms.
-simon stepped into the room and dropped to one knee. the pope extended his trembling right hand, and simon kissed his gold fisherman's ring. on its circular face was an engraving of a bearded man whom simon guessed must be saint peter, casting a net from the stern of a boat.
-seen close at hand and without the tall tiara and the crozier and the heavy robes of office, urban was very short. simon wondered whether he had always been a little man or whether age and the strains of his office had shrunk him.
-"stand up, monseigneur le comte, s'il vous plaît," said the pope, changing to french. "i am sorry there is no chair, but this is where i do all my real work, and it is best not to encourage visitors to sit. ludovico, leave us and shut the door behind you. and do not hang about in the corridor eavesdropping."
-simon rose, and found himself looking down at the skullcap on top of the pope's head. feeling awkward, he took a few steps backward until his back was against the door of the tiny chamber.
-urban said, "i have long wanted to hear from your own lips what happened at the palazzo monaldeschi."
-simon gave the pope a detailed account of the battle. he ended with his fight with the man in black. urban's eyes widened, and the trembling of his head grew more pronounced. when simon told how the enemy had escaped, throwing friar mathieu from the cellar stairs, the pope winced in pain.
-"so," urban mused, "this murderer--doubtless sent by manfred von hohenstaufen--still lurks somewhere in orvieto."
-"we have tried to track him down," said simon. "but the filippeschi deny any knowledge of him, and the podesta, it seems, has not the power to make them answer our questions." he allowed the contempt he felt for d'ucello to creep into his voice.
-"open the door and see if that sneaking ludovico is listening outside," pope urban said. his lips twitched under his flowing gray beard in what was probably a smile.
-simon went to the door, and saw no one in the corridor but a helmeted man-at-arms standing about ten paces away. servants with a huge bed frame struggled past. he closed the door and turned again to the pope.
-"yes," said urban. "what was i saying? ah, yes--simon, i expect to be in my grave before the year is out."
-"god forbid, your holiness!"
-simon realized that he was indeed looking at a dying man. from here to perugia was a journey of at least two weeks, through difficult, mountainous country. urban might get there safely, but he would not live there long. the election of a new pope would take months; it had been known to take years. and urban's successor might be even more reluctant to join forces with the tartars than urban had been. what if it were cardinal ugolini--he was as eligible as anyone--or someone under his influence? the little they had accomplished so far might be wholly undone.
-time. time was the most terrible enemy of all. the more time passed, the less likely that the alliance would be formed, the joint attack on the saracens launched. simon saw time as a black river in flood, sweeping away everything he had worked and fought for.
-i must prevail upon him to give his permission--now. but how can i sway a man three times my age--the pope himself?
-the only way to keep from giving in to despair was to plunge in, as if this were a tournament, or a fight to the death. simon plunged in.
-"your holiness, before you leave orvieto, i beg you to recognize that we must join with the tartars to crush the infidel."
-urban sighed. "you think just as your king louis does." he held up an admonitory finger. "europe first, simon. the church must be strong in europe before our princes go adventuring in outremer."
-"but it was the popes who preached the crusades in the first place," simon answered, baffled.
-urban's eyes grew wide and he leaned forward. "and i will preach yet another crusade, simon. against manfred the antichrist. that is why i would have sent for you if you had not come here. you must make the journey to king louis and tell him that this crusade that i will preach is the most important war of his lifetime. he must come to my aid. i will make his brother charles king of southern italy and sicily. i will write the letter to king louis, and you will carry it to him."
-now i must make my effort.
-"he will heed your appeal if you give him what he wants, your holiness. write that letter. but in it give your permission for king louis to ally himself with the tartars and begin preparations for a new crusade."
-urban looked slyly up at simon. "surely you suspect that it was i who persuaded fra tomasso d'aquino to change his colors where the tartars are concerned. i saw to it that the possibility of an alliance was kept alive, so that i might have something louis and i could haggle over. louis is the most stubborn man in the world. if i simply give him whatever he wants, there is no guarantee that he will give me what i want."
-simon took a deep breath. what he was about to say might offend the pope deeply.
-"your holiness, you have said it yourself. there is no more time for haggling. you must make your best offer and hope it is enough."
-the pope shut his eyes and slumped in his chair. simon's heart went cold, thinking for a moment that the old man had suffered a seizure.
-but then urban said very softly, "help me to turn my chair around."
-now simon's heart beat faster as he moved the pope's chair so that it faced his desk. urban took a gleaming blank sheet of parchment from the pile on his desk, dipped a quill, shook it, and began to write.
-simon stood by the wall, his heart pounding with exhilaration. could it actually be that his words had moved the pope himself? it seemed impossible, as if he had stood in the path of a mighty river and diverted its course.
-"the tartars," the old man said with a sigh sometime later, when he had covered two sheets of parchment. "i hope i am not making a terrible mistake. i still think fra tomasso was right in what he first said about them." he dropped wax at the bottom of the letter, stamped it with his ring, and blew on the wax to cool it. then he folded the parchment and sealed it again.
-"ride to king louis as quickly as possible." urban turned, again half rising from his chair, and handed simon the letter.
-"shall i carry the king's answer to perugia, holy father?"
-urban shrugged. "oh, yes, i shall surely be in perugia by the time you come back. but god will take me before the first of charles d'anjou's knights sets foot in italy." he raised a pale hand to silence simon's polite protest, and there was actually a twinkle in his eye. "whatever my successor thinks, he will have a hard time undoing the decisions i have made today. by the time the next pope is elected, he will have a french army to help him destroy the hohenstaufen. whether he wants to or not."
-"what of the tartar ambassadors, your holiness?" simon asked, thinking that it would be best to hasten those negotiations, too, lest the next pope disapprove of them. "should i take them with me to the king?"
-"no," said urban firmly. "then you would have to take a troop with you to guard them. you may have to travel far to find king louis. he is setting out on a royal progress through his kingdom. i had a report of him just two days ago. that is one great benefit of this office--" his gray beard twitched again, and simon knew that he was smiling. "news comes to us from everywhere." then his eyelids lowered. "that is also what makes being the holy father so wearisome."
-yes, of course, king louis made a journey of inspection through some portion of his realm nearly every summer. it might be months, simon thought with a sinking heart, before he could find the king, deliver the pope's letter, and get back to the papal court. so much could happen.
-but the most important thing of all has already happened. we have won. we have the alliance!
-triumph rang like cathedral bells in his ears. he was bringing victory to the king and to count charles. and his success would restore honor to the house of gobignon.
-simon knelt once again, kissing the fisherman's ring and thinking that the hand that wore it would soon be cold.
-but as he hurried down a corridor in the palazzo papale, already planning his route to france, the bells of triumph stopped ringing and in the silence a face appeared before his mind's eye. amber eyes, olive skin, and wine-colored lips.
-sophia! by all the angels and saints, i may never see her again!
-for a moment he felt torn. duty and honor demanded that he leave orvieto at once. but what of love? sophia's image smiled, and he decided. he would need at least a day to prepare for his journey anyway. before he left orvieto he must see sophia and make sure that the meeting would not be their last.
-fat gray clouds hung low over the umbrian hills, and sophia thought she heard thunder rumbling in the west. as simon's message had promised, he was waiting for her by the shrine of the virgin on the road leading north from orvieto. but what was he doing here, she wondered, with spare horses and a loaded baggage mule?
-he waved to her and dismounted, and his scudiero--the same man who had yesterday delivered simon's note to her--took charge of the beasts.
-clearly simon was beginning a journey. he had not simply come out here to meet her. but he would not go anywhere far with no more company than one squire. and how could he leave the tartars when hardly two months ago he had nearly lost his life protecting them?
-trying to puzzle out what was afoot, she rode with ugolini's man riccardo beside her to the shed-covered shrine where a blue-robed mary held a smiling baby jesus. riccardo helped her down from her horse and simon came forward.
-she took simon's arm, and he led her into the pine forest beside the road. she studied his face, trying to guess what thoughts were passing behind his somber blue eyes.
-as soon as they were out of sight of their companions, she asked him, "are you going to perugia ahead of the pope?"
-he did not answer her at once, so she kept her gaze on him.
-sophia enjoyed looking at simon as she enjoyed looking at beautiful icons, jewels, sculptures. yet his body did not have the fine proportions she had seen in statues made by greeks of old. he was very tall and slender, all sharp lines pointing to heaven. his head, framed by long dark brown hair, was narrow, the nose and chin angular. his eyes, set in deep hollows, were bright with candor and intelligence, though at times she saw in them a haunted look.
-she even found his barbaric frankish garb pleasing. from simon's narrow shoulders hung a cloak of rich crimson silk, and he wore a soft maroon cap adorned with a blood-red feather. the purple surcoat that extended below his knees sparkled with dozens of embroidered repetitions of a design of three gold crowns. in constantinople only the basileus and his consort were permitted to wear purple. from simon's black leather belt, decorated with silver plates, hung a curving saracen sword. precious stones twinkled in its handle.
-now that she considered it, she recalled that she had always seen simon in more subdued colors.
-he dressed this way to please me, she thought fondly.
-he looked away from her, but there was nowhere for him to look. they were walled in on all sides by a thick growth of pines. the lower trunks of the trees were straight and clean, like the poles of a palisade, their branches, which started higher than she could reach, putting out the bright green needles of new summer growth. somewhere far above them was the cloudy, rain-heavy sky, but here they were enveloped in deep shadow under interlocked pine branches. the forest was so dark and soundless that she began to feel a little frightened. simon and she were enemies, after all, even though she hoped he would never realize it. she often forgot it herself, when she was with him, liking him as much as she did.
-"i am not going to perugia," he said.
-"did you have me ride all the way out here to tell me no more than that?" she demanded.
-"i wanted to tell you that i love you," he said hoarsely. he turned toward her, and his face glowed with adoration.
-oh, the boy! the dear, beautiful boy! he loves me, and he means it with every fiber of his being.
-she felt a wave of warmth, not love but surely a kindliness, going out from her to him. he turned and took her shoulders in his big hands. she liked the feel of his hands on her. if only she could forget about david, she could happily give herself to him.
-but she was acting for david, and she was here to find out what this frank was planning. she must make some guesses, and then see if she could get him to confirm them. such as, where was he going, and why was he leaving the tartars behind?
-she had to tilt her head back to look into his troubled face. "come, let us sit down," she said. she took his hand and led him to a tree whose trunk was wide enough to let them rest their backs against it. her silk skirt formed a dark green semicircle around her, bordered by an embroidered orange and red design of flowers.
-there was a grace in the way he sat down, despite his long arms and legs. with a practiced movement he swept his sword back behind him, out of his way.
-"where were david of trebizond and giancarlo the night of the attack on the monaldeschi palace?" he asked suddenly. she went cold. did he suspect them, and her too? had d'ucello told him of his unsuccessful effort to see david and lorenzo that very night?
-"they had both left the city," she said. "they went to perugia and assisi. david wished to see the wonder-working body of san francesco at assisi."
-"i thought he was interested in silk, not saints." simon glowered at her.
-she made herself laugh. "surely you do not think david the merchant was in the streets, fighting, the night the monaldeschi were attacked?"
-she heard a bell ring somewhere in the distance. some little hillside church ringing out the hour of tierce. the chiming sounded clear and peaceful.
-dear god, sometimes i wish i could have become a nun.
-simon sighed and took her hand gently and held it resting on his thigh. "why does it have to be cardinal ugolini who is your uncle?"
-"if not for my uncle adelberto i would not be here and we would never have met," she said.
-"you are so beautiful," he said.
-the adoration in his eyes was like a dagger in her heart. she wanted so much for it to be for her, and it was for a woman who did not exist.
-i am so far from what he thinks i am. michael and manfred treated me like a whore. david sends me to seduce this man who is his enemy.
-and that, she thought, was why she so much hated to see what had happened to rachel, and to know that david had done it and that she herself had a hand in it.
-"you will never come back to orvieto, will you?" she said disconsolately.
-his grip on her hand tightened. "no. that is why i wanted to meet you today. tell me--if your uncle goes to perugia to follow the pope, will you go with him?"
-she let her body lean sideways till she was pressed against him. "oh, i am sure my uncle will go. he is the cardinal camerlengo, after all. as for me, i would go if i thought i would see you there."
-his head drew down toward hers. "do you care for me that much?"
-"i have never known love like this, simon. my husband was kind to me, and i was sorry when he died, but the way i feel about you is different. i think i will die if i do not know when i can see you again."
-joy lit up his thin face, and she despised herself. "i will find you, sophia. i will be gone for months. but i will ride like the wind, and when i come back it will be to perugia."
-he must be going to france! he was traveling with but one man, so as to go faster. the tartars had nearly been killed in the filippeschi uprising, but he would be leaving them for months.
-only one thing could be more important to simon than the lives of the two tartars, and that was what the tartars represented.
-the pope must be offering to approve the alliance. simon must be carrying the message.
-when i tell david about this, he will ride after simon and kill him.
-her thoughts began to race. even if simon were stopped, was it not still too late to keep the franks and the tartars from joining forces? no, probably not, because the pope was dying. if this alliance were not settled now, the talking and deciding would have to begin all over again, with a new pope.
-could she seduce simon into abandoning his mission altogether, running off with her? no, he would never betray so great a trust, not even for love of her.
-"i swear to you, i will find you, i will see you again, sophia," he was saying. "believe me."
-you will not live long enough.
-"i do believe you, simon." her loathing for herself grew stronger.
-now his arms were around her, and he was pressing her back, away from the tree trunk and down onto the soft bed of pine needles.
-his open mouth was against hers, his lips devouring hers. his hands caressed her shoulders and her back, moving ceaselessly. one hand slid around and held her breast, and she heard his little indrawn breath of pleasure. it must feel good to him, she thought. it felt good to be touched there, and she pushed back against his hand. she felt her body relax and grow warm. it had been so long--nearly a year--since a man had held her in his arms.
-i need this as much as any man does. men can go to whores, but where can i go?
-she loved the feel of his strong arms around her as she lay beside him. he moved so that his whole length was pressed against her, and now he did not seem any taller than she was. she felt the hardness at his groin that he pressed against her leg, and she felt an answering heat within herself.
-i cannot let this man make love to me and then send david after him to kill him. i cannot, i cannot. i would hate myself forever.
-she felt her body opening to him, felt her bone-deep need of him. if they came together now, it would be love, not the love she felt for david, but love even so. and if she condemned him to death then, she would destroy herself. but if she did not tell david where simon was going, she would betray him, and bring ruin down on his people and her own. if she let simon make love to her, she would be so torn that afterward she would probably go mad.
-he was already partly on top of her, and she wriggled away from him, pushing at him.
-"stop it!" there was a power in her voice that she had not intended to unleash. she was no longer cardinal ugolini's sweet little niece, sophia orfali from sicily, but sophia karaiannides, the woman of byzantium.
-a hand's width of space separated their faces. her voice seemed to freeze him. he stared at her as if he were seeing a stranger.
-then anger blazed up in his eyes. his arms tightened. those arms seemed so lean, but the strength in them was like steel chains drawn tight. she clenched her fists and locked her bent arms in front of her to keep him away. his lips drew back from his teeth and she felt his hot breath on her face.
-frankish barbarian! she thought. where only a moment ago she had wanted him, now she hated him. he was just like all those mail-clad savages who had destroyed constantinople, stolen, raped, murdered her parents. yes, and she had helped the basileus michael to drive them out, and she would kill this one too. never would a union of frankish and tartar barbarians threaten her people. by this one man's death she could guarantee that.
-with all the strength her anger gave her, she straightened her arms, pushing him away. her right arm free, she thrust her open palm against his jaw, forcing his head back.
-"let me go!" and again it was the powerful voice of sophia karaiannides.
-"god's blood!" his eyes were wide, and there was amazement in them, no longer anger. he released her so suddenly she fell back, hard, against the floor of the forest.
-he knelt before her. "please forgive me." he sounded on the verge of tears. "please. i lost command of myself."
-standing up, she brushed pine needles from the back of her skirt and her shawl. he moved to help her, and she pulled away.
-"sophia, i have never loved any woman as much as i love you."
-"nonsense. simon, you have far to ride."
-he moved around so that he was facing her, his usually pale face flushed, his chest heaving.
-"marry me, sophia."
-if he had struck her, she could not have been more astonished. but she quickly recovered herself. he thought he could have his way with her by offering marriage.
-"simon, i am not a woman whose legs can be parted by a promise of marriage." the note she heard in her voice distressed her. she was being too much her true, worldly self with him. if he were not deaf to everything but his own passion, he would hear it, and he would suspect that she was not what she seemed to be.
-she reminded herself: i must seem to be awed that this great nobleman speaks to me of marriage.
-"you put it crudely," he said, his eyes narrowed with warmth. "to shock me, i suppose. but you defend your honor, and you speak plainly. i speak plainly too--i love you."
-the sight of him standing there gazing at her with such yearning in his eyes was too painful. she kept thinking of herself telling david what she had learned today. she kept seeing this tall, handsome man lying dead in a ditch. she had to get away from him.
-"the morning is well along," she said. "you had better get started if you want to cover much distance by nightfall. where do you plan to spend this night?" she despised herself because she had asked the question to make it easier for david to trail him.
-he frowned at her. "sophia, i must have your answer. i mean what i say. i love you. i want to marry you."
-holy virgin, would the fellow never give in? did he really think her foolish enough to believe he was sincerely proposing to her? yes, perhaps he did think that of the sophia she pretended to be. she must answer him as that girl would. she cast her eyes down, her hands clasped before her.
-"simon, do not torment me. i know that you cannot marry me. my uncle has told me who you are--your ancient noble house, your vast holdings. perhaps you mean to be kind to me by speaking of marriage, but a man of your rank has too many obligations. you cannot marry as you choose. so, please, speak of it no more."
-but what if we could get married?
-the thought arose unbidden in her mind as she stared down at the brown pine needles. she wanted to drive it out again, but could not stop herself from seeing what it might be like.
-marriage, a home, a fixed, secure abode where she might live out her life in serene, peaceful occupations. raising children, spinning, embroidering, managing a household. what so many women, rich and poor, had. what she had not known since she was a young girl--a place, a family. and to be the wife of a man like simon--kind, brave, handsome, well spoken.
-she understood suddenly why it was always so easy for her to forget sophia karaiannides and become sophia orfali. she did what was given her to do, but in the core of her heart what she longed for was to be someone like sophia orfali, who truly had a place in the world. sophia orfali, for all that she was a mask, was more real than sophia karaiannides.
-it was too painful for her, the unexpected longing for the love she could never have, the grief for simon, whom she was going to murder.
-"let us get back, you to your scudiero and i to my escort," she said. she started walking toward the road.
-he stepped in front of her. "sophia, wait."
-she felt something in her chest like a ball of iron. she had her tears well under control for the moment, but she had to get away from him. otherwise she would not be able to stop herself from crying.
-"please," he said again. she felt herself forced to look up at him. his thin face, so grave, so intelligent.
-"i beg you to believe me. i do want you desperately. love is of the spirit, and it is of the body too. but i am not proposing marriage just to possess you. i want to marry you because i love you."
-she stood looking at this handsome young man and breathing the fragrance of pine-scented air, and she thought of david. what she felt for david drew no line between body and spirit. if she had all the things she had just been longing for--a husband, a family, a home--and david appeared out of nowhere and looked at her with those glowing eyes of his and told her to come with him, she would abandon everything for him. when she looked at david, she saw a pillar of pure fire burning inside him. there was a power in him that called out to everything that was strong in her and demanded that she accept no other man for her mate.
-"you think that my title, my family, is an obstacle to our marrying," simon said. "but it is not. if you knew who i really am, you might not want to marry me."
-she laughed a little at the thought of him not being who he so obviously was. "are you some peasant lad who stole the place of the true simon de gobignon, then?"
-"it is something like that."
-"in god's name, simon, what are you talking about?"
-his nostrils flared. he drew air in a great gulp through his mouth. he took a step toward her, and she tensed, lest he seize her again, but he kept his hands at his sides.
-"the last count de gobignon was a traitor to his king, to his countrymen, to his own vassals. he betrayed a whole army of crusaders into the hands of the saracens. he died in disgrace. his grave is unmarked. so foul was his treachery that no man of good family in france will permit his daughter to marry me."
-sophia found that hard to believe. there must be many great barons in france who would forget the crime of the father, no matter how horrible, when the son was so attractive and, especially, so rich.
-"simon, you have so much to offer a wife." she would have laughed at the absurdity of all this, but the tortured expression clearly mirrored a tortured soul.
-"oh, surely, there are barons who would sell their daughters to the devil for a bit of land," he agreed. "i meant that i could not marry the women i chose. but there is worse, sophia. i could lose everything if what i am about to tell you were known, but that is the least of it. it puts my life in your hands and the lives of my mother and--my father."
-your life is already in my hands, she thought, her eyes hurting from looking so intensely into his. but then the full meaning of what he had said bore in on her.
-"simon, are you telling me that you are not--"
-"i am not the son of the count de gobignon. my father was a troubadour, the sire roland de vency, with whom my mother fell in love while amalric de gobignon was still alive. she succeeded in passing me off as the count's son, but we three, my mother, roland, and i, know the secret. and my confessor. and now you."
-she shook her head, bewildered. she felt no doubt that what he was telling her was true. the pain in his face was like that of a man who had stripped his very skin off to reveal himself to her. it tore at her heart to see him suffering so much.
-"but how could this happen, simon?"
-"it is too long a tale for today. perhaps one day i can tell you all of it. but do you believe me now? truly there is no barrier of family between you and me, sophia. unless you set one there, knowing that i am--i am a bastard and an impostor. could you think of marrying me?"
-the tears she had been holding back, for an hour it seemed, burst suddenly from her eyes, as sobs welled up in her throat. and yet, she wanted to laugh as well, at the irony of it. to think that he was ashamed of his pretense. if he had any idea of her pretense, and david's, he would probably kill her on the spot.
-his face, coming nearer and nearer. all his finery was a red and purple blur before her tear-filled eyes. his hands were reaching for her.
-he loves me. he really loves me. he really does want to marry me.
-if he had taken that strange saracen sword of his out and run her through with it, he could not have hurt her more. she had been thinking about sending david to kill him, and he had just entrusted all of himself, his family, everything he possessed, his body and his soul, to her.
-if david went after him, this time one of them--simon or david--would surely die. the luck of the monaldeschi palace encounter could not protect both a second time.
-she felt simon's hands on her shoulders. she pulled away from him.
-"sophia!" she heard the anguish in his voice.
-tartars and muslims were a thousand leagues away. if christians and tartars were destined to join forces and destroy islam, it would happen. she willed herself to believe that. and if it was not destined, it would not happen.
-david and simon were here. to say anything to david about simon's mission to france was to doom one man, perhaps both. it might be the man who loved her, or it might be the man she loved. and she did not want either to die.
-"sophia, i beg you, speak to me! are you turning against me?"
-she wiped her streaming eyes to see simon standing before her, his arms hanging at his sides, his face agonized.
-i cannot doom this young man.
-she took deep breaths to calm herself enough to speak to him.
-"simon, i pray that god will bless and protect you." she stifled a sob. "i cannot marry you. you must forget me."
-he scrambled to his feet, his arms outstretched. "do not turn from me, sophia. i would rather have you kill me."
-"no!" it came out of her as a scream. she turned and started to run, holding up the hem of her long skirt to keep from tripping. her anguish was like a giant's hand that had seized her heart and was crushing it.
-she ran like a hunted animal, tripping on rocks, turning her ankle in hollow places. she could only hope she was running toward the road.
-she looked back over her shoulder. he was following her out of the forest, but at a distance. he was walking, staggering like a wounded man.
-"forgive me, simon!" she ran on.
-a pine branch struck her across the face, and she cried out in pain. but she felt that she deserved it. she ducked under the branch and kept running, seeing brighter light among the dark rows of tree trunks now. the road must be that way.
-she forced her way through a tangle of shrubbery and was out on the road. simon's scudiero, standing with their string of horses, stared at her wide-eyed. the huge riccardo, sophia's escort, was with him, talking. they were standing with their backs to a roadside statue of the virgin in a little protective shed.
-at the sight of sophia, riccardo rushed to her, looming over her protectively. "madonna! what has happened to you? dio mio! did he--"
-his eyes were wide with outrage, but there was anxiety in his face too. he must be wondering whether he would have to fight a nobleman. "according to reports i have from the peasants who live north of here, they number over four thousand men. i am amazed that even so prosperous a city as siena could hire such a large army."
-you would be even more amazed to know where they got the money, thought daoud.
-d'ucello went on. "so, we are hopelessly outnumbered. of course, this rock of orvieto is the most defensible position in italy. even with only our few hundred we could hold the sienese off for some weeks, perhaps even months. but not indefinitely. the holy father knew that, which is why he left. the city will be taken and sacked. the people will suffer greatly. if i am not killed in the fighting, i will surely be hanged. and after i and all the defenders are dead, the contessa will consider the honor of the city satisfied and will make peace with the sienese."
-"well, you will have done what you thought right," said daoud, after the podesta had finished listing all these evil consequences. d'ucello's eyebrows twitched and his lips quirked, showing that he caught the irony.
-daoud would enjoy this conversation more, he thought, if his feet did not throb, if his legs did not ache, if his torn back did not burn as if he were lying on hot coals, if his head were not swimming.
-"i may hold this post at the contessa's pleasure, but she does not have the right to tell me to die needlessly. and, as podesta, my first concern is the welfare of orvieto. if i can come to terms with the ghibellini, the city will be spared destruction."
-daoud held up a hand. the pain of the gesture was excruciating.
-"are you not a loyal guelfo? are you not faithful to the papal cause? how can you speak of coming to terms with the ghibellini?" what a pleasure it was to goad d'ucello.
-the podesta squinted at daoud, as if to see how serious his question was.
-"this is a guelfo city, and normally i would take that side. but i have no personal feelings one way or the other. what i do care about is the responsibility i have accepted, of governing this city. i carry out that responsibility best by preserving it from ruin."
-and at the same time saving your own life, thought daoud. and biting your thumb at the contessa di monaldeschi who has been treating you like a servant. oh, there are many reasons why you want to surrender to the sienese.
-but daoud was in terrible pain, and so tired that fatigue itself was now as much a torment as anything he had suffered earlier. he longed to cut this conversation short.
-"what has all this to do with me?"
-"to display my good faith to the ghibellini, i have decided to free you."
-"why should the ghibellini care, one way or the other, what happens to me?" said daoud. slowly he rolled over on his side, to make it easier to look at d'ucello. pain flared in his arms and legs, in his back and chest. his hands barely had the strength to pull the blue cloak with him.
-"you still deny that you are of that party?" d'ucello asked.
-"i am david of trebizond."
-d'ucello rose to answer a knock at the door. daoud lifted himself on one elbow to see who it was. in the shadowed corridor a white-robed friar, taller than d'ucello, was peering in, trying to see daoud.
-"we are not quite ready for you, fra bernardino," said d'ucello, half-closing the door.
-"wait, signore," the dominican said, putting out a pale hand. "cardinal ugolini has come here with men-at-arms and is demanding that you release this man david to him at once."
-ugolini, here? daoud felt a lightness in his heart. freedom was that much closer.
-"make sure the cardinal is comfortable and is offered refreshments, fra bernardino," said d'ucello, "and tell him he will not have to wait long."
-better and better.
-when the door was shut, d'ucello walked over to the bed and stared into daoud's eyes. "if i let you go, will you speak on my behalf to the ghibellini?"
-daoud smiled. "in my capacity as a trader?"
-d'ucello clenched his fists. "damn you! you are too stubborn."
-"so"--daoud kept the smile fixed on his face--"you have arrested and tortured me for a night and a day. you very nearly did to me something so horrible, even now it hurts me to think about it. and you would have done it, too, if the contessa's summons had not delayed you. now, because you have stopped doing these things to me, you expect me to be overflowing with gratitude and glad to help you make peace with the ghibellini."
-d'ucello smiled back. "for my sparing you from torture, from mutilation, from death, you should be grateful, yes."
-if he were another kind of man, he would have destroyed me with greek fire and let this city be ruined while he fought the sienese. in spite of what he did to me, this is a wise man, and he deserves to live and to rule here.
-but daoud could not resist another thrust. "what i should do, if, as you think, i have influence with the sienese, is have them do to you what you have done to me. and not spare you at the end." he felt himself getting angry as he thought of all he had been through, even though he knew anger was foolish. "i know where you keep your flask of greek fire."
-d'ucello's black eyes held daoud's. "yes. you could do that. but i think i have come to know something about you during these hours you have suffered at my hands."
-"i do not know what you are, but i know that you are much more than you seem to be. and you are not the sort who takes revenge on a man for doing his duty."
-daoud did not care to haggle anymore. "allow any messenger of mine freedom to come and go through the city gates."
-the podesta was right, he thought. he would not seek revenge after d'ucello surrendered to the sienese any more than he would kill a prisoner of war. men like qutuz did that sort of thing, to satisfy their vanity. men like baibars did not. he thanked god for making him more like baibars.
-and he thanked god for bringing him alive and whole out of the valley of death.
-her first sight of daoud was a cruel blow to sophia's heart. his blond hair, dark with dirt and sweat, spread in lank locks on the pillow. his bloodshot eyes looked at her out of blackened lids. his lips were cracked. his face looked hollow, as if he had grown thinner just in the day d'ucello had held him.
-she ran to him across the tiled floor of ugolini's reception hall.
-he was alive, but how badly hurt was he? she prayed that when she lifted the blanket that covered him she would see that his body was sound.
-he raised his hands to her as she bent over the litter. she saw that the fingernails were blackened and bloody, and her own fists clenched as she felt what they must have done to his hands. she slid her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face against his. perhaps the men-at-arms and servants should not see the cardinal's niece embracing the trader from trebizond, but at that moment nothing mattered to her but to hold his living body in her arms.
-"forgive my clumsiness, david. i am so sorry."
-he gently squeezed her hand as she drew away from him. "your arms feel like an angel's wings."
-ugolini called his steward, agostino, and rattled off a list of necessaries for treating daoud's wounds--water, a pot and a brazier, clean cloths, medicine jars from the cardinal's cabinet.
-sophia walked beside the litter as ugolini's men carried daoud to his room on the third floor. her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. her feelings alternated between agony, as she imagined what he had gone through, and singing elation that he was back with her. with joy she felt movement and life in the hard muscle under her fingertips.
-"tilia and i did what we could for you," she said when the men had deposited him on his bed.
-"i know," said daoud. "ugolini told me about your visit to the contessa. had she not sent for d'ucello when she did--as you persuaded her to do--i would be dead now."
-she sat on the edge of his bed and put her hands over her face and wept for joy. it had all meant something, her rushing to tilia before dawn, her going with ugolini to the contessa, her falling to her knees before the old woman.
-as the men-at-arms left, ugolini came in with agostino and two servants bearing a brazier and a tripod, pots of water, cloths, and jars of ointments and powders from ugolini's shelves. two other servants brought a table into daoud's room, and ugolini had the medications arranged on it.
-"he also let me go because the ghibellini from siena are about to besiege the city," said daoud. "he wants my help in surrendering to them."
-"a pity the sienese could not have gotten here in time to catch the tartars and de verceuil," said sophia when the servants had left.
-ugolini looked up from the powders he was mixing for poultices and frowned. "catch them? why?"
-sophia stared at ugolini. then the news had somehow missed him. she felt sorry for him. even though tilia was very much alive, this was going to be a terrible shock.
-daoud said, "in the dungeon i heard something had happened at tilia's house."
-ugolini's eyes grew huge. "tilia! my god, what was it?"
-"tilia is well, cardinal," sophia said quickly. "luckily for her, she was here when it happened." she wondered how much daoud knew about what had happened, and how he felt about it. her heart still ached for poor rachel. where was the child now, right at this moment? somewhere on the road to perugia. being abused, perhaps, by that beast of a tartar.
-"when what happened?" ugolini cried. "in the name of christ and the virgin, speak out!"
-sophia told the cardinal and daoud how she and tilia had gone to tilia's house, and of the death and destruction they had found there. it hurt her to see the anguish in their eyes. especially daoud's. he must feel a terrible guilt about having sent rachel there in the first place. now he had to suffer that, along with pain d'ucello had inflicted on him.
-"the tartars and de verceuil!" ugolini shouted, shaking clenched fists. "may god send a flood to drown them on the road to orvieto! may all the devils in hell roast them!" he paced the floor furiously, his red robes rustling. "i must go to tilia at once," he cried.
-"no," said daoud. "too many people would see you."
-"but she has no one to protect her."
-"she has hired guards," said sophia. "and those who ruined her house are gone."
-daoud's head fell back against the pillow, and his eyelids closed. his face looked masklike to sophia, almost as if he were dead. she realized, with sudden anxiety, that he might be suffering terribly, without complaint. that would be like him. and she and ugolini stood here talking. she must see to daoud's hurts at once. he might have injuries within, injuries from which he could not recover.
-"send some of your trusted men-at-arms to protect tilia," said daoud without opening his eyes, his voice faint. "riccardo and some others. do not go yourself."
-"of course," said ugolini, looking abashed. "even though you have been tortured, your head is sounder than mine. but, you understand, i am tortured by the thought of what has happened to tilia."
-"i, too," said daoud. "and to her people. and to rachel."
-daoud raised his head and opened his eyes. "you want to ask something. what is it?"
-"did you--did d'ucello--learn anything?"
-"god willed that he learn nothing from me," said daoud, sinking back again.
-"your will had something to do with that," said sophia.
-he held out against them. what a magnificent man.
-but what price had he paid for his strength?
-"god's will is my will," daoud whispered.
-"god be with you, then," said ugolini, and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
-daoud's eyes opened. the sight of his eyes woke a warmth in her breast as if a small sun had risen inside her.
-"do you want to sleep?" she asked him.
-"yes, with you beside me."
-joy blazed up inside her at those words. she had been so afraid that torture would somehow destroy his caring for her.
-"oh, yes," she said. "nothing would make me happier."
-"but first i need you to wash and dress my wounds."
-daoud gritted his teeth and winced as first she lifted off the purple cloak that covered him, then inch by inch drew the yellow tunic up from his body and over his head. he groaned aloud when, with her propping up his heavy body, he raised his arms.
-"o kriste!" she whispered. she wept anew as her eyes traveled over the golden body she loved and saw huge, broken blisters and patches of red skin; swollen black bruises the size of hen's eggs; long, deep lacerations filled with crusted blood; the many little black scabs of puncture wounds.
-"when lorenzo and the ghibellini get here, we will have d'ucello and his torturers torn to pieces," she raged. she went to the table, folded a linen cloth, and dipped it in the water.
-"i do not hate d'ucello," said daoud as she began, very carefully, to clean his wounds. "he has his work and i have mine. as for his torturer--erculio is his name--d'ucello does not know it, but his torturer is one of us."
-sophia's hand, moving the cloth lightly over a long, shallow cut that ran across the smooth, almost hairless skin of his chest, paused. was he delirious?
-"one of us? the torturer?"
-daoud looked amused. "i do not know where erculio comes from, but he is a good servant of the god of islam and of the sultan, who placed him there for my protection."
-"for your protection? you mean he would have killed you."
-her body turned to ice as she faced the reality of how close she had come to losing him.
-"yes," said daoud. "i thought i would never see you again." he reached out his arms, grimacing with pain. she put down the cloth and let him hold her. her heart swelled up in her throat and tears burned her eyes.
-and suddenly, as if a curtain were lifted, she saw that life with this man would always be this way. whenever she was with him, there would always be a yesterday in which some miracle of good fortune kept him alive. there would always be a tomorrow in which he must face death yet again.
-her head rested on his chest for a moment; then she wiped her face and went back to cleaning and covering his wounds. never mind her pain. whatever he was feeling must be much worse.
-he told her how to make poultices for his burns using wet cloths and powdered medicinal herbs ugolini had prepared. it was like what she had done for his arrow wound, only now there were many more hurts to treat. silently, in greek, she cursed d'ucello and cursed the torturer. she did not care whether daoud forgave them. she would never forgive what they had done to her man.
-when he was in the cellar of the palazzo del podesta being tortured, had he grieved at the thought of losing her, as she had sorrowed for him?
-she worked her way down his body from head to foot, tying the poultices in place with strips of cloth. thank god, they had done nothing to his manly part. that was often the first place a torturer went for. when would they make love again, she wondered. that depended on how long it took him to recover. perhaps weeks, perhaps even months.
-"what more can you tell me about rachel?" he asked. she suspected he wanted to take his mind off the pain.
-she repeated everything tilia's women had reported, ending that looking out the windows they had seen rachel riding off in a cart with the old franciscan who interpreted for the tartars.
-"i am glad to hear that old priest still lives," said daoud, sighing. "ah, sophia, rachel is a slave to that tartar only because she had the ill luck to cross my path. i have brought destruction to many, many people."
-slowly, painfully, he turned on his back again, with sophia helping. lovingly she stroked the few patches of his skin that were not torn or burned or bruised.
-when he was settled, he looked up at her and smiled in what she thought was a strange way. she did not see the cause of his smile at first, until he looked down at himself, and she followed his eyes. she saw that his key of life had begun to raise itself.
-"daoud! after all you have been through?"
-"i want you, sophia, because of what i have been through. because of what i nearly lost. i will tell you more tomorrow about what, god be thanked, did not happen. for now"--he reached out a hand to her--"come to me."
-she understood. he must feel like a man who had come back from the dead. life was more precious to him than ever--and love. tired and pain-racked though he was, he wanted this moment of being with her again, which must seem to him like a gift from god. and, indeed, perhaps that was exactly what it was.
-he lay back on the bed, his tortured body naked except for the cloth wrappings tied over the worst of his wounds. his beautiful circumcised phallos pulsed as it grew larger. she wanted to be naked with him, and she threw off her outer tunic, unbelted her red silk gown, and pulled it over her head. her shift followed. then she stepped out of the purple felt slippers and stood before him, her arms held away from her body, to let him see her.
-she felt the warmth of her own desire for him spread through her.
-he said, "you are a spring that gushes out of barren rock. i thirst for you."
-carefully she climbed on the bed, straddling him. slowly, so as not to hurt him, she lowered herself over him, guiding him into her with gentle fingers. a long sigh escaped him. she moved for both of them.
-the instant after he groaned and reached his peak of love and pleasure, he fell asleep, still lying on his back. he had just enough strength to couple with me, she thought.
-she rose from him and blew out the candles on the bedside table. the night was cool, and she closed the casement windows of his room.
-there was space between daoud and the wall for her to lie beside him. she stretched out there and stayed awake only long enough to kiss his bare shoulder.
-forcing himself to wake up seemed as much torture for daoud as anything erculio had done to him. he could only lie there and struggle against the agony he felt in every part of his body. his head ached. his tongue felt like a lump of dried camel dung. his throbbing muscles and bones begged him to sink back into unconsciousness. how long had he slept? only an hour or two, he was sure.
-the yellow glow of a lighted candle filled the room. lorenzo was standing near the bed holding the candle, glowering at daoud from under thick, dark brows as if he were angry at him.
-daoud wanted to laugh and leap out of bed and throw his arms around lorenzo. he managed only to sit up, too quickly. fires shot from his joints into his neck to coalesce in a burst of agony in the back of his head. he did not want to cry out in front of lorenzo, but a groan forced itself through his cracked lips.
-sophia, wearing her red silk gown and standing by the bed--how did she get out of bed and dressed before lorenzo got in here?--took daoud's shoulders gently and lowered him back to the bed.
-lorenzo set the candle on the table beside daoud and sat beside him.
-"what the devil did those bastards do to you?"
-daoud saw the rage in the penetrating dark eyes, and it delighted him, because lorenzo was furious for his sake.
-"nothing that i will not recover from. more quickly, now that i see your infidel face. have you come here to parley with the podesta?"
-"yes, duke rinaldo has sent his son, lapo, and me to meet with d'ucello here at ugolini's."
-lorenzo had accomplished everything daoud asked of him, and more. his timely arrival had saved daoud's life. to think that daoud had once wanted to be rid of him. except for sophia, he had never in his life felt so happy to see anyone as this grizzled sicilian.
-sophia said, "i have tended your wounds enough for tonight, david. i leave you in lorenzo's care." she smiled at lorenzo and put her hand briefly on his shoulder.
-as she went to the door, lorenzo scooped something from the floor, jumped up, and handed it to her. "i believe this is yours, madonna." he held out her red leather belt.
-sophia swept it from his hand. "thank you, messere," she said coolly.
-"good night, sophia," said daoud with a smile. "you have brought me great comfort tonight."
-"good night, david," she said, and shot him a burning look that he hoped lorenzo did not see.
-after the door closed behind her, lorenzo chuckled softly as he sat down again. "tending your wounds with her gown off, was she? and no light in the room till i brought this candle in? you and she are not as discreet as you were before i left."
-we could never fool lorenzo, thought daoud ruefully.
-"the pope is gone, the tartars are gone, the french are gone," said daoud. "there is no one left in orvieto that we need deceive. find some soft cloths on the table to bind my feet." creating the barrier between his mind and the pain, daoud swung his legs over the edge of the bed. lorenzo stared at him, his mouth falling open.
-"what in the name of hell are you doing? you cannot get up! what wounds are under those bandages?"
-"i do not mind the pain," said daoud. "i want to meet this duke's son. where is your army camped?"
-lorenzo's grin stretched his thick black mustache. "in the valley to the north. you should see it. after i climbed up to the main gate of orvieto i looked down and saw the hundreds of campfires twinkling. it was as if the world had turned over, and i was looking down into the starry sky."
-daoud wished he could go to the city walls to see what lorenzo had described. but he had barely strength enough to walk from his room to ugolini's cabinet.
-four men--daoud, lorenzo, ugolini, and lapo di stefano--sat around ugolini's worktable discussing the fate of orvieto. the servants had moved the table to the center of the cabinet and had replaced the cardinal's usual clutter of philosophical instruments with platters of meat, loaves of bread baked fresh in the cardinal's kitchen, and trays of steaming pastries. daoud had no appetite and was in too much pain to eat.
-"when does your king manfred intend to come up from the south?" lapo asked daoud. he twisted the carcass of a roasted pigeon between thick, juice-stained fingers. his nose had been broken in some accident or fight; air whistled in and out of the flattened nostrils. daoud judged him to be about twenty, the same age as simon de gobignon.
-as far as lapo knew, daoud was an agent of the king of southern italy and sicily. it might have shocked him to discover that he was dealing with a muslim from egypt.
-daoud had to evade lapo's question. he had no idea what plans manfred had, if any. he could only hope that when he met with manfred at lucera he would be able to persuade him to invade the papal states.
-"king manfred would come from the south much more quickly," daoud said, "if he could count on being recognized by the cities of the north as king of a united italy."
-"that must be between my father and him," said lapo, and his breath wheezed through his nostrils as he bit into the pigeon's breast. "after all, no such title exists. there has never been a king of italy."
-and yet there easily could be, thought daoud, seeing the shape of the peninsula in his mind. and if that single ruler were a man like manfred, what a strong barrier italy could be between the abode of islam and the barbaric kingdoms of christian europe.
-but in fact, thought daoud, for all that lapo di stefano wore the ghibellino symbol, the black, two-headed hohenstaufen eagle, on the breast of his red silk surcoat, he and his father might still prefer that manfred stay where he was. as long as manfred remained cut off from the northern cities like siena by the band of the papal states running across the center of italy, the ghibellini of the north could do as they pleased.
-"when the french invade," said daoud, "a united italy can keep them out. if the cities of the north are divided, the french will take them over one by one."
-"how do you know the french will invade?" lapo asked. "we have heard that king louis has no desire to wage war in italy."
-daoud was beginning to feel a strong dislike for this coarse young nobleman who seemed both very sure of himself and very ignorant. he was about to reply when a man-at-arms entered and whispered to ugolini.
-"d'ucello is here," ugolini said.
-"have him wait below until we send for him," said daoud quickly. he turned back to lapo.
-"i do not wish d'ucello harmed."
-lapo stared coldly at daoud. "who are you to give orders?"
-lorenzo answered before daoud could speak. "let me remind you, signore, that it was david of trebizond whose gold made possible your capture of orvieto."
-there was too much conflict building up here, daoud thought. "no, lorenzo. siena had the will, the fighting spirit. that was what made this victory possible. i contributed only money."
-he turned to lapo. "i do not give orders, i make recommendations based on my knowledge of this town. i recommend that d'ucello continue as podesta. if you leave enough men under his command, he will keep the feuding families under control. orvieto will prosper and pay you tribute that will make this expedition worth your while."
-"the army of siena has marched against orvieto because orvieto is a guelfo stronghold," said lapo. "we intend to replace the governments of all the cities near siena with rulers favorable to us."
-daoud thought he understood lapo, gauging him as a man who had little experience of war but who enjoyed bloodletting. he was probably disappointed that the city might surrender without a battle, without an excuse for looting and massacre. he might be hoping, as a substitute, to find someone who could be put to death publicly in some hideous way to demonstrate his power over the city.
-it would have been easier on me too.
-daoud fixed lapo with a hard look and slowly shook his head. "revenge does not interest me."
-"just what does interest you, messer trader?" the heir of siena glowered at daoud from under his heavy eyebrows. "i do not trust a man who does not care about revenge."
-revenge? was not his presence at the heart of christendom a kind of revenge for nearly two hundred years of christian invasions of muslim lands? did it not make revenge all the sweeter that god's chosen instrument was a descendant of those very crusaders who had been sent against islam? this dense young nobleman could not conceive of the fantastic forms revenge could take.
-"i act in the interests of king manfred," daoud said. "it is in his interest that orvieto be part of the chain of ghibellino cities in the north that limit the power of the pope. it is not in his interest--or yours--that siena waste lives and money capturing orvieto. the town can be taken without a struggle if you come to terms with d'ucello. and i recommend that you leave him in place as podesta of orvieto."
-lapo shook his head. "how can i trust a man who would betray his own city?"
-daoud felt his small remaining store of strength ebbing fast. he must finish this quickly.
-"you will leave your own force here to keep him in line, of course. you will take prominent orvietans back to siena with you as hostages. but you should understand that d'ucello is not betraying his city. he is willing to surrender because he knows that is best for orvieto. give him a free hand and strengthen his militia, and he will govern the town well for you."
-lorenzo said dryly, "this paragon of podestas waits in cardinal ugolini's reception hall to offer you the keys to the city of orvieto. shall we invite him to join us, your signory?"
-lapo di stefano shrugged and waved a greasy hand. "send for the fellow. i will make my decision after i have seen him." he picked up another roasted pigeon and sank his teeth into it.
-and life or death for hundreds of people depended on how this ape happened to choose in the next few moments, daoud thought, as lorenzo went to the door and called a servant. why did god put such men in positions of power?
-soon there was a knock at the door, and lorenzo went to it and admitted d'ucello. the podesta's face was hidden by the dark brown hood of his cloak.
-for all this man knows, i plan to have him killed, daoud thought, admiring d'ucello's courage in coming here.
-"you come recommended to us as a man who can keep order in this city," said lapo as d'ucello took a seat.
-"and we can think of no higher recommendation, since it comes from a man you have just been torturing," said lorenzo.
-"this man has the strength of the old romans," said d'ucello, nodding toward daoud. "he knows when to put a personal grievance aside for the greater good."
-lapo said, "if we were willing to let you remain as podesta of this city, in return for your oath of allegiance to the duke of siena, how many men would you need to keep the city under control?"
-can it be that my legacy to orvieto may be an improved government? i certainly did not come here for that purpose.
-but daoud felt himself weakening. his overtaxed body would soon betray him into sleep if he did not go to bed of his own accord.
-"if you have no further need of me--" he said. lorenzo helped him stand, and leaning on him, he limped to the door.
-"i owe you more than i can say," d'ucello called after him.
-"pray to god that i do not decide to repay my debt to you," daoud answered. he did not look back, but he could imagine d'ucello's small, grim smile.
-simon and king louis stood side by side on the yellow, sandy west bank of the rhone river opposite avignon. they had just crossed over the pont d'avignon, a long, narrow bridge of twenty-two arches. avignon was a compact city, encircled by butter-colored walls fortified with red cone-roofed towers. a prosperous city as well, simon thought as he regarded the many church spires rising above the walls. even during his brief glimpse of the city upon his arrival late the night before, he had seen many great houses.
-he looked at the tall, gaunt king, whose round eyes stared thoughtfully off into the cloudy sky.
-it was lucky for simon--if it were proper to think of a man's death as lucky--that the funeral of count raymond of provence, father of louis's queen marguerite, had brought the king here, so close to italy. otherwise simon might still be traveling northward with the pope's letter. when he landed at aigues-mortes he had found the whole port abuzz with the news of count raymond's death and of the coming of the french royal family to bury him in state and settle the future of the county of provence.
-a traveler from a foreign land looking at louis would never imagine that he was a king, simon thought. a plain brown felt cap covered louis's thinning gray hair, draping down one side of his head. his robe and a cloak of thin, cheap wool, dyed black, were not warm enough for this chill september morning. perhaps, simon thought, the penitential shirt of woven horsehair he wore next to his skin warmed louis even as it discomforted him. he carried no weapon at his dull leather belt, only the parchment scroll, the pope's letter, which simon had given him the night before. louis's shoes were of the same sort of leather as his belt, and the points of their toes were far too short to be fashionable.
-simon felt overdressed beside the king, and resolved that from now on he would try to dress more plainly.
-with his long fingers, king louis tapped the scroll tucked into his belt. "he afflicts me sorely, this jacques pantaleone, this pope urban."
-"the pope afflicts you, sire?" simon was surprised to see the king unhappy about the pope's message to him. he had expected louis to be overjoyed at getting permission to deal with the tartars.
-a sudden worry struck him. what if the king and the pope could not agree? all his work would have been for nothing--over a year of his life, all the fighting and dying--to say nothing of the personal expense of paying forty venetian crossbowmen for over a year and maintaining six knights--
-now five, a grief-laden thought reminded him.
-yes, and what about alain? was his death to be for nothing?
-worst of all, the accomplishment he had hoped would put him on the road to redeeming his family's honor would be no accomplishment at all. the year wasted, lives wasted, the shadow of treason still lying upon his name and title.
-what joy he had felt only a little earlier this morning, knowing he would accompany king louis on his morning walk after mass. now his eager anticipation seemed like so much foolishness.
-but, of all the men in the world, this is the one i would never want to disappoint.
-whatever louis decided must be right. but, dear god, let him not decide to cast away the alliance.
-louis said, "urban grants the thing i want most in the world, but only if i agree to that which i desire least. and i do not want to give in to him."
-oh, god! the sky seemed to darken.
-"what does he ask you to do, sire?"
-louis sighed, a deep, tremulous expulsion of breath. "he asks that the might of france should be diverted into a squabble among petty princes in italy, when jerusalem is at stake!"
-it seems more than a squabble when you are in the thick of it, thought simon, remembering the night the filippeschi had attacked the monaldeschi palace.
-"i cannot wait any longer to begin preparing for a crusade," louis said. "i want to return to outremer in six years, in 1270. that may seem to you a long time away, but for such a great undertaking as this it is barely enough. it took me four years to get ready for the last crusade, to gather the men and supplies, and it will be harder this time."
-"why 1270, sire?" said simon.
-louis's head drooped and his eyes fell. "to win my freedom i promised baibars, the mameluke leader who is now sultan of cairo, that i would not wage war on islam for twenty years."
-"an oath to an unbeliever--" said simon.
-"my royal word!" said louis fiercely. "and besides that, france needed twenty years to recover from the loss of thousands of men, men i lost, to raise up a new generation of knights like yourself to take the cross again."
-many times during his boyhood years of living with the royal family, simon had observed that the queen, or the king's brothers or his sons would burst out in exasperation over louis's insistence on adherence to some principle, regardless of inconvenience or discomfort. in simon's eyes this had always meant that the king was a better christian than the other members of his family. now, seeing all his work and his hopes possibly ruined by the king's refusal to come to the pope's aid against the ghibellini, simon was disturbed to feel a similar anger at louis arise within him.
-simon stared at the man he loved so well, and saw that even though the king was talking of war, his thin, pale face was raised to heaven in an exalted, almost angelic look.
-"but only the pope can proclaim a crusade," louis said. "unless he does so, i cannot raise an army. and if we attack the saracens in egypt while the tartars strike through syria, we will be invincible. but without the pope's permission i cannot make a pact with the tartars. in this letter he gives that permission, but he makes it conditional on my involving france in his struggle with manfred von hohenstaufen."
-simon was in despair. louis would refuse, and the alliance would go a-glimmering.
-louis put a hand on simon's shoulder. "be patient awhile, simon. my queen and my brother, count charles, will join us at breakfast. we will talk together of all this."
-the weight of louis's hand sent a warmth all through him. but how could the king expect him to be patient when he had so much to lose?
-"count charles meets with you this morning?" simon asked. he had known that charles d'anjou was in avignon, but thought it his duty to carry the pope's letter straight to the king, without first taking the time to seek out his mentor, the king's brother.
-"yes," sighed louis, "we meet for another petty squabble. my queen was the only heir of her father, the count of provence, and now the county is ours to dispose of. marguerite wants to keep it in my immediate family, giving it to our son tristan. but charles wants it for himself. he already holds anjou, aquitaine, and arles. add provence to that, and he would have a domain stretching from the pyrenees to italy. whatever i decide, i will offend either my brother or my wife." he shook his head. "that is why it makes me so happy to talk to you, simon. young men understand what is really important so much better than their elders."
-"sire, i would do anything you asked of me." on a sudden impulse, simon fell to his knees on the sand and seized louis's bony hand and kissed it.
-louis gripped his arms and raised him. simon felt surprising strength in louis's hands.
-"do not kneel to me, simon," said the king, and simon saw that his eyes were brimming with tears. "but it would mean so much to me if you, of all men, would take the cross."
-if i, of all men--
-simon understood. louis was thinking of amalric de gobignon, whose treachery fourteen years earlier had been the final blow to louis's crusade into egypt. the king's life had been shadowed ever since, simon knew, by the memory of an entire army lost in the sands by the nile and by his failure to win jerusalem.
-and no matter that i am not really the son of amalric. if i inherited his title, his lands, and his power, i must inherit his shame too. and atone for it.
-louis was still holding simon's arms. the light blue eyes froze him with their stare.
-"i have sworn to liberate jerusalem. i will do it, or i will die. if i cannot have the help of the tartars, i will still go. if every knight and man-at-arms in christendom refused to go with me--if i had to go alone--i would still go."
-god help me, you will never have to go alone as long as i live. if you go on crusade, i will go too.
-but there must be a tartar alliance. there must!
-"let us walk back over to the city and to breakfast, simon," said louis. "marguerite and charles will be waiting for us."
-as they walked to the bridge of avignon, preceded and followed at a discreet distance by the king's guards in blue and silver tunics, simon felt himself torn. he wanted to please king louis, and he wanted to redeem the name of his house. but must he live out his whole life expiating the crimes of amalric de gobignon, who was not even his real father?
-roland and nicolette laid a heavy burden on me when they brought me into the world, he thought bitterly.
-again he thought of sophia. if he could persuade her to come and dwell with him at gobignon, he could forget the shame of amalric and live simply and in peace, a happy man.
-since high matters of state were to be discussed here, over breakfast in the private dining room of the palace of the bishop of avignon, the servants had been dismissed. king louis, queen marguerite, prince tristan, count charles, and simon were alone together. the large round table was piled high--a whole roast duck, a dozen boiled eels, blocks of hard cheese, a pyramid of hard-boiled eggs, bowls of pickled fruits, stacked loaves of fine white bread, trays of cheese pastries, and flagons of wine.
-simon sliced the eels and put oval white slices on each person's trencher, while prince tristan carved and distributed the duck. as they did so, king louis read aloud the pope's letter granting him permission to conduct a crusade jointly with the tartars in return for french help against the ghibellini.
-"your next crusade will make me a widow," queen marguerite said, her round face white and her fists clenched on the table. "as your last did to so many other women."
-tristan, a sturdy, ruddy-faced youth a few years younger than simon, went around the table pouring red rhone valley wine into everyone's cup but his father's. louis poured his own wine from another pitcher, and simon saw that it was a pale pink. it must be more water than wine.
-louis's long, thin fingers, carrying a slice of eel to his mouth as marguerite spoke, stopped in midair, and he slowly put the meat back on his trencher. but he said nothing.
-"do not speak so, madame," said charles as he used a long thumbnail darkened by the dirt under it to break and peel the shell from a hard-boiled egg. "it brings ill luck." simon heard the venomous undertone in his voice.
-even though this was the first time they had seen each other since charles sent simon to italy to guard the tartars, the count of anjou had hardly spoken to simon this morning. hurt, simon wondered how he had offended charles.
-marguerite, tall and stout, her head wrapped in a linen coif held in place with a net of pearls, stood with a sudden, graceless lunge that knocked her chair over. tristan, blushing, went to pick it up, and she caught his hand.
-"what need of ill luck when i have a husband bent on destroying himself, and he has a brother who is only too happy to help him do it?" she turned away from the table, pulling tristan after her. "i take with me this boy, lest he spoil your pleasant dreams of crusading by reminding you of how and where he was born." with long, angry strides she was at the door. tristan stepped in front of his mother to open the door for her.
-"good morning to you, madame," said louis softly, still looking down at the slices of boiled eel that lay before him. the door slammed behind the queen and her son.
-"what did she mean by that?" charles said, sounding quite unconcerned by the queen's outburst.
-"do you not remember, brother?" said louis. "marguerite gave birth to tristan alone in egypt, while you and i were prisoners of the mamelukes. she has never forgotten how terrified she was."
-to mask his embarrassment, simon took a big swallow of the red wine. it was thick and tart, and burned in his chest as it went down. he never enjoyed wine this early in the day. he wished he could drink heavily watered wine, as king louis did, but he feared people like uncle charles would think him a weakling.
-charles popped the entire hard-boiled egg into his mouth, and spoke around it. "it is best that the queen has left us. i do not understand why she dislikes me so."
-"i do not understand why you and she dislike each other," said louis sadly.
-"we will talk of that another time." charles picked up the scroll of the pope's letter and shook it at louis. "you must let me go to the aid of the holy father."
-charles's fingernails were quite long, simon knew, because he never bothered to trim them. his hair and stubble of beard were thick and pure black, while louis's face was smooth and his hair, what was left of it, was a silvery gray. charles was broad-shouldered and sat erect; louis was slender of frame and slightly stooped. it was hard to believe that two such different-looking men were brothers. but they did both have what were said to be the capet family features--they were very tall, with long faces, large noses, and round, staring eyes, louis's blue and charles's brown. they both dressed plainly, but charles dressed like a fighting man, in leather jerkin and high boots that he stretched out before him as he sat sideways to the table.
-simon used his dagger to cut himself a chunk of white bread--baked before dawn in the bishop of avignon's ovens--from one of the loaves in the center of the table. he hoped it would soak up the wine that still smoldered in his stomach.
-louis said, "all my life, people have been trying to get me to make war on the hohenstaufen family. our mother, may she rest in peace. one pope after another. now you. all call the hohenstaufen mortal enemies of christendom. i am still not persuaded."
-charles laughed scornfully. "brother! who do you think incited the sienese to take orvieto? and in this letter his holiness says manfred is preparing to march north against him."
-simon wondered if sophia was still in orvieto. ever since he had heard the news that a ghibellino army had captured the city on the rock, apparently without a battle, worries about sophia's safety had gnawed at him. he wished desperately that he could be wherever she was, to protect her. and how he longed just to see her, to hold her in his arms, to kiss her beautiful golden face, to taste her lips, the color of sweet red grapes.
-louis said, "manfred is only trying to protect his crown, which the pope wants you to take from him."
-simon prayed that charles would persuade louis, but he had little hope of it. he had many times seen the king, his mind made up, gently obstinate, never raising his voice, never losing his patience, withstanding the arguments of his whole family and court.
-then simon, listening to the argument, became aware of something he had not noticed earlier. neither of the royal brothers had mentioned the pope's poor health. probably because neither of them had seen for himself how sick pope urban was.
-he waited for a pause, then spoke. "sire, uncle charles, the holy father seemed to me to be very gravely ill by the time i left him. he told me that he expects to die soon. if he does die now, will not this permission for the alliance with the tartars die with him?" simon pointed to the letter.
-"yes, it will," said louis frowning, "we will have to start all over again with the next pope."
-"manfred could try to influence the election of the pope," said simon urgently. "or he could try to control the next pope by taking him captive."
-louis rubbed his high forehead. "it has been done before, more than once."
-charles's large, hairy hand clamped down on louis's forearm. "simon has hit upon the key to all this, brother. think how powerful the ghibellini are in italy now. they control florence, siena, pisa, lucca, and now orvieto. with all those ghibellino cities to the north of the papal states and manfred to the south, is it not obvious what manfred is planning?"
-charles struck louis's arm again and again with the flat of his hand to emphasize his point. no one else would dare touch the king like that, thought simon.
-"obvious to you, perhaps," said louis wryly. "i see only a man trying to protect himself."
-"the instant pope urban dies, manfred and his allies will attack. he will surround and seize the entire college of cardinals. he will force them to elect the pope of his choice. we will lose the papacy."
-"we do not own the papacy."
-charles leaned back, laughing without mirth. "well, manfred will own the papacy if we do not stop him. and then you can forget about your tartar alliance. you can probably forget about crusading altogether. a pope controlled by the hohenstaufen would probably forbid you to crusade, under pain of excommunication. do not forget, it was manfred's father, emperor frederic, who made a treaty with the sultan of cairo."
-simon watched louis closely to see what effect charles's words were having. it was obvious that they were sinking in. a troubled frown drew louis's pale brows together and tightened his mouth. simon's heart began to beat faster as his hopes rose.
-charles went on. "if i go now, i go at the pope's invitation. and if urban dies--"
-louis made a reverent sign of the cross. "if it be god's will, charles."
-"yes, yes, if it be god's will that this pope dies, i will already be in italy," charles said. "i can be in rome, athwart manfred's path, and he will not be able to intimidate the college of cardinals when they elect the next pope. you must let me go into italy to protect our interests. or else give up your dream of jerusalem."
-a long moment of silence passed, louis staring into charles's eyes.
-louis held up a finger. "i will not declare war on manfred. if you go, this is entirely your doing, and that of the pope."
-we've won! the king has given in! simon, wild with joy inside, forced himself to sit silent.
-charles did not look as pleased as simon felt. "but, if you don't declare war, where will i get the knights and men?"
-louis held up a second finger. "you will get them yourself. i will not provide them. you will have to hire them. and if manfred beats your army, i will not send more men to rescue you."
-charles shrugged. "well, i have the best tax collectors in europe."
-louis raised a third finger. "you will forget about provence."
-charles looked outraged. "forget about--" he sputtered.
-louis raised a finger. "charles, i will not let you have both sicily and provence. you want too much."
-charles sighed. "very well. let provence go to tristan. you have put me in a position where i will desperately need the taxes provence would yield. but i will make do somehow."
-"i am sure you will," said louis. "if you have to sell all the clothes from all the backs in the lands you now rule."
-louis thought a moment, and then turned to simon, who, glowing inwardly, leapt to his feet.
-louis looked startled at simon's vehemence. "i will write two letters for you to take to perugia. one for the reigning pope, who, i pray, will still be pope urban. in that i will give my permission for the count of anjou to accept the crown the pope has offered him and to make war on manfred."
-he stopped, sighed, and shook his head.
-turning to his brother, he said, "i do this with great sorrow and misgiving, charles, but i fear i have no choice."
-the count of anjou said nothing, but simon saw his chest rapidly rising and falling with excitement.
-"should god take pope urban, simon, you will hold the letter, sealed, until a new pope is elected and then give it to him. the other letter, in the event pope urban dies, will be for cardinal de verceuil. you mentioned that manfred might try to influence the election of the next pope. fourteen out of twenty-one cardinals are french, and if they vote together, they can elect a pope. i shall recommend a candidate they can unite behind. again, i do not like to do this, because a king should not interfere in the election of a pope. should pope urban live to read the first letter, you will not give the second letter to cardinal de verceuil, but will burn it, still sealed, and see that not a trace remains."
-charles shrugged. "the hohenstaufen did it again and again."
-"they tried to do it," said louis, "and that is one reason that they and the popes are such enemies. but i do it for the same reason i allow you to go to italy, charles. to prevent a greater calamity and to accomplish a greater good."
-"and who will your choice for pope be, brother?"
-simon felt sure that making royal decisions would never be the agony for charles that it was for louis.
-charles stood up, too, then dropped to his knee and pressed his forehead against his brother's pale hand. "god bless you, louis. i promise you, this is one decision you will always be happy to have made."
-i will always be happy he made it, simon thought.
-later, as they walked together through the gray stone halls of the bishop of avignon's palace, charles struck simon on the shoulder. the blow threw simon off stride, reminding him how strong charles was.
-"you did it, boy, you tipped the balance for me when you pointed out what might happen if the pope dies," charles said with a grin. "i was quite angry with you until then."
-"i had a feeling you were, uncle," he said.
-charles's nail-studded boots clicked on the stone floor of the corridor. "have you forgotten that if it were not for me, you would still be growing cobwebs at gobignon?"
-"no, uncle, i have not forgotten."
-"then why did you take the pope's letter to my brother without telling me about it?"
-simon felt a dull heat in his face. somewhere in the back of his mind he had always known that uncle charles would want to be told first about any messages passing between the pope and the king. but, feeling it would be wrong, simon had pretended to himself that he knew no such thing.
-"it was my duty to take it promptly to the king," said simon, looking straight ahead.
-charles suddenly stopped walking. "simon," he said, forcing simon to stop, turn, and look at him.
-"simon, do not let your idea of duty make you forget your loyalty to me. i helped raise you as a boy. i gave you this opportunity to bring honor to your house. i will be offering you even greater opportunities."
-"i have not forgotten, uncle," simon said again.
-"i do not suppose you know how to unseal and reseal a royal document?"
-simon felt his blood heat with anger.
-"no, uncle." he did not feel strong enough to denounce charles, but he tried to put disapproval into his voice. "i have never heard of anyone doing such a thing."
-"pas mal. too bad." charles's round eyes were heavy-lidded with contempt. "well, i must leave at once to begin squeezing the money for this campaign out of my subjects. especially since i have given up my claim to provence. i cannot wait around to see who my brother thinks should be pope. i am sure he will make a good choice."
-"i am sure he will," said simon frostily.
-i pray god it is not de verceuil himself.
-again the heavy blow on his shoulder, both comradely and threatening. "well, then. in the future when you have important news, make sure i am the first one to hear it."
-simon felt hotter still. uncle charles was supposedly helping him win back his honor, and yet was proposing that he betray the king's trust. he had admired uncle charles all his life because he seemed to be everything a great baron should--commanding, strong, warlike, victorious, loyal to the king, the church, and the pope. but he had always had the uneasy feeling that charles d'anjou was not a good man in the sense that king louis was. and he had always kept in the back of his mind his mother's warning, he uses people. he had felt that unease strongly over a year ago, the day charles asked him to lead the tartars' military escort. now he knew there was good reason for that uneasiness.
-"yes, uncle." simon had no intention of obeying, but since charles had no right to ask such a thing, there was no harm in misleading him. after a year in italy and all he had been through, simon found he feared his uncle charles less than he had. and trusted him less.
-and now, he thought, it would be back to italy. back to see his efforts bear fruit, as the alliance of christians and tartars became a reality. perhaps he would escort the tartars to france, to king louis, so they could draw up their war plans together.
-but, best of all, he would seek out sophia in perugia. he would propose marriage to her again. now she would believe him, now that she'd had time to think about everything he had said to her. sophia. seeing her in his mind, he felt as if he walked among the angels.
-manfred von hohenstaufen sat at a table at the far end of the colonnaded audience chamber, his pale blond hair gleaming in the candlelight.
-"come forward," he called to daoud and lorenzo. he beckoned to them, the wide sleeve of his green tunic falling away from his arm.
-their booted feet echoed on the long floor of polished pink marble. daoud's stomach felt hollow. he must persuade manfred to carry the war into the north at once.
-a dark green velvet cloth, hanging to the floor, covered the table at which the king of southern italy and sicily sat. the tabletop was strewn with pens and open rolls of parchment. two chamberlains in dark brown tunics hovered at manfred's back. he wrote quickly on one parchment after another, and handed them to his two assistants. even though it was a sunny morning outside, this chamber had few windows, and manfred, to see his work, needed candelabra at each end of the table.
-when daoud and lorenzo reached his table, he waved in dismissal to the chamberlains, and they bowed and left, carrying armloads of scrolls. seeing manfred at work, daoud felt a powerfully protective impulse toward him. manfred was not his king, but he had become a worthy ally, and daoud was prepared to fight manfred's enemies. to die, if need be, fighting them.
-"an old friend of yours wants to greet you, david," said manfred, his bright smile flashing.
-daoud saw no one. in a candlelit alcove behind manfred hung a painting of a red-bearded man in mail armor partly covered by a black and gold surcoat. it was not painted on the wall, but seemed to be on a separate piece of wood with a gilded border, which was hung on the wall. the man looked a bit like manfred, and daoud suspected it must be his father, the famous emperor frederic. there was an idolatrous look about the painting and the way it was displayed that made daoud uneasy. it reminded him a bit of the saint's image sophia had kept in her room at orvieto.
-"david of trebizond!" came a cry from beside manfred. manfred reached down and helped a bent, monkeylike figure scramble up to stand on the table.
-"god blesses our meeting, daoud ibn abdallah--this time," said the dwarf erculio.
-he grinned at daoud through his spiky black mustache. at the sight of him daoud winced at the memory of all the pain this little man had inflicted on him. he still felt some of that pain, especially in his feet, despite the tawidh's hastening of the healing process. but daoud also felt a sudden warmth that reminded him of the first time he had seen the little man, here at lucera. deformed in body and soul, required to do unspeakable things, erculio had still found a way to serve god.
-"if my lord daoud wishes to kill me, i am at his service," said erculio in arabic. "i have finished the work our sultan sent me to do in italy."
-daoud found himself smiling in spite of himself. "you would have saved me from a mutilation worse than death, erculio. i cannot hate you for that. you did your work well."
-erculio looked like a spider when he bowed, his head touching the tabletop, his elbows bent upward. "i am my lord's slave."
-he was the more admirable, daoud thought, because despite being so deformed, he had found important work to do in the world.
-"how is your former master, d'ucello, faring with the sienese in orvieto?" he asked erculio.
-erculio spread his hands wide. "alas! the podesta is dead."
-"dead?" it was hard to believe. daoud heard lorenzo's startled grunt beside him.
-"the contessa di monaldeschi never forgave him for surrendering to the sienese without a fight," erculio said. "vittorio, the monaldeschi heir, stabbed him to death in his office and then escaped into the hills. he is probably seeking asylum with the church leaders in perugia."
-"i would rather have heard that d'ucello killed vittorio," said lorenzo. "then there would be some sense in the world."
-daoud felt a pang of sorrow, and was surprised at himself. after all, had not d'ucello arrested him and subjected him to a day and a night of horrible torment, with the threat of worse hanging over him? but he remembered the podesta as a man of rare ability, who would have ruled orvieto well, given a chance. his death was a waste.
-manfred said, "erculio has told me of your arrest and your sufferings at the hands of the podesta of orvieto. i want to hear more about that. but let us speak now of perugia. what is ugolini doing?"
-"lorenzo and i escorted cardinal ugolini to perugia and left him there," daoud said. "he planned to block the election of a new pope by keeping the italian cardinals united behind himself." he paused a moment. now should he bring up his conviction that manfred must march northward before a new pope was elected?
-but while he hesitated, manfred spoke. "what of sophia karaiannides?" manfred looked sharply at daoud, the sapphire eyes intent. "why did you not bring her back here with you?"
-jealous anger stabbed daoud. sophia had spoken little of manfred, but daoud had long ago realized that she and manfred must have been lovers. he had decided not to think about that. now manfred was wondering what had happened between sophia and daoud, and perhaps wanted sophia back; daoud could read it in manfred's tone and the look in his eyes.
-daoud tried to see manfred as sophia might have. intensely--one might almost say blindingly--handsome, strong, graceful, his brilliant mind attractively decked out with elegance and wit, learned but carrying his learning lightly, skilled in all the courtly arts and graces. what woman could resist such a man?
-but manfred must have tired of her, as such men did, who had access to any woman they wanted. perhaps his queen, or some new love of his, had insisted that sophia be sent away. and once she was gone, he had realized what he had lost.
-too late now, manfred.
-but, he reminded himself, he must not let sophia come between himself and manfred.
-manfred nodded, a small smile twitching his blond mustache. "yes, she would be good at that."
-daoud thought of simon de gobignon and felt a flash of hatred for him. but he must report about him, too.
-"she has captured the heart of a young french nobleman, the count de gobignon, who commands the tartars' military escort. when charles d'anjou invades italy, de gobignon will surely be one of his captains."
-"when charles d'anjou invades italy? and a moment ago you said when a pope of the french party is elected."
-daoud was about to reply, but manfred raised a hand for silence. he rose from his high-back chair. with a glance, as if for reassurance, at the portrait of the red-bearded man hanging behind him, he strode out in front of the table with his hands clasped behind his back. daoud and lorenzo made way for him. he walked the length of the marble floor to the door at the end of the hall. the dwarf erculio sank down cross-legged on the tabletop, his long arms clasped around his knees, watching manfred sombrely.
-daoud prayed, oh, god, help him to judge wisely.
-"king louis has always held charles back," manfred said, turning suddenly to face daoud and lorenzo. "louis does not believe that the pope should set christian rulers against one another."
-and help me to advise him well.
-daoud gathered his thoughts. the success of his mission in italy depended on persuading manfred to choose the right course. his heart beat harder. he tried to speak with all the assurance he could muster.
-"sire, there are enough french cardinals to elect the next pope. they are bound to choose a man who will give king louis what he wants--the alliance between christians and tartars. and that same pope will surely offer your crown to charles d'anjou as urban did. if louis has the alliance he wants above all else, he will not stand in charles's way."
-manfred sighed and turned away. "so, you think war is certain."
-accept it! daoud cried out to manfred in his heart. hesitate no longer.
-"yes, once a pope is elected," daoud said. "but you can act before that happens. use the time ugolini is gaining for you. march north now, sire, while your enemies are without a head. join forces with your ghibellino allies in northern italy--siena, florence, pisa, and the rest. surround the college of cardinals and you can force them to elect a pope of your choice. or scatter them. three-fourths of them are needed for the election of a pope. you might be able to stop the election altogether."
-manfred's back remained turned. daoud looked at lorenzo. he could not read lorenzo's expression; the sicilian's mouth was hidden beneath his grizzled mustache. but lorenzo shook his head slightly, as if to say that daoud was not having the effect he wanted. at that, daoud felt himself waver toward despair. he commanded himself to stand firm.
-manfred walked back to the table. he stood before daoud, his hands still clasped behind him. his face wore a haunted look. the cheerful self-confidence daoud had always seen before was gone.
-"the north is a quagmire this time of year."
-"for your enemies as well as for you," daoud said. "and they do not--yet--have anything like the strength you can muster. you can call up your vassals here in a few weeks' time. when charles gets a summons from the new pope, he will then have to gather his troops in france and cross the alps into italy. by the time he is ready, you could have all of italy under your control. and there would be no pope to give legitimacy to his invasion."
-manfred snorted and turned away. daoud, erculio, and lorenzo watched him pace.
-he came back and said, "no. i do not trust those you call my allies in the north. they opposed the pope, but neither do they want to be ruled by me. if i were to try to make myself king of italy, they would turn against me."
-probably true, daoud thought, remembering the reluctance of lapo di stefano, the heir of siena, to recognize manfred's kingship over all of italy.
-baibars would be in the north like lightning, though. he would welcome the bad weather, because it would impede his foes while he himself would simply not let his own troops slow down because of it. and if any of his allies even thought of betraying him, he would kill them. but that was baibars. this king, daoud remembered, had at first not wanted to help him with his mission in orvieto because it might provoke a war.
-manfred, he saw, kept raising objections because he really wanted to be left alone to enjoy what he had. he showed no interest whatever in conquering all of italy. he was the enlightened ruler of a civilized, prosperous land, and he probably would not go to war until the enemy was on his border.
-though daoud felt for manfred and his wish to be at peace, he knew that no ruler could refuse the duty of war. peace could be achieved only by conquering the enemies of peace. every great ruler of islam from the prophet to salah ad-din and baibars had been a warrior on horseback.
-daoud's heart felt like a lump of lead. he saw so clearly that with one stroke they could end the danger of a union between tartars and christians and save manfred's kingdom.
-he sighed inwardly. he had tried his best and failed.
-he had no choice but to accept that. but acceptance was not surrender. you surrendered only to the will of god. you accepted things as they were, but struggled to make them better.
-the potter does not sigh for better clay, but works with what god puts in his hand, sheikh saadi said.
-manfred turned away from daoud, walked around the table with another glance at the portrait, and sat down. he frowned at a parchment that lay before him, as if wishing to end the conversation.
-daoud said, "then, sire, let us at least prepare to defend ourselves as best we can." he untied a small leather bag from his belt and went over to the desk. manfred looked up, his blond eyebrows lifted.
-daoud said, "allow the sultan of the lands of islam, who feels himself a brother to you, to come to your aid with this gift." he upended the leather bag over the table, and a flood of tiny lights spilled out. erculio gasped and drew back from the small pile of precious stones.
-manfred stared in wonder. "this is enough to pay and equip enough knights and men-at-arms to double the size of my army. your sultan gives with a great heart." he looked at daoud with more warmth that daoud had ever seen in those cold blue eyes. "or is it in fact you who give?"
-"my lord the sultan commanded me to use this wealth carefully, and to help you if your enemies should attack."
-manfred said, "these, then, remain of the jewels i sent you with to orvieto? twelve? you are a remarkably good steward, daoud. i should put you in charge of my treasury."
-daoud inclined his head respectfully. "i hope you will put me where i can serve you better, sire."
-"and where is that?"
-"sire, my work here is far from done. give me a unit of your army to command. let them be, if you permit, fighting men of my own faith."
-and i may yet kill the tartars and rescue rachel.
-manfred's face fairly glowed. he picked up one of the jewels from his table, a large precious topaz of a warm golden color. he took daoud's hand, laid the rare stone on his palm, and closed his fingers over it.
-"this is yours. use it to recruit and supply a troop of your own in my service. they should count themselves blessed by god to have a mameluke to train and lead them."
-"it is i who am blessed," daoud said.
-he looked at the stone in his hand. it was a shade lighter than the color of sophia's eyes.
-he bowed again to manfred. at last he could fight as he preferred to, leading troops in open battle. as a mameluke.
-smiling to himself, he stroked his chin.
-and at last i can let my beard grow.
-a letter from emir daoud ibn abdallah to el malik baibars al-bunduqdari, from lucera, 19th day of rabia, a.h. 663:
-next to the byzantine empire this kingdom of southern italy and sicily is the most civilized of christian nations. that is to say, a muslim might almost be comfortable here. in fact, many are.
-the chief interests of king manfred's courtiers are falconry, poetry, dalliance with beautiful women, and philosophical disputation. my lord will note that i do not mention warfare.
-king manfred seems to hope that some intervention by god or fate or chance will make it unnecessary for him to take the field against charles d'anjou.
-christian warriors generally prefer to wait for their enemies to come to them, reasoning that a small force of defenders can defeat a large force of attackers. that is why there are castles everywhere in europe, even in the cities of europe. their wars against us, that they call crusades, are an exception, and perhaps, too, they have learned something from the failure of those invasions.
-but this is also an exceptional moment. the guelfi and the french are not ready to fight, and manfred could win everything if he were to act now.
-i tried to persuade him to invade northern italy and bring the papacy under his control, but he would have none of it. so we must await charles, and defeat him when he comes. after that italy will lie open to manfred. then for his own future safety he will have to place the pope under his influence.
-but how i long for a day like that when i rode behind my lord baibars to destroy the tartars on the field at the well of goliath.
-it appears to me now that god intends the destiny of the dar al-islam to hinge on one great battle. if manfred defeats charles d'anjou in italy, the franks will withdraw to lick their wounds. the french losses will deprive louis of the troops he needs for his crusade against us. but, if manfred falls, then the pope and the franks, made greedy by victory, will be eager to join forces with the tartars and extend their empire into our sacred lands of islam. i will do my best to see that the franks do not defeat manfred, and if i fail i hope not to live to see what comes after.
-all is in the hands of god, the all-powerful, the compassionate.
-cold and steady, the rain drummed on simon's wide-brimmed leather hat. his wool cloak had been soaking up water all day, and lay heavy as an iron plate on his body. it was not yet sunset, he knew, but the rain so darkened the streets of perugia that he despaired of finding his destination.
-"there it is!" sordello shouted through the rain.
-simon's first thought on seeing the baglioni palace was, if only we had been in a place like that when the filippeschi attacked.
-rain and darkness made it hard for him to see it in detail, but lighted torches and candles glowing inside the windows limned its general shape. the square central tower loomed high above the surrounding city, its stone face ruddy in the glow from the upper windows of four cylindrical corner turrets. the palace was surrounded by a high outer wall, and simon supposed there was an expanse of bare ground between the wall and the main building. to him, the palace looked more like a great french country château than a noble italian family's town house.
-streamers of purple cloth, betokening mourning, were draped from one turret of the gatehouse to the other, the rain-soaked ends flapping across the arch of the gateway.
-the tall wooden gate, sheltered from the rain by a pointed arch, was adorned with painted carvings of the lion, symbol of the guelfi, and the griffin, symbol of the city of perugia. simon and sordello pounded on the gate, and men-at-arms admitted them. simon unstrapped a flat leather case from his saddle and then left thierry to unload and stable the animals. he and sordello hurried through the rain to the front door of the palace.
-"simon!" friar mathieu was shuffling toward him, leaning heavily on a walking stick. the old franciscan's painfully slow movements alarmed him. simon put his arms about him, but gently.
-"are you feeling worse, father?"
-"the weather is reminding my bones that they were cracked not long ago. i have a fire on the hearth in my room upstairs. come up with me and you can get out of those wet clothes."
-simon sent sordello to the kitchen and, still carrying the leather case, followed friar mathieu up a long flight of stone steps.
-wrapped in a blanket, seated on a bench before the fire in friar mathieu's chamber with a cup of hot spiced wine in his hand, he began to feel more comfortable, and he told the old priest about his journey back to italy from avignon.
-"king louis dismissed me on the twentieth of september. i paid fifty livres for a fast galley to livorno. then we rode our horses almost to death through the hills to get here. it took us less than two weeks. very good time, but not good enough."
-simon paused. he remembered the old pope so vividly, writing letters furiously and dispatching them hither and yon, feeling surrounded by enemies on all sides and knowing he was going to die. he had so wanted to bring the holy father good news. now pope urban was no more, and simon was deeply disappointed.
-but surely he is happier out of all this turmoil. he is with god and at peace now.
-"and what news do you bring?" said friar mathieu.
-simon leaned toward him enthusiastically. "the pope's last wish has been granted! king louis has agreed to let his brother charles make war on king manfred."
-instead of looking delighted as simon had expected, friar mathieu surprised him by sighing and staring into the fire.
-"are you not pleased?" simon prodded him.
-"pleased about a war?" friar mathieu's eyes were sad under his snow-white brows.
-simon felt as if his chair had been pulled out from under him and he had been dumped on the floor. his whole being had been focused on bringing good news to perugia.
-"but father mathieu, this means that the alliance of tartars and christians is approved. by pope urban, anyway."
-now that pope urban was dead, did that mean anything? he hesitated, confused.
-friar mathieu sighed again. "i want the tartars to embrace christianity. i want the holy places liberated. but this warfare in italy seems to me a false turning in the road. however--neither you nor i can stop the march of events. what is it you are carrying?"
-simon unbuckled the fastenings of the leather case and took out a package wrapped in silk. "two letters written by king louis. one was for pope urban. the other is for de verceuil if pope urban should die."
-"you will have trouble delivering either one."
-"the one for pope urban i will keep as the king ordered me, until a new pope is elected. but the other one--why? where is de verceuil?"
-"locked away with the other cardinals in the cathedral of perugia, trying to make himself pope."
-the thought of paulus de verceuil as supreme head of the church made simon's lip curl. "pope? not him!"
-"he has the support of about half the french cardinals," friar mathieu said, shaking his white beard. "the cardinals are supposed to be in absolute seclusion, with no messages going in or out, but the servants who bring them their meals report things in both directions. the other cardinals lean to gerard de tracey, cardinal-bishop of soissons. a former inquisitor." friar mathieu made a sour face.
-"what of the italians?"
-"amazingly, despite the rumors about his heresy and sorcery, ugolini has four italian cardinals voting for him. the servants say he has promised large sums of money to those four. the other three italian votes are going to piacenza. that must include ugolini's vote, since the rules forbid a cardinal to vote for himself. voting for old piacenza is just a gesture, of course. he probably has less than a year of life left to him. but until one or two italians can be persuaded to vote for a french candidate, no frenchman can get the necessary two thirds."
-"are there not fourteen french cardinals to seven italians?" simon asked.
-"yes, but right now there are only twenty cardinals in conclave altogether. one of the french cardinals is in england on a diplomatic mission, sent by pope urban before his death. so, even united, the thirteen french would be one short of two thirds. and they are far from united. it could take years to elect a new pope."
-years! simon was horrified. what a disaster! without a pope, the question of the alliance would languish. the tartar ambassadors might yet be assassinated, or just die. hulagu khan might die. even king louis, god forbid, might die, and the next king would probably not be interested in crusading.
-simon, for his part, had pinned his hopes for the restoration of his family honor on the success of the tartar alliance. a new pope must be elected, and soon.
-he carefully took the two scrolls out of their silk wrappings. both were tied with red ribbons and sealed with blobs of red wax which king louis had stamped with his personal seal, a shield bearing fleurs-de-lis. simon held up the one addressed "his eminence, cardinal paulus de verceuil."
-"we must try to get this letter to de verceuil at once. it names king louis's choice for the next pope. it could end the deadlock."
-father mathieu stroked his white beard thoughtfully. "exactly the sort of letter the rule against messages was instituted to keep out. a king attempting to influence a papal election." the old franciscan took the scroll in one hand and tapped it against the palm of the other. "but i think for the good of the church and for the success of our own mission we had better get this letter to de verceuil at once. king louis's choice cannot be worse than de verceuil, de tracey, or ugolini."
-"yes!" said simon eagerly. "but how do we get the letter to him?"
-the old franciscan pushed himself to his feet. it hurt simon to see how slow and painful his movements were. damn that devil in black who had tried to kill the tartars!
-the tartars! he had thought they were well guarded enough, and that it was safe to leave them while he carried urban's letter and the king's reply. but if the question of the alliance were to drag on, the foes of the alliance would try again to strike at them. fear clutched at his heart.
-"are the tartars here in this palace?" he called after friar mathieu, who was hobbling out of the room holding king louis's scroll.
-"oh, yes. the baglioni family have given them a whole quarter of the palace. they are well enough, though they hate being trapped indoors by the weather and by the need to keep them under guard. john chagan has with him a young jewish girl named rachel, whom he kidnapped from a brothel in orvieto. the girl was an orphan, and she has been terribly abused. she is virtually their prisoner."
-simon's mouth twisted. "and we want to ally ourselves with such men. how can such things go on in the same city with the sacred college?"
-friar mathieu shook his head grimly. "nothing i have said has made any difference. de verceuil insists that the tartars must have whatever they want, even though it will damn their souls. they are christians, after all. if john dies with this girl on his conscience, he will go straight to hell."
-simon sighed. "little de verceuil cares about that."
-"quite so," said friar mathieu. "well, we must get the king's letter to him."
-he hailed a passing servant. "tell the cook i want cardinal de verceuil's supper sent up to me before it is brought around to him at the cathedral. tell him to be sure there is bread with the cardinal's meal. the cardinal wants plenty of bread. and"--he turned to simon--"what is your equerry's name?"
-"thierry d'hauteville." what on earth was friar mathieu planning? simon prayed that, whatever it was, it would work and get the letter through.
-"find thierry d'hauteville and have him bring the tray up to me."
-thierry had borrowed a fresh tunic and hose from one of the baglioni family servants. his dark hair, which usually hung in neat waves, was wild and tangled from being rubbed dry.
-he carried verceuil's dinner, a mixture of pieces of lobster and venison, with bread and fruit, on a circular wooden tray with a dome-shaped iron cover. friar mathieu took a knife and sliced lengthwise through the hard crust of a long loaf of bread. using his fingers, he hollowed out the bread, giving chunks of it to simon and thierry and eating the rest of it himself.
-"the lord hates waste," he said with a chuckle. "this is white bread, too, such as only the nobility enjoy."
-as simon watched, holding his breath, friar mathieu laid king louis's scroll lengthwise in the bread and closed it up carefully. the line of the slicing was barely visible. to secure the package, he took a loose thread from one of his blankets, tied it around the loaf, and covered the thread with a bunch of grapes.
-"now, thierry. normally one of the cardinal's servants takes his meals to him, but tonight you will. we want as few people as possible to know about this letter. if cardinal ugolini found out about it, he would make such a scandal of it that he might even end up being elected pope!"
-"might not ugolini see de verceuil reading the letter?" simon asked.
-"no," said friar mathieu. "each cardinal eats and sleeps in a curtained-off cell built along the sides of the cathedral's nave. de verceuil and king louis will be quite alone together."
-"the letter did it," the priest said cheerfully. "we have a pope, and it is neither de verceuil nor de tracey nor ugolini."
-simon felt like shouting for joy.
-"why, the person named in the letter you brought, of course," said friar mathieu teasingly.
-"spare me this riddling, father," simon begged. "not now. this means too much to me."
-"all right, all right." friar mathieu patted simon on the shoulder. "this morning at tierce i joined the crowd at the cathedral to see the color of the smoke of the burning ballots from the chimney of the bishop's palace. if the king's letter had its effect, the smoke should be white, but it was not."
-simon's heart sank. had he misunderstood friar mathieu?
-"black smoke, then? but you said they did elect a pope."
-"no smoke at all. the people were puzzled, and so was i, and we all waited to see if anything would happen. i was about to give up and leave when the doors of the cathedral opened, and there stood little cardinal ugolini, with most of the sacred college behind him. he looked as if he had been eating rotten figs. when i saw that, i knew the news must be good. as cardinal camerlengo, he announced, 'we believe we have a pope.' well, you can imagine, that took everyone aback. he explained that the one elected was not present, and his name could not be announced until he had come to perugia and had officially accepted. then the cardinals came down the steps one by one. most of them looked happy to be out of the cathedral after a week of imprisonment, but de verceuil and de tracey looked as ill as ugolini. de verceuil has come back to the palace now, so you had better walk carefully."
-simon remembered that friar mathieu had said the cardinals had elected the man named in king louis's letter. but apparently the man was not yet elected. simon felt uneasy. the chosen one was not even in perugia. too much could go wrong. he searched his brain. friar mathieu had said something last night about one of the cardinals being absent. which one?
-"who is the man they elected?" simon cried. the way friar mathieu was telling this was maddening.
-smiling, friar mathieu said, "that is why i did not come to you at once. a priest in de verceuil's entourage is an old friend of mine, and i waited until i could get the rest of the story from him."
-"could the letter i brought make such a difference?" simon exclaimed.
-"well, de verceuil sent thierry away before looking inside that loaf of bread. his servant and his secretary, who were living with him, stood outside his cell and heard groans and cries of rage from within. de verceuil threw his dinner on the floor and stamped out of his cell. while the servant cleaned the cell, de verceuil visited and spoke secretly with each of the other french cardinals in turn.
-"this morning, when it came time for them to vote, de verceuil rose and said, 'ego eligo guy le gros'--i elect guy le gros. then each of the other french cardinals said the same thing after him."
-le gros! simon thought. le gros is the cardinal who is not here.
-so, that was who king louis wanted. simon remembered meeting him at pope urban's council a year ago, a stout, genial man with a long black beard. de verceuil had mocked him because he had once been married and had daughters. de verceuil would have to eat that mockery now.
-what did this mean for the alliance? le gros must be favorable. why else would king louis have chosen him?
-"but why no smoke?" simon asked.
-"when a cardinal acclaims a candidate orally after a deadlock, and the others follow suit, it is called election by quasi-inspiratio. because it is as if the cardinals have been divinely inspired. no ballots are needed, so there is nothing to burn. in this case they were inspired by king louis, with some help from you and me.
-"when two italian cardinals--piacenza, who knew he was too old to be pope for long, and marchetti, who was always opposed to ugolini--joined the cry for le gros, it was all over. ugolini collapsed in tears, but he was revived enough to make the arrangements to send to england for le gros to come in haste. everybody was sworn to silence, and ugolini went out to make the public announcement. of course, despite the secrecy, all perugia knows it will be le gros."
-"but the alliance?" simon asked anxiously.
-friar mathieu reached out and took his hand. "we will have to wait until le gros is officially crowned. but we can count on one of his first acts being a call for an alliance between the princes of christendom and the khans of tartary. and right after that will follow a declaration that manfred von hohenstaufen is deposed and charles d'anjou is the rightful king of southern italy and sicily."
-a feeling of triumph swept simon.
-"once the alliance is secured," he said, "i can really believe that i have the right to be the count de gobignon."
-"oh?" said friar mathieu. "is that the assurance you need?" he spoke in a dubious tone that made simon uneasy. "well, then, i hope for your sake le gros gets here from england all the sooner. even though i do not look forward to the war he will unleash."
-i care nothing about this war between charles d'anjou and manfred von hohenstaufen, simon thought. his work would be done when he delivered the tartars, with the pope's blessing, to king louis.
-and at the same time, he thought, he might bring sophia to france. in his present happy mood, the thought of her was like a sunrise. if there was to be war in italy, if charles d'anjou was to invade her homeland of sicily, she might be all the more grateful to him for offering her a marriage that would take her away from all that.
-he must arrange a rendezvous with her at once.
-luckily, simon thought, the rain that plagued umbria this time of year had let up for three days, and the roads leading out of perugia into the countryside were fairly dry. he would have braved a flood or a blizzard to see sophia again, but it pleased him that there were blue breaks in the gray dome of cloud overhead. after meeting on a road northwest of perugia, simon and sophia had ridden to a woodland lake that reflected the blue in a darker tone on its rippling surface.
-simon felt himself breathing rapidly with excitement as he surveyed the lake shore. it seemed almost miraculous that sophia was standing beside him.
-they were at the bottom of a bowl of land. big rocks that looked as if they might have rolled down the surrounding hillsides lay on the shore of the small lake. the floor of the wood was thick with brown leaves. this forest, simon thought, probably belonged to some local nobleman. most of the countryside around here was farmland.
-even though denuded by autumn, the masses of trees on the opposite shore looked impenetrable, ramparts of gray spikes frequently interrupted by the dark green of pines. the place had all the privacy he had hoped for. he prayed that this time alone together would not end in disaster as their last meeting outside orvieto had.
-holding sophia's arm and guiding her down to the edge of the lake gave simon a warm, pleasant feeling. a tremor ran through his hands when he grasped her slender waist and lifted her--how light she felt!--to perch on a big black boulder.
-she laughed gaily, and her laughter was like church bells at easter.
-he scooped up leaves and piled them at the base of the rock. when he had a pile big enough for two people to sit on, he spread his cloak over it. he held out his hand, and she slid from the boulder to the leaves.
-he went foraging in the wood and quickly gathered an armload of broken branches and a few heavy sticks. he made a ring of stones near the water's edge and piled the branches within it, putting leaves and small twigs that would catch fire easily under the larger pieces of wood. he added some dried moss and took flint and steel out of a pouch at his belt, struck sparks several times, and got the moss to smoke. he blew on the glowing spots till a bright orange flame appeared. in a moment the pile of branches was afire.
-sophia crawled to the fire and held her hands out to its warmth. simon sat beside her, so close their shoulders touched. he felt a pang of disappointment when she moved just a bit away from him.
-"how comfortable you've made us!" she said, sounding a little surprised. she was very much a city woman, simon thought. she seemed to know little about the country, and he had noticed that she never looked entirely relaxed on horseback.
-"are you surprised that i know how to make a fire in the woods?" he felt inordinate pride at being able to show off this small skill to her.
-"i did think you relied on servants to do that sort of thing for you."
-"a knight may not always have equerries or servants to help him. i know dozens of useful things that might surprise you. i can even cook and sew for myself."
-"marvelous! the woman you marry will be fortunate indeed."
-as soon as she said it, the light went out of her eyes and she looked quickly away. an uneasy silence fell over them. her obvious dismay threw him into despair. again he remembered their struggles and her tears--and his own--that morning in the pine forest outside orvieto.
-after a pause, with an obviousness that sunk him into an even deeper gloom, she changed the subject. "uncle told me all about what they did when the pope died. he was with the holy father right to the end. just before he died, pope urban said, 'beware the tartars, adelberto.' i would have thought uncle made that up, but he says all the pope's attendant priests and servants heard it. uncle says it proves pope urban had changed his mind at the end about that alliance you are all so worried about."
-"maybe the pope was warning your uncle that the tartars are angry at him for all the trouble he has caused them," said simon, forcing himself to comment on something that, at the moment, did not interest him.
-he refused to worry about whether pope urban had a deathbed change of heart. how beautiful her eyes were, such a warm brown color! he had everything planned out for both of them. she had only to agree. he would present her first to king louis. how could the king disapprove his marriage to a cardinal's niece? and with the king's support, no one else could object. besides, nicolette and roland would love her; he was sure of it.
-she went on. "anyway, uncle said that the pope's chest filled up with black bile, and that was what killed him. the pope's priest-physician felt for a heartbeat, and when there was none, uncle took a silver hammer and tapped the pope on the forehead with it."
-"really!" simon had no idea they did that. the strange scene interested him in spite of his longing for sophia.
-"to make sure he was dead. and then uncle called his name--his baptismal name, not his name as pope--'jacques, are you dead?' he did this three times. and when the pope did not answer, he said, 'pope urban is truly dead.' and he took the fisherman's ring off the pope's finger and cut it to bits with silver shears. and with the hammer he broke the pope's seal. so they must make a new ring for the new pope."
-"when cardinal le gros is made pope, he will confirm the alliance of christians and tartars," said simon, eager to put a finish to the topic and bring the conversation back to the two of them.
-sophia, her hands folded in her lap, lovely hands with long slender fingers, looked sadly toward the lake. "i suppose that pleases you."
-"why not be happy for me? my work is nearly done."
-and, he wanted to add but dared not, we can be married.
-she turned to look at him, her eyes troubled. "uncle says the new pope will call charles d'anjou to invade italy and make war on king manfred. will you be with the invaders?"
-count charles will surely expect me to join him, simon thought. well, he would simply tell uncle charles that he had no wish to spend any more time in italy.
-"when the alliance with the tartars is settled, i mean to go home."
-he was about to tell her again that he wanted her to come with him, but she spoke first. "you know this count charles well, do you not? how soon do you think he will march into italy?"
-simon wanted to talk about their future, not about charles d'anjou's plans for war with manfred. but he tried to answer her question.
-"he is pressing his people for money now. then he must gather his army. and it can take months to move an army from the south of france to southern italy. with winter coming on, he will probably wait until next year to cross the alps. my guess is he'll be here in italy next summer."
-she was about to speak again, probably to ask another question about count charles. he quickly broke in.
-"what i told you last time--that i am a bastard and that the last count de gobignon was not my real father--does that make you less willing to marry me?"
-her face squeezed together, as if a sharp pain had struck her. "you are not going to start talking about marriage again, simon?"
-her words were like a knife wound in his chest. while he searched for words, his eyes explored the steep brown hills that surrounded this secluded lake. their tops were veiled in mist, like his past.
-"i have never stopped thinking about marrying you. sophia, you are the one person in the world who can make me happy." he reached over into her lap and took her hand. it felt cool and smooth.
-"i could never, never make you happy," she said. "you know nothing about me."
-why was she always saying that? what was there to know about a woman who had lived a quiet life in sicily, was widowed at an early age, and had come to live with her cardinal uncle?
-"i know enough." his eyes felt on fire with longing. "and you know enough about me to see that the differences between our families do not matter. you know what i am. and we care more about each other than we do about your uncle opposing what my king wants."
-"oh, simon!" now there were tears running down her cheeks, but she did not try to pull her hand away. it pained him to see how this was hurting her, though he did not understand why it should.
-she said, "you are telling tales to yourself if you imagine we could ever marry. you should not even think of it. whatever your mother did, you are still the count de gobignon. you are almost a member of the french royal family."
-"i am sure cardinal ugolini does not agree that your family is so obscure," simon said. "it is time i talked to him about this. then you will believe i mean it."
-she struck her hands against his chest. "no, no! you must not do that. do you not realize how upset he is about this war, and how he feels toward the french? if he even knew that i had been alone with you today, he would force me to go back to siracusa at once."
-the feel of her hands on him, even to hit him in reproof, excited him.
-"i would not let that happen," he said gravely.
-he heard wild geese flying southward calling in the distance. their cries made this place seem terribly lonely. even though the little lake was only a short ride from perugia, he had seen no sign of a human being anywhere.
-the fire was burning low. he went to gather more wood.
-sophia frowned at him when he came back. "what did you mean, you would not allow my uncle to send me away?"
-he leaned closer, seizing both of her hands in his. the pleasure of holding her hands rippled through him like a fluttering of angels' wings. in his exalted state he was moved to utter extravagant words.
-"i mean that if you were to leave perugia, i would ride after you. i would fight any men your uncle had set to guard you. i would take you back to gobignon with me, and there with you inside my castle i would defy the world."
-his words sounded foolish to him after he spoke them aloud. yet men, he knew, had done such things--lancelot--tristan--if the old songs were to be believed. how better to prove his love than to commit crimes and risk disgrace for her?
-she was crying again. she put her hands over her face. why, he wondered, when he declared his love for her and told her he wanted to marry her, did it make her so unhappy? if she did not care for him, she should be indifferent or angry. why, instead, did she cry so hard?
-it must be that she wants me but cannot believe it is possible.
-the sight of her slender body shaking with sobs tore at his heart. he could not hold himself back; even if she fought him again, he must put his arms around her. he reached out to hold her. she fell against him. she felt wonderful in his arms, solid enough to assure him that this was no dream, yet light enough to allow him to feel that he could do anything he wanted with her.
-he remembered how angry she had been in the pine forest outside orvieto when he had tried to make love to her. though he might be eaten up with longing for her, he must just hold her and be glad she allowed him to do that.
-she raised her tear-streaked face and kissed him lightly on the lips.
-the soft pressure of her lips on his made his arms ache to hold her tighter. but he fought the feeling down.
-"why do you cry so hard when i speak to you of love?" he whispered.
-"because no one has ever loved me as you do," she said. she rested her head against his chest, and he stroked her hair. his eyes lingered over the curves of her breasts. he wanted to drop his hand from her hair to her breast. he felt the yearning to touch her breast as a pain in the palm of his hand.
-"but you have been married," he said. "did not your husband love you?"
-he felt her head shaking. his heart was beating so hard he was sure she must hear it.
-"we were little more than children."
-"i am not a child, and neither are you. believe me when i say i want to marry you."
-"oh, simon, i do believe you!" she cried, and she broke out in a fresh storm of sobs.
-now he could not help himself; he had to hold her tight. she leaned against him, and they slipped back until they were both lying down, he on his back and she on top of him. his hand felt the small of her back. how narrow her waist was!
-he felt her move against him in a new way.
-her arms slid around him, her hands on his neck. her lips were on his again, but this time pressing hard, ferocious, devouring. he felt her teeth and tongue, her breath hot in his mouth.
-she was suddenly a different woman, not the shy cardinal's niece. she was demanding, brimming over with a need to match his. their hands hurried over each other's bodies, touching through their clothes and then under their clothes. simon had no time to be surprised at the change that had come over her.
-she was undoing the laces down the front of her gown, then taking his hands and holding them against her naked breasts. he nearly fainted with the wonder of it.
-and while he held her breasts, unable to take his hands away, her hands moved downward, fumbling at his clothing and at her own, her body sliding against him, her hand seizing his manhood, her legs opening to receive him.
-he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, and she cried out with delight as he entered her. she pushed herself upward, pressing her hands against his shoulders, arching her back. his hands moved in gentle circles over her breasts, her hard nipples pressing into his palms. her hips thrust against him furiously. he felt waves of pleasure rising to a crest in his loins. his eyes came open and he saw, under the olive skin of her face and neck and bosom, a deep crimson flush.
-her joyous scream echoed cross the lake.
-"you shall come with me to gobignon," he whispered in her ear. they lay wrapped in his cloak, legs entangled, clothing in disarray, the wind rattling the bare branches overhead. he heard his palfrey and her horse in the brush nearby stamping and snorting restlessly. the horses must be hungry.
-"you shall marry me," he said.
-she lay motionless, her head under his, resting on his arm. "i will not. i cannot." her tone was leaden, despairing.
-after what had just happened, how could she still refuse him? was she ashamed? did she feel she had sinned?
-"we are as good as married now."
-"oh, simon." she sounded as if she were talking to a hopelessly innocent boy.
-"there will be a new pope, and the alliance will be sealed, and my work will be done," he said. "i agreed to do this, and i will see it through. but i do not have to be a part of the war between count charles and the king of sicily, and neither do you. all i want is to go home and to take you with me. with you beside me, my home will be all of the world that i want."
-her arms were tight around him, but she was silent. it did not matter if she did not answer him. after what had just happened between them, he felt as if he knew her mind as fully as he knew her body. she loved him and would marry him. he was sure of it.
-overhead, wild geese called.
-why did i ever make love to him?
-sophia had asked herself the same question countless times since that day by the wooded lake. for two months she had managed to keep away from simon. now he was here, in ugolini's mansion.
-she stood before the door of ugolini's audience room. the servant who had come to fetch her was about to open it. sophia's hands felt coated with frost. terrified of being with simon again, she hated herself for what she had done. to daoud, to simon. and to herself.
-the servant opened the door. she stepped through quickly and he closed it behind her.
-and there was simon de gobignon, tall and handsome as ever, looking down at her reproachfully. tension made her heart beat so hard that she wanted to put her hand on her chest to still it. instead, she held her hand out so that simon could bend down from his towering height and kiss it. she was so upset by his unexpected arrival that she did not comprehend his murmured greeting.
-behind simon's back ugolini, sitting at a large writing desk, rolled his eyes and stretched his mouth in a grimace at her. simon was still bent over her hand, so she was able to shake her head slightly in answer to his unspoken question. simon must have come here as a last resort, because after yielding to him in secret she had tried to shut him out of her life. she could hardly convey that to ugolini now, even if she wanted to.
-"the count de gobignon has come to call on you, my dear," said ugolini, his smooth voice betraying none of his anxiety. "i have given my permission, provided it is also your wish."
-"your signory pays me too much honor," she said softly to simon. her mind spun. how could she talk to simon, when she did not understand herself well enough to know what lies to tell him?
-she wondered what ugolini would think of her if he knew all of what had happened between her and simon when they met that day. would he be shocked? contemptuous? would he tell daoud? all he knew of her meeting with simon in october was that simon had again proposed marriage to her, and she had rejected him.
-she said, "i find it hard to believe that your signory even remembers me. i do not believe we have seen each other since the reception for the tartar ambassadors at the palazzo monaldeschi last year. is that not so?"
-an appreciative smile replaced the somber expression on simon's face. his eyes twinkled at her. doubtless he thought they were conspirators together.
-the poor, poor boy.
-but she could not see that look warming his sharp-pointed features without feeling it again--that surge of desire that had driven her to give herself to him two months ago.
-what is happening to me?
-"many months have passed and much has happened, madonna," he said, "but--forgive me if i am too forward--i have found it impossible to forget you. now that we are together in a new city, i hoped to renew your acquaintance."
-"this endless moving about will be the death of me," said ugolini unhappily. "papa le gros no sooner arrives from england and is officially elected than he tells us he will be crowned in viterbo and make that the new papal seat. i have hardly had time to unpack here in perugia."
-"your furnishings seem in good order to me, your eminence," said simon with a smile, looking around the large room with its row of large windows, its thick carpeting, and its heavy black chairs and tables. a large shield carved in stone over the fireplace behind ugolini was painted with five red bands on a white background.
-"these are not mine," said ugolini, waving a hand dismissively. "not my idea of comfortable surroundings at all. no, i simply bought this house and its furnishings from a genoese merchant who was using it only part of the year. i would be ashamed to tell you how much i paid for it--you would think me a fool. a typical genoese, he took advantage of my need. and now i must sell all, probably to the same merchant and probably at a loss."
-"that is another reason why i wanted to see you, madonna sophia," said simon. "i feared that you, like your good uncle, might find all this uprooting tiresome and might return to sicily, and i would be hard put to find you again."
-with an inward shudder, sophia realized the strength of simon's resolve to possess her. only the truth would kill that determination, and she would never dare to tell him that. besides, there was a part of her that, mad as it was, delighted in seeing how powerfully he was drawn to her.
-"i am thinking of going home myself," said ugolini. "what need for me to go with the new pope on this tedious search for ever-safer safety?"
-"if you returned to sicily," said simon to sophia, "it might be ages before i see you again."
-his words frightened her. was he about to ask ugolini for her hand, and how would the cardinal deal with that?
-"forgive me if i raise an unpleasant subject," said ugolini, "but if your count charles d'anjou accepts the pope's offer of the crown of southern italy and sicily, it may be a long time before any french nobleman will be welcome in my homeland."
-there was no "if" about what charles d'anjou would do, sophia thought. that was just ugolini's courtesy.
-"i know, your eminence," said simon, looking grim. "i hope you will still think of me as your friend, despite events. just as we have been friends while we disagreed over this matter of the tartar alliance."
-ugolini clapped his hands suddenly. "well, it is a happy occasion when my niece has such a distinguished visitor. count, this house has a second-story loggia overlooking the atrium. it is private enough to shield you from prying eyes, yet not so private as to place you lovely young people in peril of temptation. sophia will show you the way."
-bowing and thanking ugolini, simon followed sophia out of the room.
-she turned to simon as soon as the door of ugolini's audience chamber had closed behind them and said, "i need my cloak for the cold. wait here, and i will go to my room and get it." without giving him a chance to answer, she hurried down the corridor, desperately trying to make sense of her thoughts and feelings.
-their lovemaking had been a terrible mistake. and yet, there had been times in those two months when the recollection of the two of them, wrapped in his cloak, lying on a bed of leaves, the depth of his passion for her and the wildness of her answering feelings, crept up on her unexpectedly and sent thrills of pleasure coursing through her.
-as she rummaged in her chest for a warm cloak, her eyes met those of her icon of saint simon stylites, and she felt shame wash over her.
-how can i think that i truly love daoud, when i gave myself so freely to his enemy?
-but had that not been what daoud had expected her to do all along? he had always been jealous, had always made it obvious that he hated the idea of her letting simon court her. and yet, from the time he first encountered simon, he had made it equally obvious that he expected sophia to do whatever was necessary to make simon fall in love with her. and from the moment simon had kissed her in the contessa di monaldeschi's atrium, he had loved her, and never stopped loving her.
-but to make him love her, she had pretended to be an innocent young sicilian woman who could be overwhelmed by her love for a french nobleman. sadly enough, she felt more joy and peace of mind as that sicilian girl than she ever had known as a woman of byzantium. and the confusion about who she really was had become much worse after she decided to keep secret from daoud simon's destination when he left orvieto.
-she felt a pounding pain inside her skull, and she pressed her hands against her bound-up hair. she shut her eyes so tight that she forced tears from them, and a little groan escaped her.
-she was sure of one thing: if she had much more to do with simon de gobignon, the confusion she felt would probably drive her mad.
-she fumbled through her chest and found a rose-colored winter cloak lined with red squirrel fur. she threw it over her shoulders and clasped it around her neck, the fur collar gently brushing her chin.
-simon was waiting where she had left him. he had allowed his bright blue cloak to fall closed around his lanky frame, so that he looked like a pillar. she wrapped her own cloak around herself, and side by side they walked to the stairs at the end of the corridor.
-they said nothing to each other until they were out on the loggia under a gray sky. a chill wind stung sophia's cheeks. she looked down at the rows of fruit trees in the atrium below. their bare branches reached up at her like long, slender fingers.
-"i cannot understand you," he said. "why have you been so cruel to me?"
-that sounded like typical courtly lover's talk, but she knew he meant the words literally. she looked at his face and saw the whiteness, the strain around his mouth, the slight tremor of his lips. he looked like a mortally wounded man.
-"i, cruel to you? did i not beg you to stay away from my uncle? look what you have done today. he will send me to siracusa for certain."
-but she felt something break inside her at the sight of his pain. she had done this to him. she had hoped to give him something by letting him possess her one time, to make up for all that she could never give him. instead, with the gift of her body she had bound him to her more tightly than ever. and then, haunted by her own feelings and the memory of what they had done together, she had simply tried to have nothing further to do with him. and now her effort to break with him was hurting both of them far more than if she had refused him that day.
-"you drove me to this," he said, his eyes wide with anger. "you did not answer my letters or acknowledge my poems. when i tried to speak to you in the street and in church, you avoided me. i sent you gifts, and you sent them back."
-she really would have to get out of perugia. back to daoud. this would tear her to pieces.
-but what about rachel?
-if she left perugia, that would be as good as abandoning rachel. she had sworn to herself never to do that.
-simon guards the tartars. he must know what has happened to rachel. perhaps he can help her.
-she stopped walking and leaned against the stone railing of the loggia. the leafless branches in the atrium below them rattled in the wind.
-"one of the tartars, those men you guard so carefully, kidnapped a young girl from orvieto and is holding her a prisoner now, here in perugia at the baglioni palace. it makes me unhappy to know that you are the protector of men who would do such things."
-down below, two of ugolini's servants brought out baskets of newly washed tablecloths and bedlinens and began spreading them on the branches of the trees to dry. sophia spoke in a lower voice, giving details of the attack on tilia's house by de verceuil and the tartars as if it were something she knew about only through hearsay, while simon looked more and more unhappy.
-he frowned at her. "i know of this girl. it is john chagan who keeps her. but what is she to you? she is not even a christian. i am surprised that a woman of good family like you should worry about a prostitute."
-how easy for a count to look down on a girl like rachel. she felt her back stiffen with anger.
-how he would despise me if he knew what i was.
-but what am i?
-"does it lower me in your eyes that i worry about such a girl?"
-he waved his hands placatingly. "no, no. such charitable feelings do you credit. i would like to help her, and i know friar mathieu has already tried. i just wondered how you came to know and care about this girl's case." he looked earnestly into her eyes. his eyes were a blue as clear and bright as that lake where they had lain together.
-"the story is talked about by all the servants and common folk of the town. i feel very sorry for her. she is just a child. i find myself imagining how she feels--kidnapped, helpless, raped by this barbarian, a prisoner. have you not seen her yourself?"
-simon nodded reluctantly, looking away. "yes, glimpses. she stays in her room."
-"she is forced to stay in her room." sophia sensed that simon knew more than he admitted about what the tartar had done to rachel and was ashamed to be connected with it.
-"what has this to do with you and me?" he demanded.
-"you are close to the tartars. you might be able to help her."
-simon glowered. "if i had been there that day in orvieto, you may be sure they would not have raided that brothel."
-he might be on the enemy side, she thought, but he was not a savage like the franks of her childhood. he was a genuinely good man, and that was what made the hopeless dream of marrying him so painful.
-she put her hand on his arm and squeezed. "will you try to get the tartar to release the girl? cardinal ugolini will take her in."
-when she laid her hand on the hard, wiry muscle in his arm, she did not want to let go.
-i still want him! my god, what is the matter with me?
-"de verceuil would oppose me if i tried to take the girl away from john. incredible, is it not? a cardinal involved in kidnapping a young girl for the pleasure of a barbarian?"
-sophia, taught by her greek orthodox priests that the roman church was a fountainhead of wickedness, did not think the cardinal's actions all that incredible. besides, was she not in league with another cardinal who was helping the muslims?
-"there must be a way to help rachel," she said.
-he brought his face close to hers. "sophia, i will speak to friar mathieu. but, as i said, he has already tried to persuade john to let the girl go free. with no success. and i am sure there is nothing more friar mathieu can do before tomorrow, when i leave perugia."
-she loved that serious, intent look. it was as if light were coming from his eyes.
-but what he had just said took her by surprise.
-"leave perugia? where are you going?"
-he shook his head. "no one is supposed to know."
-"simon!" she put anger into her voice, knowing he was vulnerable. if she could get some information of use to daoud from him, she would have an excuse for having let simon make love to her. and with daoud far away in manfred's kingdom, there was no chance this time that he could hurt simon.
-he touched her cheek with the tips of his long fingers, and she could feel him struggling with himself.
-"swear you will tell no one."
-he really thinks i can be depended upon to keep an oath.
-"all right. i had a message from count charles--he who gave me this task of guarding the tartars. he calls me to meet him at ostia. that is why i came here today, even though i knew you would not want me to. knowing i would be leaving here and might not see you for months made me desperate."
-charles d'anjou at ostia--the seaport of rome!
-as she realized what simon's words meant, terror raced through sophia. she was going to fall from the loggia and break into a thousand pieces, like an icicle.
-anjou was going to take rome and cut italy in half. instead of trying to cross the alps and then fight his way through the ghibellino cities of northern italy, charles must have come by sea. now he would be able to strike directly at the heart of manfred's kingdom.
-what will daoud do? what will happen to manfred? if only we had tilia here, with her carrier pigeons.
-despite her fur-lined cloak, a chill seized her.
-she had feared for daoud, that he might have to fight a great french army. and though she had long since ceased to love manfred, she had feared for him and his kingdom. but the thought of the many obstacles between france and southern italy had comforted her. now, knowing that charles d'anjou was so close to manfred's kingdom, she felt herself actually trembling.
-he put his hand on hers. "you're frightened."
-staring down at the bare trees, she whispered, "yes, for my people."
-his hand gripped hers tightly. he bent down so that he was speaking softly into her ear.
-"i know you cannot forget your people, but you could escape this war. my service is done, now that the new pope has confirmed the alliance with the tartars. i do not have to stay in italy."
-she was glad he did not want to fight for charles. the thought of him and daoud meeting on a battlefield was horrible. but surely this brother of king louis would make every effort to draw simon into the war.
-"count charles will want you to fight."
-"if you will marry me and come to gobignon, nothing else will matter to me. we will live content in my castle in the heart of my domain. we will shut out the world and its wars."
-she turned to look at him, and the longing on his face was painful to see.
-she felt the tears coming, hot, blurring her vision.
-"simon, i cannot!"
-his grip on her hand was painful. "again and again you say that to me. and you never tell me why. are you secretly a nun? have you taken vows? does your husband still live? i demand that you tell me! stop tormenting me like this." his usually pale face was suddenly scarlet with rage.
-his anger dried up her tears.
-i know how i can put an end to this.
-"i will, simon. but i am not ready to speak of it today."
-"go now and meet your count charles at ostia. by the time you come back to the papal court we will probably have moved to viterbo. and when i see you again, i will tell you why i cannot marry you."
-the shadow cleared from his face. "do you promise with all your heart? and if i can persuade you that your reason is not good enough, then will you marry me?"
-for a moment she hesitated. even though her life depended on deceiving him, she could not bear to make such a promise. but then she saw that she could honestly agree to what he asked.
-"if you still want me to marry you--yes."
-i can say that because if you ever come to know my true reason for not marrying you, you will hate me more than you have ever hated anyone in your life.
-he left her soon afterward. she went back to her room and cried for most of the afternoon. every so often she looked up to see the icon of the desert saint staring at her. she saw the same reproach in simon stylites's eyes that she had seen in simon de gobignon's.
-though the day was cold and damp, the sky an ugly, unwelcoming gray, simon's first view of rome brought tears to his eyes. he came out of a small grove of cypresses on the east bank of the tiber to see gray walls, punctuated by square towers, spread wide before him. beyond the walls, out of a haze of dust and wood smoke, above masses of peaked roofs, crenellated palace towers rose lordly, vying for ascendancy with the bell towers of churches. marble buildings adorned with white columns crowned the hills.
-the swift-moving brown river on his left bent around the walls and disappeared beyond them.
-even though he did not want to be part of charles d'anjou's invasion of italy, the thrill of seeing rome for the first time made up for his distress.
-rome was by no means as beautiful a sight as orvieto, but it awed him to think that this city had ruled the world when jesus walked the earth. what must it have been like to be a roman legionary, returning to this place from a victory in some far-off land? this dirt track would have been a well-paved road then. looking off to his right, he saw fragments of wall bounding the edge of a field, and a broken, fluted column rising among olive trees, quiet reminders that the city had once extended into these fields and beyond.
-simon was mounted on a borrowed war-horse, a mare whose shiny coat reminded him of sophia's hair--a brown so dark it might be taken for black. after many hours of riding, the mare's rocking pace had chafed the insides of his mail-clad legs.
-he rode a few yards behind count charles d'anjou and the three knights charles had appointed marshals of his army. when he looked back over his shoulder, he saw a column of mailed knights riding three abreast strung out along the tiber for nearly half a mile, and beyond them, almost obscured by clouds of yellow dust, clinking files of men-at-arms, crossbows and spears over their shoulders.
-unimpressed by the sight of rome, anjou and his commanders carried on an argument.
-"you are a hard taskmaster, monseigneur," said gautier du mont, whose bronze hair was cropped in the shape of a bowl, slightly tilted so that the back was lower than the front. "to make your knights ride half a day in full armor when they have not seen a denier from your coffers since we sailed from marseilles--you demand too much." the points of du mont's mustache hung below his chin. simon had heard he was little better than a routier, a highwayman, who had begun his knightly career by robbing travelers who passed his castle in the pyrenees.
-what simon had seen thus far of charles's army made the enterprise look decidedly unsavory. before reaching ostia, simon had expected that the men charles commanded would be vassals, men who had received land from him and were bound by ancient oaths. he quickly realized that all of these men were adventurers with little or no holdings of their own, in this enterprise with charles for whatever they could gain. charles could command them only as long as they could hope to grow rich in his service.
-simon supposed this was the best charles could do, since king louis had refused to help him raise knights and men and insisted that he hire them himself. knights willing to go to war for hire could not be expected to be the better sort. not only did simon not want to make war on the italians, he wanted even less to be associated with men like the ones charles had recruited.
-"you complain, du mont, because i ordered our knights to wear full armor?" said charles. "i did it for their own protection. i expect to meet resistance."
-only eight hundred knights and two thousand men-at-arms, simon thought. hardly enough to take rome, if the romans do decide to fight. nowhere near enough to beat manfred.
-he had been shocked when he arrived at ostia last night and found out how small charles's invasion force was. being a part of this war was going to be downright dangerous.
-"time enough for us to don armor when the resistance appears," said alistair fitztrinian, a knight from england whose face was a mass of smallpox scars. simon had so far been unable to look at the man without having to freeze the muscles of his face to keep from wincing.
-count charles sighed, and held out his arm in the direction of rome. "look there, gentlemen," he said in a patient tone, as if instructing schoolchildren. "the romans are not waiting for us to put on our armor."
-simon followed his pointing finger and saw a gray mass spreading out into the field near one of the city's gates, flowing around cottages and groves of trees. it appeared to be a great crowd of several thousand citizens. fully alert now, simon heard a dull roar, like the hum of a swarm of bees, that sounded decidedly hostile. he felt a twinge of fear.
-"get your helmets on, the three of you," charles snapped. "set an example for the rest, or may the devil carry you away!"
-the three commanders slowly and sullenly pulled on their helmets, which had been hanging down their backs from straps under their chins. the manner of the three marshals toward count charles shocked simon. if these were the leaders, what in god's name could the rank and file be like?
-any one of my venetian archers or the tartars' armenian guards would be worth a dozen of these.
-as the army of anjou, with charles and simon and the three marshals in the lead, advanced slowly, simon noticed that six or so men, several hundred paces in front of the shouting citizens, were walking to meet them.
-in a short time the small delegation stood before count charles, blocking his path.
-charles raised his arm, and the knights behind him shouted the order to halt down the line. how would count charles deal with the representatives of an unfriendly populace, simon wondered. this should be interesting. he might learn something.
-the count turned to dietrich von regensburg, his third commander. "i want a troop of the burgundian pikemen up here now. surround these fellows." von regensburg, a knight with hard blue eyes, a flattened nose, and a huge jaw, saluted and swung his dun horse around to ride back to the long line of men-at-arms following charles and his knights.
-anjou's order made simon uneasy. why try to frighten these romans? would it not be better if he could enter the city with their approval?
-then he beckoned simon to bring his horse up beside him. "no doubt you speak italian better than any of us. translate for me." he glowered down his long nose at the romans who had approached him. "i am count charles d'anjou. i have come here as protector of the city of rome, at the request of his holiness, the pope."
-simon repeated this.
-"rome needs protection only from you!" one of the men shouted.
-"there is no pope," another called out. "the old one is dead and the new one has not been crowned."
-simon could hardly believe his ears. he had heard that roman citizens were unruly; that was why the pope had moved away from rome. but the way these men addressed the count of anjou, the brother of the king of france--it was unthinkable. it was madness. the count might not understand their words, but the disrespectful tone was unmistakable.
-hesitantly, he translated. charles stared at the six romans, his swarthy face expressionless.
-charles's great black and white war-horse shifted his legs restlessly, and charles stilled him with a jerk of the reins. even the horse sensed the romans' anger.
-"silencio!" ordered a roman somewhat taller than the others, with a shock of iron-gray hair and an angular jaw. he wore a mantle of deep maroon velvet trimmed with white fur, and a longsword hung from his jeweled belt. he bowed courteously to count charles and simon.
-"your signory, i am leone pedulla, secretary of the senate of rome. we come, with all respect, to pray you to turn back. the city of rome rules herself. we are most distressed to see a foreign army, a french army, approaching our walls. if you wish to visit us and confer with our leading citizens, leave this army behind. come to us as a guest, bringing a few of your barons with you. we will then offer you our hospitality. we ask you to leave us in peace."
-simon wished himself far away as he translated for anjou. these romans did not know count charles.
-as simon was conveying leone pedulla's speech, a line of big, bearded foot soldiers carrying spears taller than a man, wearing leather cuirasses and wide-brimmed helmets of polished steel, marched forward, boots crunching on the stubble of the harvested field. at von regensburg's command, the pikemen formed a ring around the roman delegation. the romans' eyes darted anxiously from side to side.
-charles said, "simon, tell this impertinent fellow who calls himself secretary of the senate just this: i order him to clear away that rabble blocking the city gates."
-simon repeated the count's command in italian. his heart began to beat more rapidly as he sensed an evil moment coming closer and closer.
-"the people standing before the walls are citizens of rome, your signory, acting legally to protect the city from what seems to us a foreign invader," pedulla answered. "i cannot tell them to go away."
-"very well." he turned to von regensburg and pointed. "i would prefer to hang them, but it would take too long. use your spears on them."
-dear, merciful god, do not let this happen! simon prayed.
-"no!" pedulla cried, his voice shrill with horror as the german knight shouted a command and the burgundians leveled their spears. it was the gray-haired roman's last word. his hand had not quite reached the hilt of his sword when a bearlike foot soldier lunged at him, driving a spear through his embroidered tunic into his chest. the pikeman thrust the steel point in low enough to miss the breastbone but high enough to pierce the heart. pedulla did not even have time enough to finish his scream.
-"clemenza, per favore!" cried another roman who a moment ago had been shouting defiance. a spear point caught him in the throat.
-simon wished he could turn his eyes away, but he did not want charles and his marshals to think him squeamish. his heart thundered and his stomach churned, and he feared that his body would betray him. the other pikemen moved in quickly, taking long steps as if performing spear drill, holding their pikes near the points for close work. a moment later they stepped back from a heap of sprawled, dead bodies.
-god! how little time it takes to kill a man!
-now simon did look away. the blood, the staring, dead faces, the twisted arms and legs, were too pitiful a sight to bear.
-this was the man whose wishes had governed simon's life for over a year. simon felt his bond to charles as a terrible chain and he longed to be free.
-this is a taste of what will happen to sophia's people if charles conquers manfred. if only she will let me take her to gobignon, so she will not have to see such things.
-count charles raised a hand encased in a gleaming mail glove. "forward."
-"one moment, monseigneur," said gautier du mont, his sharp voice cutting through the sounds of the army resuming its march.
-charles turned to him impatiently. "what now, du mont?"
-"monseigneur, we have just killed the emissaries of the romans. i fear we will now have to fight that mob. look. they are coming at us."
-simon looked over toward the city. the mass that had emerged from the city, a long line of people stretching eastward from the tiber to a distant forest, was moving through the fields and olive groves. to simon's eye they appeared to vastly outnumber charles's army. simon could see swords gleaming and spears waving. they formed no ranks and files as a professional army would, but they came on inexorably like the waves of the sea, and their shouts were angry.
-simon felt cold fear sweep away the sick pity he had felt for the executed roman delegation. that huge mob was a formidable sight.
-"of course we will fight them, du mont," charles answered, his voice rising. "one charge and we will scatter them to the winds."
-true, thought simon. crowds of villeins or peasants were no match for disciplined fighting men. but just how disciplined was the force behind charles?
-"i think, monseigneur," said du mont, "that before we do any fighting, it is appropriate to discuss the terms of our payment."
-oh, by god's white beard! simon swore to himself. they were about to be attacked by five or more times their number, and these bastards were arguing about money. they ought to be stripped of their knighthoods.
-"i have told you my gold shipment was late getting from marseilles to ostia," said charles in a placating tone. "you will be paid. tonight, tomorrow, or the next day it will catch up to us."
-"then tonight, tomorrow, or the next day, monseigneur," said the pock-marked fitztrinian, "you can command us to charge that rabble."
-the roman mob was close enough now for simon to make out what they were shouting.
-"muorire alla francia!" death to the french!
-the cry sent a bolt of fear through simon. they would have to do something at once.
-were charles's lieutenants actually going to sit on their motionless horses and haggle with him until these infuriated romans fell upon them? not just charles's venture was at stake, but their own lives. could they be stupid--or greedy--enough to let themselves be overwhelmed while they argued about money?
-yes, they could be. that stupid and that greedy.
-simon's fear transmuted itself to anger. these men were a disgrace to chivalry. worse, as marshals of an army commanded by king louis's brother, they dishonored france. he almost wanted to draw his sword against them, his disgust was so great.
-"you speak of dishonor when you are refusing to attack an enemy in the field at the order of your seigneur?" charles shouted.
-"we are not refusing, monseigneur--" alistair fitztrinian began.
-simon had heard enough. if charles's hired commanders would not command, he would.
-"follow me, thierry." simon swung his horse around to ride toward the rear of the column. his face was hot with anger.
-simon felt little sympathy for charles; he had chosen these men. but simon de gobignon, at least, was not going to let himself be set upon and murdered by a crowd of commoners, even if those commoners had ample justification. nor was he going to allow french arms--if these blackguards charles d'anjou had hired could be said to represent french arms--to be disgraced. he had learned somewhat about leading fighting men in the last year. he could do what was needful, since no one else seemed about to.
-he galloped past the files of mounted knights who crowded the road beside the tiber. beyond them were the foot soldiers. if those burgundians who executed the roman delegation were any example, the men-at-arms might be more reliable than the knights. simon searched the column for the sort of men he needed.
-he saw, just past the end of the line of mounted men, two score or more of archers in blue tunics with longbows slung over their backs. he was not experienced with the use of the longbow in battle, but what he had heard about its long range suggested that it might be very useful just now.
-"suivez-moi!" he shouted. the archers stared at him and drew themselves up straighter, but looked puzzled. of course, simon thought. the longbow was a weapon favored by the english. he beckoned with his hand, and the englishmen ran to him. good.
-"my lord, i speak un peu français," said one of them, whose crested helmet marked him as a sergeant. "if you give your orders to me, very slowly--"
-"good," said simon, pleased with the man's readiness to cooperate. he explained what he wanted.
-"suivez-moi," simon called again to the longbowmen, and their sergeant repeated, "follow me," in english. he trotted off, keeping the dark brown mare to a pace that would allow running men to follow him.
-when they came to charles and his three mutinous lieutenants, still arguing, the roman mob had advanced close enough for simon to be able to make out individuals. they were almost all men, as far as he could see, with a shouting, fist-shaking woman here and there, and mostly dressed in the plain browns and grays, whites and blacks, of common folk. men with swords and spears made up the forefront. a few men on horseback with lances and banners rode on the flanks of the mob. someone was carrying a red and white banner, a design of keys and towers.
-for a moment simon hesitated. he did not want to kill these people.
-but there was no way of stopping the romans, and no one else was able or willing to act. if he did nothing, charles's army would be destroyed and simon would probably be killed along with everyone else.
-he remembered something roland, his true father, had told him many years ago: no one who wants to live through a battle can afford to feel sorry for the men he is trying to kill. make sure you kill them first, and then you can mourn for them afterward.
-putting his sympathy for the romans out of his mind, simon began to give orders to his archers. he deployed them in a line stretching from the tiber to a thick grove of trees to the east. through their sergeant he told them to shoot at the front and center of the oncoming romans. he noticed that the voices of count charles and his antagonists had fallen silent.
-they are watching me, he thought, and hoped no one would try to stop him.
-when the englishmen had their arrows nocked and their bows drawn and aimed, simon shouted, "tirez!"
-they understood that well enough.
-the arrows flew in flat curves across the narrowing distance between count charles's army and the roman citizens. simon saw men falling and others tripping over them.
-"encore!" simon cried, but then looking back at his little troop of archers saw to his surprise that the englishmen had already loaded and fired a second time. he had not known that the longbow could be fired again and again so quickly, much more quickly than the crossbow. screams of panic and pain arose from the mob before him.
-i am killing poor people who are trying to defend their city.
-a pang of shame swept through him, and he hesitated before giving the next order. but he remembered roland's advice. the longer it took to drive these romans back inside their gates, the more blood would be shed, and the more likely that lives would be lost on his side.
-"fire into the midst of the crowd," he told the english sergeant.
-the arrows arced high into the overcast sky and fell like dark streaks of rain. the romans were milling about, some trying to help the wounded, some running away, some shouting orders or pleas, trying to control the confusion.
-simon rode out in front of the bowmen.
-"advance and keep firing," he called to the sergeant. "keep it up, keep pushing them back."
-he heard an arrow whistle past him. so the romans also had some archers among them. he was too excited to feel any fear.
-the longbowmen marched out into the field, stopping at intervals to load and fire, then advancing again. they hardly had to aim. anywhere the arrows fell in the mob, packed closer together in retreat, they would wound or kill. simon heard shouts and screams of terror from across the field. the romans were falling over one another, trying to get away. none of the poor devils was wearing armor.
-where were the professional defenders of the city, simon wondered.
-the great crowd was falling back toward the city's gates. like the debris left by a wave receding from shore, bodies, dark clumps, lay thick in the stubble of the harvested fields. simon saw a man throw his arms around the trunk of an olive tree and slowly slide to the ground. he saw the red and white banner fall, then someone pick it up and run with it. three men lay draped over low stone walls, arms and legs twitching.
-the farmers' fields between count charles's army and the walls of rome were littered with the dead, the dying, and the struggling wounded. simon wanted to call back the archers. he felt as if he had loosed a great rock from the top of a hill and it was rolling downward, unstoppable, destroying everything in its path.
-the romans were running desperately, and the pity he had forced himself not to feel while he was fighting them rose up to overwhelm him. his heart lodged in his throat like a rock, and tears crept out of the corners of his eyes.
-in god's name, what have i done?
-"magnificent, simon! you did admirably."
-charles d'anjou had ridden up beside him and was grinning out at the carnage in the fields of stubble. his dark eyes were alight with pleasure. he struck simon on his mailed back, one of those hard blows he was fond of.
-"what presence of mind! what initiative!" he lowered his voice. "you could not have done better if we had planned it ahead of time. you saved me a fortune in gold."
-he spurred his black and white charger closer to simon's mare and leaned over to kiss him emphatically on the cheek, his stubble scratching simon's face.
-"i don't understand," said simon.
-charles drew back and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "you don't? well, you did the right thing. we'll talk about it later."
-he turned and shouted at his three commanders. "you see, idiots! one french knight with his head on his shoulders can do what all of you and all your knights could not."
-"we were not attempting to do anything," du mont said sourly, pushing his helmet back off his bowl-shaped hair.
-"those were the bowmen i brought from lincoln you used, monseigneur de gobignon," said fitztrinian. "you did not have my permission."
-in his present mood, simon wished the pock-marked knight would make an issue of it.
-"do not make yourself more ridiculous than you already are, sire alistair," said charles.
-"we still have not settled this question of pay," said dietrich of regensburg.
-"go pick the purses of those dead men out there," said charles with a scornful laugh.
-to get away from the wretched business, simon kicked his dark brown mare into motion and, followed by thierry, rode out toward the city. he wished desperately that he were back in perugia with sophia.
-he had seen enough killing in orvieto, especially the night of the attack on the palazzo monaldeschi, to harden him. still, it made his heart feel heavy as stone in his chest to see so many lives cut short. and by his command.
-what pain it must be to die. to have your life stopped, forever.
-he recalled the arrow that had whizzed past him. he could easily have been killed.
-he rode toward the walls of rome until they towered over him. the crowd of citizens who had come out to stop count charles was gone--those able to flee. there were only the dead and dying scattered in the stubble field around him. simon tried to avoid looking at the wounded. if it had been one or two men, as it had been that day at orvieto when de verceuil ordered the crossbowmen to fire into the crowd, he would have tried to help them. but there were too many here.
-his contingent of english archers marched past him on their way back to the main army, their work done. they gave him a cheer, and he, in spite of his heavy heart, did as a good leader should and smiled and waved.
-"good work, my friends! well done."
-i am not going to be the first of these invaders to enter rome. i have no right to be here.
-five horsemen appeared suddenly in the gateway. more resistance?
-these men were richly dressed, their scarlet capes billowing as they rode toward him. their hands were empty of weapons.
-the rider in the lead was a man with a glossy black beard and a sharply hooked nose. he reminded simon a little of the contessa di monaldeschi.
-"i am duke gaetano orsini," said the bearded man. "these gentlemen represent the families of colonna, frangipani, papareschi, and caetani. we have come to greet count charles, and to welcome him to rome." these men, simon thought, must come from some of the families whose fortified towers loomed over the city.
-their sudden appearance made simon angry. it was all happening backward. they should have come out first and made peace with count charles, and then there would have been no need for all this butchery.
-simon identified himself. "i will take you to count charles." the roman nobles doffed their velvet caps to simon, and he touched the brim of his helmet.
-as their horses trotted across the field, simon observed orsini's gaze traveling coldly over the bodies of the fallen romans. some of them, still alive, called out to him pleadingly. he ignored them.
-simon could not resist saying, "if you had come out to welcome count charles before these others did, much bloodshed might have been prevented."
-orsini shrugged. "necessary bloodshed. the mob that threatened count charles was incited by the ghibellino faction in rome. they tried to get the city militia to join them, but we held the professionals back. indeed, we have heard you killed one of the leaders of the popolo minuto, the lower orders, leone pedulla. that was well done. his loss will be a blessing to this city, as will the loss of these other troublemakers."
-simon felt as disgusted with this man as he had with charles's marshals. unable to keep order in their own city, the nobility of rome approved the slaughter of their people by foreign invaders. it was despicable. count charles would have to deal with them, but he himself would speak no more to these poltroons who called themselves gentlemen.
-they rode in silence toward the advancing angevin army of count charles. the count's black and red lion banner fluttered over his steel coronet. he was riding toward rome again with his commanders behind him as if all their differences were settled.
-charles and his leaders reined up before the new delegation from rome. the count of anjou greeted these representatives of the great families of rome with courtesy, dismounting and embracing gaetano orsini. he assured each roman nobleman, simon interpreting, how happy he was to see him.
-"i believe it would be best if my men and i were to camp outside the city walls for tonight," he said, looking down his large nose at orsini.
-"i was just about to suggest that," said orsini. "the city is quite crowded."
-"perhaps less crowded now." charles laughed, with a nod at the fields where wailing men and women were walking, trying to find their dead and bear them away for burial. "at any rate, i will enter the city tomorrow."
-"all will be prepared for your signory. the loyal supporters of the parte guelfo are eager to greet you. you will be made an honorary patrician. there will be banners, cheering crowds, music. the militia will parade for you. it will be a true roman triumph." orsini was all smiles and flourishes.
-charles smiled. "a triumph. yes, and i assume that a triumph will include tribute?"
-orsini's smile faded. "tribute?"
-charles nodded slowly. "to be exact, i will require three thousand florins to be delivered to me tomorrow morning before i enter the city, to compensate my men, whose pay is in arrears. i will have further requirements, but i will not press you for all at once. three thousand florins will be enough for tomorrow."
-simon saw von regensburg and fitztrinian grinning at each other.
-orsini's mouth worked several times after simon translated charles's demand for three thousand florins. "but, your signory, we welcome you as our protector, not as one who comes to--to take from us."
-charles laughed and threw his arms wide. "protectors cost money, my dear orsini. i am sure the great city of rome can scrape together three thousand florins by tomorrow. it will not be necessary for me to send my army into the city to help you find the money, will it?"
-"not at all necessary, your signory," said orsini, bowing, his face flushed to the roots of his black beard.
-these guelfo nobles apparently had thought that the count of anjou had come to rome purely out of some high-minded desire to serve the pope and the church, simon thought. they were starting to learn what simon himself had gradually come to realize: that count charles did nothing that did not first and foremost benefit himself.
-as for himself, simon's deepest wish was to get away from all this slaughter and pillage and dishonor, and the sooner the better.
-"rome is an old whore who lies down for every strong man who comes along," said count charles. "all we needed was to show our resolution when that mob came at us, and rome fell over backward."
-the two men sat across from each other at a small camp table in charles's tent, sharing wine and succulent roast pork killed and cooked by anjou's equerries. simon stared into the flames of a six-branched candlestick standing on charles's armor chest at the side of the tent, and thought that he would far rather be exploring the wonders of rome he had heard so much about--the colosseum, the lateran palace, the forum, the catacombs.
-simon remembered his mother's warning of years ago: charles d'anjou uses people. how often, with charles, had he suspected, feared, that she was right? but those boyhood years in charles's household, simon's weapons training under charles, his feeling that king louis was a sort of father to him and count charles a sort of uncle, all made him want to trust charles. but it was becoming impossible to do that, especially since avignon, when charles asked him to betray the king's confidence. even now, though he wished they could get back on their old footing, he found himself wondering whether that old footing had been an illusion. perhaps all along charles had been kind to him only the better to use him.
-he was terribly afraid that he knew what charles wanted to talk to him about tonight. he had seen the sorry quality of charles's army, and he had been impelled, almost against his will, to take the lead when the roman mob was attacking. if simon were in charles's position, he knew what he would want.
-"you did just the right thing today, simon," charles said. "those three cutthroats would never have let themselves be overrun, nor would i. but i hadn't paid them in a while, no fault of mine, and they saw that as an excuse to try to extract a promise from me of an additional monthly five florins per knight and increases for the common soldiers as well. they thought the sight of that mob would force me to yield to them."
-so their refusal to act was a pretense, simon thought. but he began to feel disgusted with himself. of all of them, he was the only one who had been duped.
-charles went on. "they were testing my courage. they did not know me well. they know me better now. i would have stood my ground until they were forced to turn and defend themselves. but you settled things by taking those archers out into the field and driving the rabble off. and a good thing you did, because the situation was risky. they might have waited too long to attack, and we might have lost lives unnecessarily. it was a dangerous game they were playing."
-and a dangerous game you were playing, simon thought. he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. charles had used him, just as mother had warned, and he felt angry enough to speak frankly.
-"it was mutiny. in my opinion you should have hanged those men. they are little better than routiers. but all you did was haggle with them."
-sipping from his goblet, charles lounged back on his cot and laughed. "ah, simon, i forget sometimes that you have never been in a war. this is the way it always is. especially at the beginning. these men--du mont, fitztrinian, von regensburg, and their followers--are hirelings, and when one goes shopping for an army, one buys, not the best there is, but only the best that is on the market."
-simon wanted to lean back as charles had done, but there was no back to the stool he sat on. charles's furnishings were as meager as everything else about his army.
-charles smiled complacently. "and you think manfred von hohenstaufen, with his host of saracens and sicilians, will march up here and chew me up, is that it?"
-charles swirled his wine cup and drank from it. "a bigger army would have cost me far more to ship and far more to pay, feed, and quarter while i am here. i needed this much of an army to establish myself in rome. i do not need more until i actually make war on manfred, and that may be as much as a year from now. tomorrow i will enter rome in triumph, and i will have myself declared chief senator of rome. eventually guy le gros--pope clement, he is calling himself--will crown me king of southern italy and sicily. as my renown spreads, fighting men will come flocking from all over to join my cause. and they will have to come in on my terms. then i will be ready to march south."
-the whole reason charles had first sent simon to italy--to engineer the conquest of the saracens by christians and tartars--was that no longer important to him? charles had said nothing about the tartars since simon arrived in ostia last night.
-"the new holy father has already proclaimed his approval of the tartar alliance," simon ventured.
-"excellent," said charles, nodding. he stood up and poured more wine for himself and simon.
-sitting down again on his camp bed, he went on. "your guardianship of the tartars, too, has been superb, simon. you proved that i judged wisely in picking you for that task. i am delighted."
-feeling pleased with himself, simon took a long drink of the heavy red roman wine. "then, since the pope has publicly given his approval, shall i escort the tartars to your brother the king, so they can plan the crusade?"
-"the crusade?" charles lay back on his cot, propped up on one elbow, and stared into his wine cup and said nothing further.
-"would it not be safest to conduct them to the king at once?" simon pressed him. "our enemies may still try to kill them, even though the alliance is proclaimed."
-charles shook his head. "the last attempt to kill them was many months ago."
-true, simon thought. the stalker in black seemed to have given up or disappeared.
-"yes, but that sienese attack on orvieto--"
-charles interrupted. "de verceuil got the tartars out of orvieto safely. and that attack was aimed at the pope, not the tartars. after all, who has been trying to kill the tartars, and why? manfred's agents, because they knew that if the pope approved the tartar alliance, my brother would then give me permission to march against manfred."
-simon remembered king louis saying he wanted to be ready to launch his crusade by 1270, now only five years away.
-"but preparations for a crusade take many years," simon said. "should not the tartars go to the king now, so they can begin to plan?"
-"i do not think they should visit my brother just yet," said charles. "his mind so easily fills up with dreams of recapturing jerusalem." simon caught a faint note of mockery in charles's voice. "the presence of the tartars at his court might distract him from his more immediate responsibilities."
-"then what will we do with the tartars?" simon asked, nettled.
-"let them remain with le gros's court in viterbo. it honors the pope to have those strange men from the unknown east at his coronation. then, when he comes here to present me with the crown, let them come, too, as my guests. indeed, they can stay with me after that. they will be safer with me than they would be anywhere else in italy. and it might interest them to see how christians make war."
-they would be safer still in france.
-he could have taken sophia and the tartars to france together, leaving the tartars safe and well guarded with king louis, and then going on with sophia to gobignon. and getting away from charles and his war.
-"how many more months will i have to stay in viterbo guarding the tartars?" he said with some irritation.
-"simon, i feel i can speak more frankly to you than i ever have. it is nearly two years since i asked you to undertake the guarding of the tartars. the way you acted today showed me that you've learned a great deal in that time. you have seen the world. you have seen combat. you have learned to lead."
-he praises me because i was so quick to mow down a hundred or so commoners, thought simon.
-"thank you, uncle," he said tonelessly.
-"i did not summon you from viterbo just so you could accompany me from ostia to rome, simon. you saw what my routiers--as you called them--are like. and when i am inside the city i will be in much greater danger from that roman canaille than i was in the field today. i need a good leader with me whom i can trust. i want you to stay here in rome with me."
-simon's chest ached as if chains were wrapped around it.
-"at least two months. by then sire adam fourre, my chief vassal from anjou, will be here with seventy knights and three hundred men. a small force, but one i can depend on. i will feel more in control of these brigands then."
-"but who will guard the tartars while i am here?" he asked, desperately trying to think of an excuse that would get him back to sophia.
-charles shrugged. "de verceuil can look after them."
-for over a year now he had been guarding the tartars with his life, at charles's request. now charles hardly seemed concerned about them. it was bewildering.
-and when will i see sophia again? he cried inwardly.
-he could simply refuse to stay in italy a moment longer. he could just get up right now and leave, go to viterbo and find sophia.
-no, he could not do that. he had come to italy to redeem the name of the house of gobignon, not besmirch it further. what a scandal if the king's brother were to charge that simon de gobignon turned his back on him when he was in peril. what would the king and the nobles say of him then in france? he must see this through, at least until charles was securely established in rome.
-but pray god charles did not ask him to stay with him beyond that.
-"you do not need to go back to the tartars at all," charles said. "it seems to me that phase of things is settled. i think it would be more important for you to go home, this summer, to gobignon."
-simon's heart leapt with amazement and joy as the words sank in. "yes! yes--i want to--very much," he blurted out. "i want that more than anything else."
-if i can take sophia with me.
-charles came around the table and laid a heavy hand on simon's shoulder. simon, still seated, had to twist his neck to look up at him.
-"do you remember when we first spoke of your guarding the tartars i promised even greater opportunities for glory? i said that you would ride in triumph through fallen cities."
-"yes," said simon after hesitating a moment. he knew where charles was leading this, and felt a hollow of dread growing in his stomach.
-charles bent down, bringing his face close to simon's, his hand still pressing on simon's shoulder. the count of anjou's eyes glowed green in the candlelight, and simon felt paralyzed by his gaze, as if charles were a basilisk.
-"simon de gobignon," charles said solemnly. "i invite you to join me in the conquest of sicily, and to share with me in the spoils. i ask you to bring the army of gobignon to this war."
-god's blood, protect me!
-"i cannot make my vassals come here," simon ventured. his voice sounded weak in his ears.
-charles's face came closer still.
-"make them come? they will beg you to let them come. this will be the greatest war since you were a child."
-simon gathered his thoughts. "their obligations to me are limited. many owe me only thirty days' service. some are not required to serve outside gobignon boundaries, need only fight if we are invaded."
-"your father brought four hundred knights and two thousand men-at-arms with him on the crusade my brother and i led into egypt."
-yes, and lost them all.
-"but that was a crusade, and the ordinary obligations did not apply," simon said.
-"this will be a crusade. the pope is going to declare manfred an infidel, an enemy of the church, and proclaim a crusade against him. but this will not be like crusading in outremer, where there is nothing to be gained but sand and palm trees and--spiritual benefits." again simon heard that hint of mockery in charles's voice. "southern italy and sicily are the wealthiest lands in europe. riches for everybody! just go back and tell your seigneurs and knights about that. they will plead with you to lead them hither." he smiled sarcastically. "i know what a dedicated farmer you are. so get the harvest in--and then bring your army south for the real harvest. the prospect of wintering in italy instead of in the north should delight them."
-in all his life, simon thought, he had never wanted anything less than to lead the knights and men of gobignon to charles's war. he thought of gobignon, so far away in the northeast corner of france. what business did his people have in italy? inevitably, many gobignon men would die, and how would simon face their families?
-but, sadly, he realized charles was right in his prediction. simon could think of dozens of young barons and knights in the gobignon domain who would ride singing to a war waged for glory and riches.
-he chose his words carefully, not wanting to offend charles. "this question of the crown of sicily--it does not touch gobignon in any way that i can see. it would not be right for me to lead my people to war over it."
-surprisingly, charles smiled. "i understand, simon." he patted simon's back. he straightened up and strode back to the other side of the table and sat again.
-"you do see my point, uncle?" simon said nervously.
-simon hunched forward. "apulia?"
-"the southeast of italy. the richest of manfred's provinces. where he has always chosen to live, and his father frederic before him. simon, count de gobignon, duke of apulia. how does that sound? in one short war you would double your land holdings and triple your wealth. now do you see how this war touches you?"
-what simon realized, with a clarity that chilled him, as if he had suddenly seen in uncle charles the mark of some dread disease, was that he and charles d'anjou were utterly different kinds of men. as count of anjou and seigneur of arles, charles already ruled a domain bigger than gobignon, and he thought it the most natural thing in the world to want more.
-why do i not want more? should i? is something wrong with me?
-it was all too much for simon to think through now, while charles was pressing so. he had to get away from him. it occurred to him that he could agree now to join forces with charles, then go back to gobignon and renege on his promise. charles would be far too busy fighting in italy to try to force him to bring troops from gobignon.
-no, that probably would not work. it would be stupid to think he could outwit a man as experienced in statecraft as the count of anjou. once simon promised, charles would no doubt find a way to force him to make good.
-"uncle charles, i cannot decide in one evening the future of thousands of people whose lives and souls i am responsible for."
-charles shook his head. his face was darkening; he was getting angry.
-"you sound like my brother, talking about the difficulty of making royal decisions. god's bowels, boy! deciding what's best for our subjects is what we were born to do. where is the gobignon in you? your father, count amalric, for all he went wrong at the end of his life, would have known how to seize a moment like this. how do you think that splendid domain you've inherited was built up? empires must grow, or they wither and die. it is a law of life."
-simon was never more glad he was not amalric's son.
-"i must go back and look at the old agreements and treaties, uncle charles. i must see what kind of service each baron and each knight owes me, and for how long and under what conditions i can call on them. let me see what my rights are as seigneur. then i will be able to tell you how many knights and men i can bring to you."
-"suit yourself, but i will wager few of them will hold you to the letter of their obligations. as i said, when they see the chances for gain, they will want to come. if need be, pay them. your treasury is fat. you have had no wars to pay for for many years. whatever you spend, you will make back a hundredfold when we take manfred's kingdom."
-he did not notice that i did not actually promise to bring any men back with me.
-to seem to promise and yet not to promise--simon felt rather proud of himself for finding a way out. he felt like a fox who had thrown a pack of slavering hounds off the scent. he had freed himself from the trap anjou had built for him. perhaps the count was right. perhaps this time in italy had done him some good, made him a cleverer man. he drank deeply of the red roman wine and secretly toasted himself.
-he would honor charles's request to remain at his side in rome for a time, fighting for him if need be. then to viterbo.
-over a year ago he had agreed to care for the tartars, and he would be judged, and would judge himself, on how well he had done that. he did not like leaving it to de verceuil. even if papa le gros, as the italians called him, were all in favor of the alliance, the tartars still had many points to settle before the war--the final war--on the saracens became a reality.
-"before i return to gobignon," simon said, "i must go to viterbo and make sure that the tartars are well guarded."
-"suit yourself." charles waved a large hand in acquiescence.
-to viterbo and sophia.
-he felt again the ecstasy of that day by the lake, the closeness, the union of their flesh. how beautiful it had been! even here, in charles d'anjou's tent outside the walls of rome, he felt a hot stirring in his body at the remembrance of their afternoon of love.
-how could she not want that again? she must. he was sure of it. she wanted, as he did, a lifetime of love. that was why she wept whenever he tried to convince her that he meant to marry her.
-she had promised him faithfully that the next time they met she would tell him what the obstacle was to their marrying. whatever the reason was, he would sweep it aside and carry her off to gobignon with him.
-friar mathieu could marry them before they even left viterbo. then if grandmère or his sisters had any objections, they would have to swallow them. they could be together in his castle this summer, when the rivers were flowing fast, when the trees were heavy with fruit and the fields were green and the forest was full of fleet deer and clever foxes. how she would love it!
-sophia. a thousand visions of her cascaded through his mind, of her dark red lips smiling, her eyes glowing like precious stones, her proud carriage. and he remembered the feel of her limbs tangled with his, her passion the proof, despite her fears, of the depth of her love for him.
-it would be maddening to stay away from her for the two months charles had asked of him, but after that they would have the whole of their lives together.
-it seemed not to have changed at all in the year and a half since she had left with daoud and lorenzo. the octagonal walls and square towers of manfred's citadel, warmed by the setting sun, rose above the small city standing in the center of a plain surrounded by hills.
-her skin tingled at the thought of seeing daoud again. but her heart, which should have been light with happiness, ached, tormented for months by a decision she could not make.
-a cry from the men-at-arms leading the way startled her. her eyes followed a pointing arm and saw, high on the rocky slope of a nearby hill, a mounted warrior.
-he glittered in the sunset. he was too far away for her to see the details of his costume, but gold flashed on his breastplate, on his hands and arms, and on the white turban that shaded his face. one of manfred's saracens probably, sent out from lucera to bid them welcome.
-she saw that their path descended gradually into a valley. the saracen's horse was scrambling down a steep slope to meet them. the warrior leaned back in this saddle to balance himself, riding easily down to the valley floor.
-as she drew nearer to him, her heart started to hammer in her chest. the lower half of his face was covered by a short blond beard. the face was still in shadow, but the nose was long and straight.
-most of all, it was his carriage that told her who he was. he held himself so perfectly erect that he almost seemed made of some substance lighter and finer than ordinary flesh. and yet there was not a trace of stiffness in his posture. like a young tree. some vessel seemed to open within her and spread a gentle, joyous balm throughout her body.
-ahead of her, ugolini, alerted by his guards, had thrown back the curtains of his sedan chair and was leaning out. he was bareheaded, his white side-whiskers fluttering in the breeze. he must be beside himself with excitement, sophia thought, at the prospect of reunion with tilia.
-the horseman touched his right hand to his white turban in salute to ugolini, and rode on past.
-how splendidly he was caparisoned, from the white plume in his turban to his jeweled, carved stirrups. the breastplate over his long red riding robe was of polished steel, inlaid with gold in arabic spirals. jewels sparkled on the hilt and sheath of his sword.
-he was close enough for her to see his face clearly. his new beard gave him a commanding, princely look. seeing him like this, she understood better what the word mameluke meant. she felt as if a new sun had arisen before her. how unbelievably lucky she was to be loved by such a man.
-but, like an enemy in ambush, the pain of her indecision struck her in the heart.
-the more fool i am to have betrayed him.
-he drew up beside her and rode around her sedan chair so that the head of his glistening black horse was toward lucera. in a sudden movement he leaned down from the saddle. an irresistible arm encircled her waist and pulled her up out of the sedan chair. for a moment she felt alarmed and amazed, as if she were flying through the air. then, before she could scream, she found herself comfortably seated across the great horse, her shoulder resting on his breastplate, his arms around her.
-her only fear was that she might faint at his touch.
-and like that they rode into lucera. together for all the world to see.
-what exquisite irony! she gazed around the bedchamber daoud had led her to, hardly able to believe her eyes. the big bed with its golden curtains was the same, and so was the window with its pointed arch. this was the very room, the very bed, in which manfred and she had made love for the last time.
-manfred must have deliberately chosen to give this room to them.
-daoud's weapons hung on the wall, and his armor was mounted on wooden stands. chests of clothing and other possessions were lined up along the wall. soon the servants would be bringing her things in too.
-this room--another thing she could not tell him about. she despised herself. but it might well offend him if he knew of manfred's little joke, and enmity between daoud and manfred at this moment could be disastrous.
-manfred needs daoud. why is he so foolish as to risk angering him?
-daoud and she stood staring at each other. they had said little so far. she felt overwhelmed, and she supposed he did too. she felt her longing for him as a strange not-quite-pain in the pit of her stomach.
-he took her shoulders in his hands. how good to feel his strong fingers holding her.
-"how long has this been your room?" she asked.
-"for about a month. rather grand, is it not? the king says it is suitable to my rank. i have my own command, a division of his mounted muslim warriors. i call them the sons of the falcon."
-suitable to my rank.
-she wondered how much daoud knew about herself and manfred.
-"what troubles you?" he asked.
-so many things.
-"manfred," she said, choosing the worry easiest to speak of.
-he stroked her cheek gently. "no need to torment yourself. i understand how it must have been."
-but would you understand about simon?
-she said, "but can manfred accept what you and i are to each other?"
-he shrugged. "you see that we are together in his palace. you saw that i rode with you before me on my horse through the streets of lucera and into manfred's castle."
-"i see that manfred must know about us. are you sure he does not want me back? it can be fatal to cross a king."
-"when we got the message that ugolini and you were coming here instead of going to viterbo, i talked with manfred, not as subject and king, but as man and man. he was most gracious, as manfred usually is."
-"what did he tell you?"
-"that indeed he still cares for you. too much, it seems."
-daoud's teeth flashed in his blond beard. "his queen, the mother of his four children, helene of cyprus, usually looks the other way when manfred beds beautiful young women. but she saw in you too serious a rival. he had to send you off with me, or the queen would have had you poisoned."
-sophia's eyes strayed to the bed in horror. she remembered now that before she left here, manfred had hinted at something like that.
-"poisoned! and i am safe now?"
-again the white grin in the blond beard. during the six months they had been apart, she had begun to think that her love for him might have seduced memory and enhanced his good looks beyond reality. but now in the flesh he surpassed even the image her memory had cherished.
-"you are safe as long as you stay away from manfred and he from you. there will be a feast tonight, in honor of cardinal ugolini. you will see how carefully the king will avoid you."
-daoud pulled her close to enfold her in his arms. he had taken off his surcoat and breastplate, and with her head against his chest she could feel his heart beating strong and fast under his silk robe.
-"and you?" she said. "do you hate the thought that manfred and i were lovers?"
-in that very bed.
-"it is far in the past," daoud said. "before you met me." he held her away from him and looked at her with laughter in his blue eyes. "even the prophet married a widow."
-his gentle acceptance, his easy assumption that all was over between herself and manfred, tore at her heart. if she even mentioned simon, it would be different. that was not in the past. that was after she had met daoud, after they became lovers. for the thousand-thousandth time she cursed herself for letting it happen.
-god, i am a whore! as bad as the worst painted prostitute plying her trade under the arches by the hippodrome.
-no, worse than that, in a way. a prostitute had a clear reason for doing what she did with men. the more sophia thought about the time she let simon possess her, the less she understood it. and even a prostitute knew her occupation and her place in the world. from the night that alexis cast her adrift, sophia had, in a way, been lost.
-but there came to her a glimmering of hope. daoud had a place here with manfred, and she had a place beside daoud. could it be that at last she had a home?
-then she should do nothing to endanger it. she should say nothing about simon.
-"come to bed," he whispered, still holding her and taking a step in that direction.
-the feel of his arms around her and his body pressing against her sent ripples of need for him through her. but now, with thoughts of manfred and--much worse--of simon, confusing her, she felt frightened, unready. she needed more time.
-"i have had no proper bath in days, daoud. i feel the grime of the road all over me."
-"of course." he smiled. "and now you can have a proper bath. let me see to it."
-in the year and a half since she left this place, sophia had all but forgotten the bathing rooms in the lowest level of castello lucera. she had not used them as much as she had wished to, when she lived here before. in her strange position as a foreigner and one of manfred's loves, she had not felt comfortable bathing with the other women who lived in the castle.
-but tonight, as she and daoud undressed in the green-tiled anteroom, they had it all to themselves. daoud must stand high indeed with manfred to have arranged that, she thought.
-in the light of the oil lamp hanging overhead, his naked body was a golden color, and free, as far as she could tell, from the marks of insult the podesta's torturer had inflicted upon it last summer.
-she was not naked. she wore a linen gown that opened down the front. her continued worrying over whether or not to tell him about simon made her want to stay covered as long as she could.
-but with a smile he pulled her gown apart and slipped it off her shoulders and down her back to the floor.
-a glance down his body told her that he wanted her now. the sight thrilled her, but she still felt uneasy and not able to give herself wholeheartedly to him and to the act of love.
-"let us attend to the grime," she said with a small smile.
-in the next room, its walls tiled in white, she lay in a round sunken tub filled with hot water piped in from the castle kitchen. it was large enough for daoud to stand over her in it. he took over the task of washing her with scented soap imported from spain.
-at first she simply lay back and enjoyed her renewed acquaintance with the amenities of manfred's kingdom, so much more like constantinople than life in the papal states had been. but as the hot water relaxed her and as daoud's hands, slippery with soap, slid over her skin, she felt the rising warmth of desire. nothing mattered but this moment. she wriggled her legs and hips against him in small, almost unwilled movements.
-"the grime first," he said with a soft laugh, and continued methodically to soap her until she was mad with wanting him.
-he picked her up in his arms and carried her into the next room, its tiles the red-orange of sunset, which was taken up by a great pool of very hot water. usually this chamber would be occupied by anywhere from six to a dozen men or women. but tonight sophia and daoud were quite alone.
-still carrying her, he descended the steps into the hot pool. ribbons of steam rose around them. he lowered her into the water. when she stood neck-deep in it, the heat was almost unbearable, as if she were about to be boiled to death. but then the heat soaked into her until her very bones felt liquefied. her whole being melted until she was not a person who felt desire, she was desire itself.
-with her arms around his neck she pulled his head down and kissed him, flicks of her tongue tip luring his tongue into her mouth.
-moments later her ecstatic cries were echoing through the bathing rooms.
-they forgot about time.
-her voice rang again and again in the vaulted chamber. they made love in the hot water and then lying on linen cloths on the masseur's slab beside the pool. they nearly fell asleep in each other's arms.
-laughing at their bodies' foolishness, they plunged into the last pool, cold water in a blue-tiled room, then hurried through a door to the place where they had started and dressed again.
-when they were back in their room, daoud's voice was drowsy as he lay beside her on the gold-curtained bed.
-"you must have bypassed rome when you came down, with the count of anjou and simon de gobignon both there," he said.
-at the mention of simon's name sophia's pleasant sleepiness fled, and she felt an ache in the pit of her stomach. should she tell daoud or not? she still could not decide. the uncertainty itself had become almost as great an agony as the fear of what would happen if she told him. she rolled over with her back to him, so that he could not see her face.
-"yes," she said. "we went east into the abruzzi and through l'aquilia and sulmona. terribly mountainous country. it took us much longer, but it was safer."
-but if i do not tell him, every time he takes me in his arms i will know that i am lying to him. i will always be aware that i am keeping something back from him that he would want to know. i betrayed him with simon, and each time i have the chance to tell him and do not, i am betraying him again.
-"before charles took rome, lorenzo and tilia and i passed near the city, but skirted around it. it would not do to have someone from that inn recognize us."
-"how well i remember that night." it was then that she had first seen how resourceful and how ruthless daoud could be.
-"lorenzo and i could talk about it now without getting angry," daoud said. "he told me he tried to help the old jew, rachel's husband, because a man does not forget the faith and the people he was born to."
-"and you wondered about yourself?" said sophia.
-"exactly." the palm of his hand felt wonderfully hard against the flesh of her buttocks. "and, strangely, i found myself thinking of simon de gobignon."
-she felt her body stiffen and tried to make herself relax. "what could have made you think of him?" she had never told daoud about simon's shadowed childhood. she wondered if he had heard of it from someone else.
-"i asked myself, what if the turks had not overrun ascalon and killed my parents and carried me off? and the answer came that i would have been very like simon de gobignon. he grew up, you see, having all the things i lost."
-"a family, a home, the christian faith, freedom, knighthood, his country. even his name."
-this talk about simon was making her desperately uneasy. she wondered if she could tell daoud to go to sleep and forget it all.
-"and i saw at last why i hated him so much," daoud went on. "i hated him in part, of course, because of you. i had already started to love you, and the thought of him possessing you made me furious. and yet it was my duty to send you to bed with him. fortunately, that never had to happen. but there was an even deeper reason for my hating him."
-"what was that?" she asked.
-"envy. envy that i could not admit to myself."
-"not admit to yourself? why?"
-his hand on her was motionless. she sensed that it was an effort for him to put his thought into words.
-"because i was afraid to. that is always why we do not admit a truth to ourselves. my sufi sheikh often said, the things you most fear, those you must turn and stare at until you are no longer afraid. i was afraid i might betray my faith."
-"you mean renounce islam?" a chill went through her. what a disaster for all of them that could have been. she could well understand how the thought of that might frighten him.
-"yes. i had to put that possibility out of my mind. so i hated simon de gobignon without knowing why. because i did not understand my hatred, i hated him all the more."
-if only we could stop talking about simon.
-but the man she loved was telling her something very important about himself. she had to set her own discomfort aside. she had to listen.
-"and now you do not hate him?" she turned over in the bed. she wanted to see his face.
-there was a peacefulness in his eyes such as she had never seen before. always, they had seemed to burn, white-hot. now they were clear and fathomless, like the sky.
-"i do not hate him. i realized, as i rode along with lorenzo, that if your new faith is strong and your new people are good, you can remember without danger what you loved of the old. i will always love the sound of the christian priests chanting in the cool dark of a church. i will always feel especially at home in a christian castle. but the voice i hear in the depths of my soul today is the true voice of god, and that, simon de gobignon will never hear. unless god's all-powerful hand reaches out for him as it did for me."
-awed, sophia said, "i have never heard anyone speak as you do. with so much wisdom. except, once or twice, a priest."
-he closed his eyes. "i speak as i am inspired to speak. in islam there are no priests that stand between god and man. there are the more learned and the less learned, but each man and each woman can hear god."
-daoud had bared his soul to her. she wanted to do the same. love was not merely the coupling of naked bodies, but the union of naked minds. how could she ever be happy with him while lying to him?
-but she did not love simon. what had happened between them had been a moment of being overwhelmed by feeling. it had been done, not by her, but by sophia orfali.
-she had felt sorry for simon and wanted to comfort him. she had been moved by the purity of his love for her, and her body, which had not known daoud for months, ran away with her. it was a shameful thing, but not an important thing, because it did not change her love for daoud.
-it would be important to daoud, though. he would feel that she had betrayed him. he would want revenge. he would hate simon.
-most important, the peace with his own childhood, reached after painful struggle, might be destroyed. the beautiful state of mind he had shown her might be lost.
-for the sake of his peace, she must keep silent.
-she hated the decision. it meant that a part of her would always be locked away from daoud, and he would never know it.
-very well, then. let that, and not his wrath at the revelation, be her punishment for having let herself go that day with simon by the lake. that would be the mutilation she would always bear. perfect union with daoud would be a promised land she would never enter. by suffering that, she would silently make restitution to daoud for the wrong she had done him.
-all the while she had been thinking, he had been gazing at her. just as she reached her final decision, his eyes closed and his breathing deepened. she reached out and touched the sparse blond hairs in the center of his chest, lightly so as not to wake him.
-i lost everything too. he and i are so alike.
-mother and father. alexis, whom she had loved in the simple way that simon loved her. all lost in one night of fire and steel. and after that, the life she led had been so little like that of other women. a life so strange and venturesome she did not know what to think of herself. and yet a life she had loved much of the time.
-if simon reminded daoud of what he had lost, almost any woman she met did the same for sophia.
-why, she wondered, had a man's seed never quickened within her? she was twenty-four years old, and she had never been with child. not once since girlhood had her monthly flow of blood failed.
-i am barren, she thought sadly, as she had countless times before. barren and alone. just as well. even one baby would have been an impossible burden in the years since she fled to michael.
-but now, if daoud were to get her with child, what joy that would be. at this moment, it seemed, she had nothing to do except be a companion to daoud. there had never been a better time in her life for having a child. and even if she could never be wholly one with daoud, she could be one with their child.
-there were remedies for barrenness, she thought, and sometimes they worked. wise old women knew them. she might seek out such a woman. tilia must know a great deal about preventing conception, perhaps she knew something about how to make it happen.
-there would be no more work of the sort she had done for michael and then for manfred. she was known in the north. she could not go back there. and once manfred defeated the french and drove them out of italy, he would want men to help him govern. a woman had no place in governing, unless she were married to a man of power or had inherited a title of her own.
-a child, after all this was over, might be all she would have left. daoud could be killed fighting the french. her heart stopped beating for a moment, and then began pounding in fear.
-she put that thought out of her mind quickly. she must believe that he would not be killed. and there was good reason to believe so, with all he had survived already.
-no, it was more likely she would lose him when the war was over and he went back to his people. he loved his faith, loved the land that had first enslaved him, then made him a warrior. and she could never go back to cairo with him. what she had heard about a woman's lot among the muslims sounded like a living death. he had never said so, but he probably had a wife in egypt. several wives perhaps, as muslims were said to do.
-live as just one of his wives? her stomach burned at the idea. unthinkable!
-could she persuade daoud to come with her to constantinople? daoud could serve the basileus brilliantly, as a strategos, a general, or as a mediator between byzantines and saracens. a man of his experience would be invaluable. ah, but to achieve to the utmost of his ability, though, daoud would have to join the orthodox church. and that, after the words he had just spoken, she could never imagine him doing.
-well, but she could imagine it. why spoil the beautiful dream of herself and daoud together amid the glories of the polis? for the moment she could indulge her fancy and tell herself anything was possible.
-"ecco! the residence of cardinal paulus de verceuil," said sordello with a flourish of his hand. the narrow viterbo street on which simon, sordello, and thierry had been riding opened out suddenly, and they were facing a huge cylinder built of small stones, blackened with age. simon felt his mouth fall open in wonder, and he quickly snapped it shut. he would not let anything de verceuil might do seem to impress him.
-they rode across a drawbridge over a moat full of water that smelled of rotting things, its surface coated with a green slime.
-"it looks a bit like castel sant' angelo in rome," simon remarked.
-"it was a pagan temple in ancient times," said sordello.
-after passing through the gatehouse, they found themselves in a stone-paved semicircular courtyard. the palace was built against the rear half of the old roman inner wall and towered above it.
-"no more lodging with some noble family or other," said sordello proudly. "now our party has a residence of its own."
-i would rather have almost anyone but de verceuil as my host.
-simon hoped he need stay here for only a short time. just long enough to find sophia, overcome her reservations about marrying him, and be off to gobignon. his heart beat harder as he thought of seeing her again after those lonely, miserable months in rome.
-thierry took their horses to be stabled, while sordello ushered simon through a cavernous hall lit by a few small windows near the ceiling. two men-at-arms simon recognized as part of his troop of venetian crossbowmen snapped to attention just inside the door, and after a frantic scramble through his memory simon managed to greet them by name.
-to sordello simon said, "i thank you for meeting thierry and me at the city gate and guiding us here." they crossed the entrance hall. "after a long ride, one does not want to have to find one's way around a strange city."
-sordello smiled smugly in acknowledgment. "little enough for me to do, your signory, for one who has done so much for me. come, i'll show you to the room his eminence has set aside for you."
-he led simon up a great flight of marble stairs from ground level to the first floor of the mansion.
-"i am capitano of the crossbow troop again," sordello said suddenly, halfway up the stairs.
-"who decided that?" said simon irritably. "i appointed peppino capitano after teodoro was killed."
-sordello's bloodshot eyes caught simon's. "peppino was most courteous about yielding to me when i rejoined the tartar ambassadors' guards. after all, i am senior to him." they came to the top of the marble stairs, and he held out a hand to indicate stone steps leading to the second floor.
-damn! simon had removed sordello from his position for nearly killing the armenian prince, and it was pure insubordination for the fellow to bully his way back into it in simon's absence and without his consent. it was typical of sordello's infuriating combination of guile and gall.
-simon reproached himself for not leaving clear orders on who was to lead the crossbow troop when he left sordello with them and was off to join count charles in rome. but his head and heart had been full of sophia then. discipline demanded that he depose sordello and reinstate peppino.
-yes, he thought, if he were intending to stay here, he would do exactly that. but if he did it and then left again, it would probably only provoke a duel to the death between peppino and sordello. let things be. a few weeks from now, at most, he could forget the whole damned lot of them, tartars and all.
-but sordello's reemergence as leader of the crossbowmen raised another question: would it offend the armenians?
-they came now to wooden steps leading into the shadowy upper reaches of de verceuil's castle. simon looked dubiously at them.
-"trust me, your signory, as in any palace, the best apartments are on the top floor."
-trust you? when god invites lucifer to move back into heaven.
-and it was equally unlikely that de verceuil would provide anything truly grand for simon. he shrugged and let sordello climb the wooden steps ahead of him.
-"what about the armenian prince, hethum? does he still want your blood?"
-sordello laughed and looked back over his shoulder. "all settled, your signory. i know viterbo, as i know most of these umbrian hill towns, and i entertained all the armenians for a night and a day, at my expense. the best taverns, the best whorehouses. hethum and i are friends now."
-one did not entertain so lavishly on the fifteen florins a month sordello would receive as capitano of the archers. doubtless he had found other ways to line his pockets.
-the mention of whorehouses reminded simon of the plight of the girl rachel. he must find out if friar mathieu had done anything to help her.
-on the musty-smelling fourth floor of the cardinal's palace, sordello led simon through five connected rooms. two of them were bare of furniture, but simon saw rumpled beds and traveling chests in the other three. in the last one a black-robed priest sat at a desk by a window, writing. he frowned at simon and sordello as if to reprove them for disturbing him.
-"these are the good apartments?" simon said when sordello ushered him into a bare chamber with a small bed in one corner and a smaller trundle bed beside it. the window was large, but covered by wooden shutters. simon pushed them open to let in more light.
-sordello shrugged. "this is truly the best available, your signory. the cardinal has many people in his employ, and many guests. i would not leave those shutters open too long if i were you. even though it is only april, the flies and mosquitos are numerous already. a wet winter always brings them out."
-not worth the trouble to complain about the room. i won't be here that long.
-"tell friar mathieu i am here, sordello, and tell thierry to have a hot bath sent up to me."
-"yes, your signory. but unless you are willing to wait till midnight, i suggest you go down to the kitchen for your bath. the cardinal's servants are obedient to him and care not a fig for anyone else, and your equerry will find none willing to carry a tub of hot water up four flights of stairs."
-this was too much. "now damn your lazy buttocks, sordello! i am paying you out of my own purse, and you have had no work to do since i left you in perugia. you see that a hot bath reaches me by vespers, or forget you were ever in my service."
-sordello's weather-beaten cheeks flushed, but he bowed and left.
-simon leaned on the sill of his window, looking out over the tiled rooftops of viterbo. all the buildings he could see were built of a dark gray stone, giving the place an ancient look even though, for all he knew, many houses might be quite recently built. this palace cardinal de verceuil had bought for himself seemed to occupy one of the highest points. just as perugia had been bigger than orvieto, so viterbo was bigger than perugia. guards in the black and gold of the local militia paced the high city wall from one massive tower to another. about twenty years ago this city had withstood a siege by king manfred's father, emperor frederic. that was one of the reasons, simon had heard, that cardinal le gros, now pope clement, had chosen it.
-he heard a rhythmic thumping behind him, then a knock at his door. he opened it to see friar mathieu, bent and thinner, his white beard sparser-looking, leaning on a walking stick. they hugged each other, simon holding the old franciscan gingerly.
-"the safest place on this floor to talk is the loggia," said friar mathieu. "we can share our news there." he bowed to the priest in the next room and greeted him by name and was answered with a grunt.
-"one of de verceuil's large staff," said friar mathieu when they were out of the priest's chamber. "it is no accident that his room is next to yours."
-"i am surprised de verceuil lets you live here, father."
-"his eminence would rather have me far away, but pope clement insists i stay close to the tartars. and there was a letter from king louis saying the same. after all, people who speak the tartars' language are scarce this side of the danube. and his eminence may dislike me, but the king and the pope both trust me. more, perhaps, than they trust him. so the cardinal put me in a cubbyhole near john and philip, where i am quite content."
-they came to the stairs, where a doorway led out to the loggia. the floor was of red tile, and the walls and columns painted a pale green. benches and potted trees just beginning to bud were set along the loggia. they were facing west, overlooking the courtyard. they sat on a bench, their faces shaded by the overhanging roof, their knees and feet in the sunlight. simon enjoyed the late afternoon warmth on his legs, tired from a week's riding. he looked forward to his bath.
-"i am sure pope clement himself will be eager to see you," said friar mathieu. "i hear he has been deluging count charles with letters demanding to know when he will march against manfred."
-"count charles does not have a big enough army yet to attack manfred," said simon, thinking how glad he was to be away from the dour, driven count. "and it seems that manfred would rather wait for him to make the first move. anjou says he will not be able to recruit more knights and men until the pope officially gives him the crown of southern italy and sicily."
-"his holiness wants charles to come to viterbo to be crowned. he refuses to set foot in rome."
-"charles is determined to be crowned by the pope in rome. he keeps mentioning that charlemagne was crowned in rome."
-friar mathieu smiled. "so, the fate of italy is in the hands of three men who are each unwilling to make a move." sunlight turned his beard to silver. "and what are your plans? have you returned to us for good, or will you go back to count charles?"
-at the thought of the prospect before him, simon felt a warmth within rivaling the afternoon sun. "tell me, father--where can i find cardinal ugolini's niece, sophia?"
-friar mathieu's eyes seemed to sink deeper into the hollows under his white brows. "ugolini and sophia are not here in viterbo."
-simon felt as if a wintry chill had fallen on the loggia. "what? where have they gone?"
-"they never came here. none of us, not even the pope, realized ugolini was gone until the day of the papal coronation, when he still had not appeared. it was a scandal. after all, ugolini was cardinal camerlengo under urban. papa le gros--clement--was furious. the rumor is that ugolini has fled to manfred. the pope intends to strip him of his rank for leaving the papal states without permission."
-the pain of loss made simon cry out, "but sophia! what of sophia?"
-friar mathieu shook his head sadly. "she must be with ugolini. they are probably both in manfred's kingdom."
-simon fell back against the plaster wall, gasping. "but--a message--there must have been a message for me. she must have left some word."
-"with whom?" friar mathieu spread his hands. "she knows i am your friend, but i heard nothing from her."
-in all the time since he left perugia, simon's vision of sophia, his dreams of their life together, had sustained him. he thought constantly of her during those dreary weeks while count charles was parading around rome, giving orders to sullen italians, exercising his troops, arguing with his captains, and hanging those who made difficulties.
-on a loggia much like this one, at ugolini's perugia mansion, sophia had made the promise that had given him hope. all he needed, he was sure, was to know what stood between them, and he would be able to overcome it.
-and now, as suddenly as if sophia had been on a ship and a wave had swept her overboard, she was gone.
-he felt himself getting angry at friar mathieu. he could not believe what the old priest was telling him.
-"she promised me!" he blurted out.
-"promised you what?" said friar mathieu softly.
-"that she would tell me why she could not marry me."
-there was a long silence, while simon stared at the rooftops of viterbo, silhouetted against a golden sky.
-"you wanted to marry her?" friar mathieu asked in a soft voice.
-"i want to marry her," said simon, his voice sullen.
-after another long pause he added, "i was hoping you would marry us."
-"simon," said friar mathieu quietly. "how much do you really know about sophia?" simon thought he heard pity in the old man's voice.
-he felt a twinge of fear, and inched away from the franciscan. almost against his will, his head turned toward friar mathieu. he felt himself forced to repeat the little that sophia had told him about herself since they met. the thought of that afternoon by the lake came to him, stabbing him like a spear. he would not tell friar mathieu about that, not yet. this was not confession.
-friar mathieu did not meet simon's intent gaze, but looked downward, and simon saw deep, shadowed pouches under his eyes.
-"simon--you recall the girl rachel."
-what of her? simon wondered, annoyed at the change of subject. then he remembered.
-"it was sophia who asked me to speak to you about rachel."
-"just so. i had already tried everything, including prayer, to get john chagan to free rachel, but i could not move his heart. he prizes her almost to the point of madness. but i did continue my efforts, because you asked me to. i begged, appealed to his better nature--he does have one--and threatened the fires of hell. nothing worked. for a time, when we learned that hulagu khan had died, we thought that john and philip would have to go back to persia. john even spoke of taking rachel with him and making her his chief wife. do you have any idea what an honor that would be for rachel?"
-"no," said simon impatiently, not caring.
-"tartars take new wives and concubines, but their chief wives hold that status for life--usually. for john to say he wants to supplant his chief wife with rachel shows the depth of his passion for the girl."
-"father, what does all this have to do with sophia?" simon burst out.
-"i come to that now. i had long talks with rachel to find out if she really wanted to be rescued from the tartar. she told me about her life before she came to orvieto, about what it was like in tilia caballo's brothel."
-"while we talked, rachel let slip some things about sophia that--i hate to hurt you, simon, but she said things that made me think sophia is not what she has seemed to be."
-he had an urge to get up and leave. but he realized that behind his anger, and fanning it, lurked the fear of learning something he did not want to know.
-friar mathieu put a gentle hand on simon's arm. "did you tell sophia about count amalric's treason, and about who your real father is?"
-"because you wanted her to know you. if you love sophia and want to marry her, you have to know all about her. there is no other way."
-"but i want her to tell me, if there is anything to tell."
-"perhaps she cannot."
-"blood of christ, why are you torturing me?"
-the old priest shook his head. "do you understand that if there were any way out of this conversation for me, i would take it?"
-simon looked at the faded old eyes and saw the pain. "yes."
-"i do not want to tell you what rachel said. i respect her confidence. and i do not like passing on suspicions like this. come and talk with her yourself."
-"right now? here in this palace?" simon shivered with an inner cold.
-"yes. de verceuil and the tartars have been invited to a supper at the palazzo papale. rachel is alone in her room. i made sure of that a little while ago."
-feeling like a man going obediently to his own beheading, simon said, "let us go and talk to her, then."
-in the corridor, simon saw sordello and thierry.
-"your bath is ready, monseigneur," said thierry.
-"i will bathe later," said simon, trying not to let the whirlwind of his emotions show in his face.
-"there is no way to keep the water warm, your signory," said sordello.
-"then let it freeze!" simon shouted. he turned away quickly and followed friar mathieu.
-simon at first did not see the small figure huddled in a far corner of the high, gauze-curtained bed. rachel's room, on the floor below simon's, was much bigger than his. the outer wall, which curved slightly because it was part of the old temple, was lined with blue-veined white marble. a large window admitted dim light through oiled parchment and curtains.
-"rachel," said friar mathieu softly in italian. "here is the count de gobignon, whom i told you of. he is in charge of the men who guard your--protector. he is madonna sophia's friend. she has asked him to try to help you."
-simon felt a twinge of guilt. could he be sophia's friend if he was trying to get rachel to reveal sophia's secrets? but sophia had disappeared without a word to him. if she had secrets, he had to know them, even if he had to deceive this child to get at them.
-but at the same time he desperately wanted to learn nothing about sophia that would hurt him.
-rachel used a red ribbon to mark her place in the book she was reading, climbed down from her bed, and curtsied to simon. her skin was as white as the marble on the wall. she wore a pale blue gown. her small breasts pushed it out in front ever so slightly. simon could see why sophia had kept referring to her as a child. he could not imagine how anyone, even a tartar, could want to couple with so delicate-looking a creature.
-even with books to read and a spacious chamber, she must feel like a prisoner.
-he forgot his own anguish momentarily in pity for her plight. he wanted to take the wide-eyed girl gently in his arms and hold her.
-simon and friar mathieu sat on small gold-painted chairs, and rachel sat on the edge of her bed. simon racked his brain for a way to start the conversation. it must seem to be about rachel, but it must tell him about sophia. he was not even sure what he was trying to find out.
-even though he had not spoken and had tried to look friendly and not threatening, he could imagine how much his presence must frighten her. a french count. to her that must almost be like being visited by a king. and she probably feared christians anyway. if she decided she must protect sophia from him, he would get nothing from her.
-simon was grateful when friar mathieu cleared his throat and spoke.
-"count simon is anxious about your welfare, my dear," said the old franciscan. "he was quite surprised to learn that cardinal ugolini and madonna sophia had not followed the pope here to viterbo. he was wondering whether madonna sophia had left some word with you about where she was going."
-rachel shook her head. "i have not seen her since john took me from madama tilia's house." her black hair was wound in braids around her head, exposing her small ears, made to look smaller still by the large gold hoops she wore in them. similarly, a gold necklace with a jeweled pendant emphasized the slenderness of her neck. her arms and hands seemed weighed down with bracelets and rings. the tartar must be showering her with gifts.
-"and madonna sophia gave no hint of her plans when she visited you at madama tilia's?"
-friar mathieu asked it as if it were the most natural question in the world.
-my god, what would sophia be doing at tilia caballo's? at a brothel!
-simon felt his stomach clench. he did not want to hear rachel's answer.
-"no, father. the last thing she told me was that everyone would be leaving orvieto soon. and when we did, i would not have to stay with madama tilia anymore. i begged her to take me back with her to cardinal ugolini's, but she said she could not. later that day john came for me. i never spoke with madonna sophia again." she looked uneasily at simon.
-sophia had said she knew about the girl only through the gossip of servants and townspeople. could this girl be lying about having met sophia? but she would have no reason to do that. so it must have been sophia who lied about never having met rachel. he felt as if a dagger had struck him in the back.
-and she had certainly never said anything about going to tilia caballo's. how could he learn the true connection between sophia and rachel without making rachel suspicious?
-"that is just it, rachel," he said. "things have been happening so rapidly, and i was away from the pope's court and the tartar ambassadors for months. sophia and i have not had time to talk to each other or to send messages. but when i last saw her, she asked me to look after you. she cares very much for you."
-rachel smiled faintly. her lips were a pale pink. her eyebrows were black and straight over her dark brown eyes, giving her an earnest look.
-"oh, yes, your signory. i know she cares for me."
-"are you also from sicily, rachel?" simon asked. "did you know sophia's family in sicily?"
-"no, your signory. i am from florence."
-florence. florence was controlled by the ghibellini.
-"does anyone in your family know you are here with this tartar? is there anyone you would like me to get a message to?"
-rachel's eyes widened and filled with tears. "they are all dead, your signory. and if any of them were living, i would rather be dead myself than have them know what has happened to me."
-"then sophia is the only friend you have in the world?" simon waited a moment, then tried a blind guess. "perhaps sophia has gone back to the place where you first met her."
-"no, no," said rachel. suddenly, she looked terrified. she shrank back from simon.
-she is dreadfully frightened, simon thought.
-friar mathieu was right. sophia was hiding something. anguish stabbed simon again.
-"what is it, rachel?" said friar mathieu. he shook his head at simon.
-"if you want to help me, if you love her, just leave me alone. she was kind to me as no one else has ever been. she was my friend. stop trying to find out about her."
-what was this girl hiding? what was sophia hiding? simon felt as if he were surrounded by enemies, all of them plunging their daggers into him.
-"does a friend send a young girl like you to a brothel?" said friar mathieu softly.
-this brought no reply from rachel. she put her hands to her face and sobbed.
-simon could bear no more. he stood up abruptly. he was torturing this girl. and in a way, she was torturing him.
-he said, "rachel, we will leave now. i am sorry i frightened you. in truth, i have no wish to hurt you. but, i--i am upset too. listen to me. if you ever decide you want to get away from here, tell me. i will not let john or cardinal de verceuil or anyone else stop you if you want to be free."
-rachel took her hands away from her face. "where can i go? tell me that, your signory. where can i go?" her eyes, rimmed with red from crying, were pools of darkness in her pale face. the sight of her tears made simon's own eyes burn.
-friar mathieu stood up, leaning heavily on his stick. he took simon's arm, whispered a good-bye to rachel, and drew simon out of the room. silently they went back up to the top-floor loggia. simon seethed and churned, his mind full of confusion and pain.
-they sat together on a bench in the deepening twilight. the sun was down and the sky over the distant hills was copper-colored.
-"how clumsy i was," simon said. "she will tell us nothing now."
-"you learned quite a bit," said friar mathieu, "if you think about what she told you."
-"i know this much," said simon. "i have been a fool. sophia has been lying to me."
-"everyone in love is a fool, simon. the more in love, the more they want to believe whatever the beloved tells them. only a man or woman in love with god can be a fool without risk."
-from the distant walls of viterbo, the guards called the hours to one another. their long-drawn cries echoed against the stone building fronts.
-"what did you mean, think about what she told me?"
-friar mathieu sighed. "rachel said that sophia told her after they left orvieto she would not have to stay with tilia caballo anymore. rachel was not at caballo's of her own free will. and you may have noticed that when i suggested that sophia sent her there, she did not deny it."
-simon felt another rush of anger at friar mathieu for trying to make him believe evil of sophia. "are you saying that sophia forced that girl into a brothel? father, sophia is too much of an innocent to be a party to anything like that."
-but he remembered that moment of deepest intimacy they had shared last autumn outside perugia, the moment he had delighted in reliving thousands of times. she had surprised him with the suddenness of her passion, with the swift, sure way she had guided him into taking her and had taken pleasure from him. of course, he had thought, she would know what to do. she had been married. but surely a chaste widow who had known only one man in her life would have shown some hesitation, some timidity, some inner struggle?
-simon felt rage building up within him. he hated these doubts. he wanted to lash out at someone.
-friar mathieu's voice came to him again, mild but inexorable. "rachel said she asked sophia to take her back to ugolini's. rachel must have lived at ugolini's when she first came to orvieto. if you say that sophia could not have been the one who put rachel in caballo's house, i accept it. but ugolini could have. or david of trebizond."
-"you will drive me mad. stop going step by step like a schoolman. of what are you accusing sophia?"
-only his reverence for friar mathieu kept him from shaking the old priest.
-friar mathieu patted simon's knee. "i am going step by step because i myself am trying to think this out. and i want to be sure, for your sake. rachel knew something, or had learned something. so they put her in caballo's brothel for safekeeping."
-"ugolini. david of trebizond. and sophia, at the very least, must have known the reason, or she would not agree to let rachel go to the brothel. if sophia knew so much, then perhaps--i say perhaps--she knew more about ugolini and david and their dealings than she admitted to you. i keep thinking of that night at the palazzo monaldeschi when she drew you to the atrium, conveniently for david of trebizond, who was goading the tartars into publicly embarrassing themselves. was she as uninvolved then as she led you to believe?"
-each of friar mathieu's sentences was another dagger blow, plunging deep into simon, sending agony through him, the sharp point searching out his heart.
-friar mathieu was proceeding in the same painstaking way he had probed alain's body until he discovered what killed him. alain, whose murderer had never been found, who had died outside ugolini's mansion.
-alain! oh, my god! could she have known how he was killed?
-what had really been happening at ugolini's mansion?
-simon bent double, digging his fingers into his skull. his head might burst apart if he did not hold it tightly. could all the love he thought he had found in her be a lie? could she be an enemy?
-"you are destroying my life," he muttered, his hands over his face.
-he felt the light touch of the old man's hand on his shoulder. "when a leg wound festers, the surgeon has to cut the leg off to save the man's life."
-and the old soldiers tell me the man always dies anyway, simon thought bitterly.
-"i am doing this not just for you, simon," friar mathieu went on. "there was a secret war being waged in orvieto to prevent us from allying ourselves with the tartars. the person behind it was probably king manfred of sicily, who wants to keep charles d'anjou out of italy. ugolini was manfred's agent. and sophia may have been ugolini's weapon
-the colonial architecture of philadelphia
-the colonial architecture of philadelphia
-frank cousins and phil m. riley
-little, brown, and company
-by little, brown, and company.
-all rights reserved
-so many books have been published which are devoted wholly or in part to the fine old colonial residences and public buildings of philadelphia, including germantown, that it might seem almost the part of temerity to suppose there could be a place for another one. a survey of the entire list, however, discloses the fact that almost without exception these books are devoted primarily to a picture of the city in colonial times, to the stories of its old houses and other buildings now remaining, or to an account of the activities of those who peopled them from one to two centuries ago. some more or less complete description of the structures mentioned has occasionally been included, to be sure, but almost invariably this has been subordinate to the main theme. the narrative has been woven upon a historical rather than an architectural background, so that these books appeal to the tourist, historian and antiquary rather than to the architect, student and prospective home builder.
-interesting as was the provincial life of this community; absorbing as are the reminiscences attaching to its well-known early buildings; important as were the activities of those who made them part and parcel of our national life, the colonial architecture of this vicinity is in itself a priceless heritage--extensive, meritorious, substantial, distinctive. it is a heritage not only of local but of national interest, deserving detailed description, analysis and comparison in a book which includes historic facts only to lend true local color and impart human interest to the narrative, to indicate the sources of affluence and culture which aided so materially in developing this architecture, and to describe the life and manners of the time which determined its design and arrangement. such a book the authors have sought to make the present volume, and both mr. riley in writing the text and mr. cousins in illustrating it have been actuated primarily by architectural rather than historic values, although in most instances worthy of inclusion the two are inseparable.
-for much of the historic data the authors acknowledge their indebtedness to the authors of previous philadelphia books, notably "philadelphia, the city and its people" and "the literary history of philadelphia", ellis paxon oberholtzer; "old roads out of philadelphia" and "the romance of old philadelphia", john thomson faris; "the history of philadelphia" and "historic mansions of philadelphia", t. westcott; "the colonial homes of philadelphia and its neighborhood", harold donaldson eberlein and horace mather lippincott; "colonial mansions ", thomas allen glenn; "the guide book to historic germantown", charles francis jenkens; "germantown road and its associations", townsend ward. ph. b. wallace, of philadelphia, photographed some of the best subjects.
-the original boundaries of philadelphia remained unchanged for one hundred and seventy-five years after the founding of the city, the adjoining territory, as it became populated, being erected into corporated districts in the following order: southwark, 1762; northern liberties, 1771; moyamensing, 1812; spring garden, 1813; kensington, 1820; penn, 1844; richmond, 1847; west philadelphia, 1851; and belmont, 1853. in 1854 all these districts, together with the boroughs of germantown, frankford, manayunk, white hall, bridesburg and aramingo, and the townships of passyunk, blockley, kingsessing, roxborough, germantown, bristol, oxford, lower dublin, moreland, byberry, delaware and penn were abolished by an act of the state legislature, and the boundaries of the city of philadelphia were extended to the philadelphia county lines.
-such of these outlying communities as had been settled prior to the revolution were closely related to philadelphia by common interests, a common provincial government and a common architecture. for these reasons, therefore, it seems more logical that this treatise devoted to the colonial architecture of the first capitol of the united states should embrace the greater city of the present day rather than confine itself to the city proper of colonial times. otherwise it would be a problem where to draw the line, and much of value would be omitted. the wealth of material thus comprehended is so great, however, that it is impossible in a single book of ordinary size to include more than a fractional part of it. an attempt has therefore been made to present an adequate number of representative types chosen with careful regard, first, to their architectural merit, and second, to their historic interest. exigencies of space are thus the only reason for the omission of numerous excellent houses without historic association and others rich in history but deficient in architecture.
-frank cousins and phil m. riley.
-list of plates
-the colonial architecture of philadelphia
-philadelphia occupies a unique position in american architecture. few of the early settled cities of the united states can boast so extensive or so notable a collection of dwellings and public buildings in the so-called colonial style, many of them under auspices that insure their indefinite perpetuation. these beautiful old structures are almost exclusively of brick and stone and of a more elaborate and substantial character than any contemporary work to be found above the mason and dixon line which later became in part the boundary between the north and the south. erected and occupied by the leading men of substance of the province of pennsylvania, the fine old countryseats, town residences and public buildings of the "city of brotherly love" not only comprise a priceless architectural inheritance, but the glamour of their historic association renders them almost national monuments, and so object lessons of material assistance in keeping alive the spirit and ideals of true americanism.
-much of the best colonial domestic architecture in america is to be found in this vicinity, a great deal of it still standing in virtually its pristine condition as enduring memorials of the most elegant period in colonial life. just as men have personality, so houses have individuality. and as the latter is but a reflection of the former, a study of the architecture of any neighborhood gives us a more intimate knowledge of contemporary life and manners, while the history of the homes of prominent personages is usually the history of the community. such a study is the more interesting in the present instance, however, in that not merely local but national history was enacted within the colonial residences and public buildings of old philadelphia. men prominent in historic incidents of colonial times which profoundly affected the destiny of the country lived in philadelphia. the fathers of the american nation were familiar figures on the streets of the city, and philadelphians in their native city wrote their names large in american history.
-philadelphia was not settled until approximately half a century later than the other early centers of the north,--plymouth, new york, salem, boston and providence. georgian architecture had completely won the approval of the english people, and so it was that few if any buildings showing elizabethan and jacobean influences were erected here as in new england. although several other nationalities were from the first represented in the population, notably the swedish, dutch and german, the british were always in the majority, and while a few old houses, especially those with plastered walls, have a slightly continental atmosphere, all are essentially georgian or pure colonial in design and detail.
-to understand how this remarkable collection of colonial architecture came into being, and to appreciate what it means to us, it is necessary briefly to review the early history of philadelphia. although some small trading posts had been established by the swedes and dutch in the lower valley of the delaware river from 1623 onward, it was not until 1682 that philadelphia was settled under a charter which william penn obtained from charles ii the previous year, providing a place of refuge for quakers who were suffering persecution in england under the "clarendon code." the site was chosen by penn's commission, consisting of nathaniel allen, john bezan and william heage, assisted by penn's cousin, captain william markham, as deputy governor, and thomas holme as surveyor-general. the swedes had established a settlement at the mouth of the schuylkill river not later than 1643, and the site selected by the commissioners was held by three brothers of the swaenson family. they agreed, however, to take in exchange land in what is now known as the northern liberties, and in the summer of 1682, holme laid out the city extending from the delaware river on the east to the schuylkill river on the west--a distance of about two miles--and from vine street on the north to cedar, now south street, on the south,--a distance of about one mile. penn landed at new castle on the delaware, october 27, 1682, and probably came to his newly founded city soon afterward. a meeting of the provincial council was held march 10, 1683, and from that time philadelphia was the capital of pennsylvania until 1799, when lancaster was chosen.
-not only did penn obtain a grant of land possessed of rare and diversified natural beauty, extreme fertility, mineral wealth and richness of all kinds, but he showed great sagacity in encouraging ambitious men of education and affluence, and artisans of skill and taste in many lines, to colonize it. to these facts are due the quick prosperity which came to philadelphia and which has made it to this day one of the foremost manufacturing centers in the united states. textile, foundry and many other industries soon sprang up to supply the wants of these diligent people three thousand miles from the mother country and to provide a basis of trade with the rest of the world. shipyards were established and a merchant marine built up which soon brought to philadelphia a foreign and coastwise commerce second to none in the american colonies. local merchants engaged in trade with europe and the west indies, and these profitable ventures soon brought great affluence and a high degree of culture. by the time of the revolution philadelphia had become the largest, richest, most extravagant and fashionable city of the american colonies. society was gayer, more polished and distinguished than anywhere else this side of the atlantic.
-among the skilled artisans attracted by the promise of penn's "sylvania" were numerous carpenters and builders. penn induced james portius to come to the new world to design and execute his proprietary buildings, and portius was accompanied and followed by others of more or less skill in the same and allied trades. while some of the building materials and parts of the finished woodwork were for a time brought from england, local skill and resources were soon equal to the demands, as much of their handiwork still existing amply shows. as early as 1724 the master carpenters of the city organized the carpenters' company, a guild patterned after the worshipful company of carpenters of london, founded in 1477. portius was one of the leading members, and on his death in 1736 laid the foundation of a valuable builders' library by giving his rare collection of early architectural books to the company.
-toward the middle of the eighteenth century american carpenters and builders everywhere, philadelphia included, were materially aided by the appearance of handy little ready reference books of directions for joinery containing measured drawings with excellent georgian detail. such publications became the fountainhead of colonial design. they taught our local craftsmen the technique of building and the art of proportion; instilled in their minds an appreciation of classic motives and the desire to adapt the spirit of the renaissance to their own needs and purposes. in those days some knowledge of architecture was considered essential to every gentleman's education, and with the aid of these builders' reference books many men in other professions throughout the country became amateur architects of no mean ability as a pastime. in and about philadelphia their georgian adaptations, often tempered to a degree by the quaker preference for the simple and practical, contributed much to the charm and distinction of local architecture. to such amateur architects we owe independence hall, designed by andrew hamilton, speaker of the pennsylvania assembly, and christ church, designed mainly by doctor john kearsley.
-during the whole of the eighteenth century philadelphia was the most important city commercially, politically and socially in the american colonies. for this there were several reasons. owing to its liberal government and its policy of religious toleration, philadelphia and the outlying districts gradually became a refuge for european immigrants of various persecuted sects. nowhere else in america was such a heterogeneous mixture of races and religions to be found. there were swedes, dutch, english, germans, welsh, irish and scotch-irish; quakers, presbyterians, episcopalians, catholics, reformed lutherans, mennonites, dunkers, schwenkfelders and moravians. until the seven years' war between france and england from 1756 to 1763 the quakers dominated the pennsylvania government, and quaker influence remained strong in philadelphia long after it had given way to that of the more belligerent scotch-irish, mostly presbyterians, in the rest of pennsylvania, until the failure of the whiskey insurrection in 1794. this scotch-irish ascendancy was due not only to their increasing numbers, but to the increasing general dissatisfaction with the quaker failure to provide for the defense of the province. the penns lost their governmental rights in 1776 and three years later had their territorial rights vested in the commonwealth.
-its central location among the american colonies, and the fact that it was the largest and most successful of the proprietary provinces, rendered pennsylvania's attitude in the struggle with the mother country during the revolution of vital importance. the british party was made strong by the loyalty of the large church of england element, the policy of neutrality adopted by the quakers, dunkers and mennonites, and the general satisfaction felt toward the free and liberal government of the province, which had been won gradually without such reverses as had embittered the people of massachusetts and some of the other british provinces. the whig party was successful, however, and pennsylvania contributed very materially to the success of the war of independence, by the important services of her statesmen, by her efficient troops and by the financial aid rendered by robert morris, founder of the bank of north america, the oldest financial institution in the united states.
-meanwhile philadelphia became the very center of the new republic in embryo. the first continental congress met in carpenters' hall on september 5, 1774; the second continental congress in the old state house, now known as independence hall, on may 10, 1775; and throughout the revolution, except from september 26, 1777, to june 18, 1778, when it was occupied by the british, and the congress met in lancaster and york, pennsylvania, and then in princeton, new jersey, philadelphia was virtually the capital of the american colonies and socially the most brilliant city in the country.
-in philadelphia the second continental congress adopted the declaration of independence, which the whole pennsylvania delegation except franklin regarded as premature, but which was afterward well supported by the state. the national convention which framed the constitution of the united states sat in philadelphia in 1787, and from 1790 to 1800, when the seat of government was moved to washington, philadelphia was the national capital. here the first bank in the colonies, the bank of north america, was opened in 1781, and here the first mint for the coinage of united states money was established in 1792. here benjamin franklin and david rittenhouse made their great contributions to science, and here on september 19, 1796, washington delivered his farewell address to the people of the united states. here lived robert morris, who managed the finances of the revolution, stephen girard of the war of 1812 and jay cooke of the civil war.
-not only in politics, but in art, science, the drama and most fields of progress philadelphia took the lead in america for more than a century and a half after its founding. here was established the first public school in 1689; the first paper mill in 1690; the first botanical garden in 1728; the first masonic lodge in 1730; the first subscription library in 1731; the first volunteer fire company in 1736; the first magazine published by franklin in 1741; the first american philosophical society in 1743; the first religious magazine in 1746; the first medical school in 1751; the first fire insurance company in 1752; the first theater in 1759; the first school of anatomy in 1762; the first american dispensary in 1786; the first water works in 1799; the first zoölogical museum in 1802; the first american art school in 1805; the first academy of natural sciences in 1812; the first school for training teachers in 1818; the first american building and loan association in 1831; the first american numismatic society in 1858. from the germantown friends' meeting, headed by francis daniel pastorius, came in 1688 the first protest against slavery in this country. in philadelphia was published the first american medical book in 1740; here was given the first shakespearean performance in this country in 1749; the first lightning rod was erected here in 1752; from philadelphia the first american arctic expedition set forth in 1755; on the schuylkill river in 1773 were made the first steamboat experiments; the earliest abolition society in the world was organized here in 1774; the first american piano was built here in 1775; here in 1789 the protestant episcopal church was formally established in the united states; the first carriage in the world propelled by steam was built here in 1804; the oldest american playhouse now in existence was built here in 1808; the first american locomotive, "ironsides", was built here in 1827; and the first daguerreotype of the human face was made here in 1839. the bible and testament, shakespeare, milton and blackstone were printed for the first time in america in philadelphia, and thackeray's first book originally appeared here.
-during the latter half of the eighteenth century philadelphia became noted throughout the american colonies for its generous hospitality of every sort, and this trait was reflected in the domestic architecture of the period, which was usually designed with that object in view. for the brilliance of its social life there were several reasons. above all, it was the character of an ever-increasing number of inhabitants asserting itself. moreover, the tendency was aided by the fact that as the largest, most important and most central city in the colonies, it became the meeting place for delegates from all the colonies to discuss common problems, and therefore it was incumbent upon philadelphians to entertain the visitors. and this they did with a lavish hand. from the visit of the virginia commissioners in 1744 until the seat of the united states government was moved to washington in 1790, every meeting of men prominent in political life was the occasion of much eating, drinking and conviviality in the best philadelphia homes and also in the inns, where it was the custom of that day to entertain considerably. the old red lion inn at north second and noble streets, a picturesque gambrel-roof structure of brick with a lean-to porch along the front, is an interesting survival of the inns and taverns of colonial days, as was also the old mermaid inn in mount airy, until torn down not long ago. at such gatherings were represented the most brilliant minds this side of the atlantic, and scintillating wit and humor enlivened the festive board, as contrasted with the bitter religious discussions which had characterized american gatherings in the preceding century when tolerance had not been so broad.
-but the brilliancy of social life in philadelphia was by no means confined to the entertainment of visitors. despite its importance, philadelphia was a relatively small place in those days. everybody knew everybody else of consequence, and social exchanges were inevitable among people of wealth and culture, prominent in public life and successful in commerce, of whom there were a larger number than in any other american city. while there were two separate and distinct social sets, the staid and sober quakers and the gay "world's people", they were ever being drawn more closely together. the early severity of the quakers had been greatly tempered by the increasing worldly influences about them. they were among the richest inhabitants and prominent in the government, holding the majority in the house of assembly. this brought them into constant association with and under the influence of men in public life elsewhere, demonstrating the fact that, like the "world's people", they dearly loved eating and drinking. one has but to peruse some of the old diaries of prominent friends which are still in existence to see that they occasionally "gormandized to the verge of gluttony", and even got "decently drunk."
-toward the outbreak of the revolution, life among most quakers had ceased to be as strict and monotonous as many have supposed. there were fox hunting, horse racing, assembly dances, barbecues, cider frolics, turtle and other dinners, tea parties and punch drinking, both under private auspices and among the activities of such clubs as the colony in schuylkill and the gloucester fox hunting club, in which the first city troop originated. at the time of monthly, quarterly and yearly meetings whole families of friends often visited other families for several days at a time, a custom which became an important element in the social intercourse of the province.
-cock fighting and bull baiting were among the frequent pastimes of philadelphians, although frowned upon by the strict quaker element. the same was true of theatrical entertainments, which began in 1754 and continued occasionally thereafter. following the first shakespearean performance in america at philadelphia in 1749, a storehouse on water street near pine street, belonging to william plumstead, was fitted up as a theater, and in april, 1754, the drama was really introduced to philadelphia by a series of plays given by william hallam's old american company. in 1759 the first theater in philadelphia purposely erected for the exhibition of plays was built at the southwest corner of vernon and south (then cedar) streets, and was opened by david douglass, the manager of the company started by hallam. a few years later, in 1766, was built the old southwark or south street theater in south street above fourth, where major john andré and captain john peter de lancy acted during the british occupation of the city, and which after twenty years of illegal existence was opened "by authority" in 1789. none of these now remains, but the walnut street theater, erected in 1808, is said to be the oldest playhouse in the united states.
-taking all these facts into consideration, it is not surprising that, except for some of the earliest houses now remaining and others built with less ample fortunes, little difference is distinguishable between the homes of quakers and "world's people", and that the distinctive characteristics of the colonial architecture of philadelphia are more or less common to all buildings of the period.
-shortly after the revolution the built-up portion of the city was bounded by the delaware river on the east and seventh street on the west, and by poplar street on the north and christian street on the south. while houses in blocks were the rule, numerous unoccupied lots made many trees and gardens in the rear and at the sides of detached houses quite common. this was regarded as not entirely sufficient by the wealthier families, which considered country living essential to health, comfort and pleasure, and so maintained two establishments,--a town house for winter occupancy and a countryseat as a summer retreat. others desiring to live more nearly in the manner of their english forbears in the mother country chose to make an elaborate countryseat their year-round place of residence. thus the surrounding countryside--but especially to the northwestward along the high, wooded banks of the schuylkill river and wissahickon creek--became a community of great estates with elegant country houses which have no parallel in america other than the manorial estates along the james river in virginia. the philadelphia of to-day, therefore, has not only a distinctive architecture in its brick, stone and woodwork, but a diversified architecture embracing both the city and country types of design and construction.
-georgian country houses of brick
-throughout the colonial period, and to a degree during the early years of the american nation, philadelphia clung to the manners and customs of the mother country as did few other communities in the new world. in architecture, therefore, it is not surprising to find the oldest houses and public buildings of the american metropolis of those days reflecting the tendencies of the times across the water. wood had already ceased to be a cheap building material in england, and although it was abundantly available in america, brick and stone were thought necessary for the better homes, despite the fact that for some years, until sources of clay and limestone were found, bricks and lime for making mortar had to be brought at great expense from overseas. so we find that in 1683, the year following the founding of the "city of brotherly love", william penn erected for his daughter letitia the first brick house in the town, which was for several years occupied by penn and his family. it was located in letitia court, a small street running from market to chestnut streets between front and second streets. although of little architectural value, it was of great historic interest, and when in 1883 the encroachments of the wholesale district threatened to destroy it, the house was removed to fairmount park by the city and rebuilt on lansdowne drive west of the girard avenue bridge. it is open to the public and contains numerous penn relics.
-thus from the very outset brick construction has been favored in preference to wood in philadelphia. homes in the city proper were built of it chiefly, and likewise many of the elegant countryseats in the neighboring townships, now part of the greater philadelphia of to-day. the wealthier residents very early set the fashion of both city and country living, following in this custom the example of william penn, the founder, who not only had his house in town, but a country place, a veritable mansion, long since gone, on an island in the delaware river above bristol.
-british builders had forsaken the jacobean manner of the early renaissance and come completely under the spell of the english classic or so-called georgian style. correspondingly, american men of means were erecting country houses of brick, with ornamental trim classic in detail, and of marble and white-painted wood. marked by solidity, spaciousness and quiet dignity, they are thoroughly georgian in conception, and as such reminiscent of the manorial seats of virginia, yet less stately and in various respects peculiar to this section of the colonies. like the bricks, the elaborate interior woodwork was at first brought from overseas, but later produced by resident artisans of whom there was an ever increasing number of no mean order.
-almost without exception the colonial brickwork of philadelphia was laid up with wide mortar joints in flemish bond, red stretcher and black header bricks alternating in the same course. the arrangement not only imparts a delightful warmth and pleasing texture, but the headers provide frequent transverse ties, giving great strength to the wall. with this rich background the enlivening contrast of marble lintels and sills and white-painted wood trim, in which paneled shutters play a prominent part, form a picture of rare charm, rendered all the more satisfying by an appearance of obvious comfort, permanence and intrinsic worth which wood construction, however good, cannot convey.
-many of the splendid old pre-revolutionary country houses of brick no longer remain to us. some are gone altogether; others are remodeled almost beyond recognition; a few, hedged around by the growing city, have been allowed to fall into a state of hopeless decay. woodford, however, located in the northern liberties, fairmount park, at york and thirty-third streets, is fairly representative of the type of georgian countryseat of brick, so many of which were erected in the suburbs of philadelphia about the middle of the eighteenth century.
-it is a large square structure, two and a half stories in height, with a hipped roof rising above a handsome cornice with prominent modillions and surmounted by a balustraded belvedere. two large chimneys, much nearer together than is ordinarily the case, emerge within the inclosed area of the belvedere deck. a heavy pediment springs from the cornice above the pedimental doorway, and this repetition of the motive imparts a pleasing interest and emphasis to the façade. the subordinate cornice at the second-floor level is most unusual and may perhaps reflect the influence of the penthouse roof which became such a characteristic feature of the ledge stone work of the neighborhood. few houses have the brick pilaster treatment at the corners with corresponding cornice projections which enrich the ornamental trim. six broad soapstone steps with a simple wrought-iron handrail at either side lead up to a fine doorway, tuscan in spirit, with high narrow doors. above, a beautiful palladian window is one of the best features of the façade. an interesting fenestration scheme, with paneled shutters at the lower windows only, is enhanced by the pleasing scale of twelve-paned upper and lower window sashes having broad white muntins throughout.
-opening the front door, one finds himself in a wide hall with doorways giving entrance to large front rooms on each side. beyond, a beautifully detailed arch supported by pilasters spans the hall. the stairway is located near the center of the house in a hall to one side of the main hall and reached from it through a side door. interior woodwork of good design and workmanship everywhere greets the eye, especially noticeable features being the rounding cornices, heavy wainscots and the floors an inch and a half in thickness and doweled together. each room has a fireplace with ornamental iron back, a hearth of square bricks and a well-designed wood mantel. in the south front room blue tiles depicting elizabethan knights and their ladies surround the fireplace opening. brass handles instead of door knobs lend distinction to the hardware.
-woodford was erected in 1766 by william coleman, a successful merchant, eminent jurist and a friend of franklin. he was a member of the common council in 1739, justice of the peace and judge of the county courts in 1751 and judge of the supreme court of pennsylvania from 1759 until his death ten years later.
-coleman's executors sold the place to alexander barclay, comptroller of his majesty's customs at philadelphia, and the grandson of robert barclay of ury, the noted quaker theologian and "apologist."
-on barclay's death in 1771, woodford became the home of david franks, a wealthy jewish merchant and one of the signers of the non-importation resolutions of 1765 by which a large body of leading american merchants agreed "not to have any goods shipped from great britain until after the repeal of the stamp act." he was prominent both socially and politically, a member of the provincial assembly in 1748 and the register of wills. prior to the outbreak of the revolution, he was the agent of the crown in philadelphia and was then made commissary of the british prisoners in the american lines. in 1778, however, he was arrested by general benedict arnold for attempting to transmit a letter harmful to the american cause, deprived of his commission and property, and obliged to remove to new york two years later.
-one of franks' daughters, abigail, married andrew hamilton of the woodlands, afterwards attorney-general of pennsylvania. another daughter, rebecca, married general sir henry johnson, who was defeated and captured by general anthony wayne at stony point. rebecca franks was one of the most beautiful and brilliant women of her day. well educated, a gifted writer and fascinating conversationalist, witty and winsome, she was popular in society and one of the belles of the celebrated "mischianza", which was given may 18, 1778, by the british officers in honor of general lord howe upon his departure for england. this was a feast of gayety with a tournament somewhat like those common in the age of chivalry, and was planned largely by major john andré, who was later hanged by order of an american military commission for his connection with the treason of general benedict arnold.
-following the confiscation of franks' property in 1780, woodford was sold to thomas paschall, a friend of franklin. later it was occupied for a time by william lewis, a noted advocate, and in 1793 was bought by isaac wharton, son of joseph wharton, owner of walnut grove in southwark at about fifth street and walnut avenue, where the "mischianza" was held. a son, francis rawle wharton, inherited the place on his father's death in 1798 and was the last private owner. in 1868 the estate was made part of fairmount park, and since 1887 it has been used as a guardhouse.
-a country house typical of the time, though unlike most other contemporary buildings in the details of its construction, is hope lodge in whitemarsh valley on the bethlehem pike just north of its junction with the skippack pike. it is thoroughly georgian in conception, and most of the materials, including all of the wood finish, were brought from england. the place reached a deplorable state of decay several years ago, yet the accompanying photograph shows enough remaining to be of considerable architectural interest.
-it is a large, square house two and a half stories high, its hipped roof broken by handsome pedimental dormers with round-topped windows. the front is of brick laid up in characteristic flemish bond, while the other walls are of plastered rubble stone masonry, the brickwork and stonework being quoined together at the front corners. a broad plaster coving is the principal feature of the simple molded cornice, and one notes the much used double belt formed by two projecting courses of brick at the second-floor level. the fenestration differs in several respects from that of similar houses erected a quarter century later. the arrangement of the ranging windows is quite conventional, but instead of marble lintels above them there are nicely gauged flat brick arches, while the basement windows are set in openings beneath segmental relieving arches with brick cores. the latter are reflected in effect by the recessed elliptical arches above all the windows in the walls of plastered rubble masonry. the windows themselves, with nine-paned upper and lower sashes having unusually heavy muntins, likewise the shutters on the lower story and the heavy paneled doors, are higher and narrower than was the rule a few years later. the entrance, with its characteristic double doors, is reached by a porch and four stone steps, its low hip roof with molded cornice being supported by two curious, square, tapering columns. porches were an unusual circumstance in the neighborhood, and this one is so unlike any others of colonial times which are worthy of note as to suggest its having been a subsequent addition. above, a round-arched recess with projecting brick sill replaces the conventional palladian window.
-indoors, an exceptionally wide hall extends entirely through the house from front to back, opening into spacious rooms on both sides through round-topped doorways with narrow double doors heavily paneled. an elliptical arch supported by fluted pilasters spans the hall about midway of its length, and a handsome staircase ascends laterally from the rear part after the common english manner of that day. throughout the house the woodwork is of good design and execution, the paneled wainscots, molded cornices, door and window casings all being very heavy, and the broad fireplaces and massive chimney pieces in complete accord. deep paneled window seats, very common in contemporary houses, are a feature of the first-floor rooms. the kitchens and the servants' quarters are located in a separate building to the rear, a brick-paved porch connecting the two. this custom, as in the south, was characteristic of the locality and period.
-hope lodge was erected in 1723 by samuel morris, a quaker of welsh descent, who was a justice of the peace in whitemarsh and an overseer of plymouth meeting. morris built it expecting to marry a young englishwoman to whom he had become affianced while on a visit to england with his mother, susanna heath, who was a prominent minister among the friends. the wedding did not occur, however, and samuel morris died a bachelor in 1772, leaving his estate to his brother joshua, who sold hope lodge in 1776 to william west. in 1784 west's executors conveyed it to the life interest of colonel james horatio watmough with a reversion to his guardian, henry hope, a banker. it was colonel watmough who named the place hope lodge as a compliment to his guardian. one of his daughters married joseph reed, son of general joseph reed, and another married john sargent, the famous lawyer. both the reeds and sargents occupied hope lodge at various times, and it eventually passed into the wentz family.
-no other colonial country house of brick that now remains holds an interest, either architectural or historic, quite equal to that of stenton, which stands among fine old oaks, pines and hemlocks in a six-acre park, all that now remains of an estate of five hundred acres located on germantown avenue on the outskirts of germantown near the wayne junction railroad station. one of the earliest and most pretentious countryseats of the neighborhood, it combines heavy construction and substantial appearance with a picturesque charm that is rare in buildings of such early origin. this is due in part to the brightening effect of the fenestration, with many small-paned windows set in white-painted molded frames, and quite as much to the slender trellises between the lower-story windows supporting vines which have spread over the brickwork above in the most fascinating manner. both features impart a lighter sense of scale, while the profusion of white wood trim emphasizes more noticeably the delightful color and texture of the brickwork.
-the house is a great, square, hip-roofed structure two and a half stories high with two large square chimneys and severely plain pedimental dormers. servants' quarters, kitchens and greenhouses are located in a separate gable-roof structure a story and a half high, extending back more than a hundred feet from the main house, and connected with it by a covered porch along the back. in the kitchen the brick oven, the copper boiler and the fireplace with its crane still remain.
-the walls of the house consist of characteristic brickwork of red stretchers and black headers laid up in flemish bond, with square piers at the front corners and on each side of the entrance, and there is the more or less customary projecting belt at the second-floor level. on the second story the windows are set close up under the heavy overhanging cornice, with its prominent modillions, while on the lower story there are relieving arches with cores of brick instead of stone lintels so common on houses a few decades later. there are similar arches over the barred basement windows set in brick-lined areaways. interesting indeed is the scheme of fenestration. although formal and symmetrical on the front, the windows piercing the other walls frankly correspond to the interior floor plan, although ranging for the most part. unlike the usual arrangement, there are two widely spaced windows above the entrance, while the narrow flanking windows either side of the doorway may be regarded as one of the earliest instances of side lights in american architecture. the severely simple entrance with its high narrow paneled doors without either knob or latch is reached from a brick-paved walk about the house by three semicircular stone steps such as were common in england at the time, the various nicely hewn pieces fastened securely together with iron bands.
-the front door opens into a large square hall with a brick-paved floor and walls wainscoted to the ceiling with white-painted wood paneling. there is a fireplace on the right, and beyond an archway in the rear a staircase ascends to the second floor. to the right of the hall is the parlor, also with paneled walls, and a fireplace surrounded by pink tiles. in the wainscoted room back of this the sliding top of a closet offers opportunity for a person to conceal himself and listen through a small hole to the conversation in the adjoining hall. to the left of the hall is the dining room, beautifully wainscoted and having a built-in cupboard for china and a fireplace faced with blue tiles. the iron fireback bears the inscription "j. l. 1728." back of this through a passageway is a small breakfast room, whence an underground passage for use during storms or sieges leads from a trap door in the floor to the barns.
-the second-story floor plan is most unusual. the library, a great long room, extends entirely across the front of the house, with its range of six windows and two fireplaces on the opposite wall, one faced with blue tiles and the other with white. here, with the finest private collection of books in america at that time, the scholarly owner spent his declining years, the library going to the city of philadelphia on his death. two small bedrooms, each with a fireplace, were occupied by his daughters. a little back staircase leads to the third floor, where the woodwork of the chambers was unpainted.
-stenton was erected in 1728 by james logan, a scholar, philosopher, man of affairs, the secretary and later the personal representative of william penn, the founder, and afterwards chief justice of the colony. descended from a noble scottish family, his father a clergyman and teacher who joined the society of friends in 1761, james logan himself was for a time a teacher in london, but soon engaged in the shipping trade. in 1699 he came to america with william penn as his secretary, and on penn's return to england he was left in charge of the province. thereafter logan became a very important personage, much liked and fully trusted by all who knew him, including the indians, with whom he maintained friendly relations. for half a century he was a mighty factor in provincial affairs, and to read his life is to read the history of pennsylvania for that period, for he was chief justice, provincial secretary, commissioner of property, surveyor-general and president of the council. his ample fortune, amassed in commerce with edward shippen, in trade with the indians, and by the purchase and sale of lands, enabled him to live and entertain at stenton in a princely manner many distinguished american and european personages of that day.
-when logan died in 1751, he was succeeded by his son william, who continued faithful to the proprietary interests and carried on the indian work. his son, doctor george logan, was the next proprietor during the revolutionary period. educated in england and scotland, he traveled extensively in europe; after his return to america he became a member of the agricultural and philosophical societies and was elected a senator from pennsylvania from 1801 to 1807.
-during doctor logan's occupancy washington, jefferson, franklin and many other distinguished american and european personages were entertained at stenton. it was washington's headquarters on august 23, 1777, while he was on his way to the brandywine from hartsville. ten years later, on july 8, 1787, he came again as president of the constitutional convention, then sitting in philadelphia, to see a demonstration of land plaster on grass land that had been made by doctor logan.
-sir william howe occupied stenton as his headquarters during the battle of germantown, october 4, 1777, and on november 22 ordered it destroyed, along with the homes of other "obnoxious persons." the story of its narrow escape is interesting. two dragoons came to fire it. meeting a negro woman on their way to the barn for straw, they told her she might remove the bedding and clothing. meanwhile a british officer and several men happened along, inquiring for deserters, whereupon the negro servant with ready wit said that two were hiding in the barn. despite their protests, the men were carried away and the house was saved, as the order to fire it was not repeated.
-after doctor logan's death in 1821, stenton was occupied by his widow, deborah logan, until her death in 1839, when it passed to her son albanus, an agriculturalist and sportsman. his son gustavus was the last private owner, as the house was acquired by the city and occupied as their headquarters by the colonial dames, the descendants of the logan family removing to loudoun near by.
-no account of the colonial houses of philadelphia would be reasonably complete which failed to include the home of stephen girard. although of scant architectural distinction, it is of interest through its association with one of the chief outstanding figures of a city noted for its celebrated residents. it is a two-story hip-roofed structure, rather narrow but of exceptional length, taking the form of two plaster-walled wings on opposite sides of a central portion of brick having a pediment springing from the main cornice and a circular, ornamental window. as at hope lodge a broad plaster coving is the principal feature of the simple cornice. the windows and chimneys differ in various parts of the house, and the doors are strangely located, all suggesting alterations and additions. the central part of the house has casement sashes with blinds as contrasted with georgian sashes with paneled shutters elsewhere, and all second-story windows are foreshortened.
-stephen girard, a wealthy and eccentric philadelphia merchant, financier, philanthropist and the founder of girard college, was born near bordeaux, france, in 1750, the son of a sea captain. he lost the sight of his right eye when eight years old and had only a meager education. beginning a seafaring life as a cabin boy, he in time became master and part owner of a small vessel trading between new york, new orleans and port au prince. in may, 1776, he was driven into the port of philadelphia by a british fleet and settled there as a merchant. gradually he built up a fleet of vessels trading with new orleans and the west indies, and by the close of the revolution, girard was one of the richest men of his time, and he used his wealth in numerous ways to benefit the nation and humanity. in 1810 he utilized about a million dollars deposited with the barings of london to purchase shares of the much depreciated stock of the bank of the united states, which materially assisted the government in bolstering european confidence in its securities. when the bank was not rechartered, girard bought the building and cashier's house for a third of their original cost, and in may, 1812, established the bank of stephen girard. in 1814, when the government needed money to bring the second conflict with england to a successful conclusion, he subscribed for about ninety-five per cent of the war loan of five million dollars, of which only twenty thousand dollars besides had been taken, and he generously offered to the public at par shares which, following his purchase, had gone to a premium.
-girard showed his public spirit personally as well as financially. during the yellow fever epidemic in philadelphia in 1793 and in 1797-1798 he took the lead in relieving the poor and caring for the sick. he volunteered to act as manager of the hospital at bush hill and with the assistance of peter helm he cleansed the place and systemized the work.
-on his death in 1831, girard's estate, the greatest private fortune in america, was valued at about seven and a half million dollars, and his philanthropy was again shown in his disposition of it. being without heirs, as his child had died soon after its birth and his beautiful wife had died after many years in an insane asylum, his heart went out to poor and orphan children. in his will he bequeathed $116,000 to various philadelphia charities; $500,000 to the city for improvement of the delaware river front, streets and buildings; $300,000 to pennsylvania for internal improvements, especially canals, and the bulk of the estate to philadelphia, chiefly for founding and maintaining a non-sectarian school or college, but also for providing a better police system, making municipal improvements and lessening taxation. the college was given for the support and education of poor white male orphans, of legitimate birth and character, between the ages of six and ten; and it was specified that no boy was to be permitted to stay after his eighteenth year, and that as regards admission, preference was to be shown, first to orphans born in philadelphia, second to orphans born in any other part of pennsylvania, third to orphans born in new york city, and fourth to orphans born in new orleans.
-work upon the buildings was begun in 1833, and the college was opened with five buildings in 1848. the central one, an imposing structure in the corinthian style of architecture designed by thomas ustick walter, has been called "the most perfect greek temple in existence." to it in 1851 were removed the remains of stephen girard and placed in a sarcophagus in the south vestibule. the college fund, originally $5,260,000, has grown to more than thirty-five million dollars; likewise the college has become virtually a village in itself. some twenty handsome buildings and residences, valued at about three and a half million dollars, and more than forty acres of land accommodate about two thousand students, teachers and employes.
-under the provisions of the girard trust fund nearly five hundred dwelling houses have been erected by the city in south philadelphia, all heated and lighted by a central plant operated by the trustees, and more than seventy million tons of coal have been mined on property belonging to his estate. few philanthropists have left their money so wisely or with such thoughtful provisions to meet changing conditions.
-port royal house was erected in 1762 by edward stiles, a wealthy merchant and shipowner, who like many others emigrated from bermuda to the bahama island of new providence and thence to philadelphia about the middle of the eighteenth century, to engage in american commerce. he was the great-grandson of john stiles, one of the first settlers of bermuda in 1635, and the son of daniel stiles, of port royal parish, a vestryman and warden of port royal church and a member of the assembly of bermuda in 1723. commerce between the american colonies and bermuda and the west indies was extensive, and stiles' business prospered. he had a store in front street between market and arch streets, and a town house in walnut street between third and fourth streets. in summer, like other men of his station and affluence, he lived at his countryseat, surrounded by many slaves, on an extensive plantation in oxford township, near frankford, that he had purchased from the waln family. to it he gave the name port royal after his birthplace in bermuda.
-to edward stiles in 1775 befell the opportunity to carry relief to the people of bermuda, then in dire distress because their supplies from america had been cut off by the non-importation agreement among the american colonies. in response to their petition to the continental congress, permission was granted to send stiles' ship, the sea nymph (samuel stobel, master), laden with provisions to be paid for by the people of bermuda either in gold or arms, ammunition, saltpeter, sulphur and fieldpieces.
-during the occupation of philadelphia by the british in 1777 and 1778, frankford became the middle ground between the opposing armies and subject to the depredations of both. port royal house, like many other estates of the vicinity, was robbed of its fine furniture, horses, slaves and provisions.
-under the will of edward stiles his slaves were freed and educated at the expense of his estate. in 1853 the lukens family bought port royal house and for several years a boarding school was conducted there. as the manufacturing about frankford grew, the locality lost its desirability as a place of residence. the house was abandoned to chance tenants and allowed to fall into an exceedingly delapidated condition. the accompanying photograph, however, depicts enough of its former state to indicate that in its day it was among the best brick country residences of the vicinity.
-city residences of brick
-as the city of philadelphia grew and became more densely populated, land values increased greatly, and the custom developed of building brick residences in blocks fronting directly on the street, the party walls being located on the side property lines. like the country houses already described, these were laid up in flemish bond with alternating red stretcher and black header bricks, and thus an entire block presented a straight, continuous wall, broken only by a remarkably regular scheme of doorways and fenestration, and varied only by slight differences in the detail of doors and windows, lintels, cornices and dormers. these plain two-or three-story brick dwellings in long rows, in street after street, with white marble steps and trimmings, green or white shutters, each intended for one family, have been perpetuated through the intervening years, and now as then form the dominant feature of the domestic architecture of the city proper.
-for the most part these were single-front houses, that is to say, the doorway was located to the right or left with two windows at one side, while on the stories above windows ranged with the doorway, making three windows across each story. there were exceptions, however, the so-called morris house at number 225 south eighth street being a notable example of a characteristic double-front house of the locality and period. they were gable-roof structures with high chimneys in the party walls, foreshortened, third-story windows and from one to three dormers piercing the roof.
-at the end of the block the wall was often carried up above the ridge between a pair of chimneys and terminated in a horizontal line, imparting greater stability to the chimney construction and lending an air of distinction to the whole house, which was further enhanced by locating the entrance directly beneath in the end wall rather than in the side of the building. the famous old wistar house at the southeast corner of fourth and locust streets is a case in point.
-pedimental dormers were the rule, sometimes with round-headed windows. elaborate molded wood cornices were a feature, often with prominent, even hand-tooled modillions. slightly projecting belts of brick courses, marble or other stone marked the floor levels, and keyed stone lintels were customary, although in some of the plainer houses the window frames were set between ordinary courses of brickwork, without decoration of any sort. most of the windows had either six-or nine-paned upper and lower sashes with third-story windows foreshortened in various ways. there were paneled shutters at the first-story windows and often on the second story as well, although blinds were sometimes used on the second story and rarely on the third. the high, deeply recessed doorways, with engaged columns or fluted pilasters supporting handsome entablatures or pediments, and beautifully paneled doors, often with a semicircular fanlight above, were characteristic of most philadelphia entrances. before them, occupying part of the sidewalk, was a single broad stone step, or at times a stoop consisting of a flight of three or four steps with a simple wrought-iron handrail, sometimes on both sides, but often on only one side. other common obstructions in the sidewalk were areaways at one or two basement windows and a rolling way with inclined double doors giving entrance from the street to the basement.
-many of these city residences were of almost palatial character, built by wealthy merchants and men in political life who thought it expedient to live near their wharves and countinghouses or within easy distance of the seats of city, provincial and later of national government. beautiful gardens occupied the backyards of many such dwellings, affording veritable oases in a desert of bricks and mortar, yet many of the more affluent citizens maintained countryseats along the schuylkill or elsewhere in addition to their town houses.
-the location of many of these early city dwellings of brick was such that as the city grew they became undesirable as places of residence. business encroached upon them more and more, so that, except for houses which have remained for generations in the same family or have historic interest sufficient to have brought about their preservation by the city, relatively few still remain in anything like their original condition. of the quaint two-and three-story dwellings of modest though delightfully distinctive character, which once lined the narrow streets and alleys, most have become squalid tenements and small alien stores, or else have been utilized for commercial purposes. to walk through combes alley and elfret alley is to sense what once was and to realize the trend of the times, but there is much material for study in these rapidly decaying old sections that repay a visit by the architect and student.
-happily, however, one of these typical little streets is to be perpetuated in something like its pristine condition. camac street, "the street of little clubs", has become one of the unique features of the city,--a typically american "latin quarter." to enter this little, narrow, rough-paved alley, running south from walnut street between twelfth and thirteenth streets, is like stepping back a century or more. the squatty little two and a half story houses with picturesque doorways and dormer windows have become the homes of numerous clubs representing the best art interests of the city. poor richard club, plastic club, sketch club, coin d'or and franklin inn are among the names to be seen painted on the signs beside the doors. the houses and their gardens in the rear have been restored and provide excellent club, exhibition and lecture rooms, at the same time preserving some fine examples of a rapidly passing type of early american architecture. would that a similar course might be taken by local societies in every large american city where a wealth of colonial architecture exists!
-among the fine old single-front houses of particular interest which have suffered through the encroachment of business upon the former residential sections of the city are the blackwell house, number 224 pine street, and the wharton house, number 336 spruce street.
-the former was in many respects the most elegant residence in philadelphia, built almost without regard to cost by a man of great wealth, whose taste and refinement called for luxurious living and a beautiful home. the interior woodwork surpassed in design and execution anything to be found elsewhere in the city. many of the doorways had fluted pilasters, heavily molded casings and carved broken pediments. the doors were of mahogany as was likewise the wainscoting of the staircases. the sides of the rooms where fireplaces were located were completely paneled to the ceiling, and above the fireplace openings were narrow panels on which were hunting scenes done in mastic. some years ago much of this beautiful woodwork was removed, and to-day, despoiled of its former architectural splendor, dingy and dilapidated, the shell of the building is used as a cigar factory.
-the house was built about 1765 by john stamper, a wealthy english merchant, who had been successively councilman, alderman and finally mayor of philadelphia in 1759. he bought the whole south side of pine street from second to third from the penns in 1761, and for many years the house was surrounded by a garden containing flowers, shrubs and fruit trees. later the house passed into the hands of stamper's son-in-law, william bingham, senior, and afterwards to bingham's son-in-law, the reverend doctor robert blackwell.
-doctor blackwell was the son of colonel jacob blackwell, of new york, who owned extensive estates on long island along the east river, blackwell's island being included. after graduating from princeton, robert blackwell studied first medicine and then theology. after several years of tutoring at philipse manor, he was ordained to the ministry and served the missions at gloucester and st. mary's, colestown, new jersey. when both congregations were scattered by the revolution, he joined the continental army at valley forge as both chaplain and surgeon. in 1870 he married hannah bingham, whose considerable fortune, added to the estate of his father which he soon after inherited, made him the richest clergyman in america and one of the richest men in philadelphia. the following year he was called to assist doctor white, the rector of christ church and st. peter's, and to the latter doctor blackwell chiefly devoted himself until his resignation in 1811 due to failing health. it was the services of these united parishes which washington, his cabinet and members of congress attended frequently. on doctor blackwell's death in 1831 the house passed into the willing family and has since changed owners many times.
-the wharton house, number 336 spruce street, was built in 1796 by samuel pancoast, a house carpenter, who sold it to mordecai lewis, a prominent merchant in the east india trade, shipowner, importer and one-time partner of william bingham, the brother-in-law of doctor blackwell, and whose palatial mansion in third street above spruce was one of the most exclusive social centers of the city. mordecai lewis was a director of the bank of north america, the philadelphia contributorship for the insurance of houses from loss by fire, the philadelphia library, and the treasurer of the pennsylvania hospital. much of the currency issued by the continental congress of 1776 bore his name. although a member of the volunteer military company, he was never in active service.
-following his death in 1799 the house was sold by his executors in 1809 to his son, samuel n. lewis, also a successful merchant of great public spirit. in 1817 the younger lewis sold the house to samuel fisher, another merchant and prominent friend noted for his hospitality and his charity, especially toward negroes and indians. because of his neutrality during the revolution, he was exiled to virginia from 1777 until 1779, when he was arrested because of a business letter to his partner in new york which was regarded as antagonistic to the government. he was committed to the "old gaol", and after refusing bail was tried and because of the clamor of the mob was sentenced to imprisonment for the duration of the war. soon afterward, however, a pardon was offered him, which he refused, and two years later he left prison by invitation without terms, his health broken. his wedding gift to his daughter, deborah, on her marriage to william wharton in 1817, was the spruce street house, which has ever since borne wharton's name.
-william wharton was the son of charles wharton, who, with his wife, hannah, devoted themselves to a religious life among the friends. deborah wharton, william wharton's wife, became a prominent minister of the society of friends, traveling extensively in the interests of indian welfare and giving generously of her ample means to various philanthropic causes. she was one of the early managers of swarthmore college, as has been a descendant in each generation of the family since that time. of her ten children, joseph wharton, also a prominent friend, was owner of the bethlehem steel works and one of the most successful ironmasters in the country. a liberal philanthropist, he founded the wharton school of finance and economy at the university of pennsylvania and was for many years president of the board of managers of swarthmore college. on his mother's death in 1888 the spruce street house came into his possession and is still owned by his estate. although rented as a rooming house, it remains in a fair state of preservation.
-the wistar house, at the southwest corner of fourth and locust streets, to which architectural reference has previously been made, was built about 1750 and for nearly three quarters of a century thereafter was the scene of constant hospitality and lavish entertainment. here lived doctor william shippen, whose marriage to alice, the daughter of thomas lee, of virginia, and the sister of richard henry and arthur lee, was one of the numerous alliances which drew the county families of virginia and maryland into close relationship with philadelphia families. doctor shippen's home quickly became the resort of the virginia aristocracy when visiting the national capital, and in consequence there was a constant succession of balls and dinners during the winter season.
-in 1799 the house was occupied by doctor caspar wistar, the eminent anatomist, known to the élite of the city and nation for his brilliant social gatherings and as the man for whom that beautiful climbing plant, the wistaria, was named. doctor wistar's geniality, magnetism, intellectual leadership and generous hospitality made his home a gathering place for the most distinguished personages of his day in the professions, arts, sciences, letters and politics. since he held a chair at the university of pennsylvania and carried on an extensive private practice, the demands upon his time were great, but sunday evenings, and later on saturday evenings, he was at home to his friends, who formed the habit of calling regularly in numbers from ten to fifty and often bringing new-found friends, sure of a hearty welcome, brilliant conversation and choice refreshments. and so began one of the cherished institutions of philadelphia, the wistar parties, which were continued after the doctor's death in 1818 by wistar's friends and their descendants. the civil war brought an interruption, but in 1886 the gatherings were again resumed; few of the distinguished visitors to the city failed to be invited to attend, and, having attended, to praise most highly the exceptional hospitality shown them. during doctor wistar's lifetime the personnel of the parties gradually became substantially the membership of that world-famous scientific organization, the philosophical society, and later membership in that society became requisite to eligibility for the wistar parties.
-by far the handsomest old city residence of brick that remains in anything like its original condition is the so-called morris house at number 225 south eighth street between walnut and spruce streets. although not built until very shortly after the struggle for american independence had been won, it is pre-revolutionary in character and colonial in style throughout. in elegance and distinction the façade is unexcelled in early american city architecture. unlike most houses of the time and locality, it has a double front with two windows each side of a central doorway, a range of five windows on the second and third floors and three simple dormers in the gable roof above. the windows have twelve-paned upper and lower sashes with paneled shutters on the first and second stories, and foreshortened eight-paned upper and lower sashes without shutters on the third story.
-the brickwork is of characteristic flemish bond with alternating red stretcher and black header bricks. two slightly projecting courses, two courses apart, form horizontal belts at the second-and third-floor levels, while the first thirteen courses above the sidewalk level project somewhat beyond the wall above and are laid up in running bond, every sixth course being a tie course of headers. beautifully tooled, light stone lintels with fine-scale radial scorings greatly enhance the beauty of the fenestration. each lintel appears to consist of seven gauged or keyed pieces each, but is in reality a single stone, the effect being secured by deep scorings. a heavy molded cornice and handsome gutter spouts complete the decorative features apart from the chaste pedimental doorway with its fluted pilasters and dainty fanlight, which is mentioned again in another chapter. a rolling way and areaways at the basement windows pierce the wall at the sidewalk level after the manner of the time. indoors, the hall extends entirely through the house to a door in the rear opening upon a box-bordered garden with rose trees and old-fashioned flowers. there is a parlor on the right of the hall and a library on the left. back of the latter is the dining room, while the kitchen and service portion of the house are located in an l extension to the rear.
-as indicated by two marble date stones set in the third-story front wall just below the cornice, this house was begun in 1786 and finished in 1787 by john reynolds. some years later it was purchased at a sheriff's sale by ann dunkin, who sold it in 1817 to luke wistar morris, the son of captain samuel morris. since that time it has remained in the morris family, and its occupants have maintained it in splendid condition. much beautiful old furniture, silver and china adorn the interior, most of the pieces having individual histories of interest; in fact, the place has become a veritable museum of morris and wistar heirlooms. within a few years the two old buildings that formerly adjoined the house to the right and left were removed so that the house now stands alone with a garden space at each side behind a handsome wrought-iron fence.
-an enthusiastic horseman and sportsman, samuel morris was until his death in 1812 president of the gloucester fox hunting club in which originated in november, 1774, the philadelphia troop of light horse, better known as the city troop, the oldest military organization in the united states. in 1775 morris was a member of the committee of safety, and throughout the revolution he served as captain of the city troop and as a special agent for washington, in whose esteem he stood high. later he was a justice of the peace and a member of the pennsylvania assembly from 1781 to 1783. a handsome china punch bowl presented to captain samuel morris by the members of the gloucester fox hunting club is one of the most prized possessions in the morris house.
-the romantic tradition goes, unsupported by official record, that, congress having voted in june, 1777, for a flag of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white, with thirteen white stars in a blue field, the committee in charge consulted with washington, then in philadelphia, concerning the matter. knowing mrs. ross, washington led the way to her house and explained their mission. in her little shop under their eyes she cut and stitched together cloths of the three colors we love so well and soon produced the first version of the stars and stripes.
-the tale is a pretty one, and it is a pity that it should not be based on some good foundation, especially as the records show that subsequently betsy ross did make numerous flags for the government. how the story started is unknown, but none of the historians who have given the matter any attention believe it. john h. flow in "the true story of the american flag" condemns it utterly, and the united states government refused to adopt the betsy ross house as a national monument after a thorough investigation. notwithstanding the facts, however, this ancient little building still continues to be a place of interest to many tourists every year.
-ledge-stone country houses
-the use of natural building materials available on or near the site, when they are suitable or can be made so, always elicits hearty commendation; it gives local color and distinctive character. and so we look with particular admiration at the fine old countryseats of local rock-face and surfaced stone which abound in the neighborhood of philadelphia, especially at germantown, finding among them the most homelike and picturesque stone dwellings of the past and the best prototypes for present-day adaptation. nowhere can one discover better inspiration for rock-face stonework, and nowhere have the architects of to-day more successfully preserved and developed the best local traditions of colonial times.
-wherein lies the superlative picturesque appeal of the typical ledge stonework of germantown? as distinguished from surfaced stonework, it possesses that flexibility in use so essential to the many and varied requirements of domestic architecture imposed by the personality and mode of living of the owner. in a measure this ready adaptability is due to the irregular lines and rock face of the stone itself, so pleasing in scale, color and texture, and so completely in harmony with the natural landscape. but to a far greater extent it is due to the fact that its predominant lines are horizontal, the line of repose and stability. ledge stone, long and narrow, laid up in broken range, with the top and bottom beds approximately level, but with end joints as the stone works naturally, has an even more marked horizontal effect than brick, clap-boarded or shingled walls that tends to a surprising degree to simulate the impression of greater breadth of the entire mass.
-such matters as color, surface texture and the bond or pattern formed by the shape of the stones and their arrangement in the wall are the refinements of stonework; the essentials are strength and durability of the stone itself and stability of the wall. and this stability should be apparent as well as actual. the integrity of stonework depends upon its ability to stand alone, and nothing except high-cost surfaced stone is so readily conducive to handsome, honest masonry as the natural ledge stone of greater philadelphia. a consistent wall should be of sound construction without the aid of mortar, the mission of which is to chink the joints and make the structure weather-tight.
-many different examples of stonework, both the pointed and unpointed, stand virtually side by side for comparison about philadelphia. several methods of pointing have been employed. there is the flush pointing and the ridge or weathered type commonly known as colonial or "barn" pointing. of them all, however, a method of laying and pointing generally referred to as the germantown type has been most widely favored. it lends itself particularly well to the colonial style of house now so popular, the broad lines of the white pointing bringing the gray stone into pleasing harmony with the white woodwork.
-the pointing itself is much like the colonial or "barn" pointing already referred to,--the wide open joints being filled with mortar brought well to the surface of the stones and smoothed off by the flat of the trowel with little regard to definiteness of line, after which about one-fourth of the width of the pointing is cut sharply away at the bottom so as to leave a sloping weathered edge considerably below the center of the joint. this is sometimes left as cut, in order to preserve a difference in texture, or is gone over with a trowel, either free hand or along a straightedge, to give a more finished appearance or more pronounced horizontal line effect.
-generally gray in effect, a ledge-stone wall provides a delightful neutral background against which trellises of roses, wistaria, honeysuckle and other flowering climbers delight the eye, and to which the spreading english ivy clings in the most charming intimacy. white-painted woodwork, however, furnishes its prime embellishment,--doors, windows, porches, dormers and such necessary appurtenances of comfortable living punctuating its various parts with high lights which brighten the effect, balance the form and mass and lend distinctive character. one has but to examine the accompanying illustrations of a few notable homes of the colonial period to appreciate the undeniable charm of white-painted woodwork in a setting of ledge stone.
-in the midst of virgin forest at the end of livezey's lane in germantown on the banks of wissahickon creek, stands glen fern, more commonly known as the livezey house, with numerous old buildings near by which in years past were mills, granaries and cooper shops. the house is of typically picturesque ledge-stone construction and interesting arrangement, consisting of three adjoining gable-roof structures in diminishing order, each with a single shed-roof dormer in its roof. it is located on a garden terrace with ledge-stone embankment wall and steps leading up to the door, which originally had seats at each side, while a balcony above was reached by the door in the second story. two and a half stories high and having a chimney at each end, the main house attracts attention chiefly for its quaint fenestration, with two windows on one side of the door and one on the other, the foreshortened twelve-paned windows of the second story placed well up under the eaves, the first-story windows having six-paned upper and nine-paned lower sashes. as usual, there are shutters for the first-and blinds for the second-story windows.
-a winding stairway leads upward from a rather small hall. white-paneled wainscots and fireplaces surrounded by dark marble adorn each of the principal rooms, while the great kitchen fireplace, in an inglenook with a window beside a seat large enough to accommodate several persons, was the "courtin' corner" of three generations of the livezey family.
-the old grist mill on wissahickon creek, originally a considerable stream, was built by thomas shoemaker, and in 1747 conveyed by him to thomas livezey, junior, who operated it the rest of his life and lived at glen fern near by. the builder's father, jacob shoemaker, who gave the land upon which the germantown friends' meeting house stands at coulter and main streets, came to this country with pastorius in the ship america in 1682 and became sheriff of the town in 1690. thomas livezey, the progenitor of the livezey family, and the great-grandfather of thomas, junior, came from england in 1680, and the records show that he served on the first grand jury of the first court held in the province, january 2, 1681.
-thomas livezey, junior, the miller, was a public-spirited and many-sided man. something of a wag and given to writing letters in verse, his life also had its more serious side. besides being one of the founders and a trustee of the union schoolhouse of germantown, now germantown academy, he was a justice of the peace and a provincial commissioner in 1765. being a friend, he took no part in the struggle for independence, although his provocation was great.
-for safety's sake the girls of the family, with the eatables and drinkables, were often locked up in the cellars during the occupancy of germantown by the british. on one occasion british soldiers came to the house and demanded food, and being told by one of the women that after cooking all day she was too weary to prepare it, one of the soldiers struck off the woman's ear with his sword. an officer appeared presently, however, demanded to know who had done so dastardly a thing and instantly split the culprit's head with his saber.
-livezey cultivated a large farm on the adjoining hillsides, and a dozen bottles of wine from his vineyard, forwarded by his friend robert wharton, elicited praise from benjamin franklin.
-farmers brought their grain hither for miles around, and the mill prospered. gradually a large west indian trade was built up in flour contaminated with garlic and unmarketable in philadelphia, the ships returning with silk, crêpes and beautiful china, so that livezey's son john became a prominent philadelphia merchant. another son, thomas, continued to run the mill, which about the time of the civil war was converted to the manufacture of linseed oil. in 1869 the entire property was purchased for fairmount park, and glen fern is now occupied by the valley green canoe club, which has restored it under the direction of john livezey.
-opposite the famous chew house on germantown avenue, amid a luxurious setting of splendid trees, clinging ivy and box-bordered gardens, stands upsala, one of the finest examples of the colonial architecture of philadelphia. a great, square two and a half story house with a gable roof, three handsome dormers in front, a goodly sized chimney toward either end, and an l in the rear, it speaks eloquently of substantial comfort. like many houses of the time and place, the façade is of faced stone carefully pointed, while the other walls are of exceptionally pleasing ledge stone, the two kinds of masonry being quoined together at the corners.
-the pointing of the stonework is a very informal variation of the modern germantown type,--flat-trowel pointed with little regard to definiteness of line. the wide joints are more appropriate in scale and taste than the ridge or weathered type, in that they harmonize better with the generally broad effect of the house and the white-painted wood trim of numerous windows and doors.
-keyed lintels and window sills of marble accentuate the fenestration, and the façade is further enriched by a handsome cornice and marble belt at the second-floor level. four marble steps give approach to the high, pedimental porch before a door of delightful grace and dignity. as was often the case, there are white-painted shutters at the lower windows and green-painted blinds at the upper.
-the gable ends of the house are interesting in their fenestration, with a fanlight of delightful pattern above and between two ordinary windows; one notices with interest that the returns of the eaves are carried entirely across the ends of the house from front to back, after the manner of the characteristic penthouse roof.
-within, a broad hall extends through the house, an archway at the foot of the winding staircase being its most striking feature. two rooms on each side contain handsome mantels, paneled wainscots and other beautiful wood finish.
-as indicated by the date stone in one of the gables, upsala was begun in 1798 by john johnson, junior, who inherited the land from his grandfather, also named john johnson, and was some three years in the building. it is located near the corner of upsal street on part of a tract of land that originally extended from germantown avenue, then germantown road, to the township line at wissahickon avenue. the house stands on the spot where the fortieth regiment of the british army was encamped, and where later general maxwell's cannon were planted to assail the chew house at the battle of germantown. it has been successively occupied by norton johnson, doctor william n. johnson and miss sallie w. johnson, all descendants of the builder.
-like upsala, grumblethorpe, at number 526 main street, germantown, opposite indian queen lane, displays ledge-stone walls except for its façade, which is plastered, and it has the same returns of the eaves like a penthouse roof across the gables. this large two and a half story house stands directly on the sidewalk and has areaways at the sunken basement windows like many modern houses. a sturdy chimney at either end and two dormers with segmental topped windows are the features of the roof. the high recessed doorway, with its broad marble lower step in the brick sidewalk, is located so that there are three windows to the left and only two to the right. an interesting feature of the fenestration is the use of wide twelve-paned windows on the first story and of narrower and higher eighteen-paned windows on the second. again there are shutters on the lower story and blinds above. this variation in the windows of different stories is by no means an uncommon feature of philadelphia houses, and, as in this instance, often came about as the result of alterations.
-grumblethorpe was built in 1744 by john wister, who came to philadelphia from germany in 1727 and developed a large business in cultivating blackberries, making and importing wine in market street west of third. "wister's big house" was the first countryseat in germantown. originally it differed materially from its present outward appearance. there were no dormers, and the garret was lighted only at the ends. across the front and sides of the house the second-floor level was marked by a penthouse roof, broken over the entrance by a balcony reached by a door from the second story. to the right of the entrance there were two windows, as at present; to the left there was a smaller door with a window at each side of it. both doors were divided into upper and lower sections and had side-long seats outside. in the course of repairs and alterations in 1808 the penthouse roof and balcony, also the front seats, were removed, the upper and smaller lower doors were replaced by windows, and the front of the house was pebble dashed.
-a long wing extends back from the main house, and beyond is a workshop with many old tools and a numerous collection of interesting clocks in various stages of completion. still farther back is an observatory with its telescope, also a box-bordered formal garden in which still stands a quaint rain gauge. indoors, the hall and principal rooms are spacious but low studded, with simple white-painted woodwork, and in the kitchen a primitive crane supporting ancient iron pots still remains in the great fireplace. much fine old furniture, many rare books and numerous curios enhance the interest and beauty of the interiors.
-many men illustrious in art, science and literature shared wister's hospitality. his frequent visitors included gilbert stuart, the artist; christopher sower, one of the most versatile men in the colonies; thomas say, the eminent entomologist and president of the philadelphia academy of natural sciences; parker cleveland, author of the first book on american mineralogy; james nichol, the celebrated geologist and writer, and many other famous personages. quite as many unknown persons came to grumblethorpe, however, for bread was baked every saturday for distribution to the poor.
-during the battle of germantown, grumblethorpe was the headquarters of general agnew of the british army, and in the northwest parlor he died of wounds, staining the floor with his blood, the marks of which are still visible. in the same room major lenox, who occupied the house in 1779, was married. major lenox was at various times marshal of the united states for the district of pennsylvania, director and president of the united states bank, and the representative of the united states at the court of st. james.
-john wister's eldest son, daniel, a prosperous merchant, inherited the property, and it was his daughter who wrote sally wister's well-known and charming "journal", the original manuscript of which is among the many treasures of this charming old house.
-it was daniel wister's son, charles j. wister, who built the observatory and developed the beautiful formal garden back of the house. upon retiring from business in 1819 he devoted himself to science, notably botany and mineralogy, upon which subjects he lectured at the germantown academy, of which he was secretary of the board of trustees for thirty years.
-in 1865 the place came into the hands of charles j. wister, junior, an artist, writer and friend of high repute, who, like his father, was for many years identified with germantown academy. on his death in 1910 grumblethorpe was shared by his nephews, owen wister, the novelist, and alexander w. wister, neither of whom resides there.
-one of the noblest old ledge-stone mansions of the vicinity is the woodlands, located on high ground along the bank of the schuylkill river in blockley township, west philadelphia. it was formerly the countryseat of the hamilton family, from which a district of west philadelphia east of fortieth street and south of market street took the name of hamilton village. many years ago the grounds of the woodlands became a cemetery, and the house is now occupied by the superintendent and contains the cemetery offices. while the gay society of a century and a quarter ago is lacking the place still retains much of its former beauty and state.
-of essentially georgian character, the house is still more strongly reminiscent of many plantation mansions of the south. it has an entrance front to the north and a river or garden front to the south, while the kitchen arrangements are well concealed. between two semicircular bays that project from the ends of the building on the entrance front, six ionic pilasters support a broad and elaborately ornamented pediment, its chief features being the notching of the shingles, the circular window and the frieze with groups of vertical flutings in alternation with large round flower ornaments. a broad paved terrace three steps above the drive extends across the front from one bay to the other and gives approach to a round-arched central doorway with handsome leaded fanlight beneath a segmental hood supported by round engaged ionic columns. this doorway leads into the hall.
-on the river front a lofty pedimental-roofed portico centrally located and supported by six great smooth pillars is of distinctly southern aspect. another round-arched doorway flanked by two round-topped windows opens directly into an oval-shaped ballroom. the beautiful palladian windows on either side of this façade and recessed within an arch in the masonry are among the chief distinctions of the house. an examination of them indicates as convincingly as any modern work the delightful accord that may exist between gray stone and white woodwork, and draws attention to the masonry itself. the use of relatively small stones has resulted in an unconventional though pleasing wall effect, due to the prominence and rough character of the pointing which has been brought well out to the edges of the stones.
-a word may well be said in passing in regard to the stable at the woodlands, which, while rightly unassuming, lives in complete accord with the house, as every outbuilding should. a hip-roofed structure with lean-to wings, it is essentially a georgian conception. its walls are of ledge stone like the house, broken by a symmetrical arrangement of recessed arches in which the various doors and windows are set, and further embellished by a four-course belt of brick at the second-floor level.
-the woodlands was built in 1770 by william hamilton on an estate purchased in 1735 by his grandfather, andrew hamilton, the first of that name in america. it is the second house on the site, the first having made way for the present spacious structure which was designed to give expression to the tastes and desires of its builder. william hamilton was one of the wealthiest men of his day and loved display and the rôle of a lavish host. maintaining a large retinue of servants and living in a style surpassing that of most of his neighbors, his dinner parties and other social gatherings were attended by the most eminent personages of the time. a man of culture and refinement, he accumulated many valuable paintings and rare books, and his gardens, greenhouse and grounds were his particular pride and joy. to a large collection of native american plants and shrubs he added many exotic trees and plants. to him is credited the introduction of the ginkgo tree and the lombardy poplar to america.
-william hamilton was a nephew of governor james hamilton, by whose permission, granted to william hallam and his old american company of strolling players, the drama was established in philadelphia in 1754, despite the strong opposition of the friends. william hamilton raised a regiment in his neighborhood to assist in the revolution, but being opposed to a complete break with the mother country, resigned his commission upon the signing of the declaration of independence. following the evacuation of philadelphia by the british he was arrested, charged with assisting the british forces and tried for high treason, but was acquitted and allowed to retain possession of his estates, which were duly inherited by his family on his death in 1811.
-these charming old ledge-stone mansions, and others of lesser architectural merit and historical association, too numerous for description here, constitute the chief distinction of philadelphia architecture. whereas the city residences of brick differ little from those of several other not far distant places, and the country houses of that material recall many similar ones in delaware, maryland and even virginia, the ledge-stone house of greater philadelphia is a thing unto itself. it has no parallel in america. of substantial character and possessed of rare local color, it combines with picturesque appearance those highly desirable qualities of permanence and non-inflammability. it is the ideal construction for suburban philadelphia where the necessary building material abounds and new homes can live in accord with the old.
-plastered stone country houses
-it is quite possible to preserve random shapes and rock faces in stonework that is structurally good, yet still fail in a measure to please the eye and satisfy the artistic sense. a house built of stones which, although irregular and of variable size, are generally cubical in shape and set with obvious painstaking to simulate a casual yet remarkably systematic arrangement, never fails to be clumsy and patchy. a case in point is waynesborough in easttown township, chester county, erected in 1724 by captain isaac wayne. greame park, erected in horsham township, montgomery county, by sir william keith five years after he was appointed governor of penn's colony in 1717, instances another unsuccessful use of stonework and effectively explodes the pet notion of the indiscriminate that everything which is old is therefore good. the promiscuous use of rough, long, quarried stones, square blocks and narrow strips on end results in an utterly irrational effect, a confusing medley of short lines.
-going to the other extreme, the use of stones so small and irregular as to suggest a "crazy-quilt" mosaic rather than structural stonework is equally displeasing. this scheme unquestionably lends texture to the wall, but it attracts too much attention to itself to the detriment of such architectural features as doors, windows and other wood trim intended to provide suitable embellishment as well as to fulfill the practical requirements of daily use. inasmuch as rubble used in this manner becomes merely an aggregate in a concrete wall, the consistent thing to do is to consider it as such and give the wall an outside finish or veneer of rough plaster. this fact was recognized and often acted upon by the early philadelphia builders wherever the stone readily available did not make an attractive wall. a few of the best examples extant serve to indicate that houses of this sort have all the charm of the modern stucco structure built over hollow tile.
-perhaps the most picturesque of the old houses of this type is wyck at germantown avenue and walnut lane, germantown, a long, rambling structure of rubble masonry with an outside veneer of rough white plaster standing end to the street. although colonial in detail and partaking to a degree of the general character of its neighbors, the ensemble presents a rare blending of european influences with american construction. vine-clad trellises on the entrance front, a long arbor on the garden front, box-bordered flower beds and a profusion of shade trees and shrubs all help to compose a picture of rare charm in which leading american architects have often found inspiration for modern work.
-wyck is probably the oldest building in germantown and certainly quaint of appearance, considering its age, for it has been preserved as nearly as possible in its early condition. the oldest part was built about 1690 by hans millan. later another house was built near by on the opposite side of an old indian trail, and subsequently the two were joined together, a wide, brick-paved wagon way running beneath the connecting structure. this passage has since been closed in to form a spacious hallway with wide double doors and a long transom above, the outer doors being wood paneled and the inner ones glazed.
-of romantic interest is the use of this great hall of wyck as a hospital and operating room after the battle of germantown, and later, in 1825, as the scene of a reception tendered to la fayette, following his breakfast at cliveden, when the townspeople were presented to him by charles j. wister. the doorway to the right, with its molded jambs, plain, four-paned transom and paneled door divided in the middle like many of the neighborhood, is of the most modest order, yet its simple lines and good proportions, together with the green of the climbing vines about it, in contrast with the white plaster walls, makes a strong appeal to everybody of artistic appreciation. the position of the knob indicates the size of the great rim lock within, while the graceful design of the brass knocker is justly one of the most popular to-day.
-wyck has never been sold, but has passed from one owner to another by inheritance through the jansen and wistar families to the haines family, in which it has since remained. one of its owners, caspar wistar, in 1740 established the first glassworks in america at salem, new jersey.
-the most notable house of plastered stone masonry, and one of the noblest countryseats in the vicinity of philadelphia, is clunie, later and better known as mount pleasant, located in the northern liberties, fairmount park, on the east bank of the schuylkill river only a little north of the girard avenue bridge. to see it is to appreciate more fully the princely mode of country living in which some of the most distinguished citizens of the early metropolis of the colonies indulged.
-standing on high ground and commanding broad views both up and down the stream, the house is of truly baronial mien and georgian character. two flanking outbuildings, two and a half stories high, hip-roofed and dormered, some forty feet from each end of the main house and corresponding with it in character and construction, provide the servants' quarters and various domestic offices. beyond the circle formed by the drive on the east or entrance front of the house and at some distance to either side are two barns. thus the house becomes the central feature in a strikingly picturesque group of buildings having all the manorial impressiveness of the old virginia mansions along the james river.
-the main house rises two and a half stories above a high foundation of hewn stone with iron-barred basement windows set in stone frames. it is of massive rubble-stone masonry, coated with yellowish-gray rough-cast and having heavy quoined corners of red brick, also a horizontal belt of the same material at the second-floor level, the keyed lintels of the large ranging windows, however, being of faced stone.
-above a heavy cornice with prominent modillions springs the hipped roof, pierced on both sides by two handsome dormers and surmounted by a long, beautifully balustraded belvedere. two great brick chimney stacks, one at each end of the building, with four arched openings near the top, lend an aspect of added dignity and solidity. the principal feature of the façade on both the east and west or river front is the slightly projecting central portion with its quoined corners, surmounting corniced pediment springing from the eaves, ornate palladian windows in the second story and superb pedimental doorway in harmony with the pedimental motive above. although the detail is heavy, and free use has been made of the orders, the work is american georgian at its best and altogether admirable. the doorways of the two sides are similar but not the same, and a comparison, as found in another chapter, is most interesting.
-within, a broad hall extends entirely through the house from one front to the other, as likewise does a spacious drawing-room on the north side with an elaborate chimney piece in the middle of the outside wall. the dining room occupies the west front, and back of it, in an l extension from the hall, a handsome staircase with gracefully turned balustrade leads to the bedrooms on the second floor. throughout the interior the wood finish is worthy of the exterior trim. beautifully tooled cornices, graceful pilasters, nicely molded door and window casings, heavy pedimental doorheads,--all are of excellent design and more carefully wrought than in average colonial work. finest of all, perhaps, is a chamber on the second floor overlooking the river that must, according to the very nature of things, have been the boudoir of the mistress of mount pleasant. the architectural treatment of the fireplace end of this room, with exquisite carving above the overmantel panel and above the closet doors at each side, is greatly admired by all who see it.
-the erection of mount pleasant was begun late in 1761 by john macpherson, a sea captain of clunie, scotland, who amassed a fortune and lost an arm in the adventurous practice of privateering. here he lived in manorial splendor, entertaining the most eminent personages of the day with munificent hospitality and employing himself with numerous ingenious inventions, notably a practical device for moving brick and stone houses intact. he wrote on moral philosophy, lectured on astronomy and published the first city directory in 1785, a unique volume giving the names in direct house-to-house sequence and having such notations as, "i won't tell you", "what you please", and "cross woman" against street numbers where he found the occupants suspicious or unresponsive to his queries.
-meeting reverses in some of his financial affairs and longing for further adventures at sea, macpherson sought the chief command of the american navy at the outbreak of the revolution. this being denied him he leased mount pleasant to don juan de merailles, the spanish ambassador. but to be near general washington, merailles had to remove to morristown and there he soon died.
-in the spring of 1779 macpherson sold mount pleasant to general benedict arnold, of unhappy memory, whose remarkable and traitorous career is known to every american. arnold had been placed in command of philadelphia by washington, following its evacuation by the british, and in acquiring the most palatial countryseat in the vicinity he gratified his fondness for display and apparently saw in it a means of retaining or increasing his influence and power. it was his marriage gift to his bride, peggy shippen, the daughter of edward shippen, a moderate loyalist, who eventually became reconciled to the new order and was chief justice of the state from 1799 to 1805. at mount pleasant arnold and his wife remained for more than a year, living extravagantly and entertaining lavishly. arnold's financial embarrassments and bitter contentions with persistent enemies became ever more deeply involved. here in bitterness, and not without some provocation, he conceived the dastardly plan of obtaining from washington command of west point, the key to the hudson river valley, in order that he might betray it to the british.
-following the discovery of the plot and arnold's flight to the british lines, his property was confiscated, and mount pleasant was leased for a short period to baron von steuben, after which it passed through several hands to general jonathan williams, of boston, in whose family the place remained until the middle of the nineteenth century, when it was acquired by the city as a part of fairmount park.
-at number 5442 germantown avenue, standing directly on the sidewalk as was often the case, and with a beautiful box-bordered garden of old-fashioned flowers about one hundred by four hundred feet along the south end, is one of the most interesting old plastered houses in philadelphia. well known in history, it is no less notable architecturally. in general arrangement it differs little from numerous other gable-roof structures of the vicinity, two and a half stories high with chimneys at each end and handsome pedimental dormers with round-topped windows between. it is in the excellent detail and nice proportion of the wood trim, both without and within, that this house excels. interest focuses upon the deeply recessed doorway with its sturdy tuscan columns and pediment, and the great, attractively paneled door. the fenestration is admirable with twenty-four-paned windows set in handsome frames with architrave casings and beautifully molded sills, the lower windows having shutters and the upper ones blinds. a notable feature is the heavy cornice with large modillions, and beneath a relatively fine-scale, double denticulated molding or grecian fret.
-the house was built in 1772 by david deschler, a wealthy west india merchant, the son of an aide-de-camp to the reigning prince of baden, and margaret, a sister of john wister and caspar wistar. after the retreat of the american forces at the conclusion of the battle of germantown, sir william howe, the british commander, moved his headquarters from stenton to the deschler house. while there he is said to have been visited by prince william henry, then a midshipman in the royal navy, but afterward king william iv of england.
-upon deschler's death in 1792 the house was bought by colonel isaac franks, a new yorker who had served his country well in the continental army and filled several civil commissions after the conclusion of peace with england. he it was who rented the house to washington for a short period in the early winter of 1793 and again for six weeks in the following summer because of the yellow fever epidemic in philadelphia. here met the president's cabinet--jefferson, hamilton, knox and randolph--to discuss the president's message to congress and the difficulties with england, france and spain. aside from mount vernon, it is the only dwelling now standing in which washington lived for any considerable time.
-in 1804 the property was purchased by elliston and john perot, two frenchmen who conducted a prosperous mercantile business in philadelphia. on the death of the former in 1834, the place was purchased by his son-in-law, samuel b. morris, of the shipping firm of waln and morris, in whose family it has since remained. the interiors remain as in washington's time, and much of the furniture, silver and china used by him are still preserved, together with his letter thanking captain samuel morris for the valuable services of the first city troop during the revolution.
-although not erected until a few years after the treaty of peace following the revolution, vernon is so thoroughly colonial in architecture and of such merit as to warrant mention here. it stands in extensive grounds on the west side of germantown avenue, germantown, above chelton avenue. the main house is a hip-roofed structure two and a half stories in height of rubble masonry, the front being plastered and lined off to simulate dressed stone and the other walls being pebble dashed. a wing in the rear connects the main house with a semi-detached gable-roof structure in which were located the kitchen and servants' rooms. the principal features of the symmetrical façade with its ranging twelve-paned windows, shuttered on the lower story, are the central pediment with exquisite fanlight between flanking chimneys and handsomely detailed dormers, and a splendid doorway alluded to later in these pages. a fine-scale denticulated molding in the cornice, repeated elsewhere in the exterior wood trim, lends an air of exceptional richness and refinement.
-vernon was built in 1803 by james matthews, a whipmaker of the firm of mcallister and matthews. in 1812 it was purchased by john wistar, son of daniel wistar, and a member of the countinghouse of his uncle, william wistar. upon his uncle's death he conducted the business with his brother charles and became well known in mercantile circles and prominent in the society of friends. a bronze statue of him in quaker garb has been erected in front of the house. some years after his death in 1862 the place passed under the control of the city for a park and was occupied for a time by the free library. since the erection of a building near by for this latter purpose, it has housed the museum of the site and relic society, and contains much of interest to the student of early germantown.
-another house in the colonial spirit erected shortly after the close of the revolution is loudoun, at germantown avenue and apsley street, germantown, its grounds embracing the summit of neglee's hill. the house is two and a half stories high with additions which have somewhat altered its original appearance; it has a gambrel roof, hipped at one end after the mansard manner with excellent dormers on both the front and end just mentioned. its plastered rubble masonry walls are clothed with clinging ivy. the architectural interest centers chiefly in the fenestration and the pillared portico reminiscent of plantation mansions farther south. this portico, with its simple pediment and wooden columns surmounted by pleasingly unusual capitals of acanthus-leaf motive, was added some thirty years after the house was erected. the great twenty-four-paned ranging windows have heavy paneled shutters on the first floor and blinds on the second. tall, slender, engaged columns supporting a nicely detailed entablature frame a typical philadelphia doorway, the paneled door itself being single with a handsome leaded fanlight above.
-loudoun was built in 1801 by thomas armat as a countryseat for his son, thomas wright armat. the elder armat originally settled in loudoun county, virginia, and hence the name of the estate. coming to philadelphia about the time of the revolution, his family moved to germantown during the yellow fever epidemic of 1793 and found it such a pleasing place of residence that the building of loudoun some years later came as a natural consequence. it stands at the very outskirts of germantown, now the twenty-second ward of philadelphia, where germantown avenue starts its winding course toward chestnut hill. at the original lottery distribution of the land of the frankford company in the cave of francis daniel pastorius, there being no permanent houses at that time, the site fell to thomas kunders, in whose house at number 5109 germantown avenue the first meeting of friends was held in germantown. after the battle of germantown the hill was used as a hospital, and many dead were buried there. from 1820 to 1835 loudoun was rented to madam greland as a summer school for young women, and it was during this period, probably about 1830, that the pillared portico was added.
-a successful philadelphia merchant and well-known philanthropist, thomas armat, gave the site for st. luke's church in germantown and assisted in its erection, also setting aside a chamber at loudoun which was known as the minister's room. he was among the first to suggest the use of coal for heating, and one of the early patentees of a hay scales. armat's daughter married gustavus logan, great-great-grandson of james logan and grandson of john dickinson, whose "farmer's letters", addressed to the people of england, are said to have brought about the repeal of the stamp act. loudoun still remains in the logan family.
-no stranger house can be found in all philadelphia than solitude on the west bank of the schuylkill in blockley township, fairmount park. it is a boxlike structure of plastered rubble masonry twenty-six feet square and two and a half stories high, with a hip roof having simple pedimental dormers and two oppositely disposed chimneys. the wood trim is severely simple throughout, from the heavy molded cornice under the eaves to the pedimental recessed doorway with its ionic columns and entablature. two slightly projecting courses of brick, one some ten inches or so above the other, form an unusual belt at the second-floor level, while a distinctive feature of the fenestration is seen in the fact that most of the windows have nine-paned upper and six-paned lower sashes.
-within, the entrance doorway leads into a hall some nine feet wide and extending entirely across the house from side to side. the remainder of the first floor consists of a large parlor with windows opening on a portico overlooking the river. a beautiful stucco cornice and ceiling and a carved wood surbase are its best features. in one corner a staircase with wrought-iron railing rises to the second floor, where there is a library about fifteen feet square with built-in bookcases, two connecting bedrooms, one with an alcove and secret door where the owner might shut himself away from intrusive visitors, and a staircase leading to more bedrooms on the third floor. the cellar is deep and roomy, with provision for wine storage, and an underground passage communicates with the kitchen located in a separate building about twenty-five feet distant.
-solitude was built in 1785 by john penn, a grandson of william penn, the founder of philadelphia, and a son of thomas penn, whose wife was a daughter of the earl of pomfret. a much traveled, scholarly man, poet, idealist and art patron, he came to philadelphia in 1783 to look after proprietary interests in pennsylvania and intending to become an american. but his claims were made under hereditary rights, and as the state was not disposed to honor them he concluded to remain an englishman. vexed with the perversity of human nature, he built solitude and named it for a lodge belonging to the duke of württemburg. there he lived somewhat the life of a recluse with his books and trees for three years. he was on friendly terms with his neighbors, however, who included his cousin, governor john penn, and judge richard peters. gay week-end parties also came in boats to enjoy his hospitality, and washington once spent a day with him during the sitting of the constitutional convention in philadelphia.
-in 1788 penn suddenly returned to england, built a handsome residence at stoke and embarked on a notable career in public life, becoming sheriff of bucks in 1798, a member of parliament in 1802, and royal governor of the island of portland in dorset for many years after 1805. the university of cambridge made him an ll.d. in 1811, and he won promotion to a lieutenant-colonelcy in the royal bucks yeomanry. later in his declining years he formed the outinian society to encourage young men and women to marry, although he inconsistently died a bachelor in 1834.
-solitude then passed by inheritance to penn's youngest brother, granville, and on his death ten years later to a nephew, granville john penn, great-grandson of william penn, and the last penn at solitude. coming to philadelphia in middle life about 1851 he was lionized by society and in acknowledgment gave a grand "fête champêtre" and collation. following his death in 1867, solitude and its grounds were made part of fairmount park, and after several years without tenancy the house in its original condition was made the administration building of the zoölogical society.
-the fine old plastered stone houses of philadelphia comprise one of the distinctive and most admired types of its colonial architecture. those with pebble-dashed walls which seek to simulate no other building material or form of construction possess the added charm of frank sincerity. fire-proof in character, pleasing in appearance, and readily adaptable to varied home requirements, they point the way wherever rubble stone incapable of forming an attractive wall is cheaply available. many modern dwellings in the colonial spirit are being built in this manner.
-hewn stone country houses
-cost was not an object in building many of the larger old countryseats about philadelphia, for their owners were men of wealth and station, prominent in the affairs of the province and sharing its prosperity. influenced by the builders of the georgian period in england, and often under their personal supervision, the buildings on numerous great estates about the early metropolis of the american colonies were constructed of quarried stone, whether sawed in the form of "brick" stone or hammered to a relatively smooth surface.
-surfaced stone, however, especially when cut into rectangular blocks, is to be recommended only for public work or for very large and pretentious residences of formal character and arrangement. in small buildings, and unless handled with skill and discretion in larger work, its psychological effect upon the mind is that of uncompromising and somewhat repellent austerity; it suggests the prison-like palace rather than the domestic atmosphere of a true home,--an atmosphere to be had in stone only by preserving the greater spontaneity of irregular shapes and rock faces characteristic of germantown ledge stone.
-that the early builders of this vicinity were skilled stone masons and employed this form of building construction with sympathy and intelligence is indicated by the splendid old mansions that still remain as monuments to their genius,--stately, elegant, enduring, yet withal pleasing, comfortable and eminently livable. the use of "brick" stone for several of them has given a lighter scale, and by repetition of many closely related and prominent horizontals has simulated a greater breadth of façade and a lesser total height, both beneficial to the general appearance. as in ordinary brickwork, the vertical pointing is as wide as the horizontal, but the joints break, whereas the course lines are continuous, thus emphasizing the horizontals of light mortar.
-unquestionably the most notable mansion of hewn stone in greater philadelphia is cliveden, the countryseat of the chew family, located in extensive grounds at germantown avenue and johnson streets, germantown. one of the most substantial and elaborate residences of that day, it is two and a half stories in height and built of heavy masonry, the front illustrating well the pleasing use of surfaced germantown stone, flush pointed, the other walls being of rubble masonry, plastered and marked off to simulate dressed stone. two wings, one semi-detached and the other entirely so, extend back from the main house and contain the kitchen, servants' quarters and laundry. the classic front entrance opens into a large hall with small rooms on each side which were originally used as offices. beyond and above are many spacious rooms with excellent woodwork and handsome chimney pieces.
-no handsomer colonial façade is to be found in america. classic in feeling and symmetrical in arrangement, it is excellently detailed in every particular. above a slightly projecting water table the repeated horizontals of the limestone belt at the second-floor level, the heavy cornice with prominent modillions and the roof line impart a feeling of repose and stability quite apart from the character of the building material itself. the ranging windows, shuttered on the lower floor, are distinguished by their keyed limestone lintels and twelve-paned upper and lower sashes, while the roof is elaborated by two great chimney stacks, a like number of well-designed dormers with round-topped windows, and five handsome stone urns mounted on brick piers at the corners and over the entrance. the central portion of the façade projects slightly under a pediment in harmony with the splendid doric doorway beneath, of which more elsewhere.
-cliveden was erected in 1761 by benjamin chew, a friend of washington and a descendant of one of the oldest and most distinguished virginia families, his great-grandfather, john chew, having settled at james citie about 1621, and, like benjamin chew's grandfather and father, who resided in maryland, having been prominent in the courts and public affairs generally. benjamin chew studied law with andrew hamilton, and at the age of nineteen entered the middle temple, london, the same year as sir william blackstone. removing to philadelphia in 1754, he was provincial counselor in 1755, attorney general from 1755 to 1764, recorder of the city from 1755 to 1774, a member of the pennsylvania-maryland boundary commission in 1761, register general of the province in 1765, and in 1774 succeeded william allen as chief justice of the supreme court of pennsylvania. following the revolution he served as a judge and president of the high court of errours and appeals until it was abolished in 1808.
-justice chew was brought up a quaker and his attitude coincided with that of many others who manifested sympathy for the american cause, yet hesitated at complete independence. in defining high treason to the april grand jury of 1776, the last held under the crown, he stated that "an opposition by force of arms to the lawful authority of the king or his ministry is high treason, but in the moment when the king, or his ministers, shall exceed the authority vested in them by the constitution, submission to their mandate becomes treason." it is not surprising, therefore, that in august, 1777, judge chew and john penn, the late proprietary, were arrested by the city troop and on refusing parole were imprisoned at the union iron works until sometime in 1778.
-with fourteen attractive and accomplished children, two sons and twelve daughters, things were always lively at cliveden, and it was the scene of lavish entertainment of washington, adams and other members of the first continental congress. around its classic doorway the battle of germantown raged most fiercely. the house had been occupied by the british under colonel musgrave, the chew family being away at the time; and so effective a fortress did it prove that the center of washington's advance was checked and the day lost to the american arms. great damage was done inside and out by cannon balls, some of it being still visible, although several workmen spent the entire following winter putting the house in order. during his triumphal farewell tour of the twenty-four american states in 1825, a breakfast was tendered to la fayette at cliveden on the day of his reception at wyck.
-in 1779, justice chew sold cliveden to blair mcclenahan, a director of the bank of pennsylvania, for nine thousand dollars, but bought it back again in 1787 for twenty-five thousand dollars. since that time it has remained in the family and is still occupied part of the year. chew's woods, formerly part of the estate, have been presented to the city as a public park, but the stable behind the house, and connected with it by an underground passage, still remains much as ever; and therein reposes the curious old family coach.
-second only to cliveden in architectural interest is the highlands, located on the skippack pike overlooking the whitemarsh valley from a lofty site among giant old oaks, pines and sycamores. it is a splendid example of american architecture after the late georgian manner, and although not built until after the revolution, its character is such that it deserves to be included among the colonial houses of the vicinity. the south or entrance front is built of squared and nicely surfaced stones laid up with joints breaking much like brickwork, the pointing being of the ridge or weathered type. the sides are of ordinary rubble but plastered and lined off to simulate hewn stone. the central section of the façade projects slightly, two ionic pilasters of white marble supporting a pediment within which a semicircular fanlight ventilates and lights the attic. marble belts at the first-and second-floor levels, marble window sills and keystones in the lintels relieve and brighten the effect, while an unusual diamond fret lends distinction to the cornice. the windows have six-paned upper and lower sashes with blinds on all stories, as in the case of most of the later colonial houses. ornamental wrought-iron fire balconies at the second-story windows are a picturesque feature. the entrance porch, one of the few of consequence in philadelphia, is characterized by its chaste simplicity, the fine-scale reeded columns and wrought-iron balustrade of the marble steps being its chief features. but for the double doors characteristic of philadelphia, the doorway itself, of excellent proportions and having a handsome elliptical fanlight and side lights with leaded glass, would suggest salem design.
-within, a great hall extends through the house to a wide cross hall at the rear, where a broad and handsome staircase with wing flights above a gallery landing is located. a beautiful palladian window in the west end of the house lights this landing and the entire cross hall. much excellent woodwork adorns the spacious rooms, but the splendid adam mantels with their delicate applied stucco designs were long ago replaced by less pleasing creations of black marble.
-the highlands was completed in 1796 by anthony morris, son of captain samuel morris, and a friend of jefferson, monroe and madison, and was some two years in the building. morris was admitted to the bar in 1787 and soon went into politics, later engaging extensively in the east india trade. representing the city of philadelphia in the state senate, he was in 1793, at the age of twenty-seven, elected speaker, succeeding samuel powel. in this capacity he signed a bill providing for troops to suppress the whiskey rebellion, for which act he was disowned by the friends' meeting of which he was a member. dolly madison makes friendly references to morris in her memoirs and letters, and for nearly two years during madison's administration morris represented the united states at the court of spain. through his efforts an adjustment was effected in the boundary dispute over the florida cession.
-in 1808 morris sold the highlands to one hitner, who conveyed it in 1813 to george sheaff, in whose family it has since remained.
-nothing quite like bartram house is to be found anywhere in america. situated on the schuylkill river at kingsessing, west philadelphia, just to the south of what was once the lower or gray's ferry, this curious structure was begun in 1730, and the main part of it was completed the following year, as indicated by a stone in one of the gables bearing the inscription in greek, "may god save", followed in english by "john and ann bartram, 1731." successive additions and alterations have changed the inside arrangement more than the exterior appearance, and it can hardly be said that the house now has any particular floor plan. probably the latest important changes were made when a stone bearing the following inscription was placed over the study window:
-it is god above almyty lord the holy one by me ador'd. john bartram, 1770.
-in outward appearance bartram house is a simple gable-roof structure two and a half stories in height, of large, roughly hewn stones with east and west fronts and three dormers lighting the attic. the east or entrance front has a characteristic trellis-shaded doorway with quaint dutch seats at each side, while the west front has an odd, recessed porch between rude ionic columns of native stone, the same as the walls and built up like them. crudely chiseled, elaborately ornamental window casings, lintels and sills form a curious feature of this façade. clothed as it is with clinging ivy and climbing roses, the house suggests an effect of both stateliness and rusticity.
-bartram was a farmer, but his interest in plants, shrubs and trees was such that he became one of the greatest botanists of his day. in autumn, when his farm labors were finished for the year, he journeyed extensively about the colonies, gathering specimens with which to beautify his grounds. his greatest enjoyment in life was to make his collection of rare species ever more complete, and his remarkable accomplishments in this direction, despite many handicaps, entitle him to be known as the father of american botanists. after bartram's death his son william, also an eminent botanist, carried on the work, and later his son-in-law, colonel carr, did likewise until the place became one of the most interesting botanical gardens in the country. in 1851 the estate was purchased by andrew eastwick, a railway builder just returned from an extended commission in russia, who erected a large residence in another part of the grounds. in 1893 the city bought bartram house and its immediate grounds and in 1897 acquired the balance of the estate, the whole being converted into a public park and the old house being furnished and put in excellent condition by the descendants of the bartram family.
-undoubtedly the most notable instance of the use of "brick" stone with the so-called colonial or "barn" pointing is the johnson house at number 6306 germantown avenue, germantown. typical of the first homes that lined the street of this historic old town for nearly two miles, it is solidly built of dark native ledge stone, the front being of dressed rectangular blocks considerably smaller, somewhat rougher and hence less formal than the surfaced blocks of cliveden, for example. it is a single gable-roofed structure two and a half stories high with ranging windows throughout, a large chimney at each end and two dormers in the front between them. like many others of the time it had a small penthouse roof at the second-floor level which, with the overhanging eaves of the roof above, afforded protection from rainy weather for the joints of the stonework which was at first laid up in clay. lime for making more permanent mortar was far from plentiful for many years after america was first settled, and numerous makeshifts had to be resorted to unless the builder could afford to import lime from england at great expense. over the doorway, with its simple flanking seats, there is the familiar pedimental and slightly projecting hood, while the door itself is of the quaint divided type, permitting the upper half to be opened while the lower half is closed. on the first floor the windows have nine-paned sashes, both upper and lower, together with nicely paneled shutters, while on the second floor the upper sashes are foreshortened to six panes, and there are neither shutters nor blinds.
-this excellent example of the pennsylvania farmhouse type was built by dirck jansen, one of the original settlers of germantown, for his son john johnson at the time of his marriage to rachael livezey. the work was begun in 1765 and completed in 1768, as indicated by a date stone in the peak of one of the gables. it was one of the largest and most substantial residences in the town and for that reason gave much concern to the society of friends of which the johnsons were members. during the battle of germantown it was in the thick of the fight, and following the warning of an officer john johnson and his entire family took refuge in the cellar. bullet holes through three doors are still visible, also the damage done to the northwest wall by a cannon ball. the backyard fence, riddled with bullets, was removed in 1906 to the museum of the site and relic society at vernon.
-since the death of john johnson in 1805, the house has passed through many hands, all descendants of the builder, however. during the civil war it became a station of the "underground railway" for conducting fugitive slaves to canada, and mrs. josiah reeve, a great-great-granddaughter of the builder, used to tell how, when a child, she often wondered why so many colored people lived in the attic, staying only a day or so, when others would appear.
-generally similar to the johnson house is the old green tree inn, number 6019 germantown avenue, germantown, erected in 1748. its principal distinctions lie in the three small, plain dormers with segmental topped windows; the coved cornice; the elliptical carving in the pediment of the hood over the door; the enriched ovolo molding of the penthouse roof, consisting of a ball and disk in alternation, and the arched openings of the basement windows.
-in this building on december 6, 1759, then the home of daniel mackinett, the public school of germantown, the germantown academy, was organized, its building being erected the following year. in revolutionary times this old house was known as "widow mackinett's tavern", and it was a famous resort for driving parties from the city. many persons of note were entertained at the green tree inn, and when la fayette visited germantown in 1825 it was the intention to tender him a dinner there. it was concluded, however, that the tavern could not accommodate the party, and a breakfast at cliveden was given instead, to which reference has already been made.
-the old billmeyer house, also on germantown avenue, germantown, interests the student of architecture primarily as a rare instance of the early germantown two-family house. apart from its two front entrance doorways and the absence of a hood in the penthouse roof, it is much like the johnson house in general arrangement. the "brick" stones are larger and less pleasing, however, and the high elevation of the structure is evidently due to a subsequent change in the grade of the street. this, however, has given opportunity for a quaint double flight of wing steps with simple wrought-iron balustrades in the characteristic philadelphia manner. the seats, back to back, one for each doorway, recall those of the johnson house. one notices with admiration the beautifully detailed pedimental dormers with their round-topped windows, and with interest the unusual use of shutters on both the first and second stories. both upper and lower sashes on the first floor are twelve-paned, as are also the upper sashes on the second floor, the foreshortening of these upper windows being accomplished by means of eight-paned lower sashes.
-erected in 1727 as a single dwelling, this house was occupied during the battle by the widow deshler and her family. at that time there was no building of any sort between the billmeyer and chew houses. it was in front of this house that washington stopped in his march down germantown avenue on october 4, 1777, having discovered that the chew house was occupied by the british. there he conferred with his officers, ordered the attack and directed the battle. the tradition is that washington stood on a horse block, telescope in hand, trying in vain to penetrate the smoke and fog and discover the force of the enemy intrenched within the chew mansion. the stone cap of the horse block is still preserved, and the telescope is in the possession of germantown academy. the house suffered greatly at the hands of the british soldiers who were quartered there, and its woodwork still bears the marks of bullets and attempts to set it on fire. in 1789 it became the home of michael billmeyer, a celebrated german printer who carried on his trade there.
-homes such as the johnson and billmeyer houses and numerous similar ones, two and a half stories high with gable roofs, dormer windows and a penthouse roof at the second-floor level, are characteristic examples of the best pennsylvania farmhouse type which architects of the present day are perpetuating to a considerable extent. whether of dressed local or ledge stone, they are distinct from anything else anywhere that comes within the colonial category. in their design and construction sincerity of purpose is manifest; their sturdy simplicity and frank practicability give them a rare charm which appeals strongly to all lovers of the colonial style in architecture.
-doorways and porches
-invariably one associates a house with its front entrance, for the doorway is the dominant feature of the façade, the keynote so to speak. truly utilitarian in purpose, and so lending itself more logically to elaboration for the sake of decorative effect, the doorway became the principal single feature of a colonial exterior. when designed in complete accord with the house it lends distinction and charm to the building as a whole.
-like men, doorways have character and individuality. indeed, in their individuality they reflect the character of those who built them. they symbolize the house as a whole and usually the mien of its occupants; they create the first impressions which the guest has of his host, and foretell more or less accurately the sort of welcome to be expected.
-the houses of philadelphia and vicinity, perhaps more than those of any other american city, possess the charm of architectural merit combined with historic interest. to appreciate more fully the important part played by philadelphians in early american affairs, we study their houses and home life, and as the primary index to the domestic architecture of the vicinity we direct our attention to the doorways and porches.
-like the houses, the doorways range in architectural pretension from the unaffected simplicity of wyck to the stately elaboration of cliveden and mount pleasant, and possess distinctive characteristics not seen elsewhere. wealth made philadelphia the most fashionable american city of the time, with all the attendant rivalries and jealousies of such a condition. desiring to put the best foot foremost, elaboration of the doorway provided a ready means to display the self-esteem, affluence and social position of the owner. naturally the quaker severity of former years was reflected in many of these outward manifestations of home life, and it is a study of absorbing interest to note the proportions and resulting spirit, so unlike new england doorways, which the local builders gave to their adaptations from the same renaissance motives. summed up in a sentence, the high, narrow doorways of philadelphia, for the most part without the welcoming side lights of new england, speak truly of quaker severity and the exclusiveness of the old aristocratic families.
-as to the doors themselves, four distinct types were common throughout the colonial period. single and double doors were equally popular, high, narrow double doors being favored for the more pretentious houses, although instances are not lacking of single doors in the mansions of colonial times. with very few exceptions molded and raised panels with broad bevels were used in all, and it is according to the arrangement of these panels that the different types of doors are best classified.
-one of the earliest and simplest was the six-panel single door with three stiles of about equal width, top and frieze rail about the same, bottom rail somewhat wider and lock rail about double the width of the frieze rail. the upper pair of panels were not quite high enough to be square, while the middle and lower pairs were oblong in shape, the middle one being higher than the lower. rarely this relation was reversed, and the lower pair was higher than the middle pair, the door at number 6504 germantown avenue being an example. as found in the farmhouses of germantown and thereabouts, notably wyck, glen fern, the green tree inn and the johnson and billmeyer houses, these six-panel doors were split horizontally through the lock rail, dividing them into an upper and lower part. this arrangement made it possible to open the upper part for ventilation while keeping the lower part closed to prevent stray animals and fowls from entering the house. numerous examples of undivided six-panel doors are shown by accompanying illustrations and referred to in detail in succeeding paragraphs. of these the door of grumblethorpe is unique in having a double stile in the middle, giving almost the appearance of double doors.
-three-panel double doors, such as those of mount pleasant, solitude and port royal house, were less common than any of the four principal types mentioned, and were little used except for a few decades after the middle of the eighteenth century. like six-panel single doors, the upper panel was often almost square, and the middle oblong panel higher than the bottom one of the same shape. at mount pleasant the middle and lower panels were of the same size.
-eight-panel single doors were employed extensively throughout the eighteenth century, and this is one of the most picturesque and distinctive of philadelphia types. for the most part the panels were arranged as shown by the doors of the perot-morris, powel and wharton houses with a pair of small and large panels in alternation. other notable instances are to be seen at loudoun, chalkley hall and the blackwell house. the top or first and third pairs were about half as high as their width, while the second and fourth pairs were oblong and usually of the same size, their height about one and one-half times their width. the door at upsala is a rare instance of the fourth pair of panels lower than the second, whereas that at number 301 south seventh street shows this type with molded flat panels. as is well shown by the door of the perot-morris house, the fourth rail was the broad lock rail, and as in those days the latch was often separate, it was frequently placed on the rail above, and hence often referred to as the latch rail.
-another less common type of eight-panel single door is shown in accompanying illustrations by doors at number 4908 germantown avenue, number 39 fisher's lane, wayne junction and number 224 south eighth street. the panel arrangement consisted of three pairs of nearly square panels above the lock rail and one pair twice as high below. of the doors mentioned, that at wayne junction is unique in its flat molded panels.
-a corresponding panel arrangement of double doors is to be seen at the highlands. usually, however, four-panel double doors took the alternate small and large panel arrangement and were virtually halves of the more common type of eight-panel single door. such doors at stenton, cliveden and the morris house are illustrated in detail, and similar ones gave entrance to hope lodge, woodford and vernon. the woodford doors are interesting for their glazed quatrefoil openings in the top pair of panels, the vernon doors for a handsome brass knocker on the second panel of each one.
-for the most part philadelphia doorways were deeply recessed in connection with stone construction because of the great thickness of the walls. paneled jambs were let into the reveals of the opening, and whatever the panel arrangement of the door, a corresponding arrangement was followed in paneling the jambs and the soffit of the arch or flat lintel above. such a distinctive and pleasing feature did this become that it was widely adapted to brick construction, the outward projection of pilasters and engaged columns, often both, supporting pediments and entablatures which had the effect of increasing the depth of brick walls.
-the simplest type of philadelphia doorway is that common to the ledge and "brick" stone farmhouses of germantown, of which the doorway of the johnson house is perhaps the best example. these houses usually had a penthouse roof along the second-floor level, and as in this instance a pediment springing from this roof usually formed a hood above the doorway. although this doorway with its molded casings, four-paned horizontal transom and single door with six molded and raised panels is of the most modest character, its simple lines and good proportions present an effect of picturesque charm. the door is divided horizontally into two parts, after the dutch manner, like many farmhouse doors of the neighborhood. the position of the drop handle replacing the usual knob indicates the size of the great rim lock within, and the graceful design of the brass knocker is justly one of the most popular to-day. the seats flanking the entrance are unique and unlike any others in philadelphia, although those between the two doors of the billmeyer house near by are similar.
-substantially the same sort of doorway without the seats is to be seen at the old green tree inn, number 6019 germantown avenue, germantown, erected in 1748. here, however, the effect is slightly enriched by a nicely hand-tooled ovolo molding in the cornice of the penthouse roof that is repeated with an elliptical fan design in the pediment of the hood.
-but the characteristic type of pedimental door trim in philadelphia takes a different form. about the middle of the eighteenth century the plain horizontal transom above outside doors was generally replaced by the more graceful semicircular fanlight, the glass area of which was divided by sash bars or leaded lines into numerous radiating patterns of more or less grace and beauty. by omitting the entablature of the common horizontal doorhead and breaking the base of the pediment, the round arch of the fanlight was made to fit very nicely within the sloping sides of the pediment, the keystone of the arched casing occupying the upper angle beneath the peak of the gable. pilasters or engaged columns support the pediment, their upper molded portion above the necking being carried across the horizontal lintel of the door frame. from the capitals up to the short cornice returns, replacing the usual base of the pediment, the spirit of the entablature is retained by pilaster projections molded after the manner of cornice, frieze and architrave.
-excellent doorways such as this with fluted pilaster casings, single doors with six molded and raised panels of familiar arrangement and paneled jambs and soffit to correspond are to be seen at number 5011 germantown avenue, germantown, and number 247 pine street. the former is of considerable breadth, as philadelphia doorways go, and the fanlight is of rather too intricate pattern and heavy scale. the latter is exceptionally narrow, with pilasters in accord and a fanlight of chaste simplicity. like many others the door itself is dark painted and in striking contrast to the other white wood trim. one notices at once the strange placing of the knob at the top rather than in the middle of the lock rail, and the footscraper in a separate block of marble in the sidewalk at one side of the marble steps, the inference being that one should scrupulously wipe his feet before approaching the door.
-similar to these, but showing better proportion and greater refinement of detail, is the entrance to the morris house, one of the best known doorways in philadelphia and notable as one of the relatively few pedimental doorways of this type having the high four-panel double doors. the pediment framing the simple but very graceful fanlight is enriched by cornice moldings, hand-tooled to fine scale, the soffit of the corona being fluted, the bed-molding reeded and the dentil course being a familiar grecian fret. flutings also adorn the short architraves each side of the fanlight, and the abacus of the pilaster columns which is carried across a supplementary lintel in front of the lintel proper, the latter being several inches to the rear because of the deeply recessed arrangement of the door. the detail combines doric and ionic inspiration. an attractive knocker, simple brass knob and exceptionally large key plate indicating the great rim lock within, lend a quaint charm to a doorway distinctly pleasing in its entirety.
-two excellent doorways of this general type having paneled instead of fluted pilaster casings may be seen at number 6504 germantown avenue, germantown, and number 701 south seventh street. the former is broad and has a six-panel door much like that at number 5011 germantown avenue, but the fanlight is of simpler pattern and withal more pleasing. a fine-scale dentil course lends interest to the pedimental cornice, while the frieze portions of the entablature section of the pilasters are elaborated by flutings and drillings, the latter suggestive of a festoon. a knocker of slender grace is the best feature of the hardware. the south seventh street entrance, higher and narrower, presents another example of the dark-painted door rendered the more interesting by reason of its eight-panel arrangement, the spacing being that usually employed for double doors. the wood trim, molded but nowhere carved, commends itself for effective simplicity. two marble steps, the upper one very deep, with an attractive iron rail on the buttresses at each side, complete a doorway picture that is typically philadelphian.
-surpassing both of the foregoing, however, is the doorway at number 709 spruce street. indeed, it is among the best of its type in the city. it has the simple excellence in detail of the south seventh street doorway, with better proportion, less height of pediment and greater apparent breadth, owing to the six-panel arrangement of the door and the fact that it is white like the wood trim about it. the only carved molding is the grecian fret of the dentil course in the pedimental cornice. here again another favorite knocker pattern greets the eye.
-engaged round columns, usually smooth and standing in front of wide pilasters, were often pleasing features of these pedimental doorways. in such instances the projection was so great that the entablature sections above the columns were square, and the soffit of the corona in the pediment was paneled. two notable instances may be cited at number 5200 germantown avenue, germantown, and number 4927 frankford avenue. both have the familiar six-panel doors with corresponding paneled jambs and arch soffit, attractively simple fanlights and much fine-scale hand carving in the pedimental cornice and architrave casing of the keyed arch. the former displays better taste. effective use is made of a reeded ovolo, and the fascia of the architrave bears a pleasing hand-tooled band of vertical flutes with a festooned flat fillet running through it. the most distinctive feature, however, is the double denticulated molding of the pedimental cornice with prominent drilled holes in each dentil alternately at top and bottom.
-although representing a high degree of the wood-carvers' art, the other doorway is rather over-ornate in its detail. the reeded ovolo is again prominent, and the fascia of the architrave of the arch bears a familiar decorative motive consisting of groups of five flutes in alternation with a conventionalized flower. the dentil course of the pedimental cornice takes the form of a peculiar reeded h pattern which is repeated in much finer scale on the edge of the corona, the abacus of the capitals and its continuation across the lintel of the door. least pleasing of all is the fluting of the frieze portion of the entablature sections with three sets of drillings suggestive of festoons.
-another admirable type of doorway, of which there are many examples in philadelphia, frames the high, round-headed arch of the doorway with tall, slender engaged columns supporting a massive entablature above the semicircular fanlight over the door. almost without exception the entablature is some variation of the ionic order with denticulated bed-mold in the cornice, plain flat frieze and molded architrave, the latter sometimes enriched by incised decorative bands. the columns are doric and smooth. they stand in front of more widely spaced pilasters, which are virtually a broadening of the casings of the door frame, and which support a second entablature back of the first and somewhat wider. the two combined form a doorhead with projection almost equal to a hood, but the effect is far more stately.
-such a doorway in its simplest form, with columns tapering considerably toward the top, in accordance with a prevalent local custom of the time, is to be seen on the powel house, number 244 south third street. the sash divisions of the fanlight are unique, suggesting both gothic tracery and the lotus flower. the single, high eight-panel door recalls many having a similar arrangement of molded and raised panels, but differs from most of them in that the lock rail is about double the width of the two rails above.
-narrower, with more slender columns, and thus seemingly higher, is the doorway of the wharton house, number 336 spruce street. while the entablature is generally similar, the moldings adhere less closely to the classic order, and the same is true of the exceptionally slender columns. an enriched ovolo suggesting a quarter section of a cylinder and two disks in alternation lends added refinement to the paneled jambs and the architrave casing of the arch with its hand-carved keystone. the fanlight is of simple but pleasing pattern, and the eight-panel door is of characteristic design.
-at number 301 south seventh street the doorway itself strongly resembles that of the powel house, except that it is higher, narrower and rather lighter in scale. however, the wing flights of stone steps on the sidewalk leading to a broad landing before the door and the handsome wrought-iron rail lend individuality and rare charm to this notable example of a familiar type.
-the doorway of grumblethorpe, number 5621 germantown avenue, germantown, differs little in general appearance, if considerably in detail, from that of the powel house. one notices first how deeply recessed it is because of the thickness of the stone walls. with the projecting entablature it affords almost as much shelter as a porch. the single door next attracts attention. of six-panel and familiar arrangement, it differs from most of this sort in having a double stile in the middle, the effect simulating double doors. a simple, hand-tooled ovolo ornaments the jambs and architrave casings of the keyed arch. it is also repeated above the double denticulated member of the cornice, the latter enriched by a hole drilled in each dentil alternately above and below. daintiness and simplicity characterize the fanlight pattern set in lead lines.
-the doorway at number 6105 germantown avenue, germantown, may be regarded as one of the best of the more ornate examples of this type.
-it has fluted columns, an intricately hand-tooled dentil course in the cornice, richly incised architraves and carved ovolo moldings. the denticulated molding has fluted dentils with horizontal connecting members forming a sort of continuous h pattern. an incised band of dainty grace adorns the architrave of the entablature. it consists of groups of five vertical flutes in alternation with drillings forming upward and downward arcs or double festoons. the architrave of the arch and lintel has a slightly different incised pattern. there are the same fluted groups with oval ornaments composed of drillings between. the door itself is of the regulation six-panel arrangement.
-few doorways in the corinthian order are to be found in what may properly be termed the colonial architecture of philadelphia, for this order was little used by american builders until early in the nineteenth century. the doorway of doctor denton's house in germantown instances its employment in a somewhat original manner. the entablature follows the classic order closely, except for the tiny consoles of the dentil course and the incised decoration of the upper fascia of the architrave, consisting of a band of elongated hexagons which is repeated across the lintel of the door and the imposts of the arch. a latin quotation, "procuc este profans", meaning "be far from here that which is unholy", is carved in the architrave casing over the fanlight. the columns are fluted, but have the doric rather than the usual corinthian capitals. double blind doors such as are a feature of this entrance were the predecessor of the modern screen door. arbor vitæ trees in square wooden tubs on the broad top step each side of the doorway complete a formal treatment of dignity and attractiveness.
-rarely occurred a doorway having a complete entablature above a fanlight surmounted by a pediment. the east and west entrances of mount pleasant offer two splendid examples, massive and dignified. while much alike in several respects, they differ sufficiently in detail to afford an interesting comparison. in size and general arrangement in their double three-panel doors and smooth columns, they greatly resemble each other. although not pure, the doorway of the west or river front is essentially tuscan and of the utmost simplicity. its chief distinction lies in the rustication of the casings, jambs and soffit, simulating stonework, and the heavy fanlight sash with its openings combining the keystone and arch in outline. the doorway of the east front, which is the entrance from the drive, is doric and has the customary triglyphs, mutules and guttæ. there is the same rustication of casings and jambs up to the height of the doors, but molded spandrils occupy the spaces each side of the round arch with its wide ornate keystone. exceptionally broad tapering and fluted mullions lend distinction to the heavy fanlight sash with its round-ended openings. neither of these doorways has the double projection of those previously described. the background pilasters are omitted, and the engaged columns stand directly against the stone masonry. a beautiful palladian window in the second-story wall above each doorway forms a closely related feature, the two being virtually parts of the same effect.
-oftener, where an entablature supported by engaged columns was surmounted by a pediment, the fanlight over the door was omitted. of the several instances in philadelphia, the best known is undoubtedly the classic doorway of cliveden, about which the battle of germantown raged most fiercely. the damage done by cannon balls to the stone steps may still be plainly seen. this doorway is one of the finest specimens of pure mutulary doric in america, very stately and somewhat severe. every detail is well-nigh perfect, and the proportions could hardly be better. a similar arrangement of the high, narrow, four-panel double doors is found elsewhere in philadelphia, while the blinds used instead of screen doors recall those of doctor denton's house, although divided by two rails respectively toward the top and bottom into three sections, the middle section being the largest. two small drop handles with pendant rings comprise the entire visible complement of hardware on the doors.
-as compared with the east entrance of mount pleasant, the cliveden detail is richer in the paneled soffits of the corona and the paneled metopes in alternation with the triglyphs of the frieze. one notices also that it is not deeply recessed according to the prevailing custom in the case of stone houses.
-another doorway of this general character and having double doors is the entrance to solitude. conventionally ionic in detail, with smooth columns and voluted capitals, it pleases the eye but lacks the impressiveness of the doorway at cliveden. the three-panel double doors are narrower, and this fact is emphasized by the deep recess with paneled jambs. there is but one broad step, which also serves as the threshold.
-the doorway of the perot-morris house, deeply recessed because of the thick stone walls, presents at its best another variation of this sturdiest of philadelphia types with a single, eight-panel, dark-painted door and a very broad top stone step before it. virtually a pure tuscan adaptation, it differs in a few particulars from others of similar character, notably in the pronounced tapering of the columns toward the top and the recessing of the entablature above the door to form pilaster projections above the columns. in other words, the recessed entablature of this doorhead replaces the fanlight of another type already referred to and of which the doorways at number 5200 germantown avenue and number 4927 frankford avenue are examples. the brass knob, the heavy iron latch and fastenings inside are the ones washington, jefferson, hamilton, knox and randolph handled in passing in and out during washington's occupancy.
-porches were the exception rather than the rule in the early architecture of philadelphia. only a few old colonial houses now remaining have them, and for the most part they are entrances to countryseats in the present suburbs rather than to residences in the city proper. the highlands and hope lodge have such porches to which reference has already been made in connection with the houses themselves. of scant architectural merit, the porch at hope lodge may possibly be of more recent origin than the house. except for the narrow double doors the entrance to the highlands is strongly reminiscent of new england doorways and porches. both have hipped roofs so low as to be almost flat.
-a splendid example of the gable roof or pedimental porch more typical of philadelphia architecture is that at upsala. although displaying free use of the orders, it is regarded as one of the best in america. on a square stone platform reached by three broad stone steps, slender, fluted doric columns, with engaged columns each side of the doorway, support a roof in the form of a pediment of generally ionic character, the architrave and cornice being notable for fine-scale hand tooling. it will be noticed that the motive of the cornice with its jig-sawed modillions, rope molding and enriched dentil course suggests ionic influence; that of the architrave, with its groups of five vertical flutings in alternation with an incised conventionalized flower, doric. the same entablature is carried about the inside of the roof, projecting over the doorway to form a much favored philadelphia doorhead supported by flanking engaged columns. the doorway itself is distinctly of philadelphia type, high, relatively narrow, and deeply recessed, with the soffit of the arch and the cheeks of the jambs beautifully paneled and a handsome semicircular fanlight above the single eight-panel door but with no side lights. the effect of the keystone and imposts, also the enrichment of the semicircular architrave casings are characteristic. the paneling of the door consists of pairs of small and large panels in alternation, the upper pair of large panels being noticeably higher than the lower pair.
-of far more modest character is the porch of the old henry house, number 4908 germantown avenue, long occupied by doctor w. s. ambler. it is much smaller, extremely simple in its detail and of generally less pleasing proportions. two slender, smooth columns and corresponding pilasters on the wall of the house support a pediment rather too flat for good appearance. except for the ionic capitals, the detail is rather nondescript as to its order. the round-arched, deeply recessed doorway has the usual paneled jambs and soffit, but the reeded casings and square impost blocks are of the sort that came into vogue about the beginning of the nineteenth century. the single door with its eight molded and raised panels is of that type, having three pairs of small panels of uniform size above a single pair of high panels, the lock rail being more than double the width of the rails above and wider than the bottom rail. unlike the usual fanlight, this one is patterned after a much used palladian window with sash bar divisions suggested by gothic tracery.
-at number 39 fisher's lane, wayne junction, in connection with a doorway much like the above, is an elliptical porch much like those of salem, massachusetts, although devoid of their excellent proportion and nicety of detail. both the porch platform and steps are of wood, but the slender, smooth columns supporting the roof, which takes the form of an entablature, stand on high stone bases. only simple moldings have been employed, and the detail can hardly be said to belong to any particular order of architecture. the door itself is unusual in having molded flat rather than raised panels, while the fanlight is of more conventional pattern than that of the henry house.
-side lights and elliptical fanlights, so characteristic of new england doorways, are as rare as porches in the colonial architecture of philadelphia. the entrance of the highlands is thus unique in combining the three. the doorway at number 224 south eighth street has the new england spirit in its breadth and general proportion; in the beauty of its leaded side lights and fanlight, but the broad stone steps on the sidewalk and the iron rails are typically philadelphian. so, too, is the paneling of the wide single door. the ornate woodwork of the frame and casings, however, especially the frieze across the lintel, with its oval and elliptical fluted designs elaborately hand-tooled, suggests the dutch influence of new york and new jersey. the iron rails of the steps present an interesting instance of the adaptation of gothic tracery, arches and quatrefoils.
-the front doorway at stenton may be regarded as the earliest instance of side lights in philadelphia, and one of the earliest in america. the width of the brick piers or munions is such, however, that there are virtually two high narrow windows rather than side lights in the commonly accepted sense of the term. indeed, they are treated as such, being divided into upper and lower sashes like those of the other windows, only narrower. neither door nor windows have casings, the molded frames being let into the reveals of the brickwork and the openings, as in most early colonial structures, having relieving arches with brick cores. a six-paned, horizontal toplight above the doors corresponds in scale with the windows. this simple entrance, with its high, narrow, four-panel doors having neither knob or latch, is reached from a brick-paved walk about the house by three semicircular stone steps, such as were common in england at the time, the various nicely hewn pieces being fastened securely together with iron bands. severity is written in every line, yet there is a picturesque charm about this quaint doorway that attracts all who see it. in this the warmth and texture of the brickwork play a large part, but much is also due to the flanking slender trellises supporting vines which have spread over the brickwork above in the most fascinating manner.
-toward the beginning of the nineteenth century and for a few decades thereafter, under the influence of the greek revival, a new type of round-arched doorway was developed in philadelphia,--broader, simpler, heavier in treatment than most of the foregoing. there were no ornamental casings, the only woodwork being the heavy frame let into the reveals of the brick wall. above a horizontal lintel treated after the manner of an architrave the semicircular fanlight was set in highly ornamental lead lines forming a decorative geometrical pattern. double doors were the rule, most of them four-panel with a small and large panel in alternation like many earlier doors, but the panels were molded and sunken rather than raised. in a few instances there was a single vertical panel to each door, sometimes round-topped as on the doors of the randolph house, number 321 south fourth street.
-the most distinctive of these doorways is that at the southeast corner of eighth and spruce streets, where elliptical winding flights lead to a landing before the door. the ironwork is undoubtedly among the most graceful and best preserved in the city. this low, broad entrance resembles southern doorways rather than the philadelphia type, although there are a few others of similar character near by. the wide, flat casings and single-panel doors seem severe indeed by comparison with most of the earlier doorways with their greater flexibility of line.
-generally similar, the doorway of the old shippen mansion, number 1109 walnut street, with its straight flight of stone steps unadorned in any way, is less attractive except in the paneling of the doors. it lacks the grace of the winding stairs and the charm of the iron balustrade so much admired in the former. the fanlight pattern, good as it is, fails to make as strong an appeal as that of the other doorway.
-at the northeast corner of third and pine streets is to be found a very narrow doorway of this character, its double doors paneled like those of the shippen mansion and its graceful fanlight pattern more like that of the doorway at eighth and spruce streets, though differing considerably in detail. like many others in philadelphia this doorway is reached by four stone steps leading to a square stone platform, the entire construction being on the brick-paved sidewalk. the simple, slender rail of wrought iron, its chief decoration a repeated spiral, is the best feature.
-philadelphia, perhaps more than any other american city, is famous for the profusion and beauty of its ironwork, wrought and cast. for the most part it took the form of stair rails or balustrades, fences and foot scrapers, and many are the doorways of little or no architectural merit which are rendered beautiful by the accompanying ironwork. on the other hand, accompanying illustrations already discussed show the rare beauty of architecturally notable doorways enriched by the addition of good ironwork.
-fences were the exception rather than the rule in colonial times, although rarely employed along the front of a house to prevent passers from accidentally stepping into areaways in the sidewalk in front of basement windows. the danger of such a catastrophe was remote, however, for philadelphia sidewalks were very broad in order to make room for the customary stoop before the doorway and the frequent rolling way or basement entrance. these sidewalk obstructions being the rule, people formed the habit of walking near the curb, and accidents were thus avoided. it was not until late in the nineteenth century, when basement entrances with an open stairway along the front of the house began to be provided, that fences came into vogue, except in the suburbs, where a small front yard was sometimes surrounded by an iron fence.
-stoops divide themselves into four principal classes, of which the first, consisting only of a single broad stone step before the doorway, perhaps hardly warrants the term. as at grumblethorpe and the morris house, these broad stone steps often had no ironwork other than a foot scraper set in one end or in the sidewalk near by. again, as at the entrance to the wistar house, there were iron handrails or balustrades at both sides. less common, though by no means infrequent, were the stoops of this sort with a single handrail at one side.
-these handrails or balustrades, replacing the stone parapets so common in other american cities, are patterned after the cathedral grilles and screens of the middle ages and consist of both gothic and classic detail utilized with ingenuity and good taste. most of the earlier designs are hand wrought. later, cast iron came into use, and much of the most interesting ironwork combines the two. the balustrade at the wistar house just referred to is a typical example of excellent cast-iron work, the design consisting of a diaper pattern of gothic tracery with harmonious decorative bands above and below.
-the germantown farmhouse presents another variant of this first and simplest type of stoop with a hooded penthouse roof above and quaint side seats flanking the doorway. as at the johnson house, the broad stone step was sometimes flush with the sidewalk pavement.
-the second type of stoop consists of a broad stone step or platform before the door with a straight flight of stone steps leading up to it. cliveden, mount pleasant and doctor denton's house are notable instances of such stoops without handrails of any sort. the powel house stoop of this type has one of the simplest wrought-iron rails in the city, while that of the house at number 224 south eighth street, with its effective gothic detail, combines wrought and cast iron. two very effective wrought-iron handrails for stoops of this type, depending almost entirely upon scroll work at the top and bottom for their elaboration, are to be seen at number 130 race street and number 216 south ninth street, the handsome scroll pattern of the latter being the same as at the southeast corner of seventh and spruce streets, already referred to, and the former being given a distinctive touch by two large balls used as newels. sometimes, as at number 701 south seventh street, there was only one step between the platform of the stoop and the sidewalk, when its appearance was essentially the same as a stoop of the first type such as that of the wistar house.
-the third type of stoop has the same broad platform before the door, but the flight of steps is along the front of the house at one side rather than directly in front. while these were oftener straight, as in the case of the doorway at the northeast corner of third and pine streets, already referred to, they were frequently curved, as at number 316 south third street. both have a wrought-iron rail with the same scroll pattern of effective simplicity, a pattern much favored in modern adaptation. another stoop of this type at number 272 south american street is high enough to permit a basement entrance beneath the platform. the ironwork is beautifully hand-wrought in the florentine manner, its elaborate scroll pattern beneath an evolute spiral band combining round ball spindles with flat bent fillets, and the curved newel treatment at each side adding materially to the grace of the whole.
-during the nineteenth century more attention was given to newels in ironwork, and elaborate square posts combining cast and wrought pieces were constructed, such as that at fourth and liberty streets. in the accompanying balustrade are to be seen motives much employed in the other examples here illustrated. scroll work is conspicuous, as are rosettes, but a touch of individuality is given by a grecian band instead of the more common evolute spiral above the diaper pattern. the pineapple, emblem of hospitality, was attractive in cast iron and as utilized at number 1107 walnut street provided a distinctive newel.
-some of the earlier and simpler scrapers, such as that at third and spruce streets, consisted merely of two upright standards with a sharp-edged horizontal bar between them to provide the scraper proper. this horizontal part was made quite broad to take care of anticipated wear, which in this particular instance has been great during the intervening years.
-similar to this, except for the well-wrought tops of the standards and the curved supplementary supports, is the scraper of the dirck keyser doorway, number 6205 germantown avenue, germantown. regarded as a whole this design suggests nothing so much as the back and arms of an early english armchair.
-on the same page with these is shown another strange philadelphia scraper. apart from its outline it has no decoration, and what the origin of the design may be it is difficult to determine. to a degree, however, it resembles two crude, ancient battle-axes, the handles forming the scraper bar.
-a favorite design consisted of a sort of inverted oxbow with the curved part at the top and the scraper bar taking some ornamental pattern across the bottom from side to side. at the top, both outside and inside the bow, and sometimes down the sides, spiral ornaments were applied in the florentine manner. accompanying illustrations show two scrapers of this type at number 320 south third street and another one elsewhere on the same street. the use of a little urn-shaped ornament at the top of the latter scraper is most effective.
-at number 239 pine street is seen a scraper employing two large spirals themselves as supports for the scraper bar. the turn of the spiral is here outward as contrasted with the inward turn of the scrapers at upsala.
-another clever device of philadelphia ironworkers was to make the foot scraper a part of the iron stair rail. usually in such a scheme it was also made part of the newel treatment on the lower step of the stoop, but at seventh and locust streets, for example, it stands on the second step beside and above the ornate round newel with its surmounting pineapple. here, as in the case of the simpler handrail in south seventh street, one of the iron spindles of the rail is split about a foot from the bottom, and the two halves bent respectively to the right and left until they meet the next spindle on each side, the scraper bar of ornamental outline being fastened across from one to the other of these spindles below. the principal charm of the south seventh street rail lies in its extreme simplicity, the twisted section of the spindles near the bottom being a clever expedient. the pleasing effect of the design at seventh and locust streets is largely due to appropriate use of the evolute spiral band. only a little more ornate than the south seventh street stair rail is that in south fourth street. a special spiral design above the foot scraper, however, virtually becomes a newel in this instance. the same is true of another much more elaborate stair rail at seventh and locust streets with its attractive diaper pattern between an upper and lower grecian band, the whole grille being supported by a graceful three-point bracket.
-windows and shutters
-philadelphia windows and window frames during the colonial period were not so much a development as a perpetuation of the initial types, although of course some minor changes and improvements were made with passing years. from the very beginning sliding georgian sashes were the rule. penn's house has them and so have all the other historic homes and buildings of this vicinity now remaining. there are none of the diamond paned casement sashes, such as were employed in the first new england homes half a century earlier, for builders in both the mother country and the colonies had ceased to work in the elizabethan and jacobean manner and were completely under the influence of the renaissance. in the earlier houses the upper sash was let into the frame permanently, only the lower sash being movable and sliding upward, but in later years double-hung sashes with weights began to be adopted. stiles, rails and sash bars were all put together with mortise and tenon joints and even the sash bars were pegged together with wood. the glass was set in rabbeted edges and held in place by putty according to the method still in use.
-at first the panes were very small, and many were required in large windows, but as glass making advanced, the prevailing size was successively enlarged from about five by seven inches to six by eight, seven by nine, eight by ten, and nine by twelve. as the size of individual panes of glass was increased, their number in each sash was in some instances correspondingly decreased, although oftener larger sashes with the same number of panes resulted. philadelphia architects always manifested a keen appreciation of the value of scale imparted by the sash bar divisions of their windows, and for that reason small-paned sashes never ceased to be popular.
-although numerous variations exist, the custom of having an equal number of panes in both upper and lower sashes predominated. six, nine and twelve-paned sashes forming twelve, eighteen and twenty-four paned windows were all common throughout the colonial period. twelve-paned sashes were used chiefly in public buildings and the larger private mansions, six-paned sashes in houses of moderate size. while there are several notable instances of nine-paned upper and lower sashes, particularly hope lodge, cedar grove in harrowgate, northern liberties, and the wharton house at number 336 spruce street, this arrangement frequently, although not always, resulted in a window rather too high and narrow to be pleasing in proportion. a comparison of the accompanying photographs of the window of a combes alley house with that of a house at number 128 race street well illustrates the point. sometimes, where used on the lower story, six-paned upper and lower sashes are found in the windows of the second story.
-waynesborough, in easttown township, chester county, not far from philadelphia, is a well-known case in point. grumblethorpe presents the anomalous reverse arrangement of six-paned sashes on the first story and nine-paned sashes on the second story. still oftener six-and nine-paned sashes were combined in the same window, the larger sash being sometimes the upper and again the lower. bartram house and the johnson house are instances of nine-paned upper and lower sashes on the first story and nine-paned lower and six-paned upper sashes on the second story. greame park in horsham, montgomery county, not far from philadelphia, has nine-paned upper and lower sashes on the lower story and twelve-paned lower and nine-paned upper on the second floor. penn's house in fairmount park and glen fern are instances of nine-paned lower and six-paned upper sashes on the first story and six-paned upper and lower sashes on the second story. solitude and the blackwell house, number 224 pine street, exemplify the reverse arrangement of nine-paned upper and six-paned lower sashes on both stories.
-six-paned upper and lower sashes on both the first and second floors were, perhaps, more common on houses of moderate size and some large mansions throughout the colonial period than any other window arrangement. notable instances are the highlands; upsala; vernon; wynnestay in wynnefield, west philadelphia; carlton in germantown; the powell house, number 244 south third street; the evans house, number 322 de lancy street; and the wistar house, fourth and locust streets.
-among the more pretentious countryseats and city residences having twelve-paned upper and lower sashes on both the first and second stories may be mentioned cliveden, stenton, loudoun, woodford, whitby hall, the morris house, the perot-morris house, chalkley hall and port royal house in frankford.
-twelve-paned sashes were also used in various ways in combination with six, eight and nine paned sashes. for example, the waln house, number 254 south second street, has twelve-paned upper and lower sashes on the first story with six-paned upper and lower sashes on the second story, whereas mount pleasant has the reverse arrangement. laurel hill, in the northern liberties, fairmount park, has twelve-paned upper and lower sashes on the first story and eight-paned upper and lower sashes on the second story, whereas the billmeyer house has all twelve-paned sashes except the lower ones on the second story, which are eight-paned. wyck, consisting as it does of two buildings joined together, probably has the most heterogeneous fenestration of any house in philadelphia. on the first floor are windows having nine-paned lower and six-paned upper sashes, while on the second story are windows having twelve-paned lower and eight-paned upper sashes and others having six-paned upper and lower sashes. the free quakers' meeting house at fifth and arch streets has twelve-paned upper and lower sashes on the first story and eight-paned upper and twelve-paned lower sashes on the second floor.
-to reduce their apparent height, three-story houses were foreshortened with square windows. two-piece sashes were used, and the number of panes differed considerably. while a like number in both upper and lower sashes was the rule, the blackwell house, number 224 pine street, and the powel house, number 244 south third street, are notable instances of foreshortened windows having three-paned upper and six-paned lower sashes. the wharton house, number 336 spruce street, and the evans house, number 322 de lancy street, have foreshortened windows with six-paned upper and lower sashes. the waln house, number 254 south second street, the stocker house, number 404 south front street, and pen rhyn in bensalem township, bucks county, have foreshortened windows with three-paned upper and lower sashes. such foreshortened windows as all the above were usually employed with six-and nine-paned sashes on the stories below. where eight-and twelve-paned sashes were used for the principal windows of the house, the foreshortened windows of the third story usually had eight-paned upper and lower sashes, as on the morris house, the wistar house at fourth and locust streets, whitby hall and chalkley hall in frankford.
-most philadelphia houses, whether gable or hip-roofed, have dormers to light the attic. two or three on a side were the rule, although a few small houses have only one. for the most part they were pedimental or gable-roofed. segmental topped dormers were rare, although a row of them is to be seen in camac street, "the street of little clubs", and occasional individual instances are to be found elsewhere. lean-to or shed-roof dormers never found favor, the only notable instances about philadelphia being at glen fern, cedar grove in harrowgate, northern liberties, and greame park in horsham, montgomery county.
-an accompanying illustration of a dormer on the witherill house, number 130 north front street, shows the simplest type of gable-roof dormer with square-headed window and six-paned upper and lower sashes. similar dormers, differing chiefly in the detail of the moldings employed, are features of the morris house; wistar house, fourth and locust streets; wynnestay, wynnefield, west philadelphia; wyck; the johnson house; carlton, germantown; and chalkley hall, frankford. grumblethorpe and bartram house have dormers of this sort with a segmental topped upper window sash. solitude has this sort of dormer with three-paned upper and six-paned lower sashes, while stenton and the evans house, number 322 de lancy street, have eight-paned upper and lower sashes.
-houses usually of somewhat later date and notable for greater refinement of detail had gable-roof dormers with round-headed palladian windows extending up into the pediment. as in the accompanying illustration showing a dormer on the house at number 6105 germantown avenue, germantown, the casings usually take the form of fluted pilasters, supporting the pediment with its nicely molded cornice, often, as in this instance, with a prominent denticulated molding. narrower supplementary pilasters supported a molded and keyed arch, forming the frame within which the window is set. the lower sash is six-paned, while the upper one has six rectangular panes above which six ornamental shaped panes form a semicircle.
-similar dormers, differing chiefly in ornamental detail, are features of loudoun, vernon, upsala, hope lodge, port royal house, the perot-morris house, the billmeyer house, the wharton house, number 336 spruce street; the powel house, number 244 south third street; and the stocker house, number 404 south front street. the dormers of cliveden and mount pleasant are of this type but further elaborated by projecting ornamental scrolls at the sides.
-as the architecture of philadelphia is almost exclusively in brick and stone, there were none of the architrave casings and ornamental heads consisting of a cornice above the architrave and often of a complete entablature which characterized much contemporary new england work in wood. brick and stone construction require solid rather than cased wood frames let into the reveals of the brick wall and have no projections other than a molded sill, as on the morris house, while a stone lintel or brick arch must replace the ornamental head, often such a pleasing feature of wood construction. the frames were of heavy construction held together at the corners by large dowel pins and were ornamented by suitable moldings broken around the reveals of the masonry and by molded sash guides in the frame. in the earlier brick houses the square-headed window openings had either gauged arches, as at hope lodge, or relieving arches of alternate headers and stretchers with a brick core, as at stenton. later, as in the case of hewn stonework, prominent stone lintels and window sills were adopted. marble was much favored for this purpose because it harmonizes with the white-painted woodwork, brightens the façade and emphasizes the fenestration. most of the lintels take the shape of a flat, gauged arch with flutings simulating mortar joints that radiate from an imaginary center below and mark off voussoirs and a keystone. usually there is no surface ornamentation, the shape of the parts being depended upon to form a decorative pattern, the shallow vertical and horizontal scorings on the lintels of the morris house being exceptional. these, the lintels of cliveden and of the free quakers' meeting house, exemplify the three most common types.
-unquestionably the most distinctive feature of the window treatment of this neighborhood was the outside shutters. colonial times were troublous, and glass was expensive. in the city, protection was wanted against lawlessness at night, and in the country there was for many years the ever-present possibility of an indian attack, despite the generally friendly relations of the quakers with the tribes of the vicinity. there were also some british soldiers not above making improper use of unshuttered windows at night. except for a relatively few country houses which had neither outside shutters nor blinds--notably stenton, solitude, mount pleasant, bartram house and the woodlands--the use of shutters on the first story was the rule. above that the custom varied greatly. where outside shutters were totally absent, inside hinged, folding and sometimes boxed shutters were almost invariably present. only a few important instances of old colonial houses having blinds on the lower story now remain. port royal house, for example, two and a half stories high, has blinds on the first story and none above. the highlands has blinds on both the first and second stories, while chalkley hall in frankford has blinds on all three of its stories.
-often there are shutters on the lower story and none above. three-story instances of this are the waln house, number 254 south second street; the blackwell house, number 224 pine street; and the wistar house, fourth and locust streets. two and a half story instances are cliveden, hope lodge, vernon, woodford, the johnson house and laurel hill in the northern liberties, fairmount park.
-less common are three-story houses having shutters on the first and second stories and none on the third. whitby hall, the morris house and the wharton house, number 336 spruce street, are examples. rare are two and a half story houses having shutters on both the principal stories. wyck, cedar grove in harrowgate, northern liberties, and wynnestay in wynnefield, west philadelphia, are good examples. most two and a half story houses have shutters on the first story and blinds on the second, as instanced by upsala, grumblethorpe, loudoun, glen fern and the perot-morris house. the powel house, number 244 south third street, is a rare instance of shutters on all three stories, while the evans house, number 322 de lancy street, and pen rhyn in bensalem township, bucks county, are rare instances of shutters on the first story and blinds on the second and third stories.
-these outside shutters are of heavy construction like doors, the stiles and rails having mortise and tenon joints held together by dowel pins and the panels being molded and raised. usually frieze and lock rails divide the shutter into three panels, the two lower ones being the same height and the upper one square. accompanying illustrations show eighteen-paned windows having shutters arranged in this manner at number 128 race street and in combes alley. at cliveden the upper panel is not quite high enough to be square, and the same is true of the morris house shutters, which are also notable for the fact that the lower panel is not quite so high as the middle one. sometimes an opening of ornamental shape was cut through the top panel to admit a little light, as for instance the crescent in the shutters at wynnestay, wynnefield, west philadelphia. on a relatively few houses the shutters had four panels, the most common arrangement being a small and a large panel in alternation from the top downward. such shutters were features of loudoun, the wistar house, fourth and locust streets; the blackwell house, number 224 pine street; the powel house, number 244 south third street; the evans house, number 322 spruce street; and the wharton house, number 336 spruce street. an accompanying illustration shows an unusual four-panel arrangement on the witherill house, number 130 north front street, the three upper almost square panels being of the same size and the lowest one being about twice as high as one of the small ones. top, frieze and lock rails are usually the same width as the stiles, and the bottom rail is about double width. the meeting stiles and sometimes those on the opposite side have rabbeted joints, the latter fitting the jambs of the window frame.
-as indicated by an accompanying illustration showing the typical treatment of a second-floor twelve-paned window at number 6105 germantown avenue, germantown, most blinds were strengthened by a lock rail about midway of the height, or slightly below, dividing the blind into an upper and lower section. blinds of this sort are to be seen at loudoun, grumblethorpe, upsala, the highlands and port royal house. at waynesborough in easttown township, chester county, this division is considerably below the middle, making the upper section much the larger. less common are blinds divided into three sections by two lock rails, such as those of the perot-morris house. the evans house, number 322 de lancy street, has two-section blinds on the third story and three-section blinds on the second story. unusual indeed are blinds having only top and bottom rails. they are found now and then on small upper windows, as at glen fern. chalkley hall in frankford is a rare instance of such blinds on all three stories of a large countryseat.
-all of these blinds are of heavy construction, having top and lock rails about the same width as the stiles, and bottom rails about double width. except for heavy louvers instead of panels, they are much like shutters. the frame is of the same thickness, with mortise and tenon joints doweled together.
-a picturesque feature of philadelphia window treatment is the quaint wrought-iron fixtures with which shutters and blinds are hung and fastened. as clearly shown by the accompanying detail photograph of a window of the morris house, outside shutters are generally hung by means of hinges to the frame of the window. as these frames are set back in the reveal of the masonry, these hinges are necessarily of special shape, being of large projection to enable the shutters to fold back against the face of the wall. they were strap hinges tapering slightly in width, corresponding in length to the width of the shutter and fastened to it by means of two or three bolts. small pendant rings on the inside of the meeting stiles were provided for pulling the shutters together and closing them. they were fastened together by a long wrought-iron strap, usually bolted to the left-hand shutter, that projects to overlap the opposite shutter five or six inches when the shutters are closed. near the projecting end of the strap a pin at right angles to it sticks through a hole in an escutcheon plate in the lock rail of the opposite shutter, and an iron pin, suspended by a short length of chain to prevent loss, is inserted through a vertical drilling in the pin. later, sliding bolts were used, as seen on the shutters at number 128 race street and the blinds at number 6105 germantown avenue, germantown.
-shutters and blinds were held back against the face of the wall in an open position by quaint wrought-iron turn buckles or gravitating catches and other simple fasteners. that on the shutters of the perot-morris house is the most prevalent pattern. the scroll at the bottom is longer and heavier than the round, flattened, upper portion, so that the fixture is kept in position by gravity. in this instance it is placed in the masonry wall near the meeting stile of the shutter. a similar fastener on the chew house is placed in the window sill near the outer stile of the shutter. another type of turning fastener that was quite popular is seen at number 6043 germantown avenue, germantown. it is held in place by a long iron strap screwed to the window sill, and the weight of the gravitating catch consists of a casting representing a bunch of grapes. more primitive and less satisfactory in use and appearance is the spring fastener bearing against the edge of the shutter seen at wyck. crude as these fixtures were, they have hardly been improved upon in principle, and similar designs of more finished workmanship are still used in modern work.
-twelve appears to be the largest number of panes employed in a sliding sash in philadelphia architecture, even in public buildings, except a few churches. there are such sashes in independence hall, congress hall, carpenters' hall, the free quakers' meeting house at fifth and arch streets and the main building of the pennsylvania hospital. in congress hall and carpenters' hall there are also round-topped windows with twelve-paned lower sashes and upper sashes having ten small ornamental panes to make up the semicircle above twelve rectangular panes. a few similar windows with seven ornamental panes in the round top are to be seen in christ church.
-these windows slide in molded frames set in the reveals of the brickwork under plain arches with marble or other stone imposts, keystone and sill. the imposts and keystone were often molded and otherwise hand-tooled, as on christ's church, and the sills were sometimes supported by a console at each end, as on st. peter's protestant episcopal church. some of the windows of both of these churches illustrate the frequent employment of slightly projecting brick arches and pilaster casings at the sides.
-although large and more ornate, the palladian window above the entrance to independence hall on the independence square side is more like that found in domestic architecture. all three of its lower sashes are sliding. the central window consists of a twenty-four-paned lower sash and an upper sash with twenty-one ornamental-shaped panes forming the round top above twenty-four rectangular panes. the narrow side windows have six-paned upper and twelve-paned lower sashes. owing to its good proportion, the chaste simplicity of the detail and the pleasing combination of brick pilasters with wood trim, this has been referred to by architects as the best palladian window in america. the use of such a window in the ionic order above a doric doorway adds another to the many notable instances of free use of the orders by colonial builders.
-in domestic architecture palladian windows were employed chiefly to light the stairway landing, as at whitby hall; to light the upper hall, as at mount pleasant; and rarely to light the principal rooms each side of the front entrance, as at the woodlands. they not only charm the eye as interior features, but when viewed outdoors relieve the severity of many ranging square-headed windows and provide a center of interest in the fenestration, lending grace and distinction to the entire façade. no palladian windows in philadelphia so thoroughly please the eye or so convincingly indicate the delightful accord that may exist between gray ledge-stone masonry and white woodwork as those set within recessed arches at the woodlands. the proportion and simple, clean-cut detail throughout are exquisite. the engaged colonnettes of the mullions contrast pleasingly with the pilasters of the frame, each of the two supporting an entablature notable for its fine-scale dentil course, and these two in turn supporting a keyed, molded arch. the central window has twelve-paned upper and lower sliding sashes with an attractively spaced fanlight above. the narrow ten-paned side windows are stationary. unusual as is the use of these palladian windows, their charm is undeniable, and they are among the chief distinctions of the house.
-halls and staircases
-the hall is of particular moment in the design of a house. there guests are welcomed to the fireside, and there their first impressions of the home are formed. the architectural treatment of the hall sets the keynote of the entire home interior, so to speak. its doorways and open arches frame vistas of the principal adjoining rooms, and its staircase, usually winding, affords a more or less complete survey of the whole house from various altitudes and angles. it is the place where the master puts his best foot foremost, as the expression goes, and happily the recognized utilitarian features of the typical colonial hall permit a notable degree of elaboration at once consistent and beautiful.
-throughout the feudal period of the middle ages the hall was the main and often the only living, reception and banquet room of castles, palaces and manor houses. it was the common center of home activities. there the lord and family retainers, servants and visitors were accommodated, and all the common life of the household was carried on. in early times there were, besides the hall, only a few sleeping rooms, even in the greatest establishments. later, more retired rooms were added, and gradually the hall became more and more an entranceway or passageway in the house, communicating with its different parts.
-when houses began to be built more than a single story in height, the staircase became an important feature of the hall, and balconies were also introduced overlooking this great room, which was often the full height of the building. in fact, balconies were for a time more conspicuous than staircases, which were frequently located in any convenient secluded place. however, as builders came to appreciate more fully the attractiveness of this utilitarian structure, when embellished with suitable ornament, the staircase was accorded a more prominent position. eventually it became the most important architectural feature of the hall, for the most part supplanting the balcony, which was in a measure replaced by the broad landings of broken, winding and wing flights.
-throughout the georgian period of english architecture, the hall of the better houses retained something of the size and aspect of the great halls of feudal days, while at the same time accommodating the staircase and serving as a passageway leading to the principal rooms on the various floors. in the more pretentious houses of the period they were the scene of dancing and banqueting on special occasions, and for that reason were of spacious size, often running entirely through the building from front to back with the staircase located in a smaller side hall adjoining. where space or expense were considerations, or where spacious parlors and drawing-rooms rendered the use of the hall for social purposes unnecessary, the staircase ascended in various ways at the rear of the main hall, usually beyond a flat or elliptical arch, where it added very materially to the effectiveness of the apartment without detracting at all from the use of the front portion as a reception room.
-such halls as the latter are as typical of the better provincial mansions of philadelphia, especially its countryseats, as of the plantation houses of virginia and the early settled communities farther south. in the city residences of philadelphia, built in blocks as elsewhere, the halls were of necessity narrower, mere passageways notable chiefly for their well-designed staircases, which consisted for the most part of a long straight run along one side with a single turn near the top to the second-floor passageway directly above that to the rear of the house on the floor below. in a few of the earlier country houses there are, however, halls reminiscent of medieval times, for the influences of the mother country were very strong in philadelphia, and its colonial architecture displays marked georgian tendencies, some of it the very earliest georgian characteristics still somewhat influenced by the life and manners of the elizabethan and jacobean periods.
-at stenton, the countryseat of james logan, to which detailed reference has been made in a previous chapter, there is a hall and staircase arrangement such as can be found only in some of the earliest eighteenth-century country houses. this great brick-paved room wainscoted to the ceiling, with a fireplace across the right-hand corner, reflects the hall of the english manor house, which was a gathering place for the family and for the reception of guests, as instanced by the reception tendered to lafayette in the great hall at wyck on july 20, 1825.
-admirable bolection molded wood paneling of the dado and wall space above, a heavy molded cornice and high, fluted and slightly tapering pilasters standing on pedestals flanking the entrances on all four sides indicate more eloquently than words the charm of white-painted interior woodwork. as in many houses of equally early date, the absence of a mantel over the fireplace is characteristic, yet it seems a distinct omission in beauty and usefulness. through the high arched opening in the rear, with its narrow double doors, is seen the winding staircase in a smaller stair hall beyond. in this hallway stands an iron chest to hold the family silver, the cumbrous old lock having fourteen tumblers. above there are wooden pegs in the wall on which to hang hats. the broad staircase with its plain rectangular box stair ends is one of unusually simple stateliness, yet typical of the sturdy lines of philadelphia construction, the window with its built-in seat on the landing being an ever pleasing arrangement. severely plain square newels support an exceptionally broad and heavy handrail capped with dark wood, while attractive turned balusters of distinctive pattern complete a balustrade of more than ordinarily substantial character. a nicely paneled dado with dark-capped surbase along the opposite wall greatly enriches the effect.
-about the middle of the eighteenth century wide halls leading entirely through the center of the house from front to back were common in large american houses. where country houses had entrance and garden fronts of almost equal importance, with a large doorway at each end of the hall, the staircase was usually located in a small stair hall to one side of the main hall and at the front or back, as happened to be most convenient with respect to the desired floor plan. where a small door at the rear opened into a secluded garden, the staircase was located at the rear of the main hall with the door under the staircase. in either case the staircase took the form of a broken flight, with a straight run along one wall rising about two-thirds of the total height to a broad landing across the hall where the direction of the flight reversed. the landing was usually lighted by a large round-topped palladian window which provided one of the most charming features of the interior as well as the exterior of the house. inside it was often graced by the "clock on the stairs", a handsome mahogany chair or a tip-table with candlesticks for lighting guests to their rooms.
-whitby hall at fifty-eighth street and florence avenue, kingsessing, west philadelphia, offers a notable instance of this latter type of hall and staircase. the wide hall extends entirely through the western wing, the main entrance being on the flag-paved piazza of the south front. on the north front there is a tower-like projection in which the staircase ascends with a broad landing across the rear wall and a low outside door beneath. this unusual arrangement permits side windows on the landing in addition to the great palladian window in the middle, so that both the upper and lower halls are flooded with light.
-a great beam architecturally embellished with a complete entablature with pulvinated frieze, the soffit of the architrave consisting of small square molded panels, spans the hall over the foot of the stairs along the line of the rear wall of the western wing. it is supported on opposite sides by well-proportioned fluted pilasters with nicely tooled ionic capitals and heavy molded bases. thus the staircase vista from the front end of the hall is framed by an architectural setting of rare beauty. the heavy cornice of the beam, with its molded and jig-sawed modillions, continues all around the hall ceiling, the turned and molded drops of the newels on the floor above tying into it very pleasingly over the stairs. a molded surbase and skirting, with a broad expanse of plastered wall between, provides an effective dado all around the hall. where it follows up the stairs, it corresponds to the handrail of the balustrade opposite. the molding is the same; there is the same upward sweep of the ramped rail, and it is also capped with dark wood. on the landing dainty little fluted pilasters support the surbase, their fine scale lending much grace and refinement. one notices there also the beautiful beveled paneling of the window embrasures, the paneled soffit of the palladian window and its built-in seat. the balustrade is of sturdy conventional type characteristic of the period. two attractively turned balusters grace each stair, their bases alike and otherwise differing only in the length of their tapering shafts. the newel treatment is especially appropriate, inasmuch as it reflects the ionic order, the balustrade winding scroll-fashion about a slender fluted colonnette, and the first stair tread taking the outline of the rail above. graceful scroll brackets adorn the stair ends beneath the molded projections of the treads. altogether this is one of the most notable halls of this type in philadelphia.
-the oldest part of whitby hall as it now stands was erected in 1754 by james coultas, wealthy merchant, shipowner, soldier and enthusiastic promoter of many public and philanthropic enterprises. in 1741 he established himself in a house then existing on the plantation that corresponds to the present east wing, which was reconstructed with rare fidelity in 1842 to match the western wing erected by colonel coultas. the walls of the entire present house all around are of nicely squared and dressed native gray stone, and to afford extra protection against prevailing winds a penthouse with coved cornice runs along the northern and western ends at the second-floor level. the gables of the west wing face north and south with quaint oval windows to light the attic. a flag-paved piazza extends across the south front, forming part of the main entrance, while in a tower projection on the north front is located the staircase already described. both the hall doorway and windows in this tower have brick trim, an unusual feature, while the bull's-eye light in the tower pediment, also set in brick trim, was a porthole glass from one of colonel coultas' ships.
-as a merchant and in numerous other private enterprises, colonel coultas amassed a substantial fortune. from 1744 to 1755 he was the lessee of the middle ferry, where market street bridge now stands, and it was chiefly due to his initiative that steps were first taken to make the schuylkill river navigable. he was one of the commissioners who surveyed the stream and the first to demonstrate that large boats could be taken above the falls. in 1748 he was a captain of the associates, a battery for the defense of philadelphia against french insolence, and in 1756 during the indian uprisings he became lieutenant-colonel of the county regiment. he was repeatedly justice of the peace, high sheriff of the county from 1755 to 1758, and in 1765 was appointed judge of the orphans' court, quarter sessions, and common pleas. he carried on a farm in blockley, operated a sawmill on cobb's creek north of the blue bell inn, was a devout vestryman and enthusiastic huntsman. he it was who laid the corner stone of the church of st. james in 1762, and as a member of the colony in schuylkill and the gloucester fox hunting club he was also prominently identified with the more convivial activities of the community.
-on colonel coultas' death in 1768, whitby hall was inherited by his niece, martha ibbetson gray, and later passed by inheritance to her great-great-grandchildren in the thomas family, in whose hands it still remains.
-eloquently typical of the broad hall running entirely through the house from front to back, with the staircase located in a smaller side hall, is the arrangement at mount pleasant to which reference has already been made in a previous chapter. it is one which affords delightful vistas through the outside doorways at each end and an ample open space for dancing on occasion. handsome doorways along the sides open into the principal rooms and are notable for their beautifully molded architrave casings and nicely worked pedimental doorheads. in fact, the woodwork here, as well as that throughout the house, is heavier and richer in elaboration of detail than usual in georgian houses of the north, the classic details of the fluted pilasters and heavy, intricately carved complete entablature being pure mutulary doric and more ornate than the ionic detail of whitby hall. however, this was quite in keeping with the larger and more pretentious character of the former. the entablature is a positive triumph in cornice, frieze and architrave. the moldings are of good design and carefully worked; the guttæ of the mutules, the triglyphs with paneled metopes between, and the guttæ of the architrave all closely follow the classic order and exemplify the finest hand tooling of the period.
-so similar as a whole yet so different in detail are the staircase hall of mount pleasant and the staircase end of the main hall at whitby hall that they invite comparison. in general arrangement they are much the same, except that the staircases are reversed, left for right. as at whitby hall a flat arch frames the staircase vista, a great beam bearing the entablature surrounds the hall at the ceiling, spanning the entrance to the staircase hall and being supported by square, fluted columns. in this smaller hall a simple, though only a molded cornice in harmony with that of the main hall suffices. unlike the plain dado of the main hall, however, elaborated only by a molded surbase and skirting, a handsome paneled wainscot runs around the staircase hall and up the stairs. the spacing and workmanship displayed in this heavily beveled and molded paneling could hardly be better. at the foot of the flight, on the landing and at the head of the stairs, the ramped surbase with its dark wood cap, corresponding to the handrail opposite, is supported by slender fluted pilasters which materially enrich the effect. the space under the lower run of the staircase is entirely paneled up with a small diagonal topped door opening into the little closet thus afforded. the scroll-pattern stair ends, balustrade and spiral newel treatment are much the same as at whitby hall. although similar in pattern the balusters are more slender and placed three instead of two on each stair.
-on the second floor, as below, the hall extends entirely through the house, and following a frequent custom of the time was finished in a different order of architecture, the pulvinated ionic being chosen, no doubt, for its lighter grace and greater propriety adjoining bedchambers. in furtherance of this thought, only the cornice with its jig-sawed modillions was employed at the ceiling and the flat dado was paneled off by the application of moldings to give it a lighter scale. the complete entablature was used only over the archway at the head of the stairs, where it was supported by square, fluted columns with beautifully carved capitals. another mannerism of the time is the variation in the treatment of the doorways, the pedimental doorheads on one side being broken, whereas the others are not.
-the hall and staircase at cliveden combine distinctive characteristics of the halls at stenton and mount pleasant. as at stenton, the hall itself consists of a large reception room centrally located, and about which the other principal rooms of the house are grouped. through an archway at the rear is a slightly narrower though spacious staircase hall extending through to the back of the house, where the broken staircase rises to a broad landing and the direction of the run reverses. the architecture is as pure doric as at mount pleasant, but of the denticulated rather than the mutulary order, and altogether more satisfactory for interior trim in wood. the cornice only is carried around the room at the ceiling, and in the staircase hall only the cymatium and corona of the cornice; but over the archway, supported by a colonnade of four fluted round columns, a complete entablature with nicely worked classic detail is employed and given added emphasis by several inches' projection into the reception hall. the columns are spaced so as to form a wide central archway flanked by two narrow ones, the effect being a staircase vista unexcelled in the domestic architecture of philadelphia. the picture is enriched by a heavily paneled wainscot and handsome, deeply embrasured doorways with architrave casings, paneled jambs and soffits.
-except for the single, simple turned newel, the staircase is much like that at mount pleasant. there is the similar ramped balustrade and paneled wainscot with ramped surbase and dark wood cap rail along the wall opposite. little pilasters likewise support this rail, but they are paneled rather than fluted. there are similar scroll-pattern stair ends and paneling under the stairs. in this instance the under side of the upper run is paneled in wood rather than plastered. the turned balusters are slightly more elaborate than at mount pleasant, but are used in the same manner, three to the stair.
-not built until nearly the dawn of the nineteenth century, upsala belongs to a later period than most of the notable houses in philadelphia. the lighter grace of adam design had begun to dominate american building and is to be seen in the staircase as well as in the mantels and other interior woodwork at upsala. the staircase combines features of the broken flight with a midway landing, such as the foregoing examples, and of the later development in long halls where the direction of the flight was reversed by a curved portion of the run instead of a landing. the breadth and length of the hall made landings possible and desirable, but instead of one wide midway landing between the upper and lower runs of the flight, there were two square landings separated by three steps, the stair stringers, balustrade and wainscot swinging upward in broad-sweeping curves. the wainscot consists of a charmingly varied paneling, while the balustrade is lighter in treatment than was usually the case. a simple dark wood handrail, slender, square molded balusters and stairs having a low rise and broad treads lend grace of appearance rarely equaled. jig-sawed outline brackets of unusually harmonious scroll pattern placed under the molded overhang of the treads provide additional ornamentation of a refined character. the spiral newel is but a simpler form of those already alluded to. altogether it is a staircase that charms the eye through its unaffected simplicity, a quality that never loses its power of appeal whether found inside the house or out.
-another distinctive scroll outline bracket for stair ends forms the principal feature of a graceful staircase in the carpenter house, third and spruce streets. the pattern manifests great refinement and has excellent proportion. in contrast with these lighter designs for domestic architecture, it is interesting to examine the stair-end treatment in independence hall, which is equally pleasing as an example of heavier, richer detail for public work. the brackets are solid, of evolute spiral outline and beautifully hand carved.
-mantels and chimney pieces
-in colonial times fireplaces were a necessity. they supplied the only means of heating the house, and much of the cooking was done by them also. indeed, the hanging of the crane was regarded as a signal event in establishing a new home, and often a cast-iron fireback bore the date of erection of the house and the name or initials of its owner. each of the principal rooms had its fireplace and often a large parlor, drawing-room or library had two fireplaces, usually at opposite ends or sides, though rarely on the same side, as in the library at stenton. the hearthstone was the center of family life, and architects, therefore, very properly made the mantels and chimney pieces with which they embellished the fireplace the architectural center of each room,--the gem in a setting of nicely wrought interior woodwork.
-then came the franklin stove, throwing more heat out into the room and less up the chimney. fireplaces were accordingly bricked up to accommodate it, a pipe was run into it, and presently the air-tight stove supplanted franklin's open grate. later central heating plants for hot air, steam and hot water were developed in the basement and connected by pipes with registers and radiators in the various rooms above. they gave greater and more even heat, consumed less fuel and were more easily taken care of than several fires in various parts of the house. for a time houses were built for the most part without fireplaces, but gradually a sense of loss began to be generally felt. these registers and radiators warmed the flesh, but they left the spirit cold; there was no poetry or sentiment whatever about them.
-the outcome was obvious. the central heating plant has of course remained, but recent years have witnessed the general reopening of bricked-up fireplaces in old houses large and small, and to-day few new houses are built without a fireplace in the living room at least. to a degree it is a luxury, perhaps, though not a very expensive one, yet it is something for which all able to do so are very glad to pay. besides, on chilly spring and autumn days and rainy summer evenings it provides a cheap and convenient auxiliary heating plant. but an open fire warms more than the hands and feet; it reaches the heart. its appeal goes back to the tribal camp-fire and stirs some primitive instinct in man. "hearth and home" are synonymous; there is a whole ritual of domestic worship which centers around an open fire. a blaze on a hearth is more than a luxury, more than a comfort; it is an altar fire.
-and so in building the modern colonial home we find ourselves ever going back to study the creations of the master builders of provincial times in america, when fireplaces meant even more than they do to-day, and finding in their achievements ideas and inspiration of great beauty and practical value. the neighborhood of philadelphia is as rich in its collection of fine old mantels and chimney pieces as in its splendid interior woodwork generally. like the latter they are for the most part of the early georgian period, mostly chimney pieces, many without shelves, and usually somewhat heavy in scale and detail.
-as in other important architectural features the development of mantels and chimney pieces in america followed to a degree the prevailing mode in the mother country. for many years after the italian classic orders were brought to england by inigo jones, early in the seventeenth century, chimney pieces usually consisted merely of a mantel shelf and classic architraves or bolection moldings about the fireplace opening, the chimney breast above being paneled like the rest of the room. toward the end of that century, and for several decades following, the shelf was omitted and the paneling on the chimney breast took the form of two horizontally disposed oblongs, the upper broader than the lower.
-such an arrangement in its simplest form is to be seen in the great hall at stenton, where a fireplace is located across one corner. the elliptical arch of the white pilastered brickwork and the height of the horizontal architrave above this arch impart a touch of quaint distinction. one notices with admiration the beautiful brass andirons and fire set, and with interest the floreated cast-iron fireback.
-going to the other extreme we find in the parlor at whitby hall a magnificently ornate example of the chimney piece without a mantel shelf which, as in many colonial houses, has been made the central feature of one side of the room, symmetrically arranged and architecturally treated with wood paneling throughout. a heavy cornice with prominent double denticulated string course or crenelated molding runs entirely around the room, tying the fireplace end of the room into the general scheme. the chimney piece projects slightly, lending greater emphasis, and at each side the wall space is given over to high round-topped double doors of closets divided into upper and lower parts, beautifully flush-paneled and hung with quaint iron h hinges. like those of the other doors and windows, the casings are of architrave pattern and in the center of the round arch is a keystone-shaped ornament hand-tooled in wood. the fireplace opening is faced beautifully with cut black marble brought from scotland and outlined with a nicely chiseled ovolo molding in wood similar to the familiar egg and dart pattern, but incorporating the richer lesbian leaf instead of the dart, a closely related reed-like motive replacing the conventional bead and reel. two handsomely carved consoles resting on the fillet of this ovolo molding support the superb molded panel of the overmantel some three by five feet, in which to this day not a joint is to be seen. a band of exquisite floreated carving in high relief fills the long, narrow, horizontal panel between the consoles. the precision of the tooling in this intricate tracery is indeed remarkable. nicely worked but simple parallel moldings with the favorite grecian fret sharply delineated between them and lesbian leaf ornaments in the square projections at the corners compose a frame of exceptional grace of detail and proportion. rarely is an ensemble so elaborate accompanied by such a marked degree of good taste and restraint.
-in the great chamber on the second floor, which is believed to have been the boudoir of the mistress of mount vernon, there is a very similar, though even more elaborate, architectural treatment of the fireplace and of the room. closets with round-topped doors again occupy the spaces each side of the fireplace; the cornice surrounding the entire room with its conspicuous grecian fret motive again ties the paneled end of the room into the general scheme, and in this instance the relation is made closer by the paneled wainscot which is carried about all four walls. in this wainscot two panel sections under each closet are hung as double doors opening into small supplementary closets. owing to the loftiness of the room, the closet doors have been elaborated by ornate broken pedimental heads repeating the cornice on a smaller scale, and which are supported by paneled pilasters and large consoles superbly carved with an acanthus leaf decoration.
-beautiful as these doorways are in themselves, they are so much heavier in treatment than the overmantel as to detract from it; they do not occupy an unobtrusive subordinate position, as do the closet doors of the parlor at whitby hall. moreover, the trim of each door occupies such a breadth of wall space that the fireplace and overmantel are narrowed, the latter taking the form of a vertical rather than a horizontal oblong. in fact, the dominant lines throughout are here vertical as contrasted with the dominant horizontal lines at whitby hall. the loftiness and stateliness of the room are thereby emphasized, but the effect is less restful.
-in architectural detail the fireplace and overmantel recall that of the whitby hall chimney piece. there are similar black marble facings about the fireplace opening outlined by a hand-tooled molding, and similar elaborately carved consoles supporting a handsomely molded panel with projecting ornamental corners, but in this instance the panel is surmounted by a highly ornamental top, consisting of a swag or broken pediment with an exquisitely hand-carved floreated design in high relief between the volutes which imparts a charming lightness and grace to the ensemble. pilaster projections bearing nicely delineated leaf ornaments above the corners of the overmantel panel tie into corresponding projections in the cornice and unify the whole construction. otherwise the chimney piece differs from that of whitby hall chiefly in its moldings, in which the lesbian leaf is prominent. the ovolo about the marble facings of the fireplace bears the conventional bead and reel and egg and dart motives, the latter having a leaf design in alternation with the egg. the ogee molding outlining the overmantel panel is enriched with a larger and a smaller leaf motive in alternation, while the torus of the inner molding of this panel bears a little conventionalized flower in alternation with crossed flat fillets.
-altogether more pleasing is the chimney piece in the parlor at mount pleasant. in fact, it is regarded as one of the handsomest chimney pieces without a mantel shelf in america. its excellence is due not to superiority of detail, but to better proportion, the breadth of the chimney breast being sufficient to make the overmantel panel practically square. this great fireplace construction for burning four-foot logs projects into the room some eighteen inches, with wood-paneled sides, the adjoining walls being plastered. around it are carried the chaste ionic cornice with its prominent dentil course; and the paneled wainscot below corresponds to the pedestal of the order. in the general arrangement of the design, this chimney piece follows closely that of the one above, except that top, sides and bottom of the overmantel panel frame are alike. as at whitby hall the familiar grecian fret very acceptably occupies the space between the inner and outer moldings of this frame and obviates the need of any elaborate carved decoration above the panel. contrasting pleasingly with this fret and on opposite sides of it are a plain molded ovolo outlining the panel and a small floreated torus supplemented by a molded cymatium within. the pilaster projections tying the panel treatment to the cornice bear three nicely tooled vertical flower designs in a row, an unusual conception. an ovolo of conventional egg and dart motive with the customary bead and reel astragal outlines the black marble facings of the fireplace opening. the console ornamentation is strongly reminiscent of that at whitby hall.
-the mantel shelf proper was far too practical and attractive a feature of the fireplace to be long abandoned, however. it furnished a convenient place for clocks, candlesticks, china and other ornaments, and it appealed to the eye because of the homelike, livable appearance these articles of decoration gave to the room. about the middle of the eighteenth century the shelf of former times was reinstated and the overmantel was developed into a single large and elaborately framed panel over the chimney breast in which often hung a family portrait, a gilt-framed mirror or girandole.
-such a chimney piece is to be seen in the parlor at cliveden, its fireplace opening partly closed up to convert it for use with the coal grate shown by the accompanying illustration. in this instance the carved consoles support the shelf rather than the panel of the overmantel, which engages neither the shelf nor the cornice with its prominent double denticulated molding. otherwise, the chimney piece is essentially the same in arrangement as that in the parlor at mount pleasant. it has the same pleasing breadth and generally good proportions, but is severely simple in detail, the conventional ovolo of egg and dart motive without the astragal which outlines the black marble fireplace facings being the only enriched molding. as was customary, the shelf takes the form of a cymatium, and the projections above the consoles and central panel are characteristic details.
-much like this, though simpler in the absence of any enriched moldings and having less projection, is the chimney piece on the second floor of an old spruce street house shown by an accompanying illustration. it has substantially the same overmantel frame and mantel treatment. incidentally it furnishes an excellent example of the complete paneling of one end of a room with the familiar six-panel ordinary inside doors each side of the fireplace. the architrave casings of the doors with their horizontal projections over the lintel are in pleasing accord with the corresponding projections of the overmantel frame and of the facing of the fireplace opening.
-toward the end of the eighteenth century and for some years thereafter, mantels with a shelf, but without any overmantel treatment of the chimney breast, became the rule. the whole construction was usually projected from twelve to eighteen inches into the room, however, and as the surbase and skirting or a paneled wainscot and the cornice above was carried around it, the effect was much like that of a chimney piece, especially when a large, ornamental framed mantel mirror occupied the space over the chimney breast.
-the mantel itself took the form of a complete entablature above the fireplace opening, supported by pilasters at each side, the pilasters usually being carried up through the entablature by projections in architrave, frieze and cornice respectively, and the cymatium of the cornice forming the mantel shelf. the classic orders supplied much of the ornamental detail with which these mantels were embellished, and the work gave full scope to the genius of english and american wood-carvers, of whom there were many of marked ability in america.
-the thriving condition of the ship-building industry in the colonies was instrumental in attracting and developing skilled wood-carvers. many of them became apt students of architecture and proficient in executing hand-tooled enriched moldings and other ornament for mantels and chimney pieces. not content with the conventional detail of the classic orders, they varied it considerably to suit their purposes, using familiar motives in new ways, securing classic effects with detail of their own conception, and at times departing far from all precedent. for the most part their achievements displayed that good taste and restraint combined with a novelty and an ingenuity which have given our best colonial architecture its principal charm and distinction.
-numerous examples of this sort of hand-carved mantels are to be found in philadelphia, but none elicits greater admiration than those in two rooms at upsala which are shown by accompanying illustrations. enriched with a wealth of intricate, fine-scale hand-tooling of daintiness and precision, they indicate the influence of adam design and detail, although quite unlike the typical adam mantel. they form an especially interesting study for comparison because of the marked similarity of the general scheme in all three and the difference in effect resulting from variations in detail.
-the simplest of the three is a mantel for an iron hob grate with dark marble facings outlined by simple moldings. familiar fluted pilasters support a mantel board entablature of rare beauty. beneath a conventional cymatium and corona, with projections above the pilasters and central panel of the frieze, is a nicely worked dentil course,--a band of vertical flutes with a drilled tooth in the upper half of each alternate flute. the pilaster projections of the frieze are fluted in and thus initiated a great reformation of both law and opinion which sooner or later must traverse the world."
-how soon or how late this will happen will depend very greatly upon the amount of power retained by the church. pagans, infidels, and scientists have fought for, and the church has fought against, the dignity, honor, and welfare of women for centuries; and because fear, organization, wealth, selfishness, and power have been on the side of the church, and she has kept women too ignorant to understand the situation, she has succeeded for many generations in retarding the progress and shutting out the light that slowly came in despite of her.
-it has always been uphill work fighting the church. so long as it had sword and fagot at its command, and the will to use them; so long as it pretended to have, and people believed that it had, power to mete out damnation to its opposers; just so long were science, justice, and thought fatally crippled.
-man it pronounced a person first, with rights, privileges, and protection as such. incidentally he might also be a husband, a father, or a son. his welfare, duties, and rights as a person, as a human being, were apart from and superior to those that were special and incidental. he received consideration always as a person. he might be dealt with as husband or father.
-from this outlook the debt of civilization to the church is heavy indeed. is it a debt of gratitude?
-under this head there is space for but one point farther, out of the great store at hand.
-the clergy were licensed to commit crime. they got up a neat little scheme called "benefit of clergy" by which they were secure from the punishment meted out to other criminals. the relief offered did sometimes reach other men, but as learning was largely confined to the clergy they were the chief beneficiaries, as the name implies and as was the intent of the law. any man who could read was allowed "benefit of clergy;" in other words, his punishment was lightened or entirely omitted. but a woman, though she were a perfect mine of wisdom and could read in any number of languages, could receive no such benefit, because she could not take holy orders. they first enacted that she should not take orders, and then they denied to her the relief which only that ability could give. so great a favorite was woman with the church!
-the ordinary male criminal received the ordinary punishment, the clergy received none; and in order that the requisite gross amount of suffering for crime should be inflicted on somebody, the clergy enacted that woman should receive their share vicariously in addition to her own, and then to this they added such interest as would make the twenty-per-cent-a-month men of wall street ashamed of their stupid financiering.
-thus the church arrogated to itself the exclusive right to commit crime with impunity, and also claimed and exercised the right to prevent women from learning to read. if she still persisted it could then punish her doubly, because she had no right to learn.
-the church did then just as it does now, in principle, in setting up certain great benefits which only priests might hope to obtain, and then enacting that certain persons were forever ineligible to the priesthood; and the same or quite as good reasons were given for denying women such relief from the penalties of the law as was freely extended to men, as are given to-day for refusing her the liberty, emoluments, and benefits that are freely accorded to the most imbecile little theological student who is educated by the needle of a sister and supported by money wrung from the fears of shop or factory girls, to whom he paints the terrors of hell, and freely threatens the same to those who disobey him. salvation comes high, but no preacher ever gets so poor that he cannot distribute hell free of charge to the multitude without the least diminution of his stock-in-trade.
-i should think that an orthodox pulpit would be about the last place a self-respecting woman would wish to fill; but i am glad, since there are some who do so wish, that the issue has again been forced upon the church, and that in 1884, true to her history, she was again compelled to acknowledge herself a respecter of persons, a degrader of women, and a clog to progress and individual liberty, equality, and conscience.
-i am glad that women have recently forced the methodist and presbyterian churches to declare their principles of class preference and partial legislation. i am glad that in 1884 these churches were compelled to say in effect to women, so that the world could hear: "you are not and you never can be our equals. we are holy. you are unclean. we will hold you back and down to the ancient level we made for you just as long as the life is in us; and if you ever receive recognition as a human being, it must be at the hands of those who defy the church and hate creeds that are not big enough to go all round. our creeds are only large enough to give each sex half. but we won't be stingy, we only want our share. you are entirely welcome to all the degradation here and all the damnation hereafter; and any man who attempts to deprive you of these blessings is a heretic and a sinner. let us pray."
-in the church schools and "universities" to-day it is quite pathetic to hear the professors wrestle with geology and genesis, and cut their astronomy to fit joshua. if in one of these institutions for the petrifaction of the human mind there is a teacher who is either not nimble enough to escape the conclusions of a bright pupil or too honest to try, he is at once found to be "incompetent as an instructor," and is dropped from the faculty. i know one case where it took twenty years to discover that a professor was not able to teach geology--and it took a heresy-hunter with a bible to do it then.
-but it is the claim of the church in regard to the education of women with which i have to do here.
-a prominent clergyman of the church of england, who was recently much honored in this country, lately said, in a sermon to women: "there are those who think a woman can be taught logic. this is a mistake. men are logical, women are not." he was too modest to give his proofs. it seemed to me strange that he did not mention the doctrines of the trinity and vicarious atonement, or a few of the miracles, as the result of logic in the masculine mind. and i could not help thinking at the time that a man whose mental furniture was chiefly composed of the thirty-nine articles and the westminster catechism would naturally be a profound authority on logic. an orthodox preacher talking about logic is a sight to arouse the compassion of a demon. next to the natural sciences, logic can give the church the colic quicker than any other kind of a green apple. and so it is not strange that the clergy should be afraid that it would disagree with the more delicate constitution of a woman. they always did maintain that any diet that was a trifle too heavy for them couldn't be digested by anybody else; and they would be perfectly right in their supposition if intellectual dyspepsia or softening of the brain were contagious.
-the "sphere" of no other creature is wholly determined and bounded by one physical characteristic or capacity. to every other creature is conceded without question the right to use more than one talent.
-but the fathers decided in holy and solemn council that it would be "unbecoming" for a woman to learn the alphabet, and that she could have no possible use for such information. they said that she would be a better mother without distracting her dear little brain with the a, b, c's, and that therefore she should not learn them. they also decided that she who was so far lost to modesty as to become acquainted with the multiplication table "was an unfit associate for our wives and mothers." there was something wrong with such a woman. she was either a "witch" or else she was "married to the devil."
-that is the way the church encouraged education for women. this was done, the holy fathers said, to "protect women from the awful temptations of life to which the lord in his infinite wisdom had subjected man." they had too much respect for their wives and mothers to permit them to come in contact with the wickedness of long division or cube root, and they hoped while life lasted that no man would be so negligent of duty as to allow his sister to soil her pure mind with conic sections.
-well, in time there were a few women brave enough, and a few men honorable and moral enough, to set aside the letter of this prohibition; but much of its spirit still blossoms in all its splendor in columbia, harvard, yale, and various other institutions of learning, where women are either not permitted to enter at all or are required to learn and accomplish unaided that which it takes a large faculty of instructors and every known or obtainable educational device (together with future business stimulus) to enable the young men to do the same thing!
-the fathers said, in effect, "it was through woman wanting to know something that sin came into this world; therefore let her hereafter want to know nothing." they taught that a desire for knowledge on the part of woman was the greatest crime ever committed on this earth, and that it so enraged god that he punished it by death and by every curse known to man. when it was pointed out that animals had lived and died on this earth long before man could have lived, they said that god knew adam was going to live and eve was going to sin, so he made death retroactive because adam would represent all animals when he should be created!
-so long as the church allowed woman but one avenue of support, so long did it force her to use that single means of livelihood. so long as it made her believe that she could bring to this world nothing of value but her capacity to minister to the lower animal wants of man, so long did it force upon her that single alternative--or starvation.
-so long as it is able to make multitudes of women believe themselves of value for but one purpose, just that long will it continue to insure the degradation of many of those women who are helpless, or weak, or loving, or ignorant of the motives of those in whose power they are. so long as it teaches woman that she can repay her debt to the world in but one way, so long will it promote commerce in vice and revenue in shame.
-every man is taught that he can repay his debt to this world in many ways. he has open to him many avenues of happiness, many paths to honorable employment. if he fails in one there is still hope. if he misses supreme happiness in marriage he has still left ambition, labor, study, fame; if the one failure overtakes him, no matter how sad, he still can turn aside and find, if not joy, at least occupation and rest.
-but the church has always taught woman that there is but one "sphere," one hope, one occupation, one life for her. if she fails in that, what wonder that with broken hope comes broken virtue or despair? every woman who has fallen or lost her way has been previously taught by the church that she had and has but one resource; that there is open to her in life but one path; that whether that path be legally crooked or straight, she was created for but one purpose; that man is to decide for her what that purpose is; and that she must under no circumstances set her own judgment up against his.
-the legitimate fruits of such an education are too horribly apparent to need explanation. every fallen woman is a perpetual monument to the infamy of a religion and a social custom that narrow her life to the possibilities of but one function, and provide her no escape--a system that trains her to depend wholly on one physical characteristic of her being, and to neglect all else.
-on this subject i find in maine's "ancient law" these facts:
-thus as a daughter and as a wife had she grown to be honored and recognized as an equal under pagan rule.
-thus it will be seen that from the first, and extending down to the present, the church did all she could to cast woman back into the night of the race from which in a great measure she had been rescued through the ages when natural law and not "revelation" was the guide of man. the laws which the church found liberal and just toward women it discarded, and it searched back in the ages of night for such as it saw fit to re-enact for her. of this maine says: "the husband now draws to himself the power which formerly belonged to his wife's male relatives, the only difference being that he no longer pays anything for the privilege."
-as christians grew economical wives came cheaper than formerly, and it became a dogma that wives were not worth much anyhow, and then, too, it enabled persons of limited means to have more of them. of a somewhat later date maine says: "at this point heavy disabilities begin to be imposed upon wives."
-it was only the crumbs of liberty, honor, and justice extorted by men who fought the church on behalf of wives, that lightened their most oppressive burdens. it was true then, and it is true to-day, that women owe what justice and freedom and power they possess to the fact that the best and clearest-headed men are more honorable than our religion, and that they have invited moses and st. paul to take a back seat moses has complied, and st. paul is half-way down the aisle.
-but to resume, maine, in tracing the amalgamation of the later roman (pagan) law with the archaic laws of a lower civilization (the result of which was christian law), shows that the church, while it chose the roman laws, which had arrived at so high a state, for others, retained for women, and particularly for wives, the least favorable of the roman, eked out with the archaic patria potestas and the more degrading provisions of the earlier civilizations. maine reluctantly says that the jurisconsults of the day contended for better laws for wives, but that the church prevailed in most instances, and established the more oppressive ones.
-with certain of these laws--the worst ones--i cannot deal here for obvious reasons; but a few of them i may be permitted to give without offence to the modesty of any one.
-blackstone says: "by marriage the husband and wife are one person in law; that is, the very being or legal existence of the woman is suspended during the marriage, or at least is incorporated and consolidated into that of the husband. the husband becomes her baron or lord--she his servant. upon this principle of the union of person in husband and wife depend almost all the legal rights, duties, and disabilities they acquire by marriage."
-that is to say the husband acquires all the rights, and the wife all the disabilities; and the church wishing to be fair has made the latter as many as possible.
-"and therefore," continues blackstone, "it is also generally true, that all compacts made between husband and wife, when single, are voided by the intermarriage." the working of this principle has been so often illustrated as to render comment unnecessary. a wife retains no rights which her husband is bound to respect, no matter how solemn the compact before marriage, nor what her belief in its strength might have been.
-fortunately for women, happily for wives, men are more decent than their religion; and the law of custom and public opinion has largely outgrown this enactment of the church, made when she had the power to thus degrade women and brutalize men.
-in the case of punishment the church was entirely willing to give the devil his due. it had no ambition to deprive women of any indictments and punishments that were to be had. in this case, although the husband and wife were one, she was that one. where privileges or property-rights were to be considered, he was the "one." such grand reversible doctrines were always on tap with the clergy, and their barrel was always full. truly, wives do owe much to the church.
-some of the provisions of these laws have, of late years, been modified by the efforts of men who were pronounced "infidels, destroyers of the bible, the home, and the dignity of women," aided by women whom the orthodox deride as "strong--minded, ill-balanced, coarse, impious," etc., etc., ad infinitum, ad nauseam. a strong mind, whether in man or woman, has always been to the clergy as a red rag to a bull.
-"a woman may make a will, with the assent of her husband, by way of appointment of her personal property. she cannot even with his consent devise lands.... although our law in general considers a man and wife as one person, yet there are some instances where she is considered separately as his inferior," and for that trip only.
-as i remarked before when it comes to penalties she is welcome to the whole lot.
-"she may not make a deed."
-"a man may administer moderate correction to his wife."
-"these are the chief legal effects of marriage. even the disabilities of the wife," blackstone naively remarks, "are for the most part intended for her protection; so great a favorite is the female sex of the laws of england!"
-i should think that if this latter point were not quite clear to a woman, "moderate correction" might convince her that she was quite an unreasonable favorite--beyond her most eager desires. where the pagan law recognized her as the equal of her husband, the church discarded that law, and based the canon law upon an archaic invention.
-women who support the clergy with one hand, and hold out the other for the ballot; who one day express indignation at the refusal to them of human recognition, and the next day intone the creeds, will have to learn that there is nothing which has so successfully stood, and still so powerfully stands, in the way of the individual liberty, human rights, and dignity of wives, as the church which they support.
-blackstone says: "in times of popery a great variety of impediments to marriage were made, which impediments might, however, be bought off with money."
-you could, for instance, buy a more distant relationship to your future wife for so much cash down to the church. if your inamorata were your first cousin, you could remove her several degrees with five hundred dollars, and make her no relation at all for a little more. such little sleight-of-hand performances are as nothing to a well-trained clergyman. slip a check into one hand, and a request to marry your aunt into the other, let a clergyman shake them up in the coffers of the church, and when one comes out gold, the other will appear as a blushing bride not even related to her own father, and not more than third cousin to herself.
-of the claim made by the early christian fathers, that it was because of the mental inferiority and incapacity of women that the more unjust and binding laws were enacted for them, thus doing all they could to create and intensify by law the incapacity which they asserted was imposed by god, maine says: "but the proprietary disabilities of married females stand on quite a different basis from personal incapacity, and it is by the tendency of their doctrines to keep alive and consolidate the former, that the expositors of the canon law have deeply injured civilization."
-he adds that there are many evidences of a struggle between secular principles in favor of justice for wives, and ecclesiastical principles against it, "but the canon law nearly everywhere prevailed. the systems which are least indulgent to married women are invariably those which have followed the canon law exclusively.... it enforced the complete legal subjection of wives."
-and he adds that the french revolutionists (the infidel party) established better laws for women, "and initiated a great reformation of both law and opinion, which sooner or later must traverse the world." and these reformations, being in christendom, will be calmly claimed in the future, as in the present, as due to the beneficent influence of the church. the church always belongs to the conservative party, but after a good thing is established in despite of her, she says: "just see what i have done! 'see what a good boy am i!"'
-not many years ago a few great-souled men who were "heretics" got a glimpse of a principle which has electrified the world. they said that individual liberty is a universal right; they maintained that humanity is a unit, with interests and aims indivisible, and that liberty to use to the utmost advantage all natural abilities cannot be denied one-half of the race without crippling both. a few even went so far as to suggest that the assumption of the inferiority of women, and the imposition of disabilities upon them, under the claim of divine authority, is the greatest crime in the great calendar of crime for which the church has yet to render a reckoning to humanity.
-to one who reads the history of canon law, it is not strange that christian judges still decide that women are "incompetent to practice law," and that they should not be allowed to study it. a woman well versed in the history of ancient and modern law might easily be an uncomfortable advocate for such a judge to face. he would probably feel the need of an umbrella.
-it is not strange that columbia college, with its corps of clergymen, "fails to see the propriety" of opening its doors to women. the few clergymen who have for some little time past taken the side of fair-play in this and like matters have simply deserted their colors and come over to the side they are worldly-wise enough to see is to be the side of the future. when it comes to diplomacy the church is always on deck in time to gather in the spoils; but she stays safely below during the engagement, and simply holds back and anchors firm until she sees which way it is likely to end.
-the moment there is an understanding on the part of women of what they owe to church law, that moment will educational clerical monopolists, such as the champion anchor of columbia, be compelled to earn an honest living in some honest business pertaining to this world. it will be a great day for women when they refuse to longer support these pretenders to divine knowledge, who are willing, at so much a head, to tell what they do not know at the expense of the pale, tired needlewoman, who is in want of almost every comfort that money can buy in this world, together with the surplus gold of the fashionable devotees who minister to the vanity of the clergy, and give to the coffers of the church that which would save thousands of young girls from degradation and crime, and put the roses of health on the cheek of innocence.
-every dollar that is paid to support the church is paid to degrade a woman. every collection that is made to spread "revelation" is used to suppress enlightenment and retard civilization. every dollar that is invested in "another world" is a dollar diverted from useful purposes in this. every hour that is spent mooning about "heaven" is that much time taken from needed labor here.
-if our energies were wanted in another world we should most likely be in another world. since we are in this one it is a pretty strong hint that we are expected to attend to business right here. we can't do justice to two worlds at the same time; and since we are assured that we shall have the whole of eternity to arrange matters in the next one, it leaves very little time by comparison to devote to our duties in this.
-there we are to have nothing to do but sing and be happy--twang a harp and smile.
-here we have pain to alleviate, ignorance to dispel, innocence to protect, disease to master, and crime to restrain and prevent. here we have the helpless to shield and guard and protect. here we have homes to make happy, the hearts of husbands and wives to make glad, the light of love and trust to kindle in the eyes of children. here is old age to cheer and console. here are orphans to educate and protect, widows to comfort, and oppression to uproot.
-there--nothing to do but look after yourself and manage your harp; nobody to help--all will be perfect; nothing to learn--all will be wise; no hearts to cheer--all will be happy. all that a mother will have to do if she gets a little tired practicing on her lyre and feels gloomy will be to just take a good look over the wall, and photograph on her eyes the picture of her husband and children freshly dipped in oil and put on the griddle, and she will come back to business perfectly satisfied, take up her song where she left off, and praise the lamb for his infinite mercy. all eternity to learn how to fly round in a robe and keep time with the orchestra! why a deaf man could learn to do that in fifty or sixty years, and then have all the rest of the time to spare.
-we are here such a little while, there is so much to learn, there is so much to do, there is so much to undo, that no man can afford to waste his time on an infinite future of time, space, and leisure. men cannot afford to lose your best energies. "god" can get on very well without them. time is short, and needs are pressing; and this thing you know--you can keep busy doing good right here. if there is a hereafter, could there be a better preparation for it than that?
-not woman's friend.
-after all that has preceded this page i need hardly do more with this count of the last claim of "theological fiction" than simply say, if the bible is woman's best friend, then the clergy, without authority and in violation of the precepts of their own guide, have been her worst enemy, either through malice or ignorance; in either of which cases they are and have always been unfit to dictate, to lead opinion, or to receive a following as reliable guides for this world or the next.
-but i incline to the opinion that in the main this view of the case is unfair to the clergy, and that they have followed, in spirit if not literally, the dictates of the bible as a whole. it is undoubtedly true that the bible throughout holds woman as an inferior in both mental and moral characteristics; and upon this understanding of it the fathers built the church and crystallized the laws.
-but certainly, if for thousands of years the clergy have, as a body, misconstrued or misunderstood the spirit of their own book (to which they have always claimed to possess the only key), they should not blame those who to-day take issue with them upon their information, their dictates, their basis of morality, or their interpretations of the rights of humanity.
-whichever horn of the dilemma they accept, there is but one honorable course for the clergy to pursue, and that is to resign in favor of those who have all along been on the right track, without a pretence of divine guidance; who in despite of faith and fagot have made progress possible.
-after my lecture on men, women, and gods, in chicago, i was asked how it would be possible to train children to be good without a belief in the divinity of the bible; how they could be made to know it is wrong to be and steal and kill.
-the belief that the bible is the originator of these and like moral ideas, or that christ was their first teacher, is far from the truth; and it is only another evidence of the duplicity or ignorance of the church that such a belief obtains or that such a falsehood is systematically taught.
-when children (of whatever age) do this or that "because god said so," the precepts taught on this basis, even though they are good, will have no hold upon the man who discovers that their origin was purely human. it is a dangerous experiment, and depends wholly upon ignorance for its success. a firm basis of reason in this world is the only solid foundation of moral training.
-professor max muller remarks: "there were periods in the history of the world when the worship of ormuzd threatened to rise triumphant on the ruins of the temples of all other gods. if the battles of marathon and salamis had been lost and greece had succumbed to persia, the state religion of the empire of cyrus, which was the worship of ormuzd, might have become the religion of the whole civilized world."
-in which case my chicago friend would have asked, "if you destroy a belief in ormuzd, and that he gave the only supernatural moral law to zoroaster, how will children ever be taught what is right and what is wrong, and how can they ever know that it is not right to lie and kill and steal?"
-the world has awakened, but the church still snores on, confident and happy in the belief that she has a devil all her own, and that he is attending strictly to business.
-i will here give a few of the wise or kind or moral commands of buddha. if the first were followed in christian countries we should be a more moral and a less superstitious people than we are to-day.
-"buddha said: 'the succoring of mother and father, the cherishing of child and wife, and the following of a lawful calling, this is the greatest blessing.'
-"'the giving alms, a religious life, aid rendered to relations, blameless acts, this, is the greatest blessing.'
-"'the abstaining from sins and the avoiding them, the eschewing of intoxicating drink, diligence in good deeds, reverence and humility, contentment and gratefulness, this is the greatest blessing.'
-"'those who having done these things, become invincible on all sides, attain happiness on all sides. this is the greatest blessing.'
-"'he who lives a hundred years, vicious and unrestrained, a life of one day is better if a man is virtuous and reflecting.'
-"'let no man think lightly of evil, saying in his heart, it will not come near unto me. even by the falling of water-drops a water-pot is filled; the fool becomes full of evil if he gathers it little by little.'
-"'not to commit any sin, to do good, and to purify one's mind, that is the teaching of the awakened.' (this is one of the most solemn verses among the buddhists).
-"'let us live happily then, not hating those who hate us! let us dwell free from hatred among men who hate!'
-keep in mind that buddha lived more than 500 years before christ.
-with these before him will a christian suppose that morals are dependent upon our bible?
-of confucianism, believed by millions to be essential to their salvation, and one of the three state religions of china, clodd says: "on the soil of this great country there is crowded nearly half the human race, the most orderly people on the globe. this man (confucius), who was reviled in life, but whose influence sways the hundreds of millions of china, was born 551 years before christ. his nature was so beautifully simple and sincere that he would not pretend to knowledge of that which he felt was beyond human reach and thought."
-what an earthquake there would be if our clergymen where only to become inoculated with that sort of simple sincerity i his disciples and followers did that for him as has been done in most other cases.
-"at the time when confucius lived, china was divided into a number of petty kingdoms whose rulers were ever quarrelling, and although he became engaged in various public situations of trust, the disorder of the state at last caused him to resign them, and he retired to another part of the country. he then continued the life of a public teacher, instructing men in the simple moral truths by which he sought to govern his own life. the purity of that life, and the example of veneration for the old laws which he set, gathered round him many grave and thoughtful men, who worked with him for the common good."
-confucius said among other wise and moral things: "coarse rice for food, water to drink, the bended arm for a pillow--happiness may be enjoyed even with these; but without virtue, both riches and honor seem to me like the passing cloud.... our passions shut up the door of our souls against god."
-what we are pleased to call "the golden rule," and to look upon as purely christian, he gave in these words 500 years before christ was born: "tsze-kung said, 'what i do not wish men to do to me, i also wish not to do to men.' the master said, 'you have not attained to that.'
-"such is the power of words, that those uttered by this intensely earnest man, whose work was ended only by death, have kept alive throughout the vast empire of china a reverence for the past and a sense of duty to the present which have made the chinese the most orderly and moral people in the world."
-so much for the great religions that are older than our own and could not have borrowed from us. so much for the moral sentiments of the peoples who developed them, and who live and die happy with them to-day. it leaves only a small part of this globe and a comparatively small number of its inhabitants who believe in and are guided by the bible, or by the morality which has grown side-by-side with it.
-"for example; although mohammed came into the world like other children, wonderful things are said to have taken place at his birth.
-"he never claimed to be a perfect man; he did not pretend to foretell events or to work miracles.
-"in spite of all this, his followers said of him, while he was yet living, that he worked wonders, and they believed the golden vision, hinted at in koran, to have been a real event, although mohammed said over and over again that it was but a dream.
-"this religion is the guide in life and the support in death of one hundred and fifty millions of our fellow creatures; like christianity, it has its missionaries scattered over the globe, and offers itself as a faith needed by all men.
-"the success of islam was great. not one hundred years after the death of the prophet, it had converted half the then known world, and its green flag waved from china to spain. christianity gave way before it, and has never regained some of the ground then lost, while at this day we see islam making marked progress in africa and elsewhere. travelers tell us that the gain is great when a tribe casts away its idols and embraces islam. filth and drunkenness flee away, and the state of the people is bettered in a high degree."
-"muslims have not treated christ as we have treated mohammed, for the devout among them never utter his name without adding the touching words, 'on whom be peace.'"
-"mohammed counseled men to live a good life, and to strive after the mercy of god by fasting, charity, and prayer, which he called 'the key of paradise.'"
-"he abolished the frightful practice of killing female children, and made the family tie more respected."
-"mohammed commanded his followers to make no image of any living thing, to show mercy to the weak and orphaned, and kindness to brutes; to abstain from gambling, and the use of strong drink.
-"the great truth which he strove to make real to them was that god is one, that, as the koran says, 'they surely are infidels who say that god is the third of three, for there is no god but one god.'"
-he was the great original unitarian.
-"i should add that the wars of islam did not leave waste and ruin in their path, but that the arabs, when they came to europe, alone held aloft the light of learning, and in the once famous schools of spain, taught 'philosophy, medicine, astronomy, and the golden art of song.'"
-we cannot speak so well of the "holy wars" of christianity.
-in speaking of the men who wrote our bible, clodd says: "nor is it easy to find in what they have said truths which, in one form or another, have not been stated by the writers of some of the sacred books into which we have dipped."
-i have quoted more fully than had been my intention simply to show the egotistic ignorance of the christian's claim to possess a religion or a bible which differs, in any material regard, from several others which are older, and to indicate that moral ideas, precepts, and practices are the property of no special people, but are the inevitable result of continued life itself, and the evolution of civilizations however different in outward form and expression. they are the necessary results of human companionship and necessities, and not the fruits of any religion or the "revelation" from on high to any people. as william kingdon clifford, f. r. s., in his work on the "scientific basis of morals," very justly says:
-"there is more than one moral sense, and what i feel to be right another man may feel to be wrong.
-"in just the same way our question about the best conscience will resolve itself into a question about the purpose or function of the conscience--why we have got it, and what it is good for.
-"now to my mind the simplest and clearest and most profound philosophy that was ever written upon this subject is to be found in the 2d and 3d chapters of mr. darwin's 'descent of man.' in these chapters it appears that just as most physical characteristics of organisms have been evolved and preserved because they were useful to the individual in the struggle for existence against other individuals and other species, so this particular feeling has been evolved and preserved because it is useful to the tribe or community in the struggle for existence against other tribes, and against the environment as a whole. the function of conscience is the preservation of the tribe as a tribe. and we shall rightly train our consciences if we learn to approve these actions which tend to the advantage of the community.
-"the virtue of purity, for example, attains in this way a fairly exact definition: purity in a man is that course of conduct which makes him to be a good husband and father, in a woman that which makes her to be a good wife and mother, or which helps other people so to prepare and keep themselves. it is easy to see how many false ideas and pernicious precepts are swept away by even so simple a definition as that."
-in urging the necessity of a more substantial basis of morals than one built upon a theory of arbitrary dictation, he says: "the worship of a deity who is represented as unfair or unfriendly to any portion of the community is a wrong thing, however great may be the threats and promises by which it is commended. and still worse, the reference of right and wrong to his arbitrary will as a standard, the diversion of the allegiance of the moral sense from the community to him, is the most insidious and fatal of social diseases.... if i let myself believe anything on insufficient evidence, there may be no great harm done by the mere belief; it may be true after all, or i may never have occasion to exhibit it in outward acts. but i cannot help doing this great wrong toward man, that i make myself credulous. the danger to society is not merely that it should believe wrong things, though that is great enough; but that it should become credulous, and lose the habit of testing things and inquiring into them; for then it must sink back into savagery.
-"the harm which is done by credulity in a man is not confined to the fostering of a credulous character in others, and consequent support of false beliefs. habitual want of care about what i believe leads to habitual want of care in others about the truth of what is told to me. men speak the truth to one another when each reveres the truth in his own mind and in the other's mind; but how shall my friend revere the truth in my mind when i myself am careless about it, when i believe things because i want to believe them, and because they are comforting and pleasant? will he not learn to cry, 'peace,' to me, when there is no peace? by such a course i shall surround myself with a thick atmosphere of falsehood and fraud, and in that i must live. it may matter little to me, in my cloud-castle of sweet illusions and darling lies; but it matters much to man that i have made my neighbors ready to deceive. the credulous man is father to the liar....
-"we all suffer severely enough from the maintenance and support of false beliefs and the fatally wrong actions which they lead to; and the evil born when one such belief is entertained is great and wide. but a greater and wider evil arises when the credulous character is maintained and supported, when a habit of believing for unworthy reasons is fostered and made permanent....
-"the fact that believers have found joy and peace in believing gives us the right to say that the doctrine is a comfortable doctrine, and pleasant to the soul; but it does not give us the right to say that it is true....
-"and the question which our conscience is always asking about that which we are tempted to believe is not, 'is it comfortable and pleasant?' but, 'is it true?'"
-the sooner moral actions and the necessity of clean, helpful, and charitable living are put upon a basis more solid and permanent than theology the better will it be for civilization; and if this chapter shall, by its light style, attract the attention of those who are too busy, or are disinclined for any reason whatsoever, to collect from more profound works the facts here given, i shall be satisfied with the result, because i shall have done something toward the triumph of fact over fiction.
-we cannot repeat too often nor emphasize too strongly this one simple fact, that we need all our energy and time to make this world fit to live in; to make homes where mothers are happy and children are glad--homes where fathers hasten when their work is done, and are welcomed with a shout of joy.
-the toilers who wend up the hillside, the toilers below in the mill alike are the victims of priestcraft, they "do but the master's will."
-the master's will! ah the cunning, the bitterly cruel device, to wring from the lowly and burdened submission at any price!
-submission to tyrants in russia-- submission to tyrants in rome; the throne and the altar have ever combined to despoil the home,
-but the home is the heaven to live for, and love is the god sublime who paints in tints of glory, upon the wings of time
-this legend, grand and simple, and true as eternal right-- "no justice e'er came from jury, whose verdict was based on might!"
-as high above earth as is heaven; as high as the stars above the church, the chapel, the altar; is the home whose god is love.
-1. "for a species increases or decreases in numbers, widens or contracts its habitat, migrates or remains stationary, continues an old mode of life or falls into a new one, under the combined influence of its intrinsic nature and the environing actions, inorganic and organic.
-2. "these considerations clearly prove that of the two primary causes of civilization, the fertility of the soil is the one which in the ancient world exercised most influence. but in european civilization, the other great cause, that is to say, climate, has been the most powerful.
-1. "napoleon himself was indifferent to christianity, but he saw that the clergy were friends of despotism."--buckle.
-2. "thus it is that a careful survey of history will prove that the reformation made the most progress not in those countries where the people were most enlightened, but in those countries where, from political causes, the clergy were least able to withstand the people."--buckle.
-3. "christian civilization in the twentieth century of its existence, degrades its women to labor fit only for beasts of the field; harnessing them with dogs to do the most menial labors; it drags them below even this, holding their womanhood up to sale, putting both church and state sanction upon their moral death; which, in some places, as in the city of berlin, so far recognizes the sale of women's bodies for the vilest purposes as part of the christian religion, that license for this life is refused until they have partaken of the sacrament; and demands of the '10,000 licensed women of the town' of the city of hamburg, certificates showing that they regularly attend church and also partake of the sacrament."--gage.
-even a lower depth than this is reached in england, france, italy, switzerland, and germany, and nearly every country of europe, says the same writer, "a system of morality which declares 'the necessity' of woman's degradation, and annually sends tens of thousands down to a death from which society grants no resurrection."--gage.
-1. "sappho flourished b. c. 600, and a little later; and so highly did plato value her intellectual, as well as her imaginative endowments, that he assigned her the honors of sage as well as poet; and familiarly entitled her the 'tenth muse'"--buckle,
-2. "wilkinson says among no ancient people had women such influence and liberty as among the ancient egyptians."--buckle.
-3. "the americans have in the treatment of women fallen below, not only their own democratic principles, but the practice of some parts of the old world."--harriet martineau.
-4. "mr. f. newman denies that christianity has improved the position of women; and he observes that, 'with paul, the sole reason for marriage is, that a man may, without sin, vent his sensual desires. he teaches that, but for this object, it would be better not to marry;' and he takes no notice of the social pleasures of marriage. newman says: 'in short, only in countries where germanic sentiment has taken root do we see marks of any elevation of the female sex superior to that of pagan antiquity.'"--buckle.
-5. "female voices are never heard in the russian churches; their place is supplied by boys; women do not yet stand high enough in the estimation of the churches.... to be permitted to sing the praises of god in the presence of men."--kohl.
-6. "christianity diminished the influence of women."--neander, "hist, of the church."
-within the reign of the present sovereign mrs. gage tells us of a young girl being ordered by the petty sessions bench back to the "service" of a landlord, from whom she had run away because such service meant the sacrifice of her honor. she refused to go and was put in jail.
-"the degradation of the husband at this infringement of the lord spiritual and temporal upon his marital right, has been pictured by many writers, but history has been quite silent upon the despair and shame of the wife. no hope appeared for woman anywhere. the church.... dragged her to the lowest depths, through the vileness of its priestly customs.... we who talk of the burning of wives upon the funeral pyres of husbands in india, may well turn our eyes to the records of christian countries."--matilda joslyn gage in "woman, church, and state."
-1. "the french government, about the middle of the eighteenth century, seems to have reached the maturity of its wickedness, allowing if not instigating religious persecutions of so infamous a nature that they would not be believed if they were not attested by documents of the courts in which the sentences were passed."--buckle.
-3. "it will hardly be believed that, when sulphuric ether was first used to lessen the pains of childbirth, it was objected to as 'a profane attempt to abrogate the primeval curse pronounced upon woman....' the injury which the theological principle has done to the world is immense. it has prevented men from studying the laws of nature."--buckle.
-"unfaltering belief being taught as the first of duties, and all doubt being usually stigmatized as criminal or damnable, a state of mind is formed to which we find no parallel in other fields. many men and most women, though completely ignorant of the very rudiments of biblical criticism, historical research, or scientific discoveries, though they have never read a single page, or understood a single proposition of the writings of those whom they condemn, and have absolutely no rational knowledge either of the arguments by which their faith is defended, or of those by which it has been impugned, will nevertheless adjudicate with the utmost confidence upon every polemical question, denounce, hate, pity, or pray for the conversion of all who dissent from what they have been taught, assume, as a matter beyond the faintest possibility of doubt, that the opinions they have received without inquiry must be true, and that the opinions which others have arrived at by inquiry must be false, and make it a main object of their lives to assail what they call heresy in every way in their power, except by examining the grounds on which it rests. it is possible that the great majority of voices that swell the clamor against every book which is regarded as heretical, are the voices of those who would deem it criminal even to open that book, or to enter into any real, searching, and impartial investigation of the subject to which it relates. innumerable pulpits support this tone of thought, and represent, with a fervid rhetoric well fitted to excite the nerves and imaginations of women, the deplorable condition of all who deviate from a certain type of opinions or emotions; a blind propagandism or a secret wretchedness penetrates into countless households, poisoning the peace of families, chilling the mental confidence of husband and wife, adding immeasurably to the difficulties which every searcher into truth has to encounter, and diffusing far and wide intellectual timidity, disingenuousness, and hypocrisy."--lecky.
-2. "the clergy, with a few honorable exceptions, have in all modern countries been the avowed enemies of the diffusion of knowledge, the danger of which to their own profession they, by a certain instinct, seem always to have perceived."--buckle.
-3. "in the fourth century there arose monachism, and in, the sixth century the christians succeeded in cutting off the last ray of knowledge, and shutting up the schools of greece. then followed a long period of theology, ignorance, and vice."--puckle.
-4. "contempt for human sciences was one of the first features of christianity. it had to avenge itself of the outrages of philosophy; it feared that spirit of investigation and doubt, that confidence of man in his own reason, the pest alike of all religious creeds. the light of the natural sciences was ever odious to it, and was ever regarded with a suspicious eye, as being a dangerous enemy to the success of miracles; and there is no religion that does not oblige its sectaries to follow some physical absurdities. the triumph of christianity was thus the final signal of the entire decline both of the sciences and of philosophy."--"progress of the human mind," condorcet.
-"accordingly it ought not to astonish us that christianity, though unable in the sequel to prevent their reappearance in splendor after the invention of printing, was at this period sufficiently powerful to accomplish their ruin."--ibid.
-1. fenelon, a celebrated french clergyman and writer of the seventeenth century, discouraged the acquisition of knowledge by women.--see hallam's "lit. of europe."
-2. "perhaps it is to the spirit of puritanism that we owe the little influence of women, and the consequent inferiority of their education."--buckle.
-3. "in england (1840) a distrust and contempt for reason prevails amongst religious circles to a wide extent; many christians think it almost a matter of duty to decry the human faculties as poor, mean, and almost worthless; and thus seek to exalt piety at the expense of intelligence."--morell's "hist. of speculative phil."
-4. "that women are more deductive than men, because they think quicker than men, is a proposition which some people will not relish, and yet it may be proved in a variety of ways. indeed nothing could prevent its being universally admitted except the fact that the remarkable rapidity with which women think is obscured by that miserable, that contemptible, that preposterous system, called their education, in which valuable things are carefully kept from them, and trifling things carefully taught to them, until their fine and nimble minds are too often irretrievably injured."--buckle.
-1. "we are continually told that civilization and christianity have restored to the woman her just rights. meanwhile the wife is the actual bond-servant of her husband; no less so, as far as legal obligation goes, than slaves commonly so called. she vows a lifelong obedience to him at the altar, and is held to it all through her life by law. casuists may say that the obligation of obedience stops short of participation in crime, but it certainly extends to everything else. she can do no act whatever but by his permission, at least tacit. she can acquire no property but for him; the instant it becomes hers, even if by inheritance, it becomes ipso facto his. in this respect the wife's position under the common law of england is worse than that of slaves in the laws of many countries; by the roman law, for example, a slave might have peculium, which, to a certain extent, the law guaranteed him for his exclusive use."--mill.
-2. speaking of self-worship which leads to brutality toward others, mill says: "christianity will never practically teach it" (the equality of human beings) "while it sanctions institutions grounded on an arbitrary preference for one human being over another."
-"the morality of the first ages rested on the obligation to submit to power; that of the ages next following, on the right of the weak to the forbearance and protection of the strong. how much longer is one form of society and life to content itself with the morality made for another? we have had the morality of submission, and the morality of chivalry and generosity; the time is now come for the morality of justice." --ibid.
-"institutions, books, education, society all go on training human beings for the old, long after the new has come; much more when it is only coming."--ibid.
-"there have been abundance of people, in all ages of christianity, who tried... to convert us into a sort of christian mussulmans, with the bible for a koran, prohibiting all improvement; and great has been their power, and many have had to sacrifice their lives in resisting them. but they have been resisted, and the resistance has made us what we are, and will yet make us what we are to be."--ibid.
-1. "mr. f. newman, who looks on toleration as the result of intellectual progress, says: 'nevertheless, not only does the old testament justify bloody persecution, but the new teaches that god will visit men with fiery vengeance for holding an erroneous creed."--buckle.
-2. "the first great consequence of the decline of priestly influence was the rise of toleration.... i suspect that the impolicy of persecution was perceived before its wickedness. "--ibid.
-3. "while a multitude of scientific discoveries, critical and historical researches, and educational reforms have brought thinking men face to face with religious problems of extreme importance, women have been almost absolutely excluded from their influence."--lechy.
-4. "the domestic unhappiness arising from difference of belief was probably almost or altogether unknown in the world before the introduction of christianity.... the deep, and widening chasm between the religious opinions of most highly educated men, and of the immense majority of women is painfully apparent. whenever any strong religious fervor fell upon a husband or a wife, its first effect was to make a happy union impossible."--ibid.
-1. "the writers of the middle ages are full of accounts of nunneries that were like brothels.... the inveterate prevalence of incest among the clergy rendered it necessary again and again to issue the most stringent enactments that priests should not be permitted to live with their mothers or sisters.... an italian bishop of the tenth century enigmatically described the morals of his time, when he declared, that if he were to enforce the canons against unchaste people administering ecclesiastical rites, no one would be left in the church except the boys."--lecky.
-2. in the middle of the sixteenth century ''the majority of the clergy were nearly illiterate, and many of them addicted to drunkenness and low vices.--hallam, "const. hist, of eng."
-3. "the clergy have ruined italy."--brougham, "pol. phil."
-4. "it was a significant prudence of many of the lay catholics, who were accustomed to insist that their priests should take a concubine for the protection of the families of the parishioners.... it can hardly be questioned that the extreme frequency of illicit connections among the clergy tended during many centuries most actively to lower the moral tone of the laity.... an impure chastity was fostered, which continually looked upon marriage in its coarsest light.... another injurious consequence, resulting, in a great measure, from asceticism, was a tendency to depreciate extremely the character and the position of woman."--lecky.
-1. "the great and main duty which a wife, as a wife, ought to learn, and so learn as to practise it, is to be subject to her own husband.... there is not any husband to whom this honor of submission is not due; no personal infirmity, frowardness of nature; no, not even on the point of religion, doth deprive him of it."--fergusson on "the epistles."
-2. "the sum of a wife's duty unto her husband is subjection. "--abernethy.
-"the principle of the modern movement in morals and in politics, is that conduct, and conduct alone, entitles to respect: that not what men are, but what they do constitutes their claim to deference; that, above all, merit and not birth is the only rightful claim to power and authority."--ibid.
-"taking the care of people's lives out of their own hands, and relieving them from the consequences of their own acts, saps the very foundation of the self-respect and self-control which are the essential conditions both of individual prosperity and of social virtue."--ibid.
-"inferior classes of men always, at heart, feel disrespect toward those who are subject to their power."--ibid.
-4. "among those causes of human improvement that are of most importance to the general welfare, must be included the total annihilation of the prejudices which have established between the sexes an inequality of right, fatal even to the party which it favors. in vain might we seek for motives to justify the principle, in difference of physical organization, of intellect, or of moral sensibility. it had at first no other origin but abuse of strength, and all the attempts which have since been made to support it are idle sophisms."--"progress of the human mind," condorcet.
-5. notwithstanding the work of such men as the encyclopedists of france and other liberal thinkers for the proper recognition of women, the church had held her grip so tight that upon the passage of the bill, as late as 1848, giving to married women the right to own their own property, the most doleful prophesies went up as to the just retribution that would fall upon women for their wicked insubordination, and upon the men who had defied divine commands so far as to pass such a law. a recent writer tells us that wm. a. stokes, in talking to a lady whom he blamed for its passage, said: "we hold you responsible for that law, and i tell you now you will live to rue the day when you opened such a pandora's box in your native state, and cast such an apple of discord into every family of the state."
-and the sermons that were preached against it--the prophecies of deacon and preacher--were so numerous, so denunciatory, and so violent that they form a queer and interesting chapter in the history of the attitude of the church toward women, and illustrate, in our own time, how persistent it has been in its efforts to prevent woman from sharing in the benefits of the higher civilization of the nineteenth century.
-but fortunately for women, infidels are more numerous than they ever were before, and the power of the church is dying of dry rot, or as col. ingersoll wittily says, of the combined influence of softening of the brain and ossification of the heart.
-"st. gregory the great describes the virtue of a priest, who through motives of piety had discarded his wife... their wives, in immense numbers, were driven forth with hatred and with scorn... pope urban ii. gave license to the nobles to reduce to slavery the wives of priests who refused to abandon them."--lecky.
-1. "hallam denies that respect for women is due to christianity. "--buckle.
-2. "in england, wives are still occasionally led to the market by a halter around the neck to be sold by the husband to the highest bidder."--ibid.
-"the sale of a wife with a halter around her neck is still a legal transaction in england. the sale must be made in the cattle market, as if she were a mare, all women being considered as mares by old english law, and indeed called 'mares' in certain counties where genuine old english law is still preserved."--borrow.
-3. "contempt for woman, the result of clerical teaching, is shown in myriad forms."--gage.
-4. "the legal subordination of one sex to another is wrong in itself, and is now one of the chief hindrances to human improvement."--john stuart mill.
-5. "i have no relish for a community of goods resting on the doctrine, that what is mine is yours, but what is yours is not mine; and i should prefer to decline entering into such a compact with anyone, though i were myself the person to profit by it."--ibid.
-it will take a long time for that sort of morality to filter into the skull of the church, and when it does the skull will burst.
-6. "certain beliefs have been inculcated, certain crimes invented, in order to intimidate the masses. hence the church made free thought the worst of sins, and the spirit of inquiry the worst of blasphemies.... as late as the time of bunyan the chief doctrine inculcated from the pulpit was obedience to the temporal power.... all these influences fell with crushing weight on woman."--matilda joslyn gage in "hist. woman suffrage."
-7. "taught that education for her was indelicate and irreligious, she has been kept in such gross ignorance as to fall a prey to superstition, and to glory in her own degradation... such was the prejudice against a liberal education for woman, that the first public examination of a girl in geometry (1829) created as bitter a storm of ridicule as has since assailed women who have entered the law, the pulpit, or the medical profession."--ibid.
-1. "the five writers to whose genius we owe the first attempt at comprehensive views of history were bolingbroke, montesquieu, voltaire, hume, and gibbon. of these the second was but a cold believer in christianity, if, indeed, he believed in it at all; and the other four were avowed and notorious infidels."--buckle.
-2 "here, then, we have the starting-point of progress--scepticism.... all, therefore, that men want is no hindrance from their political and religious rulers.... until common minds doubt respecting religion they can never receive any new scientific conclusion at variance with it--as joshua and copernicus."--ibid.
-3. "the immortal work of gibbon, of which the sagacity is, if possible, equal to the learning, did find readers, but the illustrious author was so cruelly reviled by men who called themselves christians, that it seemed doubtful if, after such an example, subsequent writers would hazard their comfort and happiness by attempting to write philosophic history. middleton wrote in 1750.... as long as the theological spirit was alive nothing could be effected."--ibid.
-"the greatest fact in the intellectual history of the eighteenth century is the decisive revolution that overtook the sustaining conviction of the church. the central conception, that the universe was called into existence only to further its creator's purpose toward man, became incredible (by the light of the new thought). what seems to careless observers a mere metaphysical dispute was in truth, and still is, the decisive quarter of the great battle between theology and a philosophy reconcilable with science."--morley.
-the claim is so often and so boldly made that infidelity produces crime, and that christianity, or belief, or faith, makes people good, that the following statistics usually produce a rather chilly sensation in the believer when presented in the midst of an argument based upon the above mentioned claim. i have used it with effect. the person upon whom it is used will never offer that argument to you again. the following statistics were taken from the british parliamentary reports, made on the instance of sir john trelawney, in 1873:
-england and wales.
-sectarian and infidel population of the same.
-religious persuasions of criminals of the same.
-criminals to 100,000 population.
-these statistics are taken from the report of the british parliament, which, for learning and intelligence, as a deliberative body, has not its superior, if it has its equal, in the world, and it is surely a sufficiently christian body to be accepted as authority in this matter, since a large number of its members are clergymen. these statistics hardly sustain the allegation that "infidelity is coupled with impurity."
-we are willing to stand upon our record. but, lest it be claimed that this is a british peculiarity, allow me to defer to the patriotic sentiment of my readers by one other little set of tables which, while not complete, is equally as suggestive.
-"in sixty-six different prisons, jails, reformatories, refuges, penitentiaries, and lock-ups there were, for the years given in reports, 41,335 men and boys, women and girls, of the following religious sects:
-"these included the prisons of iowa, michigan, tennessee, new york, pennsylvania, connecticut, indiana, illinois, and canada."
-present these two tables to those who assure you that crime follows in the wake of infidelity, and you will have time to take a comfortable nap before your christian friend returns to the attack or braces up after the shock sustained by his sentiments and inflicted by these two small but truly suggestive tables.
-one cold fact like this will inoculate one of the faithful with more modesty than an hour of usual argument based upon the assumptions of the clergy and the ignorance of his hearers.
-"moreover, as goethe has already shown, the celebrated mosaic moral precepts, the so-called ten commandments, were not upon the tables upon which moses wrote the laws of the covenant which god made with his people.
-"it is therefore clear that for our present age and for the future a foundation must be sought and found for culture and morality, different from that which can be furnished to us by religion. it is not the fear of god that acts amelioratingly or ennoblingly upon manners, of which the middle ages furnish us with a striking proof; but the ennobling of the conception of the world in general which goes hand in hand with the advance of civilization. let us then give up making a show of the profession of hypocritical words of faith, the only purpose of which seems to be that they may be continually shown to be lies by the actions and deeds of their professors! the man of the future will feel far more happy and contented when he has not to contend at every step of his intellectual forward development with those tormenting contradictions between knowledge and faith which plague his youth, and occupy his mature age unnecessarily with the slow renunciation of the notions which he imbibed in his youth. what we sacrifice to god, we take away from mankind, and absorb a great part of his best intellectual powers in the pursuit of an unattainable goal. at any rate, the least that we can expect in this respect from the state and society of the future is a complete separation between ecclesiastical and worldly affairs, or an absolute emancipation of the state and the school from every ecclesiastical influence.
-"education must be founded upon knowledge, not upon faith; and religion itself should be taught in the public schools only as religious history and as an objective or scientific exposition of the different religious systems prevailing among mankind. any one who, after such an education, still experiences the need of a definite law or rule of faith may then attach himself to any religious sect that may seem good to him, but cannot claim that the community should bear the cost of this special fancy!
-"as regards christianity, or the paulinism which is falsely called christianity, it stands, by its dogmatic portion or contents, in such striking and irreconcilable, nay absolutely absurd contradiction with all the acquisitions and principles of modern science that its future tragical fate can only be a question of time. but even its ethical contents or its moral principles are in no way essentially distinguished above those of other peoples, and were equally well and in part better known to mankind even before its appearance. not only in this respect, but also in its supposed character as the world-religion, it is excelled by the much older and probably most widely diffused religious system in the world, the celebrated buddhism, which recognizes neither the idea of a personal god, nor that of a personal duration, and nevertheless teaches an extremely pure, amiable, and even ascetic morality. the doctrine of zoroaster or zarathrustra also, 1800 years b. c, taught the principles of humanity and toleration for those of different modes of thinking in a manner and purity which were unknown to the semitic religions and especially to christianity. christianity originated and spread, as is well-known, at a time of general decline of manners, and of very great moral and national corruption; and its extraordinary success must be partly explained by the prevalence of a sort of intellectual and moral disease which had overpowered the spirits of men after the fall of the ancient civilization and under the demoralizing influence of the gradual collapse of the great roman empire. but even at that time those who stood intellectually high and looked deeply into things recognized the whole danger of this new turn of mind, and it is very remarkable that the best and most benevolent of the roman emperors, such as marcus aurelius, julian, etc., were the most zealous persecutors of christianity, whilst it was tolerated by the bad ones, such as commodus, heliogabalus, etc. when it had gradually attained the superiority, one of its first sins against intellectual progress consisted in the destruction by christian fanaticism of the celebrated library of alexandria, which contained all the intellectual treasures of antiquity--an incalculable loss to science, which can never be replaced. it is usually asserted in praise of christianity that in the middle ages the christian monasteries were the preservers of science and literature, but even this is correct only in a very limited sense, since boundless ignorance and rudeness generally prevailed in the monasteries, and innumerable ecclesiastics could not even read. valuable literary treasures on parchment contained in the libraries of the monasteries were destroyed, the monks when they wanted money selling the books as parchment, or tearing out the leaves and writing psalms upon them. frequently they entirely effaced the ancient classics, to make room for their foolish legends and homilies; nay, the reading of the classics, such as aristotle for example, was directly forbidden by papal decrees.
-"in new spain christian fanaticism immediately destroyed whatever of arts and civilization existed among the natives, and that this was not inconsiderable is shown by the numerous monuments now in ruins which place beyond a doubt the former existence of a tolerably high degree of culture. but in the place of this not a trace of christian civilization is now to be observed among the existing indians, and the resident catholic clergy keep the indians purposely in a state of the greatest ignorance and stupidity (see richthofen, die zustande der republic mexico, berlin, 1854).
-"thus christianity has always acted consistently in accordance with the principles of one of the fathers of the church, tertullian, who says: 'desire of knowledge is no longer necessary since jesus christ, nor is investigation necessary since the gospel.' if the civilization of the european and especially of christian nations has notwithstanding made such enormous progress in the course of centuries, an unprejudiced consideration of history can only tell us that this has taken place not by means of christianity, but in spite of it. and this is a sufficient indication to what an extent this civilization must still be capable of development when once it shall be completely freed from the narrow bounds of old superstitious and religious embarrassments!"
-"we must therefore endeavor to form convictions which are not to stand once and for all, as philosophers and theologians usually do, but such as may change and become improved with the advance of knowledge. whoever does not recognize this and gives himself up once for all to a belief which he regards as final truth, whether it be of a theological or philosophical kind, is of course incapable of accepting a conviction supported upon scientific grounds. unfortunately our whole education is founded upon an early systematic curbing and fettering of the intellect in the direction of dogmatic (philosophical or theological) doctrines of faith, and only a comparatively small number of strong minds succeed in after years in freeing themselves by their own powers from these fetters, whilst the majority remain captive in the accustomed bonds and form their judgment in accordance with the celebrated saying of bishop berkeley: 'few men think; but all will have opinions.'"--buchner, "man in the past, present, and future."
-"and here it may be remarked, once for all, that no man who has subscribed to creeds and formulas, whether in theology or philosophy, can be an unbiased investigator of the truth or an unprejudiced judge of the opinions of others. his sworn preconceptions warping his discernment, adherence to his sect or party engenders intolerance to the honest convictions of other inquirer? beliefs we may and must have, but a belief to be changed with new and advancing knowledge impedes no progress, while a creed subscribed to as ultimate truth, and sworn to be defended, not only puts a bar to further research, but as a consequence throws the odium of distrust on all that may seem to oppose it.
-"even when such odium cannot deter, it annoys and irritates; hence the frequent unwillingness of men of science to come prominently forward with the avowal of their beliefs.
-"it is time this delicacy were thrown aside, and such theologians plainly told that the skepticism and infidelity--if skepticism and infidelity there be--lies all on their own side.
-"there is no skepticism so offensive as that which doubts the facts of honest and careful observation; no infidelity so gross as that which disbelieves the deductions of competent and unbiased judgments."--david page, "man," etc., edinburgh, 1867.
-since i have recorded this incident of my lecture in chicago, it is peculiarly fitting and pleasant to be able to give the following extract from the review of the first edition of this book printed in the chicago times. no great daily paper would have dared to print such a comment a few years ago. to-day it is stated as a matter quite beyond controversy:
-"she takes considerable pains to show what one would think need scarcely be insisted upon in our day, that the morals of civilization--morals in general, indeed--are not at all based in or dependent upon religion, certainly not on christianity, since the so-called 'golden rule' the highest principle of morality, antedates christianity a thousand years."
-address to the clergy and others.
-up to the present time i have tried to reply personally to each one who has favored me with a letter of thanks, criticism, or praise of the little book, "men, women, and gods, and other lectures," just published, but i find that if i continue to do this i shall have but little time for anything else.
-the very unexpected welcome which the book has received prompts me to take this plan and means of replying to many who have honored me by writing me personal letters. first, permit me to thank those who have written letters of praise and gratitude, and to say that, although i may be unable to reply in a private letter, i am not indifferent to these evidences of your interest, and am greatly helped in my work by your sympathy and encouragement. i have also received most courteous letters from various clergymen who, disagreeing with me, desire to convert me either by mail or personal (private) interviews.
-it is wholly impossible for me to grant these requests, since my time and strength are demanded in other work, but i wish to say here what i have written to several of my clerical correspondents, and desire to say to them all.
-although i cannot enter into private correspondence with, nor grant personal interviews to, such a number of your body, i am entirely willing to respond in a public way to any replies to my arguments which come under the following conditions:
-now, whenever any one of these gentlemen who wish to convert me will show that the colonel is wrong in this brief paragraph; whenever they will, in print or in public, refute the arguments to which he refers, and to which they object, i shall not be slow to respond.
-2. it must be argument, not personal abuse, and it must be conducted in a courteous manner and tone.
-3. it must proceed upon the basis that i am as honest, as earnest, and as virtuous in my motives and intentions as they are in theirs.
-now, surely these gentlemen cannot object to these simple requirements; and since some of them are men whose names are preceded by a title and followed by several capital letters (ranging from d.d. to o.s.f.----which last i, in my ignorance, guess at as meaning order of st. francis, but shall like to be corrected if i am wrong) they must believe that to answer the arguments themselves is both simple and easy.
-if they do not so believe they surely have no right to occupy the positions which they do occupy. if they do so believe it will do much more good to answer them publicly, since they have been made publicly, and are already in the hands of several thousand people, who could not be reached by any amount of eloquence poured out on ray devoted head in the privacy of my own parlor (or writing-desk).
-therefore, gentlemen, permit me to say to you all that which i have already written to several of you personally--that col. ingersoll's paragraph, quoted above, expresses my own views and those of a great many other people, and will continue so to do so long as your efforts to show that he is wrong are only whispered to me behind a fan, or in the strict seclusion of a letter marked "private and personal."
-the arguments i have given against the prevailing christian dogmas and usages, which you uphold, are neither private nor personal, nor shall i allow them to take that phase. life is too short for me to spend hours day after day in sustaining, in private, a public argument which has never been (and, in my opinion, never will be), refuted. and it would do no good to the thousands whom you are pleased to say you fear will be led astray by my position. you have a magnificent opportunity to lead them back again by honest public letters, or lectures, or sermons, not by an afternoon's chat with me.
-and, while i recognize the courtesy of your pressing requests (made, without exception, in the most gentlemanly terms) to permit you to meet me personally and refute my arguments, i feel compelled to say that, unless you are willing to show the courage of your convictions, and the quality of your defense, to the public, i fear they would have no weight with me, and i should have wasted your precious time as well as my own, which i should feel i had no right to do, nor to allow you to do, without this frank statement of the case.
-now, do not suppose that i have the slightest objection to meeting the clergy personally and socially. upon the contrary, many of my friends are clergymen--even bishops--but candor compels me to state that up to the present time not one of them has (either privately or otherwise) been able to answer either of the first two lectures in that little book, and as to the third one, no one of them, in my opinion, will ever try to answer it.
-time will show whether i am right in this.
-in the mean time accept my thanks for your interest, and believe me,
-helen h. gardener.
-letter to the cleveland congress of freethinkers, october, 1885.
-i send my greetings to the congress of freethinkers assembled at cleveland, and regret, more than i can express, that i am unable to be there and hear all the good things you will hear, and see all the earnest workers you will see.
-the freethinkers of america ought to be a very proud and enthusiastic body, when they have in their presidential chair the ablest orator of modern times, and the broadest, bravest, and most comprehensive intellect that has ever been called "mr. president" in this land of bravery and presidents. washington was a patriot of whom we are all justly proud. he was liberal in his religion and progressive in his views of personal rights. and yet he had his limitations. to him liberty and personal rights were modified by the words, "free, white, adult, males." he got no farther. he who fought for freedom upheld slavery! and yet we are all proud and glad to pay honor and respect to the memory of washington.
-abraham lincoln we place still higher on the roll of honor; for, added to his still more liberal religious views, in his conceptions of freedom and justice he had at least two fewer limitations than had the patriot of 1776. he struck both "free" and "white" from his mental black list, and gave once more an impulse to liberty that thrilled a nation and gave fresh dignity to the human race.
-but what shall we say of our president--ingersoll? a man who in ten short years has carried mental liberty into every household in america--who is without limitations in religion, and modifies justice by no prefix. a man who, with unequaled oratory, champions freedom--not the "free, white, adult, male" freedom of washington. a man who has breasted a whirlwind of detraction and abuse for justice--not the "male, adult" justice of lincoln, but the freedom and justice, without limitation, for "man, woman, and child."
-with such a leader, what should not be achieved? with such a champion, what cause could fail? if the people ever place such a man in the white house, the nations of this earth will know, for the first time, the real meaning of a free government under secular administration.
-"a government of the people, for the people, by the people," will be more than simply a high-sounding phrase, which, read by the light of the past, was only a bitter mockery to a race in chains; and, read by the light of the present, is a choice bit of grim humor to half of a nation in petticoats. but so long as the taste of the voter is such that he prefers to place in the executive chair a type of man so eminently fitted for private life that when you want to find him you have to shake the chair to see if he is in it, just so long will there be no danger that the lightning will strike so as to deprive the freethinkers of one man in america who could fill the national executive chair full, and strain the back and sides a little getting in.
-once more i send greetings to the convention, with the hope that you may have as grand a time as you ought to have, and that free thought will receive a new impulse from the harmony and enthusiasm of this meeting. sincerely,
-helen h. gardener.
-this etext was produced from astounding stories october 1931. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.
-the red hell of jupiter
-a complete novelette
-by paul ernst
-the red spot
-commander stone, grizzled chief of the planetary exploration forces, acknowledged captain brand bowen's salute and beckoned him to take a seat.
-brand, youngest officer of the division to wear the triple-v for distinguished service, sat down and stared curiously at his superior. he hadn't the remotest idea why he had been recalled from leave: but that it was on a matter of some importance he was sure. he hunched his big shoulders and awaited orders.
-"captain bowen," said stone. "i want you to go to jupiter as soon as you can arrange to do so, fly low over the red area in the southern hemisphere, and come back here with some sort of report as to what's wrong with that infernal death spot."
-he tapped his radio stylus thoughtfully against the edge of his desk.
-"as you perhaps know, i detailed a ship to explore the red spot about a year ago. it never came back. i sent another ship, with two good men in it, to check up on the disappearance of the first. that ship, too, never came back. almost with the second of its arrival at the edge of the red area all radio communication with it was cut off. it was never heard from again. two weeks ago i sent journeyman there. now he has been swallowed up in a mysterious silence."
-an exclamation burst from brand's lips. sub-commander journeyman! senior officer under stone, ablest man in the expeditionary forces, and brand's oldest friend!
-stone nodded comprehension of the stricken look on brand's face. "i know how friendly you two were," he said soberly. "that's why i chose you to go and find out, if you can, what happened to him and the other two ships."
-brand's chin sank to rest on the stiff high collar of his uniform.
-"journeyman!" he mused. "why, he was like an older brother to me. and now ... he's gone."
-there was silence in commander stone's sanctum for a time. then brand raised his head.
-"did you have any radio reports at all from any of the three ships concerning the nature of the red spot?" he inquired.
-"none that gave definite information," replied stone. "from each of the three ships we received reports right up to the instant when the red area was approached. from each of the three came a vague description of the peculiarity of the ground ahead of them: it seems to glitter with a queer metallic sheen. then, from each of the three, as they passed over the boundary--nothing! all radio communication ceased as abruptly as though they'd been stricken dead."
-he stared at brand. "that's all i can tell you, little enough, god knows. something ominous and strange is contained in that red spot: but what its nature may be, we cannot even guess. i want you to go there and find out."
-brand's determined jaw jutted out, and his lips thinned to a purposeful line. he stood to attention.
-"i'll be leaving to-night, sir. or sooner if you like. i could go this afternoon: in an hour--"
-"to-night is soon enough," said stone with a smile. "now, who do you want to accompany you?"
-brand thought a moment. on so long a journey as a trip to jupiter there was only room in a space ship--what with supplies and all--for one other man. it behooved him to pick his companion carefully.
-"i'd like dex harlow," he said at last. "he's been to jupiter before, working with me in plotting the northern hemisphere. he's a good man."
-"he is," agreed stone, nodding approval of brand's choice. "i'll have him report to you at once."
-he rose and held out his hand. "i'm relying on you, captain bowen," he said. "i won't give any direct orders: use your own discretion. but i would advise you not to try to land in the red area. simply fly low over it, and see what you can discern from the air. good-by, and good luck."
-brand saluted, and went out, to go to his own quarters and make the few preparations necessary for his sudden emergency flight.
-the work of exploring the planets that swung with earth around the sun was still a new branch of the service. less than ten years ago, it had been, when ansen devised his first crude atomic motor.
-at once, with the introduction of this tremendous new motive power, men had begun to build space ships and explore the sky. and, as so often happens with a new invention, the thing had grown rather beyond itself.
-everywhere amateur space flyers launched forth into the heavens to try their new celestial wings. everywhere young and old enthusiasts set ansen motors into clumsily insulated shells and started for mars or the moon or venus.
-the resultant loss of life, as might have been foreseen, was appalling. eager but inexperienced explorers edged over onto the wrong side of mercury and were burned to cinders. they set forth in ships that were badly insulated, and froze in the absolute zero of space. they learned the atomic motor controls too hastily, ran out of supplies or lost their courses, and wandered far out into space--stiff corpses in coffins that were to be buried only in time's infinity.
-to stop the foolish waste of life, the earth government stepped in. it was decreed that no space ship might be owned or built privately. it was further decreed that those who felt an urge to explore must join the regular service and do so under efficient supervision. and there was created the government bureau designated as the planetary exploration control board, which was headed by commander stone.
-under this board the exploration of the planets was undertaken methodically and efficiently, with a minimum of lives sacrificed.
-mercury was charted, tested for essential minerals, and found to be a valueless rock heap too near the sun to support life.
-venus was visited and explored segment by segment; and friendly relations were established with the rather stupid but peaceable people found there.
-mars was mapped. here the explorers had lingered a long time: and all over this planet's surface were found remnants of a vast and intricate civilization--from the canals that laced its surface, to great cities with mighty buildings still standing. but of life there was none. the atmosphere was too rare to support it; and the theory was that it had constantly thinned through thousands of years till the last martian had gasped and died in air too attenuated to support life even in creatures that must have grown greater and greater chested in eons of adaptation.
-then jupiter had been reached: and here the methodical planet by planet work promised to be checked for a long time to come. jupiter, with its mighty surface area, was going to take some exploring! it would be years before it could be plotted even superficially.
-brand had been to jupiter on four different trips; and, as he walked toward his quarters from stone's office, he reviewed what he had learned on those trips.
-jupiter, as he knew it, was a vast globe of vague horror and sharp contrasts.
-distant from the sun as it was, it received little solar heat. but, with so great a mass, it had cooled off much more slowly than any of the other planets known, and had immense internal heat. this meant that the air--which closely approximated earth's air in density--was cool a few hundred yards up from the surface of the planet, and dankly hot close to the ground. the result, as the cold air constantly sank into the warm, was a thick steamy blanket of fog that covered everything perpetually.
-because of the recent cooling, life was not far advanced on jupiter. too short a time ago the sphere had been but a blazing mass. tropical marshes prevailed, crisscrossed by mighty rivers at warmer than blood heat. giant, hideous fernlike growths crowded one another in an everlasting jungle. and among the distorted trees, from the blanket of soft white fog that hid all from sight, could be heard constantly an ear-splitting chorus of screams and bellows and whistling snarls. it made the blood run cold just to listen--and to speculate on what gigantic but tiny-brained monsters made them.
-now and then, when brand had been flying dangerously low over the surface, a wind had risen strong enough to dispel the fog banks for an instant; and he had caught a flash of jovian life. just a flash, for example, of a monstrous lizard-like thing too great to support its own bulk: or a creature all neck and tail, with ridges of scale on its armored hide and a small serpentine head weaving back and forth among the jungle growths.
-occasionally he had landed--always staying close to the space ship, for jupiter's gravity made movement a slow and laborious process, and he didn't want to be caught too far from security. at such times he might hear a crashing and splashing and see a reptilian head loom gigantically at him through the fog. then he would discharge the deadly explosive gun which was earth's latest weapon, and the creature would crash to the ground. the chorus of hissings and bellowings would increase as he hastened slowly and laboriously back to the ship, indicating that other unseen monsters of the steamy jungle had flocked to tear the dead giant to pieces and bolt it down.
-oh, jupiter was a nice planet! mused brand. a sweet place--if one happened to be a two-hundred-foot snake or something!
-he had always thought the entire globe was in that new, raw, marshy state. but he had worked only in one comparatively small area of the northern hemisphere; had never been within thirty thousand miles of the red spot. what might lie in that ominous crimson patch, he could not even guess. however, he reflected, he was soon to find out, though he might never live to tell about it.
-shrugging his shoulders, he turned into the fifty story building in which was his modest apartment. there he found, written by the automatic stylus on his radio pad, the message: "be with you at seven o'clock. best regards, and i hope you strangle. dex harlow."
-he clutched brand's fingers in a bone-mangling grip, and threw his hat into a far corner.
-"you're a fine friend!" he growled cheerfully. "here i'm having a first rate time for myself, swimming and planing along the riviera, with two more weeks leave ahead of me--and i get a call from the old man to report to you. what excuse have you for your crime?"
-"a junket to jupiter," said brand. "would you call that a good excuse?"
-"jupiter!" exclaimed dex. "wouldn't you know it? of course you'd have to pick a spot four hundred million miles away from all that grand swimming i was having!"
-"would you like to go back on leave, and have me choose someone else?" inquired brand solemnly.
-"well, no," said dex hastily. "now that i'm here, i suppose i might as well go through with it."
-brand laughed. "try and get you out of it! i know your attitude toward a real jaunt. and it's a real jaunt we've got ahead of us, too, old boy. we're going to the red spot. immediately."
-"and journeyman," added brand. "he's the latest victim of whatever's in the hell-hole."
-dex whistled. "journeyman too! well, all i've got to say is that whatever's there must be strong medicine. journeyman was a damn fine man, and as brave as they come. have you any idea what it's all about?"
-"not an idea. nobody has. we're to go and find out--if we can. are you all ready?"
-"all ready," said dex.
-"so am i. we'll start at eleven o'clock in one of the old man's best cruisers. meanwhile, we might as well go and hunt up a dinner somewhere, to fortify us against the synthetic pork chops and bread we'll be swallowing for the next fortnight."
-they went out; and at ten minutes of eleven reported at the great space ship hangars north of new york, with their luggage, a conspicuous item of which was a chess board to help while away the long, long days of spacial travel. brand then paused a little while for a final check-up on directions.
-they clambered into the tiny control room and shut the hermetically sealed trap-door. brand threw the control switch and precisely at eleven o'clock the conical shell of metal shot heavenward, gathering such speed that it was soon invisible to human eyes. he set their course toward the blazing speck that was jupiter, four hundred million miles away; and then reported their start by radio to commander stone's night operator.
-the investigatory expedition to the ominous red spot of the giant of the solar system was on.
-the pipe-like men
-brand began to slacken speed on the morning of the thirteenth day (morning, of course, being a technical term: there are no horizons in space for the sun to rise over). jupiter was still an immense distance off; but it took a great while to slow the momentum of the space ship, which, in the frictionless emptiness of space, had been traveling faster and faster for nearly three hundred hours.
-behind them was the distant ball of sun, so far off that it looked no larger than a red-hot penny. before them was the gigantic disk of jupiter, given a white tinge by the perpetual fog blankets, its outlines softened by its thick layer of atmosphere and cloud banks. two of its nine satellites were in sight at the moment, with a third edging over the western rim.
-"makes you think you're drunk and seeing triple, doesn't it?" commented dex, who was staring out the thick glass panel beside brand. "nine moons! almost enough for one planet!"
-brand nodded abstractly, and concentrated on the control board. rapidly the ship rocketed down toward the surface. the disk became a whirling, gigantic plate; and then an endless plain, with cloud formations beginning to take on definite outline.
-"about to enter jupiter's atmosphere." brand spoke into the radio transmitter. over the invisible thread of radio connection between the space ship and earth, four hundred million miles behind, flashed the message.
-"all right. for god's sake, be careful," came the answer, minutes later. "say something at least every half hour, to let us know communication is unbroken. we will sound at ten second intervals."
-lower the shell rocketed. the endless plain slowly ceased its rushing underneath them as they entered the planet's atmosphere and began to be pulled around with it in its revolution. far to the west a faint red glow illumined the sky.
-the two men looked at each other, grimly, soberly.
-"we're here," said dex, flexing the muscles of his powerful arms.
-"we are," said brand, patting the gun in his holster.
-the rapid dusk of the giant planet began to close in on them. the thin sunlight darkened; and with its lowering, the red spot of jupiter glared more luridly ahead of them. silently the two men gazed at it, and wondered what it held.
-they shot the space ship toward it, and halted a few hundred miles away. watery white light from the satellites, "that jitter around in the sky like a bunch of damned waterbugs," as dex put it, was now the sole illumination.
-they hung motionless in their space shell, to wait through the five-hour jovian night for the succeeding five hours of daylight to illumine a slow cruise over the red area that, in less than a year, had swallowed up three of earth's space ships. and ever as they waited, dozing a little, speculating as to the nature of the danger they faced, the peep, peep of the radio shrilled in their ears to tell them that there was still a connection--though a very tenuous one--with their mother planet.
-"red spot ten miles away," said brand in the transmitter. "we're approaching it slowly."
-the tiny sun had leaped up over jupiter's horizon; and with its appearance they had sent the ship planing toward their mysterious destination. beneath them the fog banks were thinning, and ahead of them were no clouds. for some reason there was a clarity unusual to jupiter's atmosphere in the air above the red section.
-"red spot one mile ahead, altitude forty thousand feet," reported brand.
-he and dex peered intently through the port glass panel. ahead and far below, their eyes caught an odd metallic sheen. it was as though the ground there were carpeted with polished steel that reflected red firelight.
-tense, filled with an excitement that set their pulses pounding wildly, they angled slowly down, nearer to the edge of the vast crimson area, closer to the ground. the radio keened its monotonous signal.
-brand crawled to the transmitter, laboriously, for his body tipped the scales here at nearly four hundred pounds.
-"we can see the metallic glitter that journeyman spoke of," he said. "no sign of life of any kind, though. the red glow seems to flicker a little."
-closer the ship floated. closer. to right and left of them for vast distances stretched the red area. ahead of them for hundreds of miles they knew it extended.
-"we're right on it now," called brand. "right on it--we're going over the edge--we're--"
-next instant he was sprawling on the floor, with dex rolling helplessly on top of him, while the space ship bounced up twenty thousand feet as though propelled by a giant sling.
-the peep, peep of the radio signalling stopped. the space ship rolled helplessly for a moment, then resumed an even keel. brand and dex gazed at each other.
-"what the hell?" said dex.
-he started to get to his feet, put all his strength into the task of moving his jupiter-weighted body, and crashed against the top of the control room.
-"say!" he sputtered, rubbing his head. "say, what is this?"
-brand, profiting by his mistake, rose more cautiously, shut off the atomic motor, and approached a glass panel again. "god knows what it is," he said with a shrug. "somehow, with our passing into the red area, the pull of gravity has been reduced by about ten, that's all."
-"oh, so that's all, is it? well, what's happened to old jupe's gravity?"
-again brand shrugged. "i haven't any idea. your guess is as good as mine."
-he peered down through the panel, and stiffened in surprise.
-"dex!" he cried. "we're moving! and the motor is shut off!"
-"we're drawing down closer to the ground, too," announced dex, pointing to their altimeter. "our altitude has been reduced five thousand feet in the last two minutes."
-quickly brand turned on the motor in reverse. the space ship, as the rushing, reddish ground beneath indicated, continued to glide forward as though pulled by an invisible rope. he turned on full power. the ship's progress was checked a little. a very little! and the metallic red surface under them grew nearer as they steadily lost altitude.
-"something seems to have got us by the nose," said dex. "we're on our way to the center of the red spot, i guess--to find whatever it was that journeyman found. and the radio communication his been broken somehow...."
-wordlessly, they stared out the panel, while the shell, quivering with the strain of the atomic motor's fight against whatever unseen force it was that relentlessly drew them forward, bore them swiftly toward the heart of the vast crimson area.
-"look!" cried brand.
-for over an hour the ship had been propelled swiftly, irresistibly toward the center of the red spot. it had been up about forty thousand feet. now, with a jerk that sent both men reeling, it had been drawn down to within fifteen thousand feet of the surface; and the sight that was now becoming more and more visible was incredible.
-beneath was a vast, orderly checkerboard. every alternate square was covered by what seemed a jointless metal plate. the open squares, plainly land under cultivation, were surrounded by gleaming fences that hooked each metal square with every other one of its kind as batteries are wired in series. over these open squares progressed tiny, two legged figures, for the most part following gigantic shapeless animals like figures out of a dream. ahead suddenly appeared the spires and towers of an enormous city!
-metropolis and cultivated land! it was as unbelievable, on that raw new planet, as such a sight would have been could a traveler in time have observed it in the midst of a dim pleistocene panorama of young earth.
-it was instantly apparent that the city was their destination. rapidly the little ship was rushed toward it; and, realizing at last the futility of its laboring, brand cut off the atomic motor and let the shell drift.
-over a group of squat square buildings their ship passed, decreasing speed and drifting lower with every moment. the lofty structures that were the nucleus of the strange city loomed closer. now they were soaring slowly down a wide thoroughfare; and now, at last, they hovered above a great open square that was thronged with figures.
-lower they dropped. lower. and then they settled with a slight jar on a surface made of reddish metal; and the figures rushed to surround them.
-looking out the glass panel at these figures, both brand and dex exclaimed aloud and covered their eyes for a moment to shut out the hideous sight of them. now they examined them closely.
-manlike they were: and yet like no human being conceivable to an earth mind. they were tremendously tall--twelve feet at least--but as thin as so many animated poles. their two legs were scarce four inches through, taper-less, boneless, like lengths of pipe; and like two flexible pipes they were joined to a slightly larger pipe of a torso that could not have been more than a foot in diameter. there were four arms, a pair on each side of the cylindrical body, that weaved feebly about like lengths of rubber hose.
-set directly on the pipe-like body, as a pumpkin might be balanced on a pole, was a perfectly round cranium in which were glassy, staring eyes, with dull pupils like those of a sick dog. the nose was but a tab of flesh. the mouth was a minute, circular thing, soft and flabby looking, which opened and shut regularly with the creature's breathing. it resembled the snout-like mouth of a fish, of the sucker variety; and fish-like, too, was the smooth and slimy skin that covered the beanpole body.
-"god!" said brand with a shudder. "fancy these things feeling over your body...."
-"they're hostile, whatever they are," said dex. "look out: that one's pointing something at you!"
-one of the slender, tottering creatures had raised an arm and leveled at brand something that looked rather like an elongated, old-fashioned flashlight. brand involuntarily ducked. the clear glass panel between them and the mob outside gave him a queasy feeling of being exposed to whatever missile might lurk in the thing's tube.
-"what do we do now?" demanded dex with a shaky laugh. "you're chief of this expedition. i'm waiting for orders."
-"we wait right here," replied brand. "we're safe in the shell till we're starved out. at least they can't get in to attack us."
-but it developed that, while the slimy looking things might not be able to get in, they had ways of reaching the earthmen just the same!
-the creature with the gun-like tube extended it somewhat further toward brand.
-brand felt a sharp, unpleasant tingle shoot through his body, as though he had received an electric shock. he winced, and cried out at the sudden pain of it.
-"what's the matter--" dex began. but hardly had the words left his mouth when he, too, felt the shock. a couple of good, hearty earth oaths exploded from his lips.
-the repulsive creature outside made an authoritative gesture. he seemed to be beckoning to them, his huge dull eyes glaring threateningly at the same moment.
-"our beanpole friend is suggesting that we get out of the shell and stay awhile," said dex with grim humor. "they seem anxious to entertain us--ouch!"
-as the two men made no move to obey the beckoning gesture, the creature had raised the tube again; and again the sharp, unpleasant shock shot through them.
-"what the devil are we going to do?" exclaimed brand. "if we go out in that mob of nightmare things--it's going to be messy. as long as we stay in the shell we have some measure of protection."
-"not much protection when they can sting us through metal and glass at will," growled dex. "do you suppose they can turn the juice on harder? or is that bee-sting their best effort?"
-as though in direct answer to his words, the blob-like face of the being who seemed in authority convulsed with anger and he raised the tube again. this time the shock that came from it was sufficient to throw the two men to the floor.
-"well, we can't stay in the ship, that's certain," said brand. "i guess there's only one thing to do."
-dex nodded. "climb out of here and take as many of these skinny horrors with us into hell as we can," he agreed.
-in a measure their charge was successful. its very suddenness caught some of the tall monstrosities off guard. half a dozen of them stopped the fragile glass bullets to writhe in horrible death on the red metal paving of the square. but that didn't last long.
-in less than a minute, thin, clammy arms were winding around the earthmen's wrists, and their guns were wrenched from them. and then started a hand-to-hand encounter that was all the more hideous for being so unlike any fighting that might have occurred on earth.
-with a furious growl dex charged the nearest creature, whose huge round head swayed on its stalk of a body fully six feet above his own head. he gathered the long thin legs in a football grip, and sent the thing crashing full length on its back. the great head thumped resoundingly against the metal paving, and the creature lay motionless.
-for an instant dex could only stare at the thing. it had been so easy, like overcoming a child. but even as that thought crossed his mind, two of the tall thin figures closed in behind him. four pairs of arms wound around him, feebly but tenaciously, like wet seaweed.
-they began to constrict and wind tighter around him. he tore at them, dislodged all but two. his sturdy earth leg went back to sweep the stalk-like legs of his attackers from under them. one of the things went down, to twist weakly in a laborious attempt to rise again. but the other, by sheer force of height and reach, began to bear dex down.
-then, just as dex was feeling that the end had come, he felt the creature wrench from him, and saw it slide in a tangle of arms and legs over the smooth metal pavement. he got shakily to his feet, to see brand standing over him and flailing out with his fists at an ever tightening circle of towering figures.
-"thanks," panted dex. and he began again, tripping the twelve-foot things in order to get them down within reach, battering at the great pulpy heads, fighting blindly in that expressed craving to take as many of the creatures into hell with him as he could manage. beside him fought brand, steadily, coolly, grim of jaw and unblinking of eye.
-already the struggle had gone on far longer than they had dreamed it might. for some reason the grotesque creatures delayed killing them. that they could do so any time they pleased, was certain: if the monsters could reach them with their shock-tubes through the double insulated hull of the space ship, they could certainly kill them out in the open.
-yet they made no move to do so. the deadly tubes were not used. the screeching gargoyles, instead, devoted all their efforts to merely hurling their attenuated bodies on the two men as though they wished to capture them alive.
-finally, however, the nature of the battle changed. the tallest of the attackers opened his tiny mouth and piped a signal. the ring of weaving tall bodies surrounding the two opened and became a u. the creatures in the curve of the u raised their shock-tubes and, with none of their own kind behind the victims to share in its discharge, released whatever power it was that lurked in them.
-the shock was terrific. without the glass and metal of the ship to protect them, out in the open and defenceless, brand and dex got some indication of its real power.
-writhing and twitching, feeling as though pierced by millions of red hot needles, they went down. a swarm of pipe-like bodies smothered them, and the fight was over.
-the coming of greca
-the numbing shock from the tubes left the earthmen's bodies almost paralyzed for a time; but their brains were unfogged enough for them to observe only too clearly all that went on from the point of their capture.
-while three of the things stood guard with the mysterious tubes, another unbound them. a whole shower of high pitched, piping syllables was hurled at them, speech which sounded threatening and contemptuous but was otherwise, of course, entirely unintelligible, and then the creatures withdrew. the heavy metal door was slammed shut, and they were alone.
-brand drew a long breath, and began to feel himself all over for broken bones. he found none; he was still nerve-wracked from that last terrific shock, but otherwise whole and well.
-"are you hurt, dex?" he asked solicitously.
-"i guess not," replied dex, getting uncertainly to his feet. "and i'm wondering why. it seems to me the brutes were uncommonly considerate of us--and i'm betting the reason is one we won't like!"
-brand shrugged. "i guess we'll find out their intentions soon enough. let's see what our surroundings look like."
-they walked to the nearest window-aperture, and gazed out on a startling and marvelous scene.
-beneath their high tower window, extending as far as the eye could reach, lay the city, lit by the reddish glare of the peculiar metal with which its streets were paved. for the most part the metropolis consisted of perfectly square buildings pierced by many windows to indicate that each housed a large number of inmates. but here and there grotesque turrets lanced the sky, and symbolic domes arched above the surrounding flat metal roofs.
-one building in particular they noticed. this was an enormous structure in the shape of a half-globe that reared its spherical height less than an eighth of a mile from the building they were in. it was situated off to their right at the foot of a vast, high-walled enclosure whose near end seemed to be formed by the right wall of their prison. they could only see it by leaning far out of the window; and it would not have come to their attention at all had they not heard it first--or, rather, heard the sound of something within it: for from it came a curious whining hum that never varied in intensity, something like the hum of a gigantic dynamo, only greater and of a more penetrating pitch.
-"sounds as though it might be some sort of central power station," said brand. "but what could it supply power for?"
-"give it up," said dex. "for their damned shock-tubes, perhaps, among other things--"
-he broke off abruptly as a sound of sliding bolts came from the doorway. the two men whirled around to face the door, their fists doubling instinctively against whatever new danger might threaten them.
-the door was opened and two of their ugly, towering enemies came in, their tubes held conspicuously before them. behind came another figure; and at sight of this one, so plainly not of the race of jupiter, the earthmen gasped with wonder.
-they saw a girl who might have come from earth, save that she was taller than most earth women--of a regal height that reached only an inch or two below brand's own six foot one. she was beautifully formed, and had wavy dark hair and clear light blue eyes. a sort of sandal covered each small bare foot; and a gauzy tunic, reaching from above the knee to the shoulder, only half shielded her lovely figure.
-she was bearing a metal container in which was a mess of stuff evidently intended as food. the guards halted and stepped aside to let her pass into the room. then they backed out, constantly keeping dex and brand covered with the tubes, and closed and barred the door.
-the girl smiled graciously at the admiration in the eyes of both the men--a message needing no inter-planetary interpretation. she advanced, and held the metal container toward them.
-"eat," she said softly. "it is good food, and life giving."
-for an instant brand was dumbfounded. for here was language he could understand--which was incredible on this far-flung globe. then he suddenly comprehended why her sentences were so intelligible.
-she was versed in mental telepathy. and versed to a high degree! he'd had some experience with telepathy on venus; but theirs was a crude thought-speech compared to the fluency possessed by the beautiful girl before him.
-"who are you?" he asked wonderingly.
-"i am greca"--it was very hard to grasp names or abstract terms--"of the fourth satellite."
-"then you are not of these monsters of jupiter?"
-"oh, no! i am their captive, as are all my people. we are but slaves of the tall ones."
-brand glanced at dex. "here's a chance to get some information, perhaps," he murmured.
-dex nodded; but meanwhile the girl had caught his thought. she smiled--a tragic, wistful smile.
-"i shall be happy to tell you anything in my power to tell," she informed him. "but you must be quick. i can only remain with you a little while."
-she sat down on the floor with them--the few bench-like things obviously used by the tall creatures as chairs were too high for them--and with the informality of adversity the three captives began to talk. swiftly brand got a little knowledge of greca's position on jupiter, and of the racial history that led up to it.
-four of the nine satellites of jupiter were now the home of living beings. but two only, at the dawn of history as greca knew it, had been originally inhabited. these were the fourth and the second.
-on the fourth there dwelt a race, "like me," as greca put it--a kindly, gentle people content to live and let live.
-on the second had been a race of immensely tall, but attenuated and physically feeble things with great heads and huge dull eyes and characters distinguished mainly for cold-blooded savagery.
-the inhabitants of the fourth satellite had remained in ignorance of the monsters on the second till one day "many, many ages ago," a fleet of clumsy ships appeared on the fourth satellite. from the ships had poured thousands of pipe-like creatures, armed with horrible rods of metal that killed instantly and without a sound. the things, it seemed, had crowded over the limits of their own globe, and had been forced to find more territory.
-they had made captive the entire population of the satellite. then--for like all dangerous vermin they multiplied rapidly--they had overflowed to the first and fifth satellites--the others were uninhabitable--and finally to the dangerous surface of jupiter itself. everywhere they had gone, they had taken droves of greca's people to be their slaves, "and the source of their food," added greca, with a shudder; a statement that was at the moment unintelligible to the two men.
-brand stared sympathetically at her. "they treat them very badly?" he asked gently.
-"terribly! terribly!" said greca, shuddering again.
-"but you seem quite privileged," he could not help saying.
-she shook her dainty head pathetically. "i am of high rank among my people. i am a priestess of our religion, which is the religion of the great white one who rules all the sky everywhere. the rogans" (it was the best translation brand could make of her mental term for the slimy tall things that held them captive) "--the rogans hold my fate over the heads of my race. should they rebel, i would be thrown to the monster in the pen. of course the rogans could crush any revolt with their terrible tubes, but they do not want to kill their slaves if they can help it. they find it more effective to hold their priestesses in hostage."
-brand turned from personal history to more vital subjects.
-"why," he asked greca, "are the shining red squares of metal laid everywhere over this empire of the rogans?"
-"to make things light," was the reply. "when the rogans first came to this mighty sphere, they could hardly move. things are so heavy here, somehow. so their first thought was to drive my enslaved people to the casting and laying of the metal squares and the metal beams that connect them, in order to make things weigh less."
-"but how do the plates function?"
-greca did not know this, save vaguely. she tried to express her little knowledge of the scientific achievements of the savage rogans. after some moments brand turned to dex and said:
-"as near as i can get it, the rogans, by this peculiar red metal alloy, manage to trap and divert the permanent lines of force, the magnetic field, of jupiter itself. so the whole red spot is highly magnetized, which somehow upsets natural gravitational attraction. i suppose it is responsible for the discoloration of the ground, too."
-he turned to question the girl further about this, but she had got nervously to her feet already.
-"i'll be taken away soon," she said. "i was brought in here only to urge you to eat the food. i must be interpreter, since the rogans speak not with the mind, and i know their hateful tongue."
-"why are they so anxious for us to eat?" demanded dex with an uneasy frown.
-"so you will be strong, and endure for a long time the--the ordeal they have in store for you," faltered the girl at last. "they intend to force from you the secret of the power that drove your ship here, so they too may have command of space."
-"but i don't understand," frowned brand. "they must already have a means of space navigation. they came here to jupiter from the satellites."
-"their vessels are crude, clumsy things. the journey from the nearest satellite is the limit of their flying range. they have nothing like your wonderful little ships, and they want to know how to build and power them."
-she gazed sorrowfully at them and went on: "you see, yours is the fourth space ship to visit their kingdom; and that makes them fearful because it shows they are vulnerable to invasion. they want to stop that by invading your planet first. besides their fear, there is their greed. their looking-tubes reveal that yours is a fruitful and lovely sphere, and they are insatiable in their lust for new territories. thus they plan to go to your planet as soon as they are able, and kill or enslave all the people there as they have killed and enslaved my race."
-"they'll have a job on their hands trying to do that!" declared dex stoutly.
-but brand paled. "they can do it!" he snapped. "look at those death-tubes of theirs. we have no arms to compete with that." he turned to greca. "so the rogans plan to force the secret of our motors from us by torture?"
-she nodded, and caught his hand in hers.
-"yes. they will do with you as they did with the six who came before you--and who died before surrendering the secret."
-"so! we know now what happened to journeyman and the others!" burst out dex. "i'll see 'em in hell before i'll talk!"
-"and me," nodded brand. "but that doesn't cure the situation. as long as ships disappear in this red inferno, so long will the old man keep sending others to find out what's wrong. the rogans will capture them as easily as they captured us. and eventually someone will happen along who'll weaken under torture. then--"
-he stopped. a dread vision filled his mind of earth depopulated by the feebly ferocious rogans, of rank on rank of earth's vast armies falling in stricken rows at the shock of the rogans' tubes.
-greca caught the vision. she nodded. "yes, that is what would happen if they found ways of reaching your globe."
-"but, god, brand, we can't allow that!" cried dex. "we've got to find a way to spike the guns of these walking gas-pipes, somehow!"
-brand sighed heavily. "we are two against hundreds of thousands. we are bare-handed, and the rogans have those damned tubes. anyway, we are on the verge of death at this very moment. what under heaven can we do to spike their guns?"
-he was silent a moment: and in the silence the steady hum from the domed building outside came to his ears.
-"what's in that big, round topped building, greca?" he asked quietly.
-"i do not know, exactly," replied the girl. "there is some sort of machinery in it, and to it go connecting beams from all the square metal plates everywhere. that is all i know."
-"we have in ally in her," murmured brand. "though god only knows if that will mean anything to us...."
-in the tower
-"what i can't figure out," said dex, striding up and down the big bare room, "is why we're needed to tell them about the atomic motor. they've got our ship, and three others besides. i should think they could learn about the motor just by taking it apart and studying it."
-brand grinned mirthlessly, recalling the three years of intensive study it had taken him to learn the refinements of atomic motive power. "if you'd ever qualified as a space navigator, dex, you'd know better. the rogans are an advanced race; their control of polar magnetism and the marvelously high-powered telescopes greca mentions prove that; but i doubt if they could ever analyze that atomic motor with no hint as to how it works."
-silence descended on them again, in which each was lost in his own thoughts.
-how many hours had passed, the earthmen did not know. they had spent the time in fruitless planning to escape from their tower room and go back to the ship again. though how they could get away in the ship when the rogans seemed able to propel it where-ever they wished against the utmost power of their motor, they did not attempt to consider.
-one of jupiter's short nights had passed, however--a night weirdly made as light as day by red glares from the plates, which seemed to store up sunlight, among their other functions--and the tiny sun had risen to slant into their window at a sharp angle.
-suddenly they heard the familiar drawing of the great bolts outside their door. it was opened, and a dozen or more of the rogans came in, with greca cowering piteously in their midst and attempting to communicate her distress to brand.
-at the head of the little band of rogans was one the prisoners had not seen before. he was of great height, fully two feet taller than the others; and he carried himself with an air that proclaimed his importance.
-the tall one turned to greca and addressed a few high-pitched, squeaky words to her. she shook her head; whereupon, at a hissed command, two of the rogans caught her by the wrists and dragged her forward.
-"they have come to question you," greca lamented to brand. "and they want to do it through me. but i will not! i will not!"
-brand smiled at her though his lips were pale.
-"you are powerless to struggle," he said. "do as they ask. you cannot help us by refusing, and, in any case, i can promise that they won't learn anything from us."
-the tall rogan teetered up to the prisoners on his gangling legs, and stared icily at them. crouched beside him, her lovely body all one mute appeal to the earthmen to forgive her for the part she was forced to play, was greca.
-at length the rogan leader spoke. he addressed his sibilant words to greca, though his stony eyes were kept intently on the earthmen.
-"he says," exclaimed greca telepathically, "to inform you first that he is head of all the rogan race on this globe, and that all on this globe must do as he commands."
-brand nodded to show he understood the message.
-"he says he is going to ask you a few questions, and that you are to answer truthfully if you value your lives:"
-"first, he wants to know what the people of your world are like. are they all the same as you?"
-dex started to reply to that; but brand flung him a warning look. "tell him we are the least of the earth people," he answered steadily. "tell him we are of an inferior race. most of those on earth are giants five times as large as we are, and many times more powerful."
-greca relayed the message in the whistling, piping rogan tongue. the tall one stared, then hissed another sentence to the beautiful interpreter.
-"he wants to know," said greca, "if there are cities on your globe as large and complete as this one."
-"there are cities on earth that make this look like a--a--" brand cast about for understandable similes--"like a collection of animal burrows."
-"he says to describe your planet's war weapons," was the next interpretation. and here brand let himself go.
-with flights of fancy he hadn't known he was capable of, he described great airships, steered automatically and bristling with guns that discharged explosives powerful enough to kill everything within a range of a thousand miles. he told of billions of thirty-foot giants sheathed in an alloy that would make them invulnerable to any feeble rays the rogans might have developed. he touched on the certain wholesale death that must overtake any hostile force that tried to invade the planet.
-"the rogan shock-tubes are toys compared with the ray-weapons of earth," he concluded. "we have arms that can nullify the effects of yours and kill at the same instant. we have--"
-but here the rogan leader turned impatiently away. greca had been translating sentence by sentence. now the tall one barked out a few syllables in a squeaky voice.
-"he says he knows you are lying," sighed greca. "for if you on earth have tubes more effective than theirs why weren't you equipped with them on your expedition here to the red kingdom?"
-brand bit his lips. "check," he muttered. "the brute has a brain in that ugly head."
-"he has been telling what his hordes can do, answering your boasts with boasts of his own. his words are awful! i won't tell you all he said. i will only say that he is convinced his shock-tubes are superior to any earth arms, and that he states he will now illustrate their power to you to quell your insolence. i don't know what he means by that...."
-but she and the earthmen were soon to find out.
-the rogan leader stepped to the window and arrogantly beckoned brand and dex to join him there. they did; and the leader gazed out and down as though searching for something.
-he pointed. the two earthmen followed his leveled arm with their eyes and saw, a hundred yards or so away, a bent and dreary figure trudging down the metal paving of the street. it was a figure like those to be seen on earth, which placed it as belonging to greca's race.
-the tall leader drew forth one of the shock-tubes. seen near at hand, it was observed to be bafflingly simple in appearance. it seemed devoid of all mechanism--simply a tube of reddish metal with a sort of handle formed of a coil of heavy wire.
-the rogan pointed the tube at the distant figure.
-greca screamed, and screamed again. coincident with her cry, as though the sound of it had felled him, the distant slave dropped to the pavement.
-that was all. the tube had merely been pointed: as far as brand could see, the rogan's "hand" had not moved on the barrel of the tube, nor even constricted about the coil of wire that formed its handle. yet that distant figure had dropped. furthermore, fumes of greasy black smoke now began to arise from the huddled body; and in less than thirty seconds there was left no trace of it on the gleaming metal pavement.
-"so that's what those things are like at full power!" breathed dex. "my god!"
-the rogan leader spoke a few words. greca, huddled despairingly on the floor, crushed by this brutal annihilation of one of her country-men before her very eyes, did not translate. but translation was unnecessary. the rogan's icy, triumphant eyes, the very posture of his grotesque body, spoke for him.
-"that," he was certainly saying, "is what will happen to any on your helpless planet who dare oppose the rogan will!"
-he whipped out a command to the terror-stricken girl. she rose from her crouching position on the floor; and at length formulated the rogan's last order:
-"you will explain the working of the engine that drove your space ship here."
-dex laughed. it was a short bark of sound, totally devoid of humor, but very full of defiance. brand thrust his hands into the pockets of his tunic, spread his legs apart, and began to whistle.
-a quiver that might have been of anger touched the rogan leader's repulsive little mouth. he glared balefully at the uncowed earthmen and spoke again, evidently repeating his command. the two turned their backs to him to indicate their refusal to obey.
-at that, the tall leader pointed to dex. in an instant three of the guards had wound their double pairs of arms around his struggling body. brand sprang to help him, but a touch of the mysterious discharge from the leader's tube sent him writhing to the floor.
-"it's no use, brand," said dex steadily. he too had stopped struggling, and now stood quietly in the slimy coils of his captors' arms. "i might as well go along with them and get it over with. i probably won't see you again. good luck!"
-he was borne out of the room. the rogan leader turned to brand and spoke.
-"he says that if your comrade does not tell him what he wants to know, your turn will come next," sobbed greca. "oh! why does not the great white one strike these monsters to the dust!"
-she ran to brand and pressed her satiny cheek to his. then she was dragged roughly away.
-the great door clanged shut. the heavy outer fastenings clicked into place. dex had gone to experience whatever it was that journeyman and the rest had experienced in this red hell. and brand was left behind to reflect on what dread torments this might comprise; and to pray desperately that no matter what might be done to his shrinking body he would be strong enough to refuse to betray his planet.
-the torture chamber
-swiftly dex was carried down the long ramp to the ground floor, the arms of his captors gripping him with painful tightness. heading the procession was the immensely tall, gangling rogan leader, clutching greca by the wrist and dragging her indifferently along to be his mouthpiece.
-they did not stop at the street level; they continued on down another ramp, around a bend, descending an even steeper incline toward the bowels of jupiter. their descent ended at last before a huge metal barrier which, at a signal from the leader, drew smoothly up into the ceiling to disclose a gigantic, red-lit chamber underlying the foundations of the building.
-in fear and awe, dex gazed around that huge room.
-it resembled in part a nightmare rearrangement of such a laboratory as might be found on earth; and in part a torture chamber such as the most ferocious of savages might have devised had they been scientifically equipped to add contrivances of supercivilization to the furthering of their primitive lust for cruelty.
-there were great benches--head-high to the earthman--to accommodate the height of the rogan workmen. there were numberless metal instruments, and glass coils, and enormous retorts; and in one corner an orange colored flame burnt steadily on a naked metal plate, seeming to have no fuel or other source of being.
-there was a long rack of cruelly pointed and twisted instruments. under this was a row of long, delicate pincers, with coils on the handles to indicate that they might be heated to fiendish precision of temperatures. there were gleaming metal racks with calibrated slide-rods and spring dials to denote just what pull was being exerted on whatever unhappy creature might be stretched taut on them. there were tiny cones of metal whose warped, baked appearance testified that they were little portable furnaces that could be placed on any desired portion of the anatomy, to slowly bake the selected disk of flesh beneath them.
-dex shuddered; and a low moan came from greca, whose clear blue eyes had rested on the contents of this vast room before in her capacity as hostage and interpreter for the inhuman rogans.
-and now another sense of dex's began to register perception on his brain.
-a peculiar odor came to his nostrils. it was a musky, fetid odor, like that to be smelled in an animal cage; but it was sharper, more acrid than anything he had ever smelled on earth. it smelled--ah, he had it!--reptilian. as though somewhere nearby a dozen titanic serpents were coiled ready to spring!
-looking about, dex saw a six-foot square door of bars in one wall of the laboratory--like the barred entrance to a prison cell. it was from the interstices of this door that the odor seemed to emanate; but he had no chance to make sure, for now the rogan leader approached him.
-"i will first show you," he said, through his mouthpiece, greca, "what happens to those who oppose our orders. we have a slave who tried to run away into the surrounding jungles three suns ago...."
-a man was dragged into the chamber. he was slightly taller and more stockily muscled than an earthman might be; but otherwise, in facial conformation and general appearance, he might have come here straight from new york city. dex felt a great pang of sympathy for him. he was so plainly one of humankind, despite the fact that he had been born on a sphere four hundred million miles from dex's.
-the fellow was paralyzed with horror. his eyes, wide and glazed, darted about the torture room like those of a trapped animal. and yet he made no move to break away from the clutch of the two rogans who held him. he knew he was helpless, that wild-eyed glance told dex. knew it so thoroughly that not even his wildest terror could inspire him to try to make a break for freedom, or strike back at the implacable rogan will.
-at a nod from the leader, the man was stripped to the waist. here dex started in amazement. the man's broad chest was seamed and crisscrossed by literally hundreds of tiny lateral scars, some long healed, and some fresh incisions.
-he was dragged to a metal plate set upright in the wall, and secured to it by straps of metal. evidently the miserable being knew what this portended, for he began to scream--a monotonous, high-pitched shriek that didn't stop till he was out of breath.
-the rogan leader stared at him icily, then depressed a small lever set in the wall beside him. the plate against which the captive was bound began to shine softly with a blue light. the slave twisted in his bonds, screaming again. rhythmic shudders jerked at his limbs. his lips turned greenish white. the shudders grew more pronounced till it seemed as though he were afflicted with a sort of horrible st. vitus dance. then the tall rogan pulled back the lever. the slave hung away from his supporting shackles, limp and unconscious.
-dex moistened his lips. an electric shock? no, it was something more terrible than that. some other manifestation of the magnetic power the rogans had harnessed--a current, perhaps, that depolarized partly the atoms of the body structure? he could only guess. but the convulsed face of the unfortunate victim showed that the torment, whatever it was, was devilish to the last degree!
-"that will be the next to the last fate reserved for you," the rogan informed dex, through greca. "death follows soon after that--but not too soon for you to see and feel what waits for you behind the barred door!" and he nodded toward the cage-entrance affair, from which came the musky, reptilian stench.
-"now that you have seen something of what will happen to you if you refuse to tell us what we want to know, we shall proceed," said the leader.
-he pointed toward one of the gargantuan work benches, and two of the rogans slid down from it a contrivance that looked familiar to dex. an instant's scrutiny showed him why it was familiar: it was a partly dismantled atomic motor.
-in spite of the ordeal that faced him, dex felt a thrill of elation as he looked at the motor. in its scattered state, it told a mute story: a story of long and intensive study by the rogans, which had yielded them no results! only too obviously, the intricate secret of atomic power had not let itself be solved.
-on the heels of the elation that filled his heart, came a sickening realization of his dilemma. he could not have told the rogans what they wanted to know even if he had wished to! he himself didn't know the principles of the atomic engine. as brand had remarked, he was no space navigator; he was simply a prosaic lieutenant, competent only at fighting, not at all versed in science.
-he knew, though, that it would do no good to assert his ignorance to the rogans. they simply wouldn't believe him.
-"you will rebuild this engine for us," ordered the tall leader, "showing us the purpose of each part, and how the power is extracted from the fuel. after that you will set it running for us, and instruct us in its control."
-dex braced himself. his final moment had come.
-by way of indicating his refusal he looked away from the dismantled motor and said nothing. the rogan repeated his command. dex made no move. then the leader acted.
-he said something to the rogan guards who had been standing by all this while, alert against an outbreak from their prisoner. dex was caught up, carried to one of the metal racks, and thrown down on its calibrated bed. loops of metal, like handcuffs, were snapped around his wrists and ankles; and a metal hoop was clamped over his throat, pinning him to the torture rack. resistance would have been useless, and dex submitted quietly.
-the contrivance, with him on it, was wheeled toward the barred door. it was halted at a spot marked on the floor, about thirty feet from the bars. the rogan leader stepped alongside the rack, with greca trembling beside him.
-dex closed his eyes for a moment, grimly marshaling strength of will to go through the trial that was just beginning.
-the rogan leader depressed another lever in the rock wall. the barred door slid slowly up, to reveal the receding darknesses of some great cave, or room, that adjoined the laboratory. dex rolled his eyes so that he could watch the doorway; and, in a cold perspiration, waited for whatever might appear.
-it was not long in coming!
-the reptilian smell suddenly grew stronger. there was a booming hiss, a savage bellowing. a clattering of vast scales rattled out as some body weighing many tons was dragged over rock flooring. then, before dex's staring eyes appeared a huge, wedge-shaped head, at sight of which he bit his lips to keep from crying aloud.
-often enough he had seen one of those terrific heads looming in the fog of the northern hemisphere of jupiter. he did not know the genus of the vast monster that bore it, but he did know it for the fiercest of the lizard giants that roamed the jovian jungles. a creature larger than a terrestrial whale, with great long neck and heavy long tail dragging yards behind it, it would find the puny bulk of a man nothing but a morsel in its jaws!
-again the gigantic thing hissed and bellowed. and then its huge head came through the six-foot door and its neck uncoiled to send the gaping jaws within a foot of dex. there it struggled to reach him, prevented by the small doorway that restrained the bulk of its enormous body, its head only inches away from the cleverly measured spot to which the metal rack had been wheeled.
-dex stared, hypnotized, into the dull, stony eyes of the beast, gasping for breath in the stench of its exhalations. the jaws snapped shut, fanning his cheek. he fought for self-control. steady! steady! the slimy rogans had no intention of feeding him to the thing yet. not till they had made more determined efforts to wring from him the secret of the motor. they were just prefacing actual physical torture with hellish mental torture, that was all.
-that he was right in his guess was proved in a few moments. he heard a louder hiss from the great lizard so near him. opening his eyes, he saw the rogan leader in the process of forcing the serpentine neck to withdraw foot by foot back into the doorway, using his shock-tube as a sort of distant prod.
-the monster swayed its ugly flat head back and forth, hissing deafeningly at the sting of the tube, now and again lunging with its vast unseen body at the too narrow entrance that kept it from entering the laboratory. dex could hear the foundation walls of the building creak at the onslaught of that tremendous weight.
-if it would only break through! he thought savagely. but it wasn't going to. in a short while it was cowed by the deadly tube, and withdrew its head awkwardly from the chamber. the barred door slid down into place: and the rogan leader once more turned his attention to his prisoner.
-"you will be wheeled within reach of the creature as the last step of your fate," dex was informed. "meanwhile, we shall start with something less deadly...."
-a cogged wheel beside him was turning a notch. dex felt the sliding bed of the rack crawl slightly under him. intolerable tension was suddenly placed on his arms and legs. the leader stared at a spring dial; and moved the wheel another notch. the rack expanded again, stretching dex's body till his joints cracked.
-"you will tell us what we want to know," said the rogan, glaring coldly down at him.
-dex compressed his lips stubbornly. he couldn't tell them if he wanted to, and, by god, he wouldn't if he could.
-another notch, the wheel was turned; and in spite of himself a groan escaped dex's lips. one more notch, while the metal slide-rods beneath him lengthened a fraction of an inch....
-and with this thought he suddenly saw, through the red mists of rage, the shock-tube that was dangling indifferently from the rogan leader's hand.
-instantly the red mists began to clear away. another change took place in the tortured lieutenant's mind. the blind hot rage faded into more deadly, cold wrath. a plan began to bud into thought. it was a futile plan, really. it could not possibly accomplish anything vital. but it might give him a chance for a little revenge before his life was snuffed out--might give him a chance to strike a blow for the dead journeyman and the other gallant explorers who had perished here in this chamber before him.
-he closed his eyes to hide the hate and calculation in them. the tall rogan leaned lower over the rack.
-"you are ready to do as i command?" he demanded.
-"yes," whispered dex. "yes."
-in the beautiful greca's eyes, as she translated his assent, was horror. but then, faintly, her mind caught the thought that lay beneath the earthman's apparent surrender. she veiled her own eyes with long lashes, lest they betray the captive's plan to the alert rogan. her lips moved silently; perhaps she was praying to her great white one.
-"release him," the rogan ordered, triumph in his bird-like, shrill voice. the metal hoops were unfastened. dex stretched his outraged body, wincing with the pain of movement; then felt life and strength returning to him.
-"come with us to the motor," commanded the rogan, his dull eyes glinting in anticipation of learning the coveted secret that should add one more planet to the rogan's tyranny.
-dex walked to the dismantled atomic engine with him. he walked slowly, pretending more stiffness and weakness than he really owned to. no use in letting his captors know that his resilient muscles were so quickly throwing off the torment of the rack.
-eagerly the rogans crowded around dex and the motor that had thus far baffled them. they bent down from their twelve-foot heights to bring their staring goggle-eyes closer to the lesson in atomic motive power, till dex was in a sort of small dome of rogans, with their long, pipe-like legs forming the wall around him, and their thin torsos inclining forward to make a curved ceiling over him.
-the rogan leader drew greca within the circle to interpret the earthman's explanations.
-dex moved a trifle, to bring himself nearer the tall leader. again he glanced covertly at the shock-tube.
-"the first thing to tell about our motor," said dex, stalling for time, "is that it utilizes the breaking up of the atom as its source of power."
-he edged closer to the rogan leader.
-"you see those electrodes?" he said, pointing to two copper castings in a chamber between the fuel tank and the small but enormously powerful turbine that whirled with the released atomic energy. the rogan leader blinked assent. his small, horrible mouth was pursed with his concentration of thought.
-"the electrodes partially break down the atoms of fuel passing from the tank," explained dex, desperately attempting scientific phraseology for a matter as far over his head as the remote stars. he raised his hand a trifle, bringing it nearer the rogan's tube....
-"is that the outlet from the tank?" inquired the rogan, pointing with the tube, and so raising it out of dex's reach.
-"yes," mumbled dex, sick with disappointment: he'd been on the point of leaping for the weapon. he sidled close again. greca bit her lips lest she cry out with suspense.
-"the partially disintegrated atoms pass into the turbine chamber," he went on, "and are there completely broken down by heat, which has been generated by the explosive energy of the atoms passing in before them."
-"i warn you to speak true," said the leader, suddenly removing his gaze from the specimen motor and staring icily down at dex. dex's hand dropped abruptly from its place near the tube. again his fingers had come within a foot of it.
-"we will get ahead faster," piped the rogan, an edge of suspicion sounding in his shrill voice, "if i conduct the explanation. i will ask questions for you to answer. what is the fuel used?"
-"powdered zinc," dex answered promptly. no harm in admitting that. the rogans must already know it; zinc was common to jupiter, as earth spectroscopes had showed long since; and they had no doubt analyzed it by now. the chances were that the leader was merely testing him, to see if he were sincere in his ostensible surrender.
-that his guess was right, he read in the fishy, dull eyes. the rogan leader nodded at his answer, and some of the lurking suspicion in his gaze died down.
-"how is it prepared?"
-now this marked the beginning of the end, dex knew. the preparation of the powdered metal was half the secret of atomic power--and dex hadn't the faintest idea what it was! this questions-and-answers affair was going to pin him down in short order!
-"how is it prepared?" repeated the rogan leader inexorably. "tell us, or--"
-but at that instant dex attained his objective.
-once more his hand had crawled slowly toward the tube--till, once more, it was within reach. then, more bold as his position grew more desperate, he straightened up--and, with a lightning move, had wrenched it from the sucker-disk that held it!
-he shouted his triumph. he had it! now let the devils put him back on the torture bed if they could! now let them try to make him betray his planet!
-there was an alarmed squeak from the rogan leader, and in an instant the huge laboratory was in an uproar. the rogan guards whipped their hose-like arms toward the earthman. dex, with a sweep of his hands, knocked the pipe-stem legs of two of the guards from under them, leaped over their bodies, and stood at bay in a corner--guarding the bench on which the guards had laid their tubes when they filed into the laboratory.
-the air resounded with the shrill calls of the excited rogans. then they began to close in on him, all the while eyeing the tube in his hand with terror written large on their hideous faces.
-dex's eyes blazed with the light of vengeful exultation. for the death of journeyman and the rest, for the coming inevitable death of himself and brand, he was going to pay--at least in part--with the captured tube of death in his hand! it was a lovely thought, and for a few seconds he delayed acting in order to savor it.
-then, with a smile of pure happiness, he leveled the tube at the nearest rogan in order to shrivel him to nothingness as he had seen the slave shrivelled in the street.
-the rogan did not fall! full in the face of the death tube he teetered forward, his arms reaching savagely toward the earthman.
-dex stared incredulously. cold fear crept into his heart. he pointed the tube more accurately, and squeezed harder on the coil handle. still nothing happened. the rogans warily drew closer.
-perspiration began to trickle down dex's cheeks. in god's name, why didn't the tube work? he had thought all he had to do was point it and squeeze down on the handle. but evidently there was more to the trick than that!
-he groaned. he had staged all this elaborate play for a weapon as useless to his untrained mind as one of earth's explosive guns, with the safety-lock clamped on, would have been to an abysmal venusian savage!
-by now the nearest rogan was within reaching distance of him. one of its two pairs of slimy arms uncoiled toward him. the other pair strained to reach around him and get to the weapons on the bench by his side.
-with a cry, dex dashed the useless shock-tube down on the reaching arms. as long as he didn't know how to work it anyway, he might as well use it as a club.
-the rogan squeaked with pain; the arms recoiled. dex jerked the tube back over his shoulder for another blow....
-there was a shriek from the doomed wretch fastened to the metal plate. the slave that had been tortured before dex's eyes as an object lesson! he had been returned to consciousness a short time since, and had been writhing and shuddering against the plate.
-dex flashed a glance at him over his shoulder, as he shrieked, and cried aloud himself at what he saw.
-the tortured slave was rapidly disappearing! another shriek left his lips, to be broken off halfway. in an instant nothing was left of the struggling body but a wisp of greasy black smoke!
-dex stared stupidly at the tube in his hand. then, as a squeak of agony sounded from a rogan in front of him, his mind grasped what had happened. somehow its mechanism had been jarred into functioning when he dashed it against the groping arm. in some way its death dealing power had been unleashed. with a cry of exultation, dex began to use it!
-the rogan in front of him, squealing, collapsed on the floor, dwindling swiftly into nothingness. dex turned the mysterious death against another teetering creature. it too went up in oleaginous smoke.
-the rogan leader came next. dex whirled the tube in his direction, and saw him go down. then he sprang to annihilate still another grotesque monster who had almost reached the bench on which were the other tubes. he shouted and raved as this fourth rogan crumbled. torture him, would they! plan to capture earth, would they! he'd kill off the whole damned population with this tube!
-the rogan survivors, squeaking in panic, gave over their attempts to retrieve the tubes. they dove for various hiding places--under benches, behind retorts, anywhere to get away from the terror running amuck in their midst. and after them sprang dex, mad with his sudden miraculous success, to ferret them out one by one and blow them into hell with their own horrible death-engine.
-one of his four arms was missing, a smoking stump showing where the annihilating ray from the tube had blasted it off at the shoulder. but he was far from being dead. with cold purpose in his great staring eyes, he moved snakily toward the bench dex had now left unguarded.
-the earthman got another rogan; whirled to track down still another. promptly the leader sank motionless to the floor. the rogan leader continued his crawling. he reached the bench, fumbled up and along its surface for the nearest tube.
-dex, unconscious of the sure fate gathering behind him to strike him down, dashed past a great glass tank behind which greca was huddling in mortal fear, and charged down on two more of the squeaking guards.
-then, suddenly, some sixth sense warned him that something was wrong. he whirled toward the corner he had left.
-the rogan leader, two of his surviving arms propping feebly against the bench, was pointing a shock-tube squarely at him!
-dex fell to the floor to escape the first discharge of the tube, and leveled his own. he felt the thing grow hot in his hand, saw a blinding blue-white fire leap into being in the space between them as the rays from the two tubes met and absorbed each other. he shifted, to get out of the line and blast the creature he had too hastily reckoned as dead. but he was not quick enough. a fraction before him, the rogan leader shifted.
-dex felt a terrible burning sensation all over his body, as the ray from his tube met the conflicting ray less squarely, and allowed a little of it to reach him. he shrieked as the slave had shrieked when he felt the annihilating current from the plate sweeping through his body.
-a black fog seemed to close in around the earthman's senses. he crashed to the floor, with a glimpse of the leering triumph on the rogan's face as the last picture to stamp itself in his failing consciousness.
-the tall rogan, obviously in great agony from his blasted arm, squeaked a faint command. the four guards who were left issued fearfully from their hiding places and came to him.
-he pointed his tube at dex harlow, lying unconscious on the floor. there he hesitated an instant, his soft little mouth slobbering in his rage and pain. then he let the tube sink slowly off its line.
-he gave another command. the four guards picked the earthman up and carried him to the metal torture-plate on which the slave had met his death. the tall leader's eyes gleamed with vicious hatred as the limp body was fastened to the metal.
-mouthing and squealing with the pain of his seared arm-stump, he wobbled toward the lever, a mere turn of which would readily convert the plate into a bed of agony.
-in the power-house
-alone in the prison room, after dex had been dragged away to be subjected to the rogan inquisition, brand gnawed at his fingers and paced distractedly up and down the stone flooring. for a while he had no coherent thought at all; only the realization that his turn came next, and that the rogans would leave no refinement of torment untried in their effort to wring from him the secret of the atomic engine.
-he went to the window, and absent-mindedly stared out. the whining hum from the great domed building off to the right, like the high-pitched droning of a swarm of gargantuan bees, came to his ears. he listened more intently, and leaned out of the window to look at the building.
-under that dome, it came to him again, was, in all probability, the mainspring of the rogan mechanical power. if only he could get in there and look around! he might do some important damage; he might be able to harass the enemy materially before the time came for him to die.
-he leaned farther out of the window, and examined the hundred feet or so of sheer wall beneath him. he saw, scrutinizing it intently, that the stone blocks that composed it were not smooth cut, but rough hewn, with the marks of the cutters' chisels plainly in evidence. also there was a considerable ridge between each layer of blocks where the rogans' mortar had squeezed out in the process of laying the wall.
-never in sanity would a man have thought of the thing brand considered then. to attempt to clamber down that blank wall, with only the slight roughness of the protruding layers of mortar to hang on to, was palpable suicide!
-brand shrugged. he observed that to a man already condemned to death, the facing of probable suicide shouldn't mean much.
-with scarcely an increase in the beating of his heart, he swung one leg out over the broad sill. if he fell, he escaped an infinitely worse death; if he didn't fall, he might somehow win his way into that domed building whence the hum came.
-cautiously, clutching at the rough stone with finger tips that in a moment or two became raw and bleeding masses, he began his slow descent. as he worked his way down, he slanted to the right, toward the near wall of the retaining yard whose end was formed by the round structure that was his goal.
-beneath him and to the left the broad street swarmed with figures: the tall ones of the rogans and the shorter, sturdier ones of slaves. any one of those dozens of grotesque pedestrians might glance up, see him, and pick him off with the deadly tubes. under his fingers the mortar crumbled and left him hanging, more than once, by one hand. for fully five minutes his life hung by a thread apt to be severed at any time. but--he made it. helped by the decreased gravity of the red spot, and released from inhibiting fear by the fact that he was already, figuratively, a dead man, he performed the incredible.
-with a last slithering step downward, he landed lightly on the near wall of the enclosure, and started along its broad top toward his objective.
-now he was in plain sight of any one who might be looking out the windows of the tower building or from the dome ahead of him; but this was a chance he had to take, and at least he was concealed from the swarms in the street. making no effort to hide himself by crawling along the top of the wall, he straightened up and began to run toward the giant dome.
-hardly had he gone a dozen steps when he suddenly understood the meaning of the high-walled enclosure to his right!
-off in a far corner rose a slate colored mound that at first glance he had taken for a great heap of inanimate dirt. the mound began to move toward him--and metamorphosed into an animal, a thing that made brand blink his eyes to see if he were dreaming, and then stop, appalled, to look at it.
-he saw a body that dwarfed the high retaining walls to comparative insignificance. it had a tree-like tail that dragged behind it; and a thirty-foot, serpentine neck at the end of which was a head like a sugar barrel that split into cavernous jaws lined with backward-pointing teeth. two eyes were set wide apart in the enormous head, eyes that were dead and cold and dull, yet glinting with senseless ferocity. it was the sort of thing one sees in delirium.
-with increasing energy the creature made for him, till finally it was approaching his sector of the wall at a lumbering run that was rapid for all its ungainliness.
-it was apparent at a glance that the snaky neck, perched atop the lofty shoulder structure, would raise the head with its gaping jaws to his level on the wall! brand ran. and after him thudded the gigantic lizard, its neck arching up and along the wall to reach him.
-a scant five yards ahead of the snapping jaws, brand reached his goal, the dome, and clambered over its curved, metal roof away from the monster's maw.
-he stopped to pant for breath and wipe the sweat from his streaming face. "thank god it didn't get me," he breathed, looking back at the bellowing terror that had pursued him. "wonder why it's there? it's too ferocious to be tamed and used in any way: it must be kept as a threat to hold the slaves in hand. it certainly looks well fed...."
-he shuddered; then he began to explore the dome of the building for a means of entrance.
-there was no opening in the roof. a solid sheet of reddish metal, like a titanic half-eggshell, it glittered under him in an unbroken piece.
-he crept down its increasingly precipitous edge till he reached a sort of cornice that formed a jutting circle of stone around it. there he leaned far over and saw, about ten feet below him, a round opening like a big port-hole. from it were streaming waves of warm, foul air, from which he judged it to be a ventilator outlet.
-he scrambled over the edge of the cornice, hung at arm's length, and swung himself down into the opening. and there, perched high up under the roof, he looked down at an enigmatic, eery scene.
-that the structure was indeed a strange sort of power-house was instantly made evident. but what curious, mysterious, and yet bewilderingly simple machinery it held!
-in the center was a titanic coil of reddish metal formed by a single cable nearly a yard through. around this, at the four corners of the compass, were set coils that were identical in structure but a trifle smaller. from the smaller coils to the larger streamed, unceasingly, blue waves of light like lightning bolts.
-along a large arc of the wall was a stone slab set with an endless array of switches and insulated control-buttons. gauges and indicators of all kinds, whose purpose could not even be guessed at, were lined above and below, all throbbing rhythmically to the leap of the electric-blue rays between the monster coils.
-almost under brand's perch a great square beam of metal came through the building wall from outside, to be split into multitudinous smaller beams that were hooked up with the bases of the coils. across from him, disappearing out through the opposite wall, was an identical beam.
-"the terminals for the metal plate system that extends over the whole red spot," murmured brand. "this building is important. but what can i do to throw sand in the gears before i'm caught and killed...?"
-he surveyed the great round room below him more thoroughly. now he saw, right in the center of the huge control board, a solitary lever, that seemed a sort of parent to all the other levers and switches. it was flanked by a perfect army of gauges and indicators; and was covered by a glass bell which was securely bolted to the rock slab.
-"that looks interesting," brand told himself. "i'd like to see that closer, if i can climb down from here without being observed.... why"--he broke off--"where is everybody!"
-for the first time, in the excitement and concentration of his purpose, the emptiness of the place struck him. there was no sign of light in the great building--no workmen or slaves anywhere. there was just the great coils, with the streamers of blue light bridging them and emitting the high-pitched, monotonous hum audible outside the dome, and the complicated control board with its quivering indicator needles and mysterious levers. that was all.
-"must be out to lunch," muttered brand, his eyes going fascinatedly toward that solitary, parent lever under its glass bell. "well, it gives me a chance to try some experiments, anyway."
-it was about fifty feet from his perch to the floor; but a few feet to one side was a metal beam that extended up to help support the trussed weight of the roof. he jumped for this, and quickly slid down it.
-he started on a run for the control board; but almost immediately he stopped warily to listen: it seemed to him that he had caught, faintly, the squeaking, high tones of rogan conversation.
-miraculously, the sound seemed to come from a blank wall to his left. he crept forward to investigate....
-the mystery was solved before he had gone very far. there was an opening in the wall leading off to an annex of some kind outside the dome building. the opening was concealed by a set-back, so that at first glance it had seemed part of the wall itself. from this opening drifted the chatter of rogans.
-brand stole closer, finally venturing to peer into the room beyond from an angle where he himself could not be seen. and he found that his whimsical reference to "lunch" had contained a ghastly element of fact!
-in that annex were several dozen of the teetering, attenuated rogans, and an equal number of slaves. and the relation of the slaves and the rogans was one that made brand's skin crawl.
-each rogan had stripped the tunic from the chest of his slave. now, as brand watched, each drew a keen blade from his belt, and made a shallow gash in the shrinking flesh. there were a few stifled screams--some of the slaves were women--but for the most part the slashing was endured in stoical silence. when red drops began to ooze forth, the rogans stooped and applied their horrible little mouths to the incisions....
-"the slimy devils!" brand whispered hoarsely, at sight of that dreadful feeding. "the inhuman, monstrous vermin!"
-but now one or two of the rogans had begun to utter squeaks of satiation; and brand hastened away from there and toward the control board again. he hadn't an idea of what he might accomplish when he reached it; he didn't know but that a touch of the significant looking parent-lever might blast him to bits; but he did know that he was going to raise absolute hell with something, somewhere, if he possibly could.
-swiftly he approached the great master-lever, protected by its bell of glass. (at least it looked like glass, for it was crystal clear and reflected gleamingly the blue light from the nearby coils). he tapped it experimentally with his knuckles....
-at once pandemonium reigned in the great vaulted building. there was a siren-like screaming from a device he noticed for the first time attached under the domed roof. a clanging alarm split the air from half a dozen gongs set around the upper walls.
-squealing shouts sounded behind brand. he whirled, and saw the rogans, interrupted in their terrible meal, pouring in from the annex and racing toward him. rage and fear distorted their hideous faces as they pointed first to the big lever and then at the escaped earthman. they redoubled their efforts to get at him, their long unsteady legs covering the distance in great bounds.
-brand swore. was he to be caught again before he had accomplished a certain thing? when he had already managed to win clear to his objective?
-he hammered at the glass bell with his fists, but realized with the first blow that he was only wasting time trying to crack it bare-handed. he glanced quickly about and saw a metal bar propped up against the control board near him.
-he sprang for it, grasped it as a club, and returned to the glass bell. raising his arms high, he brought the thick metal bar down on the glass with all his strength.
-with a force that almost wrenched his arms from their sockets, the bar rebounded from the glass bell, leaving it uncracked.
-"unbreakable!" groaned brand.
-desperately he tried again, whirling the bar high over his head and bringing it smashing down. the result was the same as before as far as breaking the bell was concerned. but--a little trickle of crushed rock came from around the bolts in the slab to which the bell was fastened.
-a third time be brought the bar down. the glass bell sagged a bit sway from the slab....
-he had no chance for more assaults on it. the nearest rogans had leaped for him. slimy arms were coiling around him, while the loathsome sucker-disks tore at his unprotected face and throat.
-savagely brand lashed out with the bar. it caved in a pair of the long, skinny legs, bringing a bloated round head down within reach. he smashed it with the bar, exulting grimly as the blow crumpled bone and flesh almost down to the little mouth which was yet carmine from its recent feeding.
-the process seemed a sound one to brand, unable as he was to reach the rogans' heads that towered six feet above his own. methodically, swinging the bar with the weight of his body behind it, he repeated the example. first a crash of the bar against a pair of legs, then the crushing in of the rogan's head when he toppled with agonized squeals to the floor.
-again and again he crushed the life out of a rogan with his one-two swing of the deadly bar. they were thinning down, now. they were wavering in their charges against the comparatively insignificant being from another planet who was defending himself so fiercely.
-finally one of their number turned and ran toward an exit, waving his four arms and adding his high-pitched alarms to the incessant ringing of the gongs and shrieks of the warning siren up under the roof. the rest rushed the earthman in a body.
-steadily, almost joyfully, brand fought on. he had expected to be annihilated by one of the rogan shock-tubes long before now; but as yet there was no sign of any. either these rogan workmen were not privileged to carry the terrible things, or they were too occupied to think of going and getting them; anyhow, brand was left free to wield his bar and continue crushing out the lives of the two-legged vermin that attacked him.
-with almost a shock of surprise, he saw finally that he had battered their number down to three. at that he took the offensive himself. he rammed the bluntly pointed end of the bar almost through one writhing torso, broke the back of a second with a whistling blow, and tripped and exterminated the third almost in as many seconds. the creatures, without their death-tubes, were as helpless as crippled rats!
-panting, he turned again toward the loosened glass bell, and battered at it with the precious bar. gradually the bolts that held it to the stone slab were wrenched out, till only one supported it. but at this point, from half a dozen set-back doorways, streams of infuriated rogans began pouring into the building and toward him.
-like living spokes of a half-wheel, with the earthman as the hub, the rogans converged toward brand, a howling roar outside indicating that there were hundreds more waiting to jam into the dome as soon as they were able. there were still no shock-tubes in evidence: evidently the worker who had gone for help had gathered the first rogan citizens he had encountered on the streets. but the very numbers of the mob spelled defeat for brand.
-however, there was still the great lever behind him to yank away from its switch-socket. the glass bell was almost off now. with a last mad blow, he knocked loose the remaining bolt that held it. the bell clattered to the floor.
-a concerted shriek came from the crowding rogans as they saw the earthman's hand close on the lever. whatever effect the throwing of that master-switch could have, there was no doubt that they were extremely anxious to prevent it!
-and now, in the rear of the crowding columns, appeared rogans taller than the others, with an authoritative air, who waved before them, eager to unleash their power, batteries of the death-tubes.
-resigning himself to annihilation in the next instant, brand pulled down hard on the lever.
-the effect wrought by the throwing of that great switch was almost indescribable.
-in a flash, as though all had been struck at once by a giant's hand, every rogan in the mob shot toward the floor, long thin legs caving under him as if turned to water. writhing feebly, they endeavored to get up, but could not; and, still weakly ferocious, began to creep toward the earthman like huge-headed worms.
-brand himself had been thrown to the floor with the falling of that switch. he had felt as though an invisible ocean had been poured on him, weighting him down intolerably. to move arms or legs required enormous effort; and to get up on his feet again was like rising under a two-hundred-pound pack.
-the movement of the switch, he saw, had cut off the gravity reducing apparatus of the rogans--whatever that might consist of. they were now, abruptly, subjected to the full force of gravity exerted by jupiter's great mass. they could no more stand erect on their tottering, lofty legs than they could fly.
-but, though greatly handicapped by the gravity pull, they were still not entirely helpless. like huge, long insects they continued to worm their way toward brand, using their four arms and their boneless legs to help urge them over the flooring. and in their rear the rogan guards struggled to lift their tubes and level them at the escaped prisoner.
-prompt to avoid that, brand went down on his hands and knees. thus he was shielded by the foremost crawling rogans: the ones in the rear, with the tubes, could not raise themselves high enough to bore down over their fellows' heads at the earthman.
-squatting on his knees, brand awaited the first resolute crawlers. and, on his knees, whirling the now thrice weighty bar at heads that were conveniently low enough to be accessible, he began his last stand.
-on the rogans came, evidently determined, at any sacrifice of life, to get the earthman away from that vital control board. and to right and left, crouching low to escape the tubes of the guards slowly crawling forward from the rear, brand laid about him with the bar.
-he got a little sick at the havoc he was wreaking on these slow-moving, gravity-crippled things: but remembrance of their grisly feeding habits, and the torture they must by now have inflicted on dex, kept him flailing down on soft heads with undiminished effort.
-with the gravity pull what it was, the earthman was immeasurably stronger than any individual rogan. for a time the contest was all in his favor. it was like killing slugs in a rose garden!
-nevertheless, these slugs were, after all, twelve feet long and possessed of intelligence, besides being hundreds in number. after a while the tide of battle began to turn in their favor.
-brand began to feel his arms ache burningly with the sustained effort of wielding a weapon that now weighed about twenty-five pounds. he knew he couldn't keep up the terrific strain much longer. and, in addition, he could see that the armed rogans in the rear were steadily forging ahead among the unarmed attackers, till they soon must be in a position to blast him with their weapons.
-brand brought down his bar, with failing force but still deadly effect, on the loathsome face of the nearest rogan, grunting with satisfaction as he saw it crumple into a shapeless mass. he thrust it, spear-like, into another face, and another.
-then, abruptly, he found himself weaponless.
-raising it high to bring it down on an attacker who was almost about to seize him, he felt the metal bar turn white hot, and dropped it with a cry as it seared the skin from the palms of his hands. some rogan guard in the rear had managed to train his tube on the bar; and in the instant of its rising had almost melted it.
-weaponless and helpless, brand crawled slowly back before the tortuously advancing mob, keeping close enough to them to be shielded from the tubes of the rear guards. without his club he knew the end was a matter of seconds.
-he had an impulse to leap full into the mass of repulsive, crawling bodies and die fighting as his fists battered at the gruesome faces. but a second impulse, and a stronger one, was the blind instinct to preserve his life as long as possible.
-hesitantly, almost reluctantly, acting on the primitive instinct of self-preservation, he continued to back away from the advancing horde; away from the switch and toward the rear of the dome.
-with the instant of his withdrawal, a rogan turned toward the lever to push it back up into contact and release the red kingdom from the burden of jupiter's unendurable gravity. and now ensued a curious struggle. the lever, placed for the convenience of creatures twelve feet or more tall, was about five feet from the floor. and the rogan couldn't reach it!
-stubbornly he heaved and writhed in an effort to raise his inordinately heavy body from the floor to a point where one of the weaving arms could reach the switch. but the pipe-stem legs would not bear its weight. each time it nearly reached the lever, only to fall feebly back again in a snarl of tangled limbs.
-meanwhile, brand had flashed a quick look back over his shoulder to see, in the wall behind him, a metal door he hadn't noticed before. he found time for a flashing instant to wonder why there were no rogans entering from that doorway, too; but it was a vain wonder, and it faded from his mind as the ever advancing, groping monsters before him kept crowding him back.
-instinctively he changed his course a trifle, to edge toward the metal door. perhaps, behind it, there was sanctuary for a few moments. perhaps he could force it open, spring out, and bar it again in the faces of the pursuing mob. it sounded improbable, but at least it offered him a slim chance where before no chance had seemed possible.
-he reached the door at last, fumbled behind him and felt, high over his head, a massive sliding bolt.
-in the spot brand had left, the struggle to throw the gravity-lever back into closed contact position went on. the rogan who was fruitlessly trying to reach up to it paused and said something to one near him. that one halted, and began to crawl toward him.
-the two of them tried to reach it, one bracing the other and helping him pry his body up from the implacable pull of jupiter's uninsulated mass. the top rogan reached a little higher. the flesh sucker-disk that served as a hand almost grasped the lever, but failed by only a few inches. under the sheet. her heart was devoid of any emptiness or ache; she only felt how pleasant and cool and tranquil it was to lie there alone. she stayed quite late in bed. it was delicious, with window and door wide open and the puppies running in and out, to lie and doze off, or listen to the pigeons' cooing, and the distant sounds of traffic, and feel in command once more of herself, body and soul. now that she had told fiorsen, she had no longer any desire to keep her condition secret. feeling that it would hurt her father to learn of it from anyone but herself, she telephoned to tell him she was alone, and asked if she might come to bury street and dine with him.
-winton had not gone away, because, between goodwood and doncaster there was no racing that he cared for; one could not ride at this time of year, so might just as well be in london. in fact, august was perhaps the pleasantest of all months in town; the club was empty, and he could sit there without some old bore buttonholing him. little boncarte, the fencing-master, was always free for a bout--winton had long learned to make his left hand what his right hand used to be; the turkish baths in jermyn street were nearly void of their fat clients; he could saunter over to covent garden, buy a melon, and carry it home without meeting any but the most inferior duchesses in piccadilly; on warm nights he could stroll the streets or the parks, smoking his cigar, his hat pushed back to cool his forehead, thinking vague thoughts, recalling vague memories. he received the news that his daughter was alone and free from that fellow with something like delight. where should he dine her? mrs. markey was on her holiday. why not blafard's? quiet---small rooms--not too respectable--quite fairly cool--good things to eat. yes; blafard's!
-when she drove up, he was ready in the doorway, his thin brown face with its keen, half-veiled eyes the picture of composure, but feeling at heart like a schoolboy off for an exeat. how pretty she was looking--though pale from london--her dark eyes, her smile! and stepping quickly to the cab, he said:
-"no; i'm getting in--dining at blafard's, gyp--a night out!"
-she drank two full glasses of wine before she told him her news. he took it with the expression she knew so well--tightening his lips and staring a little upward. then he said quietly:
-a shudder, not to be repressed, went through winton. the very month! and stretching his hand across the table, he took hers and pressed it tightly.
-"it'll be all right, child; i'm glad."
-clinging to his hand, gyp murmured:
-"i'm not; but i won't be frightened--i promise."
-each was trying to deceive the other; and neither was deceived. but both were good at putting a calm face on things. besides, this was "a night out"--for her, the first since her marriage--of freedom, of feeling somewhat as she used to feel with all before her in a ballroom of a world; for him, the unfettered resumption of a dear companionship and a stealthy revel in the past. after his, "so he's gone to ostend?" and his thought: 'he would!' they never alluded to fiorsen, but talked of horses, of mildenham--it seemed to gyp years since she had been there--of her childish escapades. and, looking at him quizzically, she asked:
-"what were you like as a boy, dad? aunt rosamund says that you used to get into white rages when nobody could go near you. she says you were always climbing trees, or shooting with a catapult, or stalking things, and that you never told anybody what you didn't want to tell them. and weren't you desperately in love with your nursery-governess?"
-winton smiled. how long since he had thought of that first affection. miss huntley! helena huntley--with crinkly brown hair, and blue eyes, and fascinating frocks! he remembered with what grief and sense of bitter injury he heard in his first school-holidays that she was gone. and he said:
-and watching her unconscious eyes following the movements of the waiters, never staring, but taking in all that was going on, he thought: 'prettiest creature in the world!'
-"well," he said: "what would you like to do now--drop into a theatre or music-hall, or what?"
-gyp shook her head. it was so hot. could they just drive, and then perhaps sit in the park? that would be lovely. it had gone dark, and the air was not quite so exhausted--a little freshness of scent from the trees in the squares and parks mingled with the fumes of dung and petrol. winton gave the same order he had given that long past evening: "knightsbridge gate." it had been a hansom then, and the night air had blown in their faces, instead of as now in these infernal taxis, down the back of one's neck. they left the cab and crossed the row; passed the end of the long water, up among the trees. there, on two chairs covered by winton's coat, they sat side by side. no dew was falling yet; the heavy leaves hung unstirring; the air was warm, sweet-smelling. blotted against trees or on the grass were other couples darker than the darkness, very silent. all was quiet save for the never-ceasing hum of traffic. from winton's lips, the cigar smoke wreathed and curled. he was dreaming. the cigar between his teeth trembled; a long ash fell. mechanically he raised his hand to brush it off--his right hand! a voice said softly in his ear:
-"isn't it delicious, and warm, and gloomy black?"
-winton shivered, as one shivers recalled from dreams; and, carefully brushing off the ash with his left hand, he answered:
-"yes; very jolly. my cigar's out, though, and i haven't a match."
-gyp's hand slipped through his arm.
-"all these people in love, and so dark and whispery--it makes a sort of strangeness in the air. don't you feel it?"
-"no moon to-night!"
-again they were silent. a puff of wind ruffled the leaves; the night, for a moment, seemed full of whispering; then the sound of a giggle jarred out and a girl's voice:
-"oh! chuck it, 'arry."
-"i feel the dew now, dad. can we walk on?"
-they went along paths, so as not to wet her feet in her thin shoes. and they talked. the spell was over; the night again but a common london night; the park a space of parching grass and gravel; the people just clerks and shop-girls walking out.
-one night she went with winton to the octagon, where daphne wing was still performing. remembering the girl's squeaks of rapture at her garden, she wrote next day, asking her to lunch and spend a lazy afternoon under the trees.
-the little dancer came with avidity. she was pale, and droopy from the heat, but happily dressed in liberty silk, with a plain turn-down straw hat. they lunched off sweetbreads, ices, and fruit, and then, with coffee, cigarettes, and plenty of sugar-plums, settled down in the deepest shade of the garden, gyp in a low wicker chair, daphne wing on cushions and the grass. once past the exclamatory stage, she seemed a great talker, laying bare her little soul with perfect liberality. and gyp--excellent listener--enjoyed it, as one enjoys all confidential revelations of existences very different from one's own, especially when regarded as a superior being.
-gyp, perfectly grave, answered:
-"that sort of thing settles itself. i shouldn't bother beforehand."
-miss daphne wing buried her perfect chin deeper in her hands, and said meditatively:
-"yes; i rather thought that, too; of course i could do either now. but, you see, i really don't care for men who are not distinguished. i'm sure i shall only fall in love with a really distinguished man. that's what you did--isn't it?--so you must understand. i think mr. fiorsen is wonderfully distinguished."
-sunlight, piercing the shade, suddenly fell warm on gyp's neck where her blouse ceased, and fortunately stilled the medley of emotion and laughter a little lower down. she continued to look gravely at daphne wing, who resumed:
-"of course, mother would have fits if i asked her such a question, and i don't know what father would do. only it is important, isn't it? one may go all wrong from the start; and i do really want to get on. i simply adore my work. i don't mean to let love stand in its way; i want to make it help, you know. count rosek says my dancing lacks passion. i wish you'd tell me if you think it does. i should believe you."
-gyp shook her head.
-"i'm not a judge."
-daphne wing looked up reproachfully.
-"oh, i'm sure you are! if i were a man, i should be passionately in love with you. i've got a new dance where i'm supposed to be a nymph pursued by a faun; it's so difficult to feel like a nymph when you know it's only the ballet-master. do you think i ought to put passion into that? you see, i'm supposed to be flying all the time; but it would be much more subtle, wouldn't it, if i could give the impression that i wanted to be caught. don't you think so?"
-gyp said suddenly:
-"yes, i think it would do you good to be in love."
-miss daphne's mouth fell a little open; her eyes grew round. she said:
-"you frightened me when you said that. you looked so different--so--intense."
-"d'you know what i should simply revel in?" daphne wing went on: "to dance to you here in the garden some night. it must be wonderful to dance out of doors; and the grass is nice and hard now. only, i suppose it would shock the servants. do they look out this way?" gyp shook her head. "i could dance over there in front of the drawing-room window. only it would have to be moonlight. i could come any sunday. i've got a dance where i'm supposed to be a lotus flower--that would do splendidly. and there's my real moonlight dance that goes to chopin. i could bring my dresses, and change in the music-room, couldn't i?" she wriggled up, and sat cross-legged, gazing at gyp, and clasping her hands. "oh, may i?"
-"yes; next sunday."
-daphne wing got up, made a rush, and kissed her. her mouth was soft, and she smelled of orange blossom; but gyp recoiled a little--she hated promiscuous kisses. somewhat abashed, miss daphne hung her head, and said:
-"you did look so lovely; i couldn't help it, really."
-and gyp gave her hand the squeeze of compunction.
-they went indoors, to try over the music of the two dances; and soon after daphne wing departed, full of sugar-plums and hope.
-she arrived punctually at eight o'clock next sunday, carrying an exiguous green linen bag, which contained her dresses. she was subdued, and, now that it had come to the point, evidently a little scared. lobster salad, hock, and peaches restored her courage. she ate heartily. it did not apparently matter to her whether she danced full or empty; but she would not smoke.
-"it's bad for the--" she checked herself.
-when they had finished supper, gyp shut the dogs into the back premises; she had visions of their rending miss wing's draperies, or calves. then they went into the drawing-room, not lighting up, that they might tell when the moonlight was strong enough outside. though it was the last night of august, the heat was as great as ever--a deep, unstirring warmth; the climbing moon shot as yet but a thin shaft here and there through the heavy foliage. they talked in low voices, unconsciously playing up to the nature of the escapade. as the moon drew up, they stole out across the garden to the music-room. gyp lighted the candles.
-"can you manage?"
-miss daphne had already shed half her garments.
-"oh, i'm so excited, mrs. fiorsen! i do hope i shall dance well."
-gyp stole back to the house; it being sunday evening, the servants had been easily disposed of. she sat down at the piano, turning her eyes toward the garden. a blurred white shape flitted suddenly across the darkness at the far end and became motionless, as it might be a white-flowering bush under the trees. miss daphne had come out, and was waiting for the moon. gyp began to play. she pitched on a little sicilian pastorale that the herdsmen play on their pipes coming down from the hills, softly, from very far, rising, rising, swelling to full cadence, and failing, failing away again to nothing. the moon rose over the trees; its light flooded the face of the house, down on to the grass, and spread slowly back toward where the girl stood waiting. it caught the border of sunflowers along the garden wall with a stroke of magical, unearthly colour--gold that was not gold.
-gyp began to play the dance. the pale blurr in the darkness stirred. the moonlight fell on the girl now, standing with arms spread, holding out her drapery--a white, winged statue. then, like a gigantic moth she fluttered forth, blanched and noiseless flew over the grass, spun and hovered. the moonlight etched out the shape of her head, painted her hair with pallid gold. in the silence, with that unearthly gleam of colour along the sunflowers and on the girl's head, it was as if a spirit had dropped into the garden and was fluttering to and fro, unable to get out.
-a voice behind gyp said: "my god! what's this? an angel?"
-fiorsen was standing hall-way in the darkened room staring out into the garden, where the girl had halted, transfixed before the window, her eyes as round as saucers, her mouth open, her limbs rigid with interest and affright. suddenly she turned and, gathering her garment, fled, her limbs gleaming in the moonlight.
-and gyp sat looking up at the apparition of her husband. she could just see his eyes straining after that flying nymph. miss daphne's faun! why, even his ears were pointed! had she never noticed before, how like a faun he was? yes--on her wedding-night! and she said quietly:
-"daphne wing was rehearsing her new dance. so you're back! why didn't you let me know? are you all right--you look splendid!"
-fiorsen bent down and clutched her by the shoulders.
-"my gyp! kiss me!"
-but even while his lips were pressed on hers, she felt rather than saw his eyes straying to the garden, and thought, "he would like to be kissing that girl!"
-the moment he had gone to get his things from the cab, she slipped out to the music-room.
-miss daphne was dressed, and stuffing her garments into the green linen bag. she looked up, and said piteously:
-"oh! does he mind? it's awful, isn't it?"
-gyp strangled her desire to laugh.
-"it's for you to mind."
-"oh, i don't, if you don't! how did you like the dance?"
-"lovely! when you're ready--come along!"
-"oh, i think i'd rather go home, please! it must seem so funny!"
-"would you like to go by this back way into the lane? you turn to the right, into the road."
-"oh, yes; please. it would have been better if he could have seen the dance properly, wouldn't it? what will he think?"
-gyp smiled, and opened the door into the lane. when she returned, fiorsen was at the window, gazing out. was it for her or for that flying nymph?
-september and october passed. there were more concerts, not very well attended. fiorsen's novelty had worn off, nor had his playing sweetness and sentiment enough for the big public. there was also a financial crisis. it did not seem to gyp to matter. everything seemed remote and unreal in the shadow of her coming time. unlike most mothers to be, she made no garments, no preparations of any kind. why make what might never be needed? she played for fiorsen a great deal, for herself not at all, read many books--poetry, novels, biographies--taking them in at the moment, and forgetting them at once, as one does with books read just to distract the mind. winton and aunt rosamund, by tacit agreement, came on alternate afternoons. and winton, almost as much under that shadow as gyp herself, would take the evening train after leaving her, and spend the next day racing or cub-hunting, returning the morning of the day after to pay his next visit. he had no dread just then like that of an unoccupied day face to face with anxiety.
-betty, who had been present at gyp's birth, was in a queer state. the obvious desirability of such events to one of motherly type defrauded by fate of children was terribly impinged on by that old memory, and a solicitude for her "pretty" far exceeding what she would have had for a daughter of her own. what a peony regards as a natural happening to a peony, she watches with awe when it happens to the lily. that other single lady of a certain age, aunt rosamund, the very antithesis to betty--a long, thin nose and a mere button, a sense of divine rights and no sense of rights at all, a drawl and a comforting wheeze, length and circumference, decision and the curtsey to providence, humour and none, dyspepsia, and the digestion of an ostrich, with other oppositions--aunt rosamund was also uneasy, as only one could be who disapproved heartily of uneasiness, and habitually joked and drawled it into retirement.
-but of all those round gyp, fiorsen gave the most interesting display. he had not even an elementary notion of disguising his state of mind. and his state of mind was weirdly, wistfully primitive. he wanted gyp as she had been. the thought that she might never become herself again terrified him so at times that he was forced to drink brandy, and come home only a little less far gone than that first time. gyp had often to help him go to bed. on two or three occasions, he suffered so that he was out all night. to account for this, she devised the formula of a room at count rosek's, where he slept when music kept him late, so as not to disturb her. whether the servants believed her or not, she never knew. nor did she ever ask him where he went--too proud, and not feeling that she had the right.
-deeply conscious of the unaesthetic nature of her condition, she was convinced that she could no longer be attractive to one so easily upset in his nerves, so intolerant of ugliness. as to deeper feelings about her--had he any? he certainly never gave anything up, or sacrificed himself in any way. if she had loved, she felt she would want to give up everything to the loved one; but then--she would never love! and yet he seemed frightened about her. it was puzzling! but perhaps she would not be puzzled much longer about that or anything; for she often had the feeling that she would die. how could she be going to live, grudging her fate? what would give her strength to go through with it? and, at times, she felt as if she would be glad to die. life had defrauded her, or she had defrauded herself of life. was it really only a year since that glorious day's hunting when dad and she, and the young man with the clear eyes and the irrepressible smile, had slipped away with the hounds ahead of all the field--the fatal day fiorsen descended from the clouds and asked for her? an overwhelming longing for mildenham came on her, to get away there with her father and betty.
-she went at the beginning of november.
-over her departure, fiorsen behaved like a tired child that will not go to bed. he could not bear to be away from her, and so forth; but when she had gone, he spent a furious bohemian evening. at about five, he woke with "an awful cold feeling in my heart," as he wrote to gyp next day--"an awful feeling, my gyp; i walked up and down for hours" (in reality, half an hour at most). "how shall i bear to be away from you at this time? i feel lost." next day, he found himself in paris with rosek. "i could not stand," he wrote, "the sight of the streets, of the garden, of our room. when i come back i shall stay with rosek. nearer to the day i will come; i must come to you." but gyp, when she read the letter, said to winton: "dad, when it comes, don't send for him. i don't want him here."
-with those letters of his, she buried the last remnants of her feeling that somewhere in him there must be something as fine and beautiful as the sounds he made with his violin. and yet she felt those letters genuine in a way, pathetic, and with real feeling of a sort.
-from the moment she reached mildenham, she began to lose that hopelessness about herself; and, for the first time, had the sensation of wanting to live in the new life within her. she first felt it, going into her old nursery, where everything was the same as it had been when she first saw it, a child of eight; there was her old red doll's house, the whole side of which opened to display the various floors; the worn venetian blinds, the rattle of whose fall had sounded in her ears so many hundred times; the high fender, near which she had lain so often on the floor, her chin on her hands, reading grimm, or "alice in wonderland," or histories of england. here, too, perhaps this new child would live amongst the old familiars. and the whim seized her to face her hour in her old nursery, not in the room where she had slept as a girl. she would not like the daintiness of that room deflowered. let it stay the room of her girlhood. but in the nursery--there was safety, comfort! and when she had been at mildenham a week, she made betty change her over.
-she had one dream, over and over again, of sinking and sinking into a feather bed, growing hotter and more deeply walled in by that which had no stay in it, yet through which her body could not fall and reach anything more solid. once, after this dream, she got up and spent the rest of the night wrapped in a blanket and the eider-down, on the old sofa, where, as a child, they had made her lie flat on her back from twelve to one every day. betty was aghast at finding her there asleep in the morning. gyp's face was so like the child-face she had seen lying there in the old days, that she bundled out of the room and cried bitterly into the cup of tea. it did her good. going back with the tea, she scolded her "pretty" for sleeping out there, with the fire out, too!
-but gyp only said:
-"betty, darling, the tea's awfully cold! please get me some more!"
-from the day of the nurse's arrival, winton gave up hunting. he could not bring himself to be out of doors for more than half an hour at a time. distrust of doctors did not prevent him having ten minutes every morning with the old practitioner who had treated gyp for mumps, measles, and the other blessings of childhood. the old fellow--his name was rivershaw--was a most peculiar survival. he smelled of mackintosh, had round purplish cheeks, a rim of hair which people said he dyed, and bulging grey eyes slightly bloodshot. he was short in body and wind, drank port wine, was suspected of taking snuff, read the times, spoke always in a husky voice, and used a very small brougham with a very old black horse. but he had a certain low cunning, which had defeated many ailments, and his reputation for assisting people into the world stood extremely high. every morning punctually at twelve, the crunch of his little brougham's wheels would be heard. winton would get up, and, taking a deep breath, cross the hall to the dining-room, extract from a sideboard a decanter of port, a biscuit-canister, and one glass. he would then stand with his eyes fixed on the door, till, in due time, the doctor would appear, and he could say:
-"well, doctor? how is she?"
-"nicely; quite nicely."
-"nothing to make one anxious?"
-the doctor, puffing out his cheeks, with eyes straying to the decanter, would murmur:
-"cardiac condition, capital--a little--um--not to matter. taking its course. these things!"
-and winton, with another deep breath, would say:
-"glass of port, doctor?"
-an expression of surprise would pass over the doctor's face.
-"cold day--ah, perhaps--" and he would blow his nose on his purple-and-red bandanna.
-watching him drink his port, winton would mark:
-"we can get you at any time, can't we?"
-and the doctor, sucking his lips, would answer:
-"never fear, my dear sir! little miss gyp--old friend of mine. at her service day and night. never fear!"
-a sensation of comfort would pass through winton, which would last quite twenty minutes after the crunching of the wheels and the mingled perfumes of him had died away.
-in these days, his greatest friend was an old watch that had been his father's before him; a gold repeater from switzerland, with a chipped dial-plate, and a case worn wondrous thin and smooth--a favourite of gyp's childhood. he would take it out about every quarter of an hour, look at its face without discovering the time, finger it, all smooth and warm from contact with his body, and put it back. then he would listen. there was nothing whatever to listen to, but he could not help it. apart from this, his chief distraction was to take a foil and make passes at a leather cushion, set up on the top of a low bookshelf. in these occupations, varied by constant visits to the room next the nursery, where--to save her the stairs--gyp was now established, and by excursions to the conservatory to see if he could not find some new flower to take her, he passed all his time, save when he was eating, sleeping, or smoking cigars, which he had constantly to be relighting.
-"it's beginning; but don't be anxious--she's not suffering just now. we shall send for the doctor soon. she's very plucky"; and with an unaccustomed sensation of respect and pity she repeated: "don't be anxious, sir."
-"if she wants to see me at any time, i shall be in my study. save her all you can, nurse."
-the nurse was left with a feeling of surprise at having used the word "sir"; she had not done such a thing since--since--! and, pensive, she returned to the nursery, where gyp said at once:
-"was that my father? i didn't want him to know."
-the nurse answered mechanically:
-"that's all right, my dear."
-"how long do you think before--before it'll begin again, nurse? i'd like to see him."
-the nurse stroked her hair.
-"soon enough when it's all over and comfy. men are always fidgety."
-gyp looked at her, and said quietly:
-"yes. you see, my mother died when i was born."
-the nurse, watching those lips, still pale with pain, felt a queer pang. she smoothed the bed-clothes and said:
-"that's nothing--it often happens--that is, i mean,--you know it has no connection whatever."
-and seeing gyp smile, she thought: 'well, i am a fool.'
-"if by any chance i don't get through, i want to be cremated; i want to go back as quick as i can. i can't bear the thought of the other thing. will you remember, nurse? i can't tell my father that just now; it might upset him. but promise me."
-and the nurse thought: 'that can't be done without a will or something, but i'd better promise. it's a morbid fancy, and yet she's not a morbid subject, either.' and she said:
-"very well, my dear; only, you're not going to do anything of the sort. that's flat."
-gyp smiled again, and there was silence, till she said:
-"i'm awfully ashamed, wanting all this attention, and making people miserable. i've read that japanese women quietly go out somewhere by themselves and sit on a gate."
-the nurse, still busy with the bedclothes, murmured abstractedly:
-"yes, that's a very good way. but don't you fancy you're half the trouble most of them are. you're very good, and you're going to get on splendidly." and she thought: 'odd! she's never once spoken of her husband. i don't like it for this sort--too perfect, too sensitive; her face touches you so!'
-gyp murmured again:
-"i'd like to see my father, please; and rather quick."
-the nurse, after one swift look, went out.
-gyp, who had clinched her hands under the bedclothes, fixed her eyes on the window. november! acorns and the leaves--the nice, damp, earthy smell! acorns all over the grass. she used to drive the old retriever in harness on the lawn covered with acorns and the dead leaves, and the wind still blowing them off the trees--in her brown velvet--that was a ducky dress! who was it had called her once "a wise little owl," in that dress? and, suddenly, her heart sank. the pain was coming again. winton's voice from the door said:
-"well, my pet?"
-"it was only to see how you are. i'm all right. what sort of a day is it? you'll go riding, won't you? give my love to the horses. good-bye, dad; just for now."
-her forehead was wet to his lips.
-outside, in the passage, her smile, like something actual on the air, preceded him--the smile that had just lasted out. but when he was back in the study, he suffered--suffered! why could he not have that pain to bear instead?
-"lady summerhay; mr. bryan summerhay. i said, 'not at home,' sir."
-"nothing at present. you have had no lunch, sir."
-"what time is it?"
-it was seven o'clock when the doctor came down into the hall, and stood rubbing his freshly washed hands before opening the study door. winton was still sitting before the fire, motionless, shrunk into his fur coat. he raised himself a little and looked round dully.
-the doctor's face puckered, his eyelids drooped half-way across his bulging eyes; it was his way of smiling. "nicely," he said; "nicely--a girl. no complications."
-winton's whole body seemed to swell, his lips opened, he raised his hand. then, the habit of a lifetime catching him by the throat, he stayed motionless. at last he got up and said:
-"glass of port, doctor?"
-the doctor spying at him above the glass thought: 'this is "the fifty-two." give me "the sixty-eight"--more body.'
-after a time, winton went upstairs. waiting in the outer room he had a return of his cold dread. "perfectly successful--the patient died from exhaustion!" the tiny squawking noise that fell on his ears entirely failed to reassure him. he cared nothing for that new being. suddenly he found betty just behind him, her bosom heaving horribly.
-"what is it, woman? don't!"
-she had leaned against his shoulder, appearing to have lost all sense of right and wrong, and, out of her sobbing, gurgled:
-"she looks so lovely--oh dear, she looks so lovely!"
-pushing her abruptly from him, winton peered in through the just-opened door. gyp was lying extremely still, and very white; her eyes, very large, very dark, were fastened on her baby. her face wore a kind of wonder. she did not see winton, who stood stone-quiet, watching, while the nurse moved about her business behind a screen. this was the first time in his life that he had seen a mother with her just-born baby. that look on her face--gone right away somewhere, right away--amazed him. she had never seemed to like children, had said she did not want a child. she turned her head and saw him. he went in. she made a faint motion toward the baby, and her eyes smiled. winton looked at that swaddled speckled mite; then, bending down, he kissed her hand and tiptoed away.
-at dinner he drank champagne, and benevolence towards all the world spread in his being. watching the smoke of his cigar wreathe about him, he thought: 'must send that chap a wire.' after all, he was a fellow being--might be suffering, as he himself had suffered only two hours ago. to keep him in ignorance--it wouldn't do! and he wrote out the form--
-"all well, a daughter.--winton,"
-and sent it out with the order that a groom should take it in that night.
-gyp was sleeping when he stole up at ten o'clock.
-he, too, turned in, and slept like a child.
-returning the next afternoon from the first ride for several days, winton passed the station fly rolling away from the drive-gate with the light-hearted disillusionment peculiar to quite empty vehicles.
-the sight of a fur coat and broad-brimmed hat in the hall warned him of what had happened.
-"mr. fiorsen, sir; gone up to mrs. fiorsen."
-"did he bring things?"
-"a bag, sir."
-"get a room ready, then."
-to dine tete-a-tete with that fellow!
-gyp had passed the strangest morning in her life, so far. her baby fascinated her, also the tug of its lips, giving her the queerest sensation, almost sensual; a sort of meltedness, an infinite warmth, a desire to grip the little creature right into her--which, of course, one must not do. and yet, neither her sense of humour nor her sense of beauty were deceived. it was a queer little affair with a tuft of black hair, in grace greatly inferior to a kitten. its tiny, pink, crisped fingers with their infinitesimal nails, its microscopic curly toes, and solemn black eyes--when they showed, its inimitable stillness when it slept, its incredible vigour when it fed, were all, as it were, miraculous. withal, she had a feeling of gratitude to one that had not killed nor even hurt her so very desperately--gratitude because she had succeeded, performed her part of mother perfectly--the nurse had said so--she, so distrustful of herself! instinctively she knew, too, that this was her baby, not his, going "to take after her," as they called it. how it succeeded in giving that impression she could not tell, unless it were the passivity, and dark eyes of the little creature. then from one till three they had slept together with perfect soundness and unanimity. she awoke to find the nurse standing by the bed, looking as if she wanted to tell her something.
-"someone to see you, my dear."
-and gyp thought: 'he! i can't think quickly; i ought to think quickly--i want to, but i can't.' her face expressed this, for the nurse said at once:
-"i don't think you're quite up to it yet."
-"yes. only, not for five minutes, please."
-her spirit had been very far away, she wanted time to get it back before she saw him--time to know in some sort what she felt now; what this mite lying beside her had done for her and him. the thought that it was his, too--this tiny, helpless being--seemed unreal. no, it was not his! he had not wanted it, and now that she had been through the torture it was hers, not his--never his. the memory of the night when she first yielded to the certainty that the child was coming, and he had come home drunk, swooped on her, and made her shrink and shudder and put her arm round her baby. it had not made any difference. only--back came the old accusing thought, from which these last days she had been free: 'but i married him--i chose to marry him. i can't get out of that!' and she felt as if she must cry out to the nurse: "keep him away; i don't want to see him. oh, please, i'm tired." she bit the words back. and presently, with a very faint smile, said:
-"now, i'm ready."
-she noticed first what clothes he had on--his newest suit, dark grey, with little lighter lines--she had chosen it herself; that his tie was in a bow, not a sailor's knot, and his hair brighter than usual--as always just after being cut; and surely the hair was growing down again in front of his ears. then, gratefully, almost with emotion, she realized that his lips were quivering, his whole face quivering. he came in on tiptoe, stood looking at her a minute, then crossed very swiftly to the bed, very swiftly knelt down, and, taking her hand, turned it over and put his face to it. the bristles of his moustache tickled her palm; his nose flattened itself against her fingers, and his lips kept murmuring words into the hand, with the moist warm touch of his lips. gyp knew he was burying there all his remorse, perhaps the excesses he had committed while she had been away from him, burying the fears he had felt, and the emotion at seeing her so white and still. she felt that in a minute he would raise a quite different face. and it flashed through her: "if i loved him i wouldn't mind what he did--ever! why don't i love him? there's something loveable. why don't i?"
-he did raise his face; his eyes lighted on the baby, and he grinned.
-"look at this!" he said. "is it possible? oh, my gyp, what a funny one! oh, oh, oh!" he went off into an ecstasy of smothered laughter; then his face grew grave, and slowly puckered into a sort of comic disgust. gyp too had seen the humours of her baby, of its queer little reddish pudge of a face, of its twenty-seven black hairs, and the dribble at its almost invisible mouth; but she had also seen it as a miracle; she had felt it, and there surged up from her all the old revolt and more against his lack of consideration. it was not a funny one--her baby! it was not ugly! or, if it were, she was not fit to be told of it. her arm tightened round the warm bundled thing against her. fiorsen put his finger out and touched its cheek.
-"it is real--so it is. mademoiselle fiorsen. tk, tk!"
-the baby stirred. and gyp thought: 'if i loved i wouldn't even mind his laughing at my baby. it would be different.'
-"don't wake her!" she whispered. she felt his eyes on her, knew that his interest in the baby had ceased as suddenly as it came, that he was thinking, "how long before i have you in my arms again?" he touched her hair. and, suddenly, she had a fainting, sinking sensation that she had never yet known. when she opened her eyes again, the economic agent was holding something beneath her nose and making sounds that seemed to be the words: "well, i am a d--d fool!" repeatedly expressed. fiorsen was gone.
-seeing gyp's eyes once more open, the nurse withdrew the ammonia, replaced the baby, and saying: "now go to sleep!" withdrew behind the screen. like all robust personalities, she visited on others her vexations with herself. but gyp did not go to sleep; she gazed now at her sleeping baby, now at the pattern of the wall-paper, trying mechanically to find the bird caught at intervals amongst its brown-and-green foliage--one bird in each alternate square of the pattern, so that there was always a bird in the centre of four other birds. and the bird was of green and yellow with a red beak.
-on being turned out of the nursery with the assurance that it was "all right--only a little faint," fiorsen went down-stairs disconsolate. the atmosphere of this dark house where he was a stranger, an unwelcome stranger, was insupportable. he wanted nothing in it but gyp, and gyp had fainted at his touch. no wonder he felt miserable. he opened a door. what room was this? a piano! the drawing-room. ugh! no fire--what misery! he recoiled to the doorway and stood listening. not a sound. grey light in the cheerless room; almost dark already in the hall behind him. what a life these english lived--worse than the winter in his old country home in sweden, where, at all events, they kept good fires. and, suddenly, all his being revolted. stay here and face that father--and that image of a servant! stay here for a night of this! gyp was not his gyp, lying there with that baby beside her, in this hostile house. smothering his footsteps, he made for the outer hall. there were his coat and hat. he put them on. his bag? he could not see it. no matter! they could send it after him. he would write to her--say that her fainting had upset him--that he could not risk making her faint again--could not stay in the house so near her, yet so far. she would understand. and there came over him a sudden wave of longing. gyp! he wanted her. to be with her! to look at her and kiss her, and feel her his own again! and, opening the door, he passed out on to the drive and strode away, miserable and sick at heart. all the way to the station through the darkening lanes, and in the railway carriage going up, he felt that aching wretchedness. only in the lighted street, driving back to rosek's, did he shake it off a little. at dinner and after, drinking that special brandy he nearly lost it; but it came back when he went to bed, till sleep relieved him with its darkness and dreams.
-gyp's recovery proceeded at first with a sure rapidity which delighted winton. as the economic agent pointed out, she was beautifully made, and that had a lot to do with it!
-before christmas day, she was already out, and on christmas morning the old doctor, by way of present, pronounced her fit and ready to go home when she liked. that afternoon, she was not so well, and next day back again upstairs. nothing seemed definitely wrong, only a sort of desperate lassitude; as if the knowledge that to go back was within her power, only needing her decision, had been too much for her. and since no one knew her inward feelings, all were puzzled except winton. the nursing of her child was promptly stopped.
-it was not till the middle of january that she said to him.
-"i must go home, dad."
-the word "home" hurt him, and he only answered:
-"very well, gyp; when?"
-"the house is quite ready. i think i had better go to-morrow. he's still at rosek's. i won't let him know. two or three days there by myself first would be better for settling baby in."
-he made no effort to ascertain her feelings toward fiorsen. he knew too well.
-they travelled next day, reaching london at half-past two. betty had gone up in the early morning to prepare the way. the dogs had been with aunt rosamund all this time. gyp missed their greeting; but the installation of betty and the baby in the spare room that was now to be the nursery, absorbed all her first energies. light was just beginning to fail when, still in her fur, she took a key of the music-room and crossed the garden, to see how all had fared during her ten weeks' absence. what a wintry garden! how different from that languorous, warm, moonlit night when daphne wing had come dancing out of the shadow of the dark trees. how bare and sharp the boughs against the grey, darkening sky--and not a song of any bird, not a flower! she glanced back at the house. cold and white it looked, but there were lights in her room and in the nursery, and someone just drawing the curtains. now that the leaves were off, one could see the other houses of the road, each different in shape and colour, as is the habit of london houses. it was cold, frosty; gyp hurried down the path. four little icicles had formed beneath the window of the music-room. they caught her eye, and, passing round to the side, she broke one off. there must be a fire in there, for she could see the flicker through the curtains not quite drawn. thoughtful ellen had been airing it! but, suddenly, she stood still. there was more than a fire in there! through the chink in the drawn curtains she had seen two figures seated on the divan. something seemed to spin round in her head. she turned to rush away. then a kind of superhuman coolness came to her, and she deliberately looked in. he and daphne wing! his arm was round her neck. the girl's face riveted her eyes. it was turned a little back and up, gazing at him, the lips parted, the eyes hypnotized, adoring; and her arm round him seemed to shiver--with cold, with ecstasy?
-again that something went spinning through gyp's head. she raised her hand. for a second it hovered close to the glass. then, with a sick feeling, she dropped it and turned away.
-never! never would she show him or that girl that they could hurt her! never! they were safe from any scene she would make--safe in their nest! and blindly, across the frosty grass, through the unlighted drawing-room, she went upstairs to her room, locked the door, and sat down before the fire. pride raged within her. she stuffed her handkerchief between her teeth and lips; she did it unconsciously. her eyes felt scorched from the fire-flames, but she did not trouble to hold her hand before them.
-suddenly she thought: 'suppose i had loved him?' and laughed. the handkerchief dropped to her lap, and she looked at it with wonder--it was blood-stained. she drew back in the chair, away from the scorching of the fire, and sat quite still, a smile on her lips. that girl's eyes, like a little adoring dog's--that girl, who had fawned on her so! she had got her "distinguished man"! she sprang up and looked at herself in the glass; shuddered, turned her back on herself, and sat down again. in her own house! why not here--in this room? why not before her eyes? not yet a year married! it was almost funny--almost funny! and she had her first calm thought: 'i am free.'
-but it did not seem to mean anything, had no value to a spirit so bitterly stricken in its pride. she moved her chair closer to the fire again. why had she not tapped on the window? to have seen that girl's face ashy with fright! to have seen him--caught--caught in the room she had made beautiful for him, the room where she had played for him so many hours, the room that was part of the house that she paid for! how long had they used it for their meetings--sneaking in by that door from the back lane? perhaps even before she went away--to bear his child! and there began in her a struggle between mother instinct and her sense of outrage--a spiritual tug-of-war so deep that it was dumb, unconscious--to decide whether her baby would be all hers, or would have slipped away from her heart, and be a thing almost abhorrent.
-"please shut the drawing-room, window, ellen; and tell betty i'm afraid i got a little chill travelling. i'm going to bed. ask her if she can manage with baby." and she looked straight into the girl's face. it wore an expression of concern, even of commiseration, but not that fluttered look which must have been there if she had known.
-"yes, m'm; i'll get you a hot-water bottle, m'm. would you like a hot bath and a cup of hot tea at once?"
-gyp nodded. anything--anything! and when the maid was gone, she thought mechanically: 'a cup of hot tea! how quaint! what should it be but hot?'
-the maid came back with the tea; she was an affectionate girl, full of that admiring love servants and dogs always felt for gyp, imbued, too, with the instinctive partisanship which stores itself one way or the other in the hearts of those who live in houses where the atmosphere lacks unity. to her mind, the mistress was much too good for him--a foreigner--and such 'abits! manners--he hadn't any! and no good would come of it. not if you took her opinion!
-"and i've turned the water in, m'm. will you have a little mustard in it?"
-again gyp nodded. and the girl, going downstairs for the mustard, told cook there was "that about the mistress that makes you quite pathetic." the cook, who was fingering her concertina, for which she had a passion, answered:
-"she 'ides up her feelin's, same as they all does. thank 'eaven she haven't got that drawl, though, that 'er old aunt 'as--always makes me feel to want to say, 'buck up, old dear, you ain't 'alf so precious as all that!'"
-and when the maid ellen had taken the mustard and gone, she drew out her concertina to its full length and, with cautionary softness, began to practise "home, sweet home!"
-to gyp, lying in her hot bath, those muffled strains just mounted, not quite as a tune, rather as some far-away humming of large flies. the heat of the water, the pungent smell of the mustard, and that droning hum slowly soothed and drowsed away the vehemence of feeling. she looked at her body, silver-white in the yellowish water, with a dreamy sensation. some day she, too, would love! strange feeling she had never had before! strange, indeed, that it should come at such a moment, breaking through the old instinctive shrinking. yes; some day love would come to her. there floated before her brain the adoring look on daphne wing's face, the shiver that had passed along her arm, and pitifulness crept into her heart--a half-bitter, half-admiring pitifulness. why should she grudge--she who did not love? the sounds, like the humming of large flies, grew deeper, more vibrating. it was the cook, in her passion swelling out her music on the phrase,
-"be it ne-e-ver so humble, there's no-o place like home!"
-that night, gyp slept peacefully, as though nothing had happened, as though there were no future at all before her. she woke into misery. her pride would never let her show the world what she had discovered, would force her to keep an unmoved face and live an unmoved life. but the struggle between mother-instinct and revolt was still going on within her. she was really afraid to see her baby, and she sent word to betty that she thought it would be safer if she kept quite quiet till the afternoon.
-she got up at noon and stole downstairs. she had not realized how violent was her struggle over his child till she was passing the door of the room where it was lying. if she had not been ordered to give up nursing, that struggle would never have come. her heart ached, but a demon pressed her on and past the door. downstairs she just pottered round, dusting her china, putting in order the books which, after house-cleaning, the maid had arranged almost too carefully, so that the first volumes of dickens and thackeray followed each other on the top shell, and the second volumes followed each other on the bottom shelf. and all the time she thought dully: 'why am i doing this? what do i care how the place looks? it is not my home. it can never be my home!'
-the house was invisible from the music-room; and, spurred on by thought that, until fiorsen knew she was back, those two might be there in each other's arms any moment of the day or night, gyp wrote that evening:
-what else in the world could she say? he would not get it till he woke about eleven. with the instinct to take all the respite she could, and knowing no more than before how she would receive his return, she went out in the forenoon and wandered about all day shopping and trying not to think. returning at tea-time, she went straight up to her baby, and there heard from betty that he had come, and gone out with his violin to the music-room.
-bent over the child, gyp needed all her self-control--but her self-control was becoming great. soon, the girl would come fluttering down that dark, narrow lane; perhaps at this very minute her fingers were tapping at the door, and he was opening it to murmur, "no; she's back!" ah, then the girl would shrink! the rapid whispering--some other meeting-place! lips to lips, and that look on the girl's face; till she hurried away from the shut door, in the darkness, disappointed! and he, on that silver-and-gold divan, gnawing his moustache, his eyes--catlike---staring at the fire! and then, perhaps, from his violin would come one of those swaying bursts of sound, with tears in them, and the wind in them, that had of old bewitched her! she said:
-"open the window just a little, betty dear--it's hot."
-there it was, rising, falling! music! why did it so move one even when, as now, it was the voice of insult! and suddenly she thought: "he will expect me to go out there again and play for him. but i will not, never!"
-she put her baby down, went into her bedroom, and changed hastily into a teagown for the evening, ready to go downstairs. a little shepherdess in china on the mantel-shelf attracted her attention, and she took it in her hand. she had bought it three and more years ago, when she first came to london, at the beginning of that time of girl-gaiety when all life seemed a long cotillion, and she its leader. its cool daintiness made it seem the symbol of another world, a world without depths or shadows, a world that did not feel--a happy world!
-she had not long to wait before he tapped on the drawing-room window. she got up from the tea-table to let him in. why do faces gazing in through glass from darkness always look hungry--searching, appealing for what you have and they have not? and while she was undoing the latch she thought: 'what am i going to say? i feel nothing!' the ardour of his gaze, voice, hands seemed to her so false as to be almost comic; even more comically false his look of disappointment when she said:
-"please take care; i'm still brittle!" then she sat down again and asked:
-"will you have some tea?"
-"tea! i have you back, and you ask me if i will have tea gyp! do you know what i have felt like all this time? no; you don't know. you know nothing of me--do you?"
-a smile of sheer irony formed on her lips--without her knowing it was there. she said:
-"have you had a good time at count rosek's?" and, without her will, against her will, the words slipped out: "i'm afraid you've missed the music-room!"
-his stare wavered; he began to walk up and down.
-and gyp went on smiling. between that, and stabbing these false raptures to the heart, there seemed to be nothing she could do. the moment his hands relaxed, she got up and said:
-"you know there's a baby in the house?"
-"ah, the baby! i'd forgotten. let's go up and see it."
-she could feel him thinking: 'perhaps it will make her nice to me!' he turned suddenly and went.
-she stood with her eyes shut, seeing the divan in the music-room and the girl's arm shivering. then, going to the piano, she began with all her might to play a chopin polonaise.
-that evening they dined out, and went to "the tales of hoffmann." by such devices it was possible to put off a little longer what she was going to do. during the drive home in the dark cab, she shrank away into her corner, pretending that his arm would hurt her dress; her exasperated nerves were already overstrung. twice she was on the very point of crying out: "i am not daphne wing!" but each time pride strangled the words in her throat. and yet they would have to come. what other reason could she find to keep him from her room?
-but when in her mirror she saw him standing behind her--he had crept into the bedroom like a cat--fierceness came into her. she could see the blood rush up in her own white face, and, turning round she said:
-"no, gustav, go out to the music-room if you want a companion."
-he recoiled against the foot of the bed and stared at her haggardly, and gyp, turning back to her mirror, went on quietly taking the pins out of her hair. for fully a minute she could see him leaning there, moving his head and hands as though in pain. then, to her surprise, he went. and a vague feeling of compunction mingled with her sense of deliverance. she lay awake a long time, watching the fire-glow brighten and darken on the ceiling, tunes from "the tales of hoffmann" running in her head; thoughts and fancies crisscrossing in her excited brain. falling asleep at last, she dreamed she was feeding doves out of her hand, and one of them was daphne wing. she woke with a start. the fire still burned, and by its light she saw him crouching at the foot of the bed, just as he had on their wedding-night--the same hungry yearning in his face, and an arm outstretched. before she could speak, he began:
-"oh, gyp, you don't understand! all that is nothing--it is only you i want--always. i am a fool who cannot control himself. think! it's a long time since you went away from me."
-gyp said, in a hard voice:
-"i didn't want to have a child."
-he said quickly:
-"no; but now you have it you are glad. don't be unmerciful, my gyp! it is like you to be merciful. that girl--it is all over--i swear--i promise."
-his hand touched her foot through the soft eiderdown. gyp thought: 'why does he come and whine to me like this? he has no dignity--none!' and she said:
-"how can you promise? you have made the girl love you. i saw her face."
-he drew his hand back.
-"you saw her?"
-he was silent, staring at her. presently he began again:
-"she is a little fool. i do not care for the whole of her as much as i care for your one finger. what does it matter what one does in that way if one does not care? the soul, not the body, is faithful. a man satisfies appetite--it is nothing."
-"perhaps not; but it is something when it makes others miserable."
-"has it made you miserable, my gyp?"
-his voice had a ring of hope. she answered, startled:
-"her? ho! it is an experience for her--it is life. it will do her no harm."
-"no; nothing will do anybody harm if it gives you pleasure."
-at that bitter retort, he kept silence a long time, now and then heaving a long sigh. his words kept sounding in her heart: "the soul, not the body, is faithful." was he, after all, more faithful to her than she had ever been, could ever be--who did not love, had never loved him? what right had she to talk, who had married him out of vanity, out of--what?
-and suddenly he said:
-she uttered a sigh, and turned away her face.
-he bent down against the eider-down. she could hear him drawing long, sobbing breaths, and, in the midst of her lassitude and hopelessness, a sort of pity stirred her. what did it matter? she said, in a choked voice:
-"very well, i forgive."
-the human creature has wonderful power of putting up with things. gyp never really believed that daphne wing was of the past. her sceptical instinct told her that what fiorsen might honestly mean to do was very different from what he would do under stress of opportunity carefully put within his reach.
-since her return, rosek had begun to come again, very careful not to repeat his mistake, but not deceiving her at all. though his self-control was as great as fiorsen's was small, she felt he had not given up his pursuit of her, and would take very good care that daphne wing was afforded every chance of being with her husband. but pride never let her allude to the girl. besides, what good to speak of her? they would both lie--rosek, because he obviously saw the mistaken line of his first attack; fiorsen, because his temperament did not permit him to suffer by speaking the truth.
-having set herself to endure, she found she must live in the moment, never think of the future, never think much of anything. fortunately, nothing so conduces to vacuity as a baby. she gave herself up to it with desperation. it was a good baby, silent, somewhat understanding. in watching its face, and feeling it warm against her, gyp succeeded daily in getting away into the hypnotic state of mothers, and cows that chew the cud. but the baby slept a great deal, and much of its time was claimed by betty. those hours, and they were many, gyp found difficult. she had lost interest in dress and household elegance, keeping just enough to satisfy her fastidiousness; money, too, was scarce, under the drain of fiorsen's irregular requirements. if she read, she began almost at once to brood. she was cut off from the music-room, had not crossed its threshold since her discovery. aunt rosamund's efforts to take her into society were fruitless--all the effervescence was out of that, and, though her father came, he never stayed long for fear of meeting fiorsen. in this condition of affairs, she turned more and more to her own music, and one morning, after she had come across some compositions of her girlhood, she made a resolution. that afternoon she dressed herself with pleasure, for the first time for months, and sallied forth into the february frost.
-monsieur edouard harmost inhabited the ground floor of a house in the marylebone road. he received his pupils in a large back room overlooking a little sooty garden. a walloon by extraction, and of great vitality, he grew old with difficulty, having a soft corner in his heart for women, and a passion for novelty, even for new music, that was unappeasable. any fresh discovery would bring a tear rolling down his mahogany cheeks into his clipped grey beard, the while he played, singing wheezily to elucidate the wondrous novelty; or moved his head up and down, as if pumping.
-"ah," he said, at last, "my little old friend! she has come back! now that is good!" and, patting her hand he looked into her face, which had a warmth and brilliance rare to her in these days. then, making for the mantelpiece, he took therefrom a bunch of parma violets, evidently brought by his last pupil, and thrust them under her nose. "take them, take them--they were meant for me. now--how much have you forgotten? come!" and, seizing her by the elbow, he almost forced her to the piano. "take off your furs. sit down!"
-"play me the 'carnival,'" he said. "we shall soon see!"
-gyp played. twice he nodded; once he tapped his fingers on his teeth, and showed her the whites of his eyes--which meant: "that will have to be very different!" and once he grunted. when she had finished, he sat down beside her, took her hand in his, and, examining the fingers, began:
-"yes, yes, soon again! spoiling yourself, playing for that fiddler! trop sympathique! the back-bone, the back-bone--we shall improve that. now, four hours a day for six weeks--and we shall have something again."
-gyp said softly:
-"i have a baby, monsieur harmost."
-monsieur harmost bounded.
-"what! that is a tragedy!" gyp shook her head. "you like it? a baby! does it not squall?"
-"mon dieu! well, well, you are still as beautiful as ever. that is something. now, what can you do with this baby? could you get rid of it a little? this is serious. this is a talent in danger. a fiddler, and a baby! c'est beaucoup! c'est trop!"
-gyp smiled. and monsieur harmost, whose exterior covered much sensibility, stroked her hand.
-"you have grown up, my little friend," he said gravely. "never mind; nothing is wasted. but a baby!" and he chirruped his lips. "well; courage! we shall do things yet!"
-gyp turned her head away to hide the quiver of her lips. the scent of latakia tobacco that had soaked into things, and of old books and music, a dark smell, like monsieur harmost's complexion; the old brown curtains, the sooty little back garden beyond, with its cat-runs, and its one stunted sumach tree; the dark-brown stare of monsieur harmost's rolling eyes brought back that time of happiness, when she used to come week after week, full of gaiety and importance, and chatter away, basking in his brusque admiration and in music, all with the glamourous feeling that she was making him happy, and herself happy, and going to play very finely some day.
-the voice of monsieur harmost, softly gruff, as if he knew what she was feeling, increased her emotion; her breast heaved under the humming-bird blouse, water came into her eyes, and more than ever her lips quivered. he was saying:
-"come, come! the only thing we cannot cure is age. you were right to come, my child. music is your proper air. if things are not all what they ought to be, you shall soon forget. in music--in music, we can get away. after all, my little friend, they cannot take our dreams from us--not even a wife, not even a husband can do that. come, we shall have good times yet!"
-and gyp, with a violent effort, threw off that sudden weakness. from those who serve art devotedly there radiates a kind of glamour. she left monsieur harmost that afternoon, infected by his passion for music. poetic justice--on which all homeopathy is founded--was at work to try and cure her life by a dose of what had spoiled it. to music, she now gave all the hours she could spare. she went to him twice a week, determining to get on, but uneasy at the expense, for monetary conditions were ever more embarrassed. at home, she practised steadily and worked hard at composition. she finished several songs and studies during the spring and summer, and left still more unfinished. monsieur harmost was tolerant of these efforts, seeming to know that harsh criticism or disapproval would cut her impulse down, as frost cuts the life of flowers. besides, there was always something fresh and individual in her things. he asked her one day:
-"what does your husband think of these?"
-gyp was silent a moment.
-"i don't show them to him."
-she never had; she instinctively kept back the knowledge that she composed, dreading his ruthlessness when anything grated on his nerves, and knowing that a breath of mockery would wither her belief in herself, frail enough plant already. the only person, besides her master, to whom she confided her efforts was--strangely enough--rosek. but he had surprised her one day copying out some music, and said at once: "i knew. i was certain you composed. ah, do play it to me! i am sure you have talent." the warmth with which he praised that little "caprice" was surely genuine; and she felt so grateful that she even played him others, and then a song for him to sing. from that day, he no longer seemed to her odious; she even began to have for him a certain friendliness, to be a little sorry, watching him, pale, trim, and sphinx-like, in her drawing-room or garden, getting no nearer to the fulfilment of his desire. he had never again made love to her, but she knew that at the least sign he would. his face and his invincible patience made him pathetic to her. women such as gyp cannot actively dislike those who admire them greatly. she consulted him about fiorsen's debts. there were hundreds of pounds owing, it seemed, and, in addition, much to rosek himself. the thought of these debts weighed unbearably on her. why did he, how did he get into debt like this? what became of the money he earned? his fees, this summer, were good enough. there was such a feeling of degradation about debt. it was, somehow, so underbred to owe money to all sorts of people. was it on that girl, on other women, that he spent it all? or was it simply that his nature had holes in every pocket?
-watching fiorsen closely, that spring and early summer, she was conscious of a change, a sort of loosening, something in him had given way--as when, in winding a watch, the key turns on and on, the ratchet being broken. yet he was certainly working hard--perhaps harder than ever. she would hear him, across the garden, going over and over a passage, as if he never would be satisfied. but his playing seemed to her to have lost its fire and sweep; to be stale, and as if disillusioned. it was all as though he had said to himself: "what's the use?" in his face, too, there was a change. she knew--she was certain that he was drinking secretly. was it his failure with her? was it the girl? was it simply heredity from a hard-drinking ancestry?
-gyp never faced these questions. to face them would mean useless discussion, useless admission that she could not love him, useless asseveration from him about the girl, which she would not believe, useless denials of all sorts. hopeless!
-he was very irritable, and seemed especially to resent her music lessons, alluding to them with a sort of sneering impatience. she felt that he despised them as amateurish, and secretly resented it. he was often impatient, too, of the time she gave to the baby. his own conduct with the little creature was like all the rest of him. he would go to the nursery, much to betty's alarm, and take up the baby; be charming with it for about ten minutes, then suddenly dump it back into its cradle, stare at it gloomily or utter a laugh, and go out. sometimes, he would come up when gyp was there, and after watching her a little in silence, almost drag her away.
-those months of spring and summer were like a long spell of drought, when moisture gathers far away, coming nearer, nearer, till, at last, the deluge bursts and sweeps the garden.
-the sound of footsteps on the gravel made her turn. rosek was coming from the drawing-room window. rather startled, gyp looked at him over her shoulder. what had brought him at eleven o'clock in the morning? he came up to her, bowed, and said:
-hesitating just a second, gyp drew off her gardening-gloves:
-"of course! here? or in the drawing-room?"
-"in the drawing-room, please."
-a faint tremor passed through her, but she led the way, and seated herself where she could see betty and the baby. rosek stood looking down at her; his stillness, the sweetish gravity of his well-cut lips, his spotless dandyism stirred in gyp a kind of unwilling admiration.
-"what is it?" she said.
-"bad business, i'm afraid. something must be done at once. i have been trying to arrange things, but they will not wait. they are even threatening to sell up this house."
-with a sense of outrage, gyp cried:
-"nearly everything here is mine."
-rosek shook his head.
-"the lease is in his name--you are his wife. they can do it, i assure you." a sort of shadow passed over his face, and he added: "i cannot help him any more--just now."
-gyp shook her head quickly.
-"no--of course! you ought not to have helped him at all. i can't bear--" he bowed, and she stopped, ashamed. "how much does he owe altogether?"
-"about thirteen hundred pounds. it isn't much, of course. but there is something else--"
-"i am afraid to tell you; you will think again perhaps that i am trying to make capital out of it. i can read your thoughts, you see. i cannot afford that you should think that, this time."
-gyp made a little movement as though putting away his words.
-"no; tell me, please."
-rosek shrugged his shoulders.
-"there is a man called wagge, an undertaker--the father of someone you know--"
-"yes. a child is coming. they have made her tell. it means the cancelling of her engagements, of course--and other things."
-gyp uttered a little laugh; then she said slowly:
-"can you tell me, please, what this mr.--wagge can do?"
-again rosek shrugged his shoulders.
-"he is rabid--a rabid man of his class is dangerous. a lot of money will be wanted, i should think--some blood, perhaps."
-he moved swiftly to her, and said very low:
-he turned, and gyp thought he was really going; but he stopped and came back past the line of the window. the expression of his face was quite changed, so hungry that, for a moment, she felt sorry for him. and that must have shown in her face, for he suddenly caught at her, and tried to kiss her lips; she wrenched back, and he could only reach her throat, but that he kissed furiously. letting her go as suddenly, he bent his head and went out without a look.
-gyp stood wiping his kisses off her throat with the back of her hand, dumbly, mechanically thinking: "what have i done to be treated like this? what have i done?" no answer came. and such rage against men flared up that she just stood there, twisting her garden-gloves in her hands, and biting the lips he would have kissed. then, going to her bureau, she took up her address book and looked for the name: wing, 88, frankland street, fulham. unhooking her little bag from off the back of the chair, she put her cheque-book into it. then, taking care to make no sound, she passed into the hall, caught up her sunshade, and went out, closing the door without noise.
-she walked quickly toward baker street. her gardening-hat was right enough, but she had come out without gloves, and must go into the first shop and buy a pair. in the choosing of them, she forgot her emotions for a minute. out in the street again, they came back as bitterly as ever. and the day was so beautiful--the sun bright, the sky blue, the clouds dazzling white; from the top of her 'bus she could see all its brilliance. there rose up before her the memory of the man who had kissed her arm at the first ball. and now--this! but, mixed with her rage, a sort of unwilling compassion and fellow feeling kept rising for that girl, that silly, sugar-plum girl, brought to such a pass by--her husband. these feelings sustained her through that voyage to fulham. she got down at the nearest corner, walked up a widish street of narrow grey houses till she came to number eighty-eight. on that newly scrubbed step, waiting for the door to open, she very nearly turned and fled. what exactly had she come to do?
-the door was opened by a servant in an untidy frock. mutton! the smell of mutton--there it was, just as the girl had said!
-"is miss--miss daphne wing at home?"
-in that peculiar "i've given it up" voice of domestics in small households, the servant answered:
-"yes; miss disey's in. d'you want to see 'er? what nyme?"
-gyp produced her card. the maid looked at it, at gyp, and at two brown-painted doors, as much as to say, "where will you have it?" then, opening the first of them, she said:
-"tyke a seat, please; i'll fetch her."
-gyp went in. in the middle of what was clearly the dining-room, she tried to subdue the tremor of her limbs and a sense of nausea. the table against which her hand rested was covered with red baize, no doubt to keep the stains of mutton from penetrating to the wood. on the mahogany sideboard reposed a cruet-stand and a green dish of very red apples. a bamboo-framed talc screen painted with white and yellow marguerites stood before a fireplace filled with pampas-grass dyed red. the chairs were of red morocco, the curtains a brownish-red, the walls green, and on them hung a set of landseer prints. the peculiar sensation which red and green in juxtaposition produce on the sensitive was added to gyp's distress. and, suddenly, her eyes lighted on a little deep-blue china bowl. it stood on a black stand on the mantel-piece, with nothing in it. to gyp, in this room of red and green, with the smell of mutton creeping in, that bowl was like the crystallized whiff of another world. daphne wing--not daisy wagge--had surely put it there! and, somehow, it touched her--emblem of stifled beauty, emblem of all that the girl had tried to pour out to her that august afternoon in her garden nearly a year ago. thin eastern china, good and really beautiful! a wonder they allowed it to pollute this room!
-a sigh made her turn round. with her back against the door and a white, scared face, the girl was standing. gyp thought: 'she has suffered horribly.' and, going impulsively up to her, she held out her hand.
-daphne wing sighed out: "oh, mrs. fiorsen!" and, bending over that hand, kissed it. gyp saw that her new glove was wet. then the girl relapsed, her feet a little forward, her head a little forward, her back against the door. gyp, who knew why she stood thus, was swept again by those two emotions--rage against men, and fellow feeling for one about to go through what she herself had just endured.
-"it's all right," she said, gently; "only, what's to be done?"
-daphne wing put her hands up over her white face and sobbed. she sobbed so quietly but so terribly deeply that gyp herself had the utmost difficulty not to cry. it was the sobbing of real despair by a creature bereft of hope and strength, above all, of love--the sort of weeping which is drawn from desolate, suffering souls only by the touch of fellow feeling. and, instead of making gyp glad or satisfying her sense of justice, it filled her with more rage against her husband--that he had taken this girl's infatuation for his pleasure and then thrown her away. she seemed to see him discarding that clinging, dove-fair girl, for cloying his senses and getting on his nerves, discarding her with caustic words, to abide alone the consequences of her infatuation. she put her hand timidly on that shaking shoulder, and stroked it. for a moment the sobbing stopped, and the girl said brokenly:
-"oh, mrs. fiorsen, i do love him so!" at those naive words, a painful wish to laugh seized on gyp, making her shiver from head to foot. daphne wing saw it, and went on: "i know--i know--it's awful; but i do--and now he--he--" her quiet but really dreadful sobbing broke out again. and again gyp began stroking and stroking her shoulder. "and i have been so awful to you! oh, mrs. fiorsen, do forgive me, please!"
-all gyp could find to answer, was:
-"yes, yes; that's nothing! don't cry--don't cry!"
-very slowly the sobbing died away, till it was just a long shivering, but still the girl held her hands over her face and her face down. gyp felt paralyzed. the unhappy girl, the red and green room, the smell of mutton--creeping!
-at last, a little of that white face showed; the lips, no longer craving for sugar-plums, murmured:
-"it's you he--he--really loves all the time. and you don't love him--that's what's so funny--and--and--i can't understand it. oh, mrs. fiorsen, if i could see him--just see him! he told me never to come again; and i haven't dared. i haven't seen him for three weeks--not since i told him about it. what shall i do? what shall i do?"
-his being her own husband seemed as nothing to gyp at that moment. she felt such pity and yet such violent revolt that any girl should want to crawl back to a man who had spurned her. unconsciously, she had drawn herself up and pressed her lips together. the girl, who followed every movement, said piteously:
-"i don't seem to have any pride. i don't mind what he does to me, or what he says, if only i can see him."
-gyp's revolt yielded to her pity. she said:
-"how long before?"
-three months--and in this state of misery!
-"i think i shall do something desperate. now that i can't dance, and they know, it's too awful! if i could see him, i wouldn't mind anything. but i know--i know he'll never want me again. oh, mrs. fiorsen, i wish i was dead! i do!"
-a heavy sigh escaped gyp, and, bending suddenly, she kissed the girl's forehead. still that scent of orange blossom about her skin or hair, as when she asked whether she ought to love or not; as when she came, moth-like, from the tree-shade into the moonlight, spun, and fluttered, with her shadow spinning and fluttering before her. gyp turned away, feeling that she must relieve the strain and pointing to the bowl, said:
-"you put that there, i'm sure. it's beautiful."
-the girl answered, with piteous eagerness:
-"oh, would you like it? do take it. count rosek gave it me." she started away from the door. "oh, that's papa. he'll be coming in!"
-gyp heard a man clear his throat, and the rattle of an umbrella falling into a stand; the sight of the girl wilting and shrinking against the sideboard steadied her. then the door opened, and mr. wagge entered. short and thick, in black frock coat and trousers, and a greyish beard, he stared from one to the other. he looked what he was, an englishman and a chapelgoer, nourished on sherry and mutton, who could and did make his own way in the world. his features, coloured, as from a deep liverishness, were thick, like his body, and not ill-natured, except for a sort of anger in his small, rather piggy grey eyes. he said in a voice permanently gruff, but impregnated with a species of professional ingratiation:
-"ye-es? whom 'ave i--?"
-"ow!" the sound of his breathing could be heard distinctly; he twisted a chair round and said:
-"take a seat, won't you?"
-gyp shook her head.
-in mr. wagge's face a kind of deference seemed to struggle with some more primitive emotion. taking out a large, black-edged handkerchief, he blew his nose, passed it freely over his visage, and turning to his daughter, muttered:
-the girl turned quickly, and the last glimpse of her white face whipped up gyp's rage against men. when the door was shut, mr. wagge cleared his throat; the grating sound carried with it the suggestion of enormously thick linings.
-he said more gruffly than ever:
-"may i ask what 'as given us the honour?"
-"i came to see your daughter."
-"this is an unpleasant business, ma'am. i don't know what to say. reelly i don't. it's awkward; it's very awkward."
-gyp said quietly:
-"your daughter is desperately unhappy; and that can't be good for her just now."
-mr. wagge's thick figure seemed to writhe. "pardon me, ma'am," he spluttered, "but i must call your husband a scoundrel. i'm sorry to be impolite, but i must do it. if i had 'im 'ere, i don't know that i should be able to control myself--i don't indeed." gyp made a movement of her gloved hands, which he seemed to interpret as sympathy, for he went on in a stream of husky utterance: "it's a delicate thing before a lady, and she the injured party; but one has feelings. from the first i said this dancin' was in the face of providence; but women have no more sense than an egg. her mother she would have it; and now she's got it! career, indeed! pretty career! daughter of mine! i tell you, ma'am, i'm angry; there's no other word for it--i'm angry. if that scoundrel comes within reach of me, i shall mark 'im--i'm not a young man, but i shall mark 'im. an' what to say to you, i'm sure i don't know. that my daughter should be'ave like that! well, it's made a difference to me. an' now i suppose her name'll be dragged in the mud. i tell you frankly i 'oped you wouldn't hear of it, because after all the girl's got her punishment. and this divorce-court--it's not nice--it's a horrible thing for respectable people. and, mind you, i won't see my girl married to that scoundrel, not if you do divorce 'im. no; she'll have her disgrace for nothing."
-gyp, who had listened with her head a little bent, raised it suddenly, and said:
-"there'll be no public disgrace, mr. wagge, unless you make it yourself. if you send daphne--daisy--quietly away somewhere till her trouble's over, no one need know anything."
-mr. wagge, whose mouth had opened slightly, and whose breathing could certainly have been heard in the street, took a step forward and said:
-"do i understand you to say that you're not goin' to take proceedings, ma'am?"
-gyp shuddered, and shook her head.
-mr. wagge stood silent, slightly moving his face up and down.
-"well," he said, at length, "it's more than she deserves; but i don't disguise it's a relief to me. and i must say, in a young lady like you, and--and handsome, it shows a christian spirit." again gyp shivered, and shook her head. "it does. you'll allow me to say so, as a man old enough to be your father--and a regular attendant."
-he held out his hand. gyp put her gloved hand into it.
-"i'm very, very sorry. please be nice to her."
-mr. wagge recoiled a little, and for some seconds stood ruefully rubbing his hands together and looking from side to side.
-"i'm a domestic man," he said suddenly. "a domestic man in a serious line of life; and i never thought to have anything like this in my family--never! it's been--well, i can't tell you what it's been!"
-gyp took up her sunshade. she felt that she must get away; at any moment he might say something she could not bear--and the smell of mutton rising fast!
-"i am sorry," she said again; "good-bye"; and moved past him to the door. she heard him breathing hard as he followed her to open it, and thought: 'if only--oh! please let him be silent till i get outside!' mr. wagge passed her and put his hand on the latch of the front door. his little piggy eyes scanned her almost timidly.
-"well," he said, "i'm very glad to have the privilege of your acquaintance; and, if i may say so, you 'ave--you 'ave my 'earty sympathy. good-day."
-the door once shut behind her, gyp took a long breath and walked swiftly away. her cheeks were burning; and, with a craving for protection, she put up her sunshade. but the girl's white face came up again before her, and the sound of her words:
-"oh, mrs. fiorsen, i wish i was dead! i do!"
-gyp walked on beneath her sunshade, making unconsciously for the peace of trees. her mind was a whirl of impressions--daphne wing's figure against the door, mr. wagge's puggy grey-bearded countenance, the red pampas-grass, the blue bowl, rosek's face swooping at her, her last glimpse of her baby asleep under the trees!
-she sat on that bench a long time before it came into her mind that she was due at monsieur harmost's for a music lesson at three o'clock. it was well past two already; and she set out across the grass. the summer day was full of murmurings of bees and flies, cooings of blissful pigeons, the soft swish and stir of leaves, and the scent of lime blossom under a sky so blue, with few white clouds slow, and calm, and full. why be unhappy? and one of those spotty spaniel dogs, that have broad heads, with frizzy topknots, and are always rascals, smelt at her frock and moved round and round her, hoping that she would throw her sunshade on the water for him to fetch, this being in his view the only reason why anything was carried in the hand.
-she found monsieur harmost fidgeting up and down the room, whose opened windows could not rid it of the smell of latakia.
-"ah," he said, "i thought you were not coming! you look pale; are you not well? is it the heat? or"--he looked hard into her face--"has someone hurt you, my little friend?" gyp shook her head. "ah, yes," he went on irritably; "you tell me nothing; you tell nobody nothing! you close up your pretty face like a flower at night. at your age, my child, one should make confidences; a secret grief is to music as the east wind to the stomach. put off your mask for once." he came close to her. "tell me your troubles. it is a long time since i have been meaning to ask. come! we are only once young; i want to see you happy."
-but gyp stood looking down. would it be relief to pour her soul out? would it? his brown eyes questioned her like an old dog's. she did not want to hurt one so kind. and yet--impossible!
-monsieur harmost suddenly sat down at the piano. resting his hands on the keys, he looked round at her, and said:
-"i am in love with you, you know. old men can be very much in love, but they know it is no good--that makes them endurable. still, we like to feel of use to youth and beauty; it gives us a little warmth. come; tell me your grief!" he waited a moment, then said irritably: "well, well, we go to music then!"
-it was his habit to sit by her at the piano corner, but to-day he stood as if prepared to be exceptionally severe. and gyp played, whether from overexcited nerves or from not having had any lunch, better than she had ever played. the chopin polonaise in a flat, that song of revolution, which had always seemed so unattainable, went as if her fingers were being worked for her. when she had finished, monsieur harmost, bending forward, lifted one of her hands and put his lips to it. she felt the scrub of his little bristly beard, and raised her face with a deep sigh of satisfaction. a voice behind them said mockingly:
-there, by the door, stood fiorsen.
-"congratulations, madame! i have long wanted to see you under the inspiration of your--master!"
-gyp's heart began to beat desperately. monsieur harmost had not moved. a faint grin slowly settled in his beard, but his eyes were startled.
-fiorsen kissed the back of his own hand.
-"to this old pantaloon you come to give your heart. ho--what a lover!"
-gyp saw the old man quiver; she sprang up and cried:
-fiorsen ran forward, stretching out his arms toward monsieur harmost, as if to take him by the throat.
-gyp slipped between, right up to those outstretched hands till she could feel their knuckles against her. had he gone mad? would he strangle her? but her eyes never moved from his, and his began to waver; his hands dropped, and, with a kind of moan, he made for the door.
-monsieur harmost's voice behind her said:
-"before you go, monsieur, give me some explanation of this imbecility!"
-fiorsen spun round, shook his fist, and went out muttering. they heard the front door slam. gyp turned abruptly to the window, and there, in her agitation, she noticed little outside things as one does in moments of bewildered anger. even into that back yard, summer had crept. the leaves of the sumach-tree were glistening; in a three-cornered little patch of sunlight, a black cat with a blue ribbon round its neck was basking. the voice of one hawking strawberries drifted melancholy from a side street. she was conscious that monsieur harmost was standing very still, with a hand pressed to his mouth, and she felt a perfect passion of compunction and anger. that kind and harmless old man--to be so insulted! this was indeed the culmination of all gustav's outrages! she would never forgive him this! for he had insulted her as well, beyond what pride or meekness could put up with. she turned, and, running up to the old man, put both her hands into his.
-"i'm so awfully sorry. good-bye, dear, dear monsieur harmost; i shall come on friday!" and, before he could stop her, she was gone.
-she dived into the traffic; but, just as she reached the pavement on the other side, felt her dress plucked and saw fiorsen just behind her. she shook herself free and walked swiftly on. was he going to make a scene in the street? again he caught her arm. she stopped dead, faced round on him, and said, in an icy voice:
-"please don't make scenes in the street, and don't follow me like this. if you want to talk to me, you can--at home."
-then, very calmly, she turned and walked on. but he was still following her, some paces off. she did not quicken her steps, and to the first taxicab driver that passed she made a sign, and saying:
-"bury street--quick!" got in. she saw fiorsen rush forward, too late to stop her. he threw up his hand and stood still, his face deadly white under his broad-brimmed hat. she was far too angry and upset to care.
-from the moment she turned to the window at monsieur harmost's, she had determined to go to her father's. she would not go back to fiorsen; and the one thought that filled her mind was how to get betty and her baby. nearly four! dad was almost sure to be at his club. and leaning out, she said: "no; hyde park corner, please."
-the hall porter, who knew her, after calling to a page-boy: "major winton--sharp, now!" came specially out of his box to offer her a seat and the times.
-gyp sat with it on her knee, vaguely taking in her surroundings--a thin old gentleman anxiously weighing himself in a corner, a white-calved footman crossing with a tea-tray; a number of hats on pegs; the green-baize board with its white rows of tapelike paper, and three members standing before it. one of them, a tall, stout, good-humoured-looking man in pince-nez and a white waistcoat, becoming conscious, removed his straw hat and took up a position whence, without staring, he could gaze at her; and gyp knew, without ever seeming to glance at him, that he found her to his liking. she saw her father's unhurried figure passing that little group, all of whom were conscious now, and eager to get away out of this sanctum of masculinity, she met him at the top of the low steps, and said:
-"i want to talk to you, dad."
-he gave her a quick look, selected his hat, and followed to the door. in the cab, he put his hand on hers and said:
-"now, my dear?"
-but all she could get out was:
-"i want to come back to you. i can't go on there. it's--it's--i've come to an end."
-his hand pressed hers tightly, as if he were trying to save her the need for saying more. gyp went on:
-"i must get baby; i'm terrified that he'll try to keep her, to get me back."
-"is he at home?"
-"i don't know. i haven't told him that i'm going to leave him."
-winton looked at his watch and asked:
-"does the baby ever go out as late as this?"
-"yes; after tea. it's cooler."
-"i'll take this cab on, then. you stay and get the room ready for her. don't worry, and don't go out till i return."
-and gyp thought: 'how wonderful of him not to have asked a single question.'
-the cab stopped at the bury street door. she took his hand, put it to her cheek, and got out. he said quietly:
-"do you want the dogs?"
-"yes--oh, yes! he doesn't care for them."
-"all right. there'll be time to get you in some things for the night after i come back. i shan't run any risks to-day. make mrs. markey give you tea."
-gyp watched the cab gather way again, saw him wave his hand; then, with a deep sigh, half anxiety, half relief, she rang the bell.
-when the cab debouched again into st. james' street, winton gave the order: "quick as you can!" one could think better going fast! a little red had come into his brown cheeks; his eyes under their half-drawn lids had a keener light; his lips were tightly closed; he looked as he did when a fox was breaking cover. gyp could do no wrong, or, if she could, he would stand by her in it as a matter of course. but he was going to take no risks--make no frontal attack. time for that later, if necessary. he had better nerves than most people, and that kind of steely determination and resource which makes many englishmen of his class formidable in small operations. he kept his cab at the door, rang, and asked for gyp, with a kind of pleasure in his ruse.
-"she's not in yet, sir. mr. fiorsen's in."
-"ah! and baby?"
-"i'll come in and see her. in the garden?"
-"dogs there, too?"
-"yes, sir. and will you have tea, please, sir?"
-"no, thanks." how to effect this withdrawal without causing gossip, and yet avoid suspicion of collusion with gyp? and he added: "unless mrs. fiorsen comes in."
-passing out into the garden, he became aware that fiorsen was at the dining-room window watching him, and decided to make no sign that he knew this. the baby was under the trees at the far end, and the dogs came rushing thence with a fury which lasted till they came within scent of him. winton went leisurely up to the perambulator, and, saluting betty, looked down at his grandchild. she lay under an awning of muslin, for fear of flies, and was awake. her solemn, large brown eyes, already like gyp's, regarded him with gravity. clucking to her once or twice, as is the custom, he moved so as to face the house. in this position, he had betty with her back to it. and he said quietly:
-it is not in the nature of stout women with babies in their charge to receive such an order without question. her colour, and the heaving of that billowy bosom made winton add quickly:
-"now, betty, pull yourself together; gyp wants you. i'll tell you all about it in the cab."
-the poor woman, still heaving vaguely, could only stammer:
-"yes, sir. poor little thing! what about its night-things? and miss gyp's?"
-conscious of that figure still at the window, winton made some passes with his fingers at the baby, and said:
-"never mind them. as soon as you see me at the drawing-room window, get ready and go. eyes front, betty; don't look round; i'll cover your retreat! don't fail gyp now. pull yourself together."
-with a sigh that could have been heard in kensington, betty murmured: "very well, sir; oh dear!" and began to adjust the strings of her bonnet. with nods, as if he had been the recipient of some sage remarks about the baby, winton saluted, and began his march again towards the house. he carefully kept his eyes to this side and to that, as if examining the flowers, but noted all the same that fiorsen had receded from the window. rapid thought told him that the fellow would come back there to see if he were gone, and he placed himself before a rose-bush, where, at that reappearance, he could make a sign of recognition. sure enough, he came; and winton quietly raising his hand to the salute passed on through the drawing-room window. he went quickly into the hall, listened a second, and opened the dining-room door. fiorsen was pacing up and down, pale and restless. he came to a standstill and stared haggardly at winton, who said:
-"how are you? gyp not in?"
-something in the sound of that "no" touched winton with a vague--a very vague--compunction. to be left by gyp! then his heart hardened again. the fellow was a rotter--he was sure of it, had always been sure.
-"baby looks well," he said.
-fiorsen turned and began to pace up and down again.
-"where is gyp? i want her to come in. i want her."
-winton took out his watch.
-"it's not late." and suddenly he felt a great aversion for the part he was playing. to get the baby; to make gyp safe--yes! but, somehow, not this pretence that he knew nothing about it. he turned on his heel and walked out. it imperilled everything; but he couldn't help it. he could not stay and go on prevaricating like this. had that woman got clear? he went back into the drawing-room. there they were--just passing the side of the house. five minutes, and they would be down at the turning. he stood at the window, waiting. if only that fellow did not come in! through the partition wall he could hear him still tramping up and down the dining-room. what a long time a minute was! three had gone when he heard the dining-room door opened, and fiorsen crossing the hall to the front door. what was he after, standing there as if listening? and suddenly he heard him sigh. it was just such a sound as many times, in the long-past days, had escaped himself, waiting, listening for footsteps, in parched and sickening anxiety. did this fellow then really love--almost as he had loved? and in revolt at spying on him like this, he advanced and said:
-"well, i won't wait any longer."
-fiorsen started; he had evidently supposed himself alone. and winton thought: 'by jove! he does look bad!'
-"good-bye!" he said; but the words: "give my love to gyp," perished on their way up to his lips.
-"good-bye!" fiorsen echoed. and winton went out under the trellis, conscious of that forlorn figure still standing at the half-opened door. betty was nowhere in sight; she must have reached the turning. his mission had succeeded, but he felt no elation. round the corner, he picked up his convoy, and, with the perambulator hoisted on to the taxi, journeyed on at speed. he had said he would explain in the cab, but the only remark he made was:
-"you'll all go down to mildenham to-morrow."
-and betty, who had feared him ever since their encounter so many years ago, eyed his profile, without daring to ask questions. before he reached home, winton stopped at a post-office, and sent this telegram:
-"gyp and the baby are with me letter follows.--winton."
-there was much to do, and it was late before they dined, and not till markey had withdrawn could they begin their talk.
-close to the open windows where markey had placed two hydrangea plants--just bought on his own responsibility, in token of silent satisfaction--gyp began. she kept nothing back, recounting the whole miserable fiasco of her marriage. when she came to daphne wing and her discovery in the music-room, she could see the glowing end of her father's cigar move convulsively. that insult to his adored one seemed to winton so inconceivable that, for a moment, he stopped her recital by getting up to pace the room. in her own house--her own house! and--after that, she had gone on with him! he came back to his chair and did not interrupt again, but his stillness almost frightened her.
-coming to the incidents of the day itself, she hesitated. must she tell him, too, of rosek--was it wise, or necessary? the all-or-nothing candour that was part of her nature prevailed, and she went straight on, and, save for the feverish jerking of his evening shoe, winton made no sign. when she had finished, he got up and slowly extinguished the end of his cigar against the window-sill; then looking at her lying back in her chair as if exhausted, he said: "by god!" and turned his face away to the window.
-at that hour before the theatres rose, a lull brooded in the london streets; in this quiet narrow one, the town's hum was only broken by the clack of a half-drunken woman bickering at her man as they lurched along for home, and the strains of a street musician's fiddle, trying to make up for a blank day. the sound vaguely irritated winton, reminding him of those two damnable foreigners by whom she had been so treated. to have them at the point of a sword or pistol--to teach them a lesson! he heard her say:
-"dad, i should like to pay his debts. then things would be as they were when i married him."
-he emitted an exasperated sound. he did not believe in heaping coals of fire.
-"i want to make sure, too, that the girl is all right till she's over her trouble. perhaps i could use some of that--that other money, if mine is all tied up?"
-it was sheer anger, not disapproval of her impulse, that made him hesitate; money and revenge would never be associated in his mind. gyp went on:
-"i want to feel as if i'd never let him marry me. perhaps his debts are all part of that--who knows? please!"
-winton looked at her. how like--when she said that "please!" how like--her figure sunk back in the old chair, and the face lifted in shadow! a sort of exultation came to him. he had got her back--had got her back!
-fiorsen's bedroom was--as the maid would remark--"a proper pigsty"--until he was out of it and it could be renovated each day. he had a talent for disorder, so that the room looked as if three men instead of one had gone to bed in it. clothes and shoes, brushes, water, tumblers, breakfast-tray, newspapers, french novels, and cigarette-ends--none were ever where they should have been; and the stale fumes from the many cigarettes he smoked before getting up incommoded anyone whose duty it was to take him tea and shaving-water. when, on that first real summer day, the maid had brought rosek up to him, he had been lying a long time on his back, dreamily watching the smoke from his cigarette and four flies waltzing in the sunlight that filtered through the green sun-blinds. this hour, before he rose, was his creative moment, when he could best see the form of music and feel inspiration for its rendering. of late, he had been stale and wretched, all that side of him dull; but this morning he felt again the delicious stir of fancy, that vibrating, half-dreamy state when emotion seems so easily to find shape and the mind pierces through to new expression. hearing the maid's knock, and her murmured: "count rosek to see you, sir," he thought: 'what the devil does he want?' a larger nature, drifting without control, in contact with a smaller one, who knows his own mind exactly, will instinctively be irritable, though he may fail to grasp what his friend is after.
-and pushing the cigarette-box toward rosek, he turned away his head. it would be money he had come about, or--that girl! that girl--he wished she was dead! soft, clinging creature! a baby! god! what a fool he had been--ah, what a fool! such absurdity! unheard of! first gyp--then her! he had tried to shake the girl off. as well try to shake off a burr! how she clung! he had been patient--oh, yes--patient and kind, but how go on when one was tired--tired of her--and wanting only gyp, only his own wife? that was a funny thing! and now, when, for an hour or two, he had shaken free of worry, had been feeling happy--yes, happy--this fellow must come, and stand there with his face of a sphinx! and he said pettishly:
-"well, paul! sit down. what troubles have you brought?"
-rosek lit a cigarette but did not sit down. he struck even fiorsen by his unsmiling pallor.
-"you had better look out for mr. wagge, gustav; he came to me yesterday. he has no music in his soul."
-"satan take mr. wagge! what can he do?"
-"i am not a lawyer, but i imagine he can be unpleasant--the girl is young."
-fiorsen glared at him, and said:
-"why did you throw me that cursed girl?"
-rosek answered, a little too steadily:
-"i did not, my friend."
-"what! you did. what was your game? you never do anything without a game. you know you did. come; what was your game?"
-"you like pleasure, i believe."
-fiorsen said violently:
-"look here: i have done with your friendship--you are no friend to me. i have never really known you, and i should not wish to. it is finished. leave me in peace."
-"my dear, that is all very well, but friendships are not finished like that. moreover, you owe me a thousand pounds."
-"well, i will pay it." rosek's eyebrows mounted. "i will. gyp will lend it to me."
-"oh! is gyp so fond of you as that? i thought she only loved her music-lessons."
-crouching forward with his knees drawn up, fiorsen hissed out:
-"don't talk of gyp! get out of this! i will pay you your thousand pounds."
-rosek, still smiling, answered:
-"gustav, don't be a fool! with a violin to your shoulder, you are a man. without--you are a child. lie quiet, my friend, and think of mr. wagge. but you had better come and talk it over with me. good-bye for the moment. calm yourself." and, flipping the ash off his cigarette on to the tray by fiorsen's elbow, he nodded and went.
-fiorsen, who had leaped out of bed, put his hand to his head. the cursed fellow! cursed be every one of them--the father and the girl, rosek and all the other sharks! he went out on to the landing. the house was quite still below. rosek had gone--good riddance! he called, "gyp!" no answer. he went into her room. its superlative daintiness struck his fancy. a scent of cyclamen! he looked out into the garden. there was the baby at the end, and that fat woman. no gyp! never in when she was wanted. wagge! he shivered; and, going back into his bedroom, took a brandy-bottle from a locked cupboard and drank some. it steadied him; he locked up the cupboard again, and dressed.
-going out to the music-room, he stopped under the trees to make passes with his fingers at the baby. sometimes he felt that it was an adorable little creature, with its big, dark eyes so like gyp's. sometimes it excited his disgust--a discoloured brat. this morning, while looking at it, he thought suddenly of the other that was coming--and grimaced. catching betty's stare of horrified amazement at the face he was making at her darling, he burst into a laugh and turned away into the music-room.
-while he was keying up his violin, gyp's conduct in never having come there for so long struck him as bitterly unjust. the girl--who cared about the wretched girl? as if she made any real difference! it was all so much deeper than that. gyp had never loved him, never given him what he wanted, never quenched his thirst of her! that was the heart of it. no other woman he had ever had to do with had been like that--kept his thirst unquenched. no; he had always tired of them before they tired of him. she gave him nothing really--nothing! had she no heart or did she give it elsewhere? what was that paul had said about her music-lessons? and suddenly it struck him that he knew nothing, absolutely nothing, of where she went or what she did. she never told him anything. music-lessons? every day, nearly, she went out, was away for hours. the thought that she might go to the arms of another man made him put down his violin with a feeling of actual sickness. why not? that deep and fearful whipping of the sexual instinct which makes the ache of jealousy so truly terrible was at its full in such a nature as fiorsen's. he drew a long breath and shuddered. the remembrance of her fastidious pride, her candour, above all her passivity cut in across his fear. no, not gyp!
-he went to a little table whereon stood a tantalus, tumblers, and a syphon, and pouring out some brandy, drank. it steadied him. and he began to practise. he took a passage from brahms' violin concerto and began to play it over and over. suddenly, he found he was repeating the same flaws each time; he was not attending. the fingering of that thing was ghastly! music-lessons! why did she take them? waste of time and money--she would never be anything but an amateur! ugh! unconsciously, he had stopped playing. had she gone there to-day? it was past lunch-time. perhaps she had come in.
-three o'clock. so that was her hour! his eyes rested idly on a little old coloured print of a bacchante, with flowing green scarf, shaking a tambourine at a naked cupid, who with a baby bow and arrow in his hands, was gazing up at her. he turned it over; on the back was written in a pointed, scriggly hand, "to my little friend.--e. h." fiorsen drew smoke deep down into his lungs, expelled it slowly, and went to the piano. he opened it and began to play, staring vacantly before him, the cigarette burned nearly to his lips. he went on, scarcely knowing what he played. at last he stopped, and sat dejected. a great artist? often, nowadays, he did not care if he never touched a violin again. tired of standing up before a sea of dull faces, seeing the blockheads knock their silly hands one against the other! sick of the sameness of it all! besides--besides, were his powers beginning to fail? what was happening to him of late?
-"i am mr. fiorsen. mrs. fiorsen here?"
-"yes, sir; will you wait?"
-why did she look at him like that? ugly girl! how hateful ugly people were! when she was gone, he reopened the door of the waiting-room, and listened.
-chopin! the polonaise in a flat. good! could that be gyp? very good! he moved out, down the passage, drawn on by her playing, and softly turned the handle. the music stopped. he went in.
-when winton had left him, an hour and a half later that afternoon, fiorsen continued to stand at the front door, swaying his body to and fro. the brandy-nurtured burst of jealousy which had made him insult his wife and old monsieur harmost had died suddenly when gyp turned on him in the street and spoke in that icy voice; since then he had felt fear, increasing every minute. would she forgive? to one who always acted on the impulse of the moment, so that he rarely knew afterward exactly what he had done, or whom hurt, gyp's self-control had ever been mysterious and a little frightening. where had she gone? why did she not come in? anxiety is like a ball that rolls down-hill, gathering momentum. suppose she did not come back! but she must--there was the baby--their baby!
-for the first time, the thought of it gave him unalloyed satisfaction. he left the door, and, after drinking a glass to steady him, flung himself down on the sofa in the drawing-room. and while he lay there, the brandy warm within him, he thought: 'i will turn over a new leaf; give up drink, give up everything, send the baby into the country, take gyp to paris, berlin, vienna, rome--anywhere out of this england, anywhere, away from that father of hers and all these stiff, dull folk! she will like that--she loves travelling!' yes, they would be happy! delicious nights--delicious days--air that did not weigh you down and make you feel that you must drink--real inspiration--real music! the acrid wood-smoke scent of paris streets, the glistening cleanness of the thiergarten, a serenading song in a florence back street, fireflies in the summer dusk at sorrento--he had intoxicating memories of them all! slowly the warmth of the brandy died away, and, despite the heat, he felt chill and shuddery. he shut his eyes, thinking to sleep till she came in. but very soon he opened them, because--a thing usual with him of late--he saw such ugly things--faces, vivid, changing as he looked, growing ugly and uglier, becoming all holes--holes--horrible holes--corruption--matted, twisted, dark human-tree-roots of faces! horrible! he opened his eyes, for when he did that, they always went. it was very silent. no sound from above. no sound of the dogs. he would go up and see the baby.
-while he was crossing the hall, there came a ring. he opened the door himself. a telegram! he tore the envelope.
-"gyp and the baby are with me letter follows.--winton."
-he gave a short laugh, shut the door in the boy's face, and ran upstairs; why--heaven knew! there was nobody there now! nobody! did it mean that she had really left him--was not coming back? he stopped by the side of gyp's bed, and flinging himself forward, lay across it, burying his face. and he sobbed, as men will, unmanned by drink. had he lost her? never to see her eyes closing and press his lips against them! never to soak his senses in her loveliness! he leaped up, with the tears still wet on his face. lost her? absurd! that calm, prim, devilish englishman, her father--he was to blame--he had worked it all--stealing the baby!
-he went down-stairs and drank some brandy. it steadied him a little. what should he do? "letter follows." drink, and wait? go to bury street? no. drink! enjoy himself!
-he laughed, and, catching up his hat, went out, walking furiously at first, then slower and slower, for his head began to whirl, and, taking a cab, was driven to a restaurant in soho. he had eaten nothing but a biscuit since his breakfast, always a small matter, and ordered soup and a flask of their best chianti--solids he could not face. more than two hours he sat, white and silent, perspiration on his forehead, now and then grinning and flourishing his fingers, to the amusement and sometimes the alarm of those sitting near. but for being known there, he would have been regarded with suspicion. about half-past nine, there being no more wine, he got up, put a piece of gold on the table, and went out without waiting for his change.
-in the streets, the lamps were lighted, but daylight was not quite gone. he walked unsteadily, toward piccadilly. a girl of the town passed and looked up at him. staring hard, he hooked his arm in hers without a word; it steadied him, and they walked on thus together. suddenly he said:
-"well, girl, are you happy?" the girl stopped and tried to disengage her arm; a rather frightened look had come into her dark-eyed powdered face. fiorsen laughed, and held it firm. "when the unhappy meet, they walk together. come on! you are just a little like my wife. will you have a drink?"
-"brother," he said, "lend me your fiddle. here's money for you. come; lend it to me. i am a great violinist."
-"ah! vraiment! voyons! donnez--un instant--vous verrez."
-gyp hardly slept at all. three times she got up, and, stealing to the door, looked in at her sleeping baby, whose face in its new bed she could just see by the night-light's glow. the afternoon had shaken her nerves. nor was betty's method of breathing while asleep conducive to the slumber of anything but babies. it was so hot, too, and the sound of the violin still in her ears. by that little air of poise, she had known for certain it was fiorsen; and her father's abrupt drawing of the curtains had clinched that certainty. if she had gone to the window and seen him, she would not have been half so deeply disturbed as she was by that echo of an old emotion. the link which yesterday she thought broken for good was reforged in some mysterious way. the sobbing of that old fiddle had been his way of saying, "forgive me; forgive!" to leave him would have been so much easier if she had really hated him; but she did not. however difficult it may be to live with an artist, to hate him is quite as difficult. an artist is so flexible--only the rigid can be hated. she hated the things he did, and him when he was doing them; but afterward again could hate him no more than she could love him, and that was--not at all. resolution and a sense of the practical began to come back with daylight. when things were hopeless, it was far better to recognize it and harden one's heart.
-winton, whose night had been almost as sleepless--to play like a beggar in the street, under his windows, had seemed to him the limit!--announced at breakfast that he must see his lawyer, make arrangements for the payment of fiorsen's debts, and find out what could be done to secure gyp against persecution. some deed was probably necessary; he was vague on all such matters. in the meantime, neither gyp nor the baby must go out. gyp spent the morning writing and rewriting to monsieur harmost, trying to express her chagrin, but not saying that she had left fiorsen.
-her father came back from westminster quiet and angry. he had with difficulty been made to understand that the baby was fiorsen's property, so that, if the fellow claimed it, legally they would be unable to resist. the point opened the old wound, forced him to remember that his own daughter had once belonged to another--father. he had told the lawyer in a measured voice that he would see the fellow damned first, and had directed a deed of separation to be prepared, which should provide for the complete payment of fiorsen's existing debts on condition that he left gyp and the baby in peace. after telling gyp this, he took an opportunity of going to the extempore nursery and standing by the baby's cradle. until then, the little creature had only been of interest as part of gyp; now it had for him an existence of its own--this tiny, dark-eyed creature, lying there, watching him so gravely, clutching his finger. suddenly the baby smiled--not a beautiful smile, but it made on winton an indelible impression.
-wishing first to settle this matter of the deed, he put off going down to mildenham; but "not trusting those two scoundrels a yard"--for he never failed to bracket rosek and fiorsen--he insisted that the baby should not go out without two attendants, and that gyp should not go out alone. he carried precaution to the point of accompanying her to monsieur harmost's on the friday afternoon, and expressed a wish to go in and shake hands with the old fellow. it was a queer meeting. those two had as great difficulty in finding anything to say as though they were denizens of different planets. and indeed, there are two planets on this earth! when, after a minute or so of the friendliest embarrassment, he had retired to wait for her, gyp sat down to her lesson.
-monsieur harmost said quietly:
-"your letter was very kind, my little friend--and your father is very kind. but, after all, it was a compliment your husband paid me." his smile smote gyp; it seemed to sum up so many resignations. "so you stay again with your father!" and, looking at her very hard with his melancholy brown eyes, "when will you find your fate, i wonder?"
-monsieur harmost's eyebrows rose.
-"ah," he said, "you think! no, that is impossible!" he walked twice very quickly up and down the room; then spinning round on his heel, said sharply: "well, we must not waste your father's time. to work."
-winton's simple comment in the cab on the way home was:
-"nice old chap!"
-at bury street, they found gyp's agitated parlour-maid. going to do the music-room that morning, she had "found the master sitting on the sofa, holding his head, and groaning awful. he's not been at home, ma'am, since you--you went on your visit, so i didn't know what to do. i ran for cook and we got him up to bed, and not knowing where you'd be, ma'am, i telephoned to count rosek, and he came--i hope i didn't do wrong--and he sent me down to see you. the doctor says his brain's on the touch and go, and he keeps askin' for you, ma'am. so i didn't know what to do."
-gyp, pale to the lips, said:
-"wait here a minute, ellen," and went into the dining-room. winton followed. she turned to him at once, and said:
-"oh, dad, what am i to do? his brain! it would be too awful to feel i'd brought that about."
-winton grunted. gyp went on:
-"i must go and see. if it's really that, i couldn't bear it. i'm afraid i must go, dad."
-"well, i'll come too," he said. "the girl can go back in the cab and say we're on the way."
-taking a parting look at her baby, gyp thought bitterly: 'my fate? this is my fate, and no getting out of it!' on the journey, she and winton were quite silent--but she held his hand tight. while the cook was taking up to rosek the news of their arrival, gyp stood looking out at her garden. two days and six hours only since she had stood there above her pansies; since, at this very spot, rosek had kissed her throat! slipping her hand through winton's arm, she said:
-"dad, please don't make anything of that kiss. he couldn't help himself, i suppose. what does it matter, too?"
-a moment later rosek entered. before she could speak, winton was saying:
-"thank you for letting us know, sir. but now that my daughter is here, there will be no further need for your kind services. good-day!"
-at the cruel curtness of those words, gyp gave the tiniest start forward. she had seen them go through rosek's armour as a sword through brown paper. he recovered himself with a sickly smile, bowed, and went out. winton followed--precisely as if he did not trust him with the hats in the hall. when the outer door was shut, he said:
-"i don't think he'll trouble you again."
-gyp's gratitude was qualified by a queer compassion. after all, his offence had only been that of loving her.
-fiorsen had been taken to her room, which was larger and cooler than his own; and the maid was standing by the side of the bed with a scared face. gyp signed to her to go. he opened his eyes presently:
-"gyp! oh! gyp! is it you? the devilish, awful things i see--don't go away again! oh, gyp!" with a sob he raised himself and rested his forehead against her. and gyp felt--as on the first night he came home drunk--a merging of all other emotions in the desire to protect and heal.
-"it's all right, all right," she murmured. "i'm going to stay. don't worry about anything. keep quite quiet, and you'll soon be well."
-gyp went back to her seat by the bed. irony! she whose only desire was to be let go free, was mainly responsible for his breakdown! but for her, there would be nothing on his mind, for he would not be married! brooding morbidly, she asked herself--his drinking, debts, even the girl--had she caused them, too? and when she tried to free him and herself--this was the result! was there something fatal about her that must destroy the men she had to do with? she had made her father unhappy, monsieur harmost--rosek, and her husband! even before she married, how many had tried for her love, and gone away unhappy! and, getting up, she went to a mirror and looked at herself long and sadly.
-three days after her abortive attempt to break away, gyp, with much heart-searching, wrote to daphne wing, telling her of fiorsen's illness, and mentioning a cottage near mildenham, where--if she liked to go--she would be quite comfortable and safe from all curiosity, and finally begging to be allowed to make good the losses from any broken dance-contracts.
-next morning, she found mr. wagge with a tall, crape-banded hat in his black-gloved hands, standing in the very centre of her drawing-room. he was staring into the garden, as if he had been vouchsafed a vision of that warm night when the moonlight shed its ghostly glamour on the sunflowers, and his daughter had danced out there. she had a perfect view of his thick red neck in its turndown collar, crossed by a black bow over a shiny white shirt. and, holding out her hand, she said:
-"how do you do, mr. wagge? it was kind of you to come."
-mr. wagge turned. his pug face wore a downcast expression.
-"i hope i see you well, ma'am. pretty place you 'ave 'ere. i'm fond of flowers myself. they've always been my 'obby."
-"they're a great comfort in london, aren't they?"
-"ye-es; i should think you might grow the dahlia here." and having thus obeyed the obscure instincts of savoir faire, satisfied some obscurer desire to flatter, he went on: "my girl showed me your letter. i didn't like to write; in such a delicate matter i'd rather be vivey vocey. very kind, in your position; i'm sure i appreciate it. i always try to do the christian thing myself. flesh passes; you never know when you may have to take your turn. i said to my girl i'd come and see you."
-"i'm very glad. i hoped perhaps you would."
-mr. wagge cleared his throat, and went on, in a hoarser voice:
-"i don't want to say anything harsh about a certain party in your presence, especially as i read he's indisposed, but really i hardly know how to bear the situation. i can't bring myself to think of money in relation to that matter; all the same, it's a serious loss to my daughter, very serious loss. i've got my family pride to think of. my daughter's name, well--it's my own; and, though i say it, i'm respected--a regular attendant--i think i told you. sometimes, i assure you, i feel i can't control myself, and it's only that--and you, if i may say so, that keeps me in check."
-during this speech, his black-gloved hands were clenching and unclenching, and he shifted his broad, shining boots. gyp gazed at them, not daring to look up at his eyes thus turning and turning from christianity to shekels, from his honour to the world, from his anger to herself. and she said:
-"please let me do what i ask, mr. wagge. i should be so unhappy if i mightn't do that little something."
-mr. wagge blew his nose.
-"it's a delicate matter," he said. "i don't know where my duty lays. i don't, reelly."
-gyp looked up then.
-"the great thing is to save daisy suffering, isn't it?"
-mr. wagge's face wore for a moment an expression of affront, as if from the thought: 'sufferin'! you must leave that to her father!' then it wavered; the curious, furtive warmth of the attracted male came for a moment into his little eyes; he averted them, and coughed. gyp said softly:
-"to please me."
-mr. wagge's readjusted glance stopped in confusion at her waist. he answered, in a voice that he strove to make bland:
-"if you put it in that way, i don't reelly know 'ow to refuse; but it must be quite between you and me--i can't withdraw my attitude."
-"no, of course. thank you so much; and you'll let me know about everything later. i mustn't take up your time now." and she held out her hand.
-mr. wagge took it in a lingering manner.
-"well, i have an appointment," he said; "a gentleman at campden hill. he starts at twelve. i'm never late. good-morning."
-when she had watched his square, black figure pass through the outer gate, busily rebuttoning those shining black gloves, she went upstairs and washed her face and hands.
-for several days, fiorsen wavered; but his collapse had come just in time, and with every hour the danger lessened. at the end of a fortnight of a perfectly white life, there remained nothing to do in the words of the doctor but "to avoid all recurrence of the predisposing causes, and shove in sea air!" gyp had locked up all brandy--and violins; she could control him so long as he was tamed by his own weakness. but she passed some very bitter hours before she sent for her baby, betty, and the dogs, and definitely took up life in her little house again. his debts had been paid, including the thousand pounds to rosek, and the losses of daphne wing. the girl had gone down to that cottage where no one had ever heard of her, to pass her time in lonely grief and terror, with the aid of a black dress and a gold band on her third finger.
-august and the first half of september were spent near bude. fiorsen's passion for the sea, a passion gyp could share, kept him singularly moderate and free from restiveness. he had been thoroughly frightened, and such terror is not easily forgotten. they stayed in a farmhouse, where he was at his best with the simple folk, and his best could be charming. he was always trying to get his "mermaid," as he took to calling gyp, away from the baby, getting her away to himself, along the grassy cliffs and among the rocks and yellow sands of that free coast. his delight was to find every day some new nook where they could bathe, and dry themselves by sitting in the sun. and very like a mermaid she was, on a seaweedy rock, with her feet close together in a little pool, her fingers combing her drowned hair, and the sun silvering her wet body. if she had loved him, it would have been perfect. but though, close to nature like this--there are men to whom towns are poison--he was so much more easy to bear, even to like, her heart never opened to him, never fluttered at his voice, or beat more quickly under his kisses. one cannot regulate these things. the warmth in her eyes when they looked at her baby, and the coolness when they looked at him, was such that not even a man, and he an egoist, could help seeing; and secretly he began to hate that tiny rival, and she began to notice that he did.
-as soon as the weather broke, he grew restless, craving his violin, and they went back to town, in robust health--all three. during those weeks, gyp had never been free of the feeling that it was just a lull, of forces held up in suspense, and the moment they were back in their house, this feeling gathered density and darkness, as rain gathers in the sky after a fine spell. she had often thought of daphne wing, and had written twice, getting in return one naive and pathetic answer:
-'dear mrs. fiorsen,
-'oh, it is kind of you to write, because i know what you must be feeling about me; and it was so kind of you to let me come here. i try not to think about things, but of course i can't help it; and i don't seem to care what happens now. mother is coming down here later on. sometimes i lie awake all night, listening to the wind. don't you think the wind is the most melancholy thing in the world? i wonder if i shall die? i hope i shall. oh, i do, really! good-bye, dear mrs. fiorsen. i shall never forgive myself about you.
-'your grateful, 'daphne wing.'
-the girl had never once been mentioned between her and fiorsen since the night when he sat by her bed, begging forgiveness; she did not know whether he ever gave the little dancer and her trouble a thought, or even knew what had become of her. but now that the time was getting near, gyp felt more and more every day as if she must go down and see her. she wrote to her father, who, after a dose of harrogate with aunt rosamund, was back at mildenham. winton answered that the nurse was there, and that there seemed to be a woman, presumably the mother, staying with her, but that he had not of course made direct inquiry. could not gyp come down? he was alone, and cubbing had begun. it was like him to veil his longings under such dry statements. but the thought of giving him pleasure, and of a gallop with hounds fortified intensely her feeling that she ought to go. now that baby was so well, and fiorsen still not drinking, she might surely snatch this little holiday and satisfy her conscience about the girl. since the return from cornwall, she had played for him in the music-room just as of old, and she chose the finish of a morning practice to say:
-"gustav, i want to go to mildenham this afternoon for a week. father's lonely."
-he was putting away his violin, but she saw his neck grow red.
-"to him? no. he will steal you as he stole the baby. let him have the baby if he likes. not you. no."
-gyp, who was standing by the piano, kept silence at this unexpected outburst, but revolt blazed up in her. she never asked him anything; he should not refuse this. he came up behind and put his arms round her.
-"my gyp, i want you here--i am lonely, too. don't go away."
-she tried to force his arms apart, but could not, and her anger grew. she said coldly:
-"there's another reason why i must go."
-"no, no! no good reason--to take you from me."
-"there is! the girl who is just going to have your child is staying near mildenham, and i want to see how she is."
-he let go of her then, and recoiling against the divan, sat down. and gyp thought: 'i'm sorry. i didn't mean to--but it serves him right.'
-he muttered, in a dull voice:
-"oh, i hoped she was dead."
-"yes! for all you care, she might be. i'm going, but you needn't be afraid that i shan't come back. i shall be back to-day week; i promise."
-he looked at her fixedly.
-"yes. you don't break your promises; you will not break it." but, suddenly, he said again: "gyp, don't go!"
-he got up and caught her in his arms.
-"say you love me, then!"
-but she could not. it was one thing to put up with embraces, quite another to pretend that. when at last he was gone, she sat smoothing her hair, staring before her with hard eyes, thinking: "here--where i saw him with that girl! what animals men are!"
-late that afternoon, she reached mildenham. winton met her at the station. and on the drive up, they passed the cottage where daphne wing was staying. it stood in front of a small coppice, a creepered, plain-fronted, little brick house, with a garden still full of sunflowers, tenanted by the old jockey, pettance, his widowed daughter, and her three small children. "that talkative old scoundrel," as winton always called him, was still employed in the mildenham stables, and his daughter was laundress to the establishment. gyp had secured for daphne wing the same free, independent, economic agent who had watched over her own event; the same old doctor, too, was to be the presiding deity. there were no signs of life about the cottage, and she would not stop, too eager to be at home again, to see the old rooms, and smell the old savour of the house, to get to her old mare, and feel its nose nuzzling her for sugar. it was so good to be back once more, feeling strong and well and able to ride. the smile of the inscrutable markey at the front door was a joy to her, even the darkness of the hall, where a gleam of last sunlight fell across the skin of winton's first tiger, on which she had so often sunk down dead tired after hunting. ah, it was nice to be at home!
-in her mare's box, old pettance was putting a last touch to cleanliness. his shaven, skin-tight, wicked old face, smiled deeply. he said in honeyed tones:
-"good evenin', miss; beautiful evenin', ma'am!" and his little burning brown eyes, just touched by age, regarded her lovingly.
-"well, pettance, how are you? and how's annie, and how are the children? and how's this old darling?"
-"wonderful, miss; artful as a kitten. carry you like a bird to-morrow, if you're goin' out."
-"how are her legs?"
-and while gyp passed her hand down those iron legs, the old mare examined her down the back of her neck.
-"they 'aven't filled not once since she come in--she was out all july and august; but i've kept 'er well at it since, in 'opes you might be comin'."
-"they feel splendid." and, still bending down, gyp asked: "and how is your lodger--the young lady i sent you?"
-"well, ma'am, she's very young, and these very young ladies they get a bit excited, you know, at such times; i should say she've never been--" with obvious difficulty he checked the words, "to an 'orse before!" "well, you must expect it. and her mother, she's a dreadful funny one, miss. she does needle me! oh, she puts my back up properly! no class, of course--that's where it is. but this 'ere nurse--well, you know, miss, she won't 'ave no nonsense; so there we are. and, of course, you're bound to 'ave 'ighsteria, a bit--losin' her 'usband as young as that."
-gyp could feel his wicked old smile even before she raised herself. but what did it matter if he did guess? she knew he would keep a stable secret.
-"oh, we've 'ad some pretty flirts--up and cryin', dear me! i sleeps in the next room--oh, yes, at night-time--when you're a widder at that age, you can't expect nothin' else. i remember when i was ridin' in ireland for captain o'neill, there was a young woman--"
-gyp thought: 'i mustn't let him get off--or i shall be late for dinner,' and she said:
-"oh, pettance, who bought the young brown horse?"
-"mr. bryn summer'ay, ma'am, over at widrington, for an 'unter, and 'ack in town, miss."
-"summerhay? ah!" with a touch of the whip to her memory, gyp recalled the young man with the clear eyes and teasing smile, on the chestnut mare, the bold young man who reminded her of somebody, and she added:
-"that'll be a good home for him, i should think."
-"oh, yes, miss; good 'ome--nice gentleman, too. he come over here to see it, and asked after you. i told 'im you was a married lady now, miss. 'ah,' he said; 'she rode beautiful!' and he remembered the 'orse well. the major, he wasn't 'ere just then, so i let him try the young un; he popped 'im over a fence or two, and when he come back he says, 'well, i'm goin' to have 'im.' speaks very pleasant, an' don't waste no time--'orse was away before the end of the week. carry 'im well; 'e's a strong rider, too, and a good plucked one, but bad 'ands, i should say."
-"yes, pettance; i must go in now. will you tell annie i shall be round to-morrow, to see her?"
-"very good, miss. 'ounds meets at filly cross, seven-thirty. you'll be goin' out?"
-flying back across the yard, gyp thought: "'she rode beautiful!' how jolly! i'm glad he's got my horse."
-still glowing from her morning in the saddle, gyp started out next day at noon on her visit to the "old scoundrel's" cottage. it was one of those lingering mellow mornings of late september, when the air, just warmed through, lifts off the stubbles, and the hedgerows are not yet dried of dew. the short cut led across two fields, a narrow strip of village common, where linen was drying on gorse bushes coming into bloom, and one field beyond; she met no one. crossing the road, she passed into the cottage-garden, where sunflowers and michaelmas daisies in great profusion were tangled along the low red-brick garden-walls, under some poplar trees yellow-flecked already. a single empty chair, with a book turned face downward, stood outside an open window. smoke wreathing from one chimney was the only sign of life. but, standing undecided before the half-open door, gyp was conscious, as it were, of too much stillness, of something unnatural about the silence. she was just raising her hand to knock when she heard the sound of smothered sobbing. peeping through the window, she could just see a woman dressed in green, evidently mrs. wagge, seated at a table, crying into her handkerchief. at that very moment, too, a low moaning came from the room above. gyp recoiled; then, making up her mind, she went in and knocked at the room where the woman in green was sitting. after fully half a minute, it was opened, and mrs. wagge stood there. the nose and eyes and cheeks of that thinnish, acid face were red, and in her green dress, and with her greenish hair (for it was going grey and she put on it a yellow lotion smelling of cantharides), she seemed to gyp just like one of those green apples that turn reddish so unnaturally in the sun. she had rubbed over her face, which shone in streaks, and her handkerchief was still crumpled in her hand. it was horrible to come, so fresh and glowing, into the presence of this poor woman, evidently in bitter sorrow. and a desperate desire came over gyp to fly. it seemed dreadful for anyone connected with him who had caused this trouble to be coming here at all. but she said as softly as she could:
-"mrs. wagge? please forgive me--but is there any news? i am--it was i who got daphne down here."
-the woman before her was evidently being torn this way and that, but at last she answered, with a sniff:
-"it--it--was born this morning--dead." gyp gasped. to have gone through it all for that! every bit of mother-feeling in her rebelled and sorrowed; but her reason said: better so! much better! and she murmured:
-"how is she?"
-mrs. wagge answered, with profound dejection:
-"bad--very bad. i don't know i'm sure what to say--my feelings are all anyhow, and that's the truth. it's so dreadfully upsetting altogether."
-"is my nurse with her?"
-"yes; she's there. she's a very headstrong woman, but capable, i don't deny. daisy's very weak. oh, it is upsetting! and now i suppose there'll have to be a burial. there really seems no end to it. and all because of--of that man." and mrs. wagge turned away again to cry into her handkerchief.
-feeling she could never say or do the right thing to the poor lady, gyp stole out. at the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated whether to go up or no. at last, she mounted softly. it must be in the front room that the bereaved girl was lying--the girl who, but a year ago, had debated with such naive self-importance whether or not it was her duty to take a lover. gyp summoned courage to tap gently. the economic agent opened the door an inch, but, seeing who it was, slipped her robust and handsome person through into the corridor.
-"you, my dear!" she said in a whisper. "that's nice!"
-"how is she?"
-"fairly well--considering. you know about it?"
-"yes; can i see her?"
-"i hardly think so. i can't make her out. she's got no spirit, not an ounce. she doesn't want to get well, i believe. it's the man, i expect." and, looking at gyp with her fine blue eyes, she asked: "is that it? is he tired of her?"
-gyp met her gaze better than she had believed possible.
-the economic agent swept her up and down. "it's a pleasure to look at you. you've got quite a colour, for you. after all, i believe it might do her good to see you. come in!"
-gyp passed in behind her, and stood gazing, not daring to step forward. what a white face, with eyes closed, with fair hair still damp on the forehead, with one white hand lying on the sheet above her heart! what a frail madonna of the sugar-plums! on the whole of that bed the only colour seemed the gold hoop round the wedding-finger.
-the economic agent said very quietly:
-"look, my dear; i've brought you a nice visitor."
-daphne wing's eyes and lips opened and closed again. and the awful thought went through gyp: 'poor thing! she thought it was going to be him, and it's only me!' then the white lips said:
-"oh, mrs. fiorsen, it's you--it is kind of you!" and the eyes opened again, but very little, and differently.
-the economic agent slipped away. gyp sat down by the bed and timidly touched the hand.
-daphne wing looked at her, and two tears slowly ran down her cheeks.
-"it's over," she said just audibly, "and there's nothing now--it was dead, you know. i don't want to live. oh, mrs. fiorsen, why can't they let me die, too?"
-gyp bent over and kissed the hand, unable to bear the sight of those two slowly rolling tears. daphne wing went on:
-"you are good to me. i wish my poor little baby hadn't--"
-gyp, knowing her own tears were wetting that hand, raised herself and managed to get out the words:
-"bear up! think of your work!"
-"dancing! ho!" she gave the least laugh ever heard. "it seems so long ago."
-"yes; but now it'll all come back to you again, better than ever."
-daphne wing answered by a feeble sigh.
-with eyes and mouth closed like that, and all alabaster white, the face was perfect, purged of its little commonnesses. strange freak that this white flower of a face could ever have been produced by mr. and mrs. wagge!
-daphne wing opened her eyes and said:
-"oh! mrs. fiorsen, i feel so weak. and i feel much more lonely now. there's nothing anywhere."
-gyp got up; she felt herself being carried into the mood of the girl's heart, and was afraid it would be seen. daphne wing went on:
-"do you know, when nurse said she'd brought a visitor, i thought it was him; but i'm glad now. if he had looked at me like he did--i couldn't have borne it."
-gyp bent down and put her lips to the damp forehead. faint, very faint, there was still the scent of orange-blossom.
-when she was once more in the garden, she hurried away; but instead of crossing the fields again, turned past the side of the cottage into the coppice behind. and, sitting down on a log, her hands pressed to her cheeks and her elbows to her breast, she stared at the sunlit bracken and the flies chasing each other over it. love! was it always something hateful and tragic that spoiled lives? criss-cross! one darting on another, taking her almost before she knew she was seized, then darting away and leaving her wanting to be seized again. or darting on her, who, when seized, was fatal to the darter, yet had never wanted to be seized. or darting one on the other for a moment, then both breaking away too soon. did never two dart at each other, seize, and cling, and ever after be one? love! it had spoiled her father's life, and daphne wing's; never came when it was wanted; always came when it was not. malevolent wanderer, alighting here, there; tiring of the spirit before it tired of the body; or of the body before it tired of the spirit. better to have nothing to do with it--far better! if one never loved, one would never feel lonely--like that poor girl. and yet! no--there was no "and yet." who that was free would wish to become a slave? a slave--like daphne wing! a slave--like her own husband to his want of a wife who did not love him. a slave like her father had been--still was, to a memory. and watching the sunlight on the bracken, gyp thought: 'love! keep far from me. i don't want you. i shall never want you!'
-every morning that week she made her way to the cottage, and every morning had to pass through the hands of mrs. wagge. the good lady had got over the upsetting fact that gyp was the wife of that villain, and had taken a fancy to her, confiding to the economic agent, who confided it to gyp, that she was "very distangey--and such pretty eyes, quite italian." she was one of those numberless persons whose passion for distinction was just a little too much for their passionate propriety. it was that worship of distinction which had caused her to have her young daughter's talent for dancing fostered. who knew to what it might lead in these days? at great length she explained to gyp the infinite care with which she had always "brought daisy up like a lady--and now this is the result." and she would look piercingly at gyp's hair or ears, at her hands or her instep, to see how it was done. the burial worried her dreadfully. "i'm using the name of daisy wing; she was christened 'daisy' and the wing's professional, so that takes them both in, and it's quite the truth. but i don't think anyone would connect it, would they? about the father's name, do you think i might say the late mr. joseph wing, this once? you see, it never was alive, and i must put something if they're not to guess the truth, and that i couldn't bear; mr. wagge would be so distressed. it's in his own line, you see. oh, it is upsetting!"
-gyp murmured desperately:
-"oh! yes, anything."
-though the girl was so deathly white and spiritless, it soon became clear that she was going to pull through. with each day, a little more colour and a little more commonness came back to her. and gyp felt instinctively that she would, in the end, return to fulham purged of her infatuation, a little harder, perhaps a little deeper.
-late one afternoon toward the end of her week at mildenham, gyp wandered again into the coppice, and sat down on that same log. an hour before sunset, the light shone level on the yellowing leaves all round her; a startled rabbit pelted out of the bracken and pelted back again, and, from the far edge of the little wood, a jay cackled harshly, shifting its perch from tree to tree. gyp thought of her baby, and of that which would have been its half-brother; and now that she was so near having to go back to fiorsen, she knew that she had not been wise to come here. to have been in contact with the girl, to have touched, as it were, that trouble, had made the thought of life with him less tolerable even than it was before. only the longing to see her baby made return seem possible. ah, well--she would get used to it all again! but the anticipation of his eyes fixed on her, then sliding away from the meeting with her eyes, of all--of all that would begin again, suddenly made her shiver. she was very near to loathing at that moment. he, the father of her baby! the thought seemed ridiculous and strange. that little creature seemed to bind him to her no more than if it were the offspring of some chance encounter, some pursuit of nymph by faun. no! it was hers alone. and a sudden feverish longing to get back to it overpowered all other thought. this longing grew in her so all night that at breakfast she told her father. swallowing down whatever his feeling may have been, he said:
-"very well, my child; i'll come up with you."
-putting her into the cab in london, he asked:
-"have you still got your key of bury street? good! remember, gyp--any time day or night--there it is for you."
-she had wired to fiorsen from mildenham that she was coming, and she reached home soon after three. he was not in, and what was evidently her telegram lay unopened in the hall. tremulous with expectation, she ran up to the nursery. the pathetic sound of some small creature that cannot tell what is hurting it, or why, met her ears. she went in, disturbed, yet with the half-triumphant thought: 'perhaps that's for me!'
-betty, very flushed, was rocking the cradle, and examining the baby's face with a perplexed frown. seeing gyp, she put her hand to her side, and gasped:
-"oh, be joyful! oh, my dear! i am glad. i can't do anything with baby since the morning. whenever she wakes up, she cries like that. and till to-day she's been a little model. hasn't she! there, there!"
-gyp took up the baby, whose black eyes fixed themselves on her mother in a momentary contentment; but, at the first movement, she began again her fretful plaint. betty went on:
-"she's been like that ever since this morning. mr. fiorsen's been in more than once, ma'am, and the fact is, baby don't like it. he stares at her so. but this morning i thought--well--i thought: 'you're her father. it's time she was getting used to you.' so i let them be a minute; and when i came back--i was only just across to the bathroom--he was comin' out lookin' quite fierce and white, and baby--oh, screamin'! and except for sleepin', she's hardly stopped cryin' since."
-pressing the baby to her breast, gyp sat very still, and queer thoughts went through her mind.
-"how has he been, betty?" she said.
-betty plaited her apron; her moon-face was troubled.
-the baby, who had been still enough since she lay in her mother's lap, suddenly raised her little voice again. gyp said:
-"betty, i believe something hurts her arm. she cries the moment she's touched there. is there a pin or anything? just see. take her things off. oh--look!"
-both the tiny arms above the elbow were circled with dark marks, as if they had been squeezed by ruthless fingers. the two women looked at each other in horror; and under her breath gyp said: "he!"
-she had flushed crimson; her eyes filled but dried again almost at once. and, looking at her face, now gone very pale, and those lips tightened to a line, betty stopped in her outburst of ejaculation. when they had wrapped the baby's arm in remedies and cotton-wool, gyp went into her bedroom, and, throwing herself down on her bed, burst into a passion of weeping, smothering it deep in her pillow.
-it was the crying of sheer rage. the brute! not to have control enough to stop short of digging his claws into that precious mite! just because the poor little thing cried at that cat's stare of his! the brute! the devil! and he would come to her and whine about it, and say: "my gyp, i never meant--how should i know i was hurting? her crying was so--why should she cry at me? i was upset! i wasn't thinking!" she could hear him pleading and sighing to her to forgive him. but she would not--not this time! he had hurt a helpless thing once too often. her fit of crying ceased, and she lay listening to the tick of the clock, and marshalling in her mind a hundred little evidences of his malevolence toward her baby--his own baby. how was it possible? was he really going mad? and a fit of such chilly shuddering seized her that she crept under the eider down to regain warmth. in her rage, she retained enough sense of proportion to understand that he had done this, just as he had insulted monsieur harmost and her father--and others--in an ungovernable access of nerve-irritation; just as, perhaps, one day he would kill someone. but to understand this did not lessen her feeling. her baby! such a tiny thing! she hated him at last; and she lay thinking out the coldest, the cruellest, the most cutting things to say. she had been too long-suffering.
-but he did not come in that evening; and, too upset to eat or do anything, she went up to bed at ten o'clock. when she had undressed, she stole across to the nursery; she had a longing to have the baby with her--a feeling that to leave her was not safe. she carried her off, still sleeping, and, locking her doors, got into bed. having warmed a nest with her body for the little creature, she laid it there; and then for a long time lay awake, expecting every minute to hear him return. she fell asleep at last, and woke with a start. there were vague noises down below or on the stairs. it must be he! she had left the light on in her room, and she leaned over to look at the baby's face. it was still sleeping, drawing its tiny breaths peacefully, little dog-shivers passing every now and then over its face. gyp, shaking back her dark plaits of hair, sat up by its side, straining her ears.
-yes; he was coming up, and, by the sounds, he was not sober. she heard a loud creak, and then a thud, as if he had clutched at the banisters and fallen; she heard muttering, too, and the noise of boots dropped. swiftly the thought went through her: 'if he were quite drunk, he would not have taken them off at all;--nor if he were quite sober. does he know i'm back?' then came another creak, as if he were raising himself by support of the banisters, and then--or was it fancy?--she could hear him creeping and breathing behind the door. then--no fancy this time--he fumbled at the door and turned the handle. in spite of his state, he must know that she was back, had noticed her travelling-coat or seen the telegram. the handle was tried again, then, after a pause, the handle of the door between his room and hers was fiercely shaken. she could hear his voice, too, as she knew it when he was flown with drink, thick, a little drawling.
-"gyp--let me in--gyp!"
-the blood burned up in her cheeks, and she thought: 'no, my friend; you're not coming in!'
-after that, sounds were more confused, as if he were now at one door, now at the other; then creakings, as if on the stairs again, and after that, no sound at all.
-for fully half an hour, gyp continued to sit up, straining her ears. where was he? what doing? on her over-excited nerves, all sorts of possibilities came crowding. he must have gone downstairs again. in that half-drunken state, where would his baffled frenzies lead him? and, suddenly, she thought that she smelled burning. it went, and came again; she got up, crept to the door, noiselessly turned the key, and, pulling it open a few inches, sniffed.
-all was dark on the landing. there was no smell of burning out there. suddenly, a hand clutched her ankle. all the blood rushed from her heart; she stifled a scream, and tried to pull the door to. but his arm and her leg were caught between, and she saw the black mass of his figure lying full-length on its face. like a vice, his hand held her; he drew himself up on to his knees, on to his feet, and forced his way through. panting, but in utter silence, gyp struggled to drive him out. his drunken strength seemed to come and go in gusts, but hers was continuous, greater than she had ever thought she had, and she panted:
-"go! go out of my room--you--you--wretch!"
-then her heart stood still with horror, for he had slued round to the bed and was stretching his hands out above the baby. she heard him mutter:
-"ah-h-h!--you--in my place--you!"
-it gave her a sort of evil pleasure that they would find him like that in the morning when she was gone. she went back to her baby and, with infinite precaution, lifted it, still sleeping, cushion and all, and stole past him up the stairs that, under her bare feet, made no sound. once more in her locked room, she went to the window and looked out. it was just before dawn; her garden was grey and ghostly, and she thought: 'the last time i shall see you. good-bye!'
-gyp was going up to town. she sat in the corner of a first-class carriage, alone. her father had gone up by an earlier train, for the annual june dinner of his old regiment, and she had stayed to consult the doctor concerning "little gyp," aged nearly nineteen months, to whom teeth were making life a burden.
-her eyes wandered from window to window, obeying the faint excitement within her. all the winter and spring, she had been at mildenham, very quiet, riding much, and pursuing her music as best she could, seeing hardly anyone except her father; and this departure for a spell of london brought her the feeling that comes on an april day, when the sky is blue, with snow-white clouds, when in the fields the lambs are leaping, and the grass is warm for the first time, so that one would like to roll in it. at widrington, a porter entered, carrying a kit-bag, an overcoat, and some golf-clubs; and round the door a little group, such as may be seen at any english wayside station, clustered, filling the air with their clean, slightly drawling voices. gyp noted a tall woman whose blonde hair was going grey, a young girl with a fox-terrier on a lead, a young man with a scotch terrier under his arm and his back to the carriage. the girl was kissing the scotch terrier's head.
-"good-bye, old ossy! was he nice! tumbo, keep down! you're not going!"
-"good-bye, dear boy! don't work too hard!"
-the young man's answer was not audible, but it was followed by irrepressible gurgles and a smothered:
-"oh, bryan, you are--good-bye, dear ossy!" "good-bye!" "good-bye!" the young man who had got in, made another unintelligible joke in a rather high-pitched voice, which was somehow familiar, and again the gurgles broke forth. then the train moved. gyp caught a side view of him, waving his hat from the carriage window. it was her acquaintance of the hunting-field--the "mr. bryn summer'ay," as old pettance called him, who had bought her horse last year. seeing him pull down his overcoat, to bank up the old scotch terrier against the jolting of the journey, she thought: 'i like men who think first of their dogs.' his round head, with curly hair, broad brow, and those clean-cut lips, gave her again the wonder: 'where have i seen someone like him?' he raised the window, and turned round.
-"how would you like--oh, how d'you do! we met out hunting. you don't remember me, i expect."
-"yes; perfectly. and you bought my horse last summer. how is he?"
-"in great form. i forgot to ask what you called him; i've named him hotspur--he'll never be steady at his fences. i remember how he pulled with you that day."
-they were silent, smiling, as people will in remembrance of a good run.
-then, looking at the dog, gyp said softly:
-"he looks rather a darling. how old?"
-"twelve. beastly when dogs get old!"
-there was another little silence while he contemplated her steadily with his clear eyes.
-"i came over to call once--with my mother; november the year before last. somebody was ill."
-gyp shook her head.
-"yes; but my little daughter and i live with my father again." what "came over" her--as they say--to be so frank, she could not have told.
-he said simply:
-"ah! i've often thought it queer i've never seen you since. what a run that was!"
-"perfect! was that your mother on the platform?"
-"yes--and my sister edith. extraordinary dead-alive place, widrington; i expect mildenham isn't much better?"
-"it's very quiet, but i like it."
-"by the way, i don't know your name now?"
-"oh, yes! the violinist. life's a bit of a gamble, isn't it?"
-gyp did not answer that odd remark, did not quite know what to make of this audacious young man, whose hazel eyes and lazy smile were queerly lovable, but whose face in repose had such a broad gravity. he took from his pocket a little red book.
-"do you know these? i always take them travelling. finest things ever written, aren't they?"
-the book--shakespeare's sonnets--was open at that which begins:
-"let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove--"
-gyp read on as far as the lines:
-"love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come. love alters not with his brief hours and weeks but bears it out even to the edge of doom--"
-and looked out of the window. the train was passing through a country of fields and dykes, where the sun, far down in the west, shone almost level over wide, whitish-green space, and the spotted cattle browsed or stood by the ditches, lazily flicking their tufted tails. a shaft of sunlight flowed into the carriage, filled with dust motes; and, handing the little book back through that streak of radiance, she said softly:
-"yes; that's wonderful. do you read much poetry?"
-"more law, i'm afraid. but it is about the finest thing in the world, isn't it?"
-"no; i think music."
-"are you a musician?"
-"only a little."
-"you look as if you might be."
-"what? a little?"
-"no; i should think you had it badly."
-"thank you. and you haven't it at all?"
-"i like opera."
-"the hybrid form--and the lowest!"
-"that's why it suits me. don't you like it, though?"
-"yes; that's why i'm going up to london."
-"really? are you a subscriber?"
-"so am i. jolly--i shall see you."
-gyp smiled. it was so long since she had talked to a man of her own age, so long since she had seen a face that roused her curiosity and admiration, so long since she had been admired. the sun-shaft, shifted by a westward trend of the train, bathed her from the knees up; and its warmth increased her light-hearted sense of being in luck--above her fate, instead of under it.
-astounding how much can be talked of in two or three hours of a railway journey! and what a friendly after-warmth clings round those hours! does the difficulty of making oneself heard provoke confidential utterance? or is it the isolation or the continual vibration that carries friendship faster and further than will a spasmodic acquaintanceship of weeks? but in that long talk he was far the more voluble. there was, too, much of which she could not speak. besides, she liked to listen. his slightly drawling voice fascinated her--his audacious, often witty way of putting things, and the irrepressible bubble of laughter that would keep breaking from him. he disclosed his past, such as it was, freely--public-school and college life, efforts at the bar, ambitions, tastes, even his scrapes. and in this spontaneous unfolding there was perpetual flattery; gyp felt through it all, as pretty women will, a sort of subtle admiration. presently he asked her if she played piquet.
-"yes; i play with my father nearly every evening."
-"shall we have a game, then?"
-she knew he only wanted to play because he could sit nearer, joined by the evening paper over their knees, hand her the cards after dealing, touch her hand by accident, look in her face. and this was not unpleasant; for she, in turn, liked looking at his face, which had what is called "charm"--that something light and unepiscopal, entirely lacking to so many solid, handsome, admirable faces.
-but even railway journeys come to an end; and when he gripped her hand to say good-bye, she gave his an involuntary little squeeze. standing at her cab window, with his hat raised, the old dog under his arm, and a look of frank, rather wistful, admiration on his face, he said:
-"i shall see you at the opera, then, and in the row perhaps; and i may come along to bury street, some time, mayn't i?"
-nodding to those friendly words, gyp drove off through the sultry london evening. her father was not back from the dinner, and she went straight to her room. after so long in the country, it seemed very close in bury street; she put on a wrapper and sat down to brush the train-smoke out of her hair.
-for months after leaving fiorsen, she had felt nothing but relief. only of late had she begun to see her new position, as it was--that of a woman married yet not married, whose awakened senses have never been gratified, whose spirit is still waiting for unfoldment in love, who, however disillusioned, is--even if in secret from herself--more and more surely seeking a real mate, with every hour that ripens her heart and beauty. to-night--gazing at her face, reflected, intent and mournful, in the mirror--she saw that position more clearly, in all its aridity, than she had ever seen it. what was the use of being pretty? no longer use to anyone! not yet twenty-six, and in a nunnery! with a shiver, but not of cold, she drew her wrapper close. this time last year she had at least been in the main current of life, not a mere derelict. and yet--better far be like this than go back to him whom memory painted always standing over her sleeping baby, with his arms stretched out and his fingers crooked like claws.
-after that early-morning escape, fiorsen had lurked after her for weeks, in town, at mildenham, followed them even to scotland, where winton had carried her off. but she had not weakened in her resolution a second time, and suddenly he had given up pursuit, and gone abroad. since then--nothing had come from him, save a few wild or maudlin letters, written evidently during drinking-bouts. even they had ceased, and for four months she had heard no word. he had "got over" her, it seemed, wherever he was--russia, sweden--who knew--who cared?
-she let the brush rest on her knee, thinking again of that walk with her baby through empty, silent streets, in the early misty morning last october, of waiting dead-tired outside here, on the pavement, ringing till they let her in. often, since, she had wondered how fear could have worked her up to that weird departure. she only knew that it had not been unnatural at the time. her father and aunt rosamund had wanted her to try for a divorce, and no doubt they had been right. but her instincts had refused, still refused to let everyone know her secrets and sufferings--still refused the hollow pretence involved, that she had loved him when she never had. no, it had been her fault for marrying him without love--
-"love is not love which alters when it alteration finds!"
-what irony--giving her that to read--if her fellow traveller had only known!
-but she could not sleep; she heard her father come in and go up to his room, heard the clocks strike midnight, and one, and two, and always the dull roar of piccadilly. she had nothing over her but a sheet, and still it was too hot. there was a scent in the room, as of honeysuckle. where could it come from? she got up at last, and went to the window. there, on the window-sill, behind the curtains, was a bowl of jessamine. her father must have brought it up for her--just like him to think of that!
-and, burying her nose in those white blossoms, she was visited by a memory of her first ball--that evening of such delight and disillusionment. perhaps bryan summerhay had been there--all that time ago! if he had been introduced to her then, if she had happened to dance with him instead of with that man who had kissed her arm, might she not have felt different toward all men? and if he had admired her--and had not everyone, that night--might she not have liked, perhaps more than liked, him in return? or would she have looked on him as on all her swains before she met fiorsen, so many moths fluttering round a candle, foolish to singe themselves, not to be taken seriously? perhaps she had been bound to have her lesson, to be humbled and brought low!
-taking a sprig of jessamine and holding it to her nose, she went up to that picture. in the dim light, she could just see the outline of the face and the eyes gazing at her. the scent of the blossom penetrated her nerves; in her heart, something faintly stirred, as a leaf turns over, as a wing flutters. and, blossom and all, she clasped her hands over her breast, where again her heart quivered with that faint, shy tremor.
-it was late, no--early, when she fell asleep and had a strange dream. she was riding her old mare through a field of flowers. she had on a black dress, and round her head a crown of bright, pointed crystals; she sat without saddle, her knee curled up, perched so lightly that she hardly felt the mare's back, and the reins she held were long twisted stems of honeysuckle. singing as she rode, her eyes flying here and there, over the field, up to the sky, she felt happier, lighter than thistledown. while they raced along, the old mare kept turning her head and biting at the honeysuckle flowers; and suddenly that chestnut face became the face of summerhay, looking back at her with his smile. she awoke. sunlight, through the curtains where she had opened them to find the flowers, was shining on her.
-it was nearly three, just coming dawn, when he went in, and, instead of going to bed, sat down to a case in which he was junior on the morrow, and worked right on till it was time to ride before his bath and breakfast. he had one of those constitutions, not uncommon among barristers--fostered perhaps by ozone in the courts of law--that can do this sort of thing and take no harm. indeed, he worked best in such long spurts of vigorous concentration. with real capacity and a liking for his work, this young man was certainly on his way to make a name; though, in the intervals of energy, no one gave a more complete impression of imperturbable drifting on the tides of the moment. altogether, he was rather a paradox. he chose to live in that little chelsea house which had a scrap of garden rather than in the temple or st. james's, because he often preferred solitude; and yet he was an excellent companion, with many friends, who felt for him the affectionate distrust inspired by those who are prone to fits and starts of work and play, conviviality and loneliness. to women, he was almost universally attractive. but if he had scorched his wings a little once or twice, he had kept heart-free on the whole. he was, it must be confessed, a bit of a gambler, the sort of gambler who gets in deep, and then, by a plucky, lucky plunge, gets out again, until some day perhaps--he stays there. his father, a diplomatist, had been dead fifteen years; his mother was well known in the semi-intellectual circles of society. he had no brothers, two sisters, and an income of his own. such was bryan summerhay at the age of twenty-six, his wisdom-teeth to cut, his depths unplumbed.
-when he started that morning for the temple, he had still a feeling of extraordinary lightness in his limbs, and he still saw that face--its perfect regularity, its warm pallor, and dark smiling eyes rather wide apart, its fine, small, close-set ears, and the sweep of the black-brown hair across the low brow. or was it something much less definite he saw--an emanation or expression, a trick, a turn, an indwelling grace, a something that appealed, that turned, and touched him? whatever it was, it would not let him be, and he did not desire that it should. for this was in his character; if he saw a horse that he liked, he put his money on whatever it ran; if charmed by an opera, he went over and over again; if by a poem, he almost learned it by heart. and while he walked along the river--his usual route--he had queer and unaccustomed sensations, now melting, now pugnacious. and he felt happy.
-he was rather late, and went at once into court. in wig and gown, that something "old georgian" about him was very visible. a beauty-spot or two, a full-skirted velvet coat, a sword and snuff-box, with that grey wig or its equivalent, and there would have been a perfect eighteenth-century specimen of the less bucolic stamp--the same strong, light build, breadth of face, brown pallor, clean and unpinched cut of lips, the same slight insolence and devil-may-caredom, the same clear glance, and bubble of vitality. it was almost a pity to have been born so late.
-except that once or twice he drew a face on blotting-paper and smeared it over, he remained normally attentive to his "lud" and the matters in hand all day, conducted without error the examination of two witnesses and with terror the cross-examination of one; lunched at the courts in perfect amity with the sucking barrister on the other side of the case, for they had neither, as yet, reached that maturity which enables an advocate to call his enemy his "friend," and treat him with considerable asperity. though among his acquaintances summerhay always provoked badinage, in which he was scarcely ever defeated, yet in chambers and court, on circuit, at his club, in society or the hunting-field, he had an unfavourable effect on the grosser sort of stories. there are men--by no means strikingly moral--who exercise this blighting influence. they are generally what the french call "spirituel," and often have rather desperate love-affairs which they keep very closely to themselves.
-when at last in chambers, he had washed off that special reek of clothes, and parchment, far-away herrings, and distemper, which clings about the law, dipping his whole curly head in water, and towelling vigorously, he set forth alone along the embankment, his hat tilted up, smoking a cigar. it was nearly seven. just this time yesterday he had got into the train, just this time yesterday turned and seen the face which had refused to leave him since. fever recurs at certain hours, just so did the desire to see her mount within him, becoming an obsession, because it was impossible to gratify it. one could not call at seven o'clock! the idea of his club, where at this time of day he usually went, seemed flat and stale, until he remembered that he might pass up bury street to get to it. but, near charing cross, a hand smote him on the shoulder, and the voice of one of his intimates said:
-odd, that he had never noticed before how vacuous this fellow was--with his talk of politics, and racing, of this ass and that ass--subjects hitherto of primary importance! and, stopping suddenly, he drawled out:
-"look here, old chap, you go on; see you at the club--presently."
-"why? what's up?"
-with his lazy smile, summerhay answered:
-"'there are more things in heaven and earth, horatio,'" and turned on his heel.
-when his friend had disappeared, he resumed his journey toward bury street. he passed his boot shop, where, for some time, he had been meaning to order two pairs, and went by thinking: 'i wonder where she goes for things.' her figure came to him so vividly--sitting back in that corner, or standing by the cab, her hand in his. the blood rushed up in his cheeks. she had been scented like flowers, and--and a rainy wind! he stood still before a plate-glass window, in confusion, and suddenly muttered aloud: "damn it! i believe i am!" an old gentleman, passing, turned so suddenly, to see what he was, that he ricked his neck.
-but summerhay still stood, not taking in at all the reflected image of his frowning, rueful face, and of the cigar extinct between his lips. then he shook his head vigorously and walked on. he walked faster, his mind blank, as it is sometimes for a short space after a piece of sell-revelation that has come too soon for adjustment or even quite for understanding. and when he began to think, it was irritably and at random. he had come to bury street, and, while he passed up it, felt a queer, weak sensation down the back of his legs. no flower-boxes this year broke the plain front of winton's house, and nothing whatever but its number and the quickened beating of his heart marked it out for summerhay from any other dwelling. the moment he turned into jermyn street, that beating of the heart subsided, and he felt suddenly morose. he entered his club at the top of st. james' street and passed at once into the least used room. this was the library; and going to the french section, he took down "the three musketeers" and seated himself in a window, with his back to anyone who might come in. he had taken this--his favourite romance, feeling in want of warmth and companionship; but he did not read. from where he sat he could throw a stone to where she was sitting perhaps; except for walls he could almost reach her with his voice, could certainly see her. this was imbecile! a woman he had only met twice. imbecile! he opened the book--
-"oh, no; it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. it is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth's unknown altho' its height be taken."
-"point of five! three queens--three knaves! do you know that thing of dowson's: 'i have been faithful to thee, cynara, in my fashion'? better than any verlaine, except 'les sanglots longs.' what have you got?"
-"only quart to the queen. do you like the name 'cynara'?"
-"yes; don't you?"
-"cynara! cynara! ye-es--an autumn, rose-petal, whirling, dead-leaf sound."
-"good! pipped. shut up, ossy--don't snore!"
-"ah, poor old dog! let him. shuffle for me, please. oh! there goes another card!" her knee was touching his--! . . .
-the book had dropped--summerhay started.
-it was two hours later when the same friend, seeking distraction, came on him, and stood grinning down at that curly head and face which just then had the sleepy abandonment of a small boy's. maliciously he gave the chair a little kick.
-summerhay stirred, and thought: 'what! where am i?'
-"sorry, old chap!"
-"what time is it?"
-summerhay uttered an unintelligible sound, and, turning over on the other arm, pretended to snooze down again. but he slept no more. instead, he saw her face, heard her voice, and felt again the touch of her warm, gloved hand.
-at the opera, that friday evening, they were playing "cavalleria" and "pagliacci"--works of which gyp tolerated the first and loved the second, while winton found them, with "faust" and "carmen," about the only operas he could not sleep through.
-"how d'you do, major winton? oh, how d'you do?"
-winton had been told of the meeting in the train. he was pining for a cigarette, but had not liked to desert his daughter. after a few remarks, he got up and said:
-"take my pew a minute, summerhay, i'm going to have a smoke."
-he went out, thinking, not for the first time by a thousand: 'poor child, she never sees a soul! twenty-five, pretty as paint, and clean out of the running. what the devil am i to do about her?'
-summerhay sat down. gyp had a queer feeling, then, as if the house and people vanished, and they two were back again in the railway-carriage--alone together. ten minutes to make the most of! to smile and talk, and enjoy the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice and laugh. to laugh, too, and be warm and nice to him. why not? they were friends. and, presently, she said, smiling:
-"oh, by the way, there's a picture in the national gallery, i want you to look at."
-"yes? which? will you take me?"
-"if you like."
-"to-morrow's saturday; may i meet you there? what time? three?"
-gyp nodded. she knew she was flushing, and, at that moment, with the warmth in her cheeks and the smile in her eyes, she had the sensation, so rare and pleasant, of feeling beautiful. then he was gone! her father was slipping back into his stall; and, afraid of her own face, she touched his arm, and murmured:
-"dad, do look at that head-dress in the next row but one; did you ever see anything so delicious!"
-and while winton was star-gazing, the orchestra struck up the overture to "pagliacci." watching that heart-breaking little plot unfold, gyp had something more than the old thrill, as if for the first time she understood it with other than her aesthetic sense. poor nedda! and poor canio! poor silvio! her breast heaved, and her eyes filled with tears. within those doubled figures of the tragi-comedy she seemed to see, to feel that passionate love--too swift, too strong, too violent, sweet and fearful within them.
-"thou hast my heart, and i am thine for ever --to-night and for ever i am thine! what is there left to me? what have i but a heart that is broken?"
-and the clear, heart-aching music mocking it all, down to those last words:
-la commedia e finita!
-while she was putting on her cloak, her eyes caught summerhay's. she tried to smile--could not, gave a shake of her head, slowly forced her gaze away from his, and turned to follow winton.
-at the national gallery, next day, she was not late by coquetry, but because she had changed her dress at the last minute, and because she was afraid of letting him think her eager. she saw him at once standing under the colonnade, looking by no means imperturbable, and marked the change in his face when he caught sight of her, with a little thrill. she led him straight up into the first italian room to contemplate his counterfeit. a top hat and modern collar did not improve the likeness, but it was there still.
-"well! do you like it?"
-"yes. what are you smiling at?"
-"i've had a photograph of that, ever since i was fifteen; so you see i've known you a long time."
-"great scott! am i like that? all right; i shall try and find you now."
-but gyp shook her head.
-"no. come and look at my very favourite picture 'the death of procris.' what is it makes one love it so? procris is out of drawing, and not beautiful; the faun's queer and ugly. what is it--can you tell?"
-summerhay looked not at the picture, but at her. in aesthetic sense, he was not her equal. she said softly:
-"the wonder in the faun's face, procris's closed eyes; the dog, and the swans, and the pity for what might have been!"
-"ah, for what might have been! did you enjoy 'pagliacci'?"
-"i think i felt it too much."
-"i thought you did. i watched you."
-"destruction by--love--seems such a terrible thing! now show me your favourites. i believe i can tell you what they are, though."
-"the 'admiral,' for one."
-"yes. what others?"
-"the two bellini's."
-"by jove, you are uncanny!"
-"you want decision, clarity, colour, and fine texture. is that right? here's another of my favourites."
-on a screen was a tiny "crucifixion" by da messina--the thinnest of high crosses, the thinnest of simple, humble, suffering christs, lonely, and actual in the clear, darkened landscape.
-"i think that touches one more than the big, idealized sort. one feels it was like that. oh! and look--the francesca's! aren't they lovely?"
-"yes; lovely!" but his eyes said: "and so are you."
-they spent two hours among those endless pictures, talking a little of art and of much besides, almost as alone as in the railway carriage. but, when she had refused to let him walk back with her, summerhay stood stock-still beneath the colonnade. the sun streamed in under; the pigeons preened their feathers; people passed behind him and down there in the square, black and tiny against the lions and the great column. he took in nothing of all that. what was it in her? she was like no one he had ever known--not one! different from girls and women in society as--simile failed. still more different from anything in the half-world he had met! not the new sort--college, suffrage! like no one! and he knew so little of her! not even whether she had ever really been in love. her husband--where was he; what was he to her? "the rare, the mute, the inexpressive she!" when she smiled; when her eyes--but her eyes were so quick, would drop before he could see right into them! how beautiful she had looked, gazing at that picture--her favourite, so softly, her lips just smiling! if he could kiss them, would he not go nearly mad? with a deep sigh, he moved down the wide, grey steps into the sunlight. and london, throbbing, overflowing with the season's life, seemed to him empty. to-morrow--yes, to-morrow he could call!
-after that sunday call, gyp sat in the window at bury street close to a bowl of heliotrope on the window-sill. she was thinking over a passage of their conversation.
-"mrs. fiorsen, tell me about yourself."
-"why? what do you want to know?"
-"i made a fearful mistake--against my father's wish. i haven't seen my husband for months; i shall never see him again if i can help it. is that enough?"
-"and you love him?"
-"it must be like having your head in chancery. can't you get it out?"
-"divorce-court! ugh! i couldn't!"
-"yes, i know--it's hellish!"
-was he, who gripped her hand so hard and said that, really the same nonchalant young man who had leaned out of the carriage window, gurgling with laughter? and what had made the difference? she buried her face in the heliotrope, whose perfume seemed the memory of his visit; then, going to the piano, began to play. she played debussy, mcdowell, ravel; the chords of modern music suited her feelings just then. and she was still playing when her father came in. during these last nine months of his daughter's society, he had regained a distinct measure of youthfulness, an extra twist in his little moustache, an extra touch of dandyism in his clothes, and the gloss of his short hair. gyp stopped playing at once, and shut the piano.
-"mr. summerhay's been here, dad. he was sorry to miss you."
-there was an appreciable pause before winton answered:
-"my dear, i doubt it."
-and there passed through gyp the thought that she could never again be friends with a man without giving that pause. then, conscious that her father was gazing at her, she turned and said:
-"well, was it nice in the park?"
-"thirty years ago they were all nobs and snobs; now god himself doesn't know what they are!"
-"but weren't the flowers nice?"
-"ah--and the trees, and the birds--but, by jove, the humans do their best to dress the balance!"
-"what a misanthrope you're getting!"
-"i'd like to run a stud for two-leggers; they want proper breeding. what sort of a fellow is young summerhay? not a bad face."
-she answered impassively:
-"yes; it's so alive."
-in spite of his self-control, she could always read her father's thoughts quicker than he could read hers, and knew that he was struggling between the wish that she should have a good time and the desire to convey some kind of warning. he said, with a sigh:
-"what does a young man's fancy turn to in summer, gyp?"
-women who have subtle instincts and some experience are able to impose their own restraint on those who, at the lifting of a hand, would become their lovers. from that afternoon on, gyp knew that a word from her would change everything; but she was far from speaking it. and yet, except at week-ends, when she went back to her baby at mildenham, she saw summerhay most days--in the row, at the opera, or at bury street. she had a habit of going to st. james's park in the late afternoon and sitting there by the water. was it by chance that he passed one day on his way home from chambers, and that, after this, they sat there together constantly? why make her father uneasy--when there was nothing to be uneasy about--by letting him come too often to bury street? it was so pleasant, too, out there, talking calmly of many things, while in front of them the small ragged children fished and put the fishes into clear glass bottles, to eat, or watch on rainy days, as is the custom of man with the minor works of god.
-so, in nature, when the seasons are about to change, the days pass, tranquil, waiting for the wind that brings in the new. and was it not natural to sit under the trees, by the flowers and the water, the pigeons and the ducks, that wonderful july? for all was peaceful in gyp's mind, except, now and then, when a sort of remorse possessed her, a sort of terror, and a sort of troubling sweetness.
-summerhay did not wear his heart on his sleeve, and when, on the closing-day of term, he left his chambers to walk to that last meeting, his face was much as usual under his grey top hat. but, in truth, he had come to a pretty pass. he had his own code of what was befitting to a gentleman. it was perhaps a trifle "old georgian," but it included doing nothing to distress a woman. all these weeks he had kept himself in hand; but to do so had cost him more than he liked to reflect on. the only witness of his struggles was his old scotch terrier, whose dreams he had disturbed night after night, tramping up and down the long back-to-front sitting-room of his little house. she knew--must know--what he was feeling. if she wanted his love, she had but to raise her finger; and she had not raised it. when he touched her, when her dress disengaged its perfume or his eyes traced the slow, soft movement of her breathing, his head would go round, and to keep calm and friendly had been torture.
-while he could see her almost every day, this control had been just possible; but now that he was about to lose her--for weeks--his heart felt sick within him. he had been hard put to it before the world. a man passionately in love craves solitude, in which to alternate between fierce exercise and that trance-like stillness when a lover simply aches or is busy conjuring her face up out of darkness or the sunlight. he had managed to do his work, had been grateful for having it to do; but to his friends he had not given attention enough to prevent them saying: "what's up with old bryan?" always rather elusive in his movements, he was now too elusive altogether for those who had been accustomed to lunch, dine, dance, and sport with him. and yet he shunned his own company--going wherever strange faces, life, anything distracted him a little, without demanding real attention. it must be confessed that he had come unwillingly to discovery of the depth of his passion, aware that it meant giving up too much. but there are women who inspire feeling so direct and simple that reason does not come into play; and he had never asked himself whether gyp was worth loving, whether she had this or that quality, such or such virtue. he wanted her exactly as she was; and did not weigh her in any sort of balance. it is possible for men to love passionately, yet know that their passion is but desire, possible for men to love for sheer spiritual worth, feeling that the loved one lacks this or that charm.
-summerhay's love had no such divided consciousness. about her past, too, he dismissed speculation. he remembered having heard in the hunting-field that she was winton's natural daughter; even then it had made him long to punch the head of that covertside scandal-monger. the more there might be against the desirability of loving her, the more he would love her; even her wretched marriage only affected him in so far as it affected her happiness. it did not matter--nothing mattered except to see her and be with her as much as she would let him. and now she was going to the sea for a month, and he himself--curse it!--was due in perthshire to shoot grouse. a month!
-he walked slowly along the river. dared he speak? at times, her face was like a child's when it expects some harsh or frightening word. one could not hurt her--impossible! but, at times, he had almost thought she would like him to speak. once or twice he had caught a slow soft glance--gone the moment he had sight of it.
-he was before his time, and, leaning on the river parapet, watched the tide run down. the sun shone on the water, brightening its yellowish swirl, and little black eddies--the same water that had flowed along under the willows past eynsham, past oxford, under the church at clifton, past moulsford, past sonning. and he thought: 'my god! to have her to myself one day on the river--one whole long day!' why had he been so pusillanimous all this time? he passed his hand over his face. broad faces do not easily grow thin, but his felt thin to him, and this gave him a kind of morbid satisfaction. if she knew how he was longing, how he suffered! he turned away, toward whitehall. two men he knew stopped to bandy a jest. one of them was just married. they, too, were off to scotland for the twelfth. pah! how stale and flat seemed that which till then had been the acme of the whole year to him! ah, but if he had been going to scotland with her! he drew his breath in with a sigh that nearly removed the home office.
-she was wearing a maize-coloured muslin to which the sunlight gave a sort of transparency, and sat, leaning back, her knees crossed, one hand resting on the knob of her furled sunshade, her face half hidden by her shady hat. summerhay clenched his teeth, and went straight up to her.
-"gyp! no, i won't call you anything else. this can't go on! you know it can't. you know i worship you! if you can't love me, i've got to break away. all day, all night, i think and dream of nothing but you. gyp, do you want me to go?"
-suppose she said: "yes, go!" she made a little movement, as if in protest, and without looking at him, answered very low:
-"of course i don't want you to go. how could i?"
-"then you do love me?"
-she turned her face away.
-"wait, please. wait a little longer. when we come back i'll tell you: i promise!"
-"a month. is that long? please! it's not easy for me." she smiled faintly, lifted her eyes to him just for a second. "please not any more now."
-that evening at his club, through the bluish smoke of cigarette after cigarette, he saw her face as she had lifted it for that one second; and now he was in heaven, now in hell.
-the verandahed bungalow on the south coast, built and inhabited by an artist friend of aunt rosamund's, had a garden of which the chief feature was one pine-tree which had strayed in advance of the wood behind. the little house stood in solitude, just above a low bank of cliff whence the beach sank in sandy ridges. the verandah and thick pine wood gave ample shade, and the beach all the sun and sea air needful to tan little gyp, a fat, tumbling soul, as her mother had been at the same age, incurably fond and fearless of dogs or any kind of beast, and speaking words already that required a glossary.
-at night, gyp, looking from her bedroom through the flat branches of the pine, would get a feeling of being the only creature in the world. the crinkled, silvery sea, that lonely pine-tree, the cold moon, the sky dark corn-flower blue, the hiss and sucking rustle of the surf over the beach pebbles, even the salt, chill air, seemed lonely. by day, too--in the hazy heat when the clouds merged, scarce drifting, into the blue, and the coarse sea-grass tufts hardly quivered, and sea-birds passed close above the water with chuckle and cry--it all often seemed part of a dream. she bathed, and grew as tanned as her little daughter, a regular gypsy, in her broad hat and linen frocks; and yet she hardly seemed to be living down here at all, for she was never free of the memory of that last meeting with summerhay. why had he spoken and put an end to their quiet friendship, and left her to such heart-searchings all by herself? but she did not want his words unsaid. only, how to know whether to recoil and fly, or to pass beyond the dread of letting herself go, of plunging deep into the unknown depths of love--of that passion, whose nature for the first time she had tremulously felt, watching "pagliacci"--and had ever since been feeling and trembling at! must it really be neck or nothing? did she care enough to break through all barriers, fling herself into midstream? when they could see each other every day, it was so easy to live for the next meeting--not think of what was coming after. but now, with all else cut away, there was only the future to think about--hers and his. but need she trouble about his? would he not just love her as long as he liked?
-then she thought of her father--still faithful to a memory--and felt ashamed. some men loved on--yes--even beyond death! but, sometimes, she would think: 'am i a candle-flame again? is he just going to burn himself? what real good can i be to him--i, without freedom, and with my baby, who will grow up?' yet all these thoughts were, in a way, unreal. the struggle was in herself, so deep that she could hardly understand it; as might be an effort to subdue the instinctive dread of a precipice. and she would feel a kind of resentment against all the happy life round her these summer days--the sea-birds, the sunlight, and the waves; the white sails far out; the calm sun-steeped pine-trees; her baby, tumbling and smiling and softly twittering; and betty and the other servants--all this life that seemed so simple and untortured.
-to the one post each day she looked forward terribly. and yet his letters, which began like hers: "my dear friend," might have been read by anyone--almost. she spent a long time over her answers. she was not sleeping well; and, lying awake, she could see his face very distinct before her closed eyes--its teasing, lazy smile, its sudden intent gravity. once she had a dream of him, rushing past her down into the sea. she called, but, without turning his head, he swam out further, further, till she lost sight of him, and woke up suddenly with a pain in her heart. "if you can't love me, i've got to break away!" his face, his flung-back head reminded her too sharply of those words. now that he was away from her, would he not feel that it was best to break, and forget her? up there, he would meet girls untouched by life--not like herself. he had everything before him; could he possibly go on wanting one who had nothing before her? some blue-eyed girl with auburn hair--that type so superior to her own--would sweep, perhaps had already swept him, away from her! what then? no worse than it used to be? ah, so much worse that she dared not think of it!
-then, for five days, no letter came. and, with each blank morning, the ache in her grew--a sharp, definite ache of longing and jealousy, utterly unlike the mere feeling of outraged pride when she had surprised fiorsen and daphne wing in the music-room--a hundred years ago, it seemed. when on the fifth day the postman left nothing but a bill for little gyp's shoes, and a note from aunt rosamund at harrogate, where she had gone with winton for the annual cure, gyp's heart sank to the depths. was this the end? and, with a blind, numb feeling, she wandered out into the wood, where the fall of the pine-needles, season after season, had made of the ground one soft, dark, dust-coloured bed, on which the sunlight traced the pattern of the pine boughs, and ants rummaged about their great heaped dwellings.
-gyp went along till she could see no outer world for the grey-brown tree-stems streaked with gum-resin; and, throwing herself down on her face, dug her elbows deep into the pine dust. tears, so rare with her, forced their way up, and trickled slowly to the hands whereon her chin rested. no good--crying! crying only made her ill; crying was no relief. she turned over on her back and lay motionless, the sunbeams warm on her cheeks. silent here, even at noon! the sough of the calm sea could not reach so far; the flies were few; no bird sang. the tall bare pine stems rose up all round like columns in a temple roofed with the dark boughs and sky. cloud-fleeces drifted slowly over the blue. there should be peace--but in her heart there was none!
-a dusky shape came padding through the trees a little way off, another--two donkeys loose from somewhere, who stood licking each other's necks and noses. those two humble beasts, so friendly, made her feel ashamed. why should she be sorry for herself, she who had everything in life she wanted--except love--the love she had thought she would never want? ah, but she wanted it now, wanted it at last with all her being!
-with a shudder, she sprang up; the ants had got to her, and she had to pick them off her neck and dress. she wandered back towards the beach. if he had truly found someone to fill his thoughts, and drive her out, all the better for him; she would never, by word or sign, show him that she missed, and wanted him--never! she would sooner die!
-she came out into the sunshine. the tide was low; and the wet foreshore gleamed with opal tints; there were wandering tracks on the sea, as of great serpents winding their way beneath the surface; and away to the west the archwayed, tawny rock that cut off the line of coast was like a dream-shape. all was dreamy. and, suddenly her heart began beating to suffocation and the colour flooded up in her cheeks. on the edge of the low cliff bank, by the side of the path, summerhay was sitting!
-he got up and came toward her. putting her hands up to her glowing face, she said:
-"yes; it's me. did you ever see such a gipsified object? i thought you were still in scotland. how's dear ossy?" then her self-possession failed, and she looked down.
-it seemed to gyp that her heart had given up beating; she said quietly: "let's sit down a minute"; and moved under the cliff bank where they could not be seen from the house. there, drawing the coarse grass blades through her fingers, she said, with a shiver:
-"i didn't try to make you, did i? i never tried."
-"who cares? no one could care who loves as i do. oh, gyp, can't you love me? i know i'm nothing much." how quaint and boyish! "but it's eleven weeks to-day since we met in the train. i don't think i've had one minute's let-up since."
-"have you tried?"
-"why should i, when i love you?"
-gyp sighed; relief, delight, pain--she did not know.
-"then what is to be done? look over there--that bit of blue in the grass is my baby daughter. there's her--and my father--and--"
-"i'm afraid--afraid of love, bryan!"
-at that first use of his name, summerhay turned pale and seized her hand.
-gyp said very low:
-that evening she sat with a book on her lap, not reading; and in her went on the strange revolution which comes in the souls of all women who are not half-men when first they love--the sinking of 'i' into 'thou,' the passionate, spiritual subjection, the intense, unconscious giving-up of will, in preparation for completer union.
-she slept without dreaming, awoke heavy and oppressed. too languid to bathe, she sat listless on the beach with little gyp all the morning. had she energy or spirit to meet him in the afternoon by the rock archway, as she had promised? for the first time since she was a small and naughty child, she avoided the eyes of betty. one could not be afraid of that stout, devoted soul, but one could feel that she knew too much. when the time came, after early tea, she started out; for if she did not go, he would come, and she did not want the servants to see him two days running.
-this last day of august was warm and still, and had a kind of beneficence--the corn all gathered in, the apples mellowing, robins singing already, a few slumberous, soft clouds, a pale blue sky, a smiling sea. she went inland, across the stream, and took a footpath back to the shore. no pines grew on that side, where the soil was richer--of a ruddy brown. the second crops of clover were already high; in them humblebees were hard at work; and, above, the white-throated swallows dipped and soared. gyp gathered a bunch of chicory flowers. she was close above the shore before she saw him standing in the rock archway, looking for her across the beach. after the hum of the bees and flies, it was very quiet here--only the faintest hiss of tiny waves. he had not yet heard her coming, and the thought flashed through her: 'if i take another step, it is for ever! she stood there scarcely breathing, the chicory flowers held before her lips. then she heard him sigh, and, moving quickly forward, said:
-"here i am."
-he turned round, seized her hand, and, without a word, they passed through the archway. they walked on the hard sand, side by side, till he said:
-"let's go up into the fields."
-"i'm sorry--so sorry! don't--don't look at me! go away a little, and i'll--i'll be all right."
-he obeyed without a word, and, passing through the gate, sat down on the edge of the cliff with his back to her, looking out over the sea.
-gripping the wood of the old grey gate till it hurt her hands, gyp gazed at the chicory flowers and poppies that had grown up again in the stubble field, at the butterflies chasing in the sunlight over the hedge toward the crinkly foam edging the quiet sea till they were but fluttering white specks in the blue.
-but when she had rubbed her cheeks and smoothed her face, she was no nearer to feeling that she could trust herself. what had happened in her was too violent, too sweet, too terrifying. and going up to him she said:
-"let me go home now by myself. please, let me go, dear. to-morrow!"
-"whatever you wish, gyp--always!"
-he pressed her hand against his cheek, then let it go, and, folding his arms tight, resumed his meaningless stare at the sea. gyp turned away. she crossed back to the other side of the stream, but did not go in for a long time, sitting in the pine wood till the evening gathered and the stars crept out in a sky of that mauve-blue which the psychic say is the soul-garment colour of the good.
-late that night, when she had finished brushing her hair, she opened her window and stepped out on to the verandah. how warm! how still! not a sound from the sleeping house--not a breath of wind! her face, framed in her hair, her hands, and all her body, felt as if on fire. the moon behind the pine-tree branches was filling every cranny of her brain with wakefulness. the soft shiver of the wellnigh surfless sea on a rising tide, rose, fell, rose, fell. the sand cliff shone like a bank of snow. and all was inhabited, as a moonlit night is wont to be, by a magical presence. a big moth went past her face, so close that she felt the flutter of its wings. a little night beast somewhere was scruttling in bushes or the sand. suddenly, across the wan grass the shadow of the pine-trunk moved. it moved--ever so little--moved! and, petrified--gyp stared. there, joined to the trunk, summerhay was standing, his face just visible against the stem, the moonlight on one cheek, a hand shading his eyes. he moved that hand, held it out in supplication. for long--how long--gyp did not stir, looking straight at that beseeching figure. then, with a feeling she had never known, she saw him coming. he came up to the verandah and stood looking up at her. she could see all the workings of his face--passion, reverence, above all amazement; and she heard his awed whisper:
-"is it you, gyp? really you? you look so young--so young!"
-from the moment of surrender, gyp passed straight into a state the more enchanted because she had never believed in it, had never thought that she could love as she now loved. days and nights went by in a sort of dream, and when summerhay was not with her, she was simply waiting with a smile on her lips for the next hour of meeting. just as she had never felt it possible to admit the world into the secrets of her married life, so, now she did not consider the world at all. only the thought of her father weighed on her conscience. he was back in town. and she felt that she must tell him. when summerhay heard this he only said: "all right, gyp, whatever you think best."
-and two days before her month at the bungalow was up, she went, leaving betty and little gyp to follow on the last day. winton, pale and somewhat languid, as men are when they have been cured, found her when he came in from the club. she had put on evening dress, and above the pallor of her shoulders, her sunwarmed face and throat had almost the colour of a nectarine. he had never seen her look like that, never seen her eyes so full of light. and he uttered a quiet grunt of satisfaction. it was as if a flower, which he had last seen in close and elegant shape, had bloomed in full perfection. she did not meet his gaze quite steadily and all that evening kept putting her confession off and off. it was not easy--far from easy. at last, when he was smoking his "go-to-bed" cigarette, she took a cushion and sank down on it beside his chair, leaning against his knee, where her face was hidden from him, as on that day after her first ball, when she had listened to his confession. and she began:
-winton drew his breath in sharply:
-"yes; i used to think i should never be in love, but you knew better."
-in disconsolate silence, he thought rapidly: 'what's to be done? what can i do? get her a divorce?'
-perhaps because of the ring in her voice, or the sheer seriousness of the position, he did not feel resentment as when he lost her to fiorsen. love! a passion such as had overtaken her mother and himself! and this young man? a decent fellow, a good rider--comprehensible! ah, if the course had only been clear! he put his hand on her shoulder and said:
-"well, gyp, we must go for the divorce, then, after all."
-she shook her head.
-"it's too late. let him divorce me, if he only will!"
-winton needed all his self-control at that moment. too late? already! sudden recollection that he had not the right to say a word alone kept him silent. gyp went on:
-"i love him, with every bit of me. i don't care what comes--whether it's open or secret. i don't care what anybody thinks."
-she had turned round now, and if winton had doubt of her feeling, he lost it. this was a gyp he had never seen! a glowing, soft, quick-breathing creature, with just that lithe watchful look of the mother cat or lioness whose whelps are threatened. there flashed through him a recollection of how, as a child, with face very tense, she would ride at fences that were too big. at last he said:
-"i'm sorry you didn't tell me sooner."
-"i couldn't. i didn't know. oh, dad, i'm always hurting you! forgive me!"
-she was pressing his hand to her cheek that felt burning hot. and he thought: "forgive! of course i forgive. that's not the point; the point is--"
-and a vision of his loved one talked about, besmirched, bandied from mouth to mouth, or else--for her what there had been for him, a hole-and-corner life, an underground existence of stealthy meetings kept dark, above all from her own little daughter. ah, not that! and yet--was not even that better than the other, which revolted to the soul his fastidious pride in her, roused in advance his fury against tongues that would wag, and eyes that would wink or be uplifted in righteousness? summerhay's world was more or less his world; scandal, which--like all parasitic growths--flourishes in enclosed spaces, would have every chance. and, at once, his brain began to search, steely and quick, for some way out; and the expression as when a fox broke covert, came on his face.
-"nobody knows, gyp?"
-that was something! with an irritation that rose from his very soul, he muttered:
-gyp got up and stood by the window a long time without answering. winton watched her face. at last she said:
-"i couldn't. we might stop seeing each other; it isn't that. it's what i should feel. i shouldn't respect myself after; i should feel so mean. oh, dad, don't you see? he really loved me in his way. and to pretend! to make out a case for myself, tell about daphne wing, about his drinking, and baby; pretend that i wanted him to love me, when i got to hate it and didn't care really whether he was faithful or not--and knowing all the while that i've been everything to someone else! i couldn't. i'd much rather let him know, and ask him to divorce me."
-"and suppose he won't?"
-"then my mind would be clear, anyway; and we would take what we could."
-"and little gyp?"
-staring before her as if trying to see into the future, she said slowly:
-"some day, she'll understand, as i do. or perhaps it will be all over before she knows. does happiness ever last?"
-and, going up to him, she bent over, kissed his forehead, and went out. the warmth from her lips, and the scent of her remained with winton like a sensation wafted from the past.
-was there then nothing to be done--nothing? men of his stamp do not, as a general thing, see very deep even into those who are nearest to them; but to-night he saw his daughter's nature more fully perhaps than ever before. no use to importune her to act against her instincts--not a bit of use! and yet--how to sit and watch it all--watch his own passion with its ecstasy and its heart-burnings re-enacted with her--perhaps for many years? and the old vulgar saying passed through his mind: "what's bred in the bone will come out in the meat." now she had given, she would give with both hands--beyond measure--beyond!--as he himself, as her mother had given! ah, well, she was better off than his own loved one had been. one must not go ahead of trouble, or cry over spilled milk!
-gyp had a wakeful night. the question she herself had raised, of telling fiorsen, kept her thoughts in turmoil. was he likely to divorce her if she did? his contempt for what he called 'these bourgeois morals,' his instability, the very unpleasantness, and offence to his vanity--all this would prevent him. no; he would not divorce her, she was sure, unless by drinks, the woman called martha said: “but what is the man like, harry? you have enthused quite enough about the girl. suppose you tell us about the man in the case.”
-harry gave a very good description of brian kent.
-“oh, damn!” suddenly cried martha, shaking her skirt vigorously. she had spilled some of the liquor from her glass.
-“well,” said martha, drinking the liquor remaining in her glass, “why the devil don't we find out who they are, if we are so curious?”
-“find out! how? we'll find out a lot! what would you do,--ask them their names and where they are from?” came from the company.
-“it is easy enough,” retorted martha. “there is that native girl that molly picked up the day we landed here to help her in the kitchen. she must belong in this neighborhood somewhere. i'll bet she can tell us something. what is her name?”
-“judy,--judy taylor. great idea! good! send her out here, jim,” responded the others.
-when the deformed mountain girl appeared before them, she looked from face to face with such a frightened and excited expression on her sallow, old-young features, and such a wild light in her black beady eyes, that they regarded her with silent interest.
-judy spoke first, and her shrill monotone emphasized her excited state of mind: “that there nigger said as how missus kent was a-wantin' ter see me. be ary one of youuns sure 'nough missus kent?”
-the group drew apart a little, and every face was turned from judy to the woman sitting on the top step of the veranda with her back against the post.
-judy went slowly toward the woman, her beady eyes fixed and staring as though at some ghostly vision. the woman rose to her feet as judy paused before her.
-“be you-all brian kent's woman?” demanded judy.
-the excited exclamation from the company and the manner of the woman suddenly aroused the mountain girl to a realization of what she had done in speaking brian kent's name. with an expression of frightened dismay, she turned to escape; but the group of intensely interested spectators drew closer. every one waited for martha to speak.
-“yes,” she said, slowly, watching the mountain girl; “i am mrs. brian kent. do you know my husband?”
-judy's black beady eyes shifted slyly from one face to another, and her twisted body moved uneasily.
-“no, ma'm; i ain't a-sayin' i knows him exactly. i done heard tell 'bout him nigh 'bout a year ago, when there was some men from the city come through here a-huntin' him. everybody 'lows as how he was drowned at elbow rock.”
-“who lives in that little log house over there, judy?” harry green asked suddenly, pointing.
-“there? oh, that there's auntie sue's place. i 'lowed everybody knowed that,” returned the girl.
-“who is auntie sue?” came the next question.
-one of the women answered, before judy could speak: “auntie sue is that old-maid school-teacher they told us about. don't you remember, harry?”
-“is auntie sue at home now, girl?” asked mrs. kent.
-judy's gaze was fixed on the ground as she replied: “i don't know, ma'm. i ain't got no truck with anybody on yon side the river.”
-“is there any one living with auntie sue?” asked some one; and in the same breath from another came the question, “who is mr. burns?”
-judy jerked her twisted shoulders and threw up her head with an impatient defiance, as she returned shrilly: “i'm a-tellin' youuns i don't know nothin' 'bout nobody. hit ain't no sort er use for youuns ter pester me. i don't know nothin' 'bout hit, an' i wouldn't tell youuns nothin' if i did.”
-and with this, the mountain girl escaped into the house.
-while her friends on the veranda were looking at each other in questioning silence, mrs. kent, without a word, turned and walked away into the woods.
-as she disappeared among the trees, one of the men said, in a low tone: “you better go after her, harry. she is on, all right, that it's brian kent. she never did believe that story about his death, you know. there is no knowing what she'll do when she gets to thinking it all over.”
-“it is a darned shame,” exclaimed one of the women, “to have our party spoiled like this!”
-there was a laugh at this, and some one said: “a little something wouldn't hurt any of us just now, i'm thinking. here, jim!”
-harry green found mrs. kent sitting on the riverbank some distance above the boat landing.
-she looked up at the sound of his approach, but did not speak. dropping down beside her, the man said: “i'm damned sorry about this, martha. i never dreamed i was starting anything, or i would have kept my mouth shut.”
-“it is brian, all right, harry,” she answered, slowly. “it is funny, but he has been on my mind all day. i never dreamed that it was this part of the country where he was supposed to have been drowned, or i wouldn't have come here.”
-“well, what does it matter, anyway?” returned the man. “i don't see that it can make any difference. we don't need to go down there where he is, and it is damned certain that they won't call on us.”
-looking out over the river, the woman spoke as if thinking aloud: “this is just the sort of place he would love, harry--the river and hills and woods. he never cared for the city--always wanted to get away into the country somewhere. tell me, what is she really like? does she look like--like--well,--like any of our crowd?”
-one by one, the man picked a number of pebbles from among the dead leaves and the short grass within reach of his hand, as he answered: “oh, i was just kidding when i raved about her to the bunch.” one by one, he flipped the bits of stone into the water. “she really doesn't amount to much. honestly, i hardly noticed her.”
-the woman continued speaking as though thinking her thoughts aloud: “brian was a good man, harry. that bank affair was really my fault. he never would have done such a thing if i hadn't devilled him all the time for more money, and made such a fuss about his wasting so much time in his everlasting writing. i'd hate to have him caught and sent to the 'pen' now.”
-“you're a good sport, martha,” he returned heartily. “i know just how you feel about it. and i can promise you that there is not one of our crowd that will ever whisper a thing. they are not that kind, and you know how they all like you. come, dear. don't bother your head about it any more. i don't like to see you like this. let us go up to the house, and show them how game you are,--shall we?”
-he put his arm about her, but the woman gently pushed him away. “don't do that, now, harry. let me think.”
-“that is just what you must not do,” he retorted, with a laugh. “thinking can't help matters. come, let us go get a drink. that is what you need.”
-she looked at him some time before she answered; then, with a quick movement, she sprang to her feet:
-“all right! you're on!” she cried, with a reckless laugh. “but you'll go some if you keep up with me to-night.”
-and so, that evening, while brian kent and betty jo from the porch of the little log house by the river watched the twinkling lights of the clubhouse windows, the party with mad merriment tried to help a woman to forget.
-but save for the unnatural brightness of her eyes and the heightened color in her face, drink seemed to have little effect on martha kent that night. when at a late hour the other members of the wild company, in various flushed and dishevelled stages of intoxication, finally retired to their rooms, martha, in her apartment, seated herself at the window to look away over the calm waters of the bend to a single light that showed against the dark mountainside. the woman did not know that the light she saw was in brian kent's room.
-long after betty jo had said good-night, brian walked the floor in uneasy wakefulness. the meeting with the man green and his too-evident thoughts as to the relations of the man and woman who were living together in the log house by the river filled brian with alarm; while the very presence of the man from the city awoke old apprehensions that in his months of undisturbed quiet in auntie sue's backwoods home had almost ceased to be. through auntie sue's teaching and influence; his work on his book; the growing companionship of betty jo and their love, brian had almost ceased to think of that absconding bank clerk who had so recklessly launched himself on a voyage to the unknown in the darkness of that dreadful night. but, now, it all came back to him with menacing strength.
-the man, green, would talk to his companions of his visit to the log house that afternoon. he would tell what he had discovered. curiosity would lead others of the clubhouse party to call. some one might remember the story of the bank clerk, who was supposed to have lost his life in that neighborhood, but whose body was never found. there might even be one in the party who knew the former clerk. through them the story would go back to the outside world. there would be investigations by those whose business it was never to forget a criminal who had escaped the law.
-brian felt his re-creation to be fully established; but what if his identity should be discovered before the restitution he would make should be also accomplished? and always, as he paced to and fro in his little room in the log house, there was, like a deep undercurrent in the flow of his troubled thought, his love for betty jo.
-it is little wonder that, to brian kent, that night, the voices of the river were filled with fearful doubt and sullen, dreadful threatenings.
-and what of the woman who watched the tiny spot of light that marked the window of the room where the re-created brian kent kept his lonely vigil? did she, too, hear the voices of the river? did she feel the presence of that stream which poured its dark flood so mysteriously through the night between herself and the man yonder?
-away back, somewhere in the past, the currents of their lives in the onward flow of the river had drawn together. for a period of time, their life-currents had mingled, and, with the stream, had swept onward as one. other influences--swirls and eddies and counter-currents of other lives--had touched and intermingled until the current that was the man and the current that was the woman had drawn apart. for months, they had not touched; and, now, they were drawing nearer to each other again. would they touch? would they again mingle and become one? what was this mysterious, unseen, unknown, but always-felt, power of the river that sets the ways of its countless currents as it sweeps ever onward in its unceasing flow?
-the door of her room opened. harry green entered as one assured of a welcome. the woman at the window turned her head, but did not move. going to her, the man, with an endearing word, offered a caress; but she put him aside. “please, harry,--please let me be alone to-night?”
-“why, martha, dear! what is wrong?” he protested, again attempting to draw her to him.
-resisting more vigorously, she answered: “everything is wrong! you are wrong! i am wrong! all life is wrong! can't you understand? please leave me.”
-the man drew back, and spoke roughly in a tone of disgust: “hell! i believe you love that bank clerk as much as you ever did!”
-“well, and suppose that were true, harry?” she answered, wearily. “suppose it were true,--that i did still love my husband? could that make any difference now? can anything ever make any difference now? you will tire of me before long, just as you have grown tired of the others who were before me. don't you suppose i know? you and our friends have taught me many things, harry. i know, now, that brian's dreams were right. that his dreams could never be realized, does not make them foolish nor wrong. his dreams that seemed so foolish--such impossible ideals--were more real, after all, than this life that we think so real. we are the dreamers,--we and our kind,--and our awakening is as sure to come as that river out there is sure of reaching the sea.”
-the man laughed harshly: “you are quite poetical, to-night. i believe i like you better, though, when you talk sense.”
-“i am sorry, harry,” she returned. “please don't be cross with me! go now,--please go!”
-and something forced the man to silence. slowly, he left the room. the woman locked the door. returning to the window, she fell on her knees, and stretched her hands imploringly toward the tiny spot of light that still shone against the dark shadow of the mountain-side.
-between the mighty walls of tree-clad hills that lifted their solemn crests into the midnight sky, the dark river poured the sombre strength of its innumerable currents,--terrible in its awful power; dreadful, in its mysterious and unseen forces; irresistible in its ceaseless, onward rush to the sea of its final and infinite purpose!
-and here and there on the restless, ever-moving surface of the shadowy, never-ending flood twinkled the reflection of a star.
-at the empire consolidated savings bank.
-the president of the empire consolidated savings bank looked up from the papers on his desk as his secretary entered from the adjoining room and stood before him.
-the secretary smiled as he spoke: “mr. ward, there is an old lady out here who insists that you will see her. the boys passed her on to me, because,--well, she is not the kind of woman that can be refused. she has no card, but her name is wakefield. she--”
-the dignified president of the empire consolidated savings bank electrified his secretary by springing from his chair like a schoolboy from his seat at the tap of the teacher's dismissing bell. “auntie sue! i should say she couldn't be refused! where is she?” and before the secretary could collect his startled thoughts to answer, homer t. ward was out of the room.
-when the smiling secretary, the stenographers, and other attending employees had witnessed a meeting between their dignified chief and the lovely old lady, which strengthened their conviction that the great financier was genuinely human, president ward and auntie sue disappeared into the private office.
-“george,” said mr. ward, as he closed the door of that sacred inner sanctuary of the empire consolidated savings bank, “remember i am not in to any one;--from the secretary of the treasury to the sheriff, i am not in.”
-“i understand, sir,” returned the still smiling george. and from that moment until homer t. ward should open the door, nothing short of a regiment could have interrupted the interview between auntie sue and her old pupil.
-placing the dear old lady tenderly in a deep, leather-upholstered chair, mr. ward stood before her as though trying to convince himself that she was real; while his teacher of those long-ago, boyhood days gazed smilingly up at him.
-“what in the name of all that is unexpected are you doing here, auntie sue?” he demanded; “and why is not betty jo with you? isn't the girl ever coming home? there is nothing the matter with her, is there? of course not, or you would have wired me.”
-it was not at all like the bank president to ask so many questions all at once.
-auntie sue looked around the private office curiously, then smilingly back to the face of the financier.
-“do you know, homer,” she said with her chuckling little laugh, “i--i--am almost afraid of you in here. everything is so grand and rich-looking; and there were so many men out there who tried to tell me you would not see me. i--i am glad i didn't know it would be like this, or i fear i never could have found the courage to come.”
-homer t. ward laughed, and then--rather full-waisted as he was--went down on one knee at the arm of her chair so as to bring his face level with her eyes.
-“look at me, auntie sue,” he said; “look straight through me, just as you used to do years and years ago, and tell me what you see.”
-and the dear old lady, with one thin soft hand on his heavy shoulder, answered, as she looked: “why, i see a rather naughty boy, whom i ought to spank for throwing spitballs at the old schoolroom ceiling,” she retorted. “and i am not a bit afraid to do it either. so sit right over there, sir, and listen to me.”
-they laughed together then; and if auntie sue wiped her eyes as the schoolboy obediently took his seat in the big chair at the banker's desk, homer t. ward's eyes were not without a suspicious moisture.
-“tell me about betty jo first,” the man insisted. “you know, auntie sue, the girl grows dearer to me every year.”
-“betty jo is that kind of a girl, homer,” auntie sue answered.
-“i suppose it is because she is all i have to love,” he said, “but, you know, ever since sister grace died and left the fatherless little kid to me, it seems like all my plans have centered around her; and now that she has finished her school; has travelled abroad, and gone through with that business-college course, i am beginning to feel like we should sort of settle down together. i am glad for her to be with you this summer, though, for the finishing touches; and when she comes home to stay, you are coming with her.”
-auntie sue shook her head, smiling: “now, homer, you know that is settled: i will never leave my little log house by the river until i have watched the last sunset. you know, my dear boy, that i would be miserable in the city.”
-it was an old point often argued by them, and the man dismissed it, now, with a brief: “we'll see about that when the time comes. but, why didn't you bring betty jo with you?”
-“because,” auntie sue answered, “i came away hurriedly, on a very important trip, for only a day, and it is necessary for her to stay and keep house while i am gone. the child must learn to cook, homer, even if she is to inherit all your money.”
-“i know,” answered the banker;--“the same as you make me work when i visit you. but your coming to me sounds rather serious, auntie sue. what is your trouble?”
-the dear old lady laughed, nervously; for, to tell the truth, she did not quite know how she was going to manage to present brian kent's case to homer t. ward without presenting more than she was at this time ready to reveal.
-“why, you see, homer,” she began, “it is not really my trouble as much as it is yours, and it is not yours as much as it is--”
-“betty jo's?” he asked quickly, when she hesitated.
-“no! no!” she cried. “the child doesn't even know why i am here. just try to forget her for a few minutes, homer.”
-“all right,” he said; “but you had me worried for a minute.”
-auntie sue might have answered that she was somewhat worried herself; but, instead, she plunged with desperate courage: “i came to see you about brian kent, homer.”
-it is not enough to say that the president of the empire consolidated savings bank was astonished. “brian kent?” he said at last. “why, auntie sue, i wrote you nearly a year ago that brian kent was dead.”
-“yes, i know; but he was not--that is, he is not. but the brian kent your detectives were hunting was--i mean--is.”
-homer t. ward looked at his old teacher as though he feared she had suddenly lost her mind.
-“it is like this, homer,” auntie sue explained: “a few days after your detective, mr. ross, called on me, this stranger appeared in the neighborhood. no one dreamed that he was brian kent, because, you see, he was not a bit like the description.”
-“full beard, i suppose?” commented the banker, grimly.
-“yes: and every other way,” continued auntie sue. “and he has been working so hard all winter; and everybody in the country respects and loves him so; and he is one of the best and truest men i ever knew; and he is planning and working to pay back every cent he took; and i cannot--i will not--let you send him to prison now.”
-the lovely old eyes were fixed on the banker's face with sweet anxiety.
-homer t. ward was puzzled. strange human problems are often presented to men in his position; but, certainly, this was the strangest;--his old teacher pleading for his absconding clerk who was supposed to be dead.
-at last he said, with gentle kindness: “but, why did you come to tell me about him, auntie sue? he is safe enough if no one knows who he is.”
-“that is it!” she cried. “some one found out about him, and is coming here to tell you, for the reward.”
-the banker whistled softly. “and you--you--grabbed a train, and beat 'em to it!” he exclaimed. “well, if that doesn't--”
-auntie sue clasped her thin hands to her breast, and her sweet voice trembled with anxious fear: “you won't send that poor boy to prison, now, will you, homer? it--it--would kill me if such a terrible thing were to happen now. won't you let him go free, so that he can do his work,--won't you, homer? i--i--” the strain of her anxiety was almost too much for the dear old gentlewoman's physical strength, and as her voice failed, the tears streamed down the soft cheeks unheeded.
-in an instant the bank president was again on his knees beside her chair.
-“don't, auntie sue: don't, dear! why, you know i would do anything in the world you asked, even if i wanted to send the fellow up; but i don't. i wouldn't touch him for the world. it is a thousand times better to let him go if he is proving himself an honest man. please, dear, don't feel so. why, i will be glad to let him off. i'll help him, auntie sue. i--i--am as glad as you are that we didn't get him. please don't feel so about it. there, there,--it is all right, now.”
-so he comforted and reassured her until she was able to smile through her tears. “i knew i could depend on you, homer.”
-a few minutes later, she said: “and what about that man who is coming to claim the reward, homer?”
-“never you mind him!” cried the banker; “i'll fix that. but, tell me, auntie sue, where is young kent now?”
-“he is working in the neighborhood,” she returned.
-he looked at her shrewdly. “you have seen a lot of him, have you?”
-“i have seen him occasionally,” she answered. homer t. ward nodded his head, as if well pleased with himself. “you don't need to tell me any more. i understand, now, exactly. it is very clear what has reformed brian kent; you have been up to your old tricks. it is a wonder you haven't taken him into your house to live with you,--to save him from associating with bad people.”
-he laughed, and when auntie sue only smiled, as though humoring him in his little joke, he added: “by the way, has betty jo seen this latest patient of yours? what does she think of his chances for complete recovery?”
-“yes,” auntie sue returned, calmly; “betty jo has seen him. but, really, homer, i have never asked her what she thought of him.”
-“do you know, auntie sue,” said the banker, reflectively, “i never did believe that brian kent was a criminal at heart.”
-“i know he is not,” she returned stoutly. “but, tell me, homer, how did it ever happen?”
-“well, you see,” he answered, “young kent had a wife who couldn't somehow seem to fit into his life. ross never went into the details with me, fully, because that, of course, had no real bearing on the fact that he stole the money from the bank. but it seems that the youngster was rather ambitious,--studied a lot outside of business hours and that sort of thing. i know he made his own way through business college before he came to us. the wife didn't receive the attention she thought she should have, i suppose. perhaps she was right at that. anyway, she wanted a good time;--wanted him to take her out more, instead of spending his spare time digging away at his books. and so it went the usual way,--she found other company. rather a gay set, i fancy; at least it led to her needing more money than he was earning, and so he helped out his salary, thinking to pay it back before he was caught, i suppose. then the crash came,--some other man, you know,--and brian skipped, which, of course, put us next to his stealing. i don't know what has become of the woman. the last ross knew of her she was living in st. louis, and running with a pretty wild bunch,--glad to get rid of brian, i expect. she couldn't have really cared so very much for him.
-“do you know, auntie sue, i have seen so many cases like this one. i have been glad, many times, that i never married. and then, again, sometimes, i have seen homes that have made me sorry i never took the chance. i am glad you saved the boy, auntie sue: i am mighty glad.”
-“you have made me very happy, homer,” auntie sue returned. “but are you sure you can fix it about that reward? the man who is coming to claim it will make trouble, won't he, if he is not paid, somehow?”
-“yes, i expect he would,” returned the president, thoughtfully. “and my directors might have something to say. and there are the burns people and the bankers' association and all. hum-m-m!”
-homer t. ward considered the matter a few moments, then he laughed. “i'll tell you what we will do, auntie sue; we will let brian kent pay the reward himself. that would be fair, wouldn't it?”
-auntie sue was sure that brian would agree that it was a fair enough arrangement; but she did not see how it was to be managed.
-then her old pupil explained that he would pay the reward-money to the man who was coming to claim it, and thus satisfy him, and that the bank would hold the amount as a part of the debt which brian was expected to pay.
-auntie sue never knew that president ward himself paid to the bank the full amount of the money stolen by brian kent in addition to the reward-money which he personally paid to jap taylor, in order to quiet him, and thus saved brian from the publicity that surely would have followed any other course.
-it should also be said here that judy's father never again appeared in the ozarks; at least, not in the elbow rock neighborhood. it might be that jap taylor was shrewd enough to know that his reputation would not permit him to show any considerable sum of money, where he was known, without starting an investigation; and for men of his type investigations are never to be desired.
-or it is not unlikely that the combination of money and the city proved the undoing of the moonshiner, and that he came to his legitimate and logical end among the dives and haunts of his kind, to which he would surely gravitate.
-in the elbow rock rapids.
-the day following that night of brian kent's uneasy wakefulness was a hard day for the man and the woman in the little log house by the river.
-for brian, the morning dawned with a sense of impending disaster. he left his room while the sky was still gray behind the eastern mountains, and the mist that veiled the brightness of the hills seemed to hide in its ghostly depths legions of shadowy spirits that from his past had assembled to haunt him. the sombre aisles and caverns of the dimly lighted forest were peopled with shadowy memories of that life which he had hoped would never again for him awake. and the river swept through its gray world to the crashing turmoil at elbow rock like a thing doomed to seek forever in its own irresistible might the destruction of its ever-living self.
-as one moving in a world of dreams, he went about his morning's work. “old prince” whinnied his usual greeting, but received no answer. “bess” met him at the barnyard gate, but he did not speak. the sun leaped above the mountain-tops, and the world was filled with the beauty of its golden glory. from tree and bush and swaying weed, from forest and pasture, and garden and willow-fringed river-bank, the birds voiced their happy greetings to the new day. but the man neither saw nor heard.
-when he went to the house with his full milk-pail, and betty jo met him at the kitchen-door with her cheery “good-morning!” he tried resolutely to free himself from the mood which possessed him, but only partially succeeded. several times, as the two faced each other across the breakfast table, brian saw the gray eyes filled with questioning anxiety, as though betty jo, also, felt the presence of some forbidding spectre at the meal.
-after several vain attempts to find something they could talk about, betty jo boldly acknowledged the situation by saying: “what in the world is the matter with us, this morning, mr. burns? i am possessed with the feeling that there is some one or something behind me. i want to look over my shoulder every minute.”
-at her words, brian involuntarily turned his head for a quick backward glance.
-“there!” cried betty jo, with a nervous laugh, not at all like her normal, well-poised self. “you feel it, too!”
-brian forced a laugh in return: “it is the weather, i guess.” he tried to speak with casual ease. “the atmosphere is full of electricity this morning. we'll have a thunder-storm before night, probably.”
-“and was it the electricity in the air that kept you tramping up and down your room last night until almost morning?” she demanded abruptly, with her characteristic opposition to any evasion of the question at issue.
-brian retorted with a smile: “and how do you know that i tramped up and down my room last night?”
-the color in betty jo's cheeks deepened as she answered, “i did not sleep very well either.”
-“but, i surely did not make noise enough for you to hear in your room?” persisted brian.
-“yes?” said brian kent, gently.
-“and when i heard you walking up and down, i wanted to call to you; but i thought i better not. it made me feel better, though, just to know that you were there; and so, pretty soon, i went back to my room again.”
-“and then?” said brian.
-“and then,” confessed betty jo, “whatever it was that was keeping me awake came back, and went on keeping me awake until i was simply forced to go to you for help again.”
-poor betty jo! she knew very well that she ought not to be saying those things to the man who, while he listened, could not hide the love that shone in his eyes.
-and brian kent, as he thought of this woman, whom he loved with all the strength of his best self, creeping to the door of his room for comfort in the lonely night, scarcely dared trust himself to speak. at last, when their silence was becoming unbearable, he said, gently: “you poor child! why didn't you call to me?”
-and betty jo, hearing in his voice that which told her how near he was to the surrender that would bring disaster to them both, was aroused to the defense. the gray eyes never wavered as she answered, bravely: “i was afraid of that, too.”
-and so betty jo confessed her love that answered so to his need; but, in her very confession, saved their love from themselves. if she had lowered her eyes--brian kent, in reverent acknowledgment, bowed his head before her. then, rising, he walked to the window, where he stood for some time looking out, but seeing nothing.
-“it was that horrid man coming yesterday that has so upset us,” said betty jo, at last. “we were getting on so beautifully, too. i wish he had gone somewhere else for his vegetables and eggs and things!”
-brian was able to smile at this as he turned to face her again, and they both knew that,--for that time, at least,--the danger-point was safely past.
-“i wish so, too,” he agreed; “but never mind; auntie sue will be home in a day or two, and then everything will be all right again.”
-but when he had taken his hat and was starting out for the day's work, betty jo asked, “what are you doing to-day?”
-“i was going to work on the fence around the clearing,” he answered. “why?”
-“i--i--wish you could find something to do nearer the house,” came the slow answer. “couldn't you work in the garden, perhaps?”
-“i should say i could!” he returned heartily.
-all that forenoon, as betty jo went about her household duties she felt the presence of the thing that filled her so with fear and dread. with vigorous determination she scolded herself for being so foolish, and argued with herself that it was all a nervous fancy born of her restless night. but, the next moment, she would start with a sudden fear and turn quickly as if to face some one whose presence she felt behind her. and brian, too, as he worked in the garden, caught himself often in the act of pausing to look about with nervous apprehension.
-during the noonday meal they made a determined effort to laugh at themselves, and by the time dinner was over had almost succeeded. but when brian, as he pushed back his chair, said, jestingly, “well, am i to work in the garden again this afternoon?” betty jo answered, emphatically, “indeed you are! i will not stay another minute in this house alone. goodness knows what i will do to-night!”
-the reassuring words died on brian kent's lips. his eyes, looking over betty jo's shoulders, were fixed and staring, and the look on his face sent a chill of horror to the girl's heart. she dared not move nor look around as he sat like a man turned to stone.
-a woman's laugh broke the dead silence.
-with a scream, betty jo sprung to her feet and whirled about.
-as one in a trance, brian kent arose and stood beside her.
-the woman, who stood in the open doorway, laughed again.
-martha kent's heavy drinking the night before, when her clubhouse friends in a wild debauch had tried to help her to forget, was the climax of many months of like excesses. the mood in which she had sent the man green from her room was the last despairing flicker of her better instincts. moved by her memories of better things,--of a better love and dreams and ideals,--she had spent a little hour or two in sentimental regret for that which she had so recklessly cast aside. and then, because there was within her no foundation of abiding principle for her sentiment, she had again put on the character which had so separated her from the life of the man to whom she was married, indeed, but with whom she was never one. with the burning consciousness of what she might have been and of what she was ever tormenting her, she sank, as the hours passed, deeper and deeper into the quicksands of physical indulgence until, in her mad determination to destroy utterly her ability to feel remorse, she lost all mental control of herself, and responded to every insane whim of her drink-disordered brain.
-as she stood there, now, in the doorway of that little log house by the river,--face to face with the man and the woman who, though they were united in their love, were yet separated by the very fact of her existence,--she was, in all her hideous, but pitiful, repulsiveness, the legitimate creation of those life-forces which she so fitly personified.
-betty jo instinctively drew closer to brian's side.
-“hello, brian, dear!” said the woman, with a drunken leer. “thought i'd call to see you in your charming love-nest that harry green raved so about. can't you introduce me to your little sweetheart?”
-“no?” she continued, and laughed again. then coming an unsteady step toward them, she added, thickly: “very well, brian, old sport; you won't introduce me,--i'll have to introduce myself.” she grinned with malicious triumph at betty jo: “don't be frightened, my dear. it's all right. i'm nobody of importance,--just his wife,--that's all,--just his wife.”
-betty jo, with a little cry, turned to the man who stood as if stricken dumb with horror. “brian?” she said. “oh, brian?”
-it was the first time she had ever addressed him by his given name, and brian kent, as he looked, saw in those gray eyes no hint of doubt or censure, but only the truest love and sympathy. betty jo had not failed in the moment of her supreme testing.
-“it's true, all right, isn't it, brian?” said martha kent. “i'm his wife fast enough, my dear. but you don't need to worry,--you two. i'm a good sport,--i am. i've had my fun. no kick coming from me. just called to pay my respects,--that's all. so-long, brian, old sport! good-bye, my dear!”
-with an uncertain wave of her hand, she staggered through the doorway and passed from their sight.
-in the little log house by the river the two who had kept the fineness of their love stood face to face.
-for betty jo, the barrier which brian kent had maintained between them to protect her from his love was no longer a thing unknown. but the revelation, coming as it did, had brought no shadow of distrust or doubt of the man to whom she had so fully entrusted herself. it had, indeed, only strengthened her faith in him and deepened her love.
-for one glorious triumphal moment the very soul of the man exulted in the truth which betty jo made known to him. then he turned slowly away, for he dared not trust himself to look at her a moment longer.
-with bowed head he paced up and down the room. he went to the table which held auntie sue's sewing-basket, and fingered the trifles there. then, slowly, he passed through the open door to the porch, where betty jo, through the window, near which she stood, saw him look away over the river and the mountains.
-suddenly, she saw him start, and stare intently at some nearer object that had caught his attention. as betty jo watched, he moved to the edge of the porch, and, stooping, grasped the railing with his hands;--his head and shoulders were thrust forward; his lips were parted; his whole attitude was that of the most intense and excited interest. then, straightening up, he threw back his head, and laughed aloud. but his laughter alarmed the girl, who ran to the door, crying, “what is it, brian?”
-“look!” he shouted, madly, and pointed toward the river. “look, betty jo!”
-martha kent, alone in one of the clubhouse boats, was rowing with drunken clumsiness toward the head of the elbow rock rapids.
-the woman's friends had missed her, and, guessing, from some remark she had made, where she had gone, had sent four men of the party after her; for they realized that she was in no condition to be alone in a boat on the river, particularly on that part of the stream near auntie sue's place. after leaving brian and betty jo, she had gone back to her boat in the eddy at the foot of the garden, and was pulling out into the stream when she saw her friends approaching. with a drunken laugh, she waved her hand, and began rowing from them directly toward the swift water. the men shouted for her to stop, and pulled with all their strength. but the woman, taking their calls as a challenge, rowed the harder, while every awkward pull of the oars carried her nearer the deadly grip of the current.
-betty jo, as she reached brian's side, and saw what was happening on the river, grasped the man's arm appealingly, with a cry: “brian! brian! she is going into the rapids! she will be carried down to elbow rock!”
-but brian kent, for the moment, was beside himself. all that he had suffered,--all that the woman out there on the river had cost him in anguish of soul,--all that she had taken from him of happiness,--came before him with blinding vividness; and now,--now,--in her drunkenness, she was making her own way to her own destruction.
-“of course she is!” he shouted, in answer to betty jo. “her friends yonder are driving her to it! could anything be more fitting?”
-as though grasped by powerful unseen hands beneath the surface, the boat shot forward. the woman, feeling the sudden pull of the current, stopped rowing, and looked about as if wondering what had happened. her friends, not daring to follow closer to the dangerous water, were pulling madly for the landing at the foot of the garden. the boat in the middle of the river moved faster.
-“look, betty jo, look!” shouted the man on the porch, madly. “it's got her now--the river has got her--look!”
-with a scream of fear, the woman in the boat dropped her oars, and grasped the gunwale of the little craft.
-brian kent laughed.
-betty jo shrank back from him, her eyes, big with horror, fixed upon his face. then, with a quick movement, she sprang toward him again, and, catching his arm, shook him with all her strength and struck him again and again with her fist.
-“brian! brian!” she cried. “you are insane!”
-the man looked down at her for an instant with an expression of bewildered astonishment on his face, as one awakened from a dream. he raised his hand and drew it across his forehead and eyes.
-the boat with the helpless woman was already past the front of the house.
-betty jo cried again as if calling the man she loved from a distance: “brian! brian!”
-with a sudden movement, the man jerked away from her. the next instant, he had leaped over the railing of the porch to the ground below and was running with all his might toward the river, at an angle which would put him opposite or a little below the boat when he reached the bank.
-with a sob, betty jo followed as fast as she could.
-the warring forces of the stream whirled the little craft about, and she saw the man who was nearing the bank. she rose to her feet in the rocking boat, and stretched out her arms,--calling his name, “brian! brian! brian!” then the impact of the boat against a larger wave of the rapids brought her to her knees, and she clung to the thwarts with piteous cries.
-betty jo and the clubhouse men, who had overtaken her, saw brian as he reached the river opposite the boat. for a little way he raced the tumbling waters until he had gained a short distance ahead of the skiff; then they saw him, without an instant's pause, leap from the high bank far out into the boiling stream.
-running along the bank, the helpless watchers saw the man fighting his way toward the boat. one moment, he disappeared from sight, dragged beneath the surface by the powerful currents with which he wrestled. the next instant, the boiling waters would toss him high on the crest of a rolling wave, only to drag him down again a second later. but, always, he drew nearer and nearer the object of his struggle, while the rapids swept both the helpless woman and the tossing boat and the swimming man onward toward the towering cliff, and the thunder-roar of the mad waters below grew louder and louder.
-the splendid strength of arms and shoulders which brian kent had acquired by his months of work with his ax on the timbered mountain-side sustained him now in his need. with tremendous energy, he breasted the might of the furious river. to the watchers it seemed at times that it was beyond the power of human muscles to endure the terrific strain. then he gained the boat, and they saw him striving with desperate energy to drag it toward the opposite shore and so into the currents that would carry it past the menacing point of the cliff and perhaps to the safety of the quiet water below.
-all that human strength could do in that terrible situation, brian kent did. but the task was beyond the power of mortal man.
-for an instant the breathless watchers on the bank thought there was a chance; but the waters with mad fury dragged their victims back, and, with terrific power, hurled them forward toward the frowning rocks.
-it was quickly over.
-in that wild turmoil of the boiling, leaping, seething, lashing, hammering waves, the boat, with the woman who crouched on her knees on the bottom, and the man who clung to the side of the craft, appeared for a second lifted high in the air. the next instant, the crash of breaking wood sounded above the thundering roaring of the waters. the man and the woman disappeared. the wreck of the boat was flung again and again against the cliff, until, battered and broken, it was swept away around the point.
-against the dark wall of rock brian kent's head and shoulders appeared for an instant, and they saw that he held the woman in his arms. the furious waters closed over them. for the fraction of a second, the man's hand and arm appeared again above the surface, and was gone.
-betty jo sank to the ground with a low cry of anguish, and hid her face.
-another moment, and she was aroused by a loud shout from one of the men who had caught a glimpse of the river's victims farther out at the point of the rocky cliff.
-springing to her feet, betty jo started madly up the trail that leads over the bluff. the men followed.
-immediately below elbow rock there is a deep hole formed by the waters that pour around the point of the cliff, and below this hole a wide gravelly bar pushing out from the elbow rock side of the stream forces the main volume of the river to the opposite bank. in the shallow water against the upper side of the bar they found them.
-with the last flicker of his consciousness, brian kent had felt his feet touch the bottom where the water shoals against the bar, and, with his last remaining strength, had dragged himself and the body of the woman into the shallows.
-betty jo was no hysterical weakling to spend the priceless seconds of such a time in senseless ravings. the first-aid training which she had received at school gave her the necessary knowledge which her native strength of character and practical common sense enabled her to apply. under her direction, the men from the clubhouse worked as they probably never had worked before in all their useless lives.
-but the man and the woman whose life-currents had touched and mingled,--drawn apart to flow apparently far from each other, but drawn together again to once more touch, and, as one, to endure the testing of the rapids,--the man and the woman had not brought to the terrible ordeal the same strength.
-one was drawn into the elbow rock rapids by the careless indifference and the reckless spirit that was born of the life she had chosen; by her immediate associates and environment; and by the circumstances that were, at the last analysis, of her own making.
-the other braved the same dangers, strong in the splendid spirit that had set him against such terrible odds to attempt the woman's rescue. from his work on the timbered mountain-side, from his life in the clean atmosphere of the hills, and from the spiritual and mental companionship of that little log house by the river, he had brought to his testing the splendid strength which enabled him to endure.
-somewhere in that terrible conflict with the wild waters at elbow rock, while the man whose life she had so nearly ruined by her wantonness was fighting to save her, the soul of martha kent went from the bruised and battered body which brian drew at last from the vicious grasp of the currents.
-but the man lived.
-in the early evening twilight of the day following the tragedy at elbow rock, betty jo was sitting on the porch, to rest for a few minutes in the fresh air, after long hours of watching beside brian's bed.
-a neighbor woman had come to help, but betty jo would not leave the side of the man she loved as he fought his way slowly out of the dark shadow of the death that had so nearly conquered him. nor, indeed, would brian let her go, for even in those moments when he appeared most unconscious of the life about him, he seemed to feel her presence. all through the long, long hours of that anxious night and day she had watched and waited the final issue;--feeling the dark messenger very close at times, but gaining hope as the hours passed and her lover won his way nearer and nearer to the light;--courageous always;--giving him the best of her strength, so far as it was possible to give him anything;--making him feel the steady, enduring fullness of her love.
-at last, they felt that the victory was won. the doctor, satisfied that the crisis was safely past, went his way to visit other patients. by evening, brian was resting so easily that the girl had stolen away for a few minutes, leaving the neighbor to call her if he should waken.
-betty jo had been on the porch but a short time when a step sounded on the gravel walk that led from the porch steps around the corner of the house. a moment more, and judy appeared.
-the mountain girl stopped when she saw betty jo, and the latter went to the top of the steps.
-“good-evening, judy!” said betty jo, quietly. “won't you come in?”
-slowly, with her black beady eyes fixed on betty jo's face, judy went up the steps.
-as the mountain girl reached the level of the porch-floor, betty jo drew a little back toward the door.
-judy stopped instantly, and stood still. then, in a low tone, she said: “you-all ain't got no call ter be afeared, miss betty jo. you hain't never goin' ter have no call ter be scared of me again, never.”
-“i am so glad for you to say that, judy,” returned betty jo, smiling. “i don't want to be afraid of you, and i am not really; but--”
-“ain't you-all plumb a-hatin' me for what i done?” asked judy, wonderingly.
-“no, no; judy, dear, i don't hate you at all, and you must know that auntie sue loves you.”
-“yes,” judy nodded her head, thoughtfully. “auntie sue just naturally loves everybody. hit wouldn't be no more'n nature, though, for you-all ter hate me. i sure have been poison-mean.”
-“but that is all past now, judy,” said betty jo, heartily. “come and sit down?” she started toward the chairs.
-but the mountain girl did not move, except to shake her head in refusal of the hospitable invitation.
-“i ain't a-goin' ter put my foot inside this house, nor set with you-all, nor nothin' 'til i've said what i done come ter say.”
-betty jo turned back to her again: “what is it, judy?”
-“auntie sue done told me not ter let you-all er mr. burns see me 'til she come back. but i can't help hit, an' if i don't talk 'bout that none, i reckon she ain't a-goin' ter mind so much. you-all don't know that i seed auntie sue that night 'fore she went away, an' that hit was me took her ter the station with 'old prince,' an' brung him back, did you?”
-“no,” said betty jo, “i did not know; and if auntie sue told you not to tell us about it, i would rather you did not, judy.”
-“i ain't aimin' ter,” judy returned; “but auntie sue don't know nothin' 'bout what's happened since she went away, an' hit's that what's a-makin' me come ter you-all.”
-betty jo, seeing that the poor girl was laboring under some intense emotional stress, said, gently: “what is it that you wish to tell me, judy? i am sure auntie sue will not mind, if you feel so about it.”
-the mountain girl's eyes filled and the tears streamed down her sallow cheeks, while her twisted shoulders shook with the grief she could not suppress, as she faltered: “my god-a'mighty! miss betty jo, i--i--didn't aim ter do hit! i sure didn't! 'fore god, i'd er let 'em kill me first, if i'd only had time ter think. but hit--hit--was me what told that there woman how mr. burns was brian kent. hit's--hit's--me what's ter blame for gittin' her killed in the river an' him so nigh drowned. o god! o god! if he'll only git well!
-“an' i ain't a-feelin' toward you-all like i did, miss betty jo. i can't no more. i done left them clubhouse folks, after i knowed what has happened, an' all day i been hangin' 'round here in the bresh. an' lucy warden she done told me, this afternoon, 'bout how you-all was takin' care of mr. burns, an' how you just naturally wouldn't let him die. an'--an'--i kin see, now, what hit is that makes auntie sue and him an' you-all so different from that there clubhouse gang an' pap an' me. an' i ain't a-wantin' ter be like i been, no more, ever. i'd a heap rather jump inter the river an' drown myself. 'fore god, i would! an' i want ter come back an' help you-all take care of him; an' live with auntie sue; an'--an'--be a little might like youuns, if i kin. will you let me, miss betty jo? will you? i most know auntie sue would, if she was here.”
-before the mountain girl had finished speaking, betty jo's arm was around the poor twisted shoulders, and betty jo's eyes were answering judy's pleading.
-and so, when auntie sue came home, it was judy who met her at the station, with “old prince” and the buggy; and as they drove down the winding road to the little log house by the river, the mountain girl told the old gentlewoman all that had happened in her absence.
-brian kent recovered quickly from the effects of his experience in the elbow rock rapids, and was soon able again to take up his work on the little farm. every day he labored in the garden, or in the clearing, or at some task which did not rightly fall to those who rented the major part of auntie sue's tillable acreage.
-auntie sue had told him about her visit to the president of the empire consolidated savings bank, and of the arrangement made by the banker--as she understood it--for brian's protection. but while the dear old lady explained that homer t. ward was one of her pupils, she did not reveal the relation between brian's former chief and betty jo. neither auntie sue nor betty jo, for several very good reasons, was ready for brian to know the whole truth about his stenographer. it was quite enough, they reasoned, for him to love his stenographer, and for his stenographer to love him, without raising any more obstacles in the pathway of their happiness.
-as the busy weeks passed, several letters came from the publishers of brian's book,--letters which made the three in the little log house by the river very happy. already, in the first reception of this new writer's work, those who had undertaken to present it to the public saw many promises of the fulfillment of their prophecies as to its success. when the third letter came, a statement of the sales to date was enclosed, and, that afternoon, betty jo went to brian where he was at work in the clearing.
-when they were comfortably, not to say cozily, seated on a log in the shade at the edge of the forest, she announced that she had come for a very serious talk.
-“yes?” he returned; but he really looked altogether too happy to be exceedingly serious.
-“yes,” she continued, “i have. as your accredited business agent and--” she favored him with a betty jo smile--“shall i say manager?”
-“why not managing owner?” he retorted.
-“i am glad you confirm my promotion so readily,” she returned, with a charming touch of color in her cheeks, “because that, you see, helps me to present what i have to say for the good of the firm.”
-“i am listening, betty jo.”
-“very well; tell me, first, brian, just exactly how much do you owe that bank, reward-money and all, and auntie sue, interest and everything?”
-brian went to his coat, which lay on a near-by stump, and returned with a small pocket account-book.
-“i have it all here,” he said, as he seated himself close beside her again. and, opening the book, he showed her how he had kept a careful record of the various sums he had taken from the bank, with the dates.
-“oh, brian, brian!” she said with a little cry of delight, “i am so glad,--so glad you have this! it is exactly what i want for my wedding present. it was so thoughtful of you to fix it for me.”
-thus by a characteristic, betty jo turn she made the little book of painful memories a book of joyous promise.
-when they again returned to the consideration of business matters, brian gave her the figures which answered her questions as to his total indebtedness.
-again betty jo exclaimed with delight: “brian, do you see? take your pencil and figure quick your royalties on the number of books sold as given in the publishers' statement.”
-brian laughed. “i have figured it.”
-“and your book has already earned more than enough to pay everything,” said betty jo. “isn't that simply grand, brian?”
-“it is pretty 'grand,' all right,” he agreed. “the only trouble is, i must wait so long before the money is due me from the publishers.”
-“that is exactly what i came to talk about,” she returned quickly. “i tried to have it different when i made the arrangements with them, but the terms of payment in the contract are the very best i could get; and so i have planned a little plan whereby you--that is, we--won't need to wait for your freedom until the date of settlement with the publishers.”
-“you have a plan which will do that?” brian questioned, doubtfully.
-she nodded vigorously, with another betty jo smile. “this is the plan, and you are not to interrupt until i have finished everything: i happen to have some money of my very, very own, which is doing nothing but earning interest--”
-at the look on brian's face, she stopped suddenly; but, when he started to speak, she put her hand quickly over his mouth, saying: “you were not to say a single word until i have finished. play fair, brian, dear; please!”
-when he signified that he would not speak, she continued in her most matter-of-fact and businesslike tone: “there is every reason in the world, brian, why you should pay off your debt to the bank and to auntie sue at the earliest possible moment. you can think of several reasons yourself. there is me, for instance.
-“very well. you have the money to your credit with the publishers; but you can't use it yet. i have money that you can just as well use. you will make an assignment of your royalties to me, all in proper form, to cover the amount you need. you will pay me the same interest my money is now earning where it is.
-“i will arrange for the money to be sent to you in the form of a cashier's cheque, payable to the banker, homer t. ward, so the name brian kent does not appear before we are ready, you see. you will make believe to auntie sue that the money is from the publishers. you will send the cheque to mr. bank president personally, with a statement of your indebtedness to him properly itemized, interest figured on everything. you will instruct him to open an account for you with the balance. and then--then, brian, you will give dear auntie sue a cheque for what you owe her, with interest of course. and we will all be so happy! and--and--don't you think i am a very good managing owner? you do, don't you?”
-when he hesitated, she added: “and the final and biggest reason of all is, that i want you to do as i have planned more than i ever wanted anything in the world, except you, and i want this so because i want you. you can't really refuse, now, can you?”
-how, indeed, could he refuse?
-so they worked it out together as betty jo had planned; and when the time came for the last and best part of the plan, and brian confessed to auntie sue how he had robbed her, and had known for so long that she was aware of his crime against her, and finished his confession by giving her the cheque, it is safe to say that there was nowhere in all the world more happiness than in the little log house by the river.
-“god-a'mighty sure helped me to do one good turn, anyway, when i jumped inter the river after that there book when mr. burns done throw'd hit away,” commented the delighted judy.
-and while they laughed together, betty jo hugged the deformed mountain girl, and answered: “god almighty was sure good to us all that day, judy, dear!”
-it was only a day later when auntie sue received a letter from homer t. ward which sent the dear old lady in great excitement to betty jo. the banker was coming for his long-deferred vacation to the log house by the river.
-there was in his letter a kindly word for his former clerk, brian kent, should auntie sue chance to see him; much love for his old teacher and for the dearest girl in the world, his betty jo.
-but that part of homer t. ward's letter which most excited auntie sue and caused betty jo to laugh until she cried was this: the great financier, who, even in his busy life of large responsibilities, found time for some good reading, had discovered a great book, by a new and heretofore unknown writer. the book was great because every page of it, homer t. ward declared, reminded him of auntie sue. if the writer had known her for years, he could not have drawn a truer picture of her character, nor presented her philosophy of life more clearly. it was a remarkable piece of work. it was most emphatically the sort of writing that the world needed. this new author was a genius of the rarest and best sort. mr. ward predicted boldly that this new star in the literary firmament was destined to rank among those of the first magnitude. already, among the banker's closest book friends, the new book was being discussed, and praised. he would bring a copy for auntie sue and betty jo to read. it was not only the book of the year;--it was, in homer t. ward's opinion, one of the really big books of the century.
-“well,” commented betty jo, when they had read and reread that part of the letter, “dear old uncle homer may be a very conservative banker, but he certainly is more than liberal when he touches on the question of this new author. won't we have fun, auntie sue! oh, won't we!”
-then they planned the whole thing, and proceeded to carry out their plan.
-brian was told only that mr. ward was coming to visit auntie sue, and that he must be busy somewhere away from the house when the banker arrived, and not come until he was sent for, because auntie sue must make a full confession to her old pupil of the part she had played in the re-creation of brian kent before homer t. ward should meet his former clerk.
-brian, never dreaming that there were other confessions to be made, smilingly agreed to do exactly as he was told.
-when the momentous day arrived, betty jo met her uncle in thompsonville, and all the way home she talked so continuously of her school, and asked so many questions about his conduct and life and their many chicago friends, that the helpless bank president had no chance whatever of asking her a single embarrassing question. but, when dinner was over (brian had taken his lunch with him to the clearing), homer t. ward wanted to know things.
-“was brian kent still working in the neighborhood?”
-auntie sue informed him that brian was still working in the neighborhood.
-“betty jo had seen the bank clerk?” betty jo's uncle supposed. “what did she think of the fellow?”
-betty jo thought brian kent was a rather nice fellow.
-“and how had betty jo been amusing herself while her old uncle was slaving in the city?”
-betty jo had been doing a number of things: helping auntie sue with her housework; learning to cook; keeping up her stenographic work; reading.
-“reading?” that reminded him, and forthwith mr. ward went to his room, and returned with the book.
-and then those two blessed women listened and admired while he introduced them to the new genius, and read certain favorite passages from the great book, and grew enthusiastic on the new author, saying all that he had written in his letter and many things more, until betty jo could restrain herself no longer, but ran to him, and took the book from his hands, and, with her arms around his neck, told him that he was the dearest uncle in the world, because she was going to marry the man who wrote the book he so admired.
-there were long explanations after that: how the book so highly valued by banker ward had actually been written in that very log house by the river; how auntie sue had sent for betty jo to assist the author with her typewriting; how the author, not knowing who betty jo was, had fallen in love with his stenographer, and, finally, how betty jo's author-lover was even then waiting to meet her guardian, still not knowing that her guardian was the banker homer t. ward.
-“you see, uncle, dear,” explained betty jo, “auntie sue and i were obliged to conspire this little conspiracy against my man, because, you know, authors are funny folk, and you never can tell exactly what they are going to do. after giving your heart to a genius as wonderful as you yourself know this one to be, it would be terrible to have him refuse you just because you were the only living relative of a rich old banker;--it would, wouldn't it, uncle, dear?”
-and, really, homer t. ward could find reason in betty jo's argument, which ended with that fatal trick question.
-taking his agreement for granted, betty jo continued: “and, you see, auntie sue and i were simply forced to conspire a little against you, uncle, dear, because you know perfectly well that, much as i needed the advantage of associating with such an author-man in the actual writing of his book, you would never, never have permitted me to fall in love with him before you had discovered for yourself what a great man he really is, and i simply had to fall in love with him because god made me to take care of a genius of some sort. and if you don't believe that, you can ask judy. judy has found out a lot about god lately.
-“you won't think i am talking nonsense, or am belittling the occasion will you, uncle, dear?” she added anxiously. “i am not,--truly, i am not,--i am very serious. but i can't help being a little excited, can i? because it is terrible to love a banker-uncle, as i love you, and at the same time to love a genius-man, as i love my man, and--and--not know what you two dearest men in the world are going to do to each other.”
-and, at this, the girl's arms were about his neck again, and the girl's head went down on his shoulder; and he felt her cheek hot with blushes against his and a very suspicious drop of moisture slipped down inside his collar.
-when he had held betty jo very close for a while, and had whispered comforting things in her ear, and had smiled over her shoulder at his old teacher, the banker sent the girl to find her lover while he should have a serious talk with auntie sue.
-the long shadows of the late afternoon were on the mountain-side when brian kent and betty jo came down the hill to the little log house by the river.
-the girl had said to him simply, “you are to come, now, brian;--auntie sue and mr. ward sent me to tell you.”
-she was very serious, and as they walked together clung closely to his arm. and the man, too, seeming to feel the uselessness of words for such an occasion, was silent. when he helped her over the rail-fence at the lower edge of the clearing, he held her in his arms for a little; then they went on.
-they saw the beautiful, tree-clad hills lying softly outlined in the shadows like folds of green and timeworn velvet, extending ridge on ridge into the blue. they saw the river, their river, making its gleaming way with many a curve and bend to the mighty sea, that was hidden somewhere far beyond the distant sky-line of their vision; and between them and the river, at the foot of the hill, they saw the little log house with auntie sue and homer t. ward waiting in the doorway.
-when the banker saw the man at betty jo's side, his mind was far from the clerk whom he had known more than a year before in the city. his thoughts were on the author, the scholar, the genius, whose book had so compelled his respect and admiration. this tall fellow, with the athletic shoulders and deeply tanned face, who was dressed in the rude garb of the backwoodsman, with his coat over his arm, his ax on his shoulder, and his dinner-pail in his hand,--who was he? and why was betty jo so familiar with this stranger,--betty jo, who was usually so reserved, with her air of competent self-possession? homer t. ward turned to look inquiringly at auntie sue.
-his old teacher smiled back at him without speaking.
-then, betty jo and brian kent were standing before him.
-“here he is, uncle homer,” said the girl.
-brian, hearing her speak those two revealing words, and seeing her go to the bank president, who put his arm around her with the loving intimacy of a father, stood speechless with amazement, looking from homer t. ward and betty jo to auntie sue and back to the banker and the girl.
-mr. ward, still not remembering the bank clerk in this re-created brian kent, was holding out his hand with a genial smile.
-as the bewildered brian mechanically took the hand so cordially extended, the older man said: “it is an honor, sir, to meet a man who can do the work you have done in writing that book. it is impossible to estimate the value of such a service as you have rendered the race. you have a rare and wonderful gift, mr. burns, and i predict for you a life of remarkable usefulness.”
-brian, still confused, but realizing that mr. ward had not recognized him, looked appealingly at betty jo and then to auntie sue.
-auntie sue spoke: “mr. ward is the uncle and guardian of betty jo, brian.”
-“'brian'!” ejaculated the banker.
-auntie sue continued: “homer, dear, betty jo has presented her author, mr. burns;--permit me to introduce my brian kent!”
-and judy remarked that evening, when, after supper, they were all on the porch watching the sunset: “hit sure is dad burned funny how all tangled an' snarled up everythin' kin git 'fore a body kin think most, an', then, if a body'll just keep a-goin' right along, all ter onct hit's all straightened out as purty as anythin'.”
-they laughed happily at the mountain girl's words, and the dear old teacher's sweet voice answered: “yes, judy; it is all just like the river, don't you see?”
-“meanin' as how the water gits all tangled an' mixed up when hit's a-boilin' an' a-roarin' like mad down there at elbow rock, an' then all ter onct gits all smooth an' calm like again,” returned judy.
-“meaning just that, judy,” returned auntie sue. “no matter how tangled and confused life seems to be, it will all come straight at the last, if, like the river, we only keep going on.”
-and when the dreamy indian-summer days were come and the blue haze of autumn lay softly over the brown and gold of the beautiful ozark hills, the mountain folk of the elbow rock neighborhood gathered one day at the little log house by the river.
-it was a simple ceremony that made the man and the woman, who were so dear to auntie sue, husband and wife. but the backwoods minister was not wanting in dignity, though his dress was rude and his words plain; and the service lacked nothing of beauty and meaning, though the guests were but humble mountaineers; for love was there, and sincerity, and strength, and rugged kindliness.
-and when the simple wedding feast was over, they all went down to the river-bank, at the lower corner of the garden, where, at the eddy landing, a staunch john-boat waited, equipped and ready.
-when the last good-byes were spoken, and brian and betty jo put out from the little harbor into the stream, auntie sue, with judy and homer t. ward, went back to the porch of the little log house, there to watch the beginning of the voyage.
-with brian at the oars, the boat crossed the stream to the safer waters close to the other shore, and then, with betty jo waving her handkerchief, and the neighbor men and boys running shouting along the bank, swept down the river, past the roaring turmoil of the elbow rock rapids into the quiet reaches below, and away on its winding course between the tree-clad hills.
-“i am so glad,” said auntie sue, her dear old face glowing with love, and her sweet voice tremulous with feeling, “i am so glad they chose the river for their wedding journey.”
-note.--this biographical sketch of harold bell wright will give the reader a knowledge and understanding of the life-work, aims and purposes of the author as expressed through his books. it is reprinted on these pages in response to popular demand.--the publishers.
-harold bell wright
-by elsbery w. reynolds
-the biography of a man is of importance and interest to other men just to the degree that his life and work touches and influences the life of his time and the lives of individuals.
-only in a feeble way, at best, can the life story of any man be told on the printed page. the story is better as it is written on the hearts of men and women and the man himself does the writing.
-he lives longest who lives best. he who carves deepest against corroding time is he who touches with surest hand the greatest number of human hearts.
-he may or may not be a prodigy of physical strength. he may or may not be a tower of mental energy. but so long as this old world stands the man with an overpowering desire for all that is best for the race to be in the race, whose life is in tune with the divine and with the good that is within us all, whether he be orator, writer, artist or artisan, is a giant among men.
-that which we read makes a deeper and more lasting impression on our lives than that which we see or hear. an author with millions of readers must be a great central power of thought and influence, at least, in his own day and generation. we can understand the truth of this through a study of the aims and life purposes of harold bell wright as expressed through his books and the circumstances under which they were written. the wonderful popularity of this author is well estimated by the millions of copies of his books that have been sold. this is also the greatest testimonial that can be given to the merit of his work. the great heart of the reading public is an unprejudiced critic. “is not the greatest voice the one to which the greatest number of hearts listen with pleasure?”
-when a man has attained to great eminence under adverse circumstances we sometimes wonder to what heights he might have climbed under conditions more favorable. who can tell? it is just as easy to say what the young man of twenty will be when a matured man of forty. the boy of poverty makes a man of power while the boy nursed in the lap of luxury makes a man of uneventful life, and, again, a life started with a handicap remains so through its possible three score years and ten and the life begun with advantages multiplies its talents ten and a hundred fold.
-so, after all, is not the heart of man the real man and is it not the guiding star of his ambition, his will, his determination, his conscience?
-harold bell wright, the second of four sons, was born may 4, 1872, in rome, oneida county, new york. from an earlier biographer we quote the following:
-“during ten years this mother and this son live in rare intimacy. the boy's first enduring impression of this life is the vision of the mother bending affectionately over him while criticising the water color sketch his unpracticed fingers had just made. crude blendings and faulty lines were pointed out, then touched into harmony and more accurate perspective by her quick skill. together their eyes watched shades dance on sunny slopes, cloud shadows race among the hills or lie lazily in the valley below.
-“exuberant nature and ebullient boy loved each other from the first. alone, enravished, he often wandered far in sheer joy of living. he brings, one day, from his rambles a bunch of immortelles which mother graciously receives. twenty years later the boy, man-grown, bows reverently over a box of withered flowers--the same bouquet the mother took that day and laid away as a precious memento of his boyish love. such was the first decade.
-“a ten-year-old boy, motherless, steals from harsh labor and yet harsher surroundings, runs to the home of sacred memories, clambers to the attic, and spends the night in anguished solitude. this was his first gethsemane. for ten years buffeted and beaten, battling with adversity, sometimes losing but never lost, snatching learning here and there, hating sham, loving passionately, misunderstood, misapprehended, too stubbornly proud to ask apologies or make useless explanations, fighting poverty in the depths of privation, wrestling existence from toil he loathed, befriending many and also befriended much, but always face to face with the grim tragedy which has held part of the stage since eden.
-“such was the second decade. the first was spent on hill sides where shadows only made the light more buoyant as they fled away. the second was passed in the valley where the shadow hung lazily till the cloud grew very black and drenched the soil.
-“lured to college, he undertook to acquire academic culture. as is well known, college life with its professorial anecdotes and jokes, its student pranks and grind, is routine drudgery and cob-webbery prose. bookish professors and conventional students rarely have just such an animate problem of french artistry and bohemian experience to solve. they did nobly, to be sure, but here was a mind which threw over them all the glamour of romance.”
-mr. wright entered the preparatory department of hiram college at the age of twenty, having previously accepted the faith and identified himself with the christian church in the little quarry town of grafton, ohio. he continued active in the different departments of work in his church all during his school years with the ultimate result of his entering the ministry.
-having no financial means, while in school he made his way by doing odd jobs about town, house painting and decorating, sketching, etc. after two years of school life, while laboring to gain funds in order that he might continue his schooling, he contracted from overwork and out-door exposure a severe case of pneumonia that left his eyesight badly impaired and his constitution in such condition that, to the present day, he has never fully recovered.
-air castles were tumbled and hopes blasted when his physician advised him that it would be fatal to re-enter school for, at least, another year. whereupon, seeking health and a means of existence, starting from a point on the mahoning river, he canoed with sketch and note book, but alone, down stream a distance of more than five hundred miles. from this point, by train, he embarked for the ozark mountains in southwest missouri. here, for some months, while gradually regaining his strength, he secured employment at farm work, sketching and painting at intervals.
-once more, he found himself on bed-rock, taking his last cent to pay express charges back to ohio on some finished pictures, but, this time, fortune smiled promptly with a good check by return mail.
-it was while in the ozarks that harold bell wright preached his first sermon. being a regular attendant at the services, held in the little mountain log school house, he was asked to talk to the people, one sunday, when the regular preacher had failed to appear.
-from this sunday morning talk, that could hardly be called a sermon, and others that followed, he came to feel that he could do more good in the ministry than he could in any other field of labor, and soon thereafter accepted a regular pastorate at pierce city, missouri, at a yearly salary of four hundred dollars. true to a resolve, that his work should be that through which he could help the most people, he had now chosen the ministry. a further resolve that he would give up this ministry, chosen with such earnest conviction, should another field of labor offer more extensive measures for reaching mankind, took him, in later years, into the field of literature. he left the ministry with many regrets but with the same earnest conviction with which he had earlier chosen it.
-following the publication of “the shepherd of the hills” his publishers assured him that he could secure greater results from his pen rather than his pulpit and prevailed upon him to henceforth make literature his life work. this was in every way consistent with his teaching that every man's ministry is that work through which he can accomplish the greatest good.
-in the battle of life there is always the higher ground that the many covet but few attain. in reaching this height mr. wright has given to a multitude, his time, strength and substance, that they, too, might further advance. he is companionable, loving and loyal to his friends. he hates sham and hypocrisy and any attempt to glorify one's self by means other than the fruits of one's own labor.
-this boy, who, from the death of his mother, was driven into a hand to hand struggle with life for a bare existence, was necessarily forced into contact with much that was vicious and corrupt. but he in no way became a part of it. that same inherent love for mental cleanliness and spiritual truths that has so distinguished the works of the man kept the boy unstained in his unfortunate environment.
-mr. wright resigned his charge at pierce city for the larger work at pittsburg, kansas. in the second year of his pastorate--1899--he married frances e. long in buffalo, new york. this union of love had its beginning back in the school days at hiram. unto them have been born three sons, gilbert munger, 1901, paul williams, 1902, and norman hall, 1910.
-in pittsburg, mr. wright received enthusiastic support from his church people. finances were soon in a satisfactory condition, and church attendance reached the capacity of the building, but still the young pastor was not satisfied. pittsburg was a mining town, a young men's town. a little city with saloons and brothels doing business on every hand. his soul was on fire for his church to do a larger work and, with the hope of arousing his people, he conceived the idea of writing “that printer of udell's,” planning to read the story, by installments, on special evenings of successive weeks, to his congregation.
-pittsburg was made the principal scene and the church of the story was the kind of church he wanted his pittsburg charge to be. the teachings set forth, through the preacher of the story, in the latter half of the book, are the identical things the author was preaching. the first chapters of the story are very largely colored by mr. wright's early life, but they are by no means autobiographical.
-“that printer of udell's” was written without thought or intention of offering it for publication. during the author's ministry he made some of the warmest and most abiding friendships of his life, and it was through certain of these friends that he was persuaded from reading the story, as intended, but to offer it for publication, giving it, thus, a wider usefulness.
-having a leave of absence of several weeks from his church during the winter of 1901-2 he accepted an invitation from the pastor of a chicago church to hold a special meeting, and it was during this meeting that the author and his publisher met for the first time. mr. wright delivered a sermon entitled “sculptors of life” that was so impressive that i sought him out with entreaties to repeat his sermon as a lecture to a certain company of young people.
-the acquaintance thus begun very quickly became one of friendship, without any knowledge or thought that it would in time lead to a co-operative life work, and when the author later offered his book for publication it was without request or thought of financial remuneration. mr. wright, however, was given a contract paying him the highest royalty that was being paid for any author's first book.
-“that printer of udell's” was written almost entirely in the late hours of the night and the very early hours of the morning. great demands were being made on the author's time in the way of requests for officiating and speaking at public and civic functions in addition to the now heavy requirements of his church. his aggressive activities, backed by his splendid spirit, fearlessness and courage in combating the evils of his little city made for him a host of admirers, alike, among his enemies and friends. when he left to accept a pastorate in kansas city, missouri, his resignation was not accepted.
-after one year in kansas city he found that he was not physically able to carry out the great city work as he had dreamed it and planned it, on a scale that would satisfy his longings for service, and it made him seriously consider whether there was not some other way that would more equally measure with his strength. he went again to the ozarks, this time for rest and meditation, and while there began writing “the shepherd of the hills.” this story has a peculiar significance for the author. he feels toward it as he can not feel for any of his other books. “the shepherd of the hills” was written as a test. the strength of the message he was able to put into the story and the response it should find in the hearts of men and women was to decide for him his ministry henceforth, whether he would teach the precepts of the man of galilee by voice or pen. it was a testing time that bore fruit not only in this simple, sweet story, that to quote an eminent divine, “is one of the greatest sermons of our day,” but resulted as well in the splendid volumes that have followed.
-“the shepherd of the hills” was finished during the year of his pastorate at lebanon, missouri, and but for the sympathy, encouragement and helpful understanding of his church officers and membership, it is doubtful if the story could ever have been completed. when mr. wright delivered the manuscript to his publishers the first of the year, 1907, for publication the next fall, he had accepted the pastorate of the christian church in redlands, california, hoping this land of sunshine would give him a larger measure of health.
-some months later, resigning his redlands pastorate, he went to the imperial valley and there, the following year, wrote “the calling of dan matthews.” the church and its problems were weighing on the author and affecting his life no less than when he was in the ministry and it was only natural that he should give to the world “a picture that is true to the four corners of the earth.” every incident in the story has its counterpart in real life and, with but few exceptions, came under the author's personal observation. he did not get the real pleasure out of writing “the calling of dan matthews” that he did the story which preceded it. but he could not, try as he would, escape it.
-the publication of “the calling of dan matthews” in the fall of 1909 was just two years after the publication of “the shepherd of the hills.”
-“the winning of barbara worth” required more time and effort in the collecting of material than any book the author had written, but probably gave him, at least, as much pleasure. he is very careful with regard to descriptive detail, and even while writing “the calling of dan matthews” he was making a study of the desert and this great reclamation project. before sending his manuscript for publication he had it checked over by the best engineers on the pacific coast for inaccuracies in any of his descriptions that involved engineering or reclamation problems.
-“the winning of barbara worth” bears the distinction, without doubt, of being the only book ever published that called its publisher and illustrator from a distance of two and three thousand miles, into the heart of a great desert, for a consultation with its author. this story of the imperial valley and its reclamation was written in the same study as was “the calling of dan matthews.” a study of rude construction, about eighteen by thirty-five feet, with thatched roof and outside covering of native arrow-weed and built entirely by the author himself.
-when mr. wright finished “the winning of barbara worth”--so named in honor of ruth barbara reynolds--he was a sick man. he often worked the night through, overtaxing his nerve and strength. for several months he virtually dwelt within the four walls of his study and for a time it was feared he would not live to finish the book. he wrote the last chapters while confined to his bed, after which he was taken by easy stages, through the kindness of friends, to that part of northern arizona that is so delightful to all lovers of the out-of-doors. in this bracing mile-high atmosphere he soon grew well and strong, almost to ruggedness, and on the day his book was published he was riding in a wild-horse chase over a country wild and rough where the writer of this sketch would only care to go, carefully picking his way, on foot. so it was weeks after publication before the author saw the first bound copy of his book. during these summer and fall months, while regaining his strength, he was busy with sketch and note book collecting material, for this part of arizona is the scene of his novel “when a man's a man.”
-“their yesterdays” was written in tucson, arizona, and was published in the fall of 1912, just one year after the publication of “the winning of barbara worth.” in order to write this story, with the least possible strain on his nerves and vitality, mr. wright secluded himself in a little cottage purchased especially for this work. his material was collected from the observations of his thoughtful years and his intimate knowledge of human hearts. this book is, perhaps, more representative of the real harold bell wright than anything he has done. it is the true presentation of his views on life, love and religion. i once asked mr. wright, in behalf of the faculty, to deliver an address to a graduating class of some twenty-odd young men of the morgan park academy (chicago). he was very busy and i suggested that without special effort he make the commonplace remarks that one so often hears on like occasions. for the first time that i remember he somewhat impatiently resented a suggestion from me, saying “these young men are on the threshold of life and the very best that is within me is due to them. i can give to them only such a message as i would, were i to stand before judgment on the morrow.” it was with just this spirit that the author wrote “their yesterdays.”
-following “their yesterdays” the next book in order of publication was “the eyes of the world,” published in the fall of 1914. it was written in the same arrow-weed study on tecolote rancho in the imperial valley where he wrote “the calling of dan matthews” and “the winning of barbara worth.” being fully in sympathy with the author's purpose in writing this story, the campaign of advertising was of such educational character and so eventful in many ways, that it will long be remembered by authors, publishers and reading public, and, we trust, make for cleaner books and pictures.
-as it was in the writing of “the calling of dan matthews” so it was in the writing of “the eyes of the world,” the sense of duty stood highest. the modern trend in books and music and art and drama had so incensed the author that “the eyes of the world” was the result of his all impelling desire for cleaner living and thinking. as is true of all writers, there are sometimes those who fail to catch the message in mr. wright's books. he is occasionally misunderstood, and that was especially true with “the eyes of the world.” to the great majority of people, clean living and thinking, the message was not to be misinterpreted and to them the book is blessed. to that small minority it was convicting and, from a few such, it brought forth condemnation which, in a fellow author here and there, was pronounced and emphasized by envy and jealousy. to critics of this class mr. wright makes no reply and is not in the least disturbed.
-“the uncrowned king,” a small volume--an allegory--published in 1910, to me, is one of the most delightful of mr. wright's books. possibly, it has an added charm because of certain peculiar conditions. it was written in redlands, california, during the winter of 1909-10, although the notion for the little volume occurred to the author while living in kansas city. it was one of those times when the longing and will to do a work greater than the physical would permit seemed almost overpowering when, unconsciously coming to his aid, a young woman talking to a company of christian endeavorers chanced to remark, “after all, the real kings of earth are seldom crowned.” all through the evening service thoughts that this inspired kept running through the author's mind and late that same night he wrote the outline which was only completed some years later and given to his publishers to enrich the world.
-his first four novels in order of publication have been dramatized and enjoyed by thousands from before the footlights and it has been a delight to renew acquaintances with old friends in this way. it remained for “the eyes of the world” to be the first of his books to be presented in a feature production of motion pictures.
-the likes and dislikes of harold bell wright are quite pronounced. he is unpretending, cares not for the lime-light and avoids interviews for the public press. loud, boisterous conversation is but little less offensive to him than vulgarity in speech or action. his friends are strong, clean-minded men who are doing things in the world and are as necessary to his being as the air to his existence, and his generosity to them is no less marked than his caring and providing for his family, which is almost a passion. he is extremely fond of most forms of out-door life. the desert with its vast expanse, fierce solitude and varied colors is no less attractive to him than the peaceful quiet of wooded dells, the beauty of flowering meadows or the rugged mountains with their roaring trout streams that furnish him hours of sport with rod and line. he enjoys hunting, horse-back riding or long tramps afoot. but when there is work to be done it is the one thing that bulks largest and all else must wait.
-after finishing “the eyes of the world,” mr. wright embarked on the building of a home in the santa monica mountains near hollywood, california. so in the summer of 1915 the little family of five began making their residence in the new canyon home, one of nature's delightful spots.
-then again, the author went into camp in the arizona desert while writing “when a man's a man.” for he finds it very helpful to live in the atmosphere of his story while doing the actual writing and he also avoids frequent interruption. i think he got more real enjoyment out of this story than any he has previously done. it is a story of the out-of-doors in this great unfenced land where a man must be a man. i suppose, too, he enjoyed writing this work so much, partly, because it comes so easy for him to just tell a story without the intervention of some nerve racking problem. the only book he has heretofore written that is purely a story is “the shepherd of the hills,” and i sometimes wonder to what proportion of his readers does this ozark story hold first place. for all such, i am sure, “when a man's a man” will find a reception of special heartiness because it is just a fine, big, wholesome novel of simple sweetness and virile strength.
-i have written this sketch of harold bell wright that you may know him as intimately, if possible, as if you had met him in person. but should you have the opportunity of making his acquaintance do not deny yourself the pleasure. if you are a lover of his books i am sure you are just the kind of person that the author himself delights to meet.
-“relay heights,” february 15, 1916.
-ye of little faith
-by rog phillips
-illustrated by tom beecham
-the disappearance of john henderson was most spectacular. it occurred while he was at the blackboard working an example in multiple integration for his ten o'clock class. the incompleted problem remained on the board for three days while the police worked on the case. it, a wrist watch and a sterling silver monogrammed belt buckle, lying on the floor near where he had stood, were all the physical evidence they had to go on.
-there was plenty of eye-witness evidence. the class consisted of forty-three pupils. they all had their eyes on him in varying degrees of attention when it happened. their accounts of what happened all agreed in important details. even as to what he had been saying.
-in the reports that went into the police files he was quoted with a high degree of certainty as having said, "integration always brings into the picture a constant which was not present. this constant of integration is, in a sense, a variable. but a different type of variable than the mathematical unknown. it might be said to be a logical variable--"
-the students were in unanimous agreement and, at this point, dr. henderson came to an abrupt stop in his lecture. suddenly, an expression of surprise appeared on his face. it was succeeded by an exclamation of triumph. and he simply vanished from the spot.
-he didn't fade away, rise, drop into the floor, or take any time vanishing. he simply stopped being there.
-the police searched his room in the nearby vanderbilt arms hotel. they turned a portrait of the missing math professor to the newspapers to publish. arbright university offered a reward of one hundred dollars to anyone who had seen him.
-the police also found a savings pass book in his room. it had a balance of three thousand eight hundred and forty dollars, which had been built up to that figure by steady monthly deposits over a period of years. it also had a withdrawal of three hundred and twenty dollars two days before the disappearance. they were sure they were on the path to a motive. this avenue of exploration came to an abrupt end with the discovery that he had traded in his last year's car on a new one, and that sum had been necessary to complete the deal.
-after the third day the blackboard had been erased and the classroom released for its regular classes. police enthusiasm dropped to the norm of what they called legwork. finding out who the missing man's acquaintances and friends were, calling on them and talking to them in the hopes of picking up something they could go on.
-they passed martin grant by because they had heard from him in their initial work. in fact, he had been a little too present for their tastes.
-after ten days they dropped the case from the active blotter. the university, seeing that there was little likelihood of having to shell out the reward money, increased it to five hundred dollars.
-but martin grant continued to ponder over a conversation he himself had had with john henderson during a dinner six weeks to the day before his old friend had vanished. he remembered his own words...
-"... and so you see, john, by following this trail, i've arrived at a theory that has to do with the basic nature of the universe--of all reality. yet things don't behave as they would if my theory were operating."
-john henderson frowned into space, disturbed. visibly disturbed. martin watched him with a twinkle in his eyes.
-"you must have gone off the track on it somewhere, martin," john said suddenly, as though trying more to convince himself than his listener.
-a new voice broke in. "what is it, dad? one of your ten-thousand-word shaggy dog jokes?" this from fred grant, 16, student in the senior grade at the hortense bartholemew high school, and an only child of martin grant.
-"a little more respect toward your father," martin said with much sternness.
-"it was my theory."
-john henderson said, "but, martin, i don't know what to think now. of course there must be some fallacy that i've missed. the way things stand though, i--" he chuckled uncomfortably. "i begin to doubt myself. i can't quite classify it as an intellectual curiosity."
-"what else can you do with it?" martin said. "i know your trouble. it's a common one. you have a tendency to believe things or disbelieve them. now you've been presented with something your intellect demands that you believe, while your experience shouts, 'lie'."
-"is fred able to understand it?" john asked, smiling at the youngster with fond and unconscious condescension.
-"not yet," fred smiled. "i'm still in high school."
-"and if you don't want to flunk out you'd better be off to bed at once," martin told him.
-"yes, father. good night, dr. henderson."
-fred's departure left a vacuum in the conversation that took a minute to fill. john henderson frowned himself back to where he had been before the boy had arrived. when he got there he frowned even more, because it was a state of mental confusion that seemed to have no way of being resolved.
-martin made a wry face. "you've awakened my own conscience. i have an hour or two of work yet before bedtime."
-the two men went to the front door. john said, "thank your wife again for me. wonderful dinner. you're lucky, martin, to have such a good cook."
-that had been six weeks before john henderson vanished. martin grant mentioned this visit to horace smith, one of the teachers in his department, and got himself and his wife invited for dinner on the following friday. dinner over, the two professors retired to the library.
-two and a half hours later horace had assimilated and grasped every detail of the theory. he then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, fingertips to temples, trying to find some flaw. finally he shook his head. "it's no use," he said. "your theory is logically inescapable. but--" he frowned. "where does that place us? probably where some schools of thought have always suspected we would wind up eventually. with the realization that the basic laws of the universe can't be reached by logic or even by experiment based upon logic."
-"i wouldn't say that," martin objected. "my theory is an intellectual curiosity, that's all. that's the way i present it in my latest book. by the way, it's coming out soon. signed the contract a month ago." he pulled his thoughts back to the conversation. "after all, one must hold onto the pragmatic approach to reality. here is a theory that logic says must be the only possible way a universe can be constructed and operate. it's beautiful and logically complete, but not applicable. no pragmatic value."
-"congratulations on the book. but, damn it," horace said, "it attacks my most basic faith. logic. reason."
-"faith?" martin echoed, amused. "yes, perhaps you're right. that's a word that's foreign to my thinking. belief is so unnecessary."
-"you don't mean that."
-"but i do."
-horace pondered. "i can prove otherwise. you believe--as an example--that your wife is faithful to you." it was a statement rather than a question.
-"as a matter of fact--i don't. i act upon the greater probability that she is. i don't hire detectives to follow her. nor do i throw her into situations to test her faithfulness. i admit the possibility that she's unfaithful to me. if evidence came that she was, i might confront her with the evidence. where does belief become necessary?"
-"do you believe your son will become a success in life?" horace asked.
-"no. i've done everything i could think of to increase the probability that he will. one of the things i've done is to instill in him the realization that belief is unnecessary in thinking. surely, as a scientist, you realize that nothing we use in science finds its value or validity from human belief. if, tomorrow, evidence were brought forth that trigonometry is based on fallacy i'm sure that mathematicians would use that evidence to revise their entire field."
-"but belief is instinctive; as instinctive as thought itself."
-"i admit it's a natural way of thinking. it has to be weeded out."
-"so you're sure you don't believe in anything," horace said slyly.
-"such statements are verbal traps," martin said. "they mean nothing. you want me to imply that i believe i believe nothing, and therefore i have at least one belief. but as a matter of fact i've built up a sort of mental mechanism for discovering beliefs in my thinking and dispelling them by going to the roots and showing myself why i believed. belief springs up in the mind like weeds in a garden. constant weeding is the only solution." he glanced at his watch and frowned uneasily. "eleven o'clock. we'd better break this up and join the women. we'll have to get together again soon. by the way, do you and your wife play canasta? my wife loves it."
-they had been moving toward the door. now they entered the living room, to find the two women playing the game.
-"time we were going, dear," martin said. "and sometime soon make plans to have horace and ethel over for an evening of four-handed canasta."
-at the front door vows of an early reunion were repeated. but they were never to be fulfilled. on the following tuesday horace vanished.
-this time there were no actual eye witnesses. the time was somewhere between seven and seven-ten tuesday morning; the place; horace smith's bathroom.
-ethel smith was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. horace was in the bathroom. he called out, "ethel! i've got it!"
-"what have you got?"
-but even as ethel called out, she heard the sound of the electric razor falling to the tile floor, and there was no answer from the bathroom. nothing but silence and, as she described it later, a feeling that she was alone in the house.
-at the time, however, she wasn't alarmed. she half expected some muttered profanity over the dropping of the razor. she didn't wait for it exactly. instead, she picked up the spatula and expertly scooped the eggs onto their two plates and carried them to the breakfast nook. next she poured the coffee. then, placing some bread in the toaster, she started back to the stove, calling, "come and get it, horace!"
-at the stove she started to pick up the aluminum dish containing the bacon. she paused and repeated her call. "horace!"
-it wasn't until then that it occurred to her the falling of the razor might have been an ominous sound. her mind filled with worried images, she rushed out of the kitchen into the hall leading to the bathroom.
-the door was locked.
-"horace!" she called. "are you all right?" when there was no answer she pounded on the door. "horace! speak to me!"
-after that she ran outside and around to the bathroom window. it was shut and locked, as she already knew. not only that, it had been stuck for years.
-with an urgency born of a realization that every second might mean the difference between life and death, she ran back into the house and called the fire department. also the family doctor.
-by nine-thirty the police had been called in. by eleven o'clock they had seen the parallel between this disappearance and that of john henderson.
-martin grant's first reaction was concern for ethel. his second reaction was that, twice, he had presented his theory to someone and that person had vanished. his third was accompanied by a twinge of fear. he had just finished presenting his theory to the senior physics class!
-this was followed by an amazing realization. he was conceding that there might be a connection between his theory and the disappearances. he laughed it off, but it returned. it disturbed him.
-it continued to bother him on wednesday, so he began to search his mind for reasons. eventually he found them. there was a distinct analogy between a theory that didn't agree with observable reality, and a pair of disappearances which violated known methods of disappearing.
-the analogy was so clear that he began to feel there might be a functional relation between the two. of course, he concluded, it would be reasonably certain if a large number of the students in the senior group were to vanish also.
-this intellectual conclusion became an anxiety neurosis.
-so, on wednesday--after he had scanned the room anxiously to see how many students were absent and discovered to his intense relief that they were all there--he spent the full hour lecturing on the necessity--the vital necessity--of unbelief in all things, especially scientific theories.
-but would it work? he vaguely remembered giving horace a similar lecture.
-wednesday night just before retiring he had another disturbing thought. he had explained the theory to his son. but that had been weeks before, and fred was steeped in the mechanism of unbelief. good thing, or he might have been the first to disappear.
-"what's the matter with you, martin? can't you even answer when--" the rest of what his wife was saying faded in the startled realization that he was eating dinner.
-"sorry, dear," he murmured. "i was thinking." he was trying to recall something that might tell him what day it was. it was obviously evening or they wouldn't be eating dinner. "uh," he said casually, "what day is today?"
-"saturday," fred said.
-"now fred, don't tease your father about his absent-mindedness. this is thursday."
-thursday! that was right. he had given the lecture on the necessity of unbelief today. there was tomorrow, when he could see if any of the class had disappeared yet. he couldn't be certain, of course. just because a student didn't show up didn't mean he or she had vanished.
-he fixed his eyes on fred, across the table, and smiled. fred, at least, was a source of comfort. he knew the theory and hadn't vanished.
-"dad," fred said. "i've been wondering if you saw a point of similarity in the two disappearances?"
-martin thought, good heavens, does he have any inkling of what i've been thinking? of course not! he's just fumbling. better to discourage him. "sorry, son. there aren't any similarities except accidental ones. i've had the confidence of the police on this. the cases are quite unrelated."
-fred refused to be sidetracked. "dr. henderson's face lit up as though a sudden idea had struck him. i talked with some of his students. that's what they all thought. and horace smith shouted to his wife, 'ethel! i've got it!' the next instant in each case they vanished into thin air."
-"but that doesn't mean a thing."
-in the privacy of his study martin grant allowed himself to become excited. fred had unwittingly come upon the vital clue to the two disappearances.
-automatically he opened a drawer and brought out a sheet of paper and a pencil. he wrote:
-the theory contains within itself the proof that the universe must, by logical necessity, be constructed according to said theory. but observation and experience say this is not true.
-he frowned at what he had written. this was the conclusion to which he had led both men. it was the conclusion upon which he had rested. they, obviously, had not rested there. they had gone on.
-under what he had written he wrote "either:" on the left hand margin. two inches under it he wrote, "or:" then he frowned at them. suddenly he began writing rapidly after the either: "the universe is not constructed according to logical necessity."
-he hesitated, studying what he had written. then, pursing his lips, he slowly wrote after the or: "the observable universe is not the universe."
-he nodded to himself. that hit at the core of the matter. a was x. b was not x. therefore b was not a. even though a and b were both called universe.
-the question was, then--did the universe-of-logical-necessity exist? if so, what relationship did it have to the observable universe which quite obviously did exist?
-was that the question, the answer to which, gained in a moment of insight, had caused two men to utterly vanish?
-he sighed with real regret. there was no way of knowing. possibly a mechanical brain of the most advanced type could come out with a comprehensive picture after solving thousands of successive equations. knowledge of simple basics was a far cry from a fully expanded system.
-he pushed the sheet of paper away with a show of irritation. he was missing something. he was on the wrong track. neither john nor horace had the mental equipment to make more than a simple step beyond what he had accomplished. that was certain. it was equally certain that he could and would make it.
-a startled expression appeared on his face. "oh good lord!" he groaned. "my book. i must do something about that the first thing tomorrow. i--" he opened the drawer of his desk and took out an oblong of paper, the check against advance royalties. "i'll return this and not let them publish it. first thing in the morning. and from now on i resolve not to think of my theory or what caused john and horace to vanish."
-folding the check neatly, he stuck it in his billfold and then started to read a book that interested him. he became engrossed in it. half an hour later he came to enough to realize he was on safe ground, sigh with relief, and sink back into the trains of thought of the book.
-it was a nice feeling to know he was safe.
-it was friday. the sun was shining brightly and the monotony of the blue sky was relieved here and there by filmy white clouds that gave it a pleasing three-dimensionalness.
-but to martin grant there was something unreal about things. he decided it must be the light. things stood out with too sharp clarity.
-when he reached his office at the university he made arrangements for a substitute to take his ten o'clock class. then he called the publishing company and made an appointment for ten-fifteen.
-the hour from nine to ten seemed interminably long. he found it almost impossible to concentrate on such an unimportant subject as the application of tensor analysis to electronic circuits.
-ten o'clock came. he hurried to the parking lot and got in his car. it was real and comforting. but once again everything outside the windshield seemed too sharply defined.
-he timed himself on the way across town to the publishing house. he would have to allow himself the same time to return for his eleven o'clock class. it took twelve minutes, plus another two to find a parking place. two minutes from the car to the eleventh floor. he was frowning at his watch as he entered the publisher's office.
-"well, well, dr. grant! glad to see you. i suppose you're anxious to see your book ready for market. it's coming very well. just came back from the typesetters and is going into its first printing right away."
-"huh?" martin said, completing his mental arithmetic and jerking into an awareness of his surroundings. "oh, hello mr. browne," he said. "i was just figuring my time. i have an eleven o'clock class. i can only stay twenty-seven minutes. that gives me a three minute margin of error for traffic delays."
-"i see," the publisher said, a twinkle in his eye. "as i was just saying, your book--"
-"oh yes, my book," martin interrupted. "just a minute." he took out his billfold and extracted the check, handing it to mr. browne.
-"what's this for?" mr. browne asked, unfolding it. "oh, the advance royalty check. is something wrong with it?"
-"i'm returning it," martin said. "i can't let you publish my book."
-"can't let me publish it!" browne exclaimed. "why not? don't tell me it infringes on someone else's copyright!"
-"no. nothing like that. i've merely decided i don't want it published. i'm returning your check."
-"well now, look!" browne said. "we're a business establishment. you signed a contract. we signed one too. it protects both of us against just this sort of thing, you know." he studied martin thoughtfully. "sit down and relax," he invited. "i'm human. tell me why you don't want it published. maybe i might agree with you. we have over a thousand dollars tied up already in typesetting, but--"
-martin took the seat and glanced nervously at his watch to make sure the twenty-seven minutes hadn't elapsed.
-"i've just changed my mind," he said curtly. "there are certain things--i'm the head of a department, you know. i must watch my reputation. that's it, my reputation. on due reflection i believe the book might hurt my standing."
-"in what way?" browne asked. "to tell you the truth, your other book did so well i didn't bother reading this one."
-"there's a--" martin brought himself up short. so browne hadn't read it. so much the better. at least he wouldn't vanish. "i'm afraid," he added with a self-conscious chuckle that he hoped was genuine enough to pass, "the subject matter is a little too crackpottish in spots. that's the whole thing. it would reflect on my reputation."
-"maybe we could do a little editing on it," browne said. "cut out the parts you think crackpottish and substitute something else in those pages. i'll get the galleys and we can look at them."
-"no!" martin said. "no, i'm afraid we would have to cut out at least half of the book. no. the best thing is to forget it, but i'll make good your typesetting loss. i can pay you two hundred dollars right away and fifty dollars a month."
-browne lit a cigarette slowly, his eyes on martin. "you're serious, aren't you," he said. "i'll tell you what we'll do. we'll let the whole thing ride for the present. maybe later--"
-"no!" martin said. "it must never be published! it's very vital that it never be published."
-"okay," browne said. "we won't publish it. we have the contract, but--we won't publish it."
-"thanks, very much," martin said. "i must hurry back."
-the publisher stared thoughtfully at the closed door after martin had gone. he glanced down at the check.
-lecture room 304 was very large, capable of holding four hundred students in its successive tiers of seats, plus the teacher on his raised platform immediately in front of the large blackboard. in previous years there had been instances of students slipping out after roll call. in spite of everything, it had happened.
-therefore a new system had been inaugurated. before roll call martin marched to the back of the room to the only exit and locked it. pocketing the key, he returned to his podium. it had been going on this way for two years, and was now automatic.
-the day watchman, making his rounds, approached this door at precisely two thirty-four. he heard violent pounding. along with the pounding there was a loud, hoarse voice, gasping, "lemme out! lemme out!"
-the watchman consulted his clock--the one he used to make a record of his rounds--and determined that it was two thirty-four. he knew that it was dr. grant's senior theoretical physics lecture period. he recalled that a couple of years before dr. grant had had trouble with students slipping out after roll call. but it occurred to him that it was hardly possible to sneak out, even on dr. grant, absent-minded as he was, by pounding on the door and shouting, "lemme out!" in a terrified tone of voice.
-he therefore stopped and knocked on the door, calling, "what's going on in there?"
-whoever was doing the pounding and shouting evidently didn't hear him. waiting no longer, the day watchman used his master key on the door.
-a smallish young man, later identified as mark smythe, attempted to run past him into the hall. the watchman blocked mark's escape and looked toward the podium in an automatic appeal to dr. grant.
-dr. grant was not there. the podium was unoccupied. so were all four hundred seats. there was, in fact, no one in room 304 except the one terrified student.
-in due course the police arrived, along with the regents. by five o'clock it had become certain that the greatest mass disappearance of all times had occurred, with mark smythe as the sole witness.
-he stuck to his story through repeated detailed questionings, and in the end the police were stuck with it.
-dr. grant had stopped his lecture and frowned darkly, then said, "if you will please take your seat--"
-"but dr. grant!" marvin green had interrupted him excitedly. "i've got it! i've got it!"
-what had happened then was impossible for the mind to accept. marvin green had simply ceased to be.
-there had been a stunned silence. and in that silence, it went on. student after student popping out of existence in what seemed to be a chain reaction.
-he wasn't aware when dr. grant vanished. all he knew was that when at last he was alone he looked toward the podium and the professor was also gone.
-he kept waiting to go himself. when he didn't, he lost the fear that had rooted him to the spot, and rushed to the exit where he at first tried to break down the door and make his escape, then subsided into pounding and shouting for help when he realized his physical strength was insufficient for the job.
-questioning didn't bring out any additional fact, nor alter any statement. there had been no sound to the vanishing, no movement of the person that could be considered significant, no flashes of light, no strange odors. nothing.
-fred grant got the flash on his hot rod radio on the way home from high school.
-at the end of the report fred wrote down mark smythe's address on a scrap of paper, and drove home to be with his mother. it was three days before he could get away.
-on the morning of the third day, his aunt emily arrived to take charge of things, and he was able to slip away. he drove immediately to mark smythe's address. it was one of the better class rooming houses near the campus. the land-lady wasn't going to let him in nor announce him until he explained he was the son of the professor who had vanished. she immediately swung to the other extreme and didn't bother to find out if mark wanted to see him.
-"my father was your teacher," fred said.
-"oh? come on in."
-there were tennis rackets. on the bookshelves there were tennis books. on a table there was a tennis trophy. otherwise there was just a bed, a rug, and two or three chairs.
-"i don't know what i can tell you more than i've already told the police and the reporters," mark said apologetically. "i guess it's tough, losing your father...."
-"yeah," fred agreed. "i wanted to ask you something though. dad gave a lecture on his new theory a few days ago, didn't he?"
-mark looked at him blankly. then, "oh! i guess he did. as a matter of fact i didn't pay much attention to it." he grinned. then he remembered he should be solemn and stopped grinning. "i--i sort of slipped by it. he made the mistake of telling us ahead of time it was off the course and no questions on it would be in the finals, so i more or less rested up during the period for a tennis match afterwards. why?"
-"didn't you get any of what he said?" fred persisted.
-"oh, a little," mark admitted. "it was about some system of arriving at the basic laws of nature by pure logic, only what you arrived at didn't agree with facts. some kind of intellectual curiosity." he thought a minute. "oh," he said, "i see what you want. didn't he leave any notes on it? it would be too bad if his theory was lost to the world now that--" he left the rest unsaid.
-"maybe you can remember something," fred coaxed. "anything. did he talk about his theory again?"
-"next day he gave a lecture on the necessity of unbelief in modern science. it was pretty good. he overemphasized it, though. some of the kids thought he was making a religion of unbelief."
-"what did they say about his theory?" fred asked quickly.
-"oh, they were quite impressed. two of them live--lived here in the rooming house. they were up here that evening tossing it back and forth. i was too tired from the tag match. i let them talk."
-"what did they think about it?"
-mark frowned in an effort to recall. "it had to do with this universe being basically illogical, or at least seeming to be, because it didn't agree with your father's theory. they started building up fantasies on it. one i remember was a good one."
-"what was that?"
-"i think it was jimmy. he said it would be funny if we were here because we believed this universe was the only real one. something about inherited memory. our coming from a long line of people who believed this was the only place, because all our ancestors who didn't believe it shot off into some other universe and had their children there. utterly crazy. you know."
-"yeah, i know," fred agreed. "you going to be around in case i want to see you again?"
-"god! i hope so!" mark said. "it makes me nervous."
-"you're safe enough," fred said. "well--thanks. i'll be seeing you."
-he smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper and glanced at it.
-"what do you hope to find, fred," his mother asked.
-"i don't know," he said. "anything, i--maybe this is something. look."
-together they read, "either: the universe is not constructed according to logical necessity, or: the observable universe is not the universe." there were doodlings along the right margin that meant nothing.
-"what does it mean?" mrs. grant asked.
-"probably just something connected with his classes," fred shrugged. he went on searching the waste basket, giving his mother no hint that he had already found what he was searching for.
-from the position of the paper in the waste basket he felt reasonably sure it had been recently written. it was probably a voicing of thoughts gained from the disappearance of horace and john, because up to that time his father had assumed his theory was just an intellectual curiosity.
-his father couldn't have asked himself if the observable universe might not be the universe unless something had happened to raise a doubt, or suggest an alternative as a possibility.
-mrs. grant's interest lessened. she wandered about the room, perhaps reliving memories. it gave fred a chance to put the piece of paper in his pocket so that when he put everything back in the waste basket his mother would dismiss the whole search.
-there was, of course, the file with the entire theory in it. he knew the theory by heart, however, and had no need of that file.
-"i think i'll go out for a while, mom," he said.
-"all right, fred," she said disinterestedly.
-outside he climbed behind the wheel of his hot rod and sat there, making no motion to start the motor. he was thinking.
-mark smythe had said that he overheard two of his fellow class-men discussing the theory, one of them remarking that, "it would be funny if we were here just because we were descended from a long line of people who believed this was the only place."
-could that be the key?
-take gravitation, for instance. if it were something that some vital part of you had to believe, and that vital part didn't believe, would the entire person go flying off into space?
-what about inanimate matter? did it have to believe too? and what about other forms of life?
-or was everything except human beings just part of the props?
-he shook his head. that didn't seem like quite the right track. he took another.
-the human mind builds up a picture of the outside universe through its senses. sometimes its ideas are wrong. right or wrong, inside everyone's mind is a universe, derived from the outside universe.
-what if the outside universe were derived from something? derived from what? the real, logically necessary universe? that could be. at least it seemed to have some value as a starting point.
-he tried to reason from that point. frustration grew in him. he wished he were older, had his university education behind him. there were so many things he couldn't begin to deal with.
-maybe he could take the entire problem to some of his father's friends. he shook his head over this thought. from all that had gone on it was too likely that the minute one of them discovered something that would be of help he would disappear before he could tell it!
-that raised another point. why didn't he himself vanish? what was there different about him?
-a lot. his father had instilled in him a lot of the things he himself could only aspire to. unbelief was the major thing. or perhaps it was the other major thing, remembrance.
-his father's voice came into consciousness, saying something he had said so many times it was grooved deeply in memory, even to the inflections of voice. "all psychoses and mental troubles are caused by walled-off unpleasant memories. the child who trains himself to recall all unpleasant things and deliberately associate them with the feeling that they are valuable lessons, but harmless, will grow up in perfect balance."
-he smiled. he could let flow through consciousness, dozens of incidents he had taken up with his father.
-he was definitely different than others around him. so different he had systematically disguised it by a front of accepted behavior--systematically and consciously, under his father's guidance.
-there was a chance those differences made him safe. there was a chance those differences would make it possible for him to find out what caused the others to vanish, without he himself vanishing.
-the other train of thought inserted itself into consciousness again. was belief the key to the disappearances?
-let us suppose, fred mused, that deep within the mind there is some matrix of thought that ties the human to this universe. a matrix that could conceivably be altered, and when altered would automatically shift the person to another universe that the altered matrix fitted.
-the subconscious usually took time to absorb and react. that was another thing his father had taught him to observe. learn something, and it takes from days to months for it to become lodged in the subconscious and to rise into operation naturally from there.
-john henderson had taken six weeks to vanish after having learned the theory. it had taken horace smith three and a half days, but he had had the added factor of dr. henderson's disappearance to trigger reactions. the theoretical physics class had taken three days exactly, and its vanishing had been a sort of group action or chain reaction, with intensely emotional reaction after the first student had vanished before the eyes of the others.
-his own father, originator of the theory, had probably fallen into the trap of starting to believe after horace had vanished, so it became a greater probability that the disappearance was related to knowledge of the theory. seeing the students vanish had probably set up an emotional state where complete belief was precipitated.
-in the whole series the only improbable part was that so many students would react in the same short time. that was partly nullified by the fact that it was a special class, and only high i.q. students with excellent records were accepted. they would tend to be somewhat identical in reaction times.
-he straightened up and stared through the windshield at the dark street. so there it was, the probable mechanism of vanishment. a system was fed into the conscious mind. the conscious mind accepted it. in due time that system was transferred down into the matrix that held the person in this reality or universe. once there, it made the whole person transfer to a system where the altered matrix fitted. it might not be the system pictured in his father's theory. it might be a compromise system.
-where and when probably had no meaning in relation to the two systems. that was why, when the shift came, the person vanished instantly without any strange manifestations of any kind.
-was it reversible? if so, then some of those who had vanished would reappear eventually.
-a sudden, startling thought made fred sit up straight, his eyes shining with excitement. so far he had been safe mainly because he habitually didn't attach belief to anything. his other facet of difference might be the means of his testing this without real danger of vanishing.
-could he dredge up from the deepest layers of unconscious thought, the threads leading directly to the matrix that held him in his surroundings and learn consciously what it was?
-a thought. he reflected on it, then decided before he made any decisions he would explore the other avenue, the one the police had naturally thought of.
-was there some person or persons unknown in back of the disappearances? some non-human, perhaps? it could fit into the same theory of disappearance. another universe, beings in that universe. beings who perhaps didn't want knowledge of their universe to become known on this side of the veil.
-he shook his head. it didn't seem likely that the disappearances had been engineered by anyone. they smacked too much of an inner pattern, an inner mechanism.
-so he came back to the other theory. what could he try to accomplish by exploring into his deepest substratum of thought? the ideal he could aim for would be conscious transfer into the other system with the assurance before-hand that he could transfer back again. if he could do that, and if he could find those who had vanished, maybe he could teach them how to return.
-it was something that might take a long time, he realized. his first objective was to penetrate deeper into his mind than anyone had ever consciously gone before. that alone could take a lifetime. or it might be accomplished overnight.
-how would he begin? where would he begin? he shrugged. it didn't matter. he would have to systematically extend his ability to be aware in every direction, physical and temporal, until he could be conscious of his individual blood cells if it were possible, and completely and vividly conscious, at will of every second of his past life. if that didn't lead him to his objective, it might at least point the way and increase his ability to reach his goal.
-that evening, fred arrived home to find a stranger seated in the library. there was the usual moment of clumsiness such encounters generate, but fred's mother returned with a tea tray before self-introductions became necessary. she said, "mr. gaard, this is my son, fred."
-the man smiled easily as mrs. grant continued, speaking now to fred. "this is curt gaard, fred. i called on him today and what do you think i discovered. he was a friend--a very old friend--of your father." mrs. grant stopped, a certain inward uncertainty showing through.
-fred stood mute, giving voice to none of the questions which sprang up in his mind. curt gaard, completely at ease, took up the lead. even as a feeling of familiarity sprang into fred's mind, gaard said, "i knew your father--met him several times--but we weren't as close as your mother's words might imply."
-"yes, i'm a psychiatrist," gaard said. then, as though he could read fred's mind: "your mother did send for me, but so far as i'm concerned, it's more than just a professional visit. i knew your father and liked him. i'd like to be your friend."
-"you plan to psychoanalyze me?"
-"don't be so grim about it," curt gaard smiled. "just let's make this a social visit. there will be plenty of time for other things later. perhaps you can drop in at my office."
-"perhaps," fred said, almost absently. a short time later he excused himself and went to his room.
-"mrs. grant?" mr. browne said, smiling at the woman behind the screen door. "i'm mr. browne the publisher."
-"browne?" she said. "oh yes. my hus--husband has mentioned you."
-"favorably, i hope?" browne was wondering if dr. grant had told her of his decision not to let the book be published.
-"oh yes, very favorably." she frowned. "which reminds me. he received a check from you for the advance royalties. i'm sure he didn't cash it because there was no deposit at the bank that large. i can't find the check anywhere. he must have had it with him when--"
-she had opened the screen door. browne went in and followed her into the study. he looked around at the walls of books, almost feeling the presence of the man whose retreat this had been.
-"that's what i've come here to see you about," browne said. "you see, he called on me at my office the morning of the day he vanished."
-"yes. i'm going to be quite frank with you. he returned the check to me."
-"why? he said nothing to me about it."
-"i rather imagine he didn't have time. i've waited, knowing you wouldn't care to discuss business so soon after--" he waited for her reaction. when she said nothing he continued. "he returned the check and said he didn't want the book published after all. i couldn't quite understand his reasons, but they are no longer valid as i see it."
-"what were his reasons? this surprises me very much. just the day before that he mentioned his book and expressed pleasure that it was being published."
-"the reasons he gave were that the book contained some things that were--to use his own words--a trifle crackpottish. he thought they might reflect on him in some way."
-"oh my goodness. he was always doing something like that, mr. browne. he leaned over backwards. scientific integrity was a fetish with him."
-"i haven't read the book," mr. browne said. "the reader reported it was far better than dr. grant's first one. that was good enough for me. the reader is no longer with us." he frowned in irritation at the memory. "left us without giving notice. but he was a good man. excellent judgment. i'd like to go ahead with the book unless you object."
-"i don't know," mrs. grant hesitated. "if he didn't want it published--"
-"but he's gone now," browne reminded her.
-"i know, but--" she wept softly into a crumpled kerchief.
-the publisher remained silent. after a moment she pulled herself together. "he was always so absent-minded. i was sure he had mislaid the check. used it to scribble some problem on. he did that once several years ago."
-browne reached into his breast-pocket and brought out a long envelope and extended it toward her.
-"i had another check made out for advance royalties," he said, "if you decide to let me go ahead with the book."
-"i don't think i should, mr. browne." she withdrew the check from the envelope and looked at it, her eyebrows lifting at the size of the figure.
-"it's substantially more than the original check," browne said. "i thought perhaps you might be in need of money, and i feel confident the book will sell exceptionally well."
-"it is a lot of money," mrs. grant said. "but i'm so confused. i wish i knew what to do."
-browne leaned forward. "your husband was a great man. i feel it as an obligation on my part to make public his last work."
-mrs. grant nodded slowly. "you may be right. i hadn't thought of it that way."
-"and you can undoubtedly use the money," browne added. "there'll be more. how much more depends on how the book sells. it may be a steady income for a few years."
-"all right," mrs. grant said, making up her mind. "i'll let you publish it."
-"fine!" mr. browne said heartily. "i felt you would. and any time you need money just call me."
-fred's birthday came in february. he was seventeen now, and the knowledge filled him with dismay. it had been months since his father had vanished.
-or had his father vanished? maybe his memory of those people vanishing was as wrong as his memory of which way his door opened! to check it he spent an afternoon in a newspaper office searching back papers until he found the accounts. he read them all carefully. they were as he remembered them.
-and in him, slowly, grew the realization that he was going to use someone. he was going to choose someone and try to make that person disappear. more, he knew that that person was going to be curt gaard. he decided against calling and making an appointment. he would go to the man's office and put over the sixteen-year-old act.
-with a great deal of shyness he confided to the receptionist that curt was a very special friend of his mother's. she talked into the inter-office phone, did a lot of listening and yessing. finally she told fred that dr. gaard wanted him to wait a few moments. then she dialed an outside number. fred listened to the clicks and knew it was his home phone. the psychiatrist was going to talk to his mother. he hadn't wanted that, but it wouldn't matter materially.
-the wait lasted almost half an hour. then, with heart pounding, fred was walking toward the dark walnut door to the inner office. inside, he caught a comprehensive glimpse of the rumored couch, luxurious desk and chairs, thick expensive rug, and an assortment of floor-lamps and oil paintings. then the psychiatrist was upon him, heartily welcoming him.
-then, "i'm glad you dropped in, fred," dr. gaard smiled casually.
-"i'm all mixed up," fred said. "i know something's wrong with me. i wanted someone to talk to, now that dad is gone. i thought of you. i didn't want to bother mom. do you really straighten out crazy people?"
-"not exactly," curt chuckled. "a psychologist finds most of his patients among people who are just upset about things. they aren't insane. they just need someone who has experience to help them get their thoughts straightened out."
-"maybe that's all i need," fred said. "i don't think i'm crazy."
-"of course you aren't. you're a very healthy-minded young man."
-"i don't want mom to know about this...."
-curt frowned, jotted something down on a notepad. it was, fred guessed, a notation to call his mother and warn her to keep quiet.
-"don't worry about your mother. now tell me, just what seems to be the trouble?" curt smiled encouragingly.
-"are you married?" fred asked with teen-age frankness.
-"no," curt smiled.
-"would you marry my mother?" fred asked bluntly. "i would like for you to be my father."
-curt gaard stared at him a moment. "i really believe you mean that," he said slowly. "you know, don't you, that it will be two years before she can be free to marry? your father can't be declared legally, ah, departed, for two years."
-"no. i didn't know," fred said, real dismay on his face. he hadn't known about that. he thought rapidly. "then can i come live with you? just until mom can marry you?" inwardly he was enjoying this. and he hoped he wasn't overdoing it.
-"we can't do that," curt said. "i'll tell you what we can do, though. i'll invite myself out to dinner tomorrow evening. don't say anything. i'll surprise your mother. and we'll see a lot of each other from now on. okay?"
-fred nodded. it was definitely okay. he wanted to be present when curt gaard disappeared into thin air, and this way he had a chance.
-he left curt's office highly exhilarated, almost drunk with the emotion of things working right. it lasted until the following evening when the doctor showed up and he and fred's mother put on their little act. then his emotions swung the other way. he experienced a reluctance to go through with his plans. there was too much that was likeable about the man. and his mother did like him.
-"poor dad," fred thought.
-after dinner the next evening, curt kept the conversation on fred's father. it was, fred sensed, the right time to bring up the theory. curt would do anything to please him, to draw him out.
-but he hesitated. stretching elaborately, he said, "i'm sleepy. why don't you and mom play canasta or something?"
-"i'm going to be much too busy," his mother said. "i have to finish proofreading your father's book for the publisher. mr. browne is finally going to print it, and wants it back right away."
-"when did that happen?" fred demanded. "can i read it?"
-"you can read it when it comes out. now you and curt go into the study and leave me alone." she herded them out of the room.
-curt used flattery. fred took his cue and slyly bragged that it was a theory few college professors could understand even, but he understood it.
-more coaxing and he was ready to start in. but his conscience got the better of him. he balked, and even as he tried to squirm out of it he realized that it was too late. dr. gaard would never rest until the theory had been told.
-"i'll tell you the next time you come," he suggested as a last retreat.
-"tonight," curt said. "even if it takes all night. you can miss school tomorrow." he winked. "i can okay it with the teacher."
-"all right," fred said in sudden crystallization of decision. "but only if you agree to master every step of it, stopping me until you have." curt agreed. he started in.
-after half an hour it settled into serious listening on curt's part, and pertinent questions that made fred realize he was dealing with a mind of more than average keenness.
-fred's mother wandered in occasionally, and out again, without being noticed by either of them.
-an hour passed. two. the final steps were drawing nearer. at times curt was even anticipating some of them. it was midnight when it was finished. the mind of curt gaard held the entire pattern.
-fred couldn't take his eyes off the man's face. the face that was mirroring the rapid flow of thoughts as it reviewed and attacked every brick in the structure, finding it solid, and solidly cemented to its neighbors.
-then he saw a change come over the man's face. he had accepted the theory. now he was trying to integrate it into the problem of fred grant. he hadn't yet seen the connection between the theory and the mysterious disappearances.
-and perhaps he wouldn't. if he did he might go the final step and realize what was going to happen to him. fred hoped that wouldn't happen. he didn't want his victim to be conscious of being a victim.
-"you are intelligent, fred," curt probed, "to be able to master such an advanced theory." he glanced at his watch. "it's getting pretty late. i'll tell you what. after school tomorrow drop down to my office. we'll come out for dinner here together."
-and that was that. the die was cast, and all that remained was to try and use it to make progress, rather than letting it be just another disappearance that pointed to nothing constructive.
-there was no way of telling how fast it would work. the next afternoon and evening there was little to provide an indication, other than an occasional look that came over curt for moments at a time.
-a date was made for saturday. it was to be a picnic in the country. that meant skipping friday. fred violently objected, but curt and his mother overrode his objections. so in the end it had to be saturday, unless curt disappeared before then.
-but ten minutes before school was out friday a note was brought into the classroom from the principal's office. curt had called to ask fred to come to his office directly from school.
-torn between excited anticipation that the psychiatrist had made an important discovery, and fear that the man would have vanished before he could get to him, fred ran from the school building and caught the bus.
-at curt's office the receptionist smiled and told him to go right in. his sigh of relief was genuine. curt was sitting at his desk.
-"come in, son," he said.
-there were the amenities. "how did school go today?" "okay." "anything happen?" fred waited impatiently. then: "i've been thinking a lot about your father's theory, fred, and i would like to ask a few questions--if it won't upset you."
-"of course not!" fred said.
-"okay, here's a question," curt said. "or rather, a statement. you can answer yes or no. you believe the theory is at the root of the disappearances, that in some unknown fashion knowing the theory will cause a person to vanish."
-so there it was. fred debated rapidly in his mind. it might be better to admit it.
-"yes," he said.
-"hmm. then let me ask you this. how do you account for the fact that you know it, and haven't disappeared?"
-fred decided to be completely truthful and see what happened. "it's because i don't let belief form a part of my thinking, sir. dad instilled that in me. with those that disappeared, logic was their groundwork of belief."
-"but you believe knowing the theory caused them to vanish?"
-fred smiled. "i see what you mean. no, i don't. it's just that no other alternative seems probable, so...."
-"so you work with the one that does," curt said, nodding. "all right, let's work with it for the moment. you have probably done some thinking on what mechanism might be involved in the process of vanishing. would you care to tell me about it?"
-"there's no reason why not, sir. it takes time for conscious beliefs to sink into the subconscious and integrate there. the time varies with the person and the emotions involved."
-"that makes sense," curt said, nodding.
-"i postulated that down underneath even the subconscious, at the very roots of being, is what i named the basic thought matrix. in order for us to be here in this existence at all it must have a certain form. change that form and, presto, the person slips out of this existence, perhaps into another."
-"i see." curt drummed his fingers on the desk for a long minute. "i see," he repeated. "has it occurred to you that you have already rejected your theory? it's quite obvious you have, you know."
-"how is it obvious?" fred asked, wondering what curt meant.
-"because you told me the theory. you wouldn't have, of course, if you believed it would cause me to vanish like the others."
-fred opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to cope with this. it was unexpected.
-"we've gotten to the root of your trouble," curt went on. "it was a real trouble, to you. in a few months you will look back on it and marvel at it. right now it seems real. you feel that somewhere your father still exists. you would like to go to him, or perhaps bring him back. believe me, such mysterious vanishings aren't uncommon. the history of the world is full of such incidents. in some cases whole groups have vanished. authenticated cases. in southeast asia the people of an entire city of over a million inhabitants vanished overnight. in the last century an entire trainload of people, including the train, vanished while going from one city to another a few miles away. and there have been vanishments with reappearances, too. in england there was an old woman who suddenly vanished before the eyes of her family. at the same instant she reappeared in a room in london, miles away, in front of other people. did she know your father's theory? did the train that vanished know that theory?" curt was smiling. "no. you see, it's something unrelated to your father's theory."
-fred was nodding. "you may be right," he said. "i didn't know about those."
-"you may go now, son," curt said. "i'll be out around eleven o'clock in the morning."
-fred rose quickly. "okay, curt," he said. "i'll see you." he hurried out. it was too much of an effort to hide the sudden trembling. he hadn't known about other cases of vanishing. they provided data to expand the whole thing, while not in the slightest detracting from the validity of anything else.
-and if the talk had been prolonged much more curt would have inevitably tumbled to his motive for telling him the theory.
-promptly at eleven curt arrived. fred's mother had already prepared the large basket of food. there were ten minutes of last-minute bustle, then they were off, with curt skillfully tooling his cadillac in and out of traffic until they were on the open highway.
-"i know just the place," he told them. "woods, meadow, brook. even a couple of cows." and he did. when they arrived shortly before twelve-thirty it was all that.
-"still a little nervous?" curt asked him as they got out.
-"no. no, of course not!" fred said.
-curt didn't pursue the subject. instead, he became something utterly different than he had been before, a carefree thoroughly likeable man, full of humor.
-fred began to regret that he had chosen him as his victim. he began to hope that the process might not be automatic, that curt wouldn't vanish. but he stayed close to him and listened to his every word and watched his face as much as he dared without staring, so that if the moment came he could get whatever there was to get of value from it.
-for the first time in years his mother began to be carefree. she even joked back at curt occasionally, something she had never done with martin in fred's memory. her joking was clumsy and uncertain. fred laughed uproariously to encourage her and to hide his uncomfortable feeling.
-"oh, i haven't felt so good in ages," she said when they were seated around the tablecloth spread with sandwiches and salads and cakes. "it's wonderful getting out like this. we'll have to do it often."
-"we will," curt said. "at least once a week."
-fred's mother picked up a sandwich. she started to raise it to her mouth. she was smiling at curt and about to say something to him. both curt and fred were watching her.
-abruptly she wasn't there. the sandwich seemed to remain stationary for a long second. then it dropped to the tablecloth.
-curt was holding a paper cup filled with hot coffee. his hand constricted. the cup collapsed, spilling steaming coffee over his legs.
-fred stared at the space his mother had just occupied. abruptly he squawked, "no!" he turned accusing eyes on curt. "you told her!"
-something seemed to go out of the man. he seemed to become visibly smaller. "yes," he whispered, "i told her."
-fred was crying. "but you shouldn't have," he sobbed. "i told you because i wanted you to vanish. i didn't want her to, and now she has. and nothing happened that i could use."
-"the book has the theory in it?" fred said. "it mustn't get published. why--thousands of people would read it and vanish. we've got to stop them!"
-curt was shaking his head in bewilderment. "but we can't be sure. it must be something else, though what i don't know."
-"no," fred said bitterly.
-there was a long silence. curt broke it by saying, "what did you expect to accomplish by my vanishing?"
-fred told him of horace's shouting to his wife, "ethel! i've got it!", and the others seeming to have a flash of divination or insight just before they vanished.
-"i wanted," he explained dully, "to be with you when it happened, in the hopes i could get something more than i have to go on. in that way i might be able to find out something so i could bring my father back. and mom." he began to cry.
-"i see," curt said, calm and a little subdued. "it's possible that may come. after what i've seen happen i can admit it as a possibility."
-"then you will make every effort to tell me?" fred asked.
-curt smiled wryly. "you make it sound inevitable. but--yes, i will."
-fred's eyes were large and round. "i've got to find the mechanism. i've got to go where they've vanished to and show them how to get back!" he turned his eyes on curt. "don't you hate me?" he pleaded. "i'm just the same as a murderer!"
-"no, my son," curt said gently. "wherever your father is, your mother is with him now. if--" a startled expression appeared on his face. "so that's it," he almost whispered.
-"what's it?" fred asked. "tell me. please tell me. i've got to know, you know. you promised!"
-curt frowned in a visible effort to jerk himself back. his eyes, holding a faraway look, rested on fred's face, looked at it, and through it.
-"you promised!" fred screamed. "tell me!"
-curt opened his mouth as though to speak. his lips smiled.
-and--he was no longer there.
-fred was alone, with the picnic lunch on the white square of tablecloth, with the gleaming cadillac a few yards away, with the two white and black spotted cows grazing a short distance away, with the noisy little brook nearby.
-he became aware of a police siren growing louder. he became aware he was behind a wheel, that there were cars in front of him veering wildly out of his way. the speedometer needle pointed at ninety.
-how had he arrived here? he took his foot off the gas. he was driving a cadillac. curt's. but curt was gone. that was it! he had started out to look for the police.
-he led them back to the picnic grove. the tablecloth with the food on it was still there, untouched. one of the cows was grazing beside it.
-they listened while he told again of his mother and curt vanishing before his eyes. their reserved skepticism was thrust out of their minds when he identified himself as the son of dr. martin grant, who had disappeared.
-they used their car radio. in a surprisingly short time several other cars were coming through the gate into the pasture.
-fred, his mind paralyzed with grief, stood forlornly near the cadillac. he answered the questions they put to him. he wasn't aware of the news cameras that took shots of him which were to appear in the evening papers all over the country.
-eventually it was over. the police gathered up the picnic lunch, his mother's purse, and everything else. a gray-haired man in a dark brown suit who introduced himself as captain waters told him to get into the cadillac. "i'll drive," waters said.
-entirely submissive, fred obeyed. on the way into town captain waters said he would take fred home if he wanted to go there, but it would be really better if he accepted an invitation to stay at the waters home for a few days until things were straightened out.
-"all right," fred said.
-eternities later he was in a house with comfortable furnishings. a motherly old lady was hovering around him. captain waters was on the phone calling someone.
-there was a steaming dinner on blue design swedish dishes. under coaxing fred nibbled. door chimes sounded. captain waters pushed back his chair and went away. he came back with another gray-haired man who pressed a thumb against fred's cheek, listened to words captain waters was saying, then ordered fred to roll up his sleeve.
-he swabbed a spot with alcohol and inserted a hypo needle. fred watched with listless eyes.
-"get him undressed and to bed," the doctor said. "poor kid. suffering from shock. have to watch him the next few days...."
-shock.... fred tried to concentrate on the meaning of the word.
-the bed was an enormous expanse of fresh smelling sheets and luxurious blankets. the pillows were mountainous ... and so soft....
-the sun was streaming in through open french doors, filtered through bronze screen doors. an electric clock on the dresser pointed at eleven.
-he lay there without moving, remembering everything that had happened the day before. and he had a feeling that, in his sleep, he had been doing a lot of thinking. or was it dreaming?
-"poor boy," a melodious voice purred.
-he opened his eyes. it was the motherly woman, with a tray of toast and eggs and steaming coffee. the sight of it made him aware that there was a huge emptiness in his stomach.
-he ate, gratefully. mrs. waters busied herself about the room, humming soft tunes, smiling at him whenever he looked at her. when he had finished, she took the tray.
-"you just relax and sleep some more," she said. "the bathroom is through that door over there. if you want me for anything just call. i'll hear you. and if you want to get up and wander about the house just do so." she departed, leaving the door part way open in invitation.
-fred sighed and closed his eyes. in that moment of relaxation the thinking he had done during the night rose into consciousness.
-for he knew now what he had to do. there was no other avenue of exploration. it might not even be possible. but if it was possible he was going to do it.
-he was going to vanish.
-there alone lay the solution. he should have realized it. once he vanished as had the others, he would have experience with the mystery. personal experience. he would have all the data he required, instead of just data from the world he was in. if he had the ability to solve the problem of reappearance he would then be able to return, and go back again and show the others how to return.
-the key to vanishing was belief, that quality of thought which his father had systematically weeded from his mind since earliest infancy. it might take time to overcome that, but it should be possible.
-already he believed some things. or did he? was it merely a realization that those things had a probability that approached certainty?
-his patterns of thinking were too ingrained. his mind was too well integrated. if he became irritated the irritation immediately brought up the memories of the factors that made him react that way. if he became happy he consciously knew the pattern, stretching back to early infancy. it was ingrained within him.
-he began to realize with a sinking sensation that he didn't actually know what belief was. if, in some way, it was present anywhere in his makeup, he didn't know how to recognize it.
-his mental pattern was one of unbelief. not disbelief, the believing that something isn't true; but unbelief, the using of something in the pragmatic sense for its workability.
-he let his thoughts wander in the past. he could remember vaguely a moment when he had felt unreasoning terror, a sense of being lost. he could remember his father saying many times, "belief is the lazy assuming that something is true." it is or it isn't, and the fundamental postulate of inductive logic tells us that its truth or lack of it is forever beyond our reach. so why reach for it? use a theory if it works for you. discard it if it doesn't. don't use it even to the point of absurdity while clinging to a belief that it's true.
-it was that way with facts, too. something that happened or seemed to happen, needed no tag of belief attached to it. if you saw it happen it didn't necessarily happen. there was such a thing as illusion. accept it as though it had happened--until events pointed otherwise.
-his playmates and teachers had been frankly skeptical of this point of view, doubting he could actually have attained it. they were quick to agree it was desirable. they just thought no one could use a thing without attaching a degree of belief or unbelief to it.
-now, what should he believe? as in the attempts to reach the basic matrix by conscious extension, he had to start somewhere.
-it was midafternoon when captain waters entered the bedroom with a cheery, "hello!"
-"hi," fred said. he had been lying in bed with his eyes closed.
-"did i wake you?" waters said. "sorry." he grinned. "you can go back to sleep again. i'll drop in later."
-captain waters ducked out. he started to close the door, then left it open. a few minutes later the rumble of his voice came from another part of the house. fred tried to catch what he was saying, but couldn't.
-half an hour later he heard the front door chimes. the rumble of deep voices came again. the doctor appeared in the doorway.
-"well, well," he said, smiling. "i hear you had a very restful night. how do you feel today? better?" he was advancing toward the bed as he talked. setting his black bag down, he reached out and took fred's pulse. "a little rapid," he said, putting his watch away. reaching inside his coat, he took out a thermometer. he put it under fred's tongue. "had anything to eat or drink in the past fifteen minutes?" he asked. fred shook his head.
-the doctor stood quietly. after a while he lifted the thermometer, glanced at it, and put it away.
-"looks like you're going to be fit as a fiddle," he said. "i'll be back in a few minutes. mrs. waters told me on the way in she was pouring me a cup of coffee."
-fred remained motionless until the doctor had left the room. then he slipped out of bed and went to the door. on the other side of it was a living room. a swinging door of the type that opens into kitchens was just swinging closed. no one was in sight. quickly fred stole across to the door. he put his ear close to it and listened.
-"dr. harvey speaking," he heard the doctor say. "connect me with thirteen please."
-"is he going to be all right?" mrs. waters' anxious voice sounded.
-"i think so," the doctor said calmly. "hello? thirteen? who's speaking? oh, hello, giles. dr. harvey. do you have a vacancy? observation, yes."
-"oh dear," mrs. waters said unhappily.
-"it will be for the best," captain waters said. "they'll know how to take care of him."
-fred waited for no more. he went back to the bedroom. his clothes were in the closet. in seconds he had them on. he could tie his shoes and button up later.
-he unfastened one of the screen doors and stepped out onto a flagstone path that wound around the corner of the house toward the front. there were people on the sidewalk, but none very near. it would be hours before dark, and there was no place to hide.
-there were two cars parked at the curb. one was a police car, the other a black chrysler sedan, probably the doctor's car. the police car had the key in the ignition. fred didn't hesitate. he jerked open the door and slid behind the wheel. mrs. waters' anxious voice sounded, calling, "fred! where are you?" then the starter was whirring. the motor caught.
-as he shot away from the curb, fred caught a glimpse in the rear view mirror of captain waters running down the walk from the house.
-as he took the first corner, touching the siren button briefly, he wondered why he had run. it had been an impulse. maybe it was the wrong one. maybe he could accomplish what he had to do better in some kind of institution. maybe not.
-he compressed his lips grimly. the die was cast now. he would abandon the police car someplace, then slip quietly out of town on foot. he would be caught if he tried to go home. he had no money except a few dollars in change.
-maybe this was all part of the new pattern that seemed to possess him. he kept the siren going, not trusting his ability to avoid traffic. its mad scream blended into his thoughts. he was the hunted. he was sane, but the truth would brand him as insane. or was he sane? had anyone vanished? was his father at home, sitting in his chair in his study, expounding his theories to his colleagues? was his mother at home, in the kitchen, preparing dinner?
-his lip trembled. homesickness welled up in him.
-he was near a bus line that went to the outskirts of the city. he shut off the siren and slowed down. after a few blocks and two turns he felt safe in ditching the car. he pulled quietly to the curb. he tied his shoelaces, buttoned his shirt, combed his hair. then he got out. no one paid any attention to him.
-he walked to the corner. two minutes later the bus stopped.
-the night sky was clear. the moon was a lesser sun whose light made things visible and somehow unreal and mysterious. in the ditch to the right of the road two bright points of light blinked on, held for a moment, and vanished. a cat.
-a silent dog appeared out of the gloom, wagged its tail and half of its body in friendliness. "nice doggy," fred said nervously. it sniffed his trouser leg, lost interest, and moved off into the darkness.
-it was after midnight. how long after, he didn't know. once a police car had come speeding by, its red lights ogling insanely, its spotlight weaving into the bushes at the side of the road. he had lain very still in the ditch until it passed. it hadn't slowed down. later it had come back and he had again pressed his body into the earth beside the road.
-off to the right now he saw the silhouette of the giant tree that had been the landmark of the picnic spot. a few minutes later he could see the gate that led to the meadow.
-he squeezed through it and picked out the path worn by the cars the day before. some winged creature dipped down, shied away from him, and swept off into the darkness.
-a soft gurgling sound became audible. the brook. the spot where his mother and curt had vanished, was ahead.
-he reached it. he wasn't quite sure until he studied the ground and went back in memory to check on little details. then he was certain.
-he had reached his goal.
-he knew why he had come, of course. here he was closer to his mother than anyplace else. here, in some unguessed way, he might get to her.
-what would he do when morning came? he sat down and pulled his knees up under his chin, wrapping his arms around them. morning was far away. it might never come--for him. if and when it did he would cope with it. "mom," he whispered. "mom...."
-crrroak! the sound of the frog broke the silence. the croak of a frog that was part of the universe--the universe that was basically illogical. more....
-the universe was insane. police looking for you. doctors with their standards of sanity and insanity. right now they were looking for him to protect him from himself. they didn't want to know why things were done. to them even the reason would be part of the insanity. they dealt in tags. words. their science was an illusion within an illusion. meaningless inside a universe of meaninglessness.
-crrroak, the frog said cautiously. and a night creature came down on silent wings, to weave back into the darkness.
-that was the reason for pragmatism. he could see it now. he had always thought his father made pragmatism his god because it was the intellectual thing to do. but now he could see the reason for it. reality was a jungle in which reason had to cope with unreason, and there was no criterion except workability. belief was an instinctive way of thought. it was like the appendix. scientists claimed that long ago man ate tree bark. and the appendix had had a use. if so, that use was gone, but the appendix remained. before surgery had become a common thing, thousands of people died from appendicitis. the organ that had once been necessary had become a hazard to living. belief was something like that.
-he jerked out of his thoughts to listen to a car on the road. it slowed down. it stopped by the gate. a car door slammed. a man appeared briefly in the light of the headlamps. captain waters--alone.
-he loomed a moment later inside the pasture in the light of a flashlight. he occasionally flashed it on his face so he would be recognizable.
-fred felt an impulse to slip away into the darkness. he hadn't been seen. captain waters was just hoping he might be here.
-a stronger impulse made him remain as he was. the entire pattern of captain waters' approach indicated understanding--or at least the willingness to understand.
-the bobbing flashlight came closer. it speared out and touched him; then abruptly went out. footsteps approached. a dark form emerged from the gloom.
-"hello, fred," captain waters said quietly. "i came to keep you company. i'll just sit quiet and not bother you."
-"okay," fred said.
-there were movements. a small flame illuminated captain waters' features as he lit his pipe. the flame went out. then, only the occasional glow of the pipe, briefly illuminating the police captain's face.
-crrroak! the frog greeted this newest arrival in his domain.
-fred could not think. he was too conscious of the man sitting near him. he fought down the impulse to jump up and run away into the darkness. he fought the desire to scream at the man to leave him alone.
-perhaps the police captain sensed this, or perhaps he could see fred's expression when the coal in his pipe glowed brightest. "tell you what," he said suddenly, "you maybe would feel better alone. i'll wait in the car. when you get ready you can come home. no more doctors. mom gave me a good talking to. she wants you to come back."
-waters got up and walked away into the night. minutes later there was the sound of a car door slamming shut. fred was alone again.
-alone. it was a feeling, almost an emotion. intellectually he knew that nearby was a frog. a block away across the meadow was the police captain sitting in his car.
-abruptly, without warning, a flash of insight spread through his entire mind. he knew suddenly what belief was. he knew it instinctively and without question.
-and knowing it, he knew that his foundations of unbelief were a semantic illusion that had been built up within him. the panorama of his mind, his entire life, stood clearly before him.
-the cute little tags of probability were superficial. they had a pragmatic value in keeping the mind open, but their function was to guide the judgment in tagging thoughts with belief or disbelief.
-he retreated into his aloneness until there was nothing but himself. he marveled at the unfoldment of this new understanding. he could see things in this new light of understanding.
-but then.... a question loomed. if that were so, why hadn't he vanished like the others? belief was an automatic process. why hadn't it permeated to the basic matrix of his mind as it had with the others?
-was he, then, still on the wrong track?
-but there was no other!
-he saw the trap he had set for himself. he had believed with all his being that belief was the key he was searching for!
-he had been on the wrong track. his beautiful theory of belief that spread downward into the subconscious, then down lower and lower into the basic matrix that held a person in this reality, was wrong. the evidence he had based it on was still there, but it was evidence of something else.
-the eastern horizon was suffused with light. it grew stronger, dimming the light of the moon.
-from somewhere in the depths of his being rose a feeling that soon he would know, and when he did he would be close to crossing the threshold.
-he unclasped his arms and straightened out his legs, feeling stabs of pain in his weary muscles. he got to his feet, tingling with weariness.
-by the side of the road, he could see the police car he had stolen--infinite ages ago. he walked toward it, and when he reached it he climbed in and closed the door.
-"beautiful morning," captain waters said, starting the motor.
-fred awoke and opened his eyes. across the room the french doors were open. sunlight was filtering through the copper screens. a breeze was playing gently with the drapes. for a moment the flight, the long walk into the country, his rendezvous with aloneness, captain water's coming to bring him back, all seemed the stuff of dreams. he had the feeling that he had never left this enormous bed.
-then it returned. reality. the miracle of his reorientation to belief, the new vistas that went with it. the full realization of the true nature of the vanishments.
-he became aware of a figure in the doorway, watching him. it was mrs. waters. "awake?" she asked cheerfully.
-"yes," fred said.
-"want some breakfast?"
-he nodded. she went away.
-he raised his head and looked about the room, at the homey touches, the family pictures on the dresser and the walls, the hand sewed knickknacks and frills. this was probably the waters' own bedroom that they had given up for him.
-he could vanish while mrs. waters was away. she would come in with the breakfast tray and find him gone.
-when would the moment of reorientation come?
-"here you are!" mrs. waters said, sweeping into the room with the tray and its swedish design dishes and steaming coffee and hot cereal. as she bent over to set the tray on the bed, there came the sound of the front door opening. "there's pa, home already." she smiled worriedly at fred. "will you be all right? i'll tell pa to come in and keep you company while i fix his supper."
-"yes ma'am," fred said, eyeing the food hungrily. "only--" she was at the door. she stopped and looked around questioningly. "i--i think i'd like to be alone while i eat."
-"all right," she said, and hurried away.
-but captain waters had brushed in without giving her a chance to tell him to stay away. "hello, son," he said warmly. "have a good sleep?"
-mrs. waters said, "you let him alone while he eats."
-"it's all right," fred said hastily.
-"sure it's all right," the police captain said. he sat down and took out his pipe. he concerned himself with filling it and lighting it, saying nothing.
-fred picked up a piece of golden toast and bit into one corner absently. the thoughts he had had during sleep were filtering into consciousness.
-he recalled how his mother had looked. there had been a fleeting expression just before she had vanished. she had been going to say something. she had changed her mind and had vanished instead!
-and curt--he had had his reorientation at least several seconds before vanishing. he had had it, and then, with his new perspective, had said, "so that's it!"
-it was as though the new orientation made everything else unimportant.
-one common factor stood out in every case, those two he had personally witnessed, and the others he hadn't seen. one common factor. vanishing, or whatever happened that produced the vanishing, had been an impulse.
-there had been time for thought. for example, curt might have considered the practicality of telling fred what had happened to him. but he might have reflected that eventually fred would discover what he had just discovered, so why bother?
-in the office curt had told him of a whole city of a million people vanishing, leaving empty houses and streets. had the cause been the same? a true orientation?
-fred looked at captain waters, sitting quietly, puffing slowly on his pipe. with deliberation waters uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "you know, son, when you get around to it--that is, if you feel up to it sometime--i wish you'd tell me about it. what it is that's troubling you. i'll try to understand."
-"you'll try--?" fred echoed. and the police captain's words started a train of thought. the others--had the place they'd gone been a heaven or a hell? so many of them--. fred started suddenly. "the book!" he cried.
-"i've got to see the publisher about my father's book. it's very important."
-"it can wait until you're feeling better," waters said.
-"no. i've got to see mr. browne!"
-"i--i can't tell you."
-"all right." captain waters gave in. "i'll take you down and bring you back."
-it was half an hour later, in the reception room at the publishing company. fred stared numbly at the big poster on the wall advertising his father's book.
-"mr. browne will see you," the receptionist said.
-"wait here," fred told captain waters. "i want to talk to him alone." he went to the door and opened it, stepping inside and closing it behind him.
-"fred grant?" browne said, getting up from his desk and coming toward him, hand outstretched. "what can i do for you? need some money?"
-fred was shaking his head. "i don't want any money," he said. "i want you to stop my father's book. you can't publish it."
-"now wait," browne said. "we aren't going through that again, are we?"
-"you can't!" fred said. "people will read it and vanish!"
-"people will read it and vanish! you've got to believe me. the cause of those disappearances is in that book!"
-browne stared for a moment, then dragged over a notepad, wondering how his publicity boys had missed this one. he stood up and came around his desk. "you leave it to me," he said. "you won't have a thing to worry about. i'll take care of everything."
-"then you won't publish it?"
-fred found himself outside the door, not quite sure what mr. browne had promised.
-inside, browne went back to his desk, muttering, "what a killing! have to tell nichols about it tomorrow at lunch. that vanishing stuff is a terrific publicity angle."
-"you still don't want to tell me what's troubling you?" police captain waters said wistfully.
-a frown crossed fred's features and vanished into a smile. "nothing's troubling me," he lied. "i'm all right. i'll be all right."
-"you'll stay with us a while longer?"
-"sure. sure. you make me feel--okay. i'm just going out for a ride. be back for supper."
-it had been two months now since his mother and curt had vanished. in that two months he had come to realize something. he didn't quite know how to express it even in his thoughts.
-it wasn't that he didn't want to vanish. he would, some day. but he had given up trying. it was the wrong way. the others hadn't tried. it had just come to them out of a clear sky.
-some day it would come to him that way, and he would welcome it.
-he drove downtown and parked. a block away was a show he wanted to see. he started toward it. abruptly he stopped. in front of him was a bookstore. in its window was a large display, and every book had his father's picture on the front under the title theory for the millions.
-in back of the display was a large poster with a still larger picture, and the teaser--(do you dare read this book?)
-anger flamed in fred's mind. the anger died as abruptly as it had come. it was replaced by a homesickness, a longing. unconsciously his footsteps carried him into the store.
-a man had the book in his hands.
-"you aren't going to buy that, george," the woman beside him was saying.
-"and why not?" the man asked, laughing. "i've never turned down a dare in my life!" he looked at the girl waiting on him. "do you think i'll vanish, miss?"
-the clerk smiled. "i wouldn't know. i have strict orders not to read the book."
-a solemn-faced man appeared out of nowhere and thrust a copy of the book at the clerk. "i want this, please," he said.
-"i'll be with you in a moment, sir," the clerk said.
-others were waiting also.
-fred stumbled from the store, bumping into someone in the doorway as he went through, and too confused and frightened to stop and apologize. there was no way of stopping it. maybe the police would become alarmed at the disappearances.
-"what's wrong with me?" he mumbled, walking blindly in the crowds on the sidewalks. "maybe i do lack the ability to believe. i think i believe. what have i missed?"
-only he, of all those who had learned the theory, had not vanished. was faith, then, something so common, and yet impossible for he, himself, to reach?
-ahead was another bookstore. in its windows were the same displays.
-he stopped. people were pushing through the doors. inside they were picking up the book and looking for a clerk.
-the clerks were smiling and saying things fred couldn't hear, and wrapping the books and handing them to their new owners--people who would take them home and read--and vanish.
-into what? something they would see, and smile at, and say, "why, of course!" and with a simple acceptance they would enter it.
-he watched them.
-and from the depths of his being fred longed to be one of them; to be able to go in and buy the book, and read it, and....
-on the other side of the window, in the store, a clerk was waiting on a customer. the customer turned to look at him, with his nose flattened against the glass. he didn't see them. in his eyes was a faraway look, a startled light.
-"why of course!" he said in quiet wonder.
-there was just a little blur, where a nose had pressed against the window, and the customer frowned and said to the clerk, "that young man outside--he--he--"
-"three-fifty, please," the clerk said.
-"ah--oh. oh, sure."
-black amazon of mars
-a novel by leigh brackett
-through all the long cold hours of the norland night the martian had not moved nor spoken. at dusk of the day before eric john stark had brought him into the ruined tower and laid him down, wrapped in blankets, on the snow. he had built a fire of dead brush, and since then the two men had waited, alone in the vast wasteland that girdles the polar cap of mars.
-now, just before dawn, camar the martian spoke.
-"i am dying."
-"i will not reach kushat."
-camar nodded. he was silent again.
-the wind howled down from the northern ice, and the broken walls rose up against it, brooding, gigantic, roofless now but so huge and sprawling that they seemed less like walls than cliffs of ebon stone. stark would not have gone near them but for camar. they were wrong, somehow, with a taint of forgotten evil still about them.
-the big earthman glanced at camar, and his face was sad. "a man likes to die in his own place," he said abruptly. "i am sorry."
-"the lord of silence is a great personage," camar answered. "he does not mind the meeting place. no. it was not for that i came back into the norlands."
-he was shaken by an agony that was not of the body. "and i shall not reach kushat!"
-stark spoke quietly, using the courtly high martian almost as fluently as camar.
-"i have known that there was a burden heavier than death upon my brother's soul."
-he leaned over, placing one large hand on the martian's shoulder. "my brother has given his life for mine. therefore, i will take his burden upon myself, if i can."
-he did not want camar's burden, whatever it might be. but the martian had fought beside him through a long guerilla campaign among the harried tribes of the nearer moon. he was a good man of his hands, and in the end had taken the bullet that was meant for stark, knowing quite well what he was doing. they were friends.
-that was why stark had brought camar into the bleak north country, trying to reach the city of his birth. the martian was driven by some secret demon. he was afraid to die before he reached kushat.
-and now he had no choice.
-"i have sinned, stark. i have stolen a holy thing. you're an outlander, you would not know of ban cruach, and the talisman that he left when he went away forever beyond the gates of death."
-camar flung aside the blankets and sat up, his voice gaining a febrile strength.
-"i was born and bred in the thieves' quarter under the wall. i was proud of my skill. and the talisman was a challenge. it was a treasured thing--so treasured that hardly a man has touched it since the days of ban cruach who made it. and that was in the days when men still had the lustre on them, before they forgot that they were gods.
-"'guard well the gates of death,' he said, 'that is the city's trust. and keep the talisman always, for the day may come when you will need its strength. who holds kushat holds mars--and the talisman will keep the city safe.'
-"i was a thief, and proud. and i stole the talisman."
-his hands went to his girdle, a belt of worn leather with a boss of battered steel. but his fingers were already numb.
-"take it, stark. open the boss--there, on the side, where the beast's head is carved...."
-stark took the belt from camar and found the hidden spring. the rounded top of the boss came free. inside it was something wrapped in a scrap of silk.
-"i had to leave kushat," camar whispered. "i could never go back. but it was enough--to have taken that."
-he watched, shaken between awe and pride and remorse, as stark unwrapped the bit of silk.
-stark had discounted most of camar's talk as superstition, but even so he had expected something more spectacular than the object he held in his palm.
-it was a lens, some four inches across--man-made, and made with great skill, but still only a bit of crystal. turning it about, stark saw that it was not a simple lens, but an intricate interlocking of many facets. incredibly complicated, hypnotic if one looked at it too long.
-"what is its use?" he asked of camar.
-"we are as children. we have forgotten. but there is a legend, a belief--that ban cruach himself made the talisman as a sign that he would not forget us, and would come back when kushat is threatened. back through the gates of death, to teach us again the power that was his!"
-"i do not understand," said stark. "what are the gates of death?"
-camar answered, "it is a pass that opens into the black mountains beyond kushat. the city stands guard before it--why, no man remembers, except that it is a great trust."
-his gaze feasted on the talisman.
-stark said, "you wish me to take this to kushat?"
-"yes. yes! and yet...." camar looked at stark, his eyes filling suddenly with tears. "no. the north is not used to strangers. with me, you might have been safe. but alone.... no, stark. you have risked too much already. go back, out of the norlands, while you can."
-he lay back on the blankets. stark saw that a bluish pallor had come into the hollows of his cheeks.
-"camar," he said. and again, "camar!"
-"go in peace, camar. i will take the talisman to kushat."
-the martian sighed, and smiled, and stark was glad that he had made the promise.
-"the riders of mekh are wolves," said camar suddenly. "they hunt these gorges. look out for them."
-stark's knowledge of the geography of this part of mars was vague indeed, but he knew that the mountain valleys of mekh lay ahead and to the north, between him and kushat. camar had told him of these upland warriors. he was willing to heed the warning.
-camar had done with talking. stark knew that he had not long to wait. the wind spoke with the voice of a great organ. the moons had set and it was very dark outside the tower, except for the white glimmering of the snow. stark looked up at the brooding walls, and shivered. there was a smell of death already in the air.
-to keep from thinking, he bent closer to the fire, studying the lens. there were scratches on the bezel, as though it had been held sometime in a clamp, or setting, like a jewel. an ornament, probably, worn as a badge of rank. strange ornament for a barbarian king, in the dawn of mars. the firelight made tiny dancing sparks in the endless inner facets. quite suddenly, he had a curious feeling that the thing was alive.
-a pang of primitive and unreasoning fear shot through him, and he fought it down. his vision was beginning to blur, and he shut his eyes, and in the darkness it seemed to him that he could see and hear....
-he started up, shaken now with an eerie terror, and raised his hand to hurl the talisman away. but the part of him that had learned with much pain and effort to be civilized made him stop, and think.
-he sat down again. an instrument of hypnosis? possibly. and yet that fleeting touch of sight and sound had not been his own, out of his own memories.
-he was tempted now, fascinated, like a child that plays with fire. the talisman had been worn somehow. where? on the breast? on the brow?
-he tried the first, with no result. then he touched the flat surface of the lens to his forehead.
-the great tower of stone rose up monstrous to the sky. it was whole, and there were pallid lights within that stirred and flickered, and it was crowned with a shimmering darkness.
-he lay outside the tower, on his belly, and he was filled with fear and a great anger, and a loathing such as turns the bones to water. there was no snow. there was ice everywhere, rising to half the tower's height, sheathing the ground.
-ice. cold and clear and beautiful--and deadly.
-he moved. he glided snakelike, with infinite caution, over the smooth surface. the tower was gone, and far below him was a city. he saw the temples and the palaces, the glittering lovely city beneath him in the ice, blurred and fairylike and strange, a dream half glimpsed through crystal.
-he saw the ones that lived there, moving slowly through the streets. he could not see them clearly, only the vague shining of their bodies, and he was glad.
-he hated them, with a hatred that conquered even his fear, which was great indeed.
-he was not eric john stark. he was ban cruach.
-the tower and the city vanished, swept away on a reeling tide.
-he stood beneath a scarp of black rock, notched with a single pass. the cliffs hung over him, leaning out their vast bulk as though to crush him, and the narrow mouth of the pass was full of evil laughter where the wind went by.
-he began to walk forward, into the pass. he was quite alone.
-the light was dim and strange at the bottom of that cleft. little veils of mist crept and clung between the ice and the rock, thickened, became more dense as he went farther and farther into the pass. he could not see, and the wind spoke with many tongues, piping in the crevices of the cliffs.
-all at once there was a shadow in the mist before him, a dim gigantic shape that moved toward him, and he knew that he looked at death. he cried out....
-it was stark who yelled in blind atavistic fear, and the echo of his own cry brought him up standing, shaking in every limb. he had dropped the talisman. it lay gleaming in the snow at his feet, and the alien memories were gone--and camar was dead.
-after a time he crouched down, breathing harshly. he did not want to touch the lens again. the part of him that had learned to fear strange gods and evil spirits with every step he took, the primitive aboriginal that lay so close under the surface of his mind, warned him to leave it, to run away, to desert this place of death and ruined stone.
-memories. not his own, but the memories of ban cruach, a million years ago in the morning of a world. memories of hate, a secret war against unhuman beings that dwelt in crystal cities cut in the living ice, and used these ruined towers for some dark purpose of their own.
-was that the meaning of the talisman, the power that lay within it? had ban cruach, by some elder and forgotten science, imprisoned the echoes of his own mind in the crystal?
-why? perhaps as a warning, as a reminder of ageless, alien danger beyond the gates of death?
-suddenly one of the beasts tethered outside the ruined tower started up from its sleep with a hissing snarl.
-instantly stark became motionless.
-they came silently on their padded feet, the rangy mountain brutes moving daintily through the sprawling ruin. their riders too were silent--tall men with fierce eyes and russet hair, wearing leather coats and carrying each a long, straight spear.
-there were a score of them around the tower in the windy gloom. stark did not bother to draw his gun. he had learned very young the difference between courage and idiocy.
-he walked out toward them, slowly lest one of them be startled into spearing him, yet not slowly enough to denote fear. and he held up his right hand and gave them greeting.
-they did not answer him. they sat their restive mounts and stared at him, and stark knew that camar had spoken the truth. these were the riders of mekh, and they were wolves.
-stark waited, until they should tire of their own silence.
-finally one demanded, "of what country are you?"
-he answered, "i am called n'chaka, the man-without-a-tribe."
-it was the name they had given him, the half-human aboriginals who had raised him in the blaze and thunder and bitter frosts of mercury.
-"a stranger," said the leader, and smiled. he pointed at the dead camar and asked, "did you slay him?"
-"he was my friend," said stark, "i was bringing him home to die."
-two riders dismounted to inspect the body. one called up to the leader, "he was from kushat, if i know the breed, thord! and he has not been robbed." he proceeded to take care of that detail himself.
-"a stranger," repeated the leader, thord. "bound for kushat, with a man of kushat. well. i think you will come with us, stranger."
-stark shrugged. and with the long spears pricking him, he did not resist when the tall thord plundered him of all he owned except his clothes--and camar's belt, which was not worth the stealing. his gun thord flung contemptuously away.
-one of the men brought stark's beast and camar's from where they were tethered, and the earthman mounted--as usual, over the violent protest of the creature, which did not like the smell of him. they moved out from under the shelter of the walls, into the full fury of the wind.
-for the rest of that night, and through the next day and the night that followed it they rode eastward, stopping only to rest the beasts and chew on their rations of jerked meat.
-to stark, riding a prisoner, it came with full force that this was the north country, half a world away from the mars of spaceships and commerce and visitors from other planets. the future had never touched these wild mountains and barren plains. the past held pride enough.
-to the north, the horizon showed a strange and ghostly glimmer where the barrier wall of the polar pack reared up, gigantic against the sky. the wind blew, down from the ice, through the mountain gorges, across the plains, never ceasing. and here and there the cryptic towers rose, broken monoliths of stone. stark remembered the vision of the talisman, the huge structure crowned with eerie darkness. he looked upon the ruins with loathing and curiosity. the men of mekh could tell him nothing.
-thord did not tell stark where they were taking him, and stark did not ask. it would have been an admission of fear.
-in mid-afternoon of the second day they came to a lip of rock where the snow was swept clean, and below it was a sheer drop into a narrow valley. looking down, stark saw that on the floor of the valley, up and down as far as he could see, were men and beasts and shelters of hide and brush, and fires burning. by the hundreds, by the several thousand, they camped under the cliffs, and their voices rose up on the thin air in a vast deep murmur that was deafening after the silence of the plains.
-a war party, gathered now, before the thaw. stark smiled. he became curious to meet the leader of this army.
-here the snow was churned and soiled and melted to slush by the fires. there were no women in the camp, no sign of the usual cheerful rabble that follows a barbarian army. there were only men--hillmen and warriors all, tough-handed killers with no thought but battle.
-they came out of their holes to shout at thord and his men, and stare at the stranger. thord was flushed and jovial with importance.
-"i have no time for you," he shouted back. "i go to speak with the lord ciaran."
-stark rode impassively, a dark giant with a face of stone. from time to time he made his beast curvet, and laughed at himself inwardly for doing it.
-they came at length to a shelter larger than the others, but built exactly the same and no more comfortable. a spear was thrust into the snow beside the entrance, and from it hung a black pennant with a single bar of silver across it, like lightning in a night sky. beside it was a shield with the same device. there were no guards.
-thord dismounted, bidding stark to do the same. he hammered on the shield with the hilt of his sword, announcing himself.
-"lord ciaran! it is thord--with a captive."
-a voice, toneless and strangely muffled, spoke from within.
-thord pushed aside the hide curtain and went in, with stark at his heels.
-the dim daylight did not penetrate the interior. cressets burned, giving off a flickering brilliance and a smell of strong oil. the floor of packed snow was carpeted with furs, much worn. otherwise there was no adornment, and no furniture but a chair and a table, both dark with age and use, and a pallet of skins in one shadowy corner with what seemed to be a heap of rags upon it.
-in the chair sat a man.
-he seemed very tall, in the shaking light of the cressets. from neck to thigh his lean body was cased in black link mail, and under that a tunic of leather, dyed black. across his knees he held a sable axe, a great thing made for the shearing of skulls, and his hands lay upon it gently, as though it were a toy he loved.
-his head and face were covered by a thing that stark had seen before only in very old paintings--the ancient war-mask of the inland kings of mars. wrought of black and gleaming steel, it presented an unhuman visage of slitted eyeholes and a barred slot for breathing. behind, it sprang out in a thin, soaring sweep, like a dark wing edge-on in flight.
-the intent, expressionless scrutiny of that mask was bent, not upon thord, but upon eric john stark.
-the hollow voice spoke again, from behind the mask. "well?"
-"we were hunting in the gorges to the south," said thord. "we saw a fire...." he told the story, of how they had found the stranger and the body of the man from kushat.
-"kushat!" said the lord ciaran softly. "ah! and why, stranger, were you going to kushat?"
-"my name is stark. eric john stark, earthman, out of mercury." he was tired of being called stranger. quite suddenly, he was tired of the whole business.
-"why should i not go to kushat? is it against some law, that a man may not go there in peace without being hounded all over the norlands? and why do the men of mekh make it their business? they have nothing to do with the city."
-thord held his breath, watching with delighted anticipation.
-the hands of the man in armor caressed the axe. they were slender hands, smooth and sinewy--small hands, it seemed, for such a weapon.
-"we make what we will our business, eric john stark." he spoke with a peculiar gentleness. "i have asked you. why were you going to kushat?"
-"because," stark answered with equal restraint, "my comrade wanted to go home to die."
-"it seems a long, hard journey, just for dying." the black helm bent forward, in an attitude of thought. "only the condemned or banished leave their cities, or their clans. why did your comrade flee kushat?"
-a voice spoke suddenly from out of the heap of rags that lay on the pallet in the shadows of the corner. a man's voice, deep and husky, with the harsh quaver of age or madness in it.
-"three men beside myself have fled kushat, over the years that matter. one died in the spring floods. one was caught in the moving ice of winter. one lived. a thief named camar, who stole a certain talisman."
-stark said, "my comrade was called greshi." the leather belt weighed heavy about him, and the iron boss seemed hot against his belly. he was beginning, now, to be afraid.
-the lord ciaran spoke, ignoring stark. "it was the sacred talisman of kushat. without it, the city is like a man without a soul."
-as the veil of tanit was to carthage, stark thought, and reflected on the fate of that city after the veil was stolen.
-"the nobles were afraid of their own people," the man in armor said. "they did not dare to tell that it was gone. but we know."
-"and," said stark, "you will attack kushat before the thaw, when they least expect you."
-"you have a sharp mind, stranger. yes. but the great wall will be hard to carry, even so. if i came, bearing in my hands the talisman of ban cruach...."
-he did not finish, but turned instead to thord. "when you plundered the dead man's body, what did you find?"
-"nothing, lord. a few coins, a knife, hardly worth the taking."
-"and you, eric john stark. what did you take from the body?"
-with perfect truth he answered, "nothing."
-"thord," said the lord ciaran, "search him."
-thord came smiling up to stark and ripped his jacket open.
-he straightened and turned again. his eyes held a feral glint. "the man has robbed me once," he said. "it is enough."
-he heard thord's men coming. three of them tried to jam through the entrance at once, and he sprang at them. he made no sound. his fists did the talking for him, and then his feet, as he kicked the stunned barbarians back upon their leader.
-"now," he said to the lord ciaran, "will we talk as men?"
-the man in armor laughed, a sound of pure enjoyment. it seemed that the gaze behind the mask studied stark's savage face, and then lifted to greet the sullen thord who came back into the shelter, his cheeks flushed crimson with rage.
-"go," said the lord ciaran. "the stranger and i will talk."
-"but lord," he protested, glaring at stark, "it is not safe...."
-"my dark mistress looks after my safety," said ciaran, stroking the axe across his knees. "go."
-the man in armor was silent then, the blind mask turned to stark, who met that eyeless gaze and was silent also. and the bundle of rags in the shadows straightened slowly and became a tall old man with rusty hair and beard, through which peered craggy juts of bone and two bright, small points of fire, as though some wicked flame burned within him.
-he shuffled over and crouched at the feet of the lord ciaran, watching the earthman. and the man in armor leaned forward.
-"i will tell you something, eric john stark. i am a bastard, but i come of the blood of kings. my name and rank i must make with my own hands. but i will set them high, and my name will ring in the norlands!
-"i will take kushat. who holds kushat, holds mars--and the power and the riches that lie beyond the gates of death!"
-"i have seen them," said the old man, and his eyes blazed. "i have seen ban cruach the mighty. i have seen the temples and the palaces glitter in the ice. i have seen them, the shining ones. oh, i have seen them, the beautiful, hideous ones!"
-he glanced sidelong at stark, very cunning. "that is why otar is mad, stranger. he has seen."
-a chill swept stark. he too had seen, not with his own eyes but with the mind and memories of ban cruach, of a million years ago.
-then it had been no illusion, the fantastic vision opened to him by the talisman now hidden in his belt! if this old madman had seen....
-"what beings lurk beyond the gates of death i do not know," said ciaran. "but my dark mistress will test their strength--and i think my red wolves will hunt them down, once they get a smell of plunder."
-"the beautiful, terrible ones," whispered otar. "and oh, the temples and the palaces, and the great towers of stone!"
-"ride with me, stark," said the lord ciaran abruptly. "yield up the talisman, and be the shield at my back. i have offered no other man that honor."
-stark asked slowly, "why do you choose me?"
-"we are of one blood, stark, though we be strangers."
-the earthman's cold eyes narrowed. "what would your red wolves say to that? and what would otar say? look at him, already stiff with jealousy, and fear lest i answer, 'yes'."
-"i do not think you would be afraid of either of them."
-"on the contrary," said stark, "i am a prudent man." he paused. "there is one other thing. i will bargain with no man until i have looked into his eyes. take off your helm, ciaran--and then perhaps we will talk!"
-otar's breath made a snakelike hissing between his toothless gums, and the hands of the lord ciaran tightened on the haft of the axe.
-"no!" he whispered. "that i can never do."
-otar rose to his feet, and for the first time stark felt the full strength that lay in this strange old man.
-"would you look upon the face of destruction?" he thundered. "do you ask for death? do you think a thing is hidden behind a mask of steel without a reason, that you demand to see it?"
-he turned. "my lord," he said. "by tomorrow the last of the clans will have joined us. after that, we must march. give this earthman to thord, for the time that remains--and you will have the talisman."
-the blank, blind mask was unmoving, turned toward stark, and the earthman thought that from behind it came a faint sound that might have been a sigh.
-"thord!" cried the lord ciaran, and lifted up the axe.
-the flames leaped high from the fire in the windless gorge. men sat around it in a great circle, the wild riders out of the mountain valleys of mekh. they sat with the curbed and shivering eagerness of wolves around a dying quarry. now and again their white teeth showed in a kind of silent laughter, and their eyes watched.
-"he is strong," they whispered, one to the other. "he will live the night out, surely!"
-on an outcrop of rock sat the lord ciaran, wrapped in a black cloak, holding the great axe in the crook of his arm. beside him, otar huddled in the snow.
-close by, the long spears had been driven deep and lashed together to make a scaffolding, and upon this frame was hung a man. a big man, iron-muscled and very lean, the bulk of his shoulders filling the space between the bending shafts. eric john stark of earth, out of mercury.
-he had already been scourged without mercy. he sagged of his own weight between the spears, breathing in harsh sobs, and the trampled snow around him was spotted red.
-thord was wielding the lash. he had stripped off his own coat, and his body glistened with sweat in spite of the cold. he cut his victim with great care, making the long lash sing and crack. he was proud of his skill.
-stark did not cry out.
-presently thord stepped back, panting, and looked at the lord ciaran. and the black helm nodded.
-"stark," he said, and shook the head roughly. "stranger!"
-eyes opened and stared at him, and thord could not repress a slight shiver. it seemed that the pain and indignity had wrought some evil magic on this man he had ridden with, and thought he knew. he had seen exactly the same gaze in a big snow-cat caught in a trap, and he felt suddenly that it was not a man he spoke to, but a predatory beast.
-"stark," he said. "where is the talisman of ban cruach?"
-the earthman did not answer.
-thord laughed. he glanced up at the sky, where the moons rode low and swift.
-"the night is only half gone. do you think you can last it out?"
-the cold, cruel, patient eyes watched thord. there was no reply.
-some quality of pride in that gaze angered the barbarian. it seemed to mock him, who was so sure of his ability to loosen a reluctant tongue.
-"you think i cannot make you talk, don't you? you don't know me, stranger! you don't know thord, who can make the rocks speak out if he will!"
-he reached out with his free hand and struck stark across the face.
-it seemed impossible that anything so still could move so quickly. there was an ugly flash of teeth, and thord's wrist was caught above the thumb-joint. he bellowed, and the iron jaws closed down, worrying the bone.
-quite suddenly, thord screamed. not for pain, but for panic. and the rows of watching men swayed forward, and even the lord ciaran rose up, startled.
-"hark!" ran the whispering around the fire. "hark how he growls!"
-thord had let go of stark's hair and was beating him about the head with his clenched fist. his face was white.
-"werewolf!" he screamed. "let me go, beast-thing! let me go!"
-but the dark man clung to thord's wrist, snarling, and did not hear. after a bit there came the dull crack of bone.
-stark opened his jaws. thord ceased to strike him. he backed off slowly, staring at the torn flesh. stark had sunk down to the length of his arms.
-with his left hand, thord drew his knife. the lord ciaran stepped forward. "wait, thord!"
-"it is a thing of evil," whispered the barbarian. "warlock. werewolf. beast."
-he sprang at stark.
-the man in armor moved, very swiftly, and the great axe went whirling through the air. it caught thord squarely where the cords of his neck ran into the shoulder--caught, and shore on through.
-there was a silence in the valley.
-the lord ciaran walked slowly across the trampled snow and took up his axe again.
-"i will be obeyed," he said. "and i will not stand for fear, not of god, man, nor devil." he gestured toward stark. "cut him down. and see that he does not die."
-he strode away, and otar began to laugh.
-from a vast distance, stark heard that shrill, wild laughter. his mouth was full of blood, and he was mad with a cold fury.
-a cunning that was purely animal guided his movements then. his head fell forward, and his body hung inert against the thongs. he might almost have been dead.
-a knot of men came toward him. he listened to them. they were hesitant and afraid. then, as he did not move, they plucked up courage and came closer, and one prodded him gently with the point of his spear.
-"prick him well," said another. "let us be sure!"
-the sharp point bit a little deeper. a few drops of blood welled out and joined the small red streams that ran from the weals of the lash. stark did not stir.
-the spearman grunted. "he is safe enough now."
-stark felt the knife blades working at the thongs. he waited. the rawhide snapped, and he was free.
-he did not fall. he would not have fallen then if he had taken a death wound. he gathered his legs under him and sprang.
-he picked up the spearman in that first rush and flung him into the fire. then he began to run toward the place where the scaly mounts were herded, leaving a trail of blood behind him on the snow.
-a man loomed up in front of him. he saw the shadow of a spear and swerved, and caught the haft in his two hands. he wrenched it free and struck down with the butt of it, and went on. behind him he heard voices shouting and the beginning of turmoil.
-the lord ciaran turned and came back, striding fast.
-there were men before stark now, many men, the circle of watchers breaking up because there had been nothing more to watch. he gripped the long spear. it was a good weapon, better than the flint-tipped stick with which the boy n'chaka had hunted the giant lizard of the rocks.
-his body curved into a half crouch. he voiced one cry, the challenging scream of a predatory killer, and went in among the men.
-he did slaughter with that spear. they were not expecting attack. they were not expecting anything. stark had sprung to life too quickly. and they were afraid of him. he could smell the fear on them. fear not of a man like themselves, but of a creature less and more than man.
-he killed, and was happy.
-they fell away from him, the wild riders of mekh. they were sure now that he was a demon. he raged among them with the bright spear, and they heard again that sound that should not have come from a human throat, and their superstitious terror rose and sent them scrambling out of his path, trampling on each other in childish panic.
-he broke through, and now there was nothing between him and escape but two mounted men who guarded the herd.
-being mounted, they had more courage. they felt that even a warlock could not stand against their charge. they came at him as he ran, the padded feet of their beasts making a muffled drumming in the snow.
-without breaking stride, stark hurled his spear.
-it drove through one man's body and tumbled him off, so that he fell under his comrade's mount and fouled its legs. it staggered and reared up, hissing, and stark fled on.
-once he glanced over his shoulder. through the milling, shouting crowd of men he glimpsed a dark, mailed figure with a winged mask, going through the ruck with a loping stride and bearing a sable axe raised high for the throwing.
-stark was close to the herd now. and they caught his scent.
-the norland brutes had never liked the smell of him, and now the reek of blood upon him was enough in itself to set them wild. they began to hiss and snarl uneasily, rubbing their reptilian flanks together as they wheeled around, staring at him with lambent eyes.
-he rushed them, before they should quite decide to break. he was quick enough to catch one by the fleshy comb that served it for a forelock, held it with savage indifference to its squealing, and leaped to its back. then he let it bolt, and as he rode it he yelled, a shrill brute cry that urged the creatures on to panic.
-the herd broke, stampeding outward from its center like a bursting shell.
-stark was in the forefront. clinging low to the scaly neck, he saw the men of mekh scattered and churned and tramped into the snow by the flying pads. in and out of the shelters, kicking the brush walls down, lifting up their harsh reptilian voices, they went racketing through the camp, leaving behind them wreckage as of a storm. and stark went with them.
-he snatched a cloak from off the shoulders of some petty chieftain as he went by, and then, twisting cruelly on the fleshy comb, beating with his fist at the creature's head, he got his mount turned in the way he wanted it to go, down the valley.
-he caught one last glimpse of the lord ciaran, fighting to hold one of the creatures long enough to mount, and then a dozen striving bodies surged around him, and stark was gone.
-the beast did not slacken pace. it was as though it thought it could outrun the alien, bloody thing that clung to its back. the last fringes of the camp shot by and vanished in the gloom, and the clean snow of the lower valley lay open before it. the creature laid its belly to the ground and went, the white spray spurting from its heels.
-stark hung on. his strength was gone now, run out suddenly with the battle-madness. he became conscious now that he was sick and bleeding, that his body was one cruel pain. in that moment, more than in the hours that had gone before, he hated the black leader of the clans of mekh.
-that flight down the valley became a sort of ugly dream. stark was aware of rock walls reeling past, and then they seemed to widen away and the wind came out of nowhere like the stroke of a great hammer, and he was on the open moors again.
-the beast began to falter and slow down. presently it stopped.
-stark scooped up snow to rub on his wounds. he came near to fainting, but the bleeding stopped and after that the pain was numbed to a dull ache. he wrapped the cloak around him and urged the beast to go on, gently this time, patiently, and after it had breathed it obeyed him, settling into the shuffling pace it could keep up for hours.
-he was three days on the moors. part of the time he rode in a sort of stupor, and part of the time he was feverishly alert, watching the skyline. frequently he took the shapes of thrusting rocks for riders, and found what cover he could until he was sure they did not move. he was afraid to dismount, for the beast had no bridle. when it halted to rest he remained upon its back, shaking, his brow beaded with sweat.
-the wind scoured his tracks clean as soon as he made them. twice, in the distance, he did see riders, and one of those times he burrowed into a tall drift and stayed there for several hours.
-the ruined towers marched with him across the bitter land, lonely giants fifty miles apart. he did not go near them.
-he knew that he wandered a good bit, but he could not help it, and it was probably his salvation. in those tortured badlands, riven by ages of frost and flood, one might follow a man on a straight track between two points. but to find a single rider lost in that wilderness was a matter of sheer luck, and the odds were with stark.
-one evening at sunset he came out upon a plain that sloped upward to a black and towering scarp, notched with a single pass.
-the light was level and blood-red, glittering on the frosty rock so that it seemed the throat of the pass was aflame with evil fires. to stark's mind, essentially primitive and stripped now of all its acquired reason, that narrow cleft appeared as the doorway to the dwelling place of demons as horrible as the fabled creatures that roam the darkside of his native world.
-he looked long at the gates of death, and a dark memory crept into his brain. memory of that nightmare experience when the talisman had made him seem to walk into that frightful pass, not as stark, but as ban cruach. me when first i came. she'll have quite got over it in a fortnight, and will hardly look at you."
-"you won't; will you, darling?" said sylvia indignantly, hugging the child closer, for she was much flattered at being the object of so much adoration.
-"no, i'll love you always. better than any of these horrid girls. tell them to go away! i don't want anybody but you." and she clasped her arms round sylvia's neck, and kissed her again and again.
-"i know you will," declared sylvia. "so we'll just take no notice of them. you're my special baby, and i mean to keep you."
-"all right, you'll soon find out, and then don't say i didn't warn you!" returned marian, laughing.
-in spite of both sylvia's and greta's protestations to the contrary, marian's words proved to be exactly true. for almost a week the little girl's affection kept at red heat; on the seventh day it began to show signs of flagging. it was in vain that sylvia tempted her with stories, cajoled her with sweets, or even presented her with one of her lovely new paintbrushes; greta was tired of her fancy, and though she accepted anything that was offered her, she only gave a half-hearted peck of a kiss in return, and ran back promptly to play with nessie hirst. poor sylvia was terribly distressed. she had been fascinated with greta's pretty pink-and-white face, and big blue eyes; she liked to curl the long, golden ringlets round her fingers, to fasten the clean pinafores, or do any other small services for her, and especially to feel that the child clung to her in preference to anybody else. to be thus suddenly deserted was a blow, and it was particularly galling to have marian woodhouse say "i told you so." all her efforts at winning back her fickle admirer were absolutely useless. greta refused to be coaxed, and at the end of a fortnight fulfilled marian's prophecy by pushing away her former friend and even smacking her, which brought matters to such a crisis that sylvia, after a storm of tears in private, gave up the attempt and resigned herself to the inevitable.
-luckily there were plenty of fresh interests to help to put greta out of her thoughts. though she had studied fairly hard with her governess at home she had never before entered into competition with other girls, and it was a new experience to work in class. as miss holt had expected, she was forward in some subjects and backward in others; but she was gifted with an excellent memory and found she could learn with little trouble what many of the others found impossible tasks. except for french with mademoiselle and nature study with miss kaye, all the lessons were taken by miss arkwright. sylvia could never quite make up her mind whether she liked her or not. she was tall and slim, with large teeth, and a nose that moved about like a rabbit's when she spoke, and she wore her hair brushed very plainly back from her high forehead. she was a conscientious teacher but not a very interesting one, and she somehow lacked the charm which attracted the girls so much to their headmistress.
-"miss kaye seems to like to know each one of us separately, and all about our friends and our homes," said marian one day, "and i don't believe miss arkwright cares in the least about us out of school, so long as we know our lessons in class."
-children are very quick to feel sympathy, and, though miss arkwright did her duty thoroughly, most of her pupils respected her more than they loved her, and while she was not disliked she was never popular.
-it was a revelation to sylvia, who in her work with miss holt had never troubled whether she did exceedingly or only moderately well, to find that at heathercliffe house a little extra effort made all the difference. at the end of every week the marks of each girl were balanced up, and on monday morning at nine o'clock miss kaye would march into the classroom to read out the list and add a few comments of praise or blame. the girls sat in school for the week according to the order in which their names occurred on the balancing list, and it had been a point of great pride with marian woodhouse to come out top, a position which hitherto no one had troubled to dispute with her.
-sylvia had arrived on a wednesday, so that the first week she was only able to obtain part marks, though in two days she had gained enough to place her half-way up the class, above gwennie woodhouse and jessie ellis and even nina forster. the second week was a duel between herself and marian. both worked hard and steadily and seemed fairly equal, for what sylvia lost by her bad writing she gained through her more accurate memory, and some of marian's most venturesome guesses happened to turn out wrong, though she could beat sylvia at arithmetic. the books in which they wrote their exercises were always looked over on saturday by miss kaye, who marked them both for matter, style, writing, and general neatness; so the girls could not tell until these were returned what was their total for the week. it was very exciting on sylvia's second monday morning when miss kaye entered bearing the pile of exercises and prepared to read out the list of marks. it was her custom always to begin with the bottom girl, and to-day she proceeded as usual.
-"jessie ellis. 29. your history is especially weak, and i noticed there were sixteen mistakes in your dictation. if you cannot keep up with the class i shall be obliged to send you down again.
-gwennie woodhouse. 34. i believe you have tried, gwennie, as it is more than last week, but there is still much room for improvement.
-connie camden. 38. i expect better things from you, connie. you can learn quite well when you apply yourself properly, and i consider it a disgrace that you should have a bad mark for arithmetic. if i find it again you will have to stay in on saturday afternoon and learn your tables.
-nina forster. 39. you have had a bad cold, so i will excuse you this week. your writing is beautifully neat, though i should like to see higher marks.
-linda marshall. 45. you have done well in grammar, but failed utterly in geography. your map is very inaccurate.
-hazel prestbury. 50. excellent in spelling and composition, but rather weak in arithmetic.
-marian woodhouse. 60. very good and conscientious work. your exercises show great care and neatness.
-sylvia lindsay. 63. i am pleased, sylvia, to find you have done so well, and hope you will continue with such a good record. i should like to see improvement in your writing, and you must make that your chief care. in every other respect your work is highly satisfactory. girls, take your places!"
-it was a proud moment for sylvia when she stepped above marian woodhouse to claim her seat at the top of the class. marian held her head down and looked as black as thunder; linda could scarcely conceal her delight; connie camden was nudging nina forster; and gwennie's eyes filled with tears at the sight of her sister's humiliation. she had no ambition for herself, but she had always gloried in marian's success.
-miss arkwright looked as surprised as anybody, but her conscience was clear of all favouritism, she was strictly impartial, and miss kaye herself had marked the exercises. she made no comment, however, and lessons began as usual.
-the eight girls were seated in a row on a form opposite their teacher's desk, and were expected to sit with shoulders erect, hands folded, and feet neatly placed together. sylvia, who had rather fidgety ways, and was apt to wriggle when answering a question, found it hard to keep this prim position, and, in the agony of recalling the principal tributaries of the yorkshire ouse, she almost unconsciously seized a handful of pens from the box which lay on a chair by her side and began to finger them nervously.
-"the swale, the yore, the nidd, the wharfe, the aire," she said, counting each with a pen.
-marian put out her hand and drew the pens firmly away.
-"two more," suggested miss arkwright.
-"the swale, the yore, the nidd, the wharfe, the aire----" repeated sylvia desperately, missing the pens and feeling as if she could not go on without them.
-"next!" said miss arkwright, who never waited long for anybody.
-"calder and don," finished marian promptly, replacing the pens in the box, which she popped on to the desk behind, whispering to sylvia as she did so: "you're not fit to be top!"
-"marian woodhouse and sylvia lindsay each lose an order mark," said miss arkwright, at which they both looked sober, though neither minded very much since the other had the same.
-"you needn't have pulled the pens from me just when i was answering," said sylvia to marian afterwards. "you put everything straight out of my head."
-"if you can't answer without something to play with," retorted marian, "you'd better go to the baby class and learn kindergarten drawing on a slate. no one would think you were nearly eleven."
-it was certainly trying for poor marian to find a younger girl occupying the position which she had come to regard as her own special property, and she could not yield with a good grace. fate seemed determined to call her failure into notice. in the afternoon, when singing was over, miss denby turned to dismiss the various forms back to their schoolrooms.
-"class three will go out first," she said. "balancing order. now girls be quick! come, marian, where are you?" for marian, with a very red face, had not stepped forward as usual to take her place at the head of the line.
-"i'm top!" said sylvia, who found it impossible to conceal her triumph, and she led the way with the feeling of a rival claimant who has suddenly and unexpectedly been raised to the throne, enjoying miss denby's astonishment as much as marian's confusion.
-after that it was a continual struggle between the two children for the coveted seat. sometimes one gained it and sometimes the other, and one week they were exactly equal, a difficulty which miss kaye solved by deciding that marian was to be head in the mornings and sylvia in the afternoons. no one else in the class seemed able to dispute it with them, though hazel prestbury occasionally won high marks. linda, a bright enough child to talk to, and fond of reading, had not a very good memory, connie camden was incorrigibly lazy, nina only worked by fits and starts, and both gwennie woodhouse and jessie ellis were of course out of the question.
-sylvia certainly did not find school life all plain sailing. among other things miss arkwright was a totally different person from her former governess. miss holt, anxious to develop her pupil's powers of general intelligence, had allowed her to ask continual questions, and would even argue a point with her in order to encourage her to think clearly upon a subject. miss arkwright, on the contrary, did not allow any girl to have opinions in opposition to her own, and sylvia got into sad trouble if she ventured on original ideas. once in the geography class she was asked to give the capital of tuscany.
-"firenze," she replied promptly.
-"next," said miss arkwright.
-"florence," answered marian with a toss of her head.
-"firenze is the proper italian name for florence," corrected sylvia. "father and mother were staying there last easter, and they said everybody called it that, and didn't understand what you meant if you said florence."
-"we are having our geography lesson in english, not italian, so we will call the places by the english names which are given in the book," said miss arkwright, glaring at her; and sylvia lost a mark, much to her indignation.
-another time the class was reading marmion, and repeating the notes which were given at the end of the cantos. now sylvia had revelled in so many historical stories that she understood thoroughly all about a portcullis and a drawbridge and a donjon keep, and instead of simply saying the note she volunteered an explanation of her own. it was what miss holt would have encouraged, but miss arkwright kept strictly to the lesson.
-"i did not ask for your opinion, sylvia," she said. "the notes given in the book are quite sufficient, and you may confine yourself to them."
-"i don't believe one of them knew it," she said to herself, "and if the question had gone on they would all have missed too."
-"oh, miss arkwright, it's not fair!" she added aloud, getting up with flaming cheeks at the sting of the thought that half a minute had saved marian's mark and lost her own. "i oughtn't to count that last miss."
-"sylvia, if you speak to me like that again i shall order you to leave the room," said the mistress, who prided herself on her good discipline. "i think you must have forgotten yourself."
-"it was mean of her," said linda, trying to console her friend afterwards. "when we were in miss coleman's form, and the bell rang when a question was only halfway down the class, she always said: "don't count the last turn," because it wasn't fair unless we all had the same chance of missing. but you did say it in such a cheeky way, i think that was why she was so angry. it's no use trying to get her to take it off now; when she's once said a thing she sticks to it and nobody but miss kaye could make her alter it; and we shouldn't dare to ask her; and if we did it wouldn't be worth it, because miss arkwright would be twice as cross afterwards. you'll just have to grin and bear it."
-by the time sylvia was thoroughly settled in the third class another trouble began to distress her. she had formed a great affection for linda marshall, and as the two shared a bedroom it seemed only natural that they should be bosom friends. linda was very willing to consider sylvia as her special comrade; they were almost the same age, and had so many likes and dislikes in common that there was not the least occasion to quarrel over anything, and they were never so happy as when they were alone together. that, however, hazel prestbury was by no means ready to allow. although she slept with connie camden she had hitherto considered linda her friend, and was very indignant that sylvia should have stepped between them.
-hazel was a girl about whom miss kaye often felt some uneasiness. the eldest in her class, she was also old for her age, and she had brought a good many notions to school with her that were not at all in accordance with the simple ideas which were encouraged at heathercliffe house. she thought far more of dress and position than she had any business to do, criticized the other girls' clothing, compared the value of her birthday presents with those of her schoolmates, and was apt to boast of her abundant pocket money. she was also not always as open and truthful as might have been wished, and though it could never be exactly defined, she somehow kept up a slight spirit of hostility against the mistresses, and would never respond heartily to any kindness from headquarters. miss kaye thought she was not altogether a wise friend for linda, who, being a whole year younger, was likely to be easily influenced, and it was on this account that she had not allowed the two to share a bedroom.
-sylvia would watch with jealous eyes as the pair walked arm in arm down the avenue or played draughts together in the recreation hour. she tried to console herself with reading, but somehow the books did not seem nearly so absorbing as they had done at home, and she sat with one ear open to hear what linda was saying. she did not care to make friends with any of the other girls, though nina forster proffered a few advances, and connie camden was always "hail fellow well met" with everybody.
-one wet afternoon the third class and some of the members of the fourth were sitting round the playroom fire indulging in oranges, which miss kaye had given as a special treat.
-"i like to suck mine with a lump of sugar," said gwennie. "if you do it carefully you can get every scrap of orange out without breaking the peel."
-"i can't eat orangeth," sighed sadie thompson pensively. "they alwayth make me thick."
-"make you thin, i should think," laughed marian. "you're the skinniest little creature i ever saw."
-"i don't mean fat, i mean thick--ill."
-"oh, sick! then why don't you say so?"
-"becauthe i can't help lithping," replied sadie, who was rather proud of her accomplishment, and did not make any great effort to overcome it.
-"i wish i lisped," said connie camden enviously. "i'd have such fun with miss arkwright in the reading lesson. she'd stop for five minutes worrying over one word. don't you remember when i pretended i couldn't say 'meritorious'? i'm going to cut my orange in half if anybody will lend me a penknife."
-"where's your own?"
-"lost it long ago. i never can keep them. i got one in my christmas stocking and another on my birthday, and i had a new one at the beginning of this term, but they're all gone. my pencil wore down to such a perfect stump yesterday i couldn't finish my sums, and i daren't borrow, because miss arkwright said she'd give a bad-conduct mark to the first girl who spoke one word. i tried to signal to nina, but she wouldn't look. hazel, lend me yours!"
-"no thanks!" replied hazel. "not to cut oranges. it's a new one and you'd spoil it."
-"oh, you mean thing! who'll be generous?"
-"you may have this if you like," said sylvia. "i don't much mind if you keep it; it's only an old one, and i have another in my pencil box."
-"you dear, i'd love it! i shall have to give you something in exchange, though, or else it will be unlucky. what will you have?" and connie turned out the very miscellaneous contents of her pockets, displaying various stumps of lead pencil, a much worn indiarubber, a buttonhook, two or three dominoes, a walnut shell, some acorn cups, a stone with a hole in it, a whistle, a sticky piece of toffee, and a calendar.
-"i don't want any of them," said sylvia, shaking her head.
-"but you must. knives cut love, and we shall quarrel if you don't. the calendar's not much good; it's last year's, and i only kept it for the picture of the dog on the back. but have this," pressing one of the pencils into her hand. "it's the longest piece i have, and rather a nice soft one."
-"let us try putting our pips in the fire," said nina. "you name one after yourself, and another after someone you like, and then say:
-'if you hate me, pop and fly; if you love me, burn and die,'
-and see whether you and the person you have chosen will stick to each other or not. i'm going to try evelyn hastings."
-"is she your latest?" enquired marian.
-"i think she's perfectly beautiful. she let me carry her umbrella for her this morning, and said i might do it to-morrow if i wanted. may spencer never speaks to me now."
-"i should think she's tired of you. you must have been such a nuisance always clinging on to her arm. why can't you let the first class alone? they don't want us."
-"they mayn't want you, but they want me," said nina, whose adoration of the big girls was a perpetual joke in her class. "i held evelyn's wool yesterday, and pulled off her goloshes, and she never even asked you."
-"i shouldn't have done it if she had," declared marian. "i'd let her wait on herself. i think you're the silliest girl i know. put your wretched pips in the fire if you're going to."
-the result was unfortunate. the one christened 'nina' popped away promptly, much to its owner's indignation.
-"you won't stick to her, you see," laughed marian, "you'll get tired of her, and throw her over, as you do everybody else."
-the amusement proved popular, and all the girls insisted upon trying the fortunes of themselves and their friends.
-connie camden was faithless to everybody; jessie ellis had a solitary failure, but would not divulge the name she had chosen or make another attempt; and gwennie, to her great disgust, turned traitor to her beloved marian.
-"we must go in together of course," said hazel, throwing two pips, for herself and linda, into the flames. they were fat, juicy ones, and it was a little while before they caught fire. pop, pop, they both went, each shooting to different sides of the grate with such violence that they fell out into the fender.
-"no! no!" exclaimed the others. "they've flown as hard as any could fly. you've both done with each other entirely. now someone else. linda, see if you have better luck with sylvia!"
-"they're burning," said nina. "one's just going to pop! no, it isn't. it's changed its mind. they've both rolled down into that hot piece. there they go! they're burnt as black as cinders. you two are friends. you're the only ones who have kept together of all we've tried."
-sylvia squeezed linda's hand hard with pleasure. to be her friend and stick to her through thick and thin was the height of her ambition, and she was glad that their trial had proved so favourable.
-"it's a silly game and doesn't mean anything at all," said hazel, flushing angrily. "i wonder you're such babies as to believe in it. you'll be counting your fortunes by the holes in your biscuits next. nina, you were a goose to begin it."
-"well, really! you were ready enough to try," said nina. "you've no need to be such a crab-stick that i can see."
-"you've about as much sense as a sparrow," declared hazel, "and you'll never have any more if you live to be a hundred. i shan't trouble to play your rubbishy games again!" and she turned away to get out her writing case, and begin a home letter, with such a cross expression on her countenance that the others wisely left her alone.
-it was only a few days after this that an incident occurred which unfortunately caused the first shadow of a quarrel between sylvia and her friend. the dancing classes had commenced and were held weekly in the large schoolroom at half-past two o'clock. everyone was expected to appear in a light frock and thin shoes, so the afternoon seemed almost more like a party than a lesson. miss delaney, the teacher, was immensely popular with the girls, and they looked forward to friday throughout the whole week.
-linda, who was particularly graceful and light of foot, was considered one of the best dancers in the school, and always included in a tarantella or gavotte, or any figure which required a little more skill than was possessed by most of the beginners. linda's music lesson happened to be on friday afternoon at two o'clock and she went straight from miss denby and the piano to the dancing class. now on this particular day she had put on her white dress as usual, but just as she was opening the door of the practising-room she suddenly noticed that she had completely forgotten to change her shoes. what was she to do? there was not time to run back for them now, as miss denby had caught sight of her and she dare not beat a retreat; neither could she go after her lesson, because the girls were strictly forbidden upstairs when once the school bell had rung. hazel, however, happened to be passing down the corridor exactly at that moment, and linda managed to find time to gasp out: "ask sylvia to bring my dancing shoes to the dressing-room," before miss denby said: "come along, linda! what are you waiting for?" and she was obliged to enter and shut the door.
-hazel was in no hurry to deliver her message. she waited until about twenty-five minutes past two, then, going into the playroom, where most of the others were collected, she strolled leisurely across to sylvia.
-"here, you," she said insolently, "you've got to go and fetch linda's dancing shoes. she's forgotten them."
-"who says i've got to go?" asked sylvia angrily, for hazel's tone had roused all her worst feelings.
-"i do for one!"
-"then i just shan't."
-"all right! shall i tell linda you said you wouldn't?"
-"you can if you like. i'm sure i don't care. i haven't time to race about the school finding other people's things. it's almost half-past now." and sylvia marched away to the dancing class with her nose in the air, as much out of temper as she had ever felt in her life.
-it was not possible for hazel or anyone else to fetch the shoes, as the rules of the school inflicted dire penalties on any girl who entered another's bedroom; so when linda hurried into the dressing-room a few minutes afterwards, expecting to be able to put them on, she was much disappointed not to find them there. she hunted about, but they were nowhere to be seen, and, afraid of being late she was forced to go to the lesson in her ordinary, common ankle-band slippers. she was furious, since the whole point of the tarantella lay in the elegant way in which she must point her toes and turn a graceful pirouette, and how was she to do so in these thick, awkward shoes that were only meant for the hard wear and tear of everyday use! linda was rather proud of her dancing, and it was very annoying to have her best steps spoilt for lack of proper slippers. she could not venture to ask to be allowed to go and change them, because miss kaye was sitting in the room, and would be sure to give her a severe scolding for her carelessness; so she would be obliged to manage as best she could and hope that no one in authority would notice her feet.
-"didn't you give sylvia my message?" she said to hazel at the first opportunity, when the three girls were able to speak together during a rest.
-"of course i did, but she just flatly said she wouldn't go," replied hazel, delighted to have this opportunity of making mischief between the friends.
-"did you really, sylvia?" asked linda, her eyes full of reproachful enquiry, and leaning upon hazel's arm.
-now sylvia was still not at all in an amiable frame of mind, and the sight of linda's head pressed against hazel's shoulder heaped coals on to her wrath.
-"i hadn't time," she snapped, and, turning away, began to talk to nina forster.
-at this point the mistress called for the tarantella, and linda stood up with several elder girls, holding her tambourine and long ribbons gracefully above her head. how she longed for the dainty bronze shoes that were left in the bedroom upstairs! her steps felt so awkward that she could neither glide nor spring properly, and she was not surprised when at the end of the dance miss delaney said: "hardly so good as usual, my dear." linda considered she had very good cause to feel offended with sylvia, and she would not look at her for the rest of the afternoon. she scarcely touched the tips of her fingers when they met in the "grand chain", and kept as far away from her as she possibly could, choosing hazel for her partner in the waltz and connie camden in the highland schottische.
-sylvia tried to show by her manner that she did not care, but in reality she felt on the verge of tears. she danced with little sadie thompson, casting a wistful look every now and then at linda's back, though she took no notice if they happened to meet face to face. she managed to change places at tea and sit between gwennie woodhouse and jessie ellis, and at evening recreation she retired to a corner of the playroom with a book.
-the great ordeal was when the two children found themselves alone in their bedroom at night. each considered the other so entirely in the wrong that neither would give way, and they both undressed in stony silence, very different indeed from the confidences which they were accustomed to exchange.
-sylvia peeped at linda's bed in the morning, wondering whether she would show any signs of relenting. but no, linda got up without noticing her in the least, and the breach seemed as wide as ever.
-it was saturday, and except for mending and stocking darning the girls might amuse themselves as they wished. the two friends had planned to finish their garden and to plant the delightful collection of snowdrops, crocuses, and tulips which mrs. lindsay had sent them. sylvia carried the box down, and a trowel, and set to work in a half-hearted manner, putting in little groups and rows, though she certainly was not enjoying herself. linda, who was equally unhappy, waited ten minutes, then, arriving with her spade, began solemnly to dig up her root of hepatica and her clump of primroses.
-"do you want to put them here?" enquired sylvia anxiously, moving some of her bulbs out of the way.
-"no, thank you," replied linda with cold politeness. "i'm going back to my old garden." and, carrying her treasures in her arms, she stalked away.
-poor sylvia felt this was the last straw. to be thus deserted was a cruel blow; she would never enjoy her flowers alone, however lovely they might prove. she had written for the bulbs chiefly on linda's account, and if they were not to share them she did not care to plant them at all. she flung down her trowel, and, walking away to a retired part of the grounds, sat down on a seat under a hawthorn tree and began to cry as if her heart would break.
-she had not been there very long before chance, or something better than chance, brought mercy ingledew to the same spot with her latin grammar. as monitress of the upper landing she had the whole of the third class under her care, and, seeing one of her charges in such distress, she came at once to enquire the cause.
-"you needn't be at all afraid to tell me, dear," she said. "if you've got yourself into a scrape it's my business to help you. just tell me everything as you would to your elder sister."
-"i haven't got any sister," sobbed sylvia.
-"no more have i, i only wish i had, so i'm going to pretend now that you're mine. what's the trouble? i don't like to see my third class girls crying."
-sylvia never forgot how kind mercy was. she listened patiently to the whole matter, and then sat thinking for a while, and stroking sylvia's fluffy hair.
-"there seem to have been faults on both sides," she said at last. "doesn't it strike you, dear, that it's just a little selfish of you to want to keep linda entirely to yourself?"
-"but she's my friend!" said sylvia in astonishment.
-"she was hazel's first. why can't you all be jolly together without this continual jealousy? you'd be a great deal happier."
-"ye-es," said sylvia doubtfully. "what i feel, though, is that i mind so dreadfully, and i'm sure linda doesn't care half as much, because she has hazel."
-"perhaps she cares more than you think. if i were you i should go and tell her exactly what happened about the shoes, and say you're sorry. you'll have done your part at any rate, and if she likes to make it up she can."
-sylvia took mercy's advice, and, finding linda mooning aimlessly up and down the avenue, she went straight to the point without any further delay, and explained the whole affair.
-"i'm afraid it was i who was cross," said linda. "i've been feeling perfectly horrid all the morning. i hate being out of friends with anyone, and especially with you. i wish my wretched dancing shoes had been at the bottom of the sea. have you planted all the bulbs yet? we meant to put the snowdrops in the middle, you know. i don't like my old garden at all. it's no fun doing it alone. shall i bring back the primroses and the hepatica?"
-the story of mercy ingledew
-one result of the coolness and subsequent reconciliation between linda and sylvia was the establishment of a firm friendship between the latter and mercy ingledew. sylvia, who had been more accustomed at home to grown-up people than children, was attracted to mercy at once, and the elder girl saw so much that was unusual and lovable in the younger one's character that she took a strong interest in getting to know her better. mercy was a tall, fair girl of sixteen, with a sweet, thoughtful face, and a particularly pleasant open expression. she was a great favourite, both with teachers and pupils, a plodding, conscientious worker, and always ready to give help or sympathy to anyone who stood in need of either. miss kaye had made a wise choice in appointing her monitress of the upper landing, as no one could have more fully appreciated the responsibilities of the post. she tried as much as lay in her power to 'mother' all the eight little girls of the third class, looking after them in their bedrooms, reviewing their clothing, helping to brush their hair, settling their disputes, advising them in any question of right and wrong, and keeping them up to the mark in matters of school discipline, and she managed to do it in such a jolly, hearty, affectionate, tactful manner that not one of them resented her interference. mercy had very soon discovered that sylvia had far more in her than most girls of her age, the expressive hazel-grey eyes, lost sometimes in a brown study, or shining with excitement over some new pleasure, told a tale of the eager mind behind them; and the child's many quaint remarks, decided opinions, the flashes of humour or flights of fancy in which she occasionally indulged, singled her out as possessing powers far beyond the average.
-"she has just twice the brains of connie camden or nina forster," said mercy to a fellow monitress; "i shouldn't be at all surprised if she were to be a great credit to the school some day. you should hear the clever games she invents for the babies, and the marvellous stories she makes up for them. she really has a wonderful imagination. she has got through nearly half the waverley novels already, and i found her reading tennyson one day. she's rather too fond of airing her ideas, and is a little conceited, but hazel and marian sit upon her so hard that she'll soon get over it. she's a most affectionate child, far more so than any of the others. she's the only one who ever seems really grateful for what one does for them. i think she's a dear little thing, and i'm glad she has come here."
-if mercy were disposed to make much of sylvia, the latter was only too ready to return her kindness with that devotion which a younger girl often feels for one considerably older than herself. with sylvia it was not a shifting fancy, such as nina forster formed nearly every week, and changed as rapidly, but a genuine love, founded on a firm basis of all-round admiration. she thought mercy the prettiest, cleverest, and best girl she had ever known in her life, and when she discovered her to be the heroine of a most romantic history, her interest in her was increased a thousandfold. she had heard once or twice that mercy was an orphan, and had no home of her own to go to during the holidays, but it was only by degrees she gathered the various facts of the case, though when they were fitted together they formed a narrative as thrilling as any to be found in the gaily bound volumes over which it had been her delight to pore. as sylvia got the account mostly in disjointed scraps, first from one girl and then from another, and was obliged to connect them for herself, it will be as well to tell mercy's story here as she learnt it more fully afterwards, since it had some bearing and influence on various incidents which happened later and led in the end to unforeseen events.
-fifteen years ago there was great uneasiness among the white residents of the city of tsien-lou, in a certain inland province of china. there had been rumours of serious riots and outrages against foreigners farther up the country; terrible tales were whispered of houses burnt and families murdered, and both the british consul and the commissioner of trade had warned the little colony of europeans to keep strictly within its own quarter, and not to trust to any fair promises made by their yellow-skinned, almond-eyed neighbours, who resented their presence in the land with such fierce intolerance. business for a while was suspended; it was not considered safe for a white face to be seen in the streets, and even the chinese servants who did their daily duties in the houses were regarded with suspicion. only the ingledew medical missionary station, at the outskirts of the town near the old kia-yu gate, went on with its work as usual, nursing the sick in the hospital, attending to the numerous outpatients who came every day for medicine and treatment, teaching the children in the school, and holding the daily bible readings which all were still invited to attend. it was an anxious time for both doctors and nurses; they knew that they carried their lives in their hands, and that at some given signal the flame of fanaticism might burst out, and hordes of shrieking, murderous, pigtailed natives might sweep over the mission, leaving nothing but smoking ruins and desolation behind them.
-it was with a troubled mind, therefore, that sister grace, the head of the nursing staff, went out one evening into the patch of enclosed garden which surrounded the hospital buildings, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked far along the road that led to the hill country. there was a fierce, fiery sunset; it seemed as if the very sky were stained with blood, and the cross on the top of the little chapel stood out dark and startling against the lurid background. she passed slowly down the walk to shut the great gate, which, though open by day to every comer, was always safely barred at night, and she was in the act of sliding the bolt and securing the chain, when she paused suddenly and listened. she had heard a moan outside, a distinct, long-drawn, suffering sigh, that quivered a moment and then died away into silence. someone on the other side of the gate was in distress or pain, and it was clearly her duty to enquire into the cause. with a beating heart she undid the fastening and peeped out. crouched down on the step, as if she could drag herself no farther, was a chinese woman bearing a baby fastened on to her back. she was desperately wounded, the blood still flowed from a gash on her head, and stains on the roadside marked the track along which she must have crawled in her agony to reach the friendly shelter of the wooden archway. life was almost spent, but with an effort of desperation she managed to raise herself into a kneeling posture, and, clasping her hands together, cried out in chinese: "mercy! mercy! the child!" and, with a last glance of supplicating appeal, fell across the threshold at the feet of the trembling nurse. help was summoned at once, and she was carried into the hospital; but she was already past all human aid. she had accomplished her errand with the last spark of her dying strength, and had gone out into the light beyond the sunset.
-sister grace took the baby from her and laid the little creature gently on the bed, unfolding some of the curious chinese clothing in which it was closely wrapped. she had unloosed the wadded coat, and now pulled off the queer double-peaked crimson cap, disclosing as she did so, not the expected shaved head, with its fringe of coarse black hair, but a crop of short, tight, flaxen curls, like rings of floss silk, falling round a pair of flushed cheeks as pink as appleblossom.
-she uttered a cry that drew both doctor and nurses to her side. "look! look!" she exclaimed, "the child is white!"
-where the poor baby had come from or to whom it belonged no one knew. it was warm and unhurt, though in such a deep sleep that it had evidently been drugged to prevent it from crying. beyond a small woollen vest it was dressed in chinese clothes, no doubt with the intention of passing it off as a native, and it wore a carved chinese charm tied round its neck. it was a little girl of apparently about a year old, so round and pretty and dimpled that, when at last, after many hours, she opened her big blue eyes, she won all hearts in the hospital at once.
-it was impossible to institute any enquiries regarding her during the troublous time which followed. the mission, indeed, escaped attack, but it was many months before communication with the outside world was safely established, and by then every clue seemed to have been lost. the consul did his best, and made the case widely known among the european residents in china, but many families had perished in the uprising, and no one could tell by which of them the child might have been claimed.
-the little waif stayed on therefore at the ingledew hospital, where she grew apace, and was soon the pet and darling of everybody who knew her. it was decided to call her "mercy", in memory of the last words of the woman who had saved her life, and "ingledew" was added as a surname for lack of any other.
-it was when she was about seven years old that the doctor and his wife, who were returning to england for a year's leave, determined to take her with them and to try to make some arrangements for her education. a philanthropic lady, who happened to join the ship at ceylon, heard the strange story, and, taking a fancy to the child, offered to send her to school; so it was in this way that mercy had come to miss kaye's, where she had remained ever since.
-last year, however, a great misfortune had occurred. her kind guardian, who had always taken the warmest interest in her welfare, had died suddenly without making a will; her heirs did not feel themselves bound to continue mercy's school fees; and again she was left utterly unprovided for. here miss kaye had come to the rescue, and had promised to keep her at heathercliffe house until she should be old enough to earn her own living as a teacher, and mercy repaid the kindness bestowed upon her by working her very best and trying to fit herself for the career which she was to follow by and by. nine years at aberglyn had blurred her memories of her early life in china, but she still wrote to her friends at the mission, and said she never forgot that one spot, though other scenes might have faded from her remembrance.
-though sylvia only heard this account of mercy's childhood at secondhand, told mostly in whispers by linda when they were in bed, it appealed immensely to the poetical side of her nature, and invested her schoolfellow with a halo of romance that added greatly to her other charms.
-"suppose she really has a father or a mother," said sylvia, who loved to let her imagination run riot; "or if they are both dead, perhaps a grandfather, or a grandmother, or an uncle who is searching for her everywhere. she might be the heiress to a big property, and own castles and halls and all kinds of things. hasn't anybody tried to find out?"
-"oh yes, lots of people!" replied linda. "but it's no use. there isn't anything to trace her by. mercy can't bear to hear it spoken of unless she mentions it first, and she scarcely ever does. miss kaye said it was much wiser for her not to think about it, because it was such a forlorn hope, and it was better to be content with the friends she has and make the most of them. i think she feels it though, sometimes, when we're all going back for the holidays and talking about our homes."
-"i'm sure she must. oh, linda, wouldn't it be lovely if we could find out her relations? do let us set to work at once."
-"how can we?" said linda, who had a practical mind.
-"i don't know quite how at first, but i have a kind of feeling it may be done if we only try. i'm going to leave no stone unturned. it's as interesting as hetty gray, or marjorie's quest. just think that almost every lady whom mercy meets may be her mother!"
-"they couldn't all be," objected linda.
-"of course not, but she might be talking to some of her own relations, and never know it!"
-"i don't see how we can help that. people aren't labelled in families like pots of different kinds of jam, so how could we find out?"
-"oh, don't be stupid! i only mean that we must keep our eyes and our ears open and listen for every opportunity. i'm going to begin to-morrow, and if you like to help you can, and if you don't you needn't."
-greatly fired by her resolution, sylvia was anxious to solve the secret of her friend's parentage without further delay. unfortunately she did not know exactly how to start. it was impossible to question mercy herself, and none of the other girls knew more than linda had told her. she decided, therefore, that the only chance was to notice if anyone looked as if they were seeking somebody, when perhaps she might be the happy means of bringing about the fortunate meeting, and have the proud satisfaction of saying: "here is your long-lost daughter!"
-"it would be the happiest moment of my life," thought sylvia, "nicer even than writing a book, though i mean to do that some day. indeed i think, when it's all turned out properly, i might make it into a story, if mercy wouldn't mind. i could call it a waif from china, or perhaps the little foundling, only she's quite big now. nobody's darling, would sound beautiful, but she's everybody's darling, so that wouldn't do. i believe the flower of heathercliffe house, would be best, and at any rate i could put 'a true tale' after it. i'd have it bound in red or green, with gilt edges, and a picture of mercy on the back."
-the first step to such a flight of literary ambition was evidently to discover the missing friends; until that was settled the whole point of the volume would be lacking and it was useless to attempt even a beginning. she came home one day after the usual morning walk in a state of great excitement, overflowing with news to tell linda, who, having a bad cold, had been obliged to stay in the house.
-"what do you think?" she cried, as they stood washing their hands together in the bathroom, "i really believe i have found a clue at last!"
-"a clue to what?" asked linda, who had forgotten all about the matter by that time.
-"why, to mercy ingledew! miss coleman took us to aberglyn this morning and along the promenade, and we sat down for a rest on one of the benches. connie camden and i were quite at the end, next to two ladies, and i could hear everything they were talking about. one of them, the tall, fair one, was most dreadfully sad, and said it had left a blank, and the other, the short, fat one, seemed so sorry for her and was trying to comfort her. 'when did you lose her?' she asked. i couldn't hear the answer, because connie was whispering to me, but the short lady said: 'dear me! as long ago as that? i am afraid you can have very little hope of ever finding her now.' then connie interrupted again, but i caught something about curly hair and such winning ways. 'you believe she has been traced to this neighbourhood?' the fat lady said; 'you are quite sure you would be able to know her from any other?' 'i couldn't mistake,' the tall lady said; 'her eyes alone would tell me even if she had utterly forgotten me!' it was just growing most interesting when miss coleman got up and we had to go, but i'm certain we're on the right track and it's mercy they're looking for. don't you think it must be?"
-"i don't know," said linda doubtfully; "it might be somebody else."
-"oh! how could it be? it all exactly fits in with mercy's story, and the tall, fair lady was in deep mourning too."
-"she wouldn't still be in mourning," said linda; "it's fifteen years since mercy was lost."
-"she might be; perhaps she made up her mind never to wear anything else until she found her. shall i tell mercy?"
-"no, i'm sure you had better not. miss kaye said we were none of us ever to mention it to her."
-"then i must find out a little more, and it will come as a surprise to her in the end. don't breathe a word to any of the other girls; i want it to be a dead secret. nobody knows a hint about it except you and me."
-sylvia felt almost bursting with the importance of her quest; her great anxiety now was to meet the lady again and make a few further discoveries. she wished she knew her name, or where she lived, and much regretted that she had not taken the opportunity of saying something about mercy at the time.
-"it would be so dreadful if i didn't get a chance to see her any more," she thought. "perhaps she's only a visitor at aberglyn, and she may go home without anything happening after all."
-every day, when they went for their walk, she looked out both for the tall, fair lady and the short, fat one, but she never saw either, though she managed to persuade miss coleman to take them twice again to the promenade, an unheard-of indulgence in one week.
-"i don't know what we're to do!" she lamented to linda. "i must see her somehow. i feel as if mercy's future depends upon it. she looks nice too. i wonder how mercy will like her for a mother. just think of having to get to know your own mother when you're sixteen! wouldn't it seem queer? perhaps she may be in church on sunday."
-"i don't see how you could speak to her even if she were," said linda. "we go out by the side door, and you wouldn't be likely to meet her in the churchyard."
-"i wish miss kaye would take me shopping on saturday," said sylvia. "it's sadie thompson's turn. i wonder if i could coax her to change with me."
-it was miss kaye's custom to allow four of the girls to go with her each saturday morning to aberglyn and assist with her marketing. they were trusted to make some of the purchases, to teach them the value of money, and were expected to put down a neat account afterwards of what they had spent. it was a privilege to which they greatly looked forward, and it had not yet fallen to sylvia's share. by dint, however, of a good deal of persuasion, added to the gift of her cedarwood pencil box, she induced sadie thompson to let her have the next turn; and, as miss kaye made no objection to the exchange, she found herself included among the favoured few.
-nothing could have been more fortunate. the party consisted of mercy ingledew, trissie knowles, from the second class, herself, and nessie hirst, and they started off in brisk spirits.
-in every shop and street sylvia's eyes were busy seeking for the two ladies; but though in the distance she thought she caught a glimpse of the short one, she found out on a nearer view that she was mistaken. they went at last into the markethall, where miss kaye was soon busy at a glass and china stall, replenishing some of the school crockery which had been broken.
-"you little ones," she said, "may go and buy me a pennyworth of parsley and three lemons. be sure you choose lemons with nice smooth rinds, and bring back the right change for a shilling."
-sylvia and nessie ran off together to the fruiterer's, proud of their errand, and were just engaged in calculating the cost of three lemons at three-halfpence each, when sylvia gave a gasp of astonishment and delight. round the corner, and actually coming to their stall, appeared the tall, fair lady and the short, fat one. they stopped to enquire the price of pears, and stood so near that the long crêpe mantle of the former was actually brushing against sylvia's hat. she trembled all over with excitement. dare she do it? could she really pluck up her courage and speak to this unknown stranger? she tried half a dozen times, but the words stuck in her throat. yet she felt she must make the effort, for perhaps mercy's happiness might hang upon this one solitary chance.
-"if you please," she began in a very small trembling voice, and touching the lady's sleeve with her hand. but the lady was too busy buying pears to notice, and only fumbled in her pocket for her purse.
-"if you please," tried sylvia again, speaking rather louder this time.
-"i think this little girl wishes to ask you something," said the short, fat lady, addressing her friend.
-the tall, fair one turned suddenly round towards sylvia.
-"what is it, my dear?" she said, somewhat stiffly; "can i tell you anything?"
-sylvia flushed scarlet. the critical moment had arrived.
-"oh, please," she said, "i thought you hadn't found her yet, and i believe i know where she is!"
-"not my tottie?" exclaimed the lady.
-"i don't know her real name, but we call her mercy," said sylvia. "i heard you say on the promenade that you'd lost her."
-"so i have. i have done everything in my power to recover her. i even put it into the hands of the police. where did you find her?"
-"she's been at school for ever so long," said sylvia, "at heathercliffe house," she added, in explanation.
-"i never dreamt of asking there," said the lady. "i should have thought miss kaye wouldn't have kept her. but no doubt she has been a great favourite amongst the girls."
-"she is. we all love her," declared sylvia, delighted with the success of her boldness.
-"but where is she? have you got her safe at heathercliffe house?" enquired the lady.
-"she's here now in the market," replied sylvia triumphantly.
-"where? oh, where?"
-"just in the next row at the pot stall."
-"let us go at once," said the tall lady, hastily paying for her fruit, and hurrying away in as much agitation as sylvia herself.
-"i don't see her!" she continued in a disappointed tone, when they had turned the corner, looking anxiously among the crockery laid on the ground, and even peeping under the stall.
-"she's there with miss kaye," said sylvia.
-"where, my dear?"
-"of course you won't recognize her, because she's grown so, but she's that tall, fair girl with the long, light hair. oh! may i tell her, or would you rather tell her yourself?"
-the lady looked first at sylvia and then at her short friend with a most puzzled expression.
-"what is the child talking about?" she asked; "i don't understand."
-"you said you'd lost her," faltered sylvia.
-"so i did."
-"and there she is--your own daughter!"
-"daughter!" cried the lady, almost dropping her parcel in her surprise. "it was my dear little dog i was speaking of. i thought you said you had found her."
-"what is the matter?" said miss kaye, coming up at this moment; "i believe i am addressing mrs. rushworth? can i be of any assistance? oh, no, we have found no dog! if we had i should have sent it at once to the police station. i am sorry there should have been a mistake. come, sylvia."
-the disappointment was so horrible and tragic, and so different from anything she had expected, that sylvia burst into a flood of tears. was this the end of all her plans? instead of accomplishing anything useful she had only made herself look extremely silly, and she wondered what miss kaye would have to say about it. at first the headmistress took no notice; she quietly finished her purchases, then, bidding nessie hirst go on with trissie and mercy, she gave sylvia a parcel to carry and told her to walk by her side. she made no remark while they were still in the town, but once they were out on the country road she began to ask questions, and drew a full explanation from her sobbing pupil.
-"don't cry, my dear," she said kindly; "you have done your best. you are not the only one who has tried to find poor mercy's relations, but the issue is in higher hands than ours. do not speak to her of what has happened this morning; it is a subject which has caused her such great grief that i always shrink from allowing it to be mentioned. the truest way to prove your friendship is to help her to forget that she is alone in the world. though we cannot supply the place of her own parents, we can at least show her how much we love her, and make her feel that she has many friends to compensate her for the loss of father and mother."
-all-hallows eve and guy fawkes
-october had passed so swiftly that sylvia could hardly realize that she had now been almost a month at school. in some respects the time appeared short, yet in others it seemed as if she had been settled there for years, and she no longer felt herself to be a new girl. the days, which had been bright and summerlike when first she arrived, were now rapidly closing in; there was no recreation in the garden after four o'clock, as miss kaye considered it too damp and cold for them to be out, and they were obliged to amuse themselves in the playroom instead.
-the great excitement at present was the near approach of all-hallows eve, when it was the custom for the whole school to meet and spend the evening in 'apple bobbing' and other amusements.
-"miss kaye gets a whole cask," said linda, "those lovely big american ones, and we have such fun! we all sit up till half-past eight, even the babies, and nobody minds how much noise we make. i don't know which is nicest, hallowe'en or guy fawkes day."
-"oh, i like the fifth of november!" said nina forster. "we don't do hallowe'en properly here. 'apple bobbing' is nothing."
-"what do you do at home then?" asked sylvia.
-"we have a large party, and put bowls of water in front of the fire, and touch them blindfolded, to see who'll be married first. my big sister once combed her hair before the looking glass at midnight to see if the shadow of her future husband would appear peeping over her shoulder, and my brother alec crept in and got behind her, and pulled a horrible face, and she shrieked and shrieked. sometimes, too, we go into the garden, and drag up cabbage stalks, to try our luck."
-"miss kaye won't let us do any of those things," said linda; "she says it's silly superstition. she was dreadfully cross one evening with trissie knowles and marjorie ward because she caught them both curtsying to the new moon. but she lets us have fun with the apples, and that's all i care about."
-at seven o'clock, therefore, on october 31st, when evening preparation was finished, the four classes collected for the promised entertainment. sylvia, whose home life had been a very quiet one, had never been present on such an occasion, and she anticipated it with much delight. as linda had said, miss kaye had been liberal enough to provide a whole barrel of apples, which stood on two chairs placed together near her desk, the ripest, roundest, rosiest ones which could possibly be. several long strings had been fastened to a beam which ran across the roof, and to the end of each of these an apple was fastened. the girls in turn had their hands tied behind their backs, and had to try to take a bite from an apple as it swung to and fro at the end of its string--a very difficult performance, since it generally bobbed, and wriggled, and slid away just at the critical moment when they were about to put their teeth into it, causing a great deal of mirth and merriment, and much triumph to the lucky one who managed at last to take a successful mouthful, and so secure the coveted treasure.
-three large footbaths had also been brought into the schoolroom, and put on forms, where they were filled with water, and apples. then the girls were allowed to gather round, and, holding forks in their mouths, to drop them into the water in the hope of spearing an apple; not nearly such an easy feat as it looked, and one which seemed to depend mostly on good fortune. of course it was great fun, especially when miss kaye tried it herself, and her fork just stuck in the largest and juiciest, and then rolled out again, or when connie camden, in despair of having any success, dipped her whole head and shoulders into the bath, getting so dreadfully drenched in the process that she was promptly sent upstairs to bed, a sadder and wiser girl; for miss kaye had strictly forbidden any wetting of hair under penalty of instant expulsion from the room, and she invariably kept to her word. sylvia won two apples, both with a fork; she did not prove clever at catching them with her teeth, though linda carried away four, and marian woodhouse six altogether, which, however, she shared with gwennie, who had had bad luck and gained nothing.
-the evening ended with some rousing games of hunt the slipper, dumb crambo, and drop the handkerchief. even miss arkwright ran about and played, and was so pleasant and jolly that sylvia hardly knew her; and miss kaye was the life and soul of it all, managing to include everybody, to see that the little ones got a fair chance, that nobody cheated or took an undue advantage, suppressing quarrels, arranging turns, and directing her flock like the wise shepherd that she always proved herself to be.
-it was a quarter to nine before the girls, hot and flushed, and with most untidy hair, said goodnight, and filed upstairs to their rooms, where they were obliged to sober down when the monitresses went their rounds, and go to bed with a due regard for order and decorum, rules and regulations being strictly enforced even on hallowe'en.
-"i'm dreadfully sorry for connie," said linda, as she brushed her hair; "i can't think what made her dip her head right in like that. she's always doing silly things. when we went to llandudno last summer she sat down in the sea when we were wading, and she tumbled off her donkey and scraped the skin from her nose. and only this term, when they were coming to school, rosie gave her their tickets to hold, and she dropped them on to the line underneath the train. the guard was so angry, he threatened to make them pay their fares, because no one could get the tickets until the train had gone out of the station, and both they and the guard were going in it; but dolly cried, so he said he wouldn't this once, only they must be more careful another time. just think of connie having to stay in bed and hear the noise we were making downstairs! i should have felt pretty cross if it had happened to me. i've sent her one of my apples, and hazel said she'd give her one of hers; still, it's hard luck all the same."
-it was but a few days now to the fifth of november. the school, having spent its excitement over 'apple-bobbing', began to work it up again harder than ever to celebrate the anniversary of guy fawkes. the little ones went about singing:
-"please to remember the fifth of november, with gunpowder treason and plot; for i see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot",
-till everybody grew completely tired of the tune and squashed them. miss arkwright improved the opportunity by making the third class read up the subject in their history book, and write a special essay upon it, with the date and principal persons concerned. the girls had been allowed to contribute from their pocket money to buy fireworks and materials for a bonfire.
-"miss kaye gets old worn-out hampers and barrels from the greengrocer," said linda. "some paraffin is poured over them and they make the most glorious blaze, and then when the fire has burnt down a little we roast potatoes in the red-hot ashes, and they taste most delicious. mr. cameron always comes to let off the fireworks. he's miss kaye's cousin, and he's so jolly. he keeps making jokes the whole time, though he won't let any of us stand very near for fear of sparks catching our dresses. then we have heaps and heaps of toffee; it's put on great plates and handed round, and there are big slices of parkin too."
-"i heard emmie hall say she believed there was going to be a guy fawkes this year," said sylvia.
-"no! is there? oh, that would be fun! how did she get to know?"
-"edna lowe had to go to miss kaye's room to take a dose of gregory's powder, and she saw a big mask on the table, and an old jacket hanging over a chair. miss kaye whisked them away in a moment, but she had quite time to notice what they were, and, of course, she told lily afterwards, and lily told emmie."
-"we haven't had a guy since i was here," said linda; "and we've never had one at home either. oh, i do want to see it so much! i hope miss kaye's really going to make one. it will be the most delicious, glorious fun that ever was! i wish wednesday would hurry up and come."
-the girls had raised a general subscription to provide the fireworks, which were ordered to be sent from a large shop in the town, but no one was allowed to buy anything privately, miss kaye naturally thinking that squibs and crackers were dangerous in young and unpractised hands, and that it was better not to run the risk of accidents.
-"we mayn't even get a box of coloured matches," grumbled a few of the third class, as they gathered in the playroom on monday at half-past four, "and i'm sure there could be no harm in that, for you've only to strike them and hold them in your fingers."
-"miss kaye makes as much children of us as if we were all in the kindergarten," declared hazel crossly. "i wish we had some chestnuts at any rate; it would be so jolly to roast them on the bars."
-"you'll have some on wednesday to roast in the bonfire."
-"yes, but i'd rather have them now. there'll be plenty of things on wednesday, and it's so slow to-day, there's nothing to do but hang about till teatime. i say, i have an idea!" and she stooped down and whispered something in linda's ear.
-"oh no, hazel, we daren't!" cried linda, her eyes wide with delighted horror; "you don't really mean it?"
-"of course i do."
-"mean what?" asked nina, full of curiosity.
-"i don't think i'll let you know. it's a secret."
-"yes, do. i'll never tell. truly and honestly i won't."
-"well, why shouldn't we slip out of the side door, and run down the road to that little shop at the corner of valley lane; we could buy some chestnuts there, and perhaps some fireworks as well. i have sixpence here in my pocket."
-"oh, we should be caught!"
-"no, we shouldn't. if we manage well, nobody will see us, and it won't take ten minutes. there's plenty of time before tea. who'll come?"
-no one spoke. the adventure was so serious that each girl felt rather doubtful about undertaking it, and shook her head.
-"well, you are a set of cowards," said hazel. "i wish connie camden wasn't having her music lesson; she'd go in a second. linda, you might."
-"don't, linda," pleaded sylvia. "it really isn't worth it. i shan't."
-"linda isn't bound to ask your leave," said hazel sharply. "she can do as she likes, i suppose. come, linda. it would be such a joke!"
-"i'm sure marian wouldn't let me go," said gwennie, "or go herself either. she's at her practising now."
-"all right! i don't want either of you, nor jessie ellis. but, nina, you like a little fun, i know. come with linda and me."
-"i didn't say i would," faltered linda.
-"yes, you will, and nina too. we three are the only ones in the class with an ounce of courage."
-nina hesitated a moment and was lost. she was very easily led, and it flattered her so much to have hazel prestbury actually begging for her company that she had not the strength of character to refuse. linda looked first at one of her friends and then at the other; they were almost equally balanced in her affections, but on this occasion hazel, the elder, the more important, and the more persuasive, slightly turned the scale.
-"i don't know whether i'll really go," she said; "but i'll come as far as the gate, and watch you start. there can't be much harm in that."
-"miss coleman said we mustn't go into the garden to-day. it's raining," volunteered gwennie.
-"oh, bother! we don't mind the rain. by the way, you girls must all promise faithfully you won't be so mean as to tell," said hazel.
-"you needn't be in the least afraid," replied sylvia, rising, and going over to the bookcase; "we're none of us telltales, at any rate, whatever other names you may call us."
-the naughty trio crept quietly from the playroom into the dressing-room, where their garden hats and jackets were kept; then, quite forgetting either to change their shoes or put on goloshes, they ran into the drizzling rain, and, keeping well behind the bushes, soon reached the front gate and peeped cautiously out. nobody was in sight, the road looked perfectly clear, and it would hardly take five minutes to gain the small shop in valley lane and buy what they wanted.
-"come along!" said hazel, holding out her hand to linda.
-but linda stopped. the remembrance of a look she had seen in sylvia's eyes rose up before her, again her friends seemed to be pulling in two different ways, and her own better judgment told her which was the right one.
-"i think i won't," she said. "i only came to see you off, you know. i'm going back to play draughts with sylvia."
-"very well," replied hazel, much offended. "nina and i will go by ourselves. don't expect any of the chestnuts or fireworks, for you shan't have them."
-linda managed to return through the garden unobserved, and finding sylvia in the classroom, the two sat chatting quietly until the teabell rang. nina and hazel came in to tea rather out of breath, and with very red cheeks.
-"we've got them," they whispered. "a whole bag of lovely chestnuts, and two boxes of coloured matches, and a magic snake's egg. we ran all the way back, and didn't see anybody but a policeman."
-"we're going to have such a jubilee to-night! nina's coming into our bedroom to let off the snake with connie and me," said hazel.
-"it's no fun with only jessie ellis," said nina.
-when tea was over, and the girls were just leaving the room, miss kaye called to hazel, nina, and linda, saying she wished to speak to them for a moment. she held elsie thompson by the hand, and motioned the children into her study.
-"now, girls," she said gravely, "i wish to ask you something. elsie tells me that she was looking out of the top landing window before tea, and she saw you all three go through the garden to the gate, and run down the road towards aberglyn. is this true?"
-"no, miss kaye," replied hazel promptly. "we didn't go out anywhere; did we, nina?"
-"no," said nina, though with less assurance.
-it was a bold step of hazel's to deny what they had done, but elsie thompson's habit of making up stories was well known, and on this account she hoped they might escape. linda gave no reply. she was in a terrible difficulty. to tell the truth would of course implicate the other two; yet she was not prepared with such a deliberate falsehood.
-"did you go down the aberglyn road, linda?" asked the headmistress.
-"no, miss kaye," said linda, feeling that her truth was only half a truth after all, and more ashamed of herself than she liked to think.
-"i am very glad to hear it," said miss kaye, looking relieved. "elsie is such a little girl that i believe she hardly knows yet how naughty it is to tell such wrong tales. i shall have to be very cross with you, elsie, if you do so again." and, shaking her head at the small six-year-old, she dismissed the four.
-hazel waited till they were safely down the passage, then, seizing elsie by the arm, she gave her a hard smack.
-"you nasty little thing!" she cried; "what do you mean by telling tales about us to miss kaye?"
-"but i really saw you," wailed elsie.
-"i never thought elsie would see us," said hazel. "it was most unfortunate. we got out of it better than i expected, though. we shall have to hide away those chestnuts; it won't be safe to roast them, or to let off the snake either."
-"oh, hazel, i wish you hadn't done it!" said linda. "we've told the most dreadful stories."
-"well, you haven't, at any rate. miss kaye asked if you had been down the aberglyn road, and you didn't go, so you only said what was quite true."
-linda went into preparation with a very uneasy mind. she was a truthful child, and could not bear to be mixed up with any deceit; but on the other hand she did not like to get her classmates into trouble. she was astonished that hazel should behave so; it spoilt her faith in her friend, and recalled to her memory several other incidents which she had not noticed much at the time, but were nevertheless occasions on which hazel had not acted in a strictly honourable manner.
-"there was the punch and judy on the beach," thought linda, "when she asked the man to begin, and promised we would give him some pennies, and then said she hadn't any money with her. and once she found winnie ingham's penknife, and kept it in her pocket for a week without telling her. and it was she who told greta collins to call 'stingy' after nellie parker, because she only put down threepence for the fireworks; and it was too bad, for nellie hardly has any pocket money, and she had given all she had. oh, dear! i wish hazel wouldn't do such things. she's so nice in every other way. i like her immensely. but what i think is horrid she only laughs at and calls fun. sylvia never does." and with that last comparison between her two friends, linda put her elbows on her desk, and her fingers in her ears, and tried to settle herself to the stern task of learning the subjunctive mood of the verb rendre, having a lively horror of mademoiselle's wrath on the morrow if she went to the french class with an ill-prepared lesson.
-what miss kaye thought of it
-tuesday passed just as usual, and no casual observer would have noticed that anything was amiss with the members of the third class. elsie thompson had evidently been frightened into silence by hazel's threat, no one else mentioned the subject, and beyond the fact that nina looked pale, and linda rather distressed, the matter seemed likely to sink into oblivion. at about a quarter to four, however, when miss arkwright was in the very middle of explaining the difference between a nominative of address and a nominative in apposition, the door opened suddenly, and miss kaye made her appearance. she so seldom came into a class during the afternoon that the hearts of three of her pupils began to thump, their guilty consciences telling them beforehand that her errand must surely concern them and no others. nor were they mistaken. after apologizing to miss arkwright for interrupting the lesson, miss kaye turned towards the girls with that stern look in her eyes which they knew and dreaded to meet.
-"hazel prestbury, linda marshall, and nina forster," she said in a voice that though quiet was full of emotion, "i am deeply grieved to find that you have been deceiving me. elsie thompson told me yesterday that she had seen you run through the gate and down the road towards aberglyn. i asked you if this were so, and you all three denied it. knowing that elsie is not always very truthful i believed your word in preference to hers. this afternoon i happened to meet miss newman, a lady who lives near valley lane, and she told me that she noticed some of my girls coming out of mrs. price's shop yesterday at about ten minutes to five, and hurrying back towards heathercliffe. i am more pained than i can tell you, not only to think that you should have broken the rules, but that you should have stooped to utter such deliberate falsehoods. you allowed me to accuse elsie of the very fault you were committing yourselves, and meanly left her to bear the blame. i am thoroughly ashamed of you, and hope you are equally ashamed of yourselves. go at once to your bedrooms. your tea will be sent to you later. i feel that, until you have fully realized what you have done, you are not fit to mingle with the rest of the class. you will, of course, take no part in our fifth-of-november party to-morrow."
-poor linda! she left the room feeling as if her trouble were almost greater than she could bear. it was impossible now to explain that she had only gone as far as the gate. miss kaye would probably not believe her, and in any case would think that she was trying to shirk her part of the blame, and cast it on hazel and nina. she was beginning to experience the truth of the old proverb that you cannot touch pitch and keep your hands clean; she had never intended to do anything in the least dishonourable, but having taken a first step it had been very difficult to act in such a sudden emergency. friendship had seemed to demand that she should not betray her companions, though their conduct certainly did not justify any great consideration on their behalf.
-"if i'd only never left the house," she thought, "or if i had told miss kaye i had gone into the garden! but then she would have known the others must have been there too. oh, it's all a horrid puzzle, and i'm simply miserable! i shan't see guy fawkes to-morrow, and i hate everybody and everything, and i wish i were at home."
-she went to bed in tears, which increased when miss coleman brought her her tea, and, after collecting sylvia's nightclothes, informed her that her roommate, together with connie camden and jessie ellis, were to sleep in a large bedroom generally called "the hospital", and no one would be allowed even to come in and speak to her. the prospect of sleeping alone without sylvia made her feel wretched, and it was not till then that she began to realize how much her friend was to her, and what a terrible loss it would be if they were separated.
-"perhaps miss kaye won't let us have a bedroom together again," she said to herself. "i wonder whom she'll put me with! suppose she sent one of the big girls to sleep here, bessie cunningham, or marjorie moreton. how hateful it would be! there'd never be any fun or talks in bed in the mornings. or perhaps i shall be just alone, as i was before sylvia came. i didn't care then, but i mind it dreadfully now i'm so accustomed to her."
-in the meantime sylvia was feeling as dejected as linda at the course which events had taken. she knew her friend was not so much to blame as the others, and it was terrible to find her mixed up in such an unpleasant business.
-"hazel often tells stories," she reflected, "and i never thought much of nina. but i'm sure linda wouldn't do such a thing. there must be some mistake. if i could only see her, and get her to explain it all."
-that, however, was impossible. she was strictly forbidden to go into her bedroom, and neither miss coleman nor miss arkwright would give any news of the three banished offenders.
-it was a very dismal evening in the playroom for the remaining members of the third class. it cast quite a gloom over their spirits. connie camden did not tease and play tricks as usual, and jessie ellis had to retire to a corner occasionally and wipe her eyes.
-"you shouldn't have let them go," said marian to sylvia. "you were there and heard their plans."
-"how could i stop them?" cried sylvia indignantly. "i said i wouldn't go myself. hazel is more than a year older than i am, and she never listens to anything i say. she was as rude as she could be, and persuaded the others to go with her. did you want me to go telling tales to miss arkwright?"
-"no, but you might have said more. i don't believe they would have gone if i had been there. i should have thought of so many reasons to stop them. it was a great pity i was at my practising," said marian, who was always wise after an event.
-"well, why didn't gwennie say it all?" demanded sylvia. "she was there."
-"gwennie is much younger, and isn't expected to tell people what they ought to do. it's quite enough for her to do as she's told herself."
-"i'm only four months older than gwennie, so i don't see why you should throw the blame on me as if it were my fault that they went," said sylvia. "you'll be scolding jessie next."
-"no, i shan't. she's so stupid no one takes any notice of her. you're different and ought to make people care," said marian, getting her book and beginning to read, while sylvia, doubtful whether the last remark was intended for a compliment or a reproof, took out her writing case and consoled herself by beginning a long letter home.
-it seemed very peculiar and gloomy not to be allowed to go to bed in her own room; she and connie and jessie undressed with many grumbles in the hospital, and hoped they would not be compelled to stay there for the rest of the term.
-"they ought to have sent the others here instead of us," said connie. "we're being punished for something we haven't done."
-"yes, but the others would have been together, and that's what miss kaye doesn't want," replied sylvia. "they're each of them quite alone, and i'm sure they must be having a wretched time. i wonder if they will be in school to-morrow!"
-evidently miss kaye did not consider them yet fit to take their places among the others, for they did not appear at breakfast, nor afterwards in the classroom. the headmistress had been greatly distressed by the whole affair, which showed such a sad lack of the moral courage and high standard she had tried to impress upon all her girls that she could not but feel a sense of failure. she decided that it was better to leave them for some little time to themselves, that they might have leisure to consider what they had done, and she did not mean to let them return to their places until after the fireworks were over, knowing that to prevent them from seeing the bonfire was the greatest punishment she could inflict.
-nina forster in any case would not have been able to be present. the run down the wet garden and road in her house shoes, which she had not afterwards changed, had brought on a feverish cold and sore throat, and she was tossing about in bed with a splitting head, too poorly to think of anything but her aches and pains.
-the day dragged slowly along. lessons seemed very strange in a class of only five, and even marian missed the others. the girls went out into the courtyard at four o'clock to look at the great bonfire which the gardener had been busy piling up, inspected the tub of newly washed potatoes which the cook had placed outside the back-kitchen door, and tried to cajole some pieces of toffee from cook.
-"i gave it all to miss kaye," she assured them, "and it's locked up in the dining-room cupboard. it's not a single piece you'll get till to-night, so don't come bothering me. parkin, did you say? it's safe in the storeroom, and it will stay there till seven o'clock."
-in spite of a slight mist it promised to be a fine evening, and the children looked anxiously up at the sky, hoping it would be clear enough to show off the rockets to advantage. the fireworks were to begin after six o'clock, at which hour mr. cameron was expected to arrive, and with the gardener's aid to set a light to the bonfire.
-"it's no fun in the least without linda," thought sylvia, wandering round to the front of the house to see if she could catch a glimpse of her friend at the window. "she'll be so unhappy all alone! i wonder if----." and she ran back to the side door as quickly as she could, for a new idea had suddenly struck her.
-"mercy," she cried, meeting the monitress in the passage, "there's something i want to do if i dare. do you think miss kaye would be very angry with me?"
-"i can't tell you till i know what it is," said mercy, smiling. "what do you wish to ask her?"
-"linda will be so miserable by herself this evening. do you think miss kaye would let me stay with her? you see, it wasn't her fault half as much as the others', because she didn't really go with them."
-"how do you know she didn't?" asked mercy.
-"because she came back at once and said she had only been to the gate. she and i sat in the classroom talking till teatime."
-"my dear child, if you knew this you ought to have told miss kaye about it before!"
-"ought i? i didn't dare. she looked so angry. i thought perhaps linda had told her."
-"i don't believe she did. at any rate i think we ought to make sure. if you like i'll go with you to miss kaye now; she's in her study."
-"oh, if you only would!" cried sylvia, clasping mercy in one of her affectionate hugs; "i shouldn't mind a scrap if you were there, but i'm frightened out of my wits to go alone."
-sylvia clutched mercy's arm very tightly as they tapped at the door of the study, and entered in response to miss kaye's 'come in!' she was thankful the elder girl was there to explain her errand, as she felt so shy herself, she was sure she would not have known how to begin.
-"you are quite certain, sylvia, that linda did not accompany the others to mrs. price's shop?" asked miss kaye, when mercy had finished her account.
-"quite, miss kaye," replied sylvia. "she never said she would. hazel tried very hard to persuade her, and she promised to go with them just as far as the gate. she couldn't have gone farther, because she was back in a few minutes. i know she came in the moment marian woodhouse stopped practising, and marian always has the piano till exactly a quarter to five. then she was with me all the rest of the time until tea."
-"miss newman certainly said she saw two girls, both with light hair," said miss kaye; "i supposed the third must have escaped her notice. i am glad to find linda is not quite so naughty as i thought. i will go to her at once and see if she is able to explain what happened afterwards."
-"and please, miss kaye----" said sylvia eagerly, as the mistress rose.
-"well, my dear?"
-"would you let me stay with her to-night instead of going to the bonfire?"
-"we'll see," replied miss kaye; and without committing herself any further she went upstairs.
-sylvia looked at miss kaye many times during tea, trying to read the answer in her face, but the latter did not glance in her direction, and seemed fully occupied in a conversation with mademoiselle. when the meal was over, however, she called to her to remain after the other girls had left the room.
-"i have seen linda," she said, "and find her thoroughly sorry for any part she has played which has not been perfectly honourable and straighforward. i am sure she will be more careful in future to avoid even the shadow of an untruth. as i think she was trying to shield nina and hazel i have decided not to punish her any more, and she is once again free. did you say that you would be willing to give up your share of the fun outside and spend the evening with her?"
-"yes, oh yes!" exclaimed sylvia.
-"and miss the fireworks?"
-"i don't mind."
-"you are a good little friend, but it is not necessary. linda may come to the bonfire, and you shall have the pleasure of running upstairs at once and telling her so yourself."
-you may be sure that sylvia flew like an arrow to her bedroom to announce the delightful news, and that it did not take linda long to put on her outdoor clothes and join the crowd which was already assembling in the courtyard.
-mr. cameron had just arrived. he was a tall, jolly, rather elderly gentleman, with a grey moustache and an endless stock of jokes, which he fired off like crackers among the girls. they all knew him well, as he often came to heathercliffe house. his daughter doris had been educated there, and though she was now nineteen, she was fond of her old school, and had accompanied her father this evening to watch the fireworks.
-"out of my way!" shouted mr. cameron; "make room for the principal figure, the leading actor on the stage, we may call him, and if you don't admire him, it's your own bad taste!"
-he was staggering from the house as he spoke, carrying in his arms a huge guy, stuffed with straw, whose comical red face, dangling arms, and helpless legs roused shouts of laughter all round.
-"there," said mr. cameron, seating him on a convenient barrel in the midst of the bonfire, "anyone can change places with him who likes; he mayn't look clever, but at any rate i can guarantee he'll get a warm reception before he even takes the trouble to open his mouth. now then, stand back, children; we're going to begin."
-the gardener had brought out a large torch, which he applied to some loose shavings, and in a few minutes a grand blaze was flaring up, catching the boxes, hampers, and brushwood of which the pile was composed. mr. cameron fastened a match to the end of a pole, and, lighting it, approached within a few feet of the guy.
-"now look," he said; "watch very carefully, and you'll see him roll his eyes."
-he applied the match to the mask where two small pin-wheels had been fitted in front of the empty sockets. they went off immediately, and gave exactly the appearance of two horrible, flaming eyes whirling round and round in the big head. the younger children screamed and clung delightedly to the elder ones, and even miss kaye was quite startled at the effect.
-"now he's going to talk," declared mr. cameron; "he's like the girl in the fairy tale who dropped diamonds and pearls whenever she opened her lips."
-he held his lighted pole to the guy's mouth, where a roman candle was hidden inside, and out came balls of red and blue and green, shooting into the air one after another with great brilliance. by this time the flames had reached his arms and legs, which, being stuffed with squibs and crackers, exploded with much noise, and the luckless conspirator disappeared with a crash into the midst of the burning barrels, to the accompaniment of a storm of clapping and a lusty cheer. when the blaze had somewhat subsided, the tub of potatoes was carried out, and each girl was allowed to place one in the hot ashes, together with several chestnuts, which could be roasting while they ate the toffee and parkin.
-"you wouldn't think of eating sweet things just before you had potatoes at any other time," said linda, "but everything tastes so delicious when it's from the bonfire."
-mr. cameron was getting ready to let off the more important fireworks, which had been kept till the end, and the girls arranged themselves in a half-circle to look at the golden rain, the catherine wheels, and the rockets which were to finish the festivities. he had prepared a surprise for them by writing "heathercliffe house" in gunpowder on the ground, which, when it was set alight, stood out in letters of flame, and had a fine effect. "i always said heathercliffe house ought to set the world on fire," he laughed, "and we've done it to-night."
-as linda stood watching the last rocket tearing across the sky, she put her arm round sylvia's shoulder. "i shouldn't have been here at all this evening except for you," she whispered. "it was lovely of you to go to miss kaye. she was so nice about it when i said i was sorry. i don't think i shall ever be frightened of her again."
-"three cheers for miss kaye!" called mr. cameron. "those who feel they have had a jolly time may join me, and those who don't had better go to bed. hip! hip! hooray!"
-and among all the laughing, clapping girls there were none who responded more heartily than linda and sylvia.
-nina forster was obliged to remain in bed for several days, but hazel prestbury came into school on the following morning, rather red about the eyes, and a little sulky. she was sorry, not so much for her fault, as for being found out, and she blamed herself for her own stupidity.
-"i might have known some tiresome person would see us out of a window," she thought. "miss kaye always manages to get to hear everything."
-she felt that the other girls disapproved of her. marian spoke her mind freely on the subject, and even gentle gwennie did not appear too anxious to sit next to her. linda avoided her as much as possible, keeping strictly to sylvia's company, and, though connie camden, who never thought about anything, was as friendly as ever, it did not quite make up for the general coldness of the rest. the girls were too kind to send her to coventry, but hazel felt she had lost her former position in the class. it was a severe wound to her pride, for she had liked to be considered a leader, and had always been pleased to see how easily the others had accepted her opinions and suggestions; as the eldest she had possessed a good deal of influence, and her greatest punishment was to find it gone.
-november crept on fast, and the days seemed to grow rapidly shorter and shorter. it was chilly now in the mornings, and those whose hard fate it was to be obliged to practise before breakfast grumbled at stiff fingers and cold toes.
-"i never know whether i like it or not," said sylvia. "i hate it when i'm in bed, and feel i'd give all the world not to have to get up so early; but when it's done it's so nice to think you won't have to do it at four o'clock. i wish one could learn music without practising."
-"and french without verbs," groaned linda, looking at her exercise, nearly every line of which showed red-ink corrections in mademoiselle's neat foreign handwriting. "i think some people are born bad at languages, and i'm one of them. i never can understand properly what mademoiselle is saying, and then she gets cross and says i don't attend."
-french was a serious trouble to sylvia also. she had learnt very little with her governess at home, and found it most difficult to keep up with marian, who had rather a pretty accent, and was good at translation. to encourage her pupils, mademoiselle had offered a prize to whichever could write the best letter home in the french language. each was to be the unaided work of the competitor, though grammars and dictionaries might be freely consulted. it was a difficult task to all the girls, and to some an almost impossible one, but mademoiselle insisted upon everybody at least making an attempt, and laughed in private over the funny efforts which followed.
-if the prize had been given for the queerest instead of the best letter connie camden would have gained it. she grew so tired of looking up words that she wrote anything she thought sounded like french, and the result would have puzzled a native to decipher. it ran thus:--
-"heathercliffe maison. "novembre la onzième.
-"mon cher mère
-"mamzelle a toldé moi que je mustai writer une lettre en français. je le findai très difficile et je ne likai pas du tout. mamzelle a offré une prize mais je suis sûre que je ne shallai pas le getter. je begge que vous excusez moi parce que je ne canne pas thinker de rien encore à sayer.
-"votre aimant fille, "connie."
-this, however, was the worst of the set, some of the others having managed to express themselves quite nicely. rather to everybody's astonishment hazel prestbury won the prize. she was not industrious enough to gain the highest marks in class, but on this occasion she had set her best energies to work, and her letter, both as regards composition and grammar, was far in advance of all competitors. she felt a thrill of triumph as mademoiselle presented her with a charming parisian basket full of choice chocolates, accompanied by a speech in french, which nobody understood in the least. she handed it round amongst the girls with a sense that she had at last somewhat regained her lost standing, and when the basket was empty had the satisfaction of overhearing marian remark that she was generous with her sweets, and gwennie wish that she knew french only half as well.
-nina forster returned to class after a week's absence, looking pale and thin, and with a white knitted shawl wrapped ostentatiously round her shoulders. she was a girl who thoroughly enjoyed being delicate, and liked the importance of having a fuss made over her. there was always a large bottle of tonic on the sideboard, which nina gloried in being obliged to swallow, and she was rather pleased than otherwise if miss kaye decided that it was too damp a day for her to venture out.
-"i can't stand much, you know," she would explain complacently to the others in languid tones. "every winter i have been laid up, with the doctor listening at my bronchial tube and taking my temperature night and morning. it makes mother most unhappy, and i'm sure miss kaye's quite worried about me too."
-as most of the girls did not know the exact meaning of either a bronchial tube or a temperature, they were a good deal impressed, and allowed nina to take the warmest seat and the biggest piece of toffee "for the sake of her throat", a state of affairs which was just what she wanted, and of which she did not fail to take advantage to the uttermost.
-with the colder weather eider-down quilts had made their appearance in the bedrooms, and now supplied the places of the pretty pink coverlets which were only used in summer. it felt very warm and comfortable to snuggle down under them at night, when the wind was howling outside and the rain beating fast against the windows, and very hard to throw them back and get up in the dark, chilly mornings, when the dressing bell was ringing in the passage outside.
-sylvia's eider-down quilt once caused her an experience which gave her a greater fright than she had ever had in her life before. she had been to sleep for what seemed to her several hours, and woke suddenly with a curious sense that someone besides herself and linda was in the room. it seemed to her as if her quilt were being very gently but surely pulled from her bed. wideawake in an instant, she pulled it back and lay listening with strained ears. there was nothing to be heard but linda's placid breathing and the drip of the rain from the spout outside the window. again the quilt slowly began to move, and this time she was certain she caught a slight sound. could it be possible that a burglar was concealed under her bed? the idea was too dreadful, and a cold shiver ran through her. what was she to do? she did not dare to call to linda; she felt as if her tongue would refuse to utter a cry, and perhaps if she did the man would at once crawl out. the room was not quite dark, as a fitful moon shone in through the blind between the storm clouds, and to poor sylvia it made the horror almost worse to know that she would be able to see somebody rise up suddenly by her bedside.
-"i'd give him anything and everything he wants to steal," she thought, "if only he wouldn't frighten me so. oh, i wonder whether he's really there or not!"
-she held the edge of the quilt in her hand. was it slipping once more? yes, it was most undoubtedly being pulled from her grasp, and, as her hair nearly stood on end with fear, she heard an unmistakable sneeze from somewhere just underneath her bed. she gave a little agonized gasp of terror, and at the same moment something sprang up and plumped on to her chest. nearly dead with fright, she yet managed to look, and to her astonishment beheld only the waving tail and round green eyes of toby, the school cat, which, settling himself comfortably, began to claw the quilt with his paws, purring his loudest the while as if quite proud and pleased with himself. sylvia sat up in bed and laughed heartily at her burglar.
-"toby, you wretch," she cried, stroking his soft fur, "how did you manage to get in here? i suppose it was you that was trying to tug my quilt from me. no doubt you wanted to make yourself a nice bed on the floor. and then you sneezed! what shall i do with you? i can't take you to the kitchen in the middle of the night. you'll have to cuddle down with me; you're beautifully warm at any rate. here, come inside, you'll be as good as a hot bottle." and, clasping the purring cat close in her arms, she was soon back in the land of dreams.
-it was quite a little adventure to relate to linda next morning, and the latter wondered how she had been able to sleep so stolidly through it.
-sylvia's birthday was on the nineteenth of november, and to her great delight it happened this year on a saturday. miss kaye, who tried to make school seem as much like home as possible, was indulgent regarding such anniversaries, and permitted many small privileges to the fortunate owner of a birthday. sylvia was allowed to choose the dinner, an important decision, over which she lingered so long that the mistress nearly lost patience.
-"of course you must not order turkey and ice cream," said miss kaye; "it must be two of our ordinary dishes, only you may have which you like. be quick, for cook is waiting to know."
-after some hesitation sylvia decided on hotpot and fig pudding.
-"i like the potatoes on the top of the hotpot," she explained to linda, "especially when they're crisp and brown, and the fig pudding always has delicious sweet sauce, and miss kaye lets one take plenty of sugar with it. jessie ellis chose boiled mutton and corn-flour blancmange with jam on her birthday. i don't think that was nice at all."
-the girls in her class subscribed, and gave sylvia a birthday book as their joint present, containing poetical quotations from shakespeare for each day, and one or two pretty illustrations of perdita, portia, and other heroines. she was charmed with such a remembrance and asked them all to write their names in it.
-"on a friday," said sylvia; "but why do you want to know?"
-"then you're loving and giving."
-"what do you mean?"
-"oh, don't you know the old rhyme?
-'monday's child is fair of face, tuesday's child is full of grace, wednesday's child is a child of woe, thursday's child has far to go, friday's child is loving and giving, saturday's child must work for its living, but the child that is born on the sabbath day is good and truthful and happy and gay.'"
-"where do you learn all these things?" asked sylvia.
-"from our old cook. she's a daleswoman, and she can tell what it means when the candle gutters or the clock stops, or a swarm of bees comes, or you see magpies, or your ear burns, or you sneeze, and what's lucky to do and what's unlucky."
-"you are the greatest goose!" said marian scornfully. "you don't mean to say you believe that silly rubbish? we shouldn't be allowed to talk to our cook at home if she told us such nonsense. you'd better not let miss kaye see you throwing salt over your shoulder, or crossing the water when you wash with anybody."
-"you always make fun of everything i do," exclaimed nina plaintively.
-"then you should have more sense," snapped marian, who prided herself upon being strong-minded.
-"sylvia has a pretty name at any rate," continued nina, "and so have i. i shouldn't like to be called marian; it's just like mary ann."
-but as marian wisely took no notice, and walked away, the shot fell rather flat.
-the parcel post came in at half-past ten, and brought several bulky-looking packages addressed to "miss s. lindsay". sylvia bore them off to the playroom and untied the strings before an audience of sympathetic girls, each of whom was almost as interested as if the birthday had been her own.
-"which shall i open first?" she said. "this one feels nice, and it's in mother's writing, too. lend me your scissors, marian, that's a dear. i can't unfasten this knot. oh, look! exactly what i wanted."
-and she drew from a cardboard box a charming little brownie camera with several rolls of films quite ready to use.
-"how delightful!" she cried. "now i can take snapshots of you all, and the house, and miss kaye, and everything. i'll send them home to father to develop; he's very clever at photos."
-"you won't be able to take snaps in this dark weather," said hazel. "i don't expect you can do much with it until spring. i took some last autumn, and they were so faint you couldn't tell what they were meant for."
-"well, she can try, at any rate," said linda. "perhaps she can manage a time exposure if she puts the camera on something steady, and get a group of the whole class in the garden. what's in the next parcel?"
-it proved to be a copy of the talisman, with "sylvia lindsay, from her loving father", written inside--a welcome present, as sylvia was collecting scott, and was glad to have an addition to her number of volumes.
-"this is a child's writing," said marian, taking up a small packet, addressed in a round, rather shaky-looking hand. "shall i cut the string for you?"
-"really, marian! let her open her own parcels. they're her presents," said linda.
-"and my scissors," returned marian. "i only wanted to help her. oh! that's pretty!" she exclaimed as sylvia unwrapped a purse made of mother-of-pearl with a gilt clasp and lined with crimson silk. on a half-sheet of notepaper was written: "with best wishes for your birthday from effie and may".
-"how kind of them to send me anything!" said sylvia. "they never have done before. i suppose it's because i'm at school. i really am in luck this time."
-the next parcel was from aunt louisa and cousin cuthbert. it was an upright wooden box, containing a set of table croquet, eight little mallets and balls, with hoops and sticks, arranged on a polished wood stand, and sandbags to place round the table to prevent the balls from rolling off on to the floor.
-"i think this is the nicest of all," cried linda. "there are just eight mallets, so that the whole class can play, and it will be such fun on wet days when we can't go out."
-"i never expected another present from aunt louisa," said sylvia. "she gave me that writing case when i came, and cuthbert the pencil box, the one i gave to sadie thompson, you know."
-"i wish she were my aunt," said marian; "i should think she's nice."
-"she is generally, but it was she who made father and mother send me here, and i didn't want to come in the least."
-"why, but you're glad now, aren't you? everybody likes being at miss kaye's."
-"yes, i'm very glad, though i'm looking forward immensely to christmas and going home. i wonder what's inside this smallest parcel. oh, a brooch from aunt mabel and uncle herbert! such a pretty one, like little silver daisies. it will go beautifully with my best dress."
-miss holt had sent a writing album, granny a bottle of scent, and uncle wallace a box of chocolates, so there was quite a show of gifts arranged upon the table.
-"you haven't opened this one yet," said linda, pointing to the largest parcel, which had been left till the last.
-"no, because i knew what it was," said sylvia. "it's my birthday cake, and mother said it was to be a present for the whole school."
-it was so carefully packed in a wooden box that the children were not able to open it themselves, and were obliged to fetch miss coleman, who prised up the lid with a screwdriver and lifted out such a wonderful cake that, as she laid it on a plate, everybody gave a gasping "oh!" of admiration. it was beautifully iced, with ornaments of pink and white sugar, and sylvia's name in sugary letters on the top, and it was of such a large and substantial size that it looked as if even thirty-four girls would be able to cut and come again.
-"mother says there's a sixpence inside," said sylvia, "so it will be very exciting to see who gets it at tea. i hope it will be right in the middle of a slice, and not tumble out just when it's being cut."
-"you're a very fortunate girl," said miss coleman. "you'll have to be quite busy the rest of the day writing letters to thank all these kind friends. i'm going to take the cake to the storeroom, but you may keep the box of chocolates."
-tea was a festive meal. the cake looked most imposing, placed on one of miss kaye's largest dessert dishes in the centre of the table. sylvia was allowed to cut it herself, and handed generous slices round to everybody, and she was particularly glad when little elsie thompson got the coveted sixpence.
-"they never have a cake of their own," whispered linda; "their aunt doesn't think of making one for them, and their father is too far away. sadie had only one present on her birthday besides what we gave her."
-before bedtime came, sylvia took her handsome bottle of scent, and, wrapping it in a parcel, wrote on a piece of paper: "will you please accept this from me. i shall feel very hurt if you don't". then in defiance of rules she ran into mercy's room, and laid it on her pillow, where she would find it when she went to bed.
-"i'm sure granny wouldn't mind," she said to herself. "no one knows exactly which day is mercy's birthday, and, though they keep it on the one when she was found, it might perhaps be to-day, and i couldn't bear to think that i've had all these lovely presents and she should have got nothing at all."
-the christmas holidays
-"stir-up sunday" seemed to come almost directly after sylvia's birthday, and the girls began to count the weeks eagerly until the holidays. there were many ingenious devices for marking the passage of time. hazel prestbury cut notches on her ruler, connie camden put twenty-two stones on her mantelpiece and threw one out of the window every morning, and nina forster scored the calendar hanging in her bedroom each evening with a very black lead pencil.
-"i live only ten miles away," said linda, "so i haven't a long journey, have i? the first term i used to go home for weekends, but miss kaye said it unsettled me, and she asked mother to let me stay at school like the other girls. i don't mind it now; it's rather nice here on saturdays and sundays."
-there still seemed a good deal to be done before the end of the term arrived. all the girls had been working in the evenings at dressing dolls and making other presents for a christmas tree that was to be given to the poor children attending a ragged school at aberglyn. they liked the employment, especially as miss kaye would come sometimes and read aloud to them while they sewed.
-"and there isn't anybody in the world who can read so beautifully as miss kaye," said linda.
-"when i was at mrs. harper's school," said hazel, "we were helped to make christmas presents to take home, instead of doing things for ragged schools. i worked a most lovely afternoon-tea cloth; mother's quite proud of it still. i wish we did that here."
-"i don't," said marian. "i suppose you only like doing things for yourself."
-"it wasn't for myself. it was for my mother. how nasty you always are, marian!"
-"it was for home, at any rate," retorted marian. "miss kaye says we can be quite as selfish for our families as for ourselves, and we ought to remember outside people at christmas, who don't get any presents, and who won't give us nice things back."
-"well, really!" said hazel; "do you mean to tell me i'm not to make presents for my mother and my aunts?"
-"i didn't say anything of the sort. you can give those too, but miss kaye said they oughtn't to be the only ones. even heathens are fond of their own families, and it's not particularly generous just for all to give things round in a circle."
-"well, we've done plenty for the ragged schools this year," said nina, reviewing the row of dolls in their pretty bright frocks, the wool balls, the knitted reins, and the scrapbooks which formed the contribution of the class. "they'll look splendid hanging on the tree."
-"i wish we could go and see the treat," said sylvia.
-"miss kaye won't let us do that," replied linda. "she's afraid we might catch measles or chicken-pox."
-"i always go to our treats at home," said jessie ellis.
-"your father's a clergyman, so you're sure to," said marian. "we do sometimes, to the scholars' tea or the congregational teaparty. gwennie and i help to pass cups and hand the cake, while mother pours out."
-"let us tell what we're each going to do in the holidays," said hazel. "you go on, marian, as you've begun. don't you have anything but school treats?"
-"of course we do," answered marian. "we go on new year's eve to our grandfather's, and have a big family party with all our cousins. everybody has to play a piece, or recite poetry, or do something, and it's ever so jolly. we sit up till midnight, and bring in the new year. and we go skating with our brothers, and slide on the pond, and if there's any snow we toboggan down the hill on teatrays and have snowball fights with some boys who live near. it's great fun."
-"yes, lovely fun!" echoed gwennie.
-"i go to so many parties!" said hazel. "i always have three or four a week, and we give a dance ourselves too. last year i went to the mayor's children's fancy ball. i was dressed as a dresden china shepherdess, with a flowered skirt and a laced bodice and paniers, and a big hat, and a crook in my hand. it's only to be a plain ball this christmas. then there are the pantomimes; we generally go to two and sometimes to the circus as well, and any concerts or entertainments that may happen to be on. now, connie, it's your turn to say."
-"there are so many of us," began connie, "mother says it's like a party to see us all sitting round the table. we play games amongst ourselves, and get up acts and charades. we have a huge room at the top of the house, where we may make as much noise and mess as we like. sometimes the boys give a magic-lantern show up there, or make shadow pictures. and bertie has a lathe, and turns all kinds of jolly things in it out of pieces of wood; and he helps us to build boats; and we sail them across the reservoir; and we go long walks on the moors; and we've a little hut at the end of the garden, with a stove in it where we cook things. we make the most glorious toffee! i wouldn't change my holidays for anybody else's!"
-"they do sound nice," said nina. "i go about with my sisters. they're quite grown up, and they take me to pay calls. then my brother's at home as well, and he and i have fun together. i'm asked to plenty of parties, but mother is so terribly afraid of my catching cold that i miss quite half of them. i don't always go to the pantomime, because of draughts. i like the summer holidays best, when we stay at the seaside. jessie, you haven't said yet."
-"i don't know what to tell," said jessie, who was not gifted with great powers of description.
-"oh, but you must say something! i don't suppose you spend the holidays in bed."
-"well, no!" said jessie, laughing. "though i did once, when i had scarlet fever. i go walks with my brother, and we help to decorate the church, and people ask us to tea. i think that's all."
-"i still think mine are the nicest," said hazel. "linda, we want yours."
-"we live quite in the country," said linda. "the carol singers come on christmas eve, and we ask them in and give them hot coffee. there's a big pond, where we skate if it freezes hard enough, and once, when there was very deep snow, we had out our sledge. sometimes we stay with granny in london, and then we go to the pantomime and the circus, and have a lovely time. we've got a new puppy, and i want to teach him some tricks these holidays. now, sylvia, you're the last."
-"i've nobody to do anything with," said sylvia rather wistfully, almost forgetting, in listening to the glowing accounts of the others, how she had once said she did not wish for young companions. "not at home at any rate; but of course there are parties, and we have people to tea. i just read and paint, and do things by myself."
-the girls appeared to consider this must be very slow, and pitied sylvia to such an extent that she was quite surprised.
-"i'm perfectly happy," she remonstrated.
-"but it can't be so nice as having brothers and sisters," said marian in her decisive manner. "i should miss our little ones most dreadfully, and fred and larry too. holidays wouldn't be holidays without seeing them. i think it must be wretched to be an only child."
-talking of the holidays did not make them come any the faster, and there was plenty of hard work to be gone through before the end of the term arrived. for the first time in her life sylvia had real examinations. she rather enjoyed the solemnity of the occasion, the typed questions, the large sheets of lined paper with margins ruled in red ink, the clean blotting paper, the new pens, and even the awesome silence of the room, with miss arkwright sitting at her desk reading instead of teaching as usual. she came out top in history, grammar, and geography, but marian beat her easily in french, writing, and arithmetic, and in the end their marks were so exactly even that they were bracketed together.
-then there was an agitating afternoon when everybody had to recite poetry to miss kaye, each being expected to choose a different piece. sylvia selected "john gilpin", which she had learnt with miss holt, but unfortunately grew nervous and got so mixed that she was obliged to sit down in confusion, and hear marian sail glibly through "the little quaker maiden", a poem which she rendered with great effect. connie camden and jessie ellis had a furious quarrel as to which should say "hohenlinden", that being the shortest on the list of both; but in the end jessie gave way and took "the may queen" instead.
-miss denby did not allow the music to be neglected, and made each pupil learn a grand christmas piece which seemed to need much more practising than any other, and had the added ordeal that it must be played on the last day before an audience of the whole school.
-the party which was always held on the saturday before breaking-up was also a new experience to sylvia. the first class acted a short french play, under the excited direction of mademoiselle, who had spent much time in coaching them for their parts. the second class took a scene from the midsummer-night's dream. trissie knowles made a pretty titania, and stella camden such a mischievous puck that everybody clapped heartily, though miss barrett said she was only acting her natural character, and of course it came easily to her. connie camden climbed up and sat on the window sill in order to see better, and fell down with a terrible crash, grazing her knee on a form and making a big bump on her forehead, and dolly managed to upset a bottle of ink which miss coleman thought she had put most securely away.
-when the plays were over, the girls had dancing and games in the large classroom, and finished with a dainty supper of fruit, cake, and jellies, which fully justified linda's remark that "heathercliffe house seemed almost as much parties as school".
-then came the exciting afternoon when the boxes were carried down from the boxroom and everybody set to work to pack, with the help of the monitresses and miss coleman. it was a most delightful, noisy, blissful time, when there were no forfeits if one ran into anybody else's room, or even jumped on the bed, when nobody had to practise or learn lessons, and one could shout and sing in the schoolroom. connie camden flung her history up to the ceiling, and did not mind in the least when it lost its back in its descent.
-"miss arkwright will be dreadfully cross about it when we begin history again," said marian.
-"i don't care! that's a whole month off, and we've all the holidays first. no school for four weeks, and going home to-morrow! hooray!" shouted connie at the pitch of her lungs, waltzing among the desks with such vigour that she knocked over the blackboard, and got a scolding after all from miss arkwright, who happened at that moment to enter the room.
-"you must control yourself, connie. i can't have such wild behaviour even if it is the last day," she said firmly.
-"oh, miss arkwright," cried connie, "you can't want to go home half as badly as i do!"
-"indeed i do," said the mistress. "i shall enjoy my holidays quite as much as anybody, though i have learnt not to dance round the desks to show my pleasure."
-the girls laughed. the idea of miss arkwright executing a highland fling or a jig between the forms tickled their fancy.
-"i could imagine miss kaye doing it easier than miss arkwright," whispered linda. "she did dance a reel, you know, at the party."
-everybody got into bed that night with the happy feeling that boxes were packed and ready, and that to-morrow morning, when the last necessaries were popped in, they would only need to be strapped and labelled, and then the joyful opening would be at home. most of the girls were too excited to eat much breakfast, but miss kaye, knowing a reaction would probably take place in the train, had provided packets of sandwiches and biscuits, and did not scold for once at the half-finished plates of porridge.
-at ten o'clock cabs began to drive up to the door, and parties of chattering, laughing girls departed to the railway station under the care of miss barrett.
-sylvia had enquired anxiously some time ago if mercy were to stay at school, having a secret hope that she might persuade her mother to ask her friend home with her, but may spencer had already given an invitation which miss kaye had allowed mercy to accept.
-linda's parents drove over to fetch her, so sylvia had the pleasure of making their acquaintance. there was not time to do much more than shake hands, still it was nice to see the father and mother of whom linda had spoken so often, and hear them express a wish that she should some day pay a visit to craigwen.
-sylvia was to travel with miss coleman, who would pass through crewe, where mrs. lindsay had arranged to meet her, and she had the four camdens and sadie and elsie thompson as companions for part of the way. the camdens were welcomed at a wayside station by a jolly crew of brothers, who appeared to have reached home first, and the thompsons were handed over at chester to a gloomy-faced aunt, who did not look particularly pleased to receive them, and remarked at once how fast they had worn out their clothes.
-"i wish i could have taken them home with me, poor little dears," said miss coleman afterwards in the train, "but my sister is ill, and could not do with any noise. perhaps their aunt may brighten up more at christmas, and remember that she too was once a child, and then we must see what can be managed for them at easter."
-at last came the longed-for arrival at crewe, the anxious search among the crowd in the station, and the joyful sight of not only sylvia's mother but her father also, hurrying along the platform. she hugged them both as if she had not seen them for years instead of eleven weeks.
-"my precious child," exclaimed mrs. lindsay, "i declare you have grown, and are ever so much fatter, and you've quite a colour too!"
-"school evidently agrees with you, sylvia," said her father. "it's a good thing you went, isn't it?"
-"it was quite different from what i thought it would be," sylvia confided to her mother when they sat in the drawing-room together for a long talk after tea. "miss kaye isn't cross, she's lovely and kind; and even miss arkwright isn't bad, and i like marian better than i did, and i just love linda and mercy. i tried to explain about mercy in my letters, but i'm afraid you didn't exactly understand, so i'll have to tell it you over again. and marian and i were both bracketed together top, and miss arkwright said we must be friends and not rivals, and i quite forgot the middle of "john gilpin", and made a horrible mistake in my christmas piece; but miss kaye said i might tell you that she thought i had done very well, but my report will come in a day or two, so then you can see everything for yourself."
-sylvia had a particularly happy holiday, and thought she enjoyed home twice as much with having been away from it for a whole term. her father found time to label the specimens in her museum, and to show her how to develop her photographs and print them afterwards, and her mother gave up the afternoons specially to be with her. all her friends came to her new year's party, and to her astonishment she found she got on perfectly well with the once-detested fergusson boys, who now seemed hardly more lively than connie or stella camden, and who did not tease her, since, as they described it, "she had left off putting on airs". her experiences with the little ones at school made her quite motherly with bab and daisy carson, and she enjoyed the games with effie and may as much as they did.
-"you said you wouldn't care to run about when you came back," they reminded her, "but you play more with us now than you did before."
-"i believe sylvia has learnt it as part of her lessons," said aunt louisa, who looked on with much approval, adding quietly to mrs. lindsay: "the child is immensely improved. she is brighter and stronger and better in every way. i was sure miss kaye would soon work a change, and i think we may feel that so far our experiment has been a complete success."
-the secret society
-school re-opened on january 18, and sylvia found herself driving up to the well-known door with very different feelings from those she had experienced on her first arrival there. on the whole she was quite pleased to be back again, to meet all her friends, and compare notes about the holidays. there was one change in the third class which, however it might affect others, seemed to sylvia a decided improvement. hazel prestbury had left. an aunt residing in paris had offered to take her for a time to give her the opportunity of special study in french and music, and her parents had arranged for her to go at once, sending brenda, a younger sister, to heathercliffe house in her place. brenda was a very different child from hazel, and had soon sworn eternal friendship with connie camden, so that at last sylvia felt she had her dear linda absolutely and entirely to herself.
-"i don't know how it is," said nina one chilly february evening when the members of the third class were gathered round the high fireguard in the playroom, "there never seems half so much fun going on in the spring term. in the autumn we have hallowe'en and the fifth of november and the christmas party, and in the summer there are picnics and the shore, and the sports, and the prize-giving; but unless miss kaye takes us a long walk there isn't anything to look forward to now until easter."
-"and that's eleven whole weeks off," groaned connie. "i wish it had come early this year."
-"it wouldn't make any difference if it did," said marian; "miss kaye keeps to the term. we should only have to spend easter at school, and go home as usual in the middle of april."
-"that would be horrid. why should she?"
-"because it would make too long a summer term, and because she likes our holidays to be the same as those of the boys' schools."
-"i hadn't thought of that. of course it would be no fun to go home if percy and frank and bertie and godfrey weren't there. still, i wish terms were a little shorter, or that something nice would happen." and connie ruffled up her hair with both hands as an expression of her discontent.
-"couldn't we do something just amongst ourselves?" said sylvia. "not the whole school, but our class."
-"there isn't anything new," said brenda, "unless someone can invent a fresh game. we're getting tired of table croquet."
-"i don't mean exactly a game. suppose we were each to write a story, and then have a meeting to read them all out."
-"start a kind of magazine?" said marian. "that's a good idea. we could put our tales together into an old exercise book, and perhaps paste pictures in for illustrations, and make up puzzles and competitions for the end."
-"oh yes, that would be lovely!" cried the others. "like little folks or the girl's realm."
-"but look here," said linda. "the second class mustn't hear a word about it. they'd only make dreadful fun of us, and it will be ever so much nicer if we keep it a secret."
-"let us form a secret society, then," suggested sylvia. "we'll pinch each others' little fingers, and vow we won't tell a soul in the school."
-"how horridly inquisitive they'll be!" said nina.
-"all the more fun. we'll let them know that we're doing something, enough to make them wildly curious, but they shan't have a hint of what it is, and they'll imagine the most ridiculous things, and then we can just laugh at them and say they're quite wrong."
-the girls agreed cordially with sylvia's scheme, and the society was formed on the spot. there was a good deal of discussion as to a suitable name. linda thought of "the heathercliffe magaziners", but nina said that was tame, and that, moreover, "magaziners" was not to be found in the dictionary of the english language. connie considered "the 'wouldn't you like to know?' club" might be appropriate, but nobody approved of her title. at last marian, who was fond of long, grand-sounding names, suggested "the secret society of literary undertakings", which was carried unanimously by the others. marian was elected president and sylvia secretary, and the latter at once devoted a new notebook to writing the names of the members and the rules of the association.
-"we must have rules," said marian, "even if we don't always quite keep them. you'll have to hide the book away most carefully, sylvia, for fear any of the second class get hold of it."
-it took a long time to think of sufficiently strict and binding regulations, but at length they decided upon the following:--
-1. this society is to be called "the secret society of literary undertakings", and it can be known for short as the s.s.l.u.
-2. each member pledges herself that she will never tell a word of what goes on in it.
-3. any member who tells anything will never be spoken to again by the rest of the class.
-4. there is to be a weekly magazine.
-5. every member must write something for it.
-6. even if a member says she cannot write anything, she will have to try.
-7. if she does not try, she will be expelled from the society.
-8. the meetings are to be held in the playroom after the fourth class has gone to bed.
-9. any member who is expelled will have to stay outside in the passage during the meetings.
-10. all members are requested to write as clearly as they can.
-11. the secretary is to arrange the magazine.
-12. the president is to read it out at the weekly meeting.
-as nina had prophesied, the s.s.l.u. aroused a good deal of curiosity among the second class, which, while it affected to look down upon the third, was nevertheless rather interested in what was going on there. being permitted to know the initials, though not the full name, the elder girls promptly added a g, and christened the members "the slugs", a title which stuck to them long after the society was abandoned. it was most difficult to preserve the secret from the little ones, who shared the playroom, but by instituting a series of private signs and signals they managed to keep up the mystery and obtain a great amount of enjoyment out of the matter. brenda prestbury covered herself with glory by recalling the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, the various letters of which she had learnt at home, and now taught to the others, who were soon able to talk on their fingers, a rather slow method of conversation, but delightful when they felt that nobody but a member could understand. unfortunately they carried their accomplishment somewhat too far one day. connie, seated at her drawing board in the studio, began signalling an interesting remark to linda, who was at the opposite side of the table, and linda was in the middle of her reply when mr. dawson, the visiting master, suddenly cleared his throat.
-"i think i ought to tell you, young ladies," he said nervously, "that i am very well acquainted with the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, having taught the subject for several years at an institution for deaf-mutes."
-connie went extremely red, as well she might, for she had asked linda where mr. dawson got the flower in his buttonhole, and if miss coleman had given it to him? the girls never ventured after that to try talking in the drawing class, though they did a little surreptitiously during dancing.
-the first grand meeting of the society was felt to be an occasion of great importance. the playroom door was carefully shut, after ascertaining that no one was in the passage, and brenda even peeped under the table and behind the window curtains to make quite sure that none of the second class were concealed there. at last, considering themselves secure, the magazine was produced by the secretary, and handed to the president, who, according to the rules, was to read it aloud from beginning to end. it was written on sheets of paper torn from exercise books, stitched together inside an old arithmetic cover, the back of which had been adorned with scraps and transfers and s.s.l.u. printed on a school label and gummed in the middle. the idea of illustrations had to be abandoned, because nobody had any magazines which they would spare to be cut up, neither did anybody's talent rise to the pitch of original drawings; but on the whole that did not much matter.
-"it's stories we want, not pictures," said marian, settling herself on the seat of honour with a piece of toffee handy, in case her throat grew troublesome through her arduous duties.
-"the first on the list," she began, "is--
-the knight's vengeance a story in two parts
-by nina millicent forster author of 'the baron's secret'; 'the mystery of the castle'; &c. &c.
-the forest was dark and gloomy as sir brian de fotheringay rode along on his superb white charger, carrying his shield in one hand and his sword in the other."
-"how did he manage to hold the reins?" enquired connie camden.
-"you musn't interrupt," said marian. "perhaps he held them bunched up with the sword. no, that would be the wrong hand, wouldn't it?"
-"the horse knew its own way," explained nina. "but if connie's going to find fault with everything one puts----"
-"she shan't!" said marian hastily. "nobody's to make any remarks till the end of the story. now i'm going on.
-his undaunted spirit heeded little the perils of his path, and as the moonlight flashed on his steel helmet he bade defiance to all his foes. in front of him stood the castle, its tall towers strongly guarded by a force of armed men. the drawbridge was up, and the portcullis was down. but dangers were welcome to sir brian de fotheringay, for they did but prove how much he could accomplish for the sake of his lady love. she stood at the turret window, the beautiful lady guinevere de montmorency, the greatest heiress in the land. leaving his charger on the bank, he swam the moat, and, flinging a rope ladder up to her window, he begged her to fly with him.
-'knight, for thee would i dare all!' she replied, but before she could say more, a stern figure in armour appeared in the turret behind her and seized her by her flowing golden locks. it was her angry father.
-'hence!' he cried. 'hence, sir brian, ere i kill thee. you, lady, will be immured in the dungeon until you have promised to wed lord vivian de fitz bracy, the suitor of my choice.'
-with a shriek she disappeared from the view of her despairing knight.
-determined to save his lady love from so terrible a fate, sir brian de fotheringay collected all his retainers, together with a band of outlaws to whom he had rendered some services, and who had promised to assist him in time of need. uttering his warcry, they rushed at the castle, the portcullis gave way before their furious attack, and the archers were slain at their posts.
-'yield thee, sir guy de montmorency!' cried sir brian, waving his invincible sword.
-'never!' shouted the baron, but it was his last word, for sir brian stabbed him to the heart.
-he had soon forced open the dungeon and released the beautiful lady guinevere. the castle was now hers, so they were married without delay, and the king and queen themselves came to the wedding."
-"it's perfectly splendid!" cried the girls, when marian had finished reading. "nina, how did you manage to think of it?"
-"oh, i don't know; it just came!" said nina, modestly. "i'm rather fond of making up tales."
-"there's only one thing," said connie. "wasn't the lady rather sorry when her father was stabbed to the heart, even if he had shut her up in a dungeon? i should be."
-"i don't think people minded in the middle ages," said nina. "you see, somebody had to get killed, and she liked the knight best."
-"but her own father!" objected connie.
-"i'm going to read the next one now," said marian, who, as president, felt bound to keep the peace. "i think nina's story's very good, and makes a capital beginning. this one seems much shorter. it's called:
-most haste, least speed
-by gwendolen woodhouse
-matilda jane was a girl who was always in a hurry. one day her grandmother told her to take the bucket and fetch some water from the well, but to be sure to tie her boot lace first. now matilda jane wanted to be very quick, so that she might go and play, and she did not stop to tie her boot lace. as she ran out of the door, she tripped over it and fell. the bucket rolled from her hand and hit the dog; the dog howled and made the geese cackle; the geese cackling made the pigs grunt; the pigs grunting frightened the hens into the field; the hens frightened the cow, which began to run; when the horse saw the cow running, it ran too, and they both jumped over the hedge into the road; then the hens flew after the horse and the cow, and the pigs went after the hens, and the geese followed the pigs, and the dog chased the geese, and it took matilda jane and her grandmother the whole afternoon to drive them back, and all because she had been in too great a hurry to tie her boot lace. the moral of this tale is 'most haste, least speed!'"
-the girls laughed.
-"i don't generally like stories with a moral," said brenda, "but i don't mind this one at any rate. go on, marian!"
-"the next is a piece of poetry," said marian.
-the kittens' chorus
-by sylvia lindsay
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to catch mice, we do, we do! but our mother, the old white cat, says we are rather too young for that.
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to catch flies, we do, we do! but our mother says that if we do it we'll grow so thin that we soon shall rue it!
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to catch mother's tail we do! but she says she is not such a common cat as to let her kits be so pert as that.
-miew! miew! miew! miew! we want to be good, we do, we do! but that's much harder to do than to say, so we'll think about that another day.
-the poem proved so popular that marian had to read it over again. it was the first time that the class had heard any of sylvia's effusions, and they were quite impressed.
-"i'm afraid mine will seem very stupid after it," said brenda. "i couldn't think of anything to write, but i was obliged to put something."
-"the title sounds interesting," said marian.
-my visit to france
-by brenda g. prestbury
-last summer mother took hazel and me with her to france, to visit aunt cecily, who was staying near rouen. the first thing we saw was a funny old woman in a big white cap, like a large poke bonnet, and wooden shoes on her feet. the porters all wore baggy blue blouses something like pinafores. we were obliged to go through the customs. a man in a uniform was looking to see if anybody had brought any tea. he took a little girl's doll away from her, and felt it to see if it had any tea inside it; then he took a lady's cushion, and because she got angry, he stuck his sword through it, and all the feathers came out over his grand coat. we were so glad! there were no carpets in the house where aunt cecily was living; the floors were of polished wood, and so slippery. jean, the servant, used to rub them with beeswax every morning, but he was very cross in french when hazel and i made slides on them. we used to have coffee and lovely little rolls at seven in the morning, and then proper breakfast at eleven, and we had quite different things to eat from what you get in england. one day hazel and i went such a long walk that we got lost, and we couldn't remember enough french to ask our way home. a woman came along with a donkey and two big baskets on it, and when she saw us crying she gave us each an apple, and took us to the curé of the village, who could speak english. he was very kind; he showed us round his garden, and then he borrowed a cart from the farmer, and drove us home to aunt cecily's. this is all i can tell you about my visit to france.
-"i know it's horrid!" said brenda. "but i really can't write well, and make up tales like nina. i don't know how she does it!"
-"it's jolly!" said marian. "we've none of us been to france, so we like to hear about it. i wish you had written more. the next one's very short indeed.
-the lady and the snake
-by jessie ellis
-"it's quite true," said jessie. "the lady was my aunt. she told us about it in a letter."
-"what a horrid thing to happen!" cried the girls.
-"a nice tale, but too short," commented the president. "i'm afraid linda hasn't written a long one either.
-the story of a dog
-by linda acton marshall
-i have a little dog called scamp, that follows me wherever i go. he can sit up and beg, and catch biscuits on his nose, and do all kinds of tricks. one day i was in bed with a bad cold, and scamp came upstairs to my room. i told him i was ill, and he gave a sharp bark, and ran out. i could hear him trot up to the attic, and soon he returned with a biscuit in his mouth, and laid it on my pillow, wagging his tail, and looking very sorry for me, and very pleased at himself. he must have kept a store of biscuits in the attic. i think he is just the cleverest little dog in the world."
-"my tale's true, too," said linda. "no, i didn't make it up, nina; he really did. there are only two stories left now, connie's and marian's. i wonder which comes next."
-"connie's," said marian. "and it's in poetry, too. it's called:
-by constance mary camden
-said the girls of the third class 'all we a secret society will be. though the second may hover our words to discover, it's nothing they'll hear or they'll see.
-they may listen at doors in the hall, or round by the keyhole may crawl, they may search through the schools, but they won't find our rules, and they'll never know nothing at all'."
-the girls clapped, both at the sentiments expressed, and at the poetical setting.
-"i know they'd listen if they could," said connie. "they're mean enough for anything. what's that noise?"
-"i thought i heard a kind of snorting."
-"i expect it was only my cold," said nina. "do go on, marian; we want your story."
-"but i did hear something," persisted connie. "i believe it was outside the door, too, and i'm going to look."
-she rose hastily, and, creeping softly to the door, opened it suddenly, disclosing the laughing faces of half a dozen of the second class, who had been taking it in turns to listen at the keyhole, and who jumped up in a hurry and fled from the outburst of wrath which greeted them.
-"oh! oh!" shouted sybil lake. "won't they hear or see anything? don't make too sure!"
-"i have a little dog that swallows me wherever i go!" called eileen butler. "i think he's just the cleverest little dog in the world!"
-"the slugs are crawling fast!" cried lucy martin. the injured third had risen in a body and pursued the intruders along the passage even to the door of their own sitting-room; but, seeing miss barrett coming downstairs, they did not dare to carry the fight into the enemy's camp, and were obliged to return to the playroom, and hold an indignation meeting over the glasses of milk and biscuits which arrived at that moment for supper.
-"we must read marian's story to-morrow," said sylvia. "wasn't it horrid of them? i wonder how much they really heard? next time we shall have to stuff up the keyhole, and keep opening the door every few minutes to see that the coast is clear. there's one good thing: they didn't discover our signs, or the password, and they'll have hard work to find the rules, because the book's hidden under the oilcloth in the corner by the piano; only be sure and don't let the little ones know, because i don't believe there's one of them that can keep a secret!"
-a spring picnic
-the beginning of march brought such delightful, mild, balmy weather that winter seemed to have gathered her chilly garments together and said good-bye. the month came in like a lamb, and, though it would probably justify the old proverb by going out like a lion, in the meantime the sunshine was pleasant, and everyone enjoyed the foretaste of spring. miss kaye, never slow to take advantage of the bright days, announced one saturday at breakfast-time that the girls might put on their thickest boots, and prepare for a ramble up the hills.
-"we will start at once," she said, "to get the best of the morning, and carry sandwiches in our pockets. then we can return here for tea at four o'clock."
-the expedition was considered too far for the little ones, but the third class was of course included, and all its eight members set off in wild spirits. though sylvia was in her second term at heathercliffe house, she had not seen much of the beautiful country in the neighbourhood; the weather in the autumn had been too damp for picnics, and they had only gone walks on the outskirts of the town, or occasionally on to the beach or along the promenade.
-miss kaye had made a wise choice when she decided to establish her school at aberglyn. it had the advantage of both mountain and sea air, and was within easy reach of a number of interesting places. the goal of to-day's walk was a druids' circle which lay high up on a steep mountainside overlooking the sea, and to reach it would require a climb of several hours. their way, after leading at first along a suburban road, lined with pretty houses and gardens, began to grow more countrified, and at last they climbed over a stile into a romantic-looking wood. it was the foot of a gorge through which flowed a splendid torrent, dashing its way over great boulders, and the glen was so sheltered that ferns were growing even on the trunks and branches of the trees, and the moss was like a green carpet under foot.
-the girls of course rushed down to the edge of the stream, scrambling over the rocks, flinging stones into the water, and trying to make pebbles skim on the smooth pools. luckily nobody fell in, though both connie and brenda had such a narrow escape that miss kaye called her flock to order, and bade them march on once more up the proper path.
-the trees gradually began to give way to grassy banks which were already spangled with celandine, coltsfoot, and actually a few early primroses; the hazel bushes were covered with catkins that sent showers of golden pollen over the children when they gathered them, and in a cosy sheltered spot in the hedge they found a thrush's nest with three blue eggs in it.
-"how sweet of her to build just here!" said sylvia, looking with deep interest at the clay-lined structure so cunningly hidden behind a long spray of ivy, "i can't think how she did it all with her beak. isn't she clever? oh, connie, please don't lift out the eggs! i'm sure you'll break them. she won't come back while we're here, so let us go away, or else they'll get quite cold, and won't hatch out."
-"look what i've found!" cried marian, climbing up the bank with a small white starlike flower in her hand. "isn't it early? it's a piece of saxifrage."
-"no, that's stitchwort," said sylvia, who had learnt a little botany at home, and liked to air her knowledge.
-"it's saxifrage," said marian decidedly. "my mother told me so once herself."
-"and my mother told me it was stitchwort."
-"my mother's always right. she knows everything!"
-"and so does mine! she couldn't make a mistake!"
-"you'd better ask miss kaye," laughed linda, "and then she can decide between you. i've heard it called star of bethlehem, so that makes a third name."
-miss kaye agreed at once with sylvia, much to marian's chagrin; she did not like to be put in the wrong, and indeed kept obstinately to her own opinion, and still insisted upon calling the flower saxifrage, though miss kaye told her she would show her a picture of it with the name underneath in her botany book when they returned.
-"you must notice all the things you see or find to-day," said miss kaye. "i shall expect everybody to write a composition next week on the excursion."
-there were certainly plenty of items for the girls to put down on their lists. a squirrel with a splendid bushy tail ran across the path, and scrambled hastily up a fir tree, peeping at them from the safety of the top branches before he made a mighty spring into an adjoining ash. a heron sailed majestically overhead, its long legs hanging like those of a stork, and its grey plumage dark against the sky. a whole flight of lapwings rose, screaming "peewit", from a field where they were feeding in company with a flock of seagulls, following the plough that a labourer was driving through the rich red earth. on a sheltered wall a lizard lay basking in the sunshine; and linda very nearly caught him, but he whisked away in a moment, and was gone down a hole among the stones before half the class had seen him. there were lambs frisking about in the meadows, and as the girls passed through a farmyard they found a woman sitting on a doorstep feeding one from a bottle, like a baby. it had lost its mother, so she told them, and had readily accepted her as its nurse, becoming so tame that it followed her everywhere about the house, and slept in a corner of the kitchen.
-"we had to feed one of our puppies at home like that," said linda. "we used a tiny doll's bottle, and it was such fun to mix the milk and warm water, and taste it first to see if it was sweet enough. i always loved jill much the best, but we couldn't rear her. oswald was silly enough to give her a bath when she was too young; i don't think he dried her properly, and she took cold and died. that's generally the way with one's pets," she added with a sigh.
-"so it is," said marian. "a most dreadful thing happened to gwennie and me. we had a lovely black rabbit, and mother said we had better not keep it when we went to school, because the little ones couldn't look after it properly, and she wouldn't have time herself. a man in the village asked if he might buy it from us, and we thought he wanted it as a pet for his children, so we sold it to him. then one day i met him on the road, and he said: 'oh, missie, that rabbit of yours was a good one! it made us two whole dinners, and a basin of broth as well.' we had never dreamt he meant to kill it, and we were so horribly sorry."
-"canaries are the worst," said connie. "i've had three. i hung the first outside the nursery window, and the nail gave way, and the poor little fellow tumbled right to the ground and was killed. he was such a good singer, too. the cat got the second. then i had a third, called 'tweetie'. i let him out of his cage one day when bertie was filing the keel of his boat, and we suppose he must have picked up some of the bits of lead, because he grew quite ill and died. i buried him under the rosebush in my garden, and granny offered a prize to whoever could write the best piece of poetry about him, an epitaph, she called it."
-"who won the prize?"
-"bertie himself. i can't quite remember it, but it began:
-'under this rose tree's fragrant shade our little favourite is laid'.
-it was quite the best of all. frank was very indignant because he didn't win, but we none of us liked his poetry. he'd put:
-'poor tweetie is dead. he ate up some lead which was lying about on the floor: it stuck in his gizzard, and as i'm no wizard, he'll never eat lead any more'.
-he said it was true, at any rate, but granny decided that gizzard wasn't as romantic as a rose tree, even if it did rhyme with wizard."
-"we have a cat that stole a kitten," said jessie ellis. "she had two kittens of her own, and our cook drowned them both. poor puss was so miserable; she went about all day looking for them, mewing and wailing till we felt quite wretched to hear her. then she disappeared for nearly a week, and came back one afternoon carrying a tiny kitten in her mouth. she was so pleased with it, and kept licking it, and purring all the time. mother said she must have adopted it, and she would let her keep it, and it's grown such a beautiful cat, a real persian with a ruff and a bushy tail. we often wonder where she took it from."
-while the children were talking they had been climbing steadily uphill, and now left the glen by a path which led them directly on to the open moor. it was glorious up there. in one direction rose the mountains, peak beyond peak, till in the distance they could just catch a glimpse of the rugged outline of snowdon, half-hidden by a wreath of cloud. below them lay a vast expanse of sea, with anglesey stretched out like a map, and little puffin island close by.
-"we ought almost to see ireland to-day," said mercy, straining her eyes to discover whether any faint speck of blue outline were visible on the distant horizon. "people say they've seen the isle of man, too, but it has never been clear enough when i've been up here. look at the steamers out on the water; i wonder if one of them's going to china. i can just remember coming home in a big vessel, and passing the stack lighthouse at holyhead, and then landing at liverpool."
-"it's splendid to be able to look miles whichever way you turn," said sylvia.
-she liked the solitude of the moors, which were covered only with short grass and low whinberry bushes; there was no sound except the occasional bleat of a sheep or the cry of a curlew, and no human being in sight but themselves, though one or two small whitewashed farms, at long distances apart, gave evidence of life by their smoking chimneys. not very far away they came upon the druids' circle, a ring of tall upright stones, so ancient that all tradition of them had long been lost, though miss kaye explained to the girls that they had probably been used as a kind of temple for sun worship by the early tribes who lived there, long before the romans discovered britain.
-"i wish they could speak and tell us their story," she said. "they would have strange tales about the rough skinclad men who reared them, and the priests who stood watching amongst them for the first glimpse of the sun on midsummer morning. who knows but that they may have witnessed human sacrifices, and at any rate there must have been wolves, and cave bears, and hyenas, and many wild animals prowling about which are extinct in wales now. we can tell that, because the bones and teeth of these creatures have been found in a cave at llandudno. some day i may perhaps take you to see it. the skeletons of a man and a woman were found there embedded in the rock, and round their throats were necklaces made of bears' teeth. we can hardly imagine what life was like in those early times."
-the girls always found miss kaye's talks interesting, but the healthy mountain air had so sharpened their appetites that they turned readily from ancient stones to modern lunch, and, sitting down inside the famous circle, drew out the packets of sandwiches and oranges which they had brought with them. everything seemed to taste particularly good, and everybody could have eaten a little more, but the very last crumb of biscuit had been consumed, and they were obliged to remain content until teatime. miss kaye made the girls gather up their pieces of orange peel, wrap them in their sandwich papers, and poke them away under a boulder.
-"nothing is so horrible," she declared, "as to leave traces of one's picnic about to spoil the place for the next people who come. if everyone would do the same, there would be few complaints that tourists ruin the scenery."
-after lunch the girls were allowed to ramble on the moors as they liked, with an injunction not to go too far, and to return to the druids' circle when miss kaye blew a whistle. it was hardly possible to get lost, because, as linda said, they could see all round for miles, and unless you hid yourself under a bush, someone would be sure to find you. the members of the third class went off together, racing over the springy grass with as much agility as the small welsh sheep that seemed capable of climbing the stones like goats, to judge by the achievement of an old ewe, which ran up a loose-built wall as easily as a kitten, and led its lamb after it.
-in a hollow at the farther side of the circle the children found a sheet of shallow water evidently formed by the february rains and melting snow. at one end was a rough raft and a long pole, with which some boy had no doubt been amusing himself. the temptation was too great to be resisted. in three seconds connie, brenda, and sylvia were making a trial trip, the last two squatting close together in the middle to balance the raft, while connie pushed off with the pole, and punted them out into the middle of the pond. it was a most delightful sensation. the water was clear, and they could see down several feet where there were green weeds growing at the bottom, and great floating masses of some jellylike substance, that connie declared was frog spawn.
-"i'm going to get a lump of it," she cried, "and take it back to school and put it in a basin; then we can watch the tadpoles hatch out and grow into little frogs. i'll run the raft against this island. there seems to be a heap of it here."
-though the trio nearly upset their craft in their efforts, they found it very difficult to get hold of any of the spawn; it was as transparent and slimy as the white of an egg, and kept slipping through their fingers as fast as they touched it. connie managed at last to secure a small piece by holding her handkerchief under it in the water; then she tied the four corners tightly together, and put the wet messy bundle into her pocket.
-"ugh! how can you!" exclaimed sylvia. "suppose they hatch on the way?"
-"that's not very likely," replied connie; "but i don't mind if they do. i'm fond of tadpoles."
-the other girls, who had been clamouring for some time from the bank, demanding a turn at the raft, now grew so indignant at the delay that connie punted back and tried to pacify their wrath.
-"it's not fair to keep it all the time!" said marian. "some of us want to try it just as much as you. and you don't know how to work that pole properly. if you give it to me i'll soon show you!"
-"all right, miss clever!" said brenda. "you always do things better than everybody else, don't you? go on!"
-marian jumped on to the raft, and seized the pole with an exceedingly high and mighty air; she gave a push off as an example of the graceful manner in which it ought to be done, but alas! she had not taken into account the fact that the raft was not balanced with the weight of the other children, and, stepping too much to one side, she found it suddenly tilted over, and deposited her in the pond. the water was only a foot deep so close to the edge, but by the time she had scrambled out her boots and stockings were wet through, and covered with mud. the rest of the girls subsided on to the bank in peals of laughter.
-"if that's your way, i'd rather not try it, thank you!" said nina.
-"and you've broken the pole, too!" said connie.
-"oh, catch the raft, somebody!" exclaimed linda. "look! it's drifting right away, and we shan't be able to go on it."
-unluckily the raft was by this time well out of reach, and nobody was able to fetch it back, much to the disappointment of those who had not yet had a chance to try it. marian was very offended at what she considered the ill-timed mirth of her companions.
-"you're most unkind!" she said angrily, walking away by herself and trying to wipe her boots clean on the grass.
-"i'll tell you what," said linda; "i found a box of wax matches in the road on the way up, and put them in my pocket. suppose we set a light to this little gorse bush; it's all withered, and will make quite a bonfire. then marian can dry her boots."
-the bush caught fire with the greatest ease, and blazed away at once. marian pulled off her boots and stockings, and, standing barefoot on the grass, held them up to the flame, while the others collected round, wishing they had some chestnuts or potatoes with them, or a kettle which could be boiled for tea.
-"i believe the grass is beginning to burn too!" said nina. "stand back, connie! why, it's caught the next bush as well!"
-the children looked at each other with horrified faces. the fire was spreading rapidly along the ground, and two large bushes were soon in a blaze. their modest beginning was evidently leading to more than they had ever imagined. fortunately the white column of smoke suddenly rising up through the clear air attracted miss kaye's attention, and brought her hurrying over the crest of the hill to discover the cause. she was much surprised to find the members of the third class, one of them with bare feet, apparently dancing like wild indians round a fire, and lost no time in running to the spot.
-"you naughty girls!" she exclaimed. "what have you been doing? marian, where are your boots? i am astonished at you! who lighted this fire?"
-"we're trying to stamp it out," said brenda. "it was catching all the grass."
-"but who lighted it?"
-"we did, miss kaye," replied linda, rather shamefacedly, "to dry marian's boots."
-"people often set fire to the moors," added connie. "i've seen whole hillsides burning sometimes, so i don't suppose it matters. we're helping the farmer."
-"the farmer may like to set his own furze alight, but he wouldn't thank any chance strangers for doing so for him. if we don't mind he'll be claiming damages from us," said miss kaye. "we must not leave here until these bushes have burnt themselves safely out, and we must stamp on any sparks which fall from them on to the grass. this is the way that a great prairie fire is often started in america; the flames will grow in strength, and sweep over miles of country, destroying farms and villages, and carrying desolation and destruction before them. i didn't think you would have been in such mischief directly my back was turned."
-miss kaye looked so grave and annoyed that the girls felt their grand idea had fallen rather flat; and the moment the fire was out she told marian to put on her stockings and boots at once, and gave the signal to return home. it was a very unpleasant walk to marian, as her boots had dried stiff, and felt much too tight for her, while the stockings were still rather moist and muddy. everyone was tired, and the second class made teasing remarks about the slugs being fond of slimy ponds, and announced that they were looking forward to hearing a sentimental account of the adventure through the keyhole on the occasion of the next meeting of the s.s.l.u.
-"you won't do anything of the sort. you know nothing, really, about the society, and it's horribly mean to listen. you may be in the upper school, but i can't say much for your manners. i'm glad i'm not in the second class!" retorted marian, adding privately to gwennie, however: "i'm afraid they do know a good deal; and it's just spoilt the s.s.l.u. i don't think i shall trouble to write for it again. doesn't it seem twice as far coming back as going, although it's all downhill? and oh! aren't you dreadfully, cruelly, desperately hungry, and absolutely starving for your tea?"
-whitweek with linda
-the easter holidays were short and sweet. the brief fortnight seemed to be over almost before sylvia had realized she was at home, and both she and her mother found it harder than ever to part when the last day arrived. there was one compensation, however, which consoled sylvia for saying goodbye. mercy ingledew had spent the vacation with miss coleman, and on her way back to aberglyn was allowed to accept mrs. lindsay's invitation to stay a couple of days with sylvia and travel with her to school, while miss coleman went to see a relation at llangollen. the visit was a great success. mr. and mrs. lindsay were delighted with mercy and glad that their little daughter should have made so charming a friend among the elder girls, while sylvia thoroughly enjoyed both acting hostess and the return journey together to heathercliffe house.
-it was now the summer term, which most of the girls considered the pleasantest time of the year. every available moment was spent out-of-doors. tennis and croquet were in full swing, and the younger ones amused themselves with rounders and hide-and-seek. sylvia, who a year ago had affected to dislike running about, might now be seen racing round the garden as enthusiastically as anybody at a game of "follow my leader" or "i spy", and she would have been utterly astonished if anyone had reminded her of her former tastes.
-the school was granted a brief holiday at whitsuntide, and as it seemed hardly worth while to make the long journey home for so short a period, sylvia was very delighted when she was allowed to accept mrs. marshall's invitation to return with linda and spend the few days at garth avon. both little girls looked forward to the event with keen pleasure. it was the first time that sylvia had ever paid a visit by herself, and she felt quite grown-up when she thought about it.
-they were to go by train as far as conway, where mr. marshall was to meet them and drive them home in the dogcart to craigwen, the place where his house was situated. miss coleman saw them off at aberglyn, giving many last injunctions not to lean against the carriage door, or hang out of the window, or otherwise misbehave themselves, and to be sure not to get out at a wrong station, which did not seem a very probable mistake, as linda knew the line so well. she added a word to the guard which caused him to come and peep at them with a smiling face, and assure them that he would see them safely to conway, and they need not be in the least afraid. linda and sylvia were rather insulted.
-"he needn't treat us like babies!" said linda. "i've come alone more than once. it's all miss coleman's fussiness. we might be going to london, instead of only to conway. there, we're off at last!"
-the guard had put the children in a first-class compartment and locked the door, so that they had it all to themselves. they leaned back luxuriously, each in a corner, admiring the photographs which adorned the partitions or the view of the sea from the windows. they were in the highest spirits, and to travel thus seemed a very good beginning to a journey which was all too short. they were quite loath to get out when the train reached conway, but the stop was of the briefest, and the friendly guard whisked both them and their bags from the carriage in a hurry, and, blowing his whistle, jumped into his van as it passed him.
-"there's daddy!" cried linda, running to meet her father, who was waiting for them on the platform, and seizing his hand. "oh, daddy dear, did you let scamp come with you? and have you brought bess or beauty in the trap?"
-"bess," said mr. marshall, when he had welcomed sylvia. "and scamp is tied up outside. i didn't dare to let him into the station. are these two bags all you've brought with you? give them both to me."
-"he ran the whole way here," he said, "so i think it would be too far for him to trot home as well, though he never appears to be the least tired."
-there was just room on the front seat for linda and sylvia side by side, sylvia in the middle, and linda at the end, because she was less likely to fall out. mr. marshall touched bess with his whip, and they started off through the old streets, past the castle, under the arched gateway, and away towards the mountains that rose up before them in the distance. it was all new country to sylvia, who much admired the view when they had climbed the great hill out of the town, and could see the beautiful expanse of the vale of conway stretched below them, with the silvery river winding through its midst. she thoroughly enjoyed the drive. bess, the brown cob, went along at a good fast pace, and so soon covered the ground that by four o'clock they had passed under the tall avenue of beeches that shaded the road, and drawn up at the hospitable doorway of garth avon. it was a pretty, oldfashioned house, overgrown with creepers, and at present the walls were a mass of beautiful pink and white roses, which scented the air with their fragrance. in front was a lawn, where garden seats, basket chairs, and a table spread with a white cloth and cups and saucers had a very inviting appearance.
-"i knew you would like to have tea out-of-doors," said mrs. marshall, kissing both the children. "ellen has made an iced spongecake on purpose, and baked some scones, and when mrs. m'allister heard you were coming home, she sent over a box of real scotch shortbread. linda, take sylvia upstairs, and then you can bring her into the garden again when you have washed your hands. lizzie has carried up your bags."
-sylvia was to sleep with linda in the spare bedroom, a pleasant room with an oriel window, and a large bed hung with blue curtains, that looked big enough to hold four little girls instead of two.
-"my own room is over the porch," said linda, "but it only has one very small bed in it, and mother thought you'd feel lonely if you slept here quite by yourself. it's much nicer to be together as we are at school, isn't it?" to this sylvia cordially agreed.
-it was very pleasant sitting at tea in the dear old garden. the beds were a blaze of flowers, and so were the tall vases which ornamented the flight of steps leading down to the tennis lawn. scamp joined the party, and also a large white persian cat, which astonished sylvia by sitting up and begging as cleverly as her canine companion, with whom she seemed on excellent terms.
-"scamp is very fond of snowball," said linda, "but he hates all other cats, and he'd kill them if he could catch them. one day, in conway, he saw a white puss rather like ours, and it was so funny to watch him, because he couldn't make up his mind whether he ought to lick it or chase it."
-"how beautifully clean she is!" said sylvia, taking the pretty soft creature on her lap, and stroking the long, silky fur. "do you wash her?"
-"we do sometimes," replied linda. "but she doesn't like it at all, poor dear. it takes three of us to manage it, two to hold her, and the other to soap and rinse her. i never try it without the boys. once i thought i had such a splendid idea. i was going to try dry cleaning. i rubbed her fur thoroughly well with flour, and i was just brushing it out again when she screwed herself from my arms and jumped through the open window. it was pouring with rain, and when she came back she was simply a pudding. i didn't know what to do, and the boys were away; so i let out the parrot, and put her inside the cage, and then watered her with the watering can till i got the paste off her."
-"poor pussie, what a shame!" said sylvia.
-"so it was, but i really couldn't help it that time. she should keep herself clean, and then she wouldn't need to go through such troubles. would you like to come and see the hens and my bantams?"
-there was a stableyard at the back of the house which led into a field where the fowls were kept. they were a pet hobby with mrs. marshall, who spent many hours among her poultry, and had a particularly good strain of white leghorns which she greatly valued. there were a number of neat wire runs, each with its small wooden henhouse, and in several of these were interesting families of chickens, varying in size from sweet fluffy atoms, as yellow as canaries, to long-legged creatures which sylvia thought were not pretty at all.
-"they haven't grown their full feathers yet," said linda. "they're ugly ducklings still, but they'll be very handsome by and by. look at this fussy old hen. i set her myself during the easter holidays. she was so broody that she actually insisted on sitting on a liebig pot. i suppose she took it for an egg. she'd have wondered why it didn't hatch, i expect, if i hadn't given her some real eggs instead."
-"you seem to know all about keeping hens," said sylvia.
-"i know a little more now, but i made a most dreadful mistake once. mother told me to go to the henhouse, and see if there were any eggs to send to aunt edith. i knew that sometimes the hens laid in the barn, so i thought i would go there instead. i hunted about and found a nest with ten lovely brown eggs in it. they were quite warm, so i was sure they must be perfectly fresh, and i put them in my basket and carried them to the house. mother was in a hurry for the post; she didn't ask where i had got them, but only said i had been quick, and packed them up in a box at once. next morning she went to the barn to feed a broody hen that was sitting there on some very particular eggs that she had bought specially, and to her horror she found them all gone! they would have hatched in a few days, so you can imagine how angry she felt, and what a scolding she gave me for not going to the henhouse as i was told. i think it was even worse, though, for aunt edith. she had meant to make a simnel cake with the eggs mother sent her, and she broke one after another, and each had a little chicken inside it!"
-"how dreadful!" laughed sylvia; "i should think she didn't made her cake."
-"not with our eggs at any rate, and she's always teased me dreadfully about it since. now i want to show you the bantams. i like them best, because they're my own."
-the bantams had a special wired run to themselves. they were extremely neat little birds, with prettily marked plumage, so tame that they flew readily on to their mistress's outstretched arm to eat the bread she had brought for them. linda showed sylvia their small house with much pride, and was particularly pleased to find two tiny eggs in the nesting box.
-"we can each have one for breakfast to-morrow morning," she declared; "they must have laid them on purpose for us. i only got my bantams at easter, and these are their first eggs. i'm hoping so much that one of the little hens will sit. wouldn't it be lovely to have some wee chicks about as big as tomtits?"
-sylvia had not much experience with pets, but she was deeply interested in linda's possessions: the starling that lived in a cage in the kitchen, and had learnt to say: "come kiss me!" and "who's at the door?"; the dormouse that was kept in a cosy box lined with hay, and would scamper round the table in the evenings and eat the nuts which were given him like a miniature squirrel; and bute, the rough, bouncing yard dog, that slept in the big kennel, and was not allowed to come into the house at all.
-"there's something else i'd like you to see," said linda, taking sylvia's arm, and leading her on to the lawn again, then through a small door into the kitchen garden, a delightful walled enclosure, full of currant and gooseberry bushes, young apple trees, early vegetables, and pot herbs, with patches of pinks, pansies, and forget-me-nots growing in between, and great fragrant bushes of rosemary, lavender, and southernwood, which smelled most delicious when the children rubbed them between their hands. in a corner under a blossoming syringa was a little grave, with a small tombstone at its head, on which was roughly carved the following inscription:
-in loving memory of jock the best and most faithful dog that ever lived died february 27, 1907 aged 8 years.
-"it needs cleaning up and weeding," said linda. "we always keep it very tidy when we're at home, but of course, when the boys are away too, there's nobody to look after it. it's rather nicely done, isn't it?"
-"very," said sylvia. "who did it?"
-"oswald. he's clever with his hands, and he chipped it out with a chisel. it took him a frightfully long time, but he said jock deserved it. we couldn't let him be forgotten."
-"what kind of a dog was he?"
-"i'm afraid he was only a mongrel; he was big, and grey, and shaggy, but we thought him lovely. there never was another so nice."
-"not even scamp?"
-"no, not quite. jock was such a friend, and so obedient and gentle. we got him from a farm when he was a tiny puppy; the farmer was just going to drown him, but oswald begged so hard to be allowed to keep him instead, that mother said he might. our nurse was quite angry at first; she said he'd be as much trouble as another child to look after, but he was so good, she soon grew fond of him, and he used to live in the nursery. artie was a baby then, and jock would keep guard over his cradle, or watch him when he was put to roll on a rug in the garden, and no matter how much artie pulled his hair, he never dreamt of biting. he used to sleep on the mat at the door of our bedroom, and the first thing in the morning he'd come running in, wagging his tail.
-"one summer we went to stay at llandudno, and mother said we musn't take jock with us, because the people at the lodgings wouldn't care to have him. we were dreadfully sorry to leave him behind, and i'm sure he knew we were going without him, for he cried so. father said he must be tied up in the stable to prevent him from following the trap, and we all went to say goodbye to him; even nellie, our nurse, kissed him on the nose. we missed him so much that evening when we got to llandudno, but next morning, when we were sitting at breakfast, we heard a whining and scratching at the door, and in rushed jock, with about half a yard of rope dangling at his neck. he must have gnawed it through, and set off after us. but wasn't it clever of him to know where we'd gone, and to find out the very house where we were staying? father said he must have heard us talking about llandudno, and have asked all the other dogs he met on the road which was the right way! mother was afraid we should have to send him home again, but when the landlady heard what he'd done, she allowed him to stay, and he went everywhere with us, and was no trouble to anybody.
-"one day nellie took us a long walk on the great orme's head. we had baskets with us, and we wandered about picking blackberries the whole afternoon. artie was quite a little fellow then, not more than three years old; he hadn't even been put into knickerbockers. i suppose we were so busy filling our baskets that nobody noticed him; at any rate he managed to run away from nellie, and go close to the edge of the cliff where there were some blackberries growing. we think he must have been trying to lean down to gather them, and have overbalanced himself, because we suddenly heard him shrieking at the pitch of his voice, and when we rushed to see what was the matter, there was our baby hanging over the cliffside, just caught by the brambles, and jock holding on to his kilt like grim death. artie was howling, and jock was making the queerest noise; he couldn't bark properly, because he daren't open his mouth for fear of letting go artie's clothes. nellie pulled them both back together, and sat down on the grass and cried, and we all hugged jock and kissed him. mother said afterwards she thought he must have been allowed to find his way to llandudno on purpose to save artie's life.
-"after that, of course, he was a greater pet even than he'd been before, and we never went away from home without taking him. granny used to put in a special invitation to jock when she asked us, and she made him a little cake once on his birthday, and sent it to him by post. he ate it in three gulps.
-"we were so dreadfully sorry when he died. hilda said she'd like to go into mourning, and artie and i inked black edges to some sheets of tiny notepaper, and wrote on them to tell granny and aunt edith. we had a beautiful funeral for him, and made wreaths to lay on his grave, and planted the prettiest flowers we could dig up out of our gardens on it. it was oswald who thought of the stone during the easter holidays. it wasn't finished until hilda had gone back to london, so she hasn't seen it yet. i'm sure she'll like it."
-there seemed so many interesting things to see and hear at garth avon that the two girls amused themselves out-of-doors until after seven o'clock, when they heard a brisk ringing of bells, and, running to the gate, were just in time to open it for linda's brothers, who came riding up on their bicycles. oswald was a few years older than linda, and artie a little younger; both were nice hearty boys, who seemed ready to make friends at once with their sister's visitor.
-"we've heard such a jolly lot about you, you know," said oswald, shaking hands. "lin can talk of nobody else. we always say the school must be made up of sylvia and miss kaye."
-"you're late, aren't you?" asked linda. "we thought you'd have been here an hour ago."
-"we may well be late. artie's tyre punctured on the road between abergele and llandulas, and we had to walk our machines to colwyn bay before we could get anyone to mend it. we tried to patch it up ourselves, but i hadn't a big enough piece of rubber to cover it. then the fellow at the bicycle shop was such a slow chap, i thought he was going to be all night fiddling over it, and we didn't dare to pump it till it had dried a little. luckily we got some tea before we left school, but we're hungry enough now. isn't supper ready?"
-"ready and spoiling," said linda. "it's sausages, and i could smell them cooking through the kitchen window half an hour ago. sylvia and i have been watching in the garden for you ever so long. be quick and come down; i want to tell you about a most delightful plan i've thought of for to-morrow."
-an excursion with a donkey
-linda's plan proved such a promising one that both the boys and sylvia fell in readily with her ideas. she suggested that they should all four make an excursion to the top of pen y gaer, a mountain in the neighbourhood, where were the remains of a very fine british camp, and from which they could obtain an excellent view over the whole of the conway valley. as it was rather a long walk from craigwen, she thought they might borrow a donkey and take it in turns to ride, and also carry their lunch on its back. they could no doubt buy milk, and get hot water at a farm, so that they would be able to make tea before they returned, and thus enjoy a whole day on the moors. mrs. marshall willingly gave her consent. her children were fond of picnics, and steady enough to look after themselves without any grown-up person being with them; she had always encouraged the boys at any rate to be self-reliant, and though artie was apt to fall occasionally into mischief, she knew oswald would take care of the little girls and bring them home safely in the evening.
-sylvia looked forward so much to the expedition that she could scarcely sleep for excitement when she got into the large spare bed with linda and the candle was blown out. she lay awake for quite a long time, listening to an owl hooting in the trees, and the soft rippling sound of a stream which flowed at the bottom of the garden; then at last they both merged into a confused dream, and she remembered nothing more till she woke with the sun pouring in through the window, and linda's voice proclaiming that it was a particularly fine, warm morning, and the very day in all the year which she would have chosen to scale the heights of pen y gaer.
-directly breakfast was over, the children started off first to a neighbouring farm to borrow the donkey, a shaggy little creature called teddie, which was chiefly used by his owner to fetch sacks of flour from the mill. he was not accustomed to either saddle or bridle, but the boys led him home by a halter, and tied a cushion on to his back with a piece of rope. they slung their lunch baskets and two enamelled tin mugs on either side, like saddle-bags, then, giving sylvia the first ride, they helped her to mount, and set off towards the mountains with scamp and bute racing in wild excitement around them.
-it was a very hot day, so it was pleasant to think that they would soon be out of the close woods, and away on the breezy moors. the country was at its best; the fields were blue with wild hyacinths, and the hedgerows yellow with gorse and broom, while everywhere the tender shoots of the young bracken were unfolding, and showing delicate golden-green fronds. it was a little late for birds'-nesting, yet oswald and artie, boylike, could not resist hunting in each likely-looking spot, though a blackbird's second brood, a deserted linnet's nest, and a last year's yellow-hammer's were the sole result of their search.
-"i wish we could make the donkey trot!" said sylvia, who had dismounted to spare poor teddie's legs for the hardest part of the hill, but had taken her seat again on reaching a level piece of road.
-"we'll try what we can do," said artie, producing his penknife and cutting a stick carefully from a hazel tree. "i'll give him a switch, but i advise you to hold on tight, in case he kicks."
-it was not a very hard blow, but teddie seemed to resent it extremely. he was a donkey with a character, and instead of galloping on, as sylvia had hoped, he ran straight into the hedge, where he entangled both her hat and hair so successfully in a wild-rose bush, that she had to scream to be released.
-"perhaps you hit him on the wrong side," she suggested, when the donkey's nose had been pulled out into the lane again.
-"then we'll try the other," said artie, who, having dropped his stick, administered a sounding smack on the thick, shaggy coat.
-teddie, however, evidently did not intend to be coerced; he made at once for the opposite hedge, and sylvia found herself in equal difficulties with a long spray of bramble.
-"he's the most obstinate little beast i've ever known," said linda. "we'll try him just once more. oswald, you hold his head exactly in the middle of the road, then artie and i'll each give him a thump at the same second, one on each side. are you ready, artie! one, two, three, off!"
-this time it was really off and away. the donkey took to his heels, and cantered along the road in fine style, with the boys and linda racing after him, encouraging sylvia, who was laughing and trying to hold on her hat and to keep the lunch from falling, while scamp and bute barked themselves hoarse. the enamelled mugs bumped against poor teddie's sides, and alarmed him so much that perhaps he thought somebody was switching him in front, and intended him to run backwards, for he stopped quite suddenly, and lowered his head, with the result that sylvia shot over his neck, and found herself sitting in the dusty road.
-"it serves me right!" she laughed. "no, i'm not hurt in the least. it's too bad to make him trot when he's carrying both me and the lunch. i'll walk now, and give him a rest, and then it will be linda's turn to ride him."
-the road, after winding uphill for several miles between woods and high banks, led at last on to the moors, where there was a kind of tableland flanked on two sides by chains of mountains.
-"we're not such a very long way from the druids' circle," said linda. "it's only over that peak, i believe."
-"it's farther than you'd imagine," said oswald. "hilda and i went to it once, and we thought we should never get there. it's a much easier way from aberglyn. things look so very plain in this clear air that you often think you're quite close when really you're several miles off, and you walk and walk, and never seem to get any nearer."
-"i hope that won't happen with pen y gaer; we can see it so well now," said linda, gazing at the round green top that did not show its full height from the plateau, though it looked imposing enough from the valley below.
-"it's quite far enough to make me want lunch before i go any farther," said oswald. "there's a stream down here where we can get some water to drink. suppose we fasten teddie to the gate, and camp out on the stones."
-the others agreed. the donkey had already satisfied its thirst at a brooklet that crossed the road, so they tied it to the rail of the gate with a piece of rope long enough to allow it to crop the grass at the edge of the path, and, descending themselves to the bed of the river, spread out their lunch on a large flat boulder. mrs. marshall had experience in the matter of picnics. first there were ham sandwiches, sufficiently thick to take the keen edge off their appetites, but not enough to spoil the hard-boiled eggs and bread and butter which followed; then came marmalade sandwiches and seed cake; and last of all some delicious little turnovers, made with tops like mince pies, and with strawberry jam inside. everybody was hungry, and everybody did such ample justice to the good fare that there was nothing but a solitary turnover left, which they decided to divide between the dogs, which had already had their share of the meal.
-"it's not enough to keep for tea," said oswald. "i expect we can get some bread and butter at the farm, as well as the milk and hot water. look! there are trout in this stream. i saw a big fellow just then swimming across the pool."
-"so did i," said artie. "he went under that rock. i'm going to wade and see if i can get him out."
-both boys pulled off their shoes and stockings, and, plunging into the river, began to engage in the very unsportsmanlike pastime of tickling trout. they paddled cautiously upstream, putting their hands under every likely stone till they felt a fish, then, very gently moving their fingers along until they had him by the gills, would manage with a quick jerk to toss him out of the water on to the bank. linda and sylvia followed along the side, much excited at this new form of fishing, and gathering up the trout placed them in one of the lunch baskets. the boys had succeeded in catching five or six, which lay shining and silvery, gasping their last, and they were both trying for a particularly big one which they could see lying in the cranny of a rock.
-"he'll be a tough subject," said oswald. "i'll do my best, but you be ready to make a grab if i miss him!"
-oswald stealthily put forward his hand, but the trout was on the alert, and long before he could reach its gills it had darted into the pool, escaping artie also, who nearly fell into the water in his efforts to secure it.
-"missed him! what a shame! and he was such a beauty!" cried the disconsolate boys.
-"now then, what are you doing there, you young poachers?" shouted a voice from the opposite bank, and, looking up, the children saw a tall man, in a corduroy velveteen suit and a soft round hat, frowning at them with a most unamiable expression of countenance.
-they were so astonished that none of them knew what to say.
-"come out of that stream this minute!" he commanded the boys, who obeyed, but naturally on the side where linda and sylvia were standing looking rather frightened at such an unexpected and angry visitor. the man, who had the appearance of a gamekeeper, crossed the river easily by jumping from stone to stone, and striding up to the little girls, peeped inside their basket.
-"as i thought!" he remarked. "now, you young rascals, do you know that i can take you all up and send you to prison for poaching?"
-"why," gasped oswald, "we were only catching some trout!"
-"only catching some trout! he says he was only catching some trout!" echoed the man, as if he were appealing to an imaginary companion. "i suppose he wouldn't call that poaching? oh, no!"
-"we get them like this in our own stream at home," said artie.
-"that's quite a different matter. because you get bread and butter at home's no reason why you should walk into my house and take mine, is it? this fishing happens to be preserved, and i've got the care of it. it's a very serious offence is poaching. i've caught you red-handed. there's the trout in that basket to prove my words."
-the boys looked at each other in much consternation.
-"we didn't know we were doing any harm," said oswald at last.
-"that's just what folks always tell me in a little affair of this kind," said the man, producing a pencil and a notebook. "i'm getting rather tired of the story. i'll trouble you for your names and addresses, if you please."
-"why do you want them?" asked artie cautiously.
-"you'll know why when you find yourselves charged at the llanrwst county court," replied the man with a grin, "or your father will, to the tune of five pounds and costs, i reckon, or pretty near. it'll take all your pocket money or more."
-"i'll go to prison first," said oswald stoutly.
-"and so will i," declared artie.
-"oh, no, no!" cried linda, thoroughly frightened, and dissolving into tears. "please don't send them to prison! look, i'll put the fish back into the water. we didn't know it was wrong to take them; we didn't indeed!"
-the man coughed softly behind his hand.
-"i wouldn't like to disoblige the young lady," he said; "but it's no use putting dead fish back into the stream. there," as linda's tears flowed faster, "i won't be too hard on you this time. give me the trout, and we'll say no more about it. but don't let me catch any of you poaching here again, or i can't let you go so easy. i've my orders from headquarters. now be off with you all!"
-much relieved that the boys should escape fine or imprisonment, linda emptied the fish from the basket on to the grass, and, seizing sylvia's hand, ran as fast as she could up the bank to where they had left the donkey tied to the gate, followed by oswald and artie, who only stopped to pick up their shoes and stockings by the way. they were glad to place the stone wall between themselves and the angry gamekeeper, and as soon as the boys had put on their footgear, they loosed teddie, and started off once more on the road towards pen y gaer.
-"what a horrid cross man!" said sylvia. "i peeped over the wall just now, and he was still standing there, and shook his fist at me."
-"i didn't know any of the water was preserved," said oswald, who felt sore at the remembrance. "well, he needn't think we want to go there again after his old fish; they aren't such treasures as he supposes."
-"sour grapes!" laughed artie.
-"oh, shut up! it was you who suggested tickling them first!" said oswald, who was thoroughly out of temper, and ready to quarrel with anybody.
-artie, however, was a good-natured little fellow, and had the tact simply to whistle, and leave his brother to get over his ill humour. as nobody was riding the donkey, he mounted it himself, and, persuading linda and sylvia to try what he called "the double-smack method", indulged in a splendid gallop, which did not meet with so disastrous a termination as the last one.
-they had almost reached the goal of their walk, and, taking teddie to a farm which stood near, they asked the woman to allow them to leave him there while they scaled the summit of pen y gaer, and to have her kettle boiling by the time they came back. their path now led away from the road, and over a stile on to the heather. it was a stiff climb, and made more difficult by the thick gorse through which they were obliged to push their way, but the view from the top was sufficient compensation for any trouble they had in arriving there. on one hand they could see the whole extent of the valley from bettws y coed to conway, and even the houses on the promenade at llandudno fully ten miles away; while on the other stretched the beautiful moors leading to the gloomy hollow of lake dulyn, behind which the mountain ridges showed purple and jagged against the sky. all around they could trace the ruins of the old british fort, great piles of stones that must have been rolled there with incredible labour, perhaps by the very tribe which had reared the druids' circle on the slope of tal y fan.
-"some of the welsh people say a giant put them here," said oswald, who had recovered his spirits; "or i'm not sure if it wasn't king arthur himself. at any rate he took a tremendous jump down the hillside, and left his footprint on a rock in the stream below there. he must have worn a no. 15 shoe, to judge by the size."
-"uncle frank made up a ridiculous story once," said linda. "it was all about the black bull of llyn dulyn, and how it came one night to garth avon, and tapped at mother's window with its horns, and said that one of the little bulls had met with an accident to its eye, and he'd heard that she had a whole bottle of bulls'-eyes, so would she please bring some, and come at once with him and cure it. the village people are always fetching mother like that to see their children, and she's simply terrified of bulls, so he told it just on purpose to tease her."
-"talking of bulls'-eyes makes me think of tea," said artie. "i'm sure that old woman's kettle must be boiling now. i vote we go down and see. let us try this other part of the hill; it'll be far quicker than scrambling through the gorse again."
-one side of the summit was almost as steep as the roof of a house, and covered with very short, fine grass, at present so dry and slippery that the children sat down and slid almost as if it were winter, and they were tobogganing on the snow. it was great fun, especially when artie caught against a stone, and rolled over and over like a ball, till a convenient gorse bush made a prickly impediment in his career, and linda left both hat and hair ribbon behind, and was obliged to scramble up the slope again to fetch them. it was certainly a much faster way back to the little whitewashed cottage.
-"we've had a jolly day," said oswald, as, tired but in excellent spirits, the four at last reached the gate of garth avon. "teddie's done splendidly. i'll give him a first-class report, even for galloping, and he deserves a good feed of oats. you girls go in; artie and i'll take him back to the farm. are you coming, scamp? why, i really believe it's the first time in my life i've ever seen a dog look dead beat!"
-the chinese charm
-"what are we going to do to-day?" asked oswald after breakfast next morning. "we've an uncommonly short holiday, so we must spin it out as well as we can. who votes for llangelynin?"
-"too far and too hot," replied artie, stretching himself comfortably in his father's armchair. "i feel more inclined to lie on the lawn and laze than go climbing hills again."
-"it's too far for you all after your long walk yesterday," said mrs. marshall. "you boys may do what you like this morning, but linda and sylvia are to stay quietly in the garden until dinner-time. there's an invitation for you to have tea at dr. severn's, which of course i have accepted. i was sure you would all like to go."
-"rather!" said oswald. "he's the jolliest chap i know, and that's saying a good deal. artie, suppose we take ourselves off to the marsh and have a dip in the pool; it's about the coolest thing i can suggest for a day like this, and we shall both enjoy a swim."
-"who is dr. severn?" said sylvia to linda, when the boys had started for their bathe, and the two little girls were sitting in a cool, shady place under the trees, with their books on their knees.
-"he's a gentleman who came last summer to live at a house not very far away," answered linda. "we only got to know him lately; but he's so nice, and the boys simply adore him!"
-"hasn't he any children of his own?"
-"no. we heard they were dead, and his wife too, but he's never spoken about them even to father and mother. he lives quite alone, with a housekeeper to look after him. he's been in all kinds of foreign places, and his rooms are so full of funny things, it's just like going to a museum. there's a stuffed crocodile, and a mummied cat, and a horrid lizard in a bottle, and some snake skins, and a locust, and a scorpion, and a whole case of lovely butterflies. he tells us about them sometimes, and where he found them."
-"i hope he'll show them to us to-day," said sylvia, who thought the collection sounded interesting.
-"i'm sure he will if we ask him," said linda. "i should like to see them again myself, especially the crocodile. he has a big cabinet full of little drawers, and he keeps curiosities in them from every place he's been to. there's one with nothing but shells, and another for corals, and a third for coins, and the rest are each for a separate country. he's very careful over them; he won't let us take anything out ourselves, or even handle some of them, he's so afraid they might get broken. still, it's fun to look, even if we mayn't touch."
-"i expect it's a thousand times nicer than my museum at home," said sylvia, "though i have a cabinet in the schoolroom."
-"i haven't seen your museum yet, so i can't say, but i'm sure you'll enjoy dr. severn's. we've been to tea twice before, and each time we've had raspberry sandwich and plumcake and little crisp cocoanut biscuits. i hope the housekeeper will make them to-day. there's always the most delicious apricot jam, too, and he hands round a big jug of cream, and tells us to help ourselves. then there's a horizontal bar in the garden that the boys love; they do some of the things on it that they learn in the gymnasium at school; and there's a tank with pink water lilies growing in it, only i don't think they'll be out just yet. i'm so glad he's asked us to-day, because i want you to go and see it all."
-"what a good thing miss coleman managed to put that clean dress in my bag!" said sylvia. "what should i have done without it? i got this in quite a mess yesterday."
-"i should have had to lend you one of my white muslins, and i'm sure they'll be too short for me this year, so they would be far too small for you; you're an inch taller than i am, though you're so much thinner. we're both to wear our sailor hats. mother said i couldn't put on my last year's sunday summer one if you hadn't your best with you, and of course it isn't a party."
-the invitation was for four o'clock, and by half-past three mrs. marshall had succeeded in getting the prospective guests into what she considered a sufficient state of tidiness for the occasion.
-it was about twenty minutes' walk to dale side, a pretty modern bungalow which had been built by an english gentleman with a leaning towards the picturesque, and who had therefore chosen the site to secure the most beautiful views, and had made the interior as artistic as his excellent taste could devise. after living there a few years, the owner, on account of his wife's health, had gone to reside in italy, and the little property had been on sale until the preceding summer, when it had been purchased, together with a few acres of land, by dr. severn, who was a newcomer to the neighbourhood. though he was therefore only a comparative stranger, the young marshalls already regarded the kindly doctor as a friend, and it was with very smiling faces that they rang his bell that afternoon.
-"i saw you arriving," cried their host, hastening to the door himself to meet them. "i was just looking out for you, and hoping you would come soon to interrupt a tiresome letter i felt obliged to write. now i'm justified in putting it off for an hour or two at any rate. linda's quite shocked at me! but i didn't say i wouldn't finish it afterwards, did i? shall we go straight through to the pine wood? i've had the table carried out there for tea. it's the coolest place we can find on a hot day."
-by the time she had known him ten minutes, sylvia had decided that she liked dr. severn immensely. he was a tall, rather gaunt man, with a thin, pale, clean-shaven face that bore traces of ill health or suffering in the hollow cheeks and the lines around the mouth; his hair was iron grey, rather long, and combed straight back from his broad forehead, and he had the brightest, keenest, pleasantest blue eyes that it was possible to imagine. his manner was so winning and jolly that he made everybody feel at home immediately. he seemed to know exactly the subjects about which boys and girls liked to talk, and to be able to enter into everything almost as if he were a boy himself. the four visitors soon found themselves chatting to him perfectly freely, telling him of school scrapes and adventures, of plans for the summer holidays, and asking his opinion on various disputed points, while he, in turn, was full of jokes and reminiscences of his own far-off schooldays.
-"never save the best till last!" he declared, handing round the cake long before the plates of bread and butter were finished. "i've kept to that motto ever since i was a small boy, and i had very good reason for adopting it. once, when i was a little fellow of about seven years old, i was taken to pay a visit to an old lady who lived in the country. children were brought up on the plainest fare in those days--porridge, and bread and milk, roast beef or mutton with potatoes, rice pudding or suet dumpling, with jam roly-poly, as a special treat on your birthday, was all that was considered good for us; so you can imagine i felt pleased when i saw a large pudding full of currants come on to the table at dinner-time. the old lady gave me a generous serving, and told me to help myself to as much sugar as i liked with it, assuring my mother that sweet things were necessary for children, a sentiment with which i cordially agreed then, whatever opinions my elders might hold. there were a great many currants in my slice of pudding, and it struck me how much nicer they would taste if i could eat them all together as a titbit at the last; so i picked them carefully out one by one, and put them to the side of my plate. i suppose it must have taken me rather a long time, or perhaps the others had smaller helpings; at any rate they had finished first, and all laid down their spoons and forks except myself. i gulped my last piece of pudding in a hurry, and was just going to enjoy my saved-up fruit, when the old lady, who had been watching me, said: "poor boy! isn't he fond of currants? leave them, my dear; i would never force a child to eat what it doesn't like," adding a direction to the servant to take my plate away. i had had tremendous warnings before i came about behaving myself properly, and also i was much too shy to protest, so i was obliged to watch my cherished currants being whisked from the table before i had been able to taste a single one of them. if i had ever been inclined to be miserly, i think this incident would have cured me of hoarding up riches."
-"what a shame! didn't you get anything instead?" asked artie.
-"not at dinner, but afterwards the old lady, who was a very kind soul, took me into her kitchen garden, and told me to eat as many ripe gooseberries as i liked. there were various sorts, big red ones, hairy yellow ones, and smooth green ones, and i'm sure i ate enough to make up amply for what i missed at pudding time. as far as i recollect i never stopped picking the whole afternoon. small boys can accommodate a great deal."
-"i don't think gooseberries do one any harm," said artie. "we eat simply loads. we each sit down beside a bush, and try who can make the biggest pile of skins. mother says the blackbirds would take them if we didn't."
-"i'm glad she doesn't make a fuss about it, as some people do," said linda. "i was so angry last summer. a lady came one afternoon to see us, and brought a horrid little girl with her called mona. mother told me to take this child into the kitchen garden and give her some fruit, so i marched her off, and, just as we were leaving the drawing-room, her mother called out: "you may have eight strawberries and twelve gooseberries, darling, but no more." she was very stupid, and wouldn't talk to me, so i kept picking the ripest and biggest strawberries and gooseberries i could find, and handing them to her. i never thought of counting them, but she suddenly went quite red, and said she wouldn't have any more. she'd hardly look at the chickens or the rabbits or anything i tried to show her, and i was very glad indeed when it was time for her to go home. her mother came to fetch her from the garden, and said: 'did you eat more than i told you, dear?' and mona said: 'no i didn't. this little girl tried very hard to make me, but i wouldn't take even one strawberry more. wasn't i good?'
-"the lady looked at me as if she thought i deserved smacking, but i couldn't explain, because she was just shaking hands with mother and saying goodbye. i've felt cross about it ever since, and if she brings mona again, i declare i'll run away and hide, and not take her into the garden at all. don't you think it was too bad?"
-"much too bad!" said dr. severn. "i think mona was what is called a prig. please go on with the cocoanut biscuits. i assure you i'm not counting them!"
-"i really couldn't eat another," said linda, "though they're very delicious. aren't you going to show us any of your curiosities in the house? you promised you would, and sylvia does so want to see them."
-"a promise is a promise," replied dr. severn, rising from his basket chair. "but in the meantime i think i see mr. richards coming through the garden in search of us. i wonder if he's had any tea."
-mr. richards was the curate, and a great favourite with oswald and artie; he was an athletic young fellow, fresh from college, and always ready to go skating or boating, or to play a game of cricket with them, or carry them off with him to the golf links. he declared now that he had already had tea, but was longing for a little exercise on dr. severn's horizontal bar, where he thought he could show the boys a feat or two which perhaps they had not yet learnt at school. oswald and artie rushed away with him at once, and, flinging off their coats, were soon vying with each other in swinging, circling, hanging by their legs or feet, and various other acrobatic performances that looked exceedingly warm work for a hot day, but which seemed to afford them the most immense satisfaction. dr. severn stood by and encouraged them to do their best, then, after watching for a short time, left them with mr. richards, and took linda and sylvia into the house.
-"you'll be getting tired of circus and would rather have museum for a change, i expect," he said. "i'll show you all my curios, and then you shall each choose something for me to tell you about."
-the study was a delightful little room, with a french window opening into the garden. one side was quite filled by a large japanese cabinet with many sliding cupboards and drawers. linda certainly had not exaggerated the number of wonderful things which it contained. there were treasures from egypt, from palestine, from india, from china, and from japan. wherever the doctor had travelled he seemed to have picked up some object of interest, and to examine the various drawers was like taking a peep into far countries. he allowed linda and sylvia to dress themselves up in some of the gorgeous silk scarves and sashes, to slip on the japanese kimonos, and put their feet into the turkish slippers.
-"i think i like the indian things best; they smell the nicest," said linda, snuffing at a sandalwood box, and trying the effect of some filagree ornaments on her own hair and sylvia's. "how grand the women must look in these! no, i shouldn't like to wear the nose ring, thank you, nor the earrings, though i'd love the bangles. they must have tiny wrists. i can only just push these over my hands. aren't they meant for a child?"
-"no," replied dr. severn, "they are really for a grown-up woman, but the people of all eastern nations have very small hands compared with us westerns. if you like the scent of sandalwood, what do you think of this? it comes from the vale of kashmir." he drew the stopper from a bottle of attar of roses as he spoke.
-the odour was so deliciously sweet and overpowering that it filled the whole room.
-"it's the true stuff," said the doctor, "not the wretched imitation which is often sold over here. now if i put a drop on each of your pocket handkerchiefs it will scent all your clothes for a twelve-month. where are they?"
-"it's lucky they're clean ones," said sylvia, rummaging in her pocket. "i shall keep mine in my drawer after this, and not send it to the wash, ever. it's lovelier even than lavender water or eau de cologne."
-"i believe it takes a thousand roses to make one drop of this," said dr. severn, "so you have a great deal of concentrated sweetness there. this round box comes from damascus, and i don't think it's quite empty yet. if you have smelled true attar you ought also to taste genuine turkish delight. open your mouths and shut your eyes, and you'll find a surprise."
-dressed in the wonderful embroidered garments, with silver ornaments in their hair, scented with roses, and their mouths full of lumps of delight, the two little girls felt as if they had wandered into the land of the arabian nights, had been transformed into eastern princesses, and had only to command a slave of the lamp to come forward and carry out their slightest desire.
-"it's simply lovely," said linda. "i never tasted anything so nice in my life before. i think you're a magician, and can carry us off to persia, or india, or anywhere with a wave of your wand. but please, you promised to tell us each a story about something, and you haven't done so yet."
-"because you haven't chosen a 'something'," said dr. severn; "say what you'd like, and i'll try to wave my magic wand."
-"then i'll have this funny little tassel of blue beads."
-"that's a charm against the evil eye," said the doctor. "i got it in cairo. the mohammedan mothers believe many people, especially strangers, to be possessed of most uncanny powers, and think that if they look very hard at their babies they can bewitch them, and cause them to catch various diseases, and even to die. to avert the evil they put charms on the children, and you may see a tiny boy with his head shaved, all except a long lock which hangs over his eyes with one of these bead talismans dangling at the end. the charms are always blue, because that is considered the magical colour. the people are very dark themselves, so they are terrified at the sight of an englishman with eyes of the dreaded shade; they are quite sure he must be a desperately bad character, and it is safer to keep out of his path. when i have been in the east, i have often seen mothers turn their babies away lest my glance should fall on them. it is considered very unlucky also to praise a child, and its parents, even though they may be extremely rich, will sometimes let it look dirty and neglected for fear anyone might happen to admire it."
-"you can't bewitch me!" cried linda. "i've got the talisman safe in my hand!"
-"i didn't say i was admiring you, did i?" laughed the doctor. "though these gorgeous robes are certainly very becoming."
-"you're a true magician. i shall be frightened of you now. is that all you can tell me about my 'something'?"
-"i'm afraid i know no more."
-"then, sylvia, it's your turn."
-"may i choose exactly what i want?" asked sylvia.
-"certainly you may," replied dr. severn.
-"then i'd like to hear the story of that little carved ivory locket that's hanging on your watch-chain. it looks like a charm too."
-a spasm of pain crossed the doctor's face at sylvia's words, but he recovered himself in a moment.
-"that would not interest you, dear child," he said gravely. "it is not a curiosity such as the other things i have shown you."
-"it's a charm, though, isn't it?" asked sylvia. "i've been noticing it all the afternoon. it's so exactly like another i've seen."
-"that could hardly be," said dr. severn. "this carving has no duplicate."
-"but i know one that's its own twin," persisted sylvia. "it's the same size and shape, and has the same carving on it, these little three-cornered kind of leaves round the edge, and these marks like queer letters in the middle. i couldn't possibly forget it."
-"where did you see it?" enquired linda.
-"it's the chinese charm that they found tied round mercy's neck when she was brought to the hospital. she showed it me one sunday evening, and i held it in my hand and looked at it so carefully."
-"where did your friend get her charm?" asked dr. severn quickly.
-"it was fastened round her neck when she was a baby. a chinese woman crawled with her to the hospital, because she was so wounded she was dying. not mercy, i mean, but the poor woman. mercy wasn't hurt at all. they adopted her at the hospital, and then she was brought to england, and came to miss kaye's, but nobody's ever found out yet who she is. isn't it just like a storybook?" said sylvia, who loved to bring forward the romantic side of her friend's history.
-"how long ago is it since this happened?" enquired dr. severn with a curious strained tone in his voice which neither of the children noticed.
-"about sixteen years. mercy is nearly seventeen."
-"is that her true name?"
-"no. nobody knew her real name, so they called her mercy ingledew. she had on chinese clothes, and the nurse thought the locket must be a chinese charm too. she hadn't a single english thing that anyone could tell her by. wasn't it a pity?"
-"a great pity, if her friends are alive to claim her."
-"we don't know whether they are or not," said sylvia. "i'm always trying to find them, but miss kaye says i'm not to talk to mercy about it, because it's no use to keep raising false hopes, and we must all be very kind to her, to make up for her not having a father and mother of her own. it's funny her little charm should be just the same as yours, though, isn't it? did this one come from china too? i should have liked a story about it."
-"some other day, perhaps," said dr. severn, rising hastily and walking to the window. "let us go out and find the boys. the sky looks so threatening, i'm afraid there's a thunderstorm brewing, and i had better send you home before it begins."
-"we must take off our wonderful clothes, then," said linda, beginning to untwist the scarves and put away the turkish slippers. "goodbye, dear sandalwood box! how i love the smell of you!"
-"keep the box if you like," said dr. severn briefly, "and you, sylvia, the bottle of attar. i don't want either. come, children, i'm sorry to hurry you, but i don't want you to be caught in the rain. get your hats, and mr. richards will see you home on his way to craigwen."
-the sketching class
-linda and sylvia had a great many experiences to relate to the other girls when they returned to heathercliffe house, and as they were the only ones in the class who had been away for the few days, they were able to enjoy a position of much importance until their adventures were all told. nothing particular seemed to have happened during their absence. brenda had broken her bedroom jug, connie had fallen against the mowing machine and her forehead was ornamented with large strips of sticking plaster which did not improve her personal appearance, and dolly had locked the door of the book cupboard in the kindergarten room and lost the key, much to miss coleman's wrath. otherwise there were no events worth chronicling.
-"unless you'd like to hear that i've made a fresh copy of my greek history notes," said marian. "they're most beautifully neat, and underlined with red ink. i'm sure miss kaye'll say they're better than anybody else's."
-but as both linda and sylvia declared that did not interest them in the least, marian's piece of information fell rather flat.
-all the girls seemed to find it a little difficult to settle into harness again after the short holiday. the weather was warm, and in spite of open windows the schoolrooms were apt to feel close and stuffy. miss arkwright tried the plan of holding her class under the big hawthorn in the garden, but she found that a bird singing in the tree, a bumble bee settling on a flower, or a butterfly flitting across the lawn was enough to put dates and rivers completely out of her pupils' minds, and to wipe even their best-known facts from their memories, so she did not repeat her experiment.
-"in our grandmothers' days schools always had their holidays in june," said sylvia, yawning, as she idly picked the heads off the daisies on the lawn one afternoon. "they broke up just when the hot weather begins, and then they had all the lovely time when the evenings are so long and you can be out-of-doors until bedtime, and the strawberries are ripe, and they're cutting the hay. i think it was far nicer. we don't break up till the 31st of july."
-"yes, but remember they'd have the whole of august at school," said marian. "think of having to come back just at the time when everyone's going away now to the seaside. and what an enormous term it would make till christmas!"
-"they had quarters then," said sylvia, "and a little holiday at michaelmas, like the easter one."
-"i don't believe children went home from boarding-schools for it though. if you read old-fashioned books you will notice that the boys always talk of 'a half' as if they stayed from midsummer to christmas, and from christmas to midsummer again. it must have seemed such a long while."
-"i think it must have been perfectly horrible to go to school then," said nina forster. "my grandmother tells me stories about when she was a little girl, and i should have hated it. they had to learn their lessons off by heart, and stand with their hands behind their backs and say them just like parrots, and if they forgot or made a mistake the governess rapped them on the head with her thimble. she called it 'thimble pie'. it used to make them too nervous to remember things."
-"how nasty of her! what else did they do?" asked the girls, who liked to be told tales while they lounged.
-"they had to use backboards every day, and chest expanders. then they had much plainer food than we have, and they were obliged to finish up every morsel upon their plates; they mightn't leave anything. they always had brown bread except on sundays, and rice puddings nearly every day. they hardly ever went picnics or excursions; they only used to go for stupid walks along the roads, two and two, with a mistress at each end. the music teacher had a silver pencil with a heavy knob at the end, and if a girl played a wrong note she used to bring it down with a thump upon her hand. granny says it made her hate music. then they mightn't send letters home without the headmistress seeing them, and she used to make them write the most absurd rubbish, so that they weren't their own letters at all. granny had her twelfth birthday at school, and when she wrote to thank her father for his present the governess insisted on her putting: 'now that i have attained to my twelfth year i feel i am no longer a child, and must put away childish things'. wasn't it stupid? they used to write the most beautiful hand, though, far, far neater than ours, but they took a fearfully long time over it. they'd spend a week at an exercise that we do in a day. the teachers were very strict and very cross, and there seemed to be so many punishments--being sent to bed, and being kept in, and learning long columns of spelling. granny says girls are spoilt now, but i know i'd rather go to miss kaye's than to the school she was at."
-"i should think so," said the others; "i don't believe any other could be really nicer than this."
-"i sometimes wish i'd gone to a different one, though," said jessie ellis.
-"because my three cousins were here, and they're so tremendously clever. it's rather hard when you're not very bright yourself, and the teachers keep saying: 'you mean to tell me you can't learn this, and you an ellis!' i think they must have taken my share of the brains in the family. at any rate it's not quite fair to blame me because i can't do everything they did. ethel won a scholarship for newnham, and i never even scrape through the easiest class exam as a rule. i don't care much. mother says i must be a home girl and like sewing. i'm glad i don't get my pocket money by my marks."
-"oh, but does anybody?"
-"yes, i knew a girl who did. her father gave her sixpence every week she was top, and nothing at all if she was lower than halfway in the class. he said it was to make her work."
-"before i came to school i used to get my pocket money for doing things," said brenda. "i had a penny for every hour i practised, so if i wanted to save up i used to do a little extra at the piano; then there was a penny a week for wearing my gloves, and another penny for using the back stairs, and a halfpenny for eating salt, and another halfpenny if i remembered to wipe my boots. i rather liked it."
-"i don't think it was nice at all," declared marian. "it was bribing you to do what you ought to have done in any case."
-"yes, so it was," echoed gwennie. "we always wipe our boots."
-"oh, you two are perfect, of course!" said brenda. "you never do anything wrong! what about that french book which was lost last week?"
-"it wasn't my fault or gwennie's either," said marian, rising and putting an end to a conversation which threatened to become too personal. "somebody must have borrowed it without asking us. i'm going in now to learn my verbs." and she departed, leaving the others laughing, for poor marian did not always succeed in living entirely according to her excellent precepts and "practice what you preach" is a motto held in high estimation by schoolgirls.
-though ordinary lessons in the garden had proved a failure, miss kaye made a new departure by arranging that mr. dawson, the drawing master, should organize a sketching class, to include those of his pupils whom he considered sufficiently advanced to benefit by outdoor instruction. it was mostly composed of girls from the first and second classes, but marian, linda, and sylvia had done such good work in the studio that mr. dawson decided he would allow them to commence drawing from nature, and to their great delight they were permitted to join the party. they felt almost like artists as they set off with camp stools, sketching blocks, pencils, indiarubbers, paintboxes and water tins, and were installed under their master's direction beneath the shade of a hedge to make a valiant attempt at reproducing a picturesque gate and a gnarled oak tree which overhung it. it was a great deal more difficult than they had at first imagined. the bars of the gate were puzzling, and the oak tree somehow refused to turn out a tree at all, and was inclined to bear more resemblance to a lamp-post or a telegraph pole.
-"it may be better when we get some colour on," said sylvia hopefully. "everyone will know the brown part is meant for the trunk and the green part for leaves."
-"my gate looks as if i'd been playing naughts and crosses on my paper," sighed linda. "i've rubbed it out seven times, and i'm afraid it's not straight now. the paper's quite spoilt. it'll be horrid when i begin to paint."
-"we can't expect to do very much the first time, i suppose," said marian. "my tree looks like a cabbage on a broomstick. i can lend you my indiarubber if you want it to clean up with. it's a softer one than yours. i want to get to the painting part and yet i'm afraid to begin."
-"so am i," said linda. "i don't know what mr. dawson will say when he sees the muddle i've made of this gate. here he comes now."
-the master must certainly have found the little girl's work far from talented, but, taking her seat, he made a patient effort to correct the mistakes in her drawing, adding a clever line or two of his own to show her how it ought to be done, then with a word of encouragement to marian and sylvia he passed on to some of his elder pupils.
-the painting did not prove such a redeeming feature as sylvia had anticipated. her sky refused to go on smoothly, and, as she was in too great a hurry to let it dry properly before she commenced her tree, the edges ran into each other hopelessly, producing an effect that was perhaps too impressionistic for most tastes. the trunk of the tree would not appear round, and the branches had an uncomfortable suggestion of signposts, and she could not get the right colour for the grass, and found the shadows absolutely baffling.
-"it's a perfect daub," she cried, flinging down her brush as mercy came round presently to see how they were getting on.
-"so's mine, i'm afraid," said mercy. "you may see it if you like, but it's hardly worth looking at. i'm letting it dry before i touch it any more. it was getting into such a dreadful mess. sketching from nature isn't at all easy. i think mr. dawson's extremely clever to paint such lovely things. you should see the sweet little bit he put in for trissie knowles. it seems no trouble to him."
-"i wish you'd do a piece for me, mercy," said linda.
-"oh, i daren't! mr. dawson would find it out directly, and perhaps he mightn't like it. may spencer's sketch is far the best of anybody's. she just dashed it off, and it looks so nice. helen ward let her sky dry in patches, and mr. dawson had to take her board to the stream and dip it in the water to wash it off again. we're doing the cottage, you know, round the corner, and when sybil lake had painted all the front of hers she discovered she'd left out one of the windows."
-"who's this coming along the road?" interrupted marian. "he's smiling at one of us, i'm sure. i don't know him. do you?"
-"dr. severn!" cried linda and sylvia, and, springing up, they put their sketching materials on the grass and hurried to meet him.
-"good afternoon! this is quite a surprise to me," said the doctor. "i didn't expect to find my two little friends suddenly blossoming into full-blown artists. i hope i'm not interrupting a lesson."
-"oh, no! we're all waiting for mr. dawson to come round and tell us what to do next," said linda. "where are you going, doctor? won't you sit down and talk for a minute? please have my camp stool."
-"it's a big surprise to us," added sylvia. "we didn't know you ever came to aberglyn."
-"i find myself here to-day," said dr. severn. "thank you, linda, but i'm afraid i should break down your little seat if i were to put my weight on it. there's a convenient stump here which will do very well. now you can imagine i'm an art critic, and show me some of the masterpieces. i see both your friends are painting, also," he continued, smiling at mercy and marian. "will they let me look at their pictures too?"
-dr. severn was always at his ease with young people; his pleasant blue eyes and genial manner seemed to attract them at once; and he had soon added mercy and marian to the list of his admirers.
-"i used to do a little sketching myself once," he said when he had duly inspected the four studies and sympathized with their owners' difficulties, "so i know how much harder it is than it looks, particularly when one's a beginner. i found many quaint corners to paint when i was abroad, especially in china and japan."
-"china! were you ever in china?" asked mercy with some eagerness.
-"i was stationed in szu-chwan for more than twenty years," replied dr. severn.
-"do you know the ingledew hospital at tsien-lou?"
-"i have heard of it, but i've never been there. i was in a different district, and the distances were great and travelling often dangerous."
-"i wish you'd seen it," said mercy wistfully. "i lived there for six years, and i still write to dr. and mrs. harrison and to sister grace."
-"their names are well known, though i have not had the good fortune to meet them personally," answered dr. severn, gazing steadily at mercy with a strange look in his blue eyes. "can you remember much of your life in china?"
-"not a great deal. i was only seven when i left and there has been nobody to talk to me about it and remind me. i haven't forgotten the narrow streets and the crowds of people in strange dresses who used to be walking about in them, nor our garden at the hospital with the camellias, and the high wall round it. i remember the little mission church, too, where we had service on sundays. it was all in chinese, but i could speak it then quite easily. i couldn't understand a single word now."
-"do you know chinese, doctor?" asked linda.
-"very well," replied dr. severn, "though it took me many years of hard study to learn it. it's the most difficult language in the world."
-"worse than french?"
-"fifty times worse!"
-"i shouldn't think it was worth the trouble."
-"there were reasons which made me consider it worth any amount of trouble. i wished to talk to the people, and as they couldn't understand my speech i was forced to learn theirs."
-"were they pleased?"
-"some of them were grateful, some of them didn't care, and some were very angry with me. i was like the man who sowed the seed. i had to fling it everywhere, no matter what ground it fell on."
-"and can you write chinese characters too?" asked marian.
-"a little, but not so well as i can talk. here comes your drawing teacher. i'm afraid he'll think i'm encouraging you to be idle. goodbye for the present! you may very likely see me again before the day is over."
-"i wonder what dr. severn talked to the people about in china!" said sylvia, as she watched his retreating figure walking briskly away down the road. "it must have been something very important to make him take so much trouble."
-"i think i can guess," said mercy softly, as she picked up her half-finished sketch and ran back to her easel in time for the master's criticism.
-dr. severn explains
-linda and sylvia had been much delighted at their unexpected meeting with the owner of dale side, and could talk of nothing else during tea. you may judge, therefore, sylvia's astonishment and interest when, on passing the drawing-room shortly before preparation hour, she caught a glimpse of dr. severn seated there engaged in earnest conversation with miss kaye. the drawing-room was forbidden ground to the girls, so, after one hasty glance, sylvia was on the point of hurrying away, and had already reached the bottom of the stairs when miss kaye called to her.
-"come in, my dear," said the mistress, as sylvia timidly presented herself, not certain whether she had done anything wrong or not, "come in, and close the door after you."
-dr. severn smiled and held out his hand, and sylvia went and stood by his side, feeling sure now that whatever was the matter she was not going to be scolded.
-"it was sylvia and not linda who spoke of it?" enquired miss kaye; "i believe you said sylvia?"
-"i did," replied dr. severn. "she mentioned that her schoolfellow had shown it to her. it may, of course, be merely a coincidence, but it seems worth investigating, and i should greatly like to see it."
-"what are they talking about?" sylvia wondered, glancing from one to another to try and read the answer in their faces. she could not understand the conversation at all, nor connect it with anything that had occurred. miss kaye, however, soon enlightened her.
-"you told dr. severn, sylvia, that mercy ingledew had shown you a carved ivory locket which was tied round her neck when she was found at the hospital in china. i was not aware that mercy possessed it, and i have never seen it myself. can you describe it?"
-"it was just the same as the one dr. severn has," answered sylvia. "it was seeing his that made me think of mercy's. they are both exactly alike."
-"you are absolutely sure?"
-"quite! it was small and beautifully carved, with little leaves round the edge and funny letters in the middle. i thought it must be meant for a locket, only it won't open."
-"as you say, it is certainly a remarkable coincidence," said miss kaye, turning to dr. severn. "i am very anxious not to distress the poor girl needlessly, but i think we are justified in looking into the matter. sylvia, will you go and find mercy, and tell her quietly that i wish to speak to her in the drawing-room, and ask her to bring this locket with her. do not try to explain anything, and do not let any of the other girls hear you. i would rather they did not know about it."
-sylvia left the room in a whirl of excitement. something was going to happen. of that she was sure. did dr. severn, who had been in china himself, know anything about mercy's relations? the idea was so overwhelming and so delightful that it almost took her breath away. ever since she had first heard mercy's story she had been hoping that some clue might be found to her parentage, and that at last they were on a right track seemed absolutely too good to be true. she found her friend reading in the garden, and was able to give her message as briefly and quietly as miss kaye had desired. mercy rose at once, and, asking no questions, went to her bedroom to fetch the locket, then, rejoining sylvia, who had waited for her at the foot of the stairs, she took the child's hand and walked into the drawing-room. it was a moment of intense anxiety for all.
-"mercy dear," began miss kaye, after a moment's pause, as if she hardly knew how to open the subject, "we had agreed that it was wiser not to speak about the events which occurred in the first year of your life, but i am going to break through my rule to-day. dr. severn, whom you met this afternoon, believes that he can throw some light upon your early history, and even solve the mystery of your birth. from what he tells me a very strange chain of circumstances has led him to make enquiries, and it seems more than probable that you may learn something at last. try and calm yourself, my dear child, and let dr. severn look at the locket which you have brought."
-poor mercy was trembling with agitation. was her long-deferred hope at length to be realized? ever since she had been old enough to notice the difference between herself and other girls, she had looked forward to this, at first with eager expectation, but latterly as a dream never likely to be fulfilled and only leading to perpetual disappointment. all the cherished castles in the air which she had striven so bravely to put away from her, all the longing and yearning which she had so often felt for those unknown parents of her infancy, all the grief, the solitude, and the shrinking sense of her lonely position rose up in renewed force as, with shaking fingers, she laid her chinese charm in the doctor's outstretched hand.
-dr. severn had removed his own locket from his watch chain, and he now placed the two side by side on the table.
-"you observe, miss kaye," he said, "that they are so exactly alike that it would be impossible to tell them apart, but when they are together you may notice that there is a slight difference in the characters which form the centre. to one unacquainted with chinese it is perhaps hardly perceptible, but if you had any knowledge of the written language it could not fail to strike you. this, however, is only one of the minor points. i have still to make the great test."
-he took his own locket in his hand and pressed a secret spring. it opened, disclosing inside a small coloured photograph of a lady with a sweet face and fair hair, at which he asked both miss kaye and mercy to look carefully. he then lifted the other locket from the table.
-"if, as i believe, this is the true duplicate," he said, "the spring will be here, and it will open like its fellow."
-the three spectators held their breath. sylvia was white as a ghost, and miss kaye put her arm round mercy to prevent her from falling. one swift pressure of the doctor's thumb, and the charm had flown open, revealing an exact facsimile of the former portrait. dr. severn placed the pair side by side again upon the table and turned to mercy.
-"you did not know its secret?" he asked. "how could you when there was no one to show you the tiny catch? you have seen that the pictures in the two lockets are of the same person? in mine it is of my beloved wife, and in yours it is the portrait of your mother. yes, mercy, you are indeed my daughter, given back, as it seems to me, from the dead, and after all these years of our separation i claim you thus through the memory of one by whom we were both held equally dear!"
-"so you're really dr. severn's own daughter! it's almost too nice to believe!" exclaimed sylvia a few minutes later, when mercy, with an april face, half-smiles and half-tears, kissed her and thanked her for her share in bringing about her new-found happiness.
-"it is true nevertheless," replied dr. severn. "the locket has removed every shadow of doubt. there is still, however, a great deal to be explained, and with miss kaye's permission i will relate both how i lost my child and why i had apparently made no effort to recover her. it is a long story, but for a full understanding of the facts of the case it is necessary for me to begin at the beginning.
-"it is now more than twenty years ago that, having obtained my degree as a doctor of medicine, and held appointments at various hospitals in london and the provinces, i determined to devote myself to the mission field, and sailed for china. i was appointed head of the medical mission at tsi-chin in the canton of szu-chwan, and on arrival there i bade goodbye to western civilization. in those days the people of china were even more ignorant and fanatical than they are now. the fixing.
-by fixing down, that is softness, by fixing down there.
-not by linen.
-i don't wish to be recalled.
-one, day, i do not wish to use the word, one day they asked to buy that.
-i don't mean anything by threads. it was wholly unnecessary to do so. it was done and then a gun. by that stand. wishes.
-i do not see what i have to do with that.
-any one can help weeping.
-i am so indifferent.
-not a bite.
-call me handsome.
-it was a nice fate.
-any one could see.
-any one could see.
-any one could see.
-buy that etching.
-do be black.
-i do not mean to say etching. why should i be very sensitive. why should i matter. why need i be seen. why not have politeness.
-why not have politeness.
-in my hair.
-i don't think it sounds at all like that.
-to be for that end.
-to be that end.
-i don't see what difference it makes
-it does matter.
-why have they pots.
-it isn't at all.
-i have made every mistake.
-not put into boxes.
-not put into boxes.
-i know that well.
-she mentioned it as she was sleeping.
-she liked bought cake best. no she didn't for that purpose.
-i have utter confusion.
-no two can be alike.
-they are and they are not stubborn.
-i was mistaken.
-do not refuse to be wild.
-do not refuse to be all.
-we have decided not to withstand it.
-we would not rather have the home.
-this is to teach lessons of exchange endurance and resemblance and by that time it was turned.
-i am going to continue humming.
-this does not mean express wishes.
-i am not so fanciful. i am beside that calculated to believe in whole pages. oh do not annoy me.
-i don't like to be fitted. she didn't say that. if it hadn't been as natural as all the rest you would have been as silly as all the rest.
-it's not at all when it is right.
-i wish for a cake.
-she said she did.
-she said she didn't.
-there was no gloom.
-there was no room.
-there was no room.
-buy that chance.
-she didn't leave me any money.
-i don't want to be visible or invisible.
-i don't want a dog named dick.
-it has nothing to do with it.
-i am obliged to end.
-my uncle will.
-fasten it fat we say aunt pauline.
-not snow now nor that in between.
-now we are bold.
-all the weights are measures.
-are they plateful.
-treasures in song.
-i see a mountain wheeler
-i see a capstan.
-i see a straight.
-i see a rattle.
-all things are breathing.
-can you see me.
-hurrah for america.
-a day's sun.
-in this miss.
-yes indeed our mat.
-we can thank you
-we thank you.
-come to me there now.
-all of it is bit.
-in the meaning of bright.
-bright not light.
-light to me.
-then say the essence.
-not a nightingale.
-wild animals are not fierce neither are sponges.
-can you see her dressed or him.
-in this way we cough.
-what can a mayor do.
-in this new school. in this new school they are ladies. and now you mention gifts.
-can you believe.
-all the leaves.
-all the hotels.
-all the boils.
-we are so happy.
-in the land.
-you mean a lady.
-can we have imagination.
-they ask have we a stocking.
-did he die to drink.
-we have to.
-it is not a joke.
-a vicar is not a joke.
-did he die there because he was mortal and we leave rivesaltes.
-be nice to me.
-in the kiss.
-can you say lapse.
-then think about it.
-i think kindly of that bother.
-it is not a bother to be a soldier.
-indeed it is yet.
-we are so pleased.
-with the flag.
-with the flag of sets.
-sets of color
-do you like flags.
-blue flags smell sweetly.
-blue flags in a whirl.
-the wind blows
-and the automobile goes.
-can you guess boards.
-can you guess hoops.
-can you guess girls.
-can you guess messages.
-then there are meats to buy.
-we like asparagus so.
-this is an interview.
-soldiers like a fuss.
-give them their way.
-yes indeed we will.
-we are not mighty
-we are happy.
-in the morning.
-we believe in the morning
-please be an interview.
-please be an interview with dogs.
-please comfort me.
-please plan a game.
-please then and places.
-in the meantime.
-in the meantime we are useful.
-that is what i mean to say.
-in the meantime can you have beds.
-kindly call a brother.
-what is a cure.
-i speak french.
-what are means.
-i can call it in time.
-by the way where are fish.
-in that case are there any wonders.
-many wonders are women.
-and men too
-in the way sentences.
-he does not feel as we do.
-but he did have the coat.
-he blushed a little
-in the tenth century chateau.
-who they are we do not know.
-but we know they tell us so they tell us that in that way.
-why do we believe in cook.
-we do not hear from him.
-in a casino.
-waiting tomorrow yes yet.
-and then we think.
-we think often of pens.
-in times of peace.
-in times of peace
-this is what was said to us
-but we do not believe.
-in that way we feel.
-and is it useless
-it is not useless
-in that case.
-in that case what.
-are you satisfied.
-certainly with me.
-then we have the use of it.
-we are agreed.
-in the case of mothers.
-how did you pronounce it.
-it was in doubt.
-in this way we mention this.
-this is the story of it.
-he was her uncle and nervous.
-in their way they had a black police dog.
-in his way he had neither relief nor expeditions.
-in this thing he was not patient.
-if they gave him the money to clean the gutters need they shut the tobacco shops.
-you don't understand that
-if they gave him money for the cleaning of city pipes need he have orders to close butchers.
-we can understand the universal. this is universal.
-what is the difference between one order and a reading. a great many read in a park.
-words question it bakeries threaten it but really hotels receive it. do we hear about books. do we. and catalogues. and catalogues. farmers for speech. a great many vines are said to be sold. in france. and in wealthy homes too. we do not understand the weather. that astonishes me.
-can you think of me.
-confess it confess it weather burns and in that case there is plenty of sausage.
-can you think of me at.
-in all cases keep afraid.
-and then what happens.
-are you sure nothing.
-of course not.
-you are not just saying it.
-you know you have your wish.
-thank you in smiles.
-then we see
-you did not mean to say so.
-no but i know i am right
-you always are.
-this is a paragraph.
-then it will be well
-yes and a fit.
-you mean fitly.
-and then no worry
-not at all
-thank you for saying that.
-many cases are fine.
-in that way we wish.
-in that way we swim. camelias finish when roses begin.
-let me tell you about this. we were disappointed in cards. and yet we need not be. we will have them.
-in the beginning pinks you mean flowers yes smell.
-and pansies too.
-sacred heart pansies.
-these are the best.
-can we wonder about cookies. not those that have no flour.
-sacred heart doughnuts.
-pansies i said.
-i do not care to mention it again.
-i do it.
-how do i not.
-it is astonishing that those who have fought so hard and so well should pick yellow irises and fish in a stream.
-they have mistaken their doctor.
-he was an oculist.
-and then there were
-and then they were
-please spell a dish.
-i do not like called a flower,
-she always makes a mistake
-and then the sister.
-can you feel a home.
-when i see it.
-see it with them.
-and then a pansy.
-i did not ask for it.
-a sweet smell
-call it locusts
-call it me.
-in comparison what are horses.
-compared with that again what are bells.
-you mean horns. no i mean noises.
-in leaning can we encounter oil.
-i meant this to be intelligible.
-in coming to a village we ask them can they come to see us we mean near enough to talk and then we ask them how do we go there.
-this is not fanciful.
-in advance we have spoken, of what, can you imagine obedience as a subject. it is. it is laughable when there is no need of any backing. can you understand that in two ways.
-we mean to be lean. lean to me. and then what a girl. no girl and emil. we like fresh cooking. so does anybody.
-no everybody doesn't.
-the right spirit. there are difficulties and they must be met in the right spirit.
-this is an illustration of the difficulties we have in many ways.
-then we go on.
-i have made up my mind not to be excited.
-in speeding i speed.
-in neglecting i do not offer anything.
-in reason i reverse the car and in this way we are successful.
-we have no worries.
-what can you think of a bone.
-it is useless to think.
-in that way we do not prey.
-we write of fish.
-and then i have been careful.
-it is all imagination.
-can you sing rightly.
-a trunk locked up in perpignan.
-in this way we pass the hay.
-i have reasoned.
-i am convinced.
-i do not argue.
-or play the piano.
-as the daughters of the banker do.
-this is now the book in which i write and receive.
-can you guess beziers.
-was i right.
-indeed there are barrels.
-tourty or tourtebattre
-a story of the great war
-tourtebattre came to visit us in the court he said he heard americans were in town and he came to see us and we said what is your name and what americans have you known and we said we would go to see him and we did not and we did not give him anything.
-then when we went out to see the hospital we did not take him anything. we asked to see him. then when the new things came we did take a package to him and we did not see him but he came and called on us to thank us and we were out.
-if i must reflect i reflect upon ann veronica. this is not what is intended. mrs. tourtebattre. of this we know nothing.
-can we reflect one for another.
-profit and loss is three twenty five never two seventy five.
-yes that is the very easy force, decidedly not.
-then tourtebattre used to come all the time and then he used to tell us how old he was when he was asked and he took sugar in his coffee as it was given to him. he was not too old to be a father he was thirty seven and he had three children and he told us that he liked to turn a phrase.
-china. whenever he went to the colonies his sister was hurt in an automobile accident. this did not mean that she suffered.
-some one thought she was killed. will you please put that in.
-his father's watch, his wife gave all his most precious belongings to a man who did not belong to the town he said he belonged to. we did not know the truth of this.
-we should not color our hero with his wife's misdeeds. because you see he may be a religion instead of a talker. little bones have to come out of his hand for action this was after his wound. a good deal.
-he was wounded in the attack in april right near where he was always going to visit his wife and he saw the church tower and then he was immediately evacuated to an american hospital where every one was very american and very kind and miss bell tried to talk french to him and amuse him but overcome with her difficulties with the french language she retired which made him say she was very nice and these stories that he told to us you told to sister cecile which did not please her and she said we must come and hear from every one else the stories they all told of the kindness they had received in the american hospital before they came to her and she said to them what did the major do, and they said he played ball. he did. and you too and all of them said, no sister but you were wounded in an attack. we were both wounded, said the soldier.
-reflections on sister cecile lead us to believe that she did not reflect about friday but about the book in which she often wrote. we were curious. she wrote this note. this is it. name life, wife, deed, wound, weather, food, devotion, and expression.
-what did he ask for.
-why i don't know.
-why don't you know.
-i don't call that making literature at all.
-what has he asked for.
-i call literature telling a story as it happens.
-facts of life make literature.
-i can always feel rightly about that.
-we obtained beads for him and our own pictures in it.
-dear pictures of us.
-we can tell anything over.
-we gave him colored beads and he made them with paper that he bought himself of two different colors into frames that we sent with our pictures to our cousins and our papas in america.
-can we say it.
-then he told us about his wife and his child.
-he does not say anything about them now.
-some immediate provision was necessary.
-we said in english these are the facts which we are bringing to your memory.
-what is capitol.
-he told us of bead buttons and black and white. he answered her back very brightly.
-he is a man.
-what were the reflections.
-have we undertaken too much.
-what is the name of his wife.
-they were lost. we did not look forward. we did not think much. how long would he stay. our reflections really came later.
-the first thing we heard from her was that the woman was not staying and had left her new address.
-how do you do.
-her mother and her mother.
-can you think why marguerite did not wish jenny picard to remain longer.
-because she stole.
-yes indeed. little things.
-this will never do.
-i said we must go to see her.
-and you said we will see.
-one night, no one day she called with her mother.
-who was very good looking.
-she was very good looking.
-and the little boy.
-can you think of the little boy.
-they both said that they were not polite.
-but they were.
-reflections can come already.
-we believed her reasons were real reasons.
-who is always right.
-not she nor her eleven sisters.
-no one knew who was kind to her.
-what is kindness.
-kindness is being soft or good and has nothing to do with amiable. albert is kind and good.
-and their wives.
-can you tell the difference between wives and children.
-queen victoria and queen victoria.
-and i said the mother you said the mother. i did not remember the mother was in paris but you did.
-life and letters of marcel duchamp
-a family likeness pleases when there is a cessation of resemblances. this is to say that points of remarkable resemblance are those which make henry leading. henry leading actually smothers emil. emil is pointed. he does not overdo examples. he even hesitates.
-but am i sensible. am i not rather efficient in sympathy or common feeling.
-i was looking to see if i could make marcel out of it but i can't.
-not a doctor to me not a debtor to me not a d to me but a c to me a credit to me. to interlace a story with glass and with rope with color and roam.
-how many people roam.
-dark people roam.
-can dark people come from the north. are they dark then. do they begin to be dark when they have come from there.
-any question leads away from me. grave a boy grave.
-what i do recollect is this. i collect black and white. from the standpoint of white all color is color. from the standpoint of black. black is white. white is black. black is black. white is black. white and black is black and white. what i recollect when i am there is that words are not birds. how easily i feel thin. birds do not. so i replace birds with tin-foil. silver is thin.
-quickly return the unabridged restraint and mention letters.
-my dear fourth.
-confess to me in a quick saying. the vote is taken.
-the lucky strike works well and difficultly. it rounds, it sounds round. i cannot conceal attrition. let me think. i repeat the fullness of bread. in a way not bread. delight me. i delight a lamb in birth.
-land of nations.
-after these introductions i wish to say something i wish to say that i am entirely agreed that the best way to meet together is to deny that you wish to spend money. we don't want to spend the money.
-they went to spend their money. we all spend our money in this way i spend my money and what do i have. i have a car. that is to say i have spent my money. i do spend my money but not in this way. i do not spend my money in this way. i spend my money. did you say you had the money. indeed indeed i believe you there. this is a country. a fine country. this is a fine country. let us begin with this one which is this country entirely and in this order.
-then we have the country. let us imagine the country. a country with a wait and wait by me and wait by me and always always always always wait and always wait and always wait and always always wait and wait by me. this is the country i have mentioned. it means to be with us. then there is a very late country and we wish to embark we wish to embark it altogether. in the midst of money we are whistling.
-i am angry. have you been.
-i am angry with a din.
-i am angry so you see.
-egypt and for syrie.
-i am angry as you hear.
-i am angry for the bier.
-i am angry for the waist.
-i am angry in the taste.
-i am angry to the touch.
-you can make me see that much.
-i am angry and i sigh.
-england will be going by.
-going to buy not going to buy.
-i am angry and i sigh.
-and then in the midst of smoke there was fiume. i can never make a poem about italy. about italy you do, you address, bless and say adieu. adieu italy beautiful italy adieu.
-a great many countries have a name.
-let me think of the house and the best.
-a house a boat a victory and an alert. in the way of rhyming. i can think of so much. dirt, flirt and spurt. do you see any difference. i do. discourage england, and say you mean well.
-here is a poem.
-amber is found on the shores of the baltic.
-like wild asparagus you must have an eye for it.
-all animals howl.
-all animals or a barnyard fowl.
-all animals are stars
-all animals and bars.
-please pay a monkey a dear or a sweet.
-please pay a lion a pheasant or a street.
-please recognize a mother a head or an owl.
-please recognize a feather a heather or a soul. please recognize the weather. what do you live for.
-climate and the affections. jews quote that.
-accents in alsace.
-a reasonable tragedy.
-act i. the schemils.
-brother brother go away and stay.
-sister mother believe me i say.
-they will never get me as i run away.
-he runs away and stays away and strange to say he passes the lines and goes all the way and they do not find him but hear that he is there in the foreign legion in distant algier.
-and what happens to the family.
-the family manages to get along and then some one of his comrades in writing a letter which is gotten hold of by the boche find he is a soldier whom they cannot touch, so what do they do they decide to embrew his mother and sister and father too. and how did they escape by paying sombody money.
-that is what you did with the boche. you always paid some money to some one it might be a colonel or it might be a sergeant but anyway you did it and it was neccesary so then what happened.
-sing so la douse so la dim.
-un deux trois
-can you tell me wha
-is it indeed.
-what you call a petide.
-and then what do i say to thee
-let me kiss thee willingly.
-not a mountain not a goat not a door.
-not a whisper not a curl not a gore
-in me meeney miney mo.
-you are my love and i tell you so.
-in the daylight
-and the night
-baby winks and holds me tight.
-in the morning and the day and the evening and alway.
-i hold my baby as i say.
-and what is an accent of my wife.
-and accent and the present life.
-oh sweet oh my oh sweet oh my
-i love you love you and i try
-i try not to be nasty and hasty and good
-i am my little baby's daily food.
-in the exercise of greatness there is charm.
-believe me i mean to do you harm.
-and except you have a stomach to alarm.
-i mean to scatter so you are to arm.
-let me go.
-and the alsatians say.
-what has another prince a birthday.
-now we come back to the schemmils.
-schimmel schimmel gott in himmel
-gott in himmel there comes shimmel.
-schimmel is an alsatian name.
-it is a little thing to expect nobody to sell what you give them.
-it is a little thing to be a minister.
-it is a little thing to manufacture articles.
-all this is modest.
-brother brother here is mother.
-we are all very well.
-listen to thee sweet cheerie
-is the pleasure of me.
-in the way of being hungry and tired
-that is what a depot makes you
-a depot is not for trains
-its for us.
-what are baby carriages
-and not the dears.
-clouds do not fatten with teaching.
-they do not fatten at all.
-we wonder if it is influence
-by the way i guess.
-she said. i like it better than eggland.
-what do you mean.
-we never asked how many children over eleven.
-you cannot imagine what i think about the country.
-any civilians killed.
-see the swimmer. he don't swim.
-see the swimmer.
-my wife is angry when she sees a swimmer.
-we like hirsing.
-we like the mayor of guebwiller.
-we like the road between cernay and the railroad.
-we go everywhere by automobile.
-this is a particular old winter.
-everybody goes back.
-i can clean.
-i can clean.
-i cannot clean without a change in birds.
-i am so pleased that they cheat.
-in silver stars and red crosses.
-in paper money and water.
-we know a french wine.
-alsatian wine is dearer.
-they are not particularly old.
-old men are old.
-there are plenty to hear of schemmel having appendicitis.
-can you mix with another
-can you be a christian and a swiss.
-mr. zumsteg. do i hear a saint.
-louisa. they call me lisela.
-mrs. zumsteg. are you going to hear me.
-young mr. zumsteg. i was looking at the snow.
-all of them. like flowers. they like flowers.
-it is an occasion.
-when you see a hussar.
-perhaps it is another.
-we were surprised with the history of marguerite's father and step-father and the american civil war.
-joseph. three three six, six, fifty, six fifty, fifty, seven.
-reading french singing.
-any one can look at pictures.
-they explain pictures.
-the little children have old birds.
-they wish they were women.
-any one can hate a prussian.
-alphonse what is your name.
-henri what is your name.
-madeleine what is your name.
-louise what is your name.
-rene what is your name.
-berthe what is your name
-charles what is your name
-marguerite what is your name
-jeanne what is your name.
-we see a river and we are glad to say that that is in a way in the way today.
-we see all the windows and we see a souvenir and we see the best flower. the flower of the truth.
-thirty days in april gave a chance to sing at a wedding.
-three days in february gave reality to life.
-fifty days every year do not make substraction.
-the alsations sing anyway.
-forty days in september.
-forty days in september we know what it is to spring.
-act in america.
-alsatians living in america.
-on this day the troops who had been at mulhouse came again.
-they came in the spring.
-the spring is late in alsace.
-water was good and hot anyway.
-what are you doing.
-making music and burning the surface of marble.
-when the surface of marble is burned it is not much discolored.
-no but there is a discussion.
-and then the swiss.
-what is amiss.
-the swiss are the origin of mulhouse.
-alsace or alsatians.
-we have been deeply interested in the words of the song.
-the alsatians do not sing as well as their storks.
-their storks are their statuettes.
-the rule is that angels and food and eggs are all sold by the dozen.
-we were astonished.
-potatoes are eaten dry.
-this reminds me of another thing i said. a woman likes to use money.
-and if not.
-she feels it really is her birthday.
-is it her birthday.
-god bless her it is her birthday.
-please carry me to dannemarie.
-and what does herbstadt say.
-the names of cities are the names of all.
-and pronouncing villages is more of a test than unbrella.
-this was the first thing we heard in alsatia.
-canary, roses, violets and curtains and bags and churches and rubber tires and an examination.
-all the leaves are green and babyish.
-how many children make a family.
-the watch on the rhine.
-sweeter than water or cream or ice. sweeter than bells of roses. sweeter than winter or summer or spring. sweeter than pretty posies. sweeter than anything is my queen and loving is her nature.
-loving and good and delighted and best is her little king and sire whose devotion is entire who has but one desire to express the love which is hers to inspire.
-in the photograph the rhine hardly showed
-in what way do chimes remind you of singing. in what way do birds sing. in what way are forests black or white.
-we saw them blue.
-with for get me nots.
-in the midst of our happiness we were very pleased.
-the psychology of nations
-what are you looking at
-we make a little dance.
-willie jewetts dance in the tenth century chateau.
-soultz alsace dance on the boulevard raspail
-spanish french dance on the rue de la boetie
-russian flemish dance on the docks.
-bread eating is a game understand me.
-we laugh to please. japanese.
-and then to seize. blocks.
-can you remember what you said yesterday.
-and now we come to a picture.
-a little boy was playing marbles with soldiers, he was rolling the balls and knocking down the soldiers.
-then came a presidential election.
-what did he do. he met boys of every nationality and they played together.
-did they like it.
-in the middle of the presidential election they had a bonfire.
-a policeman stopped them.
-what can a policeman do, they said.
-what is older than that.
-any baby can look at a list.
-this is the way they won texas
-let us go to the right.
-it is wonderful how boys can fill.
-we swell water.
-to be lapped and bloated.
-with urgency and not necessity and not idiocy.
-all men are intelligent.
-please beg a boy.
-then they all danced.
-how can a little pole be a baby rusher.
-readings in missions.
-who can neglect papers.
-when boys make a bonfire they do not burn daily papers.
-it was pleasing to have some mutton.
-suppose a presidential election comes every fourth year.
-startling, start, startles jump again.
-jump for a feather.
-a feather burns.
-indians burn have burned burns.
-a boy grows dark.
-he can really read better better than another.
-i cannot decline a celebration.
-do you remember the fourth of july.
-and do you.
-read readily and so tell them what i say.
-jump to the word of command.
-not eating beans or butter.
-not eating hair.
-not eating a little
-when the presidential election is earnest we are only a year.
-a year is so far in may.
-can you love any september.
-the little boy was tall.
-i have asked a lady to burn wood.
-the boy touches the wall.
-the boy is tall.
-i am thinking that the way to have an election is this. you meet in the street. you meet. you have the election.
-that is why horses are of no use.
-we do resist horses when we are not afraid of them.
-can one expect to be a victory.
-three long thousands.
-expect to be met.
-the boy is satisfied to be steady.
-why can't we have a presidential election.
-the boy grows up and has a presidential election.
-the president is elected.
-why do the words presidential election remind you of anything.
-they remind us that the boy who was in the street is not necessarily a poor boy.
-nor was he a poor boy then.
-veils and veils and lying down.
-lying down in shoes.
-shoes when they are new have black on the bottom.
-we saw today what we will never see again a bride's veil and a nun's veil.
-who can expect an election.
-a boy who is the son of another has a memory of permission.
-by permission we mean print.
-by print. solution.
-settle on another in your seats.
-kisses do not make a king.
-nor noises a mother.
-benedictions come before presidents.
-words mean more.
-i speak now of a man who is not a bother.
-how can he not bother.
-he is elected by me.
-when this you see remember me.
-bee and butterfly
-a tale of two cousins
-by lucy foster madison
-author of "the peggy owen books," "a maid of salem towne," "a colonial maid of old virginia," etc.
-illustrated by adelia b. beard
-chicago m. a. donohue & co.
-copyright 1913 by m. a. donohue & company
-chapter i an impulse of mischief
-chapter ii the omen of the butterfly
-chapter iii the good news
-chapter iv a jest becomes earnest
-chapter v protective mimicry
-chapter vi a night of misery
-chapter vii the result of imitation
-chapter viii a rift in the clouds
-chapter ix with the butterflies
-chapter x a butterfly and a boy
-chapter xi an infant prodigy
-chapter xii the arrival of guests
-chapter xiii the butterfly dinner
-chapter xiv a little sermon
-chapter xv the arrival of adele
-chapter xvi "it is so hard to do the right thing"
-chapter xvii the two calls
-chapter xviii a breach of trust
-chapter xix the closed door
-chapter xx bee is disappointed in percival
-chapter xxi how the day ended
-chapter xxii "i shouldn't want you to be anything but pretty"
-chapter xxiii "the greatest of these is charity"
-chapter xxiv "you are a noble little girl"
-chapter xxv the door is opened
-chapter xxvi a great surprise
-chapter xxvii ready for the voyage
-list of illustrations
-"william," she cried, laughing nervously, "you have made a mistake. that is my daughter, adele."
-"i think that's pretty good for a girl."
-bee entertains her father's friends.
-"out through the open window sailed the butterfly."
-"i would not have you anything but pretty."
-the wonderful evolution of a caterpillar, or grub, into a beautifully winged creature must inspire admiration in every one. more marvellous still is the growth of the human soul which in many respects resembles the development of the butterfly. it is this thought which has induced the author to attempt to depict the transformation of a careless maiden into noble womanhood.
-in this first book, the process has begun. there are heart burnings, and troubles of girlhood. in the second book, the journeyings and adventures with her father, together with her development of character are treated. the third, and final volume, takes up the bursting into glorious womanhood of the girl, glorified by the coming of love.
-for the curious facts and superstitions regarding butterflies woven into the story, the author desires to acknowledge her indebtedness to dr. w. j. holland's butterfly book, which is a compendium of knowledge on the subject. that the story may meet with favor, and inspire young hearts with an appreciation of these beautiful insects is the hope of the author.
-l. f. m.
-new york city.
-bee and butterfly
-an impulse of mischief
-"when to mischief mortals bend their will, how soon they find fit instruments of ill."
---pope. rape of the lock.
-it was four o'clock. the little town of louisiana, missouri, had slumbered all afternoon in the spring sunshine, but woke suddenly to life as the doors of the big brick school house opened, and the boys and girls poured forth. as the outgoing stream of pupils reached the gate several high school girls left the line, and withdrawing a short distance from the others, formed a little group by themselves, standing with faces turned expectantly toward the door of the building as though they were waiting for some one.
-"i wonder why bee doesn't come!" exclaimed one of the girls impatiently as the line dwindled to two or three pupils, and then ceased altogether. "i don't see why she pokes around that old school house so long?"
-"she was going to help professor lawrence with some specimens," spoke a tall girl quickly. "you know bee likes--"
-"bugs," finished the other girl with a shiver. "oo-ooh! i wouldn't handle the worms, and creepy, crawly things that bee raymond does for anything."
-"it isn't bugs at all," answered the tall girl with a trace of indignation in her voice. "it's caterpillars and butterflies. bee's making a special study of them so as to surprise her father when he comes from abroad. he's a lepidopterist, you know, and she is working to fit herself to be his secretary."
-"is he coming home soon, edna?" queried one of the others.
-"not for two more years," responded edna, who seemed to be well informed on the matter. "and just think, girls! bee hasn't seen him for ten years."
-"fancy not seeing one's own father in all that time," remarked the girl who had first spoken. "of course, it's just splendid to get letters from abroad, and to have all those lovely things he sends her; but i don't know, i think i'd rather have my father."
-"why, so would bee," laughed edna. "she's just crazy for him to come home. she--"
-"there she is now," cried one, and with new interest each member of the group turned to look at the girl who at this moment came through the door of the school house.
-beatrice raymond was a slender girl, tall for her fifteen years, with movements full of unconscious grace; for she had always been much in the open air and was accustomed to perfect freedom in her limbs. she could run as fast and jump as far as many boys who "fancied" themselves as athletes. her hair was very dark, very straight, and very abundant. her eyes were large, dark, and expressive; her complexion was dark also and without color. she created the thought in the minds of those observers who looked below the surface that there was intellect--thoughtful, loving, and perhaps unusual intellect. a strap of books was flung over her left shoulder, boy fashion, and her hat was set carelessly on one side of her head. she was laughing as she came to them, and the girls crowded around her eagerly.
-"what's the joke, bee?" cried edna.
-"it's a conundrum," answered beatrice merrily. "professor lawrence just told it to me. see if any of you can answer it: 'why are caterpillars like buckwheat cakes?'"
-"how did you know?" she asked. "professor lawrence just told it to me."
-"why, beatrice raymond, that joke was old before professor lawrence was born," said the one called edna. "it's as old as--as the hills, and may be older for all i know. if you weren't so deep in that old butterfly book you would have heard it long ago. here! let me fix that hat. what would your aunt annie say if you were to come home with it at an angle of forty-five degrees?"
-"is it so bad as all that, edna?" asked bee indifferently. "someway, i never do get my things on right. now adele's are always just so. i do believe that she could dress in the dark, and come out looking as neat as a pin."
-"where is adele, bee? why didn't she come to school this afternoon?"
-"she was not feeling well, so aunt annie thought it best to keep her home," answered beatrice. "aren't you going now, girls? i must hurry."
-"oh, bee! why?" came from the group in a chorus. "we've been waiting for you ever so long so that you could go with us to edna's. do come! it won't be any fun unless you do."
-"i can't," replied bee. "i'd like to ever so much, but i must finish my letter to father. it has to be written today so that it can reach new york in time for saturday's steamer."
-"will you come tomorrow then?" asked edna. "you and adele too."
-"yes, if aunt annie doesn't mind. now i must go. good-bye, girls."
-"bee," called one as beatrice started on at a brisk walk.
-"well?" bee paused good naturedly.
-"edna was telling us how long your father had been away, and i want to ask you if you think he would know you if he were to meet you unexpectedly?"
-"oh, sue, that's mean!" came from the girls in shocked tones. "don't answer her, bee."
-"but i don't ask for meanness," went on sue apologetically as she saw the look that came into bee's eyes. "i really want to know."
-"why, of course he would know me," uttered bee hastily. "i'm his daughter."
-"yes; but--" began the irrepressible sue, when edna caught her about the waist and pressed one hand firmly over her mouth.
-"go on, bee," she cried. "i'll attend to her. you'll have to hurry if you get home in time to finish that letter."
-beatrice turned, and slowly went on her way. her uncle's house, where she lived, was in the western outskirts of the town more than a mile distant from the school. it behooved her to hasten if she were to finish her letter before tea time, but that question of sue's had set her to thinking.
-on the death of her mother, ten years before, her father, overwhelmed with grief at his loss, had accepted an offer to go abroad to complete a collection of lepidoptera for union university, leaving her in charge of his brother's family. his letters had been frequent, and so tender and loving that the question of recognition had never occurred to her.
-the houses became fewer as beatrice reached the edge of town where the main street became a turnpike with green fields on either side, and a clear view of the distant hills. it was a beautiful april day. at the opening of the month spring had smiled invitingly; then, as though repenting her forwardness, she had retreated for a time, advancing again with coy hesitancy until today all her windows were open toward summer. in the zenith was a blue so soft and dreamy that it drew the soul as well as the eye toward it. a haze of tyrian hue purpled the hills that encircled the little town, and mellowed the glory of the sunshine. there were splashes of green in the meadows so delicate as to be almost yellow, and along the brooks the willows played their fast greening boughs against a background of gray wood color. the very earth was odorous and the air was like balm, but beatrice, usually susceptible to the beauties of nature, was in too abstracted a mood to be conscious of the loveliness about her.
-"but of course he would know me," she told herself at length, reassuringly. "why, i should know him, and i was only five years old when he went away."
-and with this she laughed aloud that she should have been so foolish as to consider for even a moment the absurd possibility of her father's not knowing her, and with her customary brightness of spirit restored she quickened her steps, and soon reached her uncle's place.
-there were many acres in the estate. henry raymond was a well to do lawyer, and the walk to the dwelling lay through a large orchard. as bee came in sight of the house the door opened, and a girl, about her own age, came out on the piazza, and ran down the steps to meet her. she was an extremely pretty girl. a slim graceful figure was hers, with a proud little head and sunny, shining hair that hung about her face with its beautiful blue eyes like a halo. she seemed rather the personification of loveliness than a flesh and blood maiden.
-"what made you so late, bee?" she cried. "i have been watching for you fully an hour."
-"i staid to help professor lawrence for one thing; then the girls stopped me to talk with them. they want us to go to edna's tomorrow afternoon. will you be well enough to go, adele?"
-"oh, i'm all right now, bee. papa came home early with a box of chocolates, and that seemed to be just what i needed."
-"you butterfly," she said. "always feeding on sweets. did you leave me any?"
-"well--" adele raymond hesitated. "not many, and that's a fact, bee. you shouldn't have kept me waiting so long. and you haven't even noticed that i have on a new hat."
-"but i thought that yours had violets on it," remarked bee as she glanced at the hat. "that has red roses."
-"well, this one is yours, goosey. you're a funny girl, bee, not to know your own hat. i have been trying mine on, then i thought i'd wear yours to meet you. and oh, bee! the pictures have come too."
-"what? our photographs?" exclaimed bee eagerly.
-"why aunt annie thought that we wouldn't have them for a week yet. where are they, adele?"
-"in the library. i never knew you to be so concerned about your picture before, bee."
-"i am going to send one to father," observed bee as she hurried into the house. "it's come just in time to go out with the letter."
-"but do come up stairs first, bee, and see my new hat. wouldn't you like to see it?"
-"i'd rather see the pictures," answered bee making a dash for the library, flinging her hat in one direction and her books in another as she did so.
-"mamma won't like it if she sees your things lying about," observed her cousin following her into the library.
-"i'll pick them up just as soon as i see the photographs," said bee impatiently as she took up the pictures.
-"oh, adele! how pretty you do look in yours; but mine--oh, dear! it certainly leaves much to be desired."
-"mamma said that your good looks lay in your expression," remarked her cousin. "that is what makes it so hard to get a good picture of you, bee. you are not going to send it to uncle william, are you?"
-"yes," answered bee with determination. "i never would send one before because i always hoped to get a good one, but tonight sue ford asked me if i thought he would know me if he were to meet me unexpectedly, and i am going to make sure of it. now, if you don't mind, adele, i'll begin my letter at once."
-"oh, bee. i have been so lonely and dull," pleaded adele. "must you write it this very minute?"
-"if i don't he won't hear from me at all this month, and father insists on hearing once a month. it is such a little thing to do for him, and i love to please him. it won't take me long."
-"of course then i must go away, and leave you alone," said her cousin petulantly. "mamma doesn't want me to bother you when you are writing to him; but please don't be long, bee."
-"i won't," promised bee, and at last she was left in peace.
-an hour later adele opened the door the merest trifle to peep in: "mamma wants you to come to her just as soon as you have finished bee," she said. "are you through?"
-"i have written the letter, but i haven't fixed the envelope for the picture yet," answered beatrice jumping up from the desk. "if you don't mind doing it for me, adele, i'll see what aunt annie wants."
-"i don't mind a bit, bee." adele came into the room quickly. "where is the address?"
-"here!" bee moved a slip of paper on the desk toward her. "he is to be in egypt this month."
-"just think of it," commented adele bending over the desk. "that's a long way off. shall i put the picture in for you, bee?"
-but bee had already left the room. adele directed the envelope in her best hand, then picked up her cousin's photograph, and looked at it critically.
-"poor bee!" she said aloud. "it isn't very good of her. i'd hate to have my father think i looked like that if he was far away from me. and bee is much better looking. i suppose uncle william won't mind though, as she is his daughter. now if it were my picture--"
-she placed her own picture beside that of bee's, and gazed at it complacently. suddenly she gave a little ripple of laughter:
-"wouldn't it be fun to send my picture instead of bee's?" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "i believe i'll do it. bee will never know, and hers is really not good enough to send."
-with this she slipped bee's photograph into a drawer of the desk, placed her own in the envelope, and sealed it just as bee re-entered the room.
-"you're a dear!" exclaimed bee taking it from her, and picking up her letter. "aunt annie wants me to go down town for her, and i'll be just in time for the night mail."
-the omen of the butterfly
-"light and silv'ry cloudlets hover in the air as yet scarce warm; mild, with glimmer soft tinged over, peeps the sun through fragrant balm."
-may song. goethe.
-"i am so glad that i sent it," exclaimed beatrice again and again after posting the letter and the photograph. "father has always wanted my picture, but i waited hoping that sometime i'd get a good one. still, it will give him an idea of how i look even though it is a poor likeness. i do wonder if he will like it!"
-and with a roguish smile adele would answer: "i think so, bee."
-the days passed. with more than her usual impatience bee waited for an answer to her letter. if the connections were prompt, if he were not away from civilization on an extended butterfly hunt, if he wrote just as soon as he received it, she ought to hear by the last of may, she told herself; so, having arrived at this conclusion, she tried to rest in patience until that time should come.
-at length the timid beauties of april were merged into the exuberance of the leaf and flower of may, and nature was resplendent in the full glory of the springtide. the last day of the month fell upon a saturday, and early in the morning of that day bee dressed herself to go into town for the mail. seating herself upon the steps of the piazza to wait for adele who was to accompany her she feasted her eyes upon the beauty of the orchard whose trees seemed like great pink and white bouquets set in the ground. suddenly a puff of wind stirred the branches, and sent the petals of the apple blossoms flying in every direction.
-"dear me!" exclaimed the girl springing up from the steps in pretended dismay as a shower of the fragrant blooms deluged her. "snow in may! i told adele that it would be christmas before she was ready. come out, and see the storm, aunt annie."
-a lady standing just inside a long french window which opened upon the porch came through it to her niece's side.
-"what an idea!" she said in a clear musical voice.
-"get the broom, bee, and sweep off the steps. i shall be glad when the blossoms are gone. they make such a litter."
-"why, aunt annie, glad when the blossoms are gone? you can't mean it. just look at those trees! did you ever see anything so pretty?"
-"they are pretty enough, child," returned mrs. raymond carelessly. "there! cease your rhapsodies, and get the broom. when you have seen as many springs as i have you won't be quite so ecstatic over them."
-"i believe that i'll always feel just as i do now," declared bee as she ran for the broom. "when the trees begin to bud something gets into my being that makes me feel like--like--oh, like alexander the great: that i could conquer the world."
-"it's the wine of youth in your blood, bee." the lady smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. "that's what it is to be young. you are very like your father."
-"am i, auntie?" beatrice flushed with pleasure.
-"yes. at least you are in regard to your feeling for nature. he sees beauty in everything; or used to do so. it seems to be a family trait of the raymonds. i don't notice it so much in adele; but then she takes after my people."
-"perhaps it is because she is so beautiful herself," remarked bee meditatively. "i've noticed that people don't prize what they themselves possess."
-"don't say that, bee. you are far from being homely," spoke mrs. raymond graciously, noting a trace of wistfulness in her niece's tone. "beside, 'beauty is only skin--'"
-"yes; i know, aunt annie. spare me!" the girl put her hand in laughing protest over her aunt's mouth. "still, i wouldn't mind having the skin. i just believe that that saying, and the other: 'handsome is as handsome does,' were invented by some ugly old thing with a skin as yellow as a pumpkin. oh, here is adele at last!"
-mrs. raymond laughed, and turned toward the door through which her daughter came, her face aglow with pride.
-"beatrice has been ready a long time," she chided, the gentleness of her tone softening the reproof. "you should not have kept her waiting, my daughter, when this is the day she is expecting a letter from her father."
-"don't scold her, auntie," pleaded bee gazing at her cousin with admiring eyes. "oh, adele! how do you make yourself look so pretty?"
-adele smiled, well pleased. she was accustomed to being told of her beauty, but she never wearied of the homage it exacted.
-"you look nice too, bee," she said condescendingly with a glance of approval at beatrice's white robed figure. "aren't you going to wear any hat?"
-"i am going to carry it until we reach the road." bee caught up a broad brimmed leghorn from a chair, and held it carelessly by the strings. "i don't like to wear one any more than i have to. i'll beat you to the gate, adele."
-"a race?" adele drew her brows together in a prim little frown. "such great girls as we are. why, we are almost young ladies! it would not be proper."
-"bother propriety!" ejaculated her cousin. "there is a whole year before we are sixteen. we don't need to give up running until then. do we, auntie?"
-"no;" answered her aunt indulgently. "be girls just as long as you can. you will be young ladies soon enough. i wish adele would take more exercise."
-"just through the orchard then," cried adele catching up her skirts daintily. "here goes! oh, bee!"
-"what's the matter?" asked bee, surprised.
-"no wonder you could be dressed before i was," exclaimed adele in shocked tones. "there are three buttons of your dress unfastened."
-"are there?" bee backed up to her unconcernedly. "do button them, like a dear. i never was good at closing exercises."
-adele giggled appreciatively.
-"professor lawrence says that closing exercises should be marked by decorum as well as dispatch," she remarked in didatic accents. "i observe the dispatch, miss raymond, but i must say--"
-"oh, hurry up," interrupted bee impatiently. "what's a button more or less on such a glorious day as this? come on, or i shall run a race with my shadow."
-"catch me then." adele darted away quickly. "if i beat i shall read your letter first."
-"good-bye, dears," called mrs. raymond after them. "don't let her beat you, bee."
-"i won't, auntie," beatrice paused long enough to say, and then sped after her cousin.
-there were ripples of sunshine all tangled over the bowers of apple blooms, and dancing blithely over the mats of blue violets in the grass. gold belted honeybees hummed a song of contentment in every flowery cluster. gauze-winged dragon flies darted hither and thither, while butterflies sailed by on new born wings of bronze, and scarlet and gold. the wind laughed a gleeful accompaniment to the merry maidens who ran gaily down the path o'ershadowed by the trees. adele's graceful form was in the lead, but beatrice was gradually gaining upon her. at length, as they were nearing the edge of the orchard, bee gave an exultant shout and passed her cousin, reaching the gate just ahead of her.
-"weren't you awfully afraid that i'd get to read that letter?" laughed adele as, flushed and panting, she leaned against the gate. "how fast you do run, bee! i am all out of breath."
-"so am i," admitted bee. "we will have time to rest for a moment before going on to the office. take off your hat, and you will soon be cool." she swung her own back and forth by the strings as she spoke.
-"i'm afraid of freckles," sighed her cousin.
-"gracious!" ejaculated bee, quickly putting her hat on her head. "i had forgotten all about freckles. how can you always remember, adele?"
-"perhaps if you had to take the care of your skin that i do, you would not forget either."
-"but don't you ever get tired of it? i should think that you would want to go bareheaded sometimes."
-"i would, bee; but i like to keep my skin nice too. one can't do both."
-"can't one?" asked bee thoughtfully. "i should think that the skin would need air and sunshine just like the flowers, and the butterflies, and all other pretty growing things."
-"mamma always puts her lillies in the shade, doesn't she?" queried adele laughing. "it keeps them white, and that's the reason she tells me to keep on my hat. tan and freckles may be healthful, but they are not pretty. at least she doesn't think so. do you know the reason that i always give dolly madison as my favorite character in history, bee?"
-"no. i have wondered about it. i should think you would prefer queen elizabeth, or joan of arc, or somebody like them. i like women who do things. miss rosa bonheur, miss herschel, or grace darling suit me better."
-"well, i like dolly best because i sympathize with her. when she was a little girl her mother cut holes in her sunbonnet, and tied her hair through them so that she couldn't throw it off. she had a pretty skin too, and her mother didn't want it to get tanned, or sun-burned. i always think of what dolly had to go through whenever i want to throw off my hat, and it helps me to keep it on. i know just how she felt about that everlasting bonnet. but after a while, you know, she became the mistress of the white house."
-bee laughed outright.
-"is that the reason that you are taking such good care of your complexion?" she asked teasingly. "i never thought it of you, adele."
-"laugh if you want to," retorted adele.
-"isn't professor lawrence always telling the boys that one of them may be president of the united states some day, and that every one of them is eligible? now the president has to have a wife, doesn't he? well, i never could see why a girl mightn't look forward to being the mistress of the white house as well as a boy might expect to be president."
-"if having a perfect complexion is one of the essentials toward becoming the mistress of the white house you are right in line for the position," said bee wiping her eyes. "never mind, adele! i was just having a little fun. your skin is lovely, and i expect i would be just as careful as you are if it were mine. i wonder how it would feel to be a beauty!"
-"it's a great responsibility," declared adele with a toss of her head. "there is so much to live up to. if i am the least bit untidy some one is sure to say: 'such a pretty girl should always be neat and dainty.' or, 'beauty and dirt don't go together, my dear.' while you--you can be as careless as you wish, and no one thinks anything about it."
-"i am not so sure about that." bee shook her head dubiously. "aunt annie is always taking me to task for my untidiness. and there is much demanded of me in other ways. if you are expected to be neat and dainty at all times, i am urged to be industrious."
-"'how doth the little busy bee improve each shining hour, and gather honey all the day from every opening flower!'"
-quoted adele in a sing-song tone. "isn't that what the girls are always saying, bee? i never see you flying about the house helping mamma, or running errands, or pouring over your books that i don't think of the 'little busy bee.' now i can't find time to do anything except to dress, and to keep myself looking nice."
-"well, a butterfly is not expected to do anything but to fly in the sun, and be happy," laughed bee. "and you are like a golden and white butterfly, adele. bees must make honey. they are too homely to do anything else, while butterflies--"
-"speaking of butterflies," interrupted adele quickly. "there is one just about to light on your head."
-"what kind is it?" queried beatrice holding her head very still, and speaking anxiously. "i hope it isn't a cabbage butterfly. i shouldn't like to think that even a butterfly would take my head for a cabbage."
-"it's yellow and black, bee. is that the cabbage butterfly? i don't know as much about such things as you do."
-"the cabbage butterfly is white. has it settled yet?"
-"yes." adele watched as a yellow and black swallow tail poised gently upon bee's head for a moment, and then flew away. "there! it's gone."
-"that's a good omen," declared bee turning toward the gate. "whenever a butterfly lights on your head it means favorable news from a distance. there will be something good in father's letter, i know. come, adele! lets hurry so that we can get it."
-adele straightened her hat a little, and then the two girls set off for the postoffice.
-the good news
-"as cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country."
-"suppose there shouldn't be a letter," remarked adele suggestively as the cousins entered the postoffice. "what would you do?"
-"but there will be," answered bee confidently. "in all the years that he has been away father has not failed to send me a letter once a month. even though it may not be an answer to my last, i'll get a letter."
-she was not disappointed. there was a letter for her, and adele received one also.
-"let's hurry to the old elm tree so that we can read them," cried adele. "i wonder who mine's from? i didn't expect a letter."
-beatrice assented readily. the old elm tree stood by the side of the road just outside the town and was a favorite resting place for pedestrians. it did not take the girls long to reach the spot, so eager were they to read their letters. beatrice threw herself down on the grass without ceremony, and tore open her epistle. adele sank down with a graceful and effective arrangement of her draperies. before she had quite completed the adjustment she was startled by an exclamation from her cousin.
-"what is it, bee?" she asked, looking up curiously.
-"he is coming home," cried bee jumping up and dancing about wildly. "oh, my father is coming home!"
-"is he?" ejaculated adele excitedly. "what does he say? do be quiet, bee? sit down and read me the letter, or let me read it."
-"i'll read it to you," answered bee, kissing the missive rapturously. "i'll read it in a minute. oh, oh, oh! i'm so happy i could fly."
-she grew quiet presently, however, and seating herself again, began to read:
-"cairo, egypt, may 16th, 19--.
-"my dear little daughter:--
-"when you receive this letter your father will be nearer to you than he has been for many a day. child, i am coming home. yes; after all these years i am returning to you. how long i shall remain is problematical, as i have not yet completed my investigation of the lepidoptera of tropical countries. however, that is a matter that may be left to the future.
-"another two years would have terminated my task, but such a longing has come to me to behold my little daughter who must now be almost a woman that i have dropped everything, and am coming to her as swiftly as steam can carry me.
-"no doubt you have often wondered that i should have left you, and the subject has been too painful to me to discuss; but now, you are old enough to understand my reasons. when your mother died she left a void in my life that nothing but the most engrossing occupation could make me forget. change of scene was an absolute necessity for me; and so, when union university wished to send an entomologist to study the habits of moths and butterflies of other countries, i was glad indeed when it was proposed that i should be the one to go. you were but five years old, and needed a woman's care more than mine, so i left you with your uncle's family. i still think it was the best thing i could have done.
-"i thought that it would be an easy matter to stay away for twelve, or even more years, but lately there have come to me sweet visions of a daughter's companionship, and nature will no longer be denied. it is partly your letters which have wrought this change. they have been so bright, so clever, so amusing, that you must have a mind of unusual intelligence. i said 'partly your letters'; for the receipt of your photograph completed what the letters had begun.
-"i can not resist the winsomeness of your picture, so i am coming back to get acquainted with you, and perhaps we shall discover a mutual companionship and affection.
-"are you like your mother, i wonder, or do you take after me? i can not tell by your picture, but i think--no; i shall not tell you what i think until i see you.
-"so, little girl, get your aunt and uncle to go over to our house to open it up, and to make it habitable for living. if nothing happens i shall be with you on the evening of the fifteenth of june. i am writing henry, also, by this mail.
-"hoping to see you soon, i am "your most loving father, "william raymond."
-"he is coming," ended bee with a little sob. "my own, own father."
-"i am glad," spoke adele, but her voice was weak as she said it. into her face had come a look of dismay as bee read what her father had said of the "winsomeness of the picture." an impulse came to her to confess to her cousin what she had done, but she was fearful of what bee might say. she had not thought that it would have this effect. and so she sat quieter than her wont while bee gave vent to her delight.
-"you don't know how i've felt at times, adele," said bee. "i've almost envied you your father. when uncle henry has kissed you, and petted and indulged you it hasn't seemed fair that i couldn't have my father. but i never told you before, and i didn't tell any one. i knew father wouldn't stay away unless he thought it was right, and i see now just why he did it. i'll tell him that i don't blame him a bit. and we'll just love each other all the more for being apart so long."
-and so, with tears and laughter mingling together, bee rejoiced. a meadow lark flew, across the road, alighted on a twig and sang to them. an oriole peeped at them saucily from his perch on a near-by tree, then whistled playfully, "sweet, do you hear? sweet, sweet, do you hear?" and bee threw back her head caught his note, and answered joyfully, "i hear. i hear. sweet, sweet."
-"how much uncle william thinks of you, bee," observed adele presently. "and he seems to be so pleased with your mind. scientific people think so much of intellect, don't they?"
-"i wonder if they do?" mused bee. "i don't believe that they are much different from other people. and after all it is not my mind that is bringing him home, but my picture. oh, i wish that i had sent it long ago."
-adele winced. "he'll find you awfully clever, bee."
-"you dear!" exclaimed bee leaning forward to kiss her. "you are just as sweet as you are pretty."
-"sue ford said the other day that i was sweet because i did not have sense enough to be anything else," observed adele.
-"the mean thing!" cried bee. "sue says lots of things, although i am glad that she said what she did about father's not knowing me. if she had not said that i would have thought that my picture was not good enough to send, and father wouldn't be coming home. still, i don't like her saying that you have no sense."
-"oh, i don't mind," said adele, biting a blade of grass meditatively. after all, it did not matter so much about the picture. when her uncle william came she would tell them that she did it for fun, and they would have a good laugh. bee wouldn't mind at all when her father was really with her. so, quite restored to her usual complacency, she continued; "i know that i am not clever like you, or sue, or some of the other girls; and when i see how worried you get over your examinations i am glad that i'm not. bee, does uncle william know that you have studied up butterflies?"
-"no; i was going to tell him when i answered this letter. i expect that he will laugh at my specimens. dear father!"
-she lingered over the word as though she liked to say it. all at once she rose with a little cry. "we must go home, adele. aunt annie ought to know about father at once, so that she can make the necessary arrangements about going to walnut grove. to think of being in my own home with my own father so soon!"
-"bee," said adele slipping her arm through her cousin's as they walked homeward, "will you let me wear your new hat sunday?"
-"yes;" assented bee abstractedly. she was accustomed to having adele wear her new things, though adele did not wish to lend her own.
-"and your bracelet?" went on adele, seeing that bee was too absorbed to care what she promised.
-"anything you wish, adele," answered beatrice impatiently. "only let's hurry. aunt annie won't like it if we loiter too long after knowing about father."
-adele complied willingly, and the rest of the distance was accomplished quickly. bee paused at the orchard gate.
-"listen how the birds are singing," she cried. "do you suppose that they know that father is coming?"
-"you goosey!" laughed her cousin. "they were singing when we went out."
-"not like this, adele. just listen!"
-a riot of happiness in quivering bursts of song came from the leafy boughs of the trees. cardinal, oriole, tawny thrush and gold-finch seemed to vie with each other in pouring forth the sweetest melody.
-"how happy they are," cried bee. "almost as happy as i am. and it was just here that the butterfly lighted on my head. i'll always believe that omen after this because i did have good news. why, there is auntie!"
-"what news, children?" called mrs. raymond as she came through the trees toward them.
-"the best in the world," answered beatrice waving her letter excitedly. "father is coming home! he will be here by the fifteenth of june, and we are to go over to our house to get things ready for him. will you go? will uncle henry be able to leave court, and come too?"
-"william coming home?" mrs. raymond stopped in her surprise. "is it possible? what does he say? let me read the letter."
-"here it is," cried bee handing it to her. "he is really coming. oh, aren't you glad, glad?"
-"indeed i am. for all our sakes, but most of all for yours. i have thought for some time that it was his duty, and i am glad that he sees it at last."
-"bee is awfully keen to leave us," spoke adele reproachfully. "you will have to live with your father now, bee, and you won't be with me at all."
-"you won't lose me quite, adele." bee was surprised and touched by the speech. it was not often that her cousin showed so much affection for her as she had done that day. "the only difference will be that we won't be in the same house. walnut grove is near enough to see each other often. won't we have good times together? i am so happy!"
-"henry will be pleased too," smiled her aunt. "i presume he has his letter already. bee, you will tire yourself if you keep capering about so. you don't remember your father at all, do you?"
-"yes;" answered bee with passionate intentness. "of course, i know him from his letters, and then i remember how he used to carry me. his eyes are dark, but he doesn't look a bit like me. i know that he is handsome, and distinguished, and oh, i'd know him anywhere!"
-"well, he is all that, but you must have heard us speak of it. you were but five when he left, and could not possibly remember all those things. we must go over to the grove tomorrow, i think, to see what is to be done. henry can come when court adjourns. there won't be any too much time to get everything in readiness. the house has been closed for so long that there will be a great deal to do. servants must be hired for both house and grounds."
-"i don't want any servants, auntie," protested her niece. "i want to keep house for father myself. you know that he wanted me to learn, and i want him to see how well i can do it."
-"that is all very well, beatrice, but you must have a strong capable woman to help you," said mrs. raymond decidedly. "william raymond is a fastidious man, and there must be an experienced cook in the kitchen."
-"how much you know about him," murmured bee half enviously. "tell me everything you can, auntie."
-"come into the house then. we will have lunch, and devote the whole afternoon to william. we could have no more delightful subject," declared the lady, willing for once to indulge bee's insatiable desire to hear all she could about her father. "i am quite sure that it will be but a repetition of what i have already told you many times, but you will listen with new interest today."
-a jest becomes earnest
-"to mourn a mischief that is past and gone, is the next way to draw new mischief on."
-"dear, dear! will evening never come!" exclaimed beatrice, pushing back her hair impatiently and looking at the clock in the hall for the third time in five minutes.
-"don't you know that the days are longer in june, bee?" asked adele in mock surprise.
-"isn't there anything that you can do, beatrice?" mrs. raymond glanced up from her embroidery. "occupation of some sort is the best remedy for restlessness."
-"everything is done, auntie. i've even set the table for dinner, and it's only five o'clock. three long hours before he comes! what shall i do?"
-"it will take nearly all that time to dress," remarked adele rising.
-"how do you manage it, adele? i need only fifteen minutes."
-"which explains your usual fly-away look," observed her aunt quietly. "it would do no harm to expend more pains upon your toilet, beatrice. a girl cannot be too careful of her personal appearance. this evening of all others you should desire to look your best."
-"i do, auntie; so i will begin to get ready right now," replied bee, following her cousin out of the room.
-it was the fifteenth of june, and everything was in readiness for doctor raymond's homecoming. he had always objected to a tenant in his home, so the dwelling had been left in charge of caretakers. each year, however, walnut grove, as the old vine-clad house was called, had enjoyed a thorough house-cleaning under mrs. raymond's supervision; but never before had it undergone such a furious renovation. paint and floors were scoured; walls swept; beds shaken and sunned, and furniture polished. the grounds, too, had received attention as the neat appearance of lawn and garden could testify. the last day of waiting left nothing to do to beguile the dragging hours.
-mrs. raymond settled herself for a quiet time after the departure of the girls, but she was not long left alone. her calm was shortly broken by the reappearance of her niece.
-"i've been just as long as ever i could be," cried bee, skimming lightly across the room to the lady's side. "i've brushed my hair until the roots are visible, and if there is a button unfastened anywhere about me it would take a search warrant to find it. will i do, auntie?"
-her aunt suppressed a smile, and looked at her critically. the girl was looking unusually well. she wore a gown of shimmering white which clung to her lithesome figure in soft folds. a single red rose nestled caressingly in her hair and supplied the touch of color needful. excitement lent a flush to her cheek and an added lustre to her eye so that she appeared animated and even brilliant.
-"you never looked so well in your life, bee," approved mrs. raymond. "why, you are almost beautiful."
-"as if i could ever be that," laughed bee, giving her a bearish hug and a resounding kiss. "although, if anything in the world could transform me into a beauty it would be father's coming. there, aunt annie! i am going to leave you in peace. i am going into the garden and walk to the arbor vitae hedge. it will take five minutes to walk there, and five to come back. if i do that six times one hour will be gone."
-"oh, youth! impatient, restless youth!" ejaculated the lady as the girl danced out of the room.
-the sun sank to rest. the gorgeous hued clouds of sunset lost their brilliancy under the approach of gray twilight, and were folded upon the breast of evening. low in the west hung the silvery crescent of the young moon; and near, vieing with it in brightness, shone the soft radiance of the evening star--first wanderer in the train of night. the twilight shadows lengthened. the odorous breeze, scented with honeyed clover and the perfume of roses, grew languid in its sweetness, and presently died away. great dusky moths drifted silently about the half-closed flowers, and from the hedge sounded the plaintive notes of a whip-poor-will.
-"you will not have much longer to wait, bee," comforted mrs. raymond, coming out on the verandah where the girl had taken her stand. "i heard the train quite a while ago, so they will soon be here. they are later than henry thought they would be. you are not nervous, are you?"
-"no; that is, i don't know," answered bee, her head bent in a listening attitude. "oh, auntie! what makes the minutes seem so long when one is waiting for something good to happen? they go fast enough at other times."
-"it is one of those things that can't be explained, child," answered mrs. raymond gravely. "you remember the old proverb: 'a watched pot never boils'? but it won't be much longer. try to possess your soul in patience for just a short time. he will soon be here now. it grows dark, doesn't it? the dinner will be quite late. had we not better go inside?"
-"you may, auntie, but i want to stay right here so as to get the first glimpse of him."
-"i think i will, bee. the air seems damp, and i am beginning to feel some of your nervousness. adele is singing in the parlor. i think i'll join her."
-"do," said bee briefly.
-the darkness grew denser, but bee still lingered on the porch, her form half hidden by the vines. presently the sound of wheels was heard down the drive, and she started forward eagerly, then paused overcome by a sudden shyness. mrs. raymond hastened to the door, and stepped to the girl's side.
-"come," she called as beatrice shrank behind her.
-a carriage came rapidly out of the darkness, and drew up before the entrance. before it had fairly stopped the door opened, and a man sprang from it. quickly he ran up the steps just as adele appeared in the doorway, the broad white light of the hall lamp shining about her yellow hair like a halo, making her face with its beautiful eyes look like a cameo in a golden setting.
-"welcome home, william," began mrs. raymond, but her brother-in-law brushed by her with eyes only for the graceful figure beyond.
-"my daughter! my dear little daughter!" he cried, clasping the astonished girl in his arms.
-"how beautiful you are! you are just as i pictured you."
-"oh!" burst from bee in such heartbroken accents that mrs. raymond was galvanized into action.
-"william," she cried, laughing nervously, "you have made a mistake. that is my daughter, adele. beatrice, come and welcome your father."
-beatrice came forward slowly. all the joy and sparkle had gone out of her face, and in its misery it looked dull and heavy.
-"why, why," stammered doctor raymond, glancing from one girl to the other, his disappointment written plainly upon his countenance. "i thought, i certainly thought--"
-"you thought that i was bee, didn't you?" smiled adele, gracefully disengaging herself from his embrace. "it was a funny mistake, as we are not a bit alike. bee is so clever."
-"yes; i dare say." the entomologist was clearly bewildered by the occurrence, and he greeted his own daughter awkwardly in consequence. bee received his caress passively, feeling with unerring intuition his lack of warmth.
-mechanically she followed the others into the parlor, her anguish each moment becoming more intolerable. she could not but remark how her father's eyes were constantly straying toward adele who was fairly radiant. bee had adored her cousin, and had been proud of her beauty; but now, something closely resembling hatred crept into her heart.
-hoping that the cheer and conversation of the table would put matters upon a more genial footing, mrs. raymond ushered them in to dinner. the lady, as well as her husband, had been distressed by the incident, and both viewed with anxiety beatrice's constraint and coldness. the girl was usually the gayest of the gay at table, and so light-hearted that her aunt frequently reproved her for her levity, but now, fearful of losing control of herself, she grew so frigid that there was no thawing her out. the talk was chiefly among the grown people.
-"what are your plans, william?" asked henry raymond.
-"they are uncertain," replied doctor raymond. "i shall be here for the summer at least. i have a great number of specimens to mount and to catalogue, beside some work upon my new book. in fact, i have so much on hand that i fear it will be very lonesome for beatrice. do you not think, my child,--" with a conciliatory smile in bee's direction, and blundering into a second error as even the most learned of men, be they lepidopterists or what not, sometimes will,--"do you not think that you would better have your cousin with you for the summer?"
-"no;" blurted out bee, unable to trust herself to utter more than the single word.
-"why, bless my soul!" ejaculated the scientist, turning an amazed glance upon her. mrs. raymond interposed quickly:
-"beatrice is right, william. it has been long since she has seen you, and you will naturally wish to spend as much time with her as possible. i have already arranged for adele to go to mother's for the summer. she may come to you in the fall; if beatrice wishes."
-"perhaps that will be better," acquiesced the traveller quietly. "and now, as we are all here together, it may be the time and place for explanations. i don't know whether one is due me, or to beatrice; but i do not understand how i received this in place of her picture. can you explain the mistake, my daughter?"
-he drew adele's photograph from the inside pocket of his coat as he spoke, and handed it to bee. she gave an exclamation of astonishment as she saw the beautiful, laughing countenance on the cardboard instead of her own. then she raised her eyes, and gave adele a long, steady look. adele had changed the photographs, and bee knew that it had been done on purpose. she saw that her cousin was a little frightened, and she wondered what explanation she would make.
-adele was frightened. it had not occurred to her that the matter would take on a serious aspect, and she feared to say that she had made the exchange in fun. so she reached over and took the photograph from bee with a hand that trembled slightly.
-"why! it's my picture," she cried with a little hysterical giggle. "what a mistake! i remember now they both came home together, and lay on the desk in the library. they must have gotten mixed some way. it would have been easy to change them."
-"why, so it would," agreed her mother with a relieved expression. "i remember they were on the desk together. bee must have picked up yours, adele, by mistake."
-and adele said not a word about its being her fault. she had no fear of bee's telling either. her cousin had a boy's sense of honor about such things, and unless she herself owned up, the matter would rest between them. so she made no further comment on the subject, and the older people, deeming the affair of no great importance since it was known that a mistake had been made, resumed conversation.
-bee sat silent, her heart swelling almost to bursting. the words of her father's letter rang in her brain: "it is partly your letters that have wrought this change ... and partly your picture, which completed what the letters had begun. i cannot resist its winsomeness."
-it was adele's picture which had brought him home. he would not have come had she sent her own. he had thought the beautiful girl was his daughter, and he was disappointed because she was not. he wanted adele. adele!
-the dinner, on the whole not a successful meal, was over at last. the older people were deep in conversation; the traveller narrating his experiences, the others questioning and exclaiming. bee had pictured just such a scene, but always in fancy she sat close to her father's side with her hand in his, or else his arm was thrown caressingly around her. the reality was so different that it was more than she could bear. seeing that she was unobserved, she rose and stole quietly out of the house.
-the light breeze, breathing of the sweetness of honeysuckles and roses, touched the tops of the walnut trees and dipped down to stir the cool grass beneath them. into the darkness of the grove went the unhappy girl. when she had reached a place where she was out of sight and sound of the house she threw herself down, and gave way to a passion of tears.
-"it's not fair," she sobbed in angry resentment. "she has her father, and her mother too; and now she has to take mine. oh, i can't bear it! i can't bear it!"
-"bee!" adele had seen her cousin leave the house, and had followed her.
-"go away," cried bee, sitting up and speaking vehemently. "go away, adele raymond! i hate you!"
-"i don't see why you should," whimpered adele. "i shouldn't think you would care so much for such a little thing. i shouldn't mind it a bit, if i were in your place."
-"yes, you would," blazed bee. "if you had not seen your father since you were a little girl, and when he came home he thought some one else was you, you wouldn't like it a bit more than i do. adele raymond, you changed those pictures on purpose."
-"it was only in fun, bee. truly, i did not mean it any other way. i never dreamed that your father would come back just because of it."
-"but you did know that if he thought the picture was mine he would think i was pretty. how could he help it? it would give him a wrong idea of how i looked, and when he came he would be disappointed. you knew that. and then you ran out just as soon as you heard the carriage."
-"i didn't do that on purpose anyway, bee. i was singing, you know, when i heard the wheels, and i ran out without thinking."
-"but i heard aunt annie tell you to wait in the parlor until i had greeted father," went on bee accusingly. "you ran right out to the door where the light would fall on you, so that he could not help but see you first. it was done on purpose. i know it was. i'll never trust you again in anything."
-"i didn't think," said adele again. "i didn't know that he was going to take me for his daughter, even though i did send him my picture. anyway you ought to be glad that i sent it. he would not have come if i hadn't."
-"that's just it," uttered bee with a pitiful sob. "if it were just a mistake of the moment i could get over it, even though that would be bad enough. but it's knowing that he poured over your picture, thinking that it was his daughter. it's knowing that he was glad that you were beautiful when i am not. it's knowing that it was for you that he came home, and not for me at all. oh! he never will care for an ugly old thing like me now."
-"yes, he will. everybody likes you best when they know us both for a time. then your mind--"
-"bother the mind!" ejaculated the other girl fiercely. "mind doesn't count. it's only being pretty that counts, and you know it, adele raymond. doesn't everyone indulge you just because you are pretty? and now my father--and he's the only father i've got, too--now he's just like everybody else. oh, i hate you!"
-"i don't want you to hate me, bee," cried adele, her own tears beginning to flow. "you never cared before that i was pretty."
-"i wouldn't care now if father didn't--didn't--" bee broke down completely, unable to finish.
-"won't you be friends, bee?" pleaded adele.
-"no; i won't," answered bee with decision.
-"and won't you let me stay with you this summer? i don't like grandma's. it's poky there." adele never once mentioned bee's telling who had changed the pictures. she knew without asking that bee would not.
-"i don't want you here," replied bee angrily. "you want to stay because father admires you, but you shan't do it. i want him to myself, and i've a right to have him. he's my father!"
-"please, bee," coaxed adele. bee always gave in to her pleadings, and she could not believe that she would not do so now.
-"i am going to my room," announced beatrice, rising. "and i don't want to be followed there."
-she walked abruptly away, leaving adele weeping softly.
-"attempt the end, and never stand to doubt, nothing's so hard but search will find it out."
-the next day mr. and mrs. henry raymond with adele went home. for the first time in their lives the girls took leave of each other with coldness. the older people affected not to notice the lack of warmth in their adieus, believing that time and absence would heal the breach between them. before their departure mrs. raymond had called her niece to her for a little talk.
-"bee, dear," she said, "you don't know how sorry i am for what has occurred. it was a most unfortunate mistake, but you must put all thought of it out of your mind. be your own bright self again."
-"i want to be pretty, aunt annie," burst from bee, whose eyes were swollen and red from much weeping.
-"that is nonsense, beatrice," spoke her aunt sharply. "you cannot change your looks. 'what can't be cured must be endured.' your personal appearance heretofore has caused you no concern, and there is no reason that it should begin to trouble you now. beauty is not everything. sometimes the plainest countenance becomes charming when stirred by the emotions of a noble heart."
-"yes; i know," said beatrice dully. "i know all that. i've heard it ever since i can remember. my father would say the same thing, i dare say, yet his eyes follow adele constantly, and he scarcely looks at me. people are always preaching how little beauty matters, and then they turn round and show that it makes all the difference in the world. take adele and me, aunt annie. haven't i always had to stand back for her? you know that i have. i have given up my prettiest things to her, and been second in everything. but she shall not be first with my father. she shall not," she repeated passionately.
-"you do not realize what you are saying, beatrice," said mrs. raymond coldly, surprised and shocked by the girl's bitterness. it was such an ordinary occurrence for adele to be admired that she did not fully grasp what it meant to her niece in the present instance. then, too, beatrice had always seemed to join in the admiration of her cousin so warmly that the lady was astonished at her feeling.
-"i do not see why you should exhibit so much emotion over a simple occurrence," she continued after a moment. "it was a thing that might happen to anyone, and you are exaggerating the importance of it. think no more about it, but make yourself so lovable that no one will care whether you are pretty or not. it lies in your power to win your father's affection, but it can not be done by continuing in your present frame of mind." and bee found herself dismissed.
-soon afterward good-byes were said, and the girl's anguish increased as she saw how reluctant her father seemed to bid adele farewell. to the young all things are tragic, and this which had befallen seemed nothing short of a calamity to bee. at length, however, they were gone, and then doctor raymond turned to his daughter with a smile:
-"well, beatrice, we are to have the house to ourselves, it appears. i presume that you have some studies, or some way by which you can amuse yourself for a few days. i shall be very busy for a time preparing reports, and arranging my specimens for the university; after which i shall be at liberty to make my little girl's acquaintance."
-william raymond did not mean to be cruel; but he was a scientist much absorbed in his work. he did have a great deal before him. perhaps too he was not quite at ease with himself for the warmth which he had discovered toward his niece; perhaps, too, there lurked in his heart a faint feeling of disappointment that his daughter was not the lovely girl who had left in place of this silent, sullen appearing maiden who returned a passive:
-"very well, father."
-poor bee! she had studied butterflies, her father's specialty, on purpose to surprise him. she had thought that he would let her be with him when he unpacked the rare specimens which he had obtained abroad, and she had pictured the delightful chats they would enjoy together.
-the reality was so different from the anticipation that her heart swelled with the injustice of the thing, and she wept until the fountain of her tears was dry. the housekeeping which was to have been her pleasure served now to distract her mind. she threw herself into it with so much fervor as to extort a remonstrance from aunt fannie, the old colored woman who was the head factotum of the kitchen.
-"you all jest a gwine to kill yerse'f," she said reprovingly. "'tain't no mannah ob use to scrub an' scour twel a fly can't stan' up nowhar. take hit easy, miss bee."
-"it's all that i can do for father," responded bee, and the old woman was silenced.
-so the days went by. every morning she saw her father at breakfast, and received his formal greeting as gracefully as she could. the meal over, doctor raymond disappeared in his study to be seen no more until evening. he was never a demonstrative man, and his reserve seemed like indifference to his daughter. beatrice pondered upon his unconcern until she became possessed with the one idea that somehow, some way, she must do something to attract his attention.
-"it's all because i'm not pretty," thought the unhappy child one morning when this state of things had gone on for a week. "i must do something to make him like me; but what?"
-listlessly she took up her butterfly book and turned the pages idly. all at once her eye was caught by these words:
-"one of the most singular and interesting facts in the animal kingdom is what has been styled mimicry. certain colors and forms are possessed by animals which adapt them to their surroundings in such wise that they are in a greater or less degree secured from observation and attack....
-"a good illustration of this fact is found in the disipsus butterfly, which belongs to a group which is not especially protected, but is often the prey of insect-eating creatures. this butterfly has assumed almost the exact color and markings of the milkweed butterfly, which is distasteful to birds, and hence enjoys peculiar freedom from the attacks of enemies. because this adaption of one form to another evidently serves the purpose of defense this phenomenon has been called 'protective mimicry.'"
-"'protective mimicry,'" mused the girl thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair and clasping her hands above her head. "that means if an animal wishes to defend himself from another he just puts on the form of one that his enemy doesn't like. 'actor bugs,' professor lawrence calls them. if that can be done why couldn't any creature put on any form he liked? wouldn't it be funny if a girl could change her appearance every morning just like she does her dress? i could get up then looking just like adele. why!--"
-bee sat up suddenly, startled by the idea which came to her.
-"beatrice raymond," she cried, "you can do it. why it's done every day. didn't emma drew come back from st. louis with golden hair when she had gone away with it black? wasn't mrs. simpson's hair red, and then all at once wasn't it black? and the girls are always doing things to their complexions. why, i can be just like adele if i wish. oh, why didn't i think of it sooner? i've lost a whole week." and with that she jumped up from the chair, went to the mirror, and surveyed herself critically:
-"i could not change my eyes," she mused, "but i don't believe that would matter. adele's are sometimes so dark that they seem black. but oh dear! my complexion is horrid, and my hair is so dark! they would have to be changed. now what is the way to do it?"
-at this moment bee was in need of tender guidance from an older woman. she was a warm-hearted, loving, undisciplined girl; prone to do things on the impulse of the moment which she would afterward deeply regret. she had brooded over the indifference of her father and his apparent preference for her cousin until the matter had assumed gigantic proportions. had it not been for the unfortunate change of photographs, and her father's consequent mistake, the question of looks would never have bothered her. as it was, the idea that if she could make herself like adele, her father could not help but love her, filled her mind to the exclusion of anything else, and she thought of nothing save how the thing could be accomplished. presently she turned from the glass and went down stairs to the kitchen.
-"aunt fanny," she said to the negro woman, "do you know of anything that would make my skin white?"
-"lawsie, chile! what am de mattah wid yer skin? hit am good ernuff," answered aunt fanny.
-"but do you?" persisted bee. "because if you do, and will tell me, i will give you my string of yellow beads. do you know anything?"
-"'cose i does, honey," answered the darkey, her eyes glistening at the mention of the beads. "habn't i larn'd all erbout yarbs?"
-"then please tell me," coaxed the girl.
-"yer want hit like miss adele's?" questioned the old woman shrewdly.
-"yes," answered bee eagerly.
-"all yer has ter do, miss bee, is to git jim'son--yer know jim'son weed, honey?"
-"yes, yes," cried bee impatiently. "go on."
-"yer gits jim'son, an' makes a poultice ob de leabs. war dat ober night on yer face, an' in de mawnin' yer'll be as fair as de lily ob de valley. miss adele can't hole a candle to yer."
-"are you sure, aunt fanny?" questioned bee gleefully.
-"'cose i'se sure. what'd i be tellin' yer fer ef i ain't sure?"
-"and could you make my hair yellow like adele's?"
-"no'm; i cain't do dat. dere's a worman down in de town kin, but i cain't. no'm; i kin do mos' anything, i reckon, but dat."
-"do you mean miss harris, the hairdresser, aunt fanny?" asked bee with sudden enlightenment.
-"yes'um; she'll make yer hair yaller, er red, er anything yer wants hit," returned aunt fanny pompously, proud to be able to give so much information to her young mistress.
-"thank you, thank you," cried bee, springing up joyfully. "i'll get the beads now, and if everything comes out all right i'll give you something nice."
-she ran up to her room, and soon returned with the beads. walnut grove was a few miles farther out on the turnpike than was her uncle henry's place; consequently it was too far from the town to walk. bee chafed at the necessity of waiting until joel could get the buggy ready, so impatient was she to put her new idea into practice. it was brought round at length, however, and soon she found herself entering the only hair dressing shop that the little town afforded.
-"what can i do for you, miss raymond?" asked the proprietress coming forward.
-"miss harris, can you change the color of the hair?" asked the girl abruptly.
-"certainly," answered miss harris, evidently surprised by the query. "why?"
-"because i want you to change the color of mine," spoke bee quickly.
-miss harris hesitated.
-"does your father know of it, miss raymond?"
-"why! he wishes it," declared bee with sincerity.
-"very well then. what color did you wish?"
-"i want it sunny and yellow; with gold lights all through it," answered bee promptly. "can you do it?"
-"yes, miss raymond; but your complexion--"
-"i know," interrupted bee. "it should be fair to go with it. can you help me about it?"
-"no; i only do the hair. i don't know of any here who does treat the skin. it's a small place, you know."
-"yes;" assented bee. silently she watched the deft movements of the woman as she applied the bleach. it was done finally, and bee found herself the possessor of locks as yellow as her cousin's. she eyed the result doubtfully.
-"i like my own best," was her mental comment. "but if it pleases father i don't mind."
-"you understand," said miss harris as the girl prepared to depart, "the application will have to be renewed as the hair grows. otherwise it would be dark at the roots while the ends would be yellow."
-"will it?" asked bee in dismay. "i thought that this was all there was to it."
-"thank you," said beatrice as she left.
-"it's going to take every cent of this month's allowance," she mused as she stopped at a milliner's and ordered a white chip hat with purple pansies for trimming sent home, "but it costs to be a beauty. one must dress for it, adele always says. i always liked her best when she wore great big purple pansies on her hat. now for the jimpson."
-jimpson weeds abounded by the roadside. bee filled the bottom of the buggy with them, and then drove home. ignoring joel's surprised looks the girl reached the house without meeting any one else, and went directly to her room.
-"i won't go down to dinner," was her thought. "i'll burst upon father in the morning like a new being. won't he be surprised?"
-a night of misery
-"man on the dubious waves of error tossed, his ship half foundered and his compass lost, sees, far as human optics many command, a sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land: spreads all his canvas, every sinew plies, pants for it, aims at it, enters it, and dies."
-the night was warm, and beatrice found her poultice exceedingly uncomfortable. she had heaped the leaves on a clean cloth, mashed them to a pulp, spread the mass between two other cloths through which were cut small holes for the eyes and nostrils, and then, with a resolution worthy of a better cause, bound the whole upon her face.
-the juices of the crushed leaves soon wet the mask through and through, making her face wet and sticky. the greenish odor of the weed was sickening, and the poor child found her condition unpleasant to say the least. she tossed restlessly from side to side in the vain effort to find sleep, but slumber fled her call. the night wore on, and the mask became so oppressive that it seemed to stifle her.
-"i can not stand it," she exclaimed at last, springing out of bed. "i can not! i shall smother."
-she reached up to tear off the bandages that bound the suffocating thing on, but paused in the act.
-"i must not give up," she said aloud. "i should be sorry in the morning if i did. i must stand it somehow, even though the night does seem as if it would never end. i must bear it."
-fortified by this determination she drew a chair to the window and tried to distract her thoughts by humming softly to herself.
-"i know," she thought, tiring of this pastime. "i'll see if i can't make up some poetry, and forget all about the horrid thing. if it were not for father i would not stand it for a second. let me see! i have it:
-"bee was an ugly duckling, and adele a princess fair; bee's locks were black and heavy, adele had yellow hair.
-"pshaw! that's sing-songy. i'll try again:
-"adele's hair is sunny and golden, mine is as black as sin; for there's nothing yellow about me excepting my yellow skin.
-"dear, dear! it's most as hard to make rhymes as to be beautiful. how long the night is!"
-"i'll go down and get it," she ejaculated, pleased with the distraction. "if anything will make me forget myself it's the 'woman in white.'"
-suiting the action to the word she lighted a small night lamp, and glided softly down the stairs to the library. turning the knob gently she opened the door, stepped across the threshold, and then--it was a wonder that she did not shriek aloud; for there in the room were two men, one of whom held a bag into which the other was putting the household silver which was piled on the table in front of them. they wore slouch hats drawn well down over their faces, and were working by the light of a dark lantern.
-"it's a sperrit, bill," he cried wildly. "come on, man!"
-bill needed no second bidding. he glanced once more at the startling apparition and followed his comrade.
-"father must not see me," she thought with an hysterical giggle. "i should frighten him, too."
-there was not a moment to lose, so setting her lamp upon the table she crept under the couch and drew back as far as she could, just as her father ran in, followed by aunt fanny, joel her husband, and old uncle billy, the gardener.
-"well, upon my word!" exclaimed dr. raymond. "it's burglars. see, here is the silver. what made them leave it? something scared them. what could it have been?"
-"'twuz a hant," cried aunt fanny, ashy with terror. "didn't you heah 'em say 'twuz a hant?"
-"it certainly sounded that way, but that is nonsense of course. joel, do you come with me, and we will search the grounds. uncle billy, go at once to the stable and see if everything is all right there. aunt fanny will look after the house."
-"lawsie, massa doctah, yer ain't a gwine ter leab me heah, is yer?" queried aunt fanny fearfully.
-"why, there is nothing to hurt you. come on, joel."
-dr. raymond leaped through the window, followed by joel, while uncle billy left for the stable. aunt fanny, left alone, began to soliloquize audibly:
-"hant, eh? i spec' hit's a hant. dis house dun bin shet up too long fer it not to be a hant. dis heah chile ain't a gwine ter stay in no house wid a hant. no, sah; she a gwine ter leab shore yer bo'n. she--"
-"aunt fanny," spoke bee in muffled tones.
-"hush, aunt fanny! it's only bee. don't you know me?"
-beatrice crept out of her hiding place and arose to her feet. aunt fanny gave a suppressed cry and sank back in her chair, staring at the girl in open-eyed wonder.
-"you, you ain't no miss bee," she gasped.
-"yes, i am. i just had my hair fixed at the hairdresser's this afternoon, and i have on that jimpson poultice you told me about. i came down stairs to get a book and frightened the robbers away. i want to go upstairs now before father comes back so he won't see me."
-"yas; go on up stairs," said aunt fanny severely, now completely reassured. "yer pa mustn't see you like dat. he won't 'prove ob no sech doin's, an' i doesn't eider. yaller ha'r! looks like flax! no'm; yer pa oughtn't ter see yer."
-"then don't say a word about seeing me," cautioned bee, turning to go. "you won't, will you?"
-"i ain't gwine ter say nuffin'. 'tain't none ob my lookout ef yer wants ter spile yer ha'r. i ain't gwine ter hab nuffin' ter do wid hit," returned the negress with dignity.
-so, feeling very much like a culprit, bee stole upstairs. presently she heard her father re-enter the house, and soon there came a rap on her door.
-"what is it?" she asked from under the cover which, girl like, she had drawn over her as soon as she was safely in bed.
-"are you all right, beatrice?" came her father's voice.
-"don't be alarmed, but--" dr. raymond hesitated, evidently considering whether it would be best to tell her about the intruders. "you are not nervous, are you?"
-"no----o;" answered bee weakly. she was.
-she would have liked to have somebody cuddle her for a time, but--there was that awful mask.
-"if you should be disturbed about anything, beatrice, just call me. i shall be in the next room, where i shall read for the remainder of the night."
-"thank you, father," said the girl gratefully. "i was afraid, but i won't be now."
-"then good night."
-"good night, father," replied the maiden who little guessed that her father went away from her door wondering and perplexed that she did not come out to speak with him, and to find what was the matter.
-the result of imitation
-"we are much bound to them that do succeed; but, in a more pathetic sense, are bound to such as fail."
-it was morning. the long night with its wretchedness and discomfort had passed, and the bright sunshine full of cheer streamed into the room, athwart the bed where beatrice lay, her features still hidden under the beautifying mask. she stirred uneasily and then opened her eyes.
-"why, it's morning," she exclaimed, jumping up briskly. "thank goodness, i can take off this horrible thing at last. i ought to be fair as a lily after all i've gone through. my, my how funny my face feels!" she untied the fastenings with a sigh of relief, and threw off the poultice thankfully.
-"my skin is sticky and tight," she mused, passing one hand over her face. "i won't look at myself until i am dressed, and then i can tell just how i shall affect father. let me see! i'll wear white. adele looks best in white. fair people always do, i think."
-true to her resolve she bathed and dressed without once approaching the mirror. at length she was ready. she had no doubts as to the result. beatrice was possessed with a child's faith; still, her heart began to beat quickly as she turned slowly and went toward the glass, keeping her eyes downcast.
-"it's just like a butterfly breaking out of the chrysalis," she told herself nervously. "i have been an ugly grub for so long that i'm afraid to try my new wings. now, ready, beatrice! one, two, three!--look, and see how beautiful you have become."
-smilingly she raised her eyes. the smile froze on her lips, and consternation swept over her face. her features were distorted and swollen, and her skin was as yellow as saffron. with her dark eyes, bleached hair, and white dress the effect was startling. for one long moment the girl stared at her reflection, and then, as the full realization of the transformation came home to her, she flung herself upon the bed with a cry of anguish.
-"it's no use," she wailed. "everything is against me. i look worse than ever. what shall i do? what shall i do?"
-a knock sounded on the door just then, and bee started up, fearing that it was her father.
-"yes?" she called.
-"yer pa am a-waitin' fer yer, miss bee," came the voice of aunt fanny. "he say de brek'fus am gittin' cole."
-"aunt fanny, come here!" beatrice opened the door and pulled the old woman inside. "look at my face! this comes from using that jimpson weed poultice. now what am i going to do?"
-the negress gave a gasp at sight of the girl's face, and threw up her hands in dismay.
-"lawsie, chile! how kum yer ter do sech a fool thing? a niggah dunno nuffin' nohow. 'sides, yer can't do hit in one night. co'se not. takes two; mebbe three. i dunno."
-"then why did you tell me about it if you didn't know?" demanded bee indignantly. "you said that it would make me as fair as the lily of the valley. now, i've just ruined my face. oh oh, oh!"
-she began to cry weakly. aunt fanny smoothed her hair in an attempt at consolation.
-"i'se just a low-down niggah ter make yer cry so, miss bee," she said remorsefully. "dey does use jim'son in de souf, but mebbe dey puts sompin elsen wid hit. nebber you mind. aunt fanny'll fin' sumpin ter fix yer. now go down ter yer pa. de brek'fus am gittin' cole, an' yer needs hit hot."
-"go down?" cried bee in perturbation. "i can't go down like this. you go, and tell father i'm sick. tell him i can't come. oh! tell him anything!"
-"beatrice," called her father at this moment from the foot of the stairs, "is anything the matter? you were not at dinner last night. are you ill that you don't come to breakfast?"
-"i reckon yer shorely in fer hit, miss bee," spoke aunt fanny commiseratingly. "if yer sick he's gwine ter kum up anyhow. de bes' thing is ter go right erlong, and get hit over wid. an' if he scolds hard yer won't nebber forgib me."
-"it is my own fault, aunt fanny," acknowledged the girl. "i ought to have known better than to have done anything of the sort. now i am in for it, as you say. yes; i'll go down. father can't dislike me any more than he does, so i might as well face him first as last." she rose as she spoke and went to the door: "i am all right, father," she called. "i'll be down in a minute."
-it was more than a minute before she could pull herself together; then, summoning all her fortitude, she went slowly down the stairs to the dining room. dr. raymond turned at her entrance.
-"good morn--" he began in greeting, but stopped short as though he could not believe the evidence of his eyes. "beatrice raymond, is that you?" he demanded.
-"yes," returned beatrice as steadily as she could. "it is i, father. are you ready for your coffee?"
-"what is the meaning of this?" he asked sharply. "what have you been doing to yourself?"
-something came into bee's throat and choked her. a moment passed before she could reply.
-"i have been trying to make myself beautiful, but it did not work well," she said at last in a low tone.
-"beautiful!" exclaimed doctor raymond in disgust. "is vanity also one of your weaknesses? i begin to believe that you are a bundle of them. only a silly, vain girl would be guilty of such folly. i am sorely disappointed in you, beatrice."
-again bee choked so that she could not speak, and her eyes swam with tears. had she so many follies? people used not to think she was such a dreadful girl. they used to be fond of her, but everything was going wrong lately. with hands that shook she silently poured her father's coffee and handed it to him.
-"how any girl," went on her father, seeing that she did not speak, "how any girl should go deliberately to work to make such a fright of herself as you have done is beyond my comprehension. i suppose that all girls are more or less foolish about their complexions; but no girl of refinement should bleach her hair. it is an abomination to every self-respecting person. what caused you to do it?"
-beatrice's heart was very full. she had done it for his sake, but she found it impossible to tell him. she had been content enough until he had come, and was dissatisfied with her. his words hurt her cruelly. presently she found her voice:
-"i was trying to look like adele," she told him tearfully.
-"you were?" struck by something in her tone the scientist glanced at her more closely. he saw that she was not eating anything, and that she was trembling. his manner softened. bee was aware of the change instantly, and attributed it to the mention of her cousin. her tears dried, and she was shaken with sudden anger.
-"your cousin is a beautiful girl, beatrice. she seems to be as lovely in disposition as in person. i do not at all wonder that you desire to be like her, but your manner of emulation has not been the most happy. perhaps i spoke too severely. we are all prone to error, and i should not judge too harshly what, it seems, has been done from a worthy motive. if you wish to be like adele, strive to copy her character rather than to imitate her outward appearance. beauty of soul is the thing that counts. before a sweet disposition and a well informed mind mere physical beauty palls."
-"that is not true," burst from beatrice; "and you know it."
-"beatrice raymond, do you know to whom you are speaking?" the naturalist dropped his knife and fork, and stared at his daughter in amazement.
-"yes, i do;" answered bee, wrought up to such a pitch that she forgot the respect and deference due her father. if the mere mention of her cousin's name had such influence upon him, she would let him know how she felt about it; so she continued wrathfully: "you and aunt annie, and everybody, are fond of talking about the cultivation of the mind and spirit being above beauty, but you don't practice what you preach. look at what you have been saying, and then think of how you have treated me."
-"why, why," stammered doctor raymond, so surprised by this vehement outburst that he scarcely knew what to say.
-"you were away ten long, long years," went on beatrice, almost beside herself with passion; all her pent-up unhappiness clamoring for utterance. "i was just crazy for you to come home. other girls had their fathers and i wanted mine too. when you wrote that you were coming i was happy; as happy as a bird. you had written that you wished my mind cultivated, and i studied hard to please you. i knew that you were a learned man, and i wanted to be able to talk to you intelligently. you wanted me to learn to be a good housekeeper, and that, too, i studied. i have tried to do everything that you wished me to. you say that you are disappointed in me. how do you think that i feel about you? you will have nothing to say to me because i am not adele. you wanted her for your daughter, and you can't get over it because she isn't. in your last letter to me you said that you thought that i must have a mind of uncommon intelligence. have i? you have not troubled to find out. what kind of a disposition have i? you don't know. and why? just because i don't happen to be pretty. 'sweet disposition and well informed mind' are all very well to talk about, but when it comes right down to real truth a girl might as well be dead if she isn't pretty."
-"you are giving me a terrible arraignment, beatrice," observed her father gravely. "really, i--"
-"isn't it all true?" demanded bee with startling directness.
-"i think that probably some of it is," admitted doctor raymond guardedly. "the discussion of beauty and non-beauty we will not prolong because we could come to no satisfactory conclusion on the matter. it is an old, old question. beauty undoubtedly has its influence upon us all; chiefly, perhaps, because it at once attracts the attention. after all, it is but a free gift of nature accorded to its possessor by accident. it was not altogether adele's beauty that caused me to claim her for my daughter."
-"but--" began beatrice.
-"allow me the privilege of a word, my daughter. the unfortunate mistake of the picture is largely responsible for this whole affair. i naturally looked long and often at the photograph, supposing it to be yours. seeing her standing in the doorway i recognized the girl whom i supposed was my daughter. surely this explanation ought to excuse me, beatrice?"
-"but it was her picture that brought you home, father," wailed bee miserably. "you would never have come had it been really mine. oh, that is what i can't bear!"
-"i seem unfortunate in choosing my words also," said the scientist, stirring uneasily. "the letters first caused me to think of returning."
-"but you would not have come if you had not believed that the beautiful picture was of your daughter," persisted bee. "i want the truth, father."
-"i am accustomed to speaking nothing else," answered doctor raymond sternly. "all this is aside from the question."
-"is it?" asked the girl with some scorn. "i think not; but you needn't answer, father. explain your treatment of me after you found out your mistake. what effort have you made to find out what kind of a daughter you have? you hardly come near me. you were away for years, and now that you are home at last you are further from me than ever because i did have your letters; now i have nothing. i may be as brilliant as a diamond, or as simple as a daisy, but you don't care to take the trouble to find out."
-"well, i have been exceedingly busy," replied he lamely. "and you have not----you see--" he did not wish to say that she had not presented a very inviting side of her character to him. beatrice did not know this, so she did not wait for him to finish.
-"yes, i see, father," she said wearily. she was beginning to feel very tired. the reaction of the unusual emotion was having its effect. "you are just like everybody else. you talk of mind and disposition easily enough, but you succumb to beauty at first sight. at school it was the same. all of us were made to toe the mark except adele. nothing was ever expected of her but to be beautiful. i did not care until you came, and were disappointed in me. then i tried protective mimicry, but it wasn't successful."
-doctor raymond glanced up quickly.
-"what do you know about protective mimicry?" he asked.
-"it's where one animal puts on the form of another animal to protect itself from enemies," answered bee. "i thought that if i could make myself like adele you would come to care for me."
-"and was that what caused you to bleach your hair, and change your complexion?"
-"yes, father. you would not notice me, so i just had to do something. and now it's no use."
-"i am not so sure about that." doctor raymond began to laugh. "you have worked upon the principle held by some great men, beatrice. henry ward beecher used to say: 'if you can't make people love you, make them hate you. anything is better than indifference.'"
-"oh, father!" cried the unhappy girl, bursting into tears. "have i made you hate me?"
-"nonsense! of course not. i only meant--"
-"a gen'man to see you, sah," announced aunt fanny at this inopportune moment, and the entomologist was obliged to leave the room.
-a rift in the clouds
-"through the open door a drowsy smell of flowers--gray heliotrope, and sweet white clover, and shy mignonette--comes faintly in, and the silent chorus lends to the pervading symphony of peace."
---among the hills. whittier.
-doctor raymond's visitor proved to be a fellow naturalist who became so interested in his host's rare specimens that he spent the entire day examining them. beatrice passed the time in her own room, loath to subject herself to curious eyes.
-aunt fanny came up after a time with a second lot of jimpson leaves which she proceeded to make into a poultice despite the girl's protestations.
-"yer mus', honey," insisted the negress. "i'se done been down ter miss browne's, an' she say hit air de onliest thing ter do. she say hats turn yaller 'fore deys bleached, an' hit's de same wid yer skin. dis'll be de las' time."
-"it doesn't matter now, aunt fanny," said bee miserably. "i was silly to do anything, but i thought, i thought!--"
-"nebber min' what yer thunk, chile," consoled the old woman. "hit am jest like a gal: allers a wantin' sumpin' like sum udder gal. now jest put on dis, an' you-all will kum out all right."
-beatrice was too tired to expostulate further, and submitted once more to the martyrdom of the poultice with little care as to the result. her heart was too heavy to take any further interest in such efforts; for she believed that she had completely alienated her father, and she cared for nothing else. the day came to an end at last, and night brought surcease of sorrow, for she slept.
-as aunt fanny had predicted, she found that her complexion had indeed bleached out to its natural color by the next morning. cheered in spite of herself by this fact she went down to breakfast with lighter heart. doctor raymond's pleased look showed that he marked the improvement in her appearance, but he made no comment. neither did he refer to the conversation of the day before until the close of the meal. then he said:
-"beatrice, yesterday you said that i shut you out from me; that i did not know you because i did not try to. i have not meant to be guilty of such a thing, but there was enough of truth in your remarks to make me feel that perhaps i have been somewhat negligent of you. you shall have no further cause to accuse me of this; so, if you are willing, we will drop all unpleasant things and make a new start. part of each day i shall be obliged to devote to my forthcoming book, and those hours i must be alone. all the rest of the time, however, you may spend with me."
-"oh, father!" cried bee in surprise. "do you mean that i am really to be with you? even when you are in the study arranging your specimens?"
-"just that, beatrice. we will learn to know each other, and it may be that we shall find that companionship to which, it seems, we both looked forward. there is but one thing that i would ask of you: don't try to be like any one else. let me see you as you are."
-"i am glad that it will not be permanent," remarked her father. "let us say no more about it. it does not look so bad as it might, and the mere fact that you did not bleach it through vanity makes me more tolerant of it. now, my child, i am going for a walk over the grounds, and would like your company."
-beatrice ran joyfully for her hat.
-"he's giving me a chance," she whispered, scarcely able to control her emotion. "i am glad, glad! i won't think a thing about adele. i won't mind my looks a bit, but just be so good that maybe, maybe--" she did not finish her sentence, but squeezed her hands together rapturously.
-"i have been too busy since my return to go over the place," said the naturalist as they set forth. "beginning with this morning we will go over a portion of it daily until the entire place has been inspected. will it be too much of a walk for you to take the gardens and the orchard today?"
-"why, no;" answered bee quickly. "i am used to walking, father. we always walked into town from uncle henry's, and to school too. aunt annie thought it was good for us. then i run about the fields quite a little."
-"annie has followed my idea exactly," he commented approvingly. "there is nothing so conducive to good health as outdoor exercise. ah! here we are at the gardens. they have been well kept; but, but--" he glanced around the mass of blossom and vines knitting his brows in perplexity. "the rose?" he said. "the one your mother planted. can this be it?"
-he stopped beside a large moss rose bush as he spoke. it was of sturdy growth, completely covered with buds and blossoms of satiny white deeply embowered in a soft greenery of moss.
-"yes; this is it, father," spoke beatrice softly. "uncle henry had it tended carefully because he knew that you would wish it. is it not beautiful? i think i love it best of all the roses." she bent over a cluster to inhale its fragrance as she finished speaking.
-"it has grown," he said musingly. "it was so small. i should not have known it. i did not think to find so large a bush."
-"you have been gone for years," she reminded him. "have you forgotten, father? a small plant would have time to become a large shrub."
-"true;" he said. "true." he broke a half blown bud from the bush and held it for a moment against his lips. "it was her favorite rose," he said, putting it in the buttonhole of his coat.
-the gravity of his face softened into tenderness, and his eyes were misty as he leaned over the rose bush. bee gazed at him longingly. the impulse of her heart was to go to him, slip her hand in his, or to nestle against him caressingly. had she done so father and daughter must have drawn very close to each other, but something--perhaps delicacy, perhaps shyness, perhaps a certain awe in which she held him--restrained her. presently he straightened up, turned away from the bush with a sigh, and walked on. beatrice followed him silently, and the golden opportunity was gone.
-"i am hatching the larvæ of the thecla titus fabricus from the eggs," he said as they left the garden a little later, "i wish to get the proper plants for them to feed upon."
-"then we must go to the woodland instead of the orchard," said bee quickly. "you will need the leaves of the wild cherry, or the wild plum. i believe that the caterpillars of the coral hair-streaks feed upon them."
-"how do you know?" questioned her father in astonishment.
-"i studied butterflies, father," explained the girl. "you know 'tis your specialty, and i wanted to be able to help you when you came home. i don't remember many of the technical names though," she added honestly. "that just happened to be one that i knew. see! there goes a copper."
-every step through the clover displaced myriads of small butterflies with wings of some shade of coppery-red or orange. dappled fritillaries and angle wings, blocked in red and black, often variegated by odd dashes and spots of burnished silver or peacock eyes, crowded about the spreading thistle blossoms, or perched contentedly upon the many flowered umbrels of the milkweed.
-"then that is how you knew about protective mimicry?" asked he, after commenting upon the butterfly pointed out by bee.
-"yes." beatrice laughed more gaily than she had for days as she noted his pleased expression. "he likes it because i studied them," she told herself gleefully.
-"and that one passing yonder. the one with the zigzag flight, my daughter. that is a skipper, is it not?"
-beatrice turned a look of surprise upon him.
-"why, father! that is a swallowtail," she cried. "how could you make such a--" she broke into a laugh suddenly as she saw his eyes twinkle. "you were just trying to see if i knew," she cried.
-"i'm afraid that i shall have to admit it," he said. "have you any specimens?"
-"a few, father. some swallowtails, some brush-footed ones, a number of blues, coppers and hair-streaks."
-"why! you are quite a lepidopterist," exclaimed doctor raymond. "and the eggs, the larvæ and the chrysalids; do you have them too?"
-the girl hung her head.
-"n-no; i know one has to have those things as well as the butterflies to study the science properly, but i have none. i think the butterflies are beautiful. just like flying flowers!"
-"ah! you are like all amateurs, beatrice." doctor raymond shook his head gravely. "they are taken by the beauty of the butterfly, and so confine themselves to the imago state entirely. whereas, to know the insect thoroughly, one should study it from the egg through all its stages to the perfected form. but you are not alone in it, my daughter. there are many men of wealth who make collections of the butterfly, as they do of gems and other things. they, too, care only for the perfected insect. in your case, you are young, and may be taught the proper manner of study. i am glad that you are interested in such things. it will afford me great pleasure to continue your instruction in the subject this summer. that is, if you would like it?"
-"like it?" cried beatrice, looking up at him with unfeigned delight. "i should love it."
-"then we will consider that matter settled," he said with approval. "here are some wild cherry trees. be careful, child! there are some wasps."
-but beatrice, intent upon making herself useful, rushed forward eagerly and began stripping off the leaves from the low hanging limbs.
-"do you want some of the twigs, father? there is a fine branch here filled with leaves."
-"yes; but let me cut it for you." doctor raymond drew out a clasp knife and started to open it.
-"i can get it quite easily, thank you, father," said bee, bending the bough which broke suddenly with a sharp snap, disturbing a wasp that had just settled comfortably on one of the twigs. with an angry buzz the insect darted at the girl's hand, and thrust its sting into the offending member.
-"oh!" she uttered, letting the branch fall and clasping her hand quickly.
-"you are stung," cried doctor raymond. "give me your hand. at once!"
-he caught up some of the damp earth and clapped it on the wound, holding the mud in place.
-"does it hurt so much now?" he asked after a moment, binding his handkerchief closely about the hand.
-beatrice's eyes shone through her tears. he cared because she was hurt. a warm glow suffused her being, and nestled comfortingly about her heart. she looked up and smiled.
-"hurt?" she exclaimed. "nonsense! what is an old yellow jacket but a bee gone into athletics!"
-an expression of pleased surprise shot athwart her father's face and his chuckle gave way to a peal of laughter.
-"that is neat, child," he said. "very neat! i like your way of taking this. you have the true spirit of a naturalist who accepts such happenings as a matter of experience. are you fearful or timid? do you get frightened easily?"
-"i am not afraid of creeping things," answered beatrice thoughtfully. "i don't believe that i know about other things. there has never been much to try me. at least, there never was anything until i saw those burglars the other night. i was scared then."
-"you saw those men?" ejaculated doctor raymond. "where did you see them?"
-"i forgot that you did not know, father."
-"but i wish to know. tell me all about it, beatrice."
-"it was the first night that i wore that horrid poultice for my complexion. i could not sleep, so i went down stairs to get a book from the library, and when i opened the door there were the two burglars putting the silver into a bag. i was so scared that i could not do anything but look at them. when they saw me they took me for a ghost and ran away. i did look scary, father; so, when i heard you coming, i hid under the couch because i did not want you to see me. when aunt fanny was left alone i came out and ran up to my room. yes; i was frightened. i shook like a leaf after it was all over, and i was glad that you were going to be near me."
-"i see, my daughter. there was reason for fear in that instance. few girls would have done so well. i have not spoken of the matter before because i did not wish to alarm you, and i did not know that you knew of their visit. however, they will hardly bother us again as the authorities are keeping a sharp watch for them, and believe that they will soon have them in custody. i shall take that room next yours for mine permanently, i think. perhaps you will feel a little safer to have me there, and there is no one on that side of the hall with you. is it somewhat too remote for you? come, child! it is time to get back and get some soda on that sting."
-with the butterflies
-"these be the pretty genis of the flowers, daintily fed with honey and pure dew."
-the windows of the study were thrown wide to the breeze which came cool and fresh from the shrubberies laden with the odors of the garden. it was a cozy, old-fashioned room, plainly furnished, but with that most welcome adornment to lovers of letters--a multitude of books. a large, open fireplace, surmounted by a high mantel-piece, took up nearly the whole of one side of the room; before this was a writing table upon which were scattered books, pamphlets, letters, scraps of manuscript, blank paper, pens and inkstands; by no means primly arranged.
-three weeks had passed since beatrice had taken her first walk with her father. that walk had been followed by others until now she accompanied him as a matter of course. each day also she had gone to him for a time to study butterflies, and recently she had begun to help him catalogue his specimens. on this day father and daughter were in the study hard at work.
-"there, child," remarked doctor raymond, laying aside his manuscript. "i think you have done enough for one day."
-"i am not one bit tired," protested bee eagerly. "i could work for hours yet."
-"you are a delightful helper, beatrice," commented he smilingly. "you are so willing and zealous; but for that very reason i must guard against your enthusiasm carrying you too far."
-beatrice flushed with gratification. it seemed to her that her father was really beginning to care for her. he had several times uttered words of commendation, and she knew that he was pleased with her application to study.
-"if you wish you may go to the laboratory with me," continued her father. "there are several butterflies that should come out of their chrysalids today. you may be interested in seeing them. then we will go for a walk."
-"i should like to see them," cried bee rising. "are they rare specimens, father?"
-"a few of them are. they are all european butterflies. the one specimen in all my collection that i prize the most highly is the pupa of the teinopalpus imperialis--an asiatic butterfly. it is found in the forests of sikkin, and also in central china, but is very rare. in fact, if this one of mine comes out all right it will be the only one of its kind in any collection. i have retarded the development of the chrysalis by cold until the present time. it is a magnificent butterfly, and i am anxiously waiting its coming out. then there will be something to see, beatrice. still, while not so rare, these will be quite interesting, so we will go to see them."
-it was not a room that many girls would enjoy, but to beatrice raymond it was filled with charm. she was truly interested in the marvel of the evolution of the butterfly, and through that interest had overcome her natural repugnance to the caterpillar from which it came. added to this was the growing delight in her father's society. it is doubtful if doctor raymond knew how much his daughter loved him, or if he returned her affection in like degree. he was much absorbed in his work, and had been without her for so many years that it was hardly to be expected that among so many interests she would be first. he did, however, delight in the girl's quick comprehension and her devotion to study. then, too, beatrice saw that he turned to her more and more for help in his work, and that he seemed to enjoy talking to her of his plans, and she was content, believing truly that all this would lead to a deep and abiding affection.
-as they entered the laboratory several butterflies rose from some twigs, circled about the room and settled upon the portion of glass where the sun shone brightest.
-"what children of the sun they are!" exclaimed the scientist, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.
-"oh, father," cried bee. "here is a drop of blood. could one of the pretty things have hurt itself?"
-"no, child; some lepidopterous insects always leave a drop of red fluid when emerging from the pupa state. this is especially true of the vanessa urtica. have you ever read of red rain, or the showers of blood of antiquity?"
-"yes;" answered beatrice, eager to show her knowledge. "professor lawrence told us about it. he read some lines from ovid, too. let me see. i know:
-"'with threatening signs the lowering skies were filled and sanguine drops from murky clouds distilled.'
-"he said that ovid referred to the shower of blood."
-"here you have the explanation of that phenomenon, beatrice. it used to be regarded as a prodigy that portended all sorts of evil, and whenever it occurred people were alarmed, and referred all disasters to its coming. it remained for the french philosopher, peiresc, to give the first satisfactory explanation of the phenomenon.
-"in july, 1608, an extensive shower of blood took place at aix in france, which threw the people of that city into the utmost consternation. great drops of blood were plainly to be seen in the city itself, upon the walls of the church yard, upon the city walls, and also upon the walls of villages and hamlets for several miles around. naturalists said that this kind of rain was due to vapor drawn up out of red earth which congealing, fell afterward in this form. this explanation did not suit peiresc, because he knew that such as are drawn aloft by heat ascend without color; as for example--red roses, the vapors of which are congealed into transparent water.
-"after this whenever an event of this nature occurred scientists would find that it always happened when the vanessa urtica, or the vanessa polychloros species of butterfly were uncommonly plentiful in that particular district where the phenomenon was observed."
-"why, how strange that is, father."
-"yes, it is rather remarkable; but many of the so-called prodigies of ancient times are explainable through natural causes. in france, during the thirteenth century, one of these rains occurred, and the people, believing that evil could be averted in no other way, slew ten thousand hapless jews."
-"and all because of a little butterfly," observed bee musingly.
-"yes; all because of a little insect that moore calls 'winged flowers,' or 'flying gems.'"
-"how pretty!" cried bee. "and they are like flowers, aren't they?"
-"well, they are certainly like them in that each kind has its own season for appearing in perfect bloom; and thus they decorate the landscape. now let us go for our walk. when i return i must chloroform these specimens. they are rather fine."
-"do let the lovely things go until tomorrow," pleaded the girl. "surely, they should have a little while of life."
-"there speaks the woman, beatrice. that is the reason that there are so few naturalists among the sex. yet i would not have it otherwise. yes; they may have life until tomorrow since you wish it. theirs is but a brief span at best. come, get your hat, my daughter! you have been in the house too long today."
-a butterfly and a boy
-"out in the open country fields, with the green grass blowing merrily, the daisies nod and the dewdrop shine, and the sunbeams dance right cheerily.
-"a lassie and laddie come tripping along, like the fair day smiling brightly; they pluck the flowers and they hum a song as they shake off the dewdrops lightly."
---mary aimee goodman.
-"beatrice, do you see that butterfly on the verbena bed?" asked doctor raymond one bright morning in july, as he and his daughter sat at work in the study.
-beatrice glanced through the open window to the bed of verbenas, over which hovered a large butterfly.
-"it is beautiful!" she exclaimed looking with delight at the insect's broad expanse of wing. "wouldn't you call that an orange-red, father? and see the white spots on the secondaries. what kind is it?"
-"the anosia plexippus," answered her father. "you know it better perhaps as the monarch, or milkweed butterfly. it is a magnificent specimen. i must have it for my collection. where is my net, child?"
-"let me capture it for you, father," cried beatrice, catching up her net hastily. "i'll have it in a jiffy."
-"be careful not to bruise it, beatrice," cautioned the scientist as she vaulted lightly through the window.
-the insect still hovered over the verbena blossoms, but as the girl drew near it rose and sailed away. doctor raymond gave an amused laugh at her discomfiture.
-"never you mind," cried bee. "i'll get it yet. see if i don't;" and away she sped in hot pursuit.
-"it has extraordinary powers of flight; so, if it lands you anywhere near the postoffice, just see if there is any mail," called her father teasingly.
-across the garden, through the grove, over the hedge and out into the road the butterfly flew with beatrice following after.
-"i just believe that it heard father," ejaculated she, as the coveted insect winged its way in the direction of town. "i don't care, i'll follow it, anyway."
-the naturalist and his daughter in pursuit of insects had become a common sight to the people of louisiana, and so the bareheaded, flushed maiden in breathless pursuit of a beautiful butterfly caused only a few persons to look after her curiously. onward went the butterfly. just as the town was reached it began to rise in its flight, and beatrice realized that it was her last chance, for it would soon be lost over the housetops. she made an upward leap, and by a fortunate sweep of the net succeeded in capturing the prize.
-"bravo!" exclaimed a voice, and she looked around in some confusion to discover a boy gazing at her with admiring eyes. "i think that's pretty good for a girl."
-"oh! indeed!" cried bee heatedly. "could you have done any better yourself, even though you are a boy?"
-"i don't know," replied the lad coolly. "i never wanted a butterfly bad enough to try it."
-"i don't believe that you ever even chased one in your life," said the girl, staring at him scornfully. "you look a namby-pamby sort."
-the boy's face flushed. he was all of thirteen years old, but despite the fact was garbed in black velvet knickerbockers, a ruffled white blouse, long black stockings with low, ribbon-tied shoes, and had a silken sash knotted about his waist. worst of all, to the girl's mind, he wore his hair in curls which fell far down upon his shoulders.
-"if you were a boy i'd fight you for that," cried the urchin angrily, clenching his fists.
-"pooh!" sniffed bee, turning up her nose. "i would not be afraid of such a baby if i were six times a boy. where's your mother?"
-"she is dead," answered the girl in a low voice. "i think your mother is horrid."
-"she isn't. she's lovely. everybody says so. i am sorry that yours is dead. you can't help being rude, of course, if you have no mother. who looks after you?"
-"why, father, of course," answered bee. "and i am not rude."
-"what makes you run after butterflies and things, then?" demanded he sternly. "i saw you one day, and you had a worm--a great, ugly worm--in your hand."
-beatrice gave way to a burst of laughter.
-"a worm?" cried she mirthfully. "oh, you poor little thing! you don't know anything, do you? that was not a worm. it was a caterpillar."
-"well; what's the difference?"
-"a true worm never turns into an insect," she informed him. "it goes creeping around through life, a worm and nothing more; while a caterpillar changes at last into a beautiful butterfly, or moth. this was a caterpillar once," she ended, raising the net with her captured prize for his inspection.
-"you are a strange girl," observed the boy. "i never knew one before who cared about such things. where did you learn it?"
-"i get it from my father," responded she with pride. "he is doctor william raymond, a noted lepidopterist. he has been all over the world just to study butterflies. what does your father do?"
-"haven't got any." the boy thrust his hands into his pockets, and stared at her cheerfully.
-"haven't you? i am so sorry. it must be dreadful to be without a father," spoke bee with genuine commiseration.
-"oh, i don't know. i guess from what i've heard that they are pretty much of a nuisance. you see they always want to handle the cash, and my mother and i would rather keep that in our own hands."
-"i don't care to talk with you any longer," remarked bee, turning away from him. "you say such awful things. my father isn't a nuisance, whatever yours may have been."
-"say! i didn't mean your father. i don't know anything about him. he may be all right. i never knew a father who was a lepi--what do you call 'em? they may be different. does he let you have the money?"
-"of course not," answered bee indignantly. "he gives me an allowance that i can spend as i please."
-"that's all right. i think that is the proper thing," declared the lad, anxious to propitiate her. "it wouldn't do for me, you know, because i'm a man."
-"a pretty poor sort of one," flashed the girl. she started to go back into the road, intending to go on to the postoffice, when the boy called imploringly:
-"don't go yet. i like you even if you do catch butterflies and worms. come over and see me; won't you?
-"i don't visit boys," loftily. "besides, i don't know where you live."
-"we live in the big white house just beyond you," he told her in an injured tone. "you people are so inhospitable. i thought missouri folks were nice to strangers. my mother feels bad about it. we have been here a whole month, and you haven't even noticed that we lived next to you."
-"we have not been home very long ourselves," explained bee, touched by the allusion to missouri. "you see, my father has been away from me for a long, long time, and we have been so busy getting acquainted with each other that we have not paid much attention to other people. perhaps we will come over to see you. i'll ask him. i must go on now; so, good-bye."
-"i'll just go along with you," said the boy, swinging into step by her side. "you see my pony lost a shoe, and i had to wait for him to be shod, so i walked out here a ways when i saw you coming. i'll just take you back in my cart. it is a long, hot walk."
-"will you?" asked bee gratefully. it was a long distance, and after the chase the butterfly had given her she was glad of the offer. "it is very kind of you."
-"oh, that's all right," he said in an offhand manner. "i like to be obliging to my friends; and we are going to be friends, you know."
-"are we?" asked bee, laughing outright. "why, how do you know that you will care to be after you know me?"
-"we've got to be," he replied. "we live next to each other, and it would be so convenient. i made up my mind that we'd be friends when i first saw you."
-"but you said that i was rude," reminded bee. "i shouldn't think that you would want to be friends with a rude girl."
-"you said a few things, too," he retorted, laughing. "are you going in here?" as bee stopped before the postoffice. "then i'll bring the cart here. be sure you wait."
-he scampered away, and bee entered the office. there was a letter for her father, and the girl congratulated herself that the offer of the ride would enable her to get it to him quickly. she was anxious, too, to show him that she had succeeded with the butterfly. she had not long to wait until her new-found acquaintance appeared with his pony and cart.
-"this is not really my pony," the boy told her as he assisted her into the cart. "the cart is mine, but my mother just hired the pony until she could find one to suit. though this one is pretty nice."
-"indeed it is," remarked beatrice approvingly, as the little pony started off at a brisk pace. "why don't you get this one?"
-"they won't sell," said the boy. "i can have it until the fellow to whom it belongs comes home. he's away now."
-"i see," said she. and thus chatting she soon reached home. "i thank you very, very much," she said as she jumped out. "i do hope that we shall be friends."
-"and you didn't ask my name," reproached the urchin. "no; i shan't tell you now. if you want to know, just come over. good-bye!"
-"good-bye," she called after him. "i certainly shall come over to find out. i want to know."
-"so your chase led you to the office after all," laughed her father as she ran into the study, taking the net and the letter from her at the same time. "i had no idea that you would catch it. you have done well, though i am sorry that you had such a long, hot, dusty walk."
-"i did not walk back, father. we have a new neighbor in the white house, and the boy brought me home in his pony cart." bee sank into a chair and began to fan herself, watching him as he carefully removed the butterfly from the bag, and placed it in the poison jar. "isn't it a beauty?"
-"yes;" replied doctor raymond, beginning the perusal of his letter. he looked up suddenly. "beatrice, i shall be obliged to leave you for a few days. they wish to see me at the university. would you rather go to your aunt annie's than to stay here?"
-"i would rather stay here, father," she answered promptly. "there is so much to do."
-"just as you wish, my child. i'll ask mrs. jenkins to come over to be with you nights. then with the servants here i shall not be uneasy. don't do any cataloguing while i am away. a few days rest will do you good. now i must throw a few things into my grip if i expect to catch the afternoon train. it is fortunate that you went for the mail."
-"let me pack your things for you, father," pleaded bee. "i know exactly what you will need. aunt annie says that i do nicely. i always did it for her, and for uncle henry, too, sometimes."
-"very well, beatrice. i have done those things so long for myself that it will seem strange to have it done for me; but it will be none the less pleasant for all that." and there was a very kindly light in the look which he gave his daughter as she left the room.
-an infant prodigy
-"by the sweet power of music: therefore, the poet did feign that orpheus drew trees, stones and floods: since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, but music for the time doth change his nature."
---merchant of venice. shakespeare.
-lonely and distrait bee wandered about the house the next day unable to settle down to anything.
-"what if father should go away again for ten years," she thought with sudden dismay. "i don't believe that i could live. i could not stand it without him now. what if he should!"
-troubled by this thought she sat down on the veranda steps, and leaned listlessly against a post. for some time she sat there musing, but presently was aroused from her meditations by the sound of music. bee raised her head and listened intently.
-"i have heard that several times of late," she said, glad of the diversion. "i wonder where it comes from? i am going to find out."
-she rose, listened again to catch the strain, then began to walk in the direction from whence it came. through the garden and orchard, across the fields to the arbor vitæ hedge which separated their land from their neighbor's she went, the music becoming more and more distinct. beethoven's romance in g was being played, although bee did not know what it was, and the musician was executing it with wonderful technique.
-always susceptible to the influence of music the girl stood spellbound. presently the performance stopped abruptly, and a sweet voice--sweet despite a certain querulous note in it--said sharply:
-"percival, that last was entirely too fast. what would heinrich say to you?"
-"i don't give a cent what he'd say," retorted a boyish voice petulantly. "i'm tired of practicing. i want to have some fun. i guess i'm a boy as well as a violinist."
-"don't be silly, percival. of course you are. now practice just one hour more, and we will see about that pony this afternoon."
-"you said that yesterday," returned the boy's voice sulkily, "but you didn't do a thing about it."
-"i will today, dear, sure. i was too tired yesterday."
-"yes; honor bright."
-"all right. if you don't attend to it today i won't touch this old violin again this summer. so there!"
-beatrice was an unwilling listener to the foregoing dialogue. not wishing that her presence should be unknown, and curious as to the identity of the musician, she drew aside some branches of the arbor vitæ hedge, and looked through.
-the boy of the knickerbockers and long curls stood under a large tree, his chin resting upon a violin which he held in his left hand, while with his right he tapped restlessly upon his shoe with the bow. a rack upon which were some sheets of music stood before him.
-"oh!" exclaimed bee in surprise as she saw who the musician was.
-the lad heard her and ran to the opening eagerly.
-"it's the funny girl!" he called joyfully. "mamma, see! it's the butterfly girl. come on, butterfly; come on over."
-"may i?" asked beatrice, turning to his mother. "i would like to hear the little boy play."
-"by all means," said the lady graciously. "percival does better when he has an audience. are you doctor raymond's daughter?"
-"yes;" answered beatrice, availing herself of the permission to enter the garden. "i am beatrice raymond."
-"percival said that he had met you," continued the lady. "he has been watching you for some weeks, and wishing that he could make your acquaintance."
-"why don't you tell her our names?" broke in the boy excitedly. "that's what she has come for. i told her yesterday that she would have to come over to find out, and she can't know us unless we tell her what to call us. i am percival medulla, and this is mrs. medulla. 'course that isn't our real name, but when you're before the public you have to be called something high sounding."
-"percival!" cried his mother, provoked.
-"isn't it true?" demanded percival in matter of fact tones.
-"the truth when it refers to private matters is not always to be spoken," reproved mrs. medulla. "miss beatrice, (she pronounced bee's name after the italian manner), he is to play one hour longer. i know that i can depend upon you to keep him at his task. you show that you are trustworthy. percival, be very nice to your friend," and she swept into the house.
-so, much to the girl's wonder, she was left as mentor to the boy musician. he looked at her quizzically as he saw her dismay, and began to laugh.
-"i am glad that she is gone," he remarked. "i want to have you all to myself."
-"hush, hush!" implored beatrice, shocked. "you must not speak of your mother that way."
-"mustn't one? not even when she bores one?"
-"no; no, indeed!" replied the girl earnestly. "now do practice. there's a good little boy!"
-"how old are you?" he asked abruptly.
-"well, don't you call me little boy any more. i am thirteen."
-"you don't look it," remarked bee with a critical glance at him. "i thought you were not more than ten. your--"
-"yes; my clothes," interrupted he, frowning darkly. "i just hate them!"
-"what makes you wear them then?" asked she, surprised.
-"because i am an infant prodigy. grown people think that i am more of a genius if i dress like a silly. if i wore clothes like a decent boy they wouldn't come to hear me play. so i have to wear these things--" with a gesture of disgust. "i've worn them for ages and ages. i suppose that i'll die wearing them, and being an infant prodigy. and these curls! do you think a real fellow likes to go around like a girl? well, i guess not. whenever old heinrich, he's my tutor, says: 'we must have a new fauntleroy suit for de boy, madam,' i just wish fauntleroy had never been born."
-"but he wasn't," spoke bee. "he's just a character in a book, percival."
-"'mounts to the same thing," answered percival, "if i have to dress like him. but just you wait. when i'm a little older, you'll see. your hair looks funny too," turning the subject suddenly. "what makes it so dark at the roots, and so yellow everywhere else? did you bleach it?"
-"yes;" said bee humbly, her face flushing. "you see i have a cousin who is very beautiful, and i wished to look like her, so i had my hair bleached. i am sorry that i did it now, and i am letting it grow out. just as soon as it gets long enough to look well, i will have the yellow part cut off. now do play, or your mother will be sorry that i came."
-"oh, she knows that i will play an hour longer," said the prodigy easily, adjusting his violin. "i told her that i would, and i always do what i say i will."
-beatrice made no reply, and the lad began to play some snatches of march music which grew wilder and more barbarous, changing at last to a wild mad waltz of wonderful rhythm. he was indeed a prodigy. his tone was marvelously pure, his technique fluent and delicate. he touched the secret feelings of the heart, and brought into play all the emotions. the girl paled under the influence, and listened in rapturous silence. presently the boy stopped, turned toward her expectantly, and drew himself up in a stiff, martial attitude. beatrice gazed at him in wonderment, her breath coming quickly through her parted lips.
-"well?" he said impatiently. "hurry up, and let's have it over with."
-"hurry up?" echoed bee, rousing herself. "hurry up what?"
-"the kissing, of course. get it over with quick! i want to go on playing. i'm in the mood."
-"go on playing then," cried bee, a thread of indignation in her tone. "i'm not going to kiss you."
-"you're not?" the boy stared at her incredulously. "why, you're a girl! they all do it."
-"nonsense! i don't kiss boys."
-"not even if they are infant prodigies?"
-"no; not even then," she returned. "i never heard of anything so absurd in my life."
-"you haven't, eh? let me tell you that i have. wait! you'll be as bad as the rest of them."
-he began to play again, watching her with curious half-shut eyes to note the effect. nocturnes, obligatos, and finally the wonderful music of chopin, followed in quick succession. the girl did not move, but sat like one entranced. all at once he paused, and bent toward her with an inviting smile.
-"now," he said in a winsome voice.
-bee did not stir, but gazed at him uncomprehendingly, too much absorbed to realize what he meant.
-"now," he repeated commandingly.
-the girl roused herself.
-"oh," she breathed. "are you going to stop? i think the angels must play like that!"
-with an angry motion the lad thrust his bow into his left hand, and held out his right toward her.
-"see that hand?" he demanded. bee looked at it in perplexity.
-"that's the hand that made that music."
-"yes, i know," she answered gently. "it's ever so much smaller than mine, and whiter too." she held out her own slim brown hand and compared the two.
-"aren't they little bits of fingers?" went on the prodigy. "who would think that such little things could make such divine music? see the dimples at the knuckles! aren't they dear?"
-"don't," cried bee in disgust. "i was entranced with the music, and now you are spoiling it all by saying such foolish things."
-"and don't you intend to kiss that hand?" ejaculated percival in astonishment.
-"of course not," answered bee, rising. "i must go, percival. your playing is marvelous, and i do hope that you will let me listen to you again. come over and see me. and i want you to meet my father. i wish you would play for him."
-"well, you are a funny girl! if i had played like that before an audience, the women and girls would have smothered me with kisses."
-"i shouldn't think you would like it," exclaimed bee.
-"i wouldn't mind you," spoke percival. "i wonder if it is because of the butterflies that you are so different? never mind! i'll fetch you yet. see if i don't."
-"good-bye," called bee with a laugh, and darted through the opening in the hedge.
-the arrival of guests
-"the thistles show beyond the brook dust on their down and bloom, and out of many a weed-grown nook the aster flowers look with eyes of tender gloom."
---w. d. howells.
-master percival returned bee's visit the very next day.
-"what did you do with that butterfly that you caught?" he asked as he seated himself. "why did you catch it anyway?"
-"father thought it an unusually fine one, and wished it for his collection," replied bee. "you cannot see it now because it is not ready to set up yet, but i can show you some others, if you care to see them."
-"i do care," he answered. "i never noticed those things until i saw you catching them."
-"you didn't?" asked bee in surprise, as she led the way to the laboratory. "how could you help noticing them?"
-"i don't know. maybe it's because i have not been in the country very much. what makes you like them?"
-"they are so beautiful, percival, for one thing. then my father likes them. they are his specialty."
-percival gave a cry of delight as they entered the laboratory, and some butterflies rose from the thistles upon which they were resting. like autumn leaves released from their moorings they floated about, brilliant bits of color. soaring, curving, dropping into the depths of the corners of the room, the butterflies rose and fell, rose and circled higher, higher, up to the very ceiling; then they came tumbling down among the thistles, settling and unsettling themselves airily, noiselessly, making their selection of resting places slowly and daintily.
-"this is the very last one to burst its chrysalis," remarked bee, indicating a queenly swallowtail whose flutterings denoted weakness. "soon it will circle about in its first flight. see the lustre of its wings, percival. did you ever see anything more beautiful?"
-"they are like flowers," cried the boy enthusiastically, all the artist in him revelling in the beauty and daintiness of the insects. "flying flowers! they--gee! look at the worms!"
-"they are not worms; they are caterpillars," explained bee. "see how they are feeding upon the leaves? when the time comes that they have eaten enough they will spin a bed for themselves like this," showing him a cocoon. "after a short sleep they burst forth into beautiful butterflies."
-"do they feed on the different colored plants so as to have different colors?" he queried.
-"why, percival, that is a sweet fancy," she cried. "i never thought of that. i'll ask father if that is what makes them the pretty colors. you like them too, don't you?"
-"i like the butterflies, but i don't like those creepy, crawly things from which they come."
-"that is the most beautiful part of it, father says," said bee. "they are humble, earth-bound creatures at first; then after a period of preparation they become beautiful winged insects, basking in the sunshine and sipping sweets from flowers."
-"i like that part of it," said the boy again. "but those hairy things give me the creeps. let's get out of this."
-so they adjourned to the veranda forthwith.
-"do you know, my mother said that she rather fancied you?" announced percival presently. "she said that you were very pleasant, and that such a nice girl would be good for me to be with this summer. so i am to cultivate your acquaintance."
-"indeed!" beatrice laughed merrily, and then became grave. "percival, you are terrible," she said reprovingly. "you ought not to tell everything that your mother says. i am quite sure that she would not like it."
-"she doesn't," he answered promptly, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "but she can't help herself."
-"why can't she? she could punish you. that might do some good."
-"i'd like to see anybody raise a hand to me," said the boy pompously, reaching down and plucking a blade of grass which he bit into nonchalantly. "they don't dare do it. you see, i am the head of the family. i make all the money in concerts. if it were not for me mamma and old heinrich would not have a cent. so i do just as i please. sometimes," he laughed a malicious little laugh, "if i want anything real bad i throw a fit just before the performance. my! my! but isn't there some tall hustling then?"
-he laughed again, but the girl regarded him with shocked, pained eyes. her disapproval was so evident that he moved about restlessly under her glance.
-"if my mother were living," spoke bee slowly, "and i could provide for her by playing, or in any other way, i would be so glad to have her that i would do anything i could for her. and i would try not to cause her pain by being naughty."
-"oh, i don't mind playing," confessed he. "i like to take care of my mother, and she is all right. we are great friends, but she doesn't always give me what i want. i have to get it someway."
-"if i were she i wouldn't give in to you," spoke the girl severely. "if she would not you would go on and play anyway when you found that you could not have what you wished. now wouldn't you?"
-"i never thought about it just that way," observed the prodigy thoughtfully, "but--yes; i guess i would. you needn't go tell my mother though. i'd have no end of trouble in getting the things i want, and old heinrich is bad enough now."
-"i am not a tattletale," exclaimed bee indignantly. "i don't repeat things which i know people would rather i would not tell."
-"you mean that for me, beatrice raymond," cried the boy rising. "i won't sticky and disagreeable--something to be endured for the sake of the day's sport. things were not as i expected, of course. things never are. our beds were not in the mud--not often--and there were days--chill, wet, disheartening days--when i looked forward to them and to the campfire blaze at the tent door with that comfort which a child finds in the prospect of its mother's arm.
-on the whole, i am sure our camps were more commodious than i had expected them to be; and they were pretentious affairs, considering that we were likely to occupy them no more than one night. we had three tents--eddie's, already described; a tent for the guides, of about the same proportions, and a top or roof tent, under which we dined when it rained. then there was a little porch arrangement which we sometimes put out over the front, but we found it had the bad habit of inviting the smoke to investigate and permeate our quarters, so we dedicated the little porch fly to other uses. a waterproof ground cloth was spread between our stretcher beds, and upon the latter, as mentioned before, were our sleeping-bags; also our various bundles, cozily and conveniently bestowed. it was an inviting interior, on the whole something to anticipate, as i have said.
-yet our beds were not perfect. few things are. i am a rather large man, and about three o'clock in the morning i was likely to wake up somewhat cramped and pinched together from being so long in the little canvas trough, with no good way of putting out my arms; besides being a little cold, maybe, because about that hour the temperature seemed to make a specialty of dropping low enough to get underneath one's couch and creep up around the back and shoulders. it is true it was june, but june nights in nova scotia have a way of forgetting that it is drowsy, scented summertime; and i recall now times when i looked out through the tent flap and saw the white frost gleaming on the trees, and wondered if there was any sum of money too big to exchange for a dozen blankets or so, and if, on the whole, perishing as i was, i would not be justified in drugging eddie in taking possession of his sleeping-bag. he had already given me one of the woolen pockets, for compared with mine his was a genuine arctic affair, and, i really believe, kept him disgustingly warm, even when i was freezing. i was grateful, of course, for i should have perished early in the fight without it. i was also appreciative. i knew just how much warmer a few more of those soft, fleecy pockets would make me, especially on those nights when i woke about the cheerless hour of three, to find the world all hard and white, with the frost fingers creeping down my shoulder blades and along my spine. then it was i would work around and around--slowly and with due deliberation of movement, for a sleeping-bag is not a thing of sudden and careless revolution--trying to find some position or angle wherein the cold would not so easily and surely find my vitals. at such a time, the desire for real comfort and warmth is acute, and having already one of eddie's pockets and realizing its sterling worth--also that no more than two feet away from me he lay warm and snug, buried in the undue luxury of still other pockets--i may confess now i was goaded almost to the point of arising and taking peremptory possession of the few paltry pockets that would make my lot less hard.
-sooner or later, i suppose, i should have murdered eddie for his blankets if he had not been good to me in so many ways. daily he gave me leaders, lines, new flies and such things; nightly he painted my scratches with new skin. on the slightest provocation he would have rubbed me generously with liniment, for he had a new, unopened bottle which he was dying to try. then there was scarcely an evening after i was in bed--i was always first to go, for eddie liked to prepare his bed unhurriedly--that he did not bring me a drink, and comfort me with something nice to eat, and maybe sing a little while he was "tickling" his own bed (there is no other name for it), and when he had finished with the countless little tappings, and pattings, and final touches which insured the reposeful comfort of his couch, he would place the candle lantern just between, where each could see equally well and so read a little in order that we might compose our minds for rest.
-now snug, the camp--the candle-lamp, alighted stands between-- i follow "alice" in her tramp and you your "folly queen."
-in the matter of eddie's reading, however, i was not wholly satisfied. when we had been leaving the little hotel, he had asked me, suddenly, what i would take for reading in the woods. he added that he always read a little at night, upon retiring, and from his manner of saying it, i assumed that such reading might be of a religious nature.
-now, i had not previously thought of taking anything, but just then i happened to notice lying upon the table a copy of "alice in wonderland," evidently belonging to the premises, and i said i would take that. i had not foregathered with alice and the white rabbit for a good while, and it seemed to me that in the depths of an enchanted wood i might properly and profitably renew their acquaintance. the story would hardly offend eddie, even while he was finding solace in his prayer-book.
-i was only vaguely troubled when on the first night of our little reading exercise i noticed that eddie's book was not of the sort which i had been led to expect, but was a rather thick, suspicious-looking affair, paper-bound. still, i reflected, it might be an ecclesiastical treatise, or even what is known as a theological novel, and being absorbed just then in an endeavor to accompany alice into the wonderful garden i did not investigate.
-what was my surprise--my shock, i may say--next morning, on picking up the volume, to discover that it was printed in a foreign language, and that language french--always a suspicious thing in print--and to learn further, when by dint of recalling old school exercises, i had spelled out the author's name and a sentence here and there, that not only was it in that suspicious language, but that it was a novel, and of a sort--well, of course there is only one thing worse than an english translation of a french novel, and that is a french novel which cannot be translated--by any one in this country, i mean, who hopes to keep out of jail.
-i became absorbed in an endeavor to unravel a passage here and there myself. but my french training had not fitted me for the task. my lessons had been all about the silk gloves of my uncle's children or of the fine leather shoes of my mother's aunt, and such innocent things. i could find no reference to them in eddie's book. in fact i found on almost every page reference to things which had nothing to do with wardrobe of any sort, and there were words of which i had the deepest suspicion. i was tempted to fling the volume from me with a burning blush of shame. certainly it was necessary to protest against the introduction of the baleful french novel into this sylvan retreat.
-i did so, later in the day, but it was no use. eddie had already gulped down some twenty pages of the poison and would not listen to reason. there was a duchess in the book, and i knew immediately from the lame excuses he made for this person that she was not at all a proper associate for eddie, especially in this remote place. i pleaded in vain. he had overtaken the duchess on the third page, and the gaud of her beauty was in his eyes. so it came to pass that while i was following gentle little alice and the white rabbit through a land of wonder and dreams, eddie, by the light of the same candle, was chasing this butterfly of folly through a french court at the rate of some twenty finely printed pages every night, translating aloud here and there, until it sometimes became necessary for me to blow out the candle peremptorily, in order that both of us might compose our minds for needed slumber.
-perhaps i am dwelling unnecessarily upon our camp detail, but, after all, the tent, with its daily and nightly round becomes a rather important thing when it is to be a habitation for a period of weeks of sun and storm; and any little gem of experience may not be wholly unwasted.
-then there is the matter of getting along without friction, which seems important. a tent is a small place, and is likely to contain a good many things--especially in bad weather--besides yourselves. if you can manage to have your things so the other fellow will stumble over them as infrequently as possible, it is just as well for him, and safer for you. also, for the things. then, too, if you will make your beds at separate times, as we did, one remaining outside, or lying in a horizontal position among his own supplies while the other is in active operation, you are less likely to rub against each other, which sometimes means to rub in the wrong direction, with unhappy results. of course forbearance is not a bad asset to have along, and a small measure of charity and consideration. it is well to take one's sense of humor, too, and any little remnant of imagination one may have lying about handy at the moment of starting. many a well-constructed camp has gone to wreck during a spell of bad weather because one or more of its occupants did not bring along imagination and a sense of humor, or failed to produce these articles at the critical moment. imagination beautifies many a desolate outlook--a laugh helps over many a hard place.
-oh, the pulses leap where the fall is steep, and the rocks rise grim and dark, with the swirl and sweep of the rapids deep, and the joy of the racing bark.
-we established a good camp on the shelburne and remained in it for several days. for one thing, our canoes needed a general overhauling after that hard day on the rocks. also, it rained nightly, and now and then took a turn at it during the day, to keep in practice.
-on the whole, we were willing to stay and put up with a good deal for the sport in that long pool. there may be better fishing on earth than in the shelburne river between irving and sand lakes, but it will take something more than mere fisherman's gossip to convince either eddie or me of that possibility. we left the guides and went out together one morning, and in less than three hours had taken full fifty fish of a pound each, average weight. we took off our top flies presently and fished with only one, which kept us busy enough, and always one of us had a taut line and a curved rod; often both at one time.
-we began to try experiments at last, and i took a good fish on one of the funny little scale-winged flies (i had happily lost the jock scott with two hooks early in the campaign) and finally got a big fellow by merely tying a bit of white absorbent cotton to a plain black hook.
-yet curious are the ways of fish. for on the next morning--a perfect trout day, with a light southwest wind and running clouds, after a night of showers--never a rise could we get. we tried all the casts of the day before--the parmcheenie, the jenny lind, the silver doctor and the brown hackle. it was no use. perhaps the half a hundred big fellows we had returned to the pool had warned all the others; perhaps there was some other unwritten, occult law which prohibited trout from feasting on this particular day. finally eddie, by some chance, put on a sort of a brown hackle affair with a red piece of wool for a tail--he called it a red tag fly, i think--and straightway from out of the tarry black depths there rose such a trout as neither of us had seen the day before.
-after that, there was nothing the matter with eddie's fishing. what there was about this brown, red-tailed joke that tickled the fancy of those great silly trout, who would have nothing to do with any other lure, is not for me to say. the creature certainly looked like nothing that ever lived, or that they could ever have imagined before. it seemed to me a particularly idiotic combination and i could feel my respect for the intelligence of trout waning. eddie agreed with me as to that. he said he had merely bought the thing because it happened to be the only fly he didn't have in his collection and there had been a vacant place in his fly-book. he said it was funny the trout should go for it as they did, and he laughed a good deal about it. i suppose it was funny, but i did not find it very amusing. and how those crazy-headed trout did act. in vain i picked out flies with the red and brown colors and tossed them as carefully as i could in just the same spots where eddie was getting those great whoppers at every cast. some mysterious order from the high priest of all trout had gone forth that morning, prohibiting every sort and combination of trout food except this absurd creature of which the oldest and mossiest trout had never dreamed. that was why they went for it. it was the only thing not down on the list of proscribed items.
-there was nothing for me to do at last but to paddle eddie around and watch him do some of the most beautiful fishing i have ever seen, and to net his trout for him, and take off the fish, and attend to any other little wants incident to a fisherman's busy day. i did it with as good grace as i could, of course, and said i enjoyed it, and tried not to be nasty and disagreeable in my attitude toward the trout, the water, eddie, and the camp and country in general. but, after all, it is a severe test, on a day like that, to cast and cast and change flies until you have wet every one in your book, without even a rise, and to see the other chap taking great big black and mottled fellows--to see his rod curved like a whip and to watch the long, lithe body leaping and gleaming in the net.
-but the final test, the climax, was to come at evening. for when the fish would no longer rise, even to the red tag, we pulled up to the camp, where eddie of course reported to the guides his triumph and my discomfiture. then, just as he was opening his fly-book to put the precious red-tailed mockery away, he suddenly stopped and stared at me, hesitated, and held up another--that is, two of them, side by side.
-"so help me!" he swore, "i didn't know i had it! i must have forgotten i had one, and bought another, at another time. now, i had forgotten that, too. so help me!"
-if i hadn't known eddie so well--his proclivity for buying, and forgetting, and buying over again--also his sterling honor and general moral purity--the fishes would have got him then, red tag and all. as it was, i condescended to accept the second fly. i agreed that it was not such a bad production, after all, though i altered my opinion again, next morning, for whatever had been the embargo laid on other varieties of trout bait the day before, it was on now, and there was a general rising to anything we offered--doctors, parmcheenie, absorbent cotton--any old thing that skimmed the water and looked big and succulent.
-we broke camp that morning and dropped down toward the next lake--sand lake, it would be, by our crude map and hazy directions. there are no better rapids and there is no more lively fishing than we had on that run. there was enough water for us to remain in the canoes, and it was for the most part whirling, swirling, dashing, leaping water--shooting between great bowlders--plunging among cruel-looking black rocks--foaming into whirlpools below, that looked ready to swamp our light craft, with stores, crew, tackle, everything.
-it was my first exhibition of our guides' skill in handling their canoes. how they managed to just evade a sharp point of rock on one side and by a quick twist escape shipwreck from a bowlder or mass of bowlders on the other, i fail to comprehend. then there were narrow boiling channels, so full of obstructions that i did not believe a chip could go through with entire safety. yet somehow del the stout and charles the strong seemed to know, though they had never traveled this water before, just where the water would let the boats pass, just where the stones were wide enough to let us through--touching on both sides, sometimes, and ominously scraping on the bottom, but sliding and teetering into the cauldron below, where somehow we did not perish, perhaps because we shot so quickly through the foam. in the beginning i remembered a few brief and appropriate prayers, from a childhood where such things were a staff of comfort, and so made my peace with the world each time before we took the desperate plunge. but as nothing seemed to happen--nothing fatal, i mean--i presently gave myself up to the pure enjoyment of the tumult and exhilaration, without disturbing myself as to dangers here or hereafter.
-i do not believe the times that the guides got out of the canoes to ease them over hard places would exceed twice, and not oftener than that were we called on to assist them with the paddles. even when we wished to do so, we were often requested to go on fishing, for the reason, i suppose, that in such a place one's unskilled efforts are likely to be misdirected with fatal results. somewhat later we were to have an example of this kind--but i anticipate.
-we went on fishing. i never saw so many fish. we could take them as we shot a rapid, we could scoop them in as we leaped a fall. they seemed to be under every stone and lying in wait. there were great black fellows in every maelstrom; there were groups holding receptions for us in the stillwater pools below. it is likely that that bit of the shelburne river had not been fished before within the memory of any trout then living, and when those red and blue and yellow flies came tumbling at them, they must have thought it was great day in the morning and that the white-faced prophets of big feeding had come. for years, the trout we returned to those pools will tell their friends and descendants of the marvels and enchantments of that day.
-i had given up my noibwood as being too strenuous in its demands for constant fishing, but i laid aside the light bamboo here in this high-pressure current and with this high-speed fishing, where trout sometimes leaped clear of the water for the fly cast on the foam far ahead, to be swinging a moment later at the end of the line almost as far behind. no very delicate rod would improve under a strain like that, and the tough old noibwood held true, and nobody cared--at least i didn't--whether the tip stayed set or not. it was bent double most of the time, anyway, and the rest of the time didn't matter.
-i don't know how many fish i took that day, but eddie kept count of his, and recorded a total of seventy-four between camp and the great, splendid pool where the shelburne foams out into sand lake, four miles or such a matter, below.
-i do know that we lost two landing nets in that swift water, one apiece, and this was a serious matter, for there were but two more, both eddie's, and landing nets in the wilderness are not easy to replace. of fish we kept possibly a dozen, the smallest ones. the others--larger and wiser now--are still frolicking in the waters of the shelburne, unless some fish-hog has found his way to that fine water, which i think doubtful, for a fish-hog is usually too lazy and too stingy to spend the effort and time and money necessary to get there.
-there's nothing that's worse for sport, i guess, than killing to throw away; and there's nothing that's better for recklessness than having a price to pay.
-we had other camp diversions besides reading. we had shooting matches, almost daily, one canoe against the other, usually at any stop we happened to make, whether for luncheon or to repair the canoes, or merely to prospect the country. on rainy days, and sometimes in the evening, we played a game of cards known under various names--i believe we called it pedro. at all events, you bid, and buy, and get set back, and have less when you get through than you had before you began. anyhow, that is what my canoe did on sundry occasions. i am still convinced that del and i played better cards than the other canoe, though the score would seem to show a different result. we were brilliant and speculative in our playing. they were plodders and not really in our class. genius and dash are wasted on such persons.
-i am equally certain that our shooting was much worse than theirs, though the percentage of misses seemed to remain in their favor. in the matter of bull's-eyes--whenever such accidents came along--they happened to the other canoe, but perhaps this excited our opponents, for there followed periods of wildness when, if their shots struck anywhere, it was impossible to identify the places. at such periods eddie was likely to claim that the cartridges were blanks, and perhaps they were. as for del and me, our luck never varied like that. it remained about equally bad from day to day--just bad enough to beat the spectacular fortunes of eddie and charles the strong.
-in the matter of wing-shooting, however--that is to say, shooting when we were on the wing and any legitimate quarry came in view--my recollection is that we ranked about alike. neither of us by any chance ever hit anything at all, and i have an impression that our misses were about equally wide. eddie may make a different claim. he may claim that he fired oftener and with less visible result than i. possibly he did fire oftener, for he had a repeating rifle and i only a single shot, but so far as the result is concerned, if he states that his bullets flew wider of the mark, such a claim is the result of pure envy, perhaps malice. why, i recall one instance of a muskrat whose skin eddie was particularly desirous of sending to those museum folks in london--all properly mounted, with their names (eddie's and the muskrat's) on a neat silver plate, so that it could stand there and do honor to us for a long time--until the moths had eaten up everything but the plate, perhaps, and eddie struck the water within two or three feet of it (the muskrat, of course) as much as a dozen times, while such shots as i let go didn't hit anything but the woods or the sky and are, i suppose, still buried somewhere in the quiet bosom of nature. i am glad to unload that sentence. it was getting top-heavy, with a muskrat and moths and a silver plate in it. i could shoot some holes in it with a little practice, but inasmuch as we didn't get the muskrat, i will let it stand as a stuffed specimen.
-i am also glad about the muskrat. had he perished, our pledge would have compelled us to eat him, and although one of eddie's text-books told a good deal about their food value and seven different ways of cooking them, i was averse to experimenting even with one way. i have never really cared for muskrats since as a lad i caught twenty of them one night in a trammel net. up to that hour the odor of musk had never been especially offensive to me, but twenty muskrats in a net can compound a good deal of perfumery. we had to bury the net, and even then i never cared much about it afterwards. the sight of it stirred my imagination, and i was glad when it was ripped away from us by a swift current one dark night, it being unlawful to set a trammel net in that river, and therefore sinful, by daylight.
-it was on sand lake that eddie gave the first positive demonstration of his skill as a marksman. here, he actually made a killing. true, it was not a wing shot, but it was a performance worthy of record. a chill wet wind blew in upon us as we left the river, and a mist such as we had experienced on irving lake, with occasional drifts of rain, shut us in. at first it was hard to be certain that we were really on a lake, for the sheet of water was long and narrow, and it might be only a widening of the river. but presently we came to an island, and this we accepted as identification. it was the customary island, larger than some, but with the bushes below, the sentinel pines, and here and there a gaunt old snag--bleached and dead and lifting its arms to the sky. on one of these dead ones we made out, through the mist, a strange dark bunch about the size of a barn door and of rather irregular formation. gradually nearing, we discovered the bunch to be owls--great horned owls--a family of them, grouped on the old tree's limbs in solid formation, oblivious to the rain, to the world, to any thought of approaching danger.
-now, the great horned owl is legitimate quarry. the case against him is that he is a bird of prey--a destroyer of smaller birds and an enemy of hen roosts. of course if one wanted to go deeply into the ethics of the matter, one might say that the smaller birds and the chickens are destroyers, too, of bugs and grasshoppers and things, and that a life is a life, whether it be a bird or a bumble-bee, or even a fish-worm. but it's hard to get to the end of such speculations as that. besides, the owl was present, and we wanted his skin. eddie crept close in with his canoe, and drew a careful bead on the center of the barn door. there was an angry little spit of powder in the wet, a wavering movement of the dark, mist-draped bunch, a slow heaving of ghostly pinions and four silent, feathered phantoms drifted away into the white gloom. but there was one that did not follow. in vain the dark wings heaved and fell. then there came a tottering movement, a leap forward, and half-fluttering, half-plunging, the heavy body came swishing to the ground.
-yet unused to the battle as he was, for he was of the younger brood, he died game. when we reached him he was sitting upright, glaring out of his great yellow eyes, his talons poised for defense. even with eddie's bottle of new skin in reserve, it was not considered safe to approach too near. we photographed him as best we could, and then a shot at close range closed his brief career.
-i examined the owl with considerable interest. in the first place i had never seen one of this noble species before, and this was a beautiful specimen. also, his flesh, being that of a young bird, did not appeal to warrant the expression tough as a boiled owl, which the others remembered almost in a chorus when i referred to our agreement concerning the food test of such game as we brought down. i don't think any of us wanted to eat that owl. i know i didn't, but i had weakened once--on the porcupine, it may be remembered--and the death of that porcupine rested heavily upon me, especially when i remembered how he had whined and grieved in the moment of dying. i think i had a notion that eating the owl would in some measure atone for the porcupine. i said, with such firmness as i could command, and all day i repeated at intervals, that we would eat the owl.
-we camped rather early that afternoon, for it was not pleasant traveling in the chill mist, and the prospect of the campfire and a snug tent was an ever-present temptation. i had suggested, also, that we ought to go ashore in time to cook the owl for supper. it might take time to cook him.
-we did not especially need the owl. we had saved a number of choice small trout and we were still able to swallow them when prepared in a really palatable form. eddie, it is true, had condemned trout at breakfast, and declared he would have no more of them, but this may have been because there were flapjacks. he showed no disposition to condemn them now. when i mentioned the nice, tender owl meat which we were to have, he really looked longingly at the trout and spoke of them as juicy little fellows, such as he had always liked. i agreed that they would be good for the first course, and that a bird for supper would make out a sumptuous meal. i have never known eddie to be so kind to me as he was about this time. he offered me some leaders and flies and even presented me with a silver-mounted briar-root pipe, brought all the way from london. i took the things, but i did not soften my heart. i was born in new england and have a conscience. i cannot be bribed like that.
-i told the guides that it would be better to begin supper right away, in order that we might not get too hungry before the owl was done. i thought them slow in their preparations for the meal. it was curious, too, for i had promised them they should have a piece of the bird. del was generous. he said he would give his to charles. that he never really cared much for birds, anyhow. why, once, he said, he shot a partridge and gave it away, and he was hungry, too. he gave it to a boy that happened along just then, and when another partridge flew up he didn't even offer to shoot it. we didn't take much stock in that story until it dawned upon us that he had shot the bird out of season, and the boy had happened along just in time to be incriminated by accepting it as a present. it was better to have him as a partner than a witness.
-wood was gathered then, and the fire blazed. the owl's breast--fat and fine it looked--was in the broiler, and on the fire. there it cooked--and cooked. then it cooked some more and sent up an appetizing smell. now and then, i said i thought the time for it had come, but there was a burden of opinion that more cooking would benefit the owl. meantime, we had eaten a pan or two of trout and a few other things--the bird of course being later in the bill of fare. at most dinners i have attended, this course is contemplated with joy. it did not seem to be on this occasion. eddie agreed with del that he had never cared much for bird, anyway, and urged me to take his share. i refused to deprive him of it. then he said he didn't feel well, and thought he really ought not to eat anything more. i said grimly that possibly this was true, but that he would eat the owl.
-it was served then, fairly divided and distributed, as food is when men are on short rations. i took the first taste--i was always venturesome--a little one. then, immediately, i wished i had accepted eddie's piece. but meantime he had tasted, too--a miserly taste--and then i couldn't have got the rest of it for money.
-for there was never anything so good as that breast of young owl. it was tender, it was juicy, it was as delicately flavored as a partridge, almost. certainly it was a dainty morsel to us who had of late dealt so largely in fish diet. had we known where the rest of that brood of owls had flown to we should have started after them, then and there.
-extract from my diary that night: "eddie has been taken with a slight cramp, and it has occurred to him that the owl meat, though appetizing, may be poisonous. he is searching his medicine bag for remedies. his disaster is merely punishment for the quantity of other food he ate beforehand, in his futile effort to escape the owl."
-then scan your map, and search your plans, and ponder the hunter's guess-- while the silver track of the brook leads back into the wilderness.
-we looked for moose again on sand lake, but found only signs. on the whole, i thought this more satisfactory. one does not have to go galloping up and down among the bushes and rocks to get a glimpse of signs, but may examine them leisurely and discuss the number, character and probable age of these records, preserving meanwhile a measure of repose, not to say dignity.
-below sand lake a brook was said to enter. descending from the upper interior country, it would lead us back into regions more remote than any heretofore traveled. so far as i could learn, neither of our guides had ever met any one who even claimed in know this region, always excepting the imaginative indian previously mentioned. somewhere in these uncharted wilds this indian person had taken trout "the size of one's leg."
-it was not easy to find the entrance to the hidden land. the foliage was heavy and close along the swampy shore, and from such an ambush a still small current might flow unnoticed, especially in the mist that hung about us. more than once we were deceived by some fancied ripple or the configuration of the shore. del at length announced that just ahead was a growth of a kind of maple likely to indicate a brook entrance. the shore really divided there and a sandy waterway led back somewhere into a mystery of vines and trees.
-personally, the prospect of either did not fill me with enthusiasm. the size of the brook did not promise much in the way of important waters above or fish even the size of one's arm. however, tobeatic exploration was down on the cards. our trip thus far had furnished only a hint of such mystery and sport as was supposed to lie concealed somewhere beyond the green, from which only this little brooklet crept out to whisper the secret. besides, i had learned to keep still when eddie had set his heart on a thing. i left the others poring over the hieroglyphic map, and waded out into the clean water of the brook. as i looked back at del and charlie, squatting there amid the rank weeds, under the dark, dripping boughs, with eddie looking over their shoulders and pointing at the crumpled paper, spread before them, they formed a picturesque group--such a one as livingstone or stanley and their followers might have made in the african jungles. when i told eddie of this he grew visibly prouder and gave me two new leaders and some special tobacco.
-we proceeded up the stream, eddie and i ahead, the guides pushing the loaded canoes behind. it was the brook of our forefathers--such a stream as might flow through the valley meadows of new england, with trout of about the new england size, and plentiful. lively fellows, from seven to nine inches in length, rose two and three at almost every cast. we put on small flies and light leaders and forgot there were such things as big trout in nova scotia. it was joyous, old-fashioned fishing--a real treat for a change.
-we had not much idea how far we were to climb this water stairway, and as the climb became steeper, and the water more swift, the guides pushed and puffed and we gave them a lift over the hard places--that is, eddie did. i was too tired to do anything but fish.
-as a rule, the water was shallow, but there were deep holes. i found one of them presently, by mistake. it was my habit to find holes that way--places deeper than my waders, though the latter came to my shoulders. it seemed necessary that several times daily i should get my boots full of water. when i couldn't do it in any other way i would fall over something and let the river run into them for a while. i called to eddie from where i was wallowing around, trying to get up, with my usual ballast.
-"don't get in here!" i said.
-he was helping the boys over a hard place just then, tugging and sweating, but he paused long enough to be rude and discourteous.
-"i don't have to catch my trout in my boots," he jeered, and the guides were disrespectful enough to laugh. i decided that i would never try to do any of them a good turn again. then suddenly everything was forgotten, for a gate of light opened out ahead, and presently we pushed through and had reached the shores of as lovely a sheet of water as lies in the great north woods. it was tupper lake, by our calculation, and it was on the opposite side that tobeatic brook was said to enter. there, if anywhere, we might expect to find the traditional trout. so far as we knew, no one had looked on these waters since the old lumbering days. except for exploration there was no reason why any one should come. of fish and game there were plenty in localities more accessible. to me, i believe the greatest joy there, as everywhere in the wilderness--and it was a joy that did not grow old--was the feeling that we were in a region so far removed from clanging bells and grinding wheels and all the useful, ugly attributes of mankind.
-we put out across the lake. the land rose rather sharply beyond, and from among the trees there tumbled out a white foaming torrent that made a wide swirling green pool where it entered. we swept in below this aquarium, eddie taking one side and i the other. we had on our big flies now and our heavy leaders. they were necessary. scarcely had a cast gone sailing out over the twisting water when a big black and gold shape leaped into the air and eddie had his work cut out for him. a moment later my own reel was singing, and i knew by the power and savage rushes that i had something unusual at the other end.
-"trout as big as your leg!" we called across to each other, and if they were not really as big as that, they were, at all events, bigger than anything so far taken--as big as one's arm perhaps--one's forearm, at least, from the hollow of the elbow to the fingertips. you see how impossible it is to tell the truth about a trout the first time. i never knew a fisherman who could do it. there is something about a fish that does not affiliate with fact. even at the market i have known a fish to weigh more than he did when i got him home. we considered the imaginative indian justified, and blessed him accordingly.
-you may slip away from a faithful friend and thrive for an hour or two, but you'd better be fair, and you'd better be square, or something will happen to you.
-we took seventeen of those big fellows before we landed, enough in all conscience. a point just back of the water looked inviting as a place to pitch the tents, and we decided to land, for we were tired. yet curious are the ways of fishermen: having had already too much, one becomes greedy for still more. there was an old dam just above, unused for a generation perhaps, and a long, rotting sluiceway through which poured a torrent of water. it seemed just the place for the king of trouts, and i made up my mind to try it now before eddie had a chance. you shall see how i was punished.
-i crept away when his back was turned, taking his best and longest-handled landing net (it may be remembered i had lost mine), for it would be a deep dip down into the sluice. the logs around the premises were old and crumbly and i had to pick my way with care to reach a spot from which it would be safe to handle a big trout. i knew he was there. i never had a stronger conviction in my life. the projecting ends of some logs which i chose for a seat seemed fairly permanent and i made my preparations with care. i put on a new leader and two large new flies. then i rested the net in a handy place, took a look behind me and sent the cast down the greased lightning current that was tearing through the sluice.
-i expected results, but nothing quite so sudden. neither did i know that whales ever came so far up into fresh-water streams. i know it was a whale, for nothing smaller could have given a yank like that; besides, in the glimpse i had of him he looked exactly like pictures i have seen of the leviathan who went into commission for three days to furnish passage for jonah and get his name in print. i found myself suddenly grabbing at things to hold on to, among them being eddie's long-handled net, which was of no value as ballast, but which once in my hand i could not seem to put down again, being confused and toppling.
-as a matter of fact there was nothing satisfactory to get hold of in that spot. i had not considered the necessity of firm anchorage when i selected the place, but with a three-ton trout at the end of a long line, in a current going a thousand miles a minute, i realized that it would be well to be lashed to something permanent. as it was, with my legs swinging over that black mill-race, my left hand holding the rod, and my right clutching the landing net, i was in no position to withstand the onset of a battle such as properly belongs to the north pacific ocean where they have boats and harpoons and long coiled lines suitable to such work.
-still, i might have survived--i might have avoided complete disaster, i think--if the ends of those two logs i selected as a seat had been as sound as they looked. of course they were not. they were never intended to stand any such motions as i was making. in the brief moment allowed me for thought i realized this, but it was no matter. my conclusions were not valuable. i remember seeing the sluice, black, and swift, suddenly rise to meet me, and of dropping eddie's net as i went down. then i have a vision of myself shooting down that race in a wild toboggan ride, and a dim, splashy picture of being pitched out on a heap of brush and stones and logs below.
-when i got some of the water out of my brains so i could think with them, i realized, first, that i was alive, still clutching my rod and that it was unbroken. next, that the whale and eddie's landing net were gone. i did not care so especially much about the whale. he had annoyed me. i was willing to part with him. eddie's net was a different matter. i never could go back without that. after all his goodness to me i had deceived him, slipped away from him, taken his prized net--and lost it. i had read of such things; the sunday-school books used to be full of similar incidents. and even if eddie forgave me, as the good boy in the books always did, my punishment was none the less sure. my fishing was ended. there was just one net left. whatever else i had done, or might do, i would never deprive eddie of his last net. i debated whether i should go to him, throw myself on his mercy--ask his forgiveness and offer to become his special guide and servant for the remainder of the trip--or commit suicide.
-but presently i decided to make one try, at least, to find the net. it had not been thrown out on the drift with me, for it was not there. being heavy, it had most likely been carried along the bottom and was at present lodged in some deep crevice. it was useless, of course; still, i would try.
-i was not much afraid of the sluice, now that i had been introduced to it. i put my rod in a place of safety and made my way to the upper end of the great trough. then i let myself down carefully into the racing water, bracing myself against the sides and feeling along the bottom with my feet. it was uncertain going, for the heavy current tried hard to pull me down. but i had not gone three steps till i felt something. i could not believe it was the net. i carefully steadied myself and--down, down to my elbow. then i could have whooped for joy, for it was the net. it had caught on an old nail or splinter, or something, and held fast.
-eddie was not at the camp, and the guides were busy getting wood. i was glad, for i was wet and bruised and generally disturbed. when i had changed my things and recovered a good deal, i sat in the shade and smoked and arranged my fly-book and other paraphernalia, and brooded on the frailty of human nature and the general perversity and cussedness of things at large. i had a confession all prepared for eddie, long before he arrived. it was a good confession--sufficiently humble and truthful without being dangerous. i had tested it carefully and i did not believe it could result in any disagreeable penance or disgrace on my part. it takes skill to construct a confession like that. but it was wasted. when eddie came in, at last, he wore a humble hang-dog look of his own, and i did not see the immediate need of any confession.
-"i didn't really intend to run off from you," he began sheepishly. "i only wanted to see what was above the dam, and i tried one or two of the places up there, and they were all so bully i couldn't get away. get your rod, i want to take you up there before it gets too late."
-so the rascal had taken advantage of my brief absence and slipped off from me. in his guilty haste he had grabbed the first landing net he had seen, never suspecting that i was using the other. clearly i was the injured person. i regarded him with thoughtful reproach while he begged me to get my rod and come. he would take nothing, he said, but a net, and would guide for me. i did not care to fish any more that day; but i knew eddie--i knew how his conscience galled him for his sin and would never give him peace until he had made restitution in full. i decided to be generous.
-we made our way above the dam, around an old half-drained pond, and through a killing thicket of vines and brush to a hidden pool, faced with slabs and bowlders. there, in that silent dim place i had the most beautiful hour's fishing i have ever known. the trout were big, gamy fellows and eddie was alert, obedient and respectful. it was not until dusk that he had paid his debt to the last fish--had banished the final twinge of remorse.
-oh, it's well to live high as you can, my boy, wherever you happen to roam, but it's better to have enough bacon and beans to take the poor wanderers home.
-by this time we had reached trout diet per se. i don't know what per se means, but i have often seen it used and it seems to fit this case. of course we were not entirely out of other things. we had flour for flapjacks, some cornmeal for mush and johnnie-cake, and enough bacon to impart flavor to the fish. also, we were not wholly without beans--long may they wave--the woods without them would be a wilderness indeed. but in the matter of meat diet it was trout per se, as i have said, unless that means we did not always have them; in which case i will discard those words. we did. we had fried trout, broiled trout, boiled trout, baked trout, trout on a stick and trout chowder. we may have had them other ways--i don't remember. i know i began to imagine that i was sprouting fins and gills, and daily i felt for the new bumps on my head which i was certain must result from this continuous absorption of brain food. there were several new bumps, but when i called eddie's attention to them, he said they were merely the result of butting my head so frequently against logs and stumps and other portions of the scenery. then he treated them with liniment and new skin.
-speaking of food, i believe i have not mentioned the beefsteak which we brought with us into the woods. it was eddie's idea, and he was its self-appointed guardian and protector. that was proper, only i think he protected it too long. it was a nice sirloin when we started--thick and juicy and of a deep rich tone. eddie said a little age would improve it, and i suppose he was right--he most always is. he said we would appreciate it more, too, a little later, which seemed a sound doctrine.
-yet, somehow, that steak was an irritation. it is no easy matter to adjust the proper age of a steak to the precise moment of keen and general appreciation. we discussed the matter a good deal, and each time the steak was produced as a sort of exhibit a, and on each occasion eddie decided that the time was not ripe--that another day would add to its food value. i may say that i had no special appetite for steak, not yet, but i did not want to see it carried off by wild beasts, or offered at last on a falling market.
-besides, the thing was an annoyance as baggage. i don't know where we carried it at first, but i began to come upon it in unexpected places. if i picked up a yielding looking package, expecting to find a dry undergarment, or some other nice surprise, it turned out to be that steak. if i reached down into one of the pack baskets for a piece of eddie's chocolate, or some of his tobacco--for anything, in fact--i would usually get hold of a curious feeling substance and bring up that steak. i began to recognize its texture at last, and to avoid it. eventually i banished it from the baskets altogether. then eddie took to hanging it on a limb near the camp, and if a shower came up suddenly he couldn't rest--he must make a wild rush and take in that steak. i refused at last to let him bring it into the tent, or to let him hang it on a nearby limb. but this made trouble, for when he hung it farther away he sometimes forgot it, and twice we had to paddle back a mile or so to get that steak. also, sometimes, it got wet, which was not good for its flavor, he said; certainly not for its appearance.
-in fact, age told on that steak. it no longer had the deep rich glow of youth. it had a weather-beaten, discouraged look, and i wondered how eddie could contemplate it in that fond way. it seemed to me that if the time wasn't ripe the steak was, and that something ought to be done about a thing like that. my suggestions did not please eddie.
-i do not remember now just when we did at last cook that steak. i prefer to forget it. neither do i know what eddie did with his piece. i buried mine.
-eddie redeemed himself later--that is to say, he produced something i could eat. he got up early for the purpose. when i awoke, a savory smell was coming in the tent. eddie was squatted by the fire, stirring something in a long-handled frying pan. neither he nor the guides were communicative as to its nature, but it was good, and i hoped we would have it often. then they told me what it was. it was a preparation with cream (condensed) of the despised canned salmon which i had denounced earlier in the trip as an insult to live, speckled trout. you see how one's point of view may alter. i said i was sorry now we hadn't brought some dried herring. the others thought it a joke, but i was perfectly serious.
-in fact, provisioning for a camping trip is a serious matter. where a canoe must carry a man and guide, with traps and paraphernalia, and provisions for a three-weeks' trip, the problem of condensation in the matter of space and weight, with amplitude in the matter of quantity, affords study for a careful mind. we started out with a lot of can and bottle goods, which means a good deal of water and glass and tin, all of which are heavy and take up room. i don't think ours was the best way. the things were good--too good to last--but dried fruits--apricots, prunes and the like--would have been nearly as good, and less burdensome. indeed by the end of the second week i would have given five cents apiece for a few dried prunes, while even dried apples, which i had learned to hate in childhood, proved a gaudy luxury. canned beans, too, i consider a mistake. you can't take enough of them in that form. no two canoes can safely carry enough canned beans to last two fishermen and two nova scotia guides for three weeks. as for jam and the like, why it would take one canoe to carry enough marmalade to supply del the stout alone. if there is any such thing as a marmalade cure, i hope del will take it before i am ready to go into the woods again. otherwise i shall tow an extra canoe or a marmalade factory.
-as i have said, dried things are better; fruits, beans, rice, beef, bacon--maple sugar (for sirup), cornmeal and prepared flour. if you want to start with a few extras in the way of canned stuff, do it, but be sure you have plenty of the staples mentioned. you will have enough water and tin and glass to carry with your condensed milk, your vinegar, a few pickles, and such other bottle refreshments as your tastes and morals will permit. take all the variety you can in the way of dried staples--be sure they are staples--but cut close on your bulky tinned supplies. it is better to be sure of enough johnnie-cake and bacon and beans during the last week out than to feast on plum-pudding and california pears the first.
-oh, it's up and down the island's reach, through thicket and gorge and fen, with never a rest in their fevered quest, hurry the hunter men.
-i would gladly have lingered at tobeatic dam. it was an ideal place, wholly remote from everything human--a haunt of wonderful trout, peaceable porcupines and tame birds. the birds used to come around the tent to look us over and ask questions, and to tell us a lot about what was going on in the back settlements--those mysterious dim places where bird and beast still dwell together as in the ancient days, their round of affairs and gossip undisturbed. i wanted to rest there, and to heal up a little before resuming the unknown way.
-but eddie was ruthless--there were more worlds to conquer. the spirit of some old ancestor who probably set out to discover the northwest passage was upon him. lower tobeatic lake was but a little way above. we pushed through to it without much delay. it was an extensive piece of water, full of islands, lonely rocks and calling gulls, who come to this inland isolation to rear their young.
-the morning was clear and breezy and we set on up the lake in the canoes, eddie, as usual, a good way in advance. he called back to us now and then that this was great moose country, and to keep a sharp lookout as we passed the islands. i did not wish to see moose. the expedition had already acquitted itself in that direction, but eddie's voice was eager, even authoritative, so we went in close and pointed at signs and whispered in the usual way. i realized that eddie had not given up the calf moose idea and was still anxious to shine with those british museum people. it seemed to me that such ambitions were not laudable. i considered them a distinct mar to a character which was otherwise almost perfect. it was at such times that my inclination to drown or poison eddie was stronger than usual.
-he had been behind an island a good while when we thought we heard a shot. presently we heard it again, and were sure. del was instantly all ablaze. two shots had been the signal for moose.
-"two calf meese!" he called (meese being eddie's plural of moose--everybody knows that mooses is the word). "little helpless fellows not more than a day or two old. they're too young to swim of course, so they can't get on the island. we've got em, sure!"
-"did you hit either of them?" i asked anxiously.
-"no, of course not! i only fired for a signal. they are wholly at our mercy. they were right here just a moment ago. the mother ran, and they hardly knew which way to turn. we can take them alive."
-"but, eddie," i began, "what will you do with them? they'll have to be fed if we keep them, and will probably want to occupy the tents, and we'll have to take them in the canoes when we move."
-he was ready for this objection.
-"i've been thinking," he said with decision. "dell and charlie can take one of the canoes, with the calves in it, and make straight for milford by the shortest cut. while they're gone we'll be exploring the upper lake."
-this was a brief, definite plan, but it did not appeal to me. in the first place, i did not wish to capture those little mooses. then, too, i foresaw that during the considerable period which must elapse before the guides returned, somebody would have to cook and wash dishes and perform other menial camp labor. i suspected eddie might get tired of doing guide work as a daily occupation. also, i was sorry for charlie and del. i had a mental picture of them paddling for dear life up the liverpool river with two calf mooses galloping up and down the canoe, bleating wildly, pausing now and then to lap the faces of the friendly guides and perhaps to bite off an ear or some other handy feature. even the wild animals would form along the river bank to view a spectacle like that, and i imagined the arrival at the hotel would be something particularly showy. i mentioned these things and i saw that for once the guides were with me. they did not warm to the idea of that trip up the liverpool and the gaudy homecoming. eddie was only for a moment checked.
-"well, then," he said, "we'll kill and skin them. we can carry the skins."
-this was no better. i did not want those little mooses slaughtered, and said so. but eddie was roused now, and withered me with judicial severity.
-"look here," he said, and his spectacles glared fiercely. "i'm here as a representative of the british museum, in the cause of science, not to discuss the protection of dumb creatures. that's another society."
-i submitted then, of course. i always do when eddie asserts his official capacity like that. the authority of the british museum is not to be lightly tampered with. so far as i knew he could have me jailed for contempt. we shoved our canoes in shore and disembarked. eddie turned back.
-"we must take something to tie their hind legs," he said, and fished out a strap for that purpose. the hope came to me that perhaps, after all, he might not need the strap, but i was afraid to mention it.
-i confess i was unhappy. i imagined a pathetic picture of a little innocent creature turning its pleading eyes up to the captor who with keen sheath-knife would let slip the crimson tide. i had no wish to go racing through the brush after those timid victims.
-i did, however. the island was long and narrow. we scattered out across it in a thin line of battle, and starting at one end swept down the length of it with a conquering front. that sounds well, but it fails to express what we did. we did not sweep, and we did not have any front to speak of. the place was a perfect tangle and chaos of logs, bushes, vines, pits, ledges and fallen trees. to beat up that covert was a hot, scratchy, discouraging job, attended with frequent escapes from accident and damage. i was satisfied i had the worst place in the line, for i couldn't keep up with the others, and i tried harder to do that than i did to find the little mooses. i didn't get sight of the others after we started. neither did i catch a glimpse of those little day-old calves, or of anything else except a snake, which i came upon rather suddenly when i was down on my hands and knees, creeping under a fallen tree. i do not like to come upon snakes in that manner. i do not care to view them even behind glass in a museum. an earthquake might strike that museum and break the glass and it might not be easy to get away. i wish eddie had been collecting snake skins for his museum. i would have been willing for him to skin that one alive.
-i staggered out to the other end of the island, at last, with only a flickering remnant of life left in me. i thought eddie would be grateful for all my efforts when i was not in full sympathy with the undertaking; but he wasn't. he said that by not keeping up with the line i had let the little mooses slip by, and that we would have to make the drive again. i said he might have my route and i would take another. it was a mistake, though. i couldn't seem to pick a better one. when we had chased up and down that disordered island--that dumping ground of nature--for the third time; when i had fallen over every log and stone, and into every hole on it, and had scraped myself in every brush-heap, and not one of us had caught even an imaginary glimpse of those little, helpless, day-old meese, or mooses, or mice for they were harder to find than mice--we staggered out, limp and sore, silently got into our canoes and drifted away. nobody spoke for quite a while. nobody had anything to say. then charlie murmured reflectively, as if thinking aloud:
-"little helpless fellows--not more than a day or two old----"
-and del added--also talking to himself:
-"too young to swim, of course--wholly at our mercy." then, a moment later, "it's a good thing we took that strap to tie their hind legs."
-eddie said nothing at all, and i was afraid to. still, i was glad that my vision of the little creatures pleading for their lives hadn't been realized, or that other one of del and charlie paddling for dear life up the liverpool, with those little mooses bleating and scampering up and down the canoe.
-what really became of those calves remains a mystery. nature teaches her wild children many useful things. their first indrawn breath is laden with knowledge. perhaps those wise little animals laughed at us from some snug hiding. perhaps they could swim, after all, and followed their mother across the island, and so away. whatever they did, i am glad, even if the museum people have me arrested for it.
-when the utmost bound of the trail is found-- the last and loneliest lair-- the hordes of the forest shall gather round to bid you a welcome there.
-i do not know what lies above the tobeatic lakes, but the strip of country between is the true wilderness. it is a succession of swamps and spruce thickets--ideal country for a moose farm or a mosquito hatchery, or for general exploration, but no sort of a place for a sunday-school picnic. neither is it a good place to fish. the little brook between the lakes runs along like a chain pump and contains about as many trout. there are one or two pretty good pools, but the effort to reach them is too costly.
-we made camp in as dry a place as we could find, but we couldn't find a place as big as the tent that didn't have a spring or a water hole. in fact, the ground was a mass of roots, great and small, with water everywhere between. a spring actually bubbled up between our beds, and when one went outside at night it was a mercy if he did not go plunging into some sort of a cold, wet surprise, with disastrous and profane results. being the worst camp and the worst country and the poorest fishing we had found, we remained there two days. but this was as it should be. we were not fishermen now, but explorers; and explorers, eddie said, always court hardships, and pitch their camps in the midst of dangers.
-immediately after our arrival, eddie and i took one side of the brook and the guides the other, and we set out to discover things, chiefly the upper lake. of course we would pick the hardest side. we could be depended on to do that. the brook made a long bend, and the guides, who were on the short side, found fairly easy going. eddie and i, almost immediately, were floundering in a thick miry swamp, where it was hot and breezeless, and where the midges, mooseflies and mosquitoes gave us a grand welcome. i never saw anybody so glad to be discovered as those mooseflies. they were as excited as if we were long lost relatives who had suddenly turned up with a fortune. they swarmed about us and clung to us and tapped us in any convenient place. i did not blame them, of course. moose diet, year in and year out, would make them welcome anything by way of a change. and what droves of moose there must be in that swamp to support such a muster of flies! certainly this was the very heart of the moose domain.
-we struggled on. finally near sunset of that long, hard june day, we passed out of the thicket tangle, ascended a slope and found ourselves in an open grove of whispering pines that through all the years had somehow escaped the conflagration and the ax. tall colonnades they formed--a sort of grove of dodona which because of some oracle, perhaps, the gods had spared and the conquering vandals had not swept away. from the top of the knoll we caught a glimpse of water through the trees, and presently stood on the shore of little tobeatic lake.
-so it was we reached the end of our quest--the farthest point in the unknown. i hardly know what i had expected: trout of a new species and of gigantic size, perhaps, or a strange race of men. whatever it was, i believe i felt a bit disappointed.
-we crossed the brook and returned to camp the short way. we differed a good deal as to the direction, and separated once or twice. we got lost at last, for the way was so short and easy that we were below the camp before we knew it. when at last we heard the guides calling (they had long since returned) we came in, blaming each other for several things and were scarcely on speaking terms for as much as five minutes. it was lucky that charles found a bottle of jamaica rum and a little pot of honey just then. a mixture of rum and honey will allay irritation due to moosefly and mosquito bites, and to a variety of other causes if faithfully applied.
-it was a tedious job, arranging that net and fastening it properly by the flickering firelight so that it covered every crack and crevice. when he pulled it down in one place it left an opening in another and had to be poked and pinned and stuffed in and patted down a great many times. from my place inside the tent i could see his nimble shadow on the canvas like some big insect, bobbing and flitting up and down and from side to side. it reminded me of a persistent moth, dipping and dodging about a screen. i drowsily wondered if he would ever get it fixed, and if he wasn't getting hot and tired, for it was a still, sticky night. yet i suppose i did not realize how hot and tired one might get on such a night, especially after a hard day. when he ceased his lightsome movements at last and crept as carefully as a worm under the net, i expected him to light the candle lamp and read. he did not do so. he gave one long sighing groan of utter exhaustion, dropped down on his bed without removing his clothes and never stirred again until morning.
-the net was a great success. only two mosquitoes got in and they bit eddie.
-apollo has tuned his lute again, and the pipes of pan are near, for the gods that fled from the groves of men gather unheeded here.
-we carried the canoes to the lake that morning and explored it, but there was not much to see. the lake had no inlet that we could find, and eddie and i lost a dollar apiece with the guides betting on the shape of it, our idea being based upon the glimpse of the evening before. i don't care much for lakes that change their shape like that, and even eddie seemed willing to abandon this unprofitable region. i suspected, however, that his willingness to take the back track was mainly due to the hope of getting another try at the little mooses, but i resolved to indulge myself no further in any such pastime.
-it was hard to drag eddie by those islands. he wanted to cruise around every one of them and to go ashore and prospect among the débris. he vowed at last that he would come back with charles from our next camp and explore on his own account. then, there being a fine breeze directly behind us, he opened out a big umbrella which he had brought along for just such a time, we hitched our canoe on behind, and with that bellying black sail on the forward bow, went down that long, lovely lake in a luxury of idle bliss.
-it was dusk when the other canoe came in. our companions were very tired, also wet, for it had been a misty day, with showers. eddie was a bit cross, too. they had seen some calves, he said, but could not get them. his guide agreed with this statement, but when questioned separately their statements varied somewhat as to the reasons of failure. it did not matter. eddie was discouraged in the calf moose project, i could see that. presently i began boasting of the big day's sport i had enjoyed, and then to show off i said, "this is how i did it."
-eddie was washing his hands in my perch pool and i had no idea of getting anything--one is not likely to when he wishes to exhibit himself--but i made a cast with the light tackle with two flies on it and immediately had my hands full. for once, i did actually show off when i undertook to do it. i think the only two big perch in that pool seized those flies, and for the next five or ten minutes they were making my reel sing and giving me such sport as only two big white perch on a light tackle can. i brought them to the net at last and eddie looked on with hungry, envious eyes.
-"you don't mean to say you've been taking those things all day," he said.
-"all day, more or less. i merely gave this little exhibition to wind up on."
-but of course i had to show him the size of the others, then, and he was appeased to the extent of forgetting most of his troubles in a square meal. that quiet day with the white perch, ending as it did with a grand finale, remains one of my fondest memories.
-you may pick your place--you may choose your hour-- you may put on your choicest flies; but never yet was it safe to bet that a single trout would rise.
-back across tupper lake and down sand brook to the shelburne. eddie left the further wilderness with a sigh, for he felt that his chance of getting a moose calf for those museum people was getting slim. a distance--i have forgotten the number of miles--down the shelburne would bring us to country known to the guides and not remote enough for moose at this season. as eddie is no longer in this country, i may confess, now, that i was glad.
-it was beautiful going, down sand brook. there was plenty of water and the day was perfect. there is nothing lovelier in the world than that little limpid stream with its pebbly riffles and its sunlit pools. sometimes when i think of it now i am afraid that it is no longer there in that far still arcady, or that it may vanish through some enchantment before i can ever reach it again. indeed as i am writing here to-day i am wondering if it is really there--hidden away in that quiet unvisited place, when no one is there to see it, and to hear it sing and whisper--if anything is anywhere, unless some one is there to see and hear. but these are deep waters. i am prone to stumble, as we have seen, and somehow my tallest waders never take me through.
-i have already said, and repeated, i think, that there is no better trout fishing than in the shelburne. the fish now were not quite so heavy as they had been higher up, but they were very many. the last half of the miracle of the loaves and fishes would not have been necessary here had the multitudes been given some tackle and a few cans of bait. when we were a little above kempton dam, del pointed out the first place familiar to him. the woods were precisely the same--the waters just as fair and fruitful--the locality just as wild; but somehow as we rounded that bend a certain breath of charm vanished. the spell of perfect isolation was gone. i had the feeling that we had emerged from the enchanted borders of no man's land--that we were entering a land of real places, with the haunts and habitations of men.
-kempton dam itself had been used to catch logs, not so long ago, and eddie had visited it on a previous occasion. he still had a fond memory of a very large trout--opinions differed a trifle as to its exact size--which he had taken there in a certain pool of golden water, and it was evident from his talk that he expected to take that trout again, or some member of its family, or its ghost, maybe, immediately upon arrival.
-it certainly proved an attractive place, and there were any number of fish. they were not especially large, however. even the golden water was fruitful only as to numbers. we waded among the rocks or stood on the logs, and cast and reeled and netted and returned fish to the water until we were fairly surfeited. by that time the guides had the camp ready, and as it was still early we gave them the rods and watched the sport.
-now a fly-casting tournament at home is a tame entertainment when one has watched the fishing of nova scotia guides. to see a professional send a fly sailing out a hundred feet or so in madison square garden is well enough, and it is a meritorious achievement, no doubt, but there is no return except the record and the applause. to see del the stout and charles the strong doing the same thing from that old log dam was a poem, a picture, an inspiration. above and below, the rushing water; overhead, the blue sky; on either side, the green of june--the treetops full of the setting sun. out over the foaming current, skimming just above the surface, the flies would go sailing, sailing--you thought they would never light. they did not go with a swish and a jump, but seemed noiselessly to drift away, as if the lightly swinging rod had little to do with the matter, as if they were alive, in fact, looking for a place to settle in some cozy nook of water where a trout would be sure to be. and the trout were there. it was not the empty tub-fishing of a sportsman's show. the gleam and splash in the pool that seemed remote--that was perhaps thirty yards away in fact--marked the casting limit, and the sharp curve of the rod, and the play to land were more inspiring than any measure of distance or clapping of hands.
-charles himself became so inspired at length with his handsome fishing that he made a rash statement. he declared that he could take five trout in fifteen minutes. he offered to bet a dollar that he could do it. i rather thought he could myself, for the fish were there, and they were not running over large. still, it was no easy matter to land them in that swift water, and it would be close work. the show would be worth a dollar, even if i lost. wherefore, i scoffed at his boast and took the bet.
-now, of course, one of the most uncertain things in life to gamble on is fishing. you may pick your place, your day and your time of day. the combination may seem perfect. yet the fact remains that you can never count with certainty on the result. one might suppose that our guide had everything in his favor. up to the very moment of his wager he had been taking trout about as rapidly as he could handle them, and from water that had been fished more or less all the afternoon. he knew the particular fly that had been most attractive on this particular day and he had selected a place hitherto unfished--just the sort of a place where small trout seemed likely to abound. with his skill as an angler it would not have surprised me if he had taken his five trout and had more than half the time to spare.
-i think he expected to do that himself. i think he did, for he went at it with that smiling sang froid with which one does a sleight of hand trick after long practice. he did not show any appearance of haste in making his first cast, but let the flies go gently out over a little eddying pool and lightly skim the surface of the water, as if he were merely amusing himself by tantalizing those eager little trout. yet for some reason nothing happened. perhaps the little trout were attending a party in the next pool. there came no lively snap at those twitching flies--there was not even a silver break on the surface of the water.
-i thought our guide's smile faded the least trifle, and that he let the flies go a bit quicker next time. then when nothing, absolutely nothing, happened again, his look became one of injured surprise. he abandoned that pool and stepping a rock or two downstream, sent the flies with a sharp little flirt into the next--once--twice--it was strange--it was unaccountable, but nothing--not a single thing happened again. it was the same with the next pool, and the next.
-there were no special marks of self-confidence, or anything that even resembled deliberation, after this. it was business, strictly business, with the sole idea of taking five fish out of that run, or getting down to a place where five fish could be had. it was a pretty desperate situation, for it was a steep run and there was no going back. to attempt that would be to waste too much precious time. the thing to do was to fish it straight through, with no unnecessary delay. there was no doubt but that this was our guide's programme. the way he deported himself showed that. perhaps he was not really in a hurry--i want to be just--but he acted as if he was. i have never seen a straddle-bug, but if i ever meet one i shall recognize him, for i am certain he will look exactly like charles the strong going down tommy kempton's run. he was shod in his shoepacks, and he seemed to me to have one foot always in the air wildly reaching out for the next rock--the pair of flies, meanwhile, describing lightning circles over every pool and riffle, lingering just long enough to prove the futility of the cast, to be lying an instant later in a new spot, several yards below. if ever there is a tournament for swift and accurate fly-casting down a flight of rugged stone stairs i want to enter charles for first honors against the world. but i would not bet on any fish--i want that stipulated. i would not gamble to that extent. i would not gamble even on one fish after being a witness to our guide's experience.
-that was a mad race. the rest of us kept a little to one side, out of his way, and not even del and eddie could keep up with him. and with all that wild effort not a fish would rise--nor even break water. it was strange--it was past believing--i suppose it was even funny. it must have been, for i seem to recall that we fairly whooped our joy at his acrobatic eagerness. why, with such gymnastics, charles did not break his neck i cannot imagine. with the utmost watchfulness i barely missed breaking mine as much as a dozen times.
-the time was more than half-expired when we reached the foot of the run, and still no fish, not even a rise. yet the game was not over. it was supposable that this might be the place of places for fish. five fish in five minutes were still possible, if small. the guide leaped and waded to a smooth, commanding stone and cast--once--twice, out over the twisting water. then, suddenly, almost in front of him, it seemed, a great wave rolled up from the depths--there was a swish and a quick curving of the rod--a monstrous commotion, and a struggle in the water. it was a king of fish, we could all see that, and the rest of us gave a shout of approval.
-but if charles was happy, he did not look it. in fact, i have never seen any one act so unappreciative of a big fish, nor handle it in so unsportsmanlike a manner. if i remember his remark it had damn and hell mixed up in it, and these words were used in close association with that beautiful trout. his actions were even worse. he made no effort to play his catch--to work him gradually to the net, according to the best form. nothing of the kind. you'd have supposed our guide had never seen a big trout before by the way he got hold of that line and yanked him in, hand over hand, regardless of the danger to line and leader and to those delicate little flies, to say nothing of the possibility of losing a fish so handled. of course the seconds were flying, and landing a fish of that size is not an especially quick process. a three-pound trout in swift water has a way of staying there, even when taken by the main strength and awkwardness system. when only about a yard of line remained between charlie and the fish, the latter set up such a commotion, and cut up such a series of antics, that it was impossible for one man to hold him and net him, though the wild effort which our guide made to do so seemed amusing to those who were looking on. in fact, if i had not been weak with laughing i might have gone to his rescue sooner. one may be generous to a defeated opponent, and the time limit was on its last minute now. as it was, i waded over presently and took the net. a moment later we had him--the single return in the allotted time, but by all odds the largest trout thus far of the expedition. you see, as i have said, fish are uncertain things to gamble on. trying for five small ones our fisherman captured one large fish, which at any other moment of the expedition would have been more welcome. yet even he was an uncertain quantity, for big, strong and active as he was, he suddenly gave a great leap out of the net and was back in the water again. still, i let him be counted. that was generous.
-you might have supposed after that demonstration, eddie would have been somewhat reticent about backing his skill as a fisherman. but he wasn't. he had just as much faith in his angling, and in his ability to pick good water as if he hadn't seen his guide go down to ignominy and defeat. he knew a place just above the dam, he said, where he could make that bet good. would i give him the same terms? i would--the offer was open to all comers. i said it was taking candy from children.
-we went up to eddie's place and got out the watches. eddie had learned something from his guide's exhibition. he had learned not to prance about over a lot of water, and not to seem to be in a hurry. it was such things that invited mirth. he took his position carefully between two great bowlders and during the next fifteen minutes gave us the most charming exhibition of light and delicate fly-casting i have ever witnessed. it was worth the dollar to watch the way in which he sought to wheedle and coax and fascinate those trout, and to study the deft dispatch and grace with which he landed a fish, once hooked. still he hadn't learned quite enough. he hadn't learned to take five trout in fifteen minutes in that particular place and on that particular evening. perhaps it was a little late when he began. perhaps fifteen minutes is a shorter period than it sometimes seems. three trout completed his score at the end of the allotted time--all fairly large.
-yet i must not fail to add here that a few days later, in other water, both eddie and his guide made good their wager. each took his five trout--small ones--in fifteen minutes, and had time to spare. as i have remarked once or twice already, one of the most uncertain things in life to gamble on is fishing.
-oh, the waves they pitch and the waves they toss, and the waves they frighten me; and if ever i get my boat across i'll go no more to sea.
-all the same, the price had advanced a good deal by next morning, for the wind had shifted to the northeast and it was bleak and blustery. everybody knows the old rhyme about the winds and the fish--how, when the winds are north or east, the fish bite least, and how, when the winds are south and west, the fish bite best. there isn't much poetry in the old rhyme, but it's charged with sterling truth. just why a northerly or easterly wind will take away a fish's appetite, i think has never been explained, or why a southerly and westerly wind will start him out hunting for food. but it's all as true as scripture. i have seen trout stop rising with a shifting of the wind to the eastward as suddenly as if they had been summoned to judgment, and i have seen them begin after a cold spell almost before the wind had time to get settled in its new quarter. of course it had been del's idea that we could easily get trout enough for breakfast. that was another mistake--we couldn't. we couldn't take them from the river, and we couldn't take them from our bear hunters, for they had gone. we whipped our lines around in that chill wind, tangled our flies in treetops, endangered our immortal souls, and went back to the tents at last without a single thing but our appetites. then we took turns abusing del for his disastrous dicker by which he had paid no less than five dollars and seventy-five cents a pound too much for butter, new york market schedule. our appetites were not especially for trout--only for hearty food of some kind, and as i have said before, we had reached a place where fish had become our real staple. the conditions were particularly hard on del himself, for he is a hearty man, and next to jars of marmalade, baskets of trout are his favorite forage.
-in fact, we rather lost interest in our camp, and disagreeable as it was, we decided to drop down the river to lake rossignol and cross over to the mouth of the liverpool. it was a long six-mile ferriage across rossignol and we could devote our waste time to getting over. by the end of the trip the weather might change.
-the shelburne is rough below kempton dam. it goes tearing and foaming in and out among the black rocks, and there are places where you have to get out of the canoes and climb over, and the rocks are slippery and sometimes there is not much to catch hold of. we shot out into the lake at last, and i was glad. it was a mistake, however, to be glad just then. it was too soon. the wind had kicked up a good deal of water, and though our canoes were lighter than when we started, i did not consider them suited to such a sea. they pitched about and leaped up into the air, one minute with the bow entirely out of water, and the next with it half-buried in the billow ahead. every other second a big wave ran on a level with the gunwale, and crested its neck and looked over and hissed, and sometimes it spilled in upon us. it would not take much of that kind of freight to make a cargo, and anything like an accident in that wide, gray billowy place was not a nice thing to contemplate. a loaded canoe would go down like a bullet. no one clad as we were could swim more than a boat's length in that sea.
-as we got farther on shore the waves got worse. if somebody had just suggested it i should have been willing to turn around and make back for the shelburne. nobody suggested it, and we went on. it seemed to me those far, dim shores through the mist, five miles or more away, would never get any closer. i grew tired, too, and my arms ached, but i could not stop paddling. i was filled with the idea that if i ever stopped that eternal dabbing at the water, my end of the canoe would never ride the next billow. del reflected aloud, now and then, that we had made a mistake to come out on such a day. when i looked over at the other canoe and saw it on the top of a big wave with both ends sticking out in the air, and then saw it go down in a trough of black, ugly water, i realized that del was right. i knew our canoe was doing just such dangerous things as that, and i would have given any reasonable sum for an adequate life preserver, or even a handy pine plank--for anything, in fact, that was rather more certain to stay on top of the water than this billow-bobbing, birch-bark peanut shell of a canoe.
-i suppose i became unduly happy, therefore, when at last we entered the mouth of the liverpool. i was so glad that i grew gay, and when we started up the rapids i gave del a good lift here and there by pushing back against the rocks with my paddle, throwing my whole weight on it sometimes, to send the canoe up in style. it is always unwise for me to have a gay reaction like that, especially on friday, which is my unlucky day. something is so liable to happen. we were going up a particularly steep piece of water when i got my paddle against a stone on the bottom and gave an exceptionally strong push. i don't know just what happened next. perhaps my paddle slipped. del says it did. i know i heard him give a whoop, and i saw the river coming straight up at me. then it came pouring in over the side, and in about a minute more most of our things were floating downstream, with del grabbing at them, and me clinging to the upset canoe, trying to drag it ashore.
-we camped there. it was a good place, one of the best yet selected. still, i do not recommend selecting a camp in that way. if it did not turn out well, it might be a poor place to get things dry. one needs to get a good many things dry after a selection like that, especially on a cold day. it was a cold night, too. i dried my under things and put them all on.
-"did you ever sleep in your clothes in the woods?" i have been asked.
-i did. i put on every dry thing i had that night, and regretted i had left anything at home.
-it is better to let the wild beast run, and to let the wild bird fly: each harbors best in his native nest, even as you and i.
-perhaps it was the cold weather that brought us a visitor. there was a tree directly over our tent, and in the morning--a sharp sunny morning, with the wind where it should be, in the west--we noticed on going out that a peculiar sort of fruit had grown on this tree over night. on one of the limbs just above the tent was a prickly looking ball, like a chestnut burr, only black, and about a hundred times as big. it was a baby porcupine, who perhaps had set out to see the world on his own account--a sort of prodigal who had found himself without funds, and helpless, on a cold night. no doubt he climbed up there to look us over, with a view of picking out a good place for himself; possibly with the hope of being invited to breakfast.
-eddie was delighted with our new guest. he declared that he would take him home alive, and feed him and care for him, and live happy ever after. he got a pole and shook our visitor down in a basket, and did a war-dance of joy over his new possession. he was a cute little fellow--the "piggypine" (another of eddie's absurd names)--with bright little eyes and certain areas of fur, but i didn't fancy him as a pet. he seemed to me rather too much of a cross between a rat and a pin cushion to be a pleasant companion in the intimate relations of one's household. i suspected that if in a perfectly wild state he had been prompted to seek human companionship and the comforts of civilized life, in a domestic atmosphere he would want to sit at the table and sleep with somebody. i did not believe eddie's affection would survive these familiarities. i knew how surprised and annoyed he might be some night to roll over suddenly on the piggypine and then have to sit up the rest of the night while a surgeon removed the quills. i said that i did not believe in taming wild creatures, and i think the guides were with me in this opinion. i think so because they recited two instances while we were at breakfast. del's story was of some pet gulls he once owned. he told it in that serious way which convinced me of its truth. certain phases of the narrative may have impressed me as being humorous, but it was clear they were not so regarded by del. his manner was that of one who records history. he said:
-"one of the children caught two young gulls once, in the lake, and brought them to the house and said they were going to tame them. i didn't think they would live, but they did. you couldn't have killed them without an ax. they got tame right away, and they were all over the house, under foot and into everything, making all kinds of trouble. but that wasn't the worst--the worst was feeding them. it wasn't so bad when they were little, but they grew to beat anything. then it began to keep us moving to get enough for them to eat. they lived on fish, mostly, and at first the children thought it fun to feed them. they used to bait a little dip net and catch minnows for the gulls, and the gulls got so they would follow anybody that started out with that dip net, calling and squealing like a pair of pigs. but they were worse than pigs. you can fill up a pig and he will go to sleep, but you never could fill up those gulls. by and by the children got tired of trying to do it and gave me the job. i made a big dip net and kept it set day and night, and every few minutes all day and the last thing before bedtime i'd go down and lift out about a pailful of fish for those gulls, and they'd eat until the fish tails stuck out of their mouths, and i wouldn't more than have my back turned before they'd be standing on the shore of the lake, looking down into that dip net and hollering for more. i got so i couldn't do anything but catch fish for those gulls. it was a busy season, too, and besides the minnows were getting scarce along the lake front, so i had to get up early to get enough to feed them and the rest of the family. i said at last that i was through feeding gulls. i told the children that either they'd have to do it, or that the gulls would have to go to work like the rest of the family and fish for themselves. but the children wouldn't do it, nor the gulls, either. then i said i would take those birds down in the woods and leave them somewhere. i did that. i put them into a basket and shut them in tight and took them five miles down the river and let them loose in a good place where there were plenty of fish. they flew off and i went home. when i got to the house they'd been there three hours, looking at the dip net and squalling, and they ate a pail heaping full of fish, and you could have put both gulls into the pail when they got through. i was going on a long trip with a party next morning, and we took the gulls along. we fed them about a bushel of trout and left them seventeen miles down the river, just before night, and drove home in the dark. i didn't think the gulls would find their way back that time, but they did. they were there before daybreak, fresh and hungry as ever. then i knew it was no use. the ax was the only thing that would get me out of that mess. the children haven't brought home any wild pets since."
-that you see is just unembellished history, and convincing. i regret that i cannot say as much for charlie's narrative. it is a likely story enough, as such things go, but there are points about it here and there which seem to require confirmation. i am told that it is a story well known and often repeated in nova scotia, but even that cannot be accepted as evidence of its entire truth. being a fish-story it would seem to require something more. this is the tale as charlie told it.
-"once there was a half-breed indian," he said, "who had a pet trout named tommy, which he kept in a barrel. but the trout got pretty big and had to have the water changed a good deal to keep him alive. the indian was too lazy to do that, and he thought he would teach the trout to live out of water. so he did. he commenced by taking tommy out of the barrel for a few minutes at a time, pretty often, and then he took him out oftener and kept him out longer, and by and by tommy got so he could stay out a good while if he was in the wet grass. then the indian found he could leave him in the wet grass all night, and pretty soon that trout could live in the shade whether the grass was wet or not. by that time he had got pretty tame, too, and he used to follow the indian around a good deal, and when the indian would go out to dig worms for him, tommy would go along and pick up the worms for himself. the indian thought everything of that fish, and when tommy got so he didn't need water at all, but could go anywhere--down the dusty road and stay all day out in the hot sun--you never saw the indian without his trout. show people wanted to buy tommy, but the indian said he wouldn't sell a fish like that for any money. you'd see him coming to town with tommy following along in the road behind, just like a dog, only of course it traveled a good deal like a snake, and most as fast.
-i think these stories impressed eddie a good deal. i know they did me. even if charlie's story was not pure fact in certain minor details, its moral was none the less evident. i saw clearer than ever that it is not proper to take wild creatures from their native element and make pets of them. something always happens to them sooner or later. we were through breakfast and eddie went over to look at his porcupine. he had left it in a basket, well covered with a number of things. he came back right away--looking a little blank i thought.
-"he's gone!" he said. "the basket's just as i left it, all covered up, but he isn't in it."
-we went over to look. sure enough, our visitor had set out on new adventures. how he had escaped was a mystery. it didn't matter--both he and eddie were better off.
-but that was a day for animal friends. where we camped for luncheon, eddie and i took a walk along the river bank and suddenly found ourselves in a perfect menagerie. we were among a regular group of grown porcupines--we counted five of them--and at the same time there were two blue herons in the water, close by. a step away a pair of partridges ran through the brush and stood looking at us from a fallen log, while an old duck and her young came sailing across the river. we were nearing civilization now, but evidently these creatures were not much harassed. it was like the garden of eden before the fall. it is true the old duck swam away, calling to her brood, when she saw us; the partridges presently hid in the brush, and the blue herons waded a bit further off. but the porcupines went on galumphing around us, and none of the collection seemed much disturbed. during the afternoon we came upon two fishermen, college boys, camping, who told us they had seen some young loons in a nest just above, and eddie was promptly seized with a desire to possess them.
-in fact we left so hastily that del forgot his extra paddle, and did not discover the loss until we were a half-mile or so upstream. then he said he would leave me in the canoe to fish and would walk back along the shore. an arm of the river made around an island just there, and it looked like a good place. there seemed to be not much current in the water, and i thought i could manage the canoe in such a spot and fish, too, without much trouble.
-it was not as easy as it looked. any one who has tried to handle a canoe from the front end with one hand and fish with the other will tell you so. i couldn't seem to keep out of the brush along the shore, and i couldn't get near some brush in the middle of the river where i believed there were trout. i was right about the trout being there, too. eddie proved that when he came up with his canoe. he had plenty of business with big fellows right away. but the fact didn't do me any good. just when i would get near the lucky place and ready to cast, a twitch in the current or a little puff of wind would get hold of the stern of my craft, which rode up out of the water high and light like a sail, and my flies would land in some bushes along the bank, or hang in a treetop, or do some other silly thing which was entertaining enough to eddie and his guide, apparently, but which did not amuse me. i never realized before what a crazy thing a canoe can be when you want it to do something out of its regular line of work. a canoe is a good sort of a craft in its place, and i would not wish to go into the woods without one, but it is limited in its gifts, very limited. it can't keep its balance with any degree of certainty when you want to stand up and fish, and it has no sort of notion of staying in one place, unless it's hauled out on the bank. if that canoe had been given the versatility of an ordinary flat-bottomed john-boat i could have got along better than i did. i said as much, and disparaged canoes generally. eddie declared that he had never heard me swear with such talent and unreserve. he encouraged me by holding up each fish as he caught it and by suggesting that i come over there. he knew very well that i couldn't get there in a thousand years. whenever i tried to do it that fool of a canoe shot out at a tangent and brought up nowhere. finally in an effort to reconstruct my rod i dropped a joint of the noibwood overboard, and it went down in about four hundred feet of water. then i believe i did have a few things to say. i was surprised at my own proficiency. it takes a crucial moment like that to develop real genius. i polished off the situation and i trimmed up the corners. possibly a touch of sun made me fluent, for it was hot out there, though it was not as hot as a place i told them about, and i dwelt upon its fitness as a permanent abiding place for fishermen in general and for themselves in particular. when i was through and empty i see-sawed over to the bank and waited for del. i believe i had a feverish hope that they would conclude to take my advice, and that i should never see their canoe and its contents again.
-there are always compensations for those who suffer and are meek in spirit. that was the evening i caught the big fish, the fish that eddie would have given a corner of his immortal soul (if he has a soul, and if it has corners) to have taken. it was just below a big fall--loon lake falls i think they call it--and we were going to camp there. eddie had taken one side of the pool and i the other and neither of us had caught anything. eddie was just landing, when something that looked big and important, far down the swift racing current, rose to what i had intended as my last cast. i had the little four-ounce bamboo, but i let the flies go down there--the fly, i mean, for i was casting with one (a big silver doctor)--and the king was there, waiting. he took it with a great slop and carried out a long stretch of line. it was a test for the little rod. there had been unkind remarks about the tiny bamboo whip; this was to be justification; a big trout on a long line, in deep, swift water--the combination was perfect. battle now, ye ruler of the rapids! show your timber now, thou slender wisp of silk and cane!
-but we have had enough of fishing. i shall not dwell upon the details of that contest. i may say, however, that i have never seen del more excited than during the minutes--few or many, i do not know how few or how many--that it lasted. every guide wants his canoe to beat, and it was evident from the first that this was the trout of the expedition. i know that del believed i would never bring that fish to the canoe, and when those heavy rushes came i was harrassed with doubts myself. then little by little he yielded. when at last he was over in the slower water--out of the main channel--i began to have faith.
-so he came in, slowly, slowly, and as he was drawn nearer to the boat, del seized the net to be ready for him. but i took the net. i had been browbeaten and humiliated and would make my triumph complete. i brought him to the very side of the boat, and i lifted him in. this time the big fish did not get away. we went to where the others had been watching, and i stepped out and tossed him carelessly on the ground, as if it were but an everyday occurrence. eddie was crushed. i no longer felt bitterness toward him.
-i think i shall not give the weight of that fish. as already stated, no one can tell the truth concerning a big fish the first trial, while more than one attempt does not look well in print, and is apt to confuse the reader. besides, i don't think eddie's scales were right, anyway.
-then breathe a sigh and a long good-by to the wilderness to-day, for back again to the trails of men follows the waterway.
-through the eel-wier--a long and fruitful rapid--we entered our old first lake, kedgeemakoogee, this time from another point. we had made an irregular loop of one hundred and fifty miles or more--a loop that had extended far into the remoter wilderness, and had been marked by what, to me, were hard ventures and vicissitudes, but which, viewed in the concrete, was recorded in my soul as a link of pure happiness. we were not to go home immediately. kedgeemakoogee is large and there are entering streams, at the mouth of which the sport at this season was good. besides, the teams that were to come for us would not be due yet for several days, if we had kept proper account of time.
-it was above the eel-weir, at george's run, that eddie had his first and only success with dry flies. it was just the place--a slow-moving current between two islands, with many vicious and hungry trout. they would rise to the ordinary fly, two at a cast, and when eddie put on the dry fly--the artificial miller that sits upright on the water and is an exact imitation of the real article--and let it go floating down, they snapped it up eagerly. it is beautiful fishing--i should really have liked to try it a little. but eddie had been good to me in so many ways: i hadn't the heart to ask him for one of his precious dry flies.
-during our trip across kedgeemakoogee, del--inspired perhaps by the fact that we were getting nearer to the walks and wiles of men--gave me some idea of nova scotia political economies. he explained the system of government there, the manner of voting and the like. the representation is by districts, of course, similar to our own, and the parties have similar methods of making the vote of these districts count on the right side. in queens, for instance, where we had been most, if not all, of the time, the voters are very scattering. i had suspected this, for in our one hundred and fifty miles travel we had seen but two natives, and only one of these was believed to have political residence. del said the district had been gerrymandered a good deal to make the votes count right, and it was plain enough that if this man was the only voter in that much country, and he chasing bears most of the time, they would have to gerrymander around a good deal to keep up with him. del said that when election time came they would go gunning for that voter over the rocks and through the burnt timber, and would beat up the brush for him as if he were a moose, and valuable. somehow politics did not seem to belong in this place, but either del exaggerated, this time, or there is a good deal of it to the individual. i suppose it's well to have it condensed in that way.
-we camped that night at jim charles's point, our old first camp, and it was like getting home after long absence. for the time seemed an age since we had left there. it was that. any new and wonderful experience is long--as long as eternity--whether it be a day or a decade in duration. next morning, across to the mouth of west river--a place of many fish and a rocky point for our camp, with deep beds of sweet-fern, but no trees. that rocky open was not the best selection for tents. eddie and his guide had gone up the river a little way when a sudden shower came up, with heavy darkness and quick wind. del and i were stowing a few things inside that were likely to get wet, when all at once the tents became balloons that were straining at their guy ropes, and then we were bracing hard and clinging fast to the poles to keep everything from sailing into the sky.
-it was a savage little squall. it laid the bushes down and turned the lake white in a jiffy. a good thing nobody was out there, under that black sky. then the wind died and there came a swish of rain--hard rain for a few minutes. after that the sun once more, the fragrance of the fern and the long, sweet afternoon.
-looking at those deep tides of sweet-fern, i had an inspiration. my stretcher had never been over comfortable. i longed to sleep flat. why not a couch of this aromatic balm? it was dry presently, and spreading the canvas strip smoothly on the ground i covered it with armfuls of the fern, evenly laid. i gathered and heaped it higher until it rose deep and cushiony; then i sank down upon it to perfect bliss.
-this was arcady indeed: a couch as soft and as fragrant as any the gods might have spread by the brooks of hymettus in that far time when they stole out of elysium to find joy in the daughters of men. such a couch leda might have had when the swan came floating down to bestow celestial motherhood. i buried my face in the odorous mass and vowed that never again would i cramp myself in a canvas trough between two sticks, and i never did. i could not get sweet-fern again, but balsam boughs were plentiful, and properly laid in a manner that all guides know, make a couch that is wide and yielding and full of rest.
-up little river, whose stones like the proverbial worm, turned when we stepped on them and gave eddie a hard fall; across frozen ocean--a place which justified its name, for it was bitterly cold there and we did nothing but keep the fire going and play pedro (to which end i put on most of my clothes and got into my sleeping-bag)--through another stream and a string of ponds, loitering and exploring until the final day.
-it was on one reach of a smaller stream that we found the beaver dam--the only one i ever saw, or am likely to see, for the race that builds them is nearly done. i had been walking upstream and fishing some small rapids above the others when i saw what appeared to be a large pool of still water just above. i made my way up there. it was in reality a long stillwater, but a pond rather than a pool. it interested me very much. the dam was unlike any i had ever seen. for one thing, i could not understand why a dam should be in that place, for there was no sign of a sluice or other indication of a log industry; besides, this dam was not composed of logs or of stone, or anything of the sort. it was a woven dam--a dam composed of sticks and brush and rushes and vines, some small trees, and dirt--made without much design, it would seem, but so carefully put together and so firmly bound that no piece of it could work loose or be torn away. i was wondering what people could have put together such a curious and effective thing as that, when del came up, pushing the canoe. he also was interested when he saw it, but he knew what it was. it was a beaver dam, and they were getting mighty scarce. there was a law against killing the little fellows, but their pelts were worth high prices, and the law did not cover traffic in them. so long as that was the case the beavers would be killed.
-i had heard of beaver dams all my life, but somehow i had not thought of their being like this. i had not thought of those little animals being able to construct a piece of engineering that, in a swift place like this, could stand freshet and rot, year after year, and never break away. del said he had never known one of them to go out. the outlet was in the right place and of the proper size. he showed me some new pieces which the builders had recently put into the work, perhaps because it seemed to be weakening there. he had watched once and had seen some beavers working. they were as intelligent as human beings. they could cut a tree of considerable size, he said, and make it fall in any chosen direction. then he showed me some pieces of wood from which they had gnawed the sweet bark, and he explained how they cut small trees and sank lengths of them in the water to keep the bark green and fresh for future use. i listened and marveled. i suppose i had read of these things, but they seemed more wonderful when i was face to face with the fact.
-the other canoe came up and it was decided to cut a small section out of the dam to let us through. i objected, but was assured that the beavers were not very busy, just now, and would not mind--in fact might rather enjoy--a repair job, which would take them but a brief time.
-"they can do it sometime while i'm making a long carry," charlie said.
-but it was no easy matter to cut through. charlie and del worked with the ax, and dragged and pulled with their hands. finally a narrow breach was made, but it would have been about as easy to unload the canoes and lift them over. half-way up the long hole we came to the lodge--its top rising above the water. its entrance, of course, was below the surface, but the guides said there is always a hole at the top, for air. it was a well-built house--better, on the whole, than many humans construct.
-"they'll be scrambling around, pretty soon," charlie said, "when they find the water getting lower in their sitting room. then they'll send out a repair gang. poor little fellers! somebody'll likely get 'em before we come again. i know one chap that got seven last year. it's too bad."
-once more, to-night, the woods are white that lee so dim and far, where the wild trout hide and the moose abide under the northern star.
-perhaps the brightest spot of that sad period when we were making ready to leave the woods, with all their comfort, their peace and their religion, and go back to the harrying haunts of men, to mingle with the fever and fret of daily strife, is the memory of a trip to jeremy's bay. i don't know in the least where jeremy's bay is, but it is somewhere within an hour's paddle of jim charles's point, and it is that hour and the return that sticks with me now.
-it was among the last days of june--the most wonderful season in the north woods. the sun seems never ready to set there, then, and all the world is made of blues and greens and the long, lingering tones of evening.
-we had early tea in preparation for the sunset fishing. it was best, del said, in jeremy's bay about that time. so it was perhaps an hour earlier when we started, the canoes light.
-in any one life there are not many evenings such as that. it is just as well, for i should account it a permanent sadness if they became monotonous. perhaps they never would. our course lay between shores--an island on the one hand, the mainland on the other. when we rounded the point, we were met by a breeze blown straight from the sunset--a breath that was wild and fresh and sweet, and billowed the water till it caught every hue and shimmering iridescence that the sky and shores and setting sun could give.
-we were eager and rested, for we had done little that day, and the empty canoes slipped like magic into a magical sea of amethyst and emerald gold, the fresh breeze filling us with life and ecstasy until we seemed almost to fly. the eyes could not look easily into the glory ahead, though it was less easy to look away from the enchantment which lay under the sunset. the kingdom of ponemah was there, and it was as if we were following hiawatha to that fair and eternal hunting-ground.
-yet when one did turn, the transformation was almost worth while. the colors were all changed. they were more peaceful, more like reality, less like a harbor of dreams and visions too fair for the eyes of man to look upon. a single glance backward, and then away once more between walls of green, billowing into the sunset--away, away to jeremy's bay!
-the sun was just on the horizon when we reached there--the water already in shadow near the shore. so deep and vivid were its hues that we seemed to be fishing in dye-stuff. and the breeze went out with the sun, and the painted pool became still, ruffled only where the trout broke water or a bird dipped down to drink.
-i will not speak of the fishing there. i have already promised that i would not speak of fishing again. but jeremy's bay is a spot that few guides know and few fishermen find. it was our last real fishing, and it was worthy. then home to camp, between walls of dusk--away, away from jeremy's bay--silently slipping under darkening shores--silently, and a little sadly, for our long day of joy was closing in--the hour of return drew near.
-and postpone it as you will, the final moment must come--the time when the rod must be taken down for good; the leaders stripped and coiled in their box, the fly-book tenderly gone over and the last flies you have used fitted into place and laid away.
-one does not go through that final ritual without a little sentiment--a little tugging about the heart. the flies were all new and trim and properly placed when you set out. they were a gay array and you were as proud of them as of a little garden. they are in disarray now. they have an unkempt look. the shells are shredded, the feathers are caked and bitten, the hackle is frazzled and frayed out. yet you are even more proud of them than in the beginning. then they were only a promise, fair and beautiful to look upon; now they conjure up pictures of supreme fulfillment--days and moments so firmly set upon the past that they shall not soon fade away. that big silver doctor--from which the shell has twice been broken, and the feathers wrapped and rewrapped--that must have been wound with a special blessing, for when all else failed it was a certain lure. the big trout below loon lake rose to that fly, and accordingly this battered thing will forever be preserved. this scarlet breck, with almost every gay feather gone and the silver wrapping replaced with tinfoil--even when it displayed a mere shred of its former glory it proved far more fatal than many a newer fly. how vividly it recalls a certain wild pool of strange, dim lucence where, for me, the trout would take no other lure. and this montreal--it has become a magic brush that paints a picture of black rocks and dark water, and my first trout taken on a cast. for a hundred years, if i live that long, this crumpled book and these broken, worn-out flies will bring back the clear, wild water and the green shores of a nova scotia june, the remoter silences of the deeper forest, the bright camps by twisting pools and tumbling falls, the flash of the leaping trout, the feel of the curved rod and the music of the singing reel.
-i shall always recall eddie, then, and i shall bless him for many things--and forgive him for others. i shall remember del, too, the stout, and charles the strong, and that they made my camping worth while. i was a trial to them, and they were patient--almost unreasonably so. i am even sorry now for the time that my gun went off and scared del, though it seemed amusing at the moment. when the wind beats up and down the park, and the trees are bending and cracking with ice; when i know that once more the still places of the north are white and the waters fettered--i shall shut my eyes and see again the ripple and the toss of june, and hear once more the under voices of the falls. and some day i shall return to those far shores, for it is a place to find one's soul.
-yet perhaps i should not leave that statement unqualified, for it depends upon the sort of a soul that is to be found. the north wood does not offer welcome or respond readily to the lover of conventional luxury and the smaller comforts of living. luxury is there, surely, but it is the luxury that rewards effort, and privation, and toil. it is the comfort of food and warmth and dry clothes after a day of endurance--a day of wet, and dragging weariness, and bitter chill. it is the bliss of reaching, after long, toilsome travel, a place where you can meet the trout--the splendid, full-grown wild trout, in his native home, knowing that you will not find a picnic party on every brook and a fisherman behind every tree. finally, it is the preciousness of isolation, the remoteness from men who dig up and tear down and destroy, who set whistles to tooting and bells to jingling--who shriek themselves hoarse in the market place and make the world ugly and discordant, and life a short and fevered span in which the soul has a chance to become no more than a feeble and crumpled thing. and if that kind of a soul pleases you, don't go to the woods. it will be only a place of mosquitoes, and general wetness, and discomfort. you won't care for it. you will hate it. but if you are willing to get wet and stay wet--to get cold and stay cold--to be bruised, and scuffed, and bitten--to be hungry and thirsty and to have your muscles strained and sore from unusual taxation: if you will welcome all these things, not once, but many times, for the sake of moments of pure triumph and that larger luxury which comes with the comfort of the camp and the conquest of the wilderness, then go! the wilderness will welcome you, and teach you, and take you to its heart. and you will find your own soul there; and the discovery will be worth while!
-by clarence e. mulford illustrated, cloth, decorative. price, $1.50.
-the doings of the famous outfit of bar-20, an old-time ranch in arizona, are here recorded. fifth edition.
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-at the foot of the rainbow
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-the scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in central indiana. it is for the man who loves the earth under his foot, the splash of the black bass, the scent of the pine wood, and the hum of earth close to his ear.
-the new york times says: "the novel is imbued throughout with a poet's love of nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment place it in the category of heart romances."
-the way of a man
-by emerson hough illustrated, cloth, decorative. price, $1.50.
-a great, strong, masterful romance of american life in the early sixties. love, romance and adventure are paramount in this wonderful story.
-the chicago record-herald says: "a story that grips the reader's attention, whets his appetite, and leaves him ever eager for more."
-the sportsman's primer
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-the outing publishing co. 35-37 west 31st street, new york
-etext transcriber's note:
-the index included at the end of this etext (which includes volumes 1 thru 4) appears at the end of volume four of the history of cuba. it is provided here for convenience.
-the history of cuba
-by willis fletcher johnson
-author of "a century of expansion," "four centuries of the panama canal," "america's foreign relations" honorary professor of the history of american foreign relations in new york university
-by century history co.
-all rights reserved
-entered at stationers hall
-printed in u. s. a.
-the republic of cuba
-conceived by jose marti
-established by thomas estrada palma
-vindicated by mario g. menocal
-it is my purpose in these volumes to write a history of cuba. the title may imply either the land and its natural conditions, or the people and the nation which inhabit it. it in fact implies both, and to both i shall address myself, though it will appropriately be with the latter rather than with the former that the narrative will be most concerned. for it is with cuba as with other countries: in the last supreme analysis the people make the history of the land. apart from the people, it is true, the island of cuba is of unusual interest. there are few countries of similar extent comparable with it in native variety, charm and wealth. there are few which contribute more, actually and potentially, to the world's supplies of greatly used products. one of the most universally used and prized vegetable products became first known to mankind from cuba, and there to this day is most profusely and most perfectly grown and prepared; while another, one of the most universally used and essential articles of food, is there produced in its greatest abundance. there also may be found an immense number and bewildering variety of the most serviceable articles in both the vegetable and mineral kingdoms, in noteworthy profusion and perfection, together with possibilities and facilities for a comparable development of the animal kingdom.
-nor is the geographical situation of the island less favorable or less inviting than its natural resources. lying just within the torrid zone, it has a climate which combines the fecund influences of the tropics with the agreeable moderation of the temperate zones. it fronts at once upon the most frequented ocean of the globe and upon two of the greatest and most important semi-inland seas. it lies directly between the two great continents of the western hemisphere, with such supremely fortunate orientation that travel and commerce between them naturally skirt and touch its shores rather than follow the longer and more difficult route by land which is the sole alternative. a line drawn from the heart of the united states to the heart of south america passes through the heart of cuba. a line drawn from the mouth of the mississippi to the mouth of the amazon traverses cuba almost from end to end. circled about the island and fronting on the narrow seas which divide them from it are the territories of no fewer than fourteen independent national sovereignties. it lies, moreover, directly in the path of the world's commerce between the two great oceans, the atlantic and the pacific, by the way of that gigantic artificial waterway which, created largely because of cuba, was the fulfilment of the world's four centuries of effort and desire. there is scarcely a more suggestive and romantic theme in the world's history than this: that columbus made his epochal adventure for the prime purpose of finding a passageway from the atlantic to the pacific; or rather from europe to asia by way of the atlantic, since he assumed the atlantic and the pacific to be one; that, failing to find that non-existent passageway, he found cuba instead and imagined that he had found therein the fulfilment of his dreams; that four centuries later that passageway was artificially provided through the enterprise and energy of a power which in his day had not yet come into existence; and that this transcendent deed was accomplished largely because of cuba and because of the conflict through which that island violently divorced herself from the imperial sovereignty which columbus had planted upon her shores.
-lying thus in a peculiar sense at the commercial centre of the world, between north america and south america, between europe and asia, between all the lands of the atlantic and all the lands of the pacific and subject to important approach from all directions, we must reckon it not mere chance but the provision of benevolent design that cuba at almost all parts of her peculiarly ample coastline is endowed with a greater number of first-rate harbors than any other country of the world. in recognition of these facts and of their gradual development and application to the purposes and processes of civilization, is a theme worthy to pique the interest and to absorb the attention of the most ambitious historian, whether for the mere chronicling of conditions and events, or for the philosophical analysis of causes and results.
-all these things, however, fascinating as they are and copious as is their suggestion of interest, are after all only a minor and the less important part of the real history of cuba, such as i must endeavor to write. without the cuban people, cuba would have remained a negligible factor in the equations of humanity. without the people of the island, "what to me were sun or clime?" the genial climate, the fecund soil, the wealth of mines and field and forest, the capacious harbors and the encircling seas, all would be vanity of vanities. nor is it for nothing that i have suggested differentiation between the cuban people and the cuban nation. without the development of the former into the latter, all these things could never have hoped to reach their greatest value and utility. the cuban people have existed for four centuries, the cuban nation in its consummate sense for less than a single generation. yet in the latter brief span more progress has been made toward realization of cuba's possibilities and destinies than in all those former ages. it is a circumstance of peculiar significance that almost the oldest of all civilized communities in the western hemisphere should be the youngest of all the nations. it will be a task of no mean magnitude, but of unsurpassed profit and pleasure, to trace the deliberate development of that early colony into this late nation, and to observe the causes and forces which so long repressed and thwarted the sovereign aspirations of the cuban people, and also, more gratefully, the causes and forces which inevitably, in the slow fullness of time, achieved their ultimate fulfilment in the secure establishment of the cuban nation.
-the origin of the cuban people presents a striking historical and ethnological anomaly. the early settlers of the island, and therefore the progenitors of the present cuban people, were beyond question the flower of the spanish race at the very time when that race was at the height of its marvellous puissance and efficience. the sixteenth century was the golden age of spain, and they were conspicuous representatives of those who made it so who implanted the genius of their time upon the hospitable soil of the great west indian island. that rule has been, indeed, common to the colonial enterprises of all lands. the best men become the pioneers. colonization implies adventure, and adventure implies courage, enterprise, endurance, vision, prudence, the very essential elements of both individual and civic greatness. strong men, not weaklings, are the founders of new settlements. even in those lands which were largely populated involuntarily, as penal settlements, the same rule holds good; because many of the convict exiles were merely political proscripts, who in fact were men of virtue, light and leading, often superior to those who banished them.
-there is fruit for almost endless thought and speculation in the circumstance that so many of the early cuban settlers, as indeed of all the spanish explorers and conquerors of the sixteenth century, came from the two iberian provinces of estremadura and seville. they were, and are, two of the most widely contrasting provinces of spain. the one a rude, rugged, half sterile region of swineherds and mountaineers, poverty-stricken and remote; the other plethoric with the wealth of agriculture, industry and commerce, and endowed above most regions of the world with the treasures of learning and art. yet it was from barren, impoverished and uncultured estremadura that there came cortez, pizarro, balboa, de soto, and their compeers and followers. we might speculate upon the questions whether great men were thus numerously produced by nature in that region by way of compensation for the paucity and poverty of other products; and whether it was because of their innate genius or because of their desire to seek a better land than their own, that they became the adventurers that they were. the other province which most contributed to the founding of cuba had from time immemorial been noted for its wealth and culture. in the days of the cæsars it had been the favorite colonial resort of the plutocracy and aristocracy of rome, and it had been the birthplace of the emperors hadrian, trajan and theodosius. under the catholic kings it was the capital and the metropolis of spain and the chief mart of her world-wide commerce. indeed it would not be difficult to establish the proposition that it was with the removal of the capital from seville to madrid, and the change of national and international policy which was inseparably associated with that removal, that the decline of spain began.
-cuba was thus in her foundation the fortunate recipient of the rugged and masterful spirit of estremadura, and of the elements of government and of social grace and intellectual power which seville could so well and so abundantly supply; and these two contrasting yet by no means incompatible elements became characteristic of the cuban people; complementarily contributing to the development of a national character quite distinct from that of the mother country or that of any other of her offshoots. for the cuban people and their social organism, separated far from spain, though subject to her rule, retained largely unimpaired their pristine vigor, and avoided sharing in the degeneracy and decline which befell the peninsula soon after the malign hapsburg influence became dominant in its affairs of state; a decline which in the seventeenth century became one of the most distressing and pathetic tragedies in the drama of the world.
-it was an interesting and a significant circumstance, too, that while spain was resplendent and exultant in the golden age of the sixteenth century, cuba remained intellectually dormant and inactive, and that when at the end of the eighteenth century spain reached her nadir of degradation, cuba began to rise to intellectual puissance. while spain was great, it was to be said of cuba stat nominis umbra; but when spain declined, cuba arose to take her place, insistent that the race and its letters, at least, should not universally fall into decay.
-it is one of the anomalies of cuban history that while the island was denied the enjoyment of even those incipient and inchoate intimations of potential nationality which were granted to other spanish provinces, such as mexico, venezuela, colombia and peru, it was nevertheless, perhaps more than any other, involved from early times in the international complications and conflicts of spain. at least equally with the mainland coasts cuba's shores were ravaged by pirates and freebooters, and were attacked or menaced by the commissioned fleets of hostile powers. her insular character and her geographical position doubtless accounted for this in great degree, as did also the purblind policy of spain in failing to give her the care and protection which were lavished upon other no more worthy possessions.
-so it came to pass that for a time cuba was actually conquered and seized by an alien power and was forcibly separated from spanish sovereignty; and that for many years thereafter she was the object of covetous desire and indeed of almost incessant intrigue for acquisition by two of spain's chief rivals and adversaries. for nearly half a century great britain and france were frequently, almost continuously, each planning to annex cuba as a colonial possession, either by conquest in war or through barter or purchase in time of peace. it was not until a third great power arose and asserted in unmistakable terms its paramount interest in the island, only a little while previous to our own time, that such designs were reluctantly forsaken.
-it was the interesting fortune of cuba, therefore, not only to engage the early and earnest diplomatic interest of the united states in her behalf, but also to afford to that country occasion for the conception, formulation and promulgation of perhaps the most important of all the fundamental principles of its state policy in international affairs. we have suggested, in anticipation of the narrative, that cuba was largely to be credited with the inception of the impulse for the prompt construction of the isthmian canal. in a far more valid and direct sense cuba suggested the enunciation of the monroe doctrine. it is true that in relation first to louisiana and then to florida there had previously been preliminary hints at and approximations to that doctrine. but those were territories contiguous with our own and already marked by the united states for eventual annexation and incorporation. cuba, on the contrary, was entirely detached from our domain, and while there were then those who anticipated and desired her ultimate annexation, there was no such confident and determined resolution to that effect that there was in the case of the other regions named. cuba was therefore the first detached country, not destined for annexation, to which the united states extended and applied the fundamental principle which was later developed into the monroe doctrine. we may not doubt that the monroe doctrine would have been put forward, even had it not been for cuba. we may not deny nor dispute that it was because of cuba and concerning cuba that the first specific and indubitable intimation of that doctrine was given.
-the development of american policy toward cuba is an important and interesting part of the history of the united states as well as of cuba. the progressively significant utterances of the younger adams, of clay and of forsythe, culminating years afterward in those of cleveland and mckinley, form one of the most consistent, logical and convincing chapters in american diplomatic history. it is marred, we must confess, by some adventitious excrescences, chiefly contributed by calhoun and pierre soule. yet even these, deplorable as they ever must be regarded, fail to destroy the symmetry of the whole. it is a chapter, indeed, which more than any other is comprehensive and expository of the whole spirit and trend of american international transactions.
-cuba has also been intimately connected with three great issues of american domestic politics, as well as with that supreme principle of her foreign policy. the first of these was that of human slavery. from the end of the second war with great britain to the beginning of the civil war that issue dominated american politics and therefore determined largely the american attitude toward cuba. the pro-slavery influences, which were generally paramount at washington, resisted all efforts, which otherwise might have been successful, to draw cuba into the community of republics freed from spanish rule in central and south america, because of unwillingness to have her become, like them, free soil; and subsequently the same influences planned and plotted and fought for cuban annexation to the united states, either by conquest or by purchase, in order that she might thus be added to the slave-holding domain. on the other hand, the anti-slavery party, because of its abhorrence of these schemes, opposed the manifestation of what would have been a quite legitimate and benevolent interest in cuban affairs. for forty years cuba was a pawn in the game between these contending factions. of course this issue was disposed of by the civil war and the consequent abolition of slavery in the united states.
-another issue was that of expansion. there was from the first a considerable party in the united states that favored the widest possible acquisition of territory, sometimes quite regardless of the means, and it early fixed upon cuba as what jefferson and the younger adams had declared it to be, the most interesting and most natural addition that could be made to the federal system. there was also a party that was resolutely opposed to any further extension of american territorial sovereignty, whether by conquest or purchase. sometimes the one and sometimes the other of these prevailed in american politics, and not infrequently cuba was the chief issue between them. ultimately it was over cuba that their greatest conflict was waged; resulting in a compromise, under which the united states on the one hand renounced all designs of annexing cuba, and on the other hand did annex other still more extensive territories.
-the third of these issues was that of the tariff. commercial relations between cuba and the united states were naturally intimate and important to both countries, and afforded scope for almost endless discussions concerning and manipulations of tariff duties. it was in the power of the united states to enhance or to depress the prosperity of cuba, by the adjustment of tariff rates. to admit cuban sugar, not to mention tobacco, freely or at a low duty, into the american market meant prosperity for the island. to place a high tariff rate upon it meant hard times if not disaster in cuba. during the period between the ten years' war and the war of independence in cuba, such tariff changes very seriously affected the economic and also the political condition of cuba; and the final withdrawal of the reciprocity arrangement which had opened american markets to cuba was one of the chief provoking causes of the final revolution in the island. that revolution would doubtless have come, in any case, but it was measurably hastened and exacerbated by the economic distress which was thus precipitated upon the island, and against which it was realized there could be no assurance until cuba was an independent nation with full power to regulate and control her own commerce and her own economic system. even then, as we shall see, for a time the island was involved in economic distress because of the unwillingness of certain sordid interests in the united states to perform the most obvious and indisputable moral duty of that country toward its neighbor. there are few passages which the friendly historian must more regret to record in the story of cuban-american relations than that of the delay of the american congress to enter into proper commercial reciprocity with cuba as soon as the independence of that island was established.
-we shall see in these pages why it was necessary, from the very beginning, for cuba to be entirely freed and divorced from all political connection with spain, and why all the various proposals of autonomy were essentially and inevitably unacceptable. such proposals were repeatedly made, by the spanish government, but they were invariably either consciously or unconsciously delusive. the story of spain's promises to cuba is a story of broken promises, and of disappointed hopes. nor is that to be wondered at by those who take into consideration the circumstances in which the promises were made. when the impossible is promised, the promise is doomed to non-fulfilment. spain was in an impossible position. in order to pacify cuba she had to promise her reforms, autonomy, liberty. but in order to maintain herself at home she had to repudiate those promises. their fulfilment in the west indies would have been disastrous in the iberian peninsula. while spain was a reactionary monarchy at home, she could not practice liberal and progressive democracy in her colonies. even when her monarchy became constitutional, and even during the brief periods of her republican government, the full concession of cuba's demands would have been incompatible with her domestic status. there was an irreconcilable conflict between the european system--even european republicanism--and the american system. spain was compelled for the sake of her peninsular integrity and tranquillity to adhere to the former, while cuba would be and could be contented with nothing short of the latter. such were the terms of the problem which arose in the early part of the nineteenth century. its only possible solution was in the complete separation of the two countries, and the complete independence of cuba.
-we must not wonder, however, at the circumstance that this was not universally recognized at first, but that year after year some of the wisest and best of cuban patriots strove merely for reforms in government under continued and perpetual union with the spanish crown, and that they even deprecated and opposed all efforts at independence. we must not wonder, even, that so late as the war of independence some of the foremost cuban statesmen, who yielded precedence to none in purity of purpose and in sincere devotion to what they regarded as the best interests of the island, were willing and even proud to be known as autonomists and to essay the impossible task of trying to make an autonomist government successful. the cubans of to-day, with vision cleared of the red glare of war and of the mists of misapprehension, doubtless understand what the conditions were at that time and appreciate the motives, however mistaken they proved to me, of the autonomists. american readers, with less vision and comprehension of cuban affairs, should equally understand the matter when they are reminded that the cuban autonomists were merely following the example of some of the men whom americans most delight to honor.
-for precisely the same conditions prevailed, only to a much wider extent, in the thirteen colonies at the beginning of the american revolution, when washington and franklin and jefferson and jay were american autonomists, inexorably opposed to independence. lexington, concord and bunker hill were fought not for independence but for autonomy under the british crown and in perpetual union with the british empire. when the first continental congress met in the spring of 1774 there was no word, at least, of independence. on the contrary, according to some of the very foremost members of that historic body, the idea of independence, at least in the middle and southern colonies, was "as unpopular as the stamp act itself." not only did that congress complete its course without saying a word for independence, but it adopted an address to the people of great britain declaring that the reports which had got abroad that the colonies wanted independence were "mere calumnies," and that nothing was desired but equality of rights with their fellow subjects in the british isles. the second colonial congress met after lexington and concord and just before bunker hill. john adams and thomas jefferson were members of it. but they spoke no word for independence. instead, jefferson drafted a declaration, which congress adopted, to the effect that the colonies had "not raised armies with designs of separating from great britain and establishing independent states"; and in other addresses which the same congress adopted after the battle of bunker hill it was explicitly stated that the colonists were loyal to the british crown, that they wished for lasting union with great britain, and that they had taken up arms not to find liberty outside of the british empire but to vindicate and defend liberty within that empire. after the adjournment of that congress in august, 1775, less than a year before the declaration of independence, so representative a man and so ardent a patriot as john jay publicly denounced the imputation that the congress had "aimed at independence" as "ungenerous and groundless," and as marked with "malice and falsity." not until the spring of 1776 was there any significant turning toward independence as the inevitable resort.
-if i have thus dwelt at length upon well-known facts which pertain to the history of the united states rather than to that of cuba, it is in order to remind american readers, on the strength of a precedent which they, at any rate, must regard with the highest respect, how reasonable it was for cubans even as late as in 1897 and 1898 to cling to a policy and a hope substantially identical with those which were cherished by the foremost representative american patriots in 1774 and 1775. we can see now, they themselves can see now, that they were in error and that their hopes were vain. but they were no more in error than were the immortal american autonomists of the beginning of the american revolution.
-similarly it was necessary that cuba should not only be entirely separated from spain but also should be made independent, and not be annexed to the united states. on that point, too, many good men were in error. as we shall see, the first important cuban revolutionist--although not himself a native cuban--had in view not independence but annexation to the united states, and so did many another sterling patriot after him. probably the general feeling was that the one thing supremely essential was to be sundered from spain, and since annexation to the united states seemed to promise the effecting of that most promptly, most easily and most surely, it was to be accepted as the best solution of the problem. of course, too, the annexation sentiment in cuba was greatly encouraged and promoted by the advocates of annexation in the united states, who were numerous, and aggressive, and actuated by a variety of motives.
-for three fundamental reasons, however, annexation would have been a deplorable mistake, for both parties. one was, that the cuban people at heart wanted independence and would permanently have been satisfied with nothing less. every other spanish colony in the western hemisphere had attained independent sovereignty, and it would have been a reproach to cuba to have been satisfied with any less status than theirs. the second reason was that cuba and the united states were incompatible in temperament, and could not have got on well together. that is to be said without the slightest reflection upon either. the two countries were of different racial stocks, different languages, different traditions, different civic ideals. it was and is possible for them to be the best of friends and neighbors, but that is quite different from being yoke-fellows.
-the third reason was, that cuba would not have thought of annexation without statehood in the federal union, to which the united states would not or at any rate should not have admitted her. nor is that any reflection upon cuba. the principle was established by governmental utterances, nearly half a century before cuban independence was achieved, and indeed before any important efforts were made by the united states to purchase cuba, that outlying territories not contiguous with the continental union of states, were not to be considered as fitting candidates for statehood. had cuba been acquired by the united states at any time it is certain that her admission as a state would have been vigorously opposed on that historic ground. the sequel would have been either that cuba would have been excluded from the union, to her entire and intense dissatisfaction, or the united states would have abandoned a highly desirable policy and would have established a precedent under which grave abuses might thereafter have occurred.
-the redemption of cuba from spanish rule was long delayed, for a number of reasons. one was, obviously, the difficulty of achieving it alone. the south and central american provinces had revolted simultaneously, or in rapid succession, so that each was of assistance to the others. but at that time cuba remained faithful to spain; and when years afterward she sought to follow the example of the others, she found that she had to do so single-handed against the undivided might of the peninsula. another very potent reason was, the strength of the pro-spanish sentiment and influence in the island, caused by the flocking thither of many spanish loyalists from the central and south american states and from santo domingo. here, too, american readers may interpret cuban conditions through reference to their own history. at the close of the american revolution multitudes of british loyalists left the united states and settled in upper canada, with the result that that province of ontario became proverbially "more british than great britain." we shall see in our narrative how strong the spanish loyalist party in cuba was, and to what extremes it went in its opposition to cuban independence. in that we may perceive simply a repetition of conditions which prevailed at the close of the american war of independence. it is probable, too, that the insular position of cuba, with her coastal waters controlled by the spanish fleet, and her central position, making her an object of intense international interest and intrigue, also contributed to the same end. of course, too, since cuba and porto rico were her last remaining possessions in the western world, spain made extraordinary efforts to retain them and to prevent the success of any revolutionary movement.
-one other influence must be noted, that of the united states. if at any time the counsels of that country had been harmonious and united, they would have had a powerful, perhaps a preponderating, effect upon cuban affairs. but as we have intimated, and as we shall more fully see in our narrative, they were strongly, often violently, divided. some were for intervention, some were for non-intervention; some were for making cuba a free country, some were for preserving it as a slaveholding land; some were for aiding it to become independent, some were for annexing it to the united states. there was no unity of policy, and therefore there was no assurance as to what the united states would do in any given emergency. cubans did not know what they could depend upon. if they revolted, america might help them, and she might not. there can be no question that this uncertainty was a potent factor in restraining cubans from radical action, and that it materially postponed the final crisis.
-we shall see that more and more, however, the united states was forced by the logic of irresistible events into adopting a united and consistent policy toward cuba, and that in the ultimate crisis that country was inextricably implicated with the cuban cause. this was indeed a logical development. in each successive cuban revolution, beginning with that of lopez, the united states had been increasingly interested. commercial and social relations between the two countries were strong and intimate. for nearly three quarters of a century the united states had maintained a quasi-protectorate over the island in behalf of spain for the time being, but--though unconsciously--in behalf of cuba itself for the greater time to come. the welfare of the united states had become involved in the disposition of the island in only a less degree than that of the cuban people.
-there can be no doubt that the united states was of very great service and assistance to the cuban patriots in the war of independence. nobody has testified to that fact more earnestly or more comprehensively than the cubans themselves. they realized it. they appreciated it. they were and are profoundly grateful for it. their testimony to it is ample for all time. america is relieved of the need of vaunting herself upon it. it would, however, be of a great error and a great injustice to assume that the intervention of the united states in april, 1898, was indispensable to the achievement of cuban independence, or indeed that it was the united states that set cuba free from spain. that would be as great a perversion of the truth of history as it would be to pretend that the united states went to war with spain over the sinking of the maine. for the united states to have done the latter would have been one of the monumental crimes of history; and of course it was not done. war was inevitable before the maine went to havana harbor, and would have come just the same if the maine had not gone thither; perhaps sooner than it did, perhaps not so soon. so cuban independence would have been won by the cubans themselves if the united states had not intervened. possibly it would have come sooner than it did; probably it would not have come so soon. but it would have come. nobody who has studied the condition of affairs as they then were in cuba can reasonably doubt it. nor should recognition of that fact lessen in any degree the propriety--indeed, the necessity--of the american intervention or the grateful appreciation thereof which cubans feel.
-to draw once more upon american history for an example which should convincingly appeal to americans, the case may be likened to the intervention of france in the american revolution. there is no american who does not remember that performance with sincere gratitude and with deep appreciation of the undoubtedly great aid which france rendered to the thirteen colonies. but i should doubt if there is a well informed american willing to concede that the french aid was indispensable, or that without it washington and greene would have been vanquished and the revolution would have failed. american independence would have been achieved without french aid, though perhaps not so promptly and at greater cost.
-an immense service, also, which the united states rendered cuba in the war of independence antedated the actual intervention, and consisted in the aid in men, money and supplies which went from the united states to cuba. it is true that this aid was given largely by cubans resident in the united states, though many americans also gave much in money, and some were permitted by the cubans to give themselves for service in the army. it is also true that much of it was done in surreptitious violation of the neutrality laws; a species of law-breaking at which many united states officials were inclined to wink, and which by common consent was to be regarded as culpable only when it was found out, and then the finding out was more to be regretted than the act itself was to be condemned! such is the "unwritten law" of international relations in cases in which the technical requirements of the law run counter to generous and righteous human sympathies.
-while, therefore, we must believe that even without american intervention in the actual war the cubans would have won their independence, we may doubt whether such would have been the case if the united states had not all along been dose at hand, a resourceful and hospitable country, in which cuban political exiles could find secure asylum, in which a cuban junta could plan revolution, in which funds to aid the patriot cause could be raised, and which, in brief, could partly in secret and partly in the open be used as a base of supplies and operations. it is to such aid that cuba owes more than she does to the achievements of the american army and navy in 1898, admirable and useful as they were.
-comparably great, as we shall most notably see in the ensuing chapters, were the services of the united states to cuba after the war of independence. these were manifold. the first was diplomatic, in serving as an intermediary between cuba and spain, in making the treaty of peace, and in securing the spanish withdrawal from the island. there is no doubt that all those things were done more smoothly, more satisfactorily and more expeditiously than they could have been had they been left to direct settlement between cuba and spain. the services of the united states during the last part of 1898 were more indispensable than those of the spring and summer of that year. indeed, it might perhaps be claimed that the chief advantage in having the united states intervene was that it enabled her to play that important part in the making of peace and the post-bellum readjustment.
-the second great service rendered by the united states was the rehabilitation of the island. this was a manifold undertaking. it comprised rehabilitation after many years of spanish misrule and neglect, and rehabilitation after the ravages of three years of peculiarly destructive war. the civic maladies to be cured were thus both chronic and acute. moreover, the work was political, and sanitary, and educational, and economic. order was to be restored, law was to be administered, government was to be organized, pestilence was to be abated, schools were to be created, the whole work of civilization was to be performed. splendid as was the work of sampson's fleet at santiago, still more beneficent was that of general wood within the precincts of that city and throughout the province of oriente. nobly memorable was the work of shafter's army, but we shall read history to little avail if we do not give higher credit to the work of the military governor and his lieutenants.
-a third service was in acting as guide, philosopher and friend in the great task of organizing and installing the native cuban government which had been promised by the united states in the act of declaring war against spain. that self-abnegatory pledge was a noble thing, and noble was the faithful fulfilment of it. i have heard of an eminent and enlightened cuban who regarded that pledge with incredulity, saying, "it can never be fulfilled!" and who persisted in that incredulity until that memorable noonday when the american flag came down from the palace and the morro and the flag of cuba libre rose in its place; and then, with tear-suffused eyes, exclaimed, "it can't be; but it is!" never before in the history of the world had such a thing been done, but it was done and it was well done.
-there followed a fourth service, which we may hope has now been definitely completed, but which in the very nature of the case is a potentially recurrent service, which may--absit omen!--be needed again and again; and which the united states may be trusted to perform, if necessary, as faithfully and generously and efficiently as it has already performed it. for we shall see that after the cuban government had been established and had vindicated its existence by great good service to the island, sordid and treacherous men unlawfully conspired against it and sought to overthrow it by violence and crime. their success would have meant ruin for the island. their partial success--for such they had--meant immeasurable loss. but fortunately the united states intervened as readily against cuban crime as it had against spanish oppression, and the republic was saved, though "as through fire."
-it is this service, following the others which i have named, which differentiates the cuban republic from most of the other states which have been formed from the spanish empire in america. of the two states which at one time planned to wrest cuba from spain by force and make her a part of their community of nations, colombia was for half a century in a chronic condition of revolution, and mexico through the same evil processes has given the word mexicanize to the political vocabulary. it was the intention of the united states that cuba should not fall into that category; but it is by no means certain that she would not have done so had it not been for the guardianship of that country.
-our history will disclose more than all these things. these are the records of achievement. but there are other records, even those of conditions as they exist, and as they have been made to exist by virtue of these achievements. marvellous indeed shall we find them. the story of cuba's development from a neglected and oppressed colony to an independent nation is stirring and impressive, adorned with the names and deeds of brave men. the story of her development in civilization, from a backward rank to the foremost, is no less impressive, and it is adorned with the names and the labors of wise men, statesmen and scholars, who gave of their best for the welfare of the insular republic for which so many of their kin gave willingly their very lives.
-the account which we shall have of the opulent charms and resources of cuba may be regarded as a volume of contemporary history. it will reveal to us some of the consequences of that narrative of the past which forms the major portion of our story. but it will be more and will do more than that. it must serve as an intimation, a suggestion, almost perhaps a prophecy, of what the future of the pearl of the antilles will be. grateful as is the work of recalling and rehearsing the story of the past, from the days of columbus and velasquez to the present, the historian finds it more pleasant and more welcome to dwell upon the present scene. if these volumes, laboriously produced and with a consciousness too often of falling short of the high merits of the theme, shall serve their intended purpose of introducing cuba, past and present, more fully and most favorably to the knowledge of the world, i shall be more than abundantly repaid. but the supreme and most enduring satisfaction will come from some assurance that i have brought to the appreciative attention of the world not merely the cuba of four centuries past, with all its legends of adventure and romance, and too often of cruelty and crime, and with its fluctuating though still persistent progress toward the "foremost files of time," but also and still more the cuba of this present moment and, we may hope, of unmeasured future time. it is a cuba that is beautiful for situation, opulent in resources, entrancing in charm, illimitable in potentialities; a land of "fair women and brave men," upon which recollection fondly dwells; a land which justifies the latest writer concerning it to repeat once more the estimate of the first who ever wrote of it--"the most beautiful that the eyes of man have ever seen."
-willis fletcher johnson. new york, u. s. a., june, 1919.
-"in cuba the annals of america begin"--the first landing place of columbus--theories concerning various islands--his expectation of reaching the coast of asia--cuba supposed to be cathay--the physical history of cuba--character of the aboriginal inhabitants--a race of amiable savages without enduring monuments.
-discovery of cuba on sunday, october 28, 1492--the first landing place on the island--named for the heir of the spanish throne--appreciation of the beauty and charm of the island--first contact with its inhabitants--exploration of the northern coast--cuba supposed to be the country of the great khan--further explorations of the coast--departure for hispaniola--second visit to cuba--exploration of the southern coast--discovery of jamaica--navigating the caribbean sea--some inland excursions--experiences with the natives--reaching the western end of the island--exhortation of a native sage--columbus's final departure from cuba.
-first impressions of cuba--columbus's observations of the people and resources of the island--native villages and boats--negotiations with the natives--first use of tobacco by europeans--columbus's meagre knowledge of the island--his death and burial in hispaniola--removal of his remains to havana--disputes concerning his tomb--final return of his remains to spain.
-archeology of cuba--the oldest rock formation--theory of cuban continuity with florida--the eocene age--submersion in the oligocene period--miocene uplift--changes during the pleistocene period--topography of the island--the mountain ranges--the mountains of oriente--the organ mountains and magotes--the valley of the vinales--plains and valleys--composition of the soil--the climate of cuba--fortunate situation of the island--the rainfall of a land of sunshine.
-neglect of cuba by spanish explorers and conquerors--rule of ovando--ocampo discovers cuba to be an island--first attempts at colonization--enciso's story of ojeda's adventure--a test between christianity and paganism--the lust of gold--diego and bartholomew columbus--diego velasquez appointed governor--his first settlement at baracoa--the war with hatuey--narvaez and his horsemen--las casas the "apostle to the indies"--more trouble with the natives--exploration of the island throughout its length.
-marriage and bereavement of velasquez--other settlements founded in cuba--santiago made the first capital--system of government--apportionment of the natives to the settlers--appropriation of the land--evils of the repartimiento system--the statesmanship of velasquez--enslavement of the natives--famous men in cuba's early history--gold mines and fertile plantations--beginning of the mission of las casas--death of king ferdinand and accession of charles i--cardinal ximenes--the order of st. jerome--the fate of the natives.
-gold mining in cuba--political organization of the island--relations with the spanish crown--development of the slave trade--expeditions to yucatan--exploration of the mexican coast--failure of grijalva's expedition--the expedition of christopher de olid--unmerited fate of grijalva, the discoverer and first explorer of mexico.
-hernando cortez commissioned by velasquez to explore mexico--some romantic adventures--why cortez went to cuba--his relations with velasquez--a crisis in spain's american affairs--appointment of velasquez as adelantado--departure of cortez--his refusal to return when summoned by velasquez--arrival in mexico--appointment of cortez as royal governor of new spain--preparations by velasquez to subdue cortez--disastrous fate of narvaez's expedition--conspiracy to assassinate cortez--velasquez removed from the governorship of cuba--zuazo, the second governor--vindication of velasquez and repudiation of zuazo--character and work of first cuban governor.
-administration of manuel de rojas--the rise of cuba's proper interests--development of resources--appointment of altamarino--post mortem investigation of velasquez--violent opposition to altamarino--removal of a discredited governor--accession of guzman--controversies over local government--injudicious course of guzman--protest against the tyranny of the councils--"cuba for the cubans."
-controversies over the treasurership--appointment of hurtado, the honest but cantankerous--fortunes of the guzman family--a marriage for money and its consequences--services of vadillo--investigations and reforms--heavy sentences against guzman--an appeal to the council for the indies--manuel de rojas again governor.
-development of the church establishment in cuba--the first bishop--early conflict between church and state--transfer of the cathedral from baracoa to santiago--a bishop in politics--the governor excommunicated--insurrections and raids of the natives--effective work of rojas against the cimarrones--disposal of the "tame" indians--further conflicts of church and state--intervention of the crown--practical extermination of the natives--reforms that were not made--well meant efforts of rojas--failure of attempts to civilize the natives--a good governor ill treated--his resignation and departure.
-guzman's second administration--a masterful politician--decline of cuban welfare--an interregnum in the governorship--the coming of de soto--his imposing arrival at santiago--progress across the island--vasco porcallo de figueroa made de soto's lieutenant--cuba a stepping stone to florida--de soto's removal from santiago to havana--organization of the florida expedition--report of the first scouts--departure of de soto--lady de soto's faithful watch--tragic fate of the explorer--evil effects upon cuba--serious trouble with the indians--intrigues of guzman and bishop sarmiento.
-governorship of juan de avila--royal order against slavery in the mines--an appeal to the council for the indies--popular revolt against the council--de avila's marriage to a rich widow--removal to havana--appointment of antonio chaves--scandalous charges against de avila--the matter carried to spain for settlement--another bad administration--chaves reprimanded by the king--his persistence in slavery--hurtado's indictment of chaves--gonzalo de angulo made governor--trial and punishment of chaves--emancipation proclamation.
-a bad time in cuban history--santiago in 1550--raid of a french privateer--the founding and rise of havana--the founding of puerto principe--baracoa, trinidad and other settlements--italians and other aliens in cuba--efforts to populate the island--importation of negro slaves--slaves treated humanely--disappearance of the native indians--the early industries of cuba--discovery of the copper mines of el cobre--beginning of the sugar industry--fiscal policy of the spanish government.
-a turning point in cuban history--international interest in the island--raids of french privateers--a famous fight in santiago harbor--the capture and looting of havana--first building of la fuerza--rise of havana in importance--the governor's residence in havana--deposition of angulo--guarding havana against french attack--inadequacy of the defenses--seizure of the city by jacques sores--flight of the governor and resolute defense of lobera--attempt to destroy the french conquerors--destruction of the city.
-administration of mazariegos--his disastrous voyage--rebuilding of havana--manners and morals of a soldier of fortune--defense of havana by a military governor--improvement of the fortifications--rebuilding la fuerza--the founding of morro castle--complications in florida--osorio appointed governor--his care for the defenses of the island--the campaigns of pedro menendez--conflict between osorio and menendez--attempts at mutiny--disagreement over fortifications--illegitimate trade at santiago--menendez appointed governor--a succession of lieutenants--charting the bahama channel--codifying municipal ordinances.
-approach of the "sea beggars"--more work on la fuerza--seeking financial aid from mexico--a requisition for slave labor--investigating public accounts--the downfall of menendez--investigation of his accounts--succeeded by montalvo--increase of smuggling--general progress of the island--havana the commercial metropolis.
-administration of francisco carreño--the first cuban governor to die in office--a record of hard work and progress--the problem of free negroes--features of the slave system--some literally constructive statesmanship--the first custom house--trying to deal with the land question--the reforms proposed by caceres--development of stock raising--bad administration of torres.
-administration of gabriel de luzan--controversies among officials--the quarrel between luzan and arana--questions of official residence--removal of the royal accountant--charges against the governor--further efforts to complete la fuerza--the work of quiñones--unseemly personal and political feuds--investigation of the governor's administration--renewal of the quarrel with quiñones--governor and captain-general brought into accord through peril of an attack by the british--desperate preparations for defense.
-war between spain and england--drake's conquest of hispaniola--an attack upon cuba anticipated--raising forces for defense--feuds forgotten in the common emergency--plans for the defense of havana--increase of the garrison--admirable unity of the people--drake's approach to cuba--his landing at the western end of the island--appearance of his fleet off havana--departure of drake's fleet without an assault--his doings at st. augustine and in the north--reasons for not attacking havana--disaster to santiago--that city destroyed by the french--rebuilt by an energetic patriot--interest in copper mining.
-drake's menace a blessing to cuba--spanish interest in cuba for its own sake--the governorship of tejada--the public works of antonelli--building roads, dams and aqueducts--havana made a real city--controversy with bishop salcedo--appreciation of tejada's services--accession of barrionuevo--progress of civilization in cuba--the first theatrical performance.
-changes in european nations--rise of the protectionist policy--retaliation by smugglers--hostilities against spain--prevalence of piracy--some strong governors of cuba--good works of maldonado and valdes--invasions by pirates--division of the island--interest in religious affairs--successive governors working at cross purposes--building a fleet--protection of the port of havana--an attack by the dutch--the exploits of oquendo--the slave market in havana--fall of cabrera.
-the decline of spain--enterprise and aggressions of the dutch--the dutch west india' company--governors who saved cuba for spain--warring with dutch privateers--the great fight with pie de palo--fiscal reforms in cuba--gamboa's improvement of fortifications--sarmiento's organization of cuban troops--ravages of a great pestilence--noble deeds of the religious orders--public works planned--the walls of havana--aggressions of the british--conquest of jamaica--records of piracy--exploits of lolonois--henry morgan--british capture and plundering of santiago--repairing the fortifications--a compact against piracy.
-british designs against spanish possessions--covetous eyes turned upon cuba by british empire-builders--isolation of cuba from spain--france playing false--cuban reprisals--further attacks by freebooters--controversy over british prisoners--disastrous earthquakes--ecclesiastical troubles--spain at the brink of bankruptcy--cordova's administration--revised code of laws for the indies--civil and ecclesiastical controversies--some ruthless work--founding of the city of matanzas--official disputes and scandals.
-the war of the austrian succession--the treaty of utrecht--reign of philip v--renewed conflicts in the west indies--settlement of pensacola--aggressions of the french--cuban interests affected by european affairs--increased protection of the island--two local governors--attacks upon charleston--raids of british warships--speculation in tobacco--more fortifications in a time of peace--churches and convents--sanitary measures--official quarrels--reorganization of the tobacco industry--seeking administrative stability--a tobacco insurrection--a warning to the british--fortifications of havana.
-great impetus given to discovery and exploration throughout the world--interesting observations upon cuba and the indies--some quaint records--a description of the natives of cuba--something about the natural resources of the island from ancient authorities--spanish and alien descriptions of cuba--early writings about cuba in various languages--fra vincente fonseca--a dutch description of cuba--attention given to the wealth of cuban forests--reasons given for the rise and subsequent decline of spanish power--some superstitions and legends.
-cuba neglected during an era of great achievements--the golden age of spain--culture at home and conquest abroad--a noteworthy group of spanish historians--the university of santo domingo--the first american books--cuba's lack of participation in these activities, and the reasons for it--a turning point in cuban history at the end of the sixteenth century--cubans beginning to become cubans and not spaniards--a significant change in the temper and character of the people of the island.
-full page plates:
-the history of cuba
-cuba; america: america; cuba. the two names are inseparable. the record of each is in a peculiar sense identified with that of the other. far more than any other land the queen of the antilles is associated with that columbian enterprise from which the modern and practical history of the western hemisphere is dated. in cuba the annals of america begin.
-this island was not, it is true, the first land discovered by columbus after leaving spain. it was at least the fifth visited and named by him, and it was perhaps the tenth or twelfth which he saw and at which he touched in passing. but in at least three major respects it had the unquestionable primacy among all the discoveries of his first, second and third voyages, while in his own estimation it was not surpassed in importance by the main land of the continent which he finally reached in his fourth and last expedition. it was the first land visited or seen by him of the identity of which there has never been the slightest question. it was the first considerable land discovered by him, the first which was worth while sailing across the ocean to discover, and it was by far the most important of all found by him in his first three adventures. it was, also, the first and indeed the only land which caused him to believe that the theory of his undertaking had been vindicated and that the supreme object of his quest had been attained. let us, in order to appreciate the transcendent significance of his discovery of cuba, briefly consider these three circumstances.
-we must remember with respect to the first that the identity of columbus's first landing place has been much disputed, and indeed has never been determined to universal satisfaction: we know that it was an island of small or moderate size. columbus himself called it in one place "small" and in another "fairly large." it was level, low-lying, well watered, with a large central lagoon, which may or may not have been a permanent feature, seeing that his visit was in the rainy season, when any depression in the land was likely to be flooded. it was certainly one of the bahama archipelago. but that extensive group comprises 36 islands, 687 cays, and 2,414 rocks. which of all these was it upon which the admiral landed, which was called by the natives guanahani, and which, with his characteristic religious fervor, columbus immediately renamed san salvador, the island of the holy saviour?
-the distinction has been claimed, by authorities worthy of respectful consideration, for no fewer than five. down to the middle of the nineteenth century the weight of opinion and tradition favored cat island, and upon most maps and charts it was designated as "guanahani, or san salvador." it is by far the largest and the northernmost of the five islands in question. next, to the southeast, lies watling's island, to which the distinction of having been the scene of columbus's landfall has now for half a century been most generally given, and upon maps it is generally named san salvador. it is the only one of the five which stands out in the atlantic, beyond the generally uniform line of the bahamas, as a sort of advance post to greet the voyager from the east. samana, south by east from watling's, also called attwood's cay, was selected as the true guanahani by some officers of the united states coast survey. mariguana, further in the same direction, was proclaimed "la verdadera guanahani" by f. a. de varnhagen in a scholarly treatise published in 1864 at santiago de chili. finally, grand turk island, at the southeastern extremity of the bahama chain, and just north of the coast of hayti, was designated by navarrete, in 1825, and by various other authorities, chiefly american, at later dates.
-the chief interest of these speculations for present consideration in this writing is their bearing upon the subsequent course of columbus, the identity of the next islands which he visited, and finally the point at which he first touched the coast of cuba. if the original landfall was on cat or on watling's island, then the second land visited, which columbus called santa maria de la concepcion, was probably either the tiny island now known as concepcion or the larger rum cay; the third, called by him ferdinandina or fernandina, was either great exuma or long island; the fourth, isabella, may have been either long island or crooked island, according to whether fernandina was great exuma or long island; and the coast of cuba was reached at some point between punta lucrecia and port nuevitas. on the other hand, if grand turk island was first reached, the second land would naturally have been, as navarrete held, at gran caico; the third at little inagua; the fourth at great inagua; and cuba would have been reached somewhere between cape maysi and sama point. to me it seems decidedly the more probable that the former course was pursued, and i have accordingly adopted the theory that columbus first landed in cuba in the region between nuevitas and punta lucrecia.
-the second circumstance which i have mentioned scarcely requires discussion. the first, second and third voyages of columbus were confined to discoveries and explorations of the west india islands, and of all of these, even including hayti and jamaica, there can be no question of cuba's primacy, whether in size, in wealth of resources, in political and strategical importance, or in historical interest. it was so recognized by columbus himself, who indeed in one respect actually esteemed it more highly than it deserved. for after long and careful exploration he became convinced that it was not an island, but was the mainland of the asian continent--mangi, or cathay: that country of the great khan of which marco polo had written and which toscanelli had indicated upon his map, and the visiting of which was the supreme object of the admiral's enterprise.
-to understand this aright we must remember that columbus was not seeking a new continent. he had no thought that one existed. he held, with isidore of seville, that all the lands of the world were comprehended in europe, africa and asia, and that there was only one great ocean, the atlantic, which stretched unbroken save by islands from the western shores of europe and africa to the eastern coast of asia and the east indies. moreover, he considerably overestimated the extent of asia and underestimated the circumference of the earth. years later, long after the circumnavigation of the globe had been effected, antonio galvano, learned historian and geographer though he was, computed the equatorial circumference of the earth at only 23,500 miles, or about 1,400 miles too little; while the best maps of the sixteenth century indicated the asian continent as extending far into the western hemisphere, and the pacific ocean as a narrow strip not nearly comparable with the atlantic in extent. schoener's globe, of 1520, which is still to be seen at nuremberg, represents the "terra de cuba" as integral with the whole north american continent, with its western coast only five degrees of longitude or 300 miles from the shore of zipangu or japan, and only 30 degrees or 1,800 miles from the mainland of asia.
-columbus therefore expected to find the coast of asia in about the longitude in which he actually found america. when he reached the bahamas he confidently assumed them to be the group of islands which toscanelli had indicated as lying off the coast of cathay; and when he learned from the natives of a much larger island lying to the south, which they called colba, cuba, or cubanacan, he believed it to be none other than cipango, or zipangu, which toscanelli had shown as by far the largest of the east indian islands. it has been commonly assumed, apparently with little dispute or attempt at investigation, that cipango was japan. but the distance--1,500 miles--at which it was said to lie from the coast of china, the southerly latitude assigned to it, and the multitude of small islands which were clustered about and near it, are circumstances which suggest that instead of japan the island meant may have been luzon, the northernmost and largest of the philippines. however that may be, columbus promptly decided to steer straight for cipango, with the result that he reached the northern shore of the eastern part of cuba.
-the third circumstance which i have mentioned was then developed. it was a great triumph, and a vindication of his enterprise, that he had reached cipango. but even that was not enough. he was in quest of the mainland of mangi or cathay, the land of the great khan. he found in cuba no traces of the opulence and splendor of which marco polo had written. yet the natives frequently referred to "cuba-nacan" as a great place somewhere in the interior. the phrase merely meant the central part of the island, but the final syllable was identified by columbus with "khan," and, with the wish as father of the thought, he presently conceived the notion that it was not the island of cipango upon which he had landed, but the shore of cathay itself. further explorations, including coasting along the northern shore to within a few miles of the western extremity, confirmed him in this belief, which became absolute conviction. to the end of his life, therefore, he believed that cuba was the eastern extremity of the asian continent, which indeed toscanelli had delineated upon his map as terminating in a long, narrow cape; and it was upon the strength of this belief and report of columbus that schoener in 1520 and muenster in 1532 identified cuba with the whole north american continent, while various other cartographers of that time made it integral with cathay itself. the maps of la cosa and ruysch, in 1508, hinted at this. the nancy globe, and a notable map in the sloane mss. in the british museum, dated 1530, do, it is true, indicate cuba to be an island, but they also make india superior and tibet contiguous with mexico at the northwest, with the latter country fronting directly upon the indian ocean. we know, of course, that during his second voyage, in 1494, while off the southern coast of cuba, columbus required his companions to sign with him a formal declaration that they were off the coast of asia. such, then, was the admiral's estimate of cuba, in which there is no reason to doubt he persisted to the end of his life. he had achieved the object of his great adventure: he had reached the country of the great khan.
-despite these delusions and vagaries, however, the facts remain that he did discover and partly explore cuba, and that it was the first land in the western hemisphere of which that can confidently be said. cuba is therefore the starting point of the history of the columbian discovery and exploration and the subsequent colonization and civilization of america. with cuba the history of the new world begins.
-similarly, and with equal truth, we may say that the history of cuba begins with the columbian discovery of america. that is not true of all parts of the american continents. some of them had already had important histories. the northeastern coast of north america had been visited and temporarily colonized by the norsemen, and the northwestern coast by the chinese; and both of those peoples had left enduring traces of their enterprise. the iroquois and algonquins had for centuries enjoyed a degree of social, political and industrial development, the records of which still survive. the toltecs, the mayas and the incas had risen to a height of culture not unworthy to be compared with that of egypt, persia, greece and rome, the remains of which to this day command the wonder and admiration of the world. but not so cuba. carlyle might well have had this island in mind when he said, "happy the people whose annals are blank in history books."
-the physical history of cuba indicates that in some remote period the two mountainous ends of the island were two separate and distinctly different islands, separated by a considerable stretch of sea, and that they were afterward united by a rising of the bottom of the sea, to form the central plain of cuba. it is observed that the two ends are unlike each other on geological structure and composition, in soil, and in indigenous flora. indeed, they have ever differed from each other radically in their cultivated crops. at what date the union of them occurred, and by what means it was effected, we can only guess. but it is a reasonable assumption that the raising of the sea-floor to form the central plain of the island was caused by one of the seismic disturbances to which this general region of the earth's surface has from time immemorial been subject. there are, moreover, reasons for suspecting that this occurred at a time subsequent to the creation of man, and indeed after both of the original islands had become inhabited. that is because the two ends of the island appear, in columbus's day, to have been occupied by different races. of the inhabitants of the western end we know comparatively little, save that they were more warlike and adventurous than those at the east, and several authorities have likened them either to the caribs or to the mayas of yucatan. that they were mayas seems, however, doubtful, since they left no traces of the high degree of civilization which formerly prevailed among that distinguished race in yucatan.
-the people of the eastern end of cuba, when the island was discovered by columbus, were doubtless of antillan stock, or "tainan" as some have called them, with possibly a slight admixture of carib, though not sufficient materially to affect them in any respect. they were physically a handsome, stalwart people, of a light reddish brown color, somewhat lighter than the north american indians. they wore no clothing, with the exception of the married women, who wore breech clouts, and confined their adornments to slight necklaces and bracelets. they lived in neatly constructed cabins of cane or bamboo and thatch, rectangular or circular in form and generally of two or three rooms each; equipped with furniture of cane or of handsomely carved wood. for beds, however, they used hammocks, of woven cotton or plaited grass; the name, hammock, being of antillan or carib origin. these houses were, according to early spanish testimony, kept scrupulously clean and neat. they were grouped in villages, around a central square which served as a market place and playground.
-they were agriculturists, tilling the ground with considerable skill and producing yuca, corn, beans, peanuts, squashes, peppers and various other crops, besides fruits and tobacco. they were singularly expert fishermen, and for the purpose of that pursuit they constructed fine canoes, of the hollowed boles of large trees, but unlike the caribs they do not seem to have resorted to navigation for any other purpose. they also hunted game on the land, solely for food, but their hunting was much restricted, since there were no large animals of any kind on the island. their manufactures were confined to primitive cotton weaving, wood carving, basketry, pottery--of a pretty good quality of decorated ware--and various stoneware implements.
-in disposition and manners they were friendly, hospitable, courteous, and confiding. despite their nudity they had the unconscious modesty of nature, and their morals were superior to those of most primitive peoples. the tradition that venereal diseases prevailed among them and were thus first made known to european peoples through their having been acquired from the natives by columbus's men, seems to be quite void of foundation; indubitable proof exists of the prevalence of those diseases in both europe and asia at an earlier date than columbus's time. they practised but recognized domestic, social and civic equality of the sexes. they were almost universal tobacco smokers, and it was from them that the use of that plant was first learned. they were pleasure loving, much given to dancing, to games of ball, and to swimming.
-they had, it is obvious, nothing which could survive them as a memorial of their existence. their architecture, if so it may be called, was most perishable. they had no art, save in pottery, and that was not highly developed. they had no literature. the result was that when they perished through unfavorable contact with a more powerful and aggressive race they left scarcely a trace of themselves behind, save in the records and testimony of their conquerors and destroyers. some specimens of their pottery have been preserved: the words "hammock" and "canoe" come to us from them; and the use of tobacco is their universal memorial.
-such were the aborigines, if not the absolute autochthones, of cuba. their only history lives in the brief and scanty records of them made by their destroyers. they left no enduring impress upon the island, save its name. how many they were is unknown, and estimates which are mere guesses differ widely. in a single generation they disappeared, partly through slaughter and partly through such diseases as small pox and measles, which were introduced to the island--of course, not intentionally--by the spaniards, and which the natives were unable to resist. the only significant history of cuba begins, therefore, with the landfall of christopher columbus upon its shores.
-sunday, october 28, 1492, was the natal day of cuba; the day of its advent into the ken of the civilized world. at the island which he called isabella--either long island or crooked island--columbus had heard of a very great land which the natives called cuba, and which, the wish being father to the thought, he instantly identified with cipango. toward it, therefore, his course had thereafter been directed. progress was slow, because of contrary winds and calms, and there were numerous small islands along the way to engage at least passing attention. particularly was there a group of seven or eight, lying in a row extending north and south, which he called the islas de arena, and which we may confidently identify with the mucaras. early on the morning of saturday, october 27, he had left the last of the sandy isles behind, and from a point considerably to the eastward of them, probably near what is now known as rocky heads, he had set his course a little west of south for the shore of cuba. thus he had passed across the southeastern end of the great bahama bank, since most appropriately called the columbus bank, until just at nightfall he had seen looming before him on the southern horizon the mountainous form of a vast land. it was too late, however, to continue the voyage that night, so he lay to, and at earliest daybreak of sunday morning, leaving behind him the islet fittingly called caya santo domingo, completed his course to the land which he fondly but vainly hailed as the much-sought cipango.
-the coast at the point at which he reached it seemed specially designed by nature for his favorable and auspicious reception. there lay before him what seemed the estuary of a large and beautiful river, free from rocks or other impediments, and with a very gentle current. it had an ample depth of water for his vessels, and was sufficiently broad, even at a considerable distance inland, for them to beat about in. it was encircled by lofty and picturesque hills, the aspect of which reminded him of the "pena de los enamorados" near granada, in spain; and upon the summit of one of them was what he described as another little hill, shaped like a graceful mosque. enchanted with the vision, and gratified beyond expression at what he confidently assumed to be the reaching of his goal and the vindication of his enterprise, he gave to the spot a repetition of the name which he had devoutly bestowed upon his first landfall, calling the port san salvador.
-the identity of this spot has been much questioned and disputed; perhaps even more than that of columbus's first landing in the bahamas; and it is not to be regarded as entirely certain. washington irving pretty confidently placed it at caravelas grandes, far to the west of nuevitas del principe, while others insist that it was at nuevitas itself. navarrete, on the other hand, with his theory that the first landfall was at grand turk island, held that cuba was reached at nipe bay, east of holguin; while las casas and herrera insisted that the port of san salvador was at baracoa, near cape maysi, at the extreme eastern end of the island. midway between the extremes, that most scholarly and judicious of geographers, sir clements markham, selected the natural harbor of naranjo, a little to the west of punta lucrecia and punta mulas. other historians and geographers, after painstaking research, declare that they do not believe the place can be determined.
-with this, in the ultimate analysis, i would agree. it is probably impossible to establish indisputably the identity of the place. yet it does seem to me that the arguments in favor of naranjo, as selected by markham, are so strong as to be all but entirely convincing, and that it will be judicious, therefore, to assume that it was there that the admiral first reached the shore of cuba. a glance at the map shows this to be the region which was nearest and which he was likeliest to reach first, coming from either long island or crooked island, eastward of the mucaras, on a south-southwest course, which, we are told, is what he steered. the port of naranjo answers to his description in depth and breadth more nearly than any other on that part of the coast. it is the estuary of a considerable river, as was columbus's san salvador, though how large the river really was he does not appear to have undertaken to ascertain, though he did ascend the stream some little distance on his first day's visit. finally, it is to be observed that naranjo is girt about by hills, precisely as was his san salvador, and on the crest of one of them there is a huge rock, jutting up like "another little hill" and roughly resembling in shape a mosque, because of which the hill is called "loma del temple." this, then, and not nuevitas, nipe, nor baracoa, i believe to have been the scene of columbus's discovery of cuba.
-we have seen that columbus at first unhesitatingly believed it to be cipango which he had reached. despite that fact, and also despite the fact that the natives called it cuba, he insisted upon renaming it. in accordance with his previous practice in nomenclature, it must have a very noble and distinguished name. his first landfall he had named for the holy saviour himself; the second for the holy virgin; the third for the king, and the fourth for the queen of leon and castile. the next name in order, in dignity and distinction, was that of the heir to the dual throne, wherefore he named the land juana. most writers, including irving, have made the curious but facile mistake of saying that this name was given "in honor of prince juan, the son of ferdinand and isabella." it was, in fact, in honor of princess juana, the daughter of those sovereigns. she was that unhappy princess who because of her insanity was called "la loca," and who by her marriage with philip of burgundy and of hapsburg brought a new dynasty to the spanish throne and greatly involved the monarchy in the politics and wars of central europe. juana was mentally incompetent to succeed to the throne of castile which she inherited upon the death of her mother, wherefore she was compelled to relinquish it to the regency of her father; and when he united castile with aragon, and conquered and annexed navarre and granada, and thus became the first king of spain, cuba was renamed in his honor and known no longer as juana but as ferdinandina, or fernandina. still later it was called san diego, or santiago; and again ave maria alfa y omega. but these names were transitory. the natives never accepted one of them, but clung to the old name of cuba, and there was a fine touch of poetic justice in the fact that that name survived the extinction of the race that had cherished it. under the ruthless rule of the conquistadores the aboriginal population of the island almost entirely vanished, and with them practically all traces of their existence save four. these were the name and use of tobacco, the name and use of hammocks, the name and use of canoes, and the name of the island itself.
-it would not have been surprising, and it would have been quite pardonable, had columbus seen everything in the new world through glasses of couleur de rose. naturally of a romantic and imaginative temperament, he experienced in the realization of his long-cherished ambition such a degree of spiritual and mental exaltation as seldom has come to mortal man. yet quite apart from this, the native beauty of cuba, as seen to our eyes to-day, abundantly justifies the rhapsodies in which he indulged in describing it. on that first memorable sunday he wrote in his diary, "this is the most beautiful land ever beheld by human eyes." from the quarter-deck of the santa maria he gazed with rapture upon the profuse verdure of the shore and of the hills which rose in the back-ground, observing with admiration and surprise that the trees grew down to the very water's edge, as did also the herbage, as he had never seen it elsewhere. the palms and other trees were largely of different kinds from those which he had seen in spain, in guinea, and elsewhere, and they bore flowers and fruit in great profusion, while among them were innumerable birds, beautiful to the eye and with songs entrancing to the ear.
-two canoes, containing each several natives, put out from a recess in the harbor shore to meet the spanish ships, but when a boat was lowered from one of the latter, to proceed ahead and take soundings, they incontinently fled. columbus himself then entered a small boat and went ashore, where he found two houses, which he assumed to belong to the owners of the two canoes. no persons were to be found upon the premises, and the only living things were "a kind of dog that never barks," which we may assume to have been some small animal of the ant bear tribe, now probably extinct or at any rate no longer domesticated. the houses were notably neat and clean, and were evidently the abode of fishermen, since in them were nets and cordage of palm fibre, fish-hooks of horn, and harpoons of bone. all about the houses the herbage was as profuse, at the end of october, as it was in andalusia in may. most of the herbs as well as the trees were strange to columbus, but he found some wild amaranth, and much common purslane. he went some distance up the harbor, or river as he called it, at every step or stroke of the oars seeing something new to excite his admiration.
-the natives of guanahani whom he had brought on his ship informed him that cuba was a very large island, which could not be circumnavigated in twenty days; that it contained ten large rivers and that its whole expanse was well watered. they were also understood by columbus to say that gold mines and pearls were to be found in the island, and that large ships came thither from the mainland domains of the grand khan, ten days' sail away. the bulk of this "information" was of course quite mistaken by columbus, his vivid imagination and his eager desires easily misleading him into interpreting anything which the natives might say, largely in sign language, as meaning just what he wished to be true.
-the next day columbus left san salvador and sailed westward along the coast. that was the direction in which, according to the natives of guanahani, the mainland and the capital of the king or the grand khan were to be found. that, too, was the direction in which mangi and cathay were to be found according to the map of toscanelli, assuming cuba to be cipango: which columbus at this stage of his enterprise confidently believed. of the researches of the great voyager along the cuban coast we have a detailed account in his journal. unfortunately, there is no certain means of identifying the points at which he landed. they are described as being so many leagues from his starting point, san salvador; wherefore it is obvious that all depends upon the identity of the latter. yet it seems to me that his account of his coastwise explorations strongly confirms the theory that his san salvador was port naranjo and not nuevitas. for we are told that six leagues westward he found a cape or point of land extending toward the northwest; ten leagues further another point, extending toward the east; one league further a small river, which he called the rio de la luna; and beyond it another much larger river, which he called the rio de mares. this latter river had for its estuary a broad basin resembling a lake, and its entrance was marked by two round mountains on the one side and a lofty promontory on the other.
-now, making reasonable allowance for lack of accuracy in measurements and for discrepancies in descriptions, this account may readily be applied to the coast westward from port naranjo to nuevitas, while it is altogether inapplicable to the coast westward from nuevitas. for a score of leagues westward from naranjo there are capes and mountains and rivers, and there is more than one river with precisely such a lagoon-like estuary as that which columbus found at his rio de mares. indeed, port padre, with its extensive lagoon into which several rivers flow, or port manati, with the cramal and yarigua rivers, might either of them be identified, in approximate distance and in topography, with the rio de mares. on the other hand, if we were to assume nuevitas to have been the starting point, what should we find? either he must have been skirting the outer side of the sabinal and romano keys, and guajaba island, which do not at all coincide with the description given, or he must have been navigating the great littoral lagoon between those keys and the mainland of cuba; in which latter case it is to be observed that that part of the cuban coast does not correspond with his description, and that it is certainly extraordinary that he made no mention of his voyage having been in what is practically an inland sea. that he could have passed in through the nuevitas channel, or the carebelas channel, or the guajaba channel, without observing and remarking upon sabinal key, guajaba island, or romano key, is simply not supposable. such a feature of "cipango" could not have escaped notice on his first arrival there, though it might easily have been ignored or passed over as of no special significance in subsequent explorations.
-on tuesday of that memorable week, october 30, columbus left the rio de mares and sailed to the northwest for fifteen leagues, and there discovered a point which he named the cape of palms. beyond it was a river, the entrance of which was said to be four days' journey from what the natives called cubanacan, meaning the heart of the island, the centre of cuba. with his characteristic habit of interpreting native names and statements in accordance with his own desires, columbus at once assumed this to mean kublai khan, or the city of the khan, of which he was in quest; and accordingly he bent all his energies and gave all his attention to getting thither, disregarding the things which he passed by on the way. it was probably at this time, therefore, that he sailed through one of the channels among the keys, and entered the great coastal sound which stretches from nuevitas to caibarien, if not indeed to cardenas. he reached the river on wednesday, but found it too shallow for his ships, and therefore, after some fruitless cruisings, returned to the rio de mares.
-it was on november 12 that he again sailed from the rio de mares, and on the next day that he sailed south-westward into a great gulf, which he supposed to divide cuba from another island called by the natives "bohio"--the word really meaning not an island at all but "home." thereafter for some time he was obviously cruising around guajaba island and romano key, which, with sabinal key, he supposed to be the mythical "bohio." some port, possibly boca de la yana, he called puerto principe, and the water, presumably between thiguano island and cocos key, he called the mar de la nuestra senora. rounding guillermo key, as we may suppose, he swung into the old bahama channel, and by wind and tide was carried backward to guajaba island and perhaps to nuevitas. thence he made his way westward and southward, rounding point sama and point lucrecia, and reaching port nipe and port banes on the morning of november 27. those two capacious bays he did not attempt to enter. he regarded them indeed not as bays but as straits, or arms of the sea, and the promontory between them he supposed to be an island. at taco he landed for a few moments, and then pursued his way, and at nightfall dropped anchors at what he called puerto santo, which we may probably identify with the modern baracoa. there he remained until december 4, when he sailed to the southeast, and the following day passed out of sight of cape maysi and left cuba behind him; crossing the windward passage to reach "bohio" or "babeque," where there were said to be pearls and gold, and reaching hayti, or santo domingo, which he called espagnola. he did not revisit cuba during the remainder of his first american voyage.
-espagnola, latinized by us into hispaniola, became thereafter the chief care of the admiral. it was there that he planted, on his second voyage, the first european colony in the western hemisphere. but after various operations in hayti, marked with both trials and triumphs, during his second american expedition he returned to the cuban coast for further explorations of what he still thought to be cipango. it was at the end of april, 1494, that he sailed from mole st. nicholas, hayti, across the windward passage toward cape maysi, which he himself had called cape alpha and omega. instead, however, of retracing his way to baracoa and along the north coast, he went to the left of cape maysi and began skirting the southern coast of cuba. this route would, according to toscanelli's map, take him to the southward of mangi and cathay, but it would lead him to the golden chersonesus, around the southern shore of asia, and so home to europe by circumnavigating the globe.
-the points visited by him on this excursion are more easily and surely to be identified than those of his first voyage. his first landing was at guantanamo, which he called puerto grande. he found an entrance passage, winding but deep, leading in to a spacious land-locked lagoon, surrounded by hills covered with verdure. here he established friendly relations with the natives, and remained for two or three days. thence he sailed westward, as close to the shore as safety would permit, and frequently entered into friendly intercourse with the natives who thronged the strand to gaze in wonderment at his strange ships. at santiago de cuba he spent a night, and during his stay he diligently inquired of the natives for the land in which gold was to be found. they indicated it to lie farther to the south and west, doubtless meaning south america. columbus thereupon set sail in that direction, partly because gold was most desirable to obtain, and partly because he assumed the land of gold to be the land of the great khan, which he was still intent upon reaching. the result was his discovery of jamaica. a fortnight later, however, on may 18, he returned to cuba, reaching it at cabo de la cruz, or cape cruz. here he found a large village, whose chief and indeed all whose inhabitants had heard of him as one descended from heaven. he was hospitably received, and was able to make many inquiries about the country. he was told that cuba was an island, but of so vast extent that nobody had ever sailed around it. he thereupon set out to circumnavigate it and sailed from cape cruz northward into the gulf of guacanabo. there he found a multitude of small islands, which he named the queen's gardens, and there, remembering that marco polo and sir john mandeville had both reported the coast of asia to be fringed with a crowded archipelago, he was again confirmed in his belief that he was approaching the shore either of cathay or of the golden chersonesus.
-navigation among these islands, however, was difficult, dangerous and slow, particularly when tropical thunderstorms were raging, as they then were almost daily, and it was with much relief that the expedition at last reached the cuban coast, probably at or near santa cruz del sur. there they were told that they were in the province of ornofay; the province which they had formerly visited, at cape cruz, was macaca; and to the west there lay the important province of mangon, where they could secure much fuller information on all subjects. they were again assured that cuba was an island, but so vast in extent that nobody could hope ever to go around it. the mention of the province of mangon again stimulated the hopes and fancy of columbus. he identified it with mangi, the southernmost and richest province of the great khan, and in this he was confirmed by the fantastic statement of the natives, that the people of mangon had tails and wore long robes to conceal them! columbus recalled that sir john mandeville had related a similar story as current among some tribes in eastern asia. he therefore set out with renewed eagerness and expectation for the coast of mangon.
-emerging from the archipelago, he sailed for many miles along the southern coast of cuba, through an open sea, with the mountain ranges of santa clara at his right hand and at his left the open expanse of the caribbean, its intense blue attesting its depth. after passing the gulf of xagua, however, there came a sudden change. the sea became shallow, and thickly dotted with small islands, keys, and banks, while the water was white as milk. the voyagers had crossed the gulf of cazones and were among the juan luis keys, where the water is shallow and where at times the agitation of the water by storms causes it to be whitened and rendered opaque with the calcareous deposit with which the sea floor is there thickly covered. this character of the bottom also made it impossible for the vessels to find anchorage. the anchors dragged and the water became more white and turbid. to the members of the crews these phenomena caused great terror, which was by no means ill founded, since there was imminent danger of the vessels being driven ashore and wrecked. to columbus, in his state of mental exaltation and high expectancy, however, they were full of inspiration and encouragement to proceed, indicating to him that he was entering strange regions where extraordinary discoveries were to be made. for we must remember that, far as he was in advance of his time in geographical vision, he still thought that the earth was not globular but pear-shaped, and he expected to find tribes of men with tails, and with only one eye and with their heads growing beneath their shoulders!
-finding anchorage at last upon the shore of a small island, he sent the smallest of his vessels forward to explore the archipelago and also to visit the coast of the mainland. the report which was brought back to him was that the archipelago was as dense and as intricate as the gardens of the queen which they had left behind them, and that the coast of the mainland was flat, marshy, and covered with almost impenetrable mangrove forests, far beyond which fertile uplands and mountain ranges were to be seen, while numerous columns of smoke ascending gave token of a considerable population. at this the entire expedition proceeded, to retrace the course which had been pursued by the pilot caravel, and after much difficulty and occasional groundings of the vessels, the coast of cuba was reached, doubtless near the eastern extremity of the great zapata peninsula. the vast marshes gave little encouragement for landing, and the expedition continued eastward until punta gorda was reached, to which columbus gave the name of punta serafina.
-when columbus heard these things he was much pleased. he saw in them confirmation of what he had been told about the province of mangon, with its men who had tails and who wore long robes to hide them. he at once sent a strongly armed party inland to seek these men and parley with them; directing them to go as much as forty miles inland, if necessary, to find them, and to find the populous cities which he confidently believed to exist in that region. these explorers readily enough traversed the open palm forest which bordered the coast. but then they came to extensive open upland plains or savannahs, with few trees but with rank grass and other herbage as high as their heads and so dense as to be almost impenetrable. no roads or paths were to be found, and it was necessary to cut a trail through the herbage. for a mile they struggled on, and then gave up the attempt and returned to the ships. the next day another party was sent in another direction, with no better results. its members found fine open forests, abounding with grapevines laden with fruit, and they saw flocks of cranes which they described as twice the size of those of europe. but they also saw on the ground the footprints, as they supposed, of lions and of griffins, which so alarmed them that they beat a hasty retreat.
-lions, and indeed all large beasts of prey, were never known to exist in cuba, and the griffin was of course never anything but imaginary--unless a tradition of some prehistoric monster, ages ago extinct. but huge alligators or caymans abounded in cuban waters, and the footprints which frightened columbus's explorers were doubtless made by them. the observation of large cranes suggests, also, an explanation of the panic-stricken archer's story of men clothed in white robes. a flock of those huge birds, standing erect and in line, with their leader advanced before them, as is their custom, in the semi-gloom of a strange forest, might well have given him the impression of a company of white-robed men. of course, no men of that description were ever found in cuba, nor were there traces of any.
-it did not take columbus long to explore broa bay sufficiently to ascertain that it was not an arm of the sea, but a mere coastal indentation; whereupon he resumed his westward cruising. a little further on, probably in the neighborhood of batabano, he found the shore inhabited, and though neither he nor his interpreters could understand the language of the natives, they contrived to hold some communication with them by means of signs. he gleaned from them in this manner the information that far to westward, among the mountains, there was a great king, ruling in magnificence over many provinces; that he wore long white robes and was considered a semi-divine personage, and that he never spoke but conveyed his decrees in signs, which nobody dared to disobey. to what extent this was really intended by the natives, and to what extent was the mere figment of the admiral's lively imagination, it is impossible to say. it is entirely conceivable, however, that the cubans had some knowledge of the aztecs and toltecs of mexico, and the mayas of yucatan, and were referring to them. certainly they could not have referred to anybody in cuba. but columbus, as ever fondly believing whatever he wished to be true, confidently assumed that they were telling him of the mythical prester john, and that he was on the shores of that potentate's domain. the mountains of which the natives spoke, he supposed, were those of pinar del rio, which were already in sight on the northwestern horizon.
-concerning the extent of cuba, and of the coast along which he was sailing, columbus could get little information. he was told that the coast extended westward for at least twenty days' journey, but whether it then ended, and how it ended, he could not learn. he therefore took one of the natives with him as a guide, and resumed his voyage. almost immediately, however, he plunged into another archipelago, almost as dense and troublesome as that through which he had passed a few days before. making his way through it with great difficulty, he reached the coast of pinar del rio, and effected a landing amid swamps and forests, only to find the region uninhabited, though frequent columns of smoke rising inland indicated to him the presence of a considerable population. for some time he made his way along that inhospitable coast, which trended steadily toward the southwest, a direction agreeing with his conceptions of the asian coast as described by marco polo. surely, he thought, he was on the coast of indo-china, headed straight for the golden chersonesus. if he persisted, he would cross the indian ocean and reach the red sea, whence he could complete his journey to europe overland by way of palestine; or he could steer southward along the african coast and around that continent, and so reach home by circumnavigating the globe.
-these fancies appear to have been shared by his companions, among whom were several accomplished navigators and geographers. the delusions were of course largely due to the erroneous estimate of the size of the globe, which made its circumference too little by some thousands of miles. but his companions could not be persuaded to approve his scheme of going on to circumnavigate the globe. the glamor of that vision did not blind their eyes to the worn and dilapidated condition of the ships, the lack of supplies, and the weariness of the crews. they were in no condition, they insisted, to proceed further through unknown regions. it was already satisfactorily demonstrated, they held, that they had reached the asian coast. the part of prudence was to turn back to isabella, if not to spain, and refit their vessels for another and longer voyage.
-it was on july 7 that the next landing in cuba was made, at a point on the southeastern coast of camaguey, and at the mouth of a fine river which columbus called the rio de la missa but the identity of which is now uncertain. it may have been the san juan de najasa or the sevilla, or one of the several streams between those two. there, in a most genial and fruitful region, they spent some days and established friendly relations with the chief of a considerable community. in the presence of this chief and his retainers an altar was erected beneath a great tree, and mass was celebrated. an aged native, apparently a priest, watched this proceeding with much interest, and at its close approached columbus and addressed him, saying:
-"this which thou hast done is, i perceive, thy method of worshipping thy god; which is well. i am told that thou hast come hither with a strong force, and hast subdued many lands, filling the people with great fear. be not, however, vainglorious. the souls of men after these bodies are dead have, according to our belief, one of two journeys to pursue. one is to a place that is dismal, foul and dark, which is prepared for those who have been cruel and unjust to their fellow men. the other is to a place of light and joy, prepared for those who have practised peace and justice. therefore if thou art mortal, and must some time die, and dost expect that all men are to be rewarded according to the deeds done in their bodies, see that thou work justice and do no harm to those who have done no harm to thee."
-in this address was revealed the most that we know of the religion of the cuban aborigines. columbus listened to it with surprise and gratification, not having supposed that any such faith or such knowledge of the future life existed among the natives of cuba. he responded through his interpreter sympathetically, assuring the old man that he had been sent forth by his sovereigns to teach the true faith and to do good and no evil, and that all innocent and peaceable men might confidently look to him for friendship and protection. he also had his interpreter tell the people of the greatness, riches and splendor of spain; to which they listened in credulous bewilderment. then, on july 16, he sailed away from cuba again, amid expressions of regret by the chief and his comrades; taking with him one of the young men whom he afterward sent to the spanish court. but a storm struck his feeble vessels and nearly wrecked them. on july 18 they anchored near cape cruz for repairs, and were most hospitably received by the natives. at last, on july 22, they departed for jamaica, whence they returned to isabella. never again did columbus visit cuba, though he approached its southern shore on his fourth voyage, on his way to the coast of central america. to the end of his life, presumably, he believed cuba to be a part of the asian continent, continuous with honduras and veragua.
-we have already quoted the enthusiastic encomium of columbus upon cuba at his first sight of and landing upon its shore. his diary and his narrative to the sovereigns of leon and castile on his return to spain abound with similar expressions, as well as with informing bits of description of cuba as they then found it. in the very first days of his first visit he found villages of houses "made like booths, very large, and looking like tents in a camp without regular streets but one here and another there. within they were clean and well swept, with furniture well made. all were of palm branches, beautifully constructed. they found many images in the shape of women, and many heads like masks, very well carved. it was not known whether these were used as ornaments, or were to be worshipped."
-the waters abounded in fish, and the people of the coast regions were apparently nearly all fishermen. the only domestic animals were the "dogs which never barked," and birds in cages. there were seen, however, skulls like those of cows, on which account columbus assumed that inland there were herds of cattle. all night the air was vocal with the songs of birds and the chirping of crickets and other insects, which lulled the voyagers to rest. along the shore and in the mouths of rivers were found large shells, unlike any that he had known in spain, but no pearls were in them. the air was soft and salubrious, and the nights were neither hot nor cold. on the other islands which he had visited the heat was oppressive, a circumstance which he attributed to the flat and low-lying land; while cuba was mountainous and therefore was blessed with cooling breezes.
-at some point on the northeastern coast, probably in the neighborhood of point sama, a month after his first landing, he imagined that he had discovered deposits of gold. it was in the bed of a river, near its mouth, that he saw stones shining, as if with gold, and he had them gathered, to take home to spain and to present to the sovereigns. at the same point some of the sailors called his attention to the pine trees on a neighboring hill. they were "so wonderfully large that he could not exaggerate their height and straightness, and he perceived that in them was material for great stores of planks and masts for the largest ships of spain."
-further on, probably in the neighborhood of baracoa, "they came to the largest inhabited place that they had yet seen, and a vast concourse of people came down to the beach with loud shouts, all naked, with darts in their hands." columbus desired to have speech with them, and accordingly anchored his ships and sent boats ashore, bearing gifts for the natives. the people at first seemed inclined to resist any landing, but when the spaniards in the boats pressed on and began to land, without manifesting any fear, they abandoned their hostile attitude and began to withdraw. the spaniards who landed called to them and strove to lure them back, but without success. they all ran away. in consequence of this and similar incidents, columbus wrote:
-"i have not been able to see much of the natives, because they take to flight. but now, if our lord pleases, i will see as much as possible, and will proceed little by little, learning and comprehending; and i will make some of my followers learn the language--for i have perceived that there is only one language up to this point. after they understand the advantages i shall labor to make all these people christians. they will readily become such, because they have no religion nor idolatry; and your highnesses"--he was addressing the sovereigns, in his journal--"will send orders to build a city and fortress, and to convert these people.
-"it does not appear to me," he continued, "that there can be a more fertile country or a better climate under the sun, with more abundant supplies of water. this is not like the rivers of guinea, which are all pestilential. i thank our lord that up to this time there has not been a person of my company who has had so much as a head-ache, except one old man who has suffered from stone all his life, and he was well again in two days. i speak of all three vessels. if it should please god that your highness should send learned men out here, they will see the truth of all i have said."
-while in the neighborhood of baracoa, at the end of november and beginning of december, 1492, he saw a canoe made of the hole of a single tree, 95 palms long and capable of carrying 150 persons. "leaving the river, they came to a cove in which there were five large canoes, so well constructed that it was a pleasure to look at them. they were under spreading trees, and a path led to them from a very well built boathouse, so thatched that neither sun nor rain could do any harm. within it there was another canoe made out of a single tree like the others, like a galley with 17 benches. it was a pleasant sight to look upon such goodly work.
-"the admiral ascended a mountain, and afterward found the country level and cultivated with many things. in the middle there was a large village, and they came upon the people suddenly, but as soon as they were seen the men and women took to flight. the admiral made the indian from on board, who was with him, give them bells, copper ornaments, and glass beads, green and yellow, with which they were well content. he saw that they had no gold nor any other precious thing, and that it would suffice to leave them in peace. the whole district was well peopled.... no arms are carried by them except wands, on the point of which a short piece of wood is fixed, hardened by fire, and these they are very ready to exchange.
-"returning to where he had left the boats, he sent back some men up the hill, because he fancied he had seen a large apiary. before those he had sent could return, they were joined by many indians, and they went to the boats, where the admiral was waiting with all his people. one of the natives advanced into the river near the stern of the boat and made a long speech, which the admiral did not understand. at intervals the other indians raised their hands to heaven and shouted. the admiral thought that the orator was assuring him that he was pleased at his arrival. but he saw the indian who came from the ship change the color of his face and turn as yellow as wax, trembling much and indicating to the admiral by signs that he should leave the river, as they were going to kill him. the admiral then pointed to a cross-bow which one of his followers had, and showed it to the indians, making them understand that they would all be slain, because that weapon killed people at a great distance. he also drew a sword from its sheath and showed it to them, telling them that it, too, would slay them. thereupon they all took to flight; while the indian from the ship still trembled from cowardice, though he was a tall, strong man."
-columbus then determined to seek further acquaintance with the natives, and accordingly had his boat rowed to a point on the shore of the river where they were assembled in great numbers. they were naked, and painted; some wearing tufts of feathers on their heads, and all carrying bundles of darts. "i came to them," said columbus, "and gave them bread, asking for the darts, in exchange for which i gave copper ornaments, bells and glass beads. this made them peaceable, so that they came to the boats again and gave us what they had. the sailors had killed a turtle, and the shell was on the boat, cut into pieces, some of which the sailors gave them in exchange for a bundle of darts. they were like the other people we had seen, with the same belief that we had come from heaven." they were ready, he added, to give anything that they had in exchange for any trifle, which they would accept without saying that it was little, and columbus believed that they would thus give away gold and spices, if they had had any. in one of the houses which he entered "shells and other things were fastened to the ceiling." he thought that it was a temple, and he inquired, by signs, if such was the case and if prayers were there offered. the natives replied in the negative, and one of them climbed up to take down the ceiling ornaments and give them to columbus, who accepted a few of them.
-it was early in november, 1492, that one of the most noteworthy discoveries in relation to cuba was made. at that time columbus sent inland from the port at the mouth of the rio de mares two men, rodrigo de jerez and luis de torres, to explore the inland country and to find if possible the high road to the capital and palace of the great khan. these men did not find what they had been sent for, but something else, which proved in after years to be of incalculable value to cuba and to the world. to quote las casas:
-"they met on the road many men and women, passing to their villages, the men always with half-burned brands in their hands and certain herbs for smoking. these herbs are dry and are placed in a dry leaf made in the shape of the paper tubes which the boys make at easter. lighted at one end, at the other the smoke is sucked or drawn in with the breath. the effect of it is to make them sleepy and as it were intoxicated, and they say that using it relieves the feeling of fatigue. these rolls they call 'tabacos.'" some of columbus's men, when it was reported to them, tried smoking the "tabacos," and the habit soon became prevalent among the spanish colonists in hispaniola.
-these few items, then, compose practically the sum and substance of the knowledge which columbus acquired of that land which was, second to only the continent, by far the most important of all his discoveries. they are few and meagre. it is indeed doubtful if history records an even approximately comparable instance of the disappearance of a numerous and capable people from a country of vast interest and importance, leaving behind them so few traces of themselves and so little information concerning them. for these things are not merely all that columbus learned about cuba. they are all that his successors learned and that the world has ever learned about cuba as it existed prior to and at the time of the great discovery. tobacco, hammocks, canoes, and the name of the island and the names of various places on it which have persisted in spite of the repeated attempts to substitute a new nomenclature; these are the world's memorials of pre-columbian cuba.
-the brief visits and superficial inspection which we have recorded were not, however, destined to be the full compass of the discoverer's personal relationship to cuba. while he did not again visit the island in life, nor give to it any of the attention which ampler knowledge would have shown him it deserved, his mortal remains were conveyed thither, and there remained for a considerable period; though by a strange fatality this fact, well authenticated as it is, has been persistently and elaborately disputed, until the tomb of columbus has in the minds of many become almost as much a matter of speculation and uncertainty as the place of his birth.
-it was on ascension day, may 20, 1506, that columbus died at valladolid, in spain, and there his body was laid to rest in the parish church of santa maria de la antigua, a church of the franciscan fathers. the date of the first removal is unknown, and is much disputed. some have placed it as late as the year 1513, while others, as the result of later and more assured research, declare it to have been within a year or two, or at most within three years, of his death. of the new place of sepulture, however, there is no question. it was in a chapel of the carthusian monastery of santa maria de las cuevas, at seville; where also, years afterward, were laid the remains of his son, diego, who died at montalban on february 23, 1526.
-but as in life, so in death columbus must needs be a wanderer. in 1542 the city of santo domingo, the capital of that island colony of hispaniola to which columbus's chief attention had been given, demanded to be made the repository of the body of its founder. accordingly, charles i decreed the removal, and the bodies of christopher columbus and his son diego were both transferred from seville to a double tomb in the cathedral of santo domingo, hard by the fortress in which the discoverer had once been confined by bobadilla as a prisoner. thus far the record was and is clear; and for two and a half centuries the tomb remained inviolate. indeed, it was so little meddled with that its precise location became a matter of doubt, save that it was somewhere "in the main sanctuary" of the cathedral.
-the first attempt to determine it was made about 1783 by the french politician and writer, moreau de saint-mery, a kinsman of the empress josephine and a member of the colonial council of santo domingo. diligent inquiry, without actual exhumation, resulted in the information that the remains of christopher columbus, enclosed first in a leaden casket and then in a massive coffin of stone, lay underneath the gospel side of the sanctuary, and that those of his brother, bartholomew columbus, similarly enclosed, lay underneath the epistle side. this was contrary, in one respect, to the understanding of years before, which was that it was the body of columbus's grandson luis which lay under the epistle side of the sanctuary. the problem was complicated by the fact that the cathedral had been so remodelled that the tomb of columbus was underneath its wall, where actual examination was difficult; and in fact no exhumation was then attempted.
-in 1795, however, the island was transferred to french sovereignty, and the spanish governor, on relinquishing his rule, requested permission to remove the remains of columbus to havana, cuba, in order that they might continue to rest beneath the spanish flag. this was granted to him, and accordingly, in january, 1796, the tomb beneath the wall on the gospel side of the sanctuary of the cathedral of santo domingo was opened, and the coffin found within was reverently removed and borne to havana, where it was deposited in a new tomb in the cathedral--formerly the church of the jesuits--where its presence was indicated by a medallion and inscription on the wall of the chancel. for many years that was indubitably regarded as the tomb of the discoverer.
-not content with this discovery, the enterprising rector continued his excavations, and presently the finding of another leaden casket was announced, which was reported to bear an inscription, much abbreviated, which, amplified, ran thus: "discoverer of america; first admiral." this created a great sensation, and stimulated dominican pride. the rector at once sent for the president of santo domingo and other dignitaries of state and church, including various foreign diplomats and consuls, and in their presence continued the examination of the treasure trove. upon opening the casket, the inner side of the lid was found also to bear an inscription, greatly abbreviated, which was interpreted as reading: "illustrious and noble man, don cristoval colon." this the dominicans joyfully proclaimed to be proof positive that the remains of the discoverer were still in their possession, and that the casket which had been taken to havana contained the bones of some other member of the columbus family.
-from that event arose a controversy which probably will never be settled to universal satisfaction. the dominicans marshalled to the support of their claims various historical and antiquarian authorities, and the cubans and the spanish government secured at least an equal array in support of their claim that the remains of columbus had been transferred to havana. a strongly convincing report to the latter effect was made to the spanish government by señor colmeiro, of the spanish royal academy of history, and his judgment was generally accepted throughout cuba and spain. it was pointed out that the inscriptions contained various anachronisms indicating that they must have been written at a much later date than that of the death and interment of columbus.
-havana therefore continued confidently to pride itself upon being the repository of the dust of the great admiral, and his tomb in the ancient cathedral was thus recognized and revered by countless visitors. but at last, in 1899, after the independence of cuba from spain had been accomplished, a request was made by the spanish government for the transfer of the casket and its precious contents back to spain, where historically they belonged. it was indeed pointed out that the transfer to havana in 1796 had been intended to be only temporary, pending a fitting opportunity for a further removal to spain. this request was granted, and the dust of the discoverer was finally reinterred in the cathedral of seville.
-this was something at which columbus could merely have guessed, if indeed he had taken the trouble to think of it at all. he knew only that it was a fair land to look upon and promised to be a pleasant land in which to dwell; and his successors in the quest hoped to find its river beds and its mountain rocks rich with the gold which they coveted. that was all. it remained for the ampler knowledge and the more patient and painstaking research of later years to analyze the structure of the island, to discern the causes and the processes through which it had been developed into its present beautiful and opulent condition, and to learn that on the surface and just below the surface of its almost infinitely variegated face there lay the potency and the promise of wealth beyond the utmost limits of the dreams of those conquistadors of ancient spain who were oestrus-driven by the auri sacra fames.
-let us consider, then, the geological history of cuba, so far as it has been ascertained; and the topography of the land as it has been revealed through a far more comprehensive survey than that of the great admiral's enraptured vision.
-it is, of course, impossible to know the geological history of a country until its paleontology has been thoroughly studied and investigated. where formations of different geological ages are lithologically so similar as to be often indistinguishable, the only method of differentiating them is by their fossils. some paleontological work has been done in cuba, but the specimens collected were not accompanied by the necessary data.
-in the present imperfect state of our knowledge of the stratigraphy and areal geology of the island, it would be hazardous to attempt to indicate the times at which the various levels were developed, or to designate the periods during which they remained above the level of the sea. to do this would require a detailed knowledge of nearly all the various phases of its geology.
-the oldest rocks in cuba, with the possible exception of the schistose limestones of trinidad, are composed of granites and serpentines. the relative age of these rocks, to the central mass of limestones in the province of pinar del rio, has not been determined, but we do know that the oldest igneous rocks were themselves folded, faulted and subjected to other processes of metamorphism, and that subsequent to the changes to which they were subjected, the entire region was uplifted and deeply eroded before the cretaceous sedimentation began. no data are available for determining the geologic period at which the pre-cretaceous erosion began, but the region has doubtless been standing above the waters of the ocean for a very long interval, since the amount of rock carried away has been manifestly great.
-the surface upon which the cretaceous sediments were deposited, appears to have been reduced by erosion to a very low relief, so that the land was a featureless plain when the cretaceous subsidence began. the time interval required for the accomplishment of this erosion must have been very long, since when it began the region was undoubtedly mountainous.
-the complex character and disturbed altitude of the pre-cretaceous rocks, the granites, diorites and other granular rocks which appear on the surface because of this erosion, were originally formed deep within the crust of the earth, and therefore furnish a reason for believing that this period of erosion was exceedingly long.
-it has been suggested that during the jurassic times, the southeastern coast of the united states was connected by a long isthmus, following the line of the antilles, to the northeastern coast of south america. the data presented would seem to indicate that at least the eastern half of cuba stood high above the level during this period of the earth's history, and although data concerning the western half are less definite, it too was probably composed of high land masses.
-the elevation, and long period of erosion just described, were followed by subsidence, and on the surface of these old rocks the cretaceous formations were deposited. the lowest cretaceous rocks yet found are composed of an arkose, derived in large part from the original igneous mass. the main body of the strata is composed of limestones, and such fossils as they contain belong to the genera similar to those of the cretaceous rocks of jamaica--radiolites, barrettra, requienia, etc.
-during this time the whole of the island of cuba was probably submerged below the level of the sea. the cretaceous rocks in santa clara province occur in the bottoms of synclines, and the projected dips appear sufficiently to carry the beds over the tops of the dividing anti-clinal axis. it is believed, however, that the depth of the cretaceous sea over the island was probably never very great.
-owing to a lack of paleontological data, the history of the island during the eocene time is vague, but it is probable that a large part of it was submerged. this is certainly true of the province of oriente, where eocene fossils have been collected. during, and possibly previous to that period, volcanic agencies were active in oriente, since volcanic rocks are found interbedded with sediments of the eocene age. the same forces were probably active in other sections of the island, and the intrusion of diorite porphyries in santa clara and other provinces probably took place during that period.
-a portion of the island, at least in the vicinity of baracoa, was deeply submerged during the lower oligocene times, as is proved by the occurrence of radiolarian earth beneath the upper oligocene limestones near the above town. radiolarian oozes are at present being formed on the sea bottom at depths of between 2,000 and 4,000 fathoms. this, of course, does not prove that the deposits of baracoa were laid down at so great a depth as present day dredging would indicate, but we can at least feel confident that they were formed in very deep water. this does not imply however that the whole island was sunken to the abysmal depths.
-during the upper oligocene time very nearly the whole island was undoubtedly submerged. previous to this volcanic agencies had been very active throughout the larger portion of the island. mountain building in oriente had begun before the deposition of upper oligocene strata, and the sierra maestra had already been elevated to a considerable height above the sea. it is probable that the sea at this time covered the whole of the island, with the exception of portions of oriente province along its north and south coast, and occasional high peaks along the axis of the provinces further west.
-the miocene period was one of general uplift. the whole of the island as we at present know it, was above the level of the ocean's waters. there were foldings and uplifts during this period, and volcanic elevation along the axial line being greater than at the sides. it is probable that the folding of the oligocene strata noted in the vicinity of havana and matanzas took place during this time. it may be inferred that the central portion of the province of oriente was more highly elevated than the coastal portions, since upper oligocene limestones occur in this section at considerably higher elevations than along either the north or south coast.
-it is furthermore very probable that the terracing of the oligocene coral reefs, such as may be seen in the vicinity of the city of santiago, was taking place during that time. all the evidence goes to show that these are wave-cut terraces. it may be added here that all of the elevated pleistocene coral reefs recorded are plastered on the surface of the upper oligocene formations, or in some instances older geologic rocks. this applies to every later coral terrace that has been described, beginning with cabanas and extending entirely around the island to the city of santiago.
-the existence of marine pliocene in cuba has not been proved. there may be pliocene rocks in the vicinity of havana some 60 feet above the sea level. if these are true pliocene, it would indicate a subsidence during that time of from iso to 180 feet. the character of the fauna found in the quarry on calle infanta does not indicate a greater depth than from so to 70 feet for the water in which the limestone was deposited.
-subsequent to this deposition, there was an elevation which caused the land to stand some forty or fifty feet higher than it does to-day. this probably took place in early pleistocene times, at which time the isle of pines and cuba were connected. one reason for the belief in this elevation is the existence of an old, deep and comparatively narrow cut in the bed of the present channel leading out of havana harbor. there is further evidence of a general elevation found in borings for water, three miles southeast of the city of santiago.
-at a depth of some 70 feet below the sea level, in the rio san juan valley, stream-carried pebbles were found. this would indicate that the bottom of this valley once stood at least 70 feet or more above sea level. subsequent to this elevation, there was a subsidence varying from 40 to 70 feet. there were doubtless other slight oscillations during the pleistocene period, and these may be going on at the present time, although we have no evidence from records of actually measured monuments established since the spanish occupation of the island.
-paleontologic, biologic and physiographic research seems to indicate that there has been no land connection between cuba and north america at any time since the beginning of the tertiary, unless perhaps during the oligocene period, and it seems probable there was no connection whatever during cretaceous times.
-cuba furnishes a very interesting field, not only for geologic research, but for a far more extended study and survey of its many important mineral zones both for scientific and for economic reasons.
-topographically the surface of cuba may be divided into five rather distinct zones, three of which are essentially mountainous. the first includes the entire eastern third of the province of oriente, together with the greater part of its coast line, where the highest mountains of the island are found. the second includes the greater part of the province of camaguey, made up of gently rolling plains broken by occasional hills or low mountains, that along the northern coast, and again in the southeast center of the province, rise to a height of approximately 1,500 feet above the general level.
-the next is a mountainous district including the greater part of eastern santa clara. the fourth comprises the western portion of this province together with all of matanzas and havana. the surface of this middle section is largely made up of rolling plains, broken here and there by hills that rise a few hundred feet above the sea level.
-the fifth includes the province of pinar del rio, the northern half of which is traversed from one end to the other by several more or less parallel ranges of sierras, with mean altitudes ranging from 1,000 to 2,000 feet, leaving the southern half of the province a flat plain, into which, along its northern edge, project spurs and foot hills of the main range.
-the highest mountains of cuba are located in the province of oriente, where their general elevation is somewhat higher than that of the allegheny or eastern ranges of the united states. the mountainous area of this province is greater than that of the combined mountain areas of all other parts of the island. the mountains occur in groups, composed of different kinds of rock, and have diverse structures, more or less connected with one another.
-the principal range is the sierra maestra, extending from cabo cruz to the bay of guantanamo, forty miles east of santiago. this chain is continuous and of fairly uniform altitude, with the exception of a break in the vicinity of santiago where the wide basin of santiago bay cuts across the main trend of the range. the highest peak of the island is known as turquino, located near the middle of the sierra maestra, and reaching an altitude of 8,642 feet.
-the hills back of santiago bay, separating it from the valley of the cauto, are similar in structure to the northern foothills of the main sierra. in the western part of the range, the mountains rise abruptly from the depths of the caribbean sea, but near the city of santiago, and to the eastward, they are separated from the ocean by a narrow coastal plain, very much dissected. the streams which traverse it occupy valleys several hundred feet in depth, while the remnants of the plateau appear in the tops of the hills.
-east of guantanamo bay there are mountains which are structurally distinct from the sierra maestra, and these continue to cape maysi, the eastern terminus of cuba. to the west they rise abruptly from the ocean bed, but further east they are bordered by terraced foothills. towards the north they continue straight across the island as features of bold relief, connecting with the rugged cuchillas of baracoa, and with "el yunque" lying to the southwest.
-extending west from this eastern mass are high plateaus and mesas that form the northern side of the great amphitheatre which drains into guantanamo bay. much of this section, when raised from the sea, was probably a great elevated plain, cut up and eroded through the ages since the seismic uplift that caused its birth.
-the most prominent feature of the northern mountains of oriente province, west of "el yunque," is the range comprising the sierras
-on a fortuneteller seems somewhat out of character for a ch'an master, we should remember that fortunetelling and future prediction in china are at least as old as the i ching.
-13.	he had six koans out of forty-eight in the mumonkan and eighteen koans out of a hundred in the hekiganroku. perhaps his extensive representation in the second collection is attributable to the fact that its compiler, ch'ung-hsien (980-1025), was one of the last surviving representatives of yun-men's school.
-23.	translations of his teachings from the transmission of the lamp are provided by chang chung:yuan in original teachings of ch'an buddhism and by charles luk in ch'an and zen teachings, second series. a translation of a completely different source, which varies significantly on all the major anecdotes, is provided in john wu, golden age of zen. a translation, presumably from a japanese source, of some of his teachings is supplied by r. h. blyth in zen and zen classics, vol. 2. heinrich dumoulin offers a brief assessment of his influence in his two books: development of chinese zen and history of zen buddhism.
-14. ta-hui: master of the koan
-4.	this is case 1 in the mumonkan, usually the first koan given to a beginning student.
-8.	there are a number of translations of the mumonkan currently available in english. the most recent is sekida, two zen classics: mumonkan & hekiganroku; but perhaps the most authoritative is zenkei shibayama, zen comments on the mumonkan, trans. sumiko kudo (new york: harper £r row, 1974; paperback edition, new york: new american library, 1975). other translations are nyogen senzaki and paul reps, "the gateless gate," in paul reps, ed., zen flesh, zen bones (rutland and tokyo: tuttle, 1957); sohkau ogata, "the mu mon kwan," in zen for the west (new york: dial, 1959); and r. h. blyth, zen and zen classics, vol. 4, "mumonkan" (tokyo: hokuseido, 1966).
-three translations of the blue cliff record are currently available in english. there is the early and unsatisfactory version by r. d. m. shaw (london: michael joseph, 1961). a readable version is provided in sekida, two zen classics, although this excludes some of the traditional commentary. the authoritative version is certainly that by cleary and cleary, blue cliff record.
-9.	this is the case with the version provided in sekida, two zen classics.
-12.	the most comprehensive collection of ta-hui's writings is translated in christopher cleary, swampland flowers: the letters and lectures of zen master ta hui (new york: grove press, 1977). excerpts are also translated by suzuki, essays in zen buddhism, second series. biographical information may also be found in isshu and sasaki, zen dust.
-15.	see ibid.
-16.	see ibid.
-25.	but he destroyed them in vain. around 1300 a monk managed to assemble most of the koans and commentary from scattered sources and put the book back into print. the problem continues to this day; there is now available a book of "answers" to a number of koans--yoel hoffman, the sound of one hand clapping (new york: basic books, 1975). one reviewer of this book observed sadly, "now if only getting the 'answer' were the same as getting the point." 26.
-15. eisai: the first japanese master
-1.	this anecdote is in martin charles collcutt, "the zen monastic institution in medieval japan" (ph.d. dissertation, harvard university, 1975).
-"a century later, for the first time in history, a chinese zen master came to japan. this was tao-hsuan, who belonged to the northern sect of chinese zen in the third generation after shen-hsiu. responding to an invitation from japanese buddhist monks, he took up residence in nara and contributed to the growth of japanese culture during the tempyo period (729-749). . . . the contemplative element in the tendai tradition, which held an important place from the beginning, was strengthened in both china and japan by repeated contacts with zen.
-"a further step in the spread of zen occurred in the following century when i-k'ung, a chinese master of the lin-chi sect, visited japan. he came at the invitation of the empress tachibana kachiko, wife of the emperor saga, during the early part of the showa era (834-848), to teach zen, first at the imperial court and later at the danrinji temple in kyoto, which the empress had built for him. however, these first efforts in the systematic propagation of zen according to the chinese pattern did not meet with lasting success. i-k'ung was unable to launch a vigorous movement. disappointed, he returned to china, and for three centuries zen was inactive in japan."
-another opportunity for the japanese to learn about ch'an was missed by the famous japanese pilgrim ennin, who was in china to witness the great persecution of 845, but who paid almost no attention to ch'an, which he regarded as the obsession of unruly ne'er-do-wells.
-3.	a number of books provide information concerning early japanese history and the circumstances surrounding the introduction of buddhism to japan. general historical works of particular relevance include: john whitney hall, japan, from prehistory to modern times (new york: delacorte, 1970); mikiso hane, japan, a historical survey (new york: scribner's, 1972); edwin o. reischauer, japan: past and present, 3rd ed. (new york: knopf, 1964); and george b. sansom, a history of japan, 3 vols. (stanford, calif.: stanford university press, 1958-63).
-studies of early japanese buddhism may be found in: masaharu anesaki, history of japanese religion (london: kegan paul, trench, trubner, 1930: reissue, rutland, vt.: tuttle, 1963); william k. bunce, religions in japan (rutland, vt.: tuttle, 1955); ch'en, buddhism in china; eliot, japanese buddhism; shinsho hanayama, a history of japanese buddhism (tokyo: bukkyo dendo kyokai, 1966); and e. dale saunders, buddhism in japan (philadelphia: university of pennsylvania press, 1964).
-4.	in fact, the popularity of esoteric rituals was such that they were an important part of early zen practice in japan.
-5.	this world is well described by ivan morris in the world of the shining prince: court life in ancient japan (new york: knopf, 1964). a discussion of the relation of this aesthetic life to the formation of japanese zen may be found in thomas hoover, zen culture (new york: random house, 1977; paperback edition, new york: vintage, 1978).
-6.	one of the most readable accounts of the rise of the japanese military class may be found in paul varley, samurai (new york: delacorte, 1970; paperback edition, new york: dell, 1972).
-7.	this theory is advanced eloquently in collcutt, "zen monastic institution in medieval japan." in later years the ch'an sect in china itself actually entered a phase of decadence, with the inclusion of esoteric rites and an ecumenical movement that advocated the chanting of the nembutsu by ch'anists--some of whom claimed there was great similarity between the psychological aspects of this mechanical chant and those of the koan.
-8.	accounts of eisai's life may be found in dumoulin, history of zen buddhism; and in collcutt, "zen monastic institution in medieval japan."
-9.	see collcutt, "zen monastic institution in medieval japan."
-17.	dogen: father of japanese soto zen 18.
-2.	biographical information on dogen may be found in hee-jin kim, dogen kigen--mystical realist (tucson: university of arizona press, 1975); yuho yokoi, zen master dogen (new york: weatherhill, 1976); and dumoulin, history of zen buddhism. translations of his writings maybe found in dogen kigen--mystical realist and zen master dogen as well as in jiyu kennett, zen is eternal life (emeryville, calif.: dharma, 1976); dogen, record of things heard from the treasury of the eye of the true teaching trans, by thomas cleary (boulder, colo.: great eastern book company, 1978); francis dojun cook, how to raise an ox (los angeles: center publications, 1978); and kosen nishiyama and john steven, shobogenzo: the eye and treasury of the true law (new york: weatherhill, 1977).
-5.	see collcutt, "zen monastic institution in medieval japan."
-19.	ikkyu: zen eccentric 20.
-3.	this would seem to be one of the reasons for what became of a host of emigrating ch'an teachers as sub-sects of the yogi branch struggled for ascendency over each other.
-8.	a discussion of the contribution of zen to japanese civilization may be found in hoover, zen culture. an older survey is d. t. suzuki, zen and japanese culture (princeton, n. j.: princeton university press, 1959).
-11.	one of the best political histories of this era is sansom, history of japan. for the history of zen, the best work appears to be martin collcutt, the zen monastic institution in medieval japan (cambridge: harvard university press, in press), a revised version of the dissertation cited above.
-after ten days of living in this temple my mind's in turmoil;
-red strings, very long, tug at my feet.
-if one day you get around to looking for me,
-try the restaurants, the drinking places or the brothels.
-he notes that the "red strings" of the second line refer to the ties of physical attachment to women that drew ikkyu from the temple to the pleasure quarters.
-21.	hakuin: japanese master of the koan 22.
-18.	hakuin's invention of his own koans, which were kept secret and never published, is a significant departure from the usual technique of simply taking situations from the classic literature, and demonstrates both his creativity and his intellectual independence. it also raises the question of whether they really were "koans" under the traditional definition of "public case" or whether they should be given a different name.
-22.	see d. t. suzuki, sengai: the zen master (greenwich, conn.: new york graphic society, 1971); burton watson, ryokan: zen monk-poet of japan (new york: columbia university press, 1977); and john stevens, one robe, one bowl: the zen poetry of ryokan (new york: weatherhill, 1977).
-anesaki, masaharu. history of japanese religion. london: kegan paul, trench, trubner, 1930 (reissue, rutland, vt.: tuttle, 1963).
-arntzen, sonja. "a presentation of the poet ikkyu with translations from the kyounshu 'mad cloud anthology.' " master's thesis, university of british columbia, vancouver, 1966.
-baskin, wade, ed. classics in chinese philosophy. totowa, n. j.: littlefield, adams, 1974.
-berry, thomas. buddhism. new york: thomas y. crowell co., 1975.
-bingham, woodbridge. the founding of the t'ang dynasty. new york: octagon, 1970.
-birch, cyril. anthology of chinese literature. new york: grove, 1965.
-blofeld, john, trans. the zen teaching of huang po. new york: grove, 1958.
-------- the zen teaching of hui hai on sudden illumination. london: ryder, 1962; paperback reprint, new york: weiser, 1972.
-bloodworth, dennis. the chinese looking glass. new york: dell, 1966.
-blyth, r. h. zen and zen classics. 7 vols. tokyo: hokuseido, 1960-1970.
------	and n. a. waddell, "ikkyu's skeletons," the eastern buddhist, n.s. 7, 3.
-broughton, jeffrey. "kuei-feng tsung-mi: the convergence of ch'an and the teachings." ph.d. dissertation, columbia university, 1975.
-bunce, william k. religions in japan. rutland: tuttle, 1955.
-bynner, witter. the jade mountain. new york: vintage, 1957.
-chai, ch'u, and winberg chai. confucianism. new york: barron's educational series, 1973.
------	the humanist way in ancient china: essential works of confucianism. new york: bantam, 1965.
-chan, wing-tsit, trans. the platform scripture. new york: st. johns university press, 1963.
-------a source book in chinese philosophy. princeton: princeton
-university press, 1963.
------	"transformation of buddhism in china," philosophy east and
-chang, garma c. c. the practice of zen. new york: harper & row, 1959; paperback edition, perennial library, 1970.
-chang, chung-yuan. creativity and taoism: a study of chinese philosophy, art, and poetry. new york: harper & row, 1970.
------	tao: a new way of thinking. new york: harper & row, 1975;paperback edition, perennial library, 1977.
------	trans. original teachings of ch'an buddhism (the transmission of the lamp). new york: random house, 1969; paperback edition, vintage, 1971.
-chatterjee, h., ed. mula-madhyamaka-karika of nagarjuna. calcutta: k. l. mukhopadhyay, 1962.
-chau, bhikshu thich minh. hsuan tsang, the pilgrim er scholar. nha- trang, vietnam: vietnam buddhist institute, n.d.
-chen, c. m. the lighthouse in the ocean of ch'an. kalimpong: buddhist association of the united states, 1965.
-ch'en, kenneth. buddhism in china. princeton: princeton university press, 1972.
------	. the chinese transformation of buddhism. princeton: princeton university press, 1973.
-chiang, yee. the chinese eye. bloomington: indiana university press, 1964.
-chou, hsiang-kuang. dhyana buddhism in china. allahabad, india: indo- chinese literature publications, 1960.
-cleary, christopher, trans. swampland flowers: the letters and lectures of zen master ta hui. new york: grove, 1977.
-cleary, thomas, trans. the original face. new york: grove, 1978.
------	, sayings and doings of pai-chang. los angeles: center publications, 1979.
------	, and j. c. cleary, trans. the blue cliff record. 3 vols. berkeley, calif.: shambhala, 1977.
-conze, edward, ed. buddhist texts through the ages. oxford: bruno cassirer, 1954.
-cook, francis dojun. how to raise an ox. los angeles: center publications, 1978.
-covell, jon, and yamada sobin. zen at daitoku-ji. new york: kodansha international, 1974.
-creel, herrlee g. what is taoism? and other studies in chinese cultural history. chicago: the university of chicago press, 1970.
-davis, a. r. tu fu. new york: twayne, 1971.
-day, clarence burton. the philosophers of china. new york: philosophical library, 1962; paperback edition, secaucus, n. j.: citadel, 1978.
-de bary, william theodore. the buddhist tradition in india, china and japan. new york: random house, 1972.
-de bary, william theodore, ed. sources of japanese tradition. 2 vols. new york: columbia university press, 1958.
------	, wing-tsit chan, and burton watson. sources of chinese tradition,
-vol. i. new york: columbia university press, 1960.
-dogen, record of things heard from the treasury of the eye of the true teaching. trans. thomas cleary. boulder, colo.: great eastern book co., 1978.
-dogen, trans. jiyu kennett. zen is eternal life. emeryville, calif.: dharma, 1976.
-dumoulin, heinrich. a history of zen buddhism. new york: random house, 1963; paperback edition, boston: beacon, 1969.
------	, and ruth fuller sasaki. the development of chinese zen. new york: first zen institute of america, 1953.
-eberhard, wolfram. a history of china. berkeley: university of california press, 1977.
-eliot, sir charles. japanese buddhism. new york: barnes & noble, 1969.
-feng, gai-fu, and jane english, trans. chuang tsu. new york: vintage, 1974.
------	. tao te-ching. new york: vintage, 1972.
-first zen institute of america. cat's yawn. new york: 1947.
------	. the empress wu. vancouver: university of british columbia, 1968.
------	. son of heaven: a biography of li shih-min, founder of the t'ang dynasty. cambridge: university press, 1933.
-frederic, louis. daily life in japan at the time of the samurai. tokyo: tuttle, 1972.
-fung, paul f., and george d. fung, trans. the sutra of the sixth patriarch on the pristine orthodox dharma. san francisco: buddha's universal church, 1964.
-fung yu-ian. a short history of chinese philosophy. new york: macmillan, 1948; paperback edition, free press, 1966.
------	. the spirit of chinese philosophy. boston: beacon press, 1962.
------	. daily life in china on the eve of the mongol invasion. trans. h. m. wright. new york: macmillan, 1962.
------	. "entretiens du maitre de dhyana chen-bouei du ho-tso," hanoi, 1949. (publications de l'ecole frangaise d'extreme-orient, vol. 31).
-giles, herbert a. a history of chinese literature. new york: grove, 1923.
-goddard, dwight, ed. a buddhist bible. new york: dutton, 1938;
-paperback edition, boston: beacon, 1970.
-goodrich, l. carrington. a short history of the chinese people, 4th edn. new york: harper & row, 1963.
-graham, a. c. poems of the late t'ang. baltimore: penguin, 1965.
-grousset, rene. in the footsteps of the buddha. new york: grossman, 1971.
------	. the rise and splendour of the chinese empire. berkeley: university of california press, 1962. hall, john whitney. japan, from prehistory to modern times. new york: delacorte, 1970.
------	, and toyoda takeshi, eds. japan in the muromachi age. berkeley: university of california press, 1977.
-hanayama, shinsho. a history of japanese buddhism. tokyo: bukkyo dendo kyokai, 1966.
-harrison, john a. the chinese empire. new york: harcourt brace jovanovich, 1972.
-hoffmann, yoel. radical zen. brookline, mass.: autumn press, 1978.
--------. the sound of one hand clapping. new york: basic books, 1975.
-hookham, hilda. a short history of china. new york: st. martin's press, inc., 1972; paperback edition, new york: new american library, 1972.
-hoover, thomas. zen culture. new york: random house, 1977;
-paperback edition, vintage, 1978.
-hsuan hua. the sixth patriarch's dharma jewel platform sutra. san francisco: buddhist text translation society, 1971.
-inada, kenneth k. nagarjuna--a translation of his mulamadhyamakakarika with an introductory essay. tokyo: hokuseido, 1970. ishihara, akira, and howard s. levy, the tao of sex. tokyo: shibundo, 1968.
-kaltenmark, max. lao tzu and taoism. stanford, calif.: stanford
-university press, 1969.
-kalupahana, david j. buddhist philosophy: a historical analysis. honolulu: university press of hawaii, 1976.
-kato, bunno, yoshiro tamura, and kojiro miyasaka, trans. the threefold lotus sutra. new york: weatherhill/kosei, 1975.
-keene, donald, "the portrait of ikkyu," landscapes and portraits. palo alto: kodansha international, 1971.
-kim, hee-jin. dogen kigen: mystical realist. phoenix: university of arizona press, 1975.
-kubose, gyomay m. zen koans. chicago: regnery, 1973.
-latourette, kenneth scott. the chinese: their history and culture. new york: macmillan, 1964.
-lau, d. c. lao tzu--tao te ching. baltimore: penguin, 1963.
------	. mencius. baltimore: penguin, 1970.
-legge, james. a record of buddhistic kingdoms. new york: dover, 1965.
-levenson, joseph r., and franz schurmann. china: an interpretive history. berkeley: university of california press, 1969.
-liebenthal, walter. chao lun: the treatises of seng-chao. hong kong: hong kong university press, 1968.
------	. "chinese buddhism during the 4th and 5th centuries,"
-ling, trevor. the buddha. baltimore: penguin, 1973.
-luk, charles. ch'an and zen teachings. 3 vols. london: rider, 1960-62.
------	. the transmission of the mind outside the teaching. new york: grove, 1975.
------	. the vimalakirti nirdesa sutra. berkeley, calif.: shambhala, 1972.
-mcnaughton, william. the taoist vision. ann arbor: university of michigan, 1971.
-miura, isshu, and ruth fuller sasaki. zen dust. new york: harcourt, brace & world, 1966.
-morris, ivan. the world of the shining prince: court life in ancient japan. new york: knopf, 1964.
-munro, donald j. the concept of man in early china. stanford, calif.: stanford university press, 1969.
-nishimura, eshin. unsui: a diary of zen monastic life. honolulu: university press of hawaii, 1973.
-nishiyama, kosen, and john stevens. shobogenzo: the eye and treasury of the true law. new york: weatherhill, 1977.
-ogata, sohaku. zen for the west. new york: dial, 1959.
-pardue, peter a. buddhism: a historical introduction to buddhist values and the social and political forms they have assumed in asia. new york: macmillan, 1971.
-price, a. f., and wong mou-lam, trans. the diamond sutra and the sutra of hui neng. berkeley, calif.: shambhala, 1969.
-pullyblank, edwin. the background of the rebellion of an lu-shan. london: 1955.
-ramanan, k. venkata. nagarjuna's philosophy. new delhi: motilal banarsidass, 1975.
-reichelt, karl ludvig. truth and tradition in chinese buddhism. new york: paragon, 1968.
-reischauer, edwin o. ennin's travels in t'ang china. new york: ronald press, 1955.
------	. japan: past and present, 3rd. ed. new york: knopf. 1964.
-reps, paul, ed. zen flesh, zen bones. rutland and tokyo: tuttle, 1957.
-robinson, richard h. the buddhist religion. (revised edition) belmont, california: dickenson publishing co., inc., 1970.
-sanford, james. "zen-man ikkyu." ph.d. dissertation, harvard university, 1972. (obtainable only from james sanford, department of religion, university of north carolina, chapel hill, n. c. 27514.)
-sansom, george b. a history of japan. 3 vols. stanford, calif.: stanford university press, 1958-63.
-sasaki, ruth fuller, trans. the recorded sayings of ch'an master lin- chi hui-chao of chen prefecture. kyoto: institute for zen studies, 1975.
------	, yoshitaka iriya, and dana r. fraser. the recorded sayings of layman p'ang: a ninth-century zen classic. new york: weatherhill, 1971.
-sato, koji. the zen life. new york: weatherhill/tankosha, 1977.
-saunders, e. dale. buddhism in japan. philadelphia: university of pennsylvania press, 1964.
-schloegl, irmgard, trans. the zen teachings of rinzai. berkeley, calif.: shambhala, 1976.
-sekida, katsuki, trans. two zen classics: mumonkan er hekiganroku. new york: weatherhill, 1977.
-shaw, r. d. m. the embossed teakettle. london: allen & unwin, 1963.
------	, trans. the blue cliff records. london: michael joseph, 1961.
-shibayama, zenkei. zen comments on the mumonkan. trans. sumiko kudo. new york: harper & row, 1974.
-shoko, watanabe. japanese buddhism: a critical appraisal. tokyo: japanese cultural society, 1970.
-smith, d. howard. chinese religions. new york: holt, rinehart and winston, 1968.
-snyder, gary. "han-shan," in cyril birch, ed., anthology of chinese literature. new york: grove, 1965.
-stevens, john. one robe one bowi: the zen poetry of ryokan. new york: weatherhill, 1977.
-streng, frederick j. emptiness: a study in religious meaning. nashville: abingdon, 1967.
-suzuki, daisetz t. essays in zen buddhism (first series). london: rider, 1949; paperback edition, new york: grove,1961.
------	. essays in zen buddhism (second series). london: rider, 1953; paperback edition, new york: weiser, 1971.
------	. essays in zen buddhism (third series). london: rider, 1953; paperback edition, new york: weiser, 1971.
------. the lankavatara sutra. london: routledge & kegan paul, 1968.
------	. manual of zen buddhism. new york: grove, 1960.
------	. sengai: the zen master. greenwich, conn.: new york graphic society, 1971.
-----. studies in the lankavatara sutra. london: routledge & kegan paul, 1930.
------	. zen and japanese culture. princeton, n. j.: princeton university press, 1959.
------	. the zen doctrine of no mind. new york: weiser, 1972.
------	. the zen monk's life. kyoto: eastern buddhist society, 1934;
-paperback edition, new york: olympia, 1972.
-trevor, h. m., trans. the ox and his herdsman, a chinese zen text. tokyo: hokuseido, 1969.
-varley, h. paul. imperial restoration in medieval japan. new york: columbia university press, 1971.
------	. the onin war. new york: columbia university press, 1967.
------	. samurai. new york: delacorte, 1970; paperback edition, new york: dell, 1972.
-waley, arthur. the analects of confucius. new york: vintage, 1938.
------	. the book of songs. new york: grove, 1937.
------	. the life and times of po chii-i. london: allen & unwin, 1949.
------	. the poetry and career of li po. london: allen & unwin, 1950.
------	. three ways of thought in ancient china. new york: doubleday, undated reprint of 1939 edition.
------	. translations from the chinese. new york: vintage, 1968.
------	. the way and its power: a study of the tao te ching and its place in chinese thought. new york: grove press, 1958.
-waltham, clae. chuang-tzu: genius of the absurd. new york: ace, 1971.
-watson, burton. chinese lyricism. new york: columbia university press, 1971.
------	. cold mountain. new york: columbia university press, 1970.
------	. ryokan: zen monk-poet of japan. new york: columbia university press, 1977.
------	, trans. the complete works of chuang tzu. new york: columbia university press, 1968.
-weber, max. the religion of china. new york: free press, 1951.
-welch, holmes. taoism: the parting of the way. boston: beacon press, 1957.
-wilhelm, richard, trans. the secret of the golden flower. new york: harcourt, brace, 1931.
------	. buddhism in chinese history. stanford: stanford university press, 1959.
-wu, john c. h. the golden age of zen. taipei, taiwan: committee on compilation of the chinese library, 1967.
-wu, chi-yu. "a study of han shan." t'oung pao, 4-5 (1957).
-yamada, koun. gateless gate. los angeles: center publications, 1979.
-yampolsky, philip b. the platform sutra of the sixth patriarch. new york: columbia university press, 1967.
------	 trans. the zen master hakuin: selected writings. new york: columbia university press, 1971.
-yokoi, yuho. zen master dogen. new york: weatherhill, 1976.
-books by thomas hoover
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-a new hylid frog from eastern mexico
-edward h. taylor
-university of kansas publications museum of natural history
-university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman; h. h. lane, edward h. taylor
-university of kansas lawrence, kansas
-a new hylid frog from eastern mexico
-edward h. taylor
-a small collection of mexican reptiles and amphibians recently acquired by the university of kansas natural history museum contains five specimens of a species of the genus hyla (sensu lato) which is here described as new.
-type.--university of kansas museum of natural history, no. 23626, collected 2 km. west of jico, veracruz, mexico, at an elevation of 4,200 ft., oct. 28, 1946, by walter w. dalquest.
-paratypes.--nos. 23624, 23625, 23627, 23628, collected with the type.
-diagnosis.--a medium sized member of the genus with known maximum length of male, 57 mm. canthus rostralis well defined; tip of snout with a bulbous projection; fingers more than one-third webbed, foot nearly completely webbed; tympanum distinct; skin smooth above, granular below; very prominent inner metatarsal tubercle, small outer tubercle; tibiotarsal articulation reaches to nostril; a well-defined outer tarsal fold; anal opening ventral, covered by a free triangular flap; pupil of eye horizontal.
-description of the type.--head longer than broad, the distance between the eye and nostril slightly greater than distance between nostril and tip of snout; canthus rostralis sharply defined, continued to above nostril; upper part of loreal region sloping abruptly, lower part sloping more gently to edge of lip; area in front of nostril somewhat swollen, the nostril large, directed strongly backward; tip of snout forming a short rounded proboscis; upper jaw rather strongly overhanging lower jaw.
-width of an upper eyelid contained in interorbital distance about 1-1/3 times; horizontal diameter of eye about equal to distance between eye and nostril, about 1-1/3 times diameter of tympanum; tympanum distinct, its distance from orbit equal to its diameter, overhung by a glandular fold running back from eye.
-choanae large; vomerine teeth in two elevated patches which lie between, and reach the posterior level, of choanae, the patches closer to each other than to choanae; tongue rather small, subcircular, not or but very indistinctly notched behind, not at all free behind; opening to vocal sacs behind level of tongue, the openings a short slit directed backwards. (vocal sacs not evident externally in type or paratypes.)
-skin of dorsal surfaces generally smooth (under magnification surface minutely corrugated and wrinkled); ventral surface of abdomen, the thighs, and lower part of lateral surface of body strongly granulate, the granules unequal in size and elevation; breast, chin, and under side of arm with sparse granules or tubercles.
-arms rather short, upper arm slender, forearm much thickened; a small axillary web present; disks on three outer fingers distinctly larger than tympanum, of first finger equal to or somewhat smaller than tympanum; outer fingers, between one-third and one-half webbed; on inner fingers webbing less than one-third; first finger more or less opposed to other three, its base widened, and the upper surface covered by a large patch of minute dark, horn-colored nuptial asperities, that extend to near the terminal disk; subarticular tubercles strongly elevated with numerous supernumerary tubercles on palm; a somewhat enlarged elevated palmar tubercle; under surface of forearm with a row of distinct tubercles; other smaller scattered granules present. toes more than four-fifths webbed, the membrane reaching the base of the terminal disks, on one side at least, of all toes save fourth; subarticular tubercles strongly elevated, with numerous supernumerary tubercles on sole; a large elevated inner metatarsal tubercle; a small outer tubercle; a continuous, well-defined, tarsal fold extending entire length of tarsus. tibiotarsal articulation reaches nostril when leg is brought forward.
-color and marking.--general color of type (preserved in formalin, then transferred to alcohol) dull grayish purple, darker anteriorly and somewhat lighter and more mottled posteriorly; color very much lighter on sides with a few cream, dark-edged spots in groin and on sides of abdomen; front and back surfaces of thigh and shank with some darker and lighter flecking that is continued more or less on the foot. when submerged in water, very dim dark spots or bars visible on limbs; ventral surface dirty brownish flesh, without markings.
-variation.--the series consists of five adult male specimens. it is presumed that the female is considerably larger, and may lack the nasal proboscis which i suspect is a secondary sexual character.
-there are some differences in the shade of coloring in the preserved specimens, some being darker, some lighter than the type. in two the lateral dark-edged, cream spots extend to the axilla, and the light and dark markings on the front and back surfaces of the leg are much more distinct in most of the specimens than in the type. when the specimens are submerged in water, the black bars on the limbs are evident in all specimens. the tympanum is sometimes darker, sometimes lighter than its surroundings.
-in the field notes of mr. dalquest i find the statement that the color in life is bright yellow, which presumably applies to all of the specimens. no trace of this color remains at the present time.
-the ventral granules of some of the paratypes are very unequal in elevation, some being elongated, nipplelike.
-the following table gives the variation in measurements of the type and paratypes:
-measurements of hyla proboscidea in mm.
-remarks.--this adds another very distinctive species to the veracrucian fauna. despite the fact that this state has probably been explored at greater length than any other mexican state it still is a likely place for the discovery of novelties.
-transmitted april 8, 1948.
-by stefan zweig
-authorized translation by o. f. theis
-luce and company boston maunsel and co., ltd. dublin and london
-copyright, 1913, by l. e. bassett boston, mass., u. s. a.
-the works of great artists are silent books of eternal truths. and thus it is indelibly written in the face of balzac, as rodin has graven it, that the beauty of the creative gesture is wild, unwilling and painful. he has shown that great creative gifts do not mean fulness and giving out of abundance. on the contrary the expression is that of one who seeks help and strives to emancipate himself. a child when afraid thrusts out his arms, and those that are falling hold out the hand to passers-by for aid; similarly, creative artists project their sorrows and joys and all their sudden pain which is greater than their own strength. they hold them out like a net with which to ensnare, like a rope by which to escape. like beggars on the street weighed down with misery and want, they give their words to passers-by. each syllable gives relief because they thus project their own life into that of strangers. their fortune and misfortune, their rejoicing and complaint, too heavy for them, are sown in the destiny of others--man and woman. the fertilizing germ is planted at this moment which is simultaneously painful and happy, and they rejoice. but the origin of this impulse, as of all others, lies in need, sweet, tormenting need, over-ripe painful force.
-no poet of recent years has possessed this need of expressing his life to others, more imperatively, pitifully, or tragically than paul verlaine, because no other poet was so weak to the press of destiny. all his creative virtue is reversed strength; it is weakness. since he could not subdue, the plaint alone remained to him; since he could not mould circumstances, they glimmer in naked, untamed, humanly-divine beauty through his work. thus he has achieved a primæval lyricism--pure humanity, simple complaint, humbleness, infantile lisping, wrath and reproach; primitive sounds in sublime form, like the sobbing wail of a beaten child, the uneasy cry of those who are lost, the plaintive call of the solitary bird which is thrown out into the dusk of evening.
-other poets have had a wider range. there have been the criers who with a clarion horn call together the wanderers on all the highways, the magicians who weave notes like the rustling of leaves, the soughing of winds and the bubbling of water, and the masters who embrace all the wisdom of life in dark sayings. he possessed nothing but the sign-manual of the weak who have need of another, the gestures of a beggar. but in all their accents and nuances, in him, these became wonderful. in him were the low grumbling of the weak man, sometimes closely akin to the sorrowful mumbling of the drunkard, the tender flute notes of vague and melancholic yearning, as well as the hard accusing hammering against his own heart. there were in him the flagellant strokes of the penitent as well as the intimate prayers of thanksgiving which poor women murmur on church steps. other poets have been so interwoven with the universal that it is impossible to distinguish whether really great storms trembled in their breasts, whether the sea rolled within them, or again, whether it was not their words, which made the meadows shudder, and which, as a breeze, went tenderly over the fields. they were the vivifying poets, the synthesizers--divinities by the marvel of creation, and its priests.
-verlaine was always only a human being, a weak human being, who did not even know how "to count the transgressions of his own heart." it was this very lack of individuality, however, which produced something much rarer--the purely and entirely human. verlaine was soft clay without the power of producing impresses and without resistance. thus every line of life crossing his destiny has left a pure relief, a clear and faithful reproduction, even to the fragrance-like sorrows of lonely seconds which in others fade away or thicken into dull grief. the tangled forces which tempestuously shook his life and tore it to tatters crystallized in his work and were distilled into essences.
-this, together with the fact that he has enriched and furthered literary development by his poetry, is the highest and noblest meed of praise that can be given to a poet. yet such an estimate seems too low to many of his followers, especially the more recent french literati who celebrate in verlaine the unconscious inventor of a new art of poetry and the initiator of new lyric epochs, unknowing of the folly of their proceeding. verlaine, the literary man, was a sad caricature distorted by ribald noise and quartier-latin cafés. even as such he indignantly denied this intention. the greatness and power of his lyricism takes its root in eternity, in the wonderful sincerity of its ever human and unalterable emotional content, and above all in the unconsciousness of its genesis.
-intellectuals alone create "tendencies." verlaine was as little one of these as he was on the other hand the bon enfant, the innocently stumbling child into whose open and playful hand verses fell like cherry blossoms or fluttering leaves. he was a lyric poet. lyricism is thinking without logic (although not contrary to logic), association not according to the laws of thought but according to intuition, the whispering words of vague emotions, hidden correspondences, darkly murmuring subterranean streams. lyricism again is thought without consequence, instinct and presentiment, leaping quickly in lawless synthesis; it is union but not a chain formed of individual links, it is melody but not scales. in this sense he was an unconscious creator who heard great accords.
-he was never a thinker. his quick power of observation, flashing electrically, his gallic wit, and his exquisite feeling for style were able to illumine splendidly, narrow circles, but he lacked, as in everything, the power and ability of logical sequence. he knew how to seize and throw light upon waves that came to touch his life, but he could not make them reflect in the dark mirror of the universe, nor could he throw out into the world rays of curious and tormenting desire for life. he could not construct a world vision, revolution, and a sense of distance. this wild and heroic trait of the great poets was never his. he preferred, fleeting and weak spirit as he was, the indefinite, not quiet and possession, nor understanding and power, which are the elemental factors of life. he surrendered himself completely to the efflorescence of things, to the sweetness of becoming and the sadness of evanescence, to the pain and tenderness of emotions that touch us in passing; in short, to the things that come to us and not to those which we must seek and strive to penetrate. he was never a drawn bow ready to fling himself as an arrow into the infinite; he was only an æolian harp, the play and voice of such winds as came. unresistingly he threw himself into the arms of all dangers--women, religiosity, drunkenness and literature. all this oppressed him and rent him asunder. the drops of blood are magnificent poems, imperishable events, primæval human emotion clear as crystal.
-two factors were responsible for this: an unexampled candor in both virtue and vice, and his complete unconsciousness, which, however, was unfortunately lost in the first waves of his fame. as he never knew how to weed, his life forced strange blossoms and became a wonderful garden of seductively beautiful, perversely colored flowers, among which he himself was never entirely at home. in middle life he found the courage, or rather an impulse within him mightier than his will forced him to do so, and with relentless tread he left civilization. he exchanged the warm cover of an established literary reputation for the occasional shelter along the highways. with the smoke of his pipe he blew into the air the esteem he had acquired early. he never returned to the safe harbor. later, as "man of letters," he unfortunately exaggerated this as well as every other of his unique characteristics, in an idle exhibitionism, and made literary use of them.
-far distant from academies and journals, he retained his uniqueness uninterruptedly for many years. he has described in his verses the errant and passionate way of his life with that noble absence of shame which is the first sign of personal emancipation from civilized humanity, in contrast to the primitively natural.
-much has been said and written as to whether happiness or unhappiness was the result of the pilgrimage. it is an unimportant and idle question, because "happiness" is only a word, an unfilled cup in strange hands, and an empty tinkling thing. at any rate, life cut more deeply into his flesh than into that of any other poet of our time. so tightly and pitilessly was his soul wound about that nothing was kept silent, and it bled to death with sighs, rejoicings, and cries. a destiny which has accomplished such marvels may be rebuked as cruel. but we in whom these pains re-echo in sweet shudderings--for us, it is fitting that we should feel gratitude.
-whenever verlaine speaks of his childhood, there is a gleam like a bittersweet smile. this hesitant, plaintive rhythm appears ever, and ever again, whether in sorrow, musing sigh, or plaintive reproach. it appears in the tender and so infinitely sad lines which he wrote in prison, and likewise in the confessions, a vain, exaggeratedly candid and coquetting portrait in prose. gentle memories, fresh and tender like white roses, creep loosely through all his work, scattering pious fragrance. for him childhood was paradise, because his poor weak soul, needing the tenderness of faithful hands, had not yet experienced the hard impacts of life, but only the soft intimate cradling between devoted love and womanly mildness--a lulling, sweet unforgettable melody.
-all impulses are still pure and bud-like. love is unsullied, sheer instinct, entirely without desire and restlessness. it is silence, peaceful silence, cool longing which assuages, and so all of life is kind and large, maternal and womanly--soft. everything shines in a clear, transparent, shimmering light like a landscape at daybreak. even late, very late, when his poor life had already become barren and over-clouded, this yearning still rises and trembles toward these days of youth like a white dove. the "guote suendaere" still had tears to give. gleaming pure like dew drops, and still fresh, they cling to the most fantastic and wildest blooms.
-the first dates tell little. paul marie verlaine was born in 1844 at metz--he did not remember his second name until the appropriate time of his conversion. his father was a captain in the french engineer corps. verlaine, however, was not of alsatian extraction but belonged to lorraine, close enough to germany to bear in his blood the secret fructification of the german lied. early in his life the family removed to paris, where the attractive boy with inquisitive, soft face (as is shown on an early photograph) soon turns into a gosse and finally into a government official with skillful literary talents.
-several pleasing episodes and a few kind figures are found within this simple frame of his external life. two in particular are drawn in subdued delicate colors and veiled with a tender fragrance. both were women. his mother, all goodness and devotion, spoiling him with too much tenderness and forgiveness, passes through his life with uniformly quiet tread; she is a wonderfully noble martyr. there is hardly a more poignant story than the one he tells regretfully in the confessions of the time when he first began to drink and how his mother never voiced her reproach. once when with hat on his head he had slept out the remainder of a wild night, her only comment was the silent one of holding a mirror before him.
-and there is no more tragic incident among the many sentences of the drunkard than the verdict of the tribunal at vouziers, which condemned him to a fine of five hundred francs for threatening to kill his mother. even then, though absinthe had changed the simple child always ready for penance into a different man, her gesture was still the noble and inimitable one of forgiveness.
-there were also other tender hands to watch over his youth. his cousin eliza, who died early, is a figure so mild and transparent and of so light a tread that she appears like one of jacobsen's wonderful creations who wander and speak like disembodied souls. she had the unique beauty of early illness, and on that account perhaps turned more toward the absorbed but not melancholy child, excusing his escapades. she was loved tenderly, with a child's love that was without desire and danger.
-"certes oui pauvre maman était bien, trop bonne, et mon coeur à la voir palpitait, tressautait, et riait et pleurait de l'entendre mais toi, je t'aimais autrement non pas plus tendre plus familier, voilà."
-it was she too who staged his last youthful folly by giving him the money for printing the poèmes saturniens. like a white flame her figure shines through the dense stifling fumes of his life. it is as if the soft tread of these two women had given many of his verses their seraphic sheen and lent the mother-of-pearl opalescence to his softest poems, in which there is a secret rustling as of the folds of women's gowns. even the paul verlaine of the later years, "the ruin insufficiently ruined," who saw in woman the most ferocious enemy, and who fled to the wolves that they might protect him from "woman their sister," even he still dreamed of the folded hands, of the forgiving innocent gesture of the earliest memories. this yearning for mild and pure women has found many incarnations. in the poems to his bride, mathilde manté, it is the tender song of the troubadour; in the hours of his mystical conversion it becomes a tender prayer and madonna cult; in the years of his decadence it appears as a pathetic echo, a stumbling plaint and dreamy childhood desires--the precious hour between sin and sin. sometimes this secret desire is placed tenderly and simply into lines of verse as into a rare, fragrant shrine where the dearest possessions are kept. these are pure, wonderful lines like the following, full of longing and renunciation:
-"je voudrais, si ma vie était encore à faire, qu'une femme très calme habitât avec moi."
-verlaine soon left these mirror-clear days of beautiful youth. his father decided to put him into a boarding-school at paris. the dreamy little boy, looking toward the gay school cap, gladly assented. this was the turning point. here his life in a way was rent in two parts, and a wide gap appears in the weakly but not morbid character of the child. the somewhat spoiled, modest, and confiding boy is put among students who are already dissolute and overbearing. on the very first day he is sickened by the coldness and barrenness of the rooms, and frightened by the first contact with life he is instinctively afraid of the evil which was to overtake him after all. filled with that mighty longing for tenderness and gentle shelter which even at fifty he did not lose, he fled to his home in tears. he was greeted there with cries of joy and embraces, but on the next morning he was taken back with gentle force.
-this was the catastrophe. verlaine's weak character willingly submitted to foreign influences; it became dulled under the influence of his comrades, "and the overthrow began." a foreign element entered his being, a materialistic cynical trait, for the present only gaminerie, while he was still a stranger to sex. the specific parisian character, a mingling of vanity, insolence, scoffing wit (raillerie) and boastful bravado, tempted the soft dreamy boy, but conquered him only for short hours.
-this conflict between feminine sensitivity and a gaminerie eager for enjoyment wages incessant warfare throughout his life. sometimes it harmonizes for brief moments voluptuousness and idealism, but neither side ever wins and the struggle never ceases. the characteristics of faust and mephistopheles never became fully linked in verlaine; they only interlaced. with the overpowering capacity for self-surrender which he spent on everything, he could combine the sensual alone or the spiritual alone completely with his life, but lacking will, he was unable to put an end to the constant rotation, which now dragged him in penitence from his passions only to hurl him back again into their hated hands. thus his life consists not of an evenly ascending plane, but of headlong descents and catastrophes, of elevations and transfigurations, which finally end in a great weariness.
-the sense of shame was exceptionally strong in him, as it is in every case where it is repressed. all his life long it made itself heard in the form of yearning for clarity and purity. afraid of mockery, cynicism and indifference were put forward as a protection until at length these evil influences overgrew it entirely. were it not unwise to reflect in directions which his life disdained to follow, it might be interesting to attempt a portrait of verlaine as he might have been if he had continued on the luminous path of his childhood under the guidance of kind hands. for surely and also according to his own opinion, those years were the humus for the fleurs du mal of his soul.
-in these formative years of ungainly figure and uncertain dreaming the poet grows out of the boy. a malign influence, puberty, forces the creator in him. "the man of letters, let us say rather, if you prefer, the poet was born in me precisely toward that so critical fourteenth year, so that i can say proportionately as my puberty developed my character too was formed." this is surely a womanly and feminine trait, for in women the entire spiritual development usually trembles as the resonance of the inner shock. physical crises are transformed into catastrophes of the soul, and the pressure of the blood and its beating waves are spiritualized into the soft melancholy and sweet dreams from which his verses rise like tender buds.
-it is not out of intellectual growth or out of the persistent impulse to link the universal to his personality, as in the cases of schiller, victor hugo or lord byron, that these soft notes rise. they have their origin in a sultry restlessness of the nerves, in the well-springs of fruitful impulse, in emotions and shadowy presentiments. they are the early outpouring of creative masculinity and youthful yearning. they are half a question and half an answer to life. they are melancholy and vague, filled with uncertain gleaming and a rustling darkness.
-if poetry consists in a certain sensitiveness of soul and reaction to slight and cautious stimulation, and not in an active, wild, subduing force, verlaine certainly has sensed the deepest fount of the orphic mysteries. if poetry is so understood, the boy who wrote the poèmes saturniens on his school benches, already saw the reality of life and even the future mask. his acute ear heard the oracle which foretold his destiny, but he did not know how to interpret what the pythian voice had whispered until everything was fulfilled. to understand this, sensitiveness must not be confused with sentimentality. sentimentality may grow out of a pessimism which has been acquired intellectually. sensitivity is not only the child of emotion but at the same time the sum and substance of all feelings. it is both an inherent tendency and an innate possession, and is primæval and indestructible as is the gift of poetry itself. the gift of poetry implies the power of distilling emotions into that form in which they are already essentially existing and fixing the fleeting and ephemeral permanently as by a chemical process which knows no law but only presentiment and chance.
-there is, of course, no art without its technique, understanding technique not in the derogatory sense of a mere implement but somewhat in the sense of the material which the painter uses, who must apply it individually and thus adds something unknown and unique to what he has acquired by education and copying. verlaine learned his technique early, and he never wrote a line in which his own guidance could be felt. his earliest teachers were baudelaire, banville, victor hugo, catulle mendès and other parnassiens, cool idealists or frosty exotics, measured and stiff even in their melancholy, but wise architects of slender and firmly founded verse-structures, artists in language, chisellers of form. the pliant, soft yielding manner of verlaine quickly embraced their influences. the student is already master of the métier. even the relentless and unhappy rhymester into which "poor lelian" turned, late, very late in his career, retained this eminent skill of reproducing forms smoothly and precisely, and writing verses of an agreeable, melodic flow and a beautiful rhythmic movement.
-the years of puberty were the time of the production of the poèmes saturniens. sexuality had not yet developed sufficiently and was not strong and self-willed enough to operate destructively. its influence was only felt in slight impacts and produced the feeling of sweet unrest. this unrest, somewhat veiled and turning toward melancholy, trembles through these early poems and lends them the unique beauty of sad women. all the art of verlaine's poetry is already found in these first poems.
-the book appeared, thanks to the assistance of his cousin eliza, under lemerre's imprint, curiously enough on the same day as françois coppée's first work, and had a "joli succès de hostilité" with the press. the great writers--victor hugo, leconte de lisle, theodore de banville, and others--wrote him encouraging letters, but the public at large did not overburden the young man with its admiration.
-at that time verlaine was a clerk in the hôtel de ville and lived a quiet, almost well-to-do life, with his mother. all the indications were in favor of a smooth, unclouded future. but there was a conflict in him, which he could not master. it is like raising and lowering two weights which he never succeeds in balancing. on the one hand is the passionate, wild, sexual element, the impure glow and the blind surrender, the "black ship which drags him to the abyss," and, on the other, the pure, simple, tender mode of his child-like heart, which, a stranger to all passion, yearns for soft, womanly hands.
-in normal sexuality the yearning of the senses and the soul unite during the seconds of intoxication and become the symbol of infinity, through the passionate absorption of contrasts and the permeation of spirit with matter, and form with substance, elements which in their turn are the creative symbols of all life. in verlaine, however, there was always a cleft: now he is pure pilgrim of yearning, now roué; now priest, now gamin. he has wrought the most beautiful religious poems of catholicism, and at the same time has won the crown of all pornographic works with perverse and indecent poems. as the flux of his blood went, so was he--a pure reflex of his organic functions. that is to say he was infinitely primitive as a poet, and infinitely complicated and unaccountable as a human being.
-whenever his impulses were elastic and his senses sharpened or stimulated, the untamed and wild beast of sensuality is unchained in his life, turbulent after satisfaction, incapable of restraint by intellectual deliberation. after the crisis physical exhaustion disengaged the psychic elements of penitence, consideration and tender longing, which later became piety.
-verlaine was a poet of rare candor and shamelessness, both in the best and worst sense. this is the essentially great element in his otherwise feminine, weak and absolutely negative personality. the primæval powers of the body and soul are the eternal elements of all humanity and the starting-point of all philosophies; the conflict between them, betrayed in the accusing and self-revealing manner of his verse, is transferred unchanged into his poetry, filling it with the force of life and the tragedy of the universally human.
-in his entire life there seem to have been only two brief periods of cessation in the struggle; during the short honeymoon or period of normal sexuality and during his first religious epoch, when he was sincere, and enthusiasm and yearning, transfused in the symbols of faith and religious veneration, interpenetrated and inflamed each other.
-the fêtes galantes were published soon after the poèmes saturniens. artistically they are far superior, because their form is more individual, their structure more original, and their architecture more compact. yet they do not appear to me to represent balance, but rather the short trembling, to-and-fro wavering of the scales of his impetuous and sensitive character.
-they are coquettish; and coquetry is sensuality with style, tamed accordingly, but not conquered. they are at the same time modest and impudent, attack and careful retreat. they are not pure sensuality, but desire, masked by a demand for modesty.
-it is the most characteristically french of his books, drawn as with the maliciously kind brush of watteau. in these poems, in which verlaine's muse trips on high-heeled shoes through gardens which shimmer in the gleam of a mocking moon, in these whispering dialogues between pierrots and columbines, in these gallant landscapes, an anxious presentiment weeps plaintively in the bushes. this sad mode makes the dallying faces gleam underneath tears. the true voice of the yearning soul is poured out and dies away in the imperishable colloque sentimental, a dark pearl of indefinite, infinite sorrow. out of masks and pantomimes, the poet's face stares sadly bewildered into the black mirror of reality.
-at that time an evil influence had broken into his life, perhaps the most destructive, "the one unpardonable vice," as he himself confesses. verlaine began to drink. at first it was bravado, recklessness, persuasion; later it was desire, torture, flight from the qualms of his conscience, "the forgetfulness, sought in execrable potions."
-he drank absinthe, a sweetish, greenish liquid, which is false as cat's eyes and treacherous and murderous like a diseased harlot. baudelaire's hashish is comprehensible. it was the magician who raised fantastic landscapes, it quieted the nerves, it was the poet of the poet. verlaine's absinthe is only destructive and obliterating, a slow poison which does not kill but unnerves and undermines like the white powders the dreaded secret of which the borgias held. absinthe wrought silently and inexorably in verlaine's life. by degrees it absorbed the tender, soft, yearning, vague qualities of his heart of a child; it made the hard, passionate, depraved man strong, and awakened the sensualist and cynic in him. even when the high-arched churches and the figures of the madonnas no longer offered him a place of refuge, "the atrocious green sorceress" was still his only comforter, into whose arms he willingly cast himself.
-he himself tells regretfully how at the time of his cousin eliza's death, soon after the appearance of his first book, he joined sorrow and vice in tragic manner. for two days he had not touched food. but he drank, drank without interruption, restlessly, and returned to the offices a drunkard, drowning the reproof of his superior in a new absinthe. everything that was hard, bitter, wild, which later broke loose in him so tempestuously, compelling the law to step between him and his wife, his mother and his friends, was called forth by the green poison in the silent, kindly nature which loved soft words and was inclined even to his last years to the power of hot tears. with pitiless force this most dangerous of his vices drew taut the chain, by which the passions and sudden catastrophe of his destiny dragged him on to the road of misery.
-for a moment it seemed as if everything were to come to a good end. he fell in love with the explosive vehemence and despairing persistence with which the weak are accustomed to cling to an idea. the step-sister of his friend, de sivry, had fascinated him. as a matter of fact the engagement came about. in these days, separated from his bride, verlaine wrote the slender volume of songs, la bonne chanson. it is his most quiet and balanced book. according to his own repeatedly expressed opinion, he considered it the most beautiful of his works and the one dearest to him. in the best and noblest sense they are "occasional verses." almost daily one is written and sent to his beloved. it was only in small selection that they were united in print.
-here the idea of modesty subdues passion like a wonderful sordine, and surrender and tenderness intertwine with the ideals of modesty. the cleft in verlaine's personality closes in the consonance of a soul which has found peace. it represents the first period of peace in his life and career and is humanly his most perfect moment and poetically his purest. vice and passion have disappeared in a hesitating yet desirous surrender, melancholy has dissolved in melody.
-victor hugo, the sovereign coiner of great phrases, called the bonne chanson, "une fleur dans un obus." there are poems in this slim volume which seem as if they had been woven out of the gushing flood of moonlight. there are poems which gleam like pale pearls and lonely pools. word and sense, form and emotion, foreboding and being, life and dreams, are their woof. here appeared that marvel of french lyric poetry, the wonderful poem.
-"la lune blanche luit dans les bois; de chaque branche part une voix sous la ramée....
-"l'étang reflète, profond miroir, la silhouette du saule noir où le vent pleure ...
-"rêvons: c'est l'heure.
-"un vaste et tendre apaisement semble descendre du firmament que l'astre irise ...
-"c'est l'heure exquise."
-from this point on the life-story in which the germ and seed of such wonderful fruit ripened is painful. the descent was not sudden. verlaine was one of those wavering characters who require energetic impulsion for good as well as for evil. he never slid as on an inclined plane, but he sank like a scale weighed down by something unsuspected. thus it is possible to name the catastrophes and to set the milestones of his misfortunes.
-the great wrench which in 1870 shook his country, also affected his life and tore it apart. his wedding occurred during the days of the war. the fever of political over-excitement seized him and he, the almost bourgeois government clerk who never troubled about politics, became a communist as a favor to several friends. the anecdote that he once wished to assassinate emperor napoleon iii was a hoax which he told his comrades for the sake of the sensation, something like the story which baudelaire told of the "savoriness" of embryonal brains.
-his work consisted in reading the articles on the commune which appeared in the newspapers and marking them whether they were favorable or unfavorable. nevertheless this insignificant part, which he himself did not take seriously and spoke of as "this stupid enough rôle which i played during two months of illusions," cost him his position. this was the break with well-ordered life and the sign-post which showed him the way into the bohème.
-the old wounds re-opened. verlaine began to drink again during his activities in the commune. recriminations and scenes rose as the result of this relapse. suddenly came the decisive act of the drunkard; he struck his wife the first blow. new misunderstandings followed, but the household still held together, soon to be increased by the arrival of a son.
-the final element is still lacking. abstractions are weak against realities, things that have happened may change men but they cannot vanquish them. so far everything has been only inchoate power and a foreshadowing threat, but not enchantment. it is only the magic of a passion, an elemental and unfathomable magnetic power which links one human being to another, the intangible, which can conquer a poet. he can overcome want and life because he despises them; he can make evil powerless because he repents; chance he can bridge; but he cannot hold back destiny, nor win battles with the incomprehensible.
-a new influence enters verlaine's life--arthur rimbaud.
-the rimbaud episode
-no matter how much a writer may have striven for the unusual or have tried to order confusing ways with intelligence and form, his fiction does not reach the depths nor is it as tragic as this one which life devised. the beginning is simple, the climax grandiose, of such wildness and rising to such heights, that the end no longer could be pure tragedy. it turned into tragi-comedy, that grotesque sensation which we feel when destiny grows beyond human beings and over-towers them, while they are still struggling with pigmy hands to master a monstrous force which has long gone beyond their control.
-the beginning was conventional. one day verlaine received a letter from an acquaintance in the provinces, in which poems by a fifteen-year-old boy were enclosed. verlaine's opinion was asked. the poems were: les effarés, les assis, les poètes de sept ans, les premières communions. every one knows they were arthur rimbaud's, for the poems of this boy are among the most precious of french literature. he began where the best stop and then, at twenty, threw literature aside as something irksome and unimportant. verlaine read them and was filled with enthusiasm. he wrote to the boy in a tone of glowing admiration. in the meantime the poems made the rounds in paris. words of characteristically french emphasis are quickly coined. victor hugo with his regal gesture declared the author to be "shakespeare enfant."
-the provincial associations of charleville filled rimbaud with disgust and unrest. verlaine in his enthusiasm wrote to him "come, dear great soul, we are waiting for you, we want you." he himself was without a position and his own life in paris at that time was threatened with chaos and uncertainty, but with the marvellous folly of yielding and emotional natures he invited a stranger as guest into his shaken destiny.
-rimbaud came. he was a big, robust fellow filled with a demonic physical force like that which balzac has breathed into his vautrin types. he was a provincial with massive red fists and the curious face of a child that has been corrupted early in life--a gamin, but a genius. everything in him is force, over-abundant, wild, exceptional virility, without aim and turned toward the infinite.
-he is one of the conquistador type, who first lost his way in literature. he pours everything into it, fire, fulness, force, more, much more than great creators spend. like a crater he throws out his mad fever dreams and visions of life such as perhaps only dante has had before him. he hurls everything up into the infinite as if he would shatter it to bits. destruction teems in this creation, a force ardent for power, a hand that would seize everything and crush it.
-his poems are only sudden gestures of wrath. they resemble bloody tatters of raw flesh that have been torn with wild teeth from the body of reality. it is poetry "outside and above" all literature. has there ever been a poet of modern times who thus threw poems on paper and then let the scraps flutter to the four winds? without pose, unlike stefan george or mallarmé, who calculate carefully, he despised the public and literature. he never had a single line printed by his own efforts, he was utterly regardless of the fleeting examples of his gigantic power. at twenty he left his fame and companions behind to wander through the world. in africa he founded fantastic realms, he sat in prison and there played a part in world history preparing under king menelik for the struggle which cost italy her provinces. but in three years he wrote many poems full of power and fire, including the eternal poem le bateau ivre, a staggering fever dream, into which all the colors, sounds, forms and forces of life seem to have been poured, bubbling in curious forms and seething in the glow of a feverish moment. his life was like a dream, as wild, as mighty and as little subject to time.
-verlaine gladly sheltered the awkward boy. madame verlaine was less enthusiastic and never concealed her dislike. perhaps, with a woman's instinct, she unconsciously foresaw the danger which threatened verlaine in this new companion.
-the bond of friendship grew closer and closer. verlaine's gaminerie which was ever in contrast with his sensitivity, awakened suddenly. his tendency toward strong, cynical and lascivious conversation met a genial match in rimbaud. the primitive element in verlaine was suddenly enchained by the primæval, purely human and brutal masculinity of rimbaud's personality. the feminine in his nature was feeling for completion. as if predestined for each other for years, their personalities dovetail. without any affection, by necessity rather than by friendship, their union becomes closer and closer. one day in 1872 verlaine leaves wife, child and the world in which he lived to wander with rimbaud into the unknown.
-without doubt there was an element of the abnormal in the relations between verlaine and rimbaud, but to understand their friendship it is neither necessary nor essential to know whether the dangerous potentialities that inhere in so strong a personal enthusiasm ever became material facts.
-their path led over the highways and also through prisons. "an evil rage for travelling" had seized the two. through belgium, through germany and england they wandered; usually they were without means. they stayed in london for a while, supporting themselves by teaching languages and delving deeper than ever into social politics. rimbaud left and returned just in time to convey the sick verlaine home. the terrible life which he had led had broken him down. he himself has concealed the tragic incidents of those days in a novelette, "louise leclercq."
-there he wrote: "the few half-crowns which he earned daily in giving lessons, they spent in the evening on portuguese wine and irish beer. the stomach was forgotten, the head became affected and the lessons were not given, and thus hunger and nervosity overcame the reason of this brave fellow."
-the patient is taken to bouillon, a small town in the ardennes, where charles van lerberghe, the great belgium poet, lived, but he has hardly half recovered when he plunges out into the world again with rimbaud. mental unrest is transformed into physical unrest. the lack of stability which operated most impulsively in that crisis, appears in his external life. there is nothing definite for which he is seeking yet he is unsatisfied. verlaine, man of moods par excellence, adjusts himself to life in his own manner. he becomes boorish, subject to fits of passion, violent and unaccountable. his tenderness seems to have been strangled by hunger, drunkenness and wild destiny. the friendship for rimbaud also assumes evil shapes. more and more frequently they quarrel; almost every hour rimbaud's foaming temperament and verlaine's temporary hard, wild manner come in conflict. of course, as a rule, they were drunk. rimbaud, who was strong, drank because of his feeling of strength and because he yearned for the intoxication in which colors glowed, in which impulses became wilder, and association more rapid, acute and bolder. verlaine fled to absinthe to drown out repentance, anguish and weakness; and from this sweetish drink, in which all the evil forces of life seem to be distilled, he drew brutality and feverish disorders.
-once verlaine ran away, but became repentant and asked rimbaud to join him. rimbaud followed him to belgium. all difficulties were about to be solved. madame verlaine was ready to forgive and was on her way to meet the penitent. then rimbaud too declared that he would leave him. no one knows how it happened, whether it was jealousy, anger, hatred, love or only drunkenness, at any rate the disaster followed on the public street of brussels. verlaine pursued rimbaud and shot at him twice with a revolver, wounding him once. the police came, and though rimbaud defended and excused verlaine, the latter was arrested. the sentence was two years in prison, and these verlaine spent at mons. the immediate result was a divorce, upon which madame verlaine insisted with every possible emphasis and in spite of victor hugo's intervention.
-this conclusion, however, was too banal and trite for so heroic a tragedy. the friendship persisted. verlaine and rimbaud corresponded. verlaine sent occasional poems from prison and told rimbaud of his conversion. the latter hardly pleased rimbaud, who was at that time cold and indifferent toward everything except that he was filled with a thirst for something unique and infinite and looking forward to new adventures. verlaine had hardly been released before he tried to convert rimbaud to this religious life in order to link their lives anew. "let us love each other in jesus christ," he wrote in his proselyting ardor and with the enthusiasm which in the beginning he always felt for everything. rimbaud smiled mockingly and finally declared that "loyola" should visit him in stuttgart.
-now the moment arrived when comedy outdid the tragedy of the reunion. verlaine arrived at stuttgart and attempted the conversion--unfortunately in an inn, a place little adapted for proselytes and prophets, for both the saint and the mocker still had in common their passion for drink. no one witnessed the scene; only the result is known. on the way home both were drunk, and a quarrel ensued and a unique incident in the history of literature followed.
-in the flooding moonlight by the banks of the neckar the two greatest living poets in france fell upon each other in wild rage with sticks and fists. the struggle did not last long. rimbaud, athletic, like a wild animal, a man of passion, easily subdued the nervous, weakly verlaine, stumbling in drunkenness. a blow over the head knocked him down. bleeding and unconscious, he remained lying on the bank.
-in vienna he was under arrest as a vagrant, in the balkans he was a merchant. then fulfilling his early prophecy in the bateau ivre he said farewell to europe and in africa became discoverer, general, conqueror. in these unexpected fields he spent to the last limits his titanic energy, which in youthful crises had been expended on the fragile and for him too weakly material of language and rhyme. until the day of his death, he, the only true despiser of literature of these days, never wrote another line, and endeavored only to give form to his wild and fantastic dreams in the material of life, dying in fever as feverishly he lived.
-for verlaine it was an episode--the most important, it is true, in a life which was torn to many tatters. after his conversion, which will be discussed more fully later, he returned to paris and literature, and died in harness, physically in 1896, as artist much earlier.
-it is well known that at the moment when he left the prison at mons, paul verlaine, the prisoner, entered the ranks of the great catholic poets. a complete transformation took place in his life. he turned from the material to the spiritual. the penitent mood of his childhood days glimmered again when he thought of the nazarene. the soft early yearnings which were forgotten in his years of wandering became symbolized into a definite idea. nor is this surprising in one who never could understand his intellectual processes, but who was moved entirely by the ebb and flow of emotion, and who always wavered unsteadily in all the crises of life.
-in general it is almost a necessity among poets that poetic feeling should be transmuted into religious feeling. but the creative poets of active mentality and intellectuality build their own religion, while the sensitive or passive poets pour out their flood of feeling for god in the form of existing rites and symbols. balzac clearly shows this relationship when he says in the thirteen:
-"are not religion, love and poetry, the threefold expression of the same fact, the need for expression which fills every noble soul? these three creative impulses rise up toward god, who concentrates in himself all earthly emotions."
-religion is only a certain form of association in which things are placed in relationship with each other. similarly the sensation of evening, of the cool pure air after rain, of the whispering of the winds and the play of clouds, or whatever else is caught up in the nervous fever of poetic sensibility, hearkens back to the infinite after it has been permeated by the poet's own sorrow or joy. he feels that the infinite has a soul which understands and atones for all sorrows, and thus he conceives it as divinity. the poet's religion is derived from the one great faith with which he must be filled, which is the necessity for being understood. it is only one step further when he finds that his soul's outflow must lead somewhere, and then he gives a name, a form and an interpretation to what has been incomprehensible.
-but a more definite element in paul verlaine drove him into the arms of catholicism. it was his impulse to confession, which i have tried to show was the most intensive element in his personality. a soul which lacks ethical authority for self-control, in its helplessness must turn with accusation and pleading toward others, toward something outside of the self.
-cry and sigh are the original forms of all lyricism, and just as they are a sweet compulsion to expel an inner overflow by utterance, so confession is only deliverance from an inner pressure, from guilt and penitence, from mighty forces, accordingly, which the confessor wishes to transmit to others. it is a need for explanation, a marvellous deception, a means to tame forces by trust, a trust which is not felt toward one's self. goethe's much-quoted words of the fragments of the "great confession" are still to the point, no matter how often they have been used. as he wrote to rid his mind of incidents which he had experienced, so verlaine told of himself, now to the public, now to the confessor. the fundamental process, however, is identical.
-many other things coöperated. there was the great antithesis between flesh and spirit, between body and soul; contempt for the sensual and continual fall into sin--the immanent conflict of childish and animal feeling which flooded forever wildly through verlaine's years of manhood. this also has been for centuries the symbol of the catholic church. in it sensitive and mystical emotion found a dogmatic form, through the fundamental principle of the antithesis between the earthly and the transcendental. in the same way the consciousness of the value of the sensual as sin and of the pure as virtue is only a reflex of the subjective impressions of pure souls. here verlaine found a definite form for the warning which flickered unsteadily in him. by confession he was able to place his sins into the dreamy hands of the immaculate virgin; in her form he was at last able worthily to give substance to the dream-like shadows of the soft unsensual women, which glimmered like stars over his life. it was the need for quiet after storms, confession after sins.
-childhood bells called him back to the church. pale ancient memories led him--the pomp of the solemn great processions which he saw in montpellier. the bon enfant awoke in him again. the memory of his own folded hands, of his timid child's voice lisping prayers, and of his sacred soft baptismal name, marie, rose in him. the dark mysticism and the wonderful blue half-lights of catholic faith called the dreamer. the same incense shadow of vague violent emotion led the romantic dreamers, stolberg, schlegel and novalis, from the cool, clear and transparent air of protestantism into a foreign faith. the leitmotiv of verlaine's poetry was his yearning and the infinitely beautiful and persistent impulse of the unhappy toward childhood and the magic of a primitively reverent life close to god. these wrought the miracle.
-if trust were to be put in the corrupt man of letters who wrote the confessions, it was a true miracle, like that in the cell of saint anthony, which brought him into the arms of the church.
-in his narrow room, in which he read shakespeare and other worldly books, hung a simple crucifix, unnoticed at first. of it he wrote:
-"i know not what or who suddenly raised me in the night, threw me from my bed without even leaving me time to dress, and prostrated me weeping and sobbing at the feet of the crucifix and before the supererogatory image of the catholic church, which has evoked the most strange, but in my eyes the most sublime devotion of modern times."
-on the following day he asked for a priest and confessed his sins. at that hour, verlaine, the catholic poet, was born. he was wonderfully primitive, like the early poets of the church, and his verses were as full of profound mystic poetry as those of the saints, augustine and francis of assisi, and those of the german philosopher poets, eckart and tauler.
-during these two years the neophyte wrote sagesse, a volume which appeared later under the imprint of an exclusively catholic publisher. it is the deepest and greatest work of french poetry, "the white crown of his work," verhaeren calls it in his brilliant study of verlaine. here again, as once in the bonne chanson, the divergent forms of his character unite. in the unrestrained solution of everything personal in the divine, in "the melting of his own heart in the glowing heart of god," impulse and yearning are purified. eroticism becomes spiritualized into fervor; hope, into sublime enlightenment; passion, devouring earthly dross, takes the form of mystic surrender. thus the impulsive in verlaine, permeated by hours of pure emotion, obtains its wild power of beauty, and trembles in the inexplicable mystery and in the stream of visionary light, so that his entire life now seems illumined.
-in his religion likewise it is the purely human element which is so wonderful. verlaine does not possess the seraphic mildness of novalis, nor the consumptive, girl-like, sickly-beautiful inclination of the pre-raphaelites toward the miraculous image. he is passionate and vehement. he is masculine where the others become feminine. like a timid girl, novalis dreams of jesus as his bride. "if i have him only, if he only is mine," he says and his words become a chaste love song.
-verlaine, however, is a reverberating echo of the great seekers after god, of the church fathers, of st. augustine and of the mystics, and he wrestles for an almost physical love of god. his passion is often impious in its earthiness; his yearning, sacrilege.
-in his sonnet cycle, mon dieu m'a dit, is a place where the soul, wounded by the lighting of divine love, cries out, unconscious whether in joy or pain:
-"quoi, moi, moi pouvoir vous aimer. êtes-vous fous?"
-in these impious words god is humanized vividly, and yet, by the very bitterness of the struggle with his all-goodness, the poet imbues him with an absolute perfection.
-here verlaine's tormented soul is entirely cast out of himself, and plunges in a sudden flood into the infinite. ecstasy overcomes the feminine element in him, just as in his life vulgar drunkenness roused his hard, coarse and brutal qualities. for a moment verlaine is not only a genuine and marvellous, but also a truly strong and creative poet; no longer elegiac and sensitive, but creative.
-in the reflux of enthusiasm come silent tender hours with songs in which the notes are muffled. they are the poems he wrote in the prison which gave him quietude and shelter, and in the silence of which the soft voices of his childhood rose again. each one of these poems is noble, simple, and chaste. it is only necessary to name the titles to hear the soft violin note of their mild sadness--"un grand sommeil noir," "le ciel, est, par dessus le toit," "je ne sais pas pourquoi mon esprit amer," "le son du cor," "je ne veux plus aimer que ma mère marie."
-it is truly "le coeur plus veuf que toutes les veuves" that speaks in them.
-when the "guote suendaere" again went out into life which he had never been able to master, and the wild restlessness and torment began which tore his heart into tatters, nothing remained of the two years in prison except his pious faith and a sorrowful memory. the four walls which had enclosed him also had protected him. "he was truly himself only in the hospital and in prison," says huysmans.
-poor lelian's longing plaint is for this silence. "ah truly, i regret the two years in the tower." his song says "formerly i dwelt in the best of castles." his yearning for the elemental, "far from a curbed age," never left him since those hours, and least of all in paris, the city of his crowning fame as a poet. faith he soon lost, but never the yearning for faith.
-in addition verlaine wrote a long series of catholic poems. as will be shown later, he outraged his unique qualities and thus destroyed them. the unconscious portion, the wonderful fragrance of his early religious poems, which were entirely emotional, soon dissipated. he constructed an infinite number of pious verses, verses for saints' days, religious emblems, and compiled volumes of poetry for catholic publishers. at the same time he edited pornographica and all manner of indecencies. his conversion had created a sensation. he had been thrust into a rôle and felt it his duty to play the part and to retain the costume. this was the reason for the antithesis. i do not believe the faith of his later years to have been genuine. he has called himself "the ruin of a still christian philosopher already pagan," and in his obscene books turned the rites of catholic faith, which he elsewhere glorified, into phallic and other sexual symbols.
-he was unable to escape the realization of the comedy of this situation. in his autobiography, hommes d'aujourd'hui, he attempted a very ingenious but exceedingly unsatisfactory justification. "his work," he explains, speaking of poor lelian, "from 1880 took on two very sharply defined directions, and the prospectuses of his future books indicated that he had made up his mind to continue this system and to publish, if not simultaneously, at least in parallel, works absolutely different in idea--to be more exact, books in which catholicism unfolds its logic and its lures, its blandishments and its terrors; and others purely modern, sensual with a distressing good humor and full of the pride of life."
-can this be the program of the "unconscious?" a few lines further on he has given another explanation. "i believe, and i am a good christian at this moment; i believe, and i am a bad christian the instant after. the remembrance of hope, the evocation of a sin, delight me with or without remorse." this is the truth. verlaine was a man of moods, he was always only the creature of the moment. after a few seconds the movement of his will contracted limply and momentary desires overflooded his consciousness of personality. his faith may have been as capricious and restless, as each one of his tendencies of passion. great poems, however, in the sense of great in extent, are not conceived in a moment. moods spread like a fine mist over the poet's hours, they permeate them and fill them through and through for a long time before a poem takes form.
-verlaine, the man of letters and poet according to program, is a hateful shadow limping behind his great works. consciously and with feverish eagerness and a productivity forced by need, he rhymed in what he thought his unique manner. the poor old man whom interviewers sought in the hospital was no longer the poet, paul verlaine.
-it is impossible to tell how long the flame of personal faith still glowed in him. probably it was as little extinguished as his soft dream of childhood. in the dusk of his last years it often struggled upward with tears, as a symbol of sorrow over his broken life.
-as all his thought began to tend toward senile mistiness, his emotions also slowly deteriorated in indifference and drunkenness. it was not his companions in his cups who understood him best, but the poets who saw his life in the illuminating perspective of distance.
-in a short story, gestas, anatole france has marvellously described in his insistent, quiet, dignified fashion the mingling of purity and depravity in this life of curious piety. it is merely an anecdote. stumbling, a drunkard enters church in the early morn to confess his sins. the priest has not yet arrived. the drunkard begins to grow noisy, beats the prayer desks; he rages and weeps, he has so endlessly many sins to confess, he wants only a little priest, a very, very little one.
-in these few pages everything is compressed, "the prodigal child with the gestures of a satyr." all the traits of verlaine are here, the accusing one of the penitent which he never lost, the angry one of the drunkard, the yearning tenderness of the poet, all the childishly wise, and yet in its simplicity so marvellously wonderful, faith of the good sinner.
-legends and literature
-one hesitates to relate the last years of this curious life. from the moment that verlaine returned to paris the tragedy lacks æsthetic significance. there are no longer sudden descents and elevations, but his life is slowly stifled in camaraderie, lingering disease and depravity. his poetic force crumbles away, his uniqueness becomes extinguished. it is no longer a foaming wave crest that carries him away, but dirty little waves.
-when he came to paris, he had been forgotten. his books were lying unsold with the publishers; the majority of his friends avoided him, evidently because their frock coat of the academy made recognition difficult, until suddenly the younger generation began to noise about his name; and now more people quarrel over starting this movement than there were cities to claim homer's cradle.
-it was a period of development. french lyric poetry was passing through a revolutionary crisis. for the first time the marble image of "beauté impassible" trembled in the hands of the poets. but not one of them was a strong enough artist to create a new ideal. at this moment the younger men began to remember verlaine. his bohemian life, the soft, fluctuating dreamy manner of his art, the frenzy of his life, his recklessness, loyalty and elementalness were a marvellous antithesis to the well-bred "impassibilité" of the academy. his name was used as a battering-ram against the parnassians. in kindly fashion, without choice, verlaine, the old man, who was beginning to feel chill, accepted the late enthusiasm and veneration.
-literature alone is not yet sufficient to create fame in france. it was only when the great journals began to take an interest in his life that he became popular. and at that time a mass of paltry legends began to gather around his name. he became the "naive child of modern culture," the "bohemian," the "unconscious," the "new françois villon," and even to-day these stereotyped phrases are industriously repeated.
-indeed his life was strange. in hospitals the poet sought shelter. with a white cloth wound like a turban around his bald, socrates-like head, he was always surrounded by contemporary literature, which strove to rise with the aid of his name. he received interviewers, and wrote his poems on prescription blanks and smeary tatters. when he was well, he wandered from café to café, holding forth and gesticulating, getting drunk, and associating with lewd women, always with a certain ostentation whenever he noticed that the public was watching him. as a senile silenus, he presided over the most remarkable bacchanalia. like a second victor hugo, he patronized the younger men with benevolent gesture. a forced merriness seemed in those days to tremble electrically through his nerves. yet never before had his life been filled with deeper tragedy and yearning, and there were many hours when he himself felt this keenly. crushed and torn by the teeth of life, he, like all bohemians, at last desired only peace. never was the sweet dream of his childhood days more poignant than in just this period of dissolute play-acting and vain exhibitionism.
-taine has very accurately shown that creative art consists in the automatization of the creative individuality, in overhearing and imitating inherent qualities, and in objectifying the personal elements. this process too became operative in verlaine's life, more markedly because in him life and personality were immanent interaction.
-he caricatured himself and re-drew the delicate lines of his soul with crude pencil. consciously he tried to make the unconscious elements take plastic form again by way of reflection. he was no longer elemental, but he strove hard to be. he prayed to god "to give me all simplicity," because he knew it was expected of him. since he was counted among the catholic poets, he tried again to pass through the storm of sacred emotion. the effort resulted in pompous, well-constructed religious poems, plump like botched roman churches.
-he attempted to show the unconscious in himself by striving to explain the creative impulse and placing mirrors behind his juggler's tricks. the wonderful gesture of surrender which destiny and sorrow had taught him, he learned by heart like an actor who reproduces a gesture mechanically at the seventy succeeding performances, though he is truly an artist only at the moment when he first discovers and understands its significance in studying the part. thus verlaine carefully reconstructed all the characteristics which the journals declared were his own. coquettishly he exhibited the "poor lelian" and the "bon enfant"--mere costumes of a poetical fire that had long died out. his manner became more and more childlike; he was trying to enter entirely into the rôle of "guileless fool," while his sharp but unlogical intelligence never gave way.
-the poet retired further and further into him. the more he rhymed (and in the last years with morbid frequency), the fewer poems were produced. now and then one came, when pose and impulse joined in minutes of sad (or drunken) melancholy, and when the mysterious fluid of the unconscious and great indefinite emotions made him silent, simple and timid.
-otherwise he alternately turned erotic incidents and adventures in alcoves into rhyme, and wrote literary mockeries and parodies of paul verlaine, and for purposes of contrast, verses in praise of catholic saint days. every artistic pride was soon forgotten in the need for money. he sold his poems at one hundred sous apiece to his publisher vanier, who cruelly printed them often against the active protest of the poet; recently again a volume of "posthumous works," which easily may be denominated as one of the most disagreeable and worst books published in france. this portion of the tragedy of his life no one has as yet fully told.
-during his last years he wrote two books which must not be ignored even though they do not fit in the customary picture of the bon enfant. these were femmes and hombres. they could not appear publicly but were sold in five hundred numbered copies each. in them verlaine broke abruptly with the tradition of agreeable nastiness of a grecourt, in order to produce works of an unheard-of subjective shamelessness. in form the poems are smooth and in structure they are clever, but their subject matter and the poet's self-revelation is such as to place these volumes among the most unhappy that have ever been produced. they are naked and obscene.
-from an æsthetic point of view this publication, even if it was clandestine was without excuse, and it was the deepest descent of the poet. the effect of this depravity of an old man writing down with unsteady hand vices and nakednesses on prescription blanks for the sake of a few francs with which to buy an absinthe, is tragic. the existence and the spread of these books must destroy absolutely the legend of the "guileless fool." this is the only value which can be attributed to them.
-to the younger generation verlaine represented not only a great poet, but to them he was also the regenerator of french lyric poetry. the legend that verlaine consciously changed poetic valuations is entirely due to a single poem, the "art poétique." it is absolutely necessary to quote it, because on the one hand it is characteristic of verlaine's instinct concerning his own work, and because on the other hand it is the basis of all the formulas which became dogmas among the verse jugglers. (an english translation of this poem is given on page 90.)
-"de la musique avant toute chose, et pour cela préfère l'impair plus vague et plus soluble dans l'air, sans rien en lui, qui pèse ou qui pose.
-"il faut aussi que tu n'ailles point choisir tes mots sans quelque méprise: rien de plus cher que la chanson grise où l'indécis au précis se joint.
-"c'est des beaux yeux derrière les voiles, c'est le grand jour tremblant de midi, c'est, par un ciel d'automne attiédi, le bleu fouillis des claires étoiles!
-"car nous voulons la nuance encore, pas la couleur, rien que la nuance! oh, la nuance seule fiance le rêve au rêve et la flûte au cor!
-"fuis du plus loin la pointe assassine, l'esprit cruel et le rire impur, qui font pleurer les yeux d'azur et tout cet ail de basse cuisine!
-"prends l'éloquence et tords-lui son cou! tu feras bien, en train d'énergie, de rendre un peu la rime assagie, si l'on n'y veille, elle ira jusqu'où?
-"oh! qui dira les torts de la rime? quel enfant sourd ou quel nègre fou nous a forgé ce bijou d'un sou qui sonne creux et faux sous la lime?
-"de la musique encore et toujours! que ton vers soit la chose envolée qu'on sent qui fuit d'une âme en allée vers d'autres cieux à d'autres amours.
-"que ton vers soit la bonne aventure éparse au vent crispé du matin qui va fleurant la menthe et le thym ... et tout le reste est littérature."
-without question certain words in these lines, somewhat veiled by the poetic form of expression, harmonize with the fundamental conceptions of modern impressionistic lyric poetry. france never was the land of pure emotional poetry. there is too much sense of the formal, too much of a keen-sighted almost mathematical type of intellect mingled with a gallant pleasure in pointedness among the french, and these make them turn into logic the elements of mysticism which must be in every poem, whether in its emotional content or its vague form of expression. goethe has proclaimed the incommensurable as the material of all poetry, but among the french the tendency to crystallize it in the solution of their positivist habit of thought is ever imperceptibly betrayed. the feeling for the line and style shows through. for them poetry is architecture; intuition, their intellectual formula; the marble of conceptions is their material, and rhyme the mortar.
-clarity and orderly arrangement are the preliminary conditions for victor hugo, for the parnassians and even for baudelaire, even though the latter, by his visionary form and the opiate of his dark words, created for the first time solemn, that is to say poetical, impressions instead of those of pomp alone. it seems therefore an error to look for the revolutionary tendency and literary importance of a verlaine in the looseness of his verse structure and more careless (or intentionally careless) use of rhyme. his merit is rather that he was able to illume chaos, darkness, and presentiments by the very indefiniteness and the vague music of his soul. this enabled him to endue his poems with their mystical trembling melody, not by abstracting his inner music in definite melodies, but by fixing it in assonance, rhymes and rhythmic waves.
-unconsciously he recognized that lyric art is the most immaterial of all and is most nearly related to music. its aërial trembling and immateriality may meet the soul in waves of glowing fire, but intellectually it is unseizable. he tried to preserve this musical element by means of harmony and assonance, but it was not he himself so much as the unconscious gift of poetry that played mysteriously in him and made him find the fundamental secret of lyric effects. émile verhaeren, the only other french poet who is a more vehement and constructive character, sought and found the musical element of lyric poetry by the only other way, that is, in verbal rhythm or consonantal music. thus to volatilize the material simultaneously in the form and to join the technical with the intuitive elements is the highest quality of lyric poetry. it makes it immediate, organic, that is to say, its spiritual elements permeate the material in immanent reaction, and thus the mystery of life is renewed in individual artifacts. self-evidently this intuitive recognition is no discovery. it has been present in the great lyric poets of all time, a mystery like that of sexual reproduction, which awakens only at the age of ripeness. it was new in france only because, besides villon, verlaine was the first lyric genius of the french.
-such art must be more effective as contrasted with all intellectualism because it springs from deeper sources, just as simple weeping is more eloquent than passionate wailing aloud. surely it also contains an artificial element, not artistry, but magic art, or the "alchemy of the word" which rimbaud believed to have discovered, a relationship between colors, vowels and sounds depending on idiosyncrasy. it is a secret touching of the ultimate roots of different stems. it is always necessary to assume an inter-relation between lyricism and the lawless, enigmatic and magic elements of the human soul and to associate vague threshold emotions with soft music.
-verlaine's poetry during his creative period possesses this vagueness, which is like a voice in the dark or music of the soul. it also has the lack of coherence which emotions must have when they sweep in halting pain through the body. this element must remain incomprehensible to commercially sharp intelligences of the type of max nordau, who try in a way to subtract the net value of purely intellectual elements and "contents" which could be reduced to prose from the gross value of poems. lyricism is magic and the precious possession of a spiritual communion which finds its deepest enjoyment in just these almost impalpable elements.
-to limit the most important element of verlaine's significance to his neglect of rhyme is showing poor judgment. in the first place it is unimportant and secondly incorrect, for he never wrote a poem without rhyme, except in the later unworthy years, when now and then he substituted assonances. in addition he has himself protested in l'hommes d'aujourd'hui:
-"in the past and at present too i am honored by having my name mingled with these disputes, and i pass for a bitter adversary of rhyme because of a selection published in a recent collection.--besides absolute liberty is my device if it were necessary for me to have one--and i find good everything which is good in despite and notwithstanding rules."
-to many it was insufficient to celebrate verlaine as one of the marvels of a nation, a truly elemental human being whose soul uttered the finest and most tender lyric moods and who, as if awakened out of bell-like and clear dreams, produced true and melodic poetry out of the darkness of his life. his admirers have also praised him as a prose writer. but the prose-writer must be an intellectual creator, and know how to master form. this verlaine was unable to do. he never really understood the world, and knew only how to tell of himself, and accordingly his novelettes are for the most part concealed autobiographies. they have brilliant portions of characterization. his intellect, which is paradoxical, self-willed, lyrical, and abrupt, flashes up and then crumbles.
-his confessions, which have been highly praised, remind one of rousseau's all too confidential and hypocritical confessions. they are only documents of personal sharp-sightedness, unfortunately much over-clouded by literary pose. he also tried the theatre. his comedy, les uns et les autres, has watteau-like style and pierrot elegances, as well as flexibility, but is of no importance. another play, louis xvi, remained a fragment. all verlaine's literary productions, like biographies, introductions, etc., give a painful impression because they are forced and have sprung from evil camaraderie.
-he has also been called a great draftsman. it is true that an excellent and characteristic skill in the figures and scribblings which he sprinkled throughout his letters cannot be gainsaid. there is even a pathetic element in their self-confessed technical imperfections. the caricatures are playful, without malicious or serious intent, jotted down with childish self-satisfaction, but, of course, they need not be taken seriously. they are little marginalia to his life, and addenda to the numerous sharp and bright sketches with which his intimate friend and artistic eckermann, f. a. cazals, has fixed him for posterity. they show verlaine in all his moods--in his bonhomie, despair, grief, "gaminerie," sexuality, disease, even to the last sketches which show him in death. they form a gallery of his life from childhood to childhood along the dark way of his destiny. and as in his poetry, notwithstanding all the exuberant passages, the final impression is a wailing note of sadness--the stroke of melancholy's bow.
-the only thing which now remains is to ascertain whether paul verlaine's life-work, beginning in metz and ending in a small lodging-house room in paris on a january day in 1896, contains the elements which we would call "lasting" because we are afraid of the proud and resounding word "eternal." the significance of great poets passes the boundaries of literature and ignores what is known as "influences" and "artistic atmosphere." the eternal element of great works of poetry reaches back toward eternity. for humanity poetry is infinity which it joins with the ether, and the great poets are those who were able to help in elaborating the wonderful bond which stretches from the distant darkness to the red of the new dawn.
-it does not diminish verlaine's stature if we do not count him among the heroes of life. he was an isolated phenomena, too significant to be typical and too weak to become eternal. there was beauty in his pure humanness, but not of the kind which remains permanent. he has given nothing which was not already in us. he was a fleeting stream of life passing by; he was the sublime echo of the mysterious music which rises within us on every contact of things, like the ring of glasses on a cupboard under every footstep and impact.
-his effect is deep, but yet on that account not great. to have become great it would have been necessary for him to conquer the destiny which he could not master and to liberate his will from the thousand little vices and passions which enwrapped it. he is one of the writers who could be spared, whom nevertheless no one would do without. he is a marvel, beautiful and unnecessary, like a rare flower which gives sweetness and wonderful peace to the senses, but which does not make us noble, strong, brave and humble.
-he was, and herein lies his greatness and power, the symbol of pure humanity, splendid creative force in the weak vessel of his personality. he was a poet who in his works became one with the poetry of life, the sounds of the forest, the kiss of the wind, the rustling of the reeds and the voice of the dusk of evening. humanly he was like us who love him. he was one of those who, no matter how great a chaos they have made of their own life, are yet inappeasable, and drink the stranger's pain and the stranger's bliss in the precious cup of glorious poetry. they manifold their being and their emotions because of a blind and uncreative yearning for the universal and infinity.
-no laws should rule by force or guile, but let your verse go singing soft, and in the solvent air aloft find music, music all the while.
-nor be too diffident in phrase, but let your song grow drunk with wine where mystic unions vaguely shine in luminous and errant ways.
-like veilèd eyes your song should be, like noondays trembling in the sun, like autumn dusks when days are done and stars and sky join secretly.
-not vivid colors should adorn, but shades alone when dream to dream is wed, and tender shadows gleam like flute notes mingled with the horn.
-the "point" which slays and cruel wit, and smile impure you should despise, for like base garlic they arise to spoil the poem exquisite.
-take eloquence and twist its neck! and sophist rhyming which would lead you headlong into sing-song speed 'tis well for you to hold in check.
-oh, who shall tell of evil rhyme! a trinket coin with hollow ring, a barbarous or childish thing passed downward idly to our time.
-music, music, evermore, the burden of your song should be, inherent like the melody of souls a-wing to distant shore;
-or like the brave emprise and pure of morning breezes which imbue the thyme and mint with honey dew-- the rest belongs to literature.
-the following is a list of corrections made to the original. the first line is the original line, the second the corrected one.
-fragrance for him childhood was paradise, because his poor weak soul, fragrance. for him childhood was paradise, because his poor weak soul,
-plus familier, voila." plus familier, voilà."
-"je voudrais, si ma vie était encore a faire, "je voudrais, si ma vie était encore à faire,
-qu'une femme très calme habitat avec moi." qu'une femme très calme habitât avec moi."
-first work, and had a "joli succés de hostilité" with the press. the first work, and had a "joli succès de hostilité" with the press. the
-passion, yearns for soft, womenly hands. passion, yearns for soft, womanly hands.
-transferrel unchanged into his poetry, filling it with the force of life transferred unchanged into his poetry, filling it with the force of life
-sentimentale, a dark pearl of indefinite, infinite sorrow. out of masks sentimental, a dark pearl of indefinite, infinite sorrow. out of masks
-etez vous fous?" êtes-vous fous?"
-it is truly "le coeur plus veuf que tout les veuves" that speaks in it is truly "le coeur plus veuf que toutes les veuves" that speaks in
-"c'est des beaux yeaux derrière les voiles, "c'est des beaux yeux derrière les voiles,
-"prends l'eloquence et tords-lui son cou! "prends l'éloquence et tords-lui son cou!
-word" which rimbaud believed, to have discovered, a relationship between word" which rimbaud believed to have discovered, a relationship between
-colors, vowels and sounds depending on idiosyncracy. it is a secret colors, vowels and sounds depending on idiosyncrasy. it is a secret
-copyright (c) 1943 by the estate of mona gould.
-"on the food of the strong i fed, on dark strange life itself, wisdom-giving and sombre with the unremitting love of ages. there was dank soil in my mouth, and bitter sea on my lips in a dark hour, tasting the earth."
-copyright, canada, 1943 by mona gould all rights reserved - no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper. printed in canada t.h. best printing co., limited toronto. ont.
-to graham and john
-acknowledgements grateful acknowledgment is made to alfred a. knopf inc., publisher, new york, for permission to use the lines from "tasting the earth" by james oppenheim, from his songs for the new age (1914), and for permission to reprint to: saturday night, chatelaine, montreal c.a.a. year books, canadian forum., gossip, montrealer, canadian magazine, woman's illustrated (london, eng. ), woman's journal (london, eng.).
-we all of us know that the ordinary every-day man and woman, the people we brush against in street cars, the people who read the funnies - the people who are like us - are capable of the profoundest depths of feeling and the noblest aspirations. but it is only on the rarest occasions that we happen to see one of them at it, so to speak, and when we do we have a certain sense of shame at intruding on something that really should be private between him and his god.
-the artist enables us to see this ordinary man and woman in the moments when they are not ordinary, without any of this sense of intrusion. i think mona gould, in most of the verses in this volume, has been exceptionally successful in this kind of revelation, and i think canada needs it. a number of these verses have been published in "saturday night" during the term of my editorship, and i am very glad that they are now to have a more permanent resting place.
-b. k. sandwell
-colour in the willows
-"they also serve ..."
-litany for the lonely
-this was my brother
-that girl in hong kong
-blood donor clinic 10 a.m.
-tasting the earth
-spring sunday ... in a small town
-ghost of new year's eve
-quiet has come down
-rain ... in the city
-you, the sower of seed
-autumn is unfair
-portrait of father
-small christmas tree
-ladies at tea
-you, being dead
-some quiet day ... perhaps
-colour in the willows
-darling ... the colour has come back, in the willows. remember how it was, last year? incredibly orange ... little orange willow switches hardly bending; remember the white shore road and the blue water in the bay still fretted with clotted snow at the sand edge? the sky was a light, high blue and all the clouds were little, and frisky. and we kept making wagers about the willows at every curve in the road. darling ... the colour has come back in the willows; but i have no one ... to bet with!
-"they also serve ..."
-nightly, still, i dress for you, in frocks of fabric and of hue you would have liked. silly, i know, when you are gone, to care if shoes are black or fawn; to match my lip rouge with a ring; to pin gardenias at my breast; to brush my hair till it is sleek as carded silk ... and in my eyes to wear a look of glad surprise! nightly, still, i dress for you - because i know you'd want me to!
-litany for the lonely
-you're warmth and laughter ... you're the "good time"! you're security ... and sleeping with arms 'round and no night ... and the dark shut out! you're pain drowned in joy, and laughter from the heart ... you're loving kindness ... the look of dear acquaintance and a hand to hold, always!
-this was my brother (for lt.-col. howard mctavish, killed in action at dieppe)
-this was my brother at dieppe, quietly a hero who gave his life like a gift, withholding nothing.
-his youth ... his love ... his enjoyment of being alive ... his future, like a book with half the pages still uncut -
-this was my brother at dieppe - the one who built me a doll house when i was seven, complete to the last small picture frame, nothing forgotten.
-he was awfully good at fixing things, at stepping into the breach when he was needed.
-that's what he did at dieppe; he was needed. and even death must have been a little shamed at his eagerness!
-what's "nostaglia", mums? "nostaglia ... ?" oh, you mean "nostalgia", son, let me see ... how can i explain it to you, this "nostaglia", (as good a word for it as any!) well ... darling ... "nostaglia", is that funny pit-of-the-tummy feeling you get going down in elevators only you're not in an elevator - it just comes. everything sort of goes away from you, and you feel a little scared and a lot lonely ... it's like this remember tippy ... the little brown dog ... and how we loved him; and how he ran just a little ahead of you, just a little too fast and you, chasing him on your tricycle ... and the curb came, and you stopped, and tip, didn't and he just lay there, and the look was gone out of his eyes and we tucked him away in a brown bean carton under the apple tree and the house was awfully quiet without him, that was "nostalgia".
-for jamie, of the r.a.f.
-"he has outsoared the shadow of our night".
-bravely he kept his tryst with death - who somehow knew it would come to pass - but he tipped his cap at a rakish slant, and he gave himself a smile, in the glass. if his hand was clenched, there was none to see, if his heart was sore for the home he missed, and the eager face of his dearest love and her flying hair ... and the lips he'd kissed. he had made for himself, from a little phrase a shield and a buckler to save the day - and the little phrase was a bit of himself, and he laughed when he said it, - "toujours gai!"
-that girl in hong kong
-that girl in hong kong ... she must have loved frivolous things, too; collected crystal brandy glasses, cut flowers for a white bowl ... and dreamed the incredible bubbly-coloured dreams that all girls do.
-she might have been married, tucked children off to bed at night; told stories to; put candles on the table; worn a white lace dress, proud to be slender and desirable and womanly ...
-that girl in hong kong ... she felt safe ... and secure ... and thankful for security; maybe she chose a gay, almost boastfully red lipstick because it was christmas.
-how pitiful is paint on the mouth of one dead!
-you can't put it into words, this feeling of remembering. it comes up like a little mist between you, and your world ... so that suddenly a flurry of leaves ... or pewter mugs ... shining in a shop window ... can make you stand quietly ... till this ache passes over!
-suddenly, my darling ... out of a deep sleep i could smell the sea and a salt wind blowing ... and i knew that you had gone from me!
-answer me this what do lovers do when there is no more meeting? when night comes down, quietly, and the moon rises over the fields ...
-even the dew on the grass must be pressed down by the eager feet of the returning dreamers; hand turned against hand, like two children coming back to a garden; voices soft, and anxious, and blurred with their intolerable longing!
-answer me this what do lovers do when there is no more meeting?
-immortality ... it's such a big word i always thought it was something tremendous - big ... like a cathedral ... or the sea ... now, i think it's little but very certain -
-sometimes, it's in a ring, or a pair of wings, or the badge off a tanker's cap - or a kiss -
-sometimes it's a cable ... "safe and well all my love."
-sometimes it's a child - how he turns his head, the shape of his hands, his laugh with the head thrown back, and joy, like a shining sword cutting the dark -
-immortality ... it's what goes on, it's what marches on after the march is over - it's wings in the sky after the plane is down -
-it's tears and laughter and beauty ... burning like a star alive, ... in the heart ... forever!
-the square in front of notre dame, i fancy it must look the same; with trampled snow, and pigeons drifting from sky to earth; cathedral lifting its classic spires ... aloof ... austere ... it must be like it was last year.
-remember the tall franciscan monk with the blowing beard, that was red as flame ... and his earth-brown robes, and his sandaled feet ... remember? (you called me a darling name!)
-remember ... i borrowed your handkerchief to tie on my head ... that we might go in? it was quiet, and dark - and warm and still with the whisper of "aves", murmuring.
-and we stood at the shrine of sacre coeur to light a candle against the day, too terribly soon ... when a boat would sail ... and you held my hand ... and forgot to pray.
-and suddenly-everything seemed so dear ... so precious, so lovely, so brief, and fair, the whispered "aves" ... the little hearts ... the candle shine on your darling hair.
-the square in front of notre dame ... i fancy it must look the same. only ... one candle less, this year, at sacre coeur, my dear ... my dear!
-you wrote: "the abbey pillars are worn smooth. hundreds of shoulders leaned against their strength, age after age, to set their smoothness, there .."
-and they shall lean again because of lads like you, who wear their wings and find these things as wonderful as they had seemed on printed pages head in nursery days!
-for busts ... and plaques ... and effigies ... and figures carved in stone ... tremendous tombs of kings ... are not cathedral furniture.
-here stand the dreams of men articulate in stone. honour made manifest; the shadow of the grail falls like a silver whisper in this place.
-you wrote: "the abbey pillars are worn smooth ..." and i could see the valour in your face!
-blood donor clinic 10 a.m.
-they file through the door, they include men who look like ex-football players, big men, little men, men who have climbed down off coal trucks, bond salesmen, men in uniform, sailors on leave from minesweepers, whole men, and men who have lost an arm or a leg in the last war, who cannot fight in this one, who remember what transfusions mean. blind men have come who make little jokes about the "pretty nurse". it takes a few minutes; a few minutes stretched comfortably out on a cot with your heart-beats measuring drop by drop the gift you give to keep some soul alive. it takes a few minutes out of a single day to make you one of the vast army back of the fighting army.
-it takes a few minutes but because of that few minutes soldiers and sailors and flyers are going to come back after this war who couldn't come back without that "gift".
-it means mothers and children, terribly hurt when bombs rained down, are going to live to forget those anxious days, and laugh again, and breathe the air of quiet england.
-it means that you have given something money couldn't buy. the "quality of mercy", shakespeare said.
-it takes a few minutes but it lets you in on a miracle!
-we used to say oh, just in fun, that when the time came we would run away together just the two ...
-and live like all good pixies do under a toadstool.
-you laughed and said we'd get quite tipsy on rain cocktails; and ipsy-dipsy we'd wander here ... and wander there, and i, with flowers in my hair.
-you promised, when you went away you'd come for me; and on that day we'd seek the kindly, farthest star where all the other lovers are.
-you said: "just death ... can keep me from... " darling ... i know you meant to come!
-tasting the earth
-and the wind went over the top of the birch trees like a great hand, stirring their feathery leaves and weaving violet shadows on their shining surface.
-lying flat on the young grass stretched out very tall and feeling wonderfully magnificent, i listened to my own heart beating.
-"darling ... darling," said my heart, pressed against the warm earth, "love is beautiful, and love will die..." but can it be so terrible a thing for love to sleep in this velvet earth? i pressed my face against the fallen leaves and felt the sun tangled in my blowing hair, and felt the sun burning down into my very bones, and knew suddenly, with a terrible aching certainty that it was so.
-"love is beautiful, and love will die ..." said my heart, and even the dark earth was little comfort!
-spring sunday ... in a small town
-to-day they're having church parade; the boy scouts and the girl guides, the cubs and the brownies, are all out, full force. the uncertain, fumbling band begins a staggering march and off they go, curling in a snaky line round the corner from the market square, under the old town clock. all the people in town seem to have hurried down to one spot to see their "young hopefuls" swinging past. they don't march any too well, either, but that isn't noticed. there they go up the steps of the old gray church and in at the door.
-there isn't any need for tears pushing up to the surface but they do! the peace of it! the ironic, terrible sense of security, the threat under the dream! let the band play, let the children march, let the parents weep!
-ghost of new year's eve
-a dear ghost, a young ghost walks this night, clad not in holy mail robed not in white.
-nothing like a halo round his brown head, laughter on his young lips, whimsical and red.
-wearing old flannel slacks, jacket sleeve torn, "sneakers" on his swift feet, scuffed and well-worn.
-a dear ghost, a young ghost, sketch-book in hand, pockets full of charcoal ... militant you stand,
-lip caught between teeth beautiful and white, eyes full of shining dreams on this night.
-a dear ghost, a young ghost walks this eve, if he finds you paintable he will touch your sleeve,
-saying, as the wind would, "please stand still..." sketching you and vanishing over some hill!
-quiet has come down (owen sound)
-quiet has come down over this little village as if a nun, saying her beads had asked for peace and it been granted.
-a white sort of quiet, having to do with the snow and the little necklace of lights on the main street, and the white prows of the fleet in the harbour, silent, and folded in, like giant gulls.
-almost the whiteness of this quiet is too beautiful to be borne. were it not for the ebony of the branches, and the dark arm of a church spire and your black hair like a dark bird flying!
-hands have a way of betraying things. i found this out in a small, strange way; you touched my face the other day!
-rain ... in the city
-rain... even in the city it has the smell of the country. wet grasses ... thorny hedges, and chestnuts shaking down their polished brownness. and ghosts of apple trees. i swear they haunt the city streets and fling their sweetness over formal lawns and stiff, uncompromising dahlia beds!
-just let the drops come stinging down against your eyelids; false tears that tangle in your lashes, making blurs of all the lamp-post lights until they swim like harbour lamps up through the larkspur evening.
-feel it against your shins, the stinging slanting rain that laces all the gutters with its swathes of glittering brightness ...
-feel it against your face ... and think of sudden gusty showers, a little horse's gleaming neck and flanks, the smell of rain on leather; the smell of rain on saddle soap; and the pearly glitter of flying hoofs bound for the stable.
-rain... even in the city it has the smell of the country!
-you, the sower of seed
-you, the sower of seed in this fertile field that is my body, tenderly shall i care for it, guard it from heat and cold and sudden change.
-dream i, in arrowy adoration of the garnering-in time. your seed ... sown in the field that is my body, quickening to life in the secret places under my heart. and whatever the yield i shall deem it beautiful, sprung from your seed.
-what is this mysterious crying flame, this urge, deeper than the curve in the young flesh; the round enchanting turn of the smooth wrist; the throat, white as the under side of a poplar leaf and just as fair?
-what is this hunger ... holy and terrible, spawned in the marrow of the white bones? a hunger that cannot be drowned in surf breaking on a white beach; or lost, in the wind coursing through the lane of trees in the forest.
-what is the spirit to do chained as she is like hooded falcon to the wrist, when she can neither rise, nor fly, nor sing her song in the darkness?
-autumn is unfair
-autumn is unfair to stir again, in lash of wood smoke, scent of bitter berries the ashes of desire. to stir and prod with gnarled unfriendly fingers the leaves piled high about the tender roots, disturbing the sleeping blossoms.
-even to walk quite swiftly in the evenings down fog-filled streets pressing the cool to your lips, is not enough;
-o anodyne of snow, swift-falling, white, delivering angel, or rain ... or wind ... or any single thing to break this tenuous leash.
-to let the heart sleep lightly, as the brown tulip bulbs ... to let the heart sleep!
-when lovers lie in summer grass and watch the cloud ships as they pass, love is a blend of pain and bliss ... somewhere a shadow, dark and tall, across the heart-beat seems to fall denying joy ...
-this thing will go, it will not stay when summer goes and you're away ...
-so runs the thread of darkling song, and yet - within each other's eyes they drown this knowledge; and disguise the shadowy blight. so ... each to each they turn and say "we have each other anyway!"
-portrait of father
-he died, much as he lived, not making any fuss about it. accepting all we did quietly, and with a touch; of humour, as if to say, "beloveds, if this helps you, but i go ... anyway!"
-withdrawn, perceptibly withdrawn, he waged his little struggle, agreeable to all the final desperate tries science affords. he drifted out farther away. you couldn't even reach him with your hand, finally. he'd made his peace with death. just for a second, up from the sargasso sea of kindly opiates he came ... living and sweet and somehow reassuring, to name you, with his final stumbling breath!
-small christmas tree (for f. g.)
-stand very straight, small christmas tree! put on your tallest dignity, wear your tinsel bright and bravely, carry your candles like holy things. in the heart of a child you represent beauty and light and sacrament; your topmost star to him outshines the sun, your branches every one are precious.
-stand very straight, small christmas tree! you were chosen to grace a feast, you were chosen to share this day. holly for merriment, holly for joy. and you to bring to a little boy fabulous dreams.
-stand very straight, small christmas tree! looking with love on my small son's face, sweet in your light, i, this night, hear carols. know for certain that carols ring, know for certain that angels sing; stand very straight, small christmas tree!
-ladies at tea
-ladies at tea frighten me!
-the tea is amber, the ices lush; but i always feel that i'm swallowing plush when the repartee becomes sharp and prickly; i smile and nod and agree too quickly; and squirm for the victims slaughtered lightly; and wish for a sign-board to signal brightly these welcoming words to allay my fear: "chicken-hearted, exit, here!"
-ladies at tea frighten me!
-you walked in your drawing-room, your gown rustling like autumn leaves; its heavy folds of delicate silk the colour of apricots. you might have been the ghost of a great lady, your chin held rather high for one so small; or you might have been a frail fantastic figurine in cloisonné, that had stepped down for a moment from a louis quinze table. or then again, you might have been a princess who had lived most of her life in a fairy tale for children. then you would have worn a little cap of pearls, and your small enchanted hands would have been heavy with emeralds.
-you walked in your drawing-room in your gown of apricot satin, and if you had disappeared into a mirror, or stepped back into a picture frame, i could have believed in you!
-no, nor the green hills of ireland couldn't be lovelier! beautiful, are the caledon hills; green, like moss is green, and gracious, and ever-rolling.
-and the little trees that march down the sides of the hills are like trees cut from green blotting-paper. they stand very straight, and not very tall, and their ranks are beautifully un-thinned.
-and the hordes of silly sheep crying, "baa baa" out of their curious black faces; and the scottish cattle with their great horns; and the chestnut-and-black horses leaning into the wind on the very hill-top; all these are part of caledon.
-coming out of the little ski cabin, under the first few stars you will say: "no; nor the green hills of ireland couldn't be lovelier!"
-you being dead (for j. r. t.)
-you, being dead, are not aware that brittle berries strew the ground, and how the wind, an unleashed hound prowls through the wood.
-it must be very still and deep where you have gone; your gentle sleep must be a lovely dreamless thing. no horns of daybreak reach your rest, no muffled drums of midnight breast your dim retreat ... and well i know you would not stir, beneath the snow.
-and yet the first lush rain of spring must speak to you; must dance and sing across your heart, though it be still. the scent of hyacinth must fill the very earth, the birth of grass be like the feet of fauns who pass in mocking masque among the trees.
-though you should walk elysian fields i somehow know, that even there you still must smell the apple trees ... who found the spring so brief and fair!
-you know, if you were only a book i'd know what to do about you! i'd read you ... and remember you ... and tuck you away on my book-shelves.
-but since you are a bitter sort of magic that twists me like a silly skein to fit your latest picture of me what am i to do about you?
-ah... and even if you were a book i should love you very dearly, and carry you about with me in my coat pocket, always!
-here is a silver star caught in the meshes of the moon. it matters not. soon ... soon ... across the greeny darkness of the garden, still and sweet, i shall hear in the mist of the evening your feet you are coming to me! the garden is drowned in a dream. only my heart is awake. hurry ... hurry, beloved ... lest it quiver, and break!
-some quiet day ... perhaps
-some quiet day, perhaps, when i am dead, and this loud world is but a whispered echo through the dark, cool earth that spreads above my head, i shall forget that i have ever known you. your kisses shall become inconsequent as flowers and grass that grow above my grave, our moments shared shall crumble down to dust, the ring upon my finger turn to rust. there shall be nothing to remind me, then, i shall know peace, unstirred by pain or song, turning my face to sleep, as children do, never to start awake and cry your name, seeking your arms to shelter me from fear as i do now ... this night ... my very dear!
-the young priest stood holding a small book in his hands, under a tree newly-stripped of its leafage. he stood very still ... remote, the wind whipping his long robes into swirling darkness. there behind cloistered walls the war was unreal, a distant dragon whose fiery breath was legend. just for a minute the world stood still imprisoned in the pages of a small book. there was healing in the sight, the young priest reading words set down many centuries ago. oh soon, soon, let there be peace over the whole world and the young men coming back to their books!
-copyright (c) 1946 by the estate of mona gould.
-i run with the fox by mona gould
-copyright, canada, 1946 by the macmillan company of canada limited
-all rights reserved - no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine or newspaper.
-printed in canada by le soleil limitee, quebec.
-frontespiece: for "mook"
-in proud and loving remembrance
-this was my brother at dieppe, quietly a hero who gave his life like a gift, withholding nothing.
-his youth... his love... his enjoyment of being alive... his future, like a book with half the pages still uncut --
-this was my brother at dieppe -- the one who built me a doll house when i was seven, complete to the last small picture frame, nothing forgotten.
-he was awfully good at fixing things, at stepping into the breach when he was needed.
-that's what he did at dieppe; he was needed. and even death must have been a little shamed at has eagerness.
-acknowledgment is made to saturday night, gossip, chatelaine, canadian poetry magazine, canadian home journal and the montrealer, in whose pages many of these poems have appeared.
-i run with the fox
-gift shop window
-he will not go unremembered
-bagpipes skirl in heaven
-how'd ya do!
-prayer, in a hospital
-so fair a season
-spring comes to a small town
-for a brown dog
-right out of pickwick
-man is a lonely one
-this bitter brew
-it was tall in the forest
-child ... waiting in a drawing room
-stars and the dead
-the old lady and the cat
-i run with the fox
-better to be proud and hunted than to ride with the pink coats.
-better than the smell of warm blood after a quick kill, bitter and bright the scent of hidden fern.
-though the heart fail in the panting side and the eye be clouded with straining after the deep copse still is there thrill in flight -- soft are oak leaves under the swift feet.
-sweet are the distant notes of the hunter's horn and the hounds' baying, sweet to the trembling ears of the hidden and hunted.
-i run with the fox!
-it has come to this... my darling... with the years gone over, with the truth acknowledged you are not coming back.
-gift shop window
-apple annie, ancient and weather-beaten her amazing garments huddled about her, bent almost double to peer in the window -- she stood on the one foot... and then on the other and nodded her head like a great dark crow. her old lips moved in some mumbo-jumbo but what she said was her own dark secret.
-a little smile, like a secret fragment of dimly-remembered and lost delight moved, like the stir of a small frail fan on a face that was wrinkled and dim with age. with a hesitant gesture, desire engendered, her old hands fluttered against the pane twisted and gnarled... and pitifully empty... fluttered ... and moved ... and were still again!
-my mother was a lady with hair like silk and eyes like gentians and a skin like milk.
-but my father loved laughter and the flowing bowl -- and his eyes were dark mischief -- "rest his soul!"
-my mother often stopped me from having fun with the echo of her proper "it isn't done!"
-but i'd feel my father's hand as he'd rough my hair saying "black... and rebellious. we're a bold, bad pair!"'
-and now i'm woman grown with a son - ah me! who am i to tell him what the "score" should be!
-the rain falls down silverly on the dark night. oh, but the air is soft to touch and your face white.
-this is for remembering, for putting away in the mind's pocket like a shell - or a treasured stone, found at the beach-- this touch - this kiss - this heart turning toward heart -- this is for remembering when you are beyond reach.
-words, at best, are like thistledown. let us be quiet, then. give me your hand! you are my friend, and my love till the world ends -- you understand!
-this is loud silence, this bewildering space untenanted by you. it has the ugly face of loneliness!
-hush... foolish heart ... you have been here before -- this is your blood that rusts upon the door!
-he will not go unremembered (for sir charles g. d. roberts)
-into fire, and air, and finally soft and subtle ash this clay in which bright beauty burned, became articulate and lived a little while.
-he will not go unremembered. small boys, belly-flat on floor will pad with him down wooded ways where creatures of the forest are realer than the room and its four quite solid walls.
-young girls will pore with shining eyes over verse that sings of life... and beauty.
-he will not go unremembered who served his muse with faithful plying pen.
-this, his bright spark of lovely immortality struck from the cycle of his life and work... he will not go unremembered!
-bagpipes skirl in heaven
-ah ... not irreverent this... for i am very sure the bagpipes skirl in heaven!
-you see ... 'twould not be heaven ... for him ... without his native music -- dear to his heart... called up at will, shrill ... and sweet defiant as all "get out" ... remembered past death!
-and angels ... yes, even angels must smile to see him marching by brave in his kilt ... his head thrown back his "plaidie" streaming in the wind.
-who could be sad for one so young and fair, immortal as a god, who gave his life with never a backward glance?
-ah.. . not irreverent this, when bagpipes skirl in heaven!
-when we were very small children in kindergarten we used to play a game. it was called "howd'ya do, my partner". and you bowed, each to the other, and clasped hands, and solemnly went round in a circle which ended with a triumphant, rollicking skip!
-it's the strangest thing -- looking back from so many years i can still remember distinctly that the only little boy i'd skip with had eyes exactly like yours! i can remember stamping my foot and being unspeakably difficult when the teacher tried to persuade me that another little boy would do.
-that's one of the most important features of that particular game -- another little boy won't do!
-this is fall so i moust remember big bay and the nets drying on the dock and the birches stripped for winter and wine in the sun!
-there were scarlet berries maybe they were bittersweet, and all the ferns were tobacco-coloured.
-some places you long for with a physical longing. it is like that with big bay, now... in october!
-prayer, in a hospital
-dear god ... let him play games for a little while, yet!
-let his hands curve to a hockey stick and the thrust of a canoe paddle.
-let him dive like a young arrow into clean water.
-but, dear god let him play games! ...
-i have been to a military hospital. i have talked to mike ...
-mike isn't much older. his two boots hang at the foot of his bed. two carefully "dubbined" boots. but mike doesn't need two boots.
-he just had a leg taken off. he was cut down at dieppe. he was fourteen months in prison camp in germany. "o, yes ... they looked after us good enough -- but they had to tend their own wounded, first... and there were so damn many of us!"
-i talked to john, after i got over the first shock. john has both arms off... well above the elbow. they call him "arms" in the hospital ward.
-and then there was fred. fred got his at sicily. he'd been training for three and one half years and he was in on the big push... three weeks! sure... it was shrapnel. took an eye out... and gave him a bum leg. he had a picture of his english bride... "coming out to canada, by god! next month -- if they'll let her. pretty good-looking guy wasn't i... in the wedding picture?" you're doggone right! but it made a fellow so damn mad! three and one half years' training to "get into it" -- for three weeks. and then ... hospitals ... one after the other ... for god-knows-how-long. it made a guy so damn mad!
-mac hasn't any arms, now, either. "how did he blow his nose?" -- well ... he could laugh at that feeble crack, and even give it serious consideration. "by gosh! --- i don't think i've had a cold since i got `knocked off' in italy."
-mac is married. he'd even had some leave out of "this here" hospital. getting ready for artificial arms, now. has to "stay put" for a while, yet ... oh, it takes quite a while, this business of making a man makeshift-whole, again! (wonderful how a guy can pick up a book in his teeth -- smoke a cigarette, even -- with a little help!)
-going out, there are wheelchairs -- doors opening on to rooms where wisps of men like grey shadows lie, curled up against their pillows.
-the hospital smell clings to your skin, to your palate. you breathe it... taste it... stifle, in it!
-dear god! let him play games for a little while, yet! let him laugh out loud and run like a young god in the path of the sun. i have been to a military hospital and i know there is nothing we can give to mike and john, and freddie and mac that will make up for their gethsemane.
-there is nothing! glass eyes are not enough! artificial limbs are not a fair exchange...
-dear god... let him play games for a little while, yet!
-so fair a season
-how could he tell them there was a sleek small vixen with a silken pelt who held his heart in thrall? how could he tell them when that call came down the wind his bones were thinn'd with longing, and he turned his back on the pack?
-even he couldn't tell the strange enchanted reason why fall should suddenly be so fair a season!
-spring comes to a small town
-the pool players that all winter long have lingered lazily over the green-topped tables half-somnolent in the cloud of cigarette smoke, are seen lounging at precarious angles against the nearest tobacconist's windows.
-teen-age boys and girls link arms, and roller-skate on the paved streets, shoulders touching; and laughter like a living thing between them. later, in the summer they will dance on saturday evenings under gaudy chinese lanterns. and the prophecy of spring will be fulfilled.
-a short stout lady bustles off her doorstep broom in hand to do a little sweeping; her knitted suit fits closely like the sleek, green plumage of a plump soft bird.
-babies... babies -- everywhere bouncing busily in their prams -- eyes like bits of rain-washed sky... and everyone exclaiming as they ride past "isn't he a darling!"
-old, old gentlemen taking little walks, their canes tapping the sidewalk more and more confidently. you can see how they feel about the sun, it's a downright comfort!
-everything looks suddenly clean and shining. the lettuce in the fruit-shop window has a fresh-cut look like an accidental bouquet; it suddenly becomes imperative to speak to someone and it doesn't matter in the least if a perfect stranger goes white with surprise when you tell them "it's a lovely day!"... in no uncertain terms.
-spring comes to a small town in rather a special sort of way! after all, she can't add an awful lot to fifth avenue, but there's room for just her kind of glamour on main street!
-for a brown dog
-and the rusted spade turned in the dark earth and we committed his body to the dust -- his little brown dog's body that three minutes before had jumped for joy and emitted joyous barks.
-only, you could burn inside with a fierce flame because he wouldn't come running to you any more with a grin on his face and his funny little plume of a tail frantic with love!
-the rusted spade turned in the dark earth and something of you went into the ground with the little brown dog's body!
-right out of pickwick
-right out of pickwick! you would have said: his quaint neat figure rotund, but tapered. his trousers looked to be always peg-top, narrowing down to his shining foot gear. his woollen vests were from far-famed bond street, checked, and horsey and dear to his heart. you might have thought him a figure for laughter; you might have laughed and said "humpty dumpty!" if you hadn't known him, and hadn't loved him he was uncle reg to the young and the old -- he was uncle reg and his heart was gold...
-he'd been a banker for many years and then he'd retired, to the laughter and tears of nursing his mother... delicate... old... but precious to him. she thought him a bold brave knight, who chose to stay at her side. you hardly saw him, when she first died!
-when kathie, his niece, married the mayor -- a tall young scotsman with sandy hair -- in his high silk hat, that sat "just so", old uncle reg was a regular beau. his cravat was faultess, his dignity sweet... from his topper top, to his gleaming feet! ...
-on birthdays, in fine spencerian hand a letter would come. the words were grand and the style heroic. in dark green ink uncle reg would say, "i think you the fairest lady this side of the sea who wears her birthdays with gaiety. you have my wishes for scores and scores." and the letters were signed "admiringly, yours."
-he was at his best when the lights were high and laughter gleamed in the dancer's eye; he never would ask for your hand outright, but would seek your partner, and there in sight would ask permission to squire you round in a waltz; he was light as a blowing feather! his conversation was always whether the party was fun for you. compliments came to his lips more swift than the dancing music's whirling lift.
-he was no relation to us, by blood... he was "uncle" because of the great warm flood of affection. we adopted him right from the time we met... and he's uncle reg in our memory yet.
-and there's never a birthday or christmas night when the candles burn high and the eyes are bright but a gentle whimsical courtly ghost sits at our table. we miss him most anniversary times!
-"right out of pickwick," you would have said, if you'd seen hire strolling along the street, his neat small figure against the sky.
-but uncle reg was a symbol, too of the way the quality used to do what was expected. he knew the rules and he carried them out, to the last fine letter. somewhere i think his dear small ghost treads a gay measure ... murmuring, "most sweet gracious lady ..." to some slim shade who finds him a gallant entrancing blade!
-man is a lonely one
-man is a lonely one. how close he huddles to his hearth and house, walks quiet as a mouse down echoing streets... gathers about him neighbours, friends, puts up with being bored while endless, pointless stories roll from indifferent lips.
-he does not like to wake where the mistake about the three cents lay; and then they sallied forth for a little stroll on king street before dinner.
-they lived in adjoining chambers in the tremaine buildings on king street. the rooms had been intended for law offices, and were reached by a broad flight of stairs leading up from the street below. here they were within five minutes' walk of their bank or the club at which they generally took their meals. hampstead had first taken these rooms because they were in a manner so isolated in the throng of the city and afforded an uncontrolled liberty of ingress and egress to young men whose hours for retiring to rest were governed by no hard and fast rules.
-a widow named priest lived somewhere about the top of the building, with her son, who was known to the young gentlemen as patsey. mrs. priest made the beds, did the washing, attended to the fires, and was generally useful. she also cleaned offices, even to the uttermost parts of the great building, and altogether made a good thing of it; for besides the remunerations derived in these ways she had her perquisites. for instance, in the ten years of her careful guardianship of chambers and offices in the building, she had never bought any coal or wood. she possessed duplicate keys for each room in her charge, and thus having a large number of places to pillage she levied on them all, according to the amount of fuel she could safely carry away from each place without its being missed. young men who occupied chambers there never had to give away or sell old clothes, because they were never found to be in the way. she asked for them when she wanted to cut them down for patsey, because it would not do to have the owners recognize the cloth on him. the clothes which she annexed as perquisites she sold.
-patsey was accustomed occasionally to go through the wardrobes of the gentlemen with his mother, while she made the beds in the morning, and he then chose the garments that most appealed to his artistic taste. this interesting heir to mrs. priest's personal estate also had his perquisites "unbeknownst to ma." he consumed a surprising amount of tobacco for one so young, and might frequently be seen parading king street on a summer evening enjoying a cigar altogether beyond his years and income. his clothes bore the pattern of the fashion in vogue three or four years back; and, despite some changes brought about by the scissors of mrs. priest, the material, which had been the best toronto could provide, still retained much of the glory that had captivated king street not so very long ago. having finally declared war against education in all its recognized branches, he generally took himself off early in the day, and lounged about the docks, or derived an indifferently good revenue from the sale of ferry-boat tickets to the island; and in various other ways did patsey provide himself with the luxuries and enjoyments of a regular topsawyer.
-in the immediate neighborhood of mrs. priest, at an altitude in the building which has never been exactly ascertained, dwelt mr. maurice rankin, barrister-at-law and solicitor of the supreme court. he resided in chambers, no. 173 tremaine buildings, king street, west, toronto, and certainly all this looked very legal and satisfactory on the professional card which he had had printed. but the interior appearance of the chambers was not calculated to inspire confidence in the profession of the law as a kind nurse for aspiring merit; and as for the approach to no. 173, it was so intricate and dark in its last few flights of stairs, that none but a practiced foot could venture up or down without a light, even in the day-time. the room occupied by mr. rankin could never have been intended to be used as an office, or perhaps anything else, and consequently the numbers of the rooms in the buildings had not been carried up to the extraordinary elevation in which no. 173 might now be found. still, it seemed peculiar not to have the number of one's chambers on one's card, if chambers should be mentioned thereon, so he found that the rooms numbered below ended at 172, and then conscientiously marked "no. 173" on his own door with a piece of white chalk. he also carefully printed his name, "mr. maurice rankin," on the cross-panel and added the letters "q.c."--just to see how the whole thing looked and assist ambition; but he hurriedly rubbed the q.c. out on hearing mrs. priest approach for one of her interminable conversations from which there was seldom any escape. when rankin first came to tremaine buildings he lived in one of the lower rooms, now occupied by jack cresswell, and not without some style and comfort--taking his meals at the club, as our friends now did. his father, who had been a well-known broker,--a widower--kept his horses, and brought up his son in luxury. he then failed, after maurice had entered the toronto university, and, unable to endure the break-up of the results of his life's hard work, he died, leaving maurice a few hundred dollars that came to him out of the life-insurance.
-rankin put aside byles on bills and arose with dignity: "what say you, henchman? pickings? a gift? ay, truly, a goodly pickings! filched, perchance, from the pursy coal-bins of monopoly?"
-"even so," was the reply, given with bated breath; and with his finger to his lips, to imply that he was on a criminal adventure, jack again inspected the premises with much stealth and agility, and disappeared as mysteriously as he had come. if jack or geoffrey ever saw anything lying about the premises they thought would be of use to rankin, there was a nocturnal steal, and up it went to rankin's room. this was sport.
-in this way rankin lived. with one idea set before him, he grappled with the leather-covered books that came by ones and twos into his room, until, when the great struggle came at his final examinations, he was surprised to find he had come out so well, and quite charmed when he returned from osgoode hall to his dreary room, a solicitor of the supreme court and a barrister-at-law, with a light heart, and not a single solitary cent in the wide world.
-frien'ship maks us a' mair happy, frien'ship gies us a' delight; frien'ship consecrates the drappie, frien'ship brings us here to-night.
-at the opening of this story, about six months had elapsed since rankin had been licensed to prey upon the public, and as yet he had not despoiled it to any great extent. if he had kept body and soul together, it was done in ways that are not enticing to young gentlemen who dream of attacking the law single-handed.
-an old lawyer named bean had an office in the lower part of tremaine buildings, and maurice arranged with him to occupy one of the ancient desks in his office, and, in consideration of answering all questions as to the whereabouts of mr. bean, the privilege of office-room was given to him rent-free. as mr. bean had no clients, and as rankin never knew where he was, this duty was a light one. he also had from mr. bean the privilege of putting his name up on the door, and, of course, as frequently and as alluringly along the passage and on the stairs as he might think desirable. but it was set out very clearly in the agreement, which rankin carefully drew up and bean pretended to revise, that mr. rankin should not in any way interfere with the clients of mr. bean, and that mr. bean should not in any way interfere with the clients of the aforesaid rankin.
-bean had a little money, which he seemed to spend exclusively in the consumption of mixed drinks; and whatever else he did during the day, besides expending his income in this way, certainly engrossed his attention to a very large extent. when he looked into the office daily, or, say, bi-weekly, it was only for a few moments--except when he fell asleep in his chair.
-it was after he had been five or six months with mr. bean that geoffrey hampstead had asked rankin to dinner. he locked up the office about five o'clock, having closed the dampers in the stove (bean supplied the coal--a great relief) and putting the key in his pocket, he ascended to no. 173 for a while, and then he came down to hampstead's chambers, where he found our two bank friends taking a glass of sherry and bitters to give their appetites a tone, which was a very unnecessary proceeding.
-"hello, old man! how are you?" cried hampstead in a hearty voice, handing him a wine glass.
-"ah! how am i? just so!" quoth rankin, helping himself. "how should a man be, who is on the high road to fortune?"
-"he ought to be pretty chirpy, i should think," said jack.
-"chirpy! that's the word. 'chirpy' describes me. so does 'fit.' the money is rolling in, gentlemen. business is on the full upward boom, and i feel particularly 'fit' to-day--also chirpy."
-"got a partnership?" inquired geoffrey, with interest.
-"great scott! you haven't got a client, have you?" cried geoffrey, starting from his chair.
-"don't interrupt me," said mr. rankin. "as i was saying," he added with composure, "a client of mine--"
-"no, no, morry! this is too much. if you want us to believe you, give us some particulars about this client--just as an evidence of good faith, you know."
-"the client you are so inquisitive about," said rankin, with dignity, "is a lady who has been, in a sense, prematurely widowed--"
-"it's mrs. priest," said jack, turning to geoffrey. "he has been defending her for stealing coal, sure as you're born!"
-"the lady came to me," said maurice, taking no notice of the interruption, "about a month ago, apparently with a view to taking proceedings for alimony--at least her statement suggested this--"
-"by jove, this is getting interesting!" said jack.
-"but on questioning the unfortunate woman as to her means, i found that her funds were in a painfully low condition--in fact, at a disgustingly low ebb, viewed from a professional standpoint. and i also found that her husband had offered her four dollars a week, to be paid weekly, on condition that he should never see her and that somebody else should collect the money. the husband was evidently a bold, bad man to have given rise to the outbursts of jealously which it pained me to listen to, and the poor lady, forgetful of my presence, and with all the ability of an ancient prophet, denounced two or three women both jointly and severally. she then roused herself, and asked what i would charge to collect her four dollars per week. this seemed to decide the alimony suit in the negative, and from the fact that she was, not to put too fine a point upon it, three parts drunk at the time, i thought it better to say what i would do. so now i collect four dollars a week from her husband and pay it over to her every saturday, for which i deduct, each time, the sum of twenty-five cents. there is a good deal of money to be made in the practice of the law."
-"what about the husband?" asked jack, laughing.
-"i believe that i was invited to-day to dine--at least i came with that intention. instead of talking any more, i would be better satisfied if somebody produced so much as the photograph of a chicken--and after that i will further to you unfold my tale."
-mr. rankin slapped a waistcoat that appeared to be unduly slack about the lower buttons.
-they then repaired to the club, where, having but a small appetite himself, and the representatives of bank distinguishing themselves more than he could as trenchermen, rankin kept the ball rolling by relating his experiences as a barrister, which seemed to amuse his two friends. these experiences, leading to police-court items and police-court savages, brought up the question of "what is a savage?"--which introduced the fuegians, the wild natives of queensland, the mayalans, and others, with whom hampstead compared the lowest-class irish. he had profited by much travel and reading, and anthropology was a subject on which he could be rather brilliant. to show how our civilization is a mere veneer, he drew a comparison between savage and civilized fashions, and brought out facts culled from many different peoples--not omitting schweinfurth's monbuttoo women--as to the primitive nature of the dress-improver. then, somehow, the conversation got back to the police court, and the question, "what is a criminal?" and they agreed that if the harm done to others was one criterion of guilt, it seemed a pity that some things--woman's gossip, for instance--went so frequently unpunished.
-"and i think," broke in cresswell, after the subject had been well thrashed, "that you two fellows are talking a good deal of what you know very little about. after all your chatter, i think the point is right here (and i put it in the old-fashioned way). if one does wrong he violates his own appreciation of right, and his guilt can only be measured by the way he tramples on his conscience, and as conscience varies in almost every person, i think we had better give up wading into abstractions and come down to the concrete--to the solid enjoyment of a pipe." and jack pushed back his chair.
-"then, according to you, jack, a fellow with no conscience would in human judgment have no guilt," laughed hampstead.
-"i don't believe there exists a sane man in the world without a conscience," replied jack, with his own optimism.
-"i don't think i agree with you," said rankin. "i feel sure there are men who, if they ever had a conscience, have trained it into such elasticity that they may be said to have none. do you not think so, hampstead?"
-"really, i hardly know. i haven't thought much upon the subject, but i think we ought, if we do possess any conscience ourselves, to give jack a chance to light his pipe."
-having lit his lamp, he soliloquized, as he attended to some faults in his complexion before a small looking-glass, "so i have got another client, i perceive. that dinner to-day was a fee--nothing else in the world. i don't know now that i altogether like my new client. he evidently didn't get what he wanted. perhaps jack was in the way. now, i wonder what the beggar does want. chances are i'll have another dinner soon. happy thought! make him keep on dining me ad infinitum! ornamental dinner! pleasant change!"
-maurice undressed and walked up and down the room. "perhaps i am all wrong, though," said he. "i can't help liking him in many ways, and he's chock-full of interesting information. how odd that he didn't know anything about a fellow having no conscience. hadn't thought over that idea. very likely! gad! i could imagine him just such a one, now that i have got suspicious. he has a bad eye when he doesn't look after it. it doesn't always smile along with his mouth. i may be wrong, but i believe there's something there that's not the clean wheat," and maurice ascended to the woolsack and disappeared for the night.
-how can i tell the feelings in a young lady's mind; the thoughts in a young gentleman's bosom? as professor owen takes a fragment of bone and builds a forgotten monster out of it, so the novelist puts this and that together: from the foot-prints finds the foot; from the foot, the brute who trod on it; ... traces this slimy reptile through the mud; ... prods down this butterfly with a pin. --thackeray (the newcomes).
-hampstead did not get to sleep, after rankin had retired, as early as he expected. jack cresswell followed him into his bedroom and sat down, lit another pipe, and then walked about, and seemed preoccupied, as he had all the evening. geoffrey did not speak to him at first, as this was an unusual proceeding between the two, but, having got into bed and made himself comfortable by bullying the pillows into the proper shape and position, addressed his friend:
-"now, old man, unburden your mind. i know you want to tell me something, but do not be surprised if you find me asleep before you get your second wind. if you care for me, cut it short."
-"got a letter to-day," said jack, "from her."
-"well, jack, as you seem, with some eccentricity, to have only one "her," of course i am interested. your feelings in that quarter never fail in their attraction. pour into my devoted ear for the next five minutes (not longer) a synopsis of your woes or joys. what is it you want to-night? congratulation or balm for wounds?"
-"oh, i don't wish to keep you awake," said jack testily, rising, as if to depart.
-"go on, sir. go on, sir. your story interests me."
-geoffrey assumed an attitude of attention. jack smiled and sat down again. he had no intention of going away. he had thought over his letter all day, till at last a confidential friend seemed almost necessary.
-"my letter comes from london. they've' returned from the continent, and, as they are now most likely on the sea, she'll be at home in about a week." and jack seemed in a high state of satisfaction.
-"well, well! i never saw a real goddess in my life," said geoffrey. "and there is no doubt about miss lindon being one, because i have listened to you for two years, and now i know that she is what i have long wished to see."
-"it will give me the greatest pleasure to have you know her. i have looked forward tremendously to that. next to meeting her myself comes the idea of we three being jolly good friends, and going around together on little jamborees to concerts and that sort of thing. i haven't a doubt but what we three will 'get on' amazingly."
-"playing gooseberry with success requires a clever person," said geoffrey. "i don't think i'm quite equal to the call for the tact and loss of individuality which the position demands. however, dear boy, i am quite aware that to introduce me to the lady of your heart as your particular friend is the greatest compliment one fellow can pay another--all things considered. don't you think so? oh, yes, i dare say we will be a trio quite out of the common. but, if she is as pretty as you say she is, i'll have to look at her, you know. can't help looking at a handsome woman, even if she were hedged in with as many prohibitions as the royal family. you'll have to get accustomed to that, of course."
-"but that's the very reason why i want you to know her," said jack, in his whole-souled way. "i really often feel as if her beauty and brightness and her power of pleasing many should not be altogether monopolized by any one man. it would redouble my satisfaction if i thought you admired her also." jack stopped for a moment as he considered that her power of "pleasing many" had been rather larger at times than he had cared about. "it seems to me that she has enough of these attractions for me, and some to spare for others."
-geoffrey smiled as he wondered if the girl herself thought she had enough to spare for others besides jack.
-"young man, your sentiments do you credit! it must make things much more satisfactory to an engaged girl to understand that she is expected not to neglect the outside world whenever she is able 'to tear herself away,' as it were."
-"i see you grinning to yourself under the bed-clothes," said jack, who rather winced at this. "i don't know that i ever asked her to distribute herself more than she did. on the contrary, if you must have the unvarnished truth, quite the reverse." jack reddened as he ventilated some of the truths which are generally suppressed. "the fact is, it was rather the other way. i frequently have acted like a donkey when i didn't get her undivided attention. you know girls often get accused of flirting, and when one hears their own explanation, nothing seems clearer, you know, than that there was no occasion for the row at all."
-geoffrey thought he did know, but said nothing.
-"which i am sorry to have done," said geoffrey. "no doubt, two years do sometimes make a difference. i am sure you treat the affaire sublimely, and, if she is equally generous in her thoughts of you, it will be a unique thing to gaze upon both of you at once."
-jack took geoffrey's remarks in good part, for he had got accustomed to the cynical way the latter treated most things. it was his way, he thought, and geoffrey was "such an all-round good fellow, and all that sort of thing, you know," that it was to be expected that he should have "ways." besides this, jack had seen from time to time that, though very ready to recognize sterling merit, geoffrey had ability in detecting humbug, and that he considered the optimist had too many chances against him to make him valuable as a prophet. thus, when he spoke in this way of nina lindon, jack supposed that his friend had his doubts, and, much as he loved her, he stopped, like many another, and asked himself whether she had such a generosity and nobility in her character as he had supposed. this, he felt, was rather beneath him in one way, and rather beyond him in another. when he looked for admirable traits, he remembered several instances of good-natured impulse, and while the graceful manner in which she had done these things rose before him, he grew enthusiastic. then he sought to call up for inspection the qualities he took exception to. that she had seemed inconsiderate of his feelings at times seemed true. there was, he thought, a frivolity about her. he thought life had for him some few well-defined realities, and that she had never seemed to quite grasp the true inwardness of his best moments. but all was explained by her youth and the adulation paid to her. and then the memory of her soft dark eyes and flute-like voice, the various allurements of her vivacious manner and graceful figure, produced an enthusiasm quite overwhelming. so he laughed at the defeat of his impartiality, looked over at geoffrey, who was peacefully snoring by this time, and went away to his own room. but deep down in his heart lay the shadow of a doubt which, with his instinctive courtesy, he never approached even in an examination supposed to be a searching one. the inspection of it seemed a sacrilege, and he put it from him. nevertheless, there had been times when jack felt doubtful as to whether nina could be relied upon for absolute truth.
-joseph lindon, the father of nina, came from--no person seemed to know where. he, or his family, might have come from the north of ireland or south of scotland, or middle of england, or anywhere else, as far as any one could judge by his face; and, as likely as not, his lineage was a mixture of scotch, irish, english, or dutch, which implanted in his physiognomy that conglomeration of nationalities which now defies classification, but seems to be evolving a type to be known as distinctively canadian. his accent was not irish, scotch, english, nor yankee. it was a collection of all four, which appeared separately at odd times, and it was, in this way, canadian.
-his family records had not been kept, or joseph would certainly have produced them, if creditable. he had the appearance of a self-made man. if want of a good education somewhat interfered with the completeness of his social success, it certainly had not retarded him in business circles. if he had swept out the store of his first employers, those employers were now in their graves, and of those who knew his beginnings in toronto there were none with the temerity to remind him of them. mr. lindon was not a man to be "sat upon." he had a bold front, a hard, incisive voice, and a temper that, since he began to feel his monetary oats, brooked no opposition. he might have been taken for a farmer, except for the keenness of his eye and the fact that his clothes were city made. these two differences, however, are of a comprehensive kind.
-mr. lindon, early in life, had opened a small shop, and then enlarged it. having been successful, he sold out, and took to a kind of broker, money-lending, and land business, and being one who devoted his whole existence to the development of the main chance, with a deal of native ability to assist him, the result was inevitable.
-his entertainments gave satisfaction to those who thought they knew what a good glass of wine was. mr. lindon himself did not. few do. when exhausted he took a little whisky. when he entertained, he sipped the wine that an impecunious gentleman was paid to purchase for him, regardless of cost. so, although there were those who turned up their noses at joseph lindon while they swallowed him, there did not seem to be any reluctance in going through the same motions with his wine.
-the fact that he was able to, and did entertain to a large extent was of itself sufficient in certain quarters to provoke a smile suggesting that the society in that city did not entertain. some members had been among the exclusives for a comparatively short time, and the early occupation of their parents was still painfully within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. a good many based their right on the fact that they came "straight from england"--without further recommendation; while others pawed the air like the heraldic lion because they had, or used to have, a second cousin with a title in england.
-but these good people were partly correct when they hinted that some old families did not entertain much. either there had been some scalawag in the family who had wasted its substance, or else the respected family had had a faculty for mortgaging and indorsing notes for friends in those good old times which happily are not likely to return.
-the consequence was that there was a good deal of satisfaction on both sides. joseph lindon could pat his breeches pocket, figuratively, and, not without reason, consider he had the best of it. many a huge mortgage at ruinous interest made by the first families, who never lived within their means, had found its way to lindon's office, and many an acre, subsequently worth thousands of dollars, had been acquired by him in satisfaction of the note he held against the family scalawag. during all the times that these people had been "keeping up the name," as they called it, lindon had been salting down the hard cash, and if some of his transactions were of the "shady" sort, he had, in dealing with some of the patrician families, some pretty shady customers to look after.
-but these transactions were in the old times, when lindon was rolling up his scores of thousands. all he had to do now was to attend the board meetings of companies of which he was president, and to arrange his large financial ventures in cold blood over his chop at the club with those who waited for his consent with eager ears. if there were few transactions in business circles that he was not conversant with, there were still fewer affairs in his own domestic circle that he knew anything about. it was his wife that had brought him into his social position, such as it was; that is, his wife's wishes and his money.
-mrs. lindon had been a pretty woman in her day, which, of course, had lost its first freshness, and she was approaching that period when the retrospect of a well-spent life is expected to be gratifying. her married life with mr. lindon had not been the gradual conquest of that complete union which makes later years a climax and old age the harvest of sweet memories in common, as marriage has been defined for us. on the contrary, their married life had been a gradual acquisition of that disunion which law and public opinion prevent from becoming complete. the two had now established the semblance of a union--the system in which the various pretenses of deep regard become so well defined by long years of mutual make-believe, as to often encourage the married to hope that it will be publicly supposed to be the glad culmination of their courtship dreams.
-mrs. lindon said of herself that she had been of a lower canadian family, with some french name, prior to her marriage, and her story seemed to suggest, in the absence of further particulars, that mr. lindon had married her more for her family than her good looks. the "looks" were pretty nearly gone, but the "family" was still within the reach of a sufficiently fertile imagination, and so often had the suggestion been made that of late years the idea had assumed a definiteness in her mind which materially assisted her in holding her own in the society in which she now floated. a natural untidiness in the way she put on her expensive garments, which in a poorer woman would have been called slatternly, and the dark, french prettiness which she still showed traces of (and which was rather of the nurse-girl type) combined to suggest that in reality she was the offspring of irish and french emigrants, "and steerage at that"--some of the first families said--"decidedly steerage."
-mrs. lindon was supremely her own mistress. this was not, perhaps, an ultimate benefit to her, but, as she had nothing on earth to trouble about, long years of idleness and indulgence in every whim had led her to conjure up a grievance, which she nursed in her bosom, and on account of it she excused herself for all shortcomings. this was that she was left so much without the society of mr. lindon. often, in the pauses between the excitements she created for herself, tears of self-pity would arise at the thought of her abandoned condition. the truth was that she did not care anymore for lindon than he did for her; but from the fact that she really did desire to have a husband who would see better the advantages of shining in society, the poor lady contrived to convince herself that he had been greatly wanting in his duties to her as a husband, that the affection was all on her side, and that that affection was from year to year quietly repulsed. their domestic bearing toward each other was now that of a quiet neutrality. they always addressed each other in public as "my dear," and, if either of them had died, no doubt the bereaved one would have mourned in the usual way, on the principle of "nil de mortuis nisi bunkum."
-it had not occurred to mrs. lindon that, if more time had been spent with her daughter in fulfilling a mother's duties toward a young girl, there would have been less need for extraneous assistance to aid her in her passage through the world. nina was fond of her mother, and it was strange that the two did not see more of each other. nina could be a credit to her in any social gathering, and this made it all the more strange. but mrs. lindon was forever gadding about to different institutions, bible-readings, and other little excitements of her own (for which nina had no marked liking), and she seemed rather more easy in her mind when nina was not with her. perhaps mr. lindon was not solely at fault concerning the coolness pervading the domestic atmosphere.
-the charitable institutions had been the salvation of mrs. lindon--that is, in a mundane sense. when joseph lindon, with characteristic method, came home one day and said, "my dear, i have bought the ramsay mansion, and now i am going to spend my money," mrs. lindon enjoyed a pleasure exceeding anything she had known. that was a happy day for her! the dream of her life was to be consummated! she immediately left the small church which she had attended for years and changed her creed slightly to take a good pew in a certain fashionable church. after this it was merely a question of time and money, both of which were available to any extent. she showed great interest in charities. she contributed humbly but lavishly. the ladies of good position who go around with subscription-books smiled in their hearts at seeing the old game going on. they smiled and bled her profusely. they discussed mrs. lindon among themselves--with care, of course, because they did not wish to appear to have known her before. but as time wore on they thought she could be bled to a much greater extent if she were induced to become "a worker in the flock," which the good lady was quite willing to do. on being approached by some of the leading spirits, she went first to a weekly bible-class, which she had previously been afraid to attend because the audience was so select, and after this she showed such an interest in various charities that she was soon placed upon committees. by ladies with heads for real management on their shoulders she was led to believe that they really could not do without her mental assistance, so that at first when she was gravely consulted on a financial question and asked for her advice she generally eased the tension on her mind by writing a substantial check. this led her to believe that she had something of the financier about her, and she even told her husband that she was beginning to quite understand all about money matters, at which joseph smiled an ineffable smile.
-she could have been used more advantageously if she had been kept out of the desired circle for a couple of years longer, because she was ready to pay any price for her admission. the good ladies made a slight mistake in being too hasty to control the bottomless purse, because, after she had got fairly installed, the purse was worked in several other ways, and the ecclesiastical drain on it became reduced to an ordinary amount. she gave a fair sum to each of the charities and accepted the attentions of those whom the odor of money attracted, without troubling herself in the slightest degree about the periodical financial difficulties of the institutions.
-yet she never altogether relaxed her efforts in "working for the lord," as she called it, in such good company. she acquired a taste for it that never left her. she would take a couple of the "poor but honest" ladies of good family with her, in her sumptuous barouche, to the "incurables" and other places. after a capital luncheon at her house they would visit the "home," and sometimes kiss the poor women there; and if the strengthening sympathy and religious value of mrs. lindon's kiss did not bind them to a life of virtue ever afterward they must indeed have been lost--in every sense of the word.
-nina was not born for some time after mr. and mrs. lindon had been married. her mother had kept her, when a child, very much in the dark as to their antecedents, and, as the social position of the family had been well established by mrs. lindon when nina was very young, the girl always had grown up with the idea that she was a lady; and in spite of a few wants in her father and some doubts as to her mother's origin, she came out into society with a fixed idea that she was "quite good enough for the colonies," as she laughingly told her friends.
-no pains or expense had been spared in her education. she had first gone to the best toronto school, and had "finished" at a boarding-school in england. jack cresswell knew her when she was at school, where she shared his heart with several others. when she emerged from the educational chrysalis and floated for the first time down a society ball-room jack was after the butterfly hat-in-hand, as it were, and never as yet had he given up the chase. mr. lindon knew nothing of domestic affairs, but he had found jack so frequently at his house that he had begun to see that his ambitious plans for his daughter were perhaps in danger of being frustrated, and so, having at that time to send a man to england to float the shares of some company on the london market, he decided to go himself, and one day, when jack was dining there, he rather paralyzed all, especially jack, by instructing his wife and daughter to be ready in a week for the journey.
-the parting on jack's part would have been tender if nina had not been in such exasperatingly high spirits--hilarity he found it quite impossible to participate in or appreciate. he made her excuses to himself, like the decent soul he was, although he really suffered a good deal. he was an ardent youth, and for the week prior to departure he received very little of the sympathy he hungered for, but he tried to speak cheerfully as he held her hand in saying good-by.
-"well, now, you won't forget your promise, old lady, will you?" he said, while he tried to photograph her in his mind as she stood bewitchingly before him.
-"what! and throw over the french count that proposed to me in london?" she said archly. jack muttered something under his breath that sounded like hostility toward the french count.
-she heard him, however, and said: "certainly. so we will. it will kill him, but you will rejoice. and i will come back and marry jack. there! isn't it nice of me to say that? now, kiss me and say good-by!"
-she withdrew, and held the porch door so that only her face appeared, which jack lightly touched with his lips, and then he went away speechless. as he went he heard her singing:
-"and i'll come back to my own true love, ten thousand miles away."
-this sentiment, from one of his yachting songs, smoothed the ragged edge of his feelings. he loved in an old-fashioned way, and in his ideas as to carrying out the due formalities of a lover's leave-taking he was conservative even to red-tapeism, and disappointment, tenderness, anger, and hopelessness surged through his brain as they only can in that of a young man.
-there was further tragedy in that jack, unable to sleep at night and despondent in the morning, must needs go down to the boat to see her "just once more" before she left. the gangways had been hauled in and the paddle-wheels were beginning to move. nina was standing inside the lower-deck bulwarks and leaned across the water to shake hands, but the distance was too great she was in aggressively high spirits, and said to him, as he moved along the end of the wharf, keeping pace with the boat:
-"don't you remember what your pet authoress says?"
-"no," said jack, hoping that she would say something nice to him.
-"she says that a first farewell may have pathos in it, but to come back for a second lends an opening to comedy."
-her rippling laugh smote jack cruelly. then she tried to soften this by smiling and waving her hand to him as the boat swept away. jack raised his hat stiffly in return, and wandered back to the bank with a head that felt as if it would split.
-and this was their parting two years ago.
-fair goes the dancing when the sitar's tuned; tune us the sitar neither low nor high, and we will dance away the hearts of men.
-the string o'erstretched breaks, and music flies; the string o'erslack is dumb, and music dies; tune us the sitar neither low nor high.
-nautch girls' song.--the light of asia. arnold.
-mr. lindon did not remain long with his family on the trip which mrs. lindon thought was only to last a month or two. on arriving in england, he transacted his business in a short time, and then proposed a run on the continent. by degrees he took the family on to rome, where they made friends at the hotel and seemed contented to remain for a while. he then pretended to have received a cablegram, and came home by the quickest route, having got them fairly installed in a foreign country without letting them suspect any coercion in the matter. afterward he wrote to say he wished nina to see something of england and scotland, and, the proposal being agreeable to mrs. lindon, they accepted invitations from people they had met to pay visits in different places, so that, together with an art course in paris and a musical course at leipsic, they wandered about until nearly two years had elapsed, when they suddenly suspected that mr. lindon preferred that they should be away, upon which they returned at once.
-whether nina came back "in love" with jack was a question as to which he made many endeavors to satisfy himself. the ability to live up to the verb "to love" in all its moods and tenses is so varied, and the outward results of the inward grace are often so ephemeral that it would be hazardous to say what particular person is sufficiently unselfish to experience more than a gleam of a phase that calls for all the most beautiful possibilities. it is not merely a jingle of words to say that one who is not minded to be single should be single-minded.
-let us pass over the difficult point and take the young lady's statement for what it was worth. she said, of herself, that she was in love with jack. he had extracted this from her with much insistence, while she aggravatingly asserted at the same time, that she only made the admission "for a quiet life," leaving jack far from any certainty of possession that could lead to either indifference or comfort.
-two or three proposals of marriage which she had while away had evidently not captured her, even if they had turned her head a little. she had seen no person she liked better than jack or else she would not, perhaps, have come back in the way she did. the proposals, however, if they ever had been made, served to turn jack's daily existence into alternations of hot and cold shower-baths. one day she would talk about a russian she had met in paris. then she solemnly gave the history of her walks and talks with a naval officer in rome, till jack's brow was damp with a cold exudation. but when it came to the delightful appearance of colonel vere, and the devotion he showed when he took her hand and asked her to share his estates, jack said, with his teeth clinched, that he had had enough of the whole business--and departed. he then spent two days of very complete misery, barometer at 28°, until she met him and laid her hand on his arm and said she was sorry; would he stop being a cross boy? that she had only been teasing him, and all the rest of it; while she looked out of her soft dark eyes in a way that left no doubt in jack's mind that he had behaved like a brute.
-in this way the first week of her return had been consumed, and as yet he had not felt that he could afford to divide her society with anybody. what with the rich russian, the naval officer, and colonel vere--what with getting into agonies and getting out of them--it took him pretty nearly all his time to try to straighten matters out. so geoffrey's introduction had not been mentioned further by him, except to nina, who was becoming curious to see jack's particular friend and admirable crichton. the opportunity for this meeting seemed about to offer itself in the shape of an entertainment where all those who remained in toronto during the summer would collect--one of those warm gatherings where the oft-tried case of pleasure vs. perspiration results so frequently in an undoubted verdict for the defendant.
-the dusenalls were among those wise enough to know that in summer they could be cooler in toronto, at their own residence, with every comfort about them, than they could possibly be while stewing in an american hotel or broiling on the sands of an american seaport. they objected to spending large sums yearly in beautifying their grounds, merely to leave the shady walks, cool arbors, and tinkling fountains for the enjoyment of the gardeners' wives and children. in the thickness of their mansion walls there was a power to resist the sun which no thin wooden hotel can possess; therefore, in spite of a fashion which is somewhat dying out, they remained in toronto during the hot months, and amused themselves a good deal on young dusenall's yacht.
-their residence was well adapted for such a party as they were now giving, and the guests were made to understand that in the afternoon there would be a sort of garden-party, with lawn-tennis chiefly in view, and at dark a substantial high tea--to wind up with dancing as long as human nature could stand the strain; and if any had got too old or too corpulent or too dignified to play tennis, they could hardly get too much so to look on; or, if this lacked interest, they could walk about the lawns and gardens and converse, or, if possible, make love; or listen to a good military band while enjoying a harmless cigarette; and if they liked none of these things they could never have been known by the people of whom this account is given, and thus, perhaps, might as well never have been born.
-the men, of course, played in their flannels, which a few of them afterward changed in charley dusenall's rooms when there was a suspension of hostilities for toilets. most of them went home to dinner and appeared later on for the dancing. people came in afternoon-dress and remained for tea and through the evening in that attire, or else they dropped in at the usual time in evening-dress. it did not matter. it was all a sort of "go-as-you-please." some girls danced in their light tennis dresses, and others had their maids come with ball dresses. of course the majority came late--especially the chaperons, the heavy fathers, starchy bank-managers, and such learned counsel as scorned not to view the giddy whirl nor to sample the cellars of the dusenalls.
-mrs. lindon arrived with her daughter late in the evening, when everything was whirling. jack had his name down for a couple of dances, and a few more were bestowed upon eager aspirants, and then she had no more to give away--so sorry!--card quite filled! she told dancing fibs in a charming manner that seemed to take away half the pang of disappointment. this was a field-day, and the discarded ones could receive more notice on some other, smaller occasion.
-to see jack and nina dancing together was to see two people completely satisfied with themselves. as a dancer, jack "fancied himself." he had an eye for calculating distances and he had the courage of his opinions when he proposed to dance through a small space. as for nina, she was the incarnation of a waltz. her small feet seemed as quick as the pat of a cat's paw. in watching her the idea of exertion never seemed to present itself. there is a pleasure in the rhythmic pulsations of the feet and in yielding to the sensuous strains of the music (which alone seems to be the propelling power) that is more distinctly animal than a good many of our other pleasures; and nina was born to dance.
-at the end of jack's first dance with her, geoffrey came idling through the conservatory, and entered the ball-room close beside the place where mrs. lindon was seated with several other mothers. as the last bars of the waltz were expiring, jack brought up at what he called "the moorings" with all the easy swing and grace of a dancer who loves his dance. the act of stopping seemed to divide the unity in trinity existing between his partner, himself and the music, and it was therefore to be regretted, and not to be done harshly, but lingeringly, if it must be done, while nina, as he released her, came forward toward her mother with her sleeveless arms still partly hanging in the air, and with a pretty little trip and slide on the floor, as if she could not get the "time" out of her feet. her head was slightly thrown back, the eyelids were drooped, and the lips were parted with a smile of recognition for mrs. lindon, while her attitude showed the curves of her small waist to advantage; so that the first glimpse of nina that geoffrey received was not an unpleasant one. she seemed to be moving naturally and carelessly. she was only endeavoring to make the other mothers envious, when they compared her with their own daughters. such wiles were part of her nature. when feeling particularly vigorous, almost every attitude of some people is a challenge--males with their bravery, females with their graces--and, whatever changes the future may develop in the predilections of woman, there may for a long time be some left to acknowledge that for them a likable man is one who is able to assert, in a refined way, sufficient primitive force to make submission seem like conquest rather than choice.
-jack at once introduced geoffrey--his face beaming while he did so. he was so proud of nina. he was so proud of geoffrey. nina was blushing at having hampstead witness her little by-play with her mother at the conclusion of the dance--but not displeased withal. jack thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. and geoffrey was such a strapper. jack surveyed them both with unbounded satisfaction. he slapped hampstead on the arm, and tightened the sleeve of his coat over his biceps, patting the hard limb, and saying warmly: "here's where the secret lies, nina! this is what takes the prizes."
-"so you are jonathan's david, are you?" said nina, smiling, as they talked together.
-"well, he patronizes me a good deal," said geoffrey. "but don't you think he looks as if he wished to find his next partner? suppose we give him a chance to do so; let us go off and discuss his moral character."
-he went away with nina on his arm, leaving jack quite radiant to see them both so friendly.
-when they arrived in the long conservatory adjoining, geoffrey held out his hand for her card. he did not ask for it, except perhaps by a look. having possessed himself of it, he found five successive dances vacant--evidently kept for some one, and he was bold enough suddenly to conclude they had been kept for him. he looked at the card amused, and as he scratched a long mark across all five, he drawled, "may i have the pleasure of--some dances?" and then he mused aloud as he examined the card, "don't seem to be more than five. humph! too bad! but perhaps we can manage a few more, miss lindon?"
-nina was accustomed to distribute her favors with a reluctant hand and with a condescension peculiarly her own, and to hear suppliant voices around her. she would be capricious, and loved her power. even jack did not count upon continued sunshine, and took what he could get with some thanksgivings. she was a presumptive heiress, and had not escaped the inflation of the purse-proud. but, on the other hand, since her return she had heard a good deal about the various perfections of his friend, and how well he did everything; and from what her girl friends said, she had gleaned that geoffrey was more in demand than would be confessed. he was not very desirable financially, perhaps, but hugely so because he was sought after. this much would have been sufficient to have made her amused rather than annoyed at his cool way of assuming that she would devote herself to him for an unlimited time, but there was something more about geoffrey than mere fashion to account for his popularity, and that was the peculiar influence of his presence upon those with whom he conversed.
-thus nina, if she came to the dusenalls with the intention of having a flirtation with geoffrey, which the condition of her card and her acquiescence to his demands confessed, had hit upon a person who was far more than her match, for hampstead's acquaintanceships were not much governed by rule. as long as a girl diverted him and wished to amuse herself he had no particular creed as to consequences, but merely made it understood--verbally, at least--that there was nothing lasting about the matter, and that it was merely for "the temporary mutual benefit and improvement of both parties." this was a remnant of a code of justification by which he endeavored to patch up his self-respect; but nobody knew better than he that such phrases mean nothing to women who are falling in love and intend to continue in love.
-underneath the careless tones with which he spoke to nina there was an earnestness and concentration that influenced her. as he gravely handed back her card and caught and held her glance with an intensity in his gray eyes and will-power in his face, she felt, for the first time with any man, that she was not completely at her ease. when obeying the warning impulses that formerly fulfilled the offices of thought women do not often make a mistake. by these intuitions, sufficient at first for self-protection, she knew there was willfulness and mastery in him, and that if she would be true to jack she should return to him. if change of masters be hurtful to women, this was the time for her to remember about the woman who hesitates. geoffrey said, "let us go in and have a dance, miss lindon," and she rose with a nervous smile and glanced across to the place where her mother was sitting. but mrs. lindon had never been a tower of strength to her, or she might have gone to her. she had a distinct feeling that this new acquaintance was more powerful in some way than she had anticipated, and that everything was not all right with jack's interests, and she was at one of those moments when a woman's ability to decide is so peculiarly the essence of her character, circumstances, and teaching as fairly to indicate her general moral level. goethe tells us "to first understand"; but if we can not know the extent of geoffrey's influence, or how far her unknown french lineage assisted temptation, we would better leave judgment alone. geoffrey said something in her ear about the music being delicious. she listened for a moment and longed for a dance with him. rubbish! only a dance, after all! and the next moment she was circling through the ball-room with his arm around her.
-the band that played at the dusenalls' was one that could be listened to with pleasure. it was composed of bottle-nosed germans who worked at trades during the day and who played together generally for their own amusement. in all they played they brought out the soul of the movement. it was to one of the dreamiest of waltzes that nina danced with geoffrey--one of those pieces where from softer cadences the air swells into rapturous triumph, or sinks into despair, and wooes the dancer into the most unintellectual and pleasant frame of mind--if the weather be not too warm.
-a cool night breeze was passing through the room, bringing with it the fragrance of the dewey flowers outside, and carrying off the odor of those nauseating tube-roses (which people will wear), and replacing it with a perfume more acceptable to gods and men--especially men.
-if jack "fancied himself" as a dancer, geoffrey had a better right to do so. his stature aided him also, and men with retreating chins were rather inclined to give him the road. he had a set look about the lower part of his face which in crowds was an advantage to him. it suggested some vis major--perhaps a locomotive, which no one cares to encounter.
-in two minutes after they had embarked on this hazardous voyage nina had but one idea, or rather she was conscious of a pervading sense of pleasure, that ran away with her calmer self. no thought of anything definite was with her, only a vague consciousness of turning and floating, of being admired, of being impelled by music and by geoffrey. as the dance went on it seemed like some master power that led through the mazes delightfully and resistlessly.
-when the music ended, for they had never stopped, she sighed with sorrow. it had been too short. she had yielded herself so completely to its fascination that she seemed like one awakening from a dream. and then her conscience smote her when she thought of jack, and how in some way she had enjoyed herself too much, and did not seem to be quite the same girl that she had been half an hour before; but these thoughts left her as they walked about and spoke a few words together. while circling the long room she noticed geoffrey bowing to a tall young lady whose long white silk train swept behind her majestically. there was a respect and gravity in his bow which nina, with her quick observation, noticed.
-"who is that you are bowing to?" she asked.
-"that is miss margaret mackintosh."
-"oh, i think she is perfectly lovely," said nina, as she looked back admiringly.
-"so do i," said geoffrey.
-nina turned about now with curiosity, in order to meet her again. miss mackintosh came down the room once more with a partner who was one of the very young persons who now are the dancing men in toronto--called the "infants" by a lady (still unwon) who remembers when there were marriageable men to be found dancing at parties. this detrimental with miss mackintosh was having an enjoyable time of it. what with the beauty of his partner, her stately figure, gracious manner, and the rapidity with which she talked to him, the little man did not quite know where he was, and he could do little else than turn occasionally and murmur complete acquiescence in what she was saying, while he sometimes glanced at her active face for a moment. in doing this, though, he would lose the thread of her discourse, in consequence of his unfeigned admiration, and, as he was straining every nerve to follow her quick ideas, this was a risky thing to do. once or twice, seeing him turn toward her so attentively, she turned also and said, "don't you think so?" and then the little man would endeavor to mentally pull himself together, and with some appearance of deep thought would again acquiesce with unction. certainly he thought he did think so--every time.
-the close scrutiny of hampstead and nina did not seem to affect her as she passed them with her face unlifted and earnest. she did not seem to have any side eyes open to see who were regarding her. when the handsome dress that had made such a cavern in her allowance money was trodden on, she gathered it up with an active movement--not seeming to notice the unpleasantness, nor for a moment abating the earnestness of her conversation. her idea seemed to be to prevent the dress from interrupting her rather than to save it. one could see that, once on, the dress was perhaps not thought of again, that it was not the main part of her pleasure, but was lost in her endeavor to make herself agreeable, and in this way to enjoy herself.
-"i am sure she must have a very kind heart," said nina, smiling.
-"why?" asked geoffrey.
-"because she takes so much trouble over such a poor specimen of a man."
-"perhaps, as douglas jerrold said, she belongs to the royal humane society," added geoffrey.
-as nina could not remember being acquainted with any mr. jerrold, the remark lost some of its weight. the true inwardness of the old wit that comes down to us in books is our knowledge of the reputation of the joker.
-"and does she dance well?" asked nina.
-"no," said geoffrey, as he still looked after miss mackintosh with grave and thoughtful eyes. "i don't think she has in her enough of what goethe calls the 'dæmonic element' of our nature to dance well."
-"not very complimentary, to those who can dance well," said nina, archly pointing to herself.
-geoffrey shrugged his shoulders, as he looked at his partner. "some people prefer the dæmonic element," said he. but he turned again from the rose to the tall, white lily, who was once more approaching them, with something of a melancholy idea in his mind that men like him ought to confine themselves entirely to the rose, and not aspire above their moral level. margaret mackintosh was the one person he revered. she was the symbol to him of all that was good and pure. he had almost forgotten what these words meant, but the presence of margaret always re-interpreted the lost language.
-"and do you admire her very much?" nina inquired.
-"i admire her more than any person i ever saw."
-sooner or later, it would have gone hard with geoffrey for making this speech, if he had been any one else. but it occurred to nina that he did not care whether she took offense or not. he was leaning against the wall, apparently oblivious, for the moment, to any of her ideas, charms, or graces, but looking, withal, exceedingly handsome, and a thought came to her which should not come to an engaged young lady. she made up her mind that she would make him care for her a great deal and then would snub him and marry jack.
-the music commenced again.
-"come now," said nina, gayly, "and try a little more of the dæmonic element."
-geoffrey turned to her quickly, and his face flushed as, to quote shakespeare's sonnet, "his bad angel fired his good one out." he saw in her face her intention to subjugate him, and knew that he had accidentally paved the way for this new foolish notion of hers by his candid admiration of miss mackintosh.
-"have you any of it to spare?" said he, as his arm encircled her for the dance.
-no verbal answer was given, but they floated away among the dancers. here she forgot her slight feelings of resentment and retained only the desire to attract him, without further wish to punish him afterward. a few turns around the room, and she was in as much of a whirl as she had been before. they danced throughout the music--almost without ceasing; and when it ended she unconsciously leaned, upon his arm, as they strolled off together, almost as if she were tired. the thought of how she was acting came to her, only it came now as an intruder. a usurper reigned with sovereign sway, and right was quickly ousted on his approach. a little while ago, and the power to decide, for jack or against him, was more evenly balanced; but now, how different! she was wandering on with no other impulse than the indefinite wish to please geoffrey. if she had been a man, sophisms and excuses might have occurred to her. but it was not her habit to analyze self much, and even sophisms require some thought.
-they passed through the conservatory and out to the broad walk of pressed gravel, where several couples were promenading. here they walked up and down once or twice in the cool breeze that seemed delicious after the invisible dust of the ball-room. nina was saying nothing, but leaning on his arm, and it seemed to her that his low, deep tones vibrated through her--as a sympathetic note sometimes makes glass ring--as if in echo.
-geoffrey was pondering where all the pride and self-assertion had gone to in this girl who now seemed so trustful and docile. even her answers seemed mechanical and vague, as if she were in some way bewildered.
-jack, in the mean time, was elbowing his way through a crowd, trying to get one of his partners something to eat. he was the only person likely to notice her absence, and this he did not do, and, as geoffrey was down for five dances, he knew no others would be looking for her. so he walked on past the end of the terrace, and, descending some steps, proceeded farther till they came to more steps leading down into a path dark with overhanging trees. nina hesitated, and said she was always afraid to go among dark trees, but geoffrey said, "oh, i'll take care of you." then she thought it was pleasant to have an athlete for a protector, and she glanced at his strong face and frame with confidence. she no longer went with him as she had danced, with her mind in a whirl, but peacefully and calmly, with no other thought than to be with him. he took her hand as they descended the stairs, and, though she shrank a little from a proceeding new to her, it seemed natural enough, and gave her a sense of protection in the dark paths. it did not occur to her that she could have done without it. she did not notice their silence. geoffrey, too, thought it pleasant enough in the balmy air without conversation. he was interested by her beauty and her sudden partiality for him.
-at length he stopped in one of the distant paths as they came to a seat between the trunks of two large trees. here they sat down at opposite sides of the seat, and geoffrey leaned back against the tree beside him. the leaves on the overhanging boughs quivered in the light of the moon, and the delicate perfume in the air spoke of flower-beds near by. he thought it extremely pleasant here, and he laid his head back against the tree beside him to listen to the tinkling of the fountain and to enjoy the scent-laden night air. an idea was still with him that this was the girl jack was engaged to, and he thought it would be as well to keep that idea before him. he said to himself that he liked jack, and thought he was very considerate, under the circumstances, for his friend when he took out a little silver case and suggested that he would like a cigarette.
-nina did not answer him. she was in some phase of thought in which cigarettes had no place, and only looked toward him slowly, as if she had merely heard the sound of his voice and not the words. he selected from the case one of those innocuous tubes of rice-paper and prairie-grass, and, as he did so, the absent look on her face seemed peculiar. with a fuse in one hand and the cigarette in the other, he paused before striking a light, and they looked at each other for a moment as he thought of stories he had read of one person's influence over another. like many, he had a general curiosity about strange phases of mankind, and it occurred to him that nina would make an interesting subject for experiment. presently he said, in resonant tones, deep and musical:
-"do you like to be here, nina?"
-she did not seem to notice that he called her by this familiar name, but she stood up and remained silently gazing at the moon through a break in the foliage. her beauty was sublimated by the white light, and, as geoffrey took a step towards her, he forgot about his cigarette, and, taking both her hands in his, he repeated his question two or three times before she answered. then she turned impetuously.
-"oh, why do you make me do everything that is wrong? i should not be here. i should never have spoken to you. i was afraid of you from the first moment i saw you."
-geoffrey led her by one hand back to the seat.
-"now answer me. do you like to be here--with me, nina?"
-she looked at the moon and at the ground and all about, but remained mute and apparently pondering.
-he had forgotten jack now as well as the cigarette, and was rapidly losing the remembrance that this was to be merely a scientific experiment.
-"your silence makes me all the more impatient. i will know now. do you like to be here, nina?"
-a new earnestness in his tone thrilled her and made her tremble. she turned with a sudden impulse, as if something had made her reckless:
-"you are forcing me to answer you," she said vehemently, as she looked at him with a constrained, though affectionate expression in her eyes. "but i will tell you if i die for it. oh, i am so wicked to say so, but i must. you make me. oh, now let us go into the house."
-geoffrey's generous intention to act rightly by jack departed from him, and for a moment he drew her toward him, saying that she must not care too much for being there, "because, you know," he said, "this is only a little flirtation, and is quite too good to last."
-she seemed not to be listening to him, but to be thinking; and after a moment she said, in long drawn out, sorrowful accents:
-something in the slow, melancholy way she said this, and the thought of the poor place that jack certainly held at the present time in her affections, struck geoffrey as irresistibly amusing, and he laughed aloud in an unsympathetic way, which presented him to her in a new light, and she sprang from him at once. her emotion turned to anger as she thought that the laugh had been derisive, and her blood boiled to think he could bring her here to laugh at her after he had succeeded in winning her so completely.
-"come into the house at once," she cried. "i can't go in alone even if i knew the way."
-geoffrey rose and begged her pardon, assuring her that nothing but the peculiarity of her remark had caused his laugh.
-"i will not stay here another instant. if you don't come at once i'll find my way alone." and she stamped her foot upon the ground.
-hampstead did not like to be stamped at, and his face altered. as long as she had been facile and pleasing, a sense of duty toward her and jack had made him considerate. it had seemed to him while sitting there that this girl was his; and the sense of possession had made him kind, but now that she seemed to vex him unnecessarily it appeared to him like a denial of his influence. the idea of the experiment suddenly returned, together with a sense of power and a desire to compel submission which displaced his wish to be considerate. he sat down on the seat again facing her and said:
-"i want you to come here." he motioned to the seat beside him.
-"i won't go near you. i hate you! i'll run in by myself."
-"you can not run away--because i wish you to come here."
-hampstead said this in a measured way, and his brow seemed to knot into cords as he concentrated his will-power. his face bore an unpleasant expression. a quarter of a minute passed and she stood trembling and fascinated; and before another half-minute had elapsed she came very slowly forward, and approached him with the expression of her face changed into one of enervation. her eyes were dilated, and her hands hung loosely at her sides. hampstead saw, with some consternation, that she had become like something else, that she looked very like a mad-woman. a shock went through him as he looked at her--not knowing how the matter might terminate. he saw that she was mesmerized--an automaton moved by his will only. the combined flirtation and experiment had gone further than he had intended, and the result was startling--especially as the possibility that she might not recover flashed through his mind. the power he had been wielding (which receives much cheap ridicule from very learned men who would fain deny what they can not explain) suddenly seemed to him to be a devilish one, and he felt that he had done something wrong. he had not intended it. an idea had seized him, and he was merely concentrating a power which he unconsciously used almost every hour of his life. he considered what ought to be done to bring her back to a normal state. not knowing anything better to do, he walked her about quickly, speaking to her, a little sharply, so as to rouse her.
-then, by telling her to wake up, and by asking her simple questions and requiring an answer, he succeeded in bringing her back to something like her usual condition. when she quite knew where she was, she thought she must have fainted. all her anger was gone, and geoffrey, to give the devil his due, felt sorry for her. it had been an interesting episode--something quite new to him in a scientific way--but uncanny. she still looked to him as if for protection, and she would have wept had he not warned her how she would appear in the ball-room. "oh, mr. hampstead, you have treated me cruelly," she said. geoffrey felt that this was true enough.
-"it was all my own fault, though. i do not blame you. you have taught me a great deal to-night. i seem to know, somehow, your best and your worst, and what a man can be."
-she leaned upon his arm, partly from weakness and partly because she felt that, good or bad, he was master, and that she liked to lean upon him. the movement touched geoffrey with compassion. having nothing to offer in return, it distressed him to notice her affection, which he knew would only bring her unhappiness. he tried, therefore, to say something to remove the impressions that had come to her.
-"you speak of good and bad in me," he said quickly. "now i think you are so much in my confidence that i can trust you in what i am going to say. don't believe that there is any good in me. i tell you the truth now because i am sorry that we have been so foolish to-night. there is no good in me. it is all--the other thing."
-nina shuddered--feeling as if he had spoken the truth but that it was already too late for her to listen to it.
-he took her back into the house, smiling and pleasant to those about him, as if nothing had occurred, and left her with mrs. lindon.
-but he did not go to find margaret mackintosh again. he went home somewhat excited, and smoked four or five pipes of tobacco. at first he was regretful, for he knew he had been doing harm. he said he was a whimsical fool. but after a couple of "night-caps" he began to think how picturesque she had looked in the moonlight, and he afterward dropped off into as dreamless and undisturbed a sleep as the most virtuous may enjoy.
-for in her youth there is a prone and speechless dialect, such as moves men; besides, she hath prosperous art, when she will play with reason and discourse, and well she can persuade.
-measure for measure.
-if anybody had stated that geoffrey hampstead was a scoundrel, he would have had grounds for his opinion. as he did not attempt to palliate his own misdeeds, nobody will do so for him. he repudiated the idea of being led into wrong-doing, or driven into it by outside circumstances. whatever he did, he liked to do thoroughly, and of his own accord. when nature lavishes her gifts, much ability for both good and evil is usually part of the general endowment; and, although, perhaps, if we knew more, all wrong-doing would receive pity, geoffrey possessed a knowledge of results that tends to withdraw compassion. but he had overstepped the mark when he had told nina there was no good in him. even his own statement reminded him how few things there are about which a sweeping assertion can be made with truth. he grew impatient to find that so many people do not hold opinions--that their opinions hold them; and when the good equalities of a person under discussion met with no consideration he invariably spoke of them. he had a good word to say for most people, and no lack of courage to say it, and thus he gave impression of being fair-minded, which made men like him. he had the compassion for the faulty which seems to appear more frequently in those whose lives have been by no means without reproach than among the strictest followers of religions which claim charity as their own. he thought he realized that consciousness of virtue does not breed so much true compassion as consciousness of sin; and a young clergyman of his acquaintance found that his arguments as to the utility of sin in the world were very shocking and difficult to answer.
-thus he alternated between good and evil, very much in the ordinary way, with only these differences, that his good seemed more disinterested and his evil more pronounced than with most people. the good which he did was done without the bargaining hope of future compensation, and therefore seemed more commendable. on the other hand, as he had almost forgotten what the idea of hell was, he was not forced to brave those consequences which, if some believe as they profess, must render their deliberate wrong-doing almost heroic.
-what should a man be called who had in him these combinations? too good to be either a quilp or a jonas chuzzlewit, and much too bad to resemble any of the spotless heroes of fiction. it will settle the matter with those who are intolerant of distinctions and who do not examine into mixtures of good and evil outside their own range of life to have it understood and agreed that he was a thoroughpaced scoundrel. this will place us all on a comfortable footing.
-some days after the dusenalls' entertainment geoffrey was strolling along king street when he caught sight of margaret mackintosh coming along the street with quiet eyes observant. she walked with a long, elastic step, which seemed to speak of the buoyancy of her heart.
-geoffrey walked slower, so that he might enjoy the beauty of her carriage, and the charm of her presence as she recognized him. it seemed to him that no one else could convey so much in a bow as she could. with the graceful inclination of the head came the pleasure of recognition and a quick intelligence that lighted up her face. it was the bow of a princess, as we imagine it; not, it will be remembered, as canada has experienced it. a nobility and graciousness in her face and figure made men feel that she had a right to condescend to them. innocence was not the chief characteristic of her face. however attractive, innocence is a poetic name for ignorance--the ignorance which has been canonized by the romish faith, and has thus produced all the insipid virgins and heroines of the old masters and writers. she did not show that pliable, ductile, often pretty ignorance, supposedly sanctified by the name of innocence, which has been the priestly ideal of beauty for at least nineteen hundred years--perhaps always.
-hers was a good face, with a sweet, firm, generous mouth, possibly passionate, and already marked by sympathetic suffering from such human ills as she understood. she seemed to have nothing to hide, and she was as free and open as the day, and as fresh as the dawn; and a large part of the charm she had for all men lay in the fact that her self-respect was so assured to her that she had forgotten all about it. she had none of that primness which, is the outcome of an attempt to conceal the fact, that knowledge of which one is ashamed is continually uppermost in the mind.
-as soon as her eye rested on geoffrey, it lighted up with that marvelous quickness which is the attribute of rapidly-thinking people. in a flash her mind apparently possessed itself of all she had ever known of him. five or six little things to say came tumbling over each other to her lips, as she held out her long gloved hand in greeting. even hampstead felt that her quick approach, earnest manner, and the way she looked straight at him almost disconcerted him; but he had thought to wait till she spoke to him to see what she would say. and she thought he would speak first, so a little pause occurred for an instant that would have been slightly awkward had they not both been young and very good-looking and much interested in each other.
-"and how are you?" said she heartily, as they shook hands. the pause might have continued as far as either of them cared. they were self-possessed persons--these two.
-"oh, i am pretty well, thank you," said geoffrey, without hastening to continue the conversation.
-"and particularly well you look. never saw you look better," said margaret.
-geoffrey made a deep bow, extending the palms of his hands toward her and downward in reverent oriental pantomime, as one who should say: "your slave is humbly glad to please, and dusts your path with his miserable body."
-"and what brought you into town to-day?" said he, as he turned and walked with her. "not the giddy delight of walking on king street, i hope?"
-"that was my only idea, i will confess. home was dull, and i was tired of reading. mother was busy and father was away somewhere; so i came out for a walk. yes, king street was my only hope. no, by the way--i had an excuse. i have been looking for a house-maid. none to be had though."
-"don't find one," said geoffrey. "just come out every day to look for one. i know several fellows who would hunt house-maids with you forever if they got the chance."
-"they are," said geoffrey. "at least, they would be if they had a house to put a wife into--to say nothing of the maid."
-"talking of house-maids," said margaret, "i just met mrs. whats-her-name--you know, the little american with the german name; and she had just discharged one of her maids. she said to me, 'you know i have just one breakfast--ice-cold water and a hot roll; sometimes a pickle. sarah said i'd kill myself, and in spite of everything i could say she would load the table with tea or coffee and stuff i don't want. 'last i got mad and i walked in with her wages up to date. i said, 'sarah i guess we had better part. you don't fill the bill.' i told her i would try and get sarah myself, as i didn't object to her ideas in the matter of breakfasts. i have been looking for her and wanting some nice person to help me to find her. what are you doing this afternoon? won't you come and help me to find sarah?" this, with a little pretense of implorando.
-"if you think i 'fill the bill' as 'a nice person' nothing would give me greater pleasure. sarah will be found. no, i have nothing in particular on hand to-day. i was going to the gymnasium to have a fellow pummel me with the gloves. i am certain i have received more headaches and nose-bleedings in learning how to defend myself with my hands than one would receive in being attacked a dozen times in earnest."
-"well, now would be a good time to stop taking further lessons," said margaret. "why do you give yourself so much trouble?"
-"oh, for the exercise, i suppose, or the prestige of being a boxer. keeps one's person sacred, in a manner; and among young men serves to give more weight to the expression of one's opinions. i think it is a mistake, though, as far as i am concerned. nature made me speedy on my feet, and when the time comes i'll use her gift instead of the artificial one."
-"i have heard it said that it is much wiser for a gentleman to run from a street fight than to stay in it--that the fact of his not using his feet as a means of attack in a fight always places him at a disadvantage. could you not learn the manly art of kicking, as well?"
-"what a murderous notion!" exclaimed geoffrey. "i don't think that branch of self-defense is taught in the schools. it reminds one of a duel with axes. for my part, i think that hunting sarah is much more improving. that is, if one did not have blood-thirsty ideas put into his head on the way."
-and margaret looked so gentle and pacific.
-"i always think a very interesting subject like this should be thought out carefully," said she, smiling.
-if she could not talk well on all subjects, she was a boon to those who could only talk on one--to those who resemble a ship with only one sail to keep them going--slow to travel on, but capable of teaching something, and not to be despised.
-with her tall figure, classic face, and blonde hair, margaret mackintosh was a vision; but when she came, with large-pupiled eyes, in quest of knowledge, even grave and reverend seigniors were apt to forget the information she asked for. university-degree young men, the most superior of living creatures, soon understood that she sought for what they had learned, and not for themselves; and this demeanor on her part, while it tended to disturb the nice balance in which the weight of their mental talents was accurately poised against that of their physical fascinations, went to make friends and not lovers.
-there was one person, however, to whose appearance she was not indifferent; who always suggested to her the apollo belvedere, and gave her an increased interest in the homer of arts, whereas the vigorous life, heroic resolve, and shapely perfection of the ancient hero meet with but little response in women who exist with difficulty. she was perhaps entitled, by a sort of natural right, to expect that a masculine appearance should approach that grade of excellence of which she was herself an example.
-"do you know," she continued, as they proceeded up yonge street, "just before i met you i passed such a horrible young man, with long arms reaching almost to his knees and a little face. he made me quite uncomfortable. it's all very well to believe in our evolution as an abstract idea; but an experience like this brings the conviction home to one's mind altogether too vividly. it was quite a relief to meet you. you always look so--in fact, so different from that sort of person, don't you know?"
-she nearly said he looked so like her apollo, but did not.
-geoffrey smiled. "there are times when the idea seems against common sense," said he, with a short glance at her.
-"ah! you intend that for me. but you are almost repeating father's remark. you know he is a confirmed follower of the theory. a few days ago he said that the only thing he had against you was that you upset his studies. he says you ought to hire out to the special-creationists to be used as their clinching argument. so you see what it is to be an ap--"
-"ah! you were going to say something severe, then," said geoffrey. "just as well, though, to snub me sometimes. i don't mind it if nobody knows of it. but, about your father? do you assist him in his studies?"
-"i don't know that i assist him much. he does the hardest part of the work, and then has to explain it all to me. but i read to him a good deal when his eyes trouble him. after procuring a new book on the subject he never rests till he has exhausted it. we often worry through it together, taking turns at the reading. we have just finished haeckel's last. we are wild about haeckel."
-"yes, there is something very spiritual and orthodox about him," said geoffrey. "and now that you must have got about as far as you can at present, how does the theory affect you?"
-"not at all, except to make me long to know more. if one could live to be two hundred years old, would it not be delightful?" said margaret, looking far away up the street in front of her.
-"but as to your religion?" asked geoffrey. "do you find that it makes any difference?"
-"i don't think i was ever a very religious person," she replied, mistaking the word religious for 'churchy.' "i never was christened, nor confirmed, nor taught my catechism, nor anything of that sort. nobody ever promised that i should renounce the devil and all his works, and so--and so i suppose i never have."
-she looked at geoffrey with the round eyes of guilelessness, slightly mirthful, as if, while deprecating this wretched state, she could still enjoy life.
-her companion could scarcely look away from her. there was such a combination of knowledge and purity and all-round goodness in her face that it fascinated him and induced him to say gravely:
-"indeed, one might have almost supposed that you had enjoyed these benefits from your earliest youth."
-"no," she answered, "i have been neglected in church matters. who knows? perhaps, if i had been different, father and i would never have been such companions. i never remember his going to church, although he pays his pew-rent for mother and me to go. he is afraid people would call him an atheist, you know, and no man cares about being despised or looked upon as peculiar in that way. he says that as long as he pays his pew-rent the good people will let him alone. as for mother, i hardly know what her belief is now. she is mildly contemptuous of evolution; chiefly, i think, because she does not know, or care anything about it. she says the creed she was brought up in is quite enough for her, and if she can keep the dust out of the house and contentment in it she will do more than most people and fullfil the whole duty of woman. i don't think she likes to be cross-questioned about her particular tenets, which really seem to be sufficient for her, except when she is worried over a new phase of the old family lawsuit, and then she oscillates between pugnacity and resignation. so you see i was left pretty much to myself as to assuming any belief that i might care about."
-"and what belief did you come to care about?" he asked, feeling interested.
-"well, father seems to think that the most dignified attitude of our ignorance is a respectful silence; but, as you have asked which belief i care about, i can answer frankly that i like best going to church and saying my prayers. it is so much more pleasant and comfortable to try to think our prayers are heard, for, as mother says, reason and logic are poor outlets for emotion when the lawsuit goes wrong. with our information as it is, our conclusions seem to depend on whether we have or have not in us the spirit of research. they tell me in the churches that, being unregenerate, my heart is desperately wicked, and, as i have nothing but a little bad temper now and then to reproach myself with, i do not agree with them. on the contrary, i always feel that my life rather tends to lead me toward believing--or, at any rate, does not make me prejudiced. i like to believe that god watches over and cares for us. there being no proof or disproof of the matter, i would find it as difficult, by way of reasoning, to altogether disbelieve as to altogether believe."
-"then you make evolution a part of your religion?" asked geoffrey.
-margaret had been brought up in an advanced latter-day school. all the unrecognized passion within her had gone out in quest of knowledge, which her father had taught her to regard as a source of quiet happiness, or at least as comforting to the soul during the maturer years as an intricate knowledge of crochet and quilt work. when she took to her bosom the so-called dry-as-dust facts of science she clothed them in a sort of spirituality. even slipper-working for a married curate has been known to stir the pulses, and, though she knew that when the objects of our enthusiasm seem to glow it is unsafe to say whether the glow is not merely the reflection of our own fervor, she regarded the lately dug-up facts of science somewhat as if they were mines of long-hidden coal, capable of use and possessed of intrinsic warmth. her face brightened with all the enthusiasm of a devotee as she answered geoffrey's question.
-"indeed, yes. the new knowledge seems like the backbone of my religion. i often sit in church and think what a blessed privilege it is to be permitted to know even as little as we do about god's plan of creation."
-she joined her hands before her quickly as she walked along, forgetful of all but the idea that enchained her. her face showed the devotion seen in some old pictures of early saints, but it was too capable and animated to be the production of any of the old masters.
-"oh, it is grand to know even a little!" she exclaimed; "to think that this is god's plan, and that bit by bit we are allowed to unravel it! is it not true that we acquire knowledge as we are able to receive it? did not the ruder people receive the simple laws which moses learned in egypt? and did not christianity expand those laws by teaching the religion of sympathy? these are historical facts. why, then, should we not regard evolution as an advanced gospel, the gospel of the knowledge of god's works, to bind us more closely to him from our admiration of the excellence of his handiwork--as a father might show his growing son how his business is carried on, and how beautiful things are made? of course, one may reply that all the discoveries do not show that there is a god. perhaps they don't; but i try to think they do. i never have been able to find that verbal creeds do much toward making us what we are. the gloomy distort christ's life to prove the necessity for sorrow; the joyous do just the opposite. the naturally cruel practice their cruelty in the name of religion. though all start with perhaps the same words on their lips, each individual in reality makes his religion for himself according to his nature. look at the difference between guiteau and florence nightingale. they both had the same creeds."
-hampstead was silent.
-"i know that my religion might not suffice for others, because it has no terrors, but to me it is compelling. when i turn it all over more minutely, the beauty of the thoughts seems to carry me away. let those whose brittle creeds are broken grope about in their gloom, if they will. to me it is glorious first to try to understand things, and then to praise god for his marvelous works."
-margaret grew more intense in her utterance as her subject grew upon her. they had turned off on a quiet street some time before, so there was nothing to interrupt her. as her earnestness gave weight to her voice, the words came out more fervently and more melodiously. both her hands were raised, in an unconscious gesture, while the words welled forth with a depth and force impossible to describe.
-geoffrey walked on in silence.
-he thought of the passage, "i came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance," and he wondered whether christ would have thought that such as margaret stood in need of any further faith. the shrine of understanding was the only one she worshiped at, arguing, as she did, that from a proper understanding and true wisdom followed all the goodness of the christ-life. he became conscious of a vague regret within him that he had, as he thought, passed those impressionable periods when a man's beliefs may be molded again. there was a distinct longing to participate in the assurance and joy which any kind of fixed faith is capable of producing. the byronic temperament was not absent from him. he was keenly susceptible to anything--either moral or immoral--which called upon his ideality; and these ideas of margaret's, although he had thought of them before, seemed new to him.
-"it seems strange," he said musingly, "to hear of some of the most learned men of the day erecting an altar similar to that which paul found at athens 'to the unknown god,' and to find them impelled to worship something which they speak of as unknown and unknowable."
-"and yet," she answered, "it is the work of some of these very men, and their predecessors, that gives the light and life to the religion which i, for one, find productive of comfort and enthusiasm. one can understand the practicability of a heaven where a gradual acquisition of the fullness of knowledge could be a joyful and everlasting occupation; and i think a religion to fit us for such a heaven should, like the buddhist's, strive to increase our knowledge instead of endeavoring to stifle it. what is there definitely held out as reward by religions to make men improve? as far as i can see, there is nothing definite promised, except in buddhism perhaps, which men with active minds would care to accept. but knowledge! knowledge! this is what may bring an eternity of active happiness. here is a vista as delightful as it is boundless. surely in this century, we have less cause to call god altogether 'unknown' than had the men of athens. in the light of omniscience the difference may be slight indeed, but to us it is great. i do hope," she added, "that what i have said does not offend any of your own religious convictions."
-"i have none," said geoffrey simply; "and it is very good of you to tell me so much about yourself. i have been wanting something of the kind. you know bulwer says, 'no moral can be more impressive than that which shows how a man may become entangled in his own sophisms.' he says it is better than a volume of homilies; and it is difficult sometimes, after a course of reading mixed up with one's own vagaries, to judge as to one's self or others from a sufficiently stable standpoint. you always seem to give me an intuitive knowledge of what good really is, and to tell me where i am in any moral fog."
-they walked on together for some little distance further when margaret stopped and began to look up and down the street.
-"why, where are we?" she said. "what street is this?"
-"i can not help you with the name of the street. i supposed we were approaching the domicile of sarah. we are now in st. john's ward, i think, and unless sarah happens to be a colored person you are not likely to find her in this neighborhood."
-"dear me," said margaret, as she descended from considering the possible occupations of the heavenly host to those usual in st. john's ward, "i have not an idea where we are. we must have come a long distance out of our way. it is your fault for doing all the talking."
-"on the contrary, miss margaret, i have been unable to get a word in edgewise."
-the search for sarah was abandoned, and they wended their way toward margaret's home, the conversation passing to other subjects and to nina lindon, whom they discussed in connection with the ball at the dusenalls'.
-"they certainly seem very devoted, do they not?" said margaret, referring to jack cresswell also.
-"yes, their attachment for each other is quite idyllic," said geoffrey, lapsing into his cynical speech, "which is as it should be. i did not see them much together, as i left early."
-"i noticed your absence, at least i remembered afterward not having seen you late in the evening, but, as you take such an interest in your friend, you should have stayed longer, if only to see the very happy expression on his face. you know she is spoken of as being the belle, and certainly he ought to be proud of her, as the attention she attracted was so very marked. i thought her appearance was charming. they seemed to make an exception to the rule among lovers that one loves and the other submits to be loved."
-"i am glad to hear you say this," said geoffrey, as he silently reflected as to the cause of nina's return to do her duty in a way that would tend to ease her conscience. "jack is worthy of the best of girls. have you ever called upon the lindons?"
-"no, not yet. but mr. cresswell spoke to me about miss lindon and said he would like me to know her. so i said we would call. i am afraid, however, that mother will complain at the length of her visiting list being increased. she will have to be coaxed into this call to please me."
-"jack cherishes an idea that miss lindon, he, and i will become a trio of good friends," said geoffrey. "now, if anything could be done to make it a quartette, if you would consent to make a fourth, miss margaret, i am certain the new arrangement would be more satisfactory to all parties, especially so to me considered as one of the trio. a gooseberry's part is fraught with difficulties."
-"the more the merrier, no doubt, in this case. numbers will release you from your responsibilities. i have myself two or three friends that would make excellent additions to the quartette. there's mr. le fevre, of your bank, and also mr.--"
-"ah, well!" said geoffrey, interrupting. "let us consider. i don't think that it was contemplated to make a universal brotherhood of this arrangement. if there are to be any more elected i should propose that the male candidates should be balloted for by the male electors only, and that additional lady members should be disposed of by their own sex only. let me see. in the event of a tie in voting, the matter might be left to a general meeting to be convened for consultation and ice-cream, and, if the candidate be thrown out by a majority, the proposer should be obliged to pay the expenses incurred by the conclave."
-"that seems a feasible method," said margaret. "although i tell you, if we girls do not have the right men, there will be trouble. and now we ought to name the new society. what do you say to calling it 'an association for the propagation of friendly feeling among themselves'?"
-"limited," added geoffrey, thinking that the membership ought to be restricted.
-"oh, limited, by all means," cried margaret. "i should rather think so. limited in finances, brains, and everything else. and then the rules! politics and religion excluded, of course, as in any other club?"
-"well, i don't mind those so much as discussions of millinery and dress-making. these should be vetoed at any general meeting."
-"excuse me. these are subjects that come under the head of art, and ought to be permissible to any extent; but i do make strong objection to the use of yachting terms and sporting language generally."
-"possibly you are right," said geoffrey. "but jack--poor jack! he must refer to starboard bulkheads and that sort of thing from time to time. however, we will agree to each other's objections, but we must certainly place an embargo upon saying ill-natured things about our neighbors--"
-"good heavens, man! do you expect us to be dumb?" cried margaret. "very well. it shall be so. we will call it the 'dumb improvement company for learned pantomime.'"
-and thus they rattled on in their fanciful talk merrily enough--interrupting each other and laughing over their own absurdities, and sharpening their wits on each other, as only good friends can, until margaret's home was reached.
-to geoffrey it seemed to emphasize margaret's youth and companionability when, in following his changing moods, she could so readily make the transition from the sublime to the ridiculous.
-rosalind. sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown more than your enemies.--as you like it.
-in the few weeks following the entertainment of the dusenalls, hampstead had not seen nina. he felt he had been doing harm. the memory of that which had occurred and a twinge or two at his unfaithfulness to his friend jack had made him avoid seeing her. but afterward, as fancy for seeing her again came to him more persistently, he gradually reverted to the old method of self-persuasion, that if she preferred jack she might have him. he said he did not intend to show "any just cause or impediment" when jack's marriage bans were published, and what the girl might now take it into her head to do was no subject of anxiety to him.
-she, in the mean time, had lost no time in improving her acquaintance with margaret after the calls had been exchanged. margaret was not peculiar in finding within her an argument in favor of one who evidently sought her out, and the small amount of effusion on nina's part was not without some of its desired effect. nina wished to be her particular friend. she had perceived that a difference existed between them--a something that geoffrey seemed to admire; and she had the vague impulse to form herself upon her.
-huxley explained table-turning by a simple experiment. he placed cards underneath the hands of the people forming the charmed circle round the table, and when they all "willed" that the table should move in a particular direction the cards and hands moved in that direction, while the table resisted the spirits and remained firm on its feet. in a similar way, nina's impulse to know margaret and frame herself upon her were all a process of unconscious self-deception which resembled the illusions of unrecognized muscular movements. she had no fixed ideas regarding hampstead. her actions were simply the result of his presence in her thoughts. she moved toward him, distantly and vaguely, but surely--somewhat as the card of a ship-compass, when it is spinning, seems to have no fixed destination, though its ultimate direction is certain.
-she found it easy to bring the dusenall girls to regard margaret as somebody worth cultivating. the family tree of the dusenall's commenced with the grandfather of the misses dusenall, who had got rich "out west." on inquiry they found that margaret's family tree dwarfed that of any purely canadian family into a mere shrub by comparison; and on knowing her better they found her brightness and vivacity a great addition to little dinners and lunches where conversational powers are at a premium.
-with plenty of money, no work, an army of servants, a large house and grounds, a stable full of horses, and a good yacht, three or four young people can with the assistance of their friends support life fairly well. lawn-tennis was their chief resource. nina, being rather of the dudu type, was not wiry enough to play well, and margaret had not learned. she was strong and could run well, but this was not of much use to her. when the ball came toward her through the air she seemed to become more or less paralyzed. between nervous anxiety to hit the ball and inability to judge its distance, she usually ended in doing nothing, and felt as if incurring contempt when involuntarily turning her back upon it. if she did manage to make a hit, the ball generally had to be found in the flower-beds far away on either side of the courts. in cricketing parlance, she played to "cover point" or "square leg" with much impartiality.
-so these two generally looked on and made up for their want of skill in dignity and in conversation among themselves and with the men too languid to play. the wonder was that the marriageable young women liked margaret so well. with her long, symmetrical dress rustling over the lawn and her lace-covered parasol occasionally hiding her dainty bonnet and well-poised head, margaret might have been regarded as an enemy and labeled "dangerous," but the girls trusted her with their particular young men, with a sort of knowledge that she did not want any of them, even if the men themselves should prove volatile and recreant. after all, what young girls chiefly seek "when all the world is young, lad, and all the trees are green," is to have a good time and not be interrupted in their whims. so margaret, who was launching out into a gayer life than she had led before, got on well enough, and the wonder as to what girls who did nothing found to talk about was wearing off. if she was not much improved in circles where general advantages seemed to promise originality, it was no bad recreation sometimes to study the exact minimum of intelligence that general advantages produced, and the drives in the carriages and nina's village-cart were agreeable. she was partial to "hen-parties." nina had one of these exclusive feasts where perhaps the success of many a persistent climber of the social ladder has been annihilated. it was a luncheon party. of course the dusenall girls were there, and a number of others. mrs. lindon did not appear. nina was asked where she was, but she said she did not know. as she never did seem to know, this was not considered peculiar.
-on this day margaret was evidently the particular guest, and she was made much of by several girls whom she had not met before. it was worth their while, for she was nina's friend and nina had such delicious things--such a "perfect love" of a boudoir, all dadoes, and that sort of thing, with high-art furniture for ornament and low-art furniture in high-art colors for comfort, articles picked up in her traveling, miniature bronzes of well-known statues, a carved tower of pisa of course, coral from naples, mosaics from florence, fancy glassware from venice--in fact a tourist could trace her whole journey on examining the articles on exhibition. a french cook supplied the table with delectable morsels which it were an insult to speak of as food. altogether her home was a pleasant resort for her acquaintances, and there were those present who thought it not unwise to pay attention to any person whom nina made much of.
-there were some who could have been lackadaisical and admiring nothing, if the tone of the feast had been different, but margaret was for admiring everything and enjoying everything, and having a generally noisy time and lots of fun. she was a wild thing when she got off in this way, as she said, "on a little bend," and carried the others off with her.
-what concerns us was the talk about the bank games. some difference of opinion arose as to whether or not these were enjoyable. not having been satisfied with attention from the right quarter at previous bank games, several showed aversion to them. nina was looking forward with interest to the coming events, and margaret, when she heard that geoffrey and jack and other friends were to compete in the contests, was keen to be a spectator. emily dusenall remarked that geoffrey hampstead was said to be a splendid runner, and that these games were the first he had taken any part in at toronto, as he had been away during last year's. it was arranged that nina and margaret should go with the dusenalls to the games after some discussion as to whose carriage should be used. nina asserted that their carriage was brand new from england and entitled to consideration, but the dusenalls insisted that theirs was brand new, too, and, more than that, the men had just been put into a new livery. it was left to margaret, who decided that she could not possibly go in any carriage unless the men were in livery absolutely faultless.
-some days after this the carriage with the men of spotless livery rolled vice-regally and softly into the great lacrosse grounds where the bank athletic sports were taking place. the large english carriage horses pranced gently and discreetly as they heard the patter of their feet on the springy turf, and they champed their shining bits and shook their chains and threw flakes of foam about their harness as if they also, if permitted, would willingly join in the sports. there was margaret, sitting erect, her eyes luminous with excitement. inwardly she was shrinking from the gaze of the spectators who were on every side, and as usual she talked "against time," which was her outlet for nervousness in public places. mrs. mackintosh had made her get a new dress for the occasion, which fitted her to perfection, and nina declared she looked just like the princess of wales bowing from the carriage in the row. the two dusenalls were sitting in the front seat. nina sat beside margaret. nina was looking particularly well. so beautiful they both were! and such different types! surely, if one did not disable a critical stranger, the other would finish him.
-the whole turn-out gave one a general impression of laces, french gloves, essence of flowers, flower bonnets, lace-smothered parasols, and beautiful women. there was also an air of wealth about it, which tended to keep away the more reticent of margaret's admirers. she knew men of whose existence society was not aware--men who were beginning--who lived as they best could, and, as yet, were better provided with brains than dress-coats. moreover, the dusenalls had a way of lolling back in their carriage which they took to be an attitude capable of interpreting that they were "to the manor born." there was a supercilious expression about them, totally different from their appearance at nina's luncheon, and they had brought to perfection the art of seeing no person but the right person. consequently, it required more than a usual amount of confidence in one's social position to approach their majesties. the wrong man would get snubbed to a dead certainty.
-after passing the long grand stand the carriage drew up in an advantageous spot where they could see the termination of the mile walking match. the volunteer band had brokenly ceased to play god save the queen on discovering that theirs was not the vice-regal carriage, and, in the field, jack cresswell was coming round the ring, with several others apparently abreast of him, heeling and toeing it in fine style. as they watched the contest, sympathy with jack soon became aroused. margaret heard somebody say that this was the home-stretch. several young bank-clerks were standing about within earshot, and she listened to what they were saying as if all they said was oracular.
-"gad! jack's forging ahead," said one.
-"yes, but brownlee of molson's is after him. bet you the cigars brownlee wins!"
-this was too much for margaret. she stood up in the carriage and, without knowing it, slightly waved her parasol at jack, not because he would see her encouragement, but on general principles, because she felt like doing so, regardless of what the finer feelings of the dusenalls might be. the walkers crossed the winning line, and it was difficult to see who won. margaret sat down again, her face lighted with excitement, and said all in a breath:
-"was not that splendid? how they did get over the ground! what a pace they went at! poor jack, how tired he must be! i do hope he won, nina," and she laid her hand on nina's tight-sleeved soft arm with emphasis.
-the dusenalls did not think there was much interest in a stupid walking-match, and they thought standing up and waving one's parasol rather bad form, so they were not enthusiastic.
-nina said softly: "indeed, if you take so much interest in jack i'll get jealous."
-while she said this her face began to color, and margaret's reply was interrupted by geoffrey hampstead's voice which announced welcome news. he gave them all a sort of collective half-bow and shook hands with nina in a careless, friendly way.
-"i come with glad tidings--as a sort of harbinger of spring, or noah's dove with an olive-branch--or something of the kind."
-"is your cigar the olive-branch? to represent the dove you should have it in your mouth," said nina. "stop, i will give you an olive-branch, so that you may look your part better."
-she wished geoffrey to know that she felt no anger for what had occurred at the ball. geoffrey saw the idea, and answered it understandingly as she held out a sprig of mignonette.
-"i suppose this token of peace can only be carried in my mouth," said geoffrey, throwing away his cigar.
-"certainly," said nina, and her gloved fingers trembled slightly as she put the olive-branch between his lips, saying "there! now you look wonderfully like a dove."
-margaret was smiling at this small trifling, but her anxiety about the walking-match was quite unabated. she said: "i do not see why you call yourself a harbinger of spring or anything else unless you have something to tell us. what is your good news? has mr. cresswell won the prize?"
-"by about two inches," said geoffrey. "i thought i might create an indirect interest in myself, with miss lindon at least, by coming to tell you of it." he wore a grave smile as he said this, which made nina blush.
-"and so you did create an indirect interest in yourself," said margaret. "now you can interest us on your own account. what are you going to compete for to-day?"
-hampstead was clad in cricketing flannels--his coat buttoned up to the neck.
-high leaping with the pole is worth watching if it be well done. margaret's interest increased with every trial of the men who were competing, and she almost suffered when a "poler" did his best and failed. one man incased in "tights" was doing well, and also a small young fellow who had thrown off his coat, apparently in an impromptu way, and was jumping in a pair of black trousers, which looked peculiar and placed him at a disadvantage from their looseness. the others soon dropped out of the contest, being unable to clear the long lath that was always being put higher. these two had now to fight it out together. they had both cleared the same height, and the next elevation of the lath had caused them both to fail. margaret was on her feet again in the carriage, her face glowing as she watched every movement of the "polers." her sympathies were entirely with the funny little man in black trousers. the other at length cleared the lath, amid applause. but the little hero in black still held on and made his attempts gracefully.
-"oh," said margaret, gazing straight before her, "i would give anything in the world to see that circus-man beaten!"
-"how much would you give, miss mackintosh?" said geoffrey.
-margaret did not hear him.
-"oh, i want my little flying black angel to win. is it impossible for anybody to beat the enemy?" then, turning excitedly to the girls, she said hurriedly, "i could just love anybody who could beat the enemy."
-"does 'anybody' include me?" asked geoffrey, laughing.
-"yes, yes," cried margaret, catching at the idea. "can you really defeat him? yes, indeed, i will devote myself forever to anybody who can beat him. have you a pole? borrow one. hurry away now, while you have a chance." in her eagerness her words seemed to chase each other.
-"well--will you all love me?" inquired geoffrey, with an aggravating delay.
-there was a shrill chorus of "until death us do part" from the girls, and geoffrey skipped over a couple of benches and ran over to the "polers," where he claimed the right to compete, as he had been entered previously in due time for this contest. strong objection was immediately raised by the man in tights. the judges, after some discussion, allowed geoffrey to take part amid much protestation from the members of the circus-man's bank.
-geoffrey took his pole from jack cresswell, who had competed on it without success. it was a stout pole of some south american wood, and very long. he threw off his coat, displaying a magnificent body in a jersey of azure silk. after walking up to look at the lath he grasped his pole and, making a long run, struck it into the ground and mounted into the air. he had not risen very high when he saw that he had miscalculated the distance; so he slid down his pole to the earth. derisive coughs were heard from different parts of the field, and "tights" looked at geoffrey maliciously and laughed.
-at the next rush that geoffrey made, he sailed up into the air on his pole like a great bird, and as he became almost poised in mid-air, he went hand over hand up the stout pole. then, by a trick that can not be easily described, his legs and body launched out horizontally over the lath, and throwing away his pole he dropped lightly on his feet without disturbing anything.
-"tights" was furious, and he said something hot to geoffrey, who, however, did not reply.
-a difficulty arose here because there were no more holes in the uprights to place the pegs in to hold up the lath. geoffrey was now even with the enemy, but not ahead of him. so he asked the judges to place the lath across the top of the uprights. this raised the lath a good fifteen inches, and nobody supposed that it could be cleared.
-there was something stormy about hampstead when a man provoked him, and "tights" had been very unpleasant. he pointed to the almost absurd elevation of the lath; his tones were short and exasperating as he addressed his very savage rival:
-"now, my man, there's your chance to exhibit your form."
-"tights" refused to make any useless trial, but relieved the tension of his feelings by forcing a bet of fifty dollars on geoffrey that he could not clear it himself.
-the excitement was now considerable. geoffrey took the offered bet, pleased to be able to punish his antagonist further. but really the whole thing was like child's-play to him. it seemed as if he could clear anything his pole would reach. his hand-over-hand climbing was like lightning, and he went over the lath, cricket trousers and all, with quite as much ease as when it was in the lower position, and this amid a wild burst of applause.
-he then grabbed his coat and made for the dressing-room, to prepare for the hurdle race, for which the bell was ringing.
-when he ran out into the field again, after about a moment, he was clad in tights of azure silk with long trunks of azure satin, and his feet wore running shoes that fitted like a glove. no wonder girls raved about him. so did the men. he was a grand picture, as beautiful as a god in his celestial colors.
-but there was work for him to do in the hurdle race. the best amateur runners in canada were to be with him in this race, and there is a field for choice among canadian bank athletes. they were to start from a distant part of the grounds, run around the great oval, and finish close to our carriage, where eager faces were hopeful for his success. geoffrey made a bad start--not having recovered after being once called back. the first hurdle saw him over last, but between the jumps his speed soon put him in the ruck. there is no race like the hurdle race for excitement. at the fourth hurdle some one in front struck the bar, which flew up just as geoffrey rose to it. his legs hit it in the air and he was launched forward, turned around, and sent head downward to the ground. the thought that he might be killed went through many minds. but those who thought so did not know that he could gallop over these hurdles like a horse, lighting on his hands. no doubt it was a great wrench for him, but he lit on his hands and was off again like the wind.
-the fall had lost him his chance, he thought, but he went on with desperation and pain, his head thrown back and his face set to win. it was a long race, and five more hurdles had yet to be passed. the first of these was knocked down so that in merely running through he gained time by not having to jump, and he rapidly closed on those before him. his speed between jumps was marvelous. his hair blew back in blonde confusion, and he might well have been taken to represent some god of whirlwinds, or an azure archangel on some flying mission. he hardly seemed to touch the earth, and margaret, who delighted in seeing men manly and strong and fleet, felt her heart go out to him in a burst of enthusiasm that became almost oppressive as the last hurdle was approached.
-there were now only two men ahead of him, and geoffrey was so set on winning that it seemed with him to be more a matter of mind than body. a yell suddenly arose from all sides. one of the two first men struck the last hurdle and went down, and geoffrey, shooting far into the air in a tremendous leap to clear the flying timber, passed the other man in the last arrow-like rush, and dashed in an undoubted winner.
-the enthusiasm for him was now unmingled. the sensation of horror that many had felt on seeing him fall head downward during the race had given way to a keen admiration for his plucky attempt to catch up with such hopeless odds against him. there were old business men present whose hearts had not moved so briskly since the last financial panic as when the handicapped hero in azure leaped the last hurdle into glory. there were men looking on whose figures would never be redeemed who, at the moment, felt convinced that with a little training they could once more run a good race--men whose livers were in a sad state and who certainly forgot the holy inspiration before rising that night from their late dinners. surely if these old stagers could be thus moved, feminine hearts might be excused. it was not necessary to know geoffrey personally to feel the contagious thrill that ran through the multitude at the vision of his prowess. the impulse and the verdict of the large crowd were so unanimous that no one could resist them.
-as for margaret, she was, alas, standing on the seat by the time he raced past the carriage--a fair, earnest vision, lost in the excitement of the moment. with her gloved hands tightly closed and her arms braced as if for running, she appeared from her attitude as if she, too, would join in the race where her interest lay. the true woman in her was wild for her friend to win. geoffrey's appearance appealed to all her sense of the beautiful. knowledge of art led her to admire him--art of the ancient and vigorous type. all the plaudits that moved the multitude were caught up and echoed even more loudly within her. it was a dangerous moment for a virgin heart. as geoffrey managed to land himself a winner against such desperate odds, she saw in his face, even before he had won, a half supercilious look of triumph and mastery that she had never seen there before. in a brief moment she caught a glimpse of the indomitable will that with him knew no obstacles--a will shown in a face of the ancient type, with gleaming eyes and dilated nostrils, heroic, god-like, possibly cruel, but instinct with victory and resolve.
-to her the triumph was undiluted. at the close of the race her lungs had refused to work until he passed the winning line, and then her breath came in a gasp, as she became conscious that her eyes were filled with tears of sympathy.
-with nina it was different. that she was intensely interested is true. everybody was. but, instead of that whirl of sympathetic admiration which margaret felt, the strongest feeling she had was a desire that geoffrey would come to her first, would lay, as it were, his honors at her feet--a wish suggesting the complacency with which the tigress receives the victor after viewing with interest the combat.
-when geoffrey rejoined them half an hour afterward he was endeavoring to conceal an unmistakable lameness resulting from striking the hurdle in the race. he had had his leg bathed, which he afterward found had been bleeding freely during the run, and had got into his flannels again. in the mean time a small circle of admirers had grouped themselves about the dusenalls' carriage.
-jack had been in to see them for a moment with a hymn of praise for geoffrey on his lips, but nina made him uncomfortable by treating him distantly, and, although margaret beamed on him, he departed soon after geoffrey's arrival, making an excuse of his committee-man's duties.
-geoffrey noticed that, on his reappearing among them, margaret did not address him, but left congratulations to nina and the dusenalls. in the interval after the race she had suddenly begun to consider how great her interest in geoffrey was. she had known him for over a year. during that time he had ever appeared at his best before her. it was so natural to be civilized and gentle in her presence. and margaret was not devoid of romance, in spite of her prosaic studies. her ideality was not checked by them, but rather diverted into less ordinary channels, and she was as likely as anybody else to be captivated by somebody who, besides other qualities, could form a subject for her imaginative powers. nevertheless, in spite of this sometimes dangerous and always charming ideality, she had acquired the habit of introspection which mr. mackintosh had endeavored to cultivate in her. he told her that when she fell in love she "would certainly know it." and it was the remembrance of this sage remark that now caused her to be silent and thoughtful. she was wondering whether she was going to fall in love with geoffrey, and what it would be like if she did do so, and if she could know any more interest in him if it so turned out that she eventually became engaged to him. then she looked at geoffrey, intending to be impartial and judicial, and thought that his looks were not unpleasing, and that his banter with miss dusenall was not at all slow to listen to. she was pleased that he did not address her first. she felt that she might have been in some way embarrassed. sometimes he glanced at her, as if carelessly, and yet she seemed to know that all his remarks were to amuse her, and that he watched her without looking at her. she had never thought of his doing this before.
-bad margaret! full of guilt!
-geoffrey was endeavoring to make the plainest miss dusenall fix the day for their wedding, declaring that it was she who had promised to marry him if he won at jumping with the pole, and that she alone had nerved him for the struggle, and he went on arranging the matter with a volubility and assurance which she would have resented in anybody else. she had affected to belittle geoffrey somewhat, not having been much troubled with his attentions, and she was conscious now that this banter on his part was detracting from her dignity. but what was she to do? the man was the hero of the hour, and cared but little for her dignity and mincing ways. she would have snubbed him, only that he carried all the company on his side, and a would-be snub, when one's audience does not appreciate it, returns upon one's self with boomerang violence. after all, it was something to monopolize the most admired man in six thousand people, even if he did make game of her and treat her, like a child.
-as for nina, she answered feebly the desultory remarks of several young men who hung about the carriage, and she listened, while she looked at the contests, to one sound only--to the sound of geoffrey's voice. from time to time she put in a word to the other girls which showed that she heard everything he said. this sort of thing proved unsatisfactory to the young men who sought to engage her attention. they soon moved off, and then she gave herself up to the luxury of hearing geoffrey speak. it might have been, she thought, that all his gayety was merely to attract margaret, but none the less was his voice music to her. poor nina! she would not look at him, for fear of betraying herself. she lay back in the carriage and vainly tried to think of her duty to jack. then she thought herself overtempted, not remembering the words:
-the devil tempts us not--'tis we tempt him, beckoning his skill with opportunity.
-this meeting, which to her was all bitter-sweet, to geoffrey was piquant. to make an impression on the woman he really respected by addressing another he cared nothing about was somewhat amusing to him, but to know that every word he said was being drunk in by a third woman who was as attractive as love itself and who was engaged to be married to another man added a flavor to the entertainment which, if not altogether new, seemed, in the present case, to be mildly pungent.
-after this nina deceived herself less.
-come o'er the sea, maiden with me, mine through sunshine, storm, and snows. seasons may roll, but the true soul burns the same wherever it goes.
-is not the sea made for the free, land for courts and chains alone? here we are slaves; but on the waves love and liberty's all our own.
-mr. maurice rankin was enjoying his summer vacation. although the courts were closed he still could be seen carrying his blue bag through the street on his way to and from the police court and other places. it is true that, for ordinary professional use, the bag might have been abandoned, but how was he to know when a sprat might catch a whale?--to say nothing of the bag's being so convenient for the secret and non-committal transportation of those various and delectable viands that found their way to his aerial abode at no. 173 tremaine buildings. he was now provided by the law printers with pamphlet copies of the decisions in different courts, and a few of these might always be found in his bag. they served to fill out to the proper dimensions this badge of a rank entitling him to the affix of esquire, and they had been well oiled by parcels of butter or chops which, on warm days, tried to lubricate this dry brain food as if for greater rapidity in the bolting of it.
-in this way he was passing his summer vacation. many a time he thought of his father's wealth before his failure and death. where had those thousands melted away to? oh, for just one of the thousands to set him on his feet! this perpetual grind, this endless seeking for work, with no more hope in it than to be able to get even with his butcher's bill at the end of the month! to see every person else go away for an outing somewhere while he remained behind began to make him dispirited. the buoyancy of his nature, which at first could take all his trials as a joke, was beginning to wear off. after yielding himself to their peculiar piquancy for six months, these jokes seemed to have lost their first freshness, and he longed to get away somewhere for a little change. the return, then, he thought, would be with renewed spirit.
-while thinking over these matters his step homeward was tired and slow. he was by no means robust, and his narrow face had grown more hatchety than ever in the last few hot days. hope deferred was beginning to tell upon him, but a surprise awaited him.
-jack cresswell and charley dusenall were walking at this time on the other side of the street. they sighted rankin going along gloomily, with his nose on the ground, well dressed and neat as usual, but weighted down, apparently with business, really with loneliness, law reports, and lamb-chops.
-they both pointed to him at once. jack said, "the very man!" and charlie said, nodding assent, "just as good as the next." jack clapped charley on the back--"by jove, i hope he will come! do him all the good in the world."
-charley was one of those happy-go-lucky, loose-living young men who have companions as long as their money lasts, and who seem made of some transmutable material which, when all things are favorable, shows some suggestion of solidity, but, when acted upon by the acid of poverty, degenerates into something like that parasitic substance remarkable for its receptibility of liquids, called a sponge. he liked rankin, although he thought him a queer fish, and he would laugh with the others when rankin's quiet satire was pointed at himself, not knowing but that there might be a joke somewhere, and not wishing to be out of it.
-the two young men crossed the road and walked up to rankin who was just about to enter tremaine buildings. charlie asked him to come on a yachting cruise around lake ontario--to be ready in two days--that jack would tell him all about it, as he was in a hurry. he then made off, without waiting for maurice to reply.
-jack explained to rankin that the yacht was to take out a party, with the young ladies under the chaperonage of mrs. dusenall, that the two misses dusenall, and nina and margaret were going, that he and geoffrey hampstead and two or three of the yacht-club men would lend a hand to work the craft, and that rankin would be required to take the helm during the dead calms. as rankin listened he brightened up and looked along the street in meditation.
-"the business," he said thoughtfully, "will perish. bean can't run my business."
-his large mouth spread over his face as he yielded himself to the warmth of the sunny vista before him. already he felt himself dancing over the waves. suddenly, as they stood at the entrance to tremaine buildings, he caught jack by the arm and whispered--so that clients, thronging the streets might not overhear:
-"the business," he whispered. "what about it?" he drew off at arm's length and transfixed jack with his eagle eye. then, as if to typify his sudden and reckless abandonment of all the great trusts reposed in him, he slung the blue bag as far as he could up the stairs while he cried that the business might "go to the devil."
-"correct," said jack. "it will be all safe with him. you know he is the father of lawyers. but i say, old chap, i am awfully glad you are coming with us. you see, the old lady has to get those girls married off somehow, and several fellows will go with us who are especially picked out for the business. then, of course, the dusenall girls want 'backing,' and they thought nina and i could certainly give them a lead. and nina would not go without margaret. i rather think, too, that geoffrey would not go without margaret. wheels within wheels, you see. have you not got a lady-love, morry, to bring along? no? well, i tell you, old man, i expect to enjoy myself. i've been round that lake a good many times, but never with nina."
-jack blushed as he admitted so much to his old friend, and after a pause he went on, with a young man's facile change of thought, to talk about the yacht.
-"and we will just make her dance, and don't you forget it."
-"but, my dear fellow, won't she object?"
-"object? no--likes it. she is coming out in a brand-new suit. wait till you see her. she'll be a dandy."
-"i can quite believe that she will appear more beautiful than ever," said maurice, rather mystified.
-"she is as clean as a knife, clean as a knife. i tell you, morry, her shape just fills the eye. she--"
-"oh, yes, i understand. you are speaking of the yacht. i thought when you said you would make her dance that you referred to miss lindon. excuse my ignorance of yachting terms. i know absolutely nothing about them."
-"never mind, old man, you might easily make the mistake. talking of dancing now, i had a turn with her the other day and i will say this much--that she can waltz and no mistake. you could steer her with one finger."
-"and shall we rig this spinnaker boom on her?" asked rankin, with interest. "what is a spinnaker boom? i have always wanted to know."
-"spinnaker on who? or what?" cried jack, looking vexed. "don't be an ass, rankin."
-"my dear fellow--a thousand pardons--i certainly presumed you still spoke of the yacht. it is perfectly impossible to understand which you refer to."
-"well, perhaps it is," replied jack; "i mix the two up in my speech just as they are mixed up in my heart, and i love them both. so let us have a glass of sherry to them in my room."
-"i think," said rankin, smiling, with his head on one side, "that to prevent further confusion we ought to drink a glass to each love separately, in order to discriminate sufficiently between the different interests."
-"happy thought," said jack. "and just like you robbers. every interest must be represented. fees out of the estate, every time."
-after gulping down the first glass of sherry in the american fashion, they sat sipping the second as the scotch and english do. it struck rankin as peculiar that mr. lindon allowed nina to go off on this yachting cruise when he must know that jack would be on board. he asked him how he accounted for his luck in this respect.
-jack said: "i can not explain it altogether to myself. the old boy sent her off to europe to get her away from me, and that little manoeuvre was not successful in making her forget me. i think that now he has washed his hands of the matter, and lets her do entirely as she pleases--except as to matrimony. they don't converse together on the subject of your humble servant. he is fond of nina in his own way--when his ambition is not at stake. one thing i feel sure of, that we might wait till crack of doom before his consent to our marriage would be obtained. i never knew such a man for sticking to his own opinion."
-"but you could marry now and keep a house, in a small way," said rankin.
-"too small a way for nina. she knows no more of economy than a babe. no; i may have been unwise, from a practical view, to fall in love with her, but the affair must go on now; we will get married some way or other. perhaps the old boy will die. at any rate, although i have no doubt she would go in for 'love in a cottage,' i don't think it would be right of me to subject her to the loss of her carriage, servants, entertainments, and gay existence generally. of course she would be brave over it, but the effort would be very hard upon the dear little woman."
-when jack thought of nina his heart was apt to lose some of its chronometer movement. he turned and began fumbling for his pipe.
-maurice wished to pull him together, as it were, and said, as he grasped the decanter and filled the wine glasses again:
-"thank you; i don't mind if i do. now i come to think of it, your first proposed toast was the right one. for the next three weeks at least we do not intend to separate the lady from the yacht. why should we drink them separately? ho, ho! we will drink to them collectively!" he waved his glass in the air. "here's to the lady and the yacht considered as one indivisible duo. may they be forever as entwined in our hearts as they are incomprehensibly mixed up in our language!"
-"hear, hear!" cried jack, with renewed spirit. "drink hearty!" and then he energetically poured out another, and said "tiger!"--after which they lit cigars and went out, feeling happy and much refreshed, while rankin quite forgot the blue bag and the contents thereof yielding rich juices to the law-reports in the usual way.
-about ten o'clock on the following saturday morning valises were being stowed away on board the yacht ideal, and maidens fair and sailors free were aglow with the excitement of departure. the yacht was swinging at her anchor while the new cruising mainsail caused her to careen gently as the wind alternately caught each side of the snowy canvas. a large blue ensign at the peak was flapping in the breeze, impatient for the start, while the main-sheet bound down and fettered the plunging and restless sail. lounging about the bows of the vessel were a number of professional sailors with ideal worked across the breasts of their stout blue jerseys. the headsails were loosed and ready to go up, and the patent windlass was cleared to wind up the anchor chain. away aloft at the topmast head the blue peter was promising more adventures and a new enterprise, while grouped about the cockpit were our friends in varied garb, some of whom nervously regarded the plunging mainsail which refused to be quieted. rankin was the last to come over the side, clad in a dark-blue serge suit, provided at short notice by the long-suffering score. his leather portmanteau, lent by jack, had scarcely reached the deck before the blocks were hooked on and the gig was hoisted in to the davits. margaret, sitting on the bulwarks, with an arm thrown round a backstay to steady her, was taking in all the preparations with quiet ecstasy, her eyes following every movement aloft and her lips softly parted with sense of invading pleasure.
-mrs. dusenall was down in the after-cabin making herself more busy than useful. instead of leaving everything to the steward, the good woman was unpacking several baskets which had found their way aft by mistake. in a very clean locker devoted solely to charts she stowed away five or six pies, wedging them, thoughtfully, with a sweet melon to keep them quiet. then she found that the seats at the side could be raised, and here she placed a number of articles where they stood a good chance of slipping under the floor and never being seen again. fortunately for the party, her pride in her work led her to point out what she had done to the steward, who, speechless with dismay, hastily removed everything eatable from her reach.
-as the anchor left its weedy bed, the brass carronade split the air in salute to the club and the blue ensign dipped also, while the headsail clanked and rattled up the stay. there was nobody at the club house, but the ladies thought that the ceremony of departure was effective.
-jack was at the wheel as she paid off on the starboard tack toward the eastern channel, and geoffrey and others were slacking off the main-sheet when rankin heard himself called by jack, who said hurriedly:
-"morry, will you let go that lee-backstay?"
-maurice and margaret left it immediately and stood aside. jack forgot, in the hurry of starting, that rankin knew nothing of sailing, and called louder to him again, pointing to the particular rope: "let go that lee-backstay."
-"who's touching your lee-backstay?" cried morry indignantly.
-the boom was now pressing strongly on the stay, while jack, seeing his mistake, leaned over and showed rankin what to do. he at once cast off the rope from the cleat, and, there being a great strain on it, the end of it when loosed flew through his fingers so fast that it felt as if red hot.
-"holy moses!" cried he, blowing on his fingers, "that rope must have been lying on the stove." he examined the rope again, and remarked that it was quite cool now. the pretended innocence of the little man was deceiving. the honorable marcus travers head, one of the rich intended victims of the dusenalls, leaned over to jack and asked who and what rankin was.
-"he's an original--that's what he is," said jack, with some pride in his friend, although rankin's by-play was really very old.
-"what! ain't he soft?" inquired the hon. m. t., with surprise.
-"about as soft as that brass cleat," said jack shortly. "i say, old emptyhead, you just keep your eye open when he's around and you'll learn something."
-there was a murmur of "ba-a jeuve!" and the honorable gentleman regarded rankin in a new light.
-the ideal was a sloop of more than ordinary size, drawing about eight feet of water without the small center-board, which she hardly required for ordinary sailing. her accommodations were excellent, and her internal fittings were elegant, without being so wildly expensive as in some of the american yachts. her comparatively small draught of water enabled her to enter the shallow ports on the lakes, and yet she was modeled somewhat like a deep-draught boat, having some of her ballast bolted to her keel, like the english yachts. her cruising canvas was bent on short spars, which relieved the crew in working her, but, even with this reduction, her spread of canvas was very large, so that her passage across the bay toward the lake was one of short duration.
-to margaret and maurice the spirited start which they made was one of unalloyed delight. for two such fresh souls "delight" is quite the proper word. they crossed over to the weather side and sat on the bulwarks, where they could command a view of the whole boat. it was a treat for all hands to see their bright faces watching the man aloft cast loose the working gaff-topsail. when they heard his voice in the sky calling out "hoist away," morry waved his hand with abandon and called out also "hoist away," as if he would hoist away and overboard every care he knew of, and when the booming voice aloft cried "sheet home," it was as good as five dollars to see margaret echo the word with commanding gesture--only she called it "sea foam," which made the sailors turn their quids and snicker quietly among themselves. but when the huge cream-colored jib-topsail went creaking musically up from the bowsprit-end, filling and bellying and thundering away to leeward, and growing larger and larger as it climbed to the topmast head, their admiration knew no bounds. as the sail was trimmed down, they felt the good ship get her "second wind," as it were, for the rush out of the bay. it was as if sixteen galloping horses had been suddenly harnessed to the boat, and margaret fairly clapped her hands. maurice called to jack approvingly:
-"you said you would make her dance."
-"she's going like a scalded pup," cried jack poetically in reply, and he held her down to it with the wheel, tenderly but firmly, as he thereby felt the boat's pulse. when they came to the eastern channel jack eased her up so close to the end of the pier that maurice involuntarily retreated from the bulwarks for fear she would hit the corner. the jib-topsail commenced to thunder as the yacht came nearer the wind, but this was soon silenced, and half a dozen men on the main-sheet flattened in the after-canvas as she passed between the crib-work at the sides of the channel in a way that gave one a fair opportunity for judging her speed.
-a moment more and the ideal was surging along the lake swells, as if she intended to arrive "on time" at any place they pointed her for. the main-sheet was paid out as jack bore away to take the compass course for cobourg. this put the yacht nearly dead before the wind, and the pace seemed to moderate. charlie dusenall then came on deck, after settling his dunnage below and getting into his sailing clothes. charlie had been "making a night of it" previous to starting, and felt this morning indisposed to exert himself. jack and he had cruised together in all weathers, and they were both good enough sailors to dispense with pig-headed sailing-masters. jack had sailed everything, from a birch-bark canoe to a schooner of two hundred tons, and had never lost his liking for a good deal of hard work on board a boat. as for his garb, an old flannel shirt and trousers that greased masts could not spoil were all that either he or charlie ever wore. these, with the yachting shoes, broad scotch bonnet, belt, and sheath-knife, were found sufficient, without any finical white jackets and blue anchors, and, if not so fresh as they might have been, these garments certainly looked like business.
-before young dusenall put his head up the companion-way he knew exactly where the boat was by noticing her motions while below. there was something of the "old salt" in the way he understood how the yacht was running without coming on deck to find out. generally he could wake up at night and tell you how the boat was sailing, and almost what canvas she was carrying, without getting out of his berth. these things had become a sort of second nature.
-he was yawning as he hauled on a stout chain and dragged up from his trousers pocket a silver watch about the size of a mud-turtle. then he looked at the wake through the long following waves and glanced rapidly over the western horizon while he counted with his finger upon the face of the enormous timepiece. "we will have to do better than this," he said, after making a calculation, "if we wish to dance at the arlington to-night."
-"they are just getting the spinnaker on deck," said jack, nodding toward the bows. "as you say, it won't do her any harm. this breeze will flatten out at sundown, and walloping about in a dead calm all night is no fun."
-"what a time they take to get a sail set!" said charlie impatiently, as he looked at the sailors for a few moments. "i have a good mind to ask some of you fellows to go forward and show them how."
-"oh, never mind," said jack, "we are not racing, and hurrying them only makes them sulky."
-but charlie's nerves were a little irritable to-day, and he swung himself on deck and went forward. a long boom was lowered out over the side and properly guyed; then a long line of sail, tied in stops, went up and up to the topmast-head; the foot of it was hauled out to the end of the boom; then there was a pull on a rope, and, as the wind broke away the stops, hundreds of yards of sail spread out as if by magic to the breeze, filling away forward like a huge three-cornered balloon, the foot of which almost swept the surface of the water.
-"look at that for a sail, nina," said jack. "now you'll see her git right up and git."
-when jack was talking about yachts or sailing it was next to impossible for him to speak in anything but a jargon of energetic slang and metaphor picked up among the sailors, who, in their turn, picked up all they could while ashore. he seemed to take a pleasure in throwing the english grammar overboard. his heart warmed to sailors. he was fond of their oddities and forcible unpolished similes; and when he sometimes sought their society for a while, he was well received. when a man in good clothes begins to talk sailing grammatically to lake-sailors they seem to feel that he is not, as far as they can see, in any way up to the mark. his want of accuracy in sailing vernacular attaches to his whole character.
-if jack intended to say that the spinnaker would make the ideal go fast, he was right. she was traveling down the lake almost as fast as she would go in a race with the same breeze. a long thin line of fine white bubbles extending back over the tops of several blue waves showed where her keel had divided the water and rubbed it into white powder as she passed. jack had no time for continued conversation now. he had to watch his compass and the sails, the wind, and the land. he did not wish the wake behind the vessel to look like a snake-fence from bad steering, and to get either of the sails aback, while under such a pressure, would be a pretty kettle of fish. he was enjoying himself. some good samaritan handed him a pipe filled and lighted, and with his leg slung comfortably over the shaft of the wheel, his pipe going, nina in front of him, and all his friends around him, he felt that the moment could hardly be improved.
-some time after the buildings of toronto had dwindled away to nothing, and the thin spire of st. james's cathedral had become a memory, the steward announced that luncheon was ready. one of the hands relieved jack at the wheel, and all went below except mrs. dusenall, who was left lying among cushions and pillows arranged comfortably on deck, where she preferred to remain, as she was feeling the motion of the boat.
-luncheon was a movable feast on the ideal--as liable to be shifted about as the hands of a wayward clock. the cabin was prettily decorated with flowers, and the table, weighted so as to remain always horizontal, was covered with snowy linen and delicate glass, while a small conceit full of cut flowers faced each of the guests. the steward and stewardess buzzed about with bottles and plates, and any appetite that could not have been tempted must have been in a bad way. the absence of that apology for a chaperon, who was trying to enjoy the breezes overhead, gave the repast an informality which the primness of the misses dusenall soon failed to check, although at first their precise intonations and carefully copied english accent did something to restrain undue hilarity on the part of those who did not know them well.
-the idea of being able to entertain in this style gave the misses dusenall an inflation which at first showed itself in a conversation and manner touchingly english. the average english maiden, though by nature sufficiently insular in manner and speech, is taught to be more so. the result is that among strangers she rarely seems quite certain of herself, as if anxious lest she should wreck herself on a slip of the tongue or the sounding of a false note. her prudish manners and her perfect knowledge of what not to say often suggest swift's definition of "a nice man." one trembles to think what effect the emancipation of marriage will have upon some of these wildly innocent creatures. in canada, and especially in the united states, we are thankful to take some things for granted, without the advertisement of a manner which seems to say: "i am so awfully pure and carefully brought up, don't you know."
-the misses dusenall on this occasion soon found themselves in a minority (not the minority of matthew arnold), and before leaving the table they adopted some of that more genial manner and speech which, if slightly faulty, we are satisfied to consider as "good enough for the colonies."
-maurice seemed to expand as the english fog gradually lifted. the aged appearance that anxiety was giving him had disappeared. amid the chatter going on, in which it was difficult to get an innings, jack cresswell seized a bottle of claret and called out that he proposed a toast.
-"what? toasts at such an informal luncheon as this, jack?" exclaimed propriety, with the accent somewhat worn off.
-"what's the odds as long as you're happy and the 'rosy' is close at hand?" said jack. "besides, this is a case of necessity--"
-"i propose that we have a series of toasts," interrupted charlie; who was beginning to feel himself again. "with all their necessary subdivisions," added rankin, in his incisive little voice, which could always make itself heard.
-"there you are again, rankin," cried jack. "i proposed a toast with rankin two days ago, ladies, and, as i live by bread, he subdivided it sixteen times."
-dusenall was calling for a bottle of seltzer water.
-"never mind your soda," commanded jack. "soda can't do justice to this toast. i propose this toast because i regard it as one of absolute necessity--"
-"they all are," called maurice.
-"gentlemen, i must protest against my learned friend's interrup--"
-"go on, jack. don't protest. propose. i am getting thirsty," cried hampstead's voice among a number of others.
-"well, gentlemen, am i to proceed or not? have i the floor, or not?"
-"that's just what he said after those sixteen horns," said rankin, addressing the party confidentially. "only, then he did not 'have the floor,' the floor had him."
-his absurdity increased the hubbub, as jack rapped on the table to command attention.
-"the toast i am about to propose is one of absolute neces--"
-"oh, my!" groaned rankin, "give me something in the mean time." he grasped a bottle, as if in desperation. "all right, now. go on, jack. don't mind me."
-the orator went on, smiling:
-"it is, as i think i have said before, one of absolute--"
-here the disturbance threatened to put an end to the proposed toast.
-"take a new deal."
-"got any more toasts like this?"
-"oh, i would like a smoke soon. hurry up, jack."
-"well, ladies and gentlemen," said jack, banging on the table to quell the tumult; "i will skip over the objectionable words, and propose that we drink to the health of one who has been unable to be with us to-day, and who needs our assistance; who perhaps at this moment is suffering untold troubles far from our midst. ladies and gentlemen, have you charged your glasses?"
-answers of "frequently."
-"well, then," said jack, as he stood with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other, "i ask you to drink with me to the health of 'the chaperon,' who is nigh unto death."
-all stood up, and were loudly echoing, "the chaperon--nigh unto death!" when a long hand came down the skylight overhead and a voice was heard from on high, saying:
-"nothing of the kind. how dare you, you bad boy? just put something into my hand and i'll drink my own health. i don't need your assistance at all."
-cheers broke out from the noisy gathering, and they all rushed on deck to see mrs. dusenall drink her own health, which she bravely accomplished.
-they were a riotous lot. all the boat wanted was a policeman to keep them in something more like order, for a small joke received too much credit with them, and they laughed too easily.
-frenchman's bay and whitby were passed before they came up from lunch. oshawa could be seen far away on the shore, as the yacht buzzed along with unabated speed. a speck on the horizon had risen up out of the sea to be called raby head--the sand-bluff near darlington. small yellow and green squares on the far-off brown uplands that rolled back from the shores denoted that there were farms in that vicinity; dark-blue spots, like feathery tufts, appeared here and there where the timber forests had been left untouched, and among them small marks or lines of white would occasionally appear where, on looking through the glasses, little railway trains seemed to be toiling like ants across the landscape.
-there was no ceremony to be observed, nor could it be seen that anybody endeavored to keep up conversations which required any effort. the men, lounging about on the white decks, seemed to smoke incessantly while they watched the water hissing along the sides of the vessel, or lay on their backs and watched the masthead racing with the white clouds down the lake, and the girls, disposed on cushions, tried to read novels and failed. the sudden change to the fresh breezes of the lake, and the long but spirited rise and fall of the vessel made them soon doze away, or else remain in that peaceful state of mind which does not require books or masculine society or music, or anything else except a continuation of things just as they are. granby and newcastle were mentioned as the yacht passed by, but most of the party were drowsy, and few even raised their heads to see what little could be seen. port hope created but feeble interest, though the gull light, perched on the rocks far out in the lake, appeared romantic and picturesque. it seemed like true yachting to be approaching a strange lighthouse sitting like a white seabird on the dangerous-looking reefs, where the waves could be seen dashing up white and frothy.
-somewhere off port hope, about three or four miles away from the "gull," one of the sailors had quietly remarked to the man at the wheel:
-"we're a-goin' to run out of the wind."
-margaret was interested in this, wondering how the man knew. far away in front and to the eastward could be seen a white haze that obliterated the horizon, and, as the yacht bore down to the gull light, one could see that beyond a certain defined line stretching across the lake the bright sparkle and blueness of the waves ceased, and, beyond, was a white heaving surface of water, without a ripple on it to mark one distance from another. it seemed strange that the wind blowing so freshly directly toward this calm portion of the lake should not ruffle it. the yacht went straight on before the wind at the same pace till she crossed the dividing line and passed with her own velocity into the dead air on the other side. the sails, out like wings, seemed at once to fill on the wrong side, as if the breeze had come ahead, and this stopped her headway. she soon came to a standstill. every person at once awoke--feeling some of that numbness experienced in railway trains when, after running forty miles an hour for some time, the brakes are suddenly put on.
-for half an hour the yacht lay within pistol-shot of the dancing, sparkling waves, where the breeze blew straight toward them, as far as the mysterious dividing line, and then disappeared. the spinnaker was taken in, and the yacht, regardless of the helm, "walloped" about in all directions, as the swells, swashing against the bow, or pounding under the counter, turned her around. this was unpleasant, and might last all night, if "the calm beat back the wind," as the sailors say, so charley sent out the crew in the two boats, which were lowered from the davits, to tow the yacht into cobourg, now about three miles away. the main-sheet was hauled flat aft to keep the main-boom quiet, and soon she had steerage way on.
-to insure fine weather at home one must take out an umbrella and a water-proof. on the water, for a dead calm, sending the boats out to tow the yacht is as good as a patent medicine. before very long the topsail seemed to have an inclination to fill on one side more than on the other, so one boat was ordered back and a club-gaff-topsail used in races was sent aloft to catch the breath moving in the upper air. this sail had huge spars on it that set a sail reaching a good twenty-five feet above the topmast head, and about the same distance out from the end of the gaff. it was no child's-play getting it up, and the sailors' chorus as they took each haul at the halyards attracted some attention. perhaps no amateur can quite successfully give that break in the voice peculiar to a professional sailor when hauling heavily on a rope. and then the interjections:
-"oh-ho! up she goes."
-"o-ho! r-raise the dead."
-"now-then-all-together-and-carry-away-the-mast, o-ho!" etc.
-some especial touches were put on to-day for the benefit of the ladies, and when the man aloft wished those on deck to "sheet home" the big topsail, the rascal looked down at margaret and called "sea foam!" in the forecastle she was called "sea foam" during the whole trip, not because she wore a dress of cricketing flannel, but on account of her former mistake in the words. to rankin and some others who saw the little joke, the idea seemed poetical and appropriate.
-not more than a breath of wind moved aloft--none at all below--but it proved sufficient to send the yacht along, and about half-past six in the evening they slipped in to an anchor at cobourg, fired a gun, and had dinner.
-ah, what pleasant visions haunt me as i gaze upon the sea! all the old romantic legends, all my dreams, come back to me.
-sails of silk and ropes of sendal, such as gleam in ancient lore; and the singing of the sailors, and the answer from the shore.
-till my soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.
-nothing tends to convince us of the element of chance in our lives more than noticing the consequences of whims. we act and react upon each other, after joining in a movement, till its origin is forgotten and lost. a politician conceives a whim to dazzle a fighting people with a war, and the circumstances of thousands are unexpectedly and irretrievably altered. we map out our lives for ourselves, and propose to adhere to the chart, but on considering the effects of chance, one's life often seems like an island upheaved from the sea, on which the soil, according to its character, fructifies or refuses the seeds that birds and breezes accidentally bring.
-our yachting cruise seemed to be like this. one evening when nina was dining at the dusenalls', charley had proposed the trip in an idle sort of way. nina fastened on the idea, and during little talks with mrs. dusenall, induced her to see that it might be advantageous for her daughters to make a reality of the vague proposal.
-in thus providing opportunity for sweet temptation, nina was not deceiving herself so much as formerly, and she knew that her feeling for geoffrey was deep and strong. but she would morally bind herself to the rigging and sail on without trouble while she listened to the song as well. would not jack be with her always to serve as a safeguard? dear jack! so fond of jack! of course it would be all right. and then, to be with geoffrey all the time for two or three weeks! or, if not with him, near enough to hear his voice! after all, she could not be any more in love with him than she was then. where was the harm?
-margaret's presence on the yacht, if at times rather trying, would certainly make an opening for excitement, and, on the whole, it would be more comfortable to have both geoffrey and margaret on the yacht than to leave them in toronto together. this friendship between them--what did it amount to? she had a desire to know all about it--as we painfully pull the cot off a hurt finger, just to see how it looks.
-for geoffrey the trip promised to be interesting, and, having in the early days examined cupid's armory with some curiosity, he tried to persuade himself that the archer's shafts were for him neither very keen nor very formidable. as davidge used to say, "too much familiarity breeds despisery," and up to this time of his life it had not seemed possible for him to care for any one very devotedly--not even himself. yet margaret mackintosh, he thought, was the one woman who could be permanently trusted with his precious future. no one less valuable could be the making of him. he agreed with the frenchman in saying that "of all heavy bodies, the heaviest is the woman we have ceased to love," and he hoped when married to be able to feel some of that respect and trust which make things different from the ordinary french experience. but when he thought of margaret as his wife the thought was vague, and not so full of purpose as some of his other schemes. the mental picture of margaret sitting near him by the fireside keeping up a bright chatter, or else playing beethoven to him, the music sounding at its best through the puff-puff of a contemplative pipe, had not altogether dulled his appreciation of those pleasures of the chase, as he called them, over which he had wasted so much of his time. moreover, he felt that it was altogether a toss-up whether she would accept him or not, and that he did not appeal to her quite in the same way that he did to other women. this threw his hand out. if he wished her to marry him at any time, he thought he would have to put his best foot foremost, and tread lightly where the way seemed so precarious. he knew that she liked him very much as she would a work of art. it was a good thing to have a tall figure and clean-cut limbs, but it seemed almost pathetic to be ranked, as it were, with old china, no matter how full of soul the willow-pattern might be.
-now that nina had fairly commenced the yachting cruise, she could be pleasant and jolly with jack on board the boat, but when it came to leaving the ball-room at the arlington for a little promenade with him on the verandas, the idea seemed slow and uninviting. after a dance, jack moved away with her, intending to saunter out through one of the low windows.
-"don't you think it is pleasanter in here?" she said.
-"well, i find it a little warm here, don't you? besides the moon is shining outside, and we can get a fine view of the lake from the end of the walk."
-"but, my dear jack, have we not been enjoying a fine view of the lake all day? you see i don't want every person to think that we can not be content unless we are mooning off together in some dark corner. it does not look well; now, does it?"
-jack raised his eyebrows. "i did not think you were so very careful of mrs. grundy. when did you turn over the new leaf? i suppose the idea did not occur to you that being out with geoffrey for two or three dances might also excite comment."
-nina had already surveyed the lake to some extent during the evening under pleasing auspices, but she did not like being reminded of it, and answered hotly:
-"how then, do you expect me to enjoy going to look at the lake again? i have seen the lake three times already this evening, and no person has made me feel that there was any great romance in the surroundings. surely you don't think that you would conjure up the romance, do you?"
-"evidently i would not be able to do that for you," said jack slowly, while he thought how different her feelings were from his own. it galled him to have it placed before him how stale he had become to her. he conquered his rising anger, and said:
-"i am afraid that our engagement had become very prosaic to you."
-"horribly so," said nina. "it all seems just as if we were married. not quite so bad, though, because i suppose i would then have to be civil. what a bore! fancy having to be civil continually!"
-"i believe that a fair amount of civility is considered--"
-"oh, you need not tell me what our married life will be. i know all about it. mutual resignation and endearing nothings. church on sundays; wash on mondays. it will be respectable and meritorious and virtuous and generally unbearable--"
-"hush, hush, nina! why do you talk in this strain? why do you go out of your way to say unkind things? i know you do not mean a quarter of what you say. if i thought you did i--"
-"was i saying unkind things?" interrupted nina. "i did not think of their being unkind. it seems natural enough to look at things in this way."
-she was endeavoring now to neutralize her hasty words by softer tones, and she only made matters worse. it is difficult to climb clear of the consciousness of our own necessities when it envelops us like a fog, obscuring the path. in some way a good deal of what she said to jack now seemed tinged with the wrong color, and out of the effort to be pleasant had begun to grow a distaste for his presence. much as she still liked him, she always tried during this cruise to get into the boat or into the party where jack was not.
-it had been his own proposal that she should see a good deal of hampstead, and so it never occurred to him to be jealous; and afterward she became more crafty in blinding his eyes to the real cause of the dissatisfaction she now expressed. while in jack's presence her manner toward geoffrey was studiously off-hand and friendly. whatever her manner might be when they strolled off together, it was certain that an understanding existed between the two to conceal from jack whatever interest they might have in one another. she was forced to think continuously of geoffrey so that every other train of thought sank into insignificance, and was crowded out. a colder person, with temptation infinitely less, would have done what was right and would have captured the world's approbation. it would do harm to examine too closely the natures of many saints of pious memory and to be obliged to paint out their accustomed halo. if the convicted are ever more richly endowed than the social arbiters, they are different and not understood, and therefore judged. no sin is so great as that which we ourselves are not tempted to commit. ignorance either deifies or spits upon what can not be understood. but, after all, we must have some standard, some social tribunal; and social wrong, no matter how it is looked at, must be prevented, no matter how well we understand that some are, as regards social law, made crooked.
-but let us hasten more slowly.
-sunday morning, strangely enough, followed the saturday night which had been spent at the arlington. the daylight of sunday followed about two hours after the last man coaxed himself to his berth from the yacht's deck and the tempting night. when all the others were fairly off in a solid sleep, as if wound up for twenty-four hours, one individual arrived at partial consciousness and wondered where he was. a sensation of pleasure pervaded him. something new and enjoyable lay before him, but he could not make up his mind what it was. that he was not in 173 tremaine buildings seemed certain. if not there, where was he? to fully consider the matter he sat up in his berth and gave his head a thump on a beam overhead, which conveyed some intelligence to him. then, lying back on the pillow, he laughed and rubbed his poll. "a lubber's mistake," quoth he; and then, after a little, "i wonder what it's like outside?" a lanky figure in a long white garment was presently to be seen stumbling up the companion-way, and a head appeared above the deck with hair disheveled looking like a sleepy bird of prey. all around it was so still that nothing could be heard but some one snoring down below. the yacht lay with her anchor-chain nowhere--a thread would have held her in position. the boats behind were lying motionless with their bows under the yacht's counter, drawn up there by the weight of their own painters lying in the water. maurice gazed about the little wharf-surrounded harbor with curiosity and artistic pleasure. it could only have been this and the feeling of gladness in him that made him interested in the lumber-piles and railway-derricks about him, but it was all so new and strange to him. "gad! to be off like this, on a yacht, and to live on board, you know!" said he, talking to himself, as he hoisted himself up by his arms and sat on the top of the sliding hatchway. he moved away soon after sitting down, because of about half an inch of cold dew on the hatch. this awakened him completely. he walked gingerly toward the stern and looked at the blaze of red and gold in the eastern sky where the sun was making a triumphal entry. then he walked to the bow and watched the light gild the masts of the lumber-schooners and the fog-bank over the lake, and the carcass of a drowned dog floating close at hand. he saw bits of the shore beyond the town and wanted to go there. he wanted to inspect the little squat lighthouse that shone in its reflected glory better than it ever shone at night. yes, he must see all these things. it was all fairyland to him. the gig was carefully pulled alongside when, happy thought! a smoke would be just the thing. the weird figure dived down for pipe, matches, and "'baccy," and soon came up smiling. "never knew anything so quiet as this," he said, as he filled the pipe. the snore below seemed to be the only note typical of the scene--not very musical, perhaps, but eloquent and artistically correct.
-he had not gone far in the gig when he came across the picturesque drowned dog. really it would be too bad to allow this to remain where it was, even though gilded. the sun would get up higher, and then there would be no poetry about it, but only plain dog. so he went back to the deck and saw a boat-hook. that would do well enough to remove the eyesore with, but how could he row and hold the boat-hook at the same time? if he only had a bit of string, now, or a piece of rope! but these articles are not to be found on a well-kept deck, and it would not be right to wake up anybody. happy thought! he took the pike-pole and rowed rapidly toward the dog, and, as he passed it, dropped the oars and grabbed the dog with the end of the pike-pole. his idea was that the momentum of the boat would, by repeated efforts, remove the dog. but the deceased was not to be coaxed in this way from the little harbor where he had so peacefully floated for four weeks. so maurice, after suffering in the contest, went on board again. still the snore below went on, and still nobody got up to help him. he searched the deck for any part of the rigging that would suit him, determined to cut away as much as he wanted of whatever came first. ah! the signal halyards! he soon had about two hundred feet unrove, little recking of the man who had to "shin up" to the topmast-head to reeve the line again. the dog must go. that margaret's eyes should not be insulted was so settled in his chivalrous little head that--well, in fact, the dog would have to go, and, if not by hook or by crook, he finally went lassoed a good two hundred feet behind, rankin rowing lustily.
-after this object had been committed to the deep, a seagull came and lighted on a floating plank to consider the situation, and gave a cry that could be heard a vast distance. maurice rowed out about half a mile into the lake, and then could be seen a lithe figure diving in over the side of the boat and disporting itself, which uttered cries like a peacock when it came to the surface, and interested the lethargic seagulls.
-while he was doing this the fog bank slowly moved in from the lake and enveloped him, so that he began to wonder where the shore was. he got into the boat, without taking the trouble to don his garment, and rowed toward the place where he thought the shore was. half an hour's rowing brought him back to some driftwood which he had noticed before, so he gave up rowing in circles, put on the garment, settled himself in the stern-sheets, and lit a pipe. the air was warm, and a gentle motion in the lake rocked him comfortably, until a voice aroused him that might have been a hundred yards or two miles off.
-"ahoy!" came over the water.
-"ahoy yourself," called rankin.
-jack had got up, and, having missed the gig, had come to the end of the wharf in his basswood canoe, which the ideal also carried in this cruise.
-"by jove," thought jack, "i believe that's morry out there in the fog; he will never get back as long as he can not see the shore."
-"ahoy there," he called again.
-"ahoy yourself," came back in a tone of indifference.
-"where are you?"
-"never you mind."
-"who is out there with you?"
-"the gulls," answered maurice, as he smiled to himself.
-jack did not quite hear him. "the gull?" thought he. "surely not! why, he must be at least three miles off."
-"do you mean the gull light?" he called.
-"ya-as. what's the matter with you, any way?"
-they were so far apart that their voices sounded to each other as if they came through a telephone.
-at this time the fog had lifted from maurice, and he lay basking in the sun, perfectly content with everything, while jack, still enveloped in fog, was feeling quite anxious about him. he paddled quickly back to the yacht and got a pocket compass, and with this in the bottom of the canoe steered sou'-sou'west until he got out of the fog, and discovered the gig floating high up at the bow and low down aft, puffing smoke and drifting up the lake before an easterly breeze and looking, in the distance, rather like a steam-barge.
-"is that the costume you go cruising in?" asked jack, as he drew near.
-"this is the latest fashion, mother hubbard gown, don't you know!" said maurice, as he viewed his spindle calves with satisfaction. "look at that for a leg," he cried, as he waved a pipe-stem in the air. "no discount on that leg."
-"nor anything else," growled jack. "what do you mean by going off this way with the ship's boats?"
-"not piracy, is it?" asked morry.
-"don't know," said jack, "but i am going to arrest you for being a dissolute, naked vagrant, without visible means of support, and i shall take you to the place whence you came and--"
-"bet you half a dollar you don't. i'm on the high seas, so 'get out of me nar-east coorse,' or by the holy poker i'll sink you."
-jack visited the sleepers with a yell. mr. lemons, another proposed victim of the dusenalls, still slept peacefully.
-"now, then, do get up!" cried jack, in a tone of reproach.
-"get up," yelled jack.
-"to wash yourself, man."
-suppressed laughter was heard from the ladies' cabins.
-"gor any washstands on board?" still half asleep, but sliding into an old pair of sailing trousers.
-"washstands? well, i never! wouldn't a turkish bath satisfy you? no, sir! you'll dive off the end of the pier with the others."
-"what! you won't wash yourself?" cried jack, at the top of his voice. "oh, this is horrible! i say there, aft! you, fellows, come here! lemons says he won't wash himself."
-at this four or five men ran in and pulled him on deck, where charley stood with a towel in his hand. no one would give lemons a chance to explain. they said, "see here, skipper, lemons won't wash himself."
-charley's countenance assumed an expression of disgust. "oh, the dirty swab! heave him overboard!"
-lemons broke away then and tried to climb the rigging, but he was caught and carried back, two men at each limb, who showered reproach upon him. the victim was as helpless as a babe in their hands, and was conscious that the ladies had heard everything.
-charlie rapped on the admiralty skylight and asked for instructions. he declared lemons would not wash himself, and he asked what should be done with him? in vain the victim cried that the whole thing was a plot. a prompt answer came, with the sound of laughter, from the admiralty that he was to go overboard. this was received with savage satisfaction, and, after three swings backward and forward, lemon's body was launched into the air and disappeared under the water.
-but lemons did not come up again. in two or three seconds it occurred to some one to ask whether lemons could swim. they had taken it for granted that he could. the thought came over them that perhaps by this time he was gone forever. without waiting further, geoffrey dived off the wall-sided yacht to grope along the bottom, which was only twelve feet from the surface. he entered the water like a knife, and from the bubbles that rose to the surface it could be seen that a thorough search was being made. each one took slightly different directions, and went over the side, one after another, like mud-turtles off a log. between them all, the chance of his remaining drowned upon the bottom was small. several came up for air, and dived again in another place and met each other below. there was no gamboling now. they were horrified, and looked upon it as a matter of life or death. they dived again and again, until one man came up bleeding at the nose and sick with exhaustion. geoffrey swam to help him to reach the yacht, when an explosion of laughter was heard on the deck, and there was lemons, with the laugh entirely on his side. as soon as he had got underneath the surface he had dived deep, and by swimming under water had come up under the counter, where he waited till all were in the water, and then he came on deck.
-revenge was never more complete. lemons was the hero of the hour. the girls thought him splendid, and afterward the sight of eight pairs of trousers and eight shirts drying on the main-boom seemed to do him good.
-charlie said they ought not to make a laundry clothes-horse of the yacht on sunday, and proposed to leave cobourg. mrs. dusenall made a slight demur to leaving on sunday. jack explained that if it blew hard from the south they could not get out at all without a steam-tug from port hope. this seemed a bore--to be locked up, willy-nilly, in harbor--so the yacht was warped to the head of the east pier, where, catching the breeze, she cleared the west pier and headed out into the lake. outside they found the wind pretty well ahead and increasing, but, with sails flattened in, the ideal lay down to it, and clawed up to windward in a way that did their hearts good.
-some topsails were soon descried far away to windward, showing where two other vessels were also beating down the lake. this gave them something to try for, and when the topmast was housed and all made snug not a great while elapsed before the hulls of the schooners became occasionally visible. the sea was much higher and the motion greater than on the previous day, but the breeze, being ahead, was more refreshing, and nobody felt in danger of being ill after the first hour out. they "came to" under the wooded rocks of nicholas island, put in a couple of reefs, for comfort's sake, and "hove to" in calm water to take lunch quietly.
-after lunch, as the yacht paid off on a tack to the southward to weather the scotch bonnet lighthouse, they found, on leaving the shelter of the island, a sea rolling outside large enough to satisfy any of them. one hardly realizes from looking at a small atlas what a nice little jump of a sea ontario can produce in these parts. the hour lost in mollycoddling for lunch under the island made a difference in the work the yacht had to do. the two schooners, having received another long start, were making good weather of it well to windward of the light, and, when on the tops of waves, their hulls could be seen launching ahead in fine style through the white crests. the yacht's rigging, as she soared to the top of the wave, supplied a musical instrument for the wind to play barbaric tunes upon, which to jack and some others were inspiring. as she swept down the breezy side of a conquered wave, her rigging sounded a savage challenge to the next bottle-green-and-white mountain to come on and be cut down.
-mrs. dusenall went below and fell asleep in her berth, and some of the others were lying about the after-cabin dozing over books. nina and the dusenall girls lay on the sloping deck, propped against the companion-hatch, where they could command the attention of several other people who were sprawled about in the neighborhood of the wheel. margaret and rankin persisted in climbing about the slanting decks, changing their positions as new notions about the sailing of the vessel came to them. they seemed so pleased with each other and with everything--exchanging their private little jokes and relishing the odd scraps culled from favorite authors that each brought out in the talk, as old friends can. maurice made love to her in the openest way--every glance straight into her deep-sea eyes. not possessing a muscle or a figure, he wooed her with his wits and a certain virtuous boldness that asserted his unmixed admiration and his quaint ideas with some force. and she to him was partly motherly, chiefly sisterly, and partly coquettish, like one who accepts the admiration of half a score before her girlish fancies are gathered into the great egotism of the one who shall reign thrice-crowned. just look at geoffrey now, as he nears this schooner, steering the yacht as she comes up behind and to leeward of the big vessel that majestically spurns the waves into half an acre of foam. they tell him he can't weather her, that he'll have to bear away. now look at his muscular full neck and thick crisp curls. see his jaw grow rigid and his eye flash as he calculates the weight of the wind and the shape of the sea, the set of the sails, and the distances. obviously, a man to have his way. objections do not affect him. see how margaret's eyes sweep quickly from the schooner back to geoffrey, to watch what he is doing. why is it when they say he can't do it that it never occurs to her that he won't? she looks at him open-eyed and thoughtful, and thinks it is fine to carry the courage of one's opinions to success, and she smiles as the yacht skillfully evades the main-boom of the schooner and saws up on her windward side.
-the sunrise that maurice saw early in the morning was too sweet to be wholesome. as the day wore on, the barometer grew unsteady. a leaden scud came flying overhead, and the fellows began to wonder whether they would have to thrash around long point all night. a good many opinions were passed on the weather, which certainly did not look promising. margaret suggested that it would be more comfortable to go into port, but was just as well pleased to hear that they had either to go about forty miles further for a shelter or else run back to cobourg. presque isle was not spoken of, since it was too shallow and intricate to enter safely at night. lemons suggested that they should go back and anchor under nicholas island, where they had lunched.
-"might as well look for needle in a hay-stack," said charley. "it's going to be as black as a pocket when daylight is gone. and if you did get there it is no place to anchor on a night like this."
-jack did not say anything. he knew that charley would go on to south bay, and he looked forward to another night of it round long point. the only person who cared much what was done was mr. lemons. towards evening he began to think about the next meal.
-"my dear skipper, how can you ever get a dinner cooked in such a sea as this? the cook will never be able to prepare anything in such a commotion," said he regretfully.
-"won't he!" exclaimed charley decisively. "just wait and see. my men understand that they have to cook if the vessel never gets up off her beam ends."
-"what, you do not mean to say it will be all--" mr. lemons came and laid his head on charley's shoulder--"that it will be all just as it was yesterday? oh, say that it will. 'stay me with flagons; comfort me with apples.'"
-"get up--off me, you fat lump," cried charley, pushing him away vehemently. "i say that we will do better to-day, or we'll put the cook in irons. i hate a measly fellow who gives in just when you want him. i have sacked four stewards and six cooks about this very thing, and it is a sore subject with me."
-"de-lightful man," said lemons, gazing rapturously at charley.
-"rankin will tell you," said jack. "he drew the papers. the whole thing is down in black and white."
-"true enough," said maurice. "but i don't see how signing papers will teach a man to cook on the side of a stove, when the ship is lying over and pitching like this."
-"no more do i," said lemons anxiously.
-"why, man alive!" said charley, "the whole stove works something like a compass, don't-you-know. he has got it all swinging--slung in irons."
-"that is far better than having the cook in irons," suggested margaret.
-"oh!" said mr. lemons, as he gazed at the sky, "that remark appeals to me. the lady is correct."
-then he arose and grasped charley in a vice-like grip, for though fat he was powerful. he pinned the skipper to the deck and sat upon him.
-"say, dearest," he cooed into his ear, "at about what hour will this heavenly-repast be ready?"
-"pull him off--somebody!" groaned charley. "i hate a man that has to be thrown in the water to--" a thump on the back silenced him.
-"may i convey your commands to the minister of the interior," asked his tormentor.
-"oh, my ribs! yes. tell him to begin at it at once."
-"i don't mind if i do," said mr. lemons sagaciously; and he disappeared down the companion-way to interview the cook.
-"ain't he a brick?" said charley, after lemons had gone forward. "he's a regular one-er, that chap! give him his meals on time and he's the gamest old sardine. by the way, let us have a sweepstake on the time we drop anchor in south bay."
-"we haven't any money in these togs," said geoffrey.
-"well, you'll all have to owe it, then. we'll imagine there's a quarter apiece in the pool."
-margaret wanted to know what was to be done. it was explained that each person had to write his name on a folded paper with the time he thought anchor would be dropped in south bay. the names were read out afterward. they all, with two exceptions, ranged between one o'clock at night and seven the next morning. the sea was running tremendously high and the wind dead ahead. it was now seven o'clock in the evening and with some thirty-five miles yet to beat to windward. what surprised them all was that jack had chosen ten o'clock and charley half-past ten of the same evening. they explained that they had based their ideas on the clouds.
-"if you look carefully," said jack, "you'll see that close to this lower scud coming from the east, there is a lighter cloud flying out the south and west."
-"i wish, jack, you had not come on this trip," said charley. "i could make lots of money if you were not on board."
-sure enough, the yacht began to point up nearer and nearer to her course, soon after they spoke. presently she lay her course, with the sheet lightly started, mounting over the head seas like a race-horse, and roaring straight into the oncoming walls of water till it seemed as if her bowsprit would be whipped out. the wind kept veering till at last they had a quarterly breeze driving them forcibly into the seas that had been rising all day. ordinarily they would have shortened sail to ease the boat, but now that dinner was ordered for half-past nine o'clock, they drove her through it in order that they might dine in calm water.
-"all right, old boy. wire in."
-dusenall turned over his newspaper, but did not take the trouble to come on deck to investigate.
-"say!" he called.
-"won't she take the peak again? i've got a terrible twist on me for dinner."
-"no. bare poles is more what she wants just now," said jack.
-"the deuce! who's forrud?"
-"billy and joe."
-"all right. must be damp for 'em up there."
-"can't see. guess it's blue water to the knees, most of the time."
-"shouldn't wonder. do 'em good."
-after this jargon was finished, it did not take long to run down to the false duck light. here the double-reefed mainsail was "squatted" and the fourth reef-pennant hauled down. the reefed staysail was taken in and stowed; and under the peak of the mainsail they jibed over. steering by the compass, they then rounded to leeward of timber island and hauled their wind into south bay.
-to put the ideal over so far with so little canvas showing, it must have been blowing a gale. they sped up into the bay close hauled, and "came to" in about four fathoms. down went the big anchor through the hissing ripples to that best of holding-grounds, and the vessel, drifting back as if for another wild run, suddenly fetched up with a grind on her iron cable. the mad thing knew that unyielding grip, and swung around submissively.
-full souls are double mirrors, making still an endless vista of fair things before, repeating things behind.
-george eliot's poems.
-there is a want of primness in the manners and customs of my characters which a reviewer might take exception to. to be sure he might with effect criticise their making up a pool on sunday. but the fact was that nobody remembered it to be sunday until jack wanted to collect his winnings after dinner. at this, mrs. dusenall held up her hands in high disapproval. while out in the lake, in the worst part of the sea, she had commenced to read her bible, and had felt thankful to arrive in shelter. consequently she remembered the day.
-"surely, charley, you have not been gambling on sunday?" said she reprovingly.
-the girls looked guilty, with an expression of "oh, haven't we been bad?" on their faces.
-rankin endeavored to relieve the situation by explaining in many words that the whole thing was a mere matter of form, and no more than an expression of opinion as to the time the boat would reach the harbor, because no money was put up--in fact, as the arrangement was made on sunday, the whole thing was illegal, and no money ever would be put up, etc.
-jack kicked him under the table for arguing away his winnings, and margaret quoted at him:
-"his tongue dropped manna, and could make the worse appear the better reason, to perplex and dash maturest counsels."
-"good," said geoffrey. "give him the rest of it, miss margaret. rub it in well."
-margaret continued, and with mirthful eyes declaimed at maurice:
-"for his thoughts were low; to vice industrious, but to nobler deeds timorous and slothful: and yet he pleas'd the ear, and with persuasive accent thus began."
-this amused margaret, because maurice was such a decent little man. but geoffrey's enjoyment of it was different. rankin felt that there was growing in him an antagonism to hampstead. he was afraid of him for her sake--afraid she would learn to like him too much. at any other time chaff would have found him invulnerable, but geoffrey's amusement made him redden.
-"you seem to be well acquainted with the characteristics of belial, hampstead," he said. "margaret, your memory is excellent. could you favor us with the lines just preceding what you first quoted?"
-why should margaret have blushed as she did so? she quoted:
-"on th' other side up rose belial, in act more graceful and humane; a fairer person lost not heaven; he seem'd for dignity compos'd and high exploit: but all was false and hollow; though his tongue dropp'd manna," etc.
-"thank you," said maurice. "you see the lines are intended to describe a person far different from me in appearance. hampstead, you observe, had studied the passage. a coincidence, is it not?"
-a fairer person lost not heaven; he seemed for dignity composed and high exploit.
-in her mind geoffrey had become identified with these two lines. but what had friend maurice meant by saddling the context on him in that malevolent way? could he really have thought that belial's character was also geoffrey's? she put away this idea as untenable. she was one of those born in homes where the struggle for existence has not for generations taught the household to be suspicious; with the innate nobility that tends, whether rightly or wrongly, to think the best of others; she was one of those whom men turn to with relief after the cunning and suspicion of the business world, each feeling the assistance it is to meet some one who is ready to take him at the valuation he would like to be able justly to put upon himself.
-when morning broke, there were eight or ten schooners to be seen on different sides that had run in for shelter during the night. about six o'clock margaret crept out to satisfy her curiosity as to what kind of place they were in. with only her head above the hatchway at the top of the stairs leading up from the ladies' cabin she gazed about for some time before she spied maurice sitting on the counter with his back to her, his feet dangling over the water while he watched the vessels.
-she crept toward him and gave a cry close to his ear, to startle him.
-"don't make so much noise," said he, quite unstartled. "i don't like you to call out like that in my ear." he added, perforce, as he looked at her, "at least i don't like it when i can't see you."
-"don't tell stories, morry. you know you would like me to do it at any time."
-"i would not, indeed," he asserted. "come and sit down and keep quite silent. just when i was having such a happy, peaceful time you come and spoil it all."
-margaret sat down on the rail and turned herself about so that she could sit in the same position beside him. his helping hand still held hers as they sat together. he was almost afraid to turn toward her, for fear he would look too tenderly. she might go away if he did. his rôle was to bully her, and then she would never know how exquisite it was for him to have her sit beside him.
-"there, now! sit perfectly quiet and don't say another word. just look around and enjoy yourself in a reasonable manner. i'm not going to have my morning disarranged and my valuable reveries disturbed."
-the wind had shifted to the northwest in the morning and had blown itself out and down to a moderate breeze with a clearing sky, with patches of blue and broken clouds overhead.
-"now listen to the chorus of the sailors as they get up their anchor. does it not seem a sweet and fitting overture to the whole oratorio of the voyage before them? i have been watching the vessels go out, one by one, for over an hour. i must say there are some uncommonly rude men among the sweet singers we are listening to, and--and--" he stopped and forgot to go on.
-"and what?" cried margaret peremptorily.
-maurice had lost himself in the contemplation of some locks of sunny hair, that were flying in the breeze from margaret's forehead, and the graceful curve of her full neck as she looked away at the ships.
-"oh, yes. and that's timber island over there, covered with trees and stamped out round like a breakfast bun, and that's the false duck island, where we came in last night. the schooner sailing yonder is going to take the channel between that white line of breakers and south bay point running out there, and those huts you see nestling in the trees far away on the main-land are fishermen's houses--"
-he was not looking at any of these things, but was following out two trains of thought in his active head while he talked against time. what really absorbed him was margaret's ear, and a sort of invisible down on the back part of her cheek. he was thinking to himself that if five dollars would purchase a kiss on that spot he would be content to see a notice in the gazette: "maurice rankin, failed: liabilities, $5.00."
-margaret was listening, gravely unconscious of being so much admired, enjoying all he said, and feasting her eyes upon the distances, the brilliant colors, and the fleeting shadows of the broken clouds upon the water.
-"why, what a nice old chappie you are!" she exclaimed, giving his hand a pat and taking hers away. "how did you manage to find out all about the surroundings?"
-"been around boarding the different schooners lying at anchor. examining their papers, you know," said he grandly. "went around in the canoe to the first fellow--a coal vessel. a man appeared near the bow and looked down at me as if i were a kind of fish swimming about. 'heave-to, or i'll sink you,' i said in the true old nautical style. he did not say a word, but stooped down and did heave two, in fact three, pieces of coal at me. i passed on, satisfied that his vessel needed no further inspection. i was then attracted by the name of another schooner, on whose stern was painted the legend 'bark swaller.'"
-"what a strange name," said margaret, as maurice spelled it out.
-"well, it puzzled me a good deal, as i examined it closely, being in doubt whether barque swallow was intended, or perhaps the name of some german owner. at all events a sailor spied me paddling about under the stern of the boat and regarded me with evident suspicion. i thought i would deal more gently with this man than with the other fellow. 'can you tell me,' i asked, 'the name of that round island over there?' the only answer i got was unsatisfactory. 'sheer off,' said he, 'wid your dirty dug-out.' this seemed rather rude, but i did not retaliate. i thought i might go further and fare worse, so i endeavored to mollify him. perhaps, i thought, being up all night in hard weather had made these sailors irritable.
-"'can you drink whisky?' i said--" margaret was looking at maurice with a soft expression of interest and mirth. he was talking on in order that he might continue to bask in the beauty of the face that looked straight at him. but the strain for a moment was too great. for an instant he slacked up his check-rein, and while he narrated his story he continued in the same tone with: "(believe me, my dear margaret, you are looking perfectly heavenly this morning) and the effect on this poor toiler of the sea was, i assure you, quite wonderful." rankin's tongue went straight on, as if the parenthesis were part of the narrative. margaret saw that it was useless to speak, and resigned herself to listen again. "quite wonderful," he continued. "the fellow motioned to me to come to the bow of the vessel, and when i got there he came over the bulwarks and dropped like a monkey from one steel rope to another till he stood on the bobstay chains."
-"'whist!' said he. 'divil a word! have you got it there?'
-"'there is some on the yacht,' i said, 'and i want to ask you some questions about this place. what island is that over there?'
-"'mother of pathrick,' said he, 'an' did ye come down all the way in your yacht and not know timber island when you'd see it?'
-"he looked at me as if i was some strange being.
-"'and where was ye last night, might i axe?'
-"'where we axe now,' i said.
-"'faith, it was a big head that brought you into the nursery here before last night came on! more be-token, i have'nt had a dhry rag on me for tin hours, and divil a sail we've got widout a shplit in it the size of a shteam-tug. bring it in a sody-bottle, darlint, and the lord'll love ye if ye don't spoil it. whisht, love! you drink my health in the sody and don't lave any in the bottle.'
-"i came back and got him a soda-bottle of the genuine article, and while he drank it the rapidity of his tongue was peculiar. 'so you have been here before?' i asked.
-"'whisht, darlint! till the captain won't hear you. been here before? begorra, this place has been a mine of goold to me many a time. for siventeen days at a slap i've laid here in dicimber at four dollars a day, with nothin' to do but play checkers and sphlit wood for the shtove and pray for a gale o' wind down the lake till shpring-time.'
-"this eloquence continued until i thought he would certainly fall off the bobstay.
-"'tell me, now,' he said, after i had got all the information i wanted, 'have ye a berth for an old salty aboard that craft?'
-"i said we had not.
-"'faith, perhaps you're right. i kin see by the stow on yer mainsail and by the nate way yer heads'ls is drag-gen' in the wather that you're born and bled up to the sea and don't require no assistance.'
-"with these sarcastic words he gave me his blessing, threw away the bottle, and disappeared again over the bow."
-"i gather from your remarks that your friend was of hibernian origin," said margaret. "perhaps a good dynamiter spoiled. but we will speak of him again. what i have been wanting for some time has been a trip in the canoe to the beach over there. i want to walk over the sand bar and get close to those great breakers rolling in on the shingle. unhitch your canoe-string and bring the canoe alongside."
-"unhitch your canoe-string!" repeated rankin contemptuously. "you must speak more nautically or i won't understand you."
-"well, what ought i to say?"
-"dunno. 'cast adrift your towline' sounds well."
-"it does, indeed," said margaret, as morry swung the light cockleshell into position and she descended into it with care. "'cast adrift your towline' has a full, able-bodied seaman sort of sound; but it has not the charm of mystery about it that some expressions have. now 'athwart your hawse' seems portentous in its meaning. i don't want to know what it means. i would rather go on thinking of it as of the arm that handed forth the sword excalibur,' clothed in white samite--mystic, wonderful.' do you know i read all clark russell's sea stories, and drive through all his sea-going technicalities with the greatest interest, although i understand nothing about them. when he goes aloft on the main-boom and brails up his foregaff-bobstay i go with him. sometimes he describes how small the deck below looks from the dizzy height when, poised upon the capstan-bars, he furls the signal halyards that flap and fill away and thunder in the gale; and then i see it all--"
-"so do i, so do i!" cried morry, as he paddled dexterously to the shore. "you've got clark russell to a t. he goes on like that by the hour together. i read every word, and the beauty of it is i always think i understand. why do we like his stories so much, i wonder?"
-"one reason is because his heroes are manly men and have brave hearts," said margaret confidently. "i think that is why they appeal to women; he always arouses a sentiment of pity for the hero's misfortunes. few women can resist that." and margaret, somewhat stirred, looked away over the broad sea. almost unconsciously there flashed before her the image of a greek god winning a foot-race under circumstances that aroused her sympathy. again she saw him steering a yacht, keen, strong, active, determined, and calm amid excitement. a flush suffused her countenance, and her eyes became soft and thoughtful as she gazed far away. ah, these rushes of blood to the head! how they kindle an unacknowledged idea into activity! a moment and, like a flash, a latent, undeveloped instinct becomes a living potent force to develop us. the admirer becomes a lover, the plotter a criminal, and the religious man a fanatic.
-when the canoe pushed its way through the rushes and beached itself upon the soft sand the two jumped out and crossed over to the lake side, where the heavy ground swells of the last night's gale were still mounting high upon the shingle. the bar leading toward them from false duck island was a seething expanse of white breakers, and over the lake to the south and west, as far as the eye could reach in the now rarefied atmosphere a tumbling mass of bright-green waters could be seen, which grew blue in color at the sharply cut horizon. not far off the "bark swaller" was buffeting her way to the southward, toward oswego, and around the wooded island with the lighthouse on it, the mail steamer, twelve hours detained, was getting a first taste of the open water.
-it was a morning that made the two feel as if it were impossible to keep still. the flat shingle, washed smooth by the high waves of the previous night, was firm under foot as they walked and trotted along between the wreckage and driftwood on one side and the highest wash of the hissing water on the other. an occasional flight of small plover suggested the wildness of the spot, and something of the spirit of these birds in their curving and wheeling flight seemed to possess the two young people--making them run and caper on the sands.
-"you ought to be able to run a pretty good race," said maurice, glancing at the shapely figure of his companion.
-"so i am," said margaret, as she sprang up on a large piece of driftwood. "i'll run you a race to that bush on the far point around the little bay. do you see it?"
-"i see it," said maurice. "are you ready? go!"
-margaret sprang down from the stump and was off like an arrow. morry thought it was only a sham and a pretense of hers, as he bounded off beside her. he soon found his mistake, however, as his unaccustomed muscles did their utmost to keep him abreast of the gliding figure in the dark-blue skirt and jersey. they rounded the curve of the bay, maurice on the inside track. but this advantage did not give him a lead. the distance to the winning point seemed fatal to his chances, but he hung on, hoping his opponent would tire. again he was mistaken.
-"come on, morry! don't be beaten by a woman."
-her voice, as she said this, seemed aggressively fresh, and the taunt brought rankin even with her again. he had no breath left to say anything in reply as they came to a small indentation filled with water where the shore curved in, making another little bay. margaret ran around it, but maurice, as a last chance, splashed through it, regardless of water up to his ankles. he gained about ten feet by this subterfuge. a few gliding bounds, impossible to describe, and margaret was beside him again.
-"that was a shabby advantage to take," she said as she passed his panting form. "now i'll show you how fast i can run."
-she left him then as he labored on. she floated away from him like a thistle-blossom on the breeze. he forgot his defeat in his admiration of that fleeting figure which he would have believed to move in the air had he not seen marks in the sand made by toes of small shoes. he could hardly comprehend how she could run away from him in this way. yet there was no wings attached to the lithe form before him. no wings, but a bit of silk ankle which seemed far preferable.
-margaret stopped at the bush which was to be the winning post. morry then staggered in exhausted and threw himself sideways into the yielding mass of the willow bush and fell out on the other side.
-"oh," he said, as he rolled over on his back with his head resting in his hands, "wasn't that beautiful?"
-"the race--yes, indeed, it was splendid."
-margaret's face was sparkling with excitement and color, while her bosom rose and fell after her exertion.
-"i can run fast, can i not?" her arms were hanging demurely at her side again. she could run, but she never seemed to be at all masculine.
-"i never ran a race with a man before," she said, laughing.
-"and never will run another with this individual," said rankin. "nothing goes so fast as a train you have missed, just as it leaves the station, and yet i have caught it sometimes. you can go faster than anything i ever saw." (a breath.) "it is a good thing to know when one is beaten. you will always be an uncatchable distance before me." (a sigh.)
-"my shoes are full of sand," said margaret ruefully, looking down at them.
-"mine are full of water," said maurice. he did not seem to care. he was quite content to lie there and gaze at her without reservation. and, with his heightened color and excitement, he actually appeared rather good looking.
-"i think the least you could do would be to offer to take the sand out of my shoes," said margaret.
-"if i don't have to get up i could do it. i won't be able to get up for about twenty minutes. but if you sit on that stump--so--i think i could manage it."
-resting on one elbow, he unlaced the shoes, knocked the sand out of them, and spent a long time over the operation. then he wondered at their small size, and measured them, sole to sole, with his own boots while he chattered on, as usual, about nothing. hers were not by any means microscopic shoes, but they seemed so to him, and he regarded them with some of the curiosity of the miners of blue dog gulch, nevada, when a woman's boot appeared among them after their two years' isolation from the interesting sex. there was something in the way he handled them that spoke of exile--something that stirred the compassion one might feel on seeing the monks of man saba tend their canaries.
-the left shoe was put on with great care, and then he sat looking over the lake for a while in silence before beginning with the second. it was a long, well-chiseled foot, with high instep, and none of those knobs which sometimes necessitate long dresses, and in men's boots take such a beautiful polish. he pretended to brush some sand away, and then, banding over, kissed the silk-covered instep, and received an admonitory tap for his boldness.
-"fie, morry! to kiss an unprotected lady's foot," said margaret archly, as she took the shoe from him and put it on herself. "you have insulted me."
-"what, then, becomes of the search for the unattainable after marriage?" asked margaret practically.
-"i imagine that the search would continue, that the greatest peace of marriage is the consciousness of approaching good in being assisted to live up to a woman's higher ideals. it seems as if the condition of milton's idyllic pair--'he for god only, she for god in him'--has but little counterpart in real life, and that, in a thousand cases to one, the morality of the wife is the main chance of the husband."
-"i understand, then, that we are to be worshiped as a means toward the improvement of our husbands. i was hoping," said margaret smiling, "that you were going to prove us to be real goddesses, worthy of devotion for ourselves--without more."
-"you are raising a well-worn question--as to what men worship when they bow before a shrine. if you were the shrine, i should say generally the shrine. at other times they worship that which the shrine suggests. what i mean is, that it is a good thing for one to have a power with him capable of improving all the good that is in him. for myself, the point is somewhat wanting in interest, as i never expect to be able to put it to a practical test."
-"not get married, maurice? why will you never get married?"
-"i intended to have casually mentioned the reason a minute ago, only you interrupted me just as i was coming to the interesting part."
-"then tell me now, and i won't interrupt."
-"well, you know i am like the small boys who want pie, and won't eat anything if they don't get it," said he, striving to be prosaic. "i love you far too well to make it possible for me to marry anybody else."
-in spite of the assistance that pulling his hair gave him, as his head lay back in his hands, his voice shook and his form stiffened out along the sand in a way that told of struggle. margaret was surprised, but she hardly yet understood the matter enough to feel pained. she had not been led to expect that men would first express their love while lying on their backs.
-margaret was not often at a loss for a word, but now she knew not what to say. it did not seem as if anything could be said. she essayed to speak; but he stopped her.
-"i know what you would say," he said. "they would be kind words in their tone, full of sympathy, words that i love to hear--that i hear like music in my ears when you are out of sight? you must, and i know you will, forgive me for all these confessions," said he, smiling, "you have made such a change come over my life. you have given me so much happiness."
-"i don't see how," said margaret, not knowing what to say.
-"no--you could hardly know why. if you knew what a different life i have led from that of others you would understand better the real happiness you have given me. my life of late years has been unlovely. i have not had the soft influences of a home as it should be, but i have always yearned for them."
-some hearts might have yearned to have been on board during the fishing in hay bay, and to have enjoyed those evenings when the yacht anchored in the twilight calm, beside rocky shores, or near waving banks of sedge and rushes, where the whip-poor-will and bull frog supplied all the necessary music. i abandon all that occurred at pretty picton and belleville, but i must not forget the little episode that happened one evening near indian point as the yacht was on her way to kingston. a fresh breeze had been blowing during the afternoon, and the two reefs, taken in for comfort's sake, still remained in the mainsail, as no one after dinner felt equal to the exertion of shaking them out. the wind had almost died away as they approached indian point, and not far off, on the other side of this long, narrow arm of the sea called the bay of quinte, lay macdonald's cove, a snug little place for anchorage in any kind of weather. a heavy bank of clouds was rapidly rising over the hills in the west, and hastening up the sky to extinguish the bright moon that had been making a fairy landscape of the bay and its surroundings, and the barometer was falling rapidly.
-this condition of affairs jack reported to charley, who was below with several others having a little game in which the word "ante" seemed to be used sometimes in a tone of reproach. charles answered gayly, without looking away from the game, that jack had better get the yacht into the cove while there was wind to take her there, and jack, who observed that he was "seeing" and "raising" an antagonist for the fifth time on a pair of fours, thought a man should not be disturbed at such a time, and went on deck to shake out the reefs so as to drift into the cove, if possible, before the storm came on. but when in the middle of the bay the wind gave out entirely. for half an hour the ideal lay becalmed and motionless. oilskin suits and sou'westers were donned. now fringes of whitish scud, torn from the driving clouds, could be seen flying past the bleared moon, and it seemed in the increasing darkness, while they were waiting for the tumult, as if the shores around contracted, so as to give the yacht no space for movement. jack took the compass bearings of the lighthouse, expecting soon to be in total darkness, and he had both anchors prepared for instant use. the sails had been close-reefed, but after being reefed they were lowered again so as to present nothing but bare poles to the squall. the darkness came on and grew intense. between the rapidly increasing peals of thunder the squall could be heard approaching, moaning over the hills in the west and down the bay as if ravening for prey, while the lightning seemed to take a savage delight in spearing the distant cliffs which, in the flashes, were beautifully outlined in silhouette against an electric atmosphere. still the yacht lay motionless in the dead air difficult to breathe and oppressive; and still charley continued to "raise" and get "raised" in the cheerfully lighted cabin, whence the laughter and the talk of the game mingled strangely, in the ears of those on deck, with the sounds of the coming tempest. margaret, with her head out of the companion-way, watched the scene with a nervousness that impending electrical storms oppressed her with. her quick eyes soon caught sight of something on the water, not far off. a mystic line of white could be seen coming along the surface. she asked what it was at a moment when the deadness and blackness of the air seemed appalling, and the ear was filled with strange swishing sounds. she never heard any answer. another instant and the yacht heeled over almost to the rail in that line of white water, which the whips of the tornado had lashed into spume. blinding sheets of spray, picked up by the wind from the surface of water, flew over those on deck, and instantly the lee scuppers were gushing with the rain and spray which deluged the decks. word was carried forward by a messenger from the wheel to hoist a bit of headsail, and when this was immediately done the yacht paid off before the squall, running easterly, with all the furies after her. the darkness was so great that it was impossible to see one's hand close to one's eyes. the thunderclaps near at hand were rendered more terrific by the echoes from the hills, and only while the lightning clothed the vessel in a spectral glare could they see one another. still the yacht sped on, while jack jealously watched the binnacle where the only guide was to be found. the indian point light, though not far off, was completely blotted out by the rain, which seemed to fall in solid masses, and even the lightning failed to indicate the shores or otherwise reveal their position.
-a wild career, such as they were now pursuing, must end somewhere, and in the narrow rock-bound locality they were flying through, the chance of keeping to the proper channel entirely by compass and chart did not by any means amount to a certainty. nor was anchoring in the middle of the highway to be thought of, especially as some trading vessels were known to be in the vicinity. the chance of being cut down by them was too great. jack felt that an error now might cause the loss of the yacht. after calculating a variation of the compass in these parts, he decided to run before the gale for a while and keep in the channel if possible--hoping for a lull in the downfall of rain, so that his whereabouts could be discovered.
-a high chopping sea was driving the yacht on, while she scudded under bare poles before the gale, and jack had been for some little time endeavoring to estimate their rate of speed when the deluge seemed to abate partly and the glimmer of a light could be seen to the southward. a sailor called out "there's indian point light." if it had been the light he mentioned they would have had all they wanted. jack feared they had run past it, but, to make sure, he asked the sailors their opinion. they all said they were certain it was indian point light. one of them declared he had seen the lighthouse itself in one of the flashes. so jack had the peak of the mainsail partly hoisted and they drew around to the southward, so as to anchor under the lee of the lighthouse point. as the yacht came round sideways to the wind she lay down to it and moved slowly and heavily through the short angry seas that, hitting the side, threw spray all over her. jack was feeling his way carefully and slowly through the inky blackness of the night with the lead-line going to show the depth of the water, when the lookout on the bowsprit-end, after they had proceeded a considerable distance to the south, suddenly cried "breakers ahead!" and he tumbled inboard off the bowsprit, as if he thought the boat about to strike at once. "let her go round, sir, for god's sake! we're right on the rocks."
-jack, back at the wheel, had not been able to get a glimpse of the foaming rocks in the lightning which the man on the bowsprit had seen. he despaired of the boat's going about, but he tried it. the high chopping sea stopped the yacht at once. he knew it was asking too much of her to come about with so little way on, and the canvas all in a bag, so, as there was evidently no room to wear the ship, he had the big anchor dropped. his intention was to come about by means of his anchor and get out on the other tack into the channel and anywhere away from the rocks and the breakers that could be heard above the tempest roaring close to them on the port side. while the chain was being paid out, the close-reefed mainsail was hoisted up to do its work properly. the storm staysail was also hoisted and sheeted home on the port side to back her head off from the land. as this was being done, the sailors paid out the anchor-chain rapidly. to do so more quickly they carelessly threw it off the winch and let it smoke through the hawse-pipe at its own pace. but suddenly there came a check to it, which, in the darkness, could not be accounted for. a bight or a knot in the chain had come up and got jammed somewhere, and now it refused to run out. the ideal immediately straightened out the cable, and, at the moment, all the king's horses and all the king's men would have been powerless to clear it. jack came forward, and with a lantern discovered how things were. "never mind," he thought. "if she will lie here for a while no harm will be done." in the mean time, while the men were getting a tackle rigged to haul up a bit of the chain, so as to obtain control of it again, the rain ceased to fall, while the lightning, by which alone the men could see to work, served only to make the succeeding darkness more profound.
-the place they had sailed into was on the north shore of amherst island. as jack feared, the sailors had been wrong in thinking that the light they saw was the one on indian point. it was a lantern on a schooner which had gone ashore on the rocks close to where the ideal now lay.
-the worst of their anxiety was, however, yet to come. during a vivid flash, after the rain had partly cleared away, a reef of rocks was discovered a short distance off, trending out from the shore directly behind the yacht. jack had been lying with his hand on the cable to feel whether the anchor was holding or not. he soon found that the yacht was "dragging." the sails were lowered at once, and the second anchor was left go, in the hope that it might catch hold when the first one had dragged back far enough to allow the second to work.
-with the rocks behind waiting for them, it was now a question of anchors holding, or nothing--yacht or no yacht. every moment as she pitched and ducked and tossed against the driving seas and wind she dropped back toward a black mass over which the waves broke savagely. the yacht was literally locked up to the big anchor. they could neither haul up nor pay out its cable, so that, until this was remedied by means of a tackle (which takes some time in a jumping sea and darkness) sailing again was impossible. carefully they paid out chain enough for the second anchor to do its work. not till they were close to the rocks did they allow any strain to come upon it. then they took a turn on its chain and waited to see how it would hold.
-feeling the cable, when there is nothing to hope for but that the hook will do its work, is a quiet though anxious occupation. jack waited for the sensations in the hand which will often tell whether the anchor is holding or not, and then rose, and in the moonlight which now began to break through the clouds his face looked anxious. "flat rock," he muttered, "with a layer of mud on it."
-by this time the men had got control of the big anchor's chain again and had knocked the kink out of it. but there was no room now to slip cables and sail off.
-the rocks were too close. the idea struck him of winding in the first anchor a bit--in the hope that it might catch in a crack in the rock, or on a bowlder, before it got even with the second one.
-this proved of no use, and the yacht was now approaching, stern-first, the point or outward rock of the reef which stood up boldly in the water. only a few feet now separated this outside rock from the counter of the yacht. in two minutes more the stem would be dashing itself into matches.
-jack's brain, you may be sure, was on the keen lookout for expedients. he had the mainsail hoisted and the staysail flattened down to the port side--so as to back her head off. he hoped by this possibly to grind off the rocks by his sails after striking, and by then slipping his cables to get out into deep water before the stern was completely stove in. but while this was being done the thought came into his mind whether the stern might not clear the outer rock without hitting it. the changeable gusts of wind had been swinging the yacht sidewise--first a little one way and then a little the other. at the time he looked back at the yacht, they were just about near enough to strike when the wind shifted her a little toward the north, and for a moment the stern pointed clear of the outer rock. his first idea was that the wind was shifting permanently. but suddenly it came to him that this might be his only chance. he did not wait to command others, but flew to the anchor chains and threw off the coils. the yacht shot astern like the recoil of a cannon. he threw the chains clear of the windlass so that the vessel could dart backward without any check. it seemed a mad thing to do--to let both anchors go overboard--but it was a madness which when successful is called genius. it was genius to conceive and carry out the idea in an instant, and single handed, too, as if he were the only one on the boat, genius to know quickly enough exactly how the vessel would act. half a dozen seconds sufficed to throw off the chains, and then he got back to the wheel, steering her as she went backward grazing her paint only against the rock, while the chains rushed out like a whirlwind over the bows. the staysail sheets had already been flattened down on the port side and the yacht's head paid off fast on the port tack, while jack rapidly slacked the main sheet well off, and as she gathered way and plunged out into the open channel, an understanding of the quick idea that had saved the vessel trickled through the brains of the hired men. instead of climbing to the rocks from a sinking yacht, as they expected to be doing at this moment, here they were heading out into deep water again--with the old packet good as new.
-cresswell called to the mate to keep her "jogging around" till he spoke to the owner about getting back the anchors, and then went below with the other men of the party who had remained on deck throughout the uncomfortable affair.
-the workers on deck, who looked like submarine divers, slipped out of their oil-skins and descended from the deck to the gay cabin below. charley still continued to "raise" and get "raised" with a pertinacity which defied the elements. his game had had the effect of making his mother and the others think, in spite of their tremors, that the danger lay chiefly in their own minds, and, under the circumstances, charley had no easy time of it. he had listened to every sound, and knew a good deal more about the proximity of the rocks, and the trouble generally, than any one would have supposed.
-he decided not to attempt to pick up the anchors that night, so they beat back to macdonald's cove, where they entered, in the moonlight, and made fast for the night to some trees beside a steep rocky shore.
-bassanio: so may the outward shows be least themselves; the world is still deceived with ornament. in law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, but, being seasoned with a gracious voice, obscures the show of evil? in religion, what damméd error, but some sober brow will bless it, and approve it with a text, hiding the grossness with fair ornament?
-salarino: my wind, cooling my broth, would blow me to an ague when i thought what harm a wind too great might do at sea. ... should i go to church, and see the holy edifice of stone, and not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
-merchant of venice.
-when approaching from the west among picturesque islands and past wooded points of land, our old city of kingston affords the traveler a pleasant scene. above the blue and green expanse of her spacious harbor, the penitentiary with its high wall and surrounding turrets suggests the canadian justice we are proud of; and, further up, rises the asylum, suggestive only of canadian lunacy, for which we do not claim pre-eminence, while beyond, some little spires and domes, sparkling in the sun, are seen over the tops of some english-looking stone residences, where the grassy lawns stretch down to the line of waves breaking on the rocky shore. further off one sees the vessel-masts along the ship-yards and docks; here and there some small martello forts try to look formidable; large vessels cross and recross the harbor, while others lie at anchor drying their sails; and beyond all, on the hill at the back, rises the garrison walls, where--
-in spite of all temptation, dynamite and annexation,
-canada is content, for the present at least, to see the english flag instead of our own.
-as our friends came on deck the next morning (sunday) they were able to enjoy this pleasant approach to kingston. mrs. dusenall and others had wished to attend church if possible in the limestone city, and an early start had been made by the sailors long before the guests were awake. the wind came lightly from the southward, which allowed them to pick up the anchors without difficulty, and it took but a short time to sweep in past the city and "come to" off the barrack's wharf, where a gun was ceremoniously fired as the anchor was lowered from the catheads.
-mrs. dusenall piped all hands for divine service. they came out of the ark two by two and filed up the streets in that order until the church was reached. the boys came out in "heavy marching order"--sunday coats, and all that sort of thing--which made a vast change from the picturesque and rather buccaneer-like appearance they presented on the yacht.
-if a traveling circus had proceeded up the center aisle of the attractively decorated edifice, no greater curiosity could have been exhibited among the worshipers. mrs. dusenall had some of the imposing mien of a drum-major as she led her gallant band to seats at the head of the church, and charley was justly proud of the fine appearance they made. he had surveyed them all with pleasure while on the sidewalk outside, and had paid the usher half a dollar to lead them all together to front seats. walk as lightly as they could, it was impossible in the stillness of the church to prevent their entrance from sounding like that of soldiery, and once the eyes of the worshipers rested on the noble troop they became fixed there for some time. there was a ruddy, bronzed look about the yachting men's faces which, innocent of limestone dust tended to deny the almost aggressive respectability which good tailoring and cruelty collars attempted to claim for them. in the hearts of the fair kingstonians who glanced toward them there arose visions of lawn-tennis, boating, and buccaneer costumes suggested by that remarkably able-bodied and healthy appearance which a fashionable walk, bank trousers, and a gauzy umbrella may do much to modify but can not obliterate. as for the male devotees, it was touching to mark their interest in margaret as she went up the aisle keeping step with the shortened pace of the long-limbed geoffrey. the clergyman was just saying that the scriptures moved them in sundry places when all at once he became a mere cipher to them. after their first thrill at the beauty of her face, their eyes followed margaret and that wonderful movement of hers that made her, as with a well-ordered regiment, almost as dangerous in the retreat as in the advance. but nina came along close behind her, and those who, though disabled, survived the first volley were slaughtered to a man when the rich charms of her appearance won her a triumph all her own. jack, walking by her side, full of gravity but happy, took in the situation with pride at her silent success. then all the others followed, and when they were installed in a body in the three front pews, and after they had all bowed their heads and the gentlemen had carefully perused the legend printed in their hats--"lincoln bennett & coy, sackville street, piccadilly, london. manufactured expressly for jas. h. rogers, toronto and winnipeg"--they got their books open and admitted that they had done things they ought not to have done and that there was no health in them.
-the interior of the church was a luxury to the eye in its mellow coloring from stained-glass windows and carefully-arranged lights, and in its banners, altar-cloths, embroidery, and church millinery generally, it left little to be desired. the clergyman was a young unmarried offspring of a high-church college who, with a lofty disregard for general knowledge, had acquired a great deal of theology. he it was who arranged that dim religious light about the altar and walled up a neighboring window so that the burning of candles seemed to become necessary. never having been out of america, it was difficult to imagine where he acquired the ultra-english pronunciation that had all those flowing "ah" sounds which after a while make all words so pleasantly alike in the high-pitched reading of prayers when, it may be inferred, that word-meanings are perhaps of minor import. it seemed that he alone was, from the holiness of his office, qualified to enter that mysterious place at the head of the chancel where, with his back to the congregation, at stated times he went through certain genuflexions and other movements in which the general public did not participate further than to admire the splendor of his back. the effect of the many mysteries on some of the kingston men was to keep them away from the church. a few fathers of families and others came to please wives, sweethearts, or clients, and in the cool, agreeable edifice enjoyed some respectable slumber or watched the proceedings with mild curiosity or had their ears filled either with good music or the agreeable sound of the intoning.
-the effect of the little mysteries on the well-to-do women of the church (for it was no place for a poor man's family) was varied. on the large-eyed, nervous, impressionable, and imaginative virgins--those who could always be found ready in the days of human sacrifices--the clergyman's mysteries and the exercise of the power of the church, as exhibited in the continual working of his strong will upon them, had of course the usual results in enfeebling their judgment and in rendering them very subservient. in the case of some unimaginative matrons and more level-headed girls these attractions did not unfit them for every-day life more than continual theatre-going, and they took a pride in and enjoyed a sense of quasi-ownership in the man whom it tickled their fancy to clothe in gorgeous raiment. to these solid, pleasure-loving, good-natured women, whose religion was inextricably mixed up with romance, the mysteries, sideshows, and formalities of their splendid protégé brought satisfaction; and in their social gatherings they discussed the doings of their favorite much as a syndicate of owners might, in the pride of ownership, discuss their horse. it may be pleasing to be identified with the supernatural, but one's self-respect must need all such compensations to allow one to become a peg for admiring women to hang their embroidery on--to be largely dependent upon their gratuities, subject to some of their control, to put in, say, two fair days' work in seven, and spend the rest in fiddle-faddle.
-"there is but one god. what directly concerns you, my friends, is that mohammed is his prophet--to interpret the supernatural for you." it would be interesting to find out if there ever existed a religion, savage or civilized, whose public proclamation did not contain a qualifying clause to retain the power in the priests.
-the sermon on this occasion was on the observance of the sabbath. it contained much church law and theology, and in quotations from different saints who had lived at various periods during the dark ages, and whose sayings did not seem to be chosen so much on account of their force as for the weight given by the names of the saints themselves, which were delivered ore rotundo. but it is doubtful whether the most erudite quotation from obscure mediæval saints is capable of carrying much conviction to the hearts of a canadian audience, and jack and charley had to be kicked into consciousness from an uneasy slumber.
-from the saints the priest descended to chicago, a transition which awoke several. and he sought to illustrate the depravity of that city by commenting upon the large facilities there provided for sabbath-breaking. he spoke of the street-cars he had seen there running on that day, and of the suburban trains that carried thousands of working-women and girls out of the city. he did not say that the cars were chiefly drawn by steam-power, nor that these poor, jaded, hollow-eyed girls worked harder in one day than he did in three weeks; nor did he speak of the weak women's hard struggle for existence in the life-consuming factories; nor of the freshness of the lake breezes in the spots where the trains dropped thousands of their overworked passengers.
-margaret mackintosh had seen these dragged, dust-choked, narrow-chested, smoke-dried girls, with all the bloom of youth gone from them, trying to make their drawn faces smile as they go off together in their clean, sunday print dresses, too jaded for anything save rest and fresh air. she knew that any man not devoid of the true essence of christ might almost weep in the fullness of his sympathy with them. but the young priest convicted them of sacrilege, and did not say he was thankful for being privileged to witness such a sight, or that chicago existed to shame the more priest-ridden cities of canada.
-when this story was concluded, mrs. dusenall, and many of her kind; and the unimpressionable girls looked acquiescence, because the words were backed by the church, but their hearts went out to the poor sinners in chicago. only with those who took their mental bias from the priest did his words find solid resting-place. geoffrey sat with an inmovable face, impossible to read. his subsequent remark to margaret, when she had delivered her opinions about the matter, was, however, characteristic. he said simply, as if deprecating her vehemence:
-"the man must live, you know, and how is he to live if people go out of town on sunday." to geoffrey a short time was sufficient to satisfy him that the preacher ought to have lived in the days when mankind were saturated with belief in miracle and looked for explanation of events by miracle without dreaming of other explanation.
-during the next five minutes the sermon rather wandered from the subject, but fastened upon it again in an anecdote of an occurrence said to have taken place at an american seaport town, during the preacher's visit there.
-several young mechanics, instead of going to church one sunday morning, had engaged a yawl, and also the fishermen who owned it, to take them to a village on the coast and back again. it appeared from the account that for a day and a night the yawl had been blown away from the coast, and then that the wind had changed, so as to drive it back again; and the story of the voyage naturally found attentive listeners among our yachting friends.
-"all through that first terrible day, and all through the long, black night they were tossed about among the giant billows of a most tempestuous ocean. and what, dear friends, must have been the agony and remorse of those misguided young men when they thus realized the results of their deliberate breaking of the holy day. as they clung to the frail vessel, which reeled to and fro beneath them like a drunken man, and which now alone remained to possibly save them from a watery grave--as they perceived the billows breaking in upon that devoted ship, insomuch that it was covered with waves, what must have been their sensations? and when the wind suddenly changed its direction and blew them with terrible force back again toward the rocky coast, we can imagine how earnestly they made their resolutions never again to transgress in this way. once more, after a while, they saw the land again, and as they came closer they could discern the spires of those holy edifices which they had abandoned for the sake of forbidden pleasures and in which they were doomed never to hear the teachings of the church again. there lay the harbor before them, as if in mockery of all their attempts to reach it; and while raised on high in the air, on the summit of some white, mountainous billow, they could obtain a pisgah-like view of those homes they were destined never again to enter."
-jack was broad awake now and wondering why, with the wind dead after them, the fishermen in charge of the boat could not make the harbor.
-"suddenly there came a great noise, which no doubt sounded like a death knell in the hearts of the terrified and exhausted young men. it was soon discovered that the mainsail of the ship had been blown away by the fury of the tempest."
-"now what was their unhappy condition? how could they any longer strive to reach the longed-for haven when the mainsail of the yawl was blown away?"
-jack shifted in his seat uncomfortably at this point. he was saying to himself: "why not sneak in under a jib? or even under bare poles? or, if the harbor was intricate, why not heave to under the mizzen and signal for a tug?" half a score of possibilities followed each other through his brain, which in sailing matters worked quickly. he always inclined from his early training to accept without question all that issued from the pulpit; but this story bothered him. the instructor went on:
-"clearly there was now no hope for the devoted vessel. even the anchor was gone; the anchor of hope, dear friends, was gone. the strong trustworthy anchor (in which mariners place so great confidence that it has become the type or symbol of hope) was gone--washed overboard by the temptuous waves."
-charley here received a kick under the seat from jack whose face was now filled with a blank incredulity, which showed that the influence of his early training had departed from him.
-in one way or another, the preacher succeeded in irritating some of the ideal's crew. he went on to say that the yawl was dashed to pieces on the rocks, and that only one man--a fisherman--survived; from which he drew the usual moral.
-with three or four exceptions, our friends went out of church not as good-humored as when they came in. geoffrey alone seemed to have enjoyed himself. his heart-felt cynicism pulled him through. he said aloud to mrs. dusenall, when they were all together again, that he thought the preacher's description of the perils of the deep was very beautiful. (dead silence from jack and charley). mrs. dusenall concurred with him, and said it was wonderful how clergymen acquired so much general knowledge.
-presently charley, thoughtfully: "say, jack, what was the matter with that boat, any way?"
-"blessed if i could find out," said jack.
-"why! did you not hear? her mainsail was gone," said geoffrey gravely, to draw jack out.
-"well, who the deuce cares for a mains'l?" answered jack, rising testily to the bait. "the man does not know what he is--well, of course, he is a clergyman, but then, you know--my stars! not make a port in broad daylight with the wind dead aft! perfectly impossible to miss it! and, then the anchor--a fisherman's anchor!--washed overboard!"
-geoffrey persisted, more gravely, in a reproachful tone; "you don't mean to say, jack, that you doubt that what a clergyman says is true?"
-the misses dusenall also looked at him very seriously.
-jack was a candid young man, and had his religious views fixed, as it were, hereditarily. he looked at his boots, as if he would like to evade the question; but, seeing no escape, he came out with his answer like parting with his teeth.
-"when the parson," he said with stolid determination, "goes in for mediæval saints, i don't interfere. he can forge ahead and i won't try to split his wind. but when he talks sailing he must talk sense. no, sir! i do not believe that story--and no angel gabriel would make me."
-there was a force behind his tones of conviction which amused some of his hearers.
-"jack cresswell! you surprise me," said geoffrey loftily.
-after lunch the ladies went up into the city to visit some friends, and the men were lying about under the awning, chatting, smoking, and sipping claret.
-"well, there was one thing about that boat that caused the entire disturbance," said charley, sagaciously. "i've thought the whole thing out; and i put down the trouble to the usual cause--and that is--whisky. when the fishermen found there was liquor on board they 'steered for the open sea,' and when they were all stark, staring, blind drunk they went ashore."
-"i fancy you have solved the difficulty," said mr. lemons. "the preacher did not, somehow, seem to get hold of me. my notion is that he should come down to your level and help you up--like those arab chaps that lug and butt you up the pyramids--not stand at the top and order you to climb."
-"just so," said geoffrey. "a speaker must in some way make his listeners feel at home with him, just as a novel, to sell well, must contain some one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. the sympathies must be excited. in books accepted by gentle folk the "one touch" of attractive and primitive nature is refined, and in this shape it is called poetry--in this shape it creates vague and pleasant wonderings, especially in the minds of those whose fancies are capable of no higher intellectual flight. when we see that people so universally seek productions in which nature is only more or less disguised, we seem to understand man better."
-"what are you trying to get at now?" asked jack, with a smiling show of impatience.
-"why," said hampstead, "take the work of the sprightliest modern novel writers--say, for instance, besant and rice. deduct the fun from their books and the shadowy plot, and what remains? a girl--a fresh, young, innocent girl--who, with her beautiful face and figure, charms the heart. she does not do much, and (with william black) she says even less; but the people in the book are all in love with her, and the reader becomes, in a second-hand and imaginative way, in love with her also. she is quiet, lady-like, and delicious; her surroundings assist in creating an interest in her; but in the dawn and development of love within her lies the chief interest of most readers. the mind concentrates itself without effort when lured by any of our earlier instincts. what we want is a definition as to what degree of careful mental exertion is worthy of being dignified by the name of "thought," as distinguished from that sequence of ideas, without exertion, which is sufficient in all animals for daily routine and the carrying out of instinct."
-"there are some of your ideas, hampstead, which do not seem to promise improvement to anybody," said jack.
-"and, for you, the worst thing about them is that they have a semblance of truth," replied hampstead.
-"sometimes--yes," admitted jack. "but i would not excuse you because they happened to be true. the only way i excuse you is because, after your scientific mud-groveling, you sometimes point higher than others. are we to understand, then, that you object to novel reading on moral grounds?"
-"don't be absurd. a novel may be all that it should be. i am stating what i take to be facts, and i think it interesting to consider why we enjoy what ladies call 'a good love-story.' you will notice that people who adopt an over-ascetic and unnatural life and do not seek nature, give up reading 'good love-stories.' perhaps they vaguely realize that the difference in the interest created by black's insipid yolande and byron's don juan is merely one of degree."
-"now, will you be so good as to say candidly what gain you or any one else ever received from thinking in such channels as these?" inquired jack, with impatience.
-"certainly. it keeps me from transcendentalism--from being led off into vanity--thoughts about my immortality--"
-"surely," interrupted jack, "the aspirations of one's soul are sufficient to convince us that we will live again."
-"jack, a man's soul is simply his power of imagining and desiring what he hasn't got. once a day, more or less, his soul imagines immortality. the rest of the time it imagines his sweetheart. if a poet, his soul combines the two. or else it is the mighty dollar, or hunting, or something else. shall all his aspirations toward nature go for nothing? his soul will conjure up his sweetheart nine thousand times for one thought of his future state. because he has acquired neither. if he had acquired either, he would soon be quite as certain that there was something still better in store for him. with our minds as active and refined as they are, it would be quite impossible for men to do otherwise than have their imaginings about souls and immortality. these make no proof; the savage has none of them; and if they were proof, whither do man's aspirations chiefly point? to earth or to heaven?"
-"well, i suppose your answer," said jack, "is sufficient for yourself. you study science, then, to persuade yourself that when you die you will remain teetotally dead?"
-"rather to make myself content with a truth which is different from and not so pleasant as that which we are taught in early life."
-"for goodness' sake," cried mr. lemons, yawning, "pass the claret."
-visam britannos hospitibus feros.
-horace, lib. 3, carm. 4.
-mrs. dusenall liked the visit to kingston. she was proud of the appearance her guests and family made at the church, and she thought of going home and writing a book as prodigal of pretty woodcuts and fascinating price-lists as those published by other gilded ladies. true, she had with her no young children wherewith to awake interest in foreign places by detailing what occurred in the ship's nursery; and thus she might have been driven to say something about the foreign places themselves, which, in a book of travels, are perhaps of secondary importance when a whole gilded family may be studied in their interesting retirement.
-they kept a log on the ideal, and each one had to take his or her turn at keeping the account of the cruise posted up to date.
-some events on board or near the ideal did not come under mrs. dusenall's notice and did not appear in the log-book. nobody flirted with mrs. dusenall to make her experience exciting, and her book, if written, would have been one long panorama of landscape interlarded with the mildest of items. but compress your world even to the size of a yacht, and there will be still more going on, in the same eternal way, than any one person can observe, especially if that person happens to be a chaperon.
-the first evening among the islands was spent in different ways. some paddled about to explore or bathe. flirtation of a mild type was prevalent--interesting possibly to the parties concerned, and, as usual, to themselves only. toward dusk the gig was manned by the crew for the transportation of mrs. dusenall and part of her suite across the river through the islands to the hotels at alexandria bay on the american shore. the hotel guests on the balconies and verandas were continuing to enjoy or endure that eternal siesta which at these places seems to be quite unbroken save at meal times, and the arrival of a number of very presentable people in a handsome gig, rowed in the man-of-war style by uniformed sailors and steered by a person with a gold-lace badge on his cap, created a ripple of interest. among those on the verandas engaged, perhaps overtaxed, in the digestion of their dinners, not a few were slightly interested by what they saw. in a group of a dozen or more a gentleman behind a solitaire shirt-stud, worth a good year's salary for a victoria bank clerk seemed to be speaking the thoughts of the party, though his words came out chiefly as a form of soliloquy. he seemed to be taking a sort of admiring inventory of the gig and its occupants as it approached the landing wharf:
-"small sailor boy--standing in the bow--with a spear in his hand."
-it was a boat-hook in the boy's hand, but it might have been a trident.
-"he's real cunnin'--that boy--in his masquerade suit. four sailors--also in masquerade costume. and they can make her hump up the river, sure's-yer-born. now i wonder who those fellows are--in buttons--with gold badges on their hats. wonder what those badges might imply! part of the masquerade, i guess. but stylish--very."
-then, turning to a friend, he said:
-"cha'ley, those people are yachting round here."
-at this discovery the exhausted-looking refugee from overwork in some city addressed as "cha'ley," whose face was lit up solely by a cigar, answered slowly but decisively:
-"looks like it--very."
-then followed a quick mental calculation in the head of the gentleman behind the solitaire, and, as the boat came alongside the landing, the oars being handled with trained accuracy, he said:
-"i wonder how many of those paid men they have on board. i like it. i like the whole thing. i shall do it myself next summer. and right up to the handle. cha'ley, bet you half a dollar that those are first-class gentlemen and ladies down there, and we ought to go down and receive them."
-"why, certainly," said the other in grave, staccato tones, which seemed to deny the exhaustion of his appearance by indicating some internal long stretch of deserted road, and then two men on a single horse--and the light gleaming on a long knife! he shuddered as the blade flashed, and turned his face away from the plain. then, as there came to him a sudden sense of tremendous relief, with breath and thought suspended he turned slowly, fascinatedly, and with greedy eyes searched the distant plain, as if eager to find in it some proof, at last, of his own safety.
-lucy's voice rose in a gay little song above the piano and fell upon his ears. with a deep, long-drawn breath his thought leaped out and seized upon all that freedom from curtis conrad's pursuit would mean for him. josé gonzalez would sink out of sight, and liberato herrara would be back in his own home, unsuspected and silent. some excitement would follow, search would be made, a body would be found in a mesquite thicket,--and then the interest would die out, and there would be only another grewsome tale of mystery to be added to the hundreds already told through the southwest. and he--alexander bancroft--would be safe--secure in fortune and reputation and the love and honor of his daughter as long as they should live.
-the music within ceased and lucy's voice rippled out in girlish laughter. his heart sank as he seemed to hear again her hot denunciation of baxter's loan and mortgage operations. "i'll sell out to dell and she'll never know i've had anything to do with it," he thought. then there came ringing through his memory, as he had heard them so many times since they rode home from the socorro springs ranch, her passionate words, "he must have been a wicked man," and "i should hate him, with all my strength," and again his longing face turned impulsively toward the plain.
-he walked uncertainly toward the veranda steps. there was a flutter of white drapery and lucy was laying an affectionate hand on his arm. "oh, daddy dear," she coaxed, "won't you come in and try this duet with us? dearie will play the accompaniment for us to sing. she brought it to me, and i'm dying to try it."
-"yes, if you wish it, daughter," the banker replied, hesitation in his voice, "but i was thinking of going down town." he saw the shade of disappointment that crossed her face, and drew her hand into his arm. "it doesn't matter," he went on, "and i would rather stay at home." to himself he said as they moved to the door, "conrad has gone by this time, and, anyway, i've no reason to think this mexican intends to do him any harm."
-spectres of the past
-restless was the night that followed for alexander bancroft; his sleep was troubled by many a dream in which one friend after another moved swiftly on to violent death. with the coming of dawn he arose to look out from the eastern windows of his room. the sky was a dome of rosy light and below lay the vast plain, dim but colorful, its gray-green mottled with vague bands and patches of opalescent lights and shadows and dotted with little islands of vivid green. his eyes clung to these darker spots, which he knew to be thickets of mesquite; piercing their shade his inner vision showed him the still body of his friend. so real was the mental picture that he turned pale about the lips and abruptly left the window.
-if anything had happened, he kept reassuring himself, it had been at dellmey baxter's instigation. he himself had had nothing to do with it. if baxter had decided that his affairs would go more smoothly with conrad out of the way, why should he, alexander bancroft, trouble himself further? and if--anything had happened--again he felt the loosening of mental strain and his spirits rose in exultation at the prospect of freedom and safety. life was more attractive than ever with that menacing figure no longer threatening him with disclosure, disgrace, and death. he could go on with his plans for the accumulation of fortune and the enjoyment of life. he could still hold lucy's love and honor, travel with her, marry again, work his way to a commanding place in the world of business. the future opened before him as easy and inviting as the stairs down which he went to breakfast.
-lucy ran to meet him with a good-morning kiss and a rose for his buttonhole. "it's the prettiest i could find in my conservatory," she smiled at him; "but it isn't half nice enough for my daddy dear. you don't look well this morning, daddy," she went on anxiously. "is anything the matter?"
-his hand slipped caressingly down over her curls and drew her to his breast in a quick embrace, instinct with the native impulse of the animal to protect its offspring. "she shall never know," was the thought in his mind.
-"daddy! what a bear hug that was!" she laughed, "like those you used to give me when i was a little girl. it didn't feel as if you were ill."
-"i'm not," he answered lightly, kissing her pink cheek. "i guess i smoked too much yesterday, and so didn't sleep very well. yes; i promise; i'll be more careful to-day."
-lucy fluttered beside him to the gate, her arm in his, as she chattered to him of the funny things her chinese cook had been saying and doing. she lingered there, her eyes following his figure, until he turned, half a block away, to wave his hat in response to her farewell handkerchief.
-by the time he reached the foot of the hill bancroft's mind was once more engrossed with the need of knowing whether or not he was at last secure from ignominious exposure. he no longer disguised from himself the fact that news of conrad's death would be most welcome. he looked eagerly up and down the main streets; there was no sign of excitement. had nothing happened, then? but it was still early; moreover, news of the affair might not reach the town for a day or two. the sound of horses' feet coming at a swift trot down the street on the other side of the stream made his heart beat quickly. he lingered at the door of his bank until the horseman came into view under the big cottonwoods at the next corner. it was red jack from the socorro springs ranch. at once his heart leaped to certainty. he turned to enter the bank, but stopped and looked back, undecidedly. red jack had not dismounted, but had drawn rein in front of the court-house at the next corner, and was sitting there quietly, looking up and down the road as if expecting somebody. he led a saddled horse. perhaps he was to take a physician back with him. but he seemed in no haste, and in his manner there was neither excitement nor anxiety. bancroft could wait no longer to learn what had happened. with hands in pockets he sauntered down the street.
-"hello, jack," he said indifferently to the waiting horseman. "you're in town early this morning."
-"i sure hiked along from the ranch early enough," the cowboy replied. "the boss hired a new man last night; and i had to come over this morning after him."
-bancroft's eyes were on the cigar he was taking from his pocket, which he handed to the cowboy, saying idly, "why, he intended last night to carry the man behind him. did he change his mind? the man was a mexican, wasn't he?"
-"y-e-s; a measly coyote! the boss didn't bring him last night because he thought it would be too hard on brown betty to carry double. i wonder if mebbe that ain't my man comin' down the street right now! i've done forgot his name; do you happen to know it, mr. bancroft?"
-"i think it's josé gonzalez. he came here from dellmey baxter, who recommended him to me as a first-rate cowboy."
-"well, he'll have to be a peach if he strikes the boss's gait," red jack rejoined, motioning to the mexican.
-bancroft walked back to his place of business with brows knitted and mouth drawn into grim lines. his mind was acting rapidly and ruthlessly. the sudden collapse of his house of cards, the knowledge that danger was still as imminent as ever, left him savage with desire for curtis conrad's death, or, rather, for the delectable land that lay beyond it. nobody but this young hothead with his insensate desire for revenge knew or cared anything about that old affair now. with him out of the way there would be no danger from anybody or anything. why wasn't the man sensible enough to take the money he was willing to pay, and be satisfied? perhaps the receipt of another check or two would soften his purpose; it was worth trying. and--there was still the mexican! baxter had surely said something to him, and the fellow seemed to understand that he, also--but he had said nothing about it, and whatever the creature suspected was his own inference. evidently the mexican did suspect something and had some purpose in his mind. with conrad so intent upon his destruction had he not every right to protect himself and his child? of course he had, he told himself fiercely, and what means he might use were his own affair.
-at the door of the bank rutherford jenkins met him with a smiling salutation: "good-morning, mr. bancroft; this is lucky! i was waiting for you here, but i've got so much to do that i'd begun to be afraid i wouldn't be able to see you before i go back."
-bancroft greeted him pleasantly. "what do you mean, jenkins," he went on, "by deserting to martinez? hadn't you better think again about that? we need you on our side."
-"that's exactly what i want to see you about," said jenkins in a confidential tone. "can't you come over with me to bill williams's hotel for a few minutes? i want to have a talk with you."
-they went back together, bancroft wondering if jenkins, who was regarded as a desirable ally by both parties, notwithstanding his character, was about to make overtures to him for deserting the martinez fold and coming back to baxter's. "perhaps that spanking curt gave him has set him against the whole martinez following," he thought. "baxter will be mighty glad to get him back, and i'll do my best to cinch the bargain so he can't crawl."
-when they entered the hotel room jenkins moved leisurely about, got out a bottle of whiskey, and hunted up some cigars, talking all the time glibly about other matters and jumping inconsequently from one subject to another. bancroft made several attempts to bring the conversation to the point, but each time jenkins either blandly ignored or skilfully evaded his leading. finally bancroft said, looking at his watch: "well, jenkins, i've got to be at the bank very soon, and if there's anything particular you want to say suppose we get down to business."
-"yes, yes, certainly," jenkins replied unconcernedly. "that's what i'm coming to right now." he gave bancroft a cigar, lighted one himself, made some jokes as he bustled aimlessly around the room, and at last sat down on the foot of the bed, facing the banker, who occupied the only chair in the little room. he ceased speaking, and bancroft, looking up suddenly, caught in his face an expression of expectant triumph. the tip of his tongue was darting over his lips, and his small dark eyes were fixed on his guest with a look of malicious satisfaction. instantly bancroft's nerves were alert with the sense of coming danger. he blew out a whiff of smoke and calmly returned the other's gaze. their eyes met thus, the one gloating, the other outwardly unmoved but inwardly astart with sudden alarm. then jenkins began, in a blandly insinuating tone:
-"before we come to that matter about martinez, i want to ask you, mr.--ah--mr. dela--ah, i beg your pardon, mr. bancroft--i thought i would ask you--you've poked about a good deal, out here in the west--and in out-of-the-way places, too--and i've been wondering--i thought i'd ask you--if you've ever run across a gentleman of the name of--of--dela--dela--let me see--yes, delafield--that's it--sumner l. delafield, of boston. do you remember whether or not you've ever met him?"
-bancroft did not blanch nor flinch. for so many years he had schooled himself to such constant watchfulness and incessant self-control that an impassive countenance and manner had become a habit. lucy, with her uncompromising moral decisions and her swift, unsparing condemnations, could come nearer to unnerving him than could any bolt from the blue like this. he flicked the ash from his cigar, hesitating a moment as if searching his memory, but really wondering whether jenkins knew anything or was merely guessing and trying to draw him out. the latter seemed much the more likely.
-"i can't say on the instant whether i ever met such a man or not. as you say, i have gone about a good deal and, as my business most of the time has been that of mining and trading in mines, it has often taken me into out-of-the-way places, and i have met a great many people. at this moment i don't recall the name."
-"don't you? i'm sorry, for i thought perhaps you could verify for me a curious story about the man that has just come to my knowledge. you know i'm always picking up information about people--i find it comes in handy now and then. well, if you've never met him, have you ever, in the course of your western travels, run across a man--he was a mining man, too--a mining man named hardy--john mason hardy? there's a curious story about him, too, or, rather, about a man who was associated with him in a mining enterprise down in old mexico. the other man's name was smith--a very serviceable name is smith; sort of like a black derby hat; no distinguishing mark about it and easy to exchange by mistake if you'd rather have some other man's."
-bancroft rose and looked at his watch. "if there's anything of particular interest or importance in this, mr. jenkins, i'll be very glad to listen to it some other time; but i can't stay any longer this morning. i ought to have been at my desk half an hour ago."
-jenkins sat still and waved him back with insistent politeness. "one moment more, mr. bancroft, if you please. i'm coming to the point right away. this story is of some consequence to me, and i'd like to know if you can verify it. have another drink."
-bancroft swallowed the whiskey at a gulp and jenkins noticed that his fingers trembled as he took the glass. he was thinking, "i'd better stay and find out exactly how much he knows." jenkins smiled under his hand as he smoothed his straggling moustache and watched bancroft wipe the sweat from his forehead.
-"this man smith," jenkins continued, "john was his name, too--john smith and john mason hardy were partners in a mining enterprise down in mexico. one of them died down there--died, you know, in a quiet, private sort of way, and the one that came up to the states again was named hardy, but it wasn't the same hardy that had gone down there. you might guess, if you wanted to, that smith killed hardy and took his name--"
-he stopped and drew back suddenly, for bancroft had sprung forward with a white, angry face and was shaking a trembling fist under his nose.
-"stop there, you liar!" he exclaimed in low, tense tones. "i didn't do that. he died a natural death--of fever--and i took care of him and did my best to save his life."
-jenkins recovered his self-possession first. "oh; then you know all about it!" he said dryly, with a malicious smile.
-bancroft sank back in his chair drawing his hand across his eyes and wondering why his self-control had so suddenly gone to pieces. he had thought himself proof against any surprise, but this man's sudden blow and persistent baiting had screwed his nerve tension to the snapping point. but he told himself that it probably did not matter anyway, as jenkins evidently knew the whole story. with a desperate, defiant look he turned upon his tormentor.
-"well, what do you want?" he demanded sharply. "why have you raked up this old story?"
-"oh, i found it interesting," jenkins responded in a leisurely way, "as an instance of the way things are done on the frontier and, as i told you at first, i thought you might be able to verify it. for i was inclined not to believe it, especially as it was about one of the most prominent and respected citizens of new mexico. but since you've confessed its truth yourself--well, i've got to believe it now. it has been a very blind trail i've followed, crooked and well hidden--wonderfully well hidden, mr. bancroft--and the number of names you've hoisted along its course has been bewildering. but i've managed to track you through 'em all, and to discover in alexander bancroft, the upright, honored, public-spirited citizen of new mexico, the identical person of sumner l. delafield, the defaulting and absconding financier of boston."
-bancroft looked jenkins sullenly in the eye. "well, now that you have it all, what are you going to do about it?"
-"pardon me, mr. bancroft," said jenkins with exaggerated suavity, "ah, excuse me, i mean mr. delafield--that is for you to say."
-the banker considered for a moment only. evidently this man knew exactly what he was about and exactly what he wanted, so that it would be of no use to beat around the bush. "will you please say precisely what you mean?" was his answer.
-"that is just what i have been doing, mr. delafield."
-"excuse me, jenkins, but my name is bancroft, not delafield. i have a legal right to the name of bancroft, given me by the legislature of arizona. you will oblige me by addressing me in that way."
-"oh, yes; i know that; and a lot of trouble i had with this chase until i found it out! but i thought you might like to hear yourself called delafield once more--sort of like meeting an old friend, you know. won't you have another cigar, mr. bancroft? no? well, then, let's have another drink." he poured out two glasses of whiskey. bancroft drank his without demur, but jenkins barely touched his glass to his lips.
-"well, now, mr. bancroft," jenkins went on affably, smiling and rubbing his hands together, "let's get down to the practical side of this romantic story from real life. you are getting on so well here under your present name, and you have a young daughter--" he saw his listener wince at this, and then carefully repeated his words--"and you have such a beautiful and charming young daughter, who, as the heiress of a father who is making a fortune with clean hands and no cloud on his past, can be taken about the world and can make a good marriage some of these days; considering all this, i take it for granted that you would prefer to have this story buried too deep for resurrection. and it is for you to say whether it shall be buried or not."
-bancroft sat in silence for a full minute, glaring at the man opposite, his lips set in a livid line. jenkins grew nervous in the dead stillness of the room, and began to fidget. he cautiously rested his right hand on the bed close by his pistol pocket, and kept his eyes on the banker, watchful for the first hostile movement. there was need of wariness, for bancroft was debating with himself whether it would be better to go on to the dreary end of this business and leave the room with a blackmailer's noose around his neck, or to whip out his gun, put a bullet through this man's brain, and another through his own.
-but the fragrance of life rose sweet to his nostrils, and his innate virility spurred him on to keep up the fight. apparently he had brought up against a stone wall, but he had fought too long and too desperately to be willing to confess himself beaten until he could struggle no longer. he felt sure that money would keep jenkins quiet, and after a while he might find some other means of stopping the man's mouth for good. the fellow was always in some dirty job or other, and before long doubtless some hold on him would become possible. there was conrad still to be reckoned with--but that could wait, at least until this man was silenced.
-"well," he said quietly, "what do you want? for god's sake, come to the point!"
-jenkins drew a breath of relief. "well, mr. bancroft, i'm interested this year in the success of johnny martinez. it's a matter of the first importance to me for him to be elected. but i'm afraid he hasn't got much chance if silverside county and the rest of the south should go against him. now, you've got more influence down here than anybody else, and you can swing it for him if you want to. that's what i want you to do."
-bancroft looked up in sudden dismay. he had not expected anything of this sort. "you know i'm committed to baxter," he said.
-"oh, yes; i know. but that's nothing. in new mexico it's not difficult to change your politics. why, i thought of coming out for baxter myself at first; but i'm solid for martinez now."
-bancroft rose and began pacing the half-dozen steps to and fro that the room afforded, seeking some loophole of escape from his obligations to baxter. there were mortgages the congressman could foreclose that would balk some of the banker's most promising plans should he attempt political treachery. he could, and undoubtedly would, reveal his associate's connection with the loan and mortgage operations in the rio grande valley; and bancroft winced as he thought of this coming to lucy's ears. and in that matter of curtis conrad and josé gonzalez--had he not put himself at baxter's mercy? in this moment of supreme necessity the naked truth came before him; and he knew it to be true that he was primarily responsible for any harm that might come to the young cattleman through gonzalez. if he did not keep faith with baxter the congressman would tell curtis who it was that desired his death; and then conrad would know where to find delafield. in short, he knew that baxter would stop at nothing to compel his loyalty or punish his treason. having contemplated no course except that of fidelity in his business and political relations with baxter, the closeness of their alliance had heretofore given him little uneasiness; and now, in this crisis, he found himself wholly in the other's power. he flung himself into his chair, his face pallid and the perspiration standing in great drops on his forehead. his breath came hard and his voice was thick as he asked:
-"is there no alternative?"
-"well, no; none that i can accept," jenkins replied meditatively. "you see, it's a very important matter for me to be able to make this present to johnny. if he wins this fight there'll be something big in it for me. no; i'll have to insist upon this as the first condition."
-bancroft's face was snarled like that of a wild beast as he watched jenkins's visage grow livid and his struggles weaken. of a sudden reason returned to him. if this man were to die under his hand there would be grewsome consequences--and he had enough to deal with already. he stood up, trembling, and looked anxiously at the still form on the bed.
-"you--you're not dead, jenkins, are you?" he stammered awkwardly.
-jenkins stirred a little, opened his eyes, put his hand to his throat, and got up, looking warily at his assailant. "it's no thanks to you that i'm not," he responded sullenly.
-"i didn't mean to kill you--but you--you struck me too hard--it drove me wild--and for a minute i didn't know what i was doing." jenkins scowled, rubbed his throat again, and drank a glass of whiskey. bancroft helped himself likewise, following it with a copious draught of water. as they faced each other again jenkins edged away suspiciously toward the door; but bancroft went back at once to the unsettled question.
-"it would ruin me, financially and in every other way, to go back on baxter. you might just as well kill me outright as insist upon that."
-"but i'm going to insist upon it," was jenkins's sullen answer.
-bancroft made a despairing gesture. "but i tell you, jenkins, the thing's impossible! it would ruin me just as surely as for you to tell all you know. you'll have to be satisfied with something else."
-jenkins leaned against the bed and stared angrily at bancroft. physical pain had made him obstinate and determined him to press his point, more to return injury for injury than because he wanted that particular thing.
-"i tell you now," bancroft went on, "that i'd rather take the last way out than try to go back on baxter. it wouldn't be the healthiest thing in the world for you if i should kill myself shut up in this room with you, would it?"
-"well, i'll waive that for the present," jenkins replied unwillingly; "but, mind you, it's only for the present. we'll talk about it again, later in the season. for the present i want a good, big sum before you leave this room, and hereafter i've got to have a regular monthly payment, a check on the first of every month when i don't come after the cash myself."
-bancroft considered for only a moment. his dilemma was clear: he must either buy this haltered freedom from jenkins or kill him in his tracks. this latter alternative was not to be considered; and doubtless before long it would be possible to turn the tables on the creature and escape from his clutches.
-jenkins folded away in his pocket-book a check and a roll of bills and smiled as he looked at bancroft's haggard face. "i hope, mr. dela--ah, pardon me,--mr. bancroft, that i have not kept you too long from your affairs at the bank." as his eyes followed the banker's disappearing figure with a gleam of satisfaction, he patted his breast pocket and whispered:
-"now for the other score!"
-perils in the night
-red jack and josé gonzalez joined the forces of the socorro springs ranch while the cattle of the morning's round-up were being driven to the watering-place near the ranch house. across the road from the house stood a large grove of cottonwoods; a little beyond that, in the valley, a deep pond had been dug, into which flowed the outlets from the several springs. the cattle from a score of miles roundabout were accustomed to come to this pond, with its circling belt of trees, for water and for midday rest in the shade.
-here the round-up was in progress, and conrad galloped out to meet the new hand and give him instructions. as he rode off toward the hills after a bunch of straggling cattle curtis looked after him with an approving eye. "he knows how to fork a horse, at least," he thought. in the afternoon josé was set to work cutting out and bunching the two- and three-year-old steers and later at helping with the branding. conrad watched his handling of the branding irons, and he and all the rest stopped their work to follow his movements with critical eyes as he roped and brought to the ground a belligerent steer. the superintendent was well satisfied. "at last i've got a man who knows the business and has some sabe," he thought. "if he goes on as well as he begins i'll keep him after the shipping is done."
-the next day the round-up crept slowly southward, accompanied by the chuck-wagon and a drove of fresh horses. at noon the cattle gathered during the morning were bunched at adobe springs, the next watering-place toward the mexican border. gonzalez was the only mexican among the cowboys, the rest being americans of one sort or another--from texas, colorado, the northwest, and the middle west. all felt toward him the contemptuous scorn born of difference in race and consequent conviction of superior merit. they had no scruples about making known their prejudice, and more than once his face flushed and his hand darted toward the knife hidden in his bosom. yet, as the day wore on and they saw that he excelled the best of them in handling the lasso and in the cunning of his movements when cutting out the steers from the herd, they began to show him the respect that skill of any sort inspires in those who know with what effort it is acquired.
-after supper, when they gathered about the campfire, smoking, and scoffing good-naturedly at one another's tales of wondrous experiences, and talking over the events of the day just gone, they received him upon an equality with themselves which was only slightly grudged. he told them, in english more precise than any of them could speak, of conrad's encounter with rutherford jenkins in the blue front, and their appreciation of the tale completed the work which his skill as a cowboy had begun. thereafter they looked upon josé as a comrade and a good fellow.
-"well, boys, you begin to look as if you wanted to turn in. take whatever bunks you like, if you want to go inside. i'm going to sleep out here."
-"better have a tin of ile handy," said red jack. "the polecats are sure likely to nibble your toes if you don't. the night i slept here last week i never saw the cusses so bad; durned if one of the critters didn't get inside and wake me up smellin' of my ear. i was some skeered of him stinkin' up the place so it couldn't be slept in for a year, so i jest had to lay low and wait for him to go outside, and then i doused him good with ile and throwed the candle at him. i sure reckon he's holed up somewhere now, waitin' till he can afford a new sealskin sacque before he shows hisself in good sassiety ag'in."
-"i don't think they'll bother me to-night," curtis responded. at that moment he felt that nothing could disturb him, if only he could be left alone with the moonlight and the plain. "i'll sleep with my boots on, and my cheeks are not as fat as yours, jack, so there'll be no temptation. where do you want to bunk, josé? you can sleep outside or in, just as you like."
-gonzalez replied respectfully that he would rather go in. but presently he came out again with his blanket and chose a spot against the wall of one of the houses. conrad had gone out to the herd to speak with the man on patrol and to make sure that all was well. when he returned the men had disappeared. "good!" he said to himself. "they've all gone inside and i've got the universe to myself." he did not see the still form in its gray blanket close against the wall.
-curtis took the red bandanna from his neck and tied it over his ears, to keep out the tiny things that crawl o' nights, and couched himself in his blanket on the gently rising ground with his saddle for a pillow. he lay down with his face to the east, where the dim and mellow sky, flooded with moonlight, seemed to recede far back, to the very limits of space, and leave the huge white globe suspended there in brooding majesty just above the plain. with long legs outstretched and muscles relaxed, he lay as still as if asleep, his eyes on its glowing disk. he knew all that science had discovered or guessed about the moon's character and history. but it had companioned him on so many a silent ride across long miles of dimly gleaming plain, and on so many nights like this as he lay upon the earth it had gathered his thoughts into its great white bosom, that he could not image it to himself as a mere dead and barren satellite of the earth. more easily could he understand how the living cynthia had once leaped earthward and been welcomed with belief and love.
-conrad's mind busied itself at first with the play he had just been reading, but presently wandered to his own affairs and the purpose that had been the dominant influence of half his life. he chuckled softly as he remembered the check he had recently received. "i've got him on the run," he thought, "and i'm bound to lay him out sooner or later. lord, but it will be a satisfaction to face him finally! and he'll not get the drop on me first, either, unless providence takes as good care of rascals as they say it does of fools." he recalled himself now and then to listen to the sounds from the sleeping herd, to the hoof-beats of the horse as the cowboy on watch rode round and round the bunch, and to his voice singing in a lulling monotone. but gradually thought and will and sense sank back toward the verge of that great gulf out of which they spring.
-"it's josé," thought conrad. "he's coming for the skunk with a can of oil. quick, or i'll be too late!" he sprang to a sitting posture and flung out one arm. as he did so he noticed with sleepy surprise that josé was not facing toward the animal but was coming toward him. then, before he had time to speak, the mexican turned, a flying something shone in the moonlight like an electric flash, and conrad's eyes, following the gleam, saw the little creature pinned to the ground with a long knife through its neck and the gray sand darkening with its blood.
-"why, josé, that was a wonderful throw!" he exclaimed.
-"yes, señor," the man replied quietly, as he stooped to draw out the knife and wipe it on the sand, "i am rather good at that sort of thing."
-by a hair's breadth
-assured that the rest of the outfit was out of sight beyond the hill, gonzalez left the steer to its own devices and galloped straight toward and behind the kneeling figure, his long knife drawn but concealed against his leg. conrad's attention was engrossed in what he was doing and his thoughts were all of lucy bancroft, of how pleased she would be to get this rare specimen, and of how necessary it would be for him to help her plant it. josé checked his horse into a walk and leaned forward, his eyes fastened on the other's back, his knife lying half hidden in his palm. on the soft ground the hoof-beats of the horse made little sound and their faint, unresounding thud was masked by the noises from the moving herd.
-gonzalez drew rein within a few yards of his object and lifted his arm, with the knife balanced in his hand. at that instant the steer bellowed, and curtis leaped to his feet, on the alert at once lest something had gone wrong with the herd. he saw the single steer and, wheeling around to look for others, his glance took in the mexican, swerving his horse down the hill and deftly returning the knife to his belt. "are you after the steer, josé?" he called. "is that the only one loose?"
-"yes, señor. the rest are all right. this one has given me a chase, but i'll have him back right away."
-"stop a minute, josé. would you mind letting me use your knife? mine's too short and i haven't anything else."
-gonzalez rode up, dismounted, and held out the knife with a courteous smile. as he stood back with one leg forward, arms folded, and head held high, curtis thought him an image of dashing, picturesque, masculine comeliness. "josé," he said, "how did you get such skill in throwing the knife? i never saw anybody do the trick better than you did it last night. i shouldn't like to have you," and he smiled as he returned the weapon, "aim this thing at me as you did at that polecat."
-an answering smile flashed over josé's dark face, lighting up his eyes and showing a row of white teeth beneath his moustache. "i have practised it much, señor. it is not easy."
-the next day, conrad, gonzalez, and several others were getting together some cattle in the foot-hills when three of the largest steers broke away and raced wildly back toward their grazing grounds. the superintendent called the mexican to help him, and told the others to take the remainder of the cattle, with all they might find on the way, back to the day herd.
-two gallant figures they made as they galloped across the plain, the wind blowing up the wide brims of their hats, the grace and freedom of strength and skill in every movement of body and limb. lariats were at their saddle horns, and curtis carried a six-shooter in his belt, but gonzalez had only his knife, thrust into his boot leg. they circled and headed off the steers, which eluded and dashed past them again and again, until presently conrad noticed that the largest of the three acted as a sort of leader. "rope him, josé," he called, "and then we can manage the others."
-"what's the matter with you, josé?" he shouted. "you nearly roped me instead of the steer! try it again." gonzalez coiled his rope and galloped after the steer and half an hour later the two men rode into the round-up, driving the panting and humbled animals.
-one of the younger and less experienced men, billy black, generally known as "billy kid," happened to lame his horse and bruise himself that day, and was ordered to stay in camp to nurse his knee. at rock springs, where they made camp next day, a man who gave his name as andy miller rode up and asked for a job. he explained that he had been working on a little ranch over toward randall but had got tired of the place and was pushing for the railroad. hampered by billy black's accident, conrad was glad of the opportunity and tested his skill with horse and rope.
-"you'll do," he said. "i'm short of hands, and you can stay with us until we get to the railroad if you like."
-the new man was stockily built, and looked strong and agile. around the campfire that night he won his way at once into the good graces of the other men, cracking jokes, telling stories, and roaring out cowboy songs until bedtime. they were so hilarious that conrad joined their circle, smoked his after-supper pipe with them, and laughed at miller's jokes and yarns.
-the rock springs watering-hole was in a hilly region, broken here and there by stony gulches. the outflow from the springs ran through a ravine which furrowed the hillside to its foot, turned abruptly westward, and widened out into a goodly pool, where the cattle waded and drank. the camp lay on the hillside above the springs, and the cattle were bunched over its brow on the other side.
-conrad wakened early and an inviting image came to him of that pool, lying still and clear in the dim gray light, untroubled by the miring hoofs of the cattle. no one else, except the chinese cook, busy with his breakfast fire, seemed to be awake, and no one stirred as curtis moved down the hill, past the springs, and over the rise beyond. but gonzalez, motionless in his blanket, watched his departure. and presently, when the cook had disappeared in the chuck-wagon, josé rose, cast a cautious glance over the sleeping camp, and followed conrad, taking advantage of occasional boulders, clumps of mesquite, greasewood, and yucca to conceal his movements. at the springs he turned down the gulch, following its course to the basin of the drinking hole, where he hid behind a great boulder, barely ten feet from the bank where lay the other's clothing.
-with wary eyes he watched while the superintendent waded out to the deepest part of the pool, ducked and splashed, swam a little, and presently returned to the shore. through the brightening air the lean and sinewy body with its swelling muscles gleamed like rose-tinted marble below the tanned face and neck. behind the boulder josé crouched closer and drew the knife from his belt, while his body grew tense as he watched conrad rub himself down and put on his clothes.
-"will he never keep still a second?" gonzalez asked himself impatiently, as he poised his knife. curtis sat down on a flat stone and reached for his shoes and stockings, whistling a gay little melody from the last comic opera he had heard in san francisco.
-a sound of shouting and the muffled noise of rushing cattle broke through the morning air, which had been as still and untroubled as the surface of the pool. conrad, his music silenced and nerves alert, faced quickly toward the camp, turning his body from the waist upward and giving gonzalez a fair three-quarters view of his torso.
-the mexican, ready and waiting, seized an instant of arrested motion, and sent the poised weapon straight for his heart. as it left josé's hand, the stone on which curtis sat, yielding to the twisting motion of his body, slipped under him, and he threw out his left arm to preserve his balance. he was aware of something bright cleaving the air, of a sudden pain in his arm, and a stinging point in his side. but before his brain could realize what had happened, he saw josé gonzalez leap from behind the boulder and rush toward him, befouling the air with a string of spanish oaths.
-conrad sprang to his feet and wheeled, with right fist ready to meet the attack, before josé could reach him. the mexican flew at him with both arms outstretched, meaning to seize his throat and throttle him before he could comprehend his danger. curtis saw the open guard and landed a blow on his chest which sent him staggering backward. but he returned at once, with left arm raised in defence and right hand ready to seize the other's shirt collar and choke him senseless.
-for a moment only was conrad at a disadvantage by reason of the suddenness of the assault. but with the knife still bedded in his bleeding and helpless left arm, his only weapon was his right fist, which he must use for both defence and attack. the mexican's eyes were fired with the passion of combat, and the other, ignorant of why they were fighting, knew only, by his blanched face and set jaws, that his purpose was deadly.
-gonzalez, after that first blow upon his chest, was wary. he danced around conrad, making feints and trying to get inside his guard. but curtis, whose brain was working in lightning-like flashes, did not waste his strength pounding the air. he kept his assailant eluding his feints and jumping to escape pretended charges, thinking to wear him out in that way. he soon saw that he was the superior in boxing skill, as well as being both taller and heavier than his foe, and he began to feel assured of final victory, notwithstanding his useless hand and disabled arm.
-josé's effort was constantly toward conrad's left side, and curtis guessed that he was trying to get possession of the knife still sticking in his arm. he knew that if gonzalez recovered that weapon his chance of life would be small indeed. his bare feet were bleeding from the sharp little stones on the bank of the pool, but he was conscious neither of that nor of pain in arm or side, though the blood from his wound was making a red streak down his shirt and trousers. but he continued to hear, with a kind of divided consciousness, the sound of shouts, the rushing of cattle, and the hoofs of galloping horses. in the back of his brain he knew that there had been a stampede of the herd, and with attention absorbed in his fight for life, the thought that he was needed at the camp spurred him on to more desperate effort.
-josé made a dash for his left side, but curtis turned and with all his force sent a blow which caught the mexican, intent on the knife, with shoulder unguarded. gonzalez spun half round and reeled backward. conrad had planted one foot on a rounding stone, and as he delivered the blow it slipped and sent him headlong. he was up again in an instant, barely in time to save himself from josé's fingers, which clutched at his throat. but gonzalez had got inside his guard and they gripped, the one with one arm and the other with two, for what each felt must be the final struggle. the american caught josé's left arm between their two bodies and, reaching around him, grasped the other wrist in his right hand. they swayed back and forth, josé exerting all the strength of his muscles to free his arms, while conrad, gripping him close, used all the remnant of his strength to throw him down.
-by this time the mexican's eyes were gleaming with an ugly light and his olive cheeks were flushed with anger. whatever the purpose that had moved him at first, curtis saw that he was fighting now with the aboriginal rage of conflict, with the fierce hate born of the blows he had received. he kicked wildly at the superintendent's shins and accidentally planted the heel of his boot squarely upon the other's bare foot. conrad's face twitched with the hurt, and with a snarling grin gonzalez lifted the other for similar purpose, forgetting shrewd tactics of battle in the lust of giving pain to his opponent. but curtis caught the momentary advantage of unstable balance and with a twist and a lunge they came down together, conrad's left shoulder striking against a stone beside which the mexican fell. thrilling with the surety of triumph, his enemy pinned to the ground, curtis was barely conscious of a snapping in his shoulder and a sharp pain in his collar bone. with one knee on gonzalez's chest, he pulled the knife from his left arm, broke it across the boulder, and threw the bloodstained pieces far out into the pond. his assailant was at his mercy now and the heat and anger of combat ebbed from his veins as he looked down at the mexican's unresisting figure.
-"you have bested me this time, don curtis," said gonzalez quietly.
-"get up, josé," replied conrad rising, and the two men, panting from their conflict, faced each other. josé stood with his arms folded and head erect and looked at his employer with unafraid eyes, in which smouldered only the traces of his recent rage. conrad surveyed him thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke.
-"josé, what did you do it for?"
-the mexican smiled but made no reply.
-"have you got anything against me?" conrad persisted. "do you think i've mistreated you or injured you in any way?"
-"no, señor, i have nothing against you."
-"then what--by god, are you one of dell baxter's thugs? has he sent you down here to stick me in the back?" impelled by the flash of sudden conviction, conrad thrust his face close to the other's and glared into his eyes. gonzalez stepped back a pace and looked gravely across the hill at the reddening sky. his composed face and closely shut lips showed that he did not intend to answer.
-"oh, all right!" curtis exclaimed. "i don't expect you to peach on your pal. but i reckon i've sure struck the right trail this time. and look here, josé! was it me you were after when you stuck your knife in that skunk?"
-the mexican's eyes fell and his black brows met in a frown. he was thinking how much trouble this man had given him by springing up so unexpectedly that night. but for that it would all have been so easy and simple!
-"just you look here, josé gonzalez!" he repeated. "i'm onto your little game now, and if i can't be a match for any greaser that ever tried to stick a man in the back, i'll deserve all i'll get! just come on and try it again whenever you like! keep at work with the round-up if you want to--i'm not going to give you your time for this. but i am going to write to dell baxter that i'm onto his scheme and that the minute you make another crack at me there'll be a bullet in your brain--and another in his as soon as i can get to santa fe to put it there, and that he'd better call you off if he wants to save his own skin. but if you can get me without my catching on first you're welcome, that's all!"
-the rush of running cattle swept across their preoccupied ears, and both men turned to see a dozen steers sweep past the other end of the pond and up the hill.
-"quick, josé! help me head them off and turn them into the pond!" conrad exclaimed as he started off in his bare feet. his long strides covered the distance quickly, and with hoots and yells and waving arm he soon turned their course down the hillside toward the water. gonzalez was close behind, and together they manoeuvred the frightened beasts to the pond, where the animals forgot their panic, waded in quietly, and began to drink.
-battling the elements
-the shadows of the little rolling hills still sprawled across the intervening valleys when curtis conrad started back at a gallop over the road which his outfit had been slowly traversing for four days. to his foreman, hank peters, he had said that he had been thrown and gored by a steer and must go to golden to have his collar bone set, and ordered him to stay where he was, cutting out and branding, that day and night, and camp the day after at five cottonwoods, where he would rejoin them.
-the men puzzled and gossiped about the accident to their employer. "i don't see how it was possible," said peters, "for such a thing to happen to a man that's got the boss's gumption about cow-brutes."
-"none of 'em was on the prod when i got to the pond," red jack declared. "josé, you was with him. did you see the scrimmage?"
-"somethin' happened," observed hank peters, "and if the boss says it was a steer on the prod, i sure reckon it was. but the thing that's troublin' me most is what started them critters off. i didn't see or hear a blamed thing likely to set 'em goin'. did any of you?"
-"i didn't," texas bill spoke up; "but andy was there first. did you see what it was, andy?"
-andy miller, the new hand, stopped to draw several deep whiffs from his newly lighted pipe before he replied. "no; i couldn't make out anything, and i was right at the edge of 'em, too. they jumped and started all at once, as crazy as i ever see a bunch of critters."
-"mebbe you skeered 'em some, they not bein' used to you," suggested billy kid.
-andy grinned. "well, i sure ain't boastin' none about the beauty of my phiz, but no gal ain't told me yet that i was ugly enough to stampede a herd of cow-brutes," and the subject was dropped with the laugh that followed.
-conrad's mare, larger and of better breed than the cow ponies, put the ground rapidly under her feet throughout the early morning. though never trained for range work and used only for riding, he always took her on the round-up, in readiness for emergencies. his habit of talking to himself, engendered by much solitary riding, was often varied by one-sided conversations with the mare, and whatever the subject which occupied his thoughts and found fragmentary utterance in speech, his sentences were interspersed with frequent remarks to brown betty. apparently she found this custom as companionable as he did, for she was sure to protest at a long period of silence.
-"so, ho, my pretty brown b.," said conrad gently, as he patted the mare's sleek neck, "that's the pace to give 'em!" a sharp twinge in his shoulder set his lips together, and an oath, having congressman baxter as its objective, came from between his teeth. "i'll write that damned baxter a letter," he broke out savagely, "that will singe his eyelashes when he reads it!"
-his thoughts went back to the subject which so frequently occupied them--his lifelong, vengeful quest of the man who had despoiled his father, wrought destruction upon their home, and changed the current of his own life. his heart waxed hot as he recalled his interview with rutherford jenkins. never for an instant had he doubted that jenkins's statement was a deliberate lie. smiling grimly, he stroked the mare's mane. "i was a fool, wasn't i, betty, to suppose i'd get straight goods out of him. it cost me five hundred dollars to find out that he's a skunk,--which i knew before. i deserved all i got, didn't i, betty, for not having more gumption."
-the frontiersman's caution, which grows almost instinctive in one who rides much alone over plain and mountain, sent his eyes now and again to search the long stretch of road that trailed its faint gray band across the hills behind and before him and to scan the sun-flooded reach from horizon to horizon. a red stain accentuated the meeting line of sky and plain in the west.
-"betty brown, do you see that red mark yonder?" he said, gently pulling her ear. "that means a sand-storm, and we've got to hike along at a pretty stiff pace while we can. what do you think about it, my lady?" the mare raised her head and gave a little snort. "smell it, don't you?" he went on as he patted her approvingly. "well, that's where you're smarter than i am, for i reckon i shan't be able to do that for another hour."
-he fell silent again, thinking of the delafield matter and jenkins's assertion that bancroft was delafield. "he sure knows who delafield is," was his conclusion, announced aloud, "but he's not going to tell. he's probably blackmailing the man, whoever he is, and he won't take any chances that would be likely to spoil his income. well, that proves that delafield is somebody in new mexico rich enough and prominent enough to make it worth while for jenkins to keep his knowledge to himself. i've got that much for my five hundred, anyway. lord, betty, wasn't i a tenderfoot!" and he swore under his breath, half angrily, half amusedly, as he turned again to study the road and the plain. the heat haze was rising, and the clear white sunlight was master of earth and sky. far to one side he noted the silvery lake of a mirage. but the red line had mounted higher, and become a low, dirty-red wall that seemed to fence the western expanse from north to south. "it sure looks like a bad one, betty, and i'm afraid we shan't be able to get home to-night after all. but we'll make adobe springs anyway, if it doesn't catch us too soon."
-"hello, old girl!" he said aloud, "getting lonesome, are you, and you want to be talked to. oh, you're spoiled, betty b., that's what you are. we'll go up the hill and see miss bancroft, won't we, betty, while we're in golden; and we'll take that cactus to her, and help her plant it. and she'll come out to the fence to see you, betty; and she'll give you a lump of sugar, and pat your nose, and look as sweet as a pink rose with brown velvet eyes. she's a bully fine girl and we like her, don't we, betty brown? the way she sticks by her father is great; he couldn't help being a first-class fellow, could he, b. b., with such a daughter as that?"
-the red wall was rising in the sky, devouring its sunlit blue and spreading out into smoky-red, angry-looking clouds. a high wind, hot and dry, swept across the plain from the west. all the cattle within conrad's range of vision had turned their heads to the east and, although they were still grazing, moved only in that direction. seeing a herd of antelope headed the same way, curtis took the red bandanna from his neck and waved it toward them. as the bright signal floated in the wind their leader turned, stared, and began to walk back, the whole herd following with raised heads and gaze fixed in fascinated interest. he flaunted the red square and they came steadily on, until presently the warning of danger in the hot wind and the odor of the approaching storm overcame the compulsion of curiosity, and they wheeled again, away from the threatened peril.
-the small life of the plain was fleeing before the furnace-like breath of those red, surging clouds. jackrabbits leaped across the road on fleet legs, and occasionally conrad saw coyotes, singly or in packs, running eastward as for their lives. fat carrion crows hurried their unwieldy flight and, higher in the air, a frequent lone hawk sailed out of the west, while now and then a road-runner cut across his path with hasting feet.
-"it's going to be a bad one, i guess," curtis muttered, jamming his soft hat down closer on his head. the mare seemed to be trying of her own accord to escape the storm, and her swinging lope was steadily leaving the miles behind. "keep it up, betty, keep it up," he said encouragingly. "i want to reach adobe springs and get this message to baxter off my mind. my shoulder's aching, old girl, but it ain't aching a bit more than i am to tell him what i think of him."
-soon the sand-storm was upon them, concealing the landscape and covering the sky with its clouds. upon man and beast it beat as bitterly as a sand-blast. it pelted and stung conrad's face and neck, and filled his eyes and ears and nostrils until he was forced now and again to pull his hat over his face for a moment's respite in which to draw a less choking breath. "it looks as if all arizona had got up and dusted, and was hell-bent to get out of here," he jested grimly, as he bent over the mare's neck and encouraged her with voice and gentle stroke. "that shows good sense, betty, though it's mighty hard on us. come right along, old girl; we must get to adobe springs."
-as the air grew thicker there shone from the sky, instead of the vivid white sunshine of a few hours before, only a dim, diffused, lurid light. even to curtis, sitting quartering in the saddle with his back twisted toward the wind, brown betty's ears were barely visible. for a while he allowed the mare to follow the road herself, until he found that her sense of duty must be supplemented by authority. for, under the discomfort of the belaboring wind and stinging sand, she began to yield to her instinct to turn tail and drift before the storm. then he knew that he must keep a firm hand on the bridle, and his attention at the highest pitch, or they would soon be wandering helplessly over the plain. he walked long distances beside the mare, with his body shielding her head and with speech and caress keeping up her courage. their progress was slow, for the force of the storm was so great that, though it beat against them from the side, they could struggle through it only at a walk.
-hour after hour went by, and the only sign of its passage was that a dim, yellowish centre of illumination, that had once been the sun, crept slowly across the sky. as the day grew older conrad's pain from his injury became more acute. most of the time he felt it only as an insistent background to the keen outward discomfort of stinging sand and pounding wind. but when an occasional sharper twinge brought it more vividly to his consciousness he swore a little between his teeth, and thought of the letter he was going to write to dellmey baxter. the particles of sand filled his hair and encrusted his face and neck until they were of a uniform brick-red. constant effort and encouragement were necessary to keep brown betty in the road, and finally he was compelled to walk at her head most of the time and with a guiding hand on her bridle counteract the unflagging urge of her instinct to drift before the blast.
-thus they battled their way through the hot, beating wind and suffocating sand, while that vague core of light moved athwart the dirty heavens, dropped slowly down the western sky, and was swallowed up in the denser banks of dusk above the horizon. it had been too dark before for the discernment of objects, but a yellowish glare had filtered through the sand-laden air, lending a lurid, semi-translucence to the atmosphere. now even that was gone, leaving a desert enveloped in pitchy darkness, while the wind roared about the ears of the travellers and pounded their bodies as with cudgels and the sand pelted their skins.
-most of the time curtis depended upon the feel of the road under his feet to maintain his direction, but now and then it was necessary for him to get down on his hands and knees in order to recover the track from which they had begun to stray. once his fingers came in contact with a small feathered body. the bird tried to start up under his hand. he knew it must be disabled and placed it inside his shirt. thus they plodded on through the night and the storm, the pain in his shoulder growing keener and the torture of the wind and sand ever more nerve-racking.
-at last the mare raised her head and gave a long whinny. conrad felt sure that she was announcing their near approach to the food and shelter within the adobe houses. "what is it, betty? do you know where we are?" he asked, and she rubbed her nose against his face, nickered, and pulled at the bridle with the evident desire to turn from the direction they were pursuing. curtis knew they were in a little hollow, and thought it might be that into which the road dipped after leaving the houses.
-"all right, betty," he said. "i'll follow your lead a little way, but be cautious, old girl, and don't tie up to any lying hunches." he slackened his hold on the bridle, and the mare started off eagerly. they climbed a hill, and presently conrad was aware of a black mass before him. putting out his hand he felt an adobe wall. the mare crowded close against it, and stopped. she had left the road, which took the hill at a long sloping angle from the foot of the rise, and had climbed straight up the steep incline. he felt his way around the corner, unfastened the door, and entered. an emphatic "whew!" gave vent to his feeling of relief. the mare, close at his heels, snorted in response, and curtis, smiling in the dark, threw his arm across her neck in fellowship and said, "feels good, doesn't it, betty b., to get out of that hurricane from hell?"
-by the light of a lantern he led the mare to the spring, stabling her afterward in one of the houses. "in the best society, betty brown," he explained, "it's not considered good form for horses to sleep in men's houses. but you deserve the best i can give you to-night, blest if you don't, old girl, and you shall have it, too." he gathered together, for her food and her bed, the alfalfa hay from several of the bunks, and found for her also a small measure of oats. then, having attended to her wants, he looked about for something to stay his own hunger.
-it was his custom to keep some canned provisions in the place, as the station was much used by his men. on a little smouldering fire in one corner of the room, he made some tea in a tin can. a frying-pan hung against the wall, and in it, awkwardly fumbling with his one useful hand, he contrived to warm a stew of tinned chile con carne and pilot bread. fine sand drifted in and settled in a red dust over the food as he ate, and he could feel its grit between his teeth.
-the bird he had carried in his bosom he found to be a southwestern tanager. its pinkish-red plumage shone with a silvery radiance in the lamplight. one of its legs was broken, and one wing had been injured. "i'll take it to miss bancroft," he said aloud, "and she'll care for it till it can shift for itself again, poor little devil!"
-with intense satisfaction conrad at last sat down to the letter in which he had all day been longing to express his feelings. "i wonder," he thought, "if dellmey baxter did it because he don't like the things i say about him. well, he'll have to get used to it, then, for i'm not going to quit." there was a grim smile on his face as he wrote:
-"yours truly, "curtis conrad.
-"there!" he exclaimed, as he sealed the envelope and threw it down contemptuously; "i sure reckon he won't be so anxious for me to turn up my toes with my boots on after he reads that."
-breakfast was eaten and brown betty cared for by lamplight and with the first dim rays of morning he set out once more upon the road. the bird was again in his bosom, and the cactus, wrapped in old newspapers, rested at the back of his saddle. the storm had passed, but the air was still full of dust particles through which the sun shone, red and smoky. curtis knew that these would settle gradually with the passing hours and the sky become as clear as usual. already he could see the road for several rods in front of him, and that was all he needed to keep it flying under brown betty's feet.
-at the ranch house mrs. peters told him that a man had been there looking for work and described his appearance. "yes; he overtook us at rock springs, and i hired him," conrad said. then, remembering the account andy miller had given of his previous situation, he asked her if the man had said where he came from.
-"no," she replied; "he didn't say where he'd been working; but he came from toward golden."
-the superintendent thought the discrepancy rather curious, but decided it was nothing more than a not unusual cowboy eccentricity of statement. he resumed his journey with no misgivings, and mid-afternoon found him arguing with the physician at golden that he might just as well start back to the round-up that same night.
-the first shot
-alexander bancroft sat in his private room with curtis conrad's return checks before him. they were not many: one in favor of his brother at the university of michigan, one for a mail order house in chicago, a small one to a new york publishing concern,--and his eyes fell upon the name of rutherford jenkins and the amount,--five hundred dollars. he stared at the slip of paper for a moment, conviction rushing to his mind that his pursuer knew the truth; then he took his revolver from his pocket and examined its chambers. "i may have to do him up myself!" he thought, his lips tightening. but sudden hesitation gripped his heart. until within a few weeks he had considered curtis one of his best friends, had liked the young cattleman whole-heartedly, admiring and enjoying his impulsiveness, his geniality, his ardent loyalty to his friends, and his equally ardent hostility to those he disliked. now the good-fellowship he had been accustomed to feel stopped his hand. "can it be possible," he asked himself for the hundredth time, "that this eager-hearted, companionable fellow will really carry out his deadly purpose?" he recalled the intensity with which conrad had spoken of his long quest for revenge, his vehemence toward his enemies, his impetuosity. again conviction grew strong upon him that, when the man knew, the end would come. the frontier code by which he had lived so long nerved his heart, and he muttered, "he shan't smash things--now! i'll smash him before i'll let him do that!"
-he swung the revolver into position and took sight. as his eye glanced down the barrel he saw that it was pointing at lucy's pictured face, smiling down from the top of his desk; his hand shook as he laid down the weapon. there was a knock at the door, and he made sudden pretence of close attention to the papers before him. the door partly opened and he heard conrad's voice outside. surety of imminent peril seized bancroft's mind. the instinct of self-defence sent his hand to his revolver, and he sprang up, pulling the trigger. curtis rushed in at the report, calling out, "what's the matter, aleck?" the banker had just time to stay his finger at sight of the friendly face and solicitous manner.
-"i didn't hurt you, did i, curt?" he asked anxiously, sinking back in his chair and looking at conrad's arm, helpless in a sling. the bullet, they found, had nicked the top of the door and buried itself in the ceiling. "i was looking my revolver over when you knocked," bancroft explained, "and had just been aiming at that spot on the wall. my finger must have pulled the trigger unconsciously. the thing's set to a hair, anyway. i must have it fixed. what's the matter with your arm, curt?"
-in the revulsion of feeling that swept over him as he realized that the cattleman was as friendly as ever and that therefore his secret was still safe, he felt genuinely thankful that his bullet had gone wild.
-bancroft's thoughts were active as he lighted his cigar. that check--it must have been castleton money, to be handled for johnny martinez. perhaps security might still be compassed without bloodshed. in thankfulness that he had not killed the man who was still his friend he revolted against the purpose of the mexican, to which he knew in his soul he had given tacit consent. he did not want this cordial, confiding, good fellow struck down--if his own safety could be otherwise secured.
-"you'd better give the mexican his time, curt. he's locoed probably; when you get back you may find he's killed half your men."
-"well, if he tries running a-muck in that gang," the superintendent responded cheerfully, "he'll never do anybody else any harm. anyway, i've settled him for the present; i busted his knife and threw the pieces into the pond. no; he's in dell's pay; that's all there is to it; and when dell reads my letter he'll hike to call his man off. i don't expect any more trouble from josé."
-bancroft made no reply and conrad went on: "by the way, aleck, for a full minute yesterday i thought baxter must be my man--the man i'm after, you know--delafield. i've found out that he's somebody rich and respectable here in new mexico, and when i felt that baxter must be responsible for this attack on me, i lit on him for my meat. but it was too good to be true; as soon as i thought it over i saw that baxter couldn't be delafield. but they're two of a kind all right. both of 'em have got their freight loaded ready to pull out for hell at the drop of a hat. baxter will have to pull his in less than three jumps of a bucking horse if he doesn't call off his man. and delafield will be pulling his mighty soon anyway."
-bancroft made a gesture of annoyance. "curt, you talk too easily about killing. you'd make a stranger think you're a bad man of the border, instead of the decent citizen you are. for heaven's sake, man, why don't you come to your senses, and see what an ass you'll be making of yourself if you try to carry out this fool scheme of revenge that's got hold of you? why don't you accept his offer to pay back the money as fast as he can? let him make restitution, and keep a whole skin; perhaps you'll save your own scalp in the bargain."
-the seeker after vengeance laughed blithely.
-"aleck, you've no idea what this thing means to me. why, man, you talk as if giving up that plan would be no more than changing my coat! you don't know, aleck--why, to get the drop on delafield and hold him while i tell him what he is in language that will scald him from head to foot, and then deal out to him the death he deserves--that's the one thing i've lived for all these fifteen years! i'm obliged to you for your advice, aleck; but i know what i'm about."
-bancroft shrank away a little as curtis talked. his lips tightened as he picked up the revolver and sighted it at a calendar on the wall. after a moment's silence he looked the other full in the eye and said, impressively:
-"you forget one thing, curt. if this man delafield knows what you are doing--and you seem to feel sure he does--he'll be prepared for your attack, and you're not likely to have things your own way. unless he's a fool or a coward he'll defend himself, even if he has to kill you doing it. and if he has any sabe at all he'll be loaded for you when you get there, and have the drop on you before you can say a word."
-"chances of war," conrad replied serenely. "he's welcome to all he can get. but i'm betting my last dollar, and my scalp in the bargain, that he can't draw as quick as i can, nor shoot as straight. you bet your life, aleck, when that circus comes off i'll be the star performer."
-"well," said bancroft slowly, "if you won't listen to reason i suppose you'll have to go on, hell-bent, in the gait you've struck--and take the consequences. but you're a fool to do it, and i hate to see you making such a blind ass of yourself."
-curtis laughed, undisturbed. "that's all right, aleck. i don't expect you to get the joy out of this business that i shall."
-he went over to bancroft's desk and picked up the revolver, examining its sights. "they're not right, aleck," he said. "when i get the use of my arm again i'll fix them for you. and you don't use your gun right when you want to take quick aim: you don't swing it up quickly and steadily, as if you were used to it. you ought to practise, aleck. out here a man never knows when he may have to defend himself. i've got to stay here several days, the doctor says; and while i'm here i'll show you a few tricks."
-"all right, if you like," bancroft replied, adding, as he pocketed his revolver, "i'm not a very good shot and, as you say, out here a man never knows when he may have to defend himself."
-conrad, turning to go, lingered awkwardly. "by the way, aleck," he blurted out, "it has occurred to me that perhaps you are getting tied up with dell baxter too tight for comfort. i don't want to seem curious about your affairs, you know, and i haven't got any big pile--you know what my balance is; but whatever i have got you're welcome to, any time, if you want to cut loose from baxter and it will help any."
-bancroft hid a grim smile behind the hand at his moustache as he thought of sundry checks of his own making their way toward conrad's balance. "thank you, curt; it's very kind and thoughtful of you to make the offer, and i appreciate it. but i don't need anything. baxter and i are in partnership in a number of enterprises, but it's all straight sailing."
-"that's good, and i'm glad to hear it. i was afraid he'd got you under his thumb. but remember, aleck, that my small pile is at your disposal any time it will be of use to you."
-as the young man left the bank he saw lucy bancroft turn the corner toward the mexican quarter and was quickly at her side, relieving her of the little bundle she carried. she was going to señora melgares, she explained, who could wash laces and embroideries and all kinds of dainty things beautifully with amole root. she was taking her some of miss dent's and her own fineries, and hoped to get her a great deal of work from others. "the poor thing!" said lucy earnestly, her eyes wide and soft with sympathy. "she is so heartbroken over the affair! you've heard? mr. gaines died the other day, and melgares has been indicted for murder. my father says he'll surely be found guilty and will probably be hanged. the poor señora!"
-when they reached the little adobe house lucy asked curtis to go in with her, saying, "i'm not very sure of my spanish, and i'd be glad to have you come in and help me out." they found señora melgares sitting with her head buried in her arms, her hair dishevelled, and her face, when she raised it, eloquent of grief and despair. but she greeted them with grave and gracious courtesy. lucy impulsively took her hand and held it in both her own while she presented señor conrad. at the name the woman drew her slight figure together with a convulsive movement, her dark face lighting with interest.
-"don curtis? señor don curtis conrad?" she asked eagerly.
-"the same, señora," he answered in spanish, bowing gravely.
-"the same whose mare--?" she began, her expressive countenance finishing the query. conrad bowed again. the woman sank down in her chair, her face in her hands, swaying back and forth as she moaned and sobbed. lucy knelt by her side to comfort her, while curtis bent over the girlish figure and spoke in a low, changed tone that the girl barely recognized, so different was it from his usual brisk utterance. it set her nerves vibrating in quick, half-conscious conviction of a depth and quality of feeling in harmony with her own.
-"i am afraid i made a mistake by coming in, miss bancroft," he said. "it did not occur to me that she would connect me with her husband's trouble. won't you please tell her, when she is quieter, that i am very sorry about the whole affair, that i have no feeling against him, and that i'll gladly do for him whatever i can. i think i'd better go now, but i'll wait outside for you, and if i can be of any use you must call me."
-when lucy joined him a little later her face showed signs of tears, and as they walked back she was preoccupied and perturbed. she wished to see her father, so curtis left her at the door of the bank.
-"daddy!" lucy exclaimed as she rushed to his side, her eyes shining and her face aglow. "oh, daddy, señora melgares has just told me the strangest thing! mr. conrad was with me, but he went out because she cried so, and he didn't hear what she said. i tried to quiet and comfort her, and finally she told me that her husband had been persuaded and paid to steal mr. conrad's horse by a man who said he wanted to get even with him for something. she told me his name--you and mr. tillinghurst and judge banks were talking about him the other day--mr. jenkins--don rutherford jenkins, she called him."
-anticipation warmed bancroft's heart as she spoke. if the story was true it might give him just the hold on jenkins that he wanted. he made her repeat the details of her conversation with the mexican woman. "did you say anything about it to conrad?" he asked in conclusion.
-"no, daddy; i thought i ought to tell you about it first."
-"quite right, lucy. you were very prudent. and don't mention it now, to him or to anybody."
-"no, of course not. but, daddy, won't that make it better for poor josé maria? mr. jenkins is the one that ought to be punished--he and mr. baxter; and poor ignorant melgares ought to be let off very easily. don't you think so, daddy?"
-one of her hands rested on his shoulder. he took the other in both of his as he smiled at her indulgently. her news had so heartened him that he hardly noticed her connection of baxter with the affair. "i don't know about that, daughter. it isn't likely to have any effect, because his indictment is for murder--you know he killed gaines while resisting arrest--and his motive in stealing the horse has no connection with that crime. i'm glad you told me about it, dear. i'll talk with melgares myself, and see what can be done. i suppose his wife must be having a hard time. you might give her some money. and ask her," he said as he handed lucy some bills, "not to speak about this jenkins matter to any one else. be sure you impress that upon her. it's a pretty bad case, but you can tell his wife that everything possible will be done for him. dell baxter is coming down to undertake his defence; he does it for nothing. so you mustn't think so badly of him hereafter, when you see how willing he is to make what amends he can to the poor fellow."
-lucy threw her arms about his neck and kissed his forehead. "daddy, you're awfully good and kind--the best man in the world! about mr. baxter, though--" she paused to toss her head, and a little sparkle shone in her eyes--"well, i'm glad he has the decency to do it, but it's no more than he ought; and before i think much better of him i'll wait to see if he drives any more of the poor mexicans out of their homes."
-bancroft began to plan hopefully. he would see melgares and get the exact facts. if this story was true it would be just the sword he needed to hang over jenkins. evidently he had told conrad nothing; therefore that check must have been campaign money from ned castleton to be used for the benefit of martinez. jenkins would not be likely to talk: it would ruin his chance of making money out of it himself. as for curtis--perhaps, after all, he would not be unreasonable about the offer to make restitution. another check would reach him soon, with assurance of more to follow speedily. surely the man was too sensible to cast aside such a start in life as this money would give him, just to carry out a crazy notion that would end in his own ruin.
-"but if he will go on, he'll have nobody but himself to blame for whatever happens," he thought. "i've given him fair warning."
-the encouragement he felt turned his thoughts toward louise dent. in the intimacy of their daily life since she had been lucy's visitor he had found her ever more lovable. he began to think, as he looked into her eyes and felt the restrained sweetness of her manner, that when he should be free to speak she would welcome his feeling, and have for it an intoxicating return. but he could say nothing until the settlement of this affair left no further danger of discovery and disgrace.
-"the past is dead, and it's got to stay dead," he muttered. "i'll win out yet, by god!"
-the second shot
-"i'm so glad you like my dearie!" she responded warmly, looking up at him with a glow of pleasure. "she's the dearest, sweetest woman! and you always feel you can depend on her. if you put your hand out you always know just where you can find louise dent, and you know she'll be as firm as a rock. she's been so good to me! and she's always so restful and calm--she has so much poise. but, do you know--" she hesitated as she stopped in front of the cage that held the tanager curtis had brought for her care. his physician had splinted its broken leg and bound its injured wing, and together they were anxiously watching its recovery. "it's been eating, mr. conrad!" she broke off joyously. "let's give it more seeds and fresh water!" as they ministered to the bird's needs curtis went on about miss dent.
-"yes; she seems to have a calm sort of nature, but when i look at her i find myself wondering if that is because she has never been moved very deeply, or because she keeps things hidden deep down. her eyes are set rather close together, which generally means, you know, an ability to get on the prod if necessary; and sometimes there is a look in them that makes you feel as if she might break out into something unexpected."
-lucy was looking up at him with the keenest interest in her face. the southwestern sun had kissed her skin into rich browns and reds, and she carried gracefully her slender girlish figure. her head, with its covering of short brown curls, always held alertly, gave to her aspect a savor of piquant charm. curtis looked down into her upturned face and eager eyes with admiration in his own. under her absorption in the subject of their talk she felt herself thrill with sweet, vague happiness.
-"do you know, i've been feeling that very same thing about dearie," she said in confidential tones. "she seems more restless lately, although i know she's perfectly happy here with us. she has just the same quiet, gentle manner, but it seems as if there might be a volcano under it--not really, you know, but as if there might be if--if--i don't quite know how to say it--if things just got ready for it to be a volcano!"
-"do you think anybody would know it," asked conrad, "even if it was really there?"
-"i know what you mean--yes, she has wonderful self-control--i never saw anybody who could hide her feelings as she can, and always does. i've been thinking lately that if dearie were in love--" lucy hesitated a moment while a deeper glow stained her cheek--"she's just the sort of woman to do anything, anything at all, for the sake of it."
-"yes; and not get excited over it, either," added curtis.
-when lucy went to attend to some household duties, conrad sauntered out to the veranda, where he found miss dent with her sewing. he happened to refer to his boyhood; and she asked some questions that led him to speak of his youthful struggles. she was interested, and wanted to know the cause of his father's financial ruin. he hesitated before replying, the matter touched so nearly the secret core of his life and thought. few, even among his intimates, knew anything about the vengeful purpose that had motived half his life, and he disliked ordinarily to say anything about the cause of his early misfortunes. but the habit of close and friendly speech into which he and louise had fallen, coupled perhaps with a softening of feeling toward her sex that had been going on within him, moved him to openness. "it won't matter," he thought. "she's such a level-headed woman; and i've told aleck already."
-"i don't often speak about it," he said, "but i don't mind telling you, for you are such a good friend of the bancrofts, and aleck knows the story. of course, you'll understand that i don't care to have it discussed generally. my father's disasters all came from his getting caught in a specious financial scheme engineered by one sumner l. delafield of boston."
-an indrawn breath, sharp and sudden, made him look quickly at his companion. "have you hurt yourself?" he asked solicitously.
-"oh, i jabbed my needle under my thumb nail. such an awkward thing to do! it gave me a little shock, that's all. go on, please. what sort of a scheme was it?"
-he told her briefly the story of his father's ruin and death, and outlined the transactions that led to delafield's failure. as he spoke his heart waxed hot against the man who had caused the tragedy, as it always did when he thought long upon the subject, and he went on impulsively to tell her of his long-cherished purpose of revenge. she listened with drooped eyelids, and when she spoke, at his first pause, there was a slight quaver in her voice.
-"you don't mean that you really intend to kill the man?"
-"i do, that very thing. what's more, it's my notion that killing is too gentle for his deserts. for, of course, my case is only one out of many. and any man who would deliberately bring ruin and death into so many households--don't you think yourself he's worse than any murderer?"
-she forced herself to raise her eyes and, once she had met his gaze, her own was cool and steady. but if curtis had not been so absorbed in their discussion he might have seen that her face was paler than usual and her manner nervous, as she replied earnestly:
-"but you forget, mr. conrad, that the man had no intention of doing these things, and that probably he involved himself in as much financial disaster as he did others. i've heard of the case before; i knew some people once who--were concerned in it--who lost money by it--and i've always understood that the failure was due more to delafield's sanguine temperament and over-confidence in his plans than to any deliberate wrongdoing. don't you think, mr. conrad, that killing is a rather severe punishment for mistakes of judgment?"
-he answered with the rapid speech and quick gestures he was wont to use when under the stress of strong feeling. "i can't take that lenient view of the case, miss dent. my conviction is that he got some money out of the affair, though not as much as he is generally supposed to have taken, and ran away with it. i've studied the case pretty thoroughly, and i've trailed him along from one place to another for years. i'm hot on his tracks now; and he knows it. i've followed him into new mexico, and i know he's somebody in this territory, prosperous and respectable. he can't escape me much longer."
-she had been thinking intently as she studied the expression of his face. "it's not worth while to try argument or persuasion with him; opposition would only make him obstinate," was her conclusion. her manner was as composed as usual, and only her eyes showed a trace of anxiety as she spoke, slowly and thoughtfully, her gaze searching his countenance:
-"well, if you say you are going to take revenge upon him in this savage way i suppose you will do it--if that chin of yours means anything. you haven't asked my opinion, but i'm going to tell you anyway that it seems to me unwise and unjust and most unworthy of you to allow such an idea to become the obsession that this one has. but i want to know how you managed to keep your family together. that was a wonderful thing for a boy of fifteen to do."
-"a cousin of my mother's, a widow without children, offered to live with us and keep house. we rented part of the place and lived in close quarters in what was left. i worked like a turk at anything and everything that brought in a penny; and so, all together, we had enough to eat and wear, and i was able to keep the girls and homer in school. i went to night school and sat up reading anything i could get my hands on when i ought to have been in bed. it was hard sledding sometimes, but we pulled through. and i had good friends who saw that i was never out of a job of some sort.
-"this summer i'm not going to let him work; the rest of the way is clear enough now, and i want him to come down here with me, and learn to rope a steer and bust a bronco and go camping, and have a good out-doors time of it for his last college vacation."
-as she listened with her eyes fixed upon his face, miss dent's attention had been half upon his story and half upon the man behind it, searching out his character through his words. the conviction settled in her mind that his vengeful intention was rooted deep, and that the more he talked of it the more set would he become in his purpose.
-"i like your story," she said. "it is one of those tales of human effort that make one have more faith in human nature. but the climax you intend to put upon it is--horrible!" he noticed the slight movement of repulsion with which she spoke the word. "but that's your affair," she went on. "did i understand you--did you say--" in spite of her self-control she was stumbling over the question. she masked her momentary confusion with an absorbed interest in getting her sewing together. "did you say that mr. bancroft knows--that you have told him this story?"
-"yes; i told him the outlines of it a little while ago, apropos of a check i had from delafield. the rascal thinks he can buy me off that way. that shows he's buffaloed. but he'll find out i'm not that sort."
-"no; i shouldn't think you were. but lucy--does she know anything about it?"
-he looked up in surprise. "why, no; of course not."
-bancroft was coming through the gate, bringing judge banks with him; and lucy joined them a moment later. the talk turned on the coming trial of josé maria melgares, the narrow escape of pendleton from melgares' bullet, and the death of gaines as the result of his own foolhardy horse-play. they spoke of little jack wilder's skill with the revolver, and conrad reminded bancroft of their agreement to do some target practice together.
-"let's all go out in the back yard now," lucy exclaimed, "and miss dent and i will shoot too! wouldn't you like it, dearie? come on! it will be such fun!"
-while they were setting up the target sheriff tillinghurst came to speak to judge banks upon an official matter; and lucy asked him to stay and help her shoot.
-"you-all use my gun, miss lucy, and then you'll be sure to have good luck," he replied, drawing his revolver from his pocket. it was a small pearl-handled six-shooter, which the ladies admired, and the men jibed at for its daintiness.
-"that's all right," he answered good-naturedly. "this gun don't stack up much beside a cannon for size, but i can pervade and pester with it a right smart heap if i want to. it's a peach of a shooter, and it don't show in my clothes. i never have anything on me but that, and i've never seen the gun play yet where i got the worst of it. you-all try it, miss lucy."
-lucy took the revolver, telling him that now she would be his deputy, and, with plentiful instruction from curtis, placed herself in position and fired. she hit the bull's-eye and won much applause, until she explained that she had fired with both eyes shut and that, if she had made a good shot, it was because she couldn't help it with such a splendid gun as mr. tillinghurst's. miss dent took careful aim and, without lowering her arm, emptied the remaining chambers, making an excellent score. she, too, won a round of applause, to which she replied calmly, "oh, i've known how to shoot for years, and when i am in practice i do fairly well."
-"you two fellows shoot a match," said tillinghurst to bancroft and conrad. "the judge'll be umpire, and each fellow use his own gun at thirty paces."
-louise and lucy stood at one side, where the sheriff and judge banks joined them, leaving bancroft and conrad to begin their match. beneath her calm exterior miss dent's thoughts were in a tumult, and fierce resentment against the cattleman was rising in her heart. had not aleck suffered enough already? why should he be hunted down like this when he was willing to make restitution, even after all these years? oh, cruel! to beat him down again, when he had won success and respect once more! this man was a savage in his implacable desire for revenge.
-curtis raised his revolver. with both eyes open and without pausing to take aim, he sent a bullet through the bull's-eye. "delafield won't have much chance against a man who can do that!" he exclaimed in a triumphant undertone to bancroft.
-as the test of skill went on, it developed that the banker excelled if he took time to aim accurately, while he of socorro springs was the superior at quick shooting.
-"it's my specialty in the shooting line," said curtis. "you'd better practise it, aleck. it's the thing that counts most if you get into a scrimmage."
-he handed his hat, a wide-brimmed, gray felt, to judge banks, asking him to throw it up, adding, "i'd do it myself if my left arm wasn't in dry dock." he raised his revolver as the hat left the judge's hand; there were three quick reports, and he sprang forward and caught the descending sombrero on the muzzle of his pistol. the three perforations in the crown of the hat were so close together that a silver dollar covered them.
-"bravo!" exclaimed the judge. "i don't know but two other men who can do that. little jack wilder never misses the trick, and emerson mead, over at las plumas, does it as if he were a machine and couldn't miss. if you ever get a grudge against me, mr. conrad, i'll engage the undertaker and order my tombstone at once!"
-bancroft turned away quickly. he swung his arm upward, fired, and found that his bullet had hardly nicked the outer rim of the target.
-"don't pay any attention to your gun," curtis admonished him. "keep both eyes open, look at the bull's-eye, and unconsciously you'll aim right at it. if you get into a gun play, where it's a choice between giving up the ghost yourself or getting the other fellow's, you want to fasten your eyes on his most accessible part, point your gun that way, and shoot on the wink. between the eyes is a good place, for then you can hold him with your own. that's the way i shall fix delafield," he added, dropping his voice.
-cold anger seized upon bancroft as the picture of that gun muzzle close to his own forehead came vividly into his imagination. until now conrad had not mentioned the subject of delafield to him since the day of his return to town, and the banker's friendly feelings had renewed themselves with the growth of his own confidence and with his desire to compass what he wished without violence. but curtis had only to speak of his purpose in this cold-blooded manner for the banker to know that he, too, was rapidly becoming as implacable as his pursuer.
-judge banks was talking to miss dent about the view and the new mexican climate, and quoting wordsworth on "the witchery of the soft blue sky." she was compelling an expression of smiling interest, while her thoughts were with bancroft and his danger. the desire possessed her to stand near him, to hover about him, as if her mere presence would protect him from peril. the friendly revolver practice between the two men made her sick at heart, and she was waiting with inward impatience for the moment when she could propose returning to the veranda.
-lucy and sheriff tillinghurst were laughing and talking together in a running game of playful coquetry on her part and admiring badinage on his. "now, miss lucy," he was saying, "if you-all are going to be my deputy, you'll have to learn to shoot with at least one eye open. i can't have my deputy shootin' around promiscuous with both eyes shut. it might be used against me in the campaign."
-"oh, i'll keep both eyes open, just as mr. conrad says," she exclaimed, taking the sheriff's revolver from his hand. "just like this," she went on gayly, pointing the pistol straight at curtis's face as he came toward them, saying, "now you must have another chance, miss bancroft."
-tillinghurst sprang forward as he saw her level the revolver and struck it up with his hand. her pressure on the trigger had been light, but the contraction of her finger as the sheriff knocked it upward discharged the weapon. the bullet sang through the air; and she paled and staggered backward, looking wildly from one to the other as she exclaimed:
-"oh, i was sure it wasn't loaded!"
-"a gentleman's gun is always loaded, miss lucy," said the sheriff, mild reproof in his tone.
-lucy leaned, trembling, against miss dent's supporting arm. "i--i was sure we shot out all the bullets," she stammered, looking wistfully at conrad. "i'll never, never touch a gun again."
-"don't feel so worried, miss bancroft," urged curtis, gently. "you weren't pressing the trigger, and i'd have ducked if you had, for i was watching your hand. i wasn't in the least danger, and you mustn't think about it again. it'll be your turn next, miss dent," he added jocosely. "aleck had his the other day, and sent a bullet into the wall just above my head."
-"and you still have confidence in us, you reckless man!" louise exclaimed with a little effort at gayety, but with eyes on the ground.
-"perhaps he thinks he'll be in less danger if he teaches you-all how to handle your guns," the sheriff commented, as miss dent led the way back to the house.
-"hello, curt! when are you going back to the ranch?"
-"right now, mr. pendleton. anything i can do for you?"
-"say, curt, i've been wondering if i couldn't flirt gravel along with your bunch for a while. i want to take in everything that's going while i'm here. i've never been on a ranch, or seen a round-up, or a steer on the prod; and i'd like to see how things are done. would a tenderfoot be in your way?"
-"not a bit of it! come right along, pendy, if you think you can stand it. you'll have to rough it, you know; sleep on the ground with your saddle for a pillow, ride hard, and eat what comes."
-"oh, i can stand whatever the rest of you do. i don't fork a horse as well as a cowboy or a circus rider, but i can stick on, and i can get there 'most as soon as anybody--i mighty near got there too soon when we went after melgares, didn't i?"
-"all right, pendleton! if you think you can stand it, come right along with me this morning. i'm going to ride the rest of the day and most of the night; but if that's too much for you you can stop over at the ranch to-night, and catch up with us to-morrow."
-"i reckon i'll take it all in along with you, and i'll meet you in half an hour in front of the court-house," and pendleton bustled off. conrad went after his mare, dropping into bancroft's office for a last word.
-the president of the first national bank was reading his morning's mail. he frowned over a note from rutherford jenkins reminding him that the first of the month was approaching, and warning him not to forget the remittance due on that day. he looked at the calendar. no; he could not take time before the first to go to las vegas and crack the whip he was preparing over jenkins's head; he would have to make this payment. next he opened a letter from dellmey baxter:
-"my dear bancroft:--i think you'd better correct young conrad's curious notion that i had anything to do with josé gonzalez's attack upon him, or with josé's going down there. if you don't he might turn his suspicions in some other direction. of course, there's nothing in it but that greaser's bad temper. but he thinks there is, and he's just hot-headed enough to make it uncomfortable for anybody he happens to suspect. i didn't send josé to him and so, naturally, i can't do anything about it, even if the fellow does get angry and act like the devil.
-"i'm sorry i can't help you in your desire to retire from our rio grande valley land business. i'm tied up so that i've got no ready money with which to buy you out. of course, if you are determined to get out, you might find a purchaser elsewhere. but as a friend i advise you not to sell. there's going to be big money in it, and we can probably launch the enterprise within the next six months. you'll make a great mistake if you quit. if you decide to stay in i'm willing for you to keep on as a silent partner, just as we have done so far."
-the banker scowled, swearing softly to himself as he read the first paragraph. "didn't send him, didn't he," he grumbled. "then who did? i didn't, that's sure. he recommended the fellow as a good cowboy, and conrad engaged him. i had nothing to do with it." he was silent again as he studied the second part of the letter. a suspicion rose in his mind that baxter was purposely making it difficult, almost impossible, for him to get out of the land scheme. what was his purpose in so doing? did the congressman wish to keep a hold on him to hamper, perhaps even to control, his movements? "i wonder," bancroft thought, "if dell is afraid i'll try to cut him out politically before he's ready to step down. i'd like his place well enough if--but that's something out of my reckoning for a long time yet, even if everything goes right." the surmise that baxter wished to have such a bridle upon him left him uneasy. well, he would have to let this thing go on as it was. if he tried to sell to any one else knowledge of his connection with it might leak out and reach lucy's ears. he winced as he thought of her feeling toward baxter because of this business. and the investment promised well; rich returns might be expected from it soon. nobody knew of his part in it except dell, and if he stayed in and kept quiet it was unlikely that anybody else would find it out. that might be the safer plan, after all.
-conrad came to the door, and after a few minutes' talk bancroft said to him, remembering baxter's injunction, "well, curt, i hope you won't find that your crazy mexican has been trying to kill off all your men."
-curtis laughed. "oh, josé will be all right; and he's the best cow-punch i've got on the ranch. dell baxter will attend to him."
-"that's an absurd notion of yours that baxter had anything to do with it," replied bancroft, the congressman's letter still in his mind. "you're not reasonable about dell. why should he want you assassinated?"
-"the only reason i can see is that i've been talking pretty plain about him. but if he doesn't like the kind of things i say he'll have to get used to it, or else reform."
-"nonsense, curt. and even if he does think you're handling the castleton money against--"
-curtis made a gesture of impatience. "i hope you don't take any stock in that talk, aleck. the castletons don't care a hang about this campaign, and dell knows it. they're not putting up a cent, or, if ned is doing anything for his wife's sake, he's dealing with johnny martinez direct."
-bancroft looked at him narrowly. "is that right, curt? are you sure of it?"
-"as sure as i am of anything," the cattleman responded with emphasis. "they've never mentioned the subject to me."
-after conrad had gone the banker walked the floor in anxious thought. what, then, did that five-hundred-dollar check mean that curtis had given to jenkins? perhaps he was holding the young man off, saying he was not yet sure of delafield's identity and needed money to carry on his investigation, intending to give up his secret if he should find that he could bleed bancroft no longer. that would be like jenkins, he decided. as soon as he could get away he would go to las vegas and see if the fellow could be cowed by the knowledge that had come to him so opportunely. as for conrad, it would be better to wait until he could learn whether those checks would produce the effect desired.
-in front of the court-house the ranchman met tillinghurst and little jack wilder. the sheriff had a subpoena commanding him to appear as a witness for the state in the melgares trial, set for june. curtis remarked, as they talked of the case: "i reckon you'll have pendleton as a witness; he'll want to take in the whole thing. have you seen anything of him? he promised to meet me here. he's going back with me; says he wants to take in a round-up and see a steer on the prod. i sure reckon i'll have my hands full if i keep the boys from taking him in."
-"let 'em run him, curt, let 'em run him," said the sheriff. "he's good-natured, and he'll soon strike their gait. he was never outside of new england before, and he's tryin' mighty hard to be tougher than anybody else on the border. he's been in town three weeks, and he calls everybody by their first names, from judge banks down to my mexican stable-boy. he writes down all the slang he hears every day, sits up nights to study it, and the next day slings it around as free and easy as an old-timer. is that him comin' yonder? say, curt, he'll stampede every cow-brute you've got on the range!"
-pendleton, short, stout, and large of girth, had dressed himself for roughing it according to his own idea of custom and comfort. he wore a mexican straw sombrero tied down over his ears with a red bandanna, a red flannel shirt, a long linen coat, huge spurs, and sheepskin chaparejos.
-"oh, where did you get that coat?" the three men sang out as he came within hearing distance. pendleton caught the tails in his finger tips and danced some sidewise steps.
-"ain't she a beaut?" he shouted. "i found it in a store down in dobytown."
-"say, pendy," called the sheriff, "if you go pervadin' and pesterin' around among curt's steers in those duds i'll have to send jack down there to arrest you for breach of the peace."
-"all right, tilly! i'm here for my health, but i'm takin' in on the side everything that comes my way!"
-conrad found a letter at the ranch addressed to josé gonzalez, in his care, and grinned with satisfaction as he recognized baxter's handwriting. "he's buffaloed all right and is calling off his man," he thought as he opened with eager curiosity a missive from baxter for himself:
-"my dear young friend:--i assure you that you are barking up the wrong tree when you try to connect me with any attack the mexican, josé gonzalez, may have made upon you. in fact, it is so much up the wrong tree that i feel pretty sure there isn't any tree there at all! his assault was probably the result of sudden anger. the man has worked for me a good deal, and i know that such is his character. i have some influence with him, and i shall write him at once and give him a lecture on the necessity of controlling his temper. i have had occasion to do this several times in the past, not without effect. i shall tell him that you are a man of your word, and a crack shot, and that if he doesn't keep cool he's likely to die with his boots on. nobody could blame you, my dear mr. conrad, if you should shoot him under such a necessity of self-defence. i take it ill, however, that you should connect me with this greaser's outrageous temper and crazy actions. i assure you again that you are entirely mistaken in your assumption, which, permit me to say, is what might very well be called gratuitous.
-"i congratulate johnny martinez upon having the support of a gentleman so energetic, influential, and enthusiastic as yourself, and i remain,
-"yours very cordially, "dellmey baxter."
-conrad laughed aloud over the letter, exclaiming as he finished it, "he's a slick one, he is!"
-another letter bore the imprint of tremper & townsend, and contained a check for five hundred dollars and a brief note saying that their client, sumner l. delafield, wished them to send him this money as a second instalment of the amount due his father's estate, and to add that like sums would follow in rapid succession. conrad scowled and gnawed his moustache as he read the letter the second time. he was considering whether he had any right to accept the money and continue his quest of vengeance. delafield evidently meant to buy him off with it and, if he accepted, did he not tacitly accept that condition?
-"i'll send it back to him," was his first thought, as he reached for a pen. but another idea stayed his hand. the former check he had divided between his brother and sisters, and, as they knew nothing of his scheme of revenge, this also ought to go to them. but delafield must know upon what terms he accepted the money. with a grim look on his face he wrote to the boston attorneys:
-"i have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of a second check for five hundred dollars from your client, sumner l. delafield. i am reasonably grateful that an unexpected sense of remorse has led him to loose his purse-strings, even at this late day, and on behalf of my brother and sisters will ask you to send him their thanks. as for myself, you may tell him that i hope the sending of the money has eased his conscience, for it will procure him no other benefit. every cent of money he sees fit to send me i shall turn over to my father's other children, while i shall find entire satisfaction in following out my revenge. what that is he doubtless knows, for the sending of these checks convinces me that he is moved, not by the honest wish to do what he can toward righting a dastardly wrong, but by the desire to save his own skin. please tell him, from me, that he cannot buy immunity from my purpose, even though he should send me the whole of the debt three times over."
-pendleton, bouncing in his saddle as they galloped southward, bent admiring glances upon the erect figure of his companion, whose seat was as steady as if horse and rider had been welded together. "say, curt," he finally called out, "how do you do it? i'd give my bad lung if i could ride like you."
-conrad gave him some instruction, and pendleton turned all his attention toward learning how to bring his body into rhythmic accord with the movements of his horse. the cattleman, pounding along in silence, thought with satisfaction of the progress his search for delafield was making and planned how he should carry it on after the round-up, when he would have more leisure. he would make a list of the men in new mexico rich and prominent enough to come under suspicion, investigate their records, one by one, and so by elimination discover the person he wanted. then would come the meeting!
-his thoughts full of the climax of his search, he rode on in a sort of exaltation, unconsciously humming a song he and lucy bancroft had been practising. presently, through the silence, the sound entered his conscious hearing, and took his thoughts back to the pleasant hour he and she had spent over it. but a vague uneasiness stirred his feelings as the image of lucy floated past the background of that grisly, dominating purpose. the thought of her persisted; as it clung there, along the edge of his absorption, it brought a sharp and curious suggestion of the maimed bird he had carried in his bosom. he was suddenly conscious of discomfort, as if he had hurt some helpless thing, when his reverie was broken by a series of wild yells from his companion. pendleton had been lagging behind, but he now came dashing forward, giving vent to his delight because he had so far mastered the art of riding that he no longer bounced all over the horse's back nor fell forward and seized its mane at each change of gait.
-a spring welled alluringly from a dimple in the hillside. pendleton dismounted, saying he was thirsty. "don't drink from that spring, pendy," conrad admonished him. "it's alkali, and you'll wish you hadn't."
-"it looks all right, and it's cool," said the tenderfoot, dipping his hand in the water. "my throat's as hot and dry as that road. what harm will it do?"
-"well, pretty soon you'll think you're chewing cotton; and it may make you sick, though this spring isn't strong enough of alkali to do you much harm."
-"i'll risk it," pendleton declared, scooping up some water in his hat-brim. "it's wet when it goes down, anyway. and i reckon i might as well take in an alkali spring, too, while i've got the chance. everything goes!" an hour later he galloped alongside of conrad, working his jaws and licking his lips. "say, curt," he mumbled, "i know a fellow back home who'd give a thousand dollars for such a thirst as i've got!"
-it was midnight when they passed rock springs, where the superintendent had left his outfit. two hours later, when brown betty put out her nose and neighed, an answering whinny came back from beyond the next hill. "that's only five cottonwoods," thought curtis. "it can't be they've got no farther than that!" they gained the top of the hill and below them, in the light of the waning moon, they saw the white top of the chuck-wagon, the dark patch of sleeping cattle patrolled by a single horseman, and the figures of the men sprawled on the ground around the dying coals of their evening fire.
-"here we are, pendy!" said curtis. "i thought they would have got farther than this, and that we'd have at least two hours more of travel. now we'll have time for a little sleep before you begin busting those broncs."
-"who was riding herd?" he yelled to peters, who replied, "andy miller."
-"is he trying to drive them farther away?" conrad muttered angrily, pressing home his spur.
-as they rode back to camp behind the staidly moving herd, conrad asked peters if he knew what caused the stampede. the foreman did not know, he had been sound asleep when it began. but he went on to tell an excited tale of mysterious accidents that had followed close upon one another ever since the morning of the superintendent's departure. only the edge of the sand-storm through which he had ridden touched them, though it had kept them in camp all day. nevertheless, there had been two stampedes, and they had had much trouble getting the brutes together again. every day since there had been at least one stampede of the herd. he and the others had been kept busy gathering in the flying cattle. this was why they had got no farther than five cottonwoods. it seemed as if the devil himself had taken possession of every cow-brute on the range; never in all his years as a cow-puncher had he had such a time.
-"don't you know what starts them?"
-"how does andy get on with the work? does he sabe?"
-"yes; he's first rate; the best we've got, except josé. but andy does have main bad luck with the cow-brutes. this makes four times they've stampeded under him."
-promise of day was flushing the eastern sky and faintly warming the gray semi-darkness when pendleton's eyes flew open, to instant conviction of illness. from head to foot he ached with weariness, and he felt wretchedly sick. for a moment he kept quiet, feeling that it would be more comfortable to lie still and die than to try to move. but presently he thought, "i'll never live to die of consumption if i don't get up quick and find my whiskey!"
-he scrambled to his feet and looked around. not nearly so many men were stretched on the ground as he had expected to see, and his friend was not in sight. he looked for his saddle-bags, where he kept his flask. conrad had taken them from the horse when they unsaddled, and pendleton had not noticed what he did with them. he could not find the bags, everybody left in camp was sound asleep, and curtis had disappeared. wrapped in his blanket he was wandering around forlornly, squirming with pain, when he saw some one moving in the group of horses farther down the hill. he started in that direction and saw the man stoop beside conrad's mare, brown betty.
-"hello, pard! where's curt?" pendleton called loudly. the man straightened up quickly, and put away a knife. he looked at the curious figure coming toward him, and burst into a loud guffaw. "gee whillikens, stranger! where'd you drop from?" he shouted back.
-pendleton explained, and asked the other to help him find his saddle-bags. they were discovered in the chuck-wagon, and the invalid offered his flask, with a cordial admonition to "drink hearty, pard." the cowboy responded literally, and made several other visits to the saddle-bags before breakfast. by that time he was good-naturedly obstreperous, and had the camp in an uproar with his horse-play and noisy pranks. conrad asked peters where andy got his whiskey. the foreman did not know, and said that this was the first time he had shown any signs of drink. the superintendent went to pendleton.
-"has andy miller been taking a pull at your flask?"
-"the cow-punch that's feeling so happy? sure, curt. he helped me find my saddle-bags, and i thought i'd be sociable with him. i told him to drink hearty; and by thunder, curt! you ought to have seen him. he sure had a worse thirst on him than i had yesterday."
-"i'll have to ask you not to do it again with any of them. and you'd better let me put your flask in a locked box i have in the chuck-wagon, if you don't carry it in your pocket, or you may not have any left by night."
-gonzalez came up with a question, and conrad remembered the letter he had for him. the mexican took it with an unconcerned face, and went off behind the chuck-wagon. "i don't need to see the inside of it," thought curtis; "but i'd like to all the same. well, he'll be all right now, and i'm glad of it, for i'd hate to have to kill as good a roper as he is."
-a few minutes later josé strolled toward the cook's fire, twisting the letter in his fingers. he was about to thrust it into the coals when andy miller jumped at him with a yell, and caught his hand. "here, boys; josé's got a love letter! let's read it!" he shouted. gonzalez resisted; miller bore him down; and they rolled, struggling, over the ground. josé's dark face was pale with anger and his teeth were set as he gripped the bit of paper in one fist and pummelled andy's face with the other. miller tried to shield himself from the blows with his arms, while he bent his energies to getting possession of the letter.
-"you're fightin', andy; don't fergit to punch!" yelled nosey ike from the group of cowboys looking on. miller was the stronger of the two, and almost had the mexican in his power when conrad came beside them, saying, "if you want the letter burned, josé, give it to me."
-gonzalez cast at him one doubtful, desperate look, and threw the twisted paper toward him. the superintendent thrust it in the fire, and he and peters separated the two men. gonzalez flashed at him a look of gratitude and walked away without a word.
-"andy," said conrad, "you're making too much trouble this morning. if you want to work with this outfit you've got to keep straight. if you don't want to do that you can pull your freight right now."
-the man turned away sullenly. "i'm not ready to pull my freight yet," he muttered. the other cowboys were saddling their ponies and making ready to begin the day's work. the bunched cattle, with the red rays of the morning sun warm upon their backs, were quietly grazing a little way down the hillside. andy miller started toward his horse, but turned and ran rapidly at the cattle. no one noticed what he was doing until, in a moment more, he was jumping, yelling, and swinging his hat at the edge of the herd. snorting with sudden surprise and fright, the beasts were away again as though fiends were at their tails. conrad rushed for his horse, but peters, already mounted, yelled that they would not need him; and the foreman, with half a dozen others, dashed after the stampede.
-andy miller was coming slowly back, now and then stopping to smite his thigh and laugh. curtis walked out to meet him. "andy," he said, "i reckon i don't need you any longer. you can take your time this morning. here's your money."
-"now, then, you'll get it back, every darn' spank, an' more too! jenkins ain't big enough to spank you himself, but i can do it for him!" his hand descended, but into an enveloping blanket suddenly thrown over him from behind, muffling head, body, and arms.
-"i've got him, curt! get up, quick, and we'll do him up!" shouted the tenderfoot as he twisted the blanket around andy's struggling figure.
-conrad wrenched himself free and sprang up, his face white. "let him up, pendy," he said, drawing his revolver. the other unwound the blanket, and miller scrambled out, blinking and cursing. "you make tracks out of this camp as fast as you can go," said curtis, "and don't let me catch you within gunshot of this outfit again! clear out, this minute, damn you!"
-miller walked away in silence toward his staked horse, the two men following him part way down the hill.
-"he'd better clear out before the boys get back, if he wants to keep a sound neck," said conrad, his revolver in hand and his eyes on the retreating cowboy. "i understand it all now. and it was a lucky thing, pendy, that you gave him that whiskey this morning; it got him just drunk enough to show his hand. if it hadn't been for that i might not have caught on till he'd done the lord knows how much mischief. it's just like that damned skunk, jenkins, to go at it in this sneaking, underhand way. he's not through with me yet!"
-they watched while miller saddled his horse, hung his rope at the saddle-horn, and mounted. then they turned back toward the camp, but presently, at a whinny from brown betty, curtis faced about. miller had ridden to where she was standing, a little apart from the other horses, had leaped to the ground, and was making toward her hind-quarters. his body was in profile, and as he stretched out his arm conrad saw the flash of sunlight upon a knife blade. instantly his arm swung upward, and there was an answering flash from the muzzle of his revolver. the report boomed across the valley, and andy's right arm dropped. he rushed toward them, yelling foul names, but halted when he saw the pistol levelled at his breast.
-"no more tricks, andy," called the superintendent, "or it'll be through your heart next time. git, right now!"
-"boys," said the ranchman, "that's the chap that's been stampeding the cattle!" peters swore a mouth-filling oath and smote his thigh. "he was just on the point of ham-stringing brown betty," curtis went on, his eyes blazing, "and i put a bullet through his arm barely in time to prevent it."
-a light broke upon pendleton. "darn my skin, if that wasn't the trick the critter was up to this morning, when he saw me and stopped!"
-"let's go after him, boys!" shouted peters. the group of riders shot forward, like racers starting at the word, and thundered down the road after the culprit. conrad looked after them grimly, his eyes flashing blue fire, and pendleton, wrapped in his blanket again, danced about and yelled, "go it, boys, go it! i wish i was with you!"
-during all that time, although conrad did not believe he had anything to fear from josé gonzalez, he never left his revolver out of easy reach, and never turned his back upon the mexican. but gonzalez kept on his way as calmly and apparently as unconsciously as if he had had no part in that episode beside the pool at rock springs. near the end of the shipping curtis asked him if he would like steady work at the ranch.
-the mexican gave a little astonished start and cast at the superintendent a glance of suspicion. conrad frowned and his eyes flashed. then he grinned good-naturedly, showing his strong white teeth under his sunburned moustache. "that's all right, josé. i'm not that sort. as long as you behave yourself i'm your friend. if you don't, i've told you what will happen. you've struck my gait in the cow business, and i want to keep you. if you want to stay you can understand right now that you run no risks, unless you make 'em yourself."
-gonzalez threw at him a keen glance. "you know i have nothing against you, don curtis," he began, hesitating a moment before he went on; "i like to work for you very well, señor, and i will stay."
-a double bluff
-alexander bancroft read conrad's defiant letter, duly forwarded by his boston attorneys, with a nearer approach to desperation than he had known in years. he had hoped so much from that money; and it had been thrown away! the man was inflexible, and to attempt to turn him from his deadly purpose by peaceful means would be a waste of time. and time was precious, for, now that he and his detective knew so much, one clew that they might discover any day would throw the door wide open. he must be foiled before he had time to make another move. bancroft laid on his desk the letter he had been reading, feeling to the bottom of his heart that he would be justified in taking any course that would halt the feet of his pursuer.
-a clerk came to ask his presence in the outer room, and he went out hastily, intending to return at once. but a man with business in which both were interested awaited him, and after a moment's conversation they went to find a third who was concerned in the same matter.
-they had only just gone when lucy came in and asked for her father. she looked sweet and dainty in a white gown with a wide white hat tied under her chin, her curls clustering around a face all aglow with warm browns and rich reds. the clerk who pressed forward with pleased alacrity to answer her question was one of her ardent admirers. mr. bancroft had just gone out, probably for only a few minutes; wouldn't she wait? it was of no consequence, she said; she only wished to see if he had any mail for her. but she looked disappointed, and the clerk suggested that as he had left his office door unlocked she might go in and wait. she saw a pile of unopened letters on her father's desk and glanced through it, finding two for miss dent and one for herself. "i'll just sit here and read mine," she thought, "and maybe daddy will be back by that time."
-"delafield! sumner l. delafield! i remember that name. it's the name of the man that ruined his father--why, it's a receipt for that money! how does daddy happen to have it?" her eyes ran eagerly along the lines. "it's just like him! i'm glad he wouldn't take the money! what a horrid, wicked man that delafield must be! i wonder how daddy happens to have this letter, when it was written to tremper & townsend, in boston!" her glance fell on the torn envelope bearing the imprint of the boston firm, addressed to her father, and thence to their letter beside it. with mind intent upon the bewildering problem her eyes rushed over the brief missive:
-"as you requested, we deposited your check for five hundred dollars to our account, and forwarded our check for the same amount to mr. curtis conrad. we enclose his letter in receipt, which he evidently wishes sent on to you."
-lucy dropped the sheet of paper and sprang to her feet, her mind awhirl with protest. no, no! this could not be meant for her father--he was not delafield--it was impossible! but--something clutched at her throat, and her head swam. she must go home; she must think out the puzzle. sudden unwillingness to meet her father seized her. he must not know she had been there, that she had seen anything. she was not yet thinking coherently, only feeling that she had thoughtlessly surprised some secret, which had sprung out at her like a jack-in-the-box, and that she must give no sign of having seen its face.
-she sped homeward, her brain in a turmoil, and it was not until she had shut herself in her room that she began to think clearly. a troop of recollections, disjointed, half-forgotten bits and ends of things swarmed upon her. the shock had roused her mind to unusual activity, and little things long past, forgotten for years, again came vividly into her memory.
-so suddenly that it made her catch her breath there flashed upon her the recollection of how once, when she was a tiny child, some one had halted beside her mother and herself in a city street and exclaimed "mrs. delafield!" her mother had hurried on without noticing the salutation, and had satisfied her curiosity afterward by explaining that the person was a stranger who had mistaken her for somebody else. but lucy had thought the name a pretty one and used it in her play, pretending that she had a little playmate so called. their wanderings during her childhood came back to her, when they had gone often from one place to another, at first in canada, afterward always in the west. much of the time she and her mother were alone, but her father came occasionally to spend with them a few days or weeks. her devotion to him dated from those early years, when she thought so much about him during his long absences, wished so ardently for his return, and enjoyed his visits with unalloyed delight.
-with new significance came the recollection of the beginning for them of the name of bancroft. while she was still a little girl her mother had told her their name would no longer be brown, but bancroft, because they had been allowed to change it. she had liked the new name much better, had accepted it with the unquestioning acquiescence of childhood, and the old name had soon become but a dim memory.
-like a blow at her heart, because of the conviction it brought, the remembrance rushed upon her of an occasion not long after the change of name. she had wakened in the night and, drowsily floating in and out of sleep, had heard snatches of talk between her parents. something regarding danger to her father had won her attention. he had replied that it would be quite safe, because only when he visited them would he be known as bancroft, and that henceforth he would probably be able to spend more time with them. her mother had feared and questioned, but he had reassured her and insisted that lucy must be kept more steadily in school and that both mother and daughter must have a settled home. she could not remember all that he said, but meaningful scraps came back which had impressed her because they were concerned with that vague peril which her mother seemed to fear. he had said something about there being "no danger now," "nobody would recognize him," "everybody had forgotten it by this time"; finally, her childish anxiety assured that he was not really in jeopardy, she had sunk back happily into sleep and thought little more about it. after that she and her mother lived part of the time in denver and part in san francisco, and her father was with them more than before.
-every recollection that emerged from that dubious past strengthened the fear that had gripped her heart with the reading of the letters. one by one she was forced to give up the suppositions with which she tried to account for her father's possession of those letters. with all her strength she fought against the one evident conclusion. but at last the conviction fell upon her with chill certainty that they were on her father's desk because they were meant for him, and that he was the sumner l. delafield of that long past, disgraceful affair.
-then came the thought that her mother had known this dreadful truth, and yet had stanchly held by him and shared its consequences. the sense of duty arose within her, trembling, apprehensive, but insistent. it seemed almost as if her mother had bequeathed this secret to her keeping that she might the better fill her place beside him with daughterly solicitude. the idea crystallized into whispered words as she tossed back her head and dried her eyes, "my mother stood by him, and so shall i!"
-he must never even suspect that she knew this horrible thing; she felt instinctively that it would cut him to the heart to learn that she had discovered his secret. for a moment she broke down again and moaned, "why did i go into his office this morning! i wish i hadn't, i wish i hadn't! and then i wouldn't have had to know!" she quickly put aside this useless repining, to face the grim, painful fact once more. no; he must never guess that she knew he was other than he seemed, and he must never feel any change in her manner toward him. she must hide the secret deep, deep down in her heart, and she must keep their mutual life as it had always been. and there was dearie--but she must know nothing of it; oh, no, never in the world must dearie learn the least thing about this trouble!
-lucy felt very much alone, quite shut off, in her poignant need, from every one who might give her help, advice, or sympathy. as she sat there, encompassed by her loneliness and pain, her thoughts turned half unconsciously toward curtis conrad with instinctive longing for his protecting care and strength. then she remembered. with a sharp flash that made her wince it came back to her that he meant to have revenge on delafield; that she had heard him say he was on the man's trail, and would track him down and kill him! for a moment it staggered her, with a fierce new pain that struck through the keen ache in her breast, making her catch her breath in a gasping sob. but all her heart rose in quick denial. a faint smile held her trembling lip for an instant as she thought:
-"oh, no; he wouldn't! he wouldn't hurt daddy; and he wouldn't kill anybody! i know he wouldn't!"
-she almost feared to meet her household; it seemed as if this awful knowledge which had come to her must be writ large upon her countenance. would it be possible to take up the daily life again as if nothing had happened? a chasm so horrible had riven it, since the morning, that surely it could never be the same again. but when she finally summoned her resolution and went down to take up her daily duties, she found it not so hard as she had feared. that benign routine of daily, commonplace life, with its hourly demands upon thought and feeling and attention, which has saved so many hearts from breaking, met her at the very door of her room. she quickly learned to lean upon it, even to multiply its demands. at the outset it gave her the strength and courage to pass through her ordeal steadfastly; and after the first day it was not so hard. she began to feel pity for her father and a new tenderness as she thought of the years through which he had lived, knowing who he was and what he had done, and dreading always to be found out. but all her pity, tenderness, affection, and the old habit of lovingness that she was resolute to sustain were not always sufficient to overcome the revulsion that sometimes seized her.
-one of these moments of revolt came to her as they lingered over the breakfast table a few days after her discovery. she made an excuse to attend to something in the kitchen, and hastily left the room. her father had told them at the table that he was going to las vegas that morning. he waited, expecting her to return and go with him to the gate, and wave a last good-bye as he looked back on his way down the hill. she did not reappear, and at last he told miss dent that he would have to go or lose his train. louise watched him from the window with yearning eyes that would not lift themselves from his figure until it disappeared from her view.
-as he waited at the station lucy rushed breathlessly to his side. "i was so afraid i should be too late!" she panted as she slipped her hand through his arm, "i ran all the way down the hill."
-she clung so affectionately to him and looked up into his face with an appeal so wistful that he was touched, thinking only that she was sorrowing over his going away. it was the first time he had been separated from her since she had come to make her home with him. the conductor called, "all aboard!" and he kissed her tenderly, saying, "i'll be back day after to-morrow, little daughter."
-she went home with that "little daughter" ringing in her ears and her heart. it brought back a wealth of memories of those childish, happy, longed-for times when her father came, so glad to see his "little daughter" that the days were not long enough to hold all the pleasures he wished to give her. it filled her breast with tenderness and a sort of yearning affection, more maternal than filial in quality, and made more ardent her desire to stand by him with perfect loyalty. but the old, joyous love that had been rooted deep in admiration, esteem, and honor no longer stirred within her. she knew that it would never fill her life again with its warmth and gladness, and that now and again she would have to struggle with that same aversion which had sent her that morning to hide herself in her room against his accustomed affectionate farewell. nevertheless, she was pleased that a returning tide of tenderness, which was almost remorse, had swept over her in time for her to join him at the station.
-lucy's breathless rush to overtake him and the appealing tenderness of her manner during their moment together were sweet thoughts in bancroft's mind as the train bore him northward. dear little daughter! she grew dearer every day, and so did his pride and happiness in her. he longed to give her all the pleasures that his money could buy, just as he used to fill his pockets for her delight when she was a little girl. once past these threatening dangers, they should have good times together. all his business enterprises were promising well; it would not be long before money would be plenty. then, with clear sailing ahead and no ominous clouds, he could ask louise to marry him.
-they would have to give up lucy some time, but not for many a day. she was the sort of girl that is always attractive to men--why, half the young fellows in golden were already dancing devoted attendance!--but she was very young; he and louise still had many years in which to enjoy her, to travel with her and show her the world. once past these threatening dangers, how fair was the world beyond! he would vanquish them yet, by whatever means might come to his hand! each day's anxiety for the present and its longing for the fair future made his heart more desperate and reckless. he was hopeful that this coming interview with rutherford jenkins would make things easier for him in that quarter. money would always keep jenkins quiet, but to give up money to a blackmailer was like pouring it down a rat hole; if he kept it up the process was sure to cripple him in time.
-jenkins received him with smiling cordiality. "i'm very glad to see you, mr. delafield--oh, i beg your pardon!--mr. bancroft. i always think of you as--ah, by the other name--and i sometimes forget in speaking."
-"you'd better not forget again," bancroft interposed. "and, speaking of forgetting, there is a little matter concerning you that i'm willing to let drop out of my memory. you know, of course, about the case of josé maria melgares. doubtless you know, also, how melgares happened to steal curtis conrad's horse; and you could tell to a cent--to a jury, if necessary--how much money was given to melgares in the rear of the blue front saloon to induce him to undertake the theft. i take it, however, that you would not care to have it brought into court, as a conviction on a charge of conspiracy would be sure to follow. i have all the evidence in my possession--quite enough to convict. i got it from melgares' wife in the first place, and i have since secured his affidavit. but i have stopped her mouth, and his, and nobody else knows anything about it. i am quite willing to forget it myself if you will show equal courtesy concerning--certain other matters."
-jenkins grinned and licked his lips. "really, my dear mr. delafield--excuse me--my dear mr. bancroft--i don't know what you are driving at! i suppose you mean that melgares has been saying that i hired him to steal conrad's horse. the thing is as false as it is absurd. if it were to come into court i should deny it absolutely, exactly as i do now. and the word of rutherford jenkins would stand for considerably more with a jury than that of a mexican horse-thief."
-"you are probably the only man in the territory, mr. jenkins, who holds that opinion. unless you take a more reasonable view of the matter i shall feel it my duty to see the district attorney as soon as i get home."
-"see him, and be damned!" jenkins broke out. "if you do, curtis conrad shall know before the week is out that you are sumner l. delafield."
-bancroft's eyes fell, but his reply came quickly enough: "well, and what is that to me?"
-"i guess you know what it will mean to you," jenkins answered with a sneer. he did not know himself what it would mean to the banker, but he felt sure that it would answer quite as well to make pretence of knowledge. he watched his antagonist furtively in the momentary silence that followed.
-"you don't seem to understand the full significance of the attitude you are taking," bancroft presently went on. "of course, i do not wish, just now, to have conrad, or any one else, know all the events of my past life. i have been living an honorable life in this territory, and you can very well comprehend that i do not wish my reputation and business success smashed--by you or anybody else. that is the only reason why i was willing to enter into an understanding with you. but my affairs are getting in such shape that i can soon snap my fingers at you or any one who tries to disclose my identity. at best, you'll be able to get little more out of me, and i am amazed that you should be willing to risk this trial, with its certain disgrace, conviction, and sentence to the penitentiary, for the sake of the few hundred dollars of--blackmail--let us call it by its right name--that you may be able to extort from me."
-"i am quite willing to take whatever risk there is," jenkins interposed, "especially as my counsel could readily bring out the fact that you had tried to--blackmail--let us call it by its right name--to blackmail me before you gave the information. do as you please about going to the district attorney; i don't care a damn whether you do or not. but, if you do, you'll have to settle with curt conrad before the week is out!"
-bancroft arose, perceiving acutely that the only course left for him was to make a strong bluff and retreat. "very well," he said, with an indifference he was far from feeling, "do as you like about that. only don't delude yourself by supposing that curt conrad's knowing about that old affair will mean any more to me than anybody else's knowledge. when you think this proposal of mine over carefully i'm sure you'll change your mind, and i shall expect to hear from you to that effect."
-sentence of death
-as the spring days passed, in unbroken procession of rosy dawns, cloudless and glowing noons, and gorgeous sunsets, louise dent's resentment against curtis conrad grew keen and bitter. she saw the lines of worry appearing in bancroft's face, and surprised now and then in his eyes an anxious abstraction; and in her heart she stormed against the man she supposed to be the sole cause of it all. dreading his next visit lest she might betray her feeling, she longed to drive him from the house, when he should come, with burning, shaming words. but bancroft, who knew as much of his intention as she did, was on terms of cordial friendship with him, and she must take her cue from her friend and host.
-toward bancroft himself her heart grew more tenderly solicitous as her womanly instincts divined his feeling toward her. a thousand unconscious touches of tone and manner had already revealed his love, and she surmised that he would not speak because of the imminence of this sore danger. she longed to give him her open sympathy, to counsel with him, to lock hands with him so that they might face the trouble together. yet she was stopped from word or action by the necessity of seeming to know nothing. the fact of bancroft's identity had been disclosed to her by his wife, her dear and intimate friend, who, at point of death, had told her, under solemn promise of secrecy, the whole story, that she might the better shield lucy should disclosure ever threaten. now, her heart melting with pity, love, and sympathy for her friend, and burning with angry resentment against his foe, she must perforce sit in apparent ignorance of it all, be calm and cheerful toward bancroft, and smile pleased welcome upon conrad. that hidden volcano in her breast, whose possibility lucy and curtis had half seriously discussed, had become a reality, and the concealment of it demanded all her self-control.
-the only relief she dared give herself was occasional disapproval of the young cattleman in her talks with lucy. louise was surprised and puzzled by the varying moods in which the girl received these criticisms. sometimes she kept silence or quickly changed the subject. rarely she tossed her head and joined in the condemnation with an angry sparkle of the eye. or, again, with flushing cheek, she defended him from miss dent's aspersions. louise decided, with a fond smile, that her vagaries of mood were due to pique at the lack of more constant attentions from conrad. for the young woman, to her father's and miss dent's loving amusement, was proving herself adept in the art of queening it over a court of masculine admirers. what with walks over the mesa, rides and picnics up the canyon, music of evenings, and sunday afternoon calls, lucy was leading a gay life, and louise, as her chaperon, a busy one. being a normal, buoyant-hearted girl, lucy enjoyed the gayety and the attention and admiration showered upon her in such copious measure for their own sake, and she was glad of them also because, together with her household cares, they kept her too well occupied for sad thoughts.
-"i've been disappointed in mr. conrad," said louise; "i don't understand how he can talk so recklessly about people needing to be killed. to me it is very repellent. you know how he speaks about mr. baxter."
-"if he does not mean it, he should not speak so recklessly of serious matters," louise responded with decision. "he must have a cruel nature, or he would not harbor such ideas."
-lucy leaned forward, her face aglow. "indeed, no, dearie! mr. conrad isn't cruel; he's really very tender-hearted--just think of the way he carried that wounded bird all the way to golden to have its leg fixed. and one day when we were walking on the mesa, he was so distressed because he accidentally stepped on a little horned toad. it's unjust to call him cruel, dearie!"
-her glance darted down the street again, and she saw curtis nearing her gate. his quick, energetic stride and eager face were like a trumpet call to her youth and her womanhood. forgetting all but the fact of his presence, she felt her heart leap to meet him with joyful welcome. but instantly came remembrance and reaction, and she greeted him with unusual gravity of manner.
-conrad wanted them at the ranch for the fourth of july. "we are to have a big barbecue and baile," he said. "both the castletons are coming this year to look things over, and i wrote ned that if mrs. ned was coming with him perhaps it would amuse her if we did something of the sort. the idea seemed to just strike his gait, and he wrote back at once to go ahead and whoop it up for all i'm worth. mrs. ned and mrs. turner are both coming, and i'm asking a lot of people from all over the territory. i want you two ladies and mr. bancroft to be sure to come out the day before the fourth and stay at least until the day after, and as much longer as you find convenient. my brother homer is coming on next week for the rest of the summer, and he'll be there too."
-lucy was delighted, clapped her hands, and declared it would be great fun--of course they would go. repugnant to the idea but knowing that only one course was seemly, miss dent gave smiling acquiescence. as they talked, curtis telling them of the great wealth of the castleton brothers, the rivalry of the two ladies, the dash and beauty and vogue of mrs. turner, and the spanish ancestry of mrs. ned, lucy's eyes continually sought his face. her spirits began to rise, and soon they were gayly tilting at each other after their usual custom, she all smiles and dimples and animation, and he beaming with admiration. they went to the conservatory to see the tanager and presently brought it back with them, telling miss dent that they were going to set it free. lucy stood beside him as they watched it soar away through the sunlight, a flash of silvery pink flame, and it seemed to her that their mutual interest in the little creature had made a bond between them and given her an understanding of his character deeper and truer than any one else could have.
-conrad went down the hill, whistling softly a merry little tune, his thoughts dwelling tenderly upon lucy. he wished her to enjoy the barbecue and baile even more than she expected--it was to be her first experience of that sort--and he began to plan little details that might add to her pleasure. so absorbed was he and so pleasant his thoughts that for a time he quite forgot the delafield affair. but it came to mind again when bancroft asked him, as they talked together at the door of the bank, if he had had any more trouble with josé gonzalez.
-"oh, no; josé's all right. he's the best cowboy i've got and as docile as a yearling. he's agreed to stay right on at the ranch with me. i'm glad to have such a smart, competent fellow to leave under peters, for after the fourth i expect to be away a good deal. i'll have some time for myself then and i'm going into this hunt after delafield for all i'm worth; i don't think it will take me long to run him down now."
-bancroft hesitated a moment, then, laying his hand on conrad's arm he spoke earnestly: "for god's sake, curt, give up this fool notion of yours. if you don't, you'll never get through alive. no sane man is going to let you get the drop on him, as you seem to think you can. he's undoubtedly watching you right along, ready to put an end to the business as soon as he thinks you're really dangerous. let him pay you if he will; but stop this foolishness."
-conrad laughed heartily and slapped bancroft's shoulder. "why, aleck," said he, "the most satisfaction i've ever had comes out of knowing that i'm so hot on his tracks that i've got him buffaloed. give it up? not much! i'm going to lope down that trail at a two-minute gait, and sumner l. delafield is mighty soon going to wish he'd never been born."
-bancroft turned half away, with a tightening of his lips under his brown moustache. "very well. i'll not trouble you with any more advice on the subject. but when you meet with disaster, as you undoubtedly will, you must remember that you've got nobody but yourself to blame. how's the trial going?" he asked abruptly.
-"pretty fast; the case will go to the jury to-morrow. it won't take them more than ten minutes to reach a verdict. you ought to come in and hear judge banks's charge, aleck. dan tells me it's sure to be interesting. he says you never can tell whether banks will deliver an original poem or make up his charge out of quotations from shakespeare."
-as the banker went up the hill to his home he remembered that he had heard rutherford jenkins was in town. to-morrow he must see the man and try again to induce him to consider the dangers of an indictment for conspiracy. at any rate, he would hold that affidavit of melgares' up his sleeve, and the time might come when it would be efficacious, even should jenkins still scoff at it now. conrad--he had given conrad another warning, as plain as day, and if the man would rush on recklessly he must take the consequences. josé gonzalez was still at socorro springs--an accident could happen--and there was no time to lose!
-lucy saw her father coming when he was a block away and, instead of running to the gate to meet him, pretended not to have noticed him, and hastened into the house. louise dent remained on the veranda, pushing forward a lounging chair for him as he mounted the steps. she saw that he looked paler and more haggard than usual, and she longed to put her arms about him, as a mother might around a suffering child, and charm away his trouble and wretchedness. in her maiden life the innate mother-longing had found little appeasement; and so, when this youthful love came into her enriched and mellowed heart of middle life, it gathered into itself the repressed yearning of her nature, and the maternal side of it was strong and fierce. she neither condoned nor belittled the sins of the man she loved. for his wrongdoing and the suffering he had caused she felt sorrow, pity, remorse--remorse almost as keen as if she herself had been the guilty one. but her love enfolded him in spite of his sins, and even included them. for she told herself that if he had not been guilty she might never have known him, their paths might never have crossed.
-in gentle, unobtrusive ways she ministered to his comfort; then, sitting beside him, her calm brow and steady eyes giving no sign of the tumult in her heart, she talked with sympathy and interest, gradually leading his thoughts away from the present into happy plans for the future. with keen satisfaction she saw the weary, desperate look fade from his face and eyes, giving place to one of comfort and content, and the assurance that she had made him forget his troubles, even for a little while, filled her heart with pleasure.
-lucy, sitting in her room, heard the murmur of their voices through her open windows. her high spirits of the hour before were gone, and she sat dejected, her face mournful, and her head hanging like a flower broken on its stem. presently she slipped down to the conservatory, took the pot of cactus conrad had given her, ran across the back-yard, and threw it over the fence. then she joined her father and louise, seating herself on the arm of his chair and throwing her arm around his neck as she asked with loving concern about his welfare, told him he had not been looking well of late, and that he was working too hard and ought to have a rest. but that evening, after dinner, she rushed across the yard and out of the gate, and gathered up the cactus pot in her arms as if it were some small animal she had hurt. she returned it to its place in the conservatory, pressing her hands around it until its spines brought little drops of blood.
-"i can't help it!" she exclaimed in a vehement whisper. "i have to like him, and i shan't try any more not to! he wouldn't hurt daddy, i know he wouldn't--because--because he wouldn't--and because--he loves me!" a tiny smile curved her lips as she touched the plant caressingly and presently her whisper went on: "if i could only tell daddy that he needn't be afraid or worried! oh, i wish i could! but he mustn't guess i know." her lips ceased moving and she stared unseeingly at the cactus, as her thought slowly took shape: "it's worrying daddy awfully, and i mustn't let it go on any longer. i'll tell mr. conrad who delafield is and he'll stop right then--i know he will. he'll despise us afterward--oh, he won't love me after that!--but--poor daddy! he won't be worried any more."
-bancroft and miss dent were alike convinced that his pursuer would be ruthless in the fulfilment of revenge. arguing from their knowledge of men, their experience of the world, and their observation of his character, each had come to the fixed conclusion that no softening of heart or staying of hand could be expected from him when he knew the truth. lucy, having neither knowledge of men nor experience of the world to guide her, had not reasoned about the matter at all. she had jumped at once to her conclusion, as soon as she knew her father's identity, that he had nothing to fear from curtis. her decision was partly due to her own temperament, which she instinctively felt to be somewhat akin to conrad's, and partly to her knowledge of a side of his character of which louise knew little and her father still less. it was further strengthened by her intuition that he loved her--something the young man himself had not yet realized. other than this belief in his love she could have offered no reason for her assurance that he would give over his purpose as soon as he learned to whose door his quest was leading him. but neither her father nor louise, had it been possible for them to argue with her, could have shaken her conviction.
-the next day bancroft, conrad, and pendleton went together to the court-house to see the closing scenes of the melgares trial. the leading men of the town were there, as well as the usual hangers-on of a court-room, and a few women, both mexican and american, sat in a little railed space at one side. every seat was filled, and a standing line of late comers fringed the walls. across the room bancroft saw rutherford jenkins. the crowd was disappointed by the judge's charge to the jury, which was brief, simple, and confined to bare statements of law and fact. so it sat still and waited after the jury had filed out, feeling sure that the deliberation would not be long, and that something interesting might be expected afterward from the judge; for he had the reputation of doing and saying whimsical things. he was a bookish man, who studied his law volumes much, but for relaxation turned often to romance and poetry. he had a knack for making jingles himself, and his pronouncements from the bench, whether he was charging a jury, calling for order, sentencing a prisoner, or making peace between warring attorneys, were as likely as not to be in rhyme of his own improvisation or in aptly applied quotations from the words of the mighty.
-the jury came back presently with a verdict of murder in the first degree. judge banks asked the prisoner if he knew of any reason why the court should not sustain the finding of the jury. melgares said nothing, and dellmey baxter, his counsel, who had made the best fight for the mexican that he could, shook his head; he had given his services, and cared to take no further trouble. all that now stood between the prisoner and the gallows was a little space of time. the judge looked out of the window into the trembling green depths of the cottonwoods beside the court-house, and for a moment there was silence in the room. he was a slight man, with dreamy blue eyes, and a square, fine face, framed by side-whiskers, short and thin. it was quite like him to be trying to realize, in that brief moment, just how it would seem to have the gallows looming in one's path so short a way ahead.
-he ordered the prisoner to stand. sheriff tillinghurst, his usual smile absent from his kindly face, helped melgares to his feet. the mexican's wife, who had been seated beside him, drooped forward, her breast shaken with sobs and her lips moving in whispers of prayer.
-"josé maria melgares, you have heard the finding of the jury," began the judge, and waited for the sonorous voice of the court interpreter to send the words rolling in musical spanish over the room, "and it is now necessary for me to pronounce upon you the sentence of this court. the rains will soon be here, josé maria melgares, the grass will spring forth, the flowers bloom, and all the plains and hillsides grow green and luxuriant. but you will not be here to see and enjoy their beauty, josé maria melgares. the rains of summer, the golden days of october, the storms of winter, will all alike pass unknown and unheeded over your head. spring will come again with its new life, and the lambs will frolic beside their mothers and the little calves bleat in the valleys. but your eyes will not see the sights, nor your ears hear the sounds, josé maria melgares. it will not matter to you that the skies of new mexico bend blue and beautiful above your head. the stars will march across the midnight heavens, proclaiming that god is good, and that he holds the universe in the hollow of his hand. day after day the sun will rise in his fiery might and blazon forth upon earth and sky the goodness and the glory of the almighty. the moon will swim across the violet skies of night, wax from slender crescent to fair white disk, and wane again. but to you, josé maria melgares, it will all be as nothing. for you, life is a tale that has been told; there is nothing more for you now, josé maria melgares, save the moral, and even that is no longer of interest to you. for you have been guilty of a heinous crime, josé maria melgares; you have taken the life of your fellow-man, and therefore your life is forfeit. it is the sentence of this court, josé maria melgares, that you be hanged by the neck until dead. and may god have mercy upon your soul!"
-the last melodious syllables of the interpreter's voice resounded through the room, and died in sudden silence. then the moment's hush was broken by a shriek as señora melgares sprang to her feet, stretching her arms out wildly to the judge.
-"no, no, señor judge! it is not right that my husband should die," she cried out in spanish. "he was made to steal the mare, and the man who hired him to do it and brought all this trouble upon us--he is the one who should die! there he sits over there! señor jenkins, don rutherford jenkins! he is the one who made my husband steal the mare, who gave him money to do it, because he had a grudge against señor conrad; and he is the one--"
-sheriff tillinghurst, his hand on her shoulder, was urging her to sit down, her husband was ordering her to stop, and there was a sudden hubbub all over the room. the judge rapped on his desk and threatened to have the room cleared. jenkins sat quite still, glaring wrathfully at bancroft. conrad clenched his fist, his blue eyes blazing as he exploded an oath into pendleton's ear; it was his first intimation that the man from las vegas had been behind the attempted theft of his mare.
-jenkins was waiting for bancroft at the door of the bank. "i want to see you at once, in private," he said curtly, and without a word the banker led the way to his office. "a nice trick you played me," jenkins began, his voice hot and sneering. "i thought of going straight to conrad; and that's what i ought to have done, to serve you right."
-"well, why didn't you?" bancroft asked, impassively.
-jenkins took quick alarm. had the young ranchman, with his impetuous loyalty, told his friend what had happened in the albuquerque hotel? but perhaps bancroft was only bluffing, in which case he himself could bluff as well as another. "i didn't because i thought it would be the square thing to see you first, and find out if you have any explanation to offer of that woman's performance. unless you can satisfy me you had nothing to do with it, i shall see conrad and tell him everything he doesn't know about you before i leave town to-night."
-bancroft reflected. if jenkins approached curtis in that young man's present mood there was ample likelihood that the blackmailer would never trouble him again. yet there was the chance that he might say in time to save himself the word that would stay conrad's hand. he dared not take the chance.
-"i advise you," he said slowly, "if you value a whole skin, not to go near curt conrad while he is in the state of mind in which i just left him. as for señora melgares, are you crazy enough to suppose i had anything to do with that?"
-"it's evident, bancroft, that you put her up to something you were afraid to do yourself. you wanted to put me in a hole, and you got her to do it for you."
-bancroft made a gesture of annoyance. "oh, well, if you've got no more sabe than that--" he began, but went on quietly, "i give you my word of honor--"
-"the word of honor of sumner l. delafield!" jenkins sneered.
-"nevertheless," jenkins replied sullenly, "you could have prevented her outbreak if you'd wanted to; and if there are any legal proceedings started against me because of what she said i expect you and dell baxter to stop them at once. and i want you to give me, before i leave this room, a sum of money or a check equal to what i receive on the first of every month. and understand that this has no connection with that payment, which will come on the first of next month, as agreed. it's little enough, after this outrage."
-bancroft glared at his companion for a moment; jenkins sat up with a defiant look and glared back. the banker turned to his desk and wrote the check without a word. "and the woman's charge?" the other asked threateningly, as he took it.
-"if any action is begun i'll do my best to stop it."
-well satisfied with the result, jenkins hastened down the street, intending to cross over to his hotel at the next bridge and wait in the privacy of his room until train time. as he approached the court-house corner sheriff tillinghurst, little jack wilder, pendleton, and conrad came out of the building. curtis saw the hurrying figure, and the light of battle leaped into his eyes. he rushed past the others, and before jenkins had time to draw his revolver was upon him and had pinioned his arms.
-pendleton ran forward, shouting, "give it to him, curt! he deserves it!"
-"jack," smiled the sheriff, "i reckon this is goin' to be a sure good scrap, but we don't need to see it. we'd better hike." and they disappeared up the side street.
-jenkins was vainly struggling to reach his hip pocket. conrad got him down, set one knee on his chest, plucked forth the gun, and threw it to pendleton. "now, you damned skunk," he exclaimed, "you're going to get every lick that's coming to you! i won't dirty powder by using my gun on you, but i'm sure going to set the standard for lickings in this town."
-and to this day, in the city of golden, the pummelling that rutherford jenkins forthwith received is spoken of as the utmost measure of punishment that a man may take and live. at the end conrad took the limp body under one arm and carried it to the physician's office. "here, doc," he said, "is some work for you. send the bill to me."
-plots and counterplots
-fourth of july was at hand, and lucy bancroft made ready for their stay at the socorro springs ranch with a resolve in her heart. some time during their two days' visit she would tell curtis conrad the truth about her father. of course, many people would be there, and the superintendent would be busy, but she expected to see a good deal of him--he was sure to show her much attention--and it would not be hard to find the few minutes of privacy in which to impart the secret. she was quite sure that the knowledge would bring to a harmless end his long quest of vengeance, and that at once he would cease his pursuit of delafield. but she was equally sure that he would no longer love her or be friendly with her father. "he can't respect either of us after that," she mused. "he'll feel toward us just as he does toward mr. baxter; and i can't blame him, for we're worse than mr. baxter is." her heart pleaded eagerly for a little period of grace in which to feel his love and live it, to take delight in his favor and admiration. she need not tell him at the outset.
-while lucy was considering and deciding upon her action, on the morning before the fourth, mrs. ned castleton was saying to her husband in the privacy of the great, empty plain across which they were taking an early gallop:
-"i know why lena was so willing to come down here with turner and us. you'd never guess, ned."
-"of course i couldn't, francisquita. so you'll have to tell me."
-"i know i shall have to, for you'd never discover it yourself, until too late to do anything about it. she didn't come because she wanted to see the place,--though she's never been here before, you know,--nor because she thought it would be something unusual to do, nor because she cares any more about turner's affairs than she did last year, nor even because she wanted to keep track of me, nor because--"
-"never mind the didn'ts, fanny! let's skip ahead to why she did."
-"that's just like you, ned. you never can understand what a flavor it gives to something that really is to consider first all the things that it isn't."
-"well, you've had the flavor, now you can give me the fact. i've wondered myself why she was so gracious about coming with us."
-"yes; wasn't it surprising? it puzzled me so that i couldn't give up thinking about it until i solved the mystery."
-"and aren't you going to let me into the secret?"
-"of course i am, ned; that's what i'm doing right now! i studied about it on the way here, and i managed to find out a lot of things it wasn't. but i didn't discover what it was till after we reached the ranch."
-"well, what did you find out then?"
-"why, ned, i'm telling you just as fast as i can! although i think i know lena pretty well, and am quite accustomed to her doing things that nobody else would think of, really, ned, i was so surprised at this freak that you could have knocked me down with a feather!"
-ned castleton looked caressingly at the slender, graceful figure of his wife, erect upon her horse, and smiled broadly. "fanny, i'm in that condition right now, from unassuaged curiosity. please knock me down with a feather and then go on and tell me this deep, dark secret."
-she tickled his cheek with her quirt. "why, ned, i've been telling you all about it for the last five minutes, but you won't understand what i mean. it's all because she's immensely taken with your handsome superintendent, and she's deeply interested in the cattle business because she wants him to explain it to her!"
-castleton gave an incredulous laugh. "nonsense, francisquita! you are a clever woman, my dear, especially when it comes to divining what your dearly beloved sister-in-law is planning to do year after next. but you two women do get most remarkable notions about each other sometimes."
-mrs. castleton shrugged her shoulders, tapped her horse, and bounded ahead. they raced for a mile before she allowed him to regain his place at her side. "granting that you're right, francisquita," he said, "what makes you think so?"
-"why, ned, it's perfectly plain. i've seen lena pave the way for too many flirtations not to know exactly what she's doing now. and she's preparing to have a perfectly furious affair with mr. conrad."
-castleton kept discreet silence for some moments and studied the horizon. when he turned again to his wife he asked, "well, dear, what are you going to do about it?"
-francisquita castleton was half mexican, and on her mother's side could trace descent through a long line of dons back to a valiant governor and captain-general of the province who had done great deeds nearly two hundred years before. her heritage had dowered her well with the instinctive coquetry, the supple, unconscious grace, the feminine, artless art that are the birthright of the women of spanish blood. all of it was in the movement of her arm, the turn of her neck, and the poise of her head as she raised her veil and lifted her face toward her husband. her voice was as soft as velvet and as caressing as an infant's palm as she exclaimed:
-"do anything? i? why, ned castleton, how you surprise me! why should i interfere with lena's whims?"
-castleton laughed. "ask me something easy, fanny! i'm sure i don't know why you should, but i've noticed that lena's plans sometimes shrivel up like a stuck balloon. of course, it may be mere chance."
-"no, ned; it isn't chance at all. it's only because lena doesn't plan carefully enough."
-he took time for reflection. "i say, francisquita," he presently broke out, "if you're right about this--and i must admit you don't often miss it about lena--it may be a serious matter."
-"of course i'm right, ned. you'll soon see for yourself just how things are going. you know lena likes admiration and she likes having her own way and she dearly loves making turner jealous and she's positively unhappy if every man in sight isn't prancing along in her train. mr. conrad is a fine-looking young man, and he made a very good appearance when she saw him in san francisco last year. i suppose she thought he didn't yield to her fascinations as he should, so she decided to come down here and gather him in. she knows she'll be awfully bored unless she can make her flirtation with him--well--ardent enough to keep her interested. i know enough about lena to see that she's planning to have an affair that will keep her and turner and mr. conrad simply sizzling as long as we stay."
-castleton gave a long, low whistle. "turner gets more jealous with every flirtation lena has, and this whim of hers may prove serious. conrad is the best superintendent this ranch ever had, and we want to keep him. but if turner gets jealous he'll have to go--and mighty quick, too. and if he doesn't promptly succumb to lena's fascinations--well, she's just vain enough to carry some story about him to turner, so that we'd have to let him out for the sake of peace. we can't afford to lose conrad, fanny. i'll propose to turner that we cut our stay short and go the day after the fourth. we'll have to be here for the barbecue, of course."
-"really, ned, that's just like a man! don't you know lena can't be managed that way? she'd suspect at once that i was at the bottom of it and wanted to get her away from here, and then nothing could induce her to go. and you know, ned, she always winds turner around her finger as if he were a piece of silk. i can't understand why american wives take so much pleasure in managing their husbands; we mexican women don't care to do that sort of thing." it was a prim little figure that pronounced the last sentence--save for the coquettish turn of the head and a melting glance of dark eyes that flashed for a moment upon her husband.
-he bent toward her a lover's face. "but you know how to manage just the same, francisquita, mi corazon. can't you think of some way to head lena off and get her away before she does any mischief?"
-francisquita turned a contemplative eye upon the forest of crimson-flowered cactus through which they were riding. "well, i don't know that i can do anything--still, lena's methods are always so--broad! i suppose i might try, if you'd like me to. it might have some effect if i stepped in right away--you wouldn't mind it, would you, ned?--and did a little flirting with mr. conrad on my own account; not very much, you know; but i could manage to keep him busy about things--oh, you understand!--just make it pleasant for him to be with me. really, ned, lena hasn't much chance if i start even with her; we've tried it before--you remember--i told you all about it at the time--and i think she'll quit right away and want to go home, or somewhere, as soon as she sees what i'm doing."
-castleton laughed aloud. "and poor conrad! what's to become of him in the midst of all these sighs and glances?"
-she threw him a smiling glance, and broke into a little, low laugh. "oh, he won't mind! he's no silly! and he doesn't care anything about the ladies, anyway."
-"but suppose, fanny," her husband teased, "that he should prefer lena's methods after all, and cast himself at her feet instead of yours?"
-she shrugged her shoulders and turned toward him with a smile trembling at the corners of her mouth. "oh, in that case he would quite deserve to lose his position."
-"but what about me? should i deserve to lose him?"
-she tapped her horse and darted ahead, throwing back a laughing retort: "of course you would, for not having married a more attractive wife!"
-later in the day mrs. ned castleton was busily engaged with curtis conrad and his brother homer in the grove of cottonwoods across the road from the ranch house, showing them where to hang the last of the japanese lanterns. many people had already arrived and were scattered through the grove, or were wandering about the corral. others were in the stockade behind the house, where red jack, nosey ike, and josé gonzalez were quartering the steer for the barbecue, and hank peters and texas bill were heaping wood on the fire where it was to be roasted. in the grove long tables had been made of planks and a floor laid for dancing. the lanterns hung in festoons around the platform and depended from the branches of the trees. conrad saw bancroft, lucy, and miss dent driving up, and went to meet them.
-mrs. ned castleton beckoned to her husband. "i'm sure lena is going to do something perfectly outrageous," she said softly as they went to greet the arrivals, "something that will fairly knock us off our feet. she has looked so indifferent and so innocent all day and has been so sweet to me that i'm expecting a thunder clap every minute. i hope it won't be anything disgraceful."
-it was one of mrs. ned's important occupations, and she considered it her chief duty, for the sake, as she often told her husband, "of preserving at least a shred of the castleton reputation," to discover the daring whims of her sister-in-law and nip them in the bud before they were ready to blossom upon the world. francisquita knew also that mrs. turner enjoyed saying and doing audacious things, quite as much because they shocked mrs. ned as because they gave her a piquant vogue in san francisco society. "i wonder what it is going to be," she repeated in a whisper to her husband as they came back with conrad and the bancroft party and went in search of mrs. turner. they found her sitting beside one of the tables, the centre of a group of men. lucy, looking with interest, saw a large, golden-haired woman in a blue linen gown, that fitted perfectly her well corseted figure, and a blue picture hat, that matched the hue of her eyes. her complexion of exquisite fairness and delicacy of coloring, and features of perfect regularity and proportion, made lucy own to herself that she deserved her reputation as "the beautiful mrs. castleton."
-"what are we going to do all the rest of the day?" mrs. turner presently said, hiding a little yawn behind diamond-decked fingers. "it isn't three o'clock yet, and it seems as if it ought to be the day after to-morrow. let's go in the house and play i'm a barber. mr. conrad, will you let me shave you?"
-"i would, with pleasure, mrs. castleton, if i had time; but just now i'm pretty busy. here's a lot of fellows with nothing to do, who'll be delighted to help you amuse yourself."
-mrs. castleton glanced up at the men with a confiding smile. "i believe it's really because he's afraid; and he needn't be, for i do it very well--don't i, ned?" her brother-in-law gave gallant, if vague, confirmation, and she went on: "and he knows, for i shave him every time he comes to our house. but there's too much wind out here, it would dry the lather too quickly; let's go in the house." she rose, and one of the men hastened to open her sunshade, another picked up her fan, a third her handkerchief, and the statuesque blue figure with its group of satellites left the grove.
-"what does it mean, fanny? is this a new fad?" ned castleton asked his wife. "i never heard of it before, and she took my breath away when she told those people she always shaved me."
-"you backed her up splendidly, ned; and i think you'd better go in now and let her shave you along with the others."
-"fanny! i'd as soon allow her to black my boots!"
-"but if she wants to, ned! and i don't think she'd hurt you much, because she's been practising on their butler for a month--so her maid told mine, though i'd forgotten all about it. as turner's brother i really think you ought to go in and seem to join in the fun, so it won't look quite so bad."
-"if lena doesn't care about the looks of it, why should i, or you?"
-"but you ought to care on turner's account. it would be dear of you, ned, if you would go in, for turner's sake, and lend your countenance to the affair."
-"my countenance, francisquita, but not my face. since you're so anxious, dear, i'll go in and chaperon this shaving party if you'll tell me the real reason why you want me to do it. is it a bargain?"
-she leaned toward him with a delighted little chuckle. "don't you see, ned, that if you go in and i stay out she'll think that i'm keeping mr. conrad out-of-doors, and she will be so angry about it that it will make her nervous, so she will cut their faces dreadfully, and that will make her freak such a failure that she'll have to drop it. do go along, ned; for i'm going to keep your manager busy for the next two hours. and, by the way, dear, if you should come out and not see me anywhere, it's likely to be because he's asked me to drive to the post-office with him."
-she sauntered through the grove toward the pond where a group of people had gathered under a big tree. she knew that curtis was there, with the bancrofts. her cousin juan--"johnny"--martinez was with them, and so was dellmey baxter. dan tillinghurst leaned against the tree, and beside him were emerson mead and his young wife, from las plumas. judge harlan and colonel whittaker, the former with his wife and the latter with his daughter, had also come from las plumas, where a political peace of unusual length and stability enabled them to leave town at the same time, and together.
-mrs. castleton came smiling down the hill and joined in the general talk. but in five minutes the assemblage had broken into little groups of two or three, of which she, her cousin, and conrad made one. she sent martinez to do some small service for miss whittaker, and began to tell curtis that she feared there were not lanterns enough. would he come and look at them? as they went back to the grove she suggested that they might get paper bags from the store at white rock, fill each half full of sand, put a candle in it, and set them in rows wherever there was room for them. she had often seen her native town illuminated in this way on festa nights, and the effect was really very beautiful. he thought it a good idea and asked if she would mind driving over to white rock with him to help select the best sizes and colors. five minutes later lucy watched them driving away. "i saw how mrs. castleton was manoeuvring," she thought with an angry throb of the heart. "but it doesn't matter the least bit. i can have quite as good a time with anybody else."
-presently she seemed greatly pleased when homer conrad asked if she and miss dent would like to see the horses. they made the round of the stables, and went to see the angora goats in their enclosure beyond the corral, and the dog kennels, and the chicken yard. they walked across the alfalfa field, and amused themselves in the prairie dog village on the hillside beyond. lucy was so interested in everything, and said so many bright and pleasant things, and was so vivacious, and looked so pretty with her dimples and her color coming and going and her big brown eyes sparkling, that homer thought her quite the nicest, jolliest girl he had seen in a long time. he was much like his brother in build, though less sinewy and a trifle fleshier in body; while in manner he was slower and less eager and alert. his eyes showed the same bright blue tint, but their expression was mild and trustful, while his brother's had always a dauntless look, as if challenging the world. his face was of the same general type, but the features were not so strongly marked, although he had the same firm mouth and strong chin. his countenance gave the impression of a character phlegmatic but forceful.
-that evening lucy told miss dent that she liked don homer very much, adding, "and he's been more polite and pleasant to us this afternoon than mr. conrad himself." mrs. ned castleton had applied the spanish title to the younger conrad to distinguish him from his brother, and the rest had followed her example. louise was secretly pleased at this dissatisfaction with curtis, for her aversion to him was so great that she disliked even to see them together. but she reminded the girl that with so many people there he could not pay much attention to special ones. lucy tossed her head and replied, "he had plenty of time for mrs. ned castleton."
-evening came, and with it a huge white moon that poured upon earth and air and sky a flood of silvery white radiance in which the illuminations at the ranch shone with a mellow, golden glow. mrs. ned castleton sat on the edge of the porch, her guitar in her lap, looking with satisfaction at the rows of paper bags, each containing a lighted candle in its bed of sand, set thickly upon the window-sills, the adobe walls, and the tables in the grove. they were not only effective, but they had enabled her to keep curtis conrad out of the hands of her sister-in-law the entire afternoon. mrs. turner had only just gone across to the grove, in the belief, subtly engendered by francisquita, that the superintendent was to be found there, where most of the company had gathered and the dancing was about to begin. she knew, however, that he was overseeing the stowing of some cases of beer in the ice house in the back-yard. and she had not forgotten that when he was at their house in san francisco he had been much pleased by her rendering of spanish airs on the guitar. "he doesn't need to appear in the grove," she thought, "until lena has had time to engage several dances." she began to play "la golondrina," and as the sweetly plaintive notes rose higher, lucy, looking houseward, saw a tall figure vault the wall around the grass plot and disappear in the shadows of the porch, whence came the strains of mrs. ned's guitar. a little later she saw them come across the road together, and at once became deeply interested in the talk of don homer, her partner, as they made their way to the dancing floor. lucy danced twice with him, once with martinez, and once with emerson mead before she made it possible for curtis to speak with her. she knew he had been hovering near more than once, but she would not see him, and appeared always to be gayly interested with her partner.
-she gave him only one dance during the evening. but, noting his movements, she had seen with much bitterness of heart that he danced frequently with mrs. ned castleton. she began to wonder, with chill doubt in her breast, if she had deceived herself in thinking he cared for her. she had expected to see so much of him; and yet, except for the first half-hour after their arrival, he seemed to have ignored her. she began to realize that she had depended much on her belief in his love when she resolved to tell him the secret of her father's identity. she still had confidence that her words would turn him from his purpose--but it was going to be a hard thing to do!
-"mrs. ned is just amusing herself," she thought angrily. "she ought to be ashamed--married woman flirting like that! well--he's not the only one!" and before the evening was over homer conrad had neither eyes nor ears for any one but lucy bancroft.
-the house was given over to the ladies for the night. the men had a blanket apiece, and all the wide out-doors in which to couch themselves. some climbed to the flat adobe roof of the house, or to the brush thatch of the stables, while others declared the ground in the grove good enough for them. it was decided by unanimous outcry that the dancing platform should be turned over to dellmey baxter and johnny martinez, the opposing candidates for congress.
-first they all went trooping, each with his blanket stringing over his shoulder, to the kitchen door, where conrad and the two castletons dispensed nightcaps of varied concoction. the women heard them talking, story-telling, laughing, and now and then singing a snatch from some rollicking song. when the last light disappeared from within the house, a group of men began singing "good-night, ladies." a round of vigorous applause from the darkened windows rewarded them, and they went on with "annie laurie," "comin' through the rye," and "how can i bear to leave thee." johnny martinez sang a spanish love song in a falsetto voice, and received much applause from within.
-the men sang their way along the windows, up one side of the long, rambling house, across the front, and down the other side. they climbed to the roof, and serenaded the men who were trying to sleep there, varying the line or two of song accorded to each with much chaffing and guying. when the last straggling half-dozen of singers finally went off to seek their own resting-places in the grove, they marched in single file round and round the dancing floor, where baxter and martinez had already stretched themselves, and sang in a solemn croak: "john brown had one little, two little indian boys; one went to congress, the other stayed at home."
-when peace settled at last over the socorro springs ranch house it was near the dawn of another day.
-the word unspoken
-the sun was high in the brilliant blue heavens and blazing hot upon the gray-green plain when the company came together in the grove the next morning to listen to speeches. one or another well-known resident of the territory was called forth, with applause and cheers, to mount an improvised rostrum, where he complimented the ladies, chaffed the men, told funny stories, submitted to guying from the audience and repaid it in kind, until he was able to turn a joke upon some one else so deftly that he could retreat under cover of the hand-clapping and laughter and the calls for the other man to step up and defend himself.
-at dinner they spent a jovial hour. half a dozen cowboys carried the big platters of roasted meat to the tables, where they were flanked by smoking dishes of frijoles and chile con carne, platters of bread, and piles of roasted potatoes and hard-boiled eggs. pails of lemonade and bottles of beer, just brought from the ice house, were scattered down the tables, and steaming pots of coffee and tea passed from hand to hand. everybody was in the highest spirits; every jest or bit of fun was caught, bandied back and forth, and passed on with new trimmings. as they gathered around the tables, conrad asked lucy bancroft to save a seat for him beside her. she smiled at him without replying; but when homer presently came and asked for the vacant place she gave him a gracious welcome.
-conrad, much occupied with his duties as host, soon saw that his brother was at her side, paying her devoted attention, and that apparently she was quite happy. "it's all right," he thought. "he'll have time to look out for her better than i could, anyway; she seems to be having a good time, and that's the main thing." yet he was conscious of keen disappointment; he had seen so little of her--much less, he was suddenly aware, than he wished. but he had been very busy. notwithstanding the planning beforehand, something new had been constantly cropping up and demanding his attention. but homer had been taking good care of her, and she seemed to be enjoying everything. that evening, after the fireworks, he could surely let things go for a little while, and ask her to walk with him in the moonlight to the top of the hill.
-at that moment he was passing mrs. turner castleton. with an inviting smile she made room for him beside her. he sat down, poured her a glass of lemonade, and then, noticing that emerson mead and his wife were not comfortably seated, went off to look after them. mrs. ned, who had seen her sister-in-law's manoeuvre, asked him to go into the house with her to see how the lemons were holding out. when they came out she protested that she was starving, that he must be too, and couldn't they sit right down and have something to eat? the seats she chose were at some distance from mrs. turner, though directly in range of her eye. they chanced also to be in plain sight from where lucy was sitting. she, seeing them dining together on such friendly, jolly terms, was more charming than ever to homer conrad. her pique made the task she had set herself no easier; but she held to her determination, telling herself that, even if curtis did not show her some attention that afternoon, she would try to see him in the evening. for they were to go home in the morning.
-after dinner the games began. cowboys of the ranch and others from small neighboring ranches gave exhibitions of quick roping and throwing and of broncho busting. curtis conrad and emerson mead had a riding and shooting match. josé gonzalez, dressed in mexican holiday attire of straw sombrero, braided jacket, and close-fitting trousers, showed his skill as an expert lasso thrower. he made a picturesque figure as he stood in the roadway, striking graceful attitudes and making his rope leap, run, circle, and swirl about him as if it were alive. the visitors crowded to the edge of the grove, watching and admiring.
-"he's a sure peach at the fancy racket," said dan tillinghurst, "but i reckon emerson mead can flirt gravel faster than he can when it comes to the real practical business. say, emerson," he called, "can't you give us an imitation of the way you slipped out of antone colorow's rope and broke his wrists before he had time to draw his noose? i reckon that was a show sure worth seeing."
-those who knew the story added their voices, "yes, mead; show us how you did it!" others who had never heard of the incident wanted to know about it; and soon everybody was talking about how a cowboy once tried to rope emerson mead. mrs. turner castleton was standing beside curtis.
-"really, mr. conrad," she said, "is it true that they ever rope men? and why do the men allow it?"
-"sometimes, mrs. castleton, when the men who are roped can't help it." with a sudden smile he threw back his head and his eyes flashed. "we'll show you the game," he went on; "josé shall try to rope me, and i'll see if i can keep out of his way. come, josé, get your horse, and bring mine, and then do your best."
-the two horsemen cantered out into the open and began their manoeuvres. the people crowded along at the edge of the shade, and some of the men stepped out into the sunlight to get a better view. emerson mead was much interested and walked out farther than the rest. the snakey rings and lengths of the mexican's rope were whistling through the air, and the two men were wheeling, stopping, rushing forward, jumping sidewise, in graceful evolutions. the noose circled through the space between them, poised over conrad's head, and darted downward like some voracious bird of prey. an exclamation ran through the intent crowd, "he's got him! he's got him this time!" but the superintendent jerked his horse to its hind legs, swung it to one side, galloped a little way, and came back laughing. "good! that was first rate!" emerson mead called out.
-josé wound his rope for another trial, and cantered leisurely back and forth, making sudden feints of throwing and watching his employer's movements of evasion. suddenly he wheeled, charged, and threw the loop from a distance of only a few paces. he had calculated on the other's spurring forward to escape; instead conrad brought his horse to a standstill, and the noose fell over its ears. a cheer went up from the grove, and curtis turned to wave his broad-brimmed hat. in the one swift glance he was aware of lucy, watching so eagerly that she had stepped forward into the sunshine, and of his brother, raising a sunshade over her head.
-"the greaser did that on purpose!" exclaimed emerson mead in a hard, swift undertone, as his hand gripped the revolver at his waistband. but gonzalez was already beside conrad, and lifting the noose from his neck. the american choked and gasped for breath once or twice.
-"you--you caught me square that time, josé," he said.
-"we are even now, señor," replied the mexican; "you gave me my life once, and now i give you yours. it would have been only a second more; and it was plainly an accident; nobody would have known. i have paid my debt."
-the people were cheering. both men faced toward the grove and waved their hats. "you damned impudent coyote!" said curtis through his teeth. then he grinned, and added, "but i like your nerve, though."
-at the grove side the manager threw his bridle to the mexican, but turned impulsively and called, "here, josé, wait a minute. i want you to show these people how you can throw the knife." a stride or two took him to josé's side. "and i'll be your target, damn you!" he added in an undertone. he walked back where lucy, miss dent, and his brother were standing, humming a stave or two from a comic opera under his breath. homer noticed that his face was rather pale and that his eyes were blazing, but thought it due to his annoyance at having been roped.
-gonzalez came back from the corral, carefully testing with his finger the edge and point of his knife. conrad, his head held high, a smile on his face and exhilaration in his manner, was telling the company to stand a little to one side, to make sure they were out of the way of the knife. as gonzalez came up, he stepped in front of the nearest tree, with the mexican facing him ten or twelve paces distant. judge banks called to him to watch out for the knife himself, and he turned a smiling face for an instant as he answered gayly, "oh, i'm all right!" in the same tone he called, "start her up, josé! and remember, you're to do your level best."
-josé's teeth shone in a gleaming smile as he replied significantly, "i shall, don curtis!" he took an alert, graceful posture, one foot set back and head thrust slightly forward. the muscles of his arm were still relaxed as his knife slid along his wrist and nestled into place. conrad drew himself up tensely and his eyes narrowed as he fixed them upon the mexican's. for an instant they eyed each other; then, like a flash, josé's arm swung back.
-then curtis sprang lightly aside as the knife struck deep into the tree at the level of his throat, pulled the weapon out, waved it at gonzalez, and called out triumphantly, "try again, josé; and be quicker next time!"
-ned castleton sprang forward, with turner close behind, and grasped his arm. "are you crazy, curt?" he exclaimed. "this is fool's play! we don't want any more of it!"
-"there's no danger," conrad replied jauntily. "i knew i could jump quicker than he could throw, and i wanted to prove it to him. there's not a bit of danger; i can do it every time. but if you don't like it we'll have something else. hello, kid!" he said as homer rushed up and seized his arm; the young man's face was pale and tears stood in his eyes. "you've no reason to be frightened," curtis went on easily. "all i had to do was to watch his eyes. if there had been any real danger i wouldn't have tried it."
-lucy bancroft sat quite still for a few moments, her eyes on the ground, but presently she started toward the house, contriving to pass conrad when there was no one beside him. she touched his arm and he wheeled toward her as if he had felt an electric shock. "it was a most foolish thing to do," she said in a low voice, "but--you are the bravest man i ever saw," and hastened on without giving him time to reply.
-at night there were fireworks and dancing. after the knife-throwing episode curtis tried again and again to have speech with lucy, but whenever he came near she seemed not to see him, and was so interested in conversation with her admirer of the moment that he could find no opportunity. homer attended her like her own shadow. the hours hurried past, and still, piqued and wilful, she postponed making the opportunity for her revelation.
-conrad was master of the fireworks; while he was busy setting off sky-rockets and mines lucy and homer called to him that they were going to the top of the hill beyond the alfalfa field to see how the display looked from there. it was the very walk curtis had intended to ask her to take with him, and he glanced after them, keenly disappointed. but he said to himself that as soon as he could get the fireworks out of the way there would be nothing to demand his attention for the rest of the evening, and then he could surely get a little time with her.
-half an hour later he saw her, through a glare of red fire, setting off fire-crackers with his brother and pendleton. dan tillinghurst had just joined them, and she turned to him with a laughing threat, a lighted cracker in her hand. he called to pendleton, whose pockets were bulging with packs of the crackers, to see fair play and give him weapons of defence. the cool night wind was tossing her brown curls, her bright face was full of animation, and the red light enveloped her in a rosy sheen. he looked at her, his face aglow with admiration, then turned back to the sky-rockets. as he stooped over the box he heard a scream in a girlish voice, followed by the stern command, "sit down! sit down!" in dan tillinghurst's heavy tones. springing up, he saw a white heap sinking to the ground amid leaping tongues of flame and the three men stripping off their coats and beating the fire. he rushed forward, taking off his coat as he ran, and in a moment they had whipped the flames down to a ring of charred muslin and flickering sparks. a dozen others had hurried to the spot, but it was curtis's outstretched hand that lucy took as he bent anxiously over her, his arm upon which she leaned as she staggered to her feet. she went at once into the house with miss dent, and did not reappear that evening. when louise returned she explained that lucy had gone to bed, but that, except for the nervous shock, she had suffered no harm.
-curtis conrad went on sending off sky-rockets and roman candles in the amaze of a new knowledge. that moment of lucy's peril, brief as it was, had revealed to him the love that, unconsciously to himself, had been bourgeoning in his heart throughout the spring. so absorbed had he been in his own grim purpose that he had not realized the meaning of his liking for lucy and his enjoyment of her society. but in the light of the flames by which he had seen her circled her dearness had flashed upon him its real significance. when she leaned upon him as she arose, it had demanded all his self-control to keep from taking her in his arms. his nerves were thrilling yet with the slight pressure of her body upon his arm as she regained her footing. so sudden and forceful was the rush of his emotion that it swept him from his accustomed moorings, and filled heart and mind to the exclusion of every other idea. lucy--lucy--lucy--he said her name over and over in his innermost thought, even while he danced with mrs. turner, strolled with miss whittaker to the hilltop,--as he had wished to do with lucy,--talked with martinez, or listened to judge harlan's stories. the thought of her was constantly with him, enveloped in a wonderful tenderness; his memory was incessantly recalling images of her as she looked leaning against this tree, seated beside that table, walking across the road. he hovered around miss dent until she, to escape from his attention and his solicitude about lucy, which intensified the aversion and resentment she already felt, retired to the house early in the evening.
-but, when all the merrymakers had gone to bed and quiet had settled upon the ranch, conrad began to feel a violent wrenching of his heart. when he stretched himself upon the roof of the house and gazed into the silvery violet sky his lifelong purpose reasserted itself. for so many years it had been his habit, as he composed himself for sleep, to think over his plans for the pursuit of delafield and feed his heart with the desire for revenge that he quickly felt its tyranny. for a moment all emotion ceased and his mind stood back, aghast at itself, bewildered. then the old idea took possession again, and he said to himself, almost with anger, "what business have i to fall in love?" to think of lucy in connection with his own dark and bloody aims was repellent, and his thoughts turned away in quick reaction. then came the remembrance of homer's devotion to her and of how welcome, apparently, had been his attentions. so, for that time at least, lucy and love were turned out of his heart and his last waking thoughts were of his plan to go to albuquerque and santa fe within a few days, there to run down the clews that promised most.
-as they drove away the house was filled with the bustle of leave-taking. the guests who had come by rail were being driven to the station at white rock to catch the forenoon train. others were leaving by horse or carriage for golden or randall. as the dust from the last of the departing vehicles rose in thin gray stains against the vivid blue of the sky ned castleton called to his wife from the shade of the tree beside the gate. she had been saying good-bye to the bancrofts and had stopped in the sun beside the adobe wall to play with a horned toad that gonzalez had caught for her.
-"fanny," he said, "i know i haven't got horns, but if you'll come here in the shade i'll prove that i can be just as interesting as that toad."
-she came, holding the weird little creature on her palm. "look at him, ned! isn't he cunning? he's the dearest thing i ever saw--except you."
-"oh, thanks; it's kind of you not to put me in the same class. as a reward i'll tell you some news. your little scheme for balking lena's designs on conrad has succeeded perfectly. turner has just told me that she has suddenly decided she wants to go to santa barbara at once, and they're leaving this afternoon. i told him to go ahead, and i'd stay here a few days longer and finish things up with curt."
-"that's just splendid, ned! we'll have some lovely rides, won't we? and it will be such a rest not to have to keep an eye on lena. i felt sure last night that she was going to give up the game and pretend she hadn't been playing, because she suddenly lost all interest in the cattle business."
-"of course you know, francisquita, that you have been behaving shamelessly; but i'll forgive you, because you've saved our model superintendent for us."
-"ned, you know very well that i didn't do a thing but just help mr. conrad make it pleasant for all the people--except, perhaps, lena. i'm afraid she'd have had a better time if i hadn't been here. but i've been thinking this morning, ned, that maybe it wasn't necessary for me to help quite as hard as i did. what do you think about it?"
-"i think i don't know what you're talking about. as the cowboys say, you've flung gravel along the road a little too fast for my gait."
-"ned, you're the blindest thing! what could i mean except that mr. conrad didn't need to be distracted from lena, especially as her methods are so broad?"
-"well, go on, dear. we'll get there after a while."
-"go on! why, ned, that's all! isn't that enough? why should a man want more than one pretty girl to protect him from the designs of a lady who--well--who wants to shave him? you never needed anybody but me."
-"true, fanny! but you always were equal to an army in yourself, and now you are equal to two--which is only another way of saying that you grow more fascinating every day. and now i think you might be gracious enough to tell me what you're talking about."
-"why, ned, i'm afraid miss bancroft didn't enjoy it any more than lena. i wasn't quite sure of it until this morning; but i really think, ned, that lena would have been left out in the cold just the same if i hadn't--hadn't helped mr. conrad entertain the people quite so much."
-castleton laughed. "oh, i begin to see! you are feeling the pangs of remorse because you've been putting snags in the course of true love. but you needn't worry, dear. curt isn't the sort of man, if he cares anything about her, to let a little thing like that make any difference."
-"but he'll be too busy with you to go over to golden and see her again for a long time, won't he?"
-"oh, we can get through this week, i think."
-"good! then we can leave on saturday, and on sunday he can gallop over to golden, and by that time she'll want awfully to see him and she'll be very sorry she flirted so outrageously with don homer. and next fall we'll send them a wedding present, and they'll come to see us on their wedding journey,--she's a dear, sweet girl, ned, and i like her,--and i'll explain to her why i--why i helped mr. conrad make things pleasant at the barbecue, and we'll have a jolly laugh over it. there he is now, ned! do go right along and begin your work, so we'll be sure to leave on saturday."
-when conrad bade the castletons good-bye at the railway station at the end of the week, francisquita said to him:
-"when you see that pretty miss bancroft again--" here she gave him a significant glance and then demurely lowered her eyes--"please tell her that i hope to see her again, and that if she ever comes to san francisco she must let me know--you can give her our address. we'd be delighted, ned and i, to help her have a good time. she's a dear, lovely girl and i'd really like to know her better."
-curtis drove home, declaring to himself that mrs. ned was one of the most charming women he knew. he would ride over to golden to-morrow afternoon and deliver her message. he lingered fondly over the image of lucy's slender figure standing at the top of her veranda steps and smiling upon him a gay and gracious welcome, and a strong desire rose in his heart to know just how glad she really would be to see him. but the recollection of his plans for the ensuing week came crashing through his pleasant thoughts like a runaway horse through a flower garden. for a moment the purpose that held his life in thrall seemed strangely unworthy. but presently he jammed his hat down on his head and, with compressed lips, said savagely to himself:
-"no; the delafield affair is my first love, and i'll stay with it." as he thought over his plans and hopes for the immediate future his heart grew hot again with the old indignation over all that ruin and struggle, and the old purpose regained its accustomed vigor.
-after a little, nevertheless, he decided that he would ride over to the bancrofts' the next day and deliver mrs. castleton's message. it would do no harm for him to see lucy occasionally, in the friendly way in which they had always met.
-narrowing the quest
-that evening, while they sat and smoked on the little porch, curtis conrad told homer of his lifelong quest. it was the younger man's first knowledge of the motive that had been so potent in his brother's life. he listened in silence while his pipe went out, and sat quite still after the other ceased. "well, curt," he said at last, with a little tremor in his voice, "this yarn of yours knocks me silly. i can't say i'm pleased with it, at least at first view. it doesn't seem sensible."
-curtis laughed good-naturedly. "very likely, homer; i didn't expect it to appeal forcibly to a sensible, practical chap like you. i haven't told you before because there was no use bothering your young head with it when the round-up seemed so far away; but i'm mighty near the end of the trail now, and you've come to a man's age and ways of thinking; so i thought it best to tell you. there's a possibility, of course, that i'll get the worst of it when the mix-up does come; and in that case i'd like you to know what it was all about. but i'm not considering that sort of chance as likely to happen."
-"but what do you expect to gain by it, curt, and why do you want to kill the man?"
-curtis slowly lighted a fresh cigar. "well, homer, if you don't see why, it's no use for me to explain."
-"i know there's a big difference between us temperamentally; but i don't believe that would keep me from appreciating your motive if it had any basis in right or expediency. good god, curt, look at the thing sensibly! suppose you kill the man when you find him. what earthly good will that do you? you'd probably hang for it, or go to the penitentiary for years. and it seems to me the chance is all the other way. whoever the man is, he must know you're after him; and you'll find him ready and loaded. if you're not killed you're likely to be badly wounded--perhaps lose an eye or a leg--and what can you gain by it? bless me if i can see any use or sense or right in the whole business."
-"i had never used an oath until that night. but i sat on the side of my bed, when i couldn't lie still any longer, and clenched my fists and cursed him, mildly at first and under my breath, then aloud and in the reddest language i could think of. as i damned his soul to the hottest corner of hell it seemed to me that he ought to be made to suffer in this life, too, and i said aloud, 'i would like to kill you!' the words sounded so plain that they frightened me. but i said them over again, and the next moment the thought leaped up, 'and i will, too, if i live!' that was how the idea was born in my mind. it struck root and grew, and i've held to it ever since."
-homer nodded. "yes; i can understand how you would hold to a thing you'd made up your mind to do; i'd hold on just the same way. we've both got the bull-dog grip; it's one of the conrad characteristics. but even a bull-dog can let go when he knows he shouldn't hold on any longer."
-curtis smiled grimly. "not always; sometimes you have to pry his jaws loose. nevertheless, i could let go if i wanted to. but i don't want to, and i don't propose to. the thing has become part of my life, of me, of my very blood."
-"have you been working at it all this time, curt?"
-"oh, of course i couldn't do much while i was a boy except to think and brood over it. but during that time i learned all i could about delafield, his schemes, and his personality. i read every newspaper i could lay hold of that had anything in it about him; i've got them all yet. but i didn't do much in the way of actually chasing him down until after the girls were married ten years ago. after that i earned and saved more money, and was free to go about as i wanted. since then i've spent all the time and money i could spare in hunting him.
-"my last knowledge of him is that he is living somewhere in this territory, a well-to-do and respected citizen, prominent in politics, and a supporter of dellmey baxter for congress. the rest of it will be easy; there'll be a quick chase and an early show-down before there's time for another deal. i've got my eye on two men, both of whom fit that description. they live up north, and i'm going up to albuquerque and santa fe next week to look up their records. if it's either one of them, delafield will meet his deserts before he's many days older."
-silence fell upon them. curtis leaned against a pillar of the porch and watched the clouds rising higher over the mountains. "it looks as if the rainy season is about to begin at last," he said in a matter-of-fact way. homer rose and stood with a hand on his shoulder. they looked so much alike in the moonlight that at a little distance it would have been difficult to say which was the younger and which the elder brother.
-curtis shook his head emphatically. "you needn't waste your breath, homer. i rather hoped you'd understand better how i feel about it, and see the whole affair a little more as it looks to me. but you're different; and if you can't, you can't, and that's all there is about it. but it's useless to try to persuade me to give up my plans. a thing that you've thought about and dreamt about and planned and worked for through fifteen years gets to be part of your very blood, my boy, and it's not so easily cast aside."
-"well," said homer, "you are you; and if you've got to do this thing i suppose it can't be helped." he paused, thinking intently. "but when you go north next week--if one of those men proves to be delafield--you won't--at once--" he stumbled over his words, unable to put his brother's purpose into plain speech.
-curtis took up his meaning. "no; not immediately. i've got to come home again first."
-"then you'll be back here before you do anything? that's sure, is it, curt?" asked homer, relief in his voice.
-"yes; sure. i've got some important business that i promised the castletons i'd attend to the week after, and i'll take no chances till i get that fixed up for them."
-the next morning there was a promise of rain in the air and the sky. a dome of pale, bright gray, resting on murky supports of cloud, had taken the place of the usual heaven of vivid blue. but the wind, blowing warm and strong from the west, bore little moisture upon its wings, and the air was laden with an electric tingle that stretched and jarred unaccustomed nerves.
-hank peters and josé gonzalez were working in the corral when curtis conrad came across from the door of his room to give them some directions. presently he asked if they or any of the boys had seen anything lately of the gray wolf that had skulked about the neighborhood earlier in the season. nosey ike, they said, had seen it only the day before in the second draw on the road toward golden.
-"he did?" exclaimed curtis. "i'm going to golden to-day, and perhaps i can get a crack at it. i'll be home by six o'clock, peters, and i want to talk with you to-night about some work at adobe springs to-morrow. but to-day's sunday, boys, and we've come finally where we can stop and take breath once a week. you fellows can do anything you like to-day."
-peters thought he'd sleep all day, for he hadn't caught up since the barbecue; but josé wanted to visit a mexican family who had a little ranch beside a spring on the road to golden.
-"all right," said the superintendent. "take whichever one of the ponies you want, but be sure to get back to-night."
-"curt," said homer when they sat down to breakfast, "if you're not going to use brown betty to-day, would you mind if i rode her over to golden? or wouldn't you like to go with me? i'm going to call at the bancrofts' to see if miss bancroft has recovered from the shock she had the other night."
-curtis hesitated a moment as he poured their coffee, his own plan rising before him invitingly. but he remembered how pleased the two young people had seemed to be with each other and recalled his own resolution: "let the lad have a fair field," he thought.
-"brown betty? certainly, homer," was his reply. "i'll see that she's ready for you. i can't go because i must ride down to adobe springs to see about some work the boys must do there to-morrow. give my regards to the bancrofts. by the way, mrs. ned castleton gave me a message for miss bancroft that i'll let you deliver."
-as homer mounted for his journey he cast an anxious glance at the wet-looking clouds against which rose the purple-blue, statuesque masses of the mogollon mountains, and asked, "is it going to rain?"
-"it will sure rain in the mountains," replied his brother, "if it isn't pouring down by the bucketful there already. there may be a shower in golden, but the creek will get on the rampage anyway, and maybe carry away some of the bridges. we shan't get any here right away, but it's coming, thank god! i tell you, homer, it's been a cruel thing to see the cattle dying like flies on account of the drouth. for a while last spring i thought of throwing up this job, i hated so to see the suffering of the poor brutes."
-for a while all the man in curtis conrad clamored in revolt as he galloped southward across the silent, empty plain and thought of lucy smiling a welcome from her veranda steps--and not upon him. his love called imperiously, demanding that he make trial of its strength. should he give up the girl he loved without an effort, even though his rival be his brother? the primeval man in him was quick with the desire to take her in his arms and bear her away from all the world. but it was not long until he was saying grimly to himself, "what have i to do with love-making and winning a wife? the delafield affair is my business, and i'd better stick to it."
-he pondered over the conversation with his brother on the previous evening, feeling more keenly homer's condemnation of his purpose. he remembered that every one with whom he had spoken about the matter had sought to dissuade him. bancroft disapproved, and had begged him many times to desist. miss dent called it unworthy of him. now his brother, upon whose sympathy he had counted, condemned both his feeling and his intention. nevertheless, he was surely right. it was easy for them to talk, for they had not suffered from the man's crimes, they had not struggled as he had, and they had not spent years in the effort to find delafield and cast his sins in his face. but still, his cherished purpose had lost a little of its savor. he thought of his journey northward, which he so ardently hoped would consummate his years of effort and desire, and there was not quite the usual pleasure in his mental forecast. he put the thought of lucy behind him and went over once more that early struggle and the birth of his purpose, brought more vividly to mind by the talk with homer, and soon the old ideas and intentions recovered their accustomed sway. by the time he galloped homeward in the late afternoon his indignation was once more hot and seething and his mind full of zest for his approaching journey.
-he found homer in the corral unsaddling brown betty and humming a college tune. "say, curt, i think i'll go hunting to-morrow," said the young man as they walked across to the house. "i want to see if i can't get a shot at that gray wolf you've been telling me about. as i was coming home your mexican cowboy had sighted it not far from the road, in that valley beyond the hill yonder, and was just about to shoot when i had the bad luck to come along and scare the thing away."
-curtis looked up with quick interest. "josé? what was he doing? did he shoot?"
-"he jumped from his hiding-place just as i came along, so suddenly that the mare shied and nearly threw me. he was just ready to shoot--he said the beast was only a little way down the draw--and saw me barely in time to throw up his revolver and send it off at the sky. by that time, of course, the wolf was out of sight. i'm going back there at daybreak to-morrow to see if i can get a crack at it."
-just then gonzalez came riding into the corral, and curtis moved his chair to the doorway, in front of his brother. "all right, homer, i wish you would," he said; "it would be just a tenderfoot's luck, you know, if you should get it." he was rolling a cigarette, but keeping one eye on josé, who was caring for his horse. "was there much rain in golden to-day?" he asked.
-"yes; quite a storm, with lots of fireworks; i never saw such lightning or heard such thunder in my life. there must have been a flood farther up in the mountains, for the creek came down that ravine fairly booming, just as you said it would. it swept away one of the bridges and washed out parts of the foundations of two or three houses. but it soon went down again."
-"was the bank building injured?" curtis asked, still following with narrowed eyes the movements of gonzalez. "it's in a dangerous spot if a really bad flood ever does come down that valley."
-"the first national? that's bancroft's bank, isn't it? yes; it lost some bricks out of the foundation, and the ground was washed away a little. nothing of consequence."
-"well, that has happened several times already; some of these days it will happen once too often. long ago, i'm told, the street and sidewalk had to be moved to the other side of the houses for a block or two along there. you remember the creek elbows toward the bank. if a great mass of water ever comes down that canyon it will rush straight against the side of the building--and the lives of whoever happens to be inside won't be worth two switches of a cow's tail."
-"i talked with mr. bancroft about that possibility to-day," said homer, "and he doesn't think the situation is dangerous."
-"yes; nobody in golden believes there's any danger. and they may be right. they say there isn't as much rain now as there used to be, and that cloud-bursts of any consequence are as rare as six-legged calves. it will all depend on the weather."
-the next morning josé gonzalez was hitching up to drive the men to adobe springs when conrad walked up, leaned carelessly against the wheel, and looked him in the eye. the mexican returned the gaze unflinchingly but respectfully. "josé," said curtis in a low tone, "you made a mistake about that wolf last night, didn't you? it wasn't the wolf you thought it was when you made ready to shoot, was it?"
-an amused gleam lighted for an instant josé's sombre eyes. "it might have been as you say, don curtis," he answered cautiously.
-"i don't want any might-have-beens; i want to know if you are making war on my brother as well as on me. it's all right about me, but i won't have anything of the sort where he's concerned. i want the truth, josé. is anything of the kind going to happen again?"
-gonzalez looked at conrad squarely as he earnestly replied: "it was a mistake, don curtis; i swear to you it was a mistake. your brother looks much like you, it was your mare, and you had said you would be back from golden about that hour. i saw it was don homer barely in time. after this i shall be more careful."
-conrad grinned at the closing sentence, and the mexican scarcely repressed an answering smile. "well, i am going away to-day," said curtis, "to be gone for several days. so it won't be necessary for you to make any mistakes while i'm gone."
-josé looked up in quick alarm. "you are not going to don dellmey?" he exclaimed. "he is not the one who wishes your death!"
-"what do you say, josé?" the other demanded, starting forward eagerly.
-"i swear to you by the mother of god, don curtis," said the mexican, with voice intense and manner most earnest, "that it is not señor baxter who desires your death."
-"are you speaking the truth, josé?"
-"i will swear it on the crucifix, don curtis!"
-conrad gazed at him steadfastly, and the conviction entered his mind that gonzalez was speaking the truth. a look of puzzled wonder overspread his face. "in the name of god, then, who is it?" he said, half aloud. the mexican shrugged a shoulder and turned away.
-"who can it be?" the manager repeated, to himself, but still loud enough for the other to hear. "it must be delafield!" he exclaimed. josé's ear caught the words, and he listened as his employer went on: "he knows i'm after him, and he's trying to kill me first. if i could only make this coyote greaser tell me who his patron is, i'd know who delafield is. i'd like to choke it out of you, you son of perdition!" he looked so fiercely at gonzalez that the mexican took a threatening step forward.
-"you needn't worry," conrad exclaimed contemptuously. "i know you wouldn't tell, even if i choked the life out of you trying to make you peach. it's your patron i'm after." josé stooped to hitch the traces, and curtis broke out impulsively: "i say, josé, what makes you do this sort of thing? you're as square as they make 'em in most things; why do you go into this damned rattlesnake business?"
-gonzalez looked up with a confiding smile.
-"the patron wishes it; and why not? if i kill a man he gets me off if he can, and then that is all right. if he can't, i pay for it in prison--and that is fair."
-"huh!" grunted the superintendent as he walked away. "so you think you are going to pay for me that way, do you? well, i guess not!"
-the same train that carried conrad northward to santa fe carried also a brief and hurried letter to dellmey baxter which josé gonzalez had found time to write before he and the rest started for adobe springs, mailing it as they passed white rock station.
-"you will see señor conrad in santa fe," the congressman read in his office the next morning, "but you need not be anxious. i have sworn to him that it is not you who desires his death, and he believes me. i heard him speak to himself, and he said it must be delafeel who wishes him dead. he said he would like to choke out of me who my patron is, for then he would know who delafeel is. don curtis is a very brave man. i like him much."
-baxter chuckled over the closing sentences as he tore the letter into bits. poking them musingly with a fat forefinger he thought: "it's a sure bet that his patron just now is aleck bancroft; and that makes it look as if aleck might be this mysterious delafeel--i'll have to find out who delafeel is and what he's done some time or other; then i sure reckon i'll have a cinch on aleck that will keep him from trying to step into my shoes as long as i want him to keep out." he looked out of his window into the little tree-filled plaza, cool and green in the morning sunlight, and saw curtis conrad walking across it from the hotel on the other side. he took a six-shooter from his pocket, made sure of its cartridges, and replaced it. from a drawer in his desk he took another, examined its chambers, and laid it on his desk, under an open newspaper. a moment later he was rising from his chair with outstretched hand and beaming smile.
-"why, how do you do, mr. conrad! i'm sure glad to see you. how did you leave things down in old silverside? that was a high old time we had at the barbecue, wasn't it? have the castletons gone yet? a fine figure of a woman is mrs. turner castleton! and i tell you right now it was a great shave she gave me!" the honorable dellmey baxter rubbed his cheek, and chuckled. but his right hand rested on his desk, close beside the newspaper which he had apparently just thrown down.
-"mr. baxter," said conrad, ignoring the stream of questions and remarks, "some weeks ago i wrote you, saying frankly that i believed you responsible for attempts against my life, made by a mexican who had come from you to me. i find myself mistaken, and i have come to apologize to you for my suspicions."
-"that's all right, curt, that's all right!" baxter broke in, relief apparent in his countenance. "i'll admit i felt hurt by your insinuations, but as long as you've found out you were wrong and are willing to do me the justice of saying so, it's not worth speaking of again."
-"understand," curtis went on, "that i'm not taking back or apologizing for anything else i've said about you, and i'm still shouting for johnny martinez for congress."
-"johnny is to be congratulated for having your support," baxter rejoined genially; "i wish i could get it away from him. has that measly greaser made any more attempts on your life, my dear conrad? you're too good a citizen for the territory to lose in that way."
-curtis smiled carelessly. "i don't think my life is in any danger. no damned greaser will get the chance to stick me in the back when i've got both eyes shut and one foot tucked up in my feathers, if i'm onto his game. i don't care anything about josé; it's his patron i'm after."
-"his patron!" exclaimed baxter in apparent surprise. "you don't mean to say that josé's got a patron in that business!" his visitor nodded and the congressman went on: "you don't say so! i didn't suppose you had an enemy in the territory. this is interesting! we must get at the bottom of this, mr. conrad, for we can't afford to lose you. have you any idea who's behind the greaser?"
-curtis considered a moment. he might get some information from baxter that would help him; it would do no harm to speak cautiously. "yes, and no, mr. baxter. i know who he used to be, but i don't know who he is now. his name used to be delafield, back in the states."
-"delafield--delafield," mused baxter. he had got the conversation where he wanted it. "i don't remember having heard that name in new mexico."
-"that hasn't been his name for a good many years. don't you remember the delafield affair in boston, some fifteen years ago--sumner l. delafield, who made a big spread in the financial world, defaulted, and ran away?"
-"yes; he's a rich, prominent, and respected citizen of new mexico. but i haven't discovered which one of 'em, and he doesn't want me to find out. my father lost all he had in the smash."
-they talked a little longer, and curtis learned enough about the history of the two men he had in mind to be satisfied that neither of them was the one he sought.
-after conrad went away, baxter leaned back and folded his hands across his waist-coat, his left eyelid drooping and his face beaming with smiles. "now," he thought, "i've got aleck bancroft exactly where he can do me the most good!"
-the silent duel
-as july sped on homer conrad's visits to golden grew more and more frequent. when curtis returned from his northern journey, still ignorant of delafield's identity, homer was greatly relieved, and tried once more to dissuade his brother. "anyway, curt," he urged, "don't do anything more about it now. let it rest a while, and think about it more coolly and carefully; you'll see how foolish it is if you do that." as curtis did not mention the subject again, he concluded that his advice had been taken and that there was no reason for immediate anxiety. his mind at rest on that score, he devoted himself more than ever to lucy bancroft. he talked of her so much to his brother that curtis soon saw how complete was his absorption. "i guess they're hitting it off together all right," he concluded.
-curtis conrad tried to accustom himself to the idea of lucy as his brother's wife. it cost him many a painful twinge, and once the rebellious thought came into his mind, "if it hadn't been for the delafield affair i might--" but a little shock, as if he had fallen away from some ideal or been guilty of an irreverence, stopped the notion. now and then, too, he had misgivings as to what lucy would think of him if she knew. he shrank from the feeling that her condemnation would be as unsparing as his brother's, with more of horror and disgust. for the first time he began to think about what might lie beyond that longed-for meeting with delafield. one day, musing upon homer and lucy, he had a sudden vision of himself as a commiserated kinsman, and smiled grimly as he reflected, "it might be a good thing for them if i got my quietus in the scrimmage."
-these signs of a change slowly going on within him sometimes came as a flash of feeling, while again the thoughts induced held him for hours. the emotion that had so powerfully rushed over him when he first realized his love for lucy had jarred his grip upon his purpose; and afterward intimate daily association with his brother and knowledge of the young man's severe disapproval united to move him now and then from his old point of view and to give him brief visitations of more wholesome feeling. if his love for lucy, so suddenly realized, had met with no check, it alone might have been enough in time to turn him from his plans. a man of his temperament cannot be fired by two enthusiasms at the same time. he must give himself wholly to his absorbing desire. since at the core conrad's nature was sound and sweet, it is likely that after a little his love would have overmastered his desire for revenge. but lucy's flirtation with his brother, induced by pique and disappointment at his constant association with mrs. ned castleton, and homer's prompt infatuation had led him to believe that the two younger people were in love with each other. consequently he did his best to restrain his own feelings, and so limited their check upon the older sentiment. francisquita little knew, or would ever guess, what grave consequences were flowing from her innocent effort to keep her sister-in-law within bounds. but for that the outcome of the delafield affair would have been "another story."
-conrad returned from santa fe much disappointed by the failure of the clews that had promised so much. he debated whether it would be worth while to try to compel gonzalez to disclose the name of his employer should the mexican attack him again. he was doubtful of the success of such a plan, for he believed josé as likely to give up his life as his secret. nevertheless, he decided it would be worth trying. for several weeks after his return it chanced that whenever he went from home it was with peters or some of the men, while there was always somebody about the corral and the house. he knew gonzalez was watching him constantly, awaiting the moment when they should be alone. toward the end of july he made up his mind to provide the opportunity and bring matters to a focus.
-on the day he reached this decision his brother returned from golden looking dejected. "they've quarrelled," was curtis's inward comment. he said nothing, nor did homer mention lucy's name, contrary to his custom of talking much about her after a day in her society. he was also less talkative than usual upon other subjects. during the evening, while curtis read, homer sat by the open door and smoked in gloomy silence, listening to the pouring rain and the rolling and echoing thunder. he was wondering, half in lover's anger and half in lover's downheartedness, why lucy had been so unreasonable that day, and why she had acted as if she did not care whether he came or stayed away. well, he would not trouble her with his company again very soon. he and pendleton had been talking about a camping and hunting trip in the mogollon mountains, and he would see if they couldn't get up the party and go at once.
-the next morning a sky of pure, deep, brilliant blue shone over a freshening, greening plain. homer rose from the breakfast table and walked out into the corral, throwing back his shoulders and breathing deeply of the dry, cool, exhilarating air. it seemed a different world from that of yesterday. there was no hurry about the camping trip, after all. "i think i'll ride over to golden," he said to his brother, "and see if that storm last night did much damage. it looked black in the mountains when i was coming home in the afternoon, and a bad flood may have come down the ravine."
-curtis smiled quizzically. a certain eager masterfulness in the young man's air brought to his mind conviction of the real purport of his brother's errand, and he felt no doubt of its result. "a good idea," he assented. "it was a bad storm and may have done a lot of harm. but i'll have to use brown betty myself to-day. you can have your pick of the others."
-he stood by and called out, "good luck, old fellow!" as homer mounted his horse, and laughed and swung his sombrero as the other turned away a blushing face. curtis gazed after him, a swift vision filling his mind of the look that countenance would wear when he returned to tell him proudly that he had won lucy's promise to be his wife. "and by that time i'm going to know who delafield is," he thought, his lips compressed, as he turned quickly into the corral.
-"josé," he called, "i want you to go to adobe springs this morning and see if any of the cattle are mired in the overflow from the storm last night. then deepen the outlet so the water will all be carried away. you'd better start at once. i'll come after you in about half an hour and show you about digging out the outlet."
-as gonzalez mounted his horse at the corral gate he looked back and saw conrad standing beside his mare, making her hunt through his pockets for sugar. "a brave man is don curtis," his thoughts ran. "he is so brave it does not seem right that he must die. but--" and he shrugged his shoulders with the air of one who says, "what would you?"
-when josé was well out of sight conrad started after him, at first at a slower pace than usual. his mind was not upon the expected encounter, with its doubtful issue, nor upon the information, so long and ardently desired, that he hoped to extort from the mexican. a month previous he would have been intent on that one thing, his thoughts absorbed in it, and his heart on fire with anticipation. now he dwelt upon the idea of marriage between lucy and homer. "the lad's a better man than i," he was thinking. "there's more in him, and ten years from now i shan't be able to stack up alongside of him and make any showing at all--even if i'm not in prison or hanged by the neck until dead long before."
-he bared his brow, curiously white above the rest of his sunburned face, to the south wind. his lips tightened and his eyes glowed as he looked out over the gray road stretching before him, while his inward vision flashed down the grim and lonely path that led into the future. it was the way he had chosen, the one he had travelled with eager feet for fifteen years, and he must follow it to the end. a few miles farther on that gray track, perhaps just beyond that next hill, the longed-for knowledge was awaiting him. he would force it from gonzalez, and then--delafield! the thought fired his heart once more and his eyes blazed with the old indignation as his mind went back to the grief and loss of his early years, to that lonely night of hate and anger when his deadly purpose was born. he touched brown betty with his spur, quickening her pace to a smart gallop as he searched the road and plain with ardent eyes. his heart was bounding forward with anticipation, the savor of longed-for vengeance once more strong in his throat. in front of him lay a wide, shallow valley, with steep, storm-torn rims and brows shaggy with mesquite.
-"i reckon, betty b.," he said aloud, "it's about time to be looking for josé, and this draw seems a likely sort of place for him."
-he drew his revolver, glanced at its chambers, held it across the pommel in his right hand, and made sure of the handful of cartridges he had put in his pocket on leaving home. brown betty cantered across the bottom of the valley and, as she climbed the steep bank on the other side, lifted her head and neighed. from somewhere in the distance came an answering whinny. "it's one of our horses," thought conrad.
-at the hilltop he carefully searched the plain; a little way down the road, beside a clump of bushes, he saw a riderless horse. he chuckled. "josé's sure hiding out around there somewhere," was his instant conviction. his head was high, his eyes flashing, and his face set in hard lines as he started the mare forward at a brisk trot. his gaze travelled toward the other horse, studying every bunch of mesquite and questioning every clump of amole and yucca that grew between.
-his eye caught the motion of branches in a tall, spreading thicket of mesquite a hundred yards away, not far from the road. they swayed against the wind for a moment, trembled back and forth, and then bent before the breeze like their fellows. the growth was dense, but behind it he could distinguish the outlines of a darker mass, and an instant later he saw a tiny flash of light reflected from some small, bright object. "that must be the sun on his gun-sight," said curtis, "and i reckon it's time to prepare for war."
-dismounting, he threw the mare's bridle over her neck. "no; she'll follow me," he thought, "and she doesn't need to mix up in the delafield affair."
-his eye still on the suspicious clump of bushes, conrad fastened the mare to an outreaching mesquite limb at the roadside. "this is a better place for you, brown betty, nice old girl," he said, reaching back to pat her neck as she nickered after him.
-his pistol in his hand and his vision holding the dark object behind the feathery green plumes of the mesquite, he went on briskly until he had covered half the distance between them. then he saw the object move cautiously a little to one side, where the leaves were not so thick. plainly visible now were the straw sombrero, the dusky face below it, the outline of the body, and the revolver held steadily between the branches.
-half a dozen strides more, and he fixed his eyes upon those of gonzalez, dark and brilliant, gleaming through the scant, fern-like foliage like two coals of brown fire. conrad's six-shooter pointed straight between them as he walked slowly toward the bush. he knew that josé's was levelled at his breast. revolver cocked and finger at trigger he came on, his eyes holding those of the mexican. josé's pistol hand he disregarded, trusting to his perception of the change, the instant's flash of decision, that would light gonzalez's face when he pulled the trigger. he knew that, should he stumble or miss his footing and so give advantage, or should any hesitation show in face or eye, that second would the mexican's bullet fly for his heart.
-it was curtis's intention not to hurt josé unless the need became imperative. therefore he did not fire, but came silently on, and gonzalez stood, silent and still, behind the sheltering bush, each with pistol cocked and held at steady aim, the gaze of each holding insistently that of the other. it was a silent duel of eyes, of wills behind the eyes, of purposes behind the wills, and of temperament behind the purposes.
-"will he never shoot?" conrad asked himself once and again as he approached.
-"a brave man! a brave man!" was josé's thought as he watched that steady advance, secure in his own advantage.
-curtis came on with resolute step--fifteen yards, a dozen yards, ten yards. barely a score of feet separated the muzzles of the two revolvers, and still the blue eyes and the brown stared into each other with dauntless challenge.
-"why doesn't he shoot?" thought josé. "a brave, bold man! it is a pity to kill him."
-"a moment more, and i'll have him!" exulted conrad. fifteen feet, twelve feet, ten feet--still the space between them lessened, and still the silence was unbroken and their guns at unchanging aim.
-another step, and curtis saw josé's eyes waver; another, and heard him draw a little, gasping breath. he saw irresolution flash across the mexican's face, saw his finger leave the trigger, his right arm tremble, and drop to his side.
-conrad felt cold sweat break out over his body and there was a loud buzzing in his ears. yet neither in face nor eyes was there a sign that he had seen any change. with his gaze still fixed on the other's downcast lids, he moved sidewise around the bush, and stood beside gonzalez.
-"give me your gun, butt first," he commanded in a low, tense voice. josé raised his eyes to meet the muzzle of the gun looking blankly between his brows.
-"you can take it if you like, don curtis," he said unsteadily. "i am not going to shoot you. here it is."
-"now," said curtis, pointing both guns at josé's head, "tell me the name of the man who hired you to kill me."
-the mexican started in surprise. he shrugged his shoulders, looked at the guns again, shuffled his feet uneasily. "don curtis, how can i?" he exclaimed in a reproachful tone. "you should not ask that question. it is not fair."
-"neither was it fair for you to try to stick me in the back before i was onto your game. so we're even now, as you told me once before. you've got to tell! i don't want to kill you, josé; but, by god! i will, if you don't give up that man's name. i'll give you one minute to think it over; and if you don't speak out then, i'll blow your head off."
-gonzalez sent one searching glance into conrad's set face, and dropped sullen eyes to the ground. he knew there was only one thing to do if he wished to live. for half the minute he stared downward, then looked blankly up at curtis. "fifteen seconds more," said the stern voice. his face worked, his lips opened and closed again. then he seemed to gather himself together for the unwilling effort, and the words fairly rushed from his mouth:
-"it is your friend, señor bancroft."
-"what!" exclaimed curtis, in a voice that had sunk back into his throat.
-gonzalez repeated his words. conrad leaned forward, white with anger, and thrust the two revolvers close to the other's face. "josé," he said slowly, in hard, sharp tones, "a little while ago a man told me that. i shook him as if he'd been a dog and told him that he lied. i ask you once more, the last time, who is it?"
-gonzalez threw back his head, crossed his arms, and looked his antagonist angrily in the eye. "i am not a liar, don curtis," he said proudly. "i may kill sometimes, if my patron wishes. but i do not lie." he placed the muzzle of one of the pistols against his heart. "i have told you the truth, señor conrad," he went on. "i swear to you, by the mother of god, that i could not say different if you pulled that trigger now."
-conrad trembled and his white face went suddenly crimson. "it is hard to believe," he said; but he lowered the pistols. "i know you are not a liar, josé, and you seem to be speaking the truth. you understand, don't you," he added in a tone almost apologetic, "that it is hard for me to believe what you say?"
-"it is the truth, señor."
-curtis put his own pistol away, and looked thoughtfully at the other. "josé," he said, "i shall have to think about this thing. in the meantime i'm going to keep your gun."
-mile away from the nearest woods unless to get something he could not find in the woods. had he wanted insects, he would have tapped a tree in the woods, or else he would have caught them in his usual flycatching fashion. there must have been something about the mountain ash tree that he craved. as it is a very rare tree in the vicinity of my home, the sapsucker's only chance to satisfy his longing was by coming to some town garden like our own.
-not only is the theory improbable, but it fails to explain the sapsucker's actions in this instance. in twenty years he was never seen to catch an insect that was attracted by the sap he drew. this does not deny that he may have caught insects now and then, but it does deny that he set the sap running for a lure. as he was never far away, and was sometimes only four and a half feet by measure from a chamber window, all that he did could be seen. he did not catch insects at his holes. he drank sap and ate bark.
-finally, the theory is not only improbable and inadequate, but in this instance it is impossible. i do not remember seeing a sapsucker in the tree in the spring; if he came in the summer, it must have been at rare intervals; but he was always there in the fall, when the leaves were dropping. at that season the insect hordes had been dispersed by the autumnal frosts, so that we know he did not come for insects.
-in the many years during which i watched the sapsuckers--for there were undoubtedly a number of different birds that came, although never more than one at a time--there was such a curious similarity in their actions that it is entirely proper to speak as if the same bird returned year after year. his visits, as i have said, were usually made at the same season. he would come silently and early, with the evident intention of making this an all-day excursion. by eight o'clock he would be seen clinging to a branch and curiously observant of the dining-room window, which at that hour probably excited both his interest and his alarm. early in the day he showed considerable activity, flitting from limb to limb and sinking a few holes, three or four in a row, usually above the previous upper girdle of the limbs he selected to work upon. after he had tapped several limbs he would sit waiting patiently for the sap to flow, lapping it up quickly when the drop was large enough. at first he would be nervous, taking alarm at noises and wheeling away on his broad wings till his fright was over, when he would steal quietly back to his sap-holes. when not alarmed, his only movement was from one row of holes to another, and he tended them with considerable regularity. as the day wore on he became less excitable, and clung cloddishly to his tree-trunk with ever increasing torpidity, until finally he hung motionless as if intoxicated, tippling in sap, a disheveled, smutty, silent bird, stupefied with drink, with none of that brilliancy of plumage and light-hearted gayety which made him the noisiest and most conspicuous bird of our april woods.
-our mountain ash trees have told us several facts about the sapsucker:--
-that he did not come to eat insects.
-that he did come to drink sap, and that he probably ate the inner bark also.
-that he drank the sap because he liked it, not for some secondary object, as insects.
-that he could detect difference in the quality or quantity of the sap, which caused him to prefer a particular tree.
-that this difference apparently was in the taste of the sap, and that the effects of a day's drinking of mountain ash sap seemed to indicate some intoxicant or narcotic quality in the sap of that particular tree.
-that the effect of his work upon the tree was apparently injurious, as it is the only cause assigned of a healthy tree's dying before a less healthy one of the same age and species, subject all its life to the same conditions.
-this is the sapsucker's crime: he girdles the tree,--not at his first coming, nor yet at his second, not with one row of holes, nor yet with two; but finally, after years perhaps, when row after row of punctures, each checking a little the flow of sap, have overlapped and offset each other and narrowed the channels through which it could mount and descend, until the flow is stopped. then the tree dies. it is not the holes he makes, nor the sap he draws, but the way he places his holes that makes the sapsucker an unwelcome visitor. for an unacceptable individual he is to the farmer,--persona non grata, as kings say of ambassadors who do not please their majesties. what shall we do with him, the only black sheep in all the woodpecker flock? let him alone, unless we are positively sure that we know him from every other kind of woodpecker. the damage he does is trifling compared with what we should do if we made war upon other woodpeckers for some supposed wrong-doing of the sapsucker.
-in california and along the southwestern boundary of the united states lives a woodpecker known among the mexicans as el carpintero, the carpenter.
-carpentering is both his profession and his pastime, and he seems really to enjoy the work. when there is nothing more pressing to be done, he spends his time tinkering around, fitting acorns into holes in such great numbers and in so workmanlike a fashion that we do not know which is more remarkable, his patience or his skill. every acorn is fitted into a separate hole made purposely for it, every one is placed butt end out and is driven in flush with the surface, so that a much frequented tree often appears as if studded with ornamental nails. "what an industrious bird!" we exclaim; but still it takes some time to appreciate how enormous is the labor of the carpenter. whole trees will sometimes be covered with his work, until a single tree has thousands of acorns bedded into its bark so neatly and tightly that no other creature can remove them.
-think of the work of digging these twelve holes. think of the labor of carrying these ten large acorns and driving them in so tightly that after years of shrinking they cannot be removed by a knife without injuring either the acorn or the bark. yet how small a part of the woodpecker's year's work is here! how long could he live on ten acorns? how many must he gather for his winter's needs? how many must he lose by forgetting to come back to them? we cannot calculate the work a single bird does nor the nuts he eats, for several birds usually work in company and may use the same tree; but all the woodpeckers are large eaters, and the californian has been singled out for special mention.
-can we estimate the amount of work required to lay up one day's food? judging by the amount of nuts some other birds will eat, i should think that all ten acorns contained in this piece of bark could be eaten in one day without surfeit. the estimate seems to me well inside of his probable appetite. i have experimented on this piece of bark, using a woodpecker's bill for a tool, and it takes me twenty minutes to dig a hole as large but not as neat as these. doubtless it would not take the woodpecker as long; but at my rate of working, four hours were spent in digging these twelve holes. then each acorn had to be hunted up and brought to the hole prepared for it. this entailed a journey, it may have been only from one tree to another, or it may have been, and very likely was, a considerable flight. for these acorns grew on oak-trees, and we find them driven into the bark of pines and spruces.
-this it is which gives our specimen its particular interest. while oaks and pines may be intermingled, though they naturally prefer different soils and situations, and in the rocky mountains the pine-belt lies above the oak region, spruce and oak trees do not grow in the same soil. the spruce-belt stands higher up than the pine. as these nuts are stored in the bark of a spruce-tree, we have clear evidence that the bird must have carried them some distance. for every nut he made the whole journey back and forth, since he could carry but one at a time,--ten long trips back and forth, certainly consuming several minutes each.
-then each acorn had to be fitted to its hole. we have already spoken of the accuracy with which this is done, so that the carpenter's work is a standing taunt to the hungry jays and squirrels which would gladly eat his nuts if they could get them. a careful observer tells us that when the hole is too small, the woodpecker takes the acorn out and makes the hole a little larger, working so cautiously, however, that he sometimes makes several trials before the acorn can be fitted and driven in flush with the bark. some of these acorns show cracks down the sides, as if they had been split either in forcibly pulling them out of a hole not deep enough for them, or in driving them when green and soft into a hole too small for them. of course after each trial the acorn must be hunted up where it lies on the ground and driven in again, and this takes considerable time.
-as nearly as we can estimate it, not less than half a day must have been spent in putting these acorns where we find them. with smaller acorns, stored in pine bark, less time would have been required; but weeks, if not months, of work are spent in laying up the winter's stores.
-how the woodpecker's back and jaws must have ached! surely he is human enough to get tired with his work, and it is not play to do what this bird has done. some of the acorns measure seven tenths of an inch in diameter by nine tenths in length, and the bird that carried them is smaller than a robin. how he must have hurried to reach his tree when the acorn was extra large! yet he took time to drive every one in point foremost. even those that lie upon their sides must have been forced into position by tapping the butt. he knows very well which end of an acorn is which, does our carpenter.
-but what is the use of all this work? why, if he wants acorns, does he not eat them as they lie scattered under the oaks, instead of taking pains to carry them away and put them into holes for the fun of eating them out of the holes afterward? the absurdity of this has led some people to surmise that the carpenter chooses none but weevilly acorns, and stores them that the grub inside may grow large and fat and delicious. this would be very interesting, if it were true. there must of course be more weevilly acorns on the ground than he picks up, so that he could get as many grubs without taking all this trouble, and there is no reason why they should not be as large and good as those hatched out in holes in trees. when i wish to keep nuts sweet, i spread them out on the attic floor in the sun and air, keeping them where they will not touch each other. the carpenter does practically the same thing. is it probable that he tries to raise a fine crop of grubs in this way? if so, one or the other of us is doing just the wrong thing. but if weevils are what the carpenter wants, then the nuts in the bark should be wormy; yet only two of them show any sign of a weevil, and of these one appears from its dull color and weather-beaten look to be a nut deposited several years before the others by some other woodpecker. every other acorn is as hard, shining, and bright colored as when it fell from the tree. evidently the bird picked these nuts up while they were fresh and good; perhaps he chose them because they were good and fresh. the possibility becomes almost a certainty when we observe that naturalists agree that the carpenter uses no acorns but the sweet-tasting species. now there are likely to be as many grubs in one kind of an acorn as in another, and he would scarcely refuse any kind that contained them, if grubs were what he wanted. the fact that he takes sweet acorns, and those only, shows that it is the meat of the nut that he wants. and all good naturalists agree that it is the kernel itself that he eats.
-why he stores them is not hard to decide when we remember that the californian woodpecker, over a large part of his range, is a mountain bird. though we think of california as the land of sunshine, it is not universal summer there. the mountain ranges have a winter as severe as that of new england, with a heavy snowfall. when the snow lies several feet deep among the pines and spruces of the uplands, the carpenter is not distressed for food: his pantry is always above the level of the snow; he need neither scratch a meagre living from the edges of the snow-banks, nor go fasting. his fall's work has provided him not only with the necessities, but with the luxuries of life.
-but why does he spend so much time in making holes? he might tuck his nuts into some natural crevice in the oak bark, or drop them into cavities which all birds know so well where to find. and leave them where any pilfering jay would be able to pick them out at his ease? or put them in the track of every wandering squirrel? jays and squirrels are never too honest to refuse to steal, but they find it harder to get the woodpecker's stores out of his pine-tree pantry than to pick up honest acorns of their own. so, like the woodpecker, they lay up their own stores of nuts, and feed on them in winter, or go hungry.
-we have had very little aid from anything except the piece of bark we were studying, yet we have learned that the californian woodpecker is a good carpenter; that he works hard at his trade; that he shows remarkable foresight in collecting his food, much ingenuity in housing it, good judgment in putting it where his enemies cannot get it, and wisdom in the plan he has adopted to give him a good supply of fresh nuts at a season when the autumn's crop is buried under the deep snow.
-if i were a californian boy, i think i should spend my time in trying to find out more about this wise woodpecker, concerning which much remains to be discovered.
-a red-headed cousin
-in many ways the red-head, as he is familiarly called, is like his carpenter cousin. both indulge in long-continued drumming; both catch flies expertly on the wing; and both have the curious habit of laying up stores of food for future use. the californian woodpecker not only stores acorns, but insect food as well. but though the carpenter's habits have long been known, it is a comparatively short time since the red-head was first detected laying up winter supplies.
-the first to report this habit of the red-head was a gentleman in south dakota, who one spring noticed that they were eating young grasshoppers. at that season he supposed that all the insects of the year previous would be dead or torpid, and certainly full-grown, while those of the coming summer would be still in the egg. where could the bird find half-grown grasshoppers? being interested to explain this, he watched the red-heads until he saw that one went frequently to a post, and appeared to get something out of a crevice in its side. in that post he found nearly a hundred grasshoppers, still alive, but wedged in so tightly they could not escape. he also found other hiding-places all full of grasshoppers, and discovered that the woodpeckers lived upon these stores nearly all winter.
-but it is not grasshoppers only that the red-head hoards, though he is very fond of them. in some parts of the country it is easier to find nuts than to find grasshoppers, and they are much less perishable food. the red-head is very fond of both acorns and beechnuts. probably he eats chestnuts also. who knows how many kinds of nuts the red-head eats? you might easily determine not only what he will eat, but what he prefers, if a red-headed woodpecker lives near you. lay out different kinds of nuts on different days, putting them on a shed roof, or in some place where squirrels and blue jays would not be likely to dare to steal them, and see whether he takes all the kinds you offer. then lay out mixed nuts and notice which ones he carries off first. if he takes all of one kind before he takes any of the others, we may be sure that he has discovered his favorite nut. such little experiments furnish just the information which scientific men are glad to get.
-it is well known that the red-head is very fond of beechnuts. every other year we expect a full crop of nuts, and close observation shows that the red-heads come to the north in much larger numbers and stay much later on these years of plenty than on the years of scanty crops. lately it has been discovered that they not only eat beechnuts all the fall, but store them up for winter use. this time the observation was made in indiana. there, when the nuts were abundant, the red-heads were seen busily carrying them off. their accumulations were found in all sorts of places: cavities in old tree-trunks contained nuts by the handful; knot-holes, cracks, crevices, seams in the barns were filled full of nuts. nuts were tucked into the cracks in fence-posts; they were driven into railroad ties; they were pounded in between the shingles on the roofs; if a board was sprung out, the space behind it was filled with nuts, and bark or wood was often brought to cover over the gathered store. no doubt children often found these hiding-places and ate the nuts, thinking they were robbing some squirrel's hoard.
-in the south, where the beech-tree is replaced by the oak, the red-heads eat acorns. i should like to know whether they store acorns as they do beechnuts. are chestnuts ever laid up for winter? how far south is the habit kept up? is it observed beyond the limits of a regular and considerable snowfall? that is, do the birds lay up their nuts in order to keep them out of the snow, or for some other reason?
-it remains to be discovered if other woodpeckers have hoarding-places. we know that the sapsucker eats beechnuts, and the downy and the hairy woodpeckers also; that the red-bellied woodpecker and the golden-winged flicker eat acorns; and i have seen the downy woodpecker eating chestnuts, or the grubs in them, hanging head downward at the very tip of the branches like a chickadee. it may be possible that some of these lay up winter stores.
-it is known that the lewis's woodpecker occasionally shows signs of a hoarding instinct. it was recently noted that in the san bernardino mountains of california the lewis's woodpecker, after driving away the smaller californian woodpeckers, tried to put acorns into the holes the carpenter had made, but, being unused to the work, did it very clumsily. soon after this observation was published, a boy friend living near denver told me that a short time before he had seen a woodpecker that had a large quantity of acorns shelled and broken into quarters, on which he was feeding. this woodpecker was identified beyond a doubt as the lewis's woodpecker. so we begin to suspect that the habit of storing up food is not an uncommon one among the woodpeckers.
-a study of acquired habits
-something interesting yet remains to be discovered of the hoarding habit of the red-head. how strange that so familiar a bird should have a habit so easily detected, and yet that no one in all these years should speak of it! who does not know how mice and chipmunks hide their food? who has not watched the blue jay skulking off to hide an acorn where he will be sure to forget it? who does not remember the articles his pet jim crow stole and lost to him forever? the hoarding habit has long been observed of many dull-colored, rare, or insignificant creatures. that one so noisy, gay-colored, tame, and abundant as our red-headed woodpecker should have the same habit and escape observation is certainly remarkable. but though it is over twenty years since the storing of grasshoppers was recorded and twelve since the practice of laying up beechnuts was observed, very little seems to have been learned of the habit since these records were made.
-there are two points to be considered: the habit long remained unknown; after it was discovered, it was long in being reaffirmed. it seems that, if it were a general habit, more would be known about it. now if it is not a universal habit, it must be one of two alternatives, either a custom falling into disuse, or a new one just being acquired. that a habit so remarkable and so advantageous should be discarded after being universal is scarcely possible; that a habit so noticeable, if it were general, should remain unknown is improbable; that a habit which made life in winter both secure and easy should, if introduced by a few enterprising birds, become a universal custom, is not without a parallel. the probabilities point to the custom of hoarding food as a recently acquired habit.
-acquired habits are not rare among birds. the chimney swift has learned to nest in chimneys since the pilgrims landed; for there were no chimneys before that time. there is the evidence of old writers to show that they acquired the habit within fifty years of the time of the first permanent settlements in new england. the eaves swallow learned to transfer its nest from the side of a cliff to the side of a barn in less time. most birds will change their food as soon as a new dainty is procurable, and they will even invent methods of getting it, if it is much to their taste. the way the english sparrows have learned to tear open corn husks so as to eat the corn in the milk is a good example, for our maize does not grow in england, and they have had to learn about its good qualities in the few years since they have become established outside of the cities. yet it is already a well-established habit. so quickly does a habit spread from one bird to another, until it becomes the rule instead of the exception! acquired habits always show adaptability, and often much forethought and reason. it is the shrewd bird that learns new tricks.
-now there is not known among birds any evidence of greater forethought and reason than working hard in pleasant weather, when food is plentiful beyond all hope of ever exhausting it, to lay up provision for winter. how does the woodpecker know that winter will come this year? that there was a winter last year and the year before does not make it certain, but only probable, that there will be one this year. we cannot know ourselves that the seasons will change until we learn enough of astronomy to understand the proof. nor does instinct explain the habit, as some would declare: since not all red-heads have the habit, though all must have instinct. it would seem as if memory and reason had devised this plan for outwitting winter, the bird's old enemy.
-the red-head is not a grub-eating woodpecker. though beetles make up a third of his food, their larvæ do not form any part of it. half his food for the entire year is vegetable, and the animal portion is composed principally of beetles, ants, caterpillars, and grasshoppers, which in winter time are hidden in snug places, or are dead under the snow. there are few berries in winter. the few seedy, weedy plants that stick up above the snow give to the birds the little they have; but the red-head's vegetable fare is limited at that season and his animal food almost lacking. winter in the north is all very well for the hairy and downy cousins that like to hammer frozen tree-trunks for frozen grubs; but our red-headed friend does not eat grubs by preference. rather than change his habits he will change his boarding-place. so he is a migratory woodpecker, though the woodpeckers are naturally home-loving birds, and do not migrate from preference. if, however, he can lay up a store of vegetable or animal food, he can winter in any climate. hoarding is thus an invention as important to the woodpecker world as electric cars and telephones are to men. the probabilities are that this is a recent improvement in the red-head's ways of living.
-another set of facts increases the probabilities of our supposition. it is a very delicate subject to handle because it affects the reputation of a family in good standing; but there is positive proof that sometimes the red-head has been guilty of crimes which would give a man a full column in the newspapers with staring headlines. if such deeds were not a thousand times less common among woodpeckers than they are among men the red-head would be declared an outlaw. he has been proved to be a hen-roost robber, a murderer, and a cannibal. in florida he has sucked hen's eggs. in iowa he has been seen to kill a duckling. there is a record in ohio that he pecked holes in the walls of the eaves swallow's nest and stole all the eggs, and that he was finally killed in the act of robbing a setting hen's nest. within the space of fifteen years, from montana, georgia, colorado, new york, and ontario, in addition to the records mentioned already from florida, ohio, and iowa, come accounts of his stealing birds' eggs and murdering and eating other birds. the evidence is indisputable.
-it is charity to suppose that this is the work of natural criminals, or of degenerate, under-witted, or demented woodpeckers. why should there not be such individuals among birds? one point is certain: so notable a habit could not long escape detection, since it is a barnyard crime. he who robs hen's nests gets caught--if he is a bird. either these occurrences are very rare, not seen because of their extreme rarity, or they indicate a new custom just coming in. and the same is true of the habit of hoarding food; it is rare, or it is new.
-the frequency of such occurrences can be determined only by observation; but the time of their origin might be approximated in another way. if we could fix the date when the bird could not have done what he is now doing for simple lack of opportunity, we might say that the habit has been acquired since a certain date--as we have said of the english sparrow eating maize, of the chimney swift nesting in chimneys, and the cliff swallow building under the eaves. but we have no such help on the case of the red-head, which never has been without opportunities to get birds' eggs and to kill other birds.
-but there is a parallel case in another species where the date of an acquired habit can be proved. in florida the red-bellied woodpecker has earned the names orange borer and orange sapsucker because he eats oranges. it is true that he is not charged with doing damage, because he attacks only the over-ripe and unmarketable fruit; it is known that the habit is not general yet, for even where the birds are abundant only a single bird or a pair will be found eating oranges, and always the same pair, proving that it is a habit not yet learned by all of the species; close observers declare, too, that it is but a few years since the bird took up the habit; and, finally, we know that this must be the case, for, though the wild orange was introduced by the spaniards, the sweet fruit was not extensively cultivated until recently. here is a habit which undoubtedly has been acquired within twenty years or so, which will in all probability increase until instead of being the exception it is the rule.
-why may not the red-head's occasional cannibalism, unless this is mere individual degeneracy, and his more common custom of hoarding be habits that he is acquiring? why, indeed, may not the californian woodpecker's distinguishing trait be a habit which began like these among a few birds here and there, wiser or more progressive than the rest, and which in time became general and established? why may not the two observed instances of the lewis's woodpecker be examples of a similar habit just beginning? the very differences in their methods point to that explanation. the lewis's woodpecker that had seen the carpenter's work tried to imitate him; the one that lived outside his range adopted a way of his own, unnoticed before among woodpeckers, and shelled and quartered his nuts before he stored them.
-it is remarkable that these four woodpeckers are cousins; they belong to the same genus, and they have essentially the same structure, tastes, and habits. why should it be strange if their minds were alike too? if they had a natural bent toward accumulativeness, and a natural desire to try new wrinkles? we are sure that one of them has acquired a new habit within a few years. why may we not suppose as a basis and a spur to further investigation that the others also are acquiring ways new and strange?
-the woodpecker's tools: his bill
-there is an old saying, "you may know a carpenter by his chips;" but, though chips are seldom long absent when a woodpecker is about, can we call the woodpecker a carpenter? is he not both in his works and ways of working--with the one exception of the californian woodpecker--more of a miner?
-for the carpenter takes pieces of wood, bit by bit, and joins them together till at last he has built a lofty skeleton or framework for his dwelling, which last of all he covers over and closes in; and the tools he uses are saw and hammer. with these alone he could build his house, though it might be neither very large nor very good. when a carpenter's house is finished, it is neither a cave nor a hole, but a pavilion built in the open air after the model of a spreading tree,--which frames a roof with its branches and shingles it with overlapping leaves. there is nothing in the woodpecker's way of building which corresponds to that.
-quite different are the miner's methods. in the west, where the barren mountain sides stretch up into snowclad summits, on the face of slopes as seamed and gray and verdureless as the wrinkled trunk of an aged oak, i have seen holes where human woodpeckers burrow. the entrance to a mine half-way up a hillside looks strikingly like a woodpecker's hole and scarcely larger. nor does the likeness vanish as we think how in their long tunnels inside their mountains of gold and iron and silver the delving miners are picking and prying and picking to lengthen their burrows just as the woodpeckers peck and pry and peck inside their wooden mountain, the tree-trunk. which shall we call the woodpecker--a carpenter or a miner?
-any one who has lived in a granite country knows the deep round holes that stone masons make when they split rock. did you ever wonder why they are as large at the bottom as at the top? if you remember the shape of a mason's drill, you will recollect that it looks a little like a stick of home-made molasses candy bitten off when it was just soft enough to stretch a little. the mason's drill is a round iron rod with a thin, flat end, sharpened on the edge and a little pointed in the centre. in the flattening of the sides and the width across the tip its end resembles that of a typical woodpecker's bill. the woodpeckers that drill for grubs, especially the largest, the logcock and the ivory-billed woodpecker, have the tip remarkably flattened. the likeness to the drill does not go farther because the woodpecker's bill is a combination tool; but it is drill-pointed rather than pick-pointed.
-what is the advantage of this compressed tip? can the bird pick as well as he could with a sharp point? the bird and the mason reap the same benefit from this form of tool. a sharp-pointed drill would bind in the hole and could neither be driven ahead nor removed without difficulty, but the sharp-edged tool cuts a hole as wide as the instrument. there is, of course, some difference between working in stone and in wood, but the principle is the same. the mason strikes his drill with his hammer and cuts a crease in the stone; then lifts and turns the drill, cutting a crease in another direction; and so by continually changing the direction of the cuts until they radiate from a centre like the spokes of a wheel, he finally reduces a little circle of stone to a powder fine enough to be blown out of the hole. in drilling for a grub the woodpecker must do much the same thing. he wishes to keep his hole small at the top so as to save work, yet it must be large enough at the bottom to admit the borer when nipped between his mandibles; therefore he needs an instrument that, like a drill or a chisel, will cut a straight-sided hole. indeed, we might call it a chisel just as well if it were not a double-wedge instead of a single wedge and if it did not move when it is struck instead of being held stationary beneath the blows.
-when he is digging his house the woodpecker uses his bill as a pick-axe. when he is digging for grubs he uses it as a drill. now some species drill very little and some a great deal, according to the number of grubs they feed on; but all dig holes to nest in,--that is, all use their bills as picks but only a few employ them as drills. the flickers, for example, seldom drill for grubs, their food being picked up on the surface or dug from the earth; yet they excavate the deepest, roomiest holes made by any woodpeckers of their size; they use their bills effectively as pick-axes, but seldom, very seldom, as drills. and what do we find? no drill-point--not a truncate, compressed bill fit for drilling, but a sharper, pointed, rounded, curving bill. notice the ordinary pick-axe and see how much nearer the flicker's bill than the logcock's or the ivory-billed woodpecker's it is. why is a flicker's bill better for being curved also? why do the drilling woodpeckers have a perfectly straight bill? we should find by studying the birds and their food that there is a direct relation between the shape of the bill and the amount of drilling a woodpecker does; that the grub-eating or drilling woodpeckers have a straight bill, for working in small deep holes, while the flickers have a curved bill for prying out chips. and we should note that the flicker's bill is most like the ordinary bill of perching birds, while the drilling bill, as typified by the logcock's and the hairy woodpecker's bills, is a more specialized tool, limited to fewer uses, but more effective within its limits.
-there is another detail of the woodpecker's bills which casts light upon their habits. the species that drill most have their nostrils closely covered by little tufts of stiff feathers, scarcely more than bristles, which turn forward over the nostril. the density and the length of these tufts agree very well with the kind of work the woodpecker does; for in the hairy and the downy, which are continually drilling and raising a dust in rotten wood, they are very thick and noticeable, while in the red-head and the sapsucker they show as scarcely more than a few loose bristles, and in the flicker they barely cover the nostril. this seems a plain provision to keep the dust out of the bird's lungs; and we might cite as additional evidence the fact that the only other birds of similar tree-pecking habits, the nuthatches and the chickadees, have their nostrils protected in the same way. but we must always be cautious before drawing inferences of this sort to see what may be said on the other side. when we recollect that the crows and ravens and many kinds of finches, among other birds, none of which dig in the bark of trees or raise a dust, have their nostrils as completely covered, we see that we have perhaps discovered a use for these nasal tufts but not the cause of their being there. we must be careful not to mistake cause and accompaniment in our endeavor to explain differences in structure.
-let us see what we have learned and how to interpret it:--
-that the woodpecker's bill is a combination of drill and pick-axe.
-that the shape varies with the use to which it is most commonly put.
-that the use varies with the food principally eaten; or, what is a step farther back, that the different kinds of food must be sought in different places and by different methods, and therefore require different tools.
-therefore the shape of the woodpecker's bill has a direct relation to the kind of food he eats. please notice that we do not assert that it causes him to eat a certain kind of food nor that a certain diet may not have affected the shape of the bill, causing it to be what we now see. both may be at least partially true, but to prove either or both would need profound study, and all that we have observed is that the shape of the woodpecker's bill is adapted to his food and that it varies with the kind of food he eats, or, to be more exact, with his ways of procuring it.
-the woodpecker's tools: his foot
-we have studied the woodpecker's bill and have found that it is a very serviceable tool. we shall find that his feet are equally well adapted to their work.
-here is the foot of a woodpecker. observe how it differs from a chicken's foot, or a sparrow's foot. what is it that especially fits it for climbing? perhaps you will notice that the tarsus is short, and you may be able to explain why it would be a disadvantage for a climbing bird to have long legs, as well as why it is a help for him to have long toes. toes long and legs short is the rule with the woodpeckers.
-i never see a woodpecker's foot without thinking of an iceman's nippers with their short handles and long, sharp-toothed jaws. they are designed for similar uses,--to lift heavy weights by laying hold of smooth, flat surfaces. the iceman sets his nippers into the ice and lifts the block; but the bird sets his claws into the tree and lifts his own body.
-suppose the nippers had one short jaw and one long one, would they then take as firm hold as they do with jaws of equal length? in perching birds the hind toe is much the shortest, but they sit balanced upon a limb and have merely to hold themselves in position. the woodpecker climbing a tree-trunk is out of balance; he would fall off unless he had a firm grip; and he could not get this firm hold if his hind toes were not long enough to give his foot a nearly equal spread back and forward. other birds grasp a limb with the whole under surface of their toes, but the woodpecker when on a smooth, upright tree-trunk nips it only with his toenails. try with your own hand to hold a stick as large and heavy as you can grasp, and you will see that when you clasp your hand around it as a perching bird takes hold of a perch, it makes little difference that the thumb is shorter than the fingers, but when you try to nip it with your finger tips alone, you must bend your fingers until they are not much longer than your thumb,--that is, a pair of nippers must be equal jawed.
-this simple illustration shows why the woodpecker's foot reaches as far backward as forward. but a sensible objection may be raised, namely, that as there are two hind toes of unequal length, it is by no means certain which is the more necessary.
-scientists tell us that a woodpecker's foot, though it looks so unlike a chicken's, is really very much the same. when we ask how one of the front toes disappeared and how the extra hind toe came to be where it is, they tell us that there has been no addition and no loss, but the extra hind toe is only a front toe turned backward. they call it a reversed fourth toe. a bird's toes are numbered in order starting with the hind toe and going around the inside of the foot to the outer or fourth toe. the hind toe is the thumb, and the others are numbered in the same order as the fingers of our hands. so we see that the woodpecker's real hind toe is rather small, like that of most birds. it looks very much as if it had been found too small and as if another had turned back to help it do its work. do you say that a bird cannot turn his toes about in this way? most cannot, to be sure, but all of the owls can do it. an owl will sit either with two toes forward and two backward, or with three forward and one the other way. the owls have a reversible outer toe, and perhaps the woodpeckers did also before it became permanently reversed.
-that this is exactly what had happened is curiously confirmed. there are a few woodpeckers in this country which have but three toes. they are the only north american land birds with less than four toes (though many sea and shore birds have but three). compare this picture with a four-toed woodpecker's foot. one toe is gone completely, when or how no one can tell. but in some way the first toe, the thumb, the one we always begin to count from, has disappeared. the one left is the reversed fourth toe, as we know by the number of joints in it. undoubtedly this woodpecker needed a hind toe, but he must have needed a longer, stronger one than his natural first toe. a toe of the right length was supplied by turning one of the front toes back, and the short hind toe in some way disappeared.
-this may seem a roundabout way to show that a woodpecker's foot is a pair of nippers. first we studied nippers till we found out that they were not good nippers unless they were nearly equal-limbed. next we studied the woodpecker's foot to learn about that extra hind toe. then it occurred to us that four toes were not necessary, since some of our best climbers have but three. what was the essential point? might it not be a foot equally divided without reference to the number of toes? but that is the principle of a pair of nippers. then came the question, is there any similarity in their use? yes, the nippers are used to lift heavy weights, and the woodpecker's foot is used to lift his heavy body in just the same way, by taking hold of a flat, smooth surface. we conclude that a wide-spread, equally divided, nipping foot would be the best device possible for the woodpecker's way of living, and we find by examination that every woodpecker shows this type of foot.
-there is additional evidence that this is the right explanation. our only other north american birds that climb on the bark of trees professionally, as we may say, are the brown creepers and the nuthatches. in both these the tarsus is short, as we found it in the woodpeckers, and the hind toe and its claw are fully equal to the middle toe and claw, making an equally divided foot. on the other hand, the foot with two toes forward and two toes backward is confined neither to woodpeckers nor to climbing birds. the parrots, which climb after a fashion, have it; but so do the cuckoos, which do not climb, some of which, like our road-runner, or ground cuckoo of the west, are strictly terrestrial. the "yoking" of the toes may occur by the reversion of the fourth toe, as ordinarily, or of the second toe, as in the trogons; the arrangement appears to be definitely related to the distribution of the tendons that control the toes. but though accounting for the structure may give a clue to its descent, it does not justify its efficiency. the yoke-toed foot is not exclusively a climbing foot. all our families of climbers have at least one representative with but one toe behind, and this clearly proves that the yoke-toed structure is by no means necessary even though it may be an honorable inheritance among climbers. the natural conclusion is that the important point in climbing is not the number nor the arrangement of the toes, but the length of at least one hind toe so as to give an equally divided foot.
-there is an interesting point to notice about the woodpeckers. this reversed fourth toe is curiously variable in length. in the flickers, with its claw, it is a little shorter than the middle (third) toe with its claw; in the red-heads and their friends it a little exceeds the middle toe and claw; in the downy and the hairy it is much the longest toe, and in the ivory-billed woodpecker it is abnormally developed. we at once judge that it is some indication of the bird's manner of life, and we look for it to be largest in the species that live continually upon the trunks of trees, obtaining most of their food by drilling. we expect to see the finest development of drilling bill accompany this enormously developed toe, and we find them both in the ivory-billed woodpecker. in imagination we clearly see the use of it. the great bird, keen in his quest of grubs, sidling hastily round the tree, in an unsteady balance and unsupported by his tail, throws one long hind toe downward to steady himself, hooks the other into the bark above him, and hangs between the two as firmly supported as in his ordinary position. no doubt he does do this, but does it prove the supposition that the heaviest and most arboreal woodpeckers have the greatest development of the fourth toe? not at all. there is our rare acquaintance the logcock, or pileated woodpecker, a bird nearly as large as the ivory-billed, one of the most persistent of our tree-climbers and more than any other woodpecker i ever observed given to scratching rapidly round and round a tree-trunk, clinging at ease in almost any position except head-downward, and drilling incessantly and at all seasons for grubs; he is a typical woodpecker of the largest size, but his hind toe and claw are, if anything, a trifle shorter than his middle toe with its claw. he throws it out and uses it as we have described, but it has not that disproportion to the other toes which we expected to find as the result of a strictly arboreal life.
-what have we proved? we have not shown that the long toe is not more useful than the shorter one,--that is a matter of observation; but we have failed entirely to show that it is so, and this can be done only in one of two ways: either by proving that the logcock's habits are not what all previous observers have believed them to be,--which would be assuming a great burden of proof; or by demonstrating that his ancestry explains why his feet do not illustrate our theory,--and this, though it is undoubtedly the true solution, could be settled only by a very learned man.
-but we have encountered one truth which must always be held in mind in science--that a theory is not proved while a single fact remains rebellious and unsubdued. we might have examined every other woodpecker in the continent but just one; we might have seen that every other one agreed with our theory, as it does; we might have supposed that the explanation was good past doubting; but that one exception--if it was a logcock--would still over-turn the whole theory; and the very facts that we relied upon to strengthen us--its resemblance in size, habits, shape, and color to the ivory-billed woodpecker--have been the strongest possible means of totally demolishing our fine theory. we have learned, if nothing more, that all the facts must be examined and accounted for before an explanation is accepted as indisputable.
-the woodpecker's tools: his tail
-our first impression is that the woodpecker's tail might be improved. why are not the tips of the feathers stiffer? why is it so rounded? most of the work seems to fall on the middle feathers, and in some species, as the downy and the hairy woodpeckers, these end in decurved tips so soft and unresisting that they seem quite unfit to give any support. would it not be better if the woodpecker's tail had been cut square across and made of feathers equally rigid and ending in short stiff spines? for we see that the woodpecker's tail is not only weak in its inner feathers, but weaker still in its outer ones, and it is stiff, in most species, only in the upper three fourths of its length.
-when we propose a change in nature it is wise to inquire whether our improvement has not been tried before and to learn how it worked. how many kinds of birds have we that use their tails for a support? what are their habits and what sort of tails have they?
-besides the woodpeckers we have but two kinds of land birds that prop themselves with their tails,--the swifts and the creepers. the creeper has a tail very much like the woodpecker's as it is; while the chimney swift's is precisely like the woodpecker's as we thought it ought to be. but we observe that while the creeper's habits are almost precisely like the woodpecker's,--so much so that when we first make his acquaintance, some of us will be sure we have discovered a new kind of woodpecker,--the chimney swift has but one habit in common with the woodpecker, that of clinging to an upright surface and propping himself by his tail. if the bird with the tail most like the woodpecker's has the woodpecker's habits, is it not a fair inference that this form of tail is better fitted to this way of living than the other would be?
-next, what variations in shapes do we observe among the woodpeckers themselves? the logcock and the ivory-billed woodpecker have the longest tails--because they are the largest birds. when we compare the length of the tails with the length of the birds we are surprised at the results. on measuring sixteen species, representing seven genera, i find that the tail is from three tenths to thirty-five hundredths of the entire length; that it is, in proportion, as long in the flicker as in the ivory-bill, as long in the downy as in the logcock, and longer (in the specimens measured) in the almost wholly terrestrial flicker than in the wholly arboreal logcock. without much more study all that we can safely infer is that the woodpecker's tail is not far from one third the length of his whole body measured from the tip of the bill to the tip of the tail. probably this is the proportion most convenient for his work.
-all woodpeckers' tails agree in one particular: they are rounded at the end. at first sight we would say that some are but slightly rounded and others very deeply graduated; but as nearly as i can determine this is at least partly an optical illusion, explained by the great difference in the shape of the feathers making up the tail, which in some, as the flicker, are very broad and abruptly pointed, and in others taper gradually to the end and are very narrow for their length. the larger birds naturally appear to have longer tails, and the effect of narrow feathers is to make the tails appear longer and more sharply graduated than they really are. this diagram shows the shape of the curve in six species, and indicates that, while the curvature is less than we might expect, it bears some relation to the bird's way of living; for we see that the strictly arboreal woodpeckers have more pointed tails than the terrestrial species, and that the amount of gradation bears a direct relation to the amount of time spent upon the tree-trunks.
-there is a third difference, the shape of the individual feather, to which we shall refer again; but now we wish to examine the uses and meaning of the curved end.
-diagram of curvature of tails of woodpeckers. drawn to scale.
-a, b, outer tail feather.
-a, c, middle tail feather.
-if the outer tail feather were of the same length in all cases, the curve at the end of the tail would be represented by the dotted lines.
-2. red-headed woodpecker.
-3. downy woodpecker.
-5. central american ivory-billed woodpecker.
-6. north american ivory-billed woodpecker.
-i will show you how to prove this point so that you may be satisfied about it even if you should never see a woodpecker. we will make a little experiment, so simple that even a child can understand it.
-first, how many shapes can any bird's tail have? it may be one of three general patterns, and it can be nothing else unless we combine those patterns. it may be square across the end, it may have the middle feathers longest, or it may have the outer feathers longest. to one of these patterns every form of birds' tails may be referred; you can invent no other shape.
-let us assume that you know nothing whatever of a woodpecker's tail except that it has ten feathers, is used as a prop, and is held at an angle of thirty or forty degrees with the tree-trunk. now, take three strips of paper of the same width and length, and of any size not inconveniently small. fold them all down the centre. cut one square across; cut one with a rounded end and the third with a forked end, making them of any shape you please so long as the three papers are of the same length. to give our models a fair test they must be of the same width and length. next, pin a sheet of paper of any size you please into the form of a cylinder and stand it on end to represent a tree-trunk. then fit the patterns to the tree-trunk and see which is the form that would give the most support.
-but first, in how many ways is it possible for a bird to use his tail as a prop? he may of course hold it open or closed; and the open tail may be held in a single plane, "spread flat," as we say; or curved up at the edges, like a crow blackbird's; or curved down at the edges. and the closed tail may be held in a single plane; or, by dropping each pair of feathers a little, in several planes. thus we see there are five positions in which each shape may be held against the cylinder of paper. try each one against it, holding it first in the open positions and then after folding the paper like a bird's tail with the outer feathers underneath, in the closed positions. the size of the model tree-trunk and the shape you cut your curves will make the results vary a little, but you will be surprised to observe, if your models are not too small, how many times you will get the same answers. note the number and position of the pairs that touch:
-which shape brings the most feathers into use in all positions? which positions bring most feathers into use? we see at once that the rounded end has a decided advantage, that the middle pair of feathers is used in all possible positions, that the pair next outside is the next important, and that the spread tail curving downward at the edges and the closed tail in different planes are the two shapes which give the best support. there is therefore a reason for the rounded end which we said was the rule among the woodpeckers.
-our little experiment is what we call a deduction. it shows us what we ought to expect under certain imaginary conditions. but it does not show us what actually exists, so there often comes a time when our deductions are faulty because nature has done some unexpected thing, as when we found the single exception of the logcock's foot upsetting a fine theory of ours. a deduction must always be compared with facts, and is worth little or nothing if a single fact of the series we are studying is not explained by it. this time all the facts do agree; for i had, before we made our experiment, examined the tails of every species of woodpecker ever found in north america, and there was no exception to the rounded end. i had already drawn my conclusion that this form was better adapted to life on a tree-trunk than the square or the forked tail would be, reasoning by a different process called induction. an induction examines many, and, if possible, all the facts before drawing any conclusion; a deduction examines the facts after the conclusion is reached. there is no hard-and-fast line between the two kinds of reasoning, but we may say that a deduction is reasoning out a guess and an induction is guessing out a reason. deductions are easier and quicker; inductions are surer, and in preparing them we often make other discoveries.
-the rounded tail is no doubt the best; but we have yet to decide whether the sharper curve is more advantageous than the lesser curve, as we thought probable from our observations. and there is still another deduction from our experiment which we did not make. if in the rounded tail the middle pairs of feathers do most of the work, and if use increases the size and efficiency of a part, which is almost an axiom in science, we should expect to find the middle tail feathers not only strongest in all woodpeckers but also strongest in increasing ratio in the species that use them most. to determine this we must study the use of the tail and the structure and shape of the individual tail feathers.
-we should remark, perhaps, that the woodpecker's tail is always composed of twelve feathers--ten pointed rectrices and two tiny abortive feathers so short and so hidden that no attention is paid to them. the ten principal feathers are arranged in corresponding pairs numbered from the outside to the centre as first, second, third, fourth, and fifth pairs.
-one point we have left unexplained: what is the advantage, if there is any, in the sharper curve to the tails of the arboreal woodpeckers? it is a simple question. the curve is caused by the unequal length of the tail feathers; each tail feather is a prop, and by their inequality they become props of different lengths. now ask any carpenter which will best support a tottering wall--props all of the same length set at the same angle, or props of different lengths set at different angles? his answer will help you to solve the problem. but if a little is good, why are not all the pairs used as props? partly, perhaps, because the woodpecker is always crowded for houseroom, and while he must have tail enough, he cannot afford to have any which he does not use. did you ever think what an inconvenience any tail at all must be in a woodpecker's hole?
-the woodpecker's tools: his tongue
-we have seen how the woodpecker spears his grubs: now we will study his spear.
-there are many interesting points about a woodpecker's tongue, and they are not hard to understand. if a woodpecker would kindly let us take hold of his tongue and pull it out to its full extent we should be afraid we were "spoiling his machinery," for the tongue can be drawn out almost incredibly--between two and three inches in a hairy woodpecker and more in a flicker. a strange-looking object it is, much resembling an angle-worm in form, color, and feeling; for it is round, soft, and sticky, except at the flat, horny, bayonet-pointed tip, and as it lies in the mouth it is wrinkled like the wrist of a loose glove; but it grows smaller and smoother the more we pull it out. evidently we are only drawing it into its skin. but where does so much tongue come from? does it stretch like a piece of elastic cord? or is a part hidden somewhere? and if so, where is it kept?
-a. cerato-hyals, fused and short. b. basi-hyal, long, slender. c. cerato-branchials. d. epibranchials. basi-branchial is wanting.
-these questions are answered by studying the bones of the tongue, for without bones it could not be guided as swiftly and surely as it is. indeed, all tongues have bones in them, as you will discover by cutting carefully the slices near the root of an ox-tongue; but no other creature has such long and elaborate tongue-bones as some of the woodpeckers. they are the slenderest and most delicate little bony rods, joined end to end, but not really hinged nor needing to be, because they are so elastic. here are the bones of a flicker's tongue. the little knob at the end, marked a, bore the horny point of the tongue and directed it; the straight shaft marked b was inside the round part of the tongue as it lay within the bird's mouth; but what was done with these two long branches, fully three quarters of the entire length of the bones? they are too sharply curved to pass down the bird's throat, and, not being jointed, they cannot be doubled back in his mouth. they were tucked away very neatly and curiously. as the hyoid or tongue-bone lies in the mouth its branches diverge just in front of the gullet, and, traveling along the inner sides of the fork of the lower jaw, pass up over the top of the skull, looking in their sheath of muscles like two tiny whipcords. but still the bones are too long by perhaps half an inch for the place they occupy, and the ends must be neatly disposed of. usually both pass to the right nasal opening and along the hollow of the upper mandible. very rarely they may curl down around the eyeball in a spiral spring. so when the flicker thrusts out his tongue he feels the pull in the end of his nose, for the tip of the tongue being run out, the long slender bones are drawn out of their hiding-places, down over the skull until they lie flat along the roof of his mouth. as soon as he wishes to shut his bill, back fly the little bones guided by their hollow sheaths of elastic muscle into their hiding-place in the top of the bill. the muscular covering is a part of the same soft envelope that we saw lying in wrinkles at the root of the tongue. it covers the whole length of the little bones just as the woven outside covers an elastic cord.
-not all woodpeckers have tongues precisely like this. the sapsucker's is the shortest of any, and reaches barely beyond the hinge of the jaws. in the lewis's woodpecker and others of his genus the branches of the hyoid extend part-way up the back of the skull but in the kinds that live principally upon borers they are very long and resemble the flicker's in arrangement. the only other north american birds that have a tongue built upon this plan are the hummingbirds, in which also it is extensile. the flicker, in proportion to his size, has the longest tongue of any bird known.
-how each woodpecker is fitted for his own kind of life
-we have studied the woodpeckers at some length: first, what all of them do; next, what some that are peculiar in their ways do; lastly, how each is fitted for a particular kind of life. at first we were inclined to think they were all alike; but now we begin to see that there are very real differences between them,--in tails, feet, bills, and tongues, and at the same time in their food and habits.
-the flicker's tail is less sharply curved than that of any other woodpecker,--a sign that he is probably not exclusively a tree-dweller; his bill is curved and rounded, a pick-axe rather than a drill,--an indication that he does not dig for grubs; his feet do not tell us much; but his long extensile tongue shows that, whatever he feeds upon, he seeks it in holes. we find a tongue like this in no other bird, but among mammals the aard-vark, the ant-bear, and the pangolins are all similarly equipped, and all live on ants which they extract from their mounds and burrows in hundreds by means of these round, sticky, and extensile tongues. this is precisely the way the flicker gets his living. he lives principally upon the ground or near it, pecks very little except when digging his nest, and feeds largely upon ants, thrusting his head into the ant-hills and drawing out the ants glued to his tongue rather than speared by it. as he has been known to eat three thousand ants for a meal, we see how much easier this is than spearing them one by one.
-the red-head is another type. the bill is still nearly of the pick-axe model, the feet not especially different from the flicker's, the tail rather better adapted to life on a tree-trunk, and the tongue entirely unlike the flicker's,--not very extensile and heavily clothed near the tip with long, thick, recurved bristles. we infer that though he may climb well, he is not a drilling woodpecker to any great extent, and that his tongue is adapted neither to extracting borers nor to eating ants from their burrows. his habits bear out the inference. he is arboreal, but his food is either vegetable or picked up from the surface, rasped up rather than speared.
-the sapsucker presents still another variation. the points to the tail feathers are more acuminate and the tail itself more resembles that of the tree-dwelling woodpeckers in shape; the feet are fitted for clinging to the trunk; the bill, now perfectly straight and no longer smoothly rounded but buttressed by strong angles that spring from the base and run down toward the tip, is the bill of a woodpecker that lives by drilling; but the tongue is wholly unadapted to catching grubs. what kind of food can an arboreal woodpecker with a drilling bill find upon a tree-trunk when his tongue can be extended only a fifth of an inch, and is furnished with a brush of bristles at the end? we have answered that question before: he eats the inner bark of trees and laps up the sap, for which this brushy tip is excellently fitted. it has been observed that the tongue much resembles the tongues of insect-eating birds, which cannot be extended beyond the end of the bill. it is true that the sapsucker catches great numbers of insects, taking them on the wing like a flycatcher. but he also eats nearly as many ants as the flicker, though their tongues are totally unlike. we have made the mistake perhaps of thinking that ants live only underground and can be obtained only by tongues like those of the flicker and the ant-bear, which hunt them there. but ants are abundant on the surface of the ground, and they excavate long tunnels in rotten wood. the black bear is a famous ant-hunter, yet his tongue is like a dog's and he gets his ants by lapping them up after he has torn open the rotten logs in which they live. this is the way that the sapsucker obtains his ants, and the brush of stiff hairs is a help to him in such work. we see, then, that it is not so much the food as the manner of feeding that explains the form of the tongue.
-the downy and the hairy are a step farther along in their development. the fourth toe is longer than the others, a condition that we do not find in any of the woodpeckers not strictly arboreal; the tail is of the improved pattern, holding by a brush of bristles rather than by one stiff point at the end of each feather; the bill is heavier, broader at the base, more heavily ridged, and in every way a stronger tool; and the tongue is highly extensible and of the spear pattern, sharp-pointed and barbed with recurved hooks. everything about these birds indicates that they are fitted to live on tree-trunks and to dig for borers. this, indeed, is what they do.
-but the great logcock and the ivory-billed woodpecker, though of the same type as the other larvæ-eating woodpeckers, are more highly developed along the same line. we notice the great strength of the feet; the claws, as large and as sharp as a cat's; the enormous weight and strength of the bill, compared with that of the other woodpeckers, which enables them to cut into the hardest wood and even into frozen green timber; and the great development of the tail, which now becomes a strong spring to support and aid the bird in his work.
-as we try to group these particulars under general heads, we see that we have observed three things:--
-that the structure of a bird is adapted to its kind of life.
-that the structure varies by small degrees with the kind of life.
-that the kind of life is conditioned largely upon the kind of food and upon the method of procuring it, more particularly the latter.
-these are not so much different truths as three aspects of one truth. when we study the first we see why birds are grouped together into orders and families: we study their resemblances. when we observe the second we see why they are divided into species, for we note their differences. but when we consider the third and reflect that birds have the power to choose new kinds of food or new places and means of getting it, we see how it is that there can come to be new kinds of birds, new subspecies and species, springing up from time to time. wonderful and improbable as it seems, there is more reason to believe than there is to doubt that new kinds of animals and plants are constantly in process of making; that the laws of change are constantly at work, adapting creatures to their surroundings or crushing them out of existence because they will not learn new ways. and it is probable that these differences which we mark in the woodpeckers have been the result of efforts to adapt themselves to a peculiar kind of life where food was abundant; and also that by acquired habits and by acquired tastes for different kinds of foods they will be subject to still further variations in the future.
-the argument from design
-but if the birds are making themselves into new species, where is the place for god in the universe? did not god make all kinds of creatures in the beginning? how can they go on being made without god?
-these are questions every one ought to ask, but--did god leave his world after he had made it and go a long way off? did he wind it up like a watch to go till it should run down? is the world a machine, or is it alive?
-long ago the wise and good man socrates argued that if you did not know there was a god at all, you could at least infer it because everything was so wonderfully made. "there is our body," said he: "every part of it so perfect and so reasonable. consider how the eyes not only please us with agreeable sensations but are protected in every way. the eyebrows stand like a thicket to keep the perspiration from them, the lids are a curtain to shut out too great light, the lashes screen them from dust,--everything is planned for some wise and reasonable end. and where the evidence of design is so convincing must we not believe that there was a designer?" words like these he spoke, and we know because everything is so perfectly contrived that there must have been a contriver, who knew all from the beginning. we are compelled to believe that there is a god.
-shall we believe it less because we find in the creatures about us intelligence and the power to care for their own lives? has god gone on a visit because these living creatures are looking out for themselves? were they made less perfectly in the beginning because when new conditions surround them they are able to change to meet the strange requirements? this is not less evidence of a designer, but more. it was long said that the existence of a watch was proof of a watchmaker who had planned and put together all the parts so that they worked harmoniously. but if the watch had the power to grow small to fit a small pocket, or large to fit a large one, to become luminous by night, and to correct its own time by the sun instead of being regulated by outside interference, what should we have said--that it was proof there was no watchmaker? or that it showed a far more skillful one, since he could make a living, self-regulating, adaptive watch?
-and so of the world and the creatures in it. every evidence we get that they can care for themselves, that they can adapt themselves to new conditions, that they are intelligent and reasonable, capable of improvement in habits or in structure, is so much surer proof that a wise god made them what they are. evolution--for that is the name by which we call these changes--does not take god out of the universe but makes the need of him stronger. the argument from design is immensely strengthened when we consider that we have not only an obedient machine acting according to a few fundamental rules, but one that is intelligent also and capable of self-modification.
-explanation of terms.
-a. forehead; b. crown; c. occiput; d. nape; e. chin; f. throat; g. jaw-patch, or mustache.
-occipital means "on the occiput."
-nuchal means "on the nape."
-primaries are the nine or ten wing-quills borne upon the last joint of the wing.
-secondaries are the wing-quills attached to the fore-arm bones.
-tertiaries are the wing-quills springing from the upper arm bones.
-wing coverts are the shorter lines of feathers overlapping these long quills.
-tail coverts are the lengthened feathers that overlap the root of the tail both above and below, called respectively upper and under tail coverts.
-ear coverts are the feathers that over-lie the ear, often specially modified or colored.
-rump, the space between the middle of the back and the root of the tail.
-a subspecies is a geographical race, modified in size, color, or proportions chiefly by the influence of climate. these variations are especially marked in non-migratory birds of wide distribution, subject, therefore, to climatic extremes. the downy and the hairy woodpeckers, for example, are split up into numerous races. it should be remembered that when a species has been separated into races, or subspecies, all the subspecies are of equal rank, even though they are differently designated. the one originally discovered and first described bears the old latin name which consisted of two words, while the new ones are designated by triple latin names--the old binomial and a new name in addition. the binomial indicates the form first described. the forms designated by trinomials may be equally well known, abundant, and widely distributed. for example, among the woodpeckers, the northern form of the hairy woodpecker was first discovered and bears the name dryobates villosus; but the first downy woodpecker described was a southern bird, and the northern form was not separated until a few years ago, so that the southern bird is the type, and the northern one bears the trinomial, dryobates pubescens medianus.
-north america, by the decision of the american ornithologists' union, is held to include the continent north of the present boundary between mexico and the united states, with greenland, the peninsula of lower california, and the islands adjacent naturally belonging to the same.
-the following key and descriptions will enable the student to identify any woodpecker known to occur within these limits:
-a. key to the woodpeckers of north america.
-family characteristics: color always striking, usually in spots, bars, or patches of contrasting colors, especially black and white. sexes usually unlike; male always with some portion of red or yellow about head, throat, or neck. tails stiff, rounded, composed of ten fully developed pointed feathers (and two undeveloped feathers). wings large, rounded, with long, conspicuous secondaries, and short coverts. bill straight, stout, of medium length. toes four, arranged in pairs, except in the three-toed genus. iris brown, except when noted. marked by a habit of clinging to upright surfaces and digging a deep hole in a tree-trunk for nesting. eggs always pearly white.
-i. very large--18 inches or more; conspicuously crested. a. ii. medium or small--14 inches or less; never crested. b.
-a. a^1 bill gleaming ivory white; fourth toe decidedly longest. ivory-billed woodpecker. 1.
-a^2 bill blackish; fourth toe not decidedly longest. pileated woodpecker or logcock. 14.
-a^2 toes four; crown never yellow (b).
-b^1 not spotted nor streaked either above or below (c).
-c^1 body clear black; head white. white-headed woodpecker. 8.
-c^2 blue-black above; rump white; head and neck red. red-headed woodpecker. 15.
-c^3 greenish black above, with pinkish red belly. lewis's woodpecker. 17.
-c^4 greenish black with sulphur yellow forehead and throat. californian woodpecker. 16.
-c^5 glossy blue-black with scarlet throat and yellow belly. male of williamson's sapsucker. 13.
-b^2 spotted with black or brown on breast and sides, but not streaked nor barred with white (d).
-d^1 brown spots on breast and sides; upper parts plain brown. arizona woodpecker. 7.
-d^2 black spots on breast and sides; wings and tail brilliantly colored beneath (e).
-e^1 wings and tail golden beneath; mustaches black in male, wanting in female. flicker. 21.
-e^2 wings and tail golden beneath; mustaches red in both sexes. gilded flicker. 23.
-e^3 wings and tail golden red beneath; mustaches red. red-shafted flicker. 22.
-e^4 wings and tail golden red beneath; mustaches red; crown brown. guadalupe flicker. 24.
-b^3 streaked, spotted, or barred with white on back and wings (f).
-f^1 back streaked, plain, or varied, never barred with white; wings spotted with white (g).
-g^1 clear white and black; white streak down the back (h).
-h^1 medium size, 9-11 inches. hairy woodpecker. 2.
-h^2 small size, 6-7 inches. downy woodpecker. 3.
-g^2 grayish white and black; sides closely barred (i).
-i^1 back plain black, white stripe down side of throat. female of arctic three-toed woodpecker. 9.
-i^2 back with interrupted white stripe, white line down side of throat. female of american three-toed woodpecker. 10. (note.--the males are similar with the addition of the yellow crown. the three toes cannot ordinarily be seen in life.)
-g^3 yellowish (often dingy or smutty), white and black; under parts yellowish; back varied with white, no line nor streak; rump white; white wing-bars (j).
-j^1 breast with black patch; head of adult with red patches. yellow-bellied sapsucker. 11.
-j^2 breast and head red. red-breasted sapsucker. 12.
-f^2 back barred with white; wings spotted or barred with white (k).
-k^1 belly white; ear coverts white. red-cockaded woodpecker. 4.
-k^2 belly white; forehead black. nuttall's woodpecker. 6.
-k^3 belly smoky brown; forehead and breast same. texan woodpecker. 5.
-k^4 belly sulphur or lemon yellow. female of williamson's woodpecker. 13.
-k^5 belly pinkish red. red-bellied woodpecker. 18.
-k^6 belly yellow, hind neck and forehead orange. golden-fronted woodpecker. 19.
-k^7 belly yellow, hind neck brown. gila woodpecker. 20.
-b. descriptions of the woodpeckers of north america.
-the following are descriptions of all the species of woodpeckers found in north america, arranged in their proper genera and in the order given in the check list of the american ornithologists' union, 1895; with the range of species and subspecies as defined by the same authority or by bendire's "life histories of north american birds."
-a. d. s. lucasanus, st. lucas woodpecker. larger. lower california, north to 34° in colorado desert. these are both subspecies of a mexican species not occurring within our limits.
-colors vary much with age, sex, and season; the wing bar and yellowish tinge are good marks for all plumages; the rump and breast patch for adult birds. eastern north america, breeding from massachusetts northward, migrating in winter to the southern states.
-12. sphyrapicus ruber, red-breasted sapsucker. body and under parts similar to s. varius, but back much less variegated with white. no black on breast, no white stripe through eyes. nasal tufts brownish instead of white. head, neck, and breast uniform crimson. sexes alike. young with crimson replaced by gray or "claret brown" (bendire). 8.5-9 inches. pacific coast, sierra nevada, and on both sides of cascade mountains; a summer resident only north of northern california. at first sight the red-breasted sapsucker might be mistaken for the red-headed woodpecker, but the two birds do not inhabit the same country.
-13. sphyrapicus thyroideus, williamson's sapsucker.
-rocky mountain region, west to sierra nevada, cascades and northern coast ranges, breeding at from 5000 to 9000 feet elevation. the handsomest of our woodpeckers.
-14. ceophloeus pileatus, pileated woodpecker, logcock. body blackish slate; wings with a large white patch conspicuous only when flying; throat white; a white stripe across cheek and down neck; jaw-stripe scarlet in male, blackish in female; both sexes with scarlet crest, but in the male the whole top of head (which is slaty black in female) equally brilliant. this red cap gives the bird the name of pileated. iris yellow. 17 inches. wooded regions of southern states, florida to north carolina, very rarely near settlements, but far more common than the following subspecies of the north and west.
-15. melanerpes erythrocephalus, red-headed woodpecker. wings, tail, and upper parts glossy blue-black; rump, exposed secondaries, and under parts from breast downward pure white; head, neck, and breast crimson. sexes alike. young with red and black wholly or partly replaced by grayish brown; can be recognized by white markings. 9.5 inches. united states, west to rocky mountains; rare east of hudson river, but ordinarily breeding wherever found; in winter usually migratory from its northern limits, the migration depending principally upon the food supply and depth of snow.
-a. m. f. angustifrons, narrow-fronted woodpecker. similar, but with a narrow band of white across the forehead; breast and sides not so thickly streaked. lower california, never occurring within the borders of the united states.
-b. m. f. bairdi, californian woodpecker, el carpintero. similar to m. formicivorus, but the breast black, little streaked with white except along the sides; yellow of throat paler, or replaced by white. iris white. larger, 7.5-9.5 inches. pacific coast, north into oregon to 44°, east to southern new mexico and texas in the south and to the eastern slopes of the sierra nevada and cascade mountains in the north, but more abundant, on the western than on the eastern slopes of these mountains.
-17. melanerpes torquatus, lewis's woodpecker. upper parts, wings, and tail glossy greenish black; under parts pinkish red; chest and collar round hind neck hoary gray; crown and sides of head black; forehead, cheeks, and chin crimson. sexes alike. young with pink replaced by grayish. 10.5-11.5 inches. pacific coast, east to black hills and rocky mountains between arizona and 49th parallel; casual still farther east; migratory in its northern ranges; a silent, heavy flying bird, different in habits and appearance from the other woodpeckers; often seen flycatching.
-a. c. a. luteus, northern flicker. larger; paler; black bars above narrower; less black and white below. north from north carolina and west to the rocky mountains; casual farther west; migratory from its northern ranges.
-a. c. c. saturatior, northwestern flicker. darker; smaller; narrower breast crescent. northwest coast, replacing the above, from which it cannot be separated in life.
-a. c. c. brunescens, brown flicker. a curious subspecies of the last, smaller, with larger, more numerous spots and a smoky brown cast of plumage; black tail band very wide; jaw patches red; wings and tail yellow beneath. lower (not southern) california; casual only in southern california; in arizona to 35°.
-24. colaptes rufipileus, guadalupe island flicker. coloration like c. cafer, crown decidedly brown; crescent on nape wanting; jaw patches red; wings and tail red beneath. guadalupe island off the coast of lower california.
-acorns, eaten by woodpeckers, 46, 51, 57, 58, 59.
-acquired habits, 61-66.
-adaptations of woodpeckers to environment,104-109.
-ant-bear, 104, 106.
-ants, as food for woodpeckers, 3, 30, 63, 105, 106.
-argument from design, 110.
-bear, black, 107.
-beechnuts, as food for woodpeckers, 57, 58, 59.
-beetles, as food for woodpeckers, 3, 11, 63.
-bill of woodpeckers as a tool, 68-76.
-borers, 3, 10, 11, 29, 30, 36.
-burroughs, john, quoted, 17.
-cacti, woodpeckers nesting in, 20.
-cannibalism among woodpeckers, 64.
-carpenter, the. see california woodpecker.
-carpintero, el. see california woodpecker.
-caterpillars, as food for woodpeckers, 10, 11, 29, 63.
-cecropia chrysalids, eaten by woodpeckers, 9.
-chestnuts, eaten by woodpeckers, 59.
-chickadee, 16, 21, 25, 30, 32, 74.
-chipmunks, hoarding food, 60.
-clape. see flicker.
-creeper, brown, 5, 81, 87, 88.
-crossbills, eating salted food, 31.
-crow, hoarding habit, 60; 74.
-cuckoo, ground, 82.
-cuckoos, yoke-toed, 5, 82.
-drumming of yellow-bellied sapsucker, 16, 17.
-evolution, 109, 112.
-feeding young, how the flicker does it, 24, 25.
-fence-posts used by woodpeckers, 48, 56, 58.
-finch, purple, 39.
-fish-spears, 12, 13.
-flicker, 6, 7, 15, 18, 20, 23-26, 73, 74, 82, 88, 89, 95, 97-99, 101, 103, 106, 125. brown, 126. cactus, 126. gilded, 126. guadalupe island, 127. northern, 126. northwestern, 126. red-shafted, 126.
-flycatching habits of woodpeckers, 7, 56, 106, 124.
-foot, of a four-toed woodpecker figured, 77. of a three-toed woodpecker figured, 80. discussed as a tool, 77-85.
-grasshoppers, as food for woodpeckers, 3, 56, 63.
-grosbeaks, pine, 39.
-grouse, ruffed, 14, 15.
-grouse, sharp-tailed, 15.
-hawk, sparrow, 21.
-high-hole. see flicker.
-hoarding habits, 62, 63.
-hummingbird, anna's, 27.
-hummingbirds, 25, 103.
-hyoid bones, 100-103.
-jay, blue, hoarding habit, 53, 60.
-lightning rods attracting woodpeckers, 18.
-logcock. see woodpecker, pileated.
-maple, rock and red, sugar made from, 36.
-maize, eaten by english sparrows, 62, 65.
-mandibles of woodpeckers, 13, 101.
-martin, sand, 20.
-mice, hoarding habit, 60.
-migration, dependent upon food supply, 63.
-mountain-ash trees, sought by woodpeckers, 38.
-nesting of woodpeckers, 20-23.
-nests, in unusual places, 20.
-north america, ornithologically defined, 114.
-nuthatches, 5, 21, 30, 81.
-oaks, used by californian woodpecker for storing nuts, 48, 49.
-oranges, eaten by woodpeckers, 65, 66.
-owls, 15, 21, 80.
-pangolin, as an ant-eater, 104.
-parrot, 13, 82.
-parroquet, carolina, 5.
-pigeon, domestic, 27.
-pines, acorns stored in, 49.
-"ploughshare," anchylosed vertebræ of tail, 86.
-reason in woodpeckers' hoarding, 62.
-red-head. see woodpecker, red-headed.
-sap, not used as an insect-lure, 41. how its loss harms the tree, 44, 45.
-sapsucker, orange, 65. see, also, woodpecker, red-bellied. red-breasted, 122. red-naped, 121. williamson's, 122. yellow-bellied, 7, 15-17, 33-45, 59, 102, 103, 105, 106.
-skull of woodpecker figured, 101.
-sparrow, english or house, 21, 62, 65.
-spears, 12, 13.
-spruce, acorns stored in, 47, 49, 53.
-squirrels, thievishness of, 23, 53.
-subspecies defined, 114.
-swallow, eaves or cliff, 61, 64, 65.
-swallow, tree, 21.
-swift, chimney, 5, 20, 61, 87, 88.
-tail, shape, 89. number of rectrices, 95. experimental demonstration of shape a priori, 91. reason for shape, 98.
-tail-feathers studied, 94-97.
-taste in the woodpeckers, 38, 39.
-telegraph poles resorted to by woodpeckers, 7, 18, 48.
-thumb, of birds, 80.
-tin roofs resorted to by woodpeckers, 17, 55.
-titmouse, crested, 21.
-toes, numbering of, 79, 80.
-tongue, appearance of, 99. figured, 99. bones of, 13, 100-103.
-trogons, yoke-toed, 82.
-vanessa butterfly, 16.
-vegetable food of woodpeckers, 3, 31.
-weevils, not the object in storing nuts, 52.
-woodpecker, alaskan three-toed, 121. alpine three-toed, 121. american three-toed, 121. ant-eating, 123. arctic three-toed, 120. arizona, 120. batchelder's, 118. black-breasted, 6. see, also, williamson's sapsucker. cabanis's, 118. californian, 46-54, 56, 66. downy, 6, 17, 21, 28-33, 59, 63, 70, 74, 83, 86, 88, 95, 107, 114, 118. gairdner's, 118. gila, 55, 125. golden-fronted, 55, 102, 125. hairy, 6, 9, 28, 32, 59, 63, 74, 83, 86, 88, 89, 95, 97-99, 107, 114, 117. harris's, 118. ivory-billed, 70, 71, 73, 83, 88, 89, 93, 97, 98, 107, 117. ladder-backed, 119. lewis's, 6, 13, 55, 59, 66, 103, 124. narrow-fronted, 124. nelson's downy, 119. northern hairy, 118. northern pileated, 123. nuttall's, 119. pileated, 6, 71, 73, 83, 88, 93, 95, 98, 99, 107, 123. red-bellied, 6, 55, 65, 124. red-cockaded, 119. red-headed, 6, 7, 11, 55-58, 60-64, 105, 123. rocky mountain, 118. st. lucas, 119. southern downy, 118. southern hairy, 118. texan, 119. three-toed, foot figured, 80. white-headed, 120.
-woodpeckers, advantages of, as subject for study, 2. bill as a tool, 69-73. carpenters or miners, 68. character of, 7, 8. coloration of, 5. coloration of sexes, 6. covered nostrils, 74, 75. favorite haunts, 3, 7. foot, structure and uses, 77. habit of drumming, 17. how to recognize the woodpeckers, 4. inferences from study of bills, 75. hunting borers, 10, 11. nesting, 21, 22. preferred foods, 3, 7. tail, study of, 86-99. winter quarters, 22. wooing, 15.
-yoke-toed feet, 82.
-zebra bird. see woodpecker, red-bellied.
-the riverside press
-electrotyped and printed by h. o. houghton & co. cambridge, mass, u. s. a.
-the negro in literature and art
-the negro in literature and art in the united states
-by benjamin brawley
-author of "a short history of the american negro"
-copyright, 1918, 1921, by duffield & company
-to my father edward macknight brawley
-with thanks for severe teaching and stimulating criticism
-the present volume undertakes to treat somewhat more thoroughly than has ever before been attempted the achievement of the negro in the united states along literary and artistic lines, judging this by absolute rather than by partial or limited standards. the work is the result of studies in which i first became interested nearly ten years ago. in 1910 a booklet, "the negro in literature and art," appeared in atlanta, privately printed. the little work contained only sixty pages. the reception accorded it, however, was even more cordial than i had hoped it might be, and the limited edition was soon exhausted. its substance, in condensed form, was used in 1913 as the last chapter of "a short history of the american negro," brought out by the macmillan co. in the mean time, however, new books and magazine articles were constantly appearing, and my own judgment on more than one point had changed; so that the time has seemed ripe for a more intensive review of the whole field. to teachers who may be using the history as a text i hardly need to say that i should be pleased to have the present work supersede anything said in the last chapter of that volume.
-the first chapter, and those on mr. braithwaite and mrs. fuller, originally appeared in the southern workman. that on the stage was a contribution to the springfield republican; and the supplementary chapter is from the dial. all are here reprinted with the kind consent of the owners of those periodicals. much of the quoted matter is covered by copyright. thanks are especially due to mr. braithwaite and mr. j. w. johnson for permission to use some of their poems, and to dodd, mead & co., the publishers of the works of dunbar. the bibliography is quite new. it is hoped that it may prove of service.
-north cambridge, august, 1917.
-the negro in literature and art
-the negro in literature and art
-the negro genius
-in his lecture on "the poetic principle," in leading down to his definition of poetry, edgar allan poe has called attention to the three faculties, intellect, feeling, and will, and shown that poetry, that the whole realm of aesthetics in fact, is concerned primarily and solely with the second of these. does it satisfy a sense of beauty? this is his sole test of a poem or of any work of art, the aim being neither to appeal to the intellect by satisfying the reason or inculcating truth, nor to appeal to the will by satisfying the moral sense or inculcating duty.
-the standard has often been criticised as narrow; yet it embodies a large and fundamental element of truth. if in connection with it we study the negro we shall find that two things are observable. one is that any distinction so far won by a member of the race in america has been almost always in some one of the arts; and the other is that any influence so far exerted by the negro on american civilization has been primarily in the field of aesthetics. to prove the point we may refer to a long line of beautiful singers, to the fervid oratory of douglass, to the sensuous poetry of dunbar, to the picturesque style of dubois, to the mysticism of the paintings of tanner, and to the elemental sculpture of meta warrick fuller. even booker washington, most practical of americans, proves the point, the distinguishing qualities of his speeches being anecdote and brilliant concrete illustration.
-everyone must have observed a striking characteristic of the homes of negroes of the peasant class in the south. the instinct for beauty insists upon an outlet, and if one can find no better picture he will paste a circus poster or a flaring advertisement on the walls. very few homes have not at least a geranium on the windowsill or a rosebush in the garden. if also we look at the matter conversely we shall find that those things which are most picturesque make to the negro the readiest appeal. red is his favorite color simply because it is the most pronounced of all colors. goethe's "faust" can hardly be said to be a play primarily designed for the galleries. one never sees it fail, however, that in any southern city this play will fill the gallery with the so-called lower class of negro people, who would never think of going to another play of its class, but different; and the applause never leaves one in doubt as to the reasons for goethe's popularity. it is the suggestiveness of the love scenes, the red costume of mephistopheles, the electrical effects, and the rain of fire that give the thrill desired--all pure melodrama of course. "faust" is a good show as well as a good play.
-in some of our communities negroes are frequently known to "get happy" in church. now a sermon on the rule of faith or the plan of salvation is never known to awaken such ecstasy. this rather accompanies a vivid portrayal of the beauties of heaven, with the walls of jasper, the angels with palms in their hands, and (summum bonum!) the feast of milk and honey. and just here is the dilemma so often faced by the occupants of pulpits in negro churches. do the people want scholarly training? very often the cultured preacher will be inclined to answer in the negative. do they want rant and shouting? such a standard fails at once to satisfy the ever-increasing intelligence of the audience itself. the trouble is that the educated minister too often leaves out of account the basic psychology of his audience. that preacher who will ultimately be the most successful with a negro congregation will be the one who to scholarship and culture can best join brilliant imagination and fervid rhetorical expression. when all of these qualities are brought together in their finest proportion the effect is irresistible.
-gathering up the threads of our discussion so far, we find that there is constant striving on the part of the negro for beautiful or striking effect, that those things which are most picturesque make the readiest appeal to his nature, and that in the sphere of religion he receives with most appreciation those discourses which are most imaginative in quality. in short, so far as the last point is concerned, it is not too much to assert that the negro is thrilled not so much by the moral as by the artistic and pictorial elements in religion.
-but there is something deeper than the sensuousness of beauty that makes for the possibilities of the negro in the realm of the arts, and that is the soul of the race. the wail of the old melodies and the plaintive quality that is ever present in the negro voice are but the reflection of a background of tragedy. no race can rise to the greatest heights of art until it has yearned and suffered. the russians are a case in point. such has been their background in oppression and striving that their literature and art are to-day marked by an unmistakable note of power. the same future beckons to the american negro. there is something very elemental about the heart of the race, something that finds its origin in the african forest, in the sighing of the night-wind, and in the falling of the stars. there is something grim and stern about it all, too, something that speaks of the lash, of the child torn from its mother's bosom, of the dead body riddled with bullets and swinging all night from a limb by the roadside.
-so far we have elaborated a theory. let us not be misunderstood. we do not mean to say that the negro can not rise to great distinction in any sphere other than the arts. he has already made a noteworthy beginning in pure scholarship and invention; especially have some of the younger men done brilliant work in science. we do mean to say, however, that every race has its peculiar genius, and that, so far as we can at present judge, the negro, with all his manual labor, is destined to reach his greatest heights in the field of the artistic. but the impulse needs to be watched. romanticism very soon becomes unhealthy. the negro has great gifts of voice and ear and soul; but so far much of his talent has not soared above the stage of vaudeville. this is due most largely of course to economic instability. it is the call of patriotism, however, that america should realize that the negro has peculiar gifts which need all possible cultivation and which will some day add to the glory of the country. already his music is recognized as the most distinctive that the united states has yet produced. the possibilities of the race in literature and oratory, in sculpture and painting, are illimitable.
-along some such lines as those just indicated it will be the aim of the following pages to study the achievement of the negro in the united states of america. first we shall consider in order five representative writers who have been most constantly guided by standards of literary excellence. we shall then pass on to others whose literary work has been noteworthy, and to those who have risen above the crowd in oratory, painting, sculpture, or music. we shall constantly have to remember that those here remarked are only a few of the many who have longed and striven for artistic excellence. some have pressed on to the goal of their ambition; but no one can give the number of those who, under hard conditions, have yearned and died in silence.
-on one of the slave ships that came to the harbor of boston in the year 1761 was a little negro girl of very delicate figure. the vessel on which she arrived came from senegal. with her dirty face and unkempt hair she must indeed have been a pitiable object in the eyes of would-be purchasers. the hardships of the voyage, however, had given an unusual brightness to the eye of the child, and at least one woman had discernment enough to appreciate her real worth. mrs. susannah wheatley, wife of john wheatley, a tailor, desired to possess a girl whom she might train to be a special servant for her declining years, as the slaves already in her home were advanced in age and growing feeble. attracted by the gentle demeanor of the child in question, she bought her, took her home, and gave her the name of phillis. when the young slave became known to the world it was customary for her to use also the name of the family to which she belonged. she always spelled her christian name p-h-i-l-l-i-s.
-mrs. wheatley was a woman of unusual refinement. her home was well known to the people of fashion and culture in boston, and king street in which she lived was then as noted for its residences as it is now, under the name of state street, famous for its commercial and banking houses. when phillis entered the wheatley home the family consisted of four persons, mr. and mrs. wheatley, their son nathaniel, and their daughter mary. nathaniel and mary were twins, born may 4, 1743. mrs. wheatley was also the mother of three other children, sarah, john, and susannah; but all of these died in early youth. mary wheatley, accordingly, was the only daughter of the family that phillis knew to any extent, and she was eighteen years old when her mother brought the child to the house, that is, just a little more than ten years older than phillis.
-in her new home the girl showed signs of remarkable talent. her childish desire for expression found an outlet in the figures which she drew with charcoal or chalk on the walls of the house. mrs. wheatley and her daughter became so interested in the ease with which she assimilated knowledge that they began to teach her. within sixteen months from the time of her arrival in boston phillis was able to read fluently the most difficult parts of the bible. from the first her mistress strove to cultivate in every possible way her naturally pious disposition, and diligently gave her instruction in the scriptures and in morals. in course of time, thanks especially to the teaching of mary wheatley, the learning of the young student came to consist of a little astronomy, some ancient and modern geography, a little ancient history, a fair knowledge of the bible, and a thoroughly appreciative acquaintance with the most important latin classics, especially the works of virgil and ovid. she was proud of the fact that terence was at least of african birth. she became proficient in grammar, developing a conception of style from practice rather than from theory. pope's translation of homer was her favorite english classic. if in the light of twentieth century opportunity and methods these attainments seem in no wise remarkable, one must remember the disadvantages under which not only phillis wheatley, but all the women of her time, labored; and recall that in any case her attainments would have marked her as one of the most highly educated young women in boston.
-while phillis was trying to make the most of her time with her studies, she was also seeking to develop herself in other ways. she had not been studying long before she began to feel that she too would like to make verses. alexander pope was still an important force in english literature, and the young student became his ready pupil. she was about fourteen years old when she seriously began to cultivate her poetic talent; and one of the very earliest, and from every standpoint one of the most interesting of her efforts is the pathetic little juvenile poem, "on being brought from africa to america:"
-'twas mercy brought me from my pagan land, taught my benighted soul to understand that there's a god--that there's a saviour too: once i redemption neither sought nor knew. some view our sable race with scornful eye-- "their colour is a diabolic dye." remember, christians, negroes black as cain may be refined, and join th' angelic train.
-meanwhile, the life of phillis was altogether different from that of the other slaves of the household. no hard labor was required of her, though she did the lighter work, such as dusting a room or polishing a table. gradually she came to be regarded as a daughter and companion rather than as a slave. as she wrote poetry, more and more she proved to have a talent for writing occasional verse. whenever any unusual event, such as a death, occurred in any family of the circle of mrs. wheatley's acquaintance, she would write lines on the same. she thus came to be regarded as "a kind of poet-laureate in the domestic circles of boston." she was frequently invited to the homes of people to whom mrs. wheatley had introduced her, and was regarded with peculiar interest and esteem, on account both of her singular position and her lovable nature. in her own room at home phillis was specially permitted to have heat and a light, because her constitution was delicate, and in order that she might write down her thoughts as they came to her, rather than trust them to her fickle memory.
-such for some years was the course of the life of phillis wheatley. the year 1770 saw the earliest publication of one of her poems. on the first printed page of this edition one might read the following announcement: "a poem, by phillis, a negro girl, in boston, on the death of the reverend george whitefield." in the middle of the page is a quaint representation of the dead man in his coffin, on the top of which one might with difficulty decipher, "g. w. ob. 30 sept. 1770, aet. 56." the poem is addressed to the countess of huntingdon, whom whitefield had served as chaplain, and to the orphan children of georgia whom he had befriended. it takes up in the original less than four pages of large print. it was revised for the 1773 edition of the poems.
-this was a troublous time in the history of boston. already the storm of the revolution was gathering. the period was one of vexation on the part of the slaves and their masters as well as on that of the colonies and england. the argument on the side of the slaves was that, as the colonies were still english territory, they were technically free, lord mansfield having handed down the decision in 1772 that as soon as a slave touched the soil of england he became free. certainly phillis must have been a girl of unusual tact to be able under such conditions to hold so securely the esteem and affection of her many friends.
-about this time, as we learn from her correspondence, her health began to fail. almost all of her letters that are preserved were written to obour tanner, a friend living in newport, r. i. just when the two young women became acquainted is not known. obour tanner survived until the fourth decade of the next century. it was to her, then, still a young woman, that on july 19, 1772, phillis wrote from boston as follows:
-my dear friend,--i received your kind epistle a few days ago; much disappointed to hear that you had not received my answer to your first letter. i have been in a very poor state of health all the past winter and spring, and now reside in the country for the benefit of its more wholesome air. i came to town this morning to spend the sabbath with my master and mistress. let me be interested in your prayers that god will bless to me the means used for my recovery, if agreeable to his holy will.
-by the spring of 1773 the condition of the health of phillis was such as to give her friends much concern. the family physician advised that she try the air of the sea. as nathaniel wheatley was just then going to england, it was decided that she should accompany him. the two sailed in may. the poem, "a farewell to america," is dated may 7, 1773. it was addressed to "s. w.," that is, mrs. wheatley. before she left america, phillis was formally manumitted.
-the poem on whitefield served well as an introduction to the countess of huntingdon. through the influence of this noblewoman phillis met other ladies, and for the summer the child of the wilderness was the pet of the society people of england. now it was that a peculiar gift of phillis wheatley shone to advantage. to the recommendations of a strange history, ability to write verses, and the influence of kind friends, she added the accomplishment of brilliant conversation. presents were showered upon her. one that has been preserved is a copy of the magnificent 1770 glasgow folio edition of "paradise lost," given to her by brook watson, lord mayor of london. this book is now in the library of harvard university. at the top of one of the first pages, in the handwriting of phillis wheatley, are these words: "mr. brook watson to phillis wheatley, london, july, 1773." at the bottom of the same page, in the handwriting of another, are these words: "this book was given by brook watson formerly lord mayor of london to phillis wheatley & after her death was sold in payment of her husband's debts. it is now presented to the library of harvard university at cambridge, by dudley l. pickman of salem. march, 1824."
-phillis had not arrived in england at the most fashionable season, however. the ladies of the circle of the countess of huntingdon desired that she remain long enough to be presented at the court of george iii. an accident--the illness of mrs. wheatley--prevented the introduction. this lady longed for the presence of her old companion, and phillis could not be persuaded to delay her return. before she went back to boston, however, arrangements were made for the publication of her volume, "poems on various subjects, religious and moral," of which more must be said. while the book does not of course contain the later scattered poems, it is the only collection ever brought together by phillis wheatley, and the book by which she is known.
-the visit to england marked the highest point in the career of the young author. her piety and faith were now to be put to their severest test, and her noble bearing under hardship and disaster must forever speak to her credit. in much of the sorrow that came to her she was not alone, for the period of the revolution was one of general distress.
-phillis remained in england barely four months. in october she was back in boston. that she was little improved may be seen from the letter to obour tanner, bearing date the 30th of this month:
-i hear of your welfare with pleasure; but this acquaints you that i am at present indisposed by a cold, and since my arrival have been visited by the asthma.
-a postscript to this letter reads:
-the young man by whom this is handed to you seems to be a very clever man, knows you very well, and is very complaisant and agreeable.
-the "young man" was john peters, afterwards to be her husband.
-a great sorrow came to phillis in the death on march 3, 1774, of her best friend, mrs. wheatley, then in her sixty-fifth year. how she felt about this event is best set forth in her own words in a letter addressed to obour tanner at newport under date march 21, 1774:
-dear obour,--i received your obliging letter enclosed in your reverend pastor's and handed me by his son. i have lately met with a great trial in the death of my mistress; let us imagine the loss of a parent, sister or brother, the tenderness of all were united in her. i was a poor little outcast and a stranger when she took me in; not only into her house, but i presently became a sharer in her most tender affections. i was treated by her more like her child than her servant; no opportunity was left unimproved of giving me the best of advice; but in terms how tender! how engaging! this i hope ever to keep in remembrance. her exemplary life was a greater monitor than all her precepts and instructions; thus we may observe of how much greater force example is than instruction. to alleviate our sorrows we had the satisfaction to see her depart in inexpressible raptures, earnest longings, and impatient thirstings for the upper courts of the lord. do, my dear friend, remember me and this family in your closet, that this afflicting dispensation may be sanctified to us. i am very sorry to hear that you are indisposed, but hope this will find you in better health. i have been unwell the greater part of the winter, but am much better as the spring approaches. pray excuse my not writing you so long before, for i have been so busy lately that i could not find leisure. i shall send the 5 books you wrote for, the first convenient opportunity; if you want more they shall be ready for you. i am very affectionately your friend,
-after the death of mrs. wheatley phillis seems not to have lived regularly at the old home; at least one of her letters written in 1775 was sent from providence. for mr. wheatley the house must have been a sad one; his daughter was married and living in her own home, his son was living abroad, and his wife was dead. it was in this darkening period of her life, however, that a very pleasant experience came to phillis wheatley. this was her reception at the hands of george washington. in 1775, while the siege of boston was in progress, she wrote a letter to the distinguished soldier, enclosing a complimentary poem. washington later replied as follows:
-cambridge, feb. 2, 1776.
-miss phillis,--your favor of the 26th of october did not reach my hand till the middle of december. time enough, you say, to have given an answer ere this. granted. but a variety of important occurrences continually interposing to distract the mind and to withdraw the attention, i hope, will apologize for the delay and plead my excuse for the seeming, but not real neglect. i thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me, in the elegant lines you enclosed, and however undeserving i may be of such encomium and panegyric, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your poetical talents, in honor of which, and as a tribute justly due to you, i would have published the poem, had i not been apprehensive that while i only meant to give the world this new instance of your genius, i might have incurred the imputation of vanity. this and nothing else determined me not to give it place in the public prints. if you should ever come to cambridge or near headquarters, i shall be happy to see a person so favored by the muses, and to whom nature has been so liberal and beneficent in her dispensations.
-i am, with great respect, your obedient humble servant, george washington.
-not long afterwards phillis accepted the invitation of the general and was received in cambridge with marked courtesy by washington and his officers.
-the wheatley home was finally broken up by the death of mr. john wheatley, march 12, 1778, at the age of seventy-two. after this event phillis lived for a short time with a friend of mrs. wheatley, and then took an apartment and lived by herself. by april she had yielded to the blandishments of john peters sufficiently to be persuaded to become his wife. this man is variously reported to have been a baker, a barber, a grocer, a doctor, and a lawyer. with all of these professions and occupations, however, he seems not to have possessed the ability to make a living. he wore a wig, sported a cane, and generally felt himself superior to labor. bereft of old friends as she was, however, sick and lonely, it is not surprising that when love and care seemed thus to present themselves the heart of the woman yielded. it was not long before she realized that she was married to a ne'er-do-well at a time when even an industrious man found it hard to make a living. the course of the revolutionary war made it more and more difficult for people to secure the bare necessaries of life, and the horrors of valley forge were but an aggravation of the general distress. the year was further made memorable by the death of mary wheatley, mrs. lathrop, on the 24th of september.
-when boston fell into the hands of the british, the inhabitants fled in all directions. mrs. peters accompanied her husband to wilmington, mass., where she suffered much from poverty. after the evacuation of boston by the british troops, she returned thither. a niece of mrs. wheatley, whose son had been slain in battle, received her under her own roof. this woman was a widow, was not wealthy, and kept a little school in order to support herself. mrs. peters and the two children whose mother she had become remained with her for six weeks. then peters came for his wife, having provided an apartment for her. just before her departure for wilmington, mrs. peters entrusted her papers to a daughter of the lady who received her on her return from that place. after her death these were demanded by peters as the property of his wife. they were of course promptly given to him. some years afterwards he returned to the south, and nothing is known of what became of the manuscripts.
-the conduct of her husband estranged mrs. peters from her old acquaintances, and her pride kept her from informing them of her distress. after the war, however, one of mrs. wheatley's relatives hunted her out and found that her two children were dead, and that a third that had been born was sick. this seems to have been in the winter of 1783-84. nathaniel wheatley, who had been living in london, died in the summer of 1783. in 1784 john peters suffered imprisonment in jail. after his liberation he worked as a journeyman baker, later attempted to practice law, and finally pretended to be a physician. his wife, meanwhile, earned her board by drudgery in a cheap lodging-house on the west side of the town. her disease made rapid progress, and she died december 5, 1784. her last baby died and was buried with her. no one of her old acquaintances seems to have known of her death. on the thursday after this event, however, the following notice appeared in the independent chronicle:
-last lord's day, died mrs. phillis peters (formerly phillis wheatley), aged thirty-one, known to the world by her celebrated miscellaneous poems. her funeral is to be this afternoon, at four o'clock, from the house lately improved by mr. todd, nearly opposite dr. bulfinch's at west boston, where her friends and acquaintances are desired to attend.
-the house referred to was situated on or near the present site of the revere house in bowdoin square. the exact site of the grave of phillis wheatley is not known.
-at the time when she was most talked about, phillis wheatley was regarded as a prodigy, appearing as she did at a time when the achievement of the negro in literature and art was still negligible. her vogue, however, was more than temporary, and the 1793, 1802, and 1816 editions of her poems found ready sale. in the early years of the last century her verses were frequently to be found in school readers. from the first, however, there were those who discounted her poetry. thomas jefferson, for instance, said that it was beneath the dignity of criticism. if after 1816 interest in her work declined, it was greatly revived at the time of the anti-slavery agitation, when anything indicating unusual capacity on the part of the negro was received with eagerness. when margaretta matilda odell of jamaica plain, a descendant of the wheatley family, republished the poems with a memoir in 1834, there was such a demand for the book that two more editions were called for within the next three years. for a variety of reasons, especially an increasing race-consciousness on the part of the negro, interest in her work has greatly increased within the last decade, and as copies of early editions had within recent years become so rare as to be practically inaccessible, the reprint in 1909 of the volume of 1773 by the a. m. e. book concern in philadelphia was especially welcome.
-only two poems written by phillis wheatley after her marriage are in existence. these are "liberty and peace," and "an elegy sacred to the memory of dr. samuel cooper." both were published in 1784. of "poems on various subjects," the following advertisement appeared in the boston gazette for january 24, 1774:
-this day published adorn'd with an elegant engraving of the author, (price 3s. 4d. l. m. bound,)
-on various subjects,--religious and moral, by phillis wheatley, a negro girl. sold by mess's cox & berry, at their store, in king-street, boston.
-n. b.--the subscribers are requested to apply for their copies.
-attend me, virtue, thro' my youthful years! o leave me not to the false joys of time! but guide my steps to endless life and bliss.
-one would suppose that phillis wheatley would make of "an hymn to humanity" a fairly strong piece of work. it is typical of the restraint under which she labored that this is one of the most conventional things in the volume. all critics agree, however, that the strongest lines in the book are those entitled "on imagination." this effort is more sustained than the others, and it is the leading poem that edmund clarence stedman chose to represent phillis wheatley in his "library of american literature." the following lines are representative of its quality:
-imagination! who can sing thy force? or who describe the swiftness of thy course? soaring through air to find the bright abode, th' empyreal palace of the thundering god, we on thy pinions can surpass the wind, and leave the rolling universe behind: from star to star the mental optics rove, measure the skies, and range the realms above; there in one view we grasp the mighty whole, or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.
-hardly beyond this is "liberty and peace," the best example of the later verse. the poem is too long for inclusion here, but may be found in duyckinck's "cyclopedia of american literature," and heartman and schomburg's collected edition of the poems and letters.
-it is unfortunate that, imitating pope, phillis wheatley more than once fell into his pitfalls. her diction--"fleecy care," "vital breath," "feather'd race"--is distinctly pseudo-classic. the construction is not always clear; for instance, in the poem, "to mæcenas," there are three distinct references to virgil, when grammatically the poetess seems to be speaking of three different men. then, of course, any young writer working under the influence of pope and his school would feel a sense of repression. if phillis wheatley had come on the scene forty years later, when the romantic writers had given a new tone to english poetry, she would undoubtedly have been much greater. even as it was, however, she made her mark, and her place in the history of american literature, though not a large one, is secure.
-hers was a great soul. her ambition knew no bounds, her thirst for knowledge was insatiable, and she triumphed over the most adverse circumstances. a child of the wilderness and a slave, by her grace and culture she satisfied the conventionalities of boston and of england. her brilliant conversation was equaled only by her modest demeanor. everything about her was refined. more and more as one studies her life he becomes aware of her sterling christian character. in a dark day she caught a glimpse of the eternal light, and it was meet that the first negro woman in american literature should be one of unerring piety and the highest of literary ideals.
-paul laurence dunbar
-incomparably the foremost exponent in verse of the life and character of the negro people has been paul laurence dunbar. this gifted young poet represented perfectly the lyric and romantic quality of the race, with its moodiness, its abandon, its love of song, and its pathetic irony, and his career has been the inspiration of thousands of the young men and women whose problems he had to face, and whose aspirations he did so much to realize.
-dunbar was born in dayton, ohio, june 27, 1872. his parents were uneducated but earnest hard-working people, and throughout his life the love of the poet for his mother was ever a dominating factor. from very early years dunbar made little attempts at rhyming; but what he afterwards called his first poetical achievement was his recitation of some original verses at a sunday school easter celebration when he was thirteen years old. he attended the steele high school in dayton, where he was the only negro student in his class; and by reason of his modest and yet magnetic personality, he became very popular with his schoolmates. in his second year he became a member of the literary society of the school, afterwards became president of the same, as well as editor of the high school times, a monthly student publication, and on his completion of the course in 1891 he composed the song for his class. somewhat irregularly for the next two or three years dunbar continued his studies, but he never had the advantage of a regular college education. on leaving the high school, after vainly seeking for something better, he accepted a position as elevator boy, working for four dollars a week. in 1893, at the world's columbian exposition in chicago, he was given a position by frederick douglass, who was in charge of the exhibit from hayti. "oak and ivy" appeared in 1893, and "majors and minors" in 1895. these little books were privately printed; dunbar had to assume full responsibility for selling them, and not unnaturally he had many bitter hours of discouragement. asking people to buy his verses grated on his sensitive nature, and he once declared to a friend that he would never sell another book. sometimes, however, he succeeded beyond his highest hopes, and gradually, with the assistance of friends, chief among whom was dr. h. a. tobey, of toledo, the young poet came into notice as a reader of his verses. william dean howells wrote a full-page review of his poems in the issue of harper's weekly that contained an account of william mckinley's first nomination for the presidency. dunbar was now fairly launched upon his larger fame, and "lyrics of lowly life," published by dodd, mead & co. in 1896, introduced him to the wider reading public. this book is deservedly the poet's best known. it contained the richest work of his youth and was really never surpassed. in 1897 dunbar enhanced his reputation as a reader of his own poems by a visit to england. about this time he was very busy, writing numerous poems and magazine articles, and meeting with a success that was so much greater than that of most of the poets of the day that it became a vogue. in october, 1897, through the influence of robert g. ingersoll, he secured employment as an assistant in the reading room of the library of congress, washington; but he gave up this position after a year, for the confinement and his late work at night on his own account were making rapid inroads upon his health. on march 6, 1898, dunbar was married to alice ruth moore, of new orleans, who also had become prominent as a writer. early in 1899 he went south, visiting tuskegee and other schools, and giving many readings. later in the same year he went to colorado in a vain search for health. books were now appearing in rapid succession, short story collections and novels as well as poems. "the uncalled," written in london, reflected the poet's thought of entering the ministry. it was followed by "the love of landry," a colorado story; "the fanatics," and "the sport of the gods." collections of short stories were, "folks from dixie," "the strength of gideon," "in old plantation days," and "the heart of happy hollow." volumes of verse were "lyrics of the hearthside," "lyrics of love and laughter," "lyrics of sunshine and shadow," as well as several specially illustrated volumes. dunbar bought a home in dayton, where he lived with his mother. his last years were a record of sincere friendships and a losing fight against disease. he died february 9, 1906. he was only thirty-three, but he "had existed millions of years."
-ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes, how questioneth the soul that other soul-- the inner sense which neither cheats nor lies, but self exposes unto self, a scroll full writ with all life's acts unwise or wise, in characters indelible and known; so, trembling with the shock of sad surprise, the soul doth view its awful self alone, ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
-"the poet and his song" is also distinguished for its simplicity and its lyric quality:
-a song is but a little thing, and yet what joy it is to sing! in hours of toil it gives me zest, and when at eve i long for rest; when cows come home along the bars, and in the fold i hear the bell, as night, the shepherd, herds his stars, i sing my song, and all is well.
-sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, my garden makes a desert spot; sometimes a blight upon the tree takes all the fruit away from me; and then with throes of bitter pain rebellious passions rise and swell; but life is more than fruit or grain, and so i sing, and all is well.
-the two stanzas entitled "life" have probably been quoted more than any other lines written by the poet:
-a crust of bread and a corner to sleep in, a minute to smile and an hour to weep in, a pint of joy to a peck of trouble, and never a laugh but the moans come double; and that is life.
-a crust and a corner that love makes precious, with a smile to warm and the tears to refresh us; and joy seems sweeter when cares come after, and a moan is the finest of foils for laughter; and that is life.
-"promise and fulfillment" was especially admired by mrs. minnie maddern fiske, who frequently recited it with never-failing applause. of the poet's own reading of "ships that pass in the night" on one occasion, brand whitlock wrote: "that last evening he recited--oh! what a voice he had--his 'ships that pass in the night.' i can hear him now and see the expression on his fine face as he said, 'passing! passing!' it was prophetic."
-other pieces, no more distinguished in poetic quality, are of special biographical interest. "robert gould shaw" was the expression of pessimism as to the negro's future in america. "to louise" was addressed to the young daughter of dr. tobey, who, on one occasion, when the poet was greatly depressed, in the simple way of a child cheered him by her gift of a rose. "the monk's walk" reflects the poet's thought of being a preacher. finally, there is the swan song, "compensation," contributed to lippincott's, eight exquisite lines:
-because i had loved so deeply, because i had loved so long, god in his great compassion gave me the gift of song.
-because i have loved so vainly, and sung with such faltering breath, the master in infinite mercy offers the boon of death.
-the dialect poems suffer by quotation, being artistic primarily as wholes. of these, by common consent, the masterpiece is, "when malindy sings," a poem inspired by the singing of the poet's mother. other pieces in dialect that have proved unusually successful, especially as readings, are "the rivals," "a coquette conquered," "the ol' tunes," "a corn-song," "when de co'n pone's hot," "how lucy backslid," "the party," "at candle-lightin' time," "angelina," "whistling sam," "two little boots," and "the old front gate." almost all of these poems represent the true humorist's blending of humor and pathos, and all of them exemplify the delicate and sympathetic irony of which dunbar was such a master. as representative of the dialect verse at its best, attention might be called to a little poem that was included in the illustrated volume, "candle-lightin' time," but that, strangely enough, was omitted from both of the larger editions of the poems, very probably because the title, "lullaby," was used more than once by the poet:
-kiver up yo' haid, my little lady, hyeah de win' a-blowin' out o' do's, don' you kick, ner projick wid de comfo't, less'n fros'll bite yo' little toes. shut yo' eyes, an' snuggle up to mammy; gi' me bofe yo' han's, i hol' 'em tight; don' you be afeard, an' 'mence to trimble des ez soon ez i blows out de light.
-angels is a-mindin' you, my baby, keepin' off de bad man in de night. whut de use o' bein' skeered o' nuffin'? you don' fink de da'kness gwine to bite? whut de crackin' soun' you hyeah erroun' you?-- lawsy, chile, you tickles me to def!-- dat's de man what brings de fros', a-paintin' picters on de winder wid his bref.
-mammy ain' afeard, you hyeah huh laughin'? go 'way, mistah fros', you can't come in; baby ain' erceivin' folks dis evenin', reckon dat you'll have to call ag'in. curl yo' little toes up so, my 'possum-- umph, but you's a cunnin' one fu' true!-- go to sleep, de angels is a-watchin', an' yo' mammy's mindin' of you, too.
-the short stories of dunbar would have been sufficient to make his reputation, even if he had not written his poems. one of the best technically is "jimsella," from the "folks from dixie" volume. this story exhibits the pathos of the life of unskilled negroes in the north, and the leading of a little child. in the sureness with which it moves to its conclusion it is a beautiful work of art. "a family feud" shows the influence of an old servant in a wealthy kentucky family. in similar vein is "aunt tempe's triumph." "the walls of jericho" is an exposure of the methods of a sensational preacher. generally these stories attempt no keen satire, but only a faithful portrayal of conditions as they are, or, in most cases, as they were in ante-bellum days. dunbar's novels are generally weaker than his short stories, though "the sport of the gods," because of its study of a definite phase of life, rises above the others. nor are his occasional articles especially strong. he was eminently a lyric poet. by his graceful and beautiful verse it is that he has won a distinct place in the history of american literature.
-by his genius paul laurence dunbar attracted the attention of the great, the wise, and the good. his bookcase contained many autograph copies of the works of distinguished contemporaries. the similarity of his position in american literature to that of burns in english has frequently been pointed out. in our own time he most readily invites comparison with james whitcomb riley. the writings of both men are distinguished by infinite tenderness and pathos. but above all worldly fame, above even the expression of a struggling people's heart, was the poet's own striving for the unattainable. there was something heroic about him withal, something that links him with keats, or, in this latter day, with rupert brooke and alan seeger. he yearned for love, and the world rushed on; then he smiled at death and was universally loved.
-charles w. chesnutt
-charles waddell chesnutt, the best known novelist and short story writer of the race, was born in cleveland, ohio, june 20, 1858. at the age of sixteen he began to teach in the public schools of north carolina, from which state his parents had gone to cleveland; and at the age of twenty-three he became principal of the state normal school at fayetteville. in 1883 he left the south, engaging for a short while in newspaper work in new york city, but going soon to cleveland, where he worked as a stenographer. he was admitted to the bar in 1887.
-while in north carolina mr. chesnutt studied to good purpose the dialect, manners, and superstitions of the negro people of the state. in 1887 he began in the atlantic monthly the series of stories which was afterwards brought together in the volume entitled, "the conjure woman." this book was published by the houghton mifflin co., the firm which published also mr. chesnutt's other collection of stories and the first two of his three novels. "the wife of his youth, and other stories of the color-line" appeared in 1899. in the same year appeared a compact biography of frederick douglass, a contribution to the beacon biographies of eminent americans. three novels have since appeared, as follows: "the house behind the cedars" (1900); "the marrow of tradition" (1901); and "the colonel's dream" (1905).
-of the novels, "the house behind the cedars" is commonly given first place. in the story of the heroine, rena walden, are treated some of the most subtle and searching questions raised by the color-line. rena is sought in love by three men, george tryon, a white man, whose love fails when put to the test; jeff wain, a coarse and brutal mulatto, and frank fowler, a devoted young negro, who makes every sacrifice demanded by love. the novel, especially in its last pages, moves with an intensity that is an unmistakable sign of power. it is mr. chesnutt's most sustained treatment of the subject for which he has become best known, that is, the delicate and tragic situation of those who live on the border-line of the races; and it is the best work of fiction yet written by a member of the race in america. in "the marrow of tradition" the main theme is the relations of two women, one white and one colored, whose father, the same white man, had in time been married to the mother of each. the novel touches upon almost every phase of the negro problem. it is a powerful plea, but perhaps too much a novel of purpose to satisfy the highest standards of art. the wellington of the story is very evidently wilmington, n. c., and the book was written immediately after the race troubles in that city in 1898. "the colonel's dream" is a sad story of the failure of high ideals. colonel henry french is a man who, born in the south, achieves success in new york and returns to his old home for a little vacation, only to find himself face to face with all the problems that one meets in a backward southern town. "he dreamed of a regenerated south, filled with thriving industries, and thronged with a prosperous and happy people, where every man, having enough for his needs, was willing that every other man should have the same; where law and order should prevail unquestioned, and where every man could enter, through the golden door of hope, the field of opportunity, where lay the prizes of life, which all might have an equal chance to win or lose." becoming interested in the injustice visited upon the negroes in the courts, and in the employment of white children in the cotton-mills, colonel french encounters opposition to his benevolent plans, opposition which finally sends him back to new york defeated. mr. chesnutt writes in simple, clear english, and his methods might well be studied by younger writers who desire to treat, in the guise of fiction, the many searching questions that one meets to-day in the life of the south.
-w. e. burghardt dubois
-william edward burghardt dubois was born february 23, 1868, at great barrington, mass. he received the degree of bachelor of arts at fisk university in 1888, the same degree at harvard in 1890, that of master of arts at harvard in 1891, and, after a season of study at the university of berlin, received also the degree of doctor of philosophy at harvard in 1895, his thesis being his exhaustive study, "suppression of the slave-trade." dr. dubois taught for a brief period at wilberforce university, and was also for a time an assistant and fellow in sociology at the university of pennsylvania, producing in 1899 his study, "the philadelphia negro." in 1896 he accepted the professorship of history and economics at atlanta university, the position which he left in 1910 to become director of publicity and research for the national association for the advancement of colored people. in connection with this work he has edited the crisis since the beginning of that publication. he has made various investigations, frequently for the national government, and has contributed many sociological studies to leading magazines. he has been the moving spirit of the atlanta conference, and by the studies of negro problems, which he has edited at atlanta university, he has become recognized as one of the great sociologists of the day, and as the man who more than anyone else has given scientific accuracy to studies relating to the negro.
-aside from his more technical studies (these including the masterly little book, "the negro," in holt's home university library series), dr. dubois has written three books which call for consideration in a review of negro literature. of these one is a biography, one a novel, and the other a collection of essays. in 1909 was published "john brown," a contribution to the series of american crisis biographies. the subject was one well adapted to treatment at the hands of dr. dubois, and in the last chapter, "the legacy of john brown," he has shown that his hero has a message for twentieth century america, this: "the cost of liberty is less than the price of repression." "the quest of the silver fleece," the novel, appeared in 1911. this story has three main themes: the economic position of the negro agricultural laborer, the subsidizing of a certain kind of negro schools, and negro life and society in the city of washington. the book employs a big theme in its portrayal of the power of king cotton in both high and lowly life in the southland; but its tone is frequently one of satire, and on the whole the work will not add much to the already established reputation of the author. the third book really appeared before either of the two works just mentioned, and embodies the best work of the author in his most highly idealistic period. in 1903 fourteen essays, most of which had already appeared in such magazines as the atlantic and the world's work, were brought together in a volume entitled, "the souls of black folk." the remarkable style of this book has made it the most important work in classic english yet written by a negro. it is marked by all the arts of rhetoric, especially by liquid and alliterative effects, strong antithesis, frequent allusion, and poetic suggestiveness. the color-line is "the veil," the familiar melodies, the "sorrow songs." the qualities that have just been remarked will be observed in the following paragraphs:
-i have seen a land right merry with the sun, where children sing, and rolling hills lie like passioned women wanton with harvest. and there in the king's highway sat and sits a figure veiled and bowed, by which the traveler's footsteps hasten as they go. on the tainted air broods fear. three centuries' thought has been the raising and unveiling of that bowed human heart, and now behold a century new for the duty and the deed. the problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color-line.
-my journey was done, and behind me lay hill and dale, and life and death. how shall man measure progress there where the dark-faced josie lies? how many heartfuls of sorrow shall balance a bushel of wheat? how hard a thing is life to the lowly, and yet how human and real! and all this life and love and strife and failure--is it the twilight of nightfall or the flush of some faint-dawning day?
-thus sadly musing, i rode to nashville in the jim crow car.
-i sit with shakespeare and he winces not. across the color-line i move arm in arm with balzac and dumas, where smiling men and welcoming women glide in gilded halls. from out the caves of evening that swing between the strong-limbed earth and the tracery of the stars, i summon aristotle and aurelius and what soul i will, and they all come graciously with no scorn nor condescension. so, wed with truth, i dwell above the veil. is this the life you grudge us, o knightly america? is this the life you long to change into the dull red hideousness of georgia? are you so afraid lest peering from this high pisgah, between philistine and amalekite, we sight the promised land?
-w. e. burghardt dubois is the best example that has so far appeared of the combination of high scholarship and the peculiarly romantic temperament of the negro race. beneath all the play of logic and statistic beats the passion of a mighty human heart. for a long time he was criticised as aloof, reserved, unsympathetic; but more and more, as the years have passed, has his mission become clearer, his love for his people stronger. forced by the pressure of circumstance, gradually has he been led from the congenial retreat of the scholar into the arena of social struggle; but for two decades he has remained an outstanding interpreter of the spiritual life of his people. he is to-day the foremost leader of the race in america.
-william stanley braithwaite
-the foremost of the poets of the race at present is william stanley braithwaite, of boston. mr. braithwaite is not only the possessor of unusual talent, but for years he has worked most conscientiously at his art and taken the time and the pains to master the fundamentals that others all too often deem unimportant. in 1904 he published a small book of poems entitled "lyrics of life and love." this was followed four years later by "the house of falling leaves." within recent years he has given less and less time to his own verse, becoming more and more distinguished as a critic in the special field of american poetry. for several years he has been a regular and valued contributor of literary criticism to the boston evening transcript; he has had verse or critical essays in the forum, the century, scribner's, the atlantic, etc.; and in 1916 became editor of the new poetry review of cambridge. he has collected and edited (publishing chiefly through brentano's) "the book of elizabethan verse," "the book of georgian verse," and "the book of restoration verse"; and he has also published the "anthology of magazine verse" for each year since 1913. he is the general editor of "the contemporary american poets series," which is projected by the poetry review company, and which will be issued in twelve little books, each giving a sympathetic study of a poet of the day; he himself is writing the volume on edwin arlington robinson; and before long it is expected that a novel will appear from his pen. very recently (1917) mr. braithwaite has brought together in a volume, "the poetic year," the series of articles which he contributed to the transcript in 1916-17. the aim was in the form of conversations between a small group of friends to discuss the poetry of 1916. says he: "there were four of us in the little group, and our common love for the art of poetry suggested a weekly meeting in the grove to discuss the books we had all agreed upon reading.... i made up my mind to record these discussions, and the setting as well, with all those other touches of human character and mood which never fail to enliven and give color to the serious business of art and life.... i gave fanciful names to my companions, greek names which i am persuaded symbolized the spirit of each. there was nothing psyche touched but made its soul apparent. her wood-lore was beautiful and thorough; the very spirit of flowers, birds and trees was evoked when she went among them. our other companion of her sex was cassandra, and we gave her this name not because her forebodings were gloomy, but merely for her prophesying disposition, which was always building air-castles. the other member besides myself of our little group was jason, of the heroic dreams and adventuresome spirit. he was restless in the bonds of a tranquillity that chafed the hidden spirit of his being." from the introduction we get something of the critic's own aims and ideals: "the conversational scheme of the book may, or may not, interest some readers. poetry is a human thing, and it is time for the world--and especially our part of the world--to regard it as belonging to the people. it sprang from the folk, and passed, when culture began to flourish, into the possession of a class. now culture is passing from a class to the folk, and with it poetry is returning to its original possessors. it is in the spirit of these words that we discuss the poetry of the year." emphasis is here given to this work because it is the sturdiest achievement of mr. braithwaite in the field in which he has recently become most distinguished, and even the brief quotations cited are sufficient to give some idea of his graceful, suggestive prose.
-in a review of this writer's poetry we have to consider especially the two collections, "lyrics of life and love," and "the house of falling leaves," and the poems that have more recently appeared in the atlantic, scribner's, and other magazines. it is to be hoped that before very long he will publish a new edition of his poems. the earlier volumes are out of print, and a new book could contain the best of them, as well as what has appeared more recently. "lyrics of life and love" embodied the best of the poet's early work. the little book contains eighty pages, and no one of the lyrics takes up more than two pages, twenty in fact being exactly eight lines in length. this appearance of fragility, however, is a little deceptive. while keats and shelley are constantly evident as the models in technique, the yearning of more than one lyric reflects the deeper romantic temper. the bravado and the tenderness of the old poets are evident again in the two christmas pieces, "holly berry and mistletoe," and "yule-song: a memory":
-the trees are bare, wild flies the snow, hearths are glowing, hearts are merry-- high in the air is the mistletoe, over the door is the holly berry.
-never have care how the winds may blow, never confess the revel grows weary-- yule is the time of the mistletoe, yule is the time of the holly berry.
-december comes, snows come, comes the wintry weather; faces from away come-- hearts must be together. down the stair-steps of the hours yule leaps the hills and towers-- fill the bowl and hang the holly, let the times be jolly.
-"the watchers" is in the spirit of kingsley's "the three fishers":
-two women on the lone wet strand-- (the wind's out with a will to roam) the waves wage war on rocks and sand, (and a ship is long due home.)
-the sea sprays in the women's eyes-- (hearts can writhe like the sea's wild foam) lower descend the tempestuous skies, (for the wind's out with a will to roam.)
-"o daughter, thine eyes be better than mine," (the waves ascend high on yonder dome) "north or south is there never a sign?" (and a ship is long due home.)
-they watched there all the long night through-- (the wind's out with a will to roam) wind and rain and sorrow for two-- (and heaven on the long reach home.)
-the second volume marked a decided advance in technique. when we remember also the pre-raphaelite spirit, with its love of rhythm and imagery, we are not surprised to find here an appreciation "to dante gabriel rossetti." especially has the poet made progress in the handling of the sonnet, as may be seen in the following:
-my thoughts go marching like an armèd host out of the city of silence, guns and cars; troop after troop across my dreams they post to the invasion of the wind and stars. o brave array of youth's untamed desire! with thy bold, dauntless captain hope to lead his raw recruits to fate's opposing fire, and up the walls of circumstance to bleed. how fares the expedition in the end? when this my heart shall have old age for king and to the wars no further troop can send, what final message will the arm'stice bring? the host gone forth in youth the world to meet, in age returns--in victory or defeat?
-then there is the epilogue with its heart-cry:
-lord of the mystic star-blown gleams whose sweet compassion lifts my dreams; lord of life in the lips of the rose that kiss desire; whence beauty grows; lord of the power inviolate that keeps immune thy seas from fate,
-lord, very god of these works of thine, hear me, i beseech thee, most divine!
-within very recent years mr. braithwaite has attracted unusual attention among the discerning by a new note of mysticism that has crept into his verse. this was first observed in "sandy star," that appeared in the atlantic (july, 1909):
-no more from out the sunset, no more across the foam, no more across the windy hills will sandy star come home.
-he went away to search it, with a curse upon his tongue, and in his hands the staff of life made music as it swung.
-i wonder if he found it, and knows the mystery now: our sandy star who went away with the secret on his brow.
-the same note is in "the mystery" (or "the way," as the poet prefers to call it) that appeared in scribner's (october, 1915):
-he could not tell the way he came because his chart was lost: yet all his way was paved with flame from the bourne he crossed.
-he never knew upon his brow the secret that he bore-- and laughs away the mystery now the dark's at his door.
-mr. braithwaite has done well. he is to-day the foremost man of the race in pure literature. but above any partial or limited consideration, after years of hard work he now has recognition not only as a poet of standing, but as the chief sponsor for current american poetry. no comment on his work could be better than that of the transcript, november 30, 1915: "he has helped poetry to readers as well as to poets. one is guilty of no extravagance in saying that the poets we have--and they may take their place with their peers in any country--and the gathering deference we pay them, are created largely out of the stubborn, self-effacing enthusiasm of this one man. in a sense their distinction is his own. in a sense he has himself written their poetry. very much by his toil they may write and be read. not one of them will ever write a finer poem than braithwaite himself has lived already."
-in addition to those who have been mentioned, there have been scores of writers who would have to be considered if we were dealing with the literature of the negro in the widest sense of the term. not too clearly, however, can the limitations of our subject be insisted upon. we are here concerned with distinctly literary or artistic achievement, and not with work that belongs in the realm of religion, sociology, or politics. only briefer mention accordingly can be given to these latter fields.
-naturally, from the first there have been works dealing with the place of the negro in american life. outstanding after the numerous sociological studies and other contributions to periodical literature of dr. dubois are the books of the late booker t. washington. representative of these are "the future of the american negro," "my larger education," and "the man farthest down." as early as 1829, however, david walker, of boston, published his passionate "appeal," a protest against slavery that awakened southern legislatures to action; and in the years just before the civil war, henry highland garnet wrote sermons and addresses on the status of the race in america, while william wells brown wrote "three years in europe," and various other works, some of which will receive later mention. after the war, alexander crummell became an outstanding figure by reason of his sermons and addresses, many of which were preserved. he was followed by an interesting group of scholarly men, represented especially by william s. scarborough, kelly miller, and archibald h. grimké. mr. scarborough is now president of wilberforce university. he has contributed numerous articles to representative magazines. his work in more technical fields is represented by his "first lessons in greek," a treatise on the "birds" of aristophanes, and his paper in the arena (january, 1897) on "negro folk-lore and dialect." mr. miller is dean of the college of arts and sciences at howard university. he has collected his numerous and cogent papers in two volumes, "race adjustment," and "out of the house of bondage." the first is the more varied and interesting of the two books, but the latter contains the poetic rhapsody, "i see and am satisfied," first published in the independent (august 7, 1913). mr. a. h. grimké, as well as mr. miller, has contributed to the atlantic; and he has written the lives of garrison and sumner in the american reformers series. "negro culture in west africa," by george w. ellis, is original and scholarly; "the aftermath of slavery," by william a. sinclair, is a volume of more than ordinary interest; and "the african abroad," by william h. ferris, while confused in construction and form, contains much thoughtful material. within recent years there have been published a great many works, frequently illustrated, on the progress and achievements of the race. very few of these books are scholarly. three collaborations, however, are of decided value. one is a little volume entitled, "the negro problem," consisting of seven papers by representative negroes, and published in 1903 by james pott & co., of new york. another is "from servitude to service," published in 1905 by the american unitarian association of boston, and made up of the old south lectures on the history and work of southern institutions for the education of the negro; while the third collaboration is, "the negro in the south," published in 1907 by george w. jacobs & co., of philadelphia, and made up of four papers, two by dr. washington, and two by dr. dubois, which were the william levi bull lectures in the philadelphia divinity school for the year 1907.
-halfway between works on the negro problem and those in history, are those in the field of biography and autobiography. for decades before the civil war the experiences of fugitive slaves were used as a part of the anti-slavery argument. in 1845 appeared the "narrative of the life of frederick douglass," this being greatly enlarged and extended in 1881 as "the life and times of frederick douglass." in similar vein was the "autobiography of a fugitive negro," by samuel ringgold ward. then josiah henson (the original of uncle tom) and sojourner truth issued their narratives. collections of more than ordinary interest were william wells brown's "the black man" (1863), james m. trotter's "music and some highly musical people" (1878), and william j. simmons's "men of mark" (1887). john mercer langston's "from the virginia plantation to the national capitol" is interesting and serviceable; special interest attaches to matthew henson's "a negro explorer at the north pole"; while maud cuney hare's "norris wright cuney" was a distinct contribution to the history of southern politics. the most widely known work in this field, however, is "up from slavery," by booker t. washington. the unaffected and simple style of this book has made it a model of personal writing, and it is by reason of merit that the work has gained unusual currency.
-the study, of course, becomes more special in the field of history. interest from the first was shown in church history. this was represented immediately after the war by bishop daniel a. payne's studies in the history of the a. m. e. church, and twenty-five years later, for the baptist denomination, by e. m. brawley's "the negro baptist pulpit." one of the earliest writers of merit was william c. nell, who, in 1851, published his pamphlet, "services of colored americans in the wars of 1776 and 1812." "the rising son," by william wells brown, was an account of "the antecedents and advancement of the colored race"; the work gave considerable attention to africa, hayti, and the colonies, and was quite scholarly in method. then, in 1872, full of personal experience, appeared william still's "the underground railroad." the epoch-making work in history, however, was the two-volume "history of the negro race in america," by george w. williams, which was issued in 1883. this work was the exploration of a new field and the result of seven years of study. the historian more than once wrote subjectively, but his work was, on the whole, written with unusually good taste. after thirty years some of his pages have, of course, been superseded; but his work is even yet the great storehouse for students of negro history. technical study within recent years is best represented by the harvard doctorate theses of dr. dubois and dr. carter g. woodson. that of dr. dubois has already been mentioned. that of dr. woodson was entitled "the disruption of virginia." dr. woodson is the editor of the journal of negro history, a quarterly magazine that began to appear in 1916, and that has already published several articles of the first order of merit. he has also written "the education of the negro prior to 1861," a work in the most scientific spirit of modern historical study, to which a companion volume for the later period is expected. largely original also in the nature of their contribution have been "the haitian revolution," by t. g. steward, and "the facts of reconstruction," by john r. lynch; and, while less intensive, interesting throughout is j. w. cromwell's "the negro in american history."
-many of the younger writers are cultivating the short story. especially have two or three, as yet unknown to the wider public, done excellent work in connection with syndicates of great newspapers. "the goodness of st. rocque, and other stories," by alice moore dunbar (now mrs. nelson), is representative of the stronger work in this field. numerous attempts at the composition of novels have also been made. even before the civil war was over appeared william wells brown's "clotille: a tale of the southern states." it is in this special department, however, that a sense of literary form has frequently been most lacking. the distinctively literary essay has not unnaturally suffered from the general pressure of the problem. a paper in the atlantic monthly (february, 1906), however, "the joys of being a negro," by edward e. wilson, a chicago lawyer, was of outstanding brilliancy. a. o. stafford, of washington, is a special student of the folklore of africa. he has contributed several scholarly papers to the journal of negro history, and he has also published through the american book company an interesting supplementary reader, "animal fables from the dark continent." alain locke is interested in both philosophical and literary studies, represented by "the american temperament," a paper contributed to the north american review (august, 1911), and a paper on emile verhæren in the poetry review (january, 1917).
-little has been accomplished in sustained poetic flight. of shorter lyric verse, however, many booklets have appeared. as this is the field that offers peculiar opportunity for subjective expression, more has been attempted in it than in any other department of artistic endeavor. it demands, therefore, special attention, and the study will take us back before the civil war.
-the first person to attract much attention after phillis wheatley was george moses horton, of north carolina, who was born in 1797 and died about 1880 (or 1883). he was ambitious to learn, was the possessor of unusual literary talent, and in one way or another received instruction from various persons. he very soon began to write verse, all of which was infused with his desire for freedom, and much of which was suggested by the common evangelical hymns, as were the following lines:
-alas! and am i born for this, to wear this slavish chain? deprived of all created bliss, through hardship, toil, and pain?
-how long have i in bondage lain, and languished to be free! alas! and must i still complain, deprived of liberty?
-come, liberty! thou cheerful sound, roll through my ravished ears; come, let my grief in joys be drowned, and drive away my fears.
-some of horton's friends became interested in him and desired to help him publish a volume of his poems, so that from the sale of these he might purchase his freedom and go to the new colony of liberia. the young man became fired with ambition and inspiration. thrilled by the new hope, he wrote:
-'twas like the salutation of the dove, borne on the zephyr through some lonesome grove, when spring returns, and winter's chill is past, and vegetation smiles above the blast.
-horton's master, however, demanded for him an exorbitant price, and when "the hope of liberty" appeared in 1829 it had nothing of the sale that was hoped for. disappointed in his great desire, the poet seems to have lost ambition. he became a janitor around the state university at chapel hill, executed small commissions for verse from the students, who treated him kindly, and in later years went to philadelphia; but his old dreams had faded. several reprintings of his poems were made, however, and one of these was bound with the 1838 edition of phillis wheatley's poems.
-in 1854 appeared the first edition of "poems on miscellaneous subjects," by frances ellen watkins, commonly known as mrs. frances e. w. harper. mrs. harper was a woman of exceptionally strong personality and could read her poems to advantage. her verse was very popular, not less than ten thousand copies of her booklets being sold. it was decidedly lacking in technique, however, and much in the style of mrs. hemans. mrs. harper was best when most simple, as when in writing of children she said:
-i almost think the angels who tend life's garden fair, drop down the sweet white blossoms that bloom around us here.
-the secret of her popularity was to be seen in such lines as the following from "bury me in a free land":
-make me a grave where'er you will, in a lowly plain or a lofty hill; make it among earth's humblest graves, but not in a land where men are slaves.
-of the emancipation proclamation she wrote:
-it shall flash through coming ages, it shall light the distant years; and eyes now dim with sorrow shall be brighter through their tears.
-while mrs. harper was still prominently before the public appeared albery a. whitman, a methodist minister, whose "not a man and yet a man" appeared in 1877. the work of this writer is the most baffling with which this book has to deal. it is diffuse, exhibits many lapses in taste, is uneven metrically, as if done in haste, and shows imitation on every hand. it imitates whittier, longfellow, tennyson, scott, byron and moore. "the old sac village" and "nanawawa's suitors" are very evidently "hiawatha" over again; and "custer's last ride" is simply another version of "the charge of the light brigade." "the rape of florida" exhibits the same general characteristics as the earlier poems. and yet, whenever one has about decided that whitman is not worthy of consideration, he insists on a revision of judgment. the fact is that he shows a decided faculty for brisk narration. this may be seen in "the house of the aylors." he has, moreover, a romantic lavishness of description that, in spite of all technical faults, still has some degree of merit. the following quotations, taken respectively from "the mowers" and "the flight of leeona," will exemplify both his extravagance and his possibilities in description:
-the tall forests swim in a crimson sea, out of whose bright depths rising silently, great golden spires shoot into the skies, among the isles of cloudland high, that rise, float, scatter, burst, drift off, and slowly fade, deep in the twilight, shade succeeding shade.
-and now she turns upon a mossy seat, where sings a fern-bound stream beneath her feet, and breathes the orange in the swooning air; where in her queenly pride the rose blooms fair, and sweet geranium waves her scented hair; there, gazing in the bright face of the stream, her thoughts swim onward in a gentle dream.
-in "a dream of glory" occur the lines:
-the fairest blooms are born of humble weeds, that faint and perish in the pathless wood; and out of bitter life grow noble deeds to pass unnoticed in the multitude.
-whitman's shortcomings become readily apparent when he attempts sustained work. "the rape of florida" is the longest poem yet written by a negro in america, and also the only attempt by a member of the race to use the elaborate spenserian stanza throughout a long piece of work. the story is concerned with the capture of the seminoles in florida through perfidy and the taking of them away to their new home in the west. it centers around three characters, palmecho, an old chief, ewald, his daughter, and atlassa, a young seminole who is ewald's lover. the poem is decidedly diffuse; there is too much subjective description, too little strong characterization. palmecho, instead of being a stout warrior, is a "chief of peace and kindly deeds." stanzas of merit, however, occasionally strike the eye. the boat-song forces recognition as genuine poetry:
-"come now, my love, the moon is on the lake; upon the waters is my light canoe; come with me, love, and gladsome oars shall make a music on the parting wave for you,--
-come o'er the waters deep and dark and blue; come where the lilies in the marge have sprung, come with me, love, for oh, my love is true!" this is the song that on the lake was sung, the boatman sang it over when his heart was young.
-in 1890 whitman brought out an edition of "not a man and yet a man" and "the rape of florida," adding to these a collection of miscellaneous poems, "drifted leaves," and in 1901 he published "an idyl of the south," an epic poem in two parts. it is to be regretted that he did not have the training that comes from the best university education. he had the taste and the talent to benefit from such culture in the greatest degree.
-all who went before him were, of course, superseded in 1896 by paul laurence dunbar; and dunbar started a tradition. throughout the country there sprang up imitators, and some of the imitations were more than fair. all of this, however, was a passing phenomenon. those who are writing at the present day almost invariably eschew dialect and insist upon classics forms and measures. prominent among these is james weldon johnson. mr. johnson has seen a varied career as teacher, writer, consul for the united states in foreign countries, especially nicaragua, and national organizer for the national association for the advancement of colored people. he has written numerous songs, which have been set to music by his brother, rosamond johnson, or harry t. burleigh; he made for the metropolitan opera the english translation of the spanish opera, "goyescas," by granados and periquet; and in 1916, while associated with the age, of new york, in a contest opened by the public ledger, of philadelphia, to editorial writers all over the country, he won a third prize of two hundred dollars for a campaign editorial. the remarkable book, "autobiography of an ex-colored man," half fact, half fiction, was published anonymously, but is generally credited to mr. johnson. very recently (december, 1917) has appeared this writer's collection, "fifty years and other poems." in pure lyric flow he is best represented by two poems in the century. one was a sonnet entitled, "mother night" (february, 1910):
-eternities before the first-born day, or ere the first sun fledged his wings of flame, calm night, the everlasting and the same, a brooding mother over chaos lay. and whirling suns shall blaze and then decay, shall run their fiery courses and then claim the haven of the darkness whence they came; back to nirvanic peace shall grope their way. so when my feeble sun of life burns out, and sounded is the hour for my long sleep, i shall, full weary of the feverish light, welcome the darkness without fear or doubt, and, heavy-lidded, i shall softly creep into the quiet bosom of the night.
-when we think of the large number of those who have longed for success in artistic expression, and especially of the first singer of the old melodies, we could close this review with nothing better than mr. johnson's tribute, "o black and unknown bards" (century, november, 1908):
-o black and unknown bards of long ago, how came your lips to touch the sacred fire? how, in your darkness, did you come to know the power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre? who first from 'midst his bonds lifted his eyes? who first from out the still watch, lone and long, feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?
-there is a wide, wide wonder in it all, that from degraded rest and servile toil, the fiery spirit of the seer should call these simple children of the sun and soil. o black singers, gone, forgot, unfamed, you--you alone, of all the long, long line of those who've sung untaught, unknown, unnamed, have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.
-you sang not deeds of heroes or of kings: no chant of bloody war, nor exulting pæan of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings you touched in chords with music empyrean. you sang far better than you knew, the songs that for your listeners' hungry hearts sufficed still live--but more than this to you belongs: you sang a race from wood and stone to christ.
-orators.--douglass and washington
-the negro is peculiarly gifted as an orator. to magnificent gifts of voice he adds a fervor of sentiment and an appreciation of the possibilities of a great occasion that are indispensable in the work of one who excels in this field. greater than any of these things, however, is the romantic quality that finds an outlet in vast reaches of imagery and a singularly figurative power of expression. only this innate gift of rhetorical expression has accounted for the tremendous effects sometimes realized even by untutored members of the race. its possibilities under the influences of culture and education are illimitable.
-other men have joined to this love for figurative expression the advantages of culture; and a common characteristic, thoroughly typical of the romantic quality constantly present, is a fondness for biblical phrase. as representative might be remarked robert b. elliott, famous for his speech in congress on the constitutionality of the civil rights bill; john mercer langston, also distinguished for many political addresses; m. c. b. mason, for years a prominent representative of the methodist episcopal church; and charles t. walker, still the most popular preacher of the negro baptists. a new and telling form of public speaking, destined to have more and more importance, is that just now best cultivated by dr. dubois, who, with little play of voice or gesture, but with the earnestness of conviction, drives home his message with instant effect.
-in any consideration of oratory one must constantly bear in mind, of course, the importance of the spoken word and the personal equation. at the same time it must be remembered that many of the most worthy addresses made by negroes have not been preserved in accessible form. again and again, in some remote community, with true eloquence has an untutored preacher brought comfort and inspiration to a struggling people. j. c. price, for years president of livingstone college in north carolina, was one of the truest orators the negro race ever had, and many who heard him will insist that he was foremost. his name has become in some quarters a synonym for eloquence, and he certainly appeared on many noteworthy occasions with marked effect. his reputation will finally suffer, however, for the reason given, that his speeches are not now generally accessible. not one is in mrs. dunbar's "masterpieces of negro eloquence."
-one of the most effective occasional speakers within recent years has been reverdy c. ransom, of the a. m. e. church. in his great moments mr. ransom has given the impression of the true orator. he has little humor, is stately and dignified, but bitter in satire and invective. there is, in fact, much in his speaking to remind one of frederick douglass. one of his greatest efforts was that on the occasion of the celebration of the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of garrison, in faneuil hall, boston, december 11, 1905. said he, in part:
-two men, by reason of great natural endowment, a fitting appreciation of great occasions, and the consistency with which they produced their effects, have won an undisputed place in any consideration of american orators. these men were frederick douglass and booker t. washington.
-frederick douglass was born in 1817 and lived for ten years as a slave upon a maryland plantation. then he was bought by a baltimore shipbuilder. he learned to read, and, being attracted by "the lady of the lake," when he escaped in 1838 and went disguised as a sailor to new bedford, mass., he adopted the name douglas (spelling it with two s's, however). he lived for several years in new bedford, being assisted by garrison in his efforts for an education. in 1841, at an anti-slavery convention in nantucket, he exhibited such intelligence, and showed himself the possessor of such a remarkable voice, that he was made the agent of the massachusetts anti-slavery society. he now lectured extensively in england and the united states, and english friends raised £150 to enable him regularly to purchase his freedom. for some years before the civil war he lived in rochester, n.y., where he published a paper, the north star, and where there is now a public monument to him. later in life he became recorder of deeds in the district of columbia, and then minister to hayti. at the time of his death in 1895 douglass had won for himself a place of unique distinction. large of heart and of mind, he was interested in every forward movement for his people; but his charity embraced all men and all races. his reputation was international, and to-day many of his speeches are to be found in the standard works on oratory.
-perhaps the greatest speech of his life was that which douglass made at rochester on the 5th of july, 1852. his subject was "american slavery," and he spoke with his strongest invective. the following paragraphs from the introduction will serve to illustrate his fondness for interrogation and biblical phrase:
-pardon me, and allow me to ask, why am i called upon to speak here to-day? what have i, or those i represent, to do with your national independence? are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice embodied in that declaration of independence extended to us? and am i, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits, and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us?
-the years and emancipation and the progress of his people in the new day gave a more hopeful tone to some of the later speeches of the orator. in an address on the 7th of december, 1890, he said:
-booker t. washington was born about 1858, in franklin county, virginia. after the civil war his mother and stepfather removed to malden, w. va., where, when he became large enough, he worked in the salt furnaces and the coal mines. he had always been called booker, but it was not until he went to a little school at his home and found that he needed a surname that, on the spur of the moment, he adopted washington. in 1872 he worked his way to hampton institute, where he paid his expenses by assisting as a janitor. graduating in 1875, he returned to malden and taught school for three years. he then attended for a year wayland seminary in washington (now incorporated in virginia union university in richmond), and in 1879 was appointed an instructor at hampton. in 1881 there came to general armstrong, principal of hampton institute, a call from the little town of tuskegee, ala., for someone to organize and become the principal of a normal school which the people wanted to start in that place. he recommended mr. washington, who opened the school on the 4th of july in an old church and a little shanty, with an attendance of thirty pupils. in 1895 mr. washington came into national prominence by a remarkable speech at the cotton states exposition in atlanta, and after that he interested educators and thinking people generally in the working out of his ideas of practical education. he was the author of several books along lines of industrial education and character-building, and in his later years only one or two other men in america could rival his power to attract and hold great audiences. harvard university conferred on him the degree of master of arts in 1896, and dartmouth that of doctor of laws in 1901. he died in 1915.
-in the course of his career mr. washington delivered hundreds of addresses on distinguished occasions. he was constantly in demand at colleges and universities, great educational meetings, and gatherings of a civic or public character. his atlanta speech is famous for the so-called compromise with the white south: "in all things that are purely social we can be as separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to mutual progress." on receiving his degree at harvard in 1896, he made a speech in which he emphasized the fact that the welfare of the richest and most cultured person in new england was bound up with that of the humblest man in alabama, and that each man was his brother's keeper. along somewhat the same line he spoke the next year at the unveiling of the robert gould shaw monument in boston. at the chicago peace jubilee in 1898 he reviewed the conduct of the negro in the wars of the united states, making a powerful plea for justice to a race that had always chosen the better part in the wars of the country. mr. washington delivered many addresses, but he never really surpassed the feeling and point and oratorical quality of these early speeches. the following paragraph from the atlanta speech will illustrate his power of vivid and apt illustration:
-the power to realize with fine feeling the possibilities of an occasion may be illustrated from the speech at harvard:
-the eloquence of douglass differed from that of washington as does the power of a gifted orator differ from the force of a finished public speaker. the one was subjective; the other was objective. douglass swayed his audience, and even himself, by the sweep of his passion and rhetoric; washington studied every detail and weighed every word, always keeping in mind the final impression to be made. douglass was an idealist, impatient for the day of perfect fruition; washington was an opportunist, making the most of each chance as it came. the one voiced the sorrows of the old testament, and for the moment produced the more tremendous effect; the other longed for the blessing of the new testament and spoke with lasting result. both loved their people and each in his own way worked as he could best see the light. by his earnestness each in his day gained a hearing; by their sincerity both found a place in the oratory not only of the negro but of the world.
-in no other field has the negro with artistic aspirations found the road so hard as in that of the classic drama. in spite of the far-reaching influence of the negro on american life, it is only within the last two years that this distinct racial element has begun to receive serious attention. if we pass over othello as professedly a moor rather than a negro, we find that the negro, as he has been presented on the english or american stage, is best represented by such a character as mungo in the comic opera, "the padlock," on the boards at drury lane in 1768. mungo is the slave of a west indian planter; he becomes profane in the second act and sings a burlesque song. here, as elsewhere, there was no dramatic or sympathetic study of the race. even uncle tom was a conventional embodiment of patience and meekness rather than a highly individualized character.
-on the legitimate stage the negro was not wanted. that he could succeed, however, was shown by such a career as that of ira aldridge. this distinguished actor, making his way from america to the freer life of europe, entered upon the period of his greatest artistic success when, in 1833, at covent garden, he played othello to the iago of edmund kean, the foremost actor of the time. he was universally ranked as a great tragedian. in the years 1852-5 he played in germany. in 1857 the king of sweden invited him to visit stockholm. the king of prussia bestowed upon him a first-class medal of the arts and sciences. the emperor of austria complimented him with an autograph letter; the czar of russia gave him a decoration, and various other honors were showered upon him.
-such is the noblest tradition of the negro on the stage. in course of time, however, because of the new blackface minstrelsy that became popular soon after the civil war, all association of the negro with the classic drama was effectively erased from the public mind. near the turn of the century some outlet was found in light musical comedy. prominent in the transition from minstrelsy to the new form were bob cole and ernest hogan; and the representative musical comedy companies have been those of cole and johnson, and williams and walker. bert williams is to-day generally remarked as one of the two or three foremost comedians on the american stage. even musical comedy, however, is not so prominent as it was ten years ago, by reason of the competition of vaudeville and moving-pictures; and any representation of the negro on the stage at the present time is likely to be either a burlesque, or, as in such pictures as those of "the birth of a nation," a deliberate and malicious libel on the race.
-in different ones of the negro colleges, however, and elsewhere, are there those who have dreamed of a true negro drama--a drama that should get away from the minstrelsy and the burlesque and honestly present negro characters face to face with all the problems that test the race in the crucible of american civilization. the representative institutions give frequent amateur productions, not only of classical plays, but also of sincere attempts at the faithful portrayal of negro character. in even wider fields, however, is the possibility of the material for serious dramatic treatment being tested. in the spring of 1914 "granny maumee," by ridgely torrence, a new york dramatist, was produced by the stage society of new york. the part of granny maumee was taken by dorothy donnelly, one of the most emotional and sincere of american actresses; two performances were given, and carl van vechten, writing of the occasion in the new york press, said: "it is as important an event in our theater as the first play by synge was to the irish movement." another experiment was "children," by guy bolton and tom carlton, presented by the washington square players in march, 1916, a little play in which a mother shoots her son rather than give him up to a lynching party. in april, 1917, "granny maumee," with two other short plays by mr. torrence, "the rider of dreams," and "simon the cyrenian," was again put on the stage in new york, this time with a company of colored actors, prominent among whom were opal cooper and inez clough. this whole production, advertised as "the first colored dramatic company to appear on broadway," was under the patronage of mrs. norman hapgood and the direction of robert edmond jones, and its success was such as to give hopes of much greater things in the future.
-three or four other representative efforts within the race itself in the great field of the drama must be remarked. one of the most sincere was "the exile," written by e. c. williams, and presented at the howard theater in washington, may 29, 1915, a play dealing with an episode in the life of lorenzo de medici. the story used is thoroughly dramatic, and that part of the composition that is in blank verse is of a notable degree of smoothness. "the star of ethiopia," by dr. dubois, was a pageant, elaborately presented. originally produced in new york in 1913, it also saw performances in washington and philadelphia. the spring of 1916 witnessed the beginning of the work of the edward sterling wright players, of new york. this company used the legitimate drama and made a favorable impression, especially by its production of "othello." at present special interest attaches to the work of the lafayette players in new york, who have already made commendable progress in the production of popular plays.
-the field is comparatively new. it is, however, one peculiarly adapted to the ability of the negro race, and at least enough has been done so far to show that both negro effort in the classic drama and the serious portrayal of negro life on the stage are worthy of respectful consideration.
-painters.--henry o. tanner
-painting has long been a medium through which the artistic spirit of the race yearned to find expression. as far back as in the work of phillis wheatley there is a poem addressed to "s. m." (scipio moorhead), "a young african painter," one of whose subjects was the story of damon and pythias. it was a hundred years more, however, before there was really artistic production. e. m. bannister, whose home was at providence, though little known to the younger generation, was very prominent forty years ago. he gathered about himself a coterie of artists and rich men that formed the nucleus of the rhode island art club, and one of his pictures took a medal at the centennial exposition of 1876. william a. harper, who died in 1910, was a product of the chicago art institute, at whose exhibitions his pictures received much favorable comment about 1908 and 1910. on his return from his first period of study in paris his "avenue of poplars" took a prize of one hundred dollars at the institute. other typical subjects were "the last gleam," "the hillside," and "the gray dawn." great hopes were awakened a few years ago by the landscapes of richard l. brown; and the portrait work of edwin a. harleston is destined to become better and better known. william e. scott, of indianapolis, is becoming more and more distinguished in mural work, landscape, and portraiture, and among all the painters of the race now working in this country is outstanding. he has spent several years in paris. "la pauvre voisine," accepted by the salon in 1912, was afterwards bought by the argentine government. a second picture exhibited in the salon in 1913, "la misère," was reproduced in the french catalogue and took first prize at the indiana state fair the next year. "la connoisseure" was exhibited in the royal academy in london in 1913. mr. scott has done the mural work in ten public schools in chicago, four in indianapolis, and especially was he commissioned by the city of indianapolis to decorate two units in the city hospital, this task embracing three hundred life-size figures. some of his effects in coloring are very striking, and in several of his recent pictures he has emphasized racial subjects.
-the painter of assured fame and commanding position is henry ossawa tanner.
-the early years of this artist were a record of singular struggle and sacrifice. born in pittsburgh in 1859, the son of a minister of very limited means, he received his early education in philadelphia. for years he had to battle against uncertain health. in his thirteenth year, seeing an artist at work, he decided that he too would become a painter, and he afterwards became a student at the pennsylvania academy of fine arts. while still a very young man, he attempted drawings of all sorts and sent these to various new york publishers, only to see them promptly returned. a check, however, for forty dollars for one that did not return encouraged him, and a picture, "a lion at home," from the exhibition of the academy of design, brought eighty dollars. he now became a photographer in atlanta, ga., but met with no real success; and for two years he taught drawing at clark university in atlanta. in this period came a summer of struggle in the mountains of north carolina, and the knowledge that a picture that had originally sold for fifteen dollars had brought two hundred and fifty dollars at an auction in philadelphia. desiring now to go to europe, and being encouraged by bishop and mrs. hartzell, the young painter gave in cincinnati an exhibition of his work. the exhibition failed; not a picture was regularly sold. bishop and mrs. hartzell, however, gave the artist a sum for the entire collection, and thus equipped he set sail for rome, january 4, 1891, going by way of liverpool and paris.
-in the story of his career that he contributed to the world's work some years ago, mr. tanner gave an interesting account of his early days in paris. acquaintance with the great french capital induced him to abandon thoughts of going to rome; but there followed five years of pitiless economy, broken only by a visit to philadelphia, where he sold some pictures. he was encouraged, however, by benjamin constant and studied in the julien academy. in his early years he had given attention to animals and landscape, but more and more he was drawn towards religious subjects. "daniel in the lions' den" in the salon in 1896 brought "honorable mention," the artist's first official recognition. he was inspired, and very soon afterwards he made his first visit to palestine, the land that was afterwards to mean so much to him in his work. "the resurrection of lazarus," in 1897, was bought by the french government, and now hangs in the luxembourg. the enthusiasm awakened by this picture was so great that a friend wrote to the painter at venice: "come home, tanner, to see the crowds behold your picture." after twenty years of heart-breaking effort henry tanner had become a recognized artist. his later career is a part of the history of the world's art. he won a third-class medal at the salon in 1897, a second-class medal in 1907, second-class medals at the paris exposition in 1900, at the buffalo exposition in 1901, and at the st. louis exposition in 1904, a gold medal at san francisco in 1915, the walter lippincott prize in philadelphia in 1900, and the harris prize of five hundred dollars, in 1906, for the best picture in the annual exhibition of american paintings at the chicago art institute.
-mr. tanner's later life has been spent in paris, with trips to the far east, to palestine, to egypt, to algiers, and morocco. some years ago he joined the colony of artists at trepied, where he has built a commodious home and studio. miss macchesney has described this for us: "his studio is an ideal workroom, being high-ceilinged, spacious, and having the least possible furniture, utterly free from masses of useless studio stuff and paraphernalia. the walls are of a light gray, and at one end hangs a fine tapestry. oriental carved wooden screens are at the doors and windows. leading out of it is a small room having a domed ceiling and picturesque high windows. in this simply furnished room he often poses his models, painting himself in the large studio, the sliding door between being a small one. he can often make use of lamplight effects, the daylight in the larger room not interfering." within recent years the artist has kept pace with some of the newer schools by brilliant experimentation in color and composition. moonlight scenes appeal to him most. he seldom paints other than biblical subjects, except perhaps a portrait such as that of the khedive or rabbi wise. a landscape may attract him, but it is sure to be idealized. he is thoroughly romantic in tone, and in spirit, if not in technique, there is much to connect him with holman hunt, the pre-raphaelite painter. in fact he long had in mind, even if he has not actually worked out, a picture entitled, "the scapegoat."
-"the annunciation," as well as "the resurrection of lazarus," was bought by the french government; and "the two disciples at the tomb" was bought by the chicago art institute. "the bagpipe lesson" and "the banjo lesson" are in the library at hampton institute. other prominent titles are: "christ and nicodemus," "jews waiting at the wall of solomon," "stephen before the council," "moses and the burning bush," "the mothers of the bible" (a series of five paintings of mary, hagar, sarah, rachel, and the mother of moses, that marked the commencement of paintings containing all or nearly all female figures), "christ at the home of mary and martha," "the return of the holy women," and "the five virgins." of "christ and his disciples on the road to bethany," one of the most remarkable of all the pictures for subdued coloring, the painter says, "i have taken the tradition that christ never spent a day in jerusalem, but at the close of day went to bethany, returning to the city of strife in the morning." of "a flight into egypt" he says: "never shall i forget the magnificence of two persian jews that i once saw at rachel's tomb; what a magnificent 'abraham' either one of them would have made! nor do i forget a ride one stormy christmas night to bethlehem. dark clouds swept the moonlit skies and it took little imagination to close one's eyes to the flight of time and see in those hurrying travelers the crowds that hurried bethlehemward on that memorable night of the nativity, or to transpose the scene and see in each hurrying group 'a flight into egypt.'" as to which one of all these pictures excels the others critics are not in perfect agreement. "the resurrection of lazurus" is in subdued coloring, while "the annunciation" is noted for its effects of light and shade. this latter picture must in any case rank very high in any consideration of the painter's work. it is a powerful portrayal of the virgin at the moment when she learns of her great mission.
-sculptors.--meta warrick fuller
-the sculptor at the present time of assured position is meta vaux warrick fuller.
-meta vaux warrick was born in philadelphia, june 9, 1877. she first compelled serious recognition of her talent by her work in the pennsylvania school of industrial art, for which she had won a scholarship, and which she attended for four years. here one of her first original pieces in clay was a head of medusa, which, with its hanging jaw, beads of gore, and eyes starting from their sockets, marked her as a sculptor of the horrible. in her graduating year, 1898, she won a prize for metal work by a crucifix upon which hung the figure of christ torn by anguish, also honorable mention for her work in modeling. in her post-graduate year she won the george k. crozier first prize for the best general work in modeling for the year, her particular piece being the "procession of arts and crafts." in 1899 the young student went to paris, where she worked and studied for three years, chiefly at colarossi's academy. her work brought her in contact with st. gaudens and other artists; and finally there came a day when the great rodin himself, thrilled by the figure in "secret sorrow," a man represented as eating his heart out, in the attitude of a father beamed upon the young woman and said, "mademoiselle, you are a sculptor; you have the sense of form." "the wretched," one of the artist's masterpieces, was exhibited in the salon in 1903, and along with it went "the impenitent thief"; and at one of byng's exhibitions in l'art nouveau galleries it was remarked of her that "under her strong and supple hands the clay has leaped into form: a whole turbulent world seems to have forced itself into the cold and dead material." on her return to america the artist resumed her studies at the school of industrial art, winning, in 1904, the battles first prize for pottery. in 1907 she was called on for a series of tableaux representing the advance of the negro, for the jamestown tercentennial exposition, and later (1913) for a group for the new york state emancipation proclamation commission. in 1909 meta vaux warrick became the wife of dr. solomon c. fuller, of framingham, mass. a disastrous fire in 1910 destroyed some of her most valuable pieces while they were in storage in philadelphia. only a few examples of her early work, that for one reason or another happened to be elsewhere, were saved. in may, 1914, however, she had sufficiently recovered from this blow to be able to hold a public exhibition of her work. mrs. fuller resides in framingham, has a happy family of three boys, and in the midst of a busy life still finds some time for the practice of her art.
-the fire of 1910 destroyed the following productions: secret sorrow, silenus, oedipus, brittany peasant, primitive man, two of the heads from three gray women, peeping tom, falstaff, oriental dancer, portrait of william thomas, the wrestlers, death in the wind, désespoir, the man with a thorn, the man who laughed, the two-step, sketch for a monument, wild fire, and the following studies in afro-american types: an old woman, the schoolboy, the comedian (george w. walker), the student, the artist, and mulatto child, as well as a few unfinished pieces. such a misfortune has only rarely befallen a rising artist. some of the sculptor's most remarkable work was included in the list just given.
-fortunately surviving were the following: the wretched (cast in bronze and remaining in europe), man carrying dead body, medusa, procession of arts and crafts, portrait of the late william still, john the baptist (the only piece of her work made in paris that the sculptor now has), sylvia (later destroyed by accident), and study of expression.
-since 1914 the artist has produced several of her strongest pieces. "peace halting the ruthlessness of war" in may, 1917, took a second prize in a competition under the auspices of the massachusetts branch of the woman's peace party. similarly powerful are "watching for dawn," "mother and child," "immigrant in america," and "the silent appeal." noteworthy, too, are "the flower-holder," "the fountain-boy," and "life in quest of peace." the sculptor has also produced numerous statuettes, novelties, etc., for commercial purposes, and just now she is at work on a motherhood series.
-from time to time one observes in this enumeration happy subjects. such, for instance, are "the dancing girl," "the wrestlers," and "a young equestrian." these are frequently winsome, but, as will be shown in a moment, they are not the artist's characteristic productions. nor was the jamestown series of tableaux. this was a succession of fourteen groups (originally intended for seventeen) containing in all one hundred and fifty figures. the purpose was by the construction of appropriate models, dramatic groupings, and the use of proper scenic accessories, to trace in chronological order the general progress of the negro race. the whole, of course, had its peculiar interest for the occasion; but the artist had to work against unnumbered handicaps of every sort; her work, in fact, was not so much that of a sculptor as a designer; and, while the whole production took considerable energy, she has naturally never regarded it as her representative work.
-certain productions, however, by reason of their unmistakable show of genius, call for special consideration. these are invariably tragic or serious in tone.
-prime in order, and many would say in power, is "the wretched." seven figures representing as many forms of human anguish greet the eye. a mother yearns for the loved ones she has lost. an old man, wasted by hunger and disease, waits for death. another, bowed by shame, hides his face from the sun. a sick child is suffering from some terrible hereditary trouble; a youth realizes with despair that the task before him is too great for his strength; and a woman is afflicted with some mental disease. crowning all is the philosopher, who, suffering through sympathy with the others, realizes his powerlessness to relieve them and gradually sinks into the stoniness of despair.
-"the impenitent thief," admitted to the salon along with "the wretched," was demolished in 1904, after being subjected to a series of unhappy accidents. it also defied convention. heroic in size, the thief hung on the cross, all the while distorted by anguish. hardened, unsympathetic, blasphemous, he was still superb in his presumption, and he was one of the artist's most powerful conceptions.
-"man carrying dead body" portrays a scene from a battlefield. in it the sculptor has shown the length to which duty will spur one on. a man bears across his shoulder the body of a comrade that has evidently lain on the battlefield for days, and though the thing is horrible, he lashes it to his back and totters under the great weight until he can find a place for decent burial. to every one there comes such a duty; each one has his own burden to bear in silence.
-two earlier pieces, "secret sorrow," and "oedipus," had the same marked characteristics. the first represented a man, worn and gaunt, as actually bending his head and eating out his own heart. the figure was the personification of lost ambition, shattered ideals, and despair. for "oedipus" the sculptor chose the hero of the old greek legend at the moment when, realizing that he has killed his father and married his mother, he tears his eyes out. the artist's later conception, "three gray women," from the legend of perseus, was in similar vein. it undertook to portray the grææ, the three sisters who had but one eye and one tooth among them.
-perhaps the most haunting creation of mrs. fuller is "john the baptist." with head slightly upraised and with eyes looking into the eternal, the prophet rises above all sordid earthly things and soars into the divine. all faith and hope and love are in his face, all poetry and inspiration in his eyes. it is a conception that, once seen, can never be forgotten.
-the second model of the group for the new york state emancipation proclamation commission (two feet high, the finished group as exhibited being eight feet high) represents a recently emancipated negro youth and maiden standing beneath a gnarled, decapitated tree that has the semblance of a human hand stretched over them. humanity is pushing them out into the world, while at the same time the hand of fate, with obstacles and drawbacks, is restraining them in the exercise of their new freedom. in the attitudes of the two figures is strikingly portrayed the uncertainty of those embarking on a new life, and in their countenances one reads all the eagerness and the courage and the hope that is theirs. the whole is one of the artist's most ambitious efforts.
-"immigrant in america" was inspired by two lines from robert haven schauffler's "scum of the earth":
-children in whose frail arms shall rest prophets and singers and saints of the west.
-an american mother, the parent of one strong healthy child, is seen welcoming the immigrant mother of many children to the land of plenty. the work is capable of wide application. along with it might be mentioned a suffrage medallion and a smaller piece, "the silent appeal." this last is a very strong piece of work. it represents the mother capable of producing and caring for three children as making a silent request for the suffrage (or peace, or justice, or any other noble cause). the work is characterized by a singular note of dignity.
-"peace halting the ruthlessness of war," the recent prize piece, represents war as mounted on a mighty steed and trampling to death helpless human beings, while in one hand he bears a spear on which he has impaled the head of one of his victims. as he goes on in what seems his irresistible career peace meets him on the way and commands him to cease his ravages. the work as exhibited was in gray-green wax and treated its subject with remarkable spirit. it must take rank as one of the four or five of the strongest productions of the artist.
-meta warrick fuller's work may be said to fall into two divisions, the romantic and the social. the first is represented by such things as "the wretched" and "secret sorrow," the second by "immigrant in america" and "the silent appeal." the transition may be seen in "watching for dawn," a group that shows seven figures, in various attitudes of prayer, watchfulness, and resignation, as watching for the coming of daylight, or peace. in technique this is like "the wretched," in spirit it is like the later work. it is as if the sculptor's own seer, john the baptist, had, by his vision, summoned her away from the ghastly and horrible to the everyday problems of needy humanity. there are many, however, who hope that she will not utterly forsake the field in which she first became famous. her early work is not delicate or pretty; it is gruesome and terrible; but it is also intense and vital, and from it speaks the very tragedy of the negro race.
-the foremost name on the roll of negro composers is that of a man whose home was in england, but who in so many ways identified himself with the negroes of the united states that he deserves to be considered here. he visited america, found the inspiration for much of his best work in african themes, and his name at once comes to mind in any consideration of the history of the negro in music.
-as the old sailor ceased to speak van vuren advanced, the strip of vellum between his fingers, and stood a sharp figure in the firelight. the men ceased their mutterings and leaned forward to hear what their leader had to say.
-"our expedition upon this land has failed, my men," he cried. "our ship lies burnt, our comrades are lost, we are not strong enough to withstand the french. shall we now make a journey through the unknown land, and so down to our own free colony, through which pours hudson's river, of which i have heard you speak? let us strive together to gain the island of the manhattoes, where our city of new amsterdam smiles upon the sea."
-the dutchmen did not break into a shout as englishmen might have done, nor did they raise a noisy chatter after the manner of the french. they looked on one another with grave faces, and each man puffed his smoke more heavily. finally old pieter von donck snorted and spoke:
-"i have played the pioneer before to-day, captain. 'twould gladden my eyes to see again the tower of san nicolas by the sea."
-"then let us away before morning," said van vuren.
-boats of the fishermen were drawn along the white road of shore, and these the dutchmen requisitioned for crossing. they worked warily, fearful of seeing the flash of torches along the path beneath the cliff. the river brimmed and the stream flung down with a ceaseless undertone.
-"what have we here?" snorted von donck, while he groped under the gloomy wall.
-a number of dry logs, crossed and pinned together by wooden wedges, lay upon the gravel spit, piled with dry grass and resinous boughs interlaced. beside were lengths of pine to act as rollers for launching. the mass of inflammable material rose high. torches were pressed between two stones beside the logs.
-"'tis but the raft made to give signal to the iroquois tribes," explained the lieutenant.
-"to the water with it," cried a voice.
-"peace, fool. the french have sentries posted."
-"fire it," snorted von donck. "let not so much good work be spent in vain. will float it upon the french man-o'-war for a parting message."
-eager hands set in place the rollers, and soon the unwieldy mass grumbled riverwards. it nosed into the water and settled with a splash, riding deep because the logs had weight. flint and steel struck, a shower of sparks rained upon the catch-fire, the torches were ignited. at a word the grass flared, and the raft, released, struck upon a rock, turned slowly, and raced down stream, a red and yellow sheet of fire under a whirling canopy of smoke, straight for the lantern which marked the presence of the man-of-war.
-"to the boats!" whispered van vuren.
-a cry was raised above, and soon the answering voices resembled a chorus of daws frightened round a dark steeple by the shadow of a bird of prey. while the dutch were floundering in mid-stream a brass gun thundered. the column of fire swept on, illuminating the seamed wall, and throwing into black contrast the trees on the opposite shore.
-as the laughing dutchmen reached land a terrific din from the hemlock forest shocked the night, and this wild revelry became each moment more terrible, until the wind seemed to cease to breathe.
-the raft was opposite the landing-stage, burning rapidly down to the water, casting out flakes of fire and wisps of blazing grass. lights flashed confusedly upon the heights, and the tramp of armed men carried solemnly across the river.
-"the iroquois are coming out!" cried van vuren.
-"let us wait like vultures for the pickings," muttered the lieutenant at his side.
-"vultures!" shrieked a malignant voice. "a good word, traitors."
-the men swung round and stared into the gloom. upon a point of rock they saw gaudriole, squatting like a toad, his features half lit by the glow of his pipe.
-"the plain of tophet lies ahead," he snarled at them. "others may play at fire as well as ye."
-he sprang up and danced furiously upon the rock.
-"slay me that hunchback," shouted van vuren in a rage.
-his men ran at the rock. gaudriole spat at them like a cat and vanished among the scrub.
-a wave of smoke fanned over the ridge. a deep glow, waving up and down like a red rag, grew along the southern sky, advancing storm-like, deepening in colour.
-the bush had been fired.
-the military routine of the fortress continued that day as usual, and the approach of night brought no suspicion of the forthcoming assault. the absence of la salle was alone commented upon, yet without apprehension, for the priest was notoriously lax in the performance of his ecclesiastical duties, and only laroche was seriously troubled in mind for his brother priest. roussilac indeed breathed more freely when la salle was not present in the fortress. at eventide two little bells rang out, that to the east of the citadel being the bell of the chapel of ste. anne, presided over by the junior priest, st agapit, that to the west the bell of ste. mary bonsecours upon the hill. here laroche, in the absence of la salle, officiated to recite vespers and hear confessions.
-laroche, though a fighting bully lacking in every priestly quality, was, among the soldiers at least, more popular than st agapit. the latter was a scholar, a man too learned, and somewhat too honest, for his age, an ascetic, and a priest in every sense. it was well known that he looked with a stern eye upon drunken brawls or vengeful threats, whereas laroche, himself a brawler when in his cups, judged such offences leniently. st agapit had no ambition, apart from the faithful performance of his duty, the carrying out of which rarely brought him into even remote contact with either of his colleagues.
-it was good to feel the cool breath of the evening after the heat and burden of the afternoon. the little stone church of ste. mary upon the brow of the hill darkened, and an aged crone passed into the sanctuary to light the strong-smelling lamps. laroche entered to recite vespers, and rolled away to divest his great body of cope and alb; but as he appeared again within the church his eyes fell upon some half-dozen men, who waited to obtain an easier conscience by confession of their sins.
-"a plague on ye," the priest grumbled as he stumbled into his box. "why are ye all such miserable sinners? ha! is it you that i see, michel ferraud? what sin now, you rogue?"
-the keeper of the cabaret in the rue des pêcheurs fell straightway upon his knees, and began to whimper:
-"the former wickedness. i am driven to the act, my father. wine is scarce, as your holiness knows, and great is the demand therefor. i must eke out the supply against the coming of each ship, and it has ever been but a little aqua puralis added to each keg; but to-day, father, the devil jogged my elbow, and that which is blended cannot be separated. the wine remains a rich colour, holy father, as you shall see, and none shall know----"
-"vile and shameless sinner that you are," the priest interrupted. "to dilute a wine which is already too thin to gladden the heart of man and make him a cheerful countenance--to do so, i say, is to commit a most deadly sin."
-"exact not so heavy a fine as at last confession, good father. would not have me close my tavern? the wine is a good wine," michel added professionally, "and the little water added is methinks an aid to virtue."
-"art so fond of water?" replied the confessor grimly. "water you shall have. go down now to the river, swim across, and return in like manner, and afterwards come to me again. go now! i have lesser sinners to absolve."
-"the river will be villainous cold, my father. and i cannot swim."
-"learn," said the inexorable priest. "come not to me again till you have crossed the river as i have said. may you take into your evil stomach an abundance of cold water while learning."
-the taverner retired dissatisfied, and when outside the church rubbed his head and ruminated. "the confession was ill-timed," he muttered. "his reverence is in an evil humour. the devil shall seize me body and soul before i set one foot into that accursed river. but there is father st agapit. i will go forthwith and confess to him."
-the taverner's propitious star was in the ascendant. when he reached the chapel of ste. anne vespers had not concluded, for the office was there recited with greater reverence and detail than in the church of ste. mary bonsecours. michel pushed himself into a front place and hastened to make himself conspicuous by various fussy acts of outward devotion. the office over, he lingered until st agapit came to him, and the taverner then repeated the confession which he had already made, with such disastrous consequences, to laroche.
-"since the evil nature of man drives him to drink much wine, let him partake of it as weak as may be, for his soul's health," said the sincere priest. "but, my son, it behoves you to make known to your patrons the truth."
-"i dare not," said michel, rejoicing at heart because he saw a prospect of cheating the devil.
-"then are you guilty of deceit," said the priest. "mix water with your wine no more, and for your deceit you shall say the litany of st. anthony of padua six times before the altar of ste. anne. but see that you wash before approaching the holy shrine, because i perceive upon you the odour of wine-casks."
-having brought his duty to an end, st agapit drew his cloak round him and went out. while studying that day the work of a german philosopher he had been confronted by the startling theory that the brain and stomach of the human system were possibly connected by means of nerves. he desired to procure from one of the settler-soldiers a dead rabbit which he might dissect for his own enlightenment.
-as he went a woman met him.
-"father," she cried, "a soldier lies at my house at the point of death, praying for a priest to confess him."
-"follow me to the church," said st agapit.
-he passed back into the little log-building, took the reserved host and the sacred oils from an inlaid case, and wrapping these consolations of the church in his cloak accompanied the woman.
-upon a palliasse in one of the cabins on the eastern slope a young man lay dying of pneumonia, that fell disease which the medical science of the day could only fight by sage shakings of the head and a judicious use of the cupping-glass. the commandant's own doctor stood there, a man with some knowledge of medicinal plants and skilled by long experience in the treatment of sword-cuts, helplessly watching the exodus of his patient.
-"i resign him to your charge, good father," he said, bending his back to the priest. "he has passed beyond the help of science. had i been summoned earlier"--he shrugged his shoulders--"a discreet use of the lance might well have relieved the fatal rush of blood to the brain and saved a life for the king."
-"perchance an incision in the stomach to release the foul vapours----" began st agapit.
-"useless, my father. the disease, i do assure you, is in the blood."
-the abbé knelt and administered the last sacraments of his church. the young soldier remained entirely conscious and his confession came in a steady whisper.
-"father," he concluded, "i would speak with the commandant."
-st agapit looked at the physician by the flickering light of a pine torch. the latter shook his head.
-"'tis impossible. roussilac is at supper. but i may leave a message as i pass."
-"say that jean-marie labroquerie calls on him with his dying breath," whispered the soldier.
-the physician left; the woman who owned the cabin moved silently in preparation for the carrying out of the body, because people were practical in the days when death by violence occurred almost hourly. st agapit lowered his thin face to catch the message of the passing man.
-"hidden in the straw you shall find a roll of parchment. i pray you take it and use it as you will. it is the work of my father, a learned man. we quarrelled. i stole his work and left my home. i repented and would have taken it back. it was of no service to me. i cannot read. if it be of value, let my old father gain the profit."
-"does he live within the new world?"
-"peace, son. set your mind upon this suffering."
-the abbé held a crucifix into the glow of the torch.
-"jesus is not so jealous, father, that he forbids us to love our own. i was going back when i could obtain my congé, like the prodigal, to seek my father's forgiveness. my mother was to blame for our unhappiness. solitude and disappointment had embittered her life. she had a cruel tongue and her hand was rough. i was a coward. i fled. my sister's eyes have pursued me. i made myself a profligate, to forget. but memory is a knife in an open wound."
-the minutes passed punctuated by the gasps of the sufferer. the torch burnt down to its knot, and another was kindled by the pale woman. the sound without was the wash of the tide.
-"he comes not," moaned the soldier. "bear me a message, father."
-the dry rattling of beads broke the silence.
-"speak, my son."
-the soldier uttered a piteous cry: "madeleine! madeleine!"
-"oh, son! call rather on the name of mary."
-a gust of dark air swept into the cabin, the torch flame waved like a flag, and a man stood behind muffled to the eyes, breathing as though he had come with speed. he threw aside his martial cloak, and straightway stood revealed.
-"jean-marie," he muttered.
-"arnaud. stand aside, my father. let me meet my cousin face to face."
-the priest moved back, and the two soldiers, the officer and the fighting-man, stared into each other's eyes.
-"had i known this, jean-marie----" began the commandant; but the figure upon the palliasse, straining from death as a dog from the leash, broke in upon him.
-"cousin, you knew. when i have passed have you not averted your eyes, ashamed of the man who has had neither the wit nor the opportunity to rise? you have made yourself great, and i--but this is no time for calling up the past. i am spent. come to me, cousin--nearer. why, commandant, art afraid of a dying man?"
-"is he dying?"
-"he is in god's hands," the priest answered; and the woman grumbled: "yes, yes, and a long time lying there, keeping me from my bed."
-"out!" said roussilac, turning upon her. "out, and repeat not what you may have heard."
-the woman slunk away frightened.
-"ah, cousin, that old manner," smiled jean-marie. "so spoke you as a boy. they said you would find greatness. my father would say, 'he is a brutus. would condemn his own son.' i know not who brutus was, but my father was a learned man."
-he coughed terribly and lay back gasping.
-"say what lies upon your mind and have done," reproved st agapit. "i would have you die with better thoughts."
-"cousin," panted jean-marie, "i forgive you as i hope for mercy. place now your hand on mine."
-roussilac did so, shrinking at the freezing contact.
-"your aunt and uncle and madeleine your cousin dwell in this land, two days' journey beyond the river. my father was hunted for his life. they called him a wizard. you know? yes, once at home you might have shielded him, but there was your advancement to be thought on. swear to me to find them. tell madeleine how i died. be good to her. ah, cousin, be a brother to madeleine. you shall find her the fairest sister in all this world. swear to bring them from their solitude, to protect my father. swear before this holy priest to feed and clothe them if they be in want, to care for them, and be to them a brother and a son."
-roussilac, who had softened for the moment, grew again stern. his position was not so sure that it could withstand the attacks of tongues that might whisper at home that the young governor of the new colony sheltered a heretic uncle. jean-marie was quick to note the change. he knew the hardness of his cousin's heart.
-"swear to me, or have my shadow cursing you through life."
-the priest put out his arm with a word of adjuration.
-"the crucifix," the commandant muttered.
-st agapit held it over the dying man.
-"touch not the sacred symbol without a prayer, my son. beware god's wrath!"
-with one hand grasping the cold fingers, the other pressed fearfully upon the metal figure thrilling in the priest's grasp, roussilac took the oath that was required of him.
-"and that i will keep it, i call god, our lady, and the blessed saints to witness!" he concluded in a hushed voice.
-hardly had he spoken, and while he still watched his cousin lying white with the light fading from his eyes, the fortress from end to end became tumultuous. a gun roared, a din of shouting, the thud of flying feet, the shriek of women, the cry of his soldiery swept up the slope in wave upon wave of uproar.
-"an attack!" he cried. "and i am from my post!"
-"peace!" said st agapit, with a frown. "the god of battles is not here."
-"arnaud," came the hollow whisper out of the tumult, "i have more to say. my voice goes. i pray you bend your head."
-"i came secretly," said roussilac wildly. "i cannot stay. father, duty is calling me. my reputation, my position----"
-"your family," said the priest, pointing sternly.
-the night air became a storm with the shout: "the iroquois! the iroquois are upon us!"
-"cousin!" whispered the dying man.
-"my position!" cried the commandant; and turning with the confession he caught up his cloak, saying: "i will return. i will come back to you, jean-marie. my country calls me."
-"his ambition!" murmured the lean priest, as the door swung back, and the tumult rolled in like a raging sea flung upon a cave.
-iron and steel.
-the fortress was invested upon three sides: up the precipitous westward slope swarmed the senacas and cayugas; the fan-shaped body of the onondagas advanced from the east, where the ground was broken; eastward and westerly on the valley side, where the attackers hoped to strike the victorious blow, the confederate bands of the mohawks and oneidas lay hidden, awaiting the signal which had been agreed upon. the river occupied the line to the south, and between its banks and the enemy ambushed in the valley an outlet was left in order that the french might be given the opportunity of vacating their position. once in open country, they might be broken up into bands and hunted down.
-the attack from west and north had been arranged to draw the french from the one point where the fortress was vulnerable. it appeared as though the besieged were tumbling blindfold into the trap, which a general of experience would have at once suspected. every fighting-man in the fortress assembled to hold the almost impregnable heights. in the absence of the leader this mistake was pardonable. there the noise of battle was terrific. the wild light of the bush fire beyond the river flung its shadows over the grass hill and cast into detail figures and flashing tomahawks. a storm of hissing arrows swept over the rocks. the bronze-skinned warriors rushed up and climbed the heights. the bravest of the senacas, that hardy fighting race of the highlands, were already within the fortress, tomahawking the gunners with hideous yells.
-the man-of-war was useless. boats were let down, and the sailors flung ropes round the ends of the logs which supported the fire-raft, and towed the flaming peril away. then the clumsy ship blundered up stream, only to find herself helplessly cut off from the enemy by the sheer wall of rock. she drifted back, and the master gave the order for the guns to be beached and dragged up the slope to strengthen the resources of the besieged.
-"'fore heaven!" cried van vuren. "the natives win!"
-the dutchmen had perforce returned to watch the progress of the assault. they saw the cayugas dealing blows against the summit, repulsed, but never actually losing ground. each assault found the height invested more strongly by the overwhelming host. similar success attended the ascent of the onondagas. the rival factions swayed upon the distant summit, lit by the fire of the cannon.
-the dutchmen hovered in uncertainty, until the opposition yielded and the indians began to burn the huts which looked down upon the river. at this signal a shout went up from the valley, and the mohawks and oneidas rushed out to complete the work. at the same time van vuren gave the word, and the big men re-crossed the river, gained the level, and joined the sachems and doctors who were dancing and screaming at the foot of the hill.
-abruptly a line of soldiers formed upon the crest to the roaring of cannon, and these trained fighters bore down through the smoke, sweeping away the opposition as wind carries the snow. immediately yells of dismay sounded above, where the indians who had been trapped were being put to the sword. the blind repulse had at length given way to method.
-a report had passed about the fortress that roussilac had been assassinated, and the body deprived of its brains became thereupon powerless to act. but gaudriole came hopping from gun to gun, crying: "courage, my comrades! i have seen the commandant. he did but go down to the chapel of ste. anne to confess his sins. see where he comes! long live our governor!"
-the soldiers caught up his cry and fought with new energy when they beheld roussilac's slight figure wrapped in a long cloak. he passed deliberately from east to north, issuing his orders and rapidly altering the entire nature of the fight. the besieged became the attackers; the hunters became the hunted. roussilac's pale face restored confidence. his contemptuous coolness brought victory within sight. before setting the trap for the cayugas and senacas his martial eye had lingered upon the silent valley. there he concentrated his best fighters, and despatched an order to the ship, directing the master to bring up the naval guns. the sailors were soon at their work, dragging the light guns into position and training the muzzles upon the suspected valley, while powder-monkeys ran up with charge and ball, and the gunners arranged their port-fire.
-with the attack of the previously ambushed mohawks, the battle for possession may be said to have commenced. skill, holding a position which subsequent history proved to be practically impregnable, became opposed by numbers blindly indifferent to death.
-the dutchmen fled at that repulse when the natives about them had been flung back almost to the forest. they halted upon the beach and deliberated on the practicability of flight through the smoking country which hemmed the opposite shore. it was then that dutoit made the discovery that two of his men were missing.
-"we cannot regain the bodies," said van vuren, when the announcement was made. "the french mayhap have already discovered them, and thus know that we have taken arms against them. flight is now forced upon us."
-dawn was near when hough reached the scene of action. the din of battle had carried over the land, driving the birds and beasts northward in fear, and he and his stout comrade had started out at once. scarce a mile had been traversed when penfold's leg gave way; he sent his companion on, and hobbled slowly along his track, hoping to be in before the end.
-at a glance the puritan perceived the flaw in the attack.
-"why do ye waste your men against that wall?" he shouted at the chiefs. "bring every man round to the east. follow me, warriors. follow, we shall conquer yet."
-he might as profitably have addressed the stones. he ran in among the fighters, dealing blows with the flat of his sword, and pointing through the shadows to the fierce conflict upon the edge of the valley.
-"there!" he shouted, trying to recall some scattered words of the language. "there, where the sun rises!"
-at length he made himself clear, and a section of the fighters, more cool-headed than the remainder, professed themselves willing to follow, and some of the hot-headed chiefs, perceiving method in the englishman's madness, turned also calling back their men.
-twice had the mohawks broken through the front line and been repulsed before reaching the cannon, which spouted its hail down the valley. a barrier of french dead piled the space beside the artillery. roussilac strode to and fro, withdrawing men from points where they could ill be spared that he might throw them upon the side where the lines wavered. here the flower of the fighting-men struggled. laroche fought here like the brave man he undoubtedly was, swearing fearfully, but never ceasing from the skilful sword-play which freed many a brown warrior from the burden of the fight. a charm seemed to protect his great body, the arrows leaving him unscathed, the blows of the tomahawks seeming to deflect as they descended, until the soldiers fought for the pride of place at the side of the priest, whom they believed to be under the special protection of the saints.
-"infidels, unbelieving and unbaptised! down, down!" shouted laroche, blinking the sweat from his eyes.
-repeatedly the iroquois turned the line at the weak spot which nature had overlooked in her plan of fortification, but roussilac was prepared always with a band waiting to stem the rush. this could not last. his soldiers were thinning, and there seemed to be no limit to the numbers of the indians. they pressed up in horde upon horde, their shouts cleaving the moist wind, their arrows inexhaustible, their courage undiminished. then the word came that the cayugas and senacas were giving way upon the west with the manifest intention of strengthening their allies.
-"let them come," cried roussilac loudly, for his men's benefit. "only send me as many soldiers as can be spared from that position." but to himself he muttered: "the game is up," and he wrung his brain for a ruse de guerre.
-"send me a dozen men with a cannon yonder to work round and attack these savages in the rear," he said to one of his captains, who had been put out of the fight by a wound in the arm. "if they can but raise sufficient noise they may appear as a relieving force. it disheartens even a brute to fight between two foes."
-"we cannot spare the men, excellency."
-"they must be spared," replied roussilac.
-a messenger rushed up, breathless and triumphant.
-"excellency, the algonquins are coming to our aid in force," he panted.
-for the first time in many hours the commandant smiled.
-"you spoke truly," he said to the captain. "we cannot spare those men."
-he turned and recoiled with a shiver. st agapit, a long, black figure, stood beside him in the wet wreaths of the dawn.
-"your cousin is dead," said the priest. "he died but half an hour ago, with a curse upon his tongue. you have lost me that man's soul."
-he half lifted his hand and moved away, seeing nothing of the great struggle, heeding the clamour not at all, because the sun was about to rise and he had his mass to say.
-while light was breaking over the cliffs in the east, where the fishermen of tadousac hid themselves throughout that night, oskelano brought his men clear of the forest and disposed them upon the plain. the old man was no mean general. he sent out his spies, and when the men returned with the information that the french were being crushed by superior numbers he divided his force into three bands. the first he sent like a wedge between the onondagas and the force advancing from the west under hough's leadership; the second he flung to the north of the mohawks and oneidas; and, having thus completely separated the allied forces, he threw his third band upon the rear of the men who were slowly carrying the position from the valley.
-the cayugas and senacas were beaten back to the river. the onondagas, attacked on two sides and at first mistaking foe for friend, were shattered at a first charge and fled for the forest. the fighters in the valley alone held their ground, until the light became strong; and then roussilac drew up his entire force and directed in person a charge which hurled the stubborn mohawks back upon the axes of the algonquins awaiting them upon the lower ground. the survivors fled and were pursued by the northern tribe. the french flung themselves down exhausted, while laroche wiped his sword and streaming face, and panted a benediction upon dead and wounded and living alike.
-thus the iroquois confederacy received a shattering blow from which it never recovered; and the land was made secure to france for a long two hundred years.
-ob and azure.
-after that complete repulse of the iroquois tribes the french found themselves so weak as to be practically at the mercy of a foe. another resolute attack must have driven them from their position. but the iroquois bands were completely disorganised; the few english scattered about the maritime provinces, including that remnant of scots in the east, who had settled newfoundland and nova scotia only to see their territories wrested from them, were entirely inadequate even in combination to menace the supremacy of the house of bourbon; and it may be questioned whether, at that time, any scotsman would have stood to fight side by side with the english. soon another ship would arrive from marseilles, bringing, not only provisions and ammunition, but a reinforcement of men, prepared to till the ground as settlers should, but far more ready to continue the french error of attempting to colonise with the sword. on the heels of the discovery of two dutch bodies among the indian slain, la salle returned, and conveyed to roussilac the information that an english spy was escaping south. gaudriole also announced that van vuren and his company were bearing in that same direction. roussilac's hand was forced. if these men escaped him the fortress might be called upon to resist, not only an english, but possibly a dutch invasion also. he sent out twenty men immediately to cut off the hollanders, leaving the garrison depleted to no more than fifty men available for defence; and the commandant made haste to reward oskelano for his services as suitably as his resources would permit, and sent him home, fearful lest the treacherous algonquin might discover, and take advantage of, his weakness.
-when la salle stood before him, and announced that the english spy was the guest of one madame labroquerie, a widow living with her daughter in the country to the south, the commandant refused to betray himself, but replied that he would accompany the priest and be a witness to the hanging of the englishman. at the same time, he considered, he might keep the oath which he had sworn to his dead cousin. having given the order for a troop of men to attend upon his person, he abandoned the subject which awoke in him unpleasant memories, and bowing haughtily to la salle--for he and the priest were in a manner rivals--congratulated him upon his appointment to the governorship of acadie, the confirmation of which, signed by the cardinal himself, had lately been delivered by the hand of the master of the st. wenceslas.
-"this fortress will be the weaker for your loss, sir priest," he said, feigning a sorrow which he could not feel. "may i seek to know when you propose to set forth to the undertaking of your new responsibilities?"
-"if my work here be finished what time the st. wenceslas sails homeward i shall depart with her," la salle replied, flashing a disdainful glance upon roussilac. "but i have yet to rid this land of its english vermin."
-with that implied scorn of the governor, and suggestion of his own superiority, la salle departed to make his preparations; and an hour later a troop of horsemen rode forth, roussilac at the head, and beside him gaudriole jesting for his chief's amusement; on the other side the two priests--for laroche accompanied his senior--and behind six soldiers, riding two abreast on bright bay ponies, their weapons flashing in the sunlight.
-there had been war in the grove. an angry scene passed between mother and daughter when madeleine returned after seeing her lover upon his way. for the first time in her life the girl lost her sweet patience, and returned word for word so hotly that madame at length became afraid, and backed away, yet muttering:
-"men shall stay your pride, girl, if a weak woman may not."
-"they also shall find that a resolute mind is not quickly broken," madeleine returned.
-"the law against heresy is still in being," madame threatened, made still more bitter by the knowledge that her daughter and geoffrey had together outwitted her. "i have borne with you, because you are my child. our lady punishes me for my lack of devotion. i had speech but recently with a holy priest. we shall see, when that priest returns. we shall see!"
-"drive me from you with that bitter tongue, as you drove out jean-marie," cried madeleine, her fair throat swelling like a bird in song. "so shall you die without son or daughter at your side, and none but an indian shall see you to your grave."
-at that madame put up her hand with a superstitious gesture, and limped away, her yellow face wrinkled with rage; nor did she speak again to her daughter until the indian servant entered the cabin to announce the coming of a warlike band. then she croaked at madeleine: "'tis the holy priest. know you not, girl, how those are punished who conspire to aid an enemy of their country?" then she hasted away to don the cap and gown which she had kept against the coming of a change of fortune.
-there came a sound of voices, the troop rode into the grove, and madeleine, as she stood trembling at the door, was greeted by gaudriole, who bowed and grinned as he announced his excellency the commandant to visit the madame labroquerie and the fair lady her daughter.
-"i am madeleine labroquerie," stammered the girl, frightened for a moment by the brave show of mounted men.
-"cousin," cried a half-familiar voice, "hast put a friend and relative out of memory?"
-dazzled by the sunlight after the gloom of the cabin, madeleine shaded her eyes. she saw before her a tall man, sallow and dark, his hair falling in snaky lines to his shoulders, the golden fleur-de-lys worked upon his blue surcoat making his face the more sickly by comparison. before she could return his salutation he had dropped to his knee and kissed her hand.
-"years have passed since we parted, cousin," he said. "the present finds me with position, and you with beauty. i knew not that you were here until your brother told me."
-"arnaud!" she exclaimed, giddy with amazement at finding the boy who had been the autocrat of childhood's games grown into a man of power. then, because her heart was so tender to all that breathed, she forgot the character of the man who was looking down upon her with increasing wonder to find how the plain child with the tangle of flaming hair had blossomed into this lovely creature, and asked quickly: "jean-marie--what of him?"
-roussilac was not a man to tell ill-news gently. wasting neither words nor sentiment, he replied: "your brother died but recently of fever, calling upon your name with his last breath."
-his final words were intended to show her that he had been by the sick man's side until the end.
-madeleine turned white and tottered. then, as her strong heart recovered, she said:
-"let me call my mother. my father has long been dead. we have remained poor, arnaud," she added defiantly. "but if you have ascended, we have at least not descended."
-"to what higher pinnacle can a woman wish to attain than that of perfect beauty?" he replied gallantly; but he noticed that she left him with a frown.
-"had i but known that she had grown so fair!" he muttered.
-gaudriole was grinning at his side. the dwarf put up his red hand and showed his chief a dead butterfly, its bright plumage well-nigh worn away, its wings crushed and wet.
-"short-lived beauty, excellency," he leered, with the jester's privilege. "yesterday shining in the sun. to-day!" he laughed hoarsely and dropped the ruined insect. "'tis a world of change and contrast," he chuckled. "mark this philosophy, my captain. when old age sends me white hairs and a reverend aspect you shall perchance call me beautiful, if you look not too closely at my hump; but when the bloom of yonder beauteous lady turns to seed----"
-"off, bossu!" cried roussilac angrily. "learn to turn your jesting with a better judgment, or your tongue shall be slit and your back whipped."
-"my faith!" the dwarf chuckled. "i have no back. i am like the frog, but shoulders and legs."
-madame herself appeared in a fresh white cap and an antique gown. it was not her way to be gracious, nor were her recollections of her nephew's fidelity of the happiest; so she did but greet him coldly, asking why he had now come since he had tarried so long.
-"good aunt," came the reply, "i would have sought you earlier, had i known you were in this land. i have not long held command, and my hands have been filled in crushing the strength of the iroquois. i entreat you both to return with me now and take up your abode at the fortress, not indeed as my guests, but as an honoured mother and sister."
-"pretty talk," sniffed madame. "i said in the old days you would make a courtier. so you, the governor of the land, knew nothing of this home of your poor relations a paltry two days' journey beyond the river. there is no man so blind as he who makes a living by that infirmity. this girl tells me that my son is dead. died he in the faith of the church?"
-"surely," said roussilac. "but tell me i pray, good aunt, is it true, as this indian says, that the english spy has already escaped?"
-"yes, he has gone," cried madeleine, flushing warmly. "he has gone, arnaud, to--to the west."
-her deceit was so transparent that even roussilac could not restrain a smile.
-"and why, fair cousin," he asked, addressing her with marked deference, "why should this englishman seek the unknown west, where it is believed none dwell save indians? would he not rather turn towards the south, and seek new england and his own people?"
-"indeed i know not why he should seek the west," madeleine replied, between tears and laughter. "but i do assure you he has gone in that direction----"
-"peace, girl," her mother cried. "the fool lies to you, arnaud. she is a heretic, shame though it be, and her master is the father of lies. 'tis true the english spy escaped in the early morning, but he knows not the land, and may yet be secured. i am surrounded all my life long by wickedness," the bitter woman continued. "my husband was perverted by the sin of science. jean-marie was but a knave. he left me here. madeleine is a heretic, and she has threatened to leave me also. well, i will come with you, arnaud, but see that you give me a scented pillow for my head and a cup of warm wine at evening. stand not there, nephew, like a wooden stock, but command one of yonder evil-faced rogues to bring up a horse fitted for the age and dignity of the first lady in this thrice-accursed land."
-an evil smile curved the thin line of roussilac's mouth. his aunt had indeed not changed; but she had yet to learn that he had advanced. he turned to where the priests were talking loudly in the shade of the grove, noting la salle's anger at the failure of his mission, and a few paces beyond his troopers jesting in the sun. then he looked upon the fair face of madeleine and smiled again.
-"tamalan," he called, dividing his attention between the soldier he was addressing and his aunt, "prepare your pony for the use of the first lady in this great colony of france--the lady madeleine labroquerie."
-he bowed slightly towards the silent girl.
-for one instant madame appeared to stifle. then she drew back her lips and snarled at her nephew, yet without uttering a word.
-"this is not normandy, madame," said roussilac calmly. "and you have not here the boy whose cheeks you would smite when the angry fit was on you. this is the new world, and i am the representative of his most sacred majesty, king louis the thirteenth."
-madame started forward, two passionate red spots upon her cheeks, her bony hand uplifted; but roussilac indicated the golden fleur-de-lys upon his breast and said, in the quiet consciousness of power: "remember!"
-the little woman stood for a moment motionless, grinding her teeth, her black eyes starting from a ghastly countenance, then flung herself back into the cabin, tearing at her hair and cap in the madness of her anger. roussilac watched with the same quiet smile, and when she had gone turned to madeleine and said:
-"my aunt forgets that time may work a change."
-"pardon her," murmured the girl. "this solitude has touched her brain."
-then la salle strode up with angry questionings: "shall we tarry here all the day, sir commandant, while the heretic escapes? know you not that new england swarms with puritans, who, if they but hear of our weakness, shall fill this land and compel us forth by their numbers?"
-"you speak truly, sir priest," roussilac answered. "we do but waste our time."
-crossing to the men, he selected the five strongest ponies and the five most trustworthy soldiers, and charged the latter to ride out, secure the englishman, and hang him out of hand. these men set forth immediately, while roussilac turned himself to the task of soothing la salle, and to the pleasure of flattering the fair lady his cousin.
-the everlasting hills.
-after their escape from the dangerous region of the fortress on that night of battle, van vuren and his band made towards the far-distant country watered by the hudson, travelling under the guidance of pieter von donck across the unfrequented territory, over balsamic hills of spruce, through swamps and thickets, and across a desert of dusty stone, until they reached a range of green mountains which made an immense backbone along the land. here they halted, and the note of argument was raised. van vuren had developed a sullen mood, induced by jealousy of von donck, who had taken the office of leader upon himself, and at this point he turned upon the sailor and a heated battle of words ensued. the captain indicated the flat district spreading westward, and confidently declared that the route lay there. his men obediently turned to follow, with the exception of von donck, who, when his argument failed, separated himself forthwith from the company.
-"take then your inland path," he shouted at them angrily. "you shall in due time come among the savage adirondacks, where the mohawks dwell unconquered, and where all manner of wild beasts fill the fastnesses. no white man has preceded you there. this way i smell the sea. keep your course, captain, if you will not be ruled by me. i am for new amsterdam and the hostel beside san nicolas."
-"pieter knows the land," urged dutoit.
-"go then with the stubborn fool," replied van vuren hotly. "follow me, my men. this way for the sea!"
-the rest of the company succumbed to discipline and followed their leader, though with manifest unwillingness; while von donck gave them over to their fate and travelled alone into the green hills.
-what befell van vuren and his company history relateth not. it is certain that they were never taken by the french, because the party which roussilac had sent out returned in due course to the fortress, and reported that they had failed to discover any trace of the traitors. but at a later date there went a story about hudson's river, concerning a party of dutchmen said to be haunting the spurs of the adirondacks, weather-beaten men, wrinkled and long-bearded, their feet covered with scraps of hide, their clothes eked out by furs, continually setting out upon a journey, but always returning to their starting-point. still later, after new amsterdam had been conquered by the english and had received the name of new york, mothers would often frighten their errant children with the tale of the lost dutchmen who wandered about the north, their beards dragging on the stones and tangling among the bush, watching the sun by day and the stars by night, and sometimes separating as though in anger, but only to combine again and renew the hopeless search. probably van vuren and his men were destroyed by the fierce mohawks; possibly they fell a prey to the animals which roamed in their thousands among the adirondacks, or perished of want after their ammunition became exhausted; the one fact is certain that not one of them ever reached the sea-blown country of the manhattoes.
-while this fatal dissension took place geoffrey was crossing the plains upon the further side of the green mountains, only a short distance ahead. he had made excellent progress, concealing himself cleverly from bands of marauding indians, guiding his feet by the constellations at night, and searching by day for the tree-moss which delicately furred the north side only of the hemlock boles; but there still remained over two hundred miles of wild country between him and the town of boston. he tramped on, unheeding sore feet, feeling the spirit of brave madeleine at his side, averting the perils of night, guiding his feet accurately southward. as time went on, and he reflected how great was the distance he had already traversed, the joy of life became so strong that he could have flung away his sword and dared the world with bare hands.
-two weeks had passed since that parting from his comrades; and on the evening of the fourteenth day he broke from the bush and for some moments stood bewildered at the scene before him, blinking his eyes, and longing to step back into the greenwood shade.
-white masses of mountain glowed ahead, peaks and crags all glittering in the sun like a huge cascade streaming down from the clouds; ranges of pure crystal, polished like glass, and edged with rose-pink by the colours of the western sky; snow-white gorges of milky quartz, and silver cataracts flung in foam from the whiteness above to the green below.
-"these," he said softly, with a thrill of old-world superstition, "these must surely be the great crystal mountains where the iroquois believe that the gods dwell."
-he hurried on, his eyes watering because of the dazzling light reflected from those crystal walls; and as he went he turned to lover's thoughts, and determined that, after all, the sun glow upon the white peaks was not one-half so lovely as the flush upon madeleine's soft cheek. here before him was nature's finest insentient handiwork. it was glowing and full of music, but its loveliness lacked life, and its warmth was borrowed from the sun. it was only beautiful as a part of the environment of the life of the soul. how he longed for madeleine to stand at his side and behold those everlasting hills in splendour and the sun swimming in red! and with that longing he half unconsciously breathed the healthful text to which she had attuned her happy soul, "it is life--glorious, everlasting life!"
-vitality rose to its full height within geoffrey's body; and when he felt no more the weight of his heavy kit, he ran over the broken ground and up the narrow gorge, until two white walls closed him gently into the panting bosom of the crystal hills.
-"here is the home of fairies," he exclaimed, when he stopped at a great height, and looked upon three tiny lakes which made a trinity of motionless mirrors decked by feathers of cloud, the water like white wine brimming in great bowls of granite.
-immediately a gentle voice was wafted through the air, "here is the home of fairies," and after a pause the information was repeated like the warble of a weary bird, the last notes dying inaudible around the cliffs.
-geoffrey dared not speak again. the genius of the place was over him, waiting to give a signal to the expectant choir. footfalls preceded the traveller, the echo of his own. the many-mouthed king of the mountains pattered before him, breathing the stranger a gentle welcome to the district which he ruled. geoffrey crept on tiptoe to the edge of the nearest pool, until he could see the weedless rock-bottom and the land-locked salmon lying near the surface, gently fanning their red fins, and watching him with wondering eyes. seating himself, the traveller bathed his weary feet and watched the water swallows, darting and splashing, snatching the fat flies which spotted the surface like drops of rain, sucking them in and pushing out their little black noses for more.
-the sun went down and a chill crept into the wind. geoffrey left the enchanted spot, and the salmon shooting like silver arrows through the darkening pool, and, again ascending, entered a richly-wooded glen through which a cascade ran in a white thread; and here, close to a winding path beaten out by the feet of mountain sheep, he pitched his camp and ate his frugal meal of dried meat, which he eked out by a few early berries and some sweet roots of the wood althæa.
-the light went out from the long day as he sank into dreams of madeleine. he pictured her swaying among the scented grasses of the lowlands, or breathing a prayer for his welfare while she awaited the evening star in the faint blue of the sky. he saw her leaning from the hill-top watching the southern line, and bounding joyously away when she found the sky all clear. he imagined her lying asleep with her mind awake for him; and he believed that in his sleep her sweet dreams would cause his lips to open and his tongue to call her name.
-a rustling in the near bush recalled him to the present. he thought the sound was occasioned by some restless bird, but when the disturbance became more decided, he rose, alert, and, putting out a hand for his bow, shrank back into a place of shelter. hardly had he done so when a thicket of willow shivered and parted.
-the watcher saw two savage eyes aglow like lamps, and as he sank to the ground and remained motionless as a figure of stone, a great panther slouched into the open, with its nose upon the ground.
-the creature passed, blowing up the dust as though following a fresh scent. geoffrey noticed with a thrill of relief that the ground it was intent upon was not that which he had traversed. when the huge cat had crawled into the bush, he drew out one of his few remaining arrows and cautiously followed; but not more than twenty paces had he advanced into the clinging bush when there came to him for the first time during his wanderings the exclamation of a human voice.
-geoffrey plunged forward recklessly until he saw a circular opening such as nature delights to make in her laying out of the densest forest. the cataract formed the left; a bank of trees rose to the right; opposite him a big man sat in the half light, holding a smouldering pipe, his eyes fixed in terror upon the panther, which lay upon its belly half a dozen yards away, growling and lashing its tail in its savage cat's joy. the man was unarmed. he had left his pack and weapons under a shelf of white rock which gleamed behind.
-viner edged nearer, but as he stirred a twig snapped and the panther looked round, its eyes full of fire and blood. at the same moment the stout man discovered his rescuer and a flush of colour returned to his bloodless cheeks. keeping his eyes upon the enemy, he began to crawl towards the rock, shouting as he went: "drive at him, boy. send a shaft through his neck, and pieter von donck shall stand your friend for life."
-the bolt, well-aimed by the boy's cool hands, sprang that instant into the beast's shoulder. as it felt the sting of the barb, the panther roared and leapt mightily into the bush, landing upon the exact spot which geoffrey had cleverly vacated in time to save his life. again von donck bellowed like a bull:
-"let him have one such another, comrade. then into the bush and dodge him. i have powder here and ball."
-geoffrey hurriedly slipped another arrow along the groove of his cross-bow and secured the string. quick as he was, the great cat was quicker. it hurled itself upon the tree behind which its enemy had taken shelter, and its iron claws wrenched off great flakes of bark. again geoffrey saved himself by leaping back, but the panther was up at the rebound and on him. for the third time geoffrey dodged, and in doing so released the string, and the bolt, by happy chance, pierced the demon in the chest as it descended. the next instant geoffrey was felled to the moss. but this effort was the panther's last. an explosion shook the bush, there came a villainous smell of saltpetre, a whirl of smoke, and the mountain cat fell upon its side, quivered, and lay dead.
-"a brave invention this powder," snorted von donck triumphantly out of the smoke. "but methinks too costly save for an emergency." he broke off and muttered into his beard: "a thousand devils! the boy is english."
-"a strange meeting, friend," said geoffrey, as he rose somewhat blindly to his feet.
-"adventure makes many an alliance," quoth the dutchman. "were you black, or brown, or yellow man, i would take your hand and swear to stand your friend. you have saved my life, boy. nay, deny it not, and at the further risk of your own. by my soul, the brute has clawed your shoulder. this must be seen to. come, lie you here, while i bring water and wash the wound and bind it up as best i can. a pestilence destroy these same unholy animals. they strike a man like lightning."
-"if i have saved your life, you have done as much for me," said geoffrey. "let us divide the honours."
-"a hand-shake upon that," cried the hearty dutchman. "we are enemies by blood, boy. you have fought against my people before this night, and are like, i doubt not, to do so again. the puritans of massachusetts have their eyes upon our new netherlands. you and i may yet meet upon opposite sides in the battle; but may god forge a thunderbolt for my destruction if i do not seek to preserve the life of one who has shed his blood for me. i suspect, boy, you are no true englishman. i dare swear your father or mother came of a good dutch stock."
-"i am english born and bred," said geoffrey. "i could wish you were the same," he boldly added.
-"out, jester!" said the big man as he went down to the cataract. "it is your envy speaking. black never made itself whiter by longing."
-the dutchman returned with his hat half filled with water and attended to the injuries of his new friend, with podgy hands which were but a little less rough than the nature of the man who owned them. every protestation on the part of his patient he silenced by a growl. when the slight flesh-wound had been bandaged, he replenished the fire to keep other mountain cats at bay, and they sat together under the white wall, von donck occupied in skinning the defunct panther, chatting noisily the while.
-"do you wonder that i speak your language when i have been brought up to a better?" he observed as the soft night grew upon them. "a soldier of fortune must needs pick up all he can, grains and chaff alike. many years past, before that yellow hair of yours had grown to trouble a maiden's heart--ah, that blush was good. shall repeat the phrase. before that yellow hair had grown to win a dutchman's heart--see how i spare your blushes to hurt your pride--i served under hendrick hudson, who called himself english, though plague me if i could ever tell what was english in him save his oaths. i promise you he could ring an english oath to drown the best of yours. to-morrow will tell you how i sailed with him up the mohican river which now bears his name. 'tis a happy day for you, young comrade. your future wife and children shall bless this day--when you and old pieter met. plague the lad! his face is like a poppy in a corn-field. shall stand together, young yellow-head, till the end of this journey. i do not seek to learn your business, but you shall know mine. i am going home, boy, back to san nicolas by the sea, and there shall grow a yet rounder belly, and tell travellers' tales, and toss my neighbours' children upon my knee. we shall part in new england, enemies if you will, but until we reach the fields of the puritans we stand together, and the indians that burn you shall burn me also."
-"how come you to be travelling alone?" asked geoffrey.
-"'tis a fine skin," said geoffrey, indicating the striped coat which von donck was stretching along the rock.
-"will look well upon my shoulders," said pieter complacently. "'tis mine by hunter's right. shall swagger about new amsterdam in it and shame the burgomaster. at nights will sit in the hostel and say how i killed him with mine own hand. the folk shall not believe, but i shall have the hunter's satisfaction of making a brave show. by san nicolas, the brute shall not die so easily when i come to tell the story."
-he fell back and soon began to snore, while geoffrey watched the stern stone profile and the moon rolling serenely over the crystal heights; and as he watched he drifted away into dreams.
-these aerial castles toppled and fell when there came to his ears from the adjoining valley a disturbance, which might have been occasioned by mountain gnomes beating the rock with hammers of iron.
-throwing off his sleep with a deep breath so soon as geoffrey touched his shoulder, von donck stared up at the moon, and then upon the equally pale face of the watchman, who knelt over him and exclaimed: "hear the sounds along yonder valley?"
-in a moment the dutchman was on his feet, alert and listening.
-"so," he snorted, when the steady tap-tap of the fairy hammers reached his ears. "we are first here by only a little. how is that shoulder, young fighter? too stiff to draw a bow, or cross a sword?"
-"what mean you?" asked geoffrey.
-"frenchmen are upon us. the knaves to ride o' night when honest folk sleep! they have forgot that the blessed echo carries far beyond them. now 'tis for me to contrive some snare for your executioners."
-geoffrey quaked at the ugly emphasis which the big man gave to his words. a new feeling of security had come to him with the sealing of his partnership with the stout hollander; and it appeared as though his dream of safety was to be dissipated before it had taken a concrete form.
-"what else think you?" went on pieter, with his snorting laugh. "shall roussilac allow a spy to reach new england, there to make known his weakness, without striking a blow for his capture? see you that straight limb on yonder pine? i tell you that slim body of yours would have swung there ere sunrise, had you not by good luck fallen in with pieter von donck."
-"they shall never hang me," said geoffrey defiantly.
-"spoken like a dutchman," said the sailor. "but now to work. i have as little mind as you to die out of season, for my shrift shall be as short as yours if yonder little men pull me down. scatter the fire, and remove all traces of our camping-place, while i pull at my pipe and think. the soldiers have a hard climb before them yet."
-von donck screwed the pieces of his wooden pipe together, filled the bowl, and taking a brand from the fire, removed to the edge of the cataract. there he sat, puffing great clouds, his eyes settled upon the ravine, his face stony in thought, while geoffrey swept the fire into the cataract and obliterated all traces of the recent struggle with the wild cat.
-"bring me my panther hide," called von donck, rising with leisurely movements. "we shall win a bloodless victory, and enjoy a laugh to boot. yonder lies the man to fight for us."
-he pointed with the stem of his pipe into the middle of the moon.
-refusing to divulge more of his plan, von donck threw the pelt across his shoulder and strode into the bush. geoffrey followed, and the two men struggled on for upwards of a mile, until the ground went away sharply and the cataract thundered far below through a neck of rock scarcely more than four feet in width. here von donck halted and steadied his body upon the brink.
-"if i fail to make this jump, reclaim my body from yonder depths, and say that i fell like a soldier," he jested.
-crossing the chasm, they descended, letting themselves from rock to rock, and running whenever a sheep walk became visible. as they entered the ravine the noise over the hills became more definite.
-"how is it they have tracked me?" asked geoffrey as they ran.
-"i have no breath for idle talk," gasped his comrade. "they bring with them an indian, one of the cursed algonquins, who shall tell when even a bird has hopped across a stone."
-the climb began, up the face of the hills to the region of the moon. the crystal wall was nowhere precipitous. when the summit had been attained, von donck flung himself between the mighty lips of the granite face and gasped heavily. some minutes elapsed before speech returned to him.
-"i would as soon carry a man upon my back as this weight of flesh," he growled. "by san nicolas, i did never so sweat in my life."
-"this is open rock, without tree or shelter," said geoffrey wonderingly. "we could have made a better stand in the bush."
-"hasten yonder," ordered von donck. "bring me as much dry wood as you can bear, and ask no question, or i shall heave you down the face of this cliff, which it has well-nigh killed me to climb."
-when geoffrey returned with a few dry pine sticks, von donck was collecting some moist moss from the underpart of the rocks. the moon stood above the granite nose of the colossal face, and by her light the dutchman drew an imaginary line from the twin projections, which became invested by distance with an exact similitude of the human mouth, to a hole in the rock some twelve yards away. here he built a fire, placing above the grass and dry sticks a pile of white moss. then he sat down and well-nigh choked with laughter.
-"prepare to strike a spark," he whispered. "but let no smoke arise if you would escape hanging. the troop shall carry away with them a tale to make these crystal mountains feared for ever."
-"what plan is this?" said geoffrey irritably. "we stand upon the most exposed spot of these mountains, and do you propose to light a fire so that all who are concerned may know where we may be found?"
-"control that voice and temper," whispered von donck. "every sound carries over yon ravine. come, sit near me, and watch as pretty a piece of art-magic as brain of man ever devised. show not yourself above the great face, or we are undone, and drop no spark into that fire if you love your life."
-geoffrey crawled along the side of the face and lay flat beside the dutchman's knee. the latter proceeded:
-"the indians have great fear of these mountains. i promise you yonder frenchmen are driving their guide at the point of the sword, and feeling none too secure themselves at entering the devil's country. a man who fights a good sword shall sweat when a bird screams o' night. so soon as they show themselves the old man of the mountains shall lift up his voice, and you shall find, boy, that his tongue is mightier than our swords."
-when von donck had spoken a breath of wind swept the exposed ridge. as it passed a faint groan arose from the rock, and passed, leaving them staring at each other fearfully.
-"it was but the wind," geoffrey muttered.
-"san nicolas!" stammered the dutchman. "this comes of playing with the powers of darkness. 'twas the groan of a lost spirit."
-"stay!" whispered geoffrey. "i thought that the sound proceeded from yonder stone."
-his comrade regarded the round mass which had been indicated with starting eyes, but when he saw nothing supernatural, crawled near and examined it nervously, asking:
-"think you some spirit is imprisoned within?"
-"see this hole?" exclaimed geoffrey, pointing to a small aperture visible at the base. "'tis what they call a blow-stone, if i mistake not. here the wind enters and so makes the noise that we heard."
-"soft," said von donck, vastly relieved. "soft, or you spoil my plan."
-setting his lips to the hole, geoffrey sent his breath into the womb of the rock. a subdued murmur beat upon the air and settled the matter beyond dispute. von donck rocked himself to and fro, chafing his legs with his podgy hands, scarlet with excitement.
-"a hundred thousand devils, but they shall run," he chuckled. "i had purposed to use my own voice, but this is better far."
-the sound of other voices came in a murmur across the ravine.
-"to the fire," whispered the dutchman. "nurse the flame, and let it not burst forth until i give the word."
-he scrambled up the side of the rock and looked over the giant's nose. the opposite cliffs were bathed in moonlight, and the watcher saw two men standing above the cataract.
-"now, boy," he muttered deeply. "let the fire burn, and when the flames dart up choke them with the moss."
-geoffrey complied with the mysterious command; but as he pressed the moss down and a cloud of smoke ascended, a mighty bellowing shook the air, and he started round to behold von donck lying flat along the rock, his grotesque face and bulging cheeks pressed against the blow-stone, his body heaving like a gigantic bellows as he pumped his breath into the hole.
-"more fire," came a choking whisper. "a strong flame, then smoke as before."
-the flames darted up and whipped the moonbeams, the smoke followed, and again the bellowing shocked the night. then von donck scrambled up, and his triumphant voice came down:
-"they run! they run!"
-the trackers were fleeing wildly from the crystal hills. had they not seen fire and smoke belched up from the mouth of that terrible face of granite, and heard the giant's awful roars of anger? headlong they went, mad with terror, leaving their ponies in the bush.
-"here is a brave victory," snorted von donck; and he gave vent to his delight by turning a caracole upon the forehead of the giant.
-"now for new netherlands and hudson's river!" he chanted, drawing at an imaginary cable as he danced along the great stone face. "'tis scarce a hundred miles down to the sea. we have but to keep clear of indians, and all shall be well. yonder are ponies for us to ride, and, i doubt not, bags of provisions hanging to the saddles. we may laugh at pursuit, boy. the french shall not dare to return. take now my hands and let me see you make a holiday caper. higher! san nicolas, the boy shall make a dancing-master. ha, pieter von donck! pieter von donck! 'tis as cunning an old rogue as ever wore shoe-leather!"
-good fortune and fair weather smiled upon the two travellers during the remainder of their journey, and not another notable adventure befell them before they rode from the forest during the fall of day, and saw the fenced fields of the lincolnshire farmers stretching before them down the atlantic slope. melancholy stumps of trees dotted the prospect as far as the eye could travel; beyond, the thatched or wooden roofs of small houses glowed in the strong light; and from the far distance came the inspiring wash of the sea.
-von donck reined in his pony and fell from the saddle. "dost now feel at home?" he cried.
-somewhat sadly geoffrey shook his head. he was indeed grievously disappointed to find new england so different from the old. he had hoped to see neat hedgerows, compact farms, and sloping meadows, such as he might have looked on in his native county of berks. he had hoped to see a wain creaking over the fields, to hear the crack of a whip and the carter's cheery song. he saw nothing but poverty, small beginnings, and the signs of a hard struggle for existence. some men were working in the distance. he could see the quick flash of their axes and hear the solemn blows as steel bit the wood. between dreary lines of fencing, jagged stubs, patches of corn, showing yellow here and there, springing from every cultivated foot of ground; beyond, some acres of burnt ground, and those cold wooden houses with their enormous chimneys, so altogether unlike the warm brickwork of old england homes.
-"this is not virginia?" he asked.
-"virginia lies five hundred miles to the south, very far beyond hudson's river," replied von donck. "'tis a fairer province than this, and better settled, because older. be not downcast, boy. here thought is free, and here a man may reap the full reward of his labours. you shall find no tax, nor persecution, nor kingly oppression in this land. here the people rule for the people; and here you may worship god after your own inclining, and dwell in peace all the days of your life."
-"it is a barren land," protested viner.
-the comrades drew back into the forest and waited for evening, because geoffrey would not advance alone, and von donck dared not risk his life among the puritans, who were at war with the people of new netherlands. they partook of their last meal together, and when the shadow of night grew heavy upon the fields, pieter rose and shook himself.
-"we have now come to the parting of our ways," he muttered. "you are among your people. we will together cross yonder fields, and then you shall wish me god-speed. the town of boston lies upon your right hand. i shall beat inland at the base of connecticut, until i reach the bank of hudson's river, and there i am upon my own territory where no man shall lead me. i shall ride beside the river until i come to the little city of the manhattoes, where william kieft rules. san nicolas! how old will the testy shall stare and blow at his pipe when he sees pieter von donck on the steps of his bowerie!"
-they set out upon the last stage along a trail between the whispering corn. von donck had grown suddenly silent. he plucked at the panther skin, snorting occasionally, and casting side glances at his companion, who rode close to his side, intent upon the prospect of low houses and broken bush. when geoffrey at length leaned over with a warning to point out the figure of a man, who was proceeding down a side path with a dog at his heels, the old dutchman replied by touching the shoulder nearest him and saying:
-"dost feel the smart of that wound yet?"
-"it is nothing," geoffrey answered. "see you not that man advancing?"
-"the marks shall remain," went on pieter solemnly. "the scar will be there to remind you of a good friend in new amsterdam. my lad, i shall seek to hear of you. each time i look on this skin i shall breathe a wish for the happiness of the boy who saved my life in the crystal hills. when you come to make your home in virginia, send to pieter von donck at the hostel by san nicolas, and if he be alive, and not grown too fat to walk, he will come out to meet you. will not forget the old rogue who tricked the french?"
-geoffrey put out his hand and grasped the podgy fingers. "may i meet a traitor's end if i forget my friend," he answered. "had it not been for you my dry body would now be swinging in the wind of the mountains. i wish you well, pieter; i shall ever wish you well. now ride! you would not have me fight for you against my own people."
-"there is no english blood in him," snorted von donck. "a dutchman, i say, a dutchman to the ends of his hair."
-the dog was bounding towards the travellers, and the farmer put up his hand and hailed them.
-"we are englishmen," geoffrey called back.
-"now, by the sack of san nicolas, out upon you," shouted von donck. "i am no englishman. i am a hollander, fellow, hollander from head to heel."
-"ride!" exclaimed geoffrey, smiting his comrade's mount. "god be with you, pieter."
-"and you, boy."
-von donck lashed his pony and the nimble animal bounded off to the west, while geoffrey dismounted, and, holding the savage dog at bay with his sword, advanced to meet the owner of the land.
-"do not fear, friend," he said, as they drew together. "i am no spy, but an englishman from the north. he who rides yonder is a friendly dutchman who has accompanied me upon the way. i pray you tell me is my lord baltimore within the town?"
-the settler, a tall man in a quaker hat and black cloak, which fell from his neck almost to the ground, regarded the speaker with cold, unfavouring eyes.
-"you know little of this country, young sir, if you believe that lord baltimore governs here," he replied at length. "you stand within the province of massachusetts beside the town of boston, and the lord you seek rules over the province of maryland and that country to the west of the bay of chesapeake."
-geoffrey's heart sank at this chill reception, and he lowered his eyes despondently before the stern gaze of the puritan as he answered:
-"i come to pray for a ship and men to be sent against the french, who hold the north. he who sent me, charging me to deliver this ring in his name to lord baltimore, believes that his countrymen and mine will not fail to help us in the time of need."
-"put not your trust in massachusetts," said the listener dourly. "we have much ado to defend ourselves against the mohicans and the pinch of famine. we know not ourselves where to turn for aid, and your cry is ours also. you have reached the valley of dry bones, young stranger."
-"the dry bones stood up in an exceeding great army," returned geoffrey boldly.
-"sir thomas iden."
-"of county kent?"
-"i have heard of that family as most loyal to the crown. arms, a chevron between three close helmets, if my memory mistake not. i also am from the south, driven out, like many a better man, by the hand of persecution. come now! i will lead you to the house of john winthrop, our governor."
-the town of boston was then a mere village of distressful huts crowded within a great palisade; the single street, which led to a quay of closely-packed logs covered by stones with earth atop, was rough ground over which the tyreless wheels of primitive carts jolted woefully. the candle-light from a few windows shed a dreary gleam across the way, where men closely muffled drifted along with a stern "good-e'en." there was neither laughter nor tavern-singing nor play-acting in that cheerless town, no throwing of dice nor rattle of cups. the puritan mind was dominant; and the only sound of music that disturbed the unhappy silence was the lugubrious droning of a psalm or sad-toned hymn.
-a lamp flickered near the entry, and beside the watchman, who kept the light burning at the gate, stretched a board; and upon the board appeared in short black letters the notice:--
-"no person within this province, professing to believe in jesus christ, shall be in any ways troubled, molested, or discountenanced for his or her religion, or in the free exercise thereof."
-"see!" said the guide, without a smile. "here we have liberty!"
-at the entrance to a low house near the end of the street they stopped, and the guide knocked. after a long interval a shutter was pushed back and a voice demanded to know who it was that knocked.
-"a stranger from the north to see the governor," said the guide.
-the voice grumbled and lessened gradually, still grumbling, until it sounded more loudly and the door opened. an old man stood on the threshold, a lighted candle in his hand, the thick grease running upon his fingers. he looked from one to the other, and cried in a shrill voice: "the governor is with his reverence. the stranger must wait."
-"i am content to wait," said geoffrey.
-hearing a sound, he looked back, and saw the man who had brought him so far already receding in the gloom of the street. the porter bade him enter, and when he had done so provided him with a seat, and there left him for a good hour, at the end of which time he reappeared in darkness and said shortly: "come!"
-the room into which geoffrey was ushered contained all the marks of extreme poverty. the light came from one great log glowing in the big fireplace, for the night was chill with the breath of the sea and a sharp north wind. two figures occupied this comfortless room, one on either side of the fire, the older man attired in the simple gown and bands of a minister of religion; the other, dark, with luminous eyes and white forehead, leaned forward, the long fingers of his right hand trifling with his wig. both were well-known in their generation. the layman was john winthrop; the minister roger williams.
-"you are welcome to boston, sir," said winthrop, without rising, but merely lifting his head in the firelight to scan the face of the visitor. "come you to our town by chance?"
-"i come from the far north to seek aid," said geoffrey, with a boyish pride which caused williams to frown.
-"terra incognita indeed," he murmured. "a cold land where popery is rampant. how great is the distance, and how came you thence?"
-geoffrey told his story and delivered his message. the two men watched him intently, winthrop always playing with his wig, williams leaning out with hands clasped over a massive bible held upon his knee. when geoffrey had finished his tale, there was a moment of silence, broken only by the spitting of the fire. then the puritans looked across the hearth and smiled.
-"the poor man is the helper of the poor," murmured williams.
-john winthrop laughed bitterly.
-"when a poor man begs of me he has my all, and that i give to our poor brethren in the north. they have my prayers. young man," he went on, rising and confronting the messenger, "you have nobly performed a noble duty; but in coming to us you confront poverty indeed. here night and day we struggle for existence. i myself have gone to rest, knowing not how to face the morrow. we have our wives and little ones to feed and protect, and these are our first charge. daily the cry goes out to us: 'we want.' nightly we dread to hear the shout of 'mohican invasion.' we fight, not for fame nor for honour among nations, but for a foothold upon this continent, where we are striving to plant a home for the free, to the glory of god, and the shame of england who has cast us out. young man, you have done your duty."
-"and your help shall come from heaven," murmured the divine deeply.
-"i shall proceed to lord baltimore. to him i was sent," said geoffrey.
-"nevertheless i shall go," said geoffrey.
-john winthrop bowed his head. "you shall sleep under my roof this night and accept what poor hospitality i have to offer. my friend and servant shall minister to your needs."
-he made a slight movement of his hand to signify that the interview was ended, and the messenger retired, sorely depressed at the manner of his reception. the old man who had opened the door gave him food and drink, asking no question and imparting no information; but continually droning through his nose a hymn, or muttering in gloomy tones some sad portion of the scriptures. he was one of the most zealous of winthrop's company, all of whom were nonconformists, but not separatists. indeed, they esteemed it an honour to call themselves members of the english church, and openly admitted that they had emigrated in order that they might be divided from her corruptions, but not from herself. for all his devotion, the old servant was not a cheerful companion for a man who was already cast down in mind, and geoffrey was glad to be rid of him and alone in a cold, bare room, which was as sad in all its details as the men who occupied the town.
-it was long before sleep came to the traveller. he had become so accustomed to the open air that the atmosphere of his room stifled him. when at last he succeeded in finding unconsciousness the boom of the sea shook the house and occupied his brain.
-morning came, and with it a heavy tramp of feet. a rough hand struck the door, and the sleeper awakened with a start, to behold at his side three men, cloaked and stern, the foremost holding a scrap of paper, to which was affixed a red official seal.
-"sir stranger, surrender yourself," he said.
-"what means this?" exclaimed geoffrey. "i am an englishman in a colony of the english."
-"the charge against you is that of treason," replied the stern puritan.
-"treason!" repeated the young man; and rose dumbfounded.
-"it is suspected that you are a spy, in the employ of our enemies the dutch."
-thus geoffrey became a prisoner among his own people, owing to the friendliness of von donck, the honest dutchman having failed to reckon with the intense suspicion of the puritan mind. when the manner of his guest's arrival had been explained to john winthrop, that pious governor raised his eyebrows in astonishment, and did not hesitate to give instructions for the new-comer to be held in close confinement, pending an inquiry into the movements of the dutch. while this investigation was being pursued, justly and in good order as the governor directed, or, in other words, with extreme slowness, many notable events occurred in the disordered country of the north.
-the st. wenceslas had slipped from her moorings and drifted down the st. lawrence, bearing la salle towards acadie, and certain despatches which were destined for the chief minister of france. unwillingly roussilac had been compelled to record the services rendered to church and state by the proud departing priest.
-"you have well served yourself, sir commandant," la salle had said, after insisting upon his right to peruse the detailed history of the iroquois defeat, which contained no word of reference to the assistance rendered by the algonquins. "and now, by heaven, you shall serve me." and roussilac, for all his ill will, was not strong enough to dare resist the priest.
-there yet remained in that district the kentish knight, old penfold, and the puritan; and when the man of kent came to learn of la salle's departure, he left his solitary cave, and buckled on his sword, and returned to action, though the dream of his life had vanished. his younger brother, the fool of the family, who from boyhood had spent his days in idleness, trolling for pike or chasing with his dogs, would continue to occupy the old mansion which the elder had abandoned, and leave it, as he had been empowered to do failing news from the new world, to his son, when the days of fishing and the chase should be accomplished.
-the knight came to his home beside the lost waters, and his wife, who had visited him each day with food in the lonely cave, received him with her proud silence and stood to hear his will. she it was who had told him of the sailing of the ship and the going of la salle.
-"let us also travel to this land of acadie," the knight said. "my richard haunts me with reproaches. i go to make ready our canoe for the long journey. my mind shall find no rest till i have avenged our son."
-he went out and built a fire upon the beach, and while the lumps of pitch, prepared from native bitumen mixed with pine resin, were melting, he peeled soft sheets of bark from the snowy birch trees and patched the canoe, caulking every seam with pitch. about the time of the evening shadow his work was done; but as he was returning to his home a voice called, and the puritan hastened to his side.
-"welcome, friend," said the knight. "how fares it with you and your brave comrade?"
-"we suffer who sojourn in mesech," said hough. "old penfold lies grievously sick of a fever."
-"dwell you far away?" the knight asked.
-"my wife shall prepare a medicine. she is well skilled in the arts of healing," said the other. "you shall bring us to your cave with all speed."
-"the disease has already taken hold upon his mind," said hough. "one time he is holding his mother's gown, old man though he be, and wandering in water-meadows to pluck long purples and clovers, muttering as he picks at his blanket. 'here is trefoil, good for cattle, but noisome to witches.' another time he reaches for his sword, and swears--the lord forgive him--at the weakness which holds him down. 'the french are upon us, comrades,' he calls. 'let me not lie like an old dame with swollen legs.' then he falls a-crying, and shouts, 'england! england!' methinks if his mind were healed he would stand up again."
-mary iden being summoned, and having made her preparations, the three set forth and came to the cave, which the adventurers had hoped to exchange for the dutch vessel, then lying fathoms deep beneath the cliffs of tadousac. there they found penfold stretched along a heap of grass, babbling incessantly at the cold walls and the shadows. when the figures darkened the entrance, he screamed at them and sprang up, only to fall back upon the rude bed, a fever-held body agitated by stertorous breath.
-"build me here two fires," said the quiet woman, as she passed to the sick man's side.
-"witch!" shrieked penfold. "flower! woodfield! comrades, where are ye? save me now from sorcery. hough! go bring the villagers, and bid them fling this hag into the thames and pelt her with stones when she rises. to me, comrades! leave not your old captain to perish by witchcraft."
-"canst heal him from this madness?" muttered hough. "myself i dared not let his blood, fearing lest i might do that which should hasten his end."
-"our people let no blood," came the answer. "we bring great heat into the body, so that the evil spirit shall come forth to seek water. then we strengthen the body, so that it may be able to resist his return."
-already penfold ceased to struggle beneath her soothing hands. the fires blazed fiercely, the smoke and hot vapours being drawn upwards into the natural chimneys. obeying instructions, the men placed their sick comrade between these fires and covered him closely, while the skilful healer moistened his brow and lips with water in which she had steeped the young pink bark of the bitter willow, thus wringing the fever out of his body like water from a sponge.
-"i am saving the old man," she whispered in a confident voice.
-"the evil spirit has been driven forth to find water. lift the man quickly; for the foul creature travels faster than the moonlight."
-obedient to superior knowledge, the men reconveyed the sleeper to the grass bed, and there the healer roused him to administer a decoction of bruised herbs: serrated calamintha, the perfoliate eupator, later more popularly known as the fever-wort of north america, and the white-rayed pyrethrum, which lifted its bitter bloom upon the heights. the sick man gasped as he swallowed the powerful tonic, and sank back into untroubled rest.
-presently the knight and his wife departed, and hough accompanied them upon the first stage of their return journey; and when they reached the lake-side, where the canoe sprawled along the shingle, the knight acquainted his fellow-countryman with his plan of departure. hough listened, gazing dimly over the scintillating surface, where a silver ribbon of moonlight led away to the isle of dreams.
-"where lies that land whither you go?" he asked at length.
-"in the far east where sebastian cabot first touched," the kentishman replied. "there i may sight the great ocean, which we islanders love, and scent the good brine and watch for an english sail."
-"here there is nothing we may do," said hough, removing his eyes from the dreamy lake. "there surely we may look for the ship which lord baltimore shall send when viner comes down to virginia. i too would be near the sea and smell liberty."
-with that they parted, and hough returned to his hole among the rocks with visions of the sea. within that cave, where penfold slept during his guardian's absence, the fires darted, tincturing with red the silver of the moonbeams against the sable wall of cliff. between the granite and the forest of pines a stream of moonlight spread like a glacier. a figure stole from the black belt, stepped cautiously into the white road, and waded, as it were, through the rippling beams. it was onawa, who had watched the two men and her sister making west; she knew that one of the men would return after a little interval; and she understood that the work which she had undertaken must be done quickly.
-no croaking bird aroused penfold from his sleep to warn him of the she-wolf. it was one of those ironies which run through life that one sister should have cast the sick man into healthy slumber in order that the other might stab him as he lay.
-a cloud of blood-sucking insects trumpeted around onawa. their thin noise seemed to her a tumult, and she stopped and looked back along the cold white stream. a lean wolf was slinking in her direction, his muzzle snuffling the dust. she shivered when she remembered that the murderess was doomed to become a werewolf after death to prowl about the scene of her former sin. the creature howled. the pale girl started and ran into the cave.
-her belief remained constant that she might still win the love of la salle by destroying his enemies. she knew that he had gained renown by her betrayal to him of the english settlement. now he had gone in the great ship to acadie. she was about to follow, having neither home nor people, being indeed hunted for her life; but first she might destroy another of his enemies. then she could learn to say: "i have killed the old englishman who stirred up my people to attack yours." and she thought that he might welcome her at last for the sake of her good deeds.
-step by step the grim puritan dragged the girl back to the mouth of the cave, and there pinned her to the rock with one arm, while reaching with the other to the corner, where he had piled a rope taken from the deck of the privateer. he bound her hand and foot; and thus helpless she stared up, and read her death upon his face.
-for over an hour hough paced the floor of the cave, listening to his captain's gentle breathing, and recalling the violent death of athaliah, slain by order of jehoiada, and the fate of jezebel, cast from an upper window at the command of jehu; for such a man as the puritan regulated all the actions of his life by the light revealed to him from the bible. there was, he reasoned, the highest authority to justify the act which he contemplated; only the manhood in him recoiled from the slaying of a woman. at length his mind became fixed. he bent and drew together the scarlet embers of the fire.
-onawa made no sign of terror, and no appeal for mercy; but her eyes followed every movement of her stern captor, as she sought to learn her sentence without betraying her fear.
-"the witch is fair," the puritan muttered, standing over and regarding her fawn-coloured skin, her even features, and large dark eyes. "a woman takes pride in her beauty. may the lord punish me if i act now unjustly and for vengeance alone."
-he pushed a stick into the fire and watched it grow red, then turned sharply upon his victim. the girl's eyes flashed defiance when they met his.
-"behold!" he exclaimed, drawing a thin hand across his terrible face, upon which the court of star chamber had written its unjust judgment. the girl saw the slit nostrils, the cropped ears, the branded cheeks, and the scarred forehead. her tongue became loosened at that sight, and she prayed for instant death, because she knew it was vain to plead for mercy.
-outside the cave the long black wolf, which if native testimony were accepted, contained the soul of some sorcerer, or of some vile man who had slain his friend, crept back to search for scraps of food. as a cloud drifted over the moon the brute dropped a bone which it had snatched, and scurried away like a human thief into the shadows, terrified by a wild scream from within the granite cave.
-had madame labroquerie continued firm in her resolve never to approach the fortress while her nephew ruled, all might have been well; but unfortunately for her daughter, and, as it was to prove, for herself, the bitter little woman permitted her longing to enter again into the affairs of the world to prevail over her hatred for the commandant, and so suffered herself to be brought to the citadel, railing savagely throughout the journey. before a week had passed she revealed herself fully as an unnatural mother and an implacable foe. yet, to do justice to even a worker of evil, it must be admitted that madeleine, with all her sweetness, was a sore trial to a fanatical catholic and bigoted patriot, for she refused to be ashamed of her heresy, and was never weary of singing the praise of her english lover.
-left to themselves, neither laroche, now the head of the church in that district, nor roussilac would have taken action against the lovely sinner; but madame, in one of her fits of ungovernable anger, publicly preferred two charges against her daughter, accusing her of heresy and treason, and calling upon the church to punish her for the one offence and the state to exact a penalty for the other.
-these were grave indictments, but both priest and layman closed their ears, the former not wishing to be troubled by unpleasant duties, the latter hanging back, not on account of the tie of relationship, but because of madeleine's beauty. but when madame, in another fit of fury, openly denounced the commandant before d'archand, who for the second time had arrived at that coast, as a lutheran at heart, and a protector of the enemies of the church, he was driven to act for the sake of his ambition. so madeleine was arrested and confined in a small stone hut high upon the cliff, and before her door a sentry paced both by day and night, while laroche, with many deep grumblings, was compelled to undertake the uncongenial task of saving the fair girl's soul.
-to the credit of the priest, be it said that he was charitable. he believed madeleine had been perverted from the right way by some spell of witchcraft, and this belief was strengthened by the fact that, when he adjured the girl by the tears of the saviour to weep, she merely laughed at him. it was notorious that a guilty witch was unable to shed tears. accordingly laroche attended himself to the obvious duty of exorcising the evil spirit which had taken up its abode in her; but, in spite of all his efforts, the girl remained as wickedly obstinate as before.
-"the church acts towards her children with wondrous love, and because of that love may chasten," the abbé preached. "'tis the duty of the faithful within the fold to bring in the wandering sheep, either by suasion or by force. being bewitched, my daughter, you stand in great peril, and we, by the powers entrusted unto us, may remove that danger, when reasoning fails, by bodily torment. be converted, and your soul shall live. remain in your unbelief, and punishment shall follow, because a living heretic is a danger to the world and a dishonour to the holy saints."
-even such sound doctrine as this failed to move the heart of madeleine, and each day laroche grumbled louder at his failure, and roussilac shrank yet more from bringing his cousin to trial, and madame became more stinging in speech and more furious in her awful passions, because of the suffering of her mind during lucid moments, when she could see herself in sunny normandy once more young and sane. her hatred for roussilac increased, until she would spit and snarl at him when he passed, and scream: "infidel! this shall be known in france. power shall fall from you, and the people shall curse your name." and when the men who had been sent after geoffrey returned afoot with their tale of failure, madame labroquerie made it known from the ship to the citadel that it was the commandant who had secured the spy's safety for the love of his heretic cousin.
-coward as he was in many ways, roussilac at length saw that he must act or be dishonoured; he must either release madeleine or bring her to trial for treason. the former alternative was impossible, because the girl was an ecclesiastical prisoner. the lightest sentence he could pass for treason was banishment, and he could not endure the prospect of losing madeleine. besides, when he had sentenced her, she still remained to be judged by the clerical court. it needed a wiser brain than roussilac's to solve so tangled a problem. nevertheless, he resolved to attempt it. after some speech with laroche, who was heartily weary of the whole business, the commandant passed from the church of ste. mary, after the hour of vespers, and ascended the winding path which led towards the hut where the impenitent was imprisoned. the sentry saluted as the governor approached, then resumed his march along the brown scar which the constant tread had made.
-"withdraw yonder," roussilac ordered.
-a happy voice broke out, as he put up his hand to the door:
-"there is the sun upon the side of the wall. so it is already evening. time flies as fast in prison as elsewhere. i pray you, sun, shine upon geoffrey rather than on me!"
-cribbed and confined as the girl was, she steadily refused to be cast down, because she was assured that life had far better things in store. her lover was pursued, but then she knew he would escape. her body might be held in prison, but her spirit was free, flying over forest and hill, and singing like a lark against the clouds.
-her note changed when roussilac flung open the door and stood before her in a flood of light.
-"cousin," madeleine said coldly. "you break upon me suddenly. i had better company before you came. why do you drive my friends away?"
-the commandant closed the door and stepped forward, his sallow face working.
-"you are alone," he said. "none dare visit you without permission."
-"i am never alone," she declared. "my friends left me when you entered; but they shall return when you depart."
-"am not i a friend? nay, more--i am a relation," began roussilac; but she checked him with the reproof: "i have no family now that jean-marie is dead."
-"your mother," he reminded her.
-"she has delivered me into the power of the church."
-"because it is best for you. i would care for your body, madeleine, as your mother cares for your soul. cousin, think not unkindly of me. i would release you; but what power have i to remove the judgment of the abbé laroche? he has sentenced you to close confinement, until----"
-"my lover returns to release me," she finished, and backed from him with a laugh.
-roussilac clenched his fingers tightly, and jealousy venomed the words which then left his lips:
-"foolish girl, would you rouse all the evil in me? bear with me, cousin," he went on quickly. "it is not in me to endure patiently. since that day when i stood before you in the grove i have not known the meaning of peace. my nights have been long, my days dark, my position unprofitable----"
-again she interrupted him, to simplify what she knew must follow:
-"because you think that you love me."
-he stepped forward to seize her hands; but she drew back and steadied herself against the wall.
-"i do love you, sweet cousin."
-"you do not love me. need i give you the lie when your own tongue gives it you? is it love when the nights become long, and the day dark, and position brings no pleasure? arnaud, i love, and am held in prison; but my nights are short, my days warm, and my position is a happiness. believe you that love, however unrequited, takes away from life? i tell you it adds, it enriches, it beautifies. it is a crown which makes a humble man a king, and the halo which makes the singing-girl a saint. love gives a man strength to use his power, to defy superstition and false religion, to snap his fingers in the face of a fat priest who believes that a strong will may be bent and broken by holding the body in bondage. had i my heart to offer i would scorn your cowardly love."
-he had faced her while she spoke, but when she stopped he turned, and, feeling the sting of her eyes, savagely pulled at the cloak which had drifted from his shoulders.
-"my mother has sent you," said madeleine.
-"she and i are bitter enemies," came the sullen answer. "i have but borne with her for your sake. she seeks to stir up mischief all the day long." he turned abruptly. "have you no kind word for me, little cousin?"
-he looked worn and old, and the girl pitied him; but she was too honest to deceive by fair speech.
-"you brought me to this place against my will," she reminded him. "i was happy in our cabin beyond the river. you have played into the hands of my mother, who desires to see me punished because i have abjured her faith. would you have brought me here had you found the plain country maid you had looked to see?"
-"i swore to your brother to protect you."
-"do not recall that death scene, i pray you," she said firmly. "if the spirit of jean-marie looks down upon us now, he finds you--protecting me!"
-roussilac winced as that shot struck him. "blame me not," he said more submissively. "were you a civil prisoner only, i would open this door, and you should go as free as air. my purpose in coming to you is to urge you to free yourself."
-"never at the price demanded. arnaud, i put your courage to the test. i trow that the man who loves a woman will for her sake perform what she may demand, even though he lose position for it. open the door, and lead me to father laroche, and say to him: 'father, i have taken it upon myself to release your prisoner, since it shames me to see flesh and blood of mine confined against her will in the fortress over which i rule.' do so, arnaud, and i shall believe in you."
-"it is madness to ask it," said roussilac loudly.
-"let us have the truth. you dare not."
-"it is so," he confessed. "i dare not set myself against the church, which has the power to consign a man's soul to hell."
-madeleine smiled contemptuously.
-"if you would search your heart and read truly what there you find, i should hear a different answer. you do not fear father laroche. he does not wish to hold me here. rather would he cast me from his mind, that he might have more time to spend at the tavern and his brawls. i will tell you what you fear: your actions are watched, your words criticised. if you let me free, it would be rumoured that you were false to the faith. that rumour would be wafted across seas, and your enemies at home would see to it that you were recalled and relegated to the obscurity from which you have arisen. you would rather treat your cousin as a courtesan than abate one fragment of the pitiful power which shall some day fall from your body like a rag. now, my commandant, are you answered?"
-roussilac said not a word when he saw the scorn in those violet eyes. he merely put out his hand, and opened the door, muttering, as though to himself: "that pride shall break when she knows."
-"know?" cried madeleine. "what should i know?"
-he looked at her savagely, feeling that it was in him to make her suffer.
-"that your lover is hanged at my command."
-he closed the door quickly and fastened it, half hoping, half dreading, to hear the scream of anguish which he believed must follow. but there came to him as he waited a peal of joyous laughter, and the happy words:
-"geoffrey, geoffrey! would that you could hear that! dead! why, my love, you are full of life. were you to die, which god indeed forbids, your dear spirit would fly at once to me. dead! have i not seen you in my dreams? do not i see you now walking within sight of the new england fields? oh, geoffrey! near--how near! who is that great man riding beside you, a panther skin across his shoulder? how noisily he talks ... and now leans over, and pats you on the arm. ah, gone--gone! and he would have me think that you are hanged!"
-body and mind.
-roussilac strode towards the river, and in that hour found it in his heart to envy the meanest settler in the land. like many a man who has risen from the ranks, he found himself destitute of friends. he had cut himself off from his own relations, lest they should hinder his ascent, and none had come to take their place; the captains of noble birth, his official equals, having refused to receive into friendship the son of a normandy farmer. the home government was but using what military talents he possessed to their advantage; and when his services had been rendered, he would be cast aside by the proud priest who ruled the destinies of france, and another chosen in his stead.
-"courage!" he muttered. "'tis but imagination which makes a weakling of me. i will to d'archand, and inquire of him whether or no my name be yet in favour. then to stand up like a man, and sweep away my enemies, let them be priests, relations, or demons."
-d'archand was idling upon deck, but at a word from the commandant entered his curtained cabin and produced a flask of burgundy as an aid to conversation. first roussilac sought to hear more particularly the news of the world, and induced the master to expatiate upon the revolution of the scottish covenanters, the struggle of charles for money and ships, the resolute stand of john pym for just law, the prosperity of france under richelieu, and the breaking of the short treaty between that country and holland. d'archand warmed to his discourse under the influence of the wine and a thrill of patriotism, as he concluded: "i have but recently crossed the high seas without sighting a hostile vessel. the dutch privateers have gone home empty. the english coffers are bare. france now holds the world. i drink to the cardinal and our king."
-abstractedly roussilac lifted his glass. when the master leaned over and emptied the flask between them, the commandant observed, with an assumption of indifference: "didst hear any word of praise for my work in this land?"
-"my stay was short," d'archand answered. "i heard no talk of you, commandant--at least, not upon the streets, and to be spoken of in the street is the only fame, i take it. but there were rumours afloat regarding the abbé la salle."
-"perdition!" muttered roussilac. "shall these priests never confine themselves to their own affairs?"
-"your princes of the church are statesmen now rather than priests," said the master. "the abbé la salle comes of a renowned family. 'twas said that he is wasted in this colony. i also heard it said--accept the rumour as you will--that his holiness has set a cross against his name."
-"what means that?" asked the commandant hastily.
-"the st. wenceslas now bears for home with my despatches," said roussilac moodily. "i have mentioned the abbé as instrumental in holding heretics at bay."
-"his holiness loves a fighter," muttered d'archand significantly, as he opened another flask of burgundy.
-a light glimmered here and there when roussilac made his way homeward, and the murmur of the forest brushed his ears as he passed. the news of another man's advancement hurt his selfish nature as though it were a premonition of his own failure. he hesitated where the path split, then hastened to his house, entered, and immediately found himself in the presence of his aunt, who awaited his coming, knitting her fingers in the lamplight.
-"so!" she snapped, her little face hard and wrinkled like a sour apple. "we have now open treachery at headquarters. treachery against church and state. you, the representative of the king, the upholder of the faith! you shall be stripped of your power and be disgraced. and i will walk a hundred miles barefoot, if there be need, to see sentence executed upon you."
-her attack was ill-timed. the commandant was then in no mood to bear with a mutinous subject, though she had been his own mother.
-"out of my sight," he said fiercely. "out, i say. madame, my forbearance is at an end, and i will be obeyed. would you have me forget that you are a woman and a relative?"
-"since you have forgot your duty to god and the king, forget that also," screamed the little woman. "seducer, what have you done with my daughter? where have you hidden her? abductor! you shall learn what it means to defy holy church. tell me, where have you taken her?"
-roussilac's anger cooled at that, and he lowered his voice as he answered: "i left my cousin not three hours ago in the place where she is confined as an impenitent by the judgment of the abbé laroche. there you shall find her."
-"arnaud," shrieked madame, "deceive your men, cheat a priest, you may, but you shall not so prevail upon me. i know your deeds and the vileness of your heart. as a child you were ever false; as a man you hated your own people, because you had risen and they remained obscure; and now you stand before the mother of the girl whose heart you have helped to harden, whom you have taken and hidden for your own purpose, and ask her what she means when she demands to know the truth."
-"if you have information, i will in my official capacity hear it," roussilac answered. "but forget not that my nature can be fiercer than yours, and do not tempt my power."
-"your power!" sneered madame. "it has already departed from you. i thank you, arnaud, for having disowned your honest family. how ill the cloak of innocence lies upon your shoulders! madeleine's cell stands empty, as you know well. beside the door the sentry lies stabbed through the heart, murdered by your hand as surely as though you yourself had driven home the dagger. i have but come from there, and none know what has been done, save you the doer, and i the accuser."
-roussilac caught up his cloak, and wrapped it about his shoulders. "what took you to her prison?" he demanded, his own nature being no less suspicious than hers.
-madame laughed furiously.
-"you are a brave rogue, arnaud. you plot, and murder, and seduce, and smile through it all, and act the innocent like a mime. know that father st agapit came to me--a haughty priest, with no respect for age--to recommend that madeleine should be entrusted to his care, that he might obtain her conversion by a new method. 'let her not be crossed,' quoth he. ''tis human nature to offend more deeply in the front of opposition. i would let her go free, and win her by gentle persuasion to the fold.' what does a priest know of the pride of a girl's heart? 'is the branch broken by persuasion for the fire?' said i. 'no, you shall take it in hand strongly and break it by force.' to that the abbé said, 'you shall not compare the inanimate thing with the living creature whom god has gifted with free-will. go now to her and be gentle. try her with mother's milk rather than with the strong meat of human nature. i have bidden the sentry admit you.' so i went to win my erring child as the priest taught me, for i never yet have disobeyed a churchman, and what i found you know."
-"you are right, madame, if what you say be true," said roussilac sternly. "there is treachery here."
-"behold my hand! it points at the traitor," screamed the pale woman, her fury surging back upon her. "you shall not escape with your fellow-sinner. you shall not go from me until i hear from your own lips where you have placed madeleine, my child."
-"woman, i know nothing," he snarled. "is my position nothing to me that i should play so loosely?"
-a cry of animal rage broke that instant from his throat. madame had dashed upon him, and, before he could beat her back, had clawed his face like a maddened bird from cheek-bones to chin.
-at that terrible indignity the pusillanimous spirit of the commandant was sobered into resolution. he hurled her back screaming, and put up a hand to his burning face. the finger-tips came away reddened.
-he shivered from head to foot. madame was raving. roussilac steadied himself, then walked from that place, a cold, sinister figure, the howling of the mad woman pealing into his ears.
-scarce a minute had elapsed before he returned, accompanied by two soldiers; and again facing madame labroquerie, whose bloodless face was distorted with the fury of her terrible nature, issued his orders in a pitiless voice:
-"secure that woman, and keep her in ward this night." he raised his hand, and smiled vengefully at the marks on his fingers, as he drew off his ring, which he extended to the man nearest him with the words: "take your authority. spare not force, if force be wanted. restore this ring to me after sunrise, when you shall have hanged this woman upon the eastern side of the fortress."
-again roussilac smiled, and, turning quickly, passed outside. one terrible scream made him lift his hands to his ears, then he hurried up the steep path, to see with his own eyes the cold body of the sentry, and the empty cell, and to learn that madame had not lied.
-for a few moments he stood, like a man in a trance, seeing indeed his problem solved, but knowing that madeleine was lost to him. he turned to the dead body, and commanded it to speak; and when he understood that the spirit had passed for ever from his discipline, he spurned the cold matter with his foot, and in a fury cried: "i would give my position and all i have to hear this dead man speak."
-"listen, then," said a cold voice. "the dead are not silent." and roussilac cried out with superstitious fear, then started, when he beheld a tall figure proceeding from the shadow of the doorway, and recognised st agapit, the priest.
-"who has done this?" he demanded. "what lover of this girl has dared to enter the fortress, to stab one of my guards, and carry her off beneath my eye?"
-"i am no reader of riddles," said st agapit. "i came here to reason with the maid, because it seemed to me that her heart, young as it is and tender, must surely respond to the message of love. why she refuses the only faith by which mortals may be saved passed my understanding. but now i know that she has been driven into heresy by the neglect of a father and the unnatural spirit of a mother, and strengthened in her sin by the persecution of a cousin."
-"father, i loved her."
-"not so. you shall find at your heart passion, but not the warmth of love. it is not the ice which produces the plant and the flower. it is the warm rain and the sunshine. you offered her the storm, and wondered because she desired the sun."
-"where has she gone?" cried the blind man.
-"to freedom. my blessing follows her, unbeliever though she be."
-the ascetic moved forward, thin and stern, and made the sign of the cross over the fallen sentry.
-"bless me also," cried roussilac, catching at his skirt. "father, i have done much evil. bless me before you go."
-"i may pity where i may not bless," said st agapit, and passed with that same dignified step which awed the iroquois into silence when on a distant day they led him out to die. his shadow flickered once upon the slope, went out, and the governor was alone with the dead.
-the soldiers who had been left to execute their commander's unnatural order glanced fearfully at one another, and he who held the ring muttered a charm against the evil eye. that cry of impotent rage, which had caused roussilac to stop his ears, fell from the lips of madame labroquerie so soon as her mind caught the meaning of her sentence; and when the men at length advanced to take her, she writhed and bit the air, and hurled after her nephew words of execration which caused the soldiers to draw back and cross themselves in terror. all the hate and madness of the unhappy woman's ruined mind poured forth in one awful torrent, until she sank to the floor and settled there to silence.
-then the men took courage to seize her, believing that the blood which they saw issuing from her mouth was produced by the wounds which her own teeth had inflicted; but when the body fell limp in their arms they realised that nature had intervened.
-one at the head, the other at the feet, they carried through the night the silent shape of madame labroquerie, who was never to move, never to rave, again. yet so blindly obedient to their officer's word of command were these men in the ranks, that they carried the body out and executed sentence upon it an hour after sunrise in the valley of st. charles.
-at that same hour rumour went about the fortress--set in motion by a sentry, who had seen the governor rushing down to the forest during the night--to the effect that roussilac was lying under a spell of witchcraft. this rumour became an established fact when the abbé laroche was seen proceeding from the church upon the hill with asperges brush and a shell of holy water.
-"such is the end of ambition," murmured st agapit, when they had brought him the evil tidings. "can a clay body resist free spirits of the dead?"
-woman's love is life.
-before we leave the fortress, to return thither no more, a glance must be taken at madeleine, evading the power of the church and the secular arm, escaping from the mother who had grown to hate her and the cousin who had not courage to shield her. her rescuer was not a man--if it be true that man was made in the image of god--yet his actions upon that night went far to prove that he owned a human heart.
-so soon as roussilac had gone from his cousin's sight for ever, the tramp of the sentry's feet began again beating out the seconds like a clock. the girl was unable to see the soldier, but at regular intervals his shadow blackened the cracks along the door, and sometimes she heard him growl when a mosquito pricked his neck. life became strangely mechanical as she lay half-asleep, her eyes opening and closing at intervals, her ears half unconsciously admitting the sounds of the outer world, her body subdued for the time and yielding to languor. but soon she stirred, hearing voices outside her cell. a grating laugh hurt her nerves, and after it came the order of the sentry calling on some unwelcome visitant to depart. then the heavy tramp sounded monotonously again.
-"would rather be a toad gnawing the root of a tree, than a machine to pace a dozen yards of grass," taunted an ugly voice. "admit me into the hut, sir sentry. know you i have this day been ordained a priest of holy church, and 'tis my duty to reason with the fair impenitent. shall defy me, rascal? i can mutter a spell that shall knock the sword from your hand and shake your body with ague."
-"begone!" muttered the soldier. "i talk with none while on my duty."
-madeleine stirred uneasily. something fell lightly against her arm, and she looked up to the aperture which made a window. nothing unusual met her eyes; but when she moved again a soft odour brushed her face, and her delighted hand caught up a bunch of wild bush roses.
-"i go." the fully aroused girl felt that the hideous voice was intended for her ears. "there is no moon to-night, and after dark, when none shall see, i will be here to ease your duty by a song of roses and woman's love, brave comrade. mayhap i shall then meet with a less churlish welcome."
-"that may be," answered the soldier sullenly. "another shall have taken my place. sing to him if you will."
-"oh, the lovely flowers!" murmured madeleine. the blooms had opened since noon and their yellow hearts were wet, because the gatherer had dipped each one into the river, before tying them together with a blade of scented grass.
-she brushed these sweet companions against her cheek, wondering who could have dared to show himself her friend. the time passed happily while she waited in tingling expectancy for the coming of dark.
-first came laroche, full of bluster and talk of the wickedness of self-will, of the fate of the unbeliever in the next world, and the punishment of the heretic in this. the abbé had employed the afternoon in putting an edge to his sword with his own clerical hands, and his mind was fully occupied with the fineness of the bright steel and the excellence of the point while he talked.
-"we must save a soul from the everlasting burning," he said with menace, as he made to depart. "when the body is put to pain the mind is said to yield with wondrous readiness, and there is joy in heaven over the sinner that repenteth. impenitence in one so young is surely the work of the devil. the power of exorcism has been conferred upon the priests of holy church. pray to our lady and the saints, daughter, that they strengthen you for the ordeal."
-laroche swaggered out conscious of having well performed an unpleasant duty, and hurried down to the street of fishermen, to convince himself that michel had not again dared to adulterate his wine.
-after vespers came st agapit. he had spent the day over his manuscripts, endeavouring to unravel some of the perplexities of the human mind. the ascetic was liberal beyond his time. he regarded madeleine as rather an object for pity than for punishment. her brain had been worked upon and her mind possessed by some spirit of darkness; and it became his duty to deliver her from the benumbing influence and to point out to her the way of life.
-but when he came to leave the stone hut, he was for the first moment in his life a doubter. madeleine had spoken with such happiness of the joy of life; had held out to his colourless face her blushing rosebuds, bidding him note that their smell was as fragrant to her the protestant as to him the catholic; had dwelt upon her faith, which was pure and perfect even though it excluded the aid of saints and the help of the mother of god. and thus had she answered his final argument:
-"in the free country birds would surround me, and each one had its own way of showing me affection. one would peck at my gown, another caress me with its wings, another, too shy to approach, would sit on a bough and sing as best it could. but i loved them all, and the shyest the best. father, if the birds have each a different way of showing us love, may not we, who are better than many sparrows, be allowed to worship god after our own different promptings?"
-st agapit blessed her less sternly than usual, and returned perplexed to his studies, there to search for proof of what madeleine had said, praying like the holy man he was for light and understanding. reluctantly he was compelled to admit that it was an evil spirit which had spoken to him out of the mouth of madeleine. so he went into his little chapel and prayed for her and for himself that the doubt of his heart might be forgiven him.
-but in years to come, after those days when the islanders had stirred up the iroquois to avenge their wrongs, a sachem of the oneidas would narrate the story of the death of the white doctor, dwelling upon those last moments when the priest had turned to him to say: "tell me, is it true that you worship the sun?"
-"surely," answered the sachem. "for the sun is our life."
-"in worshipping the sun," cried the exultant priest, "you have surely worshipped the one god."
-and over the horde of bloodthirsty natives, who were preparing his fiery torment, st agapit made the sign of the cross.
-evening came, soft and fragrant, with a rush of sweet wind when the door opened to admit food and drink for the prisoner. madeleine caught a glimpse of the sentry who took up his post after the proclamation of the evening gun; a thick-set man, swarthy and black-bearded, a cyclops in appearance, but a cerberus for watchfulness, as the girl knew; for once, when she had timidly tried the door, the brute had growled at her like a dog.
-darker grew the air. madeleine stood against the wall, listening to the rush of water far beneath, the drone of beetles, and the scarcely audible murmur from the heart of the fortress. the last beam went out, the tired day was asleep, and cerberus tramped, growling out his thoughts.
-it became so dark that the walls disappeared. clouds hung low, dark as the under-world; the stars were blotted out; not a gleam of phosphorus nor a smoky ray shot upward from the north. the land whirled blackly into space.
-madeleine moved her forehead from the cold stone and sighed softly. she crept to her bed and sat shivering gently, holding fast her treasured blooms. the night damp had revived the flowers and drawn out their odour, so that the girl pleased herself with the fancy that she was sitting in a rose-bower.
-she heard the screech of an owl far away, the rattle and splash of oars, the running out of a chain, the snap of a belated locust. she heard the ticking of an insect in the walls; and she heard the growl of cerberus:
-"a plague upon that ghost-light!"
-she heard a sound which made her shiver, though it might have been nothing more than a heavy foot struck sharply upon the turf; but hardly had the thrill passed when a gasp and a great groan made the dark night wild, and the hill-top and every stone in the building seemed to jar as the ground was smitten. the silence that followed was unbroken by the solemn tramp which had become a part of the girl's life. the human clock was broken.
-then a subdued voice began to sing, harsh and unmusical, straining to be sympathetic, and its song was of peace and love in an old-world garden. harsher grew the voice, though the effort to be tender underlay each note.
-"friend," whispered madeleine
-the song was stilled.
-"oh, friend, open the door and let me feel the air."
-"prepare your eyes for a hideous sight," muttered the voice, dull and grating like a saw.
-"my deliverer cannot make me fear," she murmured.
-the iron bolt grated, the door opened, and madeleine beheld in the gloom the shapeless outline of the dwarf.
-"thank the night, lady," he said. "it is kind because it hides one of nature's failures. a spider, they say, once saved a scotchman. a hunchback may do as much for a queen."
-madeleine stepped out to the balmy night.
-"what made you come to my aid?" she murmured. "it is death for you."
-"lady," said gaudriole, "i bow to the church, because hypocrisy drives many a sinner to play the saint. when the fat laroche calls me to my duty, i confess with my tongue in my cheek and burn a rushlight. that is for policy. before you i am a protestant. by myself i am a believer in living long and cheating the gallows. that again is policy. i hate the church and its priests, therefore i have released you. also, by some strange mischance, nature has placed a man's heart within this contemptible body. but let us hasten."
-"the sentry!" exclaimed madeleine.
-"look not in that direction," said gaudriole. "lady, which way? i will guide you to safety, stay by your side while i can serve you, and when you say, 'back, dog!' i disappear."
-"you have done murder," cried the girl. "let me see. stand aside. ah, poor wretch! he was but doing his duty, and his blood is on my head."
-"the deed is mine, both in this world and the next," said gaudriole. "i had a grudge against the knave. he stunned me once with his fist when i stumbled by mischance across his foot. lady, you must come quickly. i see lights moving yonder. there is no time to lose."
-"geoffrey!" murmured madeleine softly to her self.
-"for his sake," urged the dwarf. then he paused and ground his teeth.
-"but you?" she exclaimed.
-"i!" gaudriole uttered his malevolent chuckle. "to-morrow i shall be hopping about the fortress, full of wild fancies which shall mightily impress the superstitious. i shall say how, as i lay on the hillside, i saw lightning strike the sentry dead, and how at the roll of thunder the door of this hut burst open and you passed out in a flame of fire. laroche shall worship you as a saint to-morrow, if he worship aught but his belly and his sword, and shall keep the day holy in honour of sainte madeleine. fear not for me. i have a clever tongue, lady, and a brave imagination, and if i am pushed can devise twenty men to do this deed. come!" he whispered sharply. "the lights approach."
-madeleine permitted herself to be hurried away, and the ill-matched pair made no stop until the forest had closed behind. not a sound came from the heights; only the watch-fires flickered gently in the wind.
-"which way?" cried gaudriole.
-"the sea," said madeleine.
-"there lies your path. 'tis a mountainous country yonder. if you hide to-night, i will after dark to-morrow bring down a boat, and in that you may escape."
-"i know how to find food, and the indians will not harm me," she replied. "i have made myself friendly with them, and carry a marked stone which one of their sachems gave me."
-"say now the words, 'back, dog!' and i leave you."
-madeleine turned reluctantly to the dwarf.
-"go, friend," she said, with her pitying smile gaudriole went down on his sharp knees, and his crooked shoulders heaved.
-"lady, i am no man, but a beast who has done you what little service it might. my life shall continue as nature has fitted me, but when i come to die on the gallows, as such as i must end, i would have one blessed memory to carry with me into hell. suffer me to kiss your hand."
-madeleine hesitated, her lips parting pitifully, her eyes wet as the grass which brushed her skirt. then, as the poor villain raised his hideous face, she bent and swiftly kissed his grimy brow. her glorious hair for a moment streamed upon his elfin locks, then she was gone, breathing a little faster, while gaudriole lay humped upon the ground.
-with the life of master william grignion, alderman, and subsequently sheriff, of the city of london, these annals are not concerned. the merchant's existence cannot, however, be altogether ignored, owing to a certain venture on his part, which resulted in an english ship being cast upon the shore of acadie at the beginning of winter. master grignion was an austere man, who, by dint of miserly practice and sharp dealing, had amassed what in those days was a considerable fortune. after marrying his only daughter to an impecunious peer, he occupied a shameful old house upon thames bank, the greater part of which was stocked with bales of merchandise. from the single window of the living-room, which was furnished below the degree of discomfort, the old man could view the overtoppling houses upon london bridge; and here master grignion counted his gains each night, while his starved dog slunk from corner to corner sniffing uselessly for a scrap of food.
-owing to the scarcity of english ships, no valuable cargo of tobacco, and none of the products of new world grist-mills or tanneries, had for many months crossed the seas. for weeks the alderman had been engrossed by an idea, which grew in strength upon him--namely, that if he built for himself a ship and despatched her to virginia, he might very possibly add materially to the already considerable store of gold pieces which were secreted about his house from cellar to attic. but master grignion knew well that the seas were held by england's foes, and the nightmare of failure held him back from his project month after month. one evening, however, while he watched the muddy thames after a good day of business, the finger of inspiration touched him, and, gazing up into the london sky, which was not murky in those days, he remarked: "hitherto ships have been constructed for strength. dutch, french, and spanish vessels are alike slow and cumbersome. it has occurred to no man to build a ship for speed."
-having solved the problem, master grignion knew no rest until he had found an enterprising shipbuilder, who was clever at his business and at the same time weak in bargaining. discovering in devon the man he required, the alderman divulged his plan; and from that day forward until the dartmouth stood fully decked before barnstaple the miser's talk was of sailcloth and sailmaking, with masts, yards, gaffs, booms, and bowsprits. the dartmouth, when completed even to the satisfaction of her avaricious owner, was undoubtedly ahead of the time.
-one silas upcliff, an old sea-dog with a face red and yellow like a ripe apple, and a fringe of snow-white whisker below the chin, a native of plymouth, and a man well salted by experience, volunteered to raise a crew and sail the dartmouth to the potomac; and, after a vast deal of haggling over the questions of provisioning and wages, his offer was accepted. and one fine day the brigantine shook out her wealth of canvas and skimmed away westward, over the track of such brave vessels as the pelican, the little discovery, and the puritan mayflower. trembling with pride and excitement, and a certain amount of fear lest at the last moment his ship might be seized for the service of the king, master grignion stood by while the anchor was heaved, shouting his final injunction: "fight not with your guns, master skipper. should an enemy attack you, let out more sail and fly." silas upcliff nodded in stolid english style, and, as he drew away, turned to his mate and muttered: "from the french, the storm, but most of all from misers, good lord deliver us."
-when the snow ceased and the atmosphere became clear, a tall figure came down among the pines, and gave a hearty welcome to the skipper and his men. the visitor was sir thomas iden, and he came not alone to greet the master of the dartmouth, for none other than madeleine was at his side.
-the brave girl had travelled far that night of her release, and for two days hurried eastward, keeping near the river, existing on butternuts and the different kinds of berry which flourished in abundance at that season of the year, until on the eve of the second day she saw the smoke of a camp-fire rising from the beach. descending, she revealed herself boldly to the campers, who were none other than sir thomas and his native wife; and when the former heard her story, and knew that she was english at heart, if french in name, and further learnt that she was the affianced of geoffrey viner, who had gone out to bring them help, he bent with knightly grace and kissed her hand, and besought her to accompany him to the land above the sea. madeleine joyously consented; and from that hour her troubles ceased.
-afterwards jeremiah hough came to the land beside the gulf, and with him penfold, fully recovered from his fever; and these men also took madeleine to their hearts--though the stern puritan refused to trust her--when they heard how she had served their comrade. in the pathless land above the sea, a little to the east of acadie, they settled themselves; the knight, his wife, and madeleine in one log-cabin in a hollow; hough and penfold in another, placed in the heart of a dense pine-wood. no marauding band had been abroad to trouble the land. the only danger which appeared to threaten the englishmen, now that winter had set in, was the possibility that some indian spy might carry the news of their hiding-place into the town; and this danger was a very real one, for, though they did not know of it, onawa had followed la salle to acadie.
-it was madeleine who sighted the dartmouth snowed up beside the beach. she had gone out into the storm to run along the cliff and fight against the mighty buffetings of the wind which had upset the plans of master grignion. she sped back over the spruce-clad hills, and coming first to the adventurers' hut stopped to tell them the tidings. they ran forth, flushed with the hope that geoffrey had succeeded, and, standing upon a hill-top, argued concerning the stranger's nationality, until they came regretfully to the decision that she could not be from english shores.
-"i saw never a ship so light in build," said penfold. "see you the number of her masts? she is made to run and not to fight, whereas our english ships are made to fight and never to run. she is, if i mistake not, a dutch vessel."
-"peradventure the lord shall deliver her also into our hands," quoth hough fervently.
-the captain shook his grizzled head, and answered sadly: "recall not that day of our triumph. then were we five good men. now george, our brother, lies on the windy arm, and friend woodfield is no more, and young geoffrey has gone out into a strange country. only you and i remain, and my arm now lacks its former strength."
-in the meantime madeleine had run for her protector; and before the day was done both penfold and the puritan knew of their error, and had joined hands once again with men from their native land.
-when silas upcliff learnt that he stood upon the perilous nova scotian coast, he felt more shame than fear--shame to hear that the land was mastered by the french. had not those bold sea-brothers of england the cabots discovered it over a century earlier, and had not james the first conferred his crown patent of the whole of canada upon sir william alexander, his scottish favourite? the honest skipper well knew that the magnanimous charles had confirmed the bestowal of that prodigious gift, acting, it must be assumed, under surprising ignorance, seeing that the land was no more his to give than were the new netherlands or peru. and at that time, when roussilac held the st. lawrence and la salle the priest ruled acadie, the scottish peer, who was nominal lord of all the land, was peacefully engaged in writing mediocre poetry in his castle of stirling! between the ostensible and actual ownership spread a vast gulf of difference, as the men upon that shore were to learn to their cost.
-silas upcliff gave his compatriots a sailor's hearty handshake, and the men who knew the land and its occupants rendered the new-comers what assistance they might, while hough lost no time in begging them to join in an attack upon acadie. to that upcliff could only make the reply: "my services are bought, my ship is armed for defence only, and my men are sworn to run rather than to fight."
-then madeleine offered her services as housewife to the crew, and when the men knew that she loved an english lad, that she was a huguenot, and had formerly trodden the streets and lanes of somerset and devon, that she even knew the familiar names above merchants' doors in bristol and plymouth, and could quote them with a pretty accent, they fell in love with her forthwith, from upcliff himself to the rogue of a boy before the mast. from that time forth she ruled them with a velvet discipline, joining the workers engaged in repairing the ship's injuries, and helping them by her happiness and approval.
-"hurry! hurry!" she would cry. "ah, but you talk too much. she shall float to-morrow. then to break the ice and flee away!"
-"art in such hurry to lose us, lass?" said upcliff on the second day after the snow.
-"but i shall not lose you," cried madeleine. "i am going to sail away with you. i shall bring good fortune and favouring winds; and if any man be sick i will nurse him back to strength. none ever die whom i watch over. the sick are ashamed even to think of death when they see me so full of life. you will take me to my geoffrey, in the land of the free?"
-"ay, and to england if you will," cried the hearty skipper, who had already heard her story. "but, my lass, your geoffrey may be on his way back, and you may but get south to find him gone."
-"no," replied madeleine, shaking her head decidedly. "he is not on his way back. i think he is in trouble. i cannot understand, but i feel that he is being punished for what he has not done, and i know that i can help him. no one can help a man like the woman who loves him. geoffrey wants me, and i must go."
-"you shall go, girl," promised the sea-dog; and, turning half aside, muttered: "if the boy have played her false, i shall have it in my mind to run out a line from the cross-tree and see him hanged."
-"false!" cried madeleine, with a scream of laughter. "is the sun false when the clouds will not let him shine? why, i would slap your wicked face, and cook you no supper to-night, if i believed that you spoke in faith."
-she ran away, kicking up the dusty snow, and throwing back a laugh which filled the winter air with the breath of spring.
-each calm morning the boats of the deep-sea fishermen put out from acadie, and returned before evening with their frozen freight. the englishmen stifled their fires and stilled their voices when these boats drew near. their shelter was well hidden among the pines; the snowed-up brigantine resembled nothing so much as a rock bearing a few dead and stripped firs. every night the sailors laughed at danger; but each morning found them on the watch.
-"i saw the man who made that verse," he said, leaning over the circle, and putting out his hand for silence. "will tell you where i saw him. 'twas on london street beside globe theatre, coming by blackfriars, and he stood with another honest gentleman watching us wild fellows roll past. we were singing like boys on the road from school and making the fat watchmen run. london town was a brave place for us young sailors up from the west country, and we were bent on having our pleasure, though we had to pay for it before my lord mayor."
-"what was the name of master?" asked one of the men.
-"a comely gentleman," went on the captain, disregarding the questioner. "though methinks as pale as any wench who had lost her lover. not a wrinkle on the face of him, and the forehead of him wide and smooth, ay, and as cold looking as any slab of stone from portland cliff. but the eyes of man! i caught the look of them, and they seemed to pass through my brain learning in one glance more about me than ever i knew myself. and the smile of man! can see it now as he turned to his fellow and said: 'the sailor is the man to drive our care away, good burbage.' and then he said softly those words you have now been singing, 'one foot in sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never.' a christian gentleman, they told me. a great actor, and a poet who made money, they told me. should watch his 'tempest' played. would make you feel on shipboard, and hold on to a pillar of the pit to steady your feet withal."
-"he loved a mariner," said a voice. "the englishman smells of salt water, say they in france. 'tis better, so honest will did say, than to smell of civet."
-"how goes the weather?" demanded the captain suddenly.
-"snowing. our little barque is but a drift."
-the sailor who had sought to learn the poet's name repeated his question, and while the information was being driven into his obtuse head by half a dozen of his mates in concert, the curtain dividing the cabin became suddenly agitated, a white hand fluttered for an instant, and a bright voice called:
-"your food is ready, children."
-the sailors rose, laughing as heartily at the pleasantry as though they had not heard it before, and obeyed the summons gladly. to every man was set a great bowl of stew, and the fair cook, resting her hands upon her sides, watched them as they set to work.
-"you are idle," she declared. "i have but little meat left, and you, great children that you are, require so much feeding. in the morning i shall turn you out to hunt. the snow shall have stopped by then, and you may follow the deer by their fresh tracks."
-madeleine nodded severely at the sailors as she thus made known to them her mind.
-the crew were still over supper, and silas was telling one of his sea stories to ears which had already heard it a score of times, but listened patiently because it was the master speaking, when a deep sound broke among the hills and rolled onward through the snow, making the rough coast throb.
-the skipper's mouth was open to laugh at his own excellent wit, but that sound brought his lips together, as it caused all his listeners to start for the door. the same cry was upon every tongue, as their hands dragged away the sail which stretched across the entrance:
-"cast your eyes over to the west," called a voice, and the master found sir thomas at his side.
-"'tis a french ship bringing provisions," said the knight, pointing into the unfathomable mass. "she has signalled, and yonder fire burns to guide her in."
-"wreck her!" cried a cornishman. "let us build another fire on the cliff to the east. with fortune, she shall steer for our beacon instead of theirs."
-"we should but make ourselves known," growled upcliff.
-a terrified shout broke upon his speech, and one of the men jumped against the huddled party, shrieking in fear.
-"what ails you, jacob sadgrove?" cried the skipper.
-"god save me! a foul spirit close at my side. she grinned out of the snow and floated away, her feet never touching ground. a warning--a death warning, and i a miserable sinner."
-the man grovelled upon his knees up to his waist in snow, flapping his hands and groaning.
-"speak up, man!" said sir thomas. "what is that you saw?"
-"he has seen a wyvern," spoke the master contemptuously. "was always a man to see more than other folk."
-"stood at my side and grinned in a fearsome manner," whined the sailor. "the nose of her was slit like man yonder, and the ears of her were like a dog's, and she breathed fire out of her mouth."
-"stay!" cried hough, stepping out. "say you that her face was marked like mine?"
-"the same," panted the man. "but dead and cold, and her eyes like fish----"
-the puritan drowned his wailings by a bitter cry.
-"forgive me, friends," he cried. "the lord delivered me that woman to slay, and i, weak vessel that i am, drew back, and now am punished, and in my punishment you must share. we are discovered."
-"the name of that woman?" demanded sir thomas.
-"the sister of your wife."
-"i knew it," groaned the knight. "the agent of my son's death. which way went she?" he cried at the terrified sailor.
-"she flew there--there," stuttered the man.
-"follow the tracks!"
-"nay, there are none. the snow already covers them."
-"her feet ne'er touched the snow," wailed the man. "her feet were hot from the everlasting fire."
-"peace, fool," said upcliff. he turned to hough. "are our lives in danger?"
-"never in greater. the woman is an indian spy, who is now on her way to the settlement, where rules a hot-headed priest who has sworn to kill every englishman in the land. they will be on us ere morning."
-"there is only one way," said the master. "we must break the ice, release our barque, and put out. the sea is calm."
-"she will not float."
-"she shall float."
-the brigantine righted herself with a flutter and a plunge, casting the snow from her yards, and the grinding of her keel made joyful music. the toilers, sweating as though they had been reaping corn in summer, laboured to open the path to the stagnant sea.
-"the rent in her hold is plugged by solid ice," called the skipper. "she shall carry that cargo bravely through this calm."
-the big feathers of snow became spots of down, which lessened to the degree of frost points before morning. the country began to unroll, all padded with its monstrous coverlet; the trees masqueraded as wool-stuffed falstaffs; the cliffs seemed to have increased in the night; the heavens were nearer the earth. the coast appalled in its cold virginity.
-"one more hour, and then for the sea," sang upcliff. "is everything aboard?"
-"all but the stove, captain. we wait for it to cool."
-"bring it out into the snow."
-as upcliff gave the order, a man crossed the brow of a western hill and floundered knee-deep towards the bay. it was hough, and he shouted as he ran:
-"the french are coming out!"
-in the fall of the snow.
-because the father of waters was frozen over and its track buried in snow, despatches from quebec could only be conveyed by the hand of overland couriers. winter had set in early that year, and with more than usual severity; and this was probably the reason why no messenger had lately arrived from the heights to inform the governor of acadie as to what had taken place in and around the modest capital of new france.
-la salle reached his chapel, recited vespers in the arrogant voice which made him feared, and returned to his quarters. a spirit of restlessness was over him, and when he could resist no longer he rose, and, taking his sword, lunged repeatedly at a knot in the wall, striking it full until his body began to sweat.
-"no falling off," he muttered, as he examined the pricks in the wood. "no sign of weakness yet." he lowered the sword, and mechanically wiped the point in the tail of his skirt, then passed his firm hand caressingly down the blade, murmuring, with a self-conscious smile: "i have finished my fighting. henceforth my wrist must stiffen and my arm rust, while the power which has controlled the sword shall pass into the use of tongue and pen."
-a knock fell upon the door, and in response to his reply a personal attendant entered, and with a low reverence announced:
-"a messenger to speak with you, excellency."
-at the governor's word a man was ushered in, clad in furs, his beard heavy with icicles, a pair of long snow-shoes slung upon his back. he made a profound genuflection and stood with bent head awaiting permission to speak.
-"come you from the upper fortress?" asked la salle.
-"yes, excellency, with despatches for france and a letter for your holiness."
-la salle put out his hand for the communication, broke the thread, unfolded the sheet, and, holding it in the lamplight, bent over to read.
-"ha!" he exclaimed, his eyes lifting. "laroche. what means this signature?"
-"the noble commandant roussilac has been stricken with sickness," hesitated the messenger.
-"what ails him?" asked the priest.
-the man faltered, but finally gained courage to reply: "it is said, excellency, that the noble commandant acts strangely, as a man possessed by some unholy influence."
-la salle brought the letter again to his eyes, and hurriedly scanned the ill-written lines.
-"it is explained here," he said indifferently. "la tête lui a tourné. was never an able man," he muttered to himself. "was ambitious, and thought himself strong enough to stand alone. 'tis but justice." he looked across coldly, and sharply ordered the messenger to withdraw.
-the emissary retired, bowing as he backed out, while la salle ran his eyes over the remainder of the letter, muttering his comments aloud.
-"gaudriole hanged for murdering a soldier. so, so! was but a brute. the little frenchwoman dead of a fit, and her daughter escaped. a weeding-out, in faith. the traitorous dutch gone beyond capture. the english spy also escaped. the men sent after him returned afoot, and swore that they had been set upon by demons among a range of white mountains. would have hanged the fools. the iroquois tribes gone into winter hunting-grounds. the country altogether clear. the algonquins still friendly. this colony is now settled to france beyond question."
-la salle dropped the letter, and fell into musings. once he put his hand to his brow, as though he could already feel a mitre pressing there; he fingered his ring, and moved his foot, to frown when his eyes sighted a rough boot instead of the scarlet shoe of his dreams. then he was awakened by a noisy rattling and a shock.
-the crucifix which had hung upon the log wall--more as a sign of profession, as the gauntlet outside the glove-maker's shop, than as a symbol he revered--lay broken upon the floor.
-the priest rose, muttering a frightened imprecation, and as he nervously gathered up the shattered symbol his ears became opened to a hurrying of feet over the fresh snow. all the soldiers and settlers appeared to be rushing past afoot, shaking the ground and the walls of his house. it was doubtless this disturbance which had detached the crucifix from its nail. la salle pulled a beaver cap over his forehead and made for the outer door, and there encountered a messenger who came to inform him that a ship's gun had been heard at sea.
-"bid them fire the beacon," said la salle.
-"it has been done, excellency. there is not a breath over the water. but the snow pours down."
-the priest's official bodyguard awaited him; and when he appeared every man saluted and fell into place, and so accompanied him to the cliff, where a huge fire was making the sky scarlet. this fire was a centre towards which all the settlers were hastening like flies towards a lantern. the coming of a ship from the old world, with supplies, fresh faces, and news of friends, was a red-letter day in the monotonous calendar of their lives. the white figures hurried through the night like an inferno of chattering ghosts.
-"she shall not be in till morning light," quoth a wiseacre. "there are rocks, see you, in the gulf, and her master shall run no risk after escaping the perils of the ocean."
-"will wager to-day's haul of fish that she lies up here before three hours are gone," cried another.
-"and i my fishing-net that we shall not see her before day," retorted the confident first speaker.
-"that net is mine. didst not hear the gun?"
-"sounds carry far through the winter air."
-"the snow muffles. she is scarce a mile out."
-"ah, that is indeed a fire! the light of it shall reach far out at sea."
-the excitable folk laughed loudly whenever a fresh load of wood was flung upon the flames, and carried away by their feelings danced an ambulatory ballet in the red mist, a dance, like the prosperity of the arms of france to be given before richelieu a few months later, not altogether without political significance. these settlers danced to the tune of their song; and their songs were success to the ships of france and destruction to the english. while these revels lasted no one observed a soldier hurrying up behind, with a woman at his side. the woman was onawa, breathing quickly as though she had been running at the top of her speed.
-"yonder stands his holiness," said the man, stopping to point out la salle surrounded by his little band of attendants.
-onawa abandoned her guide and rushed out, maddened and witless with her foolish passion, until she reached the side of the man she loved and was warmed by his dark eyes, which yet flashed angrily upon her, as he turned to shake off the parasite, ejaculating:
-"whom have we here?"
-"it is i," she cried wildly in french, having at length acquired some little knowledge of that language. "let me speak." more she would have said, but her store of the language failed in the time of need.
-"uncover her face," ordered la salle. "take her into the firelight that we may see with whom we have to deal."
-"let me speak to you here," prayed the girl, drawing back into the snow-lit gloom; but she was seized and dragged upward close to the dancing ring, and rough hands drew the covering from her face.
-"tête de mort!" exclaimed la salle, and started back when he recognised the face that had once been handsome set towards him in the wild firelight, fearfully branded, the nostrils slit, the ears cropped, a letter seared upon each cheek. "cover that horror, and drive her out lest she bewitch us."
-"hear me," the unhappy girl moaned, holding out her hands in an agony of supplication. "yonder your enemy cover the shore. many men and a ship held in the ice." she panted forth the syllables in the best french she could muster, throwing out her hands along the eastern shore.
-la salle's expression altered as he turned to his subordinates with the old fighting passion in his eye and heart.
-"my men," he said, "this woman is but an indian, but she is trustworthy, i know. an english vessel has been cast ashore, and the sailors seek to make shelter. what say you? shall we warm our blood and relieve this tedious time of waiting by venturing out to exterminate the vermin?"
-"should we not first send out a spy?" suggested an old officer.
-"it is well thought on. choose you a man, and bid him take this woman for a guide. let him stab her if she prove false. do you gather together our fighters," went on the priest, turning to another, "and bid them make ready to sally out immediately."
-"shall you venture yourself, excellency?"
-"shall i not!" cried la salle, his hot blood afire for one more fight and one more triumph. "i fear we shall find but poor sport, but such as it is i shall take my share. break up yonder circle of madmen, and order them to make ready. hasten, so that we may have our hunt, and be ready to receive the ship when she sails out of the fog."
-"i go not," cried onawa, furiously resisting the soldiers who would have forced her away. she broke from them, ran to la salle, and fell upon her knees, panting: "i go with you, that i may fight with you, and die for you."
-"the woman has yet to learn a soldier's discipline," said la salle coldly. "secure a rope round her, and if she prove obstinate let her feel the end of it."
-onawa flung herself forward to grasp his feet, but two soldiers stepped out and dragged her away.
-"now, my brave comrades! to arms!" shouted the fighting priest.
-arms and the man.
-silas upcliff groaned bitterly when he heard the puritan's shout. being a brave man, his spirit inclined towards lending aid to his compatriots, but being honest also, his sense of duty impelled him to observe the oath which he had made to his niggardly owner. while he was thus halting between two opinions, the three venturers left him upon the shore, the blood tingling in their veins at the prospect of a glorious death.
-penfold led the way and took command, carrying his burden of years as lightly as any man upon that coast. striking upward from the bay, where the sailors were fighting the ice, he brought his companions to a height of three hundred feet above the sea, where the cliffs were divided by a narrow defile down which in summer coursed a stream.
-"i have kept this place in mind," said the old man, when they halted at the extremity of the pass. "here we shall make our stand."
-so contracted was the way that the snow, massed heavily upon the sides, in places nearly touched. some pines clung to the rock, hanging over the defile, straining at their rope-like roots. at these the old yeoman pointed with the order:
-"fell me two trees so that they shall fall along the pass."
-"the enemy show black against the snow yonder, a hundred men if there be one," he shouted. "tell me now, how shall i dispose my men?"
-"return to your ship, master skipper, and cut her free with what speed you may," replied penfold gruffly. "we stand here to hold back the enemy so long as life remains."
-"mayhap they shall not come this way?" suggested upcliff.
-"if they do not, then are ye doubly safe. before they can pass round you shall be away, for i know of no easy path up yonder wall, and on the south the sea guards us. see you not that they must here advance singly, and that one good fighter may hold them all at bay?"
-"they have guns," said upcliff, cocking his ear to listen to the axes ringing keenly in the bay.
-"they shall not use them. the snow must drench their priming."
-the skipper made a step back, but halted again.
-"i cannot desert you, comrades," he said hoarsely. "my owner is also an englishman, an alderman of london town, and, close-minded though he be, i wot he would lose his venture and his ship rather than see england shamed. bid me call my men to the far end of this pass, and there let us stand together until the end."
-"see you not that this is our affair?" replied penfold. "we are fighting for our own hands, having blood of comrades to avenge. go, for you do but waste your time and ours."
-the men in the pass twisted the pine-boughs and snagged the trunks to form a rough chevaux-de-frise. before an hour had passed they heard footfalls crushing the snow, and then penfold smiled and rose to his feet. the old man had been resting beneath a tree.
-"comrades," he said, "i lead by the privilege of age. not more than one can make a stand in this narrow pass. do you ascend the cliff, one on either side, and as the enemy attempt to climb the barrier cast snow into their faces. the rest you shall leave to me."
-"out on you, old simon," said hough strongly. "i am younger than you by many years, and thus shall last the longer."
-"you may fill this place after me," said penfold. "but while i live i rule."
-hough was not satisfied, and the argument was only brought to an end by the sight of a cap lifting above the ridge.
-"to your places," whispered penfold, stepping quickly to the barrier.
-the knight was already upon the cliff, sheltering his spare body behind a pine. he awaited the one man who, he felt assured, would not lose the opportunity of a fight, and he did not desire to risk his life until he and that man could meet.
-"captain!" called a french voice startlingly, "a barrier is thrown across the way."
-"over it," ordered the officer.
-the man jumped upon the fallen trunk and threw up his hands to grasp the higher branches; but his fingers merely clutched the air, he gave a groan, and fell back, pierced through the heart by penfold's sword, which had darted from the interlacing branches. a shout went up from the pass, which was now a struggling mass of soldiers.
-"information ever costs a man," said the officer coolly. "storm the barrier."
-two soldiers rushed out and flung themselves upon the locked trees, jostling each other in the constricted space. a lump of snow hit the foremost between the eyes, he gasped, and would have turned, but a sword-thrust sent him to his doom, and his comrade, blinded in the self-same manner, shared his fate.
-"there are men in hiding yonder," rang a voice. "the villains shelter behind the trees."
-"find me a way round," roared an angry voice, and la salle pushed along the pass. "are we to be held here by one man behind a fallen tree?"
-"there is no way up, excellency," said an officer, gazing up the face of the rock. "the heretics have well chosen their place."
-"send men round," shouted the priest.
-a detachment was sent instantly to find a way over the cliff, while woodmen with axes went out and laid furiously upon the pines. penfold disabled the first, but another advanced, and after him another, each unwilling to obey, but unable to hang back.
-three dead bodies were dragged out, and la salle tried the expedient of sending his men in rapid succession against the barrier. the wet snow dashed upon their faces, one by one they dropped before that stinging sword, man after man fell back, but another always stood ready to rush into the gap, to make the attempt, and give way to someone more confident than he. penfold's dogged old tongue counted off the strokes to the ringing of the ice-axes from the bay. the soldier-settlers came faster, each man more fierce than the last, because their blood was heated by the shame of this defeat. the old man's misty breath came streaming between the branches where his untiring sword flickered in and out.
-two at a time came the frenchmen, until at length, profiting by a mis-stroke, a couple gained the summit of the barrier. the first to jump down fell a prey to the stout yeoman, but the second reached the ground unharmed. a shout of triumph went up, and the soldiers swarmed the obstacle.
-"excellency, the indian woman has shown us a way over the cliff," exclaimed a voice beside la salle. "that way, says she, we shall encounter no opposition."
-"i will myself make the trial," la salle answered. "do you in the meantime win this pass."
-"she says also that we must hasten, because these men are holding the pass while their comrades free the ship from the ice."
-penfold fought on, grim to the end, but his sword had lost its deadliness and his arm was growing numb. his comrades aided him as best they could, but they too were acting upon the defensive, because some of the more daring soldiers had scaled the slippery sides of the pass in a futile endeavour to drag them down. the old man groaned and tottered as the light failed gradually from his eyes.
-"let it be said of me," he gasped, "that i gave them half an hour."
-voices roared in his ears, like the waves of a stormy sea about to close over his head.
-"strike! he is spent. strike him down."
-there followed an onward rush. over the old man's failing body sped the bitterness of death.
-he felt a sword in his side, another in his shoulder, and at the pain he revived like an old lion, and roared and plunged forward, feeling his way with his point, until he found his striker's heart, and then he shouted with all the strength that was left:
-"stand up in my stead, comrade! i have made a good fight, and accounted for the best. they shall run before us yet. to me, comrade! ha! st. edward and st. george!"
-with that last shout he fell, deep into the red snow, his old body spouting blood, and so died like a valiant man of berks, with his sword fast held, and his grey head set towards the foe.
-hough hurled back a soldier, who had clambered up the cliff to dislodge him, and would have flung himself down to stop the way, when on a sudden a tall figure slid down the side opposite him, and stood immediately to defy the body of men sweeping through like an inundating wave, wielding his sword with calm, nervous strength, his keen eyes starting from a thin, brown face.
-then hough's courage gave way, and sinking to his knees, while the enemy rushed through, he cried aloud. death had no terror for him; but the spectacle of that cold man, whom for an instant he had seen, fighting in the raw light of the dawn, then thrown down and trodden under foot, made him shiver to the heart.
-"the lord encompasses us with the spirits of our friends," he cried, knowing that it was jesse woodfield who already lay hacked and bruised and buried in the snow of the defile.
-the grain of mustard seed.
-the acadians swept towards the bay, but their governor was not with them. la salle had gone alone over the cliffs, along the way which onawa had revealed, and he went not unseen. the kentishman followed, searching out each footprint in the snow. once again the priest was destined to take up the sword, before assuming the mantle of spiritual power. as he passed among the pines the loneliness of the place began to make him fear, and when he stopped with a curse, because he knew not which way to turn, he seemed to behold the sword of his dream flashing like lightning between the mitre and himself. and while halting he heard perplexing shouts, lessening, receding, and growing faint, as his men rushed down upon their foes.
-hearing those shouts upcliff looked up from the field of ice, and his heart for an instant ceased when he saw that the enemy had gained the pass.
-"now, men of somerset," he shouted, "let our bird fly right soon, or we shall never sight england again."
-"we can do no more than our best, captain," growled the sailor jacob sadgrove. "my arms are near dead with work."
-"out!" cried madeleine, sweeping forward. "out, and make room for a woman."
-she caught up the axe which the grumbler had dropped, and, lifting her brave arms, attacked the barrier of ice with never a thought of fear, until the sailor returned glumly to his work for shame.
-"only a few more yards," the deceiving girl cried, throwing back her flushed face. "look not behind. to regard work closely is to fear it. attack boldly, and it is done. see how the ship struggles to be free! soon we shall fly through the open water, with the wind in our sails. then shall you rest, and it shall delight you to remember the work."
-so she called, laughing and singing at intervals, and running here and there to encourage the toilers, a faithful angel of hope, while the axes rang more strongly and the men cast side-glances towards the foe and swore breathlessly at their impotence.
-"get you aboard, lass," said upcliff, loosening his cutlass. "here is work for men. my lads, we shall make a good fight for country and faith, and die, if god will, like true men facing odds. now we are taken on both sides."
-he pointed to the north-west. out of the gloom of dawn and the fog-wreaths, which ever haunt the nova scotian banks, sailed a full-rigged man-of-war beating against the breeze. it was the provision ship making for the settlement now that the helmsman could see to steer between the rocks.
-"nothing but a miracle can serve," quoth the skipper. "and the age of miracles is past."
-"have but faith, and the miracle shall yet be wrought," cried madeleine, her magnificent confidence strong within her, even in that hour when a less bold spirit would have seen the doors of a heretic's prison reopening. "god shall yet make a way for us to escape. i know we are not doomed. help me, captain, and you sailors, with your faith. we are never to be taken. we are to escape from our enemies, and god shall give to us the victory."
-upcliff smiled sadly as he gazed at the radiant face of the prophetess, shaking his grizzled head as he muttered:
-"may the good lord bless you, girl. you send us forth strong to fight."
-then again he faced his men and formed them in line; and when they stood ready to receive the enemy, every man his cutlass in hand, the master cried out strongly:
-"let no man surrender. for such the french have a gallows. lads, we shall, by god's grace, leave a deep mark on yonder little army before the ship comes nigh. see you how slowly she labours down? she can scarce make headway against the tide, and the breeze freshens every minute. now for a bold stand, a stern struggle, and may the lord have mercy on us all."
-stout somerset throats answered him with a cheer. they had exercised their privilege of grumbling over the uncongenial work of cutting a way for their ship through the ice-field while their compatriots fought upon the cliffs; but not a man drew back from the prospect of that hopeless battle.
-the acadians struggled down the long hill, floundering in the soft snow, and, halting upon the flat, drew up in the form of a crescent. there were signs of unwillingness among the settlers, due in part to the reputation gained in those days by englishmen of never shrinking from a struggle to the death. they were also perturbed by the absence of la salle, whom they had not seen since woodfield had been overwhelmed and left for dead in the defile.
-while the french thus hesitated, upcliff and his impetuous men were for advancing to the attack; but madeleine came before them, and in a strained voice, altogether unlike her usual tones, implored the skipper not to move towards the shore.
-"do not leave the ice," she cried. "i charge you go not beyond the ice."
-"the maid has surely lost her wits," muttered upcliff.
-"see the eyes of her!" whispered jacob sadgrove to his nearest companion. "have seen a horse look so, when he knows of somewhat coming, and would speak of it if he might."
-a roar broke the morning fog. the ship had fired to encourage her allies. the ball splashed into the black water far from the gallant dartmouth, which quivered and shook her sails in furious helplessness.
-"swear to me that you will not leave the ice-field," cried madeleine.
-"ay, if you wish it," said upcliff; adding bluntly: "may die as well here as yonder. stand together, lads. they come!"
-"oh, why so long?" prayed madeleine, bending upon the snow. "it is time for the miracle. i know we are to be saved, but it is terrible to wait. i know that not a hair upon the head of any of these men shall be harmed; but they know it not, and they prepare for death because they cannot see. oh, god, send us now the miracle!"
-"stand firm!" shouted upcliff. "let them make the charge, and we shall smite them as they stumble in the snow."
-he spoke, and straightway a mighty report rang along the shore. the ice on which the men planted their resolute feet quivered and heaved. the attackers halted and drew back; the attacked stared at one another in superstitious wonderment. no smoke drifted behind. the guns upon the ship had not spoken. but the echoes of that dry, sharp sound still crashed among the cliffs.
-madeleine rose, and sent her rapturous voice singing into the ears of all: "the miracle! the miracle!"
-already a channel of black water frothed and bubbled between the english sailors and the french settlers, a channel which widened each moment, as the ice-floe which the change of temperature had parted so suddenly from the shore drifted seawards, drawn out by the strong gulf current, bearing the men snatched from death, the little ice-locked ship, and the girl who had trusted so firmly and so well.
-they flocked round her, the rough sailors, crying like children, and knelt to kiss her hands.
-"to work!" she cried, pointing to the silver strip which held the floe united.
-but before the men could again use their axes the strain told. the ice cracked again and the field was divided into two parts. there was a momentary danger lest the brigantine should be crushed between the floes, but this peril was averted by the regularity of the current. the men swung themselves aboard, lifting madeleine up the ladder of ropes and so upon deck. the enemy already had become grotesque black spots upon the shore.
-"clear the decks for battle!" the captain thundered as the little ship ran free of the ice.
-the frenchman had altered her course, and was bearing down upon the dartmouth, roaring with all her guns.
-onawa, daughter of shuswap, vagrant and traitress, she who had brought disaster upon her own people, continued to reap the reward of all her constancy to the enemy of her race. famished and parched, she sank into a bed of snow, and rested her wildly throbbing head against a frosted tree. she had not eaten for many hours, her shelter was more than a league away, and her strength was gone. her reward also was a maddening thirst.
-after tracking down the englishmen, watching them in the fall of the snow, enduring every privation until she had learnt their strength, she had gone at full speed to the settlement, madly hoping even then that la salle might look on her with favour, despite her branded cheeks and mutilated face. his reward was to give her over to the soldiers, who had mocked her because she was of the hated race, a savage in their eyes, and had bound her with a rope and scourged her with the end of it, and had even struck her with their fists when she halted from exhaustion, and would have stabbed her to death had she refused to obey. thus she received her full reward. and now she could do no more.
-neuralgic pains coursed through her head, until the weight of her hair became a torment. feverishly she sucked a handful of snow, but the awful thirst remained unquenched. the sounds of the chase entered her ears dimly from that half-lit region ahead, until drowsiness passed into her body, and her head dropped, and her eyes closed, and the sleep which moves imperceptibly into death came upon her. her passionate heart lowered its beat, her pulses throbbed more sluggishly, as she drew close to the threshold which separates life and its object from the world of dreams. her body collapsed, her head slid down; the soft snow sucked her in like quicksand.
-a figure passed among the slim terebinth columns. though the sleeper had brought down her father into dishonour, had betrayed her tribe, and called the shadow of death across the home of her kindred, her sister had not forgotten her. the figure approached, bent over the huddled shape, and shook it roughly back to life.
-"tuschota!" muttered the girl, as her eyes opened upon the immobile brown face.
-"rise," said the woman. "lean on me, and i will take you to my hut."
-"leave me here," moaned onawa. "i would lie until the great sleep comes."
-"i am your sister. i may not leave you thus to die. yonder food awaits you, and drink, and the warmth of burning logs."
-she assisted onawa to rise. the girl staggered and clung with dead hands. together they passed down the slope, and so came to the cabin cunningly hidden amid snowy bush. a fire burnt redly, and hard by stood a stone vessel filled with rice-water. towards this onawa reached her hands, with the cry:
-"i am tortured with thirst."
-without a word her sister gave her drink, and watched her while she gulped at the tepid liquor. suddenly she put out her hand, and grasped the vessel, saying:
-"see! i have meat ready for you."
-onawa partook of the food like a famished beast, and as strength returned the former love of life awoke, and she longed to go forth to renew the hopeless quest; but she felt her sister's eyes reading her thoughts, and presently she heard that sister's voice:
-"it is good to live, onawa."
-she made no reply, but leaned forward, thrusting her hands against the scarlet wood.
-"even when son and husband are taken away, and the light fails, and all the ground is dark, it is still good to live," went on the voice. "why the good god gives this love of life we may not know."
-"give me more drink," the girl panted.
-"our father shall soon pass into the spirit land," went on the stern woman, unheeding her request. "he is old, but 'tis not age that saps his strength. honour has departed from him. he has lost the headship, and another fills his office."
-onawa stared sullenly into the leaping heart of the fire.
-"as this life continues we find trouble. you have lost beauty, and i a son. we shall not regain that which we have lost. sisters in blood we are, and sisters in unhappiness also."
-"i have brought sorrow into your life," muttered onawa, less in penitence than defiance.
-"and shall do so again. this night you have brought the enemy of my people out from acadie. there was a time when you betrayed my son into the hands of him who now spurns you from his side. that which is done cannot be undone, and god shall punish."
-"why, then, have you brought me here?" cried onawa fiercely. "why did you not leave me to perish, that you might be rid of me for ever?"
-"remember you not the words that i spoke to you in the grove? i bade you have in mind that in the time when you should hunger and thirst you might turn to me. i have not forgotten, though you turned against me when your heart followed its own longing.
-"i grieved for your richard."
-"so the hunter grieves when he by mischance has slain the bear cub which has strayed. and so he avoids the mother if he loves his life."
-at that moment there rang in her steady voice a threat. onawa looked up and met a suffering brown face and large quiet eyes. there was no menace there, nothing but longing for the dead and charity for the living.
-she pressed a hand upon her burning throat. "give me drink," she gasped.
-her sister poured some of the rice-water into a smaller vessel. this she stirred gently with a stick, watching the ruined face of onawa with the same patient eyes. outside the hut a flight of snow birds whirred from side to side.
-"when you have drunk you shall go forth," said mary iden deliberately. "you shall seek to aid my enemy when he strives to strike down my husband."
-onawa gave a cry. in wondering over her sister's forgiveness she had forgotten la salle.
-"they may already have met," she muttered.
-a stern smile crossed her sister's face.
-"can you not hear?" she whispered. "yet you say you love the white priest. i have heard this long while the noise of sword striking sword. i listen without fear, knowing that no man can conquer my husband when no treachery hangs behind. can you not hear the sounds of the fight?"
-"my ears burn," cried onawa. "i hear only the cold wind passing among the pines."
-"they fight!" exclaimed her sister triumphantly. "my richard shall rest to-day."
-"the water," gasped onawa for the third time. "my throat is on fire."
-"drink and go forth."
-grasping the vessel in both hands, onawa drained it to the dregs. then, as her arms fell, and the taste in her mouth became exceeding bitter, and a strange exaltation visited her brain, and her body began to burn, and numbness came into her feet, she bent with one terrible groan, to hide her fear and her shame, and--if it were possible--her awful knowledge of the wolfsbane poisoning that draught, from the calm black eyes which stared at her across the fire.
-"aid whom you will," said the steady voice, which was scarce audible above the furious beatings of the listener's heart. "the day breaks."
-a lifeless winter sun was struggling into the hut.
-the pride of her race remained with onawa to the end. she would not show fear, nor useless rage, in the presence of her sister. she would not confess what she knew, nor acknowledge that she had met with the punishment which she deserved and the laws of their race demanded. passing into a sad beam of light, she drew herself erect and panted:
-"i shall go forth."
-"go, sister," said the poisoner. "i too go forth, but we shall not walk together. for you the west and the forest, for me the south and the sea."
-"i go among the pines."
-erect and proud, onawa passed out with her awful sorrow, through the opening morning, and so among the trees, still dignified and unbending because she knew those calm black eyes followed all her movements. on she went into the increasing gloom, until the snow carpet appeared to grow hot, and opalescent colours fringed the trees, and sounds of sleepy music hummed around her head. the red and green lights flashed up and down; solitude closed behind her; the pine-barrens were on fire. the world was gone.
-before him stood a figure, white-faced and worn, clad in ragged garments, a man to all outward seeming no more sentient than the pines, for he moved not at all, nor did he speak, nor make a sign. as though rooted and frozen, he stood across the way, showing life and feeling only in his eyes.
-"by all the saints!" the priest muttered. "'tis but a half-starved englishman."
-then he shouted his ready challenge to the silent man, who passed immediately with swift movements to the strip of bare ground, and, halting within touch of his enemy, addressed him sternly in the gallic tongue:
-"that you may learn, sir priest, with whom you have to deal, know that before you stands sir thomas iden, a squire of england and a knight of kent, a man moreover who has sworn to fight you fairly to the death. remember you that night on which you put to death a boy in the forest beside couchicing? that boy was my son, my only child. sir priest, you and i have crossed swords before this day. i was then a better man than now; but, with the help of my god and the spirit of my child, i shall lay out your body in this lonely spot for the winds to howl upon, and leave your eyes open for the crows to peck at. i pray you answer only with your sword."
-hot words came to la salle's tongue, but he did not utter them. he found himself daunted by the horror of the place and the unyielding attitude of the knight. as he brought up his renowned right arm, it shivered and the hand was cold. but so soon as their blades met, his fighting spirit arose and conquered the superstitious fear, and a fierce light shone again in his eyes, and the knowledge was borne back upon him that he was in truth the finest swordsman in the new world, and with that he shouted out, "have at you, heretic dog!" and attacked with all his might.
-not a bird moved through the air, not an insect lived upon that hill top, not an animal passed that way. the two men had the gloomy wood to themselves. not even a breath of wind passed to wave the pines, or scatter into motion last autumn's rusted leaves, which spotted with red the sable rent in the great white sheet which nature had drawn across the ground. the rhythm of the swords rang monotonously, as the two weird figures drifted to and fro, from side to side of the dusky bluff, struggling the one against the other, with life as the winner's prize. before the abbé spread his splendid career of power as a prince of the church. he had but to emerge triumphant from this last taking of the sword to assume the dignity of his new office and realise the ambition of his heart. while the avenger saw neither priest, nor governor, nor fencer of renown, but merely a fellow-being who had extinguished the light of his young son's life.
-so the momentous minutes passed. when the sound of quick and furious breathing began to pulsate around the hill, mary iden ascended from the hollow, after playing her part in the avenging of her son's death, and watched with bosom heaving rapidly every movement of her husband, sure in her faith that he was the strongest man alive. yet she aided him with her counsel; and when the passion of the fight had entered also into her she cast contempt and hatred upon la salle, and mocked his skill, though he was on that day the finer swordsman of the pair.
-"wait not, husband," she cried warningly. "he is more spent than you."
-sir thomas heard and rushed out. la salle, standing sideways, parried the thrust with a slight motion of his iron wrist, and, rounding, took up the attack, which ended in a feint and a lunge over the heart. his sword glanced under the knight's arm and the point struck a fir and was almost held.
-"perdition!" he muttered. "i must use greater caution."
-for a few seconds the blades were dazzling as they darted together with the malignity and swiftness of serpents; then la salle feigned to stumble, lowering his point as though he had lost his grip, an old trick he had often employed successfully, and as the knight leaped forward to take his opening, the priest recovered and sent the blade into his opponent's side. life had never appeared to him so good as at that moment, but before his laugh had died the englishman leaned forward, grasping the sword and holding it firmly in his side, lunged out, and ran the priest through the chest, after la salle had saved his life by throwing up his arm and deflecting the point from his heart.
-they fell apart, gulping the keen air for a taste of new life. the watcher advanced, her brown face ghastly, but her husband put out his hand and motioned her back.
-"away, mary. there is life in me yet."
-unwillingly she retired, and a flush of pride crossed her face when her husband staggered across the snow, his eyes still clear and fierce. la salle, no whit less dauntless, came up also and stood swaying like one of the trees behind.
-"you are brave, englishman, and a worthy foe," he gasped. "we have shed each other's blood. let us now cry hold and part."
-"there can be no truce between you and me," came the deep reply. "this fight is to the death."
-"life has its pleasures," urged la salle.
-"of such you deprived my son."
-"your blood be upon your own head!"
-again their swords clashed. no signs of weakening yet upon either drawn face. the balance swayed neither to the one side nor to the other.
-again the watcher started out, appealing to her husband. it would be an easy matter to attack la salle from the rear; to trip his foot with a stick; to blind him by a handful of snow. but the knight would not hear her; and even threatened when she made as though she would disobey.
-the priest listened for the tramp of feet and the call of voices. he would then have called the meanest settler in acadie his brother. shoutings came to him from the bay, the roar of the ship's gun, and the splitting of the ice. he groaned and cursed the folly which had driven him into this snare.
-courage revived when he scored by a clever stroke; but again his triumph was short-lived. the knight answered by driving his point hard into the open side. darkness dropped upon their eyes. they reeled like drunken men, fighting the air, feeling for each other, falling body to body, and pushing apart with a convulsive shudder.
-"where are you?" gasped the abbé.
-"here," moaned the englishman, striking towards the voice.
-"it is enough," said la salle, the voice gurgling in his throat. "flesh and blood can endure no more. put up your sword."
-"only in your heart."
-they held at each other with one hand while fighting with the other. a wound on one side was answered by a wound on the other. it appeared as though neither had another drop of blood to shed, not a muscle left unspent, nor a breath to come. the chill of the winter was in the soul of each, and it was also the chill of death. they crawled at each other like torn beasts, upon hands and knees.
-"you are spent," pulsated la salle.
-"my sword has gone through you twice."
-"husband, bid me strike him," implored the watcher. "he is scarce able to lift his arm."
-"back, woman," panted the dying man.
-once more they stood upon their feet, and again their points were raised, but now against bodies which had lost all consciousness, save the ruling passion of ambition in the one and vengeance in the other.
-"down!" snarled the abbé, knowing not it was the last word which his tongue should utter; and, closing with his enemy, threw his remaining life into one lunge.
-the sword left his hand for ever. by a glimmer of light through the red darkness he saw the body of the knight stretched black along that ghastly carpet; he saw the woman running forth with a great cry to raise it by the shoulders. then night fell upon the victor as he stumbled on among the trees, with a small sane voice of consciousness singing in his departing soul: "you have fought your last fight. you shall win the red hat yet."
-so he was found by his defeated soldiers, feeling his way from pine to pine, leaving in his wake two dotted lines more ruby-red than the cardinal's soutane. they bound up his wounds as best they could, and, raising him upon their shoulders, bore the dead weight of unconscious matter into acadie.
-at noon the ship came to the landing-stage. during the excitement which accompanied and followed her arrival even the governor became forgotten. a cadaverous priest was the first to step ashore, casting around him glances of intolerable pride. others were quick to follow, and soon it became noised abroad that roussilac was to be recalled and that pope urbano had need of la salle the priest. even such momentous matters were put aside by the settlers in their anxiety to hear tidings of home and friends.
-in the meantime the pale-faced priest had set forth for the governor's abode, muttering imprecations upon the bitter country in which it had become his evil lot to settle.
-"his excellency?" he inquired shortly at the door; and the seneschal, awed by his morose manner, merely made a reverence and pointed as he said: "he lies within, holiness."
-more he would have said, but the nuncio passed on quickly and entered the room, holding forth a missive tied with scarlet thread, calling in a jealous voice:
-"your excellency! a letter from rome. a call for your return."
-la salle was lying along the bed. the messenger came nearer.
-"awake, your excellency! his holiness pope urbano sends to you----"
-there the strange priest stopped at beholding a broken crucifix beneath the sleeper's right hand; and a sneering smile curved his lips, and he shrugged his thin shoulders, as he callously observed:
-"methinks his holiness has sent in vain."
-it has now been shown how the golden lilies prospered in the north, and how the red lion, who should in time tear those gay lilies down, was laughed at and despised. the paths of ambition, of treachery, of vengeance, have brought direct to the same terminus, where that "fell sergeant death" stood forth to cry "halt" to soldier and to priest. the name of la salle has ever been held in honour, but chiefly to memorise robert the explorer, not the ambitious priest his uncle. the name of iden is still revered by kentish folk; but that respect is won, not by sir thomas, who--if the tradition in his family be true--married an indian wife and flung away his life to avenge his son, but to sir alexander, who slew the rebel cade in a sussex orchard. the name of onawa is held in memory by none, though for many generations the wood wherein she died of the poisoned draught administered by her sister was shunned by the iroquois, because there sounded amid the pines at night the howling of a werewolf.
-the old chronicles mention two englishmen who escaped from the french, and jesse woodfield and jeremiah hough are the names recorded. when the acadians swept down the defile to secure upcliff and his men, the puritan was ignored, and the yeoman, who had made so startling an appearance, was left for dead. so soon as they had gone hough made for his companion, and discovered that he was indeed material and alive, though sorely wounded. presently woodfield revived, and when he was able to stand the puritan led him away up the white hills to find a place of shelter. the hut in the pine-wood being too far away, they proceeded by slow stages towards the home of the knight, knowing nothing of what had occurred, and scarce guessing it when they gained the bush-filled hollow, which was stirred to its depths by the wailing of a death-song.
-"a fitting welcome for broken-hearted men," said the puritan. "by the waters of babylon we sat down and wept. the children of edom have smitten us full sore. happy shall he be that rewardeth them as they have served us. take courage, old lad. we are even now at home."
-"home without friends," broke from the pale lips of the man within his arms.
-"where the graves of comrades are, there is the brave man's home. in england we are gone out of mind, and broken like a potter's vessel. here amid the snows old simon and old george lie sleeping well."
-the song stopped when they entered the hut and stood between the living and the dead. immediately woodfield sank down in unconsciousness, and after one glance upon the sad scene and a few bitter words, hough knelt at his comrade's side and searched for his wounds.
-"let a woman perform a woman's work," said the pale watcher, rising from her husband's side. "for him"--she inclined her head to the silent figure--"the light is gone. he sees no longer the sparkling air. his eyes shall not burn again. the great god knows how well he lived and how he died."
-seeing the question on the puritan's lips, she went on:
-"the hand that smote our son smote him. i saw the man go, and death with him like a cloud above his head. give me the water that stands yonder that i may wash these wounds."
-"who brought him hither?" the puritan asked.
-"these arms carried him. while he lived he would have me bear no burden. the wood for the fire he took from me, saying, 'this is no woman's work. a woman shall smile for her husband, prepare him food, and keep a home for his return.' these arms carried my son to his grave. my husband was not there, or surely he would have said, 'this is no work for you.' these arms carried my husband from the place where he fell. his eyes looked up to mine, as though again he would say, 'this is no work for you.' once more they shall carry him. afterwards i will wait for the coming of the south wind, which carries the souls of the dead."
-she applied her skill in healing to the restoration of the white man. she cleansed his wounds and cooled his fever, leaving him at length sleeping with a wan smile of triumph on his face. by then hough also was asleep, his face terrible in its mutilation and sternness.
-when he revived, woodfield told his comrade how he had been captured by the algonquins and how they had sought to put him to death.
-"i awoke from unconsciousness," he said, "to find myself within a cave, attended by the maid who had loosed my body from the tree. an old man watched the entry and brought me food. these two had saved my life, the maid because she loved my white skin, the man because he was christian and had lost a son who would have been of my age had he lived. i remained in that cave many days, gaining vigour, and on a certain evening, when left alone, ran out into the shadows and hid myself in the forest, covering my tracks as best i could.
-"the maid pursued and besought me in her own manner to return. many times i escaped from her. often she brought me food, or i must have perished of hunger during my long wanderings through the forest. i would hear her calling after me in the still night. i would from some hill-top see her following my track, and when she found me she would hold me by the feet and strive to move my heart. but resisting the wiles of satan, who would have me to forget my own country and my father's house, i ran from her again."
-"we thought you dead these many months."
-"it was the will of god that i should seek for you in vain," went on woodfield. "once i lay in a swamp to hide myself from a band of french explorers. once i was attacked by six men. one i killed, and the remainder fled, frightened by lightning which struck down a tree between us. another time i concealed myself in a hemlock while the soldiers made their camp beneath its branches. so i fought my way on towards the east with an englishman's longing for the sea, and when winter drew on i made me a shelter in the pine woods on the westward side of acadie, and there mourned for you and for simon penfold as for comrades who had fallen in the battle."
-"how came you so suddenly to our aid?"
-"in the darkness of the falling snow i ventured to approach the settlement. nay more, i entered at the open gate, careless of my life, and followed the soldiers out, my heart rejoicing when i learnt from their shouts that countrymen of mine were near at hand. i climbed among the cliffs, and, looking down, beheld old simon fighting in the defile. i was descending to give him help when he fell."
-"the lord gives and the lord has taken away," said the puritan solemnly.
-while the words were on his lips the wattle door was shaken and a soft voice called. another moment a white figure entered with a rush of smoky air, and madeleine stood before them, wrapped in a sail which she had assumed to render her progress across the snow invisible. she threw away the covering and laughed triumphantly.
-"say not that the ship is taken?" cried hough. then he muttered: "a man may tell nothing from the maid's manner. sorrow or joy--'tis the same to her. she laughs through it all."
-"the ship is safe," said madeleine. "we were attacked by the man-of-war, but when we drew clear of the ice we soon left her lumbering astern, until she gave up the chase and sailed for shore. we have not lost a man."
-"then what do you here?"
-"think you that silas upcliff would desert friends?" cried madeleine indignantly. "so soon as he knew himself to be safe, he changed his course and beat up the coast eastward until darkness fell. then he dropped down, and now has sent a boat to bring you off. i have come for you, and must take no refusal, else i am sure they shall hang me upon my return. i would bear the message myself. the master at first crossed me, but, being a wise man, he gave way to a woman's whim. come! the boat waits, and liberty lies beyond."
-she moved across the earth floor and grasped the puritan's arm.
-"what maid is this?" asked woodfield, as he gazed at the vision of beauty; and when hough had told him the good soldier's heart swelled, and he raised his stiff body that he might take her hand, while she smiled at him through a mist of pity.
-"i want you, wounded man," she said. "there are none sick aboard, and i must have one to care for, or my hands will hang idle all the day. i have thrown in my lot with your people, because mine own have driven me forth. you shall call me sister if you will, and you shall be brother to me, because he who is to be my husband is your true comrade, and 'tis friendship that makes brotherhood rather than blood. rise, brother, and lean on me."
-"girl," said hough, with his stern smile, "this spell you cast over us is more potent than witchcraft."
-"we come," cried woodfield, drawing himself upright. "say, comrade, let us flee to virginia, and settle among our own, that we may hear the blessed english tongue again."
-"we go," answered hough gloomily. "here is no english colony, but we seek one in the south."
-"go," said mary iden, now again tuschota, daughter of shuswap, to the three. "take what you desire for your journey, and go forth. here are furs, and here strong medicines. take all. the great god guard you upon the seas and upon the land whither you go to dwell."
-so the two englishmen and the french girl went forth under the winter sky, where a shy moon peeped through laced clouds like a fair maid looking between the curtains of her bed. a dull glow of firelight showed when they looked back into the hollow; and once, when they paused for breath, their ears became filled with the wild sound of singing for the dead.
-morning dawned, and the brigantine was well away, running with a fresh breeze from the colony of france, all hearts aboard as light as the frosty waves which kissed her sides. through fog and snow she went, like a bird flying to the warmth. little wonder that the men sang at their tasks; that upcliff repeated his old stories of the main with a fresh delight, none grudging him a laugh; that woodfield gathered health at every hour; that madeleine laughed from morn to night. they were as children released from school, playing on the happy home-going.
-so the dartmouth drew down to boston quay, after one delay on the unfrequented shore to make repairs, the men clanking at the pumps to keep the leaking barque above the line of danger. the citizens flocked down to meet her, and hough's approving gaze fell upon puritan faces among whom he could feel himself indeed at home.
-winthrop himself was called to give the sailors welcome to new england. he stepped aboard, and grasped the master's hand; but not a word could he utter before madeleine came between them, her beauty all in splendour, her mouth quivering, as she cried:
-"tell me, sir--tell me quickly, where is my geoffrey?"
-she had forgotten that other men bearing her lover's name walked the earth. winthrop stared in some bewilderment, and the more stern of his following frowned at so much glorious life and impetuous loveliness. the majority repeated the name with ominous shakings of bearded chins.
-"'tis our comrade, young geoffrey viner, of whom the maid speaks," said woodfield in explanation.
-"true!" exclaimed madeleine, her violet eyes two angry flashes. "you suspect him? oh, you false man!"
-it was the first time that john winthrop had been accused of falseness; and the novelty of the accusation brought a smile to his face.
-"the boy is loyal to the faith, and as true an englishman as yourself, brother winthrop," broke in the voice of hough.
-"let justice prevail where i rule," said the pious governor when he heard this. "i thank god that you have come in time. it has been proved to our satisfaction against this boy that he has conspired with the dutch for the capture of our town, and as i speak he lies under sentence of death. thus the wisest judges err, and the humble of us ask heaven to amend our faults."
-madeleine had paled very slightly while winthrop spoke. then she drew her small dignified self upright, and said very confidently: "i knew that we should arrive in time."
-"methinks we shall scarcely find any swifter messenger to bear the good news to the young man----" commenced the quiet voice of roger williams, who had joined his friend and governor upon the quay.
-the end of the pastor's sentence became drowned in a shout of hearty laughter such as had never been heard before in boston; for immediately he began to speak madeleine picked up her skirt, and was already running like atalanta, breathlessly demanding from those who stood by whether her feet were carrying her in the right way.
-"send a cheer after her, men of somerset," shouted silas upcliff. "for, by my soul, a braver lass ne'er loved an englishman!"
-it was summer in the year 1647, and over all the colony of virginia there was peace. fortunate were its settlers to be cut apart from their brethren in the isle of strife, where the deceitful king was imprisoned in his palace of hampton court, and the london citizens filled their streets with cries of "parliament" and "privilege." new england remained untouched by this wave of feeling, of which indeed it knew nothing, and its people went on planting their crops and gathering the increase, happy to be removed from the oppression of a king and the persecution of the church.
-upon the south side of the potomac, at no great distance from the sea, stood a two-storey house overhung with wild vines, and approached by a ladder-like flight of steps which rose between two borders of flowers. behind a plantation stretched in a straight mile, fringed on either side by sweet-smelling bush, where purple butterflies played through the long day and a silver stream laughed on its way to the sea.
-the grove, as this homestead was named, had quickly identified itself among the successful colonial ventures. the day of small things was rapidly nearing its close. not only were the joint owners of the plantation able to supply the neighbouring village with wheatmeal and cheeses, but their export business to the old world was growing more profitable each season. the virginian exporters, viner and woodfield, were well-known to import merchants of bristol, and faded invoices of that firm were to be seen in more than one dusty counting-house a century later, when change and chance demanded a winding-up of the business of certain old-time traders across the seas.
-this success was due not altogether to the energy of the partners who gave their names to the undertaking. it was commonly reported that the lady of the grove was in the main responsible for much of her husband's prosperity. according to rumour, mistress woodfield was an excellent housewife, clever at her needle, and with a better knowledge of simples than any woman in the new world, if methinks somewhat over-inclined to play the grand dame and careful against soiling her hands. with mistress viner it was otherwise. she was never to be found taking her ease in idleness, or retailing gossip concerning neighbours. sloth, as once she said when rebuking the governor--for she feared no man--is an epidemic which claims more victims than the plague. early in the morning she walked her garden, inhaling the sweet air, noting what progress had taken place during the night, ordering and arranging all things; and should her husband long delay joining her, how reproachfully she would call: "geoffrey! oh, slug! you are losing an hour of life." at fall of evening she would walk in the plantation beside her fair-haired lad, as she loved to call her lord and master, planning fresh improvements, and never failing to note the beauty of the life which slept around. seldom did she speak of the past; never did she trouble her mind concerning the future. all would be well she knew. there could be no time so good as the present. "what do we want with past or future?" she would exclaim, when she caught her geoffrey in retrospective or anticipatory mood. "cold mirrors in which we see our silent selves like blocks of wood or stone. it is this minute which is our own glorious life." the cruellest, and falsest, thing that any woman could say concerning madeleine viner was that the fair mistress of the grove had been seen wearing a sorrowful face.
-the simple inscription, "an american woman," was carved by her own desire over mistress viner's burying-place at the dawn of the eighteenth century;' and at a later date an unauthorised and unknown hand cut upon the shaft of the wooden column which stood upon her resting-place, and was destroyed by fire before canada was wrested from the french, the not unsuitable motto, "ride, si sapis."
-over the fireplace of the principal room in the grove a ring was set in the hard oak woodwork. this ring contained a sigil engraved with the arms of the iden family, a chevron between three close helmets, and was given a place of honour in the home because through its power geoffrey obtained a letter of recommendation and a subsequent patent of land from that liberal-minded papist, lord baltimore, to whom the ring had been delivered upon the safe arrival of the dartmouth in the bay of chesapeake.
-"better men never bled for england than the men of kent," said the peer, when he had listened to geoffrey's story. "braver men ne'er fled from her shores to save their loyal lives. the owner of this ring was once my honoured friend. his name has for long been most famous for devotion to the crown." the lord sighed and sadly added: "this charles shall learn to rue the day when he first cast aside the help of his old loyalist families, and by oppression and persecution most intolerable drove them from their homes. but now, with god's help, we purpose to build up upon this continent a new people, greater and more clear-sighted than the old, and the motto of that people shall be, 'liberty of thought and freedom in religion.' tell me now, how shall i serve you?"
-"i would settle, either in maryland or in virginia, and help to build up that new american people of whom you speak," the young man answered.
-so geoffrey viner obtained favour in the eyes of lord baltimore by the power of the ring; and when the patent for the land issued, he and woodfield forgot their former dreams of power, and, exchanging sword for axe, felled the big trees and cleared away the bush, that they might plough the virgin soil and plant their seed. as for stern hough, he remained in boston, to fight satan, since he might no longer fight the french, and to preach the gloomy doctrine that he loved; and there he lived to a great age, and there suddenly died one winter morning in a bitterly cold church--for the religious feeling of the community would allow no physical comfort to the worshipper--with a bible between his hands and a strained smile upon his face, as the preacher dilated upon a psalm-singing heaven reserved for the elect, and a burning fiery furnace for all else. hough had been a good man, according to the light which he had received, and doubtless the psalm-singing heaven was his.
-it was evening. geoffrey and madeleine walked hand in hand through their plantation, inhaling fragrance from the dewy blooms. rain had fallen during the afternoon, but when the sun broke out, to bid the settlers good e'en, the country became a fairy-land. a sleepy bird piped on a distant branch. a pale evening star rose in the east where warm vapours were swimming in a silent sea. the peace was perfect in that true arcadia. wars were yet to horrify the province, but the shadow was not yet. for the present the sword was buried, and the earth brought forth fruit plenteously.
-"if only i might have my wish!" exclaimed madeleine, breaking a long silence.
-her husband looked at her, pressing her fingers within his, but answered nothing.
-"i would have the whole world like this," she went on. "geoffrey, we would not, if we could, seek to conceive a world more beautiful than ours. yet how we spoil it by not knowing how to live! were it my world i would banish all hypocrisy, all disputings over religion, all lust for power, and try to teach my people how to love--how to love, and nothing else."
-"making us perfect before our time," said geoffrey, watching tenderly the evening lights playing across her hair.
-"no, husband. we shall not attain perfection here. but it is from this country that a light shall proceed to spread throughout the world. are we not already showing others how to live? what people before us have ever dared to permit independence in thought and freedom in religion? we have already stripped the church of its mysteries. we believe that a man may rise to god without a priest. we are going to grow very great on this side of the seas, and fly very high, and our motto shall always be peace. then we shall destroy all weapons of war, and break up armies, and settle down in brotherly love, each man upon his own plot of ground----"
-"envying that of his neighbour," broke in her husband gently.
-"ah, geoffrey! scoffer! but mayhap 'tis a foolish dream. could we but live in love, it might follow that the wolf would be ashamed to hunt the lamb, and would feed upon grass, and thus it might happen that our kine would lack. it is best as god ordains. the panther must remain fierce, the bind-weed choke the flower, the rose grow its thorn, and the berry retain its poison. but would you walk in my garden, husband?"
-"and see the devil changed into a monk?" asked geoffrey, with a smile.
-"there is no devil in my garden," cried madeleine joyously. "the snake has no bite, and the devil is dead of idleness. the angels show themselves among my roses."
-"they are here," said geoffrey simply. "madeleine, sweet wife, before we met i followed the promptings of the body; but through your eyes i have seen the soul. it is not the soldier who wins life with his sword. he does but strive in a vain shadow, until that happy day--ill for him if it comes not--when there dawns upon his heart the light of love, and his mind is inspired, and his ears hear the stirring of wings, and his eyes are opened."
-"what does he see, husband?" she asked caressingly.
-"the sweet spirit of the woman who is sent to be his star."
-they returned to their home in the sunset, and madeleine was singing softly as she swung her husband's arm. the young matron ran forward, to be entranced and transfigured by the last sunrays, and kissed her fingers to the departing orb with a blithesome cry:
-"wake us before the morning bell, bright sun, and come not in clouds as you came to-day."
-upon entering the flower garden a resonant voice, alternating with tremendous bursts of glee, destroyed the stillness of the evening. husband and wife looked at each other in complete understanding, and madeleine held a finger to her lips, and motioned geoffrey to advance on tip-toe. they pressed through a bower of roses, beneath a tangle of creepers, through tall rye-grass, and as they advanced the great voice came more strongly to their ears. at length they stood unseen within sight of their house front, and, drawing close together, laughed restrainedly.
-upon the topmost step, in a line with the entrance, sat a man of immense bulk, holding a pretty fair-haired child upon his mighty knee; and this child he was dancing up and down, shouting a quaint accompaniment meantime. around his head trailed the luxuriant vines, covered with their fluffy white blooms, and the dainty humming-birds went whirring by, chasing in sport the hivebound bees.
-leaning back, and heaving his knee up and down, the big man continued to serenely bellow his nursery refrain:
-"ha! pieter von donck! pieter von donck! 'tis as cunning an old rogue as ever wore shoe-leather!"
-"funny man! do it again," chirruped geoffrey viner the younger.
-and now in the days when the world is small, and ships of iron rush to and fro upon the seas, and the sword has become a burden, and the mightier plowshare ripples the plain, gone are the golden lilies, gone the power of the soutane rouge, gone the house of bourbon; and two small islands of the gulf, st. pierre and miquelon, bound by their rocks and beaten by the waves, gather the harvest of the sea under the lion's protection, and mourn in their loneliness over that proud supremacy which has passed away for ever.
-printed by cassell & company, limited, la belle sauvage, london, e.c.
-the solitary farm
-by fergus hume
-author of "the mystery of a hansom cab," "the sacred herb," "the sealed message," "the green mummy," "the opal serpent," "the red window," "the yellow holly," etc., etc., etc.
-copyright 1909 by g. w. dillingham company
-the solitary farm
-i. the domain of ceres
-ii. the wooin' o't
-iii. the tardy lover
-vi. the inquest
-vii. cyril and bella
-viii. the witch-wife
-ix. the coming of durgo
-x. a lover's meeting
-xi. a recognition
-xii. cyril's story
-xiii. mrs. tunks' discovery
-xvi. the papers
-xvii. a confession
-xviii. the ghost
-xix. an awkward position
-xx. the master magician
-xxi. a desperate attempt
-xxii. mrs. vand's repentance
-xxiii. what luke tunks saw
-the solitary farm
-the domain of ceres
-"s' y' want t' merry m' gel, bella!" remarked captain huxham, rubbing his stout knees slowly, and repeating the exact words of the clerical suitor. "s' thet she may be yer handmaiden, an' yer spouse, and yer sealed fountain, es y' put it in yer flowery pulpit lingo. jus' so! jus' so!" and shifting the quid which bulged his weather-beaten cheek, he stared with hard blue eyes. "jus' so, mr. pence!"
-the young minister and the elderly skipper discussed the subject of marriage in a shabby antique room of small size, which had the appearance of having been used to more aristocratic company. the dark-oak panelled walls, the grotesquely-carved ceiling-beams, the dutch-tiled fire-place, with its ungainly brass dogs, and the deep slanting embrasure of the lozenge-paned casement, suggested georgian beaux and belles dancing buckram minutes, or at least hard-riding country squires plotting jacobite restoration. but these happenings were in the long-ago, but this stately essex manor-house had declined woefully from its high estate, and now sheltered a rough and ready mariner, who camped, rather than dwelt, under its roof.
-captain huxham, seated on the broad, low window-sill, thrust his hands into the pockets of his brass-buttoned pea-jacket, and swung his short, sturdy legs, which were enveloped in wide blue-cloth trousers. he was a squat man, with lengthy arms and aggressively square shoulders, and his large, flat face was as the winter sun for redness. clean-shaven, save for a fringe of white hair which curved under his stubborn chin from one large ear to the other, his tough skin was seamed with innumerable wrinkles, accumulating particularly thickly about his eyes. he had gold rings in his ears, and plenteous grey hair hung like seaweed from under a peaked cap, pushed back from his lined forehead. he looked what he truly was--a rough, uneducated, imperious old sea-dog, whose knowledge of strong drink and stronger language was only exceeded by his strenuous grip of the purse which held the savings of many rapacious years. in this romantic room he looked entirely out of place. nevertheless it was his own property, and while considering his answer to mr. pence, he examined it mechanically.
-to the left he beheld a large open fire-place, which gaped under an ornate oak mantel-piece, carved with the crest and motto of the dispossessed family. a door appeared on the right, leading to the entrance hall, and this also was elaborately carved with wreaths of fruit and flowers, and with fat, foolish cupids, entangled in knots of ribbon. the fourth wall was unbroken, and faced the window, but against it stood a common deal table covered incongruously with an embroidered indian cloth. above this, and leaning forward, was a round convex mirror, surmounted by a napoleonic eagle. this was flanked on one side by an oilskin coat and a sou'-wester, and on the other by a sextant and a long brass telescope. a louis quinze sofa, with a gilt frame, and covered with faded brocade, fitted into the space between the fire-place and the casement. in the opposite corner, with its back to the outer wall, stood a large modern office-desk of mahogany, with a flexible curved lid, which was drawn down and fastened, because a visitor was in the room. captain huxham never received anyone in his sanctum unless he first assured himself that the desk was closed, and a small, green-painted safe near it fast-locked.
-silas pence, who was the minister of the little bethel chapel in marshely village, curled his long thin legs under his chair and looked anxiously at his meditative host. that portion of the light from the casement not intercepted by huxham's bulky figure, revealed a lean, eager face, framed in sparse, fair hair, parted in the centre and falling untidily on the coat collar. the young preacher's features were sharply defined and somewhat mean, while a short and scanty beard scarcely concealed his sensitive mouth. his forehead was lofty, his chin weak, and his grey eyes glittered in a strange, fanatical fashion. there were exceptional possibilities both for good and evil in that pale countenance, and it could be guessed that environment would have much to do with the development of such possibilities. mr. pence was arrayed in a tightly-fitting frock coat and loose trousers, both of worn broadcloth. he wore also a low collar with a white tie, bow-fashion, white socks, and low-heeled shoes, and every part of his attire, although neat and well-brushed and well-mended, revealed dire poverty. on the whole, he had the rapt ascetic gaze of a mediæval saint, and a monkish robe would have suited him better than his semi-ecclesiastical garb as a non-conformist preacher.
-but if pence resembled a saint, huxham might have passed for a grey old badger, sullen and infinitely wary. having taken stock of his worldly possessions, recalling meanwhile a not altogether spotless past, he brought his shrewd eyes back again to his visitor's attentive face. still anxious to gain time for further consideration, he remarked once more, "so' y' want t' merry m' gel, bella, mr. pence? jus' so! jus' so!"
-the other replied, in a musical but high-pitched voice almost feminine in its timbre, "i am not comely; i am not wealthy; nor do i sit in the seat of the rulers. but the lord has gifted me with a pleading tongue, an admiring eye, and an admonishing nature. with isabella by my side, brother huxham, i can lead more hopefully our little flock towards the pleasant land of beulah. what says isaiah?"
-"dunno!" confessed the mariner. "ain't bin readin' isaiaher's log lately."
-"thou shalt be called hephzibah," quoted mr. pence shrilly, "and thy land beulah: for the lord delighteth in thee, and thy land will be married."
-"didn't know es isaiaher knew of m' twenty acres," growled huxham, with another turn of his quid; "'course ef it be, es y' merry bella, th' land goes with her when i fits int' m' little wooden overcoat. y' kin take yer davy on thet, mr. pence, fur i've a conscience, i hev,--let 'em say contrary es likes."
-it must have been an uneasy conscience, for captain huxham glared defiantly at his visitor, and then cast a doubtful look over his left shoulder, as though he expected to be tapped thereon. pence was puzzled as much by this behaviour as by the literal way in which the sailor had taken the saying of the prophet. "isaiah spoke in parables," he explained, lamely.
-"maybe," grunted huxham, "but y' speak sraight 'nough, mr. pence. touching this merrage. y' love bella, es i take it?"
-"i call her hephzibah," burst out the young minister enthusiastically, "which, being interpreted, means--my delight is in her."
-"jus' so! jus' so! but does th' gel love you, mr. pence?"
-the face of the suitor clouded. "i have my doubts," he sighed, "seeing that she has looked upon vanity in the person of a man from babylon."
-"damn your parables!" snapped the captain; "put a blamed name t' him."
-"mr. cyril lister," began pence, and was about to reprove his host for the use of strong language, when he was startled by much worse. and huxham grew purple in the face when using it.
-it is unnecessary to set down the exact words, but the fluency and originality and picturesqueness of the retired mariner's speech made silas close his scandalised ears. with many adjectives of the most lurid description, the preacher understood huxham to say that he would see his daughter grilling in the nethermost pit of tophet before he would permit his daughter to marry this--adjective, double adjective--swab from london.
-"i ain't seen th' blighter," bellowed the captain, furiously, "but i've heard of his blessed name. bella met him et thet blamed miss ankers', the school-mistress', house, she did. sh' wanted him t' kim an' see this old shanty, 'cause he writes fur the noospapers, cuss him. but i up an' tole her, es i'd twist her damned neck ef she spoke agin with the lop-sided--"
-"stop! stop!" remonstrated pence feebly. "we are all brothers in----"
-"the lubber ain't no relative o' mine, hang him; an' y' too, fur sayin' so. oh, lister, lister!" huxham swung two huge fists impotently. "i hate articles, suitable either for school or home problems. the book contains more than one hundred original sketches and ten working drawings.
-problems in farm woodwork. by samuel a. blackburn.
-a book of working drawings of 100 practical problems relating to agriculture and farm life. especially valuable to the student or teacher of agriculture or manual arts in rural schools and in high schools in agricultural communities, and to the boy on the farm. there are 60 full-page plates of working drawings, each accompanied by a page or more of text treating of "purpose," "material," "bill of stock," "tools," "directions," and "assembly." a wonderfully practical book.
-problems in furniture making. by fred d. crawshaw.
-this book, revised and enlarged, consists of 43 plates of working drawings suitable for use in grammar and high schools, and 36 pages of text, including chapters on design, construction and finishes, and notes on the problems.
-furniture design for schools and shops. by fred d. crawshaw.
-a manual on furniture design. a book that will stimulate and encourage designing and initiation on the part of the student. it contains a collection of plates showing perspective drawings of typical designs, representing particular types of furniture. each perspective is accompanied by suggestions for rearrangement and the modeling of parts. the text discusses and illustrates principles of design as applied to furniture. a practical and helpful book that should be in the hands of every teacher of cabinet making and designing.
-problems in woodworking. by m. w. murray.
-a convenient collection of good problems consisting of forty plates of working drawings, of problems in benchwork that have been successfully worked out by boys in grades seven to nine inclusive.
-shop problems. (on tracing paper). by albert f. siepert.
-a collection of working drawings of a large variety of projects printed on tracing paper and ready for blue printing. the projects have all been worked out in manual arts classes and have proved their value from the standpoint of design, construction, use, human interest, etc. they are of convenient size, 6x9-inch, and are enclosed in a portfolio. to the teacher, in search of additional projects to supplement and enrich his course these tracings are worth far more than the price asked. published in series. nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7.
-workshop note-book--woodworking. by george g. greene.
-problems in wood-turning. by fred d. crawshaw.
-in the first place this is a book of problems--25 plates covering spindle, face-plate, and chuck turning. in the second place it is a textbook on the science and art of wood-turning illustrated by fifty pen sketches. it gives the mathematical basis for the cuts used in turning. in the third place it is a helpful discussion of the principles of design as applied to objects turned in wood. it is a clear, practical and suggestive book on wood-turning.
-wood pattern-making. by horace t. purfield.
-this book was written expressly for use as a textbook for high school, trade school, technical school, and engineering college students. it is a revised, enlarged, and newly illustrated edition.
-correlated courses in woodwork and mechanical drawing. by ira s. griffith.
-this book is designed to meet the every-day need of the teacher of woodworking and mechanical drawing for reliable information concerning organization of courses, subject matter and methods of teaching. it covers classification and arrangement of tool operations for grades, 7, 8, 9, and 10, shop organization, allotment of time design, shop excursions, stock bills, cost of material, records, shop conduct, the lesson, maintenance, equipment, and lesson outlines for grammar and high schools. it is based on sound pedagogy, thoro technical knowledge and successful teaching experience. it is practical.
-essentials of woodworking. by ira s. griffith.
-a textbook written especially for the use of grammar and high school students. a clear and comprehensive treatment of woodworking tools, materials, and processes, to supplement, but not to take the place of the instruction given by the teacher. the book does not contain a course of models; it may be used with any course. it is illustrated with photographs and numerous pen drawings.
-projects for beginning woodwork and mechanical drawing. by ira s. griffith.
-a work book for the use of students in grammar grade classes. it consists of working drawings and working directions. the projects are such as have proven of exceptional service where woodworking and mechanical drawing are taught in a thoro, systematic manner in the seventh and eighth grades. the aim has been to provide successful rather than unique problems. the 50 projects in the book were selected and organized with the constant aim of securing the highest educational results. the book is especially suited for use in connection with "essentials of woodworking," by the same author.
-furniture making. (advanced projects in woodwork.) by ira s. griffith.
-this book is similar to "projects for beginning woodwork and mechanical drawing," but is suited to high school needs. it consists of fifty plates of problems and accompanying notes. it is essentially a collection of problems in furniture making selected or designed with reference to school use. on the plate with each working drawing is a good perspective sketch of the completed object. in draftsmanship and refinement of design these problems are of superior quality. it is in every respect an excellent collection.
-problems in mechanical drawing. by charles a. bennett.
-this book consists of 80 plates and a few explanatory notes. its purpose is to furnish teachers of classes beginning mechanical drawing with a large number of simple, practical problems. these have been selected with reference to the formation of good habits in technique, the interest of the pupils, and the subjects generally included in a grammar and first-year high school course. each problem given is unsolved and therefore in proper form to hand to the pupil for solution.
-mechanical drawing problems. by edward berg and emil f. kronquist.
-mechanical drafting. by w. h. miller.
-grammar grade problems in mechanical drawing. by charles a. bennett.
-a remarkably simple and carefully graded treatment of the fundamentals of mechanical drawing for the use of students in the 7th and 8th grades. it combines an abundance of text and simple problems, accompanied by notes and directions. its use insures the early formation of correct habits of technique and makes possible the development of a standard in grammar grade mechanical drawing parallel with woodworking. abundantly and well illustrated.
-mechanical drawing for beginners. by charles h. bailey.
-a textbook suitable wherever this subject is taught to beginners, in junior high schools, high and continuation schools. it successfully combines instructions which are minute and complete, with problems, gradually leading the student to learn with little or no other help, the essentials and technique of the work. the matter is condensed but leaves no important points not covered.
-progressive steps in architectural drawing. by george w. seaman.
-a textbook and practical handbook, describing and illustrating every successive step in drawing of floor plans, elevations and various details for successful dwellings. numerous plates illustrate details of doors, windows, mouldings, cornices, porches, etc. architectural orders shown in practical working forms. "single line sketches" illustrate method of practical designer in planning a house.
-architectural drawing plates. by franklin g. elwood.
-a collection of 15 plates showing the various details included in the plans for frame houses. names and typical sizes are given and much information helpful to the student or draftsman. one plate shows eleven "plan studies," another "how elevations are worked up from plans and sections." a wonderfully convenient help in architectural drawing.
-simplified mechanical perspective. by frank forrest frederick.
-a book of simple problems covering the essentials of mechanical perspective. it is planned for pupils of high school age who have already received some elementary training in mechanical drawing. it is simple, direct and practical.
-woodwork for secondary schools. by ira s. griffith.
-the most complete and comprehensive textbook on secondary school woodworking ever published. treats of common woods, tools and processes, woodworking machines, joinery, wood-turning, inlaying and wood carving, wood finishing, furniture construction, pattern-making. although written for the student, every teacher of high school or normal school woodwork will find this text a valuable and necessary volume for reference use. it contains 370 pages and 580 special illustrations.
-carpentry. by ira s. griffith.
-a well illustrated textbook for use in vocational schools, trade schools, technical schools, and by apprentices to the trade, presenting the principles of house construction in a clear and fundamental way. it treats of the "everyday" practical problems of the carpenter and house builder from the "laying of foundations" to the completion of the "interior finish." it meets every requirement as a textbook and is also well adapted for reference use. it is well illustrated by photographs taken "on the job."
-boy activity projects. by samuel a. blackburn.
-seat weaving. by l. day perry.
-a handbook for teacher or student. tells how to cane chairs, how to use cane webbing, how to do rush seating, how to do reed and splint weaving, how to make seats of reeds and splints, how to prepare raw materials, how to stain, finish and refinish, etc. also treats of the use of cane and other seating materials as a decorative element in furniture construction. well illustrated, practical and authoritative.
-furniture upholstery for schools. by emil a. johnson.
-the only text and reference book on upholstery written for school use. contains detailed, practical instructions telling how to upholster a variety of articles, also how to re-upholster old furniture and how to do spring-edge upholstery work. describes necessary tools and materials. abundantly and beautifully illustrated.
-practical typography. by george e. mcclellan.
-a remarkable textbook for students of printing. it contains a course of exercises ready to place in the hands of pupils, and explains and illustrates the most approved methods used in correct composition. a valuable feature of the book lies in the fact that in the early stages of the course the pupil sets up in type a description of what he is doing with his hands. it contains 63 exercises, treating of composition from "correct spacing" to the "making up of a book," and the "composition of tables."
-art metalwork. by arthur f. payne.
-teaching the manual and industrial arts. by ira s. griffith.
-a text for normal schools or colleges and a reference for manual and vocational teachers. presents the philosophy of teaching manual and vocational education in terms of psychology, social science, and economics. it gives the conclusions of thorndike, judd, bagley, dewey and others, and illustrates them so they serve the teacher as a basis for evaluating the manual and industrial arts. a book of value to the beginning teacher, the experienced supervisor or the educational expert; an exceptional source of information on the theory and practice of its subject.
-the manual arts. by charles a. bennett.
-a treatise on the selection and organization of subject matter in the manual arts and on the methods of teaching. it states what manual arts should be taught in the schools, their place as concerns general and vocational education, principles underlying the making of courses of instruction and methods of teaching, and shows the place of the factory system in industrial schools, etc. heretofore no book has dealt with the pedagogy of the manual arts in so definite and clear cut a manner. the author has brought together, with ripened judgment, the result of years of experience.
-it is especially adapted for normal class and reading circle use and should be read and studied by every teacher or prospective teacher of the manual arts.
-educational toys. by louis c. petersen.
-a comprehensive book on toy-making for the school or home. shows 57 toys including animals, wheeled toys, stationary toys, moving toys, puzzles, etc., made chiefly from thin wood, with the coping saw and easily constructed in the ordinary school room or in the home. tells how to make each toy, how to finish and color, about the few simple tools and materials required. well illustrated with photographs and full-size pattern drawings.
-toy patterns. by michael c. dank.
-a portfolio of toy patterns. among them are animals, animal rocking toys, wheeled platform toys, string toys, lever toys, freak toys and novelties. each toy is shown complete and each part is also shown full-size. they are designed to be made with the coping saw out of thin wood. twelve sheets, size 10-1/2" x 14", enclosed in a portfolio with an attractive color design.
-bird houses boys can build. by albert f. siepert.
-a book of rare interest to boys. it is written in the boy spirit and combines the charm of nature with the allurements of continuation work in wood. it illustrates hundreds of bird houses and shows working drawings of various designs, also feeders, shelters, sparrow traps, and other bird accessories. the common house nesting birds are pictured and described with information regarding houses, foods, etc., suitable for each. a pleasing and practical book for wide-awake boys.
-kitecraft and kite tournaments. by charles m. miller.
-an authoritative and comprehensive treatment of kitecraft. the book deals with the construction and flying of all kinds of kites, and the making and using of kite accessories. also aeroplanes, gliders, propellers, motors, etc. four chapters are devoted to presenting a detailed description of kite flying tournaments. abundantly illustrated and attractively bound.
-the construction and flying of kites. by charles m. miller.
-this contains seven full-page plates of drawings of kites, and fifteen figures--over forty kites shown. details of construction given; a kite tournament is described. full of interesting suggestions.
-coping saw work. by ben w. johnson.
-contains working drawings and suggestions for teaching a course of work in thin wood that is full of fun for the children, and affords ample means for training in form study, construction, invention and careful work. has been called "applied mechanics for the fourth grade."
-selected shop problems. by george a. seaton.
-a collection of sixteen problems in woodworking made to meet the needs of busy teachers of manual training. each problem has been put to the test and has proven satisfactory to the teacher who designed it and to the pupil who made it.
-manual training magazine.
-a magazine of "quality." the professional journal of the teachers of manual, vocational and industrial education. it publishes practical articles on the ways and means of "doing things." it discusses vital problems in teaching the manual arts and presents the best current thought on the development of manual training and vocational education. to the inexperienced teacher, it is valuable in solving numerous problems, and to the experienced teacher, it is a means of keeping abreast of the times. it is ably edited, attractively printed, and well illustrated with photographs and drawings made especially for its pages. published monthly. $1.50 a year; canada, $1.80; foreign, $2.00.
-manual arts press :: peoria, illinois
-we can supply you with any book on the manual arts
-in the interests of clarity, some illustrations have been moved closer to their descriptive text.
-hyphenation and spelling are not uniform throughout this book, e.g., 'sapwood' and 'sap-wood' both occur; 'columbian timber-beetle' and 'columbian timber beetle' occur in the same paragraph.
-chapter ii has three types of footnotes, with different notations. references to the author's previous book, being short, are placed at the end of the paragraph; numbered technical or tabular footnotes, or footnotes referencing other publications are collected at the end of the chapter, before the chapter bibliography; and chapter bibliography footnotes are placed at the end of the chapter bibliography. in later chapters, numbered footnotes are placed either at the end of the chapter (before the bibliography) or at the end of a relevant section of a chapter.
-chapter iii lists 67 trees; the (following) lists from the jesup collection list 66 trees, including the 'tied place' trees. the tree missing from the jesup collection is no. 18: western hemlock, or black hemlock.
-damaged or missing punctuation has been repaired.
-page 19: 'charactistic' corrected to 'characteristic' ... "and give the characteristic pleasing "grain" of wood."
-page 23: inconsistent spelling--tracheæ, tracheae. the two spellings occur in the book; also trachæids, tracheids. all have been retained. the author's bibliography is extensive.
-page 124 etc.: the allegheny mountain range (also spelled alleghany and allegany, ~wikipedia).
-page 143: 'distinguised' corrected to 'distinguished' ... "not distinguished from white oak in the market."
-page 180: diameter, '1"-6", even 5';' corrected to 'diameter, 1'6"-3'6", even 5';' (wikipedia)
-page 182: 'scambucifolia' corrected to 'sambucifolia' ... "fraxinus nigra marshall. fraxinus sambucifolia."
-page 186: 'cleavabilty' corrected to 'cleavability' ... "refers to the cleavability of the wood;"
-page 268: fig. 118 text: basswood, 1st and 2d, 1" x 8" and up by x 00". and: white pine, rough uppers, 1" x 8" and up x 00'. this is as printed; the transcriber has no idea what was meant by '00"' and '00'', or what it should have been.
-page 292: 'miscroscopic' corrected to 'microscopic' ... "of microscopic features, the following only have been referred to:"
-page 304: 'agaricus mellens' corrected to 'agaricus melleus'.
-the mad planet
-by murray leinster
-in all his lifetime of perhaps twenty years, it had never occurred to burl to wonder what his grandfather had thought about his surroundings. the grandfather had come to an untimely end in a rather unpleasant fashion which burl remembered vaguely as a succession of screams coming more and more faintly to his ears while he was being carried away at the top speed of which his mother was capable.
-burl had rarely or never thought of the old gentleman since. surely he had never wondered in the abstract of what his great grandfather thought, and most surely of all, there never entered his head such a purely hypothetical question as the one of what his many-times-great-grandfather--say of the year 1920--would have thought of the scene in which burl found himself.
-he was treading cautiously over a brownish carpet of fungus growth, creeping furtively toward the stream which he knew by the generic title of "water." it was the only water he knew. towering far above his head, three man-heights high, great toadstools hid the grayish sky from his sight. clinging to the foot-thick stalks of the toadstools were still other fungi, parasites upon the growth that had once been parasites themselves.
-burl himself was a slender young man wearing a single garment twisted about his waist, made from the wing-fabric of a great moth the members of his tribe had slain as it emerged from its cocoon. his skin was fair, without a trace of sunburn. in all his lifetime he had never seen the sun, though the sky was rarely hidden from view save by the giant fungi which, with monster cabbages, were the only growing things he knew. clouds usually spread overhead, and when they did not, the perpetual haze made the sun but an indefinitely brighter part of the sky, never a sharply edged ball of fire. fantastic mosses, misshapen fungus growths, colossal molds and yeasts, were the essential parts of the landscape through which he moved.
-once as he had dodged through the forest of huge toadstools, his shoulder touched a cream-colored stalk, giving the whole fungus a tiny shock. instantly, from the umbrella-like mass of pulp overhead, a fine and impalpable powder fell upon him like snow. it was the season when the toadstools sent out their spores, or seeds, and they had been dropped upon him at the first sign of disturbance.
-furtive as he was, he paused to brush them from his head and hair. they were deadly poison, as he knew well.
-burl would have been a curious sight to a man of the twentieth century. his skin was pink, like that of a child, and there was but little hair upon his body. even that on top of his head was soft and downy. his chest was larger than his forefathers' had been, and his ears seemed almost capable of independent movement, to catch threatening sounds from any direction. his eyes, large and blue, possessed pupils which could dilate to extreme size, allowing him to see in almost complete darkness.
-he was the result of the thirty thousand years' attempt of the human race to adapt itself to the change that had begun in the latter half of the twentieth century.
-at about that time, civilization had been high, and apparently secure. mankind had reached a permanent agreement among itself, and all men had equal opportunities to education and leisure. machinery did most of the labor of the world, and men were only required to supervise its operation. all men were well-fed, all men were well-educated, and it seemed that until the end of time the earth would be the abode of a community of comfortable human beings, pursuing their studies and diversions, their illusions and their truths. peace, quietness, privacy, freedom were universal.
-then, just when men were congratulating themselves that the golden age had come again, it was observed that the planet seemed ill at ease. fissures opened slowly in the crust, and carbonic acid gas--the carbon dioxide of chemists--began to pour out into the atmosphere. that gas had long been known to be present in the air, and was considered necessary to plant life. most of the plants of the world took the gas and absorbed its carbon into themselves, releasing the oxygen for use again.
-scientists had calculated that a great deal of the earth's increased fertility was due to the larger quantities of carbon dioxide released by the activities of man in burning his coal and petroleum. because of those views, for some years no great alarm was caused by the continuous exhalation from the world's interior.
-constantly, however, the volume increased. new fissures constantly opened, each one adding a new source of carbon dioxide, and each one pouring into the already laden atmosphere more of the gas--beneficent in small quantities, but as the world learned, deadly in large ones.
-the percentage of the heavy, vapor-like gas increased. the whole body of the air became heavier through its admixture. it absorbed more moisture and became more humid. rainfall increased. climates grew warmer. vegetation became more luxuriant--but the air gradually became less exhilarating.
-soon the health of mankind began to be affected. accustomed through long ages to breathe air rich in oxygen and poor in carbon dioxide, men suffered. only those who lived on high plateaus or on tall mountaintops remained unaffected. the plants of the earth, though nourished and increasing in size beyond those ever seen before, were unable to dispose of the continually increasing flood of carbon dioxide.
-by the middle of the twenty-first century it was generally recognized that a new carboniferous period was about to take place, when the earth's atmosphere would be thick and humid, unbreathable by man, when giant grasses and ferns would form the only vegetation.
-when the twenty-first century drew to a close the whole human race began to revert to conditions closely approximating savagery. the low-lands were unbearable. thick jungles of rank growth covered the ground. the air was depressing and enervating. men could live there, but it was a sickly, fever-ridden existence. the whole population of the earth desired the high lands and as the low country became more unbearable, men forgot their two centuries of peace.
-they fought destructively, each for a bit of land where he might live and breathe. then men began to die, men who had persisted in remaining near sea-level. they could not live in the poisonous air. the danger zone crept up as the earth-fissures tirelessly poured out their steady streams of foul gas. soon men could not live within five hundred feet of sea level. the low-lands went uncultivated, and became jungles of a thickness comparable only to those of the first carboniferous period.
-then men died of sheer inanition at a thousand feet. the plateaus and mountaintops were crowded with folk struggling for a foothold and food beyond the invisible menace that crept up, and up--
-these things did not take place in one year, or in ten. not in one generation, but in several. between the time when the chemists of the international geophysical institute announced that the proportion of carbon dioxide in the air had increased from .04 per cent to .1 per cent and the time when at sea-level six per cent of the atmosphere was the deadly gas, more than two hundred years intervened.
-there was but one solution. the human body would have to inure itself to the poison, or it was doomed to extinction. it finally developed a toleration for the gas that had wiped out race after race and nation after nation, but at a terrible cost. lungs increased in size to secure the oxygen on which life depended, but the poison, inhaled at every breath, left the few survivors sickly and filled with a perpetual weariness. their minds lacked the energy to cope with new problems or transmit the knowledge which in one degree or another, they possessed.
-and after thirty thousand years, burl, a direct descendant of the first president of the universal republic, crept through a forest of toadstools and fungus growths. he was ignorant of fire, or metals, of the uses of stone and wood. a single garment covered him. his language was a scanty group of a few hundred labial sounds, conveying no abstractions and few concrete things.
-he was ignorant of the uses of wood. there was no wood in the scanty territory furtively inhabited by his tribe. with the increase in heat and humidity the trees had begun to die out. those of northern climes went first, the oaks, the cedars, the maples. then the pines--the beeches went early--the cypresses, and finally even the forests of the jungles vanished. only grasses and reeds, bamboos and their kin, were able to flourish in the new, steaming atmosphere. the thick jungles gave place to dense thickets of grasses and ferns, now become treeferns again.
-the grasses and ferns gave place to them. squat footstools, flaking molds, evil-smelling yeasts, vast mounds of fungi inextricably mingled as to species, but growing, forever growing and exhaling an odor of dark places.
-the strange growths now grouped themselves in forests, horrible travesties on the vegetation they had succeeded. they grew and grew with feverish intensity beneath a clouded or a haze-obscured sky, while above them fluttered gigantic butterflies and huge moths, sipping daintily of their corruption.
-the insects alone of all the animal world above water, were able to endure the change. they multiplied exceedingly, and enlarged themselves in the thickened air. the solitary vegetation--as distinct from fungus growths--that had survived, was now a degenerate form of the cabbages that had once fed peasants. on those rank, colossal masses of foliage, the stolid grubs and caterpillars ate themselves to maturity, then swung below in strong cocoons to sleep the sleep of metamorphosis from which they emerged to spread their wings and fly.
-the tiniest butterflies of former days had increased their span until their gaily colored wings should be described in terms of feet, while the larger emperor moths extended their purple sails to a breadth of yards upon yards. burl himself would have been dwarfed beneath the overshadowing fabric of their wings.
-it was fortunate that they, the largest flying creatures, were harmless or nearly so. burl's fellow tribesmen sometimes came upon a cocoon just about to open, and waited patiently beside it until the beautiful creature within broke through its matted shell and came out into the sunlight.
-then, before it had gathered energy from the air, and before its wings had swelled to strength and firmness, the tribesmen fell upon it, tearing the filmy, delicate wings from its body and the limbs from its carcass. then, when it lay helpless before them, they carried away the juicy, meat-filled limbs to be eaten, leaving the still living body to stare helplessly at this strange world through its many faceted eyes, and become a prey to the voracious ants who would soon clamber upon it and carry it away in tiny fragments to their underground city.
-not all the insect world was so helpless or so unthreatening. burl knew of wasps almost the length of his own body who possessed stings that were instantly fatal. to every species of wasp, however, some other insect is predestined prey, and the furtive members of burl's tribe feared them but little as they sought only the prey to which their instinct led them.
-bees were similarly aloof. they were hard put to it for existence, those bees. few flowers bloomed, and they were reduced to expedients once considered signs of degeneracy in their race. bubbling yeasts and fouler things, occasionally the nectarless blooms of the rank, giant cabbages. burl knew the bees. they droned overhead, nearly as large as he was himself, their bulging eyes gazing at him with abstracted preoccupation. and crickets, and beetles, and spiders--
-burl knew spiders! his grandfather had been the prey of one of the hunting tarantulas, which had leaped with incredible ferocity from his excavated tunnel in the earth. a vertical pit in the ground, two feet in diameter, went down for twenty feet. at the bottom of that lair the black-bellied monster waited for the tiny sounds that would warn him of prey approaching his hiding-place (lycosa fasciata).
-burl had remembered the strange stripes of yellow and black and silver that crossed upon its abdomen (epiera fasciata). he had been fascinated by the struggles of the imprisoned insect, coiled in a hopeless tangle of sticky, gummy ropes the thickness of burl's finger, cast about its body before the spider made any attempt to approach.
-burl knew these dangers. they were a part of his life. it was his accustomedness to them, and that of his ancestors, that made his existence possible. he was able to evade them; so he survived. a moment of carelessness, an instant's relaxation of his habitual caution, and he would be one with his forebears, forgotten meals of long-dead, inhuman monsters.
-three days before, burl had crouched behind a bulky, shapeless fungus growth while he watched a furious duel between two huge horned beetles. their jaws, gaping wide, clicked and clashed upon each other's impenetrable armor. their legs crashed like so many cymbals as their polished surfaces ground and struck against each other. they were fighting over some particularly attractive bit of carrion.
-burl had watched with all his eyes until a gaping orifice appeared in the armor of the smaller of the two. it uttered a shrill cry, or seemed to cry out. the noise was, actually, the tearing of the horny stuff beneath the victorious jaws of the adversary.
-the wounded beetle struggled more and more feebly. at last it collapsed, and the conqueror placidly began to eat the conquered before life was extinct.
-burl waited until the meal was finished, and then approached the scene with caution. an ant--the forerunner of many--was already inspecting the carcass.
-burl usually ignored the ants. they were stupid, short-sighted insects, and not hunters. save when attacked, they offered no injury. they were scavengers, on the lookout for the dead and dying, but they would fight viciously if their prey were questioned, and they were dangerous opponents. they were from three inches, for the tiny black ants, to a foot for the large termites.
-burl was hasty when he heard the tiny clickings of their limbs as they approached. he seized the sharp-pointed snout of the victim, detached from the body, and fled from the scene.
-later, he inspected his find with curiosity. the smaller victim had been a minotaur beetle, with a sharp-pointed horn like that of a rhinoceros to reinforce his offensive armament, already dangerous because of his wide jaws. the jaws of a beetle work from side to side, instead of up and down, and this had made the protection complete in no less than three directions.
-burl inspected the sharp, dagger-like instrument in his hand. he felt its point, and it pricked his finger. he flung it aside as he crept to the hiding-place of his tribe. there were only twenty of them, four or five men, six or seven women, and the rest girls and children.
-burl had been wondering at the strange feelings that came over him when he looked at one of the girls. she was younger than burl--perhaps eighteen--and fleeter of foot than he. they talked together, sometimes, and once or twice burl shared with her an especially succulent find of foodstuffs.
-the next morning he found the horn where he had thrown it, sticking in the flabby side of a toadstool. he pulled it out, and gradually, far back in his mind, an idea began to take shape. he sat for some time with the thing in his hand, considering it with a far-away look in his eyes. from time to time he stabbed at a toadstool, awkwardly, but with gathering skill. his imagination began to work fitfully. he visualized himself stabbing food with it as the larger beetle had stabbed the former owner of the weapon he had in his hand.
-burl could not imagine himself coping with one of the fighting insects. he could only picture himself, dimly, stabbing something that was food with this death-dealing thing. it was no longer than his arm and though clumsy to the hand, an effective and terribly sharp implement.
-he thought: where was there food, food that lived, that would not fight back? presently he rose and began to make his way toward the tiny river. yellow-bellied newts swam in its waters. the swimming larvae of a thousand insects floated about its surface or crawled upon its bottom.
-there were deadly things there, too. giant crayfish snapped their horny claws at the unwary. mosquitoes of four-inch wing-spread sometimes made their humming way above the river. the last survivors of their race, they were dying out for lack of the plant-juices on which the male of the species lived, but even so they were formidable. burl had learned to crush them with fragments of fungus.
-he crept slowly through the forest of toadstools. brownish fungus was underfoot. strange orange, red, and purple molds clustered about the bases of the creamy toadstool stalks. once burl paused to run his sharp-pointed weapon through a fleshy stalk and reassure himself that what he planned was practicable.
-he made his way furtively through the forest of misshapen growths. once he heard a tiny clicking, and froze into stillness. it was a troop of four or five ants, each some eight inches long, returning along their habitual pathway to their city. they moved sturdily, heavily laden, along the route marked with the black and odorous formic acid exuded from the bodies of their comrades. burl waited until they had passed, then went on.
-he came to the bank of the river. green scum covered a great deal of its surface, scum occasionally broken by a slowly enlarging bubble of some gas released from decomposing matter on the bottom. in the center of the placid stream the current ran a little more swiftly, and the water itself was visible.
-over the shining current, water-spiders ran swiftly. they had not shared in the general increase of size that had taken place in the insect world. depending upon the capillary qualities of the water to support them, an increase in size and weight would have deprived them of the means of locomotion.
-from the spot where burl first peered at the water the green scum spread out for many yards into the stream. he could not see what swam and wriggled and crawled beneath the evil-smelling covering. he peered up and down the banks.
-perhaps a hundred and fifty yards below, the current came near the shore. an outcropping of rock there made a steep descent to the river, from which yellow shelf-fungi stretched out. dark red and orange above, they were light yellow below, and they formed a series of platforms above the smoothly flowing stream. burl made his way cautiously toward them.
-on his way he saw one of the edible mushrooms that formed so large a part of his diet, and paused to break from the flabby flesh an amount that would feed him for many days. it was too often the custom of his people to find a store of food, carry it to their hiding place, and then gorge themselves for days, eating, sleeping, and waking only to eat again until the food was gone.
-absorbed as he was in his plan of trying his new weapon, burl was tempted to return with his booty. he would give saya of this food, and they would eat together. saya was the maiden who roused unusual emotions in burl. he felt strange impulses stirring within him when she was near, a desire to touch her, to caress her. he did not understand.
-he went on, after hesitating. if he brought her food, saya would be pleased, but if he brought her of the things that swam in the stream, she would be still more pleased. degraded as his tribe had become, burl was yet a little more intelligent than they. he was an atavism, a throwback to ancestors who had cultivated the earth and subjugated its animals. he had a vague idea of pride, unformed but potent.
-no man within memory had hunted or slain for food. they knew of meat, yes, but it had been the fragments left by an insect hunter, seized and carried away by the men before the perpetually alert ant colonies had sent their foragers to the scene.
-if burl did what no man before him had done, if he brought a whole carcass to his tribe, they would envy him. they were preoccupied solely with their stomachs, and after that with the preservation of their lives. the perpetuation of the race came third in their consideration.
-they were herded together in a leaderless group, coming to the same hiding place that they might share in the finds of the lucky and gather comfort from their numbers. of weapons, they had none. they sometimes used stones to crack open the limbs of the huge insects they found partly devoured, cracking them open for the sweet meat to be found inside, but they sought safety from their enemies solely in flight and hiding.
-their enemies were not as numerous as might have been imagined. most of the meat-eating insects have their allotted prey. the sphex--a hunting wasp--feeds solely upon grasshoppers. others wasps eat flies only. the pirate-bee eats bumblebees only. spiders were the principal enemies of man, as they devour with a terrifying impartiality all that falls into their clutches.
-burl reached the spot from which he might gaze down into the water. he lay prostrate, staring into the shallow depths. once a huge crayfish, as long as burl's body, moved leisurely across his vision. small fishes and even the huge newts fled before the voracious creature.
-after a long time the tide of underwater life resumed its activity. the wriggling grubs of the dragonflies reappeared. little flecks of silver swam into view--a school of tiny fish. a larger fish appeared, moving slowly through the water.
-burl's eyes glistened and his mouth watered. he reached down with his long weapon. it barely touched the water. disappointment filled him, yet the nearness and the apparent practicability of his scheme spurred him on.
-he considered the situation. there were the shelf-fungi below him. he rose and moved to a point just above them, then thrust his spear down. they resisted its point. burl felt them tentatively with his foot, then dared to thrust his weight to them. they held him firmly. he clambered down and lay flat upon them, peering over the edge as before.
-the large fish, as long as burl's arm, swam slowly to and fro below him. burl had seen the former owner of his spear strive to thrust it into his opponents, and knew that a thrust was necessary. he had tried his weapon upon toadstools--had practiced with it. when the fish swam below him, he thrust sharply downward. the spear seemed to bend when it entered the water, and missed its mark by inches, to burl's astonishment. he tried again and again.
-he grew angry with the fish below him for eluding his efforts to kill it. repeated strokes had left it untouched, and it was unwary, and did not even try to run away.
-burl became furious. the big fish came to rest directly beneath his hand. burl thrust downward with all his strength. this time the spear, entering vertically, did not seem to bend. it went straight down. its point penetrated the scales of the swimmer below, transfixing that lazy fish completely.
-an uproar began. the fish, struggling to escape, and burl, trying to draw it up to his perch, made a huge commotion. in his excitement burl did not observe a tiny ripple some distance away. the monster crayfish was attracted by the disturbance, and was approaching.
-the unequal combat continued. burl hung on desperately to the end of his spear. then there was a tremor in burl's support, it gave way, and fell into the stream with a mighty splash. burl went under, his eyes open, facing death. and as he sank, his wide-open eyes saw waved before him the gaping claws of the huge crayfish, large enough to sever a limb with a single stroke of their jagged jaws.
-he opened his mouth to scream--a replica of the terrible screams of his grandfather, seized by a black-bellied tarantula years before--but no sound came forth. only bubbles floated to the surface of the water. he beat the unresisting fluid with his hands--he did not know how to swim. the colossal creature approached leisurely, while burl struggled helplessly.
-his arms struck a solid object, and grasped it convulsively. a second later he had swung it between himself and the huge crustacean. he felt a shock as the mighty jaws closed upon the corklike fungus, then felt himself drawn upward as the crayfish released his hold and the shelf-fungus floated to the surface. having given way beneath him, it had been carried below him in his fall, only to rise within his reach just when most needed.
-burl's head popped above water and he saw a larger bit of the fungus floating near by. less securely anchored to the rocks of the river bank than the shelf to which burl had trusted himself, it had been dislodged when the first shelf gave way. it was larger than the fragment to which burl clung, and floated higher in the water.
-burl was cool with a terrible self-possession. he seized it and struggled to draw himself on top of it. it tilted as his weight came upon it, and nearly overturned, but he paid no heed. with desperate haste, he clawed with hands and feet until he could draw himself clear of the water, of which he would forever retain a slight fear.
-as he pulled himself upon the furry, orange-brown upper surface, a sharp blow struck his foot. the crayfish, disgusted at finding only what was to it a tasteless morsel in the shelf-fungus, had made a languid stroke at burl's wriggling foot in the water. failing to grasp the fleshy member, the crayfish retreated, disgruntled and annoyed.
-and burl floated downstream, perched, weaponless and alone, frightened and in constant danger, upon a flimsy raft composed of a degenerate fungus floating soggily in the water. he floated slowly down the stream of a river in whose waters death lurked unseen, upon whose banks was peril, and above whose reaches danger fluttered on golden wings.
-it was a long time before he recovered his self-possession, and when he did he looked first for his spear. it was floating in the water, still transfixing the fish whose capture had endangered burl's life. the fish now floated with its belly upward, all life gone.
-so insistent was burl's instinct for food that his predicament was forgotten when he saw his prey just out of his reach. he gazed at it, and his mouth watered, while his cranky craft went downstream, spinning slowly in the current. he lay flat on the floating fungoid, and strove to reach out and grasp the end of the spear.
-the raft tilted and nearly flung him overboard again. a little later he discovered that it sank more readily on one side than on the other. that was due, of course, to the greater thickness--and consequently greater buoyancy--of the part which had grown next the rocks of the river bank.
-burl found that if he lay with his head stretching above that side, it did not sink into the water. he wriggled into this new position, then, and waited until the slow revolution of his vessel brought the spear-shaft near him. he stretched his fingers and his arm, and touched, then grasped it.
-a moment later he was tearing strips of flesh from the side of the fish and cramming the oily mess into his mouth with great enjoyment. he had lost his edible mushroom. that danced upon the waves several yards away, but burl ate contentedly of what he possessed. he did not worry about what was before him. that lay in the future, but suddenly he realized that he was being carried farther and farther from saya, the maiden of his tribe who caused strange bliss to steal over him when he contemplated her.
-the thought came to him when he visualized the delight with which she would receive a gift of part of the fish he had caught. he was suddenly stricken with dumb sorrow. he lifted his head and looked longingly at the river banks.
-a long, monotonous row of strangely colored fungus growths. no healthy green, but pallid, cream-colored toadstools, some bright orange, lavender, and purple molds, vivid carmine "rusts" and mildews, spreading up the banks from the turgid slime. the sun was not a ball of fire, but merely shone as a bright golden patch in the haze-filled sky, a patch whose limits could not be defined or marked.
-in the faintly pinkish light that filtered down through the air, a multitude of flying objects could be seen. now and then a cricket or a grasshopper made its bullet-like flight from one spot to another. huge butterflies fluttered gayly above the silent, seemingly lifeless world. bees lumbered anxiously about, seeking the cross-shaped flowers of the monster cabbages. now and then a slender-waisted, yellow-stomached wasp flew alertly through the air.
-burl watched them with a strange indifference. the wasps were as long as he himself. the bees, on end, could match his height. the butterflies ranged from tiny creatures barely capable of shading his face to colossal things in the folds of whose wings he could have been lost. and above him fluttered dragonflies, whose long, spindle-like bodies were three times the length of his own.
-burl ignored them all. sitting there, an incongruous creature of pink skin and soft brown hair upon an orange fungus floating in midstream, he was filled with despondency because the current carried him forever farther and farther from a certain slender-limbed maiden of his tiny tribe, whose glances caused an odd commotion in his breast.
-the day went on. once, burl saw upon the blue-green mold that spread upward from the river, a band of large, red amazon ants, marching in orderly array, to raid the city of a colony of black ants, and carry away the eggs they would find there. the eggs would be hatched, and the small black creatures made the slaves of the brigands who had stolen them.
-the amazon ants can live only by the labor of their slaves, and for that reason are mighty warriors in their world. later, etched against the steaming mist that overhung everything as far as the eye could reach, burl saw strangely shaped, swollen branches rearing themselves from the ground. he knew what they were. a hard-rinded fungus that grew upon itself in peculiar mockery of the vegetation that had vanished from the earth.
-and again he saw pear-shaped objects above some of which floated little clouds of smoke. they, too, were fungus growths, puffballs, which when touched emit what seems a puff of vapor. these would have towered above burl's head, had he stood beside them.
-and then, as the day drew to an end, he saw in the distance what seemed a range of purple hills. they were tall hills to burl, some sixty or seventy feet high, and they seemed to be the agglomeration of a formless growth, multiplying its organisms and forms upon itself until the whole formed an irregular, cone-shaped mound. burl watched them apathetically.
-presently, he ate again of the oily fish. the taste was pleasant to him, accustomed to feed mostly upon insipid mushrooms. he stuffed himself, though the size of his prey left by far the larger part uneaten.
-he still held his spear firmly beside him.
-it had brought him into trouble, but burl possessed a fund of obstinacy. unlike most of his tribe, he associated the spear with the food it had secured, rather than the difficulty into which it had led him. when he had eaten his fill he picked it up and examined it again. the sharpness of its point was unimpaired.
-burl handled it meditatively, debating whether or not to attempt to fish again. the shakiness of his little raft dissuaded him, and he abandoned the idea. presently he stripped a sinew from the garment about his middle and hung the fish about his neck with it. that would leave him both hands free. then he sat cross-legged upon the soggily floating fungus, like a pink-skinned buddha, and watched the shores go by.
-time had passed, and it was drawing near sunset. burl, never having seen the sun save as a bright spot in the overhanging haze, did not think of the coming of night as "sunset." to him it was the letting down of darkness from the sky.
-today happened to be an exceptionally bright day, and the haze was not as thick as usual. far to the west, the thick mist turned to gold, while the thicker clouds above became blurred masses of dull red. their shadows seemed like lavender, from the contrast of shades. upon the still surface of the river, all the myriad tints and shadings were reflected with an incredible faithfulness, and the shining tops of the giant mushrooms by the river brim glowed faintly pink.
-dragonflies buzzed over his head in their swift and angular flight, the metallic luster of their bodies glistening in the rosy light. great yellow butterflies flew lightly above the stream. here, there, and everywhere upon the water appeared the shell-formed boats of a thousand caddis flies, floating upon the surface while they might.
-burl could have thrust his hand down into their cavities and seized the white worms that inhabited the strange craft. the huge bulk of a tardy bee droned heavily overhead. burl glanced upward and saw the long proboscis and the hairy hinder legs with their scanty load of pollen. he saw the great, multiple-lensed eyes with their expression of stupid preoccupation, and even the sting that would mean death alike for him and for the giant insect, should it be used.
-the crimson radiance grew dim at the edge of the world. the purple hills had long been left behind. now the slender stalks of ten thousand round-domed mushrooms lined the river bank and beneath them spread fungi of all colors, from the rawest red to palest blue, but all now fading slowly to a monochromatic background in the growing dusk.
-the buzzing, fluttering, and the flapping of the insects of the day died slowly down, while from a million hiding places there crept out into the deep night soft and furry bodies of great moths, who preened themselves and smoothed their feathery antennae before taking to the air. the strong-limbed crickets set up their thunderous noise--grown gravely bass with the increasing size of the organs by which the sound was made--and then there began to gather on the water those slender spirals of tenuous mist that would presently blanket the stream in a mantle of thin fog.
-night fell. the clouds above seemed to lower and grow dark. gradually, now a drop and then a drop, now a drop and then a drop, the languid fall of large, warm raindrops that would drip from the moisture-laden skies all through the night began. the edge of the stream became a place where great disks of coolly glowing flame appeared.
-the mushrooms that bordered on the river were faintly phosphorescent (pleurotus phosphoreus) and shone coldly upon the "rusts" and flake-fungi beneath their feet. here and there a ball of lambent flame appeared, drifting idly above the steaming, festering earth.
-thirty thousand years before, men had called them "will-o'-the-wisps," but burl simply stared at them, accepting them as he accepted all that passed. only a man attempting to advance in the scale of civilization tries to explain everything that he sees. the savage and the child is most often content to observe without comment, unless he repeats the legends told him by wise folk who are possessed by the itch of knowledge.
-burl watched for a long time. great fireflies whose beacons lighted up their surroundings for many yards--fireflies burl knew to be as long as his spear--shed their intermittent glows upon the stream. softly fluttering wings, in great beats that poured torrents of air upon him, passed above burl.
-the air was full of winged creatures. the night was broken by their cries, by the sound of their invisible wings, by their cries of anguish and their mating calls. above him and on all sides the persistent, intense life of the insect world went on ceaselessly, but burl rocked back and forth upon his frail mushroom boat and wished to weep because he was being carried from his tribe, and from saya--saya of the swift feet and white teeth, of the shy smile.
-burl may have been homesick, but his principal thoughts were of saya. he had dared greatly to bring a gift of fresh meat to her, meat captured as meat had never been known to be taken by a member of the tribe. and now he was being carried from her!
-he lay, disconsolate, upon his floating atom on the water for a great part of the night. it was long after midnight when the mushroom raft struck gently and remained grounded upon a shallow in the stream.
-when the light came in the morning, burl gazed about him keenly. he was some twenty yards from the shore, and the greenish scum surrounded his now disintegrating vessel. the river had widened out until the other bank was barely to be seen through the haze above the surface of the river, but the nearer shore seemed firm and no more full of dangers than the territory his tribe inhabited. he felt the depth of the water with his spear, then was struck with the multiple usefulness of that weapon. the water would come to but slightly above his ankles.
-shivering a little with fear, burl stepped down into the water, then made for the bank at the top of his speed. he felt a soft something clinging to one of his bare feet. with an access of terror, he ran faster, and stumbled upon the shore in a panic. he stared down at his foot. a shapeless, flesh-colored pad clung to his heel, and as burl watched, it began to swell slowly, while the pink of its wrinkled folds deepened.
-it was no more than a leech, sharing in the enlargement nearly all the lower world had undergone, but burl did not know that. he thrust at it with the side of his spear, then scraped frantically at it, and it fell off, leaving a blotch of blood upon the skin where it came away. it lay, writhing and pulsating, upon the ground, and burl fled from it.
-he found himself in one of the toadstool forests with which he was familiar, and finally paused, disconsolately. he knew the nature of the fungus growths about him, and presently fell to eating. in burl the sight of food always produced hunger--a wise provision of nature to make up for the instinct to store food, which he lacked.
-burl's heart was small within him. he was far from his tribe, and far from saya. in the parlance of this day, it is probable that no more than forty miles separated them, but burl did not think of distances. he had come down the river. he was in a land he had never known or seen. and he was alone.
-all about him was food. all the mushrooms that surrounded him were edible, and formed a store of sustenance burl's whole tribe could not have eaten in many days, but that very fact brought saya to his mind more forcibly. he squatted on the ground, wolfing down the insipid mushroom in great gulps, when an idea suddenly came to him with all the force of inspiration.
-he would bring saya here, where there was food, food in great quantities, and she would be pleased. burl had forgotten the large and oily fish that still hung down his back from the sinew about his neck, but now he rose, and its flapping against him reminded him again.
-he took it and fingered it all over, getting his hands and himself thoroughly greasy in the process, but he could eat no more. the thought of saya's pleasure at the sight of that, too, reinforced his determination.
-with all the immediacy of a child or a savage he set off at once. he had come along the bank of the stream. he would retrace his steps along the bank of the stream.
-through the awkward aisles of the mushroom forest he made his way, eyes and ears open for possibilities of danger. several times he heard the omnipresent clicking of ants on their multifarious businesses in the wood, but he could afford to ignore them. they were short-sighted at best, and at worst they were foragers rather than hunters. he only feared one kind of ant, the army-ant, which sometimes travels in hordes of millions, eating all that it comes upon. in ages past, when they were tiny creatures not an inch long, even the largest animals fled from them. now that they measured a foot in length, not even the gorged spiders whose distended bellies were a yard in thickness, dared offer them battle.
-the mushroom forest came to an end. a cheerful grasshopper (ephigger) munched delicately at some dainty it had found. its hind legs were bunched beneath it in perpetual readiness for flight. a monster wasp appeared above--as long as burl himself--poised an instant, dropped, and seized the luckless feaster.
-there was a struggle, then the grasshopper became helpless, and the wasp's flexible abdomen curved delicately. its sting entered the jointed armor of its prey, just beneath the head. the sting entered with all the deliberate precision of a surgeon's scalpel, and all struggle ceased.
-the wasp grasped the paralyzed, not dead, insect and flew away. burl grunted, and passed on. he had hidden when the wasp darted down from above.
-the ground grew rough, and burl's progress became painful. he clambered arduously up steep slopes and made his way cautiously down their farther sides. once he had to climb through a tangled mass of mushrooms so closely placed, and so small, that he had to break them apart with blows of his spear before he could pass, when they shed upon him torrents of a fiery red liquid that rolled off his greasy breast and sank into the ground (lactarius deliciosus).
-a strange self-confidence now took possession of burl. he walked less cautiously and more boldly. the mere fact that he had struck something and destroyed it provided him with a curious fictitious courage.
-he had climbed slowly to the top of a red clay cliff, perhaps a hundred feet high, slowly eaten away by the river when it overflowed. burl could see the river. at some past floodtime it had lapped at the base of the cliff on whose edge he walked, though now it came no nearer than a quarter-mile.
-the cliffside was almost covered with shelf-fungi, large and small, white, yellow, orange, and green, in indescribable confusion and luxuriance. from a point halfway up the cliff the inch-thick cable of a spider's web stretched down to an anchorage on the ground, and the strangely geometrical pattern of the web glistened evilly.
-somewhere among the fungi of the cliffside the huge creature waited until some unfortunate prey should struggle helplessly in its monster snare. the spider waited in a motionless, implacable patience, invincibly certain of prey, utterly merciless to its victims.
-burl strutted on the edge of the cliff, a silly little pink-skinned creature with an oily fish slung about his neck and a draggled fragment of a moth's wing about his middle. in his hand he bore the long spear of a minotaur beetle. he strutted, and looked scornfully down upon the whitely shining trap below him. he struck mushrooms, and they had fallen before him. he feared nothing. he strode fearlessly along. he would go to saya and bring her to this land where food grew in abundance.
-sixty paces before him, a shaft sank vertically in the sandy, clayey soil. it was a carefully rounded shaft, and lined with silk. it went down for perhaps thirty feet or more, and there enlarged itself into a chamber where the owner and digger of the shaft might rest. the top of the hole was closed by a trap door, stained with mud and earth to imitate with precision the surrounding soil. a keen eye would have been needed to perceive the opening. but a keen eye now peered out from a tiny crack, the eye of the engineer of the underground dwelling.
-eight hairy legs surrounded the body of the creature that hung motionless at the top of the silk-lined shaft. a huge misshapen globe formed its body, colored a dirty brown. two pairs of ferocious mandibles stretched before its fierce mouth-parts. two eyes glittered evilly in the darkness of the burrow. and over the whole body spread a rough, mangy fur.
-it was a thing of implacable malignance, of incredible ferocity. it was the brown hunting-spider, the american tarantula (mygale hentzii). its body was two feet and more in diameter, and its legs, outstretched, would cover a circle three yards across. it watched burl, its eyes glistening. slaver welled up and dropped from its jaws.
-and burl strutted forward on the edge of the cliff, puffed up with a sense of his own importance. the white snare of the spinning spider below him impressed him as amusing. he knew the spider would not leave its web to attack him. he reached down and broke off a bit of fungus growing at his feet. where he broke it, it was oozing a soupy liquid and was full of tiny maggots in a delirium of feasting. burl flung it down into the web, and then laughed as the black bulk of the hidden spider swung down from its hiding place to investigate.
-the tarantula, peering from its burrow, quivered with impatience. burl drew near, and nearer. he was using his spear as a lever, now, and prying off bits of fungus to fall down the cliffside into the colossal web. the spider, below, went leisurely from one place to another, investigating each new missile with its palpi, then leaving them, as they appeared lifeless and undesirable prey. burl laughed again as a particularly large lump of shelf-fungus narrowly missed the black-and-silver figure below. then--
-the trap door fell into place with a faint click, and burl whirled about. his laughter turned to a scream. moving toward him with incredible rapidity, the monster tarantula opened its dripping jaws. its mandibles gaped wide. the poison fangs were unsheathed. the creature was thirty paces away, twenty paces--ten. it leaped into the air, eyes glittering, all its eight legs extended to seize, fangs bared--
-it struck upon the spear, writhing horribly, still struggling to reach burl, who was transfixed with horror. the mandibles clashed, strange sounds came from the beast. then one of the attenuated, hairy legs rasped across burl's forearm. he gasped in ultimate fear and stepped backward--and the edge of the cliff gave way beneath him.
-he hurtled downward, still clutching the spear which led the writhing creature from him. down through space, eyes glassy with panic, the two creatures--the man and the giant tarantula--fell together. there was a strangely elastic crash and crackling. they had fallen into the web beneath them.
-burl had reached the end of terror. he could be no more fear-struck. struggling madly in the gummy coils of an immense web, which ever bound him more tightly, with a wounded creature shuddering in agony not a yard from him--yet a wounded creature that still strove to reach him with its poison fangs--burl had reached the limit of panic.
-he fought like a madman to break the coils about him. his arms and breast were greasy from the oily fish, and the sticky web did not adhere to them, but his legs and body were inextricably fastened by the elastic threads spread for just such prey as he.
-he paused a moment, in exhaustion. then he saw, five yards away, the silvery and black monster waiting patiently for him to weary himself. it judged the moment propitious. the tarantula and the man were one in its eyes, one struggling thing that had fallen opportunely into its snare. they were moving but feebly now. the spider advanced delicately, swinging its huge bulk nimbly along the web, paying out a cable after it came inexorably toward him.
-spiders take few hazards. this spider was no exception to the rule. it drew cautiously near, then stopped. its spinnerets became busy, and with one of its six legs, used like an arm, it flung a sheet of gummy silk impartially over both the tarantula and the man.
-burl fought against the descending shroud. he strove to thrust it away, but in vain. in a matter of minutes he was completely covered in a silken cloth that hid even the light from his eyes. he and his enemy, the giant tarantula, were beneath the same covering, though the tarantula moved but weakly.
-the shower ceased. the web-spider had decided that they were helpless. then burl felt the cables of the web give slightly, as the spider approached to sting and suck the sweet juices from its prey.
-the web yielded gently as the added weight of the black-bellied spider approached. burl froze into stillness under his enveloping covering. beneath the same silken shroud the tarantula writhed in agony upon the point of burl's spear. it clashed its jaws, shuddering upon the horny barb.
-burl was quiet in an ecstasy of terror. he waited for the poison-fangs to be thrust into him. he knew the process. he had seen the leisurely fashion in which the giant spiders delicately stung their prey, then withdrew to wait without impatience for the poison to do its work.
-when their victim had ceased to struggle, they drew near again, and sucked the sweet juices from the body, first from one point and then another, until what had so recently been a creature vibrant with life became a shrunken, withered husk--to be flung from the web at nightfall. most spiders are tidy housekeepers, destroying their snares daily to spin anew.
-the bloated, evil creature moved meditatively about the shining sheet of silk it had cast over the man and the giant tarantula when they fell from the cliff above. now only the tarantula moved feebly. its body was outlined by a bulge in the concealing shroud, throbbing faintly as it still struggled with the spear in its vitals. the irregularly rounded protuberance offered a point of attack for the web spider. it moved quickly forward, and stung.
-galvanized into fresh torment by this new agony, the tarantula writhed in a very hell of pain. its legs, clustered about the spear still fastened into its body, struck out purposelessly, in horrible gestures of delirious suffering. burl screamed as one of them touched him, and struggled himself.
-his arms and head were free beneath the silken sheet because of the grease and oil that coated them. he clutched at the threads about him and strove to draw himself away from his deadly neighbor. the threads did not break, but they parted one from another, and a tiny opening appeared. one of the tarantula's attenuated limbs touched him again. with the strength of utter panic he hauled himself away, and the opening enlarged. another struggle, and burl's head emerged into the open air, and he stared down for twenty feet upon an open space almost carpeted with the chitinous remains of his present captor's former victims.
-burl's head was free, and his breast and arms. the fish slung over his shoulder had shed its oil upon him impartially. but the lower part of his body was held firm by the gummy snare of the web-spider, a snare far more tenacious than any bird-lime ever manufactured by man.
-he hung in his tiny window for a moment, despairing. then he saw, at a little distance, the bulk of the monster spider, waiting patiently for its poison to take effect and the struggling of its prey to be stilled. the tarantula was no more than shuddering now. soon it would be still, and the black-bellied creature waiting on the web would approach for its meal.
-burl withdrew his head and thrust desperately at the sticky stuff about his loins and legs. the oil upon his hands kept it from clinging to them, and it gave a little. in a flash of inspiration, burl understood. he reached over his shoulder and grasped the greasy fish; tore it in a dozen places and smeared himself with the now rancid exudation, pushing the sticky threads from his limbs and oiling the surface from which he had thrust it away.
-he felt the web tremble. to the spider, its poison seemed to have failed of effect. another sting seemed to be necessary. this time it would not insert its fangs into the quiescent tarantula, but would sting where the disturbance was manifest--would send its deadly venom into burl.
-he gasped, and drew himself toward his window. it was as if he would have pulled his legs from his body. his head emerged, his shoulders--half his body was out of the hole.
-the colossal spider surveyed him, and made ready to cast more of its silken sheet upon him. the spinnerets became active, and the sticky stuff about burl's feet gave way! he shot out of the opening and fell sprawling, awkwardly and heavily, upon the earth below, crashing upon the shrunken shell of a flying beetle which had fallen into the snare and had not escaped.
-in ages past, when ants were tiny creatures of lengths to be measured in fractions of an inch, learned scientists debated gravely if their tribe possessed a cry. they believed that certain grooves upon the body of the insects, after the fashion of those upon the great legs of the cricket, might offer the means of uttering an infinitely high-pitched sound too shrill for man's ears to catch.
-burl knew that the stridulation was caused by the doubtful insect before him, though he had never wondered how it was produced. the cry was used to summon others of its city, to help it in its difficulty or good fortune.
-clickings sounded fifty or sixty feet away. comrades were coming to aid the pioneer. harmless save when interfered with--all save the army ant, that is--the whole ant tribe was formidable when aroused. utterly fearless, they could pull down a man and slay him as so many infuriated fox terriers might have done thirty thousand years before.
-burl fled, without debate, and nearly collided with one of the anchoring cables of the web from which he had barely escaped a moment before. he heard the shrill sound behind him suddenly subside. the ant, short-sighted as all ants were, no longer felt itself threatened and went peacefully about the business burl had interrupted, that of finding among the gruesome relics beneath the spider's web some edible carrion which might feed the inhabitants of its city.
-burl sped on for a few hundred yards, and stopped. it behooved him to move carefully. he was in strange territory, and as even the most familiar territory was full of sudden and implacable dangers, unknown lands were doubly or trebly perilous.
-burl, too found difficulty in moving. the glutinous stuff from the spider's shroud of silk still stuck to his feet and picked up small objects as he went along. old ant-gnawed fragments of insect armour pricked him even through his toughened soles.
-he looked about cautiously and removed them, took a dozen steps and had to stop again. burl's brain had been uncommonly stimulated of late. it had gotten him into at least one predicament--due to his invention of a spear--but had no less readily led to his escape from another. but for the reasoning that had led him to use the grease from the fish upon his shoulder in oiling his body when he struggled out of the spider's snare, he would now be furnishing a meal for that monster.
-cautiously, burl looked all about him. he seemed to be safe. then, quite deliberately, he sat down to think. it was the first time in his life that he had done such a thing. the people of his tribe were not given to meditation. but an idea had struck burl with all the force of inspiration--an abstract idea.
-burl's reasoning, before, was simple and of the primary order. where oil covered him, the web did not. therefore he would coat the rest of himself with oil. had he been placed in the same predicament again, he would have used the same means of escape. but to apply a bit of knowledge gained in one predicament to another difficulty was something he had not yet done.
-a dog may be taught that by pulling on the latchstring of a door he may open it, but the same dog coming to a high and close-barred gate with a latchstring attached, will never think of pulling on this second latchstring. he associates a latchstring with the opening of the door. the opening of a gate is another matter entirely.
-burl had been stirred to one invention by imminent peril. that is not extraordinary. but to reason in cold blood, as he presently did, that oil on his feet would nullify the glue upon his feet and enable him again to walk in comfort--that was a triumph. the inventions of savages are essentially matters of life and death, of food and safety. comfort and luxury are only produced by intelligence of a high order.
-burl, in safety, had added to his comfort. that was truly a more important thing in his development than almost any other thing he could have done. he oiled his feet.
-it was an almost infinitesimal problem, but burl's struggles with the mental process of reasoning were actual. thirty thousand years before him, a wise man had pointed out that education is simply training in thought, in efficient and effective thinking. burl's tribe had been too much preoccupied with food and mere existence to think, and now burl, sitting at the base of a squat toadstool that all but concealed him, reexemplified rodin's "thinker" for the first time in many generations.
-for burl to reason that oil upon the soles of his feet would guard him against sharp stones was as much a triumph of intellect as any masterpiece of art in the ages before him. burl was learning how to think.
-he stood up, walked, and crowed in sheer delight, then paused a moment in awe of his own intelligence. thirty-five miles from his tribe, naked, unarmed, utterly ignorant of fire, of wood, of any weapons save a spear he had experimented with the day before, abysmally uninformed concerning the very existence of any art or science, burl stopped to assure himself that he was very wonderful.
-pride came to him. he wished to display himself to saya, these things upon his feet, and his spear. but his spear was gone.
-with touching faith in the efficacy of this new pastime, burl sat promptly down again and knitted his brows. just as a superstitious person, once convinced that by appeal to a favorite talisman he will be guided aright, will inevitably apply to that talisman on all occasions, so burl plumped himself down to think.
-these questions were easily answered. burl was naked. he would search out garments for himself. he was weaponless. he would find himself a spear. he was hungry--and would seek food, and he was far from his tribe, so he would go to them. puerile reasoning, of course, but valuable, because it was consciously reasoning, consciously appealing to his mind for guidance in difficulty, deliberate progress from a mental desire to a mental resolution.
-even in the high civilization of ages before, few men had really used their brains. the great majority of people had depended upon machines and their leaders to think for them. burl's tribefolk depended on their stomachs. burl, however, was gradually developing the habit of thinking which makes for leadership and which would be invaluable to his little tribe.
-he stood up again and faced upstream, moving slowly and cautiously, his eyes searching the ground before him keenly and his ears alert for the slightest sound of danger. gigantic butterflies, riotous in coloring, fluttered overhead through the misty haze. sometimes a grasshopper hurtled through the air like a projectile, its transparent wings beating the air frantically. now and then a wasp sped by, intent upon its hunting, or a bee droned heavily along, anxious and worried, striving in a nearly flowerless world to gather the pollen that would feed the hive.
-here and there burl saw flies of various sorts, some no larger than his thumb, but others the size of his whole hand. they fed upon the juices that dripped from the maggot-infested mushrooms, when filth more to their liking was not at hand.
-very far away a shrill roaring sounded faintly. it was like a multitude of clickings blended into a single sound, but was so far away that it did not impress itself upon burl's attention. he had all the strictly localized vision of a child. what was near was important, and what was distant could be ignored. only the imminent required attention, and burl was preoccupied.
-had he listened, he would have realized that army ants were abroad in countless millions, spreading themselves out in a broad array and eating all they came upon far more destructively than so many locusts.
-locusts in past ages had eaten all green things. there were only giant cabbages and a few such tenacious rank growths in the world that burl knew. the locusts had vanished with civilization and knowledge and the greater part of mankind, but the army ants remained as an invincible enemy to men and insects, and the most of the fungus growths that covered the earth.
-burl did not notice the sound, however. he moved forward, briskly though cautiously, searching with his eyes for garments, food, and weapons. he confidently expected to find all of them within a short distance.
-surely enough he found a thicket--if one might call it so--of edible fungi no more than half a mile beyond the spot where he had improvised his sandals to protect the soles of his feet.
-without especial elation, burl tugged at the largest until he had broken off a food supply for several days. he went on, eating as he did so, past a broad plain a mile and more across, being broken into odd little hillocks by gradually ripening and suddenly developing mushrooms with which he was unfamiliar.
-the earth seemed to be in process of being pushed aside by rounded protuberances of which only the tips showed. blood-red hemispheres seemed to be forcing aside the earth so they might reach the outer air.
-burl looked at them curiously, and passed among them without touching them. they were strange, and to him most strange things meant danger. in any event, he was full of a new purpose now. he wished garments and weapons.
-above the plain a wasp hovered, a heavy object dangling beneath its black belly, ornamented by a single red band. it was a wasp--the hairy sand-wasp--and it was bringing a paralyzed gray caterpillar to its burrow.
-burl watched it drop down with the speed and sureness of an arrow, pull aside a heavy, flat stone, and descend into the ground. it had a vertical shaft dug down for forty feet or more.
-it descended, evidently inspected the interior, reappeared, and vanished into the hole again, dragging the gray worm after it. burl, marching on over the broad plain that seemed stricken with some erupting disease from the number of red pimples making their appearance, did not know what passed below, but observed the wasp emerge again and busily scratch dirt and stones into the shaft until it was full.
-the wasp had paralyzed a caterpillar, taken it to the already prepared burrow, laid an egg upon it, and rilled up the entrance. in course of time the egg would hatch into a grub barely as long as burl's forefinger, which would then feed upon the torpid caterpillar until it had waxed large and fat. then it would weave itself a chrysalis and sleep a long sleep, only to wake as a wasp and dig its way to the open air.
-burl reached the farther side of the plain and found himself threading the aisles of one of the fungus forests in which the growths were hideous, misshapen travesties upon the trees they had supplanted. bloated, yellow limbs branched off from rounded, swollen trunks. here and there a pear-shaped puff-ball, burl's height and half as much again, waited craftily until a chance touch should cause it to shoot upward a curling puff of infinitely fine dust.
-burl went cautiously. there were dangers here, but he moved forward steadily, none the less. a great mass of edible mushroom was slung under one of his arms, and from time to time he broke off a fragment and ate of it, while his large eyes searched this way and that for threats of harm.
-behind him, a high, shrill roaring had grown slightly in volume and nearness, but was still too far away to impress burl. the army ants were working havoc in the distance. by thousands and millions, myriads upon myriads, they were foraging the country, clambering upon every eminence, descending into every depression, their antennae waving restlessly and their mandibles forever threateningly extended. the ground was black with them, each was ten inches and more in length.
-a single such creature would be formidable to an unarmed and naked man like burl, whose wisest move would be flight, but in their thousands and millions they presented a menace from which no escape seemed possible. they were advancing steadily and rapidly, shrill stridulations and a multitude of clickings marking their movements.
-the great helpless caterpillars upon the giant cabbages heard the sound of their coming, but were too stupid to flee. the black multitudes covered the rank vegetables, and tiny but voracious jaws began to tear at the flaccid masses of flesh.
-each creature had some futile means of struggling. the caterpillars strove to throw off their innumerable assailants by writhings and contortions, wholly ineffective. the bees fought their entrance to the gigantic hives with stings and wingbeats. the moths took to the air in helpless blindness when discovered by the relentless throngs of small black insects which reeked of formic acid and left the ground behind them denuded in every living thing.
-before the oncoming horde was a world of teeming life, where mushrooms and fungi fought with thinning numbers of giant cabbages for foothold. behind the black multitude was--nothing. mushrooms, cabbages, bees, wasps, crickets. every creeping and crawling thing that did not get aloft before the black tide reached it was lost, torn to bits by tiny mandibles. even the hunting spiders and tarantulas fell before the host of insects, having killed many in their final struggles, but overwhelmed by sheer numbers. and the wounded and dying army ants made food for their sound comrades.
-there is no mercy among insects. only the web-spiders sat unmoved and immovable in their colossal snares, secure in the knowledge that their gummy webs would discourage attempts at invasion along the slender supporting cables.
-surging onward, flowing like a monstrous, murky tide over the yellow, steaming earth, the army ants advanced. their vanguard reached the river, and recoiled. burl was perhaps five miles distant when they changed their course, communicating the altered line of march to those behind them in some mysterious fashion of transmitting intelligence.
-thirty thousand years before, scientists had debated gravely over the means of communication among ants. they had observed that a single ant finding a bit of booty too large for him to handle alone would return to the ant-city and return with others. from that one instance they deduced a language of gestures made with the antennae.
-burl had no wise theories. he merely knew facts, but he knew that the ants had some form of speech or transmission of ideas. now, however, he was moving cautiously along toward the stamping grounds of his tribe, in complete ignorance of the black blanket of living creatures creeping over the ground toward him.
-a million tragedies marked the progress of the insect army. there was a tiny colony of mining bees--zebra bees--a single mother, some four feet long, had dug a huge gallery with some ten cells, in which she laid her eggs and fed her grubs with hard-gathered pollen. the grubs had waxed fat and large, became bees, and laid eggs in their turn, within the gallery their mother had dug out for them.
-ten such bulky insects now foraged busily for grubs within the ancestral home, while the founder of the colony had grown draggled and wingless with the passing of time. unable to forage herself, the old bee became the guardian of the nest or hive, as is the custom among the mining bees. she closed the opening of the hive with her head, making a living barrier within the entrance, and withdrawing to give entrance and exit only to duly authenticated members of the extensive colony.
-the ancient and draggled concierge of the underground dwelling was at her post when the wave of army ants swept over her. tiny, evil-smelling feet trampled upon her. she emerged to fight with mandible and sting for the sanctity of the hive. in a moment she was a shaggy mass of biting ants, rending and tearing at her chitinous armour. the old bee fought madly, viciously, sounding a buzzing alarm to the colonists yet within the hive. they emerged, fighting as they came, for the gallery leading down was a dark flood of small insects.
-for a few moments a battle such as would make an epic was in progress. ten huge bees, each four to five feet long, fighting with legs and jaw, wing and mandible, with all the ferocity of as many tigers. the tiny, vicious ants covered them, snapping at their multiple eyes, biting at the tender joints in their armour--sometimes releasing the larger prey to leap upon an injured comrade wounded by the huge creature they battled in common.
-the fight, however, could have but one ending. struggle as the bees might, herculean as their efforts might be, they were powerless against the incredible numbers of their assailants, who tore them into tiny fragments and devoured them. before the last shred of the hive's defenders had vanished, the hive itself was gutted alike of the grubs it had contained and the food brought to the grubs by such weary effort of the mature bees.
-the army ants went on. only an empty gallery remained, that and a few fragments of tough armour, unappetizing even to the omniverous ants.
-burl was meditatively inspecting the scene of a recent tragedy, where rent and scraped fragments of a great beetle's shiny casing lay upon the ground. a greater beetle had come upon the first and slain him. burl was looking upon the remains of the meal.
-three or four minims, little ants barely six inches long, foraged industriously among the bits. a new ant city was to be formed and the queen-ant lay hidden a half-mile away. these were the first hatchlings, who would feed the larger ants on whom would fall the great work of the ant-city. burl ignored them, searching with his eyes for a spear or weapon.
-behind him the clicking roar, the high-pitched stridulations of the horde of army ants, rose in volume. burl turned disgustedly away. the best he could find in the way of a weapon was a fiercely toothed hind leg. he picked it up, and an angry whine rose from the ground.
-one of the black minims was working busily to detach a fragment of flesh from the joint of the leg, and burl had snatched the morsel from him. the little creature was hardly half a foot in length, but it advanced upon burl, shrilling angrily. he struck it with the leg and crushed it. two of the other minims appeared, attracted by the noise the first had made. discovering the crushed body of their fellow, they unceremoniously dismembered it and bore it away in triumph.
-burl went on, swinging the toothed limb in his hand. it made a fair club, and burl was accustomed to use stones to crush the juicy legs of such giant crickets as his tribe sometimes came upon. he formed a half-defined idea of a club. the sharp teeth of the thing in his hand made him realize that a sidewise blow was better than a spearlike thrust.
-the sound behind him had become a distant whispering, high-pitched, and growing nearer. the army ants swept over a mushroom forest, and the yellow, umbrella-like growths swarmed with black creatures devouring the substance on which they found a foothold.
-a great bluebottle fly, shining with a metallic luster, reposed in an ecstasy of feasting, sipping through its long proboscis the dark-colored liquid that dripped slowly from a mushroom. maggots filled the mushroom, and exuded a solvent pepsin that liquefied the white firm "meat."
-the army ants came nearer, down into a tiny valley, swarming into and through a little brook over which burl had leaped. ants can remain under water for a long time without drowning, so the small stream was but a minor obstacle, though the current of water swept many of them off their feet until they choked the brook-bed, and their comrades passed over their struggling bodies dry-shod. they were no more than temporarily annoyed, however, and presently crawled out to resume their march.
-about a quarter of a mile to the left of burl's line of march, and perhaps a mile behind the spot where he stood over the dead bluebottle fly, there was a stretch of an acre or more where the giant, rank cabbages had so far resisted the encroachments of the ever present mushrooms. the pale, cross-shaped flowers of the cabbages formed food for many bees, and the leaves fed numberless grubs and worms, and loud-voiced crickets which crouched about on the ground, munching busily at the succulent green stuff. the army ants swept into the green area, ceaselessly devouring all they came upon.
-a terrific din arose. the crickets hurtled away in a rocketlike flight, in a dark cloud of wildly beating wings. they shot aimlessly in any direction, with the result that half, or more than half, fell in the midst of the black tide of devouring insects and were seized as they fell. they uttered terrible cries as they were being torn to bits. horrible inhuman screams reached burl's ears.
-a wild stretch of sickly yellow fungus, here and there interspersed with a squat toadstool or a splash of vivid color where one of the many "rusts" had found a foothold. to the left a group of awkward, misshapen fungoids clustered in silent mockery of a forest of trees. there a mass of faded green, where the giant cabbages stood.
-with the true sun never shining upon them save through a blanket of thick haze or heavy clouds, they were pallid things, but they were the only green things burl had seen. their nodding white flowers with four petals in the form of a cross glowed against the yellowish green leaves. but as burl gazed toward them, the green became slowly black.
-from where he stood, burl could see two or three great grubs in lazy contentment, eating ceaselessly on the cabbages on which they rested. suddenly first one and then the other began to jerk spasmodically. burl saw that about each of them a tiny rim of black had clustered. tiny black motes milled over the green surfaces of the cabbages. the grubs became black, the cabbages became black. horrible contortions of the writhing grubs told of the agonies they were enduring. then a black wave appeared at the further edge of the stretch of the sickly yellow fungus, a glistening, living wave, that moved forward rapidly with the roar of clickings and a persistent overtone of shrill stridulations.
-the hair rose upon burl's head. he knew what this was! he knew all too well the meaning of that tide of shining bodies. with a gasp of terror, all his intellectual preoccupations forgotten, he turned and fled in ultimate panic. and the tide came slowly on after him.
-he flung away the great mass of edible mushroom, but clung to his sharp-toothed club desperately, and darted through the tangled aisles of the little mushroom forest with a heedless disregard of the dangers that might await him there. flies buzzed about him loudly, huge creatures, glittering with a metallic luster. once he was struck upon the shoulder by the body of one of them, and his skin was torn by the swiftly vibrating wings of the insect, as long as burl's hand.
-burl thrust it away and sped on. the oil with which he was partly covered had turned rancid, now, and the odor attracted them, connoisseurs of the fetid. they buzzed over his head, keeping pace even with his headlong flight.
-a heavy weight settled upon his head, and in a moment was doubled. two of the creatures had dropped upon his oily hair, to sip the rancid oil through their disgusting proboscises. burl shook them off with his hand and ran madly on. his ears were keenly attuned to the sound of the army ants behind him, and it grew but little farther away.
-the clicking roar continued, but began to be overshadowed by the buzzing of the flies. in burl's time the flies had no great heaps of putrid matter in which to lay their eggs. the ants--busy scavengers--carted away the debris of the multitudinous tragedies of the insect world long before it could acquire the gamey flavor beloved by the fly maggots. only in isolated spots were the flies really numerous, but there they clustered in clouds that darkened the sky.
-such a buzzing, whirling cloud surrounded the madly running figure of burl. it seemed as though a miniature whirlwind kept pace with the little pink-skinned man, a whirlwind composed of winged bodies and multi-faceted eyes. he twirled his club before him, and almost every stroke was interrupted by an impact against a thinly armoured body which collapsed with a spurting of reddish liquid.
-an agonizing pain as of a red-hot iron struck upon burl's back. one of the stinging flies had thrust its sharp-tipped proboscis into burl's flesh to suck the blood.
-burl uttered a cry and--ran full tilt into the thick stalk of a blackened and draggled toadstool. there was a curious crackling as of wet punk or brittle rotten wood. the toadstool collapsed upon itself with a strange splashing sound. many flies had laid their eggs in the fungoid, and it was a teeming mass of corruption and ill-smelling liquid.
-with the crash of the toadstool's "head" upon the ground, it fell into a dozen pieces, and the earth for yards around was spattered with a stinking liquid in which tiny, headless maggots twitched convulsively.
-the buzzing of the flies took on a note of satisfaction, and they settled by hundreds about the edges of the ill-smelling pools, becoming lost in the ecstacy of feasting while burl staggered to his feet and darted off again. this time he was but a minor attraction to the flies, and but one or two came near him. from every direction they were hurrying to the toadstool feast, to the banquet of horrible, liquefied fungus that lay spread upon the ground.
-burl ran on. he passed beneath the wide-spreading leaves of a giant cabbage. a great grasshopper crouched upon the ground, its tremendous jaws crunching the rank vegetation voraciously. half a dozen great worms ate steadily from their resting-places among the leaves. one of them had slung itself beneath an overhanging leaf--which would have thatched a dozen homes for as many men--and was placidly anchoring itself in preparation for the spinning of a cocoon in which to sleep the sleep of metamorphosis.
-a mile away, the great black tide of army ants was advancing relentlessly. the great cabbage, the huge grasshopper, and all the stupid caterpillars upon the wide leaves would soon be covered with the tiny biting insects. the cabbage would be reduced to a chewed and destroyed stump, the colossal, furry grubs would be torn into a myriad mouthfuls and devoured by the black army ants, and the grasshopper would strike out with terrific, unguided strength, crushing its assailants by blows of its powerful hind legs and bites of its great jaws. but it would die, making terrible sounds of torment as the vicious mandibles of the army ants found crevices in its armour.
-the clicking roar of the ants' advance overshadowed all other sounds, now. burl was running madly, breath coming in great gasps, his eyes wide with panic. alone of all the world about him, he knew the danger behind. the insects he passed were going about their business with that terrifying efficiency found only in the insect world.
-there is something strangely daunting in the actions of an insect. it moves so directly, with such uncanny precision, with such utter indifference to anything but the end in view. cannibalism is a rule, almost without exception. the paralysis of prey, so it may remain alive and fresh--though in agony--for weeks on end, is a common practice. the eating piecemeal of still living victims is a matter of course.
-absolute mercilessness, utter callousness, incredible inhumanity beyond anything known in the animal world is the natural and commonplace practice of the insects. and these vast cruelties are performed by armoured, machine-like creatures with an abstraction and a routine air that suggests a horrible nature behind them all.
-burl nearly stumbled upon a tragedy. he passed within a dozen yards of a space where a female dung-beetle was devouring the mate whose honeymoon had begun that same day and ended in that gruesome fashion. hidden behind a clump of mushrooms, a great yellow-banded spider was coyly threatening a smaller male of her own species. he was discreetly ardent, but if he won the favor of the gruesome creature he was wooing, he would furnish an appetizing meal for her some time within twenty-four hours.
-burl's heart was pounding madly. the breath whistled in his nostrils--and behind him, the wave of army ants was drawing nearer. they came upon the feasting flies. some took to the air and escaped, but others were too engrossed in their delicious meal. the twitching little maggots, stranded upon the earth by the scattering of their soupy broth, were torn in pieces. the flies who were seized vanished into tiny maws. the serried ranks of black insects went on.
-the tiny clickings of their limbs, the perpetual challenges and cross-challenges of crossed antennae, the stridulations of the creatures, all combined to make a high-pitched but deafening din. now and then another sound pierced the noises made by the ants themselves. a cricket, seized by a thousand tiny jaws, uttered cries of agony. the shrill note of the crickets had grown deeply bass with the increase in size of the organs that uttered it.
-there was a strange contrast between the ground before the advancing horde and that immediately behind it. before, a busy world, teeming with life. butterflies floating overhead on lazy wings, grubs waxing fat and huge upon the giant cabbages, crickets eating, great spiders sitting quietly in their lairs waiting with invincible patience for prey to draw near their trap doors or fall into their webs, colossal beetles lumbering heavily through the mushroom forests, seeking food, making love in monstrous, tragic fashion.
-and behind the wide belt of army ants--chaos. the edible mushrooms gone. the giant cabbages left as mere stumps of unappetizing pulp, the busy life of the insect world completely wiped out save for the flying creatures that fluttered helplessly over an utterly changed landscape. here and there little bands of stragglers moved busily over the denuded earth, searching for some fragment of food that might conceivably have been overlooked by the main body.
-burl was putting forth his last ounce of strength. his limbs trembled, his breathing was agony, sweat stood out upon his forehead. he ran a little, naked man with the disjointed fragment of a huge insect's limb in his hand, running for his insignificant life, running as if his continued existence among the million tragedies of that single day were the purpose for which the whole of the universe had been created.
-he sped across an open space a hundred yards across. a thicket of beautifully golden mushrooms (agaricus caesareus) barred his way. beyond the mushrooms a range of strangely colored hills began, purple and green and black and gold, melting into each other, branching off from each other, inextricably tangled.
-they rose to a height of perhaps sixty or seventy feet, and above them a little grayish haze had gathered. there seemed to be a layer of tenuous vapor upon their surfaces, which slowly rose and coiled, and gathered into a tiny cloudlet above their tips.
-the hills, themselves, were but masses of fungus, mushrooms and fungoids of every description, yeasts, "musts," and every form of fungus growth which had grown within itself and about itself until this great mass of strangely colored, spongy stuff had gathered in a mass that undulated unevenly across the level earth for miles.
-he lay motionless, breathing in great gasps, his limbs stubbornly refusing to lift him.
-the sound of the army ants continued to grow near. at last, above the crest of the last hillock he had surmounted, two tiny antennae appeared, then the black glistening head of an army ant, the forerunner of its horde. it moved deliberately forward, waving its antennae ceaselessly. it made its way toward burl, tiny clickings coming from the movements of its limbs.
-a little wisp of tenuous vapor swirled toward the ant, a wisp of the same vapor that had gathered above the whole range of hills as a thin, low cloud. it enveloped the insect--and the ant seemed to be attacked by a strange convulsion. its legs moved aimlessly. it threw itself desperately about. if it had been an animal, burl would have watched with wondering eyes while it coughed and gasped, but it was an insect breathing through air-holes in its abdomen. it writhed upon the spongy fungus growth across which it had been moving.
-burl, lying in an exhausted, panting heap upon the purple mass of fungus, was conscious of a strange sensation. his body felt strangely warm. he knew nothing of fire or the heat of the sun, and the only sensation of warmth he had ever known was that caused when the members of his tribe had huddled together in their hiding place when the damp chill of the night had touched their soft-skinned bodies. then the heat of their breaths and their bodies had kept out the chill.
-this heat that burl now felt was a hotter, fiercer heat. he moved his body with a tremendous effort, and for a moment the fungus was cool and soft beneath him. then, slowly, the sensation of heat began again, and increased until burl's skin was red and inflamed from the irritation.
-the thin and tenuous vapor, too, made burl's lungs smart and his eyes water. he was breathing in great, choking gasps, but the period of rest--short as it was--had enabled him to rise and stagger on. he crawled painfully to the top of the slope, and looked back.
-the hill-crest on which he stood was higher than any of those he had passed in his painful run, and he could see clearly the whole of the purple range. where he was, he was near the farther edge of the range, which was here perhaps half a mile wide.
-a thin, dark cloud had gathered overhead. burl could look to the right and left, and see the hills fading into the distance, growing fainter as the haze above them seemed to grow thicker. he saw, too, the advancing cohorts of the army ants, creeping over the tangled mass of fungus growth. they seemed to be feeding as they went, upon the fungus that had gathered into these incredible monstrosities.
-the hills were living. they were not upheavals of the ground, they were festering heaps of insanely growing, festering mushrooms and fungus. upon most of them a purple mould had spread itself so that they seemed a range of purple hills, but here and there patches of other vivid colors showed, and there was a large hill whose whole side was a brilliant golden hue. another had tiny bright red spots of a strange and malignant mushroom whose properties burl did not know, scattered all over the purple with which it was covered.
-burl leaned heavily upon his club and watched dully. he could run no more. the army ants were spreading everywhere over the mass of fungus. they would reach him soon.
-far to the right the vapor thickened. a column of smoke arose. what burl did not know and would never know was that far down in the interior of that compressed mass of fungus, slow oxidization had been going on. the temperature of the interior had been raised. in the darkness and the dampness deep down in the hills, spontaneous combustion had begun.
-just as the vast piles of coal the railroad companies of thirty thousand years before had gathered together sometimes began to burn fiercely in their interiors, and just as the farmers' piles of damp straw suddenly burst into fierce flames from no cause, so these huge piles of tinder-like mushrooms had been burning slowly within themselves.
-there had been no flames, because the surface remained intact and nearly air-tight. but when the army ants began to tear at the edible surfaces despite the heat they encountered, fresh air found its way to the smouldering masses of fungus. the slow combustion became rapid combustion. the dull heat became fierce flames. the slow trickle of thin smoke became a huge column of thick, choking, acrid stuff that set the army ants that breathed it into spasms of convulsive writhing.
-from a dozen points the flames burst out. a dozen or more columns of blinding smoke rose to the heavens. a pall of fume-laden smoke gathered above the range of purple hills, while burl watched apathetically. and the serried ranks of army ants marched on to the widening furnaces that awaited them.
-they had recoiled from the river, because their instinct had warned them. thirty thousand years without danger from fire, however, had let their racial fear of fire die out. they marched into the blazing orifices they had opened in the hills, snapping with their mandibles at the leaping flames, springing at the glowing tinder.
-the blazing area widened, as the purple surface was undermined and fell in. burl watched the phenomenon without comprehension and even without thankfulness. he stood, panting more and more slowly, breathing more and more easily, until the glow from the approaching flames reddened his skin and the acrid smoke made tears flow from his eyes.
-then he retreated slowly, leaning on his club and looking back. the black wave of the army ants was sweeping into the fire, sweeping into the incredible heat of that carbonized material burning with an open flame. at last there were only the little bodies of stragglers from the great ant-army, scurrying here and there over the ground their comrades had denuded of all living things. the bodies of the main army had vanished--burnt to crisp ashes in the furnace of the hills.
-there had been agony in that flame, dreadful agony such as no man would like to dwell upon. the insane courage of the ants, attacking with their horny jaws the burning masses of fungus, rolling over and over with a flaming missile clutched in their mandibles, sounding their shrill war cry while cries of agony came from them--blinded, their antennae burnt off, their lidless eyes scorched by the licking flames, yet going madly forward on flaming feet to attack, ever attack this unknown and unknowable enemy.
-burl made his way slowly over the hills. twice he saw small bodies of the army ants. they had passed between the widening surfaces their comrades had opened, and they were feeding voraciously upon the hills they trod on. once burl was spied, and a shrill war cry was sounded, but he moved on, and the ants were busily eating. a single ant rushed toward him. burl brought down his club, and a writhing body remained to be eaten later by its comrades when they came upon it.
-again night fell. the skies grew red in the west, though the sun did not shine through the ever present cloud bank. darkness spread across the sky. utter blackness fell over the whole mad world, save where the luminous mushrooms shed their pale light upon the ground and fireflies the length of burl's arm shed their fitful gleams upon an earth of fungus growths and monstrous insects.
-burl made his way across the range of mushroom hills, picking his path with his large blue eyes whose pupils expanded to great size. slowly, from the sky, now a drop and then a drop, now a drop and then a drop, the nightly rain that would continue until daybreak began.
-burl found the ground hard beneath his feet. he listened keenly for sounds of danger. something rustled heavily in a thicket of mushrooms a hundred yards away. there were sounds of preening, and of delicate feet placed lightly here and there upon the ground. then the throbbing beat of huge wings began suddenly, and a body took to the air.
-a fierce, down-coming current of air smote burl, and he looked upward in time to catch the outline of a huge body--a moth--as it passed above him. he turned to watch the line of its flight, and saw a strange glow in the sky behind him. the mushroom hills were still burning.
-he crouched beneath a squat toadstool and waited for the dawn, his club held tightly in his hands, and his ears alert for any sound of danger. the slow-dropping, sodden rain kept on. it fell with irregular, drumlike beats upon the tough top of the toadstool under which he had taken refuge.
-slowly, slowly, the sodden rainfall continued. drop by drop, all the night long, the warm pellets of liquid came from the sky. they boomed upon the hollow heads of the toadstools, and splashed into the steaming pools that lay festering all over the fungus-covered earth.
-and all the night long the great fires grew and spread in the mass of already half-carbonized mushroom. the flare at the horizon grew brighter and nearer. burl, naked and hiding beneath a huge mushroom, watched it grow near him with wide eyes, wondering what this thing was. he had never seen a flame before.
-the overhanging clouds were brightened by the flames. over a stretch at least a dozen miles in length and from half a mile to three miles across, seething furnaces sent columns of dense smoke up to the roof of clouds, luminous from the glow below them, and spreading out and forming an intermediate layer below the cloudbanks.
-it was like the glow of all the many lights of a vast city thrown against the sky--but the last great city had moulded into fungus-covered rubbish thirty thousand years before. like the flitting of airplanes above a populous city, too, was the flitting of fascinated creatures above the glow.
-moths and great flying beetles, gigantic gnats and midges grown huge with the passing of time, they fluttered and danced the dance of death above the flames. as the fire grew nearer to burl, he could see them.
-colossal, delicately formed creatures swooped above the strange blaze. moths with their riotously colored wings of thirty-foot spread beat the air with mighty strokes, and their huge eyes glowed like carbuncles as they stared with the frenzied gaze of intoxicated devotees into the glowing flames below them.
-burl saw a great peacock moth soaring above the burning mushroom hills. its wings were all of forty feet across, and fluttered like gigantic sails as the moth gazed down at the flaming furnace below. the separate flames had united, now, and a single sheet of white-hot burning stuff spread across the country for miles, sending up its clouds of smoke, in which and through which the fascinated creatures flew.
-feathery antennae of the finest lace spread out before the head of the peacock moth, and its body was softest, richest velvet. a ring of snow-white down marked where its head began, and the red glow from below smote on the maroon of its body with a strange effect.
-for one instant it was outlined clearly. its eyes glowed more redly than any ruby's fire, and the great, delicate wings were poised in flight. burl caught the flash of the flames upon two great iridescent spots upon the wide-spread wings. shining purple and vivid red, the glow of opal and the sheen of pearl, all the glory of chalcedony and chrysoprase formed a single wonder in the red glare of burning fungus. white smoke compassed the great moth all about, dimming the radiance of its gorgeous dress.
-burl saw it dart straight into the thickest and brightest of the licking flames, flying madly, eagerly, into the searing, hellish heat as a willing, drunken sacrifice to the god of fire.
-monster flying beetles with their horny wing-cases stiffly stretched, blundered above the reeking, smoking pyre. in the red light from before them they shone like burnished metal, and their clumsy bodies with the spurred and fierce-toothed limbs darted like so many grotesque meteors through the luminous haze of ascending smoke.
-burl saw strange collisions and still stranger meetings. male and female flying creatures circled and spun in the glare, dancing their dance of love and death in the wild radiance from the funeral pyre of the purple hills. they mounted higher than burl could see, drunk with the ecstasy of living, then descended to plunge headlong to death in the roaring fires beneath them.
-from every side the creatures came. moths of brightest yellow with soft and furry bodies palpitant with life flew madly into the column of light that reached to the overhanging clouds, then moths of deepest black with gruesome symbols upon their wings came swiftly to dance, like motes in a bath of sunlight, above the glow.
-and burl sat crouched beneath an overshadowing toadstool and watched. the perpetual, slow, sodden raindrops fell. a continual faint hissing penetrated the sound of the fire--the raindrops being turned to steam. the air was alive with flying things. from far away, burl heard a strange, deep bass muttering. he did not know the cause, but there was a vast swamp, of the existence of which he was ignorant, some ten or fifteen miles away, and the chorus of insect-eating giant frogs reached his ears even at that distance.
-the night wore on, while the flying creatures above the fire danced and died, their numbers ever recruited by fresh arrivals. burl sat tensely still, his wide eyes watching everything, his mind groping for an explanation of what he saw. at last the sky grew dimly gray, then brighter, and day came on. the flames of the burning hills grew faint as the fire died down, and after a long time burl crept from his hiding place and stood erect.
-a hundred yards from where he was, a straight wall of smoke rose from the still smouldering fungus, and burl could see it stretching for miles in either direction. he turned to continue on his way, and saw the remains of one of the tragedies of the night.
-a huge moth had flown into the flames, been horribly scorched, and floundered out again. had it been able to fly, it would have returned to its devouring deity, but now it lay immovable upon the ground, its antennae seared hopelessly, one beautiful, delicate wing burned in gaping holes, its eyes dimmed by flame and its exquisitely tapering limbs broken and crushed by the force with which it had struck the ground. it lay helpless upon the earth, only the stumps of its antennae moving restlessly, and its abdomen pulsating slowly as it drew pain-racked breaths.
-burl drew near and picked up a stone. he moved on presently, a velvet cloak cast over his shoulders, gleaming with all the colors of the rainbow. a gorgeous mass of soft, blue moth fur was about his middle, and he had bound upon his forehead two yard-long, golden fragments of the moth's magnificent antennae. he strode on, slowly, clad as no man had been clad in all the ages.
-after a little he secured a spear and took up his journey to saya, looking like a prince of ind upon a bridal journey--though no mere prince ever wore such raiment in days of greatest glory.
-for many long miles burl threaded his way through a single forest of thin-stalked toadstools. they towered three-man-heights high, and all about their bases were streaks and splashes of the rusts and moulds that preyed upon them. twice burl came to open glades wherein open, bubbling pools of green slime festered in corruption, and once he hid himself fearfully as a monster scarabeus beetle lumbered within three yards of him, moving heavily onward with a clanking of limbs as of some mighty machine.
-burl saw the mighty armour and the inward-curving jaws of the creature, and envied him his weapons. the time was not yet come, however, when burl would smile at the great insect and hunt him for the juicy flesh contained in those armoured limbs.
-burl was still a savage, still ignorant, still timid. his principal advance had been that whereas he had fled without reasoning, he now paused to see if he need flee. in his hands he bore a long, sharp-pointed chitinous spear. it had been the weapon of a huge, unnamed flying insect scorched to death in the burning of the purple hills, which had floundered out of the flames to die. burl had worked for an hour before being able to detach the weapon he coveted. it was as long and longer than burl himself.
-he was a strange sight, moving slowly and cautiously through the shadowed lanes of the mushroom forest. a cloak of delicate velvet in which all the colors of the rainbow played in iridescent beauty hung from his shoulders. a mass of soft and beautiful moth fur was about his middle, and in the strip of sinew about his waist the fiercely toothed limb of a fighting beetle was thrust carelessly. he had bound to his forehead twin stalks of a great moth's feathery golden antennae.
-against the play of color that came from his borrowed plumage his pink skin showed in odd contrast. he looked like some proud knight walking slowly through the gardens of a goblin's castle. but he was still a fearful creature, no more than the monstrous creatures about him save in the possession of latent intelligence. he was weak--and therein lay his greatest promise. a hundred thousand years before him his ancestors had been forced by lack of claws and fangs to develop brains.
-burl was sunk as low as they had been, but he had to combat more horrifying enemies, more inexorable threatenings, and many times more crafty assailants. his ancestors had invented knives and spears and flying missiles. the creatures about burl had knives and spears a thousand times more deadly than the weapons that had made his ancestors masters of the woods and forests.
-burl was in comparison vastly more weak than his forebears had been, and it was that weakness that in times to come would lead him and those who followed him to heights his ancestors had never known. but now--
-he heard a discordant, deep bass bellow, coming from a spot not twenty yards away. in a flash of panic he darted behind a clump of mushrooms and hid himself, panting in sheer terror. he waited for an instant in frozen fear, motionless and tense. his wide, blue eyes were glassy.
-the bellow came again, but this time with a querulous note. burl heard a crashing and plunging as of some creature caught in a snare. a mushroom fell with a brittle snapping, and the spongy thud as it fell to the ground was followed by a tremendous commotion. something was fighting desperately against something else, but burl did not know what creature or creatures might be in combat.
-he waited for a long time, and the noise gradually died away. presently burl's breath came more slowly, and his courage returned. he stole from his hiding place, and would have made away, but something held him back. instead of creeping from the scene, he crept cautiously over toward the source of the noise.
-this was the trap of a labyrinth spider. not one of the interlacing threads was strong enough to hold the feeblest of prey, but the threads were there by thousands. a great cricket had become entangled in the maze of sticky lines. its limbs thrashed out, smashing the snare-lines at every stroke, but at every stroke meeting and becoming entangled with a dozen more. it thrashed about mightily, emitting at intervals the horrible, deep bass cry that the chirping voice of the cricket had become with its increase in size.
-burl breathed more easily, and watched with a fascinated curiosity. mere death--even tragic death--as among insects held no great interest for him. it was a matter of such common and matter-of-fact occurrence that he was not greatly stirred. but a spider and his prey was another matter.
-there were few insects that deliberately sought man. most insects have their allotted victims, and will touch no others, but spiders have a terrifying impartiality. one great beetle devouring another was a matter of indifference to burl. a spider devouring some luckless insect was but an example of what might happen to him. he watched alertly, his gaze traveling from the enmeshed cricket to the strange orifice at the rear of the funnel-shaped snare.
-the opening darkened. two shining, glistening eyes had been watching from the rear of the funnel. it drew itself into a tunnel there, in which the spider had been waiting. now it swung out lightly and came toward the cricket. it was a gray spider (agelena labyrinthica), with twin black ribbons upon its thorax, next the head, and with two stripes of curiously speckled brown and white upon its abdomen. burl saw, too, two curious appendages like a tail.
-food was plentiful, and the spider could afford to be dainty in its feeding. the two choicest titbits had been consumed. the remainder could be discarded.
-a sudden thought came to burl and quite took his breath away. for a second his knees knocked together in self-induced panic. he watched the gray spider carefully with growing determination in his eyes. he, burl, had killed a hunting-spider upon the red-clay cliff. true, the killing had been an accident, and had nearly cost him his own life a few minutes later in the web-spider's snare, but he had killed a spider, and of the most deadly kind.
-now, a great ambition was growing in burl's heart. his tribe had always feared spiders too much to know much of their habits, but they knew one or two things. the most important was that the snare-spiders never left their lairs to hunt--never! burl was about to make a daring application of that knowledge.
-he drew back from the white and shining snare and crept softly to the rear. the fabric gathered itself into a point and then continued for some twenty feet as a tunnel, in which the spider waited while dreaming of its last meal and waiting for the next victim to become entangled in the labyrinth in front. burl made his way to a point where the tunnel was no more than ten feet away, and waited.
-he drew near and poised his spear, his new and sharp spear, taken from the body of an unknown flying creature killed by the burning purple hills. burl raised the spear and aimed its sharp and deadly point at the thick gray bulk he could see dimly through the threads of the tunnel. he thrust it home with all his strength--and ran away at the top of his speed, glassy-eyed from terror.
-a long time later he ventured near again, his heart in his mouth, ready to flee at the slightest sound. all was still. burl had missed the horrible convulsions of the wounded spider, had not heard the frightful gnashings of its fangs as it tore at the piercing weapon, had not seen the silken threads of the tunnel ripped as the spider--hurt to death--had struggled with insane strength to free itself.
-he came back beneath the overshadowing toadstools, stepping quietly and cautiously, to find a great rent in the silken tunnel, to find the great gray bulk lifeless and still, half-fallen through the opening the spear had first made. a little puddle of evil-smelling liquid lay upon the ground below the body, and from time to time a droplet fell from the spear into the puddle with a curious splash.
-burl looked at what he had done, saw the dead body of the creature he had slain, saw the ferocious mandibles, and the keen and deadly fangs. the dead eyes of the creature still stared at him malignantly, and the hairy legs were still braced as if further to enlarge the gaping hole through which it had partly fallen.
-exultation filled burl's heart. his tribe had been but furtive vermin for thousands of years, fleeing from the mighty insects, hiding from them, and if overtaken but waiting helplessly for death, screaming shrilly in terror.
-he, burl, had turned the tables. he had slain one of the enemies of his tribe. his breast expanded. always his tribesmen went quietly and fearfully, making no sound. but a sudden, exultant yell burst from burl's lips--the first hunting cry from the lips of a man in three hundred centuries!
-the next second his pulse nearly stopped in sheer panic at having made such a noise. he listened fearfully, but there was no sound. he drew near his prey and carefully withdrew his spear. the viscid liquid made it slimy and slippery, and he had to wipe it dry against a leathery toadstool. then burl had to conquer his illogical fear again before daring to touch the creature he had slain.
-he moved off presently, with the belly of the spider upon his back and two of the hairy legs over his shoulders. the other limbs of the monster hung limp, and trailed upon the ground. burl was now a still more curious sight as a gayly colored object with a cloak shining in iridescent colors, the golden antennae of a great moth rising from his forehead, and the hideous bulk of a gray spider for a burden.
-he moved through the thin-stalked mushroom forest, and, because of the thing he carried, all creatures fled before him. they did not fear man--their instinct was slow-moving--but during all the millions of years that insects have existed, there have existed spiders to prey upon them. so burl moved on in solemn state, a brightly clad man bent beneath the weight of a huge and horrible monster.
-he came upon a valley full of torn and blackened mushrooms. there was not a single yellow top among them. every one had been infested with tiny maggots which had liquefied the tough meat of the mushroom and caused it to drip to the ground below. and all the liquid had gathered in a golden pool in the center of the small depression. burl heard a loud humming and buzzing before he topped the rise that opened the valley for his inspection. he stopped a moment and looked down.
-a golden-red lake, its center reflecting the hazy sky overhead. all about, blackened mushrooms, seeming to have been charred and burned by a fierce flame. a slow-flowing golden brooklet trickled slowly over a rocky ledge, into the larger pool. and all about the edges of the golden lake, in ranks and rows, by hundreds, thousands, and by millions, were ranged the green-gold, shining bodies of great flies.
-they were small as compared with the other insects. they had increased in size but a fraction of the amount that the bees, for example, had increased; but it was due to an imperative necessity of their race.
-the flesh-flies laid their eggs by hundreds in decaying carcases. the others laid their eggs by hundreds in the mushrooms. to feed the maggots that would hatch, a relatively great quantity of food was needed, therefore the flies must remain comparatively small, or the body of a single grasshopper, say, would furnish food for but two or three grubs instead of the hundreds it must support.
-burl stared down at the golden pool. bluebottles, greenbottles, and all the flies of metallic luster were gathered at the lucullan feast of corruption. their buzzing as they darted above the odorous pool of golden liquid made the sound burl had heard. their bodies flashed and glittered as they darted back and forth, seeking a place to alight and join in the orgy.
-those which clustered about the banks of the pool were still as if carved from metal. their huge, red eyes glowed, and their bodies shone with an obscene fatness. flies are the most disgusting of all insects. burl watched them a moment, watched the interlacing streams of light as they buzzed eagerly above the pool, seeking a place at the festive board.
-a drumming roar sounded in the air. a golden speck appeared in the sky, a slender, needle-like body with transparent, shining wings and two huge eyes. it grew nearer and became a dragonfly twenty feet and more in length, its body shimmering, purest gold. it poised itself above the pool and then darted down. its jaws snapped viciously and repeatedly, and at each snapping the glittering body of a fly vanished.
-a second dragonfly appeared, its body a vivid purple, and a third. they swooped and rushed above the golden pool, snapping in mid air, turning their abrupt, angular turns, creatures of incredible ferocity and beauty. at the moment they were nothing more or less than slaughtering-machines. they darted here and there, their many-faceted eyes burning with blood-lust. in that mass of buzzing flies even the most voracious appetite must be sated, but the dragonflies kept on. beautiful, slender, graceful creatures, they dashed here and there above the pond like avenging fiends or the mythical dragons for which they had been named.
-only a few miles farther on burl came upon a familiar landmark. he knew it well, but from a safe distance as always. a mass of rock had heaved itself up from the nearly level plain over which he was traveling, and formed an outjutting cliff. at one point the rock overhung a sheer drop, making an inverted ledge--a roof over nothingness--which had been pre-empted by a hairy creature and made into a fairylike dwelling. a white hemisphere clung tenaciously to the rock above, and long cables anchored it firmly.
-burl knew the place as one to be fearfully avoided. a clotho spider (clotho durandi, latr) had built itself a nest there, from which it emerged to hunt the unwary. within that half-globe there was a monster, resting upon a cushion of softest silk. but if one went too near, one of the little inverted arches, seemingly firmly closed by a wall of silk, would open and a creature out of a dream of hell emerge, to run with fiendish agility toward its prey.
-surely, burl knew the place. hung upon the outer walls of the silken palace were stones and tiny boulders, discarded fragments of former meals, and the gutted armour from limbs of ancient prey. but what caused burl to know the place most surely and most terribly was another decoration that dangled from the castle of this insect ogre. this was the shrunken, desiccated figure of a man, all its juices extracted and the life gone.
-the death of that man had saved burl's life two years before. they had been together, seeking a new source of edible mushrooms for food. the clotho spider was a hunter, not a spinner of snares. it sprang suddenly from behind a great puff-ball, and the two men froze in terror. then it came swiftly forward and deliberately chose its victim. burl had escaped when the other man was seized. now he looked meditatively at the hiding place of his ancient enemy. some day--
-but now he passed on. he went past the thicket in which the great moths hid during the day, and past the pool--a turgid thing of slime and yeast--in which a monster water snake lurked. he penetrated the little wood of the shining mushrooms that gave out light at night, and the shadowed place where the truffle-hunting beetles went chirping thunderously during the dark hours.
-and then he saw saya. he caught a flash of pink skin vanishing behind the thick stalk of a squat toadstool, and ran forward, calling her name. she appeared, and saw the figure with the horrible bulk of the spider upon its back. she cried out in horror, and burl understood. he let his burden fall and then went swiftly toward her.
-they met. saya waited timidly until she saw who this man was, and then astonishment went over her face. gorgeously attired, in an iridescent cloak from the whole wing of a great moth, with a strip of softest fur from a night-flying creature about his middle, with golden, feathery antennae bound upon his forehead, and a fierce spear in his hands--this was not the burl she had known.
-but then he moved slowly toward her, filled with a fierce delight at seeing her again, thrilling with joy at the slender gracefulness of her form and the dark richness of her tangled hair. he held out his hands and touched her shyly. then, manlike, he began to babble excitedly of the things that had happened to him, and dragged her toward his great victim, the gray-bellied spider.
-saya trembled when she saw the furry bulk lying upon the ground, and would have fled when burl advanced and took it upon his back. then something of the pride that filled him came vicariously to her. she smiled a flashing smile, and burl stopped short in his excited explanation. he was suddenly tongue-tied. his eyes became pleading and soft. he laid the huge spider at her feet and spread out his hands imploringly.
-thirty thousand years of savagery had not lessened the femininity in saya. she became aware that burl was her slave, that these wonderful things he wore and had done were as nothing if she did not approve. she drew away--saw the misery in burl's face--and abruptly ran into his arms and clung to him, laughing happily. and quite suddenly burl saw with extreme clarity that all these things he had done, even the slaying of a great spider, were of no importance whatever beside this most wonderful thing that had just happened, and told saya so quite humbly, but holding her very close to him as he did so.
-and so burl came back to his tribe. he had left it nearly naked, with but a wisp of moth-wing twisted about his middle, a timid, fearful, trembling creature. he returned in triumph, walking slowly and fearlessly down a broad lane of golden mushrooms toward the hiding place of his people.
-upon his shoulders was draped a great and many-colored cloak made from the whole of a moth's wing. soft fur was about his middle. a spear was in his hand and a fierce club at his waist. he and saya bore between them the dead body of a huge spider--aforetime the dread of the pink-skinned, naked men. but to burl the most important thing of all was that saya walked beside him openly, acknowledging him before all the tribe.
-polaris--of the snows
-by charles b. stilson
-copyright 1915 by the frank a. munsey company
-"north! north! to the north, polaris. tell the world--ah, tell them--boy--the north! the north! you must go, polaris!"
-throwing the covers from his low couch, the old man arose and stood, a giant, tottering figure. higher and higher he towered. he tossed his arms high, his features became convulsed; his eyes glazed. in his throat the rising tide of dissolution choked his voice to a hoarse rattle. he swayed.
-with a last desperate rallying of his failing powers he extended his right arm and pointed to the north. then he fell, as a tree falls, quivered, and was still.
-his companion bent over the pallet, and with light, sure fingers closed his eyes. in all the world he knew, polaris never had seen a human being die. in all the world he now was utterly alone!
-he sat down at the foot of the cot, and for many minutes gazed steadily at the wall with fixed, unseeing eyes. a sputtering little lamp, which stood on a table in the center of the room; flickered and went out. the flames of the fireplace played strange tricks in the strange room. in their uncertain glare, the features of the dead man seemed to writhe uncannily.
-garments and hangings of the skins of beasts stirred in the wavering shadows, as though the ghosts of their one-time tenants were struggling to reassert their dominion. at the one door and the lone window the wind whispered, fretted, and shrieked. snow as fine and hard as the sands of the sea rasped across the panes. somewhere without a dog howled--the long, throaty ululation of the wolf breed. another joined in, and another, until a full score of canine voices wailed a weird requiem.
-unheeding, the living man sat as still as the dead.
-once, twice, thrice, a little clock struck a halting, uncertain stroke. when the fourth hour was passed it rattled crazily and stopped. the fire died away to embers; the embers paled to ashes. as though they were aware that something had gone awry, the dogs never ceased their baying. the wind rose higher and higher, and assailed the house with repeated shocks. pale-gray and changeless day that lay across a sea of snows peered furtively through the windows.
-at length the watcher relaxed his silent vigil. he arose, cast off his coat of white furs, stepped to the wall of the room opposite to the door, and shoved back a heavy wooden panel. a dark aperture was disclosed. he disappeared and came forth presently, carrying several large chunks of what appeared to be crumbling black rock.
-he threw them on the dying fire, where they snapped briskly, caught fire, and flamed brightly. they were coal.
-from a platform above the fireplace he dragged down a portion of the skinned carcass of a walrus. with the long, heavy-bladed knife from his belt he cut it into strips. laden with the meat, he opened the door and went out into the dim day.
-the house was set against the side of a cliff of solid, black, lusterless coal. a compact stockade of great boulders enclosed the front of the dwelling. from the back of the building, along the base of the cliff, ran a low shed of timber slabs, from which sounded the howling and worrying of the dogs.
-as polaris entered the stockade the clamor was redoubled. the rude plank at the front of the shed, which was its door, was shaken repeatedly as heavy bodies were hurled against it.
-kicking an accumulation of loose snow away from the door, the man took from its racks the bar which made it fast and let it drop forward. a reek of steam floated from its opening. a shaggy head was thrust forth, followed immediately by a great, gray body, which shot out as if propelled from a catapult.
-catching in its jaws the strip of flesh which the man dangled in front of the doorway, the brute dashed across the stockade and crouched against the wall, tearing at the meat. dog after dog piled pell-mell through the doorway, until at least twenty-five grizzled animals were distributed about the enclosure, bolting their meal of walrus-flesh.
-for a few moments the man sat on the roof of the shed and watched the animals. although the raw flesh stiffened in the frigid air before even the jaws of the dogs could devour it and the wind cut like the lash of a whip, the man, coatless and with head and arms bared, seemed to mind neither the cold nor the blast.
-he had not the ruggedness of figure or the great height of the man who lay dead within the house. he was of considerably more than medium height, but so broad of shoulder and deep of chest that he seemed short. every line of his compact figure bespoke unusual strength--the wiry, swift strength of an animal.
-his arms, white and shapely, rippled with muscles at the least movement of his fingers. his hands were small, but powerfully shaped. his neck was straight and not long. the thews spread from it to his wide shoulders like those of a splendid athlete. the ears were set close above the angle of a firm jaw, and were nearly hidden in a mass of tawny, yellow hair, as fine as a woman's which swept over his shoulders.
-above a square chin were full lips and a thin, aquiline nose. deep, brown eyes, fringed with black lashes, made a marked contrast with the fairness of his complexion and his yellow hair and brows. he was not more than twenty-four years old.
-presently he re-entered the house. the dogs flocked after him to the door, whining and rubbing against his legs, but he allowed none of them to enter with him. he stood before the dead man and, for the first time in many hours, he spoke:
-"for this day, my father, you have waited many years. i shall not delay. i will not fail you."
-from a skin sack he filled the small lamp with oil and lighted its wick with a splinter of blazing coal. he set it where its feeble light shone on the face of the dead. lifting the corpse, he composed its limbs and wrapped it in the great white pelt of a polar bear, tying it with many thongs. before he hid from view the quiet features he stood back with folded arms and bowed head.
-"i think he would have wished this," he whispered, and he sang softly that grand old hymn which has sped so many christian soldiers from their battlefield. "nearer, my god, to thee," he sang in a subdued, melodious baritone. from a shelf of books which hung on the wall he reached a leather-covered volume. "it was his religion," he muttered: "it may be mine," and he read from the book: "i am the resurrection and the life, whoso believeth in me, even though he die--" and on through the sonorous burial service.
-he dropped the book within the folds of the bearskin, covered the dead face, and made fast the robe. although the body was of great weight, he shouldered it without apparent effort, took the lamp in one hand, and passed through the panel in the wall.
-within the bowels of the cliff a large cavern had been hollowed in the coal. in a far corner a gray boulder had been hewn into the shape of a tombstone. on its face were carved side by side two words: "anne" and "stephen." at the foot of the stone were a mound and an open grave. he laid the body in the grave and covered it with earth and loose coal.
-again he paused, while the lamplight shone on the tomb.
-"may you rest in peace, o anne, my mother, and stephen, my father. i never knew you, my mother, and, my father, i knew not who you were nor who i am. i go to carry your message."
-he rolled boulders onto the two mounds. the opening to the cave he walled up with other boulders, piling a heap of them and of large pieces of coal until it filled the low arch of the entrance.
-in the cabin he made preparations for a journey.
-one by one he threw on the fire books and other articles within the room, until little was left but skins and garments of fur and an assortment of barbaric weapons of the chase.
-last he dragged from under the cot a long, oaken chest.
-failing to find its key, he tore the lid from it with his strong hands.
-some articles of feminine wearing apparel which were within it he handled reverently, and at the same time curiously; for they were of cloth. wonderingly he ran his fingers over silk and fine laces. those he also burned.
-from the bottom of the chest he took a short, brown rifle and a brace of heavy revolvers of a pattern and caliber famous in the annals of the plainsmen. with them were belt and holsters.
-he counted the cartridges in the belt. forty there were, and in the chambers of the revolvers and the magazine of the rifle, eighteen more. fifty-eight shots with which to meet the perils that lay between himself and that world of men to the north--if, indeed, the passing years had not spoiled the ammunition.
-he divested himself of his clothing, bathed with melted snow-water, and dressed himself anew in white furs. an omelet of eggs of wild birds and a cutlet of walrus-flesh sufficed to stay his hunger, and he was ready to face the unknown.
-in the stockade was a strongly built sledge. polaris packed it with quantities of meat both fresh and dried, of which there was a large store in the cabin. what he did not pack on the sledge he threw to the eager dogs.
-he laid his harness out on the snow, cracked his long whip, and called up his team. "octavius, nero, julius." three powerful brutes bounded to him and took their places in the string. "juno, hector, pallas." three more grizzled snow-runners sprang into line. "marcus." the great, gray leader trotted sedately to the place at the head of the team. a seven-dog team it was, all of them bearing the names before which rome and greece had bowed.
-polaris added to the burden of the sledge the brown rifle, several spears, carved from oaken beams and tipped with steel, and a sealskin filled with boiled snow-water. on his last trip into the cabin he took from a drawer in the table a small, flat packet, sewn in membranous parchment.
-"this is to tell the world my father's message and to tell who i am," he said, and hid it in an inner pocket of his vest of furs. he buckled on the revolver-belt, took whip and staff from the fireside, and drove his dog-team out of the stockade onto the prairie of snow, closing the gate on the howling chorus left behind.
-he proceeded several hundred yards, then tethered his dogs with a word of admonition, and retraced his steps.
-in the stockade he did a strange and terrible thing. long used to seeing him depart from his team, the dogs had scattered and were mumbling their bones in various corners. "if i leave these behind me, they will perish miserably, or they will break out and follow, and i may not take them with me," he muttered.
-from dog to dog he passed. to each he spoke a word of farewell. each he caressed with a pat on the head. each he killed with a single grip of his muscular hands, gripping them at the nape of the neck, where the bones parted in his powerful fingers. silently and swiftly he proceeded until only one dog remained alive, old paulus, the patriarch of the pack.
-he bent over the animal, which raised its dim eyes to his and licked at his hands.
-"paulus, dear old friend that i have grown up with; farewell, paulus," he said. he pressed his face against the noble head of the dog. when he raised it tears were coursing down his cheeks. then paulus's spirit sped.
-two by two he dragged the bodies into the cabin.
-"of old a great general in that far world of men burned his ships that he might not turn back. i will not turn back," he murmured. with a splinter of blazing coal he fired the house and the dog-shed. he tore the gate of the stockade from its hinges and cast it into the ruins. with his great strength he toppled over the capping-stones of the wall, and left it a ruin also.
-then he rejoined the dog-team, set his back to the south pole, and began his journey.
-the first woman
-probably in all the world there was not the equal of the team of dogs which polaris had selected for his journey. their ancestors in the long ago had been the fierce, gray timberwolves of the north. carefully cross-bred, the strains in their blood were of the wolf, the great dane, and the mastiff; but the wolf strain held dominant. they had the loyalty of the mastiff, the strength of the great dane, and the tireless sinews of the wolf. from the environment of their rearing they were well furred and inured to the cold and hardships of the antarctic. they would travel far.
-polaris did not ride on the sledge. he ran with the dogs, as swift and tireless as they. a wonderful example of the adaptability to conditions of the human race, his upbringing had given him the strength and endurance of an animal. he had never seen the dog that he could not run down.
-he, too, would travel fast and far.
-in the nature of the land through which they journeyed on their first dash to the northward, there were few obstacles to quick progress. it was a prairie of snow, wind-swept, and stretching like a desert as far as eye could discern. occasionally were upcroppings of coal cliffs similar to the one where had been polaris's home. on the first drive they made a good fifty miles.
-need of sleep, more than fatigue, warned both man and beasts of camping-time. polaris, who seemed to have a definite point in view, urged on the dogs for an hour longer than was usual on an ordinary trip, and they came to the border of the immense snow-plain.
-to the northeast lay a ridge of what appeared to be snow-covered hills. beyond the edge of the white prairie was a forest of ice. millions of jagged monoliths stood and lay, jammed closely together, in every conceivable shape and angle.
-at some time a giant ice-flow had crashed down upon the land. it had fretted and torn at the shore, had heaved itself up, with its myriad gleaming tusks bared for destruction. then nature had laid upon it a calm, white hand, and had frozen it quiet and still and changeless.
-away to the east a path was open, which skirted the field of broken ice and led in toward the base of the hills.
-polaris did not take that path. he turned west, following the line of the ice-belt. presently he found what he sought. a narrow lane led into the heart of the icebergs.
-polaris unharnessed the pack, and man and dogs crept on board the hulk. it was but a timber shell. much of the decking had been cut away, and everything movable had been taken from it for the building of the cabin and the shed, now in black ruins fifty miles to the south.
-in an angle of the ice-wall, a few yards from the ship, polaris pitched his camp and built a fire with timbers from the wreck. he struck his flame with a rudely fashioned tinder-box, catching the spark in fine scrapings of wood and nursing it with his breath. he fed the dogs and toasted meat for his own meal at the fire. with a large robe from the sledge he bedded the team snugly beside the fire.
-with his own parka of furs he clambered aboard the ship, found a bunk in the forecastle, and curled up for the night.
-several hours later hideous clamor broke his dreamless slumber. he started from the bunk and leaped from the ship's side into the ice-lane. every dog of the pack was bristling and snarling with rage. mixed with their uproar was a deeper, hoarser note of anger that came from the throat of no dog--a note which the man knew well.
-whipping the dogs back, the son of the snows ran forward to meet the danger alone. he could afford to lose no dogs. he had forgotten the guns, but he bore weapons with which he was better acquainted.
-with a long-hafted spear in his hand and the knife loosened in his belt he bounded up the pathway and stood, wary but unafraid, fronting an immense white bear.
-he was not a moment too soon. the huge animal had set himself for the charge, and in another instant would have hurled its enormous weight down on the dogs. the beast hesitated, confronted by this new enemy, and sat back on its haunches to consider.
-knowing his foe aforetime, polaris took that opportunity to deliver his own charge. he bounded forward and drove his tough spear with all his strength into the white chest below the throat. balanced as it was on its haunches, the shock of the man's onset upset the bear, and it rolled backward, a jet of blood spurting over its shaggy coat and dyeing the snow.
-like a flash the man followed his advantage. before the brute could turn or recover polaris reached its back and drove his long-bladed knife under the left shoulder. twice he struck deep, and sprang aside. the battle was finished.
-the beast made a last mighty effort to rear erect, tearing at the spear-shaft, and went down under an avalanche of snarling, ferocious dogs. for the team could refrain from conflict no longer, and charged like a flying wedge to worry the dying foe.
-replenishing his store of meat with strips from the newly slain bear, polaris allowed the pack to make a famous meal on the carcass. when they were ready to take the trail again, he fired the ship with a blazing brand, and they trotted forth along the snow-path to the east with the skeleton of the stout old yedda roaring and flaming behind them.
-for days polaris pressed northward. to his right extended the range of the white hills. to the left was the seemingly endless ice-field that looked like the angry billows of a storm-tossed sea which had been arrested at the height of tempest, its white-capped, upthrown waves paralyzed cold and dead.
-down the shore-line, where his path lay, a fierce wind blew continuously and with increasing rigor. he was puzzled to find that instead of becoming warmer as he progressed to the north and away from the pole, the air was more frigid than it had been in his homeland. hardy as he was, there were times when the furious blasts chilled him to the bone and when his magnificent dogs flinched and whimpered.
-still he pushed on. the sledge grew lighter as the provisions were consumed, and there were few marches that did not cover forty miles. polaris slept with the dogs, huddled in robes. the very food they ate they must warm with the heat of their bodies before it could be devoured. there was no vestige of anything to make fuel for a camp-fire.
-he had covered some hundreds of miles when he found the contour of the country was changing. the chain of the hills swung sharply away to the east, and the path broadened, fanwise, east and west. an undulating plain of snow and ice-caps, rent by many fissures, lay ahead.
-this was the most difficult traveling of all.
-in the middle of their second march across the plain, the man noticed that his gray snow-coursers were uneasy. they threw their snouts up to the wind and growled angrily, scenting some unseen danger. although he had seen nothing larger than a fox since he entered the plain, bear signs had been frequent, and polaris welcomed a hunt to replenish his larder.
-he halted the team and outspanned the dogs so they would be unhampered by the sledge in case of attack. bidding them remain behind, he went to reconnoiter.
-he clambered to the summit of a snow-covered ice-crest and gazed ahead. a great joy welled into his heart, a thanksgiving so keen that it brought a mist to his eyes.
-he had found man!
-not a quarter of a mile ahead of him, standing in the lee of a low ridge, were two figures unmistakably human. at the instant he saw them the wind brought to his nostrils, sensitive as those of an animal, a strange scent that set his pulses bounding. he smelled man and man's fire! a thin spiral of smoke was curling over the back of the ridge. he hurried forward.
-hidden by the undulations of slopes and drifts he approached within a few feet of them without being discovered. on the point of crying aloud to them he stopped, paralyzed, and crouched behind a drift. for these men to whom his heart called madly--the first of his own kind but one whom he had ever seen--were tearing at each other's throats like maddened beasts in an effort to take life!
-like a man in a dream, polaris heard their voices raised in curses. they struggled fiercely but weakly. they were on the brink of one of the deep fissures, or crevasses, which seamed this strange, forgotten land. each was striving to push the other into the chasm.
-then one who seemed the stronger wrenched himself free and struck the other in the face. the stricken man staggered, threw his arms above his head, toppled, and crashed down the precipice.
-polaris's first introduction to the civilization which he sought was murder! for those were civilized white men who had fought. they wore garments of cloth. revolvers hung from their belts. their speech, of which he had heard little but cursing, was civilized english.
-pale to the lips, the son of the wilderness leaped over the snow-drift and strode toward the survivor. in the teachings of his father, murder was the greatest of all crimes; its punishment was swift death. this man who stood on the brink of the chasm which had swallowed his companion had been the aggressor in the fight. he had struck first. he had killed. in the heart of polaris arose a terrible sense of outraged justice. this waif of the eternal snows became the law.
-the stranger turned and saw him. he started violently, paled, and then an angry flush mounted to his temples and an angry glint came into his eyes. his crime had been witnessed, and by a strange white man.
-not for nothing had he spent long hours practicing with his father's guns, sighting and pulling the trigger countless times, although they were empty. the man in front of him staggered, dropped his pistol, and reeled dizzily. a stream of blood gushed from his lips. he choked, clawed at the air, and pitched backward.
-the chasm which had received his victim, received the murderer also.
-polaris heard a shrill scream to his right, and turned swiftly on his heel, automatically swinging up his revolver to meet a new peril.
-another being stood on the brow of the ridge--stood with clasped hands and horror-stricken eyes. clad almost the same as the others, there was yet a subtle difference which garments could not disguise.
-polaris leaned forward with his whole soul in his eyes. his hand fell to his side. he had made his second discovery. he had discovered woman!
-polaris makes a promise
-both stood transfixed for a long moment--the man with the wonder that followed his anger, the woman with horror. polaris drew a deep breath and stepped a hesitating pace forward.
-the woman threw out her hands in a gesture of loathing.
-"murderer!" she said in a low, deep voice, choked with grief. "oh, my brother; my poor brother!" she threw herself on the snow, sobbing terribly.
-rooted to the spot by her repelling gesture, polaris watched her. so one of the men had been her brother. which one? his naturally clear mind began to reassert itself.
-"lady," he called softly. he did not attempt to go nearer to her.
-she raised her face from her arms, crept to her knees, and stared at him stonily. "well, murderer, finish your work," she said. "i am ready. ah, what had he--what had they done that you should take their lives?"
-"listen to me, lady," said polaris quietly. "you saw me--kill. was that man your brother?"
-the girl did not answer, but continued to gaze at him with horror-stricken eyes. her mouth quivered pitifully.
-"if that man was your brother, then i killed him, and with reason," pursued polaris calmly. "if he was not, then of your brother's death, at least, i am guiltless. i did but punish his slayer."
-"his slayer! what are you saying?" gasped the girl.
-polaris snapped open the breech of his revolver and emptied its cartridges into his hand. he took the other revolver from its holster and emptied it also. he laid the cartridge in his hand and extended it.
-"see," he said, "there are twelve cartridges, but only one empty shell. only two shots were fired--one by the man whom i killed, the other by me." he saw that he had her attention, and repeated his question: "was that man your brother?"
-"no," she answered.
-"then, you see, i could not have shot your brother," said polaris. his face grew stern with the memory of the scene he had witnessed. "they quarreled, your brother and the other man. i came behind the drift yonder and saw them. i might have stopped them--but, lady, they were the first men i had ever seen, save only one. i was bound by surprise. the other man was the stronger. he struck your brother into the crevasse. he would have shot me, but my mind returned to me, and with anger at that which i saw, and i killed him.
-"in proof, lady, see--the snow between me and the spot yonder where they stood is untracked. i have been no nearer."
-wonderingly the girl followed with her eyes and the direction of his pointing finger. she comprehended.
-"i--i believe you have told me the truth," she faltered. "they had quarreled. but--but--you said they were the first men you had ever seen. how--what--"
-polaris crossed the intervening slope and stood at her side.
-the girl raised her eyes to his, and they gazed long at one another. polaris saw a slender figure of nearly his own height. she was clad in heavy woolen garments. a hooded cap framed the long oval of her face.
-the eyes that looked into his were steady and gray. long eyes they were, delicately turned at the corners. her nose was straight and high, its end tilted ever so slightly. full, crimson lips and a firm little chin peeped over the collar of her jacket. a wisp of chestnut hair swept her high brow and added its tale to a face that would have been accounted beautiful in any land.
-in the eyes of polaris she was divinity.
-the girl saw a young giant in the flower of his manhood. clad in splendid white furs of fox and bear, with a necklace of teeth of the polar bear for adornment, he resembled those magnificent barbarians of the northland's ancient sagas.
-barbaric and strange as he seemed, the girl found in his face that which she might trust. she removed a mitten and extended a small, white hand to him. falling on one knee in the snow, polaris kissed it, with the grace of a knight of old doing homage to his lady fair.
-the girl flashed him another wondering glance from her long, gray eyes that set all his senses tingling. side by side they passed over the ridge.
-disaster had overtaken the camp which lay on the other side. camp it was by courtesy only--a miserable shelter of blankets and robes, propped with pieces of broken sledge, a few utensils, the partially devoured carcass of a small seal, and a tiny fire, kindled from fragments of the sledge. in the snow some distance from the fire lay the stiffened bodies of several sledge dogs, sinister evidence of the hopelessness of the campers' position.
-polaris turned questioningly to the girl.
-"we were lost in the storm," she said. "we left the ship, meaning to be gone only a few hours, and then were lost in the blinding snow. that was three days ago. how many miles we wandered i do not know. the dogs became crazed and turned upon us. the men shot them. oh, there seems so little hope in this terrible land!" she shuddered. "but you--where did you come from?"
-he turned from her to the fire, and cast on its dying embers more fragments of the splintered sledge. his eyes shone. he muttered to himself: "a ship, a ship! ah, but my father's god is good to his son!"
-he set off across the snow slopes to bring up the pack.
-hurled south again
-when his strong form had bounded from her view, the girl turned to the little hut and shut herself within. she cast herself on a heap of blankets, and gave way to her bereavement and terror.
-her brother's corpse was scarcely cold at the bottom of the abyss. she was lost in the trackless wastes--alone, save for this bizarre stranger who had come out of the snows, this man of strange sayings, who seemed a demigod of the wilderness.
-could she trust him? she must. she recalled him kneeling in the snow, and the courtierlike grace with which he kissed her hand. a hot flush mounted to her eyes. she dried her tears.
-she heard him return to the camp, and heard the barking of the dogs. once he passed near the hut, but he did not intrude, and she remained within.
-womanlike, she set about the rearrangement of her hair and clothing. when she had finished she crept to the doorway and peeped out. again her blushes burned her cheeks. she saw the son of the snows crouched above the camp-fire, surrounded by a group of monstrous dogs. he had rubbed his face with oil. a bright blade glittered in his hand. polaris was shaving!
-presently she went out. the young man sprang to his feet, cracking his long whip to restrain the dogs, which would have sprung upon the stranger. they huddled away, their teeth bared, staring at her with glowing eyes. polaris seized one of them by the scruff of the neck, lifted it bodily from the snow, and swung it in front of the girl.
-"talk to him, lady," he said; "you must be friends. this is julius."
-the girl bent over and fearlessly stroked the brute's head.
-"julius, good dog," she said. at her touch the dog quivered and its hackles rose. under the caress of her hand it quieted gradually. the bristling hair relaxed, and julius's tail swung slowly to and fro in an overture of amity. when polaris loosed him, he sniffed in friendly fashion at the girl's hands, and pushed his great head forward for more caresses.
-then marcus, the grim leader of the pack, stalked majestically forward for his introduction.
-"ah, you have won marcus!" cried polaris. "and marcus won is a friend indeed. none of them would harm you now." soon she had learned the name and had the confidence of every dog of the pack, to the great delight of their master.
-among the effects in the camp was a small oil-stove, which polaris greeted with brightened eyes. "one like that we had, but it was worn out long ago," he said. he lighted the stove and began the preparation of a meal.
-she found that he had cleared the camp and put all in order. he had dragged the carcasses of the dead dogs to the other side of the slope and piled them there. his stock of meat was low, and his own dogs would have no qualms if it came to making their own meals off these strangers of their own kind.
-the girl produced from the remnants of the camp stores a few handfuls of coffee and an urn. polaris watched in wonderment as she brewed it over the tiny stove and his nose twitched in reception of its delicious aroma. they drank the steaming beverage, piping hot, from tin cups. in the stinging air of the snowlands even the keenest grief must give way to the pangs of hunger. the girl ate heartily of a meal that in a more moderate climate she would have considered fit only for beasts.
-when their supper was completed they sat huddled in their furs at the edge of the fire. around them were crouched the dogs, watching with eager eyes for any scraps which might fall to their share.
-"now tell me who you are, and how you came here," questioned the girl.
-"lady, my name is polaris, and i think that i am an american gentleman," he said, and a trace of pride crept into the words of the answer. "i came here from a cabin and a ship that lie burned many leagues to the southward. all my life i have lived there, with but one companion, my father, who now is dead, and who sends me to the north with a message to that world of men that lies beyond the snows, and from which he long was absent."
-"a ship--a cabin--" the girl bent toward him in amazement. "and burned? and you have lived--have grown up in this land of snow and ice and bitter cold, where but few things can exist--i don't understand!"
-"my father has told me much, but not all. it is all in his message which i have not seen," polaris answered. "but that which i tell you is truth. he was a seeker after new things. he came here to seek that which no other man had found. he came in a ship with my mother and others. all were dead before i came to knowledge. he had built a cabin from the ruins of the ship, and he lived there until he died."
-"and you say that you are an american gentleman?"
-"that he told me, lady, although i do not know my name or his, except that he was stephen, and he called me polaris."
-"and did he never try to get to the north?" asked the girl.
-"no. many years ago, when i was a boy, he fell and was hurt. after that he could do but little. he could not travel."
-"i learned to seek food in the wilderness, lady; to battle with its beasts, to wrest that which would sustain our lives from the snows and the wastes."
-much more of his life and of his father he told her under her wondering questioning--a tale most incredible to her ears, but, as he said, the truth. finally he finished.
-"now, lady, what of you?" he asked. "how came you here, and from where?"
-"my name is rose--"
-"ah, that is the name of a flower," said polaris. "you were well named."
-he did not look at her as he spoke. his eyes were turned to the snow slopes and were very wistful. "i have never seen a flower," he continued slowly, "but my father said that of all created things they were the fairest."
-"i have another name," said the girl. "it is rose--rose emer."
-"and why did you come here, rose emer?" asked polaris.
-"like your father, i--we were seekers after new things, my brother and i. both our father and mother died, and left my brother john and myself ridiculously rich. we had to use our money, so we traveled. we have been over most of the world. then a man--an american gentleman--a very brave man, organized an expedition to come to the south to discover the south pole. my brother and i knew him. we were very much interested in his adventure. we helped him with it. then john insisted that he would come with the expedition, and--oh, they didn't wish me to come, but i never had been left behind--i came, too."
-"and that brave man who came to seek the pole, where is he now?"
-"an air-ship!" polaris bent forward with sparkling eyes. "so there are airships, then! ah, this man must be brave! how is he called?"
-"james scoland is his name--captain scoland."
-"he went on whence i came? did he go by that way?" polaris pointed where the white tops of the mountain range which he skirted pierced the sky.
-"no. he took a course to the east of the mountains, where other explorers of years before had been before him."
-"yes, i have seen maps. can you tell me where, or nearly where, we are now?" he asked the girl.
-"and so near to open water?"
-rose emer slept in the little shelter, with the grim marcus curled on a robe beside her pallet. crouched among the dogs in the camp, polaris slept little. for hours he sat huddled, with his chin on his hands, pondering what the girl had told him. another man was on his way to the pole--a very brave man--and he might reach it. and then--polaris must be very wary when he met that man who had won so great a prize.
-"ah, my father," he sighed, "learning is mine through patience. history of the world and of its wars and triumphs and failures, i know. of its tongues you have taught me, even those of the roman and the greek, long since passed away; but how little do i know of the ways of men--and of women! i shall be very careful, my father."
-quite beyond any power of his to control, an antagonism was growing within him for that man whom he had not seen; antagonism that was not all due to the magnitude of the prize which the man might be winning, or might be dying for. indeed, had he been able to analyze it, that was the least part of it.
-when they broke camp for their start they found that the perverse wind, which had rested while they slept, had risen when they would journey, and hissed bitterly across the bleak steppes of snow. polaris made a place on the sledge for the girl, and urged the pack into the teeth of the gale. all day long they battled ahead in it, bearing left to the west, where was more level pathway, than among the snow dunes.
-in an ever increasing blast they came in sight of open water. they halted on a far-stretching field, much broken by huge masses, so snow-covered that it was not possible to know whether they were of rock or ice. not a quarter of a mile beyond them, the edge of the field was fretted by wind-lashed waves, which extended away to the horizon rim, dotted with tossing icebergs of great height.
-polaris pitched camp in the shelter of a towering cliff, and they made themselves what comfort they could in the stinging cold.
-they had slept several hours when the slumbers of polaris were pierced by a woman's screams, the frenzied howling of the dogs, and the thundering reverberations of grinding and crashing ice cliffs. a dash of spray splashed across his face.
-he sprang to his feet in the midst of the leaping pack; as he did so he felt the field beneath him sway and pitch like a hammock. for the first time since he started for the north the antarctic sun was shining brightly--shining cold and clear on a great disaster!
-for they had pitched their camp on an ice floe. whipped on by the gale, the sea had risen under it, heaved it up and broken it. on a section of the floe several acres in extent their little camp lay, at the very brink of a gash in the ice-field which had cut them off from the land over which they had come.
-the water was raging like a millrace through the widening rift between them and the shore. caught in a swift current and urged by the furious wind, the broken-up floe was drifting, faster and faster--back to the south!
-battle on the floe
-helpless, polaris stood at the brink of the rift, swirling water and tossing ice throwing the spray about him in clouds. here was opposition against which his naked strength was useless. as if they realized that they were being parted from the firm land, the dogs grouped at the edge of the floe and sent their dismal howls across the raging swirl, only to be drowned by the din of the crashing icebergs.
-turning, polaris saw rose emer. she stood at the doorway of the tent of skins, staring across the wind-swept channel with a blank despair looking from her eyes.
-"ah, all is lost, now!" she gasped.
-then the great spirit of the man rose into spoken words. "no, lady," he called, his voice rising clearly above the shrieking and thundering pandemonium. "we yet have our lives."
-as he spoke there was a rending sound at his feet. the dogs sprang back in terror and huddled against the face of the ice cliff. torn away by the impact of some weightier body beneath, nearly half of the ledge where they stood was split from the main body of the floe, and plunged, heaving and crackling into the current.
-polaris saved himself by a mighty spring. right in the path of the gash lay the sledge, and it hung balanced at the edge of the ice floe. down it swung, and would have slipped over, but polaris saw it going.
-he clutched at the ends of the leathern dog-harness as they glided from him across the ice and, with a tug, into which he put all the power of his splendid muscles, he retrieved the sledge. hardly had he dragged it to safety when, with another roar of sundered ice, their foothold gaped again and left them but a scanty shelf at the foot of the beetling berg.
-"here we may not stay, lady," said polaris. he swept the tent and its robes into his arms and piled them on the sledge. without waiting to harness the dogs, he grasped the leather bands and alone pulled the load along the ledge and around a shoulder of the cliff.
-at the other side of the cliff a ridge extended between the berg which they skirted and another towering mountain of ice of similar formation. beyond the twin bergs lay the level plane of the floe, its edges continually frayed by the attack of the waves and the onset of floating ice.
-along the incline of the ridge were several hollows partially filled with drift snow. knowing that on the ice cape, in such a tempest, they must soon perish miserably, polaris made camp in one of these depressions where the deep snow tempered the chill of its foundation.
-in the clutch of the churning waters the floe turned slowly like an immense wheel as it drifted in the current. its course was away from the shore to the southwest, and it gathered speed and momentum with every passing second. the cove from whence it had been torn was already a mere notch in the far-away shore-line.
-around them was a scene of wild and compelling beauty. leagues and leagues of on-rushing water hurled its white-crested squadrons against the precipitous sides of the flotilla of icebergs, tore at the edges of the drifting floes, and threw itself in huge waves across the more level planes, inundating them repeatedly. clouds of lacelike spray hung in the air after each attack, and cascading torrents returned to the waves.
-above it all the antarctic sun shone gloriously, splintering its golden spears on the myriad pinnacles, minarets, battlements, and crags of towering masses of crystal that reflected back into the quivering air all the colors of the spectrum. thinner crests blazed flame-red in the rays. other points glittered coldly blue. from a thousand lesser scintillating spires the shifting play of the colors, from vermilion to purple, from green to gold, in the lavish magnificence of nature's magic, was torture to the eye that beheld.
-on the spine of the ridge stood polaris, leaning on his long spear and gazing with heightened color and gleaming eyes on those fairy symbols of old mother nature. to the girl who watched him he seemed to complete the picture. in his superb trappings of furs, and surrounded by his shaggy servants, he was at one with his weird and terrible surroundings. she admired--and shuddered.
-presently, when he came down from the ridge, she asked him, with a brave smile, "what, sir, will be the next move?"
-"that is in the hands of the great god, if such a one there be," he said. "whatever it may be, it shall find us ready. somewhere we must come to shore. when we do--on to the north and the ship, be it half a world away."
-"but for food and warmth? we must have those, if we are to go in the flesh."
-"already they are provided for," he replied quickly. he was peering sharply over her shoulder toward the mass of the other berg. with his words the clustered pack set up an angry snarling and baying. she followed his glance and paled.
-lumbering forth from a narrow pass at the extremity of the ridge was a gigantic polar bear. his little eyes glittered wickedly, hungrily, and his long, red tongue crept out and licked his slavering chops. as he came on, with ungainly, padding gait, his head swung ponderously to and fro.
-scarcely had he cleared the pass of his immense bulk when another twitching white muzzle was protruded, and a second beast, in size nearly equal to the first, set foot on the ridge and ambled on to the attack.
-reckless at least of this peril, the dogs would have leaped forward to close with the invaders but their master intervened. the stinging, cracking lash in his hand drove them from the foe. their overlord, man, elected to make the battle alone.
-in two springs he reached the sledge, tore the rifle from its coverings, and was at the side of the girl. he thrust the weapon into her hands.
-"back, lady; back to the sledge!" he cried. "unless i call, shoot not. if you do shoot, aim for the throat when they rear, and leave the rest to me and the dogs. many times have i met these enemies, and i know well how to deal with them."
-with another crack of the whip over the heads of the snarling pack, he left her and bounded forward, spear in hand and long knife bared.
-awkward of pace and unhurried, the snow kings came on to their feast. in a thought the man chose his ground. between him and the bears the ridge narrowed so that for a few feet there was footway for but one of the monsters at once.
-polaris ran to where that narrow path began and threw himself on his face on the ice.
-at that ruse the foremost bear hesitated. he reared and brushed his muzzle with his formidable crescent-clawed paw. polaris might have shot then and ended at once the hardest part of his battle. but the man held to a stubborn pride in his own weapons. both of the beasts he would slay, if he might, as he always had slain. his guns were reserved for dire extremity.
-the bear settled to all fours again, and reached out a cautious paw and felt along the path, its claws gouging seams in the ice. assured that the footing would hold, it crept out on the narrow way, nearer and nearer to the motionless man. scarce a yard from him it squatted. the steam of its breath beat toward him.
-it raised one armed paw to strike. the girl cried out in terror and raised the rifle. the man moved, and she hesitated.
-down came the terrible paw, its curved claws projected and compressed for the blow. it struck only the adamantine ice of the pathway, splintering it. with the down-stroke timed to the second, the man had leaped up and forward.
-as though set on a steel spring, he vaulted into the air, above the clashing talons and gnashing jaws, and landed light and sure on the back of his ponderous adversary. to pass an arm under the bear's throat, to clip its back with the grip of his legs was the work of a heart-beat's time for polaris.
-with a stifled howl of rage the bear rose to its haunches, and the man rose with it. he gave it no time to turn or settle. exerting his muscles of steel, he tugged the huge head back. he swung clear from the body of his foe. his feet touched the path and held it. he shot one knee into the back of the bear.
-the spear he had dropped when he sprang, but his long knife gleamed in his hand, and he stabbed, once, twice, sending the blade home under the brute's shoulder. he released his grip, spurned the yielding body with his foot, and the huge hulk rolled from the path down the slope, crimsoning the snow with its blood.
-polaris bounded across the narrow ledge and regained his spear. he smiled as there arose from the foot of the slope a hideous clamor that told him that the pack had charged in, as usual, not to be restrained at sight of the kill. he waved his hand to the girl, who stood, statuelike, beside the sledge.
-doubly enraged at its inability to participate in the battle which had been the death of its mate, the smaller bear waited no longer when the path was clear, but rushed madly with lowered head. strong as he was, the man knew that he could not hope to stay or turn that avalanche of flesh and sinew. as it reached him he sprang aside where the path broadened, lashing out with his keen-edged spear.
-his aim was true. just over one of the small eyes the point of the spear bit deep, and blood followed it. with tigerish agility the man leaped over the beast, striking down as he did so.
-the bear reared on its hindquarters and whimpered, brushing at its eyes with its forepaws. its head gashed so that the flowing blood blinded it, it was beaten. before it stood its master. bending back until his body arched like a drawn bow, polaris poised his spear and thrust home at the broad chest.
-a death howl that was echoed back from the crashing cliffs was answer to his stroke. the bear settled forward and sprawled in the snow.
-polaris set his foot on the body of the fallen monster and gazed down at the girl with smiling face.
-"here, lady, are food and warmth for many days," he called.
-into the unknown
-southward, ever southward, the floating glory of the jeweled tide bore them. fast as they went, the wind-urged waters raced by them faster still. steel-blue surges, mountain high, tore by their refuge in endless rush. from a sky gale-swept of all clouds, the sun shone steadily through nightless days.
-fragment after fragment of the drifting floe was rasped away and ground to splinters among the staggering icebergs. as it dwindled in dimensions, its revolving movement increased, until it reeled onward like a giant gyroscope, and they who rode it grew giddy with its whirl.
-around them nature played her heart-shaking music, and spread over glittering tide and snow-splashed icebergs the wondrous, iridescent filaments reflected from the facets of her monstrous gems.
-then, as suddenly as it had risen, the wind died away. cloudheads arose and overcast the sky, the ragged waves smoothed into long rollers, and their frightful pace was abated, although they continued to ride south with a strong tide.
-a few hours later it seemed that the wind had been to the end of the world and had turned to hurry northward again, for it began to beat up steadily from ahead of them, but not strongly enough to overcome the tide it had set with it in its headlong dash.
-to their left, far away, they could catch occasional glimpses of a jagged coast-line. out to the right little was to be seen but the tossing flotilla of bergs, gradually fretting away into tide ice.
-with the return of the wind from the south, polaris was puzzled to note once more the recurrence of a phenomenon over which he had pondered often. the air was growing warmer!
-another manifestation came; more puzzling by far than that of the warming breeze. one day they awoke and found the air filled with drifting white particles. as far as the eye could see it seemed that a shower of fine snow was falling. but the storm was not of snow!
-settling weblike in the crannies of the ice, filming the crests of the waves, hanging impalpably in the breeze, it was ashes that was falling!
-whence came this strangest of all storms? polaris and rose emer stared at each other, completely at a loss.
-"if we are to go far enough, we are to find out some great new thing, lady," said the man.
-soon after the battle with the bears they had abandoned the first iceberg. the floe had broken away on that side until the berg's sheer side was opposed to the fury of the wind and waves, and polaris feared that it would topple under the constant impact with other bergs, and pitch them into the tide.
-they crossed the narrow path to the twin berg, threaded the pass of the bears, and found on the farther side a cavern in the ice, partly filled with drift snow, where the animals had made their lair. there they were now confined, as in a castle. the plane of the floe had all been beaten away. even the ridge between the bergs was gone, and the waves rolled between the twin towers of ice, still held together beneath the surface of the waters by a bond that no crash had severed.
-the wind subsided, but the air remained warm. no longer were they within the realm of eternal ice, for, outside their prison, the surfaces of the revolving bergs at times actually dripped. the ice was thawing!
-beyond the drift ice the land seemed covered with heavy snow, and far inland were hills. to the northward, perhaps a mile, a mountain range that seemed like a mighty wall curved from the horizon to the lap of the sea, and terminated at the water's edge in a sheer and gleaming face, many hundred feet high. just ahead a promontory extended out toward them, and beyond it lay a cove. the heavens to the southward were piled with dull cloud-banks that curled and shifted in the slow wind.
-"it may be that this will be a rough landing, lady," said polaris. "our tower is going to pieces, and here we may not stay. i will make ready the sledge. we must cross the drift ice to the shore in some manner."
-he packed their stores on the sledge, with the robes and all that made their little camp, and hauled everything to what seemed the most solid portion of the berg. instinctive seemed the wisdom that guided the man. the twin bergs, driven on by the last impulse of the current, plowed through the drift ice like a stately ship, and were broken asunder across the point of the promontory. their revolutions laid them right across the snow-covered point of land.
-as they swung on, the berg which they had quitted was southernmost. there was a dull shock of impact, and beneath their feet the solid ice quivered. the farther berg pushed on around the point in a swirl of foam and ice. their own ice castle swung to the north side of the promontory, keeled over at a terrifying angle, and began to settle.
-above them loomed the beetling masses of ice with the dark shadow of the cave mouth. below was the nose of the promontory, covered deep with snow. farther and farther leaned the berg.
-out into the air they shot, and down, down. around them as they fell the sky seemed to be showering dogs as the seven of the pack followed their master. then man and girl and dogs vanished in the soft snow, and the iceberg went thundering and crashing to its fall.
-what manner of men?
-buried many feet in the snow, with the struggling mass of dogs above and around them, polaris and rose emer heard the muffled shock of the mighty crag and felt the rock beneath them vibrate. masses of ice hurtled through the air and fell in the snow all about them, but they were unscathed.
-when they floundered with much effort to the surface of the snow the crystal cliff that had been their home was gone. the waves were tossing and eddying where it had plunged over. where it had ground the side of the point snow and ice had been torn away, leaving exposed the naked gray rocks. around the head of the promontory drifted a long, low mass of yellow ice, water-worn and unlovely, that had been the bottom of the berg.
-about them the snow was crusted, and the crust was punctured with many pits where fragments of the ice from the berg had fallen, and with other pits where the seven dogs of the pack had pitched headlong. one by one the gray runners crawled to the surface and emerged like rats from their holes to sprawl upon the snow crust, looking exceedingly foolish, as is the manner of dignified dogs when they are spilled promiscuously into such a predicament.
-a little way from where the man and woman stood the sledge was upended in the drift. if walked over quickly the crust of the snow was firm enough to offer footing.
-polaris soon righted the sledge, which had suffered no harm in its fall, and inspanned the team. they set off for the shore over a succession of dips and rises along the back of the promontory.
-where it was joined to the shore, however, they found an obstacle. the land bristled with a bulwark of rocks, snow, and ice of a height to make it impossible for the man to guide the sledge over it.
-rose emer had come to look to polaris in the face of each new difficulty, finding in him an infinite resource and genius for surmounting them. she turned to him now, and found that he had solved the puzzle.
-"we can scramble over this," he said; "you and i and the dogs, and we will find a spot suitable for landing the sledge along the shore. then i will return and manage with the sledge across the drift ice. it is wedged in the cove yonder so firmly that it will be no great task."
-the girl glanced down into the cove, where the glittering scum of fragments rose and fell with the swell of the waves, and her eyes widened; but she offered no objection. she had yet to see this man fail in what he attempted.
-using his spear for an alpenstock, polaris took her by the arm, and they made the ascent of the rocks. sometimes he lifted her as lightly as though she were a babe and set her ahead of him, while he climbed to a farther projection of the crags. sometimes he carried her bodily in one arm and climbed on easily with the double weight.
-so they reached the far side of the obstruction, and after them scrambled and leaped the pack.
-to the east a plain stretched away toward the hills and the mountain wall--a plain rifted deeply with many gulleys and chasms, but passable. they found with little difficulty a break in the rocky rampart that fringed the bank of the cove where the sledge might be landed, and there polaris left the girl and the dogs. he leaped onto the drift ice with a wave of his hand and set out across the cove for the point, marking as he went the safest and easiest course for his return with the sledge.
-leaping from one large cake of ice to another, he hauled and pushed and dragged the entire load. where dangerous intervals of small ice lay between the larger pieces, he crossed over, and with a heave of his magnificent shoulders pulled the sledge quickly across. what ten men might well have hesitated to attempt he accomplished with seeming ease.
-he was more than half-way across the cove when the attention of the girl was distracted from him by a disturbance of the ice near the cove's mouth. where there had been little motion of the drift ice she saw several of the fragments pitched suddenly from the water, and as they fell back she thought she glimpsed beneath them in the water the passing of a large, dark body.
-as she wondered the ice was thrown violently aside in half a dozen places, and in the eddying water she saw the rudderlike fins and lashing tails of a school of some sort of monsters of the sea. they were headed in the direction of the laboring man.
-she called a warning to him, but in the midst of the grinding of the drift and the noise of his own exertions he did not hear it. with no warning the danger was upon him.
-over the edge of the man's floating footing this dread apparition was projected, a full eight feet of head and giant body thrust out of the sea in an attempt to wriggle onto the ice cake. the big flake of ice, perhaps fifteen feet across, tilted from the water under the weight of the monster, and it seemed that the man and sledge would be pitched straight into the yawning maw.
-then, with a clash of disappointed jaws, the head was withdrawn, the monster sank from sight, and the ice raft righted.
-rose emer sank on her knees in the snow. around her crouched the dogs, yelping, baying in fury at the sight of the diving danger. "ah, heaven help him!" she gasped. "the killer-whales!"
-such were the monsters which beset polaris. all around the piece of ice on which he floated with the sledge the smaller drift was thrashed by their plunging bodies. again and again they thrust their frightful snouts above the surface and strove to hurl themselves onto the ice cake. some of them were more than twenty feet in length.
-when the first hideous head appeared from the deep and nearly overturned his float polaris stood as if frozen, staring at it in amazement. such a thing he had never seen. he crouched on the ice and tightened his grip on his long spear. when he saw the number of his enemies he realized the futility of an attempt at battle with such weapons as he bore.
-immediately he became alert to outwit them. with his agility he might have essayed to cross the ice and elude them safely were he unhampered by the unwieldy sledge, but not for an instant did he consider abandoning it.
-in a glance he picked out the next resting-spot, some feet distant across the drift. he pushed the sledge almost to the edge at one side of the cake, and sprang to the other side, halting on the brink and bracing himself, with his spear-blade dug deeply into the ice.
-there was a rushing and thrashing of huge bodies as the killers piled over one another in their eagerness to reach their prey. several frightful heads were thrust from the water, their dripping jaws snapping within a few feet of the intrepid man. quick as light he dashed across the ice cake, snatched up the ends of the long harness, and crossed the drift to the next large fragment. watching his chances, he yanked the sledge across to him.
-a dozen times he repeated his tactics successfully and worked in near to shore. if he could accomplish his ruse once more he would win through; he would be above water so shallow that even the bold killers would not dare to follow him for fear of being stranded there. but nearer to the landing the drift had been ground finer, and there was not between him and the shore another large piece. there he made a stand and considered.
-he heard the voice of the girl calling to him.
-"shoot!" she cried. "shoot and wound one of them! if you maim it badly the others will turn and attack it. then you can get away!"
-polaris tossed his arm in sign that he had heard, and drew from their holsters his brace of heavy revolvers. he had but an instant to wait. one of the savage killers reared his immense and ugly snout from the waters less than a rod away. polaris fired both guns straight into the gaping jaws.
-that was nearly his undoing, for so mighty a plunge did the scathed and frightened monster give that it shot nearly the whole of its ponderous body across the edge of the ice where the man stood and cracked the cake clean in two. then it sank into the water, convulsively opening and closing its jaws, as if it would eject the stinging pellets which it had received. the water was dyed red around it.
-in a trice the band of killers, which had dived at the report of the shots, surrounded their wounded comrade, and the carnage began. all thought of the man on the ice was abandoned for the moment as they rent in fragments and devoured one of their own kind. above their horrid feasting the waves foamed crimson.
-when he saw how things were faring below him the man lost not a moment in crossing the remaining drift, dragging the sledge to the shore.
-he turned and saw the baffled killers flock sullenly off to sea, whipping the drift contemptuously from their wake with lashing tails.
-"rose emer, i thank you," he said simply. "i was hard put to it to know how to save the sledge, and you told me the right thing to do."
-she smiled admiringly. a savage apparition to be feared; an instrument of deliverance sent by providence; a friend and comrade to be admired and trusted--all of these things in turn had polaris been to her. she found him a man wonderful in all his ways--a child of the vast chaos, yet gentle, fierce and fearless in the face of peril, but possessed of a natural courtesy as unfailing as it was untaught--savage, savior, friend. was he not becoming more than a friend--or was it all a glamour of the snows and seas and dangers which would fade and thrill no more when she returned to the things of every day?
-under the cracking lash of the southlander the dogs ran fast and true; but ever the mighty wall of the mountains stretched on, unbroken by notch or crevice, its side gleaming with the smooth ice of many thawing torrents that had frozen and frozen again until it was like a giant's slide.
-if a man had many weeks to spare to the task he might cross it, cutting his steps laboriously one by one. for them, with their dogs and sledge, it was impassable.
-the curve of the range pushed them relentlessly farther to the south as they went on to the south where far away across the plains lay other hills, above which cloud masses curled and drifted always.
-on their third day's journey inland they found that which altered all the course of their wanderings, and led them on to great new things. they crossed the trail of the unknown.
-swiftly the seven gray coursers of the snows were speeding, noses down and plumed tails awave in the breeze of their going. the girl sat on the sledge, and beside it the man raced, light of foot as the dogs, and never tiring.
-then, in the midst of his stride, marcus, the leader, set his four feet hard on the snow crust and slid on his hams, the six others piling up at his back in confusion with sharp yelps of consternation. over the tangle of the pack whined and cracked the long whip of polaris, and cracked and whined vainly. marcus would not budge. he lifted his gray muzzle in a weird howl of protest and bewilderment, and the hair along his spine bristled.
-behind him octavius, julius, nero, and hector took up the cry of astonishment, and the mellower notes of pallas and juno chimed in.
-polaris straightened out, like the good driver that he was, the sad kinks in the harness and ran forward; but he had gone but a few paces when he, too, stopped in the snow, and stood staring ahead and down.
-they were at the brink of a trail!
-there it lay, stretching from somewhere near the base of the mountains, away across the great plains--a broad, recently traveled path, with footprints plain upon the snow--the footprints of men!
-polaris stood so long at the lip of the strange path that rose emer uncurled from her seat on the sledge and ran forward to see what held him.
-"a path--in this wilderness!" she cried in wonder. and then: "why, we must be near to one of captain scoland's stations. our troubles are nearly at an end."
-"no, lady; i think these tracks lead to no station of your captain's, and our troubles may be just begun. here are the tracks of many men--"
-"but they must be those of our men," returned rose emer, "for who else could have made them?"
-polaris stepped into the trail and examined it with keen eyes.
-"lady, did they of your company dress their feet as do you or as i do?" he asked, pointing to his moccasins of bearskin.
-"why, they wore heavy boots of felt, with an overshoe of leather, spiked with steel," said the girl.
-"and did they have with them any beasts other than the dogs of which you have told me?" queried polaris.
-rose emer shook her head. "no, they had only the dogs," she replied. "what tracks are there?"
-polaris arose from his examination of the trail. "now, of all the strange things we have met by land and by sea, i account this the strangest of all," he said. "here are the footprints of many men whose feet were clad as are my own, and with them the marks of a heavy sledge and the tracks of four-footed animals new to me--unless, indeed, they be those of dogs in boots--"
-"what? show me where!" rose emer knelt beside him to stare at the medley of footprints. she looked up at him wide-eyed a moment later.
-"why, this is impossible!" she gasped. "and yet--what can it mean? those are the hoofprints of unshod horses!"
-polaris smiled down at her. "remember the showers of ashes, rose emer; and that i told you that we were to learn some great new thing if we won safe to shore," he said. "now are we at its gates. stay--something glimmers yonder in the trail!"
-he strode away, and returned shortly, bearing something that he had plucked from the snow.
-"bore any man in your company aught like this?" he asked, and held out to her a long, slender-bladed knife.
-wider grew the eyes of the girl in wonder as she took the weapon from him and looked at it. it was of one piece, both blade and shaft, nicely balanced and exquisitely wrought; but it was of no metal which the girl had ever seen. only in the finest of iridescent glass had she ever seen the bewildering play of colors that was reflected from its bright blade when the sunlight fell on it. it was nearly a foot long, needle-pointed and razor-keen.
-from the glittering dagger to the man's face the girl looked slowly. "there is no metal known in the world to-day like that from which this knife is made," said she. "who and what are they who dropped it here? and here, there are letters on the blade. they look like greek."
-she pointed to a beautifully clear inscription running down the blade. it read as follows:
-polaris took the knife quickly and read where the girl pointed.
-"a strange thing in a strange land," he said. "the words are greek. they read: 'ho chalkeus kard epoié me'--'kard the smith made me.'"
-in the midst of her amazement at their discovery the girl marveled again at the living wonder who stood before them--a man who had survived in this awful wilderness, and who had there acquired through the patience of his father an education superior to her own, with all her advantages. for polaris spoke and read greek and something of latin, besides being conversant with several of the languages of the modern world.
-"now we must make choice," he said. "shall we cross this path and go on, seeking a pass in the mountains? shall we follow it back whither it came from, or shall we follow on whither it leads, and asked of them who made it if there be a way to the north that we may take?"
-"polaris," she answered, and the heart of the man thrilled to the answer, for it was the first time he had heard his name on her lips, "it must be as you think best. in these places i am helpless, and you are the master. we will do whatever you think for the best."
-"no, lady; in no way am i the master," he replied quickly. "i do but wish to serve you. perhaps it were better to go on alone. and then, perhaps again, it were much time and wandering saved to find these folk and ask them of the ways. it may be that they, too, have a ship and are on the trail of the great pole, although something seems to tell me that such is not so."
-"you mean that you think they live here?" asked the girl.
-polaris inclined his head. "yes, lady, and i am curious to see what manner of men they may be, they who drive horses across the snows and leave knives of unknown metal to mark their trail. now it is for you to say."
-the end of it was that they turned south on the trail of the strange people, and as they went they wondered much who kard the smith might be, who stamped his wares with ancient greek inscriptions, yet who did not shoe his horses--or ponies, for the hoofprints were very small.
-it was only after some urging that polaris persuaded the pack to take the path. when they did he let them out to their speed, for the going was plain, and he had no fear of accident in a road travelled by so many. straight on the trail led them toward the cloud-tipped mountain cluster that lay dim to the south.
-as they traveled other circumstances arose to puzzle them. once a flight of strange birds passed far above them, flying in the same direction. they came to a spot where the strangers had made camp, and there were the remains of a fire with charred wood. then as they drew nearer, with many miles passed, they saw that the haze which hung about the mountain summits appeared to be not of clouds, but of smoke.
-on the second stage of their journey polaris halted the dogs at a new wonder.
-"lady," he said, "look hard and tell me the color of those hills, or is it that my eyes are giving way to the snow blindness?"
-rose emer arose in the sledge and gazed at the hills, and cried: "green! green! but how can they be?"
-"warm air, green hills, and people with horses," polaris smiled. "it seems that such are not all in the north. ah, the good green hills i have read of and which i have so longed to see!"
-on sped the dogs, and nearer and nearer loomed the hills of green, set like immense, dull emeralds in the white of the snows. only at their summits were they black and craggy and scarred. above them spiraled shifting clouds of smoke.
-and as they journeyed, the sun shining on the softening snows, and the air growing warmer and warmer, in an ice-locked sound five hundred miles to the north, a little company of weary-faced men gathered on the deck of the good ship felix, and one of their number read the burial service for the repose of rose and john emer and homer burleson, strayed from the ship and given up for dead after a searching party had failed to find any trace of them.
-as the travelers neared the base of the foot-hills of the mountain range the ground became more uneven, being broken by rock slopes and small hills, many of which were bare of snow. around these the trail wound zigzag. they swung around one of the sharp curves, and polaris reined in the dogs.
-"now, lady, here comes one along the trail who may solve for us all our riddles!" he cried, and pointed ahead.
-the land of twenty moons
-not a quarter of a mile from them a man was running along the snow road toward them--a tall man, and well formed. he ran, or trotted slowly, with head bent, and many a sidewise glance along the borders of the trail.
-"now, i think that here is the owner of the knife come to seek it," muttered polaris; and seeing that the stranger bore a spear, he reached his own long weapon from the sledge, and leaned on it as he watched the approach of the runner, the same quiet smile on his face with which he greeted all wonders.
-not until he was within a hundred yards of the sledge did the man see them. he came on fearlessly.
-he was a swarthy fellow, black of beard, with a strong, high-featured visage, straight nose, and prominent cheek-bones. his hair hung from beneath a pointed cap of coarse, gray cloth, and was cropped at his collar. a tunic of brown material reached to his knees, and was clasped in front with several buckles. his feet were shod with high, furred moccasin-boots, which reached nearly to his knees, and which were bound with cross-strings. above them were tight-fitting breeches of the same material as the tunic.
-in a broad leather belt swung a small ax, a pair of large fur gloves, and an empty sheath. ax-blade and buckles and the tip of his long, straight spear were all of the same iridescent metal as the dagger which polaris had found in the snow. he was about forty years old.
-when within a short spear-throw, he stood gazing at them, his eyes roving from man to girl, and from dogs to sledge, taking note of all. then he spoke, in a deep and not unpleasant voice. rose emer understood a question in his inflection, but the language he spoke was unknown to her.
-polaris laughed and said quickly: "as it is written on the blade of the knife, so does he speak, lady. it is greek."
-she looked from him to the stranger, wide-eyed. "what does he say?"
-"he says, 'whence come you?' and now i will answer him as best i can manage his tongue."
-he turned to the strange man and lifted his voice. "we come from the north," he said.
-"and who may you be," he queried the man, "who come down from the white north, through the lands where no man may travel, you who are like a child of the great sun, and who drive strange animals, the like of which were never seen?" and he pointed to the crouching dogs. "and who is she, the woman, who hath the aspect of a princess, and who rideth with thee across the snows?"
-"polaris am i named--polaris of the snows and she who is with me is rose emer, of america, and i am her servant. now, who art thou, and how called?"
-the man heard him with close attention. "i should judge thee little likely to be servant to any, thou polaris of the snows," he answered with a slow smile. "part of thy words i comprehend not, but i name myself kard the smith, of the city of sardanes."
-"if thou are kard the smith, i have that which is thine," said polaris, and he stepped forward and held out the dagger. "it bears thy name."
-kard took the weapon from him with a gesture of pleasure. "not my name, o stranger of the snows," he said, "but that of my grandsire, kard the smith, three times removed, who did forge it. for that reason do i value it so highly that i came alone on the hunters' road willing to travel many weary miles and risk much to regain it."
-"is this that thou speakest thine only tongue, kard the smith?" pursued polaris.
-kard nodded, and his eyes opened wide. "yes, surely. and thou, who speakest it also, yet strangely, hast thou another?"
-"yes," said polaris, "and thy language, i have been taught, is dead in the great world these many centuries. who are thy people, and where is the city of sardanes?"
-"the great world!" repeated kard. "the great world to the north, across the snows! aye, thy coming thence proves the tales of the priests and historians of sardanes, which, in truth, many of us had come to doubt. to us, sardanes and the wastes are all of the world.
-"the city lieth yonder," and he pointed over his shoulder toward the smoking mountains. "know thou, polaris of the snows, that thou and thy princess are the first of all strangers to come to sardanes; and now do i, kard the smith, bid thee a fair welcome."
-translating the outcome of his conversation with the stranger to rose emer, polaris started the team along the trail, and with kard trotting alongside the sledge, they set out for the mysterious city which he said lay beyond the mountains.
-as they went, polaris gathered from kard that the people of sardanes had lived in their land a very great while, indeed; that their population numbered some two thousand souls, and that they were ruled by a hereditary king or prince.
-"for the rest, thou shalt learn it of the priests, who are more learned than i," said kard; "and thine own tale of marvels, beside which ours is but a little thing, though i starve from desire to hear it, thou shalt reserve for the ears of the prince helicon. it were meet that he hear it first of all in sardanes."
-in an atmosphere that grew momentarily more temperate, they drew near to the green bulk of the mountains.
-"what maketh the warmth of this land?" called polaris to kard.
-the smith raised his hand and pointed to the summits above them, where the great smoke clouds hung heavily in the quiet air.
-"within the bowels of the hills are the undying fires which have burned from the first," he said. "they have saved the land from the wastes. no matter how the storms rage on the snow plains, it is ever warm in sardanes. the city lieth in a valley, ringed round by a score of fire mountains, set there by the gods when the world began. and when the season of the great darkness falleth, the flare of the eternal flames lighteth the valley. with the light of twenty moons is sardanes ever lighted. wait and thou shalt see."
-presently they came to the foot of the range. for a short distance above them lay snow in patches on the slopes, and beyond that extended a wide belt of grasses and trees. still higher, all vegetation ceased, and the earth was bare and brown, and the rocks were naked.
-above all jutted the fire blackened crags of the summits, wild and bleak. just ahead of them yawned a pass, which some vast upheaval had torn in the base of the range in the long ago.
-"now must the lady walk with us," said kard, "for the way is rough, and the lack of snow will make it difficult for the animals to drag on the sledge."
-he spoke truly. so rough was the way in places that polaris must add his own strength to the pull of the dogs. kard the smith would willingly have aided also, but the dogs would not permit him to lay hand on the traces, nor could polaris prevail on them to be friendly with the man.
-up and up they climbed the many turns of the pass, its seamed walls of rock beetling above them at both sides. so warm was it that polaris, sweating and pulling with the pack, took off his cloak and inner coat of bearskin, and struggled on in his under-garment of seal fur.
-they came to the peak of the pass, and again it wound irregularly downward for a space. its sides were less precipitous. long grasses and shrubbery grew in the niches of the rocks, and the light of the sun penetrated nearly to the path.
-"ah, see, polaris," cried rose emer, "there, in the rocks, my namesake is nodding to me. a rose, and in this land!"
-in a cleft in the rock wall clung a brier, and on it bloomed a single magnificent red blossom. after the weeks of hardship and grief and journeying with death, the sight of the flower brought tears to the eyes of the girl.
-while kard stood and smiled, polaris stopped the team. he clambered up the rocks, clinging with his hands, and brought it down, its delicate perfume thrilling his senses with a something soft and sweet that he could not put into thought. rose emer took it from him and set it in her breast.
-that was a picture polaris never forgot--the rocky walls of the pass, the sledge and the wild dogs, the strange figure of the sardanian, the girl and the red rose.
-she had removed her heavy coat and cap, and now walked on ahead of them, her long blue sweater clinging to her lissom form, the sunshine glinting in the coiled masses of her chestnut hair. they rounded another turn, and rose emer gave a little gasp and stopped, and stood transfixed.
-"oh, here is, indeed, a garden of the gods!" she cried.
-there the rock ledges ended, and they stood at the lip of a long green slope of sward, spangled with flowers. a valley lay before them, of which they were at the lower end. ringed by the smoking mountains, it stretched away, some ten miles in length. from the lower hill slopes at either side it was perhaps a short mile and a half across. adown its length, nearly in the middle, ran the silvery ribbon of a little river, which bore away to the right at the lower end of the valley, and was lost to sight in the base of the hills.
-at either side of the river the land lay in rolling knolls and lush meadows, with here and there a tangle of giant trees, and here and there geometrical squares of tilled land--the whole spread out, from where the travelers stood, in an immense patchwork pattern, riotous with the colors of nature, and dotted with the white dwellings of men, built of stone.
-on the higher slopes of the mountains at each side thick forests of mighty trees grew. above the line of vegetation, the bare earth gave forth vapor from the inner heat, and farther up the naked rocks jutted to the peaks, half hidden in their perpetual mists and smoke.
-there were twenty-one mountains, all of the same general appearance, with one exception. one great hill alone, which towered over to the left of them, was wooded thickly to its summit.
-everywhere in the valley was the sound of life. birds flashed back and forth among the foliage; goats leaped among the rocks; small ponies grazed in the meadows; men tilled the fields. from the distance up the valley came the hum and splashing of a small waterfall. a couple of miles away, at the right of the river, was a large square of buildings that gleamed white in the sunlight, where many people were moving about.
-"behold, sardanes!" said kard the smith, advancing to the edge of the rock.
-rose emer caught the word sardanes and echoed it.
-"sardanes," she breathed, and turned to polaris with an awed look in her eyes. "it is as if a page of the ages had been turned back for us, isn't it?" she asked.
-from the wondrous scene he glanced to the face of the girl and smiled quietly, and she remembered that here was one who gazed for the first time on the reality of the world of men of any age.
-kard raised his voice in a long, shrill call. his voice was lost in the angry baying of the dog pack as a small goat leaped from covert close to them and clattered away up the ledges.
-at the combined clamor, several men raised their faces wonderingly from their work in a field near by. for a moment they gazed in amazement at the travelers, and then ran toward them, talking excitedly as they went.
-all were clad lightly in sleeveless tunics of cloth that reached the knees. they wore no head coverings, and their faces and bare arms were tanned from exposure to the sun. their feet were covered with leather sandals, buckled at the ankle. their limbs were bare from the sandals to the short, loose-legged trousers, which they wore beneath their tunic skirts. the texture of their garments was dyed in several different hues.
-nearly all wore close-cropped beards like that of kard, and their hair was trimmed at the neck. armlets and rings and the buckles on their garments, all of the strange, iridescent metal, glittered in the sunlight as they ran.
-for a moment there was a babel of astonished queries leveled at kard the smith as the men pulled up and drank in the sight of the strangers and their yet stranger beasts, now roused to a frenzy which required all of the authority of polaris to hold in bounds. "who?" and "what?" and "where?" came in breathless succession from the mouths of the sardanians.
-"now, be quiet, all of you, that i may tell you," commanded kard with a disgusted wave of his hand. they were spoiling his peroration for him.
-"these," and he waved his hand again, "be polaris of the snows, and rose emer of america, come to visit sardanes. the man with the sunlight hair and eyes of the sky hath lived in the outer snows all his life, he saith. the woman," and kard bowed low, "is a great princess from the world far to the north, beyond all the snows, the world whereof the priests have sung."
-truly, the imagination of kard was equal to the effect he wished to produce on his fellows. their tongues stilled by their wonder, they gazed at the man and the woman. then, as by common impulse, they bowed low, with sweeping gestures of their right hands. a fresh chorus of questions would have broken out, but kard quickly forstalled it.
-"the rest of my tale, also the wonders which the strangers may unfold, wait the ear of the prince helicon," he said curtly. "now, haste ye and bring horses to transport the strangers' goods, for their beasts are aweary, and we will proceed to the judgement house."
-two of the younger men hurried to one of the nearer dwellings and returned shortly with two span of the small horses which grazed in the meadows. they were in harness, and it was not difficult to attach them to the sledge in place of the dogs, which polaris took out of harness and held in leash. fearing that sardanian legs would suffer if he did not, he took the precaution to bind the muzzle of each dog with thongs.
-a lad mounted the sledge and cracked a long whip, and the stout ponies bent to the work of hauling the sledge.
-with kard leading the way, polaris and rose emer set off in the direction of the square of white buildings up the valley. their dogs huddled closely around them, a formidable body-guard, and with them marched an escort of sardanians, momentarily augmented by every new man who set eyes on them.
-everything that he saw was a marvel to polaris. and for rose emer, who had wandered up and down the world considerably, the ancient valley was spread with wonders. never had she seen, outside of california, trees of such giant girth and height as some of those which grew at the base of the hills; and they were of no kin to the californian sequoia. birds that she could not name flew among their branches.
-set in the midst of their orderly little farms were houses of a sort not seen in the world to-day. they were constructed for the most part of colored stone, faced with white, and with high-pillared porticoes. each brought a memory of a pictured temple of antiquity.
-they crossed the river on a small bridge of green stone. as they drew nearer to the square of buildings they could see that it was evidently a public gathering place. each of its four fronts was a lofty peristyle, inclosing a square of considerable size. through its arches they caught sight of a raised stage, facing many seats of stone.
-news of their coming had preceded them. from all directions people were flocking into the public square and occupying the stone seats.
-"all who live in the valley are gathering to bid us welcome, lady," said polaris, and added an echo to the thoughts of the girl, "may our leave-taking be as peaceful as our welcome!"
-when they had arrived at the square they found that it stood in the center of a pleasant park, with clumps of trees, stone-curbed pools, and playing fountains. scattered about on massive pedestals were groups of statuary of no mean artistry, some in white marble and others of colored stones. for the most part fanciful subjects were represented, but some of the groups evidently were of a historical significance.
-all these sculptured men wore armor and trappings of patterns as ancient as the ship, heightening the likeness of this place of sardanian art to an antique greek statuary. around the central building lay a paved plaza.
-conducted by their escort, which had grown to nearly a hundred men, rose emer and polaris and their gray comrades entered the building through one of the high arches. the entrance led to one side of the raised stage.
-while the members of their sardanian escort scattered to the seats below, kard the smith ushered the man and the girl to a flight of stone steps by which they gained the dais.
-on the platform was another raised piece of marble work, of glistening white, a flight of steps leading up to a carved double throne, set between two pillars. across the tops of the pillars was a scrolled plinth, inscribed with greek lettering as follows:
-"'helicon, the ninety-ninth prince of sardanes,'" polaris translated for rose's benefit. "in the original, 'helikon kreon tes sardanes ho kop-pa-theta.'"
-on the space below the throne were a number of other stone seats. throne and platform were empty, with one exception. a little apart from the other seats was one of black stone, and on it was seated a young man. his garb was similar to that of the other sardanians, but was of exceedingly fine texture, and all of black, unrelieved by any ornament or touch of color.
-when the strangers came upon the platform he turned toward them a long-favored, highly intellectual countenance. his face was shaven smoothly, and his long black hair was held back from his temples by a band of black cloth. he reclined rather than sat in his stone chair, with an elbow on its arm and his chin on his hand.
-as polaris and rose emer became visible to the people below a subdued hum of excitement arose; but the young man on the black stone seat remained impassive, and regarded them with a steady, searching gaze, with no outward evidence of surprise.
-"a greeting to thee, kalin, priest of sardanes!" called kard, throwing out his hand in salutation. the young man replied with a careless movement of the hand that lay in his lap, without disturbing his posture of repose.
-down in the great hall hundreds of sardanian eyes were centered on the strangers. momentarily the seats were filling with new arrivals. nearly half of the gathering were women, and many of them were handsome.
-they were costumed in kirtles, belted in below the bosom and flowing loosely to below the knee. they wore their hair in plaits, coiled about the tops of their heads. ornaments of glittering metal bedecked their garments and hair. their feet were clad in sandals of soft leather, laced above the ankles, and in half stockings of cloth, gartered and bowed below the knees. rose emer was quick to note that some of them were striking beauties.
-without exception, they were brunettes.
-kard conducted polaris and the girl to seats at one side and a short distance from the central throne.
-"we bide the coming of the prince helicon," he explained, "who cometh shortly."
-for a few moments they sat in silence. then voices were heard from an entrance at the far side of the stage, and with one accord the sardanians in the hall rose from their seats.
-"the prince cometh!" murmured kard.
-polaris and rose emer arose also.
-the gateway to the future
-every sardanian hand in the great hall was uplifted in salute as five men entered through one of the pillared arches. two of them were of bearded middle age, evidently persons of station in the land; but the eyes of the throng and the eyes of rose emer and polaris passed them indifferently, to gaze on the three who followed.
-it did not need the whisper of kard the smith, "he in the center is the prince," to distinguish the ruler of sardanes. he was not more richly garbed than his companions, or differently. neither was he taller than they, or of more commanding presence. all of the three were of great height, and all carried themselves regally. something in the mien of his high-featured, thoughtful face, in his large black eyes, and in the lines of his smoothly shaven countenance bespoke his kingship as surely as though a herald had preceded him and cried out: "this is helicon, prince of sardanes!"
-the three were brothers, helicon, the eldest, was well under thirty years. the two who walked on either side of him were of the startling likeness to each other found only in twins.
-surprise was written large on the features of all of the party as they came into the open space before the throne, and they halted. the two nobles stared frankly. the faces of the twin princes expressed a kindly curiosity, not unmixed with the general awe in which the sardanians held the strangers. in the face of helicon was a similar expression, but with less of awe and more of grave dignity.
-his eyes roved over the pack of dogs, to him the most unusual figures of the group; hesitated in admiration at the splendid form of polaris, and passed to rose emer.
-as their glances met, the eyes of the prince opened wide, and seemed suddenly to become suffused. then they snapped back to the face of polaris, and seemed to carry a quick question. the son of the snows regarded him calmly; but there was in his calmness a challenge, the more deadly because of its quietude. his right hand, which rested on the neck of marcus, contracted so powerfully that the dog whined in pain. polaris knew that he had found an enemy.
-helicon swung on his heel and ascended the steps to the throne.
-the nobles and the two tall princes took seats, and kard the smith, with the enthusiasm of the born orator, stood forth to tell his story.
-"the man, sayest thou, cometh out of the snows, and speaketh our tongue?" interrupted helicon in the midst of the tale.
-"even so, prince," said kard.
-"and the woman cometh from beyond, and speaketh not our language, but one of her own, which the man speaketh also? and the woman is a princess in her own land?"
-"that, o prince, is true!"
-"then cease though thy tale, kard, and let us hear from the man in our tongue, of himself and of the princess, and of how they came hither."
-with little relish for such cutting short of his bombast, kard the smith stood back and yielded the floor to polaris.
-in a few words the man of the snows sketched the chances which had brought the girl and himself to sardanes.
-"then thou wert reared in the great wilderness, and knowest naught of the world, or of sardanes, or even of who thou thyself art?" questioned helicon. his voice was even and courteously intoned; but, though the man he questioned was of little experience, polaris understood the sneer that lay in the words.
-"so it seemeth, prince helicon," he answered quietly.
-"and the woman thou didst find in the snows, she is a princess? i can well believe that."
-"nay, prince, for she cometh from america, a great land where there are no princes or princesses. yet is she of high rank in her land, as her birth and wealth entitle her."
-helicon frowned. "how meanest thou--a land in which are neither princes or princesses?" he asked quickly. "how, then, are the people in that land ruled?"
-"by the people themselves are the people ruled in america, o prince," polaris answered. "the whole of the country and its lesser divisions are governed by men chosen by the people to rule for certain spaces of years, when others are chosen."
-"are there, then, no kings or princes in the world?" asked helicon sharply.
-"aye, princes and kings rule in many of the lands of the world," answered polaris, "but their power is limited more and more by the wishes of their people. in some other lands the government is like that in america."
-"truly, this america of which thou speakest must be a strange country. here in sardanes i hold the power of decision over life and death; aye, even unto the gateway to the future extendeth the power of sardanes's prince."
-"yet," and the voice of polaris rang like a bell--"yet, of all lands in the world, is america the greatest--and hath no prince or king."
-over the face of the prince passed a flush of annoyance. he waved his hand in dismissal of the conversation.
-"hospitality shall be thine, outlander of the snows. thou shalt rest and be refreshed. more of thy strange tales will i hear anon. and the girl--" his eyes softened as they strayed again to rose emer, and again the red blood flashed up in his cheeks. for a moment he seemed lost in his thoughts.
-also be contrary to humanity if they were to hang about, or to cause starvation of the men on board in mid-voyage on account of the mere lack of coal or food. beyond this, the spirit of the law of nations is that a neutral ought to allow nothing. can any one boldly assert that the theory of asylum can be applied with fairness to a case like that of the baltic fleet, which is far from seeking asylum, but is deliberately endeavouring to administer coups to its adversary and proceeding to the very seat of war. if he can do so, where is the justice and equity of the so-called law of nations, which the occidentals boast of, not without just title, and claim that it forms one of the essential parts of christian morality?
-7. as to the talk about the three-mile limit of the territorial waters, there is already much divergency of opinion even amongst the jurists. to put it forth as a defence in a case like that of the baltic fleet affairs seems to me too puerile. the matter, however, becomes all the more grave when even that limit is not observed, and it has been constantly ignored by the baltic fleet.
-such are the views which we japanese have taken in the matter. some french journals (erroneously basing their assertions on the views i have personally expressed) say that japan has taken up english views of international law in opposition to the continental views, so that france ought not to yield to japan's protest. this contention is not correct. we do not hold these views because they are english ones: we do so because they are in our opinion the only views which are internationally just and equitable. we are now fighting against a foe so formidable, as the whole world knows, that to us it is a matter of life and death. we have sufficient patience and fortitude, but we cannot run the risk of sacrificing our very existence without some protest when we think that we are not being treated with justice and equity.
-you ask my opinion on the future of the yellow peril cry. from an ethical point of view it is an unjust and unreasonable accusation. from a practical point of view it is idle and useless talk.
-i have spoken and written on these particular points so often that i do not feel inclined to reiterate any more. i will, however, consider the matter from a different point of view and solicit any answer which may be advanced against my conviction. i do not do this from any thought of vanity; i should be very sorry if it were ever taken in that sense. i would simply ask those who agitate and cry the yellow peril, the means they would suggest for the adopting of their propaganda, if their words are not to be empty ones.
-suppose any country wanted to subjugate japan, and should want to send an army to fight on the soil of japan, what number of men do they think would suffice? no general in the whole world would, i am sure, be bold enough to undertake the task with under one million men. i have reason to believe even that number would not suffice, but for a moment let it be that number. what country in the world can send that number over the broad ocean? germany, france, england, or america? russia seems to have the greatest chance, being nearer to japan. but her experience is already known.
-suppose the idea of a land campaign be abandoned, and only a fleet be sent to intimidate japan by sea battles, or by harassing her commerce. there would certainly be a better chance for any of the occidental fleets than for the armies, in coping with the forces of japan. above all, i frankly admit that england would be the most formidable foe in that respect. but excepting england, is there any other country that can say with certainty that it can easily crush the japanese navy? is it germany? is it france? or is it--america?
-but supposing our navy were crushed; what next? it would, of course, be a very ugly thing for us, but it would not mean the subjection of japan. our sea-coast towns may be bombarded, our commerce may be harassed, but japan will still subsist within her soil, for she can live without depending on any other country for food. and, besides, disturbance of commerce would not be a loss only to her.
-moreover, any country which should embark on such an enterprise would have need to think it over twice (or, indeed, three or four times) before undertaking it, and to calculate the probable benefit it could get therefrom, and the probable expenses it would incur; not to speak of the result of any possible failure. it may be presumed that japan would not tamely be intimidated by any action undertaken by any country which is not based on justice and equity, and which, therefore, is not open to reason.
-further, is there any country which would willingly embark on such an enterprise single-handed? i think not. the reason is too obvious for me to elucidate.
-putting aside altogether any question of justice and equity, if such an enterprise is to be embarked upon at all, it would have to be by common action of all the western powers, somewhat similar to that when the combined forces of europe rose against france some hundred years ago.
-but let me ask if such a thing is possible under the present circumstances? the claims of japan to the kind consideration of humanity have already become so widely spread that she could no longer be trampled upon easily. man is, after all, a rational being. do the writers of the articles on the yellow peril (articles which even now repeatedly make their appearance) not know the fact that even in france there is a large number of people who have recently purchased japanese bonds, not to speak of germany, where those bonds have been openly floated by banks of high standing? even if all the governments of the west should be willing to agree to such an enterprise, i do not think the people at large would move with them.
-japan is modest enough, japan is honest enough. why does she deserve a general ostracism? she might become, it is possible, a power of the world. she might become, it is possible, more civilised on the lines of occidental civilisation, after which she strives so earnestly. are these to be blamed as her sins?
-to me the yellow peril cry, which is so often revived in some quarters of the continent, is either a sort of what we call 'guchi,' that is to say, useless repetition of complaint of some unreasonable disappointment, or a perpetuation of wicked instigation and selfish intention. in either case, it is not at all a laudable action; indeed, i may say it is wasteful calumny for no material good will come of it inasmuch as its object can never be achieved from the very condition of the world. the people who entertain that idea would be doing far better service to their country, to the progress of civilisation, to the general cause of humanity, if only they put aside such a silly notion, and busy themselves in teaching their fellow country-folks to accustom themselves to the changed circumstances of the time. it would be a far more manly and noble act if they revised their old notions, which in a measure may be called prejudice.
-as to ourselves, the japanese, we shall only be glad if we can enjoy a peaceful and harmonious life in the happy family of the world, as we are determined to do, in spite of all the obstacles which may be laid before us.
-interview with the baron suyematsu
-the eminent statesman, baron suyematsu, kindly dictated in english to one of our editors answers relating to certain questions with regard to the relation between japan and europe, especially france and germany.
-with the disclosure of the alleged kodama report in view, how far may one give credit to the alleged japanese plan of invasion of indo-china?
-i know all that has been written in france on the subject. all those rumours appear to me to have come originally from russia, and to have been put into circulation in order to excite french opinion against japan, in other words, it is nothing else than a mere repetition of the yellow peril cry.
-japan does not covet indo-china. i have shown elsewhere that the french colonies in the far east have no perceptible influence upon the situation of japan, either from a political or an economical point of view. japan has sufficient to do at home, she does not want to plunge into external adventures, such as meddling with indo-china or picking a quarrel with a country like france. you may be sure that it would be more politic for france to cultivate amicable relations with japan than irritate her by such accusations. even if those accusations honestly represent the true sentiment of the french, the japanese would only take them for malicious manœuvres directed to aid russia, and they could not produce any good impression on the minds of the japanese.
-is there any reason to believe that the so-called kodama report was forged in russia rather than in france?
-i have demonstrated elsewhere that the document which was recently made public and attributed to kodama containing some military indications on the plan of an invasion of indo-china is a perfect forgery. i have exposed elsewhere several technical errors therein which would never appear in an authentic official document. but whether it is authentic or not, i do not attach any importance to the matter, from a political point of view at least. it is the duty of all the military and naval authorities to keep themselves ready for any emergency. for example, france ought to keep herself always prepared for any possible difficulties which may arise on her frontiers in the east, and in the south, and on the western coasts; the same with germany, with austria, with italy, even with the united states.
-it appears to me that, if the general staff-office of france or of germany, or the military or naval authorities of any country whatever, were to remain without the least knowledge as to what measure should be taken in case of a danger, they would be neglecting their duty to their country. i can then say that all the japanese officers, both in the army and in the navy ought to study constantly the measures which japan should take in any emergency. i believe it is the same in every country in europe. this, however, does not belong to the sphere of practical politics. it is the duty of statesmen and politicians to maintain a friendly relationship with all other countries as far as possible; and, consequently, to keep absolute control over their armies and navies. the army and navy ought to serve as instruments and machines in their hands, and not they, the civilians, become the instruments of the army and navy. you may be quite assured that in japan the army and navy are the machines of the statesmen, and that the statesmen are not their machines.
-can the fabrication of the so-called kodama report be demonstrated by a precise fact?
-i shall not say whence the document emanated. i believe it was composed by some one who does not lack a certain knowledge of japan, but who has drawn false deductions from his knowledge of similar matters of other countries. here is the best example. the document speaks of the native contingents of formosa. now there exist no such forces in formosa. the garrisons of formosa are sent there from japan. on the other hand, in the colonies belonging to other countries there are generally troops formed of native contingents. it is notably so in french colonies. the author of the document in question, reasoning from these facts, thought that it ought to be the same with formosa.
-has japan any fear of another alteration of the treaty of shimonoseki being imposed upon her?
-we do not overlook the possibility of another combination which those powers may have an idea of forming against us, and it behoves us to be watchful. nevertheless, to tell you my candid opinion, it is scarcely possible that a similar intervention should be renewed. i do not think france would push her docility so far as to follow germany a second time. it would be necessary that germany should set the example, aided by russia and france, to come out to the far east, especially because the russian fleets have ceased to exist. i admit that the german fleet is strong, but i do not believe it is powerful enough for one to say with certainty that it can easily crush japan. at all events, what pretext has germany to enter into war in the far east? among other things also she would have to count on the opinion and sentiments of two countries at least, i mean england and the united states. i do not, therefore, consider a new combination possible. japan cannot be intimidated by mere barking.
-if, however, europe should choose to take such a course, we should gravely reflect. i do not believe your country for example would ever undertake an expedition against japan. you have disapproved a small expedition to tonkin and we are a little more serious than the tonkinese. france might no doubt, if her honour demanded it, judge it worth the pain to engage in a war with japan, but under no other circumstance do i believe her disposed to take such a part.
-japan will always continue to advance on the lines of occidental civilisation. i do not see the reason which will prevent japan from acting in concert with france or germany, provided of course these powers do not enter upon an action which may appear to her altogether unjust or iniquitous, in which case she may not be able to march with them hand-in-hand.
-would japan be offended by france introducing civilisation into indo-china?
-we are not at all opposed to your introducing western civilisation into your colonies. on the contrary we shall be quite contented, but in introducing your civilisation into your colonies you have to be prepared that it signifies an amelioration of the condition of the natives. if it were so, why should we make the least objection? but in the hypothesis that the introduction of civilisation has in view neither amelioration of the condition of the natives nor progress of commerce and industry, we might then conceive a sort of suspicion. supposing that you augment the garrisons, the fortifications, the naval forces, one would see in it nothing but an expansion of your military power and not an introduction of civilisation in the sense understood in france. even in that case we would not raise objections, unless it were done with a view to menace us; but here i shall offer you a suggestion. is it really worth your while to develop there incessantly your military and naval forces in order to oppose japan? would not the enterprise be rather costly? would it not be infinitely better to employ your energy in cultivating a good understanding between your country and ours instead of rivalling each other by crossing armaments?
-baron suyematsu gave a daily news representative his opinion of the 'spectre of japan' as conceived by many europeans. the japanese baron, a burly, cheerful man, laughed heartily as he dealt with the alarmist fears of the 'yellow peril.'
-our talk began over mr. bruce smith's notice of motion in the australian parliament.
-'yes, i have seen the proposal,' said baron suyematsu, 'and i am very glad an australian representative has taken up the question. he proposes to amend the immigration restriction act so as to permit japanese to enter the commonwealth. the reason given is that japan has placed herself in the front rank of nations, has granted religious freedom, has established consulates, and become the honoured ally of great britain. i understand that australian papers are saying there is no chance of the motion being carried. i care not whether the motion is carried or not this time. of one thing i am certain--it will be carried eventually.
-'what reason has australia for shutting out the japanese?'
-'the dread of cheaper labour and of the "yellow peril," as it is called. whatever there be in that, it certainly does not apply to the japanese. this is already being realised in australia, as mr. bruce smith's motion shows. the japanese are making it clear that they have to be regarded by europeans in a different light from the rest of asiatics. europeans consider themselves superior to all other races. i do not blame them for thinking that, for of modern civilisations theirs is certainly the best. but with the exception of the british people, europeans have not yet realised that modern japan is built up on european methods. she has no more to do with the so-called "yellow peril" than america has. she takes her place by the side of the other powers, with very much the same civilisation as theirs. england having been the first to recognise the new japan, i am certain her colonies will soon follow. that is why i feel it is only a question of time before australia excludes japan from its restriction act.'
-a mistaken idea
-'yet australia has been talking freely enough about the japanese menace.'
-'i know. it is quite a mistaken idea of the australians that if japan triumphs in the present war she would be a menace to australia. they say that if we win we shall be masters of the east and the paramount power in eastern waters. what, they ask, is to become of australia, if we take it into our heads to make a descent upon their shores?'
-baron suyematsu again laughed boisterously, as one who can afford to make merry at an extravagant idea.
-'the whole thing is so utterly preposterous,' he went on, 'that it would not be worth considering were it not typical of what is being said all over europe. our fight for national existence against russia has been misconstrued everywhere. we seem to have filled the western world with all sorts of vague fears, france is saying that we shall soon deprive her of indo-china. germany declares we have designs on kiao-chau. the dutch say that java is no longer safe from our machinations. never was such nonsense talked of a country which, after all, is but fighting to preserve its national existence.'
-'and you say japan has no intention of arming the asiatics against the europeans?'
-'the whole idea is absurd. japan wishes to become one with the european nations. i might even say she aspires to become a member of the european family. it is a mistake to think that japan is going to form a pan-asiatic association. japan is the only country in the east that can rise on european lines. her example could not be followed by other asiatic countries. we are said to be the successors of the tartars, at one time the disturbers of the world's peace. nothing of the kind. russia would be more fittingly the successor of the tartars. the tartar races have been merged in the russian empire.
-'i am sure,' added baron suyematsu, in a final word, 'that europe will soon find its fears about the "spectre of japan" are all ill-founded. england, i am glad to believe, never had those fears, and before long i hope to see her colonies in the same frame of mind. i hope the commonwealth parliament will lead the way.'
-'our people,' said baron suyematsu, 'like the british people, favour the renewal of the anglo-japanese alliance. they also favour its extension. the nature of such extension demands careful thought, of course. i will not go into details, but i will say that a more effectual alliance is desirable from the standpoints of both england and japan, and i also think from the standpoint of america. japan's interest is too obvious to require mention; but england's interest, in my opinion, is equally real. russia and england are in contact throughout asia and friction is constant. england needs strengthening against russia and also against other powers active in the orient.
-monroe doctrine of the past
-'america's relation to this problem is more difficult. monroeism is thought to stand in the way. i appreciate the delicacy of venturing to discuss the policy of a nation other than my own, but i feel that americans are too sensible to resent an honest expression of opinion. monroeism is not part of the constitution, but the dictum of a statesman. this dictum was made when our planet was very large, before the development of steam and electricity. the nations were isolated and insulated by distance and non-communication.
-'at that time american theory and practice relative to foreign affairs were in harmony. america was actually self-contained, but to-day the world is a tiny ball and america's flag and america's interests are on every sea. america is sovereign in hawaii and the philippines, and yet the american people cling to the idea of leaving distant matters alone. nevertheless the state department is widely and intelligently active.
-american interest world-wide
-'theoretically you do not participate, actually your participation bears upon international events everywhere. witness secretary hay's initiative respecting the jews, as well as despatch after despatch aimed at russian aggression in manchuria. the world's interests are becoming woven into a solid fabric. great nations cannot escape the responsibility this involves. american theory and practice, in my judgment, will go on diverging until the notion of non-participation will be merely an antiquated abstraction.
-'therefore i refuse to regard as hopeless the idea of an american-anglo-japanese alliance, guaranteeing the peaceful development of the vast resources of the far east. such an alliance exists essentially now--an alliance springing from cognate ideas, wishes, purposes and principles. this is the best possible foundation for that formal compact which the evolution of industry and commerce seems to me unmistakably to foreshadow.'
-since the bulk of the present work went to press, i came across the following communication printed in the outlook. i take the liberty of subjoining it herewith, without any vain intention of flaunting the virtues of my countrymen.--k.s.
-to the editor of the outlook
-sir,--i have received during the last few weeks letters bearing such eloquent testimony to the nobility of japanese character that i am sending you some extracts in the hope of your publishing them. the letters are from a friend of mine, who with her husband has lived in yokohama for many years, and can therefore speak with considerable authority. the first extract is about the soldiers themselves--
-mine you know is a busy life, and i found work among the military hospitals and also among the brave wives of the soldiers so fascinating that from the new year till early june i let all social duties slip, so much so that i had a nervous breakdown in june, and since then have had to go very slow.
-we had a splendid time at our seaside cottage at negishi this afternoon, any amount of our dear brown soldiers round us. there are five hundred quartered in that fishing village just now; they were resting, bathing, boating, washing their clothes or cooking their chow, but never a rude word or an uncouth action; no rowdyism, but all as civil, quiet, good-tempered, and alert as possible; they are a marvel; and my children go in and out among them and love them, like i do! i could kill white idiots when i hear them speak of those fine fellows as 'an inferior race.' ye gods! 'inferior' with never a camp follower to their name, and rapine unknown even after the fiercest fight! what european race can show a record like that? i wish i could be home for six months and tell what the soldiers and their wives are--what miracles of cheerful patience and manly dignity the wounded men are as they lie hacked and maimed, sometimes till almost all semblance of manhood is gone, yet never a murmur does any one hear from their lips--no, not if they are armless, legless, and even blind. and you would not dare condole with them! they say and believe they 'are greatly honoured.' when they embrace christianity, they shame the brightest christian among us, and i come away from visiting the hospitals feeling so small, so humble, yet at peace with all the world. we have very, very much to learn from this great people.
-this second extract, about a soldier's wife, may come home to your readers even more:--
-i allow two families a small sum of money every week. one case is that of a young woman, under twenty years of age, who has a child and an aged parent to keep, and her husband went to the war a few weeks ago, leaving her penniless and on the verge of having another baby. a few days ago, when i went to take her weekly money, she refused to take it, saying she had got a little work to do and could now manage without any help, as there were so many in much greater need of help than herself; and she would not take the money, though she was earning even less than i was allowing her. that is what i call a real heroine.
-how many at work amongst our poor last winter could give such evidence to character as that?--i am, sir, yours, etc.
-note to dialogue viii.
-before the preceding pages had been printed two events worth mentioning here took place. one is the lamented death of sir henry irving. the other is the public discussion which took place under the auspices of the london shakespeare league, on the best method of presenting shakespeare's plays on the modern stage. on the latter subject perhaps i may add a word. while in japan the tendency is to introduce women-players into the company of male players, and improvement of scenery is much sought after on european lines, both of which are due to the occidental influence, it is curious to notice that exactly reverse movements, namely the dispensing with the female players and the returning back to the primitive simplicity of stage properties, are advocated in england by competent persons with regard to the representation of shakespeare. i extract below among others a passage of the speech of mr. bernard shaw on the occasion of the discussion referred to above:--
-when mr. gilbert said that he would like to see the women's parts played by boys, he was not uttering a jest. in some of the performances at westminster school, he had seen boys in women's parts much more effective than any professional actress. if women players had been proposed to shakespeare, he would not only have been scandalised, but he would have pointed out that it was impossible to get the force from women that was obtained from boy actors.
-note to the article on 'commercial morality'
-in the october number of the anglo-japanese gazette (london) is published a criticism by mr. curtis, editor and proprietor of the kobe herald, on 'the ridiculously sweeping assertions,' as he calls it, made by mr. longford in his article. i subjoin herewith a passage which relates to mr. longford's assertion that a 'cordon' is drawn by the japanese round the trading centres of yokohama and kobe, and that foreign merchants are suffering under the 'thraldom':--
-well, let me say that no sane, fair-minded man who knows anything whatever of his subject would ever dream of accusing the whole japanese people of a lack of commercial morality. all this talk about a cordon being drawn round the treaty ports is rubbish. no such barrier exists, save perhaps in the imagination of a few who cannot shake off the prejudices and disabilities of the past. the idea sounds absurd to me, knowing, as i do know, that all the go-ahead firms have been doing their utmost for some time past to open up connections in the principal cities. mr. longford seems to think that business is conducted in japan to-day just as it was twenty years ago. he apparently does not know that some foreign houses have trusted clerks or travellers all over the country; that some foreign business men run up to osaka and tokio daily; and that business journeys to maidzuru--the great, fortified naval base on the sea of japan--nagoya sasebo, hiroshima, and other important centres, are matters of everyday experience now.
-in the same number of the same journal is also published an important article from the pen of sir tollemache sinclair, bart., concerning bishop awdry's letter published in the times. sir tollemache strongly repudiates the accuracy of the bishop's charge of dishonesty and immorality against the japanese, which sir tollemache calls the bishop's 'utterly erroneous accusations,' basing his contention upon an elaborate comparison of the statistical facts of japan and many other nations relating to several important subjects having bearing on the question. among other things, he writes:--
-this clerical censor, who endeavours to find a mote in his japanese brother's eye, but does not see the beam in his english brother's eye, cut the ground from under his own feet on the subject of the imaginary dishonesty of japanese traders, for he tells us that a house was built for him by japanese tradesmen admirably without any contract, and at a moderate expense; and i should like to know, if any englishman did the same thing in england, whether he would not be unmercifully fleeced. bishop awdry says he is a friend of the japanese, but they will probably say to him, after reading his letter, 'save us from our friends, as to our enemies we will take care of them ourselves.'
-and he winds up the article with these words:--
-what excuse has he to offer for the gross and discreditable and unfounded insults which he has heaped on the heads of those under whose protection, and in the enjoyment of whose hospitality, he resides.... in short, it may justly be said of the letter written by this superfluous bishop, 'what is true is not new, and what is new is not true.'
-adoption, the custom of advance japan, morris's age, ways of counting aïda, the opera ainslie, dr. daniel, his mission to nagasaki aizu, lord of america's sympathy for japan american press, views of war with russia given to the anglo-french, russo-japanese entente anglo-franco diplomacy in japan anglo-japanese alliance and america, an interview army, the japanese -- state of, after fighting army and navy, organisation of arisugawa, prince art, japanese ashikaga aston, dr. australian question, the
-bank of japan. 'black room president,' books on japan bracken, a talk about british east india company buddhist sects budha, amida bukum bushido -- discourse on -- history of the term -- its literature bushiku bushi-zoku
-calendar, the japanese calumnies on japan card-playing cards, description of character of the japanese chastity chauvinism, fear of chess-playing in china -- in japan chiku-ba-sho china, the difficulty of reform in -- the future of -- and russia, secret treaty between chinese jurisprudence -- banking system chivalry, japanese chokai, gunboat chosiu -- troops christianity and japan chrysanthemums, the culture of climate in japan code of honour, the japanese commerce and industry of japan described commercial morality of the japanese described communication, means of, in japan corea currency, japanese
-daidoji yiuzan daimio explained -- and samurai, difference between danjiuro deaf and dumb, the treatment of death, the japanese conception of deutsche revue diet, the difficulty of distinguishing r and l duels dwellings, details of
-earrings, remarks on eating fruit without peeling education in japan -- the system of -- common and military elementary lessons on budo england, her political attitude. england and america, relations between, with regard to japan english press views on japanese character -- sympathy for japan
-feeling and sentiment in japan feudal system in japan fiction, japanese fighting, modes of finance of the imperial government at the beginning of the great change financial and economical annual financial system, progress of firearms, the first use of, in japan flowers, art of arrangement of -- sale of food, japanese forecast on the issue of the war france and her women -- relations with england french nationalists and socialists with regard to japan fushimi, battle of
-hakodate hana-karuta hanawa hearn, lafcadio -- life of -- remarks on hetaira hideyoshi hirosé, commandant -- mrs., her letter to an english admiral hizen hogen monogatari house of representatives
-imperial army department -- government and military reform imperial japan imperial succession -- troops independent review indo-china question inouyé, count -- a sketch of his life intermarriages, japanese international conventions and japan irving, sir henry, and the japanese stage ito, marquis -- an old speech by -- a sketch of his life izawa hanrioshi
-jane eyre and japan japan after the war -- emperor of, his powers -- and america, relations between -- and europe, relations between -- and foreign capital -- and russia, a priest's views on japan times japanese, the age of -- as correspondents -- love tale, a -- reform, how brought about -- tariff -- vendetta jiujitsu, discourse on -- and wrestling, a comparison of -- the willow mind style
-kagoshima -- bombardment of kaibara yekken kataki-uchi katsura, count kawakami kawasé, kido kikugoro kiusiu kioto kite flying kites koizumi yakumo kokkwa, a monthly on art komura, baron kumazawa banzan kuroda kuropatkin, general kwanto, plain of
-lady's opinion on japanese women, a languages, remarks on languages of china and japan lays of ancient rome le matin, 35. lectures by yamaga soko legislation, evolution of lines on hailstones little, archibald local administration loti, pierre
-macaulay maritana, the opera marriage ceremonies, description of massage matoni, monsieur matrimony, preliminary inquiries in respect to matsukata, career of mikado's empire military organisation -- training -- for boys -- service, hereditary, abolished mongolian troops moon scenes morality of japan, compared with other nations mothers and wives, japanese music, japanese
-nagasaki nakaodo, a nakaye-toju names, japanese napoleon national banks nationality, abuse of japanese navigation in the japan sea navy, the japanese -- its history nelson neutrality question, the 'new commoners,' and the history of their emancipation night fêtes in japan nobility, the japanese -- methods of addressing nogi, general, and religion's meaning notions of pardon and forgiving nozu, general
-occidental civilisation -- vulgarity okubo okuma, count -- a sketch of the life of osaka oyama marshal
-paris -- a motor ride round -- by night peace prospects, observations of physique, the japanese political attitude of england political organism of japan port arthur press, the, and the war printing, the art of pronunciation of japanese public baths
-questions and answers on bun and bu
-raffles, sir stamford, his appreciation of japan railways, construction of red cross society religion in japan -- discussions on religion, japanese meaning of restoration, the japanese revenge, japanese revolution, discussion on the japanese risen sun, the rodjestvensky, admiral romance, japanese 'ronin,' roosevelt, president -- and jiujitsu -- his partiality towards japan russia, emperor of -- and japan, a priest's views on russian defeat, the cause of russian views of the japanese russo-japanese war, outbreak of russophile papers
-sada-yakko sadanji saga, prince of saigo saionji, a sketch of the life of samurai -- and daimio, difference between -- and fighting -- explained -- discipline of the -- the soul of -- mother illustrated by a drama satcho satow, sir e. satsuma -- formation of the -- war -- the cause of scenery of japan sekigahara, battle of self-help, smiles's semitic sympathy shido, shikwan shimadai shimazu saburo shintoism, its sensitiveness to pollution shipbuilding yards, origin of shiwa yoshimasa shizoku, the title shogun shogunate -- financial system of -- troops simonoseki, treaty of singing insects sino-japanese war sketches of some chief figures of actual japan snow scenes social morality, discussion on social condition of japan socialism and japan, discussion on sotsuibushi, or police-master-general sports, japanese stage, the japanese 'standard of living,' an essay stoessel, general summer resorts of foreigners sumoo superstition, japanese. swords
-taira takasago takasugi takeda shingen telegraphs in japan telephones in japan things japanese (1898) togo, admiral tokio -- the history of -- the patois of tokugawa -- régime -- feudatories under tolstoy, count leo trans-siberian railway trip to japan, details concerning tsu-shima, battle of
-washington, george weapons, japanese
-and their cultural significance
-by morris jastrow, jr. ph. d. (leipzig) professor of semitic languages in the university of pennsylvania (philadelphia)
-gießen 1914 verlag von alfred töpelmann (vormals j. ricker)
-sir william osler
-regius professor of medicine oxford university
-this volume is dedicated as a mark of esteem and admiration.
-"most fine, most honour'd, most renown'd." (king henry v, 2d part, act iv, 5, 164.)
-the significance attached to birth omens is thus merely a phase of the ceremonies attendant upon the passage of the new-born from its mysterious hiding place to the light. the analogy between the new life and the processes of nature is complete, for the plant, too, after being hidden in the earth, which is pictured in the religions of antiquity as a 'great mother', comes to the surface.
-malformations among infants and the young of animals were of course plentiful, but here too the anomalies and monstrosities are not as numerous and varied as were entered in the handbooks of the babylonian and assyrian diviners. the factor of fancy to which i have referred enters even more largely in the entries of many actual malformations, through the assumption of a more or less fanciful resemblance of some feature or of some part of an infant or of the young of an animal with the features or parts of some animal.
-'if it is a double foetus, but with one head, a double spine, two tails and one body, the land that is now ruled by two will be ruled by one person.
-if it is a double foetus with one head, the land will be safe.'
-'if the foetus is male and female--omen of azag-bau who ruled the land. the king's country will be seized.
-'if it is a double foetus with slits (?) on the head and tail, the land will be secure.
-if it is a double foetus, encompassed like an enclosure, with slits on the body, end of the dynasty, confusion and disturbances in the country.
-if it is a double foetus, encompassed like an enclosure, with twisted necks and only one head, the land will remain under one head.
-if it is a double foetus with one head, a double spine, eight feet, two necks and two tails, the king will enlarge his land.
-if it is a double foetus with one head, double spine, two tails and one body, then the land that is ruled by two will be ruled by one.
-if it is a double foetus with only one head and one spine, eight feet, two necks and two tails, the king will enlarge his land.
-if it is a double foetus with only one neck, the ruler will enlarge his land.
-if it is a double foetus with only one spine, the ruler will enlarge his land.
-if it is a double foetus with only one mouth, the land will remain under the command of the king.
-if it is a double foetus with only one breast, the land will be enlarged, rule of a legitimate king.
-let us proceed further with this text.
-if it is a double foetus, and the second lies at the tail of the first and enclosed and both are living, ditto.
-if it is a double foetus, and one rides over the other, victory, throne will support throne.
-if it is a double foetus and one rides over the other and there is only one head, the power of the king will conquer the enemy's land.
-if it is a double foetus with the faces downward, approach of the son of the king, who will take the throne of his father, or a second son of the king will die, or a third son of the king will die.
-if it is a double foetus with six feet, the population will be diminished, confusion in the land.
-if an ewe gives birth to three (lambs), the prosperity of the country will be annulled, but things will go well with the owner of the ewe, his stall will be enlarged.
-if an ewe gives birth to three fully developed (lambs), the dynasty will meet with opposition, approach of an usurper, the country will be destroyed.
-if an ewe gives birth to four, the land will encounter hostility, the produce of the land will be swept away, approach of an usurper, destruction in the land.
-if an ewe gives birth to four, approach of an usurper, the country will be destroyed.
-if an ewe gives birth to five, destruction will ravage the country, the owner of the house will die, his stall will be destroyed.
-if an ewe gives birth to six, confusion among the population.
-if an ewe gives birth to seven,--three male and four female--, the king will perish.
-if an ewe gives birth to eight, approach of an usurper, the tribute of the king will be withheld.
-if an ewe gives birth to nine, end of the dynasty.
-if the foetus lacks a left ear, a god will harken to the prayer of the king, the king will take the land of his enemy, the palace of the enemy will be destroyed, the enemy will be without a counsellor, the cattle of the enemy's country will be diminished, the enemy will lose control.
-if the left ear of the foetus is detached, the enemy's stall will be destroyed.
-if the left ear of the foetus is split, the herd will be enlarged, the leaders of the enemy's country will leave (it).
-if the left ear of the foetus is split and swollen with clay, the enemy's country will have a rival.
-if the right ear of the foetus is destroyed, the stall will be enlarged, the stall of the enemy will be diminished.
-if the outside of the right ear is destroyed, the land will yield to the enemy's land.
-if the left ear of the foetus lies near the cheek, an enemy will be installed in the royal palace.
-if the left ear of the foetus lies near the jaw, birth of a demon in the enemy's land, or the land of the enemy will perish.
-the guiding principle of the interpretation in these instances is the natural association of the right as your side and the left with the enemy's side. a defect on the right side is unfavorable to you, i. e., to the king or to the country or to the individual in whose household the birth occurs, while the same defect on the left side is unfavorable to the enemy and, therefore, favorable to you. the principle is quite consistently carried out even to the point that if the sign itself is favorable, it is only when it is found on the right side that it is favorable to you, while its occurrence on the left side is favorable to the enemy.
-defects of any kind appear to be unfavorable, whereas an excess of organs and parts are in many instances favorable, though with a considerable measure of arbitrariness.
-if the foetus has two ears on the right side and none on the left, the boundary city of the enemy will become subject to you.
-if the foetus has two ears on the left side and none on the right, your boundary city will become subject to the enemy.
-if the foetus has two ears on the right side and one on the left, the land will remain under the control of the ruler.
-if the foetus has two ears on the left side and one on the right, the land will revolt.
-if within the left ear of the foetus there is a second ear, the counsellors of the ruler will advise evilly.
-if behind the right ear of the foetus there is a second ear, the ruler will have counsellors.
-if behind the left ear there are two ears visible on the outside, the inhabitants of the boundary city of the enemy will become subject to you.
-if a foetus has three ears, one on the left side and two on the right side, the angry gods will return to the country.
-if a foetus has three ears, one on the left side and two on the right, the gods will kill within the country.
-if within the right ear of a foetus there are three ears with the inner sides well formed, the opponent will conclude peace with the king whom he fears, the army of the ruler will dwell in peace with him.
-if within the left ear of a foetus there are three ears with the inner sides well formed, thy ally will become hostile.
-if behind each of the two ears there are three ears visible on the outside, confusion in the land, the counsel of the land will be discarded, one land after the other will revolt.
-if within each of two ears there are three ears visible on the inner side, things will go well with the ruler's army.
-if within each of the two ears there are three ears, visible on the outside and the inside, the army of the ruler will forsake him and his land will revolt.
-if within each of the two ears there are three ears, visible on the outside and the inside, the army of the ruler will forsake him and his land will revolt.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, the abandoned weapons will make an attack (again), the king will be without a rival.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, but (some of) the features are (also) human, the power of the king will conquer a powerful country.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, but (some of) the features are those of a lamb, the young cattle will not prosper.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, but (some of) the features are those of an ass, severe famine will occur in the country.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, but with the mouth of a wild cow, the rule of the king will not prosper.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion but with the mouth of a bull, famine will ensue.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion with fatty flesh on the nose, the land will be well nourished.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, and the right temple is covered with fatty flesh, the land will be richly blessed.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, and the left temple is covered with fatty flesh,--rivalry.
-if an ewe gives birth to a lion, and it is covered all over with fatty flesh, the king will be without a rival.
-the general idea associated with the lion in divination texts is that of power, success, increase and the like. the sign, therefore, of an ewe producing a lion is a favorable one; it is only through attendant circumstances that the character of the sign is transformed into an unfavorable or partly unfavorable omen. so in case the lion-lamb has a head suggestive of the variegated colors of the rainbow bird, the sign still points to power, but to a power exercised by the crown prince against the father. if some of the features suggest those of an ass or of a dog or of a pig, the ideas associated with these animals convert what would otherwise have been a favorable sign into an unfavorable one. the mouth of a wild cow or of a bull, thus interfering with the complete identification of the young lamb as a lion-lamb, similarly, brings about an unfavorable interpretation. fatty flesh by a natural association points to increased prosperity, while mutilations of the head, tail or of any other part naturally carry with them unfavorable prognostications.
-if an ewe gives birth to a dog ... the king's land will revolt.
-if an ewe gives birth to a panther, the kingdom of the ruler will secure universal sway.
-if an ewe gives birth to a hyena (?), approach of elam.
-if an ewe gives birth to a gazelle, the days of the ruler through the grace of the gods will be long, or the ruler will have warriors.
-if an ewe gives birth to a hind, the son of the king will seize his father's throne, or the approach of subartu will overthrow the land.
-if an ewe gives birth to a wild cow, revolt will prevail in the land.
-if an ewe gives birth to an ox, the weapons of the ruler will prevail over the weapons of the enemy.
-if an ewe gives birth to a cow, the king will die, another king will draw nigh and divide the country.
-one might have supposed that such omens represent a purely imaginative theoretical factor, but the introduction of the historical reference proves conclusively that the babylonians and assyrians attached an importance to the fancied resemblance of an animal to an other, and that in the case of such strange statements as that an ewe gives birth to one of a series of all kinds of animals, it is this fancied resemblance that forms the basis and the point of departure for the interpretation.
-if, now, we turn to birth-omens in the case of infants, we find in the omen texts the same two classes, those in which all kinds of abnormalities and malformations are registered, and such in which the fancied resemblance of the new-born infant to some animal, or of some features of an infant to those of an animal is introduced as a factor. the principles underlying the interpretation, so far as they can be recognized, are naturally the same as in the case of birth-omens for the young of domesticated animals. a few illustrations will make this clear.
-if a woman gives birth to a boy and a girl, ill luck will enter the land, the land will be diminished.
-if a woman gives birth to twins in an abnormal condition, the land will perish, the house of the man will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth to twins united at the sides, (and) the right hand of the one lying to the right is missing, the weapon of the enemy will kill me, the land will be diminished, weakness will bring about defeat and my army will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth to twins united at the sides and the right hands are missing--attack, the enemy will destroy the produce of the land.
-if a woman gives birth to twins, united at the sides, and the right foot of the one lying to the right is missing, the enemy will abandon the rest of my land, the land will be captured.
-if a woman gives birth to two girls, the house will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth to three well developed girls, the land of the ruler will be enlarged.
-if a woman gives birth to three boys, distress will seize the land ...
-if a woman gives birth, (and the child has) a lion's ear, a powerful king will rule in the land.
-if a woman gives birth, and the left ear is missing, the life of the king will be long.
-if a woman gives birth, and both ears are missing, famine will prevail in the country, and the land will be diminished.
-if a woman gives birth, and the right ear is small, the house of the man will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth, and the left ear is small, the house of the man will be enlarged.
-if a woman gives birth, and both ears are small, the house of the man will be overthrown.
-if a woman gives birth, and both ears are detached, the house of the man will encounter misfortune.
-if a woman gives birth, and the right ear reaches to the cheek, a weakling will be born in the man's house.
-if a woman gives birth, and both ears reach to the cheek, that land will be destroyed, protection will be withdrawn.
-if a woman gives birth, and the right ear is deformed, a weakling will be born in the man's house.
-if a woman gives birth, and there are two ears on the right side and the left ear is missing, the angry gods will return to the land and the land will have peace.
-if a woman gives birth, and there are two ears on the left side and the right ear is missing, the counsel of the land will be disturbed.
-if a woman gives birth, and both ears are flattened,--revolt.
-the principle consistently applied throughout these omens is that a defect or deformity on the right side is an unfavorable sign, and that the same phenomenon on the left side is unfavorable to the enemy, or favorable to you. a large ear--suggesting that of a lion--points by association to enlargement and increased strength.
-the text then passes on to other peculiarities.
-if a woman gives birth, and (the child has) the mouth of a bird, that land will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth, and the mouth is missing, the mistress of the house will die.
-if a woman gives birth, and the right nostril is missing,--injury.
-if a woman gives birth, and both nostrils are missing, the land will experience distress, the house of the man will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth, and the lower jaw is missing, the enemy will take the boundary strip of my land.
-if a woman gives birth, and the arms (?) are missing, the house of the man will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth, and the arms (?) are short, he will attain favor.
-if a woman gives birth, and the lips are missing, the land will encounter distress, the house of the man will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth, and the right hand is missing, that land will suffer destruction.
-if a woman gives birth, and the fingers of the right hand are missing, the ruler will be hemmed in by his enemy.
-if a woman gives birth, and there are six fingers on the right hand, misfortune will seize the house.
-if a woman gives birth, and the genital member is missing, the master of the house will be weakened, drying up of the field.
-if a woman gives birth, and the right thigh is missing, the land of the ruler will go to ruin.
-if a woman gives birth, and the left thigh is missing, the enemy's land will go to ruin.
-if a woman gives birth, and both feet are missing, the course of the land will be checked, that house will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth, and hands and feet are like those of a turtle, the ruler will destroy the product of his land.
-if a woman gives birth, and it has four feet and genital member and pudenda are there, the land will suffer misfortune, a strange ruler will appear on the scene.
-if a woman gives birth, and the right leg is missing, the land of the ruler will go to ruin.
-if a woman gives birth, and the left leg is missing, the enemy's land will go to ruin.
-if a woman gives birth to a weak girl, that house will be destroyed by fire.
-if a woman gives birth to a cripple, that house will be plundered.
-if a woman gives birth to a deaf mute, the house will be shut in.
-if a woman gives birth, and the offspring cries in the womb, the land will encounter sickness.
-if a woman gives birth, and the offspring cries in the womb and it is distinctly heard, a powerful enemy will arise and overthrow the land, destruction will sweep the land, the enemy will destroy the precious possession, or the master's house will be destroyed.
-if a woman gives birth to a lion, that city will be taken, the king will be captured.
-if a woman gives birth to a dog, the master of the house will die and that house will be destroyed, confusion, nergal will destroy.
-if a woman gives birth to a pig, a woman will seize the throne.
-if a woman gives birth to an ox, the king of universal rule will prevail in the land.
-if a woman gives birth to an ass, the king of universal rule will prevail in the land.
-if a woman gives birth to a lamb, the ruler will be without a rival.
-now in order to justify the proposition that the study of human physiognomy, as developed among the greeks and romans and as passed on to others with its insistence on the fancied resemblance between man and animals as a leading and indeed as a fundamental factor, is to be directly carried back to the birth-omens of babylonia and assyria, we ought to be able to establish that among greeks and romans the abnormalities observed at the birth of infants and of the young of animals were really regarded as omens, and that such omens show a sufficient affinity to what we find among babylonians and assyrians to warrant the conclusion that, just as hepatoscopy and astrology came to the greeks and romans through influences emanating from the euphrates valley, so also the third large division of divination methods may be traced to the same source. let us first take up the romans for which the material at our disposal is so much more abundant.
-'if a woman gives birth to a lion, that city will be taken, the king will be imprisoned',
-it will be admitted that the coincidence is too close to be accidental. the phraseology, resting upon the resemblance between man and animals, is identical. the comparison of an infant to a lion, as of a new-born lamb to a lion is characteristic of the babylonian-assyrian divination texts and even the form of the omen, stating that the woman actually gave birth to a lion is the same in both while the basis of interpretation--the lion pointing to an exercise of strength--is likewise identical. ordinarily the resemblance of the feature of an infant to that of a lion points to increased power on the part of the king of the country, but in the specific case, the omen is unfavorable also in the babylonian text. it is the enemy who will develop power, so that the agreement between the babylonian and etruscan omen extends even to the exceptional character of the interpretation in this particular instance.
-a warning may also not be out of place against connecting the belief in monsters and fabulous creatures with the mental processes that give rise to totemistic beliefs. in so far as totemism implies the descent of a clan or group from some animal, it rests in part upon the supposed resemblance between man and animals. without this feature the thought of a descent of human beings from some animal would hardly have occurred to people, but this is only one factor involved. ignorance as to processes of nature in bringing about a new life is an equally important factor; and there are others. but totemism does not involve the combination of the human and the animal form in one being. that combination belongs to an entirely different process of thought, though it also has as its starting-point the recognition of a resemblance between man and animals. the conception of hybrid beings is allied to that of human creatures or of animals who through defects or through an excess number of organs or of parts of the body represent striking deviations from the normal. both classes fall within the category of monsters, i. e., they are signs sent for a specific purpose. descent from an animal totem, however, where the belief exists, is not looked upon as abnormal, but on the contrary as the rule.
-"je tiens que ces deux fronts, cette face jumelle, sont deux religions, dont l'une est qui s'appelle papisme, et son autheur est l'antechrist romain, de l'autre est mahumet avec son alcorain".
-to sum up the results of our investigations in a series of propositions:
-1. the babylonian-assyrian birth-omens which can be traced back to at least 2000 b. c. rest on the impression made by the mystery of a new life emerging from another.
-2. a leading factor in the interpretation of the omens was the recognized resemblance--often striking--between the features of an infant and that of some animal, or of an animal to some other.
-3. as babylonian-assyrian hepatoscopy led to the study of the anatomy of the liver, and babylonian-assyrian astrology to the study of the phenomena in the heavens, so the resemblance between man and animals became the basis for the study of human physiognomy, which when it came to the greeks and romans was made a means of determining the character of the individual, just as babylonian-assyrian astrology when transferred to greece and rome was applied to the individual as a means of casting his horoscope, i. e., for determining the general course of his life.
-4. this same factor of the resemblance between men and animals in conjunction with the ignorance as to the processes of nature led to the belief in all kinds of hybrid creatures, composed of human and animal organs or features.
-5. this belief underlies the fabulous creatures of greek and roman mythology, and also helps to explain the representation of gods as partly animalic in egypt, in india and in china.
-8. the roman view of a monster as a 'sign' (monstrum), sent as an indication of some event of a disastrous character, is directly traceable to the babylonian-assyrian point of view of malformations of all kinds and deviations from the normal as birth-omens.
-9. from rome this view passed over to mediaeval europe, where under christian influence the monster became a 'sign' sent by an angered deity as a warning and as a punishment for sins.
-10. the pristine ignorance of the course of nature, leading to the assumption that conception could take place without sexual intercourse, had its natural outcome in the belief that women giving birth to monstrosities had intercourse--wilful or unknown to them--with demons as emissaries of the devil, or with the devil himself. this attitude served to maintain the belief in monsters down to the threshhold of modern science.
-11. the roman law of burning the monstrous birth or of throwing it into the sea was maintained for a long time and led also to the punishment of the woman who through supposed intercourse with a demon had given birth to a monster.
-12. the view taken of monsters as a sign sent by an angered deity had much to do with preventing the rise of a scientific theory to account for actual malformations of all kinds.
-13. the rise of teratology as a branch of medical science in the 19th century represents the closing chapter in the history of monsters, which is thus to be traced back to babylonian-assyrian birth-omens--one of the three chief branches of babylonian-assyrian divination that all made their way with the spread of the influence of euphratean culture throughout asia minor and westwards to greece and rome, and that may also have passed to the distant east.
-anus, closed 35. 51 seq.
-azag-bau (female ruler) 11 seq.
-boy see child
-croesus (king of lydia) 57 seq.
-eagle 61 -- human nose compared with beak of 46 seq.
-ear, deformities and omens 19 seq. 32 seq.
-ewe see sheep
-fabulous beings 61 seq. 66 seq.
-features see physiognomy.
-festivals at transition periods 5 seq.
-foetus, double 9. 13 seq. 15 seq.
-haruspices see etruscans
-hippocentaurs 61. 63 seq.
-hybrid formations 60 seq. 67 seq.
-infant see child
-lamb see sheep
-lycosthenes, conrad 8. 39. 57. 75 seq. 78.
-monstrosities 8. 10. 20. 29 seq. 33 seq. 44. 51 seq. 54 seq. 60 seq. 72 seq.
-nergal (god of pestilence) 39 seq.
-pathology, human and animal 7 seq.
-piersol see hirst
-plato, views on resemblances between men and animals 43 seq. 80 -- compared with dog 46 seq.
-prodigium 55 seq.
-resemblances, between animals 23 seq. 44 seq. 62 -- between infants and animals 40. 44 seq. 62. 78 -- protest against 47 seq. 77 seq.
-schaatz, friedrich 64 seq.
-spiegelberg, wilhelm 68 seq.
-stag, human nose compared with stag's 46 seq.
-talking infant 39. 52. 57 seq.
-thulin, carl 54 seq.
-turtle, child with turtle's hands and feet 35 seq.
-"oh, well, forget it," i cried peevishly. "did you get an order from her?"
-"the only one i did get. here it is--sixteen dollars! i try to sell her pencil sharpener, but she say, 'that's a man's buy.' i'll sell seldom one for her."
-"didn't any of the other people you called on want anything?"
-larsen was determined to find some way of coping with the mail-order houses. we certainly had had some little success, but the mail-order houses seemed always to be everlastingly on the job.
-endorsing a note for a friend
-when i was a boy i had been great chums with a lad named larry friday. larry used to sleep at our house every other night, and i would sleep at his house every other night. we certainly knew each other as well as two boys could.
-about six years before i bought this store, he had left town, when his father had moved to providence. his father had failed there, his mother had died, and larry, who had always had plenty of spending money, was thrown on his own resources. i had lost track of him, so you can imagine my surprise when he walked into the store one day.
-we had a long chat over old times and i took him home for the night. then he told me that he had saved up a few hundred dollars, and wanted to get another five hundred dollars, for a little while, to enable him to buy a small stationery business in providence. his father had been in the paper business, and for that reason he naturally leaned toward that line.
-"that's too bad, old man," i remarked, when he told me that he was five hundred dollars short. "if i had the money i'd be only too glad to lend it to you," as, indeed, i would have been.
-"that's what i came to see you about, partly," he replied, leaning over and becoming very serious. "now, the present owner of that store is willing to take my note for two months for the five hundred dollars, if i can--find some responsible endorser. listen, old man,"--and he brought out several sheets of paper all covered with figures. "let me tell you exactly the condition of the store."
-the figures that he had seemed to show conclusively that in sixty days at the most he would have sold enough goods to be able to pay the note.
-"you see," said larry, "i would have three hundred dollars in cash, anyway, as a working capital, so, in a pinch, i would really only have to find two hundred dollars to pay it. and if you would endorse it for me--there's not the least risk in it, or else i wouldn't ask you--i am willing to pay you interest on the money, if you wish, old man."
-"larry!" i exclaimed, quite disappointed that he should suggest such a thing as interest. "indeed i'll endorse the note for you, but don't you talk of interest, for i'm only too happy to be able to help you a bit!"
-just as i had signed my name on the back of the note, betty came in.
-"what are you doing, dawson?" she asked sharply.
-"just--" i looked at larry to see whether he had any objection to my telling betty about it.
-he said, with a little embarrassment: "it's just a little business matter between dawson and me."
-"you know, old man," i said to larry, "i talk all my business over with betty. of course you won't mind my telling her about this, will you?"
-"why, no," he returned, as he picked up the note and put it in his pocket.
-when i told betty what it was, to my astonishment she said:
-"well, dawson, if you allow mr. friday to have your endorsement on a note you are very foolish!"
-"betty!" i said, quite mortified to hear her speak so in front of my old friend.
-"and," she continued, looking larry squarely in the face, "if mr. friday allows his friend to endorse a note for him, i don't think he is much of a friend."
-"i am sorry your wife feels that way about it," said larry. "i guess i'm coming between you two, old man. here's the note--you better take it back, for i think too much of you to do anything that would affect your happiness. . . . although i must say that i think mrs. black is unjust to you and me."
-"dawson," said betty, holding out her hand to me, "i was vexed."
-"come, larry, old man," i said, "i've known you too many years to allow my judgment of you to be swayed."
-larry held out his hand to betty, who, however, turned coldly away and left the room.
-"if you don't mind, old man," said larry, "i'll not stay with you to-night, and if you want that note back--" his hand went toward his pocket.
-"no! if the time comes that i can't trust you, i'll tell you so to your face!"
-"you're a real pal!" exclaimed larry, with feeling eyes.
-he packed his grip, and, with a hearty, silent handshake, he left the house.
-i had felt very much astonished and mortified that betty should have acted that way, and i went into the house to reason with her. to my surprise, she was in her room and the door was locked.
-"i want to come in," i said.
-"keep on wanting!" she replied, angrily.
-"b-but--" the door was suddenly thrown open, and betty stood there with her eyes flashing.
-"don't 'but' me. you can hardly make both ends meet now, and your business is only just making a bare existence,"--i looked surprised--"yes, a bare existence; and here you jeopardize your future by endorsing the note of a friend without knowing the first thing about it! the thing i advise you to do is to begin to save up five hundred dollars to pay that note."
-"dawson," she said, "there are times when i don't know whether you're a fool or not. this is one of the times i'm sure you're one!" and, with that, she slammed the door in my face, and left me aghast.
-betty was still sulky the next day. she could not get over my having endorsed that note for larry. i was disappointed in betty. i didn't think she would have me throw down a pal. besides, it had not cost me anything to endorse the note, when it was sure to be paid long before it matured. while trying to get betty to be reasonable, the telephone bell rang and i said, "go answer it, betty."
-"better answer it yourself," she snapped, "perhaps it is some other friend who wants you to give him some money."
-i picked up the telephone and called, "hello!"
-"hello, yourself, you old scallywag!" came back a voice which was familiar, though for a minute i could not place it.
-"who is it?" i asked angrily.
-"who's been biting you?" came back the answer. "this is fred barlow, old surly face. what's the matter, anyway? had a row with the wife?"
-fred barlow! old barlow's son! if ever there was an irrepressible young man it was fred barlow.
-"i'm coming right over to see you," he said, and click went the receiver.
-i went back in the room and growled at betty: "fred barlow's coming over here. try to be civil to him."
-betty looked at me for a minute, then crossed the room, and put one arm around my shoulder.
-"dawson, dear," she said, "you must not get vexed with me. you know, dearest, i would do everything to make you happy. but you must also know, dear, you have such a great big heart that you sometimes let it run away with your head--now, don't you? but you must not get angry with me. we cannot afford to get cross with each other--can we?"
-"i--" but what then happened is nobody's business but ours. suffice to say that, when fred barlow did breeze into the house, betty and i were both smiling, and smiling from our hearts.
-"well, you old turtle doves," said fred, "what's the price of dollar razors to-day? i want to buy one so that i can razor rumpus."
-"dawson," said betty severely, yet with a twinkle in her eye, "please throw this person out of the house. a man who makes puns on sunday is breaking the sabbath."
-"never mind the sabbath," said fred. "if you will ask me to break bread with you i will stay. what's doing?"
-"well," i said, "i suppose we shall have to ask him, sha'n't we, betty?"
-then we stopped fooling, and began to talk of general matters. i told him about larry friday.
-"poor old larry," said fred.
-"why poor old larry?" i asked, with a sinking feeling in my heart.
-"why the poor devil only got clear of the bankruptcy court three months ago. you know he tried to run the providence business after his father died, but he made a bad mess of it. still, i guess he's learned his lesson."
-i had a cold feeling around my heart, and i began to wish that i had heeded betty's advice. a five hundred dollar note is not much to endorse, if a fellow's got the money; but--
-"but can he?" i heard betty ask.
-"of course he can!" said fred.
-"what's that?" i asked, coming out of my brown study.
-"i suppose you know," fred said, "that i am an agent for the michigan car, the best little four-cylinder on the market, twenty miles on a gallon of gas, seats five people, rides like a feather bed, nine hundred and fifty dollars."
-"hold on," i cried, "if you have come here to sell me a car, just beat it while the beating is good."
-"i have not," he said, "i have come to tell you that you and charlie martin are going joy riding with me. i have to go to hartford to attend the conference of the eastern managers of the michigan car company, and i think the ride, and a day or so off, would do you and charlie a world of good."
-"but we can't get away."
-"can't!" jeered fred. "hear the man, betty," he said, turning to her. "here is a man in business who says 'can't.' don't you know that failure comes in 'can't's' and success comes in 'cans.' how many cans of it can i sell you?"
-"you're full of it to-day, aren't you?" i said.
-"bet you i am, had eggs for breakfast, and am full of yokes."
-"but," i said, "charlie and i can't get away together."
-"i'll be around at the house at nine-thirty to-morrow morning, and i'll pick charlie up before i get here. we will stay at hartford on monday night, and tuesday i will leave you folks to enjoy yourselves for a short time while i attend the conference."
-"there isn't anything to do in hartford," i said.
-"nothing to do! say, dawson, wake up! you--a retail merchant--saying 'nothing to do' when there's a bunch of good retail stores there, every one of which should give you a number of good ideas. don't you want to see the charter oak? why, there's a whole lot of interesting things in hartford, and it certainly would do you and martin good to visit there and get an assortment of good wrinkles. besides, i want to tell you boys something about automobiles."
-"that's awfully good of you, fred," i said, "but honest injun, i'm not interested in automobiles."
-"autos be blowed!" he said.
-"blown," corrected betty, smiling.
-"have it your own way," said fred. "now," said he, turning to me, "you and charlie are coming with me to-morrow as my guests, and i'm going to give you a real good time. i'll be through at the meeting at four or five o'clock tuesday night, and then we'll have a good dinner and a nice midnight ride back home."
-"i will go," i said.
-"i knew you would," he replied, "and now, betty, what about that bread-breaking stunt you spoke of?"
-jock mctavish disturbs the peace
-i had a fine time in hartford. fred barlow was full of ideas. he told me something about a plan that he was then working out for chain garages in connection with hardware stores.
-"you're crazy," i told him. "no one has ever done anything like that before."
-"good boy!" he said. "the very fact that no one has ever done it before shows that it has a chance of success. i may have something to say to you about that later on," he said, mysteriously.
-we had a very interesting meeting the following monday. our monday evening meetings were certainly valuable, and i wouldn't have discontinued them for anything. it kept the fellows thinking and working in the interests of the business.
-the matter for discussion was, "what can we do to boost sales this spring?"
-a few days before i had asked old barlow why he always got the trade for farming implements. his reply had interested me very much. he said:
-"you must be a regular farmer yourself," i had exclaimed with surprise. "when did you learn farming?"
-barlow had smiled as he said, "i realized early in the game that if i meant to win the farmers' trade, i must win their confidence by knowing their needs, and talking in their own terms; so i bought that little farm at mortonville, eight miles from here, just to experiment with and to study farming."
-it just showed how easily a boss can be misunderstood. when i worked for old barlow we fellows had always thought he was having a good time every spring, summer and fall at his farm, and had wished we could get away from business as often as he did just to "play" on the farm--and all the time he had been trying out new methods so as to talk helpfully to the farmers!
-i began to understand more and more why barlow was so successful. he never guessed, but always got the facts first hand.
-just the same i'm convinced he made a mistake in not telling his workers more of his methods--he would not have been so often misunderstood and misjudged by his employees if he had had meetings with them similar to my monday evening "directors' meeting."
-well, to come back to our meeting. of course, we had decided to have a full line of gardening tools. jones suggested that we add garden seeds, which we had never kept because traglio, the druggist, sold them.
-i demurred, saying, "we ought not trespass on traglio's trade for seeds, which he has had for years."
-charlie martin said, "of course, it's splendid of you, mr. black, to be so considerate; but, after all, business is no 'after-you-alphonse' affair. i believe you should sell garden seeds. the hardware store that sells garden tools is also the logical place for seeds."
-larsen agreed with charlie, while jimmie said, "gee, boss, that's a great idea--and let's grow some in the window so as to show the seeds are there with the sproutin' act."
-we finally decided to sell garden seeds.
-jones then suggested that we should make a big window display of seeds and tools, "not just a 'dead' display, you know, mr. black, but a display of them in use. that's the way to attract attention to the goods--show 'em being used," he concluded.
-"how are we to show seeds in use?" i asked.
-jones was stumped and so was larsen--even jimmie had no idea. we all looked at charlie when he said, "i remember seeing a good display of garden seeds once."
-"well," i said, "what was it?"
-"as near as i can describe it, it was fixed like this," said charlie. "the floor of the window was covered with soil divided into little plots. each plot had a single variety of seeds arranged on top of it in orderly rows. in the center of each plot was a 'talking' sign something to this effect:
-a 5¢ package is sufficient for fifty square feet of soil. they should, under normal conditions, produce ---- pints of beans, worth at retail $3.75.
-"i don't remember the price, the ground space, nor the production," confessed charlie, "but that's the general idea. the five cents' worth of seeds (or whatever the amount was) was visualized. the amount of ground they required was then given, and, after that, the average production and its value. at the rear of the window all kinds of gardening tools were arranged--each one price-ticketed, of course."
-"that's splendid," i said, enthusiastically. "we'll appoint you a committee of one to find out what seeds to buy and all about them."
-"i don't know the first thing about gardening," objected charlie, "and will be more than glad if you'll let some one else do it."
-i was about to insist when, in an undertone, he added, "believe me, mr. black, i've a very real reason for asking you to excuse me."
-"very well," i replied, somewhat nettled. "jones can do it."
-i wondered why charlie was so earnest in wishing to be excused!
-"well," i said briskly, "that disposes of one thing. what else can we do this spring to boost business?"
-"the fish are biting," said larsen. "stigler has a sign in his window that says so."
-"i intended stocking fishing tackle this season!" i exclaimed. then, after a pause, "and we'll do it, too. i'll not let stigler put anything over on me."
-"he's always sold 'em, so i understand," said charlie, "so perhaps you will want to consider him and his trade as you did traglio."
-i saw a twinkle in his eye as he spoke, for he knew my contempt for stigler. "oh, that's different," said i, lamely.
-"in that case," continued charlie, dryly, "i suggest we sell fishing tackle--and do it right away. if i can help i will, for i do know something about fishing."
-just then i thought of barlow and his grip on the farming implement trade, and, at the same instant, i saw a way of applying his principles to fishing, so i said, "here's a plan for boosting fishing tackle. we'll have martin find out right away what pools and rivers there are in our locality. we'll also find out what kind of fish can be caught therein. all this information we'll have in black and white so that we all can learn it."
-as i talked the plan enlarged and took definite shape.
-"then," i continued eagerly, "we'll find out the best ways to get to all these fishing grounds--fishing waters, i mean," i said, as they all began to laugh. "in addition to that, we'll find out where to stay; where to pitch a tent if necessary, where supplies can be bought, and anything else that will help the fisherman to know where to go, what to catch, where to live while there, and, most important of all for us, what kind of tackle to use to catch the fish he's after."
-"in other words," i said, triumphantly, "we'll make ourselves experts on fishing, so that people wanting to know when the ice is off the lake, or when the season is 'on' or 'off'--where fishing is reported good or poor; or what flies are in the market--will naturally gravitate to our store."
-they all became enthusiastic over the plan, and charlie promised to have the data all ready by the end of the week.
-jimmie then asked what we purposed doing about baseball goods and other sporting goods. we decided, much to his disappointment, that, while we ought to have them, we couldn't manage it that year.
-"barlow's already got 'em," said larsen. "too late now. cream of trade already drunk by 'pussy' barlow."
-i felt vexed to think we had lost our chance on them, just because i had not thought ahead sufficiently.
-the next day, i had quite a disturbing talk with jock mctavish. betty had told him about my endorsing a note for five hundred dollars for my old school chum, larry friday.
-"ye see," said jock, "your credit is no' too good." i was about to protest, indignantly, when jock continued, "bide a wee, lad, and let me hae my say.
-"let's see what your live assets are," he continued. "there's your beesiness, o' course; but your bank account is only sufficient--barely sufficient, ye ken--tae meet your bills and current expenses. as a matter o' fact," he said gravely, "ye lost some discount last month for no' paying in ten days. i've told ye before never to lose discount. borrow the money first. it pays to borrow money at six per cent. per year to make it earn two per cent. in ten days--or thirty-six per cent. per year."
-"yes, yes," i said, impatiently, "you've told me that before."
-"exactly," said jock, "but ye didna do it--and knowing ye ought to isn't worth a piper's squeal--unless ye do it.
-"then," he went on, "ye hae the farm--or rather ye haven't, since blickens holds the mortgage on it--and makin' ye pay ten per cent. interest as weel.
-"so your quick assets are practically nothing. and here ye are, black, wi' no quick assets--and increasing liabilities (i blushed a bit at that, for i knew he was referring to betty) ye go and add to your difficulties by adding a potential liability o' five hundred dollars."
-"that's nonsense," i retorted. "friday's as good as gold for it, and i've not the least chance of having to meet the note."
-"that's what they aw' say until--" this from jock.
-"and suppose," i said, "i did have to pay it, i guess i could with all the profit i am making. you, yourself, worked it out and should know."
-"profit? profit?" said jock. "i didna say ye had any profit. i said the beesiness showed a profit, which is a horse o' anither color."
-"how so?" i asked.
-"profit is no' made 'till goods are sold and paid for," explained jock. "your accounts receivable are only worth the value o' the creditors--and some ye hae are nae good. your beesiness shows a paper profit, but it has all gone into stock. if ye hae tae realize on it, quickly, it would shrink alarmingly in value. in fact, with a forced sale ye would show a big loss on your beesiness venture instead o' the paper gain ye show noo."
-i had never realized this before, but the way jock explained it made it clear to me, and it certainly worried me, for i had been feeling contented and satisfied that everything was going along nicely, and here came jock, who proved to me that all my profit was potential.
-"ye can't claim tae hae a pr-rofit," jock said, "until ye hae the actual money oot o' the beesiness. never mind what the wise ones tell ye, profit is no' real profit unless it is a cash one which the beesiness can spare. ye can't spare any money frae your business, so ye hae no real profit."
-"how am i to pay the bonus to the men?" i asked.
-"ye can't," said jock, "till ye stop increasing your stock so mooch."
-"look into this matter also," here jock wagged his finger at me; "see that ye don't increase your stock investment wi'out increasing your sales correspondingly. if ye are the merchandiser i think ye are, ye'll try to cut doon stock investment and keep up your sales--and increase 'em, thus speeding up your turn-over.
-"remember," his parting words were, "never miss your interest on the farm mortgage. if ye do blickens 'll tak it."
-do you wonder i felt worried? i felt as if the ground had been cut right from under my feet. to add to my troubles stigler advertised a cut-rate sale on garden seeds!
-martin springs a surprise
-the next week i went with charlie martin and fred barlow to boston to buy the automobile accessories which we had decided upon when old man barlow and i had fixed up that gasoline deal.
-he had come to the house one evening and suggested it was time to get busy.
-"fred knows the automobile business thoroughly--and charlie is well up on it also," said barlow, "so i would suggest that, as i have to put up the money, if necessary, on what you buy, you let fred and charlie go with you. their knowledge should be helpful to you."
-"that's a good idea," i agreed; "we'll go next monday."
-"i'll tell fred to be ready to go with you then," barlow said. he was silent for a minute, then he went on, "fred has to buy a lot of automobile accessories for his people, so perhaps, by pooling his and your orders, you can get prices shaved a bit."
-i looked up with surprise. "i thought fred had left his detroit people."
-"he has," said barlow, abruptly, "but he has made new connections recently."
-i wanted to ask what they were, but barlow's attitude warned me not to.
-so, the three of us went to boston and bought a complete stock of automobile accessories. i followed fred barlow's lead, for he certainly was familiar with the goods.
-the next day the men came to make arrangements for putting in the gas tank. while they were measuring the pavement, and deciding just where to fix the pump, stigler happened along.
-"morning, stigler," i said, with an attempt at joviality; "how's business?"
-"fine," he responded. "how's bread mixers going?" he sneered as he spoke, and i felt myself getting mad.
-"so, so," i replied--then, in an attempt to equal up the score, i added, "too bad your five-and-ten-cent store proved such a fizzle!"
-he turned sharply on me and snarled, "you keep yer damned tongue still when yer see me. i don't let whelps like you talk 'big' to me and get away with it, savvy?"
-without another word he walked away, leaving me taut and trembling with agitation.
-i had been given to understand that stigler's plan of continual price cutting had cut his profits to the vanishing point. he had brooded over it so much that it had become a mania with him. unfortunately, he held me responsible for his troubles.
-i told betty about it as a good joke on stigler, but she didn't laugh, instead she said gravely, "leave that man alone, my dear; he is dangerous. don't pick quarrels with him, or you may come to blows, or worse. remember, dearest, that i need you more than ever--now."
-how dear she was, and how brave and happy she kept while waiting--i could not let her have anything to worry about until after.
-charlie martin had asked if he could come around to the house that evening, and, of course, i had said, "yes."
-charlie had grown to be one of us almost, and i hardly realized how much i had come to depend on him until the thought of losing him occurred to me.
-i don't know how i had happened to get into the habit of looking upon charlie as a fixture with me. i knew his people were fairly well to do, and that the eight dollars a week i paid him were a mere bagatelle toward his living expenses. one gets into the habit, however, of accepting things on surface evidence, until one loses sight of the motive which is at the back of the evidence. for instance, if i had thought a bit, i would have known charlie hadn't worked for eight dollars a week just because he needed a job.
-one thing it taught me was that i must not confuse the apparent with the real. thereafter, whenever a man said anything to me, i remembered that there was a motive at the back of what he said, and that if i was going to understand other people i must understand the motive which impelled their action. for instance, i knew that, when a man came in to buy a saw from me, he had a reason for buying that saw. the more i knew of his reason for buying it, the more able i was to sell him just what he wanted.
-if a man put up a business proposition to me which looked good for me i remembered that it was not for me that he was doing it. i was not the reason which impelled him to give me a good deal. it was something which he eventually was going to get out of it himself. so i said to myself, "why does he want to do this for me?" and if i could not find a good logical reason i left it alone until i could.
-"dawson," said charlie, after dinner--he had got to calling me dawson outside of business--"do you know why i have been working for you for the last few months?"
-"why, no, unless you've just wanted to do something."
-"i never do anything just because i want to fill in some spare time," he smiled. "my business training has taught me that i cannot afford to make a lot of waste motions. i came to your store because i wanted a small-store experience."
-"we're not so small," i protested.
-"well, let's say small compared to bon marche in paris, or selfridges in london, or marshall field in chicago, or such young concerns. however, i think i know more about small-store conduct than i did before, now that i've had some experience. you see, i studied retail merchandising, but that was only half the battle, you know. all i learned there was no use whatever until i found whether i could actually apply it.
-"as you know," he continued, "i went to detroit and studied the automobile business--not from the manufacturing end, but from the distribution end--because fred barlow and i had a hunch that there was a big future in automobile selling, if we could discover it."
-"i should think there was a big 'present,'" i remarked.
-"yes, there is a big present for the manufacturers, and some few distributors make a fine thing out of it. but the distribution end struck us as being very inadequate."
-"fancy you two young fellows deciding that the big bucks up in detroit don't know how to sell automobiles!"
-"i guess you're right, at that," agreed charlie; "but the outsider often gets a different slant on things from the fellow who is continually on the job. but that's neither here nor there," and he waved his hand as if to brush aside the discussion. "the point is that fred and i went to detroit together and studied the automobile business from the distribution end, and, of course, we also learned how they are made. we then looked into the accessories, and found out quite a lot about selling them. then we decided we wanted retail-store experience, particularly in hardware. so fred has been studying the practical side of retail-store management in his dad's office, while i have been studying it in yours."
-"do you think that's quite fair?" i said indignantly, "for you and fred barlow to use his father and me as suckers?"
-"don't get vexed," he said quietly, "until you know the reason for our actions." then he continued, "i don't think you have any cause to complain at what i've done for you, dawson. i think i've been worth my eight dollars a week."
-"of course you have. forgive me."
-"here's the idea," he resumed. "the hardware stores of the country are at last waking up to the fact that automobile accessories are logically a department of the hardware store. we feel, however, that the garage itself is a logical department of the hardware store. the hardware store in the past has lost several lines which ought to belong to it. look at the number of hardware lines the drug stores sell, and the department stores also. if the hardware stores had been on the job it would have been impossible to have bought a bicycle anywhere than at a hardware store.
-"if we had a garage adjacent to our hardware store," he continued, "we could not only supply a man with accessories, but attach them to his car. if a man has a breakdown, we are in a position to repair his car, and then exercise our selling ability to sell him accessories.
-"just look at the average garage! did you ever know of a garage man who made a display of accessories? if the present garagemen were on to the job they could put the hardware man out of business, so far as accessories are concerned." here charlie paused for a minute, and then added: "except, perhaps, in the larger cities.
-"as you know, my dad has quite a little money, and he is willing to set me up in business. fred barlow's dad has a little money, also."
-i smiled at this, because it was known all over town that old man barlow was one of our wealthiest citizens.
-"fred and i and our dads," he continued, "have formed a little corporation under the title of martin & barlow. what we plan to do is to operate a chain of garages in connection with the best hardware store in each town. we are going to run a garage in farmdale here, in that place exactly opposite barlow's store. we are also going to have a display window in the garage where accessories will be shown. the hardware store will also contain a big display of accessories, which will be under our control. we are going to pay mr. barlow a small sum for rent of space in his store. fred or i will be in charge of that to begin with.
-"we have a man coming from the michigan car company to look after the garage. we will also have the exclusive agency for this territory for the michigan car. that is how it will work out," he continued, after a moment's pause.
-"we shall train one of barlow's clerks to look after the accessories department in the store. we shall then have our own man who will go around selling cars in this locality. we shall also have a man in the garage who understands repairs of all kinds, and particularly the michigan car, for which he shall carry a complete line of parts."
-"will that pay barlow?" i asked.
-"yes, for in return for his providing a salesman for the accessories department, we will give him a percentage of the profits from that department, besides guaranteeing him a small sum for rent every month.
-"now our salesman for the michigan car will also canvass the car owners in the locality--representing barlow's store, you understand,--and secure their business for accessories. we believe that he will sell enough cars and accessories to pay for himself and to make money for the store and us. in addition to this the salesman will take orders for general hardware whenever the opportunity occurs, and on such business the store gives us a commission. in other words, you see, our salesman is really a salesman for everything that barlow will sell.
-"the man we will have in charge of the garage is not only thoroughly trained in repair work of all kinds by the michigan car company, but he has also been given a special schooling in simple bookkeeping, salesmanship, the need of cleanliness, courtesy, and the best way to keep his garage smart and attractive. he is not only able to repair cars, but he knows how to charge for his repairs."
-"all the garage men i know don't need any training in that," i said, with a grin.
-he smiled and went on: "now, when we have this town working properly we want to make arrangements with a good hardware man in another town. fred barlow and i will get hold of a local man, train him in the selling of the michigan car, and show him how to go about building up accessories and general hardware trade. we will also teach one of the hardware man's clerks how to sell accessories; and the michigan car company will then send us another man with the same training as the first to look after the garage for us, which will in every case be located as near to the hardware store as possible. the michigan car company is running a regular class-room in its factory, so that we will have fifty men, properly trained, if we need them.
-"of course, we shall have signs up in the garage that automobile accessories and hardware can be bought from the hardware store, and in the hardware store there will be signs saying that gasoline and repairs of all kinds are to be had in our garage, at such an address.
-"in each town we will operate our business in the name of the local store."
-"won't you have a job in checking up your cash? do you have your salesman look after that, and bond him?"
-"no," he replied. "the local hardware man is responsible for all cash. we get him to receive all the money collected, render us a weekly report, and send us a check for the full amount, with a list of any goods wanted for either the garage or the accessories department."
-"can you get the hardware people to do that?" i asked skeptically.
-"we think we can."
-"do you think you can get them to go to all that bother and trouble?"
-charlie smiled and replied: "if they are not willing to go to that bother and trouble we would not want to work with them, for it would show they were 'dead ones.' we believe that live hardware people will be glad to work with us on a proposition such as this, which will be a source of profit to them, as well as increased sales on their regular hardware lines."
-"what's the local garage man going to say about this?" i asked.
-"it will be a survival of the fittest," he said quietly. "we have not entered into this to put the garage man out of business, but merely to get a garage business for ourselves. we shall not consider him in any way, or go out of our way to fight him. we shall merely mind our own business, and get as much of it to mind as we can."
-"when are you going to start here?"
-"may 1st," he replied.
-"say," i exclaimed, sitting up straight, "then all those goods fred and you bought while with me in boston are really for your store here?"
-"well, why didn't you or barlow say something about it?"
-"look here, dawson, we can trust you to the last gun shot; but, if one wants to keep a thing quiet the best way is to tell nobody, for if he starts to tell one, before he knows it he is telling some one else, and his plans may be frustrated before he has a chance of putting them into operation."
-"why bother to tell me about it all, then?" and then another distressing thought occurred to me. "look here, charlie, this is going to hurt me. if you have a man going around selling hardware he is going to upset larsen on his weekly trips to get business. then, what's the good of my having accessories, if you are fighting me all the time?"
-the more i thought about it the more alarming it became.
-"i'm going to see old barlow first thing in the morning." i felt my temper rising. "i am going to tell him to keep his old gas tank. i won't have it; and as for those accessories, i'll return them right away. you're not going to use me as a cat's-paw in your business, and you and barlow can go--"
-i then recalled an episode between old man barlow and martin, the garage man, some years ago, when they had a lawsuit over a land boundary. martin played some very dirty trick on barlow, who lost his case. the only comment barlow ever made was, "i can wait." it looked to me as if barlow was helping to start a new idea in chain store organization, and at the same time paying off an old score.
-"well, where do i come in on this deal?" i asked, somewhat suspiciously, i must own.
-then he got up abruptly, leaving my head in a whirlwind with the torrent of thoughts he had given me, and said, "think it over, old man, and talk about it with betty, but don't let it go any further!"
-a budget of surprises
-there followed three such strenuous months that everything had to go by the board, except business; and i cannot with any clearness remember everything that took place.
-we started our profit-sharing plan, as arranged on june 1, the beginning of my fiscal year. i had thought we had so thoroughly threshed out the plan that it would work like a charm; but two months had barely passed before friction started. larsen felt he ought to get a larger percentage of the profits than his salary called for, because he went out selling, and said that he thereby created business which no one else could get and he did his regular work besides. whenever the boy jimmie made a suggestion of any kind he, at the same time, added that he ought to have a special extra bonus for that suggestion, if it was any good. i talked the matter over with jock, and finally we straightened it out, but i have not the time to tell you how we satisfied the warring elements.
-i would also like to tell in detail of the starting of the new chain garage plan. in three months it was already working well in farmdale, and negotiations had been completed for the second garage in hartleyville. we had struck an awful lot of snags in starting this plan. how to handle the store, and at the same time study automobile accessories, had been some job, but fred barlow and charlie martin were certainly live wires, and they could think up more ways of doing a thing than i ever dreamed of.
-i remember once reading something by elbert hubbard in which he said that every business required a pessimist, an optimist, and a grouch. i believed we would succeed, for old barlow was certainly the pessimist in the bunch, and whenever charlie or fred went to him with any new idea they wanted to "pull off" in connection with the garage chain plan he acted like a brake to their enthusiasm--or, as he put it, kept them down to mother earth.
-charlie's father had oodles of money, and was the principal director of the idea, and he was the grouch. charlie used to say that his dad never believed anything until he actually saw it.
-"if i were to go to him," said charlie, "and say to him, 'dad, i made a hundred dollars to-day,' he would say, 'show it to me,' and, if i did show it to him, he would then ask me if i had planned what i was going to do with it to make it earn more money. if i had told him i had, he would then say that either the investment i had planned was safe enough but didn't pay enough dividend--or else that it wasn't safe, although it paid a good dividend. i'd hate to have a disposition like dad's," laughed charlie, "and yet dad's a good old scout, and he must believe in the plan, else he wouldn't back it the way he is doing."
-charlie, fred and i were the optimists, i guess.
-i had to thank old barlow for doing me one good turn, for, during all the excitement i had completely forgotten to make my payment to the president of the bank, mr. blickens. it was the monthly payment of fifty dollars to apply against the mortgage on my farm. jock had repeatedly told me to be sure not to get behind with that or i might lose my farm. the very morning after the payment was due i had a telephone call from blickens, asking me to go to see him. i went, and he reminded me i hadn't made my payment. i said i would write out my check there and then, but he said, "i don't think it is at all satisfactory."
-"you must take up the mortgage at once or i shall foreclose," he added in that acid tone of his.
-"but, mr. blickens, you couldn't do that!"
-"couldn't?" he snapped. "you don't know what i could do." he pulled out his watch and said, "it's ten now--you must take up that note by twelve or i shall foreclose."
-old barlow was in the bank as i came out of the president's office, and he evidently noticed i was feeling disturbed, for as i left the bank he followed me and put his arm around my shoulders in such a kindly way that i just told him the whole story.
-he screwed his mouth a little, a habit he had when thinking quickly. then "come back to the bank," he said, shortly. he wrote out a check for cash, drew the money and gave it to me, saying, "give that to him."
-we entered blickens' office together. he looked surprised to see old man barlow, too. "what do you want?" he snarled.
-"nothing," smiled barlow, "only i just wondered if you couldn't give young black here a little longer on that note. he's all right. would you give him a little longer if i endorsed his note?"
-"look here, mr. barlow," snapped blickens, "you've interfered once or twice in my business. i told black that i'd give him till twelve o'clock to take up that mortgage. if he is going around whining after i have helped him, i'll give him no time at all. he must pay the money right here and now--or i'll foreclose at once."
-"pay him, dawson," said barlow, quietly.
-"i won't accept a check--it isn't legal tender, and his check wouldn't be any good either."
-by this time i had pulled out the roll of money, and say, it did me good to see blickens' eyes. they stuck out of his head so far you could have knocked them off with a stick. he fairly gurgled with disappointment, but there was nothing else to do but take his medicine, which he did none too graciously.
-i gave barlow a demand note, with the farm as collateral, to cover the loan he had made me. i felt safer; but it wasn't my fault that i hadn't lost my farm. what a lot of trouble borrowing money gets one into!
-when i got home from this episode, which had started me so unpleasantly, but which had finished so well for me, i found a letter from larry friday, in which he said that he found he had been stung badly on the store, and he didn't know whether he would be able to carry it on or not. he hoped, however, before the note matured, to find some of the money, but would see eventually that i got paid back what i would have to pay. i felt positively sick.
-i was sitting by betty's bedside when i read the letter, and she noticed my face change.
-"what is it, boy dear?"
-i silently passed the letter over to her and waited for her to say, "i told you so." some women are wonderful--aren't they? she said nothing of the sort, but patted my hand and said:
-"too bad, but never mind, dear, i'd much sooner you'd lose a few dollars because you've such a big heart, than have you make a lot of money by being like blickens."
-i realized that i would have to set to and save every penny i could to apply against that note when it came due. there was still a month to get together whatever money i could, but it was going to spoil some selling plans i had wanted to try for the store. never again, would i endorse a note for any man! i have certainly learned my lesson. but why, oh why, couldn't i have profited by other people's experience instead of having to learn business methods by my own? the tuition fee in the school of experience is mighty high.
-now, i must tell you the dreadful scare we had a few nights later. at eleven-thirty at night--just as i was impatiently walking the floor of our little sitting-room, while the doctor was upstairs with betty, i heard the fire engine dash past the end of the street. at the same time i saw a huge tongue of flame shoot above the house, with the accompaniment of a dull roar. the flame was in the direction of my store, and, of course, my first thought was that my store had caught fire again--or that stigler had fired it.
-for the last few months stigler had been acting queerly. he used to stand across the road from my store and nervously bite his finger nails. then he would unconsciously rub his forehead in a slow methodical way. after a time he would return to his own store, would gaze into the windows and mutter incoherently to himself. i felt that stigler had for some time been on the verge of a nervous breakdown. business had been going very badly with him, i knew, because a jobbing house from which i bought had stopped his credit.
-during the previous three weeks he had been selling goods at ridiculous prices. not satisfied with normal cuts, he in many cases had sold goods below cost. it had worried me, and i had told barlow, who had said to let him alone, as a price cutter was a hog and would eventually finish by cutting his own business throat, and he had advised me to keep clear of stigler, as he (stigler) attributed all his misfortunes to my competition--and he hadn't forgiven me for winning betty.
-well, to get back to that fatal night. i saw the nurse in the corridor, so i told her that i would be home again in a few minutes, and not to tell mrs. black that there was a fire. i then grabbed my hat and ran down the street.
-i found it was not my store, but stigler's. it was a most horrible, but fascinating, sight. the body of the store was blazing like a furnace. the bright red glow from it shone across the road and its light, dancing upon the faces of the crowd watching the fire, made an eerie sight. little tongues of fire were already shooting out of the upstairs windows, while one side of the roof was well alight. little running streams of flame kept playing backwards and forwards across it, and, even while i watched, there was another roar and part of the roof collapsed.
-i knew the fireman who was holding the horses' heads. "some fire," i said to him in an undertone.
-"you bet it is," he replied curtly; "the beggar set it himself."
-"nonsense!" i said incredulously.
-"the place has been saturated with gasoline. a fire couldn't catch like that in so brief a time. it will be a pretty serious matter for stigler, believe me."
-my brain was in a whirl with the roar and crash of the fire, the light glowing all around. the knowledge that stigler had fired his own store and the fact that i was the man he had openly blamed for his misfortune gave me an impression of deep apprehension. yet somehow i felt sorry for stigler, for, while he had all the time been competing with me, i had never competed with him; although, goodness knows, i probably would have done so had it not been for the wiser council of barlow.
-while i stood there, wondering and anxious, i felt some one near me. why, i don't know, but my feeling of apprehension was now accompanied by intense horror. i wanted to turn and see who it was--and yet i positively dreaded to. in a moment i heard a voice hiss in my ear:
-"i hope yer satisfied now. that's your work. you--you were the cause of that. you've been the ruin of an honest man, but yer sha'n't live to enjoy yer victory--"
-i turned and saw stigler--his face chalky white--his blood-shot eyes wide and staring; a little saliva trickling from the corner of his mouth. just then another crash came and a flame shot skyward. it played upon his face and gave him the appearance of some evil spirit. i put my hands up just as he leaped toward me. i felt his fingers tightening around my throat. i tried to shout, but couldn't--only beating my fists upon his face.
-it was over as quickly as it started, for the crowd instantly tore him from me. at last my scattered wits recalled what had happened, and i saw stigler being marched away shrieking and laughing crazily.
-two good souls took hold of me, one by each arm, and led me away from the scene of the fire. after a few minutes i regained my self-control, and remembered what was taking place at home. i asked my friends to go that far with me. as we reached the end of our street a policeman came to me and said, "can you tell me anything about stigler?"
-"not to-night," i replied.
-"will you report to the police station in the morning? we'll probably want you."
-"well, stigler has just died." . . .
-poor stigler--he had been his own worst enemy and had paid a heavier price than any one else would have demanded of him!
-my thoughts were really sad as i opened the door of my home--home? yes, indeed! for as soon as i entered the house i knew it was a dearer home than it had ever been.
-the doctor was downstairs, smiling.
-"tell me, doctor, quick--what is it?"
-"well, daddy," he said kindly, "would you like to see your little boy?"
-"how's betty?" was my answer to him.
-"don't look so worried. this thing is happening every day, all over the country."
-smiles, a rose of the cumberlands
-by eliot harlow robinson
-author of "man proposes"
-smiles is a girl that is sure to make friends. her real name is rose, but the rough folk of the cumberlands preferred their own way of addressing her, for her smile was so bright and winning that no other name suited her so well.
-smiles was not a native of the cumberlands, and her parentage is one of the interesting mysteries of the story. young dr. macdonald saw more in her than the mere untamed, untaught child of the mountains and when, due to the death of her foster parents a guardian became necessary, he was selected. smiles developed into a charming, serious-minded young woman, and the doctor's warm friend, dr. bently, falls in love with her.
-we do not want to detract from the pleasure of reading this story by telling you how this situation was met, either by smiles or dr. macdonald--but there is a surprise or two for the reader.
-press opinions on "man proposes":
-"readers will find not only an unusually interesting story, but one of the most complicated romances ever dreamed of. among other things the story gives a splendid and realistic picture of high social life in newport, where many of the incidents of the plot are staged in the major part of the book."--the bookman.
-"it is well written; the characters are real people and the whole book has 'go.' "--louisville post.
-rollo's journey to washington
-by richard d. ware
-the boy of yesterday--the man of today--knows the rollo books, and is familiar with the method by which the mind of young master mollycoddle was improved by the guidance and precepts of his father and uncle george. those who survived such a course of purification and still live will enjoy this story of rollo's journey to our national capital.
-it is not written for the young in years, but for the young in heart--for the good citizen who can see the funny side of a situation that is serious, and can laugh at the mistakes and foibles of our great men of today without malice or viciousness.
-the book is about the great war which has caused so many tears of sorrow, and the author's only desire is to replace those bitter tears with tears of mirth.
-tweedie, the story of a true heart
-by isla may mullins
-author of "the blossom shop stories," etc.
-in this story mrs. mullins has given us another delightful story of the south.
-the carlton family--lovable old professor carlton, and his rather wilful daughter ruth--twenty-three years old and with decided ideas as to her future--decide to move to the country in order to have more time to devote to writing.
-many changes come to them while in the country, the greatest of which is tweedie--a simple, unpretentious little body who is an optimist through and through--but does not know it. in a subtle, amusing way tweedie makes her influence felt. at first some people would consider her a pest, but would finally agree with the carlton family that she was "unselfishness incarnate." it is the type of story that will entertain and amuse both old and young.
-the press has commented on mrs. mullins' previous books as follows:
-"frankly and wholly romance is this book, and lovable--as is a fairy tale properly told. and the book's author has a style that's all her own, that strikes one as praiseworthily original throughout."--chicago inter-ocean.
-"a rare and gracious picture of the unfolding of life for the young girl, told with a delicate sympathy and understanding that must touch alike the hearts of young and old."--louisville (ky.) times.
-the ambassador's trunk
-by george barton
-author of "the world's greatest military spies and secret service agents," "the mystery of the red flame," "the strange adventures of bromley barnes," etc.
-bromley barnes, retired chief of the secret service, an important state document, a green wallet, the ambassador's trunk--these are the ingredients, which, properly mixed, and served in attractive format and binding, produce a draught that will keep you awake long past your regular bedtime.
-mr. barton is master of the mystery story, and in this absorbing narrative the author has surpassed his best previous successes.
-"it would be difficult to find a collection of more interesting tales of mystery so well told. the author is crisp, incisive and inspiring. the book is the best of its kind in recent years and adds to the author's already high reputation."--new york tribune.
-"the story is full of life and movement, and presents a variety of interesting characters. it is well proportioned and subtly strong in its literary aspects and quality. this volume adds great weight to the claim that mr. barton is among america's greatest novelists of the romantic school; and in many ways he is regarded as one of the most versatile and interesting writers."--boston post.
-by lela horn richards
-author of "blue bonnet--debutante," etc.
-henrietta was the victim of circumstances. it was not her fault that her father, cut off from his expected inheritance because of his marriage, was unexpectedly thrown upon his own resources, nor that he proved to be a weakling who left his wife and daughter to shift for themselves, nor that her mother took refuge in colorado far away from their new england friends and acquaintances. youth, however, will overcome much, and when richard bently appears in the mountains, life takes on a new interest for henrietta.
-when her mother dies henrietta goes to live with mrs. lovell, who knew her father years ago in the little vermont town. mrs. lovell determines to do what she can to secure for henrietta the place in society and the inheritance that is rightfully hers. the means employed and the success attained--but that's the story.
-"only henrietta" is written in the happy vein that has secured for mrs. richards a host of friends and admirers, and is sure to duplicate the earlier successes achieved for the young people by the blue bonnet series.
-"the chief charm of the book is that it contains so much of human nature and it is a book that will gladden the hearts of many girl readers because of its charming air of comradeship and reality."--the churchman, detroit, mich.
-the business career of peter flint
-by harold whitehead
-assistant professor of business method, the college of business administration, boston university, author of "dawson black, retail merchant", "principles of salesmanship," etc.
-as assistant professor of business method in boston university's famous college of business administration, the author's lectures have attracted widespread attention, and the popularity of his stories of business life, under the title of "the business career of peter flint," which have appeared serially in important trade magazines and newspapers all over the country, has created an insistent demand for their book publication.
-the public demand for these stories compelled the author to continue them so long that, were they all published in book form, they would constitute a set of several volumes. by careful and scrutinizing editorial work the author has recast the very best of this material for book publication, the result being a story that is virile, compelling and convincing as it leads the reader through the maze of business entanglements.
-a new york business man wrote: "i have read with much interest the 'career of peter flint,' appearing in the evening sun.
-"having come to new york fresh from college twelve years ago, i appreciate fully peter's experience. i want to say that i think your knowledge of human nature almost uncanny."
-selections from the page company's list of fiction
-works of eleanor h. porter
-pollyanna: the glad book (430,000)
-mr. leigh mitchell hodges, the optimist, in an editorial for the philadelphia north american, says: "and when, after pollyanna has gone away, you get her letter saying she is going to take 'eight steps' tomorrow--well, i don't know just what you may do, but i know of one person who buried his face in his hands and shook with the gladdest sort of sadness and got down on his knees and thanked the giver of all gladness for pollyanna."
-pollyanna grows up: the second glad book (220,000)
-when the story of pollyanna told in the glad book was ended, a great cry of regret for the vanishing "glad girl" went up all over the country--and other countries, too. now pollyanna appears again, just as sweet and joyous-hearted, more grown up and more lovable.
-"take away frowns! put down the worries! stop fidgeting and disagreeing and grumbling! cheer up, everybody! pollyanna has come back!"--christian herald.
-the glad book calendar
-the pollyanna calendar
-"there is a message of cheer on every page, and the calendar is beautifully illustrated."--kansas city star.
-miss billy (22nd printing)
-"there is something altogether fascinating about 'miss billy,' some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page."--boston transcript.
-miss billy's decision (15th printing)
-"the story is written in bright, clever style and has plenty of action and humor. miss billy is nice to know and so are her friends."--new haven times leader.
-miss billy--married (12th printing)
-"although pollyanna is the only copyrighted glad girl, miss billy is just as glad as the younger figure and radiates just as much gladness. she disseminates joy so naturally that we wonder why all girls are not like her."--boston transcript.
-six star ranch (20th printing)
-"'six star ranch' bears all the charm of the author's genius and is about a little girl down in texas who practices the 'pollyanna philosophy' with irresistible success. the book is one of the kindliest things, if not the best, that the author of the pollyanna books has done. it is a welcome addition to the fast-growing family of glad books."--howard russell bangs in the boston post.
-"to one who enjoys a story of life as it is to-day, with its sorrows as well as its triumphs, this volume is sure to appeal."--book news monthly.
-the turn of the tide
-"a very beautiful book showing the influence that went to the developing of the life of a dear little girl into a true and good woman."--herald and presbyter, cincinnati, ohio.
-works of l. m. montgomery
-the four anne books
-anne of green gables (45th printing)
-"in 'anne of green gables' you will find the dearest and most moving and delightful child since the immortal alice."--mark twain in a letter to francis wilson.
-anne of avonlea (30th printing)
-"a book to lift the spirit and send the pessimist into bankruptcy"--meredith nicholson.
-chronicles of avonlea (8th printing)
-"a story of decidedly unusual conception and interest."--baltimore sun.
-anne of the island (15th printing)
-"it has been well worth while to watch the growing up of anne, and the privilege of being on intimate terms with her throughout the process has been properly valued."--new york herald.
-the story girl (10th printing)
-"a book that holds one's interest and keeps a kindly smile upon one's lips and in one's heart."--chicago inter-ocean.
-kilmeny of the orchard (13th printing)
-"a story born in the heart of arcadia and brimful of the sweet life of the primitive environment."--boston herald.
-the golden road (6th printing)
-"it is a simple, tender tale, touched to higher notes, now and then, by delicate hints of romance, tragedy and pathos."--chicago record-herald.
-novels by isla may mullins
-the blossom shop: a story of the south
-"frankly and wholly romance is this book, and lovable--as is a fairy tale properly told."--chicago inter-ocean.
-anne of the blossom shop: or, the growing up of anne carter
-"a charming portrayal of the attractive life of the south, refreshing as a breeze that blows through a pine forest."--albany times-union.
-"the story is most beautifully told. it brings in most charming people, and presents a picture of home life that is most appealing in love and affection."--every evening, wilmington, del.
-the mt. blossom girls
-"in the writing of the book the author is at her best as a story teller. the humor that ripples here and there, the dramatic scenes that stir, and the golden thread of romance that runs through it all, go to make a marked success. it is a fitting climax to the series."--reader.
-novels by daisy rhodes campbell
-the fiddling girl
-"a thoroughly enjoyable tale, written in a delightful vein of sympathetic comprehension."--boston herald.
-the proving of virginia
-"a book which contributes so much of freshness, enthusiasm, and healthy life to offset the usual offerings of modern fiction, deserves all the praise which can be showered upon it."--kindergarten review.
-the violin lady
-"the author's style remains simple and direct, as in her preceding books, and her frank affection for her attractive heroine will be shared by many others."--boston transcript.
-novels by mary ellen chase
-the girl from the big horn country
-"'the girl from the big horn country' tells how virginia hunter, a bright, breezy, frank-hearted 'girl of the golden west' comes out of the big horn country of wyoming to the old bay state. then things begin, when virginia--who feels the joyous, exhilarating call of the big horn wilderness and the outdoor life--attempts to become acclimated and adopt good old new england 'ways.'"--critic.
-virginia, of elk creek valley
-"this story is fascinating, alive with constantly new and fresh interests and every reader will enjoy the novel for its freshness, its novelty and its inspiring glimpses of life with nature."--the editor.
-novels by mrs. henry backus
-the career of doctor weaver
-"high craftsmanship is the leading characteristic of this novel, which, like all good novels, is a love story abounding in real palpitant human interest. the most startling feature of the story is the way its author has torn aside the curtain and revealed certain phases of the relation between the medical profession and society."--dr. charles reed in the lancet clinic.
-the rose of roses
-the author has achieved a thing unusual in developing a love story which adheres to conventions under unconventional circumstances.
-a place in the sun
-"a novel of more than usual meaning."--detroit free press.
-"a stirring story of america of to-day, which will be enjoyed by young people with the tingle of youth in their veins."--zion's herald, boston.
-novels by margaret r. piper
-sylvia's experiment: the cheerful book
-"an atmosphere of good spirits pervades the book; the humor that now and then flashes across the page is entirely natural, and the characters are well individualized."--boston post.
-"it has all the merits of a bright, clever style with plenty of action and humor."--western trade journal, chicago, ill.
-sylvia of the hill top: the second cheerful book
-"there is a world of human nature and neighborhood contentment and quaint quiet humor in margaret r. piper's second book of good cheer."--philadelphia north american.
-"the bright story is told with freshness and humor, and the experiment is one that will appeal to the imagination of all to whom the festival of christmas is dear."--boston herald, boston, mass.
-"sylvia proves practically that she is a messenger of joy to humanity."--the post express, rochester, n. y.
-sylvia arden decides: the third cheerful book
-"it is excellently well done and unusually interesting. the incidents follow one another in rapid succession and are kept up to the right pitch of interest."--n. y. american.
-"its ease of style, its rapidity, its interest from page to page, are admirable; and it shows that inimitable power--the storyteller's gift of verisimilitude. its sureness and clearness are excellent, and its portraiture clear and pleasing."--the reader.
-"it is an extremely well told story, made up of interesting situations and the doings of life-like people, and you will find it very easy to follow the fortunes of the different characters through its varied scenes."--boston herald.
-transcriber's note: the vacuum cleaner advertisement in chapter xxxvii has been moved to a more appropriate location in the text, and some trademark notation in the advertisements which could not be accurately reproduced in this electronic format has been removed. in addition, the following typographical errors, which were present in the original printed edition, have been corrected for this electronic edition.
-a missing quotation mark has been added after "from the coil" in the list of illustrations.
-in chapter vi, "$22,000,00" was changed to "$22,000.00".
-in chapter vii, "myrick" was changed to "myricks" in two places.
-in chapter ix, "anybody else for them,." was changed to "anybody else for them."
-in chapter xiv, "buy why?" was changed to "but why?"
-in chapter xi, a comma was changed to a period after "told me about stigler".
-in chapter xviii, in the advertisements beginning "stigler's saturday special" and "at eight o'clock monday", a period was added after "per cent".
-in chapter xxvi, "matetr off my mind" was changed to "matter off my mind".
-in chapter xxvii, a missing quotation mark was added after "so thoroughly earned."
-in chapter xxxi, a missing quotation mark was added after "people get the money" and "people pasing them" was changed to "people passing them".
-in chapter xxxii, "edison domniates" was changed to "edison dominates".
-in chapter xxxv, "merchants' assocation" was changed to "merchants' association".
-in chapter xxxvii, "jovialty" was changed to "joviality".
-in chapter xxxviii, "if ye sell $45,000.00 worth of goods next year" was changed to "if ye sell $40,000.00 worth of goods next year".
-in chapter xli, an extraneous quotation mark was deleted after "if a fellow's got the money; but--" and "success somes" was changed to "success comes".
-produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.)
-by leon trotzky
-collected and translated, with biography and explanatory notes
-by moissaye j. olgin author of "the soul of the russian revolution"
-copyright, 1918, by henry holt and company
-the world has not known us russian revolutionists. the world has sympathized with us; the world abroad has given aid and comfort to our refugees; the world, at times, even admired us; yet the world has not known us. friends of freedom in europe and america were keenly anxious to see the victory of our cause; they watched our successes and our defeats with breathless interest; yet they were concerned with material results. our views, our party affiliations, our factional divisions, our theoretical gropings, our ideological constructions, to us the leading lights in our revolutionary struggles, were foreign to the world. all this was supposed to be an internal russian affair.
-the revolution has now ceased to be an internal russian affair. it has become of world-wide import. it has started to influence governments and peoples. what was not long ago a theoretical dispute between two "underground" revolutionary circles, has grown into a concrete historical power determining the fate of nations. what was the individual conception of individual revolutionary leaders is now ruling millions.
-the world is now vitally interested in understanding russia, in learning the history of our revolution which is the history of the great russian nation for the last fifty years. this involves, however, knowing not only events, but also the development of thoughts, of aims, of ideas that underlie and direct events; gaining an insight into the immense volume of intellectual work which recent decades have accumulated in revolutionary russia.
-we have selected leon trotzky's contribution to revolutionary thought, not because he is now in the limelight of history, but because his conceptions represent a very definite, a clear-cut and intrinsically consistent trend of revolutionary thought, quite apart from that of other leaders. we do not agree with many of trotzky's ideas and policies, yet we cannot overlook the fact that these ideas have become predominant in the present phase of the russian revolution and that they are bound to give their stamp to russian democracy in the years to come, whether the present government remains in power or not.
-the reader will see that trotzky's views as applied in bolsheviki ruled russia are not of recent origin. they were formed in the course of the first russian revolution of 1905, in which trotzky was one of the leaders. they were developed and strengthened in the following years of reaction, when many a progressive group went to seek compromises with the absolutist forces. they became particularly firm through the world war and the circumstances that led to the establishment of a republican order in russia. perhaps many a grievous misunderstanding and misinterpretation would have been avoided had thinking america known that those conceptions of trotzky were not created on the spur of the moment, but were the result of a life-long work in the service of the revolution.
-trotzky's writings, besides their theoretical and political value, represent a vigor of style and a clarity of expression unique in russian revolutionary literature.
-new york, february 16th, 1918.
-trotzky is a man of about forty. he is tall, strong, angular; his appearance as well as his speech give the impression of boldness and vigor. his voice is a high tenor ringing with metal. and even in his quiet moments he resembles a compressed spring.
-he is always aggressive. he is full of passion,--that white-hot, vibrating mental passion that characterizes the intellectual jew. on the platform, as well as in private life, he bears an air of peculiar importance, an indefinable something that says very distinctly: "here is a man who knows his value and feels himself chosen for superior aims." yet trotzky is not imposing. he is almost modest. he is detached. in the depths of his eyes there is a lingering sadness.
-it was only natural that he, a gifted college youth with a strong avidity for theoretical thinking, should have exchanged, some twenty years ago, the somber class-rooms of the university of odessa for the fresh breezes of revolutionary activity. that was the way of most gifted russian youths. that especially was the way of educated young jews whose people were being crushed under the steam-roller of the russian bureaucracy.
-in the last years of the nineteenth century there was hardly enough opportunity to display unusual energy in revolutionary work. small circles of picked workingmen, assembling weekly under great secrecy somewhere in a backyard cabin in a suburb, to take a course in sociology or history or economics; now and then a "mass" meeting of a few score laborers gathered in the woods; revolutionary appeals and pamphlets printed on a secret press and circulated both among the educated classes and among the people; on rare occasions, an open manifestation of revolutionary intellectuals, such as a meeting of students within the walls of the university--this was practically all that could be done in those early days of russian revolution. into this work of preparation, trotzky threw himself with all his energy. here he came into the closest contact with the masses of labor. here he acquainted himself with the psychology and aspirations of working and suffering russia. this was the rich soil of practical experience that ever since has fed his revolutionary ardor.
-his first period of work was short. in 1900 we find him already in solitary confinement in the prisons of odessa, devouring book after book to satisfy his mental hunger. no true revolutionist was ever made downhearted by prison, least of all trotzky, who knew it was a brief interval of enforced idleness between periods of activity. after two and a half years of prison "vacation" (as the confinement was called in revolutionary jargon) trotzky was exiled to eastern siberia, to ust-kut, on the lena river, where he arrived early in 1902, only to seize the first opportunity to escape.
-again he resumed his work, dividing his time between the revolutionary committees in russia and the revolutionary colonies abroad. 1902 and 1903 were years of growth for the labor movement and of social-democratic influence over the working masses. trotzky, an uncompromising marxist, an outspoken adherent of the theory that only the revolutionary workingmen would be able to establish democracy in russia, devoted much of his energy to the task of uniting the various social-democratic circles and groups in the various cities of russia into one strong social-democratic party, with a clear program and well-defined tactics. this required a series of activities both among the local committees and in the social-democratic literature which was conveniently published abroad.
-it was in connection with this work that trotzky's first pamphlet was published and widely read. it was entitled: the second convention of the russian social-democratic labor party (geneva, 1903), and dealt with the controversies between the two factions of russian social-democracy which later became known as the bolsheviki and the mensheviki. trotzky's contribution was an attempt at reconciliation between the two warring camps which professed the same marxian theory and pursued the same revolutionary aim. the attempt failed, as did many others, yet trotzky never gave up hope of uniting the alienated brothers.
-on the eve of the revolution of 1905, trotzky was already a revolutionary journalist of high repute. we admired the vigor of his style, the lucidity of his thought and the straightness of his expression. articles bearing the pseudonym "n. trotzky" were an intellectual treat, and invariably aroused heated discussions. it may not be out of place to say a few words about this pseudonym. many an amazing comment has been made in the american press on the jew bronstein "camouflaging" under a russian name, trotzky. it seems to be little known in this country that to assume a pen name is a practice widely followed in russia, not only among revolutionary writers. thus "gorki" is a pseudonym; "shchedrin" (saltykov) is a pseudonym. "fyodor sologub" is a pseudonym. as to revolutionary writers, the very character of their work has compelled them to hide their names to escape the secret police. ulyanov, therefore, became "lenin," and bronstein became "trotzky." as to his "camouflaging" as a russian, this assertion is based on sheer ignorance. trotzky is not a genuine russian name--no more so than ostrovski or levine. true, there was a russian playwright ostrovski, and tolstoi gave his main figure in anna karenin the name of levine. yet ostrovski and levine are well known in russia as jewish names, and so is trotzky. i have never heard of a gentile bearing the name trotzky. trotzky has never concealed his jewish nationality. he was too proud to dissimulate. pride is, perhaps, one of the dominant traits of his powerful personality.
-revolutionary russia did not question the race or nationality of a writer or leader. one admired trotzky's power over emotion, the depth of his convictions, the vehemence of his attacks on the opponents of the revolution. as early as 1904, one line of his revolutionary conceptions became quite conspicuous: his opposition to the liberal movement in russia. in a series of essays in the social-democratic iskra (spark), in a collection of his essays published in geneva under the title before january ninth, he unremittingly branded the liberals for lack of revolutionary spirit, for cowardice in face of a hateful autocracy, for failure to frame and to defend a thoroughly democratic program, for readiness to compromise with the rulers on minor concessions and thus to betray the cause of the revolution. no one else was as eloquent, as incisive in pointing out the timidity and meekness of the zemstvo opposition (zemstvo were the local representative bodies for the care of local affairs, and the liberal land owners constituted the leading party in those bodies) as the young revolutionary agitator, trotzky. trotzky's fury against the wavering policy of the well-to-do liberals was only a manifestation of another trait of his character: his desire for clarity in political affairs. trotzky could not conceive of half-way measures, of "diplomatic" silence over vital topics, of cunning moves and concealed designs in political struggles. the attitude of a milukov, criticizing the government and yet willing to acquiesce in a monarchy of a prussian brand, criticizing the revolutionists and yet secretly pleased with the horror they inflicted upon romanoff and his satellites, was simply incompatible with trotzky's very nature and aroused his impassioned contempt. to him, black was always black, and white was white, and political conceptions ought to be so clear as to find adequate expression in a few simple phrases.
-trotzky's own political line was the revolution--a violent uprising of the masses, headed by organized labor, forcibly to overthrow bureaucracy and establish democratic freedom. with what an outburst of blazing joy he greeted the upheaval of january 9, 1905--the first great mass-movement in russia with clear political aims: "the revolution has come!" he shouted in an ecstatic essay completed on january 20th. "the revolution has come. one move of hers has lifted the people over scores of steps, up which in times of peace we would have had to drag ourselves with hardships and fatigue. the revolution has come and destroyed the plans of so many politicians who had dared to make their little political calculations with no regard for the master, the revolutionary people. the revolution has come and destroyed scores of superstitions, and has manifested the power of the program which is founded on the revolutionary logic of the development of the masses.... the revolution has come and the period of our infancy has passed."
-the revolution filled the entire year of 1905 with the battle cries of ever-increasing revolutionary masses. the political strike became a powerful weapon. the village revolts spread like wild-fire. the government became frightened. it was under the sign of this great conflagration that trotzky framed his theory of immediate transition from absolutism to a socialist order. his line of argument was very simple. the working class, he wrote, was the only real revolutionary power. the bourgeoisie was weak and incapable of adroit resistance. the intellectual groups were of no account. the peasantry was politically primitive, yet it had an overwhelming desire for land. "once the revolution is victorious, political power necessarily passes into the hands of the class that has played a leading rôle in the struggle, and that is the working class." to secure permanent power, the working class would have to win over the millions of peasants. this would be possible by recognizing all the agrarian changes completed by the peasants in time of the revolution and by a radical agrarian legislation. "once in power, the proletariat will appear before the peasantry as its liberator." on the other hand, having secured its class rule over russia, why should the proletariat help to establish parliamentary rule, which is the rule of the bourgeois classes over the people? "to imagine that social-democracy participates in the provisional government, playing a leading rôle in the period of revolutionary democratic reconstruction, insisting on the most radical reforms and all the time enjoying the aid and support of the organized proletariat,--only to step aside when the democratic program is put into operation, to leave the completed building at the disposal of the bourgeois parties and thus to open an era of parliamentary politics where social-democracy forms only a party of opposition,--to imagine this would mean to compromise the very idea of a labor government." moreover, "once the representatives of the proletariat enter the government, not as powerless hostages, but as a leading force, the divide between the minimum-program and the maximum-program automatically disappears, collectivism becomes the order of the day," since "political supremacy of the proletariat is incompatible with its economic slavery." it was precisely the same program which trotzky is at present attempting to put into operation. this program has been his guiding star for the last twelve years.
-in the fall of 1905 it looked as if trotzky's hope was near its realization. the october strike brought autocracy to its knees. a constitution was promised. a soviet (council of workmen's deputies) was formed in petersburg to conduct the revolution. trotzky became one of the strongest leaders of the council. it was in those months that we became fully aware of two qualities of trotzky's which helped him to master men: his power as a speaker, and his ability to write short, stirring articles comprehensible to the masses. in the latter ability nobody equals him among russian socialists. the leaders of russian social-democracy were wont to address themselves to the intellectual readers. socialist writers of the early period of the revolution were seldom confronted with the necessity of writing for plain people. trotzky was the best among the few who, in the stormy months of the 1905 revolution, were able to appeal to the masses in brief, strong, yet dignified articles full of thought, vision, and emotion.
-the soviet was struggling in a desperate situation. autocracy had promised freedom, yet military rule was becoming ever more atrocious. the sluices of popular revolutionary movement were open, yet revolutionary energy was being gradually exhausted. the soviet acted as a true revolutionary government, ignoring the government of the romanoffs, giving orders to the workingmen of the country, keeping a watchful eye on political events; yet the government of the old régime was regaining its self-confidence and preparing for a final blow. the air was full of bad omens.
-the black storm soon broke loose. trotzky was arrested with the other members of the "revolutionary government," after the soviet had existed for about a month and a half. trotzky went to prison, not in despair, but as a leader of an invincible army which though it had suffered temporary defeat, was bound to win. trotzky had to wait twelve years for the moment of triumph, yet the moment came.
-in prison trotzky was very active, reading, writing, trying to sum up his experience of the revolutionary year. after twelve months of solitary confinement he was tried and sentenced to life exile in siberia: the government of the enemies of the people was wreaking vengeance on the first true representatives of the people. on january 3, 1907, trotzky started his trip for obdorsk, in northern siberia on the arctic ocean.
-he was under unusual rigid surveillance even for russian prisons. each movement of his and of his comrades was carefully guarded. no communication with the outer world was permitted. the very journey was surrounded by great secrecy. yet such was the fame of the soviet, that crowds gathered at every station to greet the prisoners' train, and even the soldiers showed extraordinary respect for the imprisoned "workingmen's deputies" as they called them. "we are surrounded by friends on every side," trotzky wrote in his note book.
-in tiumen the prisoners had to leave the railway train for sleighs drawn by horses. the journey became very tedious and slow. the monotony was broken only by little villages, where revolutionary exiles were detained. here and there the exiles would gather to welcome the leaders of the revolution. red flags gave touches of color to the blinding white of the siberian snow. "long live the revolution!" was printed with huge letters on the surface of the northern snow, along the road. this was beautiful, but it gave little consolation. the country became ever more desolate. "every day we move down one step into the kingdom of cold and wilderness," trotzky remarked in his notes.
-it was in this ostiak sleigh, in the midst of a bleak desert, that he celebrated the 20th of february, the day of the opening of the second duma. it was a mockery at russia: here, the representatives of the people, assembled in the quasi-parliament of russia; there, a representative of the revolution that created the duma, hiding like a criminal in a bleak wilderness. did he dream in those long hours of his journey, that some day the wave of the revolution would bring him to the very top?
-early in spring he arrived abroad. he established his home in vienna where he lived till the outbreak of the great war. his time and energy were devoted to the internal affairs of the social-democratic party and to editing a popular revolutionary magazine which was being smuggled into russia. he earned a meager living by contributing to russian "legal" magazines and dailies.
-i met him first in 1907, in stuttgart. he seemed to be deeply steeped in the revolutionary factional squabbles. again i met him in copenhagen in 1910. he was the target of bitter criticism for his press-comment on one of the social-democratic factions. he seemed to be dead to anything but the problem of reconciling the bolsheviki with the mensheviki and the other minor divisions. yet that air of importance which distinguished him even from the famous old leaders had, in 1910, become more apparent. by this time he was already a well-known and respected figure in the ranks of international socialism.
-in the fall of 1912 he went into the balkans as a war correspondent. there he learned to know the balkan situation from authentic sources. his revelations of the atrocities committed on both sides attracted wide attention. when he came back to vienna in 1913 he was a stronger internationalist and a stronger anti-militarist than ever.
-his house in vienna was a poor man's house, poorer than that of an ordinary american workingman earning eighteen dollars a week. trotzky has been poor all his life. his three rooms in a vienna working-class suburb contained less furniture than was necessary for comfort. his clothes were too cheap to make him appear "decent" in the eyes of a middle-class viennese. when i visited his house i found mrs. trotzky engaged in housework, while the two light-haired lovely boys were lending not inconsiderable assistance. the only thing that cheered the house were loads of books in every corner, and, perhaps, great though hidden hopes.
-on august 3, 1914, the trotzkys, as enemy aliens, had to leave vienna for zurich, switzerland. trotzky's attitude towards the war was a very definite one from the very beginning. he accused german social-democracy for having voted the war credits and thus endorsed the war. he accused the socialist parties of all the belligerent countries for having concluded a truce with their governments which in his opinion was equivalent to supporting militarism. he bitterly deplored the collapse of internationalism as a great calamity for the emancipation of the world. yet, even in those times of distress, he did not remain inactive. he wrote a pamphlet to the german workingmen entitled the war and internationalism (recently translated into english and published in this country under the title the bolsheviki and world peace) which was illegally transported into germany and austria by aid of swiss socialists. for this attempt to enlighten the workingmen, one of the german courts tried him in a state of contumacy and sentenced him to imprisonment. he also contributed to a russian socialist daily of internationalist aspirations which was being published by russian exiles in paris. later he moved to paris to be in closer contact with that paper. due to his radical views on the war, however, he was compelled to leave france. he went to spain, but the spanish government, though not at war, did not allow him to stay in that country. he was himself convinced that the hand of the russian foreign ministry was in all his hardships.
-so it happened that in the winter 1916-1917, he came to the united states. when i met him here, he looked haggard; he had grown older, and there was fatigue in his expression. his conversation hinged around the collapse of international socialism. he thought it shameful and humiliating that the socialist majorities of the belligerent countries had turned "social-patriots." "if not for the minorities of the socialist parties, the true socialists, it would not be worth while living," he said once with deep sadness. still, he strongly believed in the internationalizing spirit of the war itself, and expected humanity to become more democratic and more sound after cessation of hostilities. his belief in an impending russian revolution was unshaken. similarly unshaken was his mistrust of the russian non-socialist parties. on january 20, 1917, less than two months before the overthrow of the romanoffs, he wrote in a local russian paper: "whoever thinks critically over the experience of 1905, whoever draws a line from that year to the present day, must conceive how utterly lifeless and ridiculous are the hopes of our social-patriots for a revolutionary coöperation between the proletariat and the liberal bourgeoisie in russia."
-his demand for clarity in political affairs had become more pronounced during the war and through the distressing experiences of the war. "there are times," he wrote on february 7, 1917, "when diplomatic evasiveness, casting glances with one eye to the right, with the other to the left, is considered wisdom. such times are now vanishing before our eyes, and their heroes are losing credit. war, as revolution, puts problems in their clearest form. for war or against war? for national defense or for revolutionary struggle? the fierce times we are living now demand in equal measure both fearlessness of thought and bravery of character."
-when the russian revolution broke out, it was no surprise for trotzky. he had anticipated it. he had scented it over the thousands of miles that separated him from his country. he did not allow his joy to overmaster him. the march revolution in his opinion was only a beginning. it was only an introduction to a long drawn fight which would end in the establishment of socialism.
-history seemed to him to have fulfilled what he had predicted in 1905 and 1906. the working class was the leading power in the revolution. the soviets became even more powerful than the provisional government. trotzky preached that it was the task of the soviets to become the government of russia. it was his task to go to russia and fight for a labor government, for internationalism, for world peace, for a world revolution. "if the first russian revolution of 1905," he wrote on march 20th, "brought about revolutions in asia,--in persia, turkey, china,--the second russian revolution will be the beginning of a momentous social-revolutionary struggle in europe. only this struggle will bring real peace to the blood-drenched world."
-with these hopes he went to russia,--to forge a socialist russia in the fire of the revolution.
-whatever may be our opinion of the merits of his policies, the man has remained true to himself. his line has been straight.
-the proletariat and the revolution
-the essay the proletariat and the revolution was published at the close of 1904, nearly one year after the beginning of the war with japan. this was a crucial year for the autocratic rulers of russia. it started with patriotic demonstrations, it ended with a series of humiliating defeats on the battlefields and with an unprecedented revival of political activities on the part of the well-to-do classes. the zemstvos (local elective bodies for the care of local affairs) headed by liberal landowners, conducted a vigorous political campaign in favor of a constitutional order. other liberal groups, organizations of professionals (referred to in trotzky's essay as "democrats" and "democratic elements") joined in the movement. the zemstvo leaders called an open convention in petersburg (november 6th), which demanded civic freedom and a constitution. the "democratic elements" organized public gatherings of a political character under the disguise of private banquets. the liberal press became bolder in its attack on the administration. the government tolerated the movement. prince svyatopolk-mirski, who had succeeded von plehve, the reactionary dictator assassinated in july, 1904, by a revolutionist, had promised "cordial relations" between government and society. in the political jargon, this period of tolerance, lasting from august to the end of the year, was known as the era of "spring."
-it was a thrilling time, full of political hopes and expectation. yet, strange enough, the working class was silent. the working class had shown great dissatisfaction in 1902 and especially in summer, 1903, when scores of thousands in the southwest and in the south went on a political strike. during the whole of 1904, however, there were almost no mass-manifestations on the part of the workingmen. this gave an occasion to many a liberal to scoff at the representatives of the revolutionary parties who built all their tactics on the expectation of a national revolution.
-to answer those skeptics and to encourage the active members of the social-democratic party, trotzky wrote his essay. its main value, which lends it historic significance, is the clear diagnosis of the political situation. though living abroad, trotzky keenly felt the pulse of the masses, the "pent up revolutionary energy" which was seeking for an outlet. his description of the course of a national revolution, the rôle he attributes to the workingmen, the non-proletarian population of the cities, the educated groups, and the army; his estimation of the influence of the war on the minds of the raw masses; finally, the slogans he puts before the revolution,--all this corresponds exactly to what happened during the stormy year of 1905. reading the proletariat and the revolution, the student of russian political life has a feeling as if the essay had been written after the revolution, so closely it follows the course of events. yet, it appeared before january 9th, 1905, i.e., before the first great onslaught of the petersburg proletariat.
-trotzky's belief in the revolutionary initiative of the working class could not be expressed in a more lucid manner.
-the proletariat must not only conduct a revolutionary propaganda. the proletariat itself must move towards a revolution.
-to move towards a revolution does not necessarily mean to fix a date for an insurrection and to prepare for that day. you never can fix a day and an hour for a revolution. the people have never made a revolution by command.
-what can be done is, in view of the fatally impending catastrophe, to choose the most appropriate positions, to arm and inspire the masses with a revolutionary slogan, to lead simultaneously all the reserves into the field of battle, to make them practice in the art of fighting, to keep them ready under arms,--and to send an alarm all over the lines when the time has arrived.
-would that mean a series of exercises only, and not a decisive combat with the enemy forces? would that be mere manoeuvers, and not a street revolution?
-yes, that would be mere manoeuvers. there is a difference, however, between revolutionary and military manoeuvers. our preparations can turn, at any time and independent of our will, into a real battle which would decide the long drawn revolutionary war. not only can it be so, it must be. this is vouched for by the acuteness of the present political situation which holds in its depths a tremendous amount of revolutionary explosives.
-at what time mere manoeuvers would turn into a real battle, depends upon the volume and the revolutionary compactness of the masses, upon the atmosphere of popular sympathy which surrounds them and upon the attitude of the troops which the government moves against the people.
-those three elements of success must determine our work of preparation. revolutionary proletarian masses are in existence. we ought to be able to call them into the streets, at a given time, all over the country; we ought to be able to unite them by a general slogan.
-all classes and groups of the people are permeated with hatred towards absolutism, and that means with sympathy for the struggle for freedom. we ought to be able to concentrate this sympathy on the proletariat as a revolutionary power which alone can be the vanguard of the people in their fight to save the future of russia. as to the mood of the army, it hardly kindles the heart of the government with great hopes. there has been many an alarming symptom for the last few years; the army is morose, the army grumbles, there are ferments of dissatisfaction in the army. we ought to do all at our command to make the army detach itself from absolutism at the time of a decisive onslaught of the masses.
-let us first survey the last two conditions, which determine the course and the outcome of the campaign.
-we have just gone through the period of "political renovation" opened under the blare of trumpets and closed under the hiss of knouts,--the era of svyatopolk-mirski--the result of which is hatred towards absolutism aroused among all the thinking elements of society to an unusual pitch. the coming days will reap the fruit of stirred popular hopes and unfulfilled government's pledges. political interest has lately taken more definite shape; dissatisfaction has grown deeper and is founded on a more outspoken theoretical basis. popular thinking, yesterday utterly primitive, now greedily takes to the work of political analysis. all manifestations of evil and arbitrary power are being speedily traced back to the principal cause. revolutionary slogans no more frighten the people; on the contrary, they arouse a thousandfold echo, they pass into proverbs. the popular consciousness absorbs each word of negation, condemnation or curse addressed towards absolutism, as a sponge absorbs fluid substance. no step of the administration remains unpunished. each of its blunders is carefully taken account of. its advances are met with ridicule, its threats breed hatred. the vast apparatus of the liberal press circulates daily thousands of facts, stirring, exciting, inflaming popular emotion.
-the pent up feelings are seeking an outlet. thought strives to turn into action. the vociferous liberal press, however, while feeding popular unrest, tends to divert its current into a small channel; it spreads superstitious reverence for "public opinion," helpless, unorganized "public opinion," which does not discharge itself into action; it brands the revolutionary method of national emancipation; it upholds the illusion of legality; it centers all the attention and all the hopes of the embittered groups around the zemstvo campaign, thus systematically preparing a great debacle for the popular movement. acute dissatisfaction, finding no outlet, discouraged by the inevitable failure of the legal zemstvo campaign which has no traditions of revolutionary struggle in the past and no clear prospects in the future, must necessarily manifest itself in an outbreak of desperate terrorism, leaving radical intellectuals in the rôle of helpless, passive, though sympathetic onlookers, leaving liberals to choke in a fit of platonic enthusiasm while lending doubtful assistance.
-this ought not to take place. we ought to take hold of the current of popular excitement; we ought to turn the attention of numerous dissatisfied social groups to one colossal undertaking headed by the proletariat,--to the national revolution.
-the vanguard of the revolution ought to wake from indolence all other elements of the people; to appear here and there and everywhere; to put the questions of political struggle in the boldest possible fashion; to call, to castigate, to unmask hypocritical democracy; to make democrats and zemstvo liberals clash against each other; to wake again and again, to call, to castigate, to demand a clear answer to the question, what are you going to do? to allow no retreat; to compel the legal liberals to admit their own weakness; to alienate from them the democratic elements and help the latter along the way of the revolution. to do this work means to draw the threads of sympathy of all the democratic opposition towards the revolutionary campaign of the proletariat.
-we ought to do all in our power to draw the attention and gain the sympathy of the poor non-proletarian city population. during the last mass actions of the proletariat, as in the general strikes of 1903 in the south, nothing was done in this respect, and this was the weakest point of the preparatory work. according to press correspondents, the queerest rumors often circulated among the population as to the intentions of the strikers. the city inhabitants expected attacks on their houses, the store keepers were afraid of being looted, the jews were in a dread of pogroms. this ought to be avoided. a political strike, as a single combat of the city proletariat with the police and the army, the remaining population being hostile or even indifferent, is doomed to failure.
-the indifference of the population would tell primarily on the morale of the proletariat itself, and then on the attitude of the soldiers. under such conditions, the stand of the administration must necessarily be more determined. the generals would remind the officers, and the officers would pass to the soldiers the words of dragomirov: "rifles are given for sharp shooting, and nobody is permitted to squander cartridges for nothing."
-a political strike of the proletariat ought to turn into a political demonstration of the population, this is the first prerequisite of success.
-the second important prerequisite is the mood of the army. a dissatisfaction among the soldiers, a vague sympathy for the "revoluters," is an established fact. only part of this sympathy may rightly be attributed to our direct propaganda among the soldiers. the major part is done by the practical clashes between army units and protesting masses. only hopeless idiots or avowed scoundrels dare to shoot at a living target. an overwhelming majority of the soldiers are loathe to serve as executioners; this is unanimously admitted by all correspondents describing the battles of the army with unarmed people. the average soldier aims above the heads of the crowd. it would be unnatural if the reverse were the case. when the bessarabian regiment received orders to quell the kiev general strike, the commander declared he could not vouch for the attitude of his soldiers. the order, then, was sent to the cherson regiment, but there was not one half-company in the entire regiment which would live up to the expectations of their superiors.
-kiev was no exception. the conditions of the army must now be more favorable for the revolution than they were in 1903. we have gone through a year of war. it is hardly possible to measure the influence of the past year on the minds of the army. the influence, however, must be enormous. war draws not only the attention of the people, it arouses also the professional interest of the army. our ships are slow, our guns have a short range, our soldiers are uneducated, our sergeants have neither compass nor map, our soldiers are bare-footed, hungry, and freezing, our red cross is stealing, our commissariat is stealing,--rumors and facts of this kind leak down to the army and are being eagerly absorbed. each rumor, as strong acid, dissolves the rust of mental drill. years of peaceful propaganda could hardly equal in their results one day of warfare. the mere mechanism of discipline remains, the faith, however, the conviction that it is right to carry out orders, the belief that the present conditions can be continued, are rapidly dwindling. the less faith the army has in absolutism, the more faith it has in its foes.
-we ought to make use of this situation. we ought to explain to the soldiers the meaning of the workingmen's action which is being prepared by the party. we ought to make profuse use of the slogan which is bound to unite the army with the revolutionary people, away with the war! we ought to create a situation where the officers would not be able to trust their soldiers at the crucial moment. this would reflect on the attitude of the officers themselves.
-the rest will be done by the street. it will dissolve the remnants of the barrack-hypnosis in the revolutionary enthusiasm of the people.
-the main factor, however, remain the revolutionary masses. true it is that during the war the most advanced elements of the masses, the thinking proletariat, have not stepped openly to the front with that degree of determination which was required by the critical historic moment. yet it would manifest a lack of political backbone and a deplorable superficiality, should one draw from this fact any kind of pessimistic conclusions.
-the war has fallen upon our public life with all its colossal weight. the dreadful monster, breathing blood and fire, loomed up on the political horizon, shutting out everything, sinking its steel clutches into the body of the people, inflicting wound upon wound, causing mortal pain, which for a moment makes it even impossible to ask for the causes of the pain. the war, as every great disaster, accompanied by crisis, unemployment, mobilization, hunger and death, stunned the people, caused despair, but not protest. this is, however, only a beginning. raw masses of the people, silent social strata, which yesterday had no connection with the revolutionary elements, were knocked by sheer mechanical power of facts to face the central event of present-day russia, the war. they were horrified, they could not catch their breaths. the revolutionary elements, who prior to the war had ignored the passive masses, were affected by the atmosphere of despair and concentrated horror. this atmosphere enveloped them, it pressed with a leaden weight on their minds. the voice of determined protest could hardly be raised in the midst of elemental suffering. the revolutionary proletariat which had not yet recovered from the wounds received in july, 1903, was powerless to oppose the "call of the primitive."
-the year of war, however, passed not without results. masses, yesterday primitive, to-day are confronted with the most tremendous events. they must seek to understand them. the very duration of the war has produced a desire for reasoning, for questioning as to the meaning of it all. thus the war, while hampering for a period of time the revolutionary initiative of thousands, has awakened to life the political thought of millions.
-the year of war passed not without results, not a single day passed without results. in the lower strata of the people, in the very depths of the masses, a work was going on, a movement of molecules, imperceptible, yet irresistible, incessant, a work of accumulating indignation, bitterness, revolutionary energy. the atmosphere our streets are breathing now is no longer an atmosphere of blank despair, it is an atmosphere of concentrated indignation which seeks for means and ways for revolutionary action. each expedient action of the vanguard of our working masses would now carry away with it not only all our revolutionary reserves, but also thousands and hundreds of thousands of revolutionary recruits. this mobilization, unlike the mobilization of the government, would be carried out in the presence of general sympathy and active assistance of an overwhelming majority of the population.
-in the presence of strong sympathies of the masses, in the presence of active assistance on the part of the democratic elements of the people; facing a government commonly hated, unsuccessful both in big and in small undertakings, a government defeated on the seas, defeated in the fields of battle, despised, discouraged, with no faith in the coming day, a government vainly struggling, currying favor, provoking and retreating, lying and suffering exposure, insolent and frightened; facing an army whose morale has been shattered by the entire course of the war, whose valor, energy, enthusiasm and heroism have met an insurmountable wall in the form of administrative anarchy, an army which has lost faith in the unshakable security of a régime it is called to serve, a dissatisfied, grumbling army which more than once has torn itself free from the clutches of discipline during the last year and which is eagerly listening to the roar of revolutionary voices,--such will be the conditions under which the revolutionary proletariat will walk out into the streets. it seems to us that no better conditions could have been created by history for a final attack. history has done everything it was allowed by elemental wisdom. the thinking revolutionary forces of the country have to do the rest.
-a tremendous amount of revolutionary energy has been accumulated. it should not vanish with no avail, it should not be dissipated in scattered engagements and clashes, with no coherence and no definite plan. all efforts ought to be made to concentrate the bitterness, the anger, the protest, the rage, the hatred of the masses, to give those emotions a common language, a common goal, to unite, to solidify all the particles of the masses, to make them feel and understand that they are not isolated, that simultaneously, with the same slogan on the banner, with the same goal in mind, innumerable particles are rising everywhere. if this understanding is achieved, half of the revolution is done.
-we have got to summon all revolutionary forces to simultaneous action. how can we do it?
-first of all we ought to remember that the main scene of revolutionary events is bound to be the city. nobody is likely to deny this. it is evident, further, that street demonstrations can turn into a popular revolution only when they are a manifestation of masses, i.e., when they embrace, in the first place, the workers of factories and plants. to make the workers quit their machines and stands; to make them walk out of the factory premises into the street; to lead them to the neighboring plant; to proclaim there a cessation of work; to make new masses walk out into the street; to go thus from factory to factory, from plant to plant, incessantly growing in numbers, sweeping police barriers, absorbing new masses that happened to come across, crowding the streets, taking possession of buildings suitable for popular meetings, fortifying those buildings, holding continuous revolutionary meetings with audiences coming and going, bringing order into the movements of the masses, arousing their spirit, explaining to them the aim and the meaning of what is going on; to turn, finally, the entire city into one revolutionary camp, this is, broadly speaking, the plan of action.
-the starting point ought to be the factories and plants. that means that street manifestations of a serious character, fraught with decisive events, ought to begin with political strikes of the masses.
-it is easier to fix a date for a strike, than for a demonstration of the people, just as it is easier to move masses ready for action than to organize new masses.
-a political strike, however, not a local, but a general political strike all over russia,--ought to have a general political slogan. this slogan is: to stop the war and to call a national constituent assembly.
-this demand ought to become nation-wide, and herein lies the task for our propaganda preceding the all-russian general strike. we ought to use all possible occasions to make the idea of a national constituent assembly popular among the people. without losing one moment, we ought to put into operation all the technical means and all the powers of propaganda at our disposal. proclamations and speeches, educational circles and mass-meetings ought to carry broadcast, to propound and to explain the demand of a constituent assembly. there ought to be not one man in a city who should not know that his demand is: a national constituent assembly.
-the peasants ought to be called to assemble on the day of the political strike and to pass resolutions demanding the calling of a constituent assembly. the suburban peasants ought to be called into the cities to participate in the street movements of the masses gathered under the banner of a constituent assembly. all societies and organizations, professional and learned bodies, organs of self-government and organs of the opposition press ought to be notified in advance by the workingmen that they are preparing for an all-russian political strike, fixed for a certain date, to bring about the calling of a constituent assembly. the workingmen ought to demand from all societies and corporations that, on the day appointed for the mass-manifestation, they should join in the demand of a national constituent assembly. the workingmen ought to demand from the opposition press that it should popularize their slogan and that on the eve of the demonstration it should print an appeal to the population to join the proletarian manifestation under the banner of a national constituent assembly.
-we ought to carry on the most intensive propaganda in the army in order that on the day of the strike each soldier, sent to curb the "rebels," should know that he is facing the people who are demanding a national constituent assembly.
-"the hiss of the knout" which ended the era of "cordial relations" was a statement issued by the government on december 12, 1904, declaring that "all disturbances of peace and order and all gatherings of an anti-governmental character must and will be stopped by all legal means in command of the authorities." the zemstvo and municipal bodies were advised to keep from political utterings. as to the socialist parties, and to labor movement in general, they were prosecuted under svyatopolk-mirski as severely as under von plehve.
-"the vast apparatus of the liberal press" was the only way to reach millions. the revolutionary "underground" press, which assumed towards 1905 unusual proportions, could, after all, reach only a limited number of readers. in times of political unrest, the public became used to read between the lines of the legal press all it needed to feed its hatred of oppression.
-by "legal" press, "legal" liberals are meant the open public press and those liberals who were trying to comply with the legal requirements of absolutism even in their work of condemning the absolutist order. the term "legal" is opposed by the term "revolutionary" which is applied to political actions in defiance of law.
-dragomirov was for many years commander of the kiev military region and known by his epigrammatic style.
-the events in petersburg
-this is an essay of triumph. written on january 20, 1905, eleven days after the "bloody sunday," it gave vent to the enthusiastic feelings of every true revolutionist aroused by unmistakable signs of an approaching storm. the march of tens of thousands of workingmen to the winter palace to submit to the "little father" a petition asking for "bread and freedom," was on the surface a peaceful and loyal undertaking. yet it breathed indignation and revolt. the slaughter of peaceful marchers (of whom over 5,000 were killed or wounded) and the following wave of hatred and revolutionary determination among the masses, marked the beginning of broad revolutionary uprisings.
-for trotzky, the awakening of the masses to political activity was not only a good revolutionary omen, but also a defeat of liberal ideology and liberal tactics. those tactics had been planned under the assumption that the russian people were not ripe for a revolution. trotzky, a thorough revolutionist, saw in the liberal movement a manifestation of political superstitions. to him, the only way to overthrow absolutism was the way of a violent revolution. yet, when the liberals proudly asserted that the revolutionary masses of russia were only a creation of the overheated phantasy of the revolutionists, while the movement of the well-to-do intelligent elements was a flagrant fact, the social-democrats had no material proofs to the contrary, except sporadic outbursts of unrest among the workingmen and, of course, the conviction of those revolutionists who were in touch with the masses. it is, therefore, easy to understand the triumph of a trotzky or any other socialist after january 9th. in trotzky's opinion, the 9th of january had put liberalism into the archives. "we are done with it for the entire period of the revolution," he exclaims. the most remarkable part of this essay, as far as political vision is concerned, is trotzky's prediction that the left wing of the "osvoboshdenie" liberals (later organized as the constitutional democratic party) would attempt to become leaders of the revolutionary masses and to "tame" them. the liberals did not fail to make the attempt in 1905 and 1906, but with no success whatever. neither did social-democracy, however, completely succeed in leading the masses all through the revolution, in the manner outlined by trotzky in this essay. true, the social-democrats were the party that gained the greatest influence over the workingmen in the stormy year of 1905; their slogans were universally accepted by the masses; their members were everywhere among the first ranks of revolutionary forces; yet events developed too rapidly and spontaneously to make the leadership of a political organization possible.
-how invincibly eloquent are facts! how utterly powerless are words!
-the masses have made themselves heard! they have kindled revolutionary flames on caucasian hill-tops; they have clashed, breast against breast, with the guards' regiments and the cossacks on that unforgettable day of january ninth; they have filled the streets and squares of industrial cities with the noise and clatter of their fights....
-the revolutionary masses are no more a theory, they are a fact. for the social-democratic party there is nothing new in this fact. we had predicted it long ago. we had seen its coming at a time when the noisy liberal banquets seemed to form a striking contrast with the political silence of the people. the revolutionary masses are a fact, was our assertion. the clever liberals shrugged their shoulders in contempt. those gentlemen think themselves sober realists solely because they are unable to grasp the consequences of great causes, because they make it their business to be humble servants of each ephemeral political fact. they think themselves sober statesmen in spite of the fact that history mocks at their wisdom, tearing to pieces their school books, making to naught their designs, and magnificently laughing at their pompous predictions.
-"there are no revolutionary people in russia as yet." "the russian workingman is backward in culture, in self-respect, and (we refer primarily to the workingmen of petersburg and moscow) he is not yet prepared for organized social and political struggle."
-thus mr. struve wrote in his osvoboshdenie. he wrote it on january 7th, 1905. two days later the proletariat of petersburg arose.
-"there are no revolutionary people in russia as yet." these words ought to have been engraved on the forehead of mr. struve were it not that mr. struve's forehead already resembles a tombstone under which so many plans, slogans, and ideas have been buried,--socialist, liberal, "patriotic," revolutionary, monarchic, democratic and other ideas, all of them calculated not to run too far ahead and all of them hopelessly dragging behind.
-"there are no revolutionary people in russia as yet," so it was declared through the mouth of osvoboshdenie by russian liberalism which in the course of three months had succeeded in convincing itself that liberalism was the main figure on the political stage and that its program and tactics would determine the future of russia. before this declaration had reached its readers, the wires carried into the remotest corners of the world the great message of the beginning of a national revolution in russia.
-yes, the revolution has begun. we had hoped for it, we had had no doubt about it. for long years, however, it had been to us a mere deduction from our "doctrine," which all nonentities of all political denominations had mocked at. they never believed in the revolutionary rôle of the proletariat, yet they believed in the power of zemstvo petitions, in witte, in "blocs" combining naughts with naughts, in svyatopolk-mirski, in a stick of dynamite.... there was no political superstition they did not believe in. only the belief in the proletariat to them was a superstition.
-history, however, does not question political oracles, and the revolutionary people do not need a passport from political eunuchs.
-the revolution has come. one move of hers has lifted the people over scores of steps, up which in times of peace we would have had to drag ourselves with hardships and fatigue. the revolution has come and destroyed the plans of so many politicians who had dared to make their little political calculations with no regard for the master, the revolutionary people. the revolution has come and destroyed scores of superstitions, and has manifested the power of the program which is founded on the revolutionary logic of the development of the masses.
-the revolution has come, and the period of our political infancy has passed. down to the archives went our traditional liberalism whose only resource was the belief in a lucky change of administrative figures. its period of bloom was the stupid reign of svyatopolk-mirski. its ripest fruit was the ukase of december 12th. but now, january ninth has come and effaced the "spring," and has put military dictatorship in its place, and has promoted to the rank of governor-general of petersburg the same trepov, who just before had been pulled down from the post of moscow chief of police by the same liberal opposition.
-that liberalism which did not care to know about the revolution, which hatched plots behind the scenes, which ignored the masses, which counted only on its diplomatic genius, has been swept away. we are done with it for the entire period of the revolution.
-the revolution has come.
-the forms taken by the uprising of january 9th could not have been foreseen. a revolutionary priest, in perplexing manner placed by history at the head of the working masses for several days, lent the events the stamp of his personality, his conceptions, his rank. this form may mislead many an observer as to the real substance of the events. the actual meaning of the events, however, is just that which social-democracy foresaw. the central figure is the proletariat. the workingmen start a strike, they unite, they formulate political demands, they walk out into the streets, they win the enthusiastic sympathy of the entire population, they engage in battles with the army.... the hero, gapon, has not created the revolutionary energy of the petersburg workingmen, he only unloosed it. he found thousands of thinking workingmen and tens of thousands of others in a state of political agitation. he formed a plan which united all those masses--for the period of one day. the masses went to speak to the tzar. they were faced by ulans, cossacks, guards. gapon's plan had not prepared the workingmen for that. what was the result? they seized arms wherever they could, they built barricades.... they fought, though, apparently, they went to beg for mercy. this shows that they went not to beg, but to demand.
-the proletariat of petersburg manifested a degree of political alertness and revolutionary energy far exceeding the limits of the plan laid out by a casual leader. gapon's plan contained many elements of revolutionary romanticism. on january 9th, the plan collapsed. yet the revolutionary proletariat of petersburg is no romanticism, it is a living reality. so is the proletariat of other cities. an enormous wave is rolling over russia. it has not yet quieted down. one shock, and the proletarian crater will begin to erupt torrents of revolutionary lava.
-the proletariat has arisen. it has chosen an incidental pretext and a casual leader--a self-sacrificing priest. that seemed enough to start with. it was not enough to win.
-victory demands not a romantic method based on an illusory plan, but revolutionary tactics. a simultaneous action of the proletariat of all russia must be prepared. this is the first condition. no local demonstration has a serious political significance any longer. after the petersburg uprising, only an all-russian uprising should take place. scattered outbursts would only consume the precious revolutionary energy with no results. wherever spontaneous outbursts occur, as a late echo of the petersburg uprising, they must be made use of to revolutionize and to solidify the masses, to popularize among them the idea of an all-russian uprising as a task of the approaching months, perhaps only weeks.
-this is not the place to discuss the technique of a popular uprising. the questions of revolutionary technique can be solved only in a practical way, under the live pressure of struggle and under constant communication with the active members of the party. there is no doubt, however, that the technical problems of organizing a popular uprising assume at present tremendous importance. those problems demand the collective attention of the party.
-as stated before, these questions ought to be solved by local organizations. of course, this is only a minor task as compared with the political leadership of the masses. yet, this task is most essential for the political leadership itself. the organization of the revolution becomes at present the axis of the political leadership of revolting masses.
-what are the requirements for this leadership? a few very simple things: freedom from routine in matters of organization; freedom from miserable traditions of underground conspiracy; a broad view; courageous initiative; ability to gauge situations; courageous initiative once more.
-the events of january 9th have given us a revolutionary beginning. we must never fall below this. we must make this our starting point in moving the revolution forward. we must imbue our work of propaganda and organization with the political ideas and revolutionary aspirations of the uprising of the petersburg workers.
-the russian revolution has approached its climax--a national uprising. the organization of this uprising, which would determine the fate of the entire revolution, becomes the day's task for our party.
-no one can accomplish it, but we. priest gapon could appear only once. he cherished extraordinary illusions, that is why he could do what he has done. yet he could remain at the head of the masses for a brief period only. the memory of george gapon will always be dear to the revolutionary proletariat. yet his memory will be that of a hero who opened the sluices of the revolutionary torrent. should a new figure step to the front now, equal to gapon in energy, revolutionary enthusiasm and power of political illusions, his arrival would be too late. what was great in george gapon may now look ridiculous. there is no room for a second george gapon, as the thing now needed is not an illusion, but clear revolutionary thinking, a decisive plan of action, a flexible revolutionary organization which would be able to give the masses a slogan, to lead them into the field of battle, to launch an attack all along the line and bring the revolution to a victorious conclusion.
-such an organization can be the work of social-democracy only. no other party is able to create it. no other party can give the masses a revolutionary slogan, as no one outside our party has freed himself from all considerations not pertaining to the interests of the revolution. no other party, but social-democracy, is able to organize the action of the masses, as no one but our party is closely connected with the masses.
-our party has committed many errors, blunders, almost crimes. it wavered, evaded, hesitated, it showed inertia and lack of pluck. at times it hampered the revolutionary movement.
-however, there is no revolutionary party but the social-democratic party!
-our organizations are imperfect. our connections with the masses are insufficient. our technique is primitive.
-yet, there is no party connected with the masses but the social-democratic party!
-at the head of the revolution is the proletariat. at the head of the proletariat is social-democracy!
-let us exert all our power, comrades! let us put all our energy and all our passion into this. let us not forget for a moment the great responsibility vested in our party: a responsibility before the russian revolution and in the sight of international socialism.
-the proletariat of the entire world looks to us with expectation. broad vistas are being opened for humanity by a victorious russian revolution. comrades, let us do our duty!
-let us close our ranks, comrades! let us unite, and unite the masses! let us prepare, and prepare the masses for the day of decisive actions! let us overlook nothing. let us leave no power unused for the cause.
-brave, honest, harmoniously united, we shall march forward, linked by unbreakable bonds, brothers in the revolution!
-osvoboshdenie (emancipation) was the name of a liberal magazine published in stuttgart, germany, and smuggled into russia to be distributed among the zemstvo-liberals and other progressive elements grouped about the zemstvo-organization. the osvoboshdenie advocated a constitutional monarchy; it was, however, opposed to revolutionary methods.
-peter struve, first a socialist, then a liberal, was the editor of the osvoboshdenie. struve is an economist and one of the leading liberal journalists in russia.
-zemstvo-petitions, accepted in form of resolutions at the meetings of the liberal zemstvo bodies and forwarded to the central government, were one of the means the liberals used in their struggle for a constitution. the petitions, worded in a very moderate language, demanded the abolition of "lawlessness" on the part of the administration and the introduction of a "legal order," i.e., a constitution.
-sergius witte, minister of finance in the closing years of the 19th century and up to the revolution of 1905, was known as a bureaucrat of a liberal brand.
-the ukase of december 12th, 1905, was an answer of the government to the persistent political demands of the "spring" time. the ukase promised a number of insignificant bureaucratic reforms, not even mentioning a popular representation and threatening increased punishments for "disturbances of peace and order."
-trepov was one of the most hated bureaucrats, a devoted pupil of von plehve's in the work of drowning revolutionary movements in blood.
-george gapon was the priest who organized the march of january 9th. trotzky's admiration for the heroism of gapon was originally shared by many revolutionists. later it became known that gapon played a dubious rôle as a friend of labor, and an agent of the government.
-the "political illusions" of george gapon, referred to in this essay, was his assumption that the tzar was a loving father to his people. gapon hoped to reach the emperor of all the russias and to make him "receive the workingmen's petition from hand to hand."
-prospects of a labor dictatorship
-this is, perhaps, the most remarkable piece of political writing the revolution has produced. written early in 1906, after the great upheavals of the fall of 1905, at a time when the russian revolution was obviously going down hill, and autocracy, after a moment of relaxation, was increasing its deadly grip over the country, the essays under the name sum total and prospectives (which we have here changed into a more comprehensible name, prospects of labor dictatorship) aroused more amazement than admiration. they seemed so entirely out of place. they ignored the liberal parties as quite negligible quantities. they ignored the creation of the duma to which the constitutional democrats attached so much importance as a place where democracy would fight the battles of the people and win. they ignored the very fact that the vanguard of the revolution, the industrial proletariat, was beaten, disorganized, downhearted, tired out.
-the essays met with opposition on the part of leading social-democratic thinkers of both the bolsheviki and mensheviki factions. the essays seemed to be more an expression of trotzky's revolutionary ardor, of his unshakable faith in the future of the russian revolution, than a reflection of political realities. it was known that he wrote them within prison walls. should not the very fact of his imprisonment have convinced him that in drawing a picture of labor dictatorship he was only dreaming?
-history has shown that it was not a dream. whatever our attitude towards the course of events in the 1917 revolution may be, we must admit that, in the main, this course has taken the direction predicted in trotzky's essays. there is a labor dictatorship now in russia. it is a labor dictatorship, not a "dictatorship of the proletariat and the peasants." the liberal and radical parties have lost influence. the labor government has put collective ownership and collective management of industries on the order of the day. the labor government has not hesitated in declaring russia to be ready for a socialist revolution. it was compelled to do so under the pressure of revolutionary proletarian masses. the russian army has been dissolved in the armed people. the russian revolution has called the workingmen of the world to make a social revolution.
-all this had been outlined by trotzky twelve years ago. when one reads this series of essays, one has the feeling that they were written not in the course of the first russian upheaval (the essays appeared in 1906 as part of a book by trotzky, entitled our revolution, petersburg, n. glagoleff, publisher) but as if they were discussing problems of the present situation. this, more than anything else, shows the continuity of the revolution. the great overthrow of 1917 was completed by the same political and social forces that had met and learned to know each other in the storms of 1905 and 1906. the ideology of the various groups and parties had hardly changed. even the leaders of the major parties were, in the main, the same persons. of course, the international situation was different. but even the possibility of a european war and its consequences had been foreseen by trotzky in his essays.
-twelve years ago those essays seemed to picture an imaginary world. to-day they seem to tell the history of the russian revolution. we may agree or disagree with trotzky, the leader, nobody can deny the power and clarity of his political vision.
-in the first chapter, entitled "peculiarities of our historic development," the author gives a broad outline of the growth of absolutism in russia. development of social forms in russia, he says, was slow and primitive. our social life was constructed on an archaic and meager economic foundation. yet, russia did not lead an isolated life. russia was under constant pressure of higher politico-economical organisms,--the neighboring western states. the russian state, in its struggle for existence, outgrew its economic basis. historic development in russia, therefore, was taking place under a terrific straining of national economic forces. the state absorbed the major part of the national economic surplus and also part of the product necessary for the maintenance of the people. the state thus undermined its own foundation. on the other hand, to secure the means indispensable for its growth, the state forced economic development by bureaucratic measures. ever since the end of the seventeenth century, the state was most anxious to develop industries in russia. "new trades, machines, factories, production on a large scale, capital, appear from a certain angle to be an artificial graft on the original economic trunk of the people. similarly, russian science may appear from the same angle to be an artificial graft on the natural trunk of national ignorance." this, however, is a wrong conception. the russian state could not have created something out of nothing. state action only accelerated the processes of natural evolution of economic life. state measures that were in contradiction to those processes were doomed to failure. still, the rôle of the state in economic life was enormous. when social development reached the stage where the bourgeoisie classes began to experience a desire for political institutions of a western type, russian autocracy was fully equipped with all the material power of a modern european state. it had at its command a centralized bureaucratic machinery, incapable of regulating modern relations, yet strong enough to do the work of oppression. it was in a position to overcome distance by means of the telegraph and railroads,--a thing unknown to the pre-revolutionary autocracies in europe. it had a colossal army, incompetent in wars with foreign enemies, yet strong enough to maintain the authority of the state in internal affairs.
-based on its military and fiscal apparatus, absorbing the major part of the country's resources, the government increased its annual budget to an enormous amount of two billions of rubles, it made the stock-exchange of europe its treasury and the russian tax-payer a slave to european high finance. gradually, the russian state became an end in itself. it evolved into a power independent of society. it left unsatisfied the most elementary wants of the people. it was unable even to defend the safety of the country against foreign foes. yet, it seemed strong, powerful, invincible. it inspired awe.
-it became evident that the russian state would never grant reforms of its own free will. as years passed, the conflict between absolutism and the requirements of economic and cultural progress became ever more acute. there was only one way to solve the problem: "to accumulate enough steam inside the iron kettle of absolutism to burst the kettle." this was the way outlined by the marxists long ago. marxism was the only doctrine that had correctly predicted the course of development in russia.
-in the second chapter, "city and capital," trotzky attempts a theoretical explanation to the weakness of the middle-class in russia. russia of the eighteenth, and even of the major part of the nineteenth, century, he writes, was marked by an absence of cities as industrial centers. our big cities were administrative rather than industrial centers. our primitive industries were scattered in the villages, auxiliary occupations of the peasant farmers. even the population of our so called "cities," in former generations maintained itself largely by agriculture. russian cities never contained a prosperous, efficient and self-assured class of artisans--that real foundation of the european middle class which in the course of revolutions against absolutism identified itself with the "people." when modern capitalism, aided by absolutism, appeared on the scene of russia and turned large villages into modern industrial centers almost over night, it had no middle-class to build on. in russian cities, therefore, the influence of the bourgeoisie is far less than in western europe. russian cities practically contain great numbers of workingmen and small groups of capitalists. moreover, the specific political weight of the russian proletariat is larger than that of the capital employed in russia, because the latter is to a great extent imported capital. thus, while a large proportion of the capital operating in russia exerts its political influence in the parliaments of belgium or france, the working class employed by the same capital exert their entire influence in the political life of russia. as a result of these peculiar historic developments, the russian proletariat, recruited from the pauperized peasant and ruined rural artisans, has accumulated in the new cities in very great numbers, "and nothing stood between the workingmen and absolutism but a small class of capitalists, separated from the 'people' (i.e., the middle-class in the european sense of the word), half foreign in its derivation, devoid of historic traditions, animated solely by a hunger for profits."
-history does not repeat itself. you are free to compare the russian revolution with the great french revolution, yet this would not make the former resemble the latter. the nineteenth century passed not in vain.
-already the year of 1848 is widely different from 1789. as compared with the great revolution, the revolutions in prussia or austria appear amazingly small. from one viewpoint, the revolutions of 1848 came too early; from another, too late. that gigantic exertion of power which is necessary for the bourgeois society to get completely square with the masters of the past, can be achieved either through powerful unity of an entire nation arousing against feudal despotism, or through a powerful development of class struggle within a nation striving for freedom. in the first case--of which a classic example are the years 1789-1793,--the national energy, compressed by the terrific resistance of the old régime, was spent entirely in the struggle against reaction. in the second case--which has never appeared in history as yet, and which is treated here as hypothetical--the actual energy necessary for a victory over the black forces of history is being developed within the bourgeois nation through "civil war" between classes. fierce internal friction characterizes the latter case. it absorbs enormous quantities of energy, prevents the bourgeoisie from playing a leading rôle, pushes its antagonist, the proletariat, to the front, gives the workingman decades' experience in a month, makes them the central figures in political struggles, and puts very tight reins into their hands. strong, determined, knowing no doubts, the proletariat gives events a powerful twist.
-thus, it is either--or. either a nation gathered into one compact whole, as a lion ready to leap; or a nation completely divided in the process of internal struggles, a nation that has released her best part for a task which the whole was unable to complete. such are the two polar types, whose purest forms, however, can be found only in logical contraposition.
-here, as in many other cases, the middle road is the worst. this was the case in 1848.
-in the french revolution we see an active, enlightened bourgeoisie, not yet aware of the contradictions of its situation; entrusted by history with the task of leadership in the struggle for a new order; fighting not only against the archaic institutions of france, but also against the forces of reaction throughout europe. the bourgeoisie consciously, in the person of its various factions, assumes the leadership of the nation, it lures the masses into struggle, it coins slogans, it dictates revolutionary tactics. democracy unites the nation in one political ideology. the people--small artisans, petty merchants, peasants, and workingmen--elect bourgeois as their representatives; the mandates of the communities are framed in the language of the bourgeoisie which becomes aware of its messianic rôle. antagonisms do not fail to reveal themselves in the course of the revolution, yet the powerful momentum of the revolution removes one by one the most unresponsive elements of the bourgeoisie. each stratum is torn off, but not before it has given over all its energy to the following one. the nation as a whole continues to fight with ever increasing persistence and determination. when the upper stratum of the bourgeoisie tears itself away from the main body of the nation to form an alliance with louis xvi, the democratic demands of the nation turn against this part of the bourgeoisie, leading to universal suffrage and a republican government as logically consequent forms of democracy.
-the great french revolution is a true national revolution. it is more than that. it is a classic manifestation, on a national scale, of the world-wide struggle of the bourgeois order for supremacy, for power, for unmitigated triumph. in 1848, the bourgeoisie was no more capable of a similar rôle. it did not want, it did not dare take the responsibility for a revolutionary liquidation of a political order that stood in its way. the reason is clear. the task of the bourgeoisie--of which it was fully aware--was not to secure its own political supremacy, but to secure for itself a share in the political power of the old régime. the bourgeoisie of 1848, niggardly wise with the experience of the french bourgeoisie, was vitiated by its treachery, frightened by its failures. it did not lead the masses to storm the citadels of the absolutist order. on the contrary, with its back against the absolutist order, it resisted the onslaught of the masses that were pushing it forward.
-the french bourgeoisie made its revolution great. its consciousness was the consciousness of the people, and no idea found its expression in institutions without having gone through its consciousness as an end, as a task of political construction. it often resorted to theatrical poses to conceal from itself the limitations of its bourgeois world,--yet it marched forward.
-the german bourgeoisie, on the contrary, was not doing the revolutionary work; it was "doing away" with the revolution from the very start. its consciousness revolted against the objective conditions of its supremacy. the revolution could be completed not by the bourgeoisie, but against it. democratic institutions seemed to the mind of the german bourgeois not an aim for his struggle, but a menace to his security.
-another class was required in 1848, a class capable of conducting the revolution beside the bourgeoisie and in spite of it, a class not only ready and able to push the bourgeoisie forward, but also to step over its political corpse, should events so demand. none of the other classes, however, was ready for the job.
-the petty middle class were hostile not only to the past, but also to the future. they were still entangled in the meshes of medieval relations, and they were unable to withstand the oncoming "free" industry; they were still giving the cities their stamp, and they were already giving way to the influences of big capital. steeped in prejudices, stunned by the clatter of events, exploiting and being exploited, greedy and helpless in their greed, they could not become leaders in matters of world-wide importance. still less were the peasants capable of political initiative. scattered over the country, far from the nervous centers of politics and culture, limited in their views, the peasants could have no great part in the struggles for a new order. the democratic intellectuals possessed no social weight; they either dragged along behind their elder sister, the liberal bourgeoisie, as its political tail, or they separated themselves from the bourgeoisie in critical moments only to show their weakness.
-the industrial workingmen were too weak, unorganized, devoid of experience and knowledge. the capitalist development had gone far enough to make the abolition of old feudal relations imperative, yet it had not gone far enough to make the working class, the product of new economic relations, a decisive political factor. antagonism between bourgeoisie and proletariat, even within the national boundaries of germany, was sharp enough to prevent the bourgeoisie from stepping to the front to assume national hegemony in the revolution, yet it was not sharp enough to allow the proletariat to become a national leader. true, the internal frictions of the revolution had prepared the workingmen for political independence, yet they weakened the energy and the unity of the revolution and they caused a great waste of power. the result was that, after the first successes, the revolution began to plod about in painful uncertainty, and under the first blows of the reaction it started backwards. austria gave the clearest and most tragic example of unfinished and unsettled relations in a revolutionary period. it was this situation that gave lassalle occasion to assert that henceforward revolutions could find their support only in the class struggle of the proletariat. in a letter to marx, dated october 24, 1849 he writes: "the experiences of austria, hungary and germany in 1848 and 1849 have led me to the firm conclusion that no struggle in europe can be successful unless it is proclaimed from the very beginning as purely socialistic. no struggle can succeed in which social problems appear as nebulous elements kept in the background, while on the surface the fight is being conducted under the slogan of national revival of bourgeois republicanism."
-we shall not attempt to criticize this bold conclusion. one thing is evident, namely that already at the middle of the nineteenth century the national task of political emancipation could not be completed by a unanimous concerted onslaught of the entire nation. only the independent tactics of the proletariat deriving its strength from no other source but its class position, could have secured a victory of the revolution.
-the russian working class of 1906 differs entirely from the vienna working class of 1848. the best proof of it is the all-russian practice of the councils of workmen's deputies (soviets). those are no organizations of conspirators prepared beforehand to step forward in times of unrest and to seize command over the working class. they are organs consciously created by the masses themselves to coördinate their revolutionary struggle. the soviets, elected by and responsible to the masses, are thoroughly democratic institutions following the most determined class policy in the spirit of revolutionary socialism.
-the differences in the social composition of the russian revolution are clearly shown in the question of arming the people.
-militia (national guard) was the first slogan and the first achievement of the revolutions of 1789 and 1848 in paris, in all the italian states and in vienna and berlin. in 1846, the demand for a national guard (i.e., the armament of the propertied classes and the "intellectuals") was put forth by the entire bourgeois opposition, including the most moderate factions. in russia, the demand for a national guard finds no favor with the bourgeois parties. this is not because the liberals do not understand the importance of arming the people: absolutism has given them in this respect more than one object lesson. the reason why liberals do not like the idea of a national guard is because they fully realize the impossibility of creating in russia an armed revolutionary force outside of the proletariat and against the proletariat. they are ready to give up this demand, as they give up many others, just as the french bourgeoisie headed by thiers preferred to give up paris and france to bismarck rather than to arm the working class.
-the problem of an armed revolution in russia becomes essentially a problem of the proletariat. national militia, this classic demand of the bourgeoisie of 1848, appears in russia from the very beginning as a demand for arming the people, primarily the working class. herein the fate of the russian revolution manifests itself most clearly.
-the revolution and the proletariat
-a revolution is an open contest of social forces in their struggle for political power.
-the state is not an end in itself. it is only a working machine in the hands of the social force in power. as every machine, the state has its motor, transmission, and its operator. its motive power is the class interest; its motor are propaganda, the press, influences of school and church, political parties, open air meetings, petitions, insurrections; its transmission is made up of legislative bodies actuated by the interest of a caste, a dynasty, a guild or a class appearing under the guise of divine or national will (absolutism or parliamentarism); its operator is the administration, with its police, judiciary, jails, and the army.
-the state is not an end in itself. it is, however, the greatest means for organizing, disorganizing and reorganizing social relations.
-according to who is directing the machinery of the state, it can be an instrument of profoundest transformations, or a means of organized stagnation.
-each political party worthy of its name strives to get hold of political power and thus to make the state serve the interests of the class represented by the party. social-democracy, as the party of the proletariat, naturally strives at political supremacy of the working class.
-it is, therefore, not excluded that in a backward country with a lesser degree of capitalistic development, the proletariat should sooner reach political supremacy than in a highly developed capitalist state. thus, in middle-class paris, the proletariat consciously took into its hands the administration of public affairs in 1871. true it is, that the reign of the proletariat lasted only for two months, it is remarkable, however, that in far more advanced capitalist centers of england and the united states, the proletariat never was in power even for the duration of one day. to imagine that there is an automatic dependence between a dictatorship of the proletariat and the technical and productive resources of a country, is to understand economic determinism in a very primitive way. such a conception would have nothing to do with marxism.
-it is our opinion that the russian revolution creates conditions whereby political power can (and, in case of a victorious revolution, must) pass into the hands of the proletariat before the politicians of the liberal bourgeoisie would have occasion to give their political genius full swing.
-let us give this objection closer consideration.
-marxism is primarily a method of analysis,--not the analysis of texts, but the analysis of social relations. applied to russia, is it true that the weakness of capitalistic liberalism means the weakness of the working class? is it true, not in the abstract, but in relation to russia, that an independent proletarian movement is impossible before the bourgeoisie assume political power? it is enough to formulate these questions in order to understand what hopeless logical formalism there is hidden behind the attempt to turn marx's historically relative remark into a super-historic maxim.
-our industrial development, though marked in times of prosperity by leaps and bounds of an "american" character, is in reality miserably small in comparison with the industry of the united states. five million persons, forming 16.6 per cent. of the population engaged in economic pursuits, are employed in the industries of russia; six millions and 22.2 per cent. are the corresponding figures for the united states. to have a clear idea as to the real dimensions of industry in both countries, we must remember that the population of russia is twice as large as the population of the united states, and that the output of american industries in 1900 amounted to 25 billions of rubles whereas the output of russian industries for the same year hardly reached 2.5 billions.
-there is no doubt that the number of the proletariat, the degree of its concentration, its cultural level, and its political importance depend upon the degree of industrial development in each country.
-this dependence, however, is not a direct one. between the productive forces of a country on one side and the political strength of its social classes on the other, there is at any given moment a current and cross current of various socio-political factors of a national and international character which modify and sometimes completely reverse the political expression of economic relations. the industry of the united states is far more advanced than the industry of russia, while the political rôle of the russian workingmen, their influence on the political life of their country, the possibilities of their influence on world politics in the near future, are incomparably greater than those of the american proletariat.
-are we not warranted in our conclusion that the "man" will sooner gain political supremacy in russia than his "master"?
-you can draw limits to all the problems of the revolution by asserting that this is a bourgeois revolution in its objective aims and inevitable results, and you can close your eyes to the fact that the main figure in this revolution is the working class which is being moved towards political supremacy by the very course of events.
-you can reassure yourself by saying that in the course of a bourgeois revolution the political supremacy of the working class can be only a passing episode, and you can forget that, once in power, the working class will offer desperate resistance, refusing to yield unless compelled to do so by armed force.
-you can reassure yourself by saying that social conditions in russia are not yet ripe for a socialist order, and you can overlook the fact that, once master of the situation, the working class would be compelled by the very logic of its situation to organize national economy under the management of the state.
-the term bourgeois revolution, a general sociological definition, gives no solution to the numerous political and tactical problems, contradictions and difficulties which are being created by the mechanism of a given bourgeois revolution.
-within the limits of a bourgeois revolution at the end of the eighteenth century, whose objective was the political supremacy of capital, the dictatorship of the sans-culottes turned out to be a fact. this dictatorship was not a passing episode, it gave its stamp to a whole century that followed the revolution, though it was soon crushed by the limitations of the revolution.
-within the limits of a revolution at the beginning of the twentieth century, which is also a bourgeois revolution in its immediate objective aims, there looms up a prospect of an inevitable, or at least possible, supremacy of the working class in the near future. that this supremacy should not turn out to be a passing episode, as many a realistic philistine may hope, is a task which the working class will have at heart. it is, then, legitimate to ask: is it inevitable that the dictatorship of the proletariat should clash against the limitations of a bourgeois revolution and collapse, or is it not possible that under given international conditions it may open a way for an ultimate victory by crushing those very limitations? hence a tactical problem: should we consciously strive toward a labor government as the development of the revolution will bring us nearer to that stage, or should we look upon political power as upon a calamity which the bourgeois revolution is ready to inflict upon the workingmen, and which it is best to avoid?
-the proletariat in power and the peasantry
-in case of a victorious revolution, political power passes into the hands of the class that has played in it a dominant rôle, in other words, it passes into the hands of the working class. of course, revolutionary representatives of non-proletarian social groups may not be excluded from the government; sound politics demands that the proletariat should call into the government influential leaders of the lower middle class, the intelligentzia and the peasants. the problem is, who will give substance to the politics of the government, who will form in it a homogeneous majority? it is one thing when the government contains a labor majority, which representatives of other democratic groups of the people are allowed to join; it is another, when the government has an outspoken bourgeois-democratic character where labor representatives are allowed to participate in the capacity of more or less honorable hostages.
-the policies of the liberal capitalist bourgeoisie, notwithstanding all their vacillations, retreats and treacheries, are of a definite character. the policies of the proletariat are of a still more definite, outspoken character. the policies of the intelligentzia, however, a result of intermediate social position and political flexibility of this group; the politics of the peasants, a result of the social heterogeneity, intermediate position, and primitiveness of this class; the politics of the lower middle class, a result of muddle-headedness, intermediate position and complete want of political traditions,--can never be clear, determined, and firm. it must necessarily be subject to unexpected turns, to uncertainties and surprises.
-to imagine a revolutionary democratic government without representatives of labor is to see the absurdity of such a situation. a refusal of labor to participate in a revolutionary government would make the very existence of that government impossible, and would be tantamount to a betrayal of the cause of the revolution. a participation of labor in a revolutionary government, however, is admissible, both from the viewpoint of objective probability and subjective desirability, only in the rôle of a leading dominant power. of course, you can call such a government "dictatorship of the proletariat and peasantry," "dictatorship of the proletariat, the peasantry, and the intelligentzia," or "a revolutionary government of the workingmen and the lower middle class." this question will still remain: who has the hegemony in the government and through it in the country? when we speak of a labor government we mean that the hegemony belongs to the working class.
-the proletariat will be able to hold this position under one condition: if it broadens the basis of the revolution.
-many elements of the working masses, especially among the rural population, will be drawn into the revolution and receive their political organization only after the first victories of the revolution, when the revolutionary vanguard, the city proletariat, shall have seized governmental power. under such conditions, the work of propaganda and organization will be conducted through state agencies. legislative work itself will become a powerful means of revolutionizing the masses. the burden thrust upon the shoulders of the working class by the peculiarities of our social and historical development, the burden of completing a bourgeois revolution by means of labor struggle, will thus confront the proletariat with difficulties of enormous magnitude; on the other hand, however, it will offer the working class, at least in the first period, unusual opportunities. this will be seen in the relations between the proletariat and the peasants.
-in the revolutions of 1789-93, and 1848, governmental power passed from absolutism into the hands of the moderate bourgeois elements which emancipated the peasants before revolutionary democracy succeeded or even attempted to get into power. the emancipated peasantry then lost interest in the political ventures of the "city-gentlemen," i.e., in the further course of the revolution; it formed the dead ballast of "order," the foundation of all social "stability," betraying the revolution, supporting a cesarian or ultra-absolutist reaction.
-the russian revolution is opposed to a bourgeois constitutional order which would be able to solve the most primitive problems of democracy. the russian revolution will be against it for a long period to come. reformers of a bureaucratic brand, such as witte and stolypin, can do nothing for the peasants, as their "enlightened" efforts are continually nullified by their own struggle for existence. the fate of the most elementary interests of the peasantry--the entire peasantry as a class--is, therefore, closely connected with the fate of the revolution, i.e., with the fate of the proletariat.
-once in power, the proletariat will appear before the peasantry as its liberator.
-proletarian rule will mean not only democratic equality, free self-government, shifting the burden of taxation on the propertied classes, dissolution of the army among the revolutionary people, abolition of compulsory payments for the church, but also recognition of all revolutionary changes made by the peasants in agrarian relations (seizures of land). these changes will be taken by the proletariat as a starting point for further legislative measures in agriculture. under such conditions, the russian peasantry will be interested in upholding the proletarian rule ("labor democracy"), at least in the first, most difficult period, not less so than were the french peasants interested in upholding the military rule of napoleon bonaparte who by force guaranteed to the new owners the integrity of their land shares.
-but is it not possible that the peasants will remove the workingmen from their positions and take their place? no, this can never happen. this would be in contradiction to all historical experiences. history has convincingly shown that the peasantry is incapable of an independent political rôle.
-the history of capitalism is the history of subordination of the village by the city. industrial development had made the continuation of feudal relations in agriculture impossible. yet the peasantry had not produced a class which could live up to the revolutionary task of destroying feudalism. it was the city which made rural population dependent on capital, and which produced revolutionary forces to assume political hegemony over the village, there to complete revolutionary changes in civic and political relations. in the course of further development, the village becomes completely enslaved by capital, and the villagers by capitalistic political parties, which revive feudalism in parliamentary politics, making the peasantry their political domain, the ground for their preëlection huntings. modern peasantry is driven by the fiscal and militaristic system of the state into the clutches of usurers' capital, while state-clergy, state-schools and barrack depravity drive it into the clutches of usurers' politics.
-the russian bourgeoisie yielded all revolutionary positions to the russian proletariat. it will have to yield also the revolutionary hegemony over the peasants. once the proletariat becomes master of the situation, conditions will impel the peasants to uphold the policies of a labor democracy. they may do it with no more political understanding than they uphold a bourgeois régime. the difference is that while each bourgeois party in possession of the peasants' vote uses its power to rob the peasants, to betray their confidence and to leave their expectations unfulfilled, in the worst case to give way to another capitalist party, the working class, backed by the peasantry, will put all forces into operation to raise the cultural level of the village and to broaden the political understanding of the peasants.
-our attitude towards the idea of a "dictatorship of the proletariat and the peasantry" is now quite clear. it is not a question whether we think it "admissible" or not, whether we "wish" or we "do not wish" this form of political coöperation. in our opinion, it simply cannot be realized, at least in its direct meaning. such a coöperation presupposes that either the peasantry has identified itself with one of the existing bourgeois parties, or it has formed a powerful party of its own. neither is possible, as we have tried to point out.
-the proletariat can get into power only at a moment of national upheaval, of sweeping national enthusiasm. the proletariat assumes power as a revolutionary representative of the people, as a recognized leader in the fight against absolutism and barbaric feudalism. having assumed power, however, the proletariat will open a new era, an era of positive legislation, of revolutionary politics, and this is the point where its political supremacy as an avowed spokesman of the nation may become endangered.
-the first measures of the proletariat--the cleansing of the augean stables of the old régime and the driving away of their inhabitants--will find active support of the entire nation whatever the liberal castraters may tell us of the power of some prejudices among the masses. the work of political cleansing will be accompanied by democratic reorganization of all social and political relations. the labor government, impelled by immediate needs and requirements, will have to look into all kinds of relations and activities among the people. it will have to throw out of the army and the administration all those who had stained their hands with the blood of the people; it will have to disband all the regiments that had polluted themselves with crimes against the people. this work will have to be done immediately, long before the establishment of an elective responsible administration and before the organization of a popular militia. this, however, will be only a beginning. labor democracy will soon be confronted by the problems of a normal workday, the agrarian relations and unemployment. the legislative solution of those problems will show the class character of the labor government. it will tend to weaken the revolutionary bond between the proletariat and the nation; it will give the economic differentiation among the peasants a political expression. antagonism between the component parts of the nation will grow step by step as the policies of the labor government become more outspoken, lose their general democratic character and become class policies.
-the lack of individualistic bourgeois traditions and anti-proletarian prejudices among the peasants and the intelligentzia will help the proletariat assume power. it must not be forgotten, however, that this lack of prejudices is based not on political understanding, but on political barbarism, on social shapelessness, primitiveness, and lack of character. these are all qualities which can hardly guarantee support for an active, consistent proletarian rule.
-the abolition of the remnants of feudalism in agrarian relations will be supported by all the peasants who are now oppressed by the landlords. a progressive income tax will be supported by an overwhelming majority of the peasants. yet, legislative measures in defense of the rural proletariat (farm hands) will find no active support among the majority, and will meet with active opposition on the part of a minority of the peasants.
-the proletariat will be compelled to introduce class struggle into the village and thus to destroy that slight community of interests which undoubtedly unites the peasants as a whole. in its next steps, the proletariat will have to seek for support by helping the poor villagers against the rich, the rural proletariat against the agrarian bourgeoisie. this will alienate the majority of the peasants from labor democracy. relations between village and city will become strained. the peasantry as a whole will become politically indifferent. the peasant minority will actively oppose proletarian rule. this will influence part of the intellectuals and the lower middle class of the cities.
-two features of proletarian politics are bound particularly to meet with the opposition of labor's allies: collectivism and internationalism. the strong adherence of the peasants to private ownership, the primitiveness of their political conceptions, the limitations of the village horizon, its distance from world-wide political connections and interdependences, are terrific obstacles in the way of revolutionary proletarian rule.
-to imagine that social-democracy participates in the provisional government, playing a leading rôle in the period of revolutionary democratic reconstruction, insisting on the most radical reforms and all the time enjoying the aid and support of the organized proletariat,--only to step aside when the democratic program is put into operation, to leave the completed building at the disposal of the bourgeois parties and thus to open an era of parliamentary politics where social-democracy forms only a party of opposition,--to imagine this would mean to compromise the very idea of a labor government. it is impossible to imagine anything of the kind, not because it is "against principles"--such abstract reasoning is devoid of any substance--but because it is not real, it is the worst kind of utopianism, it is the revolutionary utopianism of philistines.
-our distinction between a minimum and maximum program has a great and profound meaning only under bourgeois rule. the very fact of bourgeois rule eliminates from our minimum program all demands incompatible with private ownership of the means of production. those demands form the substance of a socialist revolution, and they presuppose a dictatorship of the proletariat. the moment, however, a revolutionary government is dominated by a socialist majority, the distinction between minimum and maximum programs loses its meaning both as a question of principle and as a practical policy. under no condition will a proletarian government be able to keep within the limits of this distinction.
-let us take the case of an eight hour workday. it is a well established fact that an eight hour workday does not contradict the capitalist order; it is, therefore, well within the limits of the social-democratic minimum program. imagine, however, its realization in a revolutionary period, when all social passions are at the boiling point. an eight hour workday law would necessarily meet with stubborn and organized opposition on the part of the capitalists--let us say in the form of a lock-out and closing down of factories and plants. hundreds of thousands of workingmen would be thrown into the streets. what ought the revolutionary government to do? a bourgeois government, however radical, would never allow matters to go as far as that. it would be powerless against the closing of factories and plants. it would be compelled to make concessions. the eight hour workday would not be put into operation; the revolts of the workingmen would be put down by force of arms....
-under the political domination of the proletariat, the introduction of an eight hour workday must have totally different consequences. the closing down of factories and plants cannot be the reason for increasing labor hours by a government which represents not capital, but labor, and which refuses to act as an "impartial" mediator, the way bourgeois democracy does. a labor government would have only one way out--to expropriate the closed factories and plants and to organize their work on a public basis.
-or let us take another example. a proletarian government must necessarily take decisive steps to solve the problem of unemployment. representatives of labor in a revolutionary government can by no means meet the demands of the unemployed by saying that this is a bourgeois revolution. once, however, the state ventures to eliminate unemployment--no matter how--a tremendous gain in the economic power of the proletariat is accomplished. the capitalists whose pressure on the working class was based on the existence of a reserve army of labor, will soon realize that they are powerless economically. it will be the task of the government to doom them also to political oblivion.
-measures against unemployment mean also measures to secure means of subsistence for strikers. the government will have to undertake them, if it is anxious not to undermine the very foundation of its existence. nothing will remain for the capitalists but to declare a lock-out, to close down factories and plants. since capitalists can wait longer than labor in case of interrupted production, nothing will remain for a labor government but to meet a general lock-out by expropriating the factories and plants and by introducing in the biggest of them state or communal production.
-in agriculture, similar problems will present themselves through the very fact of land-expropriation. we cannot imagine a proletarian government expropriating large private estates with agricultural production on a large scale, cutting them into pieces and selling them to small owners. for it the only open way is to organize in such estates coöperative production under communal or state management. this, however, is the way of socialism.
-social-democracy can never assume power under a double obligation: to put the entire minimum program into operation for the sake of the proletariat, and to keep strictly within the limits of this program, for the sake of the bourgeoisie. such a double obligation could never be fulfilled. participating in the government, not as powerless hostages, but as a leading force, the representatives of labor eo ipso break the line between the minimum and maximum program. collectivism becomes the order of the day. at which point the proletariat will be stopped on its march in this direction, depends upon the constellation of forces, not upon the original purpose of the proletarian party.
-once the proletariat assumes power, it will fight for it to the end. one of the means to secure and solidify its power will be propaganda and organization, particularly in the village; another means will be a policy of collectivism. collectivism is not only dictated by the very position of the social-democratic party as the party in power, but it becomes imperative as a means to secure this position through the active support of the working class.
-when our socialist press first formulated the idea of a permanent revolution which should lead from the liquidation of absolutism and civic bondage to a socialist order through a series of ever growing social conflicts, uprisings of ever new masses, unremitting attacks of the proletariat on the political and economic privileges of the governing classes, our "progressive" press started a unanimous indignant uproar. oh, they had suffered enough, those gentlemen of the "progressive" press; this nuisance, however, was too much. revolution, they said, is not a thing that can be made "legal!" extraordinary measures are allowable only on extraordinary occasions. the aim of the revolutionary movement, they asserted, was not to make the revolution go on forever, but to bring it as soon as possible into the channels of law, etc., etc. the more radical representatives of the same democratic bourgeoisie do not attempt to oppose the revolution from the standpoint of completed constitutional "achievements": tame as they are, they understand how hopeless it is to fight the proletariat revolution with the weapon of parliamentary cretinism in advance of the establishment of parliamentarism itself. they, therefore, choose another way. they forsake the standpoint of law, but take the standpoint of what they deem to be facts,--the standpoint of historic "possibilities," the standpoint of political "realism,"--even ... even the standpoint of "marxism." it was antonio, the pious venetian bourgeois, who made the striking observation:
-mark you this, bassanio, the devil can cite scriptures for his purpose.
-those gentlemen not only consider the idea of labor government in russia fantastic, but they repudiate the very probability of a social revolution in europe in the near historic epoch. the necessary "prerequisites" are not yet in existence, is their assertion.
-is it so? it is, of course, not our purpose to set a time for a social revolution. what we attempt here is to put the social revolution into a proper historic perspective.
-prerequisites to socialism
-marxism turned socialism into a science. this does not prevent some "marxians" from turning marxism into a utopia.
-all those processes (development of technique, concentration of production, growth of mass-consciousness) go on simultaneously, and not only do they help and stimulate each other, but they also hamper and limit each other's development. each of the processes of a higher order presupposes the development of another process of a lower order, yet the full development of any of them is incompatible with the full development of the others.
-the logical limit of technical development is undoubtedly a perfect automatic mechanism which takes in raw materials from natural resources and lays them down at the feet of men as ready objects of consumption. were not capitalism limited by relations between classes and by the consequences of those relations, the class struggle, one would be warranted in his assumption that industrial technique, having approached the ideal of one great automatic mechanism within the limits of capitalistic economy, eo ipso dismisses capitalism.
-the concentration of production which is an outgrowth of economic competition has an inherent tendency to throw the entire population into the working class. taking this tendency apart from all the others, one would be warranted in his assumption that capitalism would ultimately turn the majority of the people into a reserve army of paupers, lodged in prisons. this process, however, is being checked by revolutionary changes which are inevitable under a certain relationship between social forces. it will be checked long before it has reached its logical limit.
-and the same thing is true in relation to social mass-consciousness. this consciousness undoubtedly grows with the experiences of every day struggle and through the conscious efforts of socialist parties. isolating this process from all others, we can imagine it reaching a stage where the overwhelming majority of the people are encompassed by professional and political organizations, united in a feeling of solidarity and in identity of purpose. were this process allowed to grow quantitatively without changing in quality, socialism might be established peacefully, through a unanimous compact of the citizens of the twenty-first or twenty-second century. the historic prerequisites to socialism, however, do not develop in isolation from each other; they limit each other; reaching a certain stage, which is determined by many circumstances, but which is very far from their mathematical limits, they undergo a qualitative change, and in their complex combination they produce what we call a social revolution.
-let us take the last mentioned process, the growth of social mass-consciousness. this growth takes place not in academies, but in the very life of modern capitalistic society, on the basis of incessant class struggle. the growth of proletarian class consciousness makes class struggles undergo a transformation; it deepens them; it puts a foundation of principle under them, thus provoking a corresponding reaction on the part of the governing classes. the struggle between proletariat and bourgeoisie has its own logic; it must become more and more acute and bring things to a climax long before the time when concentration of production has become predominant in economic life. it is evident, further, that the growth of the political consciousness of the proletariat is closely related with its numerical strength; proletarian dictatorship presupposes great numbers of workingmen, strong enough to overcome the resistance of the bourgeois counter-revolution. this, however, does not imply that the overwhelming majority of the people must consist of proletarians, or that the overwhelming majority of proletarians must consist of convinced socialists. of course, the fighting revolutionary army of the proletariat must by all means be stronger than the fighting counter-revolutionary army of capital; yet between those two camps there may be a great number of doubtful or indifferent elements who are not actively helping the revolution, but are rather inclined to desire its ultimate victory. the proletarian policy must take all this into account.
-this is possible only where there is a hegemony of industry over agriculture, and a hegemony of the city over the village.
-let us review the prerequisites to socialism in the order of their diminishing generality and increasing complexity.
-1. socialism is not only a problem of equal distribution, but also a problem of well organized production. socialistic, i.e., coöperative production on a large scale is possible only where economic progress has gone so far as to make a large undertaking more productive than a small one. the greater the advantages of a large undertaking over a small one, i.e., the higher the industrial technique, the greater must be the economic advantages of socialized production, the higher, consequently, must be the cultural level of the people to enable them to enjoy equal distribution based on well organized production.
-this first prerequisite of socialism has been in existence for many years. ever since division of labor has been established in manufactories; ever since manufactories have been superseded by factories employing a system of machines,--large undertakings become more and more profitable, and consequently their socialization would make the people more prosperous. there would have been no gain in making all the artisans' shops common property of the artisans; whereas the seizure of a manufactory by its workers, or the seizure of a factory by its hired employees, or the seizure of all means of modern production by the people must necessarily improve their economic conditions,--the more so, the further the process of economic concentration has advanced.
-at present, social division of labor on one hand, machine production on the other have reached a stage where the only coöperative organization that can make adequate use of the advantages of collectivist economy, is the state. it is hardly conceivable that socialist production would content itself with the area of the state. economic and political motives would necessarily impel it to overstep the boundaries of individual states.
-the world has been in possession of technical equipment for collective production--in one or another form--for the last hundred or two hundred years. technically, socialism is profitable not only on a national, but also to a large extent on an international scale. why then have all attempts at organizing socialist communities failed? why has concentration of production manifested its advantages all through the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries not in socialistic, but in capitalistic forms? the reason is that there was no social force ready and able to introduce socialism.
-2. here we pass from the prerequisite of industrial technique to the socio-economic prerequisite, which is less general, but more complex. were our society not an antagonistic society composed of classes, but a homogeneous partnership of men consciously selecting the best economic system, a mere calculation as to the advantages of socialism would suffice to make people start socialistic reconstruction. our society, however, harbors in itself opposing interests. what is good for one class, is bad for another. class selfishness clashes against class selfishness; class selfishness impairs the interests of the whole. to make socialism possible, a social power has to arise in the midst of the antagonistic classes of capitalist society, a power objectively placed in a position to be interested in the establishment of socialism, at the same time strong enough to overcome all opposing interests and hostile resistance. it is one of the principal merits of scientific socialism to have discovered such a social power in the person of the proletariat, and to have shown that this class, growing with the growth of capitalism, can find its salvation only in socialism; that it is being moved towards socialism by its very position, and that the doctrine of socialism in the presence of a capitalist society must necessarily become the ideology of the proletariat.
-how far, then, must the social differentiation have gone to warrant the assertion that the second prerequisite is an accomplished fact? in other words, what must be the numerical strength of the proletariat? must it be one-half, two-thirds, or nine-tenths of the people? it is utterly futile to try and formulate this second prerequisite of socialism arithmetically. an attempt to express the strength of the proletariat in mere numbers, besides being schematic, would imply a series of difficulties. whom should we consider a proletarian? is the half-paupered peasant a proletarian? should we count with the proletariat those hosts of the city reserve who, on one hand, fall into the ranks of the parasitic proletariat of beggars and thieves, and, on the other hand, fill the streets in the capacity of peddlers, i.e., of parasites on the economic body as a whole? it is not easy to answer these questions.
-the importance of the proletariat is based not only on its numbers, but primarily on its rôle in industry. the political supremacy of the bourgeoisie is founded on economic power. before it manages to take over the authority of the state, it concentrates in its hands the national means of production; hence its specific weight. the proletariat will possess no means of production of its own before the social revolution. its social power depends upon the circumstance that the means of production in possession of the bourgeoisie can be put into motion only by the hands of the proletariat. from the bourgeois viewpoint, the proletariat is also one of the means of production, forming, in combination with the others, a unified mechanism. yet the proletariat is the only non-automatic part of this mechanism, and can never be made automatic, notwithstanding all efforts. this puts the proletariat into a position to be able to stop the functioning of the national economic body, partially or wholly--through the medium of partial or general strikes.
-hence it is evident that, the numerical strength of the proletariat being equal, its importance is proportional to the mass of the means of production it puts into motion: the proletarian of a big industrial concern represents--other conditions being equal--a greater social unit than an artisan's employee; a city workingman represents a greater unit than a proletarian of the village. in other words, the political rôle of the proletariat is greater in proportion as large industries predominate over small industries, industry predominates over agriculture, and the city over the village.
-at a period in the history of germany or england when the proletariats of those countries formed the same percentage to the total population as the proletariat in present day russia, they did not possess the same social weight as the russian proletariat of to-day. they could not possess it, because their objective importance in economic life was comparatively smaller. the social weight of the cities represents the same phenomenon. at a time when the city population of germany formed only 15 per cent. of the total nation, as is the case in present-day russia, the german cities were far from equaling our cities in economic and political importance. the concentration of big industries and commercial enterprises in the cities, and the establishment of closer relations between city and country through a system of railways, has given the modern cities an importance far exceeding the mere volume of their population. moreover, the growth of their importance runs ahead of the growth of their population, and the growth of the latter runs ahead of the natural increase of the entire population of the country. in 1848, the number of artisans, masters and their employees, in italy was 15 per cent. of the population, the same as the percentage of the proletariat, including artisans, in russia of to-day. their importance, however, was far less than that of the russian industrial proletariat.
-the question is not, how strong the proletariat is numerically, but what is its position in the general economy of a country.
-in the leading european countries, city population numerically predominates over the rural population. infinitely greater is its predominance through the aggregate of means of production represented by it, and through the qualities of its human material. the city attracts the most energetic, able and intelligent elements of the country.
-thus we arrive at the conclusion that economic evolution--the growth of industry, the growth of large enterprises, the growth of cities, the growth of the proletariat, especially the growth of the industrial proletariat--have already prepared the arena not only for the struggle of the proletariat for political power, but also for the conquest of that power.
-3. here we approach the third prerequisite to socialism, the dictatorship of the proletariat.
-politics is the plane where objective prerequisites intersect with subjective. on the basis of certain technical and socio-economic conditions, a class puts before itself a definite task--to seize power. in pursuing this task, it unites its forces, it gauges the forces of the enemy, it weighs the circumstances. yet, not even here is the proletariat absolutely free: besides subjective moments, such as understanding, readiness, initiative which have a logic of their own, there are a number of objective moments interfering with the policies of the proletariat, such are the policies of the governing classes, state institutions (the army, the class-school, the state-church), international relations, etc.
-let us first turn our attention to the subjective moment; let us ask, is the proletariat ready for a socialist change? it is not enough that development of technique should make socialist economy profitable from the viewpoint of the productivity of national labor; it is not enough that social differentiation, based on technical progress, should create the proletariat, as a class objectively interested in socialism. it is of prime importance that this class should understand its objective interests. it is necessary that this class should see in socialism the only way of its emancipation. it is necessary that it should unite into an army powerful enough to seize governmental power in open combat.
-it would be a folly to deny the necessity for the preparation of the proletariat. only the old blanquists could stake their hopes in the salutary initiative of an organization of conspirators formed independently of the masses. only their antipodes, the anarchists, could build their system on a spontaneous elemental outburst of the masses whose results nobody can foresee. when social-democracy speaks of seizing power, it thinks of a deliberate action of a revolutionary class.
-there are socialists-ideologists (ideologists in the wrong sense of the word, those who turn all things upside down) who speak of preparing the proletariat for socialism as a problem of moral regeneration. the proletariat, they say, and even "humanity" in general, must first free itself from its old selfish nature; altruistic motives must first become predominant in social life. as we are still very far from this ideal, they contend, and as human nature changes very slowly, socialism appears to be a problem of remote centuries. this view seems to be very realistic, evolutionistic, etc. it is in reality a conglomeration of hackneyed moralistic considerations.
-those "ideologists" imagine that a socialist psychology can be acquired before the establishment of socialism; that in a world ruled by capitalism the masses can be imbued with a socialist psychology. socialist psychology as here conceived should not be identified with socialist aspirations. the former presupposes the absence of selfish motives in economic relations, while the latter are an outcome of the class psychology of the proletariat. class psychology, and socialist psychology in a society not split into classes, may have many common features, yet they differ widely.
-coöperation in the struggle of the proletariat against exploitation has developed in the soul of the workingmen beautiful sprouts of idealism, brotherly solidarity, a spirit of self-sacrifice. yet those sprouts cannot grow and blossom freely within capitalist society: individual struggle for existence, the yawning abyss of poverty, differentiations among the workingmen themselves, the corrupting influence of the bourgeois parties,--all this interferes with the growth of idealism among the masses.
-however, it is a fact that, while remaining selfish as any of the lower middle class, while not exceeding the average representative of the bourgeois classes by the "human" value of his personality, the average workingman learns in the school of life's experience that his most primitive desires and most natural wants can be satisfied only on the debris of the capitalist order.
-if socialism should attempt to create a new human nature within the limits of the old world, it would be only a new edition of the old moralistic utopias. the task of socialism is not to create a socialist psychology as a prerequisite to socialism, but to create socialist conditions of human life as a prerequisite to a socialist psychology.
-a labor government in russia and socialism
-the objective prerequisites of a social revolution, as we have shown above, have been already created by the economic progress of advanced capitalist countries. but how about russia? is it possible to think that the seizure of power by the russian proletariat would be the beginning of a socialist reconstruction of our national economy?
-a year ago we thus answered this question in an article which was mercilessly bombarded by the organs of both our factions. we wrote:
-"the workingmen of paris, says marx, had not expected miracles from the commune. we cannot expect miracles from a proletarian dictatorship now. governmental power is not almighty. it is folly to think that once the proletariat has seized power, it would abolish capitalism and introduce socialism by a number of decrees. the economic system is not a product of state activity. what the proletariat will be able to do is to shorten economic evolution towards collectivism through a series of energetic state measures.
-"the starting point will be the reforms enumerated in our so-called minimum program. the very situation of the proletariat, however, will compel it to move along the way of collectivist practice.
-"it will be comparatively easy to introduce the eight hour workday and progressive taxation, though even here the center of gravity is not the issuance of a 'decree,' but the organization of its practical application. it will be difficult, however,--and here we pass to collectivism--to organize production under state management in such factories and plants as would be closed down by their owners in protest against the new law.
-"it will be comparatively simple to issue a law abolishing the right of inheritance, and to put it into operation. inheritances in the form of money capital will not embarrass the proletariat and not interfere with its economy. to be, however, the inheritor of capital invested in land and industry, would mean for a labor government to organize economic life on a public basis.
-"the same phenomenon, on a vastly larger scale, is represented by the question of expropriation (of land), with or without compensation. expropriation with compensation has political advantages, but it is financially difficult; expropriation without compensation has financial advantages, but it is difficult politically. greater than all the other difficulties, however, will be those of an economic nature, the difficulties of organization.
-"to repeat: a labor government does not mean a government of miracles.
-"public management will begin in those branches where the difficulties are smallest. publicly managed enterprises will originally represent kind of oases linked with private enterprises by the laws of exchange of commodities. the wider the field of publicly managed economy will grow, the more flagrant its advantages will become, the firmer will become the position of the new political régime, and the more determined will be the further economic measures of the proletariat. its measures it will base not only on the national productive forces, but also on international technique, in the same way as it bases its revolutionary policies not only on the experience of national class relations but also on the entire historic experience of the international proletariat."
-political supremacy of the proletariat is incompatible with its economic slavery. whatever may be the banner under which the proletariat will find itself in possession of power, it will be compelled to enter the road of socialism. it is the greatest utopia to think that the proletariat, brought to the top by the mechanics of a bourgeois revolution, would be able, even if it wanted, to limit its mission by creating a republican democratic environment for the social supremacy of the bourgeoisie. political dominance of the proletariat, even if it were temporary, would extremely weaken the resistance of capital which is always in need of state aid, and would give momentous opportunities to the economic struggle of the proletariat.
-a proletarian régime will immediately take up the agrarian question with which the fate of vast millions of the russian people is connected. in solving this, as many another question, the proletariat will have in mind the main tendency of its economic policy: to get hold of a widest possible field for the organization of a socialist economy. the forms and the tempo of this policy in the agrarian question will be determined both by the material resources that the proletariat will be able to get hold of, and by the necessity to coördinate its actions so as not to drive possible allies into the ranks of the counter-revolution.
-one of the solutions, made popular by the socialist-revolutionists, is the socialization of the land. freed from its european make-up, it means simply "equal distribution" of land. this program demands an expropriation of all the land, whether it is in possession of landlords, of peasants on the basis of private property, or it is owned by village communities. it is evident that such expropriation, being one of the first measures of the new government and being started at a time when capitalist exchange is still in full swing, would lead the peasants to believe that they are "victims of the reform." one must not forget that the peasants have for decades made redemption payments in order to turn their land into private property; many prosperous peasants have made great sacrifices to secure a large portion of land as their private possession. should all this land become state property, the most bitter resistance would be offered by the members of the communities and by private owners. starting out with a reform of this kind, the government would make itself most unpopular among the peasants.
-and why should one confiscate the land of the communities and the land of small private owners? according to the socialist-revolutionary program, the only use to be made of the land by the state is to turn it over to all the peasants and agricultural laborers on the basis of equal distribution. this would mean that the confiscated land of the communities and small owners would anyway return to individuals for private cultivation. consequently, there would be no economic gain in such a confiscation and redistribution. politically, it would be a great blunder on the part of the labor government as it would make the masses of peasants hostile to the proletarian leadership of the revolution.
-closely connected with this program is the question of hired agricultural labor. equal distribution presupposes the prohibition of using hired labor on farms. this, however, can be only a consequence of economic reforms, it cannot be decreed by a law. it is not enough to forbid an agricultural capitalist to hire laborers; one must first secure agricultural laborers a fair existence; furthermore, this existence must be profitable from the viewpoint of social economy. to declare equal distribution of land and to forbid hired labor, would mean to compel agricultural proletarians to settle on small lots, and to put the state under obligation to provide them with implements for their socially unprofitable production.
-it is clear that the intervention of the proletariat in the organization of agriculture ought to express itself not in settling individual laborers on individual lots, but in organizing state or communal management of large estates. later, when socialized production will have established itself firmly, a further step will be made towards socialization by forbidding hired labor. this will eliminate small capitalistic enterprises in agriculture; it will, however, leave unmolested those private owners who work their land wholly or to a great extent by the labor of their families. to expropriate such owners can by no means be a desire of the socialistic proletariat.
-the proletariat can never indorse a program of "equal distribution" which on one hand demands a useless, purely formal expropriation of small owners, and on the other hand it demands a very real parceling of large estates into small lots. this would be a wasteful undertaking, a pursuance of a reactionary and utopian plan, and a political harm for the revolutionary party.
-europe and the revolution
-in june, 1905, we wrote:
-"more than half a century passed since 1848. half a century of unprecedented victories of capitalism all over the world. half a century of "organic" mutual adaptation of the forces of the bourgeois and the forces of feudal reaction. half a century in which the bourgeoisie has manifested its mad appetite for power and its readiness to fight for it madly!
-"as a self-taught mechanic, in his search for perpetual motion, meets ever new obstacles and piles mechanism over mechanism to overcome them, so the bourgeoisie has changed and reconstructed the apparatus of its supremacy avoiding 'supra-legal' conflicts with hostile powers. and as the self-taught mechanic finally clashes against the ultimate insurmountable obstacle,--the law of conservation of energy,--so the bourgeoisie had to clash against the ultimate implacable barrier,--class antagonism, fraught with inevitable conflict.
-"capitalism, forcing its economic system and social relations on each and every country, has turned the entire world into one economic and political organism. as the effect of the modern credit system, with the invisible bonds it draws between thousands of enterprises, with the amazing mobility it lends to capital, has been to eliminate local and partial crises, but to give unusual momentum to general economic convulsions, so the entire economic and political work of capitalism, with its world commerce, with its system of monstrous foreign debts, with its political groupings of states, which have drawn all reactionary forces into one world-wide co-partnership, has prevented local political crises, but it has prepared a basis for a social crisis of unheard of magnitude. driving unhealthy processes inside, evading difficulties, staving off the deep problems of national and international politics, glossing over all contradictions, the bourgeoisie has postponed the climax, yet it has prepared a radical world-wide liquidation of its power. it has clung to all reactionary forces no matter what their origin. it has made the sultan not the last of its friends. it has not tied itself on the chinese ruler only because he had no power: it was more profitable to rob his possessions than to keep him in the office of a world gendarme and to pay him from the treasury of the bourgeoisie. thus the bourgeoisie made the stability of its political system wholly dependent upon the stability of the pre-capitalistic pillars of reaction.
-"this gives events an international character and opens a magnificent perspective; political emancipation, headed by the working class of russia, will elevate its leader to a height unparalleled in history, it will give russian proletariat colossal power and make it the initiator of world-wide liquidation of capitalism, to which the objective prerequisites have been created by history."
-it is futile to guess how the russian revolution will find its way to old capitalistic europe. this way may be a total surprise. to illustrate our thought rather than to predict events, we shall mention poland as the possible connecting link between the revolutionary east and the revolutionary west.
-a revolutionary poland, however, is not the only possible starting point for a european revolution. the system of armed peace which became predominant in europe after the franco-prussian war, was based on a system of european equilibrium. this equilibrium took for granted not only the integrity of turkey, the dismemberment of poland, the preservation of austria, that ethnographic harlequin's robe, but also the existence of russian despotism in the rôle of a gendarme of the european reaction, armed to his teeth. the russo-japanese war has given a mortal blow to this artificial system in which absolutism was the dominant figure. for an indefinite period russia is out of the race as a first-class power. the equilibrium has been destroyed. on the other hand, the successes of japan have incensed the conquest instincts of the capitalistic bourgeoisie, especially the stock exchange, which plays a colossal rôle in modern politics. the possibilities of a war on european territory have grown enormously. conflicts are ripening here and there; so far they have been settled in a diplomatic way, but nothing can guarantee the near future. a european war, however, means a european revolution.
-even without the pressure of such events as war or bankruptcy, a revolution may take place in the near future in one of the european countries as a result of acute class struggles. we shall not make computations as to which country would be first to take the path of revolution; it is obvious, however, that class antagonisms have for the last years reached a high degree of intensity in all the european countries.
-the influence of the russian revolution on the proletariat of europe is immense. not only does it destroy the petersburg absolutism, that main power of european reaction; it also imbues the minds and the souls of the european proletariat with revolutionary daring.
-it is the purpose of every socialist party to revolutionize the minds of the working class in the same way as development of capitalism has revolutionized social relations. the work of propaganda and organization among the proletariat, however, has its own intrinsic inertia. the socialist parties of europe--in the first place the most powerful of them, the german socialist party--have developed a conservatism of their own, which grows in proportion as socialism embraces ever larger masses and organization and discipline increase. social-democracy, personifying the political experience of the proletariat, can, therefore, at a certain juncture, become an immediate obstacle on the way of an open proletarian conflict with the bourgeois reaction. in other words, the propaganda-conservatism of a proletarian party can, at a certain moment, impede the direct struggle of the proletariat for power. the colossal influence of the russian revolution manifests itself in killing party routine, in destroying socialist conservatism, in making a clean contest of proletarian forces against capitalist reaction a question of the day. the struggle for universal suffrage in austria, saxony and prussia has become more determined under the direct influence of the october strike in russia. an eastern revolution imbues the western proletariat with revolutionary idealism and stimulates its desire to speak "russian" to its foes.
-the russian proletariat in power, even if this were only the result of a passing combination of forces in the russian bourgeois revolution, would meet organized opposition on the part of the world's reaction, and readiness for organized support on the part of the world's proletariat. left to its own resources, the russian working class must necessarily be crushed the moment it loses the aid of the peasants. nothing remains for it but to link the fate of its political supremacy and the fate of the russian revolution with the fate of a socialist revolution in europe. all that momentous authority and political power which is given to the proletariat by a combination of forces in the russian bourgeois revolution, it will thrust on the scale of class struggle in the entire capitalistic world. equipped with governmental power, having a counter-revolution behind his back, having the european reaction in front of him, the russian workingman will issue to all his brothers the world over his old battle-cry which will now become the call for the last attack: proletarians of all the world, unite!
-the first council of workmen's deputies was formed in petersburg, on october 13th, 1905, in the course of the great general october strike that compelled nicholas romanoff to promise a constitution. it represented individual factories, labor unions, and included also delegates from the socialist parties. it looked upon itself as the center of the revolution and a nucleus of a revolutionary labor government. similar councils sprung up in many other industrial centers. it was arrested on december 3d, having existed for fifty days. its members were tried and sent to siberia.
-intelligentzia is a term applied in russia to an indefinite, heterogeneous group of "intellectuals," who are not actively and directly involved in the industrial machinery of capitalism, and at the same time are not members of the working class. it is customary to count among the intelligentzia students, teachers, writers, lawyers, physicians, college professors, etc. however, the term intelligentzia implies also a certain degree of idealism and radical aspirations.
-witte was the first prime-minister under the quasi-constitution granted on october 17th, 1905. stolypin was appointed prime minister after the dissolution of the first duma in july, 1906.
-under the minimum program the social-democrats understand all that range of reforms which can be obtained under the existing capitalist system of "private ownership of the means of production," such as an eight hour workday, social insurance, universal suffrage, a republican order. the maximum program demands the abolition of private property and public management of industries, i.e., socialism.
-"some prejudices among the masses" referred to in this essay is the alleged love of the primitive masses for their tzar. this was an argument usually put forth by the liberals against republican aspirations.
-lower-middle-class is the only term half-way covering the russian "mieshchanstvo" used by trotzky. "mieshchanstvo" has a socio-economic meaning, and a flavor of moral disapproval. socially and economically it means those numerous inhabitants of modern cities who are engaged in independent economic pursuits, as artisans (masters), shopkeepers, small manufacturers, petty merchants, etc., who have not capital enough to rank with the bourgeoisie. morally "mieshchanstvo" presupposes a limited horizon, lack of definite revolutionary or political ideas, and lack of political courage.
-besides having a share in the community-land, the individual peasant could acquire a piece of land out of his private means (the seller being usually the landlord) and thus become a small private owner.
-the soviet and the revolution
-about two years after the arrest of the soviet of 1905, a number of former leaders of that organization, among them chrustalyov nossar, the first chairman, and trotzky, the second chairman, met abroad after having escaped from siberian exile. they decided to sum up their soviet experiences in a book which they called the history of the council of workingmen's deputies. the book appeared in 1908 in petersburg, and was immediately suppressed. one of the essays of this book is here reprinted.
-in his estimation of the rôle of the soviet trotzky undoubtedly exaggerates. only by a flight of imagination can one see in the activities of the soviet regarding the postal, telegraph and railroad strikers the beginnings of a soviet control over post-office, telegraph and railroads. it is also a serious question whether the soviet was really a leading body, or whether it was led by the current of revolutionary events which it was unable to control. what makes this essay interesting and significant is trotzky's assertion that "the first new wave of the revolution will lead to the creation of soviets all over the country." this has actually happened. his predictions of the formation of an all-russian soviet, and of the program the soviets would follow, have also been realized in the course of the present revolution.
-the history of the soviet is a history of fifty days. the soviet was constituted on october 13th; its session was interrupted by a military detachment of the government on december 3rd. between those two dates the soviet lived and struggled.
-what was the substance of this institution? what enabled it in this short period to take an honorable place in the history of the russian proletariat, in the history of the russian revolution?
-the soviet organized the masses, conducted political strikes, led political demonstrations, tried to arm the workingmen. but other revolutionary organizations did the same things. the substance of the soviet was its effort to become an organ of public authority. the proletariat on one hand, the reactionary press on the other, have called the soviet "a labor government"; this only reflects the fact that the soviet was in reality an embryo of a revolutionary government. in so far as the soviet was in actual possession of authoritative power, it made use of it; in so far as the power was in the hands of the military and bureaucratic monarchy, the soviet fought to obtain it. prior to the soviet, there had been revolutionary organizations among the industrial workingmen, mostly of a social-democratic nature. but those were organizations among the proletariat; their immediate aim was to influence the masses. the soviet is an organization of the proletariat; its aim is to fight for revolutionary power.
-at the same time, the soviet was an organized expression of the will of the proletariat as a class. in its fight for power the soviet applied such methods as were naturally determined by the character of the proletariat as a class: its part in production; its numerical strength; its social homogeneity. in its fight for power the soviet has combined the direction of all the social activities of the working class, including decisions as to conflicts between individual representatives of capital and labor. this combination was by no means an artificial tactical attempt: it was a natural consequence of the situation of a class which, consciously developing and broadening its fight for its immediate interests, had been compelled by the logic of events to assume a leading position in the revolutionary struggle for power.
-the main weapon of the soviet was a political strike of the masses. the power of the strike lies in disorganizing the power of the government. the greater the "anarchy" created by a strike, the nearer its victory. this is true only where "anarchy" is not being created by anarchic actions. the class that puts into motion, day in and day out, the industrial apparatus and the governmental apparatus; the class that is able, by a sudden stoppage of work, to paralyze both industry and government, must be organized enough not to fall the first victim of the very "anarchy" it has created. the more effective the disorganization of government caused by a strike, the more the strike organization is compelled to assume governmental functions.
-the council of workmen's delegates introduces a free press. it organizes street patrols to secure the safety of the citizens. it takes over, to a greater or less extent, the post office, the telegraph, and the railroads. it makes an effort to introduce the eight hour workday. paralyzing the autocratic government by a strike, it brings its own democratic order into the life of the working city population.
-after january 9th the revolution had shown its power over the minds of the working masses. on june 14th, through the revolt of the potyomkin tavritchesky it had shown that it was able to become a material force. in the october strike it had shown that it could disorganize the enemy, paralyze his will and utterly humiliate him. by organizing councils of workmen's deputies all over the country, it showed that it was able to create authoritative power. revolutionary authority can be based only on active revolutionary force. whatever our view on the further development of the russian revolution, it is a fact that so far no social class besides the proletariat has manifested readiness to uphold a revolutionary authoritative power. the first act of the revolution was an encounter in the streets of the proletariat with the monarchy; the first serious victory of the revolution was achieved through the class-weapon of the proletariat, the political strike; the first nucleus of a revolutionary government was a proletarian representation. the soviet is the first democratic power in modern russian history. the soviet is the organized power of the masses themselves over their component parts. this is a true, unadulterated democracy, without a two-chamber system, without a professional bureaucracy, with the right of the voters to recall their deputy any moment and to substitute another for him. through its members, through deputies elected by the workingmen, the soviet directs all the social activities of the proletariat as a whole and of its various parts; it outlines the steps to be taken by the proletariat, it gives them a slogan and a banner. this art of directing the activities of the masses on the basis of organized self-government, is here applied for the first time on russian soil. absolutism ruled the masses, but it did not direct them. it put mechanical barriers against the living creative forces of the masses, and within those barriers it kept the restless elements of the nation in an iron bond of oppression. the only mass absolutism ever directed was the army. but that was not directing, it was merely commanding. in recent years, even the directing of this atomized and hypnotized military mass has been slipping out of the hands of absolutism. liberalism never had power enough to command the masses, or initiative enough to direct them. its attitude towards mass-movements, even if they helped liberalism directly, was the same as towards awe-inspiring natural phenomena--earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. the proletariat appeared on the battlefield of the revolution as a self-reliant aggregate, totally independent from bourgeois liberalism.
-the soviet was a class-organization, this was the source of its fighting power. it was crushed in the first period of its existence not by lack of confidence on the part of the masses in the cities, but by the limitations of a purely urban revolution, by the relatively passive attitude of the village, by the backwardness of the peasant element of the army. the soviet's position among the city population was as strong as could be.
-the soviet was not an official representative of the entire half million of the working population in the capital; its organization embraced about two hundred thousand, chiefly industrial workers; and though its direct and indirect political influence was of a much wider range, there were thousands and thousands of proletarians (in the building trade, among domestic servants, day laborers, drivers) who were hardly, if at all, influenced by the soviet. there is no doubt, however, that the soviet represented the interests of all these proletarian masses. there were but few adherents of the black hundred in the factories, and their number dwindled hour by hour. the proletarian masses of petersburg were solidly behind the soviet. among the numerous intellectuals of petersburg the soviet had more friends than enemies. thousands of students recognized the political leadership of the soviet and ardently supported it in its decisions. professional petersburg was entirely on the side of the soviet. the support by the soviet of the postal and telegraph strike won it the sympathy of the lower governmental officials. all the oppressed, all the unfortunate, all honest elements of the city, all those who were striving towards a better life, were instinctively or consciously on the side of the soviet. the soviet was actually or potentially a representative of an overwhelming majority of the population. its enemies in the capital would not have been dangerous had they not been protected by absolutism, which based its power on the most backward elements of an army recruited from peasants. the weakness of the soviet was not its own weakness, it was the weakness of a purely urban revolution.
-the fifty day period was the period of the greatest power of the revolution. the soviet was its organ in the fight for public authority. the class character of the soviet was determined by the class differentiation of the city population and by the political antagonism between the proletariat and the capitalistic bourgeoisie. this antagonism manifested itself even in the historically limited field of a struggle against absolutism. after the october strike, the capitalistic bourgeoisie consciously blocked the progress of the revolution, the petty middle class turned out to be a nonentity, incapable of playing an independent rôle. the real leader of the urban revolution was the proletariat. its class-organization was the organ of the revolution in its struggle for power.
-the struggle for power, for public authority--this is the central aim of the revolution. the fifty days of the soviet's life and its bloody finale have shown that urban russia is too narrow a basis for such a struggle, and that even within the limits of the urban revolution, a local organization cannot be the central leading body. for a national task the proletariat required an organization on a national scale. the petersburg soviet was a local organization, yet the need of a central organization was so great that it had to assume leadership on a national scale. it did what it could, still it remained primarily the petersburg council of workmen's deputies. the urgency of an all-russian labor congress which undoubtedly would have had authority to form a central leading organ, was emphasized even at the time of the first soviet. the december collapse made its realization impossible. the idea remained, an inheritance of the fifty days.
-the idea of a soviet has become ingrained in the consciousness of the workingmen as the first prerequisite to revolutionary action of the masses. experience has shown that a soviet is not possible or desirable under all circumstances. the objective meaning of the soviet organization is to create conditions for disorganizing the government, for "anarchy," in other words for a revolutionary conflict. the present lull in the revolutionary movement, the mad triumph of reaction, make the existence of an open, elective, authoritative organization of the masses impossible. there is no doubt, however, that the first new wave of the revolution will lead to the creation of soviets all over the country. an all-russian soviet, organized by an all-russian labor congress, will assume leadership of the local elective organizations of the proletariat. names, of course, are of no importance; so are details of organization; the main thing is: a centralized democratic leadership in the struggle of the proletariat for a popular government. history does not repeat itself, and the new soviet will not have again to go through the experience of the fifty days. these, however, will furnish it a complete program of action.
-this program is perfectly clear.
-to establish revolutionary coöperation with the army, the peasantry, and the plebeian lower strata of the urban bourgeoisie. to abolish absolutism. to destroy the material organization of absolutism by reconstructing and partly dismissing the army. to break up the entire bureaucratic apparatus. to introduce an eight hour workday. to arm the population, starting with the proletariat. to turn the soviets into organs of revolutionary self-government in the cities. to create councils of peasants' delegates (peasants' committees) as local organs of the agrarian revolution. to organize elections to the constituent assembly and to conduct a preëlection campaign for a definite program on the part of the representatives of the people.
-it is easier to formulate such a program than to carry it through. if, however, the revolution will ever win, the proletariat cannot choose another. the proletariat will unfold revolutionary accomplishment such as the world has never seen. the history of fifty days will be only a poor page in the great book of the proletariat's struggle and ultimate triumph.
-preface to my round trip
-trotzky was never personal. the emotional side of life seldom appears in his writings. his is the realm of social activities, social and political struggles. his writings breathe logic, not sentiment, facts, not poetry. the following preface to his round trip is, perhaps, the only exception. it speaks of the man trotzky and his beliefs. note his confession of faith: "history is a tremendous mechanism serving our ideals." ...
-at the stockholm convention of the social-democratic party, some curious statistical data was circulated, showing the conditions under which the party of the proletariat was working:
-the convention as a whole, in the person of its 140 members, had spent in prison one hundred and thirty-eight years and three and a half months.
-the convention had been in exile one hundred and forty-eight years and six and a half months.
-escaped from prison: once, eighteen members of the convention; twice, four members.
-escaped from exile: once, twenty-three; twice, five; three times, one member.
-the length of time the convention as a whole had been active in social-democratic work, was 942 years. it follows that the time spent in prison and exile is about one-third of the time a social-democrat is active. but these figures are too optimistic. "the convention has been active in social-democratic work for 942 years"--this means merely that the activities of those persons had been spread over so many years. their actual period of work must have been much shorter. possibly all these persons had worked, actually and directly, only one-sixth or one-tenth of the above time. such are conditions of underground activity. on the other hand, the time spent in prison and exile is real time: the convention had spent over fifty thousand days and nights behind iron bars, and more than that in barbarous corners of the country.
-stealthily athribis passed out of sight of the court. he threaded his way through corridors.
-"whither goest thou?" asked another slave by the threshold.
-"i go to the market to get some lentiles," glibly replied athribis; and, passing, he quickly gained the portal and the street.
-"one, may find that which is better than lentiles," athribis communed with himself, as he wound hither and thither through the excited crowds. "should a christian have jewels, and i none? i, who am faithful to the gods!"
-with this the slave plunged into a company of house-breakers, and with them boldly attacked the dwelling of a christian. it was easily taken, and athribis rushed with the company into the interior. stools and couches were wrenched to pieces, cushions were torn, tables were overthrown.
-"woe to the christians of alexandria!" fiercely muttered one man. "we will root them from our city! they shall die!"
-the crude brick of the building gave way, in places, under repeated blows. the stucco of the outer walls fell off, and was tracked with the crushed brick into the halls. some of the rude company, rushing to the flat roof of the building, discovered there, hidden by a wind-sail, a treasure-box, as was at first supposed. on being hastily opened, however, the box was found to hold nothing but some rolls of writing. contemptuously the box was kicked aside.
-"come down! come down!" cried voices from the court. "here are the christians!"
-the loud clamor from below announced that the christian family had indeed been discovered, and would be taken to prison.
-the company on the roof made haste to descend, to witness the family's humiliating exit. as athribis passed by the box again, he looked more curiously at it. surely the scrolls must be of some worth. he could not read, but perhaps something of value might be secretly hidden inside each of these scrolls. who knew? it must be! it seemed incredible that even christians would be foolish enough to fill a treasure-box with nothing but rolls of writing, and then conceal the box so carefully behind this wind-sail!
-athribis purposely lingered a little behind the other men. he snatched up the rolls, and having hidden them in his garment, hurried from the roof.
-"i am a christian," calmly said a voice in the court. "yea, i have striven to bring others to christ."
-there stood the father of the household, his wife, and their two children, one a girl of thirteen, the other a boy a little younger. they had broken the emperor's decree. the father did not deny the charge brought against them. it was his voice that athribis had heard, and the same voice spoke on:
-"my children," continued the father, "our days on earth come to a close. let us sing our twilight hymn, for now indeed our work is nearly done."
-above the scornful tumult rose the four voices, singing the "twilight," or "candle hymn," of the early christians. the children's tones trembled a little at first, but soon grew firm, as if sustained by the calmness with which the parents sang. the angry faces around the court became yet more fierce with hatred, as, through a moment's pause, the rioters listened to the words of the hymn:
-"calm light of the celestial glory, o jesus son of the eternal father, we come to thee now as the sun goes down, and before the evening light we seek thee, father, son and holy spirit of god. thou art worthy to be forever praised by holy voices, o son of god; thou givest life to us, and therefore doth the world glorify thee."
-mocking cries arose from the mob. not daring to linger longer, athribis ran out of the house, and hastened homeward, full of apprehension as to what might await him.
-"where are the lentiles?" asked the slave by the threshold, as athribis, forgetful, in his excitement, of the excuse he had made for his departure, passed swiftly and softly in.
-"i found none," quickly answered athribis, with alarm.
-he sped silently to his former place of work, and fell to polishing the pavement with a zeal unknown before. he knew well enough that the slave by the threshold would not believe in that excuse, lentiles being plentiful enough. terror had robbed athribis' deceitful tongue of its usual cunning, and now he silently bewailed his startled answer. if the slave by the threshold should report to heraklas' mother the fact that athribis had been away!
-athribis longed to have time to unroll the scrolls which he had hidden in his garment, but he dared not look at them till he should be alone.
-a voice sounded in the court. athribis redoubled his zeal: he recognized the tones of heraklas' mother.
-"i was not long gone! i was not long gone!" the guilty athribis hastily assured himself. "surely she hath hated the christians, even as i hate them! i was gone but a moment! surely she cannot know! if i find treasure in my rolls, i will give some to the slave by the threshold. surely, treasure is as dumbness to a man!"
-the footsteps of the mother of heraklas drew near. the servant bowed over his work, and dared not lift his eyes. she did not stop! and athribis looked breathlessly after the woman, as she passed majestically on.
-"surely she hath not known what i did!" he gasped as the stately figure disappeared among the columns. "isis preserveth me from stripes! my feet are unbeaten!"
-athribis waited till night, when the household slept. then he crept out of the little chamber on the roof where the slaves were wont to sleep, according to the custom of egyptian households.
-a dim thread of a moon floated toward the west. athribis crept to a far part of the roof. the wind blew somewhat, but it did not cool the fever of excitement felt by him. within a moment he might be rich! he might find gold in these scrolls!
-he drew out the scrolls. surely there was something firm inside this one! he felt something! he narrowly scanned the christians' papyrus, as he hastily unrolled it. his lips were parted with eagerness, his breath panted into the heart of the scroll, as he held his face down that he might see. he unrolled the papyrus to the end. he sat up, and drew a breath. his bare feet kicked viciously at the unrolled papyrus. no treasure in that first scroll! he seized the second. with eagerness all the greater because of his former disappointment, he searched through this roll, his face bent down till his eyelashes almost swept the surface of the writing. in vain! there was nothing!
-"these christians! what cheats they are!"
-he snatched the third roll. with trembling fingers he unrolled this, the last of the papyrus scrolls. there must be something hidden! it could not be possible that he would be disappointed in the last scroll! was there no treasure? not a thin wedge of gold at the heart of this papyrus? not a jewel, not anything that savored of riches?
-athribis' shaking fingers unrolled the papyrus to its very end. nothing but the continuous writing, and the stick on which the scroll had been rolled! his limp hand let fall the end of the papyrus. it descended upon the heap at his feet. had he dared, he would have cried aloud in his disappointment.
-but it was not his voice that pierced the night. some one had seen him!
-"a robber!" cried a woman's tones. "a thief! on the roof!"
-athribis leaped to his feet. he caught the papyri. alas, alas! they were not rolled, now! the wind tossed the long streamers, and as athribis in fearful haste snatched them, the breeze blew one scroll entirely free. it, swept from the roof, and, descending into the court, hung in a long strip from one of the palms.
-the dismayed athribis cast the other papyri on the roof, and fled. it was time. the house was being aroused by the cry of the woman. with his bare, silent feet, athribis sped through the shadows of the corridors to what he thought a secret spot, and hid himself. the house resounded with outcries. feet ran hither and thither.
-out in the court, hanging all unseen from a palm-tree, swayed the papyrus, the written copy of part of the sacred book of the christians!
-it was night on the libyan desert. the stars glittered on the rocky highlands that compose so much of that desert, and lit faintly, too, the areas between, where stretches of sand waited to be shifted by the next simoon that should blow.
-in one spot, at the edge of a rock, there was a movement of the sand. out of it a form slowly rose.
-the sand shook near by, and another person appeared. another arose, and another, till five had arisen.
-the man who had first appeared spoke, slowly, in a voice that told of exhaustion.
-"the emperor septimius severus reigneth over our land," he said. "he hath forbidden that any one should become a christian. but how shall we cease to tell men of christ? how shall he cease to draw men to himself?"
-"severus hath not been always thus," answered another voice, faint with weakness. "proculus, the christian, once saved the life of either severus or his child, and the emperor took proculus into the palace and treated him kindly, and chose a christian nurse for severus' boy, caracalla. when the romans rose against the christians, severus shielded our brethren. oh, that the priests of the false gods of egypt had not enticed our emperor!"
-"alas for him!" responded the first voice. "the emperor severus worshipeth the false gods of egypt, but we serve the lord christ. farewell to egypt's gods! they shall pass, but thou shalt endure!"
-"amen," murmured the lad timokles. "even so! thou art lord of lords, and king of kings, o christ!"
-suddenly there was a cry of other voices. up from the rocks of the plateau behind the five there sprang a second group of persons.
-the five christians, knowing the voices of their former heathen captors, fled. the lad timokles was closely pursued. he felt, rather than heard, close behind him, the footsteps of his enemy, and, turning sharply, timokles sped away in another direction.
-here and there, back and forth, the two ran in the star-lit darkness. the five christians were widely scattered now. shouts and cries came faintly from a distance. timokles rushed toward the rocky plateau.
-"stop, christian, stop!" cried his enemy, leaping forward with outstretched hand.
-but timokles fled, stumbling over stones. on came his enemy's swift leap behind. a piercing cry, as of some one in agony, rang from the desert's distance. timokles sped faster.
-"stop!" commanded the voice of the runner behind. "stop!"
-a swift prayer burst from timokles' lips. he fled on, his pursuer so near sometimes that timokles' heart failed him.
-"stop!" screamed his foe. "stop!"
-the fierce command pulsed through timokles' brain. the man behind suddenly slipped, stumbling over the stones. he fell heavily, and in that instant's time, timokles darted forward behind one of the rocks, and, creeping underneath it, lay breathless in the darkness.
-the man struggled to his feet. up past the other side of the rock rushed the pursuer. timokles, quaking, expected every instant to be discovered.
-"where art thou?" savagely called the man. "where?"
-he ran hither and thither with fiercely muttered imprecations. now his footsteps sounded farther off, and now again he ran back and came softly stealing around among the rocks. timokles laid his branded cheek against the gravel, and waited.
-the footsteps went, and came, and went again in the dark. timokles trembled from head to foot. he did not fear death, but he dreaded capture and unknown terrors.
-the dark form passed by again. a chill went over timokles, as he thought he saw a weapon in the man's hand.
-the footsteps became inaudible once more. timokles, waiting a long time, imagined his foe might have gone. as the lad was about to lift his head, a hand brushed along the side of his rock, and reached out into the dark, underneath. timokles was perfectly quiet. the hand above him felt down the sides of the rock, waved in the darkness above the boy, descended and rested an instant on the gravel next him--but did not touch him. the silent menace of the groping hand was terrible. timokles held his breath.
-the hand passed on, feeling of other rocks.
-"o god of thy people, thou hast hidden me!" cried timokles in his heart, as he heard the soft rubbing of his enemy's hand against the farther rocks.
-the sound died away. timokles lay listening for a long time. once he thought he heard a creeping sound, but it was only the wind.
-sleep came upon him at last, and when he woke it was day. he dared not come out, but lay there through the torrid hours, moistening his lips now and then with a little water from the small, skin water-pouch he carried.
-the sun plunged beneath the horizon at last, with the usual seeming suddenness observed in the desert. night was welcome to timokles, and he came forth. the lad's heart was very lonely. he looked toward the northeast, and remembered his alexandrian home--his mother, the brother with whom timokles' whole life had been bound up, the little sister cocce, whom timokles had last seen playing gleefully with a toy crocodile, and laughing at its opening mouth.
-"o severus!" whispered timokles, "what didst thou see, when thou visitedst egypt five years ago, that thou shouldest decree such evil against the egyptian christians now?"
-softly timokles went his way in the dark. he was hungry, yet he dared eat little of the dried dates he had with him. when would he find other food?
-for a time he looked warily around, but soon his sense of loneliness overcame his fear, and he watched more for some sign of his four friends than for an indication of an enemy.
-"perhaps some christian hath escaped, even as i have," thought timokles.
-this was no christian sleeper that lay at timokles' feet! the lad turned and fled into the distance.
-through the desert there wailed a thin, plaintive cry. it was the voice of a night-wandering jackal.
-timokles was dizzy to faintness, and staggered as he was driven on. he had been discovered and taken. his life had been spared that he might henceforth be a slave.
-"i bear this for thy sake, o lord, dear lord!" murmured the exhausted lad, as the blows drove him through the pathless desert.
-again came the plaintive cry of the wandering jackal.
-"for thy sake!" faintly repeated timokles.
-a few minutes passed, and once more the jackal's inarticulate voice wailed through the desert, but timokles had fallen, helpless. a man sprang forward, and the lash fell again and again on timokles' prostrate body, but the boy did not stir.
-"now see how the christian would die in the desert, and cheat us of all the work he might do!" grumbled the vexed voice of a dismounted camel-rider. "he is young. there are many years of work in him!"
-"leave him!" scornfully advised another, who held a torch. "some beast will find him."
-"nay, but he shall go with me to carthage," asserted a third, from the height of his camel's back. "carthage knoweth what to do with christians!"
-"who art thou that thou shouldest own the christian?" demanded the first, angrily gazing up at the presumptuous rider. "did i not find him?"
-the mounted camel-rider laughed, and tossed something toward the irate speaker. the man caught the object, a ring of gold, containing a scarabaeus.
-"take it," said the giver to the appeased rival. "the christian is mine."
-the unconscious timokles was taken up at a sign from the camel-rider to one of his servants, and the cavalcade proceeded on its way. as his camel paced forward, pentaur, the purchaser, glanced back twice or thrice.
-"truly," he assured himself with much complacency, as he perceived timokles being carried, "i follow the maxim of ptah-hotep: 'treat well thy people, as it behooveth thee; this is the duty of those whom the gods favor.'"
-as pentaur, for that moment, thought of the dread hour when, after death, according to egyptian belief, he should stand before the judgment-seat of osiris, the camel-rider felt convinced that he would have merl which might stand him in good stead in that ordeal.
-little by little, timokles regained consciousness. he marveled to find himself carried. he had expected to be killed where he fell. the many painful welts of the lash's stripes stung him with keen pain.
-"o mother! mother!" timokles' heart cried silently.
-had she indeed lost all love for him, since she had told him she wished he had died rather than become a christian?
-"lord christ," cried timokles' breaking heart now, "i have left all for thee!"
-the company pushed on rapidly. at length, after morning with its heat had come, the party halted, and the slave who had carried timokles flung him on the sand, the slave comforting himself that possibly the evil of the christian's touch might be warded off by a symbolic eye of horus that the pagan wore tied to his arm by a slender string. such eyes were often used by egyptians as amulets and ornaments.
-when the hot hours of the day were past, the caravan again made, ready to go on. the merchant, pentaur, summoned timokles, and with condescending good-nature, demanded his history. timokles told it.
-"why shouldest thou be a christian?" commented pentaur. "see, we come to-night to ammonium the oasis. every camel-step doth lead thee farther toward carthage! thou wilt perish there! carthage doth hate christians!"
-timokles looked into pentaur's eyes.
-"yea, i know that carthage hateth them," the lad answered. "i heard that four years ago, when the proconsul saturninus persecuted the christians; and when a number were brought from the little town of scillita to carthage to appear before the tribunal of saturnin, one man called speratus spoke frankly and nobly for his brethren. when the proconsul saturninus invited speratus to swear by the genius of the emperor, the proconsul promising the christians mercy if they would do this and return to the worship of the gods, speratus answered, 'i know of no genius of the ruler of this earth, but i serve my god who is in heaven, whom no man hath seen nor can see. i render what is due from me, for i acknowledge the emperor as my sovereign; but i can worship none but my lord, the king of all kings and ruler of all nations.' so were the christians taken to the place of execution, where they knelt and prayed, and were then beheaded."
-timokles' eyes fell. his voice trembled.
-"o lord christ," he added, reverently, "i also would be faithful unto thee!"
-the merchant's piercing look regarded timokles for a few minutes.
-"there were women among those twelve christians who were brought from scillita to carthage to die," continued timokles, "three women, called donata, secunda, and vestina. when they were brought before the proconsul, he said to them, 'honor our prince, and offer sacrifice to the gods.' donata answered, 'we give to caesar the honor that is due caesar: but we adore and offer sacrifice to god alone.' vestina, said, 'i also am a christian.' secunda said, 'i also believe in my god, and will continue faithful to him. as for thy gods, we will neither serve nor adore them.'
-"o my master," continued timokles, with trembling voice, "thinkest thou not that the god who so strengthened three women that they did not shrink from death for his sake, could strengthen me to meet death, also?"
-pentaur looked fixedly at the lad, who stood with no air of bravado about him, but with an expression of humble trust that the merchant could not fathom.
-"why shouldest thou risk death?" questioned the merchant. "death will defeat a christian."
-"nay, o master!" exclaimed timokles eagerly. "death may be glorious victory!"
-"oh!" broke forth timokles earnestly, "i know a death that was a glorious victory! carthage knew of it! didst thou not hear what was done last year at carthage? didst thou not know of the christian lady, vivia perpetua, and the christian slave, felicitas?"
-a shudder ran through pentaur, as timokles continued:
-"thinkest thou that what they suffered was nothing? vivia perpetua was the best loved of a heathen father's children. how she suffered in her heart, when her old father came to the prison and besought her to give up christ! 'daughter,' begged the old man, 'have pity on my gray hairs. have compassion on thy father!' he wept at her feet. he begged her to have pity on her little child. but she could not give up christ. wert thou there, o pentaur, when the governor examined the prisoners? didst thou see vivia perpetua's old father press forward, carrying her babe in his arms, and beg her to recant for the child's sake? didst thou hear the judge ask her, 'art thou then a christian?' and didst thou hear her answer, 'i am'?"
-timokles paused. pentaur had groaned. his face was hidden in his hands.
-"and then," continued timokles, "the wretched father, hearing his daughter speak those words that doomed her to death, tried to draw her from the platform. he was struck with a stick, and the judge condemned vivia perpetua and felicitas, with the other christians, to be exposed to the wild beasts."
-another low groan broke from pentaur. timokles hesitated an instant, then hurried on:
-"the christians were to die in the amphitheatre of carthage. at the gate of the amphitheatre, the guards offered the men among the christians the red mantle of the priests of saturn, and offered the women the fillet worn by the priestesses of ceres. but the christians refused. 'we have come here,' they said, 'of our own free will, that we might not be deprived of our freedom. we have forfeited our lives in order to be delivered from doing such things.' even the heathen could see the justice of this, and the christians were not compelled to wear the things. in the amphitheatre, vivia perpetua and felicitas were put into a net, and allowed to be attacked by a wild cow. then the two martyrs gave each other the kiss of peace, and a gladiator killed them."
-timokles paused once more. still no response.
-"i remember hearing one thing more concerning vivia perpetua," ventured timokles. "in prison she had had a vision. she thought she saw a golden ladder stretching up to heaven, and on either side of the ladder were swords, and spears, and knives. at the foot of the ladder lay a dragon. perpetua thought in her vision that she was commanded to mount the ladder. she set her foot on the dragon's head, saying, 'he will not harm me, in the name of jesus christ,' and went up the ladder. at the top she found a large garden, and the good shepherd met her."
-pentaur sprang to his feet, and put out a shaking hand.
-"no more!" he cried. "oh, no more! no more! o vivia, vivia!"
-with a groan of anguish, pentaur looked upward, as if behind the desert's sky he might see again that youthful face, the face of that sweet christian with whom he had been acquainted from childhood and whom he had last seen dying in carthage's amphitheatre. little did timokles know how the memory of vivia perpetua's death hour had haunted pentaur. they had been children together in carthage, and the martyrdom that vivia perpetua had suffered in her young womanhood had impressed pentaur more than all the agony he had seen other christians endure. when she gave up her life, he had clinched his hands, and muttered fierce words against carthage's gods, words he afterward trembled to recall. he served those gods now, yet he revered the memory of the christian, vivia perpetua, as of one of the holiest of women.
-timokles ventured no further words.
-pentaur summoned a slave, and committed to his care the young christian. the memory of vivia perpetua might pierce the merchant's soul, but would not avail for timokles' release.
-bound to another slave to prevent escape, timokles traveled with the company that night, and before morning the oasis of ammon, "oasis ammonia," was reached. it was a green and shady valley, several miles long and three broad, in the midst of sand-hills. here, over five hundred years before, had come the founder of alexandria, alexander the great, to visit the oracle of ammon, the god figured to be like a man having the head and horns of a ram. the statue of amun-ra had then been loaded with jewels, through the reverence of the merchants who halted their caravans at this oasis, and who left their treasures in the strong rooms of the temple, while resting the camels under the palm trees.
-all this timokles remembered, as he stood beside the steaming fountain of the sun in the oasis, and watched the bubbles that constantly rose to the surface of that famous body of water.
-"o branded-cheeked cutter of dykes, art thou in very truth a christian?" contemptuously asked the slave that guarded timokles.
-"i am, o friend," gently answered the lad.
-"ill shalt thou fare in this oasis, then," threatened the slave.
-timokles' eyes wandered over the landscape. the surface of the oasis was undulating, and on the north it rose into high, limestone hills. date palms abounded near by timokles. he could see the inhabitants of the village, and the wanderers from farther, more isolated homes. the oasis was composed of several disconnected tracts, and timokles heard that in the western part of the oasis there was a lake.
-suddenly the lad became aware of a number of angrily excited voices. at a short distance stood pentaur the merchant, surrounded by a group of men, but what he said was lost in the confusion of tongues.
-at length the merchant made a careless gesture, and walked away.
-"take the christian!" shouted fierce voices.
-a man ran straight from the group to timokles. without a word the man seized the lad. other hands assisted, and timokles was hurried away from the village, past palm trees and resting camels, toward the north. breathlessly the men dragged him a long distance over the rising ground. no word of explanation was uttered. timokles was swept along, till at length the silent, determined company came to a solitary, ruined building.
-timokles was pulled over the fallen stones, across what had once been the court of the dwelling. then the company reached a spot where part of the house was still standing. here a barred door shut off further progress, but two of the men with great effort opened the entrance.
-all grasping hands fell from timokles. the company waited.
-"go in, o christian," commanded, a man. "others have gone before thee!"
-timokles looked fixedly forward. before him was a hall-way, leading into the portion of the dwelling-house yet remaining.
-timokles stepped forward. eager hands pushed him quickly into the hall and shut the door behind him. he heard the sound of bars that fastened the door securely at his back. he was alone. what building was this?
-he felt here and there in the dark hall. a peculiar odor floated in the heavy air. timokles hesitated, fearing he knew not what. his eyes could not pierce the deep gloom.
-resolving to see whither the hall led, he groped on, wondering if this were the place in which the inhabitants of the oasis were wont to confine prisoners. he came to a door. it opened readily to his touch, and he passed into what had once been a large dwelling-room. he stepped softly forward, noting the emptiness and desolation of the place. the peculiar odor of the air was more noticeable than before, but it was not till he had reached the middle of the darkened room, and stood gazing about him, that he perceived at the farther end, in the shadows, a space of yellowish fawn color, and then saw manifold dark spots, also, that shaped themselves into a large, living form.
-timokles drew one quick breath. he softly retreated. keeping his eyes fixed on the huge, sleeping leopard, timokles put out his hand to take hold of the door through which he had come. his groping fingers found nothing but the blank wall!
-hastily turning with alarm, timokles passed his hand over the wall's surface. surely the door had been here! there was no handle, no line in the wall to indicate the existence of a door.
-how silently it had swung shut, when he had come through! he remembered that there had been no noise. he pressed his full force now against the wall. he tried it softly, cautiously, here and there, till he had passed over the entire space in which he knew the door must be, and yet the wall stood apparently blank and whole before him! the other walls seemed to be solid.
-with beating heart, timokles pushed once more at the partition. it remained firm. trembling with the shock of his sudden entrapping, timokles looked toward the room's far end. it was as he thought. the beast was not chained. the sleeping leopard's spotted hide heaved softly yet, with undisturbed breathing, and as timokles watched across the space, he remembered the ominous words spoken to him on his entrance into this building: "go in, o christian! others have gone before thee!"
-for a time, overcome by the horror of his situation, timokles leaned against the partition, the door through which had so mysteriously disappeared. his eyes, between quick glances at the sleeping leopard, searched with desperate intensity every part of the room, for some means of escape.
-"is there no place?" he questioned.
-stealthily he crossed the apartment, and felt of the opposite wall. it was immovable. nowhere in it could he discover any opening.
-high above timokles were two small windows, closed by wooden shutters. the half-ruined flat roof showed holes here and there where the old palm branches of its construction, covered with mats and plastered with mud, had given way. had it not been for these holes in the roof, timokles would hardly have had light enough to perceive the leopard, for the wooden shutters of the two windows prevented their being of much service.
-even with the roof's holes, the room was dark. the rents in the roof were much too far above timokles to help him to escape; however, and he reflected that if the roof had been lower, the place would hardly have been chosen for the confinement of a wild beast, the present height of the walls preventing the escape of the leopard, as well as that of any christian.
-the leopard stirred again!
-"he wakes!" thought timokles, summoning his courage for that waking.
-timokles repassed slowly and silently so much of the walls as was accessible to him. the wall next to the sleeping beast could not be safely examined, yet timokles, looking through the gloom, noted from his distance no more promising signs than were exhibited by the other three sides of the room. most of all did he linger about the spot where, it seemed to him, he had entered, and more than once as he touched the surface of the wall, seeking for some hidden spring, he thought he heard behind him the leopard's soft footsteps, but, turning hastily, found himself mistaken.
-at length, in his search, timokles slightly stumbled over some lumps of mud that had fallen from the roof. the crunching sound partly aroused the leopard. with a long-drawn sigh, the drowsy creature stirred and rose slowly to his feet, stretching himself. he did not yet see timokles.
-how beautiful the spotted hide was! timokles, watching with steady eyes for the instant when he should be discovered, had a fleeting memory of that leopard-skin that covered a seat at home in. alexandria. he would never sit there again.
-even in these dread moments of suspense, there flashed across timokles' mind the memory of the saying of the martyr ignatius, bishop of antioch, who was sent to rome to fight with wild beasts: "i am god's wheat; the teeth of the fierce beasts will but bruise me, that i may be changed into the fine bread of my god."
-it was the moment of discovery! the leopard had been standing, looking around half sleepily. now his great eyes spied the lad.
-the beast gave a quick, purring sound of satisfaction. his tail began to sweep to and fro. his hungry eyes were eager.
-timokles stood quiet. the leopard walked slowly forward. timokles retreated, still facing the leopard. they passed down one wall. they turned, and proceeded along another. they turned again, and passed the third. now they turned, and this wall was the one that timokles had not before had opportunity to examine closely, because of the leopard's proximity to it. but now he dared not look from the leopard.
-"oh!" whispered timokles' pale lips, "what shall i do!"
-suddenly life seemed sweeter to him than ever before. he must not fall into the jaws of this fearful beast! to be caught in this death-trap, and be torn to pieces! it must not be! he did not regret that he had avowed his belief in christ. he would do such a thing again, if necessary. no less, there grew within him a determination to ward off this beast as long as possible.
-"oh, lord, help me! deliver me!" whispered timokles.
-they turned another corner, and once more the two enemies proceeded down the treacherous wall through which timokles had entered the room. even as he retreated, timokles with a last hope kept one hand pushing against this wall. but they reached the other corner, and turned, without any revelation of an opening. the leopard walked leisurely, but steadily. softly the footsteps of timokles and the beast sounded in the room, one footfall answering another. backward, backward, went timokles--now a turn of a corner--backward, backward. another corner. this was the wall by which the leopard had slept. backward, backward! the lad could not pause, but now, as he neared the end of the wall and looked up once beyond the leopard, timokles saw, in the dark corner that he had passed, what he had not before noticed when near enough to see it, as he had not before lifted his eyes from the leopard. in that farther, dark corner there was a darker line that marked the wall for some distance from the roof.
-timokles dimly perceived that the line was part of one of the old palm branches, that, years ago, had been laid across the split date tree that formed the roof's beam. at the time of the making of the roof, the palm branches had no doubt been securely fastened, and now this portion of a branch which hung down was still attached to the top of the outer wall of the building, but had ceased to be connected with the central split date tree beam, and had fallen inward, hanging near the wall. did the palm branch hang low enough so that, if he jumped, he could grasp it?
-the portion of the old palm branch was a slender thing. it would not have borne the leopard's weight. probably the animal had tried to clutch the branch before now. the lower end might be frayed by his claws.
-"will the branch bear my weight?" questioned timokles.
-he dared not rush across the room, and leap toward the hanging palm branch. he felt certain that if he should turn his back, the leopard would spring immediately. how quickly the beast was coming! timokles' head whirled. he was dizzy.
-suddenly the leopard growled. he crouched as if to spring, and timokles, with a wild cry, fled across the room toward the palm branch. after him rushed the leopard.
-timokles jumped. he grasped the palm branch with one hand. the other brought a handful of frayed bark down. he caught hold of the branch with both hands just as the leopard sprang into the air.
-timokles swung aside as far as possible. a great mass of mud, dislodged from the roof, fell, smiting alike boy and beast, enveloping them in a cloud of blinding dust. the lad clung to the branch with desperate strength, though his support was swaying to and fro. the claws of one of the leopard's paws raked timokles' arm, and then the beast dropped to the floor.
-the leopard's angry cries stunned timokles' ears. he clutched the palm branch tightly. from the swaying motion and the sound of a slight, though ominous, cracking, timokles doubted if his support were reliable.
-the rage of the leopard was frightful. he seemed beside himself. he leaped and rushed hither and thither, as he saw timokles climbing higher.
-the boy shook with exhaustion. his right arm bled from the wounds of the leopard's claws. he was alarmed lest the old palm branch should break or should loosen from the wall. if he once fell back into the leopard's jaws, there would be a swift end to this skirmishing.
-timokles looked down at the eager eyes. then he scanned the palm branch narrowly. it did not hang parallel with the wall, but stood out a little from it, and timokles thought that the branch was partly broken, up next the roof. he hardly dared climb much higher for fear of breaking it entirely off. so he lay along the branch, clasping it with his arms, and shut his eyes. he heard the leopard walk impatiently around, stop, utter an angry cry, walk restlessly again, spring unavailingly into the air, drop heavily to the floor.
-at last timokles opened his eyes. a yellow light, turning into darkness, seemed to fill the space before him. alarmed, he strove to overcome this faintness. he knew his arm had been bleeding a little, but he had not before this feared unconsciousness. now he began to feel that he must reach the roof. his faintness might prevent him from clinging to the palm branch much longer.
-timokles was sure that the branch was giving way. he was nearly to the roof. he clutched at it. the mud-covered, rotten mat that he grasped broke through his fingers, and the dust descended into his face. he grasped again, with the same result. the branch was momentarily growing looser. the leopard was ready.
-timokles grasped again--again--again! the rotten mats and the mud with which they had been plastered came away in great handfuls. he could hardly see, for the descending dust. he grasped blindly, desperately. he felt something firm! it was another palm branch that his fingers reached as he dug through the mud. he held on with the clutch of despair.
-his head just reached a hole in the roof. he missed his grasp, and fell back on the swinging, broken palm branch. with one final, cracking sound it parted! timokles' one hand grasped the top of the wall; his other hand reached the outer part of the roof. he heard the old palm branch fall, and the leopard spring to meet it.
-dragging himself upward, panting with exhaustion, timokles succeeded in mounting through the hole to the outside of the roof. his foot plunged through a mat. he recovered himself, and crawling to a little distance from the hole, he lay down on the roof. the sun was high in the heavens, but all the world became black to timokles.
-he lay there, faint, for hours. when he could look up at last, the sun was descending toward the west. far overhead sailed the sacred hawk of egypt, and the bird's piercing cry, full of melancholy, reached timokles' ears. the shadow of a palm tree stretched outward and touched him.
-"oh, god!" whispered timokles reverently, "thou west daniel's god. thou art mine!"
-night had fallen. timokles, lying in the dark, heard a sound beside the building. some one was coming!
-timokles crept to the roof's edge farthest from the sound, and lay down.
-the head of a man appeared above the roof's level. evidently he was not accustomed to the roof, for he was very cautious in his movements, and tested every step he took. he carefully approached one of the holes of the roof, and, kneeling, put his face down to the aperture.
-the man spoke, and, by his tones, timokles recognized pentaur the merchant.
-"oh, christian!" cried pentaur into the depth of the building, "livest thou? ill shall i fare at the judgment of osiris for this day's deed!"
-there was silence.
-perhaps, from the darkness of the room below, pentaur could see the shining of the brute's eyes, or hear his uneasy stepping to and fro. something sent a shudder of horror through the man.
-"i have taken pleasure in righteousness," he protested. "i have heretofore done no injury to men who honored their gods. oh, osiris, i have been righteous!"
-there was an awful horror in the man's voice. timokles was moved with compassion for his former owner, and yet the lad kept silent.
-"shall i speak to him?" timokles questioned himself. "if he shall be beset in some other place by those who hate christians, will he not abandon me again to my enemies?"
-the merchant waited a moment longer.
-"oh, osiris!" then he wailed again, "i have been righteous! he was only a christian!"
-the merchant sprang up, and sped toward the edge of the roof where he had first appeared. his foot plunged to its ankle through a weak place in the mats. he shrieked aloud at the fear of falling through into the room below. hurrying forward, he disappeared down the side of the building. timokles heard the man running among the fallen stones. the footsteps grew faint, and ceased to be audible.
-timokles drew a breath of thankfulness. he crept and felt in the dark for a few, scattered dates that he had before noticed lying near the roof's edge, the fruit having fallen from a date palm and having lain there till nearly as dry as shards. but there was still nutriment left in the dates, and, having eaten nothing since morning, he gnawed the fruit.
-he could not descend by the date palm's trunk, for that was too far from the roof to be reached by him. the palm's straight trunk shot up twenty cubits above the roof's level, and, after the manner of the date palm's growth, bore no branches, such as the doum palm has.
-"how did pentaur climb?" thought timokles.
-the lad passed to the other edge, where the merchant had disappeared. here, a little lower as yet than the roof, he found a group of young doum palms, the branching stems of which variety of trees he had noticed here and there in forest-like clumps throughout the oasis. timokles found no difficulty in descending with the doum palms' help, and he reflected that perhaps food for the leopard was often brought up this way, and thrown to the creature through the roof's holes. no one had come to-day with food, because the christian had been sent to keep the leopard company!
-the village, some distance away, was quiet. scarcely had he gone a score of steps before he saw a star reflected in a spring at his feet. timokles dropped upon his knees, and with thankfulness drank of the refreshing water. how he had longed for some, as he had lain on the roof under the parching sun this day! he bathed his scratched arm, which had ceased to bleed but still felt very sore.
-carefully timokles crept over the fallen remnants of the old building. then he turned from the direction in which the village lay, and set his face toward the northern limestone hills.
-he was concealed among them when the sun rose. it would be folly for him to venture out alone upon the desert without food, even if he had water in his small skin bottle. as the morning went by, timokles saw a few desert hares, but otherwise he was alone. toward evening, being compelled to find some food, he searched the district, and found, under the stones, the nest of some wild bees. with much difficulty timokles obtained a little of the honey.
-a falling stone attracted timokles' attention. turning with quick affright, he saw a woman. there was a startled suspicion in her eyes, as she gazed at him. she held a young gazelle that had strayed away and had been the object of her search near these hills. suddenly the woman disappeared without a word.
-"let me hide speedily!" timokles warned himself.
-he ran, but shouts arose behind, and before he could conceal himself, two men came running after him. the woman's shrill cry was audible. the men came up with timokles, and laying hold of him in a manner not wholly rough but still imperative; they brought him back with them to the spot where the woman still stood.
-the three looked at him with curious yet not wholly unfriendly eyes, and timokles felt relieved on seeing that he was not recognized as any one whom they had seen before. this spot was so far from that on which the building stood where he had been given to the leopard, that the lad concluded these people had not witnessed that scene. pentaur's caravan would have left the oasis before now. probably the merchant was about to renew his journey at the time of his visit to the leopard's den.
-the woman pointed to timokles' branded cheek. taking heart from the apparent lack of real hostility in the manner of his captors, timokles asked for something to eat. he was understood, and the three, taking timokles, turned from the hills, and proceeded eastward, till, coming to a black tent near some palms, the woman went in and brought timokles some barley cakes.
-while the boy ate, the two men, still watching him, betook themselves to work. they seemed to be makers of idols. the father was carving a small wooden statuette of the god thoth. the son worked on a larger idol, the goddess apet, or thoueris, in the shape of a hippopotamus walking upright on hind feet. the idol was of green serpentine, and the mother watched with evident pride the skill with which her son worked.
-timokles moved to rise, and instantly the suspicious eyes of the young hippopotamus-sculptor flashed. the father dropped his statuette, and, fiercely springing forward, forced timokles to the ground, bound him, and went back to the carving of the ibis-head of thoth.
-beneath the hand of the younger idol-maker, the hippopotamus grew in hideous perfection. helplessly timokles watched the process. the mouth of the hippopotamus-goddess was almost shut, but the teeth of the lower jaw were visible, and it was upon their making, as well as upon that of the wide nostrils, that the young man was expending his skill. the huge ears of the goddess descended on the fore-feet, which were placed on the sides of the upright animal, as a man's arms hang by his sides when he walks, and from each of the hippopotamus' arms there descended to the level of her feet the egyptian emblem of protection, called "sa."
-as timokles looked at those emblems of protection, a new thought grew within him.
-"women will worship that hippopotamus-goddess and think themselves safe! i worship the god of heaven, and yet i am afraid! shall i not put as much trust in the delivering, protecting power of my god, as the idol-worshiper will put in this hippopotamus?"
-there came the sound of hurried footsteps, and a young girl ran by the black tent, and spoke gayly to the woman. from the resemblance of the maiden to the worker on the hippopotamus, timokles had no doubt she was his sister. but when the girl, turning her brilliant, laughing face toward timokles, first saw him, her dark eyes dilated with a look of startled horror.
-timokles knew, as well as if she had spoken, that she was one of those who had seen him dragged to the leopard's home. he looked beseechingly at her now, as she stood transfixed, the shocked expression deepening in her eyes. if she should say a word! timokles could feel himself tremble. she had thought him dead! she knew him! if she should say so!
-the silent appeal of timokles' beseeching face seemed to find its answer for the moment. the girl turned toward the work of the idol-makers. no one beside timokles had noticed her frightened gaze. now, with assumed carelessness, she watched her brother's busy fingers, yet timokles felt that her thoughts were of him. she had only to speak; to say, "this is the christian who was thrown to the leopard," and father and son would drop their work, spring upon him, drag him back all the way to the building from which he had escaped, and toss him, bound and helpless, to the leopard.
-it was not till nearly dark that the idol-makers ceased their work. having eaten dried dates and barley bread, the father and the son, first tightening timokles' thongs, went away in the direction of the far distant village. during their absence, the girl came to timokles, bringing him water and dried dates.
-"tell me, o christian," she whispered in the tongue of egypt, "art thou not he?"
-she needed not to make the question more explicit.
-"i am, o maiden," answered timokles. the girl's awe-struck eyes searched his face.
-"did thy god deliver thee?" she questioned, whispering still.
-"yea," replied timokles reverently and truly. "yea, o maiden, my god delivered me from the leopard."
-the girl looked alarmed. she drew back.
-"did he come to thee?" she asked in a terrified whisper. "o christian, no one ever before came back from the house of the leopard! o christian; i am afraid of thy god!"
-there was real terror in her voice. timokles was moved with compassion. he leaned forward, eager to explain to her the truth. what should he say?
-"he is a great god, the only god!" whispered timokles, reverently. "o maiden, he is not like an idol! he is the only god. thou canst not see him, yet he seeth and loveth thee. speak to him, and he will hear. he loveth us. he sent his son to die for our sins. for that son's sake, o maiden, he will blot out our sins, if we entreat him. o maiden, pray no more to idols! lo, i tell you of the true god!"
-he hardly knew whether she understood or not. she gazed at him as if half comprehending his words, and then the fact of his having returned from the house of the leopard seemed to overwhelm every other thought, and she murmured, "o christian, i am afraid of thy god and thee!"
-she fled back to the black tent. timokles' bound hands made but awkward work of eating. he could hear the voices of the mother and the daughter talking in the mother's tongue, but what they said he knew not. would the father or the son learn something about their captive?
-the voices hushed within the tent. the hours of sleep came on.
-the night had grown black. there were footsteps audible.
-"they have come back!" thought timokles.
-the father and the son had returned, and with them came another man. timokles heard and understood something of what was said at the tent's door in the dark.
-"if i may but see his face, i shall know whether he hath been here before," declared the new voice eagerly. "i have seen all who have come to our village."
-"thou shalt see him in the morning," impatiently answered the maker of the hippopotamus. "knowest thou not that on this day i cannot make a flame by which thou shouldest see? it is the eleventh day of tybi, concerning which it is commanded by the priests of egypt, 'approach not any flame on this day; ra is there for the purpose of destroying the wicked.'"
-"i fear no flame!" muttered the new voice discontentedly. "let me but see the stranger!"
-"there shall no flame be kindled!" burst out in wrath the superstitious father. "bide thou till morning! then shalt thou see the branded one."
-silence followed. the discontented villager did not dare say more. after a short time, the quietness of slumber seemed to envelop the black tent.
-concealed by the dark, timokles endeavored with his teeth to loosen the bonds of his wrists. after prolonged attempts, he undid one knot, and by successive wearisome trials he at length entirely released his left hand.
-timokles was near the black tent. it seemed to him that he heard the faintest stir within. but a long silence followed, and he thought he had been mistaken.
-timokles tugged at the thongs of his right hand. his arm was lame from the leopard's claws, and he could not reach the knots that held him. he struggled mightily, till at last he lay exhausted, no nearer free than before.
-"i cannot do it!" he despaired.
-he must wait for dawn, for recognition, and for death, such death as was thought meet for a christian. timokles shut his eyes, and prayed.
-"be with me, be with me, o lord!" besought timokles.
-again within the tent he conjectured there might be a faint stir.
-"my enemy cometh!" he thought.
-but there was silence. timokles waited, yet there came no sound.
-remembrances of what he had heard concerning former martyrs crowded upon him. he thought of pothinus, the ninety-years-old bishop of lyons, who, in answer to the legate's question, "who is the god of the christians?" boldly answered, "if thou art worthy, thou shalt know," and was tortured so severely that he died in prison. timokles remembered hearing of ponticus, the boy who, in the same persecution, bore all the tortures unflinchingly, though he was but fifteen years old. and blandina, the maiden, who, tortured, bleeding, mangled, still persisted in her declaration, "i am a christian! among us no wickedness is committed," came to timokles' mind. his thoughts turned to the martyr christians of four years ago at carthage, and he remembered the words of one of those christians: "we will die joyfully for christ our lord."
-timokles prayed long and fervently. his heart went back to his beloved alexandrian home. heaven would be sweet, but would his dear ones ever know the only way there? would they ever accept jesus christ as their savior?
-"o lord, help heraklas to know thee!" prayed timokles with dropping tears.
-nothing did timokles know of the roll of the book of the christians, the papyrus that had swung from the palm tree in the court at home!
-something made him turn his head. he started, for he saw, stretched out toward him from beneath the black tent, an arm. no more was visible. the black tent descended to the very ground. looking more closely, he discerned in the hand a knife. for an instant, timokles thought his enemy was upon him. but it was a small hand, and it was the handle of the knife, not its blade, that was offered to him!
-timokles stretched out his one free hand, and took the knife. the arm disappeared beneath the black tent so swiftly and so noiselessly that timokles would almost have thought that the sight of the arm had been an illusion had he not held the knife in his left hand. he remembered the girl's words, "o christian, i am afraid of thy god and thee!"
-"would that i might have told her more of him!" wished the young egyptian, as he awkwardly cut at his bonds with the knife.
-he was free again! he crept softly away after pushing the knife's handle back under the edge of the black tent. he felt that in the secrecy of the tent one listened who knew he was free.
-"thou didst put it into her heart to save me!" whispered timokles with a reverent look at the sky.
-he knew that as soon as his escape should be discovered there would be instant pursuit, therefore he sought to travel as swiftly as possible.
-athribis the slave bent lower--lower yet. what was this that he saw? he was on the roof of the house in alexandria. through an open space beside the wind-sail next to him, he could look into a small room below.
-in that room, his master heraklas knelt and carefully drew a brick from its place in the wall. putting his hand into some hole that seemed to be behind the bricks, heraklas produced a roll of papyrus. he glanced stealthily around, and, kneeling still, unrolled the writing, and read in eager haste, one hand on the brick, ready at the sound of any coming footsteps to thrust the papyrus quickly into the wall again. it was a thing well pleasing to the treacherous soul of athribis that he should have discovered some secret of his master.
-"what is the writing, that he hideth it there?" the slave questioned himself.
-heraklas continued to read. stretched on his perch, and straining his neck to look, athribis deemed the time long. his prying eyes noted carefully the distance of the loose brick from the floor. athribis did not recognize the papyrus as one that he had seen before. the sight of any papyrus, however, had been distasteful to him since the night of his adventure on the roof, but he thought the papyri of that escapade safely burned long ago. he knew that heraklas' mother had ordered those destroyed that were found on the roof. athribis supposed the one also burnt that had fallen into the court. what else should have become of it? no suspicion concerning it had crossed his mind till now.
-"oh, that i could see what he readeth!" wished athribis vainly. "what meaneth that large sign? is it the 'tau'?"
-heraklas farther unrolled the papyrus, and the mark of the cross that had caught athribis' eye and had interested him, vanished. the mark seemed to the slave like the egyptian "tau" or sign of life; used afterwards, curiously enough, by the christians of europe as a prefix to inscriptions. numbers of inscriptions headed by the tau have remained even to the present time, in early christian sepulchres in the great oasis.
-"if that were the tau, there may be no harm in the writing," thought athribis sullenly. "yet why hideth he here?"
-the supposed sign of the tau rolled in sight again, as heraklas shifted the papyrus.
-heraklas had discovered the papyrus when it hung from the palm in the court. seeing the character of the writing, he had kept the roll for secret perusal. he conjectured that the thief, supposed to have been on the roof, might have dropped the roll. during the three months that had elapsed since heraklas found the papyrus hanging from the palm, he had come often to this secret hiding-place. he knew his mother would destroy the christians' book, if she saw it. he knew the servants were not to be trusted in the matter.
-frequently, during the first month, he had thought that he would destroy the papyrus, and, as often, he had deferred doing so, so much was he always drawn back to reading it. at the end of the second month, heraklas read with even more eagerness than at first. here was something that even the maxims of ptah-hotep had not attained. never had heraklas seen such a book as this gospel of john. its words followed him when he was not reading. why should the words of jesus of nazareth cling to one's memory with so persistent a force? was it true that "never man spake as this man"?
-even when heraklas passed outside the city streets, and walked the northern cliffs beside the sea, he was constrained to remember that it was along these craggy places that, men said, a century and a half ago, mark, the first christian apostle to alexandria, had been dragged by cords, at the time of the feast of the god serapis. then, tradition said, there had arisen a dreadful tempest of hail and lightning, that destroyed the murderous heathen.
-was the christian god greater than serapis, the great deity of egypt?
-such thinking sent heraklas back again to study the papyrus of john's gospel. and now athribis wearied, waiting for heraklas' reading to end.
-suddenly heraklas, attracted perhaps by the silent force that lies in a human gaze; lifted his head from his reading, and glanced upward. athribis had not time to start aside. the eyes of the two met in a long, piercing gaze! heraklas sprang to his feet. the papyrus fell, on the loose brick beside him.
-athribis' head vanished instantly, and heraklas, snatching the papyrus, wound it closely, and thrust it into his garments.
-he hastily replaced the loose brick. no safe place for the papyrus would the hole be, hereafter.
-when he met athribis afterwards in a corridor, heraklas felt his heart beat more quickly against the hidden roll. but the lad was stern in outward semblance.
-"athribis!" he said.
-the slave bent before the lad.
-"how wast thou where i saw thee?" demanded heraklas.
-"i was attending to the salted quail. thou knowest they are drying on the roof," explained athribis, meekly.
-heraklas felt compelled to accept the excuse. there were quail drying, according to the custom of lower egypt.
-"but what was it that i read in his face, as he looked down at me?" heraklas asked himself.
-thenceforward, unspoken, yet felt as surely as though expressed, there existed in heraklas' mind a constant suspicion of athribis.
-heraklas carried the papyrus roll with him, day and night. well did he know the danger, but he said to himself that he would not be dictated to by a servant. that was the ostensible reason he gave himself for not immediately burning the roll. in reality, he knew that the words of the christians' book had pierced his soul. he dared not burn the book. he stood before its searching words a convicted sinner.
-the suspicion of veiled surveillance that haunted heraklas made him cautious of reading his, papyrus at home. he sought places, to read it abroad. hidden among the crags beside the sea, or in the vines on the banks of lake mareotis, heraklas read, and waged the soul-struggle that had risen within him.
-one day heraklas had hidden himself among the northern crags beside the great sea. his eyes were bent upon his roll. he had been reading john's record of the conversation between christ and the man who was born blind.
-"jesus said unto him, dost thou believe on the son of god?"
-the man whose eyes christ had opened, answered and said, "who is he, lord, that i might believe on him?"
-"dost thou believe on the son of god?"
-it seemed to heraklas that there came to him, also, christ's solemn question. with awe-struck lips, heraklas whispered, out of a heart that craved its answer, "who is he, lord, that i might believe on him?"
-heraklas bent above his roll. the answer of the lord was there. "it is he that talketh with thee."
-the lad dropped his papyrus, and covered his face. he bowed in awe. for a long time he knelt there, pouring out his soul in prayer--but not to egypt's gods. and that which is written of the blind man was fulfilled in heraklas, also--"and he said, lord, i believe. and he worshiped him."
-when heraklas rose from his knees, the sun was high in mid-heaven. it was the time at home when his mother would burn myrrh to the sun. but no prayer to re or hymn to horus escaped heraklas' lips. how should he, who rejoiced in the knowledge of sins forgiven, pray more to false gods?
-a holy awe and a great joy wrapped his soul. the burden of sin that had oppressed him, the hopeless burden which had not ceased to cause heraklas misery even when he made offerings to isis and poured forth prayers to serapis, was gone, gone at the touch of jesus.
-plucking from his girdle his carnelian buckle, that signified to an egyptian the blood of isis, said to wash away the sins of the wearer, heraklas leaned forward, and flung the rosy ornament far into the white foam of the waves below. he could not wear that heathen sign, even though his mother had given the ornament to him.
-"o isis," murmured heraklas, as he lost sight of the carnelian buckle within the waves, "i care not for thy blood! i know whose blood hath washed away my stain."
-with reverent rejoicing, he concealed his papyrus and turned homeward.
-he passed into the great city. a woman was worshiping before a statue of the god chonsu, the moon. heraklas went by quickly, making no sign of reverence. glancing back, he saw the woman gazing after him.
-a little farther on stood a statue of anubis. other men, as they passed, gave homage, but heraklas did not turn his head toward the idol. he noted, in the stalls and in the shops, the altars and little idols. when he next went to purchase anything, must he do reverence? heraklas met a beggar and dropped a coin into his hand.
-"isis and osiris bless thee!" wished the suppliant.
-heraklas' lips parted to answer. should he, who had been blessed of the lord, seem to accept the blessing of idols? but the beggar turned to another giver, and heraklas hurried on his way.
-before he could reach home, a sacred procession came in sight. already heraklas could plainly see the leopard-skin that fitted over the linen robes of the egyptian high priest who was coming. twelve or sixteen inferior priests walked beside the superior one. the high priest's lock of hair, pendant on one side of his head, became more and more plain to heraklas with every step of the procession.
-"they carry the shrine of the sacred beetle of the sun," suspected heraklas. "i cannot meet them!"
-he turned, and dashed down the first opening that presented itself. the passage led him utterly out of his way.
-"but better so," meditated heraklas, "than that i should have met that skin-dressed priest!"
-he stopped an instant. his circuitous way had led him in sight of a spot where he had once seen the christian woman, marcella, and her daughter potamiaena, passing on their way to martyrdom. how awful a form of martyrdom was it that alexandria visited upon that beautiful christian daughter! gradually, hot, scalding pitch was poured over her body, in order that she might endure the utmost torture possible.
-heraklas looked around him at the proud, beautiful city.
-"o alexandria, alexandria!" he whispered, "in thee is found the blood of the saints!"
-for a moment the thought of such a death, as a christian's punishment, overcame him. yet he remembered that it was through potamiaena's martyrdom that the soldier, basilides, was led to become a christian also. he refused to take a pagan oath, and was brought to martyrdom.
-when heraklas reached home, he was trembling. his short journey had been freighted with silent meaning.
-two men passed out of the gate of the sun, the northern gate of alexandria, and came to the docks that bordered the great port. the gaze of one man wandered from the promontory of locrias on the east to the isle of pharos on the north, and followed back the dyke that connected that island with the docks and marked the division between the great port and alexandria's other harbor, the port of eunostus.
-"when that ship saileth," remarked the man, indicating a large vessel moored in the great port, "some christians go as ballast!"
-"how knowest thou?" asked the other.
-the former speaker smiled.
-"thou didst not see a little procession that came through the gate of necropolis last evening," he conjectured. "some christians brought in from the desert. this ship carrieth them to rome, to the lions of the arena."
-an unbelieving spirit looked from the other man's eyes.
-"when the christians see that ship waiting for them, they will recant," he prophesied. "a man doth not readily take shipping for the port of a lion's mouth!"
-a slave passed so near as almost to brush the speaker's apparel, yet the man paid no heed.
-but athribis had heard. for what else but to hear had he this morning stolen down to the docks? he knew of the little company of christians that had been brought captive to alexandria, for a slave belonging to another household had told athribis secretly, "he who was once thy young master--the christian, timokles--hath been brought in from the desert and goeth on the ship!"
-in his heart athribis made answer, "the ship needeth another passenger--my young master, the christian, heraklas!"
-but, as yet, athribis hardly dared say so, for he had no certain proof to bring of heraklas' christianity. if only he could find decisive proof, and bring it before the authorities, what a reward he might hope to have given him!
-yet never, from the day when heraklas spied athribis watching the reading of the roll, had the slave, with all his contriving, been able again to catch sight of the papyrus. it was no longer kept in its secret hole behind the bricks. athribis had looked.
-where else had he not looked? he had hunted the house through as thoroughly as he had been able, snatching a hasty opportunity here and there. if only he could lay hands on that very papyrus! if he could have time to show it to somebody who could read! deeply had athribis regretted that he had not been more cautious in his first spying. but now, what hope was there? athribis had set some of the other slaves of the house to watch, but they had discovered nothing save the old papyri that bad been in the house for years. some of the slaves could read, and they were sure this was so.
-out on the docks, athribis stared now at the large mast of the ship, and at the ship's painted eye, and at the sculptured figure of the goddess isis on the visible side of the ship's bow, both eye and figure, as athribis knew, being duplicated on the bow's other side. a small boat belonging to the large ship lay floating in the water, but connected with the ship by a rope.
-athribis dared not tarry longer. he hastened home again.
-closer than ever, as he went his morning round of duties, did athribis watch, but heraklas was invisible.
-"he is not at home. he went away three hours ago," cautiously signaled the slave of the threshold to athribis.
-the slave of the threshold, like athribis, hated christians. there was a secret agreement between the two men that if athribis ever should gain any reward for betraying heraklas to the authorities, the reward should be evenly divided. half should belong to the slave of the threshold, in consideration of his having been apparently asleep at times when athribis went out without permission.
-the hours went by and heraklas did not come, to be spied upon.
-that morning, heraklas had gone out to seek some christians whom he knew. two weeks ago he had sought them for the first time to tell them that he wished to join their number. greatly had he and they rejoiced together.
-"witness a good confession, as did thy brother timokles," an old man admonished heraklas.
-almost daily, since then, heraklas had sought some christian who taught him more perfectly the way of the lord.
-today, as heraklas sat in a house, secretly studying another portion of the book than was written on his own papyrus, a christian woman came hastily to him, and told him the tidings concerning his brother.
-"he hath assuredly come!" affirmed the woman. "vitruvius saw him carried to the ship with other christians!"
-the before eagerly-read papyrus dropped from heraklas' hand. he grew weak and faint. the woman looked at him pityingly.
-a wild impulse seized heraklas. he rushed from the house to the street. his brother, his timokles, back again! back from the desert! back in his city-home of alexandria! and not to be allowed to draw one free breath, to come back to the house, to see cocce, to see him, heraklas! what could be done! what could be done! to be taken to rome to meet the lions!
-two days! one of the days partly gone already! timokles would go away never to return, surely, this time.
-"i also am a christian!" cried heraklas aloud.
-only the swaying of the water against the dock answered him. he sprang up and walked out on the dyke that stretched toward the isle of pharos. opposite him, the ship showed still more plainly than from the docks. heraklas made out the prayer inscribed on the vessel: "do thou, o isis, preserve in safety this ship over the blue waves."
-heraklas walked the dyke till the burning sun of noon forced him to find shelter. he went back to his hiding place at the docks. he watched and waited through the long hours.
-at length the day departed. when the darkness covered the surface of the harbor, heraklas rose and girt about him the ample dress he wore, of fine linen, that descended to his feet.
-in the dark, he began to climb the rope with trembling fingers. now he hung by the side of the ship, and now, one hand above another, he drew himself higher, higher, till he grasped the ship's side. he struggled over it, and dropped down on board in the darkness. he waited. no one came. he heard sounds of men that laughed and talked loudly.
-he crept a little distance. a rope dangled in his face. he found himself under the aperture where the buckets for bailing were worked. after long and careful groping, heraklas concealed himself in the vessel's hold, and waited. he suspected that the christians were in the hold, but he was afraid to search far.
-"it is some wild animal that is to be taken to rome," suspected heraklas, not without a little uneasiness at his own proximity to the beast.
-it was likely that the creature was well secured, yet the lad crept farther away. he could hear the sound of feet above him and the laughter of men who, no doubt, were drinking on this almost their last night in port.
-a sound came from another portion of the hold, and heraklas listened, trying to discover whether the living being in that direction were a beast or a person. while he listened, a faint light began to shine in the hold. there descended softly into the hold two men, one bearing a light. heraklas drew back farther into the darkness. the men passed on, their light held so that heraklas did not see their faces. but the hasty glimpse that the lad had of his surroundings told him that the beast he had crept away from was a lion that was securely caged in one portion of the hold.
-softly the two men proceeded toward the direction from which heraklas had heard sounds. stealthily heraklas rose. he surmised where the two men were going. he wished, yet hardly dared, to follow.
-the light swung one side. one man turned to speak to the other, and the light fell full on the speaker's face.
-heraklas leaped softly forward, and followed without hesitation. for the face he had seen was the face of athribis!
-there were eight of the christians. heraklas, peering from a distance behind, saw the light held high, as the men paused beside the christians. absolutely exhausted, most of them, by the forced march of the desert, and by the lack of enough food, they were asleep, and heraklas noted with a great pity their gaunt faces.
-athribis bent eagerly forward, scanning one worn countenance after another.
-"hold the light this way--more this side--here!" he said.
-athribis laid his hand on one sleeper's shoulder, and turned him, slightly.
-"this is he!" joyfully exclaimed athribis. "this is he! i had feared he was not among these, after all. this is he! i would know him anywhere! i never saw that brand, though. that is what made him look differently to me at first. but this is he! this is he!"
-"cease thy prating!" warned his companion, fearfully. "if the men of this ship were not so drunk, thou wouldest have little time to talk! thinkest thou i care nothing for my head? hasten! wake him, if thou wilt, but hasten! thinkest thou the petty coin thou gavest me will pay me for my head? hasten! they think i am guarding these prisoners safely."
-"small time wilt thou spend guarding them, if thou knowest where aught is to drink!" responded athribis sarcastically. "how much hast thou drank today?"
-the wearied timokles slumbered on, regardless of the light and talking.
-back in the dark, heraklas clasped his hands. a mighty sob rose in his throat. the christian was indeed timokles! how worn he was! and that brand upon his cheek!
-athribis bent forward. timokles' eyes were opening.
-"athribis!" exclaimed timokles faintly, as, after a prolonged gaze, he recognized the slave.
-"ah, my christian master! my christian master!" jeered athribis, "i see you once again. my christian master!"
-the hands of the unseen heraklas clinched at that tone.
-timokles looked around, bewildered. a quiver passed over his lips. athribis reminded him of home.
-"is my mother here?" asked timokles. a sorrow deeper than tears looked from his eyes.
-athribis smiled. "thy mother!" he said.
-the tone was a sufficient answer. timokles' eyes fell.
-"camest thou from her to me on that errand?" asked timokles calmly.
-athribis laughed, and turned to go.
-"farewell, my christian master! farewell!" said the slave, mockingly.
-there was an instant's silence. the great lion sighed from his cage.
-then answered timokles' low voice, "o athribis, may my god become thine, also!"
-a laugh came, as the slave's reply. athribis and his conductor went away. the light faded from the hold.
-heraklas crept near the christians.
-"timokles!" he whispered. "timokles! o timokles, my brother!"
-from the bound christians came no answer to heraklas' cry, though there was a startled movement among them.
-"o my brother! my brother!" murmured heraklas, the tears running down his face in the dark, "i am heraklas! i, too, am a christian!"
-"heraklas!" cried timokles, "heraklas! how camest thou hither?"
-"peace!" whispered heraklas in terror. "thou wilt be heard!"
-heraklas cast his arms about his brother and clung to him.
-"how art thou bound, my timokles?" asked heraklas, when they had embraced and wept together.
-"my feet are bound with naught but cords, but a chain about my body fasteneth me to a hook in the wall," answered timokles. "thou canst not release me, my brother! flee, while thou canst!"
-"nay, but i will try," whispered heraklas resolutely.
-he drew his knife from his girdle, and feeling of the cords that bound his brother's ankles, cut the knots. timokles sighed with relief, as he moved his cramped feet. the feet of two of the other christians were bound with thongs, and these heraklas cut also, but the other five christians were bound hand and foot with chains, and for them heraklas' knife could not avail. timokles and the other two had been considered weaker in body, or else the persons who secured the christians had been in haste to join the reveling of the mariners, and had thought cords strong enough. yet what availed it that the feet of any of the christians were free, if their bodies were securely bound?
-"thou hast done all thou canst, heraklas," whispered timokles. "go now, my brother. o my heraklas, i rejoice thou art a christian! go! we shall meet again in the kingdom of our god!"
-"i will never leave thee," answered heraklas, firmly. "the men are drinking themselves senseless. i will try what i can do."
-he felt the wall till he found that timokles' chain was held, not by a hook, but a staple. it was only after long labor with his knife around this staple that it shook a little in its hold on the wall. then heraklas seized the staple, and swung his whole weight upon it, and dug his knife into the wall like a madman. he worked with perspiration standing on his forehead, his breath coming in pants. furiously, with all his strength, he dug and pulled till the staple yielded, and he fell down among the prisoners. but the drunken men on deck did not hear.
-heraklas labored on, till at last he threw his arms about his brother.
-"stand up, my timokles," he begged. "see if thou art not free!"
-timokles arose. nothing hindered him.
-"o heraklas!" he whispered, trembling with excitement.
-"sit down again and rest, till i help our brethren, also," whispered his brother.
-but though heraklas toiled with all his remaining strength, he succeeded in releasing but one other christian.
-"leave us," urged the others.
-"o my brethren," answered heraklas with a sob, "would that i could save you!"
-but the six christians answered steadily, "why weepest thou, brother? we but go to our father's house before thee."
-then he whose feet heraklas had released, thanked him most heartily, and all said farewell.
-by this time it was long past midnight. that timokles or the third christian, whose name was philo, should enter the city was not to be thought of, since they would be recognized and retaken. after consultation it was agreed that timokles and philo should proceed along the edge of the sea in an easterly direction and hide themselves at a point agreed upon, on the coast, a distance from the city. heraklas was to enter into alexandria at the earliest dawn and was, if possible, to send a message to his mother. he was to obtain an amount of food, such as he could carry without exciting suspicion, and was to met his brother and philo at the appointed place on the sea-shore. then they were to flee.
-heraklas went with the others a little way. it seemed as if he could not part from timokles. who knew if they should ever meet again?
-in the house where heraklas' mother dwelt, a receiving-room for visitors looked upon the court, but a row of columns led inward to a private sitting-room, which, after the manner of the egyptians, stood isolated in one of the passages. in this isolated room, the mother sat on a stool of ebony, inlaid with ivory. beside her lay a papyrus on which was written part of the sacred book of the christians. the face of the proud woman was hidden in her hands.
-before her stood a messenger who had brought her the following writing from heraklas:
-"o my mother, forgive thy son! i have found timokles! he is weak; nigh, i fear, to death. o my mother, i also am a christian: read, i pray thee, the papyrus i send. it is part of the christians' book. we flee, with other christians, from alexandria, today. farewell."
-the mother lifted her face, and her cry rang through the room, "o my sons, my sons!"
-she had execrated timokles at times when she had spoken of him before heraklas, and he had thought that the execration came from her heart. but she had longed, with pain unspeakable, to see timokles once more. and now, when she knew that he had been in alexandria, that he needed a mother's care, that heraklas, also, had owned allegiance to the christians' god--when she thought of christians burned, beheaded, given to wild beasts--when she realized that perhaps she should never see again the face of timokles or heraklas, the heart of the mother broke within her, and she wailed, "o my sons! my sons!"
-"hush!" warned the messenger, quickly. "thy slaves will hear thee!"
-the mother seized the messenger's arm.
-"tell me where my sons are," she begged. "i will go to them!"
-the messenger looked piercingly at her. he, a christian, had risked much to bring her this message. dare he trust this woman, known to be a devout worshiper of egypt's gods? would she not betray the fleeing christians?
-"what is it, my mother?" he asked gently.--see page 37.
-"tell me where my sons are!" besought the mother with tears. "oh, tell me! i cannot lose them! what is my home to me without them? i will not betray any christian! only tell me; and let me see my sons again!"
-then the messenger saw in the mother's eyes that she spoke truthfully, but he said, "how can i trust thee?"
-"i swear by isis!" implored the mother.
-"nay," returned, the messenger gravely, "it is not meet that a christian should bind any one by a heathen oath."
-the mother cried out, and besought him, declaring that she would depart from alexandria, if her sons could not dwell there.
-"they cannot, except they risk death," stated the messenger "thou knowest timokles' life is forfeit. knowest thou not how many christians have fled, and what torments christians who have been brought here from all egypt have suffered? wouldst thou thy two sons should suffer in like manner?"
-"i will go into exile with them," answered the woman.
-"how wilt thou leave this, thy beautiful home?" asked the messenger.
-"i will leave it in the care of my kinsmen," she replied.
-"it may never be thine again," warned the messenger.
-"hear me, o christian!", cried the mother passionately "i know not the christians' god, but the emperor severus shall not take away my sons! i care not if he takes my home!"
-"come then with us," answered the messenger. "i trust thee! may the christian's god cause thee to know him!"
-that day there passed through alexandria's streets a chariot drawn by two mules. seated in the chariot a lady and a child rode in state. the charioteer was only a small lad.
-out of the city by the eastern gate, as they had passed so many times before, cocce and her mother rode. who would hinder so devout worshipers of the gods from taking a pleasure drive? alexandria knew nothing yet of heraklas' defection.
-when alexandria was some distance behind, the lady spoke.
-"stop the chariot," she commanded.
-the young lad obeyed. the woman and child descended to the road.
-"i would walk," said the woman. "drive thou home again, and say thou naught. see, here is something for thee."
-she gave him some money.
-the lad did as he was bidden. the mother of heraklas had known whom to choose for her charioteer this day.
-the chariot receded. it passed out of sight. a distance away from the road, a man rose and beckoned. it was the messenger of the morning, disguised, as a beggar.
-they went northerly toward the sea. the mother's straining eyes looked ever forward. how if the christians had been discovered! how long the way was!
-a faintness seized upon her as they neared the sea. what if her sons were not there? she hurried forward.
-the sea splashed on the rocks at her feet. the salt splay blew in her face. they were not here! they were not here!
-out of the recesses of the rocks, some forms arose, and heraklas, as in a dream, saw his mother, his proud mother--she who had burned incense to the sun, she who had once held the sacred sistrum in amun's temple, she who had taught him to worship isis, and osiris, and horus, and the river nile--his mother throw her arms about timokles, and kiss his scarred cheek, and sob on the young christian's neck, "o my son, i have missed thee so! i have missed thee so!"
-some ten months later, on the desolate, uninhabited western shore of what the hebrews called "yam suph, the sea of weeds," known now as the red sea, in the country spoken of by the romans as part of ethiopia, now named nubia, a little company of christians made ready their evening meal.
-down on the shore a little girl sang. her voice rose exultantly in a hymn of the early christians:
-"blessed art thou, o lord; teach me thy judgments.
-"o lord, thou hast been a refuge for us from generation to generation.
-"thou, o lord, have mercy upon us.
-"thou hast healed my soul in that i have sinned against thee."
-"o lord, to thee i flee for refuge. teach me to do thy will because thou art my god; because thou art the fountain of life in thy light shall we see light. extend thy mercy to them that know thee."
-timokles went toward the shore to call cocce. as he returned, he saw his mother standing a little apart from the other christians and gazing toward the northwest, in the direction of egypt, as she had often gazed since the christians took refuge here.
-"she misseth her home," thought the young man sadly. "it is but a rough abiding-place here for her. and yet severus hath not found us. i would that she had come here for the love of christ, and not for love of her two sons, only! then she would feel, as the others of us do, that there is no one who hath left house or lands for our lord's sake, but receiveth a hundred-fold in this life, and in the world to come life everlasting. oh, i would that my mother might know how near our lord can be, even in this desert!"
-his mother had ceased to speak of egypt's gods. she had even read somewhat in the christians' book. but to timokles she seemed no nearer to accepting christ than when she was in alexandria. how little we know of the heart-experiences of those persons nearest to us!
-timokles drew nearer. his mother heard his step, and turned toward him, but in place of the homesick longing he had expected to see in her eyes, there was a look that thrilled his soul.
-"what is it, my mother?" he asked, gently.
-"timokles," she answered softly, "i was thinking but now of alexandria and of our dear home there. timokles, if god had not driven me into the desert, would i ever have found him?"
-timokles trembled with exceeding joy. could she be speaking of the real god, not of egypt's idols?
-"hast thou found him--the christian's god--my mother?" he asked tremulously.
-a holy awe looked from his mother's face.
-"did not his son say, 'him that cometh to me i will in no wise cast out'?" she answered. "i have come to him, timokles--even i, the former worshiper of isis--and he hath not cast me out."
-"o my mother!" murmured timokles, overcome by the glad tidings. "what more can i ask of him than this!"
-the sun sank, and heraklas raised for the little company the evening hymn of the early church. his mother's voice rose clear and sweet, as all sang:
-"children, praise the lord, praise ye the name of the lord. we praise thee, we hymn thee, we bless thee, because of the greatness of thy glory. o lord the king, the father of christ, of the spotless lamb who taketh away the sin of the world, to thee belongeth praise, to thee belongeth song, to thee belongeth glory, to the god and father, through the son, in the spirit, to the most holy, unto ages of ages. amen."
-however long their exile might be, whatever privations they might suffer in this desert place, the little company could sing their praises with gratitude, for now not one voice of their number would be silent. here they would abide, telling of christ to every heathen wanderer whom they could seek out in these wilds. and if it should please god that henceforth egypt might never hold a home for them, yet they could dwell in the deserts beyond rome's dominion, knowing that he who when on earth had no place to lay his head would be with them. he had delivered the last one of the little company from the snare of false gods.
-the squash of the esvidos.
-black dog slipped through a swinging gate and miss elizabeth followed him into an olive, orchard of small dimensions. the family to whom the black dog belonged was there. the father, bernardo esvido, stood on a step-ladder, picking black olives into a bucket half filled with water, the bucket being fastened to mr. esvido's waist so that he might use both hands, while the water in the bucket prevented the ripe olives from being bruised. he who picks ripe olives into a hard bucket knows not his business.
-beneath another olive tree sat the mother, the daughter, and the son, washing olives in a water-trough. the small black dog raised his voice, and did his best to inform the esvidos that a stranger eyed their olive-washing.
-"you like buy biblia sagrada?" (holy bible) questioned miss elizabeth. "it is all portuguese."
-the red book was passed to the mother, who shook olive-leaves and dust from her hands, and took up the bible. she had dimly known that there was such a book. she remembered hearing of the biblia sagrada years ago, when she was a girl in lisbon, long before she came to california; but none of her acquaintances had such a book, and she had never before to-day seen a portuguese bible.
-but at last the book was handed back to miss elizabeth.
-"no money," carelessly explained mr. esvido.
-the oil-maker who bought the crops of the local olive-growers had not yet paid for the olives. even ten cents was not in mr. esvido's pocket, just now.
-miss elizabeth looked around. neither mr. nor mrs. esvido seemed very anxious about the bible, but miss elizabeth felt anxious for them. a woman who could read portuguese ought to have a bible, and she ought to pay something for it in order to interest her in it thoroughly. miss elizabeth's eyes spied a yellow squash. she did not want it, but it would be payment.
-"you give me squash, i give you biblia sagrada," she proposed.
-"how you take it?" asked mr. esvido, smiling.
-miss elizabeth opened her hands with a gesture that showed she meant to carry the squash, hidden as much as possible under her short cape.
-"we make trade," agreed mr. esvido; and miss elizabeth, leaving the bible, bore the big squash away.
-but miss elizabeth's yellow burden became very heavy before she had gone far on the long country road. she found at last a wandering piece of newspaper, which she wrapped over as much of the vegetable as possible. the rest her cape covered, and then she marched on toward the far wires of the electric car-line that had brought her into the country. so vanished the squash of the esvidos from their eyes.
-meantime the portuguese mother read aloud from the bible. the daughter, delpha, listened, while gently rubbing the black olives in the water-trough. she knew of christ, yet the words of the biblia sagrada were unknown.
-after this, mrs. esvido read the book much in the evenings. delpha and mr. esvido listened, the father listening more because just now he had not his pipe for company. the american who bought the olives declared that no one who picked olives for him must smoke during olive harvest! all his workmen, even when off duty, must refrain from smoking, for the tobacco odor clung to clothing. the olives would absorb tobacco smoke. the oil would be spoiled. mr. esvido grumbled much, but obeyed. there was a warning in the fate of the neighbor, antone ramos, who in last year's olive season had thought one evening to smoke a pipeful of tobacco secretly, and lo! the american, ever watchful, came to antone ramos' house that very night, and the tobacco smoke was perceptible! antone ramos was discharged!
-therefore, during this year's olive harvest, mr. esvido, with a cautious respect for the american's preternaturally, acute perception concerning tobacco, refrained from smoking, and found solace in listening with delpha to mrs. esvido's evening readings from the biblia sagrada. it seemed marvelous to mr. esvido that his wife could read. the marvel of it had never lessened for him, and one night he said proudly, "we make good bargain when we give squash for biblia sagrada! biblia sagrada ver' good book."
-one day mrs. esvido read something that startled delpha. site could hardly believe it possible that her mother hid read aright.
-the words in the portuguese language were these: "amai a vossos inimigos, fazei bem aos que vos tem odio." (love your enemies; do good to them that hate you.)
-alas! delpha knew whom that meant.
-there had long been a deep-seated quarrel between her and sara frates. thinking of this bitter animosity, delpha felt keenly the command, "fazei bem aos que vos tem odio."
-olive harvest went on. the esvido olives were gathered. then delpha and sara and others went to work in the american's costly olive-oil mill, scalding the mill-stones and the crushing troughs daily, sweeping the scraps of olive skins from the floors, and scalding the floors to keep every odor away from the precious olive oil. before beginning this season, the walls of the building had been given a coat of whitewash, and now a wood fire must not be lit anywhere near the premises, for the precious olive oil might take a smoky taste.
-it was therefore with great wrath that delpha, who was careful to obey rules, found one day, in a crushing trough under her supervision, some scattered little pieces of iron. now iron must never be allowed to come in contact with olive juice. the tannic acid in the olive juice acts very rapidly on the iron, producing a kind of ink, that turns the oil black and almost ruins it. the american's crushing troughs and weights were of granite. delpha was sure sara had scattered the pieces of iron in the crushing trough on purpose to bring delpha into trouble.
-"i do something to her!" resolved delpha fiercely. "i pay her for this!"
-then she remembered, "fazei bem aos que vos tem odio." (do good to them that hate you.) to sara's amazement, delpha did not retaliate. sara could not understand why.
-toward the end of the olive season, the american went away for a day. during the noon rest, delpha, sitting in a side door, thought she caught the odor of smoke. no wood fire was allowed around the oil-mill! delpha went out to investigate.
-she saw a film of smoke rising from a gulch. delpha discovered that some of the young mill-workers' friends had caught some fish in the bay sparkling in the distance, and had brought them this way going home. the american being absent, the young mill-workers and their friends had made a fire in the gulch, and were merrily broiling fish. sara was there, disobeying rules with the others.
-delpha ran back to the oil-mill. she hoped the fire's smoke would not injure the oil. she was troubled as she dropped in the door. but she could do nothing.
-"delpha! delpha!" she screamed, "delpha, help me!" she seemed crazed with fright.
-did a voice say it to delpha? she snatched a great canvas bag used for olive-picking, and a shawl. she ran to sara. she breathlessly tore at the blazing garments, rolling sara in the shawl and canvas bag. blackened, sobbing, sara lay at length safe on the ground. delpha ran for water and olive oil.
-as delpha gently spread some olive oil on the burns, sara flung her arms about delpha's neck.
-"amiga!" (friend) she sobbed, and the enmity between the girls was over.
-miles away, miss elizabeth one day said to herself, "i don't believe we can ever use that squash i brought home from those portuguese! but anyhow the squash made that portuguese woman feel that she paid for the bible! i hope she reads it, poor soul!"
-but miss elizabeth did not know the whole story of the squash of the esvidos, or of the message that the biblia had brought to delpha's heart.
-the verse martin read.
-martin put his bare feet down through the thick dust of the country road. it was warm summer, and he was used to going barefoot, even to sunday-school, from which he was now returning. over the hot, dry grass of the fields there swayed at frequent intervals the heads of california wild oats. one such stem grew near the road, and martin, with a quick sweep of his hand, pulled off the wild oat heads and went on through the dusty road, scattering the oats as he walked. martin was thinking.
-"teacher doesn't know how 'tis," he said. "i have to carry 'round milk mornings and nights, and i have to go down to the barn to hunt eggs, and i have to help pa about the stage horses, and sometimes i have to ride the horses back to be shod, and i have to walk a mile to day-school and back, and learn my lessons, and i'd like to know how teacher thinks i've got much time to read the bible some every day. there's lots of days i don't believe pa reads any in the bible. he's too busy driving the stage and 'tending to the horses. and ma doesn't read it, because she has to cook for the teamster boarders. it's a real pretty book teacher's given me, though."
-martin felt inside his jacket, and brought out a little new testament. it was only a ten-cent testament, for miss bruce, his sunday-school teacher, did not have money enough to buy bibles for her class of thirteen boys. she had felt that she must do something, however, for the boys were destitute of bibles of their own.
-the best she could do was to buy small testaments with red covers, and she had cut a piece of bright red, inch-wide ribbon into thirteen lengths, had raveled out the ends so as to make fringe, and had put a piece of this fringed ribbon into each boy's new testament for a book-mark. the boys thought a great deal of the pieces of ribbon, they were so bright and pretty. miss bruce had written some special little message to each boy in the front of his testament. the general purport of each message was that the book was given with the teacher's prayer that the boy might learn to love the bible and might become a real christian. some of the boys let the others read what was written in the testaments, and some boys did not.
-miss bruce had given them the testaments to-day, and had said that she hoped each boy would read a little, daily, in his testament, even if it were only two or three verses.
-"i wonder if teacher'll ask me next sunday whether i've read any?" martin questioned himself now, as he admiringly eyed his piece of red ribbon. "it'll be a shame if i have to tell her, the first sunday, that i've forgot it! i'd better read one verse now, so i can say i read that, anyway, if i forget the rest of the week."
-martin sat down beside the road. he was not a very good reader. this was the first piece of the bible martin had ever owned. there was an old, unused family bible at home. a red testament, was much more attractive to martin.
-"where'll i read?" martin asked himself now. "i want an easy verse. some of them look too hard."
-he began and dropped several verses, because of their difficulty. finally he settled on one, because of its shortness. he read its seven words haltingly but carefully.
-"'l-e-s-t'--i don't know that word--'c-o-m-i-n-g'--coming--'s-u-d-d-e-n-l-y--he find you s-l-e-e-p-i-n-g.' 'lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping.'"
-of the connection of the verse, and its spiritual significance, martin knew nothing. the word "l-e-s-t" puzzled him. he would ask somebody about it.
-when he helped his father with the horses at the barn that evening, martin questioned his father about the word "l-e-s-t."
-"haven't you spelled it wrong?" asked his father. "i guess it's 'l-e-a-s-t'--'least'--smallest."
-"it's in my new red book," answered martin, perching on the watering trough. "i'll find the place."
-martin did not know much about new testament books or chapters, but he knew that verse was on the eighty-second page. martin had noted the little numbers at the bottom of the pages.
-"here 'tis!" triumphantly exclaimed martin.
-his father took the book. martin's eager finger pointed to the verse.
-"lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping."
-the words faced the stage-driver. well did he know their meaning. years ago in his mother's home he had been taught from the bible. his eyes now ran over the preceding verses. he caught parts of them. "the son of man is as a man taking a far journey." "watch ye therefore." "ye know not when the master of the house cometh." "lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping."
-"don't you know what 'l-e-s-t' means?" asked martin, eager for the explanation.
-"oh--why, yes," responded his father. "it means 'for fear' he should come suddenly."
-"who?" asked martin.
-"the lord," returned his father gravely.
-"why shouldn't they be sleeping?" asked martin.
-"who?" said his father, turning to attend to the horses.
-"i don't know," said martin. "i mean my verse."
-"martin," stated the stage-driver, "i'm no hand at explaining. don't ask any more questions."
-every sunday after this miss bruce persisted in asking whether the boys read in their testaments.
-"it's mean the way some of the boys don't read any, after her giving us all nice red testaments," martin told his father. "i don't read much, but i ought to read some, after her fringing that red ribbon! most verses i read are short, like 'lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping.'"
-the stage-driver moved uneasily at the words.
-"he hasn't forgot that verse after all these weeks?" thought the man.
-"i know what that verse means now," went on martin. "miss bruce told me. she says some folks forget they've got to die, and they ought to be ready for that. a good many folks don't become christians, and miss bruce says she's afraid they'll be like that verse, 'lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping.' you and i won't be that way, will we, father? i'm going to try to be ready. ain't you? miss bruce says folks ought to always be."
-his father's eyes were on the harness he was buckling.
-"i hope you'll be ready, martin," answered the father, "even if i ain't."
-the place where martin lived was a small settlement distant from town. martin's father, mr. colver, not only three days in the week drove the stage, but other days acted as a sort of expressman, bringing freight in a large wagon over the miles from town. one night about nine o'clock, mr. colver was on the long, lonely road coming toward home. he had a very heavy load on his wagon. the wheels scraped on the wagon bottom, and the team went with a heavy, dragging sound.
-as the heavy wagon came opposite a clump of white blossoming buckeye trees, one of the fore wheels of the dragging wagon suddenly gave way and fell off. mr. colver was thrown violently from the wagon's high seat into the road, among the tumbling heavy boxes and barrels. the sharp corner of one box struck mr. colver's head near the temple.
-the weary horses waited to be urged forward again. they did not know that their driver lay insensible in the road.
-it was early gray morning before one of the teamsters who boarded at the colvers' found mr. colver lying still insensible, and brought him home. the blow on the head had been a very dangerous one. martin gazed awestruck at his father's shut eyes and unconscious face.
-"i wonder if pa's going to die?" the boy anxiously thought. "i wonder if pa's ready?"
-the sorrowful hours came and went. mr. colver regained consciousness, but for weeks he felt the effects of the blow that might have smitten him never to rise.
-one night when martin was going to his room, his father called weakly to the boy.
-martin turned back. he found his mother sitting beside his father.
-"martin," said his father with grave earnestness, "your mother's been reading to me from your testament. we've been talking about bible things that we haven't paid much attention to. we were both brought up better, martin. the lord's had mercy upon me. he might have taken me suddenly that night, but he knew i wasn't ready, and he had mercy on me. and now, lad, your mother and i thought we would just kneel right down here to-night, and ask the lord to take each of us, and make us his own. you want to, don't you, my son?"
-martin nodded, and for the first time the stage-driver's family knelt together. they whose souls had been sleeping were awake.
-by the way.
-cliffs by the blue bay held many fossil shells. children sometimes strayed here and there with hammers, pounding out fossils from fallen pieces of the cliffs. on the extent of sands that bordered the cliffs and stretched up the coast between them and the breakers, old stumps that had been months before brought in by the waves lay half buried from sight. a short distance farther up the coast, the sands went a greater way inland, forming a nook where driftwood and stumps had accumulated. on the sand in this nook stood a horse and an old wagon. beyond a large log, a little fire of driftwood had been started, and a woman was endeavoring to fry some fish in a spider. two children had partly unharnessed the horse, and were giving him some dry grass.
-from afar, a woman and a girl who had been taking a walk on a road high up on the cliffs, looked curiously down at the persons in the sandy nook.
-"i wonder who they are, and what they are traveling that way for?" said the girl to her mother.
-"it's the same wagon that was on, the sands last night, i suppose," returned her mother. "the milk boy said he saw a wagon drive on the beach about dark. i wonder if they stayed up here all night? suppose we walk down, addie, and talk with that woman."
-"i'm afraid she won't want to see us," objected the daughter. "if they had wanted to see anybody, they'd have stopped at the settlement."
-notwithstanding this objection, the mother began to descend the path toward the sands at the bottom of the cliffs. both mrs. weeks and her daughter addie were somewhat breathless by the time they had pushed their way through the heavy white sand to the spot where the stranger, was cooking. the spider contained only a few very small fish.
-"good-morning," said mrs. weeks, pleasantly.
-the brown-faced woman who held the spider lifted her eyes and nodded.
-"have you been fishing?" asked mrs. weeks.
-"we didn't have much luck," murmured the other woman. "maybe we didn't fish in the best place. tillie was wanting fish."
-the younger of the two children colored and hung her head at this reference to her. the other smiled shyly.
-"we have some fresh rock cod up at our house. my brother catches fresh fish for us every day," said addie to the older little girl. "don't you want to walk back with me, and, get some of the fish for your mother?"
-the child nodded. "we're not beggars, miss. you must not rob yourself of your own fish," remonstrated, the child's mother; but addie assured the woman that fish were so plentiful in the settlement that neighbors often gave part of the results of a catch to some one else.
-the girl went away over the cliffs with the child. mrs. weeks sat down on a log. when addie and the little girl came back with the fish and some milk, mrs. weeks rose and went home with her daughter.
-"the woman's husband is dead, and she's driving north with her children," mrs. weeks told addie. "she has an idea she can get work in some cannery up the coast. i told her there were some unoccupied tents in our settlement, and i wished she and the children would come and sleep in the tents, while she's here. but she won't come. i was sorry they slept on the beach last night, but she says they are used to sleeping in the wagon, and it is warm weather, you know."
-the wagon did not drive on that day, though the woman and the children kept away from the little summer settlement.
-it was the custom of the people of this small settlement to go down on the beach, after dark at evening, and have a camp-fire. some old stump would be lit, and the people would sit on logs or on the sand about the fire, and talk and sing. the last thing, every night, hymns were sung.
-to-night, addie and her, mother went down to the beach as usual. after sitting by the fire awhile, addie rose and wandered up the beach, as persons sometimes did, to watch the waves. at a distance from the camp-fire, where the darkness, covered the beach, addie turned to go back. she was startled by a movement in the darkness.
-"don't be afraid," said the voice of the woman who, with her children, had spent that day in the nook farther up the beach. "the little girls were asleep, and i came here to listen to the folks sing. that's the reason i haven't driven on to-day, because i hoped the folks would sing again to-night, the way they did last night. i haven't heard hymn-singing for years, before. i've lived in mining and such places. i want to ask you a question."
-the woman paused.
-"do you suppose my baby's at the river?" she went on.
-addie hardly comprehended the woman's meaning.
-"what river?" asked the girl.
-"the river they sang about last night," explained the woman.
-she motioned toward the group at the distant camp-fire, and addie remembered that on the previous evening the people had sung:
-"shall we gather at the river?"
-"i haven't heard that sung before for years and years," the woman continued. "we used to sing it when i was a little girl at home in the east, but i've mostly forgot such things. mining camps and a drunk husband make you forget. there never was a church anywhere we lived, and sam got drunk sundays. and then he died. i don't suppose sam got to the river. i don't know. i wish he did. but if my baby's got there, i want to go to the river."
-the woman began to sob.
-"i never told you about my baby." she faltered. "he was a dreadful nice little--"
-"good-morning!" said mrs. weeks pleasantly.
-"--baby. i've got some of his things in a little box in the wagon. he died after his father did. i wouldn't feel acquainted with the saints that the folks sang gather at the river; but i'd feel acquainted with my baby. he's there, isn't he?"
-"yes," said addie softly, "your baby's by the river, and you can go there, too."
-the woman tried to control her sobs and listen, while addie told in as simple language as she could the way to peace.
-"it's just coming to christ, just as we are, and asking him to make us his," finished the girl. "he's promised to forgive, if we're in earnest about asking."
-addie waited a moment.
-"maybe you'd be willing to come to the camp-fire with me," suggested addie. "those people are only, some of our neighbors. they like these open-air meetings. perhaps they'd make the way clearer to you."
-"no," said the woman hastily. "no, i'm not fit for such folks, but would you mind doing one thing for me? will you go back and just sit down, careless like, on one of the logs there by the fire, as if you'd got back from going down to see the breakers roll in, the way some of the folks do? and don't let anybody know you've seen me at all! don't say one word about me, but when they get through singing some hymn, won't you just start them singing, 'shall we gather at the river'? i want to hear it once again, but don't let them know they're singing it for me! will you manage it the way i want?"
-"yes," promised addie.
-the girl went back and sat down on a log beside the fire, with the other people. the fire was beginning to burn low, and the girl was fearful lest at the end of the hymn that was being sung, some one should make a move to go back to the encampment. as soon as she could addie began:
-"shall we gather at the river?"
-the other voices took up the hymn. no one noticed that addie's voice soon faltered and was still.
-"shall we gather at the river, where bright angel-feet have trod: with its crystal tide forever flowing by the throne of god?"
-the words rang, out clear and sweet, and then the joyful assurance broke forth:
-"yes, we'll gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river. gather with the saints at the river that flows by the throne of god."
-the words of stanza after stanza floated out into the darkness of the cliffs and upper sands with a distinctness that the loud waves did not overcome. there was no form or, motion visible in all the night that hid the shoreward side of the beach.
-the next morning addle went from the settlement, to carry the woman and her children some milk. when the girl reached the nook, she found it empty. she ran upon the bluffs, and looked northward, but there was neither horse nor wagon visible. the mother, and children had evidently resumed their journey very early, and the turns of the country roads had hidden the travelers. they had vanished forever.
-"god guide them to the river!" whispered addie.
-at cousin harriet's
-the "filaree," or pinclover; had borne its seeds with curious long ends--those seeds that california children call "clocks"--and among the filaree there stood, on slender, bare stems, small flowers of the lily family which are known as "bluebells." a boy was walking through the filaria. he was carrying a hatchet and an ax, and he looked tired, though it was early in the day.
-"i guess cousin harriet doesn't know how hard working on the alkali patch is," he murmured softly. "she isn't like mother:"
-the boy's head dropped, and a sob escaped him.
-"i wish mother hadn't died;" he said chokingly. "most every boy has a mother."
-he tried to stop crying, but it was hard, for he was overworked, and he was only twelve years old.
-six months before this, his mother had died. several weeks alter her death, claude's father had been called east on business; and had left the boy and his younger sisters rose and daisy on a ranch owned by cousin harriet, several miles from the children's former home. it had been very hard for the children to part from their father so soon after their mother's death, but he told them that while the business that called him east would take a number of months, yet there was some prospect that their mother's own sister, aunt jennie, with her husband and little boy, would come with claude's father on his return. then they could all live together at the dear home place. so the stay at cousin harriet's would not probably be perpetual.
-cousin harriet was a widow. she looked after her ranch with great diligence. she had several hired men and women, and the ranch was a very busy place. cousin harriet was not much used to children, having none of her own, but she tried to do her duty by the three left in her charge. rose and daisy did not find the household tasks that were assigned them very difficult. cousin harriet secretly did not like boys, however. she tried to treat claude justly, but the boy sadly missed the mother-love to which he had been accustomed all his life. he was expected to help the hired men on the ranch, and they made him work rather hard, especially since they had been fixing the "alkali patch."
-the alkali patch was in the southwest corner of cousin harriet's ranch. on several acres, nothing would grow, on account of the alkali in the soil. the alkali stood on the ground in white patches here and there, and claude hated the sight of it. cousin harriet, however, was very enthusiastic about trying to reclaim this "alkali sink," so that it might bear crops.
-alkali extended over the fields of adjoining neighbors, and cousin harriet thought that if only her hired men could conquer her alkali patch, then the discouraged neighbors might think it possible to do something with such parts of their land, also. so, one of the first things that was done with cousin harriet's "alkali sink" was to make some redwood drains, shaped like the letter v, and place these about three feet below the surface. a "sump," or drainage pit, was dug, too, into which the drains might discharge the alkali water. the hired men expected claude to help dig the "sump," and it proved quite hard work. so did the pounding of the "hard pan" on the alkali tract, itself. the tough, hard clods of earth were so difficult to pulverize that they had to be pounded with crowbars and axes.
-"i used to think that helping pick lemons, at home, was work," claude thought to-day, as he went toward the part of the ranch where he was expected to work, "but i didn't know about alkali patches, then. and--i had mother."
-the tears would come into his eyes.
-the hired men were scattered over the extensive alkali tract, and were pounding the clods. claude chose to work near a man called neil. the boy liked neil better than the other men, because he did not speak crossly.
-claude sorrowfully pounded the alkali clods. how tiresome the work was, and how uncomfortably warm the sun! the boy worked dejectedly. after a while, pausing to take breath, he looked up and found neil also pausing.
-"we are tired," said neil, with a friendly smile.
-"don't you hate this work?" exclaimed claude vehemently. "i wouldn't touch it, if cousin harriet didn't make me."
-the hired man looked kindly at the small, tired boy.
-"it is not most pleasant," he returned, "but what i think of makes me glad while i work."
-"what do you think of?" asked claude, giving an alkali clod a push.
-"i was thinking," answered neil gently, "how once i had a hard heart--very hard. it was like these clods, where nothing good can grow. people who looked at me could see that my heart was hard. men would have said, 'neil's heart can never be different' but jesus took away my hard heart and gave me a new one. that is what makes me glad all the time, though i work on these hard alkali clods. some day this patch we work on will be different. there will be beautiful, green, growing crops on it. but that is not so great a change as it is to change a hard heart and get a new heart from our savior."
-claude did not say anything. he bent over the hard clods and worked silently, but he was not thinking of his work. he was remembering his mother's voice as it had sounded nights when she had knelt beside his bed and prayed that her boy might become a christian. there had been one night that claude would always remember, when his mother had come for the last time to his bedside, and prayed feebly for her boy. the next week she had died.
-claude looked up at neil, now. the man evidently found the work hard, but his face showed that he had spoken truly when he said that he was glad, even though he did work on the hard, alkali clods.
-"i wish i were like neil," thought claude.
-the wish grew. it changed into an earnest prayer, not that he might be like neil, but a prayer for the same blessing that neil had--a new heart. no earnest prayer for that gift is ever met by a refusal. neil watched claude anxiously, as they worked day by day.
-"we can't change ourselves, any more than this alkali plot can change itself," said neil, "but we can yield ourselves and our life to the blessed jesus and love him, for he is love."
-one day, claude said softly, "i've done it, neil. i've given myself to jesus."
-the face of the hired man glowed with added happiness through the toiling days that followed. when the alkali clods were broken and plowed, gypsum was scattered on the land and harrowed in. then water was turned on and allowed to stand several inches deep over the alkali plot. the water stood for several weeks. gradually it soaked through the soil and passed out into the drainage pit. after several soakings, alternating with breaking of clods and treatment with gypsum, the former alkali patch was given some seed. how the men watched the land day after day, and how the first green sprouts of corn were hailed! the alkali patch was changed. cousin harriet was rejoiced.
-"there's so much land saved," she said. "it's a great change."
-neil listened to the words as in a parable. he was thinking of a greater change. he was rejoicing over the boy of the household.
-months had gone by. one day there was a joyful outcry at the farm-house. the little girls rushed out to meet their father. with him was their mother's sister, aunt jennie, with her husband and little boy.
-claude was on the ranch at work, and did not hear the joyful outcry at first.
-he was not aware of the new-comers, till his father and the two little girls rushed where claude was working, and the boy's father caught him in a close embrace.
-"come and see aunt jennie," his father said to claude.
-"she-she looks like, mamma," whispered rose tremulously, and claude came somewhat bashfully into the house.
-there he saw a woman whose face did indeed look, like his mother's, and he felt mother-arms put around him. he heard a voice like his mother's say, "is this my boy?" he felt a warm teardrop on his cheek, and he knew that aunt jennie understood and cared for boys, and that he would be indeed "her boy."
-that afternoon they all drove away from the ranch, leaving cousin harriet smitten with a sudden sense of loneliness, for she had even. grown attached to claude as well as to his sisters. the boy looked back at the ranch. it was rapidly being left behind, but he could still see the green patch of corn that covered the place where the alkali used to be. rut the boy was, not thinking of the alkali patch alone. a look of reverent thankfulness came into his face. "mother will be glad i ever met neil," he thought.
-two small brown hands were held outstretched in the air. cautiously they moved forward, lower and lower. then they darted and grasped with speed what seemed to be some sand. something in the sand objected, but the boy held on and gathered sand and all into his tin. he looked with much satisfaction at his presumably indignant prisoner, a spiny gray "horned toad" that had been peaceably sunning himself, nearly buried in sand, on the hill.
-the owner of the two nimble hands, arturo, smiled.
-"get four bit, maybe!" he anticipated.
-"get four bit for tia marta!"
-in california "four bits" means a half dollar. occasionally somebody on the overland train that stopped at the station in town would be attracted toward a spiny "horned toad" as a curiosity, and would buy one. arturo meant to try to sell this specimen in that way. if he got the money, he would give it to tia marta.
-tia mama was arturo's aunt. "tia" means "aunt" in spanish. presumably for the reason that nephews are sometimes troublesome to their aunts, there is a spanish proverb that warns a nephew against making his aunt too frequent visits:
-en casa de tia, mas no cads dia:' ("in the house of thy aunt, but not every day.") notwithstanding this adage, however, the boy arturo lived with his aunt marta. this was not always pleasant, for neither arturo nor tia marta was perfect. yet they really thought a good deal of each other. the third member of the household was tia marta's husband, do (uncle) diego, but he was very old and lame, and could not work. tia marta earned the living, and arturo usually thought of himself as dwelling with tia marta rather than do diego. arturo never quarreled with his uncle.
-when the overland train stopped at the station for water, and arturo rushed breathlessly to sell his horned toad, the eager boy found no passenger who was desirous of being a customer save an old gentleman who doubtfully offered twenty-five cents for the creature. 'arturo stuck bravely to his intended price of "four bits," but the train creaked for starting, and, alarmed, the boy hastily handed over the toad, took the quarter of a dollar, and rushed off the train.
-the old gentleman shouted from the platform for instructions as to feeding his pet, 'axed arturo shouted back advice in broken english to let it catch "muchos, muchos" (many) flies, and have "mucho, mucho" air. the toad was in a pasta-board box at present. arturo was anxious that it should be well treated, for the boy felt it would not be fair to make the creature a prisoner, and then sell it to somebody who would starve it.
-the old gentleman seemed satisfied with the shouted directions. but when the train had puffed away, arturo sat down and wrathfully looked at his quarter of a dollar.
-"he had altos pesos!" arturo muttered; "ought give four bit."
-according to arturo's belief, every american had in his possession "altos pesos," which is spanish for "high" or "enormous" "dollars," or, as americans say, "a pile of money." therefore arturo felt sure that the old gentleman ought to have given half a dollar for the horned toad.
-arturo was now not at all inclined to give tia marta the twenty-five cents. he wanted the money himself. tia marta was going to wash for somebody to-day, and would get her pay.
-what should he buy? twenty-five cents must not be spent lightly. it was not so often that a horned toad was found or sold.
-arturo did not muse long alone. another boy had heard arturo's shouted advice to the old gentleman, and had told two or three comrades. they came about arturo to proffer advice. "bollos," or cakes, were joyfully suggested, but arturo refused.
-an older spanish boy, manuel, joined the company. he was a lazy fellow, whom a good many of the younger boys admired because he could play a guitar and because he wore cheap jewelry that seemed gorgeous to inexperienced eyes.
-manuel approved of arturo's rejection of the cake proposition. what good was cake? it would be soon eaten and gone!
-manuel, who was ever bent on securing any money that he could obtain without work, proposed to arturo that he should buy a certain watch-chain owned by himself. manuel, who knew that the showy thing was worthless, tried to picture how a fine-looking boy like arturo would appear with so gorgeous an ornament. the younger boys listened enviously, and arturo's spanish love of display began to glow. yet he was cautious enough to put off manuel till the next day. arturo went away, leaving the younger boys gazing enviously after him. his pride was flattered.
-as arturo came into the little yard that was about his humble home, he heard tia marta singing. arturo always dreaded to hear her sing, because then he was sure that some calamity had occurred. tia marta fully believed in the spanish saying, "he who sings frightens away his ills."
-it was as arturo thought. tia marta had failed to get the day's washing she had expected to have. this seemed very unfortunate, for there was but little in the house to eat. beans, one of the main staples of food among the mexicans, were almost gone from the household supplies, and there was no money to buy more. tia marta had cooked the last of the beans for supper. the uncle and aunt gave fully half the beans to arturo, and, being hungry, he ate them. tia marta ate little, and urged the rest of the beans on tio diego.
-arturo thought of the twenty-five cents in his pocket. he looked at old tio diego. arturo wondered if his uncle were really hungry. beans! twenty-five cents would buy beans enough for a number of days. but it would be such a downfall to buy only beans with that twenty-five cents! tia marta would probably find some washing soon, and would buy beans herself. arturo had had enough supper to-night.
-next day arturo bought the watch-chain. the little boys at school were overawed by his showy ornament, but the teacher thought laughingly, "how these spanish do like to dress up!"
-at night, when arturo went home with his watch-chain hidden in his pocket, tia marta was singing again. there was only a little bread and some dried figs for supper, and arturo's healthy boyish appetite already began to make him sorry for his bargain.
-the next day tia marta sang, and there were only dried figs to eat all day. the next day there were figs for breakfast and figs at noon. even dried figs were almost gone.
-at night, however, tia marta said joyfully, "i got wash to-morrow!"
-arturo felt relieved.
-the next morning there were only two or three figs apiece. when arturo came home at noon, he found frightened tio diego crying feebly and leaning over tia marta, who had sunk in the door-way. scantily fed tia marta's strength had given out in the midst of the washing. she said she was only dizzy, but arturo was frightened by her looks. suddenly it came to him that he loved her.
-arturo ran out of the house. he ran to a little grocery, and begged the grocer to take the watch-chain for some beans. the grocer only laughed, telling the boy the chain was worthless. but arturo was desperate. he knew better than to go to manuel. manuel would have spent the twenty-five cents long ago, and arturo pleaded with the grocer. the grocer's wife was in and out, looking after her romping children. she held the worthless, gaudy chain before her black-eyed baby, who clutched it and laughed. the mother laughed, too. her husband laughed. the baby kept the chain, and crowed.
-the grocer's wife filled a big paper bag with beans, and gave it, with a loaf of bread, to arturo. the boy clasped the packages, and ran.
-at home he found tia marta sitting still with shut eyes.
-"eat!" cried arturo, thrusting the loaf into her hands.
-tio diego laughed with joy and put the beans to cooking. arturo stayed home from school that afternoon, and helped wash. to-morrow the pay would come. tio diego tried lamely to help arturo wash.
-tia marta was feeling better, and had just declared her intention of washing, when arturo suddenly forsook the tub and dropped beside her.
-"me malo, malo!" (bad) he sobbed.
-he cried bitterly, and told tia marta about the watch-chain.
-old tia marta looked pityingly at her shamefaced nephew.
-"poor child!" she said, "thou art young."
-but when next day the school teacher asked arturo the reason of his absence from school the previous afternoon, and he had confessed the whole story, the teacher said, "arturo, it is more beautiful to have a heart of love toward others than it is to wear a watch-chain even of real gold. will you remember that?"
-arturo promised, and the teacher said to herself:
-"i will see that tia marta does not come to such straits again."
-the waves splashed on the bold rocks that guard the little harbor of colombo on the southwest shore of the island of ceylon. groves of palm trees looked down on the one-story houses of the town. upon a rock outside of colombo stood a barefoot boy, his dark eyes gazing toward the tropically green mountains of the island. his attention was particularly riveted on one of the highest peaks, that one which is known to english-speaking people as "adam's peak," and which is reverenced by natives as being the traditional spot from which buddha ascended to heaven.
-"the butterflies are making their pilgrimage to the holy footprint," murmured the boy, comale, to himself.
-he could see from his standpoint great streams of butterflies, taking their flight apparently from all parts of the island, and going toward the famous peak. these flights of butterflies, occurring occasionally in ceylon, have won for the butterflies themselves the name of "samanaliya," since it is thought that the heathen god, saman, left his footprint on the mountain, and the butterflies, like devout beings, take pains to go on pilgrimage to the holy footprint.
-comale himself knew better than to believe in this old heathen tale, yet he never saw the myriads of flying butterflies without remembering what he had been taught in his earlier years, before christianity came under the high-pitched roof where comale's father and mother lived.
-long time did comale stand on the rock and gaze at the vast numbers of flying, winged "pilgrims." the butterflies seemed countless, and at last comale, sighing a little, said, "they are very good," and, jumping from his rock, made haste toward the cinnamon gardens where he worked.
-comale was a "peeler." in the perfectly white soil around the city of colombo, the cinnamon tree flourishes as well as, if not better than, in any other place in the world. it requires much practice to become a skillful peeler of cinnamon, but comale, having been taught by his father, and being moreover a careful, observing lad, was fast attaining a degree of success in his trade. formerly the cingalese had allowed the cinnamon trees to grow to their natural height, about twenty or thirty feet, and naturally the cinnamon bark from such trees had been tough. this was long ago, however, before even the dutch owned colombo. better wisdom came with them, and in these later days of english rule, sensible ideas still prevailed. the cinnamon trees were kept pruned, and the comparatively young shoots were found to produce better cinnamon than old trees had done.
-comale, arriving at the gardens, began to work. the branches he chose for cutting were about three feet long and were the growth of from three to five years.
-comale made longitudinal cuts in the bark, two cuts in a small shoot, more cuts in a large shoot, and then with his instrument carefully removed the bark strips.
-he placed the pieces of bark in bundles, in which shape the cinnamon was to stay for a while, that it might ferment, so that the outer skin and the under green portion might be more easily scraped away by comale with a curved knife. after that, the inner cinnamon bark would dry and draw up, till the pieces looked like quills. but ever, as comale worked this day, something inly disturbed his thoughts. he was very unhappy.
-"comale," warned his father sharply, "that was a bad cut! be more careful!"
-comale's father was attending to some bark that had dried to quills. he was putting small cinnamon quills into larger ones, till he made a collection about forty inches long. then he would bind the cinnamon into bundles by pieces of split bamboo. but comale's father kept an eye on his son's work, also.
-comale was much abashed at his father's reproof. for a time the lad kept his mind upon the cinnamon. then his thoughts went back to their old uncomfortable vein, for he found in a tree a little bundle of sticks from four to six inches long, all the sticks placed lengthwise, the whole looking like a small bunch of firewood. comale knew what this bundle was, well enough, for many a time he had found this kind of a nest of the larva of a moth. he knew it was lined with fine spun silk, and that the heathen people said that the moth used once to be a real person who stole wood, and who, having died, came back to earth again in the form of a moth, condemned, for the former theft, to make little bunches of firewood. comale sighed as he touched the little bundle hanging from the tree.
-he thought of the "good" butterflies that he had that morning seen going on "pilgrimage."
-"some people are good, and some people are bad," thought comale sadly. "the butterflies go on pilgrimage, but the bad moth's little bundle of firewood hangs in the tree. i wish i did not always do something bad!"
-ordinarily he would not have cared for the acts of either moth or butterfly, but to-day there was in comale's heart a sense of guilt that found accusation from unwonted sources.
-"comale!" warned his father again, "another false cut!"
-tears of mortification sprang to the lad's eyes. never had ha seemed to himself to be so awkward a peeler. it was something beside awkwardness that ailed comale's hand to-day. he was worrying over the possible consequences of a deed of his.
-that morning, he and his sister pidura, who was about his own age, had quarreled. they did not quarrel as often now as they used to before pidura and he knew anything about the way to be a christian. they tried to be patient, usually, but this morning there had been a sharp quarrel between the two about the rice for breakfast. after breakfast, comale, still feeling very angry, had gone into the veranda that each one-story house possesses. this veranda was overshadowed by the high-pitched roof, and while, inside the house, there was matting on the floor, as in cingalese houses, the veranda had a rough material made from the husks of the cocoanut. this material was so placed as to prevent serpents from crawling into the house. ceylon has many serpents, and pidura, comale's sister, was very much afraid of them. as comale, yet very angry with his sister, stood in the veranda, it occurred to him that if he pulled away some of the rough cocoanut material, he might leave a place where a serpent could come into the house and scare pidura. it would be good enough for her, he thought; and not pausing to reason about the consequences of his action, he pulled away the rough material till he left quite a space undefended. he did not believe that padura would notice it.
-he could see her, busy in the kitchen, which is a house separate from a cingalese dwelling. her plump, pleasant face bent over the fire, and then again she turned away, her light jacket and striped skirt vanishing toward another corner of the kitchen. comale half laughed as he thought how scared she would be if a little serpent should find the opening he had made. then he ran away.
-but now, since beginning his day's work, his quarrel and the possible consequences of his misdeed had begun to weigh heavily on comale's conscience, and had lent an accusing tongue to nature. so true is it that a guilty conscience finds censure where a heart that is at peace with god and man would find no reproving reminder.
-comale could not go home till nightfall, and all day his worry increased. why had he done so wicked a thing? the quarrel over the trouble about the rice looked so little, now! if a poisonous snake should find that opening, and should creep in, and strike his mother, or pidura, or the little brother, or, the baby! it was dreadful to think of! why had he blindly followed his anger? had he not often heard that he who would be a christian must forgive others? instead of forgiving pidura, he had done something that perhaps might kill her.
-"be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as god, for christ's sake, hath forgiven you." it was what the missionary had said.
-"i ought to have forgiven pidura!" comale's heart cried. "oh, i am bad, bad! how can i bear it, to wait till i can go home to see if all is safe?"
-naturally, comale's work was not done well, to-day. but he cared little for criticism of his peeling, when at evening the time came to go home. he ran all the way. he plunged headlong into the street where he lived. he ran past the tile-roofed houses. there was his home's veranda with bunches of bananas hanging in the shade, and a basket of cocoa-nuts below. comale hastened in, out of breath, yet trying to act as if nothing ailed him. pidura was safe! he saw her. he found his mother and the baby in another room. comale drew a long breath, and tried to stop trembling. his little brothers were in the street.
-it was growing dusk, and another fear beset him. if a serpent had crawled into the house, the creature might have hidden itself, and might not come out till sometime in the night. comale guiltily slipped into the veranda again. the unprotected portion had not been discovered. it lay exposed as he had left it.
-as well as he could, comale replaced the cocoanut-husk material, so that it might be a defense as before. then he went softly around within the house, hunting for any possible hiding-place where the enemy he dreaded might be concealed.
-"comale," said his mother, "what are you doing?" and comale did not dare to hunt any more.
-toward morning, when light began to come, comale crept from his place. he looked toward where his little brothers slept. hanging above one of the little boys was a slender dark line. it was alive! it swayed to and fro in the shadows, and seemed to slip a little lower toward the sleeping child. comale started. he sprang forward with a cry, and caught the swaying thing. but it was no living creature that comale brought with him to the floor. it was only a long, thin strip of bamboo with which comale's father had intended to bind cinnamon bark! the strip had been hung up out of the way, and had swung a little in the current of air between the top of the wall and the roof. as the bamboo strip swayed, it had gradually slipped lower and lower toward the sleeping little boy below.
-comale's outcry had aroused the household; and without reserve the penitent lad told to the family the story of his misdeed. his dark-faced father smiled slightly and showed his teeth through his beard. he understood now the mistakes comale had made in the cinnamon work the previous day.
-"a wrong heart makes corundoo peeling go ill, comale," he said gravely.
-"corundoo" is the native word for cinnamon.
-"a wrong heart makes rice-cooking go ill, too," softly confessed pidura. "i am sorry for yesterday's rice! it was i who made comale's heart angry."
-the father looked from one child to the other.
-"little children, love one another," he said.
-at the panaderia.
-the door of the "panaderia" opened. americans would have called the place a bakery, but the sign said "panaderia," which might be interpreted "breadery" or bake-house. all california does not read english, and it behooves shop-keepers sometimes to word their signs for the customers desired. in like manner the "restaurante mexicana," across the street, on a sign advertised "comidas," or meals, at twenty-five and fifty cents.
-through the panaderia doorway came a girl and a boy. they walked along by the "zanja," or irrigation ditch, that here bordered the road. the fern-leaved pepper trees beside the zanja were dotted with clusters of small, bright red berries.
-"rosa," said the boy, when the two had walked a little way, "i saw in that big yard many purple and green grapes, spread out drying for raisins."
-rosa did not answer. she trudged on, carrying her basket of bread. the brother carried a loaf in brown paper. he and she lived at the panaderia, and had set forth to carry the bread to the two regular customers.
-"rosa," stated the boy again, after a pause, "all the little oranges on the trees over there are green."
-rosa did not even look toward the oranges.
-"rosa," affirmed the boy emphatically, when a few minutes had gone by, "the chinese doctor is measuring a window in his house! see! he has some little teacups and a teapot in his front room! i saw them just now."
-rosa and her brother still kept by the zanja, even when it turned away from the road. they went on till they reached the orange orchard of the zanjero of the town. the zanjero is the man who has the oversight of the irrigation system, and he has deputies under him. rosa and her brother joseph thought the zanjero a great man, and stood much in awe of the irrigation laws concerning stealing water, or raising a gate to waste water, or giving water to persons outside the district.
-the two bread-carriers went through the orange orchard, which was not being irrigated at this hour, for the zanjero was particular himself to keep the hour that he paid for, as other men should be. up to the zanjero's house rosa now carried the bread, and his wife herself paid for it. rosa tied the coins carefully in one corner of the black shawl that she wore over her head.
-"rosa," anticipated joseph aloud, as they went away through the orange orchard again, "when i am grown up, i shall be a zanjero, and we will not have to keep the panaderia!"
-but rosa looked unbelieving. "it is not granted every man to be the zanjero," returned she gravely, "and i love the panaderia."
-it was true. she did love it, even to the castor-oil plants that grew like weeds in neglected places in the yard, and down to the south wall that was hung with a thick veil of red peppers that her grandmother was drying in the sun. it was only because the panaderia had not enough customers that rosa looked so grave to-day. besides, the grandmother's birthday was near, and where was money for a present?
-at the other house where the children regularly delivered bread, irrigation had been going on all the morning. the half-day of irrigation, for which the owner of this orange orchard had paid, was just over, and the water-gate connecting the man's ditch with the main zanja was being shut when rosa and joseph arrived. the little water-gate was like a wooden shovel. it slid down some grooves, and the running water stopped. it squirmed in the zanja an instant. then the little wooden gate was fastened with a padlock, as every gate must be when the payer for water had received from the zanjero's deputy the amount of water paid for, whether by the fifty-cent-hour, or the two-dollar-day, or the dollar-and-a-quarter night rate, and whoever unauthorized should unfasten the padlock and open the gate would be a thief of water.
-after witnessing the shutting off of the water, joseph carried his paper-enfolded loaf to the house of this second regular customer, and then the children turned homeward toward the panaderia.
-"pan por dinero!" cried the parrot, papagayo, when rosa and joseph reentered the panaderia; but alas! no customers were there. only the grandmother sat sewing behind the counter, her blurred old eyes close to the cloth she held.
-"i will take care of the panaderia now, grandmother," rosa offered; and the grandmother answered, "i will rest a little, then."
-the poor, dear grandmother! she was so tired and thin, nowadays, and her hands trembled so much! it was hard for her to try to sew. if the panaderia paid better, if there were more regular customers to whom rosa and joseph could carry eatables, then the grandmother would not attempt sewing at all, for it strained her eyes very much. but now she did not know what else to do. there must be a living for herself and the children someway.
-rosa found the afternoon long, sitting behind the counter, waiting for customers and trying to sew. a little boy came in and bought a loaf. two girls bought another. then the panaderia door ceased to swing, and the quiet afternoon went on. across the street, women stood here and there and gossiped.
-but the woman only came to the counter, and stood still. she was young, very thin and ill, evidently, and her eyes had tears in their depths. under the black shawl that was over the newcomer's head rosa spied a dark mark, as of a bruise, on the forehead. the young woman tried to speak.
-"i have three little children," she said. "i am sick. i cannot work, and their father drinks mescal--always mescal. i have no money. will you give me a little bread? i am no beggar, but my babies are so hungry!"
-rosa knew how much harm mescal (a kind of intoxicating drink made from the maguey or mexican aloe) did among the neighbors. she did not doubt the woman's tale; only it was disappointing, when one thought a real customer had at last come to the panaderia, to find that it was not so. but the girl nodded sympathetically at the conclusion of the young woman's appeal.
-"i will speak to grandmother," she promised.
-she found her grandmother lying down still, but half awake, and explained to her the situation.
-"yes, yes," returned the grandmother, her wrinkled face full of sympathy. "give her the bread. has not the lord told us to care for the poor? he would not be pleased if we sent her away without bread. tell the poor woman to come again. the little children, must be fed."
-rosa hurried back to the counter, and gave the woman two fresh loaves and the grandmother's message.
-"gracias!" (thanks) sobbed the young woman and hurried away.
-"i hope she will not tell that we gave her bread," murmured rosa to herself as the usual quiet settled over the panaderia. "we can't afford to give bread to many people."
-the weeks went by, and the panaderia did not prosper very well. it grew to be a customary thing for the thin, sick woman to come daily for bread, and she was never refused. she said with a sensitive eagerness that when she was well again she would work and pay all back, and rosa's grandmother answered "yes," cheerily, to this promise, though any one who looked at the poor young mother's face could see that there was small prospect of her ever being well again in this world. her husband still drank.
-times grew harder and harder at the panaderia. in the midst of the winter a heavy blow fell, for the zanjero's wife took a fancy to making her own bread, and as she was the regular customer who bought more loaves and paid more promptly than the other, the panaderia felt the loss keenly. customers were very scarce, and the grandmother's eyes became so weak that she could no longer sew. rosa sewed the little that she could, but some days there was scarcely enough to eat at the panaderia, except the very few loaves in the case--the loaves that the three hardly knew whether to dare eat or not, for fear some one should come in and want to buy. there were many other people who were poor and without work, and the little family kept their troubles to themselves. the poor sick neighbor always came every day and was given bread. winter passed and spring arrived without much change in the panaderia's prospects.
-"we could have eaten that ourselves," thought rosa one night when the neighbor went out with the bread.
-the grandmother had said that the poor were god's care, and he would bless those who for his sake fed them.
-"but we keep on being poorer and poorer," thought rosa with a sigh.
-then she reproached herself. had not her grandmother said that the lord cared about the panaderia? one day when spring was turning into summer, the poor neighbor came in earlier than usual. her face was very white. rosa and her grandmother were both by the counter. the grandmother smiled and was about to draw out the bread and give it to the woman. but the poor neighbor dropped her head on the counter, and stretched out her hand toward the old grandmother. the grandmother took the hand, and lo! in her own lay a little key.
-"take it to the zanjero!" sobbed the sick neighbor, "and tell him to forgive! it was the mescal made my husband do it!"
-little by little rosa and her grandmother pieced together the story of the small key. some unscrupulous persons wished to obtain water for irrigation without paying for it. a key was made that fitted the padlocks of the little wooden gates leading from the zanja. by night some one must open these gates and close them again before morning. it was thieving, of course, and the zanjero or his deputies might catch the person who did it. but the sick neighbor's husband, wanting money to buy more mescal, had been induced to undertake the task of stealthily opening the gates. his wife, suspicious of his errand, had followed him on the first night of his attempt. she had seen him stop by a mexican cactus, and raise something, she knew not what, in the zanja. after he had gone, she went to the spot and putting her hand into the water felt the current that ran through a gate he had opened.
-"then i know!" tearfully declared the woman to rosa's grandmother. "i follow my husband. i tell him the zanjero is the friend of the good panaderia that gives the bread! i tell him he shall not open the other gates! i snatch the key! i tell him `no! no! the panaderia is my friend! the zanjero is the panaderia's friend!' he shall not cheat the zanjero! my husband say if he open other gates he get money for mescal. i say 'no!' i run away with key. my husband say, 'don't tell anybody! i will not open the gates again! let other men do it.' but i say, 'i must tell, because the zanjero is the best friend of the panaderia. no one shall cheat the best friend of the panaderia, that feeds our babies so long--all winter and now."
-evidently the woman supposed that the zanjero was still the principal regular customer of the panaderia. rosa and her grandmother had never told about his ceasing to buy bread, and the neighbor thought that he was still considered their very chief customer.
-that evening rosa and joseph took the long-unused path to the zanjero's house. his wife came to the door.
-"oh," she said, "it's the two little bread-bringers! no, i don't want any bread. are you trying to get orders?"
-"may i see the zanjero?" asked rosa gravely.
-the zanjero's wife, whose name in plain english was mrs. craig, led the two children into her husband's presence. rosa, very pale with the thought of being in the presence of so great a man, told her story in trembling tones, and held out the key.
-the zanjero took it, and looked at it curiously.
-"will you forgive?" asked rosa timorously. "the poor, sick woman asks you to forgive. she says it was the mescal that made her husband do it."
-"i presume so," returned the man grimly. "they're all thieves."
-but the zanjero's wife was wiser than her husband. she dropped into a chair and put an arm around rosa.
-"you have not told all the story yet, or else i do not understand," she said gently. "what makes this woman so much your friend that she comes and tells your grandmother about the key?"
-so the whole story came out at last--about the long, sad winter at the panaderia; the grandmother's attempts at sewing; her failing eyes; the lack of customers, yet the daily giving of bread to the poor neighbor and her three children; the trust that the lord knew about the panaderia and its occupants.
-the zanjero's wife understood it all now. she looked up at her husband. there were tears in her eyes as she said:
-"while you are forgiving that man, you'd better think how much forgiveness i need for having stopped taking bread of the panaderia in the heart of winter, when they needed the money so badly! to think of their struggling along, and yet giving bread every day to a woman and three babies! if the panaderia folks had not done this, you'd never have found out about this plan to rob the zanja! that woman would simply have kept the story and the key to herself, and those dishonest men would have found somebody else to open the gates at night for them. it was only because she thought that you were a noted customer of the panaderia that she sent you word of this plan to steal the water."
-the great zanjero turned and looked at rosa.
-"tell that sick woman," he said gravely, "that i forgive her husband for opening the gate, though i don't know how much water he helped steal that night. tell her, though, that he must never do such a thing again. i am coming to see him myself, and i shall tell him he is forgiven. but he must stop drinking mescal."
-"and tell your grandmother," broke in the zanjero's wife, "that i want three loaves of bread to-morrow morning, and i want bread every day. here's the money for the three loaves. and i'm going to get you a lot of regular customers! i have friends enough. they'll take bread of you, if i ask them. you poor children! why didn't you come and tell me about things, long ago?"
-so it was that the mercy which the old grandmother showed to the sick neighbor and her children returned in blessing on the panaderia. for the zanjero's wife rested not till she had fulfilled her promise. customers became many and well-paying, and the old grandmother, happy in the prosperity, said to rosa and to joseph:
-"see you, my children? did i not tell you that the lord knew about the panaderia? it is he who sends all this good to us who deserve it not."
-miss stratton's paper
-the wind was blowing quite keenly from the north, and miss stratton had the collar of her coat turned up, as she hurried through the darkness of the avenue. she was talking behind her coat collar, the tips of which brushed her lips. if what miss stratton said had been audible to any one beside herself, it would have sounded as if she were talking severely to somebody.
-"i don't see why you can't throw that evening paper where we can find it!" miss stratton was saying under her breath. "we have a broad walk, and there's plenty of room! i've been out in the yard three or four times to-night, and hunted thoroughly, and mother's been out once. mother's eyes are poor, and she likes to have the paper before dark."
-"i want to know where you threw our paper to-night," she demanded. "i can't find it anywhere."
-the boy stepped one side so that the light within the farther room might fall on miss stratton's face. he recognized her.
-"oh," returned the boy, "your paper went up a tree."
-"up a tree!" exclaimed miss stratton, indignantly. "why didn't you come in and tell me, so i'd know where to look for it?"
-"if i'd had an extra copy with me, i'd have thrown in another," said the boy--"i'll get you one."
-he walked back into the sitting-room, glad to escape from the accusing subscriber, whom he had not expected to see following him to his home. miss stratton sternly waited. the boy's sister had come into the hall, and was holding a candle for a light. her brother came back with the evening paper, and miss stratton took it.
-"i wish you'd be careful where you throw that paper, harry," she admonished him, her indignation cooling. "i've spoken to you about that before. i don't like to have to come away up here for the paper. it isn't convenient."
-"yes'm," answered the boy.
-miss stratton hurried home. when she arrived there, one of the first things she saw gleaming faintly through the garden's darkness, was the missing evening paper that harry had thrown into a pepper tree near the side fence. during miss stratton's absence, the strong wind had shaken the paper down, and it lay at the foot of the tree. "how did he suppose i was going to find that paper up that tree?" questioned miss stratton. "i did look up there before dark, but i didn't see anything."
-the evening paper was easily discoverable for a week or so after this: then matters went back to their old state and miss stratton frequently spent a quarter of an hour finding her evening paper.
-"if he'd take the slightest pains he could throw it on this walk that is ten feet wide!" she would tell herself indignantly, as she pushed aside the branches of blue marguerites and the leaves of calla-lilies, and peered into holes on either side of the steps near the front gate, where the watering of the garden had washed away the soil.
-miss stratton had liked harry very much, when he first became paper boy. he had a frank manner that made him friends. at first he carefully threw the paper on miss stratton's front piazza. he never skipped an evening, as the former paper boy had sometimes done, and miss stratton rejoiced that at last a paper boy who was reliable had been found for the route. months had passed, and while harry was as careful at some houses as before, miss stratton's was not among that number. harry had three 'customers on that street and he nightly walked only as far toward miss stratton's as would enable him to throw her paper and then, with two or three steps, throw another paper to the neighbor diagonally across the street. a few more steps would have made harry sure that miss stratton's paper fell every night squarely on the broad front path, but he "fired the paper at her," as he expressed it, and the result was miss stratton's otherwise unnecessary number of steps hunting after her paper. yet harry would have scorned to cheat any customer. he fulfilled the letter of the law. he delivered the paper.
-late one afternoon the minister and his wife, mr. and mrs. landler, came by invitation to take supper with mrs. and miss stratton. after a while, as they sat, pleasantly chatting, mr. landler spoke of a ship that had been overdue for almost two weeks. a neighbor's son was on board, and this fact caused mr. and mrs. landler to look at the papers, morning and night, as soon as possible, to ascertain if anything had been heard of the missing vessel.
-"that's what my daughter and i have been doing, too," returned mrs. stratton. "i wonder if this evening's paper hasn't come, so we could look?"
-her daughter glanced at the clock.
-"why, yes!" said she. "that paper ought to have come before now."
-miss stratton went out and hunted carefully. no paper was visible, search as she might.
-"perhaps it hasn't come yet," she said to the guests, when she came in.
-a little later she went out again. mrs. landler came to help search, though miss stratton disclaimed the need of aid.
-"the paper doesn't always fall where i can see it," explained miss stratton, mortified at her failure to find the paper for her guests.
-"who brings it around?" asked mrs. landler, looking at the broad front walk.
-"harry butterworth," answered miss stratton.
-she did not tell of the annoyance harry had caused her heretofore. harry's mother was a church friend of the landlers and the strattons, and miss stratton was loath to expose the boy's shortcomings.
-no paper appeared, and after a thorough search, mrs. landler and miss stratton went into the house. dusk was coming. miss stratton had occasion to go upstairs for something, and glancing out of the front hall window, she saw the twisted roll of that evening's paper lying on a projection of the roof.
-"he threw the paper on the roof!" exclaimed miss stratton, "and he didn't come in to tell me!"
-she pushed up the hall window, and reaching out as far as she dared, she tried with an old umbrella handle to dislodge the paper. she drew breathlessly back.
-"it's no use! i can't get it!" she gasped.
-she went downstairs and told her mother quietly, but mrs. stratton had no scruples about informing her guests what had happened.
-"that boy's thrown this evening's paper on the roof!" stated old mrs. stratton. "he does put us to so much trouble!"
-the minister instantly offered to climb the roof. miss stratton and her mother protested, but mr. landler took off his coat, climbed out of an upper-story window, and secured the paper. in one column was a notice that the missing ship had been heard from and was safe. great was the rejoicing around the strattons' supper-table that their friend's son was not lost.
-the next time mr. landler saw harry, the minister said pleasantly, "you gave me quite a climb the other night, my boy."
-harry looked astonished.
-"gave you a climb?" he questioned. "i gave you one?"
-"yes," nodded mr. landler. "miss stratton's evening paper fell on her roof. my wife and i were taking supper there, so i climbed the roof for the paper."
-harry turned very red. was ever a paper boy so unfortunate? he knew the paper fell on the roof, but who would have supposed mr. landler was at the strattons'? harry wanted very much to be thought well of by the minister and his wife. everybody liked them.
-"i didn't know you were there," apologized harry, hardly knowing what to say.
-"no," said the minister, gently, "we never know who may be in any home. you didn't know you were delivering the paper to me. you thought it was to miss stratton. wasn't that it?"
-"yes," acknowledged the boy.
-"if the lord jesus were here on earth, harry," went on the minister in a very grave, tender tone, "and if he wanted a little service from you, you wouldn't render it in the way you deliver miss stratton's paper, would you? yet she is his child, one of his representatives on earth, and as you treat her you treat him. 'inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these,' you know, harry."
-the next night miss stratton's paper fell with an emphatic thwack in the middle of the front walk. the next night it did the same, and the next, and the next.
-"what has changed that boy?" wondered miss stratton with grateful relief, as weeks passed and the paper still fell in plain sight.
-she did not know that as harry carefully aimed his papers, the boy thought, "'ye have done it unto me.'"
-an honest day's work.
-willis walked down one of the city wharves. he was going to see his father, mr. sutherland, who was one of the men employed by the state harbor commissioners in repairing wharves. the piles that supported the wharves often needed renewing, being eaten by teredos. sometimes the flooring of the wharves sagged and needed restoring to the former level.
-willis liked to see the pile-driver with its big hammer. he marveled at the air-pumps with which sagging wharves were raised. perhaps three air-pumps at a time would be stationed over as many "caps," as the twelve-inch timbers under the wharf's flooring were called. the pumps, being worked, would raise the caps and hold them until blocks could be shoved underneath. then the pumps were worked some more, and other blocks put under, till the wharf was restored to the required level. great screws such as are used in raising buildings were also employed under wharves sometimes. there were rocks under some wharves, and water was under others. whichever it was, willis' father often had to go under the wharves and climb around among the caps and stringers and piles, repairing.
-seven or eight other men were employed like mr. sutherland. it was mid-forenoon, but willis saw that three or four of the men were not working. they were idling around the engine of the pile-driver, and were eating something that willis found to be cooked crabs.
-"where's father?" asked willis. "under the wharf, working," answered one man. "he thinks the state's looking after him every minute."
-willis saw some planks had been taken up in a distant part of the wharf's flooring. he went there and swung himself down under the wharf. there were rocks there, and willis, following the sound of a hammer, came to his father.
-"that you, willis?" asked his father pleasantly.
-"pa," said the boy, "some of the other men are up there eating crabs. why don't you go up and get some, too?"
-"it isn't lunch-time," returned mr. sutherland. "we're expected to work now."
-"three or four of the men aren't working," said willis.
-"no," rejoined his father. "several of the men lately have taken to catching crabs sometimes during work-hours."
-"the men tie a rope to a big twine net, and bait it, and let it out into the bay. in a little while they haul it in again, and there are maybe half a dozen big crabs in the net. the men have made a sort of boiler out of an empty kerosene can with one end cut off. they attach a hose to the boiler of the engine and fill that can with hot water. the crabs cook in a short time and those men stop work to eat. it would be all right if the men cooked the crabs at noon, when we're allowed to lay off, but they stop in the fore-noon sometimes an hour, and again in the afternoon sometimes, and eat crabs. the foreman we have now allows it. he does it himself."
-while mr. sutherland talked he was working. several of the other men were working up on top of the wharf, as willis could tell by the sounds, but the boy's thoughts were with those three or four other men who were idling. were not those men employed to work as steadily as his father?
-"it isn't fair for them to stop and you to have to keep on," objected willis. "i should think those, men would be discharged."
-"they may and they mayn't," said his father. "they are appointed by different harbor commissioners, and as long as the commissioners don't know, i suppose the men will keep their places."
-"one man told me you thought the state was looking at you every minute," said willis.
-"my boy," answered mr. sutherland, fitting a block into place, "it's true that i'm employed to work for the state, and i feel just as much that i must do honest work for the state as if i were working for some individual. but it isn't thought of the state that makes me faithful. a christian ought to give an honest day's work. some people don't seem to think cheating the state is as bad as cheating another person. but it is."
-willis climbed upon the wharf again. he saw when the men who had been eating crabs came back to work. he noticed they did not work very heartily.
-"my father doesn't work that way," thought the boy.
-"an honest day's work." the words followed willis as he went away from the wharf. the next week willis was going to begin work for a large dry-goods store.
-"i'll do honest day's work, too," resolved willis.
-he did not put it into words, but he thought that the one who saw whether a man under the wharves did an honest day's work would see whether a boy working for a store did the same. willis was trying to be a christian.
-busy days willis had after that. the large dry-goods store had many customers who often did not wish to carry bundles home. the store had two pretty, white-covered, small carts for the delivering of packages. willis drove one cart and a boy named august drove the other.
-one afternoon willis, out delivering dry-goods, drove by the house where august lived, and saw the store's other cart standing there.
-"august is home," thought willis. just then, august came out.
-"don't tell," called august, laughing.
-willis, hardly comprehending, drove on about his business.
-that evening at store-closing time, both boys were back with their receipt books, signed by customers who had received their packages. the boys went out of the store together.
-"saw me coming out of our house today, didn't you?" said august to willis.
-"don't you ever stop off half an hour or so, when you're on your rounds?"
-"why, no!" answered willis. "what would they say at the store, if they knew?"
-"they can't know," asserted august. "i often stop, that way. yesterday i went to see my aunt. how can the store tell? they don't know just how long it will take to deliver all the parcels. some folks live farther off than others. who's going to know?"
-willis hesitated. he remembered that the thought of the men at the wharves had been: "who would know?" willis had never heard that anybody had lost his place at the wharves on account of dawdling. what if august never was found out? was it right to steal an hour, or half an hour, of his employer's time?
-"no," thought willis. "i'm going to be honest."
-late one afternoon august came into the store. willis was later still, because he had had more parcels to deliver. both boys' receipt books showed the customers' signatures.
-"there was a big fire up-town," said august secretly to willis afterwards. "i stopped to see it before delivering my parcels. you just ought to have been there!"
-"how long did you stay?" asked willis, gravely.
-"oh, i don't know!" returned august. "three-quarters of an hour, maybe. i delivered my parcels all right afterwards."
-willis did not tell anybody about august's actions.
-"i wish he wouldn't tell me about them, either," thought willis, uncomfortably.
-that week august was discharged.
-"i happened to be at the fire myself, and saw you," said one of the store's proprietors to august. "the next time you stop to see a fire, you will not have a chance to keep one of our delivery carts waiting an hour while you waste your employer's time watching the firemen. it didn't look well to see our firm's name on that white cart standing idle, just as if we hadn't many customers."
-"and you were seen once," added the other proprietor, "with one of our carts standing beside an open block, while a ball game was being played there last week."
-as willis regretfully saw his companion turned away, there came back to him the scene in the semi-darkness under the wharf, when his father said, "a christian ought to give an honest day's work." "and i will," he muttered.
-two white jaw-bones of a whale stood upright in the sunshine, their surfaces showing to a near observer numerous small indentations that caught the dust. the jaw-bones were relics from a little whaling station that had once been in business near the town. even now whales occasionally wander from the great pacific into the blue bay on which this old, partly spanish, california town was situated.
-the two white jaw-bones now served the purpose of gate-posts, and stood some six feet high beside the front gate that opened into a garden where red hollyhocks rose higher than the humbled jaw-bones. inside the gate, the front walk had long been paved with the vertebrae of whales, each vertebra being laid separately.
-no one who had not seen such a walk would realize how well whales' vertebrae will answer for paving. some of the old vertebrae had now sunk below the original level of the walk, so that the path by which a person went to the old adobe house beyond the red hollyhocks was somewhat uneven as to surface.
-the long, low house was partly roofed with tiles, and the adobe walls of the dwelling were a yard thick, as any one might see who looked at the windowsills.
-on one of these broad sills isabelita leaned, her black eyes fixed on the bone gate-posts that she could see through the blossoming hollyhocks. there was a displeased expression on the young girl's face. she was watching for her brother timoteo, who would soon come from school.
-"he must go for the cow tonight," resolved isabelita aloud in spanish. "i will not go! i wish the americans had never come to this town! in the old days, my father says, there were no cattle notices on the trees. my father did not have to go for cows every night!" and isabelita frowned as she remembered the notices about letting cattle run loose upon the highway.
-these spanish--and--english notices were now nailed on pines here and there along the roads, and proved a source of inquiry to wandering americans who saw the boards with their heading:
-preceded by two inverted exclamation points and followed by two others in the upright position--that some americans have perhaps been wont to think is the only attitude in which an exclamation point can stand, americans not being accustomed to the ease with which an exclamation point can stand on its head, when used in spanish literature.
-but it was not only with cattle notices and americans that isabelita was offended this day. she was in a bad humor, and nothing suited her. hence it was in no pleasant voice that she called to timoteo, when he at last made his appearance between the bony gate-posts:
-"hombre bobo, thou must go for the cow tonight!"
-now, "hombre bobo" means much the same as our word "booby," therefore this was not a very soothing manner of beginning her information. to isabelita's surprise, however, timoteo answered only "yes," and, coming in, put his one book carefully away, and then went forth for the cow, as he had been bidden. isabelita stared after him. she had at least expected a quarrel.
-"teacher never like me any more," he told himself, his lips quivering. "americanos tell her my father lazy, my mother no clean. and i try, i try!"
-but alas! that day he had overheard some of the american boy scholars talking to the teacher about the spanish ones.
-"there's timoteo," he overheard herbert page say. "you don't want to have him for your milk-man, miss montgomery! i don't believe they keep the milk pails any too clean at his house. laziness and dirt go together in these spanish houses!"
-poor timoteo! he had hoped the teacher and her mother would take milk of him. miss montgomery had almost promised to, before this, and one customer for milk made such a difference in timoteo's home finances!
-"but now she never like me any more," timoteo hopelessly forewarned himself, as he sat among the trees, his eyes yet red with crying. "and i try, i try! i have learned wash my hands clean, when i go school. and i try so hard learn read and write!"
-timoteo sighed heavily. he did not hate those american boys who looked so much nicer than he. he only had a sorrowful, hopeless feeling as he unfastened the cow and started homeward with her.
-but when the cow lumbered in through the two white, strange gate-posts at home, she swerved aside a little, and timoteo saw, standing under the tall red hollyhocks, his teacher, miss montgomery. she had a bright tin pail in her hand, and she wanted some milk.
-timoteo's eyes brightened.
-"i go wash my hands clean, clean!" he cried, and, disappearing, came back a few minutes after, holding out his palms for miss montgomery's inspection.
-she smiled, and gave him the pail.
-"poor little fellow!" she thought, as she watched him milking. "i'm afraid some of our american boys don't have charity enough for him."
-timoteo beamed with happiness as he returned the pail brimming with milk. he was miss montgomery's milkman regularly after that, and when, on sundays, miss montgomery taught a sunday-school class of boys, timoteo always slipped in and listened, though the teacher wondered sometimes if the boy could understand.
-there were fair-haired american boys who looked down on timoteo at school and who made him feel that a spanish boy was an inferior. sometimes timoteo almost felt as if some of the chinese boys, in the small fishing-village outside the town, were happier than he, for they did not seem to care to know anything but how to dry nets and dry fish. herbert page was one of the school boys who always felt superior to timoteo. timoteo did not wonder at it. he had a very humble opinion of himself, yet sometimes he wished herbert would only look at him as he passed by. herbert would not have spoken rudely to timoteo. that, herbert would have considered degrading. he simply ignored the spanish boys of the school.
-one saturday morning, when timoteo stood on the edge of the cliffs outside the town, he saw herbert picking his way out over the long stretches of rocks to seaward; a basket on his arm and a stick in his hand.
-"he go to get abalones, and think he can knock them off with a stick!" laughed timoteo.
-herbert had not long lived in this vicinity, and he did not know the tenacity with which the large, oval-shaped shell, called abalone, or ear-shell, which is so well known and valued for its beautifully colored, irridescent lining, clings to the rock when the shell's inmate is living. at school, the day before, timoteo had heard herbert say that he intended going after abalones on saturday.
-"he no get any," prophesied timoteo, gazing after herbert's disappearing figure.
-timoteo himself was out abalone-hunting. this was one of the ways by which he occasionally earned a few cents, visitors to the town buying the large shells for curiosities. but timoteo had with him a long iron spike with which he intended to urge the abalone-shells from the rocks.
-the abalone has a large, very strong, white "foot" inside its long shell, and there is a row of holes in the shell itself. it is conjectured that the abalone perhaps exhausts the air under the shell, and so causes the shell to cling more tightly to the rock than ever, through atmospheric pressure. it is very difficult to take an abalone from its rocky home, unless the creature is surprised.
-timoteo, however, was acquainted with abalones, and made good use of his weapon. he clambered far out over the wet rocks for hours, finding abalones now and then, and waging war on these thick, rough ovals that clung so tightly to the rock, the beautiful colors of the abalone-shells entirely concealed. timoteo saw nothing more of herbert, during these hours of work.
-timoteo succeeded in getting three abalones, the last an especially large shell. he sat down on the rocks to rest, after the long struggle with this big abalone. the tide was rising. he would go home soon now.
-while he sat there, it seemed to him that he heard the sound of outcries. at first he thought it was the gulls. half in fun he shouted in reply. the distant cries seemed redoubled. timoteo caught up his basket and long spike. he sprang to his feet.
-"where is it?" he thought, confused with the splash of waves and the toss of spray.
-"adonde?" (where?) "adonde?" shouted timoteo, forgetting his english in his excitement.
-the answering shouts grew more distinct. timoteo climbed over the wet rocks till he found himself near a place where the sounds seemed to come from between two rocks. timoteo saw a boy reach up part way between the two rocks. the boy could not crawl out. the hole between the rocks was not big enough.
-"timoteo!" screamed a voice, and timoteo recognized herbert.
-"say!" herbert called, "run for help, won't you? i was out here abalone-hunting, and i guess one of these big rocks must have been poised just right to topple over. anyhow, in climbing down here i managed to topple it. it didn't fall on me, but it fell against the other rocks so that there isn't room for me to crawl out of here! i can't make the rock budge, now. and the tide's coming! i thought i'd drown, away out here, alone. you can't do anything with that spike. it needs three or four men with levers. run! the tide's up to my waist, now! there isn't room between these rocks to crawl out."
-for one moment timoteo stood still and looked at herbert. then the spanish boy turned and flew over the rocks. leaping from one slippery foothold to another, he rushed toward the cliffs, up the cliff road, on to the clusters of chinese huts that made a little fishing-village by itself on the edge of the bay. whatever spanish or english vocabulary timoteo used, he aroused two or three chinamen to forsake their frames of drying fish and cease tossing over the other small fish that lay drying on the ground.
-seizing the long, heavy iron rods with which the chinese were wont to go abalone-hunting, the three celestials followed in timoteo's wake toward the place where herbert anxiously awaited rescue. there was much prying with the iron rods before the stone was finally tilted enough so that the drenched prisoner was released.
-"my father pay you," gratefully promised herbert to the chinamen, who nodded and plodded cheerfully back toward their tiny fishing-village.
-herbert looked at timoteo.
-but now that timoteo had seen the success of his helpers, an abashed silence seemed to have overtaken him. he did not answer. the silence lasted till the two boys reached the cliffs. herbert grew uneasy. his conscience accused him somewhat.
-"come to my house, timoteo, and my father will give you something for helping me," promised herbert uneasily, as the boys climbed the cliffs.
-"see here, timoteo," burst out herbert, stopping on top of the cliffs, "what's the matter? do you hate me?"
-timoteo glanced up slowly. his dark eyes were full of appeal.
-"you no talk to teacher any more about me?" he besought. "you no tell her my father lazy, we no-'count folks?"
-timoteo's voice shook. he hurried on: "i like teacher. i try be clean. i wash my hands, my face, all time. i do ver' good to the teacher. but my mother differ from your mother. your mother give you nice clean shirt and clothes. my mother too poor. i try learn, read, spell. i grow like american boy."
-it was the appeal of a soul that looked from timoteo's eyes. herbert flushed.
-"why, you poor fellow, of course you try!" he answered heartily. "i--i'm sorry if i've ever said anything to the teacher that made you feel badly, timoteo. i won't do it again, and the other boys sha'n't, either! the teacher knows how hard you try. she said the other day that you were a good boy. come on up to our house. won't you?"
-but timoteo smiled, and shook his head, and went away on the long road that led toward home. the heart of the spanish boy was very happy. he had done good to his enemy, and that enemy was turned into a friend. and the teacher had said that timoteo was a good boy! she knew how hard he tried!
-timoteo sang for joy as he ran.
-"i will learn! i will learn! i shall be like los americanos!" he sang, and then he remembered how he had been tempted for one instant not to help herbert. timoteo shivered at the remembered temptation. he sang again for very joy at having been helped to forgive his enemy.
-in the pines timoteo stopped, and looked upward through the swaying treetops.
-"a dios sea gloria por jesu-christo," he murmured reverently. ("to god be glory through jesus christ.")
-the victory of quang po
-jo bent down and slipped under the barbed wire fence that separated the field back of the chinese fishing-village from the other fields that stretched away to the houses of the california seaside resort under the pines. the wind blew pleasantly in from the sparkling bay.
-a large number of frames for drying fish stretched away to the back part of the chinese field. a great net fifty feet long was spread out on the ground to dry. jo looked at the wooden sinkers that were fastened along one side of the net and smiled. "they're all on again," he thought.
-a line of flounders stretched above the narrow, crooked street of the fishing-village. the flounders looked like queer clothes hung to dry on a clothes-line. there were crates of small fish, packed so that they stood on their heads. underneath a table of drying fish lay a dead gopher.
-red placards spotted the houses. on the roof of one hut a little paper windmill was turning in the breeze. back of one hut was a bit of garden inclosed with a fence of branches and containing much mustard. chinese were washing fish. shells were exposed for sale, since at any hour visitors from the american settlement might come to traverse the chinese village, and visitors often bought shells.
-even now, as jo passed through the street, an old chinaman beckoned to the lad, and with much mystery unrolled a piece of brown paper and showed a pearl that had come into his possession and that he wished to sell.
-young chinese girls, with red or yellow-capped babies strapped on their backs, packed or spread the fish. some little chinese boys were arranging dried squids in boats drawn up on the shore. on one boat was a kind of wooden crane, holding a hanging pan. there were some burnt sticks in the pan, and the whole contrivance was evidently an arrangement whereby a fire could be made in the boat when it was out at sea.
-jo stepped into one deserted hut, and found it to be a kitchen. an oil can was over some ashes, and there were some queer, big kettles near. in another place were chinese children eating their breakfast. one child had a chinese cup, out of which she ate with chop-sticks.
-"ho'lah!" the chinaman said to jo.
-"ho'lah!" responded jo, and the conversation ceased.
-for a few minutes jo watched two or three chinese boys who were lying on the beach, sifting the white sand through their fingers, hunting for the small, white "rice shells," that american people often buy.
-presently, jo pulled a sketch-book out of his pocket, and began to draw the collection of queer huts that composed the chinese village. by and by the chinaman who had been tossing fish, quang po, sat down on the rocks. he looked at jo for a time, and then came and glanced over jo's shoulder, smiling. the chinamen of the village were used to having artists come and plant their easels here and there on the rocks or at the entrance of the narrow street, and draw the village on their canvas. at such times, a small group of chinamen usually gathered about each artist, and made in their own tongue comments on the drawing. no artist knew the nature of the criticisms made in his very ears.
-jo smiled over his own drawing, as quang po inspected it.
-"wha' fo' you do that?" inquired quang po, mustering his english.
-"this drawing?" questioned jo. "oh, you see, my cousin is an artist on one of the city papers. he's older than i am, and he earns a good deal of money. i'm going to learn to make pictures for papers, too. some day i'll have as good a position as my cousin has."
-quang po looked puzzled. he did not understand. he always thought american pictures strange. they were not made as chinese pictures were.
-but quang po knew that once he had thought other american things strange, too. some americans believed in teaching chinese girls wonderful stories and words from a wonderful book. when quang po's niece had been taught first by such an american, great was quang's wrath. to increase his indignation, another thing happened. he had burnt incense at the stone in the middle of the fishing-village, in order to find out what day would be most lucky to go fishing, and had found that according to the stone the twenty-second day of the month would be the most lucky day. he had therefore gone fishing on the twenty-second, and he had come back sulky, having caught almost nothing. then quang po's niece had actually laughed at the ill-fortune of her uncle, and had openly expressed her unbelief in the village stone! quang po had been very angry for many days, but there came a time when quang po's niece induced him to go with her to the little mission school on the hill-side, and there quang po heard that for which his soul thirsted. he saw the picture of the crucified. he understood the story, and he, like his niece, lost faith in the village stone and in the incense-shelves. quang po yielded his will and his life to christ, and the christian religion seemed strange to him no longer.
-so, when this chinaman handed back the drawing to jo, quang po smiled and said the kindest thing he could think of, although the drawing did not accord with his chinese ideas of art.
-"you draw like melican," said quang po, winding his queue about his head, and preparing to return to work.
-jo felt somewhat ashamed. he wished that he and the other boys had not cut the sinkers off quang po's big net. perhaps quang po did not know that jo had taken part in that mischief, but the thought of it made jo uncomfortable. so did the remembrance that he and the other boys had slyly at night cut the line that held the flounders high in air above the village street. the flounders now were safely stretched aloft again, but the last time jo remembered seeing them they were lying in the dust. jo was not an ill-natured lad, but he had not objected to helping do the mischief. and now quang po had spoken kindly of jo's drawing! jo winced a little. he was rather proud of his ability as an artist, himself. he turned his attention, to the flaming yellow pair of trousers worn by a small chinese boy among the numerous chinese children in the street below. the brilliant color made the little fellow most conspicuous as he toddled here and there. in watching him, jo tried to forget his own self-reproach.
-so far did he succeed in forgetting it that, that evening, when louis rouse, one of the other boys whose parents were staying at the resort during the summer vacation, proposed going over to the chinese village, jo did not object, though he knew that the purpose of going was to have some "fun," as louis called it.
-"was the line of flounders up?" asked louis gleefully, as the boys went over the fields in the dusk. "let's cut it again! and, say, let's just tip over one of those frames for drying fish in the field back of the village. we can do it carefully, so they won't hear."
-chuckling softly and speaking in whispers only, the boys crept about the fishing-village and did the mischief planned. they pretended that the chinese village was a fort of enemies, and the boys were a band of soldiers reconnoitering in the dark. they became quite excited over the idea. doing mischief seemed so much more glorious than it would if they had allowed themselves to think that they were really american boys doing a contemptible thing to quiet, peaceable people.
-just as the boys had quietly tipped over one of the fish-frames, letting the partially dried fish slide to the ground, there were shouts in the dark of the chinese village.
-"the enemy's coming, boys!" whispered louis, and the lads rushed for the fence.
-some boys caught their feet in the big, spread-out net, and fell, and rolled over, shaking with laughter. others stuck between the barbed wires of the fence, but all were outside, running across the fields, before the chinese had sallied out toward their frames. some distance from the fishing village, the boys dropped breathless behind the large rocks near the sea, and laughed softly together. jo laughed with the others, though he said, "i sha'n't dare go near the village for a week, till my hand gets well. the barbed wire gave me some pretty deep scratches on the back of one hand, and the chinamen might guess how i got the marks."
-"i've got one on my forehead, i guess," answered louis, laughing. "it feels so, anyway, and i guess it's bleeding."
-the boys went home. jo was silent on the way.
-"i'm tired, laughing so much," he explained to the rest.
-he could not help remembering how kind quang po's voice had sounded when he said, "you draw like melican."
-during the next week jo stayed away from the fishing village. the scratches on his hand and on his cheek were all too plainly visible. he occupied his vacation-time in rambling in other places besides the chinese village.
-one morning, in his rambles, he went to what had once been an old adobe dwelling. it was on a hill, quite a distance outside the town, and was not often visited by any one. the old adobe had long ago lost its tile roof, some of the walls had fallen, its former spanish inhabitants had long since disappeared, and quick-motioned, small lizards now and then ran over the thick, ruined walls that stood, dark and crumbling, against the light-brown of the wild oats on the hill.
-jo climbed on top of one of the higher adobe walls. it still retained its spanish thickness, being about five feet through, although crumbling at the sides and somewhat uncertain as to uprightness.
-"must have taken a lot of clay to make it," thought jo.
-just then a little lizard, that had been sunning itself in a niche in the adobe wall, started, disturbed by jo's proximity, and ran swiftly over to another part of the wall. jo was anxious to see where the creature went. the boy jumped over a broken place in the wall, and walked on its top, regardless of the fact that the adobe was trembling.
-"guess it's gone where i can't see it," said jo to himself. "this is a nice sunny place for a lizard. i--"
-jo had stepped a little too far. there was a sudden trembling of the wall. jo caught at the adobe, which came away in handfuls, and he fell with a large portion of the old wall.
-the next thing he knew, he was lying, choked with dust, on what was once the floor of the old spanish dwelling. he was overtopped by a heavy pile of debris, from under which he struggled in vain to extricate himself. he had one free hand, with which, when he found that other exertions did not avail, he tried to dig himself out; but the more he dug, the more the great pile of adobe above him slid down on his face, till he was in such imminent danger of being smothered that he was forced to desist.
-"i wish," he panted, "i hadn't--come here."
-he fervently hoped that some sight-seer like himself might be attracted to the old, out-of-the-way adobe, for jo was now convinced that it was impossible for him to set himself free. he tried again and again, but always with the same result of semi-suffocation under the sliding debris.
-the forenoon passed away. the sun, mounting higher, shone over the dilapidated walls, and fell full on jo's face. he shielded his eyes with his free hand. the sun beat heavily on his head. sometimes he thought he heard a rustle in the wild oats, and he cried out for help, but he afterward concluded the sound had been made by the wind or by some lizard.
-gradually the shade began to lengthen in the adobe. jo looked wistfully at the shadow of the wall as it stretched a little farther toward him, and he sighed with relief when at length the sun that had made his head so hot was guarded from his face by the shadow that reached him. he had lain here a number of hours, and now, as he began to think about evening, he wondered what his father and mother would do when he did not come home. if they had not worried about him during the day, they would be alarmed at night.
-"there are some coyotes around the neighborhood," thought jo.
-he knew that a number of poultry-yards had suffered from coyotes. jo did not suppose that a coyote would usually attack a person. chickens, lambs, young pigs, were a coyote's prey, but in jo's present situation he did not care to be visited by a coyote.
-"i could throw clods at him," thought jo. "i hope that would scare him away."
-as the sun sank, jo shouted repeatedly, till his breath was gone. he hoped that some laborer might take his homeward way across the unfrequented hill. but the prospect of such relief seemed very slight, so unused was this place to visitors. jo saw a wild bird fly far overhead in the glow of the evening sky. the bird could go home, but he could not. he could only wait--how long?
-after a while, there was the sound of clumsy feet that jolted by the adobe. jo heard.
-"come here!" he cried with all his strength. "come here! come here!"
-the clumsy feet stopped. there was a creaking sound, as of baskets swung to the ground. a face peered through a break in the wall, and quang po climbed into the adobe.
-"ho'lah!" he said.
-"ho'lah!" faintly responded jo.
-quang po wasted no more words, but set to work. he had not much to dig with, save his tough, yellow hands and a stick, but after nearly an hour's exertion, he released jo.
-"you' bones bloke?" asked quang anxiously.
-"no," responded jo, wincing. "my arm hurts, but i guess it's only a sprain."
-"me cally fish to lady," explained quang. "me go closs hill to lady's house. hear you holler."
-jo tried to stand, but found himself dizzy and faint, and quang po, leaving his baskets, went home with the lad.
-"my mother wants to buy some fish of you," jo said.
-the fish were bought, and quang was thanked by jo's mother for helping her boy. quang went back to his baskets again, but jo followed.
-"quang po," he said, choking a little, "you very good to me."
-quang po smiled.
-"quang," confessed jo, "i helped the other boys cut the sinkers from your big net, once."
-"me sabe," (understand) he answered, "me sabe long time ago."
-"i helped the other boys cut the line that held up your flounders," faltered jo. "i helped tip over the fish-frame."
-quang po nodded.
-"me t'ink so," he said.
-"what for you good to me?" demanded jo.
-"me clistian," responded quang po with gravity, as if that one word explained everything. "clistian must do lite."
-jo looked at him. quang lifted his heavy baskets on his pole.
-"goo' by," he said.
-"say--quang po," burst out jo, "i'm sorry! i won't bother you any more! i won't let the other boys do it, either! i can stop it."
-quang po smiled.
-"me glad you solly," he said. "we be good flends, now." and he trotted away, the heavy baskets creaking.
-jo looked after him.
-"and i thought you were the heathen!" he whispered.
-the new igloo.
-the sky was lowering. the small storm-"igloo," or round-topped snow house, was full of eskimo dogs that had crowded in to shelter themselves from the bitter wind. this small igloo was built in front of the door of a bigger round igloo in which an eskimo family lived. the dogs' small igloo was built where it was, to keep the wind and the cold from coming in at the family's igloo door.
-over the snowy ground a boy, clad in a reindeer coat, came running. his brown cheeks were flushed, and his black eyes were bright with excitement. his lips curved and parted over his white teeth as he chuckled happily to himself about something. he rushed to the very low door of his home, dropped down on his hands and knees, put some slender thing between his teeth, pulled the hood of the reindeer coat up over his head so as to keep the snow from slipping down the back of his neck, and then scrambled quickly through the low opening, pushing aside the dogs, till he reached the interior of the larger igloo. then the boy jumped up and snatched the thing he had held in his mouth.
-"oh, see, see!" he cried, holding up his treasure. "see what the teacher gave me!"
-what he held was the half of a lead pencil, a rarity to him, given to him now as a prize at school.
-"and see!" cried the excited lad once more.
-he pulled from his reindeer coat a piece of paper. the paper was part of his prize, too. he made some rude marks on the paper with his pencil, and held them where they were visible by the light of the small stone lamp, shaped like a huge clam shell, and burning with walrus oil. the lad's face was illumined with enthusiasm. never before had he owned such treasures. to think they were his own! he had earned them by good behavior, and diligent, though extremely slow, attempts at learning. a sarcastic laugh came from one side of the platform of snow, that was built around the whole circular interior of the igloo. on the platform lounged the lad's brother, tanana. "you went without your breakfast yesterday, and ran to school, and now you come back with those things!" laughed tanana. "you are a dog of the teacher's team, anvik! he can drive you."
-anvik's black eyes snapped.
-"he does not drive me!" cried the boy. "he teaches me to want to learn! i have gone to school many days. i want to learn, to learn! i can make a and b. see!"
-he pushed his paper with its awkwardly formed letters farther into the lamp's light. the edge of the precious paper took fire, and with a cry of alarm, anvik smothered his paper in the snow.
-his brother laughed again.
-"to-morrow will be another day," he said. "why should anybody learn for to-morrow?"
-but the mother of the two lads stretched out her hand, and took the paper, and looked at the straggling marks. the fat baby, that she carried in the hood of her reindeer suit, crowed over her shoulder at the piece of paper, and anvik forgot to be angry. he put his pencil in his mother's hand. she looked curiously at the strange new thing.
-"you make a, too, mother," urged the boy; and, putting his hand on his mother's, he tried to show her how to make the strange marks.
-his mother did little more than touch the paper with the pencil. she smiled at the tiny dark line she had made, and gave back the pencil and paper to the boy. she was proud of him, proud that the strange white man should have thought her boy good enough to give him such queer things. anvik saw her pride, and felt comforted.
-"to-morrow will be another day," murmured tanana from his lounging place. "the teacher is wrong. he makes that loud sound when school begins. the wise man says the teacher must not make that sound any more, for it will prevent our people from catching foxes and seals."
-"it is the school-bell," answered anvik, knowing that the eskimo sorcerer had gone to the teacher but a few days previous, to prophesy evil concerning the ringing of the bell. "the foxes and the seals care not for it. go to school with me, tanana, to-morrow. the teacher wants you."
-tanana did not answer. he drew a bottle from out of his skin suit and drank. anvik looked at his mother. the odor of the liquor spread through the small round house. anvik had not noticed the odor when he came in, being then too excited over his prize to have room in his head for any other idea. but now he felt a great sadness of soul. tanana and their father were both beginning to learn to drink. the sailors who came to the shore had liquor with them sometimes, and traded it to the natives.
-the teacher at school had told the boys never to touch the sailors' liquor. the teacher said it would steal the boys' souls. anvik did not understand that very well, but he knew liquor made tanana and their father cross and lazy, and the laziness kept them poor, and the mother was sad.
-anvik lay long awake that night, on the raised platform of snow in the igloo, and thought.
-"my teacher said he heard that at one eskimo village a canoe came with whisky and the eskimos pounded on a drum all night, and shouted," thought the lad. "when the morning came, the people were ashamed to look in the face of their teacher. my teacher said i must pray the dear lord christ to save tanana and my father from drinking."
-and anvik prayed in the dark igloo.
-the next day came, and anvik went again to school, but tanana and the father went off to look at the ice-traps wherein eskimos catch any stray wolves or foxes.
-when anvik came back at night to the igloo, he met his father and tanana rejoicing over a bear cub that they had killed. they were bringing it home with them, and were laughing, and shouting, and singing, not so much from joy as from drinking together from the bottle that tanana had procured.
-"we have a bear cub, a bear cub!" shouted tanana in maudlin tones to his brother. "see how strong the hot water we drink makes us! we come home with a bear cub! hot water, let us drink hot water!"
-now by "hot water" tanana meant of course the liquor in his bottle, and when anvik saw the young bear and the condition his father and brother were in, the lad immediately became very anxious, for the eskimos are usually very careful not to kill a young bear without having first killed its mother. it is considered a very rash thing to kill the cub first, and when men who are pressed by hunger do it, they are obliged to exercise the strictest precaution lest they should be attacked by the mother-bear, for she will surely follow on the track of the men.
-so the eskimos usually go in a straight line for about five or six miles, and then suddenly turn off at a right angle, so that the mother-bear, as she presses eagerly forward, may overrun the hunters' track and lose her way. the men go on a distance, and then turn as before.
-after doing this several times, the men dare to go home, but even there weapons are placed ready for use by the bedside, and outside the house sledges are put up right, for the bear is always suspicious of the erect sledge, and she will knock it dawn before she will attack the igloo. the knocking down of the sledge makes a noise that gives warning to the family.
-but when anvik saw the condition that his father and brother were in, he was greatly frightened, for he did not believe that the liquor had left enough sense in their minds so that they had remembered to turn off in the homeward journey, and, if they had come home without covering their track, there could be no doubt that the mother bear would come to attack the igloo that very night.
-but it would do no good to say anything to tanana and his father. they were far too much under the influence of what they had been drinking. anvik told his mother his suspicions.
-"we will set up the sledge outside the igloo," said his mother, trembling.
-"i will have my harpoon ready," answered anvik bravely. "do not fear, mother. perhaps the bear will not come."
-they put two harpoons and a spear beside the raised platform of snow in the igloo, after the father and older son were stupidly sleeping.
-a terrible noise arose outdoors. anvik started into consciousness. there was an uproar of dogs, awakened by the destroying of their small igloo. the sledge fell. the family igloo seemed to shake throughout the entire circle of hard snow blocks. the dome-shaped hut quaked under the attack of some foe.
-"father! father, wake up!" screamed anvik, springing to his feet. "the bear! the bear has come! father! tanana!"
-he rushed to their side and shook them, but he could not rouse them.
-"wake up! wake up!" screamed anvik.
-his mother caught one harpoon. anvik seized another. the great paws were digging into the igloo! the dogs had attacked the bear, but she fought them off, killing some with the powerful blows of her claws.
-"be ready, anvik!" warned his mother.
-the side of the igloo gave way! a dreadful struggle followed. there was a chorus of barks and growls and screams. the bear fought desperately. the struggle and the falling snow partially wakened the father and son, but they were stupidly useless. the dogs attacked the bear's back. anvik, watching his chance while the bear was repelling the dogs, drove a harpoon into the animal. the bear savagely thrust at the lad, but the dogs leaped up and anvik's mother drove her harpoon into the enemy. as well as he could in the darkness, anvik chose his opportunity, and as he had seen older eskimos do, skillfully avoided the attacks the bear strove to make upon him, till at last he managed to drive the sharp spear to the animal's heart.
-all was over at last. the shrieks, the growls ceased, and the dead bear lay among the ruins of the igloo.
-the next day anvik stayed away from school to help build a new igloo. his father and tanana did not talk much, from the time when they laid the blocks of extremely hard snow in a circle till the time when the inwardly-slanting snow walls had risen to the topmost horizontal block that joined the walls. but, once during the building, when the three workers had taken great flat shovels, made of strips of bone lashed together, and were throwing loose snow against the sides of the new igloo to protect its future inhabitants from the cold, the father stopped, and turning to tanana said:
-and tanana, keenly humiliated that his younger brother and not himself had killed the bear, answered, "my heart is ashamed, also."
-"the hot water bottle shall not come to my mouth again," resolved the father, with determination.
-and tanana promised the same. the bottle had been broken in the scuffle, but tanana knew his father's and his own promise included any other bottle of liquor.
-"you shall go to the teacher's school with anvik," decided the father. "the teacher speaks well when he tells the boys that the hot water will steal their souls. if anvik had drank it, we should all have been killed."
-anvik jumped up from chinking a crack between two snow blocks. he remembered his prayer, and he laughed aloud now with joy for the answer.
-"the new igloo is better than the old!" he cried. "the hot water will never go in at the door of our new igloo!"
-and in his heart the boy added, "may the dear lord christ come into our new home!"
-the influence of the bible on civilisation
-the influence of the bible on civilisation
-by ernst von dobschütz
-professor of the new testament in the university of halle-wittenberg
-copyright, 1914 by charles scribner's sons
-one of the greatest questions of our day is how modern civilisation and christianity can go on in harmony. one can approach this question by several ways, but historical investigation has always proved to be the surest. the author has in mind to write in german a full "history of the bible," when time will allow. meanwhile this brief sketch may prove useful. readers who look for references will find most of them in an article contributed by the present writer to dr. j. hastings's encyclopædia of religion and ethics, vol. ii, on "the bible in the christian church."
-the author wishes to express his thanks to his friend, professor j. h. ropes, for kindly reading the proofs for him, to mr. w. j. wilson and mr. h. a. sherman, who helped him in improving the diction, and to professor williston walker for valuable information regarding early american documents. if any reader should find fault with the english style of this book, he must not blame any translator--the author himself is responsible.
-ernst von dobschütz.
-cambridge, mass. january, 1914.
-the submarine was now on top of the water and was slowly steaming towards the scene of disaster. the boats made for the opposite direction as fast as the oarsmen could pull. they had not realized that all the submarine wanted was to destroy the pork and beef cargo. the hungrier the french army got the sooner they would be conquered by the germans.
-"well, my friend the book agent, what do you think about swimming in the direction of the enemy? remember we are americans, just plain americans with no desire to do anything in the way of swatting prussians.--neutral noncombatants!" said kent, swimming easily, the life preserver lifting him so far out of the water that he declared he felt like a bell buoy.
-"yes, i'll remember! my line is family albums and de luxe copies of ruskin. i hope those poor devils in the boats will make land or get picked up or something."
-"me, too! if the sea only stays so smooth they can make a port in less than a day, if they don't come a cropper. we are almost in the english channel, i should say, due south of the scilly islands."
-"well, i feel as though i belonged on them--here we are shipwrecked and floating around like a beach party, conversing as quietly as though it were the most ordinary occurrence to book agents and damsel seekers!"
-"thank god, there weren't any women and children on board!" said kent fervently.
-"yes, i was feeling that all the time. i'd hate to think of their being in those crazy boats."
-the german boat was quite close to them now. the deck was filled with men, all of them evidently in great good humour with themselves and fate because of the terrible havoc they had played with the poor hirondelle de mer, who was now at her last gasp, the waves washing over her upper decks.
-"wei gehts?" shouted jim, raising himself up far in the water and wigwagging violently at the death dealing vessel.
-it was only a short time before the efficient crew had kent and jim on board, in dry clothes and before an officer. the fact that they were americans was beyond dispute, but their business on the other side was evidently taken with a grain of salt by the very keen looking, alert young man who questioned them in excellent english.
-jim was quite glib with his book agent tale. he got off a line of talk about the albums that almost convulsed kent.
-"why were you going to paris to sell such things? would a country at war be a good field for such an industry?"
-"but the country will not be at war long. we expect the germans to have conquered in a short time, and then they will want many albums for the snapshots they have taken during the campaign. i have been sent as an especial favor by my company, who wish to honor me. i hate to think of all my beautiful books being sunk in the hirondelle." jim looked so sad and depressed that the young officer offered him a mug of beer and urged him to try the bologna sausage that was among the viands waiting for them.
-kent's reason for going to paris was received with open doubt. it was very amusing in a way that they should be completely taken in by jim's ingenuous tale of albums while kent, telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, should be doubted.
-"going to paris to bring home a young lady? is she your sister?"
-"no, she is a friend of my sister," answered kent, feeling very much as though he were saying a lesson.
-"do you know paris?"
-"yes, i studied architecture at the beaux arts last winter."
-"ah, then your sympathies are with france!"
-"i am an american and my nation is remaining neutral on the war."
-"yes, your nation but not the individuals! what were your intentions after finding the young lady?"
-"to take her back to united states as fast as we could go."
-"well, well! i am afraid the young lady will have to content herself in paris for some weeks yet, as we are bound for other ports now. make yourselves at home," and with a salute the officer left them to the welcome meal which had immediately been furnished them after their ducking.
-if the kentuckians had had nothing to do but enjoy life on that submarine, no doubt they could have done it. they were treated most courteously by officers and men. the food was plentiful and wholesome, the life was interesting and conversation with the sailors most instructive, but jim was eager to strike that blow against prussia and it was extremely irksome to him to have to keep up the farce of being a book agent. kent was more and more uneasy about judy, realizing, from the sample of germans he now came in contact with, that ruthlessness was the keynote of their character. they were fighting to win, and win they would or die in the attempt; by fair means or foul, they meant to conquer the whole world who did not side with them.
-"gee, if i don't believe they can do it," sighed jim, as he and his friend were having one of their rare tete-a-tetes. "they have such belief in their powers."
-"yes, they seem much more stable, somehow, than the french. did you ever imagine anything like the clockwork precision with which this monster is run?"
-"when do you reckon we will get off of her? we have been on a week now and i see no signs of landing us. i am always asking that human question mark, captain von husser, what he is going to do with us, and he just smiles until his moustache ends stick into his eyes, and looks wise. i feel like hansel and gretel and think maybe they are fattening us to eat later on. i am getting terribly flabby and fat," and jim felt his muscles and patted his stomach with disapproval.
-"i'd certainly like to know where we are. you notice they never tell us a thing, and since we are allowed only in the cabin and on a certain part of the deck, we never have a chance at the chart. i wish they would let us bunk alone and not have that fat head in with us. this is the first time they have let us talk together since we got hauled in, and i bet some one is to blame for this."
-kent had hardly spoken before a flushed lieutenant came hurriedly up and with ill-concealed perturbation entered into conversation with them.
-"gee whiz!" thought kent. "i wish jim castleman and i knew some kind of a language that these butchers did not know. but the trouble is they are so terribly well educated they know all we know and three times as much besides." suddenly there flashed into his mind a childish habit the browns used to have of speaking in a gibberish called tutno. "i wonder if jim knows it! i've a great mind to try him." putting his hand on his friend's arm, he said quite solemnly: "jug i mum, sank a nun tut, yack o u, tut a lul kuk, tutno."
-"sus u rur e!" exclaimed jim, delightedly.
-the lieutenant looked quite startled, wigwagged to a brother officer who was passing and spoke hurriedly to him in german. as german was worse than greek to kent and jim (they had studied some greek at school but knew no german) they did not know for sure what they were saying, but from the evident excitement of the two officers they gathered they had quite upset the calculations of their under-sea hosts.
-"gug o tot, 'e mum, gug o i nun gug, sus o mum e!" exclaimed kent with such a mischievous twinkle in his eye that the two officers bristled their moustaches in a fury of curiosity.
-"yack o u, bub e tut!" was jim's cryptic rejoinder.
-for the benefit of my readers who have never whiled away the golden hours of childhood with tutno or who have perchance forgotten it, i reckon (being a southerner myself, i shall say reckon) i had better explain the intricacies of the language. tutno is a language which is spoken by spelling and every letter sounds like a word. the vowels remain the same as in english but the consonants are formed by adding u and then the same consonant again. for instance: m is mum; n is nun; t is tut; r is rur. there are a few exceptions which vary in different localities making the language slightly different in the states. in kentucky, c is sank; y is yack; j is jug. now when jim exclaimed: "yack o u bub e tut!" he conveyed the simple remark: "you bet!" to kent's knowing ears.
-kent had opened the conversation by the brilliant remark: "jim, can you speak tutno?" and jim had answered: "sure!" then kent had come back with: "got 'em going some!"
-the kentuckians were in great distress when they realized that no doubt the sinking of the hirondelle de mer had been reported in the united states and that their families must be in a state of doubt as to their whereabouts. they had requested the captain to let them send a message if possible, and he had told them with great frankness that in war time the women must expect to be uncertain. two more ships had been sunk since they had been taken on board, but they were kept in ignorance as to what ships they were or what had been the fate of the crew or passengers. they knew that some men had been added to the number of prisoners on board, but as they were kept in a compartment to themselves, they never saw them.
-between operations, when the submarine came up on top of the water and all on board swarmed on deck to smoke and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, kent and jim were politely conducted down into the cabin after they were deemed to have had enough, and then the other prisoners, whoever they were, were evidently given an airing.
-after our young men started their tutno game they were never left alone one minute. such a powwowing as went on after it was reported was never beheld. it was evidently considered of grave international importance. once they found their keeper taking furtive notes. evidently they hoped to gain something by finding out what the americans were saying.
-the plentiful food that had at first been served to them was growing more meagre and less choice. there was nothing but a small portion of black bread with very bad butter and a cup of coffee for breakfast; a stew of a nondescript canned meat and more black bread for dinner, and for supper nothing but black bread with a smearing of marmalade.
-jim's superfluous flesh began to go and kent got as lean as a grey hound.
-"pup rur o vuv i sus i o nun sus, lul o wuv, i rur e sack kuk o nun!" said jim, tightening his belt.
-it had been more than two weeks since the sinking of the hirondelle and the young men were growing very weary of the life. their misery was increasing because of the uncertainty they knew their families must be in. no respite was in sight. they could tell by the balmy air when they were allowed on deck that they were further south than they had been when they were struck, but where, they had not the slightest idea.
-"the water looks as it does around burmuda, but surely we are not over there," said kent in tutno.
-"the lord knows where we are!" answered jim in the same language.
-"i wish the brutes would let us telegraph our folks, somehow. they could do it if they chose. they can do anything, these prussians." when kent said prussians in tutno: "pup rur u sus sus i nun sus," the young officer whose turn it was to guard them whipped out his note book and examined it closely.
-"sus often repeated!" he muttered.
-"the orders of the commander are for the americans to disembark!"
-a lieutenant clicked his heels in front of our friends and saluted.
-"bub u lul lul yack!" shouted jim. "where? when?"
-the submarine was on the surface of the water, but jim and kent had been ushered below, evidently to give their mysterious fellow prisoners a turn at the deck. they were never allowed to see them, and to this day are absolutely ignorant as to who they were or how many or of what nationality.
-it turned out that a swedish vessel, the signy, had been sighted thirteen miles off the spanish port of camariñas. she was signaled and ordered to take aboard the kentuckians and land them. explicit commands were given the captain of the signy that she was to land the young men immediately.
-kent and jim were too glad to get off the submarine to care where they were being landed. they only hoped it was not in south america.
-"gug o o dud bub yack!" shouted jim to the grinning crew of the german vessel.
-the young lieutenant of the inquisitive mind made another note in his little book as the life boat from the swedish ship bore the young men away.
-they were very cordially received on board the signy but not allowed to stay a moment longer than was necessary. the ship steamed to within a few miles of the spanish port, all the time being followed up by the submarine, then the boats were lowered again and kent and jim rowed to shore. they were given a good meal in the interim, however, one that they were most pleased to get, too, as black bread and canned stew had begun to pall on these favored sons of kentucky.
-"where in the thunder is camariñas?" queried kent. "i know it is spain, but is it north, south, east or west?"
-"well, i reckon it isn't east and that's about all i know."
-it proved to be in the northwest corner and after some mix-ups, a person was found who could speak english. the american consul was tracked, cablegrams were sent to kentucky apprising their families of their safety, and at last our friends were on the train en route for paris.
-it was a long and circuitous journey, over and under and around mountains. they would have enjoyed it at any other time, but kent was too uneasy about judy to enjoy anything, and jim was too eager to get in line to swat the prussians, as he expressed it, to be interested in spanish scenery. they traveled third class as they had no intention of drawing too recklessly on their hoarded gold.
-after many hours of travel by day and night, they finally arrived in paris. it was eleven at night and our young men were weary, indeed. the hard benches of the third class coaches had made their impression and they longed for sheets and made-up beds.
-"a shave! a shave! my kingdom for a shave!" exclaimed kent, as they stretched their stiffened limbs after tumbling out of the coach in the gare de sud.
-"don't forget i am a stranger in a strange land, so put me wise," begged jim.
-"well, let's do it. i hope there is some kind of a bath there."
-"i trust so, but if there isn't, we can go to a public bath."
-the kentuckians were a very much dishevelled pair. they had purchased the necessary toilet articles at camariñas, but sleeping for nights in suits in which they had already had quite a lengthy swim did not improve their appearance. the submariners had pressed their clothes after their ducking, but jim's trousers had shrunk lengthways until he said he felt like buster brown, and kent's had dried up the other way, so that in walking two splits had arrived across his knees.
-"we look like tramps, but the haute loire is used to our type. i don't believe we could get into a good hotel."
-"are you going to look up your girl--excuse me, i mean miss kean, before you replenish your wardrobe?"
-"why, yes, i must not wait a minute. i would like to do it to-night."
-"to-night! man, you are crazy! get that alfalfa off your face first. one night can't get her into much trouble."
-"perhaps you are right. i am worn out, too, and a night's rest and a shave will do wonders for both of us."
-paris looked very changed to kent. the streets were so dark and everything looked so sad, very different from the gay city he had left only a few weeks before. the haute loire had not changed, though. it was the same little hospitable fifth class joint. the madame received the exceedingly doubtful looking guests with as much cordiality as she would had they been the president of the republic and general joffre.
-there were no baths that night, but tumbling into bed, our kentuckians were lost to the world until the next day. what if the prussians did fly over the city, dropping bombs on helpless noncombatants? two young men who had been torpedoed; had floated around indefinitely in the atlantic ocean; had been finally picked up by the submarine that had done the damage; had remained in durance vile for several weeks on the submarine, resorting to tutno to have any private conversation at all; and at last been transferred to a swedish vessel and dumped by them on the northwest coast of spain--those young men cared little whether school kept or not. the bombs that dropped that night were nothing more than pop crackers to them. the excitement in the streets did not reach their tired ears.
-kent dreamed of chatsworth and of taking judy down to aunt mary's cabin so the old woman could see "that judy gal" once more. jim castleman dreamed he swatted ten thousand prussians, which was a sweet and peaceful dream to one who considered swatting the prussians a privilege.
-"tingaling, aling, aling! phome a ringin' agin! i bet that's mr. paul," declared caroline, the present queen of the chatsworth kitchen. "i kin tell his ring ev'y time. i'm a goin' ter answer it, miss molly."
-molly, who was ironing the baby's cap strings and bibs (work she never trusted any one to do), smiled. it was one of caroline's notions that each person had a particular way of ringing the telephone. she was always on the alert to answer the "phome," and would stop anything she was doing and tear to be first to take down the receiver, although it always meant that some member of the family must come and receive the message which usually was perfectly unintelligible to the willing girl.
-the telephone was in the great old dining room, because, as mrs. brown said, every one would call up at meal time and if you were there, you were there. molly followed caroline to the dining room, knowing full well that she would be needed when once the preliminaries were over. she gathered the cap strings and bibs, now neatly ironed and ready for the trip to wellington that she would sooner or later have to take.
-still no news from the hirondelle de mer, that is, no news from kent. the last boat load of sailors and passengers had been taken up, but none of them could say for sure whether the two kentuckians had been saved or not. one man insisted he had seen the submarine stop and take something or some one on board, but when closely questioned he was quite hazy as to his announcement. jimmy lufton had kept the cables hot trying to find out something. the browns and jim castleman's sister had communicated with each other on the subject of the shipwrecked boys.
-"'low!" she heard caroline mutter with that peculiarly muffled tone that members of her race always seem to think they must assume when speaking through the telephone. "this here is mrs. brown's res-i-d-e-n-c-e! yessir! this here is ca'line at the phome. yessir! miss molly done made yo' maw eat her breakfus' in the baid. no, sir, not to say sick in the baid--yessir, kinder sick on the baid. yessir! miss molly is a launderin' of the cap ties fer the baby. we is all well, sir, yessir. i'll call miss molly."
-of course she hung up the receiver before molly could drop her cap strings and reach the telephone.
-"oh, caroline, why did you hang it up? was it mr. paul?"
-"yassum! it were him. i done tole you i could tell his ring. i hung up the reception cause i didn't know you was so handy, an' i thought if i kep it down, it might was'e the phome somehow, while i went out to fetch you."
-molly couldn't help laughing, although it was very irritating for caroline to be so intensely stupid about telephoning. paul, knowing caroline's ways, rang up again in a moment and molly was there ready to get the message herself.
-"molly, honey, are you well? is mother well? how is the baby?"
-"all well, paul! any news?"
-"good news, molly!" molly dropped all the freshly ironed finery and leaned against the wall for support. "a cablegram from spain! kent was landed there by the german submarine."
-"kent! are you sure?"
-"as sure as shootin'! let me read it to you--'safe--well, kent.' tell mother as soon as you can, molly, but go easy with it. good news might knock her out as much as bad news. i'll be out with john as fast as his tin lizzie can buzz us."
-"safe! kent alive and well!"
-molly's knees were trembling so she could hardly get to her mother's room, where that good lady had been pretending to eat her breakfast in bed. old shep, standing by her bedside, had a suspiciously greasy expression around his mouth and was very busy licking his lips, which imparted the information to the knowing molly that her mother's dainty breakfast had disappeared to a spot to which it was not destined by the two anxious cooks, molly and caroline.
-"molly, what is it? i heard the 'phone ring. was it paul?"
-"yes, mother! good news!"
-mrs. brown closed her eyes and lay back on her pillows, looking so pale that molly was scared. how fragile the good lady was! her profile was more cameo-like than ever. these few weeks of waiting, in spite of the brave front she had shown to the world, had told on her. could she stand good news any better than she could bad?
-"kent?" she murmured faintly.
-"yes, mother, a cablegram! 'safe, well, kent.'"
-"spain, i don't know what part."
-"i bus' stop ad gall up zue ad ad zarah. oh, bother, bother, how good god is!"
-"yes, darling, he is good whether our kent was spared to us or not," said mrs. brown, showing much more command of her consonants than poor molly.
-caroline appeared, one big grin, bearing little mildred in her arms.
-"she done woke up an' say ter me: 'ca'line, what all dis here rumpus 'bout?'"
-as mildred had as yet said nothing more than "goo! goo!" that brought the smiles to molly and mrs. brown.
-"lawd gawd a mussy! is mr. kent daid? is that what mr. paul done phomed? i mus' run tell aunt mary. i boun' ter be the fust one."
-"no, no, caroline! mr. kent is alive and well."
-"'live an' well! well, gawd be praised! when i come in an' foun' you all a actin' lak what the preacher says will be in the las' day er jedgment, a weepin' an' wailin' an' snatchin' er teeth, i say ter myse'f: 'ca'line, that there dream you had 'bout gittin' ma'id was sho' sign er death, drownin' referred.' well, miss molly, if'n you'll hol' the baby, i'll go tell aunt mary the good news, too. cose 'tain't quite so scrumptious to be the fust ter carry good news as 'tis bad, but then news is news."
-sue was telephoned to immediately and joined in the general rejoicing. aunt sarah clay was quite nonplussed for a moment because of the attitude she had taken about the family mourning, but her affection for her sister, which was really very sincere in spite of her successful manner of concealing it, came to the fore and she, too, rejoiced. of course she had to suggest, to keep in character, that kent might have communicated with his family sooner if he only would have exerted himself, but molly was too happy to get angry and only laughed.
-"aunt clay can no more help her ways than a chestnut can its burr." and then she remembered how as children they would take sticks and beat the chestnut burrs open and she wondered if a good beating administered on aunt clay might not help matters. she voiced this sentiment to her mother, who said:
-"my dear molly, life has administered the beating on your aunt clay long ago. it is being childless that makes her so bitter. i know that and that is the reason i am so patient, at least, i try to be patient with her. of course, she always asserts she is glad she has no children, that my children have been a never ending anxiety to me and she is glad she is spared a similar worry."
-"but, mother, we are not a never-ending anxiety, are we?"
-"yes, my darling, but an anxiety i would not be without for all the wealth of the indies. aren't you a little bit anxious all the time about your baby?"
-"why, yes, just a teensy weensy bit, but then i haven't got used to her yet."
-"well, when you get used to her, she will be just that much more precious."
-"but then i have just one, and you have seven."
-"do you think you love her seven times as much as i love you, or kent or milly or any of them?"
-"oh, mother, of course i don't. i know you love all of us just as much as i love my little mildred, only i just don't see how you can."
-"maybe you will have to have seven children to understand how i can, but when you realize what it means to have mildred, maybe you can understand what it has meant always to poor sister sarah never to have had any children."
-"i suppose it is hard on her but, mother dear, if she had had the seven and you had never had any, do you think for a minute you would have been as porcupinish and cactus-like in your attitude toward the world and especially toward aunt clay's seven as she is toward yours? never!"
-molly's statement was not to be combatted, although mrs. brown was not sure what she would have been like without her seven anxieties; but molly knew that she would have been the same lovely person, no matter how many or how few children she had had.
-"i'm going to try to feel differently toward aunt clay," she whispered into her baby's ear, as she cuddled her up to her after the great rite of bathing her was completed that morning. "just think what it must be never to hold your own baby like this! poor aunt clay! no wonder she is hard and cold--but goodness me, i'm glad i did not draw her for a parent." the baby looked up into her mother's eyes with a gurgle and crow, as though she, too, were pleased that her granny was as she was and not as aunt clay was.
-"we are going to see daddy soon, do you know that, honey baby?" and molly clasped her rosy infant to her breast with a heart full of thanksgiving that now there was no dire reason for her remaining in kentucky longer.
-a farewell visit must be paid to aunt mary. the baby was dressed in one of her very best slips and molly put on her new blue suit for the occasion, as she well knew how flattered the old woman was by such an attention.
-"well, bless gawd, if here ain't my molly baby and the little miss milly all dressed up in they best bibantucker! i been a lyin' here a dreamin' you was all back in the carstle, that there apple tree what you youngsters done built a house up'n an' miss milly done sent me to say you mus' come an wash yo' faceanhans fer dinner, jes' lak she done a millium times, an' who should be up in the tree with you an' that there kent but yo' teacher an' that there judy gal."
-molly laughed as she always did when aunt mary called professor edwin green, her teacher.
-"yes, chile, they was up there with you an' kent up'n had the imprence to tell me to go tell his maw that he warn't comin' ter no dinner, 'cause he an' that there judy gal was a keepin' house up the tree." the old woman chuckled with delight at kent's "imprence."
-"i shouldn't be astonished if they did go to housekeeping soon, aunt mary, but i don't fancy it will be up a tree."
-"an' what i done say all the time 'bout that there kent not being drownded? when the niggers came a whining 'roun' me a sayin' he was sho' daid 'cause they done had signs an' omens, i say ter them i done had mo' ter do with that there kent than all of 'em put together an' i lak ter know what they be havin' omens 'bout him when i ain't had none. if'n they was any omens a floatin' 'roun' they would a lit on me an' not on that triflin' buck jourdan. he say he dream er teeth an' 'twas sho sign er death. i tell him mebbeso but 'twas mo'n likely he done overworked his teeth a eatin' er my victuals, a settin' 'roun' here dayanight a strummin' on his gittah, an' what's mo' i done tole him he better git the blacksmith ter pull out one er his jaw teeth what ain't mo'n a snaggle. sukey low she goin' ter send him in ter lou'ville ter one er these here tooth dentists, but i say the blacksmith is jes' as good a han' at drawin' teeth as they is, an' he chawge the same as ter shoe a mule, an' that ain't much."
-"but aunt mary, i should think if there is anything serious the matter with buck's teeth he had better see a dentist. the blacksmith might break his tooth off."
-"who? this here blacksmith? lawsamussy, honey, why he's that strong an' survigorous that he would bust buck's jaw long befo' he break his tooth. he'll grab hol' the tooth and put his knee in buck's chist an' he gonter hol' on till either buck or the tooth comes."
-a groan from the next room, the lean-to kitchen, gave evidence that buck was in there, an unwilling eavesdropper since the method of the blacksmith on his suffering molar was the topic.
-"don't you think the baby has grown, aunt mary?" asked molly, mercifully changing the subject.
-"yes, she done growed some an' she done growed prettier. i seed all the time she were gonter be pretty, an' when that there paul came down here an' give it to me that the new baby looked lak a pink mummy--i done tol' him that i didn't know what a mummy were, but what ever it were, the new baby didn't look no mo' lak one than he did when he was born, 'cause of all the wrinkly, scarlet little injuns he would a fetched the cake. that done dried that there paul up an he ain't been so bombast since bout the looks er no new babies." the old woman chuckled with delight in remembrance of her repartee.
-"aunt mary, i think you are feeling better, aren't you? you seem much more lively than when i saw you last."
-"'cose i is feelin' better. ain't we done heard good news from that there kent?"
-"but i thought you knew all the time he was all right."
-"well now, so i did, so fur as i knew anything, but they was times when i doubted, an' those times pulled me back right smart. why, honey, i used ter pray the almighty if he lacked a soul ter jes' tak me. i is a no 'count ole nigger on the outside but mebbe my soul is some good yit. if i could give up my life fur one er miss milly's chillun, i'd be proud ter do it!"
-"oh, aunt mary, you have been so good to us always!"
-"lawsamussy, chile! what i here fur but ter be good ter my white folks? they's been good ter me--as good as gole. i ain't never wanted fur nothin' an' i ain't never had a hard word from carmichael or brown, savin', of cose, miss sary. she is spoke some hard words in her day, but she didn' never mean nothin' by them words. i don't bear no grudge against po' miss sary. the good lord done made her a leetle awry an' 'tain't fur me ter be the one ter try to straighten her out. sometimes whin i lies here a thinkin' it seems ter me mebbe some folks is made lak miss sary jes' so they kin be angels on earth like yo' maw. miss sary done sanctified yo' maw. she done tried her an' rubbed aginst her, burnt her in de fire of renunciation and drinched her in the waters of reproachment until yo maw is come out refimed gold."
-"maybe you are right, aunt mary. i am trying to be nicer about the way i feel about aunt clay myself. i think if i feel differently, maybe aunt clay would feel differently toward me. she does not like me, and why should she, since i don't really like her?"
-"i don't want ter take no christian thoughts from yo' min' an' heart, honey chile, but the good you'll git from thinkin' kin' things 'bout miss sary will be all yo' own good. miss sary ain't gonter be no diffrent. she done got too sot in her ways. the leper ain't gonter change his spots now no mo'n it did in the time er noah, certainly no ole tough leper lak miss sary."
-it was hard to tell the old woman good-by. every time molly left chatsworth she feared it would be the last farewell to poor old aunt mary. she had been bedridden now for many months, but she hung on to life with a tenacity that was astonishing.
-"cose, i is ready ter go whin the marster calls," she would say, "but i ain't a hurryin' of him. a creakin' do' hangs long on its hinges an' the white folks done iled up my hinges so, what with good victuals with plenty er suption in 'em an' a little dram now an' then 'cordin' ter the doctor's subscription, that sometimes i don't creak at all. i may git up out'n this here baid 'fo long an' be as spry as the nex'. i wouldn't min' goin' so much if i jes' had mo' idee what heaven is lak. i'm so feard it will be strange ter me. i don't want ter walk on no goldin' streets. gold ain't no better ter walk on than bricks. miss milly done read me the psalm what say: 'he maketh me to lay down in the green pastures.' now that there piece sounds mighty pretty--jes' lak singin', but i ain't never been no han' to set on the damp groun' an' heaven or no heaven, i low it would give me a misery ter be a doin' it now; an' as fer layin' on it, no'm! i wants a good rockin' cheer, an' i wants it in the house, an' when i wants ter res' myse'f, a baid is good enough fer me."
-the old woman's theology was a knotty problem for all of the brown family. they would read to her from the bible and reason with her, but her preconceived notion of heaven was too much for them. she believed firmly in the pearly gates and the golden streets, and freely announced she would rather have her own cabin duplicated on the other side than all the many mansions, and her own whitewashed gate with hinges made from the soles of old shoes than the pearly gates.
-"what i want with a mansion? the cabin whar i been a livin' all my life is plenty good enough for this old nigger. an' what's mo, blue grass a growin' on each side of a shady lane is better'n golden streets. i ain't a goin' ter be hard-headed bout heaven, but i hope the marster will let me settle in some cottage an' let it be in the country where i kin raise a few chickens an' mebbe keep a houndog."
-"i am sure the master will let you have whatever you want, dear aunt mary," molly would say.
-"but if'n he does that, i'll get too rotten spiled ter stay in heaven. he better limit me some, or i'll feel too proudified even fer a angel."
-"oh, it is nice to be back home," sighed molly, settling herself luxuriously in the sleepy-hollow chair that was supposed to be set aside for the master of the house. with the girlish habit she had never outgrown, she slipped off her pumps and stretched out her slender feet to the wood fire, that felt very comfortable in the crisp autumn weather.
-"that's what you said when we arrived in kentucky in the spring," teased her husband.
-"well, so it was nice. the migratory birds have two homes and they are always glad to get to whichever one is seasonable. i reckon i am with my two homes as mother is with her seven children. i love them just the same. thank goodness, i haven't seven of them, homes, i mean."
-"yes, i think two are enough."
-"which home do you love best, wellington or the orchard home?" asked molly, smiling fondly at her husband, who was dandling little mildred on his knees with awkward eagerness.
-"why, neither one of them is home to me unless you are there, and whichever one you grace with your presence is for the time being the one i like the better."
-"and the baby, too, whichever one she is in makes it home!"
-"oh, certainly!" exclaimed edwin green with a whimsical expression on his face. "i see that when i make love now it is to be to two ladies and not to one."
-"don't you think mildred has grown a lot? and see, her eyes have really turned brown, just as mother said they would. don't you think she looks well?"
-"yes, honey, i think she looks very well, but i don't think you do."
-"yes, i know. of course that was fatiguing, but i think you are thinner than you have any right to be. i am afraid you have been doing too much."
-"oh, not at all. i have had simply nothing to do but take care of the baby, and that is just play, real play."
-"humph, no doubt! but maybe you have played too hard and that is what has tired you. i thought you were going to bring kizzie along to nurse."
-"oh, that was your and mother's plan! i never had any idea of doing it. 'deed and um's muvver is going to take care of 'ittle bits a baby herself," and molly reached out and snuggled the willing mildred down in the sleepy-hollow chair. daddy's knee was not the most comfortable spot in the world, and a back that has only been in the world about four months cannot stand for much dandling.
-"but, molly darling, kizzie is a good girl and it would help you ever so much to have her. you know we can well afford it now, so don't let the financial side of it worry you."
-"but, edwin, i can't give up taking care of the baby. i just love to do it."
-"all right, my dear, but please don't wear yourself out."
-the fact was that the long strain of waiting for news from kent had told on molly, and she was looking quite wan and tired. it was not just the trip from kentucky, which, of course, was no easy matter. twenty-four hours on the train with an infant that needed much attention and got much more than it really needed was no joke, but the long hours and days of waiting and uncertainty had taken molly's strength. she did feel tired and had no appetite, but she felt sure a night's rest would restore her. she rather attributed her lack of appetite to the poor food that the new irish maid, whom edwin had installed in her absence, was serving.
-"i'll take hold of her to-morrow and see what can be done," she said rather wearily to herself. "i wish mother could train her for me. i should much rather do the cooking myself than try to train some one who is as hopelessly green as this girl."
-that night little mildred decided was a good time to assert herself. the trip had not tired her at all; on the contrary, it had spurred her on to a state of hilarity, which was very amusing at first but as the night wore on, ceased to be funny. she had come to the delightful knowledge of the fact that she had feet and that each foot had five toes. the cover did not stay on these little pigs one moment. every time molly would settle her tired bones and begin to doze, there would be a crow from mildred, a gurgle, and straight in the air would go the bed clothes, tucked in for the millionth time by the patient young mother. then the pink tootsies would leap into sight and soon find their way to a determined little mouth.
-"darling, you must go to sleepsumby!" molly would remonstrate. "and you will catch your death if you don't keep covered up!"
-before he went to his lectures, edwin crept into the room to look at his sleeping treasures. the chubby baby still had a toe clasped in her hand but from very weariness had fallen over on her side and was covered up all but the pink foot, which was asserting itself in the remarkable position that only the young can take. molly looked very pale and tired but was sleeping peacefully. edwin smiled at them. he had given the green maid from the emerald isle strict orders not to awaken them. he devoutly hoped that molly would not know what a very mean breakfast he had endeavored to choke down; burnt bacon and underdone biscuit washed down with very weak coffee and flanked by eggs that had been cooked too long and not long enough, thereby undergoing that process that the chemist tells us is of all things the most indigestible: half hard and half soft. the burnt bacon had been cold and the underdone biscuit still cooking, seemingly, when the poor young husband and father had tried to nourish himself on them.
-immigrant katy proved rosy and willing but with no more conception of how to cook than she had how to clean. she was great on "scroobing," but walls and furniture and carpets were not supposed to be scrubbed. the kitchen floor and pantry shelves were alike beautiful after her administrations, but gold dust and a stiff brush had not improved the appearance of the piano legs. edwin had come home in the nick of time to stop her before she vented her energies on molly's own persian rug, the pride of her heart because of the wonderful blue in it.
-"what time is it, katy?" asked molly after the baby was absolutely finished and tucked in her carriage to stay on the porch.
-"'tis twilve of the clock, miss, and i haven't so much as turned a hand below schtairs."
-"oh, it can't be that late! lunch at one! what are we to have?"
-"and that i am not knowing, miss. sure and there is nothing in the house."
-"oh, katy, and i have been dawdling up here for hours! i forgot about keeping house, i was so taken up with the baby."
-"yes, and no doubt your man will be sour about it, too."
-molly, still in her kimono, flew to the regions below and began frantically to search for something to concoct into luncheon. a forlorn piece of roast veal was excavated and half a loaf of stale baker's bread. a can of asparagus, a leftover from the housekeeping of the spring, was unearthed. olive oil was in the refrigerator, also, butter, milk and eggs. the veal looked very hopeless, evidently having reposed for hours in a half cold oven before it had furnished forth a miserable dinner for the poor professor.
-"now i'll 'form a miracle on the vituals,' as dear aunt mary would say," declared molly to herself. "katy, get the dining room straight. don't scrub anything but just clear off the table and then set it again as well as you can. put on a fresh lunch cloth and clean napkins; then see that the fire in the library is all right."
-the veal, run through the meat chopper, came out better than was to be expected, and croquettes were formed and frying in deep fat before the dazed katy had cleared off the breakfast table.
-"katy, you must hurry or we won't have the master's luncheon ready when he gets in."
-"faith, and, mrs. green, you do be flying round so schwift like, that i can't get me breath. i feel like the wind from your schkirts was sinding me back. all i can do is schtand schtill and breast the wind."
-"well, i tell you what you do then," laughed molly: "you come fly with the wind," and she caught the irish girl by the hand and ran her around the dining room table just to show her how fast she could go if necessary. katy, having got wound up, kept on going at a rate of speed that was astonishing. to be sure, she broke a cup and a plate, but what was a little chaney to the master's luncheon being served on time?
-the faithful can of asparagus was opened and heated; toast was made from the half loaf of stale bread, and a cream sauce prepared to pour over the asparagus on toast. popovers were stirred up and in the oven before katy got the table set, although she was going with the wind instead of trying to breast it. a few rosy apples from the orchard at chatsworth, unearthed from the depths of the unpacked trunk, formed a salad with a mayonnaise made in such a hurry that molly trembled for its quality; but luck being with her that day, it turned out beautifully.
-"no lettuce, so we'll put the salad on those green majolica plates and maybe he won't notice," she called to katy, just as the professor opened the front door.
-"mol--ly!" he called.
-"here i am."
-the mistress of the house emerged from the kitchen in a state of mussiness but looking very pretty withal, her red-gold hair curling up in little ringlets from the steam and her cheeks as rosy as though she had joost come over wid katy. her blue kimono was very becoming but hardly what she would have chosen to appear in at luncheon.
-"i am so sorry not to be dressed, but i had to hustle so as to get lunch ready in time. the clock struck twelve when i thought it was about ten."
-"did you have to get luncheon? where was katy?"
-"she helped, but i wanted to have a finger in it. if you will wait a minute, i will get into a dress."
-"why, you look beautiful in that loose blue thing; besides, i have to eat and run. a faculty meeting is calling me."
-"she might hold her upside down. i will bring her to the table and she can talk to you while you are finishing!"
-so molly flew to the porch and picked up her darling. she had intended to take her to the dining room but she remembered it was time for mildred to have her food and so the patient edwin had to finish his meal alone.
-he found his wife and baby on the upper back porch. the color had left molly's cheeks and she was quite pale, and there was a little wan, wistful look in her countenance that edwin did not like.
-"molly, honey, you are all tired out. you did not eat your luncheon and you got no sleep last night. what are we going to do about it?"
-"oh, i'm all right! please don't bother about me! did you like the apple salad? they were apples from kentucky."
-"fine! everything was delicious. but i don't want you to wear yourself out cooking. if katy can't cook, we must get some one who can. if she can't cook and you won't let her nurse, why what is the use of her?"
-molly, worn out with the sleepless night and the record breaking getting of a meal out of nothing, felt as though she would disgrace herself in a minute and burst into tears. she could not discuss the matter with edwin for fear of breaking down. edwin kissed her good-by and tactfully withdrew.
-"you goose, molly brown!" she scolded herself. "and what on earth are you so full of tears over? i know edwin thinks i ought to have a nurse and i just can't trust mildred to any one. i am going to try so hard to have everything so nice that he won't think about it any more."
-a grand telephoning for provisions ensued, and a dinner was planned for six-thirty that would have taxed the culinary powers of a real chef and before which katy bowed her head in defeat. it meant that by four molly must be back in the kitchen to start things.
-callers came in through the afternoon to welcome back to wellington the popular wife of the popular professor and to glimpse the new baby. kind mrs. mclean, the wife of the doctor, a little older than when last we saw her but showing it only in her whitening hair and not at all in her upright carriage and british complexion, stopped in "just for a moment" to be picked up later by the doctor on his way to a country patient. miss walker herself, the busy president of wellington, ran in from the meeting of the faculty to greet her one time pupil and to give one kiss to the college baby. several of the seniors, who were freshmen when molly was still at college as post graduate and who had the delight of calling her molly while most of the others had to say mrs. green, came in fresh from a game of basketball, glowing with health and enthusiasm.
-while these friends were all gathered about molly and the baby, alice fern, edwin green's cousin, driving in to wellington in a very stylish new electric car, stopped to make a fashionable call on her law kin. she had never forgiven molly for stealing (as she expressed it) edwin's affections. she was still miss fern, and although she was possessed of beauty and intelligence, it was likely that she would remain miss fern. molly was never very much at her ease with alice. she was particularly sensitive to any feeling of dislike entertained toward her, and edwin's cousin always made her feel that she disapproved of her in some way.
-the living room in the broad old red brick house on the campus, occupied by the professor of english, was a pleasant room, breathing of the tastes and pursuits of the owners. low bookshelves were in every nook and cranny, filled with books, the shelves actually sagging with them. botticelli's primavera, a present from mary stewart, adorned one wall; mathew jouette's portrait of molly's great grandmother, a wedding present from aunt clay, another. this was the portrait that looked so much like molly and also like the marquise d'ochtè, between whom and aunt sarah clay there was no love lost; indeed, it was this likeness that had induced aunt clay to part with such a valuable work of art. the other pictures were some dashing, clever sketches by judy kean, and pierce kinsella's very lovely portrait of mrs. brown, that had won honorable mention at the salon and then had been sent by the young artist to adorn molly's home. on the whole, it was a very satisfactory and tastefully furnished room and molly and edwin always declared they could talk better and think better in that room than in any they had ever seen.
-on that first day home, molly was a little conscious of the fact that the room needed a thorough cleaning, not the scrubbing that katy was so desirous of administering, but just a good thorough cleaning. however, she was so glad to see her friends again and so proud of showing her wonderful baby to them that the cleaning seemed of small importance.
-"i'll dust all the books to-morrow," she said to herself, "and have katy wipe down the walls, polish the glass on the pictures, and above all, wash the windows."
-she well knew that miss walker and dear mrs. mclean were not noticing such things, or, if they did, they would make all excuses. as for the college girls--dirt was not what they came to see. they came to see the lovely molly and her adorable baby. if the walls were festooned with cobwebs, why that was the way walls should be in the home of a learned professor of english, who had written several books, besides the libretto to a successful opera, and who was married to a beautiful titian-haired girl who was also a genius in her way, having been accepted in magazines when she was not even out of college. what did they care for dust on the books and smeary window panes? molly was so popular with the college girls that in their eyes she was perfection itself.
-alice fern's entrance broke up the cheerful group gathered around molly and the rosy mildred. miss walker suddenly remembered that she had an important engagement and hurried off, and mrs. mclean, who made no endeavor to hide her impatience at miss fern's exceeding smugness, went outside to wait for the doctor. the girls stayed, however, hoping to sit out the unwelcome interrupter.
-these girls were favorites of molly's. the harum scarum billie mckym from new york reminded her in a way of her own judy, although no one else could see it. josephine crittenden, tom boy of college and leader in all sports, hailed from kentucky, and being a distant relative of crittenden rutledge, mildred brown's husband, was of course taken immediately under the wing of the loyal molly. she had what she called a crush on molly, and not a little did she amuse that young matron, as well as annoy her, by her gifts of flowers and candy.
-the third girl was from the west. thelma olsen was her name, and although her family had been in america for three generations, thelma had inherited the characteristics of a viking maiden along with the name. she was very tall, with an excellent figure and the strength of a man. her hair was as yellow as gold and her eyes as blue as corn flowers. she moved with dignity, holding her head up like a queen. her expression was calm and kindly. she had, in very truth, worked her way through college, which of course appealed to molly, remembering well her own boot blacking days and her many schemes for making a few pennies. but what most touched our molly was the fact that thelma had a writing bee in her bonnet. the girl had an instinct for literature and a longing for expression that must come out. professor green thought very highly of her gift for prose and did much to encourage her.
-these three girls formed a strange trio, but they were inseparable, having roomed together since their freshman year. billie was very rich in her own name, since she was an orphan with nothing closer than a guardian and an aunt-in-law. money meant no more to her than black-eyed peas. she was intensely affectionate and where she loved, she loved so fiercely that it positively hurt, she used to say. she was witty and clever but not much of a student, as is often the case where learning comes too easily. she was so generous it was embarrassing to her friends. her talent lay in clothes. she knew more about clothes than paquin and doucet and all the others. it positively hurt her when her friends did not wear becoming clothes, just as it hurt her when she loved them so hard. the object of her life was to clothe her dear friend thelma in dark blue velvet. thelma was too proud to be clothed in anything that she had not paid for herself, and the consequence was that coarse blue serge was as near as she came to poor billie's dream.
-alice fern seated herself on the front of a chair with very much of a lady-come-to-see expression and then formally entered into a conversation, going through the usual questions about when molly had arrived and how old the baby was, polite inquiries regarding the relatives in kentucky, etc.
-molly was eager to get into the kitchen just for a moment to start katy on the right track, well knowing that nothing would be doing until she did, but alice fern's arrival made that impossible. she would not in the least have minded excusing herself for a moment to the girls, but if edwin green had to wait until midnight for his dinner, she could not be guilty of such a breach of etiquette with the cousin-in-law, whose disapproval she felt was ever on the alert for a raison d'être. a leg of lamb, and well grown lamb at that, must have plenty of time and the oven must be hot (something katy knew nothing about), but the wife of professor green must not let his relatives know that she was such a poor manager as to have to leave the parlor to attend to cooking at a time in the afternoon when callers were supposed to be doing their calling.
-alice fern was really a very pretty young woman, and since she had nothing to do but attend to her person, she was always excellently well groomed. no blemish was allowed on her faultless complexion from sun or wind. an hour a day was religiously given up to massage and manicure. her hair was always coiffed in the latest mode, and not one lock was ever known to be out of place. her costume was ever of the richest and most stylish.
-on that afternoon, as she rode up in her closed electric car, dressed in a fawn-colored suit with spotless white gloves and spats, she really looked like a beautiful wax figure in a showcase. beside her, poor molly looked like a rumpled madonna. she had on a very becoming blue linen house dress that she had donned as not only suitable for possible callers but also not too pure or good in which to cook her husband's food. the baby had delighted the admiring audience, before the arrival of miss fern, by clutching a handful of her mother's pretty hair and having to have her little pink fingers opened one by one to disengage them. no doubt it was a highly intelligent and charming performance, but it had played sad havoc with molly's hair.
-"we are so glad you are back, molly, for more reasons than one," exclaimed jo crittenden, hoping to loosen the tension a little, when alice had completed her perfunctory catechism. "when are you going to begin the would-be authors' club?"
-"oh, do begin soon!" begged billie. "thelma has turned out some scrumptious bits during vacation, and even i have busted loose on paper."
-"yes, i have written a lot this summer," said thelma, as molly smiled on her. "have you done anything, or has the baby kept you too busy?"
-"oh, i had plenty of time while i was in kentucky. you see, out there i have a very good servant and then my mother helps me with mildred. i have finished a short story and sent it off. of course, i am expecting it back by every mail."
-"i should think your household cares would prevent your giving much time to scribbling," sniffed alice, if one could call the utterances of such an elegant dame sniffing.
-"scribbling! why, mrs. green has written real things and been in real magazines," stormed billie.
-"yes, and if we had not limited the would-be authors to twenty, we would have the whole of wellington clamoring to join," declared jo, who considered it was high time for a perfect gentleman to step in and let miss alice fern know how wellington felt toward mrs. edwin green.
-miss fern said nothing but stared at the corner of the room that edwin and molly called: "the poet's corner." it was where all the poetry, ancient, medieval and modern, found shelf room. over it hung shakespeare's epitaph, a framed rubbing from the tomb, the same that edwin had always kept over his desk in his bachelor days to scare his housekeeper, mrs. brady, into sparing his precious papers.
-"good frend for isus sake forbeare to digg ye dust encloased heare bleste be ye man yt spares thes stones and curst be he yt moves my bones."
-she kept her eyes so glued to the spot over the book shelves that finally all turned involuntarily to see what she was gazing on so intently. there it hung! there was no denying it or overlooking it: a great black cobweb that must have been there for several generations of spiders. no doubt it had taken all summer to weave such a mighty web and catch and hold so much grime.
-molly blushed furiously. for a moment, she almost hated katy and she wholly hated alice fern. that elegant damsel had a supercilious expression on her aristocratic countenance that said as plainly as though she had given utterance to her thoughts:
-"author's club, indeed! she had much better clean her house."
-molly was suddenly conscious that every corner was festooned with similar webs. the late afternoon sun was slanting in the windows and its searching rays had found and were showing up every grain of dust. the panes of glass were, to say the least, grimy.
-"oh!" she faltered, "i didn't know it was so--so--dusty in here. katy, the new maid, was supposed to have cleaned it before i came."
-"what do you care for a few irishman's curtains?" said the hero-worshipping billie. "no one noticed them until--ahem--until the sun came in the window." she said sun came in the window but she plainly meant fern came in the door.
-"i haven't had time to do much housekeeping since i got back," continued molly, lamely. "the new maid, katy, that edwin got from new york, is most inefficient but so good-natured that i am hoping to train her. the truth of the matter is that she and i spent the whole morning doing things for mildred and we let the house go. i am going to have a big cleaning to-morrow."
-molly felt like weeping with mortification and she began to hate herself for making explanations and excuses to alice fern. even if she kept professor green's house festooned in cobwebs from attic to cellar and had dust over everything thick enough to write your name, what business was it of this perfect person? she suddenly realized, too, that that perfect person had never uttered a word although she had looked volumes.
-miss fern arose from her prim seat and made a rather hasty retreat. the relieved molly excused herself to the girls and rushed to the kitchen to start katy on the dinner that should have been on half an hour before. what was her chagrin to find the fire only just kindled, as katy had let it go out so that she might polish the stove. the irish girl was on her knees "scroobing," happy in a sea of soap suds.
-molly almost had hysterics. how could she ever get things done? edwin would be home any moment now and she could not stand having a miserable underdone dinner for him, nor could she stand having his dinner hours late. she realized that there was no use in reprimanding katy,--the girl was simply ignorant. she asked her gently to postpone her "scroobing" until later and to wash her hands and prepare the vegetables. then she piled kindling wood in the range until the chimney roared so that katy said it sounded like a banshee. the oven must be hot for the roast.
-"i tell you what to do, katy: make some tea immediately and slice some bread quite thin, open this box of peanut cookies, and we will have such a grand tea that the master won't be hungry until the roast is done."
-"and phwat a schmart trick!" laughed the girl.
-when miss fern made her adieux, molly had flown so quickly to the kitchen that she had not seen her husband crossing the campus. alice fern had seen him, however, and her greeting of him was so warm and friendly, her smile so charming and her manner so cordial that she hardly seemed the same person who had just left poor molly stuttering and stammering apologies over her irishman's curtains.
-"look at the pill!" exclaimed jo. "she is about to eat up epiménides antinous green." that was the name professor green was known by at wellington.
-"did you ever see any one cast such a damper over a crowd without saying a single word? i thought molly was going to cry," declared billie.
-"i think our friend is looking very tired," said thelma. "i wish we could do something for her. she says this new maid is almost worse than none at all."
-"i appreciate your coming to see my wife so soon, alice. i should so like to have you and molly be close friends."
-"thank you, edwin, i am sure nothing would please me more. you must bring molly out to see us." could this be the same person who had made the living room look so dusty and ill kempt only a few minutes before, this gracious, charming, sweet, friendly creature, who doted on babies? she had paid no attention to mildred except to give her a tentative poke with her daintily gloved finger, but to hear her conversation with edwin, one would have gathered that she was a supreme lover of children.
-the girls would not stay to tea, although molly pressed them, but full of some scheme, they hurried off.
-dinner was not so very late, after all, and the tea and bread and peanut cookies saw to it that the professor was not too hungry before the leg of lamb had reached the proper stage of serving. molly was too much of a culinary artist not to feel elated when things turned out right, which they usually did if she could get her finger in the pie. the day had been a very trying one for her. the sleepless night had left her little strength to grapple with it and the slow stupidity of katy was very irritating. it was over at last, however, and dear little mildred had decided to let her pigs rest and had gone quietly to sleep at the proper time that a well-trained infant should. edwin was smoking his after-dinner pipe and everything was very peaceful and pleasant. molly was trying to keep her eyes open, ashamed to confess that she was so sleepy she could hardly see.
-she lay back in the easy chair while edwin read aloud from his scrap book of fugitive verse. this scrap book professor green had started when he was in college, putting in only the rare, fine things he found in magazine reading. molly had helped him in his collecting and now the volume was assuming vast proportions.
-suddenly molly's upturned eyes rested on the terrible cobweb that had been her waterloo of the afternoon. how black and threatening it looked! she hoped edwin would not see it. and the books! actually you had to open one and beat it and blow it before you dared begin to read. all this must be cleaned to-morrow and oh, how tired she was!
-"did not alice look lovely this afternoon?" said edwin, stopping his reading for a moment. "i hope you and she are going to be great friends. i think it was very nice for her to come so soon to call on you. she spoke so sweetly of the baby, too."
-molly said nothing but gazed at the cobweb. she said nothing but she did some thinking:
-"molly brown, what right have you, just because you are tired and alice fern came to call on you, looking very pretty and very beautifully dressed, and found you all frumpy and your living room looking like a pig sty, what right have you, i say, to sulk? now you answer your husband and tell him alice was pretty and don't tell him anything else." accordingly, after giving herself the mental chastisement, molly emitted a faint:
-"yes, very pretty!" but it was so faint and so far away that edwin looked at her in alarm, and then it was that she could stand nothing more and broke down and shed a few tears.
-"why, molly, my dearest girl, what is the matter?"
-"you! why, honey, you are always lovely. as for dust--don't bother about that. let me read you this wonderful little poem by gertrude hall. i clipped it years ago."
-professor green saw that molly was tired and unstrung and he well knew that nothing soothed her more than poetry. of course, man-like, he had no idea that what he had said about alice fern's looking so sweet had been too much for her, as she had contrasted herself all the afternoon with her husband's immaculate cousin. molly wiped away the foolish tears as edwin read the poem.
-by gertrude hall.
-it settles softly on your things, impalpable, fine, light, dull, gray; the dingy dust-clout betty brings, and, singing, brushes it away:
-and it's a queen's robe, once so proud, and it's the moths fed in its fold, it's leaves, and roses, and the shroud, wherein an ancient saint was rolled.
-and it is beauty's golden hair, and it is genius' wreath of bay, and it is lips once red and fair that kissed in some forgotten may."
-"it is lovely, exquisite!" breathed molly. "i don't feel nearly so bad about it as i did."
-but she did wish that alice fern had not seen that black, black cobweb.
-heroes and hero worshipers.
-the next morning poor molly slept late again. with all good intentions of waking early and going down stairs in time to see about her husband's neglected breakfast, when morning came she did not stir. mildred had given her another wakeful night after all, finding out more things about her little pigs. finally the little monkey had given up and dropped off to sleep, and she and her doting mother were both dead to the world when the time came for professor green to go to lectures.
-again he gave instructions to katy not to disturb the mistress and crept out of the house as still as a mouse. breakfast had been a little better. molly was rubbing off on katy evidently. just to associate with such a culinary genius as molly must have its effect even on the worst cook in the world, which katy surely seemed to be.
-coming across the campus, he ran into billie mckym, josephine crittenden and thelma olsen. they looked very bright and rosy as they gave him a cheery good morning. each carried a bundle. he wondered that they were going away from lecture halls instead of toward them. but after all, it was not his business to be the whipper-in for lectures. wellington was a college and not a boarding school. if students chose to cut lectures, it was their own affair until the final reckoning.
-"just our luck to meet epiménides antinous!" cried billie. "he should have been out of the house five minutes ago, at least."
-"his legs are so long he doesn't have to start early," declared jo. "just see him sprint!"
-"i am certainly sorry to cut his lecture to-day," sighed thelma, "but this thing must be done."
-the greens' front door was never locked except at night, so the girls crept quietly in. billie peeped into the kitchen, where she discovered katy on her knees "scroobing" the part of the kitchen she could not finish the evening before, when molly was so hard-hearted as to make her stop and prepare vegetables. such a sea of suds!
-"katy," whispered billie.
-"merciful mither! and phwat is it? ye scart me," and the girl sat back on her heels and looked at billie with round, wide eyes.
-"we are great friends of mrs. green and we have come to dust her books and--ahem--do a few little things. is she still asleep?"
-"yis, and the master was after saying she must not be distoorbed, not on no account."
-"of course she must not be! that is why we have come to dust the things. we think she looks so tired."
-"and so she is, the scwate lamb; but she do fly around so, and she do cook up so mooch. i tell her that she thinks more of her man's insides thin she do of her own outsides."
-"well, katy, we want you to let us have a broom and a wall brush. we brought our own aprons and rags," and billie pressed a round, hard something into katy's hand. it was not so large as a church door nor so deep as a well, but it served to get the irish girl up off of her run-down heels; and in a trice the coveted broom and wall brush were in possession of the three conspirators, as well as a stepladder, which they decided would be needful.
-"don't say a word to mrs. green, katy,--now remember. we are going to work very quietly and hope to finish before she gets downstairs. we don't want her to know who did it, but we mean to get it all done before noon," said jo, rolling up her sport shirtsleeves and disclosing muscular arms, that showed what athletics had done for her and what she could do for athletics.
-"where must we begin, thelma?" asked billie, who was as willing as could be but knew no more about cleaning than a hog does about holidays, jo declared.
-"begin at the top," laughed thelma, tying up her yellow head in a great towel and rolling up her sleeves.
-"gee, your arms are beautiful!" exclaimed billie. "i'd give my head for such arms. i'd like to drape them in a silver scarf. think how they would gleam through." the arms were snow white and while thelma's strength was much greater than jo's, her muscles did not show as they did on that athletic young person.
-thelma blushed and laughed as she balanced herself on a stepladder and began taking down pictures. a cloud of dust floated down and enveloped her.
-"look, look! she looks like the 'white armed gudrun'! don't you remember in william morris's 'fall of the neiblungs'? the battle in atli's hall?
-"'lo, lo, in the hall of the murder where the white-armed gudrun stands, aloft by the kingly high-seat, and nought empty are her hands; for the litten brand she beareth, and the grinded war-sword bare: still she stands for a little season till day groweth white and fair. without the garth of king atli, but within, a wavering cloud rolls, hiding the roof and the roof-sun; then she stirrith and crieth aloud.'"
-"cut it out! cut it out!" cried jo, "and come lend a hand."
-"mustn't we dust before we sweep?" innocently asked billie.
-"if you want to, but you'll have to dust again afterwards," said the white-armed gudrun from her ladder. "the books are really so dirty that i don't think it would hurt to wipe down the walls without covering them, but that is a mighty poor cleaning method. poor molly! didn't she look tired yesterday? i hope she won't think we are cheeky to take a hand in her affairs."
-"cheeky! she will think we are her good friends, not like that snippy miss fern who stared so at the cobwebs and then went out and palavered over epiménides antinous. she used to claim him, so i am told. one of the nurses at the infirmary told me that when epi anti had typhoid there, years ago, miss fern came and dressed herself up like a nurse and almost bored the staff to death taking care of her sick cousin," said billie, delighted with the job that had been given her of wiping down walls. "isn't this splendid? just look at all the dirt i got on my rag!"
-"well, don't rub it back on the wall," admonished jo.
-"no. well, what must i do with it?"
-"can't say, but don't put it back on the walls."
-"jo, you and billie dust the books and i will finish up the pictures. i can't trust myself to dust professor green's books. i am afraid of breaking the tenth commandment all the time," sighed thelma. "i'll wash the windows, too."
-"oh, thelma! the white-armed gudrun sitting in windows washing them! that's not occupation meet for a queen. let me do it."
-"you, billie mckym, wash a window! did you ever wash one in your life?"
-"well, no, not exactly, but i bet i could. what's the use of a college education if one can't wash windows when she gets to be a full grown senior?"
-but since the object of the girls was to get the room clean, it was decided that thelma was to wash the windows. my, how they worked! jo found she had muscles that her athletics had never revealed. she found them because they began to ache.
-"why, to dust all these books and books is as bad as building a house," she said, straightening up and stretching when she had finished the poet's corner.
-"exactly like laying brick," declared billie. "i'm going to join the hod-carriers' union. i'll be no scab."
-katy had occasionally poked her head in at the door, entreating "whin they coom to the scroobing" to call her.
-the cleaners made very little noise, so little that the sleeping molly and mildred were not at all disturbed.
-then began the business of the day upstairs. katy was called, for water must be heated as katy, according to her habit, had let the fire go out before the boiler was hot.
-"katy, we must hurry up with mildred this morning and get to the library. it is filthy," said molly, as she slipped the little french flannel petticoat over mildred's bald head.
-"yes, mum!" grinned katy.
-"we have luncheon almost ready, with the cold lamb to start with."
-"don't you think you could get the dining room cleaned while i am attending to the baby?"
-"yes, mum, if yez can schpare me."
-"oh, i think i can. but, katy, before you go hand me that basket. and, katy, perhaps you had better wash out this flannel skirt. i am so afraid she might run short of them. you can empty the water now--and, katy, please hold the baby's hand while i tie this ribbon, she is such a wiggler--and, katy--a little boiled water now for her morning tipple. she must drink lots of water to keep in good health."
-"yes, mum, and how aboot breakfast for yez, mum?"
-"oh, i forgot my breakfast! of course i must eat some breakfast. i'll come down to it."
-"oh, no, mum! and let me be after bringing it oop to yez, mum," insisted the wily katy, who was anxious for the youthful house cleaners to accomplish their dark and secret mission without interruption. not only was it great fun, a huge joke, in fact, for her to be paid fifty cents to let others do her work, but it meant that since others were doing it, she would not have to, and she could have just that much more time for "scroobing" and resting. a tray was accordingly got ready and molly found she had a little more appetite than the morning before; also, that katy's food was really a little better.
-"your coffee is better this morning, katy," she said, believing that praise for feats accomplished but egged on the servitor to other and greater effort.
-"yes, mum, so the master said."
-"as soon as luncheon is over, we must get busy with the cleaning. i wish we might have done it in the forenoon, but i am afraid it is too late."
-"yes, mum, it's too late!" and katy indulged in such a hearty giggle that her mistress began to think perhaps she was feeble-minded as well as inefficient.
-"is the table in the dining room cleared off, katy, so you can set it for luncheon?"
-"no, mum, it is not!"
-"oh, katy! what have you been doing all morning?"
-"well, mum, i scroobed my kitchen, and--and----"
-"and what?" demanded molly.
-"and i did a little head work in the liberry, that is, i----"
-"oh, katy, did you clean the living room, clean it well?"
-"well, mum, yez can wait and see if it schoots yez," and katy beat a hasty retreat to warn the cleaners that the mistress was about to descend.
-the room presented a very different appearance to what it had before the girls rolled up their sleeves. the slanting afternoon sun would seek out no dusty corners now; everything was spick and span. the books no longer had to be beaten and blown before you dared open them, and they stood in neat and orderly rows; the walls held no decorations in the shape of irishman's curtains now; the picture glass shone, as did the window panes; the rugs were out in the back yard sunning after a vigorous beating and brushing from thelma, whom billie called "the powerful katrinka."
-the floor, being the one part of the room that katy had put some licks on, did not need anything more serious than a dusting after everything else was done.
-"katy, you might bring in the rugs now as we have done everything else," suggested billie. katy went out into the back yard and bundled up the rugs. molly, seeing her from an upper window, smiled her approval.
-"i believe she is going to do very well," she said to herself. "she seems to be trying, and she is so fond of mildred."
-"come on, girls, we must hurry and get off! molly will be down stairs any minute now and she must not see us," and thelma unwound the towel from her head and took off her apron.
-"well, surely the white-armed gudrun is not going across the campus with a black face," objected billie. "why, both of you look like negro minstrels----"
-"and you!" interrupted jo. "you should see yourself before you talk about kettles. you'd have not a leg to stand on and not a handle to your name. i told you to tie up your head. i believe nothing short of a shampoo and a turkish bath will get the grime off you."
-"let's hide behind the sofa and after molly goes on the porch with the baby, we can sneak up to the bath room," suggested thelma. the girls then crouched on the floor behind a sofa that stood near the poet's corner.
-in a minute molly came down the stairs, little mildred in her arms and on her face a contented and rested expression. she stood in the doorway of the living room and exclaimed with delight over its polished cleanliness.
-"oh, katy, how splendid it is! did you do it all by yourself and in such a short time? i don't see how you managed it. why, you have even dusted the books. that is almost a day's work in itself. i was dreading it so,--it is such a back breaking job."
-jo rubbed her aching back, with a grim smile, and nudged billie.
-"and you have kept yourself so clean, too!" molly began to feel that she had the prize servant of the east: one who could clean such an augean stable as that room had looked, dust all the books, wash the windows and wipe down walls, beat rugs, polish picture glass, etc., etc., and still be neat and tidy. "why, i would have been black all over if i had done such a great work."
-katy stood by, quite delighted with the undeserved praise. the young ladies had told her not to tell and far be it from her to refuse to accept the unaccustomed praise from any one. she had never been very apt in any work she had undertaken and no one had ever taken any great pains to teach her, and now if this pretty lady wanted to praise her, why she was more than willing. she felt in her pocket for her fifty cent piece, that still seemed a great joke to her. the sweet taste of the praise did one great thing in her kindly irish soul: it was so pleasant, she determined to have more of it, and through her slow intelligence there filtered the fact that to get more praise, she must deserve more praise, and to deserve it she must work for it. she beat a hasty retreat to the dining room and actually cleared off the table, where the master had eaten his solitary breakfast, in a full run. she broke no dishes that morning, either, which was a great step forward.
-molly could not tear herself away from the wonder room. she moved around, busying herself changing ornaments a bit and placing chairs at a slightly different angle, doing those little things that make a room partake of a certain personality.
-"here, baby, lie on the sofa, honey. muddy is going to give you a little ride. do you know, darling, that katy knows how to put things in place just like a lady? she must have an artistic soul. look how she has arranged the mantel-piece! servants usually make things look so stiff. actually there is nothing for me to do in the room, she has done it so beautifully."
-billy here dug an elbow into jo's lame back that almost made her squeal, but she held on to her emotions and in turn gave her chum a fourth degree pinch.
-"now, muddy is going to ride her baby--this sofa must go closer to the wall," and molly put mildred on the sofa and gave it a vigorous push. the law of impenetrability, that two things cannot be in the same place at the same time, prevented the baby from having much of a ride. molly gave a harder push. "i must be very feeble if i can't budge this sofa."
-then came a smothered groan from the huddled girls, and one by one they emerged from their corner, clutching their bundles of dust rags and aprons and exposing to molly's amazed eyes three of the very blackest, dirtiest faces that ever wellington had boasted in her senior class.
-they sat on the floor and laughed and giggled, and molly sat down beside them and would have felt like a college girl again herself if it had not been for little mildred, who took all the laughter as an entertainment, got up for her express amusement, and gurgled accordingly.
-"now you must all stay to luncheon!" cried the hospitable molly.
-"oh, indeed we mustn't," said billie, who never could quite get used to molly's wholesale hospitality, having been brought up in the lap of luxury but with no privileges of inviting persons off hand to meals.
-"but you must. i won't do a thing for you but just put on more plates. i was going to have the very simplest meal and i'll still have it."
-the girls stayed, after giving themselves a vigorous scrubbing, and molly's luncheon was ready when professor green arrived. the cold leg of lamb played a noble part at the impromptu party, flanked by a lettuce salad that billie insisted upon dressing, reminding molly more than ever of her darling judy. a barrel of preserves had just arrived, some that molly and kizzie had put up during the summer. on opening it, a jar of blackberry jam, being on top, was chosen to grace the occasion. molly made some of the tiny biscuit that her husband loved and that seemed such a joke to katy. when she came in bearing a plate of hot ones, she spread her mouth in a grin so broad that professor green declared she could easily have disposed of six at one mouthful.
-"i always call them gulliver biscuit," he said, helping himself to three at a time, "because in the old gulliver's travels i used to read when i was a kid there was a picture of gulliver being fed by the lilliputians. he was represented by a great head, and the lilliputians were climbing up his face by ladders and pouring down his throat barrels of little biscuit that were just about the size of these."
-they had a merry time at that meal. molly told her husband why his prize pupils had cut his lectures and all others that morning, and how she had almost passed a steam roller over them in form of the library sofa.
-"we were terribly afraid we would offend her," explained thelma, "but she was dear to us."
-"offend me! why, i can't think of anything in all my life that has ever happened to me that has touched me more. i don't see how you ever thought of doing anything so nice."
-"'twas billie," from thelma.
-"thelma and jo did all the dirty work," declared billie.
-"dirty work, indeed! you looked as though you had used yourself to wipe down the walls with," laughed jo.
-"well, anyhow, when that snippy miss fern comes again, giving her perfunctory pokes at the baby and looking at the cobwebs until nobody can help seeing them, i bet she won't find anything to turn up her nose at. i'd like to use her to clean the walls with. if there is anything i hate it is any one who is the pink of perfection in her own eyes. we were having such a cozy time until she lit on us with her dove-colored effects. who cared whether there were cobwebs or not?"
-"did miss fern speak of the cobwebs?" asked edwin, while the others sat around in frozen horror, remembering that she was his cousin and that he was evidently very fond of her.
-"oh, no, she didn't open her lips; she just pursed them up and stared at the corner. of course, she had already given her dig about molly's surely not having time to write and attend to her house, too; and then when she fixed her eyes on that irishman's curtain we all knew what she was thinking, and that she wanted us to know it, just as well as though she had spoken it and then written it and then had it put on the minutes.... what's the matter?... oh, heavens! what have i done?... oh, professor green! she is your cousin! please, please forgive me," and billie clasped her hands in entreaty.
-"oh, don't mind me," said the professor with a twinkle. "go as far as you like. if the ladies have such open minds that he who runs may read, and they think disagreeable things about my wife, why, they deserve to be used for house cleaning purposes, have the floor wiped up with them and what not."
-the luncheon broke up in a laugh and evidently there were no hard feelings on the part of the host for the criticism of miss fern that had so ingenuously fallen from the lips of the irrepressible billie.
-"billie! what a break!" screamed jo, when they got outside after molly had given them all an extra hug for the undying proof of friendship they had given her.
-"break, indeed! i never forgot for an instant that epi anti was a near cousin to that maidenhair fern. i just thought i'd let him know how she had acted and how uncomfortable she had made our molly feel. i knew molly would never let him know, and i could do it and make out it was a break."
-"well, if you aren't like bret harte's heathen chinee, i never saw one," laughed thelma.
-"'which i wish to remark, and my language is plain, that for ways that are dark and for tricks that are vain, the heathen chinee is peculiar.'"
-"all the same, i bet old epi anti doesn't tell molly any more what a sweet thing alice fern is."
-"how do you know he did?"
-"insight into human nature," and billie made a saucy moue.
-"gee, my back aches!" said jo. "i think i'll do housework often. it certainly does reach muscles we don't know about. but didn't it pay just to see dear old molly's face when we rolled out from behind the sofa?"
-and all of them agreed it had.
-"edwin," said molly, after the girls had gone, "i think i'll send for kizzie to come help me. i may put her in the kitchen and take katy for a nurse."
-"good! i am certainly glad you have come to that decision. what changed you?"
-"well, it seems to me that when it comes to the pass that my college girls feel so sorry for me they cut such lectures as yours to give the whole morning to cleaning up for me i must do something, and the only thing i can think of doing is to send for kizzie."
-"can you mix the black and white without coming to grief?"
-"remember, katy is more green than white, and she is so good-natured, she could get along with anything."
-"i can't tell you how relieved i am, honey. i wanted you to do what pleased you, but i could not see how i was coming in on this. i felt very lonesome, and while i wasn't jealous of the baby, i was certainly envious of her. if kizzie comes, you can be with me more and nurse me some."
-"yes, dearie, i missed it, too, but somehow i couldn't get through. if katy had been more competent----"
-"but she wasn't and isn't."
-"no, she certainly isn't, but she adores mildred already and mildred actually cries for her. i believe she would make a fine nurse. if only she doesn't feel called upon to scrub the baby."
-edwin laughed and, settling himself for a pleasant smoke, opened the morning paper, which neither he nor molly had found time to read.
-"oh, what a shame!" he exclaimed. "the germans dropping bombs on paris! infamous!"
-"paris! how can they? oh, edwin, judy and kent both there!"
-when the teller of a tale has to fly from one side of the ocean to the other in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, at any rate between chapters, and the persons in the tale have no communication with one another except by letters that are more than likely to be tampered with on the high seas, it is a great comfort to find that all the characters have at last arrived at the same date. on that morning after the dropping of bombs when judy, dressed in her sad mourning garb, was selling spinach and tarts to the hungry occupants of the montparnasse quarter, molly, allowing for the difference in time, was oversleeping herself after a wakeful night and the college girls were quietly cleaning her living room. kent and jim castleman were stretching themselves luxuriously in the not too comfortable beds of the haute loire preparatory to making themselves presentable, first to find judy, and then to find the general who, no doubt, would be glad to have the kentucky giant enlist in the ranks, even though his letter of introduction and credentials had gone to the bottom with the hirondelle de mer. jim castleman's appearance was certainly credential enough that he would make a good fighter.
-a bath and a shave did much towards making our young men presentable. kent with a needle and thread, borrowed from the chambermaid, darned the knees of his trousers so that they did very well just so long as he did not try to sit down; then the strain would have been too much. jim's were hopelessly short.
-"nothing but a flounce would save me, so i'll have to go around at high water mark; but i'll soon be in a uniform, i hope."
-they had breakfast in a little café where kent had often gone while he was a student at the beaux arts, and there jim castleman astonished the madame by ordering four eggs. she couldn't believe it possible that any one could eat that much déjeuner and so cooked his eggs four minutes. his french was quite sketchy but he plunged manfully in with what he had and finally came out with breakfast enough to last until luncheon. kent was willing to do the talking for him but he would none of it.
-"let me do it myself! i'll learn how to get something to eat if i starve in the attempt."
-and now for judy! kent could hardly wait for his famished friend to eat his two orders of rolls and coffee and his four eggs, but at last he was through.
-first to the bank! no, they did not know where mlle. kean was. she had been in once to get money but they were sorry they could not honour her letter of credit. she had left no address.
-then to the american club! judy had been in the day before for mail, and had had quite a budget. she had left no address, but came for letters always when the american mail was reported in.
-where could she be?
-next, to his cousin, the marquise d'ochtè, on the faubourg!
-the venerable porter, at the porte-cochère, who came in answer to the vigorous ring that the now very uneasy kent gave the bell, said that none of the family was within and they had no visitor. madame the marquise had gone to the front only the day before, but was coming home soon to open a hospital in her own home. even then the workmen were busy carrying out her orders, packing away books, pictures, ornaments, rugs and what not so that the house would be the more suitable to care for the wounded. the marquis and philippe were both with their regiments. the old porter was sad and miserable. jules, the butler, was gone; also gaston, the chef whose sauces were beyond compare. madame had taken great hampers of food with her, even going to montparnasse for tarts from tricots'.
-kent turned sadly away. judy was somewhere, but where? her letter to molly telling of her being in the bents' studio had come after kent left kentucky and he had no way of knowing that she was there. polly perkins and his wife, he knew were in the thick of the battle from the first letter he had seen from judy. where was pierce kinsella? he had not heard from his studio mate and friend but he rather thought there was little chance of finding him. at any rate, he determined to go to the rue brea and see if the concierge there knew anything of the lost damsel.
-they found a crowd at the entrance to the court on which the studios fronted. the concierge in the midst of them was waving her arms and talking excitedly.
-"yes, and the first i heard was a click! click! click! and that, it seems, was the terrible thing flying over us and then an explosion that deafened me. they say it was meant for the luxembourg and they missed their mark. that i know nothing about----"
-"what is it? tell me quick!" demanded kent, elbowing his way through the crowd with the help of jim, that renowned center rush.
-"ah, monsieur brune!" she exclaimed, grasping his hand. "did you know that a dirty prussian had sent a bomb right down through the skylight of the good bents' and now all their things are wrecked?"
-"the bents'!" gasped kent. "was any one hurt?"
-"and that we can't say. the young lady has not been sleeping there lately but yesterday she came and got the key and did not return it, so i thought she must have slept there last night! this morning we can find no trace of her. the bomb did much damage, but surely it could not have destroyed her completely."
-"destroyed her! what young lady?"
-"why, mademoiselle kean, of course."
-kent was glad of the strong arm of jim castleman. he certainly needed a support but only for a moment. he pushed through the crowd and made his way to the shattered wall of the studio. the bomb had not done so much damage as might have been expected. the front wall was fallen and the skylight was broken all over the floor. the chairs and easels were piled up like jackstraws at the beginning of a game. the bedrooms were uninjured but the balcony where judy and molly had slept that happy winter in paris had fallen.
-would judy have slept up on the roost just for auld lang syne or would she have occupied a more comfortable bedroom? if she had been blown into such small bits that there was nothing to tell the tale, why should these other things have escaped? there were the blue tea cups in the china closet uninjured, although most of them were turned over, showing that the shock had reached them, too. what was that blue thing lying on the divan in the corner under untold débris?
-kent pulled off the timbers and broken glass and unearthed judy's blue serge dress, which was waiting to be dyed a dismal black. he clasped it in his arms in an agony of apprehension. letters fell out of the pocket. he recognized his mother's handwriting, also molly's. so, judy had heard from kentucky! he stuffed them back in the jacket.
-"jim, i simply don't believe she was here. i couldn't have slept all night like such a lummux if she--if she----"
-"yes, old fellow! i know! i don't believe she was here, either."
-"i just know i would have had some premonition of it! i would have been conscious of it if anything had been happening to judy," which showed that kent brown was his mother's own son. he was not going to mourn the loss of a loved one until he was sure the loved one was gone, and he had her own unfailing faith that something could not have happened to one he cared for without his being aware of it.
-"sure you would!" declared jim, not at all sure but relieved that his friend was taking that view of the matter.
-"i know something that will be a positive proof whether she was here or not last night." kent walked firmly to the bath room, which was behind the bed rooms and out of the path of the bomb. he threw open the door and looked eagerly on the little glass shelf for a tooth brush.
-"not a sign of one. i know and you know that if judy had been here last night her tooth brush would have been here, too. i am sure now! come on, and let's look somewhere else."
-kent went out with judy's serge dress over his arm. the concierge looked sadly after him: "her dress is all he has to cherish now. the poor young man! i used to see he was in love with her when mrs. brune was in the bents' studio and her son occupied the one to the right with mr. kinsella. oh, la la! mais la vie est amer!"
-the crowd dispersed, since there was nothing more to see and the hour for déjeuner a la fourchette was approaching. the concierge went off to visit her daughter who was ill. the studios were all empty now and her duties were light. her husband was to see that no one entered the court to carry off the bents' things, which were exposed pitifully to the gaze of the public until the authorities could do something. he, good man, waited a little while and then made his way to a neighbouring brasserie to get his tumbler of absinthe, and one tumbler led to another and forgetfulness followed soon, and the bents' studio properties were but dreams to his befuddled brain.
-judy had spent a busy morning. marie had gone to carry tarts to "the regiment" and all of the waiting in the shop fell on her. she did it gladly, thankful that she was so busy she could not think. she measured soup and weighed spinach and potato salad and wrapped up tarts until her back ached. finally mère tricot came in from the baking of more tarts.
-"my child, go out for a while. you need the air. i am here now to feed these gourmands."
-"all right, mother! i want to get my dress at the studio. marie says she will dye it for me."
-"certainly! certainly! we can save many a sou by doing it ourselves. go, child!"
-judy put on her little mourning bonnet and sadly found her way to the rue brea.
-"i wonder where the bomb hit last night. père tricot said near the luxembourg."
-what was her amazement to find the poor studio in ruins. no concierge to tell her a thing about it, for her lodge was locked tight and no one near. judy picked her way sadly over the fallen front wall.
-"i'll get my dress, anyhow." but although she was sure it had been on the divan in the studio, no dress was to be found.
-"well, i'll have to have something to wear besides this thin waist. i am cold now, and what will i do when winter, real winter comes? i shall have to send to giverny for my trunk, and no telling what it will cost to get it here. oh, oh, how am i to go on? i wish to god i had been sleeping on that balcony when the bomb struck. then i would have been at peace."
-judy gave herself up to the despair that was in her heart. she made a thorough search for the suit through the poor wrecked apartment but no sign of it could she see. she went sadly back to the delicatessen shop and stepped behind the counter, her hat still on, to assist the good mother tricot, who was being besieged with customers.
-"take off your hat, child. here is a fresh cap of marie's and an apron. did you get your dress?"
-judy told her kind friend of the bomb-wrecked studio and her lost suit.
-"oh, the vandals! the wretches! there must be a prussian in our midst who would be so low as to steal your suit. no frenchman would have done it. before the war,--yes, but now there is not one who would do such a dastardly trick. we are all of one family now, high and low, rich and poor,--and we do not prey on one another."
-"well, it makes very little difference," said judy resignedly. "i'll send for my trunk. i have other suits in it."
-"other suits! oh, what riches!" but then the old woman considered that the friend of the marquise d'ochtè perhaps had many other suits.
-judy donned the cap and apron and went on with the shop keeping. no one could have told her from a poor little bereaved french girl. the cap was becoming, as was also the organdy collar. her face was pale and her eyes full of unshed tears, but the sorrow had given to judy's face something that her enemies might have said it had lacked: a softness and depth of feeling. her friends knew that her heart was warm and true and that the feeling was there, but her life had been care free with no troubles except the scrapes that she had been as clever getting out of as she had been adroit getting in. she had many times considered herself miserable before but now she realized that all other troubles had been nothing--this was something she had had no conception of--this tightening of the heart strings, this hopeless feeling of the bottom having dropped out of the universe.
-she felt absolutely friendless, except for her dear tricots. the browns could never see her again. they must blame her, as it was all her fault that kent had come for her. if she had not been so full of her own conceit, she would certainly have sailed for america when all the others did at the breaking out of the war. her mother and father seemed as remote as though they were on another planet. the war might last for years and there seemed no chance of their leaving berlin.
-"i'll just stay on here and earn my board and keep," she sighed. "the tricots find me useful and they want me."
-in the meantime, kent and jim castleman went and sat down in the garden of the luxembourg to smoke and talk it over, kent still fondly clasping the serge dress.
-"i'll find her all right before night," declared kent. "she'll be sure to go to the bents' studio sometime to-day. i'll write a note and leave it with the concierge. i'll also leave a note at the american club. she must go there twice a week at least. i'd like to know where the poor little thing is," and kent heaved a sigh.
-"i bet she is all right, wherever she is," comforted jim. "say, brown, i don't like to mention it, but i am starved to death."
-"not mention it! why not?"
-"well, you see when a pal is in trouble it seems so low to go get hungry."
-"but i'm not in trouble. now if i thought that judy had been in that place last night there would be something to be troubled about, but as it is, i just can't find her for a few hours, or maybe minutes. where shall we eat?"
-"that's up to you. i'm getting mighty low in funds, so let's do it cheap but do it a plenty," and jim looked rather ruefully at his few remaining francs.
-"i am still in funds but i shall have to go it mighty easy, too, to get judy and me home. i tell you what we might do. let's go to a shop where they have ready cooked food and bring it out here and eat it. they say you can live on half what it costs to eat in a restaurant. when i was studying over here i knew lots of fellows who lived that way. of course, they had studios where they could take the stuff and eat it, but the luxembourg garden is good enough. i know a place where the perkinses used to deal. they are the funny lot i told you about, the long-haired man and the short-haired woman. he is driving an ambulance now and goodness knows where she is."
-"well, let's go to it. i am so hungry i can hardly waddle. these continental breakfasts with nothing but bread and coffee don't fill me up half way."
-kent smiled, remembering the two full orders and the four eggs his friend had tucked away, but he said nothing. having a good appetite of his own, he had naught but sympathy for his famished friend.
-they left the garden and made for the shop where jo and polly perkins had bought their ready cooked provisions.
-"these people make some little pies that are mighty good, too. we might get half a dozen or so of them as a top off," suggested kent.
-"fine! i've got a mouth for pie, all right."
-judy had gone to the kitchen for a moment to bring to the fore the smoked tongue that père tricot had been slicing in those paper-thin slices that he alone knew how to accomplish. she bore aloft a great platter of the viand, the even slices arranged like a wreath of autumn leaves. while she was still in the living room behind the shop, two strangers entered. their backs being to the light, judy only saw their silhouettes as they bent over the show cases eagerly discussing what selection of meats and vegetables they should make, while mère tricot, accustomed to slim-pocketed customers, patiently waited. suddenly she leaned over the counter and touched something which one of the young men had thrown over his arm.
-"what is this?" she demanded with the manner she could so well assume, that of a woman of the commune who meant to right her wrongs.
-the purchaser of sauce and potato salad, the two cheapest and most filling of the wares, held up rather sheepishly a blue serge suit.
-"mademoiselle! mademoiselle! come quick! it is your suit--and no frenchman, as i said, but a prussian, no doubt."
-the grenadier slid quickly from behind the counter and putting her brawny arm out, held the door firmly, so that no escape could be possible.
-judy emerged from behind the curtains which divided the family living room from the little shop, the platter of tongue held high. in her cap and apron, she reminded one of a howard pyle illustration for some holiday number of a magazine.
-"gee, what a beaut!" exclaimed the taller of the two strangers.
-the one with the serge suit dropped it and made a rush for the girl. he had her in his arms, platter of tongue and all, before mère tricot could rescue it. but that dame managed to extricate the big dish before any greater damage was done than disarranging the effect of a wreath of autumn leaves.
-hearts that were broken may be mended but platters of smoked tongue must not be dropped on the floor and smashed.
-"oh, judy gal, judy gal! tell me all about it!"
-"kent! kent! i thought you were drowned and have gone into mourning for you," sobbed judy.
-as for jim castleman, in the most execrable and impossible french, he was explaining to good mother tricot how it all happened, and father tricot hastened to the shop from his carving to find out what it was all about, and then such a handshaking and hugging as ensued was never seen!
-"we were all about to sit down to déjeuner a la fourchette," said the ever hospitable old man, "and if the young gentlemen would come with us, we should be much honoured."
-the grenadier was equally pleased to have them and, indeed, jim castleman was so hungry by that time that he would have eaten cold spinach with his fingers.
-how that old couple plied the young americans with their delightful food and how they listened to their tale of shipwreck and rescue! when kent told of their fooling the prussians with tutno, the childish language they had known in their youth, the tricots laughed with such glee that a gendarme put his head in the door to see what it was all about. when jim castleman in a speech that sounded more like tutno than parisian french, informed his hosts that he was there to join the army of joffre, old mère tricot helped him to two more tarts, although he had already eaten enough of them to furnish dessert for any ordinary french family of four.
-"and now, madame," said kent to his hostess, "i want you to do another thing for me. you have done so many things already that maybe i should not ask you."
-"what is it, mon brave?" and the old woman smiled very kindly on the young american, whom she had not half an hour before called a prussian and accused of stealing judy's serge suit.
-"i am to be married very soon and i want you to help me out in it."
-"married!" judy gasped.
-"yes, miss judy kean, i am to be married and so are you. what's more, it is to be just as soon as the french law will tie the knot."
-"well, of all----"
-"yes, of all the slippery parties, i know you are the slipperiest and i have no idea of letting you get away. am i right, jim?"
-jim was too busy with a tart to be coherent. he nodded his head, however, and when kent put the same question to mère tricot in french, she upheld him.
-"it would be much more convenable if you were married. it is very easy to get married in war time. the authorities are not near so difficult to approach on the subject. i will see what can be done by the magistrate who married jean and marie, and no doubt if you interview your american ambassador, much can be attended to in a short time."
-"kent brown, if you think----" sputtered judy.
-"i don't think a thing, i just know," said kent very calmly. "put on your hat, honey, and let's take a little walk."
-"well, all right--but----" was this the judy kean who prided herself on so well knowing her own mind, calmly consenting to be married against her will? was it against her will? she suddenly remembered the communings she had had with herself, in which she had cried out to kent: "why, why, did you not make me go with you?"
-"i shall have to rip the lining out of my hat before i can go out," she said quite meekly.
-"the lining out of your hat?" questioned kent.
-"yes, you see i went into mourning when--when----" and judy, now that it was all over, still could not voice the terrible thing she thought had happened to kent.
-"please don't rip it out until i see you in it. not many men live to see how their widows look mourning for them."
-"widows, indeed! kent brown, you presume too much!" exclaimed judy, but she could not help laughing. the hat was very becoming and she was not loathe to wear it, just once.
-first mère tricot must be assisted with the dishes, however; but then judy got ready to go walking with kent.
-père tricot undertook to be guide to jim castleman, offering to lead him to the proper place to enlist.
-"i'll only look into it to-day," said jim, grasping kent's hand. "i shan't join for keeps until i have officiated as best man."
-judy, who had gone into marie's tiny bedroom to get into her rescued serge suit, overheard this remark and blushed to the roots of her fluffy hair. as she put on her white lined hat, she peeped again into the mirror: "judy kean, you are much too rosy for a widow," she admonished her image.
-mère tricot saw them off, her good man and jim to the recruiting station, and kent and judy to the luxembourg gardens, a spot hallowed by lovers.
-"well, well!" she said to herself. "the good god has brought the poor lamb her lover from the grave. i am glad, very glad,--but it is certainly a pity to waste all that good dye the butcher's wife saved for us. it is not good when kept too long, either. i won't throw it out yet a while, though,--some one will be wanting it, perhaps."
-a war bride.
-marrying in paris was certainly a much easier matter than it had been almost two years before when molly brown and edwin green had struggled to have the nuptial knot tied. judy's baptismal certificate was not demanded as had been molly's, and the long waiting for research work, as kent expressed it, was not required. mère tricot undertook to engineer the affair and did it with such expedition that it could have been accomplished even before judy got her trunk from giverny.
-it was very nice to have one's trunk again, although it really was embarrassing to take up so much of the tricots' living room with the huge american affair.
-"it seems funny to be married without any trousseau," judy confided to mère tricot.
-"no trousseau! and what is in that great box if not trousseau?"
-"i am sure i don't know. i really haven't any clothes to speak of that i can remember," declared judy.
-"well, let us see them!" begged marie and her belle mère.
-they were dying of curiosity to peep into the great box, so judy unpacked for their benefit, and their eyes opened wide at her stack of shirt waists and lingerie and her many shoes.
-"two more suits and a great coat, silk dresses--at least three of them--and skirts and shirts of duck and linen!" exclaimed marie. "and hats and gloves--and blouses enough for three! not many war brides will boast such a trousseau."
-so our bride began to feel that in comparison to the little marie, she had so much that she must not worry about wedding clothes. instead, she divided her store of riches, and making up a bundle with a silk dress and some blouses and lingerie, a suit and a hat, she hid it in mère tricot's linen press for marie to find when she, judy, was married and gone over the seas.
-she well knew that the french girl would not accept the present unless it were given to her in a very tactful way, and just to find it in the linen press with her name on it and the donor out of reach seemed to judy the most diplomatic method.
-madame le marquise d'ochtè must be looked up again. not only were kent and judy very fond of her, but they knew they could not show their faces to mrs. brown unless they had seen her dear sally bolling. this time they found her in the old home in the faubourg. she had been to the front and come back to get her house in readiness for the wounded.
-could this be the gay and volatile marquise, this sad looking, middle-aged woman? she had grown almost thin during those few months of the war. her beautiful titian hair was now streaked with grey. judy remembered with a choking feeling the first time she had come to the ochtè home on that night soon after molly and her mother had arrived in paris, when they had dined in the faubourg and then gone to hear louise at the opera. the marquise had been radiant in black velvet and diamonds, a beautiful, gay woman that one could hardly believe to be the mother of philippe. she had looked so young, so sparkling. she had said at one time that she allowed no grey hairs to stay in her head, but had her maid pull them out no matter how it hurt. now it would take all a maid's time to keep down the grey hairs in that head, and would leave but a scant supply for a coiffure could they be extracted.
-kent thought she looked more like his mother and loved her for it. her greeting was very warm and her interest great in what judy and kent had been doing and what they meant to do. she received them in the great salon that had been converted into a hospital ward. all of the louis quinze furniture had been stored away in an upper chamber and now in its place were long rows of cots. the floor was bare of the handsome rugs which had been the delight and envy of judy on former visits, and now the parquetted boards were frotted to a point of cleanliness that no germ would have dared to violate.
-"i left the pictures for the poor fellows to look at--that is, those who are spared their eyesight," she said sadly. "my hospital opens to-morrow, but i want the privilege of giving a wedding breakfast to you young people. i can well manage it in the small salle à manger. that is left as it was."
-"oh, you are so kind, but dear old mère tricot is making a great cake for us and she would be sad indeed if she could not give the breakfast," explained judy.
-"that is as it should be," said the marquise kindly, "but am i invited?"
-"invited! of course you are invited, and the marquis and philippe if they can be got hold of."
-"they are still in camp and have not gone to the fore, so i will manage to reach them. jean is very busy, drilling all the time, but a family wedding must be attended. philippe is learning to fly," and she closed her eyes a moment as though to shut out the remembrance of accidents that happen all the time to the daring aviators.
-judy wondered if he had come in contact with josephine perkins, but said nothing as it was a deep secret that jo was passing off as a man and a word might give her away.
-"there are many americans in the aviation camp, and very clever and apt they are, philippe says. i am proud of my countrymen for coming forward as they are."
-the marquise smiled at judy's calling her cousin, smiled and liked it. kent looked uneasy and a little sullen. suppose his judy should balk at the last minute and refuse to leave the stirring scenes of war! what then? he had sworn not to return to united states without her, and unless he did return in a very short time, the very good job he had picked up in new york would be filled by some more fortunate and less in love young architect.
-kent kissed the marquise for her sensible advice. he very well knew that judy would have been a great acquisition to his cousin's hospital, and that workers were not numerous (not so plentiful at the beginning of the war as they were later). her advice was certainly unselfish. he thanked her, also, for realizing that it was not up to all american men to stay and fight. he had no desire to fight any one unless his own country was at war, and then he felt he would do his duty as his ancestors had done before him.
-"i tell you what we'll do, you children and i: i'll order out the car--i still keep one and a chauffeur so that with it i can bring the wounded back to paris--and we will go out to the aviation camp and see philippe and ask him to the wedding. you would like to see the camp, eh?"
-"above all things!" exclaimed kent and judy in chorus.
-no more attempt was made to stop the car of madame the marquise from coming into the aviation camp than there would have been had she been joffre himself.
-the car was surrounded by eager and courteous young aviators and soldiers, and kent and judy well knew it was not all for the gateaux that the marquise was so beloved. philippe was summoned and clasped in his mother's arms. her heart cried out that every time might be the last.
-the marquise was changed but her son even more so. his dilettantish manner was gone for good, as was also his foppish beard. his face, clean shaven except for a small moustache, was brown and lean; his mouth had taken on purpose; his eyes were no longer merely beautiful but now had depth of expression and a look of pity, as though he had seen much sorrow.
-he was greatly pleased to see his cousin kent and also miss kean, who, of course, he thought had gone back to america long ago. he remembered judy always as the young lady he came so near loving. indeed, he would have addressed her when molly brown had refused him, had he not been made to understand by his fair cousin how important it was to love with one's whole soul if married happiness was to be expected. he had, after that, gone very slowly in possible courtships. molly's friend, frances andrews, had almost been his choice, but there was something of fineness lacking in her that deterred him in time, and he was in a measure relieved when that dashing young woman proceeded to marry an impoverished italian prince. his mother was relieved beyond measure at what she could not but look on as her philippe's escape. in fact, she had never seen but one girl she thought would be just right for her beloved son and that was molly brown.
-philippe was told of kent's being shipwrecked and of judy's having taken up her abode with the tricots. this last bit of information amused him greatly. judy told with much sprightliness of her serving in the shop and of her learning to make tarts. philippe began to look upon his cousin kent as a very lucky dog. he sighed when he promised to come to the wedding breakfast, that is, if he could get leave. why did all of the charming american girls pass him by?
-"j'ai la france et ma mère," he muttered, as his arm crept around the waist of that beloved mother.
-"what are they all looking at so intently?" asked judy.
-"why, that is a daring young american aviator who has gone to seek some information concerning the trenches of our friends the enemy. he is a strange, quiet little fellow. no one ever gets a word out of him but he has learned to manage his machine quicker than any of the nouveaux, and now is intrusted to carry out all kinds of dangerous orders. he looks like a boy sometimes and sometimes when he is tired, like a strange little old man. he is not very friendly but is quick at repartee and so the fellows let him alone. speaks french like a parisian. i have seen him before somewhere, but can't place him. i asked him once and he was quite stiff and said i had the advantage of him. of course i didn't like to force myself on him after that, but i'd really like to be friendly if he would let me. see, here he comes! look!"
-they watched in silence the aeroplane sinking in a lovely spiral glide. as it sank to rest on the greensward, many hands were outstretched to assist the grotesque little figure to alight. judy recognized in an instant the person she had thought all the time philippe was describing. it was, of course, jo bill perkins. she was swathed in a dark leather coat and breeches, with a strange shaped cap coming down over her ears. the great goggles she wore could not deceive judy.
-"what is his name?" she asked philippe.
-"williams is all i know, j. williams."
-"i believe i know him. would you mind taking him my card and asking him to come speak to me?"
-"not a bit, but i don't believe he will come. let him make his report first, and then i will tell him you are here. you are very charming and fetching, mademoiselle, but i doubt your being able to bring williams to your feet."
-judy felt that perhaps she was not quite fair to jo to test her by this interview, but she did long to speak to her. if kent and cousin sally recognized her, she knew full well she could trust them to keep silent.
-philippe crossed the field and stopped the daring little aviator just after he had made his report to the commander.
-"a young lady is asking for you."
-"a young lady for me? absurd!"
-"yes, she has heard of your wonderful feats and longs to meet you," teased philippe; and then added: "really, williams, you are superb."
-"not at all! well, i am tired and don't want to meet any young ladies."
-"but this one already knows you," and philippe produced judy's card.
-"miss julia kean," jo read in amazement. "how did she get out here, anyhow? where is she?"
-"over here with my mother," and philippe looked with some amusement at the evident blush that spread over jo's freckled cheeks. she still had on the grotesque cap and goggles which would have made recognition of her difficult. she wanted very much to see judy. she wanted to hear something of her polly, too, and she intended to have judy look him up if possible, and report to her.
-"will you see her?"
-"miss kean is a charming girl, williams, isn't she?" said the quizzing philippe, looking searchingly at his companion as they made their way across the field.
-"you bet!" said jo.
-"have you known her long?"
-"quite a while," and jo's cheeks again were suffused with a dark flush.
-"poor little fellow!" thought philippe. "i can't bear to tell him she is to be married. he is such a dare devil the chances are he will be killed before long and he may never have to know that his inamorata has chosen a better looking man, not a better man--they don't make them to beat little williams."
-as they approached the car, impulsive judy jumped out and ran to meet her friend. jo ran, too, and they embraced with such ardor that philippe stood back amazed. maybe kent brown was not to be so envied, after all. if the girl who was to marry him in a day was so lavish with her embraces for other men, what kind of wife would she make? of course, williams was a rather dried up person, but then a man's a man for a' that.
-kent, too, was rather astonished when his fiancée left him with such precipitation and before all the aviation camp hugged and kissed the strange bunchy little figure. ardor for the heroes of france was all well enough, but a fellow's sweetheart need not be quite so warm in her manner of showing her appreciation, especially when the fellow happens not to be one himself in the habit of making daily daring flights to spy out the weakness in the trenches of the enemy.
-the marquise laughed as she had not done since the first week in august of that terrible year. kent looked at her in astonishment. she was not so very much like his mother, after all. his mother would not have been so much amused over the discomfiture of a young lover.
-that matron was saying to herself: "how stupid men are!" she had recognized jo from the beginning. kent had known in some far off corner of his brain that mrs. polly perkins was doing something or other about the war, but his mind had been so taken up with his own affairs and judy's possible danger that that knowledge had stayed in the corner of his brain while the more important matter of getting married was uppermost. suddenly the truth flashed over him and he was overcome with laughter, too.
-"caught on, eh?" asked his cousin.
-"we must keep mum," she admonished. "there is no reason why a woman should not do her part this way if she can. i'd fly in a minute if that would help any. of course these stupid men would raise a hue and cry if they knew a woman was carrying off the honours."
-"i am as quiet as the grave," declared kent.
-judy came to the car with her friend and with the utmost audacity introduced jo as mr. williams. the marquise greeted the supposed young man graciously. kent sprang out and shook jo warmly by the hand, much to the astonishment of his cousin philippe.
-"can't i see you a moment alone?" whispered jo in judy's ear. the marquise, as though she divined what was in the heart of mrs. polly perkins, asked her to come sit in the car; and then she suggested that philippe show the camp to kent and on second thought decided to go with them. the chauffeur had been sent with the hamper to the mess hall, so judy and jo had a few minutes alone.
-"i must find out something about polly. i feel as though i could wait no longer for news of him. can't you help me?"
-"well, you know i am to be married to-morrow and sail for united states, but i am going to see that news is got to you somehow. cousin sally will do it, of course. she is the very person."
-"oh, but that philippe must not know. he has already been very curious about where he has seen me before, and i have had to be insufferably rude to him to keep him from prying into my past. i have made good as a man, but still they would not like it, i know."
-"how on earth did you ever get in? i am dying to hear all about it."
-"well, naturally the examination for physical fitness was worrying me some. i got that little dried up art student named joel williams, the one who was always trying to claim kin with me, to take the examination and then let me slip in in his place. i bought his ticket to america to pay him for his trouble. he was broke, as usual, and scared to death when the war started, and willing to do anything to get home. it was really very simple to manage it. i am the same type, in a way, although i hope i am not so dried up as my would-be cousin. same initials, too, which made the entering rather more regular."
-"oh, jo, what a girl you are!"
-"shh! don't call me a girl even to yourself. do you think the marquise d'ochtè recognized me?"
-"of course she did and kent, too! do you think they would have left us alone if they had not thought you were safe? kent wouldn't have left me with such a bird if he had not known who the bird was. he would be afraid i might fly away with you. oh, jo, i do so want to fly!"
-"well, why not?"
-"oh, could i really?"
-"i think so. i have brought in information to our commander that is valuable enough for me to ask one small favor of him. come on, let's ask!"
-the two girls were across the field and knocking for admittance at the commander's tent before the marquise and the two young men had begun their tour of inspection.
-"a favor to ask!" exclaimed the grizzled old warrior who sat poring over a map where jo had only a few moments before added some crosses that meant much to the tactics of the french army.
-"i want to take a friend up in a machine."
-"a friend! i am sorry, my son, but it is hard to tell friends in this day of war. i can't let you. he might be no friend, after all, to france."
-"he! it is not a man but an american girl. she is just outside your tent," and jo raised the flap and motioned judy to enter. judy was introduced. the old warrior looked at her searchingly.
-"tell me, are you related to robert kean?"
-"his daughter, sir."
-"robert kean's daughter! why, my child, your father and i have been close friends for years. tell me where he is and what he is doing."
-so judy told of her father's letter and his being held in berlin because of the knowledge he had of turkey's topography. she made him laugh long and loud when she told of the ridiculous limericks he had written on the paper boats.
-when kent got back to the car with his cousin, there was no judy.
-"where can she have gone and where is williams?"
-philippe looked rather mysterious. young girls who rushed up and embraced bird men with such ardor should not be allowed too much rope.
-"more than likely," said kent composedly. "she has always been crazy to fly. i reckon williams will take good care of her and not go too high or try any stunts."
-"oh, certainly not!" said philippe wonderingly. americans were a riddle to him. he never quite understood his own mother, who had rather a casual idea of proprieties herself at times. that good lady, coming up just then, expressed no concern over the impropriety of judy's flying with a man when she was to be married on the morrow to some one else.
-"to be flying! to be flying! oh, judy kean, you lucky dog!" she said to herself. "all my life i've been dreaming i could fly and now i am doing it."
-"dizzy?" asked jo.
-"no, but happy enough to die," gasped judy. "if i wasn't going to be married, i'd be a bird man."
-when the landing was finally made and judy stepped out, the world seemed very stale, flat and unprofitable. she was glad kent was there waiting for her. if she could not be a bird man, she could at least be a very happy war bride. the great leather coat she had worn in her flight was very ugly and unbecoming, and she was thankful for one thing that she did not have to wear such frightful looking clothes all the time.
-on the way back to paris she asked cousin sally how she had recognized jo williams so readily.
-"by her feet, of course! why, no man on earth ever had such eternally feminine feet." that good lady promised to find out immediately something about polly and let his spunky wife know where and how he was. "she will have the cross of honour before she gets through, philippe says."
-"you don't feel as though it were your duty to tell she is a woman, do you?" asked judy.
-"duty to tell! heavens, child! i feel it is my duty to help france in every way i can, and surely to get that girl out of the aviation corps would be a hindrance to la patrie. i doubt even philippe's thinking it his duty to tell, and," with a twinkle in her eye that the horrors of war could not altogether dim, "philippe has a very stern idea of his duty. he felt maybe it was his duty to get in a flying machine and go after you and mr. williams so he could chaperone you. he felt that the dignity of the family was at stake,--so soon to be the bride of his cousin and flying with another man! terrible!"
-"why, of course! i never thought of how it looked. there i went and hugged and kissed jo right before everybody. i bet you a sou this minute philippe and all the rest of them are feeling sorry for you, kent."
-"well, they needn't be," declared that young man as he found judy's hand under the robe. "i'm satisfied--but i did feel a little funny for half a minute when you went and kissed jo so warmly. it took me a moment longer to recognize her. why didn't you put me on?"
-"put you on? how could i, with all the people around?"
-"you promised me once you wouldn't fly with anybody until you could fly with me. don't you remember?"
-"of course i did, you goose! but i didn't say anybody--i said any man; so you see i didn't break my promise when i flew with mrs. polly perkins!"
-the wedding breakfast.
-when the marquise d'ochtè said she would do something, she always did it and did it as well as it could be done. when she undertook to find out where and how polly perkins was for the benefit of his spunky wife, she did it and did it immediately. and not only did she find him, but she got a little respite from duty for him and bore him back to paris where she had already spirited jo to be present at the wedding breakfast. she had asked a holiday for jo, too, although the grizzled commander was loathe to let his best aviator off even for a day.
-jo was taken to the converted d'ochtè mansion and there dressed like a nice, feminine little woman, her hair curled by madame's maid. a tight velvet toque and a dotted veil completed the transformation and the commander himself would not have recognized his one time prize aviator. all of this masquerade was for the sole purpose of fooling philippe, who, also, was to be one of the guests at the tricots'.
-polly was so happy to see his jo again that it was pathetic to behold, and her pride in him and his bravery was beautiful. polly was vastly improved. kent, who had always liked the little man and had insisted that there was much more to him than the other members of the colony could see, was delighted to have his opinion of his friend verified.
-the ceremony was a very simple one, performed, not by the magistrate as mère tricot had suggested, but at the protestant episcopal church. polly perkins gave away the bride, and jo looked as though she would burst with pride at this honour done her husband. jim castleman was best man, and cousin sally fell in love with him on the spot.
-"he is like the young men of my youth," she declared, "the young men of kentucky, i am not saying how many years ago."
-the little living room at the tricots' soon after the ceremony was full to overflowing, but every one squeezed in somehow. the old couple were very happy in dispensing hospitality. their jean came home for a few hours and their hearts were thankful for this glimpse of their son. marie beamed with joy and the rosy baby delighted them all by saying, "pa-pa!" the first word it had ever uttered.
-philippe, looking so handsome that judy, too, wondered that all the american girls passed him by, fraternized with jean, the peasant's son, with that simplicity which characterizes the military of france.
-the party was very gay, so gay that it seemed impossible that the germans were really not more than thirty miles from them. of course they talked politics, men and women. old mère tricot had her opinions and expressed them, and they listened with respect when she pooh-poohed and bah-bahed the notion that the nations had gone to war from altruistic motives.
-"belgium might as well die fighting as die not fighting. the germans had her any way she jumped. france had to fight, too, fight or be enslaved. as for great britain--she couldn't well stay out of it! when the germans got antwerp, why, where was england? let us fight, i say--fight to a finish; but let's be honest about it and each country say she is fighting for herself."
-"do you think united states should come over and help?" asked kent, much interested in the old woman's wisdom.
-"not unless she has wrongs of her own to right!" spoke the grenadier.
-"but think how france helped us out in '76!" exclaimed judy.
-"yes, and helped herself, no doubt. i am not very educated in history, but i'll be bound she had a crow of her own to pick with england."
-"to be sure," laughed philippe, "france did want to destroy the naval supremacy of great britain. her alliance with spain meant more to france than her alliance with america. she was not wholly disinterested when she helped the struggling states."
-"oh, heavens, philippe, please don't take from me the romantic passion i have always had for lafayette!" begged his mother. "i used to thrill with joy when tales were told of my great grandmother's dancing with him."
-"keep your passion for lafayette. he was at least brave and disinterested, but don't waste much feeling on the government that backed him. vergennes, the minister of france at that time, prepared a map in which the united states figured as the same old colonial strip between the alleghenies and the sea. they had no idea of helping united states to become a great nation."
-"yes, i remember reading a letter from jay in which he said: 'this court is interested in separating us from great britain, but it is not their interest that we should become a great and formidable people.' but i feel deeply grateful to france for all she did," said kent.
-"me, too!" cried jim castleman. "and i mean to do all i can to pay it back."
-"ah! my american lafayette!" cried the marquise. "a toast, a toast, to my american lafayette!" and they stood up and drank a toast to the blushing young giant.
-the marquis could not come, much to the regret of all the company, for his regiment expected to be called to the front any day and no leaves could be granted.
-judy put up a brave front when adieux were in order, but her heart was very sad. how many terrible things might happen to these kind friends she was leaving! the tricots, good souls, might be bereft at any moment. dear cousin sally, with two in the war, might be doubly visited by the hand of death. polly and jo perkins were to part after this brief time of happiness, holding hands under the tricots' hospitable board, one to return to his office of caring for the wounded, the other to her office of keeping the german ambulance drivers busy. the young kentucky giant, jim castleman, was to join his regiment on the following day. his glee at having a chance to swat the prussians was intense. he didn't look like a person who could ever die, but one bit of shrapnel might in the twinkling of an eye destroy that virile youth.
-"come to see me when you can, my american lafayette," begged the marquise, "and if you get so much as a tiny little wound, let me nurse you if you can get to me."
-jim had delighted the little party by translating into his execrable french football terms to describe his idea of how the war should be conducted. his left tackle was frankly: "gauche palan," and his centre rush was: "cintre jonc."
-he and kent were not very demonstrative in their parting, but both of them felt it deeply.
-"wuv e lul lul! sus o lul o nun gug!" called jim, as the cab bearing the bride and groom started.
-"gug o o dud lul u sank kuk!" was kent's feeling rejoinder.
-the star-spangled banner.
-no submarine warfare interrupted the peaceful passage of our honeymooners. the voyage was delightful to both of them after all the trials they had been through. judy was as much at home on the water as on land, literally a born sailor, as she had been born at sea. kent loved a ship and all the many aspects of the ocean. the lazy days on deck, with their chairs drawn as close together as chairs could be, their hands clasped under the steamer rug, seemed like a beautiful dream, only a dream that was going to last for a lifetime, not the lazy days on deck but the being together and never talking out. being lazy was not the idea of eternal bliss common to either of these young persons. kent felt there were worlds to conquer in the architectural universe and he meant to do his share towards conquering them; and with judy by his side, he gloried in the task before him. as for judy, she meant to paint like mad and to work up many ideas she had teeming in her head. she was thankful for the reels of undeveloped snapshots she had in her trunk, as she was going to use them as a jog to her memory for the numerous illustrations she meant to make in an article she was thinking of writing on paris at the outbreak of the war.
-cousin sally's admonition to work for the allies was not forgotten, either. judy was planning a busy winter for herself in new york just as soon as she and kent could get themselves settled in an apartment.
-"it must be very inexpensive, too, kent. we must save money."
-kent couldn't help laughing at judy's solemn face. what would judy's friends say at her becoming penurious? judy, the spendthrift!
-"you see, i've always cost poor bobby a lot of money; not that he has ever complained, but i don't mean to be a burden to you, kent."
-kent had no answer for such foolishness but to squeeze her hand.
-"i'd be perfectly happy if i just knew that bobby and poor little mumsy were all right."
-"why, they may be on the high seas this minute. we will surely hear something of them when we get to new york."
-sandy hook was at last sighted and then came the slow, majestic steaming into the harbour! liberty still held her torch on high with the gulls circling around her. the same little tugs were puffing up and down, with the great ferries plying back and forth like huge shuttles. new york's sky line was as fascinating to mrs. kent brown as it had ever been to judy kean.
-"oh, kent, i love it so! how could i have stayed away so long?" cried judy, rapturously making sketches in the air.
-the pier was filled with an eager crowd, awaiting the arrival of the steamer.
-"there won't be any one for us," said judy rather wistfully. "your mother is in kentucky, and of course molly couldn't leave the baby to come meet us, and there isn't any one else."
-kent smiled and said nothing. he was almost sure he saw the figure of his tall brother-in-law, professor green, towering above the crowd, but he was afraid he might be mistaken and could not bear to disappoint judy.
-it was edwin green and hanging on one arm was molly (kent knew her by the blue scarf). and who was that on the other arm? oh, what a mother! it was mrs. brown, her face uplifted and glowing.
-"judy, look a little to the left of the second post! right in front of us, honey! what do you see?"
-"oh, it's molly! i can tell her by her blue scarf--and kent! kent, there's your mother and dear edwin!" then judy clutched her young husband's arm. "look a little to the right, standing by your mother--there's a big man that looks like bobby--see, with a little doll baby woman in front of him--he's keeping the crowd off of her--see! see! it is--it is bobby and little mumsy!"
-judy, who not much more than two weeks before had considered herself the most unfortunate and friendless of mortals, now knew that there was not such a happy person in all the world. how long the vessel took to be made fast to the pier! and then such a crowding and pushing! every one on board seemed to have some one on the pier he had not seen for centuries and must get to immediately.
-"they can't be as anxious to hug their mothers as i am, and i know they haven't any bobbies," she complained. "and i am sure they have not been shipwrecked like you and given up for drowned by their families. they ought to let us off first."
-mr. kean was behaving exactly as though he were at a football game. he was jumping up and down and waving and shouting, and his rooting egged kent to make a rush for the gangway, holding judy like a pigskin; and once on the gangplank there was nothing to do but push and be pushed by the crowd until they shot out on the pier into the arms of their waiting and eager families.
-with every one talking at once, it was difficult to get any accurate knowledge about one another, but when it was all sifted out it developed that mr. and mrs. kean had finally been allowed by the imperial government to leave berlin, in fact, they had been encouraged to go. mr. kean was looked upon as a dangerous person, a lunatic at large, and they did not want the responsibility or expense of caring for him. his jokes got to be too many and serious, and when he became such an adept in evading the spy set to watch him that two had to be detailed for that duty, the powers that be evidently decided that what knowledge he possessed of the topography of turkey did not outweigh in importance the wearing out of perfectly good soldier material. he worried the spy so that he was nothing more than skin and bones, poor fellow!
-they had arrived in new york only the day before and had immediately got molly on the long distance telephone. of course, they knew nothing of judy's being married, but unhesitatingly approved of the step kent had taken and did not consider him at all high-handed. mr. kean, being of a most impulsive disposition, could understand it in other persons, and little mrs. kean was so used to her comet-like husband and daughter that she was never astonished by anything they did.
-"i was not the impulsive one this time, though, bobby," judy declared when they finally settled themselves around the luncheon table at the hotel where a second bridal feast had been prepared, ordered by the lavish bobby. "it was kent. i had no idea of ever being married--in fact, it seemed to me to be not quite decent to be married so quickly when i was in such deep mourning--the wedding was quiet because of the recent bereavement----"
-"in mourning! you, judy, in mourning for whom?" and poor little mrs. kean gasped, not knowing what she was to learn now.
-"why, for kent himself. nothing but the bombs dropped in paris kept me from having my best serge suit dyed black. molly, i always said i'd make a fetching widow, and i did all right. kent thought i was just lovely in the hat i fixed for his mourning."
-"oh, judy! the same old judy!" exclaimed molly fondly.
-molly had thought it would be impossible for her to go to new york to meet the incoming steamer with its precious cargo, but edwin had declared she should go; so little mildred was taken on the jaunt as well, with the eager katy as nurse. kizzie was already installed as cook and katy was proving a most careful and reliable nurse. molly was looking and behaving more like herself and no longer had to let her patient husband go off to his lectures like a bachelor with no wife to pour his coffee.
-"and now, you and kent and mr. and mrs. kean must all come to wellington to visit us," announced the hospitable molly. "mustn't they, edwin?"
-"indeed they must," said edwin obediently, but in his heart wondering where molly would put all of them. the old red house on the campus was large but had not very many rooms. the young professor could never quite get used to the browns and their unbounded hospitality. his favorite story was one on his mother-in-law; how, when one of her sons brought home the whole football team to spend the night, she calmly took the top mattresses off all the beds (the beds at chatsworth were fortunately equipped with box mattresses and top mattresses) and made up pallets on the floor, thereby doubling the sleeping capacity of her hospitable mansion.
-"i can't come, molly,--mighty sorry," said kent, "but my job must be held down now. they have kept it open for me long enough."
-"and i stay with kent!" declared judy.
-"hurrah, hurrah! her mother's own daughter!" cried the delighted bobby. "i was wondering what kind of wife my girl would make; now i know. i wouldn't take anything for that: 'i stay with kent.'"
-"oh, i'm going to be terribly domestic. i found that out while i was living with the tricots. what's more, i can make tarts--the best ever. i can hardly wait to get a flat and a pastry board to make some for kent."
-"you might use your drawing board for a pastry board," teased her father. "i fancy art is through with."
-"through with, indeed! why, bobby, i am astonished and ashamed of you! i am going to paint all the time that i am not making tarts, and what time is left, i am going to knit socks and make bandages for the wounded."
-"and poor me! when do i come in?" asked kent.
-"you come in early and behave yourself or i'll spend the rest of the time making suffrage speeches," laughed the war bride.
-and now since we must leave our friends some where, what better time and place than at this second wedding breakfast, while all of them are together and happy? perhaps we shall meet them again when the old red house on the campus shall be taxed to its utmost in its endeavor to behave like chatsworth. we shall see judy and kent in their little flat and mayhaps taste one of judy's tarts. we must know more of molly's girls at wellington and meet dear nance oldham and little otoyo sen again. it is hard to part forever with our friends and those who know molly brown feel that all her friends are theirs.
-so i hope our readers will be glad to meet again "molly brown's college friends."
-marjorie dean college series
-by pauline lester.
-author of the famous marjorie dean high school series.
-those who have read the marjorie dean high school series will be eager to read this new series, as marjorie dean continues to be the heroine in these stories.
-price, 65 cents each.
-marjorie dean, college freshman marjorie dean, college sophomore marjorie dean, college junior marjorie dean, college senior
-for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers.
-marjorie dean high school series
-by pauline lester
-author of the famous marjorie dean college series
-these are clean, wholesome stories that will be of great interest to all girls of high school age.
-price, 65 cents each
-marjorie dean, high school freshman marjorie dean, high school sophomore marjorie dean, high school junior marjorie dean, high school senior
-for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers
-the girl scouts series
-by edith lavell
-a new copyright series of girl scouts stories by an author of wide experience in scouts' craft, as director of girl scouts of philadelphia.
-clothbound, with attractive color designs.
-price, 65 cents each.
-the girl scouts at miss allen's school the girl scouts at camp the girl scouts' good turn the girl scouts' canoe trip the girl scouts' rivals the girl scouts on the ranch the girl scouts' vacation adventures the girl scouts' motor trip
-for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers
-the camp fire girls series
-by hildegard g. frey
-a series of outdoor stories for girls 12 to 16 years.
-price, 65 cents each
-the camp fire girls in the maine woods; or, the winnebagos go camping.
-the camp fire girls at school; or, the wohelo weavers.
-the camp fire girls at onoway house; or, the magic garden.
-the camp fire girls go motoring; or, along the road that leads the way.
-the camp fire girls' larks and pranks; or, the house of the open door.
-the camp fire girls on ellen's isle; or, the trail of the seven cedars.
-the camp fire girls on the open road; or, glorify work.
-the camp fire girls do their bit; or, over the top with the winnebagos.
-the camp fire girls solve a mystery; or, the christmas adventure at carver house.
-the camp fire girls at camp keewaydin; or, down paddles.
-for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers
-the blue grass seminary girls series
-by carolyn judson burnett
-for girls 12 to 16 years
-price, 65 cents each
-splendid stories of the adventures of a group of charming girls.
-the blue grass seminary girls' vacation adventures; or, shirley willing to the rescue.
-the blue grass seminary girls' christmas holidays; or, a four weeks' tour with the glee club.
-the blue grass seminary girls in the mountains; or, shirley willing on a mission of peace.
-the blue grass seminary girls on the water; or, exciting adventures on a summer's cruise through the panama canal.
-the mildred series
-by martha finley
-for girls 12 to 16 years.
-price, 65 cents each
-a companion series to the famous "elsie" books by the same author.
-for sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers
-minor printer's errors have been corrected. otherwise the original has been preserved, including inconsistent spelling and hyphenation.
-version by al haines.
-essays before a sonata
-table of contents:
-brief biographical sketch introductory footnote by charles ives introduction i--prologue ii--emerson iii--hawthorne iv--"the alcots" v--thoreau vi--epilogue information about this e-text edition
-brief biographical sketch
-charles ives (1874-1954) was probably one of the most psycho-intellectually brilliant, imaginative and flexible americans to ever "walk the land of freedom." a graduate of yale, he became a multi-millionaire in the american insurance industry, introducing brilliant innovations within that industry. he also, unlike a few composers, found the time and the money (being a shrewd and practical businessman) to get married and have children.
-his accomplishments for which he is best known, however, are those in the field of music. at the time of its composition, ives' music was probably the most radically modern in history, and by itself had enough material to serve as the foundation of modern 20th century music. for example, at the turn of the century, this eccentric composer created band works featuring multiple melodies of multiple time signatures opposing and complimenting each other within the same piece. ives was also a revolutionary atonal composer, who created, essentially without precedent, many atonal works that not only pre-date those of schoenberg, but are just as sophisticated, and arguably even more so, than those of the 12-tone serialist.
-among those atonal works was his second, "concord" piano sonata, one of the finest, and some would say the finest, works of classical music by an american. it reflects the musical innovations of its creator, featuring revolutionary atmospheric effects, unprecedented atonal musical syntax, and surprising technical approaches to playing the piano, such as pressing down on over 10 notes simultaneously using a flat piece of wood.
-what a mischievious creative genius!
-and yet, despite the musically innovative nature of these works, from a thematic standpoint, they are strictly 19th century. ives, like american band-composer sousa, consciously infused patriotic or "blue-blood" themes into his pieces. in the "concord," he attempted to project, within the music, the 19th century philosophical ideas of the american transcendentalists, who obviously had a great impact on his world-view.
-thus, while other atonal composers such as schoenberg or berg attempted to infuse their music with "20th century" themes of hostility, violence and estrangement within their atonal music, the atonal music of ives is, from a thematic standpoint, really quite "tonal."
-ives wrote the following essays as a (very big) set of program notes to accompany his second piano sonata. here, he puts forth his elaborate theory of music and what it represents, and discusses transcendental philosophy and its relation to music. the essays explain ives' own philosophy of and understanding of music and art. they also serve as an analysis of music itself as an artform, and provide a critical explanation of the "concord" and the role that the philosophies of emerson, hawthorne, thoreau and the alcotts play in forming its thematic structure.
-"essays before a sonata," by charles ives
-introductory footnote by charles ives
-"these prefatory essays were written by the composer for those who can't stand his music--and the music for those who can't stand his essays; to those who can't stand either, the whole is respectfully dedicated."
-how far is anyone justified, be he an authority or a layman, in expressing or trying to express in terms of music (in sounds, if you like) the value of anything, material, moral, intellectual, or spiritual, which is usually expressed in terms other than music? how far afield can music go and keep honest as well as reasonable or artistic? is it a matter limited only by the composer's power of expressing what lies in his subjective or objective consciousness? or is it limited by any limitations of the composer? can a tune literally represent a stonewall with vines on it or with nothing on it, though it (the tune) be made by a genius whose power of objective contemplation is in the highest state of development? can it be done by anything short of an act of mesmerism on the part of the composer or an act of kindness on the part of the listener? does the extreme materializing of music appeal strongly to anyone except to those without a sense of humor--or rather with a sense of humor?--or, except, possibly to those who might excuse it, as herbert spencer might by the theory that the sensational element (the sensations we hear so much about in experimental psychology) is the true pleasurable phenomenon in music and that the mind should not be allowed to interfere? does the success of program music depend more upon the program than upon the music? if it does, what is the use of the music, if it does not, what is the use of the program? does not its appeal depend to a great extent on the listener's willingness to accept the theory that music is the language of the emotions and only that? or inversely does not this theory tend to limit music to programs?--a limitation as bad for music itself--for its wholesome progress,--as a diet of program music is bad for the listener's ability to digest anything beyond the sensuous (or physical-emotional). to a great extent this depends on what is meant by emotion or on the assumption that the word as used above refers more to the expression, of, rather than to a meaning in a deeper sense--which may be a feeling influenced by some experience perhaps of a spiritual nature in the expression of which the intellect has some part. "the nearer we get to the mere expression of emotion," says professor sturt in his "philosophy of art and personality," "as in the antics of boys who have been promised a holiday, the further we get away from art."
-on the other hand is not all music, program-music,--is not pure music, so called, representative in its essence? is it not program-music raised to the nth power or rather reduced to the minus nth power? where is the line to be drawn between the expression of subjective and objective emotion? it is easier to know what each is than when each becomes what it is. the "separateness of art" theory--that art is not life but a reflection of it--"that art is not vital to life but that life is vital to it," does not help us. nor does thoreau who says not that "life is art," but that "life is an art," which of course is a different thing than the foregoing. tolstoi is even more helpless to himself and to us. for he eliminates further. from his definition of art we may learn little more than that a kick in the back is a work of art, and beethoven's 9th symphony is not. experiences are passed on from one man to another. abel knew that. and now we know it. but where is the bridge placed?--at the end of the road or only at the end of our vision? is it all a bridge?--or is there no bridge because there is no gulf? suppose that a composer writes a piece of music conscious that he is inspired, say, by witnessing an act of great self-sacrifice--another piece by the contemplation of a certain trait of nobility he perceives in a friend's character--and another by the sight of a mountain lake under moonlight. the first two, from an inspirational standpoint would naturally seem to come under the subjective and the last under the objective, yet the chances are, there is something of the quality of both in all. there may have been in the first instance physical action so intense or so dramatic in character that the remembrance of it aroused a great deal more objective emotion than the composer was conscious of while writing the music. in the third instance, the music may have been influenced strongly though subconsciously by a vague remembrance of certain thoughts and feelings, perhaps of a deep religious or spiritual nature, which suddenly came to him upon realizing the beauty of the scene and which overpowered the first sensuous pleasure--perhaps some such feeling as of the conviction of immortality, that thoreau experienced and tells about in walden. "i penetrated to those meadows ... when the wild river and the woods were bathed in so pure and bright a light as would have waked the dead if they had been slumbering in their graves as some suppose. there needs no stronger proof of immortality." enthusiasm must permeate it, but what it is that inspires an art-effort is not easily determined much less classified. the word "inspire" is used here in the sense of cause rather than effect. a critic may say that a certain movement is not inspired. but that may be a matter of taste--perhaps the most inspired music sounds the least so--to the critic. a true inspiration may lack a true expression unless it is assumed that if an inspiration is not true enough to produce a true expression--(if there be anyone who can definitely determine what a true expression is)--it is not an inspiration at all.
-again suppose the same composer at another time writes a piece of equal merit to the other three, as estimates go; but holds that he is not conscious of what inspired it--that he had nothing definite in mind--that he was not aware of any mental image or process--that, naturally, the actual work in creating something gave him a satisfying feeling of pleasure perhaps of elation. what will you substitute for the mountain lake, for his friend's character, etc.? will you substitute anything? if so why? if so what? or is it enough to let the matter rest on the pleasure mainly physical, of the tones, their color, succession, and relations, formal or informal? can an inspiration come from a blank mind? well--he tries to explain and says that he was conscious of some emotional excitement and of a sense of something beautiful, he doesn't know exactly what--a vague feeling of exaltation or perhaps of profound sadness.
-what is the source of these instinctive feelings, these vague intuitions and introspective sensations? the more we try to analyze the more vague they become. to pull them apart and classify them as "subjective" or "objective" or as this or as that, means, that they may be well classified and that is about all: it leaves us as far from the origin as ever. what does it all mean? what is behind it all? the "voice of god," says the artist, "the voice of the devil," says the man in the front row. are we, because we are, human beings, born with the power of innate perception of the beautiful in the abstract so that an inspiration can arise through no external stimuli of sensation or experience,--no association with the outward? or was there present in the above instance, some kind of subconscious, instantaneous, composite image, of all the mountain lakes this man had ever seen blended as kind of overtones with the various traits of nobility of many of his friends embodied in one personality? do all inspirational images, states, conditions, or whatever they may be truly called, have for a dominant part, if not for a source, some actual experience in life or of the social relation? to think that they do not--always at least--would be a relief; but as we are trying to consider music made and heard by human beings (and not by birds or angels) it seems difficult to suppose that even subconscious images can be separated from some human experience--there must be something behind subconsciousness to produce consciousness, and so on. but whatever the elements and origin of these so-called images are, that they do stir deep emotional feelings and encourage their expression is a part of the unknowable we know. they do often arouse something that has not yet passed the border line between subconsciousness and consciousness--an artistic intuition (well named, but)--object and cause unknown!--here is a program!--conscious or subconscious what does it matter? why try to trace any stream that flows through the garden of consciousness to its source only to be confronted by another problem of tracing this source to its source? perhaps emerson in the rhodora answers by not trying to explain
-that if eyes were made for seeing then beauty is its own excuse for being: why thou wert there, o, rival of the rose! i never thought to ask, i never knew; but, in my simple ignorance, suppose the self-same power that brought me there brought you.
-perhaps sturt answers by substitution: "we cannot explain the origin of an artistic intuition any more than the origin of any other primary function of our nature. but if as i believe civilization is mainly founded on those kinds of unselfish human interests which we call knowledge and morality it is easily intelligible that we should have a parallel interest which we call art closely akin and lending powerful support to the other two. it is intelligible too that moral goodness, intellectual power, high vitality, and strength should be approved by the intuition." this reduces, or rather brings the problem back to a tangible basis namely:--the translation of an artistic intuition into musical sounds approving and reflecting, or endeavoring to approve and reflect, a "moral goodness," a "high vitality," etc., or any other human attribute mental, moral, or spiritual.
-can music do more than this? can it do this? and if so who and what is to determine the degree of its failure or success? the composer, the performer (if there be any), or those who have to listen? one hearing or a century of hearings?-and if it isn't successful or if it doesn't fail what matters it?--the fear of failure need keep no one from the attempt for if the composer is sensitive he need but launch forth a countercharge of "being misunderstood" and hide behind it. a theme that the composer sets up as "moral goodness" may sound like "high vitality," to his friend and but like an outburst of "nervous weakness" or only a "stagnant pool" to those not even his enemies. expression to a great extent is a matter of terms and terms are anyone's. the meaning of "god" may have a billion interpretations if there be that many souls in the world.
-there is a moral in the "nominalist and realist" that will prove all sums. it runs something like this: no matter how sincere and confidential men are in trying to know or assuming that they do know each other's mood and habits of thought, the net result leaves a feeling that all is left unsaid; for the reason of their incapacity to know each other, though they use the same words. they go on from one explanation to another but things seem to stand about as they did in the beginning "because of that vicious assumption." but we would rather believe that music is beyond any analogy to word language and that the time is coming, but not in our lifetime, when it will develop possibilities unconceivable now,--a language, so transcendent, that its heights and depths will be common to all mankind.
-it has seemed to the writer, that emerson is greater--his identity more complete perhaps--in the realms of revelation--natural disclosure--than in those of poetry, philosophy, or prophecy. though a great poet and prophet, he is greater, possibly, as an invader of the unknown,--america's deepest explorer of the spiritual immensities,--a seer painting his discoveries in masses and with any color that may lie at hand--cosmic, religious, human, even sensuous; a recorder, freely describing the inevitable struggle in the soul's uprise--perceiving from this inward source alone, that every "ultimate fact is only the first of a new series"; a discoverer, whose heart knows, with voltaire, "that man seriously reflects when left alone," and would then discover, if he can, that "wondrous chain which links the heavens with earth--the world of beings subject to one law." in his reflections emerson, unlike plato, is not afraid to ride arion's dolphin, and to go wherever he is carried--to parnassus or to "musketaquid."
-we see him standing on a summit, at the door of the infinite where many men do not care to climb, peering into the mysteries of life, contemplating the eternities, hurling back whatever he discovers there,--now, thunderbolts for us to grasp, if we can, and translate--now placing quietly, even tenderly, in our hands, things that we may see without effort--if we won't see them, so much the worse for us.
-we see him,--a mountain-guide, so intensely on the lookout for the trail of his star, that he has no time to stop and retrace his footprints, which may often seem indistinct to his followers, who find it easier and perhaps safer to keep their eyes on the ground. and there is a chance that this guide could not always retrace his steps if he tried--and why should he!--he is on the road, conscious only that, though his star may not lie within walking distance, he must reach it before his wagon can be hitched to it--a prometheus illuminating a privilege of the gods--lighting a fuse that is laid towards men. emerson reveals the less not by an analysis of itself, but by bringing men towards the greater. he does not try to reveal, personally, but leads, rather, to a field where revelation is a harvest-part, where it is known by the perceptions of the soul towards the absolute law. he leads us towards this law, which is a realization of what experience has suggested and philosophy hoped for. he leads us, conscious that the aspects of truth, as he sees them, may change as often as truth remains constant. revelation perhaps, is but prophecy intensified--the intensifying of its mason-work as well as its steeple. simple prophecy, while concerned with the past, reveals but the future, while revelation is concerned with all time. the power in emerson's prophecy confuses it with--or at least makes it seem to approach--revelation. it is prophecy with no time element. emerson tells, as few bards could, of what will happen in the past, for his future is eternity and the past is a part of that. and so like all true prophets, he is always modern, and will grow modern with the years--for his substance is not relative but a measure of eternal truths determined rather by a universalist than by a partialist. he measured, as michel angelo said true artists should, "with the eye and not the hand." but to attribute modernism to his substance, though not to his expression, is an anachronism--and as futile as calling today's sunset modern.
-as revelation and prophecy, in their common acceptance are resolved by man, from the absolute and universal, to the relative and personal, and as emerson's tendency is fundamentally the opposite, it is easier, safer and so apparently clearer, to think of him as a poet of natural and revealed philosophy. and as such, a prophet--but not one to be confused with those singing soothsayers, whose pockets are filled, as are the pockets of conservative-reaction and radical demagoguery in pulpit, street-corner, bank and columns, with dogmatic fortune-tellings. emerson, as a prophet in these lower heights, was a conservative, in that he seldom lost his head, and a radical, in that he seldom cared whether he lost it or not. he was a born radical as are all true conservatives. he was too much "absorbed by the absolute," too much of the universal to be either--though he could be both at once. to cotton mather, he would have been a demagogue, to a real demagogue he would not be understood, as it was with no self interest that he laid his hand on reality. the nearer any subject or an attribute of it, approaches to the perfect truth at its base, the more does qualification become necessary. radicalism must always qualify itself. emerson clarifies as he qualifies, by plunging into, rather than "emerging from carlyle's soul-confusing labyrinths of speculative radicalism." the radicalism that we hear much about today, is not emerson's kind--but of thinner fiber--it qualifies itself by going to a "root" and often cutting other roots in the process; it is usually impotent as dynamite in its cause and sometimes as harmful to the wholesome progress of all causes; it is qualified by its failure. but the radicalism of emerson plunges to all roots, it becomes greater than itself--greater than all its formal or informal doctrines--too advanced and too conservative for any specific result--too catholic for all the churches--for the nearer it is to truth, the farther it is from a truth, and the more it is qualified by its future possibilities.
-hence comes the difficulty--the futility of attempting to fasten on emerson any particular doctrine, philosophic, or religious theory. emerson wrings the neck of any law, that would become exclusive and arrogant, whether a definite one of metaphysics or an indefinite one of mechanics. he hacks his way up and down, as near as he can to the absolute, the oneness of all nature both human and spiritual, and to god's benevolence. to him the ultimate of a conception is its vastness, and it is probably this, rather than the "blind-spots" in his expression that makes us incline to go with him but half-way; and then stand and build dogmas. but if we can not follow all the way--if we do not always clearly perceive the whole picture, we are at least free to imagine it--he makes us feel that we are free to do so; perhaps that is the most he asks. for he is but reaching out through and beyond mankind, trying to see what he can of the infinite and its immensities--throwing back to us whatever he can--but ever conscious that he but occasionally catches a glimpse; conscious that if he would contemplate the greater, he must wrestle with the lesser, even though it dims an outline; that he must struggle if he would hurl back anything--even a broken fragment for men to examine and perchance in it find a germ of some part of truth; conscious at times, of the futility of his effort and its message, conscious of its vagueness, but ever hopeful for it, and confident that its foundation, if not its medium is somewhere near the eventual and "absolute good" the divine truth underlying all life. if emerson must be dubbed an optimist--then an optimist fighting pessimism, but not wallowing in it; an optimist, who does not study pessimism by learning to enjoy it, whose imagination is greater than his curiosity, who seeing the sign-post to erebus, is strong enough to go the other way. this strength of optimism, indeed the strength we find always underlying his tolerance, his radicalism, his searches, prophecies, and revelations, is heightened and made efficient by "imagination-penetrative," a thing concerned not with the combining but the apprehending of things. a possession, akin to the power, ruskin says, all great pictures have, which "depends on the penetration of the imagination into the true nature of the thing represented, and on the scorn of the imagination for all shackles and fetters of mere external fact that stand in the way of its suggestiveness"--a possession which gives the strength of distance to his eyes, and the strength of muscle to his soul. with this he slashes down through the loam--nor would he have us rest there. if we would dig deep enough only to plant a doctrine, from one part of him, he would show us the quick-silver in that furrow. if we would creed his compensation, there is hardly a sentence that could not wreck it, or could not show that the idea is no tenet of a philosophy, but a clear (though perhaps not clearly hurled on the canvas) illustration of universal justice--of god's perfect balances; a story of the analogy or better the identity of polarity and duality in nature with that in morality. the essay is no more a doctrine than the law of gravitation is. if we would stop and attribute too much to genius, he shows us that "what is best written or done by genius in the world, was no one man's work, but came by wide social labor, when a thousand wrought like one, sharing the same impulse." if we would find in his essay on montaigne, a biography, we are shown a biography of scepticism--and in reducing this to relation between "sensation and the morals" we are shown a true montaigne--we know the man better perhaps by this less presentation. if we would stop and trust heavily on the harvest of originality, he shows us that this plant--this part of the garden--is but a relative thing. it is dependent also on the richness that ages have put into the soil. "every thinker is retrospective."
-thus is emerson always beating down through the crust towards the first fire of life, of death and of eternity. read where you will, each sentence seems not to point to the next but to the undercurrent of all. if you would label his a religion of ethics or of morals, he shames you at the outset, "for ethics is but a reflection of a divine personality." all the religions this world has ever known, have been but the aftermath of the ethics of one or another holy person; "as soon as character appears be sure love will"; "the intuition of the moral sentiment is but the insight of the perfection of the laws of the soul"; but these laws cannot be catalogued.
-if a versatilist, a modern goethe, for instance, could put all of emerson's admonitions into practice, a constant permanence would result,--an eternal short-circuit--a focus of equal x-rays. even the value or success of but one precept is dependent, like that of a ball-game as much on the batting-eye as on the pitching-arm. the inactivity of permanence is what emerson will not permit. he will not accept repose against the activity of truth. but this almost constant resolution of every insight towards the absolute may get a little on one's nerves, if one is at all partial-wise to the specific; one begins to ask what is the absolute anyway, and why try to look clear through the eternities and the unknowable even out of the other end. emerson's fondness for flying to definite heights on indefinite wings, and the tendency to over-resolve, becomes unsatisfying to the impatient, who want results to come as they walk. probably this is a reason that it is occasionally said that emerson has no vital message for the rank and file. he has no definite message perhaps for the literal, but messages are all vital, as much, by reason of his indefiniteness, as in spite of it.
-there is a suggestion of irony in the thought that the power of his vague but compelling vitality, which ever sweeps us on in spite of ourselves, might not have been his, if it had not been for those definite religious doctrines of the old new england theologians. for almost two centuries, emerson's mental and spiritual muscles had been in training for him in the moral and intellectual contentions, a part of the religious exercise of his forebears. a kind of higher sensitiveness seems to culminate in him. it gives him a power of searching for a wider freedom of soul than theirs. the religion of puritanism was based to a great extent, on a search for the unknowable, limited only by the dogma of its theology--a search for a path, so that the soul could better be conducted to the next world, while emerson's transcendentalism was based on the wider search for the unknowable, unlimited in any way or by anything except the vast bounds of innate goodness, as it might be revealed to him in any phenomena of man, nature, or god. this distinction, tenuous, in spite of the definite-sounding words, we like to believe has something peculiar to emerson in it. we like to feel that it superimposes the one that makes all transcendentalism but an intellectual state, based on the theory of innate ideas, the reality of thought and the necessity of its freedom. for the philosophy of the religion, or whatever you will call it, of the concord transcendentalists is at least, more than an intellectual state--it has even some of the functions of the puritan church--it is a spiritual state in which both soul and mind can better conduct themselves in this world, and also in the next--when the time comes. the search of the puritan was rather along the path of logic, spiritualized, and the transcendentalist of reason, spiritualized--a difference in a broad sense between objective and subjective contemplation.
-the dislike of inactivity, repose and barter, drives one to the indefinite subjective. emerson's lack of interest in permanence may cause him to present a subjectivity harsher on the outside than is essential. his very universalism occasionally seems a limitation. somewhere here may lie a weakness--real to some, apparent to others--a weakness in so far as his relation becomes less vivid--to the many; insofar as he over-disregards the personal unit in the universal. if genius is the most indebted, how much does it owe to those who would, but do not easily ride with it? if there is a weakness here is it the fault of substance or only of manner? if of the former, there is organic error somewhere, and emerson will become less and less valuable to man. but this seems impossible, at least to us. without considering his manner or expression here (it forms the general subject of the second section of this paper), let us ask if emerson's substance needs an affinity, a supplement or even a complement or a gangplank? and if so, of what will it be composed?
-perhaps emerson could not have risen to his own, if it had not been for his unitarian training and association with the churchmen emancipators. "christianity is founded on, and supposes the authority of, reason, and cannot therefore oppose it, without subverting itself." ... "its office is to discern universal truths, great and eternal principles ... the highest power of the soul." thus preached channing. who knows but this pulpit aroused the younger emerson to the possibilities of intuitive reasoning in spiritual realms? the influence of men like channing in his fight for the dignity of human nature, against the arbitrary revelations that calvinism had strapped on the church, and for the belief in the divine in human reason, doubtless encouraged emerson in his unshackled search for the infinite, and gave him premises which he later took for granted instead of carrying them around with him. an over-interest, not an under-interest in christian ideal aims, may have caused him to feel that the definite paths were well established and doing their share, and that for some to reach the same infinite ends, more paths might be opened--paths which would in themselves, and in a more transcendent way, partake of the spiritual nature of the land in quest,--another expression of god's kingdom in man. would you have the indefinite paths always supplemented by the shadow of the definite one of a first influence?
-a characteristic of rebellion, is that its results are often deepest, when the rebel breaks not from the worst to the greatest, but from the great to the greater. the youth of the rebel increases this characteristic. the innate rebellious spirit in young men is active and buoyant. they could rebel against and improve the millennium. this excess of enthusiasm at the inception of a movement, causes loss of perspective; a natural tendency to undervalue the great in that which is being taken as a base of departure. a "youthful sedition" of emerson was his withdrawal from the communion, perhaps, the most socialistic doctrine (or rather symbol) of the church--a "commune" above property or class.
-picking up an essay on religion of a rather remarkable-minded boy--perhaps with a touch of genius--written when he was still in college, and so serving as a good illustration in point--we read--"every thinking man knows that the church is dead." but every thinking man knows that the church-part of the church always has been dead--that part seen by candle-light, not christ-light. enthusiasm is restless and hasn't time to see that if the church holds itself as nothing but the symbol of the greater light it is life itself--as a symbol of a symbol it is dead. many of the sincerest followers of christ never heard of him. it is the better influence of an institution that arouses in the deep and earnest souls a feeling of rebellion to make its aims more certain. it is their very sincerity that causes these seekers for a freer vision to strike down for more fundamental, universal, and perfect truths, but with such feverish enthusiasm, that they appear to overthink themselves--a subconscious way of going godward perhaps. the rebel of the twentieth century says: "let us discard god, immortality, miracle--but be not untrue to ourselves." here he, no doubt, in a sincere and exalted moment, confuses god with a name. he apparently feels that there is a separable difference between natural and revealed religion. he mistakes the powers behind them, to be fundamentally separate. in the excessive keenness of his search, he forgets that "being true to ourselves" is god, that the faintest thought of immortality is god, and that god is "miracle." over-enthusiasm keeps one from letting a common experience of a day translate what is stirring the soul. the same inspiring force that arouses the young rebel, brings later in life a kind of "experience-afterglow," a realization that the soul cannot discard or limit anything. would you have the youthful enthusiasm of rebellion, which emerson carried beyond his youth always supplemented by the shadow of experience?
-perhaps it is not the narrow minded alone that have no interest in anything, but in its relation to their personality. is the christian religion, to which emerson owes embryo-ideals, anything but the revelation of god in a personality--a revelation so that the narrow mind could become opened? but the tendency to over-personalize personality may also have suggested to emerson the necessity for more universal, and impersonal paths, though they be indefinite of outline and vague of ascent. could you journey, with equal benefit, if they were less so? would you have the universal always supplemented by the shadow of the personal? if this view is accepted, and we doubt that it can be by the majority, emerson's substance could well bear a supplement, perhaps an affinity. something that will support that which some conceive he does not offer. something that will help answer alton locke's question: "what has emerson for the working-man?" and questions of others who look for the gang-plank before the ship comes in sight. something that will supply the definite banister to the infinite, which it is said he keeps invisible. something that will point a crossroad from "his personal" to "his nature." something that may be in thoreau or wordsworth, or in another poet whose songs "breathe of a new morning of a higher life though a definite beauty in nature"--or something that will show the birth of his ideal and hold out a background of revealed religion, as a perspective to his transcendent religion--a counterpoise in his rebellion--which we feel channing or dr. bushnell, or other saints known and unknown might supply.
-if the arc must be completed--if there are those who would have the great, dim outlines of emerson fulfilled, it is fortunate that there are bushnells, and wordsworths, to whom they may appeal--to say nothing of the vedas, the bible, or their own souls. but such possibilities and conceptions, the deeper they are received, the more they seem to reduce their need. emerson's circle may be a better whole, without its complement. perhaps his "unsatiable demand for unity, the need to recognize one nature in all variety of objects," would have been impaired, if something should make it simpler for men to find the identity they at first want in his substance. "draw if thou canst the mystic line severing rightly his from thine, which is human, which divine." whatever means one would use to personalize emerson's natural revelation, whether by a vision or a board walk, the vastness of his aims and the dignity of his tolerance would doubtless cause him to accept or at least try to accept, and use "magically as a part of his fortune." he would modestly say, perhaps, "that the world is enlarged for him, not by finding new objects, but by more affinities, and potencies than those he already has." but, indeed, is not enough manifestation already there? is not the asking that it be made more manifest forgetting that "we are not strong by our power to penetrate, but by our relatedness?" will more signs create a greater sympathy? is not our weak suggestion needed only for those content with their own hopelessness?
-others may lead others to him, but he finds his problem in making "gladness hope and fortitude flow from his page," rather than in arranging that our hearts be there to receive it. the first is his duty--the last ours!
-a devotion to an end tends to undervalue the means. a power of revelation may make one more concerned about his perceptions of the soul's nature than the way of their disclosure. emerson is more interested in what he perceives than in his expression of it. he is a creator whose intensity is consumed more with the substance of his creation than with the manner by which he shows it to others. like petrarch he seems more a discoverer of beauty than an imparter of it. but these discoveries, these devotions to aims, these struggles toward the absolute, do not these in themselves, impart something, if not all, of their own unity and coherence--which is not received, as such, at first, nor is foremost in their expression. it must be remembered that "truth" was what emerson was after--not strength of outline, or even beauty except in so far as they might reveal themselves, naturally, in his explorations towards the infinite. to think hard and deeply and to say what is thought, regardless of consequences, may produce a first impression, either of great translucence, or of great muddiness, but in the latter there may be hidden possibilities. some accuse brahms' orchestration of being muddy. this may be a good name for a first impression of it. but if it should seem less so, he might not be saying what he thought. the mud may be a form of sincerity which demands that the heart be translated, rather than handed around through the pit. a clearer scoring might have lowered the thought. carlyle told emerson that some of his paragraphs didn't cohere. emerson wrote by sentences or phrases, rather than by logical sequence. his underlying plan of work seems based on the large unity of a series of particular aspects of a subject, rather than on the continuity of its expression. as thoughts surge to his mind, he fills the heavens with them, crowds them in, if necessary, but seldom arranges them, along the ground first. among class-room excuses for emerson's imperfect coherence and lack of unity, is one that remembers that his essays were made from lecture notes. his habit, often in lecturing, was to compile his ideas as they came to him on a general subject, in scattered notes, and when on the platform, to trust to the mood of the occasion, to assemble them. this seems a specious explanation, though true to fact. vagueness, is at times, an indication of nearness to a perfect truth. the definite glory of bernard of cluny's celestial city, is more beautiful than true--probably. orderly reason does not always have to be a visible part of all great things. logic may possibly require that unity means something ascending in self-evident relation to the parts and to the whole, with no ellipsis in the ascent. but reason may permit, even demand an ellipsis, and genius may not need the self-evident part. in fact, these parts may be the "blind-spots" in the progress of unity. they may be filled with little but repetition. "nature loves analogy and hates repetition." botany reveals evolution not permanence. an apparent confusion if lived with long enough may become orderly. emerson was not writing for lazy minds, though one of the keenest of his academic friends said that, he (emerson) could not explain many of his own pages. but why should he!--he explained them when he discovered them--the moment before he spoke or wrote them. a rare experience of a moment at daybreak, when something in nature seems to reveal all consciousness, cannot be explained at noon. yet it is a part of the day's unity. at evening, nature is absorbed by another experience. she dislikes to explain as much as to repeat. it is conceivable, that what is unified form to the author, or composer, may of necessity be formless to his audience. a home-run will cause more unity in the grand stand than in the season's batting average. if a composer once starts to compromise, his work will begin to drag on him. before the end is reached, his inspiration has all gone up in sounds pleasing to his audience, ugly to him--sacrificed for the first acoustic--an opaque clarity, a picture painted for its hanging. easy unity, like easy virtue, is easier to describe, when judged from its lapses than from its constancy. when the infidel admits god is great, he means only: "i am lazy--it is easier to talk than live." ruskin also says: "suppose i like the finite curves best, who shall say i'm right or wrong? no one. it is simply a question of experience." you may not be able to experience a symphony, even after twenty performances. initial coherence today may be dullness tomorrow probably because formal or outward unity depends so much on repetition, sequences, antitheses, paragraphs with inductions and summaries. macaulay had that kind of unity. can you read him today? emerson rather goes out and shouts: "i'm thinking of the sun's glory today and i'll let his light shine through me. i'll say any damn thing that this inspires me with." perhaps there are flashes of light, still in cipher, kept there by unity, the code of which the world has not yet discovered. the unity of one sentence inspires the unity of the whole--though its physique is as ragged as the dolomites.
-intense lights--vague shadows--great pillars in a horizon are difficult things to nail signboards to. emerson's outward-inward qualities make him hard to classify, but easy for some. there are many who like to say that he--even all the concord men--are intellectuals. perhaps--but intellectuals who wear their brains nearer the heart than some of their critics. it is as dangerous to determine a characteristic by manner as by mood. emerson is a pure intellectual to those who prefer to take him as literally as they can. there are reformers, and in "the form" lies their interest, who prefer to stand on the plain, and then insist they see from the summit. indolent legs supply the strength of eye for their inspiration. the intellect is never a whole. it is where the soul finds things. it is often the only track to the over-values. it appears a whole--but never becomes one even in the stock exchange, or the convent, or the laboratory. in the cleverest criminal, it is but a way to a low ideal. it can never discard the other part of its duality--the soul or the void where the soul ought to be. so why classify a quality always so relative that it is more an agency than substance; a quality that disappears when classified. "the life of the all must stream through us to make the man and the moment great." a sailor with a precious cargo doesn't analyze the water. because emerson had generations of calvinistic sermons in his blood, some cataloguers, would localize or provincialize him, with the sternness of the old puritan mind. they make him that, hold him there. they lean heavily on what they find of the above influence in him. they won't follow the rivers in his thought and the play of his soul. and their cousin cataloguers put him in another pigeon-hole. they label him "ascetic." they translate his outward serenity into an impression of severity. but truth keeps one from being hysterical. is a demagogue a friend of the people because he will lie to them to make them cry and raise false hopes? a search for perfect truths throws out a beauty more spiritual than sensuous. a sombre dignity of style is often confused by under-imagination and by surface-sentiment, with austerity. if emerson's manner is not always beautiful in accordance with accepted standards, why not accept a few other standards? he is an ascetic, in that he refuses to compromise content with manner. but a real ascetic is an extremist who has but one height. thus may come the confusion, of one who says that emerson carries him high, but then leaves him always at that height--no higher--a confusion, mistaking a latent exultation for an ascetic reserve. the rules of thorough bass can be applied to his scale of flight no more than they can to the planetary system. jadassohn, if emerson were literally a composer, could no more analyze his harmony than a guide-to-boston could. a microscope might show that he uses chords of the 9th, 11th, or the 99th, but a lens far different tells us they are used with different aims from those of debussy. emerson is definite in that his art is based on something stronger than the amusing or at its best the beguiling of a few mortals. if he uses a sensuous chord, it is not for sensual ears. his harmonies may float, if the wind blows in that direction, through a voluptuous atmosphere, but he has not debussy's fondness for trying to blow a sensuous atmosphere from his own voluptuous cheeks. and so he is an ascetic! there is a distance between jowl and soul--and it is not measured by the fraction of an inch between concord and paris. on the other hand, if one thinks that his harmony contains no dramatic chords, because no theatrical sound is heard, let him listen to the finale of "success," or of "spiritual laws," or to some of the poems, "brahma" or "sursum corda," for example. of a truth his codas often seem to crystallize in a dramatic, though serene and sustained way, the truths of his subject--they become more active and intense, but quieter and deeper.
-then there comes along another set of cataloguers. they put him down as a "classicist," or a romanticist, or an eclectic. because a prophet is a child of romanticism--because revelation is classic, because eclecticism quotes from eclectic hindu philosophy, a more sympathetic cataloguer may say, that emerson inspires courage of the quieter kind and delight of the higher kind.
-an intuitive sense of values, tends to make emerson use social, political, and even economic phenomena, as means of expression, as the accidental notes in his scale--rather than as ends, even lesser ends. in the realization that they are essential parts of the greater values, he does not confuse them with each other. he remains undisturbed except in rare instances, when the lower parts invade and seek to displace the higher. he was not afraid to say that "there are laws which should not be too well obeyed." to him, slavery was not a social or a political or an economic question, nor even one of morals or of ethics, but one of universal spiritual freedom only. it mattered little what party, or what platform, or what law of commerce governed men. was man governing himself? social error and virtue were but relative. this habit of not being hindered by using, but still going beyond the great truths of living, to the greater truths of life gave force to his influence over the materialists. thus he seems to us more a regenerator than a reformer--more an interpreter of life's reflexes than of life's facts, perhaps. here he appears greater than voltaire or rousseau and helped, perhaps, by the centrality of his conceptions, he could arouse the deeper spiritual and moral emotions, without causing his listeners to distort their physical ones. to prove that mind is over matter, he doesn't place matter over mind. he is not like the man who, because he couldn't afford both, gave up metaphysics for an automobile, and when he ran over a man blamed metaphysics. he would not have us get over-excited about physical disturbance but have it accepted as a part of any progress in culture, moral, spiritual or aesthetic. if a poet retires to the mountain-side, to avoid the vulgar unculture of men, and their physical disturbance, so that he may better catch a nobler theme for his symphony, emerson tells him that "man's culture can spare nothing, wants all material, converts all impediments into instruments, all enemies into power." the latest product of man's culture--the aeroplane, then sails o'er the mountain and instead of an inspiration--a spray of tobacco-juice falls on the poet. "calm yourself, poet!" says emerson, "culture will convert furies into muses and hells into benefit. this wouldn't have befallen you if it hadn't been for the latest transcendent product of the genius of culture" (we won't say what kind), a consummation of the dreams of poets, from david to tennyson. material progress is but a means of expression. realize that man's coarseness has its future and will also be refined in the gradual uprise. turning the world upside down may be one of its lesser incidents. it is the cause, seldom the effect that interests emerson. he can help the cause--the effect must help itself. he might have said to those who talk knowingly about the cause of war--or of the last war, and who would trace it down through long vistas of cosmic, political, moral evolution and what not--he might say that the cause of it was as simple as that of any dogfight--the "hog-mind" of the minority against the universal mind, the majority. the un-courage of the former fears to believe in the innate goodness of mankind. the cause is always the same, the effect different by chance; it is as easy for a hog, even a stupid one, to step on a box of matches under a tenement with a thousand souls, as under an empty bird-house. the many kindly burn up for the few; for the minority is selfish and the majority generous. the minority has ruled the world for physical reasons. the physical reasons are being removed by this "converting culture." webster will not much longer have to grope for the mind of his constituency. the majority--the people--will need no intermediary. governments will pass from the representative to the direct. the hog-mind is the principal thing that is making this transition slow. the biggest prop to the hog-mind is pride--pride in property and the power property gives. ruskin backs this up--"it is at the bottom of all great mistakes; other passions do occasional good, but whenever pride puts in its word ... it is all over with the artist." the hog-mind and its handmaidens in disorder, superficial brightness, fundamental dullness, then cowardice and suspicion--all a part of the minority (the non-people) the antithesis of everything called soul, spirit, christianity, truth, freedom--will give way more and more to the great primal truths--that there is more good than evil, that god is on the side of the majority (the people)--that he is not enthusiastic about the minority (the non-people)--that he has made men greater than man, that he has made the universal mind and the over-soul greater and a part of the individual mind and soul--that he has made the divine a part of all.
-again, if a picture in economics is before him, emerson plunges down to the things that are because they are better than they are. if there is a row, which there usually is, between the ebb and flood tide, in the material ocean--for example, between the theory of the present order of competition, and of attractive and associated labor, he would sympathize with ricardo, perhaps, that labor is the measure of value, but "embrace, as do generous minds, the proposition of labor shared by all." he would go deeper than political economics, strain out the self-factor from both theories, and make the measure of each pretty much the same, so that the natural (the majority) would win, but not to the disadvantage of the minority (the artificial) because this has disappeared--it is of the majority. john stuart mill's political economy is losing value because it was written by a mind more "a banker's" than a "poet's." the poet knows that there is no such thing as the perpetual law of supply and demand, perhaps not of demand and supply--or of the wage-fund, or price-level, or increments earned or unearned; and that the existence of personal or public property may not prove the existence of god.
-what is character? in how far does it sustain the soul or the soul it? is it a part of the soul? and then--what is the soul? plato knows but cannot tell us. every new-born man knows, but no one tells us. "nature will not be disposed of easily. no power of genius has ever yet had the smallest success in explaining existence. the perfect enigma remains." as every blind man sees the sun, so character may be the part of the soul we, the blind, can see, and then have the right to imagine that the soul is each man's share of god, and character the muscle which tries to reveal its mysteries--a kind of its first visible radiance--the right to know that it is the voice which is always calling the pragmatist a fool.
-at any rate, it can be said that emerson's character has much to do with his power upon us. men who have known nothing of his life, have borne witness to this. it is directly at the root of his substance, and affects his manner only indirectly. it gives the sincerity to the constant spiritual hopefulness we are always conscious of, and which carries with it often, even when the expression is somber, a note of exultation in the victories of "the innate virtues" of man. and it is this, perhaps, that makes us feel his courage--not a self-courage, but a sympathetic one--courageous even to tenderness. it is the open courage of a kind heart, of not forcing opinions--a thing much needed when the cowardly, underhanded courage of the fanatic would force opinion. it is the courage of believing in freedom, per se, rather than of trying to force everyone to see that you believe in it--the courage of the willingness to be reformed, rather than of reforming--the courage teaching that sacrifice is bravery, and force, fear. the courage of righteous indignation, of stammering eloquence, of spiritual insight, a courage ever contracting or unfolding a philosophy as it grows--a courage that would make the impossible possible. oliver wendell holmes says that emerson attempted the impossible in the over-soul--"an overflow of spiritual imagination." but he (emerson) accomplished the impossible in attempting it, and still leaving it impossible. a courageous struggle to satisfy, as thoreau says, "hunger rather than the palate"--the hunger of a lifetime sometimes by one meal. his essay on the pre-soul (which he did not write) treats of that part of the over-soul's influence on unborn ages, and attempts the impossible only when it stops attempting it.
-like all courageous souls, the higher emerson soars, the more lowly he becomes. "do you think the porter and the cook have no experiences, no wonders for you? everyone knows as much as the savant." to some, the way to be humble is to admonish the humble, not learn from them. carlyle would have emerson teach by more definite signs, rather than interpret his revelations, or shall we say preach? admitting all the inspiration and help that sartor resartus has given in spite of its vaudeville and tragic stages, to many young men getting under way in the life of tailor or king, we believe it can be said (but very broadly said) that emerson, either in the first or second series of essays, taken as a whole, gives, it seems to us, greater inspiration, partly because his manner is less didactic, less personally suggestive, perhaps less clearly or obviously human than carlyle's. how direct this inspiration is is a matter of personal viewpoint, temperament, perhaps inheritance. augustine birrell says he does not feel it--and he seems not to even indirectly. apparently "a non-sequacious author" can't inspire him, for emerson seems to him a "little thin and vague." is emerson or the english climate to blame for this? he, birrell, says a really great author dissipates all fears as to his staying power. (though fears for our staying-power, not emerson's, is what we would like dissipated.) besides, around a really great author, there are no fears to dissipate. "a wise author never allows his reader's mind to be at large," but emerson is not a wise author. his essay on prudence has nothing to do with prudence, for to be wise and prudent he must put explanation first, and let his substance dissolve because of it. "how carefully," says birrell again, "a really great author like dr. newman, or m. renan, explains to you what he is going to do, and how he is going to do it." personally we like the chance of having a hand in the "explaining." we prefer to look at flowers, but not through a botany, for it seems that if we look at them alone, we see a beauty of nature's poetry, a direct gift from the divine, and if we look at botany alone, we see the beauty of nature's intellect, a direct gift of the divine--if we look at both together, we see nothing.
-thus it seems that carlyle and birrell would have it that courage and humility have something to do with "explanation"--and that it is not "a respect for all"--a faith in the power of "innate virtue" to perceive by "relativeness rather than penetration"--that causes emerson to withhold explanation to a greater degree than many writers. carlyle asks for more utility, and birrell for more inspiration. but we like to believe that it is the height of emerson's character, evidenced especially in his courage and humility that shades its quality, rather than that its virtue is less--that it is his height that will make him more and more valuable and more and more within the reach of all--whether it be by utility, inspiration, or other needs of the human soul.
-cannot some of the most valuable kinds of utility and inspiration come from humility in its highest and purest forms? for is not the truest kind of humility a kind of glorified or transcendent democracy--the practicing it rather than the talking it--the not-wanting to level all finite things, but the being willing to be leveled towards the infinite? until humility produces that frame of mind and spirit in the artist can his audience gain the greatest kind of utility and inspiration, which might be quite invisible at first? emerson realizes the value of "the many,"--that the law of averages has a divine source. he recognizes the various life-values in reality--not by reason of their closeness or remoteness, but because he sympathizes with men who live them, and the majority do. "the private store of reason is not great--would that there were a public store for man," cries pascal, but there is, says emerson, it is the universal mind, an institution congenital with the common or over-soul. pascal is discouraged, for he lets himself be influenced by surface political and religious history which shows the struggle of the group, led by an individual, rather than that of the individual led by himself--a struggle as much privately caused as privately led. the main-path of all social progress has been spiritual rather than intellectual in character, but the many bypaths of individual-materialism, though never obliterating the highway, have dimmed its outlines and caused travelers to confuse the colors along the road. a more natural way of freeing the congestion in the benefits of material progress will make it less difficult for the majority to recognize the true relation between the important spiritual and religious values and the less important intellectual and economic values. as the action of the intellect and universal mind becomes more and more identical, the clearer will the relation of all values become. but for physical reasons, the group has had to depend upon the individual as leaders, and the leaders with few exceptions restrained the universal mind--they trusted to the "private store," but now, thanks to the lessons of evolution, which nature has been teaching men since and before the days of socrates, the public store of reason is gradually taking the place of the once-needed leader. from the chaldean tablet to the wireless message this public store has been wonderfully opened. the results of these lessons, the possibilities they are offering for ever coordinating the mind of humanity, the culmination of this age-instruction, are seen today in many ways. labor federation, suffrage extension, are two instances that come to mind among the many. in these manifestations, by reason of tradition, or the bad-habit part of tradition, the hog-mind of the few (the minority), comes in play. the possessors of this are called leaders, but even these "thick-skins" are beginning to see that the movement is the leader, and that they are only clerks. broadly speaking, the effects evidenced in the political side of history have so much of the physical because the causes have been so much of the physical. as a result the leaders for the most part have been under-average men, with skins thick, wits slick, and hands quick with under-values, otherwise they would not have become leaders. but the day of leaders, as such, is gradually closing--the people are beginning to lead themselves--the public store of reason is slowly being opened--the common universal mind and the common over-soul is slowly but inevitably coming into its own. "let a man believe in god, not in names and places and persons. let the great soul incarnated in some poor ... sad and simple joan, go out to service and sweep chimneys and scrub floors ... its effulgent day beams cannot be muffled..." and then "to sweep and scrub will instantly appear supreme and beautiful actions ... and all people will get brooms and mops." perhaps, if all of emerson--his works and his life--were to be swept away, and nothing of him but the record of the following incident remained to men--the influence of his soul would still be great. a working woman after coming from one of his lectures said: "i love to go to hear emerson, not because i understand him, but because he looks as though he thought everybody was as good as he was." is it not the courage--the spiritual hopefulness in his humility that makes this story possible and true? is it not this trait in his character that sets him above all creeds--that gives him inspired belief in the common mind and soul? is it not this courageous universalism that gives conviction to his prophecy and that makes his symphonies of revelation begin and end with nothing but the strength and beauty of innate goodness in man, in nature and in god, the greatest and most inspiring theme of concord transcendental philosophy, as we hear it.
-and it is from such a world-compelling theme and from such vantage ground, that emerson rises to almost perfect freedom of action, of thought and of soul, in any direction and to any height. a vantage ground, somewhat vaster than schelling's conception of transcendental philosophy--"a philosophy of nature become subjective." in concord it includes the objective and becomes subjective to nothing but freedom and the absolute law. it is this underlying courage of the purest humility that gives emerson that outward aspect of serenity which is felt to so great an extent in much of his work, especially in his codas and perorations. and within this poised strength, we are conscious of that "original authentic fire" which emerson missed in shelley--we are conscious of something that is not dispassionate, something that is at times almost turbulent--a kind of furious calm lying deeply in the conviction of the eventual triumph of the soul and its union with god!
-let us place the transcendent emerson where he, himself, places milton, in wordsworth's apostrophe: "pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, so didst thou travel on life's common way in cheerful godliness."
-the godliness of spiritual courage and hopefulness--these fathers of faith rise to a glorified peace in the depth of his greater perorations. there is an "oracle" at the beginning of the fifth symphony--in those four notes lies one of beethoven's greatest messages. we would place its translation above the relentlessness of fate knocking at the door, above the greater human-message of destiny, and strive to bring it towards the spiritual message of emerson's revelations--even to the "common heart" of concord--the soul of humanity knocking at the door of the divine mysteries, radiant in the faith that it will be opened--and the human become the divine!
-hawthorne may be more noticeably indigenous or may have more local color, perhaps more national color than his concord contemporaries. but the work of anyone who is somewhat more interested in psychology than in transcendental philosophy, will weave itself around individuals and their personalities. if the same anyone happens to live in salem, his work is likely to be colored by the salem wharves and salem witches. if the same anyone happens to live in the "old manse" near the concord battle bridge, he is likely "of a rainy day to betake himself to the huge garret," the secrets of which he wonders at, "but is too reverent of their dust and cobwebs to disturb." he is likely to "bow below the shriveled canvas of an old (puritan) clergyman in wig and gown--the parish priest of a century ago--a friend of whitefield." he is likely to come under the spell of this reverend ghost who haunts the "manse" and as it rains and darkens and the sky glooms through the dusty attic windows, he is likely "to muse deeply and wonderingly upon the humiliating fact that the works of man's intellect decay like those of his hands" ... "that thought grows moldy," and as the garret is in massachusetts, the "thought" and the "mold" are likely to be quite native. when the same anyone puts his poetry into novels rather than essays, he is likely to have more to say about the life around him--about the inherited mystery of the town--than a poet of philosophy is.
-in hawthorne's usual vicinity, the atmosphere was charged with the somber errors and romance of eighteenth century new england,--ascetic or noble new england as you like. a novel, of necessity, nails an art-effort down to some definite part or parts of the earth's surface--the novelist's wagon can't always be hitched to a star. to say that hawthorne was more deeply interested than some of the other concord writers--emerson, for example--in the idealism peculiar to his native land (in so far as such idealism of a country can be conceived of as separate from the political) would be as unreasoning as to hold that he was more interested in social progress than thoreau, because he was in the consular service and thoreau was in no one's service--or that the war governor of massachusetts was a greater patriot than wendell phillips, who was ashamed of all political parties. hawthorne's art was true and typically american--as is the art of all men living in america who believe in freedom of thought and who live wholesome lives to prove it, whatever their means of expression.
-any comprehensive conception of hawthorne, either in words or music, must have for its basic theme something that has to do with the influence of sin upon the conscience--something more than the puritan conscience, but something which is permeated by it. in this relation he is wont to use what hazlitt calls the "moral power of imagination." hawthorne would try to spiritualize a guilty conscience. he would sing of the relentlessness of guilt, the inheritance of guilt, the shadow of guilt darkening innocent posterity. all of its sins and morbid horrors, its specters, its phantasmas, and even its hellish hopelessness play around his pages, and vanishing between the lines are the less guilty elves of the concord elms, which thoreau and old man alcott may have felt, but knew not as intimately as hawthorne. there is often a pervading melancholy about hawthorne, as faguet says of de musset "without posture, without noise but penetrating." there is at times the mysticism and serenity of the ocean, which jules michelet sees in "its horizon rather than in its waters." there is a sensitiveness to supernatural sound waves. hawthorne feels the mysteries and tries to paint them rather than explain them--and here, some may say that he is wiser in a more practical way and so more artistic than emerson. perhaps so, but no greater in the deeper ranges and profound mysteries of the interrelated worlds of human and spiritual life.
-this fundamental part of hawthorne is not attempted in our music (the 2nd movement of the series) which is but an "extended fragment" trying to suggest some of his wilder, fantastical adventures into the half-childlike, half-fairylike phantasmal realms. it may have something to do with the children's excitement on that "frosty berkshire morning, and the frost imagery on the enchanted hall window" or something to do with "feathertop," the "scarecrow," and his "looking glass" and the little demons dancing around his pipe bowl; or something to do with the old hymn tune that haunts the church and sings only to those in the churchyard, to protect them from secular noises, as when the circus parade comes down main street; or something to do with the concert at the stamford camp meeting, or the "slave's shuffle"; or something to do with the concord he-nymph, or the "seven vagabonds," or "circe's palace," or something else in the wonderbook--not something that happens, but the way something happens; or something to do with the "celestial railroad," or "phoebe's garden," or something personal, which tries to be "national" suddenly at twilight, and universal suddenly at midnight; or something about the ghost of a man who never lived, or about something that never will happen, or something else that is not.
-the daughter does not accept the father as a prototype--she seems to have but few of her father's qualities "in female." she supported the family and at the same time enriched the lives of a large part of young america, starting off many little minds with wholesome thoughts and many little hearts with wholesome emotions. she leaves memory-word-pictures of healthy, new england childhood days,--pictures which are turned to with affection by middle-aged children,--pictures, that bear a sentiment, a leaven, that middle-aged america needs nowadays more than we care to admit.
-concord village, itself, reminds one of that common virtue lying at the height and root of all the concord divinities. as one walks down the broad-arched street, passing the white house of emerson--ascetic guard of a former prophetic beauty--he comes presently beneath the old elms overspreading the alcott house. it seems to stand as a kind of homely but beautiful witness of concord's common virtue--it seems to bear a consciousness that its past is living, that the "mosses of the old manse" and the hickories of walden are not far away. here is the home of the "marches"--all pervaded with the trials and happiness of the family and telling, in a simple way, the story of "the richness of not having." within the house, on every side, lie remembrances of what imagination can do for the better amusement of fortunate children who have to do for themselves-much-needed lessons in these days of automatic, ready-made, easy entertainment which deaden rather than stimulate the creative faculty. and there sits the little old spinet-piano sophia thoreau gave to the alcott children, on which beth played the old scotch airs, and played at the fifth symphony.
-there is a commonplace beauty about "orchard house"--a kind of spiritual sturdiness underlying its quaint picturesqueness--a kind of common triad of the new england homestead, whose overtones tell us that there must have been something aesthetic fibered in the puritan severity--the self-sacrificing part of the ideal--a value that seems to stir a deeper feeling, a stronger sense of being nearer some perfect truth than a gothic cathedral or an etruscan villa. all around you, under the concord sky, there still floats the influence of that human faith melody, transcendent and sentimental enough for the enthusiast or the cynic respectively, reflecting an innate hope--a common interest in common things and common men--a tune the concord bards are ever playing, while they pound away at the immensities with a beethovenlike sublimity, and with, may we say, a vehemence and perseverance--for that part of greatness is not so difficult to emulate.
-we dare not attempt to follow the philosophic raptures of bronson alcott--unless you will assume that his apotheosis will show how "practical" his vision in this world would be in the next. and so we won't try to reconcile the music sketch of the alcotts with much besides the memory of that home under the elms--the scotch songs and the family hymns that were sung at the end of each day--though there may be an attempt to catch something of that common sentiment (which we have tried to suggest above)-a strength of hope that never gives way to despair--a conviction in the power of the common soul which, when all is said and done, may be as typical as any theme of concord and its transcendentalists.
-thoreau was a great musician, not because he played the flute but because he did not have to go to boston to hear "the symphony." the rhythm of his prose, were there nothing else, would determine his value as a composer. he was divinely conscious of the enthusiasm of nature, the emotion of her rhythms and the harmony of her solitude. in this consciousness he sang of the submission to nature, the religion of contemplation, and the freedom of simplicity--a philosophy distinguishing between the complexity of nature which teaches freedom, and the complexity of materialism which teaches slavery. in music, in poetry, in all art, the truth as one sees it must be given in terms which bear some proportion to the inspiration. in their greatest moments the inspiration of both beethoven and thoreau express profound truths and deep sentiment, but the intimate passion of it, the storm and stress of it, affected beethoven in such a way that he could not but be ever showing it and thoreau that he could not easily expose it. they were equally imbued with it, but with different results. a difference in temperament had something to do with this, together with a difference in the quality of expression between the two arts. "who that has heard a strain of music feared lest he would speak extravagantly forever," says thoreau. perhaps music is the art of speaking extravagantly. herbert spencer says that some men, as for instance mozart, are so peculiarly sensitive to emotion ... that music is to them but a continuation not only of the expression but of the actual emotion, though the theory of some more modern thinkers in the philosophy of art doesn't always bear this out. however, there is no doubt that in its nature music is predominantly subjective and tends to subjective expression, and poetry more objective tending to objective expression. hence the poet when his muse calls for a deeper feeling must invert this order, and he may be reluctant to do so as these depths often call for an intimate expression which the physical looks of the words may repel. they tend to reveal the nakedness of his soul rather than its warmth. it is not a matter of the relative value of the aspiration, or a difference between subconsciousness and consciousness but a difference in the arts themselves; for example, a composer may not shrink from having the public hear his "love letter in tones," while a poet may feel sensitive about having everyone read his "letter in words." when the object of the love is mankind the sensitiveness is changed only in degree.
-but the message of thoreau, though his fervency may be inconstant and his human appeal not always direct, is, both in thought and spirit, as universal as that of any man who ever wrote or sang--as universal as it is nontemporaneous--as universal as it is free from the measure of history, as "solitude is free from the measure of the miles of space that intervene between man and his fellows." in spite of the fact that henry james (who knows almost everything) says that "thoreau is more than provincial--that he is parochial," let us repeat that henry thoreau, in respect to thought, sentiment, imagination, and soul, in respect to every element except that of place of physical being--a thing that means so much to some--is as universal as any personality in literature. that he said upon being shown a specimen grass from iceland that the same species could be found in concord is evidence of his universality, not of his parochialism. he was so universal that he did not need to travel around the world to prove it. "i have more of god, they more of the road." "it is not worth while to go around the world to count the cats in zanzibar." with marcus aurelius, if he had seen the present he had seen all, from eternity and all time forever.
-thoreau's susceptibility to natural sounds was probably greater than that of many practical musicians. true, this appeal is mainly through the sensational element which herbert spencer thinks the predominant beauty of music. thoreau seems able to weave from this source some perfect transcendental symphonies. strains from the orient get the best of some of the modern french music but not of thoreau. he seems more interested in than influenced by oriental philosophy. he admires its ways of resignation and self-contemplation but he doesn't contemplate himself in the same way. he often quotes from the eastern scriptures passages which were they his own he would probably omit, i.e., the vedas say "all intelligences awake with the morning." this seems unworthy of "accompanying the undulations of celestial music" found on this same page, in which an "ode to morning" is sung--"the awakening to newly acquired forces and aspirations from within to a higher life than we fell asleep from ... for all memorable events transpire in the morning time and in the morning atmosphere." thus it is not the whole tone scale of the orient but the scale of a walden morning--"music in single strains," as emerson says, which inspired many of the polyphonies and harmonies that come to us through his poetry. who can be forever melancholy "with aeolian music like this"?
-this is but one of many ways in which thoreau looked to nature for his greatest inspirations. in her he found an analogy to the fundamental of transcendentalism. the "innate goodness" of nature is or can be a moral influence; mother nature, if man will but let her, will keep him straight--straight spiritually and so morally and even mentally. if he will take her as a companion, and teacher, and not as a duty or a creed, she will give him greater thrills and teach him greater truths than man can give or teach--she will reveal mysteries that mankind has long concealed. it was the soul of nature not natural history that thoreau was after. a naturalist's mind is one predominantly scientific, more interested in the relation of a flower to other flowers than its relation to any philosophy or anyone's philosophy. a transcendent love of nature and writing "rhus glabra" after sumac doesn't necessarily make a naturalist. it would seem that although thorough in observation (not very thorough according to mr. burroughs) and with a keen perception of the specific, a naturalist--inherently--was exactly what thoreau was not. he seems rather to let nature put him under her microscope than to hold her under his. he was too fond of nature to practice vivisection upon her. he would have found that painful, "for was he not a part with her?" but he had this trait of a naturalist, which is usually foreign to poets, even great ones; he observed acutely even things that did not particularly interest him--a useful natural gift rather than a virtue.
-the study of nature may tend to make one dogmatic, but the love of nature surely does not. thoreau no more than emerson could be said to have compounded doctrines. his thinking was too broad for that. if thoreau's was a religion of nature, as some say,--and by that they held to help along the freeing of the negroes; while the english aristocracy held up its hands in horror at american slavery and set its face like a flint against all efforts to do ireland tardy and incomplete justice.
-again, in his opposition to the extradition clause of the treaty, benton was certainly wrong. nothing is clearer than that nations ought to combine to prevent criminals from escaping punishment merely by fleeing over an imaginary line; the crime is against all society, and society should unite to punish it. especially is there need of the most stringent extradition laws between countries whose people have the same speech and legal system, as with the united states and great britain. indeed, it is a pity that our extradition laws are not more stringent. but benton saw, or affected to see, in the extradition clause, a menace to political refugees, and based his opposition to it mainly on this ground. he also quoted on his side the inevitable jefferson; for jefferson, or rather the highly idealized conception of what jefferson had been, shared with the "demos krateo principle" the honor of being one of the twin fetiches to which benton, in common with most of his fellow-democrats, especially delighted to bow down.
-but when he came to the parts of the treaty that defined our northeastern boundary and so much of our northwestern boundary as lay near the great lakes, benton occupied far more defensible ground; and the parts of his speech referring to these questions were very strong indeed. he attempted to show that in the matter of the maine frontier we had surrendered very much more than there was any need of our doing, and that the british claim was unfounded; and there seems now to be good reason for thinking him right, although it must be admitted that in agreeing to the original line in earlier treaties the british had acted entirely under a misapprehension as to where it would go. benton was also able to make a good point against webster for finally agreeing to surrender so much of maine's claim by showing the opposition the latter had made, while in the senate, to a similar but less objectionable clause in a treaty which jackson's administration had then been trying to get through. again webster had, in defending the surrender of certain of our claims along the boundary west of lake superior, stated that the country was not very valuable, as it was useless for agricultural purposes; and benton had taken him up sharply on this point, saying that we wanted the land anyhow, whether it produced corn and potatoes or only furs and lumber. the amounts of territory as to which our claims were compromised were not very large compared to the extent of the pacific coast lands which were still left in dispute; and it was perhaps well that the treaty was ratified; but certainly there is much to be said on benton's side so far as his opposition to the proposed frontier was concerned.
-however, he was only able to rally eight other senators to his support, and the treaty went through the senate triumphantly. it encountered an even more bitter opposition in parliament, where palmerston headed a series of furious attacks upon it, for reasons the precise opposite of those which benton alleged, arguing that england received much less, instead of much more, than her due, and thereby showing webster's position in a very much better light than that in which it would otherwise have appeared. eventually the british government ratified the treaty.
-the ashburton treaty did not touch on the oregon matter at all; nor was this dealt with by webster while he was secretary of state. but it came before the senate at that time, and later on calhoun took it up, when filling webster's place in the cabinet, although a final decision was not reached until during polk's presidency. webster did not appreciate the importance of oregon in the least, and moreover came from a section of the country that was not inclined to insist on territorial expansion at the hazard of a war, in which the merchants of the sea-board would be the chief sufferers. calhoun, it is true, came from a peculiarly militant and bellicose state, but on the other hand from a section that was not very anxious to see the free north acquire new territory. so it happened that neither of tyler's two great secretaries felt called upon to insist too vehemently upon going to extremes in defense of our rights, or supposed rights, along the pacific coast; and though in the end the balance was struck pretty evenly between our claims and those of our neighbor, yet it is to be regretted that we did not stand out stiffly for the whole of our demand. our title was certainly not perfect, but it was to the full as good as, or better than, great britain's; and it would have been better in the end had we insisted upon the whole territory being given to us, no matter what price we had to pay.
-the politico-social line of division between the east and the west had been gradually growing fainter as that between the north and south grew deeper; but on the oregon question it again became prominent. southeastern democrats, like the carolinian mcduffie, spoke as slightingly of the value of oregon, and were as little inclined to risk a war for its possession, as the most peace-loving whigs of new england; while the intense western feeling against giving up any of our rights on the pacific coast was best expressed by the two senators from the slave state of missouri. benton was not restrained in his desire to add to the might of the union by any fear of the possible future effect upon the political power of the slave states. although a slave-holder and the representative of slave-holders, he was fully alive to the evils of slavery, though as yet not seeing clearly how all-important a question it had become. the preservation and extension of the union and obedience to the spirit of democracy were the chief articles of his political creed, and to these he always subordinated all others. when, in speaking of slavery, he made use, as he sometimes did, of expressions that were not far removed from those of men really devoted to the slave interests, it was almost always because he had some ulterior object in view, or for factional ends; for unfortunately his standard of political propriety was not sufficiently high to prevent his trying to make use of any weapon, good or bad, with which to overturn his political foes. in protesting against the ashburton treaty, he outdid even such slavery champions as calhoun in the extravagance of his ideas as to what we should demand of foreign powers in reference to their treatment of our "peculiar institution"; but he seems to have done this merely because thereby he got an additional handle of attack against the whig measures. the same thing was true earlier of his fulmination against clay's proposed panama congress; and even before that, in attacking adams for his supposed part in the treaty whereby we established the line of our spanish frontier, he dragged slavery into the question, not, apparently, because he really particularly wished to see our slave territory extended, but because he thought that he might use the slavery cry to excite in one other section of the country a feeling as strong as that which the west already felt in regard to territorial expansion generally. indeed, his whole conduct throughout the oregon controversy, especially when taken in connection with the fact that he stood out for maine's frontier rights more stoutly than the maine representatives themselves, shows how free from sectional bias was his way of looking at our geographical growth.
-the territory along the pacific coast lying between california on the south and alaska on the north--"oregon," as it was comprehensively called--had been a source of dispute for some time between the united states and great britain. after some negotiations both had agreed with russia to recognize the line of 54° 40' as the southern boundary of the latter's possessions; and mexico's undisputed possession of california gave an equally well marked southern limit, at the forty-second parallel. all between was in dispute. the british had trading posts at the mouth of the columbia, which they emphatically asserted to be theirs; we, on the other hand, claimed an absolutely clear title up to the forty-ninth parallel, a couple of hundred miles north of the mouth of the columbia, and asserted that for all the balance of the territory up to the russian possessions our title was at any rate better than that of the british. in 1818 a treaty had been made providing for the joint occupation of the territory by the two powers, as neither was willing to give up its claim to the whole, or at the time at all understood the value of the possession, then entirely unpeopled. this treaty of joint occupancy had remained in force ever since. under it the british had built great trading stations, and used the whole country in the interests of certain fur companies. the americans, in spite of some vain efforts, were unable to compete with them in this line; but, what was infinitely more important, had begun, even prior to 1840, to establish actual settlers along the banks of the rivers, some missionaries being the first to come in. as long, however, as the territory remained sparsely settled, and the communication with it chiefly by sea, the hold of great britain gave promise of being the stronger. but the aspect of affairs was totally changed when in 1842 a huge caravan of over a thousand americans made the journey overland from the frontiers of missouri, taking with them their wives and their children, their flocks and herds, carrying their long rifles on their shoulders, and their axes and spades in the great canvas-topped wagons. the next year, two thousand more settlers of the same sort in their turn crossed the vast plains, wound their way among the rocky mountains through the pass explored by fremont, benton's son-in-law, and after suffering every kind of hardship and danger, and warding off the attacks of hostile indians, descended the western slope of the great water-shed to join their fellows by the banks of the columbia. when american settlers were once in actual possession of the disputed territory, it became evident that the period of great britain's undisputed sway was over.
-the government of the united states, meanwhile, was so far from helping these settlers that it on the contrary rather threw obstacles in their way. as usual with us, the individual activity of the citizens themselves, who all acted independently and with that peculiar self-reliance that is the chief american characteristic, outstripped the activity of their representatives, who were obliged all to act together, and who were therefore held back by each other,--our constitution, while giving free scope for individual freedom, wisely providing such checks as to make our governmental system eminently conservative in its workings. tyler's administration did not wish to embroil itself with england; so it refused any aid to the settlers, and declined to give them grants of land, as under the joint occupancy treaty that would have given england offense and cause for complaint. but benton and the other westerners were perfectly willing to offend england, if by so doing they could help america to obtain oregon, and were too rash and headstrong to count the cost of their actions. accordingly, a bill was introduced providing for the settlement of oregon, and giving each settler six hundred and forty acres, and additional land if he had a family; so that every inducement was held out to the emigrants, the west wanting to protect and encourage them by all the means in its power. the laws and jurisdiction of the territory of iowa were to be extended to all the settlers on the pacific coast, who hitherto had governed themselves merely by a system of mutual agreements.
-the bill was, of course, strongly opposed, especially on account of the clause giving land to the settlers. it passed the senate by a close vote, but failed in the house. naturally benton was one of its chief supporters, and spoke at length in its favor. he seized the kernel of the matter when, in advocating the granting of land, he spoke of immigration as "the only thing which can save the country from the british, acting through their powerful agent, the hudson's bay company." he then blew a lusty note of defiance to great britain herself:--
-i think she will take offense, do what we may in relation to this territory. she wants it herself, and means to quarrel for it, if she does not fight for it.... i grant that she will take offense, but that is not the question with me. has she a right to take offense? that is my question! and this being decided in the negative, i neither fear nor calculate consequences.... courage will keep her off, fear will bring her upon us. the assertion of our rights will command her respect; the fear to assert them will bring us her contempt.... neither nations nor individuals ever escaped danger by fearing it. they must face it and defy it. an abandonment of a right for fear of bringing on an attack, instead of keeping it off, will inevitably bring on the outrage that is dreaded.
-he was right enough in his disposition to resent the hectoring spirit which, at that time, characterized great britain's foreign policy; but he was all wrong in condemning delay, and stating that if things were left as they were time would work against us, and not for us.
-in this respect calhoun, who opposed the bill, was much wiser. he advocated a policy of "masterly inactivity," foreseeing that time was everything to us, inasmuch as the land was sure in the end to belong to that nation whose people had settled in it, and we alone were able to furnish a constantly increasing stream of immigrants. later on, however, calhoun abandoned this policy, probably mainly influenced by fear of the extension of free territory, and consented to a compromise with great britain. the true course to have pursued would have been to have combined the ideas of both benton and calhoun, and to have gone farther than either; that is, we should have allowed the question to remain unsettled as long as was possible, because every year saw an increasing american population in the coveted lands, and rendered the ultimate decision surer to be for us. when it was impossible to postpone the question longer, we should have insisted upon its being settled entirely in our favor, no matter at what cost. the unsuccessful attempts, made by benton and his supporters, to persuade the senate to pass a resolution, requiring that notice of the termination of the joint occupancy treaty should forthwith be given, were certainly ill-advised.
-however, even benton was not willing to go to the length to which certain western men went, who insisted upon all or nothing. he had become alarmed and angry over the intrigue for the admission of texas and the proposed forcible taking away of mexican territory. the northwestern democrats wanted all texas and all oregon; the southeastern ones wished all the former and part of the latter. benton then concluded that it would be best to take part of each; for, although no friend to compromises, yet he was unwilling to jeopardize the safety of the union as it was by seeking to make it still larger. accordingly, he sympathized with the effort made by calhoun while secretary of state to get the british to accept the line of 49° as the frontier; but the british government then rejected this proposition. in 1844 the democrats made their campaign upon the issue of "fifty-four forty or fight;" and polk, when elected, felt obliged to insist upon this campaign boundary. to this, however, great britain naturally would not consent; it was, indeed, idle to expect her to do so, unless things should be kept as they were until a fairly large american population had grown up along the pacific coast, and had thus put her in a position where she could hardly do anything else. polk's administration was neither capable nor warlike, however well disposed to bluster; and the secretary of state, the timid, shifty, and selfish politician, buchanan, naturally fond of facing both ways, was the last man to wish to force a quarrel on a high-spirited and determined antagonist like england. accordingly, he made up his mind to back down and try for the line of 49°, as proposed by calhoun, when in tyler's cabinet; and the english, for all their affected indifference, had been so much impressed by the warlike demonstrations in the united states, that they in turn were delighted, singing in a much lower key than before the "fifty-four forty" cry had been raised; accordingly they withdrew their former pretensions to the columbia river and accepted the offered compromise. now, however, came the question of getting the treaty through the senate; and buchanan sounded benton, to see if he would undertake this task.
-benton, worried over the texas matter, was willing to recede somewhat from the very high ground he had taken,--although, of course, he insisted that he had been perfectly consistent throughout, and that the 49th parallel was the line he had all along been striving for. under his lead the proposal for a treaty on the basis indicated was carried through the senate, and the line in consequence ultimately became our frontier, in spite of the frantic opposition of the northwestern democrats, the latter hurling every sort of charge of bad faith and treachery at their southern associates, who had joined with the whigs in defeating them. benton's speech in support of the proposal was pitched much lower than had been his previous ones; and, a little forgetful of some of his own remarks, he was especially severe upon those members who denounced england and held up a picture of her real or supposed designs to excite and frighten the people into needless opposition to her.
-in its immediate effects the adoption of the 49th parallel as the dividing line between the two countries was excellent, and entailed no loss of dignity on either. yet, as there was no particular reason why we should show any generosity in our diplomatic dealings with england, it may well be questioned whether it would not have been better to have left things as they were until we could have taken all. wars are, of course, as a rule to be avoided; but they are far better than certain kinds of peace. every war in which we have been engaged, except the one with mexico, has been justifiable in its origin; and each one, without any exception whatever, has left us better off, taking both moral and material considerations into account, than we should have been if we had not waged it.
-the abolitionists dance to the slave barons' piping.
-in 1844 the whig candidate for the presidency, henry clay, was defeated by a mr. polk, the nominee of the democracy. the majorities in several of the states were very small; this was the case, for example in new york, the change in whose electoral vote would have also changed the entire result.
-up to 1860 there were very few political contests in which the dividing lines between right and wrong so nearly coincided with those drawn between the two opposing parties as in that of 1844. the democrats favored the annexation of texas, and the addition of new slave territory to the union; the whigs did not. almost every good element in the country stood behind clay; the vast majority of intelligent, high-minded, upright men supported him. polk was backed by rabid southern fire-eaters and slavery extensionists, who had deified negro bondage and exalted it beyond the union, the constitution, and everything else; by the almost solid foreign vote, still unfit for the duties of american citizenship; by the vicious and criminal classes in all the great cities of the north and in new orleans; by the corrupt politicians, who found ignorance and viciousness tools ready forged to their hands, wherewith to perpetrate the gigantic frauds without which the election would have been lost; and, lastly, he was also backed indirectly but most powerfully by the political abolitionists.
-these abolitionists had formed themselves into the liberty party, and ran birney for president; and though they polled but little over sixty thousand votes, yet as these were drawn almost entirely from the ranks of clay's supporters, they were primarily responsible for his defeat; for the defections were sufficiently large to turn the scale in certain pivotal and closely contested states, notably new york. their action in this case was wholly evil, alike in its immediate and its remote results; they simply played into the hands of the extreme slavery men like calhoun, and became, for the time being, the willing accomplices of the latter. yet they would have accomplished nothing had it not been for the frauds and outrages perpetrated by the gangs of native and foreign-born ruffians in the great cities, under the leadership of such brutal rowdies as isaiah rynders.
-these three men, calhoun, birney, and isaiah rynders, may be taken as types of the classes that were chiefly instrumental in the election of polk, and that must, therefore, bear the responsibility for all the evils attendant thereon, including among them the bloody and unrighteous war with mexico. with the purpose of advancing the cause of abstract right, but with the result of sacrificing all that was best, most honest, and most high-principled in national politics, the abolitionists joined hands with northern roughs and southern slavocrats to elect the man who was, excepting tyler, the very smallest of the line of small presidents who came in between jackson and lincoln.
-owing to a variety of causes, the abolitionists have received an immense amount of hysterical praise, which they do not deserve, and have been credited with deeds done by other men, whom they in reality hampered and opposed rather than aided. after 1840 the professed abolitionists formed but a small and comparatively unimportant portion of the forces that were working towards the restriction and ultimate destruction of slavery; and much of what they did was positively harmful to the cause for which they were fighting. those of their number who considered the constitution as a league with death and hell, and who therefore advocated a dissolution of the union, acted as rationally as would anti-polygamists nowadays if, to show their disapproval of mormonism, they should advocate that utah should be allowed to form a separate nation. the only hope of ultimately suppressing slavery lay in the preservation of the union, and every abolitionist who argued or signed a petition for its dissolution was doing as much to perpetuate the evil he complained of as if he had been a slave-holder. the liberty party, in running birney, simply committed a political crime, evil in almost all its consequences; they in no sense paved the way for the republican party, or helped forward the anti-slavery cause, or hurt the existing organizations. their effect on the democracy was nil; and all they were able to accomplish with the whigs was to make them put forward for the ensuing campaign a slave-holder from louisiana, with whom they were successful. such were the remote results of their conduct; the immediate evils they produced have already been alluded to. they bore considerable resemblance--except that, after all, they really did have a principle to contend for--to the political prohibitionists of the present day, who go into the third party organizations, and are, not even excepting the saloon-keepers themselves, the most efficient allies on whom intemperance and the liquor traffic can count.
-anti-slavery men like giddings, who supported clay, were doing a thousand-fold more effective work for the cause they had at heart than all the voters who supported birney; or, to speak more accurately, they were doing all they could to advance the cause, and the others were doing all they could to hold it back. lincoln in 1860 occupied more nearly the ground held by clay than that held by birney; and the men who supported the latter in 1844 were the prototypes of those who wished to oppose lincoln in 1860, and only worked less hard because they had less chance. the ultra abolitionists discarded expediency, and claimed to act for abstract right, on principle, no matter what the results might be; in consequence they accomplished very little, and that as much for harm as for good, until they ate their words, went counter to their previous course, thereby acknowledging it to be bad, and supported in the republican party the men and principles they had so fiercely condemned. the liberty party was not in any sense the precursor of the republican party, which was based as much on expediency as on abstract right, and was therefore able to accomplish good instead of harm. to say that the extreme abolitionists triumphed in republican success and were causes of it, is as absurd as it would be to call prohibitionists successful if, after countless futile efforts totally to prohibit the liquor traffic, and after savage denunciation of those who try to regulate it, they should then turn round and form a comparatively insignificant portion of a victorious high-license party.
-many people in speaking of the abolitionists apparently forget that the national government, even under republican rule, would never have meddled with slavery in the various states unless as a war measure, made necessary by the rebellion into which the south was led by a variety of causes, of which slavery was chief, but among which there were others that were also prominent; such as the separatist spirit of certain of the communities and the unscrupulous, treacherous ambition of such men as davis, floyd, and the rest. the abolitionists' political organizations, such as the liberty party, generally produced very little effect either way, and were scarcely thought of during the contests waged for freedom in congress. the men who took a great and effective part in the fight against slavery were the men who remained within their respective parties; like the democrats benton and wilmot, or the whigs seward and stevens. when a new party with more clearly defined principles was formed, they, for the most part, went into it; but, like all other men who have ever had a really great influence, whether for good or bad, on american politics, they did not act independently of parties, but on the contrary kept within party lines,--although, of course, none of them were mere blind and unreasoning partisans.
-the plea that slavery was a question of principle, on which no compromise could be accepted, might have been made and could still be made on twenty other points,--woman suffrage, for instance. of course, to give women their just rights does not by any means imply that they should necessarily be allowed to vote, any more than the bestowal of the rights of citizenship upon blacks and aliens must of necessity carry with it the same privilege. but there were until lately, and in some states there are now, laws on the statute-book in reference to women that are in principle as unjust, and that are quite as much the remnants of archaic barbarism as was the old slave code; and though it is true that they do not work anything like the evil of the latter, they yet certainly work evil enough. the same laws that in one southern state gave a master a right to whip a slave also allowed him to whip his wife, provided he used a stick no thicker than his little finger; the legal permission to do the latter was even more outrageous than that to do the former, yet no one considered it a ground for wishing a dissolution of the union or for declaring against the existing parties. the folly of voting the liberty ticket in 1844 differed in degree, but not at all in kind, from the folly of voting the woman suffrage ticket in 1884.
-the intrigue for the annexation of texas, and for thereby extending the slave territory of the union, had taken shape towards the close of tyler's term of office, while calhoun was secretary of state. benton, as an aggressive western man, desirous of seeing our territorial possessions extended in any direction, north or south, always hoped that in the end texas might be admitted into the union; but he disliked seeing any premature steps taken, and was no party to the scheme of forcing an immediate annexation in the interests of slavery. such immediate annexation was certain, among other things, to bring us into grave difficulties not only with mexico, but also with england, which was strongly inclined to take much interest of a practical sort in the fate of texas, and would, of course, have done all it could to bring about the abolition of slavery in that state. the southerners, desirous of increasing the slave domain, and always in a state of fierce alarm over the proximity of any free state that might excite a servile insurrection, were impatient to add the lone star republic of the rio grande to the number of their states; the southwesterners fell in with them, influenced, though less strongly, by the same motives, and also by the lust for new lands and by race hatred towards the mexicans and traditional jealousy of great britain; and these latter motives induced many northwesterners to follow suit. by a judicious harping on all these strings jackson himself, whose name was still a mighty power among the masses, was induced to write a letter favoring instant and prompt annexation.
-this letter was really procured for political purposes. tyler had completely identified himself with the democracy, and especially with its extreme separatist wing, to which calhoun also belonged, and which had grown so as to be already almost able to take the reins. the separatist chiefs were intriguing for the presidency, and were using annexation as a cry that would help them; and, failing in this attempt, many of the leaders were willing to break up the union, and turn the southern states, together with texas, into a slave-holding confederacy. after benton, the great champion of the old-style union democrats was van buren, who was opposed to immediate annexation, sharing the feeling that prevailed throughout the northeast generally; although in certain circles all through the country there were men at work in its favor, largely as a mere matter of jobbery and from base motives, on account of speculations in texan land and scrip, into which various capitalists and adventurers had gone rather extensively. jackson, though a southerner, warmly favored van buren, and was bitterly opposed to separatists; but the latter, by cunningly working on his feelings, without showing their own hands, persuaded him to write the letter mentioned, and promptly used it to destroy the chances of van buren, who was the man they chiefly feared; and though jackson, at last roused to what was going on, immediately announced himself as in favor of van buren's candidacy, it was too late to undo the mischief.
-benton showed on this, as on many other occasions, much keener political ideas than his great political chief. he was approached by a politician, who himself was either one of those concerned in the presidential intrigues, or else one of their dupes, and who tried to win him over to take the lead on their side, complimenting him upon his former services to the cause of territorial expansion towards the southwest. ordinarily the great missourian was susceptible enough to such flattery; but on this occasion, preoccupied with the idea of an intrigue for the presidency, and indignant that there should be an effort made to implicate him in it, especially as it was mixed up with schemes of stock-jobbing and of disloyalty to the union, he took fire at once, and answered with hot indignation, in words afterwards highly resented by his questioner, "that it was on the part of some an intrigue for the presidency, and a plot to dissolve the union; on the part of others, a texas scrip and land speculation; and that he was against it." the answer was published in the papers, and brought about a total break between benton and the annexation party.
-he was now thoroughly on the alert, and actively opposed at all points the schemes of those whom he regarded as concerned in or instigating the intrigue. he commented harshly on tyler's annual message, which made a strong plea for annexation, even at the cost of a war both with great britain and mexico; also on calhoun's letter to lord aberdeen, which was certainly a remarkable diplomatic document,--being a thesis on slavery and the benefits resulting from it. tyler's object was to prepare the way for a secret treaty, which should secure the desired object. benton, in the course of some severe strictures on his acts, said, very truly, that it was evidently the intention to keep the whole matter as secret as possible until the treaty was concluded, "and then to force its adoption for the purpose of increasing the area of slave territory, or to make its rejection a cause for the secession of the southern states; and in either event and in all cases to make the question of annexation a controlling one in the nomination of presidential candidates, and also in the election itself."
-when the treaty proposed by the administration was rejected, and when it became evident that neither tyler nor calhoun, the two most prominent champions of the extreme separatists, had any chance for the democratic nomination, the disunion side of the intrigue was brought to the front in many of the southern states, beginning of course with south carolina. a movement was made for a convention of the southern states, to be held in the interest of the scheme; the key-note being struck in the cry of "texas or disunion!" but this convention was given up, on account of the strong opposition it excited in the so-called "border states,"--an opposition largely stirred up and led by benton. once more the haughty slave leaders of the southeast had found that in the missouri senator they had an opponent whose fearlessness quite equaled their own, and whose stubborn temper and strength of purpose made him at least a match for themselves, in spite of all their dash and fiery impetuosity. it must have sounded strange, indeed, to northern ears, accustomed to the harsh railings and insolent threats of the south carolina senators, to hear one of the latter complaining that benton's tone in the debate was arrogant, overbearing, and dictatorial towards those who were opposed to him. this same senator, mcduffie, had been speaking of the proposed southern meeting at nashville; and benton warned him that such a meeting would never take place, and that he had mistaken the temper of the tennesseans; and also reminded him that general jackson was still alive, and that the south carolinians in particular must needs be careful if they hoped to agree with his followers, whose name was still legion, because he would certainly take the same position towards a disunion movement in the interests of slavery that he had already taken towards a nullification movement in the interests of free trade. "preservation of the federal union is as strong in the old roman's heart now as ever; and while, as a christian, he forgives all that is past (if it were past), yet no old tricks under new names! texas disunion will be to him the same as tariff disunion; and if he detects a texas disunionist nestling into his bed, i say again: woe unto the luckless wight!" boldly and forcibly he went on to paint the real motives of the promoters of the scheme, and the real character of the scheme itself; stating that, though mixed up with various speculative enterprises and with other intrigues, yet disunion was at the bottom of it all, and that already the cry had become, "texas without the union, rather than the union without texas!" "under the pretext of getting texas into the union the scheme is to get the south out of it. a southern confederacy stretching from the atlantic to the californias ... is the cherished vision of disappointed ambition." he bitterly condemned secession, as simply disunion begat by nullification, and went on to speak of his own attitude in apparently opposing the admission of texas, which he had always desired to see become a part of the union, and which he had always insisted rightfully belonged to us, and to have been given away by monroe's treaty with spain. "all that is intended and foreseen. the intrigue for the presidency was the first act in the drama; the dissolution of the union the second. and i, who hate intrigue and love the union, can only speak of the intriguers and disunionists with warmth and indignation. the oldest advocate for the recovery of texas, i must be allowed to speak in just terms of the criminal politicians who prostituted the question of its recovery to their own base purposes, and delayed its success by degrading and disgracing it. a western man, and coming from a state more than any other interested in the recovery of this country, so unaccountably thrown away by the treaty of 1819, i must be allowed to feel indignant at seeing atlantic politicians seizing upon it, and making it a sectional question for the purposes of ambition and disunion. i have spoken warmly of these plotters and intriguers; but i have not permitted their conduct to alter my own, or to relax my zeal for the recovery of the sacrificed country. i have helped to reject the disunion treaty; and that obstacle being removed, i have brought in the bill which will insure the recovery of texas, with peace and honor, and with the union."
-it is important to remember, in speaking of his afterwards voting to admit texas, that this was what he had all along favored, and that he now opposed it only on account of special circumstances. in both cases he was right; for, slavery or no slavery, it would have been a most unfortunate thing for us, and still worse for the texans, if the latter had been allowed to develop into an independent nation. benton deserves the greatest credit for the way in which he withstood the ignorant popular feeling of his own section in regard to tyler's proposed treaty; and not only did he show himself able to withstand pressure from behind him, but also prompt in resenting threats made by outsiders. when mcduffie told him that the remembrance of his attitude on the bill would, to his harm, meet him on some future day, like the ghost that appeared to brutus at philippi, he answered:--
-i can promise the ghost and his backers that if the fight goes against me at this new philippi, with which i am threatened, and the enemies of the american union triumph over me as the enemies of roman liberty triumphed over brutus and cassius, i shall not fall upon my sword, as brutus did, though cassius be killed, and run it through my own body; but i shall save it and save myself for another day and another use,--for the day when the battle of the disunion of these states is to be fought, not with words but with iron, and for the hearts of the traitors who appear in arms against their country.
-such a stern, defiant, almost prophetic warning did more to help the union cause than volumes of elaborate constitutional argument, and it would have been well for the northern states had they possessed men as capable of uttering it as was the iron westerner. benton always showed at his best when the honor or integrity of the nation was menaced, whether by foes from without or by foes from within. on such occasions his metal always rang true. when there was any question of breaking faith with the union, or of treachery towards it, his figure always loomed up as one of the chief in the ranks of its defenders; and his follies and weaknesses sink out of sight when we think of the tremendous debt which the country owes him for his sorely tried and unswerving loyalty.
-the treaty alluded to by benton in his speech against the abortive secession movement was the one made with texas while calhoun was secretary of state, and submitted to the senate by tyler, with a message as extraordinary as some of his secretary's utterances. the treaty was preposterously unjust and iniquitous. it provided for the annexation of texas, and also of a very large portion of mexico, to which texas had no possible title, and this without consulting mexico in any way whatever; calhoun advancing the plea that it was necessary to act immediately on account of the danger that texas was in of falling under the control of england, and therefore having slavery abolished within its borders; while tyler blandly announced that we had acquired title to the ceded territory--which belonged to one power and was ceded to us by another--through his signature to the treaty, and that, pending its ratification by the senate, he had dispatched troops to the scene of action to protect the ceded land "from invasion,"--the territory to be thus protected from mexican invasion being then and always having been part and parcel of mexico.
-benton opposed the ratification of the treaty in a very strong speech, during which he mercilessly assailed both tyler and calhoun. the conduct of the former he dismissed with the contemptuous remark that he had committed "a caper about equal to the mad freaks with which the unfortunate emperor paul, of russia, was accustomed to astonish europe;" and roughly warned him to be careful how he tried to imitate jackson's methods, because in heroic imitations there was no middle ground, and if he failed to fill the rôle of hero he would then perforce find himself playing that of harlequin. calhoun received more attention, for he was far more worthy of a foeman's steel than was his nominal superior, and benton exposed at length the willful exaggeration and the perversion of the truth of which the carolinian had been guilty in trying to raise the alarm of english interference in texas, for the purpose of excusing the haste with which the treaty was carried through.
-he showed at length the outrage we should inflict upon mexico by seizing "two thousand miles of her territory, without a word of explanation with her, and by virtue of a treaty with texas to which she was no party;" and he conclusively proved, making use of his own extensive acquaintance with history, especially american history, that the old texas, the only territory that the texans themselves or we could claim with any shadow of right, made but a fraction of the territory now "ceded" to us. he laughed at the idea of calling the territory texas, and speaking of its forcible cutting off as re-annexation, "humboldt calls it new mexico, chihuahua, coahuila and nuevo santander; and the civilized world may qualify this re-annexation by some odious and terrible epithet ... robbery;" then he went on to draw a biting contrast between our treatment of mexico and our treatment of england. "would we take two thousand miles of canada in the same way? i presume not. and why not? why not treat great britain and mexico alike? why not march up to 'fifty-four forty' as courageously as we march upon the rio grande? because great britain is powerful and mexico weak,--a reason which may fail in policy as much as in morals." also he ridiculed the flurry of fear into which the southern slave-holders affected to be cast by the dread of england's hostility to slavery, when they had just acquiesced in making a treaty with her by which we bound ourselves to help to put down the slave-trade. he then stated his own position, showing why he wished us to have the original texan lands, if we could get them honorably, and without robbing mexico of new territory; and at the same time sneered at calhoun and tyler because they had formerly favored the monroe treaty, by which we abandoned our claims to them:--
-we want texas, that is to say, the texas of la salle; and we want it for great natural reasons, obvious as day, and permanent as nature. we want it because it is geographically appurtenant to our division of north america, essential to our political, commercial, and social system, and because it would be detrimental and injurious to us to have it fall into the hands or sink under the domination of any foreign power. for these reasons i was against sacrificing the country when it was thrown away,--and thrown away by those who are now so suddenly possessed of a fury to get it back. for these reasons i am for getting it back whenever it can be done with peace and honor, or even at the price of just war against any intrusive european power; but i am against all disguise and artifice,--against all pretexts,--and especially against weak and groundless pretexts, discreditable to ourselves and offensive to others, too thin and shallow not to be seen through by every beholder, and merely invented to cover unworthy purposes.
-the treaty was rejected by an overwhelming vote, although buchanan led a few of his timeserving comrades from the north to the support of the extreme southern element. benton then tried, but failed, to get through a bill providing for a joint agreement between mexico, texas, and the united states to settle definitely all boundary questions. meanwhile the presidential election occurred, with the result already mentioned. the separatist and annexationist democrats, the extreme slavery wing of the party, defeated van buren and nominated polk, who was their man; the whigs nominated clay, who was heartily opposed to all the schemes of the disunion and extreme slavery men, and who, if elected, while he might very properly have consented to the admission of texas with its old boundaries, would never have brought on a war nor have attempted to add a vast extent of new slave territory to the union. clay would have been elected, and the slavery disunionists defeated, if in the very nick of time the abolitionists had not stepped in to support the latter, and by their blindness in supporting birney given the triumph to their own most bitter opponents. then the abolitionists, having played their only card, and played it badly, had to sit still and see what evil their acts had produced; they had accomplished just as much as men generally do accomplish when they dance to the tune that their worst foes play.
-polk's election gave an enormous impulse to the annexation movement, and made it doubly and trebly difficult for any one to withstand it. the extreme disunion and slavery men, of course, hated benton, himself a southwesterner from a slave-holding state, with peculiar venom, on account of his attitude, very justly regarding him as the main obstacle in their path; and the din and outcry raised against all who opposed the schemes of the intriguers was directed with especial fury against the missourian. he was accused of being allied to the whigs, of wishing to break up the democracy, and of many other things. indeed, benton's own people were very largely against him, and it must always be remembered that whereas northeastern statesmen were certain to be on the popular side in taking a stand against the extreme pro-slavery men, benton's position was often just the reverse. with them it was politic to do right; with him it was not; and for this reason the praise awarded the latter should be beyond measure greater than that awarded to the former.
-still, there can be little question that he was somewhat, even although only slightly, influenced by the storm of which he had to bear the brunt; indeed, he would have been more than human if he had not been; and probably this outside pressure was one among the causes that induced him to accept a compromise in the matter, which took effect just before polk was inaugurated. the house of representatives had passed a resolution giving the consent of congress to the admission of texas as a state, and allowing it the privilege of forming four additional states out of its territory, whenever it should see fit. the line of the missouri compromise, 36° 30', was run through this new territory, slavery being prohibited in the lands lying north of it, and permissible or not, according to the will of the state seeking admission, in those lying south of it. benton meanwhile had introduced a bill merely providing that negotiations should be entered into with texas for its admission, the proposed treaty or articles of agreement to be submitted to the senate or to congress. he thereby kept the control in the hands of the legislature, which the joint resolution did not; and moreover, as he said in his speech, he wished to provide for due consideration being shown mexico in the arrangement of the boundary, and for the matter being settled by commissioners.
-neither resolution nor bill could get through by itself; and accordingly it was proposed to combine both into one measure, leaving the president free to choose either plan. to this proposition benton finally consented, it being understood that, as only three days of tyler's term remained, the execution of the act would be left to the incoming president, and that the latter would adopt benton's plans. the friends of the admission of texas assured the doubtful voters that such would be the case. polk himself gave full assurance that he would appoint a commission, as provided by benton's bill, if passed, with the house resolution as an alternative; and mcduffie, calhoun's friend, and the senator from south carolina, announced without reserve that calhoun--for tyler need not be considered in the matter, after it had been committed to the great nullifier--would not have the "audacity" to try to take the settlement of the question away from the president, who was to be inaugurated on the fourth of march. on the strength of these assurances, which, if made good, would, of course, have rendered the "alternative" a merely nominal one, benton supported the measure, which was then passed. contrary to all expectation, calhoun promptly acted upon the legislative clause, and polk made no effort to undo what the former had done. this caused intense chagrin and anger to the bentonians; but they should certainly have taken such a contingency into account, and though they might with much show of reason say that they had been tricked into acting as they had done, yet it is probable that the immense pressure from behind had made benton too eager to follow any way he could find that would take him out of the position into which his conscience had led him. no amount of pressure would have made him deliberately sanction a wrong; but it did render him a little less wary in watching to see that the right was not infringed upon. it was most natural that he should be anxious to find a common ground for himself and his constituents to stand on; but it is to be regretted that this anxiety to find a common ground should have made him willing to trust blindly to vague pledges and promises, which he ought to have known would not be held in the least binding by those on whose behalf they were supposed to be made.
-acting under this compromise measure texas was admitted, and the foundation for our war with mexico was laid. calhoun, under whom this was done, nevertheless sincerely regretted the war itself, and freely condemned polk's administration for bringing it on; his own position being that he desired to obtain without a war what it was impossible we should get except at the cost of one. benton, who had all along consistently opposed doing a wrong to mexico, attacked the whole war party, and in a strong and bitter speech accused calhoun of being the cause of the contest; showing plainly that, whatever the ex-secretary of state might say in regard to the acts immediately precipitating the conflict, he himself was responsible as being in truth their original cause. while stating his conviction, however, that calhoun was the real author of the war, benton added that he did not believe that war was his object, although an inevitable incident of the course he had pursued.
-although heartily opposed to the war in its origin, benton very properly believed in prosecuting it with the utmost vigor when once we were fairly in; and it was mainly owing to him that the proposed policy of a "masterly inactivity" was abandoned, and the scheme of pushing straight for the city of mexico adopted in its stead. indeed, it was actually proposed to make him lieutenant-general, and therefore the commander-in-chief of our forces in mexico; but this was defeated in the senate, very fortunately, as it would have been a great outrage upon scott, taylor, and every other soldier with real military training. it seems extraordinary that benton himself should not have seen the absurdity and wrong of such a proposition.
-the wonderful hardihood and daring shown in the various expeditions against mexico, especially in those whereby her northwest territory was wrested from her, naturally called forth all benton's sympathy; and one of his best speeches was that made to welcome doniphan's victorious volunteers after their return home from their famous march to chihuahua.
-slavery in the new territories.
-hardly was polk elected before it became evident to benton and the other jacksonians that the days of the old union or nationalist democracy were over, and that the separatist and disunion elements within the party had obtained the upper hand. the first sign of the new order of things was the displacement of blair, editor of the "globe," the democratic newspaper organ. blair was a strong unionist, and had been bitterly hostile to calhoun and the nullifiers. he had also opposed tyler, the representative of those states-rights and separatist democrats, who by their hostility to jackson had been temporarily driven into the whig camp, and who, finding themselves in very uncongenial society, and seeing, moreover, that their own principles were gradually coming to the front in the old party, had begun drifting back again into it. polk's chances of election were so precarious that he was most anxious to conciliate the separatists; besides which he at heart sympathized with their views, and had himself been brought forward in the democratic convention to beat the national candidate, van buren. moreover, tyler withdrew from the contest in his favor; in part payment for which help, soon after the election, blair was turned out, and ritchie of virginia, a man whose views suited the new democratic leaders, was put in his place; to the indignation not only of benton, but also of jackson himself, then almost on his death-bed. of course the break between the two wings was as yet by no means complete. polk needed the union democrats, and the latter were still in good party standing. benton himself, as has been seen, was offered the command of all the forces in mexico, but the governmental policy, and the attitude of the party in congress after 1844, were widely different from what they had been while jackson's influence was supreme, or while the power he left behind him was wielded by a knot of union men.
-from this time the slavery question dwarfed all others, and was the one with which benton, as well as other statesmen, had mainly to deal. he had been very loath to acknowledge that it was ever to become of such overshadowing importance; until late in his life he had not realized that, interwoven with the disunionist movement, it had grown so as to become in reality the one and only question before the people; but, this once thoroughly understood, he henceforth devoted his tremendous energies to the struggle with it. he possessed such phenomenal power of application and of study, and his capacity for and his delight in work were so extraordinary, that he was able at the same time to grapple with many other subjects of importance, and to present them in a way that showed he had thoroughly mastered them both in principle and detail,--as witness his speech in favor of giving the control of the coast survey to the navy; but henceforth the importance of his actions lay in their relation to the slavery extension movements.
-he had now entered on what may fairly be called the heroic part of his career; for it would be difficult to choose any other word to express our admiration for the unflinching and defiant courage with which, supported only by conscience and by his loving loyalty to the union, he battled for the losing side, although by so doing he jeopardized and eventually ruined his political prospects, being finally, as punishment for his boldness in opposing the dominant faction of the missouri democracy, turned out of the senate, wherein he had passed nearly half his life. indeed, his was one of those natures that show better in defeat than in victory. in his career there were many actions that must command our unqualified admiration; such were his hostility to the nullifiers, wherein, taking into account his geographical location and his refusal to compromise, he did better than any other public man, not even excepting jackson and webster; his belief in honest money; and his attitude towards all questions involving the honor or the maintenance and extension of the union. but in all these matters he was backed more or less heartily by his state, and he had served four terms in the federal senate as the leading champion and representative, not alone of missouri, but also of the entire west. when, however, the slavery question began to enter upon its final stage, benton soon found himself opposed to a large and growing faction of the missouri democracy, which increased so rapidly that it soon became dominant. but he never for an instant yielded his convictions, even when he saw the ground being thus cut from under his feet, fighting for the right as sturdily as ever, facing his fate fearlessly, and going down without a murmur. the contrast between the conduct towards the slavery disunionists of this democrat from a slave-holding state, with a hostile majority at home against him, and the conduct of webster, a whig, enthusiastically backed by his own free state, in the same issue, is a painful one for the latter. indeed, on any moral point, benton need have no cause to fear comparison with any of his great rivals in the political arena. during his career, the united states senate was perhaps the most influential, and certainly the ablest legislative body in the world; and after jackson's presidency came to an end the really great statesmen and political leaders of the country were to be found in it, and not in the executive chair. the period during which the great missourian was so prominent a figure in our politics, and which lasted up to the time of the civil war, might very appropriately be known in our history as the time of the supremacy of the senate. such senators as benton, webster, clay, and calhoun, and later on douglas, seward, and sumner, fairly towered above presidents like the obscure southerners, tyler and polk, or the truckling, timeserving northern politicians, pierce and buchanan. during the long interval coming between the two heroic ages of american history,--the age of washington and franklin, and the age of lincoln and grant,--it was but rarely that the nation gave its greatest gift to its best or its greatest son.
-benton had come into the senate at the same time that missouri was admitted into the union, with thanks, therefore, to the same measure, the missouri compromise bill. this shut out slavery from all territory north of the line of 36° 30', and did not make it obligatory even where it was permissible; and the immediate cause of benton's downfall was his courage and persistency in defending the terms of this compromise from the attacks of the southern slavery extensionists and disunionists. the pro-slavery feeling was running ever higher and higher throughout the south; and his stand on this question aroused the most furious anger among a constantly increasing number of his constituents, and made him the target for bitter and savage assaults on the part of his foes, the spirit of hostility against him being carried to such length as finally almost to involve him in an open brawl on the floor of the senate with one of his colleagues, foote, who, like his fellow fire-eaters, found that benton was not a man who could be bullied. indeed, his iron will and magnificent physique both fitted him admirably for such a contest against odds, and he seems to have entered into it with a positive zest.
-the political abolitionists having put polk in power, their action bore fruit after its kind, and very soon the question had to be faced, as to what should be done with the immense tracts of territory conquered from mexico. benton opposed, as being needless and harmful, the wilmot proviso, which forbade the introduction of slavery into any part of the territory so acquired. he argued, and produced in evidence the laws and constitution of mexico, that the soil of california and mexico was already free, and that as slavery would certainly never be, and indeed could never be, introduced into either territory, the agitation of the question could only result in harm. calhoun and the other extreme slavery leaders welcomed the discussion over this proviso, which led benton to remark that the abolitionists and the nullifiers were necessary to each other,--the two blades of a pair of shears, neither of which could cut until they were joined together.
-when calhoun introduced his famous resolutions declaring that congress had no power to interfere with slavery in the territories, and therefore no power to prevent the admission of new states except on the condition of their prohibiting slavery within their limits, benton promptly and strongly opposed them as being firebrands needlessly thrown to inflame the passions of the extremists, and, moreover, as being disunionist in tendency. the following is his own account of what then took place: "mr. calhoun said he had expected the support of mr. benton 'as the representative of a slave-holding state.' mr. benton answered that it was impossible that he could have expected such a thing. 'then,' said mr. calhoun, 'i shall know where to find that gentleman.' to which mr. benton said: 'i shall be found in the right place,--on the side of my country and the union.' this answer, given on that day and on the spot, is one of the incidents of his life which mr. benton will wish posterity to remember." we can easily pardon the vanity which wishes and hopes that such an answer, given under such conditions, may be remembered. indeed, benton's attitude throughout all this period should never be forgotten; and the words he spoke in answer to calhoun marked him as the leader among those southerners who held the nation above any section thereof, even their own, and whose courage and self-sacrifice in the cause of the union entitled them to more praise than by right belongs to any equal number of northerners; those southerners who in the civil war furnished farragut, thomas, bristow, and countless others as loyal as they were brave. the effect of benton's teachings and the still remaining influence of his intense personality did more than aught else to keep missouri within the union, when her sister states went out of it.
-benton always regarded much of the slavery agitation in the south as being political in character, and the result of the schemes of ambitious and unscrupulous leaders. he believed that calhoun had introduced a set of resolutions that were totally uncalled for, simply for the purpose of carrying a question to the slave states on which they could be formed into a unit against the free states; and there is much to be said in support of his view. certainly the resolutions mark the beginning of the first great slavery agitation throughout the southern states, which was engineered and guided for their own ends by politicians like jefferson davis. these resolutions were absolutely inconsistent with many of calhoun's previous declarations; and that fact was also sharply commented on by benton in his speeches and writings. he also criticised with caustic severity calhoun's statements that he wished to save the union by forcing the north to take a position so agreeable to the south as to make the latter willing not to separate. he showed that calhoun's proposed "constitutional" and "peaceable" methods of bringing this about by prohibiting commercial intercourse between the two sections would themselves be flagrant breaches of the constitution and acts of disunion,--all the more so as it was proposed to discriminate in favor of the northwest as against the northeast. calhoun wished to bring about a convention of the southern states, in order to secure the necessary unity of action; and one of the main obstacles to the success of the plan was missouri's refusal to take part in it. great efforts were made to win her over, and to beat down benton; the extreme pro-slavery men honoring him with a hatred more intense than that they harbored towards any northerner. some of calhoun's recent biographers have credited him with being really a union man at heart. it seems absolutely impossible that this could have been the case; and the supposition is certainly not compatible with the belief that he retained his right senses. benton characterizes his system of slavery agitation, very truthfully, as being one "to force issues upon the north under the pretext of self-defense, and to sectionalize the south, preparatory to disunion, through the instrumentality of sectional conventions, composed wholly of delegates from the slave-holding states."
-when the question of the admission of oregon came up, calhoun attempted to apply to it a dogma wholly at variance with all his former positions on the subject. this was the theory of the self-extension of the slavery part of the constitution to the territories; that is, he held that the exclusion of slavery from any part of the new territory was itself a subversion of the constitution. such a dogma was so monstrous in character, so illogical, so inconsistent with all his former theories, and so absolutely incompatible with the preservation of the union, that it renders it impossible to believe that his asseverations of devotion to the latter were uttered honestly or in good faith. most modern readers will agree with benton that he deliberately worked to bring about secession.
-meanwhile the missourian had gained an ally of his own stamp in the senate. this was houston, from the new state of texas, who represented in that state, like andrew jackson in tennessee, and benton himself in missouri, the old nationalist democracy, which held the preservation of the union dear above all other things. houston was a man after benton's own heart, and was thoroughly jacksonian in type. he was rough, honest, and fearless, a devoted friend and a vengeful enemy, and he promised that combination of stubborn courage and capacity of devotion to an ideal that renders a man an invaluable ally in a fight against odds for principle.
-after much discussion and amendment, the oregon bill, containing a radical anti-slavery clause, passed both houses and became a law in spite of the violent opposition of some of the southerners, headed by calhoun, who announced that the great strife between the north and the south was ended, and that the time had come for the south to show that, though she prized the union, yet there were matters which she regarded as of greater importance than its preservation. his ire was most fiercely excited by the action of benton and houston in supporting the bill, and after his return to south carolina he denounced them by name as traitors to the south,--"a denunciation," says benton, "which they took for a distinction; as what he called treason to the south they knew to be allegiance to the union." when it was proposed to extend by bill the constitution of the united states into the territories, with a view to carrying slavery into california, utah, and new mexico, benton was again opposed to calhoun. as a matter of course, too, he was the stoutest opponent of the southern convention and other similar disunion movements that were beginning to take shape throughout the south, instigated by the two rank secession states of south carolina and mississippi.
-most of the momentous questions springing out of the war with mexico were left by polk as legacies to his successor, when the former went out of office, after an administration that benton criticised with extreme sharpness, although he tried to shield the president by casting the blame for his actions upon his cabinet advisers; characterizing the mexican war as one of "speculation and intrigue," and as the "great blot" of his four years' term of office, and ridiculing the theory that we were acting in self-defense, or that our soil had been invaded. in 1848 the democrats nominated cass, a northern pro-slavery politician of moderate abilities, and the whigs put up and elected old zachary taylor, the rough frontier soldier and louisiana slave-holder. the political abolitionists again took a hand in the contest, but this time abandoned their abolition theories, substituting instead thereof the prohibition of slavery in the new territories. they derived much additional importance from their alliance with a disappointed politician in the pivotal state of new york; and in this case, in sharp contrast to the result in 1844, their actions worked good, and not evil. van buren, chagrined and angered by the way he was treated by the regular democrats, organized a revolt against them, and used the banner of the new free soil party as one under which to rally his adherents. this movement was of consequence mainly in new york, and there it soon became little more than a mere fight between the two sections of the democracy. benton himself visited this all-important state to try to patch up matters, but he fortunately failed. the factions proved very nearly equal in strength; and as a consequence the whigs carried the state and the election, and once more held the reins of government.
-when a louisiana slave-holder was thus installed in the white house, the extreme southern men may have thought that they were sure of him as an ally in their fight against freedom. but, if so, they soon found they had reckoned without their host, for the election of taylor affords a curious, though not solitary, instance in which the american people builded better than they knew in choosing a chief executive. nothing whatever was known of his political theories, and the whigs nominated him simply because he was a successful soldier, likely to take the popular fancy. but once elected he turned out to have the very qualities we then most needed in a president,--a stout heart, shrewd common sense, and thorough-going devotion to the union. although with widely different training from benton, and nominally differing from him in politics, he was yet of the same stamp both in character and principles; both were union southerners, not in the least afraid of openly asserting their opinions, and, if necessary, of making them good by their acts. in his first and only annual message, taylor expressed, upon all the important questions of the day, views that were exactly similar to those advanced before or after by benton himself in the senate; and he used similar emphasis and plainness of speech. he declared the union to be the greatest of blessings, which he would maintain in every way against whatever dangers might threaten it; he advised the admission of california, which wished to come in as a free state; he thought that the territories of utah and new mexico should be left as they were; and he warned the texans, who were blustering about certain alleged rights to new mexican soil, and threatening to take them by force of arms, that this could not be permitted, and that the matter would have to be settled by the judicial authority of the united states. benton heartily indorsed the message. naturally, it was bitterly assailed by the disunionists under calhoun; and even clay, who entirely lacked taylor's backbone, was dissatisfied with it as being too extreme in tone, and conflicting with his proposed compromise measures. these same compromise measures brought the kentucky leader into conflict with benton also, especially on the point of their interfering with the immediate admission of california into the union.
-this is not the place to discuss clay's proposed compromise, which was not satisfactory to the extreme southerners, and still less so to the unionists and anti-slavery men. it consisted of five different parts, relating to the recovery of fugitive slaves, the suppression of the slave-trade in the district of columbia, the admission of california as a state, and the territorial condition of utah and new mexico. benton opposed it as mixing up incongruous measures; as being unjust to california, inasmuch as it confounded the question of her admission with the general slavery agitation in the united states; and above all as being a concession or capitulation to the spirit of disunion and secession, and therefore a repetition of the error of 1833. benton always desired to meet and check any disunion movement at the very outset, and, if he had had his way, would have carried matters with a high hand whenever it came to dealing with threats of such a proceeding; and therein he was perfectly right. in regard to the proposed compromise he believed in dealing with each question as it arose, beginning with the admission of california, and refusing to have any compromise at all with those who threatened secession.
-the slavery extensionists endeavored to have the missouri compromise line stretched on to the pacific. benton, avowing his belief that slavery was an evil, opposed this, and gave his reasons why he did not wish to see the line which had been used to divide free and slave soil in the french or louisiana purchase extended into the lands won from mexico. slavery had always existed in louisiana, while it had been long abolished in mexico. "the missouri compromise line, extending to new mexico and california, though astronomically the same as that in louisiana, would be politically directly the opposite. one went through a territory all slave, and made one half free; the other would go through territory all free, and make one half slave." in fact benton, as he grew older, unlike most of his compatriots, gained a clearer insight into the effects of slavery. this was shown in his comments upon calhoun's statement, made in the latter's last speech, in reference to the unequal development of the north and south; which, benton said, was partly owing to the existence of "slavery itself, which he (calhoun) was so anxious to extend." it was in this same speech that calhoun hinted at his plan for a dual executive,--one president from the free and one from the slave states,--a childish proposition, that benton properly treated as a simple absurdity.
-in his speech against the compromise, benton discussed it, section by section, with great force, and with his usual blunt truthfulness. his main count was the injustice done to california by delaying her admittance, and making it dependent upon other issues; but he made almost as strong a point against the effort to settle the claims of texas to new mexican territory. the texan threats to use force he treated with cavalier indifference, remarking that as long as new mexico was a territory, and therefore belonged to the united states, any controversy with her was a controversy with the federal government, which would know how to play her part by "defending her territory from invasion, and her people from violence,"--a hint that had a salutary effect upon the texans; in fact the disunionists, generally, were not apt to do much more than threaten while a whig like taylor was backed up by a democrat like benton. he also pointed out that it was not necessary, however desirable, to make a compact with texas about the boundaries, as they could always be settled, whether she wished it or not, by a suit before the supreme court; and again intimated that a little show of firmness would remove all danger of a collision. "as to anything that texas or new mexico may do in taking or relinquishing possession, that is all moonshine. new mexico is the property of the united states, and she cannot dispose of herself or any part of herself, nor can texas take her or any part of her." he showed a thorough acquaintance with new mexican geography and history, and alluded to the bills he had already brought in, in 1844 and 1850, to establish a divisional line between the territory and texas, on the longitude first of one hundred and then of one hundred and two degrees. he recalled the fact that before the annexation of texas, and in a bill proposing to settle all questions with her, he had inserted a provision forever prohibiting slavery in all parts of the annexed territory lying west of the hundredth degree of longitude. he also took the opportunity of formally stating his opposition to any form of slavery extension, remarking that it was no new idea with him, but dated from the time when in 1804, while a law student in tennessee, he had studied blackstone as edited by the learned virginian, judge tucker, who, in an appendix, treated of, and totally condemned, black slavery in the united states. the very difficulty, or, as he deemed it, the impossibility, of getting rid of the evil, made benton all the more determined in opposing its extension. "the incurability of the evil is the greatest objection to the extension of slavery. if it is wrong for the legislator to inflict an evil which can be cured, how much more to inflict one that is incurable, and against the will of the people who are to endure it forever! i quarrel with no one for deeming slavery a blessing; i deem it an evil, and would neither adopt it nor impose it on others." the solution of the problem of disposing of existent slavery, he confessed, seemed beyond human wisdom; but "there is a wisdom above human, and to that we must look. in the mean time, do not extend the evil." in justification of his position he quoted previous actions of congress, done under the lead of southern men, in refusing again and again, down to 1807, to allow slavery to be introduced into indiana, when that community petitioned for it. he also repudiated strongly the whole spirit in which clay had gotten up his compromise bill, stating that he did not believe in geographical parties; that he knew no north and no south, and utterly rejected any slavery compromises except those to be found in the constitution. altogether it was a great speech, and his opposition was one of the main causes of the defeat of clay's measure.
-benton's position on the wilmot proviso is worth giving in his own words: "that measure was rejected again as heretofore, and by the votes of those who were opposed to extending slavery into the territories, because it was unnecessary and inoperative,--irritating to the slave states, without benefit to the free states, a mere work of supererogation, of which the fruit was discontent. it was rejected, not on the principle of non-intervention; not on the principle of leaving to the territories to do as they pleased on the question, but because there had been intervention; because mexican law and constitution had intervened, had abolished slavery by law in those dominions; which law would remain in force until repealed by congress. all that the opponents to the extension of slavery had to do, then, was to do nothing. and they did nothing."
-before california was admitted into the union old zachary taylor had died, leaving behind him a name that will always be remembered among our people. he was neither a great statesman nor yet a great commander; but he was an able and gallant soldier, a loyal and upright public servant, and a most kindly, honest, and truthful man. his death was a greater loss to the country than perhaps the people ever knew.
-the bill for the admission of california as a free state, heartily sustained by benton, was made a test question by the southern disunionists; but on this occasion they were thoroughly beaten. the great struggle was made over a proposition to limit the southern boundary of the state to the line of 36° 30', and to extend the missouri line through to the pacific, so as to authorize the existence of slavery in all the territory south of that latitude. this was defeated by a vote of thirty-two to twenty-four. not only benton, but also spruance and wales of delaware, and underwood of kentucky, joined with the representatives from the free states in opposing it. had it not been for the action of these four slave-state senators in leaving their associates, the vote would have been a tie; and their courage and patriotism should be remembered. the bill was then passed by a vote of thirty-four to eighteen, two other southern senators, houston of texas, and bell of tennessee, voting for it, in addition to the four already mentioned. after its passage, ten of the senators who had voted against it, including, of course, jefferson davis, and also benton's own colleague from missouri, atchison, joined in a protest against what had been done, ending with a thinly veiled threat of disunion,--"dissolution of the confederacy," as they styled it. benton stoutly and successfully opposed allowing this protest to be received or entered upon the journal, condemning it, with a frankness that very few of his fellow-senators would have dared to copy, as being sectional and disunion in form, and therefore unfit even for preservation on the records.
-when the fugitive slave act of 1850 was passed, through the help of some northern votes, benton refused to support it; and this was the last act of importance that he performed as united states senator. he had risen and grown steadily all through his long term of service; and during its last period he did greater service to the nation than any of his fellow-senators. compare his stand against the slavery extremists and disunionists, such as calhoun, with the position of webster at the time of his famous seventh of march speech, or with that of clay when he brought in his compromise bill! in fact, as the times grew more troublesome, he grew steadily better able to do good work in them.
-it is this fact of growth that especially marks his career. no other american statesman, except john quincy adams,--certainly neither of his great contemporaries, webster and clay,--kept doing continually better work throughout his term of public service, or showed himself able to rise to a higher level at the very end than at the beginning. yet such was the case with benton. he always rose to meet a really great emergency; and his services to the nation grew steadily in importance to the very close of his life. whereas webster and clay passed their zenith and fell, he kept rising all the time.
-the losing fight.
-benton had now finished his fifth and last term in the united states senate. he had been chosen senator from missouri before she was admitted into the union, and had remained such for thirty years. during all that time the state had been steadily democratic, the large whig minority never being able to get control; but on the question of the extension of slavery the dominant party itself began at this time to break into two factions. hitherto benton had been the undisputed leader of the democracy, but now the pro-slavery and disunionist democrats organized a very powerful opposition to him; while he still received the enthusiastic support of an almost equally numerous body of followers. although the extension of slavery and the preservation of the union were the two chief and vital points on which the factions differed, yet the names by which they designated each other were adopted in consequence of their differing also on a third and only less important one. benton was such a firm believer in hard money, and a currency of gold and silver, as to have received the nickname of "old bullion," and his followers were called "hards;" his opponents were soft money men, in addition to being secessionists and pro-slavery fanatics, and took the name of "softs." the principles of the bentonians were right, and those of their opponents wrong; but for all that the latter gradually gained upon the former. finally, in the midst of benton's fight against the extension of slavery into the territories, the "softs" carried the missouri legislature, and passed a series of resolutions based upon those of calhoun. these were most truculent and disloyal in tone, demanding that slavery be permitted to exist in all the new states to be admitted, and instructing their senators to vote accordingly. these resolutions were presented in the senate by benton's colleague from missouri, atchison, who was rather hostile to him and to every other friend of the union, and later on achieved disreputable notoriety as a leader of the "border ruffians" in the affrays on the soil of kansas. benton at once picked up the glove that had been flung down. he utterly refused to obey the resolutions, denounced them savagely as being treasonable and offensive in the highest degree, asserted that they did not express the true opinions of the voters of the state, and appealed from the missouri legislature to the missouri people.
-the issue between the two sides was now sharply brought out, and, as this took place towards the end of benton's fifth term, the struggle to command the legislature which should reëlect him or give him a successor was most exciting. benton himself took an active part in the preliminary canvass. neither faction was able to get a majority of the members, and the deadlock was finally broken by the "softs" coming to the support of the whigs, and helping them to elect benton's rival. thus, after serving his state faithfully and ably for thirty years, he was finally turned out of the position which he so worthily filled, because he had committed the crime of standing loyally by the union.
-but the stout old nationalist was not in the least cast down or even shaken by his defeat. he kept up the fight as bitterly as ever, though now an old man, and in 1852 went to congress as a representative union democrat. for thirty years he had been the autocrat of missouri politics, and had at one time wielded throughout his own state a power as great as calhoun possessed in south carolina; greater than webster held in massachusetts, or clay in kentucky. but the tide which had so long flowed in his favor now turned, and for the few remaining years of his life set as steadily against him; yet at no time of his long public career did he stand forth as honorably and prominently as during his last days, when he was showing so stern a front to his victorious foes. his love for work was so great that, when out of the senate, he did not find even his incessant political occupations enough for him. during his contest for the senatorship his hands had been full, for he had spoken again and again throughout the entire state, his carefully prepared speeches showing remarkable power, and filled with scathing denunciation and invective and biting and caustic sarcasm. but so soon as his defeat was assured he turned his attention immediately to literature, setting to work on his great "thirty years' view," of which the first volume was printed during his congressional term, and was quoted on the floor of the house, both by his friends and foes, during the debates in which he was taking part.
-although the great questions to which he devoted himself, while a representative in congress, were those relating to the extension of slavery, yet he also found time to give to certain other subjects, working as usual with indomitable energy, and retaining his marvelous memory to the last. the idea of desponding or giving up, for any cause whatever, simply never entered his head. when his house, containing all the manuscript and papers of the nearly completed second volume of his "thirty years' view," was burned up, he did not delay a minute in recommencing his work, and the very next day spoke in congress as usual.
-his speeches were showing a steady improvement; they were not masterpieces, even at the last, but in every way, especially in style, they were infinitely superior to those that he had made on his first entrance into public life. of course, a man with his intense pride in his country, and characterized by such a desire to see her become greater and more united in every way, would naturally support the proposal to build a pacific railroad, and accordingly he argued for it at great length and with force and justness, at the same time opposing the propositions to build northern and southern trans-continental roads as substitutes for the proposed central route. he showed the character of the land through which the road would run, and the easiness of the passes across the rockies, and prophesied a rapid increase of states as one of the results attendant upon its building. at the end of his speech he made an elaborate comparison of the courses of trade and commerce at different periods of the world's history, and showed that, as we had reached the pacific coast, we had finally taken a position where our trade with the oriental kingdoms, backed up by our own enormous internal development, rendered us more than ever independent of europe.
-in another speech he discussed very intelligently, and with his usual complete command of the facts of the case, some of the contemporary indian uprisings in the far west. he attacked our whole indian policy, showing that the corruption of the indian agents, coupled with astute aggressions, were the usual causes of our wars. further, he criticised our regular troops as being unfit to cope with the savages, and advocated the formation of companies of frontier rangers, who should also be settlers, and should receive from the government a bounty in land as part reward for their service. many of his remarks on our indian policy apply quite as well now as they did then, and our regular soldiers are certainly not the proper opponents for the indians; but benton's military views were, as a rule, the reverse of sensible, and we cannot accept his denunciations of the army, and especially of west point, as being worth serious consideration. his belief in the marvelous efficacy of a raw militia, especially as regards war with european powers, was childish, and much of his feeling against the regular army officer was dictated by jealousy. he was, by all the peculiarities of his habits and education, utterly unfitted for military command; and it would have been an evil day for his good fame if polk had succeeded in having him made lieutenant-general of our forces in mexico.
-his remarks upon our indian policy were not the only ones he made that would bear study even yet. certain of his speeches upon the different land-bounty and pension bills, passed nominally in the interests of veterans, but really through demagogy and the machination of speculators, could be read with profit by not a few congressmen at the present time. one of his utterances was: "i am a friend to old soldiers ... but not to old speculators;" and while favoring proper pension bills he showed the foolishness and criminality of certain others very clearly, together with the fact that, when passed long after the services have been rendered, they always fail to relieve the real sufferers, and work in the interests of unworthy outsiders.
-but his great speech, and one of the best and greatest that he ever made, was the one in opposition to the kansas-nebraska bill, which was being pushed through congress by the fire-eaters and their northern pro-slavery followers. his own position upon the measure was best expressed by the words he used in commenting on the remarks of a georgian member: "he votes as a southern man, and votes sectionally; i also am a southern man, but vote nationally on national questions."
-the squatter sovereignty theories of douglas he treated with deserved ridicule, laughing at the idea that the territories were not the actual property of the nation, to be treated as the latter wished, and having none of the rights of sovereign states; and he condemned even more severely the theory advanced to the effect that congress had no power to legislate on slavery in the territories. thus, he pointed out that to admit any such theories was directly to reverse the principles upon which we had acted for seventy years in regard to the various territories that from time to time grew to such size as entitled them to come into the union as states. after showing that there was no excuse for bringing in the bill on the plea of settling the slavery question, since there was not a foot of territory in the united states where the subject of slavery was not already settled by law, he closed with an earnest appeal against such an attempt to break up the union and outrage the north by forcing slavery into a land where its existence was already forbidden by law. his speech exceeded the hour allotted to it, and he was allowed to go on only by the courtesy of a member from illinois, who, when some of the southerners protested against his being heard farther, gave up part of his own time to the grand old missourian, and asked the house to hear him, if only "as the oldest living man in congress, the only man in congress who was present at the passage of the missouri compromise bill." many a man at the north, ashamed and indignant at seeing the politicians of his own section cower at the crack of the southern whip, felt a glow of sincere gratitude and admiration for the rugged westerner, who so boldly bade defiance to the ruling slave party that held the reins not only in his own section, but also in his own state, and to oppose which was almost certain political death.
-the gadsden treaty was also strongly opposed and condemned by benton, who considered it to be part of a great scheme or movement in the interests of the slavery disunionists, of which he also believed the kansas-nebraska bill to be the first development,--the "thin end of the wedge." he opposed the acquirement even of the small piece of territory we were actually able to purchase from mexico; and showed good grounds for his belief that the administration, acting as usual only in the interest of the secessionists, had tried to get enough north-mexican territory to form several new states, and had also attempted to purchase cuba, both efforts being for the purpose of enabling the south either to become again dominant in the union or else to set up a separate confederacy of her own. for it must be kept in mind that benton always believed that the southern disunion movements were largely due to conspiracies among ambitious politicians, who used the slavery question as a handle by which to influence the mass of the people. this view has certainly more truth in it than it is now the fashion to admit. his objection to the actual treaty was mainly based on its having been done by the executive without the consent of the legislature, and he also criticised it for the secrecy with which it had been put through. in bringing forward the first objection, however, he was confronted with jefferson's conduct in acquiring louisiana, which he endeavored, not very successfully, to show had nothing in common with the actions of pierce, who, he said, simply demanded a check from the house with which to complete a purchase undertaken on his own responsibility.
-throughout his congressional term of service, benton acted so as to deserve well of the union as a whole, and most well of missouri in particular. but he could not stem the tide of folly and madness in this state, and was defeated when he was a candidate for reëlection. the whigs had now disappeared from the political arena, and the know-nothings were running through their short and crooked lease of life; they foolishly nominated a third candidate in benton's district, who drew off enough votes from him to enable his pro-slavery democratic competitor to win.
-no sooner had he lost his seat in congress than benton, indefatigable as ever, set to work to finish his "thirty years' view," and produced the second volume in 1856, the year when he made his last attempt to regain his hold in politics, and to win missouri back to the old union standard. although his own son-in-law, fremont, the daring western explorer, was running as the first presidential candidate ever nominated by the republicans, the old partisan voted for the democrat, buchanan. he did not like buchanan, considering him weak and unsuitable, but the republican party he believed to be entirely too sectional in character for him to give it his support. for governor there was a triangular fight, the know-nothings having nominated one candidate, the secessionist democrats a second, while benton himself ran as the choice of the union democracy. he was now seventy-four years old, but his mind was as vigorous as ever, and his iron will kept up a frame that had hardly even yet begun to give way. during the course of the campaign he traveled throughout the state, going in all twelve hundred miles, and making forty speeches, each one of two or three hours' length. this was a remarkable feat for so old a man; indeed, it has very rarely been paralleled, except by gladstone's recent performances. the vote was quite evenly divided between the three candidates; but benton came in third, and the extreme pro-slavery men carried the day. after this, during the few months of life he yet had left, he did not again mingle in the politics of missouri.
-but in the days of his defeat at home, the regard and respect in which he was held in the other states, especially at the north, increased steadily; and in the fall of 1856 he made by request a lecturing tour in new england, speaking on the danger of the political situation and the imperative necessity of preserving the union, which he now clearly saw to be gravely threatened. he was well received, for the north was learning to respect him, and he had gotten over his early hostility to new england,--a hostility originally shared by the whole west. the new englanders were not yet aware, however, of the importance of the secession movements, and paid little heed to the warnings that were to be so fully justified by the events of the next few years. but benton, in spite of his great age, saw distinctly the changes that were taking place, and the dangers that were impending,--an unusual thing for a man whose active life has already been lived out under widely different conditions.
-he again turned his attention to literature, and produced another great work, the "abridgment of the debates of congress from 1787 to 1856," in sixteen volumes, besides writing a valuable pamphlet on the dred scott decision, which he severely criticised. the amount of labor all this required was immense, and his health completely gave way; yet he continued working to the very end, dictating the closing portion of the "abridgment" in a whisper as he lay on his death-bed. when he once began to fail his advanced years made him succumb rapidly; and on april 10, 1858, he died, in the city of washington. as soon as the news reached missouri, a great revulsion of feeling took place, and all classes of the people united to do honor to the memory of the dead statesman, realizing that they had lost a man who towered head and shoulders above both friends and foes. the body was taken to st. louis, and after lying in state was buried in bellefontaine cemetery, more than forty thousand people witnessing the funeral. all the public buildings were draped in mourning; all places of business were closed, and the flags everywhere were at half-mast. thus at the very end the great city of the west at last again paid fit homage to the west's mightiest son.
-benton's most important writings are those mentioned above. the "thirty years' view" ("a history of the working of the american government for thirty years, from 1820 to 1850") will always be indispensable to every student of american history. it deals with the deeds of both houses of congress, and of some of the higher federal officials during his thirty years' term of service in the senate, and is valuable alike for the original data it contains, and because it is so complete a record of our public life at that time. the book is also remarkable for its courteous and equable tone, even towards bitter personal and political enemies. it shows a vanity on the part of the author that is too frank and free from malice to be anything but amusing; the style is rather ponderous, and the english not always good, for benton began life, and, in fact, largely passed it, in an age of ornate periods, when grandiloquence was considered more essential than grammar. in much of the mississippi valley the people had their own canons of literary taste; indeed, in a recent book by one of benton's admirers, there is a fond allusion to his statement, anent the expunging resolution, that "solitary and alone" he had set the ball in motion,--the pleonasm being evidently looked upon in the light of a rather fine oratorical outburst.
-"the abridgment of the debates of congress from 1789 to 1856" he was only able to bring down to 1850. sixteen volumes were published. it was a compilation needing infinite labor, and is invaluable to the historian. while in the midst of the vast work he also found time to write his "examination of the dred scott case," in so far as it decided the missouri compromise law to be unconstitutional, and asserted the self-extension of the constitution into the territories, carrying slavery with it,--the decision in this case promulgated by judge taney, of unhappy fame, having been the last step taken in the interests of slavery and for the overthrow of freedom. the pamphlet contained nearly two hundred pages, and showed, as was invariably the case with anything benton did, the effects of laborious research and wide historical and legal learning. his summing up was, "that the decision conflicts with the uniform action of all the departments of the federal government from its foundation to the present time, and cannot be accepted as a rule to govern congress and the people, without severing that act and admitting the political supremacy of the court and accepting an altered constitution from its hands, and taking a new and portentous point of departure in the working of the government." he denounced the new party theories of the democracy, which had abandoned the old belief of the founders of the republic, that congress had power to legislate upon slavery in territories, and which had gone on "from the abrogation of the missouri compromise, which saved the union, to squatter sovereignty, which killed the compromise, and thence to the decisions of the supreme court, which kill both." in closing he touched briefly on the history of the pro-slavery agitation. "up to mr. pierce's administration the plan had been defensive, that is to say, to make the secession of the south a measure of self-defense against the abolition encroachments and crusades of the north. in the time of mr. pierce the plan became offensive, that is to say, to commence the expansion of slavery, and the acquisition of territory to spread it over, so as to overpower the north with new slave states, and drive them out of the union.... the rising in the free states, in consequence of the abrogation of the missouri compromise, checked these schemes, and limited the success of the disunionists to the revival of the agitation which enables them to wield the south against the north in all the federal elections and all federal legislation. accidents and events have given the party a strange preëminence,--under jackson's administration proclaimed for treason; since at the head of the government and of the democratic party. the death of harrison, and the accession of tyler, was their first great lift; the election of mr. pierce was their culminating point." this was the last protest of the last of the old jacksonian leaders against that new generation of democrats, whose delight it had become to bow down to strange gods.
-in his private life benton's relations were of the pleasantest. he was a religious man, although, like his great political chief, he could on occasions swear roundly. he was rigidly moral, and he was too fond of work ever to make social life a business. but he liked small dinners, with just a few intimate friends or noted and brilliant public men, and always shone at such an entertainment. although he had not traveled much, he gave the impression of having done so, by reason of his wide reading, and because he always made a point of knowing all explorers, especially those who had penetrated our great western wilds. his geographical knowledge was wonderful; and his good nature, as well as his delight in work for work's sake, made him of more use than any library of reference, if his friends needed information upon some abstruse matter,--webster himself acknowledging his indebtedness to him on one occasion, and being the authority for the statement that benton knew more political facts than any other man he had ever met, even than john quincy adams, and possessed a wonderful fund of general knowledge. although very gentle in his dealings with those for whom he cared, benton originally was rather quarrelsome and revengeful in character. his personal and political prejudices were bitter, and he denounced his enemies freely in public and from the stump; yet he always declined to take part in joint political debates, on account of the personal discourtesy with which they were usually conducted. he gave his whole time to public life, rarely or never attending to his law practice after he had fairly entered the political field.
-he was a most loving father. at his death he left four surviving daughters,--mrs. william carey jones, mrs. sarah benton jacobs, madame susan benton boilleau, and mrs. jessie ann benton fremont, the wife of the great explorer, whose wonderful feats and adventures, ending with the conquest of california, where he became a sort of viceroy in point of power, made him an especial favorite with his father-in-law, who loved daring and hardihood. benton took the keenest delight in fremont's remarkable successes, and was never tired of talking of them, both within and without the senate. he records with very natural pride the fact that it was only the courage and judgment displayed in a trying crisis by his own gifted daughter, fremont's wife, which enabled the adventurous young explorer to prosecute one of the most important of his expeditions, when threatened with fatal interference from jealous governmental superiors.
-he was an exceptionally devoted husband. his wife was miss elizabeth mcdowell, of virginia, whom he married after he had entered the senate. their life was most happy until 1844, when she was struck by paralysis. from that time till her death in 1854, he never went out to a public place of amusement, spending all his time not occupied with public duties in writing by her bedside. it is scant praise to say that, while mere acquiescence on his part would have enabled him to become rich through government influence, he nevertheless died a poor man. in public, as in private life, he was a man of sensitive purity of character; he would never permit any person connected with him by blood or marriage to accept office under the government, nor would he ever favor any applicant for a government contract on political grounds.
-during his last years, when his sturdy independence and devotion to the union had caused him the loss of his political influence in his own state and with his own party, he nevertheless stood higher with the country at large than ever before. he was a faithful friend and a bitter foe; he was vain, proud, utterly fearless, and quite unable to comprehend such emotions as are expressed by the terms despondency and yielding. without being a great orator or writer, or even an original thinker, he yet possessed marked ability; and his abounding vitality and marvelous memory, his indomitable energy and industry, and his tenacious persistency and personal courage, all combined to give him a position and influence such as few american statesmen have ever held. his character grew steadily to the very last; he made better speeches and was better able to face new problems when past three score and ten than in his early youth or middle age. he possessed a rich fund of political, legal, and historical learning, and every subject that he ever handled showed the traces of careful and thorough study. he was very courteous, except when provoked; his courage was proof against all fear, and he shrank from no contest, personal or political. he was sometimes narrow-minded, and always wilful and passionate; but he was honest and truthful. at all times and in all places he held every good gift he had completely at the service of the american federal union.
-adams, john quincy: in presidential election of 1824-5, 59-61; makes clay secretary of state, 61; and is assailed therefor, 62; outlines whig policy in his inaugural, 63; on the panama mission, 64; in election of 1828, 69; preserves purity of civil service, 81; on recognition of texas, 180.
-"albany regency," the, adopts "spoils system," 81.
-arnold, benedict: compared with burr and j. davis, 163.
-atchison, protests against admission of california, 338.
-benton, town of, founded, 25.
-benton, thomas hart:-- local character of his statesmanship, 13; birth, 23; boyhood and education, 24 et seq.; religious training, 26; fights a duel, 27; affray with jackson, 28; admitted to the bar, 29; in legislature of tennessee, 29; on the hartford convention, 31; a slave-holder, 31; favors war of 1812, 32, in service, 32; befriends jackson, 32; associations in tennessee, 33 et seq.; some traits of character, 34; settles in missouri, 35; surroundings and influences there, 40; speech on treaty with spain concerning florida, 41; first position concerning slavery, 43; enters u. s. senate, 44; honorable financial sacrifice, 45; position on the oregon question, 50-53, 65, 263-270, 273-279, 281-289; bill to establish a trading road through missouri, 53; on the removal of the indians, 55; votes for clay's protective tariff bill, 58; opposes internal improvements and cumberland road bill, 58; condemns election of john q. adams to presidency, 60; supports clay, then jackson, 61; will not join outcry against adams and clay, 61; a leader of the opposition to adams in the senate, 63; represents ultra-southern feeling concerning revolted spanish colonies, 65; vote on the protective tariff of 1828, 66, 91, 102; efforts concerning disposal of public land, 68, 77, 149, 154, 217; hostility to the northeastern states, 76; in the webster-hayne debate, 78; opposes jackson's "spoils system," 79-85; leader of the jacksonians in the senate, 85, 86; shows that protective tariff has not helped the west, 91; urges repeal of the tax on salt, 92, 227; vigorously sustains jackson in the nullification troubles, 100-105; sustains the force bill, 105; opposes clay's compromise measure, 107-109; remarks on his position at this period, 112; campaign against the bank of the united states, 114, 130, 136, 143; speech on the currency, 122, 136-138, 253; conflict with clay, 129; on the removal of the deposits, 131; opposes the resolution of censure against jackson, 133; and pushes through his own expunging resolution, 134-136, 139-142; advocates establishment of mints at the south, 144; opposes distribution of surplus, 145, 149; wishes it used for fortifications, 146, 150-153; advocates insisting on our claims against france, 147; but opposes paying claims of american citizens, 148; opposes the so-called specie circulars, 154; views concerning southern slavery politicians, 162; opposed to the abolitionists, 165; criticises calhoun, 167, 168; aids to defeat bill prohibiting circulation of abolition documents through u. s. mails, 169; carries bill extending boundaries of missouri, 170; urges admission of michigan, 171; carries through treaty with cherokees, 171; defends governmental treatment of indians, 172; condemns treaty establishing southwestern boundary, 175; position concerning annexation of texas, 180-183; hostility to separatist doctrines, 188; blames bankers and politicians for financial crisis of 1837, 190, 194; his forebodings of this trouble, 191-193; demeanor in the crisis, 197; supports issue of treasury notes, 198; opposes payment of further installment of surplus, 199; supports scheme for independent treasury, 200, 207; action concerning resumption by bonds, 203; a supporter of the administration in these times, 263; his knowledge, 204; hostile to paper currency, 206; defends administration in matters of seminole war, 212; theory for conducting this war, 215; advocates; homestead law, 217; opposes assumption of state debts by national government, 220; explains greater rapidity of progress at north than at south, 222; on the tariff of 1833, 224-230; defends jackson and van buren against charges of squandering public moneys, 230; in the harrison campaign, 233; holds the democrats for the union, 234; feeling concerning slavery about van buren's time, 235; leads the democrats in struggle between president tyler and clay, 240-244; exalts the "democratic idea," 241; comments on tyler's first message to congress, 245; opposes sub-treasury bill, 246; also the bank, distribution and bankruptcy bills, 246-249; opposes the hour limit for speeches in the senate, 250-252; speech concerning the district banks and the currency, 253; opposes effort to establish a national bank during tyler's administration, 255-258; opposes new form of treasury notes, 258; opposes subsidizing steamship lines, 258; also the abuse of the pension system, 258; always an advocate of extending the national boundaries, 263, 267; opposes the ashburton treaty, 269, 273-279; remarks concerning the caroline imbroglio, 270; opposes making an efficient navy, 272; references to slavery in speeches on the ashburton treaty, 274, 280; on the oregon question, 281-289; position concerning annexation of texas in time of polk, 299-317; opposes the south, 301; opposes calhoun's treaty, 306-310; hoodwinked by the annexationists, 313; attacks calhoun and opposes the mexican war, 315; offered the command of the army, 318; awakes to importance of slavery question, 318; his later position concerning it, 320, 333-336; contests with pro-slavery senators, 322, 323; opposes calhoun as to power of congress over slavery in territories, 323-327; and as to admission of oregon, 328; criticises polk's administration, 328; visits new york in presidential campaign in 1848, 329; defends taylor's message, 331; opposes clay's compromise, 332, 333-336; more antagonism towards calhoun, 333; position on the wilmot proviso, 336; advocates admission of california as a free state, 337; refuses to support fugitive slave act, 339; nickname of "old bullion," 342; opposition to him in missouri, 342; defeated, 343; goes to house of representatives, 343; begins work on the "thirty years' view," 344; supports pierce for presidency, 344; but later goes into opposition, 345; supports scheme for pacific railroad, 346; discusses the indian policy, 347; speeches on land-bounty and pension bills, 348; opposes kansas-nebraska bill, 349-352; discusses historically the missouri compromise, 349; ridicules squatter sovereignty, 350; opposes the gladstone treaty, 352; view of southern disunion scheme, 352; again defeated in missouri elections, 353; returns to labor on "thirty years' view," 354; votes for buchanan, 354; candidate for governorship, 354; stumps the state, 354; respected at the north, 355; prepares his "abridgment of the debates of congress," 356; death, 356; value of his works 357; criticism of the dred scott case, 358; and of the new democratic theories, 358; domestic relations, 360; extensive knowledge, 360; on board the princeton at time of explosion of great gun, 361; generous temper, 362.
-biddle, nicholas: president of bank of united states, 116; his errors, 124; his bank goes to pieces, 208.
-birney, james g.: abolitionist candidate for presidency, 291, 292; folly of nominating him, 293, 294, 310.
-blair, francis c., displaced, 317.
-buchanan, james: on annexation of texas, 310; benton votes for him, 354.
-burr, aaron: introduces "spoils system" in new york, 81; compared with benedict arnold, 163.
-calhoun, john c.: rupture with jackson, resignation from vice-presidency, 86; position concerning tariff in 1816, 89; position as a nullifier, 96; introduces nullification resolutions, 103; threatened with hanging, 104; arranges compromise with clay, 106; subsequent quarrel with clay concerning this, 110; his purposes at this time, 111; assails jackson, 132; opposes webster's bill for rechartering bank, 133; on the expunging resolution, 141; proposes constitutional amendment for distribution of treasury surplus, 144; opposes appropriating treasury surplus for fortifications, 146; attack on president pierce, 166; his honesty, 168; on admission of texas 180; in connection with trouble with mexico, 260; on the oregon question, 285; instrumental in election of polk, 292; letter to lord aberdeen, 300; assailed by benton as to annexation of texas, 307, 309; action as to legislation about texas, 313; relations as to mexican war, 314; and the wilmot proviso, 323; resolution as to power of congress over slavery in the territories, 323-326; not a "union man," 326; on the admission of oregon, 326, 327, 328; dislikes taylor's message to congress, 331.
-california, admission of, 337.
-caroline, affair of the, 270.
-cartwright, peter, 33.
-cass, lewis: nominated for presidency, 329.
-cherokees, treaty for their removal, 171.
-clay, henry: introduces his first tariff bill, 58; secretary of state under adams, 61; assailed therefor, and fights randolph, 62; devises the panama mission, 63; leader of national republican or whig party, 86; defies "the south, the president, and the devil," 90; erroneous statement as to effect of tariff in the west, 91; angers the nullifiers, 99; defeated in presidential election in 1832, 100; alarmed at position of calhoun, 106; and prepares compromise, 106; afterward quarrels about it with calhoun, 110; befriends bank of the united states, 124, 127, 129; effect on his political fortunes, 125; introduces resolution for return of deposits, 131; also for censuring president jackson, 132; opposes webster's bill for rechartering bank, 136; on the expunging resolution, 141; opposes establishment of mints at the south, 144; also appropriating surplus for fortifications, 146; in financial crisis of 1837, 200; on the sub-treasury bill, 201, 205; on resumption, 202, 203; opposes payment of state debts by national government, 221; prepares financial measures upon tyler's accession, 240, 244; construction of a presidential election, 241; programme for legislation under tyler, 245; attempts to introduce hour-limits for speeches in senate, 250-252; lectures tyler in the bank debate, 256; defeated by polk, 290; causes thereof, 310; attacks taylor's message to congress, 331; proposes compromise of slavery controversy, 331; defeated by benton, 336; compared with benton, 339.
-crawford, william h.: adopts the "spoils system," 80.
-crockett, david, 27, 33; berates jackson, 113.
-cumberland road, benton votes against bill for, 58.
-davis, jefferson: compared with benedict arnold, 163; a repudiator, 220; and calhoun's resolution as to slavery in the territories, 325; protests against admission of california, 338.
-drayton, family, loyalty of the family in south carolina, 96.
-florida, the treaty securing it to the united states, 41.
-foote, senator from mississippi, opposition to his public land scheme by benton and webster, 77.
-fremont, john c.: explores rocky mountains, 283; benton will not vote for, 354; benton's interest in his explorations, 363.
-giddings, joshua r., sound policy of, 294.
-harrison, wm. henry: election not affected by slavery question, 235; death and character, 237.
-hartford convention, criticised by benton, 31, 78; causes of, 49.
-houston, samuel, 34: wins victory of san jacinto, 180; hates van buren, 188; description of, 327; votes to admit california, 338.
-indian tribes, benton on the removal of, 55; criticism on treatment of, 57, 172, 347; removal of cherokees in 1836, 171.
-jackson, andrew: affray with benton, 28; befriended by benton at washington, 32; in presidential election of 1824, 29, 60; incensed against adams and clay, 61; success in election of 1828, 59; character of his following, 71, 74, 75; his opponents, 72; his victory compared with jefferson's, 73; compared with wellington, 73; foster-father of the "spoils system," 79, 82; inferior character of his cabinet, 86; relations of his followers with those of clay and calhoun, 86; struggles with the bank and the nullifiers, 88; expected to support nullification, 96; but does not, 97; repudiates calhoun and adopts van buren, 97; at the jefferson birthday banquet, 98; again defines his position, 99; signs new tariff bill, 99; reelected in 1832, 100; issues proclamation against nullification, 101; special message on nullification, 102; opinion on tariff, 102; threatens to hang calhoun, 104; signs "force bill," also clay's compromise bill, 108; behaves badly in case of georgia, 112; attack on u. s. bank, 114 et seq.; reasons of his political success, 116; opposes re-charter of bank in message of 1829, 117; vetoes bill for re-charter, 127; reelected, 130; removes the deposits, 130; protests against clay's resolution of censure, 133; continued assaults on the bank, 139; gives a dinner to the expungers, 141; signs bill for distributing treasury surplus, 153; issues treasury order concerning payments for public lands, 155; kitchen cabinet and "machine politics," 184, 185; liking for van buren, 186; his nationalism, 234; praised by benton for hanging arbuthnot and ambrister, 272; favors annexation of texas, 298; and van buren, 299.
-jefferson, thomas: character of his following, 70, 71; his victory compared with jackson's, 73; his pseudo-classicism, 92; quoted as authority for nullification, 95; celebration of birthday of, 97.
-lee, robert e.: military standing of, 38.
-lincoln, abraham: services in anti-slavery cause, 159.
-livingston, edward: aids in preparing proclamation against nullification, 101.
-lucas, benton's duel with, 28.
-madison, james, quoted, 163.
-marcy, wm. l., adopts "spoils system," 81; cringes to the south, 108.
-mcduffie, passage at arms with benton, 304, 305; deceives benton as to taxes, 313.
-mcleod, alexander, case of, 271.
-missouri, character of its population, 39; admission to the union, 43, 47; land titles in, 45.
-missouri compromise bill, 43; not the beginning of the slavery and anti-slavery divisions in the union, 48; benton concerning repeal of, 349.
-monroe, james, remarks, 47, 58, 59; signs bill for trading road, 53.
-new orleans, benton's astonishing description of, 93.
-oregon, disputed between great britain and the united states, 50; benton's remarks concerning, 51; comes into notice again in j. q. adams's term, 65; final settlement of the matter, 260-273; neglected in ashburton treaty, 278, and by calhoun, 278, and others, 279; benton's feeling about, 281, 284; bill for settlement of, 284; calhoun on the admission of, 326-328.
-panama mission, disputes concerning, 63-65.
-phillips, wendell, estimate of, 160.
-pierce, franklin, assailed by calhoun, 166; relations with benton, 344, 345; a valuation of, 345; benton upon pro-slavery tendencies of, 359.
-polk, james k., character of his following, 234; and the southwestern boundary, 287; elected president, 290, 310; estimate of, 292; deceives benton as to texas, 313; displaces blair, 317; relations with various portions of democratic party, 317, 318.
-randolph, john: duel with clay, 62.
-rynders, isaiah, a type, 291, 292.
-seminoles, war with, 209-216.
-taney, roger b., removes the deposits, 130; afterward made chief justice, 131; criticised by benton for his opinion in dred scott case, 358.
-taylor, zachary, elected president, 329; character, 330, 337; message to congress, 331; dies, 337.
-tyler, john, opposes "force bill," 105; estimate of, on his accession, 237; his political affiliations, 238-240; first message to congress, 245; conduct concerning bill for establishing a bank, 254-257; his cabinet resigns, 257; identifies himself with the separatist democrats, 298; schemes for annexation of texas, 300, 306; assailed by benton, 307, 309; behavior at time of explosion of gun on board the princeton, 361.
-van buren, martin, supports crawford for presidency in 1824, 61; adopts "spoils system," 81; adopted by jackson as his heir, 97; vice-president, 100; product of "machine politics," 184; befriended by jackson, 186; sketch of, and causes of his elevation, 186-188; his inaugural, 188; financial crisis and his doings therein, 189 et seq., 194, 196, 197; financial measures, 200; has to deal with the seminoles, 209; public dishonesty under, 219; charged with squandering the public money, 230; significance of his defeat, 234; slavery question did not arise in his administration, 235; champion of old-style union democrats, and opposed to annexation of texas, 298; candidate for presidency, 299, 310; and the free soil party, 329.
-war of 1812, a cause of the, 7; political influence on benton, 30.
-warsaw, social habits of the town, 36.
-webster, daniel, position of, concerning clay's first tariff bill, 58; position on the tariff question in 1828, 67; in the debate on foote's resolution concerning sales of public land, 77, 97; leader of national republican, or whig, party, 86; aids jackson in nullification troubles, 103, 104; advocates the "force bill," 105; resolute in opposition to the south, 106, 107, 108; remarks as to his services, 111; befriends bank of united states, 124, 126, 127, 129; personal relations with the jacksonians, 131; introduces bill for re-charter of bank, 136; on the expunging resolution, 142; supports establishment of mints at the south, 144; opposes appropriating treasury surplus for fortifications, 146; in financial crisis of 1837, 200; on sub-treasury scheme, 201, 205; opposes payment of state debt by national government, 221; remains in tyler's cabinet, 257; negotiates treaty with england, settling boundaries between united states and british possessions, 260, 262, 268; criticised by benton, 273-277, 280; neglects oregon controversy, 278; compared with benton on the slavery question, 320, 339; compliments benton's knowledge, 360; on friendly terms with benton, 362.
-wellington, duke of, compared with washington and jackson, 73.
-wilmot proviso, benton's remarks upon, 323, 336.
-wright, silas, adopts "spoils system," 81; expresses the "dough face" sentiment at time of nullification troubles, 107.
-edited by john t. morse, jr.
-each, 16mo, cloth, gilt top, $1.25; half morocco, $2.50.
-the set, 31 volumes, half levant, $77.50.
-franklin. he has managed to condense the whole mass of matter gleaned from all sources into his volume without losing in a single sentence the freedom or lightness of his style or giving his book in any part the crowded look of an epitome.--the independent (new york).
-samuel adams. thoroughly appreciative and sympathetic, yet fair and critical.... this biography is a piece of good work--a clear and simple presentation of a noble man and pure patriot; it is written in a spirit of candor and humanity.--worcester spy.
-henry. professor tyler has not only made one of the best and most readable of american biographies; he may fairly be said to have reconstructed the life of patrick henry, and to have vindicated the memory of that great man from the unappreciative and injurious estimate which has been placed upon it.--new york evening post.
-washington. mr. lodge has written an admirable biography, and one which cannot but confirm the american people in the prevailing estimate concerning the father of his country.--new york tribune.
-john adams. a good piece of literary work.... it covers the ground thoroughly, and gives just the sort of simple and succinct account that is wanted.--new york evening post.
-hamilton. mr. lodge has done his work with conscientious care, and the biography of hamilton is a book which cannot have too many readers. it is more than a biography; it is a study in the science of government.--st. paul pioneer press.
-morris. mr. roosevelt has produced an animated and intensely interesting biographical volume.... mr. roosevelt never loses sight of the picturesque background of politics, war-governments, and diplomacy.--magazine of american history (new york).
-jay. it is an important addition to the admirable series of "american statesmen," and elevates yet higher the character of a man whom all american patriots most delight to honor.--new york tribune.
-marshall. well done, with simplicity, clearness, precision, and judgment, and in a spirit of moderation and equity. a valuable addition to the series.--new york tribune.
-jefferson. a singularly just, well-proportioned, and interesting sketch of the personal and political career of the author of the declaration of independence.--boston journal.
-madison. the execution of the work deserves the highest praise. it is very readable, in a bright and vigorous style, and is marked by unity and consecutiveness of plan.--the nation (new york).
-gallatin. it is one of the most carefully prepared of these very valuable volumes, ... abounding in information not so readily accessible as is that pertaining to men more often treated by the biographer.--boston correspondent hartford courant.
-monroe. president gilman has made the most of his hero, without the least hero-worship, and has done full justice to mr. monroe's "relations to the public service during half a century." ... the appendix is peculiarly valuable for its synopsis of monroe's presidential messages, and its extensive bibliography of monroe and the monroe doctrine.--n. y. christian intelligencer.
-john quincy adams. that mr. morse's conclusions will in the main be those of posterity we have very little doubt, and he has set an admirable example to his coadjutors in respect of interesting narrative, just proportion, and judicial candor.--new york evening post.
-randolph. the book has been to me intensely interesting.... it is rich in new facts and side lights, and is worthy of its place in the already brilliant series of monographs on american statesmen.--prof. moses coit tyler.
-jackson. professor sumner has ... all in all, made the justest long estimate of jackson that has had itself put between the covers of a book.--new york times.
-van buren. this absorbing book.... to give any adequate idea of the personal interest of the book, or its intimate bearing on nearly the whole course of our political history, would be equivalent to quoting the larger part of it.--brooklyn eagle.
-clay. we have in this life of henry clay a biography of one of the most distinguished of american statesmen, and a political history of the united states for the first half of the nineteenth century. indeed, it is not too much to say that, for the period covered, we have no other book which equals or begins to equal this life of henry clay as an introduction to the study of american politics.--political science quarterly (new york).
-webster. it will be read by students of history; it will be invaluable as a work of reference; it will be an authority as regards matters of fact and criticism; it hits the key-note of webster's durable and ever-growing fame; it is adequate, calm, impartial; it is admirable.--philadelphia press.
-calhoun. nothing can exceed the skill with which the political career of the great south carolinian is portrayed in these pages.... the whole discussion in relation to calhoun's position is eminently philosophical and just.--the dial (chicago).
-benton. an interesting addition to our political literature, and will be of great service if it spread an admiration for that austere public morality which was one of the marked characteristics of its chief figure.--the epoch (new york).
-cass. professor mclaughlin has given us one of the most satisfactory volumes in this able and important series.... the early life of cass was devoted to the northwest, and in the transformation which overtook it the work of cass was the work of a national statesman.--new york times.
-lincoln. as a life of lincoln it has no competitors; as a political history of the union side during the civil war, it is the most comprehensive, and, in proportion to its range, the most compact.--harvard graduates' magazine.
-seward. the public will be grateful for his conscientious efforts to write a popular vindication of one of the ablest, most brilliant, fascinating, energetic, ambitious, and patriotic men in american history.--new york evening post.
-chase. his great career as anti-slavery leader, united states senator, governor of ohio, secretary of the treasury, and chief justice of the united states, is described in an adequate and effective manner by professor hart.
-charles francis adams. his wise statesmanship before the civil war, and the masterly ability and consummate diplomatic skill displayed by him while minister to great britain, are judiciously set forth by his eminent son.
-sumner. the majestic devotion of sumner to the highest political ideals before and during his long term of lofty service to freedom in the united states senate is fittingly delineated by mr. storey.
-stevens. thaddeus stevens was unquestionably one of the most conspicuous figures of his time.... the book shows him the eccentric, fiery, and masterful congressional leader that he was.--city and state (philadelphia).
-houghton, mifflin & co. 4 park st., boston; 85 fifth avenue, new york 378-388 wabash ave., chicago
-transcriber's notes: minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently normalized.
-by winston churchill
-the next morning cynthia's heart was heavy as she greeted her new friends at miss sadler's school. life had made a woman of her long ago, while these girls had yet been in short dresses, and now an experience had come to her which few, if any, of these could ever know. it was of no use for her to deny to herself that she loved bob worthington--loved him with the full intensity of the strong nature that was hers. to how many of these girls would come such a love? and how many would be called upon to make such a renunciation as hers had been? no wonder she felt out of place among them, and once more the longing to fly away to coniston almost overcame her. jethro would forgive her, she knew, and stretch out his arms to receive her, and understand that some trouble had driven her to him.
-she was aroused by some one calling her name--some one whose voice sounded strangely familiar. cynthia was perhaps the only person in the school that day who did not know that miss janet duncan had entered it. miss sadler certainly knew it, and asked miss duncan very particularly about her father and mother and even her brother. miss sadler knew, even before janet's unexpected arrival, that mr. and mrs. duncan had come to boston after christmas, and had taken a large house in the back bay in order to be near their son at harvard. mrs. duncan was, in fact, a bostonian, and more at home there than at any other place.
-miss sadler observed with a great deal of astonishment the warm embrace that janet bestowed on cynthia. the occurrence started in miss sadler a train of thought, as a result of which she left the drawing-room where these reunions were held, and went into her own private study to write a note. this she addressed to mrs. alexander duncan, at a certain number on beacon street, and sent it out to be posted immediately. in the meantime, janet duncan had seated herself on the sofa beside cynthia, not having for an instant ceased to talk to her. of what use to write a romance, when they unfolded themselves so beautifully in real life! here was the country girl she had seen in washington already in a fine way to become the princess, and in four months! janet would not have thought it possible for any one to change so much in such a time. cynthia listened, and wondered what language miss duncan would use if she knew how great and how complete that change had been. romances, cynthia thought sadly, were one thing to theorize about and quite another thing to endure--and smiled at the thought. but miss duncan had no use for a heroine without a heartache.
-it is not improbable that miss janet duncan may appear with miss sally broke in another volume. the style of her conversation is known, and there is no room to reproduce it here. she, too, had a heart, but she was a young woman given to infatuations, as cynthia rightly guessed. cynthia must spend many afternoons at her house--lunch with her, drive with her. for one omission cynthia was thankful: she did not mention bob worthington's name. there was the romance under miss duncan's nose, and she did not see it. it is frequently so with romancers.
-cynthia's impassiveness, her complete poise, had fascinated miss duncan with the others. had there been nothing beneath that exterior, janet would never have guessed it, and she would have been quite as happy. cynthia saw very clearly that mr. worthington or no other man or woman could force bob to marry janet.
-the next morning, in such intervals as her studies permitted, janet continued her attentions to cynthia. that same morning she had brought a note from her father to miss sadler, of the contents of which janet knew nothing. miss sadler retired into her study to read it, and two newspaper clippings fell out of it under the paper-cutter. this was the note:--
-"my dear miss sadler:
-"mrs. duncan has referred your note to me, and i enclose two clippings which speak for themselves. miss wetherell, i believe, stands in the relation of ward to the person to whom they refer, and her father was a sort of political assistant to this person. although, as you say, we are from that part of the country (miss sadler bad spoken of the duncans as the people of importance there), it was by the merest accident that miss wetherell's connection with this jethro bass was brought to my notice.
-it is pleasant to know that there were people in the world who could snub miss sadler; and there could be no doubt, from the manner in which she laid the letter down and took up the clippings, that miss sadler felt snubbed: equally, there could be no doubt that the revenge would fall on other shoulders than mr. duncan's. and when miss sadler proceeded to read the clippings, her hair would have stood on end with horror had it not been so efficiently plastered down. miss sadler seized her pen, and began a letter to mrs. merrill. miss sadler's knowledge of the proprieties--together with other qualifications--had made her school what it was. no cynthia wetherells had ever before entered its sacred portals, or should again.
-the first of these clippings was the article containing the arraignment of jethro bass which mr. merrill had shown to his wife, and which had been the excuse for miss penniman's call. the second was one which mr. duncan had clipped from the newcastle guardian of the day before, and gave, from mr. worthington's side, a very graphic account of the conflict which was to tear the state asunder. the railroads were tired of paying toll to the chief of a band of thieves and cutthroats, to a man who had long throttled the state which had nourished him, to--in short,--to jethro bass. miss sadler was not much interested in the figures and metaphors of political compositions. right had found a champion--the article continued--in mr. isaac d. worthington of brampton, president of the truro road and owner of large holdings elsewhere. mr. worthington, backed by other respectable property interests, would fight this monster of iniquity to the death, and release the state from his thraldom. jethro bass, the article alleged, was already about his abominable work--had long been so--as in mockery of that very vigilance which is said to be the price of liberty. his agents were busy in every town of the state, seeing to it that the slaves of jethro bass should be sent to the next legislature.
-and what was this system which he had built up among these rural communities? it might aptly be called the system of mortgages. the mortgage--dread name for a dreadful thing--was the chief weapon of the monster. even as jethro bass held the mortgages of coniston and tarleton and round about, so his lieutenants held mortgages in every town and hamlet of the state, what was a poor farmer to do--? his choice was not between right and wrong, but between a roof over the heads of his wife and children and no roof. he must vote for the candidate of jethro bass end corruption or become a homeless wanderer. how the gentleman and his other respectable backers were to fight the system the article did not say. were they to buy up all the mortgages? as a matter of fact, they intended to buy up enough of these to count, but to mention this would be to betray the methods of mr. worthington's reform. the first bitter frontier fighting between the advance cohorts of the new giant and the old--the struggle for the caucuses and the polls--had begun. miss sadler cared but little and understood less of all this matter. she lingered over the sentences which described jethro bass as a monster of iniquity, as a pariah with whom decent men would have no intercourse, and in the heat of her passion that one who had touched him had gained admittance to the most exclusive school for young ladies in the country she wrote a letter.
-miss sadler wrote the letter, and three hours later tore it up and wrote another and more diplomatic one. mrs. merrill, though not by any means of the same importance as mrs. duncan, was not a person to be wantonly offended, and might--knowing nothing about the monster--in the goodness of her heart have taken the girl into her house. had it been otherwise, surely mrs. merrill would not have had the effrontery! she would give mrs. merrill a chance. the bell of release from studies was ringing as she finished this second letter, and miss sadler in her haste forgot to enclose the clippings. she ran out in time to intercept susan merrill at the door, and to press into her hands the clippings and the note, with a request to take both to her mother.
-although the duncans dined in the evening, the merrills had dinner at half-past one in the afternoon, when the girls returned from school. mr. merrill usually came home, but he had gone off somewhere for this particular day, and mrs. merrill had a sewing circle. the girls sat down to dinner alone. when they got up from the table, susan suddenly remembered the note which she had left in her coat pocket. she drew out the clippings with it.
-"i wonder what miss sadler is sending mamma clippings for," she said. "why, cynthia, they're about your uncle. look!"
-and she handed over the article headed "jethro bass." jane, who had quicker intuitions than her sister, would have snatched it from cynthia's hand, and it was a long time before susan forgave herself for her folly. thus miss sadler had her revenge.
-it is often mercifully ordained that the mightiest blows of misfortune are tempered for us. during the winter evenings in coniston, cynthia had read little newspaper attacks on jethro, and scorned them as the cowardly devices of enemies. they had been, indeed, but guarded and covert allusions--grimaces from a safe distance. cynthia's first sensation as she read was anger--anger so intense as to send all the blood in her body rushing to her head. but what was this? "right had found a champion at last" in--in isaac d. worthington! that was the first blow, and none but cynthia knew the weight of it. it sank but slowly into her consciousness, and slowly the blood left her face, slowly but surely: left it at length as white as the lace curtain of the window which she clutched in her distress. words which somebody had spoken were ringing in her ears. whatever happens! "whatever happens i will never desert you, never deny you, as long as i live." this, then, was what he had meant by newspapers, and why he had come to her!
-the sisters, watching her, cried out in dismay. there was no need to tell them that they were looking on at a tragedy, and all the love and sympathy in their hearts went out to her.
-"cynthia! cynthia! what is it?" cried susan, who, thinking she would faint, seized her in her arms. "what have i done?"
-cynthia did not faint, being made of sterner substance. gently, but with that inexorable instinct of her kind which compels them to look for reliance within themselves even in the direst of extremities, cynthia released herself from susan's embrace and put a hand to her forehead.
-"will you leave me here a little while--alone?" she said.
-it was jane now who drew susan out and shut the door of the parlor after them. in utter misery they waited on the stairs while cynthia fought out her battle for herself.
-when they were gone she sank down into the big chair under the reading lamp--the very chair in which he had sat only two nights before. she saw now with a terrible clearness the thing which for so long had been but a vague premonition of disaster, and for a while she forgot the clippings. and when after a space the touch of them in her hand brought them back to her remembrance, she lacked the courage to read them through. but not for long. suddenly her fear of them gave place to a consuming hatred of the man who had inspired these articles: of isaac d. worthington, for she knew that he must have inspired them. and then she began again to read them.
-loyal though the girl was, the whispers would not hush, nor the doubts cease to assail her. what if ever so small a portion of this were true? could the whole of this hideous structure, tier resting upon tier, have been reared without something of a foundation? fiercely though she told herself she would believe none of it, fiercely though she hated mr. worthington, fervently though she repeated aloud that her love for jethro and her faith in him had not changed, the doubts remained. yet they remained unacknowledged.
-an hour passed. it was a thing beyond belief that one hour could have held such a store of agony. an hour passed, and cynthia came dry-eyed from the parlor. susan and jane, waiting to give her comfort when she was recovered a little from this unknown but overwhelming affliction, were fain to stand mute when they saw her to pay a silent deference to one whom sorrow had lifted far above them and transfigured. that was the look on cynthia's face. she went up the stairs, and they stood in the hall not knowing what to do, whispering in awe-struck voices. they were still there when cynthia came down again, dressed for the street. jane seized her by the hand.
-"where are you going, cynthia?" she asked.
-"i shall be back by five," said cynthia.
-she went up the hill, and across to old louisburg square, and up the hill again. the weather had cleared, the violet-paned windows caught the slanting sunlight and flung it back across the piles of snow. it was a day for wedding-bells. at last cynthia came to a queerly fashioned little green door that seemed all askew with the slanting street, and rang the bell, and in another moment was standing on the threshold of miss lucretia penniman's little sitting room. to miss lucretia, at her writing table, one glance was sufficient. she rose quickly to meet the girl, kissed her unresponsive cheek, and led her to a chair. miss lucretia was never one to beat about the bush, even in the gravest crisis.
-"you have read the articles," she said.
-read them! during her walk hither cynthia had been incapable of thought, but the epithets and arraignments and accusations, the sentences and paragraphs, wars printed now, upon her brain, never, she believed, to be effaced. every step of the way she had been unconsciously repeating them.
-"have you read them?" asked cynthia.
-"yes, my dear."
-"has everybody read them?" did the whole world, then, know of her shame?
-"i am glad you came to me, my dear," said miss lucretia, taking her hand. "have you talked of this to any one else?"
-"no," said cynthia, simply.
-miss lucretia was puzzled. she had not looked for apathy, but she did not know all of cynthia's troubles. she wondered whether she had misjudged the girl, and was misled by her attitude.
-"cynthia," she said, with a briskness meant to hide emotion for miss lucretia had emotions, "i am a lonely old woman, getting too old, indeed, to finish the task of my life. i went to see mrs. merrill the other day to ask her if she would let you come and live with me. will you?"
-cynthia shook her head.
-"no, miss lucretia, i cannot," she answered.
-"i won't press it on you now," said miss lucretia.
-"i cannot, miss lucretia. i'm going to coniston."
-"going to coniston!" exclaimed miss lucretia.
-the name of that place--magic name, once so replete with visions of happiness and content--seemed to recall cynthia's spirit from its flight. yes, the spirit was there, for it flashed in her eyes as she turned and looked into miss lucretia's face.
-"are these the articles you read?" she asked; taking the clippings from her muff.
-miss lucretia put on her spectacles.
-"i have seen both of them," she said.
-"and do you believe what they say about--about jethro bass?"
-poor miss lucretia! for once in her life she was at a loss. she, too, paid a deference to that face, young as it was. she had robbed herself of sleep trying to make up her mind what she would say upon such an occasion if it came. a wonderful virgin faith had to be shattered, and was she to be the executioner? she loved the girl with that strange, intense affection which sometimes comes to the elderly and the lonely, and she had prayed that this cup might pass from her. was it possible that it was her own voice using very much the same words for which she had rebuked mrs. merrill?
-"cynthia," she said, "those articles were written by politicians, in a political controversy. no such articles can ever be taken literally."
-"miss lucretia, do you believe what it says about jethro bass?" repeated cynthia.
-how was she to avoid those eyes? they pierced into, her soul, even as her own had pierced into mrs. merrill's. oh, miss lucretia, who pride yourself on your plain speaking, that you should be caught quibbling! miss lucretia blushed for the first time in many, years, and into her face came the light of battle.
-"i am a coward, my dear. i deserve your rebuke. to the best of my knowledge and belief, and so far as i can judge from the inquiries i have undertaken, jethro bass has made his living and gained and held his power by the methods described in those articles."
-miss lucretia took off her spectacles and wiped them. she had committed a fine act of courage.
-"thank you," she said, "that is what i wanted to know."
-"but--" cried miss lucretia, in amazement and apprehension, "but what are you going to do?"
-"i am going to coniston," said cynthia, "to ask him if those things are true."
-"to ask him!"
-"yes. if he tells me they are true, then i shall believe them."
-"if he tells you?" miss lucretia gasped. here was a courage of which she had not reckoned. "do you think he will tell you?"
-"he will tell me, and i shall believe him, miss lucretia."
-"you are a remarkable girl, cynthia," said miss lucretia, involuntarily. then she paused for a moment. "suppose he tells you they are true? you surely can't live with him again, cynthia."
-"do you suppose i am going to desert him, miss lucretia?" she asked. "he loves me, and--and i love him." this was the first time her voice had faltered. "he kept my father from want and poverty, and he has brought me up as a daughter. if his life has been as you say, i shall make my own living!"
-"how?" demanded miss lucretia, the practical part of her coming uppermost.
-"i shall teach school. i believe i can get a position, in a place where i can see him often. i can break his heart, miss lucretia, i--i can bring sadness to myself, but i will not desert him."
-miss lucretia stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. she perceived that the girl had a spirit as strong as her own: that her plans were formed, her mind made up, and that no arguments could change her.
-"why did you come to me?" she asked irrelevantly.
-"because i thought that you would have read the articles, and i knew if you had, you would have taken the trouble to inform yourself of the world's opinion."
-again miss lucretia stared at her.
-"i will go to coniston with you," she said, "at least as far as brampton."
-cynthia's face softened a little at the words.
-"i would rather go alone, miss lucretia," she answered gently, but with the same firmness. "i--i am very grateful to you for your kindness to me in boston. i shall not forget it--or you. good-by, miss lucretia."
-but miss lucretia, sobbing openly, gathered the girl in her arms and pressed her. age was coming on her indeed, that she should show such weakness. for a long time she could not trust herself to speak, and then her words were broken. cynthia must come to her at the first sign of doubt or trouble: this, miss lucretia's house, was to be a refuge in any storm that life might send--and miss lucretia's heart. cynthia promised, and when she went out at last through the little door her own tears were falling, for she loved miss lucretia.
-cynthia was going to coniston. that journey was as fixed, as inevitable, as things mortal can be. she would go to coniston unless she perished on the way. no loving entreaties, no fears of mrs. merrill or her daughters, were of any avail. mrs. merrill too, was awed by the vastness of the girl's sorrow, and wondered if her own nature were small by comparison. she had wept, to be sure, at her husband's confession, and lain awake over it in the night watches, and thought of the early days of their marriage.
-and then, mrs. merrill told herself, cynthia would have to talk with mr. merrill. how was he to come unscathed out of that? there was pain and bitterness in that thought, and almost resentment against cynthia, quivering though she was with sympathy for the girl. for mrs. merrill, though the canker remained, had already pardoned her husband and had asked the forgiveness of god for that pardon. on other occasions, in other crisis, she had waited and watched for him in the parlor window, and to-night she was at the door before his key was in the lock, while he was still stamping the snow from his boots. she drew him into the room and told him what had happened.
-"oh, stephen," she cried, "what are you going to say to her?"
-what, indeed? his wife had sorrowed, but she had known the obstacles and perils by which he had been beset. but what was he to say to cynthia? her very name had grown upon him, middle-aged man of affairs though he was, until the thought of it summoned up in his mind a figure of purity, and of the strength which was from purity. he would not have believed it possible that the country girl whom they had taken into their house three months before should have wrought such an influence over them all.
-even in the first hour of her sorrow which she had spent that afternoon in the parlor, cynthia had thought of mr. merrill. he could tell her whether those accusations were true or false, for he was a friend of jethro's. her natural impulse--the primeval one of a creature which is hurt--had been to hide herself; to fly to her own room, and perhaps by nightfall the courage would come to her to ask him the terrible questions. he was a friend of jethro's. an illuminating flash revealed to her the meaning of that friendship--if the accusations were true. it was then she had thought of miss lucretia penniman, and somehow she had found the courage to face the sunlight and go to her. she would spare mr. merrill.
-but had she spared him? sadly the family sat down to supper without her, and after supper mr. merrill sent a message to his club that he could not attend a committee meeting there that evening. he sat with his wife in the little writing room, he pretending to read and she pretending to sew, until the silence grew too oppressive, and they spoke of the matter that was in their hearts. it was one of the bitterest evenings in mr. merrill's life, and there is no need to linger on it. they talked earnestly of cynthia, and of her future. but they both knew why she did not come down to them.
-"so she is really going to coniston," said mr. merrill.
-"yes," answered mrs. merrill, "and i think she is doing right, stephen."
-mr. merrill groaned. his wife rose and put her hand on his shoulder.
-"come, stephen," she said gently, "you will see her in the morning.
-"i will go to coniston with her," he said.
-"no," replied mrs. merrily "she wants to go alone. and i believe it is best that she should."
-great afflictions generally bring in their train a host of smaller sorrows, each with its own little pang. one of these sorrows had been the parting with the merrill family. under any circumstance it was not easy for cynthia to express her feelings, and now she had found it very difficult to speak of the gratitude and affection which she felt. but they understood--dear, good people that they were: no eloquence was needed with them. the ordeal of breakfast over, and the tearful "god bless you, miss cynthia," of ellen the parlor-maid, the whole family had gone with her to the station. for susan and jane had spent their last day at miss sadler's school.
-mr. merrill had sent for the conductor and bidden him take care of miss wetherell, and recommend her in his name to a conductor on the truro road. the man took off his cap to mr. merrill and called him by name and promised. it was a dark day, and long after the train had pulled out cynthia remembered the tearful faces of the family standing on the damp platform of the station. as they fled northward through the flat river-meadows, the conductor would have liked to talk to her of mr. merrill; there were few employees on any railroad who did not know the genial and kindly president of the grand gulf and sympathize with his troubles. but there was a look on the girl's face that forbade intrusion. passengers stared at her covertly, as though fascinated by that look, and some tried to fathom it. but her eyes were firmly fixed upon a point far beyond their vision. the car stopped many times, and flew on again, but nothing seemed to break her absorption.
-at last she was aroused by the touch of the conductor on her sleeve. the people were beginning to file out of the car, and the train was under the shadow of the snow-covered sheds in the station of the state capital. cynthia recognized the place, though it was cold and bare and very different in appearance from what it had been on the summer's evening when she had come into it with her father. that, in effect, had been her first glimpse of the world, and well she recalled the thrill it had given her. the joy of such things was gone now, the rapture of holidays and new sights. these were over, so she told herself. sorrow had quenched the thrills forever.
-the kind conductor led her to the eating room, and when she would not eat his concern drew greater than ever. he took a strange interest in this young lady who had such a face and such eyes. he pointed her out to his friend the truro conductor, and gave him some sandwiches and fruit which he himself had bought, with instructions to press them on her during the afternoon.
-cynthia could not eat. she hated this place, with its memories. hated it, too, as a mart where men were bought and sold, for the wording of those articles ran in her head as though some priest of evil were chanting them in her ears. she did not remember then the sweeter aspect of the old town, its pretty homes set among their shaded gardens--homes full of good and kindly people. state house affairs were far removed from most of these, and the sickness and corruption of the body politic. and this political corruption, had she known it, was no worse than that of the other states in the wide union: not so bad, indeed, as many, though this was small comfort. no comfort at all to cynthia, who did not think of it.
-after a while she rose and followed the new conductor to the truro train, glad to leave the capital behind her. she was going to the hills--to the mountains. they, in truth, could not change, though the seasons passed over them, hot and cold, wet and dry. they were immutable in their goodness. presently she saw them, the lower ones: the waters of the little stream beside her broke the black bonds of ice and raced over the rapids; the engine was puffing and groaning on the grade. then the sun crept out, slowly, from the indefinable margin of vapor that hung massed over the low country.
-yes, she had come to the hills. up and up climbed the train, through the little white villages in the valley nooks, banked with whiter snow; through the narrow gorges,--sometimes hanging over them,--under steep granite walls seared with ice-filled cracks, their brows hung with icicles.
-truro pass is not so high as the brenner, but it has a grand, wild look in winter, remote as it is from the haunts of men. a fitting refuge, it might be, for a great spirit heavy with the sins of the world below. such a place might have been chosen, in the olden time, for a monastery--a gray fastness built against the black forest over the crag looking down upon the green clumps of spruces against the snow. some vague longing for such a refuge was in cynthia's heart as she gazed upon that silent place, and then the waters had already begun to run westward--the waters of tumble down brook, which flowed into coniston water above brampton. the sun still had more than two hours to go on its journey to the hill crests when the train pulled into brampton station. there were but a few people on the platform, but the first face she saw as she stepped from the car was lem hallowell's. it was a very red face, as we know, and its owner was standing in front of the coniston stage, on runners now. he stared at her for an instant, and no wonder, and then he ran forward with outstretched hands.
-"cynthy--cynthy wetherell!" he cried. "great godfrey!"
-he got so far, he seized her hands, and then he stopped, not knowing why. there were many more ejaculations and welcomes and what not on the end of his tongue. it was not that she had become a lady--a lady of a type he had never before seen. he meant to say that, too, in his own way, but he couldn't. and that transformation would have bothered lem but little. what was the change, then? why was he in awe of her--he, lem hallowell, who had never been in awe of any one? he shook his head, as though openly confessing his inability to answer that question. he wanted to ask others, but they would not come.
-"lem," she said, "i am so glad you are here."
-"climb right in, cynthy. i'll get the trunk." there it lay, the little rawhide one before him on the boards, and he picked it up in his bare hands as though it had been a paper parcel. it was a peculiarity of the stage driver that he never wore gloves, even in winter, so remarkable was the circulation of his blood. after the trunk he deposited, apparently with equal ease, various barrels and boxes, and then he jumped in beside cynthia, and they drove down familiar brampton street, as wide as a wide river; past the meeting-house with the terraced steeple; past the postoffice,--cousin ephraim's postoffice,--where lem gave her a questioning look--but she shook her head, and he did not wait for the distribution of the last mail that day; past the great mansion of isaac d. worthington, where the iron mastiffs on the lawn were up to their muzzles in snow. after that they took the turn to the right, which was the road to coniston.
-for a long time the silence of the great hills was broken only by the sweet jingle of the bells on the shaft. many a day, winter and summer, lem had gone that road alone, whistling, and never before heeding that silence. now it seemed to symbolize a great sorrow: to be in subtle harmony with that of the girl at his side. what that sorrow was he could not guess. the good man yearned to comfort her, and yet he felt his comfort too humble to be noticed by such sorrow. he longed to speak, but for the first time in his life feared the sound of his own voice. cynthia had not spoken since she left the station, had not looked at him, had not asked for the friends and neighbors whom she had loved so well--had not asked for jethro! was there any sorrow on earth to be felt like that? and was there one to feel it?
-at length, when they reached the great forest, lem hallowell knew that he must speak or cry aloud. but what would be the sound of his voice--after such an age of disuse? could he speak at all? broken and hoarse and hideous though the sound might be, he must speak. and hoarse and broken it was. it was not his own, but still it was a voice.
-"folks--folks'll be surprised to see you, cynthy."
-no, he had not spoken at all. yes, he had, for she answered him.
-"i suppose they will, lem."
-"mighty glad to have you back, cynthy. we think a sight of you. we missed you."
-"thank you, lem."
-"jethro hain't lookin' for you by any chance, be he?
-"no," she said. but the question startled her. suppose he had not been at home! she had never once thought of that. could she have borne to wait for him?
-"good lord, it's cynthy!"
-"where's jethro?" demanded lem.
-milly did not answer at once. she was staring at cynthia.
-"he's in the tannery shed," she said, "choppin' wood." but still she kept her eyes on cynthia's face. "i'll fetch him."
-"no," said cynthia, "i'll go to him there."
-she took the path, leaving millicent with her mouth open, too amazed to speak again, and yet not knowing why.
-in the tannery shed! would jethro remember what happened there almost six and thirty years before? would he remember how that other cynthia had come to him there, and what her appeal had been?
-cynthia came to the doors. one of these was open now--both had been closed that other evening against the storm of sleet--and she caught a glimpse of him standing on the floor of chips and bark--tan-bark no more. cynthia caught a glimpse of him, and love suddenly welled up into her heart as waters into a spring after a drought. he had not seen her, not heard the sound of the sleigh-bells. he was standing with his foot upon the sawbuck and the saw across his knee, he was staring at the woodpile, and there was stamped upon his face a look which no man or woman had ever seen there, a look of utter loneliness and desolation, a look as of a soul condemned to wander forever through the infinite, cold spaces between the worlds--alone.
-cynthia stopped at sight of it. what had been her misery and affliction compared to this? her limbs refused her, though she knew not whether she would have fled or rushed into his arms. how long she stood thus, and he stood, may not be said, but at length he put down his foot and took the saw from his knee, his eyes fell upon her, and his lips spoke her name.
-speechless, she ran to him and flung her arms about his neck, and he dropped the saw and held her tightly--even as he had held that other cynthia in that place in the year gone by. and yet not so. now he clung to her with a desperation that was terrible, as though to let go of her would be to fall into nameless voids beyond human companionship and love. but at last he did release her, and stood looking down into her face, as if seeking to read a sentence there.
-and how was she to pronounce that sentence! though her faith might be taken away, her love remained, and grew all the greater because he needed it. yet she knew that no subterfuge or pretence would avail her to hide why she had come. she could not hide it. it must be spoken out now, though death was preferable.
-and he was waiting. did he guess? she could not tell. he had spoken no word but her name. he had expressed no surprise at her appearance, asked no reasons for it. superlatives of suffering or joy or courage are hard to convey--words fall so far short of the feeling. and cynthia's pain was so far beyond tears.
-"uncle jethro," she said, "yesterday something--something happened. i could not stay in boston any longer."
-"i had to come to you. i could not wait."
-he nodded again.
-"i--i read something." to take a white-hot iron and sear herself would have been easier than this.
-"yes," he said.
-she felt that the look was coming again--the look which she had surprised in his face. his hands dropped lifelessly from her shoulders, and he turned and went to the door, where he stood with his back to her, silhouetted against the eastern sky all pink from the reflection of sunset. he would not help her. perhaps he could not. the things were true. there had been a grain of hope within her, ready to sprout.
-"i read two articles from the newcastle guardian about you--about your life."
-"yes," he said. but he did not turn.
-"how you had--how you had earned your living. how you had gained your power," she went on, her pain lending to her voice an exquisite note of many modulations.
-"yes--cynthy," he said, and still stared at the eastern sky.
-she took two steps toward him, her arms outstretched, her fingers opening and closing. and then she stopped.
-"i would believe no one," she said, "i will believe no one--until--unless you tell me. uncle jethro," she cried in agony, "uncle jethro, tell me that those things are not true!"
-she waited a space, but he did not stir. there was no sound, save the song of coniston water under the shattered ice.
-"won't you speak to me?" she whispered. "won't you tell me that they are not true?"
-his shoulders shook convulsively. o for the right to turn to her and tell her that they were lies! he would have bartered his soul for it. what was all the power in the world compared to this priceless treasure he had lost? once before he had cast it away, though without meaning to. then he did not know the eternal value of love--of such love as those two women had given him. now he knew that it was beyond value, the one precious gift of life, and the knowledge had come too late. could he have saved his life if he had listened to that other cynthia?
-"won't you tell me that they are not true?"
-even then he did not turn to her, but he answered. curious to relate, though his heart was breaking, his voice was steady--steady as it always had been.
-"i--i've seen it comin', cynthy," he said. "i never knowed anything i was afraid of before--but i was afraid of this. i knowed what your notions of right and wrong was--your--your mother had them. they're the principles of good people. i--i knowed the day would come when you'd ask, but i wanted to be happy as long as i could. i hain't been happy, cynthy. but you was right when you said i'd tell you the truth. s-so i will. i guess them things which you speak about are true--the way i got where i am, and the way i made my livin'. they--they hain't put just as they'd ought to be, perhaps, but that's the way i done it in the main."
-it was thus that jethro bass met the supreme crisis of his life. and who shall say he did not meet it squarely and honestly? few men of finer fibre and more delicate morals would have acquitted themselves as well. that was a judgment day for jethro; and though he knew it not, he spoke through cynthia to his maker, confessing his faults freely and humbly, and dwelling on the justness of his punishment; putting not forward any good he may have done; nor thinking of it; nor seeking excuse because of the light that was in him. had he been at death's door in the face of nameless tortures, no man could have dragged such a confession from him. but a great love had been given him, and to that love he must speak the truth, even at the cost of losing it.
-but he was not to lose it. even as he was speaking a thrill of admiration ran through cynthia, piercing her sorrow. the superb strength of the man was there in that simple confession, and it is in the nature of woman to admire strength. he had fought his fight, and gained, and paid the price without a murmur, seeking no palliation. cynthia had not come to that trial--so bitter for her--as a judge. if the reader has seen youth and innocence sitting in the seat of justice, with age and experience at the bar, he has mistaken cynthia. she came to coniston inexorable, it is true, because hers was a nature impelled to do right though it perish. she did not presume to say what jethro's lights and opportunities might have been. her own she knew, and by them she must act accordingly.
-when he had finished speaking, she stole silently to his side and slipped her hand in his. he trembled violently at her touch.
-"uncle jethro," she said in a low tone, "i love you."
-at the words he trembled more violently still.
-"no, no, cynthy," he answered thickly, "don't say that--i--i don't expect it, cynthy, i know you can't--'twouldn't be right, cynthy. i hain't fit for it."
-"uncle jethro," she said, "i love you better than i have ever loved you in my life."
-oh, how welcome were the tears! and how human! he turned, pitifully incredulous, wondering that she should seek by deceit to soften the blow; he saw them running down her cheeks, and he believed. yes, he believed, though it seemed a thing beyond belief. unworthy, unfit though he were, she loved him. and his own love as he gazed at her, sevenfold increased as it had been by the knowledge of losing her, changed in texture from homage to worship--nay, to adoration. his punishment would still be heavy; but whence had come such a wondrous gift to mitigate it?
-"oh, don't you believe me?" she cried, "can't you see that it is true?"
-and yet he could only hold her there at arm's length with that new and strange reverence in his face. he was not worthy to touch her, but still she loved him.
-the flush had faded from the eastern sky, and the faintest border of yellow light betrayed the ragged outlines of the mountain as they walked together to the tannery house.
-millicent, in the kitchen, was making great preparations--for millicent. miss skinner was a person who had hitherto laid it down as a principle of life to pay deference or do honor to no human made of mere dust, like herself. millicent's exception; if cynthia had thought about it, was a tribute of no mean order. cynthia, alas, did not think about it: she did not know that, in her absence, the fire had not been lighted in the evening, jethro supping on crackers and milk and milly partaking of the evening meal at home. moreover, miss skinner had an engagement with a young man. cynthia saw the fire, and threw off her sealskin coat which mr. and mrs. merrill had given her for christmas, and took down the saucepan from the familiar nail on which it hung. it was a miraculous fact, for which she did not attempt to account, that she was almost happy: happy, indeed, in comparison to that which had been her state since the afternoon before. millicent snatched the saucepan angrily from her hand.
-"what be you doin', cynthy?" she demanded.
-such was miss skinner's little way of showing deference. though deference is not usually vehement, miss skinner's was very real, nevertheless.
-"why, milly, what's the matter?" exclaimed cynthia, in astonishment.
-"you hain't a-goin' to do any cookin', that's all," said milly, very red in the face.
-"but i've always helped," said cynthia. "why not?"
-why not? a tribute was one thing, but to have to put the reasons for that tribute, into words was quite another.
-"why not?" cried milly, "because you hain't a-goin' to, that's all."
-strange deference! but cynthia turned and looked at the girl with a little, sad smile of comprehension and affection. she took her by the shoulders and kissed her.
-whereupon a most amazing thing happened--millicent burst into tears--wild, ungovernable tears they were.
-"because you hain't a-goin' to," she repeated, her words interspersed with violent sobs. "you go 'way, cynthy," she cried, "git out!"
-"milly," said cynthia, shaking her head, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself." but they were not words of reproof. she took a little lamp from the shelf, and went up the narrow stairs to her own room in the gable, where lemuel had deposited the rawhide trunk.
-though she had had nothing all day, she felt no hunger, but for milly's sake she tried hard to eat the supper when it came. before it had fairly begun moses hatch had arrived, with amandy and eben; and rias richardson came in, and other neighbors, to say a word of welcome to hear (if the truth be not too disparaging to their characters) the reasons for her sudden appearance, and such news of her boston experiences as she might choose to give them. they had learned from lem hallowell that cynthia had returned a lady: a real lady, not a sham one who relied on airs and graces, such as had come to coniston the summer before to look for a summer place on the painter's recommendation. lem was not a gossip, in the disagreeable sense of the term, and he had not said a word to his neighbors of his feelings on that terrible drive from brampton. knowing that some blow had fallen upon cynthia, he would have spared her these visits if he could. but lem was wise and kind, so he merely said that she had returned a lady.
-and they had found a lady. as they stood or sat around the kitchen (eben and rias stood), cynthia talked to them--about coniston: rather, be it said, that they talked about coniston in answer to her questions. the sledding had been good; moses had hauled so many thousand feet of lumber to brampton; sam price's woman (she of harwich) had had a spell of sciatica; chester perkins's bull had tossed his brother-in-law, come from iowy on a visit, and broke his leg; yes, amandy guessed her dyspepsy was somewhat improved since she had tried graham's golden remedy--it made her feel real lighthearted; eben (blushing furiously) was to have the brook farm in the spring; there was a case of spotted fever in tarleton.
-mr. satterlee looked at her, and then he went quietly across the room and kissed her. but then mr. satterlee was the minister. cynthia thought his hair a little thinner and the lines in his face a little deeper. and mr. satterlee thought perhaps he was the only one of the visitors who guessed why she had come back. he laid his thin hand on her head, as though in benediction, and sat down beside her.
-"and how is the learning, cynthia?" he asked.
-now, indeed, they were going to hear something at last. an intuition impelled cynthia to take advantage of that opportunity.
-"the learning has become so great, mr. satterlee," she said, "that i have come back to try to make some use of it. it shall be wasted no more."
-she did not dare to look at jethro, but she was aware that he had sat down abruptly. what sacrifice will not a good woman make to ease the burden of those whom she loves! and jethro's burden would be heavy enough. such a woman will speak almost gayly, though her heart be heavy. but cynthia's was lighter now than it had been.
-"i was always sure you would not waste your learning, cynthia," said mr. satterlee, gravely; "that you would make the most of the advantages god has given you."
-"i am going to try, mr. satterlee. i cannot be content in idleness. i was wasting time in boston, and i--i was not happy so far away from you all--from uncle jethro. mr. satterlee, i am going to teach school. i have always wanted to, and now i have made up my mind to do it."
-this was jethro's punishment. but had she not lightened it for him a little by choosing this way of telling him that she could not eat his bread or partake of his bounty? though by reason of that bounty she was what she was, she could not live and thrive on it longer, coming as it did from such a source. mr. satterlee might perhaps surmise the truth, but the town and village would think her ambition a very natural one, certainly no better time could have been chosen to announce it.
-"to teach school." she was sure now that mr. satterlee knew and approved, and perceived something, at least, of her little ruse. he was a man whose talents fitted him for a larger flock than he had at coniston, but he possessed neither the graces demanded of city ministers nor the power of pushing himself. never was a more retiring man. the years she had spent in his study had not gone for nothing, for he who has cherished the bud can predict what the flower will be, and mr. satterlee knew her spiritually better than any one else in coniston. he had heard of her return, and had walked over to the tannery house, full of fears, the remembrance of those expressions of simple faith in jethro coming back to his mind. had the revelation which he had so long expected come at last? and how had she taken it? would it embitter her? the good man believed that it would not, and now he saw that it had not, and rejoiced accordingly.
-"to teach school," he said. "i expected that you would wish to, cynthia. it is a desire that most of us have, who like books and what is in them. i should have taught school if i had not become a minister. it is a high calling, and an absorbing one, to develop the minds of the young." mr. satterlee was often a little discursive, though there was reason for it on this occasion, and moses hatch half closed his eyes and bowed his head a little out of sheer habit at the sound of the minister's voice. but he raised it suddenly at the next words. "i was in brampton yesterday, and saw mr. graves, who is on the prudential committee of that district. you may not have heard that miss goddard has left. they have not yet succeeded in filling her place, and i think it more than likely that you can get it."
-cynthia glanced at jethro, but the habit of years was so strong in him that he gave no sign.
-"do you think so, mr. satterlee?" she said gratefully. "i had heard of the place, and hoped for it, because it is near enough for me to spend the saturdays and sundays with uncle jethro. and i meant to go to brampton tomorrow to see about it."
-"i will go with you," said the minister; "i have business in brampton to-morrow." he did not mention that this was the business.
-when at length they had all departed, jethro rose and went about the house making fast the doors, as was his custom, while cynthia sat staring through the bars at the dying embers in the stove. he knew now, and it was inevitable that he should know, what she had made up her mind to do. it had been decreed that she, who owed him everything, should be made to pass this most dreadful of censures upon his whole life. oh, the cruelty of that decree!
-how, she mused, would it affect him? had the blow been so great that he would relinquish those practices which had become a lifelong habit with him? would he (she caught her breath at this thought) would he abandon that struggle with isaac d. worthington in which he was striving to maintain the mastery of the state by those very practices? cynthia hated mr. worthington. the term is not too strong, and it expresses her feeling. but she would have got down on her knees on the board floor of the kitchen that very night and implored jethro to desist from that contest, if she could. she remembered how, in her innocence, she had believed that the people had given jethro his power,--in those days when she was so proud of that very power,--now she knew that he had wrested it from them. what more supreme sacrifice could he make than to relinquish it! ah, there was a still greater sacrifice that jethro was to make, had she known it.
-he came and stood over her by the stove, and she looked up into his face with these yearnings in her eyes. yes, she would have thrown herself on her knees, if she could. but she could not. perhaps he would abandon that struggle. perhaps--perhaps his heart was broken. and could a man with a broken heart still fight on? she took his hand and pressed it against her face, and he felt that it was wet with her tears.
-"b-better go to bed now, cynthy," he said; "m-must be worn out--m-must be worn out."
-he stooped and kissed her on the forehead. it was thus that jethro bass accepted his sentence.
-at sunrise, in that coniston hill-country, it is the western hills which are red; and a distant hillock on the meadow farm which was soon to be eden's looked like the daintiest conical cake with pink icing as cynthia surveyed the familiar view the next morning. there was the mountain, the pastures on the lower slopes all red, too, and higher up the dark masses of bristling spruce and pine and hemlock mottled with white where the snow-covered rocks showed through.
-sunrise in january is not very early, and sunrise at any season is not early for coniston. cynthia sat at her window, and wondered whether that beautiful landscape would any longer be hers. her life had grown up on it; but now her life had changed. would the beauty be taken from it, too? almost hungrily she gazed at the scene. she might look upon it again--many times, perhaps--but a conviction was strong in her that its daily possession would now be only a memory.
-mr. satterlee was as good as his word, for he was seated in the stage when it drew up at the tannery house, ready to go to brampton. and as they drove away cynthia took one last look at jethro standing on the porch. it seemed to her that it had been given her to feel all things, and to know all things: to know, especially, this strange man, jethro bass, as none other knew him, and to love him as none other loved him. the last severe wrench was come, and she had left him standing there alone in the cold, divining what was in his heart as though it were in her own. how worthless was this mighty power which he had gained, how hateful, when he could not bestow the smallest fragment of it upon one whom he loved? someone has described hell as disqualification in the face of opportunity. such was jethro's torment that morning as he saw her drive away, the minister in the place where he should have been, at her side, and he, jethro bass, as helpless as though he had indeed been in the pit among the flames. had the prudential committee at brampton promised the appointment ten times over, he might still have obtained it for her by a word. and he must not speak even that word. who shall say that a large part of the punishment of jethro bass did not come to him in the life upon this earth.
-some such thoughts were running in cynthia's head as they jingled away to brampton that dazzling morning. perhaps the stage driver, too, who knew something of men and things and who meddled not at all, had made a guess at the situation. he thought that cynthia's spirits seemed lightened a little, and he meant to lighten them more; so he joked as much as his respect for his passengers would permit, and told the news of brampton. not the least of the news concerned the first citizen of that place. there was a certain railroad in the west which had got itself much into congress, and much into the newspapers, and isaac d. worthington had got himself into that railroad: was gone west, it was said on that business, and might not be back for many weeks. and lem hallowell remembered when mr. worthington was a slim-cheated young man wandering up and down coniston water in search of health. good mr. satterlee, thinking this a safe subject, allowed himself to be led into a discussion of the first citizen's career, which indeed had something fascinating in it.
-thus they jingled into brampton street and stopped before the cottage of judge graves--a courtesy title. the judge himself came to the door and bestowed a pronounced bow on the minister, for mr. satterlee was honored in brampton. just think of what ezra graves might have looked like, and you have him. he greeted cynthia, too, with a warm welcome--for ezra graves,--and ushered them into a best parlor which was reserved for ministers and funerals and great occasions in general, and actually raised the blinds. then mr. satterlee, with much hemming and hawing, stated the business which had brought them, while cynthia looked out of the window.
-mr. graves sat and twirled his lean thumbs. he went so far as to say that he admired a young woman who scorned to live in idleness, who wished to impart the learning with which she had been endowed. fifteen applicants were under consideration for the position, and the prudential committee had so far been unable to declare that any of them were completely qualified. (it was well named, that prudential committee?) mr. graves, furthermore, volunteered that he had expressed a wish to colonel prescott (oh, ephraim, you too have got a title with your new honors!), to colonel prescott and others, that miss wetherell might take the place. the middle term opened on the morrow, and miss bruce, of the worthington free library, had been induced to teach until a successor could be appointed, although it was most inconvenient for miss bruce.
-could miss wetherell start in at once, provided the committee agreed? cynthia replied that she would like nothing better. there would be an examination before mr. errol, the brampton superintendent of schools. in short, owing to the pressing nature of the occasion, the judge would take the liberty of calling the committee together immediately. would mr. satterlee and miss wetherell make themselves at home in the parlor?
-it very frequently happens that one member of a committee is the brain, and the other members form the body of it. it was so in this case. ezra graves typified all of prudence there was about it, which, it must be admitted, was a great deal. he it was who had weighed in the balance the fifteen applicants and found them wanting. another member of the committee was that comfortable mr. dodd, with the tuft of yellow beard, the hardware dealer whom we have seen at the baseball game. mr. dodd was not a person who had opinions unless they were presented to him from certain sources, and then he had been known to cling to them tenaciously. it is sufficient to add that, when cynthia wetherell's name was mentioned to him, he remembered the girl to whom bob worthington had paid such marked attentions on the grand stand. he knew literally nothing else about cynthia. judge graves, apparently, knew all about her; this was sufficient, at that time, for mr. dodd; he was sick and tired of the whole affair, and if, by the grace of heaven, an applicant had been sent who conformed with judge graves's multitude of requirements, he was devoutly thankful. the other member, mr. hill, was a feed and lumber dealer, and not a very good one, for he was always in difficulties; certain scholarly attainments were attributed to him, and therefore he had been put on the committee. they met in mr. dodd's little office back of the store, and in five minutes cynthia was a schoolmistress, subject to examination by mr. errol.
-just a word about mr. errol. he was a retired lawyer, with some means, who took an interest in town affairs to occupy his time. he had a very delicate wife, whom he had been obliged to send south at the beginning of the winter. there she had for a while improved, but had been taken ill again, and two days before cynthia's appointment he had been summoned to her bedside by a telegram. cynthia could go into the school, and her examination would take place when mr. errol returned.
-all this was explained by the judge when, half an hour after he had left them, he returned to the best parlor. miss wetherell would, then, be prepared to take the school the following morning. whereupon the judge shook hands with her, and did not deny that he had been instrumental in the matter.
-"and, mr. satterlee, i am so grateful to you," said cynthia, when they were in the street once more.
-"my dear cynthia, i did nothing," answered the minister, quite bewildered by the quick turn affairs had taken; "it is your own good reputation that got you the place."
-nevertheless mr. satterlee had done his share in the matter. he had known mr. graves for a long time, and better than any other person in brampton. mr. graves remembered cynthia ware, and indeed had spoken to cynthia that day about her mother. mr. graves had also read poor william wetherell's contributions to the newcastle guardian, and he had not read that paper since they had ceased. from time to time mr. satterlee had mentioned his pupil to the judge, whose mind had immediately flown to her when the vacancy occurred. so it all came about.
-"and now," said mr. satterlee, "what will you do, cynthia? we've got the good part of a day to arrange where you will live, before the stage returns."
-"i won't go back to-night, i think," said cynthia, turning her head away; "if you would be good enough to tell uncle jethro to send my trunk and some other things."
-"perhaps that is just as well," assented the minister, understanding perfectly. "i have thought that miss bruce might be glad to board you," he continued, after a pause. "let us go to see her."
-"mr. satterlee," said cynthia, "would you mind if we went first to see cousin ephraim?"
-"why, of course, we must see ephraim," said mr. satterlee, briskly. so they walked on past the mansion of the first citizen, and the new block of stores which the first citizen had built, to the old brick building which held the brampton post-office, and right through the door of the partition into the sanctum of the postmaster himself, which some one had nicknamed the brampton club. on this occasion the postmaster was seated in his shirt sleeves by the stove, alone, his listeners being conspicuously absent. cynthia, who had caught a glimpse of him through the little mail-window, thought he looked very happy and comfortable.
-"great tecumseh!" he cried,--an exclamation he reserved for extraordinary occasions, "if it hain't cynthy!"
-he started to hobble toward her, but cynthia ran to him.
-"why," said he, looking at her closely after the greeting was over, "you be changed, cynthy. mercy, i don't know as i'd have dared done that if i'd seed you first. what have you b'en doin' to yourself? you must have seed a whole lot down there in boston. and you're a full-blown lady, too."
-"oh, no, i'm not, cousin eph," she answered, trying to smile.
-"yes, you be," he insisted, still scrutinizing her, vainly trying to account for the change. tact, as we know, was not ephraim's strong point. now he shook his head. "you always was beyond me. got a sort of air about you, and it grows on you, too. wouldn't be surprised," he declared, speaking now to the minister, "wouldn't be a mite surprised to see her in the white house, some day."
-"now, cousin eph," said cynthia, coloring a little, "you mustn't talk nonsense. what have you done with your coat? you have no business to go without it with your rheumatism."
-"it hain't b'en so bad since uncle sam took me over again, cynthy," he answered, "with nothin' to do but sort letters in a nice hot room." the room was hot, indeed. "but where did you come from?"
-"i grew tired of being taught, cousin eph. i--i've always wanted to teach. mr. satterlee has been with me to see mr. graves, and they've given me miss goddard's place. i'm coming to brampton to live, to-day."
-"great tecumseh!" exclaimed ephraim again, overpowered by the yews. "i want to know! what does jethro say to that?"
-"he--he is willing," she replied in a low voice.
-"well," said ephraim, "i always thought you'd come to it. it's in the blood, i guess--teachin'. your mother had it too. i'm kind of sorry for jethro, though, so i be. but i'm glad for myself, cynthy. so you're comin' to brampton to live with me!
-"i was going to ask miss bruce to take me in," said cynthia.
-"no you hain't, anything of the kind," said ephraim, indignantly. "i've got a little house up the street, and a room all ready for you."
-"will you let me share expenses, cousin eph?"
-"i'll let you do anything you want," said he, "so's you come. don't you think she'd ought to come and take care of an old man, mr. satterlee?"
-mr. satterlee turned. he had been contemplating, during this conversation, a life-size print of general grant under two crossed flags, that was hung conspicuously on the wall.
-"i do not think you could do better, cynthia," he answered, smiling. the minister liked ephraim, and he liked a little joke, occasionally. he felt that one would not be, particularly out of place just now; so he repeated, "i do not think you could do better than to accept the offer of colonel prescott."
-ephraim grew very red, as was his wont when twitted about his new title. he took things literally.
-"i hain't a colonel, no more than you be, mr. satterlee. but the boys down here will have it so."
-three days later, by the early train which leaves the state capital at an unheard-of hour in the morning, a young man arrived in brampton. his jaw seemed squarer than ever to the citizens who met the train out of curiosity, and to mr. dodd, who was expecting a pump; and there was a set look on his face like that of a man who is going into a race or a fight. mr. dodd, though astonished, hastened toward him.
-"well, this is unexpected, bob," said he. "how be you? harvard college failed up?"
-"how are you, mr. dodd?" answered bob, nodding at him carelessly, and passing on. mr. dodd did not dare to follow. what was young worthington doing in brampton, and his father in the west on that railroad business? filled with curiosity, mr. dodd forgot his pump, but bob was already striding into brampton street, carrying his bag. if he had stopped for a few moments with the hardware dealer, or chatted with any of the dozen people who bowed and stared at him, he might have saved himself a good deal of trouble. he turned in at the worthington mansion, and rang the bell, which was answered by sarah, the housemaid.
-"mr. bob!" she exclaimed.
-"where's mrs. holden?" he asked.
-mrs. holden was the elderly housekeeper. she had gone, unfortunately, to visit a bereaved relative; unfortunately for bob, because she, too, might have told him something.
-"get me some breakfast, sarah. anything," he commanded, "and tell silas to hitch up the black trotters to my cutter."
-sarah, though in consternation, did as she was bid. the breakfast was forthcoming, and in half an hour silas had the black trotters at the door. bob got in without a word, seized the reins, the cutter flew down brampton street (observed by many of the residents thereof) and turned into the coniston road. silas said nothing. silas, as a matter of fact, never did say anything. he had been the worthington coachman for five and twenty years, and he was known in brampton as silas the silent. young mr. worthington had no desire to talk that morning.
-the black trotters covered the ten miles in much quicker time than lem hallowell could do it in his stage, but the distance seemed endless to bob. it was not much more than half an hour after he had left brampton street, however, that he shot past the store, and by the time rias richardson in his carpet slippers reached the platform the cutter was in front of the tannery house, and the trotters, with their sides smoking, were pawing up the snow under the butternut tree.
-bob leaped out, hurried up the path, and knocked at the door. it was opened by jethro bass himself!
-"how do you do, mr. bass," said the young man, gravely, and he held out his hand. jethro gave him such a scrutinizing look as he had given many a man whose business he cared to guess, but bob looked fearlessly into his eyes. jethro took his hand.
-"c-come in," he said.
-bob went into that little room where jethro and cynthia had spent so many nights together, and his glance flew straight to the picture on the wall,--the portrait of cynthia wetherell in crimson and seed pearls, so strangely set amidst such surroundings. his glance went to the portrait, and his feet followed, as to a lodestone. he stood in front of it for many minutes, in silence, and jethro watched him. at last he turned.
-"where is she?" he asked.
-it was a queer question, and jethro's answer was quite as lacking in convention.
-"g-gone to brampton--gone to brampton."
-"gone to brampton! do you mean to say--? what is she doing there?" bob demanded.
-"teachin' school," said jethro; "g-got miss goddard's place."
-bob did not reply for a moment. the little schoolhouse was the only building in brampton he had glanced at as he came through. mrs. merrill had told him that she might take that place, but he had little imagined she was already there on her platform facing the rows of shining little faces at the desks. he had deemed it more than possible that he might see jethro at coniston, but he had not taken into account that which he might say to him. bob had, indeed, thought of nothing but cynthia, and of the blow that had fallen upon her. he had tried to realize the, multiple phases of the situation which confronted him. here was the man who, by the conduct of his life, had caused the blow; he, too, was her benefactor; and again, this same man was engaged in the bitterest of conflicts with his father, isaac d. worthington, and it was this conflict which had precipitated that blow. bob could not have guessed, by looking at jethro bass, how great was the sorrow which had fallen upon him. but bob knew that jethro hated his father, must hate him now, because of cynthia, with a hatred given to few men to feel. he thought that jethro would crush mr. worthington and ruin him if he could; and bob believed he could.
-what was he to say? he did not fear jethro, for bob worthington had courage enough; but these things were running in his mind, and he felt the power of the man before him, as all men did. bob went to the window and came back again. he knew that he must speak.
-"mr. bass," he said at last, "did cynthia ever mention me to you?"
-"no," said jethro.
-"mr. bass, i love her. i have told her so, and i have asked her to be my wife."
-there was no need, indeed, to have told jethro this. the shock of that revelation had come to him when he had seen the trotters, had been confirmed when the young man had stood before the portrait. jethro's face might have twitched when bob stood there with his back to him.
-jethro could not speak. once more there had come to him a moment when he would not trust his voice to ask a question. he dreaded the answer, though none might have surmised this. he knew cynthia. he knew that, when she had given her heart, it was for all time. he dreaded the answer; because it might mean that her sorrow was doubled.
-"i believe," bob continued painfully, seeing that jethro would say nothing, "i believe that cynthia loves me. i should not dare to say it or to hope it, without reason. she has not said so, but--" the words were very hard for him, yet he stuck manfully to the truth; "but she told me to write to my father and let him know what i had done, and not to come back to her until i had his answer. this," he added, wondering that a man could listen to such a thing without a sign, "this was before--before she had any idea of coming home."
-yes, cynthia, did love him. there was no doubt about it in jethro's mind. she would not have bade bob write to his father if she had not loved him. still jethro did not speak, but by some intangible force compelled bob to go on.
-"i shall write to my father as soon as he comes back from the west, but i wish to say to you, mr. bass, that whatever his answer contains, i mean to marry cynthia. nothing can shake me from that resolution. i tell you this because my father is fighting you, and you know what he will say." (jethro knew dudley worthington well enough to appreciate that this would make no particular difference in his opposition to the marriage except to make that opposition more vehement.) "and because you do not know me," continued bob. "when i say a thing, i mean it. even if my father cuts me off and casts me out, i will marry cynthia. good-by, mr. bass."
-jethro took the young man's hand again. bob imagined that he even pressed it--a little--something he had never done before.
-bob got as far as the door.
-"er--go back to harvard, bob?"
-"i intend to, mr. bass."
-"d-don't quarrel with your father--don't quarrel with your father."
-"i shan't be the one to quarrel, mr. bass."
-"bob--hain't you pretty young--pretty young?"
-"yes," said bob, rather unexpectedly, "i am." then he added, "i know my own mind."
-"p-pretty young. don't want to get married yet awhile--do you?"
-"yes, i do," said bob, "but i suppose i shan't be able to."
-"er--wait awhile, bob. go back to harvard. w-wouldn't write that letter if i was you."
-"but i will. i'll not have him think i'm ashamed of what i've done. i'm proud of it, mr. bass."
-in the eyes of coniston, which had been waiting for his reappearance, bob worthington jumped into the sleigh and drove off. he left behind him jethro bass, who sat in his chair the rest of the morning with his head bent in revery so deep that millicent had to call him twice to his simple dinner. bob left behind him, too, a score of rumors, sprung full grown into life with his visit. men and women an incredible distance away heard them in an incredible time: those in the village found an immediate pretext for leaving their legitimate occupation and going to the store, and a gathering was in session there when young mr. worthington drove past it on his way back. bob thought little about the rumors, and not thinking of them it did not occur to him that they might affect cynthia. the only person then in coniston whom he thought about was jethro bass. bob decided that his liking for jethro had not diminished, but rather increased; he admired jethro for the advice he had given, although he did not mean to take it. and for the first time he pitied him.
-bob did not know that rumor, too, was spreading in brampton. he had his dinner in the big walnut dining room all alone, and after it he smoked his father's cigars and paced up and down the big hall, watching the clock. for he could not go to her in the school hours. at length he put on his hat and hurried out, crossing the park-like enclosure in the middle of the street; bowed at by mr. dodd, who always seemed to be on hand, and others, and nodding absently in return. concealment was not in bob worthington's nature. he reached the post-office, where the partition door was open, and he walked right into a comparatively full meeting of the brampton club. ephraim sat in their midst, and for once he was not telling war stories. he was silent. and the others fell suddenly silent, too, at bob's entrance.
-"how do you do, mr. prescott?" he said, as ephraim struggled to his feet. "how is the rheumatism?"
-"how be you, mr. worthington?" said ephraim; "this is a kind of a surprise, hain't it?" ephraim was getting used to surprises. "well, it is good-natured of you to come in and shake hands with an old soldier."
-"don't mention it, mr. prescott," answered honest bob, a little abashed, "i should have done so anyway, but the fact is, i wanted to speak to you a moment in private."
-"where does cynthia-live?" he demanded, coming straight to the point.
-ephraim stared at him for a moment in a bewildered fashion, and then a light began to dawn on him.
-it was not the way ephraim would have gone about a love affair, had he had one. sam price's were the approved methods in that section of the country, though sam had overdone them somewhat. it was an unheard-of thing to ask a man right out like that where a girl lived.
-"much obliged," said bob, and was gone. ephraim raised his hands in despair, and hobbled to the little window to get a last look at him. where were the proprieties in these days? the other aspect of the affair, what mr. worthington would think of it when he returned, did not occur to the innocent mind of the old soldier until people began to talk about it that afternoon. then it worried him into another attack of rheumatism.
-half of brampton must have seen bob worthington march up to the little yellow house which ephraim had rented from john billings. it had four rooms around the big chimney in the middle, and that was all. simple as it was, an architect would have said that its proportions were nearly perfect. john billings had it from his grandfather post, who built it, and though brampton would have laughed at the statement, isaac d. worthington's mansion was not to be compared with it for beauty. the old cherry furniture was still in it, and the old wall papers and the panelling in the little room to the right which cynthia had made into a sitting room.
-half of brampton, too, must have seen cynthia open the door and bob walk into the entry. then the door was shut. but it had been held open for an appreciable time, however,--while you could count twenty,--because cynthia had not the power to close it. for a while she could only look into his eyes, and he into hers. she had not seen him coming, she had but answered the knock. then, slowly, the color came into her cheeks, and she knew that she was trembling from head to foot.
-"cynthia," he said, "mayn't i come in?"
-she did not answer, for fear her voice would tremble, too. and she could not send him away in the face of all brampton. she opened the door a little wider, a very little, and he went in. then she closed it, and for a moment they stood facing each other in the entry, which was lighted only by the fan-light over the door, cynthia with her back against the wall. he spoke her name again, his voice thick with the passion which had overtaken him like a flood at the sight of her--a passion to seize her in his arms, and cherish and comfort and protect her forever and ever. all this he felt and more as he looked into her face and saw the traces of her great sorrow there. he had not thought that that face could be more beautiful in its strength and purity, but it was even so.
-"cynthia-my love!" he cried, and raised his arms. but a look as of a great fear came into her eyes, which for one exquisite moment had yielded to his own; and her breath came quickly, as though she were spent--as indeed she was. so far spent that the wall at her back was grateful.
-"no!" she said; "no--you must not--you must not--you must not!" again and again she repeated the words, for she could summon no others. they were a mandate--had he guessed it--to herself as to him. for the time her brain refused its functions, and she could think of nothing but the fact that he was there, beside her, ready to take her in his arms. how she longed to fly into them, none but herself knew--to fly into them as into a refuge secure against the evil powers of the world. it was not reason that restrained her then, but something higher in her, that restrained him likewise. without moving from the wall she pushed open the door of the sitting room.
-"go in there," she said.
-he went in as she bade him and stood before the flickering logs in the wide and shallow chimney-place--logs that seemed to burn on the very hearth itself, and yet the smoke rose unerring into the flue. no stove had ever desecrated that room. bob looked into the flames and waited, and cynthia stood in the entry fighting this second great battle which had come upon her while her forces were still spent with that other one. woman in her very nature is created to be sheltered and protected; and the yearning in her, when her love is given, is intense as nature itself to seek sanctuary in that love. so it was with cynthia leaning against the entry wall, her arms full length in front of her, and her hands clasped as she prayed for strength to withstand the temptation. at last she grew calmer, though her breath still came deeply, and she went into the sitting room.
-perhaps he knew, vaguely, why she had not followed him at once. he had grown calmer himself, calmer with that desperation which comes to a man of his type when his soul and body are burning with desire for a woman. he knew that he would have to fight for her with herself. he knew now that she was too strong in her position to be carried by storm, and the interval had given him time to collect himself. he did not dare at first to look up from the logs, for fear he should forget himself and be defeated instantly.
-"i have been to coniston, cynthia," he said.
-"i would not," he said, "i would not if the words were written on all the rocks of coniston mountain. i love you."
-"hush," she said gently. "i have to say some things to you. they will be very hard to say, but you must listen to them."
-"i will listen," he said doggedly; "but they will not affect my determination."
-"i am sure you do not wish to drive me away from brampton," she continued, in the same low voice, "when i have found a place to earn my living near-near uncle jethro."
-these words told him all he had suspected--almost as much as though he had been present at the scene in the tannery shed in coniston. she knew now the life of jethro bass, but he was still "uncle jethro" to her. it was even as bob had supposed,--that her affection once given could not be taken away.
-"cynthia," he said, "i would not by an act or a word annoy or trouble you. if you bade me, i would go to the other side of the world to-morrow. you must know that. but i should come back again. you must know, that, too. i should come back again for you."
-"bob," she said again, and her voice faltered a very little now, "you must know that i can never be your wife."
-"i do not know it," he exclaimed, interrupting her vehemently, "i will not know it."
-"think," she said, "think! i must say what i, have to say, however it hurts me. if it had not been for--for your father, those things never would have been written. they were in his newspaper, and they express his feelings toward--toward uncle jethro."
-once the words were out, she marvelled that she had found the courage to pronounce them.
-"yes," he said, "yes, i know that, but listen--"
-"wait," she went on, "wait until i have finished. i am not speaking of the pain i had when i read these things, i--i am not speaking of the truth that may be in them--i have learned from them what i should have known before, and felt, indeed, that your father will never consent to--to a marriage between us."
-"and if he does not," cried bob, "if he does not, do you think that i will abide by what he says, when my life's happiness depends upon you, and my life's welfare? i know that you are a good woman, and a true woman, that you will be the best wife any man could have. though he is my father, he shall not deprive me of my soul, and he shall not take my life away from me."
-as cynthia listened she thought that never had words sounded sweeter than these--no, and never would again. so she told herself as she let them run into her heart to be stored among the treasures there. she believed in his love--believed in it now with all her might. (who, indeed, would not?) she could not demean herself now by striving to belittle it or doubt its continuance, as she had in boston. he was young, yes; but he would never be any older than this, could never love again like this. so much was given her, ought she not to be content? could she expect more?
-she understood isaac worthington, now, as well as his son understood him. she knew that, if she were to yield to bob worthington, his father would disown and disinherit him. she looked ahead into the years as a woman will, and allowed herself for the briefest of moments to wonder whether any happiness could thrive in spite of the violence of that schism--any happiness for him. she would be depriving him of his birthright, and it may be that those who are born without birthrights often value them the most. cynthia saw these things, and more, for those who sit at the feet of sorrow soon learn the world's ways. she saw herself pointed out as the woman whose designs had beggared and ruined him in his youth, and (agonizing and revolting thought!) the name of one would be spoken from whom she had learned such craft. lest he see the scalding tears in her eyes, she turned away and conquered them. what could she do? where should she hide her love that it might not be seen of men? and how, in truth, could she tell him these things?
-"cynthia," he went on, seeing that she did not answer, and taking heart, "i will not say a word against my father. i know you would not respect me if i did. we are different, he and i, and find happiness in different ways." bob wondered if his father had ever found it. "if i had never met you and loved you, i should have refused to lead the life my father wishes me to lead. it is not in me to do the things he will ask. i shall have to carve out my own life, and i feel that i am as well able to do it as he was. percy broke, a classmate of mine and my best friend, has a position for me in a locomotive works in which his father is largely interested. we are going in together, the day after we graduate; it is all arranged, and his father has agreed. i shall work very hard, and in a few years, cynthia, we shall be together, never to part again. oh, cynthia," he cried, carried away by the ecstasy of this dream which he had, summoned up, "why do you resist me? i love you as no man has ever loved," he exclaimed, with scornful egotism and contempt of those who had made the world echo with that cry through the centuries, "and you love me! ah, do you think i do not see it--cannot feel it? you love me--tell me so."
-he was coming toward her, and how was she to prevent his taking her by storm? that was his way, and well she knew it. in her dreams she had felt herself lifted and borne off, breathless in his arms, to elysium. her breath was going now, her strength was going, and yet she made him pause by the magic of a word. a concession was in that word, but one could not struggle so piteously and concede nothing.
-"bob," she said, "do you love me?"
-love her! if there was a love that acknowledged no bounds, that was confined by no superlatives, it was his. he began to speak, but she interrupted him with a wild passion that was new to her. as he sat in the train on his way back to cambridge through the darkening afternoon, the note of it rang in his ears and gave him hope--yes, and through many months afterward.
-"if you love me i beg, i implore, i beseech you in the name of that love--for your, sake and my sake, to leave me. oh, can you not see why you must go?"
-he stopped, even as he had before in the parlor in mount vernon street. he could but stop in the face of such an appeal--and yet the blood beat in his head with a mad joy.
-"tell me that you love me,--once," he cried,--"once, cynthia."
-"do-do not ask me," she faltered. "go."
-her words were a supplication, not a command. and in that they were a supplication he had gained a victory. yes, though she had striven with all her might to deny, she had bade him hope. he left her without so much as a touch of the hand, because she had wished it. and yet she loved him! incredible fact! incredible conjury which made him doubt that his feet touched the snow of brampton street, which blotted, as with a golden glow, the faces and the houses of brampton from his sight. he saw no one, though many might have accosted him. that part of him which was clay, which performed the menial tasks of his being, had kindly taken upon itself to fetch his bag from the house to the station, and to board the train.
-ah, but brampton had seen him!
-it is unnecessary to enrich the pages of this folio with all the footnotes and remarks of, the sages of brampton. these can be condensed into a paragraph of two--and we can ring up the curtain when we like on the next scene, for which brampton had to wait considerably over a month. there is to be no villain in this drama with the face of an abbe maury like the seven cardinal sins. comfortable looking mr. dodd of the prudential committee, with his chin-tuft of yellow beard, is cast for the part of the villain, but will play it badly; he would have been better suited to a comedy part.
-young mr. worthington left brampton on the five o'clock train, and at six mr. dodd met his fellow-member of the committee, judge graves.
-"called a meetin'?" asked mr. dodd, pulling the yellow tuft.
-"what for?" said the judge, sharply.
-"what be you a-goin' to do about it?" said mr. dodd.
-"do about what?" demanded the judge, looking at the hardware dealer from under his eyebrows.
-"well," said he, with a final tug at the tuft, "if that's the way you feel about it."
-"feel about what?" said the judge, fiercely.
-"callate you know best," said mr. dodd, and passed on up the street. but he felt the judge's gimlet eyes boring holes in his back. the judge's position was very fine, no doubt for the judge. all of which tends to show that levi dodd had swept his mind, and that it was ready now for the reception of an opinion.
-six weeks or more, as has been said, passed before the curtain rose again, but the snarling trumpets of the orchestra played a fitting prelude. cynthia's feelings and cynthia's life need not be gone into during this interval knowing her character, they may well be imagined. they were trying enough, but brampton had no means of guessing them. during the weeks she came and went between the little house and the little school, putting all the strength that was in her into her duties. the prudential committee, which sometimes sat on the platform, could find no fault with the performance of these duties, or with the capability of the teacher, and it is not going too far to state that the children grew to love her better than miss goddard had been loved. it may be declared that children are the fittest citizens of a republic, because they are apt to make up their own minds on any subject without regard to public opinion. it was so with the scholars of brampton village lower school: they grew to love the new teacher, careless of what the attitude of their elders might be, and some of them could have been seen almost any day walking home with her down the street.
-as for the attitude of the elders--there was none. before assuming one they had thought it best, with characteristic caution, to await the next act in the drama. there were ladies in brampton whose hearts prompted them, when they called on the new teacher, to speak a kindly word of warning and advice; but somehow, when they were seated before her in the little sitting room of the john billings house, their courage failed them. there was something about this daughter of the coniston storekeeper and ward of jethro bass that made them pause. so much for the ladies of brampton. what they said among themselves would fill a chapter, and more.
-there was, at this time, a singular falling-off in the attendance of the brampton club. ephraim sat alone most of the day in his windsor chair by the stove, pretending to read newspapers. but he did not mention this fact to cynthia. he was more lonesome than ever on the saturdays and sundays which she spent with jethro bass.
-jethro bass! it is he who might be made the theme of the music of the snarling trumpets. what was he about during those six weeks? that is what the state at large was beginning to wonder, and the state at large was looking on at a drama, too. a rumor reached the capital and radiated thence to every city and town and hamlet, and was followed by other rumors like confirmations. jethro bass, for the first time in a long life of activity, was inactive: inactive, too, at this most critical period of his career, the climax of it, with a war to be waged which for bitterness and ferocity would have no precedent; with the town meetings at hand, where the frontier fighting was to be done, and no quarter given. lieutenants had gone to coniston for further orders and instructions, and had come back without either. achilles was sulking in the tannery house--some said a broken achilles. not a word could be got out of him, or the sign of an intention. jake wheeler moped through the days in rias richardson's store, too sore at heart to speak to any man, and could have wept if tears had been a relief to him. no more blithe errands over the mountain to clovelly and elsewhere, though jake knew the issue now and itched for the battle, and the vassals of the hill-rajah under a jubilant bijah bixby were arming cap-a-pie. lieutenant-general-and-senator peleg hartington of brampton, in his office over the livery stable, shook his head like a mournful stork when questioned by brother officers from afar. operations were at a standstill, and the sinews of war relaxed. rural givers of mortgages, who had not had the opportunity of selling them or had feared to do so, began (mirabile dictu) to express opinions. most ominous sign of all--the proprietor of the pelican hotel had confessed that the throne room had not been engaged for the coming session.
-was it possible that jethro bass lay crushed under the weight of the accusations which had been printed, and were still being printed, in the newcastle guardian? he did not answer them, or retaliate in other newspapers, but jethro bass had never made use of newspapers in this way. still, nothing ever printed about him could be compared with those articles. had remorse suddenly overtaken him in his old age? such were the questions people we're asking all over the state--people, at least, who were interested in politics, or in those operations which went by the name of politics: yes, and many private citizens--who had participated in politics only to the extent of voting for such candidates as jethro in his wisdom had seen fit to give them, read the articles and began to say that boss domination was at an end. a new era was at hand, which they fondly (and very properly) believed was to be a golden era. it was, indeed, to be a golden era--until things got working; and then the gold would cease. the newcastle guardian, with unconscious irony, proclaimed the golden era; and declared that its columns, even in other days and under other ownership, had upheld the wisdom of jethro bass. and he was still a wise man, said the guardian, for he had had sense enough to give up the fight.
-had he given up the fight? cynthia fervently hoped and prayed that he had, but she hoped and prayed in silence. well she knew, if the event in the tannery shed had not made him abandon his affairs, no appeal could do so. her happiest days in this period were the saturdays and sundays spent with him in coniston, and as the weeks went by she began to believe that the change, miraculous as it seemed, had indeed taken place. he had given up his power. it was a pleasure that made the weeks bearable for her. what did it matter--whether he had made the sacrifice for the sake of his love for her? he had made it.
-on these saturdays and sundays they went on long drives together over the hills, while she talked to him of her life in brampton or the books she was reading, and of those she had chosen for him to read. sometimes they did not turn homeward until the delicate tracery of the branches on the snow warned them of the rising moon. jethro was often silent for hours at a time, but it seemed to cynthia that it was the silence of peace--of a peace he had never known before. there came no newspapers to the tannery house now: during the mid-week he read the books of which she had spoken william wetherell's books; or sat in thought, counting, perhaps; the days until she should come again. and the boy of those days for him was more pathetic than much that is known to the world as sorrow.
-and what did coniston think? coniston, indeed, knew not what to think, when, little by little, the great men ceased to drive up to the door of the tannery house, and presently came no more. coniston sank then from its proud position as the real capital of the state to a lonely hamlet among the hills. coniston, too, was watching the drama, and had had a better view of the stage than brampton, and saw some reason presently for the change in jethro bass. not that mr. satterlee told, but such evidence was bound, in the end, to speak for itself. the newcastle guardian had been read and debated at the store--debated with some heat by chester perkins and other mortgagors; discussed, nevertheless, in a political rather than a moral light. then cynthia had returned home; her face had awed them by its sorrow, and she had begun to earn her own living. then the politicians had ceased to come. the credit belongs to rias richardson for hawing been the first to piece these three facts together, causing him to burn his hand so severely on the stove that he had to carry it bandaged in soda for a week. cynthia wetherell had reformed jethro.
-though the village loved and revered cynthia, coniston as a whole did not rejoice in that reform. the town had fallen from its mighty estate, and there were certain envious ones who whispered that it had remained for a young girl who had learned city ways to twist jethro around her finger; that she had made him abandon his fight with isaac d. worthington because mr. worthington had a son--but there is no use writing such scandal. stripped of his power--even though he stripped himself--jethro began to lose their respect, a trait tending to prove that the human race may have had wolves for ancestors as well as apes. people had small opportunity, however, of showing a lack of respect to his person, for in these days he noticed no one and spoke to none.
-when the lion is crippled, the jackals begin to range. a jackal reconnoitered the lair to see how badly the lion was crippled, and conceived with astounding insolence the plan of capturing the lion's quarry. this jackal, who was an old one, well knew how to round up a quarry, and fled back over the hills to consult with a bigger jackal, his master. as a result, two days before march town-meeting day, mr. bijah bixby paid a visit to the harwich bank and went among certain coniston farmers looking over the sheep, his clothes bulging out in places when he began, and seemingly normal enough when he had finished. history repeats itself, even among lions and jackals. thirty-six years before there had been a town-meeting in coniston and a surprise. established church, decent and orderly selectmen and proceedings had been toppled over that day, every outlying farm sending its representative through the sleet to do it. and now retribution was at hand. this march-meeting day was mild, the grass showing a green color on the south slopes where the snow had melted, and the outlying farmers drove through mud-holes up to the axles. drove, albeit, in procession along the roads, grimly enough, and the sheds jock hallowell had built around the meeting-house could not hold the horses; they lined the fences and usurped the hitching posts of the village street, and still they came. their owners trooped with muddy boots into the meeting-house, and when the moderator rapped for order the chairman of the board of selectmen, jethro bass, was not in his place; never, indeed, would be there again. six and thirty years he had been supreme in that town--long enough for any man. the beams and king posts would know him no more. mr. amos cuthbert was elected chairman, not without a gallant and desperate but unsupported fight of a minority led by mr. jake wheeler, whose loyalty must be taken as a tribute to his species. farmer cuthbert was elected, and his mortgage was not foreclosed! had it been, there was more money in the harwich bank.
-there was no telegraph to coniston in these days, and so mr. sam price, with his horse in a lather, might have been seen driving with unseemly haste toward brampton, where in due time he arrived. half an hour later there was excitement at newcastle, sixty-five miles away, in the office of the guardian, and the next morning the excitement had spread over the whole state.
-jethro bass was dethroned in coniston--discredited in his own town!
-and where was jethro? did his heart ache, did he bow his head as he thought of that supremacy, so hardly won, so superbly held, gone forever? many were the curious eyes on the tannery house that day, and for days after, but its owner gave no signs of concern. he read and thought and chopped wood in the tannery shed as usual. never, i believe, did man, shorn of power, accept his lot more quietly. his struggle was over, his battle was fought, a greater peace than he had ever thought to hope for was won. for the opinion and regard of the world he had never cared. a greater reward awaited him, greater than any knew--the opinion and regard and the praise of one whom he loved beyond all the world. on friday she came to him, on friday at sunset, for the days were growing longer, and that was the happiest sunset of his life. she said nothing as she raised her face to his and kissed him and clung to him in the little parlor, but he knew, and he had his reward. so much for earthly power cynthia brought the little rawhide trunk this time, and came to coniston for the march vacation--a happy two weeks that was soon gone. happy by comparison, that is, with what they both had suffered, and a haven of rest after the struggle and despair of the wilderness. the bond between them had, in truth, never been stronger, for both the young girl and the old man had denied themselves the thing they held most dear. jethro had taken refuge and found comfort in his love. but cynthia! her greatest love had now been bestowed elsewhere.
-"i do not answer them, uncle jethro, but--i cannot prevent his writing them," she faltered. she did not confess that she kept them, every one, and read them over and over again; that she had grown, indeed, to look forward to them as to a sustenance. "i--i do love him, but i will not marry him."
-yes, she could be sure of jethro's sympathy, though he could not express it in words. yet she had not told him for this. she had told him, much as the telling had hurt her, because she feared to cut him more deeply by her silence.
-four days afterward, on a monday morning, she went back to brampton to begin the new term.
-that same monday a circumstance of no small importance took place in brampton--nothing less than the return, after a prolonged absence in the west and elsewhere, of its first citizen. isaac d. worthington was again in residence. no bells were rung, indeed, and no delegation of citizens as such, headed by the selectmen, met him at the station; and other feudal expressions of fealty were lacking. no staff flew mr. worthington's arms; nevertheless the lord of brampton was in his castle again, and brampton felt that he was there. he arrived alone, wearing the silk hat which had become habitual with him now, and stepping into his barouche at the station had been driven up brampton street behind his grays, looking neither to the right nor left. his reddish chop whiskers seemed to cling a little more closely to his face than formerly, and long years of compression made his mouth look sterner than ever. a hawk-like man, isaac worthington, to be reckoned with and feared, whether in a frock coat or in breastplate and mail.
-his seneschal, mr. flint, was awaiting him in the library. mr. flint was large and very ugly, big-boned, smooth-shaven, with coarse features all askew, and a large nose with many excrescences, and thick lips. he was forty-two. from a foreman of the mills he had risen, step by step, to his present position, which no one seemed able to define. he was, indeed, a seneschal. he managed the mills in his lord's absence, and--if the truth be told--in his presence; knotty questions of the truro railroad were brought to mr. flint and submitted to mr. worthington, who decided them, with mr. flint's advice; and, within the last three months, mr. flint had invaded the realm of politics, quietly, as such a man would, under the cover of his patron's name and glory. mr. flint it was who had bought the newcastle guardian, who went occasionally to newcastle and spoke a few effective words now and then to the editor; and, if the truth will out, mr. flint had largely conceived that scheme about the railroads which was to set mr. worthington on the throne of the state, although the scheme was not now being carried out according to mr. flint's wishes. mr. flint was, in a sense, a bismarck, but he was not as yet all powerful. sometimes his august master or one of his fellow petty sovereigns would sweep mr. flint's plans into the waste basket, and then mr. flint would be content to wait. to complete the character sketch, mr. flint was not above hanging up his master's hat and coat, which he did upon the present occasion, and went up to mr. worthington's bedroom to fetch a pocket handkerchief out of the second drawer. he even knew where the handkerchiefs were kept. lucky petty sovereigns sometimes possess mr. flints to make them emperors.
-the august personage seated himself briskly at his desk.
-"so that scoundrel bass is actually discredited at last," he said, blowing his nose in the pocket handkerchief mr. flint had brought him. "i lose patience when i think how long we've stood the rascal in this state. i knew the people would rise in their indignation when they learned the truth about him."
-mr. flint did not answer this. he might have had other views.
-"i wonder we did not think of it before," mr. worthington continued. "a very simple remedy, and only requiring a little courage and--and--" (mr. worthington was going to say money, but thought better of it) "and the chimera disappears. i congratulate you, flint."
-"congratulate yourself," said mr. flint; "that would not have been my way."
-"very well, i congratulate myself," said the august personage, who was in too good a humor to be put out by the rejection of a compliment. "you remember what i said: the time was ripe, just publish a few biographical articles telling people what he was, and jethro bass would snuff out like a candle. mr. duncan tells me the town-meeting results are very good all over the state. even if we hadn't knocked out jethro bass, we'd have a fair majority for our bill in the next legislature."
-"you know bass's saying," answered mr. flint, "you can hitch that kind of a hoss, but they won't always stay hitched."
-"i know, i know," said mr. worthington; "don't croak, flint. we can buy more hitch ropes, if necessary. well, what's the outlay up to the present? large, i suppose. well, whatever it is, it's small compared to what we'll get for it." he laughed a little and rubbed his hands, and then he remembered that capacity in which he stood before the world. yes, and he stood before himself in the same capacity. isaac worthington may have deceived himself, but he may or may not have been a hero to his seneschal. "we have to fight fire with fire," he added, in a pained voice. "let me see the account."
-"i have tabulated the expense in the different cities and towns," answered mr. flint; "i will show you the account in a little while. the expenses in coniston were somewhat greater than the size of the town justified, perhaps. but sutton thought--"
-"yes, yes," interrupted mr. worthington, "if it had cost as much to carry coniston as newcastle, it would have been worth it--for the moral effect alone."
-moral effect! mr. flint thought of mr. bixby with his bulging pockets going about the hills, and smiled at the manner in which moral effects are sometimes obtained.
-"any news, flint?"
-no news yet, mr. flint might have answered. in a few minutes there might be news, and plenty of it, for it lay ready to be hatched under mr. worthington's eye. a letter in the bold and upright hand of his son was on the top of the pile, placed there by mr. flint himself, who had examined mr. worthington's face closely when he came in to see how much he might know of its contents. he had decided that mr. worthington was in too good a humor to know anything of them. mr. flint had not steamed the letter open, and read the news; but he could guess at them pretty shrewdly, and so could have the biggest fool in brampton. that letter contained the opening scene of the next act in the drama.
-mr. worthington cut the envelope and began to read, and while he did so mr. flint, who was not afraid of man or beast, looked at him. it was a manly and straight forward letter, and mr. worthington, no matter what his opinions on the subject were, should have been proud of it. bob announced, first of all, that he was going to marry cynthia wetherell; then he proceeded with praiseworthy self-control (for a lover) to describe cynthia's character and attainments: after which he stated that cynthia had refused him--twice, because she believed that mr. worthington would oppose the marriage, and had declared that she would never be the cause of a breach between father and son. bob asked for his father's consent, and hoped to have it, but he thought it only right to add that he had given his word and his love, and did not mean to retract either. he spoke of his visit to brampton, and explained that cynthia was teaching school there, and urged his father to see her before he made a decision. mr. worthington read it through to the end, his lips closing tighter and tighter until his mouth was but a line across his face. there was pain in the face, too, the kind of pain which anger sends, and which comes with the tottering of a pride that is false. of what gratification now was the overthrow of jethro bass?
-he stared at the letter for a moment after he had finished it, and his face grew a dark red. then he seized the paper and tore it slowly, deliberately, into bits.
-dudley worthington was not thinking then--not he!--of the young man in the white beaver who had called at the social library many years before to see a young woman whose name, too, had been cynthia.--he was thinking, in fact, for he was a man to think in anger, whether it were not possible to remove this cynthia from the face of the earth--at least to a place beyond his horizon and that of his son. had he worn the chain mail instead of the frock coat he would have had her hung outside the town walls.
-"good god!" he exclaimed. and the words sounded profane indeed as he fixed his eyes upon mr. flint. "you knew that robert had been to brampton."
-"yes," said flint, "the whole village knew it."
-"good god!" cried mr. worthington again, "why was i not informed of this? why was i not warned of this? have i no friends? do you pretend to look after my interests and not take the trouble to write me on such a subject."
-"do you think i could have prevented it?" asked mr. flint, very calmly.
-"you allow this--this woman to come here to brampton and teach school in a place where she can further her designs? what were you about?"
-"when the prudential committee appointed her, nothing of this was known, mr. worthington."
-"yes, but now--now! what are you doing, what are they doing to allow her to remain? who are on that committee?"
-mr. flint named the men. they had been reelected, as usual, at the recent town-meeting. mr. errol, who had also been reelected, had returned but had not yet issued the certificate or conducted the examination.
-"send for them, have them here at once," commanded mr. worthington, without listening to this.
-"if you take my advice, you will do nothing of the kind," said mr. flint, who, as usual, had the whole situation at his fingers' ends. he had taken the trouble to inform himself about the girl, and he had discovered, shrewdly enough, that she was the kind which might be led, but not driven. if mr. flint's advice had been listened to, this story might have had quite a different ending. but mr. flint had not reached the stage where his advice was always listened to, and he had a maddened man to deal with now. at that moment, as if fate had determined to intervene, the housemaid came into the room.
-"mr. dodd to see you, sir," she said.
-"show him in," shouted mr. worthington; "show him in!"
-mr. dodd was not a man who could wait for a summons which he had felt in his bones was coming. he was ordinarily, as we have seen, officious. but now he was thoroughly frightened. he had seen the great man in the barouche as he drove past the hardware store, and he had made up his mind to go up at once, and have it over with. his opinions were formed now, he put a smile on his face when he was a foot outside of the library door.
-"this is a great pleasure, mr. worthington, a great pleasure, to see you back," he said, coming forward. "i callated--"
-but the great man sat in his chair, and made no attempt to return the greeting.
-"mr. dodd, i thought you were my friend," he said.
-mr. dodd went all to pieces at this reception.
-"so i be, mr. worthington--so i be," he cried. "that's why i'm here now. i've b'en a friend of yours ever since i can remember--never fluctuated. i'd rather have chopped my hand off than had this happen--so i would. if i could have foreseen what she was, she'd never have had the place, as sure as my name's levi dodd."
-if mr. dodd had taken the trouble to look at the seneschal's face, he would have seen a well-defined sneer there.
-"and now that you know what she is," cried mr. worthington, rising and smiting the pile of letters on his desk, "why do you keep her there an instant?"
-mr. dodd stopped to pick up the letters, which had flown over the floor. but the great man was now in the full tide of his anger.
-"never mind the letters," he shouted; "tell me why you keep her there."
-"we callated we'd wait and see what steps you'd like taken," said the trembling townsman.
-"steps! steps! good god! what kind of man are you to serve in such a place when you allow the professed ward of jethro bass--of jethro bass, the most notoriously depraved man in this state, to teach the children of this town. steps! how soon can you call your committee together?"
-"right away," answered mr. dodd, breathlessly. he would have gone on to exculpate himself, but mr. worthington's inexorable finger was pointing at the door.
-"if you are a friend of mine," said that gentleman, "and if you have any regard for the fair name of this town, you will do so at once."
-mr. dodd departed precipitately, and mr. worthington began to pace the room, clasping his hands now in front of him, now behind him, in his agony: repeating now and again various appellations which need not be printed here, which he applied in turn to the prudential committee, to his son, and to cynthia wetherell.
-"i'll run her out of brampton," he said at last.
-"if you do," said mr. flint, who had been watching him apparently unmoved, "you may have jethro bass on your back."
-"jethro bass?" shouted mr. worthington, with a laugh that was not pleasant to hear, "jethro bass is as dead as julius caesar."
-it was one thing for mr. dodd to promise so readily a meeting of the committee, and quite another to decide how he was going to get through the affair without any more burns and scratches than were absolutely necessary. he had reversed the usual order, and had been in the fire--now he was going to the frying-pan. he stood in the street for some time, pulling at his tuft, and then made his way to mr. jonathan hill's feed store. mr. hill was reading "sartor resartus" in his little office, the temperature of which must have been 95, and mr. dodd was perspiring when he got there.
-"it's come," said mr. dodd, sententiously.
-"what's come?" inquired mr. hill, mildly.
-"isaac d.'s come, that's what," said mr. dodd. "i hain't b'en sleepin' well of nights, lately. i can't think what we was about, jonathan, puttin' that girl in the school. we'd ought to've knowed she wahn't fit."
-"what's the matter with her?" inquired mr. hill.
-"matter with her!" exclaimed his fellow-committeeman, "she lives with jethro bass--she's his ward."
-"well, what of it?" said mr. hill, who never bothered himself about gossip or newspapers, or indeed about anything not between the covers of a book, except when he couldn't help it.
-"good god!" exclaimed mr. dodd, "he's the most notorious, depraved man in the state. hain't we got to look out for the fair name of brampton?"
-mr. hill sighed and closed his book.
-"well," he said; "i'd hoped we were through with that. let's go up and see what judge graves says about it."
-"hold on," said mr. dodd, seizing the feed dealer by the coat, "we've got to get it fixed in our minds what we're goin' to do, first. we can't allow no notorious people in our schools. we've got to stand up to the jedge, and tell him so. we app'inted her on his recommendation, you know."
-"i like the girl," replied mr. hill. "i don't think we ever had a better teacher. she's quiet, and nice appearin', and attends to her business."
-mr. dodd pulled his tuft, and cocked his head.
-"mr. worthington holds a note of yours, don't he, jonathan?"
-mr. hill reflected. he said he thought perhaps mr. worthington did.
-"well," said mr. dodd, "i guess we might as well go along up to the jedge now as any time."
-but when they got there mr. dodd's knock was so timid that he had to repeat it before the judge came to the door and peered at them over his spectacles.
-"well, gentlemen, what can i do for you?" he asked, severely, though he knew well enough. he had not been taken by surprise many times during the last forty years. mr. dodd explained that they wished a little meeting of the committee. the judge ushered them into his bedroom, the parlor being too good for such an occasion.
-"now, gentlemen," said he, "let us get down to business. mr. worthington arrived here to-day, he has seen mr. dodd, and mr. dodd has seen mr. hill. mr. worthington is a political opponent of jethro bass, and wishes miss wetherell dismissed. mr. dodd and mr. hill have agreed, for various reasons which i will spare you, that miss wetherell should be dismissed. have i stated the case, gentlemen, or have i not?"
-mr. graves took off his spectacles and wiped them, looking from one to the other of his very uncomfortable fellow-members. mr. hill did not attempt to speak; but mr. dodd, who was not sure now that this was not the fire and the other the frying-pan, pulled at his tuft until words came to him.
-"jedge," he said finally, "i must say i'm a mite surprised. i must say your language is unwarranted."
-"the truth is never unwarranted," said the judge.
-"for the sake of the fair name of brampton," began mr. dodd, "we cannot allow--"
-"mr. dodd," interrupted the judge, "i would rather have mr. worthington's arguments from mr. worthington himself, if i wanted them at all. there is no need of prolonging this meeting. if i were to waste my breath until six o'clock, it would be no use. i was about to say that your opinions were formed, but i will alter that, and say that your minds are fixed. you are determined to dismiss miss wetherell. is it not so?"
-"i wish you'd hear me, jedge," said mr. dodd, desperately.
-"will you kindly answer me yes or no to that question," said the judge; "my time is valuable."
-"well, if you put it that way, i guess we are agreed that she hadn't ought to stay. not that i've anything against her personally--"
-"all right," said the judge, with a calmness that made them tremble. they had never bearded him before. "all right, you are two to one and no certificate has been issued. but i tell you this, gentlemen, that you will live to see the day when you will bitterly regret this injustice to an innocent and a noble woman, and isaac d. worthington will live to regret it. you may tell him i said so. good day, gentlemen."
-"jedge," began mr. dodd again, "i don't think you've been quite fair with us."
-"fair!" repeated the judge, with unutterable scorn. "good day, gentlemen." and he slammed the door behind them.
-they walked down the street some distance before either of them spoke.
-"goliah," said mr. dodd, at last, "did you ever hear such talk? he's got the drattedest temper of any man i ever knew, and he never callates to make a mistake. it's a little mite hard to do your duty when a man talks that way."
-"i'm not sure we've done it," answered mr. hill.
-"not sure!" ejaculated the hardware dealer, for he was now far enough away from the judge's house to speak in his normal tone, "and she connected with that depraved--"
-"hold on," said mr. hill, with an astonishing amount of spirit for him, "i've heard that before."
-mr. dodd looked at him, swallowed the wrong way and began to choke.
-"you hain't wavered, jonathan?" he said, when he got his breath.
-"no, i haven't," said mr. hill, sadly; "but i wish to hell i had."
-mr. dodd looked at him again, and began to choke again. it was the first time he had known jonathan hill to swear.
-"you're a-goin' to stick by what you agreed--by your principles?"
-"i'm going to stick by my bread and butter," said mr. hill, "not by my principles. i wish to hell i wasn't."
-and so saying that gentleman departed, cutting diagonally across the street through the snow, leaving mr. dodd still choking and pulling at his tuft. this third and totally-unexpected shaking-up had caused him to feel somewhat deranged internally, though it had not altered the opinions now so firmly planted in his head. after a few moments, however, he had collected himself sufficiently to move on once more, when he discovered that he was repeating to himself, quite unconsciously, mr. hill's profanity "i wish to hell i wasn't." the iron mastiffs glaring at him angrily out of the snow banks reminded him that he was in front of mr. worthington's door, and he thought he might as well go in at once and receive the great man's gratitude. he certainly deserved it. but as he put his hand on the bell mr. worthington himself came out of the house, and would actually have gone by without noticing mr. dodd if he had not spoken.
-"i've got that little matter fixed, mr. worthington," he said, "called the committee, and we voted to discharge the--the young woman." no, he did not deliver judge graves's message.
-"very well, mr. dodd," answered the great man, passing on so that mr. dodd was obliged to follow him in order to hear, "i'm glad you've come to your senses at last. kindly step into the library and tell miss bruce from me that she may fill the place to-morrow." quality. their stations were: big blue river at stromsburg, polk co.; surprise and ulysses, butler co.; staplehurst, seward, and milford, seward co.; crete and wilber, saline co.; beatrice, blue springs, and barnston, gage co.; little blue river at fairbury, jefferson co.; hebron, thayer co.; sandy creek at alexandria, thayer co.; west fork of big blue river at stockham, hamilton co.; mccool junction, york co.; beaver crossing, seward co.; and beaver creek at york, york co.
-breukelman (1940) and jennings (1942) listed fishes from the university of kansas museum of natural history and the kansas state college museum, respectively, including some specimens collected from the big blue river system in kansas. because records in these two papers pertain to collections that were widely spaced in the basin and in time, the specific localities are not given herein. one of jennings' (loc. cit.) records, scaphirhynchus platorynchus (rafinesque), was cited by bailey and cross (1954:191). more recently, minckley and cross (in press) recorded several localities, and cited some papers mentioned above, in a publication dealing with notropis topeka (gilbert) in kansas.
-information on the fishes of the nebraskan portion of the big blue river basin was compiled, and additional localities were reported, in a doctoral thesis by dr. raymond e. johnson, entitled the distribution of nebraska fishes, 1942, at the university of michigan.
-methods and materials
-collection of fishes
-the gear and techniques used are listed below:
-entrapment devices.--hoop and fyke nets and wire traps were used for 288 trap/net hours in 1957. the nets were not baited, and were set parallel to the current, with the mouths downstream. hoop nets were 1½ to three feet in diameter at the first hoop, with a pot-mesh of one inch; fyke nets were three feet at the first hoop, pot-mesh of one inch; wire traps, with an opening at each end, were 2½ feet in diameter and covered with one-inch-mesh, galvanized chicken wire.
-gill nets.--experimental gill nets were set on three occasions in areas with little current. these nets were 125 feet in length, with 3/4 to two inch bar-mesh in 25-foot sections.
-seines.--seining was used more than other methods. an attempt was made to seine all habitats at each station. in swift water, seine-hauls were usually made downstream, but in quiet areas seining was done randomly. haul-seines six to 60 feet in length, three to eight feet in depth, and with meshes of 1/8 to 1/2 inch were used. for collection of riffle-fishes, the seine was planted below a selected area and the bottom was kicked violently by one member of the party, while one or two persons held the seine, raising it when the area had been thoroughly disturbed. seining on riffles was done with a four-foot by four-foot bobbinet seine.
-rotenone.--rotenone was used in pools of smaller streams, mouths of creeks, borrow-pits, and cut-off areas. both powdered and emulsifiable rotenone were used. the rotenone was mixed with water and applied by hand, or into the backwash of an outboard motor.
-electric shocker.--the electrical unit used in this study generated 115 volts and 600 to 700 watts, alternating current. the shocking unit consisted of two booms, each with two electrodes, mounted on and operated from a slowly moving boat. fish were recovered in scape nets, or in many cases were identified as they lay stunned and were not collected.
-estimation of relative abundance
-data on relative abundance of fishes were obtained by counts of seine hauls at 29 of the 59 stations, counts of rotenoned fish at seven stations, and results with the electric shocker at nine stations. counts were usually made in the field; however, in some collections all fish were preserved and counted in the laboratory. some fish (or "swirls" presumed to be fish) observed while shocking were not identified and are not included in the calculations. however, all fish positively identified while shocking are included.
-age and growth of fishes
-fish from selected size-groups were aged in this study. scales for age-determinations were removed from positions recommended by lagler (1952:108). scales were placed in water between glass slides and were read on a standard scale-projection device.
-pectoral spines of catfish were removed from one or both sides, sectioned, and read by methods described by marzolf (1955:243-244).
-calculation of length at the last annulus for both scale-fish and catfish was made by direct proportion. all measurements are of total length to the nearest tenth of an inch unless specified otherwise.
-fishermen contacted were asked the following questions: home address (or residence at the time of the fishing trip); time they started fishing; kind of fish sought; number and kinds of fish in possession; and baits used. also, the number of poles and type of fishing (from the bank, from boat, etc.) were recorded. fishes caught were examined to confirm identifications. about 80 per cent of all fishermen seen were contacted.
-fish per man-hour, as used in this report, refers to the average number of fish of all species caught by one fisherman in one hour. fisherman-day is the average time spent fishing in one day by one person. because some fishermen used more than one pole, the data are also expressed as catch per pole-hour.
-fig. 1. big blue river at station 3-s. u.s. army corps of engineers photograph no. 563697.
-fig. 1. black vermillion river, approximately one mile upstream from its mouth. photograph by robert g. webb.
-1-s: pottawatomie co., mouth of big blue river, sec. 16, t. 10s, r. 8e, june 20, 1958.
-2-s: riley co., big blue river, sec. 4, t. 10s, r. 8e, june 6, 12, and 14, 1957.
-3-s: riley co., big blue river, e ½, sec. 30, t. 9s, r. 8e, mar. 30, apr. 6, july 15, 16, 17, aug. 14, and dec. 26, 1957; apr. 26, june 20, and aug. 5, 1958.
-4-s: riley co., big blue river at rocky ford dam, w ½, sec. 30, t. 9s, r. 8e, aug. 14, 1957; and aug. 5, 1958.
-5-g: pottawatomie co., mcintire creek, sec. 12, t. 9s, r. 7e, july 14, 1958.
-6-s: riley co., big blue river and adjacent borrow-pit, sec. 24, t. 9s, r. 7e, july 18 and 19, 1957; and july 11, 1958.
-7-g: riley co., tuttle creek, sec. 10, t. 9s, r. 7e, aug. 5, 1958.
-8-s: riley co., big blue river, sec. 10, t. 9s, r. 7e, aug. 14, 1957.
-9-g: riley co., mill creek, sec. 4, t. 9s, r. 7e, july 20 and 25, 1958.
-10-g: riley co., mill creek, sec. 2, t. 9s, r. 6e, aug. 13, 1957.
-11-g: pottawatomie co., carnahan creek, sec. 22, 27, and 34, t. 8s, r. 7e, aug. 1, 1957; and july 8, 1958.
-12-g: pottawatomie co., unnamed tributary to carnahan creek, sec. 15, t. 8s, r. 7e, mar. 19, 1956 (collection made before my formal study was begun).
-13-g: pottawatomie co., carnahan creek, sec. 36, t. 7s, r. 7e, aug. 13, 1957.
-14-s: riley co., big blue river, sec. 18, t. 8s, r. 7e, mar. 22, 1958.
-15-s: riley co., big blue river, sec. 7, t. 8s, r. 7e, apr. 3, and june 12, 1958.
-16-g: riley co., unnamed creek, sec. 1, t. 8s, r. 6e, july 10, and aug. 5, 1958.
-17-g: riley co., unnamed creek, sec. 10, t. 8s, r. 6e, june 26, 1958.
-18-g: riley co., fancy creek, sec. 14, t. 7s, r. 6e, july 29, 1957.
-19-g: riley co., walnut creek, sec. 20, t. 7s, r. 6e, june 26, 1958.
-20-g: riley co., fancy creek, sec. 2, t. 7s, r. 5e, mar. 13, 1957; and june 26, 1958.
-21-g: riley co., schoolhouse branch, sec. 35, t. 6s, r. 5e, july 22, 1958.
-22-g: riley co., fancy creek, sec. 33, t. 6s, r. 5e, june 1, 1957.
-23-g: riley co., west branch fancy creek, sec. 32 and 33, t. 6s, r. 5e, june 1 and 3, 1957.
-24-g: clay co., west branch fancy creek, sec. 32 and 33, t. 6s, r. 4e, july 22, 1958.
-25-s: riley co., big blue river, sec. 5, t. 7s, r. 7e, aug. 7, 1958.
-26-g: riley co., swede creek, sec. 21, t. 6s, r. 7e, mar. 22, 1958.
-27-g: pottawatomie co., unnamed creek, sec. 14, t. 6s, r. 7e, sept. 10, 1957.
-28-g: pottawatomie co., bluff creek, sec. 6, t. 6s, r. 8e, oct. 6, 1957.
-29-g: pottawatomie co., bluff creek, sec. 15, t. 6s, r. 8e, june 29, 1958.
-30-m: marshall co., black vermillion river, sec. 9, t. 5s, r. 8e, mar. 5, 1958.
-31-g: pottawatomie co., clear creek, sec. 3, t. 6s, r. 9e, july 14, 1958.
-32-g: pottawatomie co., unnamed creek, sec. 14, t. 6s, r. 9e, july 14, 1958.
-33-m: marshall co., robidoux creek, sec. 20, t. 2s, r. 9e, july 23, 1958.
-34-m: marshall co., little timber creek, sec. 10, t. 4s, r. 9e, oct. 6, 1957.
-35-m: marshall co., black vermillion river, sec. 15, t. 4s, r. 9e, aug. 9, 1958.
-36-m: marshall co., unnamed creek, sec. 8, t. 4s, r. 9e, oct. 6, 1957.
-37-m: marshall co., black vermillion river, sec. 11, t. 4s, r. 10e, oct. 6, 1957.
-38-s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. 18, t. 5s, r. 8e, aug. 8, 1958.
-39-s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. 20, t. 4s, r. 7e, may 29, 1958.
-40-m: washington co., coon creek, sec. 27, t. 4s, r. 4e, july 22, 1958.
-41-s: marshall co., little blue river, sec. 9, 16, and 17, t. 4s, r. 6e, june 27, 1958.
-42-s: washington co., little blue river, sec. 21, t. 3s, r. 5e, aug. 8, 1958.
-43-s: washington co., little blue river, sec. 5 and 8, t. 3s, r. 5e, july 30, 1957.
-44-s: washington co., little blue river, sec. 36, t. 1s, r. 4e, july 31, 1957.
-45-m: washington co., mill creek, sec. 35 and 36, t. 1s, r. 4e, july 31, 1957.
-46-m: washington co., mill creek, sec. 4, t. 2s, r. 4e, july 31, 1957.
-47-m: washington co., spring creek, sec. 11 and 12, t. 2s, r. 3e, june 19, 1958.
-48-m: washington co., mill creek, sec. 28, t. 2s, r. 2e, june 19, 1958.
-49-m: republic co., mill creek, sec. 8 and 17, t. 2s, r. 1w, july 23, 1958.
-50-s: washington co., little blue river, sec. 5, t. 1s, r. 4e, aug. 9, 1958.
-51-m: republic co., rose creek, sec. 20, t. 1s, r. 2w, july 23, 1958.
-52-s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. 6, t. 4s, r. 7e, aug. 6, 1958.
-53-s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. 18, t. 3s, r. 7e, july 29 and 30, 1957; may 28, and aug. 6, 1958.
-54-g: marshall co., hop creek, sec. 13 and 18, t. 3s, r. 7e, may 28, 1958.
-55-m: marshall co., spring creek, sec. 29, t. 2s, r. 8e, july 9, 1958.
-56-s: marshall co., big blue river at marysville dam, sec. 20, t. 2s, r. 7e, june 16, 1958.
-57-m: marshall co., horseshoe creek, sec. 6, t. 2s, r. 7e, july 1, 1958.
-58-g: marshall co., unnamed creek, sec. 2, t. 1s, r. 7e, july 1, 1958.
-annotated list of species
-in this list, the scientific name of each species is followed by the common name, citations of previous records, and the stations where the species was obtained. i follow bailey (1956:328-329) in treating lepisosteus osseus (linnaeus), catostomus commersonnii (lacépède), semotilus atromaculatus (mitchill), notropis lutrensis (baird and girard), pimephales promelas rafinesque, ictalurus melas (rafinesque), ictalurus punctatus (rafinesque), and lepomis macrochirus rafinesque, in binomial form only.
-shovelnose sturgeon were found only in the lower portion of the big blue river. on april 20, 1957, many were seen in fishermen's creels at stations 3-s and 4-s. one male and two females that i examined on that date were ripe or nearly so; eggs seemed well developed and milt flowed freely from the male. after april, 1957, none was collected or observed until april 26, 1958, when one specimen was obtained while shocking. forbes and richardson (1920:27) reported that shovelnose sturgeon spawn in illinois between april and june, and eddy and surber (1947:80) reported spawning in may and early june in wisconsin and minnesota.
-i saw shortnose gar at various times in 1956 and 1957 at rocky ford dam on the big blue river (station 4-s). one was seen while shocking at station 3-s on december 26, 1957.
-longnose gar were abundant in the mainstream of the big blue river but usually evaded capture. this species, and the shortnose gar, resided in the larger rivers, with l. osseus being taken in only two creeks near their mouths. in periods of high water, gar moved into the flooded creeks, but returned to the river as stream-levels subsided.
-young-of-the-year l. osseus, averaging 21.5 mm. in total length (range 13 to 30 mm.), were taken on june 14, 1957, and larger young (estimated 60 to 70 mm. total length) were taken on june 27, 1958.
-most gizzard shad were young-of-the-year, taken on july 16 and 17, 1957, at stations 3-s and 4-s. twenty specimens from station 6-s that were in their second summer of life were from 3.8 to 5.9 inches total length at the last annulus (average 4.3). this species was usually found in quiet water and was most abundant near the mouth of the big blue river.
-i caught five specimens of h. alosoides from the big blue river, and another specimen, obtained by dr. r. b. moorman in 1954, is at kansas state college (ksc 4984).
-one goldeye that i caught on april 20, 1956, prior to the beginning of my study, was a ripe female measuring 15.5 inches total length. the fish was beginning its seventh summer of life.
-bigmouth buffalo were rare, and were taken only in quiet parts of larger streams, and in the borrow-pit at station 6-s.
-only four individuals of i. niger were taken. all were large adults (more than 20 inches in total length), and all were shocked in the deeper, swifter areas, where the channel narrowed.
-this species was found in relatively quiet waters in the main channel, in cut-off areas, and in creek-mouths. the ages and total lengths of 30 individuals obtained at station 6-s were (average followed by number of fish in parentheses): i, 2.4 (11); ii, 4.4 (14); and iii, 6.6 (5).
-canfield and wiebe (1931:6-7, 10) recorded "buffalo-fish" and "buffalo" from the big blue basin in nebraska; however, no specific designation was given.
-this represents the first record known to me of the plains carpsucker from kansas. the specimen (ku 4180), 430 mm. in standard length, has the following characters: lower lip without a median, nipple-like projection; dorsal fin-rays, 25; lateral-line scales, 38; diameter of orbit into distance from anterior nostril to tip of snout, 1.1; body-depth into standard length, 3.3; and head-length into standard length, 3.9. the specimen was taken while shocking a wide, shallow channel, over sand bottom.
-the river carpsucker occurred at most stations on the larger streams, and in many of the smaller tributaries. in smaller streams c. c. carpio frequented the largest pools, in or near the floodplains of larger streams. a marked preference for still water, soft, silty bottoms, and areas with drift or other cover was apparent; however, the species also occurred in open waters with moderate to swift currents.
-the sizes attained by the river carpsucker at different ages were (averages followed by number of fish in parentheses): i, 1.9 (10); ii, 3.9 (5); iii, 5.3 (8); iv, 7.7 (5); v, 11.9 (2); vi, 11.6 (7); vii, 12.8 (6); viii, 13.1 (1); ix, 14.9 (2); x, 15.8 (8); and xi, 17.6 (1). these averages are significantly less than those reported by buchholz (1957:594) for the river carpsucker in the des moines river, iowa.
-examination of the gonads of river carpsucker in summer, 1957, indicated that spawning occurred in late july. young-of-the-year, averaging 21 mm. in total length, first appeared in my collections on july 30, 1957.
-i collected three northern redhorse from the big blue river basin, and another specimen was seined in the mouth of mill creek, riley county (my present station 9-g) by the kansas state college class in fisheries management in 1954 (ksc 5068). i reidentify as m. aureolum the two specimens recorded by jennings (loc. cit.) as m. erythrurum.
-the subspecific status of m. aureolum in the kansas river basin is to be the subject of another paper.
-the white sucker occurred primarily in upland streams of the flint hills, with one occurrence in muddy habitat, and one in the main stream of the big blue river. young c. commersonnii were often taken in riffles, but adults were in the larger, deeper pools. the ages and total lengths at the last annulus for 12 white suckers were: i, 2.8 (4); ii, 3.9 (6); iii, 8.2 (1); and iv, 9.2 (1).
-carp occurred throughout the basin. the habitat of this species closely approximated that of the river carpsucker; however, carp were more often taken in moderate to swift water than were c. c. carpio.
-the ages and average lengths at the last annulus for 40 carp from the big blue river basin were: i, 2.3 (4); ii, 4.7 (10); iii, 7.0 (10); iv, 9.0 (3); v, 11.3 (4); vi, 18.6 (1); vii, 18.9 (3); viii, no fish; ix, 20.6 (3); x, 19.1 (2); xi, 21.1 (1); xii, 22.0 (1); and xiii, 24.1 (2).
-i saw goldfish seined from station 4-s by anglers obtaining bait on april 20, 1957. goldfish were commonly used for bait at stations 4-s and 54-s.
-creek chubs were found in all habitats in the big blue river basin, but were abundant only in the headwaters of muddy streams and in clear upland creeks.
-this colorful species occupied the headwaters of the clear, spring-fed creeks where it was abundant. only one specimen was taken in muddy or sandy habitat (at the mouth of a small creek at station 53-s), where it may have been washed by floods just prior to my collecting.
-one specimen of h. storeriana (ku 3810) was seined in swift water near a sandbar on april 6, 1957, and another was taken at the same locality on april 26, 1958.
-phenacobius mirabilis was widespread in the basin, occurring most frequently on riffles over bottoms of clean sand or gravel. young-of-the-year were usually taken in backwaters.
-the plains shiner occurred only in the lower part of the main stream of the big blue river.
-one rosyface shiner (ku 4195) was taken. this species was previously reported from only two localities in the kansas river basin: in the mill creek watershed, wabaunsee county, and blacksmith creek, shawnee county as notropis rubrifrons (cope) (gilbert, 1886:208). mill creek and blacksmith creek are northward-flowing tributaries of the kansas river that arise in the flint hills. graham (1885:73) also recorded n. rubellus (as n. rubrifrons) from the "kansas and missouri rivers"; however, i suspect that his specimens were notropis percobromus, a species not generally recognized in graham's time (see hubbs, 1945:16-17). notropis rubellus is now abundant in the mill creek watershed (wabaunsee county), but, except for my specimen no. 4195, has not been taken recently in other streams in the kansas river basin.
-one specimen of n. u. umbratilis was captured near a sandbar on march 26, 1958. the absence of this species in flint hills streams of the big blue river basin is unexplained; redfin shiners occur commonly in southern tributaries of the kansas river both upstream and downstream from the mouth of the big blue river. in kansas this species is usually associated with the larger pools of clear, upland streams.
-canfield and wiebe (1931:6-8) may have referred to this species in recording "black-fin minnows" from the nebraskan portion of the big blue river basin.
-common shiners were most abundant in middle sections of the clear, gravelly creeks.
-red shiners were the most widespread species taken in my survey, occurring in all habitats, and in all kinds of streams. on two occasions i observed what apparently was spawning behavior of this species. both times the specimens collected were in the height of breeding condition, stripping in the hand easily, and often without pressure. at the first locality (station 29-g) no attempt was made to obtain eggs, but by disturbing the bottom at the second (55-m) i found eggs that were thought to be those of red shiners. the eggs were slightly adhesive, clinging to the hand and to the bobbinet seine.
-on june 29, 1958, at station 29-g, red shiners appeared to be spawning in an open-water area measuring about 15 by 15 feet, over nests of lepomis cyanellus rafinesque and l. humilis (girard). no interspecific activity was noted between the sunfish and the red shiners. water temperature at this station was 73.4°f., and the bottom was gravel, sand, and mud. observations were made from a high cut-bank, by naked eye and by use of 7-x binoculars.
-the red shiners moved rapidly at the surface of the water, with one male (rarely two or more) following one female. the male followed closely, passing the female and causing her to change direction. at the moment of the female's hesitation, prior to her turn, the male would erect his fins in display, at the side and a little in front of the female. after brief display, usually less than two seconds, the male resumed the chase, swimming behind and around the female in a spiral fashion. after a chase of two to three feet, the female would sometimes allow the male to approach closely on her left side. the male nudged the female on the caudal peduncle and in the anal region, moving alongside with his head near the lower edge of the left operculum of the female, thus placing his genital pore about a head-length behind and below that of the female. at this time spawning must have occurred; however, possibly because of the speed of the chase, i observed no vibration of the fish as described for other species of notropis at the culmination of spawning (pfeiffer, 1955:98; raney, 1947:106; and others). while the spawning act presumably occurred the pair was in forward motion in a straight course, for three to five feet, at the end of which the male moved rapidly away, gyrating to the side and down. the female then swam away at a slower rate. in instances when the female failed to allow the male to move alongside, the male sometimes increased his speed, striking the female, and often causing her to jump from the water.
-some conflict between males was observed, usually when two or more followed one female. the males would leave the female, swerve to one side, and stop, facing each other or side by side. at this moment the fins were greatly elevated in display. there was usually a rush on the part of one male, resulting in the flight of the other, and the aggressive male would pursue for about two feet. many times the pursued male jumped from the water.
-at station 55-m, on july 9, 1958, activity similar to that described above was observed in a small pool near a mass of debris. at this station i watched from the bank, three feet from the spawning shiners. water temperature was not recorded.
-another kind of behavior was observed also, in which the female sometimes stopped. the male approached, erecting his fins and arching his body to the left. the female also assumed this arch to the left, and the pair moved in a tight, counter-clockwise circle, with the male on the inside. after a short period in this position, the male moved aside in display, and gyrated to the side and down. females at both stations moved about slowly, usually remaining in the immediate vicinity of activity by males, and returning to the area even when pursued and deserted some distance away.
-nelson (personal communication) has studied the sand shiner in kansas, and has found that the big blue river is an area of intergradation between the southwestern subspecies (deliciosus) and the plains subspecies (missuriensis). notropis d. deliciosus prefers cool, rocky habitat, and occurs in small streams of the flint hills, whereas n. d. missuriensis occupies the sandy, turbid big blue and little blue rivers. intergrades occur most frequently in the big blue river, but are found in all habitats.
-this species was common locally in the upland streams. female topeka shiners stripped easily at station 11-g on july 8, 1958, and adult n. topeka in high breeding condition were collected at station 31-g on july 14, 1958. the water temperature at both stations was 77.5°f. evermann and cox (1896:403-404) recorded female topeka shiners "nearly ripe" on june 29, 1893.
-this species was taken sporadically, but sometimes abundantly, in the big blue river. at stations 7-g and 16-g a few young-of-the-year were found.
-table 2. comparisons of three series of hybognathus, 50 specimens each, from different stream systems.
-ranges are in parentheses.
-bailey (1956:333) does not consider the southwestern hybognathus placita (girard) specifically distinct from the northeastern h. nuchalis, but little evidence of intergradation has been published. in table 2, i have compared measurements and counts of 50 specimens of hybognathus from the big blue river, 50 h. n. placita from the walnut river, kansas (arkansas river basin), and 50 h. n. nuchalis from wisconsin. measurements and counts were made by methods described by hubbs and lagler (1947:8-15) and measurements are expressed as thousandths of standard length.
-hybognathus from the big blue river tend to have fewer, larger scales than h. n. placita from the walnut river, kansas, but more and smaller scales than h. n. nuchalis from wisconsin. in specimens from the blue river, the size of the orbit divided by standard length, and the width of gape divided by standard length and width of orbit, are also intermediate between the walnut river and wisconsin specimens, but tend toward the former. specimens from the big blue river resemble h. n. placita from the walnut river in body shape, robustness, and in the embedding of scales on the nape.
-the bluntnose minnow preferred the clearer creeks, with gravel or gravel-silt bottoms, but occurred rarely in the mainstream of the big blue river. males and females in high breeding condition were taken on july 14, 1958. the temperature of the water was 75.5° f.
-stonerollers were usually taken in riffles with gravel-rubble bottoms. those individuals collected in areas with mud or sand bottoms were almost invariably in the current, or in the edge of currents.
-specimens from the big blue river basin have an average of 47.4 scale-rows around the body (range 42-54).
-black bullhead occurred in all habitats, but were less commonly taken in the big blue and little blue rivers than in other streams.
-the yellow bullhead inhabited the muddy-bottomed streams and the upland, gravelly creeks, usually occurring in the headwaters. i obtained only one i. natalis in the sandy big blue river.
-channel catfish were most common in the larger, sandy streams, but occurred in other kinds of streams. the ages and calculated total lengths at the last annulus for 40 channel catfish were: i, no fish; ii, 7.3 (16); iii, 10.6 (5); iv, 12.3 (5); v, 13.3 (6); vi, 15.5 (4); vii, 18.0 (3); and viii, 21.9 (1). these lengths are slightly lower than averages reported by finnell and jenkins (1954:5) in oklahoma impoundments.
-the length-frequency distribution of 438 channel catfish, collected by rotenone on august 5 and 7, 1958, indicated that two age-groups were represented. without examination of spines, i assigned 265 fish to age-group o (1.3 to 2.9 inches, average 2.5) and 173 fish to age-group i (3.1 to 5.8 inches, average 4.5). the average total length of age group i (4.5 inches) is only slightly higher than the total length at the first annulus reported as average for oklahoma (4.0 inches, finnell and jenkins, loc. cit.). it seems unlikely that my yearling fish taken in august, 1958, would have reached the length at the second annulus recorded in my study of spines (7.3 inches) by the end of the 1958 growing season.
-from 1952 to 1956, severe drought was prevalent in kansas, probably causing streams to flow less than at any previously recorded time (minckley and cross, in press). this drought must have resulted in reduced populations of fishes in the streams. the channel catfish hatched in 1956 were therefore subjected to low competition for food and space when normal flow was resumed in 1957, and grew rapidly, reaching an average total length of 7.3 inches at the second annulus, while channel catfish that were members of the large 1957 and 1958 hatches suffered more competition and grew more slowly.
-flathead catfish were found only in the larger rivers. the species was taken rarely by seine, but was readily obtained by electric shocker. data on the age and growth and food-habits of this species are to be the subject of another paper.
-american eels are now rare in kansas, and none was taken in my survey. the specimen reported by jennings (loc. cit.) is at kansas state college (ksc 2916), and was taken by i. d. graham from the big blue river, riley county, 1885.
-the plains killifish was collected by me only at station 42-s. specimens were collected from my station 4-s by the kansas state college class in fisheries management in 1954 (ksc 4985). my specimens were 11 to 13 mm. in total length.
-that the white bass is indigenous to kansas is evidenced by records of graham (1885:77) and cragin (1885:111); however, since that time, and prior to the introduction of this species into reservoirs in the state, r. chrysops has rarely been recorded in kansas. i collected young white bass at station 3-s in both 1957 and 1958, and i collected them also in an oxbow of the kansas river four miles west of manhattan, riley county, kansas, in the mouth of mcdowell's creek, riley county, and in deep creek, wabaunsee county, and i saw other specimens from an oxbow of the kansas river on the fort riley military reservation, riley county, kansas. the apparent increase in abundance of white bass in the kansas river basin must be attributable to introductions in reservoirs, with subsequent escape and establishment in the streams.
-four largemouth bass were taken. this species has been widely stocked in farm-ponds and other impoundments in kansas.
-green sunfish occurred primarily in the muddy streams. the ages and total lengths at the last annulus for 25 specimens are as follows: i, 1.1 (9); ii, 2.2 (4); iii, 3.1 (7); iv, 5.4 (4); and v, 6.0 (1). male green sunfish were seen on nests on june 29, july 1, and july 9, 1958.
-lepomis humilis was most common over sand-silt bottoms. only two age-groups were found; their calculated total lengths were i, 1.7 (15); and ii, 2.4 (10). orangespotted sunfish were seen nesting on the same dates as lepomis cyanellus.
-this species has been widely stocked in kansas. only young-of-the-year and sub-adults were taken, and these were rare.
-white crappie were rare, except in a borrow-pit at station 6-s. ages and calculated total lengths at the last annulus for 50 specimens from 6-s are as follows: i, 3.6 (22); ii, 5.0 (14); iii, 7.1 (5); iv, 8.3 (7); and v, 10.7 (2).
-mr. larry stallbaumer, of marysville, kansas, obtained a sauger (ku 4179) while angling on may 25, 1958.
-the larger pools of gravelly streams were preferred by johnny darters, but one specimen was taken from the main stream of the big blue river, and the species was abundant in one stream over hard, sand-silt bottom.
-the orangethroat darter was less restricted in habitat than the johnny darter, occurring in all stream-types, but most often in the riffles of gravelly streams. most specimens from muddy or sandy streams were small.
-the ages and calculated total lengths at the last annulus for 42 freshwater drum from the big blue river were: i, 3.0 (10); ii, 5.7 (6); iii, 9.4 (7); iv, 12.1 (13); v, 14.0 (3); vi, 15.1 (2); and vii, 16.3 (1).
-i obtained two hybrid fishes in my study-area. one specimen of notropis cornutus frontalis × chrosomus erythrogaster was taken at station 29-g. this combination was recorded by trautman (1957:114) in ohio. the other hybrid was lepomis cyanellus × lepomis humilis, captured at station 24-g. this combination was first recorded by hubbs and ortenburger (1929:42).
-relative abundance and discussion of species
-the relative abundance of different species was estimated by combining counts of individual fishes taken in 290 seine-hauls, 26 hours and 15 minutes of shocking, and seven samples obtained with rotenone. at some stations all seine-hauls were counted. at other stations the seine-hauls in which complete counts were recorded had been selected randomly in advance; that is to say, prior to collecting at each station. i selected those hauls to be counted from a table of random numbers (snedecor, 1956:10-13). i did not use the frequency-of-occurrence method as proposed by starrett (1950:114), in which the species taken and not the total number of individuals are recorded for all seine-hauls. however, the frequency of occurrence of each species is indicated by the number of stations at which it was found, and those stations are listed in the previous accounts. table 3 shows the percentage of the total number of fish that each species comprised in three kinds of streams: sandy (big blue and little blue rivers), muddy, and gravelly streams.
-carpiodes carpio, cyprinus carpio, i. punctatus, i. melas, and l. humilis were widespread, but each was absent or rare in one of the kinds of streams (table 3). carpiodes carpio, cyprinus carpio, and i. punctatus occurred most frequently in the sandy streams, whereas l. humilis was most common in muddy streams. the high per cent of i. melas in collections from the big blue river is a direct result of one large population that was taken with rotenone in a borrow-pit at station 6-s. in my opinion, this species actually was most abundant in the muddy streams.
-table 3. relative abundance of fishes in per cent of the total number taken, big blue river basin, kansas. trace (tr.) is used for values less than .05 per cent, and dashes signify that the species did not occur in the counted collections although it may have occurred in uncounted collections from the same stream-type. three species, c. auratus, n. buchanani, and s. canadense, were not taken in counted collections.
-in order to illustrate the composition of the fauna in some specific streams in the big blue river basin, i segregated the fishes into ecological groups, as in the above discussion: ubiquitous types; species of larger, sandy streams; fishes of muddy streams; and fishes of clear, gravelly creeks.
-the total number of species taken in each of the streams was divided into the number of species from that stream that were in each of these units, to give a percentage. the resultant data are presented graphically in figure 3.
-figure 3 gives a generalized picture of the faunal composition in different kinds of streams. however, the fauna of a small tributary becomes more distinct from the fauna of the larger stream into which the small stream flows as one moves toward the headwaters (metcalf, 1957:92, 95-100). figure 4 illustrates this in carnahan creek. station 11-g included four sampling-sites, which were approximately one, two, three, and four miles upstream from the mouth of carnahan creek. station 13-g (one collection) was about four miles upstream from the closest sampling-site of station 11-g. applying the same methods as for figure 3, my findings show a gradual decline in the per cent of the fauna represented by the "large-river-fishes," and an increase in the segment classified as "upland-fishes," from downstream to upstream.
-fifty-three fishermen were interviewed in the 1957 creel census period, and 152 in 1958. only those fishermen using pole and line were interviewed. in the area censused, much additional fishing is done with set-lines, that are checked periodically by the owners.
-in the 1958 census, 22 checks along approximately 80 miles of river were made, and seven of these trips were made without seeing one fisherman. the average fishing pressure for the entire area was estimated at one fisherman per 7.9 miles of stream, or one fisherman per 15.7 miles of shoreline.
-seven species of fish were identified from fishermen's creels in 1957 and 1958. these, in order of abundance were: channel catfish; carp; freshwater drum; flathead catfish; shovelnose sturgeon; smallmouth buffalo; and river carpsucker. shovelnose sturgeon occurred in fishermen's creels only in april, 1957, and freshwater drum occurred more frequently in the spring-census of 1957 than in the summer of 1958.
-sixty-two of the fishermen interviewed in 1958 were fishing for "anything they could catch," 68 were fishing specifically for catfish, and 22 sought species other than catfish. the order of preference was as follows: channel catfish, 21.1 per cent; flathead catfish, 15.1 per cent; unspecified catfish, 12.5 per cent; carp, 9.2 per cent; freshwater drum, 1.3 per cent; and unspecified, 40.8 per cent. the kinds of fish desired by those fishermen checked in 1957 were not ascertained.
-of all fishermen checked in 1957 and 1958, 165 were men, 17 were women, and 24 were children. ninety-three per cent were fishing from the bank, five per cent were fishing from bridges, and two per cent were wading. all but two per cent of those checked were fishing "tightline"; the remainder fished with a cork.
-the ten baits most commonly used, in order of frequency, were worms, doughballs, minnows, liver, beef-spleen, chicken-entrails, coagulated blood, crayfish, shrimp, and corn.
-for purposes of later comparison the data on angler success (table 4) have been divided according to areas: area i, below tuttle creek dam; area ii, in the tuttle creek reservoir area; and area iii, above the reservoir. areas i and iii received the most fishing pressure, especially station 4-s (in area i), and station 56-s (in area iii).
-in area i, the success ranged from 0.91 fish per fisherman-day in 1957 to 0.26 fish per fisherman-day in 1958. the 1957 census was made in april and may, when fishing in warm-water streams is considered better than in july (harrison, 1956:203). the 1958 census was from late june through july, and stream-flow in this period was continuously above normal. therefore, fewer people fished the river, and catches were irregular. catches in 1958 ranged from 0.26 fish per fisherman-day in area i to 0.44 fish per fisherman-day in area iii. in 1951, in the republican river of kansas and nebraska, the average fisherman-day yielded 0.36 fish, 0.09 fish per man-hour, and 0.06 fish per pole-hour (u. s. fish and wildlife service, 1952:13-14). the average fisherman-day in the republican river study was 3.0 hours, whereas the average on the big blue river was 2.2 hours for all areas in 1958 (table 4).
-table 4. angling success in the big blue river, kansas, 1957 and 1958.
-in the big blue river 47.7 per cent of all fishermen were successful in area i in 1957, while only 13.1 per cent were successful in the same area in 1958 (table 5). in the republican river, 24 per cent of the fishing parties were successful (1.64 persons per party) (u. s. fish and wildlife service, loc. cit.). the average distance that each fisherman had traveled to fish in the big blue river was 15.7 miles. seventy-nine per cent of the persons contacted lived within 25 miles of the spots where they fished. in the study on the republican river, 77 per cent of the parties interviewed came less than 25 miles to fish.
-table 5. per cent of total fishermen successful, and distances travelled to fish, big blue river basin, kansas, 1957 and 1958. all distances were measured in airline miles.
-my primary recommendation is for continued study of the tuttle creek reservoir, and the big blue river above and below the reservoir, to trace changes in the fish population that result from impoundment.
-probably the fishes that inhabit the backwaters, creek-mouths, and borrow-pits in the big blue river basin (gars, shad, carpsucker, buffalo, carp, sunfishes, and white bass) will increase in abundance as soon as tuttle creek reservoir is formed. also, as in eastern oklahoma reservoirs (see finnell, et al., 1956:61-73), populations of channel and flathead catfish should increase. because of the presence of brood-stock of the major sport-fishes of kansas (channel and flathead catfish, bullhead, bluegill, crappie, largemouth bass, and white bass), stocking of these species would be an economic waste: exception might be made for the white bass. it may be above tuttle creek dam, but was not found there.
-i do recommend immediate introduction of walleye, and possibly northern pike (esox lucius linnaeus), the latter species having been successfully stocked in harlan county reservoir, nebraska, in recent years (mr. donald d. poole, personal communication). these two species probably are native to kansas, but may have been extirpated as agricultural development progressed. reservoirs may again provide habitats suitable for these species in the state.
-if tuttle creek reservoir follows the pattern found in most oklahoma reservoirs, large populations of "coarse fish"--fishes that are, however, commercially desirable--will develop (finnell, et al., loc. cit.). to utilize this resource, and possibly to help control "coarse fish" populations for the betterment of sport-fishing, some provision for commercial harvest should be made in the reservoir.
-1. the big blue river basin in northeastern kansas was studied between march 30, 1957, and august 9, 1958. the objectives were to record the species of fish present and their relative abundance in the stream, and to obtain a measure of angling success prior to closure of tuttle creek dam.
-2. fifty-nine stations were sampled one or more times, using seines, hoop and fyke nets, wire traps, experimental gill nets, rotenone, and an electric fish shocker.
-3. forty-eight species of fish were obtained, and five others have been recorded in literature or found in museums. one species, carpiodes forbesi, is recorded from kansas for the first time.
-4. notropis lutrensis was the most abundant fish in the big blue river basin, followed by notropis deliciosus and ictalurus punctatus. the most abundant sport-fishes were i. punctatus, i. melas, and pylodictis olivaris, respectively.
-5. the spawning behavior of notropis lutrensis is described.
-6. a creel census at major points of access to the big blue river, was taken in 1957 (below tuttle creek dam) and in 1958 (above, in, and below the dam-site). fishing pressure averaged one fisherman per 15.7 miles of shoreline. the average length of the fisherman-day averaged 2.2 hours, with an average of 0.33 fish per fisherman-day being caught in 1958. the average number of fish per man-hour in 1958 was 0.14 and 15.8 per cent of the fishermen were successful. distances traveled in order to fish ranged from 0 to 197 miles (airline) and averaged 15.7 miles.
-7. the primary recommendation is that studies be continued, to document changes that result from impoundment. because brood-stock of the major sport-fishes is already present, stocking is unnecessary, except for walleye and northern pike. also, i recommend commercial harvest of non-game food-fishes.
-bailey, r. m.
-----, and cross, f. b.
-1940. a collection of kansas fish in the state university museum. trans. kansas acad. sci., 43: 377-384.
-1957. age and growth of river carpsucker in des moines river, iowa. proc. iowa acad. sci., 64: 589-600.
-canfield, h. l., and wiebe, a. h.
-1931. a cursory survey of the blue river system of nebraska. u. s. dept. comm., bur. of fisheries, econ. circ. 73: 1-10.
-colby, c., dillingham, h., erickson, e., jenks, g., jones, j., and sinclair, r.
-cragin, f. w.
-1885. preliminary list of kansas fishes. bull. washburn lab. of nat. hist., 1 (3):105-111.
-cross, f. b.
-1950. effects of sewage and of a headwaters impoundment on the fishes of stillwater creek in payne county, oklahoma. amer. midl. nat., 43 (1):128-145.
-1954. fishes of cedar creek and the south fork of the cottonwood river, chase county, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., 57 (3): 303-314.
-eddy, s., and surber, t.
-evermann, b. w., and cox, u. o.
-finnell, j. c., and jenkins, r. m.
-1954. growth of channel catfish in oklahoma waters: 1954 revision. oklahoma fish res. lab. rept. 41: ii + 1-37.
-----, jenkins, r. m. and hall, g. e.
-1956. the fishery resources of the little river system, mccurtain county, oklahoma. oklahoma fish. res. lab. rept. 55: ii + 1-82.
-flora, s. d.
-1948. climate of kansas. rept. kansas state board of agri., 67 (285): xii + 1-320.
-forbes, s. a., and richardson, r. e.
-frye, j. c., and leonard, a. b.
-1952. pleistocene geology of kansas. kansas geol. survey, bull. 99: 1-230.
-gilbert, c. h.
-1886. third series of notes on the fishes of kansas. bull. washburn lab. of nat. hist., 1 (6): 207-211.
-graham, i. d.
-1885. preliminary list of kansas fishes. trans. kansas acad. sci., 9: 69-78.
-harrison, h. m.
-hubbs, c. l.
-1945. corrected distributional records for minnesota fishes. copeia, 1945 (1):13-22.
-----, and ortenburger, a. i.
-----, and lagler, k. f.
-1947. fishes of the great lakes region. cranbrook inst. of sci., bull. 26: xi + 1-186.
-----, and bailey, r. m.
-1942. kansas fish in the kansas state college museum at manhattan. trans. kansas acad. sci., 45: 363-366.
-kansas water resources fact-finding and research committee.
-kincer, j. b.
-lagler, k. f.
-lugn, a. l.
-1935. the pleistocene geology of nebraska. nebraska geol. survey, bull. 10, 2nd series: 1-223.
-marzolf, r. c.
-1955. use of pectoral spines and vertebrae for determining age and rate of growth of the channel catfish. jour. wildl. mgmt., 19 (2): 243-249.
-meek, s. e.
-1895. notes on the fishes of western iowa and eastern nebraska. bull. u. s. fish comm., 14 (1894): 133-138.
-metcalf, a. l.
-minckley, w. l., and cross, f. b.
-in press. habitat, distribution, and abundance of notropis topeka (gilbert) in kansas. amer. midl. nat.
-1956. a layman looks at water. trans. kansas acad. sci., 59 (1):118-123.
-moore, g. a.
-moore, r. c., and landes, k. k.
-1937. geologic map of kansas. scale 1:500,000. kansas geol. survey.
-nebraska state planning board.
-pfeiffer, r. a.
-1955. studies on the life history of the rosyface shiner, notropis rubellus. copeia, 1955 (2):95-104.
-raney, e. c.
-1947. subspecies and breeding behavior of the cyprinid fish notropis procne (cope). copeia, 1947 (2):103-109.
-schoewe, w. h.
-1953. the geography of kansas, part iii--concluded, hydrogeography. trans. kansas acad. sci., 56 (2):131-190.
-snedecor, g. w.
-starrett, w. c.
-1950. distribution of the fishes of boone county, iowa, with special reference to the minnows and darters. amer. midl. nat., 43 (1): 112-127.
-trautman, m. b.
-u. s. fish and wildlife service.
-van orman, c. r.
-1956. surface water--its control and retention for use. trans. kansas acad. sci., 59 (1):105-110.
-walters, k. l.
-1954. geology and ground-water resources of marshall county, kansas. kansas geol. survey, bull. 106:1-116.
-transmitted december 19, 1958.
-university of kansas publications
-museum of natural history
-institutional libraries interested in publications exchange may obtain this series by addressing the exchange librarian, university of kansas library, lawrence, kansas. copies for individuals, persons working in a particular field of study, may be obtained by addressing instead the museum of natural history, university of kansas, lawrence, kansas. there is no provision for sale of this series by the university library which meets institutional requests, or by the museum of natural history which meets the requests of individuals. however, when individuals request copies from the museum, 25 cents should be included, for each separate number that is 100 pages or more in length, for the purpose of defraying the costs of wrapping and mailing.
-more numbers will appear in volume 9.
-more numbers will appear in volume 10.
-more numbers will appear in volume 11.
-except as noted below, the text presented herein is that contained in the original printed version. minor corrections (such as missing punctuation) may have been corrected. the original version had a list of publications printed inside the cover and inside and on the back cover. the cover page was not retained as it is a copy of the first page and the list inside the cover was moved past the end of the article.
-text : italics
-generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.)
-transcriber's notes are at end of text.
-the angel of the gila
-a tale of arizona
-with illustrations by s. s. hicks and gem vaughn
-richard g. badger
-the gorham press
-copyright, 1911, by richard g. badger
-all rights reserved
-the gorham press, boston, u. s. a.
-to my mother
-the angel of the gila
-the angel of the gila
-the mining camp
-a little further to the eastward, around a bend in the foothills, and near line canyon, lay clayton ranch,--the most historic, as well as the most picturesque spot in that region. near the dwelling house, but closer to the river than the clayton home, stood a little adobe schoolhouse.
-the town, facing south, overlooked gila river and its wooded banks. beyond the gila, as in every direction, stretched foothills and mountains. toward the south towered mt. graham, the highest peak of the pinaleno range, blue in the distance, and crowned with snow.
-up a pathway of the foothills, west of the town, bounding forward as if such a climb were but joy to her, came a slight, girlish figure. she paused now and then to turn her face westward, watching the changing colors of sunset.
-at last she reached a bowlder, and, seating herself, leaned against it, removed her sombrero hat, pushed back the moist curls from her forehead, and turned again to the sunset. the sun, for one supreme moment, poised on a mountain peak, then slowly sank, flashing its message of splendor into the majestic dome of the sky, over snow-capped mountains, over gigantic cliffs of red sandstone, over stretches of yellow foothills, and then caught the white-robed figure, leaning against the bowlder, in its rosy glow. the girl lifted her fine, sensitive face. again she pushed the curls from her forehead. as she lifted her arm, her sleeve slipped back, revealing an arm and hand of exquisite form, and patrician to the tips of the fingers.
-she seemed absorbed in the scene before her, unconscious that she was the loveliest part of it. but if she was unconscious of the fact, a horseman who drew rein a short distance away, and who watched her intently a few moments, was not. at last the girl stirred, as though to continue on her way. instantly the horseman gave his horse a sharp cut with his whip, and went cantering up the ascent before her.
-the sudden sound of a horse's hoofs startled her, and she glanced up to see the horseman and his thoroughbred speeding toward the town.
-she swung her sombrero hat over her shoulder, and gathered up her flowers; then, with a lingering glance to westward, turned and walked rapidly toward gila.
-by the time she had reached the one long street, many cowboys and miners had already congregated about the saloons. she dreaded to pass there at this hour, but this she must do in order to reach clayton ranch, nearly a mile beyond.
-as she drew near one saloon, she heard uproarious laughter. the voices were loud and boisterous. it was impossible for her to escape hearing what was said. it was evident to her that she herself was at that moment the topic of conversation.
-"she'll git all the bible school she wants sunday afternoon, or my name's not pete tompkins," ejaculated a bar-tender as he stepped to the bar of a saloon.
-"what're ye goin' ter do, pete?" asked a young miner. "i'm in f'r y'r game, or my name ain't bill hines."
-"i?" answered the individual designated as pete tompkins, "i mean ter give 'er a reception, bill, a reception." here he laughed boisterously. "i repeat it," he said. "i'll give 'er a reception, an' conterive ter let 'er understan' that no sech infernal business as a bible school 'll be tol'ated in these yere parts o' arizony. them as wants ter join me in smashin' this cussed sunday business step ter the bar. i'll treat the hull blanked lot o' ye."
-the girl passing along the street shuddered. the brutal voice went on:
-"set up the glasses o' whiskey, keith. here, jess an' kate. we want yer ter have a hand in smashin' this devilish bible school. another glass fur jess, keith, an' one fur kate."
-the pedestrian quickened her pace, but still the voice followed her.
-"here's ter y'r healths, an' ter the smashin' o' the bible school, an' ter the reception we'll give the new schoolma'am."
-the stranger heard the clink of glasses, mingled with the uproar of laughter. then she caught the words:
-"ye don't jine us, hastings. p'r'aps y're too 'ristercratic, or p'r'aps y're gone on the gal! ha-ha-ha-ha!"
-the saloon rang with the laughter of the men and women.
-the girl who had just passed quickened her pace, her cheeks tingling with indignation. as she hastened on, the man addressed as hastings replied haughtily:
-"i am a man, and being a man i cannot see insult offered to any woman, especially when that woman is making an effort to do some good in this godless region."
-"he's gone on 'er, sure, bill. ha-ha-ha-ha! imagine me, pete tompkins, gone on the schoolma'am! ha-ha-ha-ha!"
-his companions joined in his laughter.
-"what'ud she think o' my figger, bill?" he asked, as he strutted across the saloon. "how 'ud i look by 'er side in virginny reel, eh? i'm afeared it 'ud be the devil an' angel in comp'ny. ha-ha-ha!"
-"y're right thar," replied one of the men. "ye certain are a devil, an' she do look like a angel."
-"say, fellers," said bill hines, "me an' pete an' all o' ye ought ter git some slime from the river, an' throw on them white dresses o' hern. i don't like nobody settin' theirselves up to be better'n we be, even in clo'es, do ye, jess?"
-jess agreed with him.
-"what's all this noise about?" interrupted a new comer.
-"hello, mark clifton, is that you? well, me an' bill an' jess an' the other kids is plannin' ter smash schoolma'am's bible school, sunday. we're goin' ter give 'er a reception."
-"what do you mean by that?" asked clifton.
-"ye kin jine the party an' we'll show yer."
-"let me urge you to leave miss bright alone. she has not harmed you. leave the bible school alone, too, and attend to your own business."
-"oh, he's a saint, ain't he! he is!" sneered pete tompkins. "what about this gal as he has with him here? more whiskey! fill up the glasses, keith. come, jess. come, kate harraday." and the half-intoxicated man swung one woman around and tried to dance a jig, failing in which, he fell to the floor puffing and swearing.
-mark clifton's face darkened. he grasped a chair and stepped forward, as if to strike the speaker. he hesitated. as he did so, a handsome cowboy entered, followed by a little indian boy of perhaps six years of age.
-"what's the row, hastings?" asked the cowboy in a low voice.
-"pete tompkins and bill hines and their ilk are planning to give miss bright, the new teacher, some trouble when she attempts to start a bible school to-morrow afternoon. clifton remonstrated, and they taunted him about carla earle. that enraged him."
-"what do they plan ter do?"
-"i fancy they'll do every blackguard thing they can think of. they are drunk now, but when they are sober they may reconsider. at any rate, the decent men of the camp ought to be on the spot to protect that girl, harding."
-"i'll be there fur one, hastings. have yer seen 'er?"
-"yes. as i rode into camp just now i passed someone i took to be miss bright."
-"pretty as a picter, ain't she?" said jack harding.
-"look, there she goes around the bend of the road towards claytons'. there goes y'r teacher, wathemah."
-the indian child bounded to the door.
-"me teacher, me teacher," he said over and over to himself, as he watched the receding figure.
-"your teacher, eh, sonny," said kenneth hastings smiling. he laid his hand on the child's head.
-"yes, me teacher," said the boy proudly.
-his remark was overheard by pete tompkins.
-"lookee here, boys! there goes wathemah's teacher. now's y'r chance, my hearties. see the nat'ral cur'osity as is to start a religion shop, an' grind us fellers inter angels. are my wings sproutin'?"
-as he spoke the words, he flapped his elbows up and down. kenneth hastings and jack harding exchanged glances. mark clifton had gone.
-pete tompkins hereupon stepped to the door and called out:
-"three cheers fur the angel o' the gila, my hearties. one, two, three! now! that's it. now! death to the bible school!"
-"death to the bible school!" shouted they in unison.
-the little indian heard their words. he knew that insult and, possibly, injury threatened his teacher, and, stepping up to pete tompkins, he kicked his shins with all his childish strength, uttering oaths that drew forth hilarious laughter from the men.
-"y're a good un," said one.
-"give 'im a trounce in the air," added another.
-in a moment, the child was tossed from one to another, his passionate cries and curses mingling with their ribald laughter. at last he was caught by john harding, who held him in his arms.
-"never mind, wathemah," he said soothingly.
-hoarse with rage, the child shrieked, "you blankety blanked devils! you blankety blanked devils!"
-a ruffian cursed him.
-he was wild. he struggled to free himself, to return to the fray, but jack harding held him fast.
-"you devils, devils, devils!" he shrieked again. his little frame trembled with anger, and he burst into tears.
-"never mind, little chap," said his captor, drawing him closer, "ye go with me."
-for once john harding left the saloon without touching liquor. the indian child was clasped in his arms. when he reached a place beyond the sound of the men's voices, he set the little lad on his feet. he patted him on the head, and looked down compassionately into the tear-stained face.
-"pards?" repeated the child between sobs.
-"yes, pards, sonny. that's what i said."
-wathemah clasped his arms about jack's knees.
-"me teacher pard too?" he asked, trying bravely to stop crying.
-"yourn, not mine, sonny," answered harding, smiling. then hand in hand, they strolled toward clayton ranch. and this was the strengthening of the comradeship between the two, which was as loyal as it was tender.
-kenneth hastings overtook them, then passed them. he reached clayton ranch, hesitated a moment, then walked rapidly toward line canyon.
-for some indefinable reason he did not call that evening at clayton ranch as was his custom, nor did he knock at that door for many days. on the following monday, he was called to a distant mining camp, where he was detained by business. so it happened that he was one of the last to meet the new teacher whose coming was to mean so much to his life and to the people of gila.
-the dawn of a new day
-for many days, public attention had been centered upon esther bright, the new teacher in gila. her grasp of the conditions of the school, her power to cope with the lawless element there, and her absolute mastery of the situation had now become matters of local history. her advent in gila had been a nine days' wonder to the gilaites; now, her presence there had come to be regarded as a matter of course.
-every new feature introduced into the school life, every new acquaintance made, deepened her hold upon the better life of the community. moreover, her vital interest in the people awakened in them a responsive interest in her.
-fearlessly she tramped the foothills and canyons, returning laden with flowers and geological specimens. learning her interest in these things, many people of the camp began to contribute to her collections.
-here in the rockies, nature pours out her treasures with lavish hand. white men had long dwelt in the midst of her marvelous wealth of scenic beauty, amazingly ignorant of any values there save that which had a purchasing power and could be counted in dollars and cents.
-the mountains were ministering to the soul life of esther bright. the strength of the hills became hers. nature's pages of history lay open before her; but more interesting to her than cell or crystal, or tree or flower, or the shining company of the stars, were the human beings she found fettered by ignorance and sin. the human element made demands upon her mind and heart. here was something for her to do. if they had been a colony of blind folk or cripples, their condition could not have appealed more strongly to her sympathy. profanity, gambling, drunkenness and immorality were about her everywhere. the vices of the adults had long been imitated as play by the children. so one of esther bright's first innovations in school work was to organize play and teach games, and be in the midst of children at play. she was philosopher enough to realize that evil habits of years could not be uprooted at once; but she did such heroic weeding that the playground soon became comparatively decent. how to save the children, and how to help the older people of the community were absorbing questions to her. she was a resourceful woman, and began at once to plan wisely, and methodically carried out her plans. in her conferences with mr. clayton, her school trustee, she repeatedly expressed her conviction that the greatest work before them was to bring this great human need into vital relation with god. so it came about very naturally that a movement to organize a bible school began in gila.
-into every home, far and near, went esther bright, always sympathetic, earnest and enthusiastic. her enthusiasm proved contagious. there had been days of this house to house visitation, and now the day of the organization of the bible school was at hand.
-in the morning, esther went to the schoolhouse to see that all was in readiness. she paused, as she so often did, to wonder at the glory of the scene. the schoolhouse itself was a part of the picture. it was built of huge blocks of reddish brown adobe, crumbled at the corners. the red tile roof added a picturesque bit of color to the landscape. just above the roof, at the right, rose an ample chimney. at the left, and a little back of the schoolhouse, towered two giant cactuses. to the north, stretched great barren foothills, like vast sand dunes by the sea, the dreariness of their gray-white, or reddish soil relieved only by occasional bunches of gray-green sage, mesquite bushes, cacti and the spanish dagger, with its sword-like foliage, and tall spikes of seed-pods.
-beyond the foothills, miles away, though seeming near, towered rugged, cathedral-like masses of snow-capped mountains. the shadows flitted over the earth, now darkening the mountain country, now leaving floods of light.
-all along the valley of the gila river, stretched great fields of green alfalfa. here and there, above the green, towered feathery pampas plumes.
-the river, near the schoolhouse, made a bend northward. along its banks were cottonwood trees, aspen, and sycamore, covered with green mistletoe, and tangles of vines. no wonder esther paused to drink in the beauty. it was a veritable garden of the gods.
-at last she entered the schoolhouse. she carried with her bibles, hymn books, and lesson leaves, all contributions from her grandfather. already, the room was decorated with mountain asters of brilliant colors. she looked around with apparent satisfaction, for the room had been made beautiful with the flowers. she passed out, locked the door, and returned to the clayton home.
-in the saloons, all that morning, the subject of gossip had been the bible school. john harding and kenneth hastings, occasionally sauntering in, gathered that serious trouble was brewing for the young teacher.
-the hour for the meeting drew near. as esther approached the schoolhouse, she found perhaps forty people, men, women and children, grouped near the door. some of the children ran to meet her, wathemah, the little indian, outrunning all of them. he trudged along proudly by his teacher's side.
-esther bright heard groans and hisses. as she looked at the faces before her, two stood out with peculiar distinctness,--one, a proud, high-bred face; the other, a handsome, though dissipated one.
-there were more hisses and then muttered insults. there was no mistaking the sounds or meaning. the indian child sprang forward, transformed into a fury. he shook his little fist at the men, as he shouted, "ye wathemah teacher hurt, wathemah kill ye blankety blanked devils."
-a coarse laugh arose from several men.
-"what're yer givin' us, kid?" said one man, staggering forward.
-"wathemah show ye, ye blankety blanked devil," shrieked he again.
-wild with rage, the child rushed forward, uttering oaths that made his teacher shudder. she too stepped rapidly forward, and clasped her arms about him. he fought desperately for release, but she held him, speaking to him in low, firm tones, apparently trying to quiet him. at last, he burst into tears of anger.
-for a moment, the mutterings and hisses ceased, but they burst forth again with greater strength. the child sprang from his teacher, leaped like a squirrel to the back of one of the ruffians, climbed to his shoulder, and dealt lightning blows upon his eyes and nose and mouth. the man grasped him and hurled him with terrific force to the ground. the little fellow lay in a helpless heap where he had fallen. esther rushed to the child and bent over him. all the brute seemed roused in the drunken man. he lunged toward her with menacing fists, and a torrent of oaths.
-"blank yer!" he said, "yer needn't interfere with me. blank y'r hide. yer'll git out o' gila ter-morrer, blank yer!"
-but he did not observe the three stern faces at the right and left of esther bright and the prostrate child. three men with guns drawn protected them.
-the men who had come to insult and annoy knew well that if they offered further violence to the young teacher and the unconscious child, they would have to reckon with john clayton, kenneth hastings and john harding. wordless messages were telegraphed from eye to eye, and one by one the ruffians disappeared.
-esther still knelt by wathemah. he had been stunned by the fall. water revived him; and after a time, he was able to walk into the schoolhouse.
-oh, little child of the open, so many years misunderstood, how generously you respond with love to a little human kindness! how bitterly you resent a wrong!
-afterwards, in describing what miss bright did during this trying ordeal, a scotch miner said:
-"the lass's smile fair warmed the heart. it was na muckle, but when she comforted the indian bairn i could na be her enemy."
-as esther entered the door, she saw two middle-aged scotch women clasp hands and exchange words of greeting. she did not dream then, nor did she know until months after, how each of these longed for her old home in scotland; nor did she know, at that time, how the heart of each one of them had warmed towards her.
-several women and children and a few men followed the teacher into the schoolroom. all looked around curiously.
-esther looked into the faces before her, some dull, others hard; some worn by toil and exposure; others disfigured by dissipation. they were to her, above everything else, human beings to be helped; and ministration to their needs became of supreme interest to her.
-there were several scotch people in the audience. as the books and lesson leaves were passed, esther gave out a hymn the children knew, and which she fancied might be familiar to the scotch people present,--"my ain countrie."
-she lifted her guitar, played a few opening chords, and sang,
-"i am far frae my hame, an' i'm weary aftenwhiles for the longed-for hame-bringin', an' my faither's welcome smiles; an' i'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see the gowden gates o' heaven, an' my ain countrie."
-at first a few children sang with her, but finding their elders did not sing, they, too, stopped to listen.
-the two scotch women, who sat side by side, listened intently. one reached out and clasped the hand of the other; and then, over the cheeks furrowed by toil, privation and heart-hunger, tears found their unaccustomed way.
-the singer sang to the close of the stanza, then urged all to sing with her. a sturdy scotchman, after clearing his throat, spoke up:
-"please, miss, an' will ye sing it all through y'rsel? it reminds me o' hame."
-applause followed. the singer smiled, then lifting her guitar, sang in a musical voice, the remaining stanzas.
-when she prayed, the room grew still. the low, tender voice was speaking as to a loving, compassionate father. one miner lifted his head to see the being she addressed, and whose presence seemed to fill the room. all he saw was the shining face of the teacher. months later, he said confidentially to a companion that he would acknowledge that though he had never believed in "such rot as a god an' all them things," yet when the teacher prayed that day, he somehow felt that there was a god, and that he was right there in that room. and he added:
-"i felt mighty queer. i reckon i wasn't quite ready ter have him look me through an' through."
-from similar testimony given by others at various times, it is clear that many that day heard themselves prayed for for the first time in their lives. and they did not resent it.
-the prayer ended. a hush followed. then the lesson of the day was taught, and the school was organized. at the close, the teacher asked all who wished to help in the bible school to remain a few moments.
-many came to express their good will. one scotch woman said, "i dinna wonder the bairns love ye. yir talk the day was as gude as the sermons i' the free kirk at hame."
-then another scotch woman took both of esther bright's hands in her own, and assured her it was a long day since she had listened to the word.
-"but," she added, "whatever jane carmichael can dae tae help ye, lassie, she'll dae wi' a' her heart."
-the first of the two stepped forward, saying apologetically, "i forgot tae say as i am mistress burns, mither o' marget an' jamesie."
-"and i," added the other, "am the mither o' donald."
-mr. clayton, elected superintendent at the organization of the bible school, now joined the group about the teacher. at last the workers only remained, and after a brief business meeting, they went their several ways. evidently they were thinking new thoughts.
-mrs. burns overtook mrs. carmichael and remarked to her, "i dinna ken why the almighty came sae near my heart the day, for i hae wandered. god be thankit, that he has sent the lassie amang us."
-"aye," responded mrs. carmichael, "let us be thankfu', an' come back hame tae god."
-esther bright was the last to leave the schoolhouse. as she strolled along slowly, deep in thought over the events of the day, she was arrested by the magnificence of the sunset. she stopped and stood looking into the crystal clearness of the sky, so deep, so illimitable. across the heavens, which were suddenly aflame with crimson and gold, floated delicate, fleecy clouds. soon, all the colors of the rainbow were caught and softened by these swift-winged messengers of the sky. away on the mountains, the snow glowed as if on fire. slowly the colors faded. still she stood, with face uplifted. then she turned, her face shining, as though she had stood in the very presence of god.
-suddenly, in her path, stepped the little indian, his arms full of goldenrod. he waited for her, saying as he offered the flowers:
-"flowers, me teacher."
-she stooped, drew him to her, and kissed his dirty face, saying as she did so, "flowers? how lovely!"
-he clasped her hand, and they walked on together.
-the life story of the little indian had deeply touched her. it was now three years since he had been found, a baby of three, up in line canyon. that was just after one of the apache raids. it was believed that he was the child of geronimo. when the babe was discovered by the white men who pursued the indians, he was blinking in the sun. a cowboy, one jack harding, had insisted upon taking the child back to the camp with them. then the boy had found a sort of home in keith's saloon, where he had since lived. there he had been teased and petted, and cuffed and beaten, and cursed by turns, and being a child of unusually bright mind, and the constant companion of rough men, he had learned every form of evil a child can possibly know. his naturally winsome nature had been changed by teasing and abuse until he seemed to deserve the sobriquet they gave him,--"little savage." now at the age of perhaps six years, he had been sent to the gila school; and there esther bright found him. the teacher was at once attracted to the child.
-many years after, when wathemah had become a distinguished man, he would tell how his life began when a lovely new england girl, a remarkable teacher, found him in that little school in gila. he never failed to add that all that he was or might become, he owed entirely to her.
-the indian child's devotion to the teacher began that first day at school, and was so marked it drew upon him persecution from the other children. never could they make him ashamed. when the teacher was present, he ignored their comments and glances, and carried himself as proudly as a prince of the realm; but when she was absent, many a boy, often a boy larger than himself, staggered under his furious attacks. the child had splendid physical courage. take him for all in all, he was no easy problem to solve. the teacher studied him, listened to him, reasoned with him, loved him; and from the first, he seemed to know intuitively that she was to be trusted and obeyed.
-on this day, he was especially happy as he trudged along, his hand in that of his beloved.
-"did you see how beautiful the sunset is, wathemah?" asked the teacher, looking down at the picturesque urchin by her side. he gave a little grunt, and looked into the sky.
-"flowers in sky," he said, his face full of delight. "god canyon put flowers, he wathemah love?"
-"yes, dear. god put flowers in the canyon because he loves you."
-they stopped, and both looked up into the sky. then, after a moment, she continued:
-"you are like the flowers of the canyon, wathemah. god put you here for me to find and love."
-then she stooped and gathered him into her arms. he nestled to her.
-"you be wathemah's mother?" he questioned.
-she put her cheek against the little dirty one. the child felt tears. as he patted her cheek with his dirty hand, he repeated anxiously:
-"me teacher be wathemah mother?"
-"yes," she answered, as though making a sacred covenant, "i, wathemah's teacher, promise to be wathemah's mother, so help me god."
-the child was coming into his birthright, the birthright of every child born into the world,--a mother's love. who shall measure its power in the development of a child's life?
-they had reached the clayton home. wathemah turned reluctantly, lingering and drawing figures in the road with his bare feet, a picture one would long remember.
-he was a slender child, full of sinuous grace. his large, lustrous dark eyes, as well as his features, showed a strain of spanish blood. he was dressed in cowboy fashion, but with more color than one sees in the cowboy costume. his trousers were of brown corduroy, slightly ragged. he wore a blue and white striped blouse, almost new. around his neck, tied jauntily in front, was a red silk handkerchief, a gift from a cowboy. he smoothed it caressingly, as though he delighted in it. his straight, glossy black hair, except where cut short over the forehead, fell to his shoulders. large loop-like ear-rings dangled from his ears; but the crowning feature of his costume, and his especial pride, was a new sombrero hat, trimmed with a scarlet ribbon and a white quill. he suddenly looked at his teacher, his face lighting with a radiant smile, and said:
-"mother, me mother."
-"tell me, wathemah," she said, "what you learned to-day in the bible school."
-he turned and said softly:
-then the little child of the open walked back to the camp, repeating softly to himself:
-"jesus love! mother love!"
-early traders knew clayton ranch well, for it was on the old stage route from santa fe to the pacific coast.
-the house faced south, overlooking gila river, and commanded a magnificent view of mountains and foothills and valleys. to the northeast, rose a distant mountain peak always streaked with snow.
-the ranch house, built of blocks of adobe, was of a creamy cement color resembling the soil of the surrounding foothills. the building was long and low, in the spanish style of a rectangle, opening on a central court at the rear. the red tile roof slanted in a shallow curve from the peak of the house, out over the veranda, which extended across the front. around the pillars that supported the roof of the veranda, vines grew luxuriantly, and hung in profusion from the strong wire stretched high from pillar to pillar. the windows and doors were spacious, giving the place an atmosphere of generous hospitality. northeast of the house, was a picturesque windmill, which explained the abundant water supply for the ranch, and the freshness of the vines along the irrigating ditch that bordered the veranda. the dooryard was separated from the highway by a low adobe wall the color of the house. in the yard, palms and cacti gave a semi-tropical setting to this attractive old building. port-holes on two sides of the house bore evidence of its having been built as a place of defense. here, women and children had fled for safety when the apache raids filled everyone with terror. here they had remained for days, with few to protect them, while the men of the region drove off the indians.
-senor matéo, the builder and first owner of the house, had been slain by the apaches. on the foothills, just north of the house, ten lonely graves bore silent witness to that fatal day.
-up the road to clayton ranch, late one november afternoon, came esther bright with bounding step, accompanied, as usual, by a bevy of children. she heard one gallant observe to another that their teacher was "just a daisy."
-although this and similar compliments were interspersed with miners' and cowboys' slang, they were none the less respectful and hearty, and served to express the high esteem in which the new teacher was held by the little citizens of gila.
-as the company neared the door of the clayton home, one little girl suddenly burst forth:
-"my maw says she won't let her childern go ter bible school ter be learned 'ligion by a gentile. me an' mike an' pat an' brigham wanted ter go, but maw said, maw did, that she'd learn us brigham young's 'ligion, an' no sech trash as them gentiles tells about; 'n' that the womern as doesn't have childern'll never go ter heaven, maw says. my maw's got ten childern. my maw's mormon."
-here little katie black paused for breath. she was a stocky, pug-nosed, freckle-faced little creature, with red hair, braided in four short pugnacious pigtails, tied with white rags.
-"so your mother is a mormon?" said the teacher to katie.
-"suppose i come to see your mother, katie, and tell her all about it. she might let you come. shall i?"
-her question was overheard by one of katie's brothers, who said heartily:
-"sure! i'll come fur yer. maw said yer was too stuck up ter come, but i said i knowed better."
-"naw," said brigham, "she ain't stuck up; be yer?"
-"not a bit." the teacher's answer seemed to give entire satisfaction to the company.
-the children gathered about her as they reached the door of clayton ranch. esther bright placed her hand on brigham's head. it was a loving touch, and her "good night, laddie," sent the child on his way happy.
-within the house, all was cheer and welcome. the great living room was ablaze with light. a large open fireplace occupied the greater part of the space on one side. there, a fire of dry mesquite wood snapped and crackled, furnishing both light and heat this chill november evening.
-the floor of the living room was covered with an english three-ply carpet. the oak chairs were both substantial and comfortable. on the walls, hung three oil paintings of english scenes. here and there were bookcases, filled with standard works. on a round table near the fireplace, were strewn magazines and papers. a comfortable low couch, piled with sofa pillows, occupied one side of the room near the firelight. here, resting from a long and fatiguing journey, was stretched john clayton, the owner of the house.
-as esther bright entered the room, he rose and greeted her cordially. his manner indicated the well-bred man of the world. he was tall and muscular, his face, bronzed from the arizona sun. there was something very genial about the man that made him a delightful host.
-"late home, miss bright!" he said in playful reproof. "this is a rough country, you know."
-"so i hear, mine host," she said, bowing low in mock gravity, "and that is why we have been scared to death at your long absence. i feared the indians had carried you off."
-"i was detained unwillingly," he responded. "but, really, miss bright, i am not joking. it is perilous for you to tramp these mountain roads as you do, and especially near nightfall. you are tempting providence." he nodded his head warningly.
-"but i am not afraid," she persisted.
-"i know that. more's the pity. but you ought to be. some day you may be captured and carried off, and no one in camp to rescue you."
-"how romantic!" she answered, a smile lurking in her eyes and about her mouth.
-she seated herself on a stool near the fire.
-"why didn't you ask me why i was so late? i have an excellent excuse."
-"why, prisoner at the bar?"
-"please, y'r honor, we've been making ready for christmas." she assumed the air of a culprit, and looked so demurely funny he laughed outright.
-here mrs. clayton and edith, her fifteen-year-old daughter, entered the room.
-"what's the fun?" questioned edith.
-"miss bright is pleading guilty to working more hours than she should."
-"oh, no, i didn't, edith," she said merrily. "i said we had been making ready for christmas."
-edith sat on a stool at her teacher's side. she, too, was ready for a tilt.
-"you're not to pronounce sentence, mr. judge, until you see what we have been doing. it's to be a great surprise." and edith looked wise and mysterious.
-then esther withdrew, returning a little later, gowned in an old-rose house dress of some soft wool stuff. she again sat near the fire.
-"papa," said edith, "i have been telling miss bright about the annual rocky mountain ball, and that she must surely go."
-john clayton looked amused.
-"i'm afraid edith couldn't do justice to that social function. i am quite sure you never saw anything like it. it is the most primitive sort of a party, made up of a motley crowd,--cowboys, cowlassies, miners and their families, and ranchmen and theirs. they come early, have a hearty supper, and dance all night; and as many of them imbibe pretty freely, they sometimes come to blows."
-he seemed amused at the consternation in esther's face.
-"you don't mean that i shall be expected to go to such a party?" she protested.
-"why not?" he asked, smiling.
-"it seems dreadful," she hastened to say, "and besides that, i never go to dances. i do not dance."
-"it's not as bad as it sounds," explained john clayton. "you see these people are human. their solitary lives are barren of pleasure. they crave intercourse with their kind; and so this annual party offers this opportunity."
-"and is this the extent of their social life? have they nothing better?"
-"nothing better," he said seriously, "but some things much worse."
-"i don't see how anything could be worse."
-"oh, yes," he said, "it could be worse. but to return to the ball. it is unquestionably a company of publicans and sinners. if you wish to do settlement work here, to study these people in their native haunts, here they are. you will have an opportunity to meet some poor creatures you would not otherwise meet. besides, this party is given for the benefit of the school. the proceeds of the supper help support the school."
-"then i must attend?"
-"i believe so. with your desire to help these people, i believe it wise for you to go with us to the ball. you remember how a great teacher long ago ate with publicans and sinners."
-"yes, i was just thinking of it. christ studied people as he found them; helped them where he found them." she sat with bent head, thoughtful.
-"yes," john clayton spoke gently, "christ studied them as he found them, helped them where he found them."
-he sometimes smiled at her girlish eagerness, while more and more he marveled at her wisdom and ability. she had set him to thinking; and as he thought, he saw new duties shaping before him.
-it may have been an hour later, as they were reading aloud from a new book, they heard a firm, quick step on the veranda, followed by a light knock.
-"it's kenneth," exclaimed john clayton in a brisk, cheery tone, as he hastened to open the door. the newcomer was evidently a valued friend. esther recognized in the distinguished looking visitor one of the men who had protected her the day of the organization of the bible school.
-john clayton rallied him on his prolonged absence. mrs. clayton told him how they had missed him, and edith chattered merrily of what had happened since his last visit.
-when he was presented to esther bright, she rose, and at that moment, a flame leaped from the burning mesquite, and lighted up her face and form. she was lovely. the heat of the fire had brought a slight color to her cheeks, and this was accentuated by her rose-colored gown. kenneth hastings bowed low, lower than his wont to women. for a moment his eyes met hers. his glance was keen and searching. she met it calmly, frankly. then her lashes swept her cheeks, and her color deepened.
-they gathered about the hearth. fresh sticks of grease woods, and pine cones, thrown on the fire, sent red and yellow and violet flames leaping up the chimney. the fire grew hotter, and they were obliged to widen their circle.
-what better than an open fire to unlock the treasures of the mind and heart, when friend converses with friend? the glow of the embers seems to kindle the imagination, until the tongue forgets the commonplaces of daily life and grows eloquent with the thoughts that lie hidden in the deeps of the soul.
-such converse as this held this group of friends in thrall. kenneth hastings talked well, exceedingly well. all the best stops in his nature were out. esther listened, at first taking little part in the conversation. she was a good listener, an appreciative listener, and therein lay some of her charm. when he addressed a remark to her, she noticed that he had fine eyes, wonderful eyes, such eyes as belonged to lincoln and webster.
-one would have guessed kenneth hastings' age to be about thirty. he was tall, rather slender and sinewy, with broad, strong shoulders. he had a fine head, proudly poised, and an intelligent, though stern face. he was not a handsome man; there was, however, an air of distinction about him, and he had a voice of rare quality, rich and musical. esther bright had noticed this.
-the visitor began to talk to her. his power to draw other people out and make them shine was a fine art with him. his words were like a spark to tinder. esther's mind kindled. she grew brilliant, and said things with a freshness and sparkle that fascinated everyone. and kenneth hastings listened with deepening interest.
-his call had been prolonged beyond his usual hour for leave-taking, when john clayton brought esther's guitar, that happened to be in the room, and begged her for a song. she blushed and hesitated.
-"do sing," urged the guest.
-"i am not a trained musician," she protested.
-but her host assured his friend that she surely could sing. then all clamored for a song.
-esther sat thrumming the strings.
-"what shall i sing?"
-"'who is sylvia,'" suggested mrs. clayton.
-this she sang in a full, sweet voice. her tone was true.
-"more, more," they insisted, clapping their hands.
-"just one more song," pleaded edith.
-"do you sing, 'drink to me only with thine eyes'?" asked kenneth. for answer, she struck the chords, and sang; then she laid down the guitar.
-"please sing one of your american ballads. sing 'home, sweet home,'" he suggested.
-she had been homesick all day, so there was a home-sigh in her voice as she sang. kenneth moved his chair into the shadow, and watched her.
-at last he rose to go; and with promises of an early return, he withdrew.
-john clayton and his wife sat long before the fire after esther and edith had retired. mary clayton was a gentle being, with a fair, sweet english face. and she adored her husband. they had been talking earnestly.
-"any way, mary," john clayton was saying, "i believe miss bright could make an unusually fine man of kenneth. i believe she could make him a better man, too."
-"no, like a rose," he suggested, "all sweet at the heart. i'd really like to see her marry kenneth. in fact, i'd like to help along a little."
-"oh, my dear! how could you?" and she looked at him reproachfully.
-"why not?" he asked. "tell me honestly." he lifted her face and looked into it with lover-like tenderness. "you like kenneth, don't you? and we are always glad to welcome him in our home."
-"y-e-s," she responded hesitatingly, "but--"
-"i fear he frequents the saloons, and is sometimes in company totally unworthy of him. in fact, i fear he isn't good enough for miss bright. i can't bear to think of her marrying any man less pure and noble than she is herself."
-he took his wife's hand in both of his.
-"you forget, mary," he said, "that miss bright is a very unusual woman. there are few men, possibly, who are her peers. don't condemn kenneth because he isn't exactly like her. he's not perfect, i admit, any more than the rest of us. but he's a fine, manly fellow, with a good mind and noble traits of character. if the right woman gets hold of him, she'll make him a good man, and possibly a great one."
-"that may be," she said, "but i don't want miss bright to be that woman."
-"suppose he were your son, would you feel he was so unworthy of her?"
-"probably not," came her hesitating answer.
-"mary, dear," he said, "i fear you are too severe in your judgment of men. i wish you had more compassion. you see, it is this way: many who seem evil have gone astray because they have not had the influence of a good mother or sister or wife." he bent his head and kissed her.
-a moment later, he leaned back and burst into a hearty laugh.
-"why, what's the matter?" she asked. "i don't think it's a laughing matter."
-"it's so ridiculous, mary. here we've been concerning ourselves about the possible marriage of kenneth and miss bright, when they have only just met, and it isn't likely they'll ever care for each other, anyway. let's leave them alone."
-and the curtain went down on a vital introductory scene in the drama of life.
-the angel of the gila
-days came and went. the bible school of gila had ceased to be an experiment. it was a fact patent to all that the adobe schoolhouse had become the social center of the community, and that the soul of that center was esther bright. she had studied sociology in college and abroad. she had theorized, as many do, about life; now, life itself, in its bald reality, was appealing to her heart and brain. she did not stop to analyze her fitness for the work. she indulged in no morbid introspection. it was enough for her that she had found great human need. she was now to cope, almost single handed, with the forces that drag men down. she saw the need, she realized the opportunity. she worked with the quiet, unfailing patience of a great soul, leaving the fruitage to god.
-sometimes the seriousness in esther's face would deepen. then she would go out into the open. on one of these occasions, she strayed to her favorite haunt in the timber along the river, and seated herself on the trunk of a dead cottonwood tree, lying near the river bank. trees, covered with green mistletoe, towered above her. tremulous aspens sparkled in the sunshine. the air was crystal clear; the vast dome of the sky, of the deepest blue. she sat for a long time with face lifted, apparently forgetful of the open letter in her hand. at last she turned to it, and read as follows:
-lynn, mass., tenth month, fifth day, 1888.
-my beloved granddaughter:
-thy letter reached me second day. truly thou hast found a field that needs a worker, and i do not question that the lord's hand led thee to gila. what thou art doing and dost plan to do, interest me deeply; but it will tax thy strength. i am thankful that thou hast felt a deepening sense of god's nearness. his world is full of him, only men's eyes are holden that they do not know. all who gain strength to lead and inspire their fellows, learn this surely at last:--that the soul of man finds god most surely in the open. if men would help their fellows, they must seek inspiration and strength in communion with god.
-to keep well, one must keep his mind calm and cheerful. so i urge thee not to allow the sorrowfulness of life about thee to depress thee. thou canst not do thy most effective work if thy heart is always bowed down. the great sympathy of thy nature will lead thee to sorrow for others more than is well for thee. joy is necessary to all of us. so, beloved, cultivate joyousness, and teach others to do so. it keeps us sane, and strong and helpful.
-i know that the conditions thou hast found shock and distress thee, as they do all godly men and women; but i beg thee to remember, esther, that our lord had compassion on such as these, on the sinful as well as on the good, and that he offers salvation to all. how to have compassion! ah, my child, men are so slow in learning that. love,--compassion, is the key of christ's philosophy.
-i am often lonely without thee; but do not think i would call thee back while the lord hath need of thee.
-thy uncle and aunt are well, and send their love to thee.
-i have just been reading john whittier's 'our master.' read it on next first day, as my message to thee.
-god bless thee.
-thy faithful grandfather,
-as she read, her eyes filled.
-in the veins of esther bright flowed the blood of honorable, god-fearing people; but to none of these, had humanity's needs called more insistently than to her. her grandfather had early recognized and fostered her passion for service; and from childhood up, he had frequently taken her with him on his errands of mercy, that she might understand the condition and the needs of the unfortunate. between the two there existed an unusual bond.
-"well!" he began. "how fortunate i am! here i was on my way to call on you to give you these flowers. i've been up on the mountains for them."
-"what beautiful mountain asters!" was her response, her face lighting with pleasure. "how exquisite in color! and how kind of you!"
-"yes, they're lovely." he looked into her face with undisguised admiration. something within her shrank from it.
-three weeks had now passed since the meeting of kenneth hastings and esther bright. during this time, he had become an almost daily caller at clayton ranch. when he made apologies for the frequency of his calls, the claytons always assured him of the pleasure his presence gave them, saying he was to them a younger brother, and as welcome.
-it was evident to them that kenneth's transformation had begun. john clayton knew that important changes were taking place in his daily life; that all his social life was spent in their home; that he had ceased to enter a saloon; and that he had suddenly become fastidious about his toilet.
-if esther noted any changes in him, she did not express it. she was singularly reticent in regard to him.
-at this moment, she sat listening to him as he told her of the mountain flora.
-"wait till you see the cactus blossoms in the spring and summer." he seemed very enthusiastic. "they make a glorious mass of color against the soft gray of the dry grass, or soil."
-"i'd love to see them." she lifted the bunch of asters admiringly.
-"i have some water colors of cacti i made a year ago. i'd like to show them to you, miss bright, if you are interested."
-she assured him she was.
-"i was out in the region of colorado river a year ago. it is a wonderful region no white man has yet explored. only the indians know of its greatness. i have an idea that when that region is explored by some scientist, he will discover that canyon to be the greatest marvel of the world. what i saw was on a stupendous, magnificent scale."
-"how it must have impressed you!"
-"wonderfully! i'll show you a sketch i made of a bit of what i found. it may suggest the magnificence of the coloring to you."
-"how did you happen to have sketching materials with you?"
-"i agreed to write a series of articles for an english magazine, and wished illustrations for one of the articles."
-"how accomplished you are!" she exclaimed. "a mining engineer, a painter, an author--"
-"don't!" he protested, raising a deprecatory hand.
-having launched on the natural wonders of arizona, he grew more and more eloquent, till esther's imagination made a daring leap, and she looked down the gigantic gorge he pictured to her, over great acres of massive rock formation, like the splendor of successive day-dawns hardened into stone, and saw gigantic forms chiseled by ages of erosion.
-"do you ride horseback, miss bright?" he asked, suddenly changing the conversation.
-"i am sorry to say that i do not. i do not even know how to mount."
-"let me teach you to ride," he said, with sudden interest.
-"you would find me an awkward pupil," she responded, rising.
-"i am willing to wager that i should not. when may i have the pleasure of giving you the first lesson?"
-"any time convenient for you when i am not teaching." she began to gather up her flowers and hat.
-"sit down, please," said kenneth. "i want you to enlighten me. i am painfully dense."
-she seated herself on the tree trunk again, saying as she did so:
-"i had not observed any conspicuous signs of density on your part, mr. hastings, save that you think i could be metamorphosed into a horsewoman. some women are born to the saddle. i was not. i am not an englishwoman, you see."
-"but decidedly english," he retorted. "i wish you would tell me your story."
-her face flushed.
-"i beg your pardon," he hastened to say. "i did not mean to be rude. you interest me deeply. anything you think or do, anything that has made you what you are, is of deep interest to me."
-"there is nothing to tell," she said simply. "just a few pages, with here and there an entry; a few birthdays; graduation from college; foreign travel; work in gila; a life spent in companionship with a wonderfully lovely and lovable grandfather; work at his side, and life's history in the making. that is all."
-"all?" he repeated. "but that is rich in suggestion. i have studied you almost exclusively for three weeks, and i know you."
-"indeed! know a woman in three weeks! you do well, better than most of your sex. most men, i am told, find woman an unsolvable problem, and when they think they know her, they find they don't."
-this was interesting to him. he liked the flash in her eye.
-"some life purpose brings you to gila, to work so unselfishly for a lot of common, ignorant people."
-"what is that to you?"
-her question sounded harsh in her own ears, and then she begged his pardon.
-"no apology is necessary on your part," he said, changing from banter to a tone of seriousness. "my words roused your resentment. i am at fault. the coming of a delicately nurtured girl like you into such a place of degradation is like the coming of an angel of light down to the bottomless pit. i beg forgiveness for saying this; but, miss bright, a mining camp, in these days, is a hotbed of vice."
-"all the more reason why people of intelligence and character should try to make the life here clean. i believe we can crowd out evil by cultivating the good."
-"you are a decided optimist," he said; "and i, by force of circumstances, have become a confirmed pessimist."
-"you will not continue to be a pessimist," she said, prophetically, seeing in her mind's eye what he would be in the years to come. "you will come to know deep human sympathy; you will believe in the possibility of better and better things for your fellows. you will use your strength, your intellect, your fine education, for the best service of the world about you."
-somehow that prophecy went home to him.
-"by george!" he exclaimed, "you make a fellow feel he must be just what you want him to be, and what he ought to be."
-the man studied the woman before him, with deep and increasing interest. she possessed a strength, he was sure, of which no one in gila had yet dreamed. he continued:
-"would you mind telling me the humanitarian notions that made you willing to bury yourself in this godless place?"
-she hesitated. the catechism evidently annoyed her, for it seemed to savor of impertinent curiosity. but at last she answered:
-"i believe my grandfather is responsible for the humanitarian notions. it is a long story."
-"i am interested in what he has done, and what you are doing. please tell me about it."
-"well, it goes back to my childhood. i was my grandfather's constant companion until i went to college. he is a well-known philanthropist of new england, interested in the poor, in convicts in prison and out, in temperance work, in the enfranchisement of woman, in education, and in everything that makes for righteousness."
-"and he discussed great questions with you?"
-"yes, as though in counsel. he would tell me certain conditions, and ask me what i thought we had better do."
-"an ideal preparation for philanthropic service." he was serious now.
-"there awoke within me, very early, the purpose to serve my fellow men in the largest possible way. grandfather fostered this; and when the time came for me to go to college, he helped me plan my course of study." she looked far away.
-"you followed it out?"
-"very nearly. you see, mr. hastings, service is no accident with me. it dates back generations. it is in my blood."
-"your blood is of the finest sort. surely service does not mean living in close touch with immoral, disreputable people."
-her eyes kindled, grew dark in color.
-"what does it mean, then? the strong, the pure, the godly should live among men, teach by precept and example how to live, and show the loveliness of pure living just as jesus did. i have visited prisons with grandfather, have prayed with and for criminals, and have sung in the prisons. is it not worth while to help these wretched creatures look away from themselves to god?"
-"oh, miss bright," he protested, "it is dreadful for a young girl like you even to hear of the wickedness of men."
-"women are wicked, too," she responded seriously, "but i never lose hope for any one."
-"some day hope will die out in your heart," he said discouragingly.
-"god forbid!" she spoke solemnly. in a moment she continued:
-"i am sure you do not realize how many poor creatures never have had a chance to be decent. just think how many are born of sinful, ignorant parents, into an environment of sin and ignorance. they live in it, they die in it. i, by no will or merit of my own, received a blessed heritage. my ancestors for generations have been intelligent, godly people, many of them people of distinction. i was born into an atmosphere of love, of intelligence, of spirituality, and of refinement. i have lived in that atmosphere all my life. my good impulses have been fostered, my wrong ones checked."
-"i'll wager you were painfully conscientious," he said.
-"why should i have been given so much," she continued, "and these poor creatures so little, unless it was that i should minister to their needs?"
-"you may be right." he seemed unconvinced. "but i am sure of one thing. if i had been your grandfather, and you my grandchild, i never would have let you leave me."
-he was smiling.
-"you should know my grandfather, and then you would understand."
-"how did you happen to come to gila?" he asked.
-"i met mr. and mrs. clayton in the home of one of their friends in england. we were house guests there at the same time. we returned to america on the same steamer. mrs. clayton knew i was to do settlement work, and urged me to come to gila a while instead. so i came."
-how much her coming was beginning to mean to him, to others! both were silent a while. then it was kenneth who spoke.
-"do you know, miss bright, it never occurred to me before you came, that i had any obligations to these people? now i know i have. i was indifferent to the fact that i had a soul myself until you came."
-she looked up questioningly.
-"yes, i mean it," he said. "to all intents and purposes i had no soul. a man forgets he has a soul when he lives in the midst of vice, and no one cares whether he goes to the devil or not."
-"is it the environment, or the feeling that no one cares?" she asked.
-"both." he buried his face in his hands.
-"did you feel that no one cared? i'm sure your mother cared."
-she had touched a sore spot.
-"my mother?" he said, bitterly. "my mother is a woman of the world." here he lifted his head. "she is engrossed in society. she has no interest whatever in me, and never did have, although i am her only child."
-"perhaps you are mistaken," she said softly. "i am sure you must be mistaken."
-"when a mother lets year after year go by without writing to her son, do you think she cares?"
-"you don't mean to say that you never receive a letter from your mother?"
-"my mother has not written to me since i came to america. suppose your mother did not write to you. would you think she had a very deep affection for you?"
-esther's face grew wistful.
-"perhaps you do not know," she answered, "i have no living mother. she died when i was born."
-"forgive my thoughtless question," he said. "i did not know you had lost your mother. i was selfish."
-"oh, no," she said, "not selfish. you didn't know, that was all. we sometimes make mistakes, all of us, when we do not know. i lost my father when i was a very little child."
-"and your grandfather reared you?"
-"yes, grandfather, assisted by my uncle and auntie."
-"tell me about your grandfather, i like to hear."
-"he was my first playfellow, and a fine one he was, too."
-"how i envy him!"
-"you mustn't interrupt me," she said demurely.
-"i am penitent. do proceed."
-then she told him, in brief, the story of her life, simple and sweet in the telling. she told him of the work done by her grandfather.
-"he preaches, you tell me."
-"yes," she said, rambling on, "he is a graduate of yale, and prepared to be a physician. but his heart drew him into the ministry, the place where he felt the great physician would have him be. grandfather is a friend, you know, a quaker."
-"so i understood."
-"he had a liberal income, so it was possible for him to devote his entire time to the poor and distressed. he has been deeply interested in the negro and american indian, and in fact, in every one who is oppressed by his stronger brother."
-"an unusual man."
-"how could you leave him? did you not feel that your first duty was to him?"
-"it was hard to leave him," she said, while her eyes were brimming with tears; "but grandfather and i believe that opportunity to serve means obligation to serve. besides, love is such a spiritual thing we can never be separated."
-"love is such a spiritual thing--" he repeated, and again, "spiritual."
-he was silent a moment, then he spoke abruptly.
-"you have already been the salvation of at least one soul. i owe my soul to you."
-"oh, no, not to me," she protested. "that was god's gift to you from the beginning. it may have slumbered, but you had it all the while."
-"what did your grandfather say to your coming to gila?"
-"when i told him of the call to come here, told him that within a radius of sixty miles there was no place of religious worship, he made no response, but sat with his head bowed. at last he looked up with the most beautiful smile you ever saw, and said, 'go, my child, the lord hath need of thee.'" her voice trembled a little.
-"he was right," said kenneth earnestly. "the lord has need of such as you everywhere. i have need of you. the people here have need of you. help us to make something of our lives yet, miss bright." there was no doubting his sincerity.
-she had again risen to go.
-"don't go," he said. "i would like to tell you my story, if you care to hear."
-"i shall be glad to hear your story. i know it will not be as meager as mine."
-"i wish," he said earnestly, "that i might measure up to your ideal of what a man should be. i cannot do that. but i can be honest and tell you the truth about myself.
-"i belong to a proud, high-strung race of people. my father is like his forbears. he is a graduate of cambridge; has marked literary ability.
-"my mother is a society woman, once noted as a beauty at court. she craves admiration and must have it. that is all she cares for. she has never shown any affection for my father or me.
-"i left england when i was twenty-two,--my senior year at cambridge. i've been in america eight years, and during that time i have received but two letters from home, and those were from my father."
-"you must have felt starved."
-"that's it," he said, "starved! i did feel starved. you see, miss bright, a fellow's home has much to do with his life and character. what is done there influences him. wine was served on our table. my parents partook freely of it; so did our guests. i have seen some guests intoxicated. we played cards, as all society people do. we played for stakes, also. you call that gambling. my mother's men admirers were mush-headed fools."
-"such conditions obtain in certain circles in this country, too. they are a menace to the american home," she said gravely.
-"i was sent to cambridge," he continued, "as my father and his father, and father's father before him, had been sent. i was a natural student and always did well in my work. but my drinking and gambling finally got me into trouble. i was fired. my father was so incensed at my dismissal he told me never to darken his doors again. he gave me money, and told me to leave at once for america.
-"i went to my mother's room to bid her good-by. she stood before a mirror while her maid was giving the final touches to her toilet. she looked regal and beautiful as she stood there, and i felt proud of her. i told her what had happened, and that i had come to bid her good-by. she turned upon me pettishly, and asked me how i could mar her pleasure just as she was going to a ball. her last words to me were, 'i hate to be disturbed with family matters!'"
-"did she bid you good-by?"
-"forget it," she urged. "all women are not like that. i hope you will find some rare woman who will be as a mother to you."
-"forget it!" he repeated bitterly. "i can't."
-"but you will sometime. you came to america. what next?"
-"then i entered the school of mines at columbia, and took my degree the following year, after which i joined mr. clayton here. that was seven years ago."
-"did you know him in england?"
-his companion was silent.
-"you despise me, miss bright," he continued. "i deserve your contempt, i know. but i would do anything in the power of man to do now, if i could undo the past, and have a life as blameless as your own."
-he glanced at his companion.
-"what a brute i have been," he exclaimed, "to pour my ugly story into your ears!"
-"i am glad you told me," she assured him. she looked up with new sympathy and understanding. "you are going to live down your past now, mr. hastings. we'll begin here and now. you will not speak of this again unless it may be a relief to you. the matter will not cross my lips."
-she flashed upon him a radiant smile. she believed in him. he could hardly comprehend it.
-"you do not despise me? you forgive my past?" he looked into her face.
-"it is god who forgives. why should i despise whom god forgives?"
-"if ever i find my way to god," he said in a low voice, "it will be through you."
-she quoted softly:
-"'though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red as crimson, they shall be as wool.'" then she added, "i must go home now."
-they walked on to clayton ranch. after a few commonplaces, kenneth lifted his hat, and turning, walked swiftly toward the company's headquarters.
-esther stood a moment, watching the easy, graceful stride of the young engineer. his words then, and long afterwards, rang in her ears,--"help us to make something of our lives yet." and as the words echoed in her heart, a voice aged and full of tender love, came to her like an old refrain,--"go, my child, the lord hath need of thee."
-she lifted her face and looked into the sky. suddenly she became conscious of the beauty of the hour. the violet light of evening played about her face and form. she forgot the flowers in her arms, forgot the sunset, and stood absorbed in prayer.
-the rocky mountain ball
-it was the day of the ball. parties of mountaineers, some on horseback, some in wagons, started for jamison ranch.
-in the early evening, a wagon load made up of the members of the clayton household, kenneth hastings and some scotch neighbors, started for the same destination.
-the road skirted the foothills for some distance, then followed the canyon several miles; and then, branching off, led directly to jamison ranch. as the twilight deepened into night, nature took on a solemn and mysterious beauty. the rugged outline of the mountains, the valley and river below,--were all idealized in the softening light. the new england girl sat drinking in the wonder of it all. the mountains were speaking to her good tidings of great joy.
-in the midst of merry chatter, some one called out:
-"sing us a song, miss bright."
-it was kenneth hastings. hearing her name, she roused from her reverie.
-"yes, do sing," urged several.
-"sing 'oft in the stilly night,'" suggested mrs. clayton.
-"all sing with me," responded esther.
-then out on the stillness floated the beautiful old irish song. other voices joined esther's. kenneth hastings was one of the singers. his voice blended with hers and enriched it.
-song after song followed, all the company participating to some extent in the singing.
-was it the majesty of the mountain scenery that inspired esther, that sent such a thrill of gladness into her voice? or was it perhaps the witchery of the moonlight? whatever may have been the cause, a new quality appeared in her voice, and stirred the hearts of all who listened to her singing; it was deep and beautiful.
-what wonder if kenneth hastings came under the spell of the song and the singer? the new england girl was a breath of summer in the hard and wintry coldness of his life.
-"who taught you to sing?" he asked abruptly.
-"the birds," she answered, in a joyous, laughing tone.
-"i can well believe that," he continued, "but who were your other instructors?"
-then, in brief, she told him of her musical training.
-would she sing one of his favorite arias some day? naming the aria.
-she hummed a snatch of it.
-"go on," he urged.
-"not now; some other time."
-"won't you give us an evening recital soon?" asked john clayton.
-and then and there the concert was arranged for.
-"miss bright," said mrs. carmichael, "i am wondering how we ever got on without you."
-esther laughed a light-hearted, merry laugh.
-"that's it," kenneth hastened to say. "we 'got on.' we simply existed. now we live."
-all laughed at this.
-"you are not complimentary to our friends. i protest," said esther.
-"you are growing chivalrous, kenneth," said mrs. clayton. "i'm glad you think as we do. miss bright, you have certainly enriched life for all of us."
-"don't embarrass me," said esther in a tone that betrayed she was a little disconcerted.
-but now they were nearing their journey's end. the baying of hounds announced a human habitation. an instant later, the house was in sight, and the dogs came bounding down the road, greeting the party with vociferous barks and growls. mr. jamison followed, profuse in words of welcome.
-as kenneth assisted esther from the wagon, he said:
-"your presence during this drive has given me real pleasure."
-her simple "thank you" was her only response.
-at the door they were met by daughters of the house, buxom lasses, who ushered them into an immense living room. this opened into two other rooms, one of which had been cleared for dancing.
-esther noted every detail,--a new rag carpet on the floor; a bright-colored log-cabin quilt on one of the beds; on the other bed, was a quilt of white, on which was appliqued a menagerie of nondescript animals of red and green calico, capering in all directions. the particular charm of this work of art was its immaculate quilting,--quilting that would have made our great-grandmothers green with envy.
-cheap yellow paper covered the walls of the room. a chromo, "fast asleep," framed in heavy black walnut, hung close to the ceiling. a sewing machine stood in one corner.
-at first, esther did not notice the human element in the room. suddenly a little bundle at the foot of the bed began to grunt. she lifted it, and found a speck of humanity about three months old. in his efforts to make his wants known, and so secure his rightful attention, he puckered his mouth, doubled up his fists, grew red in the face, and let forth lusty cries.
-as she stood trying to soothe the child, the mother rushed in, snatched it from the teacher's arms, and gave it a slap, saying as she did so, "the brat's allus screechin' when i wanter dance!"
-she left the babe screaming vociferously, and returned to dance. four other infants promptly entered into the vocal contest, while their respective parents danced in the adjoining room, oblivious of everything save the pleasure of the hour. then it was that the new england girl became a self-appointed nurse, patting and soothing first one, then another babe; but it was useless. they had been brought to the party under protest; and offended humanity would not be mollified.
-the teacher stepped out into the living room, which was in festive array. its picturesqueness appealed to her. a large fire crackled on the hearth, and threw its transforming glow over the dingy adobe walls, decorated for the occasion with branches of fragrant silver spruce. blocks of pine tree-trunks, perhaps two feet in height, stood in the corners of the room. each of these blocks contained a dozen or more candle sockets, serving the purpose of a candelabrum. each of the sockets bore a lighted candle, which added to the weirdness of the scene.
-the room was a unique background for the men and women gathered there. at least twenty of the mountaineers had already assembled. they had come at late twilight, and would stay till dawn, for their journey lay over rough mountain roads and through dangerous passes.
-the guests gathered rapidly, laughing and talking as they came.
-it was a motley crowd,--cowboys, in corduroy, high boots, spurs, slouch hats, and knives at belt, brawny specimens of human kind; cowlasses, who for the time, had discarded their masculine attire of short skirts, blouse, belt and gun, for feminine finery; scotchmen in highland costume; mexicans in picturesque dress; english folk, clad in modest apparel; and irishmen and americans resplendent in colors galore.
-for a moment, esther stood studying the novel scene. mr. clayton, observing her, presented her to the individuals already assembled. the last introduction was to a shambling, awkward young miner. after shaking the hand of the teacher, which he did with a vigor quite commensurate to his elephantine strength, he blurted out, "will yez dance a polky wid me?"
-she asked to be excused, saying she did not dance.
-"oh, but i can learn yez," he said eagerly. "yez put one fut so, and the other so," illustrating the step with bovine grace as he spoke.
-his efforts were unavailing, so he found a partner among the cowlasses.
-again esther was alone. she seated herself near one of the improvised pine candelabra, and continued to study the people before her. here she found primitive life indeed, life close to the soil. how to get at these people, how to learn their natures, how to understand their needs, how to help them,--all these questions pressed upon her. of this she was sure:--she must come in touch with them to help them. men and women older and more experienced than she might well have knit their brows over the problem.
-she was roused to a consciousness of present need by a piercing cry from one of the infants in the adjoining room. the helpless cry of a child could never appeal in vain to such a woman as esther bright. she returned to the bedroom, lifted the wailing bundle in her arms, seated herself in a rocker, and proceeded to quiet it. kenneth hastings stood watching her, while an occasional smile flitted across his face. as john clayton joined him, the former said in a low tone:
-"do you see miss bright's new occupation, john?"
-"yes, by george! what will that girl do next? who but miss bright would bother about other people's crying infants? but it's just like her! she is true woman to the heart. i wish there were more like her."
-"so do i, john. i wish i were more like her myself in unselfish interest in people."
-"she has done you great good already, kenneth."
-"yes, i know."
-then a shadow darkened kenneth's face. he moved toward the outer door that stood open, and looked out into the night.
-at last esther's task was accomplished, the babe was asleep, and she returned to the scene of the dancing. kenneth sought her and asked her to dance the next waltz with him. she assured him, also, that she did not dance.
-"let me teach you," he urged. but she shook her head.
-"you do not approve of dancing?" he asked, lifting his brows.
-"i did not say i do not approve of dancing; i said i do not dance. by the way," she said, changing the subject of the conversation, "my lessons in riding are to begin to-morrow, are they not?"
-"to-morrow, if i may have the pleasure. do you think riding wicked, too?"
-this he said with a sly twinkle in his eye.
-"wicked, too?" she echoed. "what's the 'too' mean?"
-"dancing, of course."
-"but i didn't say i thought dancing wicked. i said i do not dance."
-"oh, well, you think it wicked, or you would dance."
-she looked amused.
-"what would you say if i should tell you i learned to dance years ago?"
-"that you are strait-laced obstinacy personified. why not dance? it could do you no harm."
-"it is not expedient, that is all. let me tell you i really did learn. i am not an accomplished dancer, though. i was taught to dance in a school i attended. but i have never danced in social life."
-"why not put aside your scruples for once," he urged, "and dance the next waltz with me? you don't know what pleasure it would give me."
-but she still refused. he saw that to pursue the matter further would be useless. the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of cowboys and cowlasses, who, as they filed past, were presented to her by kenneth hastings.
-"how are ye?" asked one husky fellow, gripping esther's hand like a vise.
-"happy ter know yer acquaintance," said another.
-the girls snickered and looked foolish, keeping time to the music with the tapping of their feet.
-"you like to dance, i see," said esther to one girl.
-"you bet i do!"
-the girl's jaws kept time to the music as she vigorously chewed gum.
-"come, jim," said another loud-voiced cowlass, "that's our set."
-and away they went, hand in hand, edging their way through the crowded rooms. soon they were in the midst of the boisterous dancers.
-kenneth joined the human fringe around the dance room. he stood watching as though what he saw amused him.
-"swing y'r pardners," shouted the fiddler, above the din of voices. down came the bow across the strings, that responded in shrill, piercing notes. around flew the dancers, their cheeks growing redder and redder. the clatter of the cowboys' spurs, and the tapping of the fiddler's foot kept time to the music.
-while watching the dancers, kenneth discovered jessie roth, a young scotch girl, in from the range. as soon as he could do so, he presented her to esther bright. jessie responded to the introduction awkwardly and shyly; but as she looked into esther's face, she seemed to gain confidence. it was such a kindly, such a sympathetic face.
-jessie was a girl esther had long been wishing to meet, and to interest in better things. she was at heart good, and if wisely directed would undoubtedly exercise a wholesome influence over other girls. as the teacher expressed her interest in her, and what they might do together, jessie's face beamed.
-"mr. hastings telt me aboot y'r bible school, an' how ye wantit me tae come. did ye?"
-"indeed i did."
-"dae ye want mony mair tae come?"
-"yes, as many as you can bring, jessie."
-then the two took seats in the corner of the room, and esther gave her an enthusiastic account of her plans for the gila girls. the scotch girl listened, with an occasional comment.
-"do you like the life on the range, jessie?"
-"rael weel! y're as free as the air!"
-here the girl gave her body and arms a swing, as though ready to leap to the back of a running horse. she seemed all muscle.
-"you!" said the astonished teacher. "can you break a horse?"
-"can i?" she repeated in amusement. "i'd like tae show ye. i wad like tae tak ye oot on the range wi' me. my, but ye'd like it!"
-"no doubt. what do you do out on the range?"
-"oh, we rides an' rides an' looks after the cattle; we cooks, an' plays cards, an' joshes the boys."
-here jessie laughed.
-"what a dreary life this must be," thought esther. she said aloud, "you must find the life monotonous and lonely."
-"never lonely, schoolma'am. it's full o' excitement. there's somethin' doin' all the time. sometime ye sees herds o' antelope, or ye meets a grizzly. it's better'n a dance tae bring down a grizzly."
-"a bear?" the teacher exclaimed in astonishment. "you don't mean to say you ever killed a bear?"
-the cowlass's eyes sparkled as she said proudly:
-"i've shot several, an' other big game too. but the greatest thing on the range is tae see a stampede o' cattle. it's as much as y'r life's worth tae be in their way."
-the girl, though rough, had a vitality and picturesqueness attractive to the polished new englander.
-it was equally certain that esther was attractive to the cowlass. jessie left her for a moment, but soon returned, bringing three others with her. after presenting them, she said:
-"tell 'em, schoolma'am, what ye telt me."
-"tell what, jessie?"
-"oh, aboot the bible school an' the parties, an' how ye wants tae dae somethin' fer the lasses."
-then esther briefly outlined her plans, during which they occasionally interrupted her by questions or comments.
-"do you mean, schoolma'am, that y're willin' to learn us outside o' school hours?"
-"y're mighty good. i love ye already," said one lass.
-"but we're sae auld," said jessie.
-"no, you're not. you're not old,--not too old to study."
-"yes, schoolma'am, that's what mother used tae say," said jessie in a softer tone. she turned her face aside. another girl whispered to esther, "her father killed her mother when he was drunk."
-esther slipped her arm around jessie's waist, and continued to speak her plans, and how much their co-operation would mean to her.
-"git y'r pardners!" shouted the fiddler.
-soon the lasses were led away to the dance; and for the time, nothing more was said of their plans; but esther bright knew that of all the days' work she had done in gila, this would probably count the most.
-the rooms were now crowded with people. the huge candles burned lower; the air grew more stifling; the noise more tiring.
-as she looked up, she met the gaze of a young english girl, who flushed and turned her eyes away. an instant later, kenneth hastings seated himself by esther and began speaking.
-"i was glad to see you talking with the cowlasses, for they need the gentle, refining influence that you can bring them." he was evidently deeply in earnest. "you have no idea how full of peril their life is. you see there is something in this bold, free life of exposure that almost unsexes a woman. some of the cowlasses are good-hearted, honest girls, but many are a hard lot. your womanly influence would help them."
-as he spoke, he caught sight of the girl who, a moment before, had attracted esther's attention.
-"do you see that girl with the cameo-like face?" he asked.
-"i have been hoping you could save that child. she can't be more than seventeen, if she is that. what her previous history is i do not know; but it is evident she has had gentle breeding."
-"what a sweet face she has!"
-"yes. lovely, isn't it? like a flower."
-"what is her name?" esther looked sympathetically at the girlish figure.
-"earle--carla earle. she lives at keith's. i see her often with mark clifton, a young englishman here. he is a wild fellow. she is shy of everyone else."
-"poor child!" said esther, glancing toward her.
-"i made bold to speak to her one day, and invited her to come to your bible school. i believe if you could meet her you would be her salvation."
-esther looked up with a grave question in her eyes.
-"well?" he asked.
-"it does seem inconsistent, doesn't it? i will try to explain."
-he studied the cracks in the floor.
-"you see, i have felt that i would be a hypocrite if i came. i know nothing about religion; at least, i knew nothing about it until i began to find it in you."
-"and yet religion is the great question of life. i wonder that, with your habit of thought, you have not been attracted to the study of philosophy and religion."
-"some of the most materialistic men i have known," he replied, "have been students of philosophy and religion. they seemed anything but religious. but your religion is practical. you live it. you make men believe in your religion, make them believe it is the one real thing of life. i need to be taught of you."
-"please bring this young girl to me, or take me to her," she responded.
-together they sought carla earle. as esther was introduced, she clasped carla's hand, and began to talk to her of england. kenneth excused himself, and the two girls took seats in the corner where he had left them. at first carla avoided looking into the face of her companion. when she did gain courage to look up, she saw that esther's face was full of tenderness. what could it mean? sympathy for her? carla earle? her chest rose and fell. suddenly she hid her face in her hands, while suppressed sobs shook her frame.
-quickly, esther slipped her arm about her, and drew her to the open door, and out into the clear night air. there, nature seemed full of peace. up and down, the two walked in the moonlight, talking in low, earnest tones. often they paused and looked up into the heavens. once the english girl bowed her head on the new england girl's shoulder, and wept bitterly. the teacher listened, listened to a story whose pathos touched her heart. then she said gently:
-"you know right from wrong. leave the wrong life. come to me for shelter, until i can find a home for you where you will be safe, and i hope, contented."
-"oh, i can't," sobbed carla, "i am so unhappy!"
-"i know you can leave if you will," esther said firmly. "you will have strength and courage given you to do right. it is wrong for you to continue in the life you are now living."
-carla shuddered. she was still weeping.
-"god will never forgive me," she said. "he has forsaken me."
-she seemed utterly hopeless.
-"god always forgives those who come to him penitent, carla. he has not forsaken you; you have forsaken him. i am glad you and i have found each other. perhaps i can help you find your way back to god."
-carla gripped her hand. when they re-entered the house, the english girl slipped into the bedroom.
-"fust couple forrerd an' back!" called out the fiddler, keeping time with his foot.
-there were bows, differing more in quality than in kind; bows masculine, with spurred foot to rearward; bows feminine, quite indescribable.
-"swing y'r pardners!" shouted the fiddler, flourishing his bow. around flew the lasses, with skirts and ribbons flying; down came the boots of the cowboys, their spurs clanking time to the music. the room grew more stifling.
-among the late-comers was a middle-aged woman, immaculately clean. her snapping black eyes were set close to her nose, which was sharp and thin. her lips closed firmly. her thin black hair, drawn tightly back, was fastened in a tight wad at the back of her head. she wore an antiquated black alpaca dress, sans buttons, sans collar, sans cuffs; but the crowning glory of her costume, and her particular pride, was a breastpin of hair grapes. she was accompanied by an easy-going, stubby little irishman, and a freckle-faced, tow-headed lad of ten.
-"maw, maw!" said the child, "there's my teacher!"
-"mind y'r mannerses," said the woman, as she cuffed him on the ear.
-"i am mindin' my mannerses," he said sulkily.
-the teacher saw the shadow on the child's face, stepped forward to greet him, then extended her hand to the mother, saying:
-"good evening, mrs. black. i am brigham's teacher."
-but mrs. murphy was on the warpath.
-"i'm not miz. black," she snapped, assuming an air of offended dignity; "i'm miz murphy, the wife o' patrick murphy. this is my man," pointing to the stubby irishman, with the air of a tragedy queen. the teacher thereupon shook hands with patrick. mrs. murphy continued:
-"my first husband were a young, my second a thompson, my third a wigger, my fourth a black, and my fifth a murphy."
-"i wonders who the nixt wan will be," said patrick, grinning from ear to ear. "my woman lived wid the mormons."
-mrs. murphy's eyes looked daggers. he continued:
-"an' she thought if it were good fur wan man to marry many women, it were equally good fur wan woman ter have many husbands, even if she didn't have all of thim ter onct." he chuckled.
-"mind y'r bizness!" snapped the irate mrs. murphy.
-"an' so it came my turrhn, schoolma'am, an' she were that delighted wid me she have niver tried another man since. eh, mavourneen?"
-saying which, patrick made his escape, shaking with laughter.
-then esther poured oil on the troubled waters, by telling mrs. murphy how interested she was in what brigham had told her of his little sisters, nora and kathleen.
-"won't you sit down, mrs. murphy?"
-esther's voice and manner were very charming at that moment, as she drew a chair forward for her companion.
-somewhat mollified, mrs. murphy seated herself.
-"oh, i don't mind ef i do set down. i'm that tuckered out with scrubbin' and washin' an' cookin', i'm afeared i can't dance till mornin'."
-as she talked, she fanned herself with her red cotton handkerchief.
-"you enjoy dancing, don't you, mrs. murphy?" asked the teacher, with apparent interest.
-"enjoy dancin'? i should say i did!" she suddenly assumed an air of great importance. "back east where i was riz, i went ter all the barn raisin's, an' was accounted the best dancer in the county."
-she showed sudden interest in the fiddler, and tapped time to the music with her foot.
-"then i joined the mormons. when i lived in utah, there was plenty o' dancin', i can tell you."
-"you are from new york, mrs. murphy, i think you said."
-"yep," complacently. "i was riz in york state, near syrycuse. my folks was way up, my folks was. why, my aunt's husband's sister's husband kep' a confectony, an' lived on lexity street, york city. she were rich, she were,--an' dressed! my landy! how she dressed! always latest style! ye didn't know her, i s'pose. miz josiah common was her name, lived at 650 somethin' lexity street. wisht you'd a knowed her."
-here she mopped her face again.
-it was not often that mrs. murphy found herself in society, and in society where she wished to make an impression. her voice rose higher and shriller.
-"yep," she continued, in a tone of supreme satisfaction, "i'm 'lated, as it were, to miz josiah common. she gimme this here pin."
-here she took off a hair grape pin, and held it up for inspection. "a bunch o' grapes, yer see, hereditaried in the family, descended from father to son, yer know, in memory of the departed."
-all this in a tone of one who gives information, and commiserates the ignorance of the listener. suddenly esther bright lifted her handkerchief to her eyes.
-"got pink eye?" asked mrs. murphy with sudden sympathy. but at this moment patrick murphy joined them, and mrs. murphy rose to dance with him.
-as the two left her, esther saw john clayton edging his way through the crowd. an instant later, he presented lord kelwin, of dublin, ireland.
-"really," said the newcomer, "i had no idea i should meet an american lady on the frontier. i am charmed. so delighted, mr. clayton, to meet mrs. clayton and miss bright. i had anticipated meeting indians, indian princesses, don't you know, like the people we see in the shows you send us."
-"it is too bad you should be disappointed, lord kelwin," said the new englander, smiling. "there are princesses galore in the southwest, and a little search will reward you."
-"beg pardon, i did not intend to give the impression that i was disappointed; rather, i am surprised that here out of civilization, ah--ah--i should find a lady,--two ladies. i count myself most fortunate."
-john clayton's eyes twinkled. at the first opportunity he drew lord kelwin aside, and whispered in his ear. the irishman looked astonished.
-"an indian princess, did you say? by jove!"
-"yes, of the blood royal," replied john clayton, with gravity.
-"and possessed of untold wealth? what was it you said?"
-"of untold wealth. i'd rather have her wealth than the crown jewels of any royal house."
-"by george! a fortune and a pretty girl thrown in!"
-it was evident that this bit of information was not without effect upon lord kelwin, for he turned to esther bright effusively.
-"it is such a pleasure, such a great pleasure, to meet one who so charmingly represents her race."
-he bowed deferentially.
-esther looked mystified. before she could frame a reply, their conversation was interrupted.
-lord kelwin drew john clayton aside.
-"an american princess, did you say?"
-"yes, by divine right," responded the older man.
-the irishman adjusted his monocle, to view esther more critically.
-"she looks more like an english woman," he said meditatively. "rather too slender to be a beauty."
-"she was born on the free soil of america," continued his companion, "and has some ideas of her own."
-the irishman smiled cynically.
-"as if a pretty girl ever had ideas of her own! she usually knows just what her mamma or governess teaches her. i always find a pretty girl an easy victim. i've broken more than one innocent's heart." he twirled his moustache.
-"you'll not get on so well with miss bright. you see, she is used to meeting men." john clayton looked a trifle wicked, as he continued, "she might take you for a long-headed animal with long ears."
-but the last remark was lost upon the irishman, whose attention was fixed upon esther bright.
-"you say her ancestors were savages, mr. clayton?"
-"i suppose they were savages, same as ours. she has the best heritage the ages can give,--a healthy body, a beautiful mind, and a heroic soul."
-john clayton's voice, half ironical, had an undertone of seriousness.
-"a heroic soul! a heroic soul!" the irishman raised his monocle again. "i didn't suppose savages had souls. i've always imagined this fad about souls came with civilization."
-"i have begun to think," answered his companion, "that with much of the so-called civilization, men and women are losing their souls. miss bright is a remarkable woman. she believes in the possibilities of every man and woman. it is her purpose in life to awaken the soul wherever she finds it dormant or atrophied."
-again the monocle was raised, and the irishman's curious gaze was fixed upon the american girl, then engaged in conversation with a cowboy.
-patrick murphy now interrupted this dialogue.
-"lord kelwin, we wants yez ter dance an irish jig."
-the lord lifted his eyebrows.
-"there's no one to dance an irish jig with me unless you do it yourself, patrick."
-here there was a general laugh.
-"come along wid yez," persisted patrick, half carrying him toward the dance room.
-"here," he said to lord kelwin, "here's light-footed janette o'neil will dance this wid yez."
-there was a stir. the center of the room was cleared, then out stepped lord kelwin, leading rosy, graceful janette. she was lithe and dainty.
-the fiddler flourished his bow, drew it across the strings, and brought forth the strains of "soldier's joy,"--a melody that sets an irishman's feet flying.
-janette's short, red skirt showed her trim feet and ankles. down the room came the two dancers, side by side, their feet fairly flying. backward, again they danced, the length of the room, still keeping up the feathery rapidity of flying feet. then lord kelwin swung his partner around and around; then facing each other, they danced apart. expressions of admiring approval were heard.
-"them's fine dancers!"
-"go it, kelwin! i'll bet on you."
-"three cheers for ould ireland!"
-down again the full length of the room sped the flying feet; then back again. then, whirling as birds in flight, they faced each other once more, and danced apart, and finished the dance amid deafening applause. as it continued, lord kelwin raised his hand for attention.
-"give us the highland fling. here, burns, you and jessie roth dance the highland fling."
-"highland fling! highland fling!" echoed many voices.
-again the center of the room was cleared, and robert burns led forth jessie roth.
-in a moment the air of "bonnie woods and braes" shrieked from the fiddle. with rhythmic swing of body and limb, the graceful scotch dancers kept time to the music. up rose the arm of the girl, with inimitable grace; forward came one foot, daintily touching the floor. it was the very poetry of motion. at the close of this dance, the applause was again deafening.
-"git y'r pardners fer virginny reel!" shouted the weary fiddler.
-in the rush of the dancers, john clayton was jostled against esther bright and kenneth hastings.
-"well!" said he, "i believe we'd better go out to supper, and then start homeward."
-a brief search brought the other members of the party. they seated themselves at a long improvised table, covered with red tablecloths. there was but one course, and that included everything from roast venison and irish stew, hot biscuit and honey, to new england doughnuts, hot tamales and whiskey.
-near by sat an indian half-breed, who, discovering a large plate of doughnuts, greedily devoured every one. as he had been drinking heavily, no one interfered, or made audible comments. when the clayton party were about to withdraw, there were sounds of scuffling, oaths and cries, from the adjoining room, followed by a heavy thud. some one had fallen. john clayton rushed out, and finding one of his own cowboys in the fight, dragged him out into the open air. to keep him out of the mêlée, he sent him for their team, and he himself returned to the house for the members of his party. the leave-taking over, the spirited team dashed away from jamison ranch. the lights of the house grew fainter and fainter, then disappeared. the babble of voices, the clink of glasses, the clatter of spurs, the sound of dancing feet, were far behind. to the new england girl, the experience of the night seemed a strange dream; and the reality, the solemn hush of the midnight sky brooding over all.
-a soul's awakening
-the next evening, as the claytons gathered about the fire, heavy footsteps were heard on the veranda.
-"the cowboys are just in from the range," explained the host.
-the door opened, and four cowboys entered. abashed at the presence of a stranger, they responded awkwardly to the introduction. they were a picturesque group in the flickering firelight. all were dressed in corduroy jackets, belted with heavy leather belts, each of which held a gun and a sharp knife. each man wore leather trousers, fringed at the bottom, high boots, with clanking spurs, and sombrero hats that no one deigned to remove on entering the room. they were brawny specimens of human kind, with faces copper-colored from exposure.
-the claytons welcomed them to a place before the fire. many a curious glance wandered toward esther. she listened intently to their tales of hair-breadth escapes, of breaking bronchos, of stampedes of cattle, of brandings and round-ups, of encounters with indians and wolves, and of perilous feats of mountain climbing. noticing her interest, their tongues were loosened, and many a half-truth took on the color of whole truth.
-one of the cowboys had been so absorbed in watching her that he had taken no part in the conversation. his steady, persistent gaze finally attracted her attention. she was perplexed as to where she could have seen him. his face looked strangely familiar to her. then it came to her in a flash that it was at the schoolhouse the day of the organization of the bible school. he was one of the men who had protected her. she saw he could not be measured at a glance.
-his face, though strikingly handsome, was one men feared. yet there were those who could tell of his deeds of gentleness and mercy. these were in his better moments, for he had better moments.
-many tales were told of his courage and daring. mr. clayton sometimes expressed the belief that if this cowboy had been reared in the right kind of atmosphere, he would have achieved distinction. his eagle eye and powerful jaw indicated a forceful personality.
-as esther felt his magnetic gaze, she turned and asked:
-"were you not at the schoolhouse the day we organized the bible school?"
-"i was there a few minutes," he responded. but he did not add that he had gone away with the ruffians to prevent their disturbing her.
-she expressed the wish that he would visit the bible school.
-"oh, i haven't been in a church since i was a kid," he blurted out. "then my stepfather turned me out ter earn my livin'. i'm now twenty-eight, an' i don't know nothin' but cattle, an' bears, an' wolves an' indians."
-"it is sad not to have a home, isn't it?" she said.
-"oh, i don't know 'bout it's bein' sad," he answered, as though embarrassed. there was a change of expression in his face.
-"but then your being thrown upon your own resources has made you brave, and self-reliant, and strong."
-he squared his shoulders.
-"in some ways, you have had great opportunities, mr. harding,--"
-"oh, don't call me 'mr. harding,'" he interrupted, "call me 'jack.'"
-"i'll try to remember." her face lighted. "these opportunities have given you magnificent physical strength. i know people who would give a fortune just to have your superb strength."
-"well, i'd be glad to give it to 'em, if i could only have a chance to know somethin'."
-"know how a man ought ter live." there was in his voice a deep, vibrant undertone of earnestness.
-"it's a great thing to live, isn't it?" she spoke as though pondering some vital question. jack harding watched her curiously.
-"some jest half live, schoolma'am."
-"that is probably true," she responded, "but god created us capable of something better. he has given us his world to know, and the people in it."
-"the people in it," he repeated contemptuously. "some people are a bad lot, schoolma'am, an' i'm one of 'em."
-"you must not speak so of yourself. a man who will protect a woman, in order that she may continue her work unmolested, is not a bad lot. now i should call you a pretty good sort of a man." a luminous smile. almost any man would have become her willing slave for that smile.
-as her voice gave special emphasis to the word "good," he squared his shoulders again. she continued:
-"i need to be helped," he said, in a tone that seemed to be intended for her ear alone. "i am ignorant,--don't know nothin'. can't hardly read, or write, or cipher. could yer learn me?"
-she looked at the strong man before her, touched by his appeal.
-"what do you wish to learn?"
-"first readin' an' writin' an' cipherin'."
-"oh, everythin', i guess."
-the others had caught fragments of the conversation, and now joined in. mike maloney spoke first.
-"do yez think yez are a kid again, jack, that yez are sthartin' wid book learnin'?"
-"no, mike, not a kid, but a dunce."
-before the teacher could protest, he continued:
-"ye'll find me an ignoramus, schoolma'am. a fellow out on the range, or in a minin' camp, don't git much schoolin'. but sometimes when ye're alone under the open sky, an' the stars come out, there's somethin' in here" (striking himself on the chest) "that is--is--unsatisfied. i want somethin'. i don't know what it is i want, but i believe you can help me find out."
-let those scoff who will; there is such a thing as divine unrest; and when this takes possession of a man, his evolution has begun.
-john harding went on with increasing earnestness.
-"yer see, schoolma'am, this not knowin' is awful. y're not all a man should measure up to. y're in prison like, hide bound. it's come ter me ter-night, all ter onct, that an ignoramus is in bondage, an' that only education can set him free."
-the tide of his feeling gave him a rough eloquence. it was evident his words found a responsive echo in the other cowboys' hearts.
-the teacher had listened with deepening interest. john harding had set her a task,--the greatest task, nay, the greatest pleasure man or woman can know, of leading a human soul out of bondage into freedom.
-one of the cowboys, jimmie smith by name, nudged mike maloney, and whispered:
-"ask her to learn us, too."
-mike readily assented.
-"would yez be willin' ter bother wid us too?"
-"it would be no bother. i'd be glad to help you."
-there was no doubting her sincerity.
-in a few moments, the men were seated around the dining table, each with pencil and paper, and a lesson in penmanship had begun.
-"gosh!" said jimmie. "ef that don't look like the rail fences back in indianny!"
-as he said this, he held up to view the very best he could do after repeated efforts. he laughed uproariously at himself, the others joining from pure sympathy, for jimmie's laugh was contagious.
-but mike worked as though entered for a race. he seemed to need an astonishing amount of the teacher's attention, especially after she commended his work.
-"schoolma'am," he called out, beckoning to her with his dirty hand, "would yez be showin' me the nixt?"
-she bent over him, naming principles, explaining slant and spacing, as she made a group of letters.
-"stim letthers, did yez say? stim? stim?"
-he held up his work and looked at it critically. "manin' no disrespict to yez, schoolma'am, i'll jist call 'em, not stim letthers, but fince posts."
-after the laughs and gibes had ceased, he listened to her a moment, and then remarked, "the stims should all be sthandin' the same way, did yez say?"
-he grinned as he viewed his writing o'er. it was clear to him, even at that early stage of the work, that he was not cut out for an expert penman. yet his last effort that evening he seemed to regard with special pride and satisfaction, and this is what the teacher found on his paper when she returned to observe his work:
-klass jimme smith mike maloney john harding bill weeks teecher the angle of the gila
-night after night, these cowboys gathered for an hour or more at the clayton home for study with esther bright. reading, and arithmetic, and talks on physical geography followed. the cowboys did not suspect it, but she was fighting the degrading influences of the saloon.
-days came and went. the interest in the night school increased; so did the interest in the bible school. but for some indefinable reason, john harding had not visited it.
-one saturday morning, when esther sought the schoolhouse to do some work there, he joined her, entered the building, and built a fire for her. while observing the decorations of the room, he saw on the walls the words, "god so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
-he read and reread the words. what could it mean? he was ashamed to ask. at last his great dark eyes sought the teacher's face. she saw a question in them.
-"what is it?" she asked.
-"what does it mean?"
-"what does what mean?"
-"them words,--'god so loved the world', an' so on."
-"what don't you understand?"
-"i don't understand none of it. yer see, us fellers uses 'god' as a cuss-word. that's all i know 'bout god."
-"have you never read in the bible about jesus?"
-"bible? i ain't seen one sence i was a kid, 'n' i never read it then, 'n' ef god is a father 'n' anythin' like my stepfather, i reckon i don't care ter make his acquaintance."
-"he is not like your stepfather, for jesus never turns anyone away. he invites people to come to him. would you like to hear about this, john?"
-"well, sit down and i'll tell you."
-so they sat down near the desk. then the woman of twenty-four told the christ-story to the man of twenty-eight as to a little child. he listened intently, with the eagerness of a man in whom the passion to know has just been born. the teacher's words thrilled her listener. she pictured jesus a child. jesus a young man in nazareth, working among his fellows, tempted, victorious; jesus healing the sick and afflicted, mingling with sinful men, and freeing them from their bondage to sin. the expression of the man's face was indescribable. as she reached the story of the crucifixion, he asked huskily:
-"why did god let the jews kill him?"
-"many have asked that question. all we know about it is what the bible tells us. i used to wonder if there could not have been some other way of salvation than through the suffering and death of jesus."
-her look was far away, as of one thinking of things eternal. again she read aloud:
-"and while they abode in galilee, jesus said unto them, 'the son of man shall be betrayed into the hands of men, and they shall kill him, and the third day he shall be raised again.' and they were exceeding sorry."
-"he knew it, then, that they would kill him?"
-"it seems so." she read on:
-"he taught his disciples and said unto them, 'the son of man is delivered into the hands of men, and they shall kill him; and after that he is killed, he shall rise the third day.'"
-she turned the leaves and read again: "'as moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the son of man be lifted up: that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have eternal life. for god so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. for god sent not his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.'"
-"he died for us?"
-she nodded, and continued: "'i tell you the truth; it is expedient for you that i go away: for if i go not away the comforter will not come unto you; but if i depart, i will send him unto you.'"
-"listen, john. 'greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.'"
-then she closed the book.
-"greater love hath no man than this," he repeated. she took up the words, "'that a man lay down his life for his friends.'"
-john harding spoke slowly. the great truth that has comforted the human heart for ages had at last reached his dormant soul. the eagle eye seemed looking inward; the iron jaw set; the strong hand clinched. in this deep inward look, the man seemed to have forgotten the presence of the teacher. at last into the hard face flashed a comprehending light, and he spoke.
-"i would give my life for you."
-"i believe you would," she said, never doubting. "just so jesus gave his life for all mankind."
-"i begin to understand."
-"he taught men how to live," explained the teacher. "he taught that great and worthy love means sacrifice, and that all who would truly love and serve their fellow men must cease to think about self, and must get about doing kind, helpful things for other people."
-"i have never known the meaning of love or sacrifice," he said. "i don't know no more about them things than i do about god. but tell me about jesus. what happened after they had crucified him?"
-he listened with intense interest as she told the story.
-"i want ter know more," he said. "i never knowed sech things was in the bible. ef i'd knowed it when i was a kid, i'd a lived a differ'nt life. i s'pose it's too late now."
-"no; not too late." her voice was low and gentle.
-"i don't know how ter begin," he said helplessly. "tell me how."
-"one way is to feel deeply sorry for anything wrong in one's past; to repent of wrong thoughts, wrong words, wrong deeds."
-"but, schoolma'am, my wrong deeds has been so many," and he bowed his head on his arms on the desk before him.
-the revolution of 1833 was especially marked for its violence. bishops and priests were imprisoned, and men of very questionable virtue were put in their places. ecclesiastical property was confiscated, for which indemnity was promised, but never accorded. convents were suppressed and the religious persecuted. the sacred rites in the administration of the sacraments were regulated by the civil procedure. only the death of the tyrant, maria da gloria, brought some relief to the church.
-the history of portugal for many years has been a story of gradual decadence. the secret societies aided by english encouragement have honeycombed the country until the terror of the lodges invaded every institution and home in the land. a dynasty represented by a king like carlos i., who showed himself utterly incapable of manly feelings or kingly instincts, gave color to the evil machinations of the hypocritical crew who love to feast upon the decay of ancient glory.
-assassination of carlos i.
-on the first day of february, 1908, a terrible event horrified the world. in the afternoon of that day carlos i., the king of portugal, and his son luis, the heir apparent, were assassinated, as they were returning with their family to the royal palace at lisbon. the conspirators had shot their victims. queen amelia courageously shielded her loved ones with her own body, but in vain. if she herself was spared it was not through any pity on the part of the regicides, who would have stricken her as fiercely, if they had not believed they had extinguished the royal line in the blood of the king and his children. for the time being, however, the hopes of the revolutionists were not realized, and the monarchy yet lived in the person of the younger son.
-the blood of the victims, in fact, seemed to have infused new virtue into the portuguese people, who in the horror of the royal tragedy, and the pity aroused for the remainder of the family, tried to forget the past with its faults, and sustained the crown.
-the younger son, dom manuel, a young man of eighteen, was proclaimed king, in the gloomy afternoon of that sad day, with the title of manuel ii. his proclamation to the people made mention of the "abominable crime," declared his adhesion to the constitution, and promised his every effort for the welfare of his country and the affection of his people.
-manuel was not educated for the throne, and now under the horror of the awful murder, and with the heavy burden of an unexpected royalty, he made every sacrifice to bring about a thorough pacification.
-in the two years of his reign manuel appeared to be, but was not, the ruler. seven ministries succeeded one to another in the government, all of them under the influence of one determination: to hush up as far as possible the assassination of the former king. it would not do to divulge the mysterious connection between the revolutionary regicides and the secret societies.
-the first ministry was conservative, but it was quickly driven out of power, to be succeeded by the party of the left. the door was thus opened to the republicans. already in secret they had manifested their power; they had organized plots against individuals, conspiracies against the monarchy, and violent measures against the church and religion.
-manuel ii., as yet too young to give a strong impress to his regime, made close relations with england and france. at home, unhappily, he fell under the secret and malign influence of the very men who had assassinated his father. in the speech from the throne, delivered on september 23, 1910, at the opening of the cortes, he betrayed his subjection to the sectaries who surrounded his throne. the minister teixeira de sousa deceived the king in the anti-clerical struggle against the religious orders. his promises were only a sop thrown to the revolutionaries to calm their anger, but they signified that the last blow was being prepared to destroy the monarchy, since the catholic people showed themselves friendly to it inasmuch as it held out the only guarantee of peace and security.
-revolution always active.
-in the meantime the republicans were active, building up their forces, and gaining over the army and navy by their promises and insinuations.
-portugal had forgotten the old traditions which inspired camoens, the greatest of her poets, to sing the memory of those kings who made the name of portugal glorious in far-off lands. the modern muse of portuguese song is represented by a renegade, guerra junqueiro, who reviled the ancient glories of his country, and now a demoralized sense sees only the glory of the regicide and the license of anarchy.
-the proclamation of the new republic in portugal followed a military pronunciamento of the type that obtained formerly in uncivilized countries, a manifesto of the army and navy rather than of the people.
-the new political institution with a poet for its president is the fruit of the revolt of insubordinate officials armed for the assassination of their superiors, and of all who would dare to remain faithful to their oath and to their flag. the horde of pretorians, janizaries, and other instruments of tyranny, meant only the momentary preponderance of military power, the followers of a few agitators, the illuminati who relied more on the sharpness of the bayonets than on the justice of any reasons they might adduce.
-the european and often the american press viewed the whole disgraceful affair with favor. the daily reviews of the situation spoke in glowing terms of the "pacific and honest" event at lisbon, while breaking into tirades against the wickedness of the religious.
-certain it is that on the night of october 4, 1910, while the king was at lisbon for the purpose of receiving with due honor the new president of brazil, marshal hermes de fonseca, then visiting portugal, the republican conspirators decided to anticipate the stroke of revolt by imprisoning the king and preventing him from flying to the northern provinces. the vice-admiral, candido reis, awaited with his squadron in the bay of lisbon, and gave the signal to turn the fire of the cannon upon the royal palace. on land the sixteenth regiment of infantry killed the royal officials, joined with the revolutionary mob, took possession of the arsenal in order to arm the rebels, and launched the war against their sovereign and the throne.
-manuel, taken unawares, found himself practically alone. while his uncle, the duke of porto, attempted a desperate defence by placing himself at the head of the mountain artillery, and was constrained to retreat, the young king, abandoned by his councillors and his courtiers, the friends of his brief day of power, determined to shed no unnecessary blood and took refuge in exile.
-there was indeed a moment when the tide of revolution seemed forced back towards failure, and in that moment candido reis, the principal instigator of the revolution, committed suicide. the news only aroused the mob to increased fury, and sent them burning with anti-clerical hatred against the helpless religious. the horrors and the excesses of that oppression have been demonstrated by the numberless murders and by the horrible cruelties practised upon the defenceless victims of "liberty."
-it is probable that the complete story of the persecution inflicted upon the religious of portugal will never be known. some of the victims have disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed them. but the history of the survivors is full enough in its appalling details to give an idea of the utter barbarity of the oppressors and the ignorance which impelled them to action.
-against the jesuits the portuguese secret societies have entertained an abiding hatred ever since the days of the infamous pombal. long before the late revolution the writer visited the ancient church of the jesuits in ponte delgado in the azores islands, and there beheld the evidences of vandalism perpetrated years before upon altars and shrines that have not their equal in the world. naturally the fury of the mob, in the recent upheaval, sought out these fathers as a worthy object of brutality, and inflicted upon them indignities with a savagery worthy of the inhabitants of the fiji islands.
-three of the great jesuit institutions met with especial attention, those of quelhas, barro and campolide. when the revolutionists stormed the first of these establishments, they reported a story that the priests had fired bombs upon the soldiers, and then retreated into underground passages to hide. the facts of the case, as it later developed, showed that the house at quelhas had actually been shut by the government and deserted by the jesuits. nevertheless the story of the bombs and the underground passages went the round of the press of the world. these underground passages, by the way, were shown to be little sewer conduits about eight or ten inches in diameter, so that it would be extremely difficult for even the most ascetic jesuit father to enter, much less to live in them.
-the college at barro was one of the finest in portugal, and it is a noteworthy fact in connection with it, that on the very last day of his reign the young king had signed a decree closing that novitiate. in the house on the day of its attack there were eighty-six priests, brothers, novices and students, all members or intending to be members of the society of jesus. it is well known that the lower class of the portuguese who fell under secret society influence were superstitious to an incredible degree. hence, when it became noised abroad that there were strange apparatus in the college, such things as microscopes, x-rays, radium, and electrical appliances, the excited mob held up its hands in holy horror. the jesuits who had such things, and talked in such learned language could surely be nothing less than hobgoblins, unnatural sprites and wicked spirits. the sentiment was fostered and encouraged in them by the unscrupulous spirits of discontent, who knew that anarchy could never prosper while learning and virtue remained unabused.
-on october 5, the college was sacked, and its inmates marched out. after a humiliating journey on the railroad, they were finally imprisoned in the fortress of caxeas. father torrent, a learned scientist of the band, was in a few days liberated as a french citizen.
-the college at campolide, the glory of portuguese educational institutions, shared the same fate. its fathers were arrested and led away to swell the number of prisoners at caxeas. the collection of laboratory apparatus, one of the finest in europe, was delivered up to the fury of a mob, who could no more appreciate their worth than the savages of africa. the magnificent library of 25,000 volumes contained rare works that can never be duplicated.
-the wave of indignation and contempt that followed in the whole world when the true nature and character of the revolutionists began to be known, has urged the portuguese controllers to excuse and palliate their acts. when the nuns were driven from their convents they were led to the vile quarters of the arsenal where their humiliations were continued. it was said that this was done to protect them from the mob; yet it is now known that the mob had no intention of sacking the convents; this work was done almost altogether by the soldiers and sailors. in fact when a few soldiers guarded the irish convent at belim, the dominican convent at benfrica, and the irish dominican monastery at corpo santo, the mob had nothing to do, and these convents remained untouched.
-when the nuns were taken from their convents they were piled like criminals into any handy vehicle, and then driven in the midst of a shouting, hooting mob along the streets. the soldiers who marched with them, as is shown in the many photographs taken of the event, laughed with idiotic bravado, and assumed as much importance as if their delicate, helpless charges were so many fierce warrior captives taken on the field of battle. in the arsenal several hundreds of them were huddled together in one large room. here they were visited by senhor affonso costa, the minister of justice, who swaggered about among the gentle-minded ladies, roared at them, and glared with his magnetic eye. for three hours he questioned and insulted them, while a score of attendant press agents took down his magnificent bravadoes to be embellished for the press of the day. except for the misery of the poor sisters, the whole scene was worthy of one of sullivan's comic operas, calling for laughter where it did not inspire contempt.
-this is the portuguese republic, the government to which the people of portugal have been consigned. its direction is plainly indicated from the fact that one of its first proposed laws is that which permits of free divorce. the republic of portugal has one rival on earth, that of the west indies, to which people, laughing, give the name of hayti.
-to my countrymen: the prolonged period of distress which elapsed while the fathers and brothers of the society of jesus were quitting portugal to take the road of exile, being driven from their beloved native land on the charge of abominable crimes, whereas their life had been wholly spent in self-sacrifice on behalf of others, whilst i was moreover occupied with the care of my spiritual children, having to determine for each a new scene for the exercise of his zeal--all this, i say, occupied me to such an extent that hitherto i have been unable to find time to address this protest to my countrymen, which, however, is demanded of me as a relief for my own grief and by my duty as a christian and a religious whose office lays upon him this responsibility.
-in this, my protestation and complaint, i shall speak only of those religious who, as members of the society of jesus, were subject to my jurisdiction, since for them alone was i responsible. i must, however, begin by saluting the glorious children of all religious orders whom we cherish and reverence as ennobled by their sufferings and their participation in the cross through insults, bondage, and even death itself, some of them having sealed a life of saintliness and self-devotedness with the testimony of their blood.
-but in thus solemnly addressing my country, i must, as a father, speak of my own well-beloved sons, expressing my grief on beholding what they suffer, and protesting their innocence of the charges brought against them.
-in this free country men who extol the spirit of liberty, and claim to be leaders of the principle of universal equality, have on the instant expelled from portuguese territory more than three hundred of their fellow citizens, spread amongst some score of houses in the motherland and colonies beyond the seas in asia, africa and oceania.
-this cruel act was executed without the victims being permitted to speak one word in their defence, no time being allowed them to carry away a stitch of clothing, their books or their papers, though these contained the fruit of active studies pursued for years.
-in the name of liberty they have taken from us all that we possess, have seized our property and our houses, built with what by dint of careful economy has been saved out of the pensions of our pupils, or has been assigned by individuals and legally invested for the purpose in their own names.
-the college of campolide was established in 1858 by three english subjects in order to assist father rademaker in the development of education and material progress in portugal. the college of campolide was accordingly for a long period english property and flew the british flag. later, after the death of these persons, the trust was dissolved, and campolide, with all its belongings, was acquired by other individuals, portuguese or foreign. one of these, father bramley, now in india, has, of course, claimed his share. i do not know why the portuguese partner cannot do the same, there being a fundamental law which absolutely prohibits the confiscation in all cases of property belonging to private citizens. since 1834, when the possession of property in portugal was forbidden to religious orders, it has been the rule, as in england, that individuals alone could buy, sell or own such properties as were assigned by their legal owners to the use of jesuits or others.
-along with buildings and land was seized, likewise the furniture of our houses, comprising first-rate scientific collections in the museums, scientific institutes and laboratories of the colleges at campolide and s. fiel, where for more than half a century, by means of the monthly pensions of our boys, and the generosity of friends inspired by esteem and devotion, the intelligent and disinterested labors of our fathers and brothers had succeeded in accumulating valuable materials for study, which by every right were ours, and ours alone.
-our libraries disappeared in like manner during the same period, the store where our linen was kept, the private rooms themselves, in each of which could be found, besides a washstand and bed, only a writing table and a modest bookstand with a few books, the companions of our solitude--all were suddenly declared to be the property of the state.
-we ourselves, thus summarily and arbitrarily despoiled of everything, and turned out of our own doors, were led to prison by a throng of armed soldiers and civilians, amidst the insults and jeers of a mob long excited against us by the calumnies of a ribald press.
-those who, forewarned of these outrages, succeeded in making their escape, were hunted like wild beasts through fields and streets, some of them--as i know certainly in the case of six--were pursued with gun shots--in some instances their assailants spat in their faces.
-yet these were men who had never made any appearance in politics, criminals of a novel species, who had renounced and sacrificed all that is attractive in human life to devote themselves, without thought of worldly recompense, to the education of youth in our schools, to preach the gospel to the heathen in our transmarine colonies, or to exercise every kind of priestly ministry, however hard and unattractive. against these men a disreputable press, which in any other country would be sternly repressed, though spreading vague and blustering charges, could not in any single instance succeed in proving, i will not say a solitary crime, but even a misdemeanor.
-yet such were the men who were clapped into gaols and dungeons as notorious criminals, exposed to barbarous sufferings, and for several days not even permitted any intercourse with one another. let it not be said that all this is but exaggeration prompted by my grief. what has been endured by our exiles and captives went far beyond my simple sketch.
-in my own case--of which i may be allowed to speak--to say nothing of what the society of jesus has legitimately obtained through its work and administration, i had at least a right to what i duly inherited from my parents, with which i had acquired personal and landed estates, all registered in my name; yet i was forced to leave portugal without anything but the clothes on my back, and even these i owed to a friend, for i possessed no secular dress in which to make my escape. i had, moreover, no money in my pocket, save what was sent me by a stranger who knew me only by name and sight, and to whom in my exile i desire to testify my gratitude.
-treatment in prison.
-as to the sufferings of my beloved brethren i will only say that in the artillery barrack, which was under the control not of the military, but of the dregs of the populace, not even a spoon was given to the prisoners wherewith to eat their mess of food, that they were allowed to withdraw privately but once in eight hours, and poor invalids to whom such tyranny might prove fatal, were told that they only sought a pretext for retirement.
-as to their furniture, i will only say that afterwards when, being transferred to caxeas, they were there provided with a mattress laid on the ground, a hard bolster, and a single blanket, they thought themselves in comfort, by comparison.
-in a dungeon of the town hall, before their removal to the central prison of limovro, some of the captives were still worse treated, being crammed together, to the number of twenty-three, where there was scarce room for three or four, and they had for five days to breathe foul air, not being suffered to leave the chamber, and there being no ventilation save through one small aperture.
-i am well aware that many officers and soldiers, coming to know the captives, manifested towards them not only sympathy but respect. these kindly feelings, however, for which we all desire to record our heartfelt gratitude, did not hinder the sufferings endured during five whole weeks.
-outlawed and exiled.
-nor is this all. when after all these hardships and torments the provisional government set about executing the sentence of exile and outlawry against these portuguese subjects in whose breasts there dwelt and still dwells the most ardent affection for their beloved country, these men who had bereft us of everything, who had taken possession of our goods and land, did not hesitate to require that they who, by a special decree, were to be driven from portugal should pay for their own transport; and when one of our fathers ventured to tell one of the officers who was more exigent in this exaction, that we had no means of doing so, he was answered: "well, we shall see; when we squeeze you a bit, and you begin to fester, you'll find a way."
-money was soon forthcoming, for portugal is not yet entirely in the hands of a crew whose passions are aroused against persecuted innocence. many families contributed to supply funds for the journey, plentiful stores of provisions and clothing were furnished, and i was deeply moved to see many of my spiritual children reach foreign lands in the attire supplied by our well-loved scholars of campolide during their frequent visits to their persecuted masters. in spirit i salute these benefactors, and i shall never forget these young men who, without a hint from us, came to the succor of these poor sons of the society. but ere they took the road of exile there was reserved for them yet one more cruel humiliation.
-venerable elders, distinguished men of science, held in repute at home and abroad, religious venerated for their virtue, youths still almost boys, with innocence stamped on their features--all had to go to an anthropometric station and to be treated like notorious criminals, being described, photographed and measured in every detail, down to the joints of their fingers. the photographs then appeared in the newspapers, with the number assigned to each as to a convict. i cannot refrain from special protest against a proceeding so incredibly vexatious.
-one circumstance in the persecution yet remains to be exhibited. a decree with the force of law published by the provisional government on october 10 revokes all exceptional legislation, and in its first article, no. 2, it assigns as the motive of such revocation that "there are now no permanent penalties of unlimited duration in the portuguese republic." but, strange to say, the law fulminated against the society of jesus is in flat contradiction to this declaration. against us has been issued an exceptional law, so odious that one is astounded to think that in the twentieth century it has been possible to institute in full vigor such draconian legislation, and to claim for it the attribute of most absolute despotism. as though it were not enough to show its palpable opposition to the liberal profession of the new republic, the sentence which condemns us to exile and deprives us of the rights of portuguese subjects is a permanent one, solemnly promulgated with the ruthless formula "for ever."
-such is the slight sketch of the tyrannies of which we have been the victims in the name of liberty.
-the charges and their answers.
-it will naturally be asked, what were our crimes?
-in the first place, it is passing strange that to this moment not a single offense has been alleged against us.
-the law of october 8 assigns none, but appeals to the ancient obsolete legislation of pombal (1758) and aguiar (1834) it revokes hintese ribeiro's decree, and promulgates antiquated vexations by which to victimize us.
-on the other hand, public opinion--so-called--misled by the wild declamations of an irreconcilable press, never succeeded in formulating against us more than the vague charges devised by jacobin novelists. in spite of all researches in the columns of anti-jesuit journalism, or amongst the legends which circulate amongst the most credulous of my compatriots, i can find no accusation that does not fall under one of these six heads:
-1. armaments and subterranean galleries.
-2. wealth and fraudulent acquisition of inheritances.
-3. inveigling youths to become jesuits.
-4. secret associations.
-5. political and anti-republican activity.
-6. reactionary influence.
-in this dark hour, when with sad hearts we are all compelled to quit our beloved portugal, i owe to my country a categorical reply to these accusations of our persecutors.
-1. armaments and subterranean galleries.
-the answer is simple. we had no armaments whatever, nor in any of our houses were there subterranean passages by which to escape or communicate with others.
-and yet, had it been otherwise, had we possessed such covered ways--what then? had we not a right in view of what had occurred? our conduct, though less frank and open, would have been at least more business-like, as was said a few weeks ago in the spanish parliament, by the premier canalejas, in regard of defensive works said to exist in some religious houses. how then, what happened at campolide, where the mob broke in, flooding corridors and private rooms, bursting open everything, throwing about books and papers, and threatening to shoot the unfortunate inmates? does not all this show that it would have been highly advantageous to have had some means of hindering the sack of the college until the public force could come to the rescue? in reality, however, there was nothing of the sort.
-in the whole building of campolide were only a couple of guns for purposes of sport, when our professors went for a fortnight's holiday to a country house at val de royal. moreover, these guns were not employed when the assault took place.
-what, then, of the shots fired from our residence at quelhas? these shots were the occasion for bitter calumnies against us, in an official note which has as yet not been contradicted by the provisional government.
-the general himself commanding at lisbon, who was appointed by the republic, acknowledged to the representative of the paris illustration that, as was clearly proved, none of us had any hand in anything so done. who it was that fired the shots, some being dressed in costumes found in our rooms, can easily be understood, especially when we know what occurred at campolide, where one of these pseudo-jesuits who fell to the shot of one of his comrades, was found under his cassock to be wearing his military uniform, betraying his true character.
-it is certain, moreover, that two days prior to the assault on the quelhas residence, all the fathers there had been arrested and imprisoned. as to the secret underground passages and communications by which these mythical jesuit riflemen made their escape, no one ever saw them to this moment.
-moreover, the general in command has likewise declared that there are no such subterranean works excepting narrow sewers.
-so much for quelhas. as to campolide, i may add that beneath the surface were cut various water channels, amongst them a fine cistern constructed by one of my predecessors as director of the college. but although these channels had been inspected and their real character understood, the anti-clerical press did not hesitate to produce a sketch of one of them and to style it "entrance to a subterranean."
-i confess that i had never thought i should one day be called upon to defend myself against the charge of such arsenals and ambushes. such arabian night tales, so frequent in the jacobin press, had often amused my brothers and myself, and when about a twelvemonth since terrible stories about an arsenal at campolide were being circulated, and a friend of mine who had recently been a minister of the crown, warned me that we should at last be obliged to provide against an assault i answered plainly that we would rather have our lives taken than take the lives of others.
-the belief in jesuit wealth was so deeply rooted in portugal as to be entertained not only by our enemies but even by our best friends.
-supposing this belief to be well-grounded, why should it make us criminals? it would be a strange measure to expel a man from his country merely because he possessed a large sum of money. but our reputed wealth was purely fabulous, without any foundation in fact. would that the society had actually in portugal abundant material resources, we should have no lack of good works on which to expend them for the good of our country.
-but we had no such resources. frequently after my appointment as superior i had a hard struggle against grievous difficulties to find means of supporting my subjects.
-so many are the misconceptions regarding jesuit property that with a view of dispelling them i long projected the course of lectures on the subject. i was, however, prevented from doing as i wished by the incognito in which i was placed by hintese ribeiro's decree. god knows what a mortification it was to me to have to assume a disguise imposed by law, but wholly repugnant to my own straightforwardness and natural ideas concerning truth as well as to the heartfelt love and admiration which i entertained for the society of jesus.
-this matter will require but a few words.
-if the government of the society is strictly monarchial, its administration is, on the contrary, extremely decentralized. each house is separately administered, and nothing can be more imaginary than the bottomless common purse which has inspired so many falsehoods.
-as a fact, if in portugal, thanks to the careful administration of their superiors, the jesuit houses have been free from debt, they have usually possessed few comforts, and have sometimes endured great hardships.
-residences subsisted merely upon stipends for masses and preaching, or alms spontaneously offered. in the colleges the great expenses required to provide our boys with board and lodging, with the comforts and amusements they enjoyed, and still more with what was required to keep abreast of modern educational developments. all this, i say, obliged us to interrupt our building works till the number of pupils should be much increased.
-it is remarkable that while by universal consent campolide ranked first in respect to board, tuition and hygiene as well as physical training, and while other colleges charged £5 or £6 per month, campolide never charged more than £4. in the provinces, at beira, s. fiel, giving the same education, long exacted only £1 10s.--only recently was the monthly fee raised to £2. among the recreations provided for our boys must not be forgotten the scientific excursions initiated at campolide two years ago by myself along with father luisier, for the benefit of the elder students who were about to finish their school course and proceed to the university, and were thus introduced to all branches of natural history. the public schools which adopted the same plan later on did but imitate us, and not so thoroughly.
-the anti-religious movement of 1901 having alarmed many families, so that the number of scholars decreased, it was found necessary to suspend operations. at a later period, when i myself was made rector of the college, i contrived to make considerable additions, but the troubles stirred up by the revolutionary press checked the work, which has been at a standstill for two years. such is the truth of our wealth in portugal.
-what am i to say of our seminary fund, that, i mean, which is devoted to the education of young men in the society? how many of our opponents have expended their eloquence in vigorous denunciation of our wealth, without reflecting on the circumstances under which our recruits are enrolled and trained! the training in the society is very slow; one who goes through the entire course is occupied in it for fifteen or even seventeen years. there are included the ascetical training of the novitiate, then the literary and philosophical and the theological, and as a rule there is introduced one of practical pedagogy for those who are to teach in the colleges.
-on the other hand, the great majority of vocations to the order were from the middle or lower classes, and the subjects had but little to obtain from their parents.
-it thus resulted that for the heavy expenses necessary for this lengthy training of some two hundred priests and scholastics, about a hundred of whom were engaged in study at home or abroad, the sole resource was the fund established by some of our own members who had devoted their own fortunes to this very purpose. i can here testify that the vast majority of ours in portugal never gave aught to the society, either because they had nothing to give or because superiors would not permit them, on account of the poverty of their relatives. hence it resulted that the funds destined for the training and instruction of our young men were wholly inadequate, and opulent benefactors whose generosity might supply the deficit were but rare in our country, where wealthy catholics are few, and the fixed idea of jesuit wealth hinders even our best friends from allowing us to benefit even by the large sums spent upon charitable purposes.
-what, then, about our methods of acquiring inheritances? against this slander i protest with all my energy. the fantastic pictures, frequently drawn in lurid colors by our enemies, are mere repetitions of the time worn fables invented by pamphleteers. seldom indeed have legacies been bequeathed to us in portugal, and in two cases alone were they at all considerable. had they been more frequent we should have notably extended our propaganda, religious, educational, literary and likewise patriotic--both in our own country and its dominions over sea. how often in conversation with my brethren, when speaking of generous bequests made to the misericordias, and especially to that of o'porto, have i not remarked on the terrible outcry which would be aroused were any portion of such wealth to be assigned to works of the society of jesus.
-3. inveigling youths to join the order.
-never has it been thought blame-worthy for anyone to invite others, by word or writing, to join the association which he himself esteems, and whose prosperity he accordingly desires; a religious man has a right to recommend any who possess the requisite qualities to join his order, and serve god therein. i must, however, make an exception in the case of our society, which will doubtless astonish many.
-we have a special rule forbidding us to advise anyone definitely to join the society, or to do more than further what we believe to be a genuine vocation from god, without any particular determination.
-such i know was the conduct of all my brethren, and had they done otherwise they would not only have transgressed their rule, but, moreover, have acted foolishly. in fact, the first question put to a candidate for admission is whether he has been influenced by anyone in this way, it being certain that a youth so attracted would not persevere. in truth, life in the society demands such self-sacrifice, and obedience so perfect, that nothing but a genuine call from god can insure fidelity, no human influence will avail for perseverance.
-the long training, too, prior to the taking of final vows, affords such a guarantee of human liberty as there is in no other state of life, for during all this period--extending, as i have said, to fifteen or seventeen years--each of us may be released from the society, as he surely will be if he have not a real vocation.
-as a matter of fact, our enemies in portugal provided us with abundant arguments to refute this charge. for some weeks before the republic was proclaimed the revolutionary newspapers published various letters of one of our fathers to a young man who had intended for some time to join the society. these letters are models of prudence, moderation and spiritual honor, and whoever without prejudice or heed of the malicious comments in which they were embedded, will but study these harmless epistles, so worthy of a good religious, will find in them a conclusive answer to the slander against us.
-4. our secret associations.
-if there were any such amongst us would it not be somewhat curious to find that those who prosecute us on this account are amongst the most influential patrons of secret societies? however this may be, there is no accusation more utterly false than this. the institute and rules of the society are today--more than ever--open to all the world in every public library. it is true that since 1901 the society has assumed a kind of pseudo character in the eyes of the public and the law. but this was imposed upon us by statesmen who, though at the head of a catholic government, did not dare to grant to a religious order approved by the holy see that liberty given us even in protestant countries which have a true notion of freedom.
-we had therefore to assume the pseudonym of "association for faith and fatherland" ("associao fe e patria"). i must acknowledge that, threatened as we were with dispersion and banishment, we were but too glad to obtain this simulacrum of liberty, and to avail ourselves of any title under which we might devote ourselves to the utmost for the benefit of religion and of portugal. but, i repeat, it was unwillingly that we adopted this incognito, which moreover hoodwinked nobody.
-the actual republican government took possession of our own official catalogues, in which were recorded all our names and occupations. they may thus see that we never thought there was any reason to make a mystery of our existence or to shrink from letting it be known to the full that we bear a title which esteem next to that of christian, namely of religious of the society of jesus.
-5. political and anti-republican activity.
-opinions expressed in certain articles of the mensageiro whispers of later years concerning our share in the polemics of the newspaper named portugal, and innumerable fictions about the jesuits, on occasions of the late elections; such were the causes of the accusation that we meddled with politics.
-as for the mensageiro, its articles are open to all who choose to read them, and the doctrines there expressed as to the responsibility of the electorate in regard of legislation and its execution, as to the solidarity of the members of our party, its traditions, programme and political life, are after all only those which are common amongst every people with whom the principles of civic culture and the social obligations of catholics have not been so lamentably forgotten as with us. only those who realize how utterly all is ignored which has been ventilated in these subjects outside portugal, by episcopal pastorals, ecclesiastical instructions, and the zealous propaganda of the press, can explain the astonishment of many portuguese, to whom conclusions concerning morals and conduct which elsewhere were familiar to all seemed altogether novel.
-but however we may differ in regard of such matters, what kind of liberty would a country enjoy in which a theologian or moralist was not permitted to express the doctrines in which he believed or to write in periodicals on subjects of his special study?
-as to the journal portugal, a letter from its editor-in-chief published a few days ago may take the place of a reply. in it he declares that during the latest phase of the paper, precisely that in which it was most fiercely attacked for its polemical attitude, the society had no share whatever.
-in saying this i have no desire to shirk responsibility, or to express disapproval of the energy displayed by the catholic press. far from it. truth must be vigorously championed, and the more so in proportion as the enemies of religion claim for themselves unrestrained license of language and calumny. they cannot indeed be fought with their own weapons, which honor and christian charity forbid us to use, but at least they must be encountered with unflinching courage and resolute independence.
-a revolutionary journal lately published a letter of mine in which i asked a correspondent to interest himself in obtaining support for those responsible for the "portugal." i say nothing of the surreptitious publication of a private letter, nor of the insidious comments by which it was accompanied. i would only observe that the interest which i exhibited in this undertaking shows no more than that its general drift was in accord with my own views. is there any offense in this?--even were it a fact that the articles written during the last stage of this newspaper were in reality ours.
-finally, as regards the last election, i must absolutely deny the fables circulated concerning my brethren by an unscrupulous press. i say nothing of the silly tales of jesuits, crucifix in hand, threatening all who voted for the government with everlasting damnation. such nonsense proves only how little those who spread these stories know about us. more than this, not one of my brethren took part in any electoral propaganda. some catholics even will be surprised to learn that very few of us recorded our votes, this abstention being justified in most cases for serious reasons, by which alone can it be justified in such circumstances.
-as to advice given by us when privately consulted, and in matters of conscience, i should not say anything, but for the factitious indignation exhibited by the hostile press, and its misrepresentation of facts divorced from their circumstances.
-the last government of the monarchy from its commencement not only showed itself distinctly anti-clerical, but after variously infringing the rights of the church, began a persecution of religious orders, affording clear evidence to all who did not choose to shut their eyes that their purpose in regard of these was no other than that exhibited in the last decrees issued in the king's name the day previous to his deposition, and exaltingly proclaimed in the public press immediately after the revolution. now, i would ask, what catholic priest wishing to do his duty in face of such a state of things would not uplift his voice against so manifest a danger and with the baptist denounce what he holds to be unlawful?
-on this particular question of politics, as on many others, i was honored with gratuitous slander by the enemies of the society, who attributed to my government of the province a new direction given to the society in portugal. the truth is that neither as superior nor as counsellor had i ever to interfere, as these insidious writers pretended, with the conduct of ours.
-the policy of the society of jesus at the present day, as it has ever been, is that expressed in the lord's prayer, "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." the enemies of god and his church cannot forgive our combat for this ideal and our constant endeavor for its realization.
-hence the implacable hostility wherewith we have ever been assailed, with charges the most diverse which in various times and circumstances have been found serviceable against us. in every case our adversaries have proved to be those of god and the catholic church.
-what is now in progress proves the truth of what i say. it is alleged that we jesuits are the worst enemies of the republic, and must accordingly be treated with exceptional severity. this is a mere pretence. the society has nothing to do with republican institutions as such. when absolute monarchies were the rule throughout the civilized world, the foremost jesuit writers already taught, on grounds of philosophy and divinity, the fundamental principles of democracy, and at the present day none of our provinces are more prosperous or enjoy greater liberty than those established under republics; it will be sufficient to name that of the united states.
-there is, therefore, no such opposition as is pretended between jesuits and republics.
-it will, however, be objected that in portugal at least we are anti-republicans.
-but, in the first place, wherever it is situated, the society, like the catholic church, inculcates loyalty to whatever form of government is duly established. and portugal was a monarchy.
-a still more powerful reason precluded our sympathy with the republican movement in portugal, namely, that the republic as exhibited in our national history was not the republic imagined by speculative sociologists. it is republicans who make a republic, and who were these in portugal? with few very rare exceptions they were the declared enemies of religion, either avowed unbelievers, or at best wholly indifferent to all beyond politics. could we, without being false to our most cherished principles, affect sympathy with such a party?
-they themselves undertook to show by their actions that we were not wrong; just as the last government under the monarchy clearly showed by its action that we were not mistaken in its regard.
-i must, however, acknowledge that for all my dread of the revolutionary intolerance of these advocates of liberty, my simplicity was at fault, since i never dreamed of what we are witnessing today.
-6. reactionary influence.
-as it seems to me, i have replied to all the pretexts alleged to justify all the arbitrary tyranny, the spoliations and outrages against liberty of which my religious brethren and myself have been the victims. it remains only to speak of what is proclaimed as the final motive of the laws enacted against us, that our influence is reactionary.
-well! our enemies are right! if this reactionary spirit signifies fidelity and love for the catholic church, self-renunciation for christ's sake, earnest endeavor that no jot or tittle of his law be neglected; if it means that we have striven to produce in portugal a body of active and fearless catholics, who will not confine themselves to prayers, but will labor by word and deed to renew all things in christ; that to this end we employ every means within our reach, the pulpit, the confessional, lectureships, the press, in order thus to promote the glory of god and salvation of souls--then in truth we are reactionaries, and guilty of the offense laid to our charge.
-strange offense indeed, in a country where on every hand we hear our enemies proclaiming liberty of conscience, of speech, of the press! strange offense of which to be accused by men who denounced the monarchy for suppressing freedom, while in the columns of their newspapers and the rhetoric of their meetings they were violently attacking authority and its representatives; an offense to be punished by those who were never weary of declaring that every man must be allowed to propagate and fight for his own ideas. yet what else did we do? were we ever known to enforce the agreement of others or to avenge ourselves for their disagreement by inflicting upon them what we have ourselves endured--arrest, imprisonment, confiscation, banishment? no, it cannot be said that such conduct was ever ours; it is peculiar to those false prophets of liberty who, instead of responding with reason and argument, seek to reduce us forcibly to silence, or to crush us with insult and declamation.
-punctuation and spelling errors repaired.
-the following variant spellings were standardized: abbè, abbé and abbie to abbe; emigre, emigrè, and emigré to émigré; florèal and floreal to floréal; jaures to jaurès; protegé to protege; anti-christian(ism) to anti-christian(ism); anticlerical/ to anti-clerical/, leipsic and leipsig to leipzig, licence to license, offence to offense, salzbourg to salzburg, saviour to savior, texeira to teixeira, souza to sousa, tolentino to tollentino, tranquillity to tranquility, ultra-montainism to ultramontainism, defense to defence (except where "defense" occurred in the title of a referenced document), rouès to roués, despatch to dispatch.
-both advisers and advisors, monarchial and monarchical, monsignor and monseigneurs, savoy and savoie (an area within savoy), braunsberg and brauensberg, czar and tzar were used in this text.
-produced from images available at the internet archive)
-translated from the spanish
-a frontispiece and a biographical sketch
-copyright, 1901, by
-the fourth estate
-the fourth estate
-life of valdés
-the early writings of this distinguished native of asturias partake of a peculiar interest, strongly appealing to one's human sympathies. on his thirtieth birthday señor valdés married a young lady scarcely more than half his age. she was very frail, and after eighteen months of tenderly devoted love on both sides, the husband was left alone with an infant son. the charming and pathetic little tale "the idyl of an invalid" describes the earlier portion of the author's brief wedded life, and in fact was written during that happy period. the year after his wife's death he published "riverita," in which novel his late partner was made to appear as a child, and in the sequel to "riverita," "maximina," published still a year later, we find her depicted as ripening to womanhood. thus, out of valdés's early novels three bear this melancholy yet attractive personal quality.
-his beginning in the field of fiction, armando palacio valdés made in 1881, with "young mr. octavio," following it up, in 1883, with "martha and mary." then, between "the idyl of an invalid" and "riverita" came "josé." the novel here offered, a specimen of his work combining pathos with humor, was printed the year after "maximina," that is to say, in 1888.
-when "the fourth estate" was brought out valdés was thirty-five. he was born on the 4th of october, 1853, in a little village called entralgo, where his family owned a summer villa. the greater part of the year they spent at avilés, at which place young armando first went to school. he continued his studies at oviedo, and then went to madrid, with the object of graduating as a lawyer.
-his real bent, that of authorship, however, soon declared itself, so that while yet occupied with his legal studies he contributed articles on philosophical and theological subjects to the spanish "revista europea"--of which periodical he eventually joined the staff and became the editor. in this capacity he earned a national reputation as a censor of literature, his articles and sketches pertaining to literary criticism being collected in several volumes. but after 1881 he devoted little time to commenting on other people's books, preferring to bend his main energies to creative endeavor.
-seven of his novels have been mentioned above, and among those subsequently produced seven more complete the list of his novels best known to the spanish public. these are "sister saint sulpice," "foam," "faith," "the grandee," "the origin of thought," "the dandies of cadiz," and "the joy of captain ribot."
-in a letter sent a few years ago to an english literary friend señor valdés wrote as follows:
-"since my wife died my life has been tranquil and melancholy, dedicated to work and to my son. during the summers i live in asturias, and during the winters in madrid. i like the company of men of the world better than that of literary folks, because the former teach me more. i am given up to the study of metaphysics. i have a passion for physical exercises, for gymnastics, for fencing, and i try to live in an evenly balanced temper, nothing being so repugnant to me as affectation and emphasis. i find a good deal of pleasure in going to bull-fights (although i do not take my son to the plaza dressed up like a miniature bull-slayer, as an american writer declares i do), and i cultivate the theatre, because to see life from the stage point of view helps me in the composition of my stories."
-the fourth estate
-the curtain rises
-sarrio, the well-known town on the cantabrian coast, boasted some years ago of a theatre neither bright, light, nor commodious, but quite good enough to afford entertainment to the pacific, industrious residents during the long winter evenings.
-it was built, as such places usually are, in the form of a horseshoe, and it consisted of two floors besides the ground floor. on the first were the boxes--goodness knows why they were so called, for they were nothing but a few benches stuffed with goat's hair and upholstered with scarlet flannel, placed behind a balustrade. to take one of these places, a push had to be given to the back, which raised the seat with a spring, and once the person was in it readjusted itself, and he was as comfortable as a human being can be on an instrument of torture. on the second floor all the rabble vociferated, scuffled, and pushed, irrespective of social distinctions between the well-to-do seaman, the poor mussel-picker from the rocks and pier, and amalia, the respected dealer, and the sellers in the streets. this part of the house was called the gallery. the stage-boxes were of the same wretched style as the others, and the upholstering seemed to be the same, as far as one could see. beyond them came the "front rows," reserved, according to the old-fashioned way, for certain handicraftsmen, who, from their calling, their position as employers, or for any reason, were averse to going up into the gallery and mixing with the common herd. from the roof hung a prismatic cut-glass chandelier, lighted with fish oil, which was subsequently replaced by petroleum; but that reform i never saw. under the staircase leading to the boxes there was an alcove, enclosed by a curtain, which went by the name of "don mateo's box." of this don mateo more anon.
-then you must know that in this provincial theatre the same dramas and comedies were played as in the capital, and the same operas given as at la scala in milan. incredible as it seems, it is perfectly true. there the narrator of this story heard for the first time the famous lines:
-"when you hearken to a story of shipwreck, all on earth, e'en to love, is forgotten."
-they certainly struck him as splendid, and the theatre a marvel of luxury and good taste. everything in the world depends on imagination. would that mine were as fresh and vivid as it was in those days, so as to be able to give you a few hours' pleasant amusement!
-there it was i saw "don juan tenorio," with its flour-whitened corpses, its commander gliding away on a door pulled with cords, its infernal regions made of lighted spirits of wine; and its apotheosis of paper, stuffing, and packing-cases made such an impression on me that i never slept that night. in the auditorium the same things went on more or less as in the grandest houses of the capital. however, more attention was given to the performance here than in court theatres, because we had not arrived at that high state of culture in which behavior is in direct contradiction to the place--swearing and chattering in playhouses, laughing and giggling in church, and silence and sedateness at the promenade, after the delightful fashion in madrid. even now i do not know if they have attained to this state of culture in sarrio.
-but it must not be thought that there were not some enlightened spirits who were sufficiently advanced to give a sample of correct manners at the theatre. pablito de belinchon was one of these. with three or four kindred spirits he had a season ticket for one of the stage-boxes, and from thence they spoke across to other gentlemen, older men, who subscribed to the opposite stage-box. they cracked jokes, they turned the soprano or bass into ridicule, and they threw sweets and pellets of paper. the people in the gallery, not yet conversant with this advanced stage of refinement, loudly insisted on silence. the families of importance arriving, as usual, after the curtain had risen, came in with as much fuss as if they were passing into the dress-circle of the royal theatre, and, be it said, with much more noise, for it is impossible to imagine the horrible sounds with which the backs of the boxes were pushed back, and the seats dropped, as if on purpose to attract attention.
-the party now making its pompous entry into one of these boxes remains standing until all wraps are removed, while the eyes of the audience are instantly turned from the stage and fixed upon the newcomers until they are seated. they are the belinchons. the head of the family is a tall, spare gentleman, with bent shoulders, bald head, small sharp eyes, a large mouth, wreathed with a mephistophelian smile, disclosing two long even rows of teeth, the masterpiece of a certain dentist, recently established in sarrio; he has whiskers and mustache, and his age is about sixty.
-he is reported to be the richest merchant in the town, being one of the chief importers of codfish on the biscayan coast. for many years he had the entire monopoly of the wholesale trade of this commodity, not only in the town, but in the provinces, and had thus amassed a considerable fortune.
-his wife, doña paula--but why does her arrival excite so much talk in the theatre? the good lady, hearing it, trembles, looks confused, and, being unable to collect herself sufficiently to take off her cloak by herself, she is relieved of it by her daughter, who says in her ear:
-"sit down, mama."
-doña paula sits down, or, to speak more correctly, she drops into a seat, and casts an anxious look at the audience, while her cheeks are suffused with crimson. in vain she tries to collect and calm herself, but the more she tries to keep the blood from rushing to her face the more it mounts to that prominent position.
-"mama, how red you are!" said venturita, her younger daughter, trying not to laugh.
-the mother looked at her with a pained expression.
-"hush, ventura, hush," said cecilia.
-doña paula then murmured: "the child delights in upsetting me," and nearly burst into tears.
-at last the audience, wearied of tormenting her with their glances, smiles, and whispers, turned their attention to the stage. doña paula's distress gradually diminished, but the traces remained for the rest of the evening.
-the cause of the excitement was the velvet mantle, trimmed with fur, that the good lady had donned. it was always like this whenever she appeared for the first time in any fine article of apparel. and this for no other reason than because doña paula was not a lady by birth.
-she had belonged to the cigarette-maker class. don rosendo had made love to her when she was quite a young girl, and then came the birth of pablito. however, don rosendo let five or six years elapse without marrying, not wishing to hear of matrimony, but continuing to pay court to her and assisting her with money, until finally, vanquished more by the love of the boy than the mother, and more than all by the admonitions of his friends, he decided to offer his hand to paulina.
-the town knew nothing of the marriage until it had taken place, secrecy being considered the safest course. from thenceforth the life of the cigarette-maker can be divided into different epochs. the first, which lasted for a year, dated from the time of her marriage until the "mantilla appeared." during this epoch she did not go out much, nor was she often seen in public. on sundays she attended early mass, and the rest of the time she was shut up in the house. when she decided to don the aforementioned mantilla and attend eleven o'clock mass she was the cynosure of all eyes, in church as well as on her way through the streets; and the event was talked about for eight days afterward.
-the second epoch, which lasted three years, was from the "mantilla episode" to that of "the gloves." the sight of such an adornment on the large dark hands of the ex-cigarette-maker produced an indescribable sensation in the feminine element of the neighborhood; in the streets, in church, and on visits, the ladies met each other with the question:
-"have you seen?"
-"yes, yes; i have seen."
-and then the tongues were loosed in cruel remarks.
-then came the third epoch, which lasted four years, and ended with the silk dress, which gave almost as much cause of complaint as the gloves, and produced universal indignation in sarrio.
-"do you really mean to say so, doña dolores?"
-"who would have thought it?"
-doña dolores lowered her eyes with a despairing gesture.
-finally the last epoch, the longest of all, for it lasted six years, terminated (oh horror!) with "the hat." the shudder of disgust that went through the town of sarrio when doña paula appeared one holiday afternoon at the promenade with a little hat on her head beggars description. it caused quite a sensation: the women of the place made the sign of the cross, as they saw her pass, and remarks were uttered in loud tones so as to reach the person concerned.
-"look, girl, do for goodness' sake, look at the serena, and see what she has got on her head."
-mention must be made that doña paula's mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had all gone by the name of serena. it is needless to add that even when the cigarette-maker attained to the dignity of señora, she was never by any chance given her proper name.
-when the ladies of sarrio met each other in the street the following day there were no words to express their horror; they could only raise their eyes to heaven, make convulsive gesticulations, and utter, with a groan, the word "hat!"
-so at that deed of daring, only comparable to those of heroes of antiquity, like hannibal, cæsar, and genghis khan, the town remained crushed and dumfounded for some months. nevertheless, whenever doña paula appeared in public with the abhorred hat upon her head, or with any other departure from her old attire, she was always greeted with a murmur of disapproval. the fault of the matter lay in her never having resented, in public or in private, or even in the sanctum of her own feelings, this malignant treatment of her fellow-townsfolk. she considered it natural and reasonable, and it never occurred to her that it ought not to have been; her ideas of conventionality had never prompted her to rebel against the tyranny of public opinion. she believed in all good faith that in adopting the gloves, the mantilla, or the hat, she had committed a breach of laws both human and divine, and that the murmurs and mocking glances were the just retribution for the infraction. hence her terror and dismay every time she appeared at the theatre or promenade overwhelmed her with confusion.
-"why, then," it will be said, "did doña paula dress herself thus?"
-those who ask such questions are not well versed in the mysteries of the human heart; doña paula put on the mantilla, gloves, and hat with the full knowledge of the retribution to come, just as a boy stuffs himself from the sideboard, knowing that he will be punished for the act. those who have not been brought up in a little town can never know how ardently the hat is desired by the artisan.
-it was so with doña paula, old, faded, and withered as she was. as a young girl, she had been pretty, but years, her secluded life, to which she could never accustom herself, and, above all, her struggle against public opinion in the adoption of appropriate attire, had prematurely aged her; but she still had beautiful black eyes set in regular and pleasing features.
-the first act was nearly over. a fantastic melodrama, the name i do not remember, was being performed, and the company had brought into play all the scenic apparatus at its disposal. the audience was impressed, and received every change of scene with enthusiastic applause.
-pablito, who had spent a month in madrid the previous year, made light of the performance and winked knowingly at his friend in the front row of the stalls. then, to show how boring he found it all, he ended by turning his back on the stage, and leveling his opera-glass at the local beauties. every time that the russian-leather lorgnette was turned on one of the fair sex the girl trembled slightly, changed her position, and raised her hand, which slightly shook, to adjust her hair, smiled meaninglessly at her mama or sister, settled herself afresh, and fixed her eyes on the stage with insistence and decision, but a quick shy glance was soon raised to those round, bright glasses directed at her, and she ended by blushing.
-then pablito, having carried his point, turned his attention to another beauty. he knew them all as well as if they were his sisters, he thee'd and thou'd the majority of them, and to several he had even been engaged; but he was as light and inconsistent in his love affairs as a feather in the air; the girls had all had to undergo the painful process of disillusion, and finally, wearied of courting his neighbors, he proceeded to exercise his charms on some of the visitors to sarrio, only, of course, to throw them over, if they imprudently stayed more than a month or two in the town.
-there were weighty reasons for pablito's power to thus make havoc at his own sweet will in the hearts of all the girls of the place, as well as of those from other parts.
-he was a very aristocratic-looking young fellow of four or five and twenty, of a handsome, manly countenance, and slight well-formed figure. then, he rode splendidly, and drove a tilbury or drag and four with an ease only seen in sarrio among coachmen. when wide trousers were worn, pablito's looked like skirts, and when tight ones were the fashion his legs looked as slender as a stork's. when high collars were in vogue, pablito went about half-strangled with his tongue hanging out, and when low ones came in, he had them cut down to his breastbone.
-these and other striking characteristics made him irresistible. perhaps some people will not quite credit the universal admiration he excited, but i am certain that the girls of the province who read this story will testify to the truth of the fact.
-the performance continues
-when the curtain fell, a bent old man with spectacles and a long white beard crept, rather than walked, to the belinchons' box.
-"don mateo! you never miss a performance," exclaimed doña paula.
-"well, what would you have me do at home, papulina?"
-"tell your beads and go to bed," said venturita.
-don mateo smiled benignantly and answered the pert remark by giving the girl an affectionate tap on her cheek.
-"it is true i ought to do so, my child--but what is to be done? if i go to bed early i do not sleep--and then i can not resist the temptation of seeing you pretty little dears."
-venturita's coquettish expression betrayed her satisfaction at seeing herself admired.
-"now, if you were a handsome young man!"
-"i have been one."
-"in what year was that?"
-"how naughty! how naughty the child is!" exclaimed don mateo, laughing; but he was here interrupted by a fit of coughing which lasted for some minutes.
-don mateo, an old man, and decrepit not only with age, but with infirmities brought on by a dissipated life, was the delight of the town of sarrio. no festivity and no public or private entertainment could take place without him. he had been president of the lyceum, a dancing club, for many years, and nobody thought of having him supplanted. he was also president of an academy of music, of which he was the founder; he was treasurer of the artisans' club; the rebuilding of the theatre now mentioned was due to him; and as an acknowledgment of the time and money he spent on it, the company permitted him to have the box, already alluded to, in the alcove under the staircase, enclosed with curtains.
-he lived on his pension as colonel; he was married, and had a daughter over thirty years of age, who still went by the name of "the child." it must not be thought by this that don mateo was a skittish old man. if he had been, the weaker sex would not have been so profuse in their sympathy and respect for him. his sole pleasure was to see other people amused and happy about him, and he spared himself neither trouble nor efforts in getting up any fresh entertainment. once his mind was set upon a new idea, his energy never flagged. sometimes he organized a country ball; another time he had a stage put up in the large room of the lyceum, and got up a play; and he occasionally chartered a mountebank or musical company. if a week went by without sarrio having some entertainment or other, don mateo was in a great state of mind, and had no rest until he had started something.
-thanks to him, we can safely say that at this period there was no place in spain where life was rendered so easy and pleasant as at sarrio, for a constant round of simple amusements engenders union and friendliness among the townsfolk. moreover, don mateo was a professional peace-maker, for he made a point of smoothing away all the bad feelings and misunderstandings that always crop up in a town. unlike bad persons who delight in fanning the flame of dissension, he found delight in repeating to people all the pleasant things he heard of them.
-"pepita, do you know what doña rosario said just now about the dress you have on?--that it is most elegant, exquisite, and tasteful."
-whereupon pepita, filled with pride as she sat in her box, cast quite an affectionate glance at doña rosario, little as she liked her.
-then, again, "how well you managed villamor's chocolate business for the widow and children, friend eugenio--you did, indeed. don rosendo was just telling me he let the business slip through his fingers like a fool."
-as don rosendo was the best man of business in the town, don eugenio could not help feeling flattered at these words.
-after chatting for some little time with the belinchon family, don mateo took leave, to prosecute, as usual, his visits to the other boxes; but before going he turned to cecilia, and said:
-"when does he arrive?"
-the young girl flushed slightly, and replied:
-"i can not tell you, don mateo."
-then doña paula, smiling mischievously, came to her daughter's rescue, by saying:
-"he ought to arrive in the 'bella paula,' which sailed from liverpool."
-"oh! then we shall be having him here to-morrow or next day. you have prayed a good deal to the virgin de las tormentas--the virgin of the storms--eh?"
-"she has actually had a nones--six candles have been burning for days before the image," said venturita.
-cecilia's blush deepened, and she smiled. she was a young woman of twenty years of age, neither beautiful in face nor graceful in figure; the harmony of her features was spoiled by her nose being too aquiline. without this drawback she would not have been plain, for her eyes were extremely good--so soft and expressive that few beauties could rival them. she was neither tall nor short, but rather thin, and her shoulders slightly bent. her sister venturita was sixteen years of age, and as full of grace and beauty as a lovely flower. her oval cheeks seemed made of roses and pinks; she was somewhat small, but so perfectly made that she looked like a wax model. her jasmine-like hands and her fairy-like feet were the talk of sarrio.
-the softness and smoothness of her skin were like mother-of-pearl and alabaster; her creamy forehead, high and narrow as that of a greek venus, was shaded by fair curls; and rich, abundant golden tresses covered her shoulders and fell below her waist.
-"you may laugh at your sister, little one; but it will not be long before you do the same!" said don mateo.
-"i pray for a man! you are getting imbecile, señor."
-"it won't be long before i hear of it," returned the old man, as he passed on to another box to greet the señores de maza.
-at that moment pablito joined his family, accompanied by his faithful friend, who merits special notice.
-he was the son of the picador, the famous bull slayer, of the place, and the cast of the lad's features was such as would have been the delight of the spectators at a circus. his face would have required no addition in the way of powder, rouge, or dye to convert him into a clown. the nose, highly colored by nature, the narrow slits of eyes, the lack of any mustache or whiskers, the thick lips, the excessive width of his shoulders, the bow of his legs, and, above all, the facial contortions which accompanied every word he uttered, were provocative of mirth without the aid of paint or wig. piscis, for so he was called, was aware of this peculiarity, and resented it so intensely that he resolved to counteract the ludicrous cast of his features by determining never to laugh, and he religiously kept to his decision. moreover, he, for the same reason, interspersed his remarks with the sharpest, strongest interjections of the vernacular, varied by those of his own invention. but this, instead of producing the desired effect, only added to the amusement he provoked among his acquaintances.
-the only person who ever took him seriously--up to a certain point--was pablito. piscis and pablito were born to inspire each other with mutual love and admiration. the point of union between the two kindred spirits was "the cult of the horse-god." piscis, through his father, was an adept in that line from a child; and as the best mount in sarrio, he was the object of pablito's warmest admiration, and the son of don rosendo being the richest young fellow of the place, there was, according to piscis, no person in the world more deserving of respect and admiration.
-nobody knew when this friendship had begun; pablito and piscis had always been inseparable from the time they were children, and the difference of their social positions did not separate them as they grew up to manhood. don rosendo's stable was their constant place of meeting; from thence, after a long and erudite conference, partly theoretical, partly practical on the horses, they proceeded to betake their presence and their profound knowledge to the town, where they took a few turns, sometimes on high-spirited horses, and at other times in a smart trap, with pablito driving, and piscis absorbed in affectionate contemplation of the backs of the animals. on some occasions, however, they gave the town a lesson of humility by perambulating on their own legs. pablito now came up to his family party convulsed with laughter.
-"what has come over you?" asked doña paula, smiling in sympathy.
-"we just followed periquito to the gallery, and there we found him hand in hand with ramona," whispered the young man into his sister venturita's ear.
-"well, what did he say?" she asked with great curiosity.
-"he said"--and here a burst of laughter interrupted him for some minutes--"he said, 'ramona, i love you.'"
-"ave maria! and an anchovy seller, too!" exclaimed the girl, joining in the laugh, and making the sign of the cross.
-"if you could have heard the trembling voice in which he said it, and the way in which he turned up the whites of his eyes---- ah! here is piscis, who was also witness of it."
-the act opened with a prelude by the orchestra, worthily conducted by señor anselmo, the cabinet-maker of the town.
-señor matias, the sacristan, and señor manola, the barber, took part in the performance as bassoon-players. don juan, the "old salt," as he was nicknamed, and prospero, the carpenter, played the clarinets; the trumpet-players were mechacan, the shoemaker, and señor romualdo, the undertaker; pepe de la esquila, the lawyer's clerk, and maroto, "the watchman," were the cornet-players; and the fiddle was played by señor benito, the violinist of the church and a clerk in a business house; while the minor accompanists consisted of four or five apprentice youths of the town.
-instead of a bâton, señor anselmo held in his hand an enormous bright key, which was that of his shop, and served to conduct the music.
-the prelude was very sad and mournful, suggestive of a fitting state of mind for the infernal regions. the audience preserved absolute silence, and in anxious expectation of what was to come all eyes were fixed on the open trap-doors in the stage floor. a discordant note suddenly broke in upon the soft, mysterious music. señor anselmo turned and cast a reproachful look at the offending musician, who colored up to his eyes; and there came a loud, prolonged murmur of disapproval from the audience, while from the gallery a voice cried:
-"it was pepe de la esquila!"
-all eyes were then directed to the delinquent, who, drawing the mouthpiece from his cornet, shook it with assumed indifference while his face became redder and redder.
-"those who can not play should go to bed," cried the same voice.
-then the abashed and ashamed pepe de la esquila was fraught with fury. he threw his instrument upon the floor, rose from his seat with his eyes aflame with rage, shook his fist at the gallery, and cried:
-"i'll settle you when we get out, see if i don't."
-"sh! sh! silence, silence!" exclaimed the audience in a breath.
-"what is there to settle, man? get on and play the cornet better."
-"silence, silence! shame!" cried the audience again, and all eyes were then turned to the mayor's box.
-he was a man of sixty or seventy years of age, short of stature and very high-colored; his hair was still thick and quite white, his cheeks were shaven, his nose roman, his eyes large, round, and prominent. he looked like a courtier of the time of louis xv, or a coachman of some grand house.
-don roque, for such was his name, turned round in his seat, and called out in a stentorian voice:
-whereupon an octogenarian official approached the door of the box with his shiny, peaked, blue cloth cap in his hand.
-the mayor conferred with him for some minutes; and then marcones ascended the gallery, and reappeared holding a young man in sailor dress by the arm. they both approached the mayor's box, and then don roque proceeded to rebuke the offender in a voice which he only partially succeeded in modulating, for, from time to time, one overheard such remarks as: "disturber of the peace! have you no manners whatsoever! you are a belligerent animal! do you think you are in a tavern?"
-the sailor received the reprimand with his eyes on the ground.
-a voice cried from the pit:
-"let him be taken to prison."
-then another voice from the gallery immediately returned:
-"let pepe de la esquila be taken too."
-the mayor, after having sharply rebuked percebe, let him return to his seat, to the great delight of the gallery, who received him back with hurrahs and applause.
-the orchestra, silenced for a time, now resumed the prelude to the infernal regions, and before it was finished a dozen devils were seen emerging through the trap-doors on to the stage with masks, enormous tow wigs, the inevitable tails, and with lighted torches in their hands. then, when they were all assembled on the boarded floor and the trap-doors were conveniently closed, they began the fantastic dance befitting the occasion. but it is known of old that four demons can not join together in a dance without getting excited. the spectators followed their swift, measured movements with extreme interest. a child began to cry, and the audience made its mother withdraw him from the house.
-but, lo and behold! with so much passing to and fro of beelzebub's ministers in that not very spacious place, a torch ignited the tow wig of one of the party. the poor devil, in ignorance of the fact, continued the dance with most diabolical energy; the audience went into fits of laughter awaiting the issue of the accident. eventually, when he felt his head grow hot, he promptly tore off the wig and mask, and disclosed the countenance of levita, distorted with terror.
-"levita!" cried the delighted audience.
-the owner of this nickname, deprived of his demoniacal disguise, retired from the scene, covered with confusion.
-in a short time another wig was set on fire. fresh cries of excitement at the approaching metamorphosis of the demon. there was not long to wait, for in a few minutes the wig and the mask flew through the air like a flaming comet.
-"matalaosa!" was the universal cry, and a shout of laughter rang through the theatre.
-"matala, don't be afraid that you will catch cold," said a voice from the gallery.
-matalaosa retired, discomfited, like his companion levita.
-the demons who had escaped any catastrophe being once more relegated to the infernal regions, there appeared on the scene a fine young fellow, who, to judge from the skin which hung from his shoulder, was evidently a shepherd, with a pretty young girl of the same profession, and, according to the old rule which obliges every shepherd to be in love, and every shepherdess to be coquettish, the dialogue began, in which the affectionate entreaties and tender reproaches of the man contrasted strongly with the light laughter and jokes of the girl.
-everybody was pleased and delighted, the gallery as well as the pit, with the touching scene enacted, when a loud voice was heard at the theatre door saying:
-"don rosendo, the 'bella paula,' is coming in."
-the effect that this unexpected news produced was indescribable, for not only did don rosendo jump up, as if he were pulled by a spring, and hasten to put on his cloak with a trembling hand, but such excitement pervaded the whole gathering that the pastoral dialogue was all but interrupted. the patrons of the "front rows" rushed with one accord into the street, all the sailors made their exit from the gallery with a great clatter, and many people also left the stalls and boxes. in a few minutes there was hardly anybody in the theatre but women.
-cecilia remained motionless and pale, with her eyes fixed on the stage. her mother and sister looked at her with a smile on their faces.
-"why do you look at me like that?" she exclaimed, turning round suddenly and blushing violently, whereupon doña paula and venturita burst out laughing.
-safe arrival of the "bella paula"
-the crowd of people ran through the streets in the direction of the port. foremost, accompanied by six or eight sailors, his son pablo and several friends, came don rosendo, silent and preoccupied as he listened to his companions' remarks, uttered in voices panting from exertion.
-"don domingo is in luck to get in at nearly high tide," said a sailor, alluding to the captain of the "bella paula."
-"how do you know he is coming in? he may have cast anchor this afternoon," remarked another.
-"you ask 'where?' you fool! why, in the bay, of course," replied the other in a rage.
-"if so, we should see her, uncle miguel."
-"how could we see her, you idiot? why shouldn't she have dropped anchor behind the corvera rock?"
-"the flag of the 'bella paula' would float higher than the rock, uncle miguel."
-"whatever do you know about it?"
-"what cargo does she carry?" asked a bystander of the owner.
-"four thousand hundredweight."
-"no, all from norway."
-"is the señorita de las cuevas on board?"
-don rosendo did not reply; but after a few more quick steps he turned round, saying:
-"don melchor must be told that the 'bella paula' is coming in."
-"i'll go," said a sailor, detaching himself from the crowd, and turning back to the town.
-they arrived at the mole. the night was starless, the wind had sunk, the sea was calm. they passed the little old mole, and directed their steps to the end of the new mole, which had been recently built, and stretched some little distance out to sea. lights from the moored boats shone here and there in the darkness; the thick network of riggings was scarcely discernible, and the hulks looked like formless black masses.
-the newcomers did not at first perceive another group of people at the end of the mole until they came upon them. they were all silent, with their eyes fixed on the sea, trying to make out the lines of the ship in the mist. the waves breaking monotonously against the rocks near by occasionally shimmered in the darkness.
-"where is she?" asked several of the comers from the theatre, as they cast their eyes around.
-"don't you see a little green light there to the left? follow my hand."
-"ah! yes, now i see."
-don rosendo went on to the second stage of the mole, and there ran against don melchor de las cuevas. he was an old, very tall, wiry man; he wore his beard sailor fashion, that is to say, he let it hang round his neck like a bag. he had a stronger reason for doing this than the majority of the people of sarrio who do so, for he belonged to the honored profession of the navy, although he was now on the retired list. but in seaport towns, and particularly when the place is small like that of which we are speaking, the maritime element preponderates, and so permeates the place that the inhabitants, unintentionally, and in spite of themselves, adopt certain sailor customs, words, and fashions.
-the señor de las cuevas had been a gallant, fine fellow when he was young, and now at seventy-four he was still a vigorous, active man, with bright, penetrating eyes, aquiline nose, a fine, open countenance, and a bearing full of energy and decision.
-he was standing on one of the seats fixed against the wall of the mole, with an enormous telescope turned toward the little green light which shone intermittently in the distance. he was by far the tallest figure in the group of spectators.
-"don melchor, you here already! i have just sent a messenger to your house."
-"i have been here for an hour," returned the señor de las cuevas, taking his glass from his eye. "i saw the ship from the observatory a little after sunset."
-"who would have thought it? how is it that nothing at sea escapes your observation?"
-"i have better sight than when i was a lad of twenty," said don melchor in a loud, decided voice for all to hear.
-"i believe it, i believe it, don melchor."
-"i can see a little launch tack twenty miles off."
-"i believe it, i believe it, don melchor."
-"and if i were put to it," continued the old officer, in a louder tone, "i could count the masts of the frigates that pass the ferrol."
-"draw it mild, don melchor," said a voice. there was a round of suppressed laughter in the dark, for señor de las cuevas inspired all the sea-folk with profound respect.
-the old sailor turned his head angrily in the direction of the jeering remark, and, after silently trying to pierce the gloom, he said in a severe tone:
-"if i knew who that was who said that i would chuck him into the sea."
-nobody dared say a word, nor was a sign of a smile seen, for it was well known in sarrio that the señor de las cuevas was quite equal to fulfilling his threat.
-he had served more than forty years in the navy, and had won the reputation of being a brave, punctilious officer; but his severity bordered on cruelty. when no commander of a ship exercised the old maritime laws, don melchor still strove to keep them in practise. it was told with horror in the town that a sailor was drowned through his making him pass three times under the keel according to the old punishment for certain transgressions; and more than a hundred men had been crippled by his blows, or had had the skin taken off their backs by his use of the rope.
-however, there was no pilot or sailor who could be compared with him in his knowledge of all pertaining to the sea, the weather, ships, and all the secrets of navigation.
-the little green light continued its slow approach until the form of the "bella paula" was visible to the naked eye, and, moreover, two or three black spots could be seen hovering around her from different sides. they were the pilot's launch and the auxiliary boats, ready to tow the ship when necessary. sail was crowded on the ship, as there was scarcely any wind. however, it was too near the breakwater not to be dangerous. at least don melchor thought so, for he began to swear under his breath, and to seem uneasy. at last, no longer able to restrain himself, although he knew he was not within earshot, he cried out:
-"furl the maintopsail, domingo! what are you waiting for?"
-he had scarcely uttered these words when the almost imperceptible forms of the sailors were seen on the mastheads.
-"we shall be all right now," exclaimed don melchor.
-"don domingo would snap his finger at you," murmured the sailor who had incurred the old officer's wrath, under his breath.
-the hulk of the ship, painted black, with a line of white on the upper decks, now stood out clearly from the dark background.
-the eyes of the spectators, grown accustomed to the gloom, could discern perfectly all that was passing on board.
-two figures were on the quarter-deck, the captain and the coasting pilot, and at the bow stood the ship pilot.
-"and the gaff-sail?" shouted don melchor again.
-the sail of the mizzen-mast fell, as if in obedience to his voice. the wind was insufficient to fill the lower sails, and the canvas hung from the mast, limp and dilapidated as a draggled ball-dress. soon all sails were furled and the ship was motionless until it slowly made way when taken in tow by the two boats. the figures of the rowers moved measuredly on the benches and the voices of the coxswains singing out, "pull ahead; pull ahead!" broke the silence of the night.
-"captain, captain!" cried a stentorian voice from the crowd.
-"is the señorita de las cuevas on board?"
-"then as long as the señorita de las cuevas is all right, all the rest may go to the devil."
-the joke provoked much merriment in the crowd, until silence again reigned.
-the ship now began to tack, being dragged ashore by the rope, which creaked with the tension of the hold; the people on the mole began talking with those on board, but they were silent and taciturn, being more concerned with the management of the ship than the questions directed to them. then came a fresh ebullition of the jocose spirit of the sailors of the place, and fun was poked at those on board, more especially at a certain fellow who looked like a heap of skins, and whom they nicknamed bruin, as he moved from one side to another with the awkwardness of a bear, handling the ropes and casting grunts of scorn at the crowd.
-"i say, bruin, you will be glad to have a dish of fish, eh?"
-"rejoice, o bruin, for there is cider in llandone's cellar."
-"is it hot in norway?"
-"too hot for a rogue like you," growled bruin, as he furled a sail.
-this remark was received by the sailors with shouts of laughter.
-"keep clear," called the pilot from the quarter-deck.
-"hold there, on board!" returned the sailor who held the slack end of the rope.
-the pilot said to the sailor at his side:
-the anchor fell into the sea with a strident sound of chains. then the windlass was heard at work.
-"are you going to moor the ship, domingo?" asked don melchor.
-"yes, señor," returned the captain.
-"it is not necessary; you can warp ahead with two anchors. in an hour you will be able to get in."
-"one way is as good as another for me," said the officer in a low voice, shrugging his shoulders, and then, in a loud tone, he added:
-"drop a second anchor," whereupon a second anchor fell into the sea with the same harsh sound as the first.
-"hello, gonzalito! arrived all right, my boy?"
-"perfectly; here i come."
-and with great agility the young fellow swung himself down by a rope into the boat.
-"let us go and meet him," said don rosendo, taking a step or two forward.
-but señor de las cuevas caught the merchant by the arm and held him like a vise.
-"where are you going?"
-"nothing, you would only have been stunned on the stones below."
-"holy virgin!" exclaimed don rosendo, turning dreadfully pale, while a cold sweat bathed his brow, and his legs trembled.
-"don't be alarmed at what is past and gone, but let us go down and meet gonzalito!"
-so they went to the end of the mole, where a manly, tall, red-haired, fine young fellow had just landed, dressed in a cloak which nearly reached down to his heels.
-the two tall men then fell into each other's arms. don rosendo also received the young man with effusion. but he was so taken up with the narrow escape he had just had from losing his life, that he soon relapsed into his gloomy and melancholy mood, and he could hardly reply to the dock-yard master's questions as to the disposition of the captain's cargo.
-they then started off to don melchor's house, which was situated in the highest part of the town, commanding an extensive view of the sea. during the walk gonzalo left his uncle to go on in front, while he diffidently asked don rosendo a few questions about his family.
-"how is doña paula? is she as smiling as ever? and pablo? is he still as fond of horses? and venturita? i suppose she has grown a big girl now?" pause. "and cecilia, is she well?" he finally asked abruptly.
-but the señor de belinchon only gave monosyllabic answers to all these questions.
-"do you know, gonzalo," he said, stopping suddenly, "that i might have killed myself just now?"
-he then gave a full account of the incident of the mole, and when the story was ended, he again relapsed into a state of profound melancholy.
-"i suppose the family is in bed," said gonzalo, after he had sufficiently sympathized (at least in his own opinion) with the late peril of the merchant.
-"no, they are at the theatre--one never knows what may happen, eh?"
-"so you've got a theatrical company here, eh?"
-"yes, for some days past. do you know i thought i should have been killed, gonzalo?"
-"tush! you might, perhaps, have broken a leg, or at the worst, a rib or two."
-"well, that would have been bad enough!" exclaimed the señor de belinchon, with a sigh.
-by this time they had proceeded some distance into the town, and arriving at a certain street, don rosendo took leave of the uncle and nephew. he held out his hand in a sad way, saying:
-"i must go and fetch my family from the theatre. until to-morrow, and a good night's rest to you, gonzalo."
-"until to-morrow--kind regards to all."
-then the señor de las cuevas and his nephew went on together to their house; and the traveler had to undergo a torrent of questions not relative to his visit to england, but concerning particulars of the voyage home.
-"what wind did you have? pretty blusterous, eh? i suppose it hardly sank once? the ship didn't pitch much, eh? she was well loaded. you never sailed with all that canvas, eh? you had to reef on leaving liverpool, eh? i know the course well."
-gonzalo replied to the questions in an absent-minded manner, for he really hardly took them in, as he was walking along in a state of abstraction, with his head down.
-"what is the matter, gonzalito? you seem low-spirited."
-"i? bah! no, señor."
-"i know you are."
-they proceeded some distance in silence, and don melchor, striking his forehead, exclaimed:
-"i know what it is!"
-"you are longing for the sea again. i have gone through just the same. i used to leap ashore after any voyage, and then i was seized with a fit of depression and a strong desire to return to the ship! this lasted two or three days, until i got accustomed to it. the fact is, i longed to get into port, but once there, i wished to be on board again. i don't know what there is so attractive in the sea, eh? that air so pure! the motion! the freedom! i know you are longing to return to the ship, eh?" he concluded, with a mischievous smile, to show his perspicacity.
-"bother it all! what i am longing for, uncle, is to go and see my sweetheart."
-don melchor was dumfounded.
-"is that true?"
-"of course it is."
-the señor de las cuevas reflected a minute, and then said:
-"all right; perhaps you would like to go and meet her at the theatre? in the meanwhile i will go and see if domingo has improved."
-"how can he improve? he is a first-rate fellow," returned the youth, smiling.
-the uncle, oblivious of the irony, looked at him with scorn.
-"get along! i see you return as silly as you went. i will wait supper for you."
-"don't wait for me, uncle," replied gonzalo, already some distance off. "perhaps i shall not want supper."
-then, without running, but with extraordinary swiftness, thanks to his unusually long legs, he strode through the streets, lighted here and there by oil lamps, in the direction of the theatre. any one meeting him just then would have taken him for one of the many englishmen who occasionally come to sarrio on shipping business, to reconnoitre mining districts, or to start some industry. his colossal height and his stout, robust appearance are not characteristic features of the spanish race, although one comes across them in the north; then that long coat, those double-soled boots, and strange-shaped hat denoted the foreigner. a glance at the face completed the illusion, for it was fair; and the long red beard, and blue, or, more properly called, azure eyes are almost always seen in the northern races.
-the family of las cuevas, to which gonzalo belonged, had from time immemorial been huge in stature, and seafaring by profession. his father had been a sailor, his grandfather a sailor, his uncles sailors, and the sons of these uncles also sailors. gonzalo when not eight years of age was left orphaned of both father and mother, and possessed of a considerable fortune, managed by his uncle and guardian, don melchor, in whose care he had been left by his father at his death. the old sailor greatly wished his ward to continue the uninterrupted course of the cuevas with regard to a profession. to awaken in him a love of the sea, or to make him take a fancy to it, he bought him a beautiful sailing boat, in which they both took trips, or went on fishing expeditions. but the good man's plans could not prevail against his nephew's predisposition for the land. he cared for nothing to do with the sea, but the fish out of it, and that only when dressed and steaming on the table. however, he managed sometimes to enjoy himself with a kettle, cooking an impromptu meal in some out-of-the-way spot on the coast, seated on a rock whence bubbled beautiful fresh drinking water. at fourteen gonzalo had grown into a fine young fellow in the second class of the private college of sarrio, which sent him up to the capital every year for the examination, where he generally won the qualification "good," and once and again, but very rarely, that of "highly commended."
-he was much liked by his schoolfellows for his open, frank disposition, while he was respected for his ability to deal powerful blows. the gentlefolk of the town made much of him on account of his position and the family to which he belonged, and the sailors and other people of the place loved him for his frank, equable nature.
-after graduating as bachelor of arts, he remained three years in sarrio without doing anything. he got up late, and spent the greater part of the day at the casino playing billiards, in which game he became an expert. in spite of being the spoiled child of the place, he visited at few houses, preferring the stupid, demoralizing life of the café, to which he had become accustomed. nevertheless, as he was not wanting in intelligence, and being of a naturally active turn of mind, he sometimes turned his attention to the study of some branch of science. he liked mineralogy, and many afternoons he left the casino and the billiards to repair to the suburbs of the town, in search of minerals and fossils, until he had quite a valuable collection. then he took up the microscope for a time, and after sending for a costly one from germany he devoted himself to the examination of diatomaceæ, and he arranged them admirably well upon the little crystals, which he cut himself. finally, a book upon brewing having fallen into his hands, he devoted himself enthusiastically to its study. he ordered several works on the subject from england, and began to think that this unpractised industry might be started with advantage in sarrio. he seriously thought of opening a brewery, but, confiding the project to his uncle, the old man was furious, and gave vent to a series of inarticulate grunts, all beyond the normal diapason, which ended with the exclamation:
-"what! a cuevas start a brewery! the son of a captain, the nephew of a rear-admiral! impossible! you are off your head, gonzalo. it is well said that idleness is the mother of every vice. if you had passed through the naval college, as i advised you, you would have been first lieutenant by now, and would not be running about with such mad ideas."
-gonzalo was silent, but he did not cease reading his treatises on the industry. he soon saw that, without visiting the chief breweries, and without studying the subject seriously, he could never attain any real knowledge of it, and so he determined to go to england and learn the business of a civil engineer. when he ventured to broach the subject to his uncle, the sailor did not object to the word engineer, but the attributive adjunct of civil aroused the same storm of invectives as the brewery had called forth.
-"civil, civil! nowadays everything shady is called civil. be a straightforward engineer of roads, and bridges or mines."
-at this time he knew, or, to speak more correctly, for everybody knows each other in sarrio, he became acquainted with, the señorita de belinchon. one day his uncle sent him to the rich merchant's house to ask him if he could give him a bill of exchange on manila. don rosendo was not in his office, which was on the ground floor of the house, but as the business was urgent, gonzalo decided to go upstairs. the maid who opened the door was very alert.
-"come this way, don gonzalo; the señorita cecilia will tell you where the master is."
-he was taken into an untidy room, with heaps of clothes upon the floor and on the table, at which the eldest daughter of the belinchons was ironing a shirt, in a costume not befitting her station, for it was a scanty, narrow skirt, an apron tied round her waist like a workwoman, and her feet in shabby slippers. she did not blush at the young man finding her in such an attire and engaged in such a menial occupation, nor did she exclaim, as many girls would have done in her place: "goodness, what a state you find me in!" putting her hands to her hair and her throat.
-nothing of the sort; she suspended her task for a minute, smiled sweetly, and waited to hear what the youth had to say.
-"good-evening," he said with a blush.
-"good-evening, gonzalo," she returned.
-"can i see your father?"
-"i do not know if he is at home; i will go and see," replied the girl, leaving the ironing upon the table, and passing in front of him.
-when she had proceeded a few steps she turned back and said:
-"is your uncle well?"
-"yes, señora, yes--i mean no; for some days he has not left his bed--he has a dreadful cold."
-"it is nothing serious?"
-"i think not, señora."
-the girl went on her way smiling; she was pleased at gonzalo calling her señora, for she was not sixteen, and he spoke as if she were over twenty. they knew each other like brother and sister, but they had never hitherto behaved like grown-up people. they met every day in the street, at the promenade, at the theatre, or at church. when they were quite little, cecilia recollected that one afternoon at the elorrio fair, when dancing the giraldilla with some other little girls of her own age, some rough boys began teasing them, pulling their hair, pushing them about, and running in the way so as to spoil their dance, and upset them. gonzalo, then a boy of thirteen, seeing this rude conduct, ran to the little girls' assistance; and with a kick here, a push there, and a few blows all round, he soon dispersed the rude boys. the eyes of the little dancers gazed at him in admiration, and an undying feeling of gratitude toward the heroic lad filled those tender hearts of five to ten years.
-another time, years afterward, on st. john's day, gonzalo lent his boat to her and her family, for a little sea trip, as all the boats and launches were full on that occasion.
-but neither of these circumstances had constituted much intercourse between the young people. if they met face to face, gonzalo would raise his hand to his hat; if not, they would pass as if they did not see each other, in spite of the acquaintance, if not intimate friendship, existing between his uncle and señor belinchon. for the bohemian life of the café, his rare association with girls, had made gonzalo a shy, retiring youth.
-"come this way, gonzalo; papa is waiting for you in the dining-room," said the girl, when she reappeared. "i hope your uncle will get better."
-"many thanks," he returned abruptly, and being so tall, he knocked against the lamp hanging in the hall so that it nearly fell to the ground.
-he cast an agonized look at it, and quickly steadied it, while his face grew red with confusion.
-"has it hurt you?" asked cecilia, anxiously.
-"no, indeed, señora--on the contrary, dear me! i nearly broke it."
-and he became more and more confused.
-our young friend was at that time of life when he would fall in love with a broom. he was rather late in reaching this susceptible stage, as is often the case when the physical organism overbalances the nervous. therefore, señorita de belinchon, with no claim to prettiness, suddenly aroused a sort of feeling in him easily mistaken for love, and the result of that short interview was that gonzalo henceforth went out of his way to pass the house of the de belinchons, with his longing eyes fixed on the windows for a chance glimpse of the young lady; he went on sunday to eight o'clock mass at st. andrew's church, because doña paula and her family went there; at the theatre he ventured to cast many a glance in her direction, and he occasionally dared to raise his hat to her, but when he did so, he blushed violently and cast furtive looks around, trembling lest he should have betrayed the nascent feeling of his heart.
-innocent gonzalo! long before he was aware himself of his state of mind the whole town knew of it. nothing could be hidden, especially anything to do with a young man and woman, from the sharp eyes of the gossips of a place so small as sarrio. and not only did they know what was going on, but they made up their minds that the marriage was certain to come off sooner or later.
-he was now twenty years of age. the idea of qualifying himself as a civil engineer and taking up some occupation occasionally crossed his mind in this idle life. a friend at this time returning from a military academy, a conversation with an english engineer, the tone of contempt in which those who have no occupation were spoken of in the casino, suddenly awoke in him a desire for work. at last he told his uncle that, with his permission, he would go to england to study something and see the world.
-as don melchor could make no objection to this just and laudable suggestion, gonzalo a few days later appeared at several houses of relations and friends, where he had not set foot for years, to take his leave of them, and on a beautiful, balmy spring afternoon he embarked with great pomp on the big "vigia" for england.
-did he recollect cecilia? we do not know. temperaments like those of our friend are a long time falling a prey to passion--great havoc as it may make in the end.
-three years went by. he finished his course as an engineer, which is brief and practical in england, and then made up his mind to visit the factories of england, spain, and germany. during the time of his studies the recollection of cecilia occasionally occurred to him without arousing any very deep feeling. but in the spring, when the blood circulates more freely in the veins, and mother nature gives her lesson in the verdure of the fields, the vivid colors of the flowers, the effects of sunshine, the soft, balmy air, and above all in her more faithful interpreters, the birds, gonzalo's thoughts turned to matrimony. and whenever the idea crossed his mind, it was accompanied by the image of the eldest daughter of the de belinchons.
-"this way, gonzalo; papa is waiting for you. have you hurt yourself?"
-the words still rang in his ears, and the recollection of the kind tone in which they were said filled his young heart with a feeling of love. the girl was not beautiful, but her eyes were, and her modest, pleasant manner and the tone of her voice were all full of the charm so attractive in her sex.
-"i should not mind marrying her," he said with a sigh to himself, as he thought how impossible it would be for him to breathe a word of love in her ears, or in those of any girl.
-one day, when writing to a great friend in sarrio, he suddenly thought of asking if cecilia belinchon were married. in reply, he learned that she was still single, and that, although young men frequented the house, probably more attracted by de belinchon's money than his daughter's charms, it was not known that she had so far listened to any one of them.
-on reading this letter the blood mounted to the cheek of the civil engineer, and he was foolish enough to think (will the reader think him very conceited?) that if cecilia turned the cold shoulder on her admirers it was, perhaps, because she was prepossessed in his favor. then he formed the plan of declaring his feelings in a letter, for he thought it would be less awkward to do it thus while far away.
-nevertheless, he hesitated, and when he took the pen in his hand to write the first line he dropped it at the thought of the surprise of the girl on the receipt of the letter. some days elapsed. he could not get rid of the idea. at last, by dint of much subtle reasoning, he determined to write the letter. if she laughed at him, what of it? he would not be there to see, for in that case he would stay away from sarrio; and if perchance he ever returned, he would manage to keep clear of her.
-so at last the letter was written, but terrified at the idea of posting it, he kept it in his writing-case for some days. a few glasses of spirits were required to give him courage to post it, and when slightly elevated by the potation he took the letter from his writing-case, rushed into the street and dropped it into the first letter-box he came across.
-"my god! what have i done?"
-the effects of the libation had suddenly vanished, and he colored up to the roots of his hair, as if the mocking eyes of all the people of sarrio were gazing at him through the gaping mouth of the letter-box.
-he put his fingers into the aperture, in the vain attempt to withdraw the ill-fated epistle, but a shark could not hive swallowed it more effectually, and the mouth of the box looked gaping and ready for more. for one moment he thought of going to the post-office to reclaim it, but the thought of the particulars which would have to be given so alarmed him that he preferred leaving the matter to fate rather than undergo such an ordeal.
-eight days of trembling suspense went by. by the time he could expect an answer his anxiety was overwhelming, and he even began to think he might see his own bold, ugly handwriting returned to him in an envelope.
-a week, and then a fortnight, elapsed, but still no answer came.
-he calmed himself with the vague hope of the non-arrival of his letter at its destination; then he fancied that cecilia might have torn it up, without mentioning it to anybody. but, lo and behold, when he had given up all hope, he found on his plate, at breakfast-time, a letter from spain, in an unknown lady's writing. his excitement at the sight was indescribable. he turned as white as the mantelpiece--his heart seemed to jump into his mouth. he opened the envelope with a trembling hand.
-"ah-a-a!" he sighed, with relief, after devouring the contents in two seconds. he then put his hand to his side, wiped the sweat from his brow with his pocket-handkerchief, took up the letter again, and reread it quietly.
-it was really from cecilia; it was slightly ironical in tone--however, it was not a rebuff.
-what fancy could have seized him for her after four years' absence? her parents--who had opened the letter before she did--were equally surprised, and thought it was a rash act, peculiar to youth--a passing idea, of which he had probably already repented. she quite coincided with their opinion, although she had consented to follow their advice of writing to him, as they had always maintained friendly relations with his family. this letter filled him with delight; it was not the scornful refusal he had expected. then he grew sad, and then cheerful, as he read and reread the letter in search of a clear meaning. was it kind--or was it unkind? he hastened to reply, imploring forgiveness for his boldness, and confirming his previous declaration with renewed and more vehement protestations.
-the girl wrote again in a few days, in a kinder and more affectionate manner, and then gonzalo sent another letter. an interchange of photographs followed, and sometimes doña paula enclosed a few lines in the letters sent by her daughter.
-in time the young people were formally engaged, and the marriage was arranged.
-don melchor corresponded with his nephew on the subject, and he called upon don rosendo. it was at last settled that gonzalo should return in the spring, when the wedding was to take place.
-planning the home
-the rest of the audience was leaving the theatre, and as gonzalo met the people pouring from the door, many of them recognized him, and he was soon surrounded by old friends who were all warm in their welcome.
-the first to throw his arms around his neck was don mateo; then came don pedro miranda; then the mayor, don roque; then don victoriano and his wife, doña rosario, and their three daughters.
-thus a circle soon gathered round the young man, who responded effusively to the greetings, embraces, and hand-pressures which reached him from all sides.
-the sailors and women of the place also joined the señores in this demonstration of affection, and nothing was heard but exclamations of delight and admiration.
-"how stout you have grown, gonzalito!"
-"you are a fine young man!"
-"why don't you grow like that, periquito?"
-"don gonzalo, you are a head taller than all the other fellows of sarrio!"
-"grow! he has not grown; he has doubled his height. come here, grenadier, and embrace me directly."
-a shipmaster declared that the youth was as like the prince of wales as two drops of water, although gonzalo might be taller.
-the tall figure of the youth certainly towered above the group, and he reached his hand over the heads of those about him to the friends who could not get close to him, and his fine, open countenance beamed on all.
-don mateo, on tiptoe, pulled him by the arm so that he bent down, and then he whispered in his ear:
-"what a performance you have lost, gonzalo! it is a pity you did not arrive in the afternoon. the soprano sings like an angel! and the dancing! the dancing! i tell you, boy, they don't have better in bilbao or corunna. but never mind, i will have the performance again before the company leaves--or it won't say much for my influence."
-but gonzalo paid little heed to these words. with his eyes fixed on the door, he was waiting in breathless expectation for the appearance of the de belinchon family, which, as one of the first and most patrician of the place, always waited behind to avoid mixing with the plebeians. at last, by the light of the lamp burning under the archway of the entrance, he caught sight of the face of doña paula, followed by that of cecilia, and he tremulously advanced to greet them.
-the girl turned as red as a poppy. this was natural, but for the mother to do so also was less natural. what was he to her? why was she to blush as much as the daughter? but it was what she did to perfection. the voices of all three trembled, and after inquiring after each other's health, their tongues seemed tied. the looks of curiosity from the people added to their embarrassment. fortunately, pablito now approached with venturita, and our young friend greeted the former affectionately and gave a ceremonious bow to the latter.
-"don't you know her? she is my sister, venturita."
-"oh! how could i know her? she is a woman. how do you do, ventura?"
-the girl gave him her hand with a mocking, roguish expression that quite confused him.
-they then all turned toward home. venturita ran in front, dragging her brother with her. doña paula, cecilia, and gonzalo walked behind. don rosendo closed the procession with his old friend, don pedro miranda. the streets were dark, for it was only at the corners that there were lamps.
-the distance between the three groups of people gradually increased.
-gonzalo made desperate efforts to sustain conversation with his bride-elect and future mother-in-law; but the girl never opened her lips, and doña paula was very far from being a madame de staël, and as the young man had never consulted the manual of conversation, he could not be called brilliant. in their letters they had arrived at the confidential stage. doña paula had put post-scripts into cecilia's epistles, to which gonzalo had replied with little jokes; he had sent stamps and caricatures for ventura, and in every way had comported himself as a member of the family. but now the three were quite embarrassed, for our young friend had never before spoken to the señora de belinchon, and to cecilia he had only addressed the words that we have recorded.
-but there in front was venturita, laughing with her brother; and the engaged couple were quite certain that the merriment was at their expense. nevertheless, by the time they reached the house they were more at home with each other, and there were signs of increasing friendliness between them. the party collected together on reaching the door of the de belinchons' abode, which was situated in the rua nueva, the best street in sarrio, and, like all the houses in that quarter, it was large and handsome.
-as gonzalo had not yet supped, don rosendo asked him to join them at their evening meal; and the invitation was given so cordially, that the young man, who wished for nothing better, willingly accepted it.
-señor miranda and his son then took leave, and the belinchon family, with the newcomer who was soon to be one of them, entered the house.
-in the anteroom the ladies took off their cloaks and hats.
-the light seemed to make the affianced pair shy. gonzalo was now well able to see his betrothed, who had not improved with years. she was taller, but also thinner--love affairs don't make girls grow plump; her nose seemed a trifle sharper; but her beautiful eyes, so soft and intelligent, still shone like two stars.
-he was greatly struck with the change in venturita, the child he had seen skipping to school on the arm of a schoolfellow.
-she was now a woman, a full-grown woman, not so much from her height as from the roundness and fulness of her figure, and a certain directness of look touched with a dash of coquetry.
-they cast a rapid look at each other, as if they met for the first time; and gonzalo said in a low voice to doña paula:
-"how venturita has improved! she is a beautiful girl."
-low as it was, the girl overheard the remark; she pouted disdainfully and went straight to the dining-room, without betraying the gratification his spontaneous admiration had given her.
-the table was laid, a patriarchal provincial board, abundant and clean, without flowers or any of the elegant accessories which are now the fashion. all gonzalo's shyness vanishing at the sight of the meal, he soon felt quite at home. a feeling of cheerfulness pervaded them all. they exchanged remarks and smiles; gonzalo took pablito by the arm and asked him after his horses; doña paula arranged the order of the places; venturita, who was already seated, began eating olives and throwing the stones at her sister, with knowing winks, while cecilia, her cheeks aflame, put her finger on her lip to call her to order. don rosendo had returned from putting on his jacket and smoking cap, as he could not eat supper without them. his wife now invited the visitor to take the chair next to cecilia, but she had taken her seat at the other end of the table.
-"what are you about? why don't you come to your proper place?" asked doña paula in surprise, whereupon the girl, without replying, quietly rose and blushingly took the chair next to her betrothed.
-the classic dish of buttered eggs was already steaming on the table.
-"come, help gonzalo--serve him first," said doña paula to her daughter, with the benign smile befitting a wife whose ideas were in accord with those given by saint paul in his celebrated epistle.
-cecilia hastened to obey, and filled the plate of her future husband. he always had an excellent appetite, fitting for his great size, but now, sharpened by the sea air and some hours' fasting, he was voracious. he ate everything that was put before him, without stopping a moment, and without leaving a morsel, and cecilia, as we can suppose, was indefatigable in serving him.
-directly he began to eat gonzalo lost his shyness, for the pressing necessity of satisfying his enormous appetite was all-absorbing. cecilia, on the contrary, hardly touched her food. seeing two little pieces of ham about the size of two filberts on her plate, the young man said:
-"whom is that plate for--the parrot?"
-"no; it is for me."
-"and are you not afraid it will give you indigestion?"
-it was the first joke that he had ventured to make with his bride-elect. she smilingly returned:
-"i never eat more than that."
-doña paula whispered into venturita's ear:
-"don't you think they are very stiff with each other?"
-venturita repeated the remark in an undertone to pablo, and he passed it on to his father. all four began laughing and casting glances at the engaged couple, who looked confused, asking with their eyes the reason of the sudden merriment.
-"mama, do you want me to tell them what we are laughing at?"
-"then, señores, we were thinking that you might be less stiff with each other."
-the bride and bridegroom-elect hung their heads and smiled.
-the good spirits of the supper party now broke forth in laughter and jokes. pablito asked his future brother-in-law questions about horse racing, skating rinks, and other more or less enthralling topics of the kind.
-only cecilia was silent in the intensity of her happiness, shown in the brilliant scarlet of her cheeks, the heat of which she tried in vain to cool with the back of her hand.
-when she thought she was unobserved she cast long, loving looks at her fiancé, whose fine, insatiable appetite, the sign of life and energy, surprised and captivated her; and she gazed at him in adoring admiration as a splendid type of masculine strength.
-but these long, ecstatic looks did not escape venturita, who managed by signs to draw the attention of pablo and her mother to them. gonzalo acknowledged the attentions of his fiancée with a rapid "many thanks" without looking at her, for fear of blushing. when he did look up to speak to pablo, his eyes always encountered venturita's, and her smiling, mocking glance somewhat disconcerted him.
-at last they left the table and dispersed. don rosendo and ventura, disappeared, and pablo, after a few minutes, following their example.
-doña paula and the engaged couple remained alone in the dining-room, and all three sat on low chairs in a corner together. soon nothing but soft whispers were audible, as if they were at the confessional. the three chairs were close together, and with their heads almost touching, they began an animated conversation.
-doña paula soon broached the all-important question.
-"this is the twenty-eighth of april. there are only four months from now to the first of september," and here she cast a long, knowing glance at the couple.
-if it had been possible for cecilia to get redder, she would have done so.
-gonzalo's lips wreathed in a meaningless smile, and he lowered his eyes.
-after looking at them for a minute, as if enjoying their confusion, doña paula continued:
-"it is necessary to think of the trousseau."
-"heavens! it is early for that," exclaimed the girl in dismay, while her heart leaped into her mouth.
-"it is not so, cecilia; you do not know the time the embroideresses take in such matters. nieves took a month to embroider two petticoats for doña rosario's daughter--and martina is slower than she."
-"nieves embroiders very well."
-"there is no embroideress in the town to hold a candle to martina. she has hands of gold."
-"i prefer the embroideries of nieves."
-"then, if you wish it, let her embroider your clothes, but i--" said doña paula, looking at her daughter in an offended, haughty sort of way.
-"i don't say so," returned the girl in alarm; "i only say i like the work of nieves better than martina's."
-the trousseau soon became the subject of conversation. it was discussed from every point of view, and with the gravity and the care it deserved.
-to whom should they entrust the hemming of the linen sheets? to whom the common ones? who should make the underlinen? where should the mantles be bought, etc.? all these questions were discussed, weighed, and considered. doña paula gave her opinion; cecilia affected to contradict, but in reality what did she care?
-her whole soul was so filled with the thought of her approaching marriage that her voice trembled with emotion, and she could hardly speak, while her eyes glowed with rapture, and shone like two fine stars on a soft summer night.
-"how hot it is!" she exclaimed every now and then, putting her hands upon her flaming cheeks.
-gonzalo assented with an inane smile to what was said, and frequently changed the position of his long legs, which were cramped from the lowness of his chair.
-when they had discussed the linen of the trousseau, they passed on to the dresses, and the conversation became more animated, and cecilia saw her betrothed without looking at him, and the eyes of doña paula, as she gazed at them both, grew softer and softer, their breath mingled, and the shoulders of the future bride and bridegroom touched each other.
-the soft whispers, the lowered light of the lamp, which scarcely reached them, the frequent contact with the arm of her beloved, all combined to fill cecilia with overwhelming emotion. quite overcome, she got up two or three times and kissed her mother warmly; when she did this the third time, doña paula saw what it betokened and, with a compassionate, smiling glance, said:
-"poor little thing! my poor little thing!"
-cecilia covered her eyes with her hands, and remained so for some time.
-"what is the matter?" said doña paula at last.
-but she kept her eyes covered.
-"but what is the matter, my daughter?"
-"nothing," she replied at last, taking her hands from her face, and she smiled, but her eyes were wet.
-"i know, i know," returned the mother. "you want the salts; you feel faint."
-"no, i am not faint; i am quite well."
-the conversation was then renewed, and doña paula expressed her wish that gonzalo should come and live with them. this he rather objected to at first, as he knew his uncle would not like it, nevertheless he ended by conceding to the entreaties of both ladies. it was so natural that they should not want to be separated! "you can both be quite independent, i will take care of that. there is the large room, the blue one, you know, cecilia; it has a large alcove; then you only want the study for gonzalo. but i have thought of that. just by the large room there is the wardrobe-room, that opens on the courtyard; it is nice and light. it is all in disorder now, but, with a little trouble, it could be turned into a very nice room. would you like to see it, gonzalo?"
-the young man replied that it was not necessary, that he believed all she said, and that he had as good as seen it; but the lady insisted on it, and, taking a flat candlestick, she escorted him to the other end of the house.
-"this is the room--large, is it not? two windows. the alcove is large enough for two beds, let alone for one," she added, with a glance at her daughter, who turned aside to shut a window.
-"let us go and see the wardrobe-room--"
-and leaving the apartment, crossing a passage, and turning round a corner, they entered another room full of cupboards and lumber.
-"don't mind about the distance, for it is really next to the large room; it only wants a door of communication to be made between."
-gonzalo turned to his intended and said softly:
-"why does not mama thee and thou me as your papa does? ask her from me--i do not like to."
-then cecilia approached her mother's ear and said in a soft voice, which trembled with shyness:
-"gonzalo would like you to thee and thou him."
-"what do you say, child?" asked doña paula, putting her hand to her ear.
-cecilia, with a great effort, raised her voice a little:
-"gonzalo asks why you do not thee and thou him as papa does?"
-"ah! i am glad the suggestion comes from him, otherwise i should not have ventured. very well, then, when a door is made here in the wall, you will be able to go from the large room into this one without crossing the passage--do you like the room? is it large enough?"
-"too large; my business at the present moment does not require much space."
-cecilia looked anxious, as if something were on her mind. she opened her mouth several times as if about to speak, and then lacked courage. at last, after a long pause, she ventured to say:
-"one thing is wanting, mama."
-the girl hesitated, as if to gain courage, and then, in a trembling voice, she said:
-"there is no dressing-room for gonzalo."
-"that's true. i never thought of that. where was my head? there is no room about here--wait a moment--wait. we might put the pantry downstairs, and then there would be that little room, which, nicely furnished, would perhaps do. the only thing is, it does not communicate with the other rooms; he will have to cross the passage."
-"what does that matter?"
-they then returned to the dining-room, and to the same seats in the corner. presently venturita came in, in a white peignoir, cut so as to show her alabaster throat and part of her beautiful neck; her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and her feet were shod with gorgeously embroidered eastern slippers. she came to say "good-night" before retiring to rest, and, approaching her mother, she gave her a kiss, making teasing faces at her sister the while, which gonzalo could not see.
-"well, good-night," she said, giving gonzalo her hand.
-"good-night," he returned, with an admiring glance, and in a tone of admiration not unnoticed by the girl.
-she was just going away when a coquettish feeling made her turn back at the door and say to cecilia:
-"where did you put the shoe-horn? i had to come in with slippers, as i could not find it."
-then she took the opportunity of showing her pretty foot.
-"but it is there in the table drawer."
-"if you only knew how sleepy i am," she said, advancing a step, and putting her hand on the head of her sister--"do you know what i ought to do for it?" she added, with a smile. gonzalo looked at her attentively. she was really a perfect creature; the more he looked at her, the more he admired her particular charms. her skin was soft, and shining as silk; her complexion pink and white; her mouth like a budding rose; her lips red and full enough to show two rows of even teeth; her hair golden, silky, and abundant; a drawing-room magazine would say that it fell over her shoulders like a cascade of sunbeams, or something to that effect.
-her only imperfection was her height. if she had taken after her mother in this respect, nobody could have found any fault with her excepting, perhaps, her friends.
-seeing she was an object of admiration, she went on walking about, turning herself round to be seen from all sides, posing in affected attitudes, asking impertinent questions of her sister, then laughing aimlessly and covering her with kisses, or pinching her unmercifully.
-"let me alone, venturita; how wild you are to-day!" exclaimed cecilia, with her kind, frank smile as she tried to get away from her.
-"go to bed!" said doña paula.
-"i am going."
-but instead of going, she embraced cecilia again, and, tickling her, she managed to whisper into her ear:
-"how are you enjoying yourself, you rogue? don't make those large eyes at him, or you will frighten him. good-by, good-by, señores," she said in a louder voice, "and leave something for to-morrow, eh?"
-"what a little silly!" cried cecilia, blushing.
-doña paula and gonzalo smiled, and he said in a low voice:
-"what lovely hair!"
-ventura overheard him, and shaking her locks, she said:
-"it is false."
-they all burst out laughing.
-"don't you believe it?" she asked in a serious tone, and approaching nearer.
-"pull it, and you will see it will come off in your hand."
-the young man did not dare to comply, and continued to smile.
-"pull, pull," she insisted, turning her back to him, and holding her hair before his face.
-gonzalo raised his hand to the hair, but he only ventured to touch it caressingly.
-"what! it has not come off! that is because it is well tied on."
-and she ran out of the room.
-the private conclave was prolonged for some time, and many more points of their future life were touched upon; and as cecilia listened to her mother descanting upon what they should do when once they were married, she could hardly conceal the tremor of emotion that possessed her. she had taken her mother's hand, and she pressed it and caressed it in a nervous way; sometimes she raised it to her lips and kissed it passionately.
-doña paula looked at her with sympathy, and smiled kindly at the joy that filled her daughter's heart.
-the clock in the dining-room struck half-past twelve.
-"oh, how late! what will don rosendo say?"
-"he never goes to bed before this time," replied cecilia.
-"yes; but you know he takes some time to lock up," returned doña paula.
-cecilia was silent. gonzalo shook hands with them warmly, promising to come the following day. then he went to señor belinchon's study to take leave of him.
-the mother and daughter went on talking in the same corner on the same theme, the former being the object of countless embraces and fervent kisses.
-"these are not for me," said the lady, in a tone of mingled joy and sadness.
-"yes, mama; yes!" replied the girl, embracing her with still greater effusion.
-in the meanwhile don rosendo was bringing the arduous and complicated task of locking and bolting the doors and windows to a successful termination.
-he was not contented with locks and iron bars, but, to insure the non-violation of the sanctuary of his dwelling during the night, the rich merchant was in the habit of gumming pieces of paper over all the locks. these he examined carefully in the morning, to be quite certain that nobody had tampered with them. then he put various bottles and pots upon the doorstep, so that if thieves came they would fall over them.
-the chief residents of sarrio at their club
-don melchor de las cuevas rose from the table, lighted a cigar and, offering one to his nephew, said:
-"let us go and have coffee."
-gonzalo was about to put the cigar in his pocket, not having hitherto been permitted to smoke in his uncle's presence; but the old man touched his arm, saying:
-"light it, my boy, light it; you are not a yunker now."
-so the young fellow took out a match and began puffing at the havana with enjoyment, and the men then left the house together, and proceeded slowly down the street with the air of utter comfort worn by powerful-looking men after a heavy meal. they were as silent and majestic as two magnificent cedars unrustled by a breeze. the women at work in their doorways looked after them with interest and admiration.
-"who's the young man with don melchor?"
-"what! don't you know? 'tis his nephew, señor gonzalo, who arrived last night in the 'bella paula.'"
-"he is a fine, strapping fellow."
-"like his father, don martos, god rest his soul."
-"and like his grandfather, don benito," added an old woman. "what a noble, fine-looking family they are!"
-at the top of a street which commanded a view to the sea, señor de las cuevas stopped a minute to cast his eye over the waters.
-"fine weather at sea! a slight breeze coming up! do you see them?" he added, with an expression of triumph after a minute.
-"the launches, man, the launches. don't you see them?"
-"i see nothing," returned gonzalo, fixing his eyes on the horizon.
-"you are just as you were; you see nothing but the soup in your plate," said the uncle, with a sarcastic smile.
-the café de la marina was already full of people. the clatter of conversation and disputes, the clink of the glasses, the ring of the domino pieces on the marble table, made a deafening noise. the place was situated in the small square formed by the junction of the rua nueva with the harbor, and one side of the house looked on to the sea. most of the captains and pilots who stopped at sarrio on their cruises resorted thither, as did the majority of the residents, who, without being sailors, had a partiality for what was maritime.
-the entrance of our friends was hailed with delight from different tables. don melchor was the most popular and the most highly respected frequenter of the café.
-he had to greet all the assembled company, and take gonzalo up to each of them.
-the jolly fellows were all delighted with the young man, and wrung his hand almost to dislocation, while they were eager and hearty in their offers of a glass of wine or maraschino; and when this was refused on the plea of taking coffee upstairs, a profound gloom overspread their countenances.
-as a matter of fact, don melchor was accustomed to have his coffee in the small saloon, which was a room on the first floor of the house, communicating with the café by an iron staircase, which the uncle and nephew finally ascended.
-there the chief residents of the town were congregated, seated on a circular sofa, with little japanese tables in front of them, on all of which coffee was served.
-through one of the doors, which was generally left open, could be seen the billiard room, where the same people always played, with the same on-lookers. when don melchor and his nephew entered a project was in course of discussion for keeping the poor women who sell vegetables and milk from intemperance.
-and gonzalo recollected that on a certain occasion, when he came thither to see his uncle before going to england, the same matter was then under discussion. the themes varied little in that assembly. the town continued its tranquil even course in the midst of its daily work. the only events that occasionally shook it from its lethargy were the arrival or departure of some important ship, the death of a well-known person, a dishonored bill, the paving of some street, the tax on some merchandise, the lightering of contraband goods, or the bad state of the harbor.
-the women and young people were too much taken up with their own affairs to trouble about outside matters. but the arrival of any handsome young stranger caused a great sensation among the marriageable girls; and if any young man walked for the first time with margarita at the promenade, it was looked upon as a settled affair; if severino of the ironmongery administered a beating to his wife, what could she expect after marrying such a drunken fellow? and the dress that a certain young girl wore on the day of our lady made quite an excitement.
-"you say it came from madrid! what madrid? why, i saw it cut out at martina's myself!"
-the subscription dance announced at the lyceum formed a great topic of discussion.
-"i don't believe there will be a ball; the young men fight too shy of expense."
-but the grave elders who frequented the club despised these themes, albeit they sometimes condescended to touch upon them.
-gonzalo had seen don rosendo, don mateo, don pedro miranda, and the mayor the previous evening. but gabino maza, don feliciano gomez, m. delaunay, the french engineer, alvaro peña, marin, don lorenzo, don agapito, and five or six other men whom he had not yet seen, were there, and they all rose to embrace the young man.
-don pedro miranda, whom we have already mentioned, was a man considerably past seventy, small and insignificant looking, with a smooth bald head, large solemn eyes, and of a retiring disposition.
-he was the richest landowner in the place, and no titled person in the town could have been a better representative of the aristocracy, in virtue of his own descent from an old family of landowners.
-to this distinction, however, he attached but small importance. he was an unpretentious, courteous man, who consorted with all his neighbors regardless of his superior rank; and he was always extremely particular not to allude to money, or to be in any wise dictatorial or antagonistic to anybody.
-but if he entirely waived the respect due to his birth, he was very jealous of his rights as a landowner.
-never was there a proprietor more proprietary than don pedro miranda.
-the institutions of ancient as well as modern law, the universities, the army and navy, the political constitution, and religion itself had no other excuse for existence in his eyes but that of contributing, directly or indirectly, to the preservation of his seignorial rights.
-the marvelous microcosm of the universe was designed for the support of his indisputable claim to the full possession of praducos, a hamlet two miles from the town, and to his right of an annual fee of a hundred and fifty ducats in consideration of his title to the land at the mouth of the river.
-this very clear sense of his rights engendered, from very excess of clearness, several disputes. a laborer would come to him and say:
-"señor, joaquim the martin-breeder cut to-day some of the branches of your walnut tree which hung over into his garden."
-"but the walnut tree was mine," exclaimed don pedro, crimson with rage and surprise.
-"yes, señor, but it hung over into his garden."
-"what! the fellow dared to touch anything which is mine--mine!"
-thereupon a little lawsuit ensued, which, of course, he lost. he lost dozens of these lawsuits in the course of his life, without growing any wiser on the subject.
-don roque de la riva, the mayor of sarrio, whom we had the honor of comparing, when we first saw him at the theatre, to a courtier of the time of louis xv, or a coachman of some great house, was not distinguished for clearness of speech, for it was so indistinct and confused that his interlocutors had great difficulty in understanding him. we do not know whether the mutilation of his words took place in his mouth, throat, or nose, but it is a fact that they usually came forth transformed into such mysterious, vague, chaotic utterances that they were completely unintelligible. more especially was it impossible to talk with him after dinner, and this for no other reason, according to report, than because don roque would insist on patronizing a wine called rivero, so strong that nobody could touch it without fear of getting intoxicated.
-this head of the corporation used to leave home every afternoon, apparently alone, but in reality with an escort. his enormous shaven face was very red, and the color was accentuated in his huge roman nose; his eyes, bloodshot and half closed, as if unable to bear the weight of his eyelids, looked slowly into every corner of the street with an expression of physical comfort; his ponderous, slow, vacillating step showed the sympathetic state between his psychical and physical faculties. don roque only had to come across some official, sweeper, watchman, or stone-breaker of the municipality to make his enjoyment complete.
-when from afar he espied one, his eyelids were quickly raised and his nostrils quivered like those of a tiger at approach of prey. suppose the fellow, scenting the approach of the tiger, passed into another street or tried to hide himself! don roque shouted to him, with a voice of thunder:
-"juan, juaan, juaaan!"
-the victim heard and bowed his head.
-"have you taken the message to don lorenzo?"
-"have you told the secretary that he must let the matter of the cemetery stand over?"
-"have you taken the documents to the petty court of san martin?"
-"have you told don manuel that he must take away that rubbish in front of his house?"
-in fact, he went on asking questions until the poor official came to a negative answer.
-then the loud voice of the mayor was heard all down the street, and even to the end of the town; his eyes became more inflamed, and his apoplectic face grew quite alarming. it was impossible to understand what he said. his ejaculations alone would have made his discourse incomprehensible, but these were enunciated in such a chaotic fashion that the "h" alone was distinguishable.
-the scolding never lasted less than fifteen or twenty minutes; he required no less time to let off the superfluous spleen which had accumulated since the previous afternoon. just as there are people who put their fingers down their throats in the morning to make themselves ill, so don roque was not happy until he had had this ebullition of wrath. he had only one interjection in his vocabulary, but this he used in such abundance that quantity atoned for quality.
-the neighbors came out of their doors to hear him, but with a smile on their faces, as if accustomed to such scenes.
-"don roque is giving it hot to-day," said one to another in a loud voice.
-"see how juan is behaving." in fact, every time the mayor turned his back the clerk put up his thumb and made a long nose at him.
-don roque liked to come upon a road-sweeper or a stone-breaker at his work. for he would cautiously approach him from behind and, catching him by the collar, exclaim:
-"ah! so that's the way you sweep, is it!--ah! do you think i pay you to leave half the dirt between the stones?--ah! is this gratitude?--ah! it is shameful!--ah!"
-once the zeal for his office led him to seize the broom and give the man an object-lesson in the art of sweeping.
-the townsfolk, the few passers-by in the street, and also some young ladies whom the noise had brought to a window went into fits of laughter. the sweeper himself, in spite of his awkward position, could not help smiling at the energy with which the figure, with its coat-tails flying, made erratic and angry dashes at the ground.
-"is that the way you sweep?--ah!" (terrible bang with the broom.) "that is the way--ah!" (another bang). "that is the way to sweep!--ah!"
-not until worn out, heated, and nearly falling from fatigue, did the mayor hand back the broom, and take up his tasseled stick again.
-having thus relieved his noble heart of the superfluous ah's which weighted it, he resumed his way, and arrived at the club in a very happy state of body and mind.
-gabino maza was a man of about five-and-forty years of age, a naval officer who had retired some years before from the service, his ungovernable temper being unable to brook professional discipline.
-he had an olive complexion, and small bright eyes, with dark lines underneath which showed his bilious temperament. he was tall, wiry, and masculine, and his hair and beard were of a blue-black hue; his gestures were always nervous and violent; his voice was indefinable, sometimes quiet, but when he was at all agitated, which was almost always the case when he began to speak, it was loud and shrill, and of such a discordant falsetto that it was deafening.
-with his little income, and a tiny pension, he was able to support his family in sarrio with the comfort of a gentleman at ease, which in the capital of the province would have been impossible.
-a born disputant, he brought into every question, trivial as it might be, an amount of passion and violence that was truly alarming, so anxious was he to contradict whatever was said, although it might be as clear as noonday. he judged people in such a severe and pessimistic spirit that he never believed in the pure motive of a kind action, however noble and honorable it might seem; and his spite and malignity bordered on madness. nevertheless, this man was not so much disliked by his neighbors as might have been expected. the intimacy of a village or little town gives greater scope for learning the true character of each individual than is possible in large places, where a merely superficial intercourse may permit many cold, selfish, bad-tempered men to disguise their true selves with a sympathetic veneer, and polite words, courteous manners, and an insinuating smile win the encomium, "nice, agreeable sort of a person."
-but in the country that all goes for naught, and, on the contrary, excessive amiability and very sweet smiles excite distrust. the character of everybody is as ruthless and as minutely examined as if it were a bundle of nerves under the dissector's knife; so that many people are hated who seemed at first attractive; and others liked who were at first sight considered aggressive, hard, and violent.
-dissimulation, so much practised in great towns, is never tolerated in the provinces, albeit it is the prevailing vice of all social relationships. quick tempers and excitable natures do not arouse mistrust, as they are at least "clear and aboveboard." there is always a sense of justice in such people which, distorted and overbalanced by passion as it may be, does not make them disliked. besides, as quick temper and excitability are a constant cause of self-suffering and discomfort, both physical and moral, it is justly considered that men of this temperament reap their own retribution.
-gabino maza was neither disliked nor very much liked; those who were offended by him grumbled at him and kept him at a distance, terming him a malignant, sharp-tongued fellow; and the others laughed at his exaggerated style, and enjoyed a conversation with him without professing any great regard for him.
-another of the characters frequenting this café was don feliciano gomez, a retail merchant in ultramarine goods, and also the owner of three or four vessels and several smacks which traded along the biscayan coast, the largest sometimes going even as far as seville. he was of middle height; his head, destitute of hair, was pyramidal in form; his waxed mustaches were turned up to his nose, and his voice was almost always hoarse. he was a cheerful, kind, optimistic sort of fellow; he was a confirmed bachelor, and lived with his three elder sisters, whom he had made real "señoras" by dint of his own hard work and economy. the reward they gave him, according to public report, was to keep him in hand like a child, admonish his slightest faults, and worry and torment him in every imaginable way. nevertheless, he was never heard to utter a single word of complaint against them.
-m. delaunay, the belgian engineer, arrived at sarrio a few years before our story opens, with the object of managing a mining district for an imposing english company. the working was a failure, and the company deprived him of his post and his pay. but delaunay, who was a born speculator, undertook seven or eight other commercial enterprises. first he started a manufactory of paper, then one of french nails, then he conceived the idea of cultivating oysters, then he tried a cheese factory, and ice factory; and finally he thought of turning to account some large, uncultivated tracts of land near sarrio.
-all the enterprises had failed without anybody knowing why. delaunay was certainly intelligent, clear-headed, and industrious. he was complete master of every trade that he entered into; he ordered all the apparatus from england, set it up, and it worked well and produced very satisfactory results. he attributed his failures to the lack of means of transport. the last of his famous enterprises, which died before it came into practise, brought more discredit on him than any other.
-in one of his excursions in the environs of the town he noticed close to a little river some uncultivated land, which he thought could easily, with a little trouble, be cultivated; he computed its value, drew out a plan, and when, a few months later, he found himself compelled to close the ice factory and to dismiss the workmen, he recollected this low land and mentioned it to don rosendo belinchon, don feliciano gomez, and two west indians, so that they might aid him in his grand scheme. they replied that it would be necessary to see the district, and an expedition was arranged. one morning they set off on horseback, and took the direction of the river orleo, six miles from sarrio. arriving there, they left the horses and ascended the hill on foot, from whence they could see the marsh land.
-what was delaunay's shame and confusion, when he saw the tract that he intended to cultivate covered with maize, beautifully green and flourishing. in fact, it had been under cultivation for more than six years; and his mistake arose from having seen it in december, when it dies down.
-the party returned to the town, and one can imagine what a joke was made of the incident.
-he was ruined at last, and he found himself obliged to live in a wretched fashion.
-but his rage for speculation increased instead of being dampened by failure, and this to such a degree that there was not a single capitalist in sarrio whom he had not tried to inveigle into some of his enterprises.
-at one time it was a road to the capital, another a port of refuge, or stone moles, and another time a grand hotel. some west indians, certainly only a few, fell victims to his persuasions, and paid for their innocence with the loss of some thousands of pesetas.
-however, delaunay was a man of talent, and studious, and he was well informed in all the improvements of science, so to depreciate him would be injustice.
-the harbor-master, alvaro peña, a young fellow thirty years of age, dark, with large black eyes, and a mustache like king victor emmanuel's, was noted for his profound, implacable hatred against the ecclesiastical profession, and all who represented it, even to his own brother.
-without any taste for science or literature, he owned a rather extensive library, consisting exclusively of books against religion and its ministers. he was a contributor to two or three periodicals, known by their anti-clerical opinions; and it was said that he had been occupying himself for some years past collecting data for a book that he thought of publishing under the title "religion, the most retrograde of sciences," of which several of his acquaintances had been introduced to different portions. he was cheerful and straightforward, and loved stories and jokes in which some priest or monk played the chief part.
-don jaime marin, the owner of four hundred acres of land which, with the tax, realized six thousand pesetas, would have been a great scoundrel, a fast, bad man, if he had not had doña brigida for a wife. this important lady managed, with laudable energy, to prevent her husband ruining the whole family, and being turned out of doors. before he finished making ducks and drakes of the property she succeeded in depriving him judicially of its control, and having it made over to her.
-it is not easy to describe the firmness with which doña brigida took the reins of management. no roman patrician was ever imbued with a greater sense of the sui juris of the sacred rights with which "the city" had invested her. from the time of this occurrence don jaime, who was then over fifty years of age, dropped into being a mere thing in her hands, according to the law's decree. in his character of alieni juris he had to submit to the direct and constant sway of his lord and master, and to bow in all ways to her universal will.
-"what am i to do?" he asked of doña brigida.
-"shave him," returned the inexorable señora.
-obedient to the command, the barber approached the bedside, covered the face with soap and quietly shaved don jaime while still half asleep, and on his finally rousing himself, he said to the servant who brought him his chocolate:
-"to-day is saturday; let the barber be brought."
-"you ass, you silly, that no priest can shrive," replied his sweet consort from her room, "don't you see you are shaved already?"
-"ah so i am," returned the good señor, feeling his face.
-at first he asked his friends or acquaintances at the café for money with which to play tresillo, and he drank coffee on trust at the café. but the friends soon left off obliging him, and the proprietor of the establishment declined to even trust him for a peseta, for doña brigida almost knocked him downstairs when he one day brought her a bill for a hundred and twenty reales.
-so don jaime was reduced to spending hours in watching the game of tresillo and in giving advice to the players, which was not wanted. the winners sometimes rewarded him with a glass of rum.
-he occasionally played drafts with don lorenzo, but as the latter declined to play "for love," marin had to find something to play for which was not money. he finally decided to have for a stake one of the cigars that his wife gave him in the morning; when he lost it, he had to spend the evening without smoking; sometimes, trying to get his revenge, he lost two or three more, and so he had to hand them over to his opponent on the ensuing days. in the meanwhile he went from friend to friend begging a little tobacco to appease his insufferable longing for a smoke. poor marin!
-don lorenzo, don agapito, don pancho, don aquilino, don german, and don justo were indians. that is to say, they were people who had been sent as children to the west indians by their parents to earn their living, and they had returned between fifty and sixty years of age with fortunes varying from one hundred and fifty to half a million pesetas. there were more than fifty of these indians in sarrio. the hard work and the long state of self-suppression in which they had lived made their ideas of happiness quite different to ours. we find pleasure in a constant change of amusement, in going about and traveling, and enjoying with both body and mind the beautiful variety of things of nature.
-but these west indians looked for nothing more than exemption from the hard law imposed by god on adam after his fall; and, in truth, they gave themselves up to this peculiar delight. the majority of them had their money invested in government funds, so they had their incomes without any trouble. they were early risers from force of habit, and they paraded the streets or the mole every morning in parties of six or eight. they watched the arrival and departure of boats, and the loading and unloading of cargoes. after dinner, they retired to the café de la marina, or to that of la amistad, and spent three or four hours watching or joining in the game of billiards.
-"go, little ivory ball, go into that pocket! see, see, don pancho, it has cannoned." "come out, my little dear, come out of that pocket." "ah! ah! well played, don lorenzo!" "did it not go well, pancho?"
-the game was always seasoned with these remarks, which went on without pause.
-when the days were long, these west indians were seen in parties about the environs of the town, either walking, or seated on the grass on the banks of a stream. that was the hour of reminiscences of the tropics.
-"do you recollect, don agapito, do you recollect that little dark creature who came to you for a place in the shop?"
-"and how well she sang, the little rogue!"
-"they said you were smitten with her, quite smitten, don agapito."
-"how now, don pancho--why, she only went to the blacks' ball with the negro of my partner, don justo?"
-"get along, man, don't annoy me; the one who went to the ball was yourself; i saw you sportive enough with her in the country dance."
-there was no counting on this west indian clique for subscriptions for the orchestra, theatre, or any public amusement. the young people of the town had to apply to the purses of their fathers, for they knew it was useless to expect american money to be forthcoming, which roused such indignation among the young people that they called them stingy fellows, boors, and money-laden asses to their faces as well as behind their backs. but the indians were thick-skinned, and treated such terms with contempt. the one who professed an open aversion to them (and for whom did he not entertain it?) was gabino maza.
-why should these fifty idlers spend their days dawdling about the streets? if they would only devote their money to some industry profitable to the place!
-when don melchor de las cuevas and his nephew entered the saloon, the only person standing and gesticulating in the middle of the place was this same gabino maza.
-he could not remain seated two minutes; the excitement of his nervous system, the vehemence with which he tried to convince his audience, obliged him to jump from his seat and dash into the centre of the room, where he shouted and gesticulated until he had exhausted his breath and his strength. he was talking of the theatrical company, which had announced its departure on account of having lost in the receipts of thirty performances.
-"it is not true; it is not true. he who says he has lost a copper, lies!" (then lowering his voice and giving his hand to gonzalo.) "how are you, gonzalo? yes, i know you arrived yesterday. you are all right. i am glad of it. i repeat, that he lies! why, they don't dare to tell me so!"
-"they have lost six thousand reals in the thirty performances, according to the account that the baritone has given me," said don mateo.
-maza ground his teeth. his indignation impeded his speech. at last he burst out:
-"and you listen to that drunkard, don mateo? get along! get along!" (with assumed disdain.) "by dint of consorting with comic players you have lost your head for business. you have got rusty."
-"listen to me, you blusterer. i did not say i believed him. i said that was what the baritone's calculations came to."
-maza leaped up, and returned to the centre of the room, tore his hat violently from his head with both hands, and, waving it frantically, he vociferated:
-"but, señor; but, señor! we seem to be made fools of here! well, you tell me what has become of twenty thousand and more reals which the receipts came to, and almost as much again for admissions paid at the door?"
-"the salaries have very much increased," said the harbor-master.
-"you are not drunk, by gad, alvaro! you are not drunk--i will tell you in a minute what the salaries are" (counting on his fingers.) "the tenor, six crowns; the treble, another six; that's twelve; the bass, four; that's sixteen; the contralto, three; that's nineteen; the baritone, four--"
-"the baritone, five," interrupted peña.
-"the baritone, four," persisted maza in a rage.
-"i am certain it is five."
-"the baritone, four!" roared maza again.
-alvaro peña now rose in his turn, fired with the noble desire of getting the better of his opponent, and then ensued a hot and furious dispute, which lasted about an hour, and all, or nearly all, the members of that gathering of celebrities joined in. such a battle resembled the famous engagements that took place between the greeks before the walls of troy; there was the same fury and heat, the same primitive simplicity in the arguments, and the same candid, rough violence in the invectives.
-"you are an addle-headed blunderer!"
-"hold your tongue; you are a ruffian!" "you are a bellowing ox!" "i tell you it is not true, and if you want it plainer, you lie!" "goodness, what a goose! you are like a silly woman."
-these altercations were very frequent, almost daily incidents at the club. as all those who took part in them had a straightforward, perfectly primitive way of dealing with questions, similar, not to say equal, to that adopted by the heroes of homer, the argument started at the beginning of the dispute continued until the end. there was a man who would spend an hour incessantly saying: "one has no right to meddle with anybody's private life!" or "that may do in germany, but not here in spain!"
-then cries briefer, and more to the point, such as "windbags!" "windbags!" filled the air until the crier collapsed on the sofa with exhaustion.
-but what the arguments lost in variety they gained in intensity, for they were expressed with great and forcible energy, and in tones raised to such a pitch that some of the voices became quite hoarse, which was generally the case with alvaro peña and don feliciano, who had the loudest voices, but the weakest throats. when the corporation had the trees of the promenade de riego trimmed, it caused a commotion in the club; when the clerk of the house of gonzalez and sons decamped with fourteen thousand reals, it caused another heated discussion; when the parish priest declined to give a certificate of good conduct to the pilot velasco, alvaro peña burst a blood vessel in his excitement. but no bad feeling remained after these violent scenes were over, neither were the personal remarks recollected that the discussions gave rise to.
-how could it be otherwise, since there seemed to be a tacit understanding that none of the ungracious epithets were to be resented? the local character of the subjects was unique. politics were little studied in sarrio; it was only when the papers noticed some event of great importance that the inhabitants of the place took a passing interest in them.
-twenty years ago the rich banker, rojas salcedo, was elected representative of the place in parliament, and he paid one visit to sarrio to make himself acquainted with the town. nobody thought of disputing his election. the presidents and secretaries of the colleges generally met together, and computed from the acts the number of votes that he was entitled to. the reason of this was that sarrio had always been a commercial town, where everybody could gain a living without having recourse to madrid for government appointments.
-the majority of the young men, after having passed two or three years in some college in england or belgium, took their places in their fathers' offices as their future successors; the others, the minority, followed some military or civil career with a fixed income, and only came occasionally to pass a few days with their families.
-it must, in one word, be confessed that sarrio was a sleepy place, dormant amid all the great manifestations of mind, amid all the regenerating lights of contemporary society; nobody studied the profound problems of politics, and the terrible controversies engaged in by the different parties in other places, to gain victory and power, left them utterly unmoved. in short, in the year of grace, 1860, there was no public life in sarrio. they ate, they slept, they worked, they danced, they played, they paid their taxes, but they were absolutely wanting in public spirit.
-when that evening at the club the dispute had utterly worn them out and spoiled their digestions, don mateo, beaming with delight, announced to the company that he did not mind about the departure of the dramatic company, for he had for some days past been arranging a surprise for the sarrienses; and after a great deal of trouble the matter was concluded.
-he was in treaty with the celebrated marabini, the phrenologist, the prestidigitator; probably tuesday, yes, tuesday or wednesday, they would moreover be able to admire his wonderful skill at the theatre; he would, moreover, bring with him some dissolving views and a tame wolf.
-gonzalo meanwhile had left the billiard-room and was looking at half a dozen west indians playing at chapo. when they struck the ball all the gold seals that hung from their enormous gold chains rang like bells. these chains and these seals were the greatest inducement and the chief bait that the artisans of sarrio used to persuade their sons to go to cuba.
-"fool! and you could come back in a few years with a fine cloth coat, a well-got-up shirt-front, patent boots, and a watch-chain like don pancho's!"
-this last inducement was too much for any lad.
-"will it go seven times round my neck, dear father?"
-"yes, boy, yes; and you will have pencil cases and seals hanging on to it."
-and so with their heads full of the prize the poor fellows went off on the "bella paula," the "carmen," the "villa de sarrio," or any other sailing vessel, to perish with yellow fever or hunger, lured to destruction by the glitter of the trumpery jewelry like the voices of the terrible lorelei.
-the gestures of the indians while at billiards being those of people unaccustomed to restrain and compose their feelings, were strange and funny, and a source of delight to the young men of the place, whose antipathy to the west indians was always shown in making fun of them. who tapped upon the floor while the balls were running like don benito? who bent from one side to another, and twisted and contorted himself as if the destination of the ball depended upon his movements, like don lorenzo? and who could equal don pancho, who was little and fat, almost square, in his way of sinking in a heap on the sofa after having struck a ball, to better see the havoc he had made on the table? occasionally one of them addressed a word of impatience to the fellow: "get up, my boy; don't excite yourself!"
-don feliciano gomez took a seat by gonzalo, who soon wearied of his good-tempered, superficial conversation, which he always accompanied by an affectionate poke in the ribs at every instant.
-"and so i have nothing to complain of--is it not so, my boy? certainly, when i was young i had other ideas, but, as years go by, one ceases to think of them. look here, if any one said to me now: 'feliciano, would you like to go back twenty years?' bah! let another dog have that bone. the best age for a man is fifty. don't you doubt it, gonzalino. it is then that one can eat and sleep in peace. is there a young woman that is worth a dish of sardines freshly fried?
-"but they have to be fried just before they are eaten; if fried during the soup, they are not worth a brass farthing. or a lobster with fresh draft cider? doesn't it make your mouth water, my boy? and now you are going to be married, and there will be a kissing and 'my darling' here and 'my love' there--is it not so? well, well, as things go it is a good thing. the girl is of good family. don rosendo is rich--you are doing well, doing well, my boy. but, i say, why don't you marry the little one, venturita, who is pretty? i don't say that the elder one is ugly, but there is no doubt that the younger one is more attractive; she is just like a rosebud. what roguish eyes! what teeth! what gracefulness! but if you are engaged to the other sister, i have nothing to say. but what comes up to prettiness! and it would be the same family--"
-these remarks made a strange impression upon gonzalo. it was the formulation of what he had vaguely felt in an uncomfortable way ever since the previous evening. yes, it was quite true, what beautiful eyes, how mischievous, and yet how candid! what an alabaster skin! what lips, what teeth, what golden hair! cecilia, poor thing, was plainer than when he went away and less attractive. how was it possible that she had taken his fancy? gonzalo had, in fact, to confess to himself that she had never taken his fancy as venturita certainly now had. why then--?
-well, it was no use asking questions. he was only a lad at the time; he had not been accustomed to seeing ladies; cecilia's kindness had impressed him. then there was a certain satisfaction in being engaged. then the distance which enhances the beauty and increases the value of things. in fact, everything had combined to bind him to that girl. but, if only he had seen venturita sooner! it was better not to think of that. the affair was too far gone to be retracted. unlike himself, he remained a good quarter of an hour pensively looking at the marble balls without seeing them. don feliciano had gone.
-at last his healthy, sanguine temperament asserted itself over the ridiculous fancies that threatened to disturb him. he rose from his seat, the frown which had momentarily darkened his brow was soon banished by the genial smile which was his particular attraction. he shrugged his shoulders with contempt, and that gesture seemed to say: "i am going to marry the plainer of the de belinchon girls. well, and what then? in any case it would have been with one or the other, unless i married no one. i want to be happy. it is not necessary for happiness to come from without; i have it within, in the even temper god has given me, in the money left me by my parents, in this marvelous health, and in this ox-like strength."
-"don't you know what has happened, sirs?" they all left their seats and surrounded the store-keeper, who spoke with visible agitation.
-"don laureano was robbed and assassinated last night."
-"what! don laureano, who lives in the country house?"
-"yes; he of las acenas. they say that, at half past two, or thereabout, nine masked men entered the house; they knocked the servant down with sticks, they tied up the señora and the maid-servant, and they killed don laureano. what they must have made them suffer before they gave up the money! the good man only had twelve thousand reales, and those he had hidden away, but they tortured the women until they made them disclose the hiding-place." a shudder of horror went through the notabilities of sarrio. they turned as pale as if they had assisted at that fearful scene.
-the house of las acenas was a mile from the town, in the solitude of a pine forest, but nobody took that into account; they imagined themselves assaulted in their houses in la rua nueva or de caborana and cruelly assassinated. oh! what acts of violence! santo cristo, what atrocities!
-the first moments of surprise that elapsed were followed by remarks in low voices. the robbers could not be very far off. such a thing had never happened before in sarrio, or its suburbs, in anybody's recollection. marin asserted that he had seen some suspicious-looking men about for some days past. this news gave rise to an inward panic among the bystanders. they all determined not to go out any more at night, but this determination they kept to themselves.
-the mayor said that, in his opinion, the robbers must have come from castile.
-"yes, señor; from castile."
-"i have heard my father (who is now in glory) say that in the year 1805, seventeen men, armed, and on horseback, appeared in sariego. they prowled round the place, and finally robbed don jose maria herrero of seventy thousand crowns that he had hidden under one of the bricks of the hearth."
-at any other time, the customers of the café would have said that because such an event had happened in the year five, it did not necessarily imply that the same thing should occur in las acenas in the year sixty, but just then no one felt equal to controverting the statement.
-then they continued to talk of the event of las acenas in subdued tones, and they seemed all to concur in the wildest, most extravagant ideas. but as gabino maza was never known to agree for more than ten minutes together to what was said in his presence, he suddenly seized the opportunity of some very silly remark, made by don feliciano gomez with the perfect naturalness and modesty that characterized the conversation of this distinguished merchant, to pounce upon him in a manner as violent as it was unjustifiable.
-"what ridiculous thing will you think of next? what is the good of a house-to-house visitation? do you think you are going to find don laureano's money in a heap there?"
-"if the money is not found, some trace might be discovered."
-"of what, you dunderhead, of what?"
-then the dispute had full swing. the cries and noise were indescribable. at last, as usual, nobody could hear anything, nobody could understand anything. the voices were perfectly audible over the whole plaza de la marina, but the people were so used to it that they did not stop to listen.
-the notables of sarrio resolved to abstain from setting foot in the street at night, therefore the club, graell's shop-parlor, and even morana's, were all deserted at an early hour. the five or six locksmiths in the town were given more orders for locks, bolts, iron bars, and patent keys than they could execute.
-the robbers of las acenas had not been caught, and every one declared, with more or less authority, that they were still prowling about the place, ready to slip in anywhere at some unexpected minute. nevertheless, as one gets accustomed to everything, even illness, and even to the discussions at the atheneum, they became accustomed to the danger, and again sallied forth of an evening, after taking great precautions to well lock up their houses.
-the first to venture was marin. as all doña brigida's efforts to induce him to retire to rest at a reasonable hour were of no avail, she let him go out without any pity.
-don jaime asked permission to carry under the blue military cloak that he wore at night an old, short gun kept in the garret, and the magnanimous señora granted the permission under the condition that he take it unloaded. then alvaro peña sallied forth, for having a certain military reputation and being a man of reputed courage, it behooved him to show bravery at such a critical time.
-he carried two saddle pistols in his pockets, and a sword-stick in his hand.
-the mayor, don roque, who from time immemorial had repaired to morana's with don segis, the chaplain of the augustine convent, and don benigno, the curate of the parish, there to imbibe in the course of the evening from four to eight quarterns of rueda wine, could not put up with the domestic hearth for more than three days; so he also sallied forth into the town.
-the octogenarian official, marcones, armed with carbine and sword, accompanied his chief, himself carrying a revolver and a sword-stick. don melchor, gabino maza, don pedro miranda, delaunay, don mateo, and all the others soon followed suit, and repaired to the nocturnal resorts. the west indians held out longer. thus graell's parlor, morana's, and the club were transformed into veritable arsenals at nightfall. each one, on his arrival, put his war accoutrements against the wall, and on leaving the places they seized them with an intrepid courage worthy of the biscayan blood that coursed in the veins of nearly all of them.
-the old-fashioned harquebus stood side by side with the modern repeating rifle, the cylindrical iron sword by the steel bladed modern sword-stick, the heavy bronze pistol by the plated revolver. and this diversity of war accoutrements served to sustain the warlike spirit so necessary for the occasion.
-certain other measures of great utility had been adopted. the watchmen had orders not to extinguish any street lamp until twelve o'clock at night. they were provided with more powerful whistles than the old ones; and they had orders to keep their eyes on any stranger passing along the streets at night. the townsfolk wisely agreed among themselves not to make way on the sidewalk for anybody, as it might not be a friend, and everybody knows how propitious to criminals the custom of making way on the sidewalk is. full of this idea, don pedro miranda and don feliciano gomez met one night in the calle de san florencio. they were both muffled up in their cloaks, with their swords unsheathed, prepared for any emergency, when don feliciano cried to don pedro from afar:
-"well, friend, make way!"
-"bah! bah! make way yourself," returned don pedro.
-"you are the one to make way," replied the merchant; "make way, make way."
-"bah, bah, be kind enough to let me pass," returned señor miranda. neither man budged an inch. they unmuffled themselves and unsheathed their swords.
-"will you have the kindness?"
-"will you have the goodness?"
-who knows what awful tragedy might not have taken place in sarrio at that instant, if they had not recognized each other?
-"does it happen to be don feliciano?"
-"is it don pedro?"
-and rushing to each other, they shook hands with effusion.
-"what a fate would have been yours had i not recognized you, don feliciano!" exclaimed señor miranda, showing his broad iron sword with its bone handle.
-"and yours would not have been agreeable, don pedro!" returned the merchant, as he made passes in the air with his finely polished toledo blade.
-perhaps it will be remarked: "but the nuns of st. augustine used to make sweets." yes, but we must remember that this manufacture was limited exclusively to preserves of cherry, quince, pear, and apricot, almond tart and burrage tart, and a particular sweetmeat shaped like fishes' fins, called orange flower.
-i can only repeat the fact that there are few high livers in sarrio. after all, rare as this abstemiousness may be in towns in the interior, it is common in maritime places, which are known to be less under ecclesiastical sway. for observation teaches the visitor of the towns that more sweets are consumed where church services and religious rites absorb the greater part of life, and where enthusiasm for the religious sentiment is evinced in nones, masses, confraternities, and canonries, which shows that there must be some mysterious affinity between mysticism and sweetmeats.
-this branch of morana's business was exhibited in the shop by two pine wood cupboards, painted blue, with glass doors at each end of the counter. in these cupboards there was a fair show of caramels, spiral cakes, sugar cakes, almond cakes, madeleines, and above all the celebrated tablets, the renown of which must certainly have reached the ears of our readers, as it dates from remotest time. the secret of the magic composition of these tablets we have never been able to discover, but their fascination was irresistible, and, strange to say, it was based upon their extraordinary hardness. at the age when morana's tablets are eaten, the chief thing is not that the sweets should be delicate, savory, and exquisite, but that they should last a long time. it was not easy to get the teeth into them at all, but once in this stick-jaw paste, the extrication from it presented a really difficult problem.
-allow me to offer a delicate tribute of affection and gratitude to these tablets which, from four to eight years of age, constituted the greatest joy of my existence.
-it is perhaps to their sweet influence that the author of this book owes the optimistic spirit which, according to the critics, shines in his works.
-morana, daughter and successor of another morana, who was dead, was a woman of forty years of age, of a pallid complexion, with gutta-percha plaisters on her temples for the severe pains in her head.
-she married a juan chrysostom, who, according to don segis, the chaplain, did not take after his patron saint.
-nevertheless, when he administered corporal punishment to his wife, he seasoned it with rather a rare amount of learned talk.
-"i who love this woman," he exclaimed, as he commenced operations--"i who love this woman like a wife, and not like a servant, according to the apostle paul's command--you have read the apostle saint paul?--what right have you to read, you great ass!"
-the wine was very good, one can almost say it was the only good thing in the place, and that was because it did not remain long in the bottle, for don roque, don segis, don benigno, don juan, "the old salt," and señor anselmo, the cabinet-maker, took care to empty it. it was a white wine, strong and superior, and it went to one's head with alarming facility.
-the customers of the shop left every night between eleven and twelve, rather stumbling in their gaits, but silent and quiet, which prevented any scandal. they sallied forth arm in arm, leaning one against the other, and they went along without saying a word, albeit with much puffing and blowing.
-their instinct, which never completely left them, instigated this prudent behavior, for they knew if they spoke much or little, some dispute would arise and then a scandal would ensue. not a word--not a word; it was better even not to whisper--and when they arrived at their houses, they murmured a gruff "good-night" and the one left last was don roque, as he lived further away than anybody.
-so these venerable men got intoxicated every night in this solemn, quiet, patriarchal fashion.
-two of them, don juan, "the old salt," the clerk of the harbor-master, and don segis, were reaping the consequences of that course. "the old salt" had a nose enough to frighten one. when least expected, the hour of retribution came for don segis, who, seized with an apoplectic fit, was left with one leg dragging as if a weight of six pounds were tied to it. it is true that the insatiable chaplain was not contented with his four quarterns of wine at the confectioner's; he made morana give him a glass of gin in each, which greatly added to the expense; if he had six quarterns of wine, he had six glasses of gin; if eight, eight; and so on.
-the effect of all this gin was evident.
-"but, don segis, how can you drink so much gin at a time?"
-"there is nothing for it," he replied in a tone of humility; "if i did not take a glass with every quartern, child of my soul, what would become of me? i should be ill."
-the conversations at morana's were less exciting and thrilling than those of the club. very few things interested these old parties; the most important local matters, which excited storms in the club, were here treated, or rather touched upon, with indifference.
-when the gonzalezes sent off the captain of the "carmen" and put an andalusian in his place, they only said in a quiet tone:
-"if the gonzalezes have done so, they had reasons for doing it," for they were quite indifferent on the subject.
-"it is true," said another, after some time, raising his glass to his lips.
-"ripalda seems a good fellow," said a third, after five minutes, as he put his glass down on the counter.
-"yes, he seems so," replied another gravely.
-ten minutes passed in meditation. the customers gave affectionate kisses to their glasses, which shone like topaz. don roque at last broke the silence.
-"there is no manner of doubt that don antonio embraced her."
-"embraced her," said don juan, "the salt."
-"embraced her," echoed don benigno.
-"embraced her," corroborated señor anselmo.
-"really embraced her," added don segis in a lugubrious tone.
-their minds were occasionally exercised on the subject of dovecots. señor anselmo and don benigno were devotedly attached to this pursuit; each had his dovecot, his doves, and mode of management, and long and lively discussions were held occasionally on the subject. the others listened without daring to give an opinion, as they raised their glasses to their lips in solemn silence.
-the crime of las acenas horrified them, but it did not cause as great a commotion as in the rest of the neighborhood.
-it was nearer one o'clock than twelve when don roque, who had exceeded by three quarterns his usual six, sallied forth with the other five frequenters of the confectioner's in a serried line to their different homes.
-marcones closed the file with his gun on his shoulder. the first of the line was don segis, who lived in a little two-windowed house, close to the augustine convent; then came don juan "the salt," then the coadjutor, and finally señor anselmo, pulling out the enormous shining key with which he beat time when he conducted the orchestra, and opened the apartment where he slept.
-one is in honor bound to state that don roque walked in front as the leader of the valorous enterprise, with his revolver in his left hand, and his sword-stick in his right, leaving his noble breast a mark for the enemy's bullet. marcones, weighed down by the weight of his gun and his eighty-two years of age, walked six steps behind.
-it was a moonlight night, but great black clouds occasionally darkened the sky, and the light of the petroleum lamps burning at the corners of the streets was not sufficient to banish the gloom in them.
-sarrio had five chief streets, known respectively as rua nueva, which runs to the harbor; the calles of carborana, of san florencio, of la herreria, and of atras. these streets, long and narrow, run parallel to each other. the buildings are generally low and poor. other smaller streets cross and communicate with the principal ones, and lead to branch roads where the spacious residences of the west indians are built, and which constitute what may be termed the suburb of sarrio.
-as the party was passing through the calle de atras, near to that of santa brigida, they heard cries and lamentations, which obliged them to halt.
-"what's that, marcones?" asked the mayor.
-the old official shrugged his shoulders philosophically:
-"nothing, señor; it is at patina santa's."
-"how dare they commit these enormities? let us go there. let us proceed."
-"let us proceed," was a phrase both used and abused by don roque, as it conveyed his sense of the decision, rapidity, and energy of his authority to remedy all grievances. patina santa was the great high priest of one of the two temples of pleasure existing in sarrio, but the sordid, wretched appearance of these temples was quite unlike the ancient famous ones of greece.
-"what scandal is this?" cried don roque in his stentorian voice as he approached the miserable dwelling.
-three or four lads in the street flew away like birds at the sight of the dignitary, but the doves remained.
-two of them stood at the door and two more were at the windows. those at the door wished to withdraw at the sight of the mayor, but he caught hold of them.
-"what is this scandal--eh?" he repeated.
-the girls began to explain the cause of the commotion, but hardly had they uttered a word than don roque interrupted them, vociferating:
-"to prison with you!"
-"to the prison--ah! to the prison, away with you all! be off, everybody! where is the ruffian patina?"
-merciful heavens, what a commotion then ensued!
-the girls at the windows had nothing for it but to come downstairs, and patina came with them, for don roque brooked no delay. cries and lamentations filled the air, while the strident voice of the mayor cried out incessantly:
-"to the prison--ah! to the prison--ah!"
-the unhappy creatures called on god and the virgin; but the mayor, with his infuriated face and flaming eyes, raised his voice still higher as he deafened himself with his cry:
-"to the prison--ah! to the prison--ah!"
-there was no help for it.
-the watchman, who had approached at the sound of the first ah's, led them off to the town prison, in attendance on his worthy chief, while the neighbors watched the scene from behind their window-panes in mingled compassion and derision.
-don roque exercised his authority by locking the door of the dovecot himself, and handed the key over to marcones, and with the usual "proceed," they continued their perilous course. the mayor and his aide-de-camp had not gone very far when, in one of the narrowest and dirtiest streets, they espied a man's figure cautiously approaching a door, which he tried to open.
-"stop!" whispered don roque in the ear of his subordinate. "there is one of the thieves."
-the official only caught the last word, but it was enough to make him drop his gun.
-"don't tremble, marcones, for there is only one," said the mayor, seizing him by the arm.
-if the venerable marcones had been at that moment in full possession of his faculties of observation, he might have detected a decided tendency to a convulsive movement in the hand of his chief. the thief, hearing the steps of the patrol, suddenly turned his head and stood motionless, with his hand still on the door-handle. don roque and his companion also stood motionless, and the moon appearing from under a cloud shed its light upon the direful scene.
-the robber heard this exclamation of authority, and took flight at one and the same moment.
-"at him, marcones! fire!" cried don roque, courageously running in pursuit of the criminal.
-marcones wished to follow his chief's injunction, but fear made him helpless.
-the trigger fell without emitting a spark. then, with martial promptitude, he cast aside the weapon, which was useless, drew his sword and made valiant efforts to keep pace with the mayor, who, with intrepid courage, was at least twenty paces in advance, in pursuit of the robber.
-the fellow now disappeared round the corner of a street.
-but on their arrival there the pursuers saw him attempting to gain the next.
-don roque fired his revolver, crying at the same time:
-"take that, thief!"
-he again disappeared, and again they caught sight of him in the calle de la misericordia.
-boom! another shot from don roque.
-"take that, thief!" but the villain, doubtless as a last resource, and to prevent any watchman stopping him, began also to cry:
-then the sharp, long whistles of the watchmen were heard, followed by another and another.
-the street of san florencio was well lighted, and the criminal was clearly visible, trying to get quickly under the shadow of the houses.
-"take that, thief!"
-"thieves!" returned the fugitive, without ceasing flight.
-two watchmen joined the column of attack, and ran, brandishing their pikes, by the side of the mayor.
-the thief seemed, at all cost, anxious to reach the rua nueva, so as to gain the harbor, where he could secure himself in a boat, or cast himself into the water. but before arriving there he stumbled and fell prostrate on the ground. thanks to this accident, the patrol gained upon him considerably, and had almost reached him when the villain jumped up with great celerity and flew off swifter than the wind. don roque fired off the last two shots of his revolver, still crying:
-"take that, thief!"
-he disappeared round the corner of the rua nueva. arrived there, the magistrate and his force, now near the plaza de la marina, saw no sign of the criminal anywhere. they took a few hesitating steps on to the said plaza, and there they stopped, not knowing what course to take. "to the mole! to the mole! he must be there," said a watchman.
-they were just about to proceed farther when a window of one of the houses was suddenly opened and a man in night attire said in sonorous tones that resounded in the silence of the night:
-"the thief has just entered the café de la marina."
-these words were uttered by don feliciano gomez.
-when the patrol heard them it rushed to the door of the café and abruptly made its entrance. the sitting-room was empty. there at the end, by the side of the counter, were three or four lads in white aprons standing round a man who was lying, more than sitting, upon a chair.
-the mayor, the officer, and the watchmen rushed at him with their pikes, swords, and sword-sticks at his chest, and all with one accord cried:
-"take that, thief!"
-the criminal raised his terror-stricken face, now whiter than wax.
-"ah--if it is not don jaime, god bless my soul!" exclaimed a watchman, lowering his pike. all the others did the same, dumb with astonishment. for indeed it was a fact that the villain they had so hotly pursued was no other than don jaime marin, taken unawares as he was about to enter the door of his house.
-they had to carry him home and bleed him. on the following day don roque appeared to ask his pardon, which was granted. but doña brigida, his severe spouse, would not grant it until she had given expression to a storm of recriminatory adjectives, among which that of "drunken" figured frequently.
-don roque submitted meekly to the attack, and the matter dropped.
-preparations for the wedding had begun in the belinchon household. they were started very cautiously. doña paula sent for nieves, the embroideress, and a long conference ensued with closed doors. then patterns were ordered from madrid, and a few days later the señora, accompanied by cecilia and pablito, took a journey to the capital of the province in the family coach. the prying don petra, who was passing along the rua nueva as doña paula and her children returned, saw the servant take from the carriage large, heavy parcels that looked like bales of material.
-all sarrio then soon knew that preparations for the trousseau of don rosendo's eldest daughter had commenced, and doña paula had one of her heart attacks when she heard that it was known. the blame was cast on nieves, but she declared that she had never breathed a word on the subject. doña paula declared she must have done so; the embroideress wept, and there was a regular scene.
-well, as the cat was out of the bag, there was no use making any more mystery about it. the room at the back of the house, the one that looked on to the calle de carborana, was the scene of operations for the staff working at the linen under doña paula's orders and nieves's instruction. it consisted of four persons besides the two maids of the house, when domestic duties permitted, and venturita, and cecilia herself. it was a merry party, as work did not prevent chatting, laughing, and singing all day long. merriment welled from the young creatures' hearts, and bubbled forth in aimless laughter that sometimes lasted a long time. if one of them dropped the scissors--laughter; if a skein of thread caught on a neck--laughter; if the cook came with a red face to ask the señora for the money for the milkwoman--hearty laughter. not only were those working at cecilia's trousseau young and merry, but, from the directress herself, they were all pretty.
-nieves was a tall, graceful, red-haired girl, with a white, transparent skin, clear blue eyes, a perfect nose and mouth, twenty years of age, and endowed with a disposition that was heaven's own blessing. it was impossible to be long melancholy in her company. not that she was talkative or witty, nothing of the sort; the poor girl had little more intellect than a fish, but her boundless good-humor shone from her eyes in such a charming manner, and rang forth from her throat in such clear tones, that it was quite infectious. by the work of her hands she supported a paralytic mother, and a bad, idle brother, who treated her shamefully when she was unable to give him sufficient money with which to get intoxicated.
-her troubles, which would have been insupportable to anybody else, only momentarily disturbed her equanimity, and, rising above them, she soon recovered her habitual cheerful spirits. she enjoyed the blessing of perfect health, the only pain she ever knew being an occasional stitch in the side from overmuch laughter. valentina, also an embroideress, and also with red hair, was not so pretty; her eyes were smaller, her skin less delicate, her nose less regular, and she was smaller of stature.
-on the other hand, her bright locks were curly, and clustered very prettily on her forehead, her hands and feet were smaller and more delicate than those of nieves, and the striking point of her face was a constant little trick of knitting her brows, which gave a pleasant piquancy to her features, as it was not due to bad temper.
-encarnacian was a needlewoman too; she was a great, strong, bouncing girl with a vulgar face. the artisans of sarrio thought she was the flower of the flock, but she would not have pleased the taste of a refined, intelligent person.
-teresa, also of the same trade, was perfectly moorish in coloring; her hair was as black as jet, and her large eyes were as dark as her hair, and her nose and mouth were regular; she was considered ugly in the town on account of her swarthiness, but she was really a type of oriental beauty. there was nothing remarkable in generosa, one of the two maids of the house. elvira, the other, was a pale little thing, with large, languid eyes, and very graceful figure.
-the working classes of sarrio have never gone in for the ridiculous imitation of ladies, which is so frequent nowadays in other places in spain. they think, and i am of the same opinion, that the fashions adopted by ladies would not enhance their natural grace; in fact, they would lessen it. and this is logical, for, in the first place, they are not accustomed to drawing their waists in, as fashion demands of its slaves, and as little towns have no good dressmakers, the imitation would be both inferior and ugly; whereas, who upon the terrestrial globe, or upon any other globe, can compete with the charm of the girls of sarrio when they don the richly embroidered fichu, crossed in front, and tied behind? who can equal their fascinating mode of arranging the curls on their foreheads with a studied carelessness? who can take part in a giraldilla with more consummate grace, or give in a more coquettish way a push to a young fellow who gets out of his place, while saying with a mingled smile and frown:
-"good fellow, you are mad, or on the road to it. look out, or i shall pinch you!"
-who can sing with more sentiment and with less ear the couplet:
-"when aben hamet granada left, he felt his heart of joy bereft."
-there is no doubt that the artisan girls of sarrio, whose strict ideas of taste are the admiration of both spaniards and foreigners, especially nowadays when characteristic features are on the wane, are quite right to maintain their independence and to hold their own costume in spite of the dressed-up young ladies of the cities. because (be it said softly, so as not to be overheard), the truth is they are much prettier. and this i say without meaning offense to anybody in particular; heaven forbid.
-there is no traveler in the peninsula who, on thinking of sarrio, will not echo this assertion with more of the enthusiasm natural to him.
-there is no englishman who stops for a few days at this port but who, when talking to his friends at cardiff or bristol of this spanish town, will begin by raising his eyebrows and smacking his lips with delight, with "oh! oh! oh! sarrio! the young girls there are very, very, very beautiful." and if englishmen say it, what will be said by the spaniards, and particularly those who have lived so long under their beneficent influence?
-the four workers, including nieves, although she was rather superior, belonged to this much-admired class of women for whose prosperity and continuance in their ways i offer daily prayers to heaven, and advise every good catholic to do the same.
-on working days they were dressed in cotton gowns, with a little woolen fichu tied behind and a silk handkerchief falling back on the neck from the uncovered head. nieves, as an exception, wore a black fringed fichu.
-they had just sat down to work after dinner. the sun poured through the panes of the two windows despite the blinds. the workers were gathered together in one of the corners of the room to escape its rays. teresa, the most musical of the party, started a sentimental song in sad, drawn-out cadences in a sweet, timid voice, so that the others should join in parts; and in effect nieves soon "took second," and the rest followed suit, some taking first and others second, which resulted in a somewhat melancholy harmony, tinged with romance. romance may vanish from customs, and be banished from the novel and the stage, but it still finds a delicious haven of rest in the hearts of the artisans of sarrio. the music continued until pablito saw fit to disturb it by breaking in suddenly with his bleating voice. the needlewomen stopped singing, raised their heads in alarm, and then burst out laughing.
-"madre! what a fright you gave me!"
-"i thought it was a cow!"
-"and i thought it was a cock crowing--and i still think so," said venturita.
-the handsome pablito, reclining in his armchair in the other corner, laughed loudly at his own expense. he certainly was of a jocose turn of mind, as we shall have occasion to see later on. from the time of the commencement of his sister's trousseau pablito evinced a sudden taste for a sedentary life that had not hitherto been noticeable in him. who had ever seen him before stop a minute in the house after dinner? who would have thought that he could spend the morning in that armchair chatting with the workers? nevertheless, it was a fact. for the last month he had not been out riding or driving, and he did not spend more than an hour in the stable during the course of the day.
-piscis was quite upset. he came every day to fetch him out, but it was in vain.
-"look here, piscis, i have to clean my silver spurs, so i can not go out." "i say, piscis, i have to go and get a bill of exchange cashed for father."
-"look here, piscis, linda is ill and can't be ridden."
-"she is all right now," growled piscis.
-"have you come from the stable?"
-"well, anyhow, i can't go out to-day--am out of sorts."
-sometimes piscis entered the room and sat waiting silently; it was certainly not for long, because he was always thinking the women were making fun of him, and this prevented him being at his ease. when he thought the right moment had arrived, or when he noticed symptoms of boredom in pablo, or when some other circumstance beyond our province occurred, he rose from his seat and made a sign with his hand to his friend as he gave a long, low whistle, for they understood each other better by whistles than by words. they both objected to articulate sounds and eschewed their use in each other's company, but pablito did not relish the sign at that moment.
-"i say, piscis," he said, "i am dreadfully idle. be so kind as to go to the stable and ask pepe to put another oil compress on romeo."
-"i will do it," returned piscis with a frowning face.
-"all right, piscis; thank you very much. ta-ta! you will come to-morrow, eh? perhaps i shall be able to ride then."
-this was said with great suavity and amiability, to throw his friend off the scent. piscis growled a "good-day" without turning to the company, and left with his eyes aflame, uglier and more demoniacal-looking than ever. the same thing occurred the next day. in spite of his respect for pablito, piscis then came to the conclusion that he admired one of the needlewomen. which? his perspicacity could not solve that question.
-the young people began singing, but coming to the words:
-"only thou, divine woman, said a prayer at my solitary tomb,"
-pablito gave vent to such a discordant bellow that they all burst out laughing; but venturita became serious.
-"look here, pablo, if you go on like that, you had better go off with piscis."
-it was then pablito's turn to be cross.
-"i shall go when i feel inclined. you are always the one to spoil everything."
-young belinchon meant to infer that his sister venturita was the only one who failed to recognize the gifts which heaven had bestowed on him, and this was true; and all the company laughed as if they had heard a passage from "rabelais" instead of a cross remark. doña paula, who had an idolatrous admiration for her first-born, and nourished a grudge against the girl for her sharp remarks, which she considered were not warranted by her beauty, came to her son's assistance:
-"you are quite right, pablo! she always does throw cold water on any enjoyment. goodness, what a girl! the man who takes her will have something to do to keep her in order."
-at that moment gonzalo appeared at the door of the room; he bent like a bow to shake hands with his future sister-in-law, ventura, and cecilia. the latter became serious, for, without turning her head, she knew that all the workers were looking out of the corners of their eyes, and she knew the kind of smile that wreathed their lips. every day was alike. before gonzalo arrived the needlewomen lost no opportunity in teasing the bride.
-"cecilia, which of these garments will you wear the day of your wedding?"
-"señorita, you will sleep in these sheets, they are so fine."
-"you won't be the only one to find them so."
-"i say, you rogue, what a fine young man you've got. you won't have such a handsome fellow, venturita."
-"who knows!" returned the girl.
-cecilia listened to these words with a smile on her lips, and blushed. since the beginning of the preparations for the wedding her cheeks, formerly so pale, were almost rosy. this animation, and the light which happiness lent to her eyes, made her look interesting and sweet, if not pretty. there is not a girl who does not become more or less good-looking on the approach of marriage.
-cecilia was naturally silent and reserved without being bad-tempered. she hardly ever spoke, except when she was addressed, and then her replies were sweet, clear, and to the point. timidity, which lends a certain charm to youth, was not the characteristic trait of her character, but our heroine had a sweet serenity and a certain sympathetic force in all her actions and words that revealed the perfect purity of her mind. this serenity was taken by unobservant people, if not for pride, which certainly could not be laid to the charge of cecilia, for cold-heartedness. even those who were most often at the house thought she was incapable of conceiving a great and tender passion. accustomed to see her fulfil her domestic duties with the regularity of a clock, they would have required a power of penetration not possessed by many to divine the true moral worth of the eldest daughter of the belinchons. the majority of such beings live and die unappreciated because they do not possess any of the brilliant qualities that attract all that see them. innocence may be ranked among the virtues of this class of girl, and rare as it is, it is one least calculated to add to the value of a woman's character. very few are those who know how to appreciate the beauty of these crystal souls; see them without noticing anything to arouse attention. but the same can be said of certain philters that are poisonous and certain drafts that are life-giving, and because our unpractised, dull eyes can not discern the elements of life or death that lie dormant in them, are we to say that such do not exist?
-it was difficult to divine whether sad or pleasant feelings filled cecilia's heart, but it was not impossible. i do not know if she tried to hide them, or whether her particular nature impelled her to do so, but it was a fact that in her home she was misunderstood, even by her parents. if perchance it was a question of paying calls, or buying a dress, doña paula would ask her daughter with solicitude:
-"and what do you think, cecilia?"
-"i think it is very nice," was the reply.
-"do you really think it is nice?" said the mother, looking into her eyes.
-"yes, mama; i think it is nice."
-but doña paula was always left in doubt as to whether the dress pleased her or not, or what she really thought. she seldom cried, and when she did, she took such pains to hide it that nobody knew of it. whatever distress she felt was only betrayed by a slight line in her forehead, and great happiness with her was only evinced by a little more intensity in the gentle smile constantly upon her face. when gonzalo wrote to her from abroad, she went to her mother and gave her the letter directly she read it.
-"do you like the lad?" asked doña paula, after reading the letter with more emotion than her daughter had shown in giving it to her.
-"do you like him?" returned the girl.
-"then if you and papa like him, i like him too," said cecilia.
-who would have thought from those cold words that cecilia had been in love with him for some time? nevertheless, as love is of all human sentiments the most difficult to conceal, and as there was no need to hide it when her parents' consent had been given, she let it then be seen quite clearly. in temperaments like that of our heroine the slightest indication signifies a good deal. the happiness that filled her heart was soon seen in her face by all who knew her intimately. few beings have known greater joy on earth than that which cecilia experienced at that time.
-all the litter about the room, the paper patterns, the designs, the linen stretched in frames, the skeins of thread, all spoke a soft mysterious language to her; the flashing of the scissors, the darting of the needles, prophesied future joys to her. sometimes they said to her:
-"you will be seen, cecilia, going to mass on sunday on the arm of your husband. he will carry your prayer-book, he will leave you to go to the altar of our lady and will stay behind among the men; then he will wait for you at the door, will offer you the holy water, and then he will give you his arm again."
-at other times they seemed to say to her:
-"in the morning you will rise very quietly to keep him from waking, you will brush his clothes, you will put the buttons on his shirt, and when the time comes you will give him his chocolate."
-other voices seemed to say:
-"and when you have a child!" but here the bride-elect felt her heart swell with delight, her hands trembled, and she cast a rapid glance at the needlewomen, fearing they had noticed her emotion. as the different articles of clothing were finished and ironed cecilia put them away carefully in a press, and when that was full she took them to a room upstairs, where she artistically and carefully arranged the underclothing, petticoats, nightcaps, and dressing jackets upon long tables, set out for the purpose; then she covered them delicately with a linen cloth and left the room, locking the door and putting the key in her pocket.
-after greeting the party gonzalo took a seat near pablito, and putting his hand familiarly on his shoulder he whispered in his ear:
-"which do you like best?"
-and as he bent toward his future brother-in-law he cast an earnest look at ventura, who returned it with a peculiar glance. then both turned their eyes to cecilia, but she had not raised her head from her embroidery frame.
-"nieves," replied pablo, without hesitation, in his falsetto voice.
-"i knew it, and i applaud your taste," said gonzalo, laughing. "what a smooth skin--what teeth!"
-"and what a figure! first rate, don't you know?"
-both looked at the embroideress, who raised her head, and seeing that the conversation was about her, she made a face.
-"come, don't talk in a whisper," said doña paula with asperity peculiar to the women of the people.
-"let them be, señora," returned nieves; "they are talking about me, and in that they show their good taste."
-"certainly. pablo was calling my attention to the ruddiness of certain lips, the transparency of a certain skin, and the golden hue of certain hair."
-"then they were talking of you, valentina," said nieves, blushing and nudging her companion.
-"what an idea! don't worry about that, as if we don't know who is the prettiest!" said the other, with evident pique.
-"gently, gently, señoras," exclaimed gonzalo. "it is true that pablo began by talking of the perfections of nieves, but it is certain that he had meant to go on to those of all the rest, if he had not been interrupted. is it not so, pablo?"
-"yes, i meant to go on to valentina."
-whereupon the girl referred to raised her head and looked at him with the half-frowning, half-roguish look that was peculiar to her.
-"take care, nieves, that these young men don't forget themselves."
-pablo, without heeding the interruption, proceeded:
-"and then from teresa and encarnacian, elvira, and generosa, i should have gone on to venturita, for of course all men are at her feet; to cecilia, no, for she is engaged; and then i should have said something about señora doña paula, who, be it said without offense to anybody, is the most beautiful of all."
-"what a humbug!" exclaimed the lady, pleased at her son's flattery.
-then pablo rose from his armchair and embraced his mother affectionately.
-"get away, get away, flatterer!" she said, laughing.
-"come, open your purse, mama," said venturita.
-"i see! a spiteful remark as usual," exclaimed the young man in a rage, as he turned his head to his sister; but she only smiled to herself maliciously, without raising her head from her embroidery frame.
-"you have done a great deal," said gonzalo in a low voice, as he took a seat by the side of his fiancée.
-"so, so," returned cecilia, looking at him with her large, luminous eyes.
-"but, indeed, it is a great deal. yesterday you had not embroidered this clove. it looks to me like a clove."
-"it is jasmine."
-"nor these two leaves, either."
-"bah! that is nothing."
-"and what are you embroidering now?"
-cecilia went on plying her needle without answering.
-"what are you embroidering now?" asked gonzalo in a louder voice, thinking that she had not heard.
-"a sheet--hush!" returned the young girl, slightly raising her eyes in the direction of the embroideresses, and quickly dropping them again.
-at that moment gonzalo's and venturita's eyes met in a meaning glance over cecilia's head.
-"well, you see, every one to his taste," said pablito, as he looked fixedly at nieves, as much as to say:
-"don't pay any attention. i only say that as a duty."
-"what is there to suit everybody, don pablo?" asked valentina in an ironical tone.
-"give them to the saints."
-"and to pretty girls like you."
-"if i am not pretty, i precede those that are, without any by your leave."
-"the deuce she does! valentina puts her back up directly one goes near her," exclaimed the snubbed young man.
-the joke made the needlewomen laugh.
-"valentina does not like young men," said encarnacian.
-"she is quite right; you get nothing from young men but promises, lost time, and often a lifetime of misery," said doña paula sententiously, unmindful of her own fortunate lot. "as to that, sarrio is quite demoralized; there is hardly a girl who keeps company with one of her own class. the young man is at least expected to wear a cravat, to carry a cane and a cigarette-holder, although he may not have a plate to eat off. young girls do not mind being seen at dusk nowadays with young gentlemen, nor do they object to returning from fairs on the arm of one of them, singing at the top of their voices."
-"poor young things! i don't know what you expect. because the son of don rudesindo married pepe la esquilla, and the pilot of the 'trinidad' the mechacan girl, you think all is gold that glitters. but seeing is believing. look at benita, the girl at señor matias's, the sacristan. she does not look very pretty now, eh?"
-"benita has her marriage lines," said encarnacian.
-"lines, eh? she will see what her lines are worth."
-"señora, the lad can not desert her; if he does, she will pursue him all her life."
-"silence, silence, chatterbox; who put such ideas into your head?"
-"it is a well-known fact that benita has gone to law."
-"look here, señora," said the dark, sentimental girl, "it is quite true that we run risks, but what are we to do? the artisans of the town are just as bad; they mostly spend sunday and monday and one day in the week at the tavern. how many are there who take their wages home to their wives regularly? if the husband is a sailor, he sends it home one quarter, keeps it three quarters, and then keeps it altogether. the supplies ceasing, the unhappy woman is forced to work to get bread for her children.
-"and then in other cases what thanks or reward does the wife get from her husband? if he does go out with her on a sunday afternoon, he stops at every public house on the road and leaves the poor creature at the door; or if there is some friend with him, he shouts out some insulting remark at her that makes her blush like a peony.
-"yes, yes, señora, they are all such vagabonds. goodness knows they are not worth the bread they eat. the other day i met tomasina--you know the girl at uncle rufio's who married one of prospero's clerks less than a year ago--well, she was at that moment going to get two reales from her father to buy some bread, for she had not had a mouthful all day. her husband drinks nearly all his wages, so the poor thing has nothing to eat by the middle of the week.
-"god help her! and most nights the great pig comes home hopelessly drunk, and nearly beats her to death. sometimes the poor thing goes to bed bruised and supperless.
-"and then, seeing these things, people want a--well, better hold one's tongue! but i do say, caramba, that if one has to go to the devil, it is better to go in a coach."
-"look here," intervened valentina, raising her face with its habitual frown, albeit a trifle more pronounced, "don't go on like that; you say us; she forgot all but the general. he went with her to the door of the house, gave his hand to help her to dismount, lingered talking to her on the threshold. and my heart sank. i could have gnashed my teeth with anger as i stood aside uncovered, waiting for him to go.
-for how could we combat the man? such an episode as this, which should have opened my lady's eyes to his true character, served only to restore him to favour and blind her more effectually. it had undone all the good of the afternoon; it had effaced alike the waldgrave's success and the general's remissness; it had given tzerclas, who all day had been losing slowly, the upper hand once more. i felt the disappointment keenly.
-'who is it?' she said sharply, peering at me with her white, short-sighted face. 'oh, it is you, mr. thickhead, is it? i know whom you have sneaked in to see!' she added spitefully.
-'that is well,' i answered civilly. 'for i came in to see you, fraulein.'
-'oh!' she retorted, nodding her head in a very unpleasant manner. 'then you want something. i can guess what it is. but go on.'
-'if i want something,' i answered, 'and i do, it is in your own behalf, fraulein. you heard what i said to my lady last night? i did not persuade her. can you persuade her--to leave the camp and its commander?'
-fraulein max shook her head. 'why should i?' she said, smoothing out her skirt with her hands, and looking at me with a cunning smile. 'what have i to gain by persuading her, master schwartz?'
-'safety,' i said.
-'oh!' she cried ironically. 'then let me remind you of something. when we were all safe and comfortable at heritzburg--safe, mind you--who was it disturbed us? who was it stirred up my lady to make trouble--more improbi anseris--and though i warned him what would come of it, persisted in it until we had all to flee at night like so many vagrants? ay, and have never had a quiet night since! who was that, master martin?'
-'fraulein,' i answered patiently, forbearing to remind her how much she had been herself in fault, 'i may have been wrong then. it does not alter the situation now.'
-'does it not?' she replied. 'but i think it does. you had your way at heritzburg, and what came of it? trouble and misery. you want your way now, but i shall not help you to it. i have had enough of your way, and i do not like it.'
-she laughed triumphantly, seeing me silenced; and i stood looking at her, wondering what argument i could use. doubtless she had had a comfortless time on the journey from heritzburg, jogging through fords and over ruts, and along steep places, wet, tired, and scared, deprived of her books and all her home pleasures. she had had time and to spare to lay up many a grudge against me. now it was her turn, and i read in her face her determination to make the most of it.
-i might frighten her; and that seemed my only chance. 'well, fraulein,' i said after a pause, 'you may have been right then, and you may be right now. but i hope you have counted the cost. if my lady shows herself determined to leave, to-morrow and perhaps the next day the power of going will remain in her hands. later it will have passed from her. familiarity breeds contempt, and even the countess of heritzburg cannot stay long in such a camp as this, where nothing is respected, without losing that respect which for the moment protects her. in a day or two, in a few days, the hedge will fall. and then, fraulein, we may all look to ourselves.'
-but fraulein anna laughed shrilly. 'o tu anser!' she cried contemptuously. 'open your eyes! cannot you see that the general is knee-deep in love with her? in a week he will be head over ears, and her slave!'
-i stared at her. doubtless she knew; she was a woman. i drew a deep breath. 'well,' i said, 'and what of that?'
-she looked at me spitefully. 'ask my lady!' she said. 'how should i know?'
-i returned her gaze, and thought awhile. then i said coldly, 'i think it is you who are the fool, fraulein. take it for granted that what you tell me is true. have you considered what will happen should my lady repulse him? what will happen to her and to us?'
-'she will not,' fraulein max answered.
-but i saw that the shaft had gone home. she fidgeted on her seat. and i persisted. 'still, if she does?' i said. 'what then?'
-'she will not!' she answered. 'she must not!'
-'by heaven!' i cried, 'you are on his side!'
-she blinked at me with her short-sighted eyes. 'and why not?' she said slowly. 'on whose side should i be? my lord waldgrave's? he never gives me a word, and seldom recognises my existence. on yours? if you want help, go to the black-eyed puling girl you have brought in, who is always creeping and crawling round us, and would oust me if she and you could manage it and she had the breeding. chut! don't talk to me,' she continued maliciously, the colour rising to her pale cheeks. 'i wonder that you dare to come to me with such proposals! is my lady to be ruled by her servants? has she no judgment of her own? why, you fool, i have but to tell her, and you are disgraced!'
-'as you please, fraulein,' i said sullenly, stung to anger by one part of her harangue. 'but as to marie wort----'
-'marie wort?' she cried, catching me up and mocking my tone. 'who said anything about her, i should like to know? though for my part, had i my way, the popish chit should be whipped!'
-'fraulein!' i cried.
-she laughed bitterly. 'oh, you are fools, you men!' she said. 'but i have made you angry, and that is enough. go! yes, go. i have supped on folly. go, before your mistress comes in; or i must out with all, and lose a power over you.'
-i went sullenly. while we had been talking the room had been growing dark. then it had grown light again with a smoky, dancing glare that played fantastically on the walls and seemed to rise and sink with the murmur of applause outside. they had brought torches made of pine-knots that my lady might see the longer, and in the yellow circle of light which these shed, the mountebanks, monstrously dressed and casting weird shadows, were wrestling and leaping and writhing. the light reached, but fitfully and by flashes, the log on which my lady sat enthroned, with general tzerclas and the waldgrave at her side. still farther away the crowd surged and laughed and gibed in the darkness.
-i looked at my lady and found one look enough. i read the utter hopelessness of the attempt i had just made. she was enjoying herself. fear was not natural to her, and she saw nothing to fear either in the man beside her or the crowd beyond. suspicion was no part of her character, and she saw nothing to suspect. had i won fraulein max over to my side, as i felt sure that the general had bought her to his, i should equally have had my trouble for my pains, and no more.
-my only hope lay in the waldgrave. he alone, could he once warm into flower the love that hung trembling in the bud, might move her as i would have her moved. but, then, the time? every hour we remained where we were, every day that rose and found us in the camp, rendered retreat more difficult, the general's plans more definite. he might not yet have made up his mind; he might not yet have hardened his heart to the point of employing force; his passion might be still in the bud, his ambition unshaped. but how long dared i give him?
-assured that here lay the stress, i watched the young lord's progress with an anxiety scarcely less than his own. and the longer i watched the higher rose my hopes. it seemed to me that he went steadily forward in favour, while the general stood still. more than once during the next two days the latter showed himself irritable or capricious. the iron hand began to push through the silken glove. and though, on every one of these occasions, tzerclas covered his mistake with the dexterity of a man of the world, and my lady's eyes could scarcely be said to be opened, a little coolness resulted, of which the waldgrave had the benefit.
-he, on his part, seemed imperturbable. love had to all appearance changed his nature. a dozen times in the two days the impulse to fly at his rival's throat must have been strong upon him, yet through all he remained calm, pleasant, and courteous, and carried an old head on young shoulders.
-i wondered at last why he did not speak, for i marked the cloud on the general's brow growing darker and darker, and i found the forced inaction and suspense intolerable. then i gathered, i cannot say why, that the waldgrave would not speak until after the great banquet to which the general had bidden my lady. it had been deferred a day or two, but on the third day after the shooting-match it took place.
-the general's banquet.
-i suppose it was not love only that enabled the waldgrave to carry himself so prudently at this time; but with it a sense of the peril in which we all stood. he was so far from betraying this, however, that no one could have worn an air more gallant or seemed in every way more free from care. general tzerclas had supplied us with a couple of tailors, and there were rich stuffs to be bought in the camp; and the young lord did not neglect these opportunities. when he came on the morning of the great day to attend my lady to the banquet, he wore a suit of dark-blue velvet with a falling collar of white lace, and sash and points of lighter blue--the latter setting off his fair complexion to advantage. his hair, which had grown somewhat, flowed from under a broad-leafed hat decked with an ostrich feather, and he wore golden spurs, and high boots with the tops turned down. as he caracoled up and down before the house, with the sun shining on his fair head, he looked to my eyes as beautiful as apollo. what the women thought of him, i do not know, but i saw my lady gazing at him from a window when his back was turned, and then, again, when he looked towards the house, she was gone. and i thought i knew what that meant.
-she wore, herself, a grey riding-coat with a little silver braid about it, and a silver belt; and we all made what show we could; so that when we started to the general's quarters we were something to look at. the camp itself nothing could cleanse, but the village had been swept and the street watered. pennons and cornets waved here and there in the sunshine, and green boughs garnished the fronts of the houses. two tall poles, painted after the venetian fashion and hung with streamers, stood before the general's quarters, the windows of which were almost hidden by a large trophy formed of glittering pikes and flags of many colours. the road here was strewn with green rushes, and opposite the house were ranked twelve trumpeters, who proclaimed my lady's arrival with a blare which shook the village.
-our host first conducted my lady into a withdrawing-room, where were only count waska and three colonels. this room, which was small, was fitted with a rich carpet and chairs covered with spanish leather, as good as any my lady had in the castle at heritzburg; and the walls were hidden behind cordovan hangings. here among other things were a large cage of larks and a strange, misshapen dwarf that stood hardly as high as my waist-belt, but was rumoured to be forty years old. he said several witty things to my lady, and one or two that i fancy the general had taught him, for they brought the blood to her cheeks. on a table stood another very rare and curious thing--a gold or silver-gilt fountain that threw up distilled waters, and continually cooled and sweetened the air. there were besides, gold cups and plates and jewelled arms and venice glass, which fairly dazzled me; so that as i stood at the door with jacob and the two maids i wondered at the richness and splendour of everything, and yet could not get out of my head the squalor of the hot, seething camp outside, and the poverty of the country round, which the army had eaten as bare as my hand.
-after a short interval spent in listening to the dwarfs quips and cranks, general tzerclas conducted my lady with much ceremony to the next room, where the banquet was laid. the floor of this larger room was strewn with scented rushes, the walls being adorned with trophies of arms and heads of deer and wolves, peering from ambushes of green leaves. at the upper end, where was the private door of entrance, was a dais table laid for eight persons; below were tables for forty or more. on the dais the general sat in the middle, having my lady on the right, and next to her count waska; on his left he had the waldgrave, and beyond him fraulein anna. the two women stood behind my lady, holding her fan and vinaigrette. at the lower end of the room the general's band, placed in a kind of cage, played soft airs, while between the courses a gipsy girl danced very prettily, and a juggler diverted the company with his tricks.
-as for the diversity of meats and fishes, and especially of birds, which was set on, it surprised me beyond measure; nor can i understand whence, in the wasted condition of the country, it was procured. for wines, burgundy, frontignac, and tokay were served at the high table, and rhine wines below. the courses continued to succeed one another for nearly three hours, but such was the skill of the musicians that the time seemed short. one man in particular won my lady's approbation. he played on a new instrument, shaped somewhat like a viol, but smaller and more roundly framed. though it had three strings only and was a trifle shrill, it had a wonderful power of touching the heart, arousing the memory and producing a sweet melancholy. the general would have had my lady accept it, and said that he could easily procure another from the milanese; but she declined gracefully, on the ground that without the player it would be a dumb boon.
-there was so much gaiety in all this--and decent observance too, for the general's presence kept good order--that i did not wonder that my lady's eyes sparkled and betrayed the gratification she felt. all was for her, all in her honour. even i, who looked at the scene through green glasses and could not hear a word the general said without striving to place some ill construction on it--even i felt myself somewhat carried away, when the first toast, that of the emperor, was given in the midst of cheering, partly serious, partly ironical. it was followed by that of the elector of saxony. the king of sweden came next, and was received in an equally equivocal manner. not so, however, the fourth, which was given by general tzerclas standing, with his plumed hat in his hand.
-'all in tokay!' he cried in his deep voice. 'the most noble and high-born, the countess rotha of heritzburg, who honours us with her presence! hoch! hoch! hoch!'
-and draining his goblet, which was of green nuremberg glass, and of no mean value, he dashed it to the floor, an example which was immediately followed by all present, so that the crash of glass and clang of sword-hilts filled the room with high-pitched sounds that seemed to intoxicate the ear.
-my lady rose and bowed thrice, with her cheek crimson and her eyes soft. then she turned to retire, while all remained standing. the general accompanied her as far as the door of the withdrawing-room, the waldgrave following with fraulein anna; while the dwarf marched side by side with me, keeping step with an absurd gravity which filled the room with laughter. on the threshold the general and his companions left us with low bows; but in a trice tzerclas came back to say a word in my ear.
-'see to the other door,' he muttered, flashing a grim look at me. 'there may be deep drinking. if any offer so much as a word of rudeness here, he shall hang, drunk or sober. have a care, therefore, that no one has the chance.'
-then my heart sank, for i knew, hearing his tone and seeing his face, as he said that, that fraulein anna was right. he loved my mistress. he loved her! i went away to my place by the door, feeling as if he had struck me in the face. for if she loved him in return that were bad enough; and if she did not, what then, seeing that we were in his power?
-certainly he had omitted nothing on this occasion that might charm her. i thought the feast over; but in the withdrawing-room a fresh collation of dainty sweets and syrups awaited my lady, with a great gold bowl of rosewater. the man, too, who had played on the italian viol brought it in, that she might see and examine it more closely. from my post at the door, i saw fraulein anna flitting about, bringing her short-sighted eyes down to everything, thrusting her face into the rose-water, and peering at the weapons and stuffs as if she would eat them. all the while, too, i could hear her prattling ceaseless praise of everything--the general's taste, the general's wealth, his generosity, his skill in latin, his love for cæsar--the fat book i had seen him studying by the fire--above all, his appreciation of voetius, of whom i shrewdly believe he had never heard before.
-'hoch! who rides with old pappenheim knee to knee the sword is his title, the world is his fee! he knows nor monarch, nor sire, nor clime who follows the banner of bold pappenheim!'
-my lady's lip curled. 'is there no one on our side they can sing?' she muttered, tapping the viol impatiently with her fingers. 'have we no heroes? has count bernard never headed a charge or won a fight? pappenheim? i am tired of the man.'
-the note jarred on her, as it had on me when i first heard these men, paid by the north, singing the praises of the great southern raider. but a moment later she turned her head to hear better, and her face grew thoughtful. a great shout of 'waska! waska!' rang above the jingling of glasses and snatches of song; and then, 'the waldgrave! the waldgrave!' this time the cry was less boisterous, the voices were fewer.
-my lady turned to me. 'what is it?' she said, a note of anxiety in her voice.
-i was unable to tell her and i listened. by-and-by a roar of laughter made itself heard, and was followed by a cry of 'waska!' as before. and then, 'the thuringian code! the thuringian code! it is his turn!'
-'they are drinking, your excellency,' i said reluctantly. 'it is a drinking match, i think!'
-she rose with a grand gesture, and set the little viol back on the table. 'i am going,' she said, almost fiercely. 'let the horses be called.'
-fraulein max looked scared, but my lady's face forbade argument or reply; and for my part i was not a whit unwilling. i turned and gave the order to jacob. while he was away the countess remained standing, tapping the floor with her foot.
-'on this day--on this day they might have abstained!' she muttered wrathfully, as the chorus of riot and laughter grew each moment louder and wilder.
-i thought so too, and was glad besides of anything which might work a breach between her and the general. but i little knew what was going to happen. it came upon us while we waited, with no more warning than i have described. the door by which we had left the banqueting chamber flew suddenly open, and three men, borne in on a wave of cheering and uproar, staggered in upon us, the leader reeling under the blows which his applauding followers rained upon his shoulders.
-'there! said i not so?' he cried thickly, lurching to one side to escape them, and almost falling. 'where ish your waska. your waska now i'd like to know! waska is great, but i am--greater--greater, you see. i can shoot, drink, fight, and make love better than any man here! eh! who shays i can't? eh? itsh the countesh! my cousin the countesh! ah!'
-alas, it was the waldgrave! and yet not the waldgrave. this man's face was pale and swollen and covered with perspiration. his eyes were heavy and sodden, and his hair strayed over them. his collar and his coat were open at the neck, and his sash and the front of his dress were stained and reeking with wine. his hands trembled, his legs reeled, his tongue was too large for his mouth. he smiled fatuously at us. yet it was the waldgrave--drunk!
-my lady's face froze as she looked at him. she raised her hand, and the men behind him fell back abashed and left him standing there, propping himself uncertainly against the wall.
-'well, your excellenshy,' he stuttered with a hiccough--the sudden silence surprised him--'you don't congratulatsh me! waska is under table. under table, i shay!'
-my lady looked at him, her eyes blazing with scorn. but she said nothing; only her fingers opened and closed convulsively. i turned to see if jacob had come back. he entered at that moment and general tzerclas with him.
-'your excellency's horses are coming,' the general said in his usual tone. then he saw the waldgrave and the open door, and he started with surprise. 'what is this?' he said. his face was flushed and his eyes were bright. but he was sober.
-the drunken man tried to straighten himself. 'ashk waska!' he said. alas! his good looks were gone. i regarded him with horror, i knew what he had done.
-'the horses?' the general muttered.
-my lady drew a deep breath, as a person recovering consciousness does, and turned slowly towards him. 'yes,' she said, shuddering from head to foot, 'if you please. i wish to go.'
-the young lord heard the horses come to the door, and staggered forward. 'yesh, letsh go. i'll go too,' he stuttered with a foolish laugh. 'letsh all go. except waska! he is under the table. letsh all go, i say! eh? whatsh thish?'
-i pushed him back and held him against the wall while the general led my lady out. but, oh the pity of it, the wrath, the disappointment that filled my breast as i did so! this was the end of my duel! this was the stay to which i had trusted! the waldgrave's influence with my lady? it was gone--gone as if it had never been. a spider's web, a rope of sand, a straw were after this a stronger thing to depend upon, a more sure safeguard, a stouter holdfast for a man in peril!
-he came to my lady next morning about two hours after sunrise, when the dew was still on the grass and the birds--such as had lost their first broods or were mating late--were in full song. the camp was sleeping off its debauch, and the village street was bright and empty, with a dog here and there gnawing a bone, or sneaking round the corner of a building. my lady had gone out early to the fallen tree with her psalm book; and was sitting there in the freshness of the morning, with her back to the house and the street, when his shadow fell across the page and she looked up and saw him.
-she said 'good morning' very coldly, and he for a moment said nothing, but stood, sullenly making a hole in the dust with his toe and looking down at it. his face was pale, where it was not red with shame, and his eyes were heavy and dull; but otherwise the wine he had taken had left no mark on his vigorous youth.
-my lady after speaking looked down at her book again, and he continued to stand before her like a whipped schoolboy, stealing every now and then a furtive look at her. at length she looked up again.
-'do you want anything?' she said.
-this time he returned her gaze, with his face on fire, trying to melt her. and i think that there were not many more unhappy men at that moment than he. his fancy, liking, love were centred in the woman before him; in a mad freak he had outraged, insulted, estranged her. he did not know what to do, how to begin, what plan to put forward. he could for the moment only look, with shame and misery in his face.
-it was a plea that would have melted many, but my lady only grew harder. 'did you hear me?' she said proudly. 'do you want anything?'
-'you know!' he cried impetuously, and his voice broke out fiercely and seemed to beat against her impassiveness as a bird against the bars of its cage. 'i was a beast last night. but, oh, rotha, forgive me.'
-'i think that we had better not talk about it,' my lady answered him stonily. 'it is past, and we need not quarrel over it. i shall be wiser next time,' she added. 'that is all.'
-'wiser?' he muttered.
-'yes; wiser than to trust myself to your protection,' she replied ruthlessly.
-he shrank back as if she had struck him, and for a moment pain and rage brought the blood surging to his cheeks. he even took a step as if to leave her; but when love and pride struggle in a young man, love commonly has it, and he turned again and stood hesitating, the picture of misery.
-'is that all you will say to me?' he muttered, his voice unsteady.
-my lady moved her feet uneasily. then she shut her book, and looked round as if she would have willingly escaped. but she was not stone; and when at length she turned to him, her face was changed.
-'what do you want me to say?' she asked gently.
-'that some day you will forgive me.'
-'i forgive you now,' she rejoined firmly. 'but i cannot forget. i do not think i ever can,' she went on. 'last night i was in your charge among strangers. if danger had arisen, whose arm was to shield me, if not yours? if any had insulted me, to whom was i to look, if not to you? yes, you may well hide your face,' my lady continued, waxing bitter, despite herself. 'i am not at heritzburg now, and you should have remembered that. i am here with scanty protection, with few means to exact respect, a refugee, if you like, a mark for scandal, and your kinswoman. and you? for shame, rupert!'
-he fell on his knees and seized her hand. 'you are killing me!' he cried in a choking voice, his face pale, his breath coming quickly. 'for i love you, rotha, i love you! and every word of reproach you utter is death to me.'
-'hush, rupert!' she said quickly. and she tried to withdraw her hand. he had taken her by surprise.
-but he was not to be silenced; he kept her hand, though he rose to his feet. 'it is true,' he answered. 'i have waited long enough. i must speak now, or it may be too late. i tell you, i love you!'
-the countess's face was crimson, her brow dark with vexation. 'hush!' she said again, and more imperatively. 'i have heard enough. it is useless.'
-'you have not heard me!' he answered. 'don't say so until you have heard me.' and he sat down suddenly on the tree beside her, and looked into her face with pleading eyes. 'you are letting last night weigh against me,' he went on. 'if that be all, i will never drink more than three cups of wine at a time as long as i live. i swear it.'
-she shook her head rather sadly. 'that is not all, rupert,' she said.
-'then what will you have?' he answered eagerly. he saw the change in her, and his eyes began to burn with hope as he looked. her milder tone, her downcast head, her altered aspect, all encouraged him. 'i love you, rotha!' he cried, raising her hand to his lips. 'what more will you have? tell me. all i have, and all i ever shall have--and i am young and may do great things--are yours. i have been riding behind you day by day, until i know every turn of your head, and every note of your voice. i know your step when you walk, and the rustle of your skirt among a hundred! and there is no other woman in the world for me! what if i am the youngest cadet of my house?' he continued, leaning towards her; 'this war will last many a year yet, and i will carve you a second county with my sword. wallenstein did. who was he? a simple gentleman. now he is duke of friedland. and that englishman who married a king's sister? they succeeded, why should not i? only give me your love, rotha! trust me; trust me once more and always, and i will not fail you.'
-he tried to draw her nearer to him, but the countess shook her head, and looked at him with tears in her eyes. 'poor boy,' she said slowly. 'poor boy! i am sorry, but it cannot be. it can never be.'
-'why?' he cried, starting as if she had stung him.
-'because i do not love you,' she said.
-he dropped her hand and sat glaring at her. 'you are thinking of last night!' he muttered.
-she shook her head. 'i am not,' she said simply. 'i suppose that if i loved you, that and worse would go for nothing. but i do not.'
-her calmness, her even tone went to his heart and chilled it. he winced, and uttering a low cry turned from her and hid his face in his hands.
-'why not?' he said thickly, after an interval. 'why can you not love me?'
-'why does the swallow nest here and not there?' the countess answered gently. 'i do not know. why did my father love a foreigner and not one of his own people? i do not know. neither do i know why i do not love you. unless,' she added, with rising colour, 'it is that you are young, younger than i am; and a woman turns naturally to one older than herself.'
-her words seemed to point so surely to general tzerclas that the young man ground his teeth together. but he had not spirit to turn and reproach her then; and after remaining silent for some minutes, he rose.
-'good-bye,' he said in a broken voice. and he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.
-the countess started. the words, the action impressed her disagreeably. 'you are not going--away i mean?' she said.
-'no,' he answered slowly. 'but things are--changed. when we meet again it will be as----'
-'friends!' she cried, her voice tender almost to yearning. 'say it shall be so. let it be so always. you will not leave me alone here?'
-'no,' he said simply, and with dignity. 'i shall not.'
-then he went away, quite quietly; and if the beginning of the interview had shown him to small advantage, the same could not be said of the end. he went down the street and through the camp with his head on his breast and a mist before his eyes. the light was gone out of the sunshine, the greenness from the trees. the day was grey and dreary and miserable. the blight was on all he saw. so it is with men. when they cannot have that which seems to them the best and fairest and most desirable thing in the world, nothing is good or pleasant or to be desired any longer.
-it was my ill luck, on that day which began so inauspiciously, to see two shadows: one on a man's face, the waldgrave's, and of that i need say no more; the other, the shadow of a man's body, an odd, sinister outline, crooked and strange and tremulous, that i came upon in a remote corner of the camp, to which i had wandered in my perplexity; a place where a few stunted trees ran down a steep bank to the river. i had never been to this place before, and, after a glance which showed me that it was the common sink and rubbish-bed of the camp, i was turning moodily away, when first this shadow and then the body which cast it caught my eye. the latter hung from the branch of an old gnarled thorn, the feet a few inches from the ground. a shuddering kind of curiosity led me to go up and look at the dead man's face, which was doubled up on his breast; and then the desire to test the nerves, which is common to most men, induced me to stand staring at him.
-i found this a hard nut to crack, and was still puzzling over it, with my eyes on the senseless form which was already so far out of my thoughts, when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder and a harsh voice grated on my ear.
-'well, master steward, a penny for your thoughts! they should be worth having, to judge by the way you rub your chin.'
-i started and looked round. the speaker was captain ludwig, who, with two of his fellows, had come up behind me while i mused. something in his tone rather than his words--a note of menace--warned me to be careful; while the glum looks of his companions, as they glanced from me to the dead man, added point to the hint, and filled my mind with a sudden sense of danger. i had learned more than i had been intended to learn; i had found out something i had not been intended to find out. the very quietness and sunshine and the solitude of the place added horror to the moment. it was all i could do to hide my discomfiture and face them without flinching.
-'my thoughts?' i said, forcing a grin. 'they were not very difficult to guess. a sharp shrift, and a short rope? what else should a man think here?'
-'ay?' ludwig said, watching me closely with his eyes half closed and his lips parted.
-he would say no more, and i was forced to go on. 'it is not the first time i have seen a man dancing on nothing!' i said recklessly; 'but it gave me a turn.'
-he kicked the placard. 'you are a scholar,' he said. 'what is this?'
-my face grew hot. i dared not deny my learning, for i did not know how much he knew; but, for the nonce, i wished heartily that i had never been taught to read.
-'that?' i said, affecting a jovial tone to cover my momentary hesitation. 'a seasonable warning. they are as thick here as nuts in autumn. we could spare a few more, for the matter of that.'
-'ay, but this one?' he retorted, coolly tapping the dead man with a little stick he carried, and then turning to look me in the face. 'you have seen him before.'
-i made a great show of staring at the body, but i suppose i played my part ill, for before i could speak ludwig broke in with a brutal laugh.
-'chut, man!' he said, with a sneer of contempt; 'you know him; i see you do. and knew him all along. well, if fools will poke their noses into things that do not concern them, it is not my affair. i must trouble you for your company awhile.'
-'whither?' i said, setting my teeth together and frowning at him.
-'to my master,' he replied, with a curt nod. 'don't say you won't,' he continued with meaning, 'for he is not one to be denied.'
-i looked from one to another of the three men, and for a moment the desperate clinging to liberty, which makes even the craven bold, set my hands tingling and sent the blood surging to my head. but reason spoke in time. i saw that the contest was too unequal, the advantage of a few minutes' freedom too trivial, since the general must sooner or later lay his hand on me; and i crushed down the impulse to resist.
-'what scares you, comrades?' i said, laughing savagely. they had recoiled a foot. 'do you see a ghost or a swede, that you look so pale? your general wants me? then let him have me. lead on! i won't run away, i warrant you.'
-ludwig nodded as he placed himself by my side. 'that is the right way to take it,' he said. 'i thought that you might be going to be a fool, comrade.'
-'like our friend there,' i said dryly, pointing to the senseless form we were leaving. 'he made a fuss, i suppose?'
-ludwig shrugged his shoulders. 'no,' he answered, 'not he so much; but his wife. donner! i think i hear her screams now. and she cursed us! ah!'
-i shuddered, and after that was silent. but more than once before we reached the general's quarters the frantic desire to escape seized me, and had to be repressed. i felt that this was the beginning of the end, the first proof of the strong grasp which held us all helpless. i thought of my lady, i thought of marie wort, and i could have shrieked like a woman; for i was powerless like a woman--gripped in a hand i could not resist.
-the camp grilling and festering in the sunshine--how i hated it! it seemed an age i had lived in its dusty brightness, an age of vague fears and anxieties. i passed through it now in a feverish dream, until an exclamation, uttered by my companion as we turned into the street, aroused me. the street was full of loiterers, all standing in groups, and all staring at a little band of horsemen who sat motionless in their saddles in front of the general's quarters. for a moment i took these to be the general's staff. then i saw that they were dressed all alike, that their broad, ruddy faces were alike, that they held themselves with the same unbending precision, and seemed, in a word, to be ten copies of one stalwart man. near them, a servant on foot was leading two horses up and down, and they and he had the air of being on show.
-captain ludwig, holding me fast by the arm, stopped at the first group of starers we came to. 'who are these?' he asked gruffly.
-the man he addressed turned round, eager to impart his knowledge. 'finns!' he said; 'from head-quarters--stalhanske's finns. no less, captain.'
-my companion whistled. 'what are they doing here?' he asked.
-the other shook his head. 'i don't know,' he said. 'their leader is with the general. what do you think of them, master ludwig?'
-but ludwig only grunted, looking with disparaging eyes at the motionless riders, whose air betrayed a certain consciousness of their fame and the notice which they were exciting. from steel cap to spurred boot, they showed all metal and leather. nothing gay, nothing gaudy; not a chain or a sash differenced one from another. grim, stern, and silent, they stared before them. had no one named the king of sweden's great regiment, i had known that i was looking no longer on brigands, but on soldiers--on part of the iron line that at breitenfeld broke the long repute of years, and swept pappenheim from the hillside like chaff before the storm.
-after hesitating a moment, ludwig went forward a few paces, as if to enter the house, taking me with him. then he paused. at the same instant the man who was leading the two horses turned. his eye lit on me, and i saw an extraordinary change come over the fellow's face. he stopped short and, pulling up his horses, stared at me. it seemed to me, too, that i had seen him before, and i returned his look; but while i was trying to remember where, the door of the general's quarters opened. two or three men who were loitering before it, stepped quickly aside, and a tall, stalwart man came out, followed by general tzerclas himself.
-i looked at the foremost, and in a twinkling recognized him. it was von werder. but an extraordinary change had come over the traveller. he was still plainly dressed, in a buff coat, with untanned boots, a leather sword-belt, and a grey hat with a red feather; and in all of these there was nothing to catch the eye. but his air and manner as he spoke to his companion were no longer those of an inferior, while his stern eye, as it travelled over the crowd in the street, expressed cold and steady contempt.
-as the servant brought up his horse, he spoke to his companion. 'you are sure that you can do it--with these?' he said, flicking his riding-whip towards the silent throng.
-'you may consider it done,' the general answered rather grimly.
-'good! i am glad. well, man, what is it?'
-he spoke the last words to his servant. the man pointed to me and said something. von werder looked at me. in a moment every one looked at me. then von werder swung himself into his saddle, and turned to general tzerclas.
-'he is at your service,' the general answered with a shrug of indifference.'
-in an instant von werder's horse was at my side. 'a word with you, my man,' he said sharply. 'come with me.'
-ludwig had hold of my arm still. he had not loosed me, and at this he interposed. 'my lord,' he cried to the general, 'this man--i have something to----'
-'silence, fool!' tzerclas growled. 'and stand aside, if you value your skin!'
-ludwig let me go; immediately, as if an angel had descended to speak for me, the crowd parted, and i was free--free and walking away down the street by the side of the stranger, who continued to look at me from time to time, but still kept silence. when we had gone in this fashion a couple of hundred paces or more, and were clear of the crowd, he seemed no longer able to control himself, though he looked like a man apt at self-command. he waved his escort back and reined in his horse.
-'you are the man to whom i talked the other night,' he said, fixing me with his eyes--'the countess of heritzburg's steward?'
-i replied that i was. his face as he looked down at me, with his back to his following, betrayed so much agitation that i wondered more and more. was he going to save us? could he save us? who was he? what did it all mean? then his next question scattered all these thoughts and doubled my surprise.
-'you had a chain stolen from you,' he said harshly, 'the night i lay in your camp?'
-i stared at him with my mouth open. 'a chain?' i stammered.
-'ay, fool, a chain!' he replied, his eyes glaring, his cheeks swelling with impatience. 'a gold chain--with links like walnuts.'
-'it is true,' i said stupidly. 'i had. but----'
-'where did you get it?'
-i looked away. to answer was easy; to refrain from answering, with his eye upon me, hard. but i thought of marie wort. i did not know how the chain had come into her hands, and i asked him a question in return.
-'have you the chain?' i said.
-'i have!' he snarled. and then in a sudden outburst of wrath he cried, 'listen, fool! and then perhaps you will answer me more quickly. i am hugo of leuchtenstein, governor of cassel and marburg, and president of the landgrave's council. the chain was mine and came back to me. the rogue who stole it from you, and joined himself to my company, blabbed of it, and where he got it. he let my men see it. he would not give it up, and they killed him. will that satisfy you?' he continued, his face on fire with impatience. 'then tell me all--all, man, or it will be the worse for you! my time is precious, and i cannot stay!'
-i uncovered myself. 'your excellency,' i stammered, 'the chain was entrusted to me by a--a woman.'
-'a woman?' he exclaimed, his eyes lightening. 'man, you are wringing my heart. a woman with a child?'
-'a child three years old?'
-'about that, your excellency.' on which, to my astonishment, he covered his face with both his hands, and i saw the strong man's frame heave with ill-suppressed emotion. 'my god, i thank thee!' i heard him whisper; and if ever words came from the heart, those did. it was a minute or more before he dared to uncover his face, and then his eyes were moist and his features worked with emotion.
-'you shall be rewarded!' he said unsteadily. 'do not fear. and now take me to him--to her.'
-i was in a maze of astonishment, but i had sense enough to understand the order. we had halted scarcely more than a hundred yards from my lady's quarters, and i led the way thither, comprehending little more than that something advantageous had happened to us. at the door he sprang from his horse, and taking me by the arm, as if he were afraid to suffer me out of his reach, he entered, pushing me before him.
-the principal room was empty, and i judged my lady was out. i cried 'marie! marie!' softly; and then he and i stood listening. the sunshine poured in through the windows; the house was still with the stillness of afternoon. a bird in a cage in the corner pecked at the bars. outside the bits jingled, and a horse pawed the road impatiently.
-'marie!' i cried. 'marie!'
-she came in at last through a door which led to the back of the house, and i stepped forward to speak to her. but the moment i saw her clearly, the words died on my lips. the pallor of her face, the disorder of her hair struck me dumb. i forgot our business, my companion, all. 'what is it?' was all i could say. 'what is the matter?'
-'the child!' she cried, her dark eyes wild with anxiety. 'the child! it is lost! it is lost and gone. i cannot find it!'
-'the child? gone?' i answered, my voice rising almost to a shout, in my surprise. 'it is missing? now?'
-'i cannot find it,' she answered monotonously. 'i left it for a moment at the back there. it was playing on the grass. now it is gone.'
-i looked at. count leuchtenstein. he was staring at the girl, listening and watching, his brow contracted, his face pale. but i suppose that this sudden alarm, this momentary disappearance did not affect him, from whom the child had been so long absent, as it affected us; for his first words referred to the past.
-'this child, woman?' he said in his deep voice, which shook despite all his efforts. 'when you found it, it had a chain round its neck?'
-but marie was so wrapped up in her sudden loss that she answered him without thought, listening the while. 'yes,' she said mechanically, 'it had.'
-'where did you find it, then--the child?' he asked eagerly.
-'in the forest by vach,' she replied, in the same indifferent tone.
-'was it alone?'
-'it was with a dead woman,' she answered. she was listening still, with a strained face--listening for the pattering of the little feet, the shrill music of the piping voice. only half of her mind was with us. her hands opened and closed continually with anxiety; she held her head on one side, her ear to the door. when the count went to put another question, she turned upon him so fiercely, i hardly knew her. 'hush!' she said, 'will you? they are here, but they have not found him. they have not found him!' and she was right; though i, whose ears were not sharpened by love, did not discern this until two men, who had been left at home with her, and who had been out to search, came in empty-handed and with scared looks. they had hunted on all sides and found no trace of the child, and, certain that it could not have strayed far itself, pronounced positively that it had been kidnapped.
-'there seems a fatality in it!' he muttered, meeting my eyes, but speaking to himself. 'that it should be lost again--at this moment! yet, god's will be done. he who sent the chain to my hands can still take care of the child.'
-he paused a moment in deep thought, and then, advancing to marie wort, who had thrown herself into a chair and was sobbing passionately with her face on the table, he touched her on the shoulder.
-'good girl!' he said kindly. 'good girl! but doubtless the child is safe. before night it will be found.'
-she sprang up and faced him, her cheeks flaming with anger. i suppose the questions he had put to her had made no distinct impression on her mind.
-'oh,' she cried, in the voice of a shrew, 'how you prate! by night it will be found, will it? how do you know? but the child is nothing to you--nothing!'
-'girl,' he said solemnly, yet gently, 'the child is my child--my only child, and the hope of my house.'
-she looked at him wildly. 'who are you, then?' she said, her voice sinking almost to a whisper.
-'i am his father,' he answered; when i looked to hear him state his name and titles. 'and as his father, i thank and bless you for all that you have done for him.'
-'his mother?' she whispered, open-eyed with awe.
-'his mother is dead. she died three years ago,' he answered gravely. 'and now tell me your name, for i must go.'
-'you must go!' she exclaimed. 'you will go--you can go--and your child lost and wandering?'
-'yes,' he replied, with a dignity which silenced her, 'i can, for i have other and greater interests to guard than those of my house, and i dare not be negligent. he may be found to-morrow, but what i have to do to-day cannot be done to-morrow. see, take that,' he continued more gently, laying a heavy purse on the table before her. 'it is for you, for your own use--for your dowry, if you have a lover. and remember always that, in the house of hugo of leuchtenstein, at cassel, or marburg, or at the schloss by leuchtenstein, you will find a home and shelter, and stout friends whenever you need them. now give me your name.'
-she stared at him dumfounded and was silent. i told him marie wort of munich, at present in attendance on the countess of heritzburg; and he set it down in his tablets.
-'good,' he said. and then in his stern, grave fashion he turned to me. 'master steward,' he said, in a measured tone which nevertheless stirred my blood, 'are you an ambitious man? if so, search for my child, and bring him to cassel or marburg, or my house, and i will fulfil your ambition. would you have a command, i will see to it; or a farm, it shall be yours. you can do for me, my friend' he continued strenuously, laying his hand on my arm, 'what in this stress of war and statecraft i cannot do for myself. i have a hundred at my call, but they are not here; and by to-night i must be ten leagues hence, by to-morrow night beyond the main. yet god, i believe,' he went on, uncovering himself and speaking with reverent earnestness, 'who brought me to this place, and permitted me to hear again of my son, will not let his purpose fail because he calls me elsewhere.'
-and he maintained this grave composure to the last. a man more worthy of his high repute, not in hesse only, but in the swedish camp, at dresden, and vienna, i thought that i had never seen. yet still under the mask i discerned the workings of a human heart. his eye, as he turned to go, wandered round the room; i knew that it was seeking some trace of his boy's presence. on the threshold he halted suddenly; i knew that he was listening. but no sound rewarded him. he nodded sternly to me and went out.
-then, and not till then, i remembered that i had not said a word to him about my lady's position. his personality and the loss of the child had driven it from my mind. now it recurred to me; but it was too late, and after stamping up and down in vexation for a while, i turned and went into the house.
-marie wort had fallen back into the old position at the table, and was sitting with her face on her arms, sobbing bitterly. i went up to her and saw the purse lying by her side.
-but she took no heed of me. she continued to weep; and her sobs hurt me. she seemed so small and lonely and helpless that i had not the heart to leave her by herself in the house and go out into the sunshine to search. and so--i scarcely know how it came about--in a moment she was sobbing out her grief on my shoulder and i was whispering in her ear.
-of love? of our love? no, for to have spoken of that while she wept for the child, would have seemed to me no better than sacrilege. and, besides, i think that we took it for granted. for when her sobs presently ceased, and she lay quiet, listening, and i found her soft dark hair on my shoulder, i kissed it a hundred times; and still she lay silent, her cheek against my rough coat. our eyes had spoken morning and evening, at dawn when we met, and at night when we parted; and now that this matter of the chain was settled, it seemed fitting that she should come to me for comfort--without words.
-at length she drew herself away from me, her cheek dark and her eyes downcast. 'not now,' she said, gently stopping me--for then i think i should have spoken. 'will you please to go out and search? no, i will not grieve.'
-'but your purse!' i reminded her. she was leaving it on the table, and it was not safe there. 'you should put it in a place of safety, marie.'
-she took it up and very simply placed it in my hands. 'he said it was for my--dowry,' she whispered, blushing. and then she fled away shamefaced to her room.
-a sudden expedition.
-i did not after that suffer the grass to grow under my feet. i went out, and with my own eyes searched the fields at the back, and every ditch and water-hole. i had the loss cried in the camp, my lady on her return offered a reward, we sent even to the nearer villages, we patrolled the roads, we omitted nothing that could by any chance avail us. yet evening fell, and night, and found us still searching; and no nearer, as far as we could see, to success. the child was gone mysteriously. left to play alone for two minutes in the stillness of the afternoon, he had vanished as completely as if the earth had opened and swallowed him.
-baffled, we began to ask, while marie sat pale and brooding in a corner, or now and again stole to the door to listen, who could have taken him and with what motive? there were men and women in the camp capable of anything. it seemed probable to some that these had stolen the child for the sake of his clothes. others suggested witchcraft. but in my own mind, i leaned to neither of these theories. i suspected, though i dared not utter the thought, that the general had done it. without knowing how much of the story count hugo had confided to him, i took it as certain that the father had said enough to apprise him of the boy's value. and this being so, what more probable than that the general, whom i was prepared to credit with any atrocity, had taken instant steps to possess himself of the child?
-my lady said and did all that was kind on the occasion, and for a few hours it occupied all our thoughts. at the end of that time, however, about sunset, general tzerclas rode to the door, and with him, to my surprise, the waldgrave. they would see her, and detained her so long that when she sent for me on their departure, i was sore on marie's, account, and inclined to blame her as indifferent to our loss. but a single glance at her face put another colour on the matter. i saw that something had occurred to excite and disturb her.
-'martin,' she said earnestly, 'i am going to employ you on an errand of importance. listen to me and do not interrupt me. general tzerclas starts to-morrow with the larger part of his forces to intercept one of wallenstein's convoys, which is expected to pass twelve leagues to the south of this. there will be sharp fighting, i am told, and my cousin, the waldgrave rupert, is going. he is not at present--i mean, i am afraid he may do something rash. he is young,' my lady continued with dignity and a heightened colour, 'and i wish he would stay here. but he will not.'
-'i want you,' she said slowly, 'to go with him. he has a high opinion of you, and will listen to you.'
-'the general?' i cried in amazement.
-'who spoke of him?' she exclaimed angrily. 'i said the waldgrave rupert. i wish you to go with him to see that he does not run any unnecessary risk.'
-i coughed dryly, and stood silent.
-'well?' my lady said with a frown. 'do you understand?'
-'i understand, my lady,' i answered firmly; 'but i cannot go.'
-'you cannot go! when i send you!' she murmured, unable, i think, to believe her ears. 'why not, sirrah? why not, if you please?'
-'because my first duty is to your excellency,' i stammered. 'and as long as you are here, i dare not--and will not leave you!'
-'as long as i am here!' she retorted, red with anger and surprise. 'you have still that maggot in your head, then? by my soul, master martin, if we were at home i would find means to drive it out! but i know what it is! what you really want is to stay by the side of that puling girl! oh, i am not blind,' my lady continued viciously, seeing that she had found at last the way to hurt me. 'i know what has been going on.'
-'but count leuchtenstein----' i muttered.
-'don't bring him in!' my lady cried, in such a voice that i dared go no farther. 'general tzerclas has told me of him. i understand what is between them, and you do not. presumptuous booby!' she continued, flashing at me a glance of scorn, which made me tremble. 'but i will thwart you! since you will not leave me, i will go myself. i will go, but mistress marie shall stay here till we return.'
-'but if there is to be fighting?' i said humbly.
-'ah! so you have changed your note, have you!' she cried triumphantly. i had seldom seen her more moved. 'if there is to be fighting'--she mocked my tone. 'well, there is to be, but i shall go. and now do you go, and have all ready for a start at daybreak, or it will be the worse for you! one of my women will accompany me. fraulein anna will stay here with your--other mistress!'
-she pointed to the door as she spoke, and once more charged me to be ready; and i went away dazed. everything seemed on a sudden to be turned upside down--the child lost, my lady offended, the waldgrave desperate, the general in favour. it was hard to see which way my duty lay. i would fain have stayed in the camp a day to make farther search for the child, but i must go. i would gladly have got clear of the camp, but we were to travel in the general's company. as to leaving marie, my lady wronged me. i knew of no special danger which threatened the girl, nor any reason why she should not be safe where she was. if the child were found she would be here to receive it.
-on the other hand, there was my discovery of the beggar's fate, from the immediate consequences of which count hugo's arrival had saved me. this sudden expedition should favour me there; the general would have his hands full of other things, and ludwig be hard put to it to gain his ear. i might now, if i pleased, discover the matter to my lady, and open her eyes. but i had no proof; even if time permitted, and i could take the countess to that part of the camp, i could not be sure that the body was still there. and to accuse general tzerclas of such a thing without proof would be to court my own ruin.
-while i was puzzling over this, i saw the waldgrave outside, and, thinking to profit by his advice, i went to meet him. but i found him in a peculiar mood, talking, laughing, and breaking into snatches of song; all with a wildness and abandon that frightened while they puzzled me. he laughed at my doubts, and walking up and down, while his servants scoured his breast-piece and cleaned his harness by the light of a lantern, he persisted in talking of nothing but the expedition before us and the pleasure of striking a blow or two.
-'we are rusting, man!' he cried feverishly, clapping me on the back. 'you have the rust on you yet, martin but--
-"clink, clink, clink! sword and stirrup and spur! ride, ride, ride, fast as feather or fur!"
-to-morrow or the next day we will have it off.'
-'you have heard about the child, my lord,' i said gravely, trying to bring him back to the present.
-'i have heard that von werder, the dullest man at a board i ever met, turns out to be hugo of leuchtenstein, whom god preserve!' he answered recklessly. 'and that your girl's brat of a brother turns out to be his brat! and no sooner is the father found than the son is lost; and that both have gone as mysteriously as they came. but himmel! man, what's the odds when we are going to fight to-morrow! what compares with that? ça! ça! steady and the point!'
-i thought of marie; and it seemed to me that there were other things in the world besides fighting. for love makes a man both brave and a coward. but the argument would scarcely have been to the waldgrave's mind, and, seeing that he would neither talk nor hear reason, i left him and went away to make my preparations.
-but on the road next day i noticed that though now and then he flashed into the same wild merriment, he was on the whole as dull as he had been gay. our party rode at the head of the column, that we might escape the dust and have the best of the road, the general and his principal officers accompanying us and leaving the guidance of the march to inferiors. our force consisted of about six hundred horse and four hundred foot; and as we were to return to the camp, we took with us neither sutlers nor ordinary baggage, while camp followers were interdicted under pain of death. yet the amount of our impedimenta astonished me. half a dozen sumpter horses were needed to carry the general's tent and equipage; his officers required a score more. the ammunition for the foot soldiers, who were sufficiently burdened with their heavy matchlocks, provided farther loads; and in fine, while supposed to be marching in light fighting order, we had something like a hundred packhorses in our train. then there were men to lead them, and cooks and pages and foot-boys and the general's band, and but that our way lay through woodland tracks and by-routes, i verily believe that we should have had his coach and dwarf also.
-the sight of all these men and horses in motion was so novel and exhilarating, and the morning air so brisk, that i soon recovered from my parting with marie, and began to take a more cheerful view of the position. i came near to sympathizing with my lady, whose pleasure and delight knew no bounds. the long lines of horsemen winding through the wood, the trailing pikes and waving pennons, gratified her youthful fancy for war; while as our march lay through the forest, she was shocked by none of those traces of its ravages which had appalled us on first leaving heritzburg. the general waited on her with the utmost attention, riding by her bridle-rein and talking with her by the hour together. whenever i looked at them i noticed that her eye was bright and her colour high, and i guessed that he was unfolding the plan of ambition which i was sure he masked under a cold and reserved demeanour. alas! i could think of nothing more likely to take my lady's fancy, no course more sure to enlist her sympathy and interest. but i was helpless; i could do nothing. and for the waldgrave, if he still had any power he would not use it.
-my lady gave him opportunities. several times i saw her try to draw him into conversation, and whenever general tzerclas left her for a while she turned to the younger man and would have talked to him. but he seemed unable to respond. when he was not noisily gay, he rode like a mute. he seemed half sullen, half afraid; and she presently gave him up, but not before her efforts had caught tzerclas' eye. the general had been called for some purpose to the rear of the column, and on his return found the two talking, my lady's attitude such that it was very evident she was the provocant. he did not try to resume his place, but fell in behind them; and riding there, almost, if not quite, within earshot, cast such ugly glances at them as more than confirmed me in the belief that in his own secret way he loved my mistress; and that, after a more dangerous fashion than the waldgrave.
-even so the order caused trouble. the pikemen and musketeers did not come in till an hour before midnight, when they trudged into camp dusty and footsore and murmuring at their leaders. when, in this state, they learned that fires were not to be lighted, disgust grew rapidly into open disobedience. on a sudden, in half a dozen quarters at once, flames flickered up, and the camp, dark before, became peopled in a moment with strange forms, whose eighteen-foot weapons and cumbrous headpieces flung long shadows across the valley.
-we had lain down to rest, but at the sound of the altercation and the various cries of 'pikes! pikes!' and 'mutiny!' which broke out, we came out of our lairs in the bracken to learn what was happening. calling young jacob and three or four of the heritzburg men to my side, i ran to my lady to see that nothing befell her in the confusion. the noise had roused her, and we found her at the door of her tent looking out. the newly-kindled fires, flaming and crackling on the sloping sides of the valley, lit up a strange scene of disorder--of hurrying men and plunging horses, for the alarm had extended to the horse lines--and for a moment i thought that the mutiny might spread and cut the knot of our difficulties, or whelm us all in the same ruin.
-i had scarcely conceived the thought, when the general passed near us on his way from his tent, whence he had just been called; and at the sight my new-born hopes vanished. he was bare-headed; he carried no arms, and had nothing in his hand but a riding-switch. but the stern, grim aspect of his face, in which was no mercy and no quailing, was worth a thousand pikes. the firelight shone on his pale, olive cheek and brooding eyes, as he went by us, not seeing us; and after that i did not doubt what would happen, although for a moment the tumult of oaths and cries seemed to swell rather than sink, and i saw more than one pale-lipped officer climbing into his saddle that he might be able to fly, if necessary.
-he distinguished my lady standing at the door of her tent, and stepped aside. 'i am sorry that you have been disturbed, countess,' he said politely. 'it shall not occur again. i will hang up a dozen of those hounds to-morrow, and we shall have less barking.'
-'you are not hurt?' my lady asked, in a voice unlike her own.
-he laughed, deigning no answer in words. then he said, 'you have no fire? camp rules are not for you. pray have one lit.' and he went on to his tent.
-i had the curiosity to pass near it when my lady retired. i found a dozen men, cuirassiers of his privileged troop, peeping and squinting under the canvas which had been hung round the fire. i joined them and looked; and saw him lying at length, wrapped in his cloak, reading 'cæsar's campaigns' by the light of the blaze, as if nothing had happened.
-in a green valley.
-he was as good as his word. before the sun had been up an hour six of the mutineers, chosen by lot from a hundred of the more guilty, dangled from a great tree which overhung the brook, and were already forgotten--so short are soldiers' memories--in the hurry and bustle of a new undertaking. the slope of the ridge which divided us from the neighbouring valley was quickly dotted with parties of men making their way up it, through bracken and furze which reached nearly to the waist; while the horse under count waska rode slowly off to make the circuit of the hill and enter the next valley by an easier road.
-my lady chose to climb the hill on foot, in the track of the pikemen, though the heavy dew, which the sun had not yet drunk up, soon drenched her skirts, and she might, had she willed it, have been carried to the top on men's shoulders. the fern and long grass delayed her and made our progress slow, so that the general's dispositions were in great part made when we reached the summit. busy as he still was, however, he had eyes for us. he came at once and placed us in a small coppice of fir trees that crowned one of the knobs of the ridge. from this point, where he took up his own position, we could command, ourselves unseen, the whole valley, the road, and river--the scene of the coming surprise--and see clearly, what no one below could discern, where our footmen lay in ambush in parties of fifty; the pikemen among some black thorns, close to the north end of the valley, the musketmen a little farther within and almost immediately below us. the latter, prone in the fern, looked, viewed from above, like lines of sheep feeding, until the light gleamed on a gun-barrel or sword-hilt and dispelled the peaceful illusion.
-the sun had not yet risen above the hill on which we stood, and the valley below us lay cool and green and very pleasant to the eye. about a league in length, it was nowhere, except at its southern extremity, where it widened into a small plain, more than half a mile across. at its northern end, below us, and a little to the right, it diminished to a mere wooded defile, through which the river ran over rocks and boulders, with a dull roar that came plainly to our ears. a solitary house of some size, with two or three hovels clustered about it, stood near the middle of the valley; but no smoke rose from the chimney, no cock crowed, no dog barked. and, looking more closely, i saw that the place was deserted.
-so quiet it seemed in this peaceful thuringian valley, i shuddered when i thought of the purpose which brought us hither; and i saw my lady's face grow sad with a like reflection. but general tzerclas viewed all with another mind. the stillness, the sunshine, the very song of the lark, as it rose up and up and up above us, and, still unwearied, sang its song of praise, touched no chord in his breast. the quietude pleased him, but only because it favoured his plans; the lark's hymn, because it covered with a fair mask his lurking ambush; the sunshine, because it seemed a good augury. his keen and vigilant eye, the smile which curled his lip, the set expression of his face, showed that he saw before him a battle-field and no more; a step upwards--a triumph, a victory, and that was all.
-i blamed him then. i confess now, i misjudged him. he who leads on such occasions risks more than his life, and bears a weight of responsibility that may well crush from his mind all moods or thoughts of weather. at least, i did him, i had to do him, this justice: that he betrayed no anxiety, uttered no word of doubt or misgiving. standing with his back against a tree and his eyes on the northern pass, he remained placidly silent, or talked at his ease. in this he contrasted well with the waldgrave, who continually paced up and down in the background, as if the fir-grove were a prison and he a captive waiting to be freed.
-'at what hour should they be here?' my lady asked presently, breaking a long silence.
-she tried to speak in her ordinary tone, but her voice sounded uncertain. a woman, however brave, is a woman still. it began to dawn upon her that things were going to happen which it might be unpleasant to see, and scarcely more pleasant to remember.
-'i am afraid i cannot say,' the general answered lightly. 'i have done my part; i am here. between this and night they should be here too.'
-'unless they have been warned.'
-'precisely,' he answered,' unless they have been warned.'
-after that my lady composed herself anew, and the day wore on, in desultory conversation and a grim kind of picnic. noon came, and afternoon, and the countess grew nervous and irritable. but general tzerclas, though the hours, as they passed without event, without bringing that for which he waited, must have tried him severely, showed to advantage throughout. he was ready to talk, satisfied to be silent. late in the day, when my lady, drowsy with the heat, dozed a little, he brought out his cæsar, and read, in it, as if nothing depended on the day, and he were the most indifferent of spectators. she awoke and found him reading, and, for a time, sat staring at him, wondering where she was. at last she remembered. she sat up with a start, and gazed at him.
-'are we still waiting?' she said.
-'we are still waiting,' he answered, closing his book with a smile. 'but,' he continued, a moment later, 'i think i hear something now. keep back a little, if you please, countess.'
-we all stood up among the trees, listening, and presently, though the murmuring of the river in the pass prevented us hearing duller sounds, a sharp noise, often repeated, came to our ears. it resembled the snapping of sticks under foot.
-'whips!' general tzerclas muttered. 'stand back, if you please.'
-two hundred paces behind them the first waggon appeared, dragged slowly on by four labouring horses, and guarded by a dozen foot soldiers--heavy-browed fellows, lounging along beside the wheels, with their hands in their breeches pockets. their long, trailing weapons they had tied at the tail of the waggon. close on their heels came another waggon creaking and groaning, and another, and another, with a drowsy, stumbling train of teamsters and horse-boys, and here and there an officer or a knot of men-at-arms. but the foot soldiers had mostly climbed up into the waggons, and lay sprawling on the loads, with arms thrown wide, and heads rolling from side to side with each movement of the straining team.
-we watched eighty of these waggons go by; the first must have been a mile and more in front of the last. after them followed a disorderly band of stragglers, among whom were some women. then a thick, solid cloud of dust, far exceeding all that had gone before, came down the pass. it advanced by fits and starts, now plunging forward, now halting, while the heart of it gave forth a dull roaring sound that rose above the murmur of the river.
-'cattle!' general tzerclas muttered. 'five hundred head, i should say. there can be nothing behind that dust. be ready, trumpeter.'
-the man he addressed stood a few paces behind us; and at intervals along the ridge others lay hidden, ready to pass the signal to an officer stationed on the farthest knob, who as soon as he heard the call would spring up, and with a flag pass the order to the cavalry below him.
-the suspense of the moment was such, it seemed an age before the general gave the word. he stood and appeared to calculate, now looking keenly towards the head of the convoy, which was fast disappearing in a haze of dust, now gazing down at the bellowing, struggling, wavering mass below us. at length, when the cattle had all but cleared the pass, he raised his hand and cried sharply--
-the harsh blare of the trumpet pierced the upper stillness in which we stood. it was repeated--repeated again; then it died away shrilly in the distance. in its place, hoarse clamour filled the valley below us. we pressed forward to see what was happening.
-the surprise was complete; and yet it was a sorry sight we saw down in the bottom, where the sunshine was dying, and guns were flashing, and men were chasing one another in the grey evening light. our musketmen, springing out of ambush, had shot down the horses of the last half-dozen waggons, and, when we looked, were falling pell-mell upon the unlucky troop of stragglers who followed. these, flying all ways, filled the air with horrid screams. farther to the rear, our pikemen had seized the pass, and penning the cattle into it rendered escape by that road hopeless. forward, however, despite the confusion and dismay, things were different. our cavalry did not appear--the dust prevented us seeing what they were doing. and here the enemy had a moment's respite, a moment in which to think, to fly, to stand on their defence.
-and soon, while we looked on breathless, it was evident that they were taking advantage of it. possibly the general had not counted on the dust or the lateness of the hour. he began to gaze forward towards the head of the column, and to mutter savagely at the footmen below us, who seemed more eager to overtake the fugitives and strip the dead, than to press forward and break down opposition. he sent down ludwig with orders; then another.
-but the mischief was done already, and still the cavalry did not appear; being delayed, as we afterwards learned, by an unforeseen brook. some one with a head on his shoulders had quickly drawn together all those among the enemy who could fight, or had a mind to fight. we saw two waggons driven out of the line, and in a moment overturned; in a twinkling the panic-stricken troopers and teamsters had a haven in which they could stand at bay.
-our horse, flushed with triumph and yelling loudly, came down the line like a torrent, sabreing all who fell in their way. half rode on one side of the convoy and half on the other. they had met with no resistance hitherto, and expected none, and, like the musketmen, were on the barricade before they knew of its existence. in the open, the stoutest hedgehog of pikes could scarcely have resisted a charge driven home with such blind recklessness; but behind the waggons it was different. every interstice bristled with pike-heads, while the musketmen poured in a deadly fire from the waggon-tops. for a few seconds the place belched flame and smoke. two or three score of the foremost assailants went down horse and man. the rest, saving themselves as best they could, swerved off to either side amid a roar of execrations and shouts of triumph.
-my lady, trembling with horror, had long ago retired. she would no longer look. the waldgrave, too, was gone; with her, i supposed. half the general's attendants had been sent down the hill, some with one order, some with another. in this crisis--for i saw clearly that it was a crisis, and that if the defenders could hold out until darkness fell, the issue must be doubtful--i turned to look at our commander. he was still cool, but his brow was dark with passion. at one moment he stepped forward as if to go down into the mêlée; the next he repressed the impulse. the level rays of the sun which just caught the top of the hill shone in our eyes, while dust and smoke began to veil the field. we could still make out that the cavalry were sweeping round and round the barricade, pouring in now and then a volley of pistol shots; but they appeared to be suffering more loss than they caused.
-given a ring of waggons in the open, stoutly defended by resolute men, and i know nothing more difficult to reduce. gazing in a kind of fascination into the depths where the smoke whirled and eddied, as the steam rolls this way and that on a caldron, i was wondering what i should do were i in command, when i saw on a sudden what some one was doing; and i heard general tzerclas utter an oath of relief. back from the front of the convoy came three waggons, surrounded and urged on by a mob of footmen; jolting and bumping over the uneven ground, and often nearly overturned, still they came on, and behind them a larger troop of men. finally they came almost abreast of the enemy's position, and some thirty paces to one side of it. there perforce they stayed, for the leading horses fell shot; but it was near enough. in an instant our men swarmed up behind them and began to fire volleys into the enemy's fortress, while the horse moving to and fro at a little distance forbade any attempt at a sally.
-'that man has a head on his shoulders!' general tzerclas muttered between his teeth. 'that is ludwig! now we have them!'
-but i saw that it was not ludwig; and presently the general saw it too. i read it in his face. the man who had brought up the waggons, and who could still be seen exposing himself, mounted and bare-headed in the hottest of the fire, ordering, threatening, inciting, leading, so that we could almost hear his voice where we stood, was the waldgrave! his blue velvet cloak and bright fair head were unmistakable, though darkness was fast closing over the fight, and it was only at intervals that we could see anything through the pall of smoke.
-'vivat weimar!' i cried involuntarily, a glow of warmth and pride coursing through my veins. in that moment i loved the young man as if he had been my son.
-the next i fell from the clouds. what would my lady say if anything happened to him? what should i say if i stood by and saw him fall? and he with no headpiece, breast or back! it was madness of him to expose himself! i started forward, stung by the thought, and before i knew what i was doing--for, in fact, i could have done no good--i was on the slope and descending the hill. almost at the same moment the general gave the word to those who remained with him, and began to descend also. the hill was steep there, and it took us five minutes to reach the scene of action.
-if i had foolishly thought that i could do anything, i was disappointed. by this time the battle was over. manning every waggon within range, and pouring in a steady fire, our sharp-shooters had thinned the ranks behind the barricade. the enemy's fire had first slackened, and then ceased. a little later, one wing, unable to bear the shower of shot, had broken and tried to fly, and in a moment our pikemen had gained the work.
-we heard the flight and pursuit go wailing up the valley, but the disorder, and darkness, and noise at the foot of the hill where we found ourselves, were such that i stood scared and bewildered, uncertain which way to turn or whither to go. on every side of me men were stripping the dead, the wounded were crying for water, and cattle and horses, wounded or maddened, were rushing up and down among broken waggons and prostrate loads. such eyes of cruelty and greed glared at me out of the gloom, such shouts cursed me across dead men that i drew my sword and carried it drawn. but the scene robbed me of half my faculties; i did not know which way to turn; i did not know what to do; and until i came upon ludwig, i wandered aimlessly about, looking for the waldgrave without plan or system. it was my first experience of the darker side of war, and it surpassed in horror anything i had imagined or thought possible.
-ludwig, badly wounded in the leg, i found under a waggon. i had stood beside him some time without seeing him, and he had not spoken. but when i moved away i suppose he recognized my figure or step, for when i had gone a few paces i heard a hoarse voice calling my name. i went cautiously back to the waggon, and after a moment's search detected him peering from under it with a white, fierce face, which reminded me of a savage creature at bay.
-'hallo!' i said. 'why did you not speak before, man?'
-'get me some water,' he whispered painfully. 'water, for the love of heaven!'
-i told him that i had no flask or bottle, or i should before this have fetched some for others'. he gave me his, and i was starting off when i remembered that he might know how the waldgrave had fared. i asked him.
-'he led the pursuit,' he muttered. 'he is all right.' then, as i was again turning away, he clutched my arm and continued, 'have you a pistol?'
-'yes,' i said.
-'lend it to me until you come back,' he gasped. 'if these vultures find me they will finish me. i know them. that is better. i shall win through yet.'
-i marked where his waggon stood, and left him. the river was distant less than a quarter of a mile, but it lay low, and the banks were steep; and in the darkness it was not easy to find a way down to the water. succeeding at last--and how still and peaceful it seemed as i bent over the gently flowing surface and heard the plash and gurgle of the willows in the stream!--i filled my bottle and climbed back to the plain level. here i found a change in progress. at intervals up and down the valley great fires had been kindled. some of these, burning high already, lit up the wrecked convoy and the dark groups that moved round it, and even threw a red, uncertain glare far up the slopes of the hills. aided by the light, i hastened back, and finding ludwig without much difficulty, held the bottle to his lips. he seemed nearly gone, but the draught revived him marvellously.
-when he had drunk i asked him if i could do anything else for him. he looked already more like himself.
-'yes,' he said, propping his back against the wheel and speaking with his usual hardihood. 'tell our little general where i am. that is all. i shall do now we have light. i am not afraid of these skulkers any longer. but here, friend martin. you asked about your waldgrave just now?'
-'yes,' i said. 'has he returned?'
-'he never went,' he replied coolly. 'but if i had told you when you first asked me, you would not have gone for water for me. he is down. he fell, as nearly as i can remember, on the farther side of the second fire from here.'
-with a curse i ran from him, raging, and searched round that fire and the next, like one beside himself. many of the dead lay stripped to the skin, so that it was necessary to examine faces. and this ghastly task, performed with trembling fingers and by an uncertain light, took a long time. there were men prowling about with knives and bundles, whom i more than once interrupted in their work; but the sight of my pistol, and my face--for i was full of fierce loathing and would have shot them like rats--drove them off wherever i came. not once but many times the wounded and dying begged me to stay by them and protect them; but my water was at an end and my time was not my own. i left them, and ran from place to place in a fever of dread, which allowed of no rest or relaxation. at last, when i had well-nigh given up hope, i found him lying half-stripped among a heap of dead and wounded, at the farthest corner of the barricade.
-i was about to raise him in my arms and carry him in search of it--though i feared the effect of the motion on his wounds--when, to my joy and relief, the measured tramp of footsteps broke on my ears, and i distinguished with delight a party of men approaching with torches. a few mounted officers followed them, and two waggons creaked slowly behind. they were collecting the wounded.
-i ran to meet them. 'quick!' i cried breathlessly. 'this way!'
-'not so fast!' a harsh voice interposed; and, looking up, i saw that the general himself was directing the party. 'not so fast, my friend,' he repeated. 'who is it?' and leaning forward in his saddle, he looked down at me.
-'the waldgrave rupert,' i answered impatiently. 'he is hurt almost to death. but he is alive, and may live, your excellency. only direct them to come quickly.'
-sitting on his horse in the full glare of the torches, he gazed down at me, his face wearing a strange expression of hesitation. 'he is alive?' he said at last.
-'yes, at present. but he will soon be dead if we do not go to him,' i retorted. 'this way! he lies yonder.'
-'lead on!' the general said.
-i obeyed, and a moment brought our party to the spot, where the waldgrave still lay insensible, his face pale and drawn, his eyes half open and disclosing the whites. under the glare of the torches he looked so like a corpse and so far beyond aid, that it was not until i had again thrust my hand into his breast, and felt the movement of his heart that i was reassured.
-as for the general, after looking down at him for awhile, he said quietly, 'he is dead.'
-'not so, your excellency,' i answered, rising briskly from my knees. 'he is stunned. that is all.'
-they were actually turning away. they had moved a couple of paces before i could believe it. then i sprang to the general's rein.
-'you mistake, your excellency!' i cried, my voice shrill with excitement. 'in heaven's name, stop! he is alive! i can feel his breathing. i swear that he is alive!' i was trembling with emotion and terror.
-'he is dead!' he said harshly. 'stand back!'
-then i understood. in a flash his wicked purpose lay bared before me, and i knew that he was playing with me; i read in the cold, derisive menace of his eye that he knew the waldgrave lived, that he knew he might live, might survive, might see the dawn, and that he was resolved that he should not. the perspiration sprang out on my brow. i choked with indignation.
-'mein gott!' i cried breathless, 'and but for him you would have been beaten.'
-'stand back!' he muttered through his closed teeth; and his eyes flickered with rage. 'are you tired of your life, man?'
-'ay, if you live!' i roared; and i shook his rein so that his horse reared and almost unseated him. but still i clung to it. 'come back! come back!' i cried, mad with passion, wild with indignation at treachery so vile, so cold-blooded, 'or i will heave you from your horse, you villain! i will----'
-i stumbled as i spoke over a broken shaft of a waggon, and in a moment half a dozen strong arms closed round me. i was down and up again and again down. i fought savagely, passionately, at the last desperately, having that cold, sneering face before me, and knowing that it was for my life. but they were many to one. they crushed me down and knelt on me, and presently i lay panting and quiet. one of the men who held me had unsheathed his dagger and stood looking to the general for a signal. i closed my eyes expecting the blow, and involuntarily drew in my breast, as if that poor effort might avert the stroke.
-but the general did not give the signal. he sat gazing down at me with a ruthless smile on his face. 'tie him up,' he said slowly, when he had enjoyed his triumph to the full. 'tie him up tightly. when we get back to the camp we will have a shooting-match, and he shall find us sport. you knave!' he continued, riding up to me in a paroxysm of anger, and slashing me across the face with his riding-whip so cruelly that the flesh rose in great wheals, and i fell back into the men's arms blind and shuddering with pain, 'i have had my eye on you! but you will work me no more mischief. throw him into the waggon there,' he continued. 'tie up his mouth if he makes a noise. has any one seen ludwig?'
-more haste, less speed.
-the dawn came slowly. night, loth to unveil what the valley had to show, hung there long after the wooded knobs that rose along the ridge had begun to appear, looking like grey and misty islands in a sea of vapour. many cried for the light--what night passes that some do not?--but none more impatiently than a woman, whose unquiet figure began with the first glimmer to pace the top of the hill. sometimes she walked to and fro with her face to the sky; sometimes she stood and peered into the depths where the fires still glowed fitfully; or again listened with shrinking ears to the wailing that rose out of the darkness.
-it was the countess. she had lain down, because they had bidden her do so, and told her that nothing could be done while night lasted. but with the first dawn she was on foot, so impatient that her own people dared not come near her, so imperious that the general's troopers crept away abashed.
-the fight in the valley and the dreadful things she had seen and heard at nightfall had shaken her nerves. the absence of her friends had finished the work. she was almost distraught this morning. if this was war--this merciless butchery, this infliction of horrible pain on man and beast--their screams still rang in her ears--she had seen enough. only let her get her friends back, and escape to some place where these things would not happen, and she asked no more.
-the light, as it grew stronger, the sun, as it rose, filling the sky with glory, failed to comfort her; for the one disclosed the dead, lying white and stripped in the valley below, like a flock of sheep grazing, the other seemed by its very cheerfulness to mock her. she was raging like a lioness, when the general at last appeared, and came towards her, his hat in his hand.
-his eye had still the brightness, his cheek the flush of victory. he had lain much of the night, thinking his own thoughts, until he had become so wrapped in himself and his plans that his shrewdness was for once at fault, and he failed to read the signs in her face which his own soldiers had interpreted. he was all fire and triumph; she, sick of bloodshed and ambition. for the first time since they had come together, she was likely to see him as he was.
-'countess,' he said, as he stopped before her, 'you will do yourself harm, i fear. you were on foot, i am told, before it was light.'
-'it is true,' she said, shuddering and restraining herself by an effort.
-'it was foolish,' he replied. 'you may be sure that as soon as anything is heard the news will be brought to you. and to be missing is not to be dead--necessarily.'
-'thank you,' she answered, her lip quivering. she flashed a look of scorn at him, but he did not see it. her hands opened and closed convulsively.
-'he was last seen in the pursuit,' the general continued smoothly, flattering himself that in suppressing his own triumphant thoughts and purposes and talking her talk he was doing much. 'a score or more, of them got away together. it is quite possible that they carried him off a prisoner.'
-'and martin?' she said in a choking voice. she could not stand still, and had begun already to pace up and down again. he walked beside her.
-he shrugged his shoulders. 'i know nothing about him,' he said, scarcely concealing a sneer. 'the man went where he was not sent. i hope for the best, but----' he spread out his hands and shook his head.
-'oh!' she said. she was bursting with indignation. the sight of the dead lying below had stirred her nature to its depths. she felt intuitively the shallowness of his sympathy, the selfishness of his thoughts. she knew that he had it on his lips to talk to her of his triumph, and hated him for it. the horror which the day-old battlefield sometimes inspires in the veteran was on her. she was trembling all over, and only by a great effort kept herself from tears and fainting.
-'the man is useful to you?' he said after a pause. he felt that he had gone wrong.
-she bowed in silence.
-'almost necessary, i suppose?'
-she bowed again. she could not speak. it was wonderful. yesterday she had liked this man, to-day she almost hated him.
-but he knew nothing of that, as he looked round with pride. below, in the valley, parties of men were going to and fro with a sparkle and sheen of pikes. now and again a trumpet spoke, giving an order. on the hill, not far from where they walked, a group of officers who had ascended with him sat round a fire watching the preparation of breakfast. and of all he was the lord. he had only to raise a finger to be obeyed. he saw before him a vista of such battles and victories, ending--god knows in what. the emperor's throne was not above the dreams of such a man. and it moved him to speak.
-the flush on his cheek was deeper when he turned to her again. 'yes, i suppose he was necessary to you,' he said, 'but it should not be so. the countess of heritzburg should look elsewhere for help than to a servant. let me speak plainly, countess,' he continued earnestly. 'it is becoming i should so speak, for i am a plain man. i am neither baron, count, nor prince, margrave, nor waldgrave. i have no title but my sword, and no heritage save these who follow me. yet, if i cannot with the help of the one and the other carve out a principality as long and as wide as heritzburg, i am not john tzerclas!'
-'poor germany!' the countess said with a faint smile.
-the countess was an ambitious woman. at another time she might have heard his tale with sympathy. but at this moment her heart was full of anxiety for others, and she saw with perfect clearness the selfishness, the narrowness, the hardness of his aims. she was angry, too, that he should speak to her now--with the dead lying unburied, and the lost unfound, and strewn all round them the ghastly relics of the fight. she looked at him hardly, but she did not say a word; and he, following the exultant march of his own thoughts, went on.
-'albert of wallenstein, starting from far less than i stand here, has become the first man in germany,' he said, heedless of her silence--'emperor in all but the name. your uncle and mine, from a country squire, became marshal and count of the empire, and saw the greatest quail before him. ernest of mansfeld, he was base-born and crook-backed too, but he lay softly and ruled men all his days, and left a name to tremble at. countess,' the general continued, speaking more hurriedly, and addressing himself, though he did not know it, to the feeling which was uppermost in her mind, 'you may think that in saying what i am going to say, i am choosing an untimely moment; that with this round us, and the air scarce free from powder, i am a fool to talk of love. but'--he hesitated, yet waved his hand abroad with a proud gesture, as if to show that the pause was intentional--'i think i am right. for i offer you no palace, no bed of down, but only myself and my sword. i ask you to share a soldier's fortunes, and be the wife and follow the fate of john tzerclas. may it be?'
-his form seemed to swell as he spoke. he had an air half savage, half triumphant as he turned to her with that question. the joy of battle was still in his veins; he seemed but half sober, though he had drunk nothing. a timid woman might have succumbed to him, one of lesser soul might have shrunk before him; but the countess faced him with a pride as great as his own.
-'you have spoken plainly,' she said, undaunted. 'perhaps you will pardon me if i speak plainly too.'
-'i ask no more, sweet cousin,' he answered.
-'then let me remind you,' she replied, 'that you have said much about john tzerclas, and little about the countess of heritzburg. you have given excellent reasons why you should speak here, but none why i should answer. for shame, sir,' the countess continued tremulously, letting her indignation appear. 'i lost last night my nearest relative and my old servant. i am still distracted with anxiety on their account. yet, because i stand alone, unprotected, and with none of my kin by my side, you choose this time to press your suit. for shame, general tzerclas!'
-'himmel!' he exclaimed, forgetting himself in his annoyance--the fever of excitement was still in his blood--'do you think the presence of that dandified silken scarf would have kept me silent? no, my lady!'
-she looked at him for a moment, astonished. the contemptuous reference to the waldgrave, the change of tone, opened her eyes still wider.
-'i think you do not understand me,' she said coldly.
-'i do more; i love you,' he answered hotly. and his eyes burned as he looked at her. 'you are fit to be a queen, my queen! and if i live, sweet cousin, i will make you one!'
-'let that go by,' she said contemptuously, bearing up against his look of admiration as well as she could and continuing to move, so that he had to walk also. 'what you do not understand is my nature--which is, not to desert my friends when they are in trouble, nor to play when those who have served me faithfully are missing.'
-'i can help neither the one nor the other,' he answered. but his brow began to darken, and he stood silent a moment. then he broke out in a different tone. 'by heaven!' he said, 'i am in no mood for play. and i think that you are playing with me!'
-'i do not understand you!' she said. her tone should have frozen him.
-'i have asked a question. will you answer me yes or no,' he persisted. 'will you be my wife, or will you not?'
-she did not blench. 'this is rather rough wooing, is it not?' she said with fine scorn.
-'this is a camp, and i am a soldier.'
-she shrugged her shoulders. 'i do not think i like rough ways,' she said.
-he controlled himself by a mighty effort. 'pardon me,' he said with a sickly smile, which sat ill on his flushed and angry face. 'perhaps i am somewhat spoiled, and forget myself. but, like the man in the bible, i am accustomed to say to some, "go," and they go, and to others, "do it," and it is done. and woe to those who disobey me. possibly this makes me a rough wooer. but, countess, the ways of the world are rough; the times are rough. we do not know what to-morrow will bring forth, and whatever we want we want quickly. more, sweetheart,' he continued, drawing a step nearer to her and speaking in a voice he vainly strove to modulate, 'a little roughness before marriage is better than ill-treatment afterwards. i have known men who wooed on their knees bring their wives to theirs very quickly after the knot was tied. i am not of that kind.'
-my lady's heart sickened. despite the assurance of his last words, she saw the man as he was; she read his will in his eyes; and though his sudden frankness was in reality the result of overmastering excitement, she had the added horror of supposing it to be dictated by her friendless position and the absence of the last men who might have protected her. she knew that her only hope lay in her courage, and, though her heart leapt under her bodice, she faced him boldly.
-'you wish for an answer?' she asked.
-'i have said so,' he answered.
-'then i shall not give you one now,' she replied with a quiet smile. 'you see, general, i am not one of those to whom you can say "go," and they go, and "do," and it is done. i must choose my own time for saying yes or no. and this time'--she continued, looking round, and suffering a little shudder to escape her, as she pointed to the valley below--'i do not like. i am no coward, but i do not love the smell of blood. i will take time to consider your offer, if you please; and, meanwhile, i think you gallant gentleman enough not to press me against my will.'
-she had a fan in her hand, and she began to walk again; she held it up, between her face and the sun, which was still low. he walked by her side, his brow as black as thunder. he read her thoughts so far correctly that he felt the evasion boded him no good; but the influence of her courage and pride was such that he shrank from throwing down the mask altogether, or using words which only force could make good. true, it wanted only a little to urge him over the edge, but her lucky star and bold demeanour prevailed for the time, and perhaps the cool, fresh air had sobered him.
-'i suppose a lady's wish must be law,' he muttered, though still he scowled. 'but i hope that you will not make a long demand on my patience.'
-'that, too, you must leave to me,' she replied with a flash of coquetry, which it cost her much to assume. 'this morning i am so full of anxiety, that i scarcely know what i am saying. surely your people must know by this time if they--they are among the dead?'
-'they are not,' he answered sulkily.
-'then they must have been captured?' she said, a tremor in her voice.
-he nodded. at that moment a man came up to say that breakfast was ready. the general repeated the message to her.
-'with your leave i will take it with my women,' she answered with presence of mind. 'i slept ill, and i am poor company this morning,' she added, smiling faintly.
-he saw that she had turned pale, and he assented with a tolerable grace. 'let me give you my hand to your fire,' he said anxiously.
-'willingly,' she answered.
-it was the last effort of her diplomacy, and she hated herself for it. still, it won her what she wanted--peace, a respite, a little time to think.
-yet as she sat and shivered in the sunshine, and made believe to eat, and tried to hide her thoughts, even from her women, a crushing sense of her loneliness took possession of her. she had read often and often, with scarce a quickening of the pulse, of men and women in tragic straits--of men and women brought face to face with death, nay, choosing it. but she had never pictured their feelings till now--their despair, their shrinkings, their bitter lookings back, as the iron doors closed upon them. she had never considered that such facts might enter into her own life.
-of her own free will she had placed herself in the power of a man who loved her, and whom she now hated with an untimely hatred, that was half fear and half loathing. in his power! her heart stood still, and then beat faster, as she framed the thought. the sunshine, though it was summer, seemed to fall grey and pale on the hill sward; the morning air, though the day was warm, made her shiver. the trumpet call, the sharp command, the glitter of weapons, that had so often charmed her imagination, startled her now. the food was like ashes in her mouth; she could not swallow it. she had been blind, and now she must pay for her folly.
-she bad passed the night in the lee of one of the wooded knolls that studded the ridge, and her fire had been kindled there. the nearest group of soldiers--tzerclas' staff, whose harsh voices and reckless laughter came to her ears at intervals--had their fire full a hundred paces away. for a moment she entertained the desperate idea that she might slip away, alone, or with her women, and, passing from clump to clump, might gain the valley from which she had ascended, and, hiding in the woods, get somehow to cassel. the smallest reflection showed her that the plan was not possible, and it was rejected as soon as formed. but a moment later she was tempted to wish that she had put it into effect. an officer made his appearance, with his hat in his hand and an air of haste, and wished to know, with the general's service, whether she could be ready in an hour.
-'for what?' she asked, rising. she had been sitting on the grass.
-'to start, your excellency,' he replied politely.
-'to start!' she exclaimed, taken by surprise. 'whither, sir?'
-the blood rushed to her face. 'to the camp?' she repeated. 'but is the general going to start this morning? now?'
-'in an hour, madam.'
-'and leave the waldgrave rupert--and my servant?' she cried, in a voice of burning indignation. 'are they to be abandoned? it is impossible! i will see the general. where is he?' she continued impetuously.
-'he is in the valley,' the man answered.
-'then take me to him,' she said, stepping forward. 'i will speak to him. he cannot know. he has not thought.'
-but the officer stood silent, without offering to move. the countess's eyes flashed. 'do you hear, sir?' she cried. 'lead on, if you please. i asked you to take me to him.'
-'i heard, madam,' he replied in a low voice, 'and i crave your pardon. but this is an army, and i am part of it. i can take orders only from general tzerclas. i have received them, and i cannot go beyond them.'
-for a moment the countess stood glaring at him, her face on fire with wrath and indignation. she had been so long used to command, she was of a nature so frank and imperious, that she trembled on the verge of an outburst that could only have destroyed the little dignity it was still possible for her to retain. fortunately in the nick of time her eyes met those of a group of officers who stood at a distance, watching her. she thought that she read amusement in their gaze, and a pride greater than that which had impelled her to anger came to her aid. she controlled herself by a mighty effort. the colour left her cheeks as quickly as it had flown to them. she looked at the man coldly and disdainfully.
-'true,' she said, 'you do well to remind me. it is not easy to remember that in war many things must give way. you may go, sir. i shall be ready.'
-but as she stood and saw her horses saddled, her heart sank like lead. all the misery of her false position came home to her. she felt that now she was alone indeed, and powerless. she was leaving behind her the only chance that remained of regaining her friends. she was going back to put herself more completely, if that were possible, in the general's hands. yet she dared not resist! she dared not court defeat! as her only hope and reserve lay in her wits and in the prestige of her rank and beauty, to lower that prestige by an unavailing struggle, by an unwomanly display, would be to destroy at a blow half her defences.
-the countess saw this; and though her heart ached for her friends, and her eyes often turned back in unavailing hope, she mounted with a serene brow. her horses had been brought to the top of the hill, and she rode down by a path which had been discovered. when she had gone a league on the backward road she came upon the foremost part of the captured convoy; which, was immediately halted and drawn aside, that she might pass more conveniently and escape the noise and dust it occasioned.
-among the rest were three waggons laden with wounded. awnings had been spread to veil them from the sun, and she was spared the sight of their sufferings. but their meanings and cries, as the waggons jolted and creaked over the rough road, drove the blood from her cheeks. she passed them quickly--they were many and she was one, and she could do nothing--and rode on, little thinking who lay under the awnings, or whose eyes followed her as she went.
-among the wounded.
-when a man lies fettered at the bottom of a jolting waggon, and, unable to help himself, is made a pillow for wounded wretches, whose feverish struggles go near to stifling him; and when to these miseries are added the heat of a sultry night, thirst, and the near prospect of death, passion soon dies down. anger gives place to pain and the chill of apprehension. the man begins to know himself again--forgets his enemies, thinks of his friends.
-it was so with me. the general's back was not turned before i ceased to cry out; and that gained me the one alleviation i had--that i was not gagged. they piled the waggon with bleeding, groaning men,--of our side, of course, for no quarter was given to the other,--and i shuddered as each mangled wretch came in. still, i had my mouth free. if i could not move, i could breathe, and hear what passed round me. i could see the dark night sky lit up by the glare of the fires, or, later, watch the stars shining coldly and indifferently down on this scene of pain and misery.
-the peasant and the soldier sup the real miseries of war; the noble and the officer, whose it is to dare death in the field, but rarely, very rarely to lie wounded under the burning sun or through the freezing night, only taste them. a place of arms falls; there is quarter for my lord and a pass and courtesy for my lady, but edge and point for the common herd. to risk all and get nothing--or a penny a day, unpaid--is the lot of most.
-when morning at last dawned, i was half dead. my head seemed bursting; my hands were purple with the tightness of my bonds. deep groans broke from me. i moved my eyes--the only things i could move--in an agony. round me i heard the sick thanking god as the light grew stronger, and muttering words of hope. but the light helped me little. where i lay, trussed like a fowl, i could see nothing except the sky--whence the sun would soon add to my miseries--and the heads of the two men who sat propped against the waggon boards next to me.
-i took one of these to be dead, for he had slipped to one side, and the arm with which he had stayed himself against the floor of the waggon stood out stiff and stark. the other man had the comfort of the corner; there was a cloak under him and a pad behind him. but his head was sunk on his breast, and for a while i thought him dead too, and had a horrible dread that he would slide over on to my face and stifle me. but he did not, and by-and-by, when the sun had risen, and i felt that i could bear it no longer, he woke up and raised his fierce, white face and groaned.
-it was ludwig. he stared at me for a minute or more in a dazed, stupid fashion. then he moved his leg and cried out with pain. after that he looked at me more sensibly, and by-and-by spoke.
-'donner, man!' he said. 'what is it? you look like a ripe mulberry.'
-i tried to answer him, but my lips and throat were so parched and swollen i could only murmur. he saw my lips move, however, and guessed how it was with me.
-'they have tied you up with a vengeance!' he said with a grim smile. 'here, franz! willibrod! who is there? come, some one. do you hear, you lazy knaves?' he continued in a hoarse croak. 'when i am about again i will find some of you quicker heels!'
-a man just risen came grumbling to the side of the waggon. ludwig bade him climb in and loosen my bonds, and set me up against the side.
-'and take away that carrion!' he added brutally. 'dead men pay no fares. that is better. ay, give him some water. he will come round.'
-ludwig gave me food and a drink from his flask. i thanked him again.
-'you are a man!' he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'it was a pity you would knot your own rope. as for these chicken-hearted tremblers,' he continued, squinting askance at our companions, 'a fico for them! to call themselves soldiers and pule like women! faugh! i am sick of them!'
-they came by-and-by and horsed our waggon and turned us round, and presently we took our place in the slow, creaking procession, and began to move up the pass. i looked everywhere for my lady, but could see nothing of her. the noise was prodigious, the dust terrible, the glare intolerable. i was thankful when some kind heart brought a waggon cloth and stretched it over us. after that things were better; and between the heat and the monotony of the motion i fell asleep, and slept until the afternoon was well advanced.
-then a singular thing occurred. the waggon which followed ours was drawn by four horses abreast, whose heads as they plodded wearily along at the tail of our waggon were so close to us that we could see easily into the vehicle, which was full of wounded men, and covered with an awning. we could see easily, i say; but the steady cloud of dust through which we moved and the white glare of the sunlight gave to everything so phantom-like an appearance that it was hard to say whether we were looking on real things.
-be that as it may, the first thing i saw when i awoke and rubbed my eyes, was the waldgrave's face! he lay in the front part of the waggon, his head on the side-board. thinking i dreamed, or that the dust deceived me, i rubbed my eyes again and looked. still it was he. his eyes were closed. he was pale, where the dust did not hide all colour; his head moved with the motion of the wheels. but he seemed to be alive, for even while i looked, a man who sat by him leaned forward and moistened his forehead with water.
-trembling with excitement, i touched ludwig on the shoulder. 'look!' i said. 'the waldgrave!'
-he looked and nodded. 'yes,' he said, chuckling. 'now you see what you have done for yourself. and all for nothing!'
-'but who took him up?' i persisted.
-'the general,' he answered sententiously. 'who else?'
-'why?' i cried in a fever. 'why did he do it?'
-ludwig shrugged his shoulders. 'he knows his own business,' he said. 'i suppose that he found he had life in him.'
-'did he take him up at once? after i was seized?'
-'of course. whether he will live or no is another matter.'
-the helpless way in which the dusty, bedraggled head rolled as the waggon jolted, warned me of that. still, he was alive. he might live; and i longed to be beside him, to tend and nurse him, to make the most of the least hope. but my eyes fell on my fettered hands; and when i looked again he had disappeared. he had sunk down in the cart, and was out of sight. i was left to wonder whether he was dead, or had only changed his posture for another more comfortable. and the dust growing ever thicker, and the sun-glare less as the day advanced, i presently lost sight even of the waggon.
-we lay that night in a coppice on the left bank of the river. each waggon halted where it stood at sunset, so that there was no common camp, but all along the road a line of bivouacs. but for the cloud of anxiety which darkened my mind, and the cords which bound my hands and constantly reminded me of my troubles, i might have enjoyed the comparative quietness of that night, the evening coolness, the soft green light, the freshness of leaf and bough, which lapped us round and seemed so much the more refreshing, as we had passed the day in a fever of heat and dust. but the unexpected sight of the waldgrave had excited me; and i confess that as we came nearer to the camp, the tremors i felt on my own account grew more violent. i recalled with a shudder the shooting-match at which i had been present, and the leather targets. i drew vivid pictures of another shooting-match in the same valley--of my lady looking on in ignorance, of minutes of suspense, of a sudden pang, a gagged scream, of hours of lingering torture.
-then, i confess, i wished with all my heart that i had taken any chance, however slight. at sight of the familiar lines, the dusty, littered roads, the squalid crowds that came out to meet us, my gorge rose. the very smell of the place which i had so hated gave me qualms. i turned hot and cold as we rumbled slowly through the throng and one pointed me out to another, and i saw round me again the dark, lowering faces, the unsexed women, the horde of vile sutlers and footboys. they surged round the waggon, jeering and staring; and if i had shrunk from them when my hands were free, i loathed them still more now that i lay a prisoner and any moment might place me at their mercy.
-i had seen nothing of the waldgrave or the waggon which carried him for nearly two days, but as we passed through the gates i caught sight of the latter moving slowly on, a little way in front of us. both waggons halted inside the camp while the wounded were taken out. i prepared to follow, but was bidden to stay. then i began to realize my position. when the waggon bore me on alone--alone, though two or three pikemen and a rabble of gibing, grinning horse-boys marched beside me--i felt my blood run cold, and found my only consolation in the fact that the other waggon still went in front, and seemed to be bound for the same goal.
-'what are you going to do with me?' i asked one of the ruffians who guarded me.
-'prison,' he answered laconically.
-a mocking voice called to me to descend, and though i liked the look of the place little, and the aspect of the gang still less, i had no choice but to obey. i scrambled down, and passed as quickly as i could down the lane opened for me. a row of more villainous faces it has seldom been my fate to see, but the last on the right by the gate was so much the worst, that it caught my eye instantly. it was seamed with scars and bloated with drink, and it wore a ferocious grin. i was not surprised when the knave, a huge pikeman, dealt me, as i passed, a brutal shove with his knee, which sent me staggering into the enclosure, where i fell all at length on my face.
-the blow hurt my hip cruelly, and yet the sight of that drunken, ugly giant filled me with a rush of joy and hope that effaced all other feelings. i forgot my fellow-prisoners, i forgot even the waldgrave--who to be sure was there, sitting doubled up against the wall, and looking very white and sick. for the man with the seamed face was drunken steve of heritzburg, whom we had left behind us in the castle, to be cured of his wounds. i had punished him a dozen times; almost as often my lady had threatened to drive him from the place and her service. always he had had the name of a sullen, wilful fellow. but i had found him staunch as any tyke in time of need. for dogged fidelity and a ferocious courage, proof against the utmost danger, i knew that i could depend on him against the world; while the prompt line of conduct he had adopted at sight of me led me to hope something from wits which drink had not yet deadened.
-it was well i had this spark of hope, for i found the waldgrave so ill as to be beyond comfort or counsel, and without it i should have been in a parlous state. the place of our confinement was roofless, ill-smelling, strewn with refuse and filth, a mere dog-yard. a little straw alone protected us from the soil. everything we did was watched through the open bars of the gate; and bad as this place was, we shared it with two soldiers, who lay, heavily shackled, in one corner, and sullenly eyed my movements.
-i did what i could for the waldgrave, and then, as darkness fell, i sat down with my back to the wall and thought over our position--miserably enough. half an hour passed, and i was beginning to nod, when a slight noise as of a rat gnawing a board caught my ear. i raised my head and listened; the sound came from the gate. i stood up and crept towards it. as i expected, i found steve on guard outside. even in the darkness it was impossible to mistake his huge figure.
-'hush!' he muttered. 'is it you, master?'
-'yes,' i replied in the same tone. 'are you alone?'
-'for the moment,' he answered hoarsely. 'not for long. so speak quickly. what is to be done?'
-alas! that was more than i could say. 'what of my lady?' i replied vaguely. 'is she here? in the camp?'
-'to be sure.'
-'and marie wort? the papist girl?'
-'then you must see marie,' i answered. 'she will know my lady's mind. until we know that, we can do nothing. do not tell her where i am--it may hurt the girl; or of the waldgrave, but learn how they are. if things are bad with my lady, bid them gain time. you understand?'
-'yes, yes,' he grunted. 'and that is to be all, is it? you will have nothing done to-night?'
-'to be sure.'
-'no, no,' i replied, trembling for the man's rashness. 'we can do nothing here until horses are got and placed for us, and the pass-word learned, and provisions gathered, and half a dozen other things.'
-'donner! i don't know how all that is to be done,' he muttered despondently.
-'nor i,' i said with a shiver. 'you have not heard anything of a--a shooting-match, have you?'
-'it is for sunday,' he answered.
-'and to-day is tuesday,' i said. 'steve! you will not lose time?'
-'you will see her in the morning? in the morning, lad,' i continued feverishly, clinging to the bars and peering out at him. 'i must get out of this before sunday! and this is tuesday! steve!'
-'hush!' he answered. 'they are coming back.'
-greek and greek.
-what my lady's thoughts were during her long ride back to the camp, i do not know. but i have heard her say that when she rode into the village, a day and a half in advance of the dusty, lumbering convoy, she could scarcely believe that it was the place she had left, the place in which she had lived for a fortnight. and this, though all remained the same. so much does the point from which we look at things alter their aspect.
-the general had sent on the news of the waldgrave's loss by messenger, that she might be spared the pain of telling it; and fraulein max and marie wort were waiting on the wooden platform before the house when she rode wearily in. the sight of those two gave her a certain sense of relief and home coming, merely because they were women and wore petticoats. but that was all. the village, the reeking camp, the squalid soldiery, the whining beggars filled her--now that her eyes were opened and she saw this ugly face of war stripped of the glamour with which her fancy had invested it--with fear and repulsion. she wondered that she could ever have liked the place and been gay in it, or drawn pleasure from the amusements which now seemed poor and tawdry.
-fraulein max ran down into the road to meet her, and when she had dismounted, covered her with tearful caresses. but the countess, after receiving her greetings, still looked round wistfully as if she missed some one; and then in a moment moved from her, and mounting the steps went swiftly to the dark corner by the porch whither marie wort had run, and where she now stood leaning against the house with her face to the wall.
-my lady, whom few had ever seen unbend, took the girl in her arms, and laid her head on her shoulder and stroked her hair pitifully.
-'hush, hush, child!' she murmured, her eyes wet with tears. 'poor child, poor child! is it so very bad?'
-but marie could only sob.
-they went into the house in a moment after that, those three, with the waiting-women. and then a change came over the countess. fraulein max blinked to see it. my lady who, outside, had been so tender, began, before her riding cloak was off, to walk up and down like a caged wolf, with hard eyes and cheeks burning with indignation. fraulein max spoke to her timidly--said that the meal was ready, that my lady's woman was waiting, that my lady must be tired. but the countess put her by almost with an oath. for hours she had been playing a part, a thing her proud soul loathed. for hours she had hidden, not her sorrow only and her anger, but her anxieties, her fears, her terrors. now she must be herself or die.
-besides, the thing pressed! she had her woman's wits, and might stave off the general's offer for a few days, for a week. but a week--what was that? no wonder that she looked on the four helpless women round her, and realised that these were her only helpers now, her only protection; no wonder that she cried out.
-'i have been a fool!' she said, looking at them with burning eyes. 'a fool! when martin warned me, i would not listen; when the waldgrave hinted, i laughed at him. i was bewitched, like a silly fool in her teens! don't contradict me!' and she stamped her foot impatiently. fraulein max had raised her hand.
-'i don't,' the fraulein answered. 'i don't understand you.'
-'do you understand that empty, chair?' my lady answered bitterly. 'or that empty stool?'
-fraulein anna blinked more and more. 'but war,' she said mildly--'a necessary evil, voetius calls it--war, countess----'
-'oh!' my lady cried in a fury. 'as carried on by these, it is a horror, a fiendish thing! i did not know before. now i have seen it. wait, wait, girl, until it takes those you love, and threatens your own safety, and then talk to me of war!'
-but fraulein anna set her face mutinously. 'still, i do not understand,' she said slowly, winking her short-sighted eyes like an owl in the daylight. 'you talk as if we had cause not only to grieve--as we have, indeed--but to fear. are we not safe here? general tzerclas----'
-'bah!' the countess cried, trembling with emotion. 'don't let me hear his name! i hate him. he is false. false, girl. i do not trust him; i do not believe him; and i would to heaven we were out of his hands!'
-even marie wort, sitting white and quiet in a corner, looked up at that. as for fraulein max, she passed her tongue slowly over her lips, but did not answer; and for a moment there was silence in the room. then marie said very softly, 'thank god!'
-my lady turned to her roughly. 'why do you say that?' she said.
-'because of what i have learned since you left us,' the girl answered, in a frightened whisper. 'there was a man who lived in this house, my lady.'
-'yes, yes,' the countess muttered eagerly. 'i remember he begged of me, and general tzerclas gave him money. that was one of the things that blinded me.'
-the countess stared at her incredulously, rage and horror in her face. 'that man whom i saw?' she cried. 'it is not possible! you have been deceived.'
-but marie wort shook her head. 'it is true,' she said simply.
-'then heaven help us all!' the countess whispered in a thrilling tone. 'for we are in that man's power!'
-there was a stricken silence after that, which lasted some minutes. the room seemed to grow darker, the house more silent, the road on which they looked through the unglazed window more dusty, squalid, dreary--dreary with the summer dreariness of drought. one of the waiting-women began to cry. the other stood bolt upright, looking out with startled eyes, and lips half open.
-'yes, all,' the countess presently went on, her voice hard and composed. 'he has asked me to be his wife. he has honoured me so far.' she laughed a thin, mirthless laugh. 'if i am willing, therefore, well. if i am not--still he will wed me. after that he will keep us here in the midst of these horrors. or he will march to heritzburg, and then god help heritzburg and my people!'
-'the child?' the countess said presently, in a different tone. 'has it been recovered?'
-marie shook her head; and a moment later threw her kerchief over her face and went out. they heard her sobs as she went along the passage.
-my lady frowned. 'if we could get a message to count leuchtenstein,' she murmured thoughtfully. 'but i do not know where he is. he may return to seek the child, however; and that is our best chance, i think.'
-in the evening the general called to learn whether she was much fatigued; and she fancied she detected in his manner a masterfulness and a familiarity from which it had been free. but her suspicions rendered her so prone to read between the lines, that it is possible that she saw some things that were not there. her own feelings she succeeded in masking, except in one matter. he brought count waska with him; and it occurred to her, in her fear and helplessness, that she might enlist the bohemian on her side. such schemes come to women, even to proud women; and though waska, half sportsman and half sot, and in body a mountain of flesh, was an unlikely knight-errant, she plied him so craftily, that when the two were gone she sat for an hour in a state of exaltation, believing that here a new and unexpected way to safety might open. the bohemian was second in command, though at a great interval. he was popular, and in some points a gentleman. could she excite in him jealousy, discontent, even passion, her position was such that she was in no mood to stand on scruples.
-but when the general came next day, he did not bring waska; nor the day after. and he showed so plainly that he saw through the design, and suspected her, that he left her white and furious. indeed it was a question who was left by this interview the more excited, my lady, who saw the circle growing ever narrower round her, and read with growing clearness the man's determination to win her at all costs and by all means; or the general, whose passion every day augmented, who saw in her both the woman he desired and the heiress, and would fain, if he could, have won her heart as well as her person.
-the possession of power tempts to the use of it, and he began to lose patience. he had a screw in readiness, he fancied, that would bend even that proud neck and humble those knees. a day or two more he would give her, and then he would turn it. hate itself is not more cruel than love despised!
-but he did not count on her influence over him. the day or two passed, and another day or two, and still she kept him amused and kept him at bay. sometimes he saw through her wiles, and came near to vowing that he would not give her another hour. will she, nill she, she should wed him. but then the glamour of her presence and her beauty blinded him again. and so a week went slowly by; each day won, at what a cost of pride, of courage, of self-respect!
-at the end of that time my lady's face had grown so white and drawn under the strain, that when she sat alone she looked years older than her age. the light still flashed in her eyes; they had grown only the larger. but her cheeks and her lips had lost their colour, her hair its gloss. when no one was watching her, she glanced round her like a hunted animal. when anything crossed her, she flew into fearful rages with her women. they were so useless, so helpless! she was like a scorpion i have heard of, that, ringed round with fire, stings all within its reach.
-how many nights she tossed, sleepless; how often she went over the odds against her; grasped at this idea or that; thought of horses and roads, ways and means, the distance to cassel, or the chances of leuchtenstein's return, i cannot say; but i can guess. at last, during one of these night vigils, something happened. she was lying, torturing herself with the thought that to this constant putting off there could only be one end, when she heard sneaking footsteps moving in the passage. the wall which divided it from her room ran beside her bed, and, lying still, she heard the rustling of garments against the boards.
-something like this she had feared in her worst moments; and on the instant she sat up and listened, her heart beating wildly. since her return the two waiting-women had lain in her room. she could hear them breathing now. but beside and above that, she could hear the stealthy rustling sound she had heard before. then it ceased.
-she rose trembling. the windows were shuttered, and the lamp which commonly burned in a basin had gone out. the room, therefore, was quite dark. without awaking the women she stole across the floor to the door, and there set her ear to the panels and listened. but she heard nothing except the distant shout of a reveller, and the mournful howling of one of the pack of curs that infested the camp; all was still.
-still she crouched there listening, and presently her patience was rewarded. some one entered by the outer door, and went quickly along the passage, the boards creaking so loudly that it was a wonder the women were not aroused. the footsteps went straight to the room where fraulein max and marie wort slept. some one had been out and returned!
-there was a hint of treachery here, and my lady stood up, her face growing hard. which of the two was it? in a moment she had her answer. a dozen times in the last week marie had puzzled her; a dozen times the papist girl's easy resignation had angered her. she had caught her more than once smiling--smiling childish smiles that would not be repressed. this was the secret, then!
-the countess grew hot, and in a moment was out of her room and at the door of that other room. a taper still burned there; its light showed through the cracks. without hesitation she thrust the door open, and entering surprised marie wort in the very act. the girl was standing in the middle of the floor taking off a cloak. guilt and fear were written on her face.
-'you wicked girl!' the countess cried, her eyes blazing.
-then she stopped. for marie, instead of retreating before her, pointed with a warning finger to a second empty pallet; and my lady looking round saw with astonishment that fraulein max was missing.
-'what does this mean?' the countess muttered in a different tone.
-marie, trembling and listening, put her finger to her lips. 'hush, hush, my lady,' she whispered. 'she must not find you here! she must not, indeed. i heard her go out, and i followed. i have heard all.'
-'all?' the countess stammered, and she began to tremble.
-'yes,' the girl answered. then 'go, go! my lady,' she cried. she was shaking with agitation, and looked round as if for a way of escape. but there was no second door to the room. 'if she finds you here we are lost. go back, and in the morning----'
-she stopped abruptly, and her eyes grew wide. the countess listening too, and catching the infection of her fear, heard a board creak below.
-for a moment the two stood in the middle of the floor, gazing into one another's eyes. then marie, with a sudden movement, thrust my lady down on her pallet, and with the other hand put out the light.
-they lay, scarcely daring to breathe, and heard fraulein anna grope her way in, and stand awhile, silent and listening, as if she found something suspicious in the extinction of the light. but the taper--it was a mere rushlight--had done this before, and marie stirred so naturally, that fraulein max's doubts passed away. she put off her cloak quickly, and presently--but not, as it seemed to the countess, until an hour had elapsed--they heard her begin to breathe regularly. a few minutes more and they had no doubt she slept. then marie touched my lady's arm, and the latter, rising softly, stole out of the room.
-the adventure left the countess's thoughts in a whirl. she hated double-dealing as much as any one, and she could scarcely contain herself before fraulein max. it was as much as she could do to wear a smooth face for an hour, until a chance occasion, which fortunately came early in the day, left her alone with marie. then she turned, almost fiercely, on the girl.
-'what is this?' she said. 'what does it all mean? himmel! tell me! tell me quickly!'
-marie wort looked at her with tears in her eyes. 'you should be able to guess, my lady,' she said sadly. 'there is a traitor among us.'
-marie nodded. 'she is in his pay,' she said simply.
-'his? the general's?'
-'yes,' marie answered, speaking quickly, with her eyes on the door. 'she met him last night, and told him what you feel about him.'
-the countess drew a deep breath. her face turned a shade paler. she sat up straight in her chair. 'all?' she said huskily.
-'he said he would have an answer to-day. then i left. i did not hear any more.'
-the countess sat for a minute as if turned to stone. here was an end of putting off--of smiles, and pleasant words, and the little craftinesses which had hitherto served her. stern necessity, hard fate were before her. she was of a high courage, but terror was fast mastering her, when marie touched her on the arm.
-'if you can put him off, until this evening,' the girl muttered, 'i think something may be done.'
-'something. i do not know what,' the girl answered in a troubled tone.
-the countess rose suddenly. 'ah! i would like to choke her!' she cried hoarsely. she stretched out her arms.
-'hush, hush, my lady!' marie whispered. the countess's violence frightened her. 'i think, if you can put him off until to-night, we may contrive something.'
-marie's frightened face showed that she thought this possible, but she said no more, and would give my lady no explanation, though the countess pressed for it. it was decided in the end that the countess should plead sudden illness, and use that pretext both to avoid fraulein max, and postpone her interview with the general until the evening.
-he came at noon, and the countess heard his horses pawing and fretting in the road, and she sat up in her darkened room with a white face. what if he would not accept the excuse? if he would see her? what if the moment had come in which his will and hers must decide the struggle? she rose and stood listening, as fierce in her beauty as any trapped savage creature. her heartbeat wildly, her bosom heaved. but in a moment she heard the horses move away, and presently marie came in to tell her that he would wait till evening.
-'no longer?' the countess asked, hiding her face in the pillow.
-'not an hour, he said,' marie answered, indicating by a gesture that the door was open, and that fraulein max was listening. 'he was--different,' she whispered.
-'how?' my lady muttered.
-'he swore at me,' marie answered in the same tone. 'and he spoke of you--somehow differently.'
-the countess laughed, but far from joyously. 'i suppose to-night--i must see him?' she said. she tried as she spoke to press herself more deeply into the pillows, as if she might escape that way. her flesh crept, and she shivered though she was as hot as fire.
-once or twice in the hours which followed she was almost beside herself. sometimes she prayed. more often she walked up and down the room like one in a fever. she did not know on what she was trusting, and she could have struck marie when the girl, appealed to again and again, would explain nothing, and name no quarter from which help might come. all the afternoon the camp lay grilling in the sunshine, and in the shuttered room in the middle of it my lady suffered. had the house lain by the river she might have tried to escape; but the camp girdled it on three sides, and on the fourth, where a swampy inlet guarded one flank of the village, a deep ditch as well as the morass forbade all passage.
-she remained in her room until she heard the unwelcome sounds which told of the general's return. then she came into the outer room, her eyes glittering, a red spot on either cheek, all pretence at an end. her glance withered fraulein max, who sat blinking in a corner with a very evil conscience. and to marie wort, when the girl came near her on the pretence of adjusting her lace sleeves, she had only one word to say.
-'you slut!' she hissed, her breath hot on the girl's cheek. 'if you fail me i will kill you. begone out of my sight!'
-the child, excited before, broke down at that, and, bursting into a fit of weeping, ran out. her sobs were still in the air when general tzerclas entered.
-the countess's face was flushed, and her bearing, full of passion and defiance, must have warned him what to expect, if he felt any doubt before. the sun was just setting, the room growing dusk. he stood awhile, after saluting her, in doubt how he should come to the point, or in admiration; for her scorn and anger only increased her beauty and his feeling for her. at length he pointed lightly to the women, who kept their places by the door.
-'is it your wish, fair cousin,' he said slowly, 'that i should speak before these, or will you see me alone?'
-'your spy, that cat there,' my lady answered, carried away by her temper, 'may go! the women will stay.'
-fraulein max, singled out by that merciless finger, sprang forward, her face mottled with surprise and terror. for a second she hesitated. then she rushed towards her friend, as if she would embrace her.
-'countess!' she cried. 'rotha! surely you are mad! you cannot think that i would----'
-my lady turned, and in a flash struck her fiercely on the cheek with her open hand. 'liar!' she cried; 'go to your master, you whipped hound!'
-the dutch woman recoiled with a cry of pain, and sobbing wildly went back to her place. the general laughed harshly.
-'you hold with me, sweetheart,' he said. 'discipline before everything. but you have not my patience.'
-she looked at him--angry with him, angry with herself, her hand to her bosom--but she did not answer.
-'for you must allow,' he continued--his tone and his eyes still bantered her--'that i have been patient. i have been like a man athirst in the desert; but i have waited day after day, until now i can wait no longer, sweetheart.'
-'so you tamper with my--with that woman!' she said scornfully.
-the general shrugged his shoulders and laughed grimly. 'why not?' he said. 'what are waiting-women and the like made for, if not to be bribed--or slapped?'
-she hated him for that sly hit--if never before; but she controlled herself. she would throw the burden on him.
-he read the thought, and it led him to change his tone. there was a gloomy fire in his eyes, and smouldering passion in his voice, when he spoke again.
-'well, countess,' he said, 'i am here for your answer.'
-'to the question i asked you some time ago,' he rejoined, dwelling on her with sullen eyes. 'i asked you to be my wife. your answer?'
-'prythee!' she said proudly, 'this is a strange way of wooing.'
-'it is not of my choice that i woo in company,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders. 'my answer; that is all i want--and you.'
-'then you shall have the first, and not the last,' she exclaimed on a sudden impulse. 'no, no--a hundred times no! if you do not see that by pressing me now,' she continued impetuously, 'when i am alone, friendless, and unprotected, you insult me, you should see it, and i do.'
-for a moment there was silence. then he laughed; but his voice, notwithstanding his mastery over it and in spite of that laugh, shook with rage and resentment. 'as i expected,' he said. 'i knew last night that you hated me. you have been playing a part throughout. you loathe me. yes, madam, you may wince,' he continued bitterly, 'for you shall still be my wife; and when you are my wife we will talk of that.'
-'never!' she said, with a brave face; but her heart beat wildly, and a mist rose before her eyes.
-he laughed. 'my legions are round me,' he said. 'where are yours?'
-'you are a gentleman,' she answered with an effort. 'you will let me go.'
-'if i do not?'
-'there are those who will know how to avenge me.'
-he laughed again. 'i do not know them, countess,' he said contemptuously. 'for hesse cassel, he has his hands full at nuremberg, and will be likely, when wallenstein has done with him, to need help himself. the king of sweden--the brightest morning ends soonest in rain--and he will end at nuremberg. bernhard of weimar, leuchtenstein, all the fanatics fall with him. only the banner of the free companies stands and waves ever the wider. be advised,' he continued grimly. 'bend, countess, or i have the means to break you.'
-'never!' she said.
-'so you say now,' he answered slowly. 'you will not say so in five minutes. if you care nothing for yourself, have a care for your friends.'
-'you said i had none,' she retorted hoarsely.
-she started and looked at him wildly, her lips apart, her eyes wide with hope, fear, expectation. what did he mean? what could he mean by this new turn? ha!
-she had her face towards the window, and dark as the room was growing--outside the light was failing fast--he read the thought in her eyes, and nodded.
-'the waldgrave?' he said lightly. 'yes, he is alive, countess, at present; and your steward also.'
-'they are prisoners?' she whispered, her cheeks grown white.
-'prisoners; and under sentence of death.'
-'why?' she muttered. but alas! she knew; she knew already.
-'they are hostages for your good behaviour,' he answered in his cold, mocking tone. 'if their principal satisfies me, good; they will go free. if not, they die--to-morrow.'
-'to-morrow?' she gasped.
-'to-morrow,' he answered ruthlessly. 'now i think we understand one another.'
-she threw up her hand suddenly, as if she were about to vent on him all the passions which consumed her--the terror, rage, and shame which swelled in her breast. but something in his gibing tone, something in the set lines of his figure--she could not see his face--checked her. she let her hand fall in a gesture of despair, and shrank into herself, shuddering. she looked at him as at a serpent--that fascinated her. at last she murmured--
-'you will not dare. what have they done to you?'
-'nothing,' he answered. 'it is not their affair; it is yours.'
-'where are they?' she moaned at last, though he had already told her.
-'in the camp,' he said.
-'can i--can i see them?' she panted.
-'afterwards,' he answered, with the smile of a fiend; 'when you are my wife.'
-that added the last straw. she took two steps to the table, and sitting down blindly, covered her face with her hands. her shoulders began to tremble, her head sank lower and lower on the table. her pride was gone.
-'heaven help us!' she whispered in a passion of grief. 'heaven help us, for there is no help here!'
-'that is better,' he said, eyeing her coldly. 'we shall soon come to terms now.'
-'one word and you are a dead man!' a stern voice hissed in his ear. then he saw another barrel gleam in the lamplight, and he stood still.
-'what is this?' he said, looking from one to the other, his voice trembling with rage.
-'justice!' the same speaker answered harshly. 'but stand still and be silent, and you shall have your life. give the alarm, and you die, general, though we die the next minute. sit down in that chair.'
-he hesitated. but the two shining barrels converging on his head, the two grim faces behind them, were convincing; in a moment he obeyed.
-one of the men--it was i--muttered something to marie, and she snuffed the wick, and blew up the light. in a moment it filled the room, disclosing a strange medley of levelled weapons, startled faces, and flashing eyes. in one corner fraulein max and the two women cowered behind one another, trembling and staring. at the table sat my lady, with dull, dazed eyes, looking on, yet scarcely understanding what was happening. on either side of her stood steve and i, covering the general with our pistols, while the waldgrave, who was still too weak for much exertion, kept guard at the door.
-tzerclas was the first to speak. 'what is this foolery?' he said, scowling unutterable curses at us. 'what does this mean?'
-there was a gleam in tzerclas' eye, which warned me to stand back and crook my finger. his face was black with fury, and for an instant i thought that he would spring upon us and dare all. but prudence and the pistols prevailed. with an evil look he sat still, and in a trice steve had a loop round his arms and was binding him to the heavy chair.
-i knew then that as far as he was concerned we were safe; and i turned to bid the women get cloaks and food, adjuring them to be quick, since every moment was precious.
-'bring nothing but cloaks and food and wine,' i said. 'we have to go a league on foot and can carry little.'
-the countess heard my words, and looked at me with growing comprehension. 'the waldgrave?' she muttered. 'is he here?'
-he came forward from the door to speak to her; but when she saw him, and how pale and thin he was, with great hollows in his cheeks and his eyes grown too large for his face, she began to cry weakly, as any other woman might have cried, being overwrought. i bade marie, who alone kept her wits, to bring her wine and make her take it; and in a minute she smiled at us, and would have thanked us.
-'wait!' i said bluntly, feeling a great horror upon me whenever i looked towards the general or caught his eye. 'you may have small cause to thank us. if we fail, heaven and you forgive us, my lady, for this man will not. if we are retaken----'
-'we will not be retaken!' she cried hardily. 'you have horses?'
-'five only,' i answered. 'they are all steve could get, and they are a league away. we must go to them on foot. there are eight of us here, and young jacob and ernst are watching outside. are all ready?'
-'that woman does not go!' the countess said suddenly.
-i answered in a low tone that i thought she must.
-'no!' my lady cried harshly--she could be cruel sometimes--'not with us. she does not belong to our party. let her stay with her paymaster, and to-morrow he will doubtless reward her.'
-what reward she was likely to get fraulein max knew well. she flung herself at my lady's feet in an agony of fear, and clutching her skirts, cried abjectly for mercy; she would carry, she would help, she would do anything, if she might go! knowing that we dared not leave her since she would be certain to release the general as soon as our backs were turned, i was glad when marie, whose heart was touched, joined her prayers to the culprit's and won a reluctant consent.
-it has taken long to tell these things. they passed very quickly. i suppose not more than a quarter of an hour elapsed between our first appearance and this juncture, which saw us all standing in the lamplight, laden and ready to be gone; while the general glowered at us in sullen rage, and my lady, with a new thought in her mind, looked round in dismay.
-she drew me aside. 'martin,' she said, 'his orderly is waiting in the road with his horse. the moment we are gone he will shout to him.'
-'we have provided for that,' i answered, nodding. then assuring myself by a last look round that all were ready, i gave the word. 'now, steve!' i said sharply.
-in a twinkling he flung over the general's head a small sack doubled inwards. we heard a stifled oath and a cry of rage. the bars of the strong chair creaked as our prisoner struggled, and for a moment it seemed as if the knots would barely hold. but the work had been well done, and in less than half a minute steve had secured the sack to the chair-back. it was as good as a gag, and safer. then we took up the chair between us, and lifting it into the back room, put it down and locked the door upon our captive.
-as we turned from it steve looked at me. 'if he catches us after this, master martin,' he said, 'it won't be an easy death we shall die!'
-'heaven forbid!' i muttered. 'let us be off!'
-he gave the word and we stole out into the darkness at the back of the house, steve, who had surveyed the ground, going first. my lady followed him; then came the waldgrave; after him the two women and fraulein max, with jacob and ernst; last of all, marie and i. it was no time for love-making, but as we all stood a minute in the night, while steve listened, i drew marie's little figure to me and kissed her pale face again and again; and she clung to me, trembling, her eyes shining into mine. then she put me away bravely; but i took her bundle, and with full hearts we followed the others across the field at the back and through the ditch.
-that passed, we found ourselves on the edge of the village, with the lights of the camp forming five-sixths of a circle round us. in one direction only, where the swamp and creek fringed the place, a dark gap broke the ring of twinkling fires. towards this gap steve led the way, and we, a silent line of gliding figures, followed him. the moon had not yet risen. the gloom was such that i could barely make out the third figure before me; and though all manner of noises--the chorus of a song, the voice of a scolding hag, even the rattle of dice on a drumhead--came clearly to my ears, and we seemed to be enclosed on all sides, the darkness proved an effectual shield. we met no one, and five minutes after leaving the house, reached the bank of the little creek i have mentioned.
-alas! our troubles were only beginning. through this ooze we had to wade for a mile or more, sometimes in doubt, always in darkness; now plashing into pools, now stumbling over a submerged log, often up to our knees in mud and water. the frogs croaked round us, the bog moaned and gurgled; in the depth of the marsh the bitterns boomed mournfully. if we stood a moment we sank. it was a horrible time; and the more horrible, as through it all we had only to turn to see the camp lights behind us, a poor half-mile or so away.
-none but desperate men could have exposed women to such a labour; nor could any but women without hope and at their wit's end have accomplished it. as it was, fraulein max, who never ceased to whimper, twice sank down and would go no farther, and we had to pluck her up roughly and force her on. my lady's women, who wept in their misery, were little better. wet to the waist, draggled, and worn out by the clinging slime and the reek of the marsh, they were kept moving only with difficulty; so that, but for steve's giant strength and my lady's courage, i think we should have stayed there till daylight, and been caught like birds limed on a bough.
-as it was, we plunged and strove for more than an hour in that place, the dark sky above us, the quaking bog below, the women's weeping in our ears. then, at last, when i had almost given up hope, we struggled out one by one upon the road, and stood panting and shaking, astonished to find solid ground under our feet. we had still two miles to walk, but on dry soil; and though at another time the task might have seemed to the women full of adventure and arduous, it failed to frighten them after what we had gone through. steve took fraulein anna, and i one of the women. my lady and the waldgrave went hand in hand; the one giving, i fancy, as much help as the other. for marie, her small, white face was a beacon of hope in the darkness. in the marsh she had never failed or fainted. on the road the tears came into my eyes for pity and love and admiration.
-at length steve bade us stand, and leaving us in the way, plunged into the denser blackness of a thicket, which lay between it and the river. i heard him parting the branches before him, and stumbling and swearing, until presently the sounds died away in the distance, and we remained shivering and waiting. what if the horses were gone? what if they had strayed from the place where he had tethered them early in the day, or some one had found and removed them? the thought threw me into a cold sweat.
-then i heard him coming back, and i caught the ring of iron hoofs. he had them! i breathed again. in a moment he emerged, and behind him a string of shadows--five horses tied head and tail.
-'quick!' he muttered. he had been long enough alone to grow nervous. 'we are two hours gone, and if they have not yet discovered him they must soon! it is a short start, and half of us on foot!'
-no one answered, but in a moment we had the waldgrave, my lady, fraulein, and one of the women mounted. then we put up marie, who was no heavier than a feather, and the lighter of the women on the remaining horse; and steve hurrying beside the leader, and i, ernst, and jacob bringing up the rear, we were well on the road within two minutes of the appearance of the horses. those who rode had only sacking for saddles and loops of rope for stirrups; but no one complained. even fraulein max began to recover herself, and to dwell more upon the peril of capture than on aching legs and chafed knees.
-the road was good, and we made, as far as i could judge, about six miles in the first hour. this placed us nine miles from the camp; the time, a little after midnight. at this point the clouds, which had aided us so far by increasing the darkness of the night, fell in a great storm of rain, that, hissing on the road and among the trees, in a few minutes drenched us to the skin. but no one complained. steve muttered that it would make it the more difficult to track us; and for another hour we plodded on gallantly. then our leader called a halt, and we stood listening.
-the rain had left the sky lighter. a waning moon, floating in a wrack of watery clouds to westward, shed a faint gleam on the landscape. to the right of us it disclosed a bare plain, rising gradually as it receded, and offering no cover. on our left, between us and the river, it was different. here a wilderness of osiers--a grey willow swamp that in the moonlight shimmered like the best utrecht--stretched as far as we could see. the road where we stood rose a few feet above it, so that our eyes were on a level with the highest shoots; but a hundred yards farther on the road sank a little. we could see the water standing on the track in pools, and glimmering palely.
-'this is the place,' steve muttered. 'it will be dawn in another hour. what do you think, master martin?'
-'that we had better get off the road,' i answered. 'take it they found him at midnight; the orderly's patience would scarcely last longer. then, if they started after us a quarter of an hour later, they should be here in another twenty minutes.'
-'it is an aguey place,' he said doubtfully.
-'it will suit us better than the camp,' i answered.
-no one else expressed an opinion, and steve, taking my lady's rein, led her horse on until he came to the hollow part of the road. here the moonlight disclosed a kind of water-lane, running away between the osiers, at right angles from the road. steve turned into it, leading my lady's horse, and in a moment was wading a foot deep in water. the waldgrave followed, then the women. i came last, with marie's rein in my hand. we kept down the lane about one hundred and fifty paces, the horses snorting and moving unwillingly, and the water growing ever deeper. then steve turned out of it, and began to advance, but more cautiously, parallel with the road.
-we had waded about as far in this direction, sidling between the stumps and stools as well as we could, when he came again to a stand and passed back the word for me. i waded on, and joined him. the osiers, which were interspersed here and there with great willows, rose above our heads and shut out the moonlight. the water gurgled black about our knees. each step might lead us into a hole, or we might trip over the roots of the osiers. it was impossible to see a foot before us, or anything above us save the still, black rods and the grey sky.
-'it should be in this direction,' steve said, with an accent of doubt. 'but i cannot see. we shall have the horses down.'
-'let me go first,' i said.
-'we must not separate,' he answered hastily.
-'no, no,' i said, my teeth beginning to chatter. 'but are you sure that there is an eyot here?'
-'i did not go to it,' he answered, scratching his head. 'but i saw a clump of willows rising well above the level, and they looked to me as if they grew on dry land.'
-he stood a moment irresolutely, first one and then another of the horses shaking itself till the women could scarcely keep their seats.
-'why do we not go on?' my lady asked in a low voice.
-'because steve is not sure of the place, my lady,' i said. 'and it is almost impossible to move, it is so dark, and the osiers grow so closely. i doubt we should have waited until daylight.'
-'then we should have run the risk of being intercepted,' she answered feverishly. 'are you very wet?'
-'no,' i said, though my feet were growing numb, 'not very. i see what we must do. one of us must climb into a willow and look out.'
-we had passed a small one not long before. i plashed my way back to it, along the line of shivering women, and, pulling myself heavily into the branches, managed to scramble up a few feet. the tree swayed under my weight, but it bore me.
-the first dawn was whitening the sky and casting a faint, reflected light on the glistening sea of osiers, that seemed to my eyes--for i was not high enough to look beyond it--to stretch far and away on every side. here and there a large willow, rising in a round, dark clump, stood out above the level; and in one place, about a hundred paces away on the riverside of us, a group of these formed a shadowy mound. i marked the spot, and dropped gently into the water.
-'i have found it,' i said. 'i will go first, and do you bring my lady, steve. and mind the stumps. it will be rough work.'
-it was such a place as only despair could choose for a refuge. in shape like the back of some large submerged beast, it lay in length about forty paces, in breadth half as many. the highest point was a poor foot above the water. seven great willows took up half the space; it was as much as our horses, sinking in the moist mud to the fetlock, could do to find standing-room on the remainder. coarse grass and reeds covered it; and the flotsam of the last flood whitened the trunks of the willows, and hung in squalid wisps from their lower branches.
-for the first time we saw one another's faces, and how pale and woe-begone, mudstained and draggled we were! the cold, grey light, which so mercilessly unmasked our refuge, did not spare us. it helped even my lady to look her worst. fraulein anna sat a mere lifeless lump in her saddle. the waiting-women cried softly; they had cried all night. the waldgrave looked dazed, as if he barely understood where he was or why he was there.
-still, even that rolled away at last--about six o'clock--and let us see the sun shining overhead in a heaven of blue distance and golden clouds. larks rose up and sang, and all the birds of the marsh began to twitter and tweet. in a trice our mud island was changed to a bower--a place of warmth and life and refreshment--where light and shade lay on the dappled floor, and the sunshine fell through green leaves.
-then i took the cloaks, and the saddles, and everything that was wet, and spread them out on branches to dry; and leaving the women to make themselves comfortable in their own way and shift themselves as they pleased, we two, with the waldgrave and the two servants, went away to the other end of the eyot.
-'i shall sleep,' steve said drowsily.
-the insects were beginning to hum. the horses stood huddled together, swishing their long tails.
-'you think they won't track us?' i asked.
-'certain,' he said. 'there are six hundred yards of mud and water, eel-holes, and willow shoots between us and the road.'
-the waldgrave assented mechanically; it seemed so to me too. and by-and-by, worn out with the night's work, i fell asleep, and slept, i suppose, for a good many hours, with the sun and shade passing slowly across my face, and the bees droning in my ears, and the mellow warmth of the summer day soaking into my bones. when i awoke i lay for a time revelling in lazy enjoyment. the oily plop of a water-rat, as it dived from a stump, or the scream of a distant jay, alone broke the laden silence. i looked at the sun. it lay south-west. it was three o'clock then.
-a light touch fell on my knee. i started, looked down, and for a moment stared in sleepy wonder. a tiny bunch of blue flowers, such as i could see growing in a dozen places on the edge of the island, lay on it, tied up with a thread of purple silk. i started up on my elbow, and--there, close beside me, with her cheeks full of colour, and the sunshine finding golden threads in her dark hair, sat marie, toying with more flowers.
-'ha!' i said foolishly. 'what is it?'
-'my lady sent me to you,' she answered.
-'yes,' i asked eagerly. 'does she want me?'
-but marie hung her head, and played with the flowers. 'i don't think so,' she whispered. 'she only sent me to you.'
-then i understood. the waldgrave had gone to the farther end. steve and the men were tending the horses half a dozen paces beyond the screen of willow-leaves. we were alone. a rat plashed into the water, and drove marie nearer to me; and she laid her head on my shoulder, and i whispered in her ear, till the lashes sank down over her eyes and her lips trembled. if i had loved her from the first, what was the length and height and breadth of my love now, when i had seen her in darkness and peril, sunshine and storm, strong when others failed, brave when others flinched, always helpful, ready, tireless! and she so small! so frail, i almost feared to press her to me; so pale, the blood that leapt to her cheeks at my touch seemed a mere reflection of the sunlight.
-i told her how steve had made the guards at the prison drunk with wine bought with her dowry; how the horses he had purchased and taken out of the camp by twos and threes had been paid for from the same source; and how many ducats had gone for meats and messes to keep the life, that still ran sluggishly, in the waldgrave's veins. she listened and lay still.
-'so you have no dowry now, little one,' i said, when i had told her all. 'and your gold chain is gone. i believe you have nothing but the frock you stand up in. why, then, should i marry you?'
-i felt her heart give a great leap under my hand, and a shiver ran through her. but she did not raise her head, and i, who had thought to tease her into looking at me, had to put back her little face till it gazed into mine.
-'why?' i said; 'why?'--drawing her closer and closer to me.
-then the colour came into her face like the sunlight itself. 'because you love me,' she whispered, shutting her eyes.
-and i did not gainsay her.
-steve had discovered a more easy though longer way out of the willow-bed, and two hours before midnight on the second night, he and i mounted the women and prepared to set out. he arranged that we should go in the same order in which we had come: that he should lead the march, and i bring up the rear, while the waldgrave, who was still far from well, and whose continued lack of vigour troubled us the more as we said little about it, should ride with my lady.
-the night seemed likely to be fine, but the darkness, the sough of the wind as it swept over the plain, and the melancholy plashing of the water as our horses plodded through it, were not things of a kind to allay our fears. when we at last left our covert, and reaching the road stood to listen, the fall of a leaf made us start. though no sounds but those of the night came to our ears--and some of these were of a kind to reassure us--we said 'hush!' again and again, and only moved on after a hundred alarums and assurances.
-i walked by marie, with my hand on the withers of her horse, but we did not talk. the two waiting-women riding double were before us, and their muttered fears alone broke the silence which prevailed at the end of the train. we went at the rate of about two leagues an hour, steve and i and the men running where the roads were good, and everywhere and at all times urging the horses to do their best. the haste of our movements, the darkness, our constant alarm, and the occasional confusion when the rear pressed on the van at an awkward place, had the effect of upsetting the balance of our minds; so that the most common impulse of flight--to press forward with ever-increasing recklessness--began presently to possess us. once or twice i had to check the foremost, or they would have outrun the rear; and this kind of race brought us gradually into such a state of alarm, that by-and-by, when the line came to a sudden stop on the brow of a gentle descent, i could hardly restrain my impatience.
-'what is it?' i asked eagerly. 'why are we stopping?' surely the road is good enough here.'
-no one answered, but it was significant that on the instant one of the women began to cry.
-'stop that folly!' i said. 'what is in front there? cannot some one speak?'
-'the waldgrave thinks that he hears horsemen before us,' fraulein max answered.
-in another moment the waldgrave's figure loomed out of the darkness. 'martin,' he said--i noticed that his voice shook--'go forward. they are in front. man alive, be quick!' he continued fiercely. 'do you want to have them into us?'
-i left my girl's rein, and pushing past the women and fraulein, joined steve, who was standing by my lady's rein. 'what is it?' i said.
-'nothing, i think,' he answered in an uncertain tone.
-i stood a moment listening, but i too could hear nothing. i began to argue with him. 'who heard it?' i asked impatiently.
-'the waldgrave,' he answered.
-i did not like to say before my lady what i thought--that the waldgrave was not quite himself, nor to be depended upon; and instead i proposed to go forward on foot and learn if anything was amiss. the road ran straight down the hill, and the party could scarcely pass me, even in the gloom. if i found all well, i would whistle, and they could come on.
-my lady agreed, and, leaving them halted, i started cautiously down the hill. the darkness was not extreme; the cloud drift was broken here and there, and showed light patches of sky between; i could make out the shapes of things, and more than once took a clump of bushes for a lurking ambush. but halfway down, a line of poplars began to shadow the road on our side, and from that point i might have walked into a regiment and never seen a man. this, the being suddenly alone, and the constant rustling of the leaves overhead, which moved with the slightest air, shook my nerves, and i went very warily, with my heart in my mouth and a cry trembling on my lips.
-still i had reached the hillfoot before anything happened. then i stopped abruptly, hearing quite distinctly in front of me the sound of footsteps. it was impossible that this could be the sound that the waldgrave had heard, for only one man seemed to be stirring, and he moved stealthily; but i crouched down and listened, and in a moment i was rewarded. a dark figure came out of the densest of the shadow and stood in the middle of the road. i sank lower, noiselessly. the man seemed to be listening.
-it flashed into my head that he was a sentry; and i thought how fortunate it was that i had come on alone.
-presently he moved again. he stole along the track towards me, stooping, as i fancied, and more than once standing to listen, as if he were not satisfied. i sank down still lower, and he passed me without notice, and went on, and i heard his footsteps slowly retreating until they quite died away.
-but in a moment, before i had risen to my full height, i heard them again. he came back, and passed me, breathing quickly and loudly. i wondered if he had detected our party and was going to give the alarm; and i stood up, anxious and uncertain, at a loss whether i should follow him or run back.
-some one else was less lucky. we had not swept fifty yards from where i joined them, when a dark figure showed for a moment in the road before us. i saw it; it seemed to hang and hesitate. the next instant it was among us. i heard a shrill scream, a heavy fall, and we were over it, and charging on and on and on through the darkness.
-to the foot of the hill and across the bottom, and up the opposite slope. i do not know how far we had sped, when steve's voice was heard, calling on us to halt.
-'pull up! pull up!' he cried, with an angry oath. 'it is a false alarm! what fool set it going? there is no one behind us. donner und blitzen! where is martin?'
-the horses were beginning to flag, and gladly came to a trot, and then to a walk.
-'here! i panted.
-'himmel! i thought we had ridden you down!' he said, leaving my lady's side. his voice shook with passion and loss of breath. 'who was it? we might all have broken our necks, and for nothing!'
-the waldgrave--it was his stirrup i had caught--turned his horse round. 'i heard them--close behind us!' he panted. there was a note of wildness in his voice. my elbow was against his knee, and i felt him tremble.
-'a bird in the hedge,' steve said rudely. 'it has cost some one dear. whose horse was it struck him?'
-no one answered. i left the waldgrave's side and went back a few paces. the women were sobbing. ernst and jacob stood by them, breathing hard after their run. i thought the men's silence strange. i looked again. there was a figure missing; a horse missing.
-'where is marie?' i cried.
-she did not answer. no one answered; and i knew. steve swore again. i think he had known from the beginning. i began to tremble. on a sudden my lady lifted up her voice and cried shrilly--
-again no answer. but this time i did not wait to listen. i ran from them into the darkness the way we had come, my legs quivering under me, and my mouth full of broken prayers. i remembered a certain solitary tree fronting the poplars, on the other side of the way, which i had marked mechanically at the moment of the fall--an ash, whose light upper boughs had come for an instant between my eyes and the sky. it stood on a little mound, where the moorland began to rise on that side. i came to it now, and stopped and looked. at first i could see nothing, and i trod forward fearfully. then, a couple of paces on, i made out a dark figure, lying head and feet across the road. i sprang to it, and kneeling, passed my hands over it. alas! it was a woman's.
-i raised the light form in my arms, crying passionately on her name, while the wind swayed the boughs overhead, and, besides that and my voice, all the countryside was still. she did not answer. she hung limp in my arms. kneeling in the dust beside her, i felt blindly for a pulse, a heart-beat. i found neither--neither; the woman was dead.
-and yet it was not that which made me lay the body down so quickly and stand up peering round me. no; something else. the blood drummed in my ears, my heart beat wildly. the woman was dead; but she was not marie.
-she was an old woman, sixty years old. when i stooped again, after assuring myself that there was no other body near, and peered into her face, i saw that it was seamed and wrinkled. she was barefoot, and her clothes were foul and mean. she had the reek of one who slept in ditches and washed seldom. her toothless gums grinned at me. she was a horrible mockery of all that men love in women.
-when i had marked so much, i stood up again, my head reeling. where was the man i had seen scouting up and down? where was marie? for a moment the wild idea that she had become this thing, that death or magic had transformed the fair young girl into this toothless hag, was not too wild for me. an owl hooted in the distance, and i started and shivered and stood looking round me fearfully. such things were; and marie was gone. in her place this woman, grim and dead and unsightly, lay at my feet. what was i to think?
-i got no answer. i raised my voice and called, trembling, on marie. i ran to one side of the road and the other and called, and still got no answer. i climbed the mound on which the ash-tree stood, and sent my voice thrilling through the darkness of the bottom. but only the owl answered. then, knowing nothing else i could do, i went down wringing my hands, and found my lady standing over the body in the road. she had come back with steve and the others.
-'in the morning!' i cried jealously.
-no one spoke, and i looked from one to another. the men had returned from the search, and stood in a dark group round the body, which they had drawn to the side of the road. it wanted an hour of daylight yet, and i could not see their faces, but i read in their silence the answer that no one liked to put into words.
-'be a man!' steve muttered, after a long pause. 'god help the girl. but god help us too if we are found here!'
-still my lady did not speak, and i knew her brave heart too well to doubt her, though she had been the first to talk of going. 'get to horse,' i said roughly.
-'no, no,' my lady cried at last. 'we will all stay, martin.'
-'ay, all stay or all go!' steve muttered.
-'then all go!' i said, choking down the sobs that would rise. and i turned first from the place.
-i will not try to state what that cost me. i saw my girl's face everywhere--everywhere in the darkness, and the eyes reproached me. that she of all should suffer, who had never fainted, never faltered, whose patience and courage had been the women's stay from the first--that she should suffer! i thought of the tender, weak body, and of all the things that might happen to her, and i seemed, as i went away from her, the vilest thing that lived.
-but reason was against me. if i stayed there and waited on the road by the old crone's body until morning, what could i do? whither could i turn? marie was gone and already might be half a dozen miles away. so the bonds of custom and duty held me. dazed and bewildered, i lacked the strength that was needed to run counter to all. i was no knight-errant, but a plain man, and i reeled on through the last hour of the night and the first grey streaks of dawn, with my head on my breast and sobs of despair in my throat.
-if it had been our fate after that to continue our flight in the same weary fashion we had before devised, lying in woods by day, and all night riding jaded horses, until we passed the gates of some free city, i do not think that i could have gone through with it. doubtless it was my duty to go with my lady. but the long hours of daylight inaction, the slow brooding tramp, must have proved intolerable. and at some time or other, in some way or other, i must have snapped the ties that bound me.
-but, as if the loss of my heart had rid us of some spell cast over us, by noon of that day we stood safe. for, an hour before noon, while we lay in a fir-wood not far from weimar, and jacob kept watch on the road below, and the rest slept as we pleased, a party of horse came along the way, and made as if to pass below us. they numbered more than a hundred, and jacob's heart failed him, lest some ring or buckle of our accoutrements should sparkle and catch their eyes. to shift the burden he called us, and we went to watch them.
-'do they go north or south?' i asked him as i rose.
-'north,' he whispered.
-after that they were nothing to me, but i went with the rest. our lair was in some rocks overhanging the road. by the time we looked over, the horsemen were below us, and we could see nothing of them; though the sullen tramp of their horses, and the jingle of bit and spur, reached us clearly. presently they came into sight again on the road beyond, riding steadily away with their backs to us.
-'that is not general tzerclas?' my lady muttered anxiously.
-'nor any of his people!' steve said with an oath.
-that led me to look more closely, and i saw in a moment something that lifted me out of my moodiness. i sprang on the rock against which i was leaning and shouted long and loudly.
-'himmel!' steve cried, seizing me by the ankle. 'are you mad, man?'
-but i only shouted again, and waved my cap frantically. then i slipped down, sobered. 'they see us,' i cried. 'they are leuchtenstein's riders. and count hugo is with them. you are safe, my lady.'
-she turned white and red, and i saw her clutch at the rock to keep herself on her feet. 'are you sure?' she said. the troop had halted and were wheeling slowly and in perfect order.
-'quite sure, my lady,' i answered, with a touch of bitterness in my tone. why had not this happened yesterday or the day before? then my girl would have been saved. now it came too late! too late! no wonder i felt bitterly about it.
-we went down into the road on foot, a little party of nine--four women and five men. the horsemen, as they came up, looked at us in wonder. our clothes, even my lady's, were dyed with mud and torn in a score of places. we had not washed for days, and our faces were lean with famine. some of the women were shoeless and had their hair about their ears, while steve was bare-headed and bare-armed, and looked so huge a ruffian the stocks must have yawned for him anywhere. they drew up and gazed at us, and then count hugo came riding down the column and saw us.
-'countess!' he said, as he sprang from his horse in wonder. 'is it really you? gott im himmel! these are strange times. waldgrave! your pardon. ach! have you come on foot?'
-'not i. but these brave men have,' my lady answered, tears in her voice.
-he looked at steve and grunted. then he looked at me and his eyes lightened. 'are these all your party?' he said hurriedly.
-'all,' my lady answered in a low voice. he did not ask farther, but he sighed, and i knew that he had looked for his child. 'i came north upon a reconnaissance, and was about to turn,' he said. 'i am thankful that i did not turn before. is tzerclas in pursuit of you?'
-'i do not know,' my lady answered, and told him shortly of our flight, and how we had lain two days and a night in the osier-bed.
-'it was a good thought,' he said. 'but i fear that you are half famished.' and he called for food and wine, and served my lady with his own hands, while he saw that we did not go without. 'campaigner's fare,' he said. 'but you come of a fighting stock, countess, and can put up with it.'
-'shame on me if i could not,' she answered.
-there was a quaver in her voice, which showed how the rencontre moved her, how full her heart was of unspoken gratitude.
-'when you have finished, we will get to horse,' he said. 'i must take you with me to nuremberg, for i am not strong enough to detach a party. but this evening we will make a long halt at hesel, and secure you a good night's rest.'
-'i am sorry to be so burdensome,' my lady said timidly.
-he shrugged his shoulders without compliment, but i did not hear what he answered. for i could bear no more. marie seemed so forgotten in this crowd, so much a thing of the past, that my gorge rose. no word of her, no thought of her, no talk of a search party! i pictured her forlorn, helpless little figure, her pale, uncomplaining face--i and no one else; and i had to go away into the bushes to hide myself. she was forgotten already. she had done all for them, i said to myself, and they forgot her.
-then, in the thicket screened from the party, i had a thought--to go back and look for her, myself. now my lady was safe, there was nothing to prevent me. i had only to lie close among the rocks until count hugo left, and then i might plod back on foot and search as i pleased. in a flash i saw the poplars, and the road running beneath the ash-tree, and the woman's body lying stiff and stark on the sward. and i burned to be there.
-left to myself i should have gone too. but the plan was no sooner formed than shattered. while i stood, hotfoot to be about it, and pausing only to consider which way i could steal off most safely, a rustling warned me that some one was coming, and before i could stir, a burly trooper broke through the bushes and confronted me. he saluted me stolidly.
-'sergeant,' he said, 'the general is waiting for you.'
-'the general?' i said.
-'the count, if you like it better,' he answered. 'come, if you please.'
-i followed him, full of vexation. it was but a step into the road. the moment i appeared, some one gave the word 'mount!' a horse was thrust in front of me, two or three troopers who still remained afoot swung themselves into the saddle; and i followed their example. in a trice we were moving down the valley at a dull, steady pace--southwards, southwards. i looked back, and saw the fir trees and rocks where we had lain hidden, and then we turned a corner, and they were gone. gone, and all round me i heard the measured tramp of the troop-horses, the swinging tones of the men, and the clink and jingle of sword and spur. i called myself a cur, but i went on, swept away by the force of numbers, as the straw by the current. once i caught count hugo's eye fixed on me, and i fancied he had a message for me, but i failed to interpret it.
-steve rode by me, and his face too was moody. i suppose that we should all of us have thanked god the peril was past. but my lady rode in another part with count leuchtenstein and the waldgrave; and steve yearned, i fancy, for the old days of trouble and equality, when there was no one to come between us.
-i saw count hugo that night. he sent for me to his quarters at hesel, and told me frankly that he would have let me go back had he thought good could come of it.
-'but it would have been looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, my friend,' he continued. 'tzerclas' men would have picked you up, or the peasants killed you for a soldier, and in a month perhaps the girl would have returned safe and sound, to find you dead.'
-'my lord!' i cried passionately, 'she saved your child. it was to her as her own!'
-'i know it,' he answered with gravity, which of itself rebuked me. 'and where is my child?'
-i shook my head.
-'yet i do not give up my work and the task god and the times have given me, and go out looking for it!' he answered severely. 'leaving scot, and swede, and pole, and switzer to divide my country. for shame! you have your work too, and it lies by your lady's side. see to it that you do it. for the rest i have scouts out, who know the country; if i learn anything through them you shall hear it. and now of another matter. how long has the waldgrave been like this, my friend?'
-'like this, my lord?' i muttered stupidly.
-he nodded. 'yes, like this,' he repeated. 'i have heard him called a brave man. coming of his stock, he should be; and when i saw him in tzerclas' camp he had the air of one. now he starts at a shadow, is in a trance half his time, and a tremor the other half. what ails him?'
-i told him how he had been wounded, fighting bravely, and that since that he had not been himself.
-count hugo rubbed his chin gravely. 'it is a pity,' he said. 'we want all--every german arm and every german head. we want you. man alive!' he continued, roused to anger, i suppose, by my dull face, 'do you know what is in front of you?'
-'no, my lord,' i said in apathy.
-he opened his mouth as if to hurl a volley of words at me. but he thought better of it and shut his lips tight. 'very well,' he said grimly. 'wait three days and you will see.'
-but in truth, i had not to wait three days. before sunset of the next i began to see, and, downcast as i was, to prick up my ears in wonder. beyond romhild and between that town and bamberg, the great road which runs through the valley of the pegnitz, was such a sight as i had never seen. for many miles together a column of dust marked its course, and under this went on endless marching. we were but a link in a long chain, dragging slowly southwards. now it was a herd of oxen that passed along, moving tediously and painfully, driven by half-naked cattle-men and guarded by a troop of grimy horse. now it was a reinforcement of foot from fulda, rank upon rank of shambling men trailing long pikes, and footsore, and parched as they were, getting over the ground in a wonderful fashion. after them would come a long string of waggons, bearing corn, and hay, and malt, and wines; all lurching slowly forward, slowly southward; often delayed, for every quarter of a mile a horse fell or an axle broke, yet getting forward.
-and then the most wonderful sight of all, a regiment of swedish horse passed us, marching from erfurt. all their horses were grey, and all their head-pieces, backs and breasts of black metal, matched one another. as they came on through the dust with a tramp which shook the ground, they sang, company by company, to the music of drums and trumpets, a hymn, 'versage nicht, du häuflein klein!' behind them a line of light waggons carried their wives and children, also singing. and so they went by us, eight hundred swords, and i thought it a marvel i should never see beaten.
-when they were gone out of sight, there were still droves of horses and mighty flocks of sheep to come, and cargoes of pork, and more foot and horse and guns. some companies wore buff coats and small steel caps, and carried arquebuses; and some marched smothered in huge headpieces with backs and breasts to match. and besides all the things i have mentioned and the crowds of sutlers and horse-boys that went with them, there were munition waggons closely guarded, and pack-horses laden with powder, and always and always waggons of corn and hay.
-and all hurrying, jostling, crawling southwards. it seemed to me that the world was marching southwards; that if we went on we must fall in at the end of this with every one we knew. and the thought comforted me.
-steve put it into words after his fashion. 'it must be a big place we are going to,' he said, about noon of the second day, 'or who is to eat all this? and do you mark, master martin? we meet no one coming back. all go south. this place nuremberg that they talk of must be worth seeing.'
-'it should be,' i said.
-and after that the excitement of the march began to take hold of me. i began to think and wonder, and look forward, with an eagerness i did not understand, to the issues of this.
-but when late in the afternoon we entered nuremberg itself, and viewed the traffic in the streets, and the endless lines of gabled houses, the splendid mansions and bridges, the climbing roofs and turrets and spires of this, the greatest city in germany, then we thought little of all we had seen before. here thousands upon thousands rubbed shoulders in the streets; here continuous boats turned the river into solid land. here we were told were baked every day a hundred thousand loaves of bread; and i saw with my own eyes a list of a hundred and thirty-eight bakehouses. the roar of the ways, choked with soldiers and citizens, the babel of strange tongues, the clamour of bells and trumpets, deafened us. the constant crowding and pushing and halting turned our heads. i forgot my grief and my hope too. who but a madman would look to find a single face where thousands gazed from the windows? or could deem himself important with this swarming, teeming hive before him? steve stared stupidly about him; i rode dazed and perplexed. the troopers laughed at us, or promised us greater things when we should see the swedish lager outside the town, and wallenstein's great camp arrayed against it. but i noticed that even they, as we drew nearer to the heart of the city, fell silent at times, and looked at one another, surprised at the great influx of people and the shifting scenes which the streets presented.
-for that night we had seen enough. i thought we had seen all, or that nothing in my life would ever surprise me again. but next day my lady went up to the burg on the hill in the middle of the city to look abroad, and took steve and myself with her. and then i found that i had not seen the half. the city, all roofs and spires and bridges, girt with a wall of seventy towers, roared beneath us; and that i had expected. but outside the wall i now saw a second city of huts and tents, with a great earthwork about it, and bastions and demilunes and picquets posted.
-this was the swedish lager. it lay principally to the south of the city proper, though on all sides it encircled it more or less. they told me that there lay in it about forty thousand soldiers and twenty thousand horses, and twenty thousand camp followers; but the number was constantly increasing, death and disease notwithstanding, so that it presently stood as high as sixty thousand fighting men and half as many followers, to say nothing of the garrison that lay in the city, or the troops posted to guard the approaches. it seemed to me, gazing over that mighty multitude from the top of the hill, that nothing could resist such a force; and i looked abroad with curiosity for the enemy.
-i expected to view his army cheek by jowl with us; and i was disappointed when i saw beyond our camp to southward, where i was told he lay, only a clear plain with the little river rednitz flowing through it. this plain was a league and more in width, and it was empty of men. beyond it rose a black wooded ridge, very steep and hairy.
-my lady explained that wallenstein's army lay along this ridge--seventy thousand men, and forty thousand horses, and wallenstein himself. his camp we heard was eight miles round, the front guarded by a line of cannon, and taking in whole villages and castles. and now i looked again i saw the smoke hang among the trees. they whispered in nuremberg that no man in that army took pay; that all served for booty; and that the troopers that sacked magdeburg and followed tilly were, beside these, gentle and kindly men.
-'god help us!' my lady cried fervently. 'god help this great city! god help the north! never was such a battle fought as must be fought here!'
-we went down very much sobered, filled with awe and wonder and great thoughts, the dullest of us feeling the air heavy with portents, the more clerkly considering of armageddon and the last fight. briefly--for thirteen years the emperor and the papists had hustled and harried the protestants; had dragooned donauwörth, and held down bohemia, and plundered the palatinate, and crushed the king of denmark, and wherever there was a weak protestant state had pressed sorely on it. then one short year before i stood on the burg above the pegnitz, the protestant king had come out of the north like a thunderbolt, had shattered in a month the papist armies, had run like a devouring fire down the priests' lane, rushed over bohemia, shaken the emperor on his throne!
-but could he maintain himself? that was now to be seen. to the emperor's help had come all who loved the old system, and would have it that the south was germany; all who wished to chain men's minds and saw their profit in the shadow of the imperial throne; all who lived by license and plunder, and reckoned a mass to-day against a murder to-morrow. all these had come, from the great duke of friedland grasping at empire, to the meanest freebooter with peasant's blood on his hands and in his veins; and there they lay opposite us, impregnably placed on the burgstall, waiting patiently until famine and the sword should weaken the fair city, and enable them to plunge their vulture's talons into its vitals.
-no wonder that in nuremberg the citizens could be distinguished from the soldiers by their careworn faces; or that many a man stood morning and evening to gaze at the carved and lofty front of his house--by st. sebald's or behind the new cathedral--and wondered how long the fire would spare it. the magistrates who had staked all--their own and the city's--on this cast, went about with stern, grave faces and feared almost to meet the public eye. with a doubled population, with a huge army to feed, with order to keep, with houses and wives and daughters of their own to protect, with sack and storm looming luridly in the future, who had cares like theirs?
-one man only, and him i saw as we went home from the burg. it was near the foot of the burg hill, where the strasse meets three other ways. at that time count tilly's crooked, dwarfish figure and pale horse's face, and the great hat and boots which seemed to swallow him up, were fresh in my mind; and sometimes i had wondered whether this other great commander were like him. well, i was to know; for through the crowd at the junction of these four roads, while we stood waiting to pass, there came a man on a white horse, followed by half a score of others on horseback; and in a moment i knew from the shouting and the way women thrust papers into his hands that we saw the king of sweden.
-and so i first saw the great gustavus adolphus. it was said that he would at times fall into fits of berserk rage, and that in the field he was another man, keen as his sword, swift as fire, pitiless to those who flinched, among the foremost in the charge, a very thunderbolt of war. but as i saw him taking papers from women's hands at the end of the burg strasse, he had rather the air of a quiet, worthy prince--of coburg or darmstadt, it might be,--no dresser and no brawler; nor would any one, to see him then, have thought that this was the lion of the north who had dashed the pride of pappenheim and flung aside the firebrands of the south. or that even now he had on his shoulders the burden of two great nations and the fate of a million of men.
-the face at the window.
-after this it fared with us as it fares at last with the driftwood that chance or the woodman's axe has given to a forest stream in heritzburg. after rippling over the shallows and shooting giddily down slopes--or perchance lying cooped for days in some dark bend, until the splash of the otter or the spring freshet has sent it dancing on in sunshine and shadow--it reaches at last the werra. it floats out on the bosom of the great stream, and no longer tossed and chafed by each tiny pebble, feels the force of wind and stream--the great forces of the world. the banks recede from sight, and one of a million atoms, it is borne on gently and irresistibly, whither it does not know. so it was with us. from the day we fell in with count leuchtenstein and set our faces towards nuremberg, and in a greater degree after we reached that city, we embarked on a wider current of adventure, a fuller and less selfish life. if we had still our own cares and griefs, hopes and perils--as must be the case, i suppose, until we die--we had other common ones which we shared with tens of thousands, rich and poor, gentle and simple. we had to dread sack and storm; we prayed for relief and safety in company with all who rose and lay down within the walls. when a hundred waggons of corn slipped through the croats and came in, or duke bernard of weimar beat up a corner of the burgstall and gave wallenstein a bad night, we ran out into the streets to tell and hear the news. similarly, when tidings came that tzerclas with his two thousand ruffians had burned the king of sweden's colours, put on green sashes, and marched into the enemy's camp, we were not alone in our gloomy anticipations. we still had our private adventures, and i am going to tell them. but besides these, it should be remembered that we ran the risks, and rose every morning fresh to the fears, of nuremberg. when bread rose to ten, to fifteen, to twenty times its normal price; when the city, where many died every day of famine, plague, and wounds, began to groan and heave in its misery; when through all the country round the peasants crawled and died among the dead; when wallenstein, that dark man, heedless of the fearful mortality in his own camp, still sat implacable on the heights and refused all the king's invitations to battle, we grew pale and gloomy, stern-eyed and thin-cheeked with the rest. we dreamed of magdeburg as they did; and as the hot august days passed slowly over the starving city and still no end appeared, but only with each day some addition of misery, we felt our hearts sink in unison with theirs.
-and we had to share, not their lot only, but their labours. we had not been in the town twenty-four hours before steve, jacob, and ernst were enrolled in the town militia; to me, either out of respect to my lady, or on account of my stature, a commission as lieutenant was granted. we drilled every morning from six o'clock until eight in the fields outside the new gate; the others went again at sunset to practise their weapons, but i was exempt from this drill, that the women might not be left alone. at all times we had our appointed rendezvous in case of alarm or assault. the swedish veterans strolled out of the camp and stood to laugh at our clumsiness. but the excellent order which prevailed among them made them favourites, and we let them laugh, and laughed again.
-the waldgrave, who had long had duke bernard's promise, received a regiment of horse, so that he lay in the camp and should have been a contented man, since his strength had come back to him. but to my surprise he showed signs of lukewarmness. he seemed little interested in the service, and was often at my lady's house in the ritter strasse, when he would have been better at his post. at first i set this down to his passion for my lady, and it seemed excusable; but within a week i stood convinced that this no longer troubled him. he paid scant attention to her, but would sit for hours looking moodily into the street. and i--and not i alone--began to watch him closely.
-i soon found that count hugo was right. the once gallant and splendid young fellow was a changed man. he was still comely and a brave figure, but the spirit in him was quenched. he was nervous, absent, irritable. his eyes had a wild look; on strangers he made an unfavourable impression. doubtless, though his wounds had healed, there remained some subtle injury that spoiled the man; and often i caught my lady looking at him sadly, and knew that i was not the only one with cause for mourning.
-but how strange he was we did not know until a certain day, when my lady and i were engaged together over some accounts. it was evening, and the three men were away drilling. the house was very quiet. suddenly he flung in upon us with a great noise, his colour high, his eyes glittering. his first action was to throw his feathered hat on one chair, and himself into another.
-'i've seen him!' he said. 'himmel! he is a clever fellow. he will worst you, cousin, yet--see if he does not. oh, he is a clever one!'
-'who?' my lady said, looking at him in some displeasure.
-'who? tzerclas, to be sure!' he answered, chuckling.
-'you have seen him!' she exclaimed, rising.
-'of course i have!' he answered. 'and you will see him too, one of these days.'
-my lady looked at me, frowning. but i shook my head. he was not drunk.
-'where?' she asked, after a pause. 'where did you see him, rupert?'
-'in the street--where you see other men,' he answered, chuckling again. 'he should not be there, but who is to keep him out? he is too clever. he will get his way in the end, see if he does not!'
-'rupert!' my lady cried in wrathful amazement, 'to hear you, one would suppose you admired him.'
-'so i do,' he replied coolly. 'why not? he has all the wits of the family. he is as cunning as the devil. take a hint, cousin; put yourself on the right side. he will win in the end!' and the waldgrave rose restlessly from his chair, and, going to the window, began to whistle.
-my lady came swiftly to me, and it grieved me to see the pain and woe in her face.
-'is he mad?' she muttered.
-i shook my head.
-'do you think he has really seen him?' she whispered. we both stood with our eyes on him.
-'i fear so, my lady,' i said with reluctance.
-'but it would cost him his life,' she muttered eagerly, 'if he were found here!'
-'he is a bold man,' i answered.
-'ah! so was he--once,' she replied in a peculiar tone, and she pointed stealthily to the unconscious man in the window. 'a month ago he would have taken him by the throat anywhere. what has come to him?'
-'god knows,' i answered reverently. 'grant only he may do us no harm!'
-he turned round at that, humming gaily, and went out, seeming almost unconscious of our presence; and i made as light of the matter to my lady as i could. but tzerclas in the city, the waldgrave mad, or at any rate not sane, and last, but not least, the strange light in which the latter chose to regard the former, were circumstances i could not easily digest. they filled me with uneasy fears and surmises. i began to perambulate the crowd, seeking furtively for a face; and was entirely determined what i would do if i found it. the town was full, as all besieged cities are, of rumours of spies and treachery, and of reported overtures made now to the city behind the back of the army, and now to the army to betray the city. a single word of denunciation, and tzerclas' life would not be worth three minutes' purchase--a rope and the nearest butcher's hook would end it. my mind was made up to say the word.
-i suppose i had been going about in this state of vigilance three days or more, when something, but not the thing i sought, rewarded it. at the time i was on my way back from morning drill. it was a little after eight, and the streets and the people wore an air bright, yet haggard. night, with its perils, was over; day, with its privations, lay before us. my mind was on the common fortunes, but i suppose my eyes were mechanically doing their work, for on a sudden i saw something at a window, took perhaps half a step, and stopped as if i had been shot.
-i had seen marie's face! nay, i still saw it, while a man might count two. then it was gone. and i stood gasping.
-i suppose i stood so for half a minute, waiting, with the blood racing from my heart to my head, and every pulse in my body beating. but she did not reappear. the door of the house did not open. nothing happened.
-yet i had certainly seen her; for i remembered particulars--the expression of her face, the surprise that had leapt into her eyes as they met mine, the opening of the lips in an exclamation.
-and still i stood gazing at the window and nothing happened.
-at last i came to myself, and i scanned the house. it was a large house of four stories, three gables in width. the upper stories jutted out; the beams on which they rested were finely carved, the gables were finished off with rich, wooden pinnacles. in each story, the lowest excepted, were three long, low windows of the common nuremberg type, and the whole had a substantial and reputable air.
-the window at which i had seen marie was farthest from the door, on the first floor. to go to the door i had to lose sight of it, and perhaps for that reason i stood the longer. at last i went and knocked, and waited in a fever for some one to come. the street was a thoroughfare. there were a number of people passing. i thought that all the town would go by before a dragging foot at last sounded inside, and the great nail-studded door was opened on the chain. a stout, red-faced woman showed herself in the aperture.
-'what is it?' she asked.
-'you have a girl in this house, named marie wort,' i answered breathlessly. 'i saw her a moment ago at the window. i know her, and i wish to speak to her.'
-the woman's little eyes dwelt on me stolidly for a space. then she made as if she would shut the door. 'for shame!' she said spitefully. 'we have no girls here. begone with you!'
-but i put my foot against the door. 'whose house is this?' i said.
-'herr krapp's,' she answered crustily.
-'is he at home?'
-'no, he is not,' she retorted; 'and if he were, we have no baggages here.' and again she tried to shut the door, but i prevented her.
-'where is he?' i asked sternly.
-'he is at morning drill, if you must know,' she snapped; 'and his two sons. now, will you let me shut my door? or must i cry out?'
-'nonsense, mother!' i said. 'who is in the house besides yourself?'
-'what is that to you?' she replied, breathing short.
-'i have told you,' i said, trying to control my anger. 'i----'
-but, quick as lightning, the door slammed to and cut me short. i had thoughtlessly moved my foot. i heard the woman chuckle and go slipshod down the passage, and though i knocked again in a rage, the door remained closed.
-i fell back and looked at the house. an elderly man in a grave, sober dress was passing, among others, and i caught his eye.
-'whose house is that?' i asked him.
-'herr krapp's,' he answered.
-'i am a stranger,' i said. 'is he a man of substance?'
-i thanked him, and made but two steps to herr krapp's side. he was the other's twin--elderly, soberly dressed, his only distinction a sword and pistol in his girdle and a white shoulder sash.
-'herr krapp?' i said.
-'the same,' he answered, eying me gravely.
-'i am the countess of heritzburg's steward,' i said. i began to see the need of explanation. 'doubtless you have heard that she is in the city?'
-'certainly,' he answered. 'in the ritter strasse.'
-'yes,' i replied. 'a fortnight ago she missed a young woman, one of her attendants. she was lost in a night adventure,' i continued, my throat dry and husky. 'a few minutes ago i saw her looking from one of your windows.'
-'from one of my windows?' he exclaimed in a tone of surprise.
-'yes,' i said stiffly.
-he opened his eyes wide. 'here?' he said. he pointed to his house.
-'impossible!' he replied, shutting his lips suddenly. 'quite impossible, my friend. my household consists of my two sons and myself. we have a housekeeper only, and two lads. i have no young women in the house.'
-'yet i saw her face, herr krapp, at your window,' i answered obstinately.
-'wait,' he said; 'i will ask.'
-but when the old housekeeper came she had only the same tale to tell. she was alone. no young woman had crossed the threshold for a week past. there was no other woman there, young or old.
-'you will have it that i have a young man in the house next!' she grumbled, shooting scorn at me.
-'i can assure you that there is no one here,' herr krapp said civilly. 'dorcas has been with me many years, and i can trust her. still if you like you can walk through the rooms.'
-but i hesitated to do that. the man's manner evidenced his sincerity, and in face of it my belief wavered. fancy, i began to think, had played me a trick. it was no great wonder if the features which were often before me in my dreams, and sometimes painted themselves on the darkness while i lay wakeful, had for once taken shape in the daylight, and so vividly as to deceive me. i apologised. i said what was proper, and, with a heavy sigh, went from the door.
-ay, and with bent head. the passing crowd and the sunshine and the distant music of drum and trumpet grated on me. for there was yet another explanation. and i feared that marie was dead.
-i was still brooding sadly over the matter when i reached home. steve met me at the door, but, feeling in no mood for small talk just then, i would have passed him by and gone in, if he had not stopped me.
-'i have a message for you, lieutenant,' he said.
-'what is it?' i asked without curiosity.
-'a little boy gave it to me at the door,' he answered. 'i was to ask you to be in the street opposite herr krapp's half an hour after sunset this evening.'
-i gasped. 'herr krapp's!' i exclaimed.
-steve nodded, looking at me queerly. 'yes; do you know him?' he said.
-'i do now,' i muttered, gulping down my amazement. but my face was as red as fire, the blood drummed in my ears. i had to turn away to hide my emotion. 'what was the boy like?' i asked.
-but it seemed that the lad had made off the moment he had done his errand, and steve had not noticed him particularly. 'i called after him to know who sent him,' he added, 'but he had gone too far.'
-i nodded and mumbled something, and went on into the house. perhaps i was still a little sore on my girl's account, and resented the easy way in which she had dropped out of others' lives. at any rate, my instinct was to keep the thing to myself. the face at the window, and then this strange assignation, could have only one meaning; but, good or bad, it was for me. and i hugged myself on it, and said nothing even to my lady.
-the day seemed long, but at length the evening came, and when the men had gone to drill and the house was quiet, i slipped out. the streets were full at this hour of men passing to and fro to their drill-stations, and of women who had been out to see the camp, and were returning before the gates closed. the bells of many of the churches were ringing; some had services. i had to push my way to reach herr krapp's house in time; but once there the crowd of passers served my purpose by screening me, as i loitered, from farther remark; while i took care, by posting myself in a doorway opposite the window, to make it easy for any one who expected me to find me.
-and then i waited with my heart beating. the clocks were striking a half after seven when i took my place, and for a time i stood in a ferment of excitement, now staring with bated breath at the casement, where i had seen marie, now scanning all the neighbouring doorways, and then again letting my eyes rove from window to window both of krapp's house and the next one on either side. as the latter were built with many quaint oriels, and tiny dormers, and had lattices in side-nooks, where one least looked to find them, i was kept expecting and employed. i was never quite sure, look where i would, what eyes were upon me.
-but little by little, as time passed and nothing happened, and the strollers all went by without accosting me, and no faces save strange ones showed at the windows, the heat of expectation left me. the chill of disappointment took its place. i began to doubt and fear. the clocks struck eight. the sun had been down an hour. half that time i had been waiting.
-to remain passive was no longer bearable, and sick of caution, i stepped out and began to walk up and down the street, courting rather than avoiding notice. the traffic was beginning to slacken. i could see farther and mark people at a distance; but still no one spoke to me, no one came to me. here and there lights began to shine in the houses, on gleaming oak ceilings and carved mantels. the roofs were growing black against the paling sky. in nooks and corners it was dark. the half-hour sounded, and still i walked, fighting down doubt, clinging to hope.
-but when another quarter had gone by, doubt became conviction. i had been fooled! either some one who had seen me loitering at krapp's in the morning and heard my tale had gone straight off, and played me this trick; or--gott im himmel!--or i had been lured here that i might be out of the way at home.
-i had this in my mind. judge, then, of my horror, when, as i approached the ritter strasse, i became aware of a dull, roaring sound; and hastening to turn the corner, saw a large mob gathered in front of our house, and filling the street from wall to wall. the glare of torches shone on a thousand upturned faces, and flamed from a hundred casements. at the windows, on the roofs, peering over balconies and coping-stones and gables, and looking out of doorways were more faces, all red in the torchlight. and all the time as the smoking light rose and fell, the yelling, as it seemed to me, rose and fell with it--now swelling into a stern roar of exultation, now sinking into an ugly, snarling noise, above which a man might hear his neighbour speak.
-i seized the first i came to--a man standing on the skirts of the mob, and rather looking on than taking part. 'what is it?' i said, shaking him roughly by the arm. 'what is the matter here?'
-'hallo!' he answered, starting as he turned to me. 'is it you again, my friend?'
-i had hit on herr krapp!' yes!' i cried breathlessly. 'what is it? what is amiss?'
-he shrugged his shoulders. 'they are hanging a spy,' he answered. 'nothing more. irregular, but wholesome.'
-i drew a deep breath. 'is that all?' i said.
-he eyed me curiously. 'to be sure,' he said. 'what did you think it was?'
-'i feared that there might be something wrong at my lady's,' i said, beginning to get my breath again. 'i left her alone at sunset. and when i saw this crowd before the house i--i could almost have cut off my hand. thank god, i was mistaken!'
-he looked at me again and seemed to reflect a moment. then he said, 'you have not found the young woman you were seeking?'
-i shook my head.
-'well, it occurred to me afterwards--but at which window did you see her?'
-'at a window on the first floor; the farthest from the door,' i answered.
-'the second from the door end of the house?' he asked.
-'no, the third.'
-he nodded with an air of quiet triumph. 'just so!' he said. 'i thought so afterwards. but the fact is, my friend, my house ends with the second gable. the third gable-end does not belong to it, though doubtless it once did.'
-'no, the door is in another street,' he answered. 'or rather it opens on the churchyard at the back of st. austin's. so you may have seen her after all. well, i wish you well,' he continued. 'i must be going.'
-the crowd was beginning to separate, moving away by twos and threes, talking loudly. the lights were dying down. he nodded and was gone; while i still stood gaping. for how did the matter stand? if i had really seen marie at the window--as seemed possible now--and if nothing turned out to be amiss at home, then i had not been tricked after all, and the message was genuine. true she had not kept her appointment. but she might be in durance, or one of a hundred things might have frustrated her intention.
-still i could do nothing now except go home, and cutting short my speculations, i forced myself through the press, and with some labour managed to reach the door. as i did so i turned to look back, and the sight, though the people were moving away fast, was sufficiently striking. almost opposite us in a beetling archway, the bowed head and shoulders of a man stood up above the common level. there was a little space round him, whence men held back; and the red glow of the smouldering links which the executioners had cast on the ground at his feet, shone upwards on his swollen lips and starting eyeballs. as i looked, the body seemed to writhe in its bonds; but it was only the wind swayed it. i went in shuddering.
-on the stairs i met count hugo coming down, and knew the moment i saw him that there was something wrong. he stopped me, his eyes full of wrath.
-'my man,' he said sternly, 'i thought that you were to be trusted! where have you been? what have you been doing? donner! is your lady to be left at dark with no one to man this door?'
-conscience-stricken, i muttered that i hoped nothing had gone amiss.
-'no, but something easily might!' he answered grimly. 'when i came here i found three as ugly looking rogues whispering and peering in your doorway as man could wish to see! yes, master martin, and if i had not ridden up at that moment i will not answer for it, that they would not have been in! it is a pity a few more knaves are not where that one is,' he continued sourly, pointing through the open door. 'we could spare them. but do you see and have more care for the future. or, mein gott, i will take other measures, my friend!'
-so it had been a ruse after all! i went up sick at heart.
-the house in the churchyard.
-the heat which count leuchtenstein had thrown into the matter surprised me somewhat when i came to think of it, but i was soon to be more surprised. i did not go to my lady at once on coming in, for on the landing the sound of voices and laughter met me, and i learned that there were still two or three young officers sitting with her who had outstayed count hugo. i waited until they were gone--clanking and jingling down the stairs; and then, about the hour at which i usually went to take orders before retiring, i knocked at the door.
-commonly one of the women opened to me. to-night the door remained closed. i waited, knocked again, and then went in. i could see no one, but the lamps were flickering, and i saw that the window was open.
-at that moment, while i stood uncertain, she came in through it; and blinded, i suppose, by the lights, did not see me. for at the first chair she reached just within the window, she sat down suddenly and burst into tears!
-'mein gott!' i cried clumsily. i should have known better; but the laughter of the young fellows as they trooped down the stairs was still in my ears, and i was dumfounded.
-she sprang up on the instant, and glared at me through her tears. 'who are--how dare you? how dare you come into the room without knocking?' she cried violently.
-'i did knock, my lady,' i stammered, 'asking your pardon.'
-'then now go! go out, do you hear?' she cried, stamping her foot with passion. 'i want nothing. go!'
-i turned and crept towards the door like a beaten hound. but i was not to go; when my hand was on the latch, her mood changed.
-'no, stay,' she said in a different tone. 'you may come back. after all, martin, i had rather it was you than any one else.'
-she dried her tears as she spoke, standing up very straight and proud, and hiding nothing. i felt a pang as i looked at her. i had neglected her of late. i had been thinking more of others.
-'it is nothing, martin,' she said after a pause, and when she had quite composed her face. 'you need not be frightened. all women cry a little sometimes, as men swear,' she added, smiling.
-'you have been looking at that thing outside,' i said, grumbling.
-'perhaps it did upset me,' she replied. 'but i think it was that i felt--a little lonely.'
-that sounded so strange a complaint on her lips, seeing that the echo of the young sparks' laughter was barely dead in the room, that i stared. but i took it, on second thoughts, to refer to fraulein max, whom she had kept at a distance since our escape, never sitting down with her, or speaking to her except on formal occasions; and i said bluntly--
-'you need a woman friend, my lady.'
-she looked at me keenly, and i fancied her colour rose. but she only answered, 'yes, martin. but you see i have not one. i am alone.'
-'and lonely, my lady?'
-'sometimes,' she answered, smiling sadly.
-'but this evening?' i replied, feeling that there was still something i did not understand. 'i should not have thought you would be feeling that way. i have not been here, but when i came in, my lady----'
-'pshaw!' she answered with a laugh of disdain. 'those boys, martin? they can laugh, fight, and ride; but for the rest, pouf! they are not company. however, it is bedtime, and you must go. i think you have done me good. good night. i wish--i wish i could do you good,' she added kindly, almost timidly.
-to some extent she had. i went away feeling that mine was not the only trouble in the world, nor my loneliness the only loneliness. she was a stranger in a besieged city, a woman among men, exposed, despite her rank, to many of a woman's perils; and doubtless she had felt fraulein max's defection and the waldgrave's strange conduct more deeply than any one watching her daily bearing would have supposed. so much the greater reason was there that i should do my duty loyally, and putting her first to whom i owed so much, let no sorrow of my own taint my service.
-but god knows there is one passion that defies argument. the house next herr krapp's had a fascination for me which i could not resist; and though i did not again leave my lady unguarded, but arranged that steve should stop at home and watch the door, four o'clock the next afternoon saw me sneaking away in search of st. austin's. of course i soon found it; but there i came to a check. round the churchyard stood a number of quiet family houses, many-gabled and shaded by limes, and doubtless once occupied by reverend canons and prebendaries. but no one of these held such a position that it could shoulder herr krapp's, or be by any possibility the house i wanted. the churchyard lay too far from the street for that.
-i walked up the row twice before i would admit this; but at last i made it certain. still herr krapp must know his own premises, and not much cast down, i was going to knock at a chance door and put the question, when my eyes fell on a man who sat at work in the churchyard. he wore a mason's apron, and was busily deepening the inscription on a tablet let into the church wall. he seemed to be the very man to know, and i went to him.
-'i want a house which looks into the neu strasse,' i said. 'it is the next house to herr krapp's. can you direct me to the door?'
-he looked at me for a moment, his hammer suspended. then he pointed to the farther end of the row. 'there is an alley,' he said in a hoarse, croaking voice. 'the door is at the end.'
-i thought his occupation an odd one, considering the state of the city; but i had other things to dwell on, and hastened off to the place he indicated. here, sure enough, i found the mouth of a very narrow passage which, starting between the last house and a blind wall, ran in the required direction. it was a queer place, scarcely wider than my shoulders, and with two turns so sharp that i remember wondering how they brought their dead out. in one part it wound under the timbers of a house; it was dark and somewhat foul, and altogether so ill-favoured a path that i was glad i had brought my arms.
-the fire downstairs seemed far more inviting than the cold floors and the colder sheets.
-one of these rooms is pointed out as the poet's chamber. here he wrote many of his earlier poems. among these was "the lighthouse." in this he described sights in which he delighted, sights the lighthouse daily witnessed:
-"and the great ships sail outward and return bending and bowing o'er the billowing swell, and ever joyful as they see it burn, they wave their silent welcome and farewell.
-"'sail on,' it says, 'sail on, ye stately ships! and with your floating bridge the ocean span; be mine to guard the light from all eclipse, be yours to bring man nearer unto man.'"
-during the years after 1843, when longfellow bought the craigie house at cambridge, his thoughts turned back with longing to the old home and the old town, and he wrote:
-"often i think of the beautiful town that is seated by the sea; often in thought go up and down the pleasant streets of the dear old town, and my youth comes back to me."
-for nineteen years after the poet's death his sister ann, mrs. pierce, lived in the old home. when she died, in 1901, she deeded it to the maine historical society, that the place might be made a permanent memorial of the life of the children's poet.
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-tylers, letters and times of the. by lyman g. tyler. whittet & shepperson, richmond.
-washington after the revolution. by william spohn baker. j. b. lippincott company, philadelphia.
-washington, the capitol city. by rufus rockwell wilson. j. b. lippincott company, philadelphia.
-washington, mary, story of. by marian harland. houghton, mifflin company, boston.
-west virginia historical magazine, january, 1903.
-whittier, john greenleaf. by thomas wentworth higginson. macmillan & company, new york.
-where american independence began. by daniel munro wilson. houghton, mifflin company, boston.
-williamsburg, the old colonial capital. by lyman gordon tyler. whittet & shepperson, richmond.
-worthy women of the last century. by mrs. o. j. wister and miss agnes irwin. j. b. lippincott company, philadelphia.
-hodgson, adam, 219.
-inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
-page 107: "1872" possibly should be 1782. page 309: "hampdon sidney" possibly should be "hampden sydney."
-various references to newcastle or new castle, delaware have been left as printed.
-all illustrations except the frontispiece have been moved to their references in the text.
-unmatched quotation marks were left as printed.
-produced from scanned images of public domain material from the internet archive.)
-the a. e. f.
-the a. e. f.
-with general pershing and the american forces
-d. appleton and company
-new york london
-copyright, 1918, by d. appleton and company
-printed in the united states of america
-some of the material in this book is reprinted through the courtesy of the new york tribune.
-the a. e. f.
-the big pond
-"voilà un sousmarin," said a sailor, as he stuck his head through the doorway of the smoking room. the man with aces and eights dropped, but the player across the table had three sevens, and he waited for a translation. it came from the little gun on the afterdeck. the gun said "bang!" and in a few seconds it repeated "bang!" i heard the second shot from my stateroom, but before i had adjusted my lifebelt the gun fired at the submarine once more.
-a cheer followed this shot. no yale eleven, or even harvard for that matter, ever heard such a cheer. it was as if the shout for the first touchdown and for the last one and for all the field goals and long gains had been thrown into one. there was something in the cheer, too, of a long drawn "ho-old 'em."
-i looked out the porthole and asked an ambulance man: "did we get her then?"
-"no, but we almost did," he answered. "there she is," he added. "that's the periscope."
-following the direction of his finger i found a stray beanpole thrust somewhat carelessly into the ocean. it came out of a wave top with a rakish tilt. probably ours was the angle, for the steamer was cutting the ocean into jigsaw sections as we careened away for dear life, now with a zig and then with a zag, seeking safety in drunken flight. when i reached the deck, steamer and passengers seemed to be doing as well as could be expected, and even better.
-the periscope was falling astern, and the three hundred passengers, mostly ambulance drivers and red cross nurses, were lined along the rail, rooting. some of the girls stood on top of the rail and others climbed up to the lifeboats, which were as good as a row of boxes. it was distinctly a home team crowd. nobody cheered for the submarine. the only passenger who showed fright was a chap who rushed up and down the deck loudly shouting: "don't get excited."
-"give 'em hell," said a home town fan and shook his fist in the direction of the submarine. the gunner fired his fourth shot and this time he was far short in his calculation.
-"it's a question of whether we get her first or she gets us, isn't it?" asked an old lady in about the tone she would have used in asking a popular lecturer whether or not he thought hamlet was really mad. such neutrality was beyond me. i couldn't help expressing a fervent hope that the contest would be won by our steamer. it was the bulliest sort of a game, and a pleasant afternoon, too, but one passenger was no more than mildly interested. w. k. vanderbilt did not put on a life preserver nor did he leave his deck chair. he sat up just a bit and watched the whole affair tolerantly. after all the submarine captain was a stranger to him.
-our fifth and final shot was the best. it hit the periscope or thereabouts. the shell did not rebound and there was a patch of oil on the surface of the water. the beanpole disappeared. the captain left the bridge and went to the smoking room. he called for cognac.
-"il est mort," said he, with a sweep of his right hand.
-"he says we sunk her," explained the man who spoke french.
-the captain said the submarine had fired one torpedo and had missed the steamer by about ninety feet. the u-boat captain must have taken his eye off the boat, or sliced or committed some technical blunder or other, for he missed an easy shot. even german efficiency cannot eradicate the blessed amateur. may his thumbs never grow less!
-we looked at the chart and found that our ship was more than seven hundred miles from the nearest land. it seemed a lonely ocean.
-one man came through the crisis with complete triumph. as soon as the submarine was sighted, the smoking room steward locked the cigar chest and the wine closet. not until then did he go below for his lifebelt.
-reviewing my own emotions, i found that i had not been frightened quite as badly as i expected. the submarine didn't begin to scare me as much as the first act of "the thirteenth chair," but still i could hardly lay claim to calm, for i had not spoken one of the appropriate speeches which came to my mind after the attack. the only thing to which i could point with pride was the fact that before putting on my lifebelt i paused to open a box of candy, and went on deck to face destruction, or what not, with a caramel between my teeth. but before the hour was up i was sunk indeed.
-it was submarine this and sousmarin that in the smoking room. the u-boats lurked in every corner. one man had seen two and at the next table was a chap who had seen three. there was the fellow who had sighted the periscope first of all, the man who had seen the wake of the torpedo, and the littlest ambulance driver who had sighted the submarine through the bathroom window while immersed in the tub. he was the man who had started for the deck with nothing more about him than a lifebelt and had been turned back.
-"i wonder," said a passenger, "whether those submarines have wireless? do you suppose now that boat could send messages on ahead and ask other u-boats to look after us?" and just then the gun on the forward deck went "bang."
-it was the meanest and most inappropriate sound i ever heard. it was an anti-climax of the most vicious sort. it was bad form, bad art, bad everything. i felt a little sick, and one of the contributing emotions was a sort of fearfully poignant boredom. i tried to remember just what the law of averages was and to compute as rapidly as possible the chances of the vessel to complete two more days of travel if attacked by a submarine every hour.
-"the ocean is full of the damn things," said the man at the next table petulantly.
-this time the thing was a black object not more than fifty yards away. the captain signaled the gunner not to fire again and he let it be known that this was nothing but a barrel. later it was rumored that it was a mine, but then there were all sorts of rumors during those last two days when we ran along with lifeboats swung out. there was much talk of a convoy, but none appeared.
-they had been with us not a little from the beginning. even on the first day out from new york the ship ran with all lights out and portholes shielded. later passengers were forbidden to smoke on deck at night and once there was a lifeboat drill of a sort, but the boats were not swung out in the davits until after we met the submarine.
-romance was not hard to find on the vessel. the slow waiter who limped had been wounded at the marne, and the little fat stewardess had spent twenty-two days aboard the german raider eitel friedrich. there were french soldiers in the steerage and one of them had the croix de guerre with four palms. he had been wounded three times.
-but when the ship came up the river the littlest ambulance driver--the one who knew "est" and women--summed things up and decided that he was glad to be an american. he looked around the deck at the red cross nurses and others who had stood along the rail and cheered in the submarine fight, and he said:
-"i never would have thought it of 'em. it's kinda nice to know american women have got so much nerve."
-the littlest ambulance driver drew himself up to his full five feet four and brushed his new uniform once again.
-"yes, sir," he said, "we men have certainly got to hand it to the girls on this boat." and as he went down the gangplank he was humming: "and i learned about women from her."
-the a. e. f.
-the dawn was gray and so was the ship, but the eye picked her out of the mist because of two broad yellow stripes which ran the whole length of the upper decks. as the ship warped into the pier the stripes of yellow became so many layers of men in khaki, each motionless and each gazing toward the land.
-"say," cried a voice across the diminishing strip of water, "what place is this anyhow?" the reply came back from newspapermen whose only companions on the pier were two french soldiers and a little group of german prisoners.
-"well," said the voice from the ship, "this ought to be better than the texas border."
-the american regulars had come to france.
-nobody had known the americans were coming. even the mayor was surprised and had to run home to get his red sash and his high hat. children on the way to school did not go further than the quay, for back of the ship, creeping into the slip, were other ships with troops and torpedo boat destroyers and a cruiser.
-just before the gangplank was lowered the band on the first transport played "the star spangled banner." the men on the ship stood at attention. the crowds on shore only watched. they did not know our national anthem yet. next the band played "the marseillaise," and the hats of the crowd came off. as the last note died away one of the americans relaxed from attention and leaned over the rail toward a small group of newspapermen from america.
-"do they allow enlisted men to drink in the saloons in this town?" he asked.
-somebody else wanted to know, "is there any place in town where a fellow can get a piece of pie?" a sailor was anxious to rent a bicycle or a horse and "ride somewhere." later the universal question became, "don't any of these people speak american?"
-the men were hustled off the ship and marched into the long street which runs parallel with the docks. they passed within a few feet of the germans. there was less than the length of a bayonet between them but the doughboys did credit to their brief training. they kept their eyes straight ahead.
-"how do they look?" one of the newspapermen asked a german sergeant in the group of prisoners.
-"oh, they look all right," he said professionally, "but you can't tell yet. i'd want to see them in action first."
-"they don't lift their knees high enough," he added and grinned at his little joke.
-a french soldier came up then and expostulated. he said that we must not talk to the germans and set his prisoners back to their task of lifting rails. there were guards at both ends of the street, but scores of children slipped by them and began to talk to the soldiers. there were hardly half a dozen men in the first regiment who understood french. veterans of the mexican border tried a little bad spanish and when that didn't work they fell back to signs. the french made an effort to meet the visitors half way. i saw a boy extend his reader to a soldier and explain that a fearfully homely picture which looked like a caterpillar was a "chenille." the boy added that the chenille was so ugly that it was without doubt german and no good. children also pointed out familiar objects in the book such as "chats" and "chiens," but as one soldier said: "i don't care about those things, sonny: haven't you got a roast chicken or an apple pie in that book?"
-some officers had tried to teach their men a little french on the trip across, but not much seemed to stick. the men were not over curious as to this strange language. one old sergeant went to his lieutenant and said: "you know, sir, i've served in china and the philippines and cuba. i've been up against this foreign language proposition before and i know just what i need. if you'll write down a few words for me and tell me how they're pronounced i won't have to bother you any more. i want 'give me a plate of ham and eggs. how much? what's your name?' and 'do you love me, kid?'"
-the vocabulary of the officers did not seem very much more extensive than that of the men. while the troops were disembarking officers were striving to get supplies started for the camp several miles outside the city. all the american motor trucks had been shipped on the slowest steamer of the convoy but the french came to our aid. "i have just one order," said the french officer, who met the first unit of the american expeditionary army, "there is no american and no french now. there is only ours."
-although the officer was kind enough to make ownership of all available motor trucks common, he could not do as much for the language of the poilus who drove them. i found the american motor truck chief hopelessly entangled.
-after several companies had disembarked the march to camp began, up the main street and along the fine shore road which skirts the bay. the band struck up "stars and stripes forever" and away they went. they did not march well, these half green companies who had rolled about the seas so long, but they held the eyes of all and the hearts of some. they glorified even cheap tunes such as "if you don't like your uncle sammy go back to your home across the sea," and sousa seemed a very master of fire when the men paraded to his marches. these american units did not give the impression of compactness which one gets from frenchmen on the march. the longer stride gives the doughboy an uneven gait. he looks like a man walking across a plowed field and yet you cannot miss a sense of power. you feel that he will get there even if his goal is the red sun itself at the back of the hills.
-there was no long drawn cheer from the people who lined the streets to see the americans pass. even crowds in paris do not cheer like that. instead individuals called out phrases of greeting and there was much handclapping. although mixed in point of service the men ran to type as far as build went. they amazed the french by their height, although some of the organizations which followed the first division are better physically. of course these american troops are actually taller than the french and in addition they are thin enough to accentuate their height. it was easy to pick out the youngsters, most of whom found their packs a little heavy. they would stand up straighter though when an old sergeant moved alongside and growled a word or two. it was easy to see that these sergeants were of the old army. they were all lank men, boiled red from within and without. they had put deserts and jungles under foot and no distance would seem impossible for them along the good roads of france.
-the french were also interested in a company of american negroes specially recruited for stevedore service. the negroes had been outfitted with old cavalry overcoats of a period shortly after the civil war. they were blue coats with gold buttons and the lining was a tasteful but hardly somber shade of crimson. nor were the negroes without picturesque qualities even when they had shed their coats and gone to work. their working shirts of white were inked all over with pious sentences calculated to last through the submarine zone, but piety was mixed. one big negro, for instance, had written upon his shirt: "the lord is my shepherd," but underneath he had drawn a large starfish for luck. a few daring ones had ornamented themselves with skulls and crossbones. to the negroes fell the bitterest disappointment of the american landing in france. two savannah stevedores caught sight of a black soldier in the french uniform and rushed up to exchange greetings. the senegalese shrugged his shoulders and turned away from the flood of english.
-"that," said one of the american darkies, "is the most ignorantest and stuck up nigger i ever did see." they were not yet ready to believe that the negro race had let itself in for the amazing complications of a foreign language.
-later in the day the town was full of the eddies which occur when two languages meet head on, for almost all the soldiers and sailors received leave to come to town. they wanted beer and champagne and cognac, chocolate, cake, crackers, pears, apples, cherries, picture postcards, sardines, rings, cigarettes, and books of french and english phrases. the phrase books were usually an afterthought, so commerce was conducted with difficulty. a few of the shopkeepers equipped themselves with dictionaries and painstakingly worked out the proper reply for each customer. signs were much more effective and when it came to purchase, the sailor or soldier simply held out a handful of american money and the storekeeper took a little. to the credit of the shopkeepers of the nameless port, let it be said that they seemed in every case to take no more than an approximation of the right amount. fortunately the late unpleasantness at babel was not absolutely thoroughgoing and there are words in french which offer no great difficulty to the american. the entente cordiale is furthered by words such as "chocolat," "sandwich," "biere" and "bifstek." the difficulties of "vin" are not insurmountable either.
-"a funny people," was the comment of one doughboy, "when i ask for 'sardines' i get 'em all right, but when i say 'cheese' or 'canned peaches' i don't get anything."
-another complained, "i don't understand these people at all. they spell some of their words all right, but they haven't got the sense to say 'em that way." he could see no reason why "vin" should sound like "van."
-another objection of the invading army was that the townsfolk demanded whole sentences of french. mixtures seemed incomprehensible to them and the officer who kept crying out, "madame, where are my oeufs?" got no satisfaction whatever.
-late in the afternoon phrase books began to appear, but they did not help a great deal because by the time the right phrase had been found some fellow who used only sign language had slipped in ahead of the student. then, too, some of the books seemed hardly adapted for present conditions. one officer was distinctly annoyed because the first sentence he found in a chapter headed war terms was, "where is the grand stand?" but the book which seemed to fall furthest short of promise was a pamphlet entitled, "just the french you want to know."
-"look at this," said an indignant owner. "le travail assure la santé et la bien-être, il élève et fortifie l'âme, il adoucit les souffrances, chasse l'ennui, et plaisir sans pareil, il est encore le sel des autres plaisirs. go on with it. look at what all that means--'work assures health and well being, it elevates and fortifies the soul, drives away ennui, alleviates suffering, and, a pleasure without an equal, it is still the salt of all other pleasures'--what do you think of that? just the french you want to know! i don't want to address the graduating class, i want to tell a barber to leave it long on top, but trim it pretty close around the edges."
-the happy purchaser of the book did not throw it away, however, until he turned to the chapter headed "at the tailor's" and found that the first sentence set down in french meant, "the bodice is too tight in front, and it is uncomfortable under the arms. it is a little too low-necked, and the sleeves are not wide enough."
-sundown sent most of the soldiers scurrying back to camp, but the port lacked no life that night, for sailors came ashore in increasing numbers and american officers were everywhere. the two hotels--the grand and the grand hotel des messageries, known to the army as the grand and miserable hotel--were thronged. generals and admirals rushed about to conferences and in the middle of all the confusion a young second lieutenant sat at the piano in the parlor of the grand and played schumann's "warum" over and over again as if his heart would break for homesickness. the sailors and a few soldiers who seemed to have business in the town had no trouble in making themselves at home.
-"mademoiselle, donnez moi un baiser, s'il vous plait," said one of the apt pupils to the pretty barmaid at the café du centre.
-but she said: "mais non."
-lafayette, nous voilà
-the navy was the first to take paris. while the doughboys were still at the port crowding themselves into camp, lucky sailors were on their way to let the french capital see the american uniform. i came up on the night train with a crowd of them. their pockets bulged with money, tins of salmon, ham and truffled chicken. they had chocolate in their hats and boxes of fancy crackers under their arms, while cigars and cigarettes poked out of their blouses. they would have nothing to do with french tobacco, but favored a popular american brand which sells for a quarter in new york and twice as much over here. one almost expected each sailor to produce a roast turkey or a pheasant from up his sleeve at meal time, but it was pretty much all meal time for these men who were making their shore leave an intensive affair. one was a very new sailor and he was rejoicing to find land under his feet again.
-"oh, boy!" he said, when i asked him about his ship, "that old tub had two more movements than a hula dancer."
-the little group in my compartment was sampling some champagne which hospitable folk at the port had given them. it was not real champagne, to be sure, but a cheaper white wine with twice as many bubbles and at least as much noise. it sufficed very well, since it was ostentation rather than thirst which spurred the sailors on and they spread their hospitality throughout the train. a few french soldiers headed back for the trenches were the traveling companions of the americans. the poilus were decidedly friendly but somewhat amazed at the big men who made so much noise with their jokes and their songs. of course the french were called upon to sample the various tinned and bottled goods which the sailors were carrying. it was "have a swig of this, froggy" or "get yourself around that, frenchy." the americans were still just a bit condescending to their brothers in arms. they had not yet seen them in action. of course there was much comparison of equipment and the sailors all tried on the trench helmets of the french and found them too small. the entente grew and presently there was an allied concert. the sailors sang, "what a wonderful mother you'd make," and the french replied with the verdun song, "ils ne passeront pas," and later with "madelon."
-i heard that song many times afterwards and it always brings to mind a picture of dusty french soldiers marching with their short, quick, eager stride. they are always dusty. all summer long they wear big overcoats which come below the knee. dust settles and multiplies and if you see a french regiment marching in the spring rainy season, it will still be dusty. perhaps their souls are a little dusty now, but it is french dust. and as they march they sing as the men sang to the newly arrived americans in the train that night:
-for all the soldiers, on their holidays, there is a place, just tucked in by the woods, a house with ivy growing on the walls-- a cabaret--"aux toulourous"--the goods! the girl who serves is young and sweet as love, she's light as any butterfly in spring, her eyes have got a sparkle like her wine. we call her madelon--it's got a swing! the soldiers' girl! she leads us all a dance! she's only madelon, but she's romance!
-when madelon comes out to serve us drinks, we always know she's coming by her song! and every man, he tells his little tale, and madelon, she listens all day long. our madelon is never too severe-- a kiss or two is nothing much to her-- she laughs us up to love and life and god-- madelon! madelon! madelon!
-we all have girls for keeps that wait at home who'll marry us when fighting time is done; but they are far away--too far to tell what happens in these days of cut-and-run. we sigh away such days as best we can, and pray for time to bring us nearer home, but tales like ours won't wait till then to tell-- we have to run and boast to madelon. we steal a kiss--she takes it all in play; we dream she is that other--far away. a corp'ral with a feather in his cap went courting madelon one summer's day, and, mad with love, he swore she was superb, and he would wed her any day she'd say. but madelon was not for any such-- she danced away and laughed: "my stars above! why, how could i consent to marry you, when i have my whole regiment to love? i could not choose just one and leave the rest. i am the soldiers' girl--i like that best!"
-when madelon comes out to serve us drinks, we always know she's coming by her song! and every man, he tells his little tale, and madelon, she listens all day long. our madelon is never too severe-- a kiss or two is nothing much to her-- she laughs us up to love and life and god-- madelon! madelon! madelon!
-when the train came into paris early the next morning the sailors were singing the chorus with the poilus. they parted company at the quai d'orsay. the soldiers went to the front; the sailors turned to paris. it was a paris such as no one had ever seen before. the "bannière etoilée" was everywhere. we call it the stars and stripes. little flags were stuck rakishly behind the ears of disreputable parisian cab horses; bigger flags were in the windows of the shops and on top of buildings, but the biggest american flag of all hung on the strassburg monument which shed its mourning when the war began.
-two days later all the flags were fluttering, for on the morning of the third of july the doughboys came to paris. it made no difference that they were only a battalion. when the french saw them they thought of armies and of new armies, for these were the first soldiers in many months who smiled as they marched. the train was late, but the crowd waited outside the gare d'austerlitz for more than two hours. french red cross nurses were waiting at the station, and the doughboys had their first experience with french rations, for they began the long day with "petit déjeuner." men brought up on ham and eggs and flapjacks and oatmeal and even breakfast pie, found war bread and coffee a scant repast, but the ration proved more popular than was expected when it was found that the coffee was charged with cognac. it was a stronger stimulant, though, which sent the men up on the tips of their toes as they swung down the street covering thirty-two inches with each stride. for the first time they heard the roar of a crowd. it was not the steady roar such as comes from american throats. it was split up into "vive les etats unis!" and "vive l'amérique!" with an occasional "vive le president wilson!" this appearance was only a dress rehearsal and the troops were hurried through little frequented streets to a barracks to await the morning of the fourth.
-paris began the great day by waking pershing with music. the band of the republican guard was at the gate of his house a little after eight o'clock. the rest of paris seemed to have had no trouble in arousing itself without music, for already several hundred thousand persons were crowded about the general's hotel. first there were trumpets; then brasses blared and drums rumbled. the general proved himself a light sleeper and a quick dresser. before the last note of the fanfare died away he was at the window and bowing to the crowd. this time there was a solid roar, for everybody shouted "vive pershing." the band cut through the din. there were a few strange variations and uncertainties in the tune, but it was unmistakably "the star spangled banner." only a handful in the crowd knew the american national anthem, but they shouted "chapeau, chapeau" so hard that everybody took up the cry and took off his hat. there was a fine indefinite noisy roar which would have done credit to a double header crowd at the polo grounds when pershing left his hotel for the "invalides," where the march of the americans was to begin. it was pleasant to observe at that moment that our commander has as straight a back as any man in the allied armies can boast.
-at least four hundred thousand people were crowded around the "invalides." they had plenty of chance to shout. they were able to keep their enthusiasm within bounds when first poincaré appeared and then painlevé. the next celebrity was papa joffre and hats went into the air. there was an interval of waiting then and a bit of a riot. an old man who found the elbows of his neighbors disagreeable, exclaimed: "oh, let me have peace!" somebody who heard the word "peace" shouted: "he's a pacifist," and people near at hand began to hit at him. he was saved by the coming of the american soldiers. "vive les teddies," shouted the crowd and forgot the old man.
-the crowd made way for the americans as they marched toward the "invalides" and into the court yard where the trophies won from the germans are displayed. "you will bring more from the boche," shouted a frenchman. french and american flags floated above the guns and aeroplanes and minenwerfers. during the short ceremony the american soldiers looked about curiously at the trophies and up at the dome above the tomb of napoleon. many knew him by reputation and some had heard that he was buried there.
-after a short ceremony the americans marched out of the "invalides" and toward the picpus cemetery. the crowds had increased. it was hard marching now. french children ran in between the legs of the soldiers. french soldiers and civilians crowded in upon them. it was impossible to keep ranks. now the men in khaki were just a little brown stream twisting and turning in an effort to get onward. people threw roses at the soldiers and they stuffed them into their hats and in the gun barrels. it was reported from several sources that one or two soldiers who were forced out of ranks were kissed, but no one would admit it afterwards. the youngsters in the ranks tried their best to keep a military countenance. they endeavored to achieve an expression which should be polite but firm, an air of having been through the same experience many times before. only one or two old sergeants succeeded. the rest blushed under the cheers and entangling interest of the crowd and they could not keep the grins away when people shouted "vive les teddies" or threw roses at them. on that morning it was great to be young and a doughboy.
-on and on they went past high walls and gardens to the edge of the city to a cemetery. there were speeches here and they were mostly french. ribot spoke and painlevé and pershing. his was english and he said: "i hope, and i would like to say it that here on the soil of france and in the school of the french heroes, our american soldiers may learn to battle and to vanquish for the liberty of the world."
-but the speech which left the deepest impression was the shortest of all. colonel stanton stood before the tomb of lafayette and made a quick, sharp gesture which was broad enough to include the youngsters from alabama and texas and massachusetts and ohio and the rest. "lafayette, we're here!" he said.
-the franco-american honeymoon
-the day after the americans marched in paris one of the french newspapers referred to the doughboys as "roman cæsars clad in khaki." the city set itself to liking the soldiers and everything american and succeeded admirably. even the taxicab drivers refrained from overcharging americans very much. school children studied the history of america and "the star spangled banner." there were pictures of president wilson and general pershing in many shops and some had framed translations of the president's message to congress. in fact, so eager were the french to take america to their hearts that they even made desperate efforts to acquire a working knowledge of baseball. excelsior, an illustrated french daily, carried an action picture taken during a game played between american ambulance drivers just outside of paris. the picture was entitled: "a player goes to catch the ball, which has been missed by the catcher," and underneath ran the following explanation: "we have given in our number of yesterday the rules of baseball, the american national game, of which a game, which is perhaps the first ever played in france, took place yesterday at colombes between the soldiers of the american ambulances. here is an aspect of the game. the pitcher, or thrower of balls, whom one sees in the distance, has sent the ball. the catcher, or 'attrapeur,' who should restrike the ball with his wooden club, has missed it, and a player placed behind him has seized it in its flight."
-the next day l'intransigeant undertook the even more hazardous task of explaining american baseball slang. during the parade on the fourth of july some americans had greeted the doughboys with shouts of "ataboy." a french journalist heard and was puzzled. he returned to his office and looked in english dictionaries and various works of reference without enlightenment. several english friends were unable to help him and an american who had lived in paris for thirty years was equally at sea. but the reporter worked it out all by himself and the next day he wrote: "parisians have been puzzled by the phrase 'ataboy' which americans are prone to employ in moments of stress or emotion. the phrase is undoubtedly a contraction of 'at her boy' and may be closely approximated by 'au travail, garçon.'" the writer followed with a brief history of the friendly relations of france and america and paid a glowing tribute to the memory of lafayette.
-the name for the american soldiers gave the french press and public no end of trouble. they began enthusiastically enough by calling them the "teddies," but general pershing, when interviewed one day, said that he did not think this name quite fitting as it had "no national significance." the french then followed the suggestion of one of the american correspondents and began to call the soldiers "sammies," or as the french pronounce it, "sammees." although this name received much attention in french and american newspapers it has never caught the fancy of the soldiers in the american expeditionary army. officers and men cordially despise it and no soldier ever refers to himself or a comrade as a "sammy." american officers have not been unmindful of the usefulness of a name for our soldiers. major general sibert, who commanded the first division when it arrived in france, posted a notice at headquarters which read: "the english soldier is called tommy. the french soldier is called poilu. the commanding general would like suggestions for a name for the american soldier." at the end of the week the following names had been written in answer to the general's request: "yank, yankee, johnnie, johnny yank, broncho, nephew, gringo, liberty boy, doughboy."
-now doughboy is a name which the soldiers use, but strictly speaking, it refers only to an infantryman. the origin of the name is shrouded in mystery. one officer, probably an infantryman, has written, that the infantrymen are called doughboys because they are the flower of the army. another story has it that during some maneuvers in texas an artilleryman, comfortably perched on a gun, saw a soldier hiking by in the thick sticky texas mud. the mud was up to the shoetops of the infantryman and the upper part which had dried looked almost white. "say," shouted the artilleryman, "what've you been doing? walking in dough?" and so the men who march have been doughboys ever since.
-paris did not let the lack of a name come between her and the soldiers. the theaters gave the americans almost as much recognition as the press. no musical show was complete without an american finale and each soubrette learned a little english, "i give you kees," or something like that, to please the doughboys. the vaudeville shows, such as those provided at the olympia or the alhambra, gave an even greater proportion of english speech. the alhambra was filled with tommies and doughboys on the night i went. now and again the comedians had lapses of language and the americans were forced to let jokes go zipping by without response. it was a pity, too, for they were good jokes even if french. presently, however, a fat comedian fell off a ladder and laughter became general and international. the show was more richly endowed with actresses than actors. the management was careful to state that all the male performers had fulfilled their military obligations. thus, under the picture of maurice chevalier, a clever comedian and dancer, one read that mons. chevalier was wounded at the battle of cutry, when a bullet passed between his lungs. the story added that he was captured by the germans and held prisoner for twenty-six months before he escaped. it did not seem surprising therefore that chevalier should be the gayest of funny men. twenty-six months of imprisonment would work wonders with ever so many comedians back home.
-and yet we americans missed the old patter until there came a breath from across the sea. a low comedian came out and said to his partner in perfectly good english: "well, didja like the show?" his partner said he didn't like the show. "well, didja notice the trained seals?" persisted the low comedian and the lower comedian answered: "no, the wind was against 'em." laughter long delayed overcame us then, but it was mingled with tears. we felt that we were home again. the french are a wonderful people and all that, of course, but they're so darn far away.
-later there was a man who imitated eddie foy imperfectly and a bad bicycle act in which the performers called the orchestra leader "professor" and shouted "ready" to each other just before missing each trick. this bucked the americans up so much that a lapse into french with suzanne valroger "dans son repertoire" failed to annoy anybody very much. the doughboys didn't care whether she came back with her repertoire or on it. some japanese acrobats and a swedish contortionist completed the performance. there are two such international music halls in paris as well as a musical comedy of a sort called "the good luck girl." the feature of this performance is an act in which a young lady swings over the audience and invites the soldiers to capture the shoe dangling from her right foot. the shoe is supposed to be very lucky and soldiers try hard to get it, standing up in their seats and snatching as the girl swings by. an american sergeant was the winner the night i went to the show, for he climbed upon a comrade's shoulder and had the slipper off before the girl had time to swing out very far. later, when he went to the trenches, the sergeant took the shoe with him and he says that up to date he has no reason to doubt the value of the charm.
-the most elaborate spectacle inspired by the coming of the americans was at the folies bergères which sent its chorus out for the final number all spangled with stars. the leader of the chorus was an enormous woman, at least six feet tall, who carried an immense american flag. she almost took the head off a canadian one night as he dozed in a stage box and failed to notice the violent manner in which the big flag was being swung. he awoke just in time to dodge and then he shook an accusing finger at the amazon. "why aren't you in khaki?" he said.
-restaurants as well as theaters were liberally sprinkled with men in the american uniform. the enlisted men ate for the most part in french barracks and seemed to fare well enough, although one doughboy, after being served with spinach as a separate course, complained: "i do wish they'd get all the stuff on the table at once like we do in the army. i don't want to be surprised, i want to be fed." a young first lieutenant was scornful of french claims to master cookery. "why, they don't know how to fry eggs," he said. "i've asked for fried eggs again and again and do you know what they do? they put 'em in a little dish and bake 'em."
-yet, barring this curious and barbarous custom in the cooking of eggs, the french chefs were able to charm the palates of americans even in a year which bristled with food restrictions. there were two meatless days a week, sugar was issued in rations of a pound a month per person and bread was gray and gritty. the french were always able to get around these handicaps. the food director, for instance, called the ice cream makers together and ordered them to cease making their product in order to save sugar.
-"we have been using a substitute for sugar for seven months," replied the merchants.
-"well, then," said the food director, "it will save eggs."
-"we have hit upon a method which makes eggs unnecessary," replied the ice cream makers.
-"at any rate," persisted the food director, "my order will save unnecessary consumption of milk."
-"we use a substitute for that, too," the confectioners answered, and they were allowed to go on with their trade.
-the cooks are even more ingenious than the confectioners. as long as they have the materials with which to compound sauces, meat makes little difference. war bread might be terrapin itself after a french chef has softened and sabled it with thick black dressing. americans found that the french took food much more seriously than we do in america. patrons always reviewed the carte du jour carefully before making a selection. it was not enough to get something which would do. the meal would fall something short of success if the diner did not succeed in getting what he wanted most. no waiter ever hurried a soldier who was engaged in the task of composing a dinner. he might be a man who was going back to the trenches the next day and in such a case this last good meal would not be a matter to be entered upon lightly. after all, if it is a last dinner a man wants to consider carefully, whether he shall order contrefilet à la bourguignon or poulet roti à l'espagnol.
-practically every man on permission in paris is making love to someone and usually in an open carriage or at the center table of a large restaurant. nobody even turns around to look if a soldier walks along a street with his arm about a girl's waist. american officers, however, frowned on such exhibitions of demonstrativeness by doughboys and in one provincial town a colonel issued an order: "american soldiers will not place their arms around the waists of young ladies while walking in any of the principal thoroughfares of this town."
-still it was not possible to regulate romance entirely out of existence. "there was a girl used to pass my car every morning," said a sergeant chauffeur, "and she was so good looking that i got a man to teach me 'bon jour,' and i used to smile at her and say that when she went by and she'd say 'bon jour' and smile back. one morning i got an apple and i handed it to her and said 'pour vous' like i'd been taught. she took it and came right back with, 'oh, i'm ever so much obliged,' and there like a chump i'd been holding myself down to 'bon jour' for two weeks."
-there could be no question of the devotion of paris to the american army. indeed, so rampant was affection that it was occasionally embarrassing. one officer slipped in alighting from the elevator of his hotel and sprained his ankle rather badly. he was hobbling down one of the boulevards that afternoon with the aid of a cane when a large automobile dashed up to the curb and an elderly french lady who was the sole occupant beckoned to him and cried: "premier blessé." the officer hesitated and a man who was passing stepped up and said: "may i interpret for you?" the officer said he would be much obliged. the volunteer interpreter talked to the old lady for a moment and then he turned and explained: "madame is desirous of taking you in her car wherever you want to go, because she says she is anxious to do something for the first american soldier wounded on the soil of france."
-the devotion of paris was so obvious that it palled on one or two who grew fickle. i saw a doughboy sitting in front of the café de la paix one bright afternoon. he was drinking champagne of a sort and smoking a large cigar. the sun shone on one of the liveliest streets of a still gay paris. it was a street made brave with bright uniforms. brighter eyes of obvious non-combatants gazed at him with admiration. i was sitting at the next table and i leaned over and asked: "how do you like paris?"
-he let the smoke roll lazily out of his mouth and shook his head. "i wish i was back in el paso," he said.
-i found another soldier who was longing for terre haute. him i came upon in the lounging room of a music hall called the olympia. two palpably pink ladies sat at the bar drinking cognac. from his table a few feet away the american soldier looked at them with high disfavor. surprise, horror and indignation swept across his face in three waves as the one called julie began to puff a cigarette after giving a light to margot. he looked away at last when he could stand no more, and recognizing me as a fellow countryman, he began his protest.
-"i don't like this paris," he said. "i'm in the medical corps," he continued. "my home's in terre haute. in indiana, you know. i worked in a drug store there before i joined the army. i had charge of the biggest soda fountain in town. we used to have as many as three men working there in summer sometimes. right at a good business corner, you know. i suppose we had almost as many men customers as ladies."
-"why don't you like paris?" i interrupted.
-"well, it's like this," he answered. "nobody can say i'm narrow. i believe in people having a good time, but----" and he leaned nearer confidentially, "i don't like this bohemia. i'd heard about it, of course, but i didn't know it was so bad. you see that girl there, the one in the blue dress smoking a cigarette, sitting right up to the bar. well, you may believe it or not, but when i first sat down she came right over here and said, 'hello, american. you nice boy. i nice girl. you buy me a drink.' i never saw her before in my life, you understand, and i didn't even look at her till she spoke to me. i told her to go away or i'd call a policeman and have her arrested. i've been in paris a week now, but i don't think i'll ever get used to this bohemia business. it's too effusive, that's what i call it. i'd just like to see them try to get away with some of that business in terre haute."
-some of the visiting soldiers took more kindly to paris as witness the plaint of a middle-aged franco-american in the employ of the y. m. c. a.:
-"i'm a guide for the young men's christian association here in paris," he said, "but i'm a little bit afraid i'm going to lose my job. they make up parties of soldiers at the y. m. c. a. headquarters every day and turn them over to me to show around the city. well, monday i started out with twelve and came back with five and today i finished up with three out of eight. i can't help it. i've got no authority over them, and if they want to leave the party, what can i do? but it makes trouble for me at headquarters. now, today, for instance, i took them first of all to the place vendome. there were seven infantrymen and an artilleryman. they seemed to be interested in the column when i told them that it was made out of cannon captured by napoleon. they wanted to know how many cannon it took and what caliber they were and all that. everything went all right until we started for the madeleine. we passed a café on the way and one of the soldiers asked: 'what's this "vin" i see around on shops?' i told him that it was the french word for wine and that it was pronounced almost like our word 'van' only a little bit more nasal. they all looked at the sign then, and another soldier said: 'i suppose that "bières" there is "beers," isn't it?'
-"i told him that it was and another guessed that 'brune ou blonde' must mean 'dark or light.' when i said that it did, he wanted to know if he couldn't stop and have one. i told him that i couldn't wait for him, as the whole trip was on a schedule and we had to be at the madeleine at three o'clock. 'well,' he said, 'i guess it'll be there tomorrow,' and he went into the café. another soldier said: 'save a "blonde" for me,' and followed him, and that was two gone.
-"after i had showed the rest the madeleine i told them that i was going to take them to st. augustin. the artilleryman wanted to know if that was another church. i said it was and he said he guessed he'd had enough for a day. i tried to interest him in the paintings in the chapel by bouguereau and brisset, but he said he wasn't used to walking so much anyway. he was no doughboy, he said, and he left us. we lost another fellow at maxim's and the fifth one disappeared in broad daylight on the boulevard malesherbes. he can count up to twenty in french and he knows how to say: 'oú est l'hotel st. anne?' which is army headquarters, so i guess he's all right, but i haven't an idea in the world what became of him."
-the high tide in the american conquest of paris came one afternoon in july. i got out of a taxicab in front of the american headquarters in the rue constantine and found that a big crowd had gathered in the esplanade des invalides. now and again the crowd would give ground to make room for an american soldier running at top speed. one of them stood almost at the entrance of the courtyard of "invalides." his back was turned toward the tomb of napoleon and he was knocking out flies in the direction of the seine. unfortunately it was a bit far to the river and no baseball has yet been knocked into that stream. it was a new experience for napoleon though. he has heard rifles and machine guns and other loud reports in the streets of paris, but for the first time there came to his ears the loud sharp crack of a bat swung against a baseball. since he could not see from out the tomb the noise may have worried the emperor. perhaps he thought it was the british winning new battles on other cricket fields. but again he might not worry about that now. he might hop up on one toe as a french caricaturist pictured him and cry: "vive l'angleterre."
-one of the men in the crowd which watched the batting practice was a french soldier headed back for the front. at any rate he had his steel helmet on and his equipment was on his back. his stripes showed that he had been in the war three years and he had the croix de guerre with two palms and the medaille militaire. his interest in the game grew so high at last that he put down his pack and his helmet and joined the outfielders. the second or third ball hit came in his direction. he ran about in a short circle under the descending ball and at the last moment he thrust both hands in front of his face. the ball came between them and hit him in the nose, knocking him down.
-his nose was a little bloody, but he was up in an instant grinning. he left the field to pick up his trench hat and his equipment. the americans shouted to him to come back. he understood the drift of their invitation, but he shook his head. "c'est dangéreux," he said, and started for the station to catch his train for the front.
-within sound of the guns
-the men had traveled to paris in passenger coaches, but when it came time to move the first division to its training area in the vosges our soldiers rode like all the other allied armies in the famous cars upon which are painted "hommes 36; chevaux en long, 8." and, of course, anybody who knows french understands the caption to mean that the horses must be put in lengthwise and not folded. no restrictions are mentioned as to the method of packing the "hommes."
-the journey lay through gorgeous rolling country which was all a sparkle at this season of the year. presently the vineyards were left behind and the hills became higher. now and again there were fringes of pine trees. at one point it was possible to see a french captive balloon floating just beyond the hilltops, but we could not hear the guns yet. french soldiers in troop trains and camps near the track cheered the americans and even a few of the germans inside a big stockade waved at the men who were moving forward to study war. the trains stopped at a little town which lay at the foot of a hill. it was a mean little town, but on the hill was the fine old tower of a castle which had once dominated the surrounding country.
-from this town, which was chosen as divisional headquarters, regiments were sent northeast and northwest into tiny villages which were no more than a single line of houses along the roadway. a few one-story wooden barracks had been built for the americans, but ninety per cent. of the men went into billets. they were quartered in the lofts of barns of the better sort. the billeting officers would not consider sheds where cattle had been kept. few troops had been quartered in this part of the country previously and so the barns were moderately clean.
-the effort to make cleanliness and sanitation something more than relative terms was the first thing which really threatened franco-american amity. the decision of american officers that all manure piles must be removed from in front of dwelling houses met a startled and universal protest. elderly frenchwomen explained with great feeling that the manure piles had been there as long as they could remember and that no one had ever come to any harm from them. the american officers insisted, and at last a grudging consent was forced. i saw one old lady almost on the point of tears as she watched the invaders demolish her manure pile. at last she could stand no more. "they make a lot of dust," she said critically, and went into the house.
-a few days after the americans arrived in camp came their instructors. a crack division of alpine chasseurs was chosen to teach the americans. nobody called these men froggies. they called them "chassers." it was enough to see them march to know that they were fighting men. their stride was short and quick. each step was taken as if the marcher was eager to have it over and done with so that he could take another. even their buglers won admiration, for they had a trick of throwing their instruments in the air and catching them again that brought envy to the heart of every american band. indeed, a good deal of friendly rivalry developed from the beginning and in the early days, at least, the french had all the better of it. they could lift heavier weights than our men, who averaged much younger. little frenchmen standing five feet three or four would seize a rifle close to the end of the bayonet and slowly raise it with stiff arm to horizontal and down again. american farmer boys tried and failed. of course, this was a crack french division which drew its men from various organizations, while our division was just the average lot and perhaps not quite that since there was a larger percentage of recruits than is usually found in the regular army.
-although our men were somewhat outclassed by their instructors in these early days, they were game in their effort to keep up competition. almost the first work to which the troops were set was trench digging. this is one of the most important arts of war and also the most tiresome. somebody has said of the canadians: "they will die in the last ditch, but they won't dig it." the americans have a similar aversion for work with pick and shovel, but trench digging came to them as a competition. i saw a battalion of the chasseurs and a battalion of marines set to work in a field where every other blow of the pick hit a rock. there was no chance to loaf, for when a marine looked over his shoulder he could see the french picks going for dear life down at the other end of the trench. at four-thirty the men were told to call it a day. the chasseurs leaped out of their trench; threw down their tools, and began to sing at top voice a popular parisian love ditty entitled "il faut de l'amour." one of the french officers told me afterwards that it was the invariable custom of his men to sing at the end of work, but the marines thought the "chassers" were merely showing off the excellent nature of their wind. more slowly the americans clambered out of their trench, but they were ready when the last french note died away and piped up somewhat breathlessly: "hail! hail! the gang's all here!"
-american company commanders were quick to appreciate the value of organized singing in the training of troops, and for the next few days the doughboys were drilled to lift their voices as well as their picks. most of all, music was appreciated in the long hikes of the early training period. a good song did much to make a marching man forget that he had a fifty-pound pack on his back.
-one of the reasons for sending the men into the vosges for training was to get them within sound of the guns, but it was almost a week before we heard any of the doings at the front. it was at night time that we first heard the guns. it was a still, windless night and along about eight o'clock they began. you couldn't be quite sure whether you heard them or felt them, but something was stirring. it felt or sounded a good deal as if some giant across the hills had slammed the door of his castle as he left home to take the morning train for business. up at the northern end of the training area the sound of the guns was much more distinct. in fact, they were loud enough some nights to become identified in the mind as events and not mere rumblings. a sammy up in that village stopped our car one morning and asked if we couldn't give him a newspaper.
-"i suppose you want to know how the baseball games are coming out," somebody suggested.
-"to hell with baseball, i want to know about the war," said the soldier. "i'm with these mules," he said, pointing to half a dozen animals tethered on the bank of a canal. "i've been with them right from the beginning. i came over on the same steamer with 'em. i rode up with 'em in the train from ---- and here we are again. i don't hear nothing. they could capture berlin and nobody'd tell me about it. all i do is feed these damned mules. 'big bill,' that one on the end, is sick, and i've got to hang around and give him a pill every six hours. i wish he'd choke. i don't like him as well as the rest of the mules and i hate 'em all.
-"it'll be fine, won't it, when somebody asks me: 'daddy, what did you do in the great war?' and i say: 'oh, i sat up with a sick mule.'"
-back of the hills from some indefinite distance came the sound of big guns. they raged persistently for ten minutes and then quit. "big bill" began to rear around and kick. the soldier cursed him.
-"those guns were going like that all night, but mostly around two o'clock," he said. "nobody around here knows anything about it. i wish i could get hold of an american paper and find out something about that fight. i've sent to memphis for the news scimitar, but somehow it don't seem to get here. i wish those guns was near enough to drop something over here on the mules, especially 'big bill,' but i'm out of luck."
-the nearest approach of the war was in the air. it wasn't long before german planes began to scout over the territory occupied by the americans. one battalion almost saw an air fight. it would have seen it if the major hadn't said "attention!" just then. the battalion was drilling in a big open meadow when there came from the east first a whirr and then a machine. the machine, flying high, circled the field. the soldiers who were standing at ease stared up at the visitor, but it was too high to see the identifying marks. soon there was no doubt that the machine was german, for little white splotches appeared in the sky. it looked as if charlie chaplin had thrown a cream pie at heaven and it had splattered. an anti-aircraft gun concealed in a woods several miles away was firing at the boche. presently the firing ceased and there was a whirr from the west. a french plane flew straight in the direction of the german, who climbed higher and higher. as the planes drew nearer it was possible to see machine gun flashes, but just then the major called his men to attention. regulations provide that eyes must look straight ahead, but it was a hard test for recruits and there may have been one or two who stole a glance up there where the planes were fighting. in each case an officer was on the culprit like a flash.
-"keep your head still," shouted a lieutenant. "that's a private fight. it's got nothing to do with you."
-soon the german turned and flew back in the direction of his own lines and when the necks of the doughboys were unfettered and they could look up again the sky was clear. even the cream puff splotches were gone.
-on another afternoon a boche plane flew over the entire american area. it circled a field in divisional headquarters where a baseball game was in progress and flew home.
-"i know why that german flew home after he reached ----," an officer explained. "don't you see? he was trying to find out if we were americans and that baseball game proved it to him."
-the greatest aerial display occurred on a morning when a french officer was instructing an american company in the art of trench digging. he spoke no english, but an interpreter of a sort was making what shift he could. the doughboys tried to look interested and didn't succeed. it was harder when out from behind a cloud came one aeroplane, then another and another. when half a dozen had appeared from behind the cloud one doughboy could stand the strain no longer.
-"look," he shouted, "they're hatching them up there."
-the french instructor finally granted a recess of ten minutes but before the time was up the planes had maneuvered out of sight. in spite of all the german activity in the air only one attempt was made to bomb the americans during the summer. a single bomb was dropped on a village where the marines were stationed, but it did no damage.
-the second week in the training area found the doughboys increasing their curriculum to include bombs and machine guns. it had not been possible to do much in the finer arts of war previously because of the absence of interpreters. a number of these had been mobilized now but they varied in quality. as one american officer put it, "interpreters may be divided into three classes: those who know no english; those who know no french; and those who know neither."
-of course, a little language was used. some of the marines had picked up a little very villainous french in hayti and they made what shift they could with that. a few french canadians and an occasional man from new orleans could converse with the chasseurs and one or two phrases had been acquired by men hitherto entirely ignorant of french. "qu'est-ce-que c'est?" was used by the purists as their form of interrogation, but there were others who tried to make "combien" do the work. "combien," which we pronounced "come bean," was stretched for many purposes. i have heard it used and accepted as an equivalent for "whereabouts," "what did you say," "why," "which one" and "will you please show us once more how to put that machine gun together."
-not only did the americans show an aptitude for getting the hang of the mechanism of the machine gun and the automatic rifle, but they shot well with them after a little bit of practice.
-the first man i watched at work with the automatic rifle was green. he had taken the gun apart and put it together again with an occasional "regardez" and bit of demonstration from one of the frenchmen, but the weapon was not yet his pal. he picked the gun up somewhat gingerly and aimed at the line of targets a couple of hundred yards away. then he pulled the trigger and the bucking thing, which seemed to be intent on wriggling out of his arms, sprayed the top of the hill with bullets. the french instructor made a laughing comment and an american who spoke the language explained, "he says you ought to be in the anti-aircraft service."
-the next man to try his luck was a non-commissioned officer long in the army. he patted the gun and wooed it a little in whispers before he shot. it was a french gun, to be sure, but the language of firearms is international. "behave, betsy," he said and she did. he sprayed shots along the line of targets at the bottom of the hill as the gun clattered away with all the clamor of a riveting machine at seven in the morning. when they looked at the targets they found he had scored thirty hits out of thirty-four and some were bull's-eyes. the french instructor was so pleased that he stepped forward as if to hug the ancient sergeant but the veteran's look of horror dissuaded him.
-bombing proved the most popular part of training and particularly as soon as it was possible to work with the live article. first of all dummy bombs were issued. a french officer carefully explained that the bomb should be thrown after four moves, counting one, two, three, four, as he posed something like a shot putter before he let the bomb go with an overhand, stiff, armed fling. he illustrated the method several times, but the first american to throw sent the bomb spinning out on a line just as if he were hurrying a throw to first from deep short. the frenchman reproved him and explained carefully that, although it might be possible to throw a bomb a long way in the manner in which a baseball is thrown, it was necessary for a bomber to hurl many missiles and that he must preserve his arm. he also pointed out that the bomb would never land in the trenches of the enemy unless it was thrown with a considerable arc.
-the men then kept to the exercises laid down by the instructor, but just before they stopped one or two could not resist the temptation of again "putting something on to it" and letting the bomb sail out fast. one lefthander who had pitched for a season in the southern league was anxious to make some experiments to see if he couldn't throw a bomb with an out curve but he was informed that such an accomplishment would have no military utility.
-the first american wounded in france was the victim of a bombing accident. a soldier threw a live bomb more than thirty meters from a trench. when the bomb burst a fragment came whirling back in some curious manner and fell into a box of grenades upon which a lieutenant was sitting. the fragment cut the pin of one of the bombs and the whole box went off with a bang. the lieutenant received only a slight cut on his forehead, but a french interpreter thirty yards away was knocked unconscious and lost the sight of his right eye. this frenchman had spent two years under fire at verdun without being scratched and here was his first wound come upon him on a quiet afternoon in a meadow miles from the lines.
-the seeming inability of the american to visualize battle conditions in training retards his progress in spite of his aptitude in other directions. a french officer was directing a platoon of americans one day in skirmishing. they were to fire a round, run forward twenty paces, throw themselves flat and run forward again. one doughboy would raise himself up on his elbows and look about. the frenchman, very much excited, ran over to him and said, "you must keep your head down or you will get shot. you must remember that bullets are flying all about you."
-as soon as the instructor's back was turned the soldier was up on his elbows again. "hell," he said, "there ain't any bullets."
-in later phases of training the inferiority of the american to the french in imagination showed clearly. french veterans or recruits for that matter could work themselves up to a frenzy in sham battles and dash into an empty trench with a shout as if it were filled with germans. americans could not do that. they found it difficult to forget that practice was just practice.
-later on "sunny france" became a mocking byword uttered by wet and muddy men, but during the early days in the training area no one had any just complaint about the weather. come to think of it there wasn't anything very wrong with those early days in rural france. five o'clock was pretty early for getting up but the sun could do it and keep cheerful. it was glorious country with hills and forests and plowed fields and red roofed villages and smooth white roads. the country people didn't throw their hats in the air like parisians, but they were kindly though calm.
-"down in ----," said a little doughboy who came from an indiana farm, "everybody you meet says 'bon jour' to you whether they know you or not. that means 'good morning.' i was in chicago once and they don't do it there."
-it wasn't eden though. there was the tobacco situation against that theory. to a good many soldiers, pleasant weather and kindly folk and ample rations meant nothing much. these were minor things. the quartermaster had no bull durham. when the supply of american tobacco and cigarettes ran out the men tried the french products but not for long. "so they call these grenades," muttered a soldier as he examined a popular french brand of cigarettes, "i guess that's because you'd better throw 'em away right after you set 'em going."
-french matches were less popular than french tobacco. the kind they sold in our town and thereabouts were all tipped with sulphur and usually exploded with a blue flame maiming the smoker and amusing the spectators. political economists and others interested in the law of supply and demand may be interested to know that when the tobacco famine was at its height a package of bull durham worth five cents in america was sold by one soldier to another for five francs. this shortage has since been relieved from several sources, but there has never been more tobacco than the soldiers could smoke.
-a few companies had libraries of their own. i wonder who made the selection of titles. the volumes i picked out at random in one village were: "the family life of heinrich heine," "fourteen weeks in astronomy," "recollections and letters of renan," "education and the higher life," "bible stories for the young," and "henry the eighth and his six wives." the librarian said that the last was the most popular book in the collection although several readers admitted that it did not come up to expectations. just as i was going out the top sergeant came in to return a book. i asked him what it was. he said, "it's a book called 'when patty went to college.'"
-our town was big and had moving pictures twice a week, but up the line in the little villages there was no such source of amusement. after the men had been in training for a week or more, a french red cross outfit stopped at one of the villages with a traveling movie outfit and announced that they would show a picture that night. according to the announcement the picture was "charlot en 'le vagabond.'" it sounded foreign and forbidding. the doughboys anticipated trouble with the titles and the closeups of what the heroine wrote and all the various printed words which go to make a moving picture intelligible. still they were patient when the title of the picture was flashed on the screen and they tried to look interested. the first scene was a road winding up to a distant hill and down the highway with eccentric gait there walked a little man strangely reminiscent. he drew nearer and nearer and as the figure came into full view the soldier in front of me could stand the strain no longer. he jumped to his feet.
-"i'm a son of a gun," he shouted, "if it isn't charlie chaplin."
-recognition upon the part of the audience was instantaneous and enthusiasm unbounded. if the americans go out tomorrow and capture berlin they cannot possibly show more joy than they did at the sight of charlie chaplin in france. never again will the french be able to fool them by disguising him as "charlot."
-after a bit the soldiers learned to entertain themselves and several companies developed a number of talented performers. the first company show i attended mixed boxing and music. they began with boxing. there was a short intermission during which the first tenor fixed up a bloody nose. he had received a bit the worst of it in the heavyweight bout. the other members of the quartet gave him cotton and encouragement. finally he put on his shirt and hitching up his voice, began, "naught but a few faded roses can my sweet story tell." his comrades joined him at "my heart was ever light," and they finished the ballad in perfect alignment.
-almost all the songs were sentimental and many were old. they had "dearie," and "where the river shannon flows," and that one about ireland falling out of heaven (just as if the devil himself had not done the very same thing). later there were "mother machree" and "old kentucky home." patriotism was not neglected. "when i get back home again to the u.s.a." was the favorite among the recent war songs. the only savor of army life in the program on this particular evening was in a couple of mexican songs brought up from the border by men who went to get villa. they brought back "cucaracha" with all its seventeen obscene spanish verses. there was also one parody inspired by this war and sung to the tune of "my little girl, i'm dreaming of you." it went something like this:
-america, i'm dreaming of you and i long for you each day america, i'm fighting for you tho' you're many miles away we'll knock the block right off the kaiser and we'll drive them 'cross the rhine-- and then we'll sail back home to you, dear to the tune of "wacht am rhein"!
-the american soldier does not seem to be much of a song maker. songs by soldiers and for soldiers are not common with us yet. we have nothing as close to the spirit of the trenches as the british ditty "i want to go home," which always leaves the auditor in doubt as to whether he should take it seriously and weep or humorously and laugh. possibly there is something of both elements in the song. the mixture has been typical of the british attitude toward the war. here is the song:
-i want to go 'ome i want to go 'ome the maxims they spit and the johnsons they roar i don't want to go to the front any more oh take me over the seas where the alley-mans can't get at me oh my; i don't want to die, i want to go 'ome.
-the american army is still looking for a song. none of the new ones has achieved universal popularity. however the many who heard the quartet of company l sing on this particular evening seemed to have no objection to the old songs. in fact they were new to many in the audience for as the concert went on french soldiers joined the audience and townspeople hung about the edges of the crowd. they listened politely and applauded, though indeed one must get a strange impression of america if his introduction is through our popular songs. such a foreigner is in danger of believing that ours is a june land in which the moon is always shining upon a young person known as "little girl." yet the french expressed no astonishment at the songs. only one feature puzzled them profoundly. at the end of a particularly effective song the captain said, "those men sang that very well. bring 'em each a glass of water."
-no villager could quite understand why a man who had committed no more palpable crime than tenor singing should be forced to partake of a drink which is cold, tasteless and watery.
-most the villages in our part of france had only one dimension. they consisted of a line of houses on either side of the roadway and they were always huddled together. land is too valuable in france to waste it on lawns and suchlike. some of the villages were tiny and shabby, but none was too small or too mean to be without its little café. it took the doughboys some little time to get over their interest in the startling fact that champagne was within the reach of the working man, but they went back to beer in due course and now champagne is among the things which shopkeepers must not sell to american soldiers. the prohibition of the sale of cognac and champagne is all that the army needs. beer and light wines are not a menace to the health or behavior of our army. beer is by far the most popular drink and it would be an ambitious man indeed who would seek the slightest deviation from sobriety in the thin war beer of france. he might drown.
-absolute prohibition for the army in france would be well nigh impossible. it would mean that every inn and shop and railroad station and farmhouse would have to be classed as out of bounds. in fact prohibition could not be enforced unless our soldiers were ordered never to venture within four walls. wine is to be had under every roof in france and you can get it also in not a few places where the roof has been shot to pieces. the french are interested in temperance just now. on many walls posters are exhibited showing a german soldier and a black bottle with the caption, "they are both the enemies of france," but when a frenchman talks of temperance or prohibition or the abolition of the liquor traffic he never thinks of including wine or beer. the civil authorities of france would not be much use in helping the american army enforce a bone-dry order. they simply wouldn't understand it.
-there was some excessive drinking when the army first came to france but it has been checked. a number of influences have made for discretion. one of the most potent is the opportunity for promotion in an army in the field. officers have been quick to point this out to their men. one captain called his company together in the early days and said, "some of the men in this company are going out and getting pinko, stinko, sloppy drunk. any man who gets drunk goes in the guard house of course and more than that he will get no promotion from me. i'm going to pick my sergeants from the fellows that have got sense. you may notice that some of the men who drink are old soldiers. don't take an example from that. remember that's why they're old soldiers. there isn't any sense in blowing all your money in for booze. now if i took my pay in a lump at the end of a month i could buy every café in this town and i could stay drunk for a year. that would be fine business, wouldn't it?"
-"i guess maybe i exaggerated a little about the length of time i could stay drunk," the captain told me afterwards, "but do you know that talk seems to have done the trick."
-one factor which worked for temperance was the french fashion of making drinking deliberate and social. when an american can be induced to sit down to his potion he is comparatively safe. these little village cafés did no harm after the first brief period when the american soldier had his fling and they served the good purpose of encouraging fraternization between doughboy and poilu.
-the contact with french soldiers brought no great vocabulary to our men but if they learned few words they did get the hang of making their wants understood. in a week or two innkeepers or women in shops had no trouble at all in attending to the wants of americans. probably the french people made somewhat faster linguistic progress than the soldiers. the americans were willing to be met at least halfway. when i asked one doughboy, "how do you get along with the french? can you make them understand you?" he said, "why, they're coming along pretty well. i think most of 'em will pick it up in time."
-but there was one french word the soldiers had to learn. that was "fineesh." the children forced that word upon them. they were always at the heels of the american soldiers. they galloped the doughboys up and down the village streets in furious piggyback charges. they borrowed jam from company cooks and rode in the supply trucks. of course there had to be an end to the rides, sometimes, and even to the jam and the only way to convince the children of france that an absolute unshakable limit had been reached was to thrust two hands aloft and cry "fineesh." the old women liked the doughboys too because they would draw water from the wells for them and occasionally lend a hand in moving wood or wheat or fodder. nor do i mean to imply that the younger women of the little villages did not esteem the doughboys. "tell 'em back home that there aren't any good looking women in france," was the message that ever so many soldiers asked me to convey to anxious individuals in america. i hand the message on but must refuse to pass upon its sincerity.
-american officers got along well with the french but they never reached the same degree of chumminess that the men did. they met french officers at more or less formal luncheons and had to go through a routine of speeches largely concerned with lafayette and rochambeau and washington. poilus and doughboys did not go so far back for their subjects of conversation. the american enlisted man had a great advantage over his officer in the matter of language. he might know less french, but he was much more ready to experiment. an officer did not like to make mistakes. his was defensive french, a weapon to be used guardedly in cases of extreme need. when a visiting officer hurled a compliment at him he replied, but he seldom took the initiative. after all he was an american officer and he feared to make himself ridiculous by poor pronunciation and worse grammar. the soldier had no such scruples. he saw no reason why he should be any more abashed by french grammar than by english and as for pronunciation he followed the advice of a little pamphlet called "the american in france" which was rushed out by some french firm for sale to the american army. in the matter of pronunciation the book said, "since pronunciation is the most difficult part of any language the publishers of this book have decided to omit it." the soldiers were ready to adopt this method and only wished that it could be extended to other things. to trench digging for instance.
-stores were not the strong point of our bit of france. we soon came to regard our town as a metropolis because people journeyed there to make "shopping tours." one afternoon i marked fifteen visiting soldiers with their eyes glued against a shop window which displayed half a dozen electric flashlights, two quarts of champagne, a french-english dictionary and a limited assortment of postcards. these, of course, were barred from the mail by censorship but the soldiers collected them to be taken home after the war.
-"these french postcards aren't exactly what some of the boys back home are going to expect," one soldier admitted. "i went to three shops now but the others have been ahead of me and all i could get was these two. one's a picture called 'l'eglise' and the other's 'la maison de jeanne d'arc.'"
-the shops had hard work in keeping up with more commodities than picture postcards. there seemed to be an insatiable demand for canned peaches and sardines. somehow or other men who have been on a long march simply crave either sardines or canned peaches. the doughboys did a good deal of eating at their own expense. army food was plentiful and moderately varied. beans and corned beef hash were served a good many times perhaps, but there was no lack of fresh meat and there was plenty of jam and of carrots and onions and heavy gravy. food, however, was an outlet for spending money and in some villages the men got so eager that they would buy anything. little traveling shops in wagons came through the smaller villages in the northern part of the training area loaded with all sorts of gimcracks intended for the peasant trade. the peddlers had no time to put in a special line for the soldiers. they found that it was not necessary. desperate men with pockets full of money would purchase even the imitation tortoise shell sidecombs which the itinerant merchants had to sell.
-the purchasing capacity of the soldier was not limited to his pay alone. the villagers were wildly excited about the white bread issued to the american army. it was the first they had seen since the second year of the war. one old lady seized a loaf which was presented to her and crying "il est beau," sat down upon a doorstep and began to eat the bread as if it were cake. the rate of exchange fluctuated somewhat but there were days when a loaf of white bread could be exchanged for a whole roast chicken.
-the eagerness of the american soldier to spend his money had the result of tempting french storekeepers to raise their prices and as the cost of living mounted the civilian population began to complain. even the soldiers had suspicions at last that they were being charged too much in some stores and the american officers took over price control as another of their many responsibilities.
-nobody will ever call him "papa" pershing. he is a stepfather to the inefficient and even when he is pleased he says little. in the matter of giving praise the general is a homeopath. for that reason he can gain enormous effect in the rare moments when he chooses to compliment a man or an organization. pershing believes that discipline is the foundation of an army.
-"i think," said one young american officer, "that his favorite military leader is joshua because he made the sun and the moon stand at attention." in other words pershing is a soldiers' soldier. no man can strike such hard blows as he does and leave no scars. there are men here and there in the army who do not love him but their criticism almost invariably ends, "but i guess i'll have to admit that he's a good soldier."
-there was dust behind him, though, on the afternoon he first came to the training area to see his men. news reached our town that the general was up in the northern end of the training zone and moving fast. an officer passing by gave me a lift in his car and when we arrived at the next village half a dozen soldiers who were sitting on a bench jumped up for dear life and jarred themselves to the very heels with the stiffest of military salutes.
-the officer grinned. "pershing's in town," he said and so he was.
-"that isn't enough," said the general when the major answered. "i want you to pay more attention to those things."
-from the kitchen he went into every billet in the village. in two he climbed up the ladders to see what sort of sleeping quarters the men had in their lofts. in one billet a soldier stole a look over his shoulder at the general as he passed. pershing turned immediately.
-"that's not the way to be a soldier," he said. "you haven't learned the first principle of being a soldier." he turned to a second lieutenant. "this man doesn't stand at attention properly," he explained. "i want you to make him stand at attention for five minutes."
-the next offender was a captain who had one hand in his pocket while giving an order. the general spoke to him just as severely as he had to the enlisted man. then he was into his car and away to the next village.
-pershing has developed in france. like every other man in the american army he has had to study modern warfare, but more than that he has caught something of the spirit of the french. he has acquired some of their ability to put a gesture into command, to utilize personality in the inspiration of troops. he is not yet the equal of the french in this respect. joffre, for instance, fully realized the military usefulness of his enormous popularity and capitalized it. it was not mere luck that he became a tradition. pétain, while by no means the equal of joffre on the personal side, knows how to talk to soldiers and to townsfolk and to make himself a big human force.
-the general was somewhat nervous and embarrassed, too. he still lacks a little of the french feeling for the dramatic in the doing of these little things. he had to clear his throat once and then he said, "i want to congratulate you. i envy you. there isn't a man in the army who wouldn't like to be in your place. you have brought home to the people of america the fact that we are in the war."
-the doughboy didn't say anything, but the nurse who made the rounds that evening wondered why a patient who was doing so well should have a pulse hitting up to ninety-six.
-earlier in the summer general pershing encountered some far more embarrassing tests. he had to handle bouquets. the donor was usually a french girl and a very little one. when pershing and pétain made a joint trip through the american army zone there were two little girls and two bouquets in each village. general pétain, after receiving his bouquet, would bend over gracefully and kiss the little girl, adding one or two kindly phrases immediately following "ma petite." general pershing began by patting the little girls on the head, but he realized it was not enough and after a bit he began to kiss them, too; only once or twice he got tangled up in their hats and found it hard to maintain military dignity. he handled the flowers gingerly. he seemed to regard each bouquet as a bomb which would explode in five seconds but each time there was some aide ready to step forward and relieve him.
-the attitude of the average west pointer towards his men is generally speaking the same as that of general pershing. some observers think the west point attitude too strict, but i was inclined to believe that the men from the academy handled men better than the reserve officers. they are strict, it is true, but at the same time they have been trained to look after the needs of their men closely. the trouble with the average reserve officer is that he has not had time to learn how much he must father his men and mother them, too, for that matter. he does not know probably just how dependent the average soldier is upon his officer.
-perhaps the strictest officer of all is the man who was once a non-com. the former doughboy knows the tricks of the enlisted man and he is determined that nobody shall put anything over on him. he is often just a little bit afraid that the soldiers are going to trade on the fact that he was once an enlisted man. i once saw a soldier offer some cigars to two officers. one of the officers was a west pointer and he laughed and took a cigar but the former non-com. refused very sternly. he could not afford to be indebted to an enlisted man.
-i do not wish to imply that the men who come up from the ranks do not make good officers. as a matter of fact they are among the best, once their preliminary self-consciousness has worn off. the transition from stripes to bars is perfect torture to some of them. one company had a crack soldier who had been a sergeant for seven years. he was recommended for promotion and was sent to an officers' training school in france. he did very well but just a week before he was to receive his commission he succeeded in gaining permission to be dropped from the school and go back to his old company as sergeant. at the last minute he had decided that he did not want to be an officer.
-i watched him put a company through its drill two days after his return. they moved with spirit and precision under his commands but when it was all over i found one reason why he didn't want to be an officer.
-"that was very good today," he said. "you done well."
-the first lieutenant smiled. he had a right to smile, too, for the return of the sergeant to his company had almost cut his work in half. he knew his value well enough.
-"the best i can do is teach the men," he said. "it takes an old sergeant to learn them."
-men with medals
-general pétain was the first of many famous frenchmen who came to see the american troops in training. he also had the additional object of reviewing the chasseurs and of distributing medals, for this crack division had been withdrawn from one of the most active sectors to instruct the doughboys. general pershing accompanied pétain. the blue devils were drawn up in formation in the middle of a big meadow cupped within hills. the seven men who were to be honored stood in a line in front of the division. six were officers and they awaited the pleasure of the general with their swords held at attention. the seventh man who stood at the right of the little line was an old sergeant with a great flowing gray and white mustache. the rifle which he held in front of him overtopped him by at least a foot.
-the ceremony began with a fanfare by the trumpeters. as the last notes came tumbling back from the hills pétain moved forward. we found that he was not so tall as pershing nor quite as straight. the french leader is also a little gray and about his waist there is just a suggestion of the white man's burden. but he is soldierly for all that and his eyes are marvelously keen and steady. his tailor deserved a decoration. the general wore only one medal, but that was as large as the badge of a country sheriff. it was a great silver shield hung about his neck and indicated that he was a commander of the legion of honor. he stopped in front of the first officer in the little line waiting to be honored and spoke to him for a moment. then he pinned a red ribbon on his coat and kissed the man first on the left cheek and then on the right. the doughboys looked on in amazement.
-"well, i'll be damned," said one under his breath, "it's true."
-four men received the red ribbons, but the other three were down only for the military medal which is a high decoration but less esteemed than the legion of honor. no kisses went with the green and yellow ribbons of the military medal but only handshakes. pétain stopped in front of the old sergeant at the end of the line and looked at him for a minute without speaking. then he called an orderly.
-"this man has three palms on his croix de guerre," said pétain.
-now a palm means that soldier has been cited for conspicuous bravery in the report of the entire army.
-"the military medal is not enough for this man," continued pétain. "step forward," he said.
-the old sergeant trembled a little as he stood a tiny, solitary gray figure in front of the whole division.
-"bring back the trumpets," pétain commanded and for the lone poilu the fanfare was sounded again.
-"i make you a chevalier of the legion of honor," said the commander in chief of the french army to the old sergeant, and after he had pinned the red ribbon to his breast he added a hug to the conventional two kisses. the poilu moved back to the ranks steadily, but as soon as the general had turned his back the sergeant pulled out his handkerchief and wept. the soldiers greeted their comrade with cheers and laughter.
-"now," said pétain turning to pershing, "let's take it easy for a little while. i've seen plenty of reviews."
-the french general walked across the space cleared for the review and began to talk with people in the fringe of spectators gathered around the edge of the meadow. he talked easily without any seeming condescension.
-"how are you, my little man?" he said, patting a boy on the head. "in what military class are you?"
-encouraged by his father the boy said that he was in the class of 1928.
-"oh," said the general, "that's a long time off. we shall have beaten the boches before then."
-next it was a peasant girl who attracted his attention.
-"where have you come from?" he inquired with as much apparent interest as if he were talking with a soldier just back from berlin. "that was a long walk just to see soldiers," he said when the girl told him that she lived in a little village about ten miles distant. "but we are glad to have you here," he added.
-and so he moved on down the line with handshakes for the grownups, pats on the head for little boys and kisses for little girls. he turned back to his reviewing station then and the french troops swept by with brave display: they were very smart and brisk, horse, foot and artillery, but pétain found a few things to criticize although he mingled praise generously with censure. he told the officers to know their men and to get on such terms with them that the soldiers would not be afraid to speak freely. he told of reforms which he planned to introduce in the french army. he favored longer leaves from the front, he said, and better transportation for the poilus.
-"i shall have time tables made for the men on leave," he said and then for an instant he became the shrewd french business man rather than the dashing general.
-"i have figured out," he explained, "that the army can afford to sell these time tables for five sous. it wouldn't do to give them away. nobody would value them then."
-"remember," the driver would plead, "you have a part in making the world safe for democracy," and in a trice all the evil would flee from the eyes and the heels of the unruly animals.
-a number of bands helped to keep the men swinging into the face of a driving rain. the french officers who accompanied pétain and poincaré were somewhat surprised when one regiment went by to the tune of "tannenbaum," but general pershing explained that it had been played in america for years under the name of "maryland, my maryland." he had a harder task some minutes later when a band struck up a regimental hymn called "happy heinie," which borrows largely from "die wacht am rhein" for its chorus.
-as soon as the troops marched by, general pershing sent orders for all the officers to assemble. they gathered in a great half circle before the french president who spoke to them slowly and with much earnestness. indeed, he spoke so slowly that fair scholars could follow his discourse. even those who could grasp no more than such words as "lafayette" and "president wilson" and "la guerre" listened with apparent interest. m. poincaré called attention to the fact that the day was the anniversary of the battle of the marne and also the birthday of lafayette. these days, he said, linked together the two nations which were making a common cause in the struggle for civilization and he ended with a dramatic sweep of his arm as he exclaimed, "long live the free united states." however, he called it les etats unis which made it more difficult.
-"what did he say?" a group of doughboys asked a sergeant chauffeur who had been stationed near enough to hear the speech. "i didn't get it all," said the sergeant, "but it sounded a good deal like 'give 'em hell.'"
-the president and his party spent the rest of the afternoon inspecting the billets of the americans. in one barn poincaré insisted on climbing up a ladder to see the quarters at close range and as he climbed slowly and clumsily it came to my mind that the presidential waist line, the knickerbockers and the yachting cap were all symbols of the fact that france even in war was still a civil democracy.
-still it must be admitted that the next civilian we saw was more warlike than any of the soldiers. the only military equipment worn by georges clemenceau was a pair of leather puttees which didn't quite fit, but he had eyes and eyebrows and a jaw which all combined to suggest pugnacity. he was not then premier and indeed he had been in political retirement for some time, but he made a greater impression on the soldiers than any of our visitors because he spoke in english. it was on september 16, 1917, that clemenceau saw american soldiers, but he had seen them once before and that was in richmond in 1864 when grant marched into the city. clemenceau was then a school teacher in america. the old frenchman watched the sons and grandsons of those dead and gone fighters and expressed the wish that he might see american troops once again when they marched into berlin.
-the doughboys he saw in france were not the seasoned troops which swung by him on those dusty virginia roads so many years ago, but in their hands were new weapons which might have turned the tide at bull run and changed gettysburg from victory into a rout. certainly pickett would have never swept up to the union lines if there had been machine guns such as those with which the rookies blistered the targets for the edification of the distinguished guests and the bombs which sent the pebbles sky high might have given pause even to stonewall jackson.
-there were sports as well as military exercises in the program arranged for clemenceau. there were footraces and a tug of war and boxing matches. in one of these american blood was freely shed on french soil for a middleweight against whom the tide of battle was turning butted his opponent and cut his forehead.
-i did not see joffre when he paid a visit to the army zone and reviewed the troops but he left a glamor for us all in our messroom where he had dinner with general pershing. it was a reporterless dinner so it meant less to us than to henriette who served the dinner for the two generals. nothing much had ever happened to henriette before. she looked like jeanne d'arc, but the only voices she ever heard cried, "l'eau chaude, henriette," or "hot water" or "oeufs" or "eggs." and if they were not wanted right away they must be had "toute de suite."
-it was henriette who brushed the boots and cleaned the dishes and swept the floors and every night she waited on peasants and peddlers and reporters. once she had a major in the reserve corps. he was attached to the quartermaster's department. but on the historic night she stood at the right elbow of general joffre and the left elbow of general pershing. i was away at the time and the correspondents were telling me about it before dinner. while we were talking she came into the room with the roast veal and i said, "henriette, they tell me that while i was away you waited upon marshal joffre and general pershing."
-one of the men at the table made a warning gesture, but it was too late. henrietta put the hot veal down to cool on a side table and pointed to the seat nearest the window. a large man from a press association sat there but she looked through him and saw the hero of the marne. "maréchal joffre là," said henriette. she turned to a nearer seat and pointing to the shrinking representative of the chicago tribune explained, "general pearshing ici."
-as he left the room maréchal joffre pinched her cheek but the mark was gone before she could show it to the cook. for all that henriette had something to show that she waited upon generals at the famous dinner. she opened a new locket which she wore around her neck and took out a small piece of gilt paper. she would not let me touch it, but when i looked closely i saw that it had printed upon it "romeo and juliet."
-"it's the band off the cigar pershing smoked at the dinner," explained one of the correspondents. henriette put the treasure back in her locket and sighed. "je suis très contente," she said.
-the british army tells a story of a soldier who had been at the front for a year and a half without ever once writing home. this state of affairs was called to the attention of his officer who summoned the soldier and asked him if he had no relatives. the tommy admitted that he had a mother and an aunt.
-"i want you to go back to quarters," said the captain, "and stay there until you've written a letter. then bring it to me."
-the soldier was gone for two hours and then he returned and handed the officer a single sheet of letter paper. his note read, "dear ma--this war is a blighter. tell auntie. with love--alfred."
-it was different in the american army. the doughboys wrote to their families to the second and third cousin. one soldier turned fifty-two letters over to his lieutenant for censorship in a single day. the men hardly seemed to need the suggestion posted on the wall of every y.m.c.a. hut: "remember to write to mother today." of course it was not always mother. i came upon a couple of lieutenants one afternoon hard at work on an enormous batch of letters. it was originally intended that the chaplain should censor all the mail for the regiment but it was found that the task would be far beyond the powers of any one man. in time the job came to absorb a large part of the energy of the junior officers.
-"this," said one of the officers, "is the fifth soldier who's written that 'our officers are brave, intelligent and kind!' i know i'm brave and intelligent, but i'm not so damned kind," and he ripped out half a page of over faithful description of the country.
-"the man i have here," said the second officer, "has got a joke. he says, 'if i ever get home the statue of liberty will have to turn round if she ever wants to see me again.' it was all right the first time, but now i've got to his tenth letter and he's still using it."
-most of the letters were cheerful. some courageously so. one man who was near death from tuberculosis wrote home once a day recounting imaginary events which had happened outside the walls of his hospital. in his letters he would send himself on long marches over the hills of france and describe the woods and meadows and plowed fields as they looked to him on bright mornings. he described in detail work which he was doing in bombing and the only complaint he ever made was on a day when he had coughed himself to such weakness that he could hardly finish his daily letter. he wrote to his mother then and asked her to excuse the briefness of his note. he explained that he was pretty well fagged out from a long afternoon of bayonet drill.
-the soldiers frequently commented on the kindliness of the french people and they were also fond of boasting, with perhaps doubtful justification, that they were already proficient in the french language. a few were desirous of giving the folk back home a thrill. one man working as company cook at a port in france, some three or four hundred miles from the firing line, wrote a weekly letter describing all sorts of war activities. he made up air raids and heavy bombardments and fairly tore up the village in which he was living. curiously enough he never made himself conspicuous in these actions. according to the letters he was just there with the rest taking the "strafing" as best he could.
-the officer who censored his first warlike letter cut out all the imaginative flights, but two days later the soldier wrote another letter even more thrilling. he complained that it was difficult to write because the explosion of big shells nearby made the house rock.
-the lieutenant called him up then and said, "you're writing a lot of lies home, aren't you?"
-"yes, sir," said the soldier.
-"well, what are you doing it for?" continued the officer.
-the soldier shifted about in embarrassment and then he said, "well, you see, sir, those letters are to my father. he went into the union army when he was sixteen and fought all through the last two years of the war. he lives in a little town in ohio and the people there call him 'fighting bill' on account of what he did in the civil war. well, when i went away to this war he began to go round town and tell everybody that i was going to do fighting that would make 'em all forget about the civil war. he used to say that i came of fighting stock and that i'd make 'em sit up and take notice. it would be pretty tough for him, sir, if i had to write home and say that i was cooking down in a town where you can't even hear the guns."
-"that's all right," said the lieutenant, "but some of the people who've got sons in this regiment will be doing a lot of worrying long before they have any need to."
-"no, sir," said the soldier, "my father don't know what regiment i'm with. i was transferred when i got over here and the only address he's got is the military post office number."
-"i don't know what to say in that case," replied the lieutenant. "it's a cinch you're not giving away any military information and i can't see how you're giving, any aid and comfort to the enemy. i guess you can go on with that battle stuff. make the bombardments just as hard as you like, but keep the casualties light."
-in contrast to the attitude of the veteran back in ohio was a letter which a captain received from the mother of one of his men.
-"my son is only nineteen," she wrote. "he has never been away from home before and it breaks my heart that he should be in france. it may sound foolish but i want to ask you a favor. when he was a little boy i used to let him come into the kitchen and bake himself little cakes. i think he would remember some of that still. can't you use him in the bakery or the kitchen or some place so he won't have to be put in the firing line or in the trenches? i will pray for you, captain, and i pray to god we may have peace for all the world soon."
-no complete story of america's part in the war will ever be written until somebody has made a collection and read thousands of the letters home. the doughboy is strangely inarticulate. he can't or he won't tell you how he felt when he first landed in france, or heard the big guns or went to the trenches. he is afraid to be caught in a sentimental pose but this fear leaves him when he writes. in his letters he will pose at times. this is not uncommon. many a man who would never think of saving anything about "saving france" will write about it in rounded sentences. his deepest and frankest thoughts will come out in letters.
-of course the censors stand between these makers of history and posterity. we must wait for our chronicles of the war because of the censor. the newspaper stories about our troops in france on their tremendous errand should ring like the chronicle of an old crusade, but it is hard for the chronicler to bring a tingle when he must write or cable "richard the deleted hearted."
-when a censor wants to kill a story he usually says, "don't you know that your story may possibly give information to the germans?" the correspondent then withdraws his story in confusion. of course what he should answer is, "very well, that story may give information to the germans, but it will also give information to the americans and just now that is much more important."
-there are certain military reasons for not naming units and not naming individuals, but the war is not being fought by the army alone. if the country is to be enlisted to its fullest capacity it must have names. the national character cannot be changed in a few months or a year. the newspapers have brought us up on names. it is too much to expect that the folk back home can keep up on their toes if the men they know go away into a great silence as soon as they cross the ocean and are not heard of again unless their names appear in casualty lists. we can't do less for our war heroes than we have done for ty cobb and christy mathewson and smokey joe wood. that is not only for the sake of the people back home, but for those at the front as well. they like to know that people are hearing about them. it is not encouraging to them to receive papers and learn that "certain units have done something." just as soon as possible they want to see the name of their regiment and of d company and k and f and h. the english name their units after a battle and so must we. and we must have plenty of names. it helped ty cobb not a little in the business of being ty that thousands of columns of newspaper space had built up a tradition behind him. when joe wood got in a hole it is more than probable that he realized that he must and would get himself out again because he was "smokey joe." we must do as much for private alexander brown and corporal james kelly, and for sergeants and major generals, too. we are not a folk who thrive on reticence. it is true that we like to blow our own horn but it must be remembered that joshua brought down a great fortress in that manner. the trumpets are needed for america. we cannot fight our best to the sound of muffled drums.
-the man abroad who is sending back the stories of the war must deal with the french censor as well as the american, and that reminds us of pétain's mustache. when the great general came to our camp all the newspaper stories about his visit were sent to the french military censor. all were allowed to pass in due course except one. the correspondent concerned went around to find out what was wrong.
-"i'm sorry," said the censor, "but i cannot allow this cable message to go in its present form. you have spoken of general pétain's white mustache. i might stretch a point and allow you to say general pétain's gray mustache, but i should much prefer to have you say general pétain's blonde mustache."
-"make it green with small purple spots, if you like," said the correspondent, "but let my story go."
-"they tell me," said a young marine in his best confidential and earnest manner, "that the kaiser isn't afraid of the american army, but that he is afraid of the marines."
-the youngster was hazy as to the source of his information, but he never doubted that it was accurate. he felt sure that the kaiser had heard of the marines. weren't they "first to fight"? and if he didn't fear them yet, he would. at least he would when company d got into action.
-no unit in the american army today has the group consciousness of the marines. it is difficult to understand just how this has happened. everybody knows that once a regiment, or a division, or even an army, has acquired a tradition, that tradition will live long after every man who established it has gone. there is, for instance, the foreign legion of the french army. thousands and thousands of men have poured through this organization. sickness and shrapnel, the exigencies of the service and what not have swept the veterans away again and again, but it is still the foreign legion. some of its new recruits will be negro horseboys who have missed their ships at one of the ports through overprotracted sprees; there will be a gentleman adventurer or two, and a fine collection of assorted ruffians. but in a month each will be a legionary.
-i saw an american negro in a village of france who had been a legionary until a wound had stiffened a knee too much to permit him to engage in further service. he was a shambling, shuffling, whining, servile negro, abjectly sure that some kind white gentleman would give him a pair of shoes, or at least a couple of francs. but he had the croix de guerre and the medaille militaire. he had not cringed while he was a legionary.
-the tradition of this organization, however, is based on battle service. the legion has seen all the hardest fighting. the tradition of our marines rests on something else. they have seen service, of course, but it has not been considerable. their group feeling was at first sheerly defensive. there was a time when the marine was a friend of no one in the service. he was neither soldier nor sailor. many of the marine officers were men who had been unable to get appointments at west point or annapolis, or, having done so, had failed to hold the pace at the academies. and so the spirit of the officers and the men was that they would show the army and the navy of just what stuff a marine was made. and they have. it is true that the army and the navy have ceased long since to look down upon the marine, but the pressure of handicap has been maintained among the marines in france just the same.
-it is largely accidental. for instance, when the american troops were first billeted in the training area the marines were placed at the upper end of the triangle miles further from the field of divisional maneuvers than any of their comrades. and so, if joffre, or pétain, or clemenceau, or poincaré, or any of the others came to review the first american expeditionary unit, the marines had to march twenty-two miles in a day in addition to the ground which they would cover in the review. curiously enough, this did not inspire them with a hatred of the reviews, nor did they complain of their lot. they merely took the attitude that a few miles more or less made no difference to a marine.
-i remember a story a young officer told me about his first hike with the marines in france. they had eleven miles to do in the morning and as many more in the afternoon, after a brief review. the young officer appeared with a pair of light shoes with a flexible sole.
-"look here," said the major, "you'd better put on heavier shoes."
-"i think these will suffice, sir," said the young lieutenant. "you see, they're modeled on the principle of an indian moccasin--full freedom for the foot, you know."
-the major grinned. "come around and see me this evening," he said, "and tell me what you think of the indians." the man with the moccasin style shoe did well enough until the company was in sight of the home village. unfortunately, a halt was called at a point where a brook ran close to the road.
-the sight of the cool stream made the lieutenant's feet burn and ache worse than ever. "i had just about made up my mind to turn my men over to the sergeant and limp home, after a crack at the brook," said the lieutenant, "when i heard one of the men say that he was tired. there was an old sergeant on him like a flash. he was one of the oldest men in the regiment. he had never voted the prohibition ticket and rheumatism was only one of his ailments, but he hopped right on the kid who said he was tired. 'where do you get off to be a marine?' he said. 'why, we don't call a hike like this marching in the marines. look here.' and the old fellow did a series of jig steps to show that the march was nothing to him.
-even the germans did their best to make the marines feel that they were troops apart from the others. only one raid was attempted during the summer and then it was the village of the marines upon which a bomb was dropped. it injured no one and did ever so much to increase the pride of marines, who would remark to less fortunate organizations in the training area: "what do you know about aeroplanes?"
-when it came time to dig practice trenches, other regiments were content to put in the better part of the morning and afternoon upon the work, but the marines went to the task of digging in day and night shifts. there was a sunday upon which pershing announced that he would inspect the american troops in their billets. through some mistake or other he arrived in the camp of the marines eight hours behind schedule, but the men were still standing under arms without a sign of weariness when he arrived. historical tradition lent itself to maintaining the morale of the marines, for their village was once the site of a famous roman camp and one of the men in digging a trench one day came across a segment of green metal that the marines assert roundly was part of a roman sword. in a year or two it will be sure to be identified as cæsar's.
-the marines were exclusive and original even in the matter of mascots. the doughboys had dogs and cats and a rather mangy lion for pets but no other fighting organization in the world has an anteater. the marines picked jimmy up at vera cruz and he began to prove his worth as a mascot immediately. he was with them when the city was taken. later he stopped off at hayti and aided in subduing the rebels. he is said to be the only anteater who has been through two campaigns. army life has broadened jimmy. he has learned to eat hardtack and frogs and cornbeef and pie and beetles and slum and omelettes. as a matter of fact jimmy will eat almost anything but ants. of course he wouldn't refuse some tempting morsel simply because of the presence of ants, but he no longer finds any satisfaction in making an entire meal of the pesky insects. he won't forage for them. things like hardtack and pie, jimmy finds, will stand still and give a hungry man a chance. lack of practice has somewhat impaired the speed of jimmy and even if he wanted to revert to type it is probable that he could catch nothing but the older and less edible ants. of course he does not want to go back to an ant diet. he feels that it would be a reflection on the hospitality of his friends, the marines.
-the marines are equally tactful. in spite of his decline as an entomologist jimmy remains by courtesy an anteater and is always so termed when exhibited to visitors. he has two tricks. he will squeal if his tail is pulled ever so gently and he will demolish and put out burning cigars or cigarettes. the latter trick is his favorite. he stamps out the glowing tobacco with his forepaws and tears the cigar or cigarette to pieces. the stunt is no longer universally popular. the marine who dropped a hundred franc note by mistake just in front of jimmy says that teaching tricks to anteaters is all foolishness.
-however, jimmy has picked up a few stunts on his own account. it is not thought probable that any marine ever encouraged him in his habit of biting enlisted men of the regular army and reserve officers. there is a belief that jimmy works on broad general principles, and many marines fear that they will no longer be immune from his teeth if the distinctive forest green of their organization is abandoned for the conventional khaki of the rest of the army.
-some little time before the american troops first went into the trenches, the marines were scattered into small detachments for police duty. many of them have since been brought together again. there is, of course, a good deal of stuff and nonsense in stories about soldiers saying, "we want to get a crack at them," and all that, but it is literally and exactly true that the marines, both officers and men, were deeply disappointed when they could not go to the front with the others. their professional pride was hurt.
-still they did not whine, but went about their traditional police work with vigor. i was in a base hospital one day when a doughboy came in all gory about the head. "what happened to you?" a doctor asked. "a marine told me to button up my overcoat," said the doughboy, "and i started to argue with him."
-there are not many american army songs yet, but the marines did not wait until the war for theirs. most of it i have forgotten, but one of the stunning couplets of the chorus is:
-if the army or the navy ever gaze on heaven's scenes they will find the streets are guarded by united states marines.
-field pieces and big guns
-war seemed less remote in the artillery camp than in any other section of the american training area for the roar of the guns filled the air every morning and they sounded just as ominous as if they were in earnest. they were firing in the direction of germany at that, but it was a good many score of miles out of range. just the same the french were particular about the point. "we always point the guns toward germany even in practice if we can," said a french instructing officer, "it's just as well to start right."
-the camp consisted of a number of brick barracks and the soldiers and officers were well housed. it was located in wild country, though, where it was possible to find ranges up to twelve thousand yards. scrubby woods covered part of the ranges and the observation points towered up a good deal higher than would be safe at the front. we went through the woods the morning after our arrival and heard a perfect bedlam of fire from the guns. there was the sharp decisive note of the seventy-five which speaks quickly and in anger and the more deliberate boom of the one hundred and fifty-five howitzer. this was a colder note but it was none the less ominous. it had an air of premeditated wrath about it. the shell from the seventy-five might get to its destination first but the one hundred and fifty-five would create more havoc upon arrival. a sentry warned us to take the left hand road at a fork in the woods and presently we came upon one of the observation towers. it was crammed with officers armed with field glasses. every now and then they would write things on paper. they seemed like so many reporters at a baseball game recording hits and errors. when we got to the top of the tower we found that large maps were part of the equipment as well as field glasses. these were wonderfully accurate maps with every prominent tree and church spire and house top indicated. the officers were ranging from the maps. the french theory of artillery work was not new to the american officers, but this was almost the first chance they had ever had to work it out for we have no maps in america suitable for ranging.
-according to theory the battery should first fire short and then long and then split the bracket and land upon the target or thereabouts. the men had not been working long and they were still a little more proficient in firing short or long than in splitting the bracket. later the american artillery gave a very good account of itself at the school. the french instructors told one particular battery that they were able to fire the seventy-five faster than it had ever been fired in france before. perhaps there was just a shade of the over-statement of french politeness in that, but it was without doubt an excellent battery. in the lulls between fire could be heard the drone of aeroplanes for a number of officers were flying to learn the principles of aerial observation in its uses for fire control. turning around we could also see a large captive balloon. all the junior officers were allowed to express a preference as to which branch of artillery work they preferred and, although observation is the most dangerous of all, fully seventy-five per cent, of the men indicated it as their choice.
-some american officers in other sections of the training area came to the conclusion in time that we should go to the english for instruction in some of the phases of modern warfare. we did in fact turn to the english finally for bayonet instruction and a certain number of officers thought that the english would also be useful to us in bombing, but i never heard any question raised but that we must continue to go to the french for instruction in field artillery until such time as we had schools of our own.
-the difference in language made occasional difficulties of course. "it took us a couple of days to realize that when our instructor spoke of a 'rangerrang' he meant a 'range error,'" said one american officer, "but now we get on famously."
-we left the men in the tower with their maps and their glasses and went down to see the guns. our guide took us straight in front of the one hundred and fifty-fives while they were firing, which was safe enough as they were tossing their shells high in the air. it was better fun, though, to stand behind these big howitzers, for by fixing your eye on a point well up over the horizon it was possible to see the projectile in flight. the shell did not seem to be moving very fast once it was located. it looked for all the world as if the gunners were batting out flies and this was the baseball which was sailing along.
-the french officer who was showing us about said that he could see the projectile as it left the mouth of the gun, but though the rest of us tried, we could see nothing but the flash. later we stood behind the seventy-fives but since their trajectory is so much lower it is not possible to see the shell which they fire. they seemed to make more noise than the bigger guns. fortunately it is no longer considered bad form to stick your fingers in your ears when a gun goes off. most of the officers and men in this particular battery were as careful to shut out the sound of the cannon as schoolgirls at a civil war play. not only did they stuff their fingers in their ears, but they stood up on their toes to lessen the vibration.
-guns have changed, however, since civil war days. they are no longer drab. camouflage has attended to that. the guns we saw were streaked with red and blue and yellow and orange. they were giddy enough to have stood as columns in the purple poodle or any of the greenwich village restaurants.
-we traveled many miles from the field gun school before we came to the camp of the heavies. this, too, was a french school which had been partially taken over by the americans. the work was less interesting here, for the men were not firing the guns yet, but studying their mechanism and going through the motions of putting them in action. many of the officers attached to the heavies were coast artillerymen and there was a liberal sprinkling of young reserve officers who had come over after a little preliminary training at fortress monroe. the general in charge of the camp told us that these new officers would soon be as good as the best because the most important requirement was a technical education and these men had all had college scientific training or its equivalent. just then they were all at school again cramming with all the available textbooks about french big guns. they did not need to depend on textbooks alone, for the camp contained types of most styles of french artillery.
-the pride of the contingent was a monster mounted on railroad trucks. it fired a projectile weighing 1800 pounds. after the french custom, the big howitzer had been honored by a name. "mosquito" was painted on the carriage in huge green letters.
-"we call her mosquito," explained a french officer, "because she stings."
-"mosquito" had buzzed no less than three hundred times at verdun, but she had a number of stings left. the americans detailed with the gun were loud in its praises and asserted that it was the finest weapon in the world. there were other guns, though, which had their partisans. some swore by "petite lulu," a squat howitzer, which could throw a shell high enough to clear pike's peak and still have something to spare. there were champions also of "gaby," a long nosed creature which outranged all the rest. marcel could talk a little faster than any gun in camp, but her words carried less weight.
-all the menial work about the camp was done by german prisoners. i was walking through the camp one day when i saw a little tow-headed soldier sitting at the doorstep of his barracks watching a file of germans shuffle by. they were men who had started to war with guns on their shoulders, but now they carried brooms.
-"do you ever speak to the german prisoners?" i asked the soldier.
-"oh, yes," said the youngster; "some of them speak english, and they say 'hello' to me and i say 'hello' back to them. i feel sorry for them."
-the little soldier looked at the shabby procession again and then he leaned over to me confidentially and said with great earnestness as if he had made up the phrase on the spot: "you know i have no quarrel with the german people."
-when we got home after our trips to the artillery camps we found an old man in a french uniform eagerly waiting to see us. he told us that he was an american, and more than that, a californian. his name was george la messneger and he was sixty-seven years old. he was french by birth and had fought in the franco-prussian war, but the next year he went to california and lived in los angeles until the outbreak of the great war. although more than sixty, la messneger was accepted by a french recruiting officer and he was in verdun two weeks after he arrived in france. three days later he was wounded and when we met him he had added to his adventures by winning a promotion to sous-lieutenant and gaining the croix de guerre and the medaille militaire.
-old george came to be a frequent visitor, but though we urged him on he would never tell us much about the war. he wanted to talk about california.
-"i tell the men in my regiment," george would begin, "that out in los angeles we cut alfalfa five times a year, but they won't believe me."
-gently we tried to lead george back to the war and his experiences. "how did you get the military medal, lieutenant?" somebody asked.
-"oh, that was at verdun," replied the old man.
-"it must have been pretty hot up there," said another correspondent.
-"yes," said george, and he began to muse. we imagined that he was thinking of those hot days in february when all the guns, big and little, were turned loose.
-"yes," said george, "it was pretty hot," and we drew our chairs closer. "you know," continued the old man, "a lot of people will tell you that los angeles is hot. don't pay any attention to them. i've lived there forty years, and i've slept with a blanket pretty much all the time. the nights are always cool."
-i had heard george before and i knew that he was gone for the evening now. as i tiptoed out of the room the old soldier in french horizon blue was just warming up to his favorite topic. "san francisco's nothing," said george, dismissing the city with as much scorn as if it had been berlin or munich. he talked with such vehemence that all his medals rattled.
-"we're nearer the panama canal," said george, "we're nearer china and japan, and as for harbors----"
-but just then the door closed.
-our aviators and a few others
-at first the ace is low. our young aviators who will be among the most romantic heroes of them all begin humbly on the ground. the american army now has the largest flying field in france for its very own, but during summer and early autumn many of our men trained in the french schools. there his groundling days try the aviator's dignity. he must hop before he can fly and perhaps "hop" is too dignified a word. when we visited one of the biggest schools, all the new pupils were practicing in a ridiculous clipped wing bleriot called a penguin. this machine was a groundhog which scurried over the earth at a speed of twenty or thirty miles an hour. it never left the grass tops and yet it provided a certain amount of excitement for its pilot, or maybe rider would be better.
-the favorite trick of the penguin is to turn suddenly in a short half circle and collapse on its side. it takes a good deal of skill to keep it straight and when the aviator has learned that much he is allowed to make a trip in a machine which leaps a little in the air every now and then, only to flop to earth again. then he is ready to fly a bleriot, though, of course, his first trips are made as a passenger. very little time is spent in flying. staying up in the air is no great trick. it's the coming down which gives the trouble. and so the student is eternally trying landings. he smashes a good many machines and here the french show their keen realization of the mental factor in flying.
-"i made a bad landing one day," an american student named billy parker told me, "and smashed my machine up good and proper. i thought i'd killed myself, but they dragged me out from under the junk, picked the pieces of wood and aluminum out of my head, stuffed some cotton into my nose to check the bleeding and in fifteen minutes they had a new machine out and had me up in the air again."
-parker said he felt a bit queer when he got up in the air again. "i had a sort of feeling that i belonged down on the ground and not up there," he said. "that was peculiar because usually the air feels very stable and friendly. you hate to come down, but this time i was anxious to get back and after circling the field once i came down. my landing was all right, too, and since then i've never had that scared feeling about the air."
-the french theory is that the mistake must be corrected immediately. the man who has had a smash-up is apt to get air shy if he has a chance to brood over his mishap for a day or two.
-the last test of the preliminary school is a thirty mile flight with three landings. after he has done that the student goes to pau for his test in acrobatics. the chief stunt set for him here is a vrille. the student is required to put his machine into a spin at a height of about 8500 feet and bring it out again. the trick is not particularly difficult if the man keeps his head, but the tendency is to turn on the power which only accelerates the fall and some are killed at pau. my friend caught malaria as soon as he got there and was allowed to take things easily for a week. finally his test was set for wednesday. on monday morning the man who slept in the cot to his left went out for his test and was killed and on tuesday the man from the right hand cot was killed. death came very close to the young american. he and a french student arrived at the training ground at about the same time. two machines were ready. the instructor hesitated a second and then assigned the american to the machine at the right. a few minutes later the frenchman was killed when a wing came off his machine as soon as he began his vrille. fortunately parker did not know that until after he had passed his own test. he saw one other man killed before he left pau and that horrified him more than the accident on the morning of his trial.
-"the judge who decided whether you passed your test was a little frenchman with a monocle," he said. "he sat in a rocking chair at the edge of the field and you had to do the vrille straight in front of him or it didn't count. he simply wouldn't turn to look at a flyer. i was standing beside him when one fellow got rattled in the middle of a vrille and put his power on. even at that he almost lifted his machine out but she came down too fast for him. there was a big smash-up and people came running out to the wreck. they sent for a doctor and then for a priest, but the terrible little man never moved from his chair. 'you see,' he cried to me, 'he was stupid! stupid!' this flying test had come to seem nothing more than an examination bluebook to him. a fellow passed or he flunked and that was all there was to it."
-luck plays its biggest part in a flier's early days at the front. he has a lot to learn after he gets there, but the french do not nurse him along much. he has to take his chances. it may be that he will get in some very tight place before he has learned the fine points and a future star will be lost at the outset of his career. on the other hand he may come up against german fliers as green as himself and gradually gain a technique before he is called upon to face an enemy ace or a superior combination of planes. at the front as in the schools the french pay keen attention to the mental state of the fliers.
-"there was always champagne at mess and they kept the graphophone playing all through dinner any night a man from our squadron didn't come back," an aviator said to me. "one afternoon we lost two men and before dinner they took a leaf out of the table. our commander didn't want us to notice any empty seats or the extra space."
-it is difficult to say which nation has the most daring aviators, but that honor probably belongs to the english. i asked a frenchman about it and he said: "the english do most of the things you would call stunts. there was one, for instance, that made a landing on a german aviation field and after firing a few rounds at the aerodrome flew away again. that was a stunt. but we think the english are fools with their sportsmanship and all that. it doesn't work now. we look at it a little differently. we cannot take fool chances. if you take a fool chance you are very likely to get killed. that is not nice, of course. we do not like to be killed, but more than that, it is one less man for france. we must wait until there is a fair show."
-"and when is that?" i asked.
-"when there are not more than four germans against you," said the careful frenchman.
-the warlike spirit of the french aviators extended even to the servants at the preliminary school which we visited. the americans there were all quartered in one big room and their general man of all work was a little annamite from french-indo-china. hy seemed the most peaceful member of a peace-loving race as he moved about the barracks just before dawn every morning waking up the students with a smiling "bon jour" and an equally good-natured "café." one day he had a holiday and after borrowing a uniform he went to a photographer's in the nearest town. from the photographer he borrowed a rifle, a cutlass and a pistol. he thrust the cutlass into his belt and shouldered the other two weapons. after he had assumed a fighting face the picture was taken.
-the next day hy varied the routine. he began with "bon jour" as usual, but before he said "café" he drew from behind his back the photograph, and pointing to it proudly, exclaimed, "brave soldat."
-we went from the french school to the big field where the american camp was under construction. the bulk of the work was being done by german prisoners. one of these, a sergeant, had been a well known architect in munich. the american workers consulted him now and then in regard to some building problem and he always gave them good advice. he took almost a professional pride in the growing buildings even if they were designed to house the men who will one day be the eyes of the american army. we asked another prisoner how he got along with the americans and he replied: "oh, some of them aren't half bad." a third spoke to us in meager broken english, although he said that he had lived five years in buffalo. "are you going back to germany after the war?" we asked him. "nein," he replied decisively, "chicago."
-most prisoners professed to be confident that germany would win the war and they all based their faith on the submarine. as we started to go the man from buffalo suddenly held out his hand and said: "so long." several of the correspondents shook hands with him much to the horror of a young american in the french flying corps who accompanied us.
-"you mustn't do that," he explained. "any frenchman who saw you do that would be very much shocked."
-i remembered then that when i saw german prisoners in any of the large towns the french inhabitants took great pains to ignore them. i never heard french people jeer at their prisoners. their attitude was one of complete aloofness. once i saw prisoners in a big railroad station and the crowds swept by on either side without a glance as if these men from prussia had been so many trunks or trucks or benches.
-if the young americans at the school had not been so busy learning the business of flying they could have formed a cracker jack nine or eight or eleven, as the squad included some of the most famous of our college athletes.
-we also visited an english aerodrome which was not far from our headquarters. this was a camp from which planes started for raids into germany. the men who were carrying on this work were all youngsters. i saw no one who seemed to be more than twenty-five. just the day before we arrived the germans had discovered their whereabouts and had raided the hangars. one man had been killed and two planes wrecked. machine gun bullets had left holes in all the buildings about the place. the english officer smiled when we looked about. "oh, yes," he said, "the hun was over last night and gave us a bit of a bounce." his slang was fluent but puzzling. he was explaining why he and his fellow aviators flew at a certain height on raids. "you see," he said, "the hun can't get his hate up as far as that."
-the bombing machines of the squadron were huge, powerful planes, but they all had pet names painted upon them such as "bessie" and "baby" and "winifred" which had been twice to stuttgart. these english fliers were a quiet, reticent crowd who became fearfully embarrassed if anybody tried to draw them out on the subject of their exploits. one of them went over to an american red cross hospital nearby a few days after our visit and played bridge with three american doctors there. he had been a rather frequent visitor and a keen and eager player, so they were somewhat surprised when he told them at nine o'clock that he would have to go. he was three francs behind and started to fumble around in his pockets to find the change. "oh, never mind," said one of the doctors. "some other night will do. you'll be over here again pretty soon, i hope."
-"oh, no," said the young englishman, "i'd rather pay up now. sorry to toddle off so early. beastly nuisance, you know, but i've got to go over and bomb metz to-night."
-much more would be heard of the flying exploits of the english if their individual reticence were not combined with a governmental policy of not announcing the names of the fliers who bring down enemy planes. unfortunately, the american army seems prepared to follow this example. one of the high officers in the american air service in france said that he did not intend to treat aviators like prima donnas. he added that he thought it was a big mistake to advertise aces. however, the germans play up their star airmen in the newspapers and on the moving picture screen and it must be admitted that they have not made many mistakes from a purely military point of view.
-inevitably, however, the status of the flier is changing. nobody regrets this more than the aviators of france. the french army used to have a saying, "all aviators are a little crazy," and nobody believed it so thoroughly as the aviators. they took great pride in being unlike other people in a war which was all cramped up into schedule. an aviator got up when he felt like it and flew when the mood was on. if he felt depressed, or unlucky, or out of sorts, he rolled over and went to sleep again. nobody said anything about it. when he fought the battle was a duel with an opponent who was also a knight and sportsman although a boche.
-but there was no keeping efficiency out of the air. the german brought it there. he discovered that two planes were better than one and three even better. he introduced teamwork and the lone french errants of the air began to be picked off by groups of germans who would send one machine after another diving down on a single foe. the flying circus and other aerial teams of the germans have not only driven chivalry from the air, but they have taken a good deal of the joy out of flying. very reluctantly the french have adopted squadron flying and the airman now finds himself obeying commands just as if he were an infantryman or an artillerist. even the civilian population has begun to show that it realized the change in the status of the aviator. there was, for instance, poor navarre, the finest flier in the army, who was sent to prison because he came to paris on a spree and ran down three gendarmes with his racing auto. french aviators cannot see the sense of punishing navarre. i only heard one aviator who had any excuse to offer for the civilian authorities.
-"after all," he said, "they showed a little judgment. they did not arrest navarre until he had run down three gendarmes."
-although many men in the army have longer lists of fallen germans to their credit, no frenchman has ever flown with the grace and skill of navarre. the great guynemer was only a fair flier and owed his success to his skill as a gunner. but navarre was master of all the tricks. upon one occasion he bet a companion that he could make a landing on an army blanket. the blanket was duly fastened in the middle of the field and away flew the aviator. his preliminary calculation was just a bit off and at the last minute he nosed sharply down and wrecked the machine. but he hit the blanket and won the bet.
-"it made five loops," said the major in telling the story, "and they were dandies, too, as good as i ever saw. i thought it was the frenchman, of course, but i asked somebody and he said, 'no, it's harry.' when he came down i bawled him out. 'you were told not to do that, weren't you?' i asked him. he said, 'yes, sir.' 'well, what did you do it for?' i asked him. 'i guess it was because the frenchman told me it was impossible,' he said. i told him that he would have to turn his machine over to another man and that other disciplinary measures would be applied. he's in disgrace still and i suppose i've got to keep it up for a while. that's all right, good discipline and all that sort of thing, you know, but there's one thing i can't take away from him, and nobody else can. he's the only man in france that ever looped that type of machine. he did it. by golly, i envy him, but i don't dare let him know it."
-hospitals and engineers
-some of the compliments the mannerly french poured out upon the army left the americans feeling that they didn't quite deserve them. others they could take standing. well to the front of the second lot were all the good words for the medical corps. a leading writer for a big parisian afternoon paper took the first three columns of his first page to say with undisguised emotion that the french government not merely could, with profit, but should and must pattern after the american army medical service.
-one good army hospital in france is like another and so let it be the new york post graduate unit which was picked at random for the purpose of a visit. we straggled off the train with two old peasant women whose absorbed faces under their peaked white caps did not encourage us to ask our way of them, and one poilu, bent under the astonishing miscellany of the home-going french soldier. he lost his chance to escape us by eyeing us with frank if friendly curiosity. could he direct us to the american army hospital, we asked, and he wrinkled his weather worn nose. no, he hadn't been home since the americans had come to war, but, of course, there was only one building in town big enough and new enough to be used by the americans. if we should turn to the left and then to the right and then to the left again we would come to the school and there he thought we would find the americans. we did. to the far end of the little town we trudged till we came to a low stone building, gray and white, of good stout masonry. we knew it was the american hospital because over the arched entrance there hung a "bannière etoilée."
-we neared the entrance to the tune of some trumpet blasts, not very well played, and we peered from arch to inner court yard just in time to see a swarm of khaki-half-clad soldiers running out from barracks. by the time they reached the mess door they were khaki-clad. the officer who came to take us about explained that on sunday mornings everybody slept late and dressed on the way to breakfast and that discipline was better on week days. then he told us that of all the privates in that unit not one had ever been a soldier before. they had been picked for medical service first and military service at such time as the officers had learned enough to teach it to them. i remember later that one of the soldiers objected privately to being drilled by a dentist.
-nine-tenths of the men were fresh out of college, the officer told us, and half the other tenth were freshmen or sophomores. many of the enlisted men, we were told, had left incomes in the tens of thousands and a few in the hundreds of thousands. the enlisted personnel included one matinee idol, one young new york dramatic critic, two middling well known young authors, a composer of good but saleable music, and a golfer who gets two in the national rating.
-the wards were not very different from those of a new york hospital back home, except that they housed a strange mixture of patients. about half were american soldiers and the rest were civilians from the country round about. the french civilians were convinced that though the american doctors might cure them with their marvelous medicines and speckless cleanliness they would surely kill them with air. this particular base hospital was fulfilling two functions for the civilian population. it was seeking to take out adenoids and let in air. a great new york specialist was attending to the adenoids and making progress. it was not always possible to convince the patient that it would do him any good to have his adenoids removed, but if the operation gave the kind american doctor any pleasure he was willing to let him go ahead. the air campaign was making slower progress. dislike of air is centuries old in france and it has become an instinct with the race. i rode in a railroad car with a french aviator on a balmy day of early autumn and his first act upon entering the compartment was to close both windows. everybody in this part of france has his bed placed inside a closet and at night he closes the doors.
-worst of all were the extra precautions against air which the french peasants took in case of illness. the young french doctors were at the front and the old men who remained always began the treatment of a case by advising the patient's relatives to close all the windows and start a fire.
-at the call of sick babies and old folk of the countryside came aristocrats of the new york medical profession whose fees at home would have bought the house in which the patient lived. later, of course, the doctors of the hospital will be more rushed by the necessities of the soldiers.
-"this is hardly more than a germ of what we plan," a doctor explained to us. "do you see those tents?" he pointed across a small field. "those are american engineers and they're going to do nothing for the next few months but build additions to this hospital. every time i go 'way for a day i come back to find that they've added a thousand beds to the capacity we're planning for. we will extend all the way across the fields over to that road before they're done with us." he spoke in a joyful voice as if nothing in the world was quite so inspiring as a huge hospital filled with patients. that was the professional touch. i remember the story one of the doctors told us about a young surgeon who was sent up to the french front to help handle the cases after a big drive. one of his first patients was a german prisoner who had been shot just above the elbow and bayoneted in the stomach. the doctor had no great trouble with the elbow and he did what he could for the abdominal wound.
-"i could save that man all right if it wasn't for that bayonet wound," he said to another american doctor close at hand, and then he added in a reproachful voice as he pointed to the gash: "that's an awful dangerous place to stab a man."
-there were no wounded at the hospital at the time of our visit, but some of the soldiers in the medical ward were very sick. there was one boy there, who has since mended and gone away, whose recovery seemed hopeless. the doctor in charge saw that something was troubling the young soldier and so he came to him and told him that he was aggravating his illness by this worry or desire.
-"whatever this thing is, you must tell me," said the doctor.
-"do you think i'm going to die?" the boy asked anxiously.
-"oh, i wouldn't say that," the doctor answered a little evasively.
-"i knew i was pretty sick," said the boy, catching the evasiveness of the doctor's tone, "and if you think i'm going to die and won't ever get back home again, there's just one thing i want to ask you to do for me."
-"what's that?" said the doctor.
-"couldn't you fix it up for me just once to have ham and eggs and apple pie for breakfast?"
-"yes," said the doctor, "i suppose we all have people back there that we miss."
-"you can just bet i do," said the sick soldier, "i've got the finest wife in the world in des moines and two children and a ford."
-the health of the staff was excellent, but sometimes they felt homesick, too. the enlisted men gave a show the night i was at the hospital and during the course of the performance everybody wept or at least got moist eyed because the play was about new york. it was laid in a year as nameless as the place where the hospital is located. all the program said was: "the bachelor apartments of schuyler van allen on a fine june night a few weeks after the end of the war." schuyler had just come back from europe and he found his apartment with everything just as it was on the night he had sailed for france. there was the daily paper he had left behind with the date may 8, 1917, and he looked at the old sheet and mused as he read some of the headlines:
-"kaiser calls on troops to stand firm," read schuyler. "the kaiser," he said to himself, and then he added: "i wonder whatever became of him."
-the audience laughed at that, but in a moment the doctors and the nurses and the patients who weren't sick enough to stay in bed wept. it was all because schuyler looked out of the window and said to his friend: "oh, it's great to be on fifth avenue again. i want to see it in every light and at every hour of the day. it was fairly blazing tonight with the same old hurrying crowd jamming the traffic at forty-second street and the same old mob pushing and shoving its way into the grand central subway station." the mention of the subway was too much for the audience. by this time the nurse who sat in front of me was dabbing violently at her eyes with her pocket handkerchief. she was breaking my heart and i leaned forward and asked: "what part of new york do you come from?"
-"i wasn't ever in new york," she said. "i come from lima, ohio."
-like the medical corps, the engineers were peculiarly american and peculiarly efficient as well. we first came upon them when we saw a tall, stringy man looking out of the window of a little locomotive which pulled a train up to a point at the french front. we thought he was an american because his jaws were moving back and forth slowly and meditatively. inquiry brought confirmation.
-"sure, i'm an american," said the man in the blue jumpers. "i guess i've kicked a hobo off the train for every telegraph pole back on the old rock island, but this is the toughest railroading job i've struck yet."
-the man in the locomotive was a member of an american regiment of railroad engineers which had taken over an important military road. they had the honor to be the first american troops at the french front who came under fire. the engineers were willing to admit that while washouts and spreading rails were old stories to them, they did get a bit of a thrill the first time they found their tracks torn up by shellfire. but the aeroplanes were worse.
-"one night," said our friend the engineer, "there was one of those flying machines just followed along with us and every time we fired the engine and the sparks flew up she'd drop a bomb on us or shoot at us with her machine gun. we tried to hit it up a bit, but she kept right up with us. they didn't hit us, but once they got so rough we just slowed down and laid under the engine for a spell until they decided to quit picking on us."
-"you've got the wrong dope about that, bill," said a private to his captain very earnestly. the officer looked at him severely.
-"i've told you before about this discipline business, harry," he said. "any time you want to kick about my orders you call me mister." it is hard for a railroad man to realize that a couple of silver bars have changed a yardmaster into a captain.
-the regiment set great store by the number thirteen. it was put into service on a friday the thirteenth and it left its american base in two sections of thirteen cars each. the locomotives' headlight numbers each totaled thirteen and the thirteenth of a month found the regiment arriving at its european port of entry. the thirteenth of the next month found the regiment starting for its french base and when the camp was reached a group of interpreters was waiting.
-"how many are you?" asked the colonel.
-"myself and twelve companions," replied one of the frenchmen.
-the regiment will never forget the first night at its french base. it arrived at midnight but crowds thronged the darkened streets and gave the big americans an enthusiastic greeting, although it was forbidden to talk above undertones. since they could not hurrah for the soldiers, the villagers hugged them, and from black windows roses were pelted on shadowy figures who tramped up the street to the low rumble of a muffled band.
-"great people, these french, so demonstrative," said a captain, who was once a trainmaster in a texas town.
-"i was in the theater the other night," he said, "and a couple of performers on the stage started to sing 'madelon.' well, i'd heard it before and i knew the chorus, so when they got that far along i joined in. well, there was a young girl sitting next me and when she saw that i knew the song she just threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.
-"and now," said the captain, "everybody in the regiment's after me to teach 'em that song."
-we visit the french army
-"the germans haven't thrown a single shell into rheims today," said our conducting officer apologetically. "yesterday," he continued more cheerfully, "they sent more than five hundred big ones and they wounded two of my officers."
-we left the little inn at the fringe of the town and rode into the square in front of the cathedral. at the door the officer turned us over to the curator. the old man led us up the aisle to a point not far from the altar. here he stopped, and pointing to a great shell hole in the floor said: "on this spot in the year 496 clovis, the king of the franks, was baptized by the blessed st. remi with oil which was brought from heaven in a holy flask by a dove."
-"the first stone of the present cathedral was laid in may, 1212, by the archbishop alberic de humbert," he said.
-about fifteen feet from the place where he was seated there was a row of beehives. the warmth of the september day had caused the busy little creatures to resume their labors of the summer.
-the sight of them recalled to the mind of the troubled boy the beehives near his father's house and his thoughts naturally wandered from bees to the people who were in the far-away home. he wondered if frank had yet returned to the army. he had been assigned to a different corps, and it might be that he already was with mcclellan. would he see him at frederick city? the question received its own answer when noel glanced about him and saw the guard and the horses waiting for their riders. there was slight prospect that he would see his brother very soon. libby prison doubtless was to be his destination.
-abruptly he sat erect and, facing his guard said, "how long are these men going to be here?"
-"i reckon yo' 'll have to ask the lieutenant, sir."
-"how long have they been here?"
-"i can't just say, sir."
-"do you know where they are going?"
-"no, sir, i don't."
-"do you know what they will do with me?"
-"i reckon i might suspect, sir. there have been a right sma't lot of yanks who have had free transpo'tation to richmond. i reckon there will be some mo', and it may be yo' will have a chance to ride along with them, sir. it won't cost you a cent, sir. no, sir, not one cent."
-"do you belong to stuart's cavalry?" asked noel.
-"i wonder what's the matter with the yanks. they seem to be so full of questions that the minute one of them opens his mouth they begin to pop out the way corn pops in a popper."
-noel abruptly ceased his questioning, but, as he glanced once more about the quarters, suddenly a scheme suggested itself to him, by which he might be able to escape from his captors. if the plan was to be tried, he must act at once, he decided, and, striving not to arouse the suspicions of the guard, he slowly arose.
-slowly, and striving to appear indifferent, although he was keenly observant of every action of his guard, noel began to pace back and forth behind the row of horses. he was well aware that, in spite of the apparent carelessness of his guard, he was watching his every action. any attempt on the part of the young prisoner to escape would at once bring a shot from the soldier.
-however, the guard did not interfere with the actions of his prisoner, and a half-dozen or more times noel slowly paced back and forth as if he was simply striving to relax his muscles and was ignoring his surroundings.
-not more than twenty feet away from the rail was the row of beehives to which reference has been made. several times the young prisoner stopped and watched the busy little insects that were buzzing about the hives. glancing each time at the guard, he was convinced that any suspicions of any plan his charge might have in mind as yet had not been aroused. apparently the soldier was so confident in his ability to meet any sudden act that some of the time he was not even looking at the young prisoner.
-noel's excitement became keener. he glanced toward the house to see whether or not any of the confederates who had entered were now to be seen. slowly he turned his head and looked once more at his guard. the man was seated on the grass, and still to all appearances was indifferent to the actions of his charge.
-suddenly noel stumbled over the projecting root of a huge magnolia tree and fell directly against the nearest hive in the row. with both hands he struck and with such force that it was thrown against the hive next to it.
-"better look out there!" called the guard, when noel arose. "some of those bugs 'll bite you, if you don't watch out!"
-whether or not the "bugs would bite," the anger of the bees instantly became manifest. in clouds they poured forth from the hives and the sounds of their buzzing became louder.
-darting in every direction they soon discovered the disturber of their dwelling-places, and, aware of their intentions, noel hastily ran toward the guard and the rail to which the horses were hitched. to all appearances he had done this simply to avoid the pursuit of the little tormentors. that he was acting on design, the guard did not even suspect. the cloud of bees, however, did not all abandon the pursuit, and as noel halted near the horses, the furious little insects, without rhyme or reason, began an attack upon the innocent animals.
-pandemonium instantly followed. the horses were rearing, plunging, squealing, and kicking in every direction. the actions seemed to incite the attacking insects to still greater anger. nor was the guard himself free from the onslaught. with muttered exclamations of anger and pain, he was striving to ward off the little pests from his face or prevent them from stinging him on his hands and wrists.
-noel was doing his utmost to bear up under the suffering he himself was compelled to undergo. one bee had stung him on the very tip of his nose. another had attacked him under his right eye, while still another had inserted his sting near a corner of the young soldier's mouth.
-noel could feel his face swelling, but he heroically strove to bear his suffering, and, although he did his utmost to drive away his tormentors, he nevertheless was relying upon the very attack that had been made to assist him in the plan which he had formed.
-in the midst of the confusion one of the horses broke loose, and with many snorts of fear and rage started swiftly toward the lane.
-the example was contagious and a moment later two more horses freed themselves by breaking the straps by which they were tied and followed in the direction in which the leader had disappeared.
-"catch them! catch them! help me! catch them!" called the guard excitedly. "why don't somebody come out of the big house? i can't do everything myself! help me! never mind the stings! don't let those horses get away! rouse yourself, yank!"
-"i'll do my best," called noel loudly, as he seized the bridle of one of the remaining horses and apparently strove to quiet the terrified animal.
-the horse with which noel was struggling was the one in the line which he had noted as being undoubtedly the swiftest and best of them all.
-"whoa, there! keep quiet! be still, can't you?" he called as he slapped the plunging horse on its neck and then on its flank as if he was protecting it from the angry bees. meanwhile, however, noel had untied the horse and was holding the animal by its bridle.
-at that moment some of the confederate soldiers, who had entered the house, appeared at the door. noel glanced anxiously at the men and then looked at the guard, who was doing his utmost to prevent one of the remaining horses from escaping.
-the moment for which he had been waiting had arrived, the young soldier decided, and whatever he did he must do instantly. there was no time to be lost.
-looking once more toward the house, he saw the men call to those who still were inside, and then turn as if they were about to run swiftly to the place where the commotion was occurring. a single glance at the guard showed him that the man's rifle had been laid upon the grass and that he was still struggling with one of the frantic animals. pulling upon the bridle of his horse noel quietly had worked the animal away from its companions. his horse had been squealing and kicking more frantically than any of the others. to all appearances noel was having a severe struggle to prevent him from breaking away and running in the direction in which the other horses had disappeared.
-the shouts of the men, who now were advancing from the house, increased the confusion. doubtless they were unaware of the source of the trouble and might visit their anger upon him, thought noel.
-the time, however, did not permit of delay. he had now worked his horse nearer the corner of the house. suddenly the young soldier, placing one foot in the stirrup, leaped lightly into the saddle, and shouting into the ears of his horse, turned around the corner of the house before the startled band were fully aware of what had taken place.
-the bees were no longer in pursuit. the terrified animal, however, was still making many frantic leaps, and noel was compelled to exert the utmost of his strength to retain his seat. his disappearance was followed by a shout from the man, and only a brief time elapsed before, glancing behind him, he saw that two of the men were mounted and now were in swift pursuit.
-his hopes now were dependent upon the speed of his horse and the possible inability of his pursuers to shoot.
-"stop, you yank!" called one of them. "stop where you are! stop, or we'll shoot!"
-bending low upon the neck of his horse, noel gave no heed to the demands and continually urged the beast into greater efforts. with long and powerful leaps the horse was bounding forward. the entrance from the lane into the highway was now only a few yards distant. out in the road, noel saw the horses which had already broken their halters and had fled when the bees first had attacked them. he would have been glad to secure either of them, but now his main purpose was to escape, and success depended much upon the endurance of the horse he was riding.
-as yet the men behind him had not shot at the escaping young soldier. grimly noel thought they were more fearful of injuring the horse than they were of harming him. however, there was inspiration in the thought that thus far he had succeeded, and almost with a feeling of rejoicing he turned into the road and urged his terrified steed into still more frantic efforts. the pursuit was not abandoned, and he was aware that the mounted confederates evidently were as determined as was the fleeing young soldier.
-the speed of the running horse increased under the continued demands of his rider. it was a powerful animal on which he was mounted, as noel was now aware, and if his endurance was equal to his strength there was a possibility of escaping from the region.
-a glance behind him showed that he was gaining upon his two pursuers, a fact which was as manifest to them as it was to him. suddenly one of them fired. noel heard the bullet as it whistled above his head.
-the pursuit, however, was not abandoned, and, leaning forward, noel drew himself closer to the neck of his panting steed, and then as he looked hastily behind him he saw that both men were again about to fire.
-the moment was critical in the flight of the young soldier. it seemed to him as if his heart for a moment almost ceased to beat. resolutely he leaned still farther forward on the neck of the running horse, and shouting into the ear of the animal caused the frightened beast to bound to the opposite side of the road just as both of his pursuers fired.
-grateful as soon as he was aware that neither he nor his horse had been hit, the young soldier gave his undivided attention for a moment to controlling the terrified steed.
-noel's long experience on his father's farm on the banks of the st. lawrence river, where he and his brother frank many a time as little lads had ridden the colts bareback, now came in good stead. the saddle was uncomfortable, but he had no difficulty in retaining his seat.
-in a brief time the nervous animal once more was under control and was speeding forward at a pace which the rider was confident would soon leave his pursuers far behind him.
-in his flight noel hastily glanced over his shoulder to discover whether or not the confederate soldiers had abandoned the chase, or were still determined to overtake him.
-he plainly saw that they were not gaining upon him, although they still held doggedly to the pursuit. just why they should do this, now that several miles had been covered, the young soldier was unable to understand, nor was it until afterward that he came to know the reason why the men, in spite of their failure to gain upon him, were unwilling to turn back.
-noel was unarmed. his rifle had been taken from him when he had first been made prisoner. although he had a place, as we know, among the sharpshooters of mcclellan's army, it had not been until after his return from his furlough that he had found himself fully able to do the required work.
-now with all his heart he longed for a rifle. if it were only in his hands he was convinced that the two men who were so doggedly hanging to the pursuit would abandon their efforts.
-the mud in places in the road was thrown up in lumps by the hoofs of his horse as he thundered on his way. as yet the animal was not displaying any marked signs of distress, and in the hope of wearing out his pursuers, noel still kept him at his full speed.
-the splotches of mud and the heat of the warm september day soon made the appearance of the young rider as distressing as that of the animal upon which he was mounted. the great black flanks of the latter were now reeking with sweat and discolored by the red-brown mud of the road. as far as noel himself was concerned, his most intimate friend might have had difficulty in recognizing, in the perspiring, dirt-covered young soldier the noel curtis whom they had known. streams of perspiration had poured down his face and left furrows in the coating of maryland mud and dirt. the exertion was telling upon the rider as well as upon the horse, and he was well aware that such violent efforts could not long be continued.
-glancing once more anxiously behind him, noel was unable to see his pursuers. he was aware, however, that it was only the bend in the road that hid them from his sight and that not yet was he freed from his peril.
-slackening the pace at which he was riding, the young soldier removed his coat and folding it placed it in front of him on the pommel. the relief was instant and again speaking encouragingly to his horse, which now was breathing loudly, he continued his flight.
-it became manifest in a brief time that the pursuit was still maintained, although the distance between the young soldier and the two confederates comparatively was unchanged. why they should continue to follow him became increasingly a perplexing problem. there were no prospects of his being overtaken, and now that five or six miles must have been covered in his flight noel was unable to understand why the men did not turn back and join their comrades. he himself was not of sufficient value to warrant their severe labors. of that fact he was well assured. why, then, did they still follow him?
-the mystery was unsolved, but there was no delay on the part of the young soldier to meditate long upon possible explanations. the fact remained that he was in a country with which he was unfamiliar, mounted upon the back of a horse with whose ways he was unacquainted, although he was aware of his many excellent points, and was being pursued relentlessly by two men who doggedly held to their task.
-suddenly noel, as he emerged from a small body of woods, beheld a group of men directly in the road before him and not distant more than fifty yards. glancing keenly at the bank he saw that the men were repairing a bridge over a little stream. a second look convinced him that the men were all clad in the uniform of the confederate soldiers.
-for a brief moment noel's courage seemed to depart. he could not turn back without running directly into his enemies, while if he advanced it was equally plain that there were many more still to be passed.
-unaware of the perplexing thoughts of his rider, his horse did not relax his speed and with long and steady lopes was still advancing. whatever the young soldier was to do must be done quickly.
-almost before he was aware of what occurred noel found himself close upon the band. his coat, as has been said, was discolored and his trousers were so covered with mud that their original color, in a measure, at least, was concealed.
-suddenly the young soldier decided to try to make his way through the band. he recalled an incident which he had read in the life of mad anthony wayne, who, with his men, in the swamp near yorktown, found himself face to face with a division of red coats that far outnumbered his followers. the consternation produced by the discovery was banished as mad anthony resolutely called to his men and dashed forward. the daring man was relying upon the fact of his bold advance to convince the enemy that there must be more men behind him. no man in his senses would ever think of attacking such a superior force. after the british lines had broken and fled, mad anthony turned and said to one of his comrades, "the best way to overcome any difficulty is to drive straight through it." this incident came back to noel's mind as the trees and fields seemed to be racing past him.
-his confident approach, too, for he was waving his hand as he drew nearer, seemed to confuse the band of confederates. instead of forming across the road and stopping his flight, they divided and did not even question him, although his appearance must have been such as to arouse their curiosity at least.
-only partly checking the speed of his horse, noel leaned low on his neck and as he drew near the men, he shouted, "don't stop me, boys! how far ahead is the captain?"
-even as he asked the question noel was aware that his own apparent confidence had had its effect, for the men drew back from the roadside, and one of them in reply to his query, shouted, "i reckon he's about three miles up the road, sir."
-"good! that's fine!" shouted noel in response. "there's some men coming behind me and they'll stop to give you their message. they have a word for you."
-the ruse had succeeded, and the young soldier had accomplished more than in his excitement he had dared to hope. he knew that his pursuers in a very short time would be informed of his bold trick and perhaps would be more determined than ever to secure him. but for a time, at least, he had not been checked in his flight and he was not without hope also that the two mounted men might be delayed long enough by the band, through which he had successfully made his way, to enable him to gain still more.
-noel had not advanced far beyond the sight of the bridge before his sudden feeling of exhilaration vanished. he had been astonished at the very success of the trick he had played. it was his first lesson that if a man is to succeed he must be bold.
-his rejoicing now abruptly departed, when, running and breathing heavily, his horse suddenly stumbled and fell in the road. the young soldier had been riding with too loose a rein and his moment of elation had made him somewhat careless of the need of constant attention to his steed.
-fortunately noel was able to free his feet from the stirrups and was not caught by the body of the horse as he fell. he was thrown to one side of the road, but although he was bruised and for a moment almost stunned by the sudden fall, he quickly rose.
-quick as his action was, however, that of his horse had been quicker. after two efforts the fallen animal at last succeeded in leaping to his feet, and, disregarding the frantic calls of its recent rider, started forward, running even more swiftly than when he had been carrying the young soldier.
-in the midst of the fresh trouble which had arisen, noel was aware that his pursuers in a brief time would be upon him. instantly turning to one side of the road where some large trees were growing he darted into their midst and soon discovered one tree sufficiently large to enable him to hide behind it.
-scarcely had noel succeeded in gaining his hiding-place before he heard the sound of the approaching horsemen. instead of two horses now, however, there were five. the ruse which he had used upon the men at the bridge had been discovered, and doubtless chagrin was added to the natural desire to retake the daring man who had escaped through their midst.
-would they pass the place or would they discover the mark in the road left by his horse when it fell? upon the decision of this question much of his success depended. breathlessly noel watched the pursuing soldiers, and a great sigh of relief escaped his lips when he saw that they had not even glanced at the spot where the accident had befallen him.
-he deemed it unwise now to resume his flight in the road. he decided that he would make his way from tree to tree, and as he peered out at the road, which he could see extended far in the distance, he was rejoiced to discover that the woods also spread out far on either side. his plan was not to reenter the road until he had gone a distance which would be sufficient to insure his safety from discovery by the men who had recently passed him in their wild chase.
-by this time the afternoon sun was low in the western sky. not a mouthful of food had passed the lips of the young soldier since his early breakfast at the house of jim and sairy ann. his strenuous efforts also had wearied him, and thirst, as well as hunger, was now making its demands felt.
-an hour had elapsed when noel, from another hiding-place far up the road, saw the band of five returning. he was positive that he recognized them as his recent pursuers from the fact that one of the horses was strangely marked, a fact which he had noticed when he had first discovered the animals tied to the rail in the rear of the house to which the treacherous levi had conducted him.
-when at last the band had passed beyond his sight, and noel, with fresh courage, was about to reenter the road, he was startled when he saw a young colored man approaching from the direction in which the riders had disappeared.
-loud and long sang the negro and repeated the same stanza of the song until noel, who was interested as the black man came nearer, almost felt that in spite of his difficulties he would join in the tune,--
-"then i sot right down and felt very blue-- glory hallelujah, bress de lord! says i, o lord, what shall i do? glory hallelujah, bress de lord!"
-when the young black man came opposite the place where noel was hiding, the latter suddenly decided to hail him.
-"hello!" called the young soldier.
-the negro stopped abruptly and peered about him in a manner which betrayed to noel that in intelligence he seemed to be far above the most of his race.
-"who dat callin' me?" inquired the negro.
-"i am," said noel, as he stepped forth from his hiding-place.
-the young soldier now was in his shirtsleeves, his coat having been lost when he had been thrown from his horse. his uniform was so discolored by mud that it was impossible for an observer to determine to which side he belonged. however, convinced that his plight was so distressing that he must trust some one, noel had decided that he would cast in his lot with the negro, and trust him to provide some way of escape.
-"have you seen any union soldiers around here?" he called as he came nearer.
-before he replied, the negro looked quickly into the face of noel, and then with a smile said, "no, suh. i wish i had. i would like toe be inside the union lines at dis bery minute. i reckon, too, yo' all would like toe be in there, too."
-"that's what i would!" said noel enthusiastically. "and you'll have to show me how to get there."
-the black man hesitated a moment, and then said cordially, "the bes' thing fo' yo' will be fo' me toe take yo' all toe aunt katie."
-"'aunt katie'?" inquired noel, as he glanced once more apprehensively up and down the road. "aunt katie? who is she?"
-"yo' come er long wif me and i'll done show yo'," replied the negro.
-the guest room
-the young negro at once led the way from the road, evidently fearing more for the safety of his companion than for his own.
-noel followed obediently and did not speak until his guide had led him far within the sheltering woods that were growing on each side of the road.
-the young soldier was not yet altogether convinced that his companion was to be relied upon. his experience with long john had made him suspicious of the blacks. throughout his boyhood he had never seen a colored man, and it had not been long before the time of his enlistment when he had beheld one for the first time.
-at last, when a quarter of a mile or more had been covered by noel and his companion, the young soldier stopped, and said, "what's your name?"
-"did you ever hear of long john?"
-"yas, suh!" replied sam, glancing suspiciously at his companion as he spoke. "what fo' yo' ask 'bout long john?"
-"i saw him back yonder."
-"what fo' yo' see him?"
-"yas, suh! yas, suh!" said sam, manifestly relieved. "dat's des' what long john is er doin'. he's playing tricks on the yankee soldiers all de time. little ben fowler des' used him lak i use de decoy when i shoots ducks."
-"how do i know you are not another one like long john?"
-"because i'se a yankee."
-"you're a what?" demanded noel.
-"i'se workin' wif de yankees. i des' made up my mind dey was de bes' friends what i got. when a lot ob men leave home and come 'way off down yere jes' toe set de niggers free, i done make up my min' dat i'd des' do all i could fo' 'em."
-"where are you going now?"
-"i reckon i'm goin' toe tote you toe aunt katie's."
-"you know i'm a union soldier, don't you?"
-"i reckon i does. leastwise i suspected so when i first heerd yo' talk. if yo' all will tell me how yo' says de word ob dat animal what gibes milk, den i'll sho'ly know."
-"what do you mean?" inquired noel sharply.
-"i mean dat animal what we spell c-o-w. how yo' all done say dat name?"
-noel laughingly pronounced the word, and instantly his dusky companion was satisfied with the claim which the young soldier had made.
-"yas, suh. yo' all sho'ly is er yankee. what i cain't understan', suh, is what yo' all is doin' yere. the nearest place war dey is any union sojers is frederick."
-"how far is that from here?"
-"not so very far, but i reckon hit's too far away fo' yo' all toe try fo' toe git dere to-night. de sojers is scourin' de country an'--"
-"do you mean stuart's cavalry?"
-"yas, suh, and some mo' men besides dem. hit's gittin' dreadfully hard toe find yo' way in times like dese."
-"where are you going now?" suddenly noel inquired.
-"i'se goin' toe take yo' all toe aunt katie's an'--"
-the young negro hesitated and again searchingly looked at his companion.
-"what's the trouble?" inquired noel quickly. "are you afraid of me?"
-"no, suh, i isn't 'fraid," grinned the negro. "sho'ly not as long as i hab a frind lak dis wif me," he added as he drew from a pocket inside his coat a long narrow knife which was at least ten inches in length. "dis yere," grinned sam, "is one ob de bes' friends what i got."
-"what is it?" inquired noel, extending his hand as he spoke.
-"no, suh. i don' let dis friend of mine eber go out ob my hands. not eben fo' gene'al bu'nside."
-"where is general burnside?" asked noel.
-"i reckon he isn't far 'way from frederick city."
-"are you going to see him?" demanded the young soldier, suddenly inspired by a new thought.
-"well, suh, i cain't jes' say 'bout dat," replied sam as he thrust his knife back into its receptacle. "i mought and then again i moughtn't."
-"i believe you're going there," said noel sharply.
-"dat's des' as may be," again responded sam. "i mought and den i moughtn't. now, we hab been talkin' here long er 'nuff. if we all is goin' toe get yo' toe aunt katie's we mus' be movin' along. i haven't much time to stay yere any longer."
-"how far is aunt katie's from here?"
-"not so very far," again responded the negro. "but i des' cain't lose de time."
-"where did you come from?" abruptly inquired noel.
-"i des' came from down de road a spell."
-"and you say you're going to frederick city to report to general burnside?"
-"no, suh. no, suh. i didn't say any such thing," replied sam with a grin. "i des' said that i mought see him."
-"i believe you're taking word to him from some one down in this part of maryland."
-sam grinned, but made no reply.
-the practice of using the blacks as spies or as means of obtaining information was more prevalent than the young soldier was aware. some of the black men were keenly intelligent, and their stealthiness enabled them to avoid many dangers to which the white soldiers were often exposed. it was plain, too, that nigger sam, as he called himself, was thoroughly familiar with the region; and he had said and done enough to cause his companion to suspect that the purpose of his journey was more than had appeared upon the surface.
-conversation ceased when the journey was resumed. weary as noel was by the experiences of the day, it was with difficulty that he was able to keep up with his companion, who swiftly led the way through the field and across the occasional swamps.
-the sun had disappeared from sight and darkness was creeping over the land when at last noel and his black guide arrived on the border of a long stretch of woods.
-"yo' all stay right yere, suh," said sam, "while i done go toe see if aunt katie will take yo' in fo' de night."
-"i don't want to stop at aunt katie's," declared noel. "i want to go with you. i'm sure you're on your way to frederick city--"
-"hush!" said sam sternly. "yo' all don't know who may be hidin' in dese yere trees."
-the negro spoke in a whisper, but it was manifest to his companion that his fears had been aroused and perhaps not without reason.
-"yo' all do des' what i says toe yo'," continued sam. "set right yere behin' dis yere tree while i go toe see if aunt katie kin take yo' in fo' de night."
-there was nothing else to be done except to obey the directions of sam. reluctantly noel seated himself on the ground behind one of the large trees, and the negro at once started across the field that intervened between the woods and the little cabins, a faint outline of which could be seen in the distance. doubtless the little whitewashed structures were the quarters of the negroes of the large plantation, noel concluded.
-the weary young soldier leaned forward and watched the departing sam as long as he could be seen. in a brief time the young negro passed beyond the nearest of the cabins.
-a half-hour or more elapsed before sam returned. noel's anxiety meanwhile had been increasing, and he was on the point of departing from the vicinity, as he had become fearful that his guide might play him false and report him to his enemies instead of to the colored woman to whom he had referred as the friend of escaping whites and blacks alike.
-the dim outlines of the approaching guide soon became more clearly defined, and it was with a feeling of relief that noel heard sam say, "hit's all right, suh. aunt katie done say as how she will take yo' in. dere's one white man dere now, but she done say she can always find room fo' one mo'."
-when the two men approached the humble cabin, which sam explained was aunt katie's abode, there were no lights to be seen, and consequently, when the black woman whispered to the guide, noel was unable to distinguish her face.
-the whispering between the two continued several minutes, and then sam once more turned to noel, who had been bidden to enter the cabin and seat himself on a rude bench near the rear door, and said, "is yo' all hongry."
-"yes, i'm hungry," whispered noel. "but never mind that. what i want is to find some place where i shall be safe; that is, if you 're not going to take me with you to--"
-noel abruptly ceased when he felt the grip of his companion on his arm and was aware that he must not speak aloud concerning any of the men or places he was seeking.
-"aunt katie will feed yo' all an' then show yo' whar yo' kin stay 'til mo'nin'. yo' do des' what she done tells yo' toe do."
-"i shall," whispered noel; for his confidence in his dusky friends had now been fully restored. he could not explain the change in his feelings, but it had been manifest by the very tones of aunt katie's voice that she was one upon whom he might depend.
-"yas, suh," continued sam. "maybe i'll done see yo' all some time soon."
-unaware of the direction in which sam had departed, noel's attention and efforts were soon devoted to the corn-bread and molasses which his sable hostess speedily provided.
-watchful as noel was, his hunger nevertheless was so keen and he was so busily engaged in the task of disposing of aunt katie's viands, that the occasional chuckle of the black woman was wonderfully comforting. she seldom spoke, but the young soldier was aware that his hostess was a woman of ample proportions and capable of exerting herself physically if occasion should require in a manner that would portend no good for her enemies.
-"yo' all come 'long wid me and i'll take yo' toe de gues' room," said aunt katie calmly, when her visitor's hunger had been appeased.
-puzzled by her words, noel nevertheless followed the woman as she led the way outside the little cabin. he was mystified by her actions and was wondering where the "gues' room" might be. however, he wisely held his peace, and cautiously following aunt katie soon was conducted to a large stack of cornstalks standing near a corner of the barn.
-here the black woman stopped and, keenly peering about her to make sure that their actions were not observed, turned to noel and whispered, "inside dat er stack is whar yo' all is toe go. dere am plenty ob room in dere. yo' all will find another sojer in dere, too, i reckon. i'll show yo' all how yo' git in. come er 'long."
-near the ground on the farther side of the stack noel crawled into the opening which aunt katie disclosed. in spite of the darkness he was aware that the ground within was covered with cornstalks and that it was possible for him to stand erect. instantly he concluded that the stack was more or less of a deception and was designed merely to cover and conceal a small room.
-his thoughts, however, were speedily interrupted by the voice of the other occupant. in amazement noel listened, scarcely daring to credit the evidence of his own ears, and then convinced that he was not mistaken, he instantly crawled toward the place from which the voice had come.
-"dennis! dennis! is that you?" whispered the young soldier, as he gained the place where the other occupant of the hiding-place was seated.
-"shure, and it's noel! it's noel, me lad!" exclaimed dennis in high glee.
-"hush! don't talk so loud, dennis! somebody will hear us. what are you doing here? where did you come from? are you going to try to go on to the army to-night? who brought you here? how long have you been here?"
-"listen to the lad!" exclaimed dennis, delightedly, in one of his loudest whispers.
-noel was more afraid of dennis when he whispered than he was when he spoke in a low tone. accordingly he grasped his comrade's arm and said, "don't make so much noise, dennis."
-"noel's the lad for me! he can ask more questions in a minute than any man from the old sod could ask in five. well, lad, i have been here about two hours."
-"where did you come from?"
-"you'll have to ask the people what brought me. i can't tell you, i'm shure. i niver was in such a country and i hope i'll niver be again. i wasn't so troubled about mesilf as i was about you, noel, me lad. tell me about yoursilf."
-"hush!" repeated noel. "be still!" he whispered excitedly. "do you hear those voices?"
-"shure, i hear them."
-"well, keep still and see if we can find out what they are saying."
-it was plain to both the listening young soldiers that a man, who, from his tones and speech was undoubtedly white, was talking to a negro lad standing near the stack within which the two young soldiers were hiding.
-in a moment noel recognized the voice of the little negro lad as that of the son of aunt katie. the little urchin, not more than ten years of age, had impressed the young soldier by the intensity with which he had looked at him from the time of his arrival until he was conducted by aunt katie to the place of his concealment.
-noel grasped fiercely the arm of dennis as he heard the man outside ask, "have you seen any yanks around here?"
-"no, suh! no, suh!" said the small negro. "i ain't seen no yankees aroun' hyer."
-"you are sure, are you?" repeated the man, not ill-naturedly.
-"yas, suh. yas, suh."
-"do you think you would know a yank if you should see one?"
-"i shore would," replied the dusky child confidently. "yo' all done tole us dat de yanks hab hawns. i ain't seen nary a man wif hawns 'round yere."
-"have you looked for them?" laughed the man.
-"well, if you find any you must be sure to report to me. sometimes you have to look right smart to find the horns on some of the yankees."
-"does dey grow right out of dere haid like dis?"
-"that's what they do, and their horns are sharp, too."
-"glory!" exclaimed the little negro. "i reck'n i don't want to see no yanks wif hawns. is yo' all thinkin' dat dey is comin' yere sometime?"
-"i think some of them have been here."
-"what dey wan' hyer?"
-"you ask aunt katie about that. i reckon she knows more about it than i do. are you sure, little jake, you haven't seen any yankees that didn't have any horns?"
-"how would i know dey was yankees if dey didn't hab any hawns? yo' all don' tole us dat de yankees hab hawns, so when i sees a man what i don' know i allus looks to see if he hab any hawns."
-"if he does have horns, then you make up your mind he is a yankee, do you?"
-"yas, suh. dat's what yo' all don' tole us, so i looks fo' de hawns."
-"well, the next time you find anybody in aunt katie's cabin whom you don't know, you come and tell me, whether he has horns or not. i'm expecting somebody to be in her cabin pretty soon. you're sure, are you, there isn't anybody there now?"
-"yas, suh. you come 'long wif me," said the negro lad confidently, "and i'll show yo' all dat dere ain't nobody in dat cabin 'tall, 'ceptin' mammy."
-"i'll take your word for it. now, little jake, don't you forget to come straight to the big house and tell me if you ever find any strangers there, whether they have horns or not."
-the conversation ceased, and with a sigh of relief noel turned once more to dennis and said, "when do we move from here?"
-"is sam going to be our guide?"
-"i don't know whether he is or not, but aunt katie told me that somebody would come for us about that time."
-"do you know how far the union lines are from here?"
-"but you haven't told me where you came from nor how you got here."
-"'tis a long story, lad, and i'm afraid to tell you here for fear somebody outside will hear our voices."
-"all right," responded noel. "you can tell me after we leave. i think we'd better do what you say."
-accordingly the boys stretched themselves on the earth which was covered with cornstalks and in a few moments both were sleeping soundly.
-just how long noel had been asleep he did not know, but he was awakened by a vague feeling of uneasiness. somehow he felt as if he were being smothered, and for a brief time he was unable to decide just where he was or why he was there.
-the voice of dennis in a hoarse whisper recalled to him the incidents which had preceded the finding of the shelter within the strange hiding-place.
-"what's that?" whispered dennis.
-noel saw that his irish friend was alarmed, although as yet he was unable to determine the cause.
-"what is what?" responded noel.
-"'tis smoke, i tell you!" said dennis once more. "this place is on fire."
-"you have been dreaming," protested noel, although even as he spoke he was aware of the odor of burning wood.
-"if i have been dreaming, i'm awake now," declared dennis. "and the only thing for you and me to do is to get out of this place."
-"it isn't midnight yet."
-all this time noel was sharing the alarm of his comrade. not merely was there an odor of burning wood, but there was no concealing the fact that smoke was penetrating their hiding-place.
-to add to his alarm, at that very moment there were sounds of men running about near the shack, and then abruptly above the noise was heard the voice of some one shouting, "fire! fire!"
-the danger of meeting the owner of the plantation was not so great in the mind of the young soldier at the time as that of being burned or suffocated in the place where he and dennis had been concealed.
-"come on, dennis! come on!" he called in a low voice, as instantly he crawled toward the opening.
-the place, however, had been closed after the entrance of the two boys and in the darkness it was impossible at first for noel to find the exit. by this time his fears had been greatly increased and the sounds of confusion outside were much more alarming.
-men were shouting and running about, and in the midst of it all were heard the screams of the terrified children.
-"lad," whispered dennis, "we can't wait to find the door. we must make a break for it anywhere we can." as he spoke the young irishman threw himself with all his strength against the side of the little room.
-instantly the partition gave way and to the consternation of noel the entire structure collapsed. both boys were buried beneath the cornstalks, but it was only the work of a moment for them to free themselves.
-as they leaped to their feet they discovered that one of the little whitewashed cabins, which they had seen the preceding evening, was on fire. surrounding it were crowds of colored people, and among them noel saw a tall white man, who he instantly concluded was the man whose voice had been overheard by him and dennis. without question the man before him was the owner of the plantation and the one who had warned aunt katie's little boy against the "terrible yankees with hawns."
-fortunately the collapse of the rude structure, within which a hiding-place had been made for the escaping soldiers, apparently was not noticed by the people on the plantation. it was evident by this time that only the little cabin was doomed and that the fire without difficulty would be prevented from spreading to the adjoining buildings. men in lines were passing buckets of water from hand to hand and the flames promised to be under control in a brief time.
-convinced that there was no immediate danger now to be feared from the spread of the fire, noel turned to dennis and in a low voice said, "we must get away from this place before that chap sees us."
-even as he spoke, however, the man turned and instantly discovered the presence of the two young soldiers.
-as he advanced toward them both boys turned and fled from the place, running swiftly, and hoping that the surrounding darkness would soon hide them from the sight of the man whom they believed to be a friend of the confederate cause.
-unmindful of the direction in which they were running noel and dennis fled at their highest speed, keeping well together until they came to what seemed to be an abandoned cabin on the border of the plantation.
-"we'll stop here and abide until mornin'," suggested dennis, who was laboring hard and breathing heavily under the exertion.
-"no! no!" replied noel. "we must not stop a minute. the only hope we have is in getting as far away from the plantation as possible in the shortest time."
-"i can't go any farther," said dennis; "i'm winded."
-"what's that?" demanded noel suddenly as he turned and looked toward the plantation, which now was far behind them, but from which the glow of the fires still could be faintly seen.
-"'tis nothin', lad. what is it you think you hear?"
-"i thought i heard the dogs. if they set the dogs on us, we shall have more troubles than we ever had before, dennis," said noel, speaking rapidly and excitedly.
-"i can't help it if they do set the dogs on us," muttered dennis sturdily. "i can't go any farther. my wind is gone, and my side is thumpin' as if--"
-"here!" said noel excitedly; "here's a well! i don't know whether there's any water in it or not, but the thing for you to do is to hide there. you can do it," he added abruptly as he stretched himself on the ground and, peering into the depths, found that the old well was lined with rough stones that projected unevenly from the sides. "go down a few feet and wait until the excitement is over."
-"will you come with me?"
-noel hesitated and then said, "no, i'll not stay here. there will be more danger if both of us try to hide in the same place. i'll keep on, and after a while you follow me and i'll be on the lookout for you, and not very far ahead."
-"see that you are," said dennis, as he at once prepared to make his descent into the forbidding hole which his companion had discovered.
-without waiting to discover what success attended his comrade's efforts, noel curtis instantly turned and resumed his flight.
-at the fork
-noel ran swiftly forward in the darkness until at last he was compelled to stop to recover his breath. as he looked behind him he saw that the fire on the plantation manifestly was dying down. there was one spot of dull red yet to be seen against the dark horizon, but the flames had ceased.
-for a moment he was tempted to turn and bid dennis join him in his flight; but his uncertainty as to the exact direction in which to return to the old well, and his confidence that somehow the young irish soldier would be able to make his way through the surrounding difficulties caused him to decide to continue his own flight.
-the young soldier soon found himself in a road with which he was, of course, unfamiliar. he also was ignorant alike of the location of his friends and his enemies. for a brief time noel tried to discover some signs which would indicate the presence or the passing of bodies of troops, but his efforts were unavailing, and at last he turned to his left and started resolutely along the roadway.
-frequently the young soldier stopped to convince himself that he was in no immediate peril. to his listening ears, however, no sounds of danger came. the silence of the night was unbroken, and from the occasional plantations not even the dogs betrayed any alarm at his passing.
-two hours or more had elapsed, and noel now was beginning to feel the effects of his labors. only in a general way did he know where he wanted to go, but his very ignorance had strengthened his nervous fear and he increased his efforts to make haste.
-suddenly the young soldier was aware that a dense fog was settling over the land. almost like raindrops the heavy mist rested upon his face and clothing. he was able to see but a short distance before him. what fears or hopes might be concealed by the enfolding mist he did not know, but his senses were alert, and he was keenly watchful as he moved forward in the darkness.
-he had not advanced far, however, when he came to a fork in the road. almost at right angles a road branched which plainly was traveled as frequently as the one over which he had journeyed. near the fork the young soldier discovered a little cabin, about which he was striving to make some investigations that would enable him to decide which road to follow. the little building was near the side of the road, and as noel saw it he abruptly halted and listened intently for any sounds that might betray the presence of people within it.
-it was almost morning by this time, and though the fog was not scattered, the light of the coming day presented a new aspect to his surroundings. cautiously the young soldier approached the little cabin. the door was open, and as he came nearer he saw that there was no window in the room. apparently the place was deserted.
-at last with renewed caution noel approached the door and hastily glanced within the building. in spite of the darkness he was convinced that he was the only one in the place. his impression was strengthened when he entered and found that apparently the room had not been occupied for a long time.
-so tired was noel by the efforts which he had made in his flight that the place appeared almost inviting. at all events, it was quiet and peaceful and he flung himself on the ground and soon was sleeping soundly.
-the young soldier was awakened suddenly, and as he opened his eyes, at first he was unable to say where he was. rays of the early sunlight were streaming through the open spaces in the walls, but stronger than the impression produced by the morning was that of the sounds which he heard from the road.
-it was plain that horses and men were outside the building, and if he could judge from the noise there were many of both.
-alarmed as noel was by what he heard, he nevertheless quickly arose and cautiously looked through the place where the window had been.
-the sight which greeted his eyes was one which might well have startled a bolder man than the young soldier. a troop of cavalry had halted at the fork in the road and were preparing their breakfast. there were at least fifty men in the band, and from their actions noel concluded they were in no immediate fear of discovery or attack. the men were not noisy, but they were joking with one another, and plainly were interested in the preparations which were being made for their morning meal. indeed, the odor of the bacon which was being broiled over the several fires which had been kindled, made him aware that he, too, had eaten little since he had fled from his pursuers early the preceding day.
-occasional words were overheard, and it was not difficult for the young soldier to conclude that the men before him belonged to a troop of stuart's cavalry, and that apparently they were in no immediate fear of the federal troops.
-as the young soldier looked about him in the morning light he saw that the building in which he had slept was old and dilapidated. one corner of the roof had fallen, and the place was so small that no one passing would believe that many could be concealed within its walls. at all events, its appearance of desolation undoubtedly was his strongest protection, he thought. not one of the cavalrymen would think of inspecting a place around which the bushes and weeds were growing and within which no one was likely to seek refuge.
-his admiration for the men before him became stronger as he continued to watch their activities. not only were they well trained, but their horses were wonderful animals. some of them showed the effect of the labors of the campaign, but it was clear that both men and horses made up a carefully selected body.
-noel, as has been said, was peering anxiously from one corner of the little window. an exclamation of surprise almost escaped his lips when suddenly he discovered two men approaching from the branch road, and he was convinced that one was levi, the former sutler in the camp at harper's ferry, and the other was the husband of sairy ann's sister.
-it became evident to the young watcher that the arrival of both men was expected. at all events, an orderly ran forward to meet them, and it was plain from the conversation which followed that neither of the newcomers was a stranger to him.
-noel's desire to see and hear more became intense. soon after the arrival of the sutler and his companion, patrols were established in the three roads. the chief comfort that noel had at the time was the conviction that his hiding-place, in view of the interest which the arrival of the two men had created, was not likely to receive the attention of the cavalrymen.
-except for a few faint snatches of the conversation of the soldiers, noel, despite his efforts, still was unable to overhear much of what was said.
-occasionally words came to him, but for the most part they were meaningless. the impression, however, which he received was that the newcomers had brought information which was considered of importance, for the men soon were hastily preparing to leave the place, although they had not yet finished their breakfast.
-by this time the fog largely had been burned away by the rays of the rising sun. when a few minutes later the bugle sounded, the men mounted their horses and in a body departed swiftly, leaving behind them both levi and his strange companion, whom noel had first seen in the house of the elongated jim, the husband of sairy ann.
-the two men sat on the ground near one of the fires which was still burning, and over it was some of the food still cooking which the soldiers had abandoned in their sudden departure. the conversation between the two could be overheard more plainly, and as noel listened his interest became more intense.
-"here, don't yo' all want some of this yere bacon?" inquired levi's companion.
-"i do not eat bacon."
-"why don't you eat it?"
-"because it vas unclean."
-"it's as clean as anything you're likely to get in the next week or two," laughed the man. "now, then, levi, what did you find out?"
-"just vat i tells you."
-"yo' 're perfectly sure about that, be yo'?"
-"yes," snapped levi. "now you tells me vat you haf found."
-"not very much. i was back here on the major's plantation, and he said there were some yanks at the nigger hut last night, but that they couldn't find any trace of them this mo'nin'. one of the cabins burned up last night, and the major thinks the men got away while all hands were busy puttin' out the fire."
-"how many did you say der vas?" inquired levi.
-"how many of what?"
-"how many yankees vere dere. how many got avay?"
-"i don't know anything about that. i heard the major say he was sure two, anyway."
-"yah, i knows dose men, i vas sure. dey are de two men what robbed me of mine goots. dey push over mine tent. dey say i charge too mooch. dey steals mine goots. dot is vy i am no more some yankee."
-"a yankee!" exclaimed his companion as he threw back his head and laughed loudly. "a yankee! yo' 're about as much yankee as yo' are nigger."
-"not too far, mine friend. not too far. you forget dot the brains of the confederacy is jew brains--"
-"that's a good one! that's a good one!" broke in levi's companion. "now, then," he added more soberly, "are yo' all comin' on with me, or am i goin' with yo' all? the captain said yo' all were to come with me. do yo' know where we're goin'?"
-"i know vere ve vas going to try to go," said levi. "ever since dose men push over mine tent and steals mine goots, i--"
-"well, if we're going, why don't we start? i have had all i want to eat," broke in the other man.
-noel could see that neither of the men was clad in the uniform of the confederate army. his suspicions were confirmed that both were being used by the rebel troops to secure information concerning the presence and the actions of mcclellan's army.
-noel was desirous of hearing the men speak more concerning their immediate plans, but, although it was plain that neither was suspicious that any one was near, almost instinctively they both lowered their voices whenever they spoke concerning the immediate task which confronted them.
-an interruption was provided, however, by noel himself. a sudden impulse to sneeze became almost uncontrollable. in spite of his efforts to repress the impulse noel soon found that he was unable to do so, and after several attempts a prolonged and agonizing sound came from the hut, which instantly caused the two men outside to leap to their feet and gaze anxiously at the little building.
-the stack of straw
-the little sutler was unarmed, but his companion carried a rifle, which noel had no difficulty in concluding was of unusual excellence. grasping the weapon in his hand, the man instantly stood leaning forward prepared for the appearance of an enemy from the place from which the unexpected sound had come.
-the action caused noel at once to draw farther back from the window, although he still was watching the movements of his enemies outside. the expression of consternation that appeared on their faces, as well as the manifest fear of levi, at another time would have caused the young soldier to laugh heartily. as it was, however, unarmed, and wearied by the labors of the preceding night, and facing one, at least, who would not hesitate to use his rifle, there was no expression of mirth on the young soldier's face.
-"vat's dat?" noel heard levi demand of his companion. the expression of alarm on the face of the little sutler became more marked and he glanced fearfully about him as if the sound might be repeated from some other direction.
-"why don't yo' all go into the shanty and find out what it is?" drawled levi's companion.
-"i haven't any gun."
-"well, i shan't let yo' have mine. i should not dare to trust myself a minute here with my gun in your hands. bad enough to be shot by the yanks, but if i should be hit by one who is neither fish, fowl, nor good red herring, i think i would feel worse about it."
-"you go and see who vas in dere."
-as if in answer to the implied question there came at that moment from the hut a sound not unlike the sneeze which had preceded it. this time, however, the report was suddenly broken as if the guilty party had stifled the rising sounds.
-terrified as noel was by the action over which he had no control, the young soldier nevertheless peered quickly from the corner of the window at his enemies, whose consternation, he saw, was much more marked at the repetition.
-both men were keenly observant of the little building, and it was manifest now that levi's companion was no longer hesitating.
-advancing boldly several yards nearer the little building he stopped and in a loud voice said, "who's in there? come out and show yourself!"
-as no response was given his hail, the man waited a brief time and then repeated his summons.
-"come along out o' that! it will be easier for yo' now than it will be if i come in there toe get yo'. it's either fo' yo' toe come out yo'self, or be dragged out by some one else."
-noel was preparing to obey the command when to his surprise he was suddenly aware that both men outside were no longer looking toward the building, but were eagerly watching somebody or something down the road. almost instinctively the young soldier followed their action, and his fears were increased when he saw approaching from the distance a body of troops. it was impossible, from the place where he was watching, to determine whether the men belonged to the confederate army or to his own. there were several horses in the band, but whether or not it was a cavalry troop that he saw he was unable to determine.
-the men were approaching steadily, and noel, aware that the attention of levi and his comrade had been diverted, at least for the moment, suddenly darted through the little door, and without once glancing behind him, at full speed started to cross the open field in the rear of the hut.
-he knew he would not long be hidden from the view of the men, but every yard he gained not merely provided an additional incentive for effort, but increased his possibility of escaping.
-without once glancing behind him noel ran at his utmost speed, leaping over the low rail fence as he came to the border of the field and then heading directly for a stack of straw which stood in the middle of the neighboring field.
-as he drew near the weather-beaten pile of straw and glanced behind him, it seemed to him that some of the men had started in pursuit.
-he was, however, not positive, but his fears were sufficient to cause him to run quickly to the opposite side of the stack and when he was once more beyond the vision of his enemies he hastily climbed the heap which was not more than fifteen feet in height.
-the task was difficult because it was well-nigh impossible for him to gain any firm foothold, but at last he succeeded and did not cease his endeavors until he had gained the summit of the pile. once there he hastily tore the straw apart, which to his surprise was somewhat loose, and burrowing into the depths soon made a hiding-place large enough to receive him.
-noel's next effort was to tear away the straw which prevented him from obtaining a view of the field over which he had fled, and when he had succeeded in obtaining a peep-hole he saw that his fears were confirmed and that some of the men were approaching from the road.
-it was impossible for the troubled boy to know whether the approaching men were searching for him or were planning to pass his hiding-place without giving him any heed. the men were coming in an orderly manner, holding well together, and there were many things to make the excited young soldier hope that he was not the object of their search.
-tremblingly he watched the men as they came nearer and nearer, and when at last a part of the body halted and began an inspection of the straw-stack in which he was hiding, his alarm became great.
-in the midst of these men he saw the little sutler, levi, who was pointing excitedly, first, back toward the road from which they had come, and then toward the intervening distance between the place where he was standing and a house far away.
-in response to his appeals a hasty search of the straw-stack was made, the soldiers moving in opposite directions until they had encircled the place. an investigation then was made around the bottom of the pile, apparently no one thinking of looking to the top where the young soldier was concealed. it was evident that the men were in haste and in spite of noel's fear he was hopeful that they would not remain long.
-his expectation was fulfilled, for, after the soldiers had circled the stack and some of their number had tried to discover any possible hiding-places around the base of the pile, the leader shouted, "come on, boys! we must not waste any more time here. we shan't get to the gap befo' every yank has surrendered."
-noel was afraid to lift his head far above the place where he was concealed. nevertheless, when he heard the sounds of the hoofs of the departing horses, he did venture to look out on the scene before him.
-in a body the soldiers were speeding swiftly across the intervening field without once glancing behind them. so interested was noel in the sight that the presence of the little sutler, for the moment, was forgotten. levi was not with the soldiers, and when noel once more drew down into his place of concealment his thoughts were chiefly concerned with the departing enemy.
-for a time the young soldier remained quietly in his hiding-place, peering out through the peep-hole he had formed between the straws. he was watching the road near the place where the little hut in which he had hidden was standing. all the time he was fearful of the coming of more men.
-his fears were not without foundation, for within a few minutes another band was seen approaching.
-tremblingly the boy watched them as they rode swiftly down the road, but as they did not halt at the fork a feeling of intense relief swept over his heart. it was manifest now that the men who had investigated the straw-stack had turned aside from the regular course which the main body was following.
-the thought caused noel once more to look in the direction in which the men had disappeared. he was unable to discover their presence, however, even the distant house toward which they had been speeding now being to all appearances as harmless as the little cabin in which he had sought refuge.
-as we know, noel's coat was gone and the remaining parts of his uniform had been so discolored by his flight along the muddy roads that he was not without hope that even if he were discovered his clothing would not betray him. the boy was hungry and intensely thirsty. his mouth was parched, and at the time it almost seemed to him that he could endure his torment no longer.
-after he had waited several minutes more, noel finally decided that he could endure his sufferings no longer. his eyes, ears, and nose seemed to be filled with the dust that had accumulated for months in the neglected stack. his muscles were cramped and sore from remaining so long in one position, as he had not dared to move, for fear of causing some of the straw to slide from its place.
-at last he decided that he would attempt to find relief at the far-away house. slowly and cautiously he climbed from the hole in the stack, frequently pausing to look up and then down the road and make sure that his actions were not observed. as soon as he was convinced that the road was free from his enemies he quickly slipped over the side. as he struck the ground an exclamation escaped him when his fall was broken by the body of a man directly beneath him.
-noel was conscious of a low cry from the man upon whom he had fallen, and then instantly each savagely clutched the other. there was a struggle, which was short and violent, and noel found himself holding to the ground the body of levi, the sutler.
-"father abraham!" ejaculated levi. "father abraham! let me up! let me up!"
-the surprise of noel, when he discovered who his captive was, did not detract from his inclination to laugh as he heard the exclamations of the little sutler.
-without rising and still holding his prisoner fast to the ground, noel said, "what are you doing here, levi?"
-"you vill let me up and i vill leave so quick you shall not see me."
-"before you go i want to know what you're doing here. were you spying on me?"
-"not von leedle bit. i deed not know you vas here. father abraham! vot a pinch you gif mine arm!"
-"you want to be thankful it was only your arm, levi. now you tell me what you were doing here!"
-"i vas chust stopping for to see vich vay the men vas going."
-"der men vot vas soldiers for the johnnie rebs."
-"did you find any of them?"
-"yes, i see some going up mit der road. dey vas all gone, and den i starts for der house over yonder for to sell somedings vot i carry in mine bag."
-"i believe you knew i was here all the time."
-"nefer did i know you vas here. father abraham! i vish you vere not here now. if you vill be gone i too vill go so fast you shall not see me in two minutes."
-"levi, what have you got in that bag?" he demanded.
-"somedings vot i sells to the vimmins ven der men vas gone off to the var. dot vos all. you shall belief mine vord. i chust carry somedings vat cannot be had ven the armies vas so near by."
-"let me see what you have," suggested noel, as, compelling his prisoner to advance with him he moved toward the bag which levi had left on the ground near the base of the straw-stack.
-"no, i shall not do so!" screamed the little sutler. "you shall not open mine bag. it vas mine."
-noel's suspicions, greatly increased by the manifest alarm of the sutler, were almost strong enough to induce him to send his prisoner away and appropriate the bag. from the expressions he already had heard, he was aware that levi was playing a dual part, or at least he believed him now to be in the employ of the confederates.
-before he acted, however, he turned once more to his prisoner and said sharply, "how long since you have been inside our lines?"
-"i do not go in der lines of der yankees," protested levi. "dey vas steal mine goots. dey vas take vat vas not theirs. i lose more nor two hundred dollars ven you and dot dennis tear mine tent and tip ofer mine goots."
-the expression of hatred which appeared upon the sutler's face when he referred to dennis strengthened the conviction in the heart of noel that his prisoner certainly did not entertain any cordial feelings for the boys in blue.
-noel, boylike, unmindful of the justice of the little sutler's complaints, was greatly angered at the treachery of his comrade.
-"how long since you have been in the confederate lines?" he demanded sharply.
-"i do not go dere either. i have tolt you vat mine peesness vas. i sells mine goots to the peoples vat may be at home."
-"all right, then," said noel. "you let me see what is in your bag, and i'll believe you."
-"i shall not trust von yankee soldier!" screamed levi. "you shall not open mine bag. i haf already had mine droubles mit der yankees. dey tears mine tent and tips ofer mine goots and steals vot vas mine. i shall not open mine bag for you yet von leedle bit."
-"too bad," said noel, more soberly. "then i shall have to open it myself, i suppose."
-"no! no!" screamed levi in tones still shriller. "father abraham! father abraham! i shall call for some helps!"
-"levi," said noel abruptly, "i think i shall send you away and take your bag myself."
-"you shall not do so!" protested the sutler noisily. "you shall not take mine bag! it vas mine, i dells you! it vas not yours. you shall not have it."
-"then let me see what there is in there."
-"if i open mine bag von leedle bit, you vill take vot is not yours. i haf known you. you are von of dose yankee soldiers. dey tears mine tent and tips ofer mine goots and takes vat vas not theirs. i shall not gif you von chance, not even one leedle bit of a chance."
-"i'm sorry," said noel, "but i'm afraid, then, that i shall have to take it myself." as he spoke noel moved as if he was about to seize the bag, and instantly the little sutler, rushing savagely upon him, began to kick and strike, and before noel was prepared to resist the sudden onslaught levi bit him severely on the hand.
-aroused by the sudden attack and maddened by the pain which levi's bite had caused, noel flung the little sutler far from him and eagerly watched him as he rolled over upon the ground.
-almost as nimbly as a monkey the sutler leaped to his feet, and instead of trying to run from the place started once more fiercely at his enemy.
-noel was prepared for the attack now, and as levi ran savagely upon him he thrust out his right foot and, at the same time giving him a hard push, sent him once more sprawling upon the ground. this time he did not wait for the sutler to recover from his fall but at once advanced and seized his carpet-bag.
-the sight of his possessions in the hands of noel again proved too much for levi's feelings. in a thin, piping voice he screamed, "father abraham! father abraham! you shall not steal from mine bag. it vas not yours. you vas like some of dose yankee soldiers. dey tears mine tent and tips ofer mine goots and takes vot vas not theirs. i shall shoot!"
-startled by the threat, noel glanced keenly at levi, who was almost beside himself with rage, to see if any weapons were upon his person. he had not thought of the sutler as one who would carry firearms of any kind. the man was undersized and was lacking in physical strength. noel had never thought of him other than as a weakling and one who might obtain his way by deception rather than by force. the thought that he might be armed was startling, and before the man could act noel leaped forward and, seizing him again, threw him upon the ground, where he satisfied himself that no pistols were in his possession.
-"you go back from here the way you came," ordered noel as he swung his prisoner in his arms and, giving him a violent push, sent him in the direction he had indicated.
-but levi was not to be so easily turned aside from his purpose. once more he leaped toward his tormentor, who now had taken the carpet-bag in his hands and stood facing him. screaming, chattering, lamenting, levi would have been a pathetic object under other circumstances. but noel was so thoroughly convinced that in the bag which he held in his hands he would find something of value to the leaders of his army that he was determined now to investigate the contents and compel the little jew to give it over.
-levi's screams of impotent rage and his childish attempts to compel noel to relax his hold upon the bag were alike without avail. at last the young soldier said more sternly to the angry sutler, "levi, if you know when you are well off you'll leave this place as i told you. now, go!"
-there was something in noel's voice that caused levi to heed the command. tears were coursing down his cheeks and his two little fists were working very much after the manner of a pump-handle when he saw the expression on the face of his captor, and, aware that further efforts would be useless, he abruptly turned away and, without once glancing behind him, sped swiftly toward the fork in the road from which he had come.
-for a brief time noel watched the man as he sped across the field, and then suddenly, aware that his own problems were sufficient to demand his entire attention, he turned toward the house in the distance.
-he had expected to learn from levi the direction in which the union troops might be found, but his sudden determination to investigate the carpet-bag, as soon as he discovered that it was not heavy, had changed his plans. levi was gone and if he possessed the desired information he had taken it with him.
-and yet noel curtis was aware that his own predicament was such that if other bodies of the confederate cavalrymen should soon pass along the road, levi would be able to inform them of what had occurred. if his suspicions were correct, that the contents of the carpet-bag were of considerable value, there would be an added incentive for the little sutler to rescue them.
-perhaps noel's decision to start toward the house which he saw in the distance was formed simply because it was the only place within sight which indicated the presence of people. his own plight now was such that he keenly felt the need of food and drink. no little streams were near him, and as for food there were no indications that the shallow soil itself had produced any of late.
-his determination once fixed, noel, with the carpet-bag firmly grasped in his hand, moved swiftly across the field toward the distant house.
-twice he stopped and looked back to see whether or not levi had held to his course. once he saw the little sutler, but he was moving steadily toward the fork in the road. the second time noel looked he was unable to see the man anywhere. concluding that levi had sought the little building in which he himself had found shelter a short time before, noel's efforts increased, and he ran swiftly toward the place he was seeking.
-when noel drew nearer the house he was aware of the aspect of neglect and even of dejection that was manifested by every living object within his sight. the two dogs, which came out of the building as soon as they were aware of his approach, were mangy and spiritless. even the few chickens in the yard seemed to be affected by the general air of desolation. the fence was broken in many places, the gate was lying flat upon the ground, and as for paint or whitewash, it had been long since the house or barns had seen anything of that kind.
-the young soldier halted a moment to make certain that no enemies were near the plantation. satisfied that his fears for the time were without foundation, and still holding firmly to the carpet-bag which he had taken from the little sutler, noel boldly approached the kitchen door. his purpose now was merely to obtain food, and then to push forward on his way to rejoin the army from which he had been separated so long.
-advancing boldly, he rapped loudly upon the door, which sagged like everything else about the place. all these things were forgotten, however, when he looked into the face of the person who answered his summons.
-before him stood the sister of sairy ann, whom he had heard the latter address as 'liza jane. that her sympathies were not with the side for which he was fighting noel well knew, but his great fear as he saw the woman was that her husband might not be far away.
-noel recalled the contempt with which sairy ann had referred to her sister as one of the "secesh," and, in spite of his alarm at the discovery of her presence, he smiled as he recalled the sharp declaration of sairy ann that in her will she had left her shoestrings to her "beloved sister, 'liza jane."
-before he spoke noel quickly decided that he would try to find out whether or not the woman recognized him. he did not believe that she had seen him when he had been in her sister's house, and yet it was impossible for him to determine whether his confidence was well founded or not.
-to all appearances no man was near. what he had taken for the "big house" of a plantation when he had seen the place in the distance, he now saw was only a bare habitation, and the "plantation" had decreased to a few uncultivated and unfruitful acres. the appearance of the woman herself was not unlike that of her surroundings.
-"well," demanded eliza jane, "who be yo'? whar do yo' all come from? what be yo' all doin' here?"
-"is your husband at home?" inquired noel.
-"no; he ain't to home. what do yo' want toe see him fo'?"
-"oh, i don't want to see him; i just wanted to know whether he was here or not. in fact i don't want to see anybody just now," continued noel, smiling in such a way that the suspicions of the questioner were apparently relieved in part.
-"has levi been here lately?" asked noel abruptly.
-"maybe he has and maybe he hasn't," said the woman. "i can't keep track of sam tolliver's doin's. he has all kinds of men here. who is levi?"
-"why, he is a little sutler that used to be in the yankee army and now is doing what he can for--"
-"i reckon he's been here," spoke up the woman promptly. "what might yo' all want o' him?"
-"i don't want anything of him just now," said noel, his face again lighting up with the smile which won him friends on every side. "what i want now is something to eat. i'm as hungry as a bear and almost as thirsty as i am hungry. can you help me? i shan't be able to pay you--"
-"who said anything about payin'?" broke in the woman. "i ain't got much fo' toe eat, but i reckon pa't of what i has is fo' yo' all. come in and set ye down at the kitchen table and i'll see what i can do fo' yo'."
-too hungry and thirsty to delay, noel promptly accepted the invitation, and after he had washed his face and hands, he eagerly took his place at the table as the woman directed.
-the young soldier was well aware that he was in the midst of perils. if the husband of his hostess should return or levi should come, his position was not one to be envied. not that he was afraid of either of the men in a personal encounter; but he was unarmed, while the man whom eliza jane had called sam tolliver was doubtless thoroughly armed and desperate. besides, if he was playing the part which noel suspected, and was obtaining information concerning the plans and movements of the federal troops and reporting the knowledge to the leaders of the confederates, he was well aware that the man was one to be feared.
-noel's meditations were interrupted by the approach of his hostess who placed some corn-bread and a small jug of molasses upon the table before him.
-"'tis about the best pore folks can have these days," she said. "i don't know how i happened to save that ther' molasses, but sam never likes his co'n-bread unless he can po' molasses over it, and we had a barrel put in the cellar before the yanks started all this trouble."
-"i don't want to rob you," said noel.
-"who said anything about yo' robbin' me? i reckon i haven't got much that would pay any robber toe take. if yo' all don't like that molasses, why, jest say so."
-"i do like it," said noel, "and i am grateful to you for giving it to me."
-without further delay the young soldier at once began his breakfast, all the time aware that the woman was watching him with an expression which gave evidence that her feeling was more than mere hospitality.
-finally, unable to resist her curiosity longer, she broke in: "what pa't of the no'th do yo' all come from?"
-"how do you know i am from the north? what makes you think that?"
-"jest as soon as i heard yo' all talk," said the woman, "i knew yo' was a yank. strange how queer th' yanks talk."
-noel laughed and did not give expression to his own feeling that the dialect that he had heard in the south had impressed him much the same way as his hostess had been impressed by the voices and words of the northern soldiers.
-"i reckon," she continued, "that yo' all are one of mcclellan's men, though what yo' all are doin' over yere is more than i can understand. yo' all are not looking fo' my man, sam, are yo'?"
-"i assure you that i am not," said noel promptly. and the young soldier spoke honestly, for of all men sam tolliver was the one he least desired to see at the time.
-"run away from the army?" inquired the woman.
-"well, then, what are yo' all doin' out yere? i see yo' ain't got no coat, but in spite of the dirt i can see that yo' pants is the same as all th' yankee soldiers wear."
-"how far is the northern army from here?" inquired noel, without answering her question.
-"that's more than i can say. sometimes they say it's in one place and then again they say it's in 'nother. if sam was here he could tell yo'. sam knows more than any man i ever see."
-noel did not explain his suspicions that sam's knowledge included some things which he knew and some things which he did not know.
-"i don't suppose you see very much of him now," he said aloud.
-"not as much as i used toe," said the woman, "though befo' the war sam used to go out with houn' dogs and be gone days at a time huntin' rabbits. he was a pow'ful good shot."
-"he must have kept you pretty well supplied with rabbits," suggested noel.
-"sometimes he did and sometimes he didn't," replied eliza jane. "sometimes the pesky little varmints would get away befo' sam had a chance toe fire. they seemed toe know that he was a dead-sure shot."
-noel's suspicions as to the prowess of the wonderful sam once more were not voiced. he was content if only the woman would feed him and permit him to depart without further trouble.
-"sam says," continued the woman, whose readiness to talk was manifest, "that there isn't goin' toe be much left o' the yanks pretty quick. he thinks there is goin' toe be some fightin' befo' long and the yanks will get whipped worse 'n they were at manassas. i would jes' like toe see my sister, sairy ann. i wonder what she'll think of the secesh then. she can keep her old shoestrings if she wants 'em! you know she's my own sister and she's worth a lot of money. befo' the war she had nigh on toe two hundred dollars. think of sairy ann leaving me in her will nothin' but her shoestrings! i believe she joined the yanks jest a purpose so she could turn ag'in her own relations. shoestrings!" snapped the woman, whose recollection of her sister's generosity renewed her feeling of anger.
-by this time noel's hunger had been appeased in a measure and he was eager to be gone. before he arose from his seat at the table he turned again to his hostess and said simply, "do you know where the northern army is?
-"i done tole yo'," she replied tartly, "that sometimes 'tis said toe be in one place and sometimes in another."
-"where is it reported to be now?"
-"i can't say. now, if sam was home--"
-without waiting for further enlightenment as to the knowledge and ability of the missing sam, noel said, "well, if you cannot tell me where the army is, you can tell me the road to take."
-"no, i can't. yo' all might take mos' any road an' the first thing yo' know yo' would run right into mcclellan's troops, an' then ag'in yo' might run intoe general lee's."
-"at all events," said noel, "i'm grateful to you for your kindness to me. you have taken me in, and though i was a stranger--"
-"but i ain't been entertainin' no angel unawares," snapped the woman. "you don't look to me very much like a angel, with that mud on yo' pants. i am thinkin', too," she added, as she glanced out of the window, "that it might be well fo' yo' toe start right soon, that is if yo' 're goin' toe go."
-"what's the trouble?" demanded noel, leaping to his feet and running to the side of the woman, where he looked anxiously out of the window.
-the statement of eliza jane was correct, for a small body of men was moving in an orderly manner up the road. noel watched them with keen interest, and at first was unable to determine to which side in the conflict they belonged.
-his interest changed to alarm when he saw the men abruptly halt, and then, at the command of their leader, turn into the yard leading directly to the house.
-the woman by his side had not spoken, but when she exclaimed, "them's yanks," noel also made the discovery at the same moment. the approaching men belonged to his own army, and in the thought of being once more among his friends and comrades the heart of the young soldier suddenly was lightened. rushing to the door he ran across the yard to meet the boys in blue.
-to his consternation as he drew near, he discovered that dennis was among the number, and also that he was a prisoner. just what this meant, noel was unable to conjecture, but his interest in his comrade was speedily banished when to his amazement he saw levi, the little sutler, also in the company, talking eagerly to the captain and pointing excitedly toward noel as he spoke.
-the subject concerning which the little sutler and the captain were conversing soon became manifest to noel. the officer turned sharply to him, and as he did so the young soldier was no longer able to discover the presence of levi in the band.
-"there's no use in your trying to get away now," exclaimed the officer.
-"'get away!'" responded noel, astounded by the suggestion. "that's the last thing in the world i want to do! i have been looking for you or some of the boys in blue for more than--"
-"that's a likely story!" interrupted the young captain. "you can explain that to the colonel after we are back in the lines."
-"i'm perfectly willing to explain it to the colonel," declared noel. "and i'll explain it to you now."
-"there's no use in that. i'm afraid your explanations won't do you any good."
-"what do you think i am?" demanded noel angrily.
-all the men in the band now were listening intently, and noel was aware that he was under a cloud that might not easily be dispelled.
-"i know what you are. you are a deserter."
-in spite of the charge noel laughed, but he was sobered instantly when he saw that every man before him firmly believed him to be what the officer had charged.
-"i'm no deserter!" declared noel hotly. "i happened to be outside the lines at harper's ferry and the rebels took me. i have been doing my best to get to the army ever since."
-"you look as if you had been trying," sneered the officer. "come on. there's no use in talking any more. you come with us and we will turn you over to the colonel."
-"is that man a deserter, too?" inquired noel as he pointed to dennis.
-"he is. 'birds of a feather flock together,' i guess that's why we found two of you to-day. there must be a baker's dozen of them altogether. i don't know what will be done with you, but i can tell you one thing, you aren't going to lie on any bed of roses to-night after we get back."
-"what makes you think i'm a deserter?" said noel persistently.
-"i don't 'think'; i know. we have absolute proof. your name is noel curtis, isn't it?"
-"yes," replied the young soldier in surprise.
-instantly, however, he concluded that levi must have revealed his name and the source of the officer's knowledge, therefore, was not unknown.
-"we cannot stay here any longer," continued the officer emphatically. "take your place in the ranks with your friend. do you know who he is?"
-"indeed, i do!" said noel, somewhat defiantly. "he and i both belong to the sharpshooters of the --th. you ask colonel crawford about us and he'll tell you all you want to know. 'deserters'! why, man, we 're no more deserters than you are. we have been trying ever since we left harper's ferry--"
-"you don't seem to have made very good time even if you did try," sneered the officer again. "your story sounds fine, but when the colonel listens to what you have to say and then compares your story with the one levi has to tell, he may have something to say about it himself."
-apparently it was useless longer to try to persuade the captain. when noel saw the expression on the face of dennis and was aware that the young irishman also had failed to plead his cause successfully, he was somewhat heavy-hearted.
-"i'll go with you," he said quietly.
-"that's mighty good of you," laughed the officer. "you might take your place in there with the other deserter and we'll try to see to it that you don't get very far away again. my advice to you is not to try any more of your tricks."
-for a moment noel looked steadily into the eyes of the sneering young officer. he was furiously angry, and withal was more seriously troubled than he was willing to acknowledge even to himself. because the men under whom he had served were not now in the vicinity it would be difficult for him to find any one who could recognize him. his father had once met general hooker, a fact which mr. curtis frequently enlarged upon in talks with his boys, but even if admittance could be had into the presence of the general, which was not at all probable, it would not identify the young soldier who was charged with deserting.
-obediently noel advanced to take the place which had been assigned to him, and as he did so he glanced back at the house, and saw eliza jane standing in the doorway and watching with manifest interest the activities of the soldiers whom she professed to hate.
-noel was quite certain that he had a momentary glimpse of levi standing behind the woman, but of this he could not be positive, as the face speedily vanished and did not again appear. at all events, the treacherous little sutler was not to accompany the men on their way back to camp and, fearful alike of his absence and presence, noel was in dire straits when at last the command to advance was given and by the side of dennis he obediently fell into step and marched with the men.
-a sound like distant thunder caused noel to look up hastily. he had heard the sound several times, but as the sky was clear and there were no thunder clouds anywhere to be seen, he had been somewhat puzzled by the rumbling in the distance.
-"i guess the boys are up and at it ag'in," suggested dennis in one of his hoarse whispers.
-startled by the suggestion, noel glanced sharply at his companion and said, "fighting?"
-"that's what it sounds like."
-"silence in the ranks!" ordered the captain sharply, and both young soldiers became silent as the little band marched forward.
-the threatening sound was occasionally repeated, and then after a half-hour or more had elapsed it died away and was not heard again. ignorant of its cause, noel's fears were not relieved. the suggestion of dennis that the sounds came from cannon was undoubtedly correct, and in that event an engagement not far away was even now taking place.
-puzzled as well as alarmed, it was not difficult for the young soldier to decide that the two armies now must be near each other. he had no knowledge of the region through which he was moving, the only place of which he had heard in the vicinity being frederick city. just where this was situated, and what the sympathies of its inhabitants were, he did not know.
-noel was aware also that his companion was manifestly in very low spirits. never before had he seen dennis so cast down. the sight was depressing, and in spite of his efforts to convince himself that his fears were groundless noel's confidence was rapidly vanishing as the men advanced.
-how far away the main body was lying was another matter of which he was in ignorance.
-refreshed by the food that eliza jane had served him he was in better condition to endure a long march, if such a demand should be made upon him, than he had been at any time since he had escaped the attack at harper's ferry. it was the unconcealed depression of dennis that influenced him now.
-when he had first been charged with being a deserter he had looked upon the matter as a joke. he was fearful by this time, however, as has been said, that with his friends all in another division of the army or prisoners of the confederates, it might be impossible for him to prove his identity, at least for a time.
-that he was then a regularly enrolled sharpshooter, and in his small way had done faithful service in the peninsula campaign, was true. but could he convince the captain that his record was clean?
-without waiting for any instructions the young captain directed that noel and dennis should be sent to the guard-tent, into which both were somewhat roughly thrust.
-to noel's surprise he found within the tent a half-dozen unfortunate men, and in a brief time, from the confessions which followed, he was aware that every one there was facing a charge of desertion. indeed, one of the men was describing the treatment which was measured out to those who had deserted from the ranks.
-"most generally," he was saying, "if a man deserts, and is caught again, they make him serve out all the original time of his enlistment without any pay or allowance."
-"for instance," suggested another man, "if a soldier has enlisted for four years and deserts at the end of six months, if they should catch him they would bring him back and make him serve three years and six months more without pay, would they?"
-"that's it," said the first prisoner. "sometimes they send the deserters off to dry tortugas."
-"they might as well banish them from everywhere as to send them there."
-"where is this dry tortugas you're talking about?" inquired another.
-"it's a group of islands that belong to the united states down near the entrance to the gulf of mexico. it's about one hundred and twenty miles southwest of cape sable."
-"and where is cape sable?"
-"that's the southern part of florida. where is your geography, man? these islands of the dry tortugas are very low and swampy, and they are covered with mangrove bushes."
-"what are they?"
-"oh, they are something like the banana. sometimes the deserters there are made to serve a term of years with ball and chain."
-"what do you think is going to happen to us?"
-"that's not easy to tell. there have been so many men trying to get away that i'm afraid that it will go hard with us."
-noel was listening intently to the conversation, but its effect upon him was not so marked as it was upon dennis. the fear in the heart of the young irishman was great, if it could be estimated by the expression which appeared upon his face.
-a fruitless interview
-as conversation ceased for a time noel and dennis withdrew to a part of the tent where they were by themselves. the face of every man in the tent betrayed his feeling of anxiety. even noel, the youngest of the soldiers, was becoming alarmed at the outlook. far removed from his own regiment, among those who were strangers to him and who knew nothing of his record or even of his presence in the army, the young soldier desperately tried to think of some one to whom he might appeal for aid.
-if he had been left free to follow his own wishes he would immediately have sought the colonel and stated his case to that officer. as it was, however, he was not only prevented from seeing the leader, but also was in a position in which his statements would not be accepted without further proof. his anger at the little sutler, who had brought the trouble upon him, became keener, but his very helplessness tended only to increase his anxiety.
-the anxiety of the young prisoners would have been much greater if they had known that at this very time harper's ferry was about to be taken and the soldiers of the garrison made prisoners. the two great divisions of the southern army, as we know, had been planning to cross the mountains and reunite at hagerstown or boonesborough.
-general jackson, energetic and prompt, successfully carried out the task which had been assigned to him. indeed, he was as prompt in his actions as was his great commander. on the first day of his advance he marched fourteen miles and that same night decided to cross the potomac river. the following day he was only four miles west of martinsburg, and in the morning when he moved upon the little place, to his surprise he found that the garrison already had abandoned the post.
-the general quickly resumed his march and on the following day, after his troops had covered more than sixty miles in the four days, he came within sight of the federal forces.
-there was a slight delay now, but on the 13th of september general mclaws reached the hills known as maryland heights and at the same time general walker, who was meeting with no resistance at all, occupied loudon heights above harper's ferry.
-all that night general jackson was awake, receiving frequent reports from both of his subordinates, and before the morning came he had made all his plans for a combined attack upon harper's ferry by all the divisions under his command.
-right at the angle formed by the junction of the potomac and the shenandoah rivers lies harper's ferry. to the south were heights which were strongly held by the union troops. it was in the afternoon of september 14, when at the command of general jackson the confederate batteries began to pour a heavy artillery fire upon the union troops on the heights, and when night fell he had worked his army into such a position that it really commanded both flanks of the bolivar heights where these union soldiers were stationed.
-the following morning there was a brief interval of quiet and then general jackson prepared to assault the heights. but before the attempt was made the union garrison capitulated.
-not only were more than twelve thousand prisoners secured (for the garrisons which had been stationed at winchester and at martinsburg had retired previously to harper's ferry), but there also were seventy-three great guns and something like thirteen thousand small arms that became the prizes of the victors.
-"whist!" whispered dennis, speaking for the first time since the boys had been consigned to the guard-tent. "'tis a black day for us, i'm thinkin'. 'tis a foine way, too, to treat the boys that niver thought of desartin'."
-"we'll get out of this all right," said noel, speaking with a confidence he was far from feeling. "they'll have to find out first whether or not we're really deserters before they punish us."
-"if i had that little spalpeen, levi, here, i'd get some satisfaction, anyway! what for do you suppose he told the captain that we were desarters?"
-"there's fifty dollars reward offered to any one who will help in the return of a deserter; at least, that's what i have been told," said noel.
-"that explains it, thin," said dennis confidently. "that explains it all. for fifty dollars that levi would sell his mother and his whole family."
-"fifty dollars is a good deal of money, dennis."
-"so it is. so it is," acknowledged the young irish soldier, "but it's a lot more than levi is worth."
-"how much more?"
-"just fifty dollars, to a cint."
-the attempt to speak lightly of their troubles, however, was almost pathetic. both boys were exceedingly anxious and their feelings were not relieved by the manifestly increasing fears of their companions.
-it was now early in the afternoon and the guard as yet had not come with their food. noel had decided that he would await the coming of this man and beg him to obtain permission for him to see the colonel. the boy felt that, if only he could be admitted to the presence of that officer, he would be able to state some things which would lead to the prompt release both of himself and his companion.
-there was a long interval, however, before a soldier came to bring their dinner, if hard-tack and water could be dignified by such a term. neither dennis nor noel ate of the food thus provided. not only were their appetites gone, but their anger had increased as they thought of the way in which they were being treated after their difficult and perilous services all through the campaign on the peninsula.
-the feeling of dennis frequently found voice in his expressions of anger and disgust. noel, however, was more controlled in his manner and seldom spoke except in reply to the questions of his comrade.
-noel eagerly had begged the soldier who had brought their dinner to report to the colonel that one of the men was innocent and most earnestly begged permission to explain to him how he had been falsely accused.
-he was by no means confident that the soldier would bear his request to the colonel and still less was he hopeful that the colonel would grant him an interview.
-he was, therefore, the more surprised when an hour later an orderly came to the tent and said, "who is the man that asked to see the colonel?"
-instantly three of the inmates replied that they had made this request. to the surprise and consternation of noel curtis the orderly simply said, "there will be time for only one and he will have to be quick. i don't see why the colonel waits, anyway. the only place for a deserter is at the end of a rope that's tied so that his feet will be about three feet above the ground. that's the way one of the deserters was served this morning."
-"what!" demanded noel, his face turning pale in spite of his effort to be calm. "do you really mean to say that a deserter was hanged to-day?"
-"that's exactly what i mean to say," said the soldier lightly. "so many men have tried to break loose lately that it has been decided to use stricter measures. perhaps they will be better to you, though, and instead of hanging you, they will just let you be shot. that's a better way. leastwise, that's what i would want if i had to take my choice."
-"i'm the one," said noel hastily, "who sent word to the colonel asking for permission to see him."
-"he isn't the man!" shouted the other three in unison; and each added, "i'm the man!"
-"how will i ever know?" said the orderly as he gazed in confusion first at one prisoner and then at another.
-"i'll tell you," suggested noel. "ask each man to tell how he sent his message, and the one that gives it right is to be the one who shall have a chance."
-"good!" said the orderly. "how did you send word?" he asked, turning to noel as he spoke.
-"ask these other men first," suggested noel. "i was the last one to put in a claim that i had sent word, so let me be the last one to explain how i sent it."
-"all right. now, go ahead, you tell how you sent your word," the orderly demanded as he looked keenly at the oldest of the trio.
-"i don't just remember," stammered the soldier. "it seems to me i sent a letter."
-"that's what i did, too," said the second. "i wrote a note and sent it by one of the boys."
-"and how did you get word to him?" the orderly inquired as he turned to the third man.
-"now explain how you sent your message," said the soldier as he again turned to noel.
-"i sent it by the man who brought us our dinner to-day."
-"that's right. you're the boy. you come with me."
-without any delay noel was conducted by the orderly to the tent of the colonel, and soon was admitted.
-he remained standing near the table upon which the officer was writing. the colonel did not even glance at his visitor for a time as he continued his task. at last, however, he looked up and said abruptly, "well, what is it?"
-"i have come to tell you," said noel, somewhat embarrassed in spite of his determination to be self-controlled, "that i have been accused of being a deserter."
-"oh, you're the man who sent word by dan tague."
-"i don't know the man's name," said noel respectfully.
-"well, he brought your message. and you say you are not a deserter?"
-"but you cannot prove it?"
-"i can and i will if you'll give me a little time."
-"but i have positive information here," said the colonel, taking a paper from his pocket, "that you are a deserter. it states that you and another man named dennis o'hara both deserted at harper's ferry and were discovered not far from here this morning by captain blowers."
-"i don't know the captain's name, colonel," said noel. "i did not desert at harper's ferry. i was outside the lines--"
-"what were you doing outside the lines?" interrupted the colonel.
-"i was foraging."
-"was any one with you?"
-"yes, sir. dennis o'hara."
-"ah, ha! then the story is true that you both were outside the lines?"
-"yes, sir! that's true, although it isn't true that we deserted."
-"to what regiment do you belong?"
-"to the --th."
-"to which company?"
-noel gave the number of his company.
-"who was your colonel?"
-"that's correct," said the officer. "all these things tally. i have a statement here that you and--your name is noel curtis, is it not?"
-"well, i have a statement here that noel curtis and dennis o'hara, both belonging to company ---- of the --th regiment deserted just before the attack on harper's ferry."
-"colonel, may i ask you who made that statement?"
-"the sutler is the one who informed us."
-"did any one else tell you?"
-"i think so. i haven't all the papers here and i have no time to go into details about this. have you served long?"
-"we enlisted last spring, my brother and i. we were both in the peninsula campaign. my brother was sick and went home on a furlough."
-"where is your home?"
-"in new york state, on the border of the st. lawrence river. my brother and i were both sharpshooters."
-the colonel smiled incredulously as he looked at the young soldier, but all he said in reply was, "i have nothing but your unsupported word for this, while i have the testimony of others against you. the fact that you were outside the lines at harper's ferry is against you, and it's just about as black when captain blowers reports that he was informed by reliable witnesses that you are a deserter and were seen several times skulking about the region. we are compelled to make examples of these men right now, or we shan't have anybody left to stand against lee. you'll have to find better reasons for convincing me than you have given this afternoon."
-"will you make some investigations, colonel?"
-"no, not now. there is no time. do you hear those guns?" he demanded as the roar of distant cannon was heard. "we may be ordered to advance at any time. meanwhile i must give my men a good lesson, and i cannot do it in a better way than by making an example of such men as you."
-"don't you believe what i have told you?"
-"i don't," said the colonel tartly. "your story is just about as plausible as the one young naylor told me before i had him hanged."
-noel's face became pale as he heard the statement lightly repeated by the colonel that some one had been hanged that very day for desertion. he was aware, however, from the attitude of the officer and the abrupt manner in which he turned again to his writing that there was little use in trying further to plead his cause. turning about, noel, still under the guard of the orderly, left the tent and was conducted back to the place where he had been confined with his companions.
-depressed as noel was by his recent interview with the colonel, he nevertheless was surprised when he approached the tent to find that the guards had been changed. the young soldier was not yet aware that when deserters were put under guard certain selected men were stationed with loaded muskets about the tent of those who had been condemned. every two hours the guard was relieved.
-nor was any soldier ever compelled to stand guard over a deserter from his own company or regiment. naturally it was very difficult for one comrade to be compelled to enforce so severe a rule as that which was applied to men who deserted, when the guilty comrade, perhaps, was a schoolmate, a relative, or even a brother. besides, there was the continual fear of the officers that if such men were placed in charge there would naturally be the danger of a plot or a plan for the escape of those who were condemned. it was for this reason that noel and dennis, in any event, would have been assigned to a guard-tent in some company in which they were not likely to have any acquaintances, or even any friends among its members.
-as soon as noel entered the tent, dennis was aware from the expression of his face that his mission had not been successful.
-"what is it, lad?" he whispered as he drew the young soldier to one side.
-noel shook his head as he replied, "the colonel wouldn't believe a word."
-"the colonel is as bad as that little spalpeen, the sutler!"
-"i wouldn't mind it so much," said noel, "if they would first really find out what the truth of the charge is, but it seems that they have taken the word of levi, and now anything we can say doesn't seem to count for much against it."
-"but they'll give us a trial. they'll hold a court-martial before anything is done," protested dennis.
-"i hope so," said noel. "i don't know how it will be held, or how fair a show we'll have. it's the only square way, though, and if it's possible i am going to try to make an appeal. i have thought of sending for the chaplain. i think he might be able to do something for us if any man in the regiment can."
-"who is the chaplain?"
-"i don't know who he is, but we'll be able to find that out later."
-a low conversation which followed between the inmates of the tent revealed the fact that several of the men already had been tried and condemned by court-martial for desertion. every one was bitter against those who had passed sentence upon him. noel was surprised to find that the men were all claiming, what he himself had asserted as the cause for the mistake in his arrest, that some one had brought a false charge against them.
-the following morning dawned wonderfully clear. when dennis awoke the sun was shining brightly and the morning air was soft and still.
-when the boys first arose they were startled at the presence of two ambulances in front of their tent. in each of these ambulances there was a rough coffin of wood. that these gruesome objects should have been brought to the place where the prisoners under the charge of desertion were confined at first had not been suggestive to noel. he was soon aware, however, what the explanation was, and his face became pallid when he heard two of his companions ordered to advance and each man to take his seat on a coffin. a detail of soldiers had been assigned to draw these two ambulances and in solemn silence were awaiting the coming of the condemned men.
-noel curtis shuddered when one of the prisoners, stepping lightly into the ambulance, seated himself upon the long box, and, rapping upon the wood, turned to some of the watching soldiers and flippantly said, "boys, can't you put some shavings or something a little softer in my box? it looks as if it might be a pretty hard nest to rest in."
-instead of laughter or applause greeting his coarse remarks, the silence and disgust of the assembled soldiers seemed to react with solemn force upon the condemned man. at last the word was given and the cavalcade departed, leaving the remaining prisoners in the guard-tent dumb with the horror of the event.
-difficult as noel curtis had found it, in his previous experiences in the campaign on the peninsula, to control his feelings when he found that he was actually shooting at a human being, that experience was by no means equal to the suffering which he now was undergoing.
-there might be some justification for men making targets of one another when some great issue had been raised, but the young sharpshooter was now fully aware that war was no holiday game. his heart rebelled against many of the things which he saw, and yet the supreme issue of it all and the fact that war had been declared and accepted, and that there was no relief or release until one side or the other in the great conflict had won its victory, could not be ignored.
-his thoughts now were centered upon the men who had been taken away from the tent for their execution. the presence of the detail implied that both men were to be shot, a method of execution not quite so revolting as that by hanging.
-some of the men under sentence in the guard-tent seemed to be dumb with fear, while others more stolidly expressed their complaints over the outcome of the court-martial which had been held for the two condemned men the preceding day.
-several times when shots were heard near the place where the division was in camp, noel fancied that the report was that of the guns of the men who had been detailed to shoot the two deserters.
-in his interview with the colonel the young soldier had been informed that desertion was becoming so frequent in the army at this time that orders for the sternest measures to break it up had been issued. no man now might expect any mercy who should flee from his post of duty.
-sometimes homesickness had been the cause of the men leaving their comrades. the thoughts or recollections of family and friends in the far-away north had produced a longing in the midst of the monotony of the camp work and of the army life that had been too strong for some to resist. others, however, had become tired of the service when the novelty of the first days was gone and had fled simply to evade the difficulties and drudgery which are a part of the campaign of any army. whatever the cause may have been, the fact could not be denied, and noel curtis understood fully the reasons for the sterner measures which now were being used. perhaps they might be justified, he thought, although the unspeakable horror which had appeared in the expression on the faces of the two condemned men, when at last they were taken from the tent, was something which he was positive he never would be able to forget.
-somehow the morning passed. the guards were changed more frequently, and it was evident to the waiting men that they had not been forgotten in the midst of the excitement of the army in the knowledge that the enemy was not far distant.
-"i thought you were going to send for the chaplain?" suggested dennis to noel when an hour or more had elapsed.
-"so i am," said noel promptly. "i had not forgotten it. it doesn't seem to me, though, that any man will be able to help us much, when the colonel is not willing even to hear what we have to say for ourselves. it seems to me that they ought to give us credit first of all for being honest. but his plan apparently is to believe a man guilty and then let him prove his innocence, if he is able."
-"niver you fear, lad. the chaplain will be able to help us out."
-"we'll ask to see him, anyway," said noel.
-accordingly, when the guard next was called, noel succeeded in attracting the attention of the sergeant and made known his desire to receive a visit from the chaplain. such a visit, he was aware, was permitted, and he was not without hope that the coming of this man might be of assistance to him and his hardly beset comrade.
-nearly an hour elapsed before the chaplain appeared. he was a young man, and in his face there appeared an expression of friendliness. noel was drawn to him at once, even before he heard the somewhat abrupt and loud tones of his voice.
-"what can i do for you?" asked the chaplain, not unkindly, as he entered the tent and was informed that noel was the inmate who had requested the visit.
-"i wanted to see you and tell you my story," said noel quietly. "i am here under a false charge."
-the interest of the chaplain instantly became less keen, as noel discovered to his dismay.
-"that's what every man says," responded the chaplain quietly.
-"well, it's true in my case. did those poor fellows who were taken out this morning say they were not to blame?"
-"they surely did," said the chaplain. "i wish i was able now to forget the horror of that scene. a hollow square was formed and the two coffins were placed in the open part. i shall never forget the moment when the adjutant-general stepped out into a position a little in front of the center of the square. he's a strong man and not much given to sentiment, but his voice trembled, although it was clear and strong, when in the presence of all the soldiers he read the finding of the court-martial."
-"it must have been hard for the men who had been detailed," suggested noel in a low voice.
-"it was. you understand, however, that the guns used by the provost guard on occasions like that are always loaded by men who have been appointed for that special purpose. it never would do in the world to let the soldiers load their own guns."
-"what is a 'paper heart?'" asked noel.
-"why, it's just a quarter of a sheet of ordinary notepaper. it's white, you know, and provides a mark for the men who are usually selected because they are good shots. one of these poor fellows, after he had been blind-folded, shouted, 'boys, shoot me here,' as he put his hand upon his heart. 'don't make any mistake, either!' i don't know whether the rest of the men heard the final order of the provost guard or not. his voice sounded to me as if it might have been a quarter of a mile away, it was so indistinct, but somehow he managed to call out--'ready!' 'aim!' 'fire!'"
-"did they find the paper hearts?" inquired noel, almost in a whisper.
-"yes, both the poor fellows fell forward on their faces and never breathed again."
-dennis o'hara, who had been listening to the words of the chaplain, although he had not taken part in any of the conversation, could restrain his fears no longer.
-"but, yer riverence," he said, "why should they treat an innocent man like that? i'm tellin' ye that we're the most loyal boys in little mac's army. we're both sharpshooters and we both did our part down on the peninsula. now to be set up here and shot down like a couple of dogs! why, instead of desartin', we just were doin' our best to escape from the johnnies. 'tis pretty hard! the colonel won't listen to a word! we can prove it to him, everything we say."
-"is that so?" inquired the chaplain, turning to noel for confirmation.
-"it is, sir," replied noel.
-"i don't know that anything can be done," said the chaplain. "it would be horrible to make such a mistake as that. you are entitled to a trial, anyway. where is the man who made the charges against you?"
-"i don't know," said noel, "but i don't think he's here. my belief is that he is a spy, anyway, and part of the time is in the other army."
-"let me take the number of your company and regiment and i shall very gladly see what can be done. i don't want you to build your hopes too high, but you may rest assured that i shall do for you all that is in my power."
-as soon as their visitor had jotted down in his notebook the few facts and figures which he asked for, he at once left the tent.
-the sufferings of noel and dennis were increased by the feeling of suspense which followed the departure of the chaplain. rumor had been busy in the camp and had reached even the men in the guard-house concerning the execution of the deserters and the penalty which now might be visited upon the men who were still under guard.
-the feeling in the heart of dennis was more one of anger than of alarm. with noel, however, uncertainty and fear combined to make the young soldier much cast down. when dennis occasionally tried to arouse his spirits, the effort of the young irishman was so manifest that the effect sometimes was the exact reverse of what he had intended.
-more and more noel became alarmed as the hours passed. when the chaplain returned, as he did a few hours later, not even his cheery words could disguise the fact that as yet he had not received any information concerning the two young sharpshooters which would justify the colonel in making an exception of their cases.
-when noel awoke early the following morning he was surprised to find dennis already busily engaged in writing a letter. and such a letter!
-when noel drew near, he saw that dennis had taken sheets of foolscap, cutting them lengthwise and had pasted the half-sheets together so that he had a continuous roll that must have been at least thirty feet in length.
-"what are you doing?" demanded noel in surprise.
-"shure, lad, and i'm writin' a letter."
-"but to whom are you writing such a letter as that? do you write on both sides of the paper? it would take more money than you have saved in a month to pay the postage. what are you trying to do, anyway, dennis?"
-"shure, lad," said dennis quietly, "i had a letter from me sister in which she says as how i have niglicted the family and niver write a word, so i'm goin' to sind her one letter that she can't say is too short. i'm gettin' near the end of it, though. if you'll wait a minute, lad, i'll read to you the last sintence."
-before noel could protest dennis began glibly, "and now, me dear bridget, i can tell you that i am very happy because the assurance is dawning upon me mind that i am gettin' near the end of my paper. i have only to say that after i have been through the regular number of pitched-battles and hair-breadth escapes and have walked a few hundred miles and chased the johnnies up and down the hills, perhaps by that time i shall have come really to the ind of this letter and be able to sign me name. if you still think that i'm not writin' long enough letters to you and to mother and the girls, i'll come home just as soon as our business at the front is finished, and from the appearances at the prisent time somethin' is going to happen before i shall have a chance to sign my name."
-dennis looked up from his paper and said, "there, lad, i'm not explainin' to thim what it is that may happen. it'll be time enough for thim to find out that when they have to. but what do you think of me epistle, anyway?"
-"what there is of it," replied dennis, smiling in spite of the fears which held him.
-"it's a sort of last will i'm writin', too," added dennis. "i niver have written a will whin i was goin' into battle the way some o' th' boys do, but whin i have to face the sintence of bein' shot as a desarter, which i niver was, and if the saints will presarve me, i niver shall be--"
-"i heard of a woman back here," broke in noel, "who made a will and left her shoestrings to her sister."
-"bedad," said dennis, "i niver thought o' that. 'tis a good suggestion! i'm goin' to leave mine to levi kadoff. there ought to be enough of them to hang him with. faith, and if i had him here now--"
-the conversation of the two young soldiers was interrupted once more by the return of the chaplain. still he had not received any information and the messenger, who he assured the boys had been dispatched, had not as yet returned.
-in spite of the desire of the good man to encourage the boys, and his apparently unshaken confidence that in the end all would be well, the feeling of uncertainty and injustice still possessed both noel and dennis. they had been forgotten, they assured themselves, by the men who knew them best and at such a time as this could bring them aid. of what good was it that they had been selected for positions of danger and had been among the sharpshooters, doing their part in holding back the enemy around williamsburg and at malvern hill?
-even if the desire had been in the minds of the young soldiers, the opportunity to escape was gone. the guard was changed every hour now, and there was no question that the muskets of the marching soldiers were loaded. there was no blank cartridge here.
-noel's strong desire was to receive word from those who knew him. but just where that division of the army now was located he did not know, nor was he positive that there would be an opportunity in the presence of threatening events for an investigation to be made which would relieve him from the charge which was hanging over him.
-a third visit from the chaplain still failed to bring the desired news. the depression of the boys was so manifest that the chaplain apparently made a special effort to cheer them.
-"there was a little fellow back here near the colonel's tent who somehow made me think of you two boys. you have told me about the little sutler. let me see, what did you say his name is?"
-"levi. levi kadoff," answered noel.
-"well, this little fellow by the colonel's tent may be the same one. he was a little jew, who had been shot. a ball had just grazed the tips of two of his fingers and he was howling so loudly that i think you might have heard him here, if you had listened."
-"was he yelling with pain?"
-"oh, no!" laughed the chaplain. "he was crying for a pension. in fact, he was screaming for one. yes, he wanted two pensions. when i saw him he was holding up the two fingers that had been scratched, and was whining, 'oh, scheneral! oh, scheneral! how much pensions i gets for heem? i dink i gets two pensions, maybe. one for each finger vat i lose.' a lot of the boys had gathered around the little fellow and they were having a good time as they listened to his complaints."
-"did he say where he was when he was shot?"
-"no, i didn't hear anything about that."
-"maybe he is levi. if he is, and you'll bring him here, dennis and i soon can tell. did he have shining black eyes?"
-"and curly black hair?"
-"and did he weigh about ninety pounds?"
-"not more than that."
-"well, that's levi; that's levi, all right," broke in dennis. "just bring him here to me, and i'll make him forgit his fingers and his pinsions."
-"you may make him forget his fingers, but you never can make him forget his pensions," laughed the chaplain. "that seemed to be the chief thing in his mind. i think i'll try to find out if his name is levi kadoff."
-"if it is," suggested noel, "bring the fellow here, but don't tell him what you are bringing him for or that we are here."
-"i'll see what i can do," said the chaplain, and a moment later he departed from the tent.
-the fact that the kind-hearted officer had made three visits that day to the boys showed his interest in their welfare, but somehow noel was unable to shake off his conviction that their friend was powerless to aid them. accordingly he was surprised when an hour afterward the chaplain returned.
-"no word yet," he said quietly, as he smiled and shook his head, "but i have some other good news for you. you understand there is nothing to back up the statement which you have made that you were sharpshooters in the peninsula campaign. personally, i believe what you tell me. i have at last secured permission for you both to go with an orderly and four men to a place outside the camp where you may show what skill you possess."
-"that's the way to talk," spoke up dennis quickly. his hope had now returned with full force. indeed, as he afterward explained, he looked upon their discharge as already having been accomplished.
-to noel, however, the privilege was not one which was unmixed with anxiety. in his own skill, in his quiet way, he felt confident, but to make such skill a test of the truth of what he had spoken was another matter. a gun with which he was unfamiliar would be thrust into his hands and the very excitement of the test of itself might be sufficient to prevent him from doing himself full justice.
-the chaplain, aware of what was passing in the mind of the young soldier, smiled encouragingly and did not speak.
-dennis, whose joy rapidly increased, had now arrived at a point where his enthusiasm seemed to pass all bounds.
-"i'll tell you what to do, yer riverence," he said to the chaplain. "just put noel and me tin yards apart. let one of us fire and then the other and you'll find noel's bullet lodged in the barrel of my gun and my bullet in his. that is, if we don't fire at the same time. if we should fire at the same minute the bullets would meet midway and you wouldn't find anything but two flattened pieces of lead."
-"do you often have an experience like that?" inquired the chaplain with a smile.
-"oh, yis, very oftin," answered dennis solemnly. "sometimes noel says to me,' dennis, me boy, i'm a bit tired this mornin'. just put a bullet in my gun, please'; and it's easier to shoot one in than it is to have to go through the whole process o' loadin'."
-the chaplain said no more, but at once conducted the two young soldiers to the guard which was waiting outside the tent.
-noel somehow believed that not even dennis would have been able to escape from the well in which he had been hidden unless he had received help from outside. but to all inquiries dennis made evasive replies, and noel was still unable to understand the mystery with which he had shrouded his doings.
-the little band now was on the borders of the place where the division was encamped. the entire region was unfamiliar to noel, but as he glanced at a low house on the side of the road over which they were passing he was startled when he beheld levi standing by the little cabin. the little sutler's fingers were bandaged, and as noel recalled the story which the chaplain related to him and the pleadings of the little jew for two pensions because he had received a wound in the tips of two fingers, he smiled in spite of the seriousness of the errand upon which he and his companion were going.
-suddenly levi recognized the two young soldiers in the midst of the little band, and with a scream of rage instantly started toward them.
-"i shall see dem hanged," screamed the little sutler; "i shall see dem hanged. dey steals mine goots. dey tip ofer mine tent. i shall see dem hanged."
-levi's voice, usually shrill, in his rage now became almost a childish treble. even his wounded fingers were forgotten for the moment, and he was gesticulating with both hands.
-"shure," exclaimed dennis, pretending to have difficulty in recognizing the little jew, "shure, 'tis levi! my friend, it's lucky for you it's not cold here. you talk so much wid your hands they might be frozen stiff."
-unmindful of the declaration, levi became still more excited and his hands were moving still more rapidly.
-"levi," said dennis solemnly, "how many pinsions are you drawin'?"
-"i draw no pensions yet," shrieked levi.
-"i understand," said dennis, "that you are trying to draw two pinsions, one for the scratch you got on each finger."
-"i did not scratch mine finger. i haf been shot mit der fingers. i shall draw more pensions, but i shall have mooch joy in seeing you hanged."
-the soldiers, under whose charge the boys were being conducted to the place where they were to display their skill with the rifles, were laughing heartily at the impotent rage of the little sutler.
-dennis, in spite of his bantering, did not betray a trace of a smile on his face. as solemnly as if the errand upon which he was going was the sole purpose in his mind, he looked reprovingly at levi as if his heart was moved by sorrow more than by anger.
-"are you coming with us, levi?" he inquired.
-"yah, i vill surely come. i shall mit great pleasure see you hanged. you shall no more tip ofer--"
-"i say, sergeant," said dennis, "what are we to have for a target?"
-"i don't know," replied the soldier good-naturedly. "we'll find something."
-"if you haven't any target ready, i would like to suggest one."
-"what is it?"
-"i think it would be a great scheme to have this little sutler come along with us and stand him up at a distance of seventy-five yards. noel, here, can clip one ear an' thin i'll take the other. thin we'll cut off a part of his nose, though he will have enough left even thin to satisfy any two or three living men--"
-a cry of rage, not unmingled with fear, from levi, interrupted the young irishman.
-"i shall not be von target! you shall be von target!"
-"yes; but, levi," suggested dennis, "think what it will mean for you! if noel cuts off one ear, there's another pinsion. that will be pinsion number three. if i trim your other ear, that will be pinsion number four, and if both of us cut down your nose a little that will be worth more yet. why, levi, you'd be a rich man before you would be able to get home. of course, there may not be very much of you left, but what there is will have a good time to the end of your days."
-perhaps it was the expression which levi discovered on the faces of the soldiers that caused him to halt abruptly. at all events, he stared for a moment at the young sharpshooters, and then, as the soldiers laughed loudly, he turned quickly and without once glancing behind him ran from the place.
-even the chaplain had not been unmoved by the bantering of dennis. he was proving himself a friend, indeed, to the two boys, and it had been largely through his solicitation that the opportunity had been gained for them to show whether or not their claims to have been sharpshooters in the peninsula campaign were trustworthy.
-"there comes that little spalpeen ag'in!" cried dennis suddenly, as he looked back and saw that levi was following discreetly in the distance. "'tis well for him he stays behind us, though i think i could put me gun over me shoulder and shut both eyes and not miss the little rascal."
-noel had not taken any part in the badgering of levi. he was far too anxious concerning his own safety. it is true he was not without hope that before he should be tried by the court-martial his statements concerning his enlistment and service would be obtained and verified and he would be free. but there was so much confusion in the army, and the presence of the enemy was so well known, that he understood an advance was to be speedily ordered, and at such a time it was inevitable that some mistakes should be made and certain duties should be neglected. the greatest danger was that in the midst of such confusion it would be impossible for him to free himself from the charge of desertion which had been brought against him.
-at last a position outside the camp was gained, where the little company halted. an improvised target was made of an old and battered white hat which was found in a corner of the fence, whither it had been driven at some time by the wind. this hat was securely fastened to a stake which was driven into the ground at a distance of seventy-five yards from the place where the two young soldiers were stationed.
-"who shall shoot first?" inquired dennis, who was carefully examining the rifle which had been placed in his hands.
-"if you don't care, i should like to," said noel.
-"go ahead, me lad," assented dennis. "they won't have the execution until i'm ready to go along with ye."
-noel found the rifle which had been given him a trifle heavier than the one to which he had been accustomed. it was a little more difficult for him to raise it to his shoulder and gain the sight which he desired. however, after testing his gun several times and looking carefully to its loading, he abruptly raised the rifle to his shoulder and apparently without taking careful aim fired at the target in the distance.
-"hold on!" called dennis, when some of the young soldiers started toward the hat. "wait until i have my shot."
-"if one of you hits the hat, we shall not be able to tell which one did it unless we examine it after each shot," suggested one of the soldiers.
-"just wait a minute," called dennis, "and you'll see two holes. that will mean that both of us hit it."
-good-naturedly the men consented, and dennis, whose methods were far different from those of his comrade, brought his gun to his shoulder and took long and careful aim before he fired.
-in a moment a part of the little band started swiftly toward the hat, and their exclamations of surprise were loud and many when they discovered that dennis's promise had been fulfilled. two balls had pierced the crown of the hat within an inch of each other.
-"just put up that hat again," said dennis. "and if you like, noel and me will put some eyes and ears on the old hat until it will look as if some old man's face was peering out of it. this is just to show you that there wasn't any luck in it," he added, as he turned quickly to noel, who was about to fire the second time.
-again the report of the rifle rang out, and then dennis speedily followed the example of noel. when the hat was examined two more holes were found in the crown each about an inch from the place which had marked the spot where the preceding bullets had hit the mark.
-"i guess the boys are all right," said the orderly.
-"wait a minute," said dennis. "we have made a square there now, haven't we?"
-"yes," replied the soldier.
-"well, with three more shots noel and i will turn the square into a circle and cut out a round piece of the old hat itself."
-the suggestion of the young irishman was followed, and true to his word when three more shots had been fired by each it was discovered that a circle in the crown had been completed by the bullets.
-"if the rest of your story is as true as the part which has to do with your shooting, then i guess both you boys are all right," said the orderly cordially. "we haven't a better shot in our regiment."
-"shure, you haven't," said dennis heartily. "didn't i tell you that noel was the best shot in little mac's army? now, if you'll just say the word, sergeant, i would like to have him turn around and fire at the ground under the foot of that little jew. he paid the piper and he ought to have his dance."
-every man in the group at once turned to look at levi kadoff, who in spite of his fears had been creeping nearer, and as the voice of dennis had not been either low or soft, the effect was magical. levi prepared to depart without further delay.
-turning to the orderly dennis said, "take my gun, sergeant, and just let me catch the little spalpeen, will ye?"
-as the chaplain nodded assent in response to the implied question of the sergeant, dennis laughingly started in swift pursuit of the sutler.
-for one moment levi stared blankly at the approaching young irishman. manifestly what he saw was not pleasing, for with a shriek he turned and at his utmost speed tried to escape from the place.
-his efforts, however, availed little, for with his longer strides dennis swiftly gained upon his victim, and in a brief time laid his heavy hand upon the shoulder of the screaming, shrieking levi. kicking and striking like an angry child, the sutler did his utmost to break the firm hold which his captor secured upon him. apparently unmoved and unmindful, dennis dragged his helpless prisoner back to the place where the soldiers were awaiting him.
-"because you vas deserters!" shouted levi. "you steals mine goots, you tips ofer mine tent, you--"
-"there! there! that will do," said dennis soothingly. "i'm thinkin' what you need is what paddy gave the drum."
-helpless in the powerful grasp of dennis, levi still shrieked and protested. but in spite of all his efforts, dennis, seating himself upon a stump, stretched levi across his lap and soundly spanked him.
-when this task had been completed, the howlings of levi were redoubled. apparently irritated by the failure of the little sutler to profit by his experience, dennis lifted his victim from the ground and shook him. as he did so a paper fell to the ground from levi's pockets, at the sight of which the excitement of the little sutler instantly increased.
-"and what's that?" said dennis as he roughly pushed levi from him and picked up the paper, which he discovered was an envelope containing a letter.
-"it was not for you," screamed levi. "it vas mine! it vas mine! you steals mine goots. you tips ofer mine tent, but you shall not haf mine letter. it vas from mine moder."
-"wait a minute and i'll see whether it's from your mither or from general lee," said dennis tauntingly, as he drew forth the paper from the envelope.
-the president's action
-an expression of surprise appeared upon the face of dennis which quickly changed to one of consternation. every one in the little band was silent, watching the young irishman. what at first had been looked upon simply as a rough and not altogether good-natured joke, now seemed to be taking upon itself certain other phases that interested every one present. even levi was speechless in his rage. several times he made as if he was about to flee from the spot, but every time he came back, either fascinated by the action of dennis, or eager to secure the paper which the young irishman was holding in his hand.
-"here, sergeant," said dennis at last, "i think 'tis likely this is for you."
-"what is it?" replied the officer as he advanced.
-"it looks as if it might be mighty important. 'tis my opinion that the little spalpeen has been seein' some things he ought not to see and is reportin' what no johnnie ought to know. just look at that, will ye!" and dennis placed the tip of his huge forefinger upon some figures which were written upon the paper.
-taking the sheet from dennis's hand the sergeant looked keenly at it, and in a moment it was seen that he was as startled and alarmed as had been the young irish soldier.
-turning quickly about, he saw that levi manifestly was aware of what was going on in the mind of the officer and was stealthily working toward the woods in the distance.
-"stop that fellow!" ordered the sergeant. "don't let him get away, not for a minute!"
-"shall we try to catch him?" inquired noel.
-"no, there will be men enough without you. you go after him," he added, turning to some of the others in the band.
-instantly obeying the command a half-dozen men started in swift pursuit of the little sutler, who now was running at his utmost speed. the pursuit was not long continued, however, for just before levi gained the refuge of the woods he stumbled and fell to the ground. before he could rise his pursuers were upon him, and in spite of the efforts of the biting, kicking, striking, howling little sutler he was picked up bodily and carried back to the place where the other members of the band were awaiting their return.
-"i suspict," said dennis, as he tauntingly grinned at the helpless prisoner, "that the little spalpeen has some other papers somewhere about him. maybe he has put thim in the heel of his boot. 'tis my opinion that he ought to be sarched from head to feet."
-it was manifest to noel that the test which had been made of the skill of himself and dennis, had been a source of deep satisfaction to the chaplain, who now was advancing by his side. naturally the officer did not make any comment, but his face was beaming, and it was plain that he was almost as pleased as were the boys themselves.
-when the party arrived at the guard-tent, and dennis was free to express his opinions once more, he was not slow to embrace the opportunity.
-"'tis no use at all, at all," he said, "in kapin' noel and mesilf here. think of a little spalpeen like levi kadoff comin' into the camp and gettin' all he wants to find out and goin' back with it among the johnnies!"
-"that's what he was doing," said noel. "i wondered what levi could have to do with sairy ann's brother-in-law. he made no bones of the fact that he was a spy, but i never suspected levi of doing anything of the kind from his own wish. we knew he would sell anything he possessed, whether it was information or clothes, but i never believed that he would go back and forth between the armies and carry news from one to the other."
-"i wouldn't be a bit surprised if the little imp had been bringing information here, too."
-"of course he has!" said noel. "he got paid at both ends of the journey and he wasn't very slow to make much of the chance. i wonder how much he had."
-"he hasn't had as much as he will get!" said dennis positively. "just listen to that, will ye!"
-the roar of great guns in the distance again was distinctly heard, and so threatening was the sound that it did not seem possible to the startled listeners that the men who were engaged in the combat could be far away.
-"listen to that!" repeated dennis. "that means that we're goin' to be busy just as soon as they take us out of this guard-house."
-"i think i would rather be there than here," said noel, "although i confess that ever since malvern hill i have not been eager to go into the sharpshooters' pit."
-"you'll be in no sharpshooters' pit here. they don't know enough to count you for what you're worth. if we're fortunate enough iver to get back to the --th, where we belong, there we'll pass for just exactly what we are. the most i want here is just to get out of the guard-tent. i think i can take care of the rest of it mesilf."
-the conversation of the young soldiers continued in spite of the repeated sounds of the distant firing. two hours or more had elapsed, and still no word was brought them, nor had the chaplain returned. eagerly the boys had talked over the possibilities of levi being a spy, dennis firmly contending that there was not "spunk enough in the little spalpeen to do anything for himself." noel, however, claimed that the former sutler was not without a form of courage of his own.
-"there comes the chaplain," said dennis, after a few minutes more had elapsed. "from the look of him i think he has got something he would like to say to us."
-nor was the young irishman disappointed. when the chaplain entered the tent his face was beaming and his satisfaction over what he was about to say was so manifest that every one of the inmates was confident good news of some kind had been brought.
-"we have just heard from washington!" said the chaplain eagerly. "we sent a message to president lincoln informing him just what had been done here,--the number of deserters, who had been hanged, and who had been shot, and how many were on hand, and asked what we should do next."
-"did you tell him about us?" broke in dennis.
-"yes, we told him about you and the others, too."
-"well, what word did you get? why don't you out with it, yer riverence?"
-the kind-hearted chaplain laughed and said, "i was just about to say, when you interrupted me, that after we had sent our message to washington we did not expect to receive word in reply so soon. but the message has just come that the president has received our communication and--"
-"the saints presarve us!" broke in dennis. "won't you please tell us what's happened?"
-"that's what i am telling you," continued the chaplain. "if you wouldn't interrupt me so frequently you would find out what i have come to say."
-"well, tell us, then!" said dennis. and although every inmate was silent, the face of every one gave evidence of the eagerness with which he was waiting for the visitor's word.
-"we have just received our message," began the chaplain once more, "and i confess that i have a feeling toward the president such as i never cherished before."
-"but what did he say?" broke in dennis.
-"be silent and i'll explain," said the chaplain. "we were not looking for an answer for several hours yet, but to our surprise the messenger has returned and has brought us word that president lincoln has decided to--"
-as the chaplain paused again, dennis impatiently broke in, "for the love of the saints in heaven tell us what he has decided to do! i can't stand much more o' this. it isn't the spache we want. it's to know what the prisident said."
-"he has decided to pardon every one of you."
-a shout went up from the guard-tent. in their enthusiasm several were for leaving the place at once.
-"hold on," warned the chaplain. "i have no right to let you go. i was permitted to come and bring you the word. you will have to wait until orders come from the colonel before you will be free. it won't hurt you very much to wait a little while because you know you will not have to stay long. it's a great message and i'm glad i am the one to bring it to you. are you pleased, both of you?"
-"in course i'm pleased," said dennis.
-"and how is it with you, noel?" asked the chaplain keenly as he turned to the other young soldier.
-"i didn't want any 'pardon'," declared noel quietly. "i haven't done anything for which i ought to be pardoned. i have been charged with being a deserter, by a man whose word was taken instead of ours, and, too, he is now said to be a spy. i don't feel like taking a pardon because i haven't done anything which deserves a pardon."
-"don't be foolish, lad," suggested the chaplain. "this matter will all be straightened out. if there is time you may be sent back to the division where you belong, but if there isn't and we have to advance now, there will be plenty of work for you to do before many hours have passed. don't stand on a little thing like that."
-"i don't want to," said noel, "and perhaps i shall not stay in the guard-tent. i am not made of the stuff of which they used to make martyrs. i appreciate what president lincoln intended to do, but at the same time i don't want to stay here as one who has been pardoned for something which he never did."
-"that will be fixed all right," said the chaplain soothingly. "and just as soon as you receive word from the colonel that you are free, i hope you won't stay here any longer."
-"niver a bit will we stay here any longer," declared dennis. "you watch me, if you want to! you'll see some dust, but not me nor me feet when i get word to lave this tent."
-true to the promise of the chaplain, word was brought in a brief time that a message from the president had been received and that all the deserters had been pardoned on the condition that every man should resume his place in the army and do his duty.
-nor had they been long released before another and more startling experience came. the heavy firing of cannon in the distance had now increased, and it was manifest throughout the camp that preparations for an advance were rapidly being made.
-noel curtis was standing in front of the colonel's tent listening to the word of that anxious officer, who in response to the request of the chaplain was showing the young soldiers the pardon received from the president.
-it was in noel's mind to inquire concerning the fate of levi. his own feeling about accepting the pardon which had been offered was unchanged, but in company with dennis he had gone to the colonel's tent at the suggestion of the chaplain, and with interest was listening to the words of that officer.
-suddenly the clatter of hoofs was heard, and as the men turned sharply about to ascertain the cause, they saw an orderly approaching with the information that the division at once was to advance.
-hastily positions were assigned to dennis and noel, who were to report with one of the new york regiments, and the marching orders speedily put other thoughts from their minds.
-almost before the men realized what had taken place, they found themselves marching along a dusty road with the air cool and the confidence of the leaders manifest in many ways that appealed to the boys in blue. naturally there were rumors of the battle which was expected, but so many similar reports had been current that some of their power to arouse the interest of the army was gone.
-several times the excitement of the advancing troops was increased by the sight of little squads of rebel prisoners that had been taken by the cavalry skirmishing in advance.
-one picture appealed with special force to noel. the horses of the officers of late had fared poorly at the hands of the quartermaster, and now, as the troops halted near a barn, noel saw several of the half-starved animals within the building enjoying the first oats they had received for days.
-as noel glanced behind him he saw a long column of troops winding around the summit of the mountain over which he and his comrades had just passed. the muskets of the men were glistening in the sunlight. the lines resembled a mighty coil of armed men extending far down the side of the mountain. indeed, far beyond the place where noel was standing, it could be seen, and was lost to view only by the winding of the road in the distance. it was the finest view of a marching army he had ever had.
-in the loft of the barn were a score or more of confederates. some of these unfortunate men were sick, others had been wounded in the recent cavalry skirmishes, and had been left by their comrades as they had fallen back before the advance of the boys in blue. a guard or two was attending to their wants, but every man as he peered out of the windows seemed wan and pale, and the marks of the many privations and the heavy fatigue to which they had been exposed were plain on every side.
-the farmer, near whose barn the line had halted, explained that a large body of the rebels had passed his house not long before. the men were ill-clothed and seemed to be in want, he explained. the report of the man, however, did not deceive any of the yankee soldiers. they were well aware that the "johnnies" were fierce fighters, and in spite of their scarcity of food and clothing were standing up bravely and persistently. it was dennis one time who made the remark that "these men might not be inspired of god, but they certainly were possessed of the divil."
-neither of the young soldiers dreamed of the fearful events which were soon to follow. whether prejudice or ignorance, truth or falsehood, were behind the struggle, there was no question about the tremendous earnestness of both armies.
-the union army, when it entered the little city of frederick, was surprised as well as delighted at the ovation which it received from many of the people. shouts and songs and cheers greeted their arrival and continued during their march through the city.
-in the doorways of some of the houses girls and young women stood with pails of clear, sparkling water. many of these enthusiastic girls held glasses in their extended hands inviting the thirsty and dust-covered soldiers to drink.
-it was dennis who said glibly to noel, when a halt was made beyond the limits of the town, "i can't for the life of me tell what made me so thirsty this afternoon. i think i must have stopped a dozen times for a drink of water."
-"yes, i noticed it," said noel demurely. "i have never seen anything like this dust. no, and it doesn't seem as if the dust was all that was new, either."
-"there's one thing i don't see, though," said dennis.
-"i don't see any of the big bugs, like the others, standing in the doorways and giving water to our boys as they passed."
-"i'm not surprised at that. i don't suppose the people who have money or own slaves can be very enthusiastic over our coming down here to set their slaves free or destroy their property."
-"indade, and i niver once thought o' that," said dennis.
-near sunset the army halted again, and, wearied by their long march, many of the men flung themselves upon the dust-covered grass by the roadside or underneath the projecting branches of some large trees, and sought a short respite from their labors.
-the day was sunday the 14th of september, 1862. to noel, his thoughts at such a time naturally recalled the manner in which the day was spent in his far-away home. there all was peace and quiet. about him now, however, were armed men and officers riding past and cannon were being dragged up the dusty road. all these things presented a striking contrast to his vision of peace and quiet.
-noel saw that every one of his comrades was sleeping, not even being aroused by the passing of a body of cavalry or by the stamping of the horses of their officers.
-he, too, was about to place his knapsack upon the ground for a pillow when, glancing up the road, to his surprise he saw dennis running toward him, dragging in his hand a large fallen branch of a tree.
-that the young irishman was about to perpetrate some prank noel was convinced. dennis was simply irrepressible. the fatigues of the day, or the thoughts of the battle, in which it was commonly believed the army was about to enter, did not seem to check the exuberant spirits of dennis o'hara.
-as he approached the place where noel was seated, suddenly the young irishman swiftly entered the road and, stamping loudly upon the ground, began to run close to the place where many of the soldiers were sleeping.
-adding to the confusion, dennis began to shout, "whoa! whoa, there! whoa!" he did not check his own advance, however, and running swiftly, dragged the branch he was carrying over the bodies and faces of some of the sleeping men.
-instantly every one of the soldiers who had felt the touch of the sweeping branch or heard the sound of dennis's voice sat erect, and then, convinced that a body of horsemen were trampling upon them, quickly leaped to their feet and ran from the place. in spite of their weariness a shout greeted the prank of dennis and caused the young irishman to laugh loudly.
-"they make me think," said dennis, "of the old sport who took his gun and traveled two days over the brakes and ferns and up and down the mountains huntin' for a bear. just at the close of the second day he found the footprints of the old fellow and pretty soon afterward he heard a growl from a rocky ledge that was too close to him for comfort. the man stopped and scratched his head, and turnin' to his brother, who was close behind him, he said, 'now, look out! these tracks are gettin' a little fresh! i believe i don't want any bear after all, so i'll go back home.' it's a lot of brave men we have been hearin' talk about comin' up to the front and drivin' the johnnies through every gap in these mountains, but whin a poor harmless boy comes along and shakes a branch of a tree over thim, they are all so scared they don't even stop to find out whether 'tis a yank or a reb that's chasin' thim."
-it was not long before the march was resumed. the turnpike over which the soldiers moved was broad and smooth, and as the men passed through the rolling country its contrast with that which they had seen in their campaign in the peninsula was marked by every one.
-at the next halt the chaplain, who had proved himself such a warm friend to both of the young soldiers, approached the place where the two boys were seated by the roadside.
-"that's general burnside and his staff over yonder," he explained to noel. "general hooker is to lead our division."
-"there's going to be a battle surely, isn't there?" inquired noel.
-"i think there is no doubt of it," replied the chaplain, "and i have a strange feeling about this engagement. i know i shall be shot."
-"nonsense!" protested noel.
-"but i shall be. i was shot when i was on the peninsula almost the first chance i got. i was only slightly wounded there, but this time i shall be killed. i know it."
-"shure, 'tis only a foolish notion that's got into your head," protested dennis. "get rid of it, yer riverence! cheer up! shure, you'll come out all right."
-"i wish i might think so. if i fall i shall fall doing my duty."
-"niver a doubt about that. every man of us knows that you won't be shot in the back."
-the kind-hearted man soon passed on, but the impression he had made upon the mind of noel was one which the boy was unable to shake off. he, too, was fearful of the coming contest. he was doing his utmost to repress the feeling and was striving hard to hold himself to the line which had been mapped out for him.
-apparently there were no rebel battalions now threatening the passage. no cannon warned the advancing army from the narrow entrance between the hills which they were approaching. these hills on either side of the pass now were crowned with the glories of the approaching sunset. a few clouds were seen in the sky, and in the distance occasional quick rushes of smoke-puffs arose just above the trees and then the sight was followed by the sound of a heavy boom.
-far to the left there were other puffs, and as they were faintly seen in the distance there were quick responses from the union artillery.
-"shure," muttered dennis, "the artillery is beyond and with the help of the infantry they'll drive the johnnies out o' the way."
-a rattle of musketry only faintly heard confirmed the words of the young irish soldier.
-above them and beyond were forests. unseen foes without doubt were lurking within the shelter of the great trees. even now the opposing armies might be preparing to rush madly against each other. somehow the smooth white turnpike began to lose its peaceful aspect in the eyes of noel curtis.
-the toiling soldiers, climbing a steep ascent now, were soon aware that between them and the main ascent of south mountain was an extensive valley.
-there were sharp calls from the officers, the line of march was changed from the open turnpike, and the men approached a cornfield upon the hillside.
-in the midst of the passage through the field suddenly the great guns of the confederates opened upon the line with solid shot. down the hill dashed the army, then swiftly crossing the little valley, began the steady climb of the mountain-side.
-a few yards from the base of the mountain was a fence. below the fence the ground was cleared, while above it the face of the mountain was covered with rocks and trees.
-steadily and surely the boys in blue advanced, and when they had arrived within fifty yards of the place they were seeking, a rapid fire of musketry was opened upon them by the confederates, who lay concealed behind the fence.
-bullets whistled about their ears. there were shouts and calls from the leaders and loud and prolonged cheers from their willing followers. with a wild shout the men dashed forward. indeed, their course was almost upward, so steep was the ascent. volley after volley was poured in upon them, but as yet the brave boys did not heed them and still rushed madly forward.
-the confederates, astonished by the recklessness and the apparent disregard of their bullets, began to give way. successfully the advancing soldiers gained the fence and then instantly sprang over it. to their surprise, however, their enemies re-formed among the rocks and renewed the fight with unshaken determination.
-it was at this time that the chaplain, who had shown his friendship for the boys, accompanied by a young lieutenant, was just springing over the fence when a bullet struck him and he fell back upon the ground.
-the following day
-to the horror of the young soldier he saw that the chaplain was lifeless. the expression upon the face of the dead man was as peaceful as that of one who has fallen asleep in his own home.
-the strange declaration which the chaplain had made, that he expected to fall in the fight into which he was about to enter, came back to noel now and strongly impressed him. it was strange, he thought, that such a premonition should have taken hold upon a man who was so sane and thoughtful.
-there was little time, however, for consideration of matters of sentiment. the struggle was not yet ended, and it was plain that the confederates desperately were holding their ground.
-meanwhile the success which had been won stimulated the union soldiers, and with shouts and shots they again pressed forward.
-not far before him noel saw a line of men in gray who were loading and firing steadily, and soon afterward he saw the line begin to waver. directly in front of his own regiment the men gave way, and several companies from the right pressed forward at one side and in this manner became separated from the regiment itself.
-looking hastily behind him, noel saw that he and his companions were thirty or forty paces in advance of the main line and now were within twenty or thirty steps of the confederate soldiers who were on their left. it was plain, too, that the southern soldiers were not as yet aware of the approaching force.
-in a brief time, however, they were dropping as grain falls before a sickle. as noel watched them a great wave of pity rushed over him. he saw that they were falling by scores.
-suddenly, at the extreme end of the line, he saw a tall man in gray hastily loading his gun. there was no regular command to fire now, and instantly, hardly daring to hope that he was in time, noel raised his gun to his shoulder and fired. he saw the soldier pitch forward and fall into a crevice between the rocks.
-unable to stop, step by step noel curtis with his companions pushed up the steep side of the mountain. it was a marvelous sight to see the determination of the boys in blue and the steady resistance which their opponents offered in such a place.
-there was a halt made soon, and then noel ran swiftly to the place where he had seen the man, at whom he had fired, fall.
-when the young soldier arrived at the crevice, he saw the wounded soldier sitting erect, and somehow a feeling of gratitude swept over noel's heart that the man was not dead.
-"are you wounded?" he inquired hastily, as he stopped a moment.
-without speaking the man mournfully nodded his head in reply. noel saw that there was a wound in the neck of the soldier and also one in his arm.
-"same bullet," said the confederate briefly. "i was just ramming a bullet home and had my arm reaching out this way." as he spoke, he rose to his feet and noel was delighted to find that he was able to walk.
-"you understand," said noel, "that you are a prisoner?"
-"i reckon i do," said the confederate.
-"i'll find some one to take charge of you and take you to the rear, where you will be out of danger and where the surgeon can attend to you."
-"that's good of you. i reckon you don't know who i am."
-the man's face was discolored by smoke and powder, but as he spoke noel instantly recognized him as the husband of sairy ann's sister.
-there was no time, however, for further conversation, and as soon as he saw that the prisoner had been placed in charge of one of the boys, noel threw himself upon the ground and crawled back among the rocks to a position where he was about fifteen paces in advance of his company. his intention now was to act as a sharpshooter, although he had received no orders to that effect.
-cocking his gun he rose abruptly from his position behind the rock, and there, directly in front of him and not ten paces away, he beheld a grim rebel just bringing his gun to aim. his dark eyes seemed to flash fire as they scowled fiercely from beneath the broad brim of a large, ugly hat. he was aiming directly at the young soldier, too, and there was slight chance of escape.
-it was impossible for noel to take careful aim under such circumstances. more quickly than ever before he brought his gun to his shoulder and blazed away, as it seemed to him almost at random, and then dropped instantly behind the protecting rock. he hardly dared to breathe during the excitement. every part of a second seemed like a long time. there was a fear that the fire of the rebel would reach him before he could gain the protection of the rock, and, just as noel dropped, the bullet tipped the edge of the stone above his head.
-step by step the enemy now were retiring. without venturing from the position of safety which he had found, noel waited until his line advanced.
-the enemy still were falling back and the boys in blue still pressed steadily forward. more prisoners were secured and were regularly being conducted to the rear. the bodies of those who had fallen and the wounded were lying among the rocks.
-for the first time noel became aware that night was almost at an end. a feeling of indescribable weariness swept over him. even the bodies of the fallen men, some of which were within ten feet of the place where he was standing, seemed to be vague and unreal.
-the hospitals had been established about halfway down the hill. to them the wounded wherever they were found were still being carried. gradually the sound of the guns off to the left had been dying away. ricketts's men were holding the fence, while the regiment in the midst of which noel curtis and dennis had been struggling was resting on its arms. no mounted orderlies could be found, as they had all been withdrawn to other parts of the army. such horses as were left were secured by being tied to the trees.
-after the necessary dispositions for the night had been made, the men, wrapped in their cloaks or having donned their heavier coats, in utter weariness threw themselves upon the ground.
-noel was far from feeling easy in his mind. with his comrades he was fearful that the enemy might make a night attack and was afraid of what might follow in the darkness and confusion.
-the issue of the battle on the left was still uncertain and with this feeling of uneasiness still prevalent throughout the regiment the men sought to rest.
-awake early the following morning, noel was surprised to find that his nearest sleeping comrade was dennis. he had seen but little of the young irishman thus far in the engagement and, indeed, he had seldom thought of his friend.
-discovering that dennis was awake, noel in a low voice said to him, "dennis, how is it that any of us are left alive?"
-"indade, 'tis a wonder," answered dennis.
-"not so great, after all," remarked another soldier who was lying near the boys and had heard noel's question. "the waste of ammunition in a battle is something marvelous. our colonel told us that it takes almost a man's weight in lead to kill one soldier."
-"it doesn't seem so," said noel thoughtfully, "when you hear the volleys shrieking above your head or flying close to your ears, and when men, all excited and anxious, are trying to fire just as fast as they are able. it doesn't seem possible that so many can come alive out of a fight."
-"you must not forget," said the soldier, "that most of the men make no pretense at taking aim."
-"and i guess," suggested dennis, "that most of them don't. they act like they were aiming at nothin' and trying to hit it."
-"it is strange," said noel, "how still the wounded men were. i didn't hear many who were groaning or making any cry. the most of them were either limping off, or being carried to the rear, or they were lying down where they fell, all quiet and still."
-"the worst shock i got," suggested dennis, "was when i stumbled over the bodies of some of the dead boys. that shook my nerves and made me tremble like a leaf."
-by this time the army was stirring once more and preparations for the approaching day were being made. the great matter for rejoicing with noel and dennis was the fact that there had been no attack by the enemy during the preceding night.
-hasty arrangements were made for the burial of the dead. the young soldier was marvelously impressed by the peaceful expression of most of the upturned faces which he saw.
-the first question among the living, however, was, "where is the enemy?"
-in front of the fence which general ricketts's troops were still holding there was no sign of the confederates. indeed, a strange, almost unnatural, silence rested over the entire region. the little stretch between the men and the cornfield seemed to be entirely free from the presence of soldiers. there was a slight mist resting on the mountain-side and through this could be dimly seen the fallen dead of the enemy.
-with others noel had been designated to care for the bodies of his comrades who had been killed in the fight. as he was moving about among the rocks and stumps, suddenly, a slight, boyish form without any weapon and clad in the customary gray uniform of the confederate soldiers, was seen by noel kneeling over the body of a fallen man. to his inexpressible horror noel saw that the man was using his knife and trying to remove a ring from the finger of the dead soldier.
-startled by the approach of noel, the man suddenly looked up, and, instantly rising, said quickly, "don't shoot! don't shoot me! i vas your prisoner."
-the feeling of rage and disgust which had seized upon noel's heart quickly gave way when to his surprise he saw that the approaching man was none other than the little sutler, levi kadoff.
-startled as noel curtis was by the sight of the little sutler, whom he believed to be true to neither side, his feeling speedily gave way to a great rush of anger. almost unmindful of what he was doing, noel rushed upon levi and seizing him by his shoulders shook the little sutler until both he and his prisoner were nearly breathless.
-"you rascal! you little villain! what do you mean by this work? it's bad enough for you to be false to the living, but when you try to rob the dead! i'll try to see that you receive your just deserts!" shouted noel.
-"don't talk!" roared noel, again shaking his prisoner. "what are you doing here? how did you come?"
-unmindful of the fact that noel had forbidden his prisoner to speak, and yet at the same time had told him he must explain his presence and actions on the battle-field, he glared into the face of the breathless and frightened levi in a manner that increased the latter's terror.
-"i'll tell you," shouted noel, "what i'm going to do with you! i'm going to turn you over to the boys after i have told them that you were trying to cut the ring from the finger of one of the dead soldiers! i'll leave you with them. i guess they'll know what to do with you."
-"oh, do not! please do not! dey vill be very angry mit me."
-"do you really think so? maybe so. at all events, i'll turn you over and we'll see what comes."
-securing a firmer hold upon the shoulder of his little prisoner, noel speedily withdrew from the place and soon placed the miscreant in the hands of the proper authorities.
-only a partial explanation was given by the young soldier, and as he hastened back to his place on the field his anger against the little sutler soon was in a measure forgotten in the task that still confronted him.
-the division in which noel and dennis were fighting was on the flank of the union army. because of this fact they were not among the first to start in pursuit of the confederates that monday morning. it was necessary for the greater part of the army to cross south mountain by one road, the turnpike.
-noel, who had been greatly depressed by the struggle through which he had gone the preceding day, was surprised to find that dennis and many of his comrades were highly elated. they had succeeded in driving the rebels from the strong position which they had held on south mountain, and up its steep and rocky sides they had forced their way against fearful odds. if they could do so well where rocks and steep ascents had to be overcome, what might they not be able to do in the valley beyond the mountain?
-a spirit of confidence at this time, indeed, of overconfidence, as later events proved, possessed the soldiers. they had jumped to the conclusion already that general lee had been beaten, and therefore the overwhelming defeats suffered by the union army at bull run now were balanced.
-the rejoicing which had come to the army was modified somewhat when the men found that no response was given to their inquiry as to the whereabouts of the enemy. they were not aware that the confederates at this time had withdrawn beyond south mountain.
-in the presence of such scenes the bitterness of the struggle was almost forgotten, and the eyes of the dead, that were staring upward so fixedly in the gray of the morning hour, neither expressed nor aroused any emotion except sorrow.
-unaware of the cause, the young soldier's feelings were somewhat numb from the tension of the preceding hours. even levi now was almost forgotten and the husband of sairy ann's sister had faded from his thoughts.
-at last about ten o'clock, after many protests and much growling on the part of the boys in blue over what they were pleased to call an unnecessary delay, orders were received for the division to be marched toward boonesborough.
-noel and dennis were marching side by side, but the most of their comrades were unknown.
-as the men advanced, noel saw that the turnpike far ahead was filled with troops, artillery and wagons that were hurrying up the pass. the fields on either side were white with army wagons and far down the road that extended toward frederick city a moving, living, advancing tide of men was pushing steadily forward.
-suddenly some one broke into a song, and in a moment "maryland, my maryland" was taken up by the soldiers, although the words frequently changed to suit the feelings of the different singers. even noel, heavy-hearted as he was, smiled as he heard dennis shouting, "my maryland," with special emphasis upon the "my."
-"dennis, what are you doing?" inquired noel as the line halted for a brief respite.
-"you call that singing, do you?"
-"shure, and what is it, if it isn't singin'?"
-"that's what i wanted to find out. that was the reason why i asked my question. if you call it singing, why, i suppose i shall have to take your word for it."
-"'tis a beautiful country," said dennis as he surveyed the scene which extended far on either side. fertile fields and a rolling plateau that terminated in the distant hills appeared doubly beautiful in the soft light of that september day.
-at their next halt, which was at the home of a family that proved to be loyal to the union cause, the good woman of the house brought forth all the food she possessed and divided it among the soldiers.
-laughingly she was telling some of the boys in blue of one of her own relatives who had been in her home two days before the battle of south mountain. apparently all that he feared was that the demoralized army of the north, which had been driven from the peninsula and out of virginia, could not now be induced to enter into a contest.
-"we are going to wipe them out this time, once and for all," the man had said. "and then for philadelphia and new york! these yankees will find out for the first time what war means when we get into their country! as for maryland, we'll lose the last man before we'll retreat."
-before day broke that morning this woman had been aroused by a band of half-starved and weaponless men, clad in suits of ragged gray who stopped near her residence begging for food. a panic apparently had seized upon the men. she had heard one of these soldiers say that if he could only be taken prisoner he would be happy. in this crowd she had discovered the relative who confidently and positively had foretold the dire results of the coming battle for the yankees.
-"why, john, is that you?" she had inquired. "i thought you were going to philadelphia."
-"it's no use talking about that, aunt," he replied foolishly. "we have been badly whipped, and i don't know where a single man or a single gun of my battery can be found to-day."
-at this time a small body of men was seen approaching bearing a flag of truce. at its head rode a confederate surgeon in a gray uniform which had been highly ornamented. on the end of a stick, which he held high, was a white handkerchief. the surgeon was accompanied by four soldiers carrying a blood-stained stretcher, while in charge of the little band was one of the boys in blue. upon its arrival the leader requested to see the ranking official.
-in response to his expressed wish the surgeon was taken to general hooker and by him was granted permission to secure and bear off the body of one of the rebel colonels, who supposedly had fallen in the fight.
-the long waiting by the division continued. hunger as well as thirst now tormented the men. when the division at last moved forward, it was discovered that the advance then was to be to keedysville, about six miles distant.
-the little hamlet presented a strange appearance upon the arrival of the soldiers. the few stores and hotels were filled to overflowing with men clad in uniform. when night fell it seemed as if the train of wagons that steadily was moving past was almost unending. on the following day, when the men reached keedysville, their progress was halted by a counter-current of cavalry and artillery moving to the right of what later proved to be a great battle-field.
-at this time no one seemed to be positive as to just the position the enemy were occupying. many of the boys in their enthusiasm believed that they had fled across the potomac. such opinions, however, were met by those who believed that the armies were on the eve of a desperate conflict.
-when daylight came the following morning (wednesday september 17, 1862), a frequent discharge of artillery, apparently about two miles to the right, soon gave place to a roar that was incessant, and then every one in the army knew that a battle already was beginning. the straggling little village was filed with orderlies and officers rushing hither and thither on various duties.
-the division advanced until it was on the east side of the antietam creek. beyond, were the enemy, flanked by the potomac river. it seemed at first like an unfavorable position and one filled with deadly peril for the men in gray.
-at this time noel was not able to see any indication of a hidden force in the fields and woods opposite the position where his division had taken their stand. as yet, too, very few missiles had come as far as the place which he and his comrades were occupying. ambulances could now be seen carrying off the more desperately wounded, or on their way back to the field for their new freights of agony.
-the fighting seemed to be going on mostly on the right. the roar of the artillery and of the infantry became louder and more terrifying. as noel advanced with his comrades he passed improvised hospitals sheltered in a little valley. farmhouses and barns were all occupied now, and still the stretcher-bearers brought in from the front a constant and fresh addition of suffering men.
-it was no time for faint-heartedness, however. into the smoke and the din of battle, out of which the bleeding forms had come, noel and dennis must enter.
-so many were the stragglers from the field that the cavalry was brought up and stationed on the hagerstown turnpike and with drawn sabers prevented the withdrawal of any more.
-on his right noel saw troops drawn up in line of battle. on his left were other troops in a grove near the road. to his surprise as they advanced he saw some of the troops apparently falling back. a cry passed through the ranks that general hooker, who was in command of the division, had been wounded and that the right wing had been compelled to fall back. there were rumors also that the enemy far outnumbered the right wing and that there was great danger also for the left.
-beyond all that, stonewall jackson, a name that every yankee soldier had come to respect, had sheltered his reserves behind some rocky ledges and had thrown up long lines of fence-rail breastworks.
-a feeling of intense and bitter disappointment now took possession of the union men. the division was sent ahead and drawn up in line of battle on both sides of the hagerstown turnpike. it seemed at that moment as if the confederate soldiers were about to break through the army of the north and repeat the successes which they had won on the field of bull run.
-one of the batteries in noel's division had lost thirty-eight officers and men and twenty-eight horses. two of his comrades had tried to appease their desperate feeling of hunger by a hoe-cake which they had taken from the haversack of a dead rebel soldier. one general in the division had leaped forward in a critical moment and personally sighted the guns when the enemy was almost upon him. another general, of a different division, had ordered his brigade to advance, but he himself had remained behind.
-apparently matters once more were moving well, but just as dennis and noel were pushing with their comrades into some woods, they found themselves with others confronted by fresh troops who instantly stopped them with volleys so terrible that a retreat was unavoidable. neither noel nor dennis knew at this time that the battle of antietam really was nearly over. as yet, to both boys there seemed to have been set only the first act of the tragedy.
-on the left the din of battle had long been heard and out in front the cannon thundered, and every moment an attack was expected on the division where noel and dennis were.
-the cavalry now rested upon the ground in long lines. its ranks were somewhat broken and thin. steadily in their rear, the various reserves were being stationed to aid in resisting the attack which was expected. the men of each brigade in turn were stacking their arms and then were lying down.
-meanwhile the infantry, expecting the attack, rested on the ground in long lines. they were broken lines at the very best, and whenever noel and dennis glanced about them each felt a pang when he saw how many of the regiments, now gathered about the torn and bullet-riddled colors, were thin. at times, squads of men on the borders of the woods were seen, who were doubtless rebel pickets or persons who were curious, like some of the yankee soldiers.
-the captain walked down the lines in which noel and dennis were numbered. one of the men, holding up a large piece of pork on his sword, said, "look here, captain! this is the allowance of pork for my men. i guess i shall have to eat it all, as i am the only one left."
-at such a time many wild rumors have full swing. about four o'clock general mcclellan, with his staff, rides along the lines and is greeted with great enthusiasm by his men. the report now is that the union soldiers have been partly successful, the confederates having been driven back, although they are still holding firmly the new position which they have taken.
-an orderly stops for a word with dennis and noel. he shows a loaf of bread which he has obtained from a near-by farmhouse and a little piece of butter which he ingeniously has put in a hole cut in the loaf. all three, upon their comrade's invitation, sit down to enjoy the rare treat. the pleasure is increased by a cup of coffee, for the men now have been permitted to light fires by which to cook their rations. it looks very much as if the fighting for the day, at least, is ended.
-suddenly, about five o'clock, as abruptly as thunder is heard under a clear sky, a volley of shot and shell begins to strike or pass over and about the place where the men are gathered.
-before the officers are fairly able to mount their horses the thirty great guns, which have been waiting for this opportunity for hours, begin to sweep the woods and the cornfield with their deluge of shot and shell. the roar of the artillery soon is almost deafening. the thirty guns are being discharged one by one as rapidly as the men are able to load them. the little hillside actually shakes under the force of the shots. dennis murmurs, "faith! 'tis not only the hill, but the whole planet that's shaking like a leaf now."
-it is supposed that the fire of the rebels is introductory to an attack by their infantry. in view of this fact, the troops in front are notified to hold themselves in readiness, while those in the rear are called upon to fall in and to take their arms and advance closely to the crest of the hill and also to lie down there and to be ready for action at any moment. all the reserves are prepared and ready. the wagons now are drawn by galloping horses. the right wing is believed to be ready.
-general meade, who, after the wounding of general hooker, succeeds to the command of the corps, rides up to the crest of the hill on which noel and dennis are stationed and studies the position of the batteries of the enemy almost as coolly as if he were at a review. already there is a bullet-hole in his cap, but the quietness of the great leader in the midst of the confusion and peril is most impressive. he gives his orders to make ready for the storm.
-noel saw shots strike so close to his own comrades as to fling the dust over them. the heavy cannonading by the enemy continues for at least ten minutes, and it is with a great feeling of relief that noel, as he glances about him, is unable to see that any men had been killed or wounded. such artillery firing at long range is terrific to hear, but is seldom fatal.
-later it was learned from some of the prisoners that general jackson's plan had been to attack with his infantry after the heavy cannonading. just before sunset was his favorite hour for such an order. the tremendous fire of the union batteries, however, plainly showed him how well prepared his enemies were, and in a brief time his cannon ceased to play and the union guns also became silent.
-fighting by the right wing ceased when the cannonading stopped. when the officers were convinced that there had been an end to the immediate attempt, they permitted every man to bring from the neighboring farms bundles of straw with which beds were made, and, still in line of battle, all soon stretched themselves upon these improvised resting-places.
-the weary gunners tried to make themselves comfortable alongside their guns. the pickets were standing, with every sense alert, close to the rebel lines, and prepared to give instant warning should a night attack by the confederates be attempted. not an officer removed even his sword. the horses, tied to near-by fences, were standing saddled and ready for instant use.
-there was no tree above the heads of noel and dennis, and as they lay looking up at the stars, for the first time in twenty-four hours the tired boys were able to think of the experiences they had undergone. within a space of four square miles two hundred thousand men were lying. some of them were stiff and stark and with sightless eyes were looking up into the pitying heavens. some were stretched on beds in the improvised hospitals or lying wounded and bleeding under the trees. others, even in their sleep, are clasping the deadly weapons with which on the morrow they are expecting to renew the awful scenes of the day.
-it was long before daylight the following morning when the little hill upon which noel and dennis had been sleeping was alive with men preparing their simple breakfasts and getting ready for the fighting of the coming day.
-somehow there was a feeling of confidence among the soldiers that the day was to be marked with victory. they now had every opportunity to drive the rebels into the potomac, or perhaps to capture their entire army.
-but when sunrise came and hour after hour passed without any orders to advance, gradually a feeling of bitter disappointment took possession of the men. the day dragged on, the batteries still remained in position, and the infantry still were resting on their arms. in the position held by the enemy silence brooded throughout the day. it was nearly dark when orders came to be ready for action at sunrise on the morrow.
-with such information the growlers ceased their complaints and there was a common hope that the enemy would not escape.
-"'tis only put off one day," said dennis. "we'll either drive the johnnies into the potomac or carry them with us back to washington."
-the following day the men were aroused at three o'clock in the morning. there was no haste in the orders or in the movements of the men. they ate their breakfast and drank their coffee, and then all made ready for battle. but again the hours passed and there was no decisive action. at eight o'clock it was learned that the confederates had slipped away and had withdrawn across the potomac, and doubtless by this time were safely in virginia.
-the river into which the union soldiers had believed they would drive their enemies had now become the best defense of lee's army. the battles of south mountain and antietam were robbed of any decisive significance. it is true that lee's advance into the north was blocked, and that he was compelled to turn back to defend the rebel capital, but he had shown his skill by successfully evading his foes and at the same time protecting his army as he withdrew.
-the following day was sunday. all signs of storms had passed, and not since the union army had departed from washington had finer marching weather been seen.
-the sound of distant cannonading once more revived the hope that general mcclellan would follow the retiring confederates and that another battle would soon be fought. the roar of the great guns, however, was merely a harmless artillery duel across the river.
-the hours of the long day dragged on and still the men were not ordered to advance. the lack of action was beginning to tell strongly upon their spirits and there were many complaints to be heard now on every side over the meaningless, or at least the misunderstood, delay.
-it was eleven o'clock at night before it was reported that orders had been received for the corps to advance to harper's ferry the following day. but the following day came and went, and in turn was followed by other days until a month had passed and the advance still was postponed. the battle-field was still the scene of the camp, and it was only after some time had elapsed that the soldiers understood that they had been left to help guard the potomac so that general lee might not attempt to cross it again and try another battle.
-the terrible excitement and fatigue, the privations and the continued strain upon the nerves and feelings of the men were followed now by a calm and monotony that was most deadly. once a week each soldier was on guard, taking his turn as a sentinel. part of each day was given to drill. at sunset there was a brief parade, but the rest of the day was largely his own.
-because of such conditions the soldiers were exposed to many temptations, and in spite of the sorrow which followed the battle of antietam there were many pranks being played.
-one day, which was unusually warm, noel had been sent to the quartermaster's office on some errand for his colonel. he was standing behind an improvised desk and consequently was partly hidden from the sight of any one who entered.
-in the midst of his task of copying certain details which his colonel desired he was startled by the sound of a familiar voice. without being seen he peered from behind his stand and saw that levi kadoff had entered the quartermaster's place.
-"ish dis de quartermaister's office?" inquired the sutler timidly.
-"it is," replied the officer in charge.
-"vell, mr. quartermaister, i chust got mine sutler's goots and i vant von place vere i shall sell dose dings to the soldiers. you gife me von place, hey?"
-"it is against my orders, sir, to give permission to anybody to put up tents or houses for the sale of goods of any kind."
-"i vill not take mooch room for dese leedle dings," pleaded levi.
-"come back and see me later."
-"ven i comes?"
-"about an hour."
-"vell, captain, i comes chust as you say. i send you some of mine fine goots."
-true to his word not long afterwards a basket, with a card attached bearing the following address, was received,--
-"to captain vesh, qr. maister."
-levi had departed before noel had been able to make any protest. confident that he would return, however, he explained to captain vesh what levi's former dealings had been and also expressed his surprise that the little sutler had not been hanged.
-in a brief time levi again appeared, and as he entered the office he said smilingly, "vell, captain, i comes to look at dot leedle place vot ve spoke about dis morning."
-"what place, sir?"
-"vy, dot place vat you give me to put up von leedle dent vere i sells mine goots."
-"you must be mistaken, sir. i told you distinctly that we did not grant any such privileges."
-"vell, now, captain, look at dis. dis morning i sends you von fine basket which costs me sixteen dollars mit de wholesale."
-"you thought you would bribe me, did you?" replied the quartermaster in apparent anger. "now, i'll give you two hours to get out of this place."
-as levi turned to depart, he obtained a glimpse of noel's face and fled precipitately.
-nor was noel afterward able to learn the fate of the little sutler. apparently each side had taken him as friendly to itself, or else the crafty little trader had persuaded both that the charges against him were untrue. whether he was hanged as a spy, shot as a deserter, or was able to continue his nefarious trading with the soldiers was a mystery which never was made clear.
-the husband of sairy ann's sister, noel later discovered among the wounded prisoners, and in return for the help which he himself had received, he was able in many ways to aid the wounded man.
-the continually repeated question among the men, "when do we move?" was not answered until a month or more had elapsed. then, when the army was moved to harper's ferry, noel there learned that his brother frank had been among the prisoners taken by the confederates and sent to libby prison. disheartening as the information was, it did not decrease the interest of noel when late in october his division was ordered to move toward virginia.
-it was plain now that the campaign was to be transferred again to the state in which noel and frank had had their first experiences in the army. the enthusiasm of dennis was great, and in his loudest tones he joined in the song of the men when they departed from harper's ferry,--
-"john brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, his soul is marching on."
-the boys in blue were somewhat cast down, but not despairing. the union army had outnumbered the confederates nearly two to one in the recent battle of antietam.
-among the subordinate union commanders there had been great energy displayed, but no one was able to escape the conclusion that on the federal side the battle had been badly fought and many great opportunities had been neglected.
-in the battle of antietam the federals had lost more than twelve thousand men and their enemies ninety-five hundred. all the troops of the latter had been engaged in the fight, but only about two thirds of the union army had seriously entered into the struggle.
-in a measure the friends of the union were content that lee's threatening invasion of the north had been thwarted. the great southern general had fought a pitched battle, but had not destroyed his foe. there was no escape, however, from the conclusion that lee's plan to invade the north had failed, and that the struggle now was to return to virginia soil, a fact which dennis o'hara and noel curtis and his brother soon were to learn.
-dr. tomlinson's books
-the american boy will never tire of reading tales of the early colonial days and especially of the desperate encounters and struggles of the colonists with the natives of the forest.
-dr. tomlinson has read widely and has collected a mass of incident through family tradition and otherwise, which he has skillfully incorporated in the historical frameworks of several exceedingly interesting and instructive stories. he has the knack of mixing history with adventure in such a way as to make his young readers absorb much information while entertaining them capitally. his historical tales are filled with an enthusiasm which it is well to foster in the heart of every healthy-minded and patriotic american boy.
-the plots are all based upon events that actually occurred; and the boy heroes play the part of men in a way to capture the hearts of all boy readers. dr. tomlinson shows scrupulous regard for the larger truths of history, and the same care that would naturally go into a book for older readers.
-the boys of old monmouth
-a story of washington's campaign in new jersey in 1778.
-a jersey boy in the revolution
-this story is founded upon the lives and deeds of some of the humbler heroes of the american revolution.
-in the hands of the redcoats
-a tale of the jersey ship and the jersey shore in the days of the revolution.
-under colonial colors
-a lieutenant under washington
-a tale of brandywine and germantown.
-the rider of the black horse
-a spirited revolutionary story following the adventures of one of washington's couriers.
-the red chief
-a story of the massacre at cherry valley, of brant, the mohawk chief, and of the revolution in upper new york state.
-marching against the iroquois
-an exciting story based on general sullivan's expedition into the country of the iroquois in 1779.
-light horse harry's legion
-a stirring story of fights with marauding tories on the jersey pine barrens.
-the camp-fire of mad anthony
-this story covers the period between 1774 and 1776 and follows the adventures of the pennsylvania troops under "mad anthony" wayne.
-mad anthony's young scout
-a story of the winter of 1777-1778.
-the champion of the regiment
-an absorbing story of the siege of yorktown, with noah dare, so well known to tomlinson readers, for hero.
-the young hero joins the garrison at sacket's harbor, is sent on an expedition down the st. lawrence, and takes part in mcdonough's victory on lake champlain.
-the young sharpshooter
-the experiences of a boy in the peninsular campaign of 1862, under mcclellan.
-the young sharpshooter at antietam
-deals with lee's invasion of maryland in 1862, relating further exciting adventures of noel, the young sharpshooter.
-young americans in the british isles.
-by oliver onions
-author of "gray youth," "in accordance with the evidence," "debit account," etc., etc.
-george h. doran company new york
-publishers in america for hodder & stoughton
-copyright, 1914, by george h. doran company
-the kindnesses i have received in wales during the past six years have been innumerable; indeed, much of my work has consisted of writing down (and not always improving) things told me by one of my hosts. for this and other reasons i should like to render him such acknowledgment as a dedication may express. "mushroom town" is therefore inscribed, in gratitude and affection, to
-arthur ashley ruck
-"there you are: llanyglo. you see it from up here almost as the gulls and razorbills see it. the bay's a fine curve, isn't it?--rather like a strongly blown kite-string; and the promenade's nearly two miles long. but as you see, the town doesn't go very far back. from the imperial there to the railway station and the gasometers at the back isn't much more than half a mile; the town seems to press down to the front just as the horses draw the bathing-vans down to the tide. shall we sit down? here's a boulder. it's chipped all over with initials, of course; so are the benches, and even the turf; but you'd wonder that there was a bit of wood or stone or turf left at all if you saw the crowds that come here when the wakes are on. it's odd that you should never see anybody actually cutting them. some of them must have taken an hour or two with a hammer and chisel, but i've been up here countless times and never seen anybody at it yet.
-"yes, that's llanyglo; but look at the mountains first. this isn't the best time of the day for seeing them; the morning or the evening's the best time; the sun isn't far enough round yet. but sometimes, when the light's just right, they start out into folds and wrinkles almost as quickly as you could snap your fingers--it's quite dramatic. foels and moels and pens and mynedds, look--half the north cambrian range. you couldn't have a better centre for motor-cycle and char-à-banc tours than llanyglo.... then on the other side's the sea. that's only a tinny sort of glitter just now, but you should see the moon rise over it. people come out from the concerts on the pier-head just to have a look....
-"the pier looks tiny from up here? yes, but it's three furlongs long for all that, and those two tart-tin-looking things at the end hold nearly a thousand people apiece. but, as you say, it is rather like one of those children's toy railways they sell on the stalls in gardd street for sixpence-halfpenny. and that always strikes me as rather a curious thing about llanyglo. it's a big place now--nine thousand winter population; but somehow it has a smaller look than it had when it was just a score of cottages, all put together not much bigger than the kursaal gardens there. i don't know why the cottages should have seemed more in scale with the mountains than all this, but they did. i suppose it was because they didn't set up for anything, like the kursaal and the majestic and the imperial.... but it doesn't do to tell the llanyglo folk that. they look at it in quite another way. to them the sea and the mountains are so many adjuncts, something they can turn into money by dipping people at sixpence a time and motoring them round at four-and-sixpence the tour.... and sometimes you can't help thinking that it wouldn't take very much (a wind a bit stronger than usual or an extra heave of the sea, say) and all these hundreds of thousands of pounds' worth of stone and iron and paint and gilding would just disappear--be sponged out like the castles and hoof-marks on the sands when the tide comes in--or like a made-up face when you wipe the carmine and pencilling from it.... eh?--no, i'm not saying they've spoiled the place--nor yet that they haven't. you mustn't come here if you want a couple of miles of beach to yourself. it all depends how you look at it. if llanyglo's cheapjack in one way, perhaps it isn't in another. it's merely that i remember it as it used to be....
-"would it surprise you to learn that the whole place is only about thirty years old? that's all. it grew like a mushroom; there are people who were born here who don't know their way about their own town.... mostly welsh? oh dear no, not by any means. i should say about half-and-half. i suppose you're thinking of the welsh names of the streets? they don't mean very much. there's gardd street, for instance; 'gardd' is only the welsh for 'garden,' and edward garden, john willie garden's father, built the greater part of it (for that matter, he built the greater part of llanyglo). and if anybody called wood (say) had put up a house here, he'd probably have called it 'ty coed.' and some of it, of course, is genuine welsh. the porth neigr road does go to porth neigr, and sarn, over there, has always been sarn. but people think they're getting better value for their money if they come away for a fortnight and see foreign names everywhere; they've a travelled sort of feeling; so they give the streets these names, and print all the placards in two columns, with 'rhybudd' on one side and 'notice' on the other.
-"and that's given rise to one rather amusing little mistake. as you know, this headland that we're on is called the trwyn, and 'trwyn' simply means a nose or a promontory. but over past the lighthouse there, there are the remains of an old dinas, a british camp, and half these lancashire trippers think the headland's called after that--'t'ruin'--'th' ruin'--you know how they talk....
-"i'm interested in the place for several reasons (not money ones, i'm sorry to say). for one thing, i like to watch the welsh and lancashire folk together; that's been very amusing. and then, it's not often you get the chance of seeing a whole development quite so concisely epitomised as we've had it here. llanyglo started from practically nothing, and it's grown to this before john willie garden has a single grey hair on his head (though, to be sure, that cowslip colour doesn't show grey very much). then there's that curious essence--i don't know what you call it--the thing a town would still keep even though you cleared every brick away and built it all over again, and sent every inhabitant packing and re-peopled it. there's a field for speculation there, too, though perhaps not a very profitable one. but most of all i've been interested in seeing what various sets of people have given llanyglo, and what it's given to them in return--how the stones and the people have taken colour from one another, if you understand me, and what colour--in fact (if it doesn't sound a little pompous) in llanyglo as an expression of the life of our time. it's sometimes hard to believe that something almost human hasn't got into its stone and paint and mortar. the whole place, as it's spread out down there now--two-mile line of front, houses, hotels, railway, gasometers and all--has had almost a personal birth, and adolescence, and growing-pains, and sown its wild oats, and has its things that it tells and its things that it doesn't tell, in an extraordinary way--or else, as i say, it seems extraordinary, because you get it all into a single focus. there may even be a bit of me in llanyglo. if you came half a dozen times there'd be a bit of you too.
-"i should like you to meet john willie garden. he's the man to go to if you want to know anything about these streets and hotels and the seaside and the stations on the front. why not come to the kursaal, on the terrace, at about nine to-night?--good. he's a capital chap; a something or other on the manchester chamber of commerce, adopted conservative free trade candidate for his division (but a protectionist in other countries) and probably worth a quarter of a million, a good deal of it out of llanyglo. not bad for a little turned forty, eh? he'll probably ask you to dinner. you can't see his house from here; it stands back from gardd street. it was the first house to go up in llanyglo--no, i'm forgetting. there was one before it--just one before it, not counting the original cottages, of course....
-"what do you say to a turn? we've time to have a look at the dinas before we go down....
-"it's british, and the sixpenny guide will tell you all that's known about it--possibly more. its foundations are said to have been sprinkled with the blood of merlin. what's left of it's certainly sprinkled with these everlasting initials. the trwyn light's just behind, two reds and a white, and they're experimenting with the rocket apparatus, but i don't think that will come to much.--there's little porth neigr, look--and that point thirty miles away's abercelyn....
-"now the mountains are beginning to show; there they are--delyn on the left, then moel eryr, then mynedd mawr. that's penyffestyn, with the great cavity in his side, and his shadow's right across bwlch.... yes, very fine, and a perfect evening for it. the posters at euston don't overstate it, do they? of course, you've seen that very familiar one, of a welsh giantess, shawl, apron, steeple hat and all the lot, holding a view of llanyglo in her arms? pink hotels, indigo mountains and chrome-yellow sands....
-"the mountains are dark now, but how the day lingers on the sea! to-night it's like ribbon-grass.... hear the post-horns? those are the chars-à-bancs coming in. the last tripper's running for the station now.... now the light's dying on the sea; it's a new moon and a spring tide. two or three riding-lights only--i say, it's solemn out there.... but they'll be dining at the majestic presently. that long golden haze is gardd street, and that spangle at the end of it's the new bazaar. there goes the big wheel in the kursaal gardens, with its advertisement on it. we might look in at the dancing hall to-night; that's rather a sight. they have firework displays in the grounds, too, and last year there was one out in the bay; they put bombs and flares and serpents on rafts, and laid them from boats, like mines. that was in honour of the investiture of the prince of wales....
-"we'd better take the tram down, i think; we might stumble and break our necks....
-"the other turnstile.--that kiosk place? that's the visitors' bureau. they'll tell you quite a number of useful things there--cab fares, porters' charges, time and tide tables, excursions and so on; but john willie garden can tell you more interesting things than those. don't forget you're to meet him to-night....
-"you're sure you can't dine with me? very well. the kursaal, then, on the terrace, at a quarter to nine...."
-the year dot
-on a friday afternoon in the june of the year 1880, a roomy old shandrydan, midway between a trap and a wagonette, moved slowly along the porth neigr and llanyglo road. it had been built as a pair-horse vehicle for squire wynne, of plas neigr, but the door at the back of it now bore the words, "royal hotel, porth neigr," and its present or some intermediate owner had converted it to the use of a single horse. the shaky-kneed old brown animal at present between the shafts might have had a spirit-level inside him, so unerringly did he become aware when the road departed by as much as a fraction from the true horizontal. taking the good with the bad, he was doing a fair five miles an hour. at each of its revolutions the off hind-wheel gave a dry squeak like a pair of boots that has not been paid for.
-the day was warm, and hay was cutting. combings of hay striped the hedges where the carts had passed, and as the royal hotel conveyance was so wide that it had to draw in in order to allow anything else to pass it, wisps had lodged also in the cords of the great pile of boxes and brown tin trunks that occupied the forward part of it. honeysuckle tangled the hedge-tops; the wild roses were out below; and in the ditches the paler scabious was of the colour of the sky, the deeper that of the mountains towards which the old horse lazily clop-clopped.
-the pile of trunks in front hid the driver and the two print-skirted and black-jacketed young women who sat beside him from those inside the vehicle. these two young women were two of mrs. garden's domestics, and they travelled far more comfortably than did their mistress. packed up by her bustle behind, on her right by her seven-years-old daughter who slept with her head on her shoulders, on her left by the angle of the trap, and in front by the hamper, the three or four straw basses, the cardboard boxes, the hold-all of sticks and umbrellas, with a travelling-rug thrown in (all of which articles she strove to balance on her short, steep lap), she could only perspire. her husband, who sat opposite, could see no more of her than the top of her hen's-tail, lavender bonnet. even this he shut out when he took up, now his newspaper (every line of which he had read twice), and now his daughter's little folks (for the inspection of which periodical, though the print was much bigger than that of the newspaper, he put on his gold-rimmed glasses). the smell of his excellent cigar mingled with the scents of the roses and hay, and trailed like an invisible wake a hundred yards behind.
-the political collapse
-to say nothing of the looseness of the generalisation, which ignores alike thomas aquinas and vico, leonardo and galileo, machiavelli and giordano bruno, it may suffice to note once more that on this principle the germans must be pronounced to have been devoid of theoretical faculty before leibnitz. on that view it does not become any more intelligible how "they" acquired it.
-the history of italian religious life shows that the spirit of sheer reformation in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was stronger there than even in france in the sixteenth, where again it was perhaps positively stronger than in germany, though not stronger relatively to the resistance. and in italy the resistance was personified in the papacy, which there had its seat and strength. when all is said, however, the facts remain that in england the reformation meant sordid spoliation, retrogression in culture, and finally civil war; that in france it meant long periods of furious strife; that in germany, where it "prospered," it meant finally a whole generation of the most ruinous warfare the modern world had seen, throwing back german civilisation a full hundred years. save for the original agony of conquest and the special sting of subjection to alien rule, italy suffered in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries less evils than these.
-the lesson of our retrospect, then, is: (1) generally, that as between medieval italian development and that of other countries--say our own--there has been difference, not of "race character" and "faculty," but of favouring and adverse conditions; and (2) particularly, that certain social evils which went on worsening in florence and are in some degree present in all societies to-day, call for scientific treatment lest they go on worsening with us. the modern problem is in many respects different from that of pre-reformation italy; but the forces concerned are kindred, and it may be worth while to note the broad facts of the past process with some particularity.
-while florence thus held out, other cities sought safety in one-man-power, choosing some noble as "captain of the people" and setting him above the magistrates. thus pagano della torre, a guelph, became war-lord of milan, and his brothers succeeded him, till the office came to be looked on as hereditary, and other cities inclined to choose the same head. and so astutely egotistic was the action of all the forces concerned, that when the guelph house of della torre thus became unmanageably powerful, the papacy did not scruple to appoint to the archbishopric of milan an exiled ghibelline, visconti. "henceforward," says sismondi, "the rivalry between the families of della torre and visconti made that between the people and the nobles almost forgotten." the visconti finally defeated the other faction, made milan ghibelline, and became its virtual rulers.
-on the other hand, the entrance of a french army under charles of anjou, called in by a french pope to conquer the ghibelline realm of the two sicilies (1266), put a due share of wrong to the account of the guelphs, the french power standing for something very like barbarism. its first achievement was to exterminate the saracen name and religion in sicily. on its heels came a new irruption from germany, in the person of conradin, the claimant of the imperial succession, to whom joined themselves pisa and siena, in opposition to their big neighbour and enemy florence, and the people of rome itself, at quarrel with their pope, who had left the city for viterbo. by conradin's defeat the french power became paramount; and then it was that the next pope, gregory x, sought to restore the ghibellines as counterpoise: a policy pursued by his successor, to the end, however, of substituting (1278) papal for imperial claims over italy. even florence at his wish recalled her ghibellines. but then came the forced election of another french pope, who acted wholly in the french interest, and re-exiled everywhere the ghibellines: a process speedily followed in turn by the "sicilian vespers," involving the massacre and expulsion of the french, and introducing a spanish king as representative of the imperial line. again the papacy encouraged the other power, relieving charles ii, as king of naples, from his treaty oath, and set him upon making a war with sicily, which dragged for twenty-four years. such were the main political features of the italy of dante. the papacy, becoming a prize of the leading roman families, played a varying game as between the two monarchies of the south and their partisans in the north; and the minor cities, like the greater, underwent chronic revolutions. still, so abundant was the italian outflow of intellectual and inventive energy, so substantial was the general freedom of the cities, and so soundly was the average regimen founded on energetic agriculture and commerce, that wealth abounded on all hands.
-with the new french invasion (1302) under charles of valois, called in by boniface viii to aid him against sicily, a partially new stage begins. charles was received at florence as the typical guelph; but, being counselled by the pope to pacify tuscany to his own advantage, allied himself with the ultra-guelphs, the neri, gave up to plunder, the proceeds of which he pocketed, the houses of the other or pro-ghibelline faction, the bianchi, and enforced the execution or exile of its leading men, including dante. then came the election of a strictly french pope and his establishment at avignon. a new lease being now given to faction, the cities rapidly lapsed into the over-lord system as the only means of preserving order; and when in 1316 a new emperor, henry vii, presented himself for homage and claimed to place an imperial vicar in each city, most were well disposed to agree. when however henry, like charles, showed himself mainly bent on plunder, demanding 100,000 florins from milan and 60,000 from genoa, he destroyed his prestige. he had insisted on the recall of all exiles of either party; but all united against his demands, save the pisans, who had sent him 60,000 florins in advance. his sudden death, on his way to fight the forces of naples, left everything in a new suspense, save that pisa, already shorn of maritime power, was soon eclipsed, after setting up a military tyranny as a last resort.
-rome, popeless, and domineered over by warring nobles, had its brief vision of a republic under the dreamer cola di rienzi, who at last fell by the hand of the masses whom he had for a brief space hypnotised. neither he nor they were meet for the destiny they fain would have fulfilled; and had people and leader alike been worthier, they would ultimately have failed to master the forces joined against them. rienzi's brief, and on some sides remarkably vigorous, administration in 1346-47 was not wholly unworthy of his ideal of "the good estate"; he seems, indeed, to have ruled the roman territory with an efficiency that recalled the ancient state; and his early successes against the nobles tell of unexpected weakness on their side and energy on that of the people. his dream of an italian federation, too, remains to prove that he was no mere mob-leader. but had he been as stable in purpose and policy as he was heady and capricious, and had the roman populace been as steadfast as it was turbulent, the forces of division represented by the nobles and the papacy would ultimately have overthrown any republican polity. what florence could not compass, rome could not maintain. two centuries before, arnold of brescia had fallen, after fifteen years of popularity, as soon as pope and emperor joined hands against him; and the papalism of rienzi was as fatal to him as anti-papalism had been to arnold. had rienzi had his way, the pope would have at once returned to rome; and where the papacy was, no republic could endure, however strong and sober were its head. and rienzi was not sober. after his overthrow in 1347 and his seven years of wandering exile, he was restored solely by the choice and as the agent of the pope at avignon; and his death in a tumult after four months of renewed office was the end of his cause.
-in florence the disintegration went on apace. a new emperor, charles iv, charged the city 100,000 florins (1355) for her immunities, leaving all men hopeless as ever of the empire as a political solution; and when the crimes of the viscontis drove cities and papacy to call charles in against them (1368), he did but use the opportunity to levy blackmail wherever he went. later (1375), the papacy combined with florence against the reigning visconti, but only to betray its ally. and now occurred what for a time must have seemed a vital revolution in italian affairs; the infuriated florentines suddenly allying themselves with visconti, the enemy of the day before, against the treacherous pope, and framing a league with siena, lucca, and pisa against the church that florence had so long sustained. eighty towns in ten days drove out their legates; and furious reprisals broke out on all hands, till the very pope at avignon was fain to come to stay the universal warfare. now, however, an aristocratic and papalist party in florence bitterly opposed "the eight" who managed the war, the aristocracy having gravitated to the papal side; and at length exhaustion and the absolute instability of all alliances brought about a peace in which most of the cities, freed from the papacy--now become an affair of two mutually anathematising heads--fell once more under local tyrants. in the hour of extreme need the papacy was, if possible, a worse influence than the emperor; nowhere was to be found a force of stability save in the tyrannies, which were merely unstable with a difference.
-florence, still republican and still obstinately prosperous, stood as a strange anomaly in the general transformation. but she had now reached the stage when the long-ignored populace--the multitude beneath the popolo--made up of handworkers with no nominal incorporation or franchise, was able to press its claims as against the other orders, which in turn were divided, as of old, by the jealousies between the major and minor middle-class guilds and between the new nobility of capital and their former equals. refused the status of incorporation, the ciompi ("chums" or "mates," from the french compère) made their insurrection in turn, finding for the nonce in a wool-carder a leader of the best quality the time could show, who carried his point, was chosen head magistrate, enforced order among his own partisans, and established a new magistracy, with three representatives of the major arts, three of the minor (1378).
-what had happened was the attainment of the capitalistic stage and the enthronement of capital in the republican state. in place of strifes between wealth and nobility there had arisen the strife of capital and labour, the new aristocracy of wealth having in large part taken the place of that of descent. the latter transition had occurred nearly simultaneously in the other remaining republics. genoa had substituted factions with the names of new wealthy families for the old. in siena, where the bourgeoisie dispossessed the nobles, they were in turn assailed by "reformers" of the lower class, who were finally defeated in battle and exiled wholesale (1385). meantime the hereditary tyrants of milan, the visconti, with their singular continuity of capacity, had grown stronger than ever, had built up a native and scientific military system, and more than ever menaced all their neighbours. florence called in aid successively from germany and france (1390-91); but the milanese army triumphed over all; and the skilled adventurer sir john hawkwood, the hired general of the florentine troops, could not hold his ground. the emperor, as usual, was satisfied to take payment for non-intervention; and the reigning visconti, gian galeazza, invested by the emperor with the titles of duke of mantua and count of pavia, and the lordship of twenty-six cities, had by the year 1402 further compassed, by all manner of fraud and force, the mastery of pisa, perugia, genoa, siena, lucca, and bologna, dying of the plague at the height of his power. his sons being boys, his power broke up among his generals, to be in large part recovered later, however, by his second son, who first assassinated the elder.
-at this stage venice once more intervenes, taking up the cause of verona against the tyrant of padua, whom, having defeated him by her carefully-chosen and supervised mercenaries, she put to death (1406). he had been the ally of florence; but florence let him fall, being now wholly bent on reconquering pisa, her natural seaport. pisa, in turn, always invincibly opposed to florentine rule, was on commercial grounds backed by genoa, now under the nominal rule of a representative of the king of france, who, however, sought to sell pisa to the florentines, and did receive from them 200,000 florins. still resisting, the pisans recalled an exile to lead them; and he in turn sold them for 50,000 florins, this time to their complete undoing. refusing all florentine favours, the bulk of the ruling middle-class abandoned the city for ever, taking much of its special commerce with them. meantime, the kingdom of naples, under an energetic king, ladislaus, had acquired most of the states of the distracted church, menaced florence, and was pressing her hard, despite french support, when ladislaus died (1414). by this time the new visconti was establishing himself at milan by means of mercenaries, commanded for him by well-chosen captains. six times were the florentines defeated by his forces; till his capable general, carmagnola, whom he had disgraced, revealed to the council of venice his master's intention to attack them; and venice joined florence to crush the tyrant. carmagnola, acting slackly, met ill success, and was therefore executed by his venetian masters. but the visconti too finally died defeated, leaving his power to a new adventurer, francesco sforza, who had married his daughter, and had fought both for and against him in the endless imbroglio of italian conspiracy.
-florentine republicanism was now near its euthanasia. by the fatal law of empire, the perpetual enterprise of destroying other men's freedom left florence unfit to use or to defend her own; and the tyrants of pisa became meet for the yoke of tyranny. the family of medici, growing rapidly rich, began to use the power of capital as elsewhere less astute adventurers used the power of the sword. from the overthrow of the ciompi party in 1382 to 1434, the republic had been ruled by a faction of the new commercial aristocracy with substantial unity; and the period is claimed as the most prosperous, intellectually and materially, though not the most progressive, in florentine history.
-cosimo de' medici, descendant of a democrat, was grown too rich to be one in his turn; and between him and the albizzi, who led the ruling faction, there grew up one of the old and typical jealousies of power-seekers. exiled by a packed balia, cosimo's wealth enabled him to turn the tables in a year and exile his exilers, taking their place and silently absorbing their power. "the moment was come when the credit of the medici was to prevail over the legal power of the florentine signoria." thus when the visconti died, cosimo and the doge of venice combined their forces to prevent the recovery of the republican independence of milan, whose middle class, divided by their own jealousies, speedily succumbed to the fraud and force of sforza, the visconti's heir.
-for thirty years cosimo maintained at florence, by the power of capital, prosperity and peace under the semblance of the old constitution, the richer of the ever-renewed capitalist class accepting his primacy, while the populace, being more equitably governed than of yore under the old nobility, and being steadily prosperous, saw no ground for revolt. capital as "tyrant" had in fact done what the tyrants of early greece and rome are presumed to have often done--favoured the people as against the aristocracy; cosimo's liberality giving employment and pay at the same time to the artisans and to the scholars. under cosimo and his political colleagues, doubtless, the subject cities were corruptly governed; but florence seems to have been discreetly handled. attempts to break the capitalistic domination came to nothing, save the exile or at a pinch the death of the malcontents.
-as regards fiscal policy, it may be interesting to note that in florence taxes had been imposed alternately on capital or income from the thirteenth century onwards, both being taken at the lowest values, and rated at from one-half to three per cent. according to the estimo (esquiron de parieu, traité des impôts, 2e édit. 1866, i, 417). these taxes in turn were probably suggested by the practice of ancient athens, where extraordinary revenue for war purposes was obtained "partly from voluntary contributions, partly from a graduated income or property tax." in 1266 a fresh income-tax of ten per cent. on an already heavily taxed city incited the decisive rising against the rule of the ghibelline count guido. the earlier historians of florence, like most others, pay little attention to the history of taxation; but details emerge for the later period.
-slowly the monarchic powers closed in; france, after several campaigns, decisively defeated and captured lodovico sforza, lord of milan, and proceeded by a secret treaty with spain to partition the kingdom of naples--a rascals' bargain, which ended in a quarrel and in the destruction of two french armies; spain remaining master of naples and the sicilies, while france held the milanese and liguria, including genoa. for a few years cesare borgia flared across the italian sky, only to fall with his great purposes unfulfilled; and still the foreign powers encroached. france, with swiss support, proceeded in turn to make war on venice; and the emperor, the pope, spain, and the smaller neighbouring despots, joined in the attack. against these dastardly odds the invincible oligarchy of venice held out, till pope julius, finding his barbarian friends worse than his italian enemies, changed sides, joined the republic, and after many reverses got together an anti-french league of english, swiss, and spanish. finally the emperor betrayed his french allies, who were once more driven out of italy, leaving their ally, florence, to fall into the hands of the spaniards (1512).
-the curtain now falls rapidly on every form of "independence" in italy. pope clement vii, freed of his barbarian conquerors, sent them against florence, which fell in a fashion not unworthy of its great republican tradition, after tasting three final years of its ancient and thrice-forfeited "freedom." with the dying machiavelli to frame the ordinances of her revived military system, and michel angelo to construct her last fortifications, she had in her final effort bound up with her name as a republic two of the greatest italian names of the age of the renaissance. then came the vengeance of the medicean pope, clement vii, the ducal tyranny, and the end of a great period.
-what they and we may truly claim is that in the modern state, freed from the primal curse of fratricidal strife between cities and provinces, the totality of "good life," no less than of industrial and commercial life, is far greater than of old, even if signal genius be less common. to contrast the genoa of to-day with the old city-state is to realise how peace can liberate human effort. the city of petrarch, columbus, and mazzini has no recent citizen of european fame; but since a wealthy son bequeathed to her his huge fortune (1875), she has become the chief port of italy, passing some forty per cent. of the total trade of the country. the fact that half her imports, in weight, consist of coal, tells of the main economic disadvantage of modern italy as compared with the chief northern countries; but the modern development of industry is all the more notable. under a system of general free trade, it might go much further.
-the fact remains that modern italy is no such intellectual beacon-light among the nations as she was in the "old, unhappy, far-off times"; and upon this the historical sentimentalist is prone to moralise. but there is no perceptible reason why the new life, well managed, should not yield new intellectual glories; and the latterday intellectual renaissance of italy may one day take its place in the historic retrospect as no less notable than that of the days of strife.
-the fortunes of the lesser european states
-the ideas of nationality and national greatness
-it lies on the face of the foregoing surveys that the principle which gives mass-form to all politics--to wit, the principle of nationality--makes at once for peace and war, co-operation and enmity. as against the tendency to atomism, the tribal principle supplies cohesion; as against tribalism, the principle of the state plays the same part; and as against oppression the instinct of race or nationality inspires and sustains resistance. but in every aggregate, the force of attraction tends to generate a correlative repulsion to other aggregates, and--save for the counterplay of class repulsions--the fundamental instinct of egoism takes new extensions in pride of family, pride of clan, pride of nation, pride of race. until the successive extensions have all been rectified by the spirit of reciprocity, politics remains so far unmoralised and unrationalised.
-the nullity of the conception of "race genius" has been forced on us at every meeting with it. no less clear, on a critical analysis, is the irrationality of the instinct of racial pride which underlies that conception, and which is involved in perhaps half of the strifes of tribes, states, and nations. yet perhaps most of the reflections made by historical writers in the way of generalisations of the history of states and peoples are in terms of the fallacy and the irrationality in question. and the instinctive persistence of both reveals itself when we come to reflect on the fortunes of what we usually call the little nations--employing a term which at once sets up a whole series of partial hallucinations.
-the main distinction between civilised nations being difference of language, there has spontaneously arisen the habit of identifying language with "race," and regarding a dwindling tongue as implying a dwindling people. in the british islands, for instance, the decline in the numbers of the people speaking celtic dialects--the erse, the welsh, and the gaelic--leads many persons, including some of the speakers of those tongues, to regard the "celtic stock" as in course of diminution; and statesmen speak quasi-scientifically of "the celtic fringe" as representing certain political tendencies in particular. yet as soon as we substitute the comparatively real test of name-forms for the non-test of language, we find that the welsh and gaelic-speaking stocks have enormously extended within the english-speaking population, so that "welsh blood" is very much commoner in britain than "saxon," relatively to the proportions between the areas and populations of wales and england, while "highland blood" is relatively predominant in "saxon"-speaking scotland; and "irish blood" is almost similarly abundant even in england, to say nothing of its immense multiplication in the united states.
-enthusiasm for one's nation as such thus begins on scrutiny to resolve itself into enthusiasm for one's speech; and as our english speech is a near variant of certain others held alien, as dutch and scandinavian and german, with a decisive control from french, enthusiasm for the speech-tie begins, on reflection, to assimilate to the enthusiasm of the district, the glen, the parish. millions of us are at a given moment rapturous about the deeds of our non-ancestors, on the supposition that they were our ancestors, and in terms of a correlative aversion to the deeds of certain other ancients loosely supposed to have been the ancestors of certain of our contemporaries. thus the ostensible entity which plays so large a part in the common run of thought about history--the nation, considered as a continuous and personalised organism--is in large measure a metaphysical dream, and the emotion spent on it partakes much of the nature of superstition.
-certain patriots of the wilful sort are wont to flout reason in these matters, blustering of "false cosmopolitanism" and "salutary prejudice." to all such rhetoric the fitting answer is the characterisation of it as false passion. those who indulge in it elect wilfully to enfranchise from the mass of detected and convicted animal passions one which specially chimes with their sentiment, as if every other might not be allowed loose with as good reason. matters are truly bad enough without such perverse endorsement of vulgar ideals by those who can see their vulgarity. ordinary observation makes us aware that the most commonplace and contracted minds are most prone to the passion of national and racial pride; whereas the men of antiquity who first seem to have transcended it are thereby marked out once for all as a higher breed. it is in fact the proof of incapacity for any large or deep view of human life to be habitually and zealously "patriotic" in the popular sense of the term. yet, in the civilisations which to-day pass for being most advanced, the majority of the units habitually batten on that quality of feeling, millions of adults for ever living the political life of the schoolboy; and, as no polity can long transcend the ideals of the great mass, national fortunes and institutions thus far tend to be determined by the habit of the lower minds.
-if a saner lesson is to be widely learned, one way to it, if not the best way, may be an effort on the part of the units of the "great nations" to realise the significance of the fortunes of the "little nations," in terms, not of the imagined consciousness of metaphysical entities, but of actual human conditions--material, passional, and intellectual. we have seen how erudite specialists can express themselves in terms of the fallacy of racial genius. specialists perhaps as erudite, and certainly multitudes of educated people, seem capable of thinking as positively in terms of the hallucinations of racial entity, national consciousness, political greatness, national revenue, and imperial success. thus we have publicists speaking of holland as an "effete nation," of belgium as "doomed to absorption," of the scandinavian peoples as "having failed in the race," and of switzerland as "impotent"; even as they call spain "dying" and turkey "decomposing."
-as for the sentiment of a national greatness that is measured by acreage and census and quantity of war material, it is hard to distinguish ethically between it and that individual pride in lands and wealth which all men save those who cherish it are agreed to pronounce odious. even the snobs of nationality have, as a rule, a saving sense which withholds them from flaunting their pride in the eyes of their "poorer" neighbours, the members of the less numerous communities. yet the note which is thus tacitly admitted to be vulgarly jarring for alien ears is habitually struck for domestic satisfaction; few newspapers let many days pass without sounding it; and certain poets and writers of verse appear to find their chief joy in its vibrations. the men of some of the lesser states, then, stand a fair chance of becoming ethically and æsthetically, as well as intellectually, superior in the average to those of the larger aggregates, in that their moral codes are not vitiated nor their literary taste vulgarised by national purse-pride and the vertigo of the higher dunghill; though they, too, have their snares of "patriotism," with its false ideals and its vitiation of true fraternity.
-the scandinavian peoples
-apart from those remarkable episodes, the development of the scandinavian states since the sixteenth century has been, on their relatively small scale, that of the normal monarchic community with a variously vigorous democratic element; shaken frequently by civil strife; wasting much strength in insensate wars; losing much through bad kings and gaining somewhat from the good; passing painfully from bigotry to tolerance; getting rid of their old aristocracies and developing new; exhibiting in the mass the northern vice of alcoholism, yet maintaining racial vigour; disproportionately taxing their producers as compared with their non-producers; aiming, nevertheless, at industry and commerce, and suffering from the divisive social influences they entail; meddling in international strifes, till latterly the surrounding powers preponderated too heavily; disunited and normally jealous of each other, even when dynastically united, through stress of crude patriotic prejudice and lack of political science; frequently retrograding, yet in the end steadily progressing in such science as well as in general culture and well-being. losses of territory--as finland and schleswig-holstein--at the hands of stronger rivals, and the violent experiences and transitions of the napoleonic period, have left them on a relatively stable and safe basis, albeit still mutually jealous and unable to pass beyond the normal monarchic stage. to-day their culture is that of all the higher civilisations, as are their social problems.
-the theory of celtic influence, though established in its essentials, is not perfectly consistent as set forth in the britannica article. thus, while the celticised literature is remarked for "noble simplicity of language," the true icelandic, primarily like the old english, is said to develop a "complexity of structure and ornament, an elaborate mythological and enigmatical phraseology, and a regularity of rhyme, assonance, luxuriance, quantity, and syllabification which it caught up from the latin and celtic poets." further, while the celticised school is described as "totally distinct from the icelandic," celtic influence is also specified as affecting norse literature in general. the first generations of icelandic poets were men of good birth, "nearly always, too, of celtic blood on one side at least"; and they went to norway or denmark, where they lived as kings' or chiefs' henchmen. the immigration of norse settlers from ireland, too, affected the iceland stock very early. "it is to the west that the best sagas belong: it is to the west that nearly every classic writer whose name we know belongs; and it is precisely in the west that the admixture of irish blood is greatest" (ib.). the facts seem decisive, and the statements above cited appear the more clearly to need modification. it is to be noted that schweitzer's geschichte der skandinavischen literatur gives no hint of the celtic influence.
-thus this one little community may be said to have reached the limits of its evolution, as compared with others, simply because of the strait natural conditions in which its lot was cast. but to think of it as a tragically moribund organism is merely to proceed upon the old hallucinations of race-consciousness. men reared in iceland have done their part in making european civilisation, entering the more southerly scandinavian stocks as these entered the stocks of western europe; and the present population, who are a remnant, have no more cause to hang their heads than any family that happens to have few members or to have missed wealth. failure is relative only to pretension or purpose.
-in recent years the statistics of emigration and population tell a fairly plain story. in norway and sweden alike the excess of births over deaths reached nearly its highest in 1887, the figures being 63,942 for sweden and 29,233 for norway. in 1887, however, emigration was about its maximum in both countries, 50,786 leaving sweden and 20,706 leaving norway. thereafter the birth-rate rapidly fell, and the emigration, though fluctuating, has never again risen in sweden to the volume of 1887-88, though it has in norway. but when, after falling to 43,728 in 1892, the excess of swedish births over deaths rises to 60,231 in 1895, while the emigration falls from 45,000 in 1892 to 13,000 in 1894, it is clear that the lesson of regulation is still very imperfectly learned. norway shows the same fluctuations, the excess of births rising from 23,600 in 1892 to nearly 32,000 in 1896, and again from 27,685 in 1908 to 29,804 in 1909, doubtless because of ups and downs in the harvests, as shown in the increase of marriages from 12,742 in 1892 to 13,962 in 1896.
-in denmark the progression has been similar. there the excess of births over deaths was so far at its maximum in 1886, the figures being 29,986 in a population of a little over 2,000,000; whereafter they slowly decreased, till in 1893 the excess was only 26,235. all the while emigration was active, gradually rising from 4,346 in 1885 to 10,382 in 1891; then again falling to 2,876 in 1896, when the surplus of births over deaths was 34,181--a development sure to force more emigration. in 1911 the population was 2,775,076--a rapid rise; and in 1910 the surplus of births over deaths was 40,110. the scandinavians are thus still in the unstable progressive stage of popular well-being, though probably suffering less from it than either germany or england.
-here, then, is a group of kindred peoples apparently at least as capable of reaching a solution of the social problem as any other, and visibly prospering materially and morally in proportion as they bring reason to bear on the vital lines of conduct, though still in the stage of curing over-population by emigration. given continued peaceful political evolution in the direction first of democratic federation, and further of socialisation of wealth, they may reach and keep the front rank in civilisation, while the more unmanageably large communities face risks of dire vicissitude.
-the "downfall" of such a polity, then, is conceptual only. all the realities of life evolved by the league were passed on to its constituent elements throughout northern europe; and there survived from it what the separate states had not yet been able to offer--the adumbration, however dim, of a union reaching beyond the bounds of nationality and the jealousies of race. in an age of private war, without transcending the normal ethic, it practically limited private war as regarded its german members; and while joining battle at need with half-barbarian northern kings, or grudging foreigners, it of necessity made peace its ideal. its dissolution, therefore, marked at once the advance of national organisation up to its level, and the persistence of the more primitive over the more rational instincts of coalition.
-note on literature
-the special interest of dutch history for english and other readers led in past generations to a more general sociological study of it than was given to almost any other. l. guicciardini's description of the low countries (descrizione ... di tutti paesi bassi, etc., anversa, folio, 1567, 1581, etc.; trans. in french, 1568, etc.; in english, 1593; in dutch, 1582; in latin, 1613, etc.) is one of the fullest surveys of the kind made till recent times. sir william temple's observations upon the united provinces of the netherlands (1672) laid for english readers further foundations of an intelligent knowledge of the vital conditions of the state which had been in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the great commercial rival of england; and in the eighteenth century many english writers discussed the fortunes of dutch commerce. an english translation was made of the remarkably sagacious work variously known as the memoirs of john de witt, the true interest of holland, and political maxims of the state of holland (really written by de witt's friend, pierre delacourt; de witt, however, contributing two chapters), and much attention was given to it here and on the continent. in addition to the many and copious histories written in the eighteenth century in dutch, three or four voluminous and competent histories of the low countries were written in french--e.g., those of dujardin (1757, etc., 8 vols. 4to), cerisier (1777, etc., 10 vols. 12mo), le clerc (1723-28, 3 vols. folio), wicquefort (1719, folio, proceeding from peace of münster). of late years, though the lesson is as important as ever, it appears to be less generally attended to. in our own country, however, have appeared davies' history of holland (1841, 3 vols.), a careful but not often an illuminating work, which oddly begins with the statement that "there is scarcely any nation whose history has been so little understood or so generally neglected as that of holland"; t. colley grattan's earlier and shorter book (the netherlands, 1830), which is still worth reading for a general view based on adequate learning; and the much better known works of motley, the rise of the dutch republic (1856) and the history of the united netherlands (1861-68), which deal minutely with only a period of fifty-five years of dutch history, and of which, as of the work of davies, the sociological value is much below the annalistic. all three are impaired as literature by their stale rhetoric. the same malady infects the second volume of the industrial history of the free nations (1846), by w. torrens m'cullagh (afterwards m'cullagh torrens); but this, which deals with holland, is the better section of that treatise, and it gives distinct help to a scientific conception of the process of dutch history, as does j.r. m'culloch's essay on the rise, progress, and decline of commerce in holland, which is one of the best of his essays and treatises (2nd ed. 1859). the holland of the late professor thorold rogers has merit as a vivacious conspectus, but hardly rises to the opportunity.
-of the many french, belgian, and german works on special periods of the history of the low countries, some have a special and general scientific interest. among these is the research of m. alphonse wauters on les libertés communales (bruxelles, 1878). barante's histoire des ducs de bourgogne (4th ed. 1838-40) contains much interesting matter on the burgundian period. the assiduous research of m. lefèvre pontalis, jean de witt, grand pensionnaire de hollande (2 tom. 1884; eng. trans. 2 vols.), throws a full light on one of the most critical periods of dutch history.
-§ 1. the rise of the netherlands
-the case of holland is one of those which at first sight seem to flout the sociological maxim that civilisations flourish in virtue partly of natural advantages and partly of psychological pressures. on the face of things, it would seem that the original negation of natural advantage could hardly be carried farther than here. a land pieced together out of drained marshes certainly tells more of man's effort than of nature's bounty. yet even here the process of natural law is perfectly sequent and intelligible.
-§ 2. the revolt against spain
-that the people who endured so much at the hands of a despot should have revolted unsubduably against his son is to be explained in terms of certain circumstances little stressed in popular historiography. in the narratives of the rhetorical historians, no real explanation arises. the revolt figures as a stand for personal and religious freedom. but when charles abdicated, after slaying his thousands, the reformation had been in full tide for over thirty years; calvin had built up protestant geneva to the point of burning servetus; england had been for twenty years depapalised; france, with many scholars and nobles converted to calvinism, was on the verge of a civil war of huguenots and catholics; the netherlands themselves had been drenched in the blood of heretics; and still no leading man had thought of repudiating either spain or rome. yet within thirteen years they were in full revolt, led by william of orange, now turned protestant. seeing that mere popular protestantism had spread far and gone fast, religious opinion was clearly not the determining force.
-in reality, the conditio sine qua non was the psychological reversal effected by philip when he elected to rule as a spaniard, where his father had in effect ruled as a fleming. charles had always figured as a native of the netherlands, at home among his people, friendly to their great men, ready to employ them in his affairs, even to the extent of partly ruling spain through them. after his punishment of ghent they were his boon subjects; and in his youth it was the spaniards who were jealous of the flemish and dutch. this state of things had begun under his flemish-german father, philip i, who became king of spain by marriage, and under whom the netherland nobles showed in spain a rapacity that infuriated the spaniards against them. it was a question simply of racial predominance; and had the dynasty chosen to fix its capital in the north rather than in the south, it would have been the lot of the netherlanders to exploit spain--a task for which they were perfectly ready.
-§ 3. the supremacy of dutch commerce
-in such economies the dutch superiority grew out of the specially practical basis of their marine--habitual fishing and the constant use of canals. there is no better way than the former of building up seamanship; and just as the portuguese grew from hardy fishers to daring navigators, so the dutch grew from thrifty fishers and bargemen to thrifty handlers of sea-freight, surpassing in economy the shippers of england as they did in seamanship the marine of spain. broadly speaking, the navies which owed most to royal fostering--as those of spain, france, and in part england--were the later to reach efficiency in the degree of their artificiality; and the loss of one great spanish navy after another in storms must be held to imply a lack of due experience on the part of their officers.
-§ 4. home and foreign policy
-§ 5. the decline of commercial supremacy
-§ 6. the culture evolution
-but as against these debts to foreign example, the dutch republic in its time of flower produced a great and markedly native body of art, which to this day ranks in its kind with that of the great age in italy. it may have been the example set in the spanish netherlands by the austrian archdukes, after the severance, that gave the lead to the dutch growth; but there is no imitation and nothing nationally second-rate in their total output. the flemish rubens (1577-1640) precedes by twenty-one years his pupil vandyck and the great spaniard velasquez, and by nearly thirty years the dutch rembrandt; but no four contemporary masters were ever more individual; and the dutch group of rembrandt, hals, van der helst, gerard dow, and the rest, will hold its own with the flemish swarm headed by rubens and vandyck. it is worth while in this connection to note afresh how closely is art florescence bound up with economic forces. dutch and flemish art, like italian, is in the first place substantially a product of economic demand, the commercial aristocracy of the netherlands commissioning and buying pictures as did the clerical aristocracy of italy. it has been denied that there is any economic explanation for the eventual arrest of great art in the netherlands; but when we note the special conditions of the case the economic explanation will be found decisive.
-§ 7. the modern situation
-of the conditions which in holland tell against increase of well-being, the most notable is the large birth-rate resulting there as elsewhere from the rapid modern expansion of industry. with a population less by 1,580,000 than that of belgium, holland has annually a larger surplus of births over deaths. it may be interesting to compare dutch statistics with those of portugal and sweden, which have nearly the same population, as regards birth-rate and emigration. each of the three states at 1895 had slightly over or under 5,000,000 inhabitants; and in 1909 slightly over or under 6,000,000. their marriages and their emigration were:--
-nor are these conditions favourable in holland to general culture, as apart from forms of specialism, any more than in england. dutch experts in recognised studies latterly hold their own with any--witness the names of kuenen, tiele, van t'hoff, de goeje, de vries, dozy, kern, lorentz, waals--and the middle-class has probably a better average culture than prevails in england or the united states; but the lapsed republic has yet to prove how much a small state may achieve in the higher civilisation. meantime, it is plainly not smallness but too rapid increase in numbers that is the stumbling-block; and the possession of a relatively great "empire" in java does not avail, for holland any more than for england, to cure the social trouble at home.
-of fuller histories there are several in french and german. the longer geschichte der schweiz of prof. dändliker (1884-87) is good and instructive, though somewhat commonplace in its thinking. dierauer's geschichte der schweizerischen eidgenossenschaft (1887), which stops before the reformation period, is excellent so far as it goes, and gives abundant references, which dändliker's does not; though his short history gives good bibliographies.
-zschokke's compendious des schweizerlands geschichte (9te aufgabe, 1853) is lucid and very readable, but is quite uncritical as to the medieval period. that is critically and decisively dealt with in rilliet's les origines de la confédération suisse, 1868, and in dierauer.
-the paper used is white and buff, and, as mentioned before, both the quality and color differ widely. for instance: "buff" covers shades which would be called at the present time light chocolate, brown, oriental buff, light yellow, etc. a great many envelopes are of soft paper, nearly unsurfaced, while there are numerous others having a hard, brittle texture, highly surfaced or glazed. often six shades may be obtained, and they are certainly worthy of being collected with care.
-it has already been stated that the thirty varieties can be classified, and that such classification is a great help to the philatelist. fortunately, the first ten dies are quickly recognized by the long, horizontal cross stroke of "t" of "three," and "t" of "cents," while the remaining twenty dies have a short top stroke, and this differentiation, in the writer's humble opinion, should have been introduced long ago in the general catalogues.
-before commencing the study of the first ten varieties, it is only proper to state that even mr. harrison has put himself on record that: "the ten earlier varieties are by no means easy to separate." indeed, they are decidedly more troublesome and require far closer work than any of the other nesbitt die varieties. the student is sure to find many specimens in which the upper curves are entirely worn away, and in judging the spacing of the letters errors are likely to occur, due to heavy impressions, which are not infrequent.
-being well aware of these annoyances, the writer has tried, to the best of his ability, to make the description of these ten varieties as lucid as possible, and as they now stand they represent the labor of many hours. expressions like "far", "near" or "close" are, of course, subject to individual interpretation, but by comparing the illustrations accompanying the text, what is meant by "close", etc., will be easily understood. wherever greater accuracy seemed needful, the distance between two letters, either at the top or the base has been added. if a letter is stated to be below the level of another, the student, as a rule, should have no difficulty in recognizing this fact. this is true of varieties 4 and 5, but a certain amount of training of the eye is required to recognize quickly the lower position of "t" and "e" of "three" in varieties 1, 2 and 10.
-"t" with long cross stroke.
-dies 1 to 10.
-the ten die varieties are divided into three groups by drawing a straight line along the outside of the downward stroke of "t" of "three".
-1) line cuts through "s" of "cents" (var. 1, 2, 3, 4).
-2) line goes to right of "s" (var. 5, 6, 7).
-3) line goes through right lower curve (var. 8, 9, 10).
-it should be understood, however, that the above line prolongation is only tentative, not absolute, and can only be relied upon in a general way as certain specimens will be found which will vary from it to a greater or less extent.
-description of dies.
-variety 5:--upper right curve flattened and top of "t" near curve. "t" low and far from "h". "hr" widely spaced at top, but "re" still wider. "ee" near. upper right curve far from "e" both at top and base. frequently the curves are nearly obliterated.
-variety 8:--upper left curve deep and top of "t" near curve. "th" near. "hre" near, and "re" the closest spacing of all the varieties. "ee" near. right curve is a good distance from top of "e". lower left curve small and near "c". "ce" wide. "ent" near and upper horizontal stroke of "n" often joined to "t". "ts" near and "s" close to curve.
-letters "t" with short cross strokes.
-dies 11 to 30.
-these twenty die varieties are grouped into two classes by the use of a unit distance measurement of 14 and 12 mm. respectively.
-a line 14mm. long will extend from the point where the upper left curve meets the inner white frame-line to the end of the final "e" of "three".
-group a:--a line 12mm. long, starting from the junction of the upper left curve and the inner, white, frame-line will extend to the end of the horizontal stroke of the first "e" of "three". (var. 11 to 18.)
-group b:--a line 12mm. long, starting from the junction of the upper left curve and the inner, white, frame-line will extend to a point just beyond the end of the horizontal stroke of the first "e" of "three". (var. 19 to 27.)
-a line 14mm. long, starting from the junction of the upper left curve and the inner, white, frame-line, will extend to a point just outside of the final "e" of "three". (var. 28 to 30.)
-variety 12:--the small horizontal line of "n," if extended, would cut the vertical downstroke of "t." all the centre crossbars of "es" touch the horizontal upper stroke. "n" of "cents" is narrow; is the lowest letter, and has a heavy middle line. "t" and "e" are close to the curves, which are short. "ts" close and on level.
-there are often two dots in the central oval, one near the throat and the other opposite the third loop above "c". compare variety 11 for "nt," also variety 21.
-variety 14:--this die shows the widest spacing of "three". lower left curve is deep; slants back and is far from "c". lower right curve near "s". "t" and "e" about equally far from curves. upper right curve much flattened. note "t" short and top of "c" considerably below inner oval line. note also that centre of first loop below upper right curve is unfinished. "th" wide at base; "ce" near: "en" wide. "n" tall and narrow.
-variety 15:--"re" very wide. there is a small triangle in the design immediately above the centre of lower right curve. upper left curve very deep and "t" far from it. "hre" wide at base. final "e" below level of first "e" and nearer curve than "t". lower left curve is flat and "c" is far from it, both at top and base. "ce" wide. tall, narrow "n". note that the entire word is high in the label.
-variety 17:--lower left curve commences near top of "c" of "cents", slants sharply downward, and is, at the point where the curve meets the outer oval line, far from base of "c". upper right curve is much flattened and close to "e" at base. upper left curve is deep and a good distance from "t". the latter is short, thick and near "h". "re" much wider at top than "hr". there are two small dots immediately below the upper right curve. in the lower label "c" and "s" are slightly above the level of "ent"; "en" near; "n" broad. compare variety 18 for lower left curve and note position of "t" of "three" with regard to upper left curve.
-variety 21:--"t" short, thick and near curve. "th" near. "r" in the centre of label and in a vertical position. upper right curve slants inward and is much nearer to base than to top of "e". "c" and "s" in lower label are above level of "ent". "s" of "cents" far from curve. lower left curve short and close to "c". "n" is broad. lower right curve deeper than lower left curve. "cen" near. compare variety 30 for lower right curve and 20 for upper right curve.
-variety 25:--a flaw, i.e., a white line running out from the middle of the third loop on the right, towards the inner oval line. lower left curve a good distance away from "c". "c" round and full, but shorter than the rest of the letters. "s" far from lower right curve. "ee" widely spaced and upper right curve flat. "c" and "s" above level of "ent".
-variety 27:--the horizontal bar of the final stroke of "n" extends over the top of "t". lower left curve fat and very far from "c". "ce" wide. upper left curve much deeper than upper right curve, which is almost a straight line. "t" very short. "th" wide at top, "hr" wider. note that "r" stands to right of the centre of stamp and, also, the wide, colored space above the top of "thre". "n" of "cents" is broad. compare varieties 16 and 26.
-six cents, red and six cents, green.
-short labels with straight ends. 8-1/2 loops on the left; 9 loops on the right.
-the date of issue of the six cents red is generally placed about july 31st. 1853; that of its congener--but with color changed--sometime before sept. 30th of the same year. as there has never been much demand for a six cent envelope, it is strange that this issue has four distinct heads of washington, two forms of "six", small and large, and different spacings of the word "cents". unlike the last issue, the die is exceedingly well printed, and it is not difficult to get fine copies.
-in varieties 1 and 2 "six" is widely spaced:
-in varieties 3 and 4 the spacing is closer.
-no description of the head is needed; it is head i of die 1 of 1853. "ce" very wide; "en" wide; "nt" near at top and "s" is far from "t".
-head xvi. side-lock is long, straight, curved at its point, and ends near the ear-lobe. there are five locks in the front row and four in the back row. the highest front-lock is split into two parts. between the side-lock and the lowest front-lock and well towards the middle of the former, commences a thin lock which extends far beyond the ear-lobe and ends in the queue. "ce" wide; "en" wide; "nt" further at base than in var. 1. "ts" near. this head is found on the reprints on white and buff vertically laid paper.
-all varieties of the six cents red exist only on knife 3, and all those of the six cents green only on knife 2. the former is a newcomer and was styled "official, size 7". on account of its size (221 x 98 mm.) the envelope did not meet with much favor, and to-day it is difficult to find a cancelled specimen in fine condition. in accordance with the instructions of the post office the envelope should have been folded so that the right side flap overlapped the left, but this rule was not strictly adhered to, so that many collectors possess specimens with the opposite folding.
-ten cents, green.
-narrow labels with straight ends. 8-1/2 loops on the left; 9 loops on the right.
-this die appeared in april, 1855. its issuance is due to an act of congress of march 3, 1855, which fixed the letter rate for transportation over 3000 miles at 10 cents.
-head xv: var. i:--letters of "ten" about equally spaced. "t" slants back and is somewhat nearer the left label than "n" to the right. "ce" close: "nt" near, and the top of the latter above "n". "s" closer to curve than "c". frequently a little white line runs out from the left ornamental scrollwork a short distance above "c".
-ten cents, green.
-very wide upper label (measuring horizontally 24-1/2 mm.) with straight ends.
-7 loops on each side.
-head xix: var i:--a short fine eyebrow extends upward from the end of the nose. another short, but much heavier one, is attached to the corner of the eye. two fine, short side-locks commence a little distance from the heavy eyebrow and finish just above the ear-lobe. there is a double row of five short and heavy locks, while the queue is continued from the lowest lock in the back row. the garment at the back has three folds.
-"ten" near, but "n" nearer to right label than "t" to the left. letters of "cent" closely spaced, but "s" some distance from "t".
-a reference list of entire envelopes of the series of 1853 to 1855.
-three cents, red.
-die i. "three" in narrow curved label.
-var. 1: head i.
-var. 2: head i.
-var. 3: head ia.
-var. 4: head ii.
-var. 5: head iii.
-var. 8: head vi.
-var. 9: head vii.
-var. 10: head viii.
-var. 11: head ix.
-var. 12: head x.
-die ii. "three" in narrow, straight label.
-var. 1: head i.
-var. 2: head xi.
-var. 3: head xii.
-die iii. "three" in square label with a diagonal line across each corner, called "k ends".
-var. 1: head xiii.
-"t" with long cross stroke.
-"t" with short cross stroke.
-six cents, red.
-var. 1. head i.
-var. 2. head xvi.
-var. 3. head xvii.
-var. 4. head xviii.
-six cents, green.
-var. 1. head i.
-var. 2. head xvi.
-var. 3. head xvii.
-var. 4. head xviii.
-die i. short label with square ends.
-die ii. long label with square ends.
-second issue: 1860.
-the 36th congress, by an act approved april 30, 1860, reduced postage on drop letters, also the charge for the delivery of a letter by carriers, to one cent. we further learn from the report of the postmaster-general, dated december 1st, 1860, that "the new one cent envelope is designed mainly for circulars and will also be used largely for city correspondence". in our days of cheap postage it strikes us as rather curious to be informed that the post office, to cover the expense of collecting letters, dropped into letter boxes attached to lamp posts, which letters were delivered by the mail carriers to the next post office, evolved the scheme of printing two entirely different stamps on the same envelope, i.e. a one cent (blue), and a new three cents (red). the one cent paying the carrier's fee, and the other stamp paying the postage.
-in addition to the one and three cent, the post office issued also a new six and ten cents. in reality the latter two appeared in october, 1860, while the one and four cents were added in december of the same year.
-for the collector the most interesting novelty is, however, the invention of the wrapper now-a-days so commonly used that we can scarcely think of the time when this commodity did not exist. the sizes of the envelopes were also increased by the addition of a new one known as knife 9, bearing on the inside of the left flap the "patent lines."
-one cent: blue.
-head of franklin to the right, oval 20-1/2 x 24-1/2 mm. "one cent" above; "u. s. postage" below.
-the easiest way of classifying the various dies is to extend the base line of the bust and note its position with regard to the letters "a" and "g" of "postage". by this simple method we obtain the following groups:--
-next in importance is to note the position of the back of the bust with reference to the strokes of letter "u". calling the stroke next to the star ornament the first stroke, and that next to "s" the second, we have two additional distinctive features. finally, the distance from the back of the bust to inner oval line furnishes a third valuable clue.
-to the above we may add three 10 mm. unit distance measurements, taken from the upper end of the first stroke of "u" towards "one"; from the right end of the horizontal stroke of "t" of "cent" towards the "e" of "postage"; and from the upper end of the final stroke of "n" of "cent" towards the "e" of "one", noting each time the end of the 10 mm. line. the result is shown in the subjoined table:--
-measured from upper extremity of "u" the end of the 10 mm. line touches right side of "o"; strikes base of "n"; or falls between the strokes of "n";
-measured from "t" the end of the 10 mm. line touches end of "e" reaches to about the middle of the lower horizontal stroke; or falls behind "e".
-measured from "n" end of 10 mm. line touches upper end of "e"; reaches to the middle of the upper horizontal stroke; or falls outside "e".
-we are now well prepared to take up the several varieties.
-period after "postage".
-bust points at "g".
-base line of bust touches "g" to the left.
-back of bust opposite 2nd bar of "u" in varieties 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11 and 12.
-unless otherwise stated the stamp measures 20-1/2 x 24-1/2 mm.
-variety 2:--widely spaced between "u. s." and inner frame line. "one": "one" near. wide space between "u" of "u.s." and "o" of "one". "cent": "en" close. distance between "one" and "cent" only 3 mm. back of bust far from inner oval line. 10 mm. from "u" touches right side of "o". " " " "n" touches middle of upper bar of "e" of "one". " " " "t" strikes a little into the lower bar of "e" of "postage".
-bust points between a and g.
-base line of bust passes through right bar of a.
-varieties 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
-variety 4:--"o" of "postage" considerably above outer frame line; "tage" close, especially "ge", which are close to inner frame line and above level of the other letters. stamp measures 20 x 24-1/2 mm. "one": "ne" far apart. letters of "one" especially the "e" close to outer frame line. "cent": "c" far from "e." "postage": "po" close. "o" to "u": 7-1/2 mm. from end of upper right point of "c" to top of left stroke of "o" of "one" is 5 mm.
-variety 5:--"po" of "postage" wide; "os" and "age" near lower frame line: "ge" near. "one": "ne" wide. distance between "one" and "cent" widest. sometimes a spot under left star and also in central oval at back of head. a rare die. "o" to "u": 8 mm. "c" to "e": 5 mm. falls considerably outside "e".
-variety 6:--distance between "s" of "u. s." and "p" of "postage" wide. "one": "ne" wide, and the latter tipped to right. "postage": "po" wide: "te" wide at foot: "ge" close. there is often a comma after the "s" of "postage", and a dot above the head in the central oval under the "n" of "one". "o" to "u": 7-1/4 mm. "c" to "e": 5 mm. is barely outside "e". 10 mm. from "u" falls at centre of "n". " " " "t" touches middle of lower bar of "e". this die is found greatly worn, especially in the wrappers.
-variety 7:--"u" and "s" close. this is the only die in which back of bust nearly touches inner frame line. "e" of "one" equidistant from oval lines. "one": "ne" far apart. "postage": "po" wide; "st" wide at foot: "age" close. "o" to "u": 8 mm. "c" to "e": 5 mm. 10 mm, from "t" touches "e" to the left; " " " "u" touches "n" " " " "n" touches middle of top stroke of "e" of "one".
-variety 8:--similar to the last, but back of bust is some distance from inner oval line. "postage": "tage" closely spaced and near outer frame line. 10 mm, from "t" strikes one-half mm. into the lower bar of "e". " " " "u" falls between "o" and "n". " " " "n" touches "e". 5-1/2 mm. strikes "e". "o" to "u": 8-1/2 mm. there is a dot under the left star, and sometimes, also, one above it.
-bust points at a.
-base line of bust cuts left bar of a.
-variety 9:--back of bust opposite first bar of "u". "s" of "u. s." and "p" of "postage" very close. "u. s." widely spaced. "postage": "os" close to lower frame line. 10 mm. from "u" touches "n".
-point of bust between a and g. oval 20 x 24 mm.
-variety 10:--back and front of bust cut into inner frame line.
-no period after postage. oval 21 x 25 mm.
-bust points between a and g.
-variety 11:--back of bust opposite second bar of "u". base of bust nearly touches inner frame line, and entire bust low in frame. "cent": "c" much nearer "e". "postage" close to outer frame line.
-bust points at g.
-variety 12:--same as last, but back of bust far from inner frame line, and entire bust lower in frame. "cent": "c" much nearer "e". "postage": "post" close to inner frame line.
-collectors have often complained that the wrappers of this issue are troublesome. this is largely due to the fact that no one has undertaken the task of compiling a complete list of the fairly numerous varieties in existence. again, the various tints of paper used in this issue have justly caused a good deal of confusion. the catalogues distinguished between coarse and yellow buff, salmon, pale buff and amber buff, pale and dark manila, but it is safe to assume that no two collectors would agree in regard to color. it seems reasonable to distinguish between buff, salmon buff (a pinkish yellow) and yellow buff, while the manila paper used for the one cent wrappers may properly be called coarse manila.
-to give the philatelist a broader hold on this issue and a better insight, mr. j. m. bartels, together with the writer, has made a thorough study of the one cent wrapper, and the result of their united labor is embodied in the list which will follow this series of articles.
-for the identification of a wrapper of this issue it is well to observe the following method:
-note whether the paper is horizontally or vertically laid; whether or not the wrapper has a watermark;
-measure the distance between the top of the stamp and the horizontal edge of the wrapper; it will be found that this distance varies from 35 to 120 mm. and constitutes a valuable help for differentiation and identification of a wrapper;
-note the dimensions of the wrapper which may be:
-148 x 225 to 227 mm. 151 x 227 mm. 148 x 257 mm. 151 x 257 mm.
-in the absence of a watermark the paper may be either wove or laid. a noteworthy innovation in this issue is the introduction of orange paper used both for envelopes and wrappers.
-the one cent wrapper has also been found on a somewhat coarse, white paper, of which the writer has seen a single copy, contained in the magnificent collection of mr. g. h. worthington, of cleveland, ohio, but, as far as known, the white paper was not issued with the sanction of the post office authorities.
-an envelope on white paper, of a somewhat similar texture to the wrapper spoken of above, was in the collection of mr. van derlip, of boston, but, it is impossible to trace its present whereabouts, and, therefore, i have no means of ascertaining the die.
-three cents: red.
-head of washington to left. a small upright oval measuring 20 x 24 mm. "three cents" above; "u. s. postage" below.
-at each side is a six-rayed star between the inscriptions.
-it has already been mentioned that the new die was issued in accordance with the action of the 36th congress, and that this stamp is also used to form a compound value with the one cent die.
-the collector of entire envelopes finds in this issue two new shapes, knives 6 and 7, of which the former was supposed to supply the needs of the gentler portion of humanity, and is officially known as "ladies' note size," while knife 7 is styled "medium letter" and is for commercial correspondence. these envelopes have "patent lines."
-with the exception of variety 8, which measures 24-1/2 mm., the vertical dimension of the die is 24 mm. the several varieties may be grouped by observing the position of the back of the bust with relation to the letters "g" and "e" of "postage."
-group i.--back of bust points at "g." (vars. 1 to 7.) group ii.--back of bust points between "g" and e." (var. 8.) group iii.--back of bust points almost at "e." (var. 9.)
-for the specialist the writer recommends the use of a 10 mm. unit distance measurement to be applied as follows:
-measure 10 mm. from the top of the highest ray of the left star towards the top of "p" of "postage." this measurement assists in the identification of varieties 1 and 3. another measurement may be taken from the left end of the horizontal cross stroke of "n" of "cents" towards the "e" of "three," and reveals the different spacings between the latter and "cents."
-back of bust points at "g."
-variety 1:--"po" close. "age" widely spaced. note that the distance between "t" and the left star is further in var. 1 than in var. 2 or 3. "c" of "cents" near "e." width of "u. s." at top 4-1/2 mm.
-variety 3:--"po" spaced as in var. 2, and "u. s." as in var. 1; but "po" and "ta" are spaced wider than in var. 1.
-variety 5:--"po" close, but "os" very wide. "age" wide.
-variety 6:--"st" very widely spaced; "os" wide; "age" near.
-variety 7:--"a" of "postage" has no bar; "po" near; "os" wide.
-back of bust between "g" and "e."
-variety 8:--this is the largest die of the series. its vertical measurement is 24-1/2 mm. "po" close; "st" close; "age" widely spaced.
-back of bust points almost at "e."
-variety 9:--"postage" short and lettering very close. 10 mm. measured from the top of "p," reaches "e."
-letter sheets on blue and white paper with this die are essays or trial printings.
-one cent blue (franklin) and three cents red (washington).
-the reason for the issue of this, the only compound stamp of the u. s. post office, has already been stated in the introduction to the one cent. the two stamps were impressed side by side, the one cent to the left and the three cents to the right. the department issued two sizes of these rather scarce compounds, officially called size 2 and 3. of the first there exists but one knife, i.e. knife 8 (137 x 77 mm), and of the second two knives, i.e. knives 2 and 9, both measuring 139 x 83 mm. all envelopes exist on white and buff paper, except perhaps variety 5. there are five different combinations of these compounds, which are as follows:
-it will be noted that the same variety of the three cents is used with three different combinations of the one cent. by far the rarest of the entire series is variety 5 which represents the franklin die, in which the back and front of the bust cut into the inner frame line. the writer has seen a few copies of this variety on white paper but none on buff.
-from the reports of the postmaster-general it has been ascertained that the compound stamp was issued only during fifteen months, ending june 30, 1863. on account of the short time that these envelopes remained on sale but 127,250 were issued. this explains their rarity.
-six cents: red.
-head of washington: six rayed stars for side ornaments.
-oval 20 x 24 mm.
-this die, which was in use from october, 1860, to august 15, 1861, presents us with a new head, which was retained for the next higher denomination, the ten cents, green. why the head used for the three cents was abandoned by the die maker we do not know. the principal new feature is a very short heavy front-lock which ends far from the ear-lobe. in addition to the front-lock there are three long clusters of hair in the front and four in the rear, of which the two lowest reach into the queue. from the middle of the side-lock extends the wedge-shaped lowest front-lock. it slants but a little distance across the ear-lobe. a long straight lock, made up of three strands, runs from the ear-lobe into the queue. the size of this envelope is "official" or no. 7, measuring 221 x 98 mm. it is found both on white and buff paper and is very rare.
-ten cents: green.
-head of washington; six rayed stars for side ornaments.
-oval 20 x 24 mm.
-envelopes bearing the ten cent die were issued from october, 1860, to august 15, 1861. as has already been stated the head is the same as that of the preceding die, but the envelope is different. it is the common knife 2, or "full letter," measuring 139 x 83 mm. the paper is white or buff. of the two, the former is the rarer.
-before taking up the next issue it may be well to remind the collector that the three cents, six cents and ten cents have been reprinted, not on entire envelopes, but on pieces of paper vertically laid, while the originals are on diagonally laid paper.
-a reference list of entire envelopes and wrappers of the series of 1860.
-one cent, blue.
-no. paper. knife. size. dimensions. gum. remarks.
-three cents, red.
-four cents, red and blue.
-six cents, red.
-ten cents, green.
-one cent, blue.
-third issue: 1861.
-in the report of the postmaster-general for the fiscal year 1861, it is stated that the three, six and ten cent dies would be changed, and the new ones were issued august 15th, 1861. they remained in use till september, 1864. another important change was the abolishing of the former ten cents, or california, rate which took place shortly after july 1st, 1863.
-in addition to these new dies, the post office introduced the following new denominations: i.e. 12, 20, 24 and 40 cents. these latter appear on large sized envelopes, known to the cataloguers as knives 14--size 7, "official," 19--size 8, "extra official," and 20--size 8, "extra official." the 1861 report says that the large envelopes were intended for the purpose of mailing large packages and for foreign correspondence. the total issue amounted to 20,000.
-three cents, rose.
-head of washington facing to left. inscriptions in outline, block letters. "united states" above: "three cents" below, separated on each side by a small circle containing a colorless numeral of value.
-the die is an oval measuring in
-die a:--23 mm. or less in width. die b:--23 1/2 mm. or more in width. die a includes varieties 1 to 7. die b includes varieties 8 to 17.
-as in former issues, the engraver has presented the collector with various heads which differ in the arrangement of the hair but, as in addition to these minor details the lettering of the various dies is a far more essential feature, it has not been thought necessary to reproduce the heads.
-to find the main varieties the following system, based on line prolongation, has been adopted:
-draw a straight line along the outer vertical stroke of the final "e" of "three" and note its position with regard to letters "d," "s" and "t" of " united states." this establishes four main groups or classes.
-the varieties of this die are, furthermore, plainly differentiated by the size of the letters used for the inscription. there are three sizes:--very tall letters, medium size, and decidedly small letters.
-even a cursory observation reveals various shapes of the letter "c" of "cents," and "d" of "united." likewise, the spacing between the words and the distance from the words to the circles containing the numerals of value vary considerably.
-formerly the existence of a broken circle at the side was chronicled as one of the most noteworthy varieties, but this feature is of little value. the philatelist may, however, be interested to hear the opinion of messrs. tiffany, bogert and rechert: "we have concluded that only two varieties are worthy of a place in our list. the others, though existing, are too minute to interest the average collector."
-the above statement only proves that horace is right when he assures us "quandoque bonus dormitat homerus." now and then the best experts are asleep! in the writer's opinion all the varieties of the three cents rose cannot fail to interest the collector, and no two can be singled out as being of more or less importance.
-by using a 10 mm. unit distance measurement, we detect numerous other varieties, of which some are shown in the subjoined diagram.
-we are now prepared to study the several varieties of dies a and b.
-variety 4:--similar to variety 3. "s" of "states" nearer circle. the lettering of this variety is like that of variety 3, but "u" of "united" is nearer "3" and "s" of "cents" close to "3." note also that the top stroke of the "t" of "three" is shorter on the left than on the right. found only on buff, but quite common.
-variety 6:--"c" large, well formed, and far from "e." similar to variety 5. "u" further from "3," more open, and larger than in variety 5. "c" well rounded and large. "s" of "states" large.
-variety 7:--elongated "c" with dot in centre. large lettering. "u" nearly horizontal and near "3." this variety has several characteristic features. 1st:--"ts" of "cents" is very widely spaced at base; 2nd:--"c" of "cents" is tall, straight and oval shaped. 3rd:--the left cross stroke of "t" of "three" is very short, and the letter is out of proportion to those of the rest of the inscription. "ee" of "three" widely spaced. "d" is large and slants decidedly to the left. "ds" close. final "s" of "states" near "3." "ec" wide. "s" of "cents" far from "3."
-excepting perhaps numbers 9 and 14, the lettering of the varieties of this class is generally large.
-variety 11:--"ec" very wide; "u" rather small. large lettering. "u" narrow and far from "3." "d" of "united" large and rounded, and "ed" close. "ds" close. note in "states" wide space between "t" and "e." "es" close at base. "s" far from "3." "t" of "three" near "3." "hre" well spaced. "c" of "cents" round; top curve, short. "s" near "3."
-variety 13:--there is generally a dot under right circle. large lettering. "u" near "3" "united" closely spaced. "ds" near. "states" is also closely spaced. "s" near "3." "t" of "three" short and near "3," and "th" wide at base. "ree" well spaced. "ec" near. "c" of "cents" elongated, tipped to the left, and its end curves wide apart. "ce" well spaced, but "ents" close. "s" near "3." there is frequently a dot after "s" of "cents." found on white and buff.
-the subjoined tables are added merely to aid the collector in recognizing the different varieties:
-very small:--varieties 3, 4. medium:--varieties 5, 6, 9, 14. large:--varieties 2, 7, 8, 10, 11, 13, 15, 17. very large:--varieties 1, 12, 16.
-distance from "u" to left circle.
-1) close:--varieties 5, 10. 2) medium:--varieties 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 11, 13, 15, 16, 17. 3) far:-- varieties 1, 2, 3, 12, 14. varieties 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 17 are found on knife 2 only.
-six cents, rose.
-the design of the six cents is very similar to the last one, but the numerals at sides are in ovals. the lettering is also in outline block capitals. no varieties of this die exist.
-in the beginning of the year 1861, nesbitt produced new dies of the 12, 20, 24 and 40 cents values, and later, in august, the 10 cents. no varieties of these dies exist. the design consists of an horizontal oval, 27-1/2 x 25 mm. showing the bust of washington in an upright, colored oval, surrounded by a broad, colorless band 3-1/2 mm. wide, inscribed in colored block capitals, with the value above and "u. s. postage" below. at each side is a circle with colored numerals. the ornaments above and below the circles consist of branches with seven leaves each.
-with the exception of the ten cents, the new stamps are bi-colored: i.e.
-a reference list of the entire envelopes and letter sheets of the series of 1861.
-three cents, rose.
-no. class. die. paper. knife. size. dimensions. remarks.
-six cents, rose.
-no. paper. knife. size. dimensions. remarks.
-twelve cents, brown and red.
-twenty cents, blue and red.
-twenty-four cents, green and red.
-forty cents, black and red.
-three cents, rose.
-no. class. die. paper. dimensions. remarks.
-fourth issue: 1863 and 1864.
-the act of march 3rd, 1863, establishing a two cent rate for drop letters and abolishing the carrier's fee, made the issue of a two cent stamped envelope and wrapper imperative. the new die appeared about the middle of 1863, and is a miserable caricature of jackson, facing the left. the inscriptions are "u. s. postage" above, and "two cents" below, in colorless, block letters. we may as well state at once that in the next year (1864), the design, though retaining jackson's bust, was altered, and the upper inscription changed to read "u. s. post."
-both of these issues have a number of varieties, but of the two the design inscribed "u. s. post" is by far the most interesting, and any philatelist who devotes some study to this, the "spoiled child" of the post office, will quickly be fascinated with it. indeed, a fine collection of these die varieties must be a revelation to those philatelists who have, so far, kept aloof from collecting them under the specious plea that such collection required too much study and labor, and the differences were mere gossamer threads woven by the overwrought imagination of some wild enthusiast. it is undeniable that until recently the multitude of jackson varieties--unclassified and jumbled together as they were--did not present an inviting field for the general collector. but that difficulty has now been overcome, and we have the various designs grouped into distinct classes, which even an untrained person can recognize at a glance.
-those who possess a number of jackson dies cannot have failed to observe that in various specimens the forward end of the bust points to different letters of the word "two" in the lower label. it required no great amount of ingenuity to examine all known varieties of this die, and to reach the conclusion that this important feature should be selected as one point of a line measurement which would subdivide the varieties into distinct classes. in carrying out this idea it was equally apparent that in order to draw a straight line we need two definite points, but the problem was: which point would serve our purpose best? luckily the design lent itself admirably to the construction of such a line and the second, or starting point, was found in the point of contact of the right hand oval with the inner frame line of the upper label. the line is, then, drawn from this point to the left extremity of the bust and prolonged until it strikes the letter "w" or "o" of "two." in this manner five definite and unmistakable classes are established, each of which may contain a number of varieties. while this system is indispensible for classification, the collector, after a very little training, may omit the actual line measurement, as the eye is sufficient to note the class to which any variety belongs. the five classes are:
-dies inscribed "u. s. postage."
-the design consists of two concave and convex curves, of which the first two form the upper, and the second two the lower label. each of these two curves meet in a point. the sides of the design are a pointed oval consisting of the sections of a large circle. the inscription in the upper label is "u. s. postage"; in the lower "two cents" with the figure "2" in the ovals at the sides.
-the 1863 design was issued with two shapes of the figure "2", which is probably due to an oversight of the engraver; but, as every collector knows, the design in which the lowest stroke of the figure "2" starts sharply from the downstroke, and does not curve back with it is a rarity possessed only by a few lucky mortals.
-in the general catalogues the common form is known as "die a," the latter as "die b."
-die a. (seven varieties).
-they are subdivided as follows:
-variety 1 (22-1/4 x 25-3/4 mm.).
-bust points to centre of "w," which touches line above.
-"o" of "postage" to left, but near the junction point of the inner frame line; "os" nearly on level. "w" of "two" near inner frame line, and touching the latter in deteriorated dies. "oc" near. a line drawn through the junction point of the upper and lower inner frame lines cuts the end curves of the "c" of "cents." "ce" well spaced, but "c" lower than "e." "s" far from the right oval line. figure "2" in right oval nearly touches at left. in deteriorated dies both figures touch at left. the tip of nose is near the left oval.
-variety 2 (22-3/4 x 25-1/2 mm.).
-"pos" very near. "e" of "postage" touches frame.
-top of "two" far from left oval line, and distance between "o" of "two" and "c" of "cents" nearer than in var. 1. nose near left oval.
-variety 3 (22 x 26 mm.).
-"o" in the centre of label and highest letter.
-centre line passes through "o" and "c" of "cents." the downstroke of "2" in the left oval touches inner frame. "c" of "cents" is the lowest letter, and "ent" is widely spaced. distance between "oc" wider than in var. 2. nose near left oval.
-variety 4 (22-1/2 x 25 mm.).
-"os" on a level. "oc" very wide.
-"pos" wide and "o" to the left of the point. centre line touches "o" to the right, and passes through the centre of "c" of "cents." left numeral does not touch outer frame line. "s" of "cents" very far from right oval. nose far from left oval.
-variety 5 (22-1/2 x 25-3/4 mm.).
-"s" is the highest letter, far from line below.
-variety 6 (22 x 25-3/4 mm.).
-back of head close to right oval.
-the entire inscription in the upper label is close to the inner frame line and the letters are spaced closely. "u. s." is spaced closer than in any other variety. point of bust almost touches the frame line. distance between "o" of "two" and "c" of "cents" near. "ce" very close. "s" near right oval. nose near left oval.
-variety 7 (22-1/2 x 25 mm.).
-bust points between "w" and "o."
-"u. s." widely spaced. "os" on level. "ge" close. "t" of "two" far from left oval. "oc" wide. "c" well under the point, and far from "e." "cents" well spaced, and "s" far from right oval.
-variety 8 (21-1/2 x 25 mm.).
-in the numerals of value the end stroke does not curve back, but slants sharply from the downstroke.
-"s" of "u. s." and "p" of "postage" are spaced closely. "o" to left of point. top of "s" is a little above "o" and "t." distance between "o" of "two" and "c" of "cents" very wide. "c" by far the lowest letter. the hair projects beyond the forehead, and the nose is near left oval.
-of more interest to the collector is the paper of these wrappers which, generally speaking, is a rough manila, varying considerably in shade. the width of the wrapper varies also from 148 to 152 mm., the length from 227 to 230 mm., while the stamp is from 62 to 72 mm from the gummed top of the wrapper.
-dies inscribed "u. s. post."
-towards the end of 1864, nesbitt (the contractor for furnishing the post office department with stamped envelopes and newspaper wrappers) had considerable financial trouble in living up to his obligations and, at his earnest request, congress passed a bill for his relief. as the then existing contract expired sept. 11, 1864, the post office department entered into a new agreement with nesbitt, paying an advanced rate to the contractor and ordering a change of the dies of the two, three and six cents values.
-at present we are interested only in the change of the two cent die. in its new form the general features have been retained, but the inscription is altered to read "u. s. post" and the shape of the stamp is either narrow or broad.
-the narrow die is called by the cataloguer "die c" and the broad one "die d."
-using the system of line prolongation which has been already fully described, we are at once in a position to handle the large number of varieties and to collect them systematically.
-c dies. (24 to 25 mm. width)
-d dies. (25-1/2 to 26-1/4 mm. in width.)
-as these varieties have never been thoroughly described and classified and as there are but few collectors who have recognized the great philatelic value of the jackson dies, the writer desires to place himself on record with a prophecy; i. e. that as soon as the general collector knows how to find and to easily recognize the different varieties of "u. s. post," these dies are going to be sought after enthusiastically.
-to assist those who desire to become better acquainted with them it will do no harm to give some additional information, showing how the writer has studied the varieties and what means he has employed to differentiate the several varieties belonging to one class.
-although the description of the varieties accompanying the cuts, should be sufficient for the identification of any die variety, the writer has found that a system of line prolongation is very useful whenever, due to die deteriorations, a stamp appears to possess features which are not found in the descriptions. the system is based on the position of five letters which differ greatly in many varieties. these letters are:--
-1) "u" of "u. s." 2) "p" of "post." 3) "t" of "post" 4) "w" of "two." 5) "e" of "cents."
-and the measurements are made as follows:
-the left stroke of "u" is prolonged downward. observe the line with regard to letters "o, c, e" and "n."
-the upright stroke of "p" is prolonged downward. observe line with regard to letters "c" and "e."
-the central stroke of "t" is prolonged downward. observe line with regard to letters "w, o, c" and "e."
-the left stroke of "w" is prolonged upward. observe line with regard to letters "s" of "u. s." and "p" of "post."
-the left stroke of "e" is prolonged upward. observe line with regard to letters "u." and "s."
-the student who employs these measurements will find that, taking the various dies belonging to one class, one of the above mentioned five line prolongations is sufficient to clearly differentiate any variety of that group from any other. for instance, class one includes but two varieties. in var. 1, a line prolongation of the "t" of "post" cuts through the "o" of "two;" in var. 2 it passes along the second stroke of "w." in case of doubt that single measurement is decisive.
-as an additional safeguard to the collector the characteristic line measurement is mentioned at the end of the description of each variety.
-bust points to intersection of second and third stroke of "w."
-variety 1 (24 x 26-3/4 mm.)
-narrow "u" far from oval line. buff and orange.
-"post" 7-1/2 mm. there is generally a dot near top of left bar of "u." "u. s." close. "p" nearly vertical. "t" of "two" far from left oval; "wo" close; "oc near; "s" of "cents" near right oval. figures of value are exactly in centre of the side ovals. nose near left oval. "e" line through left stroke of "u." envelopes only.
-variety 2. (24 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-narrow "u" touching line below. dark manila.
-"post" fully 8 mm. "p" vertical, much above level of "o." "o" turned to the right. "st" wide and "t" far from right oval; "wo" very close; "oc" close; "ce" close; "nts" near inner frame line. nose near left oval. "e" line to left of "s" of "u. s." wrapper only.
-bust points to last stroke of "w."
-variety 3. (24-1/2 x 26-1/4 mm.)
-narrow "u." "po" on a level. "o" and "c" near. buff and orange.
-"post" 7-1/2 mm. "p" slants to left. "post" evenly spaced. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval; "wo" close; "c" considerably to left of the junction of the inner frame line. "en" spaced a little wider than "nts." "s" near right oval. nose further from oval line than in variety 1 and 2. downstroke of right figure "2" is slim. "u" line through "c." envelopes only.
-variety 4. (24-3/4 x 26-1/2 mm.)
-narrow "u." "oc" and "en" very wide. dark manila.
-variety 5. (24-1/4 x 26 mm.)
-"u" tall, wide open, and near inner frame line. buff and orange.
-"post" 8 mm. "sp" near at base. "post" closely spaced. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" near left oval. "w" narrow and close to "o." "oc" close. "ce" near at base. "s" near right oval. end of downstroke of right figure "2" near inner oval line. nose far from left oval. "p" line passes through junction point of the two inner oval lines of lower label. envelopes only.
-variety 6. (24-3/4 x 25 mm.)
-"p" vertical and much above level of "o." buff orange and dark manila.
-variety 6a. (24-3/4 x 25 mm.)
-"p" slanting to left over point. "o" far from lower frame line and far to right of point. buff.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" large, wide open, tipped to left, and far from left oval. "o" slants to right. letters of "post" well spaced. "t" far from right oval line. "t" of "two" near left oval line. "wo" close. "oc" near. "cents" near; "s" close to right oval. nose near left oval. "u" line cuts "e" from left to right.
-similar to var. 6, except that "p" and "o" are nearly on a level and the entire upper inscription is well in center of label.
-variety 7. (24 x 26 mm.)
-nose generally touches line. buff, orange and dark manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" large, wide open, close to inner frame line and far from left oval. "p" well to left of junction of the two inner frame lines. "o" near the latter. "os" widely spaced and "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval. "wo" close. "oc" near and base of "c" touches outer frame line. "en" far. "nt" wide at base. "s" close to right oval. end of down stroke of both figures far from their respective oval lines. "e" line passes through first stroke of "u."
-variety 8. (23-3/4 x 26-1/4 mm.)
-"post" 8 mm. "u" large, wide open equally far from outer and inner frame line, and far from left oval. "p" to left of junction point of the two inner frame lines. "po" closer than "os." "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" close to left oval and base of "t" touches outer frame line. "wo" close. "oc" near. "c" low. "en" wide. "s" far from right oval. nose quite near left oval. end of down stroke of right figure "2" nearly touches inner oval line. "u" line passes along downstroke of "e."
-variety 9. (23-3/4 x 26-1/4 mm.)
-"u" almost vertical. "po" wide. buff and orange.
-bust points to left line of "o."
-variety 10. (24-1/4 x 26 mm.)
-narrow "u." pointed bust, often touching line below. buff and dark manila.
-"post" 7-1/2 mm. "u" far from "s," and far from right oval. "sp" very widely spaced. "po" close. "ost" near. note that the outer frame line commencing above "t" is incorrectly drawn so that the width at the right end of the label is much smaller than it should be. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval. "wo" close. "oc" very wide. "cents" close, far from inner frame line and letters in a straight line. "s" far from right oval. nose far from left oval. top of right figure "2" near inner oval line. "e" line passes just behind the dot after "u" of "u. s." wrappers only.
-variety 11. (25 x 26-1/2 mm.)
-"post" 7-1/2 mm. "u" large, far from left oval and top of "u" far from outer frame line. top of "s" close to outer frame line. "post" closely spaced. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" almost touches left oval. "wo" close. "oc" close. "cents" close and "ce" on level. "s" far from right oval. nose near left oval. both figures well in center of ovals. "u" line passes along middle of "n." envelopes only.
-variety 12. (24 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-"u" nearly touches line below, and "o" of "post" line above. buff, orange, amber and dark manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" large and far from left oval. "s" and "p" near. the latter is in a nearly vertical position and stands well to the left of the point. "post" equally spaced. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" near left oval; "wo" close. "oc" near. "c" vertical, and at top near point of inner frame line. "en" well spaced. "s" near right oval. nose near left oval. top of left figure "2" near point of oval. "u" line passes close to head of "e" and touches the latter at base.
-variety 13. (24-1/2 x 25-3/4 mm.)
-point of bust over middle of "o."
-variety 14. (23-1/2 x 26 mm.)
-"os" far apart. "s" of "cents" near oval line. buff, orange, dark manila.
-variety 15. (25 x 16 mm.)
-bust touches line over center of "o." buff, orange, amber, dark manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" large, near left oval and at top far from outer frame line. "p" to left of point. "o" well to right of point and slanting to right. "ost" near. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" close to left oval. "wo" close. "oc" wide. "c" low and touching outer frame line. "ents" spaced near, but "s" far from right oval. nose near left oval. left figure "2" well centered, but right figure "2" much nearer to inner frame line. "w" line falls between base of "s" and the period. a deterioration of this die is var. 15a.
-variety 16. (24-3/4 x 26-1/4 mm.)
-bust nearly touches line to right of "o." buff, orange.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide and far from left oval. "p" to left of point and close to outer frame line. "po" wide. "o" far to right of point. "ost" near. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval. inner frame line is some distance from top of letters "wo" of "two" and "n" of "cents." "oc" wide. "ce" near but "en" wide. "s" far from right oval. nose far from left oval. left figure "2" well centered, but right figure "2" much nearer to inner oval line.
-25-1/2 to 26-1/4 mm.
-note:--in var. 17, 18, 23, 24, 31, and 34 the word "post" is short and spaced closely. var. 22 has the narrow "u," and var. 21, 27, 38, 39 and 40 show the widest spacing of "post."
-point of bust over last bar of "w."
-variety 17. (26-1/4 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-variety 18. (26 x 25-3/4 mm.)
-"oc" very near and "o" nearly touching line below. buff, orange and amber.
-variety 19. (26 x 25-3/4 mm.)
-letters evenly spaced, those in upper label almost in vertical position. amber and light manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide, nearly vertical and far from left oval. "u.s." wide. "p" vertical and to left of point. "pos" widely spaced. "st" near. "t" very far from right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval and top stroke of "t" nearly touches "w." "wo" near. "oc" near. "c" vertical but a little below "e." "top stroke of "t" of "cents" close to inner frame line. "s" near right oval. nose near left oval. figures well in center of ovals. "t" line touches top of "e."
-variety 20. (25-1/2 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-sharp point at base of right "2." amber and light manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide and near left oval. "p" nearly vertical and to left of point. top of "o" almost touches outer frame line. base of "s" and "t" close to inner frame line. "t" of "two" far from left oval. "wo" very close. "oc" close. "cents" close and "s" far from right oval. nose far from left oval. "t" line touches "o" to right.
-variety 21. (26 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-"st" and "oc" extremely wide. point of bust far from line. sharply pointed nose. amber and light manila.
-"post" 9 mm. "u" wide, near left oval, and sharply slanting to left. "u.s." and "sp" very wide. "p" to left of point and slanting a little to the right. "po" very wide. "o" far to right of point and turned to right. "os" wide. "t" near right oval, "t" of "two" close to left oval. "tw" very wide at base. "wo" close. "c" low and nearly under the point. "ents" near and "s" close to right oval. nose pointed and far from left oval. figures well centered. "u" line passes from tip of "e" to base of "n."
-bust points to left line of "o."
-variety 22. (25-1/2 x 26 mm.)
-narrow "u," the only one in die d. buff.
-extremely rare. "post" 7-1/2 mm. "u" nearly vertical and far from left oval. "p" small near the point and at top far from outer frame line. "o" far to right of point. "post" equally spaced. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" near left oval. "wo" close. "oc" wide, "c" slants sharply to right and at base is within the angle, formed by the outer curves. "cents" are on the same level. "s" near right oval. the inner curves are far from top of letters "wo" and "cents." nose near left oval. in both side ovals the downstroke of figure "2" ends in a sharp point. "u" line touches "o" to left. buff envelope only. knife 2.
-variety 23. (26 x 25 mm.)
-extremely wide space before "u" and after "t" in upper label. bust pointed. amber and light manila.
-variety 24. (26 x 26 mm.)
-"o" above level of "p," "c" sharply turned to left. buff orange and light manila.
-variety 25. (25-1/2 x 26 mm.)
-"p" tipped sharply to left and "o" to right. buff and orange.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide and far from left oval. base of "u", close to inner frame line, but top of "s" close to outer frame line. "u s p" near. "p" far to left and "o" in line with point. "pos" near. "t" far from "s" and far from right oval. "t" of "two" near left oval. "wo" close. "oc" close. "ce" on level but "e" slanting to right. "ts" close. "s" near right oval. nose some distance from left oval. figures in ovals well centered. envelopes only.
-variety 26. (26 x 26 mm.)
-"p" nearly on a level with "o." "post" close. "oc" near. amber and light manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide slanting to left, and far from left oval. "us." wide. "sp" wide. "p" to left of point and nearly vertical. "t" very far from right oval. "t" of "two" near left oval. "wo" close. "oc" near. "c" vertical. "ce" close. "en" near. "nts" close. "s" far from right oval. nose near oval. figures well centered in ovals. "t" line passes close to junction point of inner frame lines, and touches "c" to left.
-variety 27. (26-1/2 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-sharp point of bust high above left of "o." amber and light manila.
-"post" 9-3/4 mm. "u" wide slanting considerably to left and near left oval. the entire inscription in upper label is widely spaced, but "os" widest. "t" slants sharply to right, nearly touches outer frame line and is far from right oval. "t" of "two" close to left oval. "wo" near. "oc" wide. the junction point of the inner frame lines is over the center of "c", which is low. "en" well spaced and close to inner frame line. "s" nearly horizontal and close to right oval. nose near left oval. downstroke of right figure "2" near inner oval line. "t" line passes through first stroke of "w" of "two."
-variety 27a. (26-1/4 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-"post" 9-3/4 mm. same as last variety, but appearing to be different. this is due to great deterioration of the die. it is found on a wrapper only and is rather scarce.
-bust points to middle of "o".
-variety 28. (26 x 26 mm.)
-"st" close. wide space after "s" of "cents". buff and orange.
-"post" 7-1/2 mm. "u" wide, nearly vertical and near the left oval. "u.s." near. "po" near, but "o" slightly above "p". there is a wide space between "os". "t" near right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval. "wo" very close. "oc near". "ce" close and top of "e" under the point. "en" wide, especially at top: "n" slightly above "e". "nts" close. nose near left oval. figures well centered in ovals. "u" line cuts top of "o" of "two" at right. envelopes only.
-variety 29. (25 x 25-3/4 mm.)
-space before "u" and after "t" extremely wide. light manila.
-"post" 7-1/2 mm. "u" wide. "u.s." near and both letters close to inner frame line. "p" well to left of point and on a level with "o." "o" close to point. "pos" near, but "t" further from "s". "t" of "two" close to left oval. "wo" near. "oc" near and "c" under the point. "e" quite a distance to right of point. "en" wide. "nts" near right oval. nose far from left oval. figures well centered in ovals. "u" line passes through middle of "c" of "cents". point of bust very broad. wrappers only.
-variety 30. (26 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-nose far from oval line. amber and light manila.
-variety 31. (25-3/4 x 25-3/4 mm.)
-"p" considerably above "o". point of bust square and nearly touches line. buff and orange.
-variety 32. (26 x 26-1/4 mm.)
-bust ends in a sharp point, which nearly touches line over centre of "o" of "two". orange and light manila.
-variety 33. (25-3/4 x 25-3/4 mm.)
-projecting hair. wide space after "s" of "cents." buff, orange and light manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide, close to inner frame line and near left oval. base of "s" some distance from inner frame line. "p" leans to the left. "po" close but "o" slants to the right and is near the point. "os" well spaced but "st" spaced wider. "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval. "wo" near. "oc" wide. "c" some distance to right of point but on level with "e." the backstroke of the latter nearly touches the point. "en" wide, and "ents" close to inner frame line. nose far from left oval. figures well centered in ovals. "p" line passes through back stroke of "e."
-variety 34. (25-3/4 x 27 mm.)
-"s" of "u.s" touches line above. "oc" near. buff envelope and wrapper.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide, inclined to left and near left oval. "sp" near, "p" far to left of point. "po" well spaced at top and "o" a little raised. "os" widely spaced. "st" low, so that top stroke of "t" is somewhat above top of "s." "t" far from right oval. "t" of "two" near left oval. "wo" near. "c" slants to left, and "e" to right, so that there is a considerable space between the letters at base. "ent" wide. "ts" close. "s" far from right oval. figure in right oval near inner frame line, but in left oval well centered. "u" line passes between "ce."
-variety 35. (25 x 25-3/4 mm.)
-"o" of "post" slants sharply to left. hair far from frame line. buff, orange and light manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" almost vertical and quite near to left oval. "u.s." near. "p" inclined to left. "o" near point. "ost" close. "t" near right oval. "t" of "two" far from left oval. "wo" near. "oc" near. "ce" wide at base. "n" higher than "e" or "t." "s" slants sharply to right and is far from right oval. nose far from left oval. figures well centered in oval. "t" line slants through "c" from right to left. bust ends in a rather short point.
-variety 36. (26 x 26 mm.)
-"p" tipped to left. "o" nearly touches outer frame line. point of bust short and over centre of "o." amber and light manila.
-variety 37. (26-1/2 x 26 mm.)
-variety 38. (26 x 26 mm.)
-bust point behind "o." "nt" wide. orange, amber, light manila.
-"post" 8 mm. "u" wide, greatly inclined to left, and quite near left oval. "us" very wide. "p" near point and slanting to left. "o" some distance to right of point and inclined to right. "pos" wide but "st" widest. top stroke of "t" close to outer frame line. "t" of "two" near left oval. "wo" near. "oc" very wide. "c" almost vertical and close to point. top of "e" slightly above "c." "en" near. "ts" wide at base and "s" close to right oval. nose far from left oval. figures in ovals well centered. "u" line touches base of "t" of "cents."
-variety 39. (26-1/4 x 25-1/2 mm.)
-"p" considerably above level of "o." "post" wide. amber, and light manila.
-"post" 9 mm. "u" wide, inclined to left, and near left oval. "us" wide. "sp" wide. "p" slants to left and is close to the point. "po" very wide. "o" far to right of point and but little slanting. "ost" wide. "t" near right oval. "t" of "two" close to left oval, "wo" close. the entire word is well above the outer frame line. "oc" very wide. "c" under the point and upright. top of "e" slightly above "c." "nt" close. "ts" wide. "s" close to right oval. nose near left oval. figures in ovals well centered. "w" line touches base of "u" at right. broad point to bust. envelope and wrapper.
-variety 40. (26 x 26 mm.)
-"nt" very near. "post" wide. buff, orange, amber, light manila.
-reference list of the two cent envelopes and wrappers of the series of 1863 and 1864.
-two cents, black.
-inscribed: "u. s. postage."
-no. class. paper. knife. size. dimensions. remarks.
-inscribed: "u. s. post."
-no. class. paper. knife. size. dimensions. remarks.
-inscribed: "u. s. postage."
-no. class. paper. dimensions. laid. remarks.
-inscribed: "u. s. post."
-no. class. paper. dimensions. laid. remarks.
-fifth issue: 1864-1865.
-three cents, rose; three cents, brown; six cents, rose and six cents, purple.
-in the postmaster-general's report for 1864 it is stated that "during the last session of congress a bill was passed for the relief of the contractor for furnishing the department with stamped envelopes and newspaper wrappers, under the provisions of which the existing contract expired on sept. 11, 1864."
-with the renewal of the former contract nesbitt changed the dies of the two, three and six cents. the first we have already exhaustively treated. it is, of course, the two cents, black, "u. s. post". all these dies remained in use until june 30th, 1870.
-as a matter of history it may be noted here that the three cents printed in brown, likewise the six cents rose, both on official size, were issued in july, 1865. the dies have a portrait of washington facing to the left in a plain oval. it is enclosed in a frame of colorless lines. inscription above "united states"; below, "three cents" or "six cents", in block capitals. large numerals of value at each side.
-none of the nesbitt die varieties have given the writer so many anxious hours and have required such prolonged study as the three cents of 1864. indeed, the final solution of the problem of classification of the various dies was only arrived at after more than two years continuous research. like the famous balancing of the egg of columbus, the problem, when solved, is extremely simple. looking backward on the long series of failures, it seems strange that the chief characteristics have so long escaped the attention of cataloguers. the fact, however, is patent. even as thorough and painstaking a student as the late gilbert harrison who, in 1895, chronicled, as he thought, all of the existing die varieties of the three cents has failed to observe the most important differences. indeed, in the entire philatelic literature dealing with the nesbitt dies of 1864 there is but one allusion to the feature which constitutes the surest means for the identification of the die varieties, and this is only a single sentence contained in the historical notes of messrs. tiffany, bogert and rechert. it reads:--
-we shall presently see that, like the three cents, red of 1853, (die a) the diemakers have produced different groups of heads which, once known, are not only an absolute means of differentiating the varieties, but also protect the collector from acquiring a multitude of the same die.
-although, as stated above, the die of the three cents rose equals that of the three cents red in the use of various heads, it is, otherwise, quite dissimilar to the first issue, as will be seen presently.
-as in the varieties of the two cent dies the horizontal and vertical dimensions of the three cents vary greatly. after careful research and taking the advice of experienced philatelists, it was decided to adopt only two sizes for classification: i.e.
-size a:--to include all stamps measuring horizontally 24 mm. but not exceeding 25 mm.
-size b:--to include all stamps measuring horizontally 25-1/2 mm. or more.
-in our study of the three cents red of 1853 we noted, in addition to the various heads, some minor differences in the spacing of the letters forming the inscription. referring now to the three cents of 1864, even the unskilled eye of the layman will be struck with the surprising changes, not only in the spacing of the letters forming a word, but, also, in the relative position of the words to each other and their distance from a definite point, such, for instance, as the figure "3." the subsequent cuts well illustrate this point.
-in the first the "s" of "cents" is several mm. distant from the right figure "3": in the second it is close to "3". the same remarks apply to the "u" of "united" in its relative position to the left figure "3". in the second cut there is also a square period after the final "e" of "three".
-looking at cuts 3 and 4 the great variety of spacing between the letters of a word is strikingly apparent in the word "three." these differences are easily detected by the 10 mm. unit distance measurement, which has been explained in the introductory chapter of this series of articles. the subjoined diagram proves that there are at least three forms of each word, and, with a little study, the collector will soon recognize the leading types.
-it seems strange that such great and palpable differences remained unknown until 1892. quoting from the work of messrs. tiffany, bogert & rechert, we are, however, informed: "heretofore it has not been noticed that there are a large number of minor varieties of this die depending on the relative position of the parts."
-commenting on die 26 (three cents rose) the writers make some valuable suggestions, but they discourage the would-be student from going deeper into the subject by the closing paragraph: "so few collectors would be interested in looking for these varieties that it has been thought unnecessary to devote space to them in a general work." in the writer's opinion the most valuable hint thrown out by messrs. tiffany, bogert & rechert is contained in the following sentence: "if a thread be laid along the lower stroke of the "u" it will pass at different distances from the tip of the nose and fall on different parts of the right numeral, of the space below it, or even as low as the "s" of "cents."
-why these experts stopped at the gate and did not enter is one of those freaks of the human mind that defies explanation. certainly the person who made this observation was on the very threshold of discovering a scientific classification of this elusive die. the writer confesses that, after having independently evolved this system of classification, nothing has given him greater satisfaction than to find that the basic idea had been chronicled as far back as 1892. to-day it is well known that a line prolongation along the "u" of "united" establishes five distinct classes. as this system has been fully described in a lecture given by the writer before the boston philatelic society, (april 19, 1904) which lecture has also been published in pamphlet form, and, as this classification has been accepted by the writer of the latest scott catalogue, it seems unnecessary to go into the details, especially as the subjoined diagram is self-explanatory.
-it is evident that we now possess various means for the classification of the three cents die varieties, but a system based solely on a line measurement, as has been stated heretofore, would not guard the collector sufficiently from acquiring a number of the same dies, due to unavoidable mistakes of measurement. to prevent duplication of dies it is imperative to know the various heads.
-luckily the distinctive features are quite plain and it is easy to divide the heads into five classes for, as in the first issue, the die cutters have adorned the head of washington with a variety of coiffures.
-in heads 1 and 2 there is a triangular open space between the middle bunch of hair and the lowest strand which meets the queue.
-head 1.--the queue consists of three vertical strands extending from the top of the head to the neck. next to the queue are 3 rear locks, of which the middle one is a large, pear-shaped bunch, consisting of five fine strands, while the second highest is by far the longest, and cuts into the queue, resembling the stem of a pear.
-head 2.--same as head 1, but the second lowest strand of hair in the pear-shaped bunch is the longest and does not extend into the queue. the triangular space below is slightly larger than in head 1.
-head 3.--the queue consists of either three or four strands which extend from the top of the head to the neck. next to the queue there are five locks in the rear row, the arrangement of which differs in the various specimens. the main feature of head 3 consists in the absence of an open space between the middle bunch and the lowest lock.
-head 4.--the queue consists of three strands which extend from the top of the head to the neck. the back row of hair consists of five locks of which the lowest is very small and runs almost perpendicularly into the queue. there is a small space between the perpendicular lock and the next lowest.
-head 5.--generally found on the second quality of buff paper. the queue consists of three strands, which extend from the top of the head to the neck. the main feature is the middle bunch of hair, which is oblong shaped and consists of three heavy strands, all of which slant diagonally into the queue. immediately below this bunch is the lowest small lock, which also slants diagonally into the queue.
-of the five heads, the first is certainly the one which is most commonly found; especially on amber paper. knife 1 is always head 4. head 3 is less common, and head 5 is most frequently found on the second quality buff paper. it is also useful to remember that head 5 appears on knife 11.
-the subsequent table gives the knives and heads of the three cents, rose:--
-a similar table for the three cents, brown shows that the following heads exist:--
-the six cents, rose and purple comes only on heads 1 and 3.
-a systematic and rational classification of the three cents (both rose and brown) and their congener the six cents (purple and rose) is now ready. the collector of entire envelopes will proceed as follows:--
-given a certain specimen, he first ascertains the knife, second the color of the paper. he then decides which head is represented, and finally ascertains whether it is an "a" or "b" die. the specialist, or any collector who is sufficiently interested to possess the various sub-varieties, goes a step further. having determined the head, he finds to which of the four classes of line measurement a given specimen belongs. thus the apparently bewildering number of varieties, through the knowledge of the heads and the "u" line measurement, are brought into perfect order, and all risk of confusion is avoided. it is evident that, henceforth, the collector of cut squares will try to obtain at least one specimen of the different heads of both die a and b, while the collector of entires may go to any length to satisfy his zeal and ambition.
-the large die (die b), measuring horizontally 25-1/2 mm. or more, is comparatively scarce and it is found most commonly on the small envelope, knife 22.
-three cents, rose.
-three cents, brown.
-with the issue of the three cents, rose, the contractor, at the order of the post office department, introduced a second quality of buff paper. this matter is of importance to all collectors and should be duly noted.
-"letter size envelopes stamped 3 cents, made of a cheaper quality of paper than those hitherto furnished, are furnished by the department at $32.80 per 1,000."
-the schedule of 1867 gives the prices of three cent envelopes, etc., and of letter size second quality buff. a circular to the public of the same date says that "letter size second quality are furnished only in buff."
-the white and colored paper of this issue exists in various qualities, of which the extremes may be called nearly cardboard paper and almost tissue. the texture is soft and highly surfaced. an interesting variety of the white paper is a decidedly brownish-white, which, as far as the writer knows, has not been mentioned heretofore. there are also various shades of buff and even a reddish toned orange paper.
-doubtless collectors would like to possess some information about the rarity of the various heads found in the three cents, rose, of this issue. from a study of some six thousand envelopes of this series the writer can give a fairly accurate estimate. calling the total number of envelopes examined one hundred per cent, the respective percentages of the five heads were:
-head 1--50% " 2--30% " 3--10% " 4--09.5% " 5--00.5% -------- 100.
-in regard to the sub varieties of the various heads it is also of interest to observe that a considerable number are "repeating dies," i.e., generally a die, say of head 1 on white paper and on knife 11, is liable to be found on buff and amber paper not only on knife 11, but also on knife 9. only very few sub varieties of a given head exist on of this series. although it is evident that of all nesbitt issues the 3 cent rose 1864 has by far the largest number of die varieties, it is by no means an impossible task to classify all existing varieties as has been done with the two cent jackson, and it is the intention of the writer to carry out this work at no distant day. probably due to the apparent similarity of many dies collectors have been apathetic and have considered one as good as the other, but a little study speedily convinces the student of this error. indeed, this issue contains a number of extremely rare dies, and as soon as proper information and classification is published, the 3 cent rose of 1864 will be a favorite of all true philatelists.
-before leaving these interesting dies we must not fail to mention that, on the three cents and six cents, there is often a small dot on washington's face shaped like a mole, about one mm. under the ear. it is of little importance, and is evidently merely a flaw.
-in addition to the 3 and 6 cents, nesbitt produced, in 1864, a new design for the 9, 12, 18 and 30 cents, while the old design of the former 24 and 40 cents was changed in december 1865. the main difference between the new and the old design is that the oval band and small circular disks are with colored background bordered by colorless lines. the inscriptions and numerals are now colorless. the branches have eight leaves.
-commencing with the nine cents, we have a decided lemon-yellow and an orange; the twelve cents appears in dark brown and red-brown; the twenty-four cents in two shades of blue; the eighteen cents exists in red and dark red, and the thirty cents in yellow-green, dark green and olive-green.
-this concludes the nesbitt issues of united states envelopes. his connection with the postal department ceased march 31, 1870, when a new contract was awarded to george h. reay, of new york.
-to the philatelists the nesbitt issues are by far the most interesting series of all the united states postal issues and, as the years pass on, the intrinsic value of these die varieties will increase rapidly. specialization is the watchword of the now growing class of collectors, and there is no field so inviting and which will repay a student so richly for his labor as a specialized collection of the nesbitt issues. what is wanted to-day is a special album for united states envelopes, which would insure to this prominent branch of united states philately that measure of official recognition for which collectors have long and earnestly contended. an equally valuable aid would be the formation of a society of collectors of united states envelopes. the writer confidently expects that this suggestion will soon assume a more tangible form.
-if this series of articles has, in even the slightest degree, helped collectors of united states envelopes to a wider knowledge and better appreciation of these hitherto unknown die varieties, the writer will feel well repaid for the many hours of labor. in closing, he again asserts; "variety is the spice of life!"
-a reference list of the envelopes of the series of 1864 and 1865.
-three cents, rose.
-no. paper. knife. size. dimensions. variety. remarks.
-no. paper. knife. size. dimensions. variety. remarks.
-three cents, brown.
-six cents, purple.
-six cents, rose.
-nine cents, yellow.
-nine cents, orange.
-twelve cents, brown.
-twelve cents, red-brown.
-eighteen cents, red.
-twenty-four cents, blue.
-thirty cents, green.
-forty cents, rose.
-series of 1853-1855.
-since the publication of the early portion of the present work the writer has discovered two new varieties of this die, both with head i, which must be known as varieties 1a and 2a and which, therefore, necessitate his re-writing the descriptions of vars. 1 and 2.
-he has, also, re-written the description of variety 3 with the idea of enabling collectors to more easily differentiate between it and the other varieties.
-the following should, therefore replace the descriptions of these varieties on pages 107 and 108 of the journal for 1905.
-long side lock.
-var. 1. "cents" is near the frame line. "c" and "n" are in an almost vertical position. "n" is near "t." "s" is near curve. letters "th" are parallel and slant to left. a line drawn along the "e" of "cents" and prolonged upwards touches the right end of the top stroke of the first "e" of "three."
-var. 1a. the "c" of "cents" and "e" of "three" slant distinctly to the right. "en" close and near outer frame line. "n" and "t" are wide at base. a line drawn along "e" touches the left end of the top stroke of the final "e."
-var. 2. "th" of "three" widely spaced and "r" is almost in center of label and vertical. the "n" of "cents" slants to the right and is far from "t" at top and base. the top of "s" is some distance from curve. there is a flaw in the outer colored line nearly opposite the tip of nose. a line drawn along "e" touches right the end of the top stroke of the final "e."
-var. 2a. there is a flaw in the red outer frame line nearly opposite the junction of the queue with the garment. "cents" is near the inner frame line. "hr" wide at top and near at base. "c" is some distance from the curve. "en" near. "n" short and broad. the upper right curve is nearly a straight line. a line drawn along "e" touches the left end of the top stroke of the second "e" of "three."
-short side lock.
-the following envelopes and wrappers have been discovered since the lists were published and should, therefore, be added to them.
-three cents, red.
-var. 1a. head i.
-no. paper. knife. size. dimensions. gum. remarks.
-var. 2a. head i.
-one cent, blue.
-three cents, red.
-no. paper. knife. size. dimensions. gum. remarks.
-distance of stamp no. paper. dimensions. laid. from upper edge. remarks.
-two cents. black.
-no. class. paper. knife. size. dimensions. remarks.
-page 13, last line under head 6, read: narrow for "norrow."
-" 18, add to description of var 2, head xi: there is usually a flaw in the outer colored line opposite the lower left straight line near "c."
-page 31, head xviii, second line, after "eye-brow", read; some distance instead of: "a considerable distance."
-" 35, no. 46 should read: "w 2 3 139 x 82."
-" 37, no. 89 and 90, under "remarks", add: "reprints on white and buff vertically laid paper."
-" 38, no. 121 and 122, under "remarks", cancel: "reprints on white and buff vertically laid paper."
-" 42, variety 3, add: "distance from "e" to "c" is 3-1/2 mm."
-" " the cut marked "7" should have its number changed to "9."
-" 43, the cut marked "9" should have its number changed to "7."
-" 52, no. 248, read: "v" instead of "h".
-" " no. 270, dimensions should be: 180 x 260.
-" 62, no. 327 and 327a are: size 3.
-" 85, no. 417, is gummed.
-contents: changed the 1853-55 series from page 5 to 6.
-page 3: changed "humilation" to "humiliation". (it is an humilation to american philatelists)
-page 3: changed "unkown" to "unknown". (timorous traveler to proceed into the unkown country)
-page 4: deleted duplicate "the". (spacings between the the letters)
-page 6: changed "proceeed" to "proceed". (and the manufacture will at once proceeed.)
-page 7: changed "accordence" to "accordance". (in accordence with the instructions of the united states postal)
-page 7: changed "pecular" to "peculiar". (artists, had pecular ideas of the manly beauty)
-page 7: deleted duplicate "the". (expression runs the the gamut of meekness)
-page 8: changed "aquaintance" to "acquaintance". (die 1 are concerned, a thorough knowledge of, or aquaintance)
-page 31: deleted duplicate "the". (together with the the side-lock)
-page 40: changed "realty" to "reality". (new six and ten cents. in realty the latter two appeared)
-page 44: changed "broarder" to "broader". (to give the philatelist a broarder hold on this issue)
-page 59: changed "bu" to "but". (the six cents is very similar to the last one, bu)
-page 65: changed "luckly" to "lucky". (a rarity possessed only by a few luckly mortals.)
-page 68: changed "contracter" to "contractor". (the contracter for furnishing the post office department)
-page 68: changed "vareties" to "varieties". (five letters which differ greatly in many vareties.)
-page 69: changed "measurment(s)" to "measurement(s)". (and the measurments are made as follows:) (the student who employs these measurments) (in case of doubt that single measurment is decisive.) (the characteristic line measurment is mentioned)
-page 75: deleted duplicate "of". (top stroke of of "t" nearly touches "w.")
-page 77: changed "manilla" to "manila". (buff orange and light manilla.)
-page 78: changed "deteoriation" to "deterioration". (this is due to great deteoriation of the die.)
-page 82: changed "beheind" to "behind". (bust point beheind "o.")
-page 82: deleted duplicate "and". ("c" almost vertical and and close to point.)
-page 84: under var. 13: changed "041" to "401".
-page 103: changed "discriptions" to "descriptions". (replace the discriptions of these varieties)
-john burnet of barns
-toronto: the copp, clark company, limited. 1899.
-copyright, 1898 by john lane
-entered according to act of the parliament of canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine, by the copp clark company, limited, toronto, in the office of the minister of agriculture.
-to the memory of my sister violet katharine stuart
-book ii—the low countries
-book iii—the hillmen
-book iv—the westlands
-john burnet of barns
-the adventure which befell me in the wood of dawyck
-i have taken in hand to write this, the history of my life, not without much misgiving of heart; for my memory at the best is a bad one, and of many things i have no clear remembrance. and the making of tales is an art unknown to me, so he who may read must not look for any great skill in the setting down. yet i am emboldened to the work, for my life has been lived in stirring times and amid many strange scenes which may not wholly lack interest for those who live in quieter days. and above all, i am desirous that they of my family should read of my life and learn the qualities both good and bad which run in the race, and so the better be able to resist the evil and do the good.
-my course, by the will of god, has had something of a method about it, which makes the telling the more easy. for, as i look back upon it from the vantage ground of time, all seems spread out plain and clear in an ordered path. and i would but seek to trace again some portion of the way with the light of a dim memory.
-i will begin my tale with a certain june morning in the year 1678, when i, scarcely turned twelve years, set out from the house of barns to the fishing in tweed. i had escaped the watchful care of my tutor, master robert porter, the curate of lyne, who vexed my soul thrice a week with cæsar and cicero. i had no ill-will to the latin, for i relished the battles in cæsar well enough, and had some liking for poetry; but when i made a slip in grammar he would bring his great hand over my ears in a way which would make them tingle for hours. and all this, mind you, with the sun coming in at the window and whaups whistling over the fields and the great fish plashing in the river. on this morn i had escaped by hiding in the cheese-closet; then i had fetched my rod from the stable-loft, and borrowed tackle from davie lithgow, the stableman; and now i was creeping through the hazel bushes, casting, every now and then, a glance back at the house, where the huge figure of my teacher was looking for me disconsolately in every corner.
-i took my way up the river past the green slopes of haswellsykes to the wood of dawyck, for i knew well that there, if anywhere, the fish would take in the shady, black pools. the place was four weary miles off, and the day was growing hotter with each passing hour; so i stripped my coat and hid it in a hole among whins and stones. when i come home again, i said, i will recover it. another half mile, and i had off my shoes and stockings and concealed them in a like place; so soon i plodded along with no other clothes on my body than shirt and ragged breeches.
-in time i came to the great forest which stretches up tweed nigh to drummelzier, the greatest wood in our parts, unless it be glentress, on the east side of peebles. the trees were hazels and birches in the main, with a few rowans, and on the slopes of the hill a congregation of desolate pines. nearer the house of dawyck were beeches and oaks and the deeper shade, and it was thither i went. the top of my rod struck against the boughs, and i had some labour in steering a safe course between the scylla of the trees and the charybdis of the long brackens; for the rod was in two parts spliced together, and as i had little skill in splicing, davie had done the thing for me before i started. twice i roused a cock of the woods, which went screaming through the shadow. herons from the great heronry at the other end were standing in nigh every pool, for the hot weather was a godsend to them, and the trout fared ill when the long thief-like bills flashed through the clear water. now and then a shy deer leaped from the ground and sped up the hill. the desire of the chase was hot upon me when, after an hour’s rough scramble, i came to the spot where i hoped for fish.
-a stretch of green turf, shaded on all sides by high beeches, sloped down to the stream-side. the sun made a shining pathway down the middle, but the edges were in blackest shadow. at the foot a lone gnarled alder hung over the water, sending its long arms far over the river nigh to the farther side. here tweed was still and sunless, showing a level of placid black water, flecked in places with stray shafts of light. i prepared my tackle on the grass, making a casting-line of fine horse-hair which i had plucked from the tail of our own grey gelding. i had no such fine hooks as folk nowadays bring from edinburgh, sharpened and barbed ready to their hand; but rough, homemade ones, which tam todd, the land-grieve, had fashioned out of old needles. my line was of thin, stout whipcord, to which i had made the casting firm with a knot of my own invention. i had out my bag of worms, and, choosing a fine red one, made it fast on the hook. then i crept gently to the alder and climbed on the branch which hung far out over the stream. here i sat like an owl in the shade, and dropped my line in the pool below me, where it caught a glint of the sun and looked like a shining cord let down, like jacob’s ladder, from heaven to the darkness of earth.
-i had not sat many minutes before my rod was wrenched violently downwards, then athwart the stream, nearly swinging me from my perch. i have got a monstrous trout, i thought, and with a fluttering heart stood up on the branch to be more ready for the struggle. he ran up the water and down; then far below the tree roots, whence i had much difficulty in forcing him; then he thought to break my line by rapid jerks, but he did not know the strength of my horse-hair. by and by he grew wearied, and i landed him comfortably on a spit of land—a great red-spotted fellow with a black back. i made sure that he was two pounds weight if he was an ounce.
-i wakened with a desperate shudder, and found myself floundering in seven feet of water. my eyes were still heavy with sleep, and i swallowed great gulps of the river as i sank. in a second i came to the surface and with a few strokes i was at the side, for i had early learned to swim. stupid and angry, i scrambled up the bank to the green glade. here a first surprise befell me. it was late afternoon; the sun had travelled three-fourths of the sky; it would be near five o’clock. what a great fool i had been to fall asleep and lose a day’s fishing! i found my rod moored to the side with the line and half of the horse-hair; some huge fish had taken the hook. then i looked around me to the water and the trees and the green sward, and surprise the second befell me; for there, not twelve paces from me, stood a little girl, watching me with every appearance of terror.
-she was about two years younger than myself, i fancied. her dress was some rich white stuff which looked eerie in the shade of the beeches, and her long hair fell over her shoulders in plentiful curls. she had wide, frightened blue eyes and a delicately-featured face, and as for the rest i know not how to describe her, so i will not try. i, with no more manners than a dog, stood staring at her, wholly forgetful of the appearance i must present, without shoes and stockings, coat or waistcoat, and dripping with tweed water. she spoke first, in a soft southern tone, which i, accustomed only to the broad scots of jean morran, who had been my nurse, fell in love with at once. her whole face was filled with the extremest terror.
-"oh, sir, be you the water-kelpie?" she asked.
-i could have laughed at her fright, though i must have been like enough to some evil spirit; but i answered her with my best gravity.
-"no, i am no kelpie, but i had gone to sleep and fell into the stream. my coat and shoes are in a hole two miles down, and my name is john burnet of barns." all this i said in one breath, being anxious to right myself in her eyes; also with some pride in the last words.
-it was pretty to see how recognition chased the fear from her face. "i know you," she said. "i have heard of you. but what do you in the dragon’s hole, sir? this is my place. the dragon will get you without a doubt."
-at this i took off my bonnet and made my best bow. "and who are you, pray, and what story is this of dragons? i have been here scores of times, and never have i seen or heard of them." this with the mock importance of a boy.
-"oh, i am marjory," she said, "marjory veitch, and i live at the great house in the wood, and all this place is my father’s and mine. and this is my dragon’s den;" and straightway she wandered into a long tale of fair margot and the seven maidens, how margot wed the dragon and he turned forthwith into a prince, and i know not what else. "but no harm can come to me, for look, i have the charm," and she showed me a black stone in a silver locket. "my nurse alison gave it me. she had it from a great fairy who came with it to my cradle when i was born."
-"who told you all this?" i asked in wonder, for this girl seemed to carry all the wisdom of the ages in her head.
-"alison and my father, and my brother michael and old adam noble, and a great many more—" then she broke off. "my mother is gone. the fairies came for her."
-then i remembered the story of the young english mistress of dawyck, who had died before she had been two years in our country. and this child, with her fairy learning, was her daughter.
-now i know not what took me, for i had ever been shy of folk, and, above all, of womankind. but here i found my tongue, and talked to my new companion in a way which i could not sufficiently admire. there in the bright sun-setting i launched into the most miraculous account of my adventures of that day, in which dragons and witches were simply the commonest portents. then i sat down and told her all the stories i had read out of virgil and cæsar, and all that i had heard of the wars in england and abroad, and the tales of the countryside which the packmen had told me. also i must tell the romances of the nettie-wives who come to our countryside from the north—the old sad tale of morag of the misty days and usnach’s sons and the wiles of angus. and she listened, and thanked me ever so prettily when i had done. then she would enlighten my ignorance; so i heard of the red etin of ireland, and the wolf of brakelin, and the seven bold brothers. then i showed her nests, and gave her small blue eggs to take home, and pulled great foxgloves for her, and made coronets of fern. we played at hide-and-go-seek among the beeches, and ran races, and fought visionary dragons. then the sun went down over the trees, and she declared it was time to be going home. so i got my solitary fish from its bed of rushes and made her a present of it. she was pleased beyond measure, though she cried out at my hardness in taking its life.
-so it came to pass that mistress marjory veitch of dawyck went home hugging a great two-pound trout, and i went off to barns, heedless of master porter and his heavy hand, and, arriving late, escaped a thrashing, and made a good meal of the remnants of supper.
-the house of barns
-the house of barns stands on a green knoll above the tweed, half-way between the village of stobo and the town of peebles. tweed here is no great rolling river, but a shallow, prattling stream, and just below the house it winds around a small islet, where i loved to go and fish; for it was an adventure to reach the place, since a treacherous pool lay not a yard below it. the dwelling was white and square, with a beacon tower on the top, which once flashed the light from neidpath to drochil when the english came over the border. it had not been used for half a hundred years, but a brazier still stood there, and a pile of rotten logs, grim mementoes of elder feuds. this also was a haunt of mine, for jackdaws and owls built in the corners, and it was choice fun of a spring morning to search for eggs at the risk of my worthless life. the parks around stretched to manor village on the one side, and nigh to the foot of the lyne water on the other. manor water as far as posso belonged to us, and many a rare creel have i had out of its pleasant reaches. behind, rose the long heathery hill of the scrape, which is so great a hill that while one side looks down on us another overhangs the wood of dawyck. beyond that again came dollar law and the wild fells which give birth to the tweed, the yarrow, and the annan.
-within the house, by the great hall-fire, my father, william burnet, spent his days. i mind well his great figure in the armchair, a mere wreck of a man, but mighty in his very ruin. he wore a hat, though he seldom went out, to mind him of the old days when he was so busy at hunting and harrying that he had never his head uncovered. his beard was streaked with grey, and his long nose, with a break in the middle (which is a mark of our family), and bushy eyebrows gave him a fearsome look to a chance stranger. in his young days he had been extraordinarily handsome and active, and, if all tales be true, no better than he should have been. he was feared in those days for his great skill in night-foraying, so that he won the name of the "howlet," which never left him. those were the high days of our family, for my father was wont to ride to the weaponshow with seven horsemen behind him; now we could scarce manage four. but in one of his night-rides his good fortune failed him; for being after no good on the hills above megget one dark wintry night, he fell over the bitch craig, horse and all; and though he escaped with his life, he was lamed in both legs and condemned to the house for the rest of his days. of a summer night he would come out to the lawn with two mighty sticks to support him, and looking to the manor water hills, would shake his fist at them as old enemies. in his later days he took kindly to theology and learning, both of which, in the person of master porter, dined at his table every day. i know not how my father, who was a man of much penetration, could have been deceived by this man, who had as much religion as an ox. as for learning, he had some rag-tag scraps of latin which were visited on me for my sins; but in eating he had no rival, and would consume beef and pasty and ale like a famished army. he preached every sabbath in the little kirk of lyne, below the roman camp, and a woful service it was. i went regularly by my father’s orders, but i was the only one from the household of barns. i fear that not even my attendance at his church brought me master porter’s love; for i had acquired nearly as much latin as he possessed himself, and vexed his spirit at lesson-hours with unanswerable questions. at other times, too, i would rouse him to the wildest anger by singing a profane song of my own making:
-"o ken ye his reverence minister tam, wi’ a heid like a stot and a face like a ram?"
-to me my father was more than kind. he was never tired of making plans for my future. "john," he would say, "you shall go to glasgow college, for you have the makings of a scholar in you. ay, and we’ll make you a soldier, john, and a good honest gentleman to fight for your king, as your forbears did before you." (this was scarce true, for there never yet was a burnet who fought for anything but his own hand.) "no damned whig for me. gad, how i wish i were hale in the legs to be off to the hills with the johnstones and keiths. there wouldna be one of the breed left from tweedwell to the brig o’ peebles." then he would be anxious about my martial training, and get down the foils to teach me a lesson. from this he would pass to tales of his own deeds till the past would live before him, and his eyes would glow with their old fire. then he would forget his condition, and seek to show me how some parry was effected. there was but one result; his poor weak legs would give way beneath him. then i had to carry him to his bed, swearing deeply at his infirmities and lamenting the changes of life.
-my father’s brother, gilbert, had married the heiress of a westland family, and with her had got the lands of eaglesham, about the headwaters of cart. his son gilbert, my cousin, was a tall lad some four years my senior, who on several occasions rode to visit us at barns. he was of a handsome, soldierly appearance, and looked for an the drifts.
-soon there was help and to spare. alan ford was riding down the narrow way between high walls of glittering white to barton’s for aid, and bringing back telegrams of anxious inquiry from mr. blossom and mr. clyde. on the fourth day, the blockade was raised, and the south-bound express to barton’s river brought mr. blossom from the north, and another train brought mr. clyde from the south. two days after all the lost nation knew that march would live.
-a little daughter of the rich
-it was days before march himself was aware of that fact.
-budd and cherry were at the fords’. may was with aunt tryphosa and miss alton at lemuel wood’s. maria-ann had come over to help mrs. blossom with the work, and chi had taken care of the stock. rose and her mother watched and waited in the sick room, relieved on alternate nights by mr. blossom and chi.
-the great storm was a thing of the past. the sun shone in a deep blue heaven, and the white world of the mountain showed daily life and movement. the teamsters were at work loading the sledges with logs, and the ponderous drags squeaked and grated as they slid down the crisping highway.
-a crow cawed loudly on the first of march, and the hens came out to find a warm nook in the south-east corner of the barn-yard, where a heap of sodden straw was thawing.
-all in the farmhouse were rejoicing, for march had spoken in his weakness--a few words, but clear, coherent, for the frost and fever, both, had left his brain. when he spoke the second time it was to ask for chi; and chi had tiptoed into the room in his stocking-feet and laid his hand on march’s thin, white one, gulped down the tears and the rising sob that was choking him, and--spoke of the weather!
-the next day march turned to his mother, who was sitting by the bed, brooding him with her great love, and asked suddenly, but in a clear and much stronger voice:
-"where ’s hazel?"
-mrs. blossom hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly:--"hazel is at home with her father for a few weeks."
-march turned his face to the wall and was silent for several hours.
-when he was stronger mrs. blossom gave him the little note hazel had left for him, and, with mother-tact, knowing march’s reserve of nature, went out of the room while he read it. she saw no signs of it when she returned and asked no questions, but march’s gray eyes spoke a language for which there was but one interpretation. with his rare smile, he held out his hand for his mother’s, and clasped it closely.
-soon he was able to be up and about, and the children were again at home. life in the farmhouse resumed its old course--but with a difference. just what it was no one attempted to define. but each felt it in his own way. march was more gentle with budd and cherry, more often with his mother and chi, more companionable for his father. rose was quieter, but, if possible, more loving towards all. budd was at times wholly disconsolate, and wasted sheets of his best christmas note-paper in writing letters to hazel which were never sent.
-chi went oftener to the small house "over eastwards," where he was sure of willing ears and sympathetic hearts when he unburdened himself in regard to his "lady-bird."
-"fact is," he said to maria-ann, as she stood with her apron over her head watching him plough their garden plot (that was his annual neighborly offering), "she ’s left a great hole in that house, ’n’ there is n’t one of us that don’t know it ’n’ feel it;--kind of empty like in your heart, you know, just as your stomach feels when you ’ve ploughed an acre of sidlin’ ground, before breakfast--get up, bess, whoa--back!--you don’t hear that laugh of hers in the barn, nor out in the field, nor up in the pasture; ’n’ you don’t see those great eyes lookin’ up at you when you ’re harnessin’, nor peekin’ round the corner of the stall to see if you ’re most through milkin’. ’n’ you don’t hear a fiddle makin’ it lively after supper, ’n’ the children ain’t danced once in the barn this spring." chi sighed heavily.
-"don’t mr. ford go over there pretty often?" queried maria-ann. "i see him gallopin’ by two or three times a week."
-"well, what if you do?" chi answered grumpily, much to maria-ann’s surprise. "he can’t fiddle the way ladybird does, ’n’ they all sit ’n’ jabber some kind of lingo--french, they call it, but i call it, good, straight canuck--’n’ act as if they were at a party,--rose, ’n’ miss alton, ’n’ the whole of ’em. ’t ain’t much company for me. i get off to bed about dark. ’n’ the worst of it is, when he isn’t to our house, they’re all to his--come around!" chi jerked the reins, to bess’s resentful surprise.
-"they say he’s payin’ attention to rose," ventured maria-ann, her eyes following the furrow, which was running not quite true.
-"they ’re a parcel of fools," growled chi, eyeing the furrow with a dissatisfied air, "rose need n’t look alan ford’s way for attention. she can have all she wants most anywheres.--get up, bess! what you backin’ that way for!--’n’ folks tongues can be measured by the furlong ’twixt here and barton’s."
-"well, there ain’t any harm in rose’s havin’ attention, chi," said maria-ann with some spirit, and ready to stand up for her sex.
-"did n’t say there was," retorted chi, in mollified tones. "there ain’t no more harm in rose’s havin’ attention than in your havin’ it."
-"me!" exclaimed maria-ann, pleasantly surprised out of her momentary resentment. "i ain’t had any chance to have any."
-"ain’t you?" said chi, busying himself with the plough preparatory to leaving. "well, that ain’t any sign you won’t have--get along, bess!--i ’ll leave this plough here till to-morrow; i ain’t drawn those last two furrers straight, ’n’ i ’ve got too much pride to have any man see that--malachi graham, his mark.--no, sir-ee," said chi, emphatically, "straight or starve is my motto every time, just you remember that, marier-ann simmons."
-"i will, chi," laughed maria-ann, and went back to her washing, singing joyfully to her rubbing accompaniment:--
-"come, sinners all, repent in time, the judgment day is dawning; sun, moon, and stars to earth incline, the trumpet sounds a warning."
-meanwhile letters were coming to every member of the family from hazel. as march regained his strength there came as special gifts to him, books and magazines, and from time to time a beautiful photograph of an old-world cathedral--canterbury, or york; a stately castle like warwick, or heidelberg; a peasant’s chalet, or an english cottage to gladden his artist soul and eye, and transform the walls of his room into dwelling-places for his ideals.
-"mother," he said rather wistfully to mrs. blossom, on the first may day as they sat together under the old wishing-tree, talking over the plans for his future, "how can i go to work to make it all come true?"
-he held in his hand a large photograph of the interior of cologne cathedral, which hazel had given him.
-"there are many ways, dear, which are most unexpectedly opened at times. no boy with health and perseverance has much to fear."
-"but, mother, father had both, and he was n’t able to go through college. he told me all about it the other day, and how he had missed it all through his life."
-"i know, march, father failed in attaining to that which was his great desire, but he succeeded so immeasurably in another direction, that i think, sometimes, it must have been all for the best."
-"why, mother, father is poor now--how do you mean he has succeeded?"
-"my dear boy, you are only in your seventeenth year, and i don’t know that i can make it plain to you because you are young; but when your father conquered every selfish tendency in him, put aside what he had striven so hard for and what was just within his reach, and turned about and did the duty that the time demanded of him;--when he took his dead father’s place as provider for the family, and, by his own exertions, placed his mother and sisters beyond want, before he even allowed himself to tell me he loved me, he proved himself a successful man; for he developed, in such hard circumstances, such nobility of character, that he is rich in love and esteem,--and that, march, and only that, is true wealth."
-"i see what you mean, mother, but it does n’t help me to see how i ’m to get through college, and get the training i need in my profession." march uttered the last word with pride. "there is so much a man has to have for that. look at that now," he continued, holding up the photograph; "i need all that, and that means europe, and europe means money and time, and where is it all to come from?"
-his mother smiled at the despairing tone. "as for time, march, you are only in your seventeenth year. that means ten years before you can begin to work in your profession; and as for the means--" she hesitated--"i think it is time to tell you something i ’ve been keeping and rejoicing over these last two weeks." she drew a letter from her dress-waist and handed it to him. "read this, dear, and tell me what you think of it." wondering, march took it and read:--
-hawking valley, north carolina, april 15, 1897.
-my dear mrs. blossom,--just a year ago to-day i sent my one child to you, trusting the judgment of my dear friend, doctor heath, in a matter which he felt concerned the future welfare of my daughter. my home has been very lonely without her. you, as a parent, can know something of what this separation has entailed.
-it seemed wise to me, and i know you concurred in my opinion, to take her away from the conditions, in which she has thriven so wonderfully, while you were burdened, both in heart and hands, by such a critical illness as your son’s. the result confirms the wisdom of my action, for march’s convalescence has been slow and long; i am thankful to be assured it is sure. the burden of an extra member in your family at this time would, in the long run, prove too heavy for you.
-i cannot tell you how i appreciate what you have done for hazel. i have no words to express it. she returns to me full of life and joy, with no apparent unwillingness to take up her life again with me, which must seem dull to her in contrast to that which she had with you. yet i know in her loyal little heart she belongs to you, is a part of your family henceforth--and i am glad to know it is so, for she needs, and will need, as a young girl, your motherly influence at all times.
-i ’m not taking her away from you for good. oh, no! that would be her loss as well as mine; but i am testing her a little. i have said i had no words with which adequately to express my gratitude. i am your debtor for my child’s physical well-being--for much else which i do not find it easy to define. will you allow me to make some compensation for your year of devotion? i do not care what form it take, providing you will permit me to try to discharge something of the debt--the whole can never be repaid. will you not let me send that splendid son of yours through college? and give him two years of europe afterwards? that future profession of his has always been of great interest to me. if the boy is too proud, as i suspect is the case, to accept the necessary amount other than as a loan, make it plain to him that i will even yield a point there--a pretty bad state of affairs for me as a debtor to find myself in. if he won’t do this for me--won’t rose help me out by permitting me to aid her in cultivating that voice of hers? i know your magnanimity, and depend upon you to help me in this.
-hazel does not know i am writing to you, or she would send loving messages.
-my kindest regards to mr. blossom, with hearty congratulations for march, and all sorts of neighborly remembrances for all others of the lost nation.
-sincerely your friend, john curtis clyde.
-to mrs. benjamin blossom.
-a wave of crimson surged into march’s pale face, and the sensitive nostrils quivered; then two big drops plashed down upon the letter which he handed to his mother.
-"oh, mother! if only i could--but i can’t!"
-he rolled over on the soft pasture turf, face downwards, his head resting on his arms.
-"why, march dear," said his mother, tenderly, "why can’t you? i think it ’s beautiful, so does father."
-a sob shook the long, thin frame. his mother laid her hand on the back of the yellow head. "what is it, my dear boy? can’t you tell me?"
-the head shook energetically beneath her hand, and muffled words issued from the grass.
-"but, march, we thought it would please you to have such an opportunity. you have read what mr. clyde says--you can look upon it as a loan. i hope you won’t have any false pride in this matter--"
-"’tis n’t false, mother," came forth from the grass, "and i would like to accept his offer, if only it were n’t just his."
-"why not his, march? surely, hazel has been like one of us--a real little sister--" another vigorous wagging of the yellow head arrested his mother in the midst of her sentence.
-"hazel is n’t my sister."
-"why, of course, you can’t feel as near to her as to rose, but then, you must see how dear she has become to us all--and mr. clyde has put it in such a way, that the most sensitive person could accept it without injury to any feeling of true pride. take time and think it over, march. it has come upon you rather suddenly, and i have been thinking about it for two weeks."
-"it’s no use to think it over." deep tragedy now made itself audible, as march rolled over and sat up, displaying eyes bright with excitement, flushed cheeks, and a generally determined air of having it out with himself.
-"well, i can’t understand you, march."
-"i wish you could."
-his mother smiled in spite of the gravity of the situation. "can’t you tell me? or give me some clue to this mysterious determination of yours?"
-march cast a despairing glance at his mother. "mother, will you promise never to tell?"
-"not even your father, march?"
-"no, father, nor any one--ever, mother."
-"very well; i promise, march, for i trust you."
-"oh, mother, have n’t you seen?--don’t you know, that i--that i love hazel! and how can i take the money from her father, when i ’m going to try to make her love me and marry me sometime, when i get through studying, and--and--oh, don’t you see?"
-and mrs. blossom did see--at last.
-she spoke very gently, after a minute’s silence, in which march’s ears burned red to their tips, and his fingers were busy digging up a tiny strawberry-plant by the roots. "my son, i see, and i honor you for feeling as you do; but, march, have you thought of the difference between you and hazel?"
-"what difference, mother?"
-now mary blossom was not a worldly woman, neither was she a woman of the world--and she found it difficult to answer.
-"you know how hazel is placed in life, although you do not know with what luxury she is surrounded in her home. she has beauty, a large circle of friends, immense wealth. there will be many who will seek her hand in four years’ time, for she has a wonderful charm of her own, for all who come close to her.--is it worth while to attempt, even, to win this little daughter of the rich? you, a poor boy, with his way to make?"
-"but, mother,"--there was strong protest in the voice--"she did n’t have any beauty till she came up here to us--and if she was a rich girl, she was n’t a healthy one till she lived up here, and i don’t see the good of money and a lot of things, if you ’re sick, and homely, too." march waxed eloquent in his desire to convince his mother of the justice of his cause. "and if she hadn’t come up here she would n’t have got well, and then she would n’t have grown so beautiful--and she is beautiful, mother." (mrs. blossom nodded assent.) "and i don’t see why i have n’t just as much right to try to make her love me as any other fellow. you ’ve told us children, dozens of times, it’s just character that counts, and not money, and if i try as hard as i can to keep straight and be a good man like father, i don’t see why things would n’t be all right in the end."
-mrs. blossom was silenced,--"hoist with her own petard." "how can i destroy this lovely, young ideal? i dare not," was her thought. but aloud, she said:--"you ’re right, march. nothing but character counts. make yourself worthy of this little love of yours. we ’ll keep this in our own hearts, and when you are tempted to wrong-doing--and there are fearful temptations for every young man to meet, march,--temptations of which you can form no conception here in the shelter of your home--just remember this little talk of ours, and keep yourself unspotted by the world just by the thought of this dear girl whom you hope some day to win. there is nothing, march, that will keep a young man in the right way like his love for just ’the one girl in the world’--if only she be worthy of his love. and i think hazel will be--even of you."
-march flung his arms about her neck and kissed her heartily:
-"dear, little mother blossom, i ’ll try, and even if i fail, just the thought of such a glorious-filorious mother that does n’t laugh at a fellow--i was afraid you would, though,--will keep me straight enough. why, mother blossom! i ’d be ashamed to look you in the eyes, if i did a down-right mean thing."
-his mother laughed through her tears. "i wonder if many mothers get such a compliment? come, dear, the dew is beginning to fall--it’s been such a heavenly day, i had forgotten it is early spring. do you feel chilly?"
-"not i," laughed march, and proceeded to relieve his feelings after his favorite method--by turning a double-back somersault down the pasture slope.
-as mrs. blossom leaned over to kiss tired, sleepy budd that night, she thought complacently to herself:--
-"well, thank fortune, here ’s one who is heart-free," and laughed softly to herself. chi had not told her of budd’s proposal.
-"wilkins, tell miss hazel to come down into the library when she is dressed for dinner."
-"yes, marse clyde." wilkins sprang upstairs two steps at a time, and, knocking at hazel’s door, delivered his message.
-"tell papa i ’m going to dress early, for i ’ve some things to attend to about the table, wilkins."
-"fo’ sho’, miss hazel," said wilkins, with a broad smile of delighted surprise.
-"and tell mrs. scott i ’ll choose the service, if she will take out the linen, and i have ordered the flowers. papa said i might."
-wilkins skipped downstairs, delivered his message to the amazed housekeeper, and then flew into the kitchen to impart his news to the cook, his confidante and co-worker for years in the clyde household.
-minna-lu was preparing a confection, and giving her whole soul to the making, when wilkins made his appearance. she looked up grimly, the ebony of her countenance shining beneath the immaculate white of her turban:--
-"wa’ fo’ yo’ hyar?"
-wilkins slapped both knees with the palms of his hands, and bent nearly double with noiseless laughter; then, straightening himself, approached minna-lu with boldness, despite the repelling wave of the cream-whip that she held suspended over the bowl, and confided to her the change of régime, to her edification and delight.
-she put down the bowl and whip, stemmed her fists on her broad hips, and gurgled long and low. "’f little missus done take rale hol’ er de reins, dere ain’t no kin’ er show fo’ sech po’ trash." she indicated with an upward movement of her thumb the upper regions where the housekeeper was supposed to be.
-"when i wan’s a missus, i wan’s quality folks, an’ little missus do take de cake. nebber see sech er chile. dem great, shinin’ eyes, lookin’ at yo’ out o’ all de do’s, an’ dat laff soun’in’ jes’ like de ol’ mocker dat nebber knowed nuffin’ ’bout bedtime--yo’ recollecks?" wilkins nodded emphatically, but was unprepared for minna-lu’s next move:--
-"git out o’ hyar, yo’ good-fo’-nuffin’ niggah. huccome yo’ stan’in’ roun’ wif yo’ legs stiffer ’n de whites er dese yer eggs, an’ yo’ jaw goin’ like de egg-beatah, an’ de comp’ny comin’ at rale sharp eight." minna-lu took up her bowl, and wilkins beat a hasty retreat.
-it was a warm first of may, and just about the hour when march and his mother were leaving the wishing-tree, that hazel appeared in the dining-room. wilkins gazed at her in a species of adoration. her orders appeared to him revolutionary, but he obeyed them implicitly and unhesitatingly.
-"take off the candelabra, wilkins, it is too warm to-night to have them on; besides, people don’t have a nice time talking when they have to peek around them to get a glimpse of the people they ’re talking to." wilkins whisked off the candelabra as if they had been made of thistledown.
-"dat’s so, fo’ sho’, miss hazel. i see de folks doan’ talk when dey ain’ comf’ble; but i nebber tink ob de can’les."
-"when it’s dark you can light all the sconces. i want you to use the pale green, bohemian dinner set to-night; and i want just as little silver as possible."
-wilkins looked blank, and hazel laughed. "oh, we ’ll make it up with some cut glass, i ’ll manage it. i want the table to look cool and simple, just to-night."
-cool and simple. wilkins failed to comprehend it, but such was his faith in "little missy," that he carried out her orders to the letter, and the result was, according to mrs. fenlick, "a dream of beauty."
-when she had made her preparations to her entire satisfaction, as well as wilkins’s, and the latter had called minna-lu from her culinary tug-of-war to witness "little missy’s" triumph, hazel ran into the library.
-her father looked at her in amazement. could this radiant, young girl be the same hazel of a year ago? they had gone directly to north carolina when hazel had left mount hunger, and had been at home but two days. this little dinner was given to mr. clyde’s intimate friends as an informal celebration and recognition of his daughter’s return to the new york house.
-now, as she ran into the room and linked her arm in his, her father looked down upon her with such evident pride and love, that hazel laughed joyfully, kid her cheek against his coat-sleeve and patted his hand.
-"do i look nice, papa clyde?"
-"nice! that’s no word for it, birdie." and thereupon he took her in his arms and gave her such a hug and a kiss, that the pretty dress must have suffered if it had not been made of the softest of white china-silk.
-"oh, my flowers! you ’ll crush them!" she cried, shielding with both hands a bunch of flowers at her belt.
-"where did you get all this--this style, daughter mine? it’s--why, you ’re nothing but a little girl, but it’s ’chic.’"
-hazel enjoyed her father’s admiration to the full. she drew herself up, straight and tall, graceful and slender--her head was already above his shoulder--exclaiming:--
-"little girl! well, your little girl designed this gown herself. i would n’t have any fuss or frills about it; it’s just plain and full and soft and clingy, and this sash of soft silk--is n’t it a pretty, pale green?--feel--" she caught up a handful of the delicate fabric and crushed it in her hand, then smoothed it again, and it showed no wrinkles. "i ’ve put it on to match the dinner. i ’ve had it all my own way--wilkins did just as i said--and it’s all cool and green and springy. you ’ll see."
-"where did you get these flowers?" mr. clyde touched the bunch of arbutus, that showed so delicately pink and white against the white of her dress and the green of her sash.
-a wave of beautiful color shot up to the roots of the little crinkles of chestnut hair on her temples; she touched the blossoms caressingly. "i wrote march about this dinner-party, and how it was the first at which i had been hostess, and he wrote back and wanted to know what i was going to wear, and i told him--and this morning these lovely things came by mail all done up in cotton wool in a tin cracker-box, the kind chi uses to put his worm-bait in, when he goes fishing. are n’t they lovely? and was n’t march lovely to think of them, papa?"
-"they are n’t half as lovely as you are," said mr. clyde, earnestly, replying to half of her question only. "you are my unspoiled hazel-blossom--" then a sudden, intrusive thought caught and arrested his words. "hazel blossom," he repeated to himself, looking at her unconscious face as he uttered the last word, "good heavens! could such a thing be?"
-"de cun’le an’ mrs. fenlick," announced wilkins.
-and when they were all seated at the table--the colonel and mrs. fenlick, doctor and mrs. heath, aunt carrie and uncle jo, the masons and the pearsells--with no candelabra to interfere with the merry speech and glances, with the light from the candles in the sconces shining softly on the exquisite napery, on the low bed of white tulips in the centre and the grace of the pale, green porcelain, with the tall bohemian romer-glasses before the plates--what wonder that mrs. fenlick pronounced it a "dream of beauty"?
-when their guests had gone, mr. clyde turned to hazel:--"i shall be glad to open the newport cottage again, birdie, with such a little hostess to help me entertain."
-"the newport house, papa!" hazel exclaimed, a distinct note of disappointment sounding in her voice.
-"why not, dear? i thought of getting down there by the tenth; in fact, gave my orders to mrs. scott to begin packing to-morrow."
-hazel was evidently struggling with herself. she fingered the arbutus nervously; took them out of her belt; inhaled their fragrance. then she looked up with a smile, although the corners of her mouth drooped and trembled a little:--
-"why, of course, why not, papa? it’s so much pleasanter there in may, than when everybody is down for the summer."
-her father sat down in an easy-chair, put an arm around his daughter, and drew her down to a seat on the arm of the chair.
-"now, hazel, i want you to tell me all about it. don’t you want to go?"
-"yes, if you ’re there, papa, but--" she turned suddenly and her arm stole around his neck--"don’t leave me there alone, papa, please don’t."
-"leave you--i? why what do you mean, dear?"
-"oh, it is so lonesome when you are away, papa, when you go off yachting with the colonel--and the house is so big, and there ’s nobody to talk to and say good-night to--and--and, oh, dear!" the tears began to come, but she struggled bravely for a few minutes.
-"why, little girl, you have never told me you were lonesome without me: indeed, you have never shown any sign of it, or of wanting me around much. i never thought--why, hazel." down went the curly head on his shoulder, and the sobs grew loud and frequent.
-"there, there, birdie," he said soothingly, stroking her head, "you ’re all tired out; this party has been too much for you--"
-an energetic, protesting head-shake was followed by broken sentences--"it was n’t that--i ’m not tired--you don’t know, papa--i didn’t know--know i was lonesome, and that i was--i think i was homesick--dreadfully--but barbara frietchie, you know--i had to be brave--and, i have tried not to show it to make you feel unhappy--and i love you so! but, oh, dear! i miss them so dreadfully, and i hoped--i was a member of the n.b.--b.o.--o., oh--dear me,--society, and the by-law says--i mean march read it--oh, papa!"
-"well, well, there, there, dear," said the somewhat mystified father, bending all his efforts to soothe this evidently perturbed spirit, "why did n’t you tell me before?"
-"because i was barbara frietchie."
-"now, hazel, sit up and look me in the face and tell me what you mean. i supposed i was holding hazel clyde in my arms and not old barbara frietchie. please explain."
-"i thought i wrote you, papa," hazel could not help smiling through her tears, for it did strike her as rather funny about papa’s holding the patriotic, old lady in his arms.
-"well, you did n’t tell me that." so hazel explained.
-mr. clyde nodded approval. "very good, i approve of the n.b.b.o.o. society, and of the present barbara frietchie’s heroism--but no more of it is called for. you see, i fully intended you should pay your friends--my friends--a visit this summer, but i thought it would be much better later in the season when mrs. blossom would be rested from the fatigue of march’s illness--"
-"oh, papa!" a squeeze effectually impeded further utterance. "i don’t care how soon we go to newport, or anywhere--of course, if you are with me--as long as i can go to mount hunger sometime this summer. and, besides," she added eagerly, "we planned next winter’s visit from rose, didn’t we?"
-"i should rather think we did. we shall be very proud of our beautiful friend, rose, and delighted to have our friends meet her, shan’t we?" another squeeze precluded, for the moment, articulate speech.
-"yes," hazel cried, enthusiastically, "we ’ll take her to concerts and operas--just think, papa, with that lovely voice she has never heard a concert!--and we ’ll take her to the theatre and--"
-"and," her father went on, growing enthusiastic himself at the prospect, for he was the soul of hospitality, "and we ’ll give her a dainty dinner or two, and possibly a little dance--few and early, you know--"
-"oh--ee!" cried hazel, forgetting her woe, "and mrs. heath will give a lunch-party for her, and, perhaps, aunt carrie a tea, and mrs. fenlick a reception--"
-"heavens!" interrupted her father, "you ’ll kill her with kindness--that fresh, wild rose can’t stand all that--"
-"oh, yes, she can, papa; she can stand that just as well as i stood going up there where everything was so different."
-"true," said mr. clyde, thoughtfully, "it was different."
-"oh, it was, papa! i never had to go to bed alone. mrs. blossom always came to say good-night and to kiss me, and to--to--"
-"to what?" asked her father.
-"you won’t mind if i tell you?" hazel asked, half-shyly.
-"mind! i should say not; i should mind if you did n’t tell me."
-"--to say ’our father’ with me, papa; you know no one ever said it with me before, and it’s--it’s such a comfy time to feel sorry and talk over what you ’ve done wrong; and it’s that i miss so."
-"i don’t blame you, birdie," said her father, quietly. "but now see how late it is!"--he pointed to the clock--"eleven! this will never do for a débutante. good-night, darling. sweet dreams of rose and the n.b.b.o.o. society."
-"good-night, papa clyde; doctor heath says you are the most splendid fellow in the world--but i know you are the dearest father in the world; good-night, i ’ve had a lovely party."
-she ran upstairs, but, in a moment, her father heard her tripping down again. her head parted the portières. "i just came back to tell you, that this kind of a talk we ’ve had is just as good as the mount hunger bedtime-talks. i shan’t be homesick any more." and away she ran.
-now john curtis clyde was a pew-owner--as had been his father and grandfather before him--in one of the fifth avenue churches, and duly made his appearance in that pew every sunday morning. he entered, too, into the service with hearty voice, and made his responses without, the while, giving undue thought to the world. but when he had said "our father" with his little daughter by his side, he had supposed his duty performed to the extent of his needs--of another’s, his child’s, he gave no thought.
-to-night, however, as he sat in the easy-chair where hazel had left him, it began to dawn upon him slowly that his little daughter, during her fourteen years, might have had other needs, for which he had not provided, nor, perhaps, with all his riches was capable of providing.
-the clock chimed twelve,--one,--two--; john clyde, with a sigh, rose and went up to bed--a wiser and a better man.
-what a summer that was! mr. clyde sent hazel up to the blossoms for july and again for september, when he, the colonel and mrs. fenlick, the pearsells and the masons, aunt carrie and uncle jo took possession of the entire inn at barton’s river, and for a month coached and rode throughout the "north country," all in the cool september weather. jack sherrill joined them for the last three weeks, and, this time, maude seaton was not of the party.
-"i just headed her off every time she made a dead set at any one of us for an invitation," said mrs. fenlick one day in confidence to her intimate, mrs. pearsell, as they sat on the vine-covered veranda of the inn, "but she proved a regular octopus. she got the colonel in her toils one morning at the casino, and i pretended to be faint--yes, i did--just to get his attention for a sufficient time to make a fuss, and get him alone in the carriage; then, of course, i settled it. oh, dear! men are so guileless in spots!"--mrs. fenlick gave a weary sigh--"what i have n’t been through with that girl! anyway, she’s been out two winters, now, and she has n’t caught jack sherrill yet. i don’t think there is much chance after the first season for a girl to make a really fine match, do you?" then they fell to discussing the pros, and cons, of the question with evergreen interest.
-jack sherrill, for one, had no thought of miss seaton. he had sent the valentine-flowers, and the sentiment from barry cornwall’s love-song, with a strange kind of "kill or cure" feeling.
-he had communed with himself, at twilight of one february day, as he lay at full length on the cushioned window-seat of his room from which he looked down upon the darkening, snow-covered campus and the anatomy of the elms showing black against it. his pipe had gone out, but he derived some satisfaction in pulling away at it mechanically, while he thought out the situation for himself.
-"what’s the use of a man’s hanging fire when he knows?" he thought. "now, i love her--love her." (jack’s hand stole into the breast of his jacket and crushed a bit of paper there; he smiled.) "of course she does n’t know, and won’t know for a while, but it shan’t be through any neglect of mine that she does n’t; and when she knows--there ’s the rub!--will she care for me, jack sherrill? i ’ve never done anything in my life to make a girl like that care for me.
-"but there’s one thing i ’d stake my life on--she would n’t marry a man for his money. a man ’s got to be loved for himself--not for what he can give a woman, or do for her, but just for himself, if it’s going to be the real thing, and last. and what am i that a girl like that should love me--" jack was growing very humble. he pulled himself together: "anyhow, i’ll send the flowers and the sentiment, i mean it; i don’t care what she thinks!" jack’s courage rose as he began to feel something like defiance of fate.
-just then his chum came in.
-"there’s no use, sherrill," he said, flinging himself down upon the cushioned seat jack had just vacated; "we can’t have the theatricals unless you take the girl’s part. it won’t put you out any--smooth face and no scrub. you ’ve been it once, and it will be a dead failure if you aren’t in it now."
-"i don’t see how i can," replied jack, shortly, for this intrusion on his mood irritated him. "i told you, all of you, at the club last year, that i would n’t play after i was a junior."
-"well, what if you did?" rejoined his chum, a little crossly. "you ’re not so uncompromisingly steadfast in other things that you can’t afford to change your mind in such a trifle as this."
-"come, don’t be touchy," said jack, good-humoredly. "hit right out from the shoulder, old man, and tell me what you mean."
-"they say over at the club that you have thrown maude seaton over, but grayson took up the seaton cudgels and made the statement that she had thrown you over, and you won’t take the girl’s part in the play because she is coming on for it."
-jack hesitated. he hated to play at any comedy of love when his heart was throbbing with the genuine article. but, after all, it might be the best way to silence the club’s tongues as well as some others in boston and new york.
-"i ’ll help you out this once, dawns, but i tell you plainly i won’t have anything more to do with the club theatricals while i ’m in college," he replied, ignoring both of dawns’ statements, which omissions his chum noticed, and made his own thoughts: "just like sherrill. you can’t get any hold of him to know what he really feels and thinks."
-jack played his part accordingly, repeating the success of the year before, and scoring new triumphs. he was glad when it was over, and he could go back to his room "dead tired," as he said to himself, but with the conviction that he had settled matters to his own satisfaction if not to that of one other.
-the room was in such disorder! evidently, dawns had been having a little spree before jack’s late return, and the smoke had left the air heavy.
-at last, however, he was asleep, and slept the sleep of the justified.
-he slept both soundly and late, but when he awoke the next morning his first thought was of the flowers for mount hunger and the appropriate sentiment. accordingly, having reckoned the arrival of train, departure of stage, etc., to a minute, he selected the flowers, wrote the sentiment, not without forebodings of the usual kind, and despatched both to mount hunger with high hopes, notwithstanding prescient feelings. then, metaphorically, he sat down to await an answer. he waited just two months, and during that time had turned emotionally black and blue more than once at the thought of his temerity in sending such a message.
-hazel had written him at once from north carolina to tell him of march’s illness, and on the same day she sent a penitent note to rose, confessing her shame at her attempt at deception, and explaining that it was because she loved her cousin so dearly she could not bear to see his gift slighted.
-when march was out of danger, rose had written to hazel a frank, loving letter, blaming herself for her want of self-control, and begging hazel’s forgiveness for her harsh words:
-"it’s all my old pride, hazel dear," she wrote, "that i have to fight very often. it was most kind of mr. sherrill to remember me when he has so many, many other friends whom he has known longer, and i shall write and tell him so. now that my heart is lighter on account of dear march, i can write more easily.
-"we miss you so! when are you coming back to us? chi looks perfectly disconsolate, and we all feel a great deal more than we care to say.
-"i wish you were here to have the fun of the french evenings, three times a week. you speak it so beautifully, mr. ford says, and i thank you so much for all the help you gave me in teaching me. mr. ford speaks it very well, too, so miss alton says. we all meet at our house once a week on march’s account, and then one evening in the week, miss alton and i (she ’s lovely) go over to the fords’ for music. he has sent for some lovely songs for me--old english ones, and we’re going to have a little celebration for march’s birthday in may. how i wish you were to be here!
-"march is lying on the settle, dreaming over that exquisite photograph of cologne cathedral you sent him; i’ve just asked him if he had any messages for you, and he smiled--oh, it’s so good to see his dear smile again! you can’t think how tall he’s grown since his illness, and he’s so thin--and said, ’i sent one to her this morning myself; she can’t have two a day.’ but you know march’s ways.
-"now i must stop; mr. ford is coming over on horseback and i am riding bob now. i wear an old riding-habit of martie’s--it fits fine! i have more to tell you, but will finish after i get back from the ride--there comes mr. ford--"
-this letter hazel duly forwarded to her cousin. "he ’ll know by what she says in it that she really was pleased, for all she acted so queer," she said to herself as she enclosed it in one to jack, in which she took special pains to inform him that he had never told her whether he had given those verses rose sang to miss seaton.
-"i told rose i was sure they were for miss seaton, and rose said she did n’t mind copying them herself for you if you wished them. do tell me if you gave them to her. i told rose your valentine to her last year was a rose-heart. i hope you don’t mind my telling, for, you know, jack, all our family think you are engaged to her--"
-jack dropped hazel’s letter at this point and gave a decided groan.
-"what luck!" he muttered. "it’s all up with the whole thing now. no girl of any spirit would stand all that--and hazel meddling so! thinking she is doing her level best to explain matters;--what an ass i was to send that flower-valentine to maude--and she thinks i gave her those verses! and there ’s this ford skulking round and having it all his own way; he ’s just the kind a girl would care for--those musical cranks are no end sentimental. hang it all!"
-jack thrust his hands deep into his pockets, took several decided turns up and down the room, squared his shoulders, pursed his lips, cut his two classroom lectures, ordered up little shaver and rode out to the polo grounds, where, finding himself alone, he put the little fellow through his best paces, ignoring the fact that snow and ice wore on the pony’s nerves--and had a game out to himself.
-when just two months had passed, he received a note from rose, his first, and it was accorded the reception due to first notes in particular. after this, jack developed certain wiles of diplomacy, he had thus far, in his various experiences, held in abeyance. he wrote sympathetic notes to mrs. blossom; commissioned chi to find him another polo pony--morgan, if possible--among the green hills; sent march a set of illustrated books on architecture, and complained to doctor heath of a pain that racked his chest; at which the doctor’s eyes twinkled. he said he would examine him later, but he was convinced it was heart trouble, the symptoms were apt to mislead and confuse. he added gravely: "too much hard polo riding, jack; get away into the country--mountains if you can, and you ’ll recuperate fast enough. i ’ll make an examination in the fall."
-jack obeyed to the letter, and what a month of september that was!
-there were glorious rides with rose along the beautiful river valley and over the mountain roads. there were delightful evenings at the fords’, and silent, beatific walks with rose homewards beneath the harvest moon. there were morning rambles with rose up over the pastures and deep into the woodlands for late ferns and hooded gentians. there were adorable hours of doing nothing but adore, while rose was busy about her work, setting the table for tea (jack paid his board at the inn, but he lived at the blossoms’), or laying the cloth for dinner, or on saturday morning even making rolls for the tea to which the whole party at the inn were invited.
-chi was in his glory. little shaver came trotting regularly every day up through the woods’-road, and whinnied "good-morning" first to fleet, then to chi. there were general coaching-parties to woodstock and brandon, in which mrs. blossom was guest, and a grand tea at the fords’ for all the guests, with a musicale for a finish, and an informal dance in the blossoms’ barn to which all the lost nation were invited.
-they accepted, one and all. captain spillkins was in his element, so he said. he and mrs. fenlick danced a two-step in a manner to win the commendation of the entire assembly. miss elvira and miss melissa went through the square dance escorted by jack and uncle jo. there were round dances and contra dances. uncle israel contributed an "1812" jig, and mr. clyde passed round the hat for his sole benefit. there were waltzes for those who could waltz, and polkas for those who could polka, and schottische and minuet. "there never was such a dance since before the deluge!" declared mrs. fenlick, when captain spillkins escorted her to a seat on a sap-bucket; and then they all went at it again in a grand finale, the virginia reel--chi and hazel, mr. clyde and aunt tryphosa for head and foot couple; maria-ann with jack; alan ford with mrs. fenlick; the colonel with mrs. blossom whom he admired greatly; march and miss alton--such a double row of them!
-poor reub sat in one of the empty stalls and watched the fun with slow, half-understanding smile, and ruth ford reclined in a rocking-chair in the corner, and with merry laughter and sparkling wit soothed the dull ache in her heart that the knowledge that she was henceforth to be a "shut-out" from all that life had at first given her.
-the next day after the dance there was a grand dinner given at the inn by the newport party to all the lost nation; and, later on, private entertainments for mr. and mrs. blossom and the fords. at last, when the first maple leaves crimsoned and the frost silvered the mullein leaves in the pasture, hazel, her father, jack, and their friends bade good-bye to the mountain and all its joys of acquaintance, and in some cases, friendship, and turned their faces, not without reluctance on the part of some of them, city-wards.
-"oh, mother! has n’t it been too beautiful for anything?" exclaimed rose, turning to her mother, as the last of the riding-party waved his cap in farewell to those on the porch. it was jack.
-"we have had a happy summer, rose;--i think they have, too," her mother added, shading her eyes from the setting sun. "you ’ll be very lonely here at home, dear, after all this gayety."
-"lonely! why, martie blossom, how can you think of such a thing!" said rose, still scanning the lower road for a last glimpse of the riders. "see, see, they are all waving their handkerchiefs!"
-the whole blossom family laid hold of what they could--napkins, towels, a table-cloth, and chi seized his shirt, which he had hung on the line to dry, and waved frantically until the party was no longer to be seen.
-"lonesome! the idea," said rose, turning to her mother. "think of all the studying march and i have to do, and the french evenings, and the fords, and thanksgiving coming, and then christmas, and then--
-"then," said mrs. blossom, interrupting her, "my rose takes a little plunge into that whirlpool of gay life and fashion in new york."
-"yes," said rose, with a happy smile that spoke volumes to her mother, "i do look forward to it, martie dear; but the whirlpool shan’t suck me under; i shall come home just your old-fashioned rose-pose."
-"i hope so, dear," said her mother, a little wistfully, and called the children in to supper.
-indeed, they found little opportunity to miss their friends in the ensuing months; for there came kindly letters, and friendly letters, and something very nearly resembling love-letters. the mail brought papers, books, and magazines. the express brought to barton’s river many a box of lovely flowers. at christmas came more than one remembrance for them all, including aunt tryphosa and maria-ann, and four special invitations for rose to visit in new york directly after the holidays. one was from mr. clyde--with an urgent request from hazel to say "yes" by telegram and "relieve her misery," so she put it--; one from mrs. heath; one from aunt carrie, and a gushingly cordial one from mrs. fenlick! each claimed her for a month. but mrs. blossom shook her head.
-"no, no, dear, you would wear your welcome out. i shall need you at home by the last of february. i think you can accept only mr. clyde’s and mrs. heath’s. you can accept social courtesies from the other four of course."
-"but, mother," rose’s face was the image of despair, "what shall i wear? just hear what hazel has planned--’lunches, dinners, theatre, concerts’--why! i can never go to all those things."
-"i ’ve thought of that, too, rose; but the little colt shan’t go bare this time--it will take some courage, dear, to wear the same things over and over again, not to mention the puzzle of planning for it all."
-"i ’m not ��molly stark’ for nothing," laughed rose, and the two women began to plan for what chi called "rose’s campaign." the pretty white serge was lengthened and made over to appear more grown up, as cherry put it; the dark blue wash silk--hazel’s gift that had never been made up--was fashioned into a "swell affair"--so march pronounced it; the old-fashioned blue lawn was cut over into a dainty full waist, and then mrs. blossom added her surprise--a delicate blue taffeta skirt to match the waist. rose went into raptures over it, and sought the best bedroom regularly three times a day to feast her girl’s eyes on the silken loveliness as it lay in state on the best bed. a new dark blue serge was to do duty for a street suit, with a plain felt hat. for best, there was a turban made of dark blue velvet to match the wash silk.
-"and four pairs of gloves! martie blossom, you are an angel, to give me these that hazel gave you a year ago last christmas. have you been keeping them for me all this time?"
-mrs. blossom smiled assent, and was rewarded by a squeeze that interfered decidedly with her breathing apparatus.
-the night before she left, rose "costumed" for the benefit of the entire family, who were assembled in the long-room, together with aunt tryphosa and maria-ann, to see rose in her finery.
-"i ’ll make it a climax," said rose, laughing half-shamefacedly, as she slipped upstairs to change her street suit, which had brought forth admiring "ohs" and "ahs" from the children, and favorable criticism from their elders.
-down she came in her white serge; there were nods and smiles of approval.
-her reappearance in the wash silk and velvet turban was the signal, on march’s part, for a burst of applause, and cries of admiration from budd and cherry.
-"grand transformation scene!" cried march, as rose tripped down in the blue taffeta, looking like a very rose herself.
-"beats all!" murmured chi, who had become nearly speechless with admiration, "what clothes ’ll do for a good-lookin’ woman; but for a ravin’, tearin’ beauty like our rose--george washin’ton! she ’ll open those high-flyers’ eyes."
-"cinderella--fifth act!" shouted march as, after a prolonged wait, he heard rose on the stairs.
-but was it rose?
-the beautiful india mull of her mother’s had been transformed into a ball-dress. she had drawn on her long white gloves and tucked into the simple, ribbon belt three of jack’s christmas roses.
-maria-ann gasped, and that broke the, to rose, somewhat embarrassing silence.
-marshalled by march, the whole family formed a procession, and rose was reviewed:--back breadths, front breadths, flounces, waist, gloves; all were thoroughly inspected.
-chi touched the lower flounce of the half-train gingerly with one work-roughened forefinger, then, straightening himself suddenly, sighed heavily.
-"what’s the matter, chi?" rose laughed at the dubious expression on his face.
-"you ain’t rose blossom nor molly stark any longer. you ’re just a regular empress of rooshy, ’n’ you don’t look like that girl i took along to sell berries down to barton’s last summer, ’n’ i wish you--" he hesitated.
-"what, chi?" said rose.
-"i wish you was back again, old sunbonnet, old calico gown, patched shoes ’n’ all--"
-"oh, chi, no, you don’t," said rose, laughing merrily; "you forget, i shall probably see miss seaton down there in new york, and you wouldn’t want me to appear a second time before her in that old rig."
-"you ’re right, rose-pose," replied chi, his expression brightening visibly. he drew close to her and whispered audibly:
-"just sail right in, molly stark, ’n’ cut that sassy girl out right ’n’ left. she never could hold a candle to you."
-"sh-sh, chi!" said mrs. blossom, meaningly, but with a twinkle in her eye.
-"i mean just what i say, mis’ blossom. folks can’t come up here on this mountain to sass us to our faces, ’n’ she did;--i’ve stayed riled ever since, ’n’ i hope she’ll get sassed back in a way that ’ll make her hair stand just a little more on end than it did, when she gave that mean, snickerin’ giggle--"
-"chi, chi," mrs. blossom interrupted him in an appeasing tone.
-"you need n’t chi me, mis’ blossom. these children are just as near to me as if they was my own, ’n’ when they ’re sassed, i ’m sassed too; ’n’ my great-grandfather fought over at ticonderogy, ’n’ i ain’t bound to take any more sass than he took--"
-by this time the whole family were in fits of laughter over chi’s persistent use of so much "sass," and, at last, chi himself joined in the laugh at his excessive heat:--
-"over nothin’ but a wind-bag, after all," he concluded.
-on the following morning, mr. blossom, chi, march and budd drove down to barton’s to see rose off. the old apple-green pung had been fitted with two broad boards for seats, and covered with buffalo robes and horse blankets. there was just room in the tail for rose’s old-fashioned trunk and a small strapped box, which held two dozen of new-laid eggs, six small, round cheeses, and a wreath of ground hemlock and bitter-sweet--a neighborly gift from aunt tryphosa and maria-ann to hazel and mr. clyde.
-as the train moved away from the station, chi watched it with brimming eyes.
-"she’ll never come back the same rose-pose, livin’ among all those high-flyers--never," he muttered to himself; but aloud he remarked, with forced cheerfulness, turning to mr. blossom while he dashed the blinding drops from his eyes with the back of his hand:
-"looks mighty like a thaw, ben; kind of wets down, don’t it?"
-"yes, chi," said mr. blossom, busy with conquering his own heartache, "we ’d better be getting on home;" and the masculine contingent of the blossom household climbed into the pung and took their way homeward in silence.
-but what a reception that was for the transplanted rose!
-mr. clyde met her at the grand central station, and rose felt how welcome she was just by the hand-clasp, and his first words:
-"we have you at last, rose; i would n’t let hazel come because i thought the train might be late, and there’s a cold rain falling. martin, take this box--"
-"oh, no; i must carry that myself," laughed rose, looking up at the liveried footman with something like awe. "i promised aunt tryphosa and maria-ann i would n’t let any one take them till they were safe in the house; thank you," she bowed courteously to martin, who confided to the coachman so soon as they were on the box: "hi ’ave n’t seen nothink so ’ansome since hi ’ve bean in the states."
-as the brougham whirled into the avenue, and the electric lights shone full into the carriage, rose could see the luxuriously upholstered interior, and a sudden thought of the old apple-green pung and the buffalo robes dimmed her eyes. but it was only for a moment; mr. clyde was telling her of hazel’s impatience, and how the coachman had had special orders from her to hurry up so soon as he should be on the avenue, and he had hardly finished before the coachman drew rein, slackening his rapid pace as he turned a corner, martin was opening the door, and hazel’s voice was calling from a wide house entrance flooded with soft light:
-"oh, rose, my rose! is it really you, at last?"
-"here, hazel, i promised maria-ann and aunt tryphosa i would n’t give it into any hands but yours. oh! be careful--they ’re eggs!"
-"eggs!" repeated hazel, laughing. "here, wilkins, unstrap it for me, quick--oh, papa, look!" she held out the box to mr. clyde, and, somehow, john curtis clyde for a moment thought with chi, that there was going to be a "thaw." each egg was rolled in white cotton batting and wrapped in pink tissue paper. the six little cheeses were enclosed in tin-foil, and cheeses and eggs were embedded in the christmas wreath. on a piece of pasteboard was written in unsteady characters:
-to mr. john curtis clyde of new york city, with the season’s compliments.
-mount hunger, vermont, january 6th, 1898.
-"and you ’ve had such lovely flowers come for you, five boxes of them, rose, and piles of invitations. i ’m sure you ’re engaged up to ash wednesday."
-"come, chatterbox," said her father, smiling at her volubility, "rose has just time to dress for dinner; you know aunt carrie and uncle jo are coming to-night."
-"oh, i forgot all about them; you ’ll have to hurry, rose. wilkins, bring up the flowers. come on," hazel ran up the broad flight of stairs, carpeted with velvety crimson, to the first landing, from which, through a lofty arch in the hall, rose caught a glimpse of softly lighted rooms, the walls enriched with engravings and etchings, with here and there a landscape or marine in watercolors. rose drew a long breath. this, then, was what chi meant when he said "hazel was rich as croesus."
-"but, hazel, my trunk has n’t come," said rose, as she followed her hostess into the spacious bedroom, which was separated from hazel’s only by a dressing-room.
-"it ’ll be here in a few minutes; papa has a special man, who always delivers them almost as soon as we get here."
-sure enough, the trunk came in time; and rose, as she unpacked, finding evidences of the loving mother-care in every fold, cried within her heart, looking about at the exquisite appointments of her room and dressing-room:
-"martie, martie, what would all this be without you!--oh, i know now, what dear old chi meant when he said hazel was poor where we are rich--only a housekeeper to see to all hazel’s things--"
-"rose, what flowers are you going to wear?" called hazel from her room.
-"i have n’t had time to look," rose called back, surveying her white serge with great satisfaction in the pier-glass.
-"do look, then, and see who they ’re from."
-"oh, hazel, do come and see. how kind everybody has been! here are cards from mrs. heath and doctor heath, and your aunt carrie, and mr. sherrill, and mrs. fenlick, and even that mr. grayson who was up at our house to tea a year ago!"
-"they are lovely. whose are you going to wear?"
-"i ’ll make up a bunch of one or two from each, that will show my appreciation of all their favors."
-hazel looked slightly crestfallen. "i hoped you ’d wear jack’s--they ’re the loveliest with white--" she lifted the white lilacs--"and they ’re so rare just now. i heard aunt carrie say that one of the girls had put off her wedding for six weeks, just because she couldn’t have white lilacs for it."
-"they ’ll last with care three days surely, and i can wear them to-morrow evening," replied rose, bending to inhale their delicate fragrance.
-"so you can, for papa is going to give a dinner for you to-morrow night, and afterwards, he has promised to take you to a dance at mrs. pearsell’s. i can’t go, you know, for i ’m not grown up; but you can tell me all about it. we ’re going to have lots of fun this week, for school does not begin for several days. come."
-together they went down to the drawing-room, and wilkins announced that dinner was served.
-after it was over he sought minna-lu in her own domains, and gave vent to his long pent emotions.
-"minna-lu," he whispered, mysteriously, "dere ’s an out an’ out angel ben hubberin’ ’bout de table--"
-"fo’ de lawd!" minna-lu turned upon him fiercely, for she was superstitious to the very marrow. "wa’ fo’ yo’ come hyar, skeerin’ de bref out a mah bones wif yo’ sp’r’ts! yo’ go long home wha’ yo’ b’long."
-but wilkins was not to be repulsed in this manner. "nebber see sech ha’r, an’ jes’ lillum-white--"
-"oh, go ’long! lillum-white ha’r," interrupted minna-lu, with scathing sarcasm. "huccome yo’ know de angels hab lillum-white ha’r?"
-"huccome i know?--’case i see de shine, jes’ lake yo’ see in de dror’n-room."
-"de shine ob lillum-white ha’r in de dror’n-room! ’pears lake yo’ head struck ile--"
-"yo’ hol’ yo’ tongue, minna-lu," retorted wilkins, irritated at the continued evidence of disbelief on the part of his coadjutor. "jes’ yo’ hide back ob de dumb-waitah to-morrah ebenin’ when de dessert comes on, an’ see fo’ yo’se’f!" he departed in high dudgeon, and minna-lu gurgled long and low to herself, but, in her turn, was interrupted by the sound of tripping steps on the basement flight.
-minna-lu hastily put her fat hands up to her turban to see if it were on straight, and smoothed her apron, muttering:
-"clar to goodness, ef it ain’t jes’ mah luck to hab little missus come into dis yere hen-roost?" she rapidly surveyed her immaculate kitchen with anxious eye.
-"minna-lu, this is my friend, miss rose; the one who did up those lovely preserves, and here are some new-laid eggs and some cheeses that miss maria-ann simmons--you know i told you all about her and the hens--has sent papa."
-minna-lu gazed at rose in open admiration. the faithful colored retainer had her thorny side and her blossom one.
-rose put out her hand, and minna-lu took it in both hers. "i ’se mighty glad yo’ come, miss rose, dere ain’t no strawberry-blossom nor no rose-blossom can hol’ a can’le to yo’ own honey se’f. dese yere cheeses is prime." she examined one with the nose of a connoisseur. "jes’ fill de bill wif de salad-chips to-morrah." she stemmed her fists on her hips, and her mellow, contented gurgle caused rose and hazel to laugh, too.
-"what is it, minna-lu?" said hazel, reading the signs of the times.
-"dat wilkins done tol’ me to git back ob de dumb-waitah, to-morrah ebenin’ to see missy rose, but i ’se gwine to ask rale straight to jes’ see her ’fo’ de comp’ny come."
-"of course you may. come up to my room about seven, and we ’ll be ready."
-"fo’ sho’," said minna-lu, with beaming face.
-"good-night," said rose, beaming, too, for she found the black faces and ways irresistibly amusing.
-"de lawd bress yo’ lily face, missy rose."
-when the two girls were alone, at last, in hazel’s room, there was no thought of bed for an hour. there were numberless questions on hazel’s part concerning all the dear mount hunger people, and speechless astonishment on rose’s at the number of invitations that were waiting for her. they chatted all the time they were undressing, calling back and forth to each other as one thing or another suggested itself. finally, hazel made her appearance in rose’s room. she went up to her, put her arms about her neck, and, looking up with eyes full of loving trust, said:
-"rose-pose, won’t you come into my room and say ’our father’ with me as mother blossom used to do on mount hunger? you can’t think how i miss it."
-"why, hazel darling, of course i will--then i shan’t feel homesick missing that precious martie."
-she followed hazel into her room, and after she was in bed, rose knelt by her side, and together they said, "our father." then rose bent over to receive hazel’s loving kiss and whispered, "oh, rose, i ’m so happy to have you here," and whispered back, "and i ’m so happy to be with you, hazel--good-night."
-rose went back to her room. at last she was alone. she drew one of the easy-chairs up before the wood-fire that was dying down, put her bare feet on the warm fender, and, for a while, dreamed waking dreams. it was all so strange. the cathedral clock on the mantel chimed twelve. they were all asleep in the farmhouse on the mountain--it was time for her to be. she rose, tiptoed softly into the dressing-room, took from the bowl the spray of white lilacs she had worn with the other flowers that evening, shook off the water, and drew the stem through a buttonhole in the yoke of her simple night-dress. she tiptoed back again into her room, looked up at the dainty, canopied bed, then laid herself down within it, and, almost immediately, fell asleep--with her hand resting on the white fragrance that lay upon her heart.
-behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth
-it was so delightful! the weeks were passing all too quickly, and the letters to mount hunger waxed eloquent in praise of everybody’s kindness.
-jack had come on to lead a cotillion with rose at aunt carrie’s. it was a weighty affair--the selecting of the flowers for her. white violets they must be, and white violets were about as rare as white raspberries. jack gave the florist his own address.
-"i ’ll see them, myself, before i send them up; for i won’t trust anyone’s eyes but my own," he said to himself as he hurried home to dress for dinner with a friend. "i wish i had n’t promised grayson to meet him at the club before seven. i ’m afraid they won’t come in time." he looked at his watch. "i ’m going to make them a test--and see what she ’ll do. she ’s so friendly and frank and all that, i can’t find out even whether she ’s beginning to care."
-jack’s absorption in the theme was such that he put his latch-key in wrong-side up, and, in consequence, wrestled with the lock till he had worked himself into a fever of impatience; finally he touched the button before he discovered the trouble.
-"any packages come for me, jason?" he inquired of the butler, whose dignified manner of locomotion had been rudely shaken by jack’s unceasing pressure on the electric-bell.
-"yes, mr. john. just taken a box up to the rooms."
-jack looked relieved, and sprang upstairs two steps at a time. he opened the box. there they were in all their exquisite freshness. "like her," he thought, touching his lips to them; then, suddenly straightening himself, he felt the blood surge into his face.
-"yes, mr. john."
-"messenger-boy come?" he inquired as jason opened the door on his return.
-"yes, sir, waiting in the hall."
-jack raced up stairs. there was the precious box on his dressing-table. he hastily took a visiting card, and, writing on it the sentiment that was uppermost in his heart, slipped it into the envelope, gave it, together with the box, to the waiting boy, and bade him hand it to the man, wilkins, with the request that it be sent up at once to the lady to whom it was addressed. then he made ready for dinner.
-an hour later, rose was dressing for the dance, and hazel was watching her, chatting volubly all the while.
-"that’s the loveliest dress, rose, i heard aunt carrie say, you couldn’t buy such, nowadays."
-"it was martie’s wedding-dress. an uncle of her mother’s, who was a sea-captain, brought it from india. but if i wear it many more times, it will be known throughout the length of new york. this is my sixth time."
-"i should n’t care if it were the hundredth; it’s just lovely. besides, jack has n’t seen it, you know."
-rose laughed. "oh, yes, he has--on martie; that night of the tea on the porch."
-"oh, well, that’s different. what flowers are you going to wear?"
-"i thought i wouldn’t wear any, just for a change." rose’s face was veiled by the shining hair, which she was brushing, preparatory to coiling it high on her head; otherwise, hazel would have seen the clear flush that warmed even the roots of the soft waves at the nape of her neck. just then there was a knock. the maid opened the door, and wilkins’ voice was distinctly audible:--
-"jes’ come fo’ miss rose; dey wuz to come up right smart, so de boy say."
-"oh, more flowers. who from?" cried hazel, eagerly, while wilkins strained his ears to catch the reply.
-"from mr. sherrill," said rose, opening the little envelope.
-what she read on the card caused the blood to mount higher and higher, till temples and forehead flushed pink, then as suddenly to recede.
-"may i open them, rose, and won’t you wear some if they ’re from jack?"
-"yes," said rose, simply. the two girls leaned over the box as hazel took off the wrapper--then the cover--then the inner tissue papers--then--
-suddenly a shriek of laughter, followed by another, penetrated to wilkins, who was lingering on the stairs; he came softly back again. peal after peal of wild merriment issued from rose’s room. within, rose in her petticoat and bodice had flung herself on the bed in an ecstasy of mirth, and hazel was rolling over on the rug as was the wont of budd and cherry in the old days on mount hunger. the maid looked from one to the other, and, no longer able to keep from joining in the merriment, although she did not know the cause, left the room, only to find wilkins with perturbed face just outside the door.
-"’pears lake dere wor sumfin’ queah ’bout dat ye re box--" he began; but the maid only shook with laughter and laid her finger on her lips, motioning him into the back hall.
-"did you ever?" cried hazel, when she recovered her breath.
-"no, i never," said rose, wiping away the tears, for she had laughed till she cried. "let’s take another look."
-they bent over the box, and took out its contents; then went off again into fits of seemingly inextinguishable laughter; for, neatly folded beneath the tissue paper, lay four sets of jack’s new light-weight, white silk pajamas, which he had purchased that afternoon, in order to take back to cambridge with him. on the card, which rose still held in her hand, was written, "wear these for my sake."
-"what will you say to him, rose?" said hazel, sitting up on the rug with her hands clasped about her knees.
-"i don’t know," said rose, proceeding to dress. "i can’t wear them, that’s certain." and again the absurdity of the situation presented itself to her. "and i can’t apologize for not wearing them. neither can i take it for granted that he was going to send me flowers, and explain that he sent me these instead."
-"how awfully careless," said hazel, interrupting her; "he must have had something on his mind not to take the pains to look, even."
-rose flushed. "it will be best to let the matter drop, and say nothing about it," she replied in a cool, toploftical tone that amazed, as well as mystified, her little hostess.
-"why, rose, i think jack ought to know about it. i ’ll tell him, if you don’t want to."
-"thank you, hazel, but i don’t need your good offices in this matter."
-hazel rose from the rug, and going over to rose, laid both hands on her shoulders and looked straight up into her eyes.
-"now, rose blossom, please don’t speak to me in that way. you ’re so queer! first you ’re nice about jack, and then you ’re horrid; and when you ’re that way, you are n’t nice to me a bit--and i don’t like it, and i don’t blame jack for not liking it either," she added emphatically. "i remember papa said a year ago that jack was ’all heart’ for a good many girls, old and young--but i can tell you what, he won’t have any for you, if you whiff round so."
-hazel in her earnestness gave rose a little shake. rose smiled, and, bending her head, kissed her, saying, "f. and f. and you know, hazel."
-"oh, i know all about ’forgiving and forgetting,’ but i don’t like it just the same. he’s my cousin and the dearest fellow in the world, and i don’t like to have him treated so."
-"how about his treating me?" said rose, pointing to the innocent box of underwear, "forgetting even to look; or not caring enough, to see if i had the right package?"
-"oh, that’s different--perhaps the florist made a mistake."
-"the florist!" rose laughed merrily. "i never knew that gentlemen’s underwear and roses grew on the same bush.--there ’s wilkins, and i ’m not ready."
-"de coachman say it’s a pow’f ul col’ night, an’ miss rose bettah take some mo’ wraps."
-"thank you, wilkins," hazel flew into the dressing-room for a long fur cloak of her mother’s which she had used to wear to the dancing-classes. she wrapped it about rose, who stooped suddenly and kissed her again, whispering, "hazel, you ’ve all spoiled me, that’s what’s the matter,--but i ’ll be good to jack, for your sake as well as for my own."
-"now you ’re what doctor heath calls papa, the most splendid fellow in the world. there now--i won’t crush your gown--" a kiss--"good-night. you look like an angel!"
-mr. clyde thought so, too, as he watched her coming downstairs. she slipped off the cloak as she stood beneath the soft, but brilliant hall lights. "do i look all right?" she asked earnestly, for she had fallen into the habit, before going anywhere with him or hazel, of asking for their criticism.
-"i should say so--but where are the flowers? i miss them."
-"i thought i wouldn’t wear any to-night, just for a change."
-"a woman’s whim, rose. but i can’t say that you need them--now, what’s to pay?" he said to himself, as he helped her into the carriage. "i saw jack at dord’s this afternoon, and, evidently, something was in the wind. i hope it has n’t been taken out of his sails."
-"sumfin’ mighty queah ’bout dat yere box," murmured wilkins to himself, as he closed the door, "but miss rose doan’ need no flow’s. nebber see sech h--fo’ de good lawd! wha’ fo’ yo’ hyar? yo’ minna-lu,--skeerin’ mah day-lights out o’ mah, shoolin’ ’roun’ b’hin’ dat por’ chair,--jes’ lake bug’lahs."
-minna-lu gurgled. "yo’ jes’ straight, wilkins; nebber see sech ha’r. huccome i ’se hyar? jes’ to see dat lillum-white angel--"
-"yo’ go ’long, wha’ yo’ b’long," growled wilkins, not yet having recovered from his fright. and minna-lu went, with the radiant vision still before her round, black eyes.
-jack felt a queer tightening about his lower jaw, and one heart-throb, apparently in his throat, as he entered aunt carrie’s reception-room. then, as with one glance he swept rose from the crown of her head to the hem of her dress, a hot, rushing wave of indignant feeling mastered him--he knew he had staked his all (so a man at twenty-two is apt to think) and lost. he braced himself, mentally and physically. he was n’t going to show the white-feather--not he.
-rose developed social powers that evening that furnished food for conversation for aunt carrie and mr. clyde, who watched her with pride and pleasure. she was evidently enjoying herself thoroughly, and her enjoyment proved contagious.
-"after all," said jack as, between figures, he found opportunity for a whispered word or two; "this is n’t half so fine a dance as the one in the barn, last september."
-"why, that’s just what i was thinking, myself, that very minute!"
-the brown eyes and the blue ones met with such evidence of a perfect understanding, that jack failed to see maude seaton, who had approached him for the purpose of taking him out in the four-in-hand.
-"oh, i beg your pardon," said jack, starting to his feet, "it’s the ’four-in-hand.’"
-"yes, and i think you ’ll have to be put into the traces again," she said, with a meaning smile.
-"not i," retorted jack, merrily, "i kicked over them nearly a year ago."
-"so i heard," replied miss seaton, sweetly; and jack wondered what she meant.
-when jack found himself again beside rose, he decided that, flowers or no flowers, he would ask for an explanation. but his first attempt was met with such a bewilderingly merry smile, and such confident assurance that explanations were not in order, that it proved a successful failure.
-when, at last, in the early morning hours he was seated before the open fire in his bedroom, pulling away reflectively at his pipe, he had time to think it over. he came to the conclusion that it was trivial in him to have staked his all on her wearing those flowers, for she certainly--certainly had led him to think that she was anything but indifferent to him.
-"that look now," mused jack. "i don’t believe that a girl like rose blossom would look that way if she didn’t mean it--if she did n’t care. no other girl could look that way." he reached for his watch on the dressing-case. "i shall get good two hours’ sleep before that early train.--what’s that?" he noticed for the first time, that on the bed lay a familiar-looking box in a brown paper wrapper. in a trice he had broken the string, whisked off the cover, scattered the tissue paper right and left.--there lay the violets, white, and sweet, and almost as fresh as when he gave them his virgin kiss nearly twelve hours before.
-jack sat down stupefied on the bed. what had he given her, anyway? he thought intensely for a full minute.
-"great scott! the pajamas!" and then jack sherrill rolled over on the bed, ignoring the damage to dress suit and violets, and, burying his face in the pillow, gave vent to a smothered yell.
-there was a merry exchange of notes between cambridge and new york during the next two weeks, and rose had promised to wear any flowers--and only his--he might send her for the ball at mrs. fenlick’s the middle of february, and for which jack was coming on. it would occur during the last week of rose’s visit, and jack thought that possibly--possibly,--well, he could n’t define just what "possibly;" but it proved to be an infinitely absorbing one, and jack felt it was "now or never" with him.
-mrs. heath had claimed rose as her guest for the last three weeks, and the days were filled with pleasures. on the saturday before the ball, and a week before rose was to return to mount hunger, two seats in a box at the opera had been sent in to mrs. heath from a friend.
-"look at these, rose!" mrs. heath exclaimed, showing her the note. "just exactly what you were wishing to hear, and we thought we could not arrange it for next week. that opera has been changed for to-day’s matinée, and now you can hear both lohengrin and siegfried."
-rose clapped her hands. "i ’ve just longed to hear lohengrin; mrs. ford and her son have played so much of it to me. i think it’s perfectly beautiful."
-"i ’m so sorry i can’t go, dear; but i made a positive engagement for this afternoon and it must not be broken. but i ’ll send round for cousin anna may. she does n’t care much for the opera, but she will chaperone you. she ’s not much of a talker either, so you can enjoy the music in peace. people chatter so abominably there."
-from the moment the orchestra sounded the first notes of that pathetic and thrillingly appealing fore-word of the overture, rose was lost to the world about her. she was glad of the darkness, glad no one could see or notice her intense absorption in the opening scene. even when the lights were turned on between the acts, and the subdued murmur in the house rose to a confusing babble, she was living in the story of elsa and her lover knight. elderly cousin anna may, seeing this, let her alone, thinking to herself:--"one has to be young to be so enthusiastic over this wornout theme."
-the curtain fell; the house was brilliant with lights; confusion of talk, confusion of merry chat and laughter were all about rose; but she sat unheeding, wondering if the element of evil would be turned into a factor of good. her heart was aching with the intensity of feeling for the two lovers. suddenly, a few words behind her arrested her attention. she sat with her back to the speakers--two girls in the next box, who had annoyed her more than once by their ceaseless, whispering gabble.
-"i told maude i did n’t believe it."
-"what did she say?"
-"she said it was gospel truth."
-"do tell me what it was, i won’t tell."
-"not a soul."
-"why, of course. they say he ’s got oceans of money."
-"piles--. he ’s got his mother’s fortune and will have his father’s. besides, his uncle gray is a bachelor, and so jack will have that, too. maude says he ’s the best catch in new york."
-"i heard sam say he was in an awfully fast set in college; but sam likes him awfully well. have you seen him?"
-"oh, yes, lots. maude let me see him one night before dinner at newport. i used to see him playing polo at the grounds. i think he ’s fascinating--just like lohengrin."
-"but what was it? hurry up, do."
-"you ’ll never tell?"
-the voice was slightly lowered--confused with the munching of huyler’s; and rose, with hypersensitive hearing, could distinguish only a word or two, or a detached sentence.
-"i don’t think that’s so awful. sam does that, too, and he ’s just as nice a brother as i want."
-"oh, i don’t know anything about that; but i know it’s true, for maude said so." in the increasing confusion of talk in the house, the voices were suddenly raised, and rose caught every word.
-"if you do, minna grayson, i ’ll never speak to you again."
-"oh, i forgot--" laughed the other. "tell us some more, it’s awfully exciting."
-"i won’t either," said the other, in a huffy tone. evidently, they were school-girls in for the matinée.
-"oh, do; what did maude say?"
-"she said, ’no,’" chuckled the other triumphantly.
-"but think of his money!’
-"she said she did n’t mind; she ’s got money enough of her own, anyway, if she does skimp me on allowance ever since grandmamma died."
-"yes. maude says it’s one of his fads. she gives him six months more to get over it."
-"everybody says she is a perfect beauty. sam says that mrs. fenlick says she is the most beautiful creature off of a canvas she has ever seen."
-"oh, maude says mrs. fenlick raves over everything new. she, the girl, i mean, made a dead set at him a year ago when he happened to meet her up in the mountains. you know they had a riding-party last august. but now they say she seems to be setting her cap for hazel’s father--he has a million or two more than jack, and she ’s as poor as a church-mouse."
-"i did n’t know that,--poor?"
-"yes, awfully. why, maude says she’s seen her selling berries for a living somewhere up in the mountains--oh, way back in them. people call them the lost nation, they ’re so far back; and maude says she wore patched shoes and an old calico dress--sh!--now we ’re going to have that bridal march, is n’t it dandy? it ought to be a part of the marriage ceremony, maude says. i ’m so glad it’s coming;--tum, tum, ty tum--tum, tum, ty tum--here ’s just one more candied violet--tum, tum, ty tum, tum, ty tum, ty ty tum, ty tum--oh, look! is n’t elsa just lovely--"
-a burst of applause greeted the beautiful prima donna. upon rose’s ears it fell like the thunder of a cataract, like the crash and roll of an avalanche. she stared at the exquisite scene before her with strained eyes. the music went on with all the troublous-sweet under-tones of love, and longing, and forever-parting. not once did rose stir until the curtain fell, then she turned to her companion:--
-"can we get out soon, mrs. may? the air is a little close here."
-"certainly, my dear;" but to herself she said, "how intense she is. i ’m thankful i never was so strung up over music."
-"where ’s rose?" said the doctor as he came in that saturday evening, and heard no welcoming voice from the library or the stairs.
-"she came home from the opera with a frightful headache and has gone to bed. she said she did n’t want any dinner, but i have insisted upon her having some toast and tea," replied his wife.
-"humph!" growled the doctor; "our wild rose can’t stand such hot-house atmosphere. when does the fenlicks’ ball come off?"
-"next wednesday; it will be a superb affair. rose showed me her card the other day, and if you will believe me, it’s full, although jack sherrill gets the lion’s share."
-"how do you think things are coming on there, wifie?"
-"why, he’s devoted to her whenever he can be; you know what mrs. pearsell told us about last summer, but--"
-"but what?" said the doctor, a little impatiently. "generally, wifie, you can see prospective wedding-cake if two young people so much as look twice at each other."
-mrs. heath laughed and nodded. "yes, i know; but in just this case, i don’t know. you can’t tell anything by her--and i fear, hubbie, that jack sherrill is n’t quite good enough for her."
-"not quite good enough for her!" the doctor almost shouted in his earnestness. "jack sherrill not quite good enough for--"
-"sh--sh, dear!" his wife held up her hand in warning. "someone might hear."
-"let ’em hear, then," growled the doctor. "i say rose is n’t a bit too good for him.--look here, wifie,--" he drew her towards him and down upon the arm of his easy-chair, "jack’s all right every time--do you understand? all right!"
-"ye-es," admitted his wife rather reluctantly. "i know he ’s a great favorite of yours. but mrs. grayson says he ’s in a very fast set at harvard--
-"now look here, wifie, don’t you let those women with their eternal hunger for gossip say anything to you about jack. i tell you there is n’t another fellow i know, who, placed as he is, can set up so many white stones to mark his short life’s pathway as john sherrill’s only son. for heaven’s sake, give him the credit for them. i know what i saw on mount hunger a year ago, and i know and believe what i see."
-"well, i only hope he won’t flirt with her--" began mrs. heath. her husband interrupted her:
-"flirt with her!" the doctor chuckled. "i’ll warrant jack won’t do any flirting with her--it ’ll be the other way round sooner than that! just say good-night to rose for me when you go up stairs, and tell her if she is n’t down bright and early sunday morning, i ’ll prescribe for her."
-but there was no need for the doctor’s prescription; for rose was down for breakfast, and although white cheeks and heavy eyes caused the doctor to draw his eyebrows together in a straight line over the bridge of his nose, nothing was said of there being any need for a prescription. but after breakfast he drew her into the library and placed her in an easy-chair before the blazing fire.
-"there now," he said in his own kindliest tones, "sit there and dream while wifie makes ready for church, and after that you shall go with me for an official drive. the air will do you good. i can’t send such white roses"--he patted her cheek--"back to mount hunger; what would mother say?"
-to his amazement rose buried her face in both hands; a half-suppressed sob startled him.
-"why, rose-pose! what’s the matter, little girl? headachey--nerves unstrung--too much opera? here, come into the office where we shan’t be disturbed, and tell me all about it."
-but rose shook her head, lifted it from her hands, and smiled through the welling tears.
-"i ’m a perfect goose, but--but--i believe i ’m getting just a little bit homesick for mount hunger, and i ’m not going to stay for mrs. fenlick’s ball. i know mother needs me at home--i can just feel it in her letters, and i know i want--i want her."
-"don’t blame you a bit, rose,--but is n’t this rather sudden? any previous attacks?"
-"no--and i know it seems dreadfully ungrateful to you and dear mrs. heath to say so, and it is n’t that--i ’d love to be with just you two; but it’s this dreadful feeling comes over me, and i know i ought to go."
-"and go you shall, rose," said the doctor, emphatically, but oh! so kindly and understandingly. "go back to all the dear ones there--and when you come again, don’t give us the tail-end of your visit, will you?"
-"indeed, i won’t," answered rose, earnestly, "and if it were only you and mrs. heath, i ’d love to stay, but--but--"
-"no need to say anything more, rose, wifie and i understand it perfectly--" ("i wish the dickens i did!" was his thought)--"tell wifie when she comes down, and meanwhile i ’ll send round for the brougham and we ’ll take a little drive in the park before office hours."
-rose patted his hand, and her silence spoke for her.
-"here ’s a pretty kettle of fish!" said the doctor to himself as he went to the telephone. "i wish i could get to the bottom of it."
-and thus it came about that a cool, dignified note, not expressive of any particular regret, was mailed to cambridge on sunday afternoon, and a long letter to mount hunger telling them to be sure to meet her on tuesday at barton’s, and filled with wildly enthusiastic expressions of delight in anticipation of the home-coming. and on tuesday afternoon, as the train sped onwards, following the curves of the frozen connecticut, and the snow-covered mountains on the vermont side began to crowd its banks, rose felt a lightening of the heart and an uplifting of spirits.
-the bitterness and shame and shock she had experienced, in consequence of that one little bite of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, seemed to diminish with every mile that increased the distance between her and the frothing whirlpool of the great city’s gayeties. all the way up, until the mountains loomed in sight, there had been hot, indignant protest in her thoughts. at first, indeed, it had been hatred.
-"i hate it all--hate it, hate it!" she found herself saying over and over again after the good-byes had been said at the station, and hazel and mr. clyde and doctor heath had supplied her with flowers and magazines for the long day’s journey. it was all she could think or feel at the time; but soon the little pronoun changed, and the thought grew more bitter:
-"i hate him! how could he--how dared he do as he did! because i am poor, i suppose. oh! i wish i could make him pay for it. i wish i could make him love me really and truly, and then just scorn him! but what a fool i am--as if he could love after what i heard--oh, why did i hear it! i wish i may never see his face again, and i wish i ’d stayed at home where i belong--i hate him!"--and so on "da capo" hour after hour, and the incessant chugetty-chug-chug of the express furnished the rhythmic, basal tone for the bitter motive.
-it was long after lunch time, and the train of thought had not changed, when rose’s eye fell upon the dainty basket martin had placed in the rack.
-"this is a pretty state of mind to go home to martie in!" she said to herself, rising and taking down the basket. "i have n’t eaten a good meal since last saturday at lunch, and i ’m--why, i believe i ’m hungry!"
-she opened the basket, and loving evidence of minna-lu’s admiration tempted her to pick a little here and there--a stuffed olive or two, a roast quail, a delicate celery sandwich, a quince tart, a bunch of hamburg grapes. soon rose was feasting on all the good things, and her harsh thoughts began to soften. how kind they all were! and they truly loved her--and what had they not done for her comfort and pleasure! rose, setting her pretty teeth deep into a third quince tart, looked out of the window and almost exclaimed aloud at the sight. the vanguard of the green mountains closed in the upper end of the river-valley along which they were speeding. it was home that was behind all that! the thought still further softened her.
-what? carry her bitterness and disappointed pride back into that dear, peaceful home? not she! "they shall never know--never!" she said to herself--"i ’m not molly stark for nothing, and there are others in the world beside jack sherrill." and so she continued to speak cold comfort to herself for the next four hours until the brakeman called "barton’s river!"
-there beyond the platform was the old apple-green pung!--and yes! father and march and budd and dear old chi anxiously scanning the coaches.
-home at last! and such a home-coming! how busy the tongues were for a week afterwards! how wildly gay was rose, who kept them laughing over the many queer doings of the metropolis, over wilkins and minna-lu and martin and mrs. scott! and how lovingly she spoke of hazel’s charming hospitality and of mr. clyde’s thoughtfulness for her pleasure, although, as she mentioned his name, a wave of color mounted to the roots of her hair at the ugly thought that would intrude. chi listened with all his ears, enjoying it with the rest; but once upstairs in his room over the shed, he would sit down on the side of his bed to ponder a little the gay doings of his rose-pose among the "high-flyers," and then turn in with a sigh and a muttered:
-"’t ain’t rose-pose. i knew how ’t would be.--there ’s a screw loose somewhere; but she’s handsome!--handsome as a picture, ’n’ i ’d give a dollar to know if she ’s cut that other one out."
-"valentines seem kind of scarce this year," he remarked rather grimly, a few days after her arrival, as late in the afternoon, he returned from barton’s with little mail and no boxes of flowers. "it’s the sixteenth day of february, but it might be fast day for all that handful of mail would show for it!" he placed the package on mrs. blossom’s work-table at which rose was sitting busy with some sewing. they were alone in the room.
-rose laughed merrily. "goodness, chi! you want us to have more than our share. we had a perfect deluge last year when hazel was here; you know it makes a difference without her. you said yourself that there was a good deal of bulk, but it was pretty light weight--don’t you remember?"
-chi elevated one bushy eyebrow. "i ain’t forgot; but i don’t know about it’s bein’ any deluge--it appeared to me it was a shadrach, meshach, ’n’ abednego kind of a business--" he gave the back log a kick that sent the sparks up the chimney in a grand pyrotechnic show. "seems as if i could see those posies, now, a-shrivellin’ in the fireplace. never thought you treated those innocent things quite on the square, rose-pose!"
-rose’s head was bent low over her work. chi went on, bracing himself to the self-imposed task of enlightening her:--
-"i don’t want to meddle, rose, in anybody’s business, but it ain’t set well with me ever since--the way you treated those roses; ’n’, after all, we ’re both members of the nobody’s business but our own society, ’n’ if anybody ’s goin’ to meddle, perhaps i ’m the one. i ’ve thought a good many times you would n’t have been quite so harsh with ’em, if you had n’t overlooked this in your flare-up--" he drew out of his breast pocket a card--jack ’s--with the verse on the back. "read that, ’n’ see if you ain’t dropped a stitch somewhere that you can pick up in time." he handed her the card.
-rose looked up surprised, but with burning cheeks. she took the card, read the verse, turned it over on the name side, and rose from her chair. every particle of color had left her face. she went over to the fireplace, and, bending, dropped the little piece of pasteboard upon the glowing back-log.
-"the sentiment belongs with the roses, chi; don’t let’s have any more shadrach, meshach, and abednego business--i ’m tired of it." she spoke indifferently; then, resuming her seat, called out in a cheery voice:
-"martie, won’t you come here a minute, and see if i have put on this gore right?"
-"i ’ll come, dear."
-chi, nonplussed, irritated, repulsed, set his teeth hard and abruptly left the room.
-outside in the shed he clenched his fist and shook it vigorously at the closed door of the long-room: "--by george washin’ton!" he muttered, "i ’ll make you pay up for that, rose blossom. you can’t come any of your high-flyers’ games on me-- just you put that in your pipe and smoke it! thunderation! what gets into women and girls, sometimes?" he seized the milk-pails from the shelf and hurried to the barn nearly running down cherry in his wrathful excitement.
-"look out there, cherry! you ’re always getting round under foot!" he said, harshly, and stumbled on, regaining his balance, only to be met by budd in the barn.
-"just clear out now, budd! i ain’t goin’ to stand your foolin’. let alone of that stanchion," he roared. "always worryin’ the cow if she looks once at you sideways. get up, there--" his right boot helped the amazed cow forwards into the stall, and the milk drummed into the pail as if the poor creature were being milked by a dummy-engine with more pressure of steam on than it could well stand.
-budd flew into the woodshed and found cherry still standing, in a half-dazed condition, where chi had left her. they compared notes immediately to the detriment and defamation of chi’s character. then they carried their budget of woe to their mother.
-"chi is worried, children; you must n’t mind if he is a little cross now and then. he feels dreadfully about the prospect of this war, as we all do, and that’s his way of showing it."
-"well, if he’s going to be so cross at us, i wish he ’d clear out an’ go to war!" retorted budd, smarting under the unjust treatment.
-"i ’m only afraid he will if we have one," said mrs. blossom, sadly. "but, oh, i hope and pray we may be spared that!"
-but budd continued to grumble, and cherry to be suspiciously sniffy, until their father’s return; and then at the supper table they listened greedily to all the talk of their elders, that had for its absorbing theme the prospective war.
-as the spring days lengthened, and the sun drew northward, the tiny cloud on the country’s peaceful horizon grew larger and darker, until it cast its shadow throughout the length and breadth of the land, and men’s faces grew stern and troubled and women prayed for peace.
-with the lengthening days chi showed signs of increasing restlessness. "it ain’t any use, ben," he said, one soft evening in early may, as the family, with the exception of the younger children, sat on the porch discussing the latest news, "i ’ve got to go."
-"oh, chi!" broke from mrs. blossom and rose. they cried out as if hurt. mr. blossom grasped chi’s right hand, and march wrung the other.
-"i can’t stand it," he went on; "we ’ve been sassed enough as a nation, ’n’ some of us have got to teach those foreigners we ain’t goin’ to turn the other cheek just coz we’re slapped on one. when i wasn’t higher than budd, my great-grandfather--you remember him, ben, lived the other side of the mountain--put his father’s old revolution’ry musket (the one, you know, rose-pose, as i ’ve used in the n.b.b.o.o.) into my hands, ’n’ says: ’don’t you stand no sass, malachi graham, from no foreigners.--just shoot away, ’n’ holler, "hands off" every time, ’n’ they ’ll learn their lesson easy and early, ’n’ respect you in the end.’ and i ain’t forgot it."
-"chi," mrs. blossom’s voice was tremulous, "you won’t go till you ’re asked, or needed, will you?"
-"i ain’t goin’ to wait to be asked, mis’ blossom; i ’d rather be on hand to be refused. that’s my way. so i thought i ’d be gettin’ down along this week--"
-"this week!" rose interrupted him with a cry and a half-sob. "oh, chi! dear old chi! must you go? what if--what if--" rose’s voice broke, and chi gulped down a big lump, but answered, cheerily:
-"well, rose-pose, what if? ain’t i old put? ’n’ ain’t you molly stark? ’n’ ain’t lady-bird barbara frietchie?--there, just read that--" he handed a letter to march, who gave it back to him, saying, in a husky voice, that it was too dark to read.
-march read with broken voice:
-4 east --th street, new york, may 5, 1898.
-dear friend chi,--i never thought when i joined the n.b.b.o.o. society, that i ’d have to be really brave about real war;--and now dear old jack is going off to cuba with little shaver and all those cow-boys,--and it’s dreadful! uncle john is about sick over it, for, you know, jack is all he has. papa is going to keep the house open all summer; he says there is no telling what may happen.
-we have made no plans for the summer, for our hearts are so heavy on jack’s account--his last year in harvard, too! he told me to tell you he would find out if there is a chance for you in the new cavalry regiment he has joined. he looked so pleased when i told him; he read your letter, and i told him how you wanted to go with him, and he said: "dear old chi, i’d like to have him for my bunkie"--and told me what it meant. he told me to tell you to be prepared for a telegram at any moment.
-i must stop now; papa wants me to go out with him. give my love to all, and tell mother blossom and rose i will write them more particulars in a few days.
-if you come to new york, you know a room will be ready for you in the home of your
-loving friend, hazel clyde.
-there was silence for a while in the room; then mr. blossom spoke:
-"how are you going, chi?"
-"i ’m goin’ to jog along down with fleet, ’n’ take it kind of easy--thought i ’d cross the mountain, ’n’ strike in on the old post-road; ’n’ follow on down by old ticonderogy,--i ’ve always wanted to see that,--then across to saratogy ’n’ albany, ’n’ foller the river. you can’t go amiss of new york if you stick to that."
-again there was a prolonged silence. chi hemmed, and moved uneasily on his chair, while he fumbled about in his trousers’ pocket. he pulled out a piece of crumpled, yellow paper.
-"s’pose i might just as well make a clean breast of it." he tried to laugh, but it was a failure. "jack’s telegram came along last night, ’n’ i thought, maybe i ’d better be gettin’ my duds together to-night, mis’ blossom, as ’t will be a mighty early start--before any of you are up," he added, hastily.
-the two women broke down then, and mr. blossom and march followed chi out to the barn.
-the household, save for the younger children, was early astir--before sunrise. mrs. blossom had prepared a hearty breakfast, and rose was rolling up a few pairs of her father’s stockings to put in the netted saddle-bag which chi was wont to use in hunting.
-"tell march to call chi, rose," said her mother. "his breakfast is ready, i hear him in the barn."
-rose ran out in the dawning light to find her father and march just coming towards the house.
-"why, where ’s chi?" she cried.
-for answer, her father pointed to the woodlands. she looked just in time to see in the soft gray of the early morn the horse and rider rise to the three-railed fence that separated the pasture from the woodlands. he was following the trail he had indicated to jack--"through the woods ’n’ acre or two of brush, ’n’ then some pretty steep sliding down the other side, ’n’ a dozen rods or so of swimmin’, ’n’ a tough old clamber up the bank--"
-some ten days afterward, late on a warm afternoon in may, there rode into new york city by the way of the bronx and harlem, a middle-aged man on a bright bay horse. the animal’s gait was a noticeable one, a long, loping gallop, that covered the ground in a manner that roused the admiration of the drivers on the speedway. the tall, loose-jointed body of the rider apparently loped along with the horse--their movements were identical. the saddle was an old-fashioned cavalry one of the early sixties. a netted saddle-bag and a rolled rubber coat were fastened to the crupper. a light-weight hunting rifle was slung on a strap over the man’s shoulder. at the northern entrance to the park he drew rein beside a mounted policeman.
-"can you tell me if i ’m on the right track to this house?"
-he took a card from the pocket of his dusty blue flannel shirt and handed it to the policeman.
-the city guardian nodded assent. "but you can’t take that gun along with you; you ’re inside city limits and liable to arrest."
-"’gainst the law, hey? well, i ’ve come from a pretty law-abiding state, ’n’ ain’t goin’ to get into rows with you fellers--" he laid a brown, knotty, work-roughened finger on the policeman’s immaculate blue coat--"i ’d trust that color as far as i could see. where shall i leave the rifle?"
-the city guard unbent as the kindly voice yielded such undefiant obedience to his demand. "you can leave it with me now,--i ’m off my beat by seven, and live over east of this--" he handed back the card--"and i ’ll leave it at the house if you ’re going to be there."
-"all right, that ’ll suit me. yes, i ’m goin’ to put up there for a day or two, maybe."
-"off on a hunting trip?"
-"you bet--goin’ on a big, old, u.s.a. hunt for a lot of darned foreigners in cuby."
-the policeman held out his hand and grasped the stranger’s. "you’re one of them?"
-"yes, i come down to join a cavalry regiment. jack sherrill, he belongs, too. great rider--can’t be beat. ever seen him round here on little shaver?"
-the policeman smiled. "no, but i ’d like to see you again--"
-"maybe you will; but i ’d better be getting along before sundown,--’gainst the law to ride this horse a piece through those woods?" he pointed into the park.
-"oh, no, that’s all right. keep along till you come to seventieth street, and inquire; and then turn into fifth avenue--east--and you’re there."
-the brilliant, light green of the may foliage was enhanced by the level rays of the setting sun, as the man turned his horse into fifth avenue and drew rein to a rapid walk. many a one paused to look at him as he paced over the asphalt. he was looking up at the mansions of the upper east side. soon he halted at the corner of a side street and gazed up at the first house, the end of which, with the conservatory, was on the avenue, but the entrance on the side street. "that’s the place," he spoke to himself,--"don’t see a hitchin’-post handy, so i ’ll just have to tie up to this electric light stand. iron, by thunder!--well, there ain’t any risk so long as ’t isn’t lit, ’n’ there ain’t a tempest."
-leaving his horse firmly tied to the standard he stepped up on the low, broad stoop of "number 4," and looked for the bell. not finding any he knocked forcibly on the carved iron grill that protected the plate-glass doors.
-the great doors flew open, and a face--"blacker ’n thunder"--as the man said to himself, scowled on the interloper.
-"wha’ fo’ yo’ come hyar, yo’--" he got no further. a horny hand was extended, and a cheery voice, that broke into a laugh, spoke the assuaging words:
-"guess you ’re wilkins, ain’t you? i ’ve heard lady-bird tell ’bout you till i feel as if we ’d been pretty well acquainted goin’ on nigh two year now."
-by this time wilkins’ face was one broad beam. he slapped his free hand on his knee:
-"yo ’s mister chi, for sho’--dere ain’t no need yo’ tellin’. yo’ jes’ come straight in, mister chi; marse john an’ little missy jes’ gone fo’ ah drive in de park. dey ’ll be in any minute. yo’ room ’s all ready, an’ little missy put de flow’rs in fresh dis yere mornin’--’’case,’ she say, ’wilkins, dere ain’t no tellin’ when chi’s comin’.’"
-"sho’," chi interrupted him, brushing the back of his hand hastily across his eyes. "i can’t come in now, wilkins, coz i ’ve got to stay here ’n’ watch my horse--i ’ll sit here on the steps a spell ’n’ cool off till mr. clyde gets home, ’n’ he ’ll help me see to puttin’ up fleet for the night. his legs are a little mite swollen near the hocks, ’n’ i ’m goin’ to rub him down myself."
-"de coachman jes’ tend to yo’ hoss like ’s ef ’t wor yo’se’f, mister chi. i ’ll jes’ call up de stable bo’, ’n’ he ’ll rub him down wif sp’r’ts, an’ shine him up till he look jes’ lake new mahog’ny. jes’ yo’ come--dere dey come now!"
-chi was at the curbstone to welcome them.
-"chi! o chi!" hazel rose up in the trap at sight of the well-known figure, and chi, laying his hand firmly on martin’s shoulder, put him aside as he sprang to open the door and let down the steps, reached up both arms, and took hazel out as tenderly as on the night of her first arrival at the farmhouse on the mountain. and then and there hazel gave him a kiss, and mr. clyde grasped his hands in both his, and the wide hall doors that wilkins had thrown open to their fullest extent closed upon the reunited friends.
-"’e ’s a ’ansome ’oss," martin remarked to the coachman, as he mounted fleet to take him to the stable; "hi ’ave n’t seen a ’ansomer since hi ’ve bean in the states."
-a few days after the hall doors were again flung wide, but not to their fullest extent, and wilkins’ face grew strangely tremulous when he heard hazel and mr. clyde, jack and chi coming down the broad hall stairs. martin was proudly leading fleet and little shaver up and down in front of the house.
-"jack! o jack! i can’t bear to have you go--but i will be brave." hazel smiled through the raining tears. she clung to him and kissed him. he put her aside, ran out to little shaver, and flung himself on before chi had said good-bye.
-"take care of jack, chi," she whispered, patting his hand.
-"i will, barbara frietchie." he pointed to the flag that, in the east wind blowing in from the sound, was waving over the entrance, gripped mr. clyde’s hand, then wilkins’, and, apparently, stepped into the saddle.
-"quick, quick, wilkins! lower the flag, and let me have it." wilkins sprang to obey. hazel seized it, and rushed up stairs to the drawing-room, the windows of which overlooked the avenue. one of them was open; she leaned out; and as fleet and little shaver turned the corner, their riders, looking up, saw the young girl’s figure in the opening. she was waving the symbol of their country’s life and their manhood’s loyalty.
-they halted, baring their heads for a moment--then without once looking back, galloped down the avenue.
-notwithstanding it was a hot day in the first week of july, mrs. spillkins had decided to have a "quilting-bee." having made up her mind, after consulting with miss melissa and miss elvira, she lost no time in summoning uncle israel from the barn, and making known her plans. uncle israel mildly objected.
-"kinder hot fer er quiltin’-bee, ain’t it, hannah?"
-"’tis pretty hot," mrs. spillkins admitted, wiping the perspiration from her face with her apron, "but we ’ll have it to-morrow ’long ’bout four. you get the frames and rollers out, israel, from the back garret, an’ then i want you to go up to mis’ blossom’s an’ ask ’em to come, an’ get word to the other folks on the mountain."
-"i ’ll go, hannah, but i dunno ’bout mis’ blossom ’n’ rose comin’ ter er quiltin’-bee jest ’bout this time. they ’re feelin’ pretty low ’bout chi off thar in cuby; news hez come thet ther ’s ben fightin’--"
-"i know that, israel; i ’ve thought of that, too; but, mebbe, it ’ll do ’em good, just to change the scene a little. anyway, you ask ’em."
-"jest ez ye say, hannah."
-the sun was setting when uncle israel made his appearance on the porch where the whole family was assembled with alan ford. they had but one topic for conversation.
-uncle israel gave his invitation, and added: "hannah thought ye ’d better come ’n’ change the scene a leetle--she knowed ye ’d be kinder low-spereted ’bout now."
-mrs. blossom held out her hand. "thank you, uncle israel. tell mrs. spillkins we will both come."
-"hannah wants your folks ter come, tew, alan."
-"much obliged, uncle israel. i ’ll tell mother and ruth; i ’m sure they will enjoy it. ruth said the other day she wished she might have a chance to see a quilting-bee while we are here. shall i take your message over to aunt tryphosa?"
-"much obleeged, alan. thank ye, rose,"--as rose brought out the large arm-chair and placed it for him; "i ’ll set a spell ’n’ rest me."
-it was a typical northern midsummer night. across the valley the mountains loomed, softly luminous, against the pale green translucent stretch of open sky in the west. there were no clouds; but high above and around there swept a long trail of motionless mist, flame-colored over the mountain tops, but darkening, with the coming of the night, into gray towards the east. the stars were not yet out. the veeries were choiring antiphonally in the woodlands.
-an hour afterwards alan ford rose to go, and uncle israel soon followed his example.
-"i ’ll go down the woods’-road a piece with you, uncle israel," said rose.
-as she came back up the mountain a cool breath drew through the pines, and the spruces gave forth their resinous fragrance upon the dewless night. the stars were brilliant in the dark blue deeps.
-a midsummer night among the mountains of new england! and far away in the sickening heat and wet, the fever-laden exhalations of the tropics rose into the nostrils of a man, who sat motionless in the rude field-hospital, hastily improvised on the slope of san juan, watching, with his knees drawn up to his chin and his hands clasping them, for some faint tremor in the still face on the army blanket spread upon the ground.
-the lantern cast its light full upon that still face. suddenly the watcher bent forward; his keen eyes had detected a twitch of an eyelid--a flutter in the muscles of the throat. "don’t move him," the surgeon had said; "the least movement will cause the final hemorrhage."
-there was a catch of the breath--the eyes opened, partly filmed.
-"jack!" the watcher spoke, bending lower; his ear over the other’s lips.
-"chi--" it was a mere breath, but the man heard--"i’m--done for."
-the watcher’s hand, muscular, toil-hardened, sought the nerveless one that was lying on the other’s breast, and closed upon it with a brooding pressure. there was silence for a few minutes. then the horny hand felt a feeble stirring of the fingers beneath the hardened palm--they were fumbling weakly at a button.
-the strong hand undid the button, gently--very gently, without apparent movement. there was a motion of the nerveless fingers towards the place. another breath:--
-a long silence fell.
-mrs. spillkins heaved a sigh of satisfaction: "we ’ve done an awful sight of work," she said, surveying the five quilts "run" and "tacked" and "knotted" in even rows and mathematically true squares; "but it seems as if they did n’t eat a mite of supper, an’ that strawberry shortcake was enough to melt in your mouth."
-"what’d i tell ye, hannah? they’re worretin’ ’bout chi," said uncle israel. "they’ve fit agin; ben told me while he wuz waitin’ with the team fer the womin-folks. he hed the mail, ’n’ er telegram thet thet young feller, we see ridin’ ’roun’ here las’ summer, wuz mortal wounded. he did n’t want the womin-folks ter know it till he got ’em hum. they sot er sight by him."
-mrs. spillkins threw up her hands: "dear suz’y me!" she exclaimed in a distressed voice. "what ’ll they do! i hope an’ pray malachi graham ain’t hurt none. i feel as if i ought to go right up there, an’ see if there ’s anything i can do."
-"better wait till the cap’n comes hum, hannah; he ’ll hev the papers."
-"i guess ’t would be better," and mrs. spillkins proceeded to fold up her quilts and "clear up" the best room.
-the hot july days warmed the breast of the mountain. over in the corn-patch the stalks had spindled and the swelling ears were ready to tassel. by word or look rose had given no sign--and her mother wondered. the days wore on; the routine of daily work and life went on; but the younger children’s voices were subdued when they spoke lovingly and longingly of chi, and rose sang no longer when she kneaded bread. they were days of suspense and heart misery for them all.
-two weeks had passed since that evening when mr. blossom had read to them the fatal despatch. no word had come from anyone save hazel, who wrote that her father and uncle john had started at once for cuba, and that she hoped to be with the blossoms the third week in july, for by that time they would know the whole truth.
-they had been making ready hazel’s little bedroom, for she was expected in a few days. rose was tacking up a white muslin curtain at the small window, when she heard her father call:
-"rose, come here a minute."
-she went out on the porch with the hammer in her hand. "what is it, popsey dear?--why, father, what--oh what--!"
-with shaking hand her father held out a letter to her. rose looked once--it was from chi!
-"i wish mother were here, daughter--but she’ll be back soon. let me know how it is with them all--." mr. blossom could say no more, for malachi graham was as near to him as a brother, and he was agonizing for his child. he went off to the barn, leaving rose standing on the porch, staring as if fascinated at the superscription of the letter:
-to miss rose blossom, mill settlement, barton’s river, vermont.
-n.b.b.o.o.--to be opened by nobody but her.
-rose laid down the hammer mechanically, opened the envelope, and unfolded the piece of brown paper from out of which fluttered to the floor another and thicker slip, stained almost beyond recognition. with staring eyes and face as white as driven snow she read the few words scrawled in pencil on the brown slip:--
-dear rose-pose,--i ain’t no wish to meddle with anybody’s business--but i ’m just obeying orders. the last words i heard jack sherrill speak, was "give--love," and he fumbled at his breast to get out this enclosed. i ain’t read it--but it’s his heart’s blood that’s on it. give my love to all.
-yours forever, chi.
-"his heart’s blood!" for a moment the words conveyed no meaning. she picked up the iron-rusty brown slip from the floor; unfolded it; read--barry cornwall’s love-song in her own handwriting!
-she was young, and she loved as the young love. it was not god whom she wanted; it was "jack! jack! jack!" she cast herself face down upon the ground, and moaned in her agony: "his heart’s blood--his heart’s blood." she pressed the stained paper to her lips, over and over again. then she opened her blouse and baring her bosom, laid the love-song against it--"his heart’s blood--his heart’s blood!"
-so her mother found her.
-of late aunt tryphosa had been growing suspicious of maria-ann, and the latter felt she was being watched; to use her own words, "it nettled her."
-one afternoon, late in august, her grandmother, coming upon her rather suddenly in the pasture as she sat under the shade of a patriarchal butternut, ostensibly watching dorcas, asked her sharply:
-"what you doin’, maria-ann?"
-this was the signal of open revolt on the part of her granddaughter, and the like had occurred but once before in all the time of her up-bringing with aunt tryphosa. the old dame’s lips drew to a thinner line than usual, as she fired the second shot into the hostile camp:
-"you been cryin’, maria-ann."
-"what if i be?" demanded her granddaughter, with a flash of indignation from beneath her reddened eyelids. "s’pose i have a right to have feelin’s same as other folks."
-suddenly aunt tryphosa swooped like a hen-hawk upon a small piece of bright scarlet flannel, that the breeze had caught away from the protecting folds of the hearthstone journal, and landed in the covert of sweet fern just at her feet.
-"what’s that?" she held up the glowing bit of color, dangling it before maria-ann’s eyes.
-upon poor maria-ann’s inflamed sense of injustice, it had much the same effect as a red rag waved before the eyes of an infuriated bull.
-she sprang to her feet, snatched the bit of cloth from between her grandmother’s thumb and fore-finger, and thrust it into her dress waist, crying out shrilly in her unwonted excitement:
-"you let that be, grandmarm little! it’s my cross and i ’m going on a crusade--so now!"
-aunt tryphosa sat down rather suddenly in the middle of the sweet-fern patch. was maria-ann going crazy? her breath came short and sharp; she drew her thin lips still more tightly, and, although really alarmed, braced herself for the combat.
-"what ’d you say you was goin’ on, maria-ann?"
-"i never knew you was growin’ deef before, grandmarm; i said a crusade." she had raised her voice to a still higher pitch, as she stooped to gather up the hearthstone journal, the bits of red cloth, her scissors, and thimble which had fallen from her lap as she sprang to her feet.
-"is that the thing you read me about last winter in the journal, with the soldiers with crosses on their backs on hosses startin’ out for jerusalem?" demanded the old dame, but in a strangely agitated voice.
-"yes," responded maria-ann, promptly, but with less acerbity of manner.
-"and is that red rag you hid away a cross, maria-ann simmons?" no words can do justice to the old dame’s tone and its implied impiety of her granddaughter’s conduct.
-maria-ann was silent.
-"be you a christian girl, or an idolater, maria-ann?"
-her grandmother’s voice shook pitiably. maria-ann’s conscience gave a twinge, when she heard it; but she felt the time was ripe, and she must put in the sickle.
-"i hope i ’m a christian, grandmarm, but i ’m an idolater, too,--" aunt tryphosa drew in her breath, as if hurt. "but, anyway, i guess i was an american ’fore i was a christian, an’ i jest idolize my country--" maria-ann’s eyes filled with tears--"an’ i can’t do anything for her, nor make sacrifices same as other women do who can send their husbands--," a sob, "an’ lovers--," another sob, "an’ nuss ’em, an’ help on their country’s cause livin’ ’way up here in an old back paster with an old cow--an’ an old wo--oh, grandmarm!" maria-ann broke down utterly, laid her head upon her knees, and sobbed unrestrainedly.
-it was an unusual sight, and aunt tryphosa was troubled. she felt it necessary to beat a retreat in the face of such genuine grief, but she was determined that it should be a dignified one.
-"i ain’t never seen you give way so, maria-ann, and you ’re thirty-one year old come next january. i ’ve done my best to bring you up right, an’ now you ’re old enough to know your own mind, i hope; so, if you want to leave me, you can go jest as soon as you can get ready. i come up for dorcas, an’ now i ’m goin’ home." in spite of her effort her old voice trembled, but her pride sustained her nobly, and maria-ann was all unaware that the tears were rolling down the wrinkled furrows in the old cheeks as her grandmother drove dorcas before her down the fern-scented pasture slope.
-her granddaughter followed her half an hour later, and after a silent supper, except for aunt tryphosa’s murmured "grace," and a faint "amen" from the other side of the table, maria-ann lighted a lamp and shut herself into her small bedroom.
-she placed a chair against the door, lest she might be suddenly raided, and drew the other splint-bottomed one up to the head of the bed. lifting the feather-bed she thrust her hand far under and drew out a square, white pasteboard box. it was tied with a narrow, white ribbon. she undid it carefully, and took out a layer of tissue paper. the lamp-light shone upon a large, gilt heart, some ten by eight inches, with a thickness of two inches.
-maria-ann turned the box this way and that, watching the play of light on it, for the heart was skewered with a large, silver-gilt arrow, and the shaft, where it penetrated, held a small, white card with simulated blood-drops in carmine splashed on in one corner, and the sentiment, written in the same, straggling diagonally across the other corner:
-"in thy sight is my delight."
-maria-ann shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "don’t seems as if he ’d sent me that if he had n’t meant somethin’," she murmured, and dreamed for a little while. then she opened her eyes, prepared for new delights. raising the gilt top with tender care, she took out a faded rose:
-"don’t seem as if he ’d come back that nex’ mornin’ after chris’mus an’ give me that, ’thout he ’d had some notion." she laid the rose carefully upon the tissue paper, and began to lift the leaves of the heart-shaped book, until she had lifted every one of the three hundred and sixty-five! she smiled to herself.
-"’t ain’t likely he ’d ’a’ sent me jest such a cook-book, ’thout he ’d been tryin’ to give me a hint." she began to read the recipes--it was absorbing: puddings, cakes, preserves. she was lost to time as she read; "an’ he took that pair of socks i knit him last chris’mus ’long with him, rose said--" there was a fumbling at her door. maria-arm blew out the light.
-"that you, grandmarm?" she called pleasantly.
-there was no answer, and maria-ann laughed softly to herself as she undressed in the dark, and lay down to sweet dreams.
-"i ’m goin’ over to mis’ blossom’s, grandmarm," she announced the next afternoon, "to see if they ’ve had any news. i ain’t heard for two days."
-her grandmother made no reply, but when her grand-daughter was well on her way to the blossoms’, mrs. tryphosa little’s conscience deemed it prudent to issue a private search-warrant and investigate maria-ann’s premises--even to the under side of the feather-bed. the results perfectly justified the search, and upon maria-ann’s return just before tea, she was amazed to have her grandmother offer her a wrinkled cheek to kiss.
-"why, grandmarm!" exclaimed maria-ann, in joyful surprise, "i ’m so glad you ain’t laid it up against me--
-"i can see through a barn-door when ’t is wide open, even at my time of life, maria-ann simmons," said the old dame, interrupting her.
-"what did you hear over to ben’s?"
-"hazel’s just had a letter from her father, and he says they ’ve got mr. sherrill home to new york, an’ if nothin’ new sets in, he ’ll get over it, but his lungs ’ll be weak, mebbe, for two years. he was shot clean through the lungs."
-"what do they hear from chi?"
-maria-ann’s face grew suddenly radiant. "oh, he ’s been awful sick with the fever, an’ ain’t left cuby yet, but he’ll come north jest as soon as he can be transported. i ’ve been talking over my plans with mis’ blossom an’ rose an’ hazel, an’ they ’re goin’ to do everything they can for me."
-"so you ’re a-goin’ to cuby, maria-ann?"
-"yes, grandmarm, i ’ve got a call to go an’ nuss our sick an’ wounded; i ’ve been readin’ a lot ’bout the red cross misses in the hearthstone journal, an’ i ’m goin’ to wear a cross, an’ hazel’s goin’ to pay my fare, an’ i ’m goin’ to stop to mr. clyde’s when i get to new york, an’ he ’ll start me all right for cuby--"
-"them beets are burnin’ on, maria-ann; guess you ’d better stop for jest one more meal on the mountin, had n’t you?" said her grandmother, dryly.
-"when you goin’ to start?"
-"i calc’late ’bout the last of next week, that ’ll be into september--here, let me pare them beets, grandmarm;" and forthwith she seized the pan, and began peeling the steaming, deep-red balls, singing heartily the while:
-"’must i be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease, while others fought to win the prize, and sailed through bloody seas?’"
-"now be careful, and change at white river junction," were mr. blossom’s parting words at the station. "after that you go right through to new york."
-"i ’ll take good care, don’t you any of you worry ’bout me!" she waved her handkerchief from the back platform of the car to the little group she was leaving,--mr. and mrs. blossom, rose, march and hazel, captain spillkins and susan wood, with elvira and melissa. she was inflated with heroic resolve, and felt ennobled to be going forth to do battle, as she termed it to herself, for her country’s cause. moreover she was seeing the world, and even at the start she found it most interesting, for she had been but ten miles at most by train, and here she was speeding towards white river junction, distant forty miles from barton’s river.
-she longed to communicate her enthusiasm to the occupants of the car, but found only one opportunity. she offered to hold a baby, one of a family of five, while the mother fed and watered the other four. she continued to dandle it recklessly till the woman protested:
-"guess you ain’t had a fam’ly," she remarked sternly, rescuing her child; "a woman of your age ought to know better ’n to shake a baby up so when he ’s teethin’--’t ain’t good for their brains--like enough bring on chol’ry morbis." she pulled down the small clothes, turned the atom over on its stomach, and patted its back with a broad hand and a dove-like settling motion that bespoke the mater-familias.
-maria-ann looked out of the window. true, she had n’t any family--only grandmarm little and aunt mandy’s one daughter who had just come to visit them. what was aunt tryphosa doing now? she was dreaming again, and before she could realize it, the brakeman called, "white river junction! change cars for all points south via windsor, springfield, new york."
-hearing that, maria-ann felt as if she had already travelled a thousand miles, so far away seemed mount hunger and its uneventful life.
-she found herself on the platform. she had been so confident of taking care of herself--and now! she looked helplessly about. trains to the right of her, trains to the left of her, trains in front of her and behind her switched, and shifted, and thundered. engine-bells, dinner-bells, train-bells; stentorian voices of baggage-men, brakemen, call-men; frantic women, screaming babies, hurrying porters, indifferent travellers, fashionable women and city men; farmers, children, baskets, shawl-straps, dress-suit cases, golf bags, boys; dogs, yelping and crying, in arms or in leash; canaries in their wooden cages shrilling over all; and hither and thither and yon a bustling, and rustling, and rattling, and roaring, and clanking, and hissing, and shrieking, and hurrying, and scurrying, and pushing, and hauling, and prodding, and rushing! for a minute maria-ann was dazed and almost stunned. then her courage rose to the occasion. this was the famous junction of which she had heard so much. this was the great world. this was life!
-"i ’ll stand stock-still an’ wait till it clears up a little. i ’ve got an hour here, an’ mebbe i ’ll see somebody from barton’s," she said to herself, and had just put down her valise when a hoarse voice cried in her ear,--"hi, there! get out of the way!"
-she dodged a baggage truck piled high with toppling trunks, only to be caught in the surging, living stream, and carried with it up a step into the restaurant of the station.
-to maria-ann it was a marvellous sight. she set down her valise by a window and, standing guard in front of it, gazed about her with intense satisfaction. in truth this was seeing the great world, of which she had read so much in the journal and for which she had longed, at first hand. around the counter--a long oval--were perched on the high, wooden, spring stools "all sorts and conditions of men," with a sprinkling of women and children. there was perpetual motion of knives, forks, teaspoons, arms, hands, mouths,--and a noisy conglomerate beyond description, accented by the shriek and toot of the switch-engines.
-suddenly the clangor of a gong-like bell and a stentorian voice rose above the chaos of sound;--there was a momentary lull in the confusion of masticating utensils, followed by a general slipping, sliding, and jumping off the round wooden perches,--and to maria-ann’s amazement, the room was nearly vacant.
-"now ’s my time," said maria-ann, with considerable complacency, and forthwith proceeded to hoist herself, by means of the foot-rail, upon one of the seats, at the same time placing her valise on another at her right. she looked at the varied assortment of delectables--an embarrassment of riches: jelly-roll cakes, pickles, squash pie, baked beans, frosted tea-cakes, sage cheese, ham sandwiches, lemon pie, cold, spice-speckled custards, doughnuts, great as to their circumference, startling as to their cubical contents.
-"i ’ve heard tell of them," said maria-ann to herself, as her eye, ranging the oval marble slab, encountered a pyramidal pile of new england’s doughty cruller. "i ’ll have two of them, i guess," she said to the indifferent attendant, "an’ a cup of coffee; that ’ll last me for a spell, and i can keep my lunch for supper." she expected some response to her explanation, but there was none forthcoming, save that a cup of coffee, half-pint size, was shoved over the counter towards her, and the huge glass dome that protected the doughnuts was removed with a jerk, and the towering pile set down in front of her.
-maria-ann helped herself. it seemed rather tame, after so much excitement, to be eating a doughnut the size of a small feather-bed, without company. she looked around. there were but three or four at the entire counter. farther down to the left, his tall, gaunt figure silhouetted against the blank of the large window, a man was seated, bestriding the perch as if it were a horse. he wore the undress uniform of the volunteer cavalry. when maria-ann discovered this, she felt for a moment, to use her own expression, "flustered." the mere presence of the uniform brought to her a realizing sense of the importance of her mission; it seemed to bring her at once into touch with far-away cuba, and the feminine knights of the red cross; with--her heart gave a joyful thump--with chi! she felt in a way ennobled to be eating her doughnut within speaking distance of a hero (they were all that in maria-ann’s idealizing imagination).
-she had bitten only halfway into the periphery of the doughnut, when the man stepped from his seat. she watched him as he moved slowly towards the door; his back was turned to her. how feebly he moved! almost seeming to drag one foot after the other.
-a great flood of patriotic pity engulfed maria-ann’s whole being. she forgot the doughnuts; she left the coffee; she forgot even her valise; her one thought was as she slid from the stool: "i ain’t no call to wait till i get to cuby; i ’m just as much a red cross nuss right here in white river junction, vermont, as if i was a thousand miles away." the girl at the counter looked after her in amazement--she hadn’t even paid! but there was her valise.
-she saw maria-ann whisk something out of her dress-waist and stop halfway down the room to pin it on her sleeve, and lo and behold!--it was a cross of bright red flannel. she saw her hurry after the man, who had dragged himself to the doorway, and stood there leaning heavily against the jamb.
-"if you ’re goin’ to take a train, just you let me help you aboard," she said, speaking just at his elbow. the man’s head half turned with a jerk. "you ain’t fit to stan’ more ’n an eight months baby, an’ i ’m a red cross nuss on my way to cuby--"
-a gaunt, yellow face with haggard eyes was turned slowly full upon her, and a hand, shaking, as that of a man in drink, was laid on her arm:
-"don’t you know me, marier-ann?"
-maria-ann sat down suddenly on the doorstep at the man’s feet. there was no strength left in her. then she put her head into her hands, and began to cry softly; there were few to see her, and had the whole world been there, she would not have cared.
-"just help me into the waitin’-room, marier-ann, where we can talk."
-she bounced to her feet, with streaming, tear-blinded eyes, and chi, linking his arm in hers, led her into the "ladies’ room."
-a porter followed them in; he addressed chi. "she ain’t paid for what she ordered, and she ain’t eat it neither, and she ’s left her valise."
-chi pulled out a ten-cent piece and put it into his hand. "bring ’em all in," he said, "grub ’n’ all, ’n’ i ’ll pay for ’em. we ’ll sit here a spell till train time." maria-ann sobbed afresh.
-the porter brought in the plate with the doughnuts, the cup of coffee, and the valise, and set them down on the wooden settee. he pointed to the ten-cent piece that lay within the inner ring of a doughnut:
-"i don’t take nothin’ of that kind from you fellers." he touched the bit of braid on the cuff of chi’s coat; chi smiled, and pocketed the money.
-maria-ann shook her head vigorously, but she could not control the sobs. chi crossed one leg over the other, and waited.
-the flies buzzed on the smoke-thickened panes, and an empty truck rattled down the platform. there were no other sounds.
-"when does your train go, marier-ann?"
-there was another sob, but no answer.
-"did n’t i hear you say you was on your way to cuby?"
-"bad place for women--’n’ men, too. what you goin’ for?"
-maria-ann’s answer was only half audible: "to nuss."
-"to nuss? ain’t there enough nussin’ you can do nearer home?"
-maria-ann looked up with tear-reddened eyes. "i did n’t think so--" a sob--"till i saw you, chi. i did n’t know you--i thought i ’d begin right now, before i got there--" her hands covered her eyes again.
-chi’s trembling ones, weak from the fever, drew her cold ones down from her face.
-"you did just right, marier-ann, to want to begin right now.--the barton’s river train is due to start from here in fifteen minutes;--s’posin’ you give up cuby, ’n’ come along home, ’n’ try nussin’ me. i need it bad enough."
-"oh, chi, do you mean it?" maria-ann caught her breath.
-"you bet i do," said chi, emphatically, "only"--he paused and took up the plate from her lap, spilling the coffee, for the trembling of his hand had increased--"if you ’re goin’ to undertake it with me, it’s got to be a life job, marier-ann."
-the flies continued to buzz on the smoke-thickened panes. the train for barton’s river steamed in from the siding. the couple in the waiting-room boarded it. the porter watched them with a queer smile. then he took up the plate of uneaten doughnuts and the cup of cooled coffee, and handed them to the girl behind the counter.
-"she ain’t eat ’em, after all," she said. "she acted kinder queer for a red cross nurse."
-"he’s the chap i give the telegram to when he got here on the up-train last night."
-"what was it?"
-"twenty-five cent one from barton’s river--’m.a. starts for cuba thursday stop her at junction.’"
-the girl laughed, and the restaurant filled again.
-"--the stars above shine ever on love--"
-"i ’m goin’ up into the clearin’, mis’ blossom, to see if there ain’t some late blackberries," said chi, a few days after his triumphal return with maria-ann. "seems as if the smell of the sun on that spruce-bush up yonder would put new life into me--i feel so kind of shif’less."
-"i would, chi," said mrs. blossom; "you have n’t begun to get your strength back yet, and the more you ’re out in this air, without overworking, the better it will be for you."
-"i ’ll go with you, chi," said rose, looking up from her work, as she sat sewing on the lower step of the porch.
-"that’s right, rose-pose; it ’ll seem like old times." chi followed her with wistful eyes as she turned to go up stairs.
-"i ’ll be down in a few minutes, chi; we ’d better take the two-quart pails, had n’t we?"
-"maybe we ’ll find enough for one or two messes."
-he turned to mrs. blossom when rose had left the room. "can’t there nothin’ be done ’bout it, mis’ blossom?" he spoke almost wistfully.
-mrs. blossom’s eyes filled with tears. she hesitated a moment before she spoke: "i know rose so well, chi, that i dare not interfere. i doubt if she would accept anything, even from me, her mother."
-"it beats me," chi sighed heavily. "he ’s just a-pinin’ for a word or sign, ’n’ there ain’t no use talkin’--she ’s got to give it; i ’d back him up every time, he ’s done enough--"
-"sh--!" mrs. blossom held up her finger; she heard rose on the stairs. chi looked up--his old rose-pose stood before him: old, faded, green and white calico dress, old sunbonnet, patched shoes! chi turned away abruptly to get his pails; and her mother wondered, but said nothing.
-they found more than one "patch," where the berries hung in luscious clusters of shining jet. chi pummelled his chest, and drew deep, deep breaths of the balsamic mountain air. "this sets a man up, rose-pose; there ain’t nothin’ like the air on this mountain for an all-round tonic. let’s sit here a spell, right by this sweet fern."
-she pushed back the sunbonnet as she sat down beside him. "tired, chi?"
-"no--rests me clear through just to sit ’n’ look off onto those slopes, just about as green as in june."
-they sat awhile in silence; then chi turned and picked up the sunbonnet that had fallen from her head. he touched it gently.
-"remember the first time you sold berries in that rig, rose-pose?"
-the blood surged into rose’s face, and receded, leaving it strangely white. chi felt his heart contract at the change, but he went on:
-"first time jack ever saw you was in that rig.--you ain’t changed so much but he ’d know you again if he saw you in chiny."
-still there was silence. chi moistened his lips.
-"can’t say as much for him; never saw such a change; he ’s all fallen away to nothin’ but skin and bones. doctor heath told me just before i left--’n’ he put me aboard the train--that nothin’ could set him up again but this mountain air, ’n’ good food, ’n’--" chi paused; his mouth was uncomfortably dry. rose’s face was turned from him, but he saw a contraction of her delicate throat, as if a dry sob were suddenly suppressed. then she spoke in a monotone:
-"why does n’t he come, then?"
-"why!--" chi fairly startled himself with his thundering "why," and rose half started from the ground. the blood leaped to her very temples; seeing which, chi took heart--"coz he ’s every inch a man, rose blossom; ’n’ he’s got too much grit of the right sort to ask a girl twice, he ’s about given his heart’s blood for.
-"he ain’t a-goin’ to come crawlin’ up here to ask no favors of you after he knows that you know--’n’ i glory in his spunk. but i can tell you, if you don’t look out, you ’ll come nearer to bein’ a real molly stark than you ever thought you could be when you joined the n.b.b.o.o., ’n’ by george washin’ton! it goes against me to see you breakin’ the by-laws you pledged yourself to stand by, every minute of your life that you keep so dumb towards jack sherrill;--for you ’re provin’ yourself a coward in your love, ’n’ you ’ll have a widowed heart to pay for it mighty soon, if you keep on, that’ll be worse than molly stark’s any day--" a whisper stopped him:
-"chi, chi, tell him to come--i want him so; oh, chi!"
-chi’s hand was laid on the bowed head with its crown of shining, golden-brown braids: "rose blossom, may god almighty bless you for proving yourself a true woman, ’n’ worthy of the mother that bore you. i can’t say any more."
-an hour later march blossom, with a telegram in his hand, was speeding on fleet to barton’s river; and two days afterwards mr. blossom and alan ford in the double wagon, and chi alone in the buggy, drove down to barton’s to meet the up-train. mrs. blossom and rose stood on the porch straining their eyes in the quickly-falling september twilight to see any movement on the lower road. the children had been sent over to hunger-ford till after tea, for jack was not strong enough to bear a too joyful home-coming.
-"here we are, safe ’n’ sound," said chi, in an affectedly cheery voice, as he drove out of the woods’-road. "just wait a minute, jack, ’n’ i ’ll give you an arm gettin’ out." he laid the reins on the dasher. then he assisted the tall, gaunt figure of the man beside him to alight. jack half stumbled, for his eyes were seeking rose--and rose?
-all her womanhood, all the sacred privileges of wifehood, came to her aid at that moment. she sprang to the carriage, and, with one hand, put chi aside; with the other, she lifted jack’s half-nerveless arm and laid it over her shoulders; then, encircling him with her own slender one, she said gently, guiding him to the porch step:
-"lean on me, dearest."
-on the first of november, one of the short-lived indian summer days, the farmhouse on mount hunger literally blossomed like a rose.
-a week beforehand there had been an animated discussion as to what should be the wedding decorations of the "long-room." hazel, who had been with them a week already, settled it.
-"as if there could be any choice!" she exclaimed. "it’s been great fun to hear you all suggesting this, that, and the other, from ground hemlock and bitter-sweet, to everlasting! but jack and i settled it three weeks ago--how could there be anything for rose, but roses? anyway, that’s what jack wrote, and our florist looked fairly dazed when i gave him the order--just bushels of them, rose-pose, lovely la france ones, like those you threw into the--no, i won’t tease you, cousin mine," she said, with a merry laugh, as rose looked at her appealingly.
-and now, on the wedding morning of the first of november, the great box that chi had brought up from barton’s the night before was opened, and in hazel’s skilful fingers the exquisite pink blooms lent to the "long-room" a wonderful grace and beauty.
-she was flitting about in her pale pink cashmere dress--"made specially to match the roses," she said to march, as she dropped him a curtsy preparatory to pinning a rose into his buttonhole. "we must all wear rose-pose’s badge to-day. where are you, budd?"
-he drew forth from his breeches’ pocket a something that might once have been white, but, at present, looked more like a shoe-rag, it was so dingy and soiled.
-"i ’ve kept it, you see, hazel," he said, his small mouth puckering, his round, light-blue eyes growing rounder, as he looked up at hazel, with twelve-year-old earnestness.
-"kept what?" said hazel, mystified, and holding up the offering gingerly between thumb and forefinger to examine it.
-"why, don’t you know?--the glove you gave me when you said you ’d be my lady-love? don’t you remember,--in the barn?" answered budd, slightly crestfallen.
-hazel laughed merrily. "oh, you funny boy!" she said, "to keep an old glove of mine for nearly a year and a half! why, it’s nearly black and blue. have you kept it in your best sunday-go-to-meeting trousers’ pocket all this time?"
-budd nodded, but soberly. seeing which, hazel gave him a pat on the top of his head, and assured him she would give him one of her cleaned party gloves once a year till he was twenty-one, if only he would promise not to keep it in his pocket with spruce-gum, chalk, chestnuts, lead-pencil sharpenings, top-twine, jack-knives, and ginger cookie crumbs.
-"how ’d you know i had all those things in my pocket?" demanded budd, in his amazement forgetting his sentiment.
-"oh, a little bird told me," replied hazel. "run and ask chi to come in, will you? i have his rose ready for him, and it’s most time for them all to come."
-it was a quiet wedding. only those nearest and dearest were about them; mr. sherrill, aunt carrie and uncle jo, mr. clyde and hazel, doctor and mrs. heath, the blossoms and chi.
-afterwards all the lost nation came in to give their heart-felt blessings and good wishes. they were all there--from maria-ann, radiant in the realization of her own romance, to miss alton and the fords, who were to leave on the night train to remain six weeks in new york, and had placed hunger-ford at the disposal of rose and jack during the first weeks of their marriage. they remained but a little while, for the excitement was almost more than jack was able to bear.
-the moon rose between six and seven, largely luminous and slightly reddened through the soft, warm haze of the indian summer night. rose had insisted, that, if the night were mild, jack should ride over to hunger-ford at a snail’s pace on little shaver, and that she should lead him. at first jack protested, but in the end rose had her way. chi, on fleet, was to ride on a little ahead to be within call, if anything should be needed. "kind of scoutin’ to remind us of cuby, jack," he said, laughing, as he helped him into the saddle.
-they were all on the porch to see the little cavalcade set forth, the pony whinnying his delight to find his master on his back. rose took the bridle. suddenly she dropped it, turned, and came back to the steps where hazel stood between mrs. blossom and march. she put up her arms, and clasping the young girl about the waist, drew her down to kiss her, and whisper:
-"oh, hazel! what if you had n’t come to us!--all this happiness is through you."
-and hazel, but dimly perceiving rose’s meaning, whispered back as she kissed her:
-"and if i had n’t come, rose-pose, i should never have been rich as i am now; chi can’t call me ’poor’ any longer--for you ’re all mine, now that you are jack’s; aren’t you?"
-march, hearing those whispered words, found his mother’s hand, somehow,--and mrs. blossom understood.
-"good-night, martie dear," cried rose, love and tears and laughter struggling in her voice.
-"good-night, rose dear."
-"good-night, rose--good-night, jack!" cried the twins.
-a white slipper filled with rice flew after little shaver, and hit him on the left hock. but he was a well-bred polo pony, and a white satin slipper with a little rice was as nothing to a swift, long-distance polo ball; so he gave no sign.
-chi stopped at the little house "over eastwards." maria-ann was on the lookout.
-"they ’re comin’ along just by the turn of the road," he spoke low, "can you see ’em?"
-the road lay white in the moonlight. "yes, yes," cried maria-ann excitedly, "oh, chi, ain’t it beautiful!"
-"sh--sh!" said chi, "they ’ll hear you. hark! by george washin’ton! she ’s singin’--get, fleet." the horse loped along over the moonlit road, and maria-ann went in and shut the door--all but a crack. to that she put her ear, to hear what the clear, sweet voice was singing:
-"’i told thee when love was hopeless; but now he is wild and sings-- that the stars above shine ever on love, though they frown on the fate of kings.’"
-mount hunger stood bathed in white radiance. the stars came out, but faintly;--still, they were shining.
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-jo’s boys, and how they turned out
-a sequel to "little men." by louisa m. alcott. with 10 full-page plates by ellen wetherald ahrens. crown 8vo. decorated cloth. $2.00.
-those who were fascinated by the story of the marsh family in "little men" will take a keen interest in the experiences of mrs. jo’s boys. "the boys are as entertaining as their elders were in their time," says the worcester spy, "and the story has plenty of life and incident, fun and pathos; its atmosphere is fresh, pure, and wholesome."
-"the young folks who have been charmed with miss alcott’s previous stories," says the san francisco chronicle, "will read ’jo’s boys’ with avidity." the illustrations by charlotte harding are in keeping with the spirit of the author.
-little, brown, & company publishers, 254 washington street, boston, mass.
-anna chapin ray’s "teddy" stories
-teddy: her book. a story of sweet sixteen
-illustrated by vesper l. george. 12mo. $1.50.
-miss ray’s work draws instant comparison with the best of miss alcott’s: first, because she has the same genuine sympathy with boy and girl life; secondly, because she creates real characters, individual and natural, like the young people one knows, actually working out the same kind of problems; and, finally, because her style of writing is equally unaffected and straightforward.--christian register, boston.
-phebe: her profession
-a sequel to "teddy: her book"
-illustrated by frank t. merrill. 12mo. $1.50.
-this is one of the few books written for young people in which there is to be found the same vigor and grace that one demands in a good story for older people.--worcester spy.
-teddy: her daughter
-a sequel to "teddy: her book," and "phebe: her profession"
-illustrated by j. b. graff. 12mo. $1.20 net.
-introduces a new generation of girls and boys, all well bred and gifted with good manners, takes them through much fun and such adventures as one may find on a small sandy island, and gives the girl a page or two of saving common sense about her duties to boys and her obligation to be true and womanly.--new york times saturday review.
-illustrated by ellen bernard thompson. 12mo. $1.20 net.
-a charming story of a courageous fifteen-year-old girl’s effort to help her older brother support an orphaned family of five. "nathalie is the sort of a young girl whom other girls like to read about," says the hartford courant.
-ursula’s freshman. a sequel to "nathalie’s chum"
-illustrated by harriet roosevelt richards. 12mo. $1.20 net.
-a hot-tempered, domineering girl, yet full of common sense and capable of loyal love, and jack, her cousin, who stoically accepts the loss of his father’s fortune, and begins to earn his own way through yale, are the two principal characters in miss ray’s new book.
-little, brown, & company, publishers 254 washington st., boston, massachusetts
-the wee scotch piper
-the wee scotch piper
-producer of the motion pictures
-"the little indian weaver" "the wee scotch piper" "the little dutch tulip girl" "the little swiss wood-carver"
-distributed by pathé exchange, inc., new york city
-photographic illustrations made in scotland by the author
-grosset & dunlap publishers new york by arrangement with the a. flanagan company
-copyright, 1929, by a. flanagan company
-printed in the united states of america
-when i began to write these stories about children of all lands i had just returned from europe whither i journeyed with marie and ref. maybe you don't know marie and ref. i'll introduce them: please meet marie, my very little daughter, and ref, my very big reflex camera.
-these two are my helpers. marie helps by being a little girl who knows what other little girls like and by telling me; and ref helps by snapping pictures of everything interesting that marie and i see on our travels. i couldn't get along without them.
-several years have gone by since we started our work together and marie is a bigger girl--but ref hasn't changed one bit. ref hasn't changed any more than my interest in writing these books for you. and i hope that you hope that i'll never change, because i want to keep on writing until we'll have no more countries to write about--unless, of course, some one discovers a new country.
-even if a new country isn't discovered, we'll find foreign children to talk about--maybe the children in mars! who knows? nobody. not even marie--and marie usually knows about most things. that's the reason why, you see, though i sign myself
-i am really only
-to every child of every land, little sister, little brother, as in this book your lives unfold, may you learn to love each other.
-the wee scotch piper
-the craig family
-in the wee village of aberfoyle, which is in perthshire county, scotland, lived alan craig, a shepherd.
-the sheep of scotland, like the bagpipes and bluebells, are famous, and in aberfoyle there are many.
-dotted alongside the road are the bright bluebells, lighting up in true fairy array the darkness made by big, shady trees.
-shrieking through the stillness of a summer evening, comes the sound of the bagpipes. this music is furnished by a tattered piper marching up and down, up and down. he hopes that the people will throw pennies for the love of the tune he plays.
-and the sheep, like little dots of white in the green meadows, graze. but sometimes, they, too, shriek when they are herded together, perhaps for the clipping.
-when the sheep all bleat together, it sounds very much like the shrieking of the bagpipes. maybe that is how the bagpipe was really started. perhaps the sound was first uttered by a herd of scotch sheep!
-it was not yet clipping time on the small farm of alan craig. his sheep still roamed the hills. their heavy, curly wool weighed them down and made them look as if they had on long, woollen nighties.
-the babies sometimes walked right under their mothers, and then they were completely hidden.
-on a hill sat alan craig, and by his side his faithful dog, roy. roy was a real sheep dog and was proud of his profession.
-you know, when people are called professionals, it means that they are trained in one occupation. of course, people make money at their professions, and this was the only difference between roy and a professional human.
-roy was a professional sheep dog, but he did his work out of devotion to his master. also he did it because it was in his blood to love to race the timid sheep over the hills and obey his master's commands.
-"back, roy!" shouted alan craig.
-roy jumped to his feet and, barking, ran to bring back the flock, which had disappeared around a rocky mountain.
-"bowwow-wow!" the sheep heard him coming and, stupid creatures that they are, started to run the other way. "bowwow!"
-"down, sir, down!" came the voice of alan craig from afar, and roy understood.
-silently he made a dash for the leading sheep and, bounding ahead of the herd, he stood on guard. his feet were planted apart, and his tongue hung out. he was barking in his own language a short scotch bark, which meant, "now, will you go back?"
-all but the leading sheep began to turn. that leader was, however, a mother sheep with a loved baby. she had always been very suspicious of roy.
-perhaps he had once snapped at her baby, for he often had to do this to make the sheep behave. at any rate, the mother sheep could not forgive him. without any fear, she now sprang toward roy and butted her head in defiance.
-roy stood his ground and then made a plunge at her legs. meanwhile, he let out a shrill bark as one of her sharp horns hit his leg. it was a short but hard battle.
-at last roy returned to his master, his tongue nearly sweeping the ground. but there was a triumphant expression in his eyes as he drove the crowd of panting sheep into a circle around alan craig and threw himself at his master's feet to await his reward.
-this was not long in coming. alan craig appreciated his helper. in fact roy was really the shepherd. alan had only to speak his commands--"work his dog," as the scotch say--and roy did the rest.
-now he stroked his dog and said, "good, roy! well done!"
-alan's language was well understood by roy, but these words would have sounded this way to you: "gude, roy! weel dune!" had alan spoken in the scotch dialect to roy.
-he could speak very good english, and did when he spoke to englishmen. but you see, roy was a scotchman!
-from the little white cottage in the hollow came the smell of dinner--fresh pancakes and meat cooking.
-he was a big strong man. although we picture a scotch shepherd dressed in kilts and socks and perhaps a tam, alan craig wore none of these. kilts and socks and tams are for the gentry, alan would tell you, and shepherds are too poor to afford them.
-so alan wore an old suit which might have once been worn by your own father and then given away to some beggar. alan was poor like most of the villagers, for scotland is rather a poor country.
-still, in the little village of aberfoyle, everyone was happy. in the evenings the people from the big city of glasgow came in big buses. they danced outside on the village green to the tune of the pipes, while they gloried in the fresh country air.
-so you must not think that alan craig and his family suffered. indeed, there could hardly have been a happier little family in scotland.
-that evening alan wended his way homeward and was met by his wife and baby. if you have ever seen how an indian mother carries her baby, then you will know how mrs. craig carried hers. only instead of carrying it on her back as the indians do, she carried it in front wrapped securely in her plaid shawl.
-her one arm was thus free, and she worked most of the day this way, while knowing and feeling her little one safe in her arms.
-the family sat down to dinner in their wee kitchen, for the farmers have no such luxury as a dining room. they started their soup, a thick broth made of barley and vegetables of all kinds. mother craig poured it out of the big tureen.
-just at this time, the door burst open, and a ruddy-faced boy of ten years rushed into the room.
-"ian craig, do you know the hour?" asked mother craig.
-the boy stood in the doorway and smiled at the family. he sniffed with delight the pleasant odor coming to him from the table.
-"ay, mother," answered the boy. "well do i know."
-then he prepared to take his place at the table, with a gesture of rubbing his stomach in thinking of what was to be put inside.
-"what a bonny smell, mother!" he continued. "and surely the taste is even bonnier!"
-"'tis the glib tongue you have, ian craig," laughed his father. "you could write poetry to the smell of a good dinner! and now, what have you to tell us to-night?"
-now, ian was always full of stories and tales of adventure. he was one of those children to whom something exciting is always happening.
-so the family were quite accustomed to having him return home with vivid tales. some were strange, some droll and, alas, some sad and painful, told to the tune of bandages and arnica.
-still, what boy is not sometimes hurt? and ian's accidents were few, in comparison to his other experiences. surely, it is to be wondered how, in a small, quiet town like aberfoyle, so many wondrous happenings could occur.
-sometimes ian was doubted, not, however, by his parents, who knew that their son was truthful. the schoolmaster knew it, too, and was proud of ian, whose stories and poems were the best in his class.
-one day he was recounting to a group of spellbound school children his experiences of the day. he was relating what wondrous happenings had befallen him, when he was interrupted by a boy who shouted, "ian craig is telling lies!"
-the boy was a year older than ian, but he was never known to make sport of ian again. nor did ian ever admit to his parents how it happened that he arrived home from school that day with a swollen eye.
-sandy's first visit
-aberfoyle is the center of the "rob roy country." rob roy macgregor was, as every child knows, a great scotch warrior and represented one of the oldest highland clans.
-in aberfoyle, where ian craig lived, stands the old house in which sir walter scott wrote his famous story "rob roy." to-day it houses the village minister.
-near by is a tumble-down thatched cottage known as "jean mcalpin's inn," where rob roy was wont to rest.
-a landmark in the village is the old "rob roy brig." here on the old brig (which means "bridge" in scotch) ian would sit when school was out and his chores at home were finished.
-something usually happened when he sat here, and many of his experiences had started from this bridge. often, while he waited for adventure, ian fished from the bridge. he brought home fine, fat morsels, for the river forth, which flows beneath the bridge, is rich in fish.
-but ian's dearest memory was of sandy. the sandy adventure had taken place almost a year before, but it was as vivid in ian's mind as though it had all occurred the day before.
-it happened while ian was fishing from the brig. he heard the sound of bagpipes--a sound that is nothing unusual to hear in scotland. still it always made ian joyous and sad at once. and now he turned to listen.
-this playing was the loveliest he had ever heard. jamie robinson played almost every night in front of the old hotel, and ian loved the music. but this playing was different. he had always thought jamie's playing good, but he now wondered how he could ever have thought so.
-this tune was from far away, but it carried across the meadow and along the road. and then he saw sandy! sandy was standing still in the middle of the road while he played.
-by his side was a handcart, and ian knew at once what it meant. sandy was a wandering piper, a man who has no home, a gypsy. he piped for his living and camped on the road.
-many pipers passed through aberfoyle, some with large families. in fact, jamie was one of them, only jamie did not travel. he lived in the woods near aberfoyle in a tent with his wife and babies.
-but no one had ever played like this before. ian ran up the road. as he approached the newcomer, he could see that the piper was a little old man. he had a kindly, wrinkled face, and twinkling eyes which winked at ian as the boy came closer. then suddenly he changed his tune.
-"bonny laddie, highland laddie," shrieked the pipes.
-ian stopped in front of the piper and thought he should cry. the music ceased.
-a hand was laid on ian's shoulder, and a voice asked, "and why, laddie, do you stand and look with eyes so big and sad?"
-ian then realized that he had been staring as if in a trance. he brought himself back to earth, smiled, and put out his hand.
-"i'm sorry, sir. i was only admiring your bonny piping!"
-"ach!" laughed the piper. "and i was only admiring the bonny laddie! what's your name?"
-"and mine's sandy. you may call me sandy, though my name's really evert robert mackeith macgregor, and my great-grandfather was a cousin to the great rob roy."
-with these words, sandy macgregor put his pipes into his cart. then, slinging the rope over his shoulders, he started to pull his load along, while ian kept step with him.
-"and a fine village this is--the scene of my ancestor's home! do you live here, my lad?"
-"ay, sandy, and not far from old rob roy brig."
-"well, well," sighed sandy. "and could we bide a wee on the old brig of my ancestor while sandy rests?"
-"ay, could we," said ian with great delight, "and i can pull your cart for you, sandy, until we get there."
-gratefully the old man allowed the boy to pull his load, while he stretched his tired arms. he breathed in the sweet-smelling air of the village of his ancestor.
-when they came to the bridge, ian put down the cart. he invited sandy to sit beside him on the wall, his usual perch. the old man jumped up to the boy's side, as spry as the boy himself, and looked around.
-"well, well," he said, "and to think 'tis sandy's first visit to the home of his ancestor--sandy who has been nigh all over the land!"
-at these words ian's heart gave a bound, and he said, "have you seen nigh all of bonny scotland, sandy?"
-"ay, that have i, lad, and traveled on my own two feet through it all."
-"sandy," said ian wistfully, "would you be telling me about it?"
-"ach, ay, laddie," smiled the old wanderer. "that would i, for 'tis many a fine sight these old eyes have seen."
-sandy talked, and the boy listened. the sun grew lower and lower in the heavens. ian craig thought that never before had he known an afternoon to slip by so quickly.
-sandy told ian about the time he had visited edinburgh, scotland's capital, and one of the most attractive cities in the world.
-he told of princes street, with its sunken gardens on one side, and its wonderful view of historic edinburgh castle, its pretty shops and stately monuments. it is considered by many to be the most beautiful street in all the world.
-on the top of a winding hill is edinburgh castle. here, in the courtyard of the old castle is half-moon battery, where is kept the one-o'clock gun.
-this gun fires every day at the hour of one. it is attached by electric wire to the time ball on the top of nelson's monument on carlton hill opposite. this ball falls, in turn, at a signal from greenwich observatory, near london, where is set the time for the whole world.
-in another part of the castle grounds can be found a pathetic little plot of ground known as "the dogs' cemetery." here are buried the pets of the soldiers who fought in the world war.
-many of these little beasts were gallant heroes and were buried with great reverence. lovely flowers decorate their graves, and inscriptions tell of each one's valor.
-but to one little dog in particular was a fountain erected. it stands in one of the streets of edinburgh. this fountain represents "greyfriars' bobby," as the little dog was called.
-he was given this name because it was to the old greyfriars churchyard that he went, day after day, to seek his master, who was buried there. the caretakers of the cemetery tried to keep him out.
-still day after day he came. he always lay upon the grave of his master and grieved, until one day they found him dead. and now the fountain is there to remind the people of this faithful little creature.
-"do you think my dog would grieve if i should die?" asked ian, as he brushed away a tear with his sleeve and tried to distract sandy's attention from his action.
-"ay, if you treat him kindly, lad," answered the old man. "beasties are faithful to us when they know we love them."
-"ay," said ian. "roy is faithful, and a smart sheep dog, too."
-"do you like fine to herd the sheep, laddie?" asked sandy.
-ian hung his head.
-"no, sandy. i like finer to go about and have adventures and make up that i am--" he hesitated.
-"what, lad? speak. do not be afraid of sandy for he knows the hearts of laddies well."
-"if i could play the pipes, sandy, i would go away and be a piper in the band some day," confessed ian.
-this was, indeed, a dream so near to his heart that he had never before spoken it aloud. after the admission, ian turned his head away and did not look at sandy. but the old man's voice was very soft and his tone caressing, as he said, "and a fine dream it is, ian lad, for to be a piper is a great and honored calling."
-"ay," answered ian huskily, "but 'tis not for me, sandy."
-sandy turned the boy around then and looked him squarely in the eye.
-"ian, lad, do not speak so, for nothing is too hard to get when you want it."
-"no, sandy. the pipes are too dear, and it takes many months to learn to play."
-"and you study hard at school, lad?" asked the piper.
-"ay, do i," spoke the boy.
-"then some day, you'll be liking to hear of the fine military school i saw."
-"ach, sandy, tell me about it. have you really seen it?" ian was at once alert.
-"ay, that have i, and only three weeks ago when i was passing by dunblane."
-as the poor little village lad drank in his words, sandy talked on about the wonderful school in dunblane. this school is called the queen victoria school. here lads between the ages of nine and fifteen are trained as soldiers.
-they are sons of military men, some of whom fell in the world war. these boys are reared and taught free of charge. it is a great and good school for a boy to attend.
-to see and hear these sons of scotland's heroes is an experience never to be forgotten. they present a fine appearance in their bright-colored kilts and military trappings, as they march and play upon their pipes.
-sandy saw and heard, and carried away with him a memory of the loveliest sight and sound imaginable. coming toward him were boys. children they were, with their kilts making a vivid pattern.
-their bare knees moved in perfect unison as they stepped to the tunes of scotland's patriotic melodies. they played in a way unsurpassed by pipers older and more experienced than they.
-first came a waltz, gracefully played and gracefully stepped. then came a march, loud, fast, but always in perfect harmony. the sound might have come from a single organ played, perhaps, by scottish cherubim.
-the drum major wore a plumed helmet and carried a baton. he was only fourteen years old, but he twirled his stick and marched like a veteran of many wars.
-the little twelve-year-old drummer swung his drumsticks into the air and caught them again. he never missed a beat on his drum. the rest, pipers all, marched and played. their cheeks puffed in and out, while their fingers moved and made melodies.
-throughout the hills echoed the sound. it was the same as echoed during the battle of bannockburn, when scottish history was made. to these tunes, in this same rugged country marched, years ago, these lads' ancestors.
-and sandy carried his memories of queen victoria school back to ian craig. ian's longing to become a piper grew greater as he listened. in his heart he uttered a silent prayer.
-though his meeting with sandy had happened many months before, neither the memory of sandy nor of the pipers had dimmed in ian's mind. through his hours of work and play his thoughts turned to marching highland laddies and shrieking pipes.
-he would often imagine himself as one of their number. indeed, often on his walks to school he would "make believe," as so many children call it. people would turn to see why the little boy in kilts marched so straight and puffed his cheeks out.
-ian wore kilts, though his father did not. many of the children went to school in their kilts. yet many could not afford to do this and wore them only on sundays.
-ian, however, had a school kilt and a sunday kilt and was very proud of his wardrobe. one of the main reasons for his pride lay in the fact that in kilts he could better imagine himself a piper.
-marching alone one morning, he met elsie. elsie was only a wee lass, far younger than ian. but she liked the tall boy who always smiled at her and who walked so straight.
-ian liked elsie better than the other lassies, who did not understand, as elsie did, the importance and grandeur of pipers. besides, the others were either too freckled, or their cheeks too red.
-some scotch children have the complexions of bright sunsets. ian liked elsie's bonny face, with the few little freckles on her nose, and her sunny smile.
-this morning elsie overtook him as he was marching to his own silent drone of pipes.
-"do not march so, ian. the children will be laughing at you when you reach the school. i heard them saying you're daft about pipers, and i thought i'd tell you," she said.
-ian looked down into the little maiden's blue eyes. she, too, was dressed in a kilt. she wore over it a red jersey.
-unlike ian, she did not have the sporran. that is what the scotch call the piece of fur hanging down in front of the kilt. each child's kilt was, however, pinned on the side with a large safety pin--which is the style in wearing kilts.
-elsie's hair was done in two braids, which hung down her back. though he resented what she told him, ian thought she was very sweet. for she looked at him in a way that made his resentment soon fade.
-smiling, he said, "thanks, elsie. i'll not march now."
-silently they walked together. ian was very near telling his little friend about his dreams.
-but while he was weighing the probable outcome of such a move, the school bell rang. it was half past nine, the time that school in scotland starts in the springtime. ian and elsie ran.
-at one o'clock, ian went home to his lunch. elsie stayed, for her home was far away. she brought her "piece," which is what the scotch children call their lunch. no doubt the word refers to their piece of bread, which, with an apple, is sometimes all they get.
-at home, ian's mother always had waiting for him a plate of scotch broth, potatoes, and sometimes an apple tart. after school ian was drawn to the bridge.
-"ian, wait," called elsie, and ran after him.
-ian stopped and remembered that he had almost told her. how could a wee lass like that understand? no. he would not speak. what was more, he would not let her come along, for he knew that was what she wanted to do.
-"are you going fishing from the brig?" asked elsie blithely.
-"ay," answered ian sulkily, as he stepped ahead of her.
-"may i go with you, ian?" queried the small girl.
-"no, elsie. you're too wee for fishing, and you scare the fish."
-elsie's lip quivered. ian feared she would cry right out on the road. then what would he do?
-"ach, don't cry, lass. run home to your mother, for 'tis late for you to be out, and she'll be worried."
-it was all said kindly but much too eagerly. elsie, who was keen, did not doubt for a moment that she was not wanted.
-she ran off, while ian, with a sigh--sad to say, of relief--ran to his home. he kissed his mother, took down his fishing rod, and was off for fish and dreams.
-at the bridge, adventure indeed awaited him, had he but known. he settled himself in his favorite place and threw his line down into the river. little did he suspect what was to happen.
-singing to himself, he waited. a tug on his line! so soon? ah, the fish were biting well to-day. mother would be pleased. what a big fish and how it pulled! ian struggled for several minutes, and then up came his prize.
-but what sort of fish was this? it looked like a fuzzy ball of brown fur. as it came up closer, ian saw that it was a bear--a toy bear. it was undoubtedly the property of a certain elsie campbell!
-"out, you wee devil, out!" cried ian, standing up and looking down under the bridge for his tormentor.
-there she was, and her laugh was most annoying to ian. he was scolding, and at the same time trying to undo the hook from the toy bear's fur.
-"come up here, you wee devil!" repeated ian furiously.
-up came the culprit. ian had to join in her laughter, though he shook his finger at her the while. she sat down beside him happily.
-"ian, do you believe in the devil?" she asked.
-"ay, do i," he answered. "'tis yerself."
-"no." elsie shook her head seriously. "do you know, i believe 'tis like santa claus. 'tis your own father!"
-"ach, elsie," laughed ian, at the child's idea. "you know that santa claus brings you dolls and toy bears and--"
-ian did not go on to complete the list, for just then he heard a sound that made his heart beat faster. jumping down from the wall, he looked up the road. coming toward him was sandy!
-how elsie ever disappeared ian never knew. disappear she did quickly. afterwards, when ian thought it over, it seemed that fairies had snatched her away.
-whatever happened, she was not there when sandy and ian greeted each other. it was probably her woman's instinct, which bade her leave these two to their men's affairs!
-how happy was ian as his kind old friend seated himself by ian's side with the same boyish leap!
-"well, ian, lad," said sandy, "the same bonny aberfoyle, the same bonny laddie! and do you have the same bonny dreams?"
-"ach, sandy, more than ever before. and have you traveled far since last i saw you?"
-"ay, that have i, and many's the tale i'll tell you this day. but first i must show you something."
-beckoning ian to his cart, sandy pointed to a bundle wrapped up in his coat.
-tenderly unwrapping it, the old piper pulled out a young lamb, dirty, thin, and bleating.
-"'tis a poor hurt beastie, ian," he said. "i found it on the road. its mother is dead, and it was left to die, too. i picked it up and now cannot care for it, as i'm wandering and have no place to keep it."
-"ach, sandy, couldn't i keep the wee beastie for you?" asked ian eagerly.
-sandy stroked his chin thoughtfully.
-"you could, laddie. but 't would be a while till i return--maybe not till next spring. and a lamb with no mother is a care."
-"ach, sandy," cried the boy, "let me do it for you. i could feed it with my wee sister's nursing bottle."
-"ach, ay, laddie! your mother would like that fine!" laughed sandy. "but," he continued soberly, "if you would keep the wee creature, i could give you something for your trouble."
-"no, sandy. i would keep it for you, and gladly."
-sandy was still dubious. he was worried for fear the boy's father would object to a charge of this kind. the lamb would need tender nursing and careful watching.
-sometimes small boys grow careless, although their intentions are of the best. then the task falls to father or mother.
-as sandy was revolving these thoughts in his mind, he suddenly had a plan.
-"ian," he said, "do you remember the story i told you of the pipers at dunblane?"
-"i've thought of little else, sandy," replied ian, as he stroked the lamb. the little creature was nestling down comfortably in sandy's arms.
-"well, lad, uncover the plaid on my cart and see what i have there."
-ian turned back the bit of plaid covering the cart. sandy used it to protect his personal belongings.
-"two sets o' pipes, sandy!" exclaimed ian.
-"ay! one was given me by a man for a service. it is not so bonny as mine but might do for a laddie learning to play!"
-"sandy, do you mean--?" ian cried.
-"ay, lad. in the spring when i return, if this wee beastie is fine, and you have done your duty like a true shepherd, then you shall have the pipes!"
-"sandy, sandy, is it true? may i be a piper and play the pipes like the laddies in dunblane? ach, sandy!"
-ian was almost mad with joy. for a moment he forgot what service he was to render in return for this great reward. but remembering his charge, he carefully lifted the little lamb out of sandy's arms.
-he held it tenderly in his own, and said, "you'll find the wee beastie well and fat when you return in the spring, sandy."
-through scotland with sandy
-the warm air of spring was pleasant. the craig family's supper was spread out before the door of their cottage. they ate outdoors so that they could enjoy the beauties of the evening.
-it would not be dark here until very late. ian's father could sit before his cottage door, reading his paper by daylight until almost eleven o'clock.
-now it was only seven. mrs. craig was ringing a bell, which echoed through the hills.
-this was the way she called her husband and son to the evening meal.
-toward her came ian, and some one was with him. mrs. craig strained her eyes to see, but she could not make out the stranger's figure.
-as they came closer, ian ran toward his mother, calling, "mother, i've brought sandy to tea!"
-the old piper politely removed his cap and stood before ian's mother.
-"your son has brought home an old traveler, mistress," he said.
-mrs. craig smiled and, shaking sandy's hand, said, "and glad i am, for a friend of ian's is welcome to the house of his mother. sit down, sir."
-ian told his mother the story of the lamb.
-he explained how, if he performed his task, he would by next spring be the owner of bagpipes.
-mrs. craig smiled at sandy and said, "you trust the laddie, sir?"
-sandy macgregor replied, "ay; for will he not be a piper in the band one fine day?"
-alan craig and roy soon returned, and sandy was introduced to them.
-after the little repast, ian beckoned sandy to him. nodding his head toward the hills, he said, "come away and tell now about your travels through scotland, sandy."
-the two sat on the hill and watched the smoke curling up from the cottage chimney. and while sandy smoked his pipe he told ian once more of his wondrous adventures.
-traveling through scotland is like going through many different countries. for scotland's beauties are varied. here in the hollow is a lovely, quaint village. its thatched roofs and white walled cottages make a picture sweet to behold.
-as you go along, soon you pass the peaceful, hilly country and come to rocky, steep, and rugged land. you might be in the mountains, for it is wild and desolate except for the sheep, which are everywhere.
-around a corner, another village looms into space. this one is cold and bleak. you pass through it without sight or sound of human beings. its buildings are tall, stony, and gray. in the center is a pump, where the people come to draw their water, but no one is about.
-with a shiver you pass on. as you gradually leave the village behind, you find yourself again in pastoral land. thatched cottages come into view. bluebells begin to dot the road. how sweet is the smell of hay and cows and clover!
-once more a village, and now you wonder whether this can be the same country. for in the narrow streets are children, dogs, women, peasants, bicyclists, and more children.
-little girls walk along knitting. everyone is walking in the middle of the cobbled street. sandy has difficulty in going through the crowd with his cart.
-this is kurrimuir, better known as thrums. it is the scene of many of j. m. barrie's delightful stories. here on the corner is the dear little cottage made famous by barrie's "a window in thrums."
-passing a field, sandy stops to watch some boys playing cricket. this game is very popular in scotland. all the boys play it, just as american boys play baseball.
-doune castle! sandy climbs over the fence and starts up toward the towering mass of rock. he thinks of the many battles fought around this ancient stronghold. it was here that king robert bruce made some of scotland's history.
-stirling castle! another massive stone memorial of the days of scotland's stormy wars.
-sandy passes on until he comes to the city of perth. here he stops before the old, old house in which lived "the fair maid of perth," made famous by sir walter scott.
-in st. andrews is the oldest golf links in the world. from everywhere people come to play the royal and ancient game. it is said that no course is at all like the old course at st. andrews.
-on went sandy to melrose. he passed the eildon hills where king arthur and his knights are supposed to be buried. this is the spot where, 'tis said, sir walter scott used to stop his horses every day.
-he paused here because he loved to look at the glorious view behind. his horses knew the spot so well that they would stop here of their own accord. on the day of sir walter's funeral, when they were taking his body to the abbey, the horses stopped once more.
-in alloway is the house where the great scotch poet, robert burns, lived. every day it is shown to hundreds of visitors, who pay to go in and look at the curious old place.
-its quaint furniture and interesting manuscripts and pictures are all connected with the beloved poet. in the gardens are statues representing many of the characters in burns' poems. "poosie nancy," "tam o' shanter," and many others are there.
-another town made famous by a scottish character is maxwelltown, or maxwelton, where annie laurie lived.
-passing an ancient graveyard, sandy stops to marvel at some huge slabs of iron. these are still kept to show how, in the seventeenth century, the dead were held down in their graves.
-these heavy slabs were put on top of the dead. this was done to keep them from being dug up by robbers. the thieves would steal and sell them to doctors and medical students.
-the signing of the covenant was to scotland what the signing of the declaration of independence was to america. it was the beginning of freedom!
-james vi of scotland tried to force the people into his own religious beliefs. they refused to be led. on the first day of march, 1768, in the old greyfriars churchyard, the covenant was signed.
-the signing was done on a flat gravestone, which is there to this day. and so, just as america has a liberty bell, scotland has a liberty stone.
-as sandy's old handcart rattles through each little scottish town, he is impressed with the many bookshops he sees in his country. the scotch are enthusiastic readers. their love and desire for education are national traits.
-often sandy passes young boys or young girls sitting by the roadside, absorbed in their books. the colleges and schools of scotland are fine indeed.
-over many stores and buildings sandy reads names which start with "mac," such as macniel and mackenzie. he smiles as he thinks about these names. he knows that these people, like himself, are the descendants of the old clan leaders.
-they gave the name "mac," which means "son of," to their children. so, if a clan leader was named gregor, the children of his clan would be macgregor. in the olden days, the word "clan," which comes from an old gaelic word meaning "children," was like a great family. their chief was like a father, whom they all obeyed.
-to-day, you no doubt know people named macdonald, macrae, etc. these are the descendants of the "clansmen," as they were called.
-each clan has a tartan of its own. a tartan is what you would probably call plaid. it is the heathery mixture of many colors and designs.
-each tartan is different from every other. to-day in scotland you will see the children wearing kilts or ties or tams made of their own family tartan.
-the town of paisley is famous for its paisley shawls. these are very much admired by all the world and worn by ladies of fashion.
-the shetland shawls, also famous, are dear to old ladies, because they are soft and warm. the shetland ponies are dear to children, for they are so little that they are more like large dogs than like horses. both come from the shetland islands, which are north of scotland and are ruggedly wild.
-through all of sandy's travels he never saw the thistle, which is supposed to grow so thickly in scotland. the thistle, as you perhaps know, is used on scottish crests and banners. no doubt it existed, long ago, but to-day it is nowhere to be found.
-here is loch drunkie, a queer name with a queer history. it was on the shores of this lake that men made whisky--which was against the law.
-one day the men saw officers of the law coming toward them. they knew that they would be arrested if they were found out. to avoid arrest, they emptied their whisky into the lake. people say that the waters have remained half whisky from that day to this.
-sandy jogs along toward aberfoyle. it is the day he delivers his injured lamb to the mercies of his young friend. during this time, he passes another "loch," the well known and much beloved "loch lomond."
-sandy stops on the shore. he gazes below on the shining blue waters, upon which ply the tiny white steamers. he shoulders his bagpipes and plays the melody known in every clime, "on the bonny, bonny banks of loch lomond." here the fairies were wont to dwell. a tale is told of fairy dyers, who worked for the clans of loch lomond in the days of yore.
-a joke was once played upon the wee elfin folk by a boy. the lad asked to have the fleece of a black sheep dyed white. angered by this request, the fairies overturned their pots of dye into the lake and never more returned.
-but the color from their dye turned the lake an unearthly shade of blue. this color is different from that of all other lakes, and thus it has remained.
-again sandy pipes:
-"for me and ma true love will never meet again on the bonny, bonny banks of loch lomond."
-for many weeks after sandy's departure from aberfoyle, ian tended the lamb carefully. he fed it from a baby's bottle. the young creature grew strong and fat. it would follow the boy around as though it knew him to be its nurse.
-it did not mingle with the others, for it was an orphan. it knew that it did not belong with the flock. sheep are not like people. human beings, seeing a motherless child, would strive to protect it with their own young ones.
-so the task of protector and nurse fell to ian. he loved to feel the wee one's soft fur against his cheek as it lay on the hill with him. he liked to feed it from its bottle and hear the soft, gurgling noises it made.
-it amused him to see its tail waggled so rapidly after each mouthful of milk. this is the way it showed ian how well it liked its dinner. and as ian felt the lamb, warm and soft in his arms, he seemed to feel there something else--his beloved bagpipes!
-much to the amusement of his parents, ian called the lamb betty, his baby sister's name. he felt that it was as helpless and young as she.
-very often they both sucked from their nursing bottles at the same time. while they were doing this, they looked at each other with big, wondering eyes. ian often sat and admired the pair and laughingly said to his mother, "your baby and my baby, mother."
-so the days flew by, and the summer wore on. soon the school bell began to ring out again. it told the children that another term was beginning.
-ian was loth to leave his happy pastimes in field and on hill. however, he, like all scotch children, was anxious to learn. so one morning, he strapped his book bag on his back and started off to school.
-that was a lonely day for the lamb betty. she was lonely because her young guardian had hardly ever left her side. the lamb was clearly worried and bleated unmercifully until ian returned from school.
-when, the next day, the same thing happened, ian's pet could stand it no longer and started out to find him.
-every child in the world knows the song about "mary's little lamb." that day, as betty marched herself up the steps of ian's schoolhouse, a chorus of childish voices sang out:
-"ian had a wee, wee lamb; it followed him to school!"
-there was much merriment as ian hurriedly packed betty off to her home. like the teacher in the song, this teacher had difficulty in restoring order.
-it was also a flushed and embarrassed ian who returned to his classroom. that evening he lectured betty upon behavior for lambs!
-however, betty was either disobedient or else too young to understand ian's lecture. the next day she tried to repeat her performance. she started off on a gallop to find her young master. i say, "tried," for alas, this time poor betty could not find ian's school!
-for many hours she wandered about. she went farther and farther, not only from school but from home. evening fell, and betty was bleating alone in a dense forest--lost!
-at last ian returned from school. for several moments, he could not understand why betty did not come to meet him. he stood and gazed about. then a terrible thought came to him.
-rushing to his father on the hillside, he asked excitedly for his pet. alan craig shook his head sadly.
-"i've sent roy again, laddie, but he's returned once alone. i fear the beastie is lost."
-lost! ian's world fell about him. the sound of distant bagpipes seemed to resound dully in his ears. the words of sandy came to him through the dim: "in the spring, if this beastie is fine, and you have done your duty--"
-his duty! and poor betty! where could she be? a little lonely creature, more baby than animal, tended so carefully, and unused to the thorns and sharp rocks of the hills--alone and lost!
-"roy, lad, can you not find her?" asked ian.
-ian threw his school books off his back. kneeling, he put his arms around the neck of roy. roy answered in his own way. it was as clear to ian as though the dog had cried out to him, "no, laddie, she's lost, lost!"
-and if a sheep was lost to roy, it was indeed a lost sheep! for the clever dog would smell a sheep for many miles. he would, in fact, encounter any danger to bring a straggler back to the fold.
-still, thought ian, betty was not really one of the fold. it was possible that roy's experience did not fit him to scent out tame pets.
-"i'm going to look, father," shouted the heartbroken boy.
-calling roy, he started off on a run. the father shook his head and felt a great pity for his little son.
-alan craig tells a story
-the word "betty" resounded in the hills many times that evening. the lights in the village were already lighted when a tired, heartsick boy, followed by a sympathetic sheep dog, returned to the craig cottage.
-there they were awaited by alan craig. the lad stumbled blindly into the house.
-he found his father with a candle in his hand, waiting to lead the disappointed boy to his bed.
-ian cried himself to sleep that night. roy, the dog, sat beside him and mourned for the lost member of the little household.
-the next day and the next were spent in searching the hills, the fields, and the forest. fortunately for ian, they were saturday and sunday, and he did not have to go to school.
-he arose before the dawn and did not return until evening. but it was always the same. betty was nowhere to be found. though ian and roy hunted in every conceivable place, the lamb had disappeared.
-on monday, ian was forced to relinquish his hunt and go to school. immediately after school he called to roy and was off again.
-"the lad hardly eats his meals, he's so troubled!" said mrs. craig to her husband, as she shook her head.
-alan bit his pipe in silence, while his heart bled for ian.
-then the dog forgot all of alan's training and ran after them wildly. alan always had to come himself to restore order.
-one day he tramped miles to recover a terrified mother and her baby. after this long walk, alan sat on the hillside.
-meanwhile the new dog looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and dropped his tail because he was ashamed.
-as the shepherd sat smoking, he saw his son coming toward him, followed by roy. ian threw himself down beside his father. letting his head sink upon the shepherd's knee, he gave up the search.
-"'tis weary i am, father," he sighed. "the search is over, and my wee lamb is gone."
-"and your pipes, ian? are they to be lost, too?" queried the shepherd.
-"ay," answered his son, "for sandy said, 'if you tend the wee creature well till spring!' now sandy will return in the spring, and there'll be no creature."
-for a few moments alan craig smoothed ian's curly black hair. the boy tried hard to hold back his sobs, which were nearly choking him.
-then alan craig spoke. "ian, lad, have you not heard the story of bruce and the spider?"
-"ay, father," replied ian. "'tis in my history book."
-"then mind well while i repeat it to you. for king robert bruce was a great man, and he never gave up!"
-ian listened intently while his father recounted the well-known tale. he told how, many, many years ago, king robert bruce had fought with the english and lost numerous battles. one night, he was lying despondent on a rude couch in his tent on the battlefield.
-his heart was heavy with the memory of his lost battles and of the suffering throughout his country. just then his eye fell upon a spider in the corner of the tent. the industrious little creature was trying to fix its web to the top pole of the tent. it had already made six attempts, but each time it had fallen.
-king bruce bethought him of his lost battles. six! he and the spider had failed six times. and now he, king bruce, was about to give up! would the spider also be downed, or would it, perhaps, persevere once more?
-king bruce made a vow to himself. he decided that, should the wee creature try again to fix its web and be successful, then he, robert bruce, would profit by the spider's lesson and fight another battle!
-the spider made another attempt. slowly it raised its shadowy body until, quivering in the air, it balanced itself for the final plunge. the king raised himself on his elbow and watched. a nation awaited that spider's success or failure!
-again it plunged, caught at the pole, and fixed its web! king robert bruce jumped to his feet. he threw his plaid about him and began his preparations for the greatest battle in scottish history, the battle of bannockburn.
-as everyone knows, he routed the english at this famous battle. never afterward would the great king give up!
-"so should we all feel, ian," said alan craig as he finished his tale.
-"from the king to the spider!" though ian had heard the story often before, it now held a new meaning for him. he looked up at his father.
-then he stood erect and called to his dog, "come, roy; we'll try again!"
-he was soon off through the hills once more.
-pipers and troubles
-at the beginning of that same summer, jamie robinson, aberfoyle's piper, became restless. jamie was not a steady man. he had never been a good provider. his poor wife and babies were often hungry and cold in the stormy winter months.
-jamie robinson earned his living by his piping. he marched back and forth through the village street, playing his bagpipes. he hoped that the noisy, celebrating crowds, which arrived from glasgow, would like his music and throw him pennies.
-when the people were generous, his family might have a good dinner. but often jamie robinson did not bring the money home to his family. unfortunately jamie, who was a weak man, was often led by some of the village men into public houses. here men gamble and drink.
-sometimes poor mrs. robinson waited until very late for her husband to come home. when at last he arrived, he came penniless.
-but now jamie was buoyed up by the balmy weather. he felt a longing for the open road.
-"come away, wife," he pleaded. "'tis no living for a man here."
-but mrs. robinson only shook her head and reminded him of their large family and of the hardships of a wandering life. after all, they were comfortable here, when jamie brought home the pennies.
-they had a little corner on a bright meadow beside a brook. besides, the people of aberfoyle were kind. mrs. robinson tried to keep her four wee children clean and happy. but this task was not always easy. what would it be on the open road?
-"no, jamie," she said. "'tis afraid i am to go traveling with the wee bairns." (children are called bairns in scotland.)
-but jamie insisted and promised that she would not regret it. he promised that he would make money and provide for them better than before.
-and so, one day the village of aberfoyle said good-bye to piper robinson. the little caravan then moved on to what they hoped would be a better life.
-they made a queer picture as they trudged along. there was jamie pulling the cart, with mrs. robinson beside him. her entire kitchen was strung upon her back--teakettle, sauce pan, and soup ladle.
-then came the oldest child, followed by the scrawny dog. behind him dragged a freckled boy of five years. in the handcart, on top of the sticks and the tent, sat the two babies. one of them was three and the other barely two years old.
-for some time jamie robinson was happy. in each little village where he played, he made enough to feed his family. he tried to please his wife and brought home all the money that was thrown him.
-but the weeks wore on, and the family moved farther and farther from the big cities. then it seemed that there became less and less money for pipers.
-while sandy macgregor traveled, he usually sang or whistled. sandy was always happy. he was getting old, and his stride was not what it had been. still he gloried in his happy-go-lucky life.
-since leaving aberfoyle, sandy had thought often of the little boy in whose charge he had left the baby lamb. old sandy chuckled to himself when he thought about his return and ian's joy upon receiving the bagpipes.
-"if i could only stay and teach the laddie to play!" mused the old piper.
-sandy was a good piper and had once served in the army. jamie robinson had only picked up a few tunes. ian had recognized sandy's clever playing at once on the day he had first come to aberfoyle.
-now, wet from the showers and hungry, sandy stopped in a town. taking out his pipes, he began to play. it was the same town where jamie robinson had played that night and the night before. the people were poor.
-the rain had been falling in steady showers, so that few persons were about the streets. sandy puffed on his pipes, and the sweet melody echoed through the village and beyond to the hills. but not a soul came to pay the piper.
-"ach, well," sighed sandy. he wiped the dripping water from his brow and put back the pipes. he covered them carefully with his plaid. then pulling his cart, the old man moved on through the wet streets of the village. soon he was on the open road.
-his experienced eyes fell upon a camping spot. he decided to rest the night there. he neared the little clump of trees by the side of the road. then he saw that he was not the only traveler who had chosen this spot. here was the tent of jamie robinson.
-as sandy drew closer, he heard a baby crying. sandy called out, and jamie put his face out of his tent. a sullen, angry face it was.
-"and what is it you want?" he bellowed.
-sandy walked up to the man and smiled.
-"ach, don't be angry," he said. "i'll not be harming you. i'm an old piper and would rest the night here beside you, if you have no objection."
-jamie looked at the cart and again at sandy's happy red face.
-then, softening his tone, he said, "then welcome. and have you piped to yon village?"
-"ay," answered sandy, "but they have not cared for my music!"
-he laughed as he said this, and started to pitch his tent.
-jamie came out and helped him. it was not long before he had told sandy all of his troubles. sandy's brows wrinkled. a sadness came over his face as he listened to jamie's tale of woe.
-the family had been stranded here for three days. the rain had kept them from moving. then the wee baby was ill, and the others were hungry and cold. not a penny had been made in the town. jamie had played several times each day. he had even trudged along to the next town with no better results.
-sandy was shocked. the thought of hungry children tormented him. telling jamie that he wished to try his luck in the town once more, he hastened thither, his pipes under his arm.
-sandy had never been a rich man. he always had enough to buy his meals, and that was all. a piper cannot make a great deal. sandy's music usually brought him ample money for his needs. but he was a generous soul and gave away half of what he earned.
-to-night he had in his pocket just enough to buy his dinner. into the town he went. it was not long before he returned to the suffering family with bread and milk. to mrs. robinson, sandy appeared as a good fairy that night.
-the next day broke fair. early sandy was in the market square of the town. he played the finest tunes he knew, strutting up and down.
-the villagers liked his music, and the children followed him. they would have liked to shower sandy with gold, for the joy that their country's melodies brought them. but their purses were thin. they could only smile sadly and shake their heads at the puffing old man.
-there was nothing for the robinsons to do but to move on. it was a difficult task for mrs. robinson. but with sandy's help, she managed to pilot her little tribe along the muddy road to the next village.
-for many days sandy and the robinsons traveled together. sandy piped and gave them all he made, which was little enough. often he himself would go hungry to bed.
-it grew so bad that poor sandy began to wonder what would happen to them. not for worlds would he have left them. never did such a thought enter his mind.
-he worried more over the sick baby than did jamie robinson. jamie was, in fact, to sandy, another child. sandy felt as though he had to protect the irresponsible piper along with his family.
-these were terrible days for sandy. he sold nearly everything he had to provide for the robinsons and keep them from going hungry.
-one day the baby became desperately ill. it needed a doctor. sandy rushed to the nearest village. the doctor was brought and pronounced the baby in a serious condition. he said it must be given fresh milk and nourishing food. but to provide these things was too difficult for the little family.
-one thought had been at the back of sandy's mind all along. but he had not allowed himself to consider it seriously until now. this crisis, however, forced him to carry out a plan.
-the bagpipes he had promised ian were the only valuable possession in his little cart. they would bring enough money to save the baby's life. "ten thousand?" she gasped, pale and agitated. "and thou wilt kill my father and reduce our people to slavery. ah, no!" she added imploringly. "save us, o stranger! our fighting men went south one moon ago to collect the taxes at dchagada, therefore we are unprotected. what can i do--how can i act to save my father?"
-"dost thou desire to save him, even though he would force upon thee this odious marriage?"
-"i do," she cried. "i--i will save the city in the sky at cost of mine own life."
-"to whom art thou betrothed?" hatita asked, tenderly taking her hand.
-"to the agha hassan e rawi, who dwelleth at zougra, beyond the nanagamma. he is three score years and ten, and 'tis said he treateth his wives with inhuman cruelty. one of his slaves told me so."
-hatita stood silent and thoughtful. though he was a member of a tribe who existed wholly upon loot obtained from caravans and towns they attacked, yet so earnestly did the sheikh's daughter appeal, that all thought of preserving the secret of the intended attack by murdering her disappeared, and he found himself deeply in love. his was a poor chance, however, he told himself. the proud sultan of abea would never consent to a brigand as a son-in-law, even if kheira, known popularly as "the light of the eyes of the discerning," looked upon him with favour.
-"to-night, o daughter of the sun, we meet as friends, to-morrow as enemies. our spies have reported that thy city remaineth undefended, and, alas! there is a blood feud between my people and thine; therefore, when the hosts of the kanouri enter with fire and sword, few, i fear, will be spared. wilt thou not remain here with my tribesmen and escape?"
-"no," she answered proudly. "i am a woman of afo, and i will return unto my people, even though i fall before to-morrow's sundown under thy merciless swords."
-as she spoke, one hand rested upon her supple hip, and with the other she pointed to the high shadowy peak whereon stood the great white stronghold known to the arabs as the city in the sky.
-"but thou, who art like a sun among the stars, knowest our plans, and it is my duty to kill thee," he said, hitching his burnouse about his broad shoulders.
-"i am in thine hands. if thou stainest them with my blood, thou wilt ever have upon thy conscience the remembrance that thou hast taken the life of one who was innocent of intrigue. if thou givest me freedom, i shall have at least one brief hour of felicity with my people before-- before--"
-and she sighed, without concluding the sentence.
-"thou, a fresh rose from the fountainhead of life, art in fear of a double fate, the downfall of to-morrow and the marriage feast next moon. let not thy mind be troubled, for i stretch not forth the tongue to blame," he said at last, endeavouring to smile. "in hatita, son of ibrahim, thou hast a devoted friend, and one who may peradventure assist thee in a manner thou hast not dreamed. therefore mount thine horse and return with all speed to afo--not, however, before thou hast given me some little souvenir of this strange meeting."
-"thou slakest my thirst with the beverage of kindness!" she cried in joy. "i knew when first i saw thee that thou wert my friend."
-"friend?--nay, lover," he answered gallantly, as, taking her tiny hand again, he pressed her henna-stained nails softly to his lips. she blushed and tried to draw away, but he held her firmly until she withdrew one of her gold bangles from her wrist, and with a smile, placed it upon his.
-"behold!" she exclaimed, with a merry rippling laugh. "it is thy badge of servitude to me!"
-"i am slave of the most handsome mistress in the world," he said happily. then, urging her to warn the sultan of the intentions of the kanouri, he kissed her once tenderly upon the lips, lifted her into the saddle of her gaily caparisoned horse, and then she twisted her torn veil about her face, and, giving him "peace," sped away swift as an arrow into the darkness, bearing intelligence that would cause the utmost sensation in the mountain fastness.
-"i love her," murmured hatita, when the sound of her horse's hoofs had died away. "but how can i save her? to-morrow, when we enter afo and loot the palace, she will be secured to grace our sheikh's harem. no!" he cried, with a fierce, guttural imprecation. "she shall never fall into nikale's brutal hands--never while i have breath!"
-the sound of whispering caused him to fix his gaze upon a dark shadow thrown by some ethel-bushes, and next second, half a dozen men similarly attired to himself advanced.
-"so, dog of a spy! thou hast betrayed us!" cried a voice, which in a moment he was startled to recognise as that of mohammed el sfaski, a kaid of his tribe.
-"yes," the others shouted with one accord; "we watched the son of offal speaking with the woman, and we overheard him telling her to warn the sultan!"
-"follow her on the wings of haste!" cried the kaid. "kill her, for death alone will place the seal of muteness upon the lips of such a jade;" and in a few seconds two white-robed figures vaulted into their saddles and tore past in the direction kheira had disappeared.
-"speak!" thundered el sfaski, who with the others had now surrounded him. "knowest thou the punishment of traitors?"
-"yes," answered hatita hoarsely.
-"who is the woman whose blackness and deceit hath captivated thee?"
-three rapid shots sounded in the distance. the arabs had evidently overtaken and murdered the daughter of the sultan! the young tribesman held his breath.
-"i--i refuse to give thee answer," he said resolutely.
-"by allah! thou art a traitor to our lord nikale, and of a verity thou hast also a'inu-l kamal. therefore shalt thou die!"
-then, turning to the others, he added--
-"we have no time to bandy words with this accursed son of the evil one. tie him to yon tree, and let the vultures feast upon their carrion."
-with loud imprecations the men seized their clansman, tore off his haick and burnouse, and bound him securely to a palm-trunk in such a position that he could only see the great expanse of barren sand. then with that refinement of cruelty of which the nomadic kanouri are past masters, they smeared his face, hands and feet with date-juice, to attract the ants and other insects; and, after jeering at him and condemning him to everlasting perdition and sempiternal culpability, they remounted their horses, and, laughing heartily, left him alone to await the end.
-through the long, silent night, hatita, with arms and legs bound so tightly that he could not move them, remained wondering what terrible fate had befallen the beautiful girl who had overheard his orison. the two arabs had not returned. he knew the men were splendid riders, therefore it was more than probable that they had very quickly overtaken her. utterly hopeless, well knowing that to the blazing sun and the agonies of being half-devoured by insects he must very soon succumb, he waited, his ears on the alert to catch every sound.
-in the sky a saffron streak showed on the edge of the sandy plain, heralding the sun's coming. he watched it gradually spread, knowing that each moment brought him nearer to an end of agony. he lifted his voice in supplication to allah, and showered voluble curses upon the expedition about to be attempted by his tribe. the pale, handsome face of kheira was ever before him, haunting him like a half-remembered dream, its beauty fascinating him, and even causing him to forget the horror of those hours of dawn.
-saffron changed to rose, and rose to gold, until the sun shone out, lighting up the trackless waste. the flies, awakened, began to torment the condemned man, who knew that the merciless rays beating down upon his uncovered head would quickly produce the dreaded delirium of madness. the furnace heat of sunshine grew intense as noon approached, and he was compelled to keep his eyes closed to avoid the blinding glare.
-suddenly a noise fell upon his ear. at first it sounded like a low distant rumbling, but soon his practised ears detected that it was the rattle of musketry and din of tom-toms.
-the city in the sky was being attacked! his tribesmen had arranged to deliver the assault at noon, but what puzzled him was a sullen booming at frequent intervals. it was the sound of cannon, and showed plainly that afo was being defended!
-from where he was he could see nothing of it. indeed, the base of the mountain was eight miles distant, and the city, parched upon its summit, could only be approached from the opposite side by a path that was almost inaccessible. yet hour after hour the rapid firing continued, and it was evident a most desperate battle was being fought. this puzzled him, for had not kheira said that the city was totally undefended? still, the tumult of battle served to prevent him from lapsing into unconsciousness; and not until the sun sank in a brilliant, blood-red blaze did the firing cease. then all grew silent again. the hot poison-wind from the desert caused the feathery heads of the palms to wave like funeral plumes, and night crept on. the horrible torture of the insects, the action of the sun upon his brain, the hunger, the thirst, and the constant strain of the nerves, proved too much; and he slept, haunted by spectral horrors, and a constant dread of the inevitable--the half-consciousness precursory of death.
-so passed the night until the sun reappeared, but hatita's eyes opened not. the heat of the blazing noon caused him no concern, neither did the two great grey vultures that were hovering over him; for it was not until he heard voices in the vicinity that he gazed around.
-one voice louder than the others was uttering thanks to allah. he listened; then, summoning all his strength that remained, he cried aloud, in the name of the one merciful, for assistance.
-there were sounds of hurrying footsteps, voices raised in surprise, a woman's scream, and then objects, grotesquely distorted, whirled around him and he knew no more.
-when hatita again opened his weary, fevered eyes, he was amazed to find himself lying upon a soft, silken divan in a magnificent apartment, with slaves watching, ready to minister to his wants. he took a cooling draught from a crystal goblet handed to him, then raised himself, and inquired where he was. the slaves made no reply, but, bowing low, left. then in a few moments the frou-frou of silk startled him, and next second he leaped to his feet, and, with a cry of joy, clasped kheira in his arms.
-in her gorgeous harem dress of pale rose silk, with golden bejewelled girdle, she looked bewitching, though around her eyes were dark rings that betrayed the anxiety of the past few days. as their lips met in hot, passionate kisses, she was followed by a tall, stately, dark-bearded man of matchless bearing, whose robe was of amaranth silk, and who wore in his head-dress a magnificent diamond aigrette. kheira saw him, and, withdrawing herself from hatita's embrace, introduced her lover to her father, the sultan of abea.
-"to thee i owe my life and my kingdom," said the potentate, giving him "peace," and wringing his hand warmly. "kheira hath related unto me the mercy thou didst show towards her; and it was thy word of warning that enabled us to repel and defeat the kanouri."
-"then thou didst escape, o signet of the sphere of elegance!" the young arab cried, turning to the sultan's daughter.
-"yes; though i was hard pressed by two of thine horsemen i took the secret path, and thus were they baffled."
-"the director of fate apprised our fighting men of their danger," said the sultan; "and they returned on the same night. the breeze of grace blew, the sun of the favour of allah shone. the news brought by kheira was quickly acted upon, and the defences of the city so strengthened, that when at noon the assault was delivered, our cannon swept thy tribesmen from the pass like grains of sand before the sirocco. for six hours they fought; but their attempts to storm the city gate were futile, and the handful of survivors were compelled to retire, leaving nearly a thousand prisoners, including nikale himself, in our hands."
-"and how was i rescued?" hatita asked, after briefly explaining how his conversation with kheira had been overheard.
-"on the day following the fight, we went unto the shrine of sidi okbar to return thanks to allah, and there found thee dying of heat and thirst. thou didst sacrifice thy life to save our ruler and his city, therefore we brought thee hither," she said.
-"and as a reward," added the sultan, smiling upon them both, "i give unto thee my daughter kheira in marriage." then, taking their hands, he placed them in each other's, and added, "thou hast both the verdure of the meadows of life. may allah preserve thee, and grant unto thee long years of perfect peace, and an eternal rose-garden of happiness. in order that thou shalt have position fitting the husband of thy sultan's daughter, i have ordered our palace of kyoukoi to be prepared for thy reception. therefore, wipe off the rust of ennui and fatigue from the speculum of thy mind, and follow me; for a feast is already prepared for the celebration of this betrothal."
-and the happy pair, hand-in-hand, passed onward through the private pavilions--bewildering in their magnificence of marble and gold, and green with many leaves--to the great hall of the divan, where, standing under the royal baldachin of yellow silk brocade, the sultan of abea rejoiced them with his favours, proclaiming hatita, son of ibrahim, as the future husband of kheira, and appointing him governor of the city in the sky.
-the blood-red band.
-a series of exciting adventures that befell me four years ago were remarkable and puzzling. until quite recently, i have regarded the mystery as impenetrable. indeed, in this fin-de-siecle decade it is somewhat difficult to comprehend that such events could have occurred, or that the actors could have existed in real life.
-i was in piedmont, at the little village of bardonnechia, a quaint, rural place comprising a few picturesque chalets, an inn, and a church with a bulgy spire, which nestles in the fertile valley at the foot of the towering, snow-capped mont cenis. i was staying at the inn, and i wished to go to lanslebourg, on the opposite side of the mountain, intending to travel thence by diligence to grenoble, where i had arranged to meet some friends. but i needed a guide. the by-paths in the cottian alps are rough and intricate, and he would be a daring spirit who would venture to cross the cenis alone away from the beaten track.
-there was not a single mule to be hired, and the only guide i could find refused to carry my valise, so i was in danger of missing my appointment. i could, of course, have gone by train through the tunnel to modane, but that route would have taken me many miles out of my way, therefore i had decided upon the shorter road.
-at evening, while i stood at dusk at the door of the inn, looking anxiously to see whether any guide or porter had returned from the mountains the innkeeper told me he had found a man.
-"does he come from the valley?" i asked.
-"no, signore; from the mountains."
-"impossible? i should have seen him. i have been watching the path for an hour."
-"this man does not follow the same path as the others."
-but my host vouchsafed no further explanation; he only called with a loud voice, "giovanni!"
-the guide appeared. he was tall, muscular, and rather strange-looking, about thirty years old, the wrinkles of his face giving an expression of hard and energetic will. he had a large, straight nose, wide mouth, thick, bushy black hair, and a beard of several days' growth, while in his cap he wore a sprig of freshly-plucked edelweiss.
-i invited him into my room, but he shrugged his shoulders.
-"you wish to go to lanslebourg, over the cenis?" he said.
-"very well; give me ten lire."
-the price was very moderate, but the fellow struck me as a swaggerer. instinctively i did not like him.
-"where is your licence? are you a regular guide?" i asked.
-"i have no licence, but i have a certificate of honourable discharge. i was in the fourth regiment of artillery."
-"and your name?"
-"do you want to know all this for ten lire?" and he began to laugh sarcastically. "very well; i will tell you my name gratis. i am called giovanni oldrini. has the cross-examination concluded?"
-seeing that his smile displeased me, he immediately changed his expression, and added emphatically--
-"ask the landlord about me; he will tell you. buona sera."
-and he turned and left me abruptly.
-at four o'clock next morning we set out. he tied my valise on his back, took his alpenstock, and set off nimbly, whistling a popular chansonette. his gait was peculiar. his step made no sound; he seemed to glide along.
-having crossed the rushing torrent by the ancient wooden bridge, we came to the foot of the mountain. leaving the rough road that leads from susa over the lower heights to modane, we took a steep by-path that ran in serpentine wanderings over rocks and through woods of fir and pine. in climbing we passed a beautiful lavender garden. the side of the mountain was quite blue with the flowers, and the fresh air of dawn was scented by their fragrance. there were also barberries and gooseberries, and flowers which were among the first we know in our own land, such as dog-roses, white campions, and harebells. then for some distance we skirted a wood, and as we went higher, the larches gave place to pines, and yet higher still only stunted herbage grew from the crevices of the bare brown rocks.
-he climbed like a squirrel. hardly had he started when he began to talk to me, but either from sleepiness or from the feeling of uneasiness which his company gave me, i did not answer him.
-at first, in the steepest places, giovanni turned and offered me his hand, but, being fresh, i refused his aid, proud to encounter the rough mountain. when we help ourselves with hands and knees, and every step must be studied, the mind does not notice the fatigue. presently, however, the fellow began to walk by himself, abandoning me to my fate. there was no real danger, but i felt somewhat indignant at seeing him so high on the rocks.
-gradually he was increasing the distance between us, and i cried to him to stop, but my voice did not reach him. if it had not been for my valise, i would have returned immediately.
-i saw he had a piece of paper in his hand and a pencil. scribbling a few words, he folded the paper and placed it behind a large stone. my suspicions were increased when i saw him abstract something bright and shining from behind the stone and place it in his pocket. it was a revolver!
-people do not generally go armed in the cottian alps, and i somehow felt convinced that the weapon was to be used for no lawful purpose. perhaps the letter he had written was a message to his confederates, reporting the fact that he had secured a victim! how i regretted that i had not placed my revolver in my pocket instead of putting it in the valise he was carrying.
-he was standing with his hands in his pockets, whistling a gay air and awaiting me. i was toiling up the steep path, and felt almost dead beat. the whole mountain was a mass of gigantic rocks, half buried in the sand, soft and moist from recently melted snow and the draining of the ice.
-"i was looking for a franc-piece i dropped. it rolled behind that stone, and i cannot find it," he said. then he looked into my eyes, and asked, with an insolent air, "don't you believe me?"
-i did not believe him, and began to be greatly disquieted. he perceived it, and immediately became jovial and talkative. he knew me, he said-- he had asked the innkeeper about me. he knew that i was a journalist; it must be a fine trade for making money by the sackful. he knew city life, for he had lived in turin, and he always read the secolo--it was his favourite paper. he also knew that i had written novels--another gold mine. writers of romance, he supposed, were always seeking adventure, and poking their noses in out-of-the-way corners, and inquiring into other people's business. good! i was with him, and might meet with a strange experience presently.
-but i paid no attention to him.
-"you gentlemen come to the alps for the fun of knowing what fatigue is," he said. "ah! if you only knew what it was--how much a piece of bread costs!"
-he was eloquent and excitable, and spoke like a man believing himself to be followed by constant persecution.
-we had almost reached the summit, when suddenly we came upon a rough pillar built of pieces of rock piled together.
-"see!" he said; "there is the frontier mark."
-then we continued walking a dozen paces or so, and were in france.
-soon afterwards we recommenced our ascent to the summit, trudging through patches of melted snow. for about half an hour we continued our rough climb, when he halted, and, scanning the mountain cautiously, said--
-"come, follow me quickly!"
-"where?" i asked. "this surely is not the road to lanslebourg?"
-"do not argue, but come with me," he said impatiently. "if you do not, it will be the worse for you!" he muttered between his teeth.
-linking his arm in mine, he half dragged me along to what appeared to be the face of a perpendicular rock. we passed along a narrow passage behind a great boulder, and as we did so, my strange guide gave a shrill whistle.
-in a moment a cunningly-concealed door in the face of the rock opened and a wild-haired, black-bearded, brigandish-looking man emerged.
-i was alarmed, for i saw i had been entrapped.
-my guide uttered a few words in the piedmontese patois, which i did not understand, whereupon the man who had opened the door exclaimed--
-"the signore inglese will please enter."
-i hesitated, but i saw that to refuse was useless, so together we went into a large dark cavern. the bolt of the door was shot back into its socket with an ominous sound, while our footsteps echoed weirdly through the distant recesses. the man took up a torch and guided us through intricate turnings, until at last we came to a door which he opened, and we found ourselves in a small natural chamber, with wonderful stalactites hanging from the roof.
-two sinister-looking men, who were seated at a rough deal table drinking and playing dominoes, rose as we entered.
-neither spoke, but the man who had admitted us poured out some cognac and handed it to me, afterwards filling the other glasses. the men lifted them to me and tossed off the contents, an example which i followed.
-"we are safe here," observed giovanni, turning to me; "safe from the storm, the frontier guards, from everything."
-"i engaged you to conduct me to lanslebourg, not to bring me here," i said severely.
-"this cave has been the grave of many men," he replied, as he calmly selected a cigar from the box upon the table. "it may be yours."
-"what do you mean?" i cried, thoroughly alarmed.
-"surely you understand," exclaimed the man who admitted us. "we are outlaws, brigands, contrabandists--whatever you like to call us in your language--it is quite immaterial. come with me and i will convince you."
-again i hesitated.
-"follow!" he commanded, taking up the torch.
-together we descended a short flight of roughly-hewn steps into a small, dark, damp-smelling cavern below. as he lifted the torch above his head, i saw that the place was occupied.
-i shuddered and drew back in horror.
-upon a heap of dirty, mouldy straw, lay a woman. her dress was ragged and faded, but she was very beautiful, with light golden hair, and a face that betokened culture and refinement. around her neck was a curious band of a blood-red colour. upon her countenance was a ghastly pallor, the lips were bloodless, the jaw had dropped, the eyes were fixed and had a stony, horror-stricken look in them, for she was a corpse!
-"you are satisfied that we are brigands?" he asked. "good! now i will show you that we are contrabandists."
-ascending the steps, we went to another part of the great cave, where he showed me kegs of cognac and wine, boxes of cigars, silks, and an assortment of dutiable merchandise.
-when we returned to where the other men were sitting, one of them, the elder of the party, who spoke with authority, addressed me.
-"well," he said, "you have seen our stronghold, and recognise the impossibility of any one escaping from here, eh?"
-"yes," i replied; "but i cannot conceive why i have been allured here. i am a poor man, and not worth robbing."
-"that is not our intention, signore," the contrabandist answered, with mock politeness, as he puffed a cloud of smoke from his rank cigar. "true, you have been entrapped, but if you consent to perform for us a small secret service, you are at liberty to depart; and, moreover, our good giovanni will complete his contract, and see you safely to lanslebourg."
-"what is the service?" i asked.
-"it is not at all difficult, and you will run no risk," he replied. he took from an ancient oak coffer a small sealed packet, and added, "we desire this taken to briancon; will you undertake to do so?"
-"what am i to do with it?" i asked.
-"the thing is simple enough. you will leave here and go to lanslebourg, thence to briancon. arrived there, you will remain at the couronne d'or, and wear this peace of edelweiss in your coat. on the day after to-morrow, a lady will call upon you and ask for the packet, as promised. she will give her name as madame trois etoiles, and will give you a receipt for the packet. this you will send to giovanni oldrini at the poste restante at bardonnechia. there the matter will end."
-"if she does not call?"
-"then you must advertise to find her, announcing that you particularly desire an interview. of course your undertaking will be binding, and you will preserve the secret of the existence of this place under penalty of death. do you agree?"
-i glanced round the weird cavern. the last straw of my self-possession was broken, and i was prepared to promise anything in order to escape.
-"agree, signore," urged giovanni anxiously. "there will be no risk, no inconvenience, i assure you."
-"very well," i said at last; "if you stipulate this as the price of my ransom, i suppose i am compelled to submit."
-"you will swear to preserve our secret; to tell no living soul where you obtained the packet, and to deliver it without fail and with the seals intact?" the elder man asked, handing me a carved ivory crucifix.
-"yes, i swear," i said, taking it and pressing it to my lips.
-"good!" he exclaimed; "here is the packet. deliver it safely, for its contents, if lost, could never be replaced. join us in another glass, and then proceed. oldrini will go with you to the outskirts of lanslebourg."
-i emptied another glass of brandy with the smugglers, and a few minutes later saw the sunlight and breathed the fresh mountain air again. when we were well on our downward path, i felt inclined to reprimand my guide for having taken me to the cavern; but on reflection it became plain that he was in league with the contrabandists, and that he carried on smuggling and thieving in the guise of guide.
-onward we trudged down the steep, slippery rocks, scarcely uttering a word for an hour, when suddenly from a sentry-box there appeared a french soldier with rifle presented.
-he inquired our names, and why we wished to enter france. a civil reply propitiated him, and he drew himself up at "attention!" and allowed us to proceed.
-we were compelled by the steepness of the mountain to take a circuitous route, so that the descent occupied longer than we had anticipated, and when, soon after sunset, we emerged upon the high road to lanslebourg, he halted to take leave of me.
-"pardon, signore," exclaimed my guide. "i only took you to the cavern because it is imperative that the packet should be delivered. i ask your forgiveness;" and he raised his cap deferentially.
-"for what reason is it imperative?" i inquired.
-"i regret i cannot tell you," he replied. "addio, signore. remember your trust, and keep your promise, or--"
-he did not finish the sentence, but shrugged his shoulders significantly, and, handing me my valise, turned and left me.
-two days later, i was sitting idly smoking at a little table outside the couronne d'or inn at briancon, that curious little town inside the great fortress that commands the pass of mont genevre. the alps were purple in the glorious sunset. the sun had long ago been hidden by the mountains behind, on whose tops the ice and snow glistened. then, as the calm twilight came on, a pale, rosy light suffused the eastern sky, the moon rose, the aspens shook, the outlines of the valley shaded off into darkness and uncertainty, and the last glow sank into the deepening blue.
-having telegraphed to my friends, arranging to meet them at grenoble on the morrow, i sat silent, thoughtful, and expectant.
-suddenly a musical voice behind exclaimed in english.
-"the signore wears the edelweiss, i observe."
-"yes," i replied, turning and confronting a tall, handsome, middle-aged lady, attired in deep black. she was evidently of the upper class, and spoke english with an accent scarcely perceptible. a fact which struck me as very remarkable was that around her neck she wore a band of blood-red silk exactly the same as that upon the corpse in the brigand's cave! what could it denote?
-"i presume i am not mistaken in addressing you. i am madame trois etoiles."
-"i have been expecting you," i said.
-"you have been commissioned to deliver something to me, have you not?" she asked, seating herself in the chair on the opposite side of the table.
-"yes. i must confess, however, that my mission is a somewhat mysterious one." and i drew the packet from my pocket.
-"mine is also mysterious," she laughed nervously. "but tell me, who gave it to you?"
-"unfortunately, i must not tell, madame; i am sworn to secrecy," i replied. then i asked, "why is it imperative that the packet should be conveyed to you in this manner?"
-"ah, signore, i am as ignorant as yourself. besides, i also have taken an oath. it was a stipulation that i should explain nothing. i was to meet you here and receive the packet--to act as messenger, in fact. that is all."
-"then we cannot exchange confidences," i said disappointedly.
-she shook her head.
-"very well; there is the mysterious packet;" and i handed it to her.
-passing the paper back to me, she drew on the glove she had removed, and, rising, wished me a haughty adieu, remarking that she was obliged to leave for modane by the diligence which would start almost immediately from the hotel de ville.
-i raised my hat, and after a graceful bow she turned, and, walking away along the quiet, old-world street, was soon lost in the gathering gloom.
-he was glancing through the tribuna, which the waiter had just brought, while i sat lazily contemplating the groups of diners through a veil of tobacco smoke.
-"ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, removing the cigar from his lips and looking up from the paper. "i see they've captured a band of robbers in the carpathians. it is really remarkable that brigands should exist in europe in these highly civilised days."
-"are there any in the alps?" i asked, half inclined to relate my extraordinary experience, but suddenly remembering that i had bound myself to secrecy.
-"there were, but there are none now. i assisted in clearing out the last band. they were clever, daring scoundrels, who exhibited much remarkable ingenuity. the discovery of the gang caused a good deal of sensation about two years ago. but of course you were in england at that time; possibly you heard nothing about it?"
-"no; tell me," i said anxiously. "i'm always interested in stories of brigands."
-"plots for novels, eh?" he said, laughing merrily, contemplating the fine diamond that glittered on his finger. "well," he began, "for a long time it had been known that a number of contrabandists were smuggling goods from france over the almost impassable summit of mont cenis."
-"they were piedmontese brigands, then?" i exclaimed in surprise.
-"yes. travellers had been robbed, diligences on the modane road had been stopped, baggage rifled, and various depredations were being constantly reported. it was evident that they were in league with some receivers of stolen property at milan, but the ingenious manner in which they disposed of their booty baffled all efforts to discover the identity of the thieves. probably they would have continued their nefarious operations unmolested until the present time, had they not committed a most daring robbery, which very nearly culminated in a public scandal. per bacco! there is more comedy than tragedy in the story. you must be discreet if i relate it to you, for it is not generally known, and if it got about, a good deal of displeasure might be created at the ministry at rome."
-and, amused at his own thoughts, he laughed heartily.
-the major's eyes twinkled merrily, and he laughed immoderately. suddenly, noticing my grave, anxious expression, he said--
-"ah, of course you are interested! dio mio! it was a huge joke. you desire to hear the denouement? well, you may easily imagine his majesty's wrath when the matter was reported to him; but the gravity of the situation lay in the fact that any hue and cry raised would create a public scandal, and in all probability cause the thieves to destroy the jewels. had the newspapers got wind of the theft, the whole of europe would be laughing at italy's ludicrous discomfiture. for several weeks the frontier guards kept a sharp look-out on the mountains, but no traces of the thieves could be discovered, therefore at rome a good deal of anxiety began to be felt. at length, however, the king himself received a letter from the scoundrels, stating that they had discovered the nature of their booty, and as loyal subjects of his majesty, and upholders of the dignity of the kingdom, they desired to return the portion of the crown. they stipulated, however, that the packet containing the jewels would only be given up to the countess di palermo, one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting, and that if she called on a certain evening at an inn at briancon, the packet would be duly delivered to her. cool, audacious impudence, wasn't it?"
-"yes," i said; "but how ineffably loyal they were!"
-"most extraordinary rascals! of course the king gave a pledge that no attempt would be made to trace whence the jewels came, and that the countess alone would keep the appointment. she did so; and, remarkable to relate, the packet was handed to her by some wayfaring englishman, whose name never transpired. in that manner the most valuable of the crown jewels was recovered, greatly to the satisfaction of his majesty, the council of ministers, and all who were in the secret."
-malaspina puffed vigorously at his cigar for a few seconds, and then continued--
-"the recklessness of the outlaws was amazing. robbery and extortion became more frequent, and thefts were committed with as cool determination as if the scoundrels held special licence from the king. at length the minister of police decided that such a state of things should no longer be allowed to continue. hence it was that i found myself at the head of a company of bersaglieri, scouring the mountains from mont blanc to mont rosa. after much fruitless search, we discovered that the stronghold of the bandits was a remarkable cave almost on the summit of the cenis, at a point accessible only by a secret by-path. having carefully laid our plans, we advanced to the attack early one morning. unfortunately, the mountain afforded no cover, therefore our presence must have been immediately detected. eventually, however, we battered down the door of their hiding-place, and entered. to our surprise, we found the cavern was an enormous one, and it took us a considerable time to explore its recesses. in the meantime, the occupants, whoever they were, must have escaped by another exit, for we never saw them, and they have not been apprehended to this day. in the cavern i found quantities of contraband goods stored, and every evidence of extensive smuggling. one discovery i made was indeed horrible, yet on closer investigation it proved as grimly humorous as the other incidents. into a lower chamber i had descended with a light, and found, to my amazement, the body of a beautiful woman, who had evidently been kept a prisoner, and had died under harsh treatment. apparently she had expired quite recently, for there were no signs of decomposition. at first i felt inclined to retreat, but the expression in the wide-open, staring eyes attracted my attention, and i bent and touched the face. it was clammy and cold, but quite hard. a portion of it came off in my hand. dio! i had been deceived--it was of wax!"
-"wax?" i cried, astonished.
-"yes. inquiries i subsequently made showed that a travelling waxwork show on its way across the frontier had been attacked a couple of years before, and among other things stolen was this wax figure. with cunning ingenuity, the contrabandists had contrived to transform the ruddy visage of a wax `desdemona' into the pallid countenance of a corpse, which they placed upon a heap of filthy straw in the damp, dark lower chamber. around its neck, for some reason unaccountable, they had placed a scarlet band, similar to that always worn by the countess di palermo to conceal a cicatrice. the object, i suppose, was to show the corpse to travellers, whom they entrapped in order to extort money from them by threatening to keep them in the dantean dungeon, and starving them to death."
-"a most ingenious device," i said in abject astonishment. "the cave is now deserted, i suppose?"
-"the cave? pouf!" and he raised both his hands with a movement indicative of an explosion. "acting under orders from rome, a party of engineers blew it up with dynamite. as regards the thieves, no one knows what became of them. it must be admitted, however, that they had one redeeming characteristic--that of loyalty to their exemplary sovereign!"
-and major malaspina laughed, sipped his vermouth, and lapsed into the full enjoyment of his long cigar.
-a child of the sun.
-sadness and joy, despair and ecstasy, were never so linked as they are in my soul to-night.
-many men have gone mad upon far less provocation, and yet i am calm--so calm with this whirligig of emotions that i surprise myself.
-ah! it will not be long ere it is all over. death will bring oblivion, the game will stop; and though joy, ecstasy, and delight all flee, sadness, misery, and despair will be banished with them. remorse will cease to gnaw--that everlasting longing for what can never be will end its torture, and i shall be at peace.
-but if there should not be rest beyond the grave? bah! i'm upset, and i imagined i was calm. there is a superlative in suffering as in everything, else, and i have reached it. death at its worst can have no further horrors.
-three drops from this phial in my hand into that glass of cognac at my elbow, and my ticket is made out. one gulp, and i shall have started on my journey.
-ah! it was not an unpleasant draught--slightly bitter, perhaps. the spirit was strong--a bitter potion, a sweet release.
-it is merely a question of time; a few minutes now, and i shall be carried from the here to the hereafter.
-how strangely my memory stirs! am i dreaming? or am i really growing young again?
-it is the evening of a hot august day. the sun has disappeared in a blaze of crimson and gold. the breeze rises, and the broad. plage at scheveningen is swept by the refreshing wind scudding across the north sea. long, sharp-crested, snowy waves are breaking into hissing spray on the shore, and, chased in by the heavy weather, the picturesque dutch fishing-smacks fly like gulls to reach the anchorage behind the lighthouse towards loosduinen.
-the casino is ablaze with light on top of the high dune dominating the villas and hotels that line the beach. there is dancing this evening, for the season is "at its height," as le petit courrier says.
-men of the haut ton are promenading on the broad terrace, and gazing on the file of fair ladies who are arriving, one after the other, in ball dress. they are mainly belgians in queer hats, and parisians in limp cravats, but there are some dutch and english among them, and these are none the less merry.
-close to me half a dozen loungers are smoking cigars and talking loud enough for me to overhear. a handsome, elderly fop sets the key, and the others laugh in chorus whenever he utters a bon mot.
-"i'm open to bet that the lovely valerie de noirville will not come," he says. "her foster-father has left her to mope alone at the deutschmann. he is already sitting at the ecarte-table, where he stands alone against all comers. i'm afraid, my dear victor, you'll not see your incomparable valerie this evening."
-"i confess that, after all, i don't care very much," replies the person addressed, shrugging his shoulders. "this southron is too dark-skinned, and has got a hasty temper too. for me, i only like the blondes."
-"that may be, but her millions will please you, i fancy. it is an open secret that mademoiselle is the favourite in the will, and she certainly is a most fascinating girl."
-"de noirville hasn't the least desire to have his will executed just yet. besides, why should i waste time over her? the place is taken already."
-"at paris, yes--by rene delbet; everybody knows that--but at scheveningen--?"
-"the same here, the same here, old fellow. the lady with the black eyes never pines alone--not even at seaside resorts. what is amusing, is that our excellent friend, de noirville, does not notice how desperately his daughter flirts. yet he's seen a great deal of life, and if i had been married twice, i think i should know how to play the watch-dog."
-"eh? has she a cavalier here? who--who?"
-"a poor devil of a lieutenant in the chasseurs d'afrique. he adores her, and believes he has no rival. nobody knows him; he is a mere chance-met gallant."
-"infernal impertinence, to aspire to the hand of la belle valerie!" remarks one.
-"is it a serious affair?" inquires another.
-"was valerie ever serious?" asks the elder man, with a laugh. "no, my dear fellows, she's only serious with rene delbet; but then, he's one of the richest men on the bourse."
-i turn away to hide myself, for they are speaking of me. i, lucien peyrafitte, am the "poor devil of a lieutenant," and it is true that i adore valerie, the charming girl of whom those jays had spoken with so much recklessness. although i had known her for several months,--first in paris, and afterwards here, on the dutch coast,--i had not breathed one word of love.
-why should i not do so to-night? she was alone at the hotel; there could be no more fitting opportunity.
-retracing my steps along the plage to the hotel deutschmann, i found her sitting upon the verandah alone, plunged in a deep reverie. in one of those huge wicker chairs which one sees nowhere else but at scheveningen, i took a seat beside her, and, grasping her white hand, raised it to my lips.
-how long i sat there i cannot tell. it must have been several hours. before we rose to enter the hotel, she had admitted that she loved me, and as a pledge of her affection, had given me a turquoise ring from her finger, while i had kissed her passionately, she returning my caresses and appearing supremely happy.
-yet it was in a brief fool's paradise that i existed that night, for before midday on the morrow i had left scheveningen, having received a telegram from one of my comrades in paris, urging me to return at once, as the regiment was ordered to africa immediately.
-such was the irony of fate! just as i had won the love of the woman i worshipped, i was torn away from her without scarcely an opportunity of bidding her farewell.
-"we may all three die to-night!"
-the words were spoken by captain lavigniac, who with myself and lieutenant maurel were crouching around the dying embers of our camp-fire.
-"that's true," remarked maurel; "but if so, we shall die for france. and, after all, is life worth living?"
-we laughed, blase boulevardiers that we were. having been nauseated by the sweets of life, we were now face to face with death.
-the expedition against the fanatical kel-ahamellen was much more perilous than we had anticipated. general la pelletier, who commanded the algerian forces, had sent us--a mere handful of men--from in salah away into the wild, inhospitable tanezrouft desert, in pursuit of a horde of the dusky rebels; but the long weary ride across the burning plains to djedeyyed had taken all the spirit out of us. under a blazing sun we had been journeying for a week, and on this particular night were encamped in a small oasis of am ohannan, which consisted of a well of brackish water and one single palm.
-unfortunately, owing to the treachery of our native guide,--who, by the way, was summarily dealt with by being shot,--we had entered a trap laid for us by the enemy. our scouts had only an hour before reported that we were surrounded by the arabs, who greatly outnumbered us, and that our position was extremely grave.
-we were, therefore, waiting in the momentary expectation of a night attack.
-for myself i did not care. since my arrival in africa i had received several warm, affectionate letters from valerie; but, alas! my awakening had come. by the same mail that had brought her last letter to algiers, i had received from a friend a figaro, which contained the following announcement in its "high life" column:--
-"a marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place between mademoiselle valerie de noirville, who is well-known in paris society, and monsieur rene delbet."
-perfidious fate! i had been tricked by her, and all her declarations of love were false. heartsick and jaded, i sat beside the smouldering embers, thinking over the hopelessness of my future. the discovery of valerie's baseness had crushed me. with the exception of the crackling of the fire, and the measured tread of the sentry beyond, all was still in the bright, clear night. around the well our men were lying, wrapped in their cloaks, but not sleeping. each man, with his revolver in one hand and the bridle of his horse in the other, was ready at any moment to spring up, mount, and ride straight into the irregular column of brown-faced, white-burnoused foe, who had sworn on their koran to exterminate us christian dogs.
-the moments passed, breathless and exciting.
-"qui est la?" suddenly demanded a sentry, causing us to start.
-"ami. pour la france!" was the response, and in a moment later colonel chadoume joined us.
-"there will be fighting to-night," he said briefly. "there are thousands of those black devils."
-"there will not be so many when our sabres have whirled through them," observed lavigniac grimly.
-"we are caught like rats in a trap," whispered the colonel in a low tone, so that the men should not overhear his misgivings. "the only way in which we can save ourselves is to apprise le pelletier of our position, and give him a plan of the country between in zize and chikh salah from the survey we have made."
-"but how can we?" asked maurel. "whoever went would have to pass the lines of the enemy at the risk of being shot."
-we were silent for several minutes.
-"i will go," i said at last.
-"you?" exclaimed the three men in surprise.
-"i will make the attempt," i added.
-"but you must carry the plan as well as the letter, and start before daybreak," said the colonel.
-"i am ready," i replied. i set but little value upon my life, for, truth to tell, i was utterly reckless now valerie was false to me.
-mounted on a camel, with well-filled bags across my saddle, i rode slowly along, over the rough stony desert, eastward, guided only by the streak of yellow light that heralded the dawn.
-far away upon the horizon was a low range of hills, at the foot of which the kel-ahamellen were encamped.
-i knew it was useless to evade passing through their lines by taking a circuitous route, and had decided that it would be safer to act boldly, and endeavour to pass through their headquarters.
-for hours i rode wearily onward. the pitiless rays of the blazing sun beat down upon the loose, parched earth, and their reflection almost blinded me. not a breath of wind cooled the atmosphere, but, on the contrary, the blasts which ever and anon blew over the great sahara, whirling up dense clouds of sand, were like whiffs of hot air from a furnace.
-the sun travelled its course, and sank behind me with a blood-red, angry glare that bathed the desert and mountains with brilliant tints. by shading my eyes with my hands, i could now distinguish that i was approaching the settlement of the hostile tribe, and could make out their scattered tents.
-as i looked, i saw four figures approaching. they grew nearer rapidly. then i saw they were mounted arabs, galloping with all speed towards me. they were standing in the stirrups in the manner peculiar to the bedouins of the great desert, and, with their long rifles carried high above their heads and their white burnouses flowing behind, were bearing down upon me.
-drawing a long breath, i collected all the courage i possessed.
-a few minutes later, with wild yells, the brown-visaged quartette rode up to me, addressing rapidly-uttered questions in arabic, which i answered coolly.
-i told them that i had no sympathy with war, that i was a trader from el biodh, and that my destination was in salah, where i constantly had commercial transactions.
-"but how camest thou here?" asked the great black-bearded fellow who had first addressed me, as he fixed his keen eyes upon mine.
-"i rode," i replied in arabic, a language in which i was fortunately proficient. "allah hath protected me."
-"didst thou not see the red-legged french dogs?"
-"yes, i passed them yesterday. there are thousands of them."
-this statement seemed to cause them considerable dismay. they held a hurried conversation in an undertone, and then informed me that i should have to go before the sheikh.
-an hour later, i was taken before the chief of the tribe, who was seated cross-legged on a mat outside his tent. he was a grey-bearded, wizen-faced old man, whose eyes had lost none of the dark brilliance of youth, and whose teeth shone white in contrast with his red lips and sun-tanned yellow face. as i was led up to him, and the manner in which i had been discovered explained, he slowly removed his long pipe from his mouth, and regarded me critically.
-"thou sayest the french, the accursed offspring of eblis, are numerous? where didst thou see them?"
-"in an oasis near tighehert."
-"ah! thine accent! thou speakest french, then?"
-"yes, father," i replied; "i learned it in algiers."
-he grunted dubiously, and, turning to a great brawny giant who stood among the followers who crowded around him leaning upon their guns, uttered a few guttural words.
-"did not the sons of offal stop thee?" he inquired. "relate unto me all thou knowest about them."
-"i know nothing," i replied, bowing submissively. "i merely passed, having satisfied them that i was not a spy. i had no object in interesting myself in the movements of infidels."
-the old sheikh replaced his chibouk between his lips and continued smoking in thoughtful silence, having fixed his gaze intently upon me.
-"hum!" he grunted.
-then he proceeded to interrogate me regarding my ride from el biodh. my replies, however, did not apparently remove his suspicions, and he smiled sarcastically now and then, at the same time watching contemplatively the thin columns of blue smoke that rose from his pipe. suddenly he turned, and, addressing the men who had ridden out to meet me, gave orders that i should be searched.
-i stood silently by, watching the men turn out and examine closely the contents of my saddlebags, and the food i was carrying. then they proceeded to search my pockets, compelling me to raise my arms above my head.
-peste! fate was again unpropitious!
-as i raised my hands, my loose burnouse fell from my arms, leaving them bare, and disclosing that they were white!
-"ah!" cried the sheikh, his bright eyes flashing with anger. "so thou art a spy! thou, son of a dog, seekest the overthrow of allah's chosen!"
-"my father," i cried, "i--i am not a spy. behold! i have neither knife nor gun. is it not written that the one worthy of praise showeth mercy only to the merciful?"
-"seize the dog! take him away, and let him be shot at dawn, as soon as there is sufficient light to distinguish a black thread from a white," the old rebel commanded with a wave of his sun-tanned hand.
-then, rising, he cast aside his pipe impatiently, and was about to enter his tent, when his passage was barred by a veiled girl in rich silks and gauzes, who stood for a moment gazing at me. her adjar, although concealing her face, left visible a fine pair of sparkling black eyes, and a forehead that had been plentifully bedaubed with powder in the manner of eastern women. rows of golden sequins hung upon her brow, and upon her wrists and bare ankles were jingling bangles.
-"hold!" she cried in a commanding tone, raising her bare arm and addressing the sheikh. "though innocent of any crime, thou hast condemned him to die. is it not written in the book of everlasting will that mercy should be shown unto the weak?"
-"he is a roumi, and his tribe will be consumed by the unquenchable fire in al-hawiyat," answered the chief of the rebels.
-"of a verity thou speakest the truth," she said. "but is it not also written that thou shalt not transgress by attacking the infidel first, for allah loveth not the transgressors."
-"i have spoken!" roared the sheikh in anger. "seek not to argue, but return unto thy divan. the son of a dog shall die!" and, pushing her roughly aside, he strode into his tent amid the murmured approbation of the crowd of dark-visaged horsemen who had assembled.
-"brothers," she cried in a voice that betrayed her agitation, "the roumi now before thee hath fallen into our hands, therefore we should show him mercy. i, halima fathma, daughter of thy sheikh,--upon whom may the one merciful pour abundant blessing--appeal unto thee on his behalf. wilt thou not release him, and lift from my heart the weight which oppresseth it?"
-in the silence that followed, she gazed appealingly around.
-"no," they answered, when they had whispered among themselves. "our sheikh hath condemned the spy. he seeketh to betray us, and must die."
-"i am hungry," i cried, as, after further vain argument, the sheikh's daughter was turning away. "it is permissible, i suppose, to have a last meal?"
-saying this, i stopped, and, picking up the small loaf which the arabs had taken from my saddle-bag, commenced to eat it with a coolness which apparently astonished the group of freebooters of the plains.
-through that balmy moonlit night i remained where my captors had left me, bound to a palm tree in the vicinity of the settlement. hour after hour i waited alone, watching the beauty of the oriental sky, and longing for the end. i knew i should receive no quarter--that ere the sun rose i should be shot down, and my body left to the vultures. my thoughts reverted to my boyhood, to my gay, reckless career in paris, and most of all to valerie.
-yet, as i listened, the steps sounded too stealthy, like those of a light-footed thief. i stood breathless in wonderment, when suddenly a slim, white-robed figure crept from behind the rocks, and advanced towards me.
-it was an arab youth. he placed his finger upon his lips, indicative of silence.
-as he came up to me, i gazed at him in surprise, for his haick concealed his face.
-"hush!" he whispered in arabic; "make no noise, or we may be discovered. it is cruel that a brave officer like thyself should be murdered," he added. "i have come to save thee."
-"how didst thou know i was an officer?"
-"ask no questions," he replied. and drawing a keen knife from beneath his burnouse, he severed the cords that bound me.
-"thou art free," he said. "come, follow me."
-picking up the bread i had not eaten, i thrust it into my pocket, and followed my unknown friend up a stony path that led into a narrow mountain pass. when some distance from the settlement, we came to a clump of trees, to one of which was tethered my camel.
-"quick! mount and ride away," he urged. "keep straight through the pass, and when thou gainest the desert, turn at once towards the north. a day's journey from here will bring thee unto the encampment of thy comrades."
-"only a day's journey!" i cried. "to what do i owe the sudden interest that the daughter of the sheikh hath taken in my welfare?" i asked, laughing.
-"i know not. women have such strange caprices sometimes. but get away quickly," he urged. "lose not a moment, or thou wilt be overtaken. slama. alah iselemeck!"
-turning from me, he hurried away; not, however, before i had discerned in the faint grey light that the face, half hidden by the spotless haick surrounding it, was beardless, evidently that of a woman. was it halima herself?
-at first i was prompted to follow and ascertain; but next second i saw the grave risks we both were running, and, mounting my swift meheri, started off at a gallop over the rough stones and dunes of loose, treacherous sand.
-suddenly the crack of a rifle startled me. then, as i glanced back, i saw, to my amazement and dismay, the slim, burnoused figure lying in a heap upon the stones; while three yelling, gesticulating arabs were standing over it, cursing, brandishing their knives and shaking their fists. evidently they had shot my rescuer!
-to linger, however, would mean death. therefore, on emerging from the pass, i took the route described by the mysterious person who had given me my freedom; galloping over the trackless desert in a northerly direction, with eyes eager to discern the encampment of spahis and zouaves.
-before nightfall i was safe within the french lines, relating to general le pelletier the events of my journey, and explaining the perilous position of the 39th regiment.
-"but you mentioned something of dispatches, and a plan of the country?" he said.
-"yes; i have them here," i replied.
-then, taking from my pocket the half-eaten roll of bread, i broke it, and took therefrom two small pieces of paper.
-one was a map in miniature, showing the route he was to travel, and the other the dispatch.
-"we are close upon them now," i remarked to an officer riding by my side on the next night. "they'll fight like demons."
-hardly had the words passed my lips, before wild yells of rage rent the air on every side; and ere we could realise it, we had surprised the encampment of the kel-ahamellen, and rifles flashed on every side.
-i need not describe the desperate hand-to-hand conflict in the darkness. suffice it to say, that we punished the tribe for their temerity in sentencing me to death.
-when in the early morning, after a severe engagement, we walked among the ruins of the tents and heaps of dead, i searched diligently for halima, being aided by a dozen other officers and men. but we did not discover her; and i became convinced that my worst fears were realised, and that she had fallen a victim to the relentless vengeance of her people.
-nearly two years elapsed before i again trod the asphalte of my beloved paris.
-a few weeks after my return to civilisation, i attended a ball at the german embassy. i had been dancing, and was taking my partner, a rather skittish widow, into the supper-room, when i accidentally stepped upon and rent the dress-train of a dark-haired girl, who, leaning upon the arm of an elderly man, was walking before me.
-she turned, and i bowed my apologies. the words died from my lips.
-the woman, whose flower-trimmed dress i had torn, was valerie! it was a mutual recognition; but neither of us spoke.
-half an hour later, however, i was sitting alone with her. to my fierce demands for an explanation of the sudden breaking off of her communications, she replied boldly, and with such an air of veracity that i hated myself for having spoken so harshly.
-judge my joy when she told me she was still unmarried, that the paragraph in the figaro was unauthorised, and that it had been inserted by some unknown enemy, during her absence from paris.
-"then you are not madame delbet?" i cried, with ill-concealed delight.
-"certainly not; m'sieur delbet is an old friend of our family, that is all," she replied, laughing. "after you left oran, i could not write, as you were away in the desert. i read of your adventures and your bravery in the newspapers, but did not know where a letter would find you; therefore, i left all explanations of my enforced silence until your return."
-"and--you still love me?" i asked, with trepidation, placing my arm tenderly around her slim waist, and drawing her towards me.
-"of course. but, mon cher, you have never doubted me, have you?"
-"no," i replied, after an awkward pause, gazing fondly into her eyes. "but now i have gained my promotion, will you become my wife?"
-her answer was affirmative, and we sealed our compact with a kiss.
-would that i could omit this last and terrible chapter of my biography. but no! the hideous story must be related to its bitter end, to serve as warning to others.
-through closed windows and drawn curtains was borne the solemn clang of a bell in a church tower in the avenue de villiers, recording the death of to-day and the birth of to-morrow. a simple canary in its gilded cage, mistaking for morning sunshine the soft glow of electricity, as it filtered through its shade of orange silk, chirped a matin song in shrill staccato. a tiny slippered foot nervously patted the sleek fur of the tiger rug beneath it, a strong arm girt a slender waist; and, between the solemn strokes of the church bell, and the cheery passages of the bird-song, quick, passionate kisses alone stirred the scented air.
-the man spoke. it was rene delbet!
-"i must go now, darling," he said. "we have both braved too much already. he may return at any moment."
-"and if he did?" valerie asked defiantly.
-"he might at least--suspect."
-"suspect?" and she laughed a chorus to the canary. "he doesn't know what suspicion means. he would trust me with mephistopheles himself. should he find you here, he would only thank you for entertaining me. he's the most easy-going fellow in the world."
-the man smiled, released his companion from his embrace, and rose from the settee, upon which the two had been seated.
-i waited for no more, but burst into the room, having, in my frenzy of madness, drawn a revolver from my pocket.
-"diable! you?" cried delbet, starting up in alarm.
-"ah, my husband!" gasped valerie, covering her blanched face with her hands.
-"sacre! you shall die!" i shouted.
-the tolling bell throbbed once again, and then--a short, sharp, loud report and a flash together. a little puff of blue-grey smoke floated ceilingward, a man's frightened cry pierced the night, and upon the harmonious colours of the flower-strewn carpet valerie lay dead.
-rushing to my wife's boudoir, i broke open her escritoire, bent upon ascertaining the nature of any letters she might have concealed there.
-there were many. ah, dieu! when i think of the passionate love-missives penned by the man whom i had implicitly trusted, and admitted to my home as a friend, my brain is lashed to frenzy.
-one discovery i made was startling. several of the letters bore the stamp of twenty-five centimes, and their envelopes were addressed to "mademoiselle halima fathma, care of hadj hassan, douera algerie."
-searching further, i discovered a full-length cabinet photograph, taken in algiers. it was of valerie dressed as the sheikh's daughter, with the exception that the adjar, which had hidden the arab girl's face, had been removed.
-in my surprise i almost forgot the terrible tragedy.
-continuing the investigation of the odds and ends in her private drawer, i found an arab head ornament and several bracelets. the pattern of the crescent-shaped sequins i recognised as the same as those worn by the mysterious halima.
-these discoveries, combined with the contents of the letters which i hastily scanned, left no doubt that halima and valerie were the same person; and, further, that hassan, the wealthy sheikh of the ahamellen, who had a house at douera, was really her father; and that monsieur de noirville had brought her up, and educated her to the ways of civilised society.
-when i had left for algeria, it had been her caprice to follow me, and rejoin her people.
-she had saved my life, yet i had killed her.
-but though so fair, she was false--false!
-bah! how infernally bitter this cognac is!
-one more gulp, and my body and soul will have parted. i shall be at rest.
-ah, well! here's health to the cursed scoundrel who has wrecked my life. the glass is drained. the sediment was like gall.
-how it burns!
-i--i go. i trouble no one longer. au revoir. adieu!
-her majesty's minister, by william le queux.
-her majesty's minister, by william le queux.
-"then, plainly speaking, the whole thing remains a mystery?"
-"absolutely," i responded. "all my efforts have unfortunately failed."
-"and you entertain no suspicion of anyone?"
-"not of that woman yolande--or whatever her name is?"
-"certainly not of her," i answered quickly. "she would assist us, if necessary."
-"why are you so sure of that? she has only been in paris a week."
-"because i happen to know her."
-"you know her!" exclaimed his excellency, unclasping his thin white hands and leaning across his big writing-table--a habit of his when suddenly interested. "is she a personal friend of yours?"
-i hesitated for a moment; then replied in the affirmative.
-"where did you know her?" he inquired quickly, fixing me with that sharp pair of black eyes that shone behind the zone of soft light shed by the green-shaded reading-lamp upon the table. he was sitting in the shadow, his thin, refined face ashen grey, his hair almost white. the one spot of colour was the fine star of knight grand cross of the bath glittering on the breast of his braided diplomatic uniform. lord barmouth, british ambassador to the french republic, had just returned from the president's reception at the elysee, and had summoned me for consultation.
-"well," i responded, "i knew her in rome, among other places."
-"h'm, i thought as much," he remarked in a dry, dubious tone. "i don't like her, ingram--i don't like her;" and i knew by the impatient snap of the ambassador's fingers that something had displeased him.
-"you've seen her, then?"
-"yes," he answered in an ambiguous tone, taking up a quill and making what appeared to be geometrical designs upon his blotting-pad. "she's good-looking--uncommonly good-looking; but i mistrust her."
-"it is part of our creed to mistrust a pretty woman," i remarked with a smile; for, as everyone knows, the fair sex plays a prominent part in the diplomacy of europe. "but what cause have you for suspicion?"
-he was silent for a moment; then he said:
-"you were not at the ball at the austrian embassy the night before last, i believe?"
-"no, i was not back from london in time," i replied. "was she there?"
-"yes. she was dancing with hartmann, and they were speaking of you. i was chatting with olsoufieff, and distinctly overheard your name mentioned."
-"with hartmann!" i repeated. "that's curious. he is scarcely a friend of ours."
-"i consider the circumstance suspicious, judged by the light of recent events," he said. "remember that the cause of our piece of ill-fortune still remains a mystery, and the stroke of diplomacy that we intended to effect as a coup against our enemies has, by the dastardly betrayal of our secret, placed us in a very unenviable position. this untoward incident has entirely checkmated us."
-"i fully realise our critical position," i said seriously, "and i have done my utmost to discover the truth. kaye has been active night and day."
-"nevertheless, i fear that at downing street they will say hard things of us, ingram;" and her majesty's representative sighed heavily, resting his weary head upon his hand.
-the ambassador's office was indeed a very thankless one, while my own position as second secretary of the paris embassy was a post not to be envied, even though it is popularly supposed to be one of the plums of the diplomatic service. with paris full of spies endeavouring to discover our secrets and divine our instructions from downing street, and the cabinet noir ever at work upon our correspondence, it behoved us to be always on the alert, and to have resort to all manner of ingenious subterfuges in order to combat our persistent enemies.
-the war-cloud hangs over europe always. the mine is laid, and the slightest spark may fire it. the duty of the diplomatist is to intrigue so as to prevent that spark. it is the intrigue that is difficult, for counter-plots are met with everywhere. the power of england is feared; hence her isolation.
-those who live at home at ease think little of the small band of englishmen in each of the capitals who, living ever upon the edge of a volcano, are straining every nerve to preserve the peace of europe. how often the stability of empires trembles in the balance the british public little dreams. "the european situation" is a stock heading in the london newspapers, but fortunately the journalists never know the secrets of our embassies, otherwise the world would very often be scared. many a time in my own diplomatic career in rome, in brussels, and in vienna, had i remained awake at night, fearing on the morrow a declaration of war; yet the chiefs under whom i have worked--those honest, upright, valiant servants of queen and country--had skilfully evaded the threatened danger, and europe remained in ignorance of how terribly near it had been to the clash of arms.
-that night, as i sat with the chief, a trusted servant of her majesty, in his handsome private room in the embassy, i knew that war was in the air. the responsibility resting upon him was of a sort to involve the prestige of the queen's empire and the lives of thousands of her valiant sons. an ill-advised despatch, a hasty word, or an injudicious attitude would inevitably mean the disastrous explosion so long feared--the great european war that prophets have been predicting ever since the downfall of the french empire.
-paris that july night was stifling. to us the tension of the day had been terrible. the catastrophe so long feared seemed now upon us. there was a breathless calm in the air outside, foreboding a storm.
-"has kaye absolutely nothing to report?" asked his excellency, at last breaking the silence.
-"he returned from madrid at nine o'clock to-night. his journey there was futile."
-"ah!" exclaimed his excellency, whose thin lips closed tightly again.
-through the years that i had served under him in rome and afterwards in paris i had never before seen him outwardly betray the slightest apprehension. so skilled was he as a diplomatist that his sangfroid was always perfect. his motto--one that he had often impressed upon me--was that the british lion should always remain fearless of his enemies. but now, for the first time, he was plainly agitated, dreading that war might result.
-"get me out the special cipher-book," he said hoarsely at last. "i must telephone to downing street."
-in obedience i rose, opened with the key upon my chain the big safe, and took out the small morocco-bound volume containing the secret cipher by means of which his excellency could communicate with her majesty's secretary of state for foreign affairs--a book supplied only to ambassadors themselves; and, because it is kept locked, its contents are never seen even by the staff of an embassy.
-his excellency unlocked it with his own key, took up his quill, and after searching here and there through the pages, commenced writing a bewildering row of letters and numerals intermingled, while in the meantime i had gone to the telephone instrument at the opposite end of the room and "rung up" london, until there came an answering voice from one of the night staff of the foreign office.
-"hulloa! i'm ingram, of the paris embassy. who are you?" i asked.
-in response came a password by which i knew i was actually speaking with downing street.
-"is the marquess in london, or at alderhurst, to-night?"
-"alderhurst. he left town this afternoon."
-"then put me on there for an important despatch."
-"all right," was the response; and some five minutes later the tiny bell rang, with an inquiry from the private secretary of the great statesman as to what i wanted.
-i answered; then, his excellency having risen and handed me the slip of official paper on which he had printed the cipher figures heavily with his quill, i prefaced the message by the usual formal announcement:
-"from lord barmouth, paris, to the most noble the marquess of malvern, london. july 12th, 1:30 a.m."
-then in continuation i read slowly and distinctly each letter and numeral, the secretary at alderhurst afterwards repeating the whole message, so that there should be no possibility of mistake.
-nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed, during which time his excellency, with his hands behind his back, paced feverishly up and down the room. of the nature of that despatch i was in utter ignorance, but from his manner it was evident that the problem was one vital to the interests of the british empire. by night, as well as by day, those responsible for the maintenance of the prestige of england as the first empire of the world are always active. how little the public knows of the stealthy, treacherous ways of modern diplomacy, of the armies of spies seeking always to plot and counter-plot, of the base subterfuges employed by certain noted foreign diplomatists, or of the steady perseverance of the queen's representatives at the courts of europe! and how little, i fear, they care!
-to most people the diplomatic career is synonymous with an easy occupation in which the wearing of a uniform and the attendance at brilliant functions are the greatest inconveniences. the newspapers flippantly criticise our actions in leading articles, and declare that our diplomacy is utterly worthless beside that of germany, russia, or france. those who write, as well as those who read, never reflect that our chief duty is to foil the provocations offered to us by the powers who are anxious for war. every british ambassador at a foreign court had been told from the lips of his beloved sovereign--now, alas! deceased--that he must prevent war. that instruction was to him as sacred as a religion.
-"the president talked for twenty minutes to-night with de wolkenstein," observed his excellency, halting suddenly and facing me. "i wonder if they know anything in vienna?"
-"i think not," i replied. "i met count berchtold in the grand cafe purposely this evening, and he made no mention of anything to lead me to believe that the secret was out in that direction."
-"if it is out, then it has been circulated by our friends in the rue de lille," he said, meaning the german embassy.
-"perhaps," i responded. "but i hardly think that count de hindenburg would care to imperil his position by so doing. he would rather endeavour to assist us in this affair, because the interests of england and germany are entirely mutual in this matter."
-"i tell you, ingram," he cried angrily--"i tell you that this dastardly piece of trickery is some woman's work!"
-as he spoke, the door suddenly opened, and there burst into the room a tall girlish figure in a pretty toilette of turquoise chiffon, wearing an open cape of handsome brocade about her shoulders.
-"o father!" she cried merrily, "we've had such an awfully good time at the baroness's!" then, next instant, astonished by his words, she drew back in quick surprise.
-"what trickery is a woman's work?" she asked, glancing inquiringly at me.
-"nothing, my dear," his excellency hastened to reply, placing his thin hand tenderly upon her shoulder--"nothing, at least, that concerns you."
-"but you are not well!" she cried in alarm. then, turning to me, said: "look, mr. ingram, how pale he is!"
-"your father is rather overburdened by important business," i replied.
-her face assumed a puzzled expression. sibyl, the pretty, dark-haired daughter of lord barmouth, was acknowledged on all sides to be more than usually beautiful, and was the pet of diplomatic paris. with her mother she went everywhere in that dazzling vortex of gaiety, in which the diplomatist accredited to france is bound to move. ah! that glare and glitter, that constant whirl, that never-ceasing music! how weary i was of it all, and how it jarred upon me!
-and why? well, to speak the truth, i myself had an affair of the heart, and my thoughts were always far from those brilliant spectacles in which i was merely an official in a braided uniform.
-"what has occurred, mr. ingram?" asked the ambassador's daughter anxiously. "father is certainly not himself to-night."
-"another political complication," i responded; "that is all."
-"sibyl, my dear," exclaimed her father, gently taking her hand, "you know that i forbid any inquiries to be made into matters which must be secret, even from you."
-"i came to tell you all about the ball," she said, pouting. "i was introduced to a most pleasant man named wolf, and danced with him several times."
-"wolf!" i cried quickly. "rodolphe wolf?"
-"that was his name. he was dark, about forty, with a small pointed black beard. do you know him?"
-"wolf!" i repeated; then, suddenly recovering from the surprise she had caused me by uttering that name, i answered carelessly: "perhaps it may be the same man i knew slightly some years ago."
-"we had awfully good fun. he is so amusing, but seems quite a stranger in paris."
-i smiled inwardly. rodolphe wolf a stranger in paris! the thought was amusing.
-"and what was your conversation about?" i inquired of her, smiling pleasantly the while.
-"you want to know whether he flirted with me, mr. ingram?" she laughed mischievously. "i know you of old. it really isn't fair."
-"he said nothing to you about your father, or about the composition of his staff?" i inquired eagerly.
-"and you did not mention my name?" i asked anxiously.
-"no. why? you talk as though you don't want him to know you are in paris."
-"you have exactly guessed my desire," i replied. "if you meet him again, kindly oblige me by saying nothing."
-"do not utter a word regarding matters here at the embassy, sibyl," added her father seriously. "you understand?"
-"of course not. i'm a diplomat's daughter, and can keep a secret when necessary. but tell me, father," she added, "who is the woman of whom you were speaking when i came in?"
-"it is our affair, my dear--entirely our affair," he said in a hard voice. "it is nothing you need trouble your head over. i'm glad you've enjoyed the ball. say good-night, and leave us."
-"but you look quite ill," she said with concern in her voice, stroking his heated forehead with her hand. "cannot i get you something?"
-she was a charming type of english girl, smart, accomplished, and utterly devoted to her father. that she delighted in mild flirtations here and there in the cosmopolitan circle in which she moved i was well aware, and we were such old friends that i often chaffed her about her fickleness. but that night she had met rodolphe wolf, of all men. the fact was strange, to say the least.
-"shall i send harding to you?" she asked, standing there in the shadow, the diamond star in her well-dressed hair alone catching the light and gleaming with a thousand fires. the star was a parting gift to her by queen margherita of italy, with whom she had been an especial favourite while her father was ambassador in rome.
-"no," answered his excellency. "please say good-night, dear, and leave us."
-then he bent, kissed her tenderly on the brow, and dismissed her.
-"well," she laughed poutingly, "if i am ordered off, i suppose i must go. i'm a striking example of the obedient daughter. good-night, mr. ingram."
-and as i held open the door for her to pass out, she added mischievously:
-"i'll leave you to talk together over the shortcomings of my sex;" and laughing gaily she disappeared down the corridor.
-"who is this wolf?" the ambassador inquired quickly, as soon as i had closed the door. "i don't seem to recollect the name."
-"i have a suspicion," i responded. "when it is established i will explain."
-"i think so," i said. "your daughter should be warned against him. they had better not meet."
-"i will see to that," he said, and the next instant the telephone-bell rang loudly, announcing the response from alderhurst.
-in a moment we were both at the instrument. then with the receiver at my car i inquired who was there.
-"durnford, alderhurst," was the response. "are you ingram?"
-i replied in the affirmative, adding the word without the receipt of which no cipher despatch is ever sent by telephone, lest some trickery should be attempted.
-"take down, then," came the secretary's voice from the other side of the channel. "from the marquess of malvern, to his excellency, lord barmouth, paris. july 12th, 2:10 a.m.;" and then followed a long row of ciphers, each of which i carefully wrote down upon the paper before me, reading it through aloud, in order that he might compare it with his copy.
-then, when the voice from alderhurst gave the word "end," i hung up the receiver and gave the paper into his excellency's eager hands.
-his excellency seated himself quickly at his table, and with the aid of a second book which i handed him from the safe proceeded to decipher the chief's despatch. with his pen he placed the equivalent beneath each cipher, and as he did so i saw that his countenance fell. he went pale as death.
-"ah!" he gasped, when he had finished the arrangement and had read the deciphered message through. "it is exactly as i feared. never in the course of my career as ambassador has such a serious complication arisen--never!"
-i was silent. what, indeed, could i say? i well knew that he was not the man to betray the slightest emotion without good reason.
-for a moment he sat there, resting his brow upon his hand, staring blankly at the paper i had given him. the nature of his secret instructions i knew not. his utter despair was sufficient to convince me, however, that a catastrophe was inevitable. only the low ticking of the clock upon the high mantelshelf broke the painful silence. the representative of her majesty--one of england's most skilled and trusted diplomats--sighed heavily, for he knew too well how black was the outlook at that moment--how, indeed, because of our mysterious betrayal, our enemies had triumphed, and how, at the other embassies, that very night the downfall of england's power was being discussed.
-"all this is a woman's doing, i tell you!" he cried, striking the table fiercely, rising and pacing the room. "we must discover the truth--we must, you hear?"
-"i am making every possible effort," i answered; adding, "i think i have hitherto shown myself worthy of your confidence?"
-"certainly, ingram," he hastened to assure me. "without you here i should not dare to act as i have done. i know that nothing escapes you. your shrewdness is equal to that of old sterk, the chief of police in vienna."
-"you are too complimentary," i said; "i have merely done my duty."
-"but if we could only get at the truth in this affair!"
-"at present it is an absolute mystery. only two persons were aware of the secret. you knew it, and i also knew it. and yet it is out-- indeed, the very terms of the agreement are known!"
-suddenly halting, he pushed open the window, and looked out upon the hot, overcast night. paris was still bright with her myriad electric lights, and the glaring cafes on the boulevards were still as busy as during the hour of the absinthe. the city of pleasure never sleeps.
-he leaned over the balcony, gasping for air; but in an instant i was behind him, saying:
-"someone may be watching outside. is it really wise for you to be seen?"
-"no," he answered. "you're right, ingram;" and he turned back and closed the long windows opening upon the balcony. "a bold front must be maintained through all." he walked to his table, took up the despatch, and, striking a vesta, ignited it, holding it until it was completely consumed. then he cast the blackened tinder into the grate, growing in a single instant calm again. "you are right, ingram," he repeated rather hoarsely. "our enemies must not obtain any inkling that we know the truth, if we are to effect a successful counter-plot. in this affair i detect the hand of a woman. is not that your opinion?"
-"i must admit that it is," i responded. "i believe there is a female spy somewhere."
-"but who is she?" he cried anxiously.
-"ah!" i said, "we have yet to discover her name."
-"it is not yolande?" he asked dubiously.
-"no. of that i feel quite certain."
-"but you are certain of nothing else?"
-"all the rest is, i regret, an absolute mystery."
-there was no disguising the fact that the information which by very mysterious means had leaked out from the embassy had created the most intense excitement in certain other foreign embassies in paris. kaye, the chief of our secret service in the french capital--a shrewd fellow, whose capacity for learning which way the diplomatic wind was blowing was little short of marvellous--had come to me at midnight to report that the spanish ambassador was exchanging frequent despatches with madrid. that statement was sufficient to show the enemy's hand.
-for fully six months france had been scheming to obtain a naval station in the mediterranean, and the point she coveted was ceuta, on the moorish coast, opposite gibraltar. knowledge of this caused us to exercise the most delicate diplomacy in order to thwart the conspiracy to aim a blow against england's naval power in the mediterranean. a week ago i had been in london, and the marquess of malvern himself had given me a crossed despatch to convey to my chief in paris. this had contained certain instructions in cipher, which, on my return, i had helped to translate into english. then the despatch was burnt by his excellency, and we alone knew its contents. from the moment i received it in the marquess's private room at the foreign office, until the moment when i handed it over to lord barmouth in paris with its five great seals intact, it had never left the pouch of chamois-leather which, when travelling with despatches, i always wore around my waist, next my skin. for spies to have obtained a copy of it was impossible. i had seen it written, and had likewise seen it destroyed. it was not likely either that the british ambassador had himself exposed his secret instructions in a matter of such delicacy, where the greatest finesse and the most skilful diplomacy were necessary; and equally certain was it that i myself had not uttered a single word.
-the secret instructions showed marvellous foresight, as did all the actions of the great statesman in whose hands rested the prestige of england among the powers. they were briefly to show with great delicacy to the spanish ambassador that his government, having regard to existing relations, had no right to sell ceuta to any power, and that if any attempt were made by any other government to establish a naval station there, england would oppose it to the utmost, even to the extent of hostilities. yet somehow, by means that formed a most puzzling enigma, these secret instructions had become instantly known to france; and even before lord barmouth could obtain an interview with the marquis leon y castillo, the french minister of foreign affairs had called at the embassy in the boulevard de courcelles, and had apparently arranged a line of action. thus england had been checkmated, and in all probability the sale of that most important strategic point in the mediterranean had already been effected.
-kaye had been to madrid, and his inquiries in the spanish capital tended to confirm this theory.
-truly we were in evil case. so decisive had been his excellency's instructions that if he did not now vigorously protest and threaten a cessation of diplomatic negotiations it would exhibit such weakness as the british government must never show. that motto of lord malvern's, "to be strong is to avert war; to be weak is to invite it," is ever foremost in the mind of each representative of her majesty at a foreign court. yet lord barmouth's dilemma was, indeed, a serious one. he had declared the exposure of our secret due to some woman's scheming, and suspected one person--the pretty yolande de foville. his suspicion of her caused me a good deal of reflection; and as i walked along the boulevard to my bachelor apartment au troisieme, i pondered seriously. what, i wondered, had caused him to think ill of her? if she had danced with hartmann, this action was surely not enough to condemn her. yet why, i wondered, had she mentioned myself? and why, indeed, was rodolphe wolf, of all men, in paris?
-no, i did not like the aspect of things in the least. the night was absolutely breathless, and the asphalt of the boulevard seemed to reflect back into one's face the heat of the sun that had blazed upon it during the day. i removed my hat, and walked with it in my hand, my brain awhirl. the spies of france had effected a coup against us, and within twenty-four hours europe might, i knew, be convulsed by a declaration of war.
-here and there the cafes were still open, but few customers were inside. a pair of drunken roysterers staggered past me singing that catchy song of the less fashionable boulevards:
-"dansons la ronde des marmites de paris, ohe! les souris! les rongeuses de monde! faisons sauter avec nous nos michets et nos marlous. dansons la ronde! paris est a nous!"
-with that single exception all was silent. from half-past three till four in the morning is the quietest period that the city of pleasure experiences. she is dormant only one half-hour in the whole twenty-four.
-yolande was suspected of being a spy! the thought seemed absolutely absurd. she was belgian, it was true, and there is somehow always a prejudice against belgian women in paris, due perhaps to the fact that although they speak french with an accent, they are often perfect linguists. but for yolande to be actually a spy--why, the thing was ridiculous!
-arrived at my own rooms, i found mackenzie, my old scotch manservant, awaiting me.
-"mr. kaye called, sir, half an hour ago," he said. "he could not wait, for he was leaving paris."
-"leaving paris?" i echoed, for the ubiquitous chief of the secret service had only come back from madrid a few hours before.
-"yes, sir. he left you a note;" and my well-trained man drew a letter from his pocket. he always kept my letters upon his person, in order that any callers might not pry into them during my absence.
-i tore open the note eagerly, and read the few scribbled lines. next instant the paper almost fell from my fingers. i held my breath, scarcely believing my own eyes. yet the writing was plain enough, and was as follows:
-"within the past hour i have ascertained that your friend yolande de foville is a secret agent. keep strict watch upon her. i have left instructions that if she leaves paris she is to be followed. i go to berlin at once to make inquiries, and am leaving by the 4:30 train this morning. i have the address you gave, and the particulars concerning her. shall return as soon as possible.
-i crushed the note in my hand, and, walking on into my sitting-room, gulped down some brandy. everything had conspired against me. when i had given kaye those details concerning my charming little friend three years ago, i had never dreamed that he would register them and afterwards use them in an endeavour to fasten upon her a charge of being a spy. yet he was actually on his way to berlin, and any attempt upon my part to hinder him would only be misconstrued into a treasonable endeavour to shield her.
-yolande! the sound of that name brought back to me a sweet, tender memory of the past. i sighed as the recollection of that bygone day arose within me, and flung myself down into an easy-chair to smoke and to think. in the blue ascending rings from my cigarette her face seemed to smile at me with those red parted lips and merry eyes, clear and azure as a child's. how charming and chic she had once appeared to me in those days when we had first met--in those days before i had known edith austin, my absent well-beloved! her portrait, too, was there--the picture of a woman, sweet, tender, grave-faced, of similar age perhaps, but whose peerless beauty was typically english and devoid of any artificiality. i took it up and touched it reverently with my lips. i loved the original of that photograph with all the strength of my being, hoping always that some day ere long i might ask her to become my wife.
-some there are who hold the theory that to all diplomatists, ambassadors excepted, wives are an unnecessary encumbrance. i admit that there is much to be said in favour of the celibate state as the ideal existence for the secretary or attache, who is bound, more or less, to make himself agreeable to the many cosmopolitan ladies who make up the diplomatic circle, and sometimes even to flirt with them, when occasion requires. yet after fifteen years or so beneath the shadows of the various thrones of europe, a man tires of the life, and longs for the one sweet woman whom he can trust and love. in this i was no exception. i loved edith austin with all my heart and all my soul; and she, i felt assured, reciprocated my affection.
-it is part of the diplomatist's creed to be on good terms with all and sundry of the feminine butterflies who hover about the embassies, no matter what their age or nationality. hence it was that five years ago, while stationed at brussels, i had become attracted by yolande de foville. once, long before i met edith, i fancied myself in love with her. her father, count de foville, was aide-de-camp to king leopold, and with her mother she moved in the best society in paris and brussels. on several occasions i had been invited for the boar hunting at the great gloomy old chateau at houffalize, in the ardennes forest, where the powerful de fovilles had been seigneurs through five centuries.
-it was a dull, snowbound, dreary place in winter, bare and chill, furnished in ancient style, and situated thirty miles from the nearest railway, in the midst of a flat forest country. it was, therefore, not surprising that on the death of the count, yolande and her mother should prefer to leave belgium and travel in england and italy, spending the winter at rome or at monte carlo, the spring in paris, and summer in one or other of the fashionable french watering-places. during three years we had been excellent friends, and after i had been promoted from brussels to the embassy in rome, she came with her mother and spent the spring in the eternal city, with the result that our firm friendship became even firmer. i am fain to admit that our flirtation was of the kind called desperate, and that it had ended in love.
-and a week ago she had suddenly arrived in paris at the smart little flat in the rue de courcelles, which her mother had possessed for years, but now so seldom occupied. her arrival was unexpected, and i had only known of it from giraud, the military attache at the belgian legation, a friend of my brussels days, whom i met in the cafe de paris one evening after the opera, and who had said suddenly:
-"do you, my dear ingram, know that a little friend of yours has arrived in paris?"
-"who?" i inquired eagerly.
-"yolande," was the response. "you used to be her cavalier in brussels in the old days. have you forgotten her?"
-his announcement surprised me. since my friendship with edith had grown to be a grand passion, i had exchanged no correspondence with yolande. indeed, the last i had heard of her was that she and the countess were at cairo spending the winter.
-to tell the truth i was rather glad that she had not sought me out, for i had no wish to renew her acquaintance, now that i had found a woman in england whom i meant to try to win for my wife. yet as i looked back at the past through the haze of my cigarette-smoke i was compelled to admit that i had spent some charming hours by her side, dancing at those brilliant balls in brussels or driving in that pretty wood so beloved of the bruxellois, the bois de la cambre. many were the incidents that came back to me as i sat there pondering. nevertheless, in the storehouse of memory i found nothing half sweet enough to tempt me from my love for edith.
-the denunciation of the pretty yolande as a spy staggered belief; yet the chief himself, as well as kaye, was convinced, and the latter was already on his way to the north to prosecute inquiries.
-what, i wondered, had really aroused their suspicions? as his excellency had not seen kaye since his return from madrid, they could not have exchanged views. it seemed my duty to call and see her, to renew the acquaintance that i so strongly desired to end, and, indeed, to continue the flirtation of bygone days with a view to discovering the truth. was it fair? was it just? i hesitated to call upon her, half fearful lest her charm and natural chic should again attract me towards her. nevertheless, it was my duty, as servant of my sovereign, to attempt to discover england's secret enemies.
-the remainder of that night i spent in restless agitation, and at the embassy early next morning showed his excellency the note that kaye had left for me.
-"you must see her, ingram," he said briefly. "you must obtain her secret from her."
-"but i cannot believe that she is a secret agent!" i declared. "we were friends, and she surely would not seek to injure me?"
-"trust nobody, my dear ingram," answered the grave-eyed old man. "you know how unreliable women are where diplomacy is concerned. remember the incident of the princess ghelarducci in rome."
-my lips compressed themselves. he referred to a matter which, for me, was anything but a pleasant recollection. the princess, after learning our intentions regarding abyssinia, had openly betrayed us; and i had very foolishly thought her my friend.
-"i shall call on her this afternoon," i answered briefly. "the worst of it is that my action will lead her to think that i desire to renew the acquaintance."
-"h'm, i see," observed his excellency quickly, for his shrewdness had detected the truth. "you were once in love with her--eh?"
-"then don't allow her to think that your love has cooled," he urged. "act diplomatically in this matter, and strive to get at the truth."
-"and deceive her?"
-"deception is permissible if she is a spy."
-"but she is not a spy," i declared quickly.
-"that remains to be seen!" he snapped. he then turned on his heel and passed into an adjoining room.
-at three o'clock i presented my card at the flat in the rue de courcelles, and was admitted to a cosy little salon, where the persiennes were closed to keep out the blazing july sun, and the subdued light was welcome after the glare of the streets. scarcely, however, had my eyes become accustomed to the semi-darkness, when the door suddenly opened, and i found myself face to face with the woman i had loved a few years ago.
-"gerald! you!" she cried in english, with that pretty accent which had always struck me as so charming.
-our hands clasped. i looked into her face and saw that in the two years which had elapsed she had grown even more beautiful. in a cool white dress of soft, clinging muslin, which, although simply made, bore the unmistakable stamp of a couturiere of the first order, she stood before me, my hand in hers, in silence.
-"so you have come to me?" she said in a strained voice. "you have come, at last?"
-"you did not let me know you were in paris," i protested.
-"giraud told you four days ago," she responded, "and you could not spare a single half-hour for me until to-day!" she added in a tone of reproach. "besides, i wrote to you from cairo, and you never replied."
-"forgive me," i urged--"forgive me, yolande. it is really my fault."
-"because you have forgotten me," she said huskily. "here, in paris, you have so many distractions that memories of our old days in brussels and at houffalize have all been swept away. come, admit that what i say is the truth."
-"i shall admit nothing of the kind, yolande," i answered, with diplomatic caution. "i only admit my surprise at finding you here in july. why, there is nobody here except our unfortunate selves at the embassies. the boulevards are given over to the perspiring british tourist in knickerbockers and the usual week-end trippers who `do' the city in a char-a-banc."
-she laughed for the first time, and seated herself upon a large settee covered with yellow silk, motioning me to a chair near her.
-"it is true," she said. "paris is not at all pleasant just now. we are only here for frocks. in a week we go to marienbad. and you--how are you?" and she surveyed me with her head held slightly aside in that piquante manner i knew so well.
-"the same," i laughed--"ever the same."
-"not the same to me," she hastened to protest.
-"i might make a similar charge against yourself," i said. "remember, you did not tell me you were in paris."
-"because i thought you would know it quickly enough. i wanted, if possible, to meet you accidentally and surprise you. i went to the ball at the german embassy, but you were not there."
-"i was in london," i explained briefly, my thoughts reverting to the allegation against her and the unhesitating action of the wary kaye in travelling direct to berlin.
-if there was any man in europe who could clear up a mystery it was the indefatigable chief of the british secret service. he lived in paris ostensibly as an english lawyer, with offices in the boulevard des italiens, next the cafe americain. hence his sudden journeys hither and thither were believed to be undertaken in the interests of various clients. but although he had an irish solicitor, o'brien by name, to attend to the inquiries of any chance clients, the amount of legal business carried on in those offices was really nil. the place was, in fact, the headquarters of the british secret service on the continent.
-"i, too, was in england a year ago," she said. "we were invited to a house-party up in scotland. mother was bored, but i had great fun. an english home seems somehow so much jollier than the houses where one visits in any other country. you know how i love the english!"
-"is that meant as a compliment?" i laughed.
-"of course," she answered. "but english diplomatists are just as grave as those of any other nation. your people are always full of all sorts of horrid secrets and things."
-she referred to the old days in brussels, for she knew well the difficulties under which our diplomacy had been conducted there, owing to the eternal questions involving egypt and the congo.
-but i laughed lightly. i did not intend that she should suspect the real motive of my call. evidently she knew nothing of my love for edith austin, or she would have referred to it. fortunately i had been able to keep it a secret from all.
-"and you are actually leaving us in a week?"
-i observed, for want of something else to say. "i hear that marienbad is crowded this season."
-"we are going to visit my uncle, prince stolberg, who has a villa there."
-then i asked her of our mutual friends in brussels, and she in return retailed to me all the latest gossip concerning them. as she sat there in the subdued light, her white dress, relieved by a touch of turquoise at the wrists and waist, she presented a picture graceful, delicate, and altogether charming. i reasoned with myself as she went on chattering. no; it was not surprising that i had once fallen in love with her. she was more french than belgian, for the days of her girlhood had been passed mostly in france; her christian name was french, and in manner she possessed all that smartness and chic peculiar to the parisienne. mentally i compared her with edith, but next instant laughed within myself. such comparison was impossible. their styles were as different as were their nationalities. beside edith, my well-beloved, the beauty of this fair-haired, gesticulating girl paled entirely, and became insipid. the englishwoman who held me beneath the spell of her soft and truthful eyes was without a peer.
-still, yolande amused me with her chatter. the reader will forgive me this admission, for in calling there i was only acting a part. i was endeavouring in the interests of my country to find out whether there was any truth in the allegation recently made against her by my friend. of a sudden a thought crossed my mind, and i asked:
-"have you met many acquaintances since you've been in paris?"
-"only hartmann and some of the people at the legation," she responded. "we are just going to five o'clock with the princess olsoufieff this afternoon."
-"there is an old friend of yours just arrived," i said. "have you met him?"
-"an old friend?" she echoed in surprise. "man or woman?"
-"a man," i answered. "rodolphe wolf."
-"rodolphe wolf!" she gasped, starting up, the colour dying from her lips in an instant. "rodolphe wolf in paris--impossible!"
-"he was at the baroness de chalencon's last night," i said quite calmly, watching her face the while.
-her sudden fear and surprise made plain a fact of which i had not before been aware--namely, that there was something more than a casual link between them. years ago, when in brussels, i had suspected wolf of being a secret agent, and the fact that she was closely acquainted with him appeared to prove that my chiefs suspicion was not unfounded.
-she had risen. her hands were trembling, and although she strove desperately to betray to me no outward sign of agitation, she was compelled to support herself by clutching the small table at her side. her countenance was blanched to the lips. she presented the appearance of one haunted by some terrible dread.
-"wolf!" she gasped again, as though speaking to herself. then, turning to me, she stretched forth both her hands, and, looking earnestly into my eyes, cried in wild desperation: "gerald, save me! for the sake of our love of the old days, save me!"
-"from what?" i cried, jumping up and catching her by both hands. "tell me, yolande. if i can assist you i certainly will. why are you so distressed?"
-she was silent, with one trembling hand pressed upon her heart, as though to stay its wild, tumultuous beating.
-"no," she said in a hoarse whisper, "it is useless--all useless."
-"but if you are in distress i can surely help you," i said.
-"alas! you cannot," she answered in despair. "you do not know--you cannot understand."
-"why not tell me? confide in me," i urged.
-"no," she replied. "i am very foolish--forgive me;" and she tried to smile.
-"the news that wolf is here has upset you," i said. "why?"
-"he has escaped."
-i was silent. i knew not what to say. this declaration of hers was strange. it was startling news to me that rodolphe wolf had been in prison.
-"you have asked me to save you," i said, reverting to her wild supplication. "i will do so willingly if you only tell me how."
-"it is impossible," she said in a broken voice, shaking her head mournfully. "by what you have told me i am forewarned."
-a deep sigh escaped her, and i saw that her fingers worked restlessly in the palms of her hands. she was desperate.
-"can i do absolutely nothing?" i asked in a tone of sympathy, placing my hand tenderly upon her shoulder.
-"nothing," she answered in a hoarse whisper. "i am not fit to talk further. let us say good-bye."
-"then you prefer that i should leave you?"
-"yes," she said, holding out her hand. "forgive me for this, but i want to go to my own room to think. what you have told me has upset me."
-"tell me plainly--you fear that man?"
-she nodded in the affirmative.
-"and you will not allow me either to advise or to assist you?"
-"no," she said hoarsely. "go, gerald. leave me! when we meet again i shall be calmer than i am now."
-her face was deathly pale; her eyes had a distinct look of terror in them.
-"very well," i answered when again she had urged me to leave her; "if you insist, i will go. but remember that if i can be of service, yolande, i am ready at once to render you assistance. good-bye," and i pressed her hand in sympathy.
-she burst into tears.
-"farewell," she faltered.
-then i turned, and, bowing, went forth into the glaring sunshine of the boulevard.
-she had virtually admitted a close acquaintance with a man upon whom distinct suspicion rested, and her actions had been those of a guilty woman. my thoughts were full of that interview and its painful ending as i walked back towards the embassy.
-a curious story.
-there was war in the air. at the embassy we could not conceal from ourselves the seriousness of the situation. from hour to hour we were living in dread lest diplomatic negotiations should be broken off with the french republic. we had discovered what seemed very much like a conspiracy against england, and as an energetic protest it appeared quite possible that the marquess of malvern might order my chief to leave paris. this would mean a rupture of diplomatic relations, and in all probability war.
-never in the history of modern europe had there been a day so critical as that blazing, well-remembered one in mid-july. there were ugly rumours of complications in the transvaal. the fate of certain nations trembled in the balance. in every capital diplomatists were active, some striving to force war, others endeavouring to prevent it. a diplomatist's life is assuredly no sinecure. the british public, as i have said before, little dreams of the constant anxiety and terrible tension which are parts of the daily life of its faithful servants abroad.
-on my return to the embassy i found that some important despatches had been brought from london by anderson, the foreign service messenger.
-he was sitting in my room smoking a cigarette, and awaiting me in order to obtain the receipt for his despatch-box. a tall, round-faced, merry man of middle age, he was an especial favourite in all the embassies as far as teheran. a thorough cosmopolitan and man of the world, he had resigned his commission in the scots greys to become one of that half-dozen of the greyhounds of europe known as queen's messengers.
-"well, anderson," i exclaimed, shaking his hand on entering, "what's the news from downing street?"
-"oh, nothing very fresh," he laughed, sinking back in his chair again, and passing me over the receipt for signature. "old tuite, of the treaty department, has retired on his pension this week. that's about all that's new. the chief, however, seems busy. i'm loaded with despatches."
-"vienna and constantinople. i leave by the orient express in an hour's time," he answered, with a glance at his watch.
-"then you're getting over a little ground just now?" i laughed.
-"a little ground!" he echoed. "well, i've been two trips to petersburg this month, twice here to paris, and once to vienna. i've only slept one night in london since the 1st."
-"you're a bit sick of it, i should think," i observed, looking at the round face lit up by its pair of merry grey eyes. he was an easy-going fellow; his good-humour never seemed ruffled.
-"oh, it agrees with me," he laughed lightly. "i don't care as long as i get the monthly run to teheran now and then. that's a bit of a change, you know, after these everlasting railways, with their stuffy sleeping-cars and abominable arrangements for giving a man indigestion."
-i examined the box to see that the seals affixed in downing street were intact, then signed the receipt and handed it back to him.
-of the corps of queen's messengers--nicknamed "the greyhounds" because of the badge which each wears suspended round his neck and concealed beneath his cravat, a silver greyhound surmounted by the royal arms-- captain jack anderson was the most popular. a welcome guest at every embassy or legation, he was on friendly terms with the whole staff, from the ambassador himself down to the hall-porter, and he carried the gossip of the embassies to and fro across europe. from him we all gathered news of our old colleagues in other capitals--of their joys and their sorrows, their difficulties and their junketings. his baggage being by international courtesy free from customs' examination, he oft-times carried with him a new frock for an ambassador's wife or daughter--a service which always put him high in the good graces of the feminine portion of the diplomatic circle.
-"kaye seems bobbing about pretty much," he observed, handing me his cigarette-case. anderson's cigarettes were well known for their excellence, for he purchased them at a shop in petersburg, and often distributed a box in one or other of the embassies. "i met him a week ago on board the calais boat, and two days later i came across him in the buffet down at bale. he was, however, as close as an oyster."
-"of course. it isn't likely that he'd talk very much," i remarked. "his profession is to know everything, and at the same time to affect ignorance. he went to berlin last night."
-"we had breakfast together in the early morning at bale, and he questioned me closely about a friend of yours."
-"a lady--mademoiselle de foville. you remember her in brussels, don't you?"
-"mademoiselle de foville!" i echoed. the denunciation of her as a secret agent instantly flashed through my mind.
-"yes, you were extremely friendly with her in brussels," he went on. "don't you recollect that you introduced me to her one evening at an al-fresco concert in the vauxhall gardens, where we sat together for quite a long time chatting?"
-"i remember distinctly," i responded. every detail of that balmy summer night in those gaily illuminated gardens came back to me in that moment. i loved yolande in those long-past days. "and what did kaye want to know regarding her?"
-"he asked me whether i had ever met her, and i told him that you had once introduced us."
-"oh, nothing much else. he remarked how very charming she was--a verdict in which we both agreed. have you seen her lately?"
-i hesitated for a moment.
-"yes, she's here, in paris."
-he bent forward quickly, regarding me curiously.
-"that's strange. how long has she been here?" he inquired with a rather puzzled look.
-"only a few days. i did not know that she was here till yesterday," i replied with affected carelessness.
-"ah, i thought she could not have been here long."
-"because only a week ago she travelled in the same compartment as myself between berlin and cologne."
-"and did you claim acquaintance with her?" i inquired quickly.
-"no. she had a companion with her--a pimply-faced, ugly johnnie, whom i took to be a german. they spoke in german all the time."
-could it be, i wondered, that yolande and her companion had travelled with anderson with some evil intent?
-"didn't you speak to them?"
-"the man tried to open a conversation with me, but i pretended to be italian, without any knowledge of german or english, so he didn't get very far. to affect italian is generally a sure game, for so few people speak it in comparison with those who know other continental languages."
-"you wanted to overhear their conversation--eh?"
-"i wanted to ascertain what their game was," answered the queen's messenger. "they eyed my despatch-box very curiously; and it was to me an extremely suspicious circumstance that although they joined the train at berlin they did not enter my compartment until an hour later, when the express stopped to change engines."
-"you were alone?"
-"yes, and it was at night," he answered, adding: "to me it was also a curious circumstance that only three days afterwards kaye should become so deeply interested in her. i had never seen her from that night in brussels until we had met in the train, but i've a good memory for faces. i can swear i was not mistaken."
-"you speak as though you suspected her," i said, looking straight into his ruddy countenance, which had grown unusually serious while we had been speaking.
-"but surely you don't think that their intention was to steal your despatches?" i cried.
-"they were welcome to the whole collection in the box," he laughed. "they were only consular reports and necessary evils of that sort. what they wanted was the crossed despatch from berlin that i had in my belt next my skin."
-"they made no attempt to get at it?"
-"yes, they did. that's just where my suspicion was proved."
-"how?" i asked breathlessly, bending eagerly towards him.
-"well, as you know, i always carry among my wraps a little cushion covered with black satin. experience has taught me that that cushion has saved me many an aching head and stiff neck when on long journeys. so i placed it behind my head, and through the night read a novel by the dim, uncertain light. about two o'clock in the morning we ran into hanover, and i got out to get a drink. when i returned, however, and placed the cushion behind my head, i felt a slight dampness upon it. in an instant suspicion seized me. some liquid had been sprinkled upon it in my absence. my two fellow-travellers, wrapped in their rugs, were apparently sleeping. at once i resolved to act with caution, and, turning my cheek towards the pillow, smelt it. there was a curious odour, sweet and subtle, like some new perfume. i had suspected chloroform, but it was certainly not that. yet almost the instant after i had inhaled it a curious and unaccountable drowsiness seized me. then i knew the truth. they had plotted to render me insensible and afterwards steal the despatch! i struggled against this feeling of weariness, and, rising to my feet, buttoned my overcoat as though i were chilly. this action allowed the cushion to fall away from my head, and, again re-seating myself, i made a feint of being interested in my book; but in reality my head was awhirl, and in the pocket of my ulster i had my hand upon my revolver, ready to use it should that pimply-faced ruffian attempt violence. the pair commenced to shift about uneasily in their seats, and i could see that their failure had considerably disconcerted them."
-"you gave them no idea that you had discovered their intentions?"
-"none whatever. i was anxious to see how they would act after being foiled."
-"well, what did they do?"
-"they exchanged glances of annoyance, but spoke no word. they were silent for over an hour, during which time it occurred to me to move the cushion farther from me, in case the evaporation of the mysterious liquid should cause insensibility. i was determined that your pretty little friend's companion should be the first to be thus affected. the feeling of drowsiness, however, wore off, and at cologne the pair, after chatting in german regarding the train to venlo, bustled about hastily and descended. they had no baggage, and went into the buffet to breakfast."
-"you, of course, continued your journey?"
-"yes, to ostend and london."
-"it seems as though you had rather a narrow escape," i observed thoughtfully.
-"it was a daring attempt to get at that despatch," he remarked with some warmth. "depend upon it, my dear ingram, that woman is a spy. i know she's a friend of yours, but i can't help saying just what i think."
-"but i can't believe it!" i declared. "indeed, i won't believe it!" i added vehemently.
-"as you like," he said coldly, with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. "i've told you the plain truth as to what occurred."
-"she's wealthy, and of one of the best families in belgium. there is no necessity whatever for her to be in the pay of any foreign government," i protested.
-"we have nothing to do with her reasons," he said. "all we know is that she and her companion tried to drug me in order to get at the despatch."
-"you have no idea, i suppose, of the contents of the despatch in question?" i inquired.
-"none, except that when i gave it into the chief's own hands in his private room at downing street, he appeared to be very much surprised by its contents, and at once wrote a reply, with which i posted back to berlin by the same night's mail from charing cross."
-"then it was upon a matter of importance?"
-"i judged it to be of extreme importance. yolande de foville was evidently well aware that i had the despatch in my belt."
-"you had never before seen this man who accompanied her?"
-"never. but now he has made one attempt it is quite probable he may make another. i'm on the look-out for him again."
-"and the cushion? have you discovered what they placed upon it?"
-"i left it in london with dr. bond, the analyst, at somerset house. he's trying to discover the liquid used. i hope he will be successful, for the stuff was so potent that i have no desire for it again to be sprinkled upon my belongings."
-"they were at least ingenious," i exclaimed, amazed at this extraordinary story, which seemed to prove so conclusively the truth of kaye's denunciation.
-yet i could not believe that yolande, my charming little friend, in whom i had in the old days reposed so many confidences, and by whose side i had lingered through many idle hours in the bois or in that almost endless forest around her feudal home, was actually a spy. the suggestion seemed too absurd. nevertheless, kaye was not a man to make unfounded charges, nor was anderson given to relating that which was untrue. truth to tell, this story of his held me absolutely dumbfounded. i recollected my conversation with her an hour ago, and the strange effect my announcement that wolf was in paris had made upon her. she had implored me to save her. why?
-a silence fell between us. i was preoccupied by my own thoughts. but a few moments later the queen's messenger again glanced at his watch, and, rising, said:
-"i must be off, or i shan't catch the orient. any message for them down at constantinople?"
-"no," i responded, gripping his strong hand in farewell. "take care of yourself, and don't let any of those confounded spies get at you again."
-"trust me, my dear fellow," he laughed, and lighting another cigarette he went forth on his long journey to the east as airily as though he were strolling down to get a cocktail at henry's.
-when he had gone i sat for a long time thinking. a remembrance of the mad love of those days that had gone came back to me, sweet, charming memories of that half-forgotten time when yolande was my ideal, and when her lips met mine in tender, passionate caresses. ah! how fondly i had loved her in those days! but with an effort i at last arose, and, casting all those reflections behind me with a sigh, broke the seals of the despatch-box, and, seating myself at the big writing-table, commenced to examine them with a view to ascertaining their contents.
-there were several important papers, and very soon i became absorbed in them. nearly an hour later there came a sudden rap at the door, and one of the english footmen entered, saying:
-"there is a man below, sir, who wishes to see you at once on important business. he says he is valet-de-chambre of the countess de foville."
-"of the countess de foville!" i echoed, much surprised.
-i at once ordered him to be shown upstairs, and a few moments later a tall, thin-faced, clean-shaven frenchman entered.
-"m'sieur ingram?" he inquired breathlessly in french, evidently in a state of great agitation.
-"yes," i said. "what is your message?"
-"i have been sent by madame la comtesse to ask you to be good enough to come to her at once. a most distressing incident has occurred."
-"what has occurred?" i demanded quickly.
-"ah, m'sieur, it is terrible!" he cried with much gallic gesticulation. "poor mademoiselle yolande! she is asking to see you. she says she must speak with you, m'sieur."
-"yes, m'sieur. do not let us lose a single instant, or it may be too late. ah! my poor young mistress! poor mademoiselle! it is terrible-- terrible!"
-the countess, a handsome, well-preserved woman of middle age, slightly inclined to embonpoint, met me on the threshold, and in silence grasped my hand. from the window she had apparently watched me alight from the fiacre, and had rushed forth to meet me.
-that something unusual had occurred was plain from the paleness of her countenance and the look of despair in her eyes. we had been excellent friends in brussels in bygone days, for she had favoured my suit and had constantly invited me to her pretty home in the boulevard de waterloo or to the great old chateau in the ardennes. a glance was sufficient to show me that she had grown considerably older, and that her face, although it still bore distinct traces of a faded beauty, was now worn and haggard. she was essentially a grande dame of the old regime, now fast disappearing from our ken, but at no time could she be considered a great hostess. she was somewhat intransigent, a woman of strong prejudices, usually well justified, and incapable of pretence or shams. but the law of kindliness was ever on her tongue, and she contented herself with giving those of whom she disapproved a wide berth. she was dressed plainly in black, with a single wisp of lace at the throat--a costume unusual for her. in brussels her handsome toilettes, obtained from paris, had always been admired. although matronly, like the majority of belgian women, she was extremely chic, with an almost girlish waist, and at whatever hour one called one always found her dressed with extreme taste and elegance. i must, however, admit that her appearance surprised me. her hair had grown greyer, and she seemed as though utterly negligent of her personal appearance.
-"madame!" i exclaimed in alarm as our hands met, "tell me what has occurred."
-"ah, m'sieur," she cried in french, "i am in despair, and have sent for you! you can help me--if you will."
-"in what manner?" i inquired breathlessly.
-"yolande!" she gasped, in a choking voice.
-"yolande!" i echoed. "what has happened to her? your man will tell me nothing."
-"he has orders to say nothing," she explained, leading the way into the elegant salon. "now tell me," she said, looking at me very earnestly, "i am in sheer desperation, as you may see, or i would not presume to question you. will you forgive me if i do?"
-"most certainly," i responded.
-"then before we go further i will put my question to you," she said in a strange voice. "do you love yolande?"
-such direct inquiry certainly took me by complete surprise. i stood looking at her for a few seconds absolutely open-mouthed.
-"why ask me that?" i inquired, puzzled. "tell me what has happened to her."
-"i can tell you nothing until you have answered my question," she replied quite calmly. i saw from her countenance that she was desperate.
-"i think, madame, that when we were together in brussels my actions must have betrayed to you--a woman--the state of my heart towards your daughter," i said. "i do not seek to deny that at that time i loved her more fondly than i could ever love again, and--"
-"then you do not love her still?" she cried, interrupting me.
-"allow me to conclude," i went on, speaking quite calmly, for i saw in this curious question of hers some mysterious motive. "i loved her while in brussels, and for two years hoped to make her my wife."
-"and then you grew tired of her?" the countess asked, in a tone that was almost a sneer in itself. "it is always the same with you diplomatists. the women of every capital amuse you, but on your promotion you bow your adieux and seek fresh fields to conquer."
-"i think you misjudge me," i protested, rather annoyed at her words. "i loved yolande. when i admit this, i also admit that, like other men whose calling it is to lounge in the principal salons of europe, i had not escaped the fascination exercised by other eyes than hers. but to me she was all the world. surely, madame, you remember the days at houffalize? you cannot disguise from yourself that i really loved her then?"
-"but all that is of the past," she said seriously, her white hands clasped before her. "briefly, you no longer entertain any love for her. is not that so?"
-i hesitated. my position was a difficult one. i was a diplomatist, and could speak untruths artistically when occasion required, but she had cornered me.
-"madame has guessed the truth," i answered at last.
-"ah!" she cried hoarsely, "i thought as much. you have found some other woman whom you prefer?"
-i nodded assent. it was useless to lead her to believe what was not the truth. yolande was of course charming in many ways; but when i thought of edith i saw that comparison was impossible.
-"and you have no further thought of her?" she asked.
-"as far as marriage is concerned, no," i responded. "nevertheless, i still regard her as an intimate friend. i was here only two or three hours ago chatting with her."
-"you!" she cried, glaring at me strangely. "you were here--to-day?"
-"yes," i replied. "i thought she would certainly tell you of my visit."
-"she told me nothing. i was quite unaware of it. i was out, and the servants told me that a gentlemen had called in my absence."
-"i gave a card," i replied. "it is no doubt in the hall."
-"no, it is not. it has been destroyed."
-"why?" i asked.
-"for some mysterious reason known to yolande." then, turning quickly again to me, she placed her hand upon my arm in deep earnestness, saying: "tell me, is your love for her absolutely and entirely dead--so dead that you would not care to perform her a service?"
-anderson's strange and startling story flashed through my mind. i made no reply.
-"remember the affection you once bore her," she urged. "i am a woman, m'sieur, and i presume to remind you of it."
-i needed no reminder. the recollection of those sweet idyllic days was still fresh as ever in my memory. ah! in those brief sunny hours i had fondly believed that our love would last always. it is ever the same. youth is ever foolish.
-"i should have loved her now," i answered at last, "were it not for one fact."
-"to the reason of our parting."
-"the reason!" echoed the countess. "i have no idea whatever of the reason. what was it?"
-i held my breath. would it be just to tell her the truth? i wondered. i reflected for a moment, then in a calm voice answered:
-"because i discovered that her heart was not wholly mine."
-she regarded me with undisguised amazement.
-"do you mean that yolande had another lover?"
-"no!" i cried with sudden resolve. "this conversation is not fair to her. it is all finished. she has forgotten, and we are both happy."
-"happy!" cried the countess hoarsely. "you are, alas! mistaken. poor yolande has been the most unhappy girl in all the world. she has never ceased to think of you."
-"then i regret, madame," i responded.
-"if you really regret," she answered, "then your love for her is not altogether dead."
-she spoke the truth. at this point i may as well confide to you, my reader, the fact that i still regarded my charming little friend of those careless days of buoyant youth with a feeling very nearly akin to love. i recollected the painful circumstances which led to our parting. my memory drifted back to that well-remembered, breathless summer's evening when, while walking with her along the white highway near her home, i charged her with friendliness towards a man whose reputation in brussels was none of the best; of her tearful protests, of my all-consuming jealousy, of her subsequent dignity, and of our parting. after that i had applied to the foreign office to be transferred, and a month later found myself in rome.
-perhaps, after all, my jealousy might have been utterly unfounded. sometimes i had thought i had treated her harshly, for, truth to tell, i had never obtained absolute proof that this man was more than a mere acquaintance. indeed, i think it was this fact, or just a slight twinge of conscience, that caused a suspicion of the old love i once bore her to remain within me. it was not just to edith--that i knew; yet notwithstanding the denunciations of both kaye and anderson, i could not altogether crush her from my heart. to wholly forget the woman for whom one has entertained the grand passion is often most difficult, sometimes, indeed, impossible of accomplishment. visions of some sweet face with its pouting and ready lips will arise, constantly keeping the past ever present, and recalling a day one would fain forget. thus it was with me--just as it has been with thousands of others.
-"no," i admitted truthfully and honestly at last, "my love for yolande is perhaps not altogether dead."
-"then you will render me a service?" she cried quickly. "say that you will--for her sake!--for the sake of the great love you once bore her!"
-"of what nature is this service you desire?" i asked, determined to act with caution, for the startling stories i had heard had aroused within me considerable suspicion.
-"i desire your silence regarding an absolute secret," she answered in a hoarse half-whisper.
-"a secret concerning yolande," she responded. "will you, for her sake, render us assistance, and at the same time preserve absolute secrecy as to what you may see or learn here to-day?"
-"i will promise if you wish, madame, that no word shall pass my lips," i said. "but as to assistance, i cannot promise until i am aware of the nature of the service demanded of me."
-she led the way down the long corridor, and turning to the left suddenly opened the door of a large and handsome bed-chamber, the wooden sun-blinds of which were closed to keep out the crimson glow of the sunset. the room was a fine one with big crystal mirrors and a shining toilette-service in silver, but upon the bed with its yellow silk hangings lay a female form fully dressed, but white-faced and motionless. in the dim half-light i could just distinguish the features as those of yolande.
-"what has occurred?" i cried in a hoarse whisper, dashing towards the bedside and bending down to look upon the face that had once held me in fascination.
-"we do not know," answered the trembling woman at my side. "it is all a mystery."
-i stretched forth my hand and touched her cheek. it was icy cold.
-in those few moments my eyes had become accustomed to the dim light of the darkened room, and i detected the change that had taken place in the girl's countenance. her eyes were closed, her lips blanched, her fair hair, escaped from its pins, fell in a sheen of gold upon the lace-edged pillow.
-i held my breath. the awful truth was distinctly apparent. i placed my hand upon her heart, the bodice of her dress being already unloosened. then a few seconds later i drew back, standing rigid and aghast.
-"why, she's dead!" i gasped.
-"yes," the countess said, covering her face with her hands and bursting into tears. "my poor yolande! she is dead--dead!"
-the discovery appalled me. only a couple of hours before we had chatted together, and she seemed in the best of health and spirits, just as in the old days, until i had made the announcement of wolf's presence in paris. the effect of that statement upon her had apparently been electrical. why, i knew not. had she not implored me to save her? this in itself was sufficient to show that she held him in deadly fear.
-again i bent in order to make further examination, but saw the unmistakable mark of death upon her countenance. the lower jaw had dropped, the checks were cold, and the silver hand-mirror which i had snatched from the table and held at her mouth was unclouded. there was no movement--no life. yolande, my well-beloved of those long-past days, was dead.
-i stood there at the bedside like a man in a dream. so swiftly had she been struck down that the terrible truth seemed impossible of realisation.
-the countess, standing beside me, sobbed bitterly. truly the scene in that darkened chamber was a strange and impressive one. never before in my whole life had i been in the presence of the dead.
-"yolande--yolande!" i called, touching her cheek in an effort to awaken her, for i could not believe that she was actually dead.
-but there was no response. those blanched lips and the coldness of those cheeks told their own tale. she had passed to that land which lies beyond the range of human vision.
-how long i stood there i cannot tell. my thoughts were inexpressibly sad ones, and the discovery had utterly upset me, so that i scarcely knew what i said or did. the blow of thus finding her lifeless crushed me. the affair was mysterious, to say the least of it. of a sudden, however, the sobs of the grief-stricken countess aroused me to a sense of my responsibility, and taking her hand i led her from the bedside into an adjoining room.
-"how has this terrible catastrophe occurred?" i demanded of her breathlessly. "only two hours ago she was well and happy."
-"you mean when you saw her?" she said. "what was the object of your call?"
-"to see her," i responded.
-"and yet you parted ill friends in brussels?" she observed in a tone of distinct suspicion. "you had some motive in calling. what was it?"
-i hesitated. i could not tell her that i suspected her daughter to be a spy.
-she smiled, rather superciliously i thought.
-"but how did the terrible affair occur?"
-"we have no idea," answered the countess brokenly. "she was found lying upon the floor of the salon within a quarter of an hour of the departure of her visitor, who proved to be yourself. jean, the valet-de-chambre, on entering, discovered her lying there, quite dead."
-"astounding!" i gasped. "she was in perfect health when i left her."
-she shook her head sorrowfully, and her voice, choking with grief, declared:
-"my child has been killed--murdered!"
-"murdered! impossible!" i cried.
-"but she has," she declared. "i am absolutely positive of it!"
-a piece of plain paper.
-"what medical examination has been made?" i demanded.
-"none," responded the countess. "my poor child is dead, and no doctor can render her assistance. medical aid is unavailing."
-"but do you mean to say that on making this discovery you did not think it necessary to send for a doctor?" i cried incredulously.
-"i did not send for one--i sent for you," was her response.
-"but we must call a doctor at once," i urged. "if you have suspicion of foul play we should surely know if there is any wound, or any injury to account for death."
-"i did not consider it necessary. no doctor can return her to me," she wailed. "i sent for you because i believed that you would render me assistance in this terrible affair."
-"most certainly i will," i replied. "but in our own interests we must send for a medical man, and if it is found to be actually a case of foul play, for the police. i'll send a line to doctor deane, an englishman whom i know, who is generally called in to see anybody at the embassy who chances to be ill. he is a good fellow, and his discretion may be relied upon."
-so saying, i scribbled a line on the back of a card, and told the man to take a cab down to the rue du havre, where the doctor occupied rooms over a hosier's shop a stone's throw from the bustling gare st. lazare.
-the countess de foville, whose calmness had been so remarkable while speaking with me before we entered the death-chamber, had now given way to a flood of emotion. she sank back into her chair, and, burying her face in her hands, cried bitterly.
-i tried to obtain some further information from her, but all that escaped her was:
-"my poor yolande! my poor daughter!" finding that my endeavours to console her were futile, i went forth and made inquiries of the three frightened maidservants regarding what had occurred.
-one of them, a dark-eyed frenchwoman in frilled cap, whom i had seen on my previous visit, said, in answer to my questions:
-"jean discovered the poor mademoiselle in the petit salon about a quarter of an hour after m'sieur had left. she was lying upon her face near the window, quite rigid. he shouted; we all rushed in, and on examining her found that she was already dead."
-"but was there no sign of a struggle?" i inquired, leading the way to the room indicated.
-"the room was just as m'sieur sees it now," she answered, with a wave of her hand.
-i glanced around, but as far as i could distinguish it was exactly as i had left it.
-"there was no mark of violence--nothing to show that mademoiselle had been the victim of foul play?"
-could it have been a case of suicide? i wondered. yolande's words before i had taken leave of her were desponding, and almost led me to believe that she had taken her life rather than face the man wolf who had so suddenly arrived in paris--the man who exercised upon her some mysterious influence, the nature of which i could not guess.
-"it was not more than fifteen minutes after i had left, you say?" i inquired.
-"no, m'sieur, not more."
-"mademoiselle had no other visitor?"
-"no, m'sieur. of that we are all certain."
-"and the countess, where was she during the time i was here?"
-"she was out driving. she did not return till about five minutes after we had made the terrible discovery."
-"and how did madame act?"
-"she ordered us to carry poor mademoiselle to her room. poor madame! she bore the blow with wonderful fortitude."
-that remark caused me to prick up my ears.
-"i don't quite understand," i said. "did she not give way to tears?"
-"no, m'sieur; she shed no tears, but sat erect, motionless as a statue. she appeared unable to realise that poor mademoiselle was actually dead. at last she rang, and sent jean to you."
-"you are absolutely certain that mademoiselle had no visit or after i left?"
-"it would, moreover, not be possible for anyone to enter or leave without your knowledge?" i suggested.
-"m'sieur understands me perfectly. mademoiselle must have fallen to the floor lifeless immediately after i had let you out. she made no sound, and had jean not entered with her letters, which the concierge had brought, my poor young mistress might be lying there now."
-the average frenchwoman of the lower class is always dramatic wherever a domestic calamity is concerned, and this worthy bonne was no exception. she punctuated all her remarks with references to the sacred personages of the roman catholic religion.
-"you haven't searched the room, i suppose?"
-"no, m'sieur. madame gave orders that nothing was to be touched."
-this reply was eminently satisfactory. i glanced again around the place, now dim in the falling twilight, and ordered her to throw back the sun-shutters.
-the woman went to the window and opened them, admitting a flood of mellow light, the last crimson of the glorious afterglow. up from the boulevard came the dull roar of the traffic, mingling with the sound of distant bells ringing the ave maria. the bonne--an alsatian, from her accent--crossed herself from force of habit, and retreated towards the door.
-"you may go," i said. "i will remain here until the doctor arrives."
-"bien, m'sieur," answered the woman, disappearing and closing the door after her.
-my object in dismissing her was to make a thorough search of the apartment, in order to discover whether any of yolande's private possessions were there. she had been denounced by kaye and anderson as a spy, and it occurred to me that i might possibly discover the truth. but she was dead. the painful fact seemed absolutely incredible.
-the room was not a large one, but well furnished, with considerable taste and elegance. there was the broad, silk-covered couch, upon which yolande had sat in the full possession of health and spirits only a couple of hours before; the skin rug, upon which her tiny foot had been stretched so coquettishly; the small table, by which she had stood supporting herself after i had made the fatal announcement that wolf was in paris.
-as i stood there the whole of that strangely dramatic scene occurred to me. yet she was dead--dead! she had died with her secret in her heart.
-at any moment dick deane might arrive, but i desired to be the first to make an examination of the room, and with that object crossed to the little escritoire of inlaid olive-wood, one of those rather gimcrack pieces of furniture manufactured along the ligurian coast for unsuspecting winter visitors. it was the only piece of incongruous furniture in the room, all the rest being genuine louis quatorze.
-one or two letters bearing conspicuous coats-of-arms were lying there, but all were notes of a private nature from one or other of her friends. one was an invitation to vichy from the baronne deland, wife of the great paris financier; another, signed "rose," spoke of the gaiety of cairo and the dances at shepheard's during the past winter; while a third, also in french, and bearing no signature, made an appointment to meet her in the english tea-shop in the rue royale on the following day at five o'clock.
-that note, written upon plain paper of business appearance, had apparently been left by hand. who, i wondered, was the person who had made that appointment? to me the writing seemed disguised, and probably, owing to the thickness of the up-strokes, had been penned by a male hand. there was a mistake in the orthography, too, the word "plaisir" being written "plasir." this showed plainly that no frenchman had written it.
-i placed the letter in my pocket, and, encouraged by it, continued my investigations.
-next instant the truth was plain. that paper was the official paper used in french government offices for written reports. how came it in her possession, if the accusation against her were untrue?
-i held it in my hand, glaring at it in bewilderment. sheet by sheet i examined it, but there was no writing upon it. apparently it was her reserve store of paper, to be used as wanted. in the french ministry of foreign affairs everything is methodical, especially the preparation of the dossiers. a certain dossier had once fallen into kaye's hands, and it contained sheets of exactly similar paper to that which i held in my hand.
-eagerly i continued my search, striving to discover some writing which might lead me to a knowledge of the truth, but i found nothing. i had completed an examination of the whole of the contents of the drawers, when it occurred to me that there might be some other drawer concealed there. years ago i had been offered an escritoire of this pattern in genoa, and the sun-tanned fellow who endeavoured to induce me to purchase it had shown behind the centre drawer in the table a cunningly contrived cavity where private correspondence might be concealed.
-therefore i drew out the drawer, sounded the interior at the back, and, finding it hollow, searched about for the spring by which it might be opened. at last i found it, and next moment drew forth a bundle of letters. they were bound with a blue ribbon that time had faded. i glanced at the superscription of the uppermost, and a thrill of sympathy went through me.
-those carefully preserved letters were my own--letters full of love and tenderness, which i had written in the days that were dead. i stood holding them in my hand, my heart full of the past.
-in this narrative, my reader, it is my intention to conceal nothing, but to relate to you the whole, undisguised truth, even though this chapter of england's secret history presents a seemingly improbable combination of strange facts and circumstances. therefore i will not hide from you the truth that in those moments, as i drew forth one of the letters i had written long ago and read it through, sweet and tender memories crowded upon me, and in my eyes stood blinding tears. i may be forgiven for this, i think, when it is remembered how fondly i had once loved yolande, before that fatal day when jealousy had consumed me, and i had turned my back upon her as a woman false and worthless.
-letter after letter i read, each bringing back to me sad memories of those days, when in the calm sunset hour we had wandered by the riverside hand in hand like children, each supremely content in each other's love, fondly believing that our mad passion would last always. in all the world she had been, to me, incomparable. the centre of admiration at those brilliant balls at the royal palace at brussels, the most admired of all the trim and comely girls who rode at morning in the bois, the merriest of those who picnicked in the forest round about the ancient chateau, the sweetest, the most tender, and the most pure of all the women i knew--yolande in those days had been mine. there, in my hand, i held the letter which i had written from scotland when on leave for the shooting, asking if she loved me sufficiently to become my wife. to that letter i well remembered her reply--indeed, i knew it verbatim; a tender letter, full of honest love and straightforward admission--a letter such as only a pure and good woman could have penned. yes, she wrote that she loved me dearly, and would be my wife.
-and yet it was all of the past. all had ended.
-i sighed bitterly--how bitterly, mere words cannot describe. you, reader, be you man or woman, can you fully realise how deeply i felt at that moment, how utterly desolate the world then seemed to me?
-those letters i slowly replaced in the cavity and closed it. then, as i turned away, my eyes fell upon the photographs standing upon a small whatnot close by the escritoire. they were of persons whom i did not know--all strangers, save one. this was a cabinet portrait in a heavy silver frame, and as i took it up to scrutinise it more closely a cry involuntarily escaped my lips.
-the picture was a three-quarter length representation of a black-bearded, keen-eyed man, standing with his hands thrust idly in his pockets, and smoking a cigarette. there was no mistaking those features. it was the photograph of the man the discovery of whose presence in paris had produced such an extraordinary effect upon her-- rodolphe wolf.
-by a thread.
-i was still standing by the window, holding the photograph in my hand, and gazing upon it in wonder, when dick deane was shown in.
-"what's the matter, old chap? are you the man in possession here?" he asked breezily, gripping me by the hand.
-he was a fair, merry-faced fellow of thirty-five, rather good-looking, smartly dressed in black frock-coat of professional cut, and wearing a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez. he had been born in paris, and had spent the greater part of his life there, except during the years when he was at school with me before going to edinburgh, where he took his degree. then he had returned to paris, taken his french degree, and had soon risen to be one of the fashionable doctors in the french capital. he was an especial favourite in the salons, and, like every good-looking doctor, a favourite with the ladies.
-"i'm not in possession," i answered. "a very serious affair has happened here, and we want your assistance."
-in an instant he became grave, for i suppose my tone showed him that i was in no humour for joking.
-"what's the nature of the affair?" he asked.
-"death," i replied seriously. "a lady here--a friend of mine--has died mysteriously."
-"a mystery--eh?" he exclaimed, instantly interested. "tell me about it."
-"this place," i replied, "belongs to the countess de foville, a lady whom i knew well when i was at the brussels embassy, and it is her daughter yolande who has been found dead in this room this evening."
-"yolande de foville!" he repeated, with knit brows. "she was a friend of yours once, if i mistake not?" he added, looking me straight in the face.
-"yes, dick, she was," i responded. "i told you of her long ago."
-"you loved her once?"
-"yes," i answered with difficulty, "i loved her once."
-"and how did the unfortunate affair occur?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning back against a chair. "tell me the whole story."
-"i called here this afternoon, and spent half an hour or so with her," i said. "then i left and returned straight to the embassy--"
-"you left her here?" he inquired, interrupting. "yes, in this very room. but it seems that a quarter of an hour later one of the servants entered and discovered her lying upon the door, dead."
-"curious!" he ejaculated. "has a medical man seen her?"
-"no. the countess sent for me as being one of her daughter's most intimate friends, and i, in turn, sent for you."
-"where is the poor young lady?"
-"in her room at the end of the corridor," i answered hoarsely.
-"is there any suspicion of murder?"
-"apparently none whatever. she had no visitor after i left."
-"and no suspicion of suicide?" he asked, with a sharp look. "did you part friends?"
-"perfectly so," i responded. "as to suicide, she had no reason, as far as anyone knows, to make an attempt upon her life."
-he gave vent to an expression which sounded to me much like a grunt of dissatisfaction.
-"now, be perfectly frank with me, gerald," he said, suddenly turning to me and placing his hand upon my shoulder. "you loved her very dearly once--was that not so?"
-"i well remember it," he went on. "i quite recollect how, on one occasion, you came over to london, and while dining together at jimmy's you told me of your infatuation, and showed me her photograph. do you remember the night when you told me of your engagement to her?"
-"and as time went on you suddenly dropped her--for what reason i know not. we are pals, but i have never attempted to pry into your affairs. if she really loved you, it must have been a hard blow for her when she heard that you had forsaken her for edith austin."
-"you reproach me," i said. "but you do not know the whole truth, my dear fellow. i discovered that yolande possessed a second lover."
-he nodded slowly, with pursed lips.
-"and that was the reason of your parting?"
-"the sole reason?"
-"the sole reason."
-"and you have no suspicion that she may have committed suicide because of her love for you? such things are not uncommon, remember, with girls of a certain temperament."
-"if she has committed suicide, it is not on my account," i responded in a hard voice.
-"i did not express that opinion," he hastened to protest. "before we discuss the matter further it will be best for me to see her. death may have been due to natural causes, for aught we know."
-i stood motionless. his suggestion that my sweetheart of the old days had committed suicide because i had forsaken her was a startling one. surely that could not be so?
-"come," my friend said, "let us lose no time. which is the room?"
-i led him along the corridor, and opened the door of the chamber in which she was lying so cold and still. the light of the afterglow fell full upon her, tipping her auburn hair with crimson and illuminating her face with a warm radiance that gave her back the appearance of life. but it was only for a few moments. the slanting ray was lost, and the pallor of that beautiful countenance became marked against the gold of her wondrous hair.
-in silence i stood at the foot of the bed watching my friend, who was now busy with his examination. he opened her eyes and closed them again, felt her heart, raised her arms, and examined her mouth, uttering no word. his serious face wore a look as though he were infinitely puzzled.
-one after the other he examined the palms of her hands long and carefully, then, bending until his eyes were close to her face, he examined her lips, brow, and the whole surface of her cheeks. upon her neck, below the left ear, was a mark to which he returned time after time, as though not satisfied as to its cause. upon her lower lip, too, was a slight yellow discoloration, which he examined several times, comparing it with the mark upon the neck. he was unable to account for either.
-"curious!" he ejaculated. "very curious indeed!"
-"what is curious?" i inquired eagerly.
-"those marks," he answered, indicating them with his finger. "they are very puzzling. i've never seen such marks before."
-"do they point to foul play?" i inquired, feeling suspicious that she had by some mysterious means fallen the victim of an assassin.
-"well, no," he responded, after some hesitation; "that is not my opinion."
-"then what is your opinion?"
-"at present i have none. i can have none until i make a thorough examination. there are certainly no outward marks of violence."
-"we need not inform the police, i suppose?"
-"not at present," he replied, his eyes still fixed upon the blanched face of the woman who had once been all the world to me.
-i raised her dead hand, and upon it imprinted a last fervent kiss. it was cold and clammy to my lips. in that hour all my old love for her had returned, and my heart had become filled with an intense bitterness and desolation. i had thought that all my love for her was dead, and that edith austin, the calm, sweet woman far away in an english county, who wrote to me daily from her quiet home deep in the woodlands, had taken her place. but our meeting and its tragic sequel had, i admit, aroused within me a deep sympathy, which had, within an hour, developed into that great and tender love of old. with men this return to the old love is of no infrequent occurrence, but with women it seldom happens. perhaps this is because man is more fickle and more easily influenced by woman's voice, woman's glances, and woman's tears.
-the reader will probably accuse me of injustice and of fickleness of heart. well, i cannot deny it; indeed, i seek to deny nothing in this narrative of strange facts and diplomatic wiles, but would only ask of those who read to withhold their verdict until they have ascertained the truth yet to be revealed, and have read to the conclusion, this strange chapter of the secret history of a nation.
-my friend the doctor was holding one hand, while i imprinted a last kiss upon the other. a lump was in my throat, my eyes were filled with tears, my thoughts were all of the past, my anguish of heart unspeakable. that small chill hand with the cold, glittering ring--one that i had given her in brussels long ago--seemed to be the only reality in all that hideous phantasmagoria of events.
-"do not despair," murmured the kind voice of my old friend, standing opposite me on the other side of the bed. "you loved her once, but it is all over--surely it is!"
-"no, dick!" i answered brokenly. "i thought i did not love her. i have held her from me these three years--until now."
-"ah!" he sighed, "i understand. man always longs for the unattainable."
-"yes, always," i responded.
-in that moment the memory of the day when we had parted arose gaunt and ghost-like. i had wronged her; i felt confident that i had. all came back to me now--that cruel, scandalous denunciation i had uttered in the heat of my mad jealousy--the false tale which had struck her dumb by its circumstantial accuracy. ah! how bitter it all was, now that punishment was upon me! i remembered how, in the hour of my worldly triumph and of her highest hope--at the very moment when she had spoken words of greater affection to me than she had ever used before--i had made the charge against her, and she had fallen back with her young heart crushed within her. my ring was there, still glittering mockingly upon her dead hand. by the unfounded charge i had made against her i had sinned. my sin at that moment arose from its grave, and barred the way for ever to all hope--to all happiness.
-the summer twilight was stealing on apace, and in the silence of the room there sounded the roar of life from the boulevard below. men were crying le soir with strident voices, and all paris was on its way to dine, and afterwards to enjoy itself in idleness upon the terraces of the cafes or at those al-fresco variety performances in the avenue des champs elysees, where the entrance fee includes a consommation.
-deane still held my old love's hand, bending in the dim light until his eyes were close to it, watching intently. but i took no notice, for my eyes were fixed upon that face that had held me in such fascination, and had been so admired at those brilliant receptions given by king leopold and the countess of flanders. the doctor stretched forth his hand, and of a sudden switched on the electric light. the next instant i was startled by his loud ejaculation of surprise.
-"thank god!" he cried. "she's not dead, after all!"
-"not dead!" i gasped, unable fully to realise his meaning.
-"no," he answered breathlessly. "but we must not lose a single instant." and i saw that with a lancet he had made an incision in her delicate wrist, and there was blood there. "she is in a state of catalepsy, and we must do all in our power to bring her round."
-"but do you think you can?" i cried.
-"i hope so."
-"do your best, dick," i implored. "save her, for my sake."
-"rely upon me," he answered calmly, adding: "run along to number 18 in the boulevard--the corner house on the right--and bring doctor trepard at once. he lives au troisieme. tell him that i sent you, and that the matter is one of life or death." he scribbled some words on a card, and, giving it me, added: "tell him to bring this. meanwhile, i will commence artificial respiration. go!"
-"but do you think she will really recover?" i demanded.
-"i can't tell. we have already lost so much time. i had no idea of the truth. it has surprised me just as it has surprised you. this moment is not one for words, but for actions. don't lose an instant."
-thus urged, i snatched up my hat and tore along the boulevard like a madman. without difficulty i found trepard's appartement, and on being admitted found him a grave-faced, rather stout old frenchman, who, on the instant i mentioned dick's name and gave him the card with the words upon it, naming some drugs he required, went into an adjoining room, and fetched a phial of tiny red pillules, which he held up to the light. then he put on his hat, and descended with me to the street. a fiacre was passing, which we took, and five minutes later we were standing together in the room where yolande was lying.
-"this is a most curious case, my dear trepard," began dick, speaking in french--"a case of coma, which i have mistaken for death;" and, continuing, he briefly explained how the patient had been found in a state so closely resembling death that he himself had been deceived.
-the old frenchman placed his hand upon her heart, and, withdrawing it, said:
-"she's breathing now."
-"breathing!" i echoed. "then she is recovering!"
-"yes, old fellow," dick replied, "she is recovering--at least we hope we shall save her." then, turning to his colleague, he raised her hand and pointed to the finger-nails, asking: "do you notice anything there?"
-the other, adjusting his pince-nez, bent and examined, them one by one.
-"yes," he answered at last. "a slight purple discoloration at the base of the nails."
-"and upon the lower lip does anything strike you as peculiar?"
-"a yellow mark," he answered, after carefully inspecting the spot indicated.
-"and there?" deane asked, touching the mark upon the neck.
-"very strange!" ejaculated the elder man. "it is a most unusual case."
-"yes. have you brought the hydrated peroxide of iron?"
-for answer the frenchman produced the tiny tube, saying:
-"then you suspect poison?"
-"most certainly," he replied; and, taking a glass, he placed a single pillule in it, dissolving it in water, which he afterwards forced between the grey lips of my unconscious love. afterwards he glanced at his watch, observing: "we must give another in fifteen minutes."
-then, drawing a chair to the bedside, he seated himself, holding her wrist and watching her countenance for any change that might take place there.
-"have you no idea of the nature of the poison?" i inquired eagerly.
-"none," he responded. "ask me no questions now. when we have brought her round will be time enough. it should be sufficient for you to know that she is not dead. why not leave us for the present? go and break the good news to the countess."
-"you wish to be alone?"
-"yes. this is a serious matter. leave us undisturbed, and on no pretext allow her mother to enter here."
-thus urged, and feeling reassured by their statement that she still lived and that the pulsations of her heart were already quite perceptible, i left the room, noiselessly closing the door after me, and sought the countess in the small blue boudoir to which she had returned plunged in grief and dark despair.
-she was seated in a chair, motionless and statuesque, staring straight before her. the blow had utterly crushed her, for she was entirely devoted to her only daughter now that her husband was dead. i well knew how deep was her affection for yolande, and how tender was her maternal love.
-the room was in semi-darkness, for she had not risen to turn on the light. as i entered i did so with her permission, saying quietly:
-"madame, i come to you with a message."
-"from whom?" she asked in a hard mechanical voice.
-"from my friend deane, the english doctor whom i have summoned. yolande still lives!"
-"she lives!" she cried, springing to her feet in an instant. "you are deceiving me!"
-"i am not, madame," i reassured her, smiling. "your daughter is still breathing, and is increasing in strength perceptibly. the doctors say that she will probably recover."
-"thank god!" she gasped, her thin white hands clasped before her. "i pray that he may give her back to me. i will go to her."
-but i held her back, explaining that both the medical men had expressed a wish to remain there alone.
-"but what caused that appearance so akin to death?" she asked quickly.
-"at present they cannot tell," i responded. "some deleterious substance is suspected, but until she has returned to consciousness and can give us some details of her sudden attack we can determine nothing."
-"but she will recover, m'sieur?" the countess asked. "are you certain?"
-"the chances are in her favour, the doctors say. they have given her a drug to counteract the effect of the poison."
-"poison! was she poisoned?" gasped the countess.
-"poison is suspected," i answered quietly. "but calm yourself, madame. the truth will be discovered in due course."
-"i care nothing so long as yolande is given back to me!" the distressed woman cried. "was it your english friend who discovered the truth?"
-"yes," i replied. "he is one of the cleverest men in paris."
-"and to him my poor yolande will owe her life?"
-"yes, to him."
-"and to you also, m'sieur? you have done your utmost for us, and i thank you warmly for it all."
-"madame," i said earnestly, "i have done only what a man should do. you sought my assistance, and i have given it, because--"
-"because of what?" she inquired sharply the instant i paused.
-"because i once loved her," i responded with perfect frankness.
-a sigh escaped her, and her hand sought my arm.
-"i was young once, m'sieur," she said in that calm, refined voice which had long ago always sounded so much to me like that of my own dead mother. "i understand your feeling--i understand perfectly. it is only my poor daughter who does not understand. she knows that you have forsaken her--that is all."
-it was upon my tongue to lay bare to her the secret of my heart's longings, yet i hesitated. i remembered that calm, serious, sweet-faced woman on the other side of the english channel, far from the glare and glitter of life as i knew it--the fevered life which the diplomat in paris is forced to lead. i remembered my troth to edith, and my conscience pricked me.
-"could it be possible," i reflected, "that yolande was really in the pay of a government hostile to england?" kaye was already nearing berlin with the intention of searching out her actions and exposing her as a spy, while anderson had already denounced her as having been a party to an attempt to secure the secret which he had carried from berlin to downing street.
-with a mother's solicitude the countess could for some time only speak of yolande's mysterious attack; but at last, in order to prosecute my inquiries further, i observed, during a lull in the conversation:
-"at the baroness de chalencon's last night a friend of yours inquired about you, madame."
-"a friend? who?"
-"a man named wolf--rodolphe wolf."
-the next instant i saw that the mention of that name affected the mother no less markedly than it had affected the daughter. her face blanched; her eyes opened wide in fear, and her glance became in a moment suspicious. with marvellous self-possession she, however, pretended ignorance.
-"wolf?" she repeated. "i do not remember the name. possibly he is some person we have met while travelling."
-"yolande knew him, i believe, in brussels," i remarked. "he appeared to be acquainted with you."
-"my daughter's friends are not always mine," she remarked coldly, with that cleverness which only a woman of the world can possess, and at once returned to the discussion of yolande and the probability of her recovery.
-this puzzled me. i felt somehow convinced that she knew the truth. she had some distinct object in endeavouring to seal my lips. what it was, however, i could not determine.
-she was expressing a fervent hope that her daughter would recover, and pacing the room, impatient to go to her bedside, when, of a sudden, dick opened the door, and, putting his head inside, addressed me, saying:
-"can i speak with you a moment, ingram?" she dashed to the door in eagerness, but after a word of introduction from myself, he informed her that yolande had not sufficiently recovered to be disturbed.
-"perfect quiet is absolutely necessary, madame," he urged. "your daughter, i am pleased to tell you, will live; but she must be kept absolutely quiet. i cannot allow you to approach her on any pretext whatsoever."
-"she will not die, will she?" the woman implored distractedly.
-"no," he replied, in a voice somewhat strained, i thought, "she will not die. of that you may rest assured."
-then turning to me, he beckoned, and i followed him out of the room.
-the old love.
-"i don't like that woman, old fellow," were the first words dick uttered when we were alone in the room in which yolande had been found.
-"why not?" i asked, rather surprised. "the countess de foville is always charming."
-he shrugged his shoulders, saying:
-"one sometimes has strange and unaccountable prejudices, you know. this is one of mine."
-"and yolande," i asked, "what of her?"
-"she's better. but it was fortunate i made the discovery just when i did, or she would no doubt have passed away. i never saw an appearance so closely resembling death in all my experience; in fact, i'd have staked my professional reputation that there was no spark of life."
-"but what was the cause of it all?" i demanded. "you surely know the reason?"
-"no, we cannot yet tell," he answered. "the marks puzzle us. that mark on her lower lip is the most peculiar and unaccountable. at present we can say nothing."
-"then why did you call me out?"
-"because i want to consult you," he replied. "the fact is, that in this affair there is a strong element of mystery which i don't like at all. and, moreover, the few seconds during which i've seen the countess have plainly impressed upon me the belief that either she has had something to do with it, or else that she knows the truth."
-i nodded. this was exactly my own theory. "do you think yolande has been the victim of foul play?" i inquired a moment later.
-"that's my suspicion," he responded. "but only she herself can tell us the truth."
-"you really think, then, that a dastardly attempt has been made upon her life?" i cried incredulously.
-"personally, i think there can be no doubt."
-"but by whom? no one called here after my departure."
-"it is that mystery which we must elucidate," he said. "all i fear is, however, that she may render us no assistance."
-"because it is a mystery, and in all probability she will endeavour to preserve the secret. she must not see the countess before we question her."
-"is she yet conscious?" i asked in eagerness.
-"yes; but at present we must put no question to her."
-"thank heaven!" i gasped. then i added, fervently grasping my friend's hand: "you cannot realise, dick, what great consolation this is to me!"
-"i know, my dear fellow--i know," he answered sympathetically. "but may i speak to you as a friend? you won't be offended at anything i am about to say, will you?"
-"offended?--certainly not. our friendship is too firm for that, dick. what is it you wish to say?"
-i saw that he was uneasy, and was surprised at his sudden gravity.
-"well," he said, after a moment's hesitation, "you'll forgive me for saying so, but i don't think that in this affair you've told me exactly the truth."
-"what do you mean?" i inquired quickly.
-"i mean that when you parted from her this afternoon you were not altogether good friends."
-"you are mistaken," i assured him. "we were as good friends as ever before."
-"no high words passed between you?"
-"and nothing that you told her caused her any sudden grief? are you quite certain of this?" he asked, looking at me very fixedly through his glasses.
-"i made one observation which certainly caused her surprise," i admitted. "nothing else."
-"was it only surprise?" he asked very calmly.
-"surprise mingled with fear."
-"ah!" he ejaculated, as though obtaining some intelligence by this admission of mine. "and may i not know the nature of the information you gave her?"
-"no, dick," i responded. "it is a secret--her secret."
-he was silent.
-"you refuse to tell me?" he said disappointedly.
-"i am unable," i replied.
-"and if i judge rightly, it is this secret which has parted you?"
-"no, it is not," i answered. "that's the most curious part of the whole affair. the very existence of the secret has brought us together again."
-"you mean that you have forsaken edith and returned to her?" he observed, raising his brows slightly in surprise.
-"no; don't put it in that way," i implored. "i have not yet forsaken edith."
-he smiled, just a trifle superciliously, i thought.
-"and the countess is also in possession of this mysterious secret--eh?"
-"of that i am not at all certain," i replied.
-he sniffed in distinct suspicion that what i had told him was not the truth. at the same instant, however, the countess entered and demanded to know the condition of her child.
-"she is much better, madame," he answered. "perfect quiet is, however, necessary, and constant observation of the temperature. to-morrow, or the day after, you may, i think, see her."
-"not till then!" she cried. "i cannot wait so long."
-"but it is necessary. your daughter's life hangs upon a single thread."
-she was silenced, for she saw that argument was useless.
-a few minutes later jean entered with a message from trepard asking dick and myself to consult with him. we therefore left the countess again, and passed along the corridor to the room in which my love of long ago was lying. as we entered she lifted her hand slowly to me in sign of recognition, and in an instant i was at her side.
-"yolande!" i cried, taking her hand, so different now that death had been defeated by life. "yolande! my darling," i burst forth involuntarily, "you have come back to me!"
-a sweet, glad smile spread over her beautiful face, leaving an expression of calm and perfect contentment, as in a low, uncertain voice, as though of one speaking afar off, she asked:
-"gerald, is it actually you?"
-"yes," i said, "of course it is. these two gentlemen are doctors," i added. "this is my old friend deane; and the other is doctor trepard, of whom i daresay you have heard."
-she nodded to them both in acknowledgment of their kind expressions; then in a few low words inquired what had happened to her. she seemed in utter ignorance of it all.
-"you were found lying on the floor of the little salon soon after i left, and they thought you were dead," i explained. "cannot you tell us how it occurred?"
-a puzzled expression settled upon her face, as though she were trying to remember.
-"i recollect nothing," she declared.
-"but you surely remember how you were attacked?" i urged.
-"attacked!" she echoed in surprise. "no one attacked me."
-"i did not mean that," i answered, rather puzzled at her quick protest. "i meant that you were probably aware of the symptoms which preceded your unconsciousness."
-"i felt a strange dizziness and a curious tightness in the throat and chest. that is all i remember. all became blank until i opened my eyes again and found myself lying here, with these two gentlemen standing at my side. the duration of my unconsciousness did not appear to me longer than a few minutes."
-"then mademoiselle has no idea of the cause of her strange illness?" inquired deane in french. "none whatever, m'sieur."
-"tell us one fact," he urged. "during the time which elapsed between your parting with m'sieur ingram and your sudden unconsciousness, did anyone enter the room?"
-"no one; of that i am absolutely certain."
-"how were you occupied during that time?"
-"i was writing a letter."
-"and before you rose did you feel the curious giddiness?"
-"curious!" ejaculated trepard, who stood by with folded arms, eagerly listening to every word--"very curious!"
-"did you feel any strange sensation on the left side of your neck beneath the ear, or upon your lower lip?" inquired deane earnestly.
-she reflected for a moment, then said:
-"followed immediately by unconsciousness?"
-"yes, almost immediately."
-the doctors exchanged glances, which showed that the mark upon the lip was the chief enigma of the situation.
-trepard glanced at his watch, dissolved yet another pillule of hydrated peroxide of iron, and handed her the draught to swallow. the antidote had acted almost like magic.
-"you are absolutely certain that no person entered the room after ingram had left?" repeated deane, as though not yet satisfied.
-dick deane turned his eyes full upon me, and i divined his thoughts. he was reflecting upon the conversation held between us before we entered that room. he was endeavouring to worm from her some clue to her secret.
-"my mother knows that i am recovering?" she went on. "if she does not, please tell her. she has been so distressed of late that this must have been the crowning blow to her."
-"i have told madame your mother everything," i said. "do not be uneasy on her account."
-"ah," she sighed, "how i regret that we came to paris! i regret it all, gerald, save that you and i have met again;" and she stretched out her hand until it came into contact with my coat-button, with which she toyed like a child.
-"and this meeting has really given you satisfaction?" i whispered to her, heedless of the presence of the others.
-"not only satisfaction," she answered, so softly that i alone could catch her words, and looking into my face with that expression of passionate affection which can never be simulated; "it has given back to me a desire for happiness, for life, for love."
-at the elysee.
-having reassured myself of yolande's recovery, i was compelled to rush off, slip into uniform, and attend a dinner at the elysee. the function was a brilliant affair, as are all the official junketings of the french president. at the right of the head of the republic, who was distinguishable by his crimson sash, sat the countess tornelli, with the wife of the united states ambassador on his left. the president's wife--who wore a superb gown of corn-coloured miroir velvet, richly embroidered and inlaid with venetian lace, a veritable triumph of the rue de la paix--had on her right the papal nuncio, monsignor lerenzelli, the doyen of the diplomatic corps, while on her left was my chief, lord barmouth.
-the seat next me was allotted to his daughter sibyl, who looked charming in rose chiffon. during dinner she chatted merrily, describing a charity bazaar which she had attended that afternoon accompanied by her mother. on the other side of her sat count berchtold, the secretary of the austrian embassy, who was, i shrewdly suspected, one of her most devoted admirers. she was charming--a typical, smart english girl; and i think that i was proved to be an exception among men by reason of the fact that i did not flirt with her. indeed, we were excellent friends, and my long acquaintance with her gave me a prescriptive right to a kind of brotherly solicitude for her welfare. times without number i had chaffed her about her little affairs of the heart, and as many times she had turned my criticisms against myself by her witty repartee. she could be exceedingly sarcastic when occasion required; but there had always been a perfect understanding between us, and no remark was ever distorted into an insult.
-dinner was followed by a brilliant reception. the great salon des fetes, which only a year before was hung with funeral wreaths, owing to the death of the previous president, resounded with that peculiar hum made up of all the intonations of conversation and discreet laughter rolled together against the sustained buzzing of the orchestra a short distance away. the scene was one of glittering magnificence. everyone knew everyone else. through the crowd of uniforms--which always give an official reception at the elysee the appearance of a bal travesti--i passed monsieur casimir perrier, former president of the republic; monsieur paul deschanel, the lion of the hour; monsieur benjamin-constant, always a prominent figure; prince roland bonaparte, smiling and bowing; the duchess d'auerstadt, with her magnificent jewels; and damat, the dapper grand chancellor of the legion of honour. all diplomatic paris was there, chattering, laughing, whispering, and plotting. around me sounded a veritable babel of tongues, but no part of the function interested me.
-from time to time i saluted a man i knew, or bent over a woman's hand; but my thoughts were of the one woman who had so suddenly and so forcibly returned into my life. the representatives of the powers of europe were all present, and as they passed me by, each in his bright uniform, his orders flashing on his breast and a woman on his arm, i asked myself which of them was actually the employer of my well-beloved.
-the startling events of the day had upset me. had it been possible i would have left and returned to my rooms for a quiet smoke and for calm reflection. but my duty required my presence there; hence i remained, strolling slowly around the great crowded salon with its myriad lights and profuse floral decorations, until i suddenly encountered the wizen-faced, toothless old baronne de chalencon, whose salon was one of the most popular in paris, and with whom i was on excellent terms.
-"ah! my dear m'sieur ingram!" she cried, holding forth her thin, bony hand laden with jewels. "you look tired. why? no one here to-night who interests you--eh?"
-"no one save yourself, baronne," i responded, bending over her hand.
-"flatterer!" she laughed. "if i were forty years younger i might accept that as a compliment. but at my age--well, it is really cruel of you."
-"intelligence is more interesting to a diplomat than a pretty face," i responded quickly. "and there is certainly no more intelligent woman in all paris than the baronne de chalencon."
-she bowed stiffly, and her wrinkled face, which bore visible traces of poudre orchidee and touches of the hare's-foot, puckered up into a simpering smile.
-"well, and what else?" she asked. "these speeches you have apparently prepared for some pretty woman you expected to meet here to-night, but, since she has not kept the appointment, you are practising them upon me."
-"no," i said, "i really protest against that, baronne. a woman is never too old for a man to pay her compliments."
-we had strolled into a cool ante-room, and were sitting together upon one of the many seats placed beneath clumps of palms and flowers, the only light being from a hundred tiny electric lamps hung overhead in the trees. the perfect arrangement of those ante-rooms of the salle des fetes on the nights of the official receptions is always noteworthy, and after the heat, music, and babel of tongues in the grand salon it was cool, quiet, and refreshing there.
-by holding her regular salon, where everybody who was anybody made it a point to be seen, the baronne had acquired in paris a unique position. her fine house in the avenue des champs elysees was the centre of a smart and fashionable set, and she herself made a point of being versed in all the latest gossip and scandal of the french capital. she scandalised nobody, nor did she seek to throw mud at her enemies. she merely repeated what was whispered to her; hence a chat with her was always interesting to one who, like myself, was paid to keep his ears open and report from time to time the direction of the political wind.
-tournier, the french minister of foreign affairs, and his wife were her most intimate friends; hence she was frequently aware of facts which were of considerable importance to us. indeed, once or twice her friendliness for myself had caused her to drop hints which had been of the greatest use to lord barmouth in the conduct of his difficult diplomacy at that time when the boulevard journals were screaming against england and the filthy prints were caricaturing her majesty, with intent to insult. even the figaro--the moderate organ of the french foreign office--had lost its self-control in the storm of abuse following the fashoda incident, and had libelled and maligned "les english." i therefore seized the opportunity for a chat with the wizen-faced old lady, who seemed in a particularly good-humour, and deftly turned the conversation into the political channel.
-"now, tell me, baronne," i said, after we had been chatting some little time, and i had learnt more than one important fact regarding the intentions of tournier, "what is your opinion regarding the occupation of ceuta?"
-she glanced at me quickly, as though surprised that i should be aware of what she had believed to be an entire secret.
-"of ceuta?" she echoed. "and what do you at your embassy know regarding it?"
-"we've heard a good deal," i laughed.
-"no doubt you've heard a good deal that is untrue," the clever old lady replied, her powdered face again puckering into a smile. "do you want to know my honest opinion?" she added.
-"yes, i do."
-"well," she went on, "i attach very little importance to the rumours of a projected sale or lease of ceuta to us. i might tell you in confidence," she went on, dropping her voice, "that from some words i overheard at the garden-party at de wolkenstein's i have come to a firm conclusion that, although during the next few years important changes will be made upon the map of the world, ceuta will remain spanish. my country will never menace yours in the mediterranean at that point. a ministry might be found in madrid to consider the question of its disposal, but the spanish people would rise in revolution before they would consent. spain is very poor, but very proud. having lost so many of her foreign possessions, she will hold more strongly than ever to ceuta. there you have the whole situation in a nutshell."
-"then the report that it is actually sold to france is untrue?" i asked eagerly.
-"a mere report i believe it to be."
-"but spain's financial indebtedness to france might prove an element of danger when europe justifies lord beaconsfield's prediction and rushes into war over morocco?"
-"ah, my dear m'sieur ingram, i do not agree with the prediction of your great statesman," the old lady said vehemently. "it is not in that direction in which lies the danger of war, but at the other end of the mediterranean."
-somehow i suspected her of a deliberate intention to mislead me in this matter. she was a shrewd woman, who only disclosed her secrets when it was to her own interests or the interests of her friends at the ministry of foreign affairs to do so. in paris there is a vast network of french intrigue, and it behoves the diplomatist always to be wary lest he should fall into the pitfalls so cunningly prepared for him. the dividing line between truth and untruth is always so very difficult to define in modern diplomacy. it is when the european situation seems most secure that the match is sufficiently near to fire the mine. fortunate it is that the public, quick to accept anything that appears in the daily journals, can be placed in a sense of false security by articles inspired by one or other of the embassies interested. if it were not so, european panics would certainly be of frequent occurrence.
-my chief sauntered by, chatting with his close personal friend, prince olsoufieff, the russian ambassador, who looked a truly striking figure in his white uniform, with the cross of st. andrew glittering at his throat. the latter, as he passed, exclaimed confidentially in russian to my chief, who understood that language, having been first secretary of embassy in petersburg earlier in his career:
-"da, ya po-ni-mai-u. ya sam napishu." ("yes, i understand. i will write for you myself.")
-keen antagonists in diplomacy though they very often were, yet in private life a firm friendship existed between the pair--a friendship dating from the days when the one had been british attache in petersburg and the other had occupied a position in the russian ministry of foreign affairs--that large grey building facing the winter palace.
-"the lion and the bear strolling together," laughed the toothless old baronne, after they had passed. "olsoufieff is a charming man, but he never accepts my invitations. i cannot tell why. i don't fancy he considers me his friend."
-"sibyl was at your reception the other evening," i remarked suddenly. "she told me she met a man who was a stranger in paris. his name, i think she said, was wolf--rodolphe wolf. who is he?"
-"he was introduced by de wolkenstein, the austrian ambassador," she replied quickly. "i did not know him."
-"have you never met him before?" i asked, looking sharply into her eyes.
-"once, i think, but i am not certain," she said, with a palpable effort to evade my question.
-"come, madame," i said good-humouredly, "you know rodolphe wolf quite as well as i do. when you last met, his name was not wolf. is not that so?"
-"well," she answered, "now that you put it in that manner i may as well admit that your suggestion is correct."
-"and what is the object of his sudden visit to paris?"
-"i cannot make out," she replied in a more confidential tone. "as i tell you, de wolkenstein introduced him, but, as m'sieur knows, i am very quick to detect a face that i have once seen, and i recognised him in an instant."
-"sibyl told me that he had a long chat with her, and she described him as a most charming fellow."
-"ah, no doubt! i suspected him and watched. it was evident that he came to my salon in order to meet her."
-"to meet sibyl! why?"
-"that i cannot tell."
-"but i think, baronne, we may be both agreed upon one point."
-"and that is?"
-"that the man who now calls himself rodolphe wolf is here in paris with some secret motive."
-"i am entirely in accord, m'sieur--quite. some steps must at once be taken to ascertain that man's motives."
-"it seems curious that he should have been introduced for the purpose of meeting sibyl. what information did he want from her?"
-"how can we tell? you know better than myself whether she ever knows any secrets of the embassy."
-"she knows nothing,--of that i am absolutely convinced," i responded. "her father is devoted to her; but, nevertheless, he is one of those strict diplomatists who do not believe in trusting women with secrets."
-"yet wolf had a distinct object in making a good impression upon her," she said reflectively.
-"no doubt. as soon as she returned she began to talk of him."
-and next instant i recollected the strange effect the news of his arrival in paris had had upon yolande, and the curiously tragic event which had subsequently occurred. all was puzzling--all inscrutable.
-a silence fell between us. i was revolving in my mind whether i should ask this wizen-faced old leader of society a further question. with sudden resolve i turned to her again and asked:
-"o baronne, i had quite forgotten. do you chance to know the countess de foville, of brussels? they have a chateau down in the ardennes, and move in the best set in belgium?"
-"de foville? de foville?" she repeated. "what, do you mean the mother of that little witch yolande?"
-"yes. but why do you call her a witch?" i demanded, with feigned laughter.
-"why?" cried the old woman, the expression of her face growing dark with displeasure. "well, i do not know whether she is a friend of yours, but all i can tell you is that should she be, the best course for you to pursue is to cut her acquaintance."
-"what do you mean?" i gasped.
-"i mean exactly what i have said."
-"but i don't understand," i cried. "be more frank with me," i implored.
-"no," she answered in that hard voice, by which i knew that mention of yolande's name had displeased her. "remember that we are friends, and that sometimes we have interests in common. therefore, take this piece of advice from an old woman who knows."
-"knows that your friendship with the pretty yolande is dangerous-- extremely dangerous."
-next day, when the manservant asked me into the tiny boudoir in the rue de courcelles, i found yolande, in a pretty tea-gown of cream silk adorned with lace and ribbons, seated in an armchair in an attitude of weariness. the sun-shutters were closed, as on the previous day, for the heat in paris that july was insufferable, and in the dim light her wan figure looked very fair and fragile. the qualities which imparted to her a distinct individuality were the beautiful combination of the pastoral with the elegant--of simplicity with elevation--of spirit with sweetness.
-she gave vent to a cry of gladness as i entered, rose, and stretching out her hands in welcome, drew a seat for me close to her. i looked at her standing before me in her warm, breathing, human loveliness.
-"you are better, yolande? ah! how glad i am!" i commenced. "last night i believed that you were dead."
-"and if i had died would it really have mattered so very much to you?" she asked in a low, intense voice. "you have forgotten me for three whole years until now."
-"i know--i know!" i cried. "forgive me."
-"i have already forgiven," she said, allowing her hand still to remain in mine. "but i have been thinking to-day--thinking ever so much."
-her voice was weak and faltering, and i saw that she was not herself.
-"thinking of what?"
-"of you. i have been wondering whether, if i had died, you would have sometimes remembered me?"
-"remembered you?" i said earnestly. "why, of course, dearest. why do you speak in such a melancholy tone?"
-"because--well, because i am unhappy, gerald!" she cried, bursting into sudden tears. "ah! you do not know how i suffer--you can never know!"
-i bent and stroked her hair, that beautiful red-gold hair that i had so often heard admired in the great salons in brussels. it had been bound but lightly by her maid, and was secured by a blue ribbon. she had apologised for receiving me thus, but declared that her head ached, and it was easier so. doctor deane had called twice that morning, and had pronounced her entirely out of danger.
-"but why are you suffering?" i asked, caressing her and striving to charm away her tears. "cannot you confide in me?"
-she shook her head in despair, and her body was shaken by a convulsive sob.
-"surely there is confidence between us?" i urged. "do you not remember that day long ago when we walked one evening in the sunset hand-in-hand, as was our wont, along the river-path towards la roche? do you not remember how you told me that in future you would have no single secret from me?"
-"yes," she answered hoarsely, with an effort, "i recollect."
-"then you intend to break your promise to me?" i whispered earnestly. "surely you will not do this, yolande? you will not hide from me the cause of all this bitterness of yours?" she was silent. her breast, beneath its lace, rose quickly and fell again. her tear-filled eyes were fixed upon the carpet.
-"i would not break my promise," she said at last, clasping my hand convulsively and lifting her eyes to mine; "but, alas! it is now imperative."
-"i must suffer alone," she responded gloomily, shaking her head. her countenance was as pale as her gown, and she shivered as though she were cold, although the noonday heat was suffocating.
-"because you refuse to tell me anything or allow me to assist you?" i said. "this is not in accordance with the promise made and sealed by your lips on that evening long ago."
-"nor have your actions been in accordance with your own promise," she said slowly and distinctly.
-"to what do you refer?"
-"you told me that you loved me, gerald," she said in a deep voice, suddenly grown calm. "you swore by all you held most sacred that i was all the world to you, and that no one should come between us. yet past events have shown that you have forgotten those words of yours on the day when we idled in the bois beneath the trees. you, too, remember that day, do you not--the day when our lips met for the first time, and we both believed our path would in future be strewn with flowers? ah!" she sighed, "and what an awakening life has been to me since then!"
-"we parted because of your refusal to satisfy me as to the real state of your feelings towards the man who was my enemy," i said rather warmly.
-"but was it justifiable?" she asked in a tone of deep reproach and mingled sweetness. her blue eyes looked full upon me--those eyes that had held me in such fascination in the golden days of youth. "has any single fact which you have since discovered verified your suspicions? tell me truthfully;" and she leaned towards me in an attitude of deepest earnestness.
-"no," i answered honestly, "i cannot say that my suspicions have ever been verified."
-"and because of that you have returned to me when it is too late."
-"too late!" i cried. "what do you mean?"
-"exactly what i have said. you have come back to me when it is too late."
-"you speak in enigmas, yolande. why not be more explicit?"
-her pale lips trembled, her eyes were brimming with tears, her chilly hand quivered in mine. she did not speak for some moments, but at last said in a low, tremulous voice half choked by emotion:
-"once you loved me, gerald,--of that i feel confident; and i reciprocated your affection, god knows! our love was, perhaps, curious, inasmuch as you were english and i was of a different creed and held different ideas from those which you considered right. it is always the same with a man and woman of different nationality--there must be a give-and-take principle between them. between us, however, there was perfect confidence until, by a strange combination of circumstances--by a stroke of the sword of fate--that incident occurred which led to our estrangement."
-she paused, her blanched lips shut tight. "well?" i asked, "i am all attention. why is it too late now for me to make reparation for the past?"
-i loved her with all my soul. i was heedless of those words of the old baronne, of anderson's suspicions, and kaye's denunciation. even if she were a spy, i adored her. the fire of that old love had swept upon me, and i could not hold back, even though her touch might be as that of a leper and her lips venomous.
-"reparation is impossible," she answered hoarsely. "is not that sufficient?"
-"no, it is not sufficient," i answered clearly. "i will not be put off by such an answer."
-"it were better," she cried--"better that i had died yesterday than suffer like this. you rescued me from death only to torture me."
-her words aroused within me a distinct suspicion that her strange illness had been brought to pass because, using some mysterious means, she had made an attempt against her own life. i believed that she had suffered, and was still suffering, from the effects of some poison, the exact nature of which neither deane nor trepard could as yet determine.
-"i do not seek to torture you, dearest," i protested. "far from it. i merely want to know the truth, in order that i may share your unhappiness, as your betrothed ought to do."
-"but you are not my betrothed."
-"i was once."
-"but not now. you taunt me with breaking that promise which i made three years ago, yet you yourself it was who played me false--who left me for your prim, strait-laced english miss!"
-in an instant the truth was plain. she was aware that i had transferred my affections to edith! someone had told her--no doubt with a good many embellishments, or perhaps some scandalous story. in the salons through which we of the diplomatic circle are compelled to move, women's tongues are ever at work match-making and mischief-making. on the continent love and politics run always hand-in-hand. that is the reason why the most notorious of the demi-monde in paris, in vienna, and in berlin are the secret agents of their respective governments; and many are the honest men innocently denounced through jealousy and kindred causes. a false declaration of one or other of these unscrupulous spies has before now caused the downfall of a ministry or the disgrace of a noble and patriotic politician.
-"i know to whom you refer," i said, with bowed head, after a moment's pause. "it is currently reported that i love her. i have loved her. i do not seek to deny it. when a man sustains such a blow as i sustained before we parted, he often rushes to another woman for consolation. the influence of that second woman often prevents him from going to the bad altogether. it has been so in my case."
-"and you love her now?" she cried, the fire of fierce jealousy in her eyes. "you cannot deny it!"
-"i do deny it," i cried. "true, until yesterday i held her in esteem, even in affection; but it is not so now. all my love for you, yolande, has returned to me. our parting has rendered you dearer and sweeter to me than ever."
-"i cannot believe it," she exclaimed falteringly.
-"i swear that it is so. in all my life, although am compelled to treat women with courtesy and sometimes to affect flirtation, because of my profession as a diplomatist, i have loved only one woman--yourself;" and i raised her chilly hand to my lips, kissing it fervently.
-mine was no mere caprice at that moment. with an all-consuming passion i loved her, and was prepared on her account to make any sacrifice she demanded. let the reader remember what had already been told me, and reflect that, like many another man, i loved madly, and was heedless of any consequences that might follow. in this particular i was not alone. thousands before me had been allured to their ruin by a woman's eyes, just as thousands of brave women's hearts have been broken and their lives wrecked by men's false oaths of fidelity. i have heard wiseacres say that the woman only suffers in such cases; the man never. whether that rule proves always true will be shown in this strange story of my own love.
-she drew her hand away slowly, but forcibly, saying:
-"you cannot love two women. already you have shown a preference for a wife of your own people."
-"it is all over between us," i protested. "mine was a mere passing fancy, engendered, i think, by the loneliness i suffered when i lost you."
-"ah," (she smiled sadly), "that is all very well! a woman, when once played false by the man she loves and trusts, is never the same--never!"
-"then am i to understand, yolande, that you refuse to pardon me, or to accept my affection?"
-"i have already pardoned you," she faltered; "but to accept the love you once withdrew from me without just reason is, i regret to say, impossible."
-"you speak coldly, as though you were refusing a mere invitation to dinner, or something of no greater importance," i protested. "i offer you my whole heart, my love--nay, my life;" and i held her hand again, looking straight into those wonderful eyes, now so calm, so serious, that my gaze wavered before them.
-slowly she shook her head, and her trembling breast rose and fell again.
-"ours was a foolish infatuation," she answered with an effort. "it is best that we should both of us forget."
-"forget!" i cried. "but i can never forget you, yolande. you are my love. you are all the world to me."
-her eyes were grave, and i saw that tears stood in them.
-"no," she protested quietly; "do not say that. i cannot be any more to you than other women whom you meet daily. besides, i know well that in the diplomatic service marriage is a serious drawback to any save an ambassador."
-"when a man is in love as i am with you, dearest, he throws all thoughts of his career to the winds; personal interests are naught where true love is concerned."
-"you must not--nay, you shall not--wreck your future on my account," she declared in a low, intense voice. "it is not just either to yourself or to the englishwoman who loves you."
-"why do you taunt me with that, yolande?" i asked reproachfully. "i do not love her. i have never truly loved her. i was lonely after you had gone out of my life, and she was amusing,--that was all."
-"and now you find me equally amusing--eh?" she remarked, with just a touch of bitter sarcasm.
-"why should you be jealous of her?" i asked. "you might just as well be jealous of sibyl, lord barmouth's daughter."
-"with the latter you are certainly on terms of most intimate friendship," she answered with a smile. "i really wonder that i did not object to her in the days long ago."
-"ah!" i laughed, "you certainly had no cause. it is true that we have been good friends ever since the day when she arrived home from the convent-school at bruges, a prim young miss with her hair tied up with ribbon. thrown constantly together, as we were, i became her male confidant and intimate friend; hence my licence to give her counsel in many matters and sometimes to criticise those actions of which i don't approve."
-"then if that is so, you care a little for her--just a little? now admit it."
-"i don't admit anything of the kind," i answered frankly. "for five years we have been constantly together; and times without number, at lady barmouth's request, i have acted as her escort here and there, until she looks upon me as a kind of necessary appendage who has a right to chaff her about her flirtations and annoy her by judicious sarcasm. i don't entertain one single spark of love for her. in brief, she has developed into an essentially smart girl, in the true sense of the word, and by reason of our constant companionship knows that to attempt a flirtation with me would result in a most dismal failure. i accused her once, not long ago, of having designs upon my heart, whereupon she replied that to accomplish such a thing would be about as easy as to win the affection of the bronze neptune in the garden-fountain of the embassy."
-"you have been seen together a great deal of late?"
-"who told you so?"
-"a friend who knows you both." then she added: "from my information i hear that last season you danced so much with her and were so constantly at her side that people were talking of a match between you."
-"ridiculous!" i exclaimed. "of course gossips are always too ready to jump to ill-formed conclusions. as one of the staff of the embassy, and her most intimate male friend, it was only courtesy to take her beneath my care. when she had no other partner and wanted to dance, then she sometimes asked me. i think she did it to annoy me, for she knew that i was never fond of dancing."
-"do you remember the countess of flanders' balls at brussels--how we danced together?" she remarked.
-"remember them!" i echoed. "they were in the golden days when everything seemed to our eyes couleur de rose--the days when our love was perfect."
-she sighed again, but no word escaped her. she was, i knew, reflecting upon those blissful days and nights when we met here and there at all hours and at all the best houses in brussels, dining, lunching, dancing, and gossiping--together always.
-"will you not resolve to forget the past, yolande?" i asked fervently, taking her hand in mine again. "come, tell me that you will--that you will not hold me aloof like this? i cannot bear it--indeed i can't, for i love you;" and i bent until my lips touched her finger-tips.
-"you cannot? why?" i demanded, taken somewhat aback by her sudden attitude of determination.
-"i will not allow you to ruin yourself, gerald, on my account," she declared in a very low but calm voice.
-"but why should my love for you prove my ruin?" i cried madly. "the truth is that you do not love me. why not admit it at once?"
-"you are in error," she hastened to protest. "i do love you. i love you to-day with the same fond affection as i entertained for you until that day--fatal to me--when you turned your back upon me and left me. but, alas! we can never now be the same to one another as we were then." she paused for a moment to regain breath; then, pale-faced, with eyes filled with tears, she gripped my arm frantically, crying: "gerald, my love, hear me! these are my last words, but i pronounce them--i make confession--so that you may understand the barrier that now lies between us."
-"well," i said, "speak--tell me!"
-"ah!" she cried hoarsely, covering her face with her hands, "you wring this confession from me. i am the most unhappy girl in all the world. would that i were dead that it was all ended! if i did not love you, gerald, i should deceive you, and leave you to discover the truth after our marriage. but i cannot--i cannot! even though we shall part to-day for ever, i have resolved to be frank with you because i still have one single spark of honesty left within my heart!"
-"i don't understand," i exclaimed. "tell me."
-"then listen," she said in a hard, unnatural voice, after a few moments of hesitation. "when we were lovers in the old days i was, as you know, a pure, honest, upright woman, with thoughts only for my god and for yourself. but i am that no longer. i am unworthy your love, gerald. i am unfit to be your wife, and can never be--never!" and she threw herself upon the couch near by and burst into a flood of tears, while i stood there rigid as a statue.
-deane speaks his mind.
-an hour later i was seated in my room at the embassy staring blankly at the blotting-pad before me, utterly perplexed and bewildered. i loved yolande--nay, she was my idol; nevertheless she had firmly refused to allow me to resume my place at her side. at one moment it seemed to me as though she had actually made a sacrifice for my sake; yet at another i could not help regarding both her and her mother with distinct suspicion. my love's strange words were in themselves a sufficient self-condemnation. her service as a political agent had been secured by one or other of the powers--france, i suspected; and, to put it plainly, she was a spy!
-this knowledge had come upon me like a thunderbolt. of all the women i had known and least suspected of endeavouring to learn the secrets of our diplomacy, yolande was certainly the chief. the events which had culminated in her accepting this odious office were veiled in mystery. why had she done this? who had tempted her or forced her to it?
-those tears of hers, when she had made confession, were the tears of a woman in the depths of despair and degradation, and i, loving her so fondly, could not but allow my heart to go forth in sympathy. there was an affinity between us that i knew might some day prove fatal.
-but we had parted. she had announced her intention of leaving paris, accompanied by her mother, on the morrow, and had begged and implored that i would never seek her again.
-"i shall take care to evade you," she had said. "to-day we meet for the last time. we must each go our own way and strive our hardest to forget."
-ah! to forget would, i knew, be impossible. when a man has loved as ardently and intensely as i loved yolande, memories cling to him and are carried to the grave. you, reader, have loved in those half-forgotten days of long ago, and even now, with age creeping on, and, perchance, with grey hairs showing, sometimes give a passing thought to that fair one who in youth's golden days was your all in all. the sound of a song, the momentary perfume from a woman's chiffons as she passes, the sight of some long-forgotten scene, stirs the memory and recalls those hours of love and laziness when the world was so very pleasant and seemed to have been made for you alone. you recollect her sweet smile, her calm, womanly influence, her full red lips, and the fervency of her kisses. the tender memory to-day is sweet, even though it be tinged with bitterness, for you wonder whom she has married, and how she has fared; you wonder, too, if you will ever meet again, or whether she is already dead. the most charming reflection permitted to man is the memory of a half-forgotten love.
-i had been a fool. this bitter truth was forced upon me as i sat there ruminating. i had cast aside that patience and discretion which i, as a diplomatist, had carefully cultivated, and had actually contemplated marriage with a woman who had been denounced by kaye as a secret agent. my own peril had been a grave one indeed, and as i reflected i began to wonder how it was that i should have so completely lost my self-control. with the four transmitters. thus instrument a will be joined to segments 1, 5, 9, 13; instrument b to segments 2, 6, 10, 14; instrument c with segments 3, 7, 11, 15; and so on.
-along the top of the segments an arm, connected with the telegraph line to edinburgh, revolves at a uniform rate. for about 1/500 of a second it unites a segment with an instrument. if there are 150 segments on the “distributor,” and the arm revolves three times a second, each instrument will be put into contact with the line rather oftener than 110 times per second. and if the top speed of fifty words a minute is being worked to, each of the fifteen signals occurring in each second will be on the average divided among seven moments of contact.
-a similar apparatus at edinburgh receives the messages. it is evident that for the system to work satisfactorily, or even to escape dire confusion, the revolving arms must run at a level speed in perfect unison with one another. when the london arm is over segment 1, the edinburgh arm must cover the same number. the greatest difficulty in multiplex telegraphy has been to adjust the timing exactly.
-paul la cour of copenhagen invented for driving the arms a device called the phonic wheel, as its action was regulated by the vibrations of a tuning-fork. the wheel, made of soft iron, and toothed on its circumference, revolves at a short distance from the pole of a magnet. as often as a current enters the magnet the latter attracts the nearest tooth of the wheel; and if a regular series of currents pass through it the motion of the wheel will be uniform. m. la cour produced the regularity of current impulses in the motor magnet by means of a tuning-fork, which is unable to vibrate more than a certain number of times a second, and at each vibration closed a circuit sending current into the magnet. to get two tuning-forks of the same note is an easy matter; and consequently a uniformity of rotation at both london and edinburgh stations may be insured.
-so sensitive is this “interrupter” system that as many as sixteen messages can be sent simultaneously, which means that a single wire is conveying from 500 to 800 words a minute. we can easily understand the huge saving that results from such a system; the cost of instruments, interrupter, &c., being but small in proportion to that of a number of separate conductors.
-the word-sending capacity of a line may be even further increased by the use of automatic transmitters able to work much faster in signal-making than the human brain and hand. sir charles wheatstone’s automatic transmitter has long been used in the post-office establishments.
-the messages to be sent are first of all punched on a long tape with three parallel rows of perforations. the central row is merely for guiding the tape through the transmitting machine. the positions of the holes in the two outside rows relatively to each other determine the character of the signal to be sent. thus, when three holes (including the central one) are abreast, a morse “dot” is signified; when the left-hand hole is one place behind the right hand, a “dash” will be telegraphed.
-in the case of a long communication the matter is divided among a number of clerks operating punching machines. half-a-dozen operators could between them punch holes representing 250 to 300 words a minute; and the transmitter is capable of despatching as many in the same time, while it has the additional advantage of being tireless.
-the action of the transmitter is based upon the reversal of the direction or nature of current. the punched tape is passed between an oscillating lever, carrying two points, and plates connected with the two poles of the battery. as soon as a hole comes under a pin the pin drops through and makes a contact.
-at the receiving end the wire is connected with a coil wound round the pole of a permanent bar-magnet. such a magnet has what is known as a north pole and a south pole, the one attractive and the other repulsive of steel or soft iron. any bar of soft iron can be made temporarily into a magnet by twisting round it a few turns of a wire in circuit with the poles of a battery. but which will be the north and which the south pole depends on the direction of the current. if, then, a current passes in one direction round the north pole of a permanent magnet it will increase the magnet’s attractive power, but will decrease it if sent in the other direction.
-the “dot” holes punched in the tape being abreast cause first a positive and then a negative current following at a very short interval; but the “dash” holes not being opposite allow the positive current to occupy the wires for a longer period. consequently the morse marker rests for correspondingly unequal periods on the recording “tape,” giving out a series of dots and dashes, as the inker is snatched quickly or more leisurely from the paper.
-the wheatstone recorder has been worked up to 400 words a minute, and when two machines are by the multiplex method acting together this rate is of course doubled.
-as a speed machine it has, however, been completely put in the shade by a more recent invention of two hungarian electricians, anton pollak and josef virag, which combines the perforated strip method of transmission with the telephone and photography. the message is sent off by means of a punched tape, and is recorded by means of a telephonic diaphragm and light marking a sensitised paper.
-in 1898 the inventors made trials of their system for the benefit of the united electrical company of buda-pesth. the hungarian capital was connected by two double lines of wire with a station 200 miles distant, where the two sets were joined so as to give a single circuit of 400 miles in length. a series of tests in all weathers showed that the pollak-virag system could transmit as many as 100,000 words an hour over that distance.
-from hungary the inventors went to the united states, in which country of “records” no less than 155,000 words were despatched and received in the sixty minutes. this average--2580 words per minute, 43 per second--is truly remarkable! even between new york and chicago, separated by 950 odd miles, the wires kept up an average of 1000 per minute.
-the apparatus that produces these marvellous results is of two types. the one type records messages in the morse alphabet, the other makes clearly-written longhand characters. the former is the faster of the two, but the legibility of the other more than compensates for the decrease of speed by one-half.
-the morse alphabet method closely resembles the wheatstone system. the message is prepared for transmission by being punched on a tape. but there is this difference in the position of the holes, that whereas in the wheatstone method two holes are used for each dot and dash, only one is required in the pollak-virag. if to the right of the central guiding line it signifies a “dash,” if to the left, a “dot.”
-the “reversal-of-current” method, already explained, causes at the receiver end an increase or decrease in the power of a permanent magnet to attract or repel a diaphragm, the centre of which is connected by a very fine metal bar with the centre of a tiny mirror hinged at one side on two points. a very slight movement of the diaphragm produces an exaggerated movement of the mirror, which, as it tilts backwards and forwards, reflects the light from an electric lamp on to a lens, which concentrates the rays into a bright spot, and focuses them on to a surface of sensitised paper.
-in their earliest apparatus the inventors attached the paper to the circumference of a vertical cylinder, which revolved at an even pace on an axle, furnished at the lower end with a screw thread, so that the portion of paper affected by the light occupied a spiral path from top to bottom of the cylinder.
-in a later edition, however, an endless band of sensitised paper is employed, and the lamp is screened from the mirror by a horizontal mantle in which is cut a helical slit making one complete turn of the cylinder in its length. the mantle is rotated in unison with the machinery driving the sensitised band; and as it revolves, the spot at which the light from the filament can pass through the slit to the mirror is constantly shifting from right to left, and the point at which the reflected light from the mirror strikes the sensitised paper from left to right. at the moment when a line is finished, the right extremity of the mantle begins to pass light again, and the bright spot of light recommences its work at the left edge of the band, which has now moved on a space.
-the movements of the mirror backwards and forwards produce on the paper a zigzag tracing known as syphon-writing. the record, which is continuous from side to side of the band, is a series of zigzag up-and-down strokes, corresponding to the dots and dashes of the morse alphabet.
-the apparatus for transmitting longhand characters is more complicated than that just described. two telephones are now used, and the punched tape has in it five rows of perforations.
-if we take a copy-book and examine the letters, we shall see that they all occupy one, two, or three bands of space. for instance, a, between the lines, occupies one band; g, two bands; and f, three. in forming letters, the movements of the fingers trace curves and straight lines, the curves being the resultants of combined horizontal and vertical movements.
-messrs. pollak and virag, in order to produce curves, were obliged to add a second telephone, furnished also with a metal bar joined to the mirror, which rests on three points instead of on two. one of these points is fixed, the other two represent the ends of the two diaphragm bars, which move the mirror vertically and horizontally respectively, either separately or simultaneously.
-a word about the punched paper before going further. it contains, as we have said, five rows of perforations. the top three of these are concerned only with the up-and-down strokes of the letters, the bottom two with the cross strokes. when a hole of one set is acting in unison with a hole of the other set a composite movement or curve results.
-in order that the record shall not be a series of zigzags it is necessary that the return strokes in the vertical elements shall be on the same path as the out strokes; and as the point of light is continuously tending to move from left to right of the paper there must at times be present a counteracting tendency counterbalancing it exactly, so that the path of the light point is purely vertical. at other times not merely must the horizontal movements balance each other, but the right-to-left element must be stronger than the left-to-right, so that strokes such as the left curve of an e may be possible. to this end rows 4 and 5 of the perforations pass currents working the second telephone diaphragm, which moves the mirror on a vertical axis so that it reflects the ray horizontally.
-it will be noticed that the holes in rows 3, 4, 5 vary in size to permit the passage of currents during periods of different length. in this manner the little junction-hooks of such letters as r, w, v, b are effected.
-as fast as the sensitised paper strip is covered with the movements of the dancing spot of light it is passed on over rollers through developing and fixing chemical baths; so that the receiving of messages is purely automatic.
-the reader can judge for himself the results of this ingenious system as shown in a short section of a message transmitted by mr. pollak. the words shown actually occupied two seconds in transmission. they are beautifully clear.
-it is said that by the aid of a special “multiplex” device thirty sets of pollak-virag apparatus can be used simultaneously on a line! the reader will be able, by the aid of a small calculation, to arrive at some interesting figures as regards their united output.
-a common enough sight in any large town is a great sheaf of fine wires running across the streets and over the houses. if you traced their career in one direction you would find that they suddenly terminate, or rather combine into cables, and disappear into the recesses of a house, which is the telephone exchange. if you tracked them the other way your experience would be varied enough. some wires would lead you into public institutions, some into offices, some into snug rooms in private houses. at one time your journey would end in the town, at another you would find yourself roaming far into the country, through green fields and leafy lanes until at last you ran the wire to earth in some large mansion standing in a lordly park. perhaps you might have to travel hundreds of miles, having struck a “trunk” line connecting two important cities; or you might even be called upon to turn fish and plunge beneath the sea for a while, groping your way along a submarine cable.
-in addition to the visible overhead wires that traverse a town there are many led underground through special conduits. and many telephone wires never come out of doors at all, their object being to furnish communication between the rooms of the same house. the telephone and its friend, the electric-bell, are now a regular part of the equipment of any large premises. the master of the house goes to his telephone when he wishes to address the cook or the steward, or the head-gardener or the coachman. it saves time and labour.
-should he desire to speak to his town-offices he will, unless connected direct, “ring up” the exchange, into which, as we have seen, flow all the wires of the subscribers to the telephone system of that district. the ringing-up is usually done by rapidly turning a handle which works an electric magnet and rings a bell in the exchange. the operator there, generally a girl, demands the number of the person with whom the ringer wants to speak, rings up that number, and connects the wires of the two parties.
-in some exchanges, e.g. the new post-office telephone exchanges, the place of electric-bells is taken by lamps, to the great advantage of the operators, whose ears are thus freed from perpetual jangling. the action of unhooking the telephone receiver at the subscriber’s end sends a current into a relay which closes the circuit of an electric lamp opposite the subscriber’s number in the exchange. similarly, when the conversation is completed the action of hanging up the receiver again lights another lamp of a different colour, given the exchange warning that the wires are free again.
-in america, the country of automatic appliances, the operator is sometimes entirely dispensed with. a subscriber is able, by means of a mechanical contrivance, to put himself in communication with any other subscriber unless that subscriber is engaged, in which case a dial records the fact.
-the popularity of the telephone may be judged from the fact that in 1901 the national telephone company’s system transmitted over 807 millions of messages, as compared with 89 millions of telegrams sent over the post office wires. in america and germany, however, the telephone is even more universally employed than in england. in the thinly populated prairies of west america the farm-houses are often connected with a central station many miles off, from which they receive news of the outer world and are able to keep in touch with one another. we are not, perhaps, as a nation sufficiently alive to the advantages of an efficient telephone system; and on this account many districts remain telephoneless because sufficient subscribers cannot be found to guarantee use of a system if established. it has been seriously urged that much of our country depopulation might be counteracted by a universal telephone service, which would enable people to live at a distance from the towns and yet be in close contact with them. at present, for the sake of convenience and ease of “getting at” clients and customers, many business men prefer to have their homes just outside the towns where their business is. a cheap and efficient service open to every one would do away with a great deal of travelling that is necessary under existing circumstances, and by making it less important to live near a town allow people to return to the country.
-even norway has a good telephone system. the telegraph is little used in the more thinly inhabited districts, but the telephone may be found in most unexpected places, in little villages hidden in the recesses of the fiords. switzerland, another mountainous country, but very go-ahead in all electrical matters, is noted for the cheapness of its telephone services. at berne or geneva a subscriber pays £4 the first year, £2, 12s. the second year, and but £1, 12s. the third. contrast these charges with those of new york, where £15, 10s. to £49, 10s. is levied annually according to service.
-the telephone as a public benefactor is seen at its best at buda-pesth, the twin-capital of hungary. in 1893, one herr theodore buschgasch founded in that city a “newspaper”--if so it may be called--worked entirely on the telephone. the publishing office was a telephone exchange; the wires and instruments took the place of printed matter. the subscribers were to be informed entirely by ear of the news of the day.
-the telefon hirmondo or “telephonic newsteller,” as the “paper” was named, has more than six thousand subscribers, who enjoy their telephones for the very small payment of eighteen florins, or about a penny a day, for twelve hours a day.
-news is collected at the central office in the usual journalistic way by telephone, telegraph, and reporters. it is printed by lithography on strips of paper six inches wide and two feet long. these strips are handed to “stentors,” or men with powerful and trained voices, who read the contents to transmitting instruments in the offices, whence it flies in all directions to the ears of the subscribers.
-these last know exactly when to listen and what description of information they will hear, for each has over his receiver a programme which is rigidly adhered to. it must be explained at once that the telefon hirmondo is more than a mere newspaper, for it adds to its practical use as a first-class journal that of entertainer, lecturer, preacher, actor, political speaker, musician. the telefon offices are connected by wire with the theatres, churches, and public halls, drawing from them by means of special receivers the sounds that are going on there, and transmitting them again over the wires to the thousands of subscribers. the buda-pesthian has therefore only to consult his programme to see when he will be in touch with his favourite actor or preacher. the ladies know just when to expect the latest hints about the fashions of the day. nor are the children forgotten, for a special period is set aside weekly for their entertainment in the shape of lectures or concerts.
-the advertising fiend, too, must have his say, though he pays dearly for it. on payment of a florin the stentors will shout the virtues of his wares for a space of twelve seconds. the advertising periods are sandwiched in between items of news, so that the subscriber is bound to hear the advertisements unless he is willing to risk missing some of the news if he hangs up his receiver until the “puff” is finished.
-thanks to the telefon hirmondo the preacher, actor, or singer is obliged to calculate his popularity less by the condition of the seats in front of him than by the number of telephones in use while he is performing his part. on the other hand, the subscriber is spared a vast amount of walking, waiting, cab-hire, and expense generally. in fact, if the principle is much further developed, we shall begin to doubt whether a buda-pesthian will be able to discover reasons for getting out of bed at all if the receiver hanging within reach of his hand is the entrance to so many places of delight. will he become a very lazy person; and what will be the effect on his entertainers when they find themselves facing benches that are used less every day? will the sight of a row of telephone trumpets rouse the future liddon, patti, irving, or gladstone to excel themselves? it seems rather doubtful. telephones cannot look interested or applaud.
-what is inside the simple-looking receiver that hangs on the wall beside a small mahogany case, or rests horizontally on a couple of crooks over the case? in the older type of instrument the transmitter and receiver are separate, the former fixed in front of the case, the latter, of course, movable so that it can be applied to the ear. but improved patterns have transmitter and receiver in a single movable handle, so shaped that the earpiece is by the ear while the mouthpiece curves round opposite the mouth. by pressing a small lever with the fingers the one or the other is brought into action when required.
-the construction of the instrument, of which we are at first a little afraid, and with which we later on learn to become rather angry, is in its general lines simple enough. the first practical telephone, constructed in 1876 by graham bell, a scotchman, consisted of a long wooden or ebonite handle down the centre of which ran a permanent bar-magnet, having at one end a small coil of fine insulated wire wound about it the ends of the wire coil are led through the handles to two terminals for connection with the line wires. at a very short distance from the wire-wound pole of the magnet is firmly fixed by its edges a thin circular iron plate, covered by a funnel-shaped mouthpiece.
-the iron plate is, when at rest, concave, its centre being attracted towards the pole of the magnet. when any one speaks into the mouthpiece the sound waves agitate the diaphragm (or plate), causing its centre to move inwards and outwards. the movements of the diaphragm affect the magnetism of the magnet, sometimes strengthening it, sometimes weakening it, and consequently exciting electric currents of varying strength in the wire coil. these currents passing through the line wires to a similar telephone excite the coil in it, and in turn affect the magnetism of the distant magnet, which attracts or releases the diaphragm near its pole, causing undulations of the air exactly resembling those set up by the speaker’s words. to render the telephone powerful enough to make conversation possible over long distances it was found advisable to substitute for the one telephone a special transmitter, and to insert in the circuit a battery giving a much stronger current than could possibly be excited by the magnet in the telephone at the speaker’s end.
-edison in 1877 invented a special transmitter made of carbon. he discovered that the harder two faces of carbon are pressed together the more readily will they allow current to pass; the reason probably being that the points of contact increase in number and afford more bridges for the current.
-accordingly his transmitter contains a small disc of lampblack (a form of carbon) connected to the diaphragm, and another carbon or platinum disc against which the first is driven with varying force by the vibrations of the voice.
-the edison transmitter is therefore in idea only a modification of the microphone. it acts as a regulator of current, in distinction to the bell telephone, which is only an exciter of current. modern forms of telephones unite the edison transmitter with the bell receiver.
-the latter is extremely sensitive to electric currents, detecting them even when of the minutest power. we have seen that marconi used a telephone in his famous transatlantic experiments to distinguish the signals sent from cornwall. a telephone may be used with an “earth return” instead of a second wire; but as this exposes it to stray currents by induction from other wires carried on the same poles or from the earth itself, it is now usual to use two wires, completing the metallic circuit. even so a subscriber is liable to overhear conversations on wires neighbouring his own; the writer has lively recollections of first receiving news of the relief of ladysmith in this manner.
-owing to the self-induction of wires in submarine cables and the consequent difficulty of forcing currents through them, the telephone is at present not used in connection with submarine lines of more than a very moderate length. england has, however, been connected with france by a telephone cable from st. margaret’s bay to sangatte, 23 miles; and scotland with ireland, stranraer to donaghadee, 26 miles. the former cable enables speech between london and marseilles, a distance of 900 miles; and the latter makes it possible to speak from london to dublin viâ glasgow. the longest direct line in existence is that between new york and chicago, the complete circuit of which uses 1900 miles of stout copper wire, raised above the ground on poles 35 feet high.
-the efficiency of the telephone on a well laid system is so great that it makes very little difference whether the persons talking with one another are 50 or 500 miles apart. there is no reason why a cape-to-cairo telephone should not put the two extremities of africa in clear vocal communication. we may even live to see the day when a london business man will be able to talk with his agent in sydney, melbourne, or wellington.
-a step towards this last achievement has been taken by m. germain, a french electrician, who has patented a telephone which can be used with stronger currents than are possible in ordinary telephones; thereby, of course, increasing the range of speech on submarine cables.
-the telephone that we generally use has a transmitter which permits but a small portion of the battery power to pass into the wires, owing to the resistance of the carbon diaphragm. the weakness of the current is to a great extent compensated by the exceedingly delicate nature of the receiver.
-m. germain has reversed the conditions with a transmitter that allows a very high percentage of the current to flow into the wires, and a comparatively insensitive receiver. the result is a “loud-speaking telephone”--not a novelty, for edison invented one as long ago as 1877--which is capable of reproducing speech in a wonderfully powerful fashion.
-m. germain, with the help of special tubular receivers, has actually sent messages through a line having the same resistance as that of the london-paris line, so audibly that the words could be heard fifteen yards from the receiver in the open air!
-in days when wireless telegraphy is occupying such a great deal of the world’s attention, it is not likely to cause much astonishment in the reader to learn that wireless transmission of speech over considerable distances is an accomplished fact. we have already mentioned (see “wireless telegraphy”) that by means of parallel systems of wires sir william preece bridged a large air-gap, and induced in the one sounds imparted to the other.
-since then two other methods have been introduced; and as a preface to the mention of the first we may say a few words about graham bell’s photophone.
-in this instrument light is made to do the work of a metal connection between speaker and listener. professor bell, in arranging the photophone, used a mouthpiece as in his electric telephone, but instead of a diaphragm working in front of a magnet to set up electric impulses along a wire he employed a mirror of very thin glass, silvered on one side. the effect of sound on this mirror was to cause rapid alterations of its shape from concave to convex, and consequent variations of its reflecting power. a strong beam of light was concentrated on the centre of the mirror through a lens, and reflected by the mirror at an angle through another lens in the direction of the receiving instrument. the receiver consisted of a parabolic reflector to catch the rays and focus them on a selenium cell connected by an electric circuit with an ordinary telephone earpiece.
-on delivering a message into the mouthpiece the speaker would, by agitating the mirror, send a succession of light waves of varying intensity towards the distant selenium cell. selenium has the peculiar property of offering less resistance to electrical currents when light is thrown upon it than when it is in darkness: and the more intense is the light the less is the obstruction it affords. the light-waves from the mirror, therefore, constantly alter its capacity as a conductor, allowing currents to pass through the telephone with varying power.
-in this way professor bell bridged 800 yards of space; over which he sent, besides articulate words, musical notes, using for the latter purpose a revolving perforated disc to interrupt a constant beam of light a certain number of times per second. as the speed of the disc increased the rate of the light-flashes increased also, and produced in the selenium cell the same number of passages to the electric current, converted into a musical note by the receiver. so that by means of mechanical apparatus a “playful sunbeam” could literally be compelled to play a tune.
-luminous bodies give off heat. as the light increases, so as a general rule does the heat also. at present we are unable to create strong light without having recourse to heat to help us, since we do not know how to cause other vibrations of sufficient rapidity to yield the sensation of light. but we can produce heat directly, and heat will set atoms in motion, and the ether too, giving us light, but taking as reward a great deal of the energy exerted. now, the electric arc of a searchlight produces a large amount of light and heat. the light is felt by the eye at a distance of many miles, but the body is not sensitive enough to be aware of the heat emanating from the same source. mr. hayes has, however, found the heat accompanying a searchlight beam quite sufficient to affect a mechanical “nerve” in a far-away telephone receiver.
-the transmitting apparatus is a searchlight, through the back of which run four pairs of wires connected with a telephone mouthpiece after passing through a switch and resistance-box or regulator. the receiver is a concave mirror, in the focus of which is a tapering glass bulb, half filled with carbonised filament very sensitive to heat. the tapering end of the bulb projects through the back of the mirror into an ear tube.
-if a message is to be transmitted the would-be speaker turns his searchlight in the direction of the person with whom he wishes to converse, and makes the proper signals. on seeing them the other presents his mirror to the beam and listens.
-the speaker’s voice takes control of the searchlight beam. the louder the sound the more brilliantly glows the electric arc; the stronger becomes the beam, the greater is the amount of heat passed on to the mirror and gathered on the sensitive bulb. the filament inside expands. the tapering point communicates the fact to the earpiece.
-this operation being repeated many times a second the earpiece fills with sound, in which all the modulations of the far-distant voice are easily distinguishable.
-two sets of the apparatus above described are necessary for a conversation, the functions of the searchlight and the bulb not being reversible. but inasmuch as all large steamers carry searchlights the necessary installation may be completed at a small expense. mr. hayes’ invention promises to be a rival to wireless telegraphy over comparatively short distances. it can be relied upon in all weathers, and is a fast method of communication. like the photophone it illustrates the inter-relationship of the phenomena of sound, light, and heat, and the readiness with which they may be combined to attain an end.
-next we turn from air to earth, and to the consideration of the work of mr. a. f. collins of philadelphia. this electrician merely makes use of the currents flowing in all directions through the earth, and those excited by an electric battery connected with earth. the outfit requisite for sending wireless spoken messages consists of a couple of convenient stands, as many storage batteries, sets of coils, and receiving and transmitting instruments.
-the action of the transmitter is to send from the battery a series of currents through the coils, which transmit them, greatly intensified, to the earth by means of a wire connected with a buried wire-screen. the electric disturbances set up in the earth travel in all directions, and strike a similar screen buried beneath the receiving instrument, where the currents affect the delicate diaphragm of the telephone earpiece.
-the system is, in fact, upon all fours with mr. marconi’s, the distinguishing feature being that the ether of the atmosphere is used in the latter case, that of the earth in the former. the intensity coils are common to both; the buried screens are the counterpart of the aërial kites or balloons; the telephone transmitter corresponds to the telegraphic transmitting key; the earpiece to the coherer and relay. no doubt in time mr. collins will “tune” his instruments, so obtaining below ground the same sympathetic electric vibrations which mr. marconi, professor lodge, or others have employed to clothe their aërial messages in secrecy.
-even if thomas edison had not done wonders with electric lighting, telephones, electric torpedoes, new processes for separating iron from its ore, telegraphy, animated photography, and other things too numerous to mention, he would still have made for himself an enduring name as the inventor of the phonograph. he has fitly been called the “wizard of the west” from his genius for conjuring up out of what would appear to the multitude most unpromising materials startling scientific marvels, among which none is more truly wizard-like than the instrument that is as receptive of sound as the human ear, and of illimitable reproducing power. by virtue of its elfishly human characteristic, articulate speech, it occupies, and always will occupy, a very high position as a mechanical wonder. when listening to a telephone we are aware of the fact that the sounds are immediate reproductions of a living person’s voice, speaking at the moment and at a definite distance from us; but the phonographic utterances are those of a voice perhaps stilled for ever, and the difference adds romance to the speaking machine.
-the phonograph was born in 1876. as we may imagine, its appearance created a stir. a contributor to the times wrote in 1877: “not many weeks have passed since we were startled by the announcement that we could converse audibly with each other, although hundreds of miles apart, by means of so many miles of wire with a little electric magnet at each end.
-“another wonder is now promised us--an invention purely mechanical in its nature, by means of which words spoken by the human voice can be, so to speak, stored up and reproduced at will over and over again hundreds, it may be thousands, of times. what will be thought of a piece of mechanism by means of which a message of any length can be spoken on to a plate of metal--that plate sent by post to any part of the world and the message absolutely respoken in the very voice of the sender, purely by mechanical agency? what, too, shall be said of a mere machine, by means of which the old familiar voice of one who is no longer with us on earth can be heard speaking to us in the very tones and measure to which our ears were once accustomed?”
-the first edison machine was the climax of research in the realm of sound. as long ago as 1856 a mr. leo scott made an instrument which received the formidable name of phonautograph, on account of its capacity to register mechanically the vibrations set up in the atmosphere by the human voice or by musical instruments. a large metal cone like the mouth of an ear-trumpet had stretched across its smaller end a membrane, to which was attached a very delicate tracing-point working on the surface of a revolving cylinder covered with blackened paper. any sound entering the trumpet agitated the membrane, which in turn moved the stylus and produced a line on the cylinder corresponding to the vibration. scott’s apparatus could only record. it was, so to speak, the first half of the phonograph. edison, twenty years later, added the active half. his machine, as briefly described in the times, was simple; so very simple that many scientists must have wondered how they failed to invent it themselves.
-a metal cylinder grooved with a continuous square-section thread of many turns to the inch was mounted horizontally on a long axle cut at one end with a screw-thread of the same “pitch” as that on the cylinder. the axle, working in upright supports, and furnished with a heavy flywheel to render the rate of revolution fairly uniform, was turned by a handle. over the grooved cylinder was stretched a thin sheet of tinfoil, and on this rested lightly a steel tracing-point, mounted at the end of a spring and separated from a vibrating diaphragm by a small pad of rubber tubing. a large mouthpiece to concentrate sound on to the diaphragm completed the apparatus.
-to make a record with this machine the cylinder was moved along until the tracing-point touched one extremity of the foil. the person speaking into the mouthpiece turned the handle to bring a fresh surface of foil continuously under the point, which, owing to the thread on the axle and the groove on the cylinder being of the same pitch, was always over the groove, and burnished the foil down into it to a greater or less depth according to the strength of the impulses received from the diaphragm.
-the record being finished, the point was lifted off the foil, the cylinder turned back to its original position, and the point allowed to run again over the depressions it had made in the metal sheet. the latter now became the active part, imparting to the air by means of the diaphragm vibrations similar in duration and quality to those that affected it when the record was being made.
-it is interesting to notice that the phonograph principle was originally employed by edison as a telephone “relay.” his attention had been drawn to the telephone recently produced by graham bell, and to the evil effects of current leakage in long lines. he saw that the amount of current wasted increased out of proportion to the length of the lines--even more than in the proportion of the squares of their lengths--and he hoped that a great saving of current would be effected if a long line were divided into sections and the sound vibrations were passed from one to the other by mechanical means. he used as the connecting link between two sections a strip of moistened paper, which a needle, attached to a receiver, indented with minute depressions, that handed on the message to another telephone. the phonograph proper, as a recording machine, was an after-thought.
-edison’s first apparatus, besides being heavy and clumsy, had in practice faults which made it fall short of the description given in the times. its tone was harsh. the records, so far from enduring a thousand repetitions, were worn out by a dozen. to these defects must be added a considerable difficulty in adjusting a record made on one machine to the cylinder of another machine.
-edison, being busy with his telephone and electric lamp work, put aside the phonograph for a time. graham bell, his brother, chichester bell, and charles sumner tainter, developed and improved his crude ideas. they introduced the graphophone, using easily removable cylinder records. for the tinfoil was substituted a thin coating of a special wax preparation on light paper cylinders. clockwork-driven motors replaced the hand motion, and the new machines were altogether more handy and effective. as soon as he had time edison again entered the field. he conceived the solid wax cylinder, and patented a small shaving apparatus by means of which a record could be pared away and a fresh surface be presented for a new record.
-the phonograph or graphophone of to-day is a familiar enough sight; but inasmuch as our readers may be less intimately acquainted with its construction and action than with its effects, a few words will now be added about its most striking features.
-in the first place, the record remains stationary while the trumpet, diaphragm and stylus pass over it. the reverse was the case with the tinfoil instrument.
-the record is cut by means of a tiny sapphire point having a circular concave end very sharp at the edges, to gouge minute depressions into the wax. the point is agitated by a delicate combination of weights and levers connecting it with a diaphragm of french glass 1/140 inch thick. the reproducing point is a sapphire ball of a diameter equal to that of the gouge. it passes over the depressions, falling into them in turn and communicating its movements to a diaphragm, and so tenderly does it treat the records that a hundred repetitions do not inflict noticeable damage.
-to understand the inner working of the phonograph the reader must be acquainted with the theory of sound. all sound is the result of impulses transmitted by a moving body usually reaching the ear through the medium of the air. the quantity of the sound, or loudness, depends on the violence of the impulse; the tone, or note, on the number of impulses in a given time (usually fixed as one second); and the quality, or timbre, as musicians say, on the existence of minor vibrations within the main ones.
-if we were to examine the surface of a phonograph record (or phonogram) under a powerful magnifying glass we should see a series of scoops cut by the gouge in the wax, some longer and deeper than others, long and short, deep and shallow, alternating and recurring in regular groups. the depth, length, and grouping of the cuts decides the nature of the resultant note when the reproducing sapphire point passes over the record--at a rate of about ten inches a second.
-the study of a tracing made on properly prepared paper by a point agitated by a diaphragm would enable us to understand easily the cause of that mysterious variation in timbre which betrays at once what kind of instrument has emitted a note of known pitch. for instance, let us take middle c, which is the result of a certain number of atmospheric blows per second on the drum of the ear. the same note may come from a piano, a violin, a banjo, a man’s larynx, an organ, or a cornet; but we at once detect its source. it is scarcely imaginable that a piano and a cornet should be mistaken for one another. now, if the tracing instrument had been at work while the notes were made successively it would have recorded a wavy line, each wave of exactly the same length as its fellows, but varying in its outline according to the character of the note’s origin. we should notice that the waves were themselves wavy in section, being jagged like the teeth of a saw, and that the small secondary waves differed in size.
-the minor waves are the harmonics of the main note. some musical instruments are richer in these harmonics than others. the fact that these delicate variations are recorded as minute indentations in the wax and reproduced is a striking proof of the phonograph’s mechanical perfection.
-furthermore, the phonograph registers not only these composite notes, but also chords or simultaneous combinations of notes, each of which may proceed from a different instrument. in its action it here resembles a man who by constant practice is able to add up the pounds, shillings, and pence columns in his ledger at the same time, one wave system overlapping and blending with another.
-the phonograph is not equally sympathetic with all classes of sounds. banjo duets make good records, but the guitar gives a poor result. similarly, the cornet is peculiarly effective, but the bass drum disappointing. the deep chest notes of a man come from the trumpet with startling truth, but the top notes on which the soprano prides herself are often sadly “tinny.” the phonograph, therefore, even in its most perfect form is not the equal of the exquisitely sensitive human ear; and this may partially be accounted for by the fact that the diaphragm in both recorder and reproducer has its own fundamental note which is not in harmony with all other notes, whereas the ear, like the eye, adapts itself to any vibration.
-yet the phonograph has an almost limitless répertoire. it can justly be claimed for it that it is many musical instruments rolled into one. it will reproduce clearly and faithfully an orchestra, an instrumental soloist, the words of a singer, a stump orator, or a stage favourite. consequently we find it every where--at entertainments, in the drawing-room, and even tempting us at the railway station or other places of public resort to part with our superfluous pence. at the london hippodrome it discourses to audiences of several thousand persons, and in the nursery it delights the possessors of ingeniously-constructed dolls which, on a button being pressed and concealed machinery being brought into action, repeat some well-known childish melody.
-it must not be supposed that the phonograph is nothing more than a superior kind of scientific toy. more serious duties than those of mere entertainment have been found for it.
-at the last presidential election in the states the phonograph was often called upon to harangue large meetings in the interests of the rival candidates, who were perhaps at the time wearing out their voices hundreds of miles away with the same words.
-since the pronunciation of a foreign language is acquired by constant imitation of sounds, the phonograph, instructed by an expert, has been used to repeat words and phrases to a class of students until the difficulties they contain have been thoroughly mastered. the sight of such a class hanging on the lips--or more properly the trumpet--of a phonograph gifted with the true parisian accent may be common enough in the future.
-as a mechanical secretary and substitute for the shorthand writer the phonograph has certainly passed the experimental stage. its daily use by some of the largest business establishments in the world testify to its value in commercial life. many firms, especially american, have invested heavily in establishing phonograph establishments to save labour and final expense. the manager, on arriving at his office in the morning, reads his letters, and as the contents of each is mastered, dictates an answer to a phonograph cylinder which is presently removed to the typewriting room, where an assistant, placing it upon her phonograph and fixing the tubes to her ears, types what is required. it is interesting to learn that at ottawa, the seat of the canadian government, phonographs are used for reporting the parliamentary proceedings and debates.
-there is therefore a prospect that, though the talking-machine may lose its novelty as an entertainer, its practical usefulness will be largely increased. and while considering the future of the instrument, the thought suggests itself whether we shall be taking full advantage of mr. edison’s notable invention if we neglect to make records of all kinds of intelligible sounds which have more than a passing interest. if the records were made in an imperishable substance they might remain effective for centuries, due care being taken of them in special depositories owned by the nation. to understand what their value would be to future generations we have only to imagine ourselves listening to the long-stilled thunder of earl chatham, to the golden eloquence of burke, or the passionate declamations of mrs. siddons. and in the narrower circle of family interests how valuable a part of family heirlooms would be the phonograms containing a vocal message to posterity from grandfather this, or great-aunt that, whose portraits in the drawing-room album do little more than call attention to the changes in dress since the time when their subjects faced the camera!
-record-making and manufacture.--phonographic records are of two shapes, the cylindrical and the flat, the latter cut with a volute groove continuously diminishing in diameter from the circumference to the centre. flat records are used in the gramophone--a reproducing machine only. their manufacture is effected by first of all making a record on a sheet of zinc coated with a very thin film of wax, from which the sharp steel point moved by the recording diaphragm removes small portions, baring the zinc underneath. the plate is then flooded with an acid solution, which eats into the bared patches, but does not affect the parts still covered with wax. the etching complete, the wax is removed entirely, and a cast or electrotype negative record made from the zinc plate. the indentations of the original are in this represented by excrescences of like size; and when the negative block is pressed hard down on to a properly prepared disc of vulcanite or celluloid, the latter is indented in a manner that reproduces exactly the tones received on the “master” record.
-cylindrical records are made in two ways, by moulding or by copying. the second process is extremely simple. the “master” cylinder is placed on a machine which also rotates a blank cylinder at a short distance from and parallel to the first. over the “master” record passes a reproducing point, which is connected by delicate levers to a cutting point resting on the “blank,” so that every movement of the one produces a corresponding movement of the other.
-this method, though accurate in its results, is comparatively slow. the moulding process is therefore becoming the more general of the two. edison has recently introduced a most beautiful process for obtaining negative moulds from wax positives. owing to its shape, a zinc cylinder could not be treated like a flat disc, as, the negative made, it could not be detached without cutting. edison, therefore, with characteristic perseverance, sought a way of electrotyping the wax, which, being a non-conductor of electricity, would not receive a deposit of metal. the problem was how to deposit on it.
-any one who has seen a crookes’ tube such as is used for x-ray work may have noticed on the glass a black deposit which arises from the flinging off from the negative pole of minute particles of platinum. edison took advantage of this repellent action; and by enclosing his wax records in a vacuum between two gold poles was able to coat them with an infinitesimally thin skin of pure gold, on which silver or nickel could be easily deposited. the deposit being sufficiently thick the wax was melted out and the surface of the electrotype carefully cleaned. to make castings it was necessary only to pour in wax, which on cooling would shrink sufficiently to be withdrawn. the delicacy of the process may be deduced from the fact that some of the sibilants, or hissing sounds of the voice, are computed to be represented by depressions less than a millionth of an inch in depth, and yet they are most distinctly reproduced! cylinder records are made in two sizes, 2-1/2 and 5 inches in diameter respectively. the larger size gives the most satisfactory renderings, as the indentations are on a larger scale and therefore less worn by the reproducing point. one hundred turns to the inch is the standard pitch of the thread; but in some records the number is doubled.
-phonographs, graphophones, and gramophones are manufactured almost entirely in america, where large factories, equipped with most perfect plant and tools, work day and night to cope with the orders that flow in freely from all sides. one factory alone turns out a thousand machines a day, ranging in value from a few shillings to forty pounds each. records are made in england on a large scale; and now that the edison-bell firm has introduced the unbreakable celluloid form their price will decrease. by means of the edison electrotyping process a customer can change his record without changing his cylinder. he takes the cylinder to the factory, where it is heated, placed in the mould, and subjected to great pressure which drives the soft celluloid into the mould depressions; and behold! in a few moments “auld lang syne” has become “home, sweet home,” or whatever air is desired. thus altering records is very little more difficult than getting a fresh book at the circulating library.
-this instrument is a phonograph working entirely by means of light and electricity.
-the flame of an electric lamp is brought under the influence of sound vibrations which cause its brilliancy to vary at every alteration of pitch or quality.
-the light of the flame is concentrated through a lens on to a travelling photographic sensitive film, which, on development in the ordinary way, is found to be covered with dark and bright stripes proportionate in tone to the strength of the light at different moments. the film is then passed between a lamp and a selenium plate connected with an electric circuit and a telephone. the resistance of the selenium to the current varies according to the power of the light thrown upon it. when a dark portion of the film intercepts the light of the lamp the selenium plate offers high resistance; when the light finds its way through a clear part of the film the resistance weakens. thus the telephone is submitted to a series of changes affecting the “receiver.” as in the making of the record speech-vibrations affect light, and the light affects a sensitive film; so in its reproduction the film affects a sensitive selenium plate, giving back to a telephone exactly what it received from the sound vibrations.
-one great advantage of mr. ruhmer’s method is that from a single film any number of records can be printed by photography; another, that, as with the telegraphone (see below), the same film passed before a series of lamps successively is able to operate a corresponding number of telephones.
-the inventor is not content with his success. he hopes to record not merely sounds but even pictures by means of light and a selenium plate.
-having dealt with the phonograph and the telephone separately, we may briefly consider one or two ingenious combinations of the two instruments. the word telephonograph signifies an apparatus for recording sounds sent from a distance. it takes the place of the human listener at the telephone receiver.
-let us suppose that a reading subscriber wishes to converse along the wires with a friend in london, but that on ringing up his number he discovers that the friend is absent from his home or office. he is left with the alternative of either waiting till his friend returns, which may cause a serious loss of time, or of dictating his message, a slow and laborious process. this with the ordinary telephonic apparatus. but if the london friend be the possessor of a telephonograph, the person answering the call-bell can, if desired to do so, switch the wires into connection with it and start the machinery; and in a very short time the message will be stored up for reproduction when the absent friend returns.
-the telephonograph is the invention of mr. j. e. o. kumberg. the message is spoken into the telephone transmitter in the ordinary way, and the vibrations set up by the voice are caused to act upon a recording stylus by the impact of the sound waves at the further end of the wires. in this manner a phonogram is produced on the wax cylinder in the house or office of the person addressed, and it may be read off at leisure. a very sensitive transmitter is employed, and if desired the apparatus can be so arranged that by means of a double-channel tube the words spoken are simultaneously conveyed to the telephone and to an ordinary phonograph, which insures that a record shall be kept of any message sent.
-the telegraphone, produced by mr. valdemar poulsen, performs the same functions as the telephonograph, but differs from it in being entirely electrical. it contains no waxen cylinder, no cutting-point; their places are taken respectively by a steel wire wound on a cylindrical drum (each turn carefully insulated from its neighbours) and by a very small electro-magnet, which has two delicate points that pass along the wire, one on either side, resting lightly upon it.
-as the drum rotates, the whole of the wire passes gradually between the two points, into which a series of electric shocks is sent by the action of the speaker’s voice at the further end of the wires. the shocks magnetise the portion of steel wire which acts as a temporary bridge between the two points. at the close of three and a half minutes the magnet has worked from one end of the wire coil to the other; it is then automatically lifted and carried back to the starting-point in readiness for reproduction of the sounds. this is accomplished by disconnecting the telegraphone from the telephone wires and switching it on to an ordinary telephonic earpiece or receiver. as soon as the cylinder commences to revolve a second time, the magnet is influenced by the series of magnetic “fields” in the wires, and as often as it touches a magnetised spot imparts an impulse to the diaphragm of the receiver, which vibrates at the rate and with the same force as the vibrations originally set up in the distant transmitter. the result is a clear and accurate reproduction of the message, even though hours and even days may have elapsed since its arrival.
-as the magnetic effects on the wire coil retain their power for a considerable period, the message may be reproduced many times. as soon as the wire-covered drum is required for fresh impressions, the old one is wiped out by passing a permanent magnet along the wire to neutralise the magnetism of the last message.
-it is a curious experience to watch for the first time the movements of a tiny telautograph pen as it works behind a glass window in a japanned case. the pen, though connected only with two delicate wires, appears instinct with human reason. it writes in a flowing hand, just as a man writes. at the end of a word it crosses the t’s and dots the i’s. at the end of a line it dips itself in an inkpot. it punctuates its sentences correctly. it illustrates its words with sketches. it uses shorthand as readily as longhand. it can form letters of all shapes and sizes.
-and yet there is no visible reason why it should do what it does. the japanned case hides the guiding agency, whatever it may be. our ears cannot detect any mechanical motion. the writing seems at first sight as mysterious as that which appeared on the wall to warn king belshazzar.
-in reality it is the outcome of a vast amount of patience and mechanical ingenuity culminating in a wonderful instrument called the telautograph. the telautograph is so named because by its aid we can send our autographs, i.e. our own particular handwriting, electrically over an indefinite length of wire, as easily as a telegraph clerk transmits messages in the morse alphabet. whatever the human hand does on one telautograph at one end of the wires, that will be reproduced by a similar machine at the other end, though the latter be hundreds of miles away.
-the instrument stands about eighteen inches high, and its base is as many inches square. it falls into two parts, the receiver and the transmitter. the receiver is vertical and forms the upright and back portion of the telautograph. at one side of it hangs an ordinary telephone attachment. the transmitter, a sloping desk placed conveniently for the hand, is the front and horizontal portion. the receiver of one station is connected with the transmitter of another station; there being ordinarily no direct communication between the two parts of the same instrument.
-an attempt will be made to explain, with the help of a simple diagram, the manner in which the telautograph performs its duties.
-these duties are threefold. in the first place, it must reproduce whatever is written on the transmitter. secondly, it must reproduce only what is written, not all the movements of the hand. thirdly, it must supply the recording pen with fresh paper to write on, and with fresh ink to write with.
-in our diagram we must imagine that all the coverings of the telautograph have been cleared away to lay bare the most essential parts of the mechanism. for the sake of simplicity not all the coils, wires, and magnets having functions of their own are represented, and the drawing is not to scale. but what is shown will enable the reader to grasp the general principles which work the machine.
-turning first of all to the transmitter, we have p, a little platform hinged at the back end, and moving up and down very slightly in front, according as pressure is put on to or taken off it by the pencil. across it a roll of paper is shifted by means of the lever s, which has other uses as well. to the right of p is an electric bell-push, e, and on the left k, another small button.
-the pencil is at the junction of two small bars cc’, which are hinged at their other end to the levers aa’. any motion of the pencil is transmitted by cc’ to aa’, and by them to the arms ll’, the extremities of which, two very small brushes zz’, sweep along the quadrants rr’. this is the first point to observe, that the position of the pencil decides on which sections of the quadrants these little brushes rest, and consequently how much current is to be sent to the distant station. the quadrants are known technically as rheostats, or current-controllers. each quadrant is divided into 496 parts, separated from each other by insulating materials, so that current can pass from one to the other only by means of some connecting wire. in our illustration only thirteen divisions are given, for the sake of clearness. the dark lines represent the insulation. ww’ are the very fine wire loops connecting each division of the quadrant with its neighbours. if then a current from the battery b enters the rheostat at division 1 it will have to pass through all these wires before it can reach division 13. the current always enters at 1, but the point of departure from the rheostat depends entirely upon the position of the brushes z or z’. if z happens to be on no. 6 the current will pass through five loops of wire, along the arm l, and so through the main wire to the receiving station; if on no. 13, through twelve loops.
-the wires ww’ are very fine, and offer very high resistance to a current; so high that by the time the current from battery b has passed through all the wire loops only one-fifteenth or less of the original force is left to traverse the long-distance wire.
-the rheostats act independently of one another. as the pencil moves over the transmitting paper, a succession of currents of varying intensity is sent off by each rheostat to the receiving station.
-the receiver, to which we must now pay attention, has two arms dd’, and two rods ff’, corresponding in size with aa’ and cc’ of the transmitter. the arms dd’ are moved up and down by the coils tt’ which turn on centres in circular spaces at the bend of the magnets mm’. the position of these coils relatively to the magnets depend on the strength of the currents coming from the transmitting station. each coil strains at a small spiral spring until it has reached the position in which its electric force is balanced by the retarding influence of the spring. one of the cleverest things in the telautograph is the adjustment of these coils so that they shall follow faithfully the motions of the rods ll’ in the transmitter.
-we are now able to trace the actions of sending a message. the sender first presses the button e to call the attention of some one at the receiving station to the fact that a message is coming, either on the telephone or on the paper. it should be remarked, by-the-bye, that the same wires serve for both telephone and telautograph, the unhooking of the telephone throwing the telautograph out of connection for the time.
-currents flow in varying intensity away to the coils tt’ and work the arms dd’, the wires ff’, and the pen, a tiny glass tube.
-in the perfectly regulated telautograph the arms aa’ and the arms dd’ will move in unison, and consequently the position of the pen must be the same from moment to moment as that of the pencil.
-as soon as a line is finished a fresh surface of paper is required at both ends. the operator pushes the lever s sideways, and effects the change mechanically at his end. at the same time a circuit is formed which excites certain magnets at the receiver and causes the shifting forward there also of the paper, and also breaks the writing current, so that the pen returns for a moment to its normal position of rest in the inkpot.
-it may be asked: if the wires are passing currents to work the writing apparatus, how can they simultaneously affect the lifting-bar, y? the answer is that currents of two different kinds are used, a direct current for writing, a vibratory current for depressing the lifting-bar. the direct current passes from the battery b through the rheostats rr’ along the wires, through the coils working the arms dd’ and into the earth at the far end; but the vibratory current, changing its direction many times a second and so neutralising itself, passes up one wire and back down the other through the lifting-bar connection without interfering with the direct current.
-the message finished, the operator depresses with the point of his pencil the little push-key, k, and connects his receiver with the distant transmitter in readiness for an answer.
-the working speed of the telautograph is that of the writer. if shorthand be employed, messages can be transmitted at the rate of over 100 words per minute. as regards the range of transmission, successful tests have been made by the postal authorities between paris and london, and also between paris and lyons. in the latter case the messages were sent from paris to lyons and back directly to paris, the lines being connected at lyons, to give a total distance of over 650 miles. there is no reason why much greater length of line should not be employed.
-the telautograph in its earlier and imperfect form was the work of professor elisha gray, who invented the telephone almost simultaneously with professor graham bell. his telautograph worked on what is known as the step-by-step principle, and was defective in that its speed was very limited. if the operator wrote too fast the receiving pen lagged behind the transmitting pencil, and confusion resulted. accordingly this method, though ingenious, was abandoned, and mr. ritchie in his experiments looked about for some preferable system, which should be simpler and at the same time much speedier in its action. after four years of hard work he has brought the rheostat system, explained above, to a pitch of perfection which will be at once appreciated by any one who has seen the writing done by the instrument.
-the advantages of the telautograph over the ordinary telegraphy may be briefly summed up as follows:--
-anybody who can write can use it; the need of skilled operators is abolished.
-a record is automatically kept of every message sent.
-the person to whom the message is sent need not be present at the receiver. he will find the message written out on his return.
-the instrument is silent and so insures secrecy. an ordinary telegraph may be read by sound; but not the telautograph.
-it is impossible to tap the wires unless, as is most unlikely, the intercepting party has an instrument in exact accord with the transmitter.
-it can be used on the same wires as the ordinary telephone, and since a telephone is combined with it, the subscriber has a double means of communication. for some items of business the telephone may be used as preferable; but in certain cases, the telautograph. a telephone message may be heard by other subscribers; it is impossible to prove the authenticity of such a message unless witnesses have been present at the transmitting end; and the message itself may be misunderstood by reason of bad articulation. but the telautograph preserves secrecy while preventing any misunderstanding. anything written by it is for all practical purposes as valid as a letter.
-we must not forget its extreme usefulness for transmitting sketches. a very simple diagram often explains a thing better than pages of letter-press. the telautograph may help in the detection of criminals, a pictorial presentment of whom can by its means be despatched all over the country in a very short time. and in warfare an instrument flashing back from the advance-guard plans of the country and of the enemy’s positions might on occasion prove of the greatest importance.
-the vast subject of artillery in its modern form, including under this head for convenience’ sake not only heavy ordnance but machine-guns and small-arms, can of necessity only be dealt with most briefly in this chapter.
-it may therefore be well to take a general survey and to define beforehand any words or phrases which are used technically in describing the various operations.
-the employment of firearms dates from a long-distant past, and it is interesting to note that many an improvement introduced during the last century is but the revival of a former invention which only lack of accuracy in tools and appliances had hitherto prevented from being brought into practical usage.
-so far back as 1498 the art of rifling cannon in straight grooves was known, and a british patent was taken out in 1635 by rotsipan. the grooves were first made spiral or screwed by koster of birmingham about 1620. berlin possesses a rifled cannon with thirteen grooves dated 1664. but the first recorded uses of such weapons in actual warfare was during louis napoleon’s italian campaign in 1859, and two years later by general james of the united states army.
-the system of breech-loading, again, is as old as the sixteenth century, and we find a british patent of 1741; while the first united states patent was given in 1811 for a flint-lock weapon.
-magazine guns of american production appeared in 1849 and 1860, but these were really an adaptation of the old matchlock revolvers, said to belong to the period 1480-1500. there is one in the tower of london credited to the fifteenth century, and a british patent of 1718 describes a well-constructed revolver carried on a tripod and of the dimensions of a modern machine-gun. the inventor gravely explains that he has provided round chambers for round bullets to shoot christians, and square chambers with square missiles for use against the turks!
-the word “ordnance” is applied to heavy guns of all kinds, and includes guns mounted on fortresses, naval guns, siege artillery, and that for use in the field. these guns are all mounted on stands or carriages, and may be divided into three classes:--
-the modern long-range guns and improved howitzers have, however, virtually superseded mortars. machine-guns of various forms are comparatively small and light, transportable by hand, and filling a place between cannon and small-arms, the latter term embracing the soldier’s personal armament of rifle and pistol or revolver, which are carried in the hand.
-a group of guns of the like design are generally given the name of their first inventor, or the place of manufacture: such as the armstrong gun, the vickers-maxim, the martini-henry rifle, or the enfield.
-the indifferent use of several expressions in describing the same weapon is, however, rather confusing. one particular gun may be thus referred to:--by its weight in tons or cwt., as “the 35-ton gun”; by the weight of its projectile, as “a 68-pounder”; by its calibre, that is, size of bore, as “the 4-inch gun.” of these the heavier breech-loading (b.-l.) and quick-firing (q.-f.) guns are generally known by the size of bore; small q.-f.’s, field-guns, &c., by the weight of projectile. it is therefore desirable to enter these particulars together when making any list of service ordnance for future reference.
-no individual gun, whether large or small, is a single whole, but consists of several pieces fastened together by many clever devices.
-the principal parts of a cannon are:--
-the whole length of inside tube is termed the barrel, as in a machine-gun, rifle, or sporting-piece, but in the two latter weapons the breech-opening is closed by sliding or springing back the breech-block or bolt into firing position.
-old weapons as a rule were smooth-bored (s.-b.), firing a round missile between which and the barrel a considerable amount of the gases generated by the explosion escaped and caused loss of power, this escape of gas being known as windage.
-in all modern weapons we use conical projectiles, fitted near the base with a soft copper driving-band, the diameter of which is somewhat larger than that of the bore of the gun, and cut a number of spiral grooves in the barrel. the enormous pressure generated by the explosion of the charge forces the projectile down the bore of the gun and out of the muzzle. the body of the projectile, made of steel or iron, being smaller in diameter than the bore, easily passes through, but the driving-band being of greater diameter, and being composed of soft copper, can only pass down the bore with the projectile by flowing into the grooves, thus preventing any escape of gas, and being forced to follow their twist. it therefore rotates rapidly upon its own longitudinal axis while passing down the barrel, and on leaving the muzzle two kinds of velocity have been imparted to it;--first, a velocity of motion through the air; secondly, a velocity of rotation round its axis which causes it to fly steadily onward in the required direction, i.e. a prolongation of the axis of the gun. thus extreme velocity and penetrating power, as well as correctness of aim, are acquired.
-the path of a projectile through the air is called its trajectory, and if uninterrupted its flight would continue on indefinitely in a perfectly straight line. but immediately a shot has been hurled from the gun by the explosion in its rear two other natural forces begin to act upon it:--
-gravitation, which tends to bring it to earth.
-air-resistance, which gradually checks its speed.
-its direct, even course is therefore deflected till it forms a curve, and sooner or later it returns to earth, still retaining a part of its velocity. to counteract the attraction of gravity the shot is thrown upwards by elevating the muzzle, care being taken to direct the gun’s action to the same height above the object as the force of gravitation would draw the projectile down during the time of flight. the gunner is enabled to give the proper inclination to his piece by means of the sights; one of these, near the muzzle, being generally fixed, while that next the breech is adjustable by sliding up an upright bar which is so graduated that the proper elevation for any required range is given.
-the greater the velocity the flatter is the trajectory, and the more dangerous to the enemy. assuming the average height of a man to be six feet, all the distance intervening between the point where a bullet has dropped to within six feet of the earth, and the point where it actually strikes is dangerous to any one in that interval, which is called the “danger zone.” a higher initial velocity is gained by using stronger firing charges, and a more extended flight by making the projectile longer in proportion to its diameter. the reason why a shell from a cannon travels further than a rifle bullet, both having the same muzzle velocity, is easily explained.
-in other words, when two bodies are proportional in all their dimensions their air-resistance varies as the square of their diameters, but their mass and consequently their momentum varies as the cube of their diameters. the shell therefore starts with a great advantage over the bullet, and may be compared to a “crew” of cyclists on a multicycle all cutting the same path through the air; whereas the bullet resembles a single rider, who has to overcome as much air-resistance as the front man of the “crew” but has not the weight of other riders behind to help him.
-as regards the effect of rifling, it is to keep the bullet from turning head over heels as it flies through the air, and to maintain it always point forwards. every boy knows that a top “sleeps” best when it is spinning fast. its horizontal rotation overcomes a tendency to vertical movement towards the ground. in like manner a rifle bullet, spinning vertically, overcomes an inclination of its atoms to move out of their horizontal path. professor john perry, f.r.s., has illustrated this gyroscopic effect, as it is called, of a whirling body with a heavy flywheel in a case, held by a man standing on a pivoted table. however much the man may try to turn the top from its original direction he will fail as long as its velocity of rotation is high. he may move the top relatively to his body, but the table will turn so as to keep the centre line of the top always pointing in the same direction.
-up to the middle of last century our soldiers were armed with the flint-lock musket known as “brown bess,” a smooth-bore barrel 3/4-inch in diameter, thirty-nine inches long, weighing with its bayonet over eleven pounds. the round leaden bullet weighed an ounce, and had to be wrapped in a “patch” or bit of oily rag to make it fit the barrel and prevent windage; it was then pushed home with a ramrod on to the powder-charge, which was ignited by a spark passing from the flint into a priming of powder. how little its accuracy of aim could be depended upon, however, is proved by the word of command when advancing upon an enemy, “wait till you see the whites of their eyes, boys, before you fire!”
-soon afterward the barrel was rifled and an elongated bullet brought into use. this missile was pointed in front, and had a hollowed base so contrived that it expanded immediately the pressure of exploding gases was brought to bear on it, and thus filled up the grooves, preventing any windage. the one adopted by our army in the year 1852 was the production of m. minié, a frenchman, though an expanding bullet of english invention had been brought forward several years before.
-meanwhile the prussians had their famous needle-gun, a breech-loading rifled weapon fired by a needle attached to a sliding bolt; as the bolt is shot forward the needle pierces the charge and ignites the fulminate by friction. this rifle was used in the prusso-austrian war of 1866 some twenty years after its first inception, and the french promptly countered it by arming their troops with the chassepôt rifle, an improved edition of the same principle. a piece which could be charged and fired in any position from five to seven times as fast as the muzzle-loader, which the soldier had to load standing, naturally caused a revolution in the infantry armament of other nations.
-the english government, as usual the last to make a change, decided in 1864 upon using breech-loading rifles. till a more perfect weapon could be obtained the enfields were at a small outlay converted into breech-loaders after the plans of mr. snider, and were henceforward known as snider-enfields. eventually--as the result of open competition--the martini-henry rifle was produced by combining henry’s system of rifling with martini’s mechanism for breech-loading. this weapon had seven grooves with one turn in twenty-two inches, and weighed with bayonet 10 lb. 4 oz. it fired with great accuracy, the trajectory having a rise of only eight feet at considerable distances, so that the bullet would not pass over the head of a cavalry man. twenty rounds could be fired in fifty-three seconds.
-now in the latter years of the century all these weapons have been superseded by magazine rifles, i.e. rifles which can be fired several times without recourse to the ammunition pouch. they differ from the revolver in having only one firing chamber, into which the cartridges are one by one brought by a simple action of the breech mechanism, which also extracts the empty cartridge-case. the bore of these rifles is smaller and the rifling sharper; they therefore shoot straighter and harder than the large bore, and owing to the use of new explosives the recoil is less.
-the french lebel magazine rifle was the pioneer of all now used by european nations, though a somewhat similar weapon was familiar to the americans since 1849, being first used during the civil war. the henry rifle, as it was called, afterwards became the winchester.
-the german army rifle is the mauser, so familiar to us in the hands of the boers during the south african war--loading five cartridges at once in a case or “clip” which falls out when emptied. the same rifle has been adopted by turkey, and was used by the spaniards in the late spanish-american war.
-the hotchkiss magazine rifle has its magazine in the stock, holding five extra cartridges pushed successively into loading position by a spiral spring.
-our forces are now armed principally with the lee-enfield, which is taking the place of the lee-metford issued a few years ago. these are small-bore rifles of .303 inch calibre, having a detachable box, which is loaded with ten cartridges (lee-metford eight) passed up in turn by a spring into the breech, whence, when the bolt is closed, they are pushed into the firing-chamber. the empty case is ejected by pulling back the bolt, and at the same time another cartridge is pressed up from the magazine and the whole process repeated. when the cut-off is used the rifle may be loaded and fired singly, be the magazine full or empty.
-the lee-enfield has five grooves (lee-metford ten), making one complete turn from right to left in every ten inches. it weighs 9 lb. 4 oz., and the barrel is 30.197 inches long. the range averages 3500 yards.
-we are now falling into line with other powers by adopting the “clip” form instead of the box for loading. the sealed pattern of the new service weapon is thus provided, and has also been made somewhat lighter and shorter while preserving the same velocity.
-we are promised an even more rapid firing rifle than any of these, one in which the recoil is used to work the breech and lock so that it is a veritable automatic gun. indeed, several continental nations have made trial of such weapons and reported favourably upon them. one lately tried in italy works by means of gas generated by the explosion passing through a small hole to move a piston-rod. it is claimed that the magazine can hold as many as fifty cartridges and fire up to thirty rounds a minute; but the barrel became so hot after doing this that the trial had to be stopped.
-the principal result of automatic action would probably be excessive waste of cartridges by wild firing in the excitement of an engagement. it is to-day as true as formerly that it takes on the average a man’s weight of lead to kill him in battle.
-to our neighbours across the channel the credit also belongs of introducing smokeless powder, now universally used; that of the lee-metford being “cordite.” to prevent the bullets flattening on impact they are coated with a hard metal such as nickel and its alloys. if the nose is soft, or split beforehand, a terribly enlarged and lacerated wound is produced; so the geneva convention humanely prohibited the use of such missiles in warfare.
-before quitting this part of our subject it is as well to add a few words about pistols.
-these have passed through much the same process of evolution as the rifle, and have now culminated in the many-shotted revolver.
-during the period 1480-1500 the match-lock revolver is said to have been brought into use; and one attributed to this date may be seen in the tower of london.
-two hundred years ago, richards, a london gunsmith, converted the ancient wheel-lock into the flint-lock; he also rifled his barrel and loaded it at the breech. the richards weapon was double-barrelled, and unscrewed for loading at the point where the powder-chamber ended; the ball was placed in this chamber in close contact with the powder, and the barrel rescrewed. the bullet being a soft leaden ball, was forced, when the charge was fired, through the rifled barrel with great accuracy of aim.
-the percussion cap did not oust the flint-lock till less than a century ago, when many single-barrelled pistols, such as the famous derringer, were produced; these in their turn were replaced by the revolver which colt introduced in 1836-1850. smith and wesson in the early sixties improved upon it by a device for extracting the empty cartridges automatically. livermore and russell of the united states invented the “clip,” containing several cartridges; but the equally well-known winchester has its cartridges arranged in a tube below the barrel, whence a helical spring feeds them to the breech as fast as they are needed.
-at the present time each war department has its own special service weapon. the german mauser magazine-pistol for officer’s use fires ten shots in ten seconds, a slight pressure of the trigger setting the full machinery in motion; the pressure of gas at each explosion does all the rest of the work--extracts and ejects the cartridge case, cocks the hammer, and presses springs which reload and close the weapon, all in a fraction of a second. the mannlicher is of the same automatic type, but its barrel moves to the front, leaving space for a fresh cartridge to come up from the magazine below, while in the mauser the breech moves to the rear during recoil. the range is half a mile. the cartridges are made up in sets of ten in a case, which can be inserted in one movement.
-intermediate between hand-borne weapons and artillery, and partaking of the nature of both, come the machine-guns firing small projectiles with extraordinary rapidity.
-since the united states made trial of dr. gatling’s miniature battery in the civil war (1862-1865), invention has been busy evolving more and more perfect types, till the most modern machine-gun is a marvel of ingenuity and effectiveness.
-the gatling machine-gun, which has been much improved in late years by the accles system of “feed,” and is not yet completely out of date, consists of a circular series of ten barrels--each with its own lock--mounted on a central shaft and revolved by a suitable gear. the cartridges are successively fed by automatic actions into the barrels, and the hammers are so arranged that the entire operation of loading, closing the breech, firing and withdrawing the empty cartridge-cases (which is known as their “longitudinal reciprocating motion”) is carried on while the locks are kept in constant revolution, along with the barrels and breech, by means of a hand-crank. one man places a feed-case filled with cartridges into the hopper, another turns the crank. as the gun is rotated the cartridges drop one by one from the feed-cases into the grooves of the carrier, and its lock loads and fires each in turn. while the gun revolves further the lock, drawing back, extracts and drops the empty case; it is then ready for the next cartridge.
-in action five cartridges are always going through some process of loading, while five empty shells are in different stages of ejection. the latest type, fitted with an electro-motor, will fire at the rate of one thousand rounds per minute, and eighty rounds have actually been fired within ten seconds! it is not, however, safe to work these machine-guns so fast, as the cartridges are apt to be occasionally pulled through unfired and then explode among the men’s legs. the automatic guns, on the contrary, as they only work by the explosion, are free from any risk of such accidents.
-the feed-drums contain 104 cartridges, and can be replaced almost instantly. one drumful can be discharged in 5-1/4 seconds. the small-sized gatling has a drum-feed of 400 cartridges in sixteen sections of twenty-five each passed up without interruption.
-the gun is mounted for use so that it can be pointed at any angle, and through a wide lateral range, without moving the carriage.
-the gardner.--the gatling, as originally made, was for a time superseded by the gardner, which differed from it in having the barrels (four or fewer in number) fixed in the same horizontal plane. this was worked by a rotatory handle on the side of the gun. the cartridges slid down a feed-case in a column to the barrel, where they were fired by a spring acting on a hammer.
-the nordenfelt.--mr. nordenfelt’s machine-gun follows this precedent; its barrels--10, 5, 4, 2, or 1 in number--also being arranged horizontally in a strong, rigid frame. each barrel has its own breech-plug, striker, spring, and extractor, and each fires independently of the rest, so that all are not out of action together. the gun has a swivelled mount easily elevated and trained, and the steel frames take up the force of the discharge. in rapid firing one gunner can work the firing-handle while another lays and alters the direction. the firing is operated by a lever working backwards and forwards by hand, and the gun can be discharged at the rate of 600 rounds per minute.
-the hotchkiss.--the hotchkiss gun, or revolving cannon, is on a fresh system, that of intermittent rotation of the barrels without any rotation of breech or mechanism. there is only one loading piston, one spring striker, and one extractor for all the barrels. the shock of discharge is received against a massive fixed breech, which distributes it to the whole body.
-like the nordenfelt, however, it can be dismounted and put together again without the need of tools. the above pattern throws 1 lb. projectiles.
-the maxim.--differing from all these comes the maxim gun, so much in evidence now with both land and sea service. it is made up of two portions:--
-this recoiling portion works inside the fixed.
-the rate of fire of the maxim gun is 600 rounds per minute. deliberate fire means about 70 rounds per minute; rapid fire will explode 450 rounds in the same time. as the barrel becomes very hot in use the barrel-casing contains seven pints of water to keep it cool. about 2000 rounds can be fired at short intervals; but in continuous firing the water boils after some 600 rounds, and needs replenishing after about 1000. a valved tube allows steam, but not water to escape.
-the operator works this gun by pressing a firing-lever or button. after starting the machine he merely sits behind the shield, which protects him from the enemy, directing it, as it keeps on firing automatically so long as the bands of cartridges are supplied and a finger held on the trigger or button. by setting free a couple of levers with his left hand, and pressing his shoulder against the padded shoulder-piece, he is able to elevate or depress, or train the barrel horizontally, without in any way interfering with the hail of missiles.
-we use two sizes, one with .45 bore for the navy, which takes an all-lead bullet weighing 480 grains, and the other with .303 bore, the ordinary nickel-coated rifle bullet for the army. but as the maxim gun can be adapted to every rifle-calibre ammunition it is patronised by all governments.
-the gun itself weighs 56 lbs., and is mounted for use in various ways: on a tripod, a field stand, or a field carriage with wheels. this carriage has sixteen boxes of ammunition, each containing a belt of 250 cartridges, making 4000 rounds altogether. its total weight is about half a ton, so that it can be drawn by one horse, and it is built for the roughest cross-country work. a little machine, which can be fixed to the wheel, recharges the belts with cartridges by the working of a handle.
-for ships the maxim is usually mounted on the ordinary naval cone mount, or it can be clamped to the bulwark of the deck or the military “top” on the mast.
-but there is a most ingenious form of parapet mounting, known as the garrison mount, which turns the maxim into a “disappearing gun,” and can be used equally well for fortress walls or improvised entrenchments. the gun is placed over two little wheels on which it can be run along by means of a handle pushed behind in something the fashion of a lawn-mower. arrived at its destination, the handle, which is really a rack, is turned downwards, and on twisting one of the wheels the gun climbs it by means of a pinion-cog till it points over the wall, to which hooks at the end of two projecting bars firmly fix it, the broadened end of the handle being held by its weight to the ground. it is locked while in use, but a few turns of the wheel cause it to sink out of sight in as many seconds.
-the rifle-calibre guns may also be used as very light horse artillery to accompany cavalry by being mounted on a “galloping carriage” drawn by a couple of horses, and with two seats for the operators. the carriage conveys 3000 rounds, and the steel-plated seats turn up and form shields during action.
-it is interesting to notice that an extra light form of the gun is made which may be carried strapped on an infantryman’s back and fired from a tripod. two of these mounted on a double tricycle can be propelled at a good pace along a fairly level road, and the riders dismounting have, in a few moments, a valuable little battery at their disposal.
-the pom-pom, of which we have heard so much in the late war, is a large edition of the maxim automatic system with some differences in the system. its calibre is 1-1/2 inches. instead of bullets it emits explosive shells 1 lb. in weight, fitted with percussion fuses which burst them into about twelve or fourteen pieces. the effective range is up to 2000 yards, and it will carry to 4000 yards. an improved pom-pom recently brought out hurls a 1-1/4 lb. shell with effect at a mark 3000 yards away, and as far as 6000 yards before its energy is entirely exhausted. the muzzle velocity of this weapon is 2350 feet a second as against the 1800 feet of the older pattern. they both fire 300 rounds a minute.
-the colt automatic gun is an american invention whose automatic action is due to explosion of the charge, not to recoil. the force by which the motions of firing, extracting, and loading are performed is derived from the powder-gases, a portion of which--passing through a small vent in the muzzle--acts by means of a lever on the mechanism of the gun.
-this is also in two parts: (a) barrel, attached to (b) breech-casing, in which gear for charging, firing, and ejecting is contained. the barrel, made of a strong alloy of nickel, has its cartridges fed in by means of belts coiled in boxes attached to the breech-casing, the boxes moving with the latter so that the movements of the gun do not affect it. these boxes contain 250 cartridges each and are easily replaced.
-the feed-belt is inserted, and the lever thrown down and moved backward--once by hand--as far as it will go; this opens the breech and passes the first cartridge from the belt to the carrier. the lever is then released and the spring causes it to fly forward, close the vent, and transfer the cartridge from the carrier to the barrel, also compressing the mainspring and opening and closing the breech.
-on pulling the trigger the shot is fired, and after the bullet has passed the little vent, but is not yet out of the muzzle, the force of the expanding gas, acting through the vent on the piston, sets a gas-lever in operation which acts on the breech mechanism, opens breech, ejects cartridge-case, and feeds another cartridge into the carrier. the gas-lever returning forces the cartridge home in the barrel and closes and locks the breech.
-the hammer of the gun acts as the piston of an air-pump, forcing a strong jet of air into the chamber, and through the barrel, thus removing all unburnt powder, and thoroughly cleansing it. the metal employed is strong enough to resist the heaviest charge of nitro-powder, and the accuracy of its aim is not disturbed by the vibrations of rapid fire. it does not heat fast, so has no need of a water-jacket, any surplus heat being removed by a system of radiation.
-the bore is made of any rifle calibre for any small-arm ammunition, and is fitted with a safety-lock. for our own pieces we use the lee-metford cartridges. four hundred shots per minute can be fired.
-the gun consists altogether of ninety-four pieces, but the working-pieces, i.e. those only which need be separated for cleaning, &c., when in the hands of the artilleryman, are less than twenty. it can be handled in action by one man, the operation resembling that of firing a pistol.
-the machine weighs 40 lbs., and for use by cavalry or infantry can be mounted on the dundonald galloping carriage. the ammunition-box, containing 2000 rounds ready for use, carries the gun on its upper side, and is mounted on a strong steel axle. a pole with a slotted end is inserted into a revolving funnel on the bend of the shaft, the limbering-up being completed by an automatic bolt and plug.
-the gun-carriage itself is of steel, with hickory wheels and hickory and steel shafts, detachable at will. the simple harness suits any saddled cavalry horse, and the shafts work in sockets behind the rider’s legs. its whole weight with full load of ammunition is under four hundredweight.
-as with rifles and the smaller forms of artillery, so also with heavy ordnance, the changes and improvements within the last fifty years have been greater than those made during the course of all the previous centuries.
-these changes have affected alike not only the materials from which a weapon is manufactured, the relative size of calibre and length of bore, the fashion of mounting and firing, but also the form and weight of the projectile, the velocity with which it is thrown, and even the substances used in expelling it from the gun.
-compare for a moment the old cast-iron muzzle-loaders, stubby of stature, which wellington’s bronzed veterans served with round cannon balls, well packed in greasy clouts to make them fit tight, or with shell and grape shot, throughout the hard-fought day of waterloo, from a distance which the chroniclers measure by paces, so near stood the opposing ranks to one another.
-or stand in imagination upon one of nelson’s stately men-o’-war and watch the grimy guns’ crews, eight or ten to each, straining on the ropes. see the still smoking piece hauled inboard, its bore swabbed out to clean and cool it, then recharged by the muzzle; home go powder, wad, and the castor full of balls or the chain shot to splinter the enemy’s masts, rammed well down ere the gun is again run out through the port-hole. now the gunner snatches the flaming lintstock and, signal given, applies it to the powder grains sprinkled in the touch-hole. a salvo of fifty starboard guns goes off in one terrific broadside, crashing across the frenchman’s decks at such close quarters that in two or three places they are set on fire by the burning wads. next comes a cry of “boarders!” and the ships are grappled as the boarding-party scrambles over the bulwarks to the enemy’s deck, a brisk musket-fire from the crowded rigging protecting their advance; meanwhile the larboard guns, with their simultaneous discharge, are greeting a new adversary.
-such was war a century ago. compare with it the late south african campaign where the range of guns was estimated in miles, and after a combat lasting from morn to eve, the british general could report: “i do not think we have seen a gun or a boer all day.”
-the days of hand-to-hand fighting have passed, the mêlée in the ranks may be seen no more; in a few years the bayonet may be relegated to the limbo of the coat-of-mail or the cast-iron culverin. yet the modern battle-scene bristles with the most death-dealing weapons which the ingenuity of man has ever constructed. the hand-drawn machine-gun discharges in a couple of minutes as many missiles as a regiment of wellington’s infantry, with a speed and precision undreamt of by him. the quick-firing long-range naval guns now in vogue could annihilate a fleet or destroy a port without approaching close enough to catch a glimpse of the personnel of their opponents. the deadly torpedo guards our waterways more effectually than a squadron of ships.
-all resources of civilisation have been drawn upon, every triumph of engineering secured, to forge such weapons as shall strike the hardest and destroy the most pitilessly. but strange and unexpected the result! where we counted our battle-slain by thousands we now mourn over the death of hundreds; where whole regiments were mown down our ambulances gather wounded in scattered units. here is the bright side of modern war.
-the muzzle-loading gun has had its day, a very long day and a successful one. again and again it has reasserted itself and ousted its rivals, but at last all difficulties of construction have been surmounted and the breech-loader has “come to stay.”
-however, our services still contain a large number of muzzle-loading guns, many of them built at quite a recent period, and adapted as far as possible to modern requirements. so to these we will first turn our attention.
-the earliest guns were made of cast-iron, but this being prone to burst with a large charge, bronze, brass, and other tougher materials were for a long time employed. most elaborately chased and ornamented specimens of these old weapons are to be seen in the tower, and many other collections.
-in the utilitarian days of the past century cheapness and speed in manufacture were more sought after than show. iron was worked in many new ways to resist the pressure of explosion.
-armstrong of elswick conceived the idea of building up a barrel of coiled iron by joining a series of short welded cylinders together, and closing them by a solid forged breech-piece. over all, again, wrought-iron coils were shrunk. subsequently he tried a solid forged-iron barrel bored out to form a tube. neither make proving very satisfactory, steel tubes were next used, but were too expensive and uncertain at that stage of manufacture. again coiled iron was called into requisition, and mr. frazer of the royal gun factory introduced a system of double and triple coils which was found very successful, especially when a thin steel inner tube was substituted for the iron one (1869).
-all these weapons were rifled, so that there was of necessity a corresponding difference in the projectile employed. conical shells being used, studs were now placed on the body of the shell to fit into the rifling grooves, which were made few in number and deeply cut. this was apt to weaken the bore of the gun; but on the other hand many studs to fit into several shallow grooves weakened the cover of the shells.
-various modifications were tried, and finally a gas-check which expands into the grooves was placed at the base of the shell.
-the muzzle-loader having thus been turned into a very efficient modern weapon the next problem to be solved was how to throw a projectile with sufficient force to penetrate the iron and steel armour-plates then being generally applied to war-ships. “build larger guns” was the conclusion arrived at, and presently the arsenals of the powers were turning out mammoth weapons up to 100 tons, and even 110 tons in weight with a calibre of 16 inches and more for their huge shells. then was the mighty 35-ton “woolwich infant” born (1872), and its younger but still bigger brothers, 81 tons, 16-inch bore, followed by the elswick 100-ton giants, some of which were mounted on our defences in the mediterranean. but the fearful concussion of such enormous guns when fixed in action on board ship injured the superstruction, and even destroyed the boats, and the great improvements made in steel both for guns and armour soon led to a fresh revolution. henceforward instead of mounting a few very heavy guns we have preferred to trust to the weight of metal projected by an increased number of smaller size, but much higher velocity. and these guns are the quick-firing breech-loaders.
-the heaviest of our up-to-date ordnance is of moderate calibre, the largest breech-loaders being 12-inch, 10-inch, and 9.2-inch guns. but the elaborateness of its manufacture is such that one big gun takes nearly as long to “build up” as the ship for which it is destined. each weapon has to pass through about sixteen different processes:--
-when worn the bore can be lined with a new steel tube.
-these lengthy operations completed, our gun has still to be mounted upon its field-carriage, naval cone, or disappearing mounting, any of which are complicated and delicately-adjusted pieces of mechanism, the product of much time and labour, which we have no space here to describe.
-some account of the principal parts of these guns has already been given, but the method by which the breech is closed remains to be dealt with.
-it will be noticed that though guns now barely reach half the weight of the monster muzzle-loaders, they are even more effective. thus the 46-ton (12-inch) gun hurls an 850-lb. projectile with a velocity of 2750 foot-seconds, and uses a comparatively small charge. the famous “81-ton” needed a very big charge for its 1700-lb. shell, and had little more than half the velocity and no such power of penetration. this change has been brought about by using a slower-burning explosive very powerful in its effects; enlarging the chamber to give it sufficient air space, and lengthening the chase of the gun so that every particle of the powder-gas may be brought into action before the shot leaves the muzzle. this system and the substitution of steel for the many layers of welded iron, makes our modern guns long and slim in comparison with the older ones.
-to resist the pressure of the explosion against the breech end, a tightly-fitting breech-plug must be employed. the most modern and ingenious is the welin plug, invented by a swedish engineer. the ordinary interrupted screw breech-plug has three parts of its circumference plane and the other three parts “threaded,” or grooved, to screw into corresponding grooves in the breech; thus only half of the circumference is engaged by the screw. mr. welin has cut steps on the plug, three of which would be threaded to one plane segment, each locking with its counterpart in the breech. in this case there are three segments engaged to each one left plane, and the strength of the screw is almost irresistible. the plug, which is hinged at the side, has therefore been shortened by one-third, and is light enough to swing clear with one touch of the handwheel that first rotates and unlocks it.
-the method of firing is this: the projectile lifted (by hydraulic power on a ship) into the loading tray is swung to the mouth of the breech and pushed into the bore. a driving-band attached near its base is so notched at the edges that it jams the shell closely and prevents it slipping back if loaded at a high angle of elevation. the powder charge being placed in the chamber the breech-plug is now swung-to and turned till it locks close. the vent-axial or inner part of this breech-plug (next to the charge), which is called from its shape the “mushroom-head,” encloses between its head and the screw-plug the de bange obturator, a flat canvas pad of many layers soaked with mutton fat tightly packed between discs of tin. when the charge explodes, the mushroom-head--forced back upon the pad--compresses it till its edges bulge against the tube and prevent any escape of gas breechwards.
-the electric spark which fires the charge is passed in from outside by means of a minute and ingenious apparatus fitted into a little vent or tube in the mushroom-head. as the electric circuit cannot be completed till the breech-plug is screwed quite home there is now no more fear of a premature explosion than of double loading. if the electric gear is disordered the gun can be fired equally well and safely by a percussion tube.
-this description is of a typical large gun, and may be applied to all calibres and also to the larger quick-firers. the mechanism as the breech is swung open again withdraws the empty cartridge. so valuable has de bange’s obturator proved, however, that guns up to the 6-inch calibre now have the powder charge thrown into the chamber in bags, thus saving the weight of the metal tubes hitherto necessary.
-of course several types of breech-loading guns are used in the service, but the above are the most modern.
-the favourite mode of construction at the present time is the wire-wound barrel, the building up of which is completed by covering the many layers of wire with an outer tube or jacket expanded by heat before it is slipped on in order that it may fit closely when cold. a previous make, without wire, is strengthened by rings or hoops also shrunk on hot.
-the quick-firers proper are of many sizes, 8-inch, 7.5-inch, 6-inch, 4.7-inch, 4-inch, and 3-inch (12-pounders). the naval type is as a rule longer and lighter than those made for the rough usage of field campaigning and have a much greater range. there are also smaller quick-firers, 3-pounders and 6-pounders with bore something over 1-inch and 2-inch (nordenfelt, hotchkiss, vickers-maxim). some of the high velocity 12-pounders being employed as garrison guns along with 6-inch and 4.7-inch, and the large calibre howitzers.
-we still use howitzer batteries of 5-inch bore in the field and in the siege-train, all being short, rifled, breech-loading weapons, as they throw a heavy shell with smallish charges at a high angle of elevation, but cover a relatively short distance. a new pattern of 8-inch calibre is now under consideration.
-it is interesting to contrast the potencies of some of these guns, all of which use cordite charges.
-in the armament of our fine navy guns are roughly distributed as follows:--81-ton, 13-1/2-inch, and superseded patterns of machine-guns such as gatling’s, gardner’s, and nordenfelt’s, besides a few surviving muzzle-loaders, &c., are carried only by the oldest battleships.
-the first-class battleships are chiefly supplied with four 12-inch guns in barbettes, twelve 6-inch as secondary batteries, and a number of smaller quick-firers on the upper decks and in the fighting tops, also for use in the boats, to which are added several maxims.
-the first-class cruisers have 9.2 as their largest calibre, with a lessened proportion of 6-inch, &c. some of the newest bear only 7-1/2 or 6-inch guns as their heaviest ordnance; like the second-class cruisers which, however, add several 4.7‘s between these and their small quick-firers.
-vessels of inferior size usually carry nothing more powerful than the 4.7.
-all are now armed with torpedo tubes.
-these same useful little quick-firers and machine-guns have been the lethal weapons which made the armoured trains so formidable. indeed, there seems no limit to their value both for offence and defence, for the battle chariot of the ancient briton has its modern successor in the simms’ motor war car lately exhibited at the crystal palace. this armour-plated movable fort is intended primarily for coast defence, but can work off beaten tracks over almost any sort of country. it is propelled at the rate of nine miles an hour by a 16-horse-power motor, carrying all its own fuel, two pom-poms, two small maxims, and 10,000 rounds of ammunition, besides the necessary complement of men and searchlights for night use, &c., &c.
-the searchlight, by the way, has taken the place of all former inventions thrown from guns, such as ground-light balls, or parachute lights with a time-fuse which burst in the air and remained suspended, betraying the enemy’s proceedings.
-in like manner the linked chain and “double-headed” shot, the “canister”--iron balls packed in thin iron or tin cylinders which would travel about 350 yards--the “carcasses” filled with inflammable composition for firing ships and villages, are as much out of date as the solid round shot or cannon-ball. young shrapnell’s invention a century ago of the form of shell that bears his name, a number of balls arranged in a case containing also a small bursting-charge fired either by percussion or by a time-fuse, has practically replaced them all. thrown with great precision of aim its effective range is now up to 5000 yards. a 15-pounder shrapnell shell, for instance, contains 192 bullets, and covers several hundred yards with the scattered missiles flying with extreme velocity.
-common shell, from 2-1/2 to 3 calibres long, contains an explosive only. another variety is segment shell, made of pieces built up in a ring with a bursting charge in the centre which presently shatters it.
-the palliser shell has a marvellous penetrating power when used against iron plates. but, mirabile dictu! experiments tried within the past few months prove that a soft cap added externally enables a projectile to pierce with ease armour which had previously defied every attack.
-half a century ago gunpowder was still the one driving power which started the projectile on its flight. it is composed of some 75 parts of saltpetre or nitrate of potash, 15 parts of carefully prepared charcoal, and 10 parts of sulphur. this composition imprisons a large amount of oxygen for combustion and is found to act most successfully when formed into rather large prismatic grains.
-on the abolition of the old flint-lock its place was taken by a detonating substance enclosed in a copper cap, and some time later inventors came forward with new and more powerful explosives to supersede the use of gunpowder.
-by treating cotton with nitric and sulphuric acid reaction gun-cotton was produced; and a year later glycerine treated in the same manner became known to commerce as nitro-glycerine. this liquid form being inconvenient to handle, some inert granular substance such as infusorial earth was used to absorb the nitro-glycerine, and dynamite was the result.
-the explosion of gun-cotton was found to be too sudden and rapid for rifles or cannon; it was liable to burst the piece instead of blowing out the charge. in order to lessen the rapidity of its ignition ordinary cotton was mixed with it, or its threads were twisted round some inert substance.
-when repeating-rifles and machine-guns came into general use a smokeless powder became necessary. such powders as a rule contain nitro-cellulose (gun-cotton) or nitro-glycerine, or both. these are combined into a plastic, gluey composition, which is then made up into sticks or pellets of various shapes, and usually of large size to lessen the extreme rapidity of their combustion. substances such as tan, paraffin, starch, bran, peat, &c., &c., and many mineral salts, are used in forming low explosives from high ones.
-to secure complete combustion some of the larger pellets are made with a central hole, or even pierced by many holes, so that the fire penetrates the entire mass and carries off all its explosive qualities.
-our cordite consists of nitro-glycerine dissolving di-nitro cellulose by the acid of a volatile solvent and a mineral jelly or oil. this compound is semi-fluid, and being passed like macaroni through round holes in a metal plate it forms strings or cords of varying size according to the diameter of the holes. hence the name, cordite.
-many experiments in search of more powerful explosives resulted in an almost universal adoption of picric acid as the base. this acid is itself produced by the action of nitric acid upon carbolic acid, and each nation has its own fashion of preparing it for artillery.
-the french began with mélinite in 1885, this being a mixture of picric acid and gun-cotton.
-the composition of lyddite (named from its place of manufacture, lydd, in kent) is a jealously-guarded british secret. this substance was first used in 5-inch howitzers during the late soudan campaign, playing a part in the bombardment of omdurman. the effect of the 50-lb. lyddite shells upon the south african kopjes is described as astounding. when the yellow cloud had cleared away trees were seen uprooted, rocks pulverised, the very face of the earth had changed.
-several attempts have been made to utilise dynamite for shells, some of the guns employing compressed air as their motive power. the united states some years ago went to great expense in setting up for this purpose heavy pneumatic plant, which has recently been disposed of as too cumbrous. dudley’s “aërial torpedo” gun discharged a 13-lb. shell containing explosive gelatine, gun-cotton, and fulminate of mercury by igniting the small cordite charge in a parallel tube, through a vent in which the partially cooled gases acted on the projectile in the barrel. this was rotated in the air by inclined blades on a tailpiece, as the barrel could not be rifled for fear of the heat set up by friction. some guns actuated on much the same principle are said to have been used with effect in the hispano-american war. mr. hudson maxim with his explosive “maximite” claims to throw half a ton of dynamite about a mile, and a one-ton shell to half that distance.
-but even these inventors are outstripped by professor birkeland, who undertakes to hurl a projectile weighing two tons from an iron tube coiled with copper wire down which an electric current is passed; thus doing away entirely with the need of a firing-charge.
-in the gun factory.
-let us pay a visit to one of our gun factories and get some idea of the multiform activities necessary to the turning out complete of a single piece of ordnance or a complicated machine-gun. we enter the enormous workshop, glazed as to roof and sides, full of the varied buzz and whirr and clank of the machinery. up and down the long bays stand row upon row of lathes, turning, milling, polishing, boring, rifling--all moving automatically, and with a precision which leaves nothing to be desired. the silent attendants seem to have nothing in their own hands, they simply watch that the cutting does not go too far, and with a touch of the guiding handles regulate the pace or occasionally insert a fresh tool. the bits used in these processes are self-cleaning, so the machinery is never clogged; and on the ground lie little heaps of brass chips cut away by the minute milling tools; or in other places it is bestrewn with shavings of brass and steel which great chisels peel off as easily as a carpenter shaves a deal board.
-here an enormous steel ingot, forged solid, heated again and again in a huge furnace and beaten by steam-hammers, or pressed by hydraulic power between each heating till it is brought to the desired size and shape, is having its centre bored through by a special drill which takes out a solid core. this operation is termed “trepanning,” and is applied to guns not exceeding eight inches; those of larger calibre being rough-bored on a lathe, and mandrils placed in them during the subsequent forgings. the tremendous heat generated during the boring processes--we may recall how benjamin thompson made water boil by the experimental boring of a cannon--is kept down by streams of soapy water continually pumped through and over the metal. we notice this flow of lubricating fluid in all directions, from oil dropping slowly on to the small brass-milling machines to this fountain-play of water which makes a pleasant undertone amidst the jangle of the machines. but these machines are less noisy than we anticipated; in their actual working they emit scarcely the slightest sound. what strikes us more than the supreme exactness with which each does its portion of the work, is the great deliberateness of its proceeding. all the hurry and bustle is above us, caused by the driving-bands from the engine, which keeps the whole machinery of the shed in motion. suddenly, with harsh creakings, a great overhead crane comes jarring along the bay, drops a chain, grips up a gun-barrel, and, handling this mass of many tons’ weight as easily as we should lift a walking-stick, swings it off to undergo another process of manufacture.
-we pass on to the next lathe where a still larger forging is being turned externally, supported on specially devised running gear, many different cutters acting upon it at the same time, so that it is gradually assuming the tapering, banded appearance familiar to us in the completed state.
-we turn, fairly bewildered, from one stage of manufacture to another. here is a gun whose bore is being “chambered” to the size necessary for containing the firing charge. further along we examine a more finished weapon in process of preparation to receive the breech-plug and other fittings. still another we notice which has been “fine-bored” to a beautifully smooth surface but is being improved yet more by “lapping” with lead and emery powder.
-in the next shed a marvellous machine is rifling the interior of a barrel with a dexterity absolutely uncanny, for the tool which does the rifling has to be rotated in order to give the proper “twist” at the same moment as it is advancing lengthwise down the bore. the grooves are not made simultaneously but as a rule one at a time, the distance between them being kept by measurements on a prepared disc.
-now we have reached the apparatus for the wire-wound guns, a principle representing the ne plus ultra of strength and durability hitherto evolved. the rough-bored gun is placed upon a lathe which revolves slowly, drawing on to it from a reel mounted at one side a continuous layer of steel ribbon about a quarter of an inch wide. on a 12-inch gun there is wound some 117 miles of this wire! fourteen layers of it at the muzzle end and seventy-five at the breech end. heavy weights regulate the tension of the wire, which varies for each layer, the outermost being at the lowest tension, which will resist a pressure of over 100 tons to the square inch.
-we next enter the division in which the gun cradles and mounts are prepared, where we see some of the heaviest work carried out by electric dynamos, the workman sitting on a raised platform to keep careful watch over his business.
-passing through this with interested but cursory inspection of the cone mountings for quick-firing naval guns, some ingenious elevating and training gear and a field carriage whose hydraulic buffers merit closer examination, we come to the shell department where all kinds of projectiles are manufactured. shrapnel in its various forms, armour-piercing shells, forged steel or cast-iron, and small brass cartridges for the machine-guns may be found here; and the beautifully delicate workmanship of the fuse arrangements attracts our admiration. but we may not linger; the plant for the machine-guns themselves claim our attention.
-owing to the complexity and minute mechanism of these weapons almost a hundred different machines are needed, some of the milling machines taking a large selection of cutters upon one spindle. indeed, in many parts of the works one notices the men changing their tools for others of different size or application. some of the boring machines work two barrels at the same time, others can drill three barrels or polish a couple simultaneously. but there are hundreds of minute operations which need to be done separately, down to the boring of screw holes and cutting the groove on a screw-head. many labourers are employed upon the lock alone. and every portion is gauged correctly to the most infinitesimal fraction, being turned out by the thousand, that every separate item may be interchangeable among weapons of the same make.
-to reach it we pass through the smith’s shop and pause awhile to watch a supply of spanners being roughly stamped by an immense machine out of metal plates and having their edges tidied off before they can be further perfected. a steam-hammer is busily engaged in driving mandrils of increasing size through the centre of a red-hot forging. the heat from the forges is tremendous, and though it is tempered by a spray of falling water we are glad to escape into the next shed.
-here we find skilled workmen carefully preparing moulds by taking in sand the exact impression of a wooden dummy. fortunately we arrive just as a series of casts deeply sunk in the ground are about to be made. two brawny labourers bear forward an enormous iron crucible, red-hot from the furnace, filled with seething liquid--manganese bronze, we are told--which, when an iron bar is dipped into it, throws up tongues of beautiful greenish-golden flame. the smith stirs and clears off the scum as coolly as a cook skims her broth! now it is ready, the crucible is again lifted and its contents poured into a large funnel from which it flows into the moulds beneath and fills them to the level of the floor. at each one a helper armed with an iron bar takes his stand and stirs again to work up all dross and air-bubbles to the surface before the metal sets--a scene worthy of a painter’s brush.
-and so we leave them.
-the history of warlike inventions is the history of a continual see-saw between the discovery of a new means of defence and the discovery of a fresh means of attack. at one time a shield is devised to repel a javelin; at another a machine to hurl the javelin with increased violence against the shield; then the shield is reinforced by complete coats of mail, and so on. the ball of invention has rolled steadily on into our own times, gathering size as it rolls, and bringing more and more startling revolutions in the art of war. to-day it is a battle between the forces of nature, controllable by man in the shape of “high explosives,” and the resisting power of metals tempered to extreme toughness.
-at present it looks as if, on the sea at least, the attack were stronger than the defence. our warships may be cased in the hardest metal several inches thick until they become floating forts, almost impregnable to the heaviest shells. they may be provided with terrible engines able to give blow for blow, and be manned with the stoutest hearts in the world. and yet, were a sea-fight in progress, a blow, crushing and resistless, might at any time come upon the vessel from a quarter whence, even though suspected, its coming might escape notice--below the waterline. were it possible to case an ironclad from deck to keel in foot-thick plating, the metal would crumple like a biscuit-box under the terrible impact of the torpedo.
-this destructive weapon is an object of awe not so much from what it has done as from what it can do. the instances of a torpedo shivering a vessel in actual warfare are but few. yet its moral effect must be immense. even though it may miss its mark, the very fact of its possible presence will, especially at night-time, tend to keep the commanding minds of a fleet very much on the stretch, and to destroy their efficiency. a torpedo knows no half measures. it is either entirely successful or utterly useless. its construction entails great expense, but inasmuch as it can, if directed aright, send a million of the enemy’s money and a regiment of men to the bottom, the discharge of a torpedo is, after all, but the setting of a sprat to catch a whale.
-among purely automobile torpedoes the whitehead is easily first. after thirty years it still holds the lead for open sea work. it is a very marvel of ingenious adaptation of means to an end, and as it has fulfilled most successfully the conditions set forth above for an effective projectile it will be interesting to examine in some detail this most valuable weapon.
-in 1873 one captain lupuis of the austrian navy experimented with a small fireship which he directed along the surface of the sea by means of ropes and guiding lines. this fireship was to be loaded with explosives which should ignite immediately on coming into collision with the vessel aimed at. the austrian government declared his scheme unworkable in its crude form, and the captain looked about for some one to help him throw what he felt to be a sound idea into a practical shape. he found the man he wanted in mr. whitehead, who was at that time manager of an engineering establishment at fiume. mr. whitehead fell in enthusiastically with his proposition, at once discarded the complicated system of guiding ropes, and set to work to solve the problem on his own lines. at the end of two years, during which he worked in secret, aided only by a trusted mechanic and a boy, his son, he constructed the first torpedo of the type that bears his name. it was made of steel, was fourteen inches in diameter, weighed 300 lbs., and carried eighteen pounds of dynamite as explosive charge. but its powers were limited. it could attain a rate of but six knots an hour under favourable conditions, and then for a short distance only. its conduct was uncertain. sometimes it would run along the surface, at others make plunges for the bottom. however, the british government, recognising the importance of mr. whitehead’s work, encouraged him to perfect his instrument, and paid him a large sum for the patent rights. pattern succeeded pattern, until comparative perfection was reached.
-described briefly, the whitehead torpedo is cigar-shaped, blunt-nosed and tapering gradually towards the tail, so following the lines of a fish. its length is twelve times its diameter, which varies in different patterns from fourteen to nineteen inches. at the fore end is the striker, and at the tail are a couple of three-bladed screws working on one shaft in opposite directions, to economise power and obviate any tendency of the torpedo to travel in a curve; and two sets of rudders, the one horizontal, the other vertical. the latest form of the torpedo has a speed of twenty-nine knots and a range of over a thousand yards.
-the torpedo is divided into five compartments by watertight steel bulkheads. at the front is the explosive head, containing wet gun-cotton, or some other explosive. the “war head,” as it is called, is detachable, and for practice purposes its place is taken by a dummy-head filled with wood to make the balance correct.
-next comes the air chamber, filled with highly-compressed air to drive the engines; after it the balance chamber, containing the apparatus for keeping the torpedo at its proper depth; then the engine-room; and, last of all, the buoyancy chamber, which is air-tight and prevents the torpedo from sinking at the end of its run.
-to examine the compartments in order:--
-in the very front of the torpedo is the pistol and primer-charge for igniting the gun-cotton. especial care has been taken over this part of the mechanism, to prevent the torpedo being as dangerous to friends as to foes. the pistol consists of a steel plug sliding in a metal tube, at the back end of which is the fulminating charge. until the plug is driven right in against this charge there can be no explosion. three precautions are taken against this happening prematurely. in the first place, there is on the forward end of the plug a thread cut, up which a screw-fan travels as soon as it strikes the water. until the torpedo has run forty-five feet the fan has not reached the end of its travel, and the plug consequently cannot be driven home. even when the plug is quite free only a heavy blow will drive it in, as a little copper pin has to be sheared through by the impact. and before the screw can unwind at all, a safety-pin must be withdrawn at the moment of firing. so that a torpedo is harmless until it has passed outside the zone of danger to the discharging vessel.
-the detonating charge is thirty-eight grains of fulminate of mercury, and the primer-charge consists of six one-ounce discs of dry gun-cotton contained in a copper cylinder, the front end of which is connected with the striker-tube of the pistol. the fulminate, on receiving a blow, expands 2500 times, giving a violent shock to the gun-cotton discs, which in turn explode and impart a shock to the main charge, 200 lbs. of gun-cotton.
-the air chamber is made of the finest compressed steel, or of phosphor-bronze, a third of an inch thick. when ready for action this chamber has to bear a pressure of 1350 lbs. to the square inch. so severe is the compression that in the largest-sized torpedoes the air in this chamber weighs no less than 63 lbs. the air is forced in by very powerful pumps of a special design. aft of this chamber is that containing the stop-valve and steering-gear. the stop-valve is a species of air-tap sealing the air chamber until the torpedo is to be discharged. the valve is so arranged that it is impossible to insert the torpedo into the firing-tube before the valve has been opened, and so brought the air chamber into communication with the starting-valve, which does not admit air to the engines till after the projectile has left the tube.
-the engines consist of three single-action cylinders, their cranks working at an angle of 120° to one another, so that there is no “dead” or stopping point in their action. they are very small, but, thanks to the huge pressure in the air chamber, develop nearly thirty-one horse-power. lest they should “race,” or revolve too quickly, while passing from the tube to the water and do themselves serious damage, they are provided with a “delay action valve,” which is opened by the impact of the torpedo against the water. further, lest the air should be admitted to the cylinders at a very high pressure gradually decreasing to zero, a “reducing valve” or governor is added to keep the engines running at a constant speed.
-whitehead torpedoes are fired from tubes above or below the waterline. deck tubes have the advantage of being more easily aimed, but when loaded they are a source of danger, as any stray bullet or shell from an enemy’s ship might explode the torpedo with dire results. there is therefore an increasing preference for submerged tubes. an ingenious device is used for aiming the torpedo, which makes allowances for the speed of the ship from which it is fired, the speed of the ship aimed at, and the speed of the torpedo itself. when the moment for firing arrives, the officer in charge presses an electric button, which sets in motion an electric magnet fixed to the side of the tube. the magnet releases a heavy ball which falls and turns the “firing rod.” compressed air or a powder discharge is brought to bear on the rear end of the torpedo, which, if submerged, darts out from the vessel’s side along a guiding bar, from which it is released at both ends simultaneously, thus avoiding the great deflection towards the stern which would occur were a broadside torpedo not held at the nose till the tail is clear. this guiding apparatus enables a torpedo to leave the side of a vessel travelling at high speed almost at right angles to the vessel’s path.
-it will be easily understood that a whitehead torpedo is a costly projectile, and that its value--£500 or more--makes the authorities very careful of its welfare. during practice with “blank” torpedoes a “holmes light” is attached. this light is a canister full of calcium phosphide to which water penetrates through numerous holes, causing gas to be thrown off and rise to the surface, where, on meeting with the oxygen of the air, it bursts into flame and gives off dense volumes of heavy smoke, disclosing the position of the torpedo by night or day.
-at portsmouth are storehouses containing upwards of a thousand torpedoes. every torpedo is at intervals taken to pieces, examined, tested, and put together again after full particulars have been taken down on paper. each steel “baby” is kept bright and clean, coated with a thin layer of oil, lest a single spot of rust should mar its beauty. an interesting passage from lieutenant g. e. armstrong’s book on “torpedoes and torpedo vessels” will illustrate the scrupulous exactness observed in all things relating to the torpedo depôts: “as an example of the care with which the stores are kept it may be mentioned that a particular tiny pattern of brass screw which forms part of the torpedo’s mechanism and which is valued at about twopence-halfpenny per gross, is never allowed to be a single number wrong. on one occasion, when the stocktaking took place, it was found that instead of 5000 little screws being accounted for by the man who was told off to count them, there were only 4997. several foolscap letters were written and exchanged over these three small screws, though their value was not more than a small fraction of a farthing.”
-the classic instance of the effectiveness of this type of torpedo is the battle of the yalu, fought between the japanese and chinese fleets in 1894. the japanese had been pounding their adversaries for hours with their big guns without producing decisive results. so they determined upon a torpedo attack, which was delivered early in the morning under cover of darkness, and resulted in the destruction of a cruiser, the ting yuen. the next night a second incursion of the japanese destroyers wrecked another cruiser, the lai yuen, which sunk within five minutes of being struck; sank the wei yuen, an old wooden vessel used as a training-school; and blew a large steam launch out of the water on to an adjacent wharf. these hits “below the belt” were too much for the chinese, who soon afterwards surrendered to their more scientific and better equipped foes.
-if a general naval war broke out to-day most nations would undoubtedly pin their faith to the whitehead torpedo for use in the open sea, now that its accuracy has been largely increased by the gyroscope, a heavy flywheel attachment revolving rapidly at right angles to the path of the torpedo, and rendering a change of direction almost impossible.
-for harbour defence the brennan or its american rival, the sims-edison, might be employed. they are both torpedoes dirigible from a fixed base by means of connecting wires. the presence of these wires constitutes an obstacle to their being of service in a fleet action.
-the brennan is used by our naval authorities. it is the invention of a melbourne watchmaker. being a comparatively poor man, mr. brennan applied to the colonial government for grants to aid him in the manufacture and development of his torpedo, and he was supplied with sufficient money to perfect it. in 1881 he was requested by our admiralty to bring his invention to england, where it was experimented upon, and pronounced so efficient for harbour and creek defence that at the advice of the royal engineers mr. brennan was paid large sums for his patents and services.
-the brennan torpedo derives its motive power from a very powerful engine on shore, capable of developing 100 horse-power, with which it is connected by stout piano wires. one end of these wires is wound on two reels inside the torpedo, each working a screw; the other end is attached to two winding drums driven at high velocity by the engine on shore. as the drums wind in the wire the reels in the torpedo revolve; consequently, the harder the torpedo is pulled back the faster it moves forward, liked a trained trotting mare. the steering of the torpedo is effected by alterations in the relative speeds of the drums, and consequently of the screws. the drums run loose on the engine axle, and are thrown in or out of gear by means of a friction-brake, so that their speed can be regulated without altering the pace of the engines. any increase in the speed of one drum causes a corresponding decrease in the speed of the other. the torpedo can be steered easily to right or left within an arc of forty degrees on each side of straight ahead; but when once launched it cannot be retrieved except by means of a boat. its path is marked by a holmes light, described above. it has a 200-lb. gun-cotton charge, and is fitted with an apparatus for maintaining a proper depth very similar to that used in the whitehead torpedo.
-the sims-edison torpedo differs from the brennan in its greater obedience to orders and in its motive power being electrically transmitted through a single connecting cable. it is over thirty feet in length and two feet in diameter. attached to the torpedo proper by rods is a large copper float, furnished with balls to show the operator the path of the torpedo. the torpedo itself is in four parts: the explosive head; the magazine of electric cables, which is paid out as the torpedo travels; the motor room; and the compartment containing the steering-gear. the projectile has a high speed and long range--over four thousand yards. it can twist and turn in any direction, and, if need be, be called to heel. like the brennan, it has the disadvantage of a long trailing wire, which could easily become entangled; and it might be put out of action by any damage inflicted on its float by the enemy’s guns. but it is likely to prove a very effective harbour-guard if brought to the test.
-in passing to the orling-armstrong torpedo we enter the latest phase of torpedo construction. seeing the disadvantages arising from wires, electricians have sought a means of controlling torpedoes without any tangible connection. wireless telegraphy showed that such a means was not beyond the bounds of possibility. mr. axel orling, a swede, working in concert with mr. j. t. armstrong, has lately proved that a torpedo can be steered by waves of energy transmitted along rays of light, or perhaps it would be more correct to say along shafts of a form of x-rays.
-mr. orling claims for his torpedo that it is capable of a speed of twenty-two knots or more an hour; that it can be called to heel, and steered to right or left at will; that as long as it is in sight it is controllable by rays invisible to the enemy; that not merely one, but a number of torpedoes can be directed by the same beams of light; that, as it is submerged, it would, even if detected, be a bad mark for the enemy’s guns.
-the torpedo carries a shaft which projects above the water, and bears on its upper end a white disc to receive the rays and transmit them to internal motors to be transmuted into driving power. the rod also carries at night an electric light, shaded on the enemy’s side, but rendering the whereabouts of the torpedo very visible to the steerer.
-mr. orling’s torpedo acts throughout in a cruelly calculating manner. before its attack a ship would derive small advantage from a crinoline of steel netting; for the large torpedo conceals in its head a smaller torpedo, which, as soon as the netting is struck, darts out and blasts an opening through which its longer brother, after a momentary delay, can easily follow. the netting penetrated, the torpedo has yet to strike twice before exploding. on the first impact, a pin, projecting from the nose, is driven in to reverse the engines, and at the same time a certain nut commences to travel along a screw. the nut having worked its way to the end of the thread, the head of the torpedo fills slowly through a valve, giving it a downward slant in front. the engines are again reversed and the nut again travels, this time bringing the head of the torpedo up, so as to strike the vessel at a very effective angle from below.
-this torpedo has passed beyond the experimental stage. it is reported that by command of the swedish government, to whom mr. orling offered his invention, and of the king, who takes a keen interest in the ideas of his young countryman, a number of experiments were some time ago carried out in the swedish rivers. torpedoes were sent 2-1/2 miles, directed as desired, and made to rise or sink--all this without any tangible connection. the government was sufficiently satisfied with the result to take up the patents, as furnishing a cheap means of defending their coasts.
-if this torpedo acts fully up to its author’s expectations, naval warfare, at least as at present conducted, will be impossible. there appears to be no reason why this torpedo should not be worked from shipboard; and we cannot imagine that hostile ships possessing such truly infernal machines would care to approach within miles of one another, especially if the submarine be reinforced by the aërial torpedo, different patterns of which are in course of construction by mr. orling and major unge, a brother swede. the orling type will be worked by the new rays, strong enough to project it through space. major unge’s will depend for its motive power upon a succession of impulses obtained by the ignition of a slow-burning gas, passing through a turbine in the rear of the torpedo. the inventor hopes for a range of at least six miles.
-what defence would be possible against such missiles? liable to be shattered from below, or shivered from above, the warship will be placed at an ever-increasing disadvantage. its size will only render it an easier mark; its strength, bought at the expense of weight, will be but the means of insuring a quicker descent to the sea’s bottom. is it not probable that sea-fights will become more and more matters of a few terrible, quickly-delivered blows? human inventions will hold the balance more and more evenly between nations of unequal size, first on sea, then on land, until at last, as we may hope, even the hottest heads and bravest hearts will shrink from courting what will be less war than sheer annihilation, and war, man’s worst enemy, will be itself annihilated.
-the introduction of torpedoes for use against an enemy’s ships below the waterline has led by natural stages to the evolution of a vessel which may approach unsuspected close enough to the object of attack to discharge its missile effectively. before the searchlight was adopted a night surprise gave due concealment to small craft; but now that the gloom of midnight can be in an instant flooded with the brilliance of day a more subtle mode of attack becomes necessary.
-hence the genesis of the submarine or submersible boat, so constructed as to disappear beneath the sea at a safe distance from the doomed ship, and when its torpedo has been sped to retrace its invisible course until outside the radius of destruction.
-to this end many so-called submarine boats have been invented and experimented with during recent years. the idea is an ancient one revived, as indeed are the large proportion of our boasted modern discoveries.
-aristotle describes a vessel of this kind (a diving-bell rather than a boat, however), used in the siege of tyre more than two thousand years ago; and also refers to the divers being provided with an air-tube, “like the trunk of an elephant,” by means of which they drew a fresh supply of air from above the surface--a contrivance adopted in more than one of our modern submarines. alexander the great is said to have employed divers in warfare; pliny speaks of an ingenious diving apparatus, and bacon refers to air-tubes used by divers. we even find traces of weapons of offence being employed. calluvius is credited with the invention of a submarine gun for projecting greek fire.
-the bishop of upsala in the sixteenth century gives a somewhat elaborate description of certain leather skiffs or boats used to scuttle ships by attacking them from beneath, two of which he claims to have personally examined. in 1629 we read that the barbary corsairs fixed submarine torpedoes to the enemy’s keel by means of divers.
-as early as 1579 an english gunner named william bourne patented a submarine boat of his own invention fitted with leather joints, so contrived as to be made smaller or larger by the action of screws, ballasted with water, and having an air-pipe as mast. the campbell-ash submarine tried in 1885 was on much the same principle.
-cornelius van drebbel, an ingenious dutchman who settled in england before 1600, produced certain submersible vessels and obtained for them the patronage of two kings. he claims to have discovered a means of re-oxygenating the foul air and so enabling his craft to remain a long time below water; whether this was done by chemical treatment, compressed air, or by surface tubes no record remains. drebbel’s success was such that he was allowed to experiment in the thames, and james i. accompanied him on one of his sub-aquatic journeys. in 1626 charles i. gave him an order to make “boates to go under water,” as well as “water mines, water petards,” &c., presumably for the campaign against france, but we do not hear of these weapons of destruction being actually used upon this occasion.
-these early craft seem to have been generally moved by oars working in air-tight leather sockets; but one constructed at rotterdam about 1654 was furnished with a paddle-wheel.
-coming now nearer to our own times, we find that an american called bushnell had a like inspiration in 1773, when he invented his famous “turtles,” small, upright boats in which one man could sit, submerge himself by means of leather bottles with the mouths projecting outside, propel himself with a small set of oars and steer with an elementary rudder. an unsuccessful attempt was made to blow up the english fleet with one of these “turtles” carrying a torpedo, but the current proved too strong, and the missile exploded at a harmless distance, the operator being finally rescued from an unpremeditated sea-trip! bushnell was the author of the removable safety-keel now uniformly adopted.
-soon afterwards another new englander took up the running, fulton--one of the cleverest and least appreciated engineers of the early years of the nineteenth century. his nautilus, built in the french dockyards, was in many respects the pattern for our own modern submarines. the cigar-shaped copper hull, supported by iron ribs, was twenty-four feet four inches long, with a greatest diameter of seven feet. propulsion came from a wheel, rotated by a hand winch, in the centre of the stern; forward was a small conning-tower, and the boat was steered by a rudder. there was a detachable keel below; and fitted into groves on the top were a collapsible mast and sail for use on the surface of the water. an anchor was also carried externally. in spite of the imperfect materials at his disposal fulton had much success. at brest he took a crew of three men twenty-five feet down, and on another day blew up an old hulk. in the seine two men went down for twenty minutes and steered back to their starting-point under water. he also put in air at high pressure and remained submerged for hours. but france, england, and his own country in turn rejected his invention; and, completely discouraged, he bent his energies to designing boat engines instead.
-in 1821 captain johnson, also an american, made a submersible vessel 100 feet long, designed to fetch napoleon from st. helena, travelling for the most part upon the surface. this expedition never came off.
-two later inventions, by castera and payerne, in 1827 and 1846 respectively, were intended for more peaceful objects. being furnished with diving-chambers, the occupants could retrieve things from the bottom of the sea; castera providing his boat with an air-tube to the surface.
-bauer, another inventor, lived for some years in england under the patronage of prince albert, who supplied him with funds for his experiments. with brunel’s help he built a vessel which was indiscreetly modified by the naval authorities, and finally sank and drowned its crew. going then to russia he constructed sundry submarines for the navy; but was in the end thrown over, and, like fulton, had to turn himself to other employment.
-the fact is that up to this period the cry for a practical submarine to use in warfare had not yet arisen, or these inventions would have met with a far different reception. within the last half century all has changed. america and france now rival each other in construction, while the other nations of europe look on with intelligent interest, and in turn make their contributions towards solving the problem of under-wave propulsion.
-america led the way during the civil war blockades in 1864, when the housatonic was sunk in charleston harbour, and damage done to other ships. but these experimental torpedo-boats were clumsy contrivances compared with their modern successors, for they could only carry their destructive weapon at the end of a spar projecting from the bows--to be exploded upon contact with the obstacle, and probably involve the aggressor in a common ruin. so nothing more was done till the perfecting of the whitehead torpedo (see dirigible torpedoes) gave the required impetus to fresh enterprise.
-france, experimenting in the same direction, produced in 1889 goubet’s submarine, patent of a private inventor, who has also been patronised by other navies. these are very small boats, the first, 16-1/2 feet long, carrying a crew of two or three men. goubet no. 2, built in 1899, is 26-1/4 feet long, composed of several layers of gun-metal united by strong screw-bolts, and so able to resist very great pressure. they are egg-or spindle-shaped, supplied with compressed air, able to sink and rise by rearrangement of water-ballast. reservoirs in the hull are gradually filled for submersion with water, which is easily expelled when it is desired to rise again. if this system goes wrong a false keel of thirty-six hundredweight can be detached and the boat springs up to the surface. the propulsive force is electricity, which works the driving-screw at the rear, and the automobile torpedo is discharged from its tube by compressed air.
-“by the aid of an optical tube, which a pneumatic telescopic apparatus enables the operator to thrust above the surface and pull down in a moment, the captain of the goubet can, when near the surface, see what is going on all round him. this telescope has a system of prisms and lenses which cause the image of the sea-surface to be deflected down to the eye of the observer below.
-the gymnote, laid down in 1898, is more than double the size of the goubet; it is cigar-shaped, 29 feet long by 6 feet diameter, with a displacement of thirty tons. the motive power is also electricity stored in accumulators for use during submersion, and the speed expected--but not realised--was to be ten knots.
-five years later this type was improved upon in the gustave zédé, the largest submarine ever yet designed. this boat, built of phosphor-bronze, with a single screw, measures 131 feet in length and has a displacement of 266 tons; she can contain a crew of nine officers and men, carries three torpedoes--though with one torpedo tube instead of two--has a lightly armoured conning-tower, and is said to give a surface speed of thirteen knots and to make eight knots when submerged. at a trial of her powers made in the presence of m. lockroy, minister of marine, she affixed an unloaded torpedo to the battleship magenta and got away unobserved. the whole performance of the boat on that occasion was declared to be most successful. but its cost proved excessive considering the small radius of action obtainable, and a smaller vessel of the same type, the morse (118 × 9 feet), is now the official size for that particular class.
-in 1896 a competition was held and won by the submersible narval of m. laubeuf, a craft shaped much like the ordinary torpedo-boat. on the surface or awash the narval works by means of a brulé engine burning oil fuel to heat its boilers; but when submerged for attack with funnel shut down is driven by electric accumulators. she displaces 100 odd tons and is provided with four dzewiecki torpedo tubes. her radius of action, steaming awash, is calculated at some 250 miles, or seventy miles when proceeding under water at five knots an hour. this is the parent of another class of boats designed for offensive tactics, while the morse type is adapted chiefly for coast and harbour defence. the french navy includes altogether thirty submarine craft, though several of these are only projected at present, and none have yet been put to the practical tests of actual warfare--the torpedoes used in experimenting being, of course, blank.
-meanwhile in america experiments have also been proceeding since 1887, when mr. holland of new york produced the vessel that bears his name. this, considerably modified, has now been adopted as model by our navy department, which is building some half-dozen on very similar lines. though it is not easy to get any definite particulars concerning french submarines americans are less reticent, and we have graphic accounts of the holland and her offspring from those who have visited her.
-these vessels, though cigar-shaped liked most others, in some respects resemble the narval, being intended for long runs on the surface, when they burn oil in a four-cylinder gasolene engine of 160 horse-power. under water they are propelled by an electric waterproof motor of seventy horse-power, and proceed at a pace of seven knots per hour. there is a superstructure for deck, with a funnel for the engine and a small conning-tower protected by 4-inch armour. the armament carried comprises five 18-inch whitehead torpedoes, 11 feet 8 inches long. one hundred and twenty tons is the displacement, including tank capacity for 850 gallons of gasolene; the full length is 63 feet 4 inches, with a beam of 11 feet 9 inches.
-“the frames of the boat are exact circles of steel. they are set a little more than a foot apart. they diminish gradually in diameter from the centre of the boat to the bow and stern. on the top of the boat a flat superstructure is built to afford a walking platform, and under this are spaces for exhaust pipes and for the external outfit of the boat, such as ropes and a small anchor. the steel plates which cover the frame are from one-half to three-eighths of an inch in thickness.
-“from what may be called the centre of the boat a turret extends upwards through the superstructure for about eighteen inches. it is two feet in diameter, and is the only means of entrance to the boat. it is the place from which the boat is operated. at the stern is an ordinary three-bladed propeller and an ordinary rudder, and in addition there are two horizontal rudders--“diving-rudders” they are called--which look like the feet of a duck spread out behind as it swims along the water.
-“from the bow two-thirds of the way to the stern there is a flooring, beneath which are the storage batteries, the tank for the gasolene, and the tanks which are filled with water for submerging; in the last one-third of the boat the flooring drops away, and the space is occupied by the propelling machinery.
-“there are about a dozen openings in the boat, the chief being three kingston valves, by means of which the submerging tanks are filled or emptied. others admit water to pressure gauges, which regulate or show the depth of the vessel under water. there are twelve deadlights in the top and sides of the craft. to remain under water the boat must be kept in motion, unless an anchor is used.
-“it can be steered to the surface by the diving rudders, or sent flying to the top through emptying the storage tanks. if it strikes bottom, or gets stuck in the mud, it can blow itself loose by means of its compressed air. it cannot be sunk unless pierced above the flooring. it has a speed capacity of from eight to ten knots either on the surface or under water.
-“it can go 1500 miles on the surface without renewing its supply of gasolene. it can go fully forty knots under water without coming to the surface, and there is enough compressed air in the tanks to supply a crew with fresh air for thirty hours, if the air is not used for any other purpose, such as emptying the submerging tanks. it can dive to a depth of twenty feet in eight seconds.
-“the interior is simply packed with machinery. as you climb down the turret you are confronted with it at once. there is a diminutive compass which must be avoided carefully by the feet. a pressure gauge is directly in front of the operator’s eye as he stands in position. there are speaking-tubes to various parts of the boat, and a signal-bell to the engine-room.
-“as the operator’s hands hang by his sides, he touches a wheel on the port side, by turning which he steers the little vessel, and one on the starboard side, by turning which he controls the diving machinery. after the top is clamped down the operator can look out through plate-glass windows, about one inch wide and three inches long, which encircle the turret.
-“so long as the boat is running on the surface these are valuable, giving a complete view of the surroundings if the water is smooth. after the boat goes beneath the surface, these windows are useless; it is impossible to see through the water. steering must be done by compass; until recently considered an impossible task in a submarine boat. a tiny electric light in the turret shows the operator the direction in which he is going, and reveals the markings on the depth gauges. if the boat should pass under an object, such as a ship, a perceptible shadow would be noticed through the deadlights, but that is all. the ability to see fishes swimming about in the water is a pleasant fiction.
-“the only clear space in the body of the boat is directly in front of the bench on which the man in the turret is standing. it is where the eighteen-inch torpedo-tube, and the eight and five-eighths inch aërial gun are loaded.
-“along the sides of this open space are six compressed-air tanks, containing thirty cubic feet of air at a pressure of 2000 lbs. to a square inch. near by is a smaller tank, containing three cubic feet of air at a fifty pounds pressure. a still smaller tank contains two cubic feet of air at a ten pounds pressure. these smaller tanks supply the compressed air which, with the smokeless powder, is used in discharging the projectiles from the boat.
-“directly behind the turret, up against the roof on the port side, is the little engine by which the vessel is steered; it is worked by compressed air. fastened to the roof on the starboard side is the diving-engine, with discs that look as large as dinner-plates stood on end. these discs are diaphragms on which the water-pressure exerts an influence, counteracting certain springs which are set to keep the diving rudders at a given pitch, and thus insuring an immersion of an exact depth during a run.
-“at one side is a cubic steel box--the air compressor; and directly in the centre of this part of the boat is a long pendulum, just as there is in the ordinary torpedo, which, by swinging backwards and forwards as the boat dives and rises, checks a tendency to go too far down, or to come up at too sharp an angle. on the floor are the levers which, when raised and moved in certain directions, fill or empty the submerging tanks. on every hand are valves and wheels and pipes in such apparent confusion as to turn a layman’s head.
-“there are also pumps in the boat, a ventilating apparatus, and a sounding contrivance, by means of which the channel is picked out when running under water. this sounding contrivance consists of a heavy weight attached to a piano wire passing from a reel out through a stuffing-box in the bottom. there are also valves which release fresh air to the crew, although in ordinary runs of from one-half to one hour this is not necessary, the fresh air received from the various exhausts in the boat being sufficient to supply all necessities in that length of time.”
-another submersible of somewhat different design is the production of the swedish inventor, mr. nordenfelt. this boat is 9-1/2 metres in length, and has a displacement of sixty tons. like the goubet it sinks only in a horizontal position, while the holland plunges downward at a slight angle. on the surface a steam-engine of 100 horse-power propels it, and when the funnel is closed down and the vessel submerges itself, the screws are still driven by superheated steam from the large reservoir of water boiling at high pressure which maintains a constant supply, three circulation pumps keeping this in touch with the boiler. the plunge is accomplished by means of two protected screws, and when they cease to move the reserve buoyancy of the boat brings it back to the surface. it is steered by a rudder which a pendulum regulates. the most modern of these boats is of english manufacture, built at barrow, and tried in southampton water.
-the vessels hitherto described should be termed submersible rather than submarine, as they are designed to usually proceed on the surface, and submerge themselves only for action when in sight of the enemy.
-american ingenuity has produced an absolutely unique craft to which the name submarine may with real appropriateness be applied, for, sinking in water 100 feet deep, it can remain below and run upon three wheels along the bottom of the sea. this is the argonaut, invented by mr. simon lake of baltimore, and its main portion consists of a steel framework of cylindrical form which is surmounted by a flat, hollow steel deck. during submersion the deck is filled with water and thus saved from being crushed by outside pressure as well as helping to sink the craft.
-when moving on the surface it has the appearance of an ordinary ship, with its two light masts, a small conning-tower on which is the steering-wheel, bowsprit, ventilators, a derrick, suction-pump, and two anchors. a gasolene engine of special design is used for both surface and submerged cruising under ordinary circumstances, but in time of war storage batteries are available. an electric dynamo supplies light to the whole interior, including a 4000 candle-power searchlight in the extreme bow which illuminates the pathway while under water.
-once upon the bottom of the sea this versatile submarine begins its journey as a tricycle. it is furnished with a driving-wheel on either side, each of which is 6-1/2 feet in diameter and weighs 5000 lbs.; and is guided by a third wheel weighing 2000 lbs. journalled in the rudder. on a hard bottom or against a strong tide the wheels are most effective owing to their weight, but in passing through soft sand or mud the screw propeller pushes the boat along, the driving-wheels running “loose.” in this way she can travel through even waist-deep mud, the screw working more strongly than on the surface, because it has such a weight of water to help it, and she moves more easily uphill.
-in construction the argonaut is shaped something like a huge cigar, her strong steel frames, spaced twenty inches apart, being clad with steel plates 3/8-inch thick double riveted over them. great strength is necessary to resist the pressure of superincumbent water, which at a depth of 100 feet amounts to 44 lbs. per square inch.
-originally she was built 36 feet long, but was subsequently lengthened by some 20 odd feet, and has 9 feet beam. she weighs fifty-seven tons when submerged. a false section of keel, 4000 lbs. in weight, can on emergency be instantly released from inside; and two downhaul weights, each of 1000 lbs., are used as an extra precaution for safety when sinking in deep water.
-the interior is divided into various compartments, the living quarters consisting of the cabin, galley, operating chamber and engine-room. there are also a division containing stores and telephone, the intermediate, and the divers’ room. the “operating” room contains the levers, handwheels, and other mechanism by which the boat’s movements are governed. a water gauge shows her exact depth below the surface; a dial on either side indicates any inclination from the horizontal. certain levers open the valves which admit water to the ballast-tanks in the hold; another releases the false keel; there is a cyclometer to register the wheel travelling, and other gauges mark the pressure of steam, speed of engines, &c.
-a compass in the conning-tower enables the navigator to steer a true course whether above or below the surface. this conning-tower, only six feet high, rises above the centre of the living quarters, and is of steel with small windows in the upper part. encircling it to about three-quarters of its height is a reservoir for gasolene, which feeds into a smaller tank within the boat for consumption. the compressed air is stored in two mannesmann steel reservoirs which have been tested to a pressure of 4000 lbs. per square inch. this renews the air-supply for the crew when the argonaut is long below, and also enables the diving operations to be carried on.
-the maximum speed at which the argonaut travels submerged is five knots an hour, and when she has arrived at her destination--say a sunken coal steamer--the working party pass into the “intermediate” chamber, whose air-tight doors are then closed. a current of compressed air is then turned on until the air is equal in pressure to that in the divers’ room. the doors of this close over india rubber to be air and water-tight; one communicates with the “intermediate,” the other is a trap which opens downwards into the sea. through three windows in the prow those remaining in the room can watch operations outside within a radius varying according to the clearness of the water. the divers assume their suits, to the helmets of which a telephone is attached, so arranged that they are able to talk to each other as well as to those in the boat. they are also provided with electric lamps, and a brilliant flood of light streams upon them from the bows of the vessel. the derrick can be used with ease under water, and the powerful suction-pump will “retrieve” coal from a submerged vessel into a barge above at the rate of sixty tons per hour.
-it will thus be seen how valuable a boat of this kind may be for salvage operations, as well as for surveying the bottom of harbours, river mouths, sea coasts, and so on. in war time it can lay or examine submarine mines for harbour defence, or, if employed offensively, can enter the enemy’s harbour with no chance of detection, and there destroy his mines or blow up his ships with perfect impunity.
-to return the argonaut to the surface it is only necessary to force compressed air into the space below the deck and the four tanks in the hold. her buoyancy being thus gradually restored she rises slowly and steadily till she is again afloat upon the water, and steams for land.
-we have now glanced briefly at some of the most interesting attempts--out of many dozens--to produce a practicable submarine vessel in bygone days; and have inquired more closely into the construction of several modern designs; among these the holland has received especial attention, as that is the model adopted by our admiralty, and our own new boats only differ in detail from their american prototype. but before quitting this subject it will be well to consider what is required from the navigating engineer, and how far present invention has supplied the demand.
-the perfect submarine of fiction was introduced by jules verne, whose nautilus remains a masterpiece of scientific imagination. this marvellous vessel ploughed the seas with equal power and safety, whether on the surface or deeply sunk beneath the waves, bearing the pressure of many atmospheres. it would rest upon the ocean floor while its inmates, clad in diving suits, issued forth to stroll amid aquatic forests and scale marine mountains. it gathered fabulous treasures from pearl beds and sunken galleons; and could ram and sink an offending ship a thousand times its size without dinting or loosening a plate on its own hull. no weather deflected its compass, no movement disturbed its equilibrium. its crew followed peacefully and cheerfully in their spacious cabins a daily round of duties which electric power and automatic gear reduced to a minimum. save for the misadventure of a shortened air-supply when exploring the polar pack, and the clash of human passions, captain nemo’s guests would have voyaged in a floating paradise.
-compare with this entrancing creation the most practical vessels of actual experiment. they are small, blind craft, groping their way perilously when below the surface, the steel and electrical machinery sadly interfering with any trustworthy working of their compass, and the best form of periscope hitherto introduced forming a very imperfect substitute for ordinary vision.
-their speed, never very fast upon the surface, is reduced by submersion to that of the oldest and slowest gunboats. their radius of action is also circumscribed--that is, they cannot carry supplies sufficient to go a long distance, deal with a hostile fleet, and then return to headquarters without replenishment.
-furthermore, there arise the nice questions of buoyancy combined with stability when afloat, of sinking quickly out of sight, and of keeping a correct balance under water. the equilibrium of such small vessels navigating between the surface and the bottom is extremely sensitive; even the movements to and fro of the crew are enough to imperil them. to meet this difficulty the big water-ballast tanks, engines and accumulators are necessarily arranged at the bottom of the hull, and a pendulum working a helm automatically is introduced to keep it longitudinally stable.
-to sink the boat, which is done by changing the angle of the propeller in the goubet and some others, and by means of horizontal rudders and vanes in the nordenfelt and holland, it must first be most accurately balanced, bow and stern exactly in trim. then the boat must be put into precise equilibrium with the water--i.e. must weigh just the amount of water displaced. for this its specific gravity must be nearly the same as that of the water (whether salt or fresh), and a small accident might upset all calculations. collision, even with a large fish, could destroy the steering-gear, and a dent in the side would also tend to plunge it at once to destruction.
-did it escape these dangers and succeed in steering an accurate course to its goal, we have up to now little practical proof that the mere act of discharging its torpedo--though the weight of the missile is intended to be automatically replaced immediately it drops from the tube--may not suffice to send the vessel either to bottom or top of the sea. in the latter case it would be within the danger zone of its alarmed enemy and at his mercy, its slow speed (even if uninjured) leaving it little chance of successful flight.
-but whatever the final result, one thing is certain, that--untried as it is--the possible contingency of a submarine attack is likely to shake the morale of an aggressive fleet.
-“when the first submarine torpedo-boat goes into action,” says mr. holland, “she will bring us face to face with the most perplexing problem ever met in warfare. she will present the unique spectacle, when used in attack, of a weapon against which there is no defence.... you can send nothing against the submarine boat, not even itself.... you cannot see under water, hence you cannot fight under water. hence you cannot defend yourself against an attack under water except by running away.”
-this inventor is, however, an enthusiast about the future awaiting the submarine as a social factor. his boat has been tested by long voyages on and below water with complete success. the argonaut also upon one occasion travelled a thousand miles with five persons, and proved herself “habitable, seaworthy, and under perfect control.”
-mr. holland confidently anticipates in the near future a channel service of submerged boats run by automatic steering-gear upon cables stretched from coast to coast, and eloquently sums up its advantages.
-the passage would be always practicable, for ordinary interruptions such as fog and storms cannot affect the sea depths.
-an even temperature would prevail summer and winter, the well-warmed and lighted boats being also free from smoke and spray.
-no nauseating smells would proceed from the evenly-working electric engines. no motion cause sea-sickness, no collision be apprehended--as each line would run on its own cable, and at its own specified depth, a telephone keeping it in communication with shore.
-in like manner a service might be plied over lake bottoms, or across the bed of wide rivers whose surface is bound in ice. such is the submarine boat as hitherto conceived for peace or war--a daring project for the coming generation to justify.
-has it ever occurred to the reader to ask himself why rain appears to fall in streaks though it arrives at earth in drops? or why the glowing end of a charred stick produces fiery lines if waved about in the darkness? common sense tells us the drop and the burning point cannot be in two places at one and the same time. and yet apparently we are able to see both in many positions simultaneously.
-this seeming paradox is due to “persistence of vision,” a phenomenon that has attracted the notice of scientific men for many centuries. persistence may be briefly explained thus:--
-the eye is extremely sensitive to light, and will, as is proved by the visibility of the electric spark, lasting for less than the millionth part of a second, receive impressions with marvellous rapidity.
-but it cannot get rid of these impressions at the same speed. the duration of a visual impression has been calculated as one-tenth to one-twenty-first of a second. the electric spark, therefore, appears to last much longer than it really does.
-hence it is obvious that if a series of impressions follow one another more rapidly than the eye can free itself of them, the impressions will overlap, and one of four results will follow.
-“one day herschel, sitting with me after dinner, amusing himself by spinning a pear upon the table, suddenly asked whether i could show him the two sides of a shilling at the same moment. i took out of my pocket a shilling, and holding it up before the looking-glass, pointed out my method. ‘no,’ said my friend, ‘that won’t do;’ then spinning my shilling upon the table, he pointed out his method of seeing both sides at once. the next day i mentioned the anecdote to the late dr. fitton, who a few days after brought me a beautiful illustration of the principle. it consisted of a round disc of card suspended between two pieces of sewing silk. these threads being held between the finger and thumb of each hand, were then made to turn quickly, when the disc of card, of course, revolved also. upon one side of this disc of card was painted a bird, upon the other side an empty bird-cage. on turning the thread rapidly the bird appeared to have got inside the cage. we soon made numerous applications, as a rat on one side and a trap on the other, &c. it was shown to captain kater, dr. wollaston, and many of our friends, and was, after the lapse of a short time, forgotten. some months after, during dinner at the royal society club, sir joseph banks being in the chair, i heard mr. barrow, then secretary to the admiralty, talking very loudly about a wonderful invention of dr. paris, the object of which i could not quite understand. it was called the thaumatrope, and was said to be sold at the royal institution, in albemarle street. suspecting that it had some connection with our unnamed toy i went next morning and purchased for seven shillings and sixpence a thaumatrope, which i afterwards sent down to slough to the late lady herschel. it was precisely the thing which her son and dr. fitton had contributed to invent, which amused all their friends for a time, and had then been forgotten.”
-the thaumatrope, then, did nothing more than illustrate the power of the eye to weld together a couple of alternating impressions. the toys to which we shall next pass represent the same principle working in a different direction towards the production of the living picture.
-now, when we see a man running (to take an instance) we see the same body and the same legs continuously, but in different positions, which merge insensibly the one into the other. no method of reproducing that impression of motion is possible if only one drawing, diagram, or photograph be employed.
-a man represented with as many legs as a centipede would not give us any impression of running or movement; and a blur showing the positions taken successively by his legs would be equally futile. therefore we are driven back to a series of pictures, slightly different from one another; and in order that the pictures may not be blurred a screen must be interposed before the eye while the change from picture to picture is made. the shorter the period of change, and the greater the number of pictures presented to illustrate a single motion, the more realistic is the effect. these are the general principles which have to be observed in all mechanism for the production of an illusory effect of motion. the persistence of vision has led to the invention of many optical toys, the names of which, in common with the names of most apparatus connected with the living picture, are remarkable for their length. of these toys we will select three for special notice.
-in 1833 plateau of ghent invented the phenakistoscope, “the thing that gives one a false impression of reality”--to interpret this formidable word. the phenakistoscope is a disc of card or metal round the edge of which are drawn a succession of pictures showing a man or animal in progressive positions. between every two pictures a narrow slit is cut. the disc is mounted on an axle and revolved before a mirror, so that a person looking through the slits see one picture after another reflected in the mirror.
-the zoetrope, or wheel of life, which appeared first in 1860, is a modification of the same idea. in this instrument the pictures are arranged on the inner side of a hollow cylinder revolving on a vertical axis, its sides being perforated with slits above the pictures. as the slit in both cases caused distortion m. reynaud, a frenchman, produced in 1877 the praxinoscope, which differed from the zoetrope in that the pictures were not seen directly through slits, but were reflected by mirrors set half-way between the pictures and the axis of the cylinder, a mirror for every picture. only at the moment when the mirror is at right angles to the line of sight would the picture be visible. m. reynaud also devised a special lantern for projecting praxinoscope pictures on to a screen.
-these and other somewhat similar contrivances, though ingenious, had very distinct limitations. they depended for their success upon the inventiveness and accuracy of the artist, who was confined in his choice of subject; and could, owing to the construction of the apparatus, only represent a small series of actions, indefinitely repeated by the machine. and as a complete action had to be crowded into a few pictures, the changes of position were necessarily abrupt.
-to make the living picture a success two things were needed; some method of securing a very rapid series of many pictures, and a machine for reproducing the series, whatever its length. the method was found in photography, with the advance of which the living picture’s progress is so closely related, that it will be worth while to notice briefly the various improvements of photographic processes. the old-fashioned daguerreotype process, discovered in 1839, required an exposure of half-an-hour. the introduction of wet collodion reduced this tax on a sitter’s patience to ten seconds. in 1878 the dry plate process had still further shortened the exposure to one second; and since that date the silver-salt emulsions used in photography have had their sensitiveness to light so much increased, that clear pictures can now be made in one-thousandth of a second, a period minute enough to arrest the most rapid movements of animals.
-the introduction of the ribbon film in or about 1888 opened much greater possibilities to the living picture than would ever have existed had the glass plate been retained. it was now comparatively easy to take a long series of pictures; and accordingly we find messrs. friese-greene and evans exhibiting in 1890 a camera capable of securing three hundred exposures in half a minute, or ten per second.
-to secure forty-six negatives per second edison invented a special exposure device. each negative would have but one-forty-sixth of a second to itself, and that must include the time during which the fresh surface of film was being brought into position before the lens. he therefore introduced an intermittent gearing, which jerked the film forwards forty-six times per second, but allowed it to remain stationary for nine-tenths of the period allotted to each picture. during the time of movement the lens was covered by the shutter. this principle of exposure has also been largely adopted by other inventors. by its means weak negatives are avoided, while pictures projected on to a screen gain greatly in brilliancy and steadiness.
-the capabilities of a long flexible film-band having been shown by edison, he was not long without imitators. phantoscopes, bioscopes, photoscopes, and many other instruments followed in quick succession. in 1895 messrs. lumière scored a great success with their cinematograph, which they exhibited at marseilles and paris; throwing the living picture as we now know it on to a screen for a large company to see. this camera-lantern opens the era of commercial animated-photography. the number of patents taken out since 1895 in connection with living-picture machines is sufficient proof that inventors have either found in this particular branch of photography a peculiar fascination, or have anticipated from it a substantial profit.
-a company known as the mutoscope and biograph company has been formed for the sole object of working the manufacture and exhibition of the living picture on a great commercial scale. the present company is american, but there are subsidiary allied companies in many parts of the world, including the british isles, france, italy, belgium, germany, austria, india, australia, south africa. the part that the company has played in the development of animated photography will be easily understood from the short account that follows.
-the company controls three machines, the mutograph, or camera for making negatives; the biograph, or lantern for throwing pictures on to the screen; and the mutoscope, a familiar apparatus in which the same pictures may be seen in a different fashion on the payment of a penny.
-externally the mutograph is remarkable for its size, which makes it a giant of its kind. the complete apparatus weighs, with its accumulators, several hundreds of pounds. it takes a very large picture, as animatograph pictures go--two by two-and-a-half inches, which, besides giving increased detail, require less severe magnification than is usual with other films. the camera can make up to a hundred exposures per second, in which time twenty-two feet of film will have passed before the lens.
-the film is so heavy that were it arrested bodily during each exposure and then jerked forward again, it might be injured. the mechanism of the mutograph, driven at regular speed, by an electric motor, has been so arranged as to halt only that part of the film which is being exposed, the rest moving forward continuously. the exposed portion, together with the next surface, which has accumulated in a loop behind it, is dragged on by two rollers that are in contact with the film during part only of their revolutions. thus the jerky motion is confined to but a few inches of the film, and even at the highest speeds the camera is peculiarly free from vibration.
-an exposed mutograph film is wound for development round a skeleton reel, three feet in diameter and seven long, which rotates in a shallow trough containing the developing solution. development complete, the reel is lifted from its supports and suspended over a succession of other troughs for washing, fixing, and final washing. when dry the negative film is passed through a special printing frame in contact with another film, which receives the positive image for the biograph. the difficulty of handling such films will be appreciated to a certain extent even by those whose experience is confined to the snaky behaviour of a short kodak reel during development.
-the mutoscope company’s organisation is as perfect as its machinery. it has representatives in all parts of the world. wherever stirring events are taking place, whether in peace or war, a mutograph operator will soon be on the spot with his heavy apparatus to secure pictures for world-wide exhibition. it need hardly be said that great obstacles, human and physical, have often to be overcome before a film can be exposed; and considerable personal danger encountered. we read that an operator, despatched to cuba during the spanish-american war was left three days and nights without food or water to guard his precious instruments, the party that had landed him having suddenly put to sea on sighting a spanish cruiser. another is reported to have had a narrow escape from being captured at sea by the spaniards after a hot chase. it is also on record that a mutograph set up in atlantic city to take a procession of fire-engines was charged and shattered by one of the engines; that the operators were flung into the crowd: and that nevertheless the box containing the exposed films was uninjured, and on development yielded a very sensational series of pictures lasting to the moment of collision.
-the mutoscope company owns several thousand series of views, none probably more valuable than those of his holiness the pope, who graciously gave mr. w. k. dickson five special sittings, during which no less than 17,000 negatives were made, each one of great interest to millions of people throughout the world.
-the company spares neither time nor money in its endeavour to supply the public with what will prove acceptable. a year’s output runs into a couple of hundred miles of film. as much as 700 feet is sometimes expended on a single series, which may be worth anything up to £1000.
-one may easily weary of a series of single views passed slowly through a magic-lantern at a lecture or entertainment. but when the biograph is flashing its records at lightning speed there is no cause for dullness. it is impossible to escape from the fascination of movement. a single photograph gives the impression of mere resemblance to the original; but a series, each reinforcing the signification of the last, breathes life into the dead image, and deludes us into the belief that we see, not the representation of a thing, but the thing itself. the bill of fare provided by the biograph company is varied enough to suit the most fastidious taste. now it is the great naval review off spithead, or president faure shooting pheasants on his preserves near paris. a moment’s pause and then the magnificent falls of niagara foam across the sheet; maxim guns fire harmlessly; panoramic scenes taken from locomotives running at high velocity unfold themselves to the delighted spectators, who feel as if they really were speeding over open country, among towering rocks, or plunging into the darkness of a tunnel. here is an express approaching with all the quiver and fuss of real motion, so faithfully rendered that it seems as if a catastrophe were imminent; when, snap! we are transported a hundred miles to watch it glide into a station. the doors open, passengers step out and shake hands with friends, porters bustle about after luggage, doors are slammed again, the guard waves his flag, and the carriages move slowly out of the picture. then our attention is switched away to the 10-inch disappearing gun, landing and firing at sandy hook. and next, as though to show that nothing is beneath the notice of the biograph, we are perhaps introduced to a family of small pigs feeding from a trough with porcine earnestness and want of manners.
-it must not be thought that the living picture caters for mere entertainment only. it serves some very practical and useful ends. by its aid the movements of machinery and the human muscles may be studied in detail, to aid a mechanical or medical education. it furnishes art schools with all the poses of a living model. less serious pursuits, such as dancing, boxing, wrestling and all athletic sports and exercise, will find a use for it. as an advertising medium it stands unrivalled, and we shall owe it a deep debt of gratitude if it ultimately supplants the flaring posters that disfigure our towns and desecrate our landscapes. not so long since, the directors of the norddeutscher-lloyd steamship company hired the biograph at the palace theatre, london, to demonstrate to anybody who cared to witness a very interesting exhibition that their line of vessels should always be used for a journey between england and america.
-the living picture has even been impressed into the service of the british empire to promote emigration to the colonies. three years ago mr. freer exhibited at the imperial institute and in other places in england a series of films representing the 1897 harvest in manitoba. would-be emigrants were able to satisfy themselves that the great canadian plains were fruitful not only on paper. for could they not see with their own eyes the stately procession of automatic “binders” reaping, binding, and delivering sheaves of wheat, and puffing engines threshing out the grain ready for market? a far preferable method this to the bogus descriptions of land companies such as lured poor chuzzlewit and mark tapley into the deadly swamps of “eden.”
-again, what more calculated to recruit boys for our warships than the fine polytechnic exhibition known as “our navy”? what words, spoken or printed, could have the effect of a series of vivid scenes truthfully rendered, of drills on board ship, the manning and firing of big guns, the limbering-up of smaller guns, the discharge of torpedoes, the headlong rush of the “destroyers”?
-the mutoscope, to which reference has been made above, may be found in most places of public entertainment, in refreshment bars, on piers, in exhibitions, on promenades. a penny dropped into a slot releases a handle, the turning of which brings a series of pictures under inspection. the pictures, enlarged from mutograph films, are mounted in consecutive order round a cylinder, standing out like the leaves of a book. when the cylinder is revolved by means of the handle the picture cards are snapped past the eye, giving an effect similar to the lifelike projections on a biograph screen. from 900 to 1000 pictures are mounted on a cylinder.
-the advantages of the mutoscope--its convenient size, its simplicity, and the ease with which its contents may be changed to illustrate the topics and events of the day--have made the animated photograph extremely popular. it does for vision what the phonograph does for sound. in a short time we shall doubtless be provided with handy machines combining the two functions and giving us double value for our penny.
-the real importance and value of animated photography will be more easily estimated a few years hence than to-day, when it is still more or less of a novelty. the multiplication of illustrated newspapers and magazines points to a general desire for pictorial matter to help down the daily, weekly, or monthly budget of news, even if the illustrations be imaginative products of fleet street rather than faithful to fact. the reliable living picture (we expect the “set-scene”) which “holds up a mirror to nature,” will be a companion rather than a rival of journalism, following hard on the description in print of an event that has taken place under the eye of the recording camera. the zest with which we have watched during the last two years biographic views of the embarkation and disembarkation of troops, of the transport of big guns through drifts and difficult country, and of the other circumstances of war, is largely due to the descriptions we have already read of the things that we see on the screen. and, on the other hand, the impression left by a series of animated views will dwell in our memories long after the contents of the newspaper columns have become confused and jumbled. it is therefore especially to be hoped that photographic records will be kept of historic events, such as the jubilee, the queen’s funeral, king edward’s coronation, so that future generations may, by the turning of a handle, be brought face to face with the great doings of a bygone age.
-the great paris telescope
-a telescope so powerful that it brings the moon apparently to within thirty-five miles of the earth; so long that many a cricketer could not throw a ball from one end of it to the other; so heavy that it would by itself make a respectable load for a goods train; so expensive that astronomically-inclined millionaires might well hesitate to order a similar one for their private use.
-such is the huge paris telescope that in 1900 delighted thousands of visitors in the french exposition, where, among the many wonderful sights to be seen on all sides, it probably attracted more notice than any other exhibit. this triumph of scientific engineering and dogged perseverance in the face of great difficulties owes its being to a suggestion made in 1894 to a group of french astronomers by m. deloncle. he proposed to bring astronomy to the front at the coming exposition, and to effect this by building a refracting telescope that in size and power should completely eclipse all existing instruments and add a new chapter to the “story of the heavens.”
-to the mind unversed in astronomy the telescope appeals by the magnitude of its dimensions, in the same way as do the forth bridge, the eiffel tower, the big wheel, the statue of liberty near new york harbour, the pyramids, and most human-made “biggest on records.”
-at the time of m. deloncle’s proposal the largest refracting telescope was the yerkes’ at william’s bay, wisconsin, with an object-glass forty inches in diameter; and next to it the 36-inch lick instrument on mount hamilton, california, built by messrs. alvan clark of cambridgeport, massachusetts. among reflecting telescopes the prior place is still held by lord rosse’s, set up on the lawn of birr castle half a century ago. its speculum, or mirror, weighing three tons, lies at the lower end of a tube six feet across and sixty feet long. this huge reflector, being mounted in meridian, moves only in a vertical direction. a refracting telescope is one of the ordinary pocket type, having an object-lens at one end and an eyepiece at the other. a reflector, on the other hand, has no object-lens, its place being taken by a mirror that gathers the rays entering the tube and reflects them back into the eyepiece, which is situated nearer the mouth end of the tube than the mirror itself.
-each system has its peculiar disadvantages. in reflectors the image is more or less distorted by “spherical aberration.” in refractors the image is approximately perfect in shape, but liable to “chromatic aberration,” a phenomenon especially noticeable in cheap telescopes and field-glasses, which often show objects fringed with some of the colours of the spectrum. this defect arises from the different refrangibility of different light rays. thus, violet rays come to a focus at a shorter distance from the lens than red rays, and when one set is in focus to the eye the other must be out of focus. in carefully-made and expensive instruments compound lenses are used, which by the employment of different kinds of glass bring all the colours to practically the same focus, and so do away with chromatic aberration.
-to reduce colour troubles to a minimum m. deloncle proposed that the object-lens should have a focal distance of about two hundred feet, since a long focus is more easily corrected than a short one, and a diameter of over fifty-nine inches. the need for so huge a lens arises out of the optical principles of a refractor. the rays from an object--a star, for instance--strike the object-glass at the near end, and are bent by it into a converging beam, till they all meet at the focus. behind the focus they again separate, and are caught by the eyepiece, which reduces them to a parallel beam small enough to enter the pupil. we thus see that though the unaided eye gathers only the few rays that fall directly from the object on to the pupil, when helped by the telescope it receives the concentrated rays falling on the whole area of the object-glass; and it would be sensible of a greatly increased brightness had not this light to be redistributed over the image, which is the object magnified by the eyepiece. assuming the aperture of the pupil to be one-tenth of an inch, and the object to be magnified a hundred times, the object-lens should have a hundred times the diameter of the pupil to render the image as bright as the object itself. if the lens be five instead of ten inches across, a great loss of light results, as in the high powers of a microscope, and the image loses in distinctness what it gains in size.
-as m. deloncle meant his telescope to beat all records in respect of magnification, he had no choice but to make a lens that should give proportionate illumination, and itself be of unprecedented size.
-at first m. deloncle met with considerable opposition and ridicule. such a scheme as his was declared to be beyond accomplishment. but in spite of many prophecies of ultimate failure he set to work, entrusting the construction of the various portions of his colossal telescope to well-tried experts. to m. gautier was given the task of making all the mechanical parts of the apparatus; to m. mantois the casting of the giant lenses; to m. despret the casting of the huge mirror, to which reference will be made immediately.
-the first difficulty to be encountered arose from the sheer size of the instrument. it was evidently impossible to mount such a leviathan in the ordinary way. a tube, 180 feet long, could not be made rigid enough to move about and yet permit careful observation of the stars. even supposing that it were satisfactorily mounted on an “equatorial foot” like smaller glasses, how could it be protected from wind and weather? to cover it, a mighty dome, two hundred feet or more in diameter, would be required; a dome exceeding by over seventy feet the cupola of st. peter’s, rome; and this dome must revolve easily on its base at a pace of about fifty feet an hour, so that the telescope might follow the motion of the heavenly bodies.
-the constructors therefore decided to abandon any idea of making a telescope that could be moved about and pointed in any desired direction. the alternative course open to them was to fix the telescope itself rigidly in position, and to bring the stars within its field by means of a mirror mounted on a massive iron frame--the two together technically called a siderostat. the mirror and its support would be driven by clockwork at the proper sidereal rate. the siderostat principle had been employed as early as the eighteenth century, and perfected in recent years by léon foucault, so that in having recourse to it the builders of the telescope were not committing themselves to any untried device.
-in days when the handling of masses of iron, and the erection of huge metal constructions have become matters of everyday engineering life, no peculiar difficulty presented itself in connection with the metal-work of the telescope. the greatest possible care was of course observed in every particular. all joints and bearings were adjusted with an extraordinary accuracy; and all the cylindrical moving parts of the siderostat verified till they did not vary from perfect cylindricity by so much as one twenty-five-thousandth of an inch!
-the tube of the telescope, 180 feet long, consisted of twenty-four sections, fifty-nine inches in diameter, bolted together and supported on seven massive iron pillars. it weighed twenty-one tons. the siderostat, twenty-seven feet high, and as many in length, weighed forty-five tons. the lower portion, which was fixed firmly on a bed of concrete, had on the top a tank filled with quicksilver, in which the mirror and its frame floated. the quicksilver supported nine-tenths of the weight, the rest being taken by the levers used to move the mirror. though the total weight of the mirror and frame was thirteen tons, the quicksilver offered so little resistance that a pull of a few pounds sufficed to rotate the entire mass.
-the real romance of the construction of this huge telescope centres on the making of the lenses and mirror. first-class lenses for all photographic and optical purposes command a very high price on account of the care and labour that has to be expended on their production; the value of the glass being trifling by comparison. few, if any, trades require greater mechanical skill than that of lensmaking; the larger the lens the greater the difficulties it presents, first in the casting, then in the grinding, last of all in the polishing. the presence of a single air-bubble in the molten glass, the slightest irregularity of surface in the polishing may utterly destroy the value of a lens otherwise worth several thousands of pounds.
-the object-glass of the great telescope was cast by m. mantois, famous as the manufacturer of large lenses. the glass used was boiled and reboiled many times to get rid of all bubbles. then it was run into a mould and allowed to cool very gradually. a whole month elapsed before the breaking of a mould, when the lens often proved to be cracked on the surface, owing to the exterior having cooled faster than the interior and parted company with it. at last, however, a perfect cast resulted.
-m. despret undertook the even more formidable task of casting the mirror at his works at jeumont, north france. a special furnace and oven, capable of containing over fifteen tons of molten glass, had to be constructed. the mirror, 6-1/2 feet in diameter and eleven inches thick, absorbed 3-3/4 tons of liquid glass; and so great was the difficulty of cooling it gradually, that out of the twenty casts eighteen were failures.
-the rough lenses and mirror having been ground to approximate correctness in the ordinary way, there arose the question of polishing, which is generally done by one of the most sensitive and perfect instruments existing-the human hand. in this case, owing to the enormous size of the objects to be treated, hand work would not do. the mere hot touch of a workman would raise on the glass a tiny protuberance, which would be worn level with the rest of the surface by the polisher, and on the cooling of the part would leave a depression, only 1-75,000 of an inch deep, perhaps, but sufficient to produce distortion, and require that the lens should be ground down again, and the whole surface polished afresh.
-m. gautier therefore polished by machinery. it proved a very difficult process altogether, on account of frictional heating, the rise of temperature in the polishing room, and the presence of dust. to insure success it was found necessary to warm all the polishing machinery, and to keep it at a fixed temperature.
-at the end of almost a year the polishing was finished, after the lenses and mirror had been subjected to the most searching tests, able to detect irregularities not exceeding 1-250,000 of an inch. m. gautier applied to the mirror m. foucault’s test, which is worth mentioning. a point of light thrown by the mirror is focused through a telescope. the eyepiece is then moved inwards and outwards so as to throw the point out of focus. if the point becomes a luminous circle surrounded by concentric rings, the surface throwing the light point is perfectly plane or smooth. if, however, a pushing-in shows a vertical flattening of the point, and a pulling-out a horizontal flattening, that part is concave; if the reverse happens, convexity is the cause.
-for the removal of the mirror from jeumont to paris a special train was engaged, and precautions were taken rivalling those by which travelling royalty is guarded. the train ran at night without stopping, and at a constant pace, so that the vibration of the glass atoms might not vary. on arriving at paris, the mirror was transferred to a ponderous waggon, and escorted by a body of men to the exposition buildings. the huge object-lens received equally careful treatment.
-the telescope was housed at the exhibition in a long gallery pointing due north and south, the siderostat at the north end. at the other, the eyepiece, end, a large amphitheatre accommodated the public assembled to watch the projection of stellar or lunar images on to a screen thirty feet high, while a lecturer explained what was visible from time to time. the images of the sun and moon as they appeared at the primary focus in the eyepiece measured from twenty-one to twenty-two inches in diameter, and the screen projections were magnified from these about thirty times superficially.
-the eyepiece section consisted of a short tube, of the same breadth as the main tube, resting on four wheels that travelled along rails. special gearing moved this truck-like construction backwards and forwards to bring a sharp focus into the eyepiece or on to a photographic plate. focusing was thus easy enough when once the desired object came in view; but the observer being unable to control the siderostat, 250 feet distant, had to telephone directions to an assistant stationed near the mirror whenever he wished to examine an object not in the field of vision.
-by the courtesy of the proprietors of the strand magazine we are allowed to quote m. deloncle’s own words describing his emotions on his first view through the giant telescope:--
-“as is invariably the case, whenever an innovation that sets at nought old-established theories is brought forward, the prophecies of failure were many and loud, and i had more than a suspicion that my success would cause less satisfaction to others than to myself. better than any one else i myself was cognisant of the unpropitious conditions in which my instrument had to work. the proximity of the river, the dust raised by hundreds of thousands of trampling feet, the trepidation of the soil, the working of the machinery, the changes of temperature, the glare from the thousands of electric lamps in close proximity--each of these circumstances, and many others of a more technical nature, which it would be tedious to enumerate, but which were no less important, would have been more than sufficient to make any astronomer despair of success even in observatories where all the surroundings are chosen with the utmost care.
-“in regions pure of calm and serene air large new instruments take months, more often years, to regulate properly.
-“in spite of everything, however, i still felt confident. our calculations had been gone over again and again, and i could see nothing that in my opinion warranted the worst apprehensions of my kind critics.
-“it was with ill-restrained impatience that i waited for the first night when the moon should show herself in a suitable position for being observed; but the night arrived in due course.
-“everything was in readiness. the movable portion of the roof of the building had been slid back, and the mirror of the siderostat stood bared to the sky.
-“in the dark, square chamber at the other end of the instrument, 200 feet away, into which the eyepiece of the instrument opened, i had taken my station with two or three friends. an attendant at the telephone stood waiting at my elbow to transmit my orders to his colleague in charge of the levers that regulated the siderostat and its mirror.
-“the moon had risen now, and her silvery glory shone and sparkled in the mirror.
-“‘a right declension,’ i ordered.
-“the telephone bell rang in reply. ‘slowly, still slower; now to the left--enough; again a right declension--slower; stop now--very, very slowly.’
-“on the ground-glass before our eyes the moon’s image crept up from one corner until it had overspread the glass completely. and there we stood in the centre of paris, examining the surface of our satellite with all its craters and valleys and bleak desolation.
-“i had won the day.”
-photographing the invisible.
-most of us are able to recognise when we see them shadowgraphs taken by the aid of the now famous x-rays. they generally represent some part of the structure of men, beasts, birds, or fishes. very dark patches show the position of the bones, large and small; lighter patches the more solid muscles clinging to the bony framework; and outside these again are shadowy tracts corresponding to the thinnest and most transparent portions of the fleshy envelope.
-the discovery that has made professor röntgen famous is, like many great discoveries, based upon the labours of other men in the same field. geissler, whose vacuum tubes are so well known for their striking colour effects, had already noticed that electric discharges sent through very much rarefied air or gases produced beautiful glows. sir william crookes, following the same line of research, and reducing with a sprengel air-pump the internal pressure of the tubes to 1/100000 of an atmosphere, found that a luminous glow streamed from the cathode, or negative pole, in a straight line, heating and rendering phosphorescent anything that it met. crookes regarded the glow as composed of “radiant matter,” and explained its existence as follows. the airy particles inside the tube, being few in number, are able to move about with far greater freedom than in the tightly packed atmosphere outside the tube. a particle, on reaching the cathode, is repelled violently by it in a straight line, to “bombard” another particle, the walls of the tube, or any object set up in its path, the sudden arrest of motion being converted into light and heat.
-by means of special tubes he proved that the “radiant matter” could turn little vanes, and that the flow continued even when the terminals of the shocking-coil were outside the glass, thus meeting the contention of puluj that the radiant matter was nothing more than small particles of platinum torn from the terminals. he also showed that, when intercepted, radiant matter cast a shadow, the intercepting object receiving the energy of the bombardment; but that when the obstruction was removed the hitherto sheltered part of the glass wall of the tube glowed with a brighter phosphorescence than the part which had become “tired” by prolonged bombardment. experiments further revealed the fact that the shaft of “cathode rays” could be deflected by a magnet from their course, and that they affected an ordinary photographic plate exposed to them.
-in 1894 lenard, a hungarian, and pupil of the famous hertz, fitted a crookes’ tube with a “window” of aluminium in its side replacing a part of the glass, and saw that the course of the rays could be traced through the outside air. from this it was evident that something else than matter must be present in the shaft of energy sent from the negative terminal of the tube, as there was no direct communication between the interior and the exterior of the tube to account for the external phosphorescence. whatever was the nature of the rays he succeeded in making them penetrate and impress themselves on a sensitised plate enclosed in a metal box.
-then in 1896 came röntgen’s great discovery that the rays from a crookes’ tube, after traversing the glass, could pierce opaque matter. he covered the tube with thick cardboard, but found that it would still cast the shadows of books, cards, wood, metals, the human hand, &c., on to a photographic plate even at the distance of some feet. the rays would also pass through the wood, metal, or bones in course of time; but certain bodies, notably metals, offered a much greater resistance than others, such as wood, leather, and paper. professor röntgen crowned his efforts by showing that a skeleton could be “shadow-graphed” while its owner was still alive.
-naturally everybody wished to know not only what the rays could do, but what they were. röntgen, not being able to identify them with any known rays, took refuge in the algebraical symbol of the unknown quantity and dubbed them x-rays. he discovered this much, however, that they were invisible to the eye under ordinary conditions; that they travelled in straight lines only, passing through a prism, water, or other refracting bodies without turning aside from their path; and that a magnet exerted no power over them. this last fact was sufficient of itself to prevent their confusion with the radiant matter “cathode rays” of the tube. röntgen thought, nevertheless, that they might be the cathode rays transmuted in some manner by their passage through the glass, so as to resemble in their motion sound-waves, i.e. moving straight forward and not swaying from side to side in a series of zig-zags. the existence of such ether waves had for some time before been suspected by lord kelvin.
-other authorities have other theories. we may mention the view that x represents the ultra-violet rays of the spectrum, caused by vibrations of such extreme rapidity as to be imperceptible to the human eye, just as sounds of extremely high pitch are inaudible to the ear. this theory is to a certain extent upheld by the behaviour of the photographic plate, which is least affected by the colours of the spectrum at the red end and most by those at the violet end. a photographer is able to use red or orange light in his dark room because his plates cannot “see” them, though he can; whereas the reverse would be the case with x-rays. this ultra-violet theory claims for x-rays a rate of ether vibration of trillions of waves per second.
-an alternative theory is to relegate the rays to the gap in the scale of ether-waves between heatwaves and light-waves. but this does not explain any more satisfactorily than the other the peculiar phenomenon of non-refraction.
-the apparatus employed in x-photography consists of a crookes’ tube of a special type, a powerful shocking or induction coil, a fluorescent screen and photographic plates and appliances for developing, &c., besides a supply of high-pressure electricity derived from the main, a small dynamo or batteries.
-a crookes’ tube is four to five inches in diameter, globular in its middle portion, but tapering away towards each end. through one extremity is led a platinum wire, terminating in a saucer-shaped platinum plate an inch or so across. at the focus of this, the negative terminal, is fixed a platinum plate at an angle to the path of the rays so as to deflect them through the side of the tube. the positive terminal penetrates the glass at one side. the tube contains, as we have seen, a very tiny residue of air. if this were entirely exhausted the action of the tube would cease; so that some tubes are so arranged that when rarefaction becomes too high the passage of an electrical current through small bars of chemicals, whose ends project through the sides of the tube, liberates gas from the bars in sufficient quantity to render the tube active again.
-when the ruhmkorff induction coil is joined to the electric circuit a series of violent discharges of great rapidity occur between the tube terminals, resembling in their power the discharge of a leyden jar, though for want of a dense atmosphere the brilliant spark has been replaced by a glow and brush-light in the tube. the coil is of large dimensions, capable of passing a spark across an air-gap of ten to twelve inches. it will perhaps increase the reader’s respect for x-rays to learn that a coil of proper size contains upwards of thirteen miles of wire; though indeed this quantity is nothing in comparison with the 150 miles wound on the huge inductorium formerly exhibited at the london polytechnic.
-if we were invited to an x-ray demonstration we should find the operator and his apparatus in a darkened room. he turns on the current and the darkness is broken by a velvety glow surrounding the negative terminal, which gradually extends until the whole tube becomes clothed in a green phosphorescence. a sharply-defined line athwart the tube separates the shadowed part behind the receiving plate at the negative focus--now intensely hot--from that on which the reflected rays fall directly.
-one of us is now invited to extend a hand close to the tube. the operator then holds on the near side of the hand his fluorescent screen, which is nothing more than a framework supporting a paper smeared on one side with platino-cyanide of barium, a chemical that, in common with several others, was discovered by salvioni of perugia to be sensitive to the rays and able to make them visible to the human eye. the value of the screen to the x-radiographer is that of the ground-glass plate to the ordinary photographer, as it allows him to see exactly what things are before the sensitised plate is brought into position, and in fact largely obviates the necessity for making a permanent record.
-the screen shows clearly and in full detail all the bones of the hand--so clearly that one is almost irresistibly drawn to peep behind to see if a real hand is there. one of us now extends an arm and the screen shows us the ulna and the radius working round each other, now both visible, now one obscuring the other. on presenting the body to the course of the rays a remarkable shadow is cast on to the screen. the spinal column and the ribs; the action of the heart and lungs are seen quite distinctly. a deep breath causes the movement of a dark mass--the liver. there is no privacy in presence of the rays. the enlarged heart, the diseased lung, the ulcerated liver betrays itself at once. in a second of time the phosphorescent screen reveals what might baulk medical examination for months.
-if a photographic slide containing a dry-plate be substituted for the focusing-screen, the rays soon penetrate any covering in which the plate may be wrapped to protect it from ordinary light rays. the process of taking a shadowgraph may therefore be conducted in broad daylight, which is under certain conditions a great advantage, though the sensitiveness of plates exposed to röntgen rays entails special care being taken of them when they are not in use. in the early days of x-radiography an exposure of some minutes was necessary to secure a negative, but now, thanks to the improvements in the tubes, a few seconds is often sufficient.
-the discovery of the x-rays is a great discovery, because it has done much to promote the noblest possible cause, the alleviation of human suffering. not everybody will appreciate a more rapid mode of telegraphy, or a new method of spinning yarn, but the dullest intellect will give due credit to a scientific process that helps to save life and limb. who among us is not liable to break an arm or leg, or suffer from internal injuries invisible to the eye? who among us therefore should not be thankful on reflecting that, in event of such a mishap, the x-rays will be at hand to show just what the trouble is, how to deal with it, and how far the healing advances day by day? the x-ray apparatus is now as necessary for the proper equipment of a hospital as a camera for that of a photographic studio.
-it is especially welcome in the hospitals which accompany an army into the field. since may 1896 many a wounded soldier has had reason to bless the patient work that led to the discovery at würzburg. the greek war, the war in cuba, the tirah campaign, the egyptian campaign, and the war in south africa, have given a quick succession of fine opportunities for putting the new photography to the test. there is now small excuse for the useless and agonising probings that once added to the dangers and horrors of the military hospital. even if the x-ray equipment, by reason of its weight, cannot conveniently be kept at the front of a rapidly moving army, it can be set up in the “advanced” or “base” hospitals, whither the wounded are sent after a first rough dressing of their injuries. the medical staff there subject their patients to the searching rays, are able to record the exact position of a bullet or shell-fragment, and the damage it has done; and by promptly removing the intruder to greatly lessen its power to harm.
-the röntgen ray has added to the surgeon’s armoury a powerful weapon. its possibilities are not yet fully known, but there can be no doubt that it marks a new epoch in surgical work. and for this reason professor röntgen deserves to rank with harvey, the discoverer of the blood’s circulation; with jenner, the father of vaccination; and with sir james young simpson, the first doctor to use chloroform as an anæsthetic.
-photography in the dark.
-strange as it seems to take photographs with invisible rays, it is still stranger to be able to affect sensitised plates without apparently the presence of any kind of rays.
-professor w. j. russell, vice-president of the royal society of london, has discovered that many substances have the power of impressing their outlines automatically on a sensitive film, if the substance be placed in a dark cupboard in contact with, or very close to a dry-plate.
-after some hours, or it may be days, development of the plate will reveal a distinct impression of the body in question. dr. russell experimented with wood, metal, leaves, drawings, printed matter, lace. zinc proved to be an unusually active agent. a plate of the metal, highly polished and then ruled with patterns, had at the end of a few days imparted a record of every scratch and mark to the plate. and not only will zinc impress itself, but it affects substances which are not themselves active, throwing shadowgraphs on to the plate. this was demonstrated with samples of lace, laid between a plate and a small sheet of bright zinc; also with a skeleton leaf. it is curious that while the interposition of thin films of celluloid, gutta-percha, vegetable parchment, and gold-beater’s skin--all inactive--between the zinc and the plate has no obstructive effect, a plate of thin glass counteracts the action of the zinc. besides zinc, nickel, aluminium, pewter, lead, and tin among the metals influence a sensitised plate. another totally different substance, printer’s ink, has a similar power; or at least some printer’s ink, for professor russell found that different samples varied greatly in their effects. what is especially curious, the printed matter on both sides of a piece of newspaper appeared on the plate, and that the effect proceeded from the ink and not from any rays passing from beyond it is proved by the fact that the type came out dark in the development, whereas if it had been a case of shadowgraphy, the ink by intercepting rays would have produced white letters. professor russell has also shown that modern writing ink is incapable of producing an impression unaided, but that on the other hand paper written on a hundred years ago or a printed book centuries old will, with the help of zinc, yield a picture in which even faded and uncertain characters appear quite distinctly. this opens the way to a practical use of the discovery, in the deciphering of old and partly obliterated manuscripts.
-a very interesting experiment may be made with that useful possession--a five-pound note. place the note printed side next to the plate, and the printing appears dark; but insert the note between a zinc sheet and the plate, its back being this time towards the sensitised surface, and the printing appears white; and the zinc, after contact with the printed side, will itself yield a picture of the inscription as though it had absorbed some virtue from the note!
-as explanation of this paradoxical dark photography--or whatever it is--two theories may be advanced. the one--favoured by professor russell--is that all “active” substances give off vapours able to act on a photographic plate. in support of this may be urged the fact that the interposition of glass prevents the making of dark pictures. but on the other hand it must be remembered that celluloid and sheet-gelatine, also air-tight substances, are able to store up light and to give it out again. it is well known among photographers that to allow sunlight to fall on the inside of a camera is apt to have a “fogging” effect on a plate that is exposed in the camera afterwards, though the greatest care be taken to keep all external light from the plate. but here the glass again presents a difficulty, for if this were a case of reflected light, glass would evidently be less obstructive than opaque vegetable parchment or gutta-percha.
-one day george stephenson and a friend stood watching a train drawn by one of his locomotives.
-“what moves that train?” asked stephenson.
-“the engine,” replied his friend.
-“and what moves the engine?”
-“and what produces the steam?”
-“and what produces coal?”
-this last query nonplussed his friend, and stephenson himself replied, “the sun.”
-the “bottled sunshine” that drove the locomotive was stored up millions of years ago in the dense forests then covering the face of the globe. every day vegetation was built by the sunbeams, and in the course of ages this growth was crushed into fossil form by the pressure of high-piled rock and débris. to-day we cast “black diamonds” into our grates and furnaces, to call out the warmth and power that is a legacy from a period long prior to the advent of fire-loving man, often forgetful of its real source.
-we see the influence of the sun more directly in the motions of wind and water. had not the sun’s action deposited snow and rain on the uplands of the world, there would be no roaring waterfall, no rushing torrent, no smooth-flowing stream. but for the sun heating the atmosphere unequally, there would not be that rushing of cool air to replace hot which we know as wind.
-we press sol into our service when we burn fuel; our wind-mills and water-mills make him our slave. of late years many prophets have arisen to warn us that we must not be too lavish of our coal; that the time is not so far distant, reckoning by centuries, when the coal-seams of the world will be worked out and leave our descendants destitute of what plays so important a part in modern life. now, though waste is unpardonable, and the care for posterity praiseworthy, there really seems to be no good reason why we should alarm ourselves about the welfare of the people of the far future. even if coal fails, the winds and the rivers will be there, and the huge unharnessed energy of the tides, and the sun himself is ready to answer appeals for help, if rightly shaped. he does not demand the prayers of persian fire-worshippers, but rather the scientific gathering of his good gifts.
-place your hand on a roof lying square to the summer sun, and you will find it too hot for the touch. concentrate a beam of sunshine through a small burning-glass. how fierce is the small glowing focal spot that makes us draw our hands suddenly away! suppose now a large glass many feet across bending several square yards of sun rays to a point, and at that point a boiler. the boiler would develop steam, and the steam might be led into cylinders and forced to drudge for us.
-do many of us realise the enormous energy of a hot summer’s day? the heat falling in the tropics on a single square foot of the earth’s surface has been estimated as the equivalent of one-third of a horse-power. the force of niagara itself would on this basis be matched by the sunshine streaming on to a square mile or so. a steamship might be propelled by the heat that scorches its decks.
-for many centuries inventors have tried to utilise this huge waste power. we all know how, according to the story, archimedes burnt up the roman ships besieging his native town, syracuse, by concentrating on them the sun heat cast from hundreds of mirrors. this story is less probable than interesting as a proof that the ancients were aware of the sun’s power. the first genuine solar machine was the work of ericsson, the builder of the monitor. he focused sun heat on a boiler, which gave the equivalent of one horse-power for every hundred square feet of mirrors employed. this was not what engineers would call a “high efficiency,” a great deal of heat being wasted, but it led the way to further improvements.
-in america, especially in the dry, arid regions, where fuel is scarce and the sun shines pitilessly day after day, all the year round, sun-catchers of various types have been erected and worked successfully. dr. william calver, of washington, has built in the barren wastes of arizona huge frames of mirrors, travelling on circular rails, so that they may be brought to face the sun at all hours between sunrise and sunset. dr. calver employs no less than 1600 mirrors. as each of these mirrors develops 10-15 degrees of heat it is obvious, after an appeal to simple arithmetic, that the united efforts of these reflectors should produce the tremendous temperature 16,000-24,000 degrees, which, expressed comparatively, means the paltry 90 degrees in the shade beneath which we grow restive multiplied hundreds of times. hitherto the greatest known heat had been that of the arc of the electric lamp, in which the incandescent particles between pole and pole attain 6000 degrees fahrenheit.
-the combined effect of the burning mirrors is irresistible. they can, we are told, in a few moments reduce russian iron to the consistency of warmed wax, though it mocks the heat of many blast-furnaces. they will bake bricks twenty times as rapidly as any kiln, and the bricks produced are not the friable blocks which a mason chips easily with his trowel, but bodies so hard as to scratch case-hardened steel.
-there are at work in california sun-motors of another design. the reader must imagine a huge conical lamp-shade turned over on to its smaller end, its inner surface lined with nearly 1800 mirrors 2 feet long and 3 inches broad, the whole supported on a light iron framework, and he will have a good idea of the apparatus used on the pasadena ostrich farm. the machine is arranged in meridian, that is, at right angles to the path of the sun, which it follows all day long by the agency of clockwork. in the focus of the mirrors is a boiler, 13 feet 6 inches long, coated with black, heat-absorbing substances. this boiler holds over 100 gallons of water, and being fed automatically will raise steam untended all the day through. the steam is led by pipes to an engine working a pump, capable of delivering 1400 gallons per minute.
-the cheapness of the apparatus in proportion to its utility is so marked that, in regions where sunshine is almost perpetual, the solar motor will in time become as common as are windmills and factory chimneys elsewhere. if the heat falling on a few square yards of mirror lifts nearly 100,000 gallons of water an hour, there is indeed hope for the sahara, the persian desert, arabia, mongolia, mexico, australia. that is to say, if the water under the earth be in these parts as plentiful as the sunshine above it. the effect of water on the most unpromising soil is marvellous. already in algeria the french have reclaimed thousands of square miles by scientific irrigation. in australia huge artesian wells have made habitable for man and beast millions of acres that were before desert.
-it is only a just retribution that the sun should be harnessed and compelled to draw water for tracts to which he has so long denied it. the sun-motor is only just entering on its useful career, and at present we can but dream of the great effects it may have on future civilisation. yet its principle is so simple, so scientific, and so obvious, that it is easy to imagine it at no far distant date a dangerous rival to king coal himself. to quarry coal from the bowels of the earth and transform it into heat, is to traverse two sides of a triangle, the third being to use the sunshine of the passing hour.
-among common phenomena few are more interesting than the changes undergone by the substance called water. its usual form is a liquid. under the influence of frost it becomes hard as iron, brittle as glass. at the touch of fire it passes into unsubstantial vapour.
-this transformation illustrates the great principle that the form of every substance in the universe is a question of heat. a metal transported from the earth to the sun would first melt and then vaporise; while what we here know only as vapours would in the moon turn into liquids.
-we notice that, as regards bulk, the most striking change is from liquid to gaseous form. in steam the atoms and molecules of water are endowed with enormous repulsive vigour. each atom suddenly shows a huge distaste for the company of its neighbours, drives them off, and endeavours to occupy the largest possible amount of private space.
-now, though we are accustomed to see water-atoms thus stirred into an activity which gives us the giant steam as servant, it has probably fallen to the lot of but few of us to encounter certain gaseous substances so utterly deprived of their self-assertiveness as to collapse into a liquid mass, in which shape they are quite strangers to us. what gaseous body do we know better than the air we breathe? and what should we less expect to be reducible to the consistency of water? yet science has lately brought prominently into notice that strange child of pressure and cold, liquid air; of which great things are prophesied, and about which many strange facts may be told.
-very likely our readers have sometimes noticed a porter uncoupling the air-tube between two railway carriages. he first turns off the tap at each end of the tube, and then by a twist disconnects a joint in the centre. at the moment of disconnection what appears to be a small cloud of steam issues from the joint. this is, however, the result of cold, not heat, the tube being full of highly-compressed air, which by its sudden expansion develops cold sufficient to freeze any particles of moisture in the surrounding air.
-keep this in mind, and also what happens when you inflate your cycle-tyre. the air-pump grows hotter and hotter as inflation proceeds: until at last, if of metal, it becomes uncomfortably warm. the heat is caused by the forcing together of air-molecules, and inasmuch as all force produces heat, your strength is transformed into warmth.
-in these two operations, compression and expansion, we have the key to the creation of liquid air--the great power, as some say, of to-morrow.
-suppose we take a volume of air and squeeze it into 1/100 of its original space. the combativeness of the air-atoms is immensely increased. they pound each other frantically, and become very hot in the process. now, by cooling the vessel in which they are, we rob them of their energy. they become quiet, but they are much closer than before. then imagine that all of a sudden we let them loose again. the life is gone out of them, their heat has departed, and on separating they shiver grievously. in other words, the heat contained by the 1/100 volume is suddenly compelled to “spread itself thin” over the whole volume: result--intense cold. and if this air be brought to bear upon a second vessel filled likewise with compressed air, the cold will be even more intense, until at last the air-atoms lose all their strength and collapse into a liquid.
-liquid air is no new thing. who first made it is uncertain. the credit has been claimed for several people, among them olzewski, a pole, and pictet, a swiss. as a mere laboratory experiment the manufacture of liquid air in small quantities has been known for twenty years or more. the earlier process was one of terrific compression alone, actually forcing the air molecules by sheer strength into such close contact that their antagonism to one another was temporarily overcome. so expensive was the process that the first ounce of liquid air is estimated to have cost over £600!
-in order to make liquid air an article of commerce the most important condition was a wholesale decrease in cost of production. in 1857 c. w. siemens took out a patent for making the liquid on what is known as the regenerative principle, whereby the compressed air is chilled by expanding a part of it. professor dewar--a scientist well known for his researches in the field of liquid gases--had in 1892 produced liquid air by a modification of the principle at comparatively small cost; and other inventors have since then still further reduced the expense, until at the present day there appears to be a prospect of liquid air becoming cheap enough to prove a dangerous rival to steam and electricity.
-a company, known as the liquid air, power and automobile company, has established large plants in america and england for the manufacture of the liquid on a commercial scale. the writer paid a visit to their depot in gillingham street, london, where he was shown the process by mr. hans knudsen, the inventor of much of the machinery there used. the reader will doubtless like to learn the “plain, unvarnished truth” about the creation of this peculiar liquid, and to hear of the freaks in which it indulges--if indeed those may be called freaks which are but obedience to the unchanging laws of nature.
-on entering the factory the first thing that strikes the eye and ear is the monstrous fifty horse-power gas-engine, pounding away with an energy that shakes the whole building. from its ponderous flywheels great leather belts pass to the compressors, three in number, by which the air, drawn from outside the building through special purifiers, is subjected to an increasing pressure. three dials on the wall show exactly what is going on inside the compressors. the first stands at 90 lbs. to the square inch, the second at 500, and the third at 2200, or rather less than a ton pressure on the area of a penny! the pistons of the low-pressure compressor is ten inches in diameter, but that of the high pressure only two inches, or 1/25 of the area, so great is the resistance to be overcome in the last stage of compression.
-now, if the cycle-pump heats our hands, it will be easily understood that the temperature of the compressors is very high. they are water-jacketed like the cylinders of a gas-engine, so that a circulating stream of cold water may absorb some of the heat. the compressed air is passed through spiral tubes winding through large tanks of water which fairly boils from the fierceness of the heat of compression.
-when the air has been sufficiently cooled it is allowed to pass into a small chamber, expanding as it goes, and from the small into a larger chamber, where the cold of expansion becomes so acute that the air-molecules collapse into liquid, which collects in a special receptacle. arrangements are made whereby any vapour rising from the liquid passes through a space outside the expansion chambers, so that it helps to cool the incoming air and is not wasted.
-the liquid-air tank is inside a great wooden case, carefully protected from the heat of the atmosphere by non-conducting substances. a tap being turned, a rush of vapour shoots out, soon followed by a clear, bluish liquid, which is the air we breathe in a fresh guise.
-a quantity of it is collected in a saucepan. it simmers at first, and presently boils like water on a fire. the air-heat is by comparison so great that the liquid cannot resist it, and strives to regain its former condition.
-you may dip your finger into the saucepan--if you withdraw it again quickly--without hurt. the cushion of air that your finger takes in with it protects you against harm--for a moment. but if you held it in the liquid for a couple of seconds you would be minus a digit. pour a little over your coat sleeve. it flows harmlessly to the ground, where it suddenly expands into a cloud of chilly vapour.
-liquid air has curious effects upon certain substances. it makes iron so brittle that a ladle immersed for a few moments may be crushed in the hands; but, curiously enough, it has a toughening effect on copper and brass. meat, eggs, fruit, and all bodies containing water become hard as steel and as breakable as glass. mercury is by it congealed to the consistency of iron; even alcohol, that can brave the utmost arctic cold, succumbs to it. the writer was present when some thermometers, manufactured by messrs. negretti and zambra, were tested with liquid air. the spirit in the tubes rapidly descended to 250 degrees below zero, then sank slowly, and at about 260 degrees froze and burst the bulb. the measuring of such extreme temperatures is a very difficult matter in consequence of the inability of spirit to withstand them, and special apparatus, registering cold by the shrinkage of metal, must be used for testing some liquid gases, notably liquid hydrogen, which is so much colder than liquid air that it actually freezes it into a solid ice form!
-for handling and transporting liquid gases glass receptacles with a double skin from which all air has been exhausted are employed. the surrounding vacuum is so perfect an insulator that a “dewar bulb” full of liquid air scarcely cools the hand, though the intervening space is less than an inch. this fact is hard to square with the assertion of scientific men that our atmosphere extends but a hundred or two miles from the earth’s surface, and that the recesses of space are a vacuum. if it were so, how would heat reach us from the sun, ninety-two millions of miles away?
-one use at least for liquid air is sufficiently obvious. as a refrigerating agent it is unequalled. bulk for bulk its effect is of course far greater than that of ice; and it has this advantage over other freezing compounds, that whereas slow freezing has a destructive effect upon the tissues of meat and fruit, the instantaneous action of liquid air has no bad results when the thing frozen is thawed out again. the liquid air company therefore proposes erecting depôts at large ports for supplying ships, to preserve the food, cool the cabins in the tropics, and, we hope, to alleviate some of the horrors of the stokehold.
-liquid air is already used in medical and surgical science. in surgery it is substituted for anæsthetics, deadening any part of the body on which an operation has to be performed. in fever hospitals, too, its cooling influence will be welcomed; and liquid oxygen takes the places of compressed oxygen for reviving the flickering flame of life. it will also prove invaluable for divers and submarine boats.
-in combination with oil and charcoal liquid air, under the name of “oxyliquit,” becomes a powerful blasting agent. cartridges of paper filled with the oil and charcoal are provided with a firing primer. when everything is ready for the blasting the cartridges are dropped into a vessel full of liquid air, saturated, placed in position, and exploded. mr. knudsen assured the writer that oxyliquit is twice as powerful as nitro-glycerine, and its cost but one-third of that of the other explosive. it is also safer to handle, for in case of a misfire the cartridge becomes harmless in a few minutes, after the liquid air has evaporated.
-but the greatest use will be found for liquid air when it exerts its force less violently. it is the result of power; its condition is abnormal; and its return to its ordinary state is accompanied by a great development of energy. if it be placed in a closed vessel it is capable of exerting a pressure of 12,000 lbs. to the square inch. its return to atmospheric condition may be regulated by exposing it more or less to the heat of the atmosphere. so long as it remains liquid it represents so much stored force, like the electricity stored in accumulators. the liquid air company have at their gillingham street depôt a neat little motor car worked by liquid air. a copper reservoir, carefully protected, is filled with the liquid, which is by mechanical means squirted into coils, in which it rapidly expands, and from them passes to the cylinders. a charge of eighteen gallons will move the car forty miles at an average pace of twelve miles an hour, without any of the noise, dirt, smell, or vapour inseparable from the employment of steam or petroleum. the speed of the car is regulated by the amount of liquid injected into the expansion coils.
-we now come to the question of cost--the unromantic balance in which new discoveries are weighed and many found wanting. the storage of liquid air is feasible for long periods. (a large vacuum bulb filled and exposed to the atmosphere had some of the liquid still unevaporated at the end of twenty-two days.) but will it be too costly for ordinary practical purposes now served by steam and electricity? the managers of the liquid air company, while deprecating extravagant prophecies about the future of their commodity, are nevertheless confident that it has “come to stay.” with the small 50 horse-power plant its production costs upwards of one shilling a gallon, but with much larger plant of 1000 horse-power they calculate that the expenses will be covered and a profit left if they retail it at but one penny the gallon. this great reduction in cost arises from the economising of “waste energy.” in the first place the power of expansion previous to the liquefaction of the compressed air will be utilised to work motors. secondly, the heat of the cooling tanks will be turned to account, and even the “exhaust” of a motor would be cold enough for ordinary refrigerating. it is, of course, impossible to get more out of a thing than has been put into it; and liquid air will therefore not develop even as much power as was required to form it. but its handiness and cleanliness strongly recommend it for many purposes, as we have seen; and as soon as it is turned out in large quantities new uses will be found for it. perhaps the day will come when liquid-air motors will replace the petrol car, and in every village we shall see hung out the sign, “liquid air sold here.” as the french say, “qui vivra verra.”
-a body of enterprising manchester merchants, in the year 1754, put on the road a “flying coach,” which, according to their special advertisement, would, “however incredible it may appear, actually, barring accidents, arrive in london in four and a half days after leaving manchester.” according to the lord chancellor of the time such swift travelling was considered dangerous as well as wonderful--the condition of the roads might well make it so--and also injurious to health. “i was gravely advised,” he says, “to stay a day in york on my journey between edinburgh and london, as several passengers who had gone through without stopping had died of apoplexy from the rapidity of the motion.”
-as the coach took a fortnight to pass from the scotch to the english capital, at an average pace of between three and four miles an hour, it is probable that the chancellor’s advisers would be very seriously indisposed by the mere sight of a motor-car whirling along in its attendant cloud of dust, could they be resuscitated for the purpose. and we, on the other hand, should prefer to get out and walk to “flying” at the safe speed of their mail coaches.
-the improvement of highroads, and road-making generally, accelerated the rate of posting. in the first quarter of the nineteenth century an average of ten or even twelve miles an hour was maintained on the bath road. but that pace was considered inadequate when the era of the “iron horse” commenced, and the decay of stage-driving followed hard upon the growth of railways. what should have been the natural successor of the stage-coach was driven from the road by ill-advised made defiant by the idea.
-"did he do anything?" and the major again forgot his orders and rose truculently.
-"benjamin!" said mrs. searles, with asperity; and he again subsided. like most soldiers and sailors, he was imperfectly domesticated.
-"he wanted to marry you?" she continued with questioning insistence.
-"yes, he said i must marry him; that god wanted me to, and he also said he had lost his mind--"
-"well, i think he has," observed the mother, catching this idea, which was at least tangible to her. "is that all, katherine?"
-"is that all, mother? why, isn't that enough?"
-"i mean, he simply asked you to marry him--properly--he wasn't insulting--insistent beyond--"
-"no, he did nothing else, though he went about it in a most alarming way."
-"you said, no!"
-"i most emphatically did, mother."
-"then he began mumbling indian and scared me nearly to death. i ran to mary."
-"dade an' she did, mum; an' i'm afther loosin' my sinses thinkin' thim rid-divils what do be ploughin' the land down be the river was devastating the cantonmint for to pass the time. an' ets only some bye afther wantin' to marry her--the swate thing."
-mrs. searles interposed, "mary!" and the domestic retired to the sable silences of the rear steps, to split a joke with one private o'shane, should he venture to return.
-"the social savagery of this place is depressing. to think of my daughter living in a log-cabin, cooking bear meat for a long-haired wild man. in the future, benjamin searles, i trust you will not feel called upon to introduce your fantastic acquaintances to this house. you can sit on the corral fence to entertain them. that is where they belong. i suppose next, an out-and-out indian will want to be my son-in-law."
-"i certainly will see that the man does not again obtrude himself. i do not understand his nerve in this matter. lewis thinks the boy's ridgepole is crooked; but he is harmless and has done many good and gallant deeds. as for his proposing, i simply think he doesn't know any better. for my part, i think it is about time that the engagement to mr. butler is announced; it will put an end to this foolishness all round," added the father. "i am going out to see lewis about this fellow now."
-"ben searles, i hope you are not going to do anything rash," pleaded the mother.
-"of course not, my dear; the situation doesn't call for any temperature beyond blood-heat. i only want to put a cooling lotion on the base of that scout's brain. he must stop this dreaming habit."
-having found lewis at his quarters and seated himself, the major began, "now, captain, what do you think of this ermine of yours--is he crazy?"
-"is he crazy? why, what has he done now?"
-"well, by gad, he came to my house this evening, and when i stepped out for a minute he proposed marriage to my daughter--wanted her to marry him! now, how's that strike you? is it just gall, or does he need a physician?"
-"well, i will be d----d; proposed marriage, hey! looks like he ought to have an opiate," concluded lewis. "you know, now that i think of it, i have a little mistrusted him before. he has shown signs of liking your daughter, but i never regarded the matter seriously--didn't ever credit him with being an entire fool. the boy's queer, searles--mighty queer, but he never did anything wrong; in fact, he is a pretty good boy--a heap different from most of these double-belted, sage-bush terrors. then, of course, he was born and raised in the wilderness, and there is a whole lot of things he don't savvy. probably he has lost his head over your daughter and he can't see why he hasn't a chance. i will send for him, and we will make a big talk, and i'll send him away to harding." turning, the captain yelled, "orderly! jones! oh, jones!"
-"yes, sir," responded jones, as he appeared in the doorway.
-"go find the scout ermine, if you can, and tell him to report to me immediately. if you don't find him in half an hour, let it go until to-morrow--understand?
-"as i was saying, you see, major, if this thing wasn't vinegar, it would be sugar. when i think of him proposing--say, i have to laugh. there is one thing about him which kept me guessing: it is the indian reserve of the fellow. he goes round here like a blue-moon, and if you should hit him over the head with an axe, i don't think he would bat an eye. he never complains, he never questions, and when you are right up against it, as we were a half-dozen times last winter, he is johnny-on-the-spot. so you see, if he fell in love, no one would hear the splash. now that he is in love, we want to tighten the curb chain; he might--well, he might take it into his head to do something, and that something might be just what we would never think of."
-thus the two speculated until the sandpaper grating of ermine's moccasins on the porch warned them, and looking up they beheld the scout, standing with his rifle in the hollow of his left arm. this was unusual and produced several seconds of very bad silence. captain lewis held up his hand in mockery of the "peace sign," and said: "i see you're fixed for war, ermine. sit down over there. i want to talk to you."
-"ermine, i understand that during the temporary absence of her father this evening, you asked miss searles to marry you."
-"i did, sir."
-"very well. don't you think you took an unfair advantage of her father's absence?"
-"i don't know, sir. a man doesn't speak to a woman before other men," replied ermine, dubiously.
-the captain emitted a slight cough, for the blow had staggered him a little. he knew the law of convention, and he knew the customs of men; but they did not separate readily in his mind.
-"in any event, ermine, the young lady had given you no encouragement which would warrant you in going to the length of proposing marriage to her."
-this was an assertion which ermine did not care to discuss. his views would not coincide, and so he fumbled his hat and made no reply.
-"i may state that you are not warranted in aspiring to the hand of miss searles for many reasons; further, that she distinctly doesn't want attention of any kind from you. to this i will add, her father and mother forbid you all association in the future--do you understand?"
-this, also, failed to break the scout's silence.
-"and," interpolated the father, "i may add that my daughter is already engaged to be married to lieutenant butler, which will end the matter."
-if the evening's occurrences had set the nerves of the searles family on edge, it had torn the scout's into shreds; but he managed his stoicism.
-"now, my boy," continued captain lewis, with a sense of benevolence, "we do not mean to be hard on you. we all, including miss searles, feel a great pity for you in this matter."
-"pity--pity--what is pity?" saying which the boy's eyes took on an unnatural glow and he rose to his feet. lewis quickly added, "i mean that we feel for you."
-"i know what you feel for me, captain lewis, and major searles," and it was evident that ermine was aroused. "you feel that i am an uneducated man, without money, and that i do not wear a white shirt; that i tuck my pants in my leggings and that i sleep among the indians. i know you think i am a dog. i know miss searles thinks i belong in the corral with the mules; but, by g----, you did not think i was a dog when the sioux had your wagon-train surrounded and your soldiers buffaloed; you did not think i was a dog when i stood beside the colonel, and neither did sitting bull. you did not think i was a dog when i kept you all from freezing to death last winter; but here among the huts and the women i am a dog. i tell you now that i do not understand such men as you are. you have two hearts: one is red and the other is blue; and you feel with the one that best suits you at the time. your blue heart pities me. me, a warrior and a soldier! do you give pity with your coffee and sow-belly? is that what you feed a soldier on? hum-m--g----!" and the scout slapped his hat on his head.
-"steady, steady, my boy; don't you go up in the air on us," said lewis, persuasively. "i did not mean to offend you, and we want to be friends; but you keep your feet on the ground and don't go raring and pitching, or we may forget you."
-"yes; that is it,--forget me; you may forget me. what's more, you can do it now. i am going far away, so that your eyes will not remind you."
-"you are going to make your word good to mr. harding, are you not?" asked the chief of scouts.
-"what good is a dog's word?" came the bitter reply.
-the major said little, but remained steadily studying the face of the scout; rising, he approached him with extended hand. "if you are going away, let us part friends, at least. here is my hand, and i shall not forget you; i shall not forget your services to me or mine, and i do not think you are a dog. when you calm down you may find that you have been unjust to captain lewis and myself."
-the scout took the major's hand mechanically, and also that of lewis, which the latter offered in turn, saying:--
-"in the morning i will see that you get your pay, and if you conclude to return, i will find you employment."
-"thank you, sir; i care nothing for the pay. i did not come here for money; i came here to help you fight the sioux, and to be a man among white men." and once more the young man relapsed into the quiet of his ordinary discourse.
-"you certainly have shown yourself a man among men; no one has ever questioned that," said the major.
-"then why is it wrong for a man among men to want your daughter to be his wife?"
-"it is not wrong, but you have gone about the matter wrong. i have tried to make it plain that her hand is promised to mr. butler."
-as this was said, two horses trotted up to captain lewis's quarters. a man dismounted, gave his horse to the other, and butler himself strode heavily into the room. he was quite gray with dust, with a soiled handkerchief about his neck, unshaven, booted, and armed.
-"hello, major! hello, lewis! i'm just in with my troop, and if you will pardon me, i will have a word with mr. ermine here." his manner was strained, and knowing the situation as they all did, the two older officers were alarmed.
-"hold up there, butler; never mind your word to-night; wait until morning."
-butler paid no attention, but addressed the scout with icy directness. "may i ask, mr. ermine, if you have in your possession a photograph of miss searles?"
-"have you it about your person at present?"
-"i have, sir."
-"then, mr. ermine, i have the word of miss searles for it, that the photograph in question was one she had taken, of which there is only one copy in the world; and which was given to me, and lost by myself, somewhere on the road between here and fort ellis. it must be my property. if you will let me see it, i can soon identify it. in which case i demand that you hand it over to me."
-"mr. butler, you will only get that photograph from off my dead body. you have miss searles; is not that enough?"
-"i will then take it by force from you!" a tremendous bang roared around the room, and the little group was lost in smoke.
-butler turned half round, his six-shooter going against the far wall with a crash. he continued to revolve until caught in the major's arms. lewis sprang to his desk, where his pistol lay, and as he turned, the smoke lifted, revealing butler lying against the major's chest, wildly waving his left arm and muttering savagely between short breaths. ermine was gone.
-"fire on that man!" yelled lewis to the orderly outside, taking one shot himself at the fleeing figure of the scout.
-the soldier jerked his carbine and thrashed about the breech-block with a cartridge. "i can't see him, captain!" he shouted.
-"fire at him, anyway! fire, i tell you!" and the man discharged his rifle in the direction in which ermine's figure had disappeared.
-"the scout, ermine, has just shot lieutenant butler in the arm! he ran that way! chase him! go quickly, or he will get away. shoot instantly if he resists; and he will, i think."
-the guard shuffled off in the darkness and beat up the camp to no purpose. the soldiers stood about, speculating in low voices and gradually quieting as the word passed about on the uneasy wings of gossip that ermine had shot butler in the arm, wounding him badly, and that the scout had gone into the earth or up in the air, for divil the hide nor hair of him could the guard find.
-when the orderly had come for ermine and told him who wanted to see him, the scout scented trouble ahead. according to the immemorial practices of the desert at such times, he had saddled his pony, tying him in the darkest and most unlikely place he could find, which was between two six-mule wagons outside the corral. he armed himself and obeyed the summons, but he intended never to let a hand be placed on his shoulder; and he chose death rather than the military court which sat so gravely around the long table at headquarters. he fully expected to depart for the mountains on the morrow, but his hand was forced. the quick episode of butler, ending in the shot and his flight, had precipitated matters. shortly he found himself seated on his horse between the wagons, while the denizens of the cantonments swarmed around. a group searched the corral with lanterns, and he heard one soldier tell another what had happened, with the additional information that butler was not seriously injured. armed men passed close to him, and he knew that discovery meant probable death, because he would not hold up his hands. despite the deadly danger which encompassed him, he found time for disappointment in the news that butler was only wounded. even now he would go to his enemy and make more sure, but that enemy was in the hospital surrounded by many friends. she, too, was probably there, weeping and hating the responsible one,--a fugitive criminal driven into the night. the silken robes of self-respect had been torn from ermine, and he stood naked, without the law, unloved by women, and with the hand of all men turned against him. the brotherhood of the white kind, which had promised him so much, had ended by stealing the heart and mind of the poor mountain boy, and now it wanted his body to work its cold will on; but it could have that only dead. this he knew as he loosed five cartridges, putting them between his teeth and clutching his loaded rifle. would the search never cease? the lanterns glided hither and yon; every garrison cur ran yelping; the dull shuffling of feet was coming directly to the wagons which stood apart from other objects, and a dog ran under the wagon. with their eyes on the ground, an officer and two men towered above the light of a lantern. they were coming directly to the wagons. he kicked the pony and galloped softly out. instantly the men began calling, "halt! halt! g---- d---- you, halt!" but the ghostly pony only answered feebly the lantern light. "bang! bang! bang!" came the shots, which "zee-weeped" about his ears. he doubled quickly in the dark and trotted to the edge of the camp, which buzzed loudly behind him. he knew he must pass the sentries, but he took the chance. his apprehensions were quickly answered. "halt!"--the man was very near, but it was very dark. "bang!"--it missed, and he was away. he stopped shortly, dismounted, and ran his hand completely over the body of the pony; it was dry. "good!" for a half-hour he walked over the herd-grounds, crossing, circling, and stopping; then back as near to the post as he dared. at last he turned and rode away. he was thoroughly familiar with the vicinity of the camp, and had no trouble so long as the post lights guided him.
-the mountain boy had brought little to the soldier camp but the qualities of mind which distinguished his remote ancestors of the north of europe, who came out of the dark forests clad in skins, and bearing the first and final law of man, a naked sword on a knotted arm. an interval of many centuries intervened between him and his fellows; all the race had evolved, all the laws which they had made for the government of society, all the subtle customs which experience had decreed should circumscribe associates, were to him but the hermit's gossip in idle hours at the cabin. the bar sinister was on his shield; his credentials were the advice of an unreal person to fight in common with the whites. he came clad in skins on a naked horse, and could barely understand english when it was in the last adulteration; and still he had made his way without stumbling until the fatal evening. now he was fleeing for life because he had done two of the most natural things which a man can do.
-"good-by, good-by, white men, and good-by, white woman; the frost is in your hearts, and your blood runs like the melting snow from the hills. when you smile, you only skin your fangs; and when you laugh, your eyes do not laugh with you. you say good words which mean nothing. you stroke a man's back as a boy does a dog's, and kick him later as a boy does. you, woman, you who pick men's hearts and eat them as a squaw does wild plums, i want no more of you. you, butler, i wish were out here in the dark with me; one of us would never see the sun rise. you would force me!" and the scout vented himself in a hollow laugh which was chill with murder.
-the lights were lost behind the rise of the land, and the pony trotted along. no horse or man not raised on the buffalo range could travel in that darkness; but both of them made steady progress.
-"those indians will have to crawl on their knees a whole day to pick up my pony tracks on the herd ground. the crows will never try to follow me; the shoshone may when the white men offer a reward. that fool of a boy may see his chance to even up the insult which i gave before the woman. he can shake her hand now for all i would do. i will ride for two hours before the sun comes, and then let the pony feed."
-keeping along the river flats, floundering occasionally and dismounting to lead through the dry washes, he kept steadily on, impelled by the fear that the indian scouts and cavalry might not stop for his trail, but deploy out at daybreak, and ride fast to the west, in the hopes that he had not yet made a long start in the darkness. there was only the danger that his horse might lame himself in the night; but then he could go back in the hills and make a skulk on foot. even to be brought to bay had no great terror; ermine held his life lightly in the hollow of his hand.
-he mused as he rode: "they took my hair out of the braids and let it flow in the wind; then they said i was a white man. i may be one; but i wish now i had forgotten my color and i would not be so empty-handed this night. if i had followed my indian heart, i could have stolen that girl out from under the noses of those soldiers, and i may do it yet. when she was riding, i could have taken her away from the hunting-party, rawhided her on to her horse, and left no more sign than a bird behind us; but when she looked at me, my blood turned to water. o sak-a-war-te, why did you not take the snake's gaze out of her eyes, and not let poor ermine sit like a gopher to be swallowed? god, god, have you deserted me?"
-ermine understood the "talking wire,"--the telegraph had been made plain to him,--and he knew the soldiers were stretching one into the west. he sheered away from the white man's medicine, going up a creek where only the silent waters swirling about his horse's legs could know the story of his ride, which secret they would carry to the eternal sea.
-the gallant pony's blood was rich from the grain-sacks; he had carried a rider in the strain of many war-trails, and his heart had not yet failed. in the prime of life, he was now asked to do the long, quick distance that should lose the white man; those mighty people who bought the help of mercenary men; whose inexhaustible food came in the everlasting wagons; and who spoke to each other twenty sleeps apart. his rider had violated their laws, and they would have him. only the pony could save.
-having walked the bed of the creek as far as he deemed necessary, ermine backed his pony out of the stream into some low bushes, where he turned him about and rode away. all day over the yellow plains and through the defiles of the hills loped the fugitive. once having seen buffalo coming in his direction, he travelled for miles along a buffalo path which he judged they would follow. if by fortune they did, he knew it would make the scouts who came after rub their eyes and smoke many pipes in embarrassment. not entirely satisfied with his precautions,--for he thought the indians would cast ahead when checked,--he continued to urge the pony steadily forward. the long miles which lay before his pursuers would make their hearts weak and their ponies' forelegs wobble.
-from the summit of the red cliffs ermine looked down into the secret valley of his quest, and sitting there beside a huge boulder he studied the rendezvous. there were ramon's pack-ponies--he remembered them all. there curled the smoke from the tangle of brushwood in the bottom, and finally wolf-voice and ramon came out to gather in the horses for the night. he rode down toward them. their quick ears caught the sound of the rattle of the stones loosened by his mount, and they stopped. he waved his hat, and they recognized him. he came up and dismounted from his drooping horse, stiff-hided with lather and dust, hollow-flanked, and with his belly drawn up as tight as the head of a tom-tom.
-"are you alone in the camp? has no one been here?"
-the men drove the horses in while ermine made his way through the brush to the camp-fire.
-"a-ha! glad to see you, mr. ermine. gad! but you must have put your horse through. he is barely holding together in the middle. picket him out, and we will soon have some coffee going."
-ermine did as directed and was soon squatting before the fire with his cup and plate. to the hail of questions he made brief response, which harding attributed to fatigue and the inclination of these half-wild men not to mix discourse with the more serious matter of eating.
-"how did you leave every one at the camp?"
-ermine borrowed a pipe and interspersed his answers with puffs.
-"left them in the night--and they were all sitting up to see me off. my pony is weak, mr. harding. will you give me a fresh one in the morning? we ought to start before daylight and make a long day of it."
-"my dear man, before daylight? are we in such haste? it seems that we have time enough before us."
-"this is a bad country here. indians of all tribes are coming and going. we are better off back in the range. in two or three sleeps we will be where we can lie on the robe, but not here;" saying which, ermine rolled up in his saddle blanket, and perforce the others did likewise, in view of the short hours in store.
-the last rasping, straining pack-rope had been laid while yet the ghostly light played softly with the obscurity of the morning. the ponies were forced forward, crashing through the bushes, floundering in the creek, cheered on by hoarse oaths, all strange to the ear of harding. the sedate progression of other days was changed to a fox-trot--riding-whips and trail-ropes slapping about the close-hugged tails of the horses.
-harding congratulated himself on the unexpected energy of his guide; it would produce results later when wanted in the hunting. the ponies strung out ahead to escape the persecution of the lash, but wolf-voice saw something new in it all, and as he rode, his fierce little eyes gleamed steadily on ermine. the half-breed knew the value of time when he was pushing the horses of the enemy away from their lodges, but these horses had no other masters. he turned his pony alongside of ermine's.
-"say, john, what for you waas keep look behin'? who you 'fraid follar dese pony? ain't dose canada-man pay for dese pony--sacre, what you was do back de camp dare? de sioux, she broke hout?" and the half-breed's mischievous eye settled well on his confrère.
-"well, i did that back there which will make the high hills safer for me than any other place. don't say anything to mr. harding until i feel safe. i want to think."
-"you waas shoot some one, mabeso?"
-"yes--that ---- ---- butler. he said he would force me to give up the paper we found in the moonlight on the soldier trail down the yellowstone a year ago. he pulled his pistol, and i shot him."
-"you kiell heem--hey?"
-"no, caught him in the arm, but it will not kill him. i may go back and do that--when the soldiers forget a little."
-"den you waas run away--hey?"
-"yes; i made the grass smoke from tongue river to here. i don't think they can follow me, but they may follow this party. that's why i look behind, wolf-voice, and that's why i want you to look behind."
-"what for you waas come to de king george man, anyhow?"
-"i wanted coffee and tobacco and a fresh pony and more cartridges, and it will be many moons before john ermine will dare look in a trader's store. if the white men come, i will soon leave you; and if i do, you must stay and guide mr. harding. he is a good man and does what is right by us."
-"well, they will pile the blankets as high as a horse's back, and say to the shoshone, 'go get the yellow-hair, and these are your blankets.' what then?"
-"ugh! ugh!--a-nah," grunted the half-breed; "de ---- ---- shoshone, we will leek de pony--come--come!"
-the energy of the march, the whacking ropes, and scampering horses passed from satisfaction to downright distress in mr. harding's mind. he pleaded for more deliberation, but it went unheeded. the sun had gone behind the hard blue of the main range before they camped, and the good nature of the englishman departed with it.
-"why is it necessary to break our cattle down by this tremendous scampering? it does not appeal to my sense of the situation."
-"wael, meester, wan more sun we waas en de hiell--den we have long smoke; all you waas do waas sit down smoke your pipe--get up--kiell dose grizzly bear--den sit down some more."
-but this observation of the half-breed's was offset by ramon, who was cleaning a frying-pan with a piece of bread, and screwing his eyes into those of wolf-voice. the matter was not clear to him. "what good can come of running the legs off the ponies? why can't we sit down here and smoke?"
-"you waas trader--you waas spend all de morning pack de pony--spend all the afternoon unpack heem--a man see your night fire from stan where you waas cook your breakfast--bah!" returned wolf-voice.
-this exasperated ramon, who vociferated, "when i see men run the pony dat way, i was wander why dey run dem." wolf-voice betook himself to that ominous silence which, with indians, follows the knife.
-ermine was lame in the big white camp, but out here in the desert he walked ahead; so, without looking up, he removed his pipe, and said in his usual unemotional manner, "shut up!" the command registered like a gong.
-wolf-voice sat down and smoked. when men smoke they are doing nothing worse than thinking. the cook ceased doing the work he was paid for, and also smoked. every one else smoked, and all watched the greatest thinker that the world has ever known--the fire.
-the first man to break the silence was the englishman. whether in a frock coat, or a more simple garment, the englishman has for the last few centuries been able to think quicker, larger, and more to the purpose in hours of bewilderment, than any other kind of man. he understood that his big purpose was lost in this "battle of the kites and crows." the oak should not wither because one bird robbed another's nest. as a world-wide sportsman he had seen many yellow fellows shine their lethal weapons to the discomfiture of his plans; and he knew that in ermine he had an unterrified adversary to deal with. he talked kindly from behind his pipe. "of course, ermine, i am willing to do what is proper under any and all circumstances, and we will continue this vigorous travel if you can make the necessity of it plain to me. frankly, i do not understand why we are doing it, and i ask you to tell me."
-ermine continued to smoke for a time, and having made his mind up he removed his pipe and said slowly: "mr. harding, i shot butler, and the soldiers are after me. i have to go fast--you don't--that's all."
-the gentleman addressed opened wide eyes on his guide and asked in low amazement, "d---- me--did you? did you kill him?"
-"no," replied ermine.
-rising from his seat, mr. harding took the scout to one side, out of reach of other ears, and made him tell the story of the affair, with most of the girl left out.
-"why did you not give him the photograph?"
-"because he said he would make me give it and drew his pistol, and what is more, i am going back to kill the man butler--after a while. we must go fast to-morrow, then i will be where i am safe, for a time at least."
-all this gave harding a sleepless night. he had neither the power nor the inclination to arrest the scout. he did not see how the continuance of his hunt would interfere with final justice; and he hoped to calm the mood and stay the murderous hand of the enraged man. so in half-bewilderment, on the morrow, that staid traveller found himself galloping away from the arms of the law, in a company of long-haired vagabonds; and at intervals it made him smile. this was one of those times when he wished his friends at home could have a look at him.
-"say, wolf-voice," said he, "ermine says he is going back to kill lieutenant butler sometime later."
-"he says dat--hey?"
-"yes, he says that."
-"wiell den--she wiell do eet--var much, 'fraid--what for she wan kiell dose man butler? she already waas shoot heem en the harm."
-"i think ermine is jealous," ventured harding.
-"what you call jealous?" queried the half-breed.
-"ermine wants butler's girl and cannot get her; that is the trouble."
-"anah-a! a bag of a squaw, ees eet?" and wolf-voice ran out to head a pack-horse into the line of flight. coming back he continued: "say, meester harding, dese woman he ver often mak' man wan' kiell some ozer man. i have done dose ting."
-"whew!" said harding, in amazement, but he caught himself. "but, wolf-voice, we do not want our friend ermine to do it, and i want you to promise me you will help me to keep him from doing it."
-"'spose i say, 'ermine, you no kiell meester butler'--he teel me to go to hell, mabeso--what den?"
-"oh, he may calm down later."
-"na--engun she no forget," cautioned the half-breed.
-"but ermine is not an indian."
-"na, but she all de same engun," which was true so far as that worthy could see.
-"if we do not stop him from killing butler, he will hang or be shot for it, sooner or later, and that is certain," said harding.
-"yees--yees; deese white man have funny way when one man kiell 'nozer. ermine ees brave man--he eese see red, an' he wiell try eet eef he do hang. no one eese able for stop heem but deese crooked-bear," observed the half-breed.
-"is crooked-bear an indian chief?"
-"na; she ain' enjun, she ain' white man; she come out of the groun'. hees head eet waas so big an' strong eet were break hees back for to carry eet."
-"where does this person live?" ventured harding.
-"where she eese lieve, ah?--where ermine an' his pony can find heem," was the vague reply. "you no wan' ermine for kiell deese butler; weel den, you say, 'ermine, you go see crooked-bear--you talk wid heem.' i weel take you where you wan' go een de montaign for get de grizzly bear."
-"i suppose that is the only solution, and i suppose it is my duty to do it, though the thing plays havoc with my arrangements."
-later the trail steepened and wound its tortuous way round the pine and boulders, the ponies grunting under their burdens as they slowly pushed their toilsome way upwards. when ermine turned here to look back he could see a long day's march on the trail, and he no longer worried concerning any pursuit which might have been in progress. they found their beds early, all being exhausted by the long day's march, particularly the fugitive scout.
-on the following morning, harding suggested that he and ermine begin the hunting, since fresh meat was needed in camp; so they started. in two hours they had an elk down and were butchering him. the antlers were in the velvet and not to the head-hunter's purpose. making up their package of meat and hanging the rest out of the way of prowling animals, to wait a pack-horse, they sat down to smoke.
-"are you still intending to kill mr. butler?" ventured harding.
-"yes, when you are through hunting, i shall begin--begin to hunt butler."
-"you will find your hunting very dangerous, ermine," ventured harding.
-"it does not matter; he has got the girl, and he may have my life or i shall have his."
-"but you cannot have the girl. certainly after killing butler the young lady will not come to you. do you think she would marry you? do you dream you are her choice?"
-"no, the girl would not marry me; i have forgotten her," mused ermine, as he patiently lied to himself.
-"does this maiden wish to marry butler?" asked harding, who now recalled garrison gossip to the effect that all things pointed that way.
-"then why do you kill the man she loves?"
-"because i do not want to think he is alive."
-the wide vacancy of the scout's blue eyes, together with the low deliberation in his peaceful voice, was somewhat appalling to harding. he never had thought of a murderer in this guise, and he labored with himself to believe it was only a love-sickness of rather alarming intenseness; but there was something about the young man which gave this idea pause. his desperation in battle, his indian bringing-up, made it all extremely possible, and he searched in vain for any restraining forces. so for a long time they sat by the dead elk, and harding sorted and picked out all the possible reasons he could conjure as to why ermine should not kill butler, until it began to dawn upon him that he was not replying to his arguments at all, but simply reiterating his own intentions despite them. he then recalled cases in england where fists had been the arguments under a rude lover's code; only out here the argument was more vital, more insistent, and the final effect left the lady but one choice should she care to interest herself in the affair.
-resuming his talk, harding suggested that his guide go to his own friends, who might advise him more potently than he was able, and ended by asking pointedly, "you have friends, i presume?"
-"i have one friend," answered the youth, sullenly.
-"who is he?"
-"crooked-bear," came the reply.
-"crooked-bear is your friend; then you must listen to him; what he advises will probably be the thing to do."
-"of course i will listen to him. he is the only person in the world i care for now. i have often heard him talking to himself, and i think he has known a woman whom he cannot forget," spoke ermine. "he will not want me to seek my enemy's life. i have talked too much, mr. harding. talk weakens a man's heart. i will make no more talk."
-the end of all things
-the heart of the rider hung like a leaden weight in his body, as he cast accustomed glances at the old trail up the mountain to crooked-bear's cabin. he heard the dogs bark, and gave the wolf's call which was the hermit's countersign. the dogs grew menacing at his unfamiliar scent, but a word satisfied them. a dog forgets many things about a person in a year, but never his voice. from out of a dark corner came the goblin of the desolate mountain, ready with his gun for the unwelcome, but to greet ermine with what enthusiasm his silent forest ways had left him. for a long time they held each other's hands, while their faces lighted with pleasure; even the warmth of kindliness kindling in the scout's as he stood in the presence of one who did not seek him with the corner of his eyes.
-as they built the fire and boiled the water, the old man noted the improved appearance of his protégé--the new clothes and the perfect equipment were a starched reminder of the glories of the old world, which he had left in the years long gone. he plied his questions, and was more confused to uncover ermine's lack of enthusiasm concerning the events which must have been tremendous, and with difficulty drew the belated news of war and men and things from him. then like the raising of a curtain, which reveals the play, the hermit saw suddenly that it was heavy and solemn--he was to see a tragedy, and this was not a play; it was real, it was his boy, and he did not want to see a tragedy.
-he feared to have it go on; he shut his eyes for a long time, and then rose to his feet and put his hands on the young man's shoulders. he sought the weak gleam of the eyes in the dusk of the cabin. "tell me, boy, tell me all; you cannot hide it any more than a deer can hide his trail in the snow. i can read your thoughts."
-ermine did not immediately reply, but the leaden heart turned slowly into a burning coal.
-"crooked-bear, i wanted a white girl for my wife, and i shot a soldier, who drew a revolver and said he would force me to give him her picture which i had in my pocket, and then i ran away, everybody shooting at me. they may even come here for me. they want to stand me up beside the long table with all the officers sitting around it, and they want to take me out and hang me on a tree for the ravens and magpies to pick at. that is what your white people want to do to me, crooked-bear, and by god they are going to have a chance to do it, for i am going back to kill the man and get the girl or die. do you hear that, crooked-bear, do you hear that?"
-the hermit's arms dropped to his side, and he could make no sound or sign. "sit down, be quiet, boy; let us talk more of this thing. be calm, and i can find a reason why you will not want to stain your hands with this man's blood. when i sent you to the white men to do a man's work in a white man's way, i did not think you would lock horns with any buck you met on the trail, like the dumb things that carry their reason for being on the point of their antlers--sit down." and the long arms of the hermit waved with a dropping motion.
-"but, my boy, you must not see red in a private feud; that is only allowed against the enemies of the whole people. your heart has gone to your head; you can never win a white woman by spilling the blood of the other man who happens to love her also. that is not the way with them."
-"no, it is not the way with them; it is the way with their women to set a man on fire and then laugh at him, and it is the way with their men to draw a gun. what do they expect, crooked-bear? i ask you that!"
-"who was the girl, ermine?"
-the scout unwrapped the package from his bosom, and handed the photograph to the old man, saying, "she is like that."
-the hermit regarded the picture and ventured, "an officer's daughter?"
-"yes; daughter of major searles."
-"who was the man you shot?"
-"a young pony soldier,--an officer; his name is butler." and gradually ermine was led to reveal events to the wise man, who was able to piece out the plot with much knowledge not natural to the wilds of the rocky mountains. and it was a tragedy. he knew that the girl's unfortunate shot had penetrated deeper than ermine's, and that the law and the lawless were in a death grapple.
-they sought their bunks, and in the following days the prophet poured much cold water on ermine's determination, which only turned to steam and lost itself in the air. the love of the woman and the hate of the man had taken root in the bedrock of his human nature, and the pallid "should nots" and "must nots" of the prophet only rustled the leaves of ermine's philosophy.
-"he has taken her from me; he has made me lose everything i worked for with the white men; he has made me a human wolf, and i mean to go back and kill him. you say i may lose my life; ho! what is a dead man? a dead man and a buffalo chip look just alike to these mountains, to this sky, and to me, crooked-bear," came the lover's reply.
-and at other times: "i know, crooked-bear, that you wanted a girl to marry you once, and because she would not, you have lived all your life like a gray bear up here in these rocks, and you will die here. i am not going to do that; i am going to make others drink with me this bitter drink, which will sweeten it for me."
-sadly the hermit saw this last interest on earth pass from him; saw fate wave her victorious banners over him; saw the forces of nature work their will; and he sank under the burden of his thoughts. "i had hoped," he said to himself, "to be able to restore this boy to his proper place among the white people, but i have failed. i do not understand why men should be so afflicted in this world as ermine and i have been, but doubtless it is the working of a great law, and possibly of a good one. my long years as a hunter have taught me that the stopping of the heart-beat is no great thing--it is soon over; but the years of living that some men are made to undergo is a very trying matter. brave and sane is he who keeps his faith. i fear for the boy."
-after a few weeks ermine could no longer bear with the sullen savagery of his emotions, and he took his departure. crooked-bear sat by his cabin door and saw him tie his blanket on his saddle; saw him mount and extend his hand, which he shook, and they parted without a word. they had grown accustomed to this ending; there was nothing in words that mattered now. the prophet's boy disappeared in the gloom of the woods, snapping bushes, and rolling stones, until there was no sound save the crackling of the fire on the lonely hearth.
-as ermine ambled over the yellow wastes, he thought of the difference between now and his going to the white man one year ago. then he was full of hopes; but now no crow indian would dare be seen in his company--not even wolf-voice could offer him the comfort of his reckless presence. he was compelled to sneak into the absaroke camp in the night, to trade for an extra pony with his relatives, and to be gone before the morning. the ghostly tepees, in the quiet of the night, seemed to dance around him, coming up, and then retiring, while their smoke-flaps waved their giant fingers, beckoning him to be gone. the dogs slunk from him, and the ponies walked away. the curse of the white man was here in the shadows, and he could feel the indians draw their robes more closely over their heads as they dreamed. the winds from the mountains blew on his back to help him along, and whispered ugly thoughts. all the good of the world had drawn away from ermine, and it seemed that the sun did not care to look at him, so long was he left to stumble through the dark. but nature did not paint this part of her day any blacker than she had ermine's heart; each footfall of his pony took him nearer to death, and he whipped on impatiently to meet it. hope had long since departed--he could not steal the girl; he realized the impossibility of eluding pursuit; he only wanted to carry butler with him away from her. all the patient training of crooked-bear, all the humanizing influence of white association, all softening moods of the pensive face in the photograph, were blown from the fugitive as though carried on a wind; he was a shellfish-eating cave-dweller, with a springfield, a knife, and a revolver. he had ceased to think in english, and muttered to himself in absaroke. as his pony stumbled at a ford in the river, he cut it savagely with his whip,--the pony which was the last of his friends,--and it grunted piteously as it scrambled for its foothold.
-day after day he crawled through the rugged hills far from the places where men might be; for every one was his enemy, and any chance rifle would take away from him his vengeance. the tale of his undoing had travelled wide--he found that out in the crow camp; ba-cher-hish-a had told him that through her tears. he could trust no one; the scouts at tongue river might be apathetic in an attempt to capture him, but they could not fail to report his presence if seen in the vicinity. butler was probably in the middle of the log-town, which swarmed with soldiers, but it was there he must go, and he had one friend left, just one; it is always the last friend such a one has,--the night.
-having arrived in the vicinity of the post, he prowled out on foot with his only friend. it was early, for he must do his deed while yet the lights were lit. any one moving about after "taps" would surely be investigated by the guard. the country was not yet tranquil enough to permit of laxity in the matter of sentry duty, and the soldiers counted "ten" very fast after they challenged. he had laid aside his big hat, and was wrapped in his blanket. many indians were about, and he was less apt to be spoken to or noticed. he moved forward to the scout fire, which was outside of the guard-line, and stood for a time in some brushwood, beyond the play of the flames. he was closely enveloped in his blanket, and although indians passed quite near him, he was not noticed. suddenly he heard a detail of wagons clanking up the road, and conjectured rightly that they would go into the post. he ran silently toward them, and stooping low, saw against the skyline that the cavalry guard had worked up in front, impatient to shave the time when they should reach their quarters.
-it was a wood train, and it clanked and ground and jingled to the quartermaster's corral, bearing one log on the last wagon which was john ermine and his fortunes. this log slid to the ground and walked swiftly away.
-the time for "taps" was drawing near, and the post buzzed in the usual expectation of that approaching time of quiet. a rifle-shot rang loud and clear up on the officers' row; it was near major searles's house, every one said as they ran. women screamed, and tongue river cantonment laid its legs to the ground as it gathered to the place. officers came with revolvers, and the guard with lanterns. mrs. searles and her daughter were clasped in each other's arms, while mary, the cook, put her apron over her head. searles ran out with his gun; the shot had been right under the window of his sitting-room. an indian voice greeted him, "don' shoot; me killi him."
-"who in h---- are you?" swore searles, at a present.
-"don' shoot, me ahhæta--all same sharp-nose--don' shoot--me killi him."
-"killi who? who have you killed? talk up quick!"
-"me killi him. you come--you see."
-the lantern quickly disclosed the man on the ground to be john ermine, late scout and fugitive from justice, shot through the heart and dead, with his blanket and rifle on the ground beside him. as he looked through the window, he had been stalked and killed by the fool whom he would not allow to shake hands with katherine searles, and a few moments later, when sharp-nose was brought into her presence, between two soldiers, she recognized him when he said, "mabeso, now you shake hands."
-"yes, i will shake hands with you, sharp-nose," and half to herself, as she eyed her malevolent friend, she muttered, "and he kept you to remember me by."
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-by mabel osgood wright
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-apparent printer's errors have been retained, unless stated below.
-page numbers cited in illustration captions refer to their original placement in the text. illustrations have been moved near their mention in the text.
-"" surrounding text represents italics.
-punctuation, capitalization, accents and formatting markup have been made consistent.
-page 34, "ba-chua-hish-a" changed to "ba-cher-hish-a" for consistency. (ba-cher-hish-a sobbed and wailed all night in her lodge, while the foster-father walked outside, speculating endlessly with his friends.)
-page 94, "trial" changed to "trail". (now we must blind our trail; their scouts will find it in the morning.)
-page 5 of the advertisements, "these" changed to "there". (there is interwoven with it a play of mild philosophy and of pointed wit.)
-page 12 of the advertisements, "john" changed to "frederic". (by frederic remington)
-page 14 of the advertisements has been left as originally published. the accompanying comment for "aunt jimmy's will" by mabel osgood wright has been left to read: "barbara has written no more delightful book than this."
-and other essays
-author of “when it was dark,” “first it was ordained,” “made in his image,” etc., etc.
-richard clay & sons, limited, bread street hill, e.c., and bungay, suffolk.
-my dear white,
-the publication of this book is a business arrangement between you and me. its dedication however has nothing to do with the relations of author and publisher in those capacities, but is merely an expression of friendship and esteem. this then is to remind you of pleasant hours we have spent together on the other side of the channel, in your house at london, and my house in kent.
-yours ever sincerely,
-“multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision.”
-when i was a boy i made an occasional invasion of my father’s study, and in the absence of more congenial matter tried to extract some amusement from the shelves devoted to christian apologetics. at any rate the pictures of the portly divines, which sometimes prefaced their polemics, interested me, and i was sometimes allured to read a few pages of their scripture. i remember that i enjoyed the sub-acid flavour of bishop butler’s advertisement, prefixed to the first edition of his analogy, at an early age, and i have thought lately that in certain circles one hundred and seventy years have not greatly modified the mental attitude.
-hear what the rector of stanhope who, as horace walpole said, was shortly to be “wafted to the see of durham in a cloud of metaphysics,” says about his literary contemporaries--
-“it is come, i know not how, to be taken for granted, by many persons that christianity is not so much as a subject for inquiry, but that it is now at length discovered to be fictitious, and accordingly they treat it as if, in the present age, this were an agreed point among all people of discernment, and nothing remained but to set it up as a principal subject of mirth and ridicule, as it were, by way of reprisals for its having so long interrupted the pleasures of the world.”
-perhaps the difference between the times of george the second and edward the seventh may be best discerned in the status and calibre of the popular penmen who in either age have found, or furnished amusement in a tilt against the catholic faith.
-the man in the street, as we know him, did not exist in the eighteenth century. he is the predominant person to-day, and he requires the services of able authors to assure him of immunity, when he is inclined to frolic away from chastity or integrity, much as did the county members who pocketed the bribes of sir robert walpole and prated of patriotism.
-fortunately for society the man in the street is a very decent fellow, and generally finds out before long that wisdom’s ways are ways of pleasantness. a man may enjoy posing as an agnostic when he wants an excuse for--as the negro said--“doing what he dam please,” but when he takes to himself a wife, and children are born to him, a certain anxiety as to the continuity and perpetuation of these relationships begins to show itself. a man who has lost a little child, or waited in agonizing suspense to hear the physician’s verdict, when sickness overshadows his home, discovers that he needs something beyond negations, something that will bring life and immortality to light again within his soul.
-moreover, the man in the street finds it necessary to come to some decision on other problems of existence. he is a citizen and must needs exercise his enfranchisement and give his vote at an election now and again. he must help to decide whether the state shall ignore religion and establish a system of ethical education, of which the ultimate sanction is social convenience, or maintain the thesis that creed and character are mutually inter-dependent.
-as he pays his poor rate wrathfully, or with resignation, its annual increase reminds him of the necessity of curing or eliminating the unfit. when he reads of belgian and prussian colonial enterprise, or ponders on the perplexing problem of the black belt which the southern states must solve, he is compelled to consider whether it is true that “god has made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth,” or whether this shall be accounted as another of the delusions of saul of tarsus whom governor festus found to be mad.
-indeed, our friend, the man in the street, when he becomes a family man, without any pretensions to be a man of family, very often finds himself face to face with other problems. shall he simply sing with the psalmist “like as the arrows in the hand of the giant, even so are the young children. happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them,” or shall he be guided by the gloss of a modern interpreter who maintains that the oriental quiver was designed to hold but two or three arrows at most?
-even when the plain man confines his interests to his business and seeks relaxations in “sport” alone, endeavouring to evade the puzzles of politics and avoid all theologized inquiry, he cannot escape from ethical consideration. professionalism in athletics and questions of betting and bribery contend with his conviction that there is something which ennobles man in running and striving for mastery, and it is futile to curse the bookmaker when his clients are so many, his occupation so lucrative.
-the average man gets little guidance from pulpit or press. it is dull work reading sermons, even if sermons came in his way. from time to time some eloquent bishop or canon is reported in the monday morning papers, but journalists know that the publication of a summary with, in the case of a few of the preachers, some epigrams or denunciations, is all that can be permitted or expected. these may arouse the attention to the existence of evils, but give no guiding principle for their cure.
-the habit of attendance at some place of worship is easily abandoned in the days of bachelor freedom, and rarely regained in maturer years. men for the most part find the preacher unconvincing. the usual audience does not desire discussion of difficulties. when the honest instinct of devotional worship is gratified by common praise and prayer, the people who regularly go to church, elderly, and orthodox in their own way, resent a demand upon their intellectual exertion, and the northern farmer of tennyson hardly misrepresents them, “i thought he said what he ought to ha’ said and i comed away.” the great nonconformist societies may, in some congregations, give a larger latitude to the preacher, but his freedom is rather in the direction of divinity than of ethics. mr. rockefeller is a prominent pillar of protestantism in the states, and mr. jabez balfour, in another congregation at croydon, apparently knew no qualms of conscience before his actual conviction, which was public, of sin.
-there is an old proverb which tells us that “a man is either a fool or a philosopher at forty”--and, though proverbs are often only venerable prejudices in disguise, it is true that a man, who has attained his eighth lustrum and is of average ability, generally has come to certain definite conclusions as to the rudimentary laws of health. he knows enough about his body to avoid fatal errors in diet, and has learned the necessity of exercise and fresh air. but when he is called upon, as a member of the body politic, to decide questions of ethics on which the sanitation of society must depend, he feels himself at a loss. to many people it will seem a hard saying that a man must be either a fool or a philosopher at forty, but long ere he has reached that age he will have encountered problems of philosophy which it is impossible to shirk if he is to do his duty as a free man.
-st. paul, it is true, when writing to a christian community in asia minor, bids them “beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy.” and the unfortunate habit of bible christians, of tearing a text from a treatise and making it into a precept, has thrown a sort of discredit upon philosophic thinking, while the mass of mankind will always prefer rules to principles of conduct. but in vain do we clamour against intellectual complications which are the inevitable endowment of these days. life is necessarily intricate, subtle and anxious, and democracy has made of each man a ruler and governor in his degree. is it possible to point to a single principle which shall be a motive and a standard of duty, which shall establish a synthetic method after the ruthless analysis of the later victorian days?
-how searching that analysis has been! fifty years ago the man in the street might rarely read the bible, but he had a tolerably assured conviction that the bible was infallible, however resolutely he might refuse its interpretation by an infallible church.
-“...the essays and reviews debate begins to tell on the public mind, and colenso’s views have weight.”
-plain people were taught to look on the old testament as a library of hebrew literature containing not only poetry and history, but romance.
-when colenso’s book first appeared, matthew arnold deprecated its publication since it brought criticisms familiar to men of culture before the notice of the public, without considering how the beliefs of “the vulgar” might be upset.
-the supercilious apostle of “sweetness and light,” himself contributed largely in later years to the general confusion in men’s minds, and the new testament criticism has been introduced to the general public by mr. arnold’s accomplished niece.
-our friend, the man in the street, was all unprepared!
-what had he ever been taught of theology, the divine word to man? in his school-days, if his father was an income tax payer he probably had a weekly lesson in “divinity,” when he construed a few verses of the gospels in the greek testament, and showed up to his master, now and then, a map of the journeying of the apostle paul in asia minor and eastern europe. if his father expected him to be confirmed, in due course, some lessons in the catechism were added for his benefit, but prudent pedagogues took care not to endanger the popularity of a school, whether public or private, by any definite teaching which might be accused of being dogmatic. the head-master was probably a person of unsuspected orthodoxy, with a possible deanery or bishopric in view for his days of superannuation. his sermons in chapel used to set a fine standard of conduct before the boys, and were gracefully free from all mention of controversial questions. in due course they were published with the title sermons at yarrow, and enterprising parents turning over their pages would find little to criticize and much to admire. the cross, if presented at all in these publications, was so bespangled with rhetorical jewellery that “jews might kiss and infidels adore.” and the children of israel as public-school boys were never painfully conscious of any great difference between themselves and their baptized companions. but unfortunately only a few of the boys came under the civilizing instruction of the chief. bright young athletes from oxford and cambridge, lured into the ranks of pedagogy by their love of football and cricket, were the assistant-masters. a regular salary with holiday for a fourth of the year, the prospect of early marriage, and a remunerative boarding-house, attracted them to a pleasant position, and they had no wish to rebel against the time-table which made them teachers of “divinity” for at least one hour in the week. all educated people should be tolerably familiar with a book so largely used in quotation as the bible, and the succession of the kings of israel and judah could be used in strengthening the memory, whilst the stories of “jehu and those other johnnies you know” were by no means devoid of picturesque incident. greek testament could also be made useful in the acquisition of a vocabulary, or in a lesson showing the difference between classical and vernacular greek. “of course we must leave the application of these studies to conduct to home influence,” the headmasters would blandly observe, and between parent and pedagogue the teaching of the christian faith fell neglected to the ground.
-what chance had the boys so brought up, of forming any conception of the essential truths of religion? a superficial acquaintance with the stories of hebrew history, a perfunctory attendance at chapel, some well-meant exhortations on the subject of temperance and chastity, as the catechism was revived in their memories before they were brought to be confirmed by the bishop, and some ability “to translate and give the context” of a few phrases from the greek texts of the gospels, these were their intellectual religious equipment for a life of fierce temptation from within and without. and when they encountered the storm and stress of modern social life they found that the critics had taken from them the old reverence of nursery days for “god’s book,” their school training had taught them only a rough code of honour, and their chief restraint from any ignoble impulse was a feeling that to do certain deeds was not “good form.”
-a little lower down the social ladder the man in the street has fared no better in his boyhood. in the public elementary schools he has had a half-hour’s lesson in scripture and catechism five days of the week, and annually the diocesan, or the school board, inspector came round to ascertain whether the syllabus of religious teaching had been duly followed. but only when devout parish priests had a talent for teaching and a love for boys and girls was any attempt made to give children a religion, and even in this case not very much could be done for those who left school for ever when they were twelve years old.
-a generation ago lord sherbrooke, on the extension of the franchise, told his contemporaries that it was time to begin “to educate our masters”--but we have not gone very far in our instruction of christian sociology, though as yet we have not adopted the utilitarian basis of morals accepted by the french republic, and endeavoured to establish principles of duty towards man without any reference whatever to a duty towards god.
-can any one be surprised if the plain man be perplexed when he is called upon to decide questions of economy and morality without any guiding principle? as a matter of fact he makes no such effort. “multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision, for the day of the lord is near in the valley of decisions,” but the sun and the moon are darkened, and the stars withdraw their shining. the puzzled popular vote is but as the swing of the pendulum, first to this side, then to the other. “these fellows have been no good, let us give the others a show.”
-yet assuredly there is a principle which is guidance and strength if only men could discern it. there are teachers who can tell men of its beneficent power, but they are as yet few in number, and their voices are not sufficiently strong. when once these can get a hearing, men welcome their evangel and find in it a guide of life.
-i am persuaded that just as bishop butler, when he perused the preface of his analogy, had no prescience of the young fellow of lincoln, who was in a few years to give the christian faith a fresh hold in the hearts of the common people, who gladly heard him, so in our time many of our bishops seem unable to perceive the dawn of another “day of the lord.”
-indeed, it is our misfortune in england that bishops are almost necessarily bad leaders. we are told when an election to the papacy is imminent that this or that cardinal is in the list of “papabili”--a possible pope--so in like manner we may almost select amongst the undergraduates of oxford and cambridge our future diocesans. these are men clever, shrewd, and hard-working, of estimable private character, and not without some modest patrimony. early entered in the race for preferment, ambitious, and yet, mirabile dictu, devout, they are endowed first of all with the true qualification for episcopacy, a capacity for compromise and a pliant political mind. sic itur ad astra the excellent curate or tutor, the courteous and accomplished chaplain to the bishop, the eloquent canon and ecclesiastical courtier is consecrated and enthroned. henceforward for the rest of his days he must hurry from his study table, crowded with correspondence, to his confirmations, his diocesan society meetings, and his weary, humiliating attendance at the house of lords. what wonder if bishops discourage new ventures of faith, who have no time for thinking, no time for reading, and perhaps, sometimes, too little opportunity for prayer!
-and so we find them not unwilling to accommodate the catholic faith to the popular prejudice of the moment, acquiescing in an undogmatic, undenominational, more or less christian creed. popularity becomes the very breath of their nostrils, and they proceed to hide in an appendix to the prayer-book, the hymn quicunque vult.
-yet the discerning can see that now is no time for keeping in the background the great truths of religion. already men are being prepared in many ways to receive them.
-the christian faith in england is no longer hampered by certain arbitrary axioms of the puritan divines. in the sixteenth century men were almost compelled by the exigencies of the situation to discover some infallible authority which they could set up over against the infallibility of the church of rome, and they endeavoured to treat holy scripture as though the great library of jewish and christian writers contained a complete code of consistent legislation. a text was a convincing argument for the divine right of kings, or for binding them in chains, for the burning of witches or the destruction of a shrine, and although in the two following centuries the protestant ministers taught men to modify this conception, and to realize the difference between the old testament and the new, the popular idea of revelation allowed small scope for theological inquiry. the biographies of our literary men of the victorian period have shown us how they were tempted to separate themselves from all public communion with the church, by their misgiving that the church was committed to an impossible position. carlyle groaned for what he called an “exit from houndsditch,” some deliverance from the rabbinic interpretation and use of the bible. things are very different to-day, as henry sidgwick says in a letter to alfred lord tennyson published by his son in a recent memoir. “the years pass, the struggle with what carlyle used to call ‘hebrew old clothes’ is over, freedom is won.” and in the result a scientific criticism of the old and new testament is found to be compatible with, and often a compulsion to an acceptance of the christian creed, not the creed of calvin, or the westminster confession, but the reasoned statement of nicæa. the student of physical science no longer believes that if he goes to church he must be taken to accept the cosmogony of genesis, and on his side he no longer stumbles at the difficulty of miraculous events. he knows too much about the influence of mind over matter to say that it is impossible that jesus christ and his apostles should have healed the paralytic and made the blind to see and the deaf to hear. he is no longer “cocksure” of his capability of drawing a line of division between the organic and the inorganic. he can conceive of the existence of spirits which can control and modify the ordinary laws of life. he finds it probable that evolution is not exhausted when man has come into being, and can look forward to a spiritual existence without suspecting himself of superstition. sacraments, the union of the spiritual with the material, seem to him to be in accordance with the laws of the universe, and he would never now-a-days stigmatize them as “magic.” however he may explain the methods by which cures were wrought upon the afflicted, the scientific man of to-day would not accuse st. luke of falsehood because he tells us that, “god wrought special miracles by the hands of paul, so that from his body were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs or aprons, and the diseases departed from them and the evil spirits went out of them.” indeed the man of science knows himself to be on the track of discoveries which will show us secrets of personality and spiritual possession which will banish for ever the absurd incredulity of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
-who now-a-days would assert that “miracles do not happen,” when men like sir oliver lodge are laboriously discovering some few of these laws of the universe which give us these portents and signs? who dares to sneer at parthenogenesis or repeat the slander of celsus about the mother of god? men only who have grown rusty in reposing on their past reputations and cannot see that materialism as a philosophy is dead. day by day fresh evidence of the power of the spirit over matter bursts upon us. a plea for “philosophic doubt” of professor huxley’s infallibility is no longer necessary. the very distinction between matter and spirit grows more and more difficult as science develops analytical power. the minds of men are being prepared again to receive that supreme revelation which told of the wedding of the earth and heaven, the taking of the manhood into god.
-in truth, this is the one principle which can give men guidance in the tangled intricacy of modern life. it is necessary to salvation, now, not hereafter only, to believe rightly the incarnation of our lord jesus christ.
-for, first of all, men need to be saved from the apathy of despair. they need some hope that there is an answer to the riddle of the universe. let them once begin to feel that it may be true that the very god cares for his creatures and has made his love for them manifest by taking to himself the body, mind and spirit of man, and joining for ever human nature to the godhead, then through the darkness comes a human voice saying--
-“o heart i made, a heart beats here! face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself. thou hast no power nor mayst conceive of mine, but love i gave thee, with myself to love, and thou must love me who have died for thee.”
-a man regains his self-respect when once he has escaped from the paralyzing sense that his is only
-“a life of nothings nothing worth from that first nothing ere our birth to that last nothing under earth.”
-and there is only one starting-point for those who journey on this quest of an answer to the enigma of life. they must resolutely abandon the long travelled “a priori road.” they must understand that the science of to-day is not tied to any materialistic axioms, that metaphysic cannot be ignored by the physician, and that no competent scientist to-day would say of the resurrection of jesus on which ultimately depends his claims to our adoration, “that could not happen.” we know enough now of the laws of the universe to know that we do not know them all.
-so some of us perceive that what is needed to-day is to arrest the attention of the man in the street, to get him to perceive that christianity has much more to say for itself than he suspected, and that christian philosophy will place in his hand a clue which will guide him in the labyrinth of life.
-“i say the acknowledgment of god in christ accepted by thy reason, solves for thee all questions in the earth and out of it.”
-we must set men free from phrases and get them to think. it suits the game of the party politician to pretend that ethics are easily self-evident, and that there is a simple fundamental religion on which all men are agreed; but there is a question which must be insistently urged, and upon the answer to which all things depend, “what think ye of christ?”
-probably nothing has done more to alienate the man in the street from religious observance than the hypocritical pretence that all men are agreed about “simple bible teaching.” he knows well enough that what really matters is whether a man believes or not that god became man. if ever the labour party should definitely declare for elementary education without religious teaching it will be because the men whose children attend the elementary schools know that they cannot read the new testament without asking, “is it true?”
-“did jesus christ really die and rise again the third day according to the scriptures?” “did jesus christ go up into heaven in the sight of the apostles till a cloud received him?” “did mary’s son come to her as other babies come?” “was joseph jesus christ’s real father?” our members of parliament who have no leisure to know their own children, who keep them in the nursery till it is time for them to go to the preparatory school, who leave their training to the governess and the head-master, may talk about “the cruelty of the religious differences which hinder the establishment of an efficient system of education for the children of the state.” but the men and the mothers who live with their children and talk to them about their lessons, know that a child will insist upon an answer to its questions. a father of a family in the artisan and labouring classes, if he be at all intelligent, loses all respect for ministers of the gospel who pretend that there is no difficulty about the simple gospel story, and losing his self-respect for the men who have appointed themselves his teachers, he is tempted to throw all theology aside. and if he ventures on this despairing expedient he finds himself in mental confusion again over ethics instead of theology, and there arises a prospect of anarchy and disorder. capital is timid, so enterprise is checked. poverty increases and riot follows, and it all ends, not now-a-days in the napoleonic “whiff of grape-shot,” but in the rattle of the maxim in the streets and the desolation of a thousand homes.
-the experience of all civilization is that you cannot separate morality from religion. when the romans lost their faith in the old gods and became “undenominational,” civic virtue decayed. when the genius of the empire was set up for a universal deity and men were bidden as good citizens to burn their few grains of incense before the statue of the reigning emperor--the representative of an ordered and moral state--we know what happened. you cannot make an abstraction alive and deify government. laws, which have the sanction only of expediency, do but furnish mankind with exercise in evasion. indefinite belief in the existence of “something not ourselves which makes for righteousness” has no motive force, and though men may rub on in some fashion or other by following ancient custom, and the law of use and wont, this can only be done in quiet times. and ours are not quiet times; indeed, the air is thick with principles which are forcing themselves into expression. the principles of nationality or cosmopolitanism, the comity of nations and the limits of destruction, international trades unionism, and the laws of marriage are recurring items upon the programme of every social science congress. all these dark questions are forced upon the attentions of men, and never was there greater need of some synthetic philosophy which may help us in their exploration. are we going to put christianity aside and rule out theology from our calculations?
-i may quote the testimony of the late sir leslie stephen here. every one knows that he held no brief to defend orthodoxy--
-“to proclaim unsectarian christianity is, in circuitous language, to proclaim that christianity is dead. the love of christ, as representing the ideal perfection of human nature, may indeed be still a powerful motive, and powerful whatever the view which we take of christ’s character. the advocates of the doctrine in its more intellectual form represent this passion as the true essence of christianity. they assert with obvious sincerity of conviction that it is the leverage by which alone the world can be moved. but, as they would themselves admit, this conception would be preposterous if, with strauss, we regarded christ as a mere human being. our regard for him might differ in degree, but would not differ in kind, from our regard for socrates or for pascal. it would be impossible to consider it as an overmastering and all-powerful influence. the old dilemma would be inevitable; he that loves not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love christ whom he hath not seen? a mind untouched by the agonies and wrongs which invest london hospitals and lanes with horror, could not be moved by the sufferings of a single individual, however holy, who died eighteen centuries ago.
-the considerations which seemed to compel the clearheaded author of this extract to his own well-known intellectual position no longer apply. in england, at any rate, the church is not bound down to any mechanical theory of the inspiration of the bible, and accepts all the discoveries of modern physical science without misgiving. such books as the late archbishop of canterbury (dr. temple) gave us in his bampton lectures have long ago shown the futility of attempting to map out the exact terms of a reconciliation between the claims of science and religion, but they have shown that religion and science are not destructive and contradictory of each other.
-“the same principles are found in each. the principle of evolution, for instance, is as evident in the gradual development of religion as in the age-long process by which the natural world was created; the order and beauty and regular succession manifest in nature can be traced also in the spiritual universe. the revelation which was formerly held to be violation of law is seen to be a revelation of higher law. the great postulate of science, the uniformity of nature, is not infringed.”
-we know now that there are laws of the universe which, if we knew more about them, would tell us how it was that a virgin could conceive and bear a son. it is not to us an inconceivable superstition that “the son of man” should have in his own person powers of which the rudimentary signs can be traced in all humanity, manifesting themselves from time to time. the day is long past when the resurrection of jesus christ can be set aside as a “cunningly devised fable.” no scientific man, who has not deliberately shut himself in an hermetically sealed materialism would say to-day that “miracles” do not happen. it is a question of evidence.
-and educated men know that there is a science of metaphysics, that there is a science of psychology, that literary criticism is scientific, that the age of a document can be decided, that cumulative evidence cannot be ignored, and that simply to put aside the claims of christianity without examination is absurd.
-but, as sir leslie stephen shows, it is the christianity of the catholic creed that matters, and it is this christianity of which the man in the street has need. it gives him a solution of those social and ethical problems which he must solve, which he can only neglect at the peril of natural degradation. for example, the position of women depends upon our belief or disbelief that christ was born of the virgin mary. to say that monogamy is the natural evolution of humanity, that chastity in the young unmarried man is a product of civilization, that a high conception of a man’s duty to posterity will keep him from harlotry, is simply to show ignorance of history, of human nature, and of the world as it is. a man who talks now-a-days about the respect of marriage being a teutonic contribution to the evolution of civilized society, is behind the times. we know that respect for women, and marriage held in honour, are the creations of the holy catholic church, which insists on the incarnation of the lord jesus christ.
-but the man in the street does not know these things. the discoveries in science, whether physical or psychical, do not reach him. technical treatises are too strong meat for his intellectual digestion. the pulpit does not appeal to him. at every baptism in the church of england the priest solemnly instructs the god-parents of the child, “ye shall call upon him to hear sermons,” but for the most part the admonition is in vain. as a matter of fact, he picks up his religious notions from the newspaper press. and the newspaper press is not now controlled by men who have a distinct and definite belief in christianity. it depends upon finance, and financiers have other interests. the assertion of the psalter, “notus in judæa” has been changed now-a-days into an interrogation, and we ask, “in jewry is god known?” let any man who has an intimate acquaintance with the newspaper world run over in his mind the names of the great newspaper proprietors, the editors of our journalistic press, the writers of leading articles, the rising young journalists; and when he has excepted a few irishmen, who may happen to remain faithful to the roman catholic church, to which they owe their education, how many men will he find who honestly believe the nicene creed, and are habitually present on the first day of the week at the breaking of the bread?
-the tone of the daily paper is tolerant. there is no rude hostility displayed towards definite christian doctrines, but the toleration is politely contemptuous. “all wise men are of the same religion, and what that religion is wise men do not say.”
-it is true that in political matters the press has less power than it used to have. a magnate of finance cannot now seriously affect public opinion, though he may buy newspaper after newspaper, and sweep out the editorial staff to supply their places with men of his own choice. one wealthy wirepuller has other plutocrats to reckon with in questions of party politics, and a newspaper man who is dismissed by the proprietor of the tariff reformer may find another editorial chair placed at his disposal by the owner of the standard of free trade.
-the man in the street looks out for a newspaper which may strengthen his own party proclivities. he expects to find political questions discussed, but so far as religion is concerned he accepts without knowing it the current convention of the pressman, and imbibes a semi-sceptical atmosphere without misgiving or suspicion.
-and yet, as sir leslie stephen saw, every theory of duty depends upon belief or disbelief in the divinity of christ. we may talk of duty to society, duty to the race, duty to posterity, duty to civilization; but the plain man will recall the question of sir boyle roche: “i do not understand, mr. speaker, all this talk about our duty to posterity! what has posterity ever done for us?”
-you cannot control conduct by asserting that a man owes a debt to an abstraction which you vivify by printing it with a capital letter, and there remains always the question of the dying lucretius--
-“thy duty? what is duty? fare thee well.”
-the problem, then, which we have to solve is--how to arrest the attention of the average man to those christian principles, of which the acceptance or definite refusal will determine the course of civilization during the next twenty years.
-the mere assertion of authority will not suffice, and men are not impressed in favour of catholic doctrine simply by dignified ceremony and ritual. we have only to look across the english channel to be assured of this. frenchmen have not been encouraged to study the evidences of christianity. bishops and priests have only advertised sceptical books by forbidding their perusal to the faithful; and as the devout have been instructed to live by faith, but not how to give a reason for the faith which is in them, in the result m. viviani’s atheistic rhetoric has been placarded at the cost of the state in every commune throughout france.
-we may consider, then, if there be any method by which the man who does not read theological or scientific or philosophical books, the man who has left off going to church, or gets no help from the average sermon, the man who has no reverence for mere authority, may be induced to consider the christian revelation as offering him a key to those riddles of life which his civic responsibilities are perpetually propounding.
-remember that his present condition may be roughly described as consisting of religious haziness and moral laziness. the moral laziness is being subjected to a series of rough shocks. he must make up his mind about some questions of morality. the relation of the sexes, the duties of property, the treatment of the subject savage, the survival of the unfit, the ethics of commerce, the control of the sale of alcohol, the education of children, these things he has to decide and he will ultimately decide. but he is at present perplexed, and his religious haziness is the reason of his perplexity. he perhaps has not reached the conclusion of his contemporary in france, but he is on the way to it. those heavenly lights which m. viviani declares that his government has extinguished still shine faintly for men in england, though the mists obscure them.
-can we get men to look upwards for light, and instead of cursing the ancient creed in a confused commination, to take arthur clough’s advice--
-“ah! yet consider it again.”
-i believe that there is a method, and as i mention it i am prepared for derision from all the “chorus of irresponsible reviewers, the irresponsible indolent reviewers.”
-i believe that fiction will find those that can be reached by no other means. fiction sometimes sets a man seeking for fact.
-very diffidently and very reverently i may remind my contemporaries that one, who has, at any rate, profoundly influenced the course of history, whatever view we may take of his person, did not disdain this method, “he taught them by parables.”
-“let me tell you a story.” is there any age of mankind which does not respond to the invitation and give audience? a story stilled the tumult of the nursery in our earliest days, when heavy storms shook the windows and the tedium of a long, wet afternoon had turned play into fretfulness. a story beguiled us into interest when our history lesson had seemed an arid futility in fourth form days, and our magisterial enemies began to show themselves human after all when they bade us read the last of the barons as we were painfully plodding in the plantagenet period, and found the war of the roses a very thorny waste.
-it is strange to turn over the pages of eminent evangelical sermons of the early victorian days and to notice how “novel reading” is denounced. probably the worthy divines who fulminated against fiction were thinking of their own boyhood, and the mischief which came to them from fielding and richardson and smollett surreptitiously perused. sir anthony absolute’s detestation of the circulating library survived in some provincial circles even when sir walter scott had come to his own. the last forty years have altered things considerably, and though some men may pretend to despise novels, now-a-days they must take them into account. wise and learned persons began to prescribe them, not only as a vehicle for the exhibition of wholesome but unattractive information, but as having a remedial value of their own. “the intellectual anodyne of the nineteenth century,” i remember that somebody called them--perhaps it was sir arthur helps. it came about that those who had a secret and timid predilection for the story-book, but blushed a little if at mudie’s counter they ventured to ask for a novel, found that their ordinary reading of biography and memoirs revealed some unsuspected sympathies of the illustrious and wise. who would have thought that darwin devoured novels and dean church did not disdain them, and that mr. gladstone sat up all night to finish john inglesant? the respectable pater-familias has long ceased to proscribe novel reading, and the most austere biographer no longer hides as a revelation of weakness his hero’s literary divertisements. finally, in this year of grace 1906 we are boldly told that archbishop temple could stand an examination in miss yonge’s novels, and on one occasion was heard keenly discussing with lord rosebery the careers of the may family in the daisy chain as though they were living acquaintances. from being recognized as a recreation the novel has developed into a power, and charles dickens was a pioneer in its progress. it is the custom amongst certain “superior persons” to sneer at the novel with a purpose, and to suggest that authors attained remunerative results by taking some subject which was already ripe for discussion and weaving round it a web of fiction.
-undoubtedly there is danger to-day of such artifice, but i maintain that the great reforms of the past century owed much to writers whose purpose was perfectly innocent. cardinal newman has told us of the literary influence of sir walter scott, who turned men’s minds in the direction of the middle ages.
-“the general need,” he said, “of something deeper and more attractive than what had offered itself elsewhere, may be said to have led to his popularity; and by means of his popularity he reacted on his readers, stimulating their mental thirst, feeding their hopes, setting before them visions, which when once seen are not easily forgotten, and silently indoctrinating them with nobler ideas, which might afterwards be appealed to as first principles.”
-if cardinal newman could thus maintain the value of fiction in the great ecclesiastical movement which has regenerated the church of england, i may claim without apology that the reform in poor law administration gained the attention of the public when dickens made “bumbledom” ridiculous, and that the court of chancery was swept cleaner by the breezes which were blowing from bleak house. let any man run over in his mind the undoubted improvements in social matters during the last fifty years, and it will be seen how fiction has assisted in their promotion. did charles reade’s hard cash do nothing to arouse the attention of the public to the condition of the insane? did sir walter besant’s novels turn no light on the sins of the sweater, or charles kingsley’s alton locke show no reason for legalizing the trade union and the reform of the law of conspiracy? mrs. harriet beecher stowe may to-day be forgotten, but the southern states of north america would not dispute the influence of fiction upon the public mind.
-the fact is that men, who generally read nothing else but newspapers, will read a good novel, and if the book brings before them principles which they have hitherto neglected, they will very often consider those principles again. it is necessary, however, that the novel shall appeal to them as being a fair record of the present or the past. they may as they read it be unable to pronounce on the thesis which is at the back of the book, but they will be led to consider and discuss it if the story, as a story, holds them. and it is here that the story which has a genuine religious motive often fails. most of the great artists in fiction, when they have taken in hand a subject which is of religious interest, have written in a spirit of detachment. george eliot’s romola is an example, and the result is that men are more interested in tito melema than in savonarola. novels in which religion is necessarily much in evidence have been written either by literary artists who have studiously endeavoured to lay aside their own personal convictions, or if the books have been written with a distinctly religious purpose the hero and heroine have been unconvincing, the people in the story have not been alive.
-when cardinal newman had abandoned prematurely his hope of maintaining the catholic character of the church of england, he did not disdain to employ his pen in the production of a novel with a religious purpose; but we are amazed to find that the exquisite grace of style which is one of the charms of the apologia could not render charles riding interesting, or the novel loss and gain, of which he is the hero, readable.
-it is perhaps dangerous to give another example from contemporary fiction, but those who justly admire mrs. humphry ward’s subtle discernment of character and great and increasing mastery of form and style, will not be inclined to dispute the opinion that when, in robert elsmere, she undertook the defence of the modern unitarian position, her hero was hardly a “man’s man.”
-the reason is not far to seek. the average man knows too much of the darker side of life; and the necessary effort made by the author of religious novels to depict that of which they, fortunately for their own souls, have had no experience, is not successful. charles kingsley’s undergraduate days were perhaps not without knowledge of the shadows, but he is happier in the schools of alexandria, or in the spacious days of great elizabeth, than in a tale of modern life such as two years ago. his broad church catholic teaching does not always find its way to the man in the street, and henry kingsley, whose life was so different from that of his illustrious clerical brother, has more of human interest in his stories.
-the novel with a purpose, and especially with a religious purpose, fails only, when it does fail, because the author’s knowledge of the average man in his sins and his temptations to sin, is altogether incommensurate with his familiarity with the great religious and social problems of which his story would suggest a solution.
-it is often supposed that the men do not care to find the subject of religion introduced in fiction, that they resent religion in a novel, as children resent the administration of a medicinal powder in a spoonful of jam; but the expert witness of publishers demolishes this opinion. after all, the religious claim is insistent, and life is untruly depicted when men and women are described in a story as uninfluenced by it. there is something unreal in a book which has no sundays in it. critical opinion as expressed in the notices of books in the daily papers, and in more weighty reviews, is very misleading, simply because the reviewers are generally very young men or women who know more or less of literature but very little of life. the wrath of the young man fresh from the university at the success of those books which do not ignore the spiritual needs of men and women amuses the experienced author.
-“faugh!” cries mr. jones of balliol; “another batch of sin and sentiment!” “the christian creed and the conjugal copula! religion and patchouli!” yet the critic forgets that those who would reach the minds and hearts of men must deal with the problems of creed and character which men have to solve, each one for himself.
-our censors, dilettante, delicate-handed, with their canons of criticism might do worse than reckon up the number of english novels which have lived on into the twentieth century. they will be surprised to find that they are nearly all novels with a purpose and a religious purpose for their “motif.” charles reade when he wrote never too late to mend, not only helped forward the humane and intelligent treatment of criminals, he showed how the divine image was stamped indelibly on human nature, and where it seemed to be obliterated could be restored. but charles reade drew real men and women. his characters are not puppets of the play-house but are alive. and thackeray--clarum et venerabile nomen--making hypocrites his quarry, and raining his quiver full of satiric shafts upon the hateful crew, never scoffed for a moment at reverent things, but with bowed head and hushed footsteps passed by the sanctuary. therefore, these men are still living forces. men will read other novels of the past as women look at old-fashion plates, and amuse themselves with the differences and contrasts of succeeding generations, but the novels which men buy in their hundreds of thousands, the novels which are reprinted again and again, the novels for which the publishers wait as their copyright is expiring, like heirs expecting a rich man’s death, that each may endeavour to be first in the field with an edition which pays no royalty to the author; these novels are those which truly represented life as it seemed in other days, life seeking ever to be reassured that one has come who offers to those who walk in darkness the light of life.
-it is exasperating to some minds to discover that the man of the world is not altogether worldly, and that he finds in books which recognize religion as a considerable part of man’s life, something which gives to them reality and truth. immature minds and inexperienced penmen are not impressed by the things which really matter, and in the interval between the university and man’s settlement in life much nonsense is written and spoken.
-i speak from personal experience; and when i look back upon the reviews i wrote ten years ago, it is with invariable consternation, and sometimes a real sense of shame.
-it is most probable that this hatred of christianity will grow and increase. the world has never before been as it is to-day. the system of party politics has placed power in the hands of the democracy. the “working man” has at last discovered what he can do. he must make his choice between the secular and the religious principle. hitherto the christian pastors of the people have appealed to his emotions, and not without success. the emotions will always be the chief guides in conduct for many; but the leaders of the working men are hard-headed, well read in social science and politics; and, owing to the insufficient training of the clergy in these subjects, the politicians of the proletariat have conceived a sort of contempt for the parson and the minister and the priest. the small body of unitarians, wealthy from their constant intermarriage with the great jewish families, and opposed to an aristocracy which has only in the last forty years been willing to receive them, has been quick to see that the working man must be alienated from the catholic creed, and his vote secured at any cost. on the railway bookstalls we may note the activity of the unitarian propaganda committee. fifty years ago it was not necessary to consider the opinions of the man in the street: the unitarian minister and his congregation were comfortable in the assurance of their own intellectual culture and their kindly interest for the poorer classes. in politics they were liberals, for an established church interfered with their sense of superiority, and the landed proprietors and the hereditary aristocracy socially ignored them. but they had no notion of calling into existence an electorate which should endanger the supremacy of the capitalist, and, like frankenstein, they are afraid of their own creations, now that the working man has become the dispenser of parliamentary power. it is vital to their interests that he should be diverted from further attacks upon capital, and encouraged to believe that it is the priest who is his true foe. “le cléricalisme voilà l’ennemi” is a convenient cry. a vague deism is not dangerous to wealthy manufacturers; but if the clergy are going to take up christian socialism it is time to be up and doing. so every weapon against the creed of christendom is being taken down and examined, and many an old fallacy is refurbished and employed once more. celsus is disinterred from the tomb in which origen had buried him, and his filthy slander of the blessed virgin is printed as though it were a new discovery of historical research. collins is called into court again as though bentley had never exposed his ignorance, and hume’s a priori method is revived as though it had never been discredited; whilst strauss and renan are quoted as authorities, as if westcott and lightfoot had never been known. shunt the working classes on a new line of rails. set them shrieking against sacramentalists, and swearing at sacerdotalists, and we may quietly arrange our commercial combinations and protect our manufacturing interests!
-i want to see the seats under the dome of st. paul’s filled not by only the middle-aged middle classes, who for the most part are christian in creed, but by the young artisans and craftsmen, and the strong politicians who fill the free trade hall in manchester, and crowd the great assembly rooms of birmingham and liverpool when an election is drawing near. the timid members of the episcopate who may be reminded that “he that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap,” are not our only bishops. occasionally a prime minister offers for election and consecration a man who can reach the minds and consciences of men. is it too great an ambition for a storyteller to try to arouse in people’s minds a suspicion that after all something may be said for the catholic faith, and so to bring them to listen to those who know and can teach it? each man must do his work with such tools as have come in his way. the mission preacher will use his magnetic power, the artist whose skill it is to build or to paint, will make his appeal to the love of order and beauty, the musicians will meet the heart through the ear. may not the writer of fiction use his psychological training and his knowledge of many sides of human life to create a story which shall set men thinking about the old doctrines which he believes to have lost none of their regenerating power?
-there is danger lest men with good intentions should go blindly to work to redress and diminish social grievances. individualism with its hateful cry, “each man for himself and the devil take the hindmost,” is now at a discount, but it may be replaced by a despotism of state regulation which will destroy the family and the home. there is, i believe, only one creed which can make the capitalist unselfish and the sons of labour satisfied, which will tell men that wealth means responsibility and that there is dignity in toil, which will teach the rich man to order himself lowly and reverently to those who are his betters and to hurt nobody by word or deed, which will teach the labourer that his chief need is not other men’s wealth, but the “carrière ouverte aux talents” and the determination to do his duty in that state of life, whatever it may be, unto which god shall call him.
-it is the holy catholic faith which makes equality of opportunity for all men its earthly ambition, and offers refreshment and hope to those who are not strong enough to strive with the rest. the old men saw visions and we have found that they were prophecies, a young man may dream dreams. my dream is that the men who are doing the work of the world to-day may be taught that christ is their best teacher and the incarnate god their refuge and strength.
-there is a tale of an acrobat and juggler who knew well that his tricks were the outcome of years of concentrated effort and constant exercise, and being moved by the grace of god, he desired to offer the best thing he had to give to the lord of life. his best was his skill. he lived by it. shown in the streets and the play places, it won for him his daily bread. his work was to give men amusement in their hours of recreation by an exhibition of his feats of strength and nimbleness. could this, his one talent, be consecrated and devoted to god? so he considered, and humbly sought the sanctuary, and there before the presence he performed his fantastic tricks which had cost him years of endeavour. the story is a parable which men have not been slow to read, and it has become the theme of the musician and artist.
-shall i offend my fellow-writers if i repeat it here in this connection?
-the fires of moloch
-the fires of moloch
-“there is a lion in the way; a lion is in the streets.”
-every three months with unfailing regularity small paragraphs appear in the daily papers headed “record low birth-rate.” some figures follow, and then occurs the sentence--unhappily a stereotyped one in our day--“this is the lowest rate recorded in any quarter since civil registration began.”
-now and again a blue-book upon the subject of the birth-rate is dissected by a journalist and the result appears in his newspaper as a series of startling figures. the story of england’s decadence is set out in the plainest language for every one to read.
-at rarer intervals still, some prominent clergyman or sociologist writes or lectures in order to call attention to what is going on, and thus to bring home the spiritual and economic dangers of our racial suicide.
-a few people read or listen and are convinced. a good many other people are too utterly ignorant of either the philosophy of christianity or the science of sociology to understand in the least what the point of view of the protesters is. according to their temperament, they smile quietly and dismiss the subject, or bellow their disgust at such a subject being mentioned at all.
-“he who far off beholds another dancing, and all the time hears not the music that he dances to, thinks him a madman.”
-a party which has the fools at its back is always in the majority, and discussion is stifled, alarm is lulled by the anodyne of indifference and the great number of honest folk who call themselves both patriots and christians have no time to spare from fighting and squabbling for money--in order that the dishonest men may not get it all.
-half-a-dozen problems of extreme national importance confront every thinking english man and woman in 1907. the air is thick with their stir and movement, and so great is the noise and reverberation of them that true “royalty” of “inward happiness” seems a thing impossible and past by in these troubled times. be that as it may, it is quite certain that one of the most real and pressing of these problems is that summed up in the stock phrase “record low birth-rate.”
-we hear a great deal about the doings of a class of people who are referred to as “the smart set,” and it is actually said that its influence is having a serious effect upon the national character. i do not believe it for a moment. it seems a folly to suppose that a handful of champagne corks floating on a cess-pool has any far-reaching influence upon the english home. i mention that small section of society constituted by the idle and luxurious rich, because, whatever their vices are, they are being used as whipping-boy for enormous numbers of people whose lives are equally guilty with theirs in at least one regard--in the matter of which i am writing now.
-i propose in this essay to discuss the question of the decline in the birth-rate from the christian and catholic standpoint. there is only one perfect philosophy, and all other half-true philosophies in the light of which we might consider such a momentous matter as this, lead only to the conclusion that expediency is the highest good. without the incentive of the christian faith and without the light of the incarnation one may sit in a corner and think till “all’s blue in cloud cuckoo land.” christianity can alone be reconciled with economics, theory and practice celebrating always the marriage of the king’s son, the wedding of heaven and earth, the spiritual and the material. plato knew that it was impossible to raise the greek state to the level of his philosophic principles, and aristotle frankly abandons the attempt to connect ethics and politics with the highest conclusions of his creed. we are in the same position to-day if we ignore the supreme truth which is our possession and which was not vouchsafed to the great greek thinkers.
-there is one cause and one cause only of the decline in the birth-rate and the beginning of the country’s spiritual and material suicide.
-the way of nature is for every species to increase nearly to its possible maximum of numbers. this is a proved law, and nothing but the limitation of families by artificial means, or infanticide, can check its operation.
-the truth is exactly as dr. barry put it nearly two years ago, “it stands confessed that the great, proud, english race, famous as a people for manly virtues, once the very stoics of christian europe decline more and more to be fathers and mothers, will not be worried with children, and--cannot be spoken of in decent language.”
-it is a truth of history that when a nation begins to refuse the responsibility of providing for posterity it begins to decline.
-the doctrines of malthus in his great essay on the principles of population, are no longer believed in by the christian philosopher. malthus was perfectly sound upon the ethical problem, and the “neo-malthusians,” of whom i shall presently speak, have no right whatever to use his name upon their banners. malthus, so the modern socialistic thinker, such as mr. h. g. wells avers, “demonstrated for all time that a state whose population continues to increase in obedience to unchecked instinct can progress only from bad to worse. from the point of view of human comfort and happiness the increase of population that occurs at each advance in human security is the greatest evil of life.”
-malthus, however, never once suggested or advocated the limitation of population by mechanical means. he believed that it was a patriotic duty of men and women to abstain from producing more children than the state could bear, and it is as well to remove at once a popular misconception which stains the name of a good man and a powerful though mistaken thinker.
-otter says of him in a memoir, “his life was more than any other we have ever witnessed, a perpetual flow of enlightened benevolence, contentment and peace; it was the best and purest philosophy, brightened by christian views and softened by christian charity.”
-it is economically and from the sociological point of view that the modern student condemns the theories of malthus and those who follow him.
-socialist thinkers disregard the entity of nations, and treat of the world and its population as a whole. the christian patriot loves his own country, believes in its destiny no less than he reveres its past, and knows that if our english nation is going to live, it must go on reproducing itself.
-the “no room to live” theory is preposterous upon the face of it. in 1879, lord derby asked a somewhat obvious question. “surely,” he said, “it is better to have thirty-five millions of human beings leading useful and intelligent lives, rather than forty millions struggling painfully for a bare subsistence.”
-this has been made into a watchword by those who advocate the limitation of population.
-it can be answered by a simple statement of fact--in our colonies there are places for a hundred million wives.
-while i have not lost sight of the main object of this paper--to summarize the weight of catholic christian feeling upon the mechanical limitation of population, and to tell how this is being accomplished--i find that there is yet some ground to be cleared before coming to the main issue.
-i have said that there is only one material cause of our decadence, but there are many reasons.
-more than a year ago in one or two newspapers, particularly the daily chronicle, various sociologists gave the results of their thought upon the matter. i print a few extracts here.
-the outspoken dr. barry wrote:--
-......”‘as for religion, christian or any other, when its dogmas are no longer believed, its ethics pass away,’ and he draws a picture of the rotten state of society in our western world, which he attributes directly to the growth of agnosticism. the fact that the birth-rate in england has been declining for twenty-five years, and was lowest in 1904, seems to dr. barry to be due to several causes--‘poverty and luxury, pleasure-seeking and disbelief in the bible,’ and he adds, ‘the spirit of anarchic individualism that cries, “no god, no master!” is needed to tell us why englishmen and their wives, once dedicated to a blameless and lasting union, have fallen into the pit which malthus or his followers digged for them.’ england alone is not at fault. ‘wherever unbelief has taken hold, or doubt saps the ancient creeds, there malthus reigns instead of christ.’”
-a “well-known public man” wrote:--
-......“it is within my knowledge that certain flats in mayfair and elsewhere for the married servant and artisan class are let on the express or implied condition that not only no children shall be brought into the tenements, but that none shall be born there. the direct consequence of this embargo on natural increase is terribly disastrous. many footmen and coachmen in mayfair could tell a tragical story of the results of compulsory sterility.
-“a japanese friend was telling me the other day that after an absence from england of a dozen years he is startled at the visible deterioration of the race and the great increase of penniless british weaklings, who add strength to no nation. ‘you english are losing both patriotism and religion, and consequently you are not only decadent but doomed, unless you mend your ways in the treatment of women and children.’”
-i take the following from a leading article in the church times:--
-......“after making all allowances for minor contributory causes, the fact remains and may be proved by a little inquiry, that married people have come to regard a large family as a curse instead of a divine blessing. the birth-rates in london are instructive. residential districts, with fewest poor, show the lowest rates. hampstead 16·6 and fulham 32·3 may be taken as typical districts at each end of the scale. stepney with its jewish population has a rate of 37. if the aliens bill is to be effective it will need a clause compelling jews to limit their families, just as their christian (!) neighbours do. the misery of it all is that we find the practice of child murder, for such it is in plain english, defended by men of education; lawyers, medical men, and even priests make no secret of their approval of it, if no more. and as working men become aware of what their ‘betters’ are saying and doing--and they are not slow to follow a similar course--the evil spreads. our proper leaders, the bishops, ought long ago to have dealt with this subject resolutely and firmly. but apparently a grain of incense is a more terrible thing to them than the murder of an existing if unborn personality. we can only judge by their public utterances, but we have yet to learn that as a body their lordships have spent a thousandth part of the time over this supreme question of national morality that they have devoted to the suppression of things disapproved of by lady wimborne and her league. the spectacle of disproportionate interest and action is melancholy, and indicative of incapacity to observe the real dangers to be faced.”
-“the personal causes of this mischief are fear of pain (i. e. failure to see in pain the discipline of god which elevates human nature), hatred of duty, shirking of responsibility, love of pleasure, the substitution of hedonism for the religion of jesus christ the lord, and ignorance of the holy spirit as lord of all life. how far religious teachers are accountable for this we leave to their own consciences to say. the same causes are at work in the high mortality of infants. the honour of doing her best for her child is cast aside by many a mother because it involves a certain amount of self-restraint and some seclusion from the gaieties of the hour; and recourse is had to all sorts of patent nostrums and infants’ ‘food’ (often the cause of rickets) until the hospitals are over full of young children, whose sufferings are the result (god grant that they may be the atonement also) of their mothers’ negligences and ignorances. where there is not deliberate and wilful avoidance of maternal duty, there is neglect through awful ignorance.”
-in the daily mail mr. h. g. wells writes:--
-.......“on the other hand think of the discouragements. while the mother toils in a restricted anxious home amid her children, she sees through her imperfectly cleaned window (one can’t do everything) the childless wives having a glorious time, going a-bicycling with their husbands, dressed gaudily with all his superfluous income, talking about their ‘rights.’ as her children grow up to an age when they might help drudge with her or drudge for her, the state, without a word of thanks to her, takes them away to teach them and make good citizens of them. if the husband presently becomes bored by his restricted prolific household and its incessant demands, and absconds, or if he is simply unlucky and gets out of work, the state deals with her in a spirit of austere ingratitude. she is subjected to ‘charity’ and every conceivable indignity; she undergoes profounder humiliations than fall to the lot of the most dissolute women. if a husband ‘goes wrong’ and a woman has kept childless, she can get employment, she can shift for herself and be well quit of him, but a family disaster for a mother is catastrophe.
-“i submit the situation is preposterous. i do not believe that with increasing intelligence and refinement women will go on marrying and bearing children under such conditions. i gather that the statistics of marriage-rates and birth-rates bear me out in this.”
-......“this phenomenon of the falling birth-rate is of course not confined to england; it is to be met with, you might say generally, in all christian countries. it would be far more marked but for the tremendous decline in the death-rate, especially among infants. we ourselves should be vitally bankrupt but for this factor, and in france, as you know, the population is slowly dropping. that is an old story, but it is startling to learn, as president roosevelt tells us, that the native-born american population is actually declining.
-“one of the main causes, no doubt, is the determined pursuit of pleasure by all classes. the man will not take the burden of providing for a family, or, at any rate, a large family, upon himself, because that would mean a curtailment of his luxuries, perhaps even his necessities, while the woman refuses to spend all the prime of her life in child-bearing and child-rearing. she also wants to enjoy herself, and the pure, simple joys of maternity, which we used to think ought to be sufficient for a woman, have in many cases become irksome.
-“for my part i do not think that you will ever rouse england to this question of home and children by an appeal to patriotism. the englishman has become too cosmopolitan for that, and i am afraid the feeling is growing.
-“the reason for the decline in america is said to be that women are becoming neurotic, and will not face the dangers and responsibilities of motherhood. no doubt that is true to a certain extent here also, and it is quite certain that among intellectual and highly-educated women, such as are trained at our universities in increasing numbers, the maternal instinct, the capacity for love, if you like to put it in that way, is apt to be destroyed.
-“then, among the middle classes thousands of young women, who not many years ago would have looked to marriage as their natural career, are earning their own livings, and are less eager to rush into matrimony.”
-i have taken these extracts from the words of a few people crying in the wilderness. all of the dicta are at least eighteen months old. i am writing now, in november 1906, and three days ago the apparently inevitable paragraph again made its appearance:--
-“record low birth-rate.
-“the births registered in england and wales during the three months ended september 30--234,624, or 26·9 per 1,000 of the population--was the lowest rate recorded in any third quarter since civil registration was established.
-“the average in the same quarters of the past ten years was 28·8.”
-these opinions as to the reasons for the terrible decadence of england are doubtless all true. they are all contributory causes, and i do not think we can put a single one of them aside. nothing could be more dismal or more hopeless reading. as one goes on, one experiences a sense as of a chill, deepening shadow.
-few people who read will be able to adopt the average man’s attitude towards unpleasant and disturbing matters--to sidle by with a deprecatory shrug of the shoulders.
-where then do we stand?
-so far i have endeavoured to show (a) the entire indifference of the ordinary man and woman to the fall in the birth-rate; (b) the only light, in which, as i understand it, one can see the problem as a whole--in the light of the incarnation; (c) the fact that the christian sociologist to-day is inclined to condemn the theory that the limitation of population is necessary at all, even by legitimate methods of abstinence and control; (d) the varied reasons which, in the opinion of those who have studied the question deeply, contribute to the one central and shocking fact--
-that incredible numbers of english men and women many of them professing themselves christians, are constantly using methods to prevent the birth of children.
-every parish clergyman in england is perfectly aware of what is going on. every nonconformist minister, and indeed every one whose work brings him in touch with large masses of people in the capacities of leader, adviser, or friend, knows it also. just as the figures of the registrar general form a gauge by which to measure the generality of the malignant influence, so the personal experience of any man of the world will supply particular evidence of the state of things within his immediate purview and surroundings.
-always remembering that the evil is progressive, is hourly increasing, the observer of social phenomena at once asks himself if there is not some definite and organized control and direction of it. the desire to obtain the gratifications of passion while evading its responsibilities is, perhaps, the strongest feeling implanted in the fallen nature of mankind. this is sufficient to create a demand for knowledge of how to obtain the desired end, and the demand has in its turn created the supply.
-there is a definite literature upon the subject, there is a large body of highly-trained and cultured men and women ready and anxious to disseminate the necessary information to produce these results.
-i propose to deal briefly, in the first instance, with the literature which urges and explains practices which the laws of god, the laws of nature, and the teachings of the church utterly and emphatically condemn.
-the people who call themselves “malthusians” (and to avoid an injustice to the memory of malthus i shall here style them neo-malthusians) have an organ of their own in the shape of a periodical which is the official voice of a league into which they have formed themselves. the periodical has, i believe, an extensive circulation, and it is published at the lowest possible price. moreover, in each number of it which i have seen the following notice appears:--
-“the secretary of the malthusian league will be glad to send copies of back numbers of this journal to friends willing to distribute them for propagandist purposes.”
-we see that an ordered press campaign is in progress. this periodical is most ably written and edited. signed articles appear in it by men and women of standing and position. i find it impossible to doubt for a moment that these economists and scientists are not absolutely sincere, and actuated by a high and laudable desire to benefit the world in which they live.
-it is unnecessary to give the title of the periodical, but immediately beneath it the following sentence is printed in large letters--
-“a crusade against poverty.”
-here is the raison d’être of the journal plainly stated, and so far it is no more than indicating the precise aim of malthus--to find an economic remedy for the sufferings of poverty.
-i proceed to give some examples of the teaching inculcated in the journal, and in the first place quote from a review of l’instinct d’amour, by dr. joanny roux, a very distinguished french physician:--
-“must all who refuse to procreate refrain from love? how easy it is to clothe one’s self in the robes of social purity when replying to this question! the social purists tell the world that chastity is obligatory if procreation be not intended. it is impossible to carry out this view. the philosopher contents himself with studying sterile love and its consequences. he rejoices to think that thousands of infants are left out of the world who would have been doomed to suffer. the inconveniences resulting from some selfish people who refrain from parentage are as nothing in the balance when weighed against the horrors of indigence.
-“should we not, by acting thus, lead to a progressive diminution of the population? certainly; but that would be a good thing. as if, forsooth, human progress depended on quantity, and not on quality! take china as an example of quantity without quality. some writers seem to wish that the earth should be filled up with miserable and suffering people. malthus, that gentle clergyman, in 1798, was the first to protest against such a view. over-reproduction, he showed, was the cause of poverty. he, however, thought the only remedy for this was chastity, and was quite opposed to sterile love.
-“to accept sterile love, some say, is to run counter to nature and natural morality. ‘no,’ says dr. roux, ‘it is the preserving of these laws. in all cases where we construct houses or warm ourselves, we get one law of nature to defend us against the other which injures us. we must not forget that our instincts are fixed customs of very ancient date; and there can be no doubt that man has the right to intervene in questions of that sexual instinct if morality (i. e. happiness) requires it of him.’”
-when one reads these passages a flood of light as to the real influence and direction of such teachings comes to us at once. the writer, no doubt sincerely enough, assumes as an axiom of his whole position, that there is no law but “nature,” no morality but what he calls “natural morality.” we are, in fact, under no obligations to anything but the promptings of animal instinct which are part of our human nature.
-we see immediately the inherent negation of christianity implied in this attitude, and apart from the definite teaching of the faith upon the question, which i shall enter into later, it is most important that we should realize that the holders and preachers of neo-malthusianism must always be opposed to christianity. even those people who do not profess their hatred for, or disbelief in our lord in so many words, logically imply them. christians who may not have troubled themselves about this menace to the state and its morals must be told in no uncertain voice that the movement is purely heathen in its position and built upon a basis of heathenism. let us call things by their right names, and realize that the neo-malthusian worshipping nature and the chinese coolie worshipping his joss are only two manifestations of exactly the same thing.
-nor are the people who are attempting to turn marriage into a polite and recognized form of prostitution always so reticent as to their attitude towards the christian faith. in an article which professes to sum up the work of the malthusian league i read:--
-......“the medical profession in england is still too much under the sway of the church and conventional opinion to be able to discuss the population difficulty, except to censure those who are wise enough to follow science instead of theological traditions derived from the juventus mundi. dr. taylor, of birmingham, who is said to be an ardent churchman, in a presidential address to the gynæcological society, attacked the views of the neo-malthusians.”
-.......“we have to chronicle the prosecution of a new organ of the league, salud y fuerza, published in barcelona, on account of an admirable article by señor leon devaldez. spain is the most retrograde of all our european nations; but the prosecution, we believe, will end in the defeat of the clerical party, as has been the case in england and in france. science is destroying our traditional superstitions.”
-i feel sure that a great many people have not the slightest idea that not only is this detestable propaganda utterly incompatible with the profession of christianity, but must logically be opposed to it.
-here is a case in point. the official organ of the malthusian league quotes a letter from “a warmhearted clergyman,” whose name is not given, in which he says:--
-“the theory of neo-malthusianism finds a way out of the difficulty. it is the use of preventive checks which, while they make possible to all married persons the gratification of their natural desires, will prevent the possibility of the ordinary results of such gratification following. ‘this clergyman,’ adds the editor, ‘is one of the few who are fit to follow in the footsteps of malthus, whately, and chalmers.’”
-it is a not uninteresting speculation, which we may permit ourselves for a moment, as to the probable identity and character of this “clergyman.” one hopes, of course, that he was not a clergyman, and that the editor of the journal, naturally unfamiliar with ecclesiastical affairs, gives the title to some minister of one of the unitarian sects. but if the writer of the letter is really an ordained priest, then he must surely be either--
-we need not, therefore, take the anonymous writer very seriously, but i quote him because the incident throws a side-light upon the psychology of the half christian. it would be as unwise as it is unnecessary to quote freely from any of the neo-malthusian publications. my business in this essay is to make it quite clear to readers that there is a powerful and able organization which is constantly producing literature teaching the limitation of families. there are now six or seven “malthusian leagues” in existence, in england, holland, germany, france, belgium, and spain, and a woman’s international branch uniting the women of these countries, while the printed matter issued by these organizations is enormous.
-in the english journal to which i have been referring there are many advertisements of books and pamphlets in which the wording is undoubtedly designed to attract others than the earnest seeker after truth. i read, to give one example, that for eightpence post free i can obtain “the strike of a sex; or, woman on strike against the male sex for her ‘magna charta.’ one of the most advanced books ever published; intended to revolutionize public opinion on the relation of the sexes. should be read by every person.”
-and lower down in the same column i am informed that the publishers of this sort of thing not only sell books advocating neo-malthusian practices, but are also willing to provide the means for committing them.
-so much for the unsavoury products of the neo-malthusian press, products which would make the gentle old clergyman of haileybury turn away in loathing and disgust could he but see them. large as the output of this pseudo-economic obscenity is, it does not reach a twentieth part of the people who are responsible for the decline of the birth-rate. they have derived their knowledge from another channel, from the instructions of the medical man or his lesser colleague the chemist.
-the poorer classes who, a few years ago were ignorant of this propaganda, are now being instructed in it by the men from whom they buy their medicines. doctors, in the majority of cases, are perfectly willing to explain to married people how they may avoid having children by means other than those of self-control. as a rule the medical man seems to have no conscience at all in this regard. his point of view is too often merely materialistic and concerned with nothing but physical function, and he has become in many cases, the active agent of the malignant forces which are sapping our national honour and prosperity. in discussing the question, more than one person has expressed his amazement at the readiness of doctors to explain and advocate the limitation of families. the doctors of england form one of the finest classes in the community. i will venture to say that very few men and women arrive at middle life without experiencing a lively feeling of gratitude, friendship, or even affection for some medical man. the devotion to his high calling, of even the average english doctor, is a fact in the lives of nearly all of us. it is the more surprising, and alarming also, when we realize, as inquirers are forced to realize, how wrong and mistaken the general attitude of the physician is towards this aspect of the sexual relations of men and women. it is said that infidelity is rife among those who are educated to cure our bodily ailments, that the agnostic habit of mind is frequent in this profession. i am not competent to judge of this, or to pronounce an opinion upon such a statement, though my own experience is directly opposed to it. but it is certain that until the last fifteen years the scientific temperament was disinclined to believe in anything it could not weigh, measure, analyze, touch, or see. huxley, for example, was a striking instance of this position. but science has been revolutionized within the experience of one generation, and the “cock-sureness” has disappeared. we are all realizing that “unseen” simply means that which does not appeal to our sense of sight, or perhaps that which does not appeal to any of our senses. one of the most famous and honoured scientific men of to-day, sir oliver lodge, says in regard to miracles, “i think we should hesitate very much before saying that they are impossible, because we do not know what may be the power of a great personality over natural forces.”
-as the years go on, we may have great hopes that the regarding of psychology as just as much a necessary part of a doctor’s education as biology, or therapeutics will produce a better feeling among medical men in regard to the great question of which the statistics of the birth-rate form the gauge. doctors will probably understand that harm done to the body and harm done to the soul react upon one another with remorseless certainty, and that there can be no real separation of spirit and matter. and directly this is understood we shall never find medical men recommending and assisting what dr. roux calls “sterile love” though some of us could find a very different name for it.
-the layman unhesitatingly accepts the advice of his physician, and here “private judgment” hardly exists. if a priest tells a certain type of englishman that evening communions spoil and maim our holiest sacrament, and are bad for the soul, he will resent it, and say that he will choose for himself in the matter. yet if a doctor tells the same person that it is dangerous to eat mushrooms that have been gathered for more than two days, or that the irritation at his wrists is a symptom of uric acid in the blood, there will be no question of disbelief. the influence of doctors is incalculable, they rule us by our fear of death and our instinct of self-preservation, and rarely do we find that they abuse the trust reposed in them, or use their great power for ill always excepting the instance under discussion. when, therefore, the medical profession can be brought to see the preventive check system as it really is, when doctors understand that interference with natural laws induces a deterioration of character and temperament which eventually acts upon the body for its harm, and tends to race-degeneracy, then much will be gained. and when they progress still further in the coming reconciliation of science with the christian revelation, and own that the laws of god, set out and promulgated by his holy church, are no less binding than the laws made known by the revelation of science, then the battle will be half won. the final victory or defeat will be with the priests and ministers of every church and sect, the men who are the physicians of our souls.
-the last few pages have been occupied with a statement of the neo-malthusian propaganda. i have been careful rather to understate than exaggerate the case. much that i might have included, corroborative testimony from people who know, individual instances, letters, and so forth, has been rejected for the purposes of this essay. were i writing another book upon the subject i should have used this material. in a collection of papers devoted to various subjects, and which will have a more general appeal than a work devoted entirely to vital statistics, it is impossible. but any one who has followed me thus far may be sure that i have been strictly temperate in statement.
-we have seen what the neo-malthusians, avowed and secret, are doing. what is the church doing to stem the evil? and what is the teaching of the church upon the subject?
-the teaching of the church is perfectly clear; my contention is that it is so rarely taught as to be practically unknown to large masses of christians.
-no one ever goes to his parish priest and asks if adultery is wrong. yet innumerable clergymen have told me that they are constantly asked by parishioners if there is “any harm” in the use of methods to limit families.
-such people are not, of course, of a very spiritual life, or very acute intelligence, or they would easily find the answer to such a question for themselves. but very few of us are either spiritually minded or of uncommon intelligence, and legislation must be for the average man. voltaire said, “on dit que dieu est toujours pour les gros bataillons,” and what was spoken as a sneer contains the germ of a great truth. let me say once more, and i am certain of what i say, that the “gros bataillons” are quite ignorant of their moral obligations in marriage in so far as they relate to the question under discussion.
-the truth is, in the first instance, very difficult to convey from the pulpit and to a mixed audience, though, to take three great names at random, the president of the united states, and our own bishops of ripon and london have spoken out. in accusing the clergy and nonconformist ministers of shirking their duty we must remember the enormous difficulty of their task. i have no responsibility but that of my own conviction, and no one is compelled to buy this book who does not wish to do so. it is therefore quite easy for me to sit in my study and write as i am doing. but the preacher, great as his opportunity and influence are, must by the nature of the case, be in a very different position. he is an official and recognized leader of his flock in spiritual affairs, a hundred considerations weigh with him; he is constrained on all sides by prejudice and convention which might do incalculable harm in other directions if the one was outraged and the other ignored. the position of the priest is admirably summed up in a pamphlet which father black has sent me. in it he explains that it is impossible for a preacher when addressing a general congregation to speak in other than general terms, or to say all that he may feel it is, in some cases, very desirable or even necessary to convey. he cannot but be aware that with sins of impurity especially, the very persons who commit them are generally of too delicate ears to endure to hear them called by their right names. this sentimental purity is not incompatible with corruption of life. he wishes to warn the innocent without enlightening their innocence, to lift the veil sufficiently to show their sin to the guilty, and yet to teach them by delicacy and not bring a railing accusation which would probably only harden instead of converting.
-it is gravely necessary to realize how difficult the priest’s task is, but at the same time it is extraordinary how little organized condemnation of the evil exists. no one can accurately measure or gauge the influence exercised by clergy in private conversations and admonitions, and this is doubtless considerable. but it is sporadic and not systematic, there is too much timidity and hesitation, and while the enemy is well organized and equipped we are without a plan of campaign and have no regular army in the field.
-the prayer-book, in the marriage service, tells us explicitly, “first it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the lord, and to the praise of his holy name.” here we have the voice of the church speaking plainly enough, and both it and the authority of scripture are unanimous in clear expression or unmistakable implication. the christian attitude has been admirably summed up in father black’s pamphlet, to which i acknowledged my indebtedness in the preface of my book first it was ordained, and from which strong, lucid, and outspoken statement i quote a few sentences:--
-“of this systematic wickedness, unfaithfulness is the natural consequence in many cases. logically there is nothing but a sense of commercial honesty to keep a woman who has lost the reverence of marriage to one man. the obligation has no hold on her higher nature, and when passion or convenience press the balance there is no sufficient reason why she should be very scrupulous.
-“if women treat themselves, and are treated by their husbands as mere animals, all idea of chivalry is at an end; and this, no doubt, is in a measure the ground for a license of speech and action in even our public amusements, contrary not only to the ethos of christianity, but to the principles of a civilization worthy of the name.
-“women who interfere with the natural end of marriage--the bearing of children--are wives in name, in reality prostitutes. men who require or encourage such acts are corrupters, not husbands. when i said in my sermon that trifling with god’s laws of marriage was a horrible sin, i was thinking chiefly of the woman’s side of the matter.
-“true manliness is, however, no less to be desired than true womanliness. in the words of lord tennyson--
-“‘self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,’ the man should find in himself and display to his wife. philosophy and religion are in accord here. st. john writes to young men, ‘because ye are strong and have overcome the wicked one.’ professor huxley, ‘that man has had a liberal education who has been so trained that his body is the ready servant of his will; whose passions are trained to come to heel by a vigorous will the servant of a tender conscience, who has learned to love all beauty and to hate all vileness, to respect others as himself.’ to me that judgment seems a manly one which pronounces the corruption of a wife by a husband a viler thing than the gratification of lust in the common stews. this latter less deeply degrading to society or injurious to the nation at large.
-“but you and i, my dear sir, are christians; and our concern is with christian marriage. here, as in everything else, the truth of christ will deliver men from mistakes. christian marriage in common with all other christian things has in it the law of self-denial and self-conquest. such is the apostolic view of it; thus it is to be ‘in the lord,’ and only ‘in the lord’ is it permitted to the christian.
-“holy scripture is of course everywhere clear as to the end of marriage, and god’s condemnation express against the perversion of it, ‘the lord slew him.’ st. paul wills ‘that women marry and bear children.’”
-is not this plain speaking? and could it be bettered as an expression of a militant christian’s hatred and horror of what is debasing and foul?--i think not. we are not all given the power of feeling the intense loathing for a very generally committed sin which is manifested here. a life in the world and of the world induces a tolerance which is very often laziness and cowardice. we are not to hate the sinner, of course, but only the sin, but which of us cares to inveigh against the vice of a friend? savonarola was not a popular parson, though santa maria del fiore was always crowded when he was in the pulpit. we ought to be thankful for such bludgeon-sturdy words as these which show us the carrion-passions which war against the soul in their true light.
-i know, you know, most men know, how extraordinarily easy it is to become familiar with our vices so that in a short time they become no vices at all, but just little pleasant failings which we share with some of the best fellows in the world. and all becomes dim and misty in the shadowy thoroughfares of thought, while it is only now and then--perhaps never at all--that some bugle-breeze blows over us and sounds réveillée to the sleeping soul.
-if we are sensualists, though we don’t realize it, we always live as though we were immortal; immortal in the sense that we shall never die and once more be born. yet it is a strange truth in life that the man or woman who is converted to a clean life from sins of the body, has often more power than any one else to warn and exhort against sensuality. it is the man from whose eye the mote and beam has been removed who can speak most convincingly of the horrors of the dark. “experto crede!” he calls out to mankind, and out of the uncleanness is brought forth meat. let us see what aurelius augustinus--that old father of the church we call saint augustine--has to say of this danger and sin which we are considering. we all know what the saint’s early life was like, what was the life of a young man at a pagan university in the fourth century. from his eighteenth year until he was thirty-two the saint whom we revere lived in open vice at carthage. on easter eve, april 387, he was baptized, and tradition tells us that then the massive harmony of the te deum was composed. no theologian has influenced the mind of christendom more greatly than this man, not only by his writings, but by the spectacle we find in them of the fervour and devotion of his inner life. remember that he knew all the bitter knowledge of lust, and hear how he writes of those who would prevent conception:--
-“quia etsi non causa propagandæ prolis concumbitur, non tamen hujus libidinis causa propagationi prolis obsistitur sive voto malo, sive opere malo. nam quid hoc faciunt quamvis vocentur conjuges, non sunt, nec ullam nuptiarum retinent veritatem, sed honestum nomen velandæ turpitudini obtendunt.”
-and of those who use drugs to prevent the birth of children, he further says:--
-“aliquando eo usque pervenit hæc libidinosa crudelitas, vel libido crudelis, ut etiam sterilitatis venena procuret.
-“prorsus si ambo tales sunt, conjuges non sunt, et si ab initio tales fuerunt, non sibi per connubium, sed per stuprum potius convenerunt. si autem non ambo sunt tales audeo dicere aut illa est quodam mode meretrix mariti, aut ille adulter uxoris.”
-what is to be done? what is the duty of christians, and how shall they combat this evil? unless it is to spread and spread till every part of our natural life is infected, something must be done. the neo-malthusians are not only teaching married people how to avoid the responsibilities of marriage, but they are teaching unmarried people to do so as well. this is a fact which must not be lost sight of, as more than one clergyman has pointed out. if fear of consequences is removed chastity becomes more than ever threatened. if there is the wish and inclination to sin, and that wish is only not gratified because inconvenient results may lead to discovery, it is true that the moral value of people in such a case is small. but a general recognition of the fact that it is easy to sin will have incalculable influence for harm on those who are as yet on the border-line between the claims of self-gratification and control. public sentiment becomes lax and unstrung. simultaneously with the decline of the birth-rate the newspapers show every day that the old ideal, the sacred english ideal of the family is departing. our greatest living novelist says openly, “certainly one day the conditions of marriage will be changed. marriage will be allowed for a certain period, say ten years.” in many parts of america, where the president is ceaselessly urging his countrymen to denounce and give up neo-malthusian practices, the home has already disappeared. from a large collection of information and statistics i take only one example, quoted in a leading english newspaper. there is no need for a single word of comment, save that i do not vouch for the truth of the newspaper report which, in its very appearance, proves my point.
-“mrs. le page, a new york lady who has just married her eighth husband, crystallizes her experience in life.
-“five of her seven former husbands are still alive, and they have just sent messages of encouragement to the new incumbent. the other two have died.
-“mrs. le page’s maiden name was mary johnson, and she was the daughter of a connecticut farmer. she was only fourteen, but well grown for her age, when she contracted a runaway marriage with a seventeen-year-old danbury clerk named william wakeman. in accordance with the american practice of hyphenating family names, she became mrs. william johnson-wakeman. it was a happy marriage for three days, and then her family interfered, and the marriage was annulled.
-“two years later, while in a new york elevated train, she made the acquaintance of mr. harry saunders, a rich contractor’s son and a commercial traveller. after two days’ courtship she became mrs. henry johnson-wakeman-saunders, and lived in perfect happiness, accompanying her husband on his travels for three years, until he died.
-“shortly afterwards the lady married a railroad man, and was happy as mrs. joseph johnson-wakeman-saunders-powers, until he was killed in an accident. she next married a jersey grocer, but the bonds being severed in the divorce court, she married a hotel-keeper, becoming mrs. john johnson-wakeman-saunders-powers-lindley.
-“being once more disappointed, she was again freed by the divorce court, and continued her search for the ideal husband, whom she thought she had found when she became mrs. thomas johnson-wakeman-saunders-powers-lindley-godfrey. but john godfrey compared unfavourably with his predecessors, and the divorce court restored her freedom. on the following day she became mrs. wilbury-johnson-wakeman-saunders-powers-godfrey-gay- (she says that the name too well described his character, as she shortly proved to the satisfaction of the divorce court) crowther. this husband soon revealed his true character, and she had no difficulty in regaining her maiden liberty.
-“mrs. benjamin (many hyphens) le page believes that her husband, who is english born, and has made considerable money in this country, is the long-sought ideal, but if he does not prove so--she is only thirty-nine, and there is still plenty of time to continue the search. she says that she had long wished to marry an englishman, having been favourably impressed by what she had heard of their high qualities as husbands. she intends giving the experiment a thorough trial. so far, it has proved satisfactory, but she says that it is impossible to form a correct judgment of any man until she has been married for two or three weeks.
-“marriage, she says, is such a lottery, but it is the blessed state which it is ordained every woman shall occupy. her life’s mission is to find a pre-ordained mate, and she would not be deterred as many women, by a first failure, but should try and try again until successful.
-“‘my experience,’ she says, ‘is that women make a mistake in waiting for a man to do all the wooing. when i was young and inexperienced i fell into that error, and consequently i had several disappointments. but when i was thirty i realized that a woman’s duty--well, right--was to do the wooing.’”
-again i ask what is to be done to influence public opinion, to rouse christians in the same way that the national conscience has been roused upon the drink question?
-an enormous amount of good can be done by the personal efforts and example of those in a position to influence others--pastors, doctors, christian layworkers. yet is it an impossible hope that some day a league or confraternity to fight the battle may be started? are there no people of sufficient weight and importance in the world’s eye to come forward and do this, no folk whose place will secure them a hearing, whose convictions will interest and convert others?
-eighteen months ago i published, in my book first it was ordained, the sketch of an organized society on definite lines. in the course of the tale the founder of this league writes to an official in the census office who is alarmed at the decline of the birth-rate, and outlines the lines on which the society is to be started.
-with some necessary elisions this is the letter:--
-“you will see, therefore, that though there has been, and doubtless will continue to be, a great deal of windy talk on these matters, there is no organized body of men and women, no league, no union, either religious or political or both, which is devoted to dealing with the question, to rousing the national conscience and fighting the neo-malthusians tooth and nail.
-“wifehood--which generally means motherhood--is the predominant profession of women all over the world. the future of the world, and of course of any state in it, rests upon the quality and the quantity of its children. a prominent sociologist has just written, ‘if the conditions under which the profession of motherhood is exercised are silly and rotten, our fleets, our armies, do no more than guard a thing that dies. in great britain, now, i think they are more or less silly and rotten.’ let us admit that this writer is correct. he does no more than voice conclusions at which even the most superficial student of the census returns must have arrived.
-“what is to be done, then? how are we who are christians and love our lord, citizens who love our country, to fight the present conditions?
-“that is what a band of people, including those i have mentioned, are discussing. they have arrived at a definite conclusion.
-“a great league is to be formed of english men and women. great names will be at the head of it, it is to be national. i have already pointed out to you that even the revelations of the census have not stirred the ordinary person. his patriotism has not been roused, and, you may be certain--as i am certain--that no question of national expediency on this point will stir the ordinary person, who is either indifferent or actually engaged in helping england’s decadence by the restriction of his own family. a league started on the grounds of expediency and the common good alone would be an egregious failure.
-“utilitarianism never fired a great moral movement yet. it never will; because, before a man becomes a national utilitarian, he must get over personal utilitarianism. and in this case of the restriction of family, the degradation of marriage, personal utilitarianism is directly opposed to national welfare, and the personal wins.
-“we must come back to the one power and force over the hearts and minds of men and women. we must come back to religion.
-“here is the church’s great opportunity. there has never, perhaps, in the whole history of the church in england been such a chance given to her. our crusade must be a crusade made in the light of the incarnation, under the auspices of god the holy ghost--the lord and giver of life.
-“do you begin to see what i mean, what we hope for? the part of the holy spirit’s work, which we recite in the creed, has been largely forgotten. lord and giver of life! we are about to revive the recognition and memory of the fact. we are going to use this cardinal point of christian belief as our watchword and battle-cry.
-“the gradual decline of literal belief in the incarnation, the growth of a protestantism which is on its way towards unitarianism, the spread of unitarian doctrines under other names, among the varied sects of dissent, have meant that an appalling disregard of life as the gift of god, its author, has come among us. it is because you and i believe that jesus was god as well as man that we insist upon the sacredness of human life.
-“to-day, the loss of thousands of lives in a battle is printed as a piece of casual news. there is no particular sense of horror in the minds of any one. murders are committed every day in momentary bursts of passion over trifles. suicides increase, not only when some long-continued misery may seem to give a shadow of excuse, but when there has been some trivial disappointment. and so, leaving out a hundred other instances, one comes down to the truth of which every priest, every doctor, and every nurse is aware, the frustration of god’s intention of childbirth--the reason for the terrible disclosures which you and your colleagues have given to the world in your census returns.
-is this a dream and impracticable? it is for the great middle classes of england to answer during the coming years. the middle classes really rule. they do not command public opinion, but they do what is more than that--they persuade it. they represent more than the remaining classes the austerity and also the christianity of the united kingdom and the dominions beyond the seas.
-the question rests with them, and there are many who still hope and believe they will be faithful to their trust who are convinced--“dabit deus his quoque finem.”
-the historicides of oxford
-the historicides of oxford
-“et quidquid graecia mendax, audet in historia.” juvenal.
-sir robert walpole, who sometimes spoke with an eloquent crash that echoes in our ears to-day, once said, “do not read history to me, for that, i know, must be false.” walpole may have read the scienza nuova of vico probably in the french translation, and could hardly have failed to know something of bossuet and montesquieu. the result of his deliberations on the labours of contemporary historians is expressed thus, in a short, sudden bark of contempt.
-sir robert made history, and did not dare to attempt the far more arduous task of writing it. when he gave it, his judgment had not so much value as it has to-day. some of us read the limpid prose of bossuet still, nor is the grandeur et décadence des romains forgotten. yet if at this moment a statesman were to repeat the opinion in reference to most of the history taught and written in oxford, he would only be speaking the literal truth. the youth of a nation are trustees for posterity, and it is to them in the first place, and to those who are responsible for their education in the second, that this paper is addressed.
-i am aware that i am going to say some astonishing things, nor am i, under the sense of a strong conviction, confounding antipathy with duty. my words may fail to penetrate into the gloom of that temple where the fanatic priests of the inarticulate, inaccurate, and dull still sacrifice victims to the idols freeman and stubbs. but i have a reasonable expectation of a wider audience, and it lies in the hands of that audience, the undergraduate members of the university and their parents, to say if the present state of things shall continue. the hebdomadal council, congregation and convocation represent an insignificant minority. it is to the pupil not the tutor, to the parent not the fellow, to the majority not to the minority that i propose to speak.
-it is axiomatic that no sum which the well-to-do undergraduate is prepared to pay could be too high for a perfect education and a learned environment. it is the fact that neither the one nor the other is provided, which deserves the attention, and should excite the alarm, of those who expect the former, the latter, or a combination of them both.
-the poor man, to whom a good degree means a knife with which he will open the world’s oyster, suffers more greatly than the wealthier man. but both suffer, and both have a right to expect that in paying money for a genuine article they shall certainly obtain it.
-the object of this essay, therefore, is to awaken the majority upon the whole matter, more especially that portion of the majority that designs to read history. the power lies in your hands. it is only by your acquiescence that the scandal continues, and it is the money of you and your parents which runs the machine. once supplies are stopped, the present state of things will also stop with automatic suddenness. the art of history--for it is an art and not a science--will then revive in its full splendour, as the frescoes glow out upon the walls of an ancient church when the disfiguring whitewash is removed. the art of history will take its proper place and exercise its right function in the university, and the historicides will remove their activities to a sphere in which they will be more appreciated. i believe that a university exists in hayti....
-i purpose a comprehensive summary of this question, and have spared no trouble to make the indictment as fair and accurate as i can. for a considerable period i have been steadily gathering data and forming opinions. documents of importance and value have been furnished to me, and if something actual and conclusive does not result, then the fault is that of the writer, who has failed to deal adequately with the material which he has himself collected and with which he has been lavishly and generously supplied.
-“doest thou well to be angry?” was the question asked of the hebrew prophet, who thereupon “went out of the city, and sat on the east side of the city, and there made him a booth, and sat under it in the shadow, till he might see what would become of the city.” and finally came the answer of jonah, “i do well to be angry, even unto death.” my friends and i have built our modest place of espial, and we have our idea of what would become of the city were it left in the hands of certain rulers. that we do well to be angry i hope to show.
-in the first place, it is really necessary to define history, and the duties of the historian. until we have done this we have no standpoint. the axiom must always precede the syllogism just as the epithet concludes it. no one can build a basis in a vacuum. innumerable minds have been at pains to define history.
-from the remote time when lucian published his treatise how history ought to be written until the depressing moment when bishop stubbs first attempted to write it, there has been an enormous divergence of thought on this point. kant believed that dynasty and nation, emperor and clown were alike incidents and puppets illustrating the theory that an irresistible, all-pervading force works through history towards one end--the development of a perfect constitution. if kant had written history and applied his method instead of indicating it, he would have had us believe that history is a science to be studied under the limiting influence of a rigid formula.
-ranke thought, and thought rightly, that the analysis of original documents alone made possible the synthesis of the past, while the trained historian in his endeavour to get at the truth should be chary of accepting contemporary authors, unless eye-witnesses of the events they chronicled. yet ranke definitely placed himself with those who were beginning to believe that history was a science and nothing more.
-guizot, who edited gibbon, freshly defined the labours of the historian. guizot’s view was that faithful research, with its results duly applied, ought to enable the historian to supply such a picture of the past that it should be both to his readers and himself a veritable present. i know of no more illuminating conception. but how can an historian supply the picture unless he has a competent knowledge of psychology? to write about human beings in the past without a knowledge of psychology is exactly like writing a history of locomotives without understanding anything whatever about the nature and properties of steam.
-it is only quite lately that the scientists have allowed psychology to be a science, with, for example, as fixed a place and purpose as biology. if any one asked me for a list of authors from whom he would learn something of psychology i should probably commend to him maher (1900), spencer (1890), stout (1899), james (1892), m’cosh (1886), and so on.
-you see the dates, do you not? you realize what every one who lives in the realm of thought, as also many who work in the sphere of action, must realize? briefly it is this. the old historians were concerned only with the simple results of investigation; the best modern historian adds to his equipment a knowledge of the processes of thought. the older sciences are joining hands with the new science of psychology. it is discerned that the individual temperament must clothe the bones of fact with the colour and movement that psychological knowledge alone can give.
-it is discerned, but only by the important people as yet--only by the people who matter and count. the oxford historians whom i am attacking have not realized it and will never realize it, which is the precise reason why we must reform them or give them the alternative of staffing the upper grade board schools.
-james anthony froude did realize this certainty, and his works are not recommended to be read by candidates for history honours. the malignant personal hatred of freeman, the stupidity of lesser men, long endeavoured to crush and limit the influence of the greatest historian, because the completest artist, who wrote history in our era. the endeavour to suppress him continues, but it is no longer anything but an endeavour. the times are changing very rapidly, and the triumphant war-whoops of some years ago have sunk to-day into the moribund whimpers of the discredited and deposed.
-everybody in oxford is waking up to the fact that if history is to have unity of organism and purpose it must have artistic proportion and be informed by art. the leaven has been working for a long time, unobserved by the people it is destined to destroy at the moment of completed fermentation. it is always thus with revolutions. the period of gestation is lengthy and its processes are obscure. but the completed moment arrives, the goddess bursts in full armour from her sire, or gargantua is born “crying not as other babes used to do, miez, miez, miez, miez, but with a high, sturdy, and big voice!”
-the occasion that has set in motion forces which in no short time will destroy the little eminence of the oxford historicides, was the publication of mr. herbert paul’s life of james anthony froude. everything had led up to that; i was cognizant of all the restlessness and disgust which were seething below the surface, and when at last the volume fell into oxford with the noise and reverberation of a thunder-bolt, i was daily informed of the hideous consternation of those who realized that their day was over, that the judge was set and the doom begun, that no one could stay it.
-i wish that i could write frankly and openly of the disturbance and alarm the book occasioned. if i were publishing this essay in the first instance in america i should certainly do so. however, as it will appear in england and afterwards in the land of freedom of speech, this joy is not permitted to me. as mr. h. g. wells would say, “figure that the bomb fell upon the green of all souls’ while the clock in the gateway of christ church was in the act of striking twelve.”
-the rush and hurry, the frightened consultations, the squeaks of those who realized that nemesis was at hand at last and was beating at the door, were, i can assure the public that will read this paper, comparable to nothing so much as the occasion when the feet of the ferret are heard drumming down the hollow burrows of the warren, while the rabbits know the day of irresponsible frolic is over and that they must die in the dark or in the open, but must die.
-the historicides of oxford have always feared an extended public and distrusted a name that has been made without their connivance, and which is beyond their reach. i find it difficult to suppose that those who do not realize the incredible narrowness and stupidity of a certain type of history don, will believe the anecdote i am about to tell. nevertheless, it is true. a pedant, whose name i will not give, was recently heard to refer to mr. thomas hardy in these words, “hardy? hardy? oh, do you mean the little novelist man?”
-let me put it before you quite plainly and in antithesis. hardly anything could better illustrate the appalling mental position of the camarilla that has got to go. here is a priggish person, whom no one has ever heard of outside oxford, piping out his contempt for a man who is generally recognized as one of the most distinguished novelists and one of the chief artists alive in our time.
-it is possible that many people will not immediately appreciate the reason for all the terror excited by mr. paul’s biography. the outside man cannot quite know how froude is, and always was, hated and feared by a certain section of the oxford historians. they were always trying to hit him below the belt because he hit them above the intellect. there was a definite conspiracy among the malignant, from freeman downwards, to lie about froude in every conceivable way, and to complete their malicious impudence by calling froude himself a liar. froude was a master of english prose; the highest praise that can be given to the jargon which his detractors wrote, and write, is that it is not exactly esperanto. froude understood the colour of words, the movements of a paragraph, the harmonic rhythm of an emotion expressed in prose. his words were the incarnation of his original thought, theirs but accentuated their borrowings. while the genius of this great man was coming into its own, while it burned brightly and yet more bright, while all thoughtful england was beginning to be moved and stirred by a new force, and the possessor of it was living with intellects as great and gracious as his own, the oxford historians slept in their padded rooms, and because they snored loudly imagined they were thinking. too indolent to search for the truth, they contented themselves with dodging difficulties, and persuading each other that their ostentatious obscurity was fame.
-there came a time at last when james anthony froude could no longer be ignored. his achievement was beginning to be a national possession, and he shared the councils of the rulers. the echoes of his fame reached the ears of the troglodytes, and, led by freeman, they swarmed to the attack, yelping a pæan to mediocrity and brandishing weapons from a more than doubtful armoury.
-froude, as mr. paul has pointed out, “toiled for months and years over parchments and manuscripts often almost illegible, carefully noting the calligraphy, and among the authors of a joint composition assigning his proper share to each. freeman wrote his history of the norman conquest, upon which he was at this time engaged, entirely from books, without consulting a manuscript or original document of any kind.”
-freeman,--the head of the daguerreotypical historians,--attacked a man whom he very well knew was his superior, pretending publicly to a greater knowledge of the special subject under discussion, and cynically denying any special knowledge in private. in public freeman represented his hostile attitude as the natural outcome of his zeal for truth; in private it was known that he was actuated by personal hatred, and the discoveries made by mr. j. b. rye on the margins of freeman’s books in owens college library have discredited him for all time. again i quote from mr. paul’s life of froude:--
-“freeman’s biographer, dean stephens, preserves absolute and unbroken silence on the duel between freeman and froude. i think the dean’s conduct was judicious. but there is no reason why a biographer of froude should follow his example. on the contrary, it is absolutely essential that he should not; for freeman’s assiduous efforts, first in the saturday, and afterwards in the contemporary review, did ultimately produce an impression, never yet fully dispelled, that froude was an habitual garbler of facts and constitutionally reckless of the truth. but, before i come to details, let me say one word more about freeman’s qualifications for the task which he so lightly and eagerly undertook. freeman, with all his self-assertion, was not incapable of candour. he was staunch in friendship, and spoke openly to his friends. to one of them, the excellent dean hook, famous for his lives of the archbishops of canterbury, he wrote, on the 27th of april, 1857, ‘you have found me out about the sixteenth century. i fancy that from endlessly belabouring froude, i get credit for knowing more of those times than i do. but one can belabour froude on a very small amount of knowledge, and you are quite right when you say that i “have never thrown the whole force of my mind on that portion of history.”’ these words pour a flood of light on the temper and knowledge with which freeman must have entered on what he really seemed to consider a crusade. his object was to belabour froude. his own acquaintance with the subject was, as he says, ‘very small,’ but sufficient for enabling him to dispose satisfactorily of an historian who had spent years of patient toil in thorough and exhaustive research. on another occasion, also writing to hook, whom he could not deceive, he said, ‘i find i have a reputation with some people for knowing the sixteenth century, of which i am profoundly ignorant.’ it does not appear to have struck him that he had done his best in the saturday review to make people think that, as froude’s critic, he deserved the reputation which he thus frankly and in private disclaims.
-“another curious piece of evidence has come to light. after freeman’s death his library was transferred to owens college, manchester, and there, among his other books, is his copy of froude’s history. he once said himself, in reference to his criticism of froude, ‘in truth there is no kind of temper in the case, but only a strong sense of amusement in bowling down one thing after another.’ let us see. here are some extracts from his marginal notes. ‘a lie, teste stubbs,’ as if stubbs were an authority, in the proper sense of the term, any more than froude. authorities are contemporary witnesses, or original documents. another entry is ‘beast,’ and yet another is ‘bah!’ ‘may i live to embowel james anthony froude,’ is the pious aspiration with which he has adorned another page. ‘can froude understand honesty?’ asks this anxious inquirer; and again, ‘supposing master froude were set to break stones, feed pigs, or do anything else but write paradoxes, would he not curse his day?’ along with such graceful compliments as ‘you’ve found that out since you wrote a book against your own father,’ ‘give him as slave to thirlwall,’ there may be seen the culminating assertion, ‘froude is certainly the vilest brute that ever wrote a book.’ yet there was ‘no kind of temper in the case,’ and ‘only a strong sense of amusement.’ i suppose it must have amused freeman to call another historian a vile brute. but it is fortunate that there was no temper in the case. for if there had, it would have been a very bad temper indeed.”
-until mr. herbert paul’s life of froude appeared a year ago, the historicides had been continually repeating the lie that froude garbled documents, was untrustworthy, and wrote not history but fiction. history, of course, often imitates fiction, for good fiction always deals with realities. but these slanderers did not pause for a definition. they continued to abuse froude, to prevent their pupils from reading him, and to refuse him a place in the recognized curriculum of historical study at the university.
-from time to time a doubter or inquirer arose and was promptly suppressed. nor was it likely that a man, whatever his private opinion of those in authority might be, was going to jeopardize his chance of a good degree by publishing it. there were awkward moments, of course, for the slanderers. a lie is like a forged promissory note. when it becomes due another must be forged in order to take up the first. but the historicides had the whip-hand. they controlled the examinations, and they could do what they pleased.
-i once wrote a little story which i will outline here, because i think it illustrates the method of these people whenever any ugly fact was discovered and some one required an explanation.
-there was once a simple-minded old gentleman of a philosophic temper and an inquiring mind. blessed with an ample fortune and untroubled by any business instincts, he devoted his life to the search for truth. on the whole his life was a happy one, because he possessed the faculty of going on. his failures were not made tragic with courage, but were minimized by persistence, and so were not very different from successes. yet, as the years went on, he began to feel that in his time he would never achieve his end. seeing him somewhat downcast, and becoming indifferent to his chop and chambertin, his butler, a faithful person, came to him one day, and, after venturing a privileged remonstrance, stated that he had something to disclose. “i have lately heard, sir,” said the butler, “that truth is really hidden at the bottom of a well. it may of course, sir, be mere idle talk, but i think, as far as i remember, we have not looked there yet? there was the church, sir--we found nothing there--and then i held the lantern for you in the chapel, too. there was none behind the art wall-paper, nor did liberty have any in stock. and it wasn’t in history, sir, because i turned over every leaf of them oxford books myself, and shook them well, too. you did think you’d found it in science, sir, i remember, there was something that you thought was truth in the bottom of the test-tube, but then you told me it wasn’t, though i forget what you said it was after all.”
-“merely a note of a recorded fact, thomas,” said the old gentleman sorrowfully. “but do you really think there is anything in this idea of yours?”
-“i cannot be positive, sir,” the butler replied; “but i see it stated definite at the end of a leading article in the artesian engineer.”
-“have we a well on the premises, thomas?” the old gentleman asked, putting on his spectacles and rubbing his hands briskly together.
-“i asked the gardener this morning, sir,” thomas answered, “and he informs me that there is an old disused well by the cucumber-frame which could be opened easily enough by a couple of men working for a week.”
-“engage some men at once,” said the old gentleman, now thoroughly interested and pleased, and that day he enjoyed his chop with all his accustomed pleasure. the faithful butler, who had all his life lived worthily and well without truth, was overjoyed at the success of his suggestion. anticipating, however, another disappointment, he gave private instructions, received con amore by the workmen, that they were not to hurry over their task of opening the well, and for a month the old gentleman’s appetite whetted by hope, was all that his faithful retainer could desire.
-at length the work was done, the well was fully opened, and the page-boy (an adventurous youth) descended in the bucket. there was a tense silence in the garden as the boy disappeared, until his hollow-sounding voice hailed them from below vibrating with excitement.
-“i’ve got un, sir,” ascended in a triumphant pipe; “he be here, sir, sure ’nuff!”
-in a moment more the young fellow came to the surface, holding a large and speckled toad in his hand. on the back of the reptile an arrangement of orange-coloured spots spelt out the word truth.
-the old gentleman saw it, fell into uncontrollable rage, snatched the wondering reptile from the page-boy’s hand and stamped out its life upon the ground.
-“to the house all of you,” he cried; “and never let me hear the name of truth again!” with that he forswore all his former theories, and in bitter irony started a society paper. however, the gardener, a wise, silent, and pawky person, came along later, and, picking a diamond from the crushed débris of the toad took it home and hid it away for the rest of his life, fearing discovery. when the gardener died, his relatives discovered the jewel, and knowing nothing of its value threw it away.
-the old gentleman made an enormous fortune out of the society paper.
-forgive the digression. this, or something like it, was what the historicides of oxford did before the publication of mr. paul’s book. whenever any one showed them the truth they snatched it from him, and ordered him back into stubbs’s charters.
-i have already said something of the terror the life of froude excited. in a swift moment pretensions were exposed, lies were shown to be lies, and people began to read froude. mr. paul made it quite plain that the accusations of dishonesty against froude were utter fabrications. mr. paul, himself a learned historian, an artist and a man of letters, has gone into the charges seriatim, and triumphantly disproved them. no one can ever make them again. they are lies, they have been proved once and for ever to be lies. i cannot quote here the mass of refutation which has brought about the complete vindication of the accused historian. this is a summary and nothing more. it stands for all to read in mr. paul’s book, a volume which should be in the hands of every man who is reading, and means to read history at oxford.
-this memorable book is a protest against the charlatanry of the pseudo-scientific school of history. the acts and intentions of people in the past cannot be known better than the intentions and acts of people in the present. no one man can possibly sift all, or anything like all the evidence for any period. much of the important evidence is missing. no one can be examined or cross-examined, and for an historian to write as if he were a judge delivering a decision is a piece of impertinence. the abler man, assuming his honesty, will make the abler historian, and the mere bookworm is not the best judge of what probably happened. it is the dull and incompetent who formerly invented the fable that brilliant writers are superficial. this is the lie behind which the “dry as dusts” have lurked for years; it was their last line of defence, and mr. paul has destroyed it.
-“to make themselves historians, they should also have considered the combinations among men and the laws that govern such things; for there are laws. moreover our historians, like most men who do great things, must combine in themselves qualities which are held to belong to opposite natures; must at the same time be patient in research and vigorous in imagination, energetic and calm, cautious and enterprising.”
-history, in short, is the complement of poetry, and with this definition as a basis let us proceed to examine some of the oxford historians of to-day. but first let me recapitulate the points at which we have so far arrived.
-i have endeavoured to make plain, that--
-the whole business of froude has provided one with a lens in which to focus the question upon the page, and no one was ever provided with a better text than i have been. excuse me, however, if i make a brief personal explanation. while engaged upon this piece of work an oxford man, an old-fashioned high churchman of the freeman type, has been staying with me. it is forty years since he was in residence, and he did not see with me at all in this matter when we discussed it.
-“i cannot understand,” he said, “how you are going to champion froude and mr. paul against freeman, who was perfectly sound on church matters, as i believe you to be. all you have ever published has been in support of catholic truth, and yet you are earnestly advocating a historian who was the incarnation of protestantism.”
-it was, in the first place, difficult to make my interlocutor see that i was writing of the art of the historian, and not the trend of his opinions. in the second place, i do not agree with him as to the essential protestantism of froude. froude’s religious attitude has been summed up once and for all by one of the most brilliant writers of our time, an historian, artist, and scholar, whom oxford dons rejected, but for whom oxford calls aloud, and for whom st. stephen’s has naturally a greater attraction--much as one deplores it.
-mr. belloc writes:--
-“see how definite, how downright, and how clean are the sentences in which froude asserts that christianity is catholic or nothing:--
-“‘... this was the body of death which philosophy detected but could not explain, and from which catholicism now came forward with its magnificent promise of deliverance.
-“‘the carnal doctrine of the sacraments, which they are compelled to acknowledge to have been taught as fully in the early church as it is now taught by the roman catholics, has long been the stumbling-block to protestants. it was the very essence of christianity itself. unless the body could be purified, the soul could not be saved; or, rather, as from the beginning, soul and flesh were one man and inseparable, without his flesh, man was lost, or would cease to be. but the natural organization of the flesh was infected, and unless organization could begin again from a new original, no pure material substance could exist at all. he, therefore, by whom god had first made the world, entered into the womb of the virgin in the form (so to speak) of a new organic cell, and around it, through the virtue of his creative energy, a material body grew again of the substance of his mother, pure of taint and clean as the first body of the first man when it passed out under his hand in the beginning of all things.’
-“throughout his essay on the philosophy of christianity, where he was maintaining a thesis odious to the majority of his readers, he rings as hard as ever. the philosophy of christianity is frankly declared to be catholicism and catholicism alone; the truth of christianity is denied. it is called a thing ‘worn and old’ even in luther’s time, and he definitely prophesies a period when ‘our posterity’ shall learn to ‘despise the miserable fabric which luther stitched together out of its tatters.’”
-i can add nothing to mr. belloc’s criticism or his quotations.
-let us now take a survey of the history which the powers that be in oxford have substituted for the work of froude. let us shake the upas-trees which shadow the quadrangle of the schools and wonder how these astonishing vegetables have managed to produce such fruit as that of which i have to set samples before you.
-the examination statutes in the section containing the regulations for the honour school of modern history recommend, among other books, that candidates who take the period 1559-1715 should study gustavus adolphus, by mr. c. r. l. fletcher, m.a., late fellow of all souls’ college, oxford. the gentlemen who compile the examination statutes would “recommend” almost anything, but i imagine that i am about to astonish the general reader.
-i will begin with mr. fletcher’s preface. he himself says in the very first line that his book “demands little preface.” it would have been perhaps better for him had he been guided by his own pious opinion and resisted the temptation to print his confessions in nine closely-printed pages. i say “confessions” advisedly, for rarely in the course of a wide experience of books have i set eyes upon a more candid and almost disarming statement than the one before me here.
-in his preface mr. fletcher asserts that his book--
-and (3) “my knowledge of the swedish language is by no means independent of the assistance of a dictionary, nor can i hope to have escaped that tendency to partiality for which the natural fascination of such a subject is the only excuse.”
-mr. fletcher then proceeds to tell us that he was
-here, then, we have an historian who admits that even the little he has to offer is borrowed from the books of other people. he has not taken the trouble to search and inquire for himself, and, content with profiting by the labours of others more conscientious, he has of course been unable to verify the accuracy of such labours. nor has he even taken the trouble to borrow from the latest sources, for he informs us, “and i cannot claim to have read even all the modern authorities on the subject.”
-mr. fletcher does not thoroughly know the language of the country of which he writes; he has included accounts of many things “of which i had made no special study” in this precious book; and finally, the historian of the victor of breitenfeld and lützen knows absolutely nothing of military history, the art of war, or the meaning of military terms, in spite of which, at page 119, he declares (a) that gustavus was “certainly a greater master of tactics than wallenstein,” but “not a greater cavalry captain than pappenheim;” and (b) “that pappenheim had not the coup d’oeil which enables a man to grasp a whole battle at once.”
-how a man can dare to print such a cataract of admissions i do not understand. at any rate, tested by the lowest standard, treated with the utmost leniency, his book stands self-confessed as worthless. however modest the author’s estimate of his work and the humility of heep was as nothing to the assumption of this preface, the book cannot under any conceivable circumstances be of the least use to the student. it outrages every canon by which the most amateur of historians should guide himself to write.
-yet this book is recommended in the examination statutes to be read by men wishing to take honours in history while the works of james anthony froude are rigidly excluded.
-i would fain linger a little longer with mr. fletcher, possibly one of the richest unconscious humourists who have ever written history. he deserves to be known to a wider circle than the mere academic. in these drab, hurried days, anything that makes for innocent gaiety is to be welcomed. i think it was ruskin who said that edwin lear’s book of nonsense was one of the most valuable books ever written. it is a pity that mr. ruskin did not live to read mr. fletcher’s other work, an introductory history of england.
-gustavus adolphus was published in 1900, and mr. fletcher was then described as “late fellow of all souls’ college.” the later and more mature work was published in 1904, and we then see mr. fletcher as a fellow of magdalen.
-in an introductory history of england we have, of course, the usual preface, from which i wish i had space to quote largely. i have not, but in turning the leaves, the eye at once falls on another apologia:--
-“i have no pretensions to be a scholar in the original document sense;” and, “i fear it will be very easy for those who are such scholars to find many mistakes in detail, as well as to question my conclusions.”
-i do not intend to do more than give one specimen of mr. fletcher’s style in this book, though i have read the whole of it with pleasure and amusement. the paragraph i am about to quote should live in the annals of the oxford historicides for ever. i imagine that in writing it, mr. fletcher had been slyly reading oceana in secret, and longed to emulate the vividness of that august prose. the volume of froude was obviously out of the way when the purple passage was produced, but if it loses in style owing to this circumstance, it gains in interest as the unconnected revelation of a truly extraordinary mind.
-“as the ice-sheet advanced, the wild animals gradually moved southwards; the primitive briton, unhindered by english channel or mediterranean sea, walked after the mammoth and the hippopotamus, shooting at them with wooden arrows tipped with flints. and the grizzly bear and the sabre-toothed tiger walked after the primitive briton.”
-we must bid farewell to mr. fletcher, the historian preferred to froude by certain people! i do not wish to give pain to any one in the world, much less to one who has given me so much pleasure. but even at the cost of that, i would ask gentlemen who are reading history at oxford, and gentlemen who are sending their sons to read history at oxford, to pause and reflect before they entrust grave interests and momentous personal issues to the mercies of such writers as mr. fletcher, to the direction of the historian manqué.
-let us leave the mala gaudia mentis provided by mr. fletcher, and proceed to more considerable men.
-in his case we have a person, though ill-equipped by nature or temperament, engaged in an honest endeavour to write with vigour and picturesqueness. grotesque as it may seem to us, the “primitive briton walking after the hippopotamus, and the sabre-toothed tiger walking after the primitive briton” shows a genuine attempt at style. it is from the rude carvings of savage races that the venus of milo has been evolved, and from the mural decoration of the cave-dwellers has the perfected art of velasquez or murillo come.
-there are, however, other writers in oxford to-day who merely chronicle facts. this is not writing history, of course, but a careful chronicle of accurate fact is certainly valuable to the student, and may serve as a ladder by which he may mount into the realms of true history. some one must do the spade work, dull and uninteresting as it may be, and all we ask of the gardener’s labourer is that his toil should be accomplished thoroughly and well.
-one of the books that is put into the hands of history students at oxford as a useful work of reference is european history 470-1871, by mr. arthur hassall, a student and tutor of christ church, oxford. let me here explain for the general public that “a student” of christ church is in the same position as the “fellow” of another college.
-the book at first sight does certainly seem to supply a need. it is a chronicle, in parallel columns, of the events which occurred in every country between the dates named. a man who is preparing an essay for his tutor might well be at a momentary loss for a date. “what was the exact year in which so-and-so succeeded, or the battle of such-and-such a place occurred?” he might ask himself, and turn to mr. hassall’s book for answers.
-let us take a particular instance. when was napoleon iii. proclaimed emperor? according to mr. hassall he was proclaimed twice; in 1852 and again in 1853. under 1852 i read: “the french nation, by a large majority, sanction the restoration of the empire (november), and napoleon is proclaimed emperor (december 2).” lower down, on the same page, under 1853, i am told that “napoleon consults the people on the subject of the restoration of the empire, and secures a large majority in its favour (november 21).... napoleon is declared emperor of the french as napoleon iii. (december 2).”
-the right date is 1852. these strange contradictions occur in the second as well as the first edition of mr. hassall’s book, for which minute accuracy is the only raison d’être.
-i am not going to multiply instances of this sort of thing. when it is necessary to produce a completer indictment of the pseudo-scientific historians i am able to assure them that it will be done. a great awakening has come to the university, and a hundred keen, hostile eyes are focussed upon its chief anachronism. there are many men in oxford to-day who can say in their hearts: “so will i break down the wall that ye have daubed with untempered mortar and bring it down to the ground.”
-i will pass at once to professor oman, commander-in-chief of retrograde dondom.
-much of what oxford has to bestow of honour and distinction professor oman has received. some of the rewards of the greatest university have been his. he may be called the leader of the pseudo-scientific school now publishing, and in the past has enjoyed such eminence as this confers, among a corporation whose members are not so famous for the books they have written as for the books they ought not to have written.
-professor oman, in his inaugural lecture on the study of history (1906) said: “i am indignant at all the cheap satire levelled against the college tutorial system, the curriculum of the schools, the examinations and their results, which forms the staple of the irresponsible criticisms of the daily, weekly, or monthly press, of the pamphlets of a man with a grievance, and of the harangues delivered when educationalists (horrid word) assemble in conclave.”
-i can well understand it. three months before this lecture was given, i remember reading an article in the army service corps quarterly, certainly neither irresponsible nor cheap, though composed by two writers whose grievance was the inaccuracy of the chichele professor.
-“napoleon was so profoundly ignorant of the character of the (‘spanish’) nation that he imagined,” wrote the professor in his history of the peninsular war, “that a few high-sounding proclamations and promises of liberal reforms would induce them to accept from his hands any new sovereign whom he chose to nominate.”
-at the date when napoleon is supposed by the professor to have been behaving like a professor, not of war but of history, he was writing to murat (may 16, 1808): “je vous recommande de prendre toutes les mesures nécessaires pour donner du mouvement dans l’arsenal. ce sont là les meilleures proclamations pour se concilier l’affection des peuples.” three days before (may 13), he had warned murat not to ���flatter the spaniards too much.... i have,” he wrote, “more experience of the spaniards than you. when you told me that madrid was very tranquil, i said to every one that you would soon have an insurrection.”
-the article referred to utterly contradicts this statement of professor oman’s. hundreds of original documents were examined, and the point was proved with entire brilliance and clarity. the pamphlet is quite unanswerable, and has never been answered. the quotation from the professor’s lecture illustrates the temper and attitude of the typical unprogressive. why all criticism of the professor and his friends should be cheap and irresponsible i do not know. when mr. herbert paul writes of stubbs’s constitutional history of england--the bible of the pseudo-historians--that it “may be a useful book for students. unless or until it is rewritten, it can have no existence for the general reader,” and “a novice whose mind is a blank may read whole chapters of gardiner without discovering that any events of much significance happened in the seventeenth century” is mr. paul irresponsible and cheap? mr. paul obtained the highest honour possible in his degree examination; he was a member of parliament for south edinburgh, one of the most cultured constituencies in the kingdom; he is a member of the present parliament. as historians, indeed, the relative positions of mr. paul and mr. oman, are those of banker and pawnbroker respectively.
-this publicly expressed irritation of the chichele professor is symptomatic.
-when froude gave his inaugural lecture mr. oman was present, and was, he tells us--
-...“carried away at the moment by his eloquent plea in favour of the view that history must be written as literature, that it is the historian’s duty to present his work in a shape that will be clearly comprehensible to as many readers as possible, that dull, pedantic, over-technical diction is an absolute crime, since by it possible converts to the cause of history may be turned back and estranged.”
-mr. oman was not carried away very far. the works of the man who was genius and moralist, man of letters and historian, are still excluded from the “curriculum,” while the works of the professor who was temporarily carried away are still included in it.
-it is, indeed, perfectly true, as mr. oman very candidly admits, that “even five years spent as a deputy-professor have not eradicated the old tutorial virus from his system.” he suffers, and i suppose must always suffer, from the inability to write his history so that it is a pleasure to read it. the literary instinct is wanting, the artistic temperament is absent, and like all those writers of whom he is the most able and the chief, the chichele professor can repeat but can neither create nor recreate.
-on the very page where i read “educationalists” (horrid word), i also read these melodious and polished sentences “equipped with a severely specialistic curriculum.” quip! lis! tic! ric! how horribly these words jar and offend, what a barbarous jargon is this!
-again, “they hope to find this one rather less rebarbative than law or mathematics.” from what sewer of language did the writer drag “rebarbative” to grace his prose?
-it is the same with everything this gentleman writes, or to be exact, in everything i have read of his.
-he speaks of cæsar’s “chequered and oragious political career.”
-he tells us of himself, “i was one of those exceptionals.” you have only to open any single page of any single book professor oman has written to realize that he either knows nothing of or cares nothing at all for the art of writing prose. i admit that it is easy enough to find, and print, faults in the writings of any one, even, here and there, in the work of a master. i was re-reading oceana the other day, and noticed that froude has written, “there was no undergrowth, no rocks or stones, only fresh green grass.” ... but an error such as this is exactly like a musical discord, inadmissible in the exercise of a student of harmony, but as nothing in the composition of a master.
-i do not wish to say whether, in my opinion, professor oman’s views of history are generally sound or if they are not. he would not be where he is, i suppose, were he not credible and generally accurate. but what i do know, and what i have a right to say, is that his prose is turgid, clumsy and without flexibility. he can only tell us that something has happened, he cannot make that happening live and pulse within the brain. he is without the first quality of the true historian, the knowledge and mastery of the medium in which he expresses his thoughts, and lacking all kinetic power he does not even know of what wood to make a crutch.
-mr. oman and all his school are the legitimate descendants of their master, stubbs--the great cham of the historicides. it is a mournful fact that the incredibly vicious style of william stubbs has had a most malign influence over that of lesser men.
-the samples of it that i give here will amaze those people who have not read the learned bishop, and who have been in the habit of regarding him as a literary man as well as a historian.
-we are also told on page 634, that religion ... “has sunk on the one hand into a dogma fenced about with walls which its defenders cannot pass either inward or outward, on the other hand into a mere war-cry.... between the two lies a narrow borderland.” religion, therefore, “sinks into a war-cry.” between the war-cry and the dogma is a narrow borderland. the dogma is “fenced about with walls.”
-the recurring word is a constant phenomenon. in paragraph 498, for instance, we find the sequence “evil,” “debased,” “noble,” “beautiful,” “good,” “noble,” “beautiful,” “evil,” “debased,” “evil,” “good,” “good,” “great,” “great,” “greatness,” “greatness,” “noble,” “greatness,” “great,” “greatness,” “greatness,” “greatness,” “evil,” “good,” “evil,” “good,” “evil,” “evil,” “good,” “good,” “evil,” “good,” “good.”
-it is true that the devoted and determined fellowship of oxford men who are destroying the last position of the historicides have long known that bishop stubbs was nothing more than a writer of slovenly text-books. but the general public has not known, and, occupied with wider interests, has been forced to take the statements of the pedants on trust.
-yet, if oxford is to continue to be the chief university of the world, it will only be by permission of the public. this is a truth which the pedants will only realize when it is too late. if every father who has a son whom he hopes will proceed to the university reads what i have set down here--reads it, and trusting nothing to the assertions of one man’s pen, makes further and more exhaustive inquiries--we shall very soon see the frantic capitulation of the old guard. i believe the dons and pedants of whom i have been writing to be honest men enough. they are sincere in their attitude, no doubt. it is comfortable to think that everything is for the best in the best of all possible universities, but the obstinacy of a dozen mules in a mountain pass impedes the progress of an army, and because his stupidity is not the hybrid’s fault is no argument against his removal.
-a certain number of oxford dons are convinced that the oxford system is without flaw.
-the historicides are the worst offenders, though some of their brethren who control the study of pagan theology and philosophy are not far behind them. both classes alike are convinced of their infallibility.
-yet let the educated public realize that--
-no one who wishes to become a b.a. and m.a. of oxford is forced to study
-in my discredited trade of a novelist--that is to say, the trade of people who create out of their own brains new things--we have a technique of phrase. unimportant to the pedant, as are the methods by which we are sometimes able to secure a great, and even grateful public, we still have our little catchwords and there is a certain freemasonry of craft.
-one finishes up, it is generally understood, with “a canter down the straight.” bursting away from the restrictions of the essay, glad to have finished with an academic convention which says one must write this way and so, let me attempt to crystallize just what this paper means, from my own, and doubtless limited, point of view. it means this.
-upon the sturdy oak, generations old, in which the university may be typified in allegory, a dusty parasite of ivy has been clinging. this parasite, which has clogged the newer shoots from the old tree, is a parasite of the classical and especially of the history don and pedant. law, science and mathematics have entered oxford as a bright light comes into the dark. here, all is well. and in regard to the older arts, i think, and many other people who are in the centre of the ferment of change think with me, all is about to be reconstituted in a freer air. it remains as a wonder that past and present undergraduates, the guests of the hotel, remain so individually and cumulatively distinct from the obstructionist section of its managers and landlords.
-in the darkest days it is astonishing to see how many men reading history have been able to educate themselves brilliantly in spite of all opposition. and if oxford can send out into the world such men as she is giving to the community now, in spite of the influences which have checked and hampered them, what may she not do in the days which are at hand, when the parasite shall be cut down from the old tree and growth shall be unhampered by the incompetent?
-gneiss is the general name under which are comprised coarsely foliated rocks banded with irregular layers of feldspar and other minerals. the gneisses appear to be due in many cases to the crushing and shearing of deep-seated igneous rocks, such as granite and gabbro.
-the crystalline schists, representing the finer types of foliation, consist of thin, parallel, crystalline leaves, which are often remarkably crumpled. these folia can be distinguished from the laminae of sedimentary rocks by their lenticular form and lack of continuity, and especially by the fact that they consist of platy, crystalline grains, and not of particles rounded by wear.
-mica schist, the most common of schists, and in fact of all metamorphic rocks, is composed of mica and quartz in alternating wavy folia. all gradations between it and phyllite may be traced, and in many cases we may prove it due to the metamorphism of slates and shales. it is widespread in new england and along the eastern side of the appalachians. talc schist consists of quartz and talc, a light-colored magnesian mineral of greasy feel, and so soft that it can be scratched with the thumb nail.
-hornblende schist, resulting in many cases from the foliation of basic igneous rocks, is made of folia of hornblende alternating with bands of quartz and feldspar. hornblende schist is common over large areas in the lake superior region.
-quartz schist is produced from quartzite by the development of fine folia of mica along planes of shear. all gradations may be found between it and unfoliated quartzite on the one hand and mica schist on the other.
-under the resistless pressure of crustal movements almost any rocks, sandstones, shales, lavas of all kinds, granites, diorites, and gabbros may be metamorphosed into schists by crushing and shearing. limestones, however, are metamorphosed by pressure into marble, the grains of carbonate of lime recrystallizing freely to interlocking crystals of calcite.
-these few examples must suffice of the great class of metamorphic rocks. as we have seen, they owe their origin to the alteration of both of the other classes of rocks--the sedimentary and the igneous--by heat and pressure, assisted usually by the presence of water. the fact of change is seen in their hardness arid cementation, their more or less complete recrystallization, and their foliation; but the change is often so complete that no trace of their original structure and mineral composition remains to tell whether the rocks from which they were derived were sedimentary or igneous, or to what variety of either of these classes they belonged.
-in many cases, however, the early history of a metamorphic rock can be deciphered. fossils not wholly obliterated may prove it originally water-laid. schists may contain rolled-out pebbles, showing their derivation from a conglomerate. dikes of igneous rocks may be followed into a region where they have been foliated by pressure. the most thoroughly metamorphosed rocks may sometimes be traced out into unaltered sedimentary or igneous rocks, or among them may be found patches of little change where their history maybe read.
-metamorphism is most common among rocks of the earlier geological ages, and most rare among rocks of recent formation. no doubt it is now in progress where deep-buried sediments are invaded by heat either from intrusive igneous masses or from the earth's interior, or are suffering slow deformation under the thrust of mountain-making forces.
-suggest how rocks now in process of metamorphism may sometimes be exposed to view. why do metamorphic rocks appear on the surface to-day?
-in regions of folded and broken rocks fissures are frequently found to be filled with sheets of crystalline minerals deposited from solution by underground water, and fissures thus filled are known as mineral veins. much of the importance of mineral veins is due to the fact that they are often metalliferous, carrying valuable native metals and metallic ores disseminated in fine particles, in strings, and sometimes in large masses in the midst of the valueless nonmetallic minerals which make up what is known as the vein stone.
-the most common vein stones are quartz and calcite. fluorite (calcium fluoride), a mineral harder than calcite and crystallizing in cubes of various colors, and barite (barium sulphate), a heavy white mineral, are abundant in many veins.
-the placer deposits of california and other regions are gold- bearing deposits of gravel and sand in river beds. the heavy gold is apt to be found mostly near or upon the solid rock, and its grains, like those of the sand, are always rounded. how the gold came in the placers we may leave the pupil to suggest.
-copper is found in a number of ores, and also in the native metal. below the zone of surface changes the ore of a copper vein is often a double sulphide of iron and copper called chalcopyrite, a mineral softer than pyrite--it can easily be scratched with a knife--and deeper yellow in color. for several score of feet below the ground the vein may consist of rusty quartz from which the metallic ores have been dissolved; but at the base of the zone of solution we may find exceedingly rich deposits of copper ores,-- copper sulphides, red and black copper oxides, and green and blue copper carbonates, which have clearly been brought down in solution from the leached upper portion of the vein.
-origin of mineral veins. both vein stones and ores have been deposited slowly from solution in water, much as crystals of salt are deposited on the sides of a jar of saturated brine. in our study of underground water we learned that it is everywhere circulating through the permeable rocks of the crust, descending to profound depths under the action of gravity and again driven to the surface by hydrostatic pressure. now fissures, wherever they occur, form the trunk channels of the underground circulation. water descends from the surface along these rifts; it moves laterally from either side to the fissure plane, just as ground water seeps through the surrounding rocks from every direction to a well; and it ascends through these natural water ways as in an artesian well, whenever they intersect an aquifer in which water is under hydrostatic pressure.
-the waters which deposit vein stones and ores are commonly hot, and in many cases they have derived their heat from intrusions of igneous rock still uncooled within the crust. the solvent power of the water is thus greatly increased, and it takes up into solution various substances from the igneous and sedimentary rocks which it traverses. for various reasons these substances stances are deposited in the vein as ores and vein stones. on rising through the fissure the water cools and loses pressure, and its capacity to hold minerals in solution is therefore lessened. besides, as different currents meet in the fissure, some ascending, some descending, and some coming in from the sides, the chemical reaction of these various weak solutions upon one another and upon the walls of the vein precipitates the minerals of vein stuffs and ores.
-as an illustration of the method of vein deposits we may cite the case of a wooden box pipe used in the comstock mines, nevada, to carry the hot water of the mine from one level to another, which in ten years was lined with calcium carbonate more than half an inch thick.
-the steamboat springs, nevada, furnish examples of mineral veins in process of formation. the steaming water rises through fissures in volcanic rocks and is now depositing in the rifts a vein stone of quartz, with metallic ores of iron, mercury, lead, and other metals.
-reconcentration. near the base of the zone of solution veins are often stored with exceptionally large and valuable ore deposits. this local enrichment of the vein is due to the reconcentration of its metalliferous ores. as the surface of the land is slowly lowered by weathering and running water, the zone of solution is lowered at an equal rate and encroaches constantly on the zone of cementation. the minerals of veins are therefore constantly being dissolved along their upper portions and carried down the fissures by ground water to lower levels, where they are redeposited.
-many of the richest ore deposits are thus due to successive concentrations: the ores were leached originally from the rocks to a large extent by laterally seeping waters; they were concentrated in the ore deposits of the vein chiefly by ascending currents; they have been reconcentrated by descending waters in the way just mentioned.
-the original source of the metals. it is to the igneous rocks that we may look for the original source of the metals of veins. lavas contain minute percentages of various metallic compounds, and no doubt this was the case also with the igneous rocks which formed the original earth crust. by the erosion of the igneous rocks the metals have been distributed among sedimentary strata, and even the sea has taken into solution an appreciable amount of gold and other metals, but in this widely diffused condition they are wholly useless to man. the concentration which has made them available is due to the interaction of many agencies. earth movements fracturing deeply the rocks of the crust, the intrusion of heated masses, the circulation of underground waters, have all cooperated in the concentration of the metals of mineral veins.
-while fissure veins are the most important of mineral veins, the latter term is applied also to any water way which has been filled by similar deposits from solution. thus in soluble rocks, such as limestones, joints enlarged by percolating water are sometimes filled with metalliferous deposits, as, for example, the lead and zinc deposits of the upper mississippi valley. even a porous aquifer may be made the seat of mineral deposits, as in the case of some copper-bearing and silver-bearing sandstones of new mexico.
-the geological record
-what a formation records. we have already learned that each individual body of stratified rock, or formation, constitutes a record of the time when it was laid. the structure and the character of the sediments of each formation tell whether the area was land or sea at the time when they were spread; and if the former, whether the land was river plain, or lake bed, or was covered with wind-blown sands, or by the deposits of an ice sheet. if the sediments are marine, we may know also whether they were laid in shoal water near the shore or in deeper water out at sea, and whether during a period of emergence, or during a period of subsidence when the sea transgressed the land. by the same means each formation records the stage in the cycle of erosion of the land mass from which its sediments were derived. an unconformity between two marine formations records the fact that between the periods when they were deposited in the sea the area emerged as land and suffered erosion. the attitude and structure of the strata tell also of the foldings and fractures, the deformation and the metamorphism, which they have suffered; and the igneous rocks associated with them as lava flows and igneous intrusions add other details to the story. each formation is thus a separate local chapter in the geological history of the earth, and its strata are its leaves. it contains an authentic record of the physical conditions--the geography--of the time and place when and where its sediments were laid.
-past cycles of erosion. these chapters in the history of the planet are very numerous, although much of the record has been destroyed in various ways. a succession of different formations is usually seen in any considerable section of the crust, such as a deep canyon or where the edges of upturned strata are exposed to view on the flanks of mountain ranges; and in any extensive area, such as a state of the union or a province of canada, the number of formations outcropping on the surface is large.
-it is thus learned that our present continent is made up for. the most part of old continental deltas. some, recently emerged as the strata of young coastal plains, are the records of recent cycles of erosion; while others were deposited in the early history of the earth, and in many instances have been crumpled into mountains, which afterwards were leveled to their bases and lowered beneath the sea to receive a cover of later sediments before they were again uplifted to form land.
-the cycle of erosion now in progress and recorded in the layers of stratified rock being spread beneath the sea in continental deltas has therefore been preceded by many similar cycles. again and again movements of the crust have brought to an end one cycle-- sometimes when only well under way, and sometimes when drawing toward its close--and have begun another. again and again they have added to the land areas which before were sea, with all their deposition records of earlier cycles, or have lowered areas of land beneath the sea to receive new sediments.
-the age of the earth. the thickness of the stratified rocks now exposed upon the eroded surface of the continents is very great. in the appalachian region the strata are seven or eight miles thick, and still greater thicknesses have been measured in several other mountain ranges. the aggregate thickness of all the formations of the stratified rocks of the earth's crust, giving to each formation its maximum thickness wherever found, amounts to not less than forty miles. knowing how slowly sediments accumulate upon the sea floor, we must believe that the successive cycles which the earth has seen stretch back into a past almost inconceivably remote, and measure tens of millions and perhaps even hundreds of millions of years.
-adjacent strata in any region are arranged according to the law of superposition, i.e. any stratum is younger than that on which it was deposited, just as in a pile of paper, any sheet was laid later than that on which it rests. where rocks have been disturbed, their original attitude must be determined before the law can be applied. nor can the law of superposition be used in identifying and comparing the strata of different regions where the formations cannot be traced continuously from one region to the other.
-the formations of different regions are arranged in their true order by the law of included organisms; i.e. formations, however widely separated, which contain a similar assemblage of fossils are equivalent and belong to the same division of geological time.
-the correlation of formations by means of fossils may be explained by the formations now being deposited about the north atlantic. lithologically they are extremely various. on the continental shelf of north america limestones of different kinds are forming off florida, and sandstones and shales from georgia northward. separated from them by the deep atlantic oozes are other sedimentary deposits now accumulating along the west coast of europe. if now all these offshore formations were raised to open air, how could they be correlated? surely not by lithological likeness, for in this respect they would be quite diverse. all would be similar, however, in the fossils which they contain. some fossil species would be identical in all these formations and others would be closely allied. making all due allowance for differences in species due to local differences in climate and other physical causes, it would still be plain that plants and animals so similar lived at the same period of time, and that the formations in which their remains were imbedded were contemporaneous in a broad way. the presence of the bones of whales and other marine mammals would prove that the strata were laid after the appearance of mammals upon earth, and imbedded relics of man would give a still closer approximation to their age. in the same way we correlate the earlier geological formations.
-for example, in 1902 there were collected the first fossils ever found on the antarctic continent. among the dozen specimens obtained were some fossil ammonites (a family of chambered shells) of genera which are found on other continents in certain formations classified as the cretaceous system, and which occur neither above these formations nor below them. on the basis of these few fossils we may be confident that the strata in which they were found in the antarctic region were laid in the same period of geologic time as were the cretaceous rocks of the united states and canada.
-the record as a time scale. by means of the law of included organisms and the law of superposition the formations of different countries and continents are correlated and arranged in their natural order. when the geological record is thus obtained it may be used as a universal time scale for geological history. geological time is separated into divisions corresponding to the times during which the successive formations were laid. the largest assemblages of formations are known as groups, while the corresponding divisions of time are known as eras. groups are subdivided into systems, and systems into series. series are divided into stages and substages,--subdivisions which do not concern us in this brief treatise. the corresponding divisions of time are given in the following table.
-the geologist is now prepared to read the physical history--the geographical development--of any country or of any continent by means of its formations, when he has given each formation its true place in the geological record as a time scale.
-the following chart exhibits the main divisions of the record, the name given to each being given also to the corresponding time division. thus we speak of the cambrian system, meaning a certain succession of formations which are classified together because of broad resemblances in their included organisms; and of the cambrian period, meaning the time during which these rocks were deposited.
-group and era system and period series and epoch
-fossils and what they teach
-the geological formations contain a record still more important than that of the geographical development of the continents; the fossils imbedded in the rocks of each formation tell of the kinds of animals and plants which inhabited the earth at that time, and from these fossils we are therefore able to construct the history of life upon the earth.
-fossils. these remains of organisms are found in the strata in all degrees of perfection, from trails and tracks and fragmentary impressions, to perfectly preserved shells, wood, bones, and complete skeletons. as a rule, it is only the hard parts of animals and plants which have left any traces in the rocks. sometimes the original hard substance is preserved, but more often it has been replaced by some less soluble material. petrifaction, as this process of slow replacement is called, is often carried on in the most exquisite detail. when wood, for example, is undergoing petrifaction, the woody tissue may be replaced, particle by particle, by silica in solution through the action of underground waters, even the microscopic structures of the wood being perfectly reproduced. in shells originally made of aragonite, a crystalline form of carbonate of lime, that mineral is usually replaced by calcite, a more stable form of the same substance. the most common petrifying materials are calcite, silica, and pyrite.
-often the organic substance has neither been preserved nor replaced, but the form has been retained by means of molds and casts. permanent impressions, or molds, may be made in sediments not only by the hard parts of organisms, but also by such soft and perishable parts as the leaves of plants, and, in the rarest instances, by the skin of animals and the feathers of birds. in fine-grained limestones even the imprints of jellyfish have been retained.
-the different kinds of molds and casts may be illustrated by means of a clam shell and some moist clay, the latter representing the sediments in which the remains of animals and plants are entombed. imbedding the shell in the clay and allowing the clay to harden, we have a mold of the exterior of the shell, as is seen on cutting the clay matrix in two and removing the shell from it. filling this mold with clay of different color, we obtain a cast of the exterior, which represents accurately the original form and surface markings of the shell. in nature, shells and other relics of animals or plants are often removed by being dissolved by percolating waters, and the molds are either filled with sediments or with minerals deposited from solution.
-where the fossil is hollow, a cast of the interior is made in the same way. interior casts of shells reproduce any markings on the inside of the valves, and casts of the interior of the skulls of ancient vertebrates show the form and size of their brains.
-imperfection of the life record. at the present time only the smallest fraction of the life on earth ever gets entombed in rocks now forming. in the forest great fallen tree trunks, as well as dead leaves, decay, and only add a little to the layer of dark vegetable mold from which they grew. the bones of land animals are, for the most part, left unburied on the surface and are soon destroyed by chemical agencies. even where, as in the swamps of river, flood plains and in other bogs, there are preserved the remains of plants, and sometimes insects, together with the bones of some animal drowned or mired, in most cases these swamp and bog deposits are sooner or later destroyed by the shifting channels of the stream or by the general erosion of the land.
-in the sea the conditions for preservation are more favorable than on land; yet even here the proportion of animals and plants whose hard parts are fossilized is very small compared with those which either totally decay before they are buried in slowly accumulating sediments or are ground to powder by waves and currents.
-we may infer that during each period of the past, as at the present, only a very insignificant fraction of the innumerable organisms of sea and land escaped destruction and left in continental and oceanic deposits permanent records of their existence. scanty as these original life records must have been, they have been largely destroyed by metamorphism of the rocks in which they were imbedded, by solution in underground waters, and by the vast denudation under which the sediments of earlier periods have been eroded to furnish materials for the sedimentary records of later times. moreover, very much of what has escaped destruction still remains undiscovered. the immense bulk of the stratified rocks is buried and inaccessible, and the records of the past which it contains can never be known. comparatively few outcrops have been thoroughly searched for fossils. although new species are constantly being discovered, each discovery may be considered as the outcome of a series of happy accidents,--that the remains of individuals of this particular species happened to be imbedded and fossilized, that they happened to escape destruction during long ages, and that they happened to be exposed and found.
-some inferences from the records of the history of life upon the planet. meager as are these records, they set forth plainly some important truths which we will now briefly mention.
-1. each series of the stratified rocks, except the very deepest, contains vestiges of life. hence the earth was tenanted by living creatures for an uncalculated length of time before human history began.
-2. life on the earth has been everchanging. the youngest strata hold the remains of existing species of animals and plants and those of species and varieties closely allied to them. strata somewhat older contain fewer existing species, and in strata of a still earlier, but by no means an ancient epoch, no existing species are to be found; the species of that epoch and of previous epochs have vanished from the living world. during all geological time since life began on earth old species have constantly become extinct and with them the genera and families to which they belong, and other species, genera, and families have replaced them. the fossils of each formation differ on the whole from those of every other. the assemblage of animals and plants (the fauna- flora) of each epoch differs from that of every other epoch.
-in many cases the extinction of a type has been gradual; in other instances apparently abrupt. there is no evidence that any organism once become extinct has ever reappeared. the duration of a species in time, or its "vertical range" through the strata, varies greatly. some species are limited to a stratum a few feet in thickness; some may range through an entire formation and be found but little modified in still higher beds. a formation may thus often be divided into zones, each characterized by its own peculiar species. as a rule, the simpler organisms have a longer duration as species, though not as individuals, than the more complex.
-3. the larger zoological and botanical groupings survive longer than the smaller. species are so short-lived that a single geological epoch may be marked by several more or less complete extinctions of the species of its fauna-flora and their replacement by other species. a genus continues with new species after all the species with which it began have become extinct. families survive genera, and orders families. classes are so long- lived that most of those which are known from the earliest formations are represented by living forms, and no sub-kingdom has ever become extinct.
-thus, to take an example from the stony corals,--the zoantharia,-- the particular characters--which constituted a certain species-- facosites niagarensis--of the order are confined to the niagara series. its generic characters appeared in other species earlier in the silurian and continued through the devonian. its family characters, represented in different genera and species, range from the ordovician to the close of the paleozoic; while the characters which it shares with all its order, the zoantharia, began in the cambrian and are found in living species.
-4. the change in organisms has been gradual. the fossils of each life zone and of each formation of a conformable series closely resemble, with some explainable exceptions, those of the beds immediately above and below. the animals and plants which tenanted the earth during any geological epoch are so closely related to those of the preceding and the succeeding epochs that we may consider them to be the descendants of the one and the ancestors of the other, thus accounting for the resemblance by heredity. it is therefore believed that the species of animals and plants now living on the earth are the descendants of the species whose remains we find entombed in the rocks, and that the chain of life has been unbroken since its beginning.
-5. the change in species has been a gradual differentiation. tracing the lines of descent of various animals and plants of the present backward through the divisions of geologic time, we find that these lines of descent converge and unite in simpler and still simpler types. the development of life may be represented by a tree whose trunk is found in the earliest ages and whose branches spread and subdivide to the growing twigs of present species.
-6. the change in organisms throughout geologic time has been a progressive change. in the earliest ages the only animals and plants on the earth were lowly forms, simple and generalized in structure; while succeeding ages have been characterized by the introduction of types more and more specialized and complex, and therefore of higher rank in the scale of being. thus the algonkian contains the remains of only the humblest forms of the invertebrates. in the cambrian, ordovician, and silurian the invertebrates were represented in all their subkingdoms by a varied fauna. in the devonian, fishes--the lowest of the vertebrates--became abundant. amphibians made their entry on the stage in the carboniferous, and reptiles came to rule the world in the mesozoic. mammals culminated in the tertiary in strange forms which became more and more like those of the present as the long ages of that era rolled on; and latest of all appeared the noblest product of the creative process, man.
-just as growth is characteristic of the individual life, so gradual, progressive change, or evolution, has characterized the history of life upon the planet. the evolution of the organic kingdom from its primitive germinal forms to the complex and highly organized fauna-flora of to-day may be compared to the growth of some noble oak as it rises from the acorn, spreading loftier and more widely extended branches as it grows.
-7. while higher and still higher types have continually been evolved, until man, the highest of all, appeared, the lower and earlier types have generally persisted. some which reached their culmination early in the history of the earth have since changed only in slight adjustments to a changing environment. thus the brachiopods, a type of shellfish, have made no progress since the paleozoic, and some of their earliest known genera are represented by living forms hardly to be distinguished from their ancient ancestors. the lowest and earliest branches of the tree of life have risen to no higher levels since they reached their climax of development long ago.
-8. a strange parallel has been found to exist between the evolution of organisms and the development of the individual. in the embryonic stages of its growth the individual passes swiftly through the successive stages through which its ancestors evolved during the millions of years of geologic time. the development of the individual recapitulates the evolution of the race.
-the frog is a typical amphibian. as a tadpole it passes through a stage identical in several well-known features with the maturity of fishes; as, for example, its aquatic life, the tail by which it swims, and the gills through which it breathes. it is a fair inference that the tadpole stage in the life history of the frog represents a stage in the evolution of its kind,--that the amphibia are derived from fishlike ancestral forms. this inference is amply confirmed in the geological record; fishes appeared before amphibia and were connected with them by transitional forms.
-the great length of geologic time inferred from the slow change of species. life forms, like land forms, are thus subject to change under the influence of their changing environment and of forces acting from within. how slowly they change may be seen in the apparent stability of existing species. in the lifetime of the observer and even in the recorded history of man, species seem as stable as the mountain and the river. but life forms and land forms are alike variable, both in nature and still more under the shaping hand of man. as man has modified the face of the earth with his great engineering works, so he has produced widely different varieties of many kinds of domesticated plants and animals, such as the varieties of the dog and the horse, the apple and the rose, which may be regarded in some respects as new species in the making. we have assumed that land forms have changed in the past under the influence of forces now in operation. assuming also that life forms have always changed as they are changing at present, we come to realize something of the immensity of geologic time required for the evolution of life from its earliest lowly forms up to man.
-it is because the onward march of life has taken the same general course the world over that we are able to use it as a universal time scale and divide geologic time into ages and minor subdivisions according to the ruling or characteristic organisms then living on the earth. thus, since vertebrates appeared, we have in succession the age of fishes, the age of amphibians, the age of reptiles, and the age of mammals.
-the chart given on page 295 is thus based on the law of superposition and the law of the evolution of organisms. the first law gives the succession of the formations in local areas. the fossils which they contain demonstrate the law of the progressive appearance of organisms, and by means of this law the formations of different countries are correlated and set each in its place in a universal time scale and grouped together according to the affinities of their imbedded organic remains.
-geologic time divisions compared with those of human history. we may compare the division of geologic time into eras, periods, and other divisions according to the dominant life of the time, to the ill-defined ages into which human history is divided according to the dominance of some nation, ruler, or other characteristic feature. thus we speak of the dark ages, the age of elizabeth, and the age of electricity. these crude divisions would be of much value if, as in the case of geologic time, we had no exact reckoning of human history by years.
-and as the course of human history has flowed in an unbroken stream along quiet reaches of slow change and through periods of rapid change and revolution, so with the course of geologic history. periods of quiescence, in which revolutionary forces are perhaps gathering head, alternate with periods of comparatively rapid change in physical geography and in organisms, when new and higher forms appear which serve to draw the boundary line of new epochs. nevertheless, geological history is a continuous progress; its periods and epochs shade into one another by imperceptible gradations, and all our subdivisions must needs be vague and more or less arbitrary.
-how fossils tell of the geography of the past. fossils are used not only as a record of the development of life upon the earth, but also in testimony to the physical geography of past epochs. they indicate whether in any region the climate was tropical, temperate, or arctic. since species spread slowly from some center of dispersion where they originate until some barrier limits their migration farther, the occurrence of the same species in rocks of the same system in different countries implies the absence of such barriers at the period. thus in the collection of antarctic fossils referred to on page 294 there were shallow-water marine shells identical in species with mesozoic shells found in india and in the southern extremity of south america. since such organisms are not distributed by the currents of the deep sea and cannot migrate along its bottom, we infer a shallow-water connection in mesozoic times between india, south america, and the antarctic region. such a shallow-water connection would be offered along the marginal shelf of a continent uniting these now widely separated countries.
-the pre-cambrian systems
-the earth's beginnings. the geological record does not tell us of the beginnings of the earth. the history of the planet, as we have every reason to believe, stretches far back beyond the period of the oldest stratified rocks, and is involved in the history of the solar system and of the nebula,--the cloud of glowing gases or of cosmic dust,--from which the sun and planets are believed to have been derived.
-the nebular hypothesis. it is possible that the earth began as a vaporous, shining sphere, formed by the gathering together of the material of a gaseous ring which had been detached from a cooling and shrinking nebula. such a vaporous sphere would condense to a liquid, fiery globe, whose surface would become cold and solid, while the interior would long remain intensely hot because of the slow conductivity of the crust. under these conditions the primeval atmosphere of the earth must have contained in vapor the water now belonging to the earth's crust and surface. it held also all the oxygen since locked up in rocks by their oxidation, and all the carbon dioxide which has since been laid away in limestones, besides that corresponding to the carbon of carbonaceous deposits, such as peat, coal, and petroleum. on this hypothesis the original atmosphere was dense, dark, and noxious, and enormously heavier than the atmosphere at present.
-the accretion hypothesis. on the other hand, it has been recently suggested that the earth may have grown to its present size by the gradual accretion of meteoritic masses. such cold, stony bodies might have come together at so slow a rate that the heat caused by their impact would not raise sensibly the temperature of the growing planet. thus the surface of the earth may never have been hot and luminous; but as the loose aggregation of stony masses grew larger and was more and more compressed by its own gravitation, the heat thus generated raised the interior to high temperatures, while from time to time molten rock was intruded among the loose, cold meteoritic masses of the crust and outpoured upon the surface.
-it is supposed that the meteorites of which the earth was built brought to it, as meteorites do now, various gases shut up within their pores. as the heat of the interior increased, these gases transpired to the surface and formed the primitive atmosphere and hydrosphere. the atmosphere has therefore grown slowly from the smallest beginnings. gases emitted from the interior in volcanic eruptions and in other ways have ever added to it, and are adding to it now. on the other hand, the atmosphere has constantly suffered loss, as it has been robbed of oxygen by the oxidation of rocks in weathering, and of carbon dioxide in the making of limestones and carbonaceous deposits.
-while all hypotheses of the earth's beginnings are as yet unproved speculations, they serve to bring to mind one of the chief lessons which geology has to teach,--that the duration of the earth in time, like the extension of the universe in space, is vastly beyond the power of the human mind to realize. behind the history recorded in the rocks, which stretches back for many million years, lies the long unrecorded history of the beginnings of the planet; and still farther in the abysses of the past are dimly seen the cycles of the evolution of the solar system and of the nebula which gave it birth.
-we pass now from the dim realm of speculation to the earliest era of the recorded history of the earth, where some certain facts may be observed and some sure inferences from them may be drawn.
-the oldest known sedimentary strata, wherever they are exposed by uplift and erosion, are found to be involved with a mass of crystalline rocks which possesses the same characteristics in all parts of the world. it consists of foliated rocks, gneisses, and schists of various kinds, which have been cut with dikes and other intrusions of molten rock, and have been broken, crumpled, and crushed, and left in interlocking masses so confused that their true arrangement can usually be made out only with the greatest difficulty if at all. the condition of this body of crystalline rocks is due to the fact that they have suffered not only from the faultings, foldings, and igneous intrusions of their time, but necessarily, also, from those of all later geological ages.
-at present three leading theories are held as to the origin of these basal crystalline rocks.
-1. they are considered by perhaps the majority of the geologists who have studied them most carefully to be igneous rocks intruded in a molten state among the sedimentary rocks involved with them. in many localities this relation is proved by the phenomena of contact; but for the most part the deformations which the rocks have since suffered again and again have been sufficient to destroy such evidence if it ever existed.
-2. an older view regards them as profoundly altered sedimentary strata, the most ancient of the earth.
-3. according to a third theory they represent portions of the earth's original crust; not, indeed, its original surface, but deeper portions uncovered by erosion and afterwards mantled with sedimentary deposits. all these theories agree that the present foliated condition of these rocks is due to the intense metamorphism which they have suffered.
-it is to this body of crystalline rocks and the stratified rocks involved with it, which form a very small proportion of its mass, that the term archean (greek, arche, beginning) is applied by many geologists.
-in some regions there rests unconformably on the archean an immense body of stratified rocks, thousands and in places even scores of thousands of feet thick, known as the algonkian. great unconformities divide it into well-defined systems, but as only the scantiest traces of fossils appear here and there among its strata, it is as yet impossible to correlate the formations of different regions and to give them names of more than local application. we will describe the algonkian rocks of two typical areas.
-the grand canyon of the colorado. we have already studied a very ancient peneplain whose edge is exposed to view deep on the walls of the colorado canyon. the formation of flat-lying sandstone which covers this buried land surface is proved by its fossils to belong to the cambrian,--the earliest period of the paleozoic era. the tilted rocks on whose upturned edges the cambrian sandstone rests are far older, for the physical break which separates them from it records a time interval during which they were upheaved to mountainous ridges and worn down to a low plain. they are therefore classified as algonkian. they comprise two immense series. the upper is more than five thousand feet thick and consists of shales and sandstones with some limestones. separated from it by an unconformity which does not appear in figure 207, the lower division, seven thousand feet thick, consists chiefly of massive reddish sandstones with seven or more sheets of lava interbedded. the lowest member is a basal conglomerate composed of pebbles derived from the erosion of the dark crumpled schists beneath,--schists which are supposed to be archean. as shown in figure 207, a strong unconformity parts the schists and the algonkian. the floor on which the algonkian rests is remarkably even, and here again is proved an interval of incalculable length, during which an ancient land mass of archean rocks was baseleveled before it received the cover of the sediments of the later age.
-the lake superior region. in eastern canada an area of pre- cambrian rocks, archean and algonkian, estimated at two million square miles, stretches from the great lakes and the st. lawrence river northward to the confines of the continent, inclosing hudson bay in the arms of a gigantic u. this immense area, which we have already studied as the laurentian peneplain, extends southward across the canadian border into northern minnesota, wisconsin, and michigan. the rocks of this area are known to be pre-cambrian; for the cambrian strata, wherever found, lie unconformably upon them.
-the general relations of the formations of that portion of the area which lies about lake superior are shown in figure 262. great unconformities, uu' separate the algonkian both from the archean and from the cambrian, and divide it into three distinct systems, --the lower huronian, the upper huronian, and the keweenawan. the lower and the upper huronian consist in the main of old sea muds and sands and limy oozes now changed to gneisses, schists, marbles, quartzites, slates, and other metamorphic rocks. the keweenawan is composed of immense piles of lava, such as those of iceland, overlain by bedded sandstones. what remains of these rock systems after the denudation of all later geologic ages is enormous. the lower huronian is more than a mile thick, the upper huronian more than two miles thick, while the keweenawan exceeds nine miles in thickness. the vast length of algonkian time is shown by the thickness of its marine deposits and by the cycles of erosion which it includes. in figure 262 the student may read an outline of the history of the lake superior region, the deformations which it suffered, their relative severity, the times when they occurred, and the erosion cycles marked by the successive unconformities.
-other pre-cambrian areas in north america. pre-cambrian rocks are exposed in various parts of the continent, usually by the erosion of mountain ranges in which their strata were infolded. large areas occur in the maritime provinces of canada. the core of the green mountains of vermont is pre-cambrian, and rocks of these systems occur in scattered patches in western massachusetts. here belong also the oldest rocks of the highlands of the hudson and of new jersey. the adirondack region, an outlier of the laurentian region, exposes pre-cambrian rocks, which have been metamorphosed and tilted by the intrusion of a great boss of igneous rock out of which the central peaks are carved. the core of the blue ridge and probably much of the piedmont belt are of this age. in the black hills the irruption of an immense mass of granite has caused or accompanied the upheaval of pre-cambrian strata and metamorphosed them by heat and pressure into gneisses, schists, quartzites, and slates. in most of these mountainous regions the lowest strata are profoundly changed by metamorphism, and they can be assigned to the pre-cambrian only where they are clearly overlain unconformably by formations proved to be cambrian by their fossils. in the belt mountains of montana, however, the cambrian is underlain by algonkian sediments twelve thousand feet thick, and but little altered.
-mineral wealth of the pre-cambrian rocks. the pre-cambrian rocks are of very great economic importance, because of their extensive metamorphism and the enormous masses of igneous rock which they involve. in many parts of the country they are the source of supply of granite, gneiss, marble, slate, and other such building materials. still more valuable are the stores of iron and copper and other metals which they contain.
-at the present time the pre-cambrian region about lake superior leads the world in the production of iron ore, its output for 1903 being more than five sevenths of the entire output of the whole united states, and exceeding that of any foreign country. the ore bodies consist chiefly of the red oxide of iron (hematite) and occur in troughs of the strata, underlain by some impervious rock. a theory held by many refers the ultimate source of the iron to the igneous rocks of the archean. when these rocks were upheaved and subjected to weathering, their iron compounds were decomposed. their iron was leached out and carried away to be laid in the algonkian water bodies in beds of iron carbonate and other iron compounds. during the later ages, after the algonkian strata had been uplifted to form part of the continent, a second concentration has taken place. descending underground waters charged with oxygen have decomposed the iron carbonate and deposited the iron, in the form of iron oxide, in troughs of the strata where their downward progress was arrested by impervious floors.
-the pre-cambrian rocks of the eastern united states also are rich in iron. in certain districts, as in the highlands of new jersey, the black oxide of iron (magnetite) is so abundant in beds and disseminated grains that the ordinary surveyor's compass is useless.
-the pre-cambrian copper mines of the lake superior region are among the richest on the globe. in the igneous rocks copper, next to iron, is the most common of all the useful metals, and it was especially abundant in the keweenawan lavas. after the keweenawan was uplifted to form land, percolating waters leached out much of the copper diffused in the lava sheets and deposited it within steam blebs as amygdules of native copper, in cracks and fissures, and especially as a cement, or matrix, in the interbedded gravels which formed the chief aquifers of the region. the famous calumet and hecla mine follows down the dip of the strata to the depth of nearly a mile and works such an ancient conglomerate whose matrix is pure copper.
-the appearance of life. sometime during the dim ages preceding the cambrian, whether in the archean or in the algonkian we know not, occurred one of the most important events in the history of the earth. life appeared for the first time upon the planet. geology has no evidence whatever to offer as to whence or how life came. all analogies lead us to believe that its appearance must have been sudden. its earliest forms are unknown, but analogy suggests that as every living creature has developed from a single cell, so the earliest organisms upon the globe--the germs from which all later life is supposed to have been evolved--were tiny, unicellular masses of protoplasm, resembling the amoeba of to-day in the simplicity of their structure.
-such lowly forms were destitute of any hard parts and could leave no evidence of their existence in the record of the rocks. and of their supposed descendants we find so few traces in the pre- cambrian strata that the first steps in organic evolution must be supplied from such analogies in embryology as the following. the fertilized ovum, the cell with which each animal begins its life, grows and multiplies by cell division, and develops into a hollow globe of cells called the blastosphere. this stage is succeeded by the stage of the gastrula,--an ovoid or cup-shaped body with a double wall of cells inclosing a body cavity, and with an opening, the primitive mouth. each of these early embryological stages is represented by living animals,--the undivided cell by the protozoa, the blastosphere by some rare forms, and the gastrula in the essential structure of the coelenterates,--the subkingdom to which the fresh-water hydra and the corals belong. all forms of animal life, from the coelenterates to the mammals, follow the same path in their embryological development as far as the gastrula stage, but here their paths widely diverge, those of each subkingdom going their own separate ways.
-we may infer, therefore, that during the pre-cambrian periods organic evolution followed the lines thus dimly traced. the earliest one-celled protozoa were probably succeeded by many- celled animals of the type of the blastosphere, and these by gastrula-like organisms. from the gastrula type the higher sub- divisions of animal life probably diverged, as separate branches from a common trunk. much or all of this vast differentiation was accomplished before the opening of the next era; for all the subkingdoms are represented in the cambrian except the vertebrates.
-evidences of pre-cambrian life. an indirect evidence of life during the pre-cambrian periods is found in the abundant and varied fauna of the next period; for, if the theory of evolution is correct, the differentiation of the cambrian fauna was a long process which might well have required for its accomplishment a large part of pre-cambrian time.
-other indirect evidences are the pre-cambrian limestones, iron ores, and graphite deposits, since such minerals and rocks have been formed in later times by the help of organisms. if the carbonate of lime of the algonkian limestones and marbles was extracted from sea water by organisms, as is done at present by corals, mollusks, and other humble animals and plants, the life of those ancient seas must have been abundant. graphite, a soft black mineral composed of carbon and used in the manufacture of lead pencils and as a lubricant, occurs widely in the metamorphic pre- cambrian rocks. it is known to be produced in some cases by the metamorphism of coal, which itself is formed of decomposed vegetal tissues. seams of graphite may therefore represent accumulations of vegetal matter such as seaweed. but limestone, iron ores, and graphite can be produced by chemical processes, and their presence in the pre-cambrian makes it only probable, and not certain, that life existed at that time.
-pre-cambrian fossils. very rarely has any clear trace of an organism been found in the most ancient chapters of the geological record, so many of their leaves have been destroyed and so far have their pages been defaced. omitting structures whose organic nature has been questioned, there are left to mention a tiny seashell of one of the most lowly types,--a discina from the pre- cambrian rocks of the colorado canyon,--and from the pre-cambrian rocks of montana trails of annelid worms and casts of their burrows in ancient beaches, and fragments of the tests of crustaceans. these diverse forms indicate that before the algonkian had closed, life was abundant and had widely differentiated. we may expect that other forms will be discovered as the rocks are closely searched.
-pre-cambrian geography. our knowledge is far too meager to warrant an attempt to draw the varying outlines of sea and land during the archean and algonkian eras. pre-cambrian time probably was longer than all later geological time down to the present, as we may infer from the vast thicknesses of its rocks and the unconformities which part them. we know that during its long periods land masses again and again rose from the sea, were worn low, and were submerged and covered with the waste of other lands. but the formations of separated regions cannot be correlated because of the absence of fossils, and nothing more can be made out than the detached chapters of local histories, such as the outline given of the district about lake superior.
-the pre-cambrian rocks show no evidence of any forces then at work upon the earth except the forces which are at work upon it now. the most ancient sediments known are so like the sediments now being laid that we may infer that they were formed under conditions essentially similar to those of the present time. there is no proof that the sands of the pre-cambrian sandstones were swept by any more powerful waves and currents than are offshore sands to-day, or that the muds of the pre-cambrian shales settled to the sea floor in less quiet water than such muds settle in at present. the pre-cambrian lands were, no doubt, worn by wind and weather, beaten by rain, and furrowed by streams as now, and, as now, they fronted the ocean with beaches on which waves dashed and along which tidal currents ran.
-perhaps the chief difference between the pre-cambrian and the present was the absence of life upon the land. so far as we have any knowledge, no forests covered the mountain sides, no verdure carpeted the plains, and no animals lived on the ground or in the air. it is permitted to think of the most ancient lands as deserts of barren rock and rock waste swept by rains and trenched by powerful streams. we may therefore suppose that the processes of their destruction went on more rapidly than at present.
-the paleozoic era. the second volume of the geological record, called the paleozoic (greek, palaios, ancient; zoe, life), has come down to us far less mutilated and defaced than has the first volume, which contains the traces of the most ancient life of the globe. fossils are far more abundant in the paleozoic than in the earlier strata, while the sediments in which they were entombed have suffered far less from metamorphism and other causes, and have been less widely buried from view, than the strata of the pre-cambrian groups. by means of their fossils we can correlate the formations of widely separated regions from the beginning of the paleozoic on, and can therefore trace some outline of the history of the continents.
-paleozoic time, although shorter than the pre-cambrian as measured by the thickness of the strata, must still be reckoned in millions of years. during this vast reach of time the changes in organisms were very great. it is according to the successive stages in the advance of life that the paleozoic formations are arranged in five systems,--the cambrian, the ordovician, the silurian, the devonian, and the carboniferous. on the same basis the first three systems are grouped together as the older paleozoic, because they alike are characterized by the dominance of the invertebrates; while the last two systems are united in the later paleozoic, and are characterized, the one by the dominance of fishes, and the other by the appearance of amphibians and reptiles.
-each of these systems is world-wide in its distribution, and may be recognized on any continent by its own peculiar fauna. the names first given them in great britain have therefore come into general use, while their subdivisions, which often cannot be correlated in different countries and different regions, are usually given local names.
-the first three systems were named from the fact that their strata are well displayed in wales. the cambrian carries the roman name of wales, and the ordovician and silurian the names of tribes of ancient britons which inhabited the same country. the devonian is named from the english county devon, where its rocks were early studied. the carboniferous was so called from the large amount of coal which it was found to contain in great britain and continental europe.
-distribution of strata. the cambrian rocks outcrop in narrow belts about the pre-cambrian areas of eastern canada and the lake superior region, the adirondacks and the green mountains. strips of cambrian formations occupy troughs in the pre-cambrian rocks of new england and the maritime provinces of canada; a long belt borders on the west the crystalline rocks of the blue ridge; and on the opposite side of the continent the cambrian reappears in the mountains of the great basin and the canadian rockies. in the mississippi valley it is exposed in small districts where uplift has permitted the stripping off of younger rocks. although the areas of outcrop are small, we may infer that cambrian rocks were widely deposited over the continent of north america.
-physical geography. the cambrian system of north america comprises three distinct series, the lower cambrian, the middle cambrian, and the upper cambrian, each of which is characterized by its own peculiar fauna. in sketching the outlines of the continent as it was at the beginning of the paleozoic, it must be remembered that wherever the lower cambrian formations now are found was certainly then sea bottom, and wherever the lower cambrian are wanting, and the next formations rest directly on pre-cambrian rocks, was probably then land.
-early cambrian geography. in this way we know that at the opening of the cambrian two long, narrow mediterranean seas stretched from north to south across the continent. the eastern sea extended from the gulf of st. lawrence down the champlain-hudson valley and thence along the western base of the blue ridge south at least to alabama. the western sea stretched from the canadian rockies over the great basin and at least as far south as the grand canyon of the colorado in arizona.
-between these mediterraneans lay a great central land which included the pre-cambrian u-shaped area of the laurentian peneplain, and probably extended southward to the latitude of new orleans. to the east lay a land which we may designate as appalachia, whose western shore line was drawn along the site of the present blue ridge, but whose other limits are quite unknown. the land of appalachia must have been large, for it furnished a great amount of waste during the entire paleozoic era, and its eastern coast may possibly have lain even beyond the edge of the present continental shelf. on the western side of the continent a narrow land occupied the site of the sierra nevada mountains.
-thus, even at the beginning of the paleozoic, the continental plateau of north america had already been left by crustal movements in relief above the abysses of the great oceans on either side. the mediterraneans which lay upon it were shallow, as their sediments prove. they were epicontinental seas; that is, they rested upon (greek, epi) the submerged portion of the continental plateau. we have no proof that the deep ocean ever occupied any part of where north america now is.
-the middle and upper cambrian strata are found together with the lower cambrian over the area of both the eastern and the western mediterraneans, so that here the sea continued during the entire period. the sediments throughout are those of shoal water. coarse cross-bedded sandstones record the action of strong shifting currents which spread coarse waste near shore and winnowed it of finer stuff. frequent ripple marks on the bedding planes of the strata prove that the loose sands of the sea floor were near enough to the surface to be agitated by waves and tidal currents. sun cracks show that often the outgoing tide exposed large muddy flats to the drying action of the sun. the fossils, also, of the strata are of kinds related to those which now live in shallow waters near the shore.
-the sediments which gathered in the mediterranean seas were very thick, reaching in places the enormous depth of ten thousand feet. hence the bottoms of these seas were sinking troughs, ever filling with waste from the adjacent land as fast as they subsided.
-late cambrian geography. the formations of the middle and upper cambrian are found resting unconformably on the pre-cambrian rocks from new york westward into minnesota and at various points in the interior, as in missouri and in texas. hence after earlier cambrian time the central land subsided, with much the same effect as if the mississippi valley were now to lower gradually, and the gulf of mexico to spread northward until it entered lake superior. the cambrian seas transgressed the central land and strewed far and wide behind their advancing beaches the sediments of the later cambrian upon an eroded surface of pre-cambrian rocks.
-the succession of the cambrian formations in north america records many minor oscillations and varying conditions of physical geography; yet on the whole it tells of widening seas and lowering lands. basal conglomerates and coarse sandstones which must have been laid near shore are succeeded by shaly sandstones, sandy shales, and shales. toward the top of the series heavy beds of limestone, extending from the blue ridge to missouri, speak of clear water, and either of more distant shores or of neighboring lands which were worn or sunk so low that for the most part their waste was carried to the sea in solution.
-in brief, the cambrian was a period of submergence. it began with the larger part of north america emerged as great land masses. it closed with most of the interior of the continental plateau covered with a shallow sea.
-the life of the cambrian period
-it is now for the first time that we find preserved in the offshore deposits of the cambrian seas enough remains of animal life to be properly called a fauna. doubtless these remains are only the most fragmentary representation of the life of the time, for the cambrian rocks are very old and have been widely metamorphosed. yet the five hundred and more species already discovered embrace all the leading types of invertebrate life, and are so varied that we must believe that their lines of descent stretch far back into the pre-cambrian past.
-plants. no remains of plants have been found in cambrian strata, except some doubtful markings, as of seaweed.
-sponges. the sponges, the lowest of the multicellular animals, were represented by several orders. their fossils are recognized by the siliceous spicules, which, as in modern sponges, either were scattered through a mass of horny fibers or were connected in a flinty framework.
-coelenterates. this subkingdom includes two classes of interest to the geologist,--the hydrozoa, such as the fresh-water hydra and the jellyfish, and the corals. both classes existed in the cambrian.
-the hydrozoa were represented not only by jellyfish but also by the graptolite, which takes its name from a fancied resemblance of some of its forms to a quill pen. it was a composite animal with a horny framework, the individuals of the colony living in cells strung on one or both sides along a hollow stem, and communicating by means of a common flesh in this central tube. some graptolites were straight, and some curved or spiral; some were single stemmed, and others consisted of several radial stems united. graptolites occur but rarely in the upper cambrian. in the ordovician and silurian they are very plentiful, and at the close of the silurian they pass out of existence, never to return.
-corals are very rarely found in the cambrian, and the description of their primitive types is postponed to later chapters treating of periods when they became more numerous.
-echinoderms. this subkingdom comprises at present such familiar forms as the crinoid, the starfish, and the sea urchin. the structure of echinoderms is radiate. their integument is hardened with plates or particles of carbonate of lime.
-of the free echinoderms, such as the starfish and the sea urchin, the former has been found in the cambrian rocks of europe, but neither have so far been discovered in the strata of this period in north america. the stemmed and lower division of the echinoderms was represented by a primitive type, the cystoid, so called from its saclike form, a small globular or ovate "calyx" of calcareous plates, with an aperture at the top for the mouth, inclosed the body of the animal, and was attached to the sea bottom by a short flexible stalk consisting of disks of carbonate of lime held together by a central ligament.
-arthopods. these segmented animals with "jointed feet," as their name suggests, may be divided in a general way into water breathers and air breathers. the first-named and lower division comprises the class of the crustacea,--arthropods protected by a hard exterior skeleton, or "crust,"--of which crabs, crayfish, and lobsters are familiar examples. the higher division, that of the air breathers, includes the following classes: spiders, scorpions, centipedes, and insects.
-the trilobite. the aquatic arthropods, the crustacea, culminated before the air breathers; and while none of the latter are found in the cambrian, the former were the dominant life of the time in numbers, in size, and in the variety of their forms. the leading crustacean type is the trilobite, which takes its name from the three lobes into which its shell is divided longitudinally. there are also three cross divisions,--the head shield, the tail shield, and between the two the thorax, consisting of a number of distinct and unconsolidated segments. the head shield carries a pair of large, crescentic, compound eyes, like those of the insect. the eye varies greatly in the number of its lenses, ranging from fourteen in some species to fifteen thousand in others. figure 268, c, is a restoration of the trilobite, and shows the appendages, which are found preserved only in the rarest cases.
-during the long ages of the cambrian the trilobite varied greatly. again and again new species and genera appeared, while the older types became extinct. for this reason and because of their abundance, trilobites are used in the classification of the cambrian system. the lower cambrian is characterized by the presence of a trilobitic fauna in which the genus olenellus is predominant. this, the olenellus zone, is one of the most important platforms in the entire geological series; for, the world over, it marks the beginning of paleozoic time, while all underlying strata are classified as pre-cambrian. the middle cambrian is marked by the genus paradoxides, and the upper cambrian by the genus olenus. some of the cambrian trilobites were giants, measuring as much as two feet long, while others were the smallest of their kind, a fraction of an inch in length.
-another type of crustacean which lived in the cambrian and whose order is still living is illustrated in figure 269.
-worms. trails and burrows of worms have been left on the sea beaches and mud flats of all geological times from the algonkian to the present.
-brachiopods. these soft-bodied animals, with bivalve shells and two interior armlike processes which served for breathing, appeared in the algonkian, and had now become very abundant. the two valves of the brachiopod shell are unequal in size, and in each valve a line drawn from the beak to the base divides the valve into two equal parts. it may thus be told from the pelecypod mollusk, such as the clam, whose two valves are not far from equal in size, each being divided into unequal parts by a line dropped from the beak.
-brachiopods include two orders. in the most primitive order--that of the inarticulate brachiopods--the two valves are held together only by muscles of the animal, and the shell is horny or is composed of phosphate of lime. the discina, which began in the algonkian, is of this type, as is also the lingulella of the cambrian. both of these genera have lived on during the millions of years of geological time since their introduction, handing down from generation to generation with hardly any change to their descendants now living off our shores the characters impressed upon them at the beginning.
-the more highly organized articulate brachiopods have valves of carbonate of lime more securely joined by a hinge with teeth and sockets (fig. 270). in the cambrian the inarticulates predominate, though the articulates grow common toward the end of the period.
-mollusks. the three chief classes of mollusks--the pelecypods (represented by the oyster and clam of to-day), the gastropods (represented now by snails, conches, and periwinkles), and the cephalopods (such as the nautilus, cuttlefish, and squids)--were all represented in the cambrian, although very sparingly.
-pteropods, a suborder of the gastropods, appeared in this age. their papery shells of carbonate of lime are found in great numbers from this time on.
-cephalopods, the most highly organized of the mollusks, started into existence, so far as the record shows, toward, the end of the cambrian, with the long extinct orthoceras (straighthorn) and the allied genera of its family. the orthoceras had a long, straight, and tapering shell, divided by cross partitions into chambers. the animal lived in the "body chamber" at the larger end, and walled off the other chambers from it in succession during the growth of the shell. a central tube, the siphuncle, passed through from the body chamber to the closed tip of the cone.
-the seashells, both brachiopods and mollusks, are in some respects the most important to the geologist of all fossils. they have been so numerous, so widely distributed, and so well preserved because of their durable shells and their station in growing sediments, that better than any other group of organisms they can be used to correlate the strata of different regions and to mark by their slow changes the advance of geological time.
-climate. the life of cambrian times in different countries contains no suggestion of any marked climatic zones, and as in later periods a warm climate probably reached to the polar regions.
-in north america the ordovician rocks lie conformably on the cambrian. the two periods, therefore, were not parted by any deformation, either of mountain making or of continental uplift. the general submergence which marked the cambrian continued into the succeeding period with little interruption.
-subdivisions and distribution of strata. the ordovician series, as they have been made out in new york, are given for reference in the following table, with the rocks of which they are chiefly composed:
-5 hudson . . . . . . . . shales 4 utica . . . . . . . . shales 3 trenton . . . . . . . limestones 2 chazy . . . . . . . . limestones 1 calciferous . . . . . sandy limestones
-these marine formations of the ordovician outcrop about the cambrian and pre-cambrian areas, and, as borings show, extend far and wide over the interior of the continent beneath more recent strata. the ordovician sea stretched from appalachia across the mississippi valley. it seems to have extended to california, although broken probably by several mountainous islands in the west.
-the shales of the utica and hudson show that the waters of the sea now became clouded with mud washed in from land. either the land was gradually uplifted, or perhaps there had arrived one of those periodic crises which, as we may imagine, have taken place whenever the crust of the shrinking earth has slowly given way over its great depressions, and the ocean has withdrawn its waters into deepening abysses. the land was thus left relatively higher and bordered with new coastal plains. the epicontinental sea was shoaled and narrowed, and muds were washed in from the adjacent lands.
-the taconic deformation. the ordovician was closed by a deformation whose extent and severity are not yet known. from the st. lawrence river to new york bay, along the northwestern and western border of new england, lies a belt of cambrian-ordovician rocks more than a mile in total thickness, which accumulated during the long ages of those periods in a gradually subsiding trough between the adirondacks and a pre-cambrian range lying west of the connecticut river. but since their deposition these ancient sediments have been crumpled and crushed, broken with great faults, and extensively metamorphosed. the limestones have recrystallized into marbles, among them the famous marbles of vermont; the cambrian sandstones have become quartzites, and the hudson shale has been changed to a schist exposed on manhattan island and northward.
-in part these changes occurred at the close of the ordovician, for in several places beds of silurian age rest unconformably on the upturned ordovician strata; but recent investigations have made it probable that the crustal movements recurred at later times, and it was perhaps in the devonian and at the close of the carboniferous that the greater part of the deformation and metamorphism was accomplished. as a result of these movements,-- perhaps several times repeated,--a great mountain range was upridged, which has been long since leveled by erosion, but whose roots are now visible in the taconic mountains of western new england.
-the cincinnati anticline. over an oval area in ohio, indiana, and kentucky, whose longer axis extends from north to south through cincinnati, the ordovician strata rise in a very low, broad swell, called the cincinnati anticline. the silurian and devonian strata thin out as they approach this area and seem never to have deposited upon it. we may regard it, therefore, as an island upwarped from the sea at the close of the ordovician or shortly after.
-petroleum and natural gas. these valuable illuminants and fuels are considered here because, although they are found in traces in older strata, it is in the ordovician that they occur for the first time in large quantities. they range throughout later formations down to the most recent.
-the oil horizons of california and texas are tertiary; those of colorado, cretaceous; those of west virginia, carboniferous; those of pennsylvania, kentucky, and canada, devonian; and the large field of ohio and indiana belongs to the ordovician and higher systems.
-petroleum and natural gas, wherever found, have probably originated from the decay of organic matter when buried in sedimentary deposits, just as at present in swampy places the hydrogen and carbon of decaying vegetation combine to form marsh gas. the light and heat of these hydrocarbons we may think of, therefore, as a gift to the civilized life of our race from the humble organisms, both animal and vegetable, of the remote past, whose remains were entombed in the sediments of the ordovician and later geological ages.
-petroleum is very widely disseminated throughout the stratified rocks. certain limestones are visibly greasy with it, and others give off its characteristic fetid odor when struck with a hammer. many shales are bituminous, and some are so highly charged that small flakes may be lighted like tapers, and several gallons of oil to the ton may be obtained by distillation.
-but oil and gas are found in paying quantities only when certain conditions meet:
-1. a source below, usually a bituminous shale, from whose organic matter they have been derived by slow change.
-2. a reservoir above, in which they have gathered. this is either a porous sandstone or a porous or creviced limestone.
-3. oil and gas are lighter than water, and are usually under pressure owing to artesian water. hence, in order to hold them from escaping to the surface, the reservoir must have the shape of an anticline, dome, or lens.
-4. it must also have an impervious cover, usually a shale. in these reservoirs gas is under a pressure which is often enormous, reaching in extreme cases as high as a thousand five hundred pounds to the square inch. when tapped it rushes out with a deafening roar, sometimes flinging the heavy drill high in air. in accounting for this pressure we must remember that the gas has been compressed within the pores of the reservoir rock by artesian water, and in some cases also by its own expansive force. it is not uncommon for artesian water to rise in wells after the exhaustion of gas and oil.
-life of the ordovician
-during the ages of the ordovician, life made great advances. types already present branched widely into new genera and species, and new and higher types appeared.
-sponges continued from the cambrian. graptolites now reached their climax.
-stromatopora--colonies of minute hydrozoans allied to corals--grew in places on the sea floor, secreting stony masses composed of thin, close, concentric layers, connected by vertical rods. the stromatopora are among the chief limestone builders of the silurian and devonian periods.
-corals developed along several distinct lines, like modern corals they secreted a calcareous framework, in whose outer portions the polyps lived. in the ordovician, corals were represented chiefly by the family of the choetetes, all species of which are long since extinct. the description of other types of corals will be given under the silurian, where they first became abundant.
-echinoderms. the cystoid reaches its climax, but there appear now two higher types of echinoderms,--the crinoid and the starfish. the crinoid, named from its resemblance to the lily, is like the cystoid in many respects, but has a longer stem and supports a crown of plumose arms. stirring the water with these arms, it creates currents by which particles of food are wafted to its mouth. crinoids are rare at the present time, but they grew in the greatest profusion in the warm ordovician seas and for long ages thereafter. in many places the sea floor was beautiful with these graceful, flowerlike forms, as with fields of long-stemmed lilies. of the higher, free-moving classes of the echinoderms, starfish are more numerous than in the cambrian, and sea urchins make their appearance in rare archaic forms.
-crustaceans. trilobites now reach their greatest development and more than eleven hundred species have been described from the rocks of this period. it is interesting to note that in many species the segments of the thorax have now come to be so shaped that they move freely on one another. unlike their cambrian ancestors, many of the ordovician trilobites could roll themselves into balls at the approach of danger. it is in this attitude, taken at the approach of death, that trilobites are often found in the ordovician and later rocks. the gigantic crustaceans called the eurypterids were also present in this period.
-the arthropods had now seized upon the land. centipedes and insects of a low type, the earliest known land animals, have been discovered in strata of this system.
-bryozoans. no fossils are more common in the limestones of the time than the small branching stems and lacelike mats of the bryozoans,--the skeletons of colonies of a minute animal allied in structure to the brachiopod.
-brachiopods. these multiplied greatly, and in places their shells formed thick beds of coquina. they still greatly surpassed the mollusks in numbers.
-cephalopods. among the mollusks we must note the evolution of the cephalopods. the primitive straight orthoceras has now become abundant. but in addition to this ancestral type there appears a succession of forms more and more curved and closely coiled, as illustrated in figure 285. the nautilus, which began its course in this period, crawls on the bottom of our present seas.
-vertebrates. the most important record of the ordovician is that of the appearance of a new and higher type, with possibilities of development lying hidden in its structure that the mollusk and the insect could never hope to reach. scales and plates of minute fishes found in the ordovician rocks near canon city, colorado, show that the humblest of the vertebrates had already made its appearance. but it is probable that vertebrates had been on the earth for ages before this in lowly types, which, being destitute of hard parts, would leave no record.
-the narrowing of the seas and the emergence of the lands which characterized the closing epoch of the ordovician in eastern north america continue into the succeeding period of the silurian. new species appear and many old species now become extinct.
-the appalachian region. where the silurian system is most fully developed, from new york southward along the appalachian mountains, it comprises four series:
-4 salina . . . shales, impure limestones, gypsum, salt 3 niagara . . . chiefly limestones 2 clinton . . . sandstones, shales, with some limestones 1 medina . . . conglomerates, sandstones
-the rocks of these series are shallow-water deposits and reach the total thickness of some five thousand feet. evidently they were laid over an area which was on the whole gradually subsiding, although with various gentle oscillations which are recorded in the different formations. the coarse sands of the heavy medina formations record a period of uplift of the oldland of appalachia, when erosion went on rapidly and coarse waste in abundance was brought down from the hills by swift streams and spread by the waves in wide, sandy flats. as the lands were worn lower the waste became finer, and during an epoch of transition--the clinton-- there were deposited various formations of sandstones, shales, and limestones. the niagara limestones testify to a long epoch of repose, when low-lying lands sent little waste down to the sea.
-the gypsum and salt deposits of the salina show that toward the close of the silurian period a slight oscillation brought the sea floor nearer to the surface, and at the north cut off extensive tracts from the interior sea. in these wide lagoons, which now and then regained access to the open sea and obtained new supplies of salt water, beds of salt and gypsum were deposited as the briny waters became concentrated by evaporation under a desert climate. along with these beds there were also laid shales and impure limestones.
-in new york the "salt pans" of the salina extended over an area one hundred and fifty miles long from east to west and sixty miles wide, and similar salt marshes occurred as far west as cleveland, ohio, and goderich on lake huron. at ithaca, new york, the series is fifteen hundred feet thick, and is buried beneath an equal thickness of later strata. it includes two hundred and fifty feet of solid salt, in several distinct beds, each sealed within the shales of the series.
-would you expect to find ancient beds of rock salt inclosed in beds of pervious sandstone?
-the salt beds of the salina are of great value. they are reached by well borings, and their brines are evaporated by solar heat and by boiling. the rock salt is also mined from deep shafts.
-similar deposits of salt, formed under like conditions, occur in the rocks of later systems down to the present. the salt beds of texas are permian, those of kansas are permian, and those of louisiana are tertiary.
-the mississippi valley. the heavy near-shore formations of the silurian in the appalachian region thin out toward the west. the medina and the clinton sandstones are not found west of ohio, where the first passes into a shale and the second into a limestone. the niagara limestone, however, spreads from the hudson river to beyond the mississippi, a distance of more than a thousand miles. during the silurian period the mississippi valley region was covered with a quiet, shallow, limestone-making sea, which received little waste from the low lands which bordered it.
-the probable distribution of land and sea in eastern north america and western europe is shown in figure 287. the fauna of the interior region and of eastern canada are closely allied with that of western europe, and several species are identical. we can hardly account for this except by a shallow-water connection between the two ancient epicontinental seas. it was perhaps along the coastal shelves of a northern land connecting america and europe by way of greenland and iceland that the migration took place, so that the same species came to live in iowa and in sweden.
-the western united states. so little is found of the rocks of the system west of the missouri river that it is quite probable that the western part of the united states had for the most part emerged from the sea at the close of the ordovician and remained land during the silurian. at the same time the western land was perhaps connected with the eastern land of appalachia across arkansas and mississippi; for toward the south the silurian sediments indicate an approach to shore.
-life of the silurian
-in this brief sketch it is quite impossible to relate the many changes of species and genera during the silurian.
-honeycomb corals consist of masses of small, close-set prismatic cells, each crossed by horizontal partitions, or tabulae, while the septa are rudimentary, being represented by faintly projecting ridges or rows of spines.
-chain corals are also marked by tabulae. their cells form elliptical tubes, touching each other at the edges, and appearing in cross section like the links of a chain. they became extinct at the end of the silurian.
-the corals of the syringopora family are similar in structure to chain corals, but the tubular columns are connected only in places.
-to the echinoderms there is now added the blastoid (bud-shaped). the blastoid is stemmed and armless, and its globular "head" or "calyx," with its five petal-like divisions, resembles a flower bud. the blastoids became more abundant in the devonian, culminated in the carboniferous, and disappeared at the end of the paleozoic.
-the great eurypterids--some of which were five or six feet in length--and the cephalopods were still masters of the seas. fishes were as yet few and small; trilobites and graptolites had now passed their prime and had diminished greatly in numbers. scorpions are found in this period both in europe and in america. the limestone-making seas of the silurian swarmed with corals, crinoids, and brachiopods.
-with the end of the silurian period the age of invertebrates comes to a close, giving place to the devonian, the age of fishes.
-in america the silurian is not separated from the devonian by any mountain-making deformation or continental uplift. the one period passed quietly into the other. their conformable systems are so closely related, and the change in their faunas is so gradual, that geologists are not agreed as to the precise horizon which divides them.
-subdivisions and physical geography. the devonian is represented in new york and southward by the following five series. we add the rocks of which they are chiefly composed.
-the helderberg is a transition epoch referred by some geologists to the silurian. the thin sandstones of the oriskany mark an epoch when waves worked over the deposits of former coastal plains. the limestones of the corniferous testify to a warm and clear wide sea which extended from the hudson to beyond the mississippi. corals throve luxuriantly, and their remains, with those of mollusks and other lime-secreting animals, built up great beds of limestone. the bordering continents, as during the later silurian, must now have been monotonous lowlands which sent down little of even the finest waste to the sea.
-in the hamilton the clear seas of the previous epoch became clouded with mud. the immense deposits of coarse sandstones and sandy shales of the chemung, which are found off what was at the time the west coast of appalachia, prove an uplift of that ancient continent.
-the chemung series extends from the catskill mountains to northeastern ohio and south to northeastern tennessee, covering an area of not less than a hundred thousand square miles. in eastern new york it attains three thousand feet in thickness; in pennsylvania it reaches the enormous thickness of two miles; but it rapidly thins to the west. everywhere the chemung is made of thin beds of rapidly alternating coarse and fine sands and clays, with an occasional pebble layer, and hence is a shallow-water deposit. the fine material has not been thoroughly winnowed from the coarse by the long action of strong waves and tides. the sands and clays have undergone little more sorting than is done by rivers. we must regard the chemung sandstones as deposits made at the mouths of swift, turbid rivers in such great amount that they could be little sorted and distributed by waves.
-over considerable areas the chemung sandstones bear little or no trace of the action of the sea. the catskill mountains, for example, have as their summit layers some three thousand feet of coarse red sandstones of this series, whose structure is that of river deposits, and whose few fossils are chiefly of fresh-water types. the chemung is therefore composed of delta deposits, more or less worked over by the sea. the bulk of the chemung equals that of the sierra nevada mountains. to furnish this immense volume of sediment a great mountain range, or highland, must have been upheaved where the appalachian lowland long had been. to what height the devonian mountains of appalachia attained cannot be told from the volume of the sediments wasted from them, for they may have risen but little faster than they were worn down by denudation. we may infer from the character of the waste which they furnished to the chemung shores that they did not reach an alpine height. the grains of the chemung sandstones are not those which would result from mechanical disintegration, as by frost on high mountain peaks, but are rather those which would be left from the long chemical decay of siliceous crystalline rocks; for the more soluble minerals are largely wanting. the red color of much of the deposits points to the same conclusion. red residual clays accumulated on the mountain sides and upland summits, and were washed as ocherous silt to mingle with the delta sands. the iron- bearing igneous rocks of the oldland also contributed by their decay iron in solution to the rivers, to be deposited in films of iron oxide about the quartz grains of the chemung sandstones, giving them their reddish tints.
-life of the devonian
-plants. the lands were probably clad with verdure during silurian times, if not still earlier; for some rare remains of ferns and other lowly types of vegetation have been found in the strata of that system. but it is in the devonian that we discover for the first time the remains of extensive and luxuriant forests. this rich flora reached its climax in the carboniferous, and it will be more convenient to describe its varied types in the next chapter.
-rhizocarps. in the shales of the devonian are found microscopic spores of rhizocarps in such countless numbers that their weight must be reckoned in hundreds of millions of tons. it would seem that these aquatic plants culminated in this period, and in widely distant portions of the earth swampy flats and shallow lagoons were filled with vegetation of this humble type, either growing from the bottom or floating free upon the surface. it is to the resinous spores of the rhizocarps that the petroleum and natural gas from devonian rocks are largely due. the decomposition of the spores has made the shales highly bituminous, and the oil and gas have accumulated in the reservoirs of overlying porous sandstones.
-invertebrates. we must pass over the ever-changing groups of the invertebrates with the briefest notice. chain corals became extinct at the close of the silurian, but other corals were extremely common in the devonian seas. at many places corals formed thin reefs, as at louisville, kentucky, where the hardness of the reef rock is one of the causes of the falls of the ohio.
-sponges, echinoderms, brachiopods, and mollusks were abundant. the cephalopods take a new departure. so far in all their various forms, whether straight, as the orthoceras, or curved, or close- coiled as in the nautilus, the septum, or partition dividing the chambers, met the inner shell along a simple line, like that of the rim of a saucer. there now begins a growth of the septum by which its edges become sharply corrugated, and the suture, or line of juncture of the septum and the shell, is thus angled. the group in which this growth of the septum takes place is called the goniatite (greek gonia, angle).
-vertebrates. it is with the greatest interest that we turn now to study the backboned animals of the devonian; for they are believed to be the ancestors of the hosts of vertebrates which have since dominated the earth. their rudimentary structures foreshadowed what their descendants were to be, and give some clue to the earliest vertebrates from which they sprang. like those whose remains are found in the lower paleozoic systems, all of these devonian vertebrates were aquatic and go under the general designation of fishes.
-the lowest in grade and nearest, perhaps, to the ancestral type of vertebrates, was the problematic creature, an inch or so long, of figure 297. note the circular mouth not supplied with jaws, the lack of paired fins, and the symmetric tail fin, with the column of cartilaginous, ringlike vertebrae running through it to the end. the animal is probably to be placed with the jawless lampreys and hags,--a group too low to be included among true fishes.
-ostracoderms. this archaic group, long since extinct, is also too lowly to rank among the true fishes, for its members have neither jaws nor paired fins. these small, fishlike forms were cased in front with bony plates developed in the skin and covered in the rear with scales. the vertebrae were not ossified, for no trace of them has been found.
-devonian fishes. the true fishes of the devonian can best be understood by reference to their descendants now living. modern fishes are divided into several groups: sharks and their allies; dipnoans; ganoids, such as the sturgeon and gar; and teleosts,-- most common fishes, such as the perch and cod.
-sharks. of all groups of living fishes the sharks are the oldest and still retain most fully the embryonic characters of their paleozoic ancestors. such characters are the cartilaginous skeleton, and the separate gill slits with which the throat wall is pierced and which are arranged in line like the gill openings of the lamprey. the sharks of the silurian and devonian are known to us chiefly by their teeth and fin spines, for they were unprotected by scales or plates, and were devoid of a bony skeleton. figure 299 is a restoration of an archaic shark from a somewhat higher horizon. note the seven gill slits and the lappetlike paired fins. these fins seem to be remnants of the continuous fold of skin which, as embryology teaches, passed from fore to aft down each side of the primitive vertebrate.
-devonian sharks were comparatively small. they had not evolved into the ferocious monsters which were later to be masters of the seas.
-dipnoans, or lung fishes. these are represented to-day by a few peculiar fishes and are distinguished by some high structures which ally them with amphibians. an air sac with cellular spaces is connected with the gullet and serves as a rudimentary lung. it corresponds with the swim bladder of most modern fishes, and appears to have had a common origin with it. we may conceive that the primordial fishes not only had gills used in breathing air dissolved in water, but also developed a saclike pouch off the gullet. this sac evolved along two distinct lines. on the line of the ancestry of most modern fishes its duct was closed and it became the swim bladder used in flotation and balancing. on another line of descent it was left open, air was swallowed into it, and it developed into the rudimentary lung of the dipnoans and into the more perfect lungs of the amphibians and other air- breathing vertebrates.
-one of the ancient dipnoans is illustrated in figure 300. some of the members of this order were, like the ostracoderms, cased in armor, but their higher rank is shown by their powerful jaws and by other structures. some of these armored fishes reached twenty- five feet in length and six feet across the head. they were the tyrants of the devonian seas.
-ganoids. these take their name from their enameled plates or scales of bone. the few genera now surviving are the descendants of the tribes which swarmed in the devonian seas. a restoration of one of a leading order, the fringe-finned ganoids, is given in figure 301. the side fins, which correspond to the limbs of the higher vertebrates, are quite unlike those of most modern fishes. their rays, instead of radiating from a common base, fringe a central lobe which contains a cartilaginous axis. the teeth of the devonian ganoids show a complicated folded structure.
-general characteristics of devonian fishes. the notochord is persistent. the notochord is a continuous rod of cartilage, or gristle, which in the embryological growth of vertebrate animals supports the spinal nerve cord before the formation of the vertebrae. in most modern fishes and in all higher vertebrates the notochord is gradually removed as the bodies of the vertebrae are formed about it; but in the devonian fishes it persists through maturity and the vertebrae remain incomplete.
-the skeleton is cartilaginous. this also is an embryological characteristic. in the devonian fishes the vertebrae, as well as the other parts of the skeleton, have not ossified, or changed to bone, but remain in their primitive cartilaginous condition.
-the tail fin is vertebrated. the backbone runs through the fin and is fringed above and below with its vertical rays. in some fishes with vertebrated tail fins the fin is symmetric, and this seems to be the primitive type. in others the tail fin is unsymmetric: the backbone runs into the upper lobe, leaving the two lobes of unequal size. in most modern fishes (the teleosts) the tail fin is not vertebrated: the spinal column ends in a broad plate, to which the diverging fin rays are attached.
-but along with these embryonic characters, which were common to all devonian fishes, there were other structures in certain groups which foreshadowed the higher structures of the land vertebrates which were yet to come: air sacs which were to develop into lungs, and cartilaginous axes in the side fins which were a prophecy of limbs. the vertebrates had already advanced far enough to prove the superiority of their type of structure to all others. their internal skeleton afforded the best attachment for muscles and enabled them to become the largest and most powerful creatures of the time. the central nervous system, with the predominance given to the ganglia at the fore end of the nerve cord,--the brain,-- already endowed them with greater energy than the invertebrates; and, still more important, these structures contained the possibility of development into the more highly organized land vertebrates which were to rule the earth.
-teleosts. the great group of fishes called the teleosts, or those with complete bony skeletons, to which most modern fishes belong, may be mentioned here, although in the devonian they had not yet appeared. the teleosts are a highly specialized type, adapted most perfectly to their aquatic environment. heavy armor has been discarded, and reliance is placed instead on swiftness. the skeleton is completely ossified and the notochord removed. the vertebrae have been economically withdrawn from the tail, and the cartilaginous axis of the side fins has been fotfoid unnecessary. the air sac has become a swim bladder. in this complete specialization they have long since lost the possibility of evolving into higher types.
-it is interesting to note that the modern teleosts in their embryological growth pass through the stages which characterized the maturity of their devonian ancestors; their skeleton is cartilaginous and their tail fin vertebrated.
-the carboniferous system is so named from the large amount of coal which it contains. other systems, from the devonian on, are coal bearing also, but none so richly and to so wide an extent. never before or since have the peculiar conditions been so favorable for the formation of extensive coal deposits.
-with few exceptions the carboniferous strata rest on those of the devonian without any marked unconformity; the one period passed quietly into the other, with no great physical disturbances.
-the carboniferous includes three distinct series. the lower is called the mississippian, from the outcrop of its formations along the mississippi river in central and southern illinois and the adjacent portions of iowa and missouri. the middle series is called the pennsylvanian (or coal measures), from its wide occurrence over pennsylvania. the upper series is named the permian, from the province of perm in russia.
-the mississippian series. in the interior the mississippian is composed chiefly of limestones, with some shales, which tell of a clear, warm, epicontinental sea swarming with crinoids, corals, and shells, and occasionally clouded with silt from the land.
-in the eastern region, new york had been added by uplift to the appalachian land which now was united to the northern area. from eastern pennsylvania southward there were laid in a subsiding trough, first, thick sandstones (the pocono sandstone), and later still heavier shales,--the two together reaching the thickness of four thousand feet and more. we infer a renewed uplift of appalachia similar to that of the later epochs of the devonian, but as much less in amount as the volume of sediments is smaller.
-the pennsylvanian series
-the mississippian was brought to an end by a quiet oscillation which lifted large areas slightly above the sea, and the pennsylvanian began with a movement in the opposite direction. the sea encroached on the new land, and spread far and wide a great basal conglomerate and coarse sandstones. on this ancient beach deposit a group of strata rests which we must now interpret. they consist of alternating shales and sandstones, with here and there a bed of limestone and an occasional seam of coal. a stratum of fire clay commonly underlies a coal seam, and there occur also beds of iron ore. we give a typical section of a very small portion of the series at a locality in pennyslvania. although some of the minor changes are omitted, the section shows the rapid alternation of the strata:
-this section shows more coal than is usual; on the whole, coal seams do not take up more than one foot in fifty of the coal measures. they vary also in thickness more than is seen in the section, some exceptional seams reaching the thickness of fifty feet.
-how coal was made.
-1. coal is of vegetable origin. examined under the microscope even anthracite, or hard coal, is seen to contain carbonized vegetal tissues. there are also all gradations connecting the hardest anthracite--through semibituminous coal, bituminous or soft coal, lignite (an imperfect coal in which sometimes woody fibers may be seen little changed)--with peat and decaying vegetable tissues. coal is compressed and mineralized vegetal matter. its varieties depend on the perfection to which the peculiar change called bituminization has been carried, and also, as shown in the table below, on the degree to which the volatile substances and water have escaped, and on the per cent of carbon remaining.
-2. the vegetable remains associated with coal are those of land plants.
-3. coal accumulated in the presence of water; for it is only when thus protected from the air that vegetal matter is preserved.
-4. the vegetation of coal accumulated for the most part where it grew; it was not generally drifted and deposited by waves and currents. commonly the fire clay beneath the seam is penetrated with roots, and the shale above is packed with leaves of ferns and other plants as beautifully pressed as in a herbarium. there often is associated with the seam a fossil forest, with the stumps, which are still standing where they grew, their spreading roots, and the soil beneath, all changed to stone. in the nova scotia field, out of seventy-six distinct coal seams, twenty are underlain by old forest grounds.
-the presence of fire clay beneath a seam points in the same direction. such underclays withstand intense heat and are used in making fire brick, because their alkalies have been removed by the long-continued growth of vegetation.
-fuel coal is also too pure to have been accumulated by driftage. in that case we should expect to find it mixed with mud, while in fact it often contains no more ash than the vegetal matter would furnish from which it has been compressed.
-these conditions are fairly met in the great swamps of river plains and deltas and of coastal plains, such as the great dismal swamp, where thousands of generations of forests with their undergrowths contribute their stems and leaves to form thick beds of peat. a coal seam is a fossil peat bed.
-geographical conditions during the pennsylvanian. the carboniferous peat swamps were of vast extent. a map of the coal measures (fig. 260) shows that the coal marshes stretched, with various interruptions of higher ground and straits of open water, from eastern pennsylvania into alabama, texas, and kansas. some individual coal beds may still be traced over a thousand square miles, despite the erosion which they have suffered. it taxes the imagination to conceive that the varied region included within these limits was for hundreds of thousands of years a marshy plain covered with tropical jungles such as that pictured in figure 304.
-at the same time, the thousands of feet of marine and freshwater sediments, with their repeated alternations of limestones, sandstones, and shales, in which the seams of coal occur, prove a slow subsidence, with many changes in its rate, with halts when the land was at a stillstand, and with occasional movements upward.
-when subsidence was most rapid and long continued the sea encroached far and wide upon the lowlands and covered the coal swamps with sands and muds and limy oozes. when subsidence slackened or ceased the land gained on the sea. bays were barred, and lagoons as they gradually filled with mud became marshes. river deltas pushed forward, burying with their silts the sunken peat beds of earlier centuries, and at the surface emerged in broad, swampy flats,--like those of the deltas of the mississippi and the ganges,--which soon were covered with luxuriant forests. at times a gentle uplift brought to sea level great coastal plains, which for ages remained mantled with the jungle, their undeveloped drainage clogged with its debris, and were then again submerged.
-physical geography of the several regions. the acadian region lay on the eastern side of the northern land, where now are new brunswick and nova scotia, and was an immense river delta. here river deposits rich in coal accumulated to a depth of sixteen thousand feet. the area of this coal field is estimated at about thirty-six thousand square miles.
-the appalachian region skirts the appalachian oldland on the west from the southern boundary of new york to northern alabama, extending west into eastern ohio. the cincinnati anticline was now a peninsula, and the broad gulf which had lain between it and appalachia was transformed at the beginning of the pennsylvanian into wide marshy plains, now sinking beneath the sea and now emerging from it. this area subsided during the carboniferous period to a depth of nearly ten thousand feet.
-the central region lay west of the peninsula of the cincinnati anticline, and extended from indiana west into eastern nebraska, and from central iowa and illinois southward about the ancient island in missouri and arkansas into oklahoma and texas. on the north the subsidence in this area was comparatively slight, for the carboniferous strata scarcely exceed two thousand feet in thickness. but in arkansas and indian territory the downward movement amounted to four and five miles, as is proved by shoal water deposits of that immense thickness.
-the coal fields of indiana, and illinois are now separated by erosion from those lying west of the mississippi river. at the south the appalachian land seems still to have stretched away to the west across louisiana and mississippi into texas, and this westward extension formed the southern boundary of the coal marshes of the continent.
-the three regions just mentioned include the chief carboniferous coal fields of north america. including a field in central michigan evidently formed in an inclosed basin (fig. 260), and one in rhode island, the total area of american coal fields has been reckoned at not less than two hundred thousand square miles. we can hardly estimate the value of these great stores of fossil fuel to an industrial civilization. the forests of the coal swamps accumulated in their woody tissues the energy which they received from the sun in light and heat, and it is this solar energy long stored in coal seams which now forms the world's chief source of power in manufacturing.
-the western area. on the great plains beyond the missouri river the carboniferous strata pass under those of more recent systems. where they reappear, as about dissected mountain axes or on stripped plateaus, they consist wholly of marine deposits and are devoid of coal. the rich coal fields of the west are of later date.
-on the whole the carboniferous seems to have been a time of subsidence in the west. throughout the period a sea covered the great basin and the plateaus of the colorado river. at the time of the greatest depression the sites of the central chains of the rockies were probably islands, but early in the period they may have been connected with the broad lands to the south and east. thousands of feet of carboniferous sediments were deposited where the sierra nevada mountains now stand.
-the permian. as the carboniferous period drew toward its close the sea gradually withdrew from the eastern part of the continent. where the sea lingered in the deepest troughs, and where inclosed basins were cut off from it, the strata of the permian were deposited. such are found in new brunswick, in pennsylvania and west virginia, in texas, and in kansas. in southwestern kansas extensive permian beds of rock salt and gypsum show that here lay great salt lakes in which these minerals were precipitated as their brines grew dense and dried away.
-in the southern hemisphere the permian deposits are so extraordinary that they deserve a brief notice, although we have so far omitted mention of the great events which characterized the evolution of other continents than our own. the permian fauna- flora of australia, india, south africa, and the southern part of south america are so similar that the inference is a reasonable one that these widely separated regions were then connected together, probably as extensions of a great antarctic continent.
-interbedded with the permian strata of the first three countries named are extensive and thick deposits of a peculiar nature which are clearly ancient ground moraines. clays and sand, now hardened to firm rock, are inset with unsorted stones of all sizes, which often are faceted and scratched. moreover, these bowlder clays rest on rock pavements which are polished and scored with glacial markings. hence toward the close of the paleozoic the southern lands of the eastern hemisphere were invaded by great glaciers or perhaps by ice sheets like that which now shrouds greenland.
-these permian ground moraines are not the first traces of the work of glaciers met with in the geological record. similar deposits prove glaciation in norway succeeding the pre-cambrian stage of elevation, and cambrian glacial drift has recently been found in china.
-the appalachian deformation. we have seen that during paleozoic times a long, narrow trough of the sea lay off the western coast of the ancient land of appalachia, where now are the appalachian mountains. during the long ages of this era the trough gradually subsided, although with many stillstands and with occasional slight oscillations upward. meanwhile the land lying to the east was gradually uplifted at varying rates and with long pauses. the waste of the rising land was constantly transferred to the sinking marginal sea bottom, and on the whole the trough was filled with sediments as rapidly as it subsided. the sea was thus kept shallow, and at times, especially toward the close of the era, much of the area was upbuilt or raised to low, marshy, coastal plains. when the carboniferous was ended the waste which had been removed from the land and laid along its margin in the successive formations of the paleozoic had reached a thickness of between thirty and forty thousand feet.
-both by sedimentation and by subsidence the trough had now become a belt of weakness in the crust of the earth. here the crust was now made of layers to the depth of six or seven miles. in comparison with the massive crystalline rocks of appalachia on the east, the layered rock of the trough was weak to resist lateral pressure, as a ream of sheets of paper is weak when compared with a solid board of the same thickness. it was weaker also than the region to the west, since there the sediments were much thinner. besides, by the long-continued depression the strata of the trough had been bent from the flat-lying attitude in which they were laid to one in which they were less able to resist a horizontal thrust.
-there now occurred one of the critical stages in the history of the planet, when the crust crumples under its own weight and shrinks down upon a nucleus which is diminishing in volume and no longer able to support it. under slow but resistless pressure the strata of the appalachian trough were thrust against the rigid land, and slowly, steadily bent into long folds whose axes ran northeast-southwest parallel to the ancient coast line. it was on the eastern side next the buttress of the land that the deformation was the greatest, and the folds most steep and close. in central pennsylvania and west virginia the folds were for the most part open. south of these states the folds were more closely appressed, the strata were much broken, and the great thrust faults were formed which have been described already. in eastern pennsylvania seams of bituminous coal were altered to anthracite, while outside the region of strong deformation, as in western pennyslvania, they remained unchanged. an important factor in the deformation was the massive limestones of the cambrian-ordovician. because of these thick, resistant beds the rocks were bent into wide folds and sheared in places with great thrust faults. had the strata been weak shales, an equal pressure would have crushed and mashed them.
-although the great earth folds were slowly raised, and no doubt eroded in their rising, they formed in all probability a range of lofty mountains, with a width of from fifty to a hundred and twenty-five miles, which stretched from new york to central alabama.
-from their bases lowlands extended westward to beyond the missouri river. at the same time ranges were upridged out of thick paleozoic sediments both in the bay of fundy region and in the indian territory. the eastern portion of the north american continent was now well-nigh complete.
-the date of the appalachian deformation is told in the usual way. the carboniferous strata, nearly two miles thick, are all infolded in the appalachian ridges, while the next deposits found in this region--those of the later portion of the first period (the trias) of the succeeding era--rest unconformably on the worn edges of the appalachian folded strata. the deformation therefore took place about the close of the paleozoic. it seems to have begun in the permian, in, eastern pennsylvania,--for here the permian strata are wanting,--and to have continued into the trias, whose earlier formations are absent over all the area.
-with this wide uplift the subsidence of the sea floor which had so long been general in eastern north america came to an end. deposition now gave place to erosion. the sedimentary record of the paleozoic was closed, and after an unknown lapse of time, here unrecorded, the annals of the succeeding era were written under changed conditions.
-in western north america the closing stages of the paleozoic were marked by important oscillations. the great basin, which had long been a mediterranean sea, was converted into land over western utah and eastern nevada, while the waves of the pacific rolled across california and western nevada.
-the absence of tuffs and lavas among the carboniferous strata of north america shows that here volcanic action was singularly wanting during the entire period. even the appalachian deformation was not accompanied by any volcanic outbursts.
-life of the carboniferous
-plants. the gloomy forests and dense undergrowths of the carboniferous jungles would appear unfamiliar to us could we see them as they grew, and even a botanist would find many of their forms perplexing and hard to classify. none of our modern trees would meet the eye. plants with conspicuous flowers of fragrance and beauty were yet to come. even mosses and grasses were still absent.
-tree ferns lifted their crowns of feathery fronds high in air on trunks of woody tissue; and lowly herbaceous ferns, some belonging to existing families, carpeted the ground. many of the fernlike forms, however, have distinct affinities with the cycads, of which they may be the ancestors, and some bear seeds and must be classed as gymnosperms.
-dense thickets, like cane or bamboo brakes, were composed of thick clumps of calamites, whose slender, jointed stems shot up to a height of forty feet, and at the joints bore slender branches set with whorls of leaves. these were close allies of the equiseta or "horsetails," of the present; but they bore characteristics of higher classes in the woody structures of their stems.
-there were also vast monotonous forests, composed chiefly of trees belonging to the lycopods, and whose nearest relatives to-day are the little club mosses of our eastern woods. two families of lycopods deserve special mention,--the lepidodendrons and the sigillaria.
-the lepidodendron, or "scale tree," was a gigantic club moss fifty and seventy-five feet high, spreading toward the top into stout branches, at whose ends were borne cone-shaped spore cases. the younger parts of the tree were clothed with stiff needle-shaped leaves, but elsewhere the trunk and branches were marked with scalelike scars, left by the fallen leaves, and arranged in spiral rows.
-the sigillaria, or "seal tree," was similar to the lepidodendron, but its fluted trunk divided into even fewer branches, and was dotted with vertical rows of leaf scars, like the impressions of a seal.
-both lepidodendron and sigillaria were anchored by means of great cablelike underground stems, which ran to long distances through the marshy ground. the trunks of both trees had a thick woody rind, inclosing loose cellular tissue and a pith. their hollow stumps, filled with sand and mud, are common in the coal measures, and in them one sometimes finds leaves and stems, land shells, and the bones of little reptiles of the time which made their home there.
-it is important to note that some of these gigantic lycopods, which are classed with the cryptogams, or flowerless plants, had pith and medullary rays dividing their cylinders into woody wedges. these characters connect them with the phanerogams, or flowering plants. like so many of the organisms of the remote past, they were connecting types from which groups now widely separated have diverged.
-gymnosperms, akin to the cycads, were also present in the carboniferous forests. such were the different species of cordaites, trees pyramidal in shape, with strap-shaped leaves and nutlike fruit. other gymnosperms were related to the yews, and it was by these that many of the fossil nuts found in the coal measures were borne. it is thought by some that the gymnosperms had their station on the drier plains and higher lands.
-the carboniferous jungles extended over parts of europe and of asia, as well as eastern north america, and reached from the equator to within nine degrees of the north pole. even in these widely separated regions the genera and species of coal plants are close akin and often identical.
-invertebrates. among the echinoderms, crinoids are now exceedingly abundant, sea urchins are more plentiful, and sea cucumbers are found now for the first time. trilobites are rapidly declining, and pass away forever with the close of the period. eurypterids are common; stinging scorpions are abundant; and here occur the first-known spiders.
-we have seen that the arthropods were the first of all animals to conquer the realm of the air, the earliest insects appearing in the ordovician. insects had now become exceedingly abundant, and the carboniferous forests swarmed with the ancestral types of dragon flies,--some with a spread of wing of more than two feet,-- may flies, crickets, and locusts. cockroaches infested the swamps, and one hundred and thirty-three species of this ancient order have been discovered in the carboniferous of north america. the higher flower-loving insects are still absent; the reign of the flowering plants has not yet begun. the paleozoic insects were generalized types connecting the present orders. their fore wings were still membranous and delicately veined, and used in flying; they had not yet become thick, and useful only as wing covers, as in many of their descendants.
-fishes still held to the devonian types, with the exception that the strange ostracoderms now had perished.
-amphibians. the vertebrates had now followed the arthropods and the mollusks upon the land, and had evolved a higher type adapted to the new environment. amphibians--the class to which frogs and salamanders belong--now appear, with lungs for breathing air and with limbs for locomotion on the land. most of the carboniferous amphibians were shaped like the salamander, with weak limbs adapted more for crawling than for carrying the body well above the ground. some legless, degenerate forms were snakelike in shape.
-the earliest amphibians differ from those of to-day in a number of respects. they were connecting types linking together fishes, from which they were descended, with reptiles, of which they were the ancestors. they retained the evidence of their close relationship with the devonian fishes in their cold blood, their gills and aquatic habit during their larval stage, their teeth with dentine infolded like those of the devonian ganoids but still more intricately, and their biconcave vertebrae which never completely ossified. these, the highest vertebrates of the time, had not yet advanced beyond the embryonic stage of the more or less cartilaginous skeleton and the persistent notochord.
-on the other hand, the skull of the carboniferous amphibians was made of close-set bony plates, like the skull of the reptile, rather than like that of the frog, with its open spaces (figs. 313 and 314). unlike modern amphibians, with their slimy skin, the carboniferous amphibians wore an armor of bony scales over the ventral surface and sometimes over the back as well.
-it is interesting to notice from the footprints and skeletons of these earliest-known vertebrates of the land what was the primitive number of digits. the carboniferous amphibians had five- toed feet, the primitive type of foot, from which their descendants of higher orders, with a smaller number of digits, have diverged.
-the carboniferous was the age of lycopods and amphibians, as the devonian had been the age of rhizocarps and fishes.
-life of the permian. the close of the paleozoic was, as we have seen, a time of marked physical changes. the upridging of the appalachians had begun and a wide continental uplift--proved by the absence of permian deposits over large areas where sedimentation had gone on before--opened new lands for settlement to hordes of air-breathing animals. changes of climate compelled extensive migrations, and the fauna of different regions were thus brought into conflict. the permian was a time of pronounced changes in plant and animal life, and a transitional period between two great eras. the somber forests of the earlier carboniferous, with their gigantic club mosses, were now replaced by forests of cycads, tree ferns, and conifers. even in the lower permian the lepidodendron and sigillaria were very rare, and before the end of the epoch they and the calamites also had become extinct. gradually the antique types of the paleozoic fauna died out, and in the permian rocks are found the last survivors of the cystoid, the trilobite, and the eurypterid, and of many long-lived families of brachiopods, mollusks, and other invertebrates. the venerable orthoceras and the goniatite linger on through the epoch and into the first period of the succeeding era. forerunners of the great ammonite family of cephalopod mollusks now appear. the antique forms of the earlier carboniferous amphibians continue, but with many new genera and a marked increase in size.
-a long forward step had now been taken in the evolution of the vertebrates. a new and higher type, the reptiles, had appeared, and in such numbers and variety are they found in the permian strata that their advent may well have occurred in a still earlier epoch. it will be most convenient to describe the permian reptiles along with their descendants of the mesozoic.
-with the close of the permian the world of animal and vegetable life had so changed that the line is drawn here which marks the end of the old order and the beginning of the new and separates the paleozoic from the succeeding era,--the mesozoic, the middle age of geological history. although the mesozoic era is shorter than the paleozoic, as measured by the thickness of their strata, yet its duration must be reckoned in millions of years. its predominant life features are the culmination and the beginning of the decline of reptiles, amphibians, cephalopod mollusks, and cycads, and the advent of marsupial mammals, birds, teleost fishes, and angiospermous plants. the leading events of the long ages of the era we can sketch only in the most summary way.
-the mesozoic comprises three systems,--the triassic, named from its threefold division in germany; the jurassic, which is well displayed in the jura mountains; and the cretaceous, which contains the extensive chalk (latin, creta) deposits of europe.
-in eastern north america the mesozoic rocks are much less important than the paleozoic, for much of this portion of the continent was land during the mesozoic era, and the area of the mesozoic rocks is small. in western north america, on the other hand, the strata of the mesozoic--and of the cenozoic also--are widely spread. the paleozoic rocks are buried quite generally from view except where the mountain makings and continental uplifts of the mesozoic and cenozoic have allowed profound erosion to bring them to light, as in deep canyons and about mountain axes. the record of many of the most important events in the development of the continent during the mesozoic and cenozoic eras is found in the rocks of our western states.
-the triassic and jurassic
-eastern north america. the sedimentary record interrupted by the appalachian deformation was not renewed in eastern north america until late in the triassic. hence during this long interval the land stood high, the coast was farther out than now, and over our atlantic states geological time was recorded chiefly in erosion forms of hill and plain which have long since vanished. the area of the later triassic rocks of this region, which take up again the geological record, is seen in the map of figure 260. they lie on the upturned and eroded edges of the older rocks and occupy long troughs running for the most part parallel to the atlantic coast. evidently subsidence was in progress where these rocks were deposited. the eastern border of appalachia was now depressed. the oldland was warping, and long belts of country lying parallel to the shore subsided, forming troughs in which thousands of feet of sediment now gathered.
-these triassic rocks, which are chiefly sandstones, hold no marine fossils, and hence were not laid in open arms of the sea. but their layers are often ripple-marked, and contain many tracks of reptiles, imprints of raindrops, and some fossil wood, while an occasional bed of shale is filled with the remains of fishes. we may conceive, then, of the connecticut valley and the larger trough to the southwest as basins gradually sinking at a rate perhaps no faster than that of the new jersey coast to-day, and as gradually aggraded by streams from the neighboring uplands. their broad, sandy flats were overflowed by wandering streams, and when subsidence gained on deposition shallow lakes overspread the alluvial plains. perhaps now and then the basins became long, brackish estuaries, whose low shores were swept by the incoming tide and were in turn left bare at its retreat to receive the rain prints of passing showers and the tracks of the troops of reptiles which inhabited these valleys.
-the triassic rocks are mainly red sandstones,--often feldspathic, or arkose, with some conglomerates and shales. considering the large amount of feldspathic material in these rocks, do you infer that they were derived from the adjacent crystalline and metamorphic rocks of the oldland of appalachia, or from the sedimentary paleozoic rocks which had been folded into mountains during the appalachian deformation? if from the former, was the drainage of the northern appalachian mountain region then, as now, eastward and southeastward toward the atlantic? the triassic sandstones are voluminous, measuring at least a mile in thickness, and are largely of coarse waste. what do you infer as to the height of the lands from which the waste was shed, or the direction of the oscillation which they were then undergoing? in the southern basins, as about richmond, virginia, are valuable beds of coal; what was the physical geography of these areas when the coal was being formed?
-interbedded with the triassic sandstones are contemporaneous lava beds which were fed from dikes. volcanic action, which had been remarkably absent in eastern north america during paleozoic times, was well-marked in connection with the warping now in progress. thick intrusive sheets have also been driven in among the strata, as, for example, the sheet of the palisades of the hudson, described on page 269.
-the present condition of the triassic sandstones of the connecticut valley is seen in figure 315. were the beds laid in their present attitude? what was the nature of the deformation which they have suffered? when did the intrusion of lava sheets take place relative to the deformation? what effect have these sheets on the present topography, and why? assuming that the triassic deformation went on more rapidly than denudation, what was its effect on the topography of the time? are there any of its results remaining in the topography of to-day? do the triassic areas now stand higher or lower than the surrounding country, and why? how do the triassic sandstones and shales compare in hardness with the igneous and metamorphic rocks about them? the jurassic strata are wanting over the triassic areas and over all of eastern north america. was this region land or sea, an area of erosion or sedimentation, during the jurassic period? in new jersey, pennsylvania, and farther southwest the lowest strata of the next period, the cretaceous, rest on the eroded edges of the earlier rocks. the surface on which they lie is worn so even that we must believe that at the opening of the cretaceous the oldland of appalachia, including the triassic areas, had been baseleveled at least near the coast. when, therefore, did the deformation of the triassic rocks occur?
-western north america. triassic strata infolded in the sierra nevada mountains carry marine fossils and reach a thickness of nearly five thousand feet. california was then under water, and the site of the sierra was a subsiding trough slowly filling with waste from the great basin land to the east.
-over a long belt which reaches from wyoming across colorado into new mexico no triassic sediments are found, nor is there any evidence that they were ever present; hence this area was high land suffering erosion during the triassic. on each side of it, in eastern colorado and about the black hills, in western texas, in utah, over the site of the wasatch mountains, and southward into arizona over the plateaus trenched by the colorado river, are large areas of triassic rocks, sandstones chiefly, with some rock salt and gypsum. fossils are very rare and none of them marine. here, then, lay broad shallow lakes often salt, and warped basins, in which the waste of the adjacent uplands gathered. to this system belong the sandstones of the garden of the gods in colorado, which later earth movements have upturned with the uplifted mountain flanks.
-the jurassic was marked with varied oscillations and wide changes in the outline of sea and land.
-jurassic shales of immense thickness--now metamorphosed into slates--are found infolded into the sierra nevada mountains. hence during jurassic times the sierra trough continued to subside, and enormous deposits of mud were washed into it from the land lying to the east. contemporaneous lava flows interbedded with the strata show that volcanic action accompanied the downwarp, and that molten rock was driven upward through fissures in the crust and outspread over the sea floor in sheets of lava.
-the sierra deformation. ever since the middle of the silurian, the sierra trough had been sinking, though no doubt with halts and interruptions, until it contained nearly twenty-five thousand feet of sediment. at the close of the jurassic it yielded to lateral pressure and the vast pile of strata was crumpled and upheaved into towering mountains. the mesozoic muds were hardened and squeezed into slates. the rocks were wrenched and broken, and underground waters began the work of filling their fissures with gold-bearing quartz, which was yet to wait millions of years before the arrival of man to mine it. immense bodies of molten rock were intruded into the crust as it suffered deformation, and these appear in the large areas of granite which the later denudation of the range has brought to light.
-the same movements probably uplifted the rocks of the coast range in a chain of islands. the whole western part of the continent was raised and its seas and lakes were for the most part drained away.
-the british isles. the triassic strata of the british isles are continental, and include breccia beds of cemented talus, deposits of salt and gypsum, and sandstones whose rounded and polished grains are those of the wind-blown sands of deserts. in triassic times the british isles were part of a desert extending over much of northwestern europe.
-the third great system of the mesozoic includes many formations, marine and continental, which record a long and complicated history marked by great oscillations of the crust and wide changes in the outlines of sea and land.
-early cretaceous. in eastern north america the lowest cretaceous series comprises fresh-water formations which are traced from nantucket across martha's vineyard and long island, and through new jersey southward into georgia. they rest unconformably on the triassic sandstones and the older rocks of the region. the atlantic shore line was still farther out than now in the northern states. again, as during the triassic, a warping of the crust formed a long trough parallel to the coast and to the appalachian ridges, but cut off from the sea; and here the continental deposits of the early cretaceous were laid.
-along the gulf of mexico the same series was deposited under like conditions over the area known as the mississippi embayment, reaching from georgia northwestward into tennessee and thence across into arkansas and southward into texas.
-in the southwest the subsidence continued until the transgressing sea covered most of mexico and texas and extended a gulf northward into kansas. in its warm and quiet waters limestones accumulated to a depth of from one thousand to five thousand feet in texas, and of more than ten thousand feet in mexico. meanwhile the lowlands, where the great plains are now, received continental deposits; coal swamps stretched from western montana into british columbia.
-the middle cretaceous. this was a land epoch. the early cretaceous sea retired from texas and mexico, for its sediments are overlain unconformably by formations of the upper cretaceous. so long was the time gap between the two series that no species found in the one occurs in the other.
-the upper cretaceous. there now began one of the most remarkable events in all geological history,--the great cretaceous subsidence. its earlier warpings were recorded in continental deposits,--wide sheets of sandstone, shale, and some coal,--which were spread from texas to british columbia. these continental deposits are overlain by a succession of marine formations whose vast area is shown on the map, figure 260. we may infer that as the depression of the continent continued the sea came in far and wide over the coast lands and the plains worn low during the previous epochs. upper cretaceous formations show that south of new england the waters of the atlantic somewhat overlapped the crystalline rocks of the piedmont belt and spread their waste over the submerged coastal plain. the gulf of mexico again covered the mississippi embayment, reaching as far north as southern illinois, and extended over texas.
-a mediterranean sea now stretched from the gulf to the arctic regions and from central iowa to the eastern shore of the great basin land at about the longitude of salt lake city, the colorado mountains rising from it in a chain of islands. along with minor oscillations there were laid in the interior sea various formations of sandstones, shales, and limestones, and from kansas to south dakota beds of white chalk show that the clear, warm waters swarmed at times with foraminiferal life whose disintegrating microscopic shells accumulated in this rare deposit.
-at this epoch a wide sea, interrupted by various islands, stretched across eurasia from wales and western spain to china, and spread southward over much of the sahara. to the west its waters were clear and on its floor the crumbled remains of foraminifers gathered in heavy accumulations of calcareous ooze,-- the white chalk of france and england. sea urchins were also abundant, and sponges contributed their spicules to form nodules of flint.
-the laramie. the closing stage of the cretaceous was marked in north america by a slow uplift of the land. as the interior sea gradually withdrew, the warping basins of its floor were filled with waste from the rising lands about them, and over this wide area there were spread continental deposits in fresh-water lakes like the great lakes of the present, in brackish estuaries, and in river plains, while occasional oscillations now and again let in the sea. there were vast marshes in which there accumulated the larger part of the valuable coal seams of the west. the laramie is the coal-bearing series of the west, as the pennsylvanian is of the eastern part of our country.
-the rocky mountain deformation. at the close of the cretaceous we enter upon an epoch of mountain-making far more extensive than any which the continent had witnessed. the long belt lying west of the ancient axes of the colorado islands and east of the great basin land had been an area of deposition for many ages, and in its subsiding troughs paleozoic and mesozoic sediments had gathered to the depth of many thousand feet. and now from mexico well-nigh to the arctic ocean this belt yielded to lateral pressure. the cretaceous limestones of mexico were folded into lofty mountains. a massive range was upfolded where the wasatch mountains now are, and various ranges of the rockies in colorado and other states were upridged. however slowly these deformations were effected they were no doubt accompanied by world-shaking earthquakes, and it is known that volcanic eruptions took place on a magnificent scale. outflows of lava occurred along the wasatch, the laccoliths of the henry mountains were formed, while the great masses of igneous rock which constitute the cores of the spanish peaks and other western mountains were thrust up amid the strata. the high plateaus from which many of these ranges rise had not yet been uplifted, and the bases of the mountains probably stood near the level of the sea.
-north america was now well-nigh completed. the mediterranean seas which so often had occupied the heart of the land were done away with, and the continent stretched unbroken from the foot of the sierras on the west to the fall line of the atlantic coastal plain on the east.
-the mesozoic peneplain. the immense thickness of the mesozoic formations conveys to our minds some idea of the vast length of time involved in the slow progress of its successive ages. the same lesson is taught as plainly by the amount of denudation which the lands suffered during the era.
-the beginning of the mesozoic saw a system of lofty mountain ranges stretching from new york into central alabama. the end of this long era found here a wide peneplain crossed by sluggish wandering rivers and overlooked by detached hills as yet unreduced to the general level. the mesozoic era was long enough for the appalachian mountains, upridged at its beginning, to have been weathered and worn away and carried grain by grain to the sea. the same plain extended over southern new england. the taconic range, uplifted partially at least at the close of the ordovician, and the block mountains of the triassic, together with the pre- cambrian mountains of ancient appalachia, had now all been worn to a common level with the allegheny ranges. the mesozoic peneplain has been upwarped by later crustal movements and has suffered profound erosion, but the remnants of it which remain on the upland of southern new england and the even summits of the allegheny ridges suffice to prove that it once existed. the age of the mesozoic peneplain is determined from the fact that the lower tertiary sediments were deposited on its even surface when at the close of the era the peneplain was depressed along its edges beneath the sea.
-life of the mesozoic
-plant life of the triassic and jurassic. the carboniferous forests of lepidodendrons and sigillafids had now vanished from the earth. the uplands were clothed with conifers, like the araucarian pines of south america and australia. dense forests of tree ferns throve in moist regions, and canebrakes of horsetails of modern type, but with stems reaching four inches in thickness, bordered the lagoons and marshes. cycads were exceedingly abundant. these gymnosperms, related to the pines and spruces in structure and fruiting, but palmlike in their foliage, and uncoiling their long leaves after the manner of ferns, culminated in the jurassic. from the view point of the botanist the mesozoic is the age of cycads, and after this era they gradually decline to the small number of species now existing in tropical latitudes.
-plant life of the cretaceous. in the lower cretaceous the woodlands continued of much the same type as during the jurassic. the forerunners now appeared of the modern dicotyls (plants with two seed leaves), and in the middle cretaceous the monocotyledonous group of palms came in. palms are so like cycads that we may regard them as the descendants of some cycad type.
-in the upper cretaceous, cycads become rare. the highest types of flowering plants gain a complete ascendency, and forests of modern aspect cover the continent from the gulf of mexico to the arctic ocean. among the kinds of forest trees whose remains are found in the continental deposits of the cretaceous are the magnolia, the myrtle, the laurel, the fig, the tulip tree, the chestnut, the oak, beech, elm, poplar, willow, birch, and maple. forests of eucalyptus grew along the coast of new england, and palms on the pacific shores of british columbia. sequoias of many varieties ranged far into northern canada. in northern greenland there were luxuriant forests of magnolias, figs, and cycads; and a similar flora has been disinterred from the cretaceous rocks of alaska and spitzbergen. evidently the lands within the arctic circle enjoyed a warm and genial climate, as they had done during the paleozoic. greenland had the temperature of cuba and southern florida, and the time was yet far distant when it was to be wrapped in glacier ice.
-invertebrates. during the long succession of the ages of the mesozoic, with their vast geographical changes, there were many and great changes in organisms. species were replaced again and again by others better fitted to the changing environment. during the lower cretaceous alone there were no less than six successive changes in the faunas which inhabited the limestone-making sea which then covered texas. we shall disregard these changes for the most part in describing the life of the era, and shall confine our view to some of the most important advances made in the leading types.
-stromatopora have disappeared. protozoans and sponges are exceedingly abundant, and all contribute to the making of mesozoic strata. corals have assumed a more modern type. sea urchins have become plentiful; crinoids abound until the cretaceous, where they begin their decline to their present humble station.
-trilobites and eurypterids are gone. ten-footed crustaceans abound of the primitive long-tailed type (represented by the lobster and the crayfish), and in the jurassic there appears the modern short- tailed type represented by the crabs. the latter type is higher in organization and now far more common. in its embryological development it passes through the long-tailed stage; connecting links in the mesozoic also indicate that the younger type is the offshoot of the older.
-insects evolve along diverse lines, giving rise to beetles, ants, bees, and flies.
-brachiopods have dwindled greatly in the number of their species, while mollusks have correspondingly increased. the great oyster family dates from here.
-cephalopods are now to have their day. the archaic orthoceras lingers on into the triassic and becomes extinct, but a remarkable development is now at hand for the more highly organized descendants of this ancient line. we have noticed that in the devonian the sutures of some of the chambered shells become angled, evolving the goniatite type. the sutures now become lobed and corrugated in ceratites. the process was carried still farther, and the sutures were elaborately frilled in the great order of the ammonites. it was in the jurassic that the ammonites reached their height. no fossils are more abundant or characteristic of their age. great banks of their shells formed beds of limestone in warm seas the world over.
-the ammonite stem branched into a most luxuriant variety of forms. the typical form was closely coiled like a nautilus. in others the coil was more or less open, or even erected into a spiral. some were hook-shaped, and there were members of the order in which the shell was straight, and yet retained all the internal structures of its kind. at the end of the mesozoic the entire tribe of ammonites became extinct.
-the belemnite (greek, belemnon, a dart) is a distinctly higher type of cephalopod which appeared in the triassic, became numerous and varied in the jurassic and cretaceous, and died out early in the tertiary. like the squids and cuttlefish, of which it was the prototype, it had an internal calcareous shell. this consisted of a chambered and siphuncled cone, whose point was sheathed in a long solid guard somewhat like a dart. the animal carried an ink sac, and no doubt used it as that of the modern cuttlefish is used,--to darken the water and make easy an escape from foes. belemnites have sometimes been sketched with fossil sepia, or india ink, from their own ink sacs. in the belemnites and their descendants, the squids and cuttlefish, the cephalopods made the radical change from external to the internal shell. they abandoned the defensive system of warfare and boldly took up the offensive. no doubt, like their descendants, the belemnites were exceedingly active and voracious creatures.
-fishes and amphibians. in the triassic and jurassic, little progress was made among the fishes, and the ganoid was still the leading type. in the cretaceous the teleosts, or bony fishes, made their appearance, while ganoids declined toward their present subordinate place.
-the amphibians culminated in the triassic, some being formidable creatures as large as alligators. they were still of the primitive paleozoic types. their pygmy descendants of more modern types are not found until later, salamanders appearing first in the cretaceous, and frogs at the beginning of the cenozoic.
-no remains of amphibians have been discovered in the jurassic. do you infer from this that there were none in existence at that time?
-reptiles of the mesozoic
-the great order of reptiles made its advent in the permian, culminated in the triassic and jurassic, and began to decline in the cretaceous. the advance from the amphibian to the reptile was a long forward step in the evolution of the vertebrates. in the reptile the vertebrate skeleton now became completely ossified. gills were abandoned and breathing was by lungs alone. the development of the individual from the egg to maturity was uninterrupted by any metamorphosis, such as that of the frog when it passes from the tadpole stage. yet in advancing from the amphibian to the reptile the evolution of the vertebrate was far from finished. the cold-blooded, clumsy and sluggish, small- brained and unintelligent reptile is as far inferior to the higher mammals, whose day was still to come, as it is superior to the amphibian and the fish.
-the reptiles of the permian, the earliest known, were much like lizards in form of body. constituting a transition type between the amphibians on the one hand, and both the higher reptiles and the mammals on the other, they retained the archaic biconcave vertebra of the fish and in some cases the persistent notochord, while some of them, the theromorphs, possessed characters allying them with mammals. in these the skull was remarkably similar to that of the carnivores, or flesh-eating mammals, and the teeth, unlike the teeth of any later reptiles, were divisible into incisors, canines, and molars, as are the teeth of mammals.
-at the opening of the mesozoic era reptiles were the most highly organized and powerful of any animals on the earth. new ranges of continental extent were opened to them, food was abundant, the climate was congenial, and they now branched into very many diverse types which occupied and ruled all fields,--the land, the air, and the sea. the mesozoic was the age of reptiles.
-the ancestry of surviving reptilian types. we will consider first the evolution of the few reptilian types which have survived to the present.
-crocodiles, the highest of existing reptiles, are a very ancient order, dating back to the lower jurassic, and traceable to earlier ancestral, generalized forms, from which sprang several other orders also.
-turtles and tortoises are not found until the early jurassic, when they already possessed the peculiar characteristics which set them off so sharply from other reptiles. they seem to have lived at first in shallow water and in swamps, and it is not until after the end of the mesozoic that some of the order became adapted to life on the land.
-the largest of all known turtles, archelon, whose home was the great interior cretaceous sea, was fully a dozen feet in length and must have weighed at least two tons. the skull alone is a yard long.
-lizards and snakes do not appear until after the close of the mesozoic, although their ancestral lines may be followed back into the cretaceous.
-we will now describe some of the highly specialized orders peculiar to the mesozoic.
-land reptiles. the dinosaurs (terrible reptiles) are an extremely varied order which were masters of the land from the late trias until the close of the mesozoic era. some were far larger than elephants, some were as small as cats; some walked on all fours, some were bipedal; some fed on the luxuriant tropical foliage, and others on the flesh of weaker reptiles. they may be classed in three divisions,--the flesh-eating dinosaurs, the reptile-footed dinosaurs, and the beaked dinosaurs,--the latter two divisions being herbivorous.
-the flesh-eating dinosaurs are the oldest known division of the order, and their characteristics are shown in figure 329. as a class, reptiles are egg layers (oviparous); but some of the flesh- eating dinosaurs are known to have been viviparous, i.e. to have brought forth their young alive. this group was the longest-lived of any of the three, beginning in the trias and continuing to the close of the mesozoic era.
-contrast the small fore limbs, used only for grasping, with the powerful hind limbs on which the animal stalked about. some of the species of this group seem to have been able to progress by leaping in kangaroo fashion. notice the sharp claws, the ponderous tail, and the skull set at right angles with the spinal column. the limb bones are hollow. the ceratosaurs reached a length of some fifteen feet, and were not uncommon in colorado and the western lands in jurassic times.
-the reptile-footed dinosaurs (sauropoda) include some of the biggest brutes which ever trod the ground. one of the largest, whose remains are found entombed in the jurassic rocks of wyoming and colorado, is shown in figure 330.
-note the five digits on the hind feet, the quadrupedal gait, the enormous stretch of neck and tail, the small head aligned with the vertebral column. diplodocus was fully sixty-five feet long and must have weighed about twenty tons. the thigh bones of the sauropoda are the largest bones which ever grew. that of a genus allied to the diplodocus measures six feet and eight inches, and the total length of the animal must have been not far from eighty feet, the largest land animal known.
-the sauropoda became extinct when their haunts along the rivers and lakes of the western plains of jurassic times were invaded by the cretaceous interior sea.
-the beaked dinosaurs(predentata) were distinguished by a beak sheathed with horn carried in front of the tooth-set jaw, and used, we may imagine, in stripping the leaves and twigs of trees and shrubs. we may notice only two of the most interesting types.
-stegosaurus (plated reptile) takes its name from the double row of bony plates arranged along its back. the powerful tail was armed with long spines, and the thick skin was defended with irregular bits of bone implanted in it. the brain of the stegosaur was smaller than that of any land vertebrate, while in the sacrum the nerve canal was enlarged to ten times the capacity of the brain cavity of the skull. despite their feeble wits, this well-armored family lived on through millions of years which intervened between their appearance, at the opening of the jurassic, and the close of the cretaceous, when they became extinct.
-a less stupid brute than the stegosaur was triceratops, the dinosaur of the three horns,--one horn carried on the nose, and a massive pair set over the eyes. note the enormous wedge-shaped skull, with its sharp beak, and the hood behind resembling a fireman's helmet. triceratops was fully twenty-five feet long, and of twice the bulk of an elephant. the family appeared in the upper cretaceous and became extinct at its close. their bones are found buried in the fresh-water deposits of the time from colorado to montana and eastward to the dakotas.
-marine reptiles. in the ocean, reptiles occupied the place now held by the aquatic mammals, such as whales and dolphins, and their form and structure were similarly modified to suit their environment. in the ichthyosaurus (fish reptile), for example, the body was fishlike in form, with short neck and large, pointed head (fig. 333).
-a powerful tail, whose flukes were set vertical, and the lower one of which was vertebrated, served as propeller, while a large dorsal fin was developed as a cutwater. the primitive biconcave vertebrae of the fish and of the early land vertebrates were retained, and the limbs degenerated into short paddles. the skin of the ichthyosaur was smooth like that of a whale, and its food was largely fish and cephalopods, as the fossil contents of its stomach prove.
-these sea monsters disported along the pacific shore over northern california in triassic times, and the bones of immense members of the family occur in the jurassic strata of wyoming. like whales and seals, the ichthyosaurs were descended from land vertebrates which had become adapted to a marine habitat.
-plesiosaurs were another order which ranged throughout the mesozoic. descended from small amphibious animals, they later included great marine reptiles, characterized in the typical genus by long neck, snakelike head, and immense paddles. they swam in the cretaceous interior sea of western north america.
-mosasaurs belong to the same order as do snakes and lizards, and are an offshoot of the same ancestral line of land reptiles. these snakelike creatures--which measured as much as forty-five feet in length--abounded in the cretaceous seas. they had large conical teeth, and their limbs had become stout paddles.
-the lower jaw of the mosasaur was jointed; the quadrate bone, which in all reptiles connects the bone of the lower jaw with the skull, was movable, and as in snakes the lower jaw could be used in thrusting prey down the throat. the family became extinct at the end of the mesozoic, and left no descendants. one may imitate the movement of the lower jaw of the mosasaur by extending the arms, clasping the hands, and bending the elbows.
-flying reptiles. the atmosphere, which had hitherto been tenanted only by insects, was first conquered by the vertebrates in the mesozoic. pterosaurs, winged reptiles, whose whole organism was adapted for flight through the air, appeared in the jurassic and passed off the stage of existence before the end of the cretaceous. the bones were hollow, as are those of birds. the sternum, or breastbone, was given a keel for the attachment of the wing muscles. the fifth finger, prodigiously lengthened, was turned backward to support a membrane which was attached to the body and extended to the base of the tail. the other fingers were free, and armed with sharp and delicate claws, as shown in figures 336 and 337.
-these "dragons of the air" varied greatly in size; some were as small as sparrows, while others surpassed in stretch of wing the largest birds of the present day. they may be divided into two groups. the earliest group comprises genera with jaws set with teeth, and with long tails sometimes provided with a rudderlike expansion at the end. in their successors of the later group the tail had become short, and in some of the genera the teeth had disappeared. among the latest of the flying reptiles was ornithostoma (bird beak), the largest creature which ever flew, and whose remains are imbedded in the offshore deposits of the cretaceous sea which held sway over our western plains. ornithostoma's spread of wings was twenty feet. its bones were a marvel of lightness, the entire skeleton, even in its petrified condition, not weighing more than five or six pounds. the sharp beak, a yard long, was toothless and bird-like, as its name suggests
-birds. the earliest known birds are found in the jurassic, and during the remainder of the mesozoic they contended with the flying reptiles for the empire of the air. the first feathered creatures were very different from the birds of to-day. their characteristics prove them an offshoot of the dinosaur line of reptiles. archaeopteryx (ancient bird) (fig. 338) exhibits a strange mingling of bird and reptile. like birds, it was fledged with perfect feathers, at least on wings and tail, but it retained the teeth of the reptile, and its long tail was vertebrated, a pair of feathers springing from each joint. throughout the jurassic and cretaceous the remains of birds are far less common than those of flying reptiles, and strata representing hundreds of thousands of years intervene between archaeopteryx and the next birds of which we know, whose skeletons occur in the cretaceous beds of western kansas.
-mammals. so far as the entries upon the geological record show, mammals made their advent in a very humble way during the trias. these earliest of vertebrates which suckle their young were no bigger than young kittens, and their strong affinities with the theromorphs suggest that their ancestors are to be found among some generalized types of that order of reptiles.
-during the long ages of the mesozoic, mammals continued small and few, and were completely dominated by the reptiles. their remains are exceedingly rare, and consist of minute scattered teeth,--with an occasional detached jaw,--which prove them to have been flesh or insect eaters. in the same way their affinities are seen to be with the lowest of mammals,--the monotremes and marsupials. the monotremes,--such as the duckbill mole and the spiny ant-eater of australia, reproduce by means of eggs resembling those of reptiles; the marsupials, such as the opossum and the kangaroo, bring forth their young alive, but in a very immature condition, and carry them for some time after birth in the marsupium, a pouch on the ventral side of the body.
-the cenozoic era. the last stages of the cretaceous are marked by a decadence of the reptiles. by the end of that period the reptilian forms characteristic of the time had become extinct one after another, leaving to represent the class only the types of reptiles which continue to modern times. the day of the ammonite and the belemnite also now drew to a close, and only a few of these cephalopods were left to survive the period. it is therefore at the close of the cretaceous that the line is drawn which marks the end of the middle age of geology and the beginning of the cenozoic era, the era of modern life,--the age of mammals.
-in place of the giant reptiles, mammals now become masters of the land, appearing first in generalized types which, during the long ages of the era, gradually evolve to higher forms, more specialized and ever more closely resembling the mammals of the present. in the atmosphere the flying dragons of the mesozoic give place to birds and bats. in the sea, whales, sharks, and teleost fishes of modern types rule in the stead of huge swimming reptiles. the lower vertebrates, the invertebrates of land and sea, and the plants of field and forest take on a modern aspect, and differ little more from those of to-day than the plants and animals of different countries now differ from one another. from the beginning of the cenozoic era until now there is a steadily increasing number of species of animals and plants which have continued to exist to the present time.
-the cenozoic era comprises two divisions,--the tertiary period and the quaternary period.
-in the early days of geology the formations of the entire geological record, so far as it was then known, were divided into three groups,--the primary, the secondary (now known as the mesozoic), and the tertiary, when the third group was subdivided into two systems, the term tertiary was retained for the first system of the two, while the term quaternary was used to designate the second.
-divisions of the tertiary. the formations of the tertiary are grouped in three divisions,--the pliocene (more recent), the miocene (less recent), and the eocene (the dawn of the recent). each of these epochs is long and complex. their various sub- divisions are distinguished each by its own peculiar organisms, and the changes of physical geography recorded in their strata. in the rapid view which we are compelled to take we can note only a few of the most conspicuous events of the period.
-physical geography of the tertiary in eastern north america. the tertiary rocks of eastern north america are marine deposits and occupy the coastal lowlands of the atlantic and gulf states (fig. 260). in new england, tertiary beds occur on the island of martha's vineyard, but not on the mainland; hence the shore line here stood somewhat farther out than now. from new jersey southward the earliest tertiary sands and clays, still unconsolidated, leave only a narrow strip of the edge of the cretaceous between them and the triassic and crystalline rocks of the piedmont oldland; hence the atlantic shore here stood farther in than now, and at the beginning of the period the present coastal plain was continental delta. a broad belt of tertiary sea- laid limestones, sandstones, and shales surrounds the gulf of mexico and extends northward up the mississippi embayment to the mouth of the ohio river; hence the gulf was then larger than at present, and its waters reached in a broad bay far up the mississippi valley.
-along the atlantic coast the mesozoic peneplain may be traced shoreward to where it disappears from view beneath an unconformable cover of early tertiary marine strata. the beginning of the tertiary was therefore marked by a subsidence. the wide erosion surface which at the close of the mesozoic lay near sea level where the appalachian mountains and their neighboring plateaus and uplands now stand was lowered gently along its seaward edge beneath the tertiary atlantic to receive a cover of its sediments.
-as the period progressed slight oscillations occurred from time to time. strips of coastal plain were added to the land, and as early as the close of the miocene the shore lines of the atlantic and gulf states had reached well-nigh their present place. louisiana and florida were the last areas to emerge wholly from the sea,-- florida being formed by a broad transverse upwarp of the continental delta at the opening of the miocene, forming first an island, which afterwards was joined to the mainland.
-the pacific coast. tertiary deposits with marine fossils occur along the western foothills of the sierra nevadas, and are crumpled among the mountain masses of the coast ranges; it is hence inferred that the great valley of california was then a border sea, separated from the ocean by a chain of mountainous islands which were upridged into the coast ranges at a still later time. tertiary marine strata are spread over the lower columbia valley and that of puget sound, showing that the pacific came in broadly there.
-the interior of the western united states. the closing stages of the mesozoic were marked, as we have seen, by the upheaval of the rocky mountains and other western ranges. the bases of the mountains are now skirted by widespread tertiary deposits, which form the highest strata of the lofty plateaus from the level of whose summits the mountains rise. like the recent alluvium of the great valley of california, these deposits imply low-lying lands when they were laid, and therefore at that time the mountains rose from near sea level. but the height at which the tertiary strata now stand--five thousand feet above the sea at denver, and twice that height in the plateaus of southern utah--proves that the plateaus of which the tertiary strata form a part have been uplifted during the cenozoic. during their uplift, warping formed extensive basins both east and west of the rockies, and in these basins stream-swept and lake-laid waste gathered to depths of hundreds and thousands of feet, as it is accumulating at present in the great valley of california and on the river plains of turkestan. the tertiary river deposits of the high plains have already been described. how widespread are these ancient river plains and beds of fresh-water lakes may be seen in the map of figure 260.
-the bad lands. in several of the western states large areas of tertiary fresh-water deposits have been dissected to a maze of hills whose steep sides are cut with innumerable ravines. the deposits of these ancient river plains and lake beds are little cemented and because of the dryness of the climate are unprotected by vegetation; hence they are easily carved by the wet-weather rills of scanty and infrequent rains. these waterless, rugged surfaces were named by the early french explorers the bad lands because they were found so difficult to traverse. the strata of the bad lands contain vast numbers of the remains of the animals of tertiary times, and the large amount of barren surface exposed to view makes search for fossils easy and fruitful. these desolate tracts are therefore frequently visited by scientific collecting expeditions.
-mountain making in the tertiary. the tertiary period included epochs when the earth's crust was singularly unquiet. from time to time on all the continents subterranean forces gathered head, and the crust was bent and broken and upridged in lofty mountains.
-the sierra nevada range was formed, as we have seen, by strata crumpling at the end of the jurassic. but since that remote time the upfolded mountains had been worn to plains and hilly uplands, the remnants of whose uplifted erosion surfaces may now be traced along the western mountain slopes. beginning late in the tertiary, the region was again affected by mountain-making movements. a series of displacements along a profound fault on the eastern side tilted the enormous earth block of the sierras to the west, lifting its eastern edge to form the lofty crest and giving to the range a steep eastern front and a gentle descent toward the pacific.
-the coast ranges also have had a complex history with many vicissitudes. the earliest foldings of their strata belong to the close of the jurassic, but it was not until the end of the miocene that the line of mountainous islands and the heavy sediments which had been deposited on their submerged flanks were crushed into a continuous mountain chain. thick pliocene beds upon their sides prove that they were depressed to near sea level during the later tertiary. at the close of the pliocene the coast ranges rose along with the upheaval of the sierra, and their gradual uplift has continued to the present time.
-the numerous north-south ranges of the great basin and the mount saint elias range of alaska were also uptilted during the tertiary.
-during the tertiary period many of the loftiest mountains of the earth--the alps, the apennines, the pyrenees, the atlas, the caucasus, and the himalayas--received the uplift to which they owe most of their colossal bulk and height, as portions of the tertiary sea beds now found high upon their flanks attest. in the himalayas, tertiary marine limestones occur sixteen thousand five hundred feet above sea level.
-volcanic activity in the tertiary. the vast deformations of the tertiary were accompanied on a corresponding scale by outpourings of lava, the outburst of volcanoes, and the intrusion of molten masses within the crust. in the sierra nevadas the miocene river gravels of the valleys of the western slope, with their placer deposits of gold, were buried beneath streams of lava and beds of tuff. volcanoes broke forth along the rocky mountains and on the plateaus of utah, new mexico, and arizona.
-mount shasta and the immense volcanic piles of the cascades date from this period. the mountain basin of the yellowstone park was filled to a depth of several thousand feet with tuffs and lavas, the oldest dating as far back as the beginning of the tertiary. crandall volcano was reared in the miocene and the latest eruptions of the park are far more recent.
-the columbia and snake river lavas. still more important is the plateau of lava, more than two hundred thousand square miles in area, extending from the yellowstone park to the cascade mountains, which has been built from miocene times to the present.
-over this plateau, which occupies large portions of idaho, washington, and oregon, and extends into northern california and nevada, the country rock is basaltic lava. for thousands of square miles the surface is a lava plain which meets the boundary mountains as a lake or sea meets a rugged and deeply indented coast. the floods of molten rock spread up the mountain valleys for a score of miles and more, the intervening spurs rising above the lava like long peninsulas, while here and there an isolated peak was left to tower above the inundation like an island off a submerged shore.
-the rivers which drain the plateau--the snake, the columbia, and their tributaries--have deeply trenched it, yet their canyons, which reach the depth of several thousand feet, have not been worn to the base of the lava except near the margin and where they cut the summits of mountains drowned beneath the flood. here and there the plateau has been deformed. it has been upbent into great folds, and broken into immense blocks of bedded lava, forming mountain ranges, which run parallel with the pacific coast line. on the edges of these tilted blocks the thickness of the lava is seen to be fully five thousand feet. the plateau has been built, like that of iceland, of innumerable overlapping sheets of lava. on the canyon walls they weather back in horizontal terraces and long talus slopes. one may distinguish each successive flow by its dense central portion, often jointed with large vertical columns, and the upper portion with its mass of confused irregular columns and scoriaceous surface. the average thickness of the flows seems to be about seventy-five feet.
-the plateau was long in building. between the layers are found in places old soil beds and forest grounds and the sediments of lakes. hence the interval between the flows in any locality was sometimes long enough for clays to gather in the lakes which filled depressions in the surface. again and again the surface of the black basalt was reddened by oxidation and decayed to soil, and forests had time to grow upon it before the succeeding inundation sealed the sediments and soils away beneath a sheet of stone. near the edges of the lava plain, rivers from the surrounding mountains spread sheets of sand and gravel on the surface of one flow after another. these pervious sands, interbedded with the lava, become the aquifers of artesian wells.
-in places the lavas rest on extensive lake deposits, one thousand feet deep, and miocene in age as their fossils prove. it is to the middle tertiary, then, that the earliest flows and the largest bulk of the great inundation belong. so ancient are the latest floods in the columbia basin that they have weathered to a residual yellow clay from thirty to sixty feet in depth and marvelously rich in the mineral substances on which plants feed.
-in the snake river valley the latest lavas are much younger. their surfaces are so fresh and undecayed that here the effusive eruptions may well have continued to within the period of human history. low lava domes like those of iceland mark where last the basalt outwelled and spread far and wide before it chilled (fig. 341). in places small mounds of scoria show that the eruptions were accompanied to a slight degree by explosions of steam. so fluid was this superheated lava that recent flows have been traced for more than fifty miles.
-the rocks underlying the columbia lavas, where exposed to view, are seen to be cut by numerous great dikes of dense basalt, which mark the fissures through which the molten rock rose to the surface.
-the tertiary included times of widespread and intense volcanic action in other continents as well as in north america. in europe, vesuvius and etna began their career as submarine volcanoes in connection with earth movements which finally lifted pliocene deposits in sicily to their present height,--four thousand feet above the sea. volcanoes broke forth in central france and southern germany, in hungary and the carpathians. innumerable fissures opened in the crust from the north of ireland and the western islands of scotland to the faroes, iceland, and even to arctic greenland; and here great plateaus were built of flows of basalt similar to that of the columbia river. in india, at the opening of the tertiary, there had been an outwelling of basalt, flooding to a depth of thousands of feet two hundred thousand square miles of the northwestern part of the peninsula, and similar inundations of lava occurred where are now the table-lands of abyssinia. from the middle tertiary on, asia minor, arabia, and persia were the scenes of volcanic action. in palestine the rise of the uplands of judea at the close of the eocene, and the downfaulting of the jordan valley were followed by volcanic outbursts. in comparison with the middle tertiary, the present is a time of volcanic inactivity and repose.
-erosion of tertiary mountains and plateaus. the mountains and plateaus built at various times during the tertiary and at its commencement have been profoundly carved by erosive agents. the sierra nevada mountains have been dissected on the western slope by such canyons as those of king's river and the yosemite. six miles of strata have been denuded from parts of the wasatch mountains since their rise at the beginning of the era. from the colorado plateaus, whose uplift dates from the same time, there have been stripped off ten thousand feet of strata over thousands of square miles, and the colossal canyon of the colorado has been cut after this great denudation had been mostly accomplished.
-on the eastern side of the continent, as we have seen, a broad peneplain had been developed by the close of the cretaceous. the remnants of this old erosion surface are now found upwarped to various heights in different portions of its area. in southern new england it now stands fifteen hundred feet above the sea in western massachusetts, declining thence southward and eastward to sea level at the coast. in southwestern virginia it has been lifted to four thousand feet above the sea. manifestly this upwarp occurred since the peneplain was formed; it is later than the mesozoic, and the vast dissection which the peneplain has suffered since its uplift must belong to the successive cycles of cenozoic time.
-revived by the uplift, the streams of the area trenched it as deeply as its elevation permitted, and reaching grade, opened up wide valleys and new peneplains in the softer rocks. the connecticut valley is tertiary in age, and in the weak triassic sandstones has been widened in places to fifteen miles. dating from the same time are the valleys of the hudson, the susquehanna, the delaware, the potomac, and the shenandoah.
-in pennsylvania and the states lying to the south the mesozoic peneplain lies along the summits of the mountain ridges. on the surface of this ancient plain, tertiary erosion etched out the beautifully regular pattern of the allegheny mountain ridges and their intervening valleys. the weaker strata of the long, regular folds were eroded into longitudinal valleys, while the hard paleozoic sandstones, such as the medina and the pocono, were left in relief as bold mountain walls whose even crests rise to the common level of the ancient plain. from virginia far into alabama the great appalachian valley was opened to a width in places of fifty miles and more, along a belt of intensely folded and faulted strata where once was the heart of the appalachian mountains. in figure 70 the summit of the cumberland plateau (ab) marks the level of the mesozoic peneplain, while the lower erosion levels are tertiary and quaternary in age.
-life of the tertiary period
-vegetation and climate. the highest plants in structure, the dicotyls (such as our deciduous forest trees) and the monocotyls (represented by the palms), were introduced during the cretaceous. the vegetable kingdom reached its culmination before the animal kingdom, and if the dividing line between the mesozoic and the cenozoic were drawn according to the progress of plant life, the cretaceous instead of the tertiary would be made the opening period of the modern era.
-the plants of the tertiary belonged, for the most part, to genera now living; but their distribution was very different from that of the flora of to-day. in the earlier tertiary, palms flourished over northern europe, and in the northwestern united states grew the magnolia and laurel, along with the walnut, oak, and elm. even in northern greenland and in spitzbergen there were lakes covered with water lilies and surrounded by forests of maples, poplars, limes, the cypress of our southern states, and noble sequoias similar to the "big trees" and redwoods of california. a warm climate like that of the mesozoic, therefore, prevailed over north america and europe, extending far toward the pole. in the later tertiary the climate gradually became cooler. palms disappeared from europe, and everywhere the aspect of forests and open lands became more like that of to-day. grasses became abundant, furnishing a new food for herbivorous animals.
-animal life of the tertiary. little needs to be said of the tertiary invertebrates, so nearly were they like the invertebrates of the present. even in the eocene, about five per cent of marine shells were of species still living, and in the pliocene the proportion had risen to more than one half.
-fishes were of modern types. teleosts were now abundant. the ocean teemed with sharks, some of them being voracious monsters seventy- five feet and even more in length, with a gape of jaw of six feet, as estimated by the size of their enormous sharp-edged teeth.
-snakes are found for the first time in the early tertiary. these limbless reptiles, evolved by degeneration from lizardlike ancestors, appeared in nonpoisonous types scarcely to be distinguished from those of the present day.
-mammals of the early tertiary. the fossils of continental deposits of the earliest eocene show that a marked advance had now been made in the evolution of the mammalia. the higher mammals had appeared, and henceforth the lower mammals--the monotremes and the marsupials--are reduced to a subordinate place.
-these first true mammals were archaic and generalized in structure. their feet were of the primitive type, with five toes of about equal length. they were also plantigrades,--that is, they touched the ground with the sole of the entire foot from toe to heel. no foot had yet become adapted to swift running by a decrease in the number of digits and by lifting the heel and sole so that only the toes touch the ground,--a tread called digitigrade. nor was there yet any foot like that of the cats, with sharp retractile claws adapted to seizing and tearing the prey. the forearm and the lower leg each had still two separate bones (ulna and radius, fibula and tibia), neither pair having been replaced with a single strong bone, as in the leg of the horse. the teeth also were primitive in type and of full number. the complex heavy grinders of the horse and elephant, the sharp cutting teeth of the carnivores, and the cropping teeth of the grass eaters were all still to come.
-the long ages of the eocene and the following epochs of the tertiary were times of comparatively rapid evolution among the mammalia. the earliest forms evolved along diverging lines toward the various specialized types of hoofed mammals, rodents, carnivores, proboscidians, the primates, and the other mammalian orders as we know them now. we must describe the tertiary mammals very briefly, tracing the lines of descent of only a few of the more familiar mammals of the present.
-the middle toe was enlarged still more, the side toes were dropped, and the palm and foot bones which supported them were reduced to splints.
-while these changes were in progress the radius and ulna of the fore limb became consolidated to a single bone; and in the hind limb the fibula dwindled to a splint, while the tibia was correspondingly enlarged. the molars, also gradually lengthened, and became more and more complex on their grinding surface; the neck became longer; the brain steadily increased in size and its convolutions became more abundant. the evolution of the horse has made for greater fleetness and intelligence.
-the rhinoceros and tapir. these animals, which are grouped with the horse among the odd-toed (perissodactyl) mammals, are now verging toward extinction. in the rhinoceros, evolution seems to have taken the opposite course from that of the horse. as the animal increased in size it became more clumsy, its limbs became shorter and more massive, and, perhaps because of its great weight, the number of digits were not reduced below the number three. like other large herbivores, the rhinoceros, too slow to escape its enemies by flight, learned to withstand them. it developed as its means of defense a nasal horn.
-peculiar offshoots of the line appeared at various times in the tertiary. a rhinoceros, semiaquatic in habits, with curved tusks, resembling in aspect the hippopotamus, lived along the water courses of the plains east of the rockies, and its bones are now found by the thousands in the miocene of kansas. another developed along a line parallel to that of the horse, and herds of these light-limbed and swift-footed running rhinoceroses ranged the great plains from the dakotas southward.
-the tapirs are an ancient family which has changed but little since it separated from the other perissodactyl stocks in the early tertiary. at present, tapirs are found only in south america and southern asia,--a remarkable distribution which we could not explain were it not that the geological record shows that during tertiary times tapirs ranged throughout the northern hemisphere, making their way to south america late in that period. during the pleistocene they became extinct over all the intervening lands between the widely separated regions where now they live. the geographic distribution of animals, as well as their relationships and origins, can be understood only through a study of their geological history.
-the proboscidians. this unique order of hoofed mammals, of which the elephant is the sole survivor, began, so far as known, in the eocene, in egypt, with a piglike ancestor the size of a small horse, with cheek teeth like the mastodon's, but wanting both trunk and tusks. a proboscidian came next with four short tusks, and in the miocene there followed a mastodon (fig. 346) armed with two pairs of long, straight tusks on which rested a flexible proboscis.
-the dinothere was a curious offshoot of the line, which developed in the miocene in europe. in this immense proboscidian, whose skull was three feet long, the upper pair of tusks had disappeared, and those of the lower jaw were bent down with a backward curve in walrus fashion.
-in the true elephants, which do not appear until near the close of the tertiary, the lower jaw loses its tusks and the grinding teeth become exceedingly complex in structure. the grinding teeth of the mastodon had long roots and low crowns crossed by four or five peaked enameled ridges. in the teeth of the true elephants the crown has become deep, and the ridges of enamel have changed to numerous upright, platelike folds, their interspaces filled with cement. the two genera--mastodon and elephant--are connected by species whose teeth are intermediate in pattern. the proboscidians culminated in the pliocene, when some of the giant elephants reached a height of fourteen feet.
-the artiodactyls comprise the hoofed mammalia which have an even number of toes, such as cattle, sheep, and swine. like the perissodactyls, they are descended from the primitive five-toed plantigrade mammals of the lowest eocene. in their evolution, digit number one was first dropped, and the middle pair became larger and more massive, while the side digits, numbers two and five, became shorter, weaker, and less serviceable. the four-toed artiodactyls culminated in the tertiary; at present they are represented only by the hippopotamus and the hog. along the main line of the evolution of the artiodactyls the side toes, digits two and five, disappeared, leaving as proof that they once existed the corresponding bones of palm and sole as splints. the two-toed artiodactyls, such as the camels, deer, cattle, and sheep, are now the leading types of the herbivores.
-swine and peccaries are two branches of a common stock, the first developing in the old world and the second in the new. in the miocene a noticeable offshoot of the line was a gigantic piglike brute, a root eater, with a skull a yard in length, whose remains are now found in colorado and south dakota.
-camels and llamas. the line of camels and llamas developed in north america, where the successive changes from an early eocene ancestor, no larger than a rabbit, are traced step by step to the present forms, as clearly as is the evolution of the horse. in the late miocene some of the ancestral forms migrated to the old world by way of a land connection where bering strait now is, and there gave rise to the camels and dromedaries. others migrated into south america, which had now been connected with our own continent, and these developed into the llamas and guanacos, while those of the race which remained in north america became extinct during the pleistocene.
-some peculiar branches of the camel stem appeared in north america. in the pliocene arose a llama with the long neck and limbs of a giraffe, whose food was cropped from the leaves and branches of trees. far more generalized in structure was the oreodon, an animal related to the camels, but with distinct affinities also with other lines, such as those of the hog and deer. these curious creatures were much like the peccary in appearance, except for their long tails. in the middle eocene they roamed in vast herds from oregon to kansas and nebraska.
-the ruminants. this division of the artiodactyls includes antelopes, deer, oxen, bison, sheep, and goats,--all of which belong to a common stock which took its rise in europe in the upper eocene from ancestral forms akin to those of the camels. in the miocene the evolution of the two-toed artiodactyl foot was well-nigh completed. bonelike growths appeared on the head, and the two groups of the ruminants became specialized,--the deer with bony antlers, shed and renewed each year, and the ruminants with hollow horns, whose two bony knobs upon the skull are covered with permanent, pointed, horny sheaths.
-the ruminants evolved in the old world, and it was not until the later miocene that the ancestors of the antelope and of some deer found their way to north america. mountain sheep and goats, the bison and most of the deer, did not arrive until after the close of the tertiary, and sheep and oxen were introduced by man.
-the hoofed mammals of the tertiary included many offshoots from the main lines which we have traced. among them were a number of genera of clumsy, ponderous brutes, some almost elephantine in their bulk.
-the carnivores. the ancestral lines of the families of the flesh eaters--such as the cats (lions, tigers, etc.), the bears, the hyenas, and the dogs (including wolves and foxes)--converge in the creodonts of the early eocene,--an order so generalized that it had affinities not only with the carnivores but also with the insect eaters, the marsupials, and the hoofed mammals as well. from these primitive flesh eaters, with small and simple brains, numerous small teeth, and plantigrade tread, the different families of the carnivores of the present have slowly evolved.
-dogs and bears. the dog family diverged from the creodonts late in the eocene, and divided into two branches, one of which evolved the wolves and the other the foxes. an offshoot gave rise to the family of the bears, and so closely do these two families, now wide apart, approach as we trace them back in tertiary times that the amphicyon, a genus doglike in its teeth and bearlike in other structures, is referred by some to the dog and by others to the bear family. the well-known plantigrade tread of bears is a primitive characteristic which has survived from their creodont ancestry.
-cats. the family of the cats, the most highly specialized of all the carnivores, divided in the tertiary into two main branches. one, the saber-tooth tigers (fig. 351), which takes its name from their long, saberlike, sharp-edged upper canine teeth, evolved a succession of genera and species, among them some of the most destructive beasts of prey which ever scourged the earth. they were masters of the entire northern hemisphere during the middle tertiary, but in europe during the pliocene they declined, from unknown causes, and gave place to the other branch of cats,--which includes the lions, tigers, and leopards. in the americas the saber-tooth tigers long survived the epoch.
-marine mammals. the carnivorous mammals of the sea--whales, seals, walruses, etc.--seem to have been derived from some of the creodonts of the early tertiary by adaptation to aquatic life. whales evolved from some land ancestry at a very early date in the tertiary; in the marine deposits of the eocene are found the bones of the zeuglodon, a whalelike creature seventy feet in length.
-primates. this order, which includes lemurs, monkeys, apes, and man, seems to have sprung from a creodont or insectivorous ancestry in the lower eocene. lemur-like types, with small, smooth brains, were abundant in the united states in the early tertiary, but no primates have been found here in the middle tertiary and later strata. in europe true monkeys were introduced in the miocene, and were abundant until the close of the tertiary, when they were driven from the continent by the increasing cold.
-advance of the mammalia during the tertiary. during the several millions of years comprised in tertiary time the mammals evolved from the lowly, simple types which tenanted the earth at the beginning of the period, into the many kinds of highly specialized mammals of the pleistocene and the present, each with the various structures of the body adapted to its own peculiar mode of life. the swift feet of the horse, the horns of cattle and the antlers of the deer, the lion's claws and teeth, the long incisors of the beaver, the proboscis of the elephant, were all developed in tertiary times. in especial the brain of the tertiary mammals constantly grew larger relatively to the size of body, and the higher portion of the brain--the cerebral lobes--increased in size in comparison with the cerebellum. some of the hoofed mammals now have a brain eight or ten times the size of that of their early tertiary predecessors of equal bulk. nor can we doubt that along with the increasing size of brain went a corresponding increase in the keenness of the senses, in activity and vigor, and in intelligence.
-the last period of geological history, the quaternary, may be said to have begun when all, or nearly all, living species of mollusks and most of the existing mammals had appeared.
-it is divided into two great epochs. the first, the pleistocene or glacial epoch, is marked off from the tertiary by the occupation of the northern parts of north america and europe by vast ice sheets; the second, the recent epoch, began with the disappearance of the ice sheets from these continents, and merges into the present time.
-the pleistocene epoch
-we now come to an episode of unusual interest, so different was it from most of the preceding epochs and from the present, and so largely has it influenced the conditions of man's life.
-the records of the glacial epoch are so plain and full that we are compelled to believe what otherwise would seem almost incredible, --that following the mild climate of the tertiary came a succession of ages when ice fields, like that of greenland, shrouded the northern parts of north america and europe and extended far into temperate latitudes.
-the drift. our studies of glaciers have prepared us to decipher and interpret the history of the glacial epoch, as it is recorded in the surface deposits known as the drift. over most of canada and the northern states this familiar formation is exposed to view in nearly all cuttings which pass below the surface soil. the drift includes two distinct classes of deposits,--the unstratified drift laid down by glacier ice, and the stratified drift spread by glacier waters.
-the materials of the drift are in any given place in part unlike the rock on which it rests. they cannot be derived from the underlying rock by weathering, but have been brought from elsewhere. thus where a region is underlain by sedimentary rocks, as is the drift-covered area from the hudson river to the missouri, the drift contains not only fragments of limestone, sandstone, and shale of local derivation, but also pebbles of many igneous and metamorphic rocks, such as granites, gneisses, schists, dike rocks, quartzites, and the quartz of mineral veins, whose nearest source is the archean area of canada and the states of our northern border. the drift received its name when it was supposed that the formation had been drifted by floods and icebergs from outside sources,--a theory long since abandoned.
-the distribution also of the drift points clearly to its peculiar origin. within the limits of the glaciated area it covers the country without regard to the relief, mantling with its debris not only lowlands and valleys but also highlands and mountain slopes.
-the boundary of the drift is equally independent of the relief of the land, crossing hills and plains impartially, unlike water-laid deposits, whose margins, unless subsequently deformed, are horizontal. the boundary of the drift is strikingly lobate also, bending outward in broad, convex curves, where there are no natural barriers in the topography of the country to set it such a limit. under these conditions such a lobate margin cannot belong to deposits of rivers, lakes, or ocean, but is precisely that which would mark the edge of a continental glacier which deployed in broad tongues of ice.
-the rock surface underlying the drift. over much of its area the drift rests on firm, fresh rock, showing that both the preglacial mantle of residual waste and the partially decomposed and broken rock beneath it have been swept away. the underlying rock, especially if massive, hard, and of a fine grain, has often been ground down to a smooth surface and rubbed to a polish as perfect as that seen on the rock beside an alpine glacier where the ice has recently melted back. frequently it has been worn to the smooth, rounded hummocks known as roches moutonnees, and even rocky hills have been thus smoothed to flowing outlines like roches moutonnees on a gigantic scale. the rock pavement beneath the drift is also marked by long, straight, parallel scorings, varying in size from deep grooves to fine striae as delicate as the hair lines cut by an engraver's needle. where the rock is soft or closely jointed it is often shattered to a depth of several feet beneath the drift, while stony clay has been thrust in among the fragments into which the rock is broken.
-in the presence of these glaciated surfaces we cannot doubt that the area of the drift has been overridden by vast sheets of ice which, in their steady flow, rasped and scored the rock bed beneath by means of the stones with which their basal layers were inset, and in places plucked and shattered it.
-till. the unstratified portion of the drift consists chiefly of sheets of dense, stony clay called till, which clearly are the ground moraines of ancient continental glaciers. till is an unsorted mixture of materials of all sizes, from fine clay and sand, gravel, pebbles, and cobblestones, to large bowlders. the stones of the till are of many kinds, some having been plucked from the bed rock of the locality where they are found, and others having been brought from outside and often distant places. land ice is the only agent known which can spread unstratified material in such extensive sheets.
-the fine material of the till comes from two different sources. in part it is derived from old residual clays, which in the making had been leached of the lime and other soluble ingredients of the rock from which they weathered. in part it consists of sound rock ground fine; a drop of acid on fresh, clayey till often proves by brisk effervescence that the till contains much undecayed limestone flour. the ice sheet, therefore, both scraped up the mantle of long-weathered waste which covered the coun try before its coming, and also ground heavily upon the sound rock underneath, and crushed and wore to rock flour the fragments which it carried.
-the color of unweathered till depends on that of the materials of which it is composed. where red sandstones have contributed largely to its making, as over the triassic sandstones of the eastern states and the algonkian sandstones about lake superior, the drift is reddish. when derived in part from coaly shales, as over many outcrops of the pennsylvanian, it may when moist be almost black. fresh till is normally a dull gray or bluish, so largely is it made up of the grindings of unoxidized rocks of these common colors.
-except where composed chiefly of sand or coarser stuff, unweathered till is often exceedingly dense. can you suggest by what means it has been thus compacted? did the ice fields of the glacial epoch bear heavy surface moraines like the medial and lateral moraines of valley glaciers? where was the greater part of the load of these ice fields carried, judging from what you know of the glaciers of greenland?
-bowlders of the drift. the pebbles and bowlders of the drift are in part stream gravels, bowlders of weathering, and other coarse rock waste picked up from the surface of the country by the advancing ice, and in part are fragments plucked from ledges of sound rock after the mantle of waste had been removed. many of the stones of the till are dressed as only glacier ice can do; their sharp edges have been blunted and their sides faceted and scored.
-we may easily find all stages of this process represented among the pebbles of the till. some are little worn, even on their edges; some are planed and scored on one side only; while some in their long journey have been ground down to many facets and have lost much of their original bulk. evidently the ice played fast and loose with a stone carried in its basal layers, now holding it fast and rubbing it against the rock beneath, now loosening its grasp and allowing the stone to turn.
-bowlders of the drift are sometimes found on higher ground than their parent ledges. thus bowlders have been left on the sides of mount katahdin, maine, which were plucked from limestone ledges twelve miles distant and three thousand feet lower than their resting place. in other cases stones have been carried over mountain ranges, as in vermont, where pebbles of burlington red sandstone were dragged over the green mountains, three thousand feet in height, and left in the connecticut valley sixty miles away. no other geological agent than glacier ice could do this work.
-the bowlders of the drift are often large. bowlders ten and twenty feet in diameter are not uncommon, and some are known whose diameter exceeds fifty feet. as a rule the average size of bowlders decreases with increasing distance from their sources. why?
-till plains. the surface of the drift, where left in its initial state, also displays clear proof of its glacial origin. over large areas it is spread in level plains of till, perhaps bowlder- dotted, similar to the plains of stony clay left in spitzbergen by the recent retreat of some of the glaciers of that island. in places the unstratified drift is heaped in hills of various kinds, which we will now describe.
-drumlins. drumlins are smooth, rounded hills composed of till, elliptical in base, and having their longer axes parallel to the movement of the ice as shown by glacial scorings. they crowd certain districts in central new york and in southern wisconsin, where they may be counted by the thousands. among the numerous drumlins about boston is historic bunker hill.
-drumlins are made of ground moraine. they were accumulated and given shape beneath the overriding ice, much as are sand bars in a river, or in some instances were carved, like roches moutonnees, by an ice sheet out of the till left by an earlier ice invasion.
-terminal moraines. the glaciated area is crossed by belts of thickened drift, often a mile or two, and sometimes even ten miles and more, in breadth, which lie transverse to the movement of the ice and clearly are the terminal moraines of ancient ice sheets, marking either the limit of their farthest advance or pauses in their general retreat.
-the surface of these moraines is a jumble of elevations and depressions, which vary from low, gentle swells and shallow sags to sharp hills, a hundred feet or so in height, and deep, steep- sided hollows. such tumultuous hills and hummocks, set with depressions of all shapes, which usually are without outlet and are often occupied by marshes, ponds, and lakes, surely cannot be the work of running water. the hills are heaps of drift, lodged beneath the ice edge or piled along its front. the basins were left among the tangle of morainic knolls and ridges as the margin of the ice moved back and forth. some bowl-shaped basins were made by the melting of a mass of ice left behind by the retreating glacier and buried in its debris.
-the stratified drift. like modern glaciers the ice sheets of the pleistocene were ever being converted into water about their margins. their limits on the land were the lines where their onward flow was just balanced by melting and evaporation. on the surface of the ice along the marginal zone, rivulets no doubt flowed in summer, and found their way through crevasses to the interior of the glacier or to the ground. subglacial streams, like those of the malaspina glacier, issued from tunnels in the ice, and water ran along the melting ice front as it is seen to do about the glacier tongues of greenland. all these glacier waters flowed away down the chief drainage channels in swollen rivers loaded with glacial waste.
-it is not unexpected therefore that there are found, over all the country where the melting ice retreated, deposits made of the same materials as the till, but sorted and stratified by running water. some of these were deposited behind the ice front in ice-walled channels, some at the edge of the glaciers by issuing streams, and others were spread to long distances in front of the ice edge by glacial waters as they flowed away.
-eskers are narrow, winding ridges of stratified sand and gravel whose general course lies parallel with the movement of the glacier. these ridges, though evidently laid by running water, do not follow lines of continuous descent, but may be found to cross river valleys and ascend their sides. hence the streams by which eskers were laid did not flow unconfined upon the surface of the ground. we may infer that eskers were deposited in the tunnels and ice-walled gorges of glacial streams before they issued from the ice front.
-kames are sand and gravel knolls, associated for the most part with terminal moraines, and heaped by glacial waters along the margin of the ice.
-kame terraces are hummocky embankments of stratified drift sometimes found in rugged regions along the sides of valleys. in these valleys long tongues of glacier ice lay slowly melting. glacial waters took their way between the edges of the glaciers and the hillside, and here deposited sand and gravel in rude terraces.
-outwash plains are plains of sand and gravel which frequently border terminal moraines on their outward face, and were spread evidently by outwash from the melting ice. outwash plains are sometimes pitted by bowl-shaped basins where ice blocks were left buried in the sand by the retreating glacier.
-valley trains are deposits of stratified drift with which river valleys have been aggraded. valleys leading outward from the ice front were flooded by glacial waters and were filled often to great depths with trains of stream-swept drift. since the disappearance of the ice these glacial flood plains have been dissected by the shrunken rivers of recent times and left on either side the valley in high terraces. valley trains head in morainic plains, and their material grows finer down valley and coarser toward their sources. their gradient is commonly greater than that of the present rivers.
-the extent of the drift. the extent of the drift of north america and its southern limits are best seen in figure 359. its area is reckoned at about four million square miles. the ice fields which once covered so much of our continent were all together ten times as large as the inland ice of greenland, and about equal to the enormous ice cap which now covers the antartic regions.
-the ice field of europe was much smaller, measuring about seven hundred and seventy thousand square miles.
-centers of dispersion. the direction of the movement of the ice is recorded plainly in the scorings of the rock surface, in the shapes of glaciated hills, in the axes of drumlins and eskers, and in trains of bowlders, when the ledges from which they were plucked can be discovered. in these ways it has been proved that in north america there were three centers where ice gathered to the greatest depth, and from which it flowed in all directions outward. there were thus three vast ice fields,--one the cordilleran, which lay upon the cordilleras of british america; one the keewatin, which flowed out from the province of keewatin, west of hudson bay; and one the labrador ice field, whose center of dispersion was on the highlands of the peninsula of labrador. as shown in figure 359, the western ice field extended but a short way beyond the eastern foothills of the rocky mountains, where perhaps it met the far-traveled ice from the great central field. the keewatin and the labrador ice fields flowed farthest toward the south, and in the mississippi valley the one reached the mouth of the missouri and the other nearly to the mouth of the ohio. in minnesota and wisconsin and northward they merged in one vast field.
-the thickness of the ice was so great that it buried the highest mountains of eastern north america, as is proved by the transported bowlders which have been found upon their summits. if the land then stood at its present height above sea level, and if the average slope of the ice were no more than ten feet to the mile,--a slope so gentle that the eye could not detect it and less than half the slope of the interior of the inland ice of greenland,--the ice plateaus about hudson bay must have reached a thickness of at least ten thousand feet.
-in europe the scandinavian plateau was the chief center of dispersion. at the time of greatest glaciation a continuous field of ice extended from the ural mountains to the atlantic, where, off the coasts of norway and the british isles, it met the sea in an unbroken ice wall. on the south it reached to southern england, belgium, and central germany, and deployed on the eastern plains in wide lobes over poland and central russia (fig. 360).
-at the same time the alps supported giant glaciers many times the size of the surviving glaciers of to-day, and a piedmont glacier covered the plains of northern switzerland.
-the thickness of the drift. the drift is far from uniform in thickness. it is comparatively thin and scanty over the laurentian highlands and the rugged regions of new england, while from southern new york and ontario westward over the mississippi valley, and on the great western plains of canada, it exceeds an average of one hundred feet over wide areas, and in places has five and six times that thickness. it was to this marginal belt that the ice sheets brought their loads, while northwards, nearer the centers of dispersion, erosion was excessive and deposition slight.
-successive ice invasions and their drift sheets. recent studies of the drift prove that it does not consist of one indivisible formation, but includes a number of distinct drift sheets, each with its own peculiar features. the pleistocene epoch consisted, therefore, of several glacial stages,--during each of which the ice advanced far southward,--together with the intervening interglacial stages when, under a milder climate, the ice melted back toward its sources or wholly disappeared.
-the evidences of such interglacial stages, and the means by which the different drift sheets are told apart, are illustrated in figure 361. here the country from n to s is wholly covered by drift, but the drift from n to m is so unlike that from m to s that we may believe it the product of a distinct ice invasion and deposited during another and far later glacial stage. the former drift is very young, for its drainage is as yet immature, and there are many lakes and marshes upon its surface; the latter is far older, for its surface has been thoroughly dissected by its streams. the former is but slightly weathered, while the latter is so old that it is deeply reddened by oxidation and is leached of its soluble ingredients such as lime. the younger drift is bordered by a distinct terminal moraine, while the margin of the older drift is not thus marked. moreover, the two drift sheets are somewhat unlike in composition, and the different proportion of pebbles of the various kinds of rocks which they contain shows that their respective glaciers followed different tracks and gathered their loads from different regions. again, in places beneath the younger drift there is found the buried land surface of an older drift with old soils, forest grounds, and vegetable deposits, containing the remains of animals and plants, which tell of the climate of the interglacial stage in which they lived.
-by such differences as these the following drift sheets have been made out in america, and similar subdivisions have been recognized in europe.
-5 the wisconsin formation 4 the iowan formation 3 the illinoian formation 2 the kansan formation 1 the pre-kansan or jerseyan formation
-in new jersey and pennsylvania the edge of a deeply weathered and eroded drift sheet, the jerseyan, extends beyond the limits of a much younger overlying drift. it may be the equivalent of a deep- buried basal drift sheet found in the mississippi valley beneath the kansan and parted from it by peat, old soil, and gravel beds.
-the two succeeding stages mark the greatest snowfall of the glacial epoch. in kansan times the keewatin ice field slowly grew southward until it reached fifteen hundred miles from its center of dispersion and extended from the arctic ocean to northeastern kansas. in the illinoian stage the labrador ice field stretched from hudson straits nearly to the ohio river in illinois. in the iowan and the wisconsin, the closing stages of the glacial epoch, the readvancing ice fields fell far short of their former limits in the mississippi valley, but in the eastern states the labrador ice field during wisconsin times overrode for the most part all earlier deposits, and, covering new england, probably met the ocean in a continuous wall of ice which set its bergs afloat from massachusetts to northern labrador.
-we select for detailed description the kansan and the wisconsin formations as representatives, the one of the older and the other of the younger drift sheets.
-the kansan formation. the kansan drift consists for the most part of a sheet of clayey till carrying smaller bowlders than the later drift. few traces of drumlins, kames, or terminal moraines are found upon the kansan drift, and where thick enough to mask the preexisting surface, it seems to have been spread originally in level plains of till.
-the initial kansan plain has been worn by running water until there are now left only isolated patches and the narrow strips and crests of the divides, which still rise to the ancient level. the valleys of the larger streams have been opened wide. their well- developed tributaries have carved nearly the entire plain to valley slopes (figs. 50 b, and 59). the lakes and marshes which once marked the infancy of the region have long since been effaced. the drift is also deeply weathered. the till, originally blue in color, has been yellowed by oxidation to a depth of ten and twenty feet and even more, and its surface is sometimes rusted to terra-cotta red. to a somewhat less depth it has been leached of its lime and other soluble ingredients. in the weathered zone its pebbles, especially where the till is loose in texture, are sometimes so rotted that granites may be crumbled with the fingers. the kansan drift is therefore old.
-the wisconsin formation. the wisconsin drift sheet is but little weathered and eroded, and therefore is extremely young. oxidation has effected it but slightly, and lime and other soluble plant foods remain undissolved even at the grass roots. its river systems are still in their infancy (fig. 50, a). swamps and peat bogs are abundant on its undrained surface, and to this drift sheet belong the lake lands of our northern states and of the laurentian peneplain of canada.
-the lake basins of the wisconsin drift are of several different classes. many are shallow sags in the ground moraine. still more numerous are the lakes set in hollows among the hills of the terminal moraines; such as the thousands of lakelets of eastern massachusetts. indeed, the terminal moraines of the wisconsin drift may often be roughly traced on maps by means of belts of lakes and ponds. some lakes are due to the blockade of ancient valleys by morainic delms, and this class includes many of the lakes of the adirondacks, the mountain regions of new england, and the laurentian area. still other lakes rest in rock basins scooped out by glaciers. in many cases lakes are due to more than one cause, as where preglacial valleys have both been basined by the ice and blockaded by its moraines. the finger lakes of new york, for example, occupy such glacial troughs.
-massive terminal moraines, which mark the farthest limits to which the wisconsin ice advanced, have been traced from cape cod and the islands south of new england, across the appalachians and the mississippi valley, through the dakotas, and far to the north over the plains of british america. where the ice halted for a time in its general retreat, it left recessional moraines, as this variety of the terminal moraine is called. the moraines of the wisconsin drift lie upon the country like great festoons, each series of concentric loops marking the utmost advance of broad lobes of the ice margin and the various pauses in their recession.
-behind the terminal moraines lie wide till plains, in places studded thickly with drumlins, or ridged with an occasional esker. great outwash plains of sand and gravel lie in front of the moraine belts, and long valley trains of coarse gravels tell of the swift and powerful rivers of the time.
-the loess of the mississippi valley. a yellow earth, quite like the loess of china, is laid broadly as a surface deposit over the mississippi valley from eastern nebraska to ohio outside the boundaries of the iowan and the wisconsin drift. much of the loess was deposited in iowan times. it is younger than the earlier drift sheets, for it overlies their weathered and eroded surfaces. it thickens to the iowan drift border, but is not found upon that drift. it is older than the wisconsin, for in many places it passes underneath the wisconsin terminal moraines. in part the loess seems to have been washed from glacial waste and spread in sluggish glacial waters, and in part to have been distributed by the wind from plains of aggrading glacial streams.
-the effects of the ice invasions on rivers. the repeated ice invasions of the pleistocene profoundly disarranged the drainage systems of our northern states. in some regions the ancient valleys were completely filled with drift. on the withdrawal of the ice the streams were compelled to find their way, as best they could, over a fresh land surface, where we now find them flowing on the drift in young, narrow channels. but hundreds of feet below the ground the well driller and the prospector for coal and oil discover deep, wide, buried valleys cut in rock,--the channels of preglacial and interglacial streams. in places the ancient valleys were filled with drift to a depth of a hundred feet, and sometimes even to a depth of four hundred and five hundred feet. in such valleys, rivers now flow high above their ancient beds of rock on floors of valley drift. many of the valleys of our present rivers are but patchworks of preglacial, interglacial, and postglacial courses (fig. 366). here the river winds along an ancient valley with gently sloping sides and a wide alluvial floor perhaps a mile or so in width, and there it enters a young, rock-walled gorge, whose rocky bed may be crossed by ledges over which the river plunges in waterfalls and rapids.
-in such cases it is possible that the river was pushed to one side of its former valley by a lobe of ice, and compelled to cut a new channel in the adjacent uplands. a section of the valley may have been blockaded with morainic waste, and the lake formed behind the barrier may have found outlet over the country to one side of the ancient drift-filled valley. in some instances it would seem that during the waning of the ice sheets, glacial streams, while confined within walls of stagnant ice, cut down through the ice and incised their channels on the underlying country, in some cases being let down on old river courses, and in other cases excavating gorges in adjacent uplands.
-pleistocene lakes. temporary lakes were formed wherever the ice front dammed the natural drainage of the region. some, held in the minor valleys crossed by ice lobes, were small, and no doubt many were too short-lived to leave lasting records. others, long held against the northward sloping country by the retreating ice edge, left in their beaches their clayey beds, and their outlet channels permanent evidences of their area and depth. some of these glacial lakes are thus known to have been larger than any present lake.
-lake agassiz, named in honor of the author of the theory of continental glaciation, is supposed to have been held by the united front of the keewatin and the labrador ice fields as they finally retreated down the valley of the red river of the north and the drainage basin of lake winnipeg. from first to last lake agassiz covered a hundred and ten thousand square miles in manitoba and the adjacent parts of minnesota and north dakota,--an area larger than all the great lakes combined. it discharged its waters across the divide which held it on the south, and thus excavated the valley of the minnesota river. the lake bed--a plain of till--was spread smooth and level as a floor with lacustrine silts. since lake agassiz vanished with the melting back of the ice beyond the outlet by the nelson river into hudson bay, there has gathered on its floor a deep humus, rich in the nitrogenous elements so needful for the growth of plants, and it is to this soil that the region owes its well-known fertility.
-the great lakes. the basins of the great lakes are broad preglacial river valleys, warped by movements of the crust still in progress, enlarged by the erosive action of lobes of the continental ice sheets, and blockaded by their drift. the complicated glacial and postglacial history of the lakes is recorded in old strand lines which have been traced at various heights about them, showing their areas and the levels at which their waters stood at different times.
-with the retreat of the lobate wisconsin ice sheet toward the north and east, the southern and western ends of the basins of the great lakes were uncovered first; and here, between the receding ice front and the slopes of land which faced it, lakes gathered which increased constantly in size.
-the lake which thus came to occupy the western end of the lake superior basin discharged over the divide at duluth down the st. croix river, as an old outlet channel proves; that which held the southern end of the basin of lake michigan sent its overflow across the divide at chicago via the illinois river to the mississippi; the lake which covered the lowlands about the western end of lake erie discharged its waters at fort wayne into the wabash river.
-the ice still blocked the mohawk and st. lawrence valleys on the east, while on the west it had retreated far to the north. the lakes become confluent in wide expanses of water, whose depths and margins, as shown by their old lake beaches, varied at different times with the position of the confining ice and with warpings of the land. these vast water bodies, which at one or more periods were greater than all the great lakes combined, discharged at various times across the divide at chicago, near syracuse, new york, down the mohawk valley, and by a channel from georgian bay into the ottawa river. last of all the present outlet by the st. lawrence was established.
-the beaches of the glacial lakes just mentioned are now far from horizontal. that of the lake which occupied the ontario basin has an elevation of three hundred and sixty-two feet above tide at the west and of six hundred and seventy-five feet at the northeast, proving here a differential movement of the land since glacial times amounting to more than three hundred feet. the beaches which mark the successive heights of these glacial lakes are not parallel; hence the warping began before the glacial epoch closed. we have already seen that the canting of the region is still in progress.
-the champlain subsidence. as the glacial epoch approached its end, and the labrador ice field melted back for the last time to near its source, the land on which the ice had lain in eastern north america was so depressed that the sea now spread far and wide up the st. lawrence valley. it joined with lake ontario, and extending down the champlain and hudson valleys, made an island of new england and the maritime provinces of canada.
-the proofs of this subsidence are found in old sea beaches and sea-laid clays resting on wisconsin till. at montreal such terraces are found six hundred and twenty feet above sea level, and along lake champlain--where the skeleton of a whale was once found among them--at from five hundred to four hundred feet. the heavy delta which the mohawk river built at its mouth in this arm of the sea now stands something more than three hundred feet above sea level. the clays of the champlain subsidence pass under water near the mouth of the hudson, and in northern new jersey they occur two hundred feet below tide. in these elevations we have measures of the warping of the region since glacial times.
-the western united states in glacial times. the western united states was not covered during the pleistocene by any general ice sheet, but all the high ranges were capped with permanent snow and nourished valley glaciers, often many times the size of the existing glaciers of the alps. in almost every valley of the sierras and the rockies the records of these vanished ice streams may be found in cirques, glacial troughs, roches moutonnecs, and morainic deposits.
-it was during the glacial epoch that lakes bonneville and lahontan were established in the great basin, whose climate must then have been much more moist than now.
-the driftless area. in the upper mississippi valley there is an area of about ten thousand square miles in southwestern wisconsin and the adjacent parts of iowa and minnesota, which escaped the ice invasions. the rocks are covered with residual clays, the product of long preglacial weathering. the region is an ancient peneplain, uplifted and dissected in late tertiary times, with mature valleys whose gentle gradients are unbroken by waterfalls and rapids. thus the driftless area is in strong contrast with the immature drift topography about it, where lakes and waterfalls are common. it is a bit of preglacial landscape, showing the condition of the entire region before the glacial epoch.
-the driftless area lay to one side of the main track of both the keewatin and the labrador ice fields, and at the north it was protected by the upland south of lake superior, which weakened and retarded the movement of the ice.
-south of the driftless area the mississippi valley was invaded at different times by ice sheets from the west,--the kansan and the iowan,--and again by the illinoian ice sheet from the east. again and again the mississippi river was pushed to one side or the other of its path. the ancient channel which it held along the illinoian ice front has been traced through southeastern iowa for many miles.
-benefits of glaciation. like the driftless area, the preglacial surface over which the ice advanced seems to have been well dissected after the late tertiary uplifts, and to have been carved in many places to steep valley slopes and rugged hills. the retreating ice sheets, which left smooth plains and gently rolling country over the wide belt where glacial deposition exceeded glacial erosion, have made travel and transportation easier than they otherwise would have been.
-the preglacial subsoils were residual clays and sands, composed of the insoluble elements of the country rock of the locality, with some minglings of its soluble parts still undissolved. the glacial subsoils are made of rocks of many kinds, still undecayed and largely ground to powder. they thus contain an inexhaustible store of the mineral foods of plants, and in a form made easily ready for plant use.
-on the preglacial hillsides the humus layer must have been comparatively thin, while the broad glacial plains have gathered deep black soils, rich in carbon and nitrogen taken from the atmosphere. to these soils and subsoils a large part of the wealth and prosperity of the glaciated regions of our country must be attributed.
-the ice invasions have also added very largely to the water power of the country. the rivers which in preglacial times were flowing over graded courses for the most part, were pushed from their old valleys and set to flow on higher levels, where they have developed waterfalls and rapids. this power will probably be fully utilized long before the coal beds of the country are exhausted, and will become one of the chief sources of the national wealth.
-the recent epoch. the deposits laid since glacial times graduate into those now forming along the ocean shores, on lake beds, and in river valleys. slow and comparatively slight changes, such as the warpings of the region of the great lakes, have brought about the geographical conditions of the present. the physical history of the recent epoch needs here no special mention.
-the life of the quaternary
-during the entire quaternary, invertebrates and plants suffered little change in species,--so slowly are these ancient and comparatively simple organisms modified. the mammalia, on the other hand, have changed much since the beginning of quaternary time: the various species of the present have been evolved, and some lines have become extinct. these highly organized vertebrates are evidently less stable than are lower types of animals, and respond more rapidly to changes in the environment.
-pleistocene mammals. in the pleistocene the mammalia reached their culmination both in size and in variety of forms, and were superior in both these respects to the mammals of to-day. in pleistocene times in north america there were several species of bison,--one whose widespreading horns were ten feet from tip to tip,--a gigantic moose elk, a giant rodent (castoroides) five feet long, several species of musk oxen, several species of horses,-- more akin, however, to zebras than to the modern horse,--a huge lion, several saber-tooth tigers, immense edentates of several genera, and largest of all the mastodon and mammoth.
-the largest of the edentates was the megatherium, a. clumsy ground sloth bigger than a rhinoceros. the bones of the megatherium are extraordinarily massive,--the thigh bone being thrice as thick as that of an elephant,--and the animal seems to have been well able to get its living by overthrowing trees and stripping off their leaves. the glyptodon was a mailed edentate, eight feet long, resembling the little armadillo. these edentates survived from tertiary times, and in the warmer stages of the pleistocene ranged north as far as ohio and oregon.
-the great proboscidians of the glacial epoch were about the size of modern elephants, and somewhat smaller than their ancestral species in the pliocene. the mastodon ranged over all north america south of hudson bay, but had become extinct in the old world at the end of the tertiary. the elephants were represented by the mammoth, which roamed in immense herds from our middle states to alaska, and from arctic asia to the mediterranean and atlantic.
-it is an oft-told story how about a century ago, near the lena river in siberia, there was found the body of a mammoth which had been safely preserved in ice for thousands of years, how the flesh was eaten by dogs and bears, and how the eyes and hoofs and portions of the hide were taken with the skeleton to st. petersburg. since then several other carcasses of the mammoth, similarly preserved in ice, have been found in the same region,-- one as recently as 1901. we know from these remains that the animal was clothed in a coat of long, coarse hair, with thick brown fur beneath.
-the distribution of animals and plants. the distribution of species in the glacial epoch was far different from that of the present. in the glacial stages arctic species ranged south into what are now temperate latitudes. the walrus throve along the shores of virginia and the musk ox grazed in iowa and kentucky. in europe the reindeer and arctic fox reached the pyrenees. during the champlain depression arctic shells lived along the shore of the arm of the sea which covered the st. lawrence valley. in interglacial times of milder climate the arctic fauna-flora retreated, and their places were taken by plants and animals from the south. peccaries, now found in texas, ranged into michigan and new york, while great sloths from south america reached the middle states. interglacial beds at toronto, canada, contain remains of forests of maple, elm, and papaw, with mollusks now living in the mississippi basin.
-what changes in the forests of your region would be brought about, and in what way, if the climate should very gradually grow colder? what changes if it should grow warmer?
-on the alps and the highest summits of the white mountains of new england are found colonies of arctic species of plants and insects. how did they come to be thus separated from their home beyond the arctic circle by a thousand miles and more of temperate climate impossible to cross?
-man. along with the remains of the characteristic animals of the time which are now extinct there have been found in deposits of the glacial epoch in the old world relics of pleistocene man, his bones, and articles of his manufacture. in europe, where they have best been studied, human relics occur chiefly in peat bogs, in loess, in caverns where man made his home, and in high river terraces sometimes eighty and a hundred feet above the present flood plains of the streams.
-in order to understand the development of early man, we should know that prehistoric peoples are ranked according to the materials of which their tools were made and the skill shown in their manufacture. there are thus four well-marked stages of human culture preceding the written annals of history:
-4 the iron stage. 3 the bronze stage. 2 the neolithic (recent stone) stage. 1 the paleolithic (ancient stone) stage.
-in the neolithic stage the use of the metals had not yet been learned, but tools of stone were carefully shaped and polished. to this stage the north american indian belonged at the time of the discovery of the continent. in the paleolithic stage, stone implements were chipped to rude shapes and left unpolished. this, the lowest state of human culture, has been outgrown by nearly every savage tribe now on earth. a still earlier stage may once have existed, when man had not learned so much as to shape his weapons to his needs, but used chance pebbles and rock splinters in their natural forms; of such a stage, however, we have no evidence.
-paleolithic man in europe. it was to the paleolithic stage that the earliest men belonged whose relics are found in europe. they had learned to knock off two-edged flakes from flint pebbles, and to work them into simple weapons. the great discovery had been made that fire could be kindled and made use of, as the charcoal and the stones discolored by heat of their ancient hearths attest. caves and shelters beneath overhanging cliffs were their homes or camping places. paleolithic man was a savage of the lowest type, who lived by hunting the wild beasts of the time.
-skeletons found in certain caves in belgium and france represent perhaps the earliest race yet found in europe. these short, broad- shouldered men, muscular, with bent knees and stooping gait, low- browed and small of brain, were of little intelligence and yet truly human.
-the remains of pleistocene man are naturally found either in caverns, where they escaped destruction by the ice sheets, or in deposits outside the glaciated area. in both cases it is extremely difficult, or quite impossible, to assign the remains to definite glacial or interglacial times. their relative age is best told by the fauna with which they are associated. thus the oldest relics of man are found with the animals of the late tertiary or early quaternary, such as a species of hippopotamus and an elephant more ancient than the mammoth. later in age are the remains found along with the mammoth, cave bear and cave hyena, and other animals of glacial time which are now extinct; while more recent still are those associated with the reindeer, which in the last ice invasion roamed widely with the mammoth over central europe.
-the caves of southern france. these contain the fullest records of the race, much like the eskimos in bodily frame, which lived in western europe at the time of the mammoth and the reindeer. the floors of these caves are covered with a layer of bone fragments, the remains of many meals, and here are found also various articles of handicraft. in this way we know that the savages who made these caves their homes fished with harpoons of bone, and hunted with spears and darts tipped with flint and horn. the larger bones are split for the extraction of the marrow. among such fragments no split human bones are found; this people, therefore, were not cannibals. bone needles imply the art of sewing, and therefore the use of clothing, made no doubt of skins; while various ornaments, such as necklaces of shells, show how ancient is the love of personal adornment. pottery was not yet invented. there is no sign of agriculture. no animals had yet been domesticated; not even man's earliest friend, the dog. certain implements, perhaps used as the insignia of office, suggest a rude tribal organization and the beginnings of the state. the remains of funeral feasts in front of caverns used as tombs point to a religion and the belief in a life beyond the grave. in the caverns of southern france are found also the beginnings of the arts of painting and of sculpture. with surprising skill these paleolithic men sketched on bits of ivory the mammoth with his long hair and huge curved tusks, frescoed their cavern walls with pictures of the bison and other animals, and carved reindeer on their dagger heads.
-early man on other continents. paleolithic flints curiously like those of western europe are found also in many regions of the old world,--in india, egypt, and asia minor,--beneath the earliest vestiges of the civilization of those ancient seats, and sometimes associated with the fauna of the glacial epoch.
-in java there were found in 1891, in strata early quaternary or late pliocene in age, parts of a skeleton of lower grade, if not of greater antiquity, than any human remains now known. pithecanthropus erectus, as the creature has been named, walked erect, as its thigh bone shows, but the skull and teeth indicate a close affinity with the ape.
-in north america there have been reported many finds of human relics in valley trains, loess, old river gravels buried beneath lava flows, and other deposits of supposed glacial age; but in the opinion of some geologists sufficient proof of the existence of man in america in glacial times has not as yet been found.
-these finds in north america have been discredited for various reasons. some were not made by scientific men accustomed to the closest scrutiny of every detail. some were reported after a number of years, when the circumstances might not be accurately remembered; while in a number of instances it seems possible that the relics might have been worked into glacial deposits by natural causes from the surface.
-man, we may believe, witnessed the great ice fields of europe, if not of america, and perhaps appeared on earth under the genial climate of preglacial times. nothing has yet been found of the line of man's supposed descent from the primates of the early tertiary, with the possible exception of the java remains just mentioned. the structures of man's body show that he is not descended from any of the existing genera of apes. and although he may not have been exempt from the law of evolution,--that method of creation which has made all life on earth akin,--yet his appearance was an event which in importance ranks with the advent of life upon the planet, and marks a new manifestation of creative energy upon a higher plane. there now appeared intelligence, reason, a moral nature, and a capacity for self-directed progress such as had never been before on earth.
-the recent epoch. the glacial epoch ends with the melting of the ice sheets of north america and europe, and the replacement of the pleistocene mammalian fauna by present species. how gradually the one epoch shades into the other is seen in the fact that the glaciers which still linger in norway and alaska are the lineal descendants or the renewed appearances of the ice fields of glacial times.
-our science cannot foretell whether all traces of the great ice age are to disappear, and the earth is to enjoy again the genial climate of the tertiary, or whether the present is an interglacial epoch and the northern lands are comparatively soon again to be wrapped in ice.
-neolithic man. the wild paleolithic men vanished from europe with the wild beasts which they hunted, and their place was taken by tribes, perhaps from asia, of a higher culture. the remains of neolithic man are found, much as are those of the north american indians, upon or near the surface, in burial mounds, in shell heaps (the refuse heaps of their settlements), in peat bogs, caves, recent flood-plain deposits, and in the beds of lakes near shore where they sometimes built their dwellings upon piles.
-the successive stages in european culture are well displayed in the peat bogs of denmark. the lowest layers contain the polished stone implements of neolithic man, along with remains of the scotch fir. above are oak trunks with implements of bronze, while the higher layers hold iron weapons and the remains of a beech forest.
-neolithic man in europe had learned to make pottery, to spin and weave linen, to hew timbers and build boats, and to grow wheat and barley. the dog, horse, ox, sheep, goat, and hog had been domesticated, and, as these species are not known to have existed before in europe, it is a fair inference that they were brought by man from another continent of the old world. neolithic man knew nothing of the art of extracting the metals from their ores, nor had he a written language.
-the neolithic stage of culture passes by insensible gradations into that of the age of bronze, and thus into the recent epoch.
-in the recent epoch the progress of man in language, in social organization, in the arts of life, in morals and religion, has left ample records which are for other sciences than ours to read; here, therefore, geology gives place to archaeology and history.
-our brief study of the outlines of geology has given us, it is hoped, some great and lasting good. to conceive a past so different from the present has stimulated the imagination, and to follow the inferences by which the conclusions of our science have been reached has exercised one of the noblest faculties of the mind,--the reason. we have learned to look on nature in new ways: every landscape, every pebble now has a meaning and tells something of its origin and history, while plants and animals have a closer interest since we have traced the long lines of their descent. the narrow horizons of human life have been broken through, and we have caught glimpses of that immeasurable reach of time in which nebulae and suns and planets run their courses. moreover, we have learned something of that orderly and world- embracing progress by which the once uninhabitable globe has come to be man's well-appointed home, and life appearing in the lowliest forms has steadily developed higher and still higher types. seeing this process enter human history and lift our race continually to loftier levels, we find reason to believe that the onward, upward movement of the geological past is the manifestation of the same wise power which makes for righteousness and good and that this unceasing purpose will still lead on to nobler ends.
-for the white christ
-a story of the days of charlemagne
-by robert ames bennet
-having pictures and designs by troy & margaret west kinney
-entered at stationers’ hall, london
-all rights reserved
-the university press, cambridge, u.s.a.
-when alcuin taught the sons of charlemagne, in the free schools of aix, how kings should rule. longfellow.
-to the memory of my mother
-all the chapter headings of this story are taken from lays which were sung by harpers and skalds before the high-seats of heathen norse chiefs and in the halls of the anglo-saxon kings, while england was yet a heptarchy and the name of mohammed but little known to men even on the shores of the far-distant bosphorus.
-in most instances the selections are from magnusson and morris’s beautiful translations of "the volsunga saga, and certain songs from the elder edda." the spirited lines from "beowulf," "maldon," "finnesburh," and "andreas" were found in gummerle’s "germanic origins." the translation of "brunanburh" is by tennyson.
-apology is due for occasional alterations and elisions, all of which will readily be detected by students of the wonderful poetic fragments which have come down to us from our norse and teutonic forefathers.
-r. a. b. denver, january 1, 1905.
-"’bend lower, king’s daughter--little vala with eyes like dewy violets!’" . . . . . . . . . . frontispiece
-"white to the lips, the young sea-king turned to his enemy"
-"’love!’ she cried, half hissing the word. ’you speak of love,--you, the heathen outlander!’"
-"’go, olvir!’ muttered the king, thickly; ’go--before i forget that i once loved you’"
-for the white christ
-now death has seized-- bale and terror--my trusty people, laid down life have my liegemen all. beowulf.
-swans of the dane-folk-- the ships of sigmund-- heads all gilt over, and prows fair graven. lay of gudrun.
-the remainder of the crew lay sprawled upon the casks and bales of merchandise, side by side with a score of frankish warriors. all alike were heavy with drunken slumber. the shipmaster, a squat red-haired man of great girth, regarded the overcome wassailers with an indifferent eye; but the tall warrior beside him appeared far from pleased by the sight.
-"is it so you rule your ship, frisian?" he demanded. "you should have stopped the wassail by midnight. here we swim on the treacherous sea, while our men lie in drunken stupor."
-"we are yet in the stream, lord count," replied the shipmaster. "as to my frisians, a dash of salt water will soon rouse them. if your landsmen are farther gone, what odds? drunk or sober, they ’ll be alike 'as well,' came the answer, 'as it can be with one who dreads her unknown fate.'
-the soft accents made marcian tremble. he expected to hear a sweet voice, but this was sweeter far than he could have imagined: its gentleness, its sadness, utterly overcame him, so that he all but wept in his anguish of delight.
-'have no fear,' he whispered eagerly. 'it is freedom that awaits you. i am marcian--marcian, the friend of basil.'
-there sounded a low cry of joy; then the two names were repeated, his and that of his friend, and again marcian quivered.
-'you will be no more afraid?' he said, as though laughingly.
-'oh no! the blessed virgin be thanked!'
-an owl's long hoot wailed through the stillness, seeming to fill with its infinite melancholy the great vault of moonlit heaven. in marcian it produced a sudden, unaccountable fear. leaping on to his horse, he cursed the driver for slowness. another minute, and they were speeding onward.
-marcian watched anxiously the course of the silver orb above them. when it began to descend seaward, the animals were showing signs of weariness; before daybreak he must perforce call a halt. in conversation with the leader of his guard, he told the reason of their hasting on by night (known already to the horseman, a trusted follower of the bishop of praeneste), and at length announced his resolve to turn off the latin way into the mountains, with the view of gaining the little town aletrium, whence, he explained, they could cross the hills to the valley of the liris, and so descend again to the main road. it was the man's business to obey; he let fall a few words, however, concerning the dangers of the track; it was well known that bands of marauders frequented this country, moving onward before the slow advance of the gothic troops. marcian reflected, but none the less held to his scheme. the beasts were urged along an upward way, which, just about the setting of the moon, brought them to a poor village with a little church. marcian set himself to discover the priest, and, when this good man was roused from slumber, spoke in his ear a word which had great effect. with little delay stabling was found, and a place of repose for marcian's followers; he himself would rest under the priest's roof, whither he conducted veranilda and a woman servant who sat with her in the carriage. the face which was so troubling his imagination he did not yet see, for veranilda kept the hood close about her as she passed by candle light up steps to the comfortless and dirty little chamber which was the best she could have.
-'rest in peace,' whispered marcian as the door closed. 'i guard you.'
-when he arose, he went forth into the already hot sunshine, looked at the poor peasants' cottages, and talked with sagaris, whose half-smiling face seemed anxious to declare that he knew perfectly well on what business they were engaged. at this hour, in all probability, the horsemen of pelagius were galloping along the latin way, in hope of overtaking the fugitives. it seemed little likely that they would search in this direction, and the chances were that they would turn back when their horses got tired out. of them, indeed, marcian thought but carelessly; his hard-set brows betokened another subject of disquiet. should he, after aletrium, go down again to the latin way, or should he push a few miles further to the valley of the liris, and to his own villa?
-to-day, being the first day of the week, there was a gathering to hear mass. marcian, though he had that in his mind which little accorded with religious worship, felt himself drawn to the little church, and knelt among the toil-worn folk. here, as always when he heard the liturgy, his heart melted, his soul was overcome with awe. from earliest childhood he had cherished a peculiar love and reverence for the eucharistic prayer, which was associated with his noblest feelings, his purest aspirations. as he heard it now, here amid the solitude of the hills, it brought him help such as he needed.
-'vere dignum et justum est, aequum et salutare, nos tibi semper et ubique gratias agere, domine sancte, pater omnipotens, aeterne deus.'
-when at the end he rose, these words were still resonant within him. he turned to go forth, and there behind, also just risen from her knees, stood a veiled woman, at the sight of whom he thrilled with astonishment. no peasant she; for her attire, though but little adorned, told of refinement, and the grace of her figure, the simple dignity of her attitude, would alone have marked her out among the girls and women who were leaving the church, their eyes all turned upon her and on the female attendant standing respectfully near. through the veil which covered her face and hung about her shoulders, marcian could dimly discern lips and eyebrows.
-'lord marcian, may i speak with you?'
-it was the voice of last night, and again it shook him with an ecstasy which had more of dread than of joy.
-'you here?' he replied, speaking very low. 'you have heard the mass?'
-'i am a catholic. my religion is that of basil.'
-'god be thanked!' broke from marcian. and his exclamation meant more than it conveyed to the listener.
-'may you tell me whither we are going?' was the next question from the veiled lips.
-the church was now empty, but in the doorway appeared faces curiously peering. marcian looking in that direction seemed for a moment to find no reply; his lips were parted, and his breath came rapidly; then he whispered:
-'not far from here there is a villa. there you shall rest in safety until basil comes.'
-'he is near?'
-'already i have summoned him.'
-'o kind marcian!' uttered the low, sweet voice. 'oh, true and brave friend!'
-in silence they walked together to the priest's house. marcian had now put off all irresolution. he gave orders to his guard; as soon as the horses had sufficiently rested, they would push on for aletrium, and there pass the night. the start was made some two hours after noon. riding once more beside the carriage, marcian felt his heart light: passions and fears were all forgotten; the sun flaming amid the pale blue sky, the violet shadows of the mountains, the voice of cicadas made rapture to his senses. it was as though veranilda's beauty, not even yet beheld, rayed something of itself upon all the visible world. never had a summer's day shone so gloriously for him; never had he so marked the hues of height and hollow, the shape of hills, the winding of a stream. where an ascent made the pace slow, he alighted, walked by the vehicle, and exchanged a few words with her who sat behind the curtain.
-at length aletrium came in view, a little town in a strong position on the mountain side, its walls and citadel built in old time, long unused for defence, but resisting ages with their cyclopean force. on arriving, they found a scene of disorder, misery and fear. this morning the place had been attacked by a brigand horde, which had ravaged at will: the church was robbed of its sacred vessels, the beasts of burden were driven away, and, worst of all, wives and daughters of the defenceless townsmen had suffered outrage. marcian, with that air of authority which he well knew how to assume, commanded the attendance of the leading citizens and spoke with them in private. finding them eager for the arrival of the goths, to whom they looked rather than to the distant greeks for protection against ruinous disorder (already they had despatched messengers to totila entreating his aid), he made known to them that he was travelling to meet the gothic outposts, and promised to hasten the king's advance. at present, there seemed to be no more danger, the marauders having gone on into the apennines; so marcian obtained lodging for veranilda and for himself in the priest's house. only when he was alone did he reflect upon the narrowness of his escape from those fierce plunderers, and horror shook him. there remained but half a day's journey to his villa. he was so impatient to arrive there, and to dismiss the horsemen, that though utterly wearied, he lay awake through many hours of darkness, hearing the footsteps of men who patrolled the streets, and listening with anxious ear for any sound of warning.
-he rose in the twilight, and again held conference with those of the townsmen who were stoutest in the gothic cause. to them he announced that he should travel this day as far as arpinum (whither he was conducting a lady who desired to enter a convent hard by that city), and thence should proceed in search of totila, for whom, he assured his hearers, he carried letters of summons from the leading churchmen at rome. this news greatly cheered the unhappy aletrians, who had been troubled by the thought that the goths were heretics. if roman ecclesiastics closed their eyes to this obstacle, the inhabitants of a little mountain town evidently need nurse no scruples in welcoming the conqueror. with acclamations and good wishes, the crowd saw marcian and his train set forth along the road over the hills; before the sun had shed its first beam into the westward valley, they had lost sight of aletrium.
-not a word of the perils escaped had been allowed to reach veranilda's ear; exhausted by her journeying and her emotions, she had slept soundly through the whole night, and this morning, when marcian told her how near was their destination, she laughed light-heartedly as a child. but not yet had he looked upon her countenance. at aletrium he might have done so had he willed, but he withheld himself as if from a dread temptation.
-never had he known such tremours of cowardliness as on this ride over the hills. he strained his eyes in every direction, and constantly imagined an enemy where there was none. the brigands, as he found by inquiry of labouring peasants, had not even passed this way. he would not halt, though the heat of the sun grew terrible. at length, when exhaustion threatened men and beasts, they surmounted a ridge, issued from a forest of chestnut-trees, and all at once, but a little way below them, saw the gleam of the river liris.
-the island in the liris
-not yet the 'taciturnus amnis,' which it becomes in the broad, seaward valley far below, the liris at this point parts into two streams, enclosing a spacious island, and on either side of the island leaps with sound and foam, a river kindred to the mountains which feed its flood. between the two cataracts, linked to the river banks with great arched bridges, stood marcian's villa. never more than a modest country house, during the last fifty years an almost total neglect had made of the greater part an uninhabitable ruin. a score of slaves and peasants looked after what remained of the dwelling and cultivated the land attached to it, garden, oliveyard, vineyard, partly on the island, partly beyond the river in the direction of arpinum, which historic city, now but sparsely peopled, showed on the hillside a few miles away. excepting his house in rome, this was all the property that marcian possessed. it was dear to him because of the memories of his childhood, and for another reason which sprang out of the depths of his being: on the night after his mother's death (he was then a boy much given to seeing visions) her spirit appeared to him, and foretold that he too should die in this house 'at peace with god.' this phrase, on which he had often brooded, marcian understood to mean that he should reach old age; and it had long been his settled intention to found in the ruinous villa a little monastery, to which, when his work was over, he could retire to pass the close of life. and now, as he rode down behind the carriage, he was striving to keep his thought fixed on this pious purpose. he resolved that he would not long delay. as soon as veranilda was safe, he would go on foot, as a pilgrim, to the monastery at casinum, which were but two or three days' journey, and speak of his intention to the aged and most holy benedict. thus fortified, he rode with bright visage down into the valley, and over the bridge, and so to his own gate.
-the steward and the housekeeper, who were man and wife, speedily stood before him, and he bade them make ready with all expedition certain chambers long unoccupied, merely saying that a lady would for some days be his guest. whilst sagaris guided the horsemen to the stables, and received them hospitably in the servants' quarter, marcian, using a more formal courtesy than hitherto, conducted his charge into the great hall, and begged her to be seated for a few minutes, until her room was prepared. seeing that fatigue scarce suffered her to reply, he at once withdrew, leaving her alone with her handmaiden. and yet he had not beheld veranilda's face.
-himself unable to take repose, he strayed about the purlieus of the villa, in his ears the sound of rushing water, before his eyes a flitting vision which he would not see. he had heard from his steward the latest news of the countryside; it was said in arpinum that the gothic forces were at length assembled for the march on rome; at aquinum totila would be welcomed, and what resistance was he likely to meet with all along the latin way? when the horsemen had refreshed themselves, marcian summoned the leader; their services, he said, would no longer be necessary; he bade them depart as early as might be on the morrow, and bear with all speed to their lord the bishop an important letter which he forthwith wrote and gave to the man, together with a generous guerdon. this business despatched, he again wandered hither and thither, incapable of rest, incapable of clear thought, fever in his heart and in his brain.
-as the sun sank, fear once more beset him. this house lay open on all sides, its only protection being a couple of dogs, which prowled at large. he thought with dread of the possibility of a brigand attack. but when night had fallen, when all lights except his own were extinguished, when no sound struck against the deep monotone of the cataracts, this emotion yielded before another, which no less harassed his mind. in the hall, in the corridors, in the garden-court, he paced ceaselessly, at times walking in utter darkness, for not yet had the moon risen. when at length its rays fell upon the pillars of the upper gallery where veranilda slept, he stood looking towards her chamber, and turned away at length with a wild gesture, like that of a demoniac in torment.
-the man was torn between spiritual fervour and passions of the flesh. with his aspiration to saintliness blended that love of his friend which was the purest affection he had known in all the years of manhood; yet this very love became, through evil thoughts, an instrument against him, being sullied, poisoned by the basest spirit of jealousy, until it seemed all but to have turned to hate. one moment he felt himself capable of acting nobly, even as he had resolved when at mass in the little mountain church; his bosom glowed with the defiance of every risk; he would guard veranilda secretly until he could lay her hand in that of basil. the next, he saw only danger, impossibility, in such a purpose, and was anxious to deliver the beautiful maiden to the king of her own race as soon as might be--lest worse befell. thus did he strive with himself, thus was he racked and rent under the glowing moon.
-at dawn he slept. when he rose the horsemen had long since set forth on their journey home. he inquired which road they had taken. but to this no one had paid heed; he could only learn that they had crossed the river by the westward bridge, and so perhaps had gone back by way of aletrium, instead of descending the valley to the latin way. even yet marcian did not feel quite safe from his greek pursuers. he feared a meeting between them and the praenestines.
-having bathed (a luxury after waterless rome), and eaten a morsel of bread with a draught of his own wine, he called his housekeeper, and bade her make known to the lady, his guest, that he begged permission to wait upon her. with but a few minutes' delay veranilda descended to the room which lay behind the atrium. marcian, loitering among the ivied plane-trees without, was told of her coming, and at once entered.
-she was alone, standing at the back of the room; her hands hanging linked before her, the lower part of the arms white against the folds of a russet-coloured tunic. and marcian beheld her face.
-he took a few rapid steps toward her, checked himself, bowed profoundly, and said in a somewhat abrupt voice:
-'gracious lady, is it by your own wish that you are unattended? or have my women, by long disuse, so forgotten their duties--'
-veranilda interrupted him.
-'i assure you it was my own wish, lord marcian. we must speak of things which are not for others' hearing.'
-in the same unnatural voice, as though he put constraint upon himself for the performance of a disagreeable duty, he begged her to be seated, and veranilda, not without betraying a slight trouble of surprise, took the chair to which he pointed. but he himself did not sit down. in the middle of the room stood a great bronze candelabrum, many-branched for the suspension of lamps, at its base three figures, pluto, neptune, and proserpine. it was the only work of any value which the villa now contained, and marcian associated it with the memories of his earliest years. as a little child he had often gazed at those three faces, awed by their noble gravity, and, with a child's diffidence, he had never ventured to ask what beings these were. he fixed his eyes upon them now, to avoid looking at veranilda. she, timidly glancing at him, said in her soft, low voice, with the simplest sincerity:
-'i have not yet found words in which to thank you, lord marcian.'
-'my thanks are due to you, dear lady, for gracing this poor house with your presence.'
-his tone was more suavely courteous. for an instant he looked at her, and his lips set themselves in something meant for a smile.
-'this is the end of our journey?' she asked.
-'for some days--if the place does not displease you.'
-'how could i be ill at ease in the house of basil's friend, and with the promise that basil will soon come?'
-marcian stared at the face of proserpine, who seemed to regard him with solemn thoughtfulness.
-'had you any forewarning of your release from the monastery?' he asked of a sudden.
-'none. none whatever.'
-'you thought you would remain there for long to come?'
-'i had not dared to think of that.'
-marcian took a few paces, glanced at the sweet face, the beautiful head with its long golden hair, and came back to his place by the candelabrum, on which he rested a trembling hand.
-'had they spoken of making you a nun?'
-a look of dread came upon her countenance, and she whispered, 'once or twice.'
-'you would never have consented?'
-'only if i had known that release was hopeless, or that basil--'
-her voice failed.
-'that basil--?' echoed marcian's lips, in an undertone.
-'that he was dead.'
-'you never feared that he might have forgotten you?'
-again his accents were so hard that veranilda gazed at him in troubled wonder.
-'you never feared that?' he added, with fugitive eyes.
-'had i dreamt of it,' she replied, 'i think i should not live.' then in a voice of anxious humility, 'could basil forget me?'
-'indeed, i should not think it easy,' murmured the other, his eyes cast down. 'and what,' he continued abruptly, 'was said to you when you left the convent? in what words did they take leave of you?'
-'with none at all. i was bidden prepare for a journey, and soon after they led me to the gates. i knew nothing, nor did the woman with me.'
-'was the lady aurelia in the same convent?' marcian next inquired.
-'i never saw her after we had landed from the ship which carried us from surrentum?'
-'you do not know, of course, that petronilla is dead?'
-he told her of that, and of other events such as would interest her, but without uttering the name of basil. above all, he spoke of totila, lauding the victorious king who would soon complete his triumph by the conquest of rome.
-'i had all but forgotten,' were veranilda's words, when she had listened anxiously. 'i thought only of basil.'
-he turned abruptly from her, seemed to reflect for a moment, and said with formal politeness:
-'permit me now to leave you, lady. this house is yours. i would it offered you worthier accommodation. as soon as i have news, i will again come before you.'
-veranilda rose whilst he was speaking. her eyes were fixed upon him, wistfully, almost pleadingly, and before he had reached the exit she advanced a step, with lips parted as if to beseech his delay. but he walked too hurriedly, and was gone ere she durst utter a word.
-at the same hurried pace, gazing before him and seeing nothing, marcian left the villa, and walked until he came to the river side. here was a jutting rock known as the lover's leap; story told of a noble maiden, frenzied by unhappy love, who had cast herself into the roaring waterfall. long he stood on the brink, till his eyes dazzled from the sun-stricken foam. his mind was blasted with shame; he could not hold his head erect. in sorry effort to recover self-respect he reasoned inwardly thus:
-'where basil may be i know not. if he is still at asculum many days must pass before a summons from me could bring him hither. he may already be on his way to join the king, as i bade him in my last message. the uncertainty, the danger of this situation, can be met only in one way. on leaving rome i saw my duty plain before me. a desire to pleasure my friend made me waver, but i was wrong--if basil is to have veranilda for his bride he can only receive her from the hands of totila. anything else would mean peril to the friend i love, and disrespect, even treachery, to the king i honour. and so it shall be; i will torment myself no more.'
-he hastened back into the villa, summoned sagaris, and bade him be ready in half an hour to set forth on a journey of a day or two. he then wrote a brief letter to the king of the goths. it was in the gothic tongue, such gothic as a few romans could command for everyday use. herein he told that veranilda, intrusted to him by the deacon leander to be conducted to the king's camp, had arrived in safety at his villa by arpinum. the country being disturbed, he had thought better to wait here with his charge until he could learn the king's pleasure, which he begged might be made known to him as soon as possible.
-'this,' he said, when sagaris appeared before him equipped for travel, 'you will deliver into the king's own hands. at aquinum you will be directed to his camp, which cannot be far beyond. danger there is none between here and there. make your utmost speed.'
-many were the confidential missions which sagaris had discharged; yet, looking now into his man's face, the master was troubled by a sudden misgiving. the state of his own mind disposed him to see peril everywhere. at another time he would not have noted so curiously a sort of gleam in the syrian's eye, a something on the fellow's cunning, sensual lips, which might mean anything or nothing. did sagaris divine who the veiled lady was? from the bishop's man he could not have learned it, they themselves, as the bishop had assured marcian, being totally ignorant in the matter. if he guessed the truth, as was likely enough after all the talk he had heard concerning veranilda, was it a danger? had sagaris any motive for treachery?
-'listen,' continued marcian, in a tone such as he had never before used with his servant, a tone rather of entreaty than of command. 'upon the safe and swift delivery of that letter more depends than you can imagine. you will not lack your reward. but not a word to any save the king. should any one else question you, you will say that you bear only a verbal message, and that you come direct from rome.'
-'my lord shall be obeyed,' answered the slave, 'though i die under torture.'
-'of that,' said marcian, with a forced laugh, 'you need have no fear. but, hark you!' he hesitated, again searching the man's countenance. 'you might chance to meet some friend of mine who would inquire after me. no matter who it be--were it even the lord basil--you will answer in the same words, saying that i am still in rome. you understand me? were it even lord basil who asked?'
-'it shall be as my lord commands,' replied the slave, his face set in unctuous solemnity.
-'go, then. lose not a moment.'
-marcian watched him ride away in the blaze of the cloudless sun. the man's head was sheltered with a broad-brimmed hat of the lightest felt, and his horse's with a cluster of vine-leaves. he rode away at a quick trot, the while dust rising in a cloud behind him.
-and marcian lived through the day he knew not how. it was a day of burning sunshine, of heat scarce tolerable even in places the most sheltered. clad only in a loose tunic, bare-armed, bare-footed, he lay or sauntered wherever shade was dense, as far as possible from the part of the villa consecrated to his guest. hour after hour crawled by, an eternity of distressful idleness. and, even while wishing for the day's end, he dreaded the coming of the night.
-it came; the silent, lonely night, the warm, perfumed night, the season of fierce temptations, of dreadful opportunity. never had the passionate soul of marcian been so manifestly lured by the evil one, never had it fought so desperately in the strength of religious hopes and fears. he knelt, he prayed, his voice breaking upon the stillness with anguish of supplication. between him and the celestial vision rose that face which he had at length beheld, a face only the more provocative of sensual rage because of its sweet purity, its flawless truth. then he flung himself upon the stones, bruised his limbs, lay at length exhausted, as if lifeless.
-no longer could he strengthen himself by the thought of loyalty in friendship; that he had renounced. yet he strove to think of basil, and, in doing so, knew that he still loved him. for basil he would do anything, suffer anything, lose anything; but when he imaged basil with veranilda, at once his love turned to spleen, a sullen madness possessed him, he hated his friend to the death.
-'let me find you sleeping again,' he said in a low voice, 'and your eyes shall be burnt out.'
-he stole away into the darkness, and the men whispered to each other that he had gone mad. for marcian was notably humane with his slaves, never having been known even to inflict a whipping. perhaps they were even more astonished at this proof that their master seriously guarded the privacy of his guest; last night they had slept for long hours undisturbed, and, on waking, congratulated each other with familiar jests on having done just what was expected of them.
-a mile or two down the valley was a church, built by marcian's grandfather, on a spot where he had been saved from great peril; the land attached to it supported two priests and certain acolytes, together with a little colony of serfs. on his ride this morning marcian had passed within view of the church, and would have gone thither but for his rain drenched clothing. now, during the second night of temptation, he resolved to visit the priests as soon as it was day and to bring one of them back with him to the villa, to remain as long as veranilda should be there. firm in this purpose he rose with the rising sun, called for his horse, and rode to the bridge. there, looking down at the white cataract, stood veranilda and her attendant.
-he alighted. with a timid smile the maiden advanced to meet him.
-'abroad so early?' were his first words, a mere tongue-found phrase.
-'i was tempted by the fresh morning. it does not displease you, lord marcian?'
-'nay, i am glad.'
-'it is so long,' continued the gentle voice, 'since i was free to walk under the open sky.'
-marcian forgot that his gaze was fixed upon her, forgot that he was silent, forgot the purpose with which he had ridden forth.
-'i hoped i might see you to-day,' she added. 'you have yet no news for me?'
-the blue eyes drooped sadly.
-'to-morrow, perhaps,' she murmured. then, with an effort to seem cheerful, as if ashamed of her troubled thought, 'i had listened so long to a sound of falling water that i could not resist the desire to see it. how beautiful it is!'
-marcian felt surprise; he himself saw the cataract as an object of beauty, but had seldom heard it so spoken of, and could least of all have expected such words on the lips of a woman, dread seeming to him the more natural impression.
-'that on the other side,' he said, pointing across the island, 'is more beautiful still. and there is shade, whilst here the sun grows too hot. but you must not walk so far. my horse has a very even pace. if you would let me lift you to the saddle--'
-'oh, gladly!' she answered, with a little laugh of pleasure.
-and it was done. for a moment he held her, for a moment felt the warmth and softness of her flesh; then she sat sideways upon the horse, looking down at marcian with startled gaiety. he showed her how to hold the reins, and the horse went gently forward.
-'it makes me a child again,' she exclaimed. 'i have never ridden since i was a little girl, when my father--'
-her voice died away; her look was averted, and marcian, remembering the shame that mingled with her memories, began to talk of other things.
-by a path that circled the villa, they came to a little wood of ilex, which shadowed the brink of the larger cataract. marcian had bidden veranilda's woman follow them, but as they entered the wood, his companion looking eagerly before her, he turned and made a gesture of dismissal, which the servant at once obeyed. in the shadiest spot which offered a view of the plunging river, he asked veranilda if she would alight.
-'willingly, i would spend an hour here,' she replied. 'the leafage and the water make such a delightful freshness.'
-'i have anticipated your thought,' said marcian. 'the woman is gone to bid them bring seats.'
-'you are too rash,' he said in a thick voice. 'the depth, the roar of the waters, will daze you.'
-against his burning palm, her hand was cool as a lily leaf. he did not release it, though he knew that his peril from that maidenly touch was greater far than hers from the gulf before them. veranilda, accepting his protection with the thoughtlessness of a child, leaned forward, uttering her wonder and her admiration. he, the while, watched her lips, fed his eyes upon her cheek, her neck, the golden ripples of her hair. at length she gently offered to draw her hand away. a frenzy urged him to resist, but madness yielded to cunning, and he released her.
-'of course basil has been here,' she was saying.
-'never? oh, the joy of showing him this when he comes! lord marcian, you do not think it will be long?'
-her eyes seemed as though they would read in the depth of his; again the look of troubled wonder rose to her countenance.
-'it will not be more than a few days?' she added, in a timid undertone, scarce audible upon the water's deeper note.
-'i fear it may be longer,' replied marcian.
-he heard his own accents as those of another man. he, his very self, willed the utterance of certain words, kind, hopeful, honest; but something else within him commanded his tongue, and, ere he knew it, he had added:
-'you have never thought that basil might forget you?'
-veranilda quivered as though she had been struck.
-'why do you again ask me that question?' she said gently, but no longer timidly. 'why do you look at me so? surely,' her voice sank, 'you could not have let me feel so happy if basil were dead?'
-'then why do you look so strangely at me? ah, he is a prisoner?'
-'not so. no man's liberty is less in danger.'
-she clasped her hands before her. 'you make me suffer. i was so light of heart, and now--your eyes, your silence. oh, speak, lord marcian!'
-'i have hidden the truth so long because i knew not how to utter it. veranilda, basil is false to you.'
-her hands fell; her eyes grew wider in wonder. she seemed not to understand what she had heard, and to be troubled by incomprehension rather than by a shock of pain.
-'false to me?' she murmured. 'how false?'
-'he loves another woman, and for her sake has turned to the greeks.'
-still veranilda gazed wonderingly.
-'things have come to pass of which you know nothing,' pursued marcian, forcing his voice to a subdued evenness, a sad gravity. 'listen whilst i tell you all. had you remained but a few days longer at cumae, you would have been seized by the greeks and sent to constantinople; for the emperor justinian himself had given this command. you came to surrentum; you plighted troth with basil; he would have wedded you, and--not only for safety's sake, but because he wished well to the goths--would have sought the friendship of totila. but you were carried away; vainly we searched for you; we feared you had been delivered to the greeks. in rome, basil was tempted by a woman, whom he had loved before ever he saw you, a woman beautiful, but evil hearted, her name heliodora. she won him back to her; she made him faithless to you and to the cause of the goths. little by little, i learnt how far he had gone in treachery. he had discovered where you were, but no longer desired to release you that you might become his wife. to satisfy the jealousy of heliodora, and at the same time to please the greek commander in rome, he plotted to convey you to constantinople. i having discovered this plot, found a way to defeat it. you escaped but narrowly. when i carried you away from praeneste, pursuers were close behind us, therefore it was that we travelled through the night. here you are in safety, for king totila is close at hand, and will guard you against your enemies.'
-veranilda pressed her hands upon her forehead, and stood mute. as his eyes shifted furtively about her, marcian caught sight of something black and undulant stirring among stones near her feet; at once he grasped her by the arm, and drew her towards him.
-'a viper!' he exclaimed, pointing.
-'what of that?' was her reply, with a careless glance. 'i would not stir a step to escape its fangs.'
-and, burying her face in her hands, she wept.
-these tears, this attitude of bewildered grief, were marcian's encouragement. he had dreaded the innocence of her eyes lest it should turn to distrust and rejection. had she refused to believe him, he knew not how he would have persisted in his villainy; for, even in concluding his story, it seemed to him that he must betray himself; so perfidious sounded to him the voice which he could hardly believe his own, and so slinking-knavish did he feel the posture of his body, the movements of his limbs. the distress which should have smitten him to the heart restored his baser courage. again he spoke with the sad gravity of a sympathetic friend.
-'dearest lady, i cannot bid you be comforted, but i entreat you to pardon me, the hapless revealer of your misfortune. say only that you forgive me.'
-'what is there to forgive?' she answered, checking her all but silent sobs. 'you have told what it behoved you to tell. and it may be'--her look changed of a sudden--'that i am too hasty in embracing sorrow. how can i believe that basil has done this? are you not misled by some false suspicion? has not some enemy slandered him to you? what can you say to make me credit a thing so evil?'
-'alas! it were but too easy for me to lengthen a tale which all but choked me in the telling; i could name others who know, but to you they would be only names. that of heliodora, had you lived in rome, were more than enough.'
-'you say he loved her before?'
-'he did, dear lady, and when her husband was yet living. now that he is dead--'
-'have you yet told me all?' asked veranilda, gazing fixedly at him. 'has he married her?'
-'not yet--i think.'
-again she bowed her head. for a moment her tears fell silently, then she looked up once more fighting against her anguish.
-'it cannot be true that he would have given me to the greeks; that he may have forgotten me, that he may have turned to another love, i can perhaps believe--for what am i that basil should love me? but to scheme my injury, to deliver me to our enemies--oh, you are deceived, you are deceived!'
-marcian was silent, with eyes cast down. in the branches, cicadas trilled their monotone. the viper, which had been startled away, again showed its lithe blackness among the stones behind veranilda, and marcian, catching sight of it, again touched her arm.
-'the snake! come away from this place.'
-veranilda drew her arm back as if his touch stung her.
-'i will go,' she said. 'i must be alone--my thoughts are in such confusion i know not what i say.'
-'say but one word,' he pleaded. 'having rescued you, i knew not how to provide for your security save under ward of the king. totila is noble and merciful; all italy will soon be his, and the gothic rule be re-established. assure me that i have done well and wisely.'
-'i hope you have,' answered veranilda, regarding him for an instant. 'but i know nothing; i must bear what befalls. let me go to my chamber, lord marcian, and sit alone and think.'
-he led her back into the villa, and they parted without another word.
-the betrayer betrayed
-sagaris, making his best speed, soon arrived at aquinum. he and his horse were bathed in sweat; the shelter of an inn, where he had dinner, tempted him to linger more than he need have done, and the fierce sun was already declining when he rode forth along the latin way. as yet he had seen no goths. every one talked of totila, but he had a difficulty in ascertaining where at this moment the king was to be found; some declared he was as near as venafrum, others that he lay much further down the valley of the vulturnus. arrived at venafrum, the messenger learnt that he could not have less than another whole day's journey before him, so here be harboured for the night.
-his wily and unscrupulous mind had all day long been busy with speculations as to the errand on which he was sent. knowing that his master wrote to goths in the gothic tongue, he was spared temptation to break open the letter he carried; otherwise he would assuredly have done so, for the hatred which sagaris naturally felt for any one in authority over him was now envenomed by jealousy, and for the last month or two he had only waited an opportunity of injuring marcian and of advancing, by the same stroke, his own fortunes.
-having started from rome in ignorance of his master's purpose, the events of the night at praeneste at once suggested to him the name of the person who was being so cautiously and hurriedly conveyed under marcian's guard, and by the end of the journey he had no doubt left. here, at last, was the gothic maiden who had been sought so persistently by marcian, by basil, by bessas, by heliodora, and doubtless by many others, since her disappearance from surrentum. whither was she now being conducted? sagaris did not know that among her seekers was king totila himself; on the other hand, he had much reason for suspecting that marcian pursued veranilda with a lover's passion, and when the journey ended at the island villa, when the convoy of horsemen was dismissed, when he himself was sent off to a distance, he saw his suspicion confirmed. by some supreme subtlety, marcian had got the beautiful maiden into his power, and doubtless the letter he was sending to totila contained some device for the concealing of what had happened.
-now to the syrian this would have been a matter of indifference, but for his secret communications with heliodora and all that had resulted therefrom. heliodora's talk was of three persons--of marcian, of basil, of veranilda--and sagaris, reasoning from all the gossip he had heard, and from all he certainly knew, concluded that the greek lady had once loved basil, but did so no more, that her love had turned to marcian, and that she either knew or suspected marcian to be a rival of basil for the love of veranilda. thus had matters stood (he persuaded himself) until his own entrance on the scene. that a woman might look with ardent eyes on more than one man in the same moment, seemed to sagaris the simplest of facts; he consequently found it easy to believe that, even whilst loving marcian, heliodora should have conceived a tenderness for marcian's slave. that heliodora's professions might be mere trickery, he never imagined; his vanity forbade it; at each successive meeting he seemed to himself to have strengthened his hold upon the luxurious woman; each time he came away with a fiercer hatred of marcian, and a deeper resolve to ruin him. true, as yet, he had fed only on promises, but being the man he was, he could attribute to heliodora a selfish interest in combination with a lover's desire; what more intelligible than that she should use him to the utmost against those she hated, postponing his reward until he had rendered her substantial service? thus did sagaris feel and reason, whilst riding along the latin way. his difficulty was to decide how he should act at this juncture; how, with greatest profit to himself, he could do most scathe to marcian.
-was his master serving the greeks or the goths? uncertainty on this point had long troubled his meditations, and was now a cause of grave embarrassment. eager to betray, he could not be sure to which side betrayal should direct itself. on the whole he himself favoured totila, feeling sure that the goth would bring the war to a triumphant end; and on this account he was disposed to do his errand faithfully. if the king interrogated him, he could draw conclusions from the questions asked, and could answer as seemed best for his own ends. so he decided to push on, and, despite the storm which broke on this second morning, he rode out from venafrum.
-a few hours' travel, and, drenched with the furious rain, he came to aesernia. this town stood in a strong position on an isolated hill; its massive walls yet compassed it about. on arriving at the gate he found himself unexpectedly challenged by armed men, who, though italians, he at once suspected to be in the gothic service. a moment's hesitancy in replying to the questions, 'whence?' and 'whither?' sufficed to put him under arrest. he was led to the captain, in whom with relief he recognised venantius of nuceria. his doubts being at an end, for he knew that this roman noble had long since openly joined totila, he begged that venantius would hear him in private, and this being granted, began by telling in whose service he was.
-'i thought i somehow remembered your face,' said the captain, whose look seemed to add that the face did not particularly please him. 'and where is the lord marcian?'
-'in rome, illustrious.'
-'you have come straight from rome, then?'
-the answer was affirmative and boldly given.
-'and whither are you bound? on what business?'
-sagaris, still obeying his master's injunctions, declared that he carried a verbal message to the king of the goths, and for him alone. having reflected for a moment, venantius called the soldier who stood without the door.
-'see to the wants of this messenger. treat him hospitably, and bring him hither again in an hour's time.'
-the captain then walked to a house close by, where, admitted to the atrium, he was at once met by an elderly lady, who bent respectfully before him.
-'has the traveller yet risen?' he began by asking.
-'not yet, my lord. a little while ago his servant told me that he was still sleeping.'
-'good; he will recover from his fatigue. but pray inquire whether he is now awake, for i would speak with him as soon as may be.'
-the lady was absent for a minute or two, then brought word that the traveller had just awoke.
-'i will go to his bedside,' said venantius.
-he was led to an upper chamber, a small, bare, tiled-floored room, lighted by a foot-square window, on which the shutter was half closed against the rays of the sun. some aromatic odour hung in the air.
-'do you feel able to talk?' asked the captain as he entered.
-'i am quite restored,' was the reply of a man sitting up in the bed. 'the fever has passed.'
-'so much for the wisdom of physicians!' exclaimed venantius with a laugh. 'that owl-eyed aesernian who swears by aesculapius that he has studied at constantinople, antioch, and i know not where else, whispered to me that you would never behold to-day's sunset. i whispered to him that he was an ass, and that if he uttered the word plague to any one in the house, i would cut his ears off. nevertheless, i had you put into this out-of-the-way room, that you might not be disturbed by noises. who'--he sniffed--'has been burning perfumes?'
-'my good fellow felix. though travel-worn and wounded, he has sat by me all the time, and would only go to bed when i woke up with a cool forehead.'
-'a good fellow, indeed. his face spells honesty. i can't say so much for that of a man i have just been talking with--a messenger of your friend marcian.'
-the listener started as though he would leap out of bed. a rush of colour to his cheeks banished the heavy, wan aspect which had partly disguised him, and restored the comely visage of basil. a messenger from marcian? he exclaimed. with news for him? and, as if expecting a letter, he stretched forth his hand eagerly.
-'he has nothing, that i know of, for you,' said the captain. 'if he tells the truth, he is charged with a message for the king.'
-'is it sagaris--a syrian slave?'
-'a syrian, by his looks; one i remember to have seen with marcian a year ago.'
-'sagaris, to be sure. then you can trust him. he has the eye of his race, and is a prating braggart, but marcian has found him honest. i must see him, venantius. will you send him to me, dear lord?'
-venantius had seated himself on a chair that was beside the bed; he wore a dubious look, and, before speaking again, glanced keenly at basil.
-'did you not expect,' he asked, 'to meet marcian in the king's camp?'
-'my last news from him bade me go thither as fast as i could, as he himself was leaving rome to join the king. i should have gone a little out of my road to visit his villa near arpinum, on the chance of hearing news of him there; but our encounter with the marauders drove me too far away.'
-'so much,' said venantius, 'i gathered from your talk last night, when you were not quite so clear-headed as you are now. what i want to discover is whether this syrian has lied to me. he declares that he left marcian in rome. now it happens that some of our men, who were sent for a certain purpose, yesterday, along the latin way, came across half a dozen horsemen, riding westward, and as their duty was, learnt all they could from them. these six fellows declared themselves servants of the bishop of praeneste, and said that they had just been convoying a roman noble and a lady to a villa not far from arpinum. and the noble's name--they had it, said they, from his own servants at the villa, where they had passed a night--was marcian.'
-basil stared; he had gone pale again and haggard.
-'what lady was with him?' he asked, under his breath.
-'that i cannot tell you. the bishop's men knew nothing about her, and had not seen her face. but'--venantius smiled--'they left her safely housed with our friend marcian. how comes this syrian to say that his master is at rome? does he lie? or did the horsemen lie? or are there, perchance, two marcians?'
-'i must speak with him,' said basil. 'leave me to find out the truth for you. send sagaris here, venantius, i entreat you.'
-the captain appeared to hesitate, but, on basil's beseeching him not to delay, he agreed and left the room. as soon as he was alone, basil sprang up and dressed. he was aching from head to foot, and a parched mouth, a hot hand, told of fever in his blood. on receipt of marcian's last letter, he had not delayed a day before setting forth; all was in readiness for such a summons, and thirty well-mounted, well-armed men, chosen from the slaves and freedmen on his asculan estate in picenum, rode after him to join the king of the goths. the journey was rapidly performed; already they were descending the lower slopes of the westward apennine, when they had the ill-luck to fall in with that same band of marauders which marcian so narrowly escaped. basil's first thought was that the mounted troop coming towards him might hem the gothic service, but this hope was soon dispelled. advancing with fierce threats, the robbers commanded him and his men to alight, their chief desire being no doubt to seize the horses and arms. though outnumbered, basil shouted defiance; a conflict began, and so stout was the resistance they met that, after several had fallen on either side, the brigands drew off. not, however, in final retreat; galloping on in hope of succour, basil found himself pursued, again lost two or three men, and only with the utmost difficulty got clear away.
-it was the young roman's first experience of combat. for this he had been preparing himself during the past months, exercising his body and striving to invigorate his mind, little apt for warlike enterprise. when the trial came, his courage did not fail, but the violent emotions of that day left him so exhausted, so shaken in nerve, that he could scarce continue his journey. he had come out of the fight unwounded, but at nightfall fever fell upon him, and he found no rest. the loss of some half dozen men grieved him to the heart; had the brave fellows fallen in battle with the greeks, he would have thought less of it; to see them slain, or captured, by mere brigands was more than he could bear. when at length he reached aesernia, and there unexpectedly met with venantius, he fell from his horse like a dying man. a draught given by the physician sent him to sleep, and from the second hour after sunset until nearly noon of to-day he had lain unconscious.
-what he now learnt from venantius swept into oblivion all that he had undergone. if it were true that marcian had travelled in this direction with a lady under his guard, basil could not doubt for a moment who that lady was. the jest of venantius did not touch him, for venantius spoke, it was evident, without a thought of veranilda, perhaps had forgotten her existence; not the faintest tremor of uneasiness stirred in basil's mind when he imagined veranilda at his friend's house; marcian had discovered her, had rescued her, had brought her thither to rest in safety till her lover could join them--brave marcian, truest of friends! for this had he sent the summons southward, perhaps not daring to speak more plainly in a letter, perhaps not being yet quite sure of success. this had he so often promised--o gallant marcian!
-quivering with eagerness, he stood at the door of his chamber. footsteps sounded; there appeared a slave of the house, and behind him that dark, handsome visage which he was expecting.
-'sagaris! my good sagaris!' he cried joyously.
-the syrian knelt before him and kissed his hand, but uttered no word. at sight of basil, for which he was not at all prepared, sagaris felt a happy shock; he now saw his way before him, and had no more anxiety. but, on rising from the obeisance, he let his head drop; his eyes wandered: one would have said that he shrank from observation.
-'speak low,' said basil, standing by the open door so as to guard against eavesdropping. 'what message have you for me?'
-sagaris replied that he had none.
-'none? your lord charged you with nothing for me in case you should meet me on your way?'
-again sagaris murmured a negative, and this time with so manifest an air of confusion that basil stared at him, suspicious, angry.
-'what do you mean? what are you keeping from me?'
-the man appeared to stammer incoherencies.
-'listen,' said basil in a low, friendly voice. 'you know very well that the lord marcian has no secrets from me. with me you can speak in entire confidence. what has come to you, man? tell me--did your lord leave rome before or after you?'
-'at the same time.'
-no sooner had this reply fallen from his lips than sagaris seemed stricken with alarm. he entreated pardon, declared he knew not what he was saying, that he was dazed by the weariness of travel.
-'i should have said--neither before nor after. my lord remains in the city. i was to return with all speed.'
-'he remains in the city?'
-basil reflected. it was possible that marcian had either purposely concealed his journey from this slave, and had suddenly found himself able to set forth just after sagaris had started.
-'you bear a letter for the king?' he asked.
-'a letter, illustrious,' answered the slave, speaking very low.
-'ah, a letter?'
-sagaris went on to say that he had kept this a secret from venantius, his master having bidden him speak of it to no one and deliver it into the king's own hand.
-'it is in the gothic tongue,' he added, his head bent, his look more furtive than ever; 'and so urgent that i have scarce rested an hour since leaving the villa.'
-a terrible light flashed into basil's eyes. then he sprang at the speaker, caught him by the throat, forced him to his knees.
-'scoundrel, you dare to lie to me! so you started from the villa and not from rome?'
-sagaris cried out for mercy, grovelled on the floor. he would tell everything; but he implored basil to keep the secret, for, did his master learn what had happened, his punishment would be terrible.
-'fool!' cried basil fiercely. 'how come you to have forgotten all at once that i am your lord's chosen friend, and that everything concerning him is safe with me. in very deed, i think you have ridden too hard in the sun; your brains must have frizzled. blockhead! if in haste, the lord marcian did not speak of me, he took it for granted that, should you meet me--'
-something so like a malicious smile flitted over the slave's countenance that in extremity of wrath he became mute.
-'your nobility is deceived,' said sagaris, in the same moment. 'my lord expressly forbade me to tell you the truth, should i see you on my journey.'
-basil stared at him.
-'i swear by the holy cross,' exclaimed the other, 'that this is true. and if i did not dread your anger, i could tell you the reason. i dare not. by all the saints i dare not!'
-a strange quiet fell upon basil. it seemed as if he would ask no more questions; he half turned away, and stood musing. indeed, it was as though he had already heard all the slave had to tell, and so overcome was he by the revelation that speech, even connected thought, was at first impossible. as he recovered from the stupefying blow, the blood began to boil in his veins. he felt as when, in the fight of two days ago, he saw the first of his men pierced by a javelin. turning again to sagaris, he plied him with brief and rapid questions, till he had learnt every detail of marcian's journey from rome to the villa. the syrian spoke of the veiled lady without hesitation as veranilda, and pretended to have known for some time that she was in a convent at praeneste; but, when interrogated as to her life at the villa, he affected an affectation of doubt, murmuring that he had beheld nothing with his own eyes, that perhaps the female slaves gossiped idly.
-'what do they say?' asked basil with unnatural self-control.
-'they speak of her happy mien and gay talk, of her walking with my lord in private. but i know nothing.'
-basil kept his eyes down for a long minute, then moved like one who has taken a resolve.
-'show me the letter you bear,' he commanded.
-sagaris produced it, and having looked at the seal, basil silently handed it back again.
-'thrice noble,' pleaded the slave, 'you will not deliver me to my lord's wrath?'
-'have no fear; unless in anything you have lied to me. follow.'
-they descended the stairs, and basil had himself conducted to the house where venantius sate at dinner. he spoke with the captain in private.
-'this slave has a letter, not merely a message, for the king. he says it is urgent, and so it may be; but, from what i have learnt i doubt whether he is wholly to be trusted. can you send some one with him?'
-'i,' continued basil, 'ride straightway for arpinum. ask me no questions, venantius. when i return, if i do return, you shall know what sent me there. i may be back speedily.'
-he took food, and in an hour's time was ready to start. of his followers, he chose ten to accompany him. the rest remained at aesernia. felix, worn out by watching and with a slight wound in the side which began to be troublesome, he was reluctantly obliged to leave. having inquired as to the road over the mountains by which he might reach arpinum more quickly than by the latin way, he rode forth from the town, and was soon spurring at headlong speed in a cloud of dust.
-his thoughts far outstripped him; he raged at the prospect of long hours to elapse ere he could reach marcian's villa. with good luck he might arrive before nightfall. if disappointed in that, a whole night must pass, an eternity of torment, before he came face to face with him he had called his dearest friend, now his abhorred enemy.
-what if he did not find him at the villa? marcian had perhaps no intention of remaining there. perhaps he had already carried off his victim to some other place.
-seeing their lord post so furiously, the men looked in wonder at each other. some of them were soon left far behind, and basil, though merciless in his frenzy, saw at length that his horse was seriously distressed; he slackened pace, allowed his followers to rejoin him, and rode, perforce, at what seemed to him a mere crawl. the sun was a flaming furnace; the earth seemed to be overspread with white fire-ash, which dazed the eyes and choked. but basil felt only the fire in his heart and brain. forgetful of all about him, he had not ridden more than a few miles, when he missed the road; his men, ignorant of the country, followed him without hesitation, and so it happened that, on stopping at one of the few farms on their way, to ask how far it still was to arpinum, he learnt that he must ride back for nearly a couple of hours to regain the track he should have taken. he broke into frantic rage, cursed the countrymen who directed him, and as he spurred his beast, cursed it too because of its stumbling at a stone.
-there was now no hope of finishing the journey to-day. his head on his breast, basil rode more and more slowly. the sun declined, and ere long it would be necessary to seek harbourage. but here among the hills no place of human habitation came in view. luckily for themselves some of the horsemen had brought provender. their lord had given thought to no such thing. the sun set; the hills cast a thickening shadow, even basil began to gaze uneasily ahead. at length there appeared a building, looking in the dusky distance like a solitary country house. it proved to be the ruin of a temple.
-'here we must stop,' said basil. 'my horse can go no further. indeed, the darkness would stay us in any case. we must shelter in these walls.'
-the men peered at each other, and a whisper went among them. for their part, said one and all, they would rest under the open sky. basil understood.
-'what! you are afraid? fools, do as you will. these walls shall shelter me though all the devils in hell were my bedfellows.'
-what had come to him? asked his followers. never had basil been known to speak thus. spite of their horror of a forsaken temple, two or three entered, and respectfully made offer of such food as they had with them. basil accepted a piece of bread, bade them see to his horse, and crept into a corner of the building. he desired to be alone and to think; for it seemed to him that he had not yet been able to reflect upon the story told by sagaris. what was it that lurked there at the back of his mind? a memory, a suggestion of some sort, which would have helped him to understand could he but grasp it. as he munched his bread he tried desperately to think, to remember; but all within him was a passionate misery, capable only of groans and curses. an intolerable weariness possessed his limbs. after sitting for a while with his back against the wall, he could not longer hold himself in this position, but sank down and lay at full length; and even so he ached, ached, from head to foot.
-perhaps an hour had passed, and it was now quite dark within the temple, when two of the men appeared with blazing torches, for they, by means of flint and iron, had lit a fire in a hollow hard by, and meant to keep it up through the night as a protection against wolves. they brought basil a draught of water in a leather bottle, from a little stream they had found; and he drank gratefully, but without a word. the torchlight showed bare walls and a shattered roof. having searched all round and discovered neither reptile nor beast, the men made a bed of leaves and bracken, with a folded cloak for a pillow, and invited their master to lie upon it. basil did so, turned his face away, and bade them leave him alone.
-what was that memory at the back of his mind? in the effort to draw it forth he ground his teeth together, dug his nails into his hands. at moments he forgot why he was wretched, and, starting up, strained his eyes into the darkness, until he saw the face of sagaris and heard him speaking.
-for a while he slept; but dreadful dreams soon awoke him, and, remembering where he was, he shook with horror. low sounds fell upon his ear, movements, he thought, in the black night. he would have shouted to his men, but shame kept him mute. he crossed himself and prayed to the virgin; then, raising his eyes, he saw through the broken roof a space of sky in which a star shone brilliantly. it brought him comfort; but the next moment he remembered sagaris, and mental anguish blended with his fears of the invisible.
-again sleep overcame him. he dreamt that an evil spirit, with a face he knew but could not name, was pursuing him over trackless mountains. he fled like the wind; but the spirit was close behind him, and wherever he turned his head, he saw the familiar face grinning a devilish mockery. a precipice lay before him. he leapt wildly, and knew at once that he had leapt into fire, into hell. but the red gleam was that of a torch, and before him, as he opened his eyes, stood one of his faithful attendants who had come to see if all was well with him. he asked for water, and the man fetched him a draught. it was yet long till dawn.
-now he could not lie still, for fever burned him. though awake, he saw visions, and once sent forth what seemed to him a yell of terror; but in truth it was only a moan, and no one heard. he relived through the fight with the marauders; sickened with dread at the gleam of weapons; flamed into fury, and shouted with savage exultation as he felt his sword cut the neck of an enemy. he was trying to think of veranilda, but all through the night her image eluded him, and her name left him cold. he was capable only of hatred. at daybreak he slept heavily; the men, approaching him and looking at his haggard face, thought better to let him rest, and only after sunrise did he awake. he was angry that they had not aroused him sooner, got speedily to horse, and rode off almost at the same speed as yesterday. now, at all events, he drew near to his goal; for a ride of an hour or two he needed not to spare his beast; sternly he called to his men to follow him close.
-and all at once, as though his brain were restored by the freshness of the morning, he grasped the thought which had eluded him. marcian's treachery was no new thing: twice he had been warned against his seeming friend, by petronilla and by bessas, and in his folly he had scorned the accusation which time had now so bitterly justified. forgotten, utterly forgotten, until this moment; yet how blinded he must have been by his faith in marcian's loyalty not to have reflected upon many circumstances prompting suspicion. marcian had perhaps been false to him from the very day of veranilda's disappearance, and how far did his perfidy extend? had he merely known where she was concealed, or had he seen her, spoken with her, wooed her all along? he had won her; so much was plain; and he could scarce have done so during the brief journey to his villa. o villainous marcian! o fickle, wanton veranilda!
-so distinct before his fiery imagination shone the image of those two laughing together, walking alone (as sagaris had reported), that all reasoning, such as a calmer man might have entertained, was utterly forbidden. not a doubt crossed his mind. and in his heart was no desire but of vengeance.
-at length he drew near to arpinum. avoiding the town, he questioned a peasant at work in the fields, and learnt his way to the island. just as he came within view of the eastward waterfall, a girl was crossing the bridge, away from the villa. basil drew rein, bidding his men do likewise, and let the girl, who had a bundle on her head, draw near. at sight of the horsemen, of whom she was not aware till close by them, the maid uttered a cry of alarm, and would have run back but basil intercepted her, jumped from his horse, and bade her have no fear, as he only wished to ask a harmless question. easily he learnt that marcian was at the villa, that he had arrived a few days ago, and that with him had come a lady.
-'what is that lady's name?' he inquired.
-the girl did not know. only one or two of the slaves, she said, had seen her; she was said to be beautiful, with long yellow hair.
-'she never goes out?' asked basil.
-the reply was that, only this morning, she had walked in the wood--the wood just across the bridge--with marcian.
-basil sprang on to his horse, beckoned his troop, and rode forward.
-when marcian parted from veranilda in the peristyle, and watched her as she ascended to her chamber, he knew that sombre exultation which follows upon triumph in evil. hesitancies were now at end; no longer could he be distracted between two desires. in his eye, as it pursued the beauty for which he had damned himself, glowed the fire of an unholy joy. not without inner detriment had marcian accustomed himself for years to wear a double face; though his purpose had been pure, the habit of assiduous perfidy, of elaborate falsehood, could not leave his soul untainted. a traitor now for his own ends, he found himself moving in no unfamiliar element, and, the irrevocable words once uttered, he thrilled with defiance of rebuke. all the persistency of the man centred itself upon the achievement of this crime, to him a crime no longer from the instant that he had irreversibly willed it.
-on fire to his finger-tips, he could yet reason with the coldest clarity of thought. having betrayed his friend thus far, he must needs betray him to the extremity of traitorhood; must stand face to face with him in the presence of the noble totila, and accuse him even as he had done to veranilda. only thus, as things had come about, could he assure himself against the fear that totila, in generosity, or policy, or both, might give the amal-descended maid to basil. to defeat basil's love was his prime end, jealousy being more instant with him than fleshly impulse. yet so strong had this second motive now become, that he all but regretted his message to the king: to hold veranilda in his power, to gratify his passion sooner or later, by this means or by that, he would perhaps have risked all the danger to which such audacity exposed him. but marcian was not lust-bitten quite to madness. for the present, enough to ruin the hopes of basil. this done, the field for his own attempt lay open. by skilful use of his advantages, he might bring it to pass that totila would grant him a supreme reward--the hand of veranilda.
-unless, indeed, the young king, young and warm-blooded however noble of mind, should himself look upon veranilda with a lover's eyes. it was not the first time that marcian had thought of this. it made him wince. but he reminded himself that herein lay another safeguard against the happiness of basil, and so was able to disregard the fear.
-he would let his victim repose during the heat of the day, and then, towards evening, would summon her to another interview. not much longer could he hope to be with her in privacy; to-morrow, or the next day at latest, emissaries of the gothic king would come in response to his letter. but this evening he should speak with her, gaze upon her, for a long, long hour. she was gentle, meek, pious; in everything the exquisite antithesis of such a woman as heliodora. out of very humility she allowed herself to believe that basil had ceased to love her. how persuade her, against the pure loyalty of her heart, that he had even plotted her surrender to an unknown fate? what proof of that could he devise? did he succeed in overcoming her doubts, would he not have gone far towards winning her gratitude?
-thinking thus, he strayed aimlessly and unconsciously in courts and corridors. night would come again, and could he trust himself through the long, still night after long speech with veranilda? a blacker thought than any he had yet nurtured began to stir in his mind, raising its head like the viper of an hour ago. were she but his--his irredeemably? he tried to see beyond that, but his vision blurred.
-her nature was gentle, timid; the kind of nature, he thought, which subdues itself to the irreparable. so soft, so sweet, so utterly woman, might she not, thinking herself abandoned by basil, yield heart and soul to a man whom she saw helpless to resist a passionate love of her? or, if this hope deceived him, was there no artifice with which to cover his ill-doing, no piece of guile subtle enough to cloak such daring infamy?
-he was in the atrium, standing on the spot where first he had talked with her. as then, he gazed at the bronze group of the candelabrum; his eyes were fixed on those of proserpine.
-a slave entered and announced to him a visit from one of the priests whom he was going to see when the meeting at the bridge changed his purpose. the name startled him. was this man sent by god? he bade introduce the visitor, and in a moment there entered a white-bearded, shoulder-bowed ecclesiastic, perspiring from the sunshine, who greeted him with pleasant cordiality. this priest it was--he bore the name gaudiosus--who had baptized marcian, and had given him in childhood religious teaching; a good, but timid man, at all times readier to praise than to reprove, a well-meaning utterer of smooth things, closing his eyes to evil, which confused rather than offended him. from the same newsbearer, who told him of marcian's arrival at the villa, gaudiosus had heard of a mysterious lady; but it was far from his thought to meddle with the morals of one whose noble birth and hereditary position of patron inspired him with respect; he came only to gossip about the affairs of the time. they sat down together, marcian glad of the distraction. but scarce had they been talking for five minutes, when again the servant presented himself.
-'what now?' asked his master impatiently.
-'my lord, at the gate is the lord basil.'
-'basil? how equipped and attended?'
-'armed, on horseback, and with a number of armed horsemen.'
-'withdraw, and wait outside till i call you.'
-marcian turned to the presbyter. his cheeks were flushed, his eyes strangely bright.
-'here,' he said, in low, hurried tones, 'comes an evil man, a deep-dyed traitor, with the aspect of friendliest integrity. i am glad you are with me. i have no leisure now to tell you the story; you shall hear it afterwards. what i ask of you, reverend father, is to bear me out in all i say, to corroborate, if asked to do so, all i state to him. you may rely upon the truth of every word i shall utter; and may be assured that, in doing this, you serve only the cause of good. let it not surprise you that i receive the man with open arms. he was my dear friend; i have only of late discovered his infamy, and for the gravest reasons, which you shall learn, i am obliged to mask my knowledge. beloved father, you will give me your countenance?'
-'i will, i will,' replied gaudiosus nervously. 'you would not deceive me, i well know, dear son.'
-marcian summoned the waiting servant, and ordered that the traveller should be straightway admitted. a few minutes passed in absolute silence, then, as the two stood gazing towards the entrance, they saw the gleam of a casque and of a breastplate, and before them stood basil. his arms extended, marcian stepped forward.
-'so soon, o brave basil!' he exclaimed. 'what speed you must have made! how long is it since my letter reached you?'
-there passed the semblance of an embrace between them. basil was death pale; he spoke in hollow tones, as though his tongue were parched, and looked with bloodshot eyes from marcian to the ecclesiastic.
-'i am travel-worn. your hospitality must restore me.'
-'that it shall,' replied marcian. 'or, better still,' he added, 'the hospitality of my father gaudiosus.' he touched the priest's arm, as if affectionately. 'for here there is little solace; barely one chamber habitable. you have often heard me describe, o basil, my poor, ruinous island villa, and now at length you behold it. i did not think you would pass this way, or i would have prepared for your fitting reception. by the greatest chance you find me here; and to-morrow i must be gone. but scarce two thousand paces from here is the dwelling of this reverend man, who will entertain you fittingly, and give you the care you need; for it seems to me, dear basil, that you are more than wearied.'
-the listener nodded, and let himself drop upon a seat near to where marcian was standing.
-'what have you to tell me?' he asked under his breath.
-'nothing good, alas!' was the murmured reply.
-'shall we speak in private?'
-'nay, it is needless. all my secrets lie open to gaudiosus.'
-again basil cast a glance at the presbyter, who had seated himself and appeared to be absorbed in thought.
-'do you mean,' he asked, 'that something new has befallen?'
-his eyes were upon marcian, and marcian's upon those of proserpine.
-'yes, something new. the deacon of whom you know has left rome, accompanying the pope on his journey eastward. and with him he has taken--'
-a name was shaped upon the speaker's lips, but whether of purpose, or because his voice failed him, it found no utterance.
-as basil spoke, his eye was caught by the movement of a curtain at the back of the room. the curtain was pushed aside, and there appeared the figure of a maiden, pale, beautiful. marcian did not see her, nor yet did the priest.
-'veranilda?' repeated basil, in the same questioning tone. he leaned forward, his hand upon his wrist.
-'she--alas!' was marcian's reply.
-'liar! traitor! devil!'
-at each word, basil's dagger drank blood up to the hilt. with his furious voice blended a yell of terror, of agony, a faint cry of horror from gaudiosus, and a woman's scream. then came silence.
-the priest dropped to his knees by marcian's prostrate form. basil, the stained weapon in his crimson hand, stared at veranilda, who also had fallen.
-'man! what hast thou done?' gasped gaudiosus.
-the trembling, senile tones wakened basil as if from a trance. he thrust his dagger into its sheath, stepped to the back of the room, and bent over the white loveliness that lay still.
-'is it death?' he murmured.
-'death! death!' answered the priest, who had just heard marcian's last sob.
-'i speak not of that perjured wretch,' said basil. 'come hither.'
-gaudiosus obeyed, and looked with wonder at the unconscious face.
-'who is this?' he asked.
-'no matter who. does she live?'
-basil had knelt, and taken one of the little hands in both his own, staining it with the blood of marcian.
-'i can feel no throb of life,' he said, speaking coldly, mechanically.
-the priest bent, and put his cheek to her lips.
-'she lives. this is but a swoon. help me to bear her to the couch.'
-but basil took the slender body in his arms, and carried it like that of a child. when he had laid it down, he looked at gaudiosus sternly.
-'have you authority in this house?'
-'some little, perhaps. i know not. what is your will?'
-utterly confounded, his eyes dropping moisture, his limbs shaken as if with palsy, the priest babbled his reply.
-'use any power you have,' continued basil, 'to prevent more bloodshed. outside the gates are men of mine. bid the porter admit them to the outer court. then call thither two servants, and let them bear away that--whither you will. after, you shall hear more.'
-like an obedient slave, gaudiosus sped on his errand. basil the while stood gazing at veranilda; but he did not go very near to her, and his look had nothing of tenderness. he saw the priest return, followed by two men, heard him whisper to them, saw them take up and carry away their master's corpse; all this as if it did not regard him. again he turned his gaze upon veranilda. it seemed to him that her lips, her eyelids moved. he bent forward, heard a sigh. then the blue eyes opened, but as yet saw nothing.
-gaudiosus reappeared, and basil beckoned him.
-'you do not know her?' he asked in a low voice.
-'i never looked upon her face till now,' was the reply.
-at the sound of their voices veranilda stirred, tried to rouse herself, uttered a sound of distress.
-'speak to her,' said basil.
-gaudiosus approached the couch, and spoke soothing words.
-'what dreadful thought is this?' said veranilda. 'what have i seen?'
-the priest whispered an adjuration to prayer. but she, raising her head, cast terrified glances about the hall. basil had moved further away, and she did not seem to be aware of his presence.
-'how long is it,' he asked, with his eyes upon gaudiosus, 'since marcian came from rome?'
-'this is the fourth day. so i have been told. i myself saw him for the first time not an hour--nay, not half an hour ago.'
-'you knew not that he brought her with him?'
-basil, without looking in that direction, signalled with his head towards veranilda.
-'i had heard of some companion unnamed.'
-'he had not spoken of her to you?'
-'not a word.'
-on the tesselated floor where marcian had fallen was a pool of blood. basil only now perceived it, and all at once a violent shudder went over him.
-somewhat recovered from the emotions which had enfeebled him, gaudiosus held up his head, and made solemn answer.
-'not yours was it to take vengeance. the god to whom you appeal has said: "thou shalt do no murder."'
-'consider his crime,' returned the other. 'in the moment when he swore falsely i lifted up my eyes, and behold, she herself stood before me. she whom i loved, who had pledged herself to me, who long ago would have been my wife but for the enemy who came between us--she, hidden here with him, become a wanton in his embraces--'
-a low cry of anguish interrupted him. he turned. veranilda had risen and drawn near.
-'basil! you know not what you say.'
-'nor what i could say,' he replied, his eyes blazing with scorn. 'you, who were truth itself have you so well learned to lie? talk on. tell me that he held you here perforce, and that you passed the days and the nights in weeping. have i not heard of your smiles and your contentment? whither did you stray this morning? did you go into the wood to say your orisons?'
-veranilda turned to the priest.
-'servant of god i hear me, unhappy that i am!'
-with a gesture of entreaty she flung out her hands, and, in doing so, saw that one of them was red. her woebegone look changed to terror.
-'what is this? his blood is upon me--on my hand, my garment. when did i touch him? holy father, whither has he gone? does he live? oh, tell me if he lives!'
-'come hence with me,' said gaudiosus. 'come where i may hear you utter the truth before god.'
-but veranilda was as one distraught. she threw herself on to her knees.
-'tell me he lives. he is but sorely hurt? he can speak? whither have they carried him?'
-confirmed in his damning thought by every syllable she uttered, basil strode away.
-'lead her where you will,' he shouted. 'i stay under this abhorred roof only till my men have eaten and taken rest.'
-without knowing it, he had stepped into the pool of blood, and a red track was left behind him as he went forth from the hall.
-the red hand
-resting at length from desire and intrigue, marcian lay cold upon the bed where he had passed his haunted nights. about his corpse were gathered all the servants of the house; men, with anger on their brows, muttering together, and women wailing low because of fear. the girl who had met the horsemen by the bridge told her story, whence it became evident that marcian's death was the result of private quarrel; but some of the slaves declared that this armed company came in advance of the gothic host; and presently the loss of their master was all but forgotten in anxiety as to their own fate at the hands of the emperor.
-this talk was interrupted by the approach of basil's men, who came to seek a meal for themselves and forage for their horses. having no choice but to obey, the servants went about the work required of them. a quiet fell upon the house. the strangers talked little, and, when they spoke, subdued their voices. in still chambers and corridors was heard now and then a sound of weeping.
-basil, though he had given orders for departure as soon as the meal was done, knew not whither his journey should be directed. a paralysis of thought and will kept him pacing alone in the courtyard; food he could not touch; of repose he was incapable; and though he constantly lifted up his bloodstained hand, to gaze at it as if in bewildered horror, he did not even think of washing the blood away. at moments he lost consciousness of what he had done, his mind straying to things remote; then the present came back upon him with a shock, seeming, however, to strike on numbed senses, so that he had to say to himself, 'i have slain marcian,' before he could fully understand his suffering.
-veranilda was now scarce present to his mind at all. something vaguely outlined hovered in the background; something he durst not look at or think about; the sole thing in the world that had reality for him was the image of marcian--stabbed, shrieking, falling, dead. every minute was the fearful scene re-enacted. more than once he checked himself in his walk, seeming to be about to step on marcian's body.
-at length, seeing a shadow draw near, he raised his eyes and beheld gaudiosus. he tried to speak, but found that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. automatically he crossed himself, then caught the priest's hand, and knelt and kissed it.
-'rise, my son,' said gaudiosus, 'for i would talk with you.'
-on one side of the courtyard was a portico with seats, and thither the old man led.
-'unless,' he began gravely, 'unless the author of all falsehood--who is so powerful over women--has entered into this maiden to baffle and mislead me utterly, i feel assured that she is chaste; not merely unsullied in the flesh, but as pure of heart as her fallen nature may permit a woman to be.'
-basil gazed at him darkly.
-'my father, how can you believe it? did you not hear her lament because the man was dead? it is indeed the devil that beguiles you.'
-gaudiosus bent his head, and pondered anxiously.
-'tell me,' he said at length, 'all her story, that i may compare it with what i have heard from her own lips.'
-slowly at first, and confusedly, with hesitations, repetitions, long pauses, basil recited the history of veranilda, so far as he knew it. the priest listened and nodded, and when silence came, continued the narrative. if veranilda spoke truth she had never seen marcian until he took her from the convent at praeneste. moreover, marcian had never uttered to her a word of love; in his house she had lived as chastely as among the holy sisters.
-'what did she here, then?' asked basil bitterly. 'why did he bring her here? you know, o father, that it was not in fulfilment of his promise to me, for you heard his shameless lie when i questioned him.'
-'he told her,' replied the priest, 'that she sojourned here only until he could put her under the protection of the gothic king.'
-'of totila?' cried basil. 'nay, for all i know, he may have thought of that--his passion being appeased.'
-'when i left her,' pursued gaudiosus, whose confidence in his own judgment was already shaken by the young man's vehemence, 'i spoke in private with certain of the bondswomen, who declared to me that they could avouch the maiden's innocence since her coming hither--until to-day's sunrise.'
-basil laughed with scorn.
-'until to-day's sunrise? and pray, good father, what befell her at that moment? what whisper the argus-eyed bondswomen?'
-'they tell me,' replied the priest, 'that she went forth and met marcian, and walked with him in a wood, her own woman having been sent back to the villa. this troubled me; but her voice, her countenance--'
-'helped by the devil,' broke in basil. 'reverend man, do not seek to deceive yourself, or to solace me with a vain hope. i pray you, did marcian, when you came to visit him, speak of a lady whose virtue he was sworn to guard? plainly, not a word fell from him. yet assuredly he would have spoken had things been as you pretend.'
-gaudiosus, bent double, a hand propping his white-bearded chin, mused for a little with sadded air.
-'lord basil,' he resumed at length, 'somewhat more have i to say to you. i live far from the world, and hear little of its rumour. until this day your name was unknown to me, and of good concerning you i have to this hour heard nothing save from your own lips. may i credit this report you make of yourself? or should i rather believe what marcian, in brief words, declared to me when he heard that you were at his gate?'
-the speaker paused, as if to collect courage.
-'he spoke ill of me?' asked basil.
-'he spoke much ill. he accused you of disloyalty in friendship, saying that he had but newly learnt how you had deceived him. more than this he had not time to tell.'
-basil looked into the old man's rheumy eyes.
-'you do well to utter this, good father. tell me one thing more. yonder maiden, does she breathe the same charge against me?'
-'not so,' replied gaudiosus. 'of you she said no evil.'
-'yet i scarce think'--he smiled coldly--'that she made profession of love for me?'
-'my son, her speech was maidenly. she spoke of herself as erstwhile your betrothed; no more than that.'
-as he uttered these words, the priest rose. he had an uneasy look, as if he feared that infirmity of will and fondness for gossip had betrayed him into some neglect of spiritual obligation.
-'it is better,' he said, 'that we should converse no more. i know not what your purposes may be, nor do they concern me i remain here to pray by the dead, and i shall despatch a messenger to my brother presbyter, that we may prepare for the burial. remember,' he raised his head, and his voice struck a deeper note, 'that the guilt of blood is upon you, and that no plea of earthly passion will avail before the almighty judge. behold your hand--even so, but far more deeply have you stained your soul.'
-basil scarce heard. numbness had crept over him again; he stared at the doorway by which the priest re-entered the house, and only after some minutes recalled enough of the old man's last words to look upon his defiled hand. then he called aloud, summoning any slave who might hear him, and when the doorkeeper came timidly from a recess where he had been skulking, bade him bring water. having cleansed himself, he walked by an outer way to the rear of the villa; for he durst not pass through the atrium.
-here his men were busy over their meal, sitting or sprawling in a shadowed place, the slaves waiting upon them. with a reminder that they must hold themselves ready to ride at any moment, he passed on through a large, wild garden, and at length, where a grove of box-trees surrounded the ruins of a little summer-house, cast himself to the ground.
-his breast heaved, his eyes swelled and smarted, but he could not shed tears. face downwards, like a man who bites the earth in his last agony, he lay quivering. so did an hour or more pass by.
-he was roused by the voices of his men, who were searching and calling for him. with an effort, he rose to his feet, and stepped out into the sunshine, when he learnt that a troop of soldiers had just ridden up to the villa, and that their captain, who had already entered, was asking for him by name. careless what might await him, basil followed the men as far as the inner court, and there stood venantius.
-'i surprise you,' cried out the genial voice with a cheery laugh. you had five hours start of me. pray, dear lord, when did you get here?'
-basil could make no reply, and the other, closely observing his strange countenance, went on to explain that, scarcely started from aesernia on his way to the king, marcian's messenger had met with totila himself, who was nearer than had been thought. after reading the letter, totila had come on rapidly to aesernia, and had forthwith despatched venantius to the villa by arpinum.
-'you guess my mission, lord basil,' he pursued, with bluff good-humour. 'dullard that i was, the talk of a fair lady travelling in marcian's charge never brought to my mind that old story of surrentum. here is our royal totila all eagerness to see this maiden--if maiden still she be. what say you on that point, dear lord? nay, look not so fiercely at me. i am not here to call any one to account, but only to see that the gothic beauty comes safe to aesernia as soon as may be.'
-'you will find her within,' muttered basil.
-'and marcian? i might have thought i came inopportunely to this dwelling, but that he himself wrote to the king that the lady was here.'
-'you are assured of that?' basil asked, under his breath.
-'i have totila's word for it, at all events. but you seem indisposed for talk, lord basil, and my business is with marcian. the slaves all look scared, and can't or won't answer a plain question. i have no time to waste. tell me, i pray you, where the lord of the villa may be found.'
-basil summoned one of his followers.
-'conduct the lord venantius to marcian's chamber.'
-it was done. basil remained standing in the same spot, his eyes cast down, till a quick step announced the captain's return. venantius came close up to him, and spoke in a grave but not unfriendly voice:
-'the priest has told me what he saw, but will not say more. i ask you nothing, lord basil. you will make your defence to the king.'
-'be it so.'
-'my men must rest for an hour,' continued venantius. 'we shall ride this afternoon as far as aquinum, and there pass the night. i go now to speak with veranilda.'
-'as you will.'
-basil withdrew into the portico, sat down, and covered his face with his hands. fever consumed him, and a dreadful melancholy weighed upon his spirit. at a respectful distance from him, his followers had assembled, ready for departure. the soldiers who had come with venantius, a score in number, were eating and drinking outside the gates. within, all was quiet. half an hour elapsed, and venantius again came forward. seeing basil in the shadow of the portico, he went and sat beside him, and began to speak with rough but well-meaning solace. why this heaviness? if he surmised aright, basil had but avenged himself as any man would have done. for his own part, he had never thought enough of any woman to kill a man on her account; but such little troubles were of everyday occurrence, and must not be taken too much to heart. he had seen this gothic damsel of whom there had been so much rumour, and, by diana i (if the oath were not inappropriate) her face deserved all that was said of it. his rival being out of the way, why should not basil pluck up cheer? totila would not deal harshly in such a matter as this, and more likely than not he would be disposed to give the maiden to a roman of noble race, his great desire being to win all romans by generosity.
-'yonder priest tells me,' he added, 'that you were over hasty; that you struck on a mere suspicion. and methinks he may be right. by the holy cross, i could well believe this maiden a maiden in very deed. i never looked upon a purer brow, an eye that spoke more innocently. hark ye, my good basil, i am told that you have not spoken with her. if you would fain do so before we set forth, i will be no hinderer. go, if you will, into yonder room'--he pointed to a door near by--' and when she descends (i have but to call), you shall see her undisturbed.'
-for a moment basil sat motionless; then, without a word, he rose and went whither venantius directed him. but a few minutes passed before he saw veranilda enter. she was clad for travel, a veil over her face; this, and the shadow in which basil stood, made her at first unaware of his presence, for venantius had only requested her to enter this room until the carriage was ready. standing with bowed head, she sobbed.
-'why do you weep?' demanded an abrupt voice, which made her draw back trembling.
-basil moved a little towards her.
-'you weep for him?' he added in the same pitiless tone.
-'for him, for you, and for myself, alas! alas!'
-the subdued anguish of her voice did not touch basil. he burned with hatred of her and of the dead man.
-'shed no tears for me. i am cured of a long folly. and for you consolation will not be slow in coming. who knows but you may throw your spell upon totila himself.'
-'you know not what you say,' replied veranilda; not, as when she used the words before, in accents quivering from a stricken heart, but with sorrowful dignity and self-command. 'is it basil who speaks thus? were it only the wrong done me that i had to bear, i could keep silence, waiting until god restored your justice and your gentleness. but, though in nothing blameworthy, i am the cause of what has come about; for had i not entered that room when i did, you would not have struck the fatal blow. listen then, o basil, whilst i make known to you what happened before you came.'
-she paused to control herself.
-'i must go back to the night when i left the convent. no one had told me i was to go away. in the middle of the night i was aroused and led forth, with me the woman who served me. we had travelled an hour or two, perhaps, when some one standing by the carriage spoke to me, some one who said he was marcian the friend of basil, and bade me have no fears, for basil awaited me at the end of the journey. the next day he spoke to me again, this time face to face, but only a few words. we came to this villa. you have been told, by i know not whom, that i was light of heart. it is true, for i believed what marcian had said to me, and nothing had befallen to disturb my gladness. i lived with my serving woman privately, in quiet and hope. this morning, yielding, alas! to a wish which i thought harmless, i went forth with my attendant to the waterfall. as i stood gazing at it, the lord marcian came forth on horseback. he alighted to speak with me, and presently asked if i would go to see another fall of the river, across the island. i consented. as we went, he dismissed my servant, and i did not know what he had done (thinking she still followed), until, when we were in a wood at the water's edge, i could no longer see the woman, and marcian told me he had bidden her go to fetch seats for us. then he began to speak, and what he said, how shall i tell you?'
-there was another brief silence. basil did not stir; his eyes were bent sternly upon the veiled visage.
-'was it evil in his heart that shaped such words? or had he been deceived by some other? he said that basil had forgotten me; that basil loved, and would soon wed, a lady in rome. more than that, he said that basil was plotting to get me into his power, his purpose being to deliver me to the greeks, who would take me to constantinople. but marcian, so he declared, had rescued me in time, and i was to be guarded by the king of the goths.'
-the listener moved, raising his arm and letting it fall again. but he breathed no word.
-'this did he tell me,' she added. 'i went back to the villa to my chamber. i sat thinking, i know not how long; i know not how long. then, unable to remain any longer alone, driven by my dreadful doubt, i came forth to seek marcian. i descended the stairs to the atrium. you saw me--alas! alas!'
-basil drew nearer to her.
-'he had spoken no word of love?'
-'no word. i had no fear of that.'
-'why, then, did he frame these lies, these hellish lies?'
-'alas!' cried veranilda, clasping her hands above her head. 'did he still live, the truth might be discovered. his first words to me, in the night when he stood beside the carriage, sounded so kind and true; he named himself the friend of basil, said that basil awaited me at the journey's end. how could he speak so, if he indeed then thought you what he afterwards said? oh, were he alive, to stand face to face with me again!'
-'it is not enough,' asked basil harshly, 'that i tell you he lied?'
-she did not on the instant reply, and he, possessed with unreasoning bitterness, talked wildly on.
-'no! you believed him, and believe him still. i can well fancy that he spoke honestly at first; but when he had looked into your face, when he had talked with you, something tempted him to villainy. go! your tears and your lamentations betray you. it is not of me that you think, but of him, him, only him! "oh, were he alive!" ay, keep your face bidden; you know too well it could not bear my eyes upon it.'
-veranilda threw back the long veil, and stood looking at him.
-'eyes red with weeping,' he exclaimed, 'and for whom? if you were true to me, would you not rejoice that i had slain my enemy? you say you were joyful in the thought of seeing me again? you see me--and with what countenance?'
-'i see not basil,' she murmured, her hands upon her breast.
-'you see a false lover, an ignoble traitor--the basil shown you by marcian. what would it avail me to speak in my own defence? his voice is in your ears, its lightest tone outweighing my most solemn oath. "oh, that he were alive!" that is all you find to say to me.'
-'i know you not,' sobbed veranilda. 'alas, i know you not!'
-'nor i you. i dreamt of a veranilda who loved so purely and so constantly that not a thousand slanderers could have touched her heart with a shadow of mistrust. but who are you--you whom the first gross lie of a man lusting for your beauty utterly estranges from your faith? who are you--who wail for the liar's death, and shrink in horror from the hand that slew him? i ever heard that the daughters of the goths were chaste and true and fearless. so they may be--all but one, whose birth marked her for faithlessness.'
-as though smitten by a brutal blow, veranilda bowed her head, shuddering. once more she looked at basil, for an instant, with wide eyes of fear; then hid herself beneath the veil, and was gone.
-the mount of the monk
-basil rode with his own man apart from venantius and the soldiers who guarded the conveyance in which sat veranilda. venantius, for his part, would fain have lightened the way with friendly talk, but finding basil irresponsive, he left him to his gloomy meditations. and so they came to aquinum, where they passed the night.
-by way of precaution, the captain set a guard before the house in which his fellow-traveller slept, and at daybreak, as soon as he had risen, one of the soldiers thus employed reported to him that the young roman had fallen into such distemper that it seemed doubtful whether he could continue the journey; a servant who had slept at basil's door declared that all through the night his master had talked wildly, like one fever-frenzied. venantius visited the sick man, and found him risen, but plainly in poor case for travel.
-'why, you will never mount your horse,' he opined, after touching basil's hand, and finding it on fire. 'this is what comes of a queasy conscience. take heart, man! are you the first that stuck a false friend between the ribs, or the first to have your love kissed against her will? that it was against her will, i take upon myself to swear. you are too fretful, my good lord. come, now! what are we to do with you?'
-'i can ride on,' answered basil. 'pay no heed to me, and leave me in peace, i pray you.'
-he was helped to horseback, and the cavalcade went forth again along the latin way. this morning, no beam of sunrise shone above the mountains; the heavens were sullen, and a hot wind blew from the south. even venantius, though he hummed a song to himself, felt the sombre influence of the air, and kept glancing uneasily backwards at the death-pale man, who rode with head upon his breast. scarcely had they ridden for an hour at foot-pace, when a shout caught the captain's ear; he turned, just in time to see basil dropping to the ground.
-'god's thunder!' he growled. 'i have been expecting this. well if he dies, it may save the king some trouble.'
-he jumped down, and went to basil's side. at first the sufferer could not speak, but when water had been given him, he gazed at venantius with a strange smile, and, pointing before him, said faintly:
-'is not yonder casinum?'
-'it is. we will bear you thither for harbourage. courage, friend!'
-'above, on the mountain,' continued basil painfully, 'dwells my kinsman benedict, with his holy men. could i but reach the monastery!'
-'why, perchance you may,' replied the captain. 'and in truth you would be better cared for there.'
-'help me, good venantius!' panted basil, with eyes of entreaty. 'let me die in the monastery.'
-in those days of pestilence, every fever-stricken person was an object of dread to all but the most loving or the most courageous. the stalwart venantius thought for a moment of carrying basil before him on his horse, but prudence overcame this humane impulse. into the carriage, for the same reason (had there been no other), he could not be put; but there was a vacant place beside the driver, and here, supported with cords, he managed to keep his seat until they arrived at casinum.
-owing to its position on the highroad, trodden by so many barbaric armies, this city had suffered repeated devastation. its great buildings stood desolate, or had fallen to utter ruin, and the country around, once famous for its fertility, showed but a few poor farms. what inhabitants remained dwelt at the foot of the great hill on whose summit rose the citadel, still united with the town by two great walls. after passing between the tombs on the latin way, memorials of citizens long dead, the travellers entered by an unprotected gateway, and here venantius called a halt. wishing to make no longer pause than was needful to put the sick man in safety, he despatched a few soldiers through the silent town to seek for means of conveying basil up to the monastery on the height. by good luck these emissaries came upon a couple of monks, who lost no time in arranging for the conveyance of the sufferer. a light cart drawn by two mules speedily appeared, and on this basil was laid. one only of his men did venantius allow to accompany him, the others were bidden ride on with the captain's own soldiers to aesernia.
-'there you will find us all when you are on your legs again,' said venantius, 'unless by that time we have marched romewards, in which case you shall have a message. trust me to look after all you left there; i answer for its safety and for that of your good fellows. keep up heart, and god make you sound.'
-basil, couched on a bed of dry leaves, raised himself so as to watch the troop as it rode forth again from the ruined gate. whether she who sat hidden within the carriage had heard of his evil plight he knew not, and could not have brought himself to ask. the last of his own horsemen (some of whom had taken leave of him with tears) having vanished from sight, he fell back, and for a while knew nothing but the burning torment in his brain.
-the ascent of the mountain began. it was a rough, narrow road, winding through a thick forest of oak and beech trees, here and there so steep as to try the firm footing of the mules, and in places dangerous because of broken ground on the edge of precipitous declivities. the cart was driven by its owner, a peasant of casinum, who at times sat sideways on one of the beasts, at times walked by them; behind came the two religious men, cowled, bare-footed; and last basil's attendant on horseback.
-from venantius the monks had learned who their charge was. his noble origin, and still more the fact of his kindred with their beloved abbot benedict, inspired in them a special interest. they spoke of him in whispers together, compassionated his sufferings, remarked on the comeliness of his features, and assured each other that they detected in him no symptom of the plague. it being now the third hour, they ceased from worldly talk and together recited their office, whereto the peasant and the horseman gave pious ear.
-basil lay with closed eyes, but at a certain moment he seemed to become aware of what was passing, crossed himself, and then folded his hands upon his breast in the attitude of prayer. having observed this, one of the monks, his orisons finished, went up to the cart and spoke comfortable words. he was a man in the prime of life, with cheek as fresh as a maid's, and a step that seemed incapable of weariness; his voice sounded a note of gentle kindness which caused the sufferer to smile at him in gratitude.
-'this tree,' he said presently, pointing to a noble beech, its bole engraven with a cross, 'marks the middle point of the ascent. a weary climb for the weak, but not without profit to him who thinks as he walks--for, as our dear brother marcus has said, in those verses we are never tired of repeating:--
-"semper difficili quaeruntur summa labore, arctam semper habet vita beata viam."'
-the other monk, an older man, who walked less vigorously, echoed the couplet with slow emphasis, as if savouring every word. then both together, bowing their cowled heads, exclaimed fervently:
-'thanks be to god for the precious gifts of our brother marcus!'
-basil endeavoured to utter a few words, but he was now so feeble that he could scarce make his voice heard above the creak of the wheels. again he closed his eyes, and his companions pursued their way in silence. when at length they issued from the forest they overlooked a vast landscape of hill and valley, with heads of greater mountains high above them. here rose the walls of the citadel, within which benedict had built his monastery. for some distance around these ancient ramparts the ground was tilled, and flourishing with various crops. at the closed gateway of the old arx, flanked by a tower, the monks rang, and were at once admitted into the courtyard, where, in a few moments, the prior and all his brethren came forward to greet the strangers. because of basil's condition the ceremony usual on such arrivals was in his case curtailed: the prior uttered a brief prayer, gave the kiss of peace, and ordered forthwith the removal of the sick man to a guest-chamber, where he was laid in bed and ministered to by the brother marcus, whose gifts as a healer were not less notable than his skill in poesy. the horseman, meanwhile, as custom was with all visitors, had been led to the oratory to hear a passage of holy scripture; after which the prior poured water upon his hands, and certain of the monks washed his feet.
-before sunset basil lost consciousness of present things; and many days went by before he again spoke as a sane man. when at length the fever declined, and his head turned upon the pillow in search of a human countenance, he saw standing beside him a venerable figure in the monastic garb, whose visage, though wrinkled with age and thought, had such noble vividness in its look, and wore a smile so like that of youth in its half-playful sweetness, that basil could but gaze wonderingly, awestruck at once, and charmed by this unexpected apparition.
-'my son,' sounded in a voice grave and tender, 'be your first syllables uttered to him by whose omnipotent will you are restored to the life of this world.'
-it was night when he again woke. a little lamp revealed bare walls of stone, a low, timbered ceiling, a floor of red tiles. basil's eyes, as soon as they were open, looked for the venerable figure which he remembered. finding no one, he thought the memory was but of a dream. feeling wonderfully at ease in body and calm in mind, he lay musing on that vision of the noble countenance, doubting after all whether a dream could have left so distinct an impression, when all at once there fell upon his ear a far sound of chanting, a harmony so sweetly solemn that it melted his heart and filled his eyes with tears. not long after, when all was silent again, he heard the sound of soft footsteps without, and in the same moment the door of his cell opened. the face which looked in seemed not quite unknown to him, though he could not recall where he had seen it.
-'you have slept long, dear brother,' said marcus, with a happy smile. 'is all well with you?'
-'well, god be thanked,' was the clear but faint reply.
-the poet-physician, a small, nervous, bright-eyed man of some forty years, sat down on a stool by the bedside and began talking cheerfully. he had just come from matins, and was this morning excused from lauds because it behoved him to gather certain herbs, to be used medicinally in the case of a brother who had fallen sick yesterday. touching a little gold locket which basil wore round his neck on a gold thread he asked what this contained, and being told that it was a morsel of the crown of thorns, he nodded with satisfaction.
-'we questioned whether to leave it on you or not, for we could not open it, and there was a fear lest it might contain something'--he smiled and shook his bead and sighed--'much less sacred. the lord abbot, doubtless'--here his voice sank--'after a vision, though of this he spoke not, decided that it should be left. there was no harm, for all that'--his eyes twinked merrily--'in tying this upon the place where you suffered so grievously.'
-from amid basil's long hair he detached what looked like a tiny skein of hemp, which, with an air singularly blended of shrewdness and reverence, he declared to be a portion of a garb of penitence worn by the holy martin, to whom the oratory here was dedicated. presently basil found strength to ask whether the abbot had been beside him.
-'many times,' was the answer. 'the last, no longer ago than yestereve, ere he went to compline. you would have seen him on the day of your arrival, ere yet you became distraught, but that a heaviness lay upon him because of the loss of a precious manuscript on its way hither from rome--a manuscript which had been procured for him after much searching, only to be lost by the folly of one to whom it was intrusted; if, indeed, it was not rather whisked away by the evil one, who, powerless for graver ill against our holy father, at times seeks to discomfort him by small practice of spite. sorrow for this loss brought on a distemper to which his age is subject.'
-a day or two passed. he had begun to eat with keen appetite, and his strength increased hour by hour. on a sunday, after the office of the third hour, marcus cheerily gave him permission to rise. this prompted basil to inquire whether his man, who had come with him, was still in the monastery. marcus, with eyes averted, gave a nod. might he speak with him, basil asked. presently, presently, was the answer. marcus himself aided the convalescent to dress; then having seated him in a great chair of rude wickerwork, used only on occasions such as this, left him to bask in a beam of sunshine. before long, his meal was brought him, and with it a book, bound in polished wood and metal, which he found to be a psalter. herein, when he had eaten, he read for an hour or so, not, however, without much wandering of the thoughts. he had fallen into reverie, when his door opened, and there appeared before him the abbot benedict.
-basil started up, stood for a moment in agitation, then sank upon his knees, with head reverently bowed.
-'rise, rise, my son,' spoke the voice which had so moved him in his vision of a week ago, a voice subdued by years, but perfectly steady and distinct. 'our good brother marcus assures me that i may talk with you a little while without fear of overtasking your strength--nay, sit where you were, i pray you. thanks be to god, i need not support for my back.'
-so saying, the abbot seated himself on the stool, and gazed at basil with a smile of infinite benevolence.
-'your face,' he continued, 'speaks to me of a time very far away. i see in it the presentment of your father's father, with whom, when he was much of your age, i often talked. his mother had a villa at nursia, the home of my youth. once he turned aside from a journey to visit me when i dwelt at sublaqueum.'
-the reminiscence checked his tongue he kept silence for a moment, musing gravely.
-'but these are old stories, my basil, and you are young. tell me somewhat of your parents, and of your own life. did not your good father pass away whilst at constantinople?'
-thus, with perfect simplicity, with kindliest interest in things human, did benedict draw the young man into converse. he put no question that touched on the inner life, and basil uttered not a word concerning his late distress, but they touched for a moment upon public affairs, and basil learnt, without show of special interest, that totila still lingered in campania.
-'your follower, deodatus,' said the abbot presently, 'begs each day for permission to see you. the good fellow has not lived in idleness; he is a brave worker in wood, and by chance we much needed one of his craft. not many things of this world give me more pleasure than to watch a cunning craftsman as he smooths timber, and fits the pieces together, and makes of them something that shall serve the needs of men. is it not, in some sort, to imitate the great artificer? would, o basil, that our country had more makers and fewer who live but to destroy.'
-'would it were so, indeed!' sighed basil, in a low, fervent voice.
-'but the end is not yet,' pursued benedict, his eyes gazing straight before him, as if they beheld the future. 'men shall pray for peace, but it will not be granted them, so great are the iniquities of the world which utters the name of christ, yet knows him not.'
-he paused with troubled brow. then, as if reminding himself that his hearer had need of more encouraging words, he said cheerfully:
-'to-morrow, perchance, you will have strength to leave your room. deodatus shall come to you in the morning. when you can walk so far, i will pray you to visit me in my tower. you knew not that i inhabit a tower? even as the watchman who keeps guard over a city. and,' he added more gravely, as if to himself rather than to the listener, 'god grant that my watch be found faithful.'
-thereupon the abbot rose, and gently took his leave; and basil, through all the rest of the day, thought of him and of every word he had uttered.
-not long after sunrise on the morrow, deodatus was allowed to enter. this man, whose age was something more than thirty, was the son of a serf on basil's land, and being of very peaceful disposition, had with some reluctance answered the summons to arm himself and follow his lord to the wars. life in the monastery thoroughly suited his temper; when basil encouraged him to talk, he gave a delighted account of the way in which his days were spent; spoke with simple joy of the many religious services he attended, and had no words in which to express his devotion to the abbot.
-'why, deodatus,' exclaimed his master, smiling, 'you lack but the cowl to be a very monk.'
-'my duty is to my lord,' answered the man, bending his head.
-'tell me now whether any news has reached you, in all this time, of those from whom my sickness parted us.'
-but deodatus had heard nothing of his fellows, and nothing of venantius.
-'it may be,' said basil, 'that i shall send you to tell them how i fare, and to bring back tidings. your horse is at hand?'
-as he spoke he detected a sadness on the man's countenance. without more words, he dismissed him.
-that day he sat in the open air, in a gallery whence he could survey a great part of the monastic buildings, and much of the mountain summit on its western side. for an hour he had the companionship of marcus, who, pointing to this spot and to that, instructed basil in the history of what he saw, now and then reciting his own verses on the subject. he told how benedict, seeking with a little company of pious followers for a retreat from the evil of the world, came to ruined casinum, and found its few wretched inhabitants fallen away from christ, worshipping the old gods in groves and high places. here, on the mountain top, stood temples of jupiter, of apollo, and of venus. the house of apollo he purified for christian service, and set under the invocation of the holy martin. the other temples he laid low, and having cut down the grove sacred to apollo, on that spot he raised an oratory in the name of the baptist. not without much spiritual strife was all this achieved; for--the good marcus subdued his voice--satan himself more than once overthrew what the monks had built, and, together with the demons whom benedict had driven forth, often assailed the holy band with terrors and torments. had not the narrator, who gently boasted a part in these beginnings, been once all but killed by a falling column, which indeed must have crushed him, but that he stretched out a hand in which, by happy chance, he was holding a hammer, and this--for a hammer is cruciform--touching the great pillar, turned its fall in another direction. where stood the temple of venus was now a vineyard, yielding excellent wine.
-'whereof, surely, you must not drink?' interposed basil, with a smile.
-'therein, good brother,' replied marcus, 'you show but little knowledge of our dear lord abbot. he indeed abstains from wine, for such has been the habit of his life, but to us he permits it, for the stomach's sake; being of opinion that labour is a form of worship, and well understanding that labour, whether of body or of mind, can only be performed by one in health. this very day you shall taste of our vintage, which i have hitherto withheld from you, lest it should overheat your languid blood.'
-many other questions did basil ask concerning the rule of the monastery. he learned that the day was equitably portioned out (worship apart) between manual and mental work. during summer, the cooler hours of morning and afternoon were spent in the field, and the middle of the day in study; winter saw this order reversed. on sunday the monks laboured not with their hands, and thought only of the word of god. the hours of the divine office suffered, of course, no change all the year round: their number in the daytime was dictated by that verse of the psalmist: 'septies in die laudem dixi tibi'; therefore did the community assemble at lauds, at prime, at the third hour, at mid-day, at the ninth hour, at vespers, and at compline. they arose, moreover, for prayer at midnight, and for matins before dawn. on all this the hearer mused when he was left alone, and with his musing blended a sense of peace such as had never before entered into his heart.
-he had returned to his chamber, and was reposing on the bed, when there entered one of the two monks by whom he was conveyed up the mountain. with happy face, this visitor presented to him a new volume, which, he declared with modest pride, was from beginning to end the work of his own hand.
-'but an hour ago i finished the binding,' he added, stroking the calf-skin affectionately. 'and when i laid it before the venerable father, who is always indulgent to those who do their best, he was pleased to speak kind things. "take it to our noble guest," he said, "that he may see how we use the hours god grants us. and it may be that he would like to read therein."'
-the book was a beautiful copy of augustine's de civitate dei. basil did indeed peruse a page or two, but again his thoughts began to wander. he turned the leaves, looking with pleasure at the fine initial letters in red ink. they reminded him of his cousin decius, whom a noble manuscript would transport with joy. and thought of decius took him back to surrentum. he fell into a dream.
-on the morrow, at noon, he was well enough to descend to the refectory, where he had a seat at the abbot's table. his meal consisted of a roast pigeon, a plate of vegetables, honey and grapes, with bread which seemed to him better than he had ever tasted, and wine whereof his still weak head bade him partake very modestly. the abbot's dinner, he saw, was much simpler: a bowl of milk, a slice of bread, and a couple of figs. after the kindly greeting with which he was received, there was no conversation, for a monk read aloud during the repast. basil surveyed with interest the assembly before him. most of the faces glowed with health, and on all was manifest a simple contentment such as he had hitherto seen only in the eyes of children. representatives were here of every social rank, but the majority belonged to honourable families: high intelligence marked many countenances, but not one showed the shadow of anxious or weary thought.
-these are men, said basil to himself, who either have never known the burden of life, or have utterly cast it off; they live without a care, without a passion. and then there suddenly flashed upon his mind what seemed an all-sufficient explanation of this calm, this happiness. here entered no woman. woman's existence was forgotten, alike by young and old; or, if not forgotten, had lost all its earthly taint, as in the holy affection (of which marcus had spoken to him) cherished by the abbot for his pious sister scholastica. here, he clearly saw, was the supreme triumph of the religious life. but, instead of quieting, the thought disturbed him. he went away thinking thoughts which he would fain have kept at a distance.
-the ninth hour found him in the oratory, and later he attended vespers, at which office the monks sang an evening hymn of the holy ambrosius:--
-'o lux, beata trinitas, et principalis uuitas, jam sol recedit igneus; infunde lumen cordibus.
-te mane laudum carmine, te deprecemur vesperi, te nostra supplex gloria per cuncta laudet saecula.'
-the long sweet notes lingered in basil's mind when he lay down to rest. and, as he crossed himself before sleeping, the only prayer he breathed was: 'infunde lumen cordi meo.'
-the abbot's tower
-going forth in the mellow sunshine, he turned his steps to a garden of vegetables where he saw monks at work. they gave him gentle greeting, and one, he who had brought the volume yesterday, announced that the abbot invited basil to visit him after the office of the third hour. thereupon all worked in silence, he watching them.
-when the time came, he was conducted to the abbot's dwelling, which was the tower beside the ancient gateway of the arx. it contained but two rooms, one above the other; below, the founder of the monastery studied and transacted business; in the upper chamber he prayed and slept. when, in reply to his knock at the study door, the voice, now familiar, but for that no less impressive, bade him come forward, basil felt his heart beat quickly; and when he stood alone in that venerable presence, all his new-born self-confidence fell away from him. beholding the aged man seated at a table on which lay books, amid perfect stillness, in the light from a large window; before him a golden cross, and, on either side of it, a bowl of sweet-scented flowers; he seemed only now to remember that this was that benedict whose fame had gone forth into many lands, whose holiness already numbered him with the blessed saints rather than with mortal men, of whom were recounted things miraculous. looking upon that face, which time touched only to enhance its calm, only to make yet purer its sweet humanity, he felt himself an idle and wanton child, and his entrance hither a profanation.
-'come and sit by me, son basil,' said the abbot. 'i am at leisure, and shall be glad to hear you speak of many things. tell me first, do you love reading?'
-basil answered with simple truth, that of late years he had scarce read at all, his inclination being rather to the active life.
-'so i should have surmised. but chancing to look from my upper window not long after sunrise, i saw you walking with a book in your hand. what was it?'
-basil murmured that it was the book of psalms.
-'look, then,' said benedict, 'at what lies before me. here is a commentary on that book, written by the learned and pious cassiodorus; written in the religious house which he himself has founded, upon the shore of "ship-wrecking scylaceum," as saith virgilius. not a week ago it came into my hands, a precious gift from the writer, and i have read much in it. on the last of his many journeys, travelling from ravenna to the south, he climbed hither, and sojourned with us for certain days, and great was my solace in the communing we had together. perchance you knew him in the world?'
-gladly basil recounted his memories of the great counsellor. and the abbot listened with an attentive smile.
-'i marvel not that you loved him. reading in these pages, i am delighted by the graces of his mind, and taught by the sanctity of his spirit. at the very beginning, how sweetly does his voice sound. listen. "trusting in the lord's command, i knock at the doors of the heavenly mystery, that he may open to my understanding his flowery abodes, and that, permitted to enter the celestial garden, i may pluck spiritual fruit without the sin of the first man. verily this book shines like a lamp; it is the salve of a wounded spirit, sweet as honey to the inner man. so much hath it of beauty for the senses, such healing in its balmy words, that to it may be applied the words of solomon: 'a closed garden, and a fountain sealed, a paradise abounding in all fruits.' for if paradise be deemed desirable because it is watered by the delightful flow of four rivers, how much more blessed is the mind which is refreshed by the founts of one hundred and fifty psalms!"'
-basil scarce heeded the sense of the passage read to him. he could hear only the soft music of the aged voice, which lulled him into a calm full of faith and trust.
-'is not this better,' asked benedict gently, whilst his eyes searched the young man's countenance, 'than to live for the service of kings, and to utter worldly counsel?'
-'better far, i cannot doubt,' basil replied with humility.
-'utter the rest of your thought,' said the abbot, smiling. 'you cannot doubt--and yet? utter your mind to me, dear son.'
-'my father, i obey you, desiring indeed with all my soul to seek your guidance. my heart has been too much in this world, and for one thought given to things eternal, i have bestowed a hundred upon my own sorrows, and on those of italy.'
-his voice faltered, his head drooped.
-'i say not,' murmured the listener, 'that you do wrong to love your country.'
-'holy father, i were a hypocrite if i spoke of my country first of all. for all but a year gone by, another love has possessed me. forgive me that i dare to speak such a word before you.'
-the abbot turned his eyes to the window. upon the sill had settled two doves, which seemed to regard him curiously. he made a soft gesture with his hand, and the birds flew away.
-'speak on,' he said after brief reflection, and with the same indulgence. 'he who tells all speaks not to man but to god.'
-and basil told all; told it with humble simplicity, with entire truthfulness, recounting his history from the day when he first beheld veranilda to the dreadful hour when marcian's blood stained his hands. he began in calm, but the revival of emotions which had slept during his sickness and his convalescence soon troubled him profoundly. not only did the dormant feelings wake up again, but things which he had forgotten rushed into his memory. so, when he came to the last interview with veranilda, he remembered, for the first time since that day, what he had said to her, and the recollection dismayed him. he burst into tears, overwhelmed at once with misery and shame.
-'it may be,' he sobbed, 'that she was innocent. suffering had driven me mad, and i uttered words such as never should have passed my lips. if she is guiltless, there lives no baser man than i. for i reproached her--my father, how you will scorn me!--i cast at her in reproach her father's treachery.'
-the abbot's brow rested upon his hand. it was thus he had listened, unmoving, throughout the story; nor did he now stir, until basil, having ceased alike from speaking and from tears, had sat for a little while in stillness and reflection. then at length he turned his eyes upon the young man, and spoke with sad gravity.
-'even so, even so. you gave your heart to a woman, and worshipped at her feet, and behold there has come upon you the guilt of blood. not, you would protest, through your own fault; your friend was false to you, and in just wrath you slew him. who made you, o basil, his judge and his executioner?'
-'father, i seek not to excuse my sin.'
-'it is well. and what penance will you lay upon yourself?'
-utterly subdued by awe, oblivious of his own will in the presence of one so much more powerful, basil murmured that whatever penance the man of god saw fit to impose that would he perform.
-'nay,' said benedict gently, 'that is too like presumption. say rather, you would endeavour to perform it. i will believe that if i bade you fast long, or repeat many prayers, you would punctually obey me. but what if i demanded of you that against which not only your flesh, but all the motive of your life, rebelled? it were not too much; yet dare you promise to achieve it?'
-basil looked up fearfully, and answered with tremulous lips:
-'not in my own strength; but perchance with the help of god.'
-a grave smile passed over benedict's countenance.
-'it is well, my son; again, it is well. come now, and let us reason of this your sin. you avow to me that god and his commands have ever been little in your mind, whereas you have thought much of this world and its governance. i might ask you how it is possible to reflect on the weal and woe of human kind without taking count of him who made the world and rules it; but let me approach you with a narrower inquiry. you tell me that you love your country, and desire its peace. how comes it, then, that you are numbered with the violent, the lawless, with those who renounce their citizenship and dishonour the state? could not all your worldly meditations preserve you from so gross an incoherence of thought and action?'
-'indeed, it should have done.'
-'and would, perchance, had not your spleen overcome your reason. why, that is the case, o basil, of all but every man who this day calls himself a roman citizen. therefore is it that italy lies under the wrath of the most high. therefore is it that rome has fallen, and that the breath of pestilence, the sword of the destroyer, yea, earthquake and flood and famine, desolate the land. yet you here find little time, my son, to meditate the laws of god, being so busied for the welfare of men. methinks your story has aimed a little wide.'
-basil bent low before this gentle irony, which softened his heart. the abbot mused a moment, gazing upon the golden cross.
-'in the days of old,' he continued, 'romans knew how to subdue their own desires to the good of their country. he who, in self-seeking, wronged the state, was cast forth from its bosom. therefore was it that rome grew mighty, the omnipotent fostering her for ends which the fulness of time should disclose. such virtue had our ancestors, even though they worshipped darkly at the altars of daemons. but from that pride they fell, for their hearts were hardened; and, at length, when heathendom had wellnigh destroyed the principle whereby they waxed, god revealed himself unto his chosen, that ancient virtue and new faith might restore the world. to turn your thought upon these things, i sent you the book written long ago by the holy father augustine, concerning the divine state. have you read in it?'
-'some little,' answered basil, 'but with wandering mind.'
-'therein you will discover, largely expounded, these reasonings i do but touch upon. i would have you trace god's working in the past, and, by musing upon what now is, ripen yourself in that citizenship whereon you have prided yourself, though you neither understood its true meaning nor had the strength to perform its duties. losing sight of the heavenly city for that which is on earth, not even in your earthly service were you worthy of the name of roman; and, inasmuch as you wronged the earthly rome, even so did you sin against that eternal state of the supreme lord whereof by baptism you were made a citizen. by such as you, o basil, is the anger of our god prolonged, and lest you should think that, amid a long and bloody war, amid the trampling of armies, the fall of cities, one death more is of no account, i say to you that, in the eyes of the all-seeing, this deed of yours may be of heavier moment than the slaughter of a battlefield. from your own lips it is manifest that you had not even sound assurance of the guilt you professed to punish. it may be that the man had not wronged you as you supposed. a little patience, a little of the calm which becomes a reasoning soul, and you might not only have saved yourself from crime, but have resolved what must now ever be a doubt to your harassed thoughts.'
-'such words did veranilda herself speak,' exclaimed basil. 'and i, in my frenzy, thought them only a lamentation for the death of her lover.'
-'call it frenzy; but remember, o my son, that no less a frenzy was every act of your life, and every thought, which led you on the path to that ultimate sin. frenzy it is to live only for the flesh; frenzy, to imagine that any good can come of aught you purpose without beseeching the divine guidance.'
-much else did the abbot utter in this vein of holy admonition. and basil would have listened with the acquiescence of a perfect faith, but that there stirred within him the memory of what he had read in augustine's pages, darkening his spirit. at length he found courage to speak of this, and asked in trembling tones:
-'am i one of those born to sin and to condemnation? am i of those unhappy beings who strive in vain against a doom predetermined by the almighty?'
-benedict's countenance fell; not as if in admission of a dread possibility, but rather as in painful surprise.
-'you ask me,' he answered solemnly, after a pause, 'what no man should ask even when he communes with his own soul in the stillness of night. the gospel is preached to all; nowhere in the word of god are any forbidden to hear it, or, hearing, to accept its solace. think not upon that dark mystery, which even to the understandings god has most enlightened shows but as a formless dread. the sinner shall not brood upon his sin, save to abhor it. shall he who repents darken repentance with a questioning of god's mercy? then indeed were there no such thing as turning from wrong to righteousness.'
-'when i sent you that book,' he resumed, after observing the relief that came to basil's face, 'i had in mind only its salutary teaching for such as live too much in man's world, and especially for those who, priding themselves upon the name of roman, are little given to reflection upon all the evil rome has wrought. had i known what lay upon your conscience, i should have withheld from you everything but holy writ.'
-'my man, deodatus, had not spoken?' asked basil.
-'concerning you, not a word. i did not permit him to be questioned, and his talk has been only of his own sins.'
-basil wondered at this discretion in a simple rustic; yet, on a second thought, found it consistent with the character of deodatus, as lately revealed to him.
-'he has been long your faithful attendant?' inquired the abbot.
-'not so. only by chance was he chosen from my horsemen to accompany me hither. my own servant, felix, being wounded, lay behind at aesernia.'
-'if he be as honest and god-fearing as this man,' said benedict, 'whose name, indeed, seems well to become him, then are you fortunate in those who tend upon you. but of this and other such things we will converse hereafter. listen now, son basil, to my bidding. you have abstained from the table of the lord, and it is well. today, and every day until i again summon you, you will read aloud in privacy the seven penitential psalms, slowly and with meditation; and may they grave themselves in your heart, to remain there, a purification and a hope, whilst you live.'
-basil bowed his head, and whispered obedience.
-'moreover, so far as your strength will suffer it, you shall go daily into the garden or the field, and there work with the brethren. alike for soul and for body it is good to labour under god's sky, and above all to till god's earth and make it fruitful. for though upon adam, in whom we all died, was laid as a punishment that he should eat only that which he had planted in the sweat of his brow, yet mark, o basil, that the creator inflicts no earthly punishment which does not in the end bear fruit of healing and of gladness. what perfume is so sweet as that of the new-turned soil? and what so profitable to health? when the romans of old time began to fall from virtue--such virtue as was permitted to those who knew not god--the first sign of their evil state was the forgotten plough. and never again can italy be blessed--if it be the will of the almighty that peace be granted her--until valley and mountain side and many-watered plain are rich with her children's labour. i do not bid you live in silence, for silence is not always a good counsellor; but refrain from merely idle speech, and strive, o basil, strive with all the force that is in you, that your thoughts be turned upward. go now, my son. it shall not be long before i again call you to my tower.'
-so, with a look of kindness which did not soften to a smile, benedict dismissed his penitent. when the door had closed, he sat for a few minutes with head bent, then roused himself, glanced at the clepsydra which stood in a corner of the room, and turned a page or two of the volume lying before him. presently his attention was caught by the sound of fluttering wings; on the window sill had again alighted the two doves, and again they seemed to regard him curiously. the aged face brightened with tenderness.
-'welcome,' he murmured, 'ye whose love is innocent.'
-from a little bag that lay on the table he drew grains, and scattered them on the floor. the doves flew down and ate, and, as he watched them, benedict seemed to forget all the sorrows of the world.
-vivas in deo
-the telling of his story was to basil like waking from a state of imperfect consciousness in which dream and reality had indistinguishably mingled. since the fight with the brigands he had never been himself; the fever in his blood made him incapable of wonted thought or action; restored to health, he looked back upon those days with such an alien sense that he could scarce believe he had done the things he related. only now did their move in him a natural horror when he thought of the death of marcian, a natural distress when he remembered his bearing to veranilda. only now could he see in the light of reason all that had happened between his talk with sagaris at aesernia and his riding away with venantius from the villa on the island. as he unfolded the story, he marvelled at himself, and was overcome with woe.
-there needed not the words of the holy abbot to show him how blindly he had acted. he could see now that, however it might appear, the guilt of marcian was quite unproved. the syrian slave might have lied, or else have uttered a mistaken suspicion. it might be true that marcian had been misled by some calumniator into thinking evil of his friend. and had he not heard the declaration of veranilda, that she had suffered no wrong at his hands? basil saw the face of his beloved. only a man possessed by the evil spirit could have answered her as he had done. was not the fact that marcian had brought veranilda to his villa in order to give her into the hands of totila sufficient proof that he had neither wronged her nor meditated wrong? ay, but basil reminded himself that he had accused veranilda of amorous complicity with marcian. and at this recollection his brain whirled.
-even were it permitted him ever to behold her again, how could he stand before her? must she not abhor him, as one whose baseness surpassed all she had thought possible in the vilest slave? jealousy was pardonable; in its rage, a man might slay and be forgiven. but for the reproach with which he had smitten her--her, pure and innocent--there could be no forgiveness. it was an act of infamy, branding him for ever.
-thoughts such as these intermingled with his reading of the psalms of penitence. ever and again grief overwhelmed him, and he wept bitterly. at the hour of the evening meal, he would willingly have remained in his cell, to fast and mourn alone; but this, he felt, would have been to shirk part of his penance; for, though the brothers knew not of his sin, he could not meet their eyes for shame, and such humiliation must needs be salutary. this evening other guests sat at the abbot's table, and he shrank from their notice, for though they were but men of humble estate, pilgrims from lucania, he felt debased before them. the reading, to which all listened during their meal, was selected from that new volume of cassiodorus so esteemed by the abbot; it closed with a prayer in which basil found the very utterance his soul needed.
-'o lord, our teacher and guide, our advocate and judge, thou the bestower and the admonitor, terrible and clement, rebuker and consoler, who givest sight to the blind, who makest possible to the weak that which thou commandest, who art so good that thou desirest to be for ever petitioned, so merciful that thou sufferest no one to despair; grant us that which we ask with thy approval, and yet more that which in our ignorance we fail to beseech. how weak we are, thou indeed knowest; by what a foe we are beset, thou art aware. in the unequal contest, in our mortal infirmity, we turn to thee, for it is the glory of thy majesty when the meek sheep overcomes the roaring lion, when the evil spirit is repulsed by feeble flesh. grant that our enemy, who rejoices in our offending, may be saddened by the sight of human happiness. amen.'
-'i praise your zeal, good brother; nevertheless, as your physician, i cannot suffer your night's rest to be broken. descend for lauds, if you will, but not earlier.'
-basil bowed in obedience. lauds again saw him at prayer. hitherto, when they were together in the oratory, it had been the habit of deodatus to kneel behind his master; this morning basil placed himself by his servant's side. they walked away together in the pearly light of dawn, and basil led the way to a sequestered spot, whence there was a view over the broad valley of the liris. several times of late he had come here, to gaze across the mountainous landscape, wondering where veranilda might be. turning to his companion, he laid a hand on the man's shoulder, and addressed him in a voice of much gentleness.
-'did you leave nothing behind you, deodatus, which would make the thought of never returning to your home a sorrow?'
-'nothing, my dear lord,' was the reply. 'in my lifetime i have seen much grief and little solace. all i loved are dead.'
-'but you are young. could you without a pang say farewell to the world?'
-deodatus answered timidly:
-'here is peace.'
-continuing to question, basil learnt that for this man the life of the world was a weariness and a dread. hardships of many kinds had oppressed him from childhood; his was a meek soul, which had no place amid the rudeness and violence of the times; from the first hour, the cloistered life had cast a spell upon him.
-'here is peace,' he repeated. 'here one can forget everything but to worship god. could i remain here, i were the happiest of men.'
-and basil mused, understanding, approving, yet unable to utter the same words for himself. his eyes strayed towards the far valley, shimmering in earliest daylight. he, too, had he not suffered dread things whilst living in the world? and could he expect that life in the future would be more kindly to him? none the less did his heart yearn for that valley of human tribulation. he struggled to subdue it.
-'deodatus, pray for me, that i may have strength to do that which i see to be the best.'
-it was no forced humility. very beautiful in basil's eyes showed the piety and calm which here surrounded him, and his reverence for the founder of this house of peace fell little short of that with which he regarded the saints in heaven. never before--unless it were at certain moments when conversing with the lady silvia--had he felt the loveliness of a life in which religion was supreme; and never, assuredly, had there stirred within him a spirit so devout. he longed to attain unto righteousness, that entire purity of will, which, it now seemed to him, could be enjoyed only in monastic seclusion. all his life he had heard praise of those who renounced the world; but their merit had been to him a far-off, uncomprehended thing, without relation to himself. now he understood. a man, a sinner, it behoved him before all else to chasten his soul that he might be pleasing unto god; and behold the way! for one who had sinned so grievously, it might well be that there was no other path of salvation.
-this morning he went forth with the monks to labour. brother marcus conducted him to a plot of garden ground where there was light work to be done, and there left him. willingly did basil set about this task, which broke the monotony of the day, and, more than that, was in itself agreeable to him. he had always found pleasure in the rustic life, and of late, at his asculan villa, had often wished he could abide in quiet for the rest of his days amid the fields and the vineyards. working in the mellow sunlight, above him the soft blue sky of early autumn, and all around the silence of mountain and of forest, he felt his health renew itself. when the first drops of sweat stood upon his forehead he wiped them away with earthy fingers, and the mere action--he knew not why--gave him pleasure.
-but of a sudden he became aware that he had lost something. from the little finger of his left hand had slipped his signet ring. it must have fallen since he began working, and anxiously he searched for it about the ground. whilst he was thus occupied, marcus came towards him, carrying a great basket of vegetables. not without diffidence, basil told what had happened.
-'you will rebuke me, holy brother, for heeding such a loss. but the ring is very old; it has been worn by many of my ancestors, to them it came, and from one who suffered martyrdom in the times of diocletian.'
-'then, indeed, i did well,' replied marcus, 'to leave it on your finger during your sickness. i looked at it and saw that it was a christian seal. had it been one of those which are yet seen too often, with the stamp of a daemon, i should have plucked it off, and perhaps have destroyed it. the ring of a blessed martyr i let us seek, let us seek! but, brother basil,' he added gravely, 'has there passed through your heart no evil thought? i like not this falling of the ring.'
-basil held up his wasted hand with a smile.
-'true, true; you have lost flesh. be thankful for it, dear brother; so much the easier you combat with him whose ally is this body of death. true, the ring may have fallen simply because your finger was so thin. but be warned, o basil, against that habit of mind which interprets in an earthly sense things of divine meaning.'
-'i had indeed let my thoughts dwell upon worldliness,' basil admitted.
-the monk smiled a satisfied reproof.
-'even so, even so! and look you! in the moment of your avowal my hand falls upon the ring.'
-rejoicing together, they inspected it. in the gold was set an onyx, graven with the monogram of christ, a wreath, and the motto, 'vivas in deo.' marcus knelt, and pressed the seal to his forehead, murmuring ecstatically:
-'the ring of a blessed martyr!'
-'i am all unworthy to wear it,' said basil, sincerely hesitating to replace it on his finger. 'indeed, i will not do so until i have spoken with the holy father.'
-this resolve marcus commended, and, with a kindly word, he went his way. basil worked on. to discipline his thoughts he kept murmuring, 'vivas in deo,' and reflecting upon the significance of the words; for, often as he had seen them, he had never till now mused upon their meaning. what was the life in god i did it mean that of the world to come? ay, but how attain unto eternal blessedness save by striving to anticipate on earth that perfection of hereafter? and so was he brought again to the conclusion that, would he assure life eternal, he must renounce all that lured him in mortality.
-the brothers returning from the field at the third hour signalled to him that for to-day he had worked enough. one of them, in passing, gave him a smile, and said good-naturedly:
-'thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands; happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee.'
-weary, but with the sense of healthful fatigue, basil rested for an hour on his bed. he then took the psalter and opened it at hazard, and the first words his eyes fell upon were:
-'thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands; happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee.'
-'a happy omen,' he thought. but stay; what was this that followed?
-'thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house; thy children like olive plants round about thy table.
-'behold, thus shall the man be blessed that feareth the lord.'
-the blood rushed into his cheeks. he sat staring at the open page as though in astonishment. he read and re-read the short psalm of which these verses were part, and if a voice had spoken it to him from above he could scarce have felt more moved by the message. basil had never been studious of the scriptures, and, if ever he had known that they contained such matter as this, it had quite faded from his memory. he thought of the holy book as hostile to every form of earthly happiness, its promises only for those who lived to mortify their natural desires. yet here was the very word of god encouraging him in his heart's hope. were not men wont to use the bible as their oracle, opening the pages at hazard, even as he had done?
-it was long before he could subdue his emotions so as to turn to the reading imposed upon him. he brought himself at length into the fitting mind by remembering that this wondrous promise was not for a sinner, a murderer; and that only could he hope to merit such blessing if he had truly repented, and won forgiveness. stricken down by this reflection he grew once more humble and sad.
-in the afternoon, as he was pacing alone in a little portico near the abbot's tower, the prior approached him. this reverend man had hitherto paid little or no attention to basil. he walked ever with eyes cast down as if in deep musing, yet it was well known that he observed keenly, and that his duties to the community were discharged with admirable zeal and competence. in the world he would have been a great administrator. in the monastery he seemed to find ample scope for his powers, and never varied from the character of a man who set piety and learning above all else. drawing nigh to basil he greeted him gently, and asked whether it would give him pleasure to see the copyists at work. basil gladly accepted this invitation, and was conducted to a long, well-lit room, where, at great desks, sat some five or six of the brothers, each bent over a parchment which would some day form portion of a volume, writing with slow care, with the zeal of devotees and with the joy of artists. not a whisper broke upon the silence in which the pen-strokes alone were audible. stepping softly, the prior led his companion from desk to desk, drawing attention, without a word, to the nature of the book which in each case was being copied. it surprised basil to see that the monks busied themselves in reproducing not only religious works but also the writings of authors who had lived in pagan times, and of this he spoke when the prior had led him forth again.
-'have you then been taught,' asked the prior, 'that it is sinful to read virgil and statius, livy and cicero?'
-'not so, reverend father,' he replied modestly, his eyes falling before the good-humoured gaze. 'but i was so ill instructed as to think that to those who had withdrawn from the world it might not be permitted.'
-'father hieronymus had no such misgiving,' said the prior, 'for he himself, at bethlehem, taught children to read the ancient poets; not unmindful that the blessed paul himself, in those writings which are the food of our spirit, takes occasion to cite from more than one poet who knew not christ. if you would urge the impurity and idolatry which deface so many pages of the ancients, let me answer you in full with a brief passage of the holy augustine. "for," says he, "as the egyptians had not only idols to be detested by israelites, but also precious ornaments of gold and silver, to be carried off by them in flight, so the science of the gentiles is not only composed of superstitions to be abhorred, but of liberal arts to be used in the service of truth."'
-they walked a short distance without further speech, then the prior stopped.
-'many there are,' he said, with a gesture indicating the world below, 'who think that we flee the common life only for our souls' salvation. so, indeed, it has been in former times, and god forbid that we should speak otherwise than with reverence of those who abandoned all and betook themselves to the desert that they might live in purity and holiness. but to us, by the grace bestowed upon our holy father, has another guidance been shown. know, my son, that, in an evil time, we seek humbly to keep clear, not for ourselves only, but for all men, the paths of righteousness and of understanding. with heaven's blessing we strive to preserve what else might utterly perish, to become not only guardians of god's law but of man's learning.'
-therewith did the prior take his leave, and basil pondered much on what he had heard. it was a new light to him, for, as his instructor suspected, he shared the common view of coenobite aims, and still but imperfectly understood the law of benedict. all at once the life of this cloister appeared before him in a wider and nobler aspect. in the silent monks bent over their desks he saw much more than piety and learning. they rose to a dignity surpassing that of consul or praefect. with their pens they warred against the powers of darkness, a grander conflict than any in which men drew sword. he wished he could talk of this with his cousin decius, for decius knew so much more than he, and could look so much deeper into the sense of things.
-days passed. not yet did he receive a summons to the abbot's tower. rapidly recovering strength, he worked long in the fields, and scrupulously performed his penitential exercises. only, when he had finished his daily reading of the appointed psalms, he turned to that which begins: 'blessed is every one that feareth the lord, that walketh in his ways.' how could he err in dwelling upon the word of god? one day, as he closed the book, his heart was so full of a strange, half-hopeful, half-fearful longing, that it overflowed in tears; and amid his weeping came a memory of marcian, a tender memory of the days of their friendship: for the first time he bewailed the dead man as one whom he had dearly loved.
-then there sounded a knock at the door of his cell. commanding himself, and turning away so as to hide his face, he bade enter.
-and, looking up, he beheld his servant felix.
-the king of the goths
-transported from grief to joy, basil sprang forward and clasped felix in his arms.
-'god be thanked,' he exclaimed, 'that i see you alive and well! whence come you? what is your news?'
-with his wonted grave simplicity, felix told that he had long since recovered from the effects of the wound, but had remained at aesernia, unable to obtain permission to go in search of his master. the gothic army was now advancing along the via latina; basil's followers were united with the troop under venantius; and on their arrival at casinum, felix succeeded in getting leave to climb to the monastery. he had been assured that his lord had recovered health, and was still sojourning with the holy men; but by whom this news had been brought he could not say. doubtless venantius had held communication with the monastery.
-'and you are here alone?' asked basil, fearing still to utter the question which was foremost in his mind.
-'alone of my lord's men. i followed those that came with the king.'
-'the king? totila is here?'
-'it was rumoured,' replied felix, in a reverent voice, 'that he desired to speak of deep matters with the holy benedict. they are even now conversing.'
-basil fell into a great agitation. absorbed in his private griefs, and in thoughts of eternity, he had all but forgotten the purpose with which he crossed the apennines at the summons of marcian. the name of totila revived his interest in the progress of the war, but at the same time struck his heart with a chill misgiving. with what eyes would the king regard marcian's slayer? was he more likely to pardon the deed if he knew (as assuredly he must) that it was done in jealous love of veranilda? the words he had not dared to speak leapt to his lips.
-'felix, know you anything of the gothic lady--of her whom we lost?'
-'the lord venantius brought her to aesernia,' was the grave reply, 'and she is now among the wives and daughters of the gothic lords who move with the army.'
-'very like it is true,' commented basil, forcing a smile. 'you know, my good felix, that the emperor would fain have had her adorn his court; and i would rather see her queen of italy. but tell me now, last of all, what talk there has been of me. or has my name been happily forgotten?'
-'my dear lord's followers,' replied felix, 'have not ceased to speak of him among themselves, and to pray for his safety.'
-'that i gladly believe. but i see there is more to tell. out with it all, good fellow. i have suffered worse things than any that can lie before me.'
-in sad obedience, the servant made known that he and his fellows had been closely questioned, first by venantius, later, some two or three of them, by the king himself, regarding their master's course of life since he went into picenum. they had told the truth, happy in that they could do so without fear and without shame.
-'and how did the king bear himself to you?' asked basil eagerly.
-'with that nobleness which became him,' was the fervid answer. 'it is said among the goths that only a lie or an act of cowardice can move totila to wrath against one who is in his power; and after speaking face to face with him, i well believe it. he questioned me in few words, but not as a tyrant; and when i had replied as best i could, he dismissed me with a smile.'
-basil's head drooped.
-'yes, totila is noble,' fell softly from him. 'let be what will be. he is worthier than i.'
-a knock sounded again at the door of the cell, and there entered marcus. his keen and kindly face betrayed perturbation of spirit, and after looking from basil to the new comer and then at basil again, he said in a nervous voice:
-'the lord abbot bids you repair at once, my brother, to the prior's room.'
-'i go,' was the prompt reply.
-as they left the room, marcus caught basil's arm and whispered:
-'it is the king of the goths who awaits you. but have courage, dear brother; his face is mild. despite his error, he has borne himself reverently to our holy father.'
-'know you what has passed between them?' asked basil, also in a whisper.
-'that none may know. but when totila came forth from the tower, he had the face of one who has heard strange things. who can say what the almighty purposes by the power of his servant benedict? not unguided, surely, did the feet of the misbelieving warrior turn to climb this mount.'
-leaving the poet monk to nurse his hopes, basil betook himself with rapid steps to the prior's room. at the door stood three armed men; two had the long flaxen hair which proclaimed them goths, the third was venantius. a look of friendly recognition was all that passed between basil and his countryman, who straightway admitted him to the room, announced his name, and retired. alone--his attitude that of one who muses--sat the gothic king. he was bareheaded and wore neither armour nor weapon; his apparel a purple tunic, with a loose, gold-broidered belt, and a white mantle purple seamed. youth shone in his ruddy countenance, and the vigour of perfect manhood graced his frame. the locks that fell to his shoulders had a darker hue than that common in the gothic race, being a deep burnished chestnut; but upon his lips and chin the hair gleamed like pale gold. across his forehead, from temple to temple, ran one deep furrow, and this, together with a slight droop of the eyelids, touched his visage with a cast of melancholy, whereby, perhaps, the comely features became more royal.
-upon basil, who paused at a respectful distance, he fixed a gaze of meditative intentness, and gazed so long in silence that the roman could not but at length lift his eyes. meeting the glance with grave good nature, totila spoke firmly and frankly.
-'lord basil, they tell me that you crossed italy to draw your sword in my cause. is this the truth?'
-'it is the truth, o king.'
-'how comes it then that you are laden with the death of one who had long proved himself my faithful servant, one who, when you encountered him, was bound on a mission of great moment?'
-'he whom i slew,' answered basil, 'was the man whom of all men i most loved. i thought him false to me, and struck in a moment of madness.'
-'then you have since learnt that you were deceived?'
-basil paused a moment.
-'gracious lord, that i accused him falsely, i no longer doubt, having had time to reflect upon many things, and to repent of my evil haste. but i am still ignorant of the cause which led him to think ill of me, and so to speak and act in a way which could not but make my heart burn against him.'
-'something of this too i have heard,' said the king, his blue eyes resting upon basil's countenance with a thoughtful interest. 'you believe, then, that your friend was wholly blameless towards you, in intention and in act?'
-'save inasmuch as credited that strange slander, borne i know not upon what lips.'
-'may i hear,' asked totila, 'what this slander charged upon you?'
-basil raised his head, and put all his courage into a brief reply.
-'that i sought to betray the lady veranilda into the hands of the greeks.'
-'and you think,' said the king slowly, meditatively, his eyes still searching basil's face, 'that your friend could believe you capable of that?'
-'how he could, i know not,' came the sad reply. 'yet i must needs think it was so.'
-'why?' sounded from the king's lips abruptly, and with a change to unexpected sternness. 'what forbids you the more natural thought that this man, this marcian, was himself your slanderer?'
-'thinking so, o king, i slew him. thinking so, i defiled my tongue with base suspicion of veranilda. being now again in my right mind, i know that my accusation of her was frenzy, and therefore i choose rather to believe that i wronged marcian than that he could conceive so base a treachery.'
-totila reflected. all but a smile as of satisfaction lurked within his eyes.
-'know you,' he next inquired, 'by what means marcian obtained charge of the lady veranilda?'
-'of that i am as ignorant as of how she was first carried into captivity.'
-'yet,' said the king sharply, 'you conversed with her after marcian's death.'
-'gracious lord,' answered basil in low tones, 'it were miscalled conversing. with blood upon my hands, i said i scarce knew what, and would not give ear to the words which should have filled me with remorse.'
-there was again a brief silence. totila let his eyes stray for a moment, then spoke again meditatively.
-'you sought vainly for this maiden, whilst she was kept in ward. being your friend, did not marcian lend his aid to discover her for you?'
-'he did so, but fruitlessly. and when at length he found her, his mind to me had changed.'
-'strangely, it must be confessed,' said the king. his eyes were again fixed upon basil with a look of pleasant interest. 'some day, perchance, you may learn how that came about; meanwhile, you do well to think good rather than evil. in truth, it would be difficult to do otherwise in this dwelling of piety and peace. is there imposed upon you some term of penance? i scarce think you have it in mind to turn monk?'
-the last words, though not irreverently uttered, marked a change in totila's demeanour. he seemed to lay aside an unwonted gravity, to become the ruler of men, the warrior, the conqueror. his forehead lost its long wrinkle, as, with eyebrows bent and lips compressed into a rallying half smile, he seemed to challenge all the manhood in him he addressed.
-'for that,' basil replied frankly, 'i lack the calling.'
-'well said. and how tends your inclination as regards the things of this world? has it changed in aught since you came hither?'
-'in nothing, o king,' was the firm response 'i honour the goth, even as i love my country.'
-'spoken like a man. but i hear that you have passed through a long sickness, and your cheek yet lacks something of its native hue. it might be well if you took your ease yet a little with these good bedesmen.'
-'it is true that i have not yet all my strength,' answered basil. 'moreover,' he added, lowering his voice, 'i would fain lighten my soul of the sin that burdens it. it may be that, ere long, the holy father will grant me absolution.'
-totila nodded with a grave smile.
-'be it so. when you are sound in flesh and spirit, follow me northward. i shall then have more to say to you.'
-the look accompanying these words lent them a significance which put confusion into basil's mind. he saw the courteous gesture wherewith the king dismissed him; he bowed and withdrew; but when he had left the room he stood as one bewildered, aware of nothing, his eyes turned vacantly upon some one who addressed him. presently he found himself walking apart with venantius, who spoke to him of public affairs, apprised him of the course of the war during these past weeks, and uttered the hope that before the end of the year the liberators would enter rome. it was true that the emperor had at length charged belisarius with the task of reconquering italy, but months must pass before an army could be assembled and transported; by the latest news the great commander was in illyria, striving to make a force out of fresh-recruited barbarians, and lamenting the avarice of justinian which grudged him needful supplies. and as he listened to all this, basil felt a new ardour glow within him. he had ever worshipped the man of heroic virtues; once upon a time it was belisarius who fired his zeal; now his eyes dazzled with the glory of totila; he burned to devote a loyal service to this brave and noble king.
-suddenly there sounded a trumpet. its note broke strangely upon the monastic stillness, and, in a moment, echoed clear from the mountains.
-'the king goes forth,' said venantius. 'i must leave you. join us speedily yonder.'
-he pointed towards rome. on basil's lips quivered a word, a question, but before it could be uttered the soldier had stridden away, his casque gleaming in the sun, and his sword clanking beside him.
-again with mind confused, basil went to his cell, and sat there head on hand, trying to recover the mood, the thoughts, with which he had risen this morning. but everything was changed. he could no longer think of the past; the future called to him, and its voice was like that of the gothic trumpet, stirring his blood, urging him to activity. at midday some one knocked, and there entered deodatus.
-'where is felix?' was basil's first question.
-felix was gone, but only to the town at the foot of the mountain, where he and two of his fellows would abide until their master left the monastery. with this message deodatus had been charged by venantius. he added that felix had been dismissed, at the abbot's order, during basil's interview with the king.
-'i understand,' said basil in himself; and during the rest of the day he strove with all the force of his will to recover calm and pious thoughts. in the night that followed he slept little; it was now the image of veranilda that hovered before him and kept him wakeful, perturbed with a tender longing. god, it might be, would pardon him his offence against the divine law; but could he look for forgiveness from veranilda? when he thought of the king's last words he was lured with hope; when he reasoned upon this hope, it turned to a mocking emptiness. and through the next day, and the next again, his struggle still went on. he worked and prayed as usual, and read the psalms of penitence not once only, but several times in the four-and-twenty hours; that other psalm, to which he had turned for strengthening of the spirit, he no longer dared to open. and all this time he scarce spoke with any one; not that the brethren looked upon him with less kindness, or held him at a distance, but the rebuke of his own conscience kept him mute. he felt that his communion with these holy men was in seeming only, and it shamed him to contrast their quiet service of the eternal with the turbid worldliness of his own thoughts.
-during these days the abbot was not seen. venturing, at length, when he happened to find himself alone with marcus, to speak of this, he learnt that the holy father was not in his wonted health; marcus added that the disorder had resulted from the visit of the king. after totila's departure, benedict had passed hours in solitary prayer, until a faintness came upon him, from which he could not yet recover. basil was turning away sadly, when the monk touched his arm, and said in a troubled voice:
-'many times he has spoken of you, dear brother.'
-'would,' replied basil, 'that i were worthy of his thoughts.'
-'did he think you unworthy,' said marcus, 'he would not grieve that you must so soon go from among us.'
-'the holy father has said that i must soon leave you?'
-marcus nodded gravely, and walked away.
-another week passed. by stern self-discipline, basil had fixed his thoughts once more on things spiritual, and the result appeared in a quiet contentment. he waited upon the will of benedict, which he had come to regard as one with the will of god. and at length the expected summons came. it was on the evening of saturday, after vespers; the abbot had been present at the office, and, as he went forth from the oratory, he bade basil follow him. they entered the tower, and benedict, who walked feebly, sat for some moments silent in his chair, as if he had need of repose before the effort of speaking. through the window streamed a warm light, illumining the aged face turned thither with eyes which dreamt upon the vanishing day.
-'so you are no longer impatient to be gone?' were the abbot's first words, spoken in a voice which had not lost its music, though weakness made it low.
-'my father,' answered basil, 'i have striven with myself and god has helped me.'
-he knew that it was needless to say more. the eyes bent upon him read all his thoughts; the confessions, the pleadings, he might have uttered, all lay open before that calm intelligence.'
-'it is true, dear son,' said benedict, 'that you have fought bravely, and your countenance declares that, in some measure, victory has been granted you. that it is not the complete victory of those who put the world for ever beneath their feet, shall not move me to murmur. the lord of the vineyard biddeth whom he will; not all are called to the same labour; it may be--for in this matter i see but darkly--it may be that the earthly strife to which your heart impels you shall serve the glory of the highest. as indeed doth every act of man, for how can it be otherwise? but i speak of the thought, the purpose, whereby 'in the end of all things, all must be judged.'
-basil heard these sentences with a deep joy. there was silence, and when the aged voice again spoke, it was in a tone yet more solemn. benedict had risen.
-'answer me, my son, and speak as in the presence of god, whom i humbly serve. do you truly repent of the sin whereof you made confession to me?'
-kneeling, basil declared his penitence. thereupon, benedict, looking upwards, opened his lips in prayer.
-'receive, o lord, our humble supplications, and to me, who above all have need of thy compassion, graciously give ear. spare thou this penitent, that, by thy mercy, he may escape condemnation in the judgment to come. let him not know the dread of darkness, nor the pang of fire. having turned from his way of error into the path of righteousness, be he not again stricken with the wounds of sin, but grant thou that there abide with him for ever that soul's health which thy grace hath bestowed and thy mercy hath established.'
-as he listened, basil's eyes filled with tears, and when bidden to rise he felt as one who has thrown off a burden; rejoicing in his recovered strength of body and soul, he gazed into that venerable face with gratitude too great for words.
-'remember now thy creator in the days of thy youth.' it was with a parent's tenderness that benedict now spoke. 'i am old, o basil, and have but a few more steps to take upon this earth. looking upon me, you see long promise of life before you. and yet--'
-the soft accents were suspended. for a moment benedict gazed as though into the future; then, with a wave of his hand, passed to another thought.
-'to-morrow you will join with us in the holy communion. you will pass the day in sober joy among the brethren, not one of whom but shares your gladness and desires your welfare. and at sunrise on the day after, you will go forth from our gates. whether to return, i know not; be that with the ruler of all. if again you climb this mount, i shall not be here to bid you welcome. pray humbly, even as i do, that we may meet in the life eternal.'
-after mass on the morrow, when he had joyfully partaken of the eucharist, basil was bidden to the priest's room. this time it was the prior himself who received him, and with an address which indicated the change in the position of the penitent, now become an ordinary guest.
-'lord basil, your follower, deodatus, is minded to fulfil the prophecy of his name, and tells me that it would be with your good will. are you content to deprive yourself of his service, that he may continue to abide with us, and after due preparation, take the vows of our community?'
-'content,' was the reply, 'and more than content. if ever man seemed born for the holy life, it is he. i entreat you, reverend father, to favour his desire.'
-'be it so. i have spoken of this matter with the lord abbot, who has graciously given his consent. let me now make known to you that, at sunrise to-morrow, your attendants who have been sojourning at casinum, will await you by the gate of the monastery. i wish you, dear lord, a fair journey. let your thoughts sometimes turn to us; by us you will ever be remembered.'
-long before the morrow's sunrise, basil was stirring. by the light of his little lamp, he and deodatus conversed together, no longer as master and servant, but as loving friends, until the bell called them to matins. the night was chill; under a glistening moon all the valley land was seen to be deep covered with far-spreading mist, whereamid the mount of the monastery and the dark summits round about rose like islands in a still, white sea. when matins and lauds were over, many of the monks embraced and tenderly took leave of the departing guest. the last to do so was marcus, who led him aside and whispered:
-'i see you have again put on your ring, as was right. let me, i beg of you, once more touch it with my lips.'
-having done so with the utmost reverence, he clasped basil in his arms, kissed him on either cheek, and said, amid tears:
-'lest we should never meet again, take and keep this; not for its worth, for god knows it has little, but in memory of my love.'
-the gift was a little book, a beautifully written copy of all the verses composed by the good marcus in honour of benedict and of the sacred mount of casinum.
-holding it against his heart, basil rode down into the mist.
-at hadrian's villa
-rome waited. it was not long to the setting of the pleiades, and there could be no hope that the new army from the east would enter italy this year. belisarius lay on the other side of hadria; in italy the imperial commanders scarce moved from the walls where each had found safety. already suffering dearth (for totila now had ships upon the tyrrhene sea, hindering the corn vessels that made for portus), such of her citizens as had hope elsewhere and could escape, making haste to flee, watching the slow advance of the gothic conqueror, and fearful of the leaguer which must presently begin, rome waited.
-one morning the attention of those who went about the streets was caught by certain written papers which had been fixed during the night on the entrance of public buildings and at other such conspicuous points; they bore a proclamation of the king of the goths. reminding the roman people that nearly the whole of italy was now his, and urging them to avoid the useless sufferings of a siege, totila made promise that, were the city surrendered to him, neither hurt nor loss should befall one of the inhabitants; and that under his rule rome should have the same liberty, the same honour, as in the time of the glorious theodoric. before these papers had been torn down, their purport became universally known; everywhere men whispered together; but those who would have welcomed the coming of totila could not act upon their wish, and the greeks were confident of relief long ere the city could be taken by storm or brought to extremities. bessas well knew the numbers of totila's army; he himself commanded a garrison of three thousand men, and not much larger than this was the force with which, after leaving soldiers to maintain his conquest throughout the land, the king now drew towards rome. at the proclamation bessas laughed, for he saw in it a device dictated by weakness.
-and now, in these days of late autumn, the gothic army lay all but in sight. watchers from the walls pointed eastward, to where on its height, encircled by the foaming anio, stood the little town of tibur; this, a stronghold overlooking the ager romanus, totila had turned aside to besiege. the place must soon yield to him. how long before his horsemen came riding along the tiburtine way?
-close by tibur, on a gently rising slope, sheltered by mountains alike from northern winds and from the unwholesome breathing of the south, stood the vast pleasure-house built by the emperor hadrian, with its presentment in little of the scenes and architecture which had most impressed him in his travels throughout the roman world. the lapse of four hundred years had restored to nature his artificial landscape: the vale of tempe had forgotten its name; peneus and alpheus flowed unnoticed through tracts of wood or wilderness; but upon the multitude of edifices, the dwellings, theatres, hippodromes, galleries, lecture halls, no destroyer's hand had yet fallen. they abounded in things beautiful, in carving and mosaic, in wall-painting and tapestries, in statues which had been the glory of greece, and in marble portraiture which was the boast of rome. here, amid the decay of ancient splendour and the luxuriance of the triumphing earth, king totila made his momentary abode; with him, in hadrian's palace, housed the gothic warrior-nobles, and a number of ladies, their wives and relatives, who made, as it were, a wandering court. honour, pride, and cheerful courage were the notable characteristics of these gothic women. what graces they had they owed to nature, not to any cultivation of the mind. their health buffered in a nomadic life from the ills of the country, the dangers of the climate, and the children by whom a few were accompanied, showed a degeneracy of blood which threatened the race with extinction.
-foremost in rank among them was athalfrida, sister to the king, and wife of a brawny lord named osuin. though not yet five and twenty years old, athalfrida had borne seven children, of whom five died in babyhood. a creature of magnificent form, and in earlier life of superb vigour, her paling cheek told of decline that had begun; nevertheless her spirits were undaunted; and her voice, in gay talk, in song or in laughter, sounded constantly about the halls and wild gardens. merry by choice, she had in her a vein of tenderness which now and then (possibly due to failing health) became excessive, causing her to shed abundant tears with little or no cause, and to be over lavish of endearments with those she loved or merely liked. athalfrida worshipped her husband; in her brother saw the ideal hero. she was ardent in racial feeling, thought nothing good but what was gothic, and hated the italians for their lack of gratitude to the people of theodoric.
-to her the king had intrusted veranilda. knowing her origin and history, athalfrida, in the beginning, could not but look coldly upon her charge. the daughter of a gothic renegade, the betrothed of a roman noble, and finally an apostate from the creed of her race-how could such an one expect more than the barest civility from totila's sister? yet in a little time it had come to pass that athalfrida felt her heart soften to the sad and beautiful maiden, who never spoke but gently, who had compassion for all suffering, and willing aid for any one she could serve, whom little children loved as soon as they looked into her eyes, and heard her voice. though a daughter of the abhorred ebrimut, veranilda was of amal blood, and, despite what seemed her weakness and her errors, it soon appeared that she cherished fervidly the glory of the gothic name. this contradiction puzzled the wife of osuin, whose thoughts could follow only the plainest track. she suspected that her charge must be the victim of some enchantment, of some evil spell; and in their talk she questioned her with infinite curiosity concerning her acquaintance with basil, her life in the convent at praeneste, her release and the journey with marcian. veranilda spoke as one who has nothing to conceal; only, when pressed for the story of that last day at the island villa, she turned away her face, and entreated the questioner's forbearance. all else she told with a sad simplicity. her religious conversion was the result of teaching she had received from the abbess, a roman lady of great learning, who spoke of things till then unknown to her, and made so manifest the truth of the catholic creed that her reason was constrained to accept it. obeying the king's command, athalfrida refrained from argument and condemnation, and, as veranilda herself, when once she had told her story, never again returned to it, the subject was almost forgotten. they lived together on terms as friendly as might be between persons so different. the other ladies, their curiosity once satisfied, scarce paid any heed to her at all; and veranilda was never more content than when left quite alone, to ply her needle and commune with her thoughts.
-against all expectation, the gates of tibur remained obstinately closed; three weeks went by, and those who came on to the walls to parley had only words of scorn for the gothic king, whom they bade beware of the greek force which would shortly march to their succour. only a small guard of isaurians held the town, but it was abundantly provisioned, and strong enough to defy attack for an indefinite time. the goths had no skill in taking fortresses by assault; when walls held firm against them, they seldom overcame except by blockade; and this it was which, despite his conquest of the greater part of italy, made totila thus slow and cautious in his approach to rome. he remembered that vitiges, who laid siege to the city with a hundred thousand men, had retreated at last with his troops diminished by more than half, so worn and dispirited that they scarce struck another blow against belisarius. the greek commander, totila well knew, would not sally forth and risk an engagement: to storm the battlements would be an idle, if not a fatal, attempt; and how, with so small an army, could he encompass so vast a wall? to guard the entrance to the river with his ships, and to isolate rome from every inland district of italy, seemed to the gothic king the only sure way of preparing his final triumph. but time pressed; however beset with difficulties, belisarius would not linger for ever beyond hadria. the resistance of tibur excited totila's impatience, and at length stirred his wrath. osuin heard a terrible threat fall from his lips, and the same evening whispered it to athalfrida.
-'he will do well,' answered his wife, with brows knit.
-on the morrow, athalfrida and veranilda sat together in the gardens, or what once had been the gardens, of hadrian's palace, and looked forth over the vast brown landscape, with that gleam upon its limit, that something pale between earth and air, which was the tyrrhene sea. over the sky hung thin grey clouds, broken with strips of hazy blue, and softly suffused with warmth from the invisible sun.
-'o that this weary war would end!' exclaimed the elder lady in the language of the goths. 'i am sick of wandering, sick of this south, where winter is the same as summer, sick of the name of rome. i would i were back in mediolanum. there, when you look from the walls, you see the great white mountains, and a wind blows from them, cold, keen; a wind that sets you running and leaping, and makes you hungry. here i have no gust for food, and indeed there is none worth eating.'
-as she spoke, she raised her hand to the branch of an arbutus just above her head, plucked one of the strawberry-like fruits, bit into it with her white teeth, and threw the half away contemptuously.
-'you!' she turned to her companion abruptly. 'where would you like to live when the war is over?'
-veranilda's eyes rested upon something in the far distance, but less far than the shining horizon.
-'surely not there!' pursued the other, watching her. 'i was but once in rome, and i had not been there a week when i fell sick of fever. king theodoric knew better than to make his dwelling at rome, and totila will never live there. the houses are so big and so close together they scarce leave air to breathe; so old, too, they look as if they would tumble upon your head. i have small liking for ravenna, where there is hardly dry land to walk upon, and you can't sleep for the frogs. verona is better. but, best of all, mediolanum. there, if he will listen to me, my brother shall have his palace and his court--as they say some of the emperors did, i know not how long ago.'
-still gazing at the far distance, veranilda murmured:
-'i never saw the city nearer than this.'
-'i would no one might ever look upon it again!' cried athalfrida, her blue eyes dark with anger and her cheeks hot. 'i would that the pestilence, which haunts its streets, might make it desolate, and that the muddy river, which ever and again turns it into a swamp, would hide its highest palace under an eternal flood.'
-veranilda averted her face and kept silence. thereupon the other seemed to repent of having spoken so vehemently.
-'well, that's how i feel sometimes,' she said, in a voice suddenly gentle. 'but i forgot--or i wouldn't have said it.'
-'i well understand, dear lady,' replied her companion. 'rome has never been loyal to the goths. and yet some romans have.'
-'how many? to be sure, you know one, and in your thought he stands for a multitude. come, you must not be angry with me, child. nay, vexed, then. nay then, hurt and sad. i am not myself to-day. i dreamt last night of the snowy mountains, and this warmth oppresses me. in truth, i often fear i shall fall sick. feel my hand, how hot it is. where are the children? let us walk.'
-not far away she discovered three little boys, two of them her own, who were playing at battles and sieges upon stairs which descended from this terrace to the hippodrome below. after watching them awhile, with laughter and applause, she threw an arm round veranilda's waist, and drew her on to a curved portico where, in a niche, stood a statue of antinous.
-'is that one of their gods, or an emperor?' asked athalfrida. 'i have seen his face again and again since we came here.'
-'indeed, i know not,' answered her companion. 'but surely he is too beautiful for a man.'
-'beautiful? never say that, child; for if it be as you think, it is the beauty of a devil, and has led who knows how many into the eternal fire. had i a hammer here, i would splinter the evil face. i would not have my boys look at it and think it beautiful.'
-a heavy footstep sounded on the terrace. turning, they saw osuin, an armed giant, with flowing locks, and thick, tawny beard.
-'wife, a word with you,' he shouted, beckoning from some twenty paces away.
-they talked together; then the lady returned, a troubled smile on her face, and said softly to veranilda:
-'some one wishes to speak with you--some one who comes with the king's good-will.'
-veranilda looked towards osuin.
-'you cannot mean--?' she faltered.
-'no other,' replied athalfrida, nodding gaily. 'are you at leisure? some other day, perhaps? i will say you would be private--that you cannot now give audience.'
-this pleasantry brought only the faintest smile to the listener's face.
-'is it hither that he would come?' she asked, again looking anxiously towards the ruddy giant, who stamped with a beginning of impatience.
-'if so it please you, little one,' answered athalfrida, changing all at once to her softest mood. 'the king leaves all to my discretion, and i ask nothing better than to do you kindness. shall it be here, or within?'
-veranilda whispered 'here'; whereupon osuin received a sign, and stalked off. a few minutes passed, and athalfrida, who, after caresses and tender words, had drawn apart, as if to watch her children playing, beheld the expected visitor. her curiosity was not indiscreet; she would have glimpsed the graceful figure, the comely visage, and then have turned away; but at this moment the new comer paused, looked about him in hesitation, and at length advanced towards her. she had every excuse for looking him straight in the face, and it needed not the pleasant note of his speech to dispose her kindly towards him.
-'gracious lady, i seek the lady veranilda, and was bidden come hither along the terrace.'
-totila's sister had but little of the latin tongue; now, for perhaps the first time in her life, she regretted this deficiency. smiling, she pointed to a group of cypresses which hid part of the portico, and her questioner, with a courtly bow, went on. he wore the ordinary dress of a roman noble, and had not even a dagger at his waist. as soon as he had passed the cypresses, he saw, within the shadow of the portico, the figure his eyes had sought; then he stood still, and spoke with manly submissiveness.
-'it is much that you suffer me to come into your presence, for of all men, o veranilda, i am least worthy to do so.'
-'how shall i answer you?' she replied, with a sad, simple dignity. 'i know not of what unworthiness you accuse yourself. that you are most unhappy, i know too well.'
-she dared not raise her eyes to him; but in the moment of his appearance before her, it had gladdened her to see him attired as when she first knew him. had he worn the soldierly garb in which he presented himself at marcian's villa, the revival of a dread memory would have pierced her heart. even as in outward man he was the basil she had loved, so did his voice recall that brighter day.
-'unhappy most of all,' he continued, 'in what i least dare speak of. i have no ground to plead for pardon. what i did, and still more what i uttered, judge it at the worst. i should but add to my baseness if i urged excuses.'
-'let us not remember that, i entreat you,' said veranilda. 'but tell me, if you will, what has befallen you since?'
-'you know nothing of me since then?'
-'it was you who did that?' interrupted the listener. 'we heard of its being done, but not by what hand.'
-'with a servant whom i can trust, disguised, he and i, as peasants bringing food to market, i entered rome, and remained for two days within the gates; then returned to totila. he next sent me to learn the strength of the greek garrisons in spoletium and assisium, and how those cities were provisioned; this task also, by good hap, i discharged so as to win some praise. then the king again spoke to me of you. and as, before, i had not dared to approach you, so now i did not dare to wait longer before making known to you my shame and my repentance.'
-'of what sickness did you speak just now?' asked veranilda, after a silence.
-he narrated to her his sojourn at the monastery, told of the penance he had done, of the absolution granted him by benedict; whereupon a light came into veranilda's eyes.
-'there lives,' she exclaimed, 'no holier man!'
-'none holier lived,' was basil's grave answer. 'returning from assisium, i met a wandering anchorite, who told me of benedict's death.'
-'but is he reverenced by those of your creed?' asked basil in surprise.
-'of my creed? my faith is that of the catholic church.'
-for the first time their eyes met. basil drew a step nearer; his face shone with joy, which for a moment held him mute.
-'it was in the convent,' added veranilda, 'that i learnt the truth. they whom i called my enemies wrought this good to me.'
-basil besought her to tell him how she had been carried away from surrentum, and all that had befallen her whilst she was a prisoner; he declared his ignorance of everything between their last meeting in the anician villa and the dreadful day which next brought them face to face. as he said this, it seemed to him that veranilda's countenance betrayed surprise.
-'i forget,' he added, his head again falling, 'that your mind has been filled with doubt of me. how can i convince you that i speak truly? o veranilda!' he exclaimed passionately, 'can you look at me, can you hear me speak, and still believe that i was ever capable of betraying you?'
-'that i never believed,' she answered in a subdued voice.
-'yet i saw in your eyes some doubt, some hesitation.'
-'then it was despite myself. the thought that you planned evil against me i have ever cast out and abhorred. why it was said of you, alas, i know not.'
-'what proof was given?' asked basil, gazing fixedly at her.
-her accent did not satisfy him; it seemed to falter.
-'was nothing said,' he urged, 'to make credible so black an untruth?'
-veranilda stood motionless and silent.
-'speak, i beseech you!' cried basil, his hands clasped upon his breast. 'something there is which shadows your faith in my sincerity. god knows, i have no right to question you thus--i, who let my heart be poisoned against you by a breath, a nothing. rebuke me as you will; call me by the name i merit; utter all the disdain you must needs feel for a man so weak and false--'
-his speech was checked upon that word. veranilda had arrested him with a sudden look, a look of pain, of fear.
-'false?' fell from her lips.
-'can you forget it, o veranilda? would that i could!'
-'in your anger,' she said, 'as when perchance you were already distraught with fever, you spoke i know not what. therein you were not false to me.'
-'false to myself; i should have said. to you, never, never! false to my faith in you, false to my own heart which knew you faithful; but false as men are called who--'
-again his voice sank. a memory flashed across him, troubling his brow.
-'what else were you told?' he asked abruptly. 'can it be a woman's name was spoken? you are silent. will you not say that this thought, also, you abhorred and rejected?'
-the simple honesty of veranilda's nature would not allow her to disguise what she thought. urging question after question, with ardour irresistible, basil learnt all she had been told by marcian concerning heliodora, and, having learnt it, confessed the whole truth in utter frankness, in the plain, blunt words dictated by his loathing of the greek woman with whom he had once played at love. and, as she listened, veranilda's heart grew light; for the time before her meeting with basil seemed very far away, and the tremulous passion in his voice assured her of all she cared to know, that his troth pledged to her had never suffered wrong. basil spoke on and on, told of his misery in rome whilst vainly seeking her; how he was baffled and misled; how at length, in despair, he left the city and went to his estate by asculum. then of the message received from marcian, and how eagerly he set forth to cross the apennines, resolved that, if he could not find veranilda, at least he would join himself with her people and fight for their king; of his encounter with the marauding troop, his arrival, worn and fevered, at aesernia, his meeting with sagaris, their interview, and what followed upon it.
-'to this hour i know not whether the man told me what he believed, or coldly lied to me. he has the face of a villain and may well have behaved as one--who knows with what end in view? could i but lay hands upon him, i would have the truth out of his tongue by torture. he is in rome. i saw him come forth from marcian's house, when i was there on the king's service; but, of course, i could not speak with him.'
-'just as little,' he resumed after a pause of troubled thought, 'can i know whether marcian believed me a traitor, or himself had a traitorous mind. the more i think, the less do i understand him. i hope, i hope with all my heart, that he was innocent, and daily i pray for his eternal welfare.'
-'that is well done, o basil,' said the listener, for the first time uttering his name. 'my prayers, too, he shall have. that he was so willing to credit ill of you, i marvel; and therein he proved himself no staunch friend. but of all else, he was guiltless.'
-'so shall he ever live in my memory,' said basil. 'of him i always found it easier to believe good than evil, for many were the proofs he had given me of his affection. had it been otherwise, i should long before have doubted him; for, when i was seeking you in rome, more than once did a finger point to marcian, as to one who knew more than he would say. i heard the accusation with scorn, knowing well that they who breathed it desired to confound me.'
-this turned his thoughts again to the beginning of their sorrows; and again he gently asked of veranilda that she would relate that part of her story which remained unknown to him. she, no longer saddened by the past, looked frankly up into his face, and smiled as she began. now first did basil hear of the anchoret sisinnius, and how aurelia was beguiled into the wood, where capture awaited her. of the embarkment at surrentum, veranilda had only a confused recollection: fear and distress re-awoke in her as she tried to describe the setting forth to sea, and the voyage that followed. sisinnius and his monkish follower were in the ship, but held no speech with their captives. after a day or two of sailing, they landed at nightfall, but in what place she had never learnt. still conducted by the anchorets, they were taken to pass the night in a large house, where they had good entertainment, but saw only the female slaves who waited upon them. the next day began a journey by road; and thus, after more than one weary day, they arrived at the house of religious women which was to be veranilda's home for nearly a twelvemonth.
-'i knew not where i was, and no one would answer me that question, though otherwise i had gentle and kindly usage. aurelia i saw no more; we had not even taken leave of each other, for we did not dream on entering the house that we were to be parted. whether she remained under that roof i never learnt. during our journey, she suffered much, often weeping bitterly, often all but distraught with anger and despair. before leaving the ship we were told that, if either of us tried to escape, we should be fettered, and only the fear of that indignity kept aurelia still. her face, as i remember its last look, was dreadful, so white and anguished. i have often feared that, if she were long kept prisoner, she would lose her senses.'
-basil having heard the story to an end without speaking, made known the thoughts it stirred in him. they talked of petronilla and of the deacon leander, and sought explanations of veranilda's release. and, as thus they conversed, they forgot all that had come between them; their constraint insensibly passed away; till at length basil was sitting by veranilda's side, and holding her hand, and their eyes met in a long gaze of love and trust and hope.
-'can you forgive?' murmured basil, upon whom, in the fulness of his joy, came the memory of what he deemed his least pardonable sin.
-'how can i talk of forgiveness,' she returned, 'when not yours was the blame, but mine? for i believed--or all but believed--that you had forgotten me.'
-'beloved, i was guilty of worse than faithlessness. i dread to think, and still more to speak, of it; yet if i am silent, i spare myself; and seem, perhaps, to make light of baseness for which there are no words of fitting scorn. that too, be assured, o veranilda, i confessed to the holy benedict.'
-her bowed head and flushing cheek told him that she understood.
-'basil,' she whispered, 'it was not you, not you.'
-'gladly would i give myself that comfort. when i think, indeed, that this hand was raised to take my friend's life, i shake with horror and say, "not i did that!" even so would i refuse to charge my very self with those words that my lips uttered. but to you they were spoken; you heard them; you fled before them--'
-she had hidden her face with her hands. basil threw himself upon his knees beside her.
-'though i spoke in madness, can you ever forget? god himself, i know, will sooner blot out my sin of murder than this wound i inflicted upon your pure and gentle heart!'
-veranilda caught his hand and pressed her lips upon it, whilst her tears fell softly.
-hearing such words as these, in the sweetest, tenderest voice that ever caressed a lover's senses, basil knew not how to word all that was in his heart. passion spoke for him, and not in vain; for in a few moments veranilda's tears were dry, or lingered only to glisten amid the happy light which beamed from her eyes. side by side, forgetful of all but their recovered peace, they talked sweet nothings, until there sounded from far a woman's voice, calling the name of veranilda.
-one whisper, one kiss, and she was gone. when basil, after brief despondency came forth on to the open terrace, he saw her at a distance, standing with athalfrida and osuin. their looks invited him to approach, and, when he was near, veranilda stepped towards him.
-'it will not be long,' she said calmly, 'before we again meet. the lord osuin promises, and he speaks for the king.'
-basil bowed in silence. the great-limbed warrior and his fair wife had their eyes upon him, and were smiling good-naturedly. then osuin spoke in thick-throated latin.
-'shall we be gone, lord basil?'
-from the end of the terrace, basil looked back. athalfrida stood with her arm about the maiden's waist; both gazed towards him, and veranilda waved her hand.
-a few days later the guards at the tiburtine gate of rome were hailed, before dawn, by a number of greek soldiers in the disarray of flight. it was a portion of the garrison of tibur: the town had been betrayed at sunset, by certain of its inhabitants who watched at one of the gates. the soldiers fought their way through and most of them escaped, and had fled hither through the darkness. before the end of the day came news more terrible. a peasant from a neighbouring farm declared that all the people of tibur, men, women, and children, had perished under the gothic sword, not even ministers of religion having found mercy. and very soon this report, at first doubted, was fully confirmed. the event excited no less astonishment than horror, contrasting as it did with totila's humanity throughout the war. some offered as explanation the fact that many goths lived at tibur, whose indifference or hostility had angered the king; others surmised that this was totila's warning after the failure of his proclamation to the romans. whatever the meaning of such unwonted severity, its effect upon the romans was unfavourable to the gothic cause. just about this time there happened to arrive two captains, sent by belisarius with a small troop for the reinforcement of bessas. the addition to the strength of the garrison was inconsiderable, but it served to put the city in heart once more. the patricius himself would not be long in coming, and when did the name of belisarius sound anything but victory?
-this confidence increased when totila, instead of marching upon rome, as all had expected, turned in the opposite direction, and led his forces across the apennines. the gates were thrown open; the citizens resumed their ordinary life, saying to each other that all fear of a siege was at an end; and when certain ships from sicily, having by good luck escaped the gothic galleys, landed a good supply of corn, there was great exultation. true, only a scanty measure of this food reached the populace, and that chiefly by the good offices of the archdeacon pelagius, now become as dear to the people as pope vigilius was hateful; the granaries were held by bessas, who first of all fed his soldiers, and then sold at a great price. as winter went on, the romans suffered much. and with the spring came disquieting news of totila's successes northwards: the towns of picenum had yielded to him; he was moving once more in this direction; he captured spoletium, assisium, and still came on.
-belisarius, meanwhile, had crossed to italy, and was encamped at ravenna. why, asked the romans, impatiently, anxiously, did he not march to meet the gothic king? but the better informed knew that his army was miserably insufficient; they heard of his ceaseless appeals to byzantium, of his all but despair in finding himself without money, without men, in the land which but a few years ago had seen his glory. would the emperor take no thought for italy, for rome? bessas, with granaries well stored, and his palace heaped with roman riches, shrugged when the nobles spoke disrespectfully of justinian; his only loyalty was to himself.
-at high summertide, the gothic camp was pitched before rome, and the siege anticipated for so many months had at length begun. for whatever reason, totila had never attempted to possess himself of portus, which guarded the mouth of the river tiber on the north bank and alone made possible the provisioning of the city. fearing that this stronghold would now be attacked, bessas despatched a body of soldiers to strengthen its garrison; but they fell into a gothic ambush, and were cut to pieces. opposite portus, and separated from it by a desert island, on either side of which tiber flowed to the sea, lay the ancient town of ostia, once the port of the world's traffic, now ruinous and scarce inhabited. here totila established an outpost; but he did not otherwise threaten the harbour on the other side. his purpose evidently was to avoid all conflict which would risk a reduction of the gothic army, and by patient blockade to starve the romans into surrender.
-he could not surround the city, with its circuit of twelve miles; he could not keep ceaseless watch upon the sixteen gates and the numerous posterns. king vitiges, in his attempt to do so, had suffered terrible losses. it was inevitable that folk should pass in and out of rome. but from inland no supplies could be expected by the besieged, and any ship sailing up to portus would have little chance of landing its cargo safely. before long, indeed, this was put to proof. the pope, whose indecision still kept him lingering in sicily, nearly a twelvemonth after his departure from rome for constantinople, freighted a vessel with corn for the relief of the city, and its voyage was uninterrupted as far as the tiber's mouth. there it became an object of interest, not only to the greeks on the walls of portus, but to the gothic soldiers at. ostia, who forthwith crossed in little boats, and lay awaiting the ship at the entrance to the haven. observant of this stratagem, the garrison, by all manner of signalling, tried to warn the sailors of the danger awaiting them; but their signals were misunderstood, being taken for gestures of eager welcome; and the ship came on. with that lack of courage which characterised them, the greeks did nothing more than wave arms and shout: under their very eyes, the corn-ship was boarded by the goths, and taken into ostia.
-of courage, indeed, as of all other soldierly virtues, little enough was exhibited, at this stage of the war, on either side. the imperial troops scattered about italy, ill-paid, and often starving mercenaries from a score of oriental countries, saw no one ready to lead them to battle, and the one byzantine general capable of commanding called vainly for an army. wearied by marchings and counter-marchings, the gothic warriors were more disposed to rest awhile after their easy conquests than to make a vigorous effort for the capture of rome. totila himself, heroic redeemer of his nation, turned anxious glances towards ravenna, hoping, rather than resolving, to hold his state upon the palatine before belisarius could advance against him. he felt the fatigue of those about him, and it was doubtless under the stress of such a situation, bearing himself the whole burden of the war, that he had ordered, or permitted, barbarous revenge upon the city of tibur. for this reason he would not, even now, centre all his attention upon the great siege; he knew what a long, dispiriting business it was likely to be, and feared to fall into that comparative idleness. soon after the incident of the sicilian corn-ship, he was once more commanding in the north, where a few cities yet held out against him. dreadful stories were told concerning the siege of placentia, whose inhabitants were said to have eaten the bodies of their dead ere they yielded to the goth. so stern a spirit of resistance was found only in places where religious zeal and national sentiment both existed in their utmost vigour, and totila well knew that, of these two forces ever threatening to make his conquests vain, it was from religion that he had most to fear. in vain was the history of gothic tolerance known throughout italy; it created no corresponding virtue in the bosom of catholicism; the barbaric origin of the goths might be forgotten or forgiven, their heresy--never.
-totila, whose qualities of heart and mind would have made him, could he but have ruled in peace, a worthy successor of the great theodoric, had reflected much on this question of the hostile creeds; he had talked of it with ministers of his own faith and with those of the orthodox church; and it was on this account that he had sought an interview with the far-famed monk of casinum. understanding the futility of any hope that the italians might be won to arianism, and having sufficient largeness of intellect to perceive how idle was a debate concerning the 'substance' of the father and of the son, totila must at times have felt willing enough to renounce the heretical name, and so win favour of the italians, the greater part of whom would assuredly have preferred his rule to that of the emperor justinian. but he knew the religious obstinacy of his own people; to imagine their following him in a conversion to catholicism was but to dream. pondering thus, he naturally regarded with indulgence the beautiful and gentle gothic maiden delivered into his power by a scheming roman ecclesiastic. after his conversations with veranilda, he had a pensive air; and certain persons who observed him remarked on it to each other, whence arose the rumour that totila purposed taking to wife this last descendant of the amals. whatever his temptations, he quickly overcame them. if ever he thought of marriage, policy and ambition turned his mind towards the royal franks; but the time for that had not yet come. meanwhile, having spoken with the young roman whom veranilda loved, he saw in basil a useful instrument, and resolved, if his loyalty to the goths bore every test, to reward him with veranilda's hand. the marriage would be of good example, and might, if the gothic arms remained triumphant, lead to other such.
-after the meeting at hadrian's villa which he granted to the lovers, totila summoned basil to his presence. regarding him with a good-natured smile, he said pleasantly:
-'your face has a less doleful cast than when i first saw it.'
-'that,' answered basil, 'is due in no small degree to the gracious favour of my king.'
-'continue to merit my esteem, lord basil, and proof of my good-will shall not be wanting. but the time for repose and solace is not yet. to-morrow you will go with venantius to capua, and thence, it may be, into apulia.'
-basil bowed in silence. he had hoped that the siege of rome was now to be undertaken, and that this would ensure his remaining near to veranilda. but the loyalty he professed to totila was no less in his heart than on his lips, and after a moment's struggle he looked up with calm countenance.
-'have you aught to ask of me?' added totila, after observing his face.
-'this only, o king: that if occasion offer, i may send written news of myself to her i love.'
-'that is a little thing,' was the answer, 'and i grant it willingly.'
-totila paused a moment; then, his blue eyes shining with a vehement thought, added gravely:
-'when we speak together within the walls of rome, ask more, and it shall not be refused.'
-so basil rode southward, and happily was far away when tibur opened its gates to the goth. for more than half a year he and venantius were busy in maintaining the gothic rule throughout lucania and apulia, where certain roman nobles endeavoured to raise an army of the peasantry in aid of the greek invasion constantly expected upon the adriatic shore. when at length he was recalled, the siege of rome had begun. the gothic ladies now resided at tibur, where a garrison was established; there basil and veranilda again met, and again only for an hour. but their hopes were high, and scarce could they repine at the necessity of parting so soon. already in a letter, basil had spoken of the king's promise; he now repeated it, whilst veranilda flushed with happiness.
-'and you remain before rome?' she asked.
-'alas, no! i am sent to ravenna, to spy out the strength of belisarius.'
-but rome was besieged, and so hateful had bessas made himself to the roman people that it could not be long ere some plot among them delivered the city.
-'then,' cried basil exultantly, 'i shall ask my reward.'
-on a winter's day, at the hour of sundown, heliodora sat in her great house on the quirinal, musing sullenly. beside her a brazier of charcoal glowed in the dusk, casting a warm glimmer upon the sculptured forms which were her only companions; she was wrapped in a scarlet cloak, with a hood which shadowed her face. all day the sun had shone brilliantly, but it glistened afar on snowy summits, and scarce softened the mountain wind which blew through the streets of rome.
-to divert a hungry populace, now six months besieged, bessas was offering entertainments such as suited the saturnalian season. to-day he had invited rome to the circus maximus, where, because no spectacle could be provided imposing enough to fill the whole vast space, half a dozen shows were presented simultaneously; the spectators grouped here and there, in number not a fiftieth part of that assembly which thundered at the chariots in olden time. here they sat along the crumbling, grass-grown, and, as their nature was, gladly forgot their country's ruin, their own sufferings, and the doom which menaced them. equestrians, contortionists, mimes, singers, were readily found in the city, where a brave or an honest man had become rare indeed. what a performance lacked in art, he supplied by shamelessness; and nowhere was laughter so hearty, or the crowd so dense, as in that part of the circus where comic singers and dancers vied with the grossest traditions of the pagan theatre.
-heliodora could not miss such an opportunity of enjoyment and of display. she sat amid her like, the feline ladies and the young nobles, half brute, half fop, who though already most of them fasted without the merit of piety, still prided themselves on being the flower of roman fashion. during one of the pauses of the festival, when places were changed, and limbs stretched, some one whispered to her that she was invited to step towards that place of honour where sat the emperor's representative. an invitation of bessas could not lightly be declined, nor had heliodora any reluctance to obey such a summons. more than a year had gone by since her vain attempt, on marcian's suggestion, to enslave the avaricious thracian, and, since then, the hapless muscula had had more than one successor. roman gossip, always busy with the fair greek, told many a strange story to account for her rigour towards the master of rome, who was well known to have made advances to her. so when to-day they were seen sitting side by side, conversing vivaciously, curiosity went on tiptoe. the entertainment over, heliodora was carried home in her litter, no friend accompanying her. few nowadays were the persons in rome who bade guests to their table; even the richest had no great superfluity of viands. after sunset, the city became a dark and silent desert, save when watch-fires glared and soldiers guarded the walls.
-as was the case with all romans who not long ago had commanded a multitude of slaves and freedmen, heliodora's household was much reduced. even before the siege began, many of the serving class stole away to the goths, who always received them with a welcome; and since the closing of the gates this desertion had been of daily occurrence, the fugitives having little difficulty in making their escape from so vast a city so sparsely populated. no longer did the child from far-off anglia ride about on his mistress's errands; a female slave, punished for boxing his ears, had stifled him as he slept, and fled that night with five or six others who were tired of the lady's caprices and feared her cruelty. her aviary was empty. having wearied of that whim, she had let the birds loose; a generosity she regretted now that toothsome morsels were rare. in her strong box there remained little money, and the estate she owned in a distant part of italy might as well have been sunk in the sea for all the profit it could yield her. true, she had objects of value, such as were daily accepted by bessas in exchange for corn and pork; but, if it came to that extremity, could not better use be made of the tough-skinned commander? heliodora had no mind to support herself on bread and pork whilst food more appetising might still be got.
-it was all but dark. she rang a hand-bell and was answered by a maidservant.
-'has sagaris returned yet?' she asked impatiently.
-'lady, not yet.'
-again she had sat alone for nearly half an hour, scarcely stirring, so intent was she on the subject of her thoughts, when a light footfall sounded without, and the curtain at the door was raised. she turned and saw a dark countenance, which smiled upon her coldly.
-'where have you been?' broke angrily from her lips.
-'hither and thither,' was the softly insolent reply, as sagaris let the curtain fall behind him and stepped forward to the brazier, over which he held out his hands to warm them.
-by his apparel, he might have been mistaken for a noble.
-nominally he had for a year held the office of steward to heliodora. that his functions were not, as a matter of fact, all comprised under that name was well known to all in the house, and to some beyond its walls.
-'were you at the circus?' she next inquired, using the large hood to avoid his gaze without seeming to do so.
-'i was there, gracious lady. not, of course, in such an exalted place as that in which i saw you.'
-'i did not choose that place,' said heliodora, her voice almost conciliatory. 'being sent for, i could not refuse to go.'
-sagaris set a stool near to his mistress, seated himself, and looked up into her face. she, for an instant, bore it impatiently, but of a sudden her countenance changed, and she met the gaze with a half-mocking smile.
-'is this one of your jealous days?' she asked, with what was meant for playfulness, though the shining of her eyes and teeth in the lamplight gave the words rather an effect of menace.
-'perhaps it is,' answered the syrian. 'what did bessas say to you?'
-'many things. he ended by asking me to sup at the palace. you will own that the invitation was tempting.'
-sagaris glared fiercely at her, and drew upon himself a look no less fierce.
-'fool!' she exclaimed, once more speaking in a natural voice. 'how shall we live a month hence? have you a mind to steal away to the goths? if you do so, you can't expect me to starve here alone. thick-willed slave! can you see no further than the invitation to sup with that thievish brute?--which i should have accepted, had i not foreseen the necessity of explaining to your dulness all that might follow upon it.'
-esteeming himself the shrewdest of mankind, sagaris deeply resented these insults, not for the first time thrown at him by the woman whom he regarded with an oriental passion and contempt.
-'of course i know what you mean,' he replied disdainfully. 'i know, too, that you will be no match for the thracian robber.'
-heliodora caught his arm.
-'what if i can make him believe that belisarius has the emperor's command to send him in chains to constantinople! would he not rather come to terms with totila, who, as i know well, long ago offered to let him carry off half his plunder?'
-'you know that? how?'
-'clod-pate! have you forgotten your master whom basil slew? did i not worm out of him, love-sick simpleton that he was, all the secrets of his traffic with greeks and goths?'
-'choose,' said heliodora. 'leave me free to make your fortune, for totila is generous to those who serve him well; or stay here and spy upon me till your belly pinches, and the great opportunity of your life is lost.'
-there was a silence. the syrian's features showed how his mind was rocking this way and that.
-'you have not cunning for this,' he snarled. 'the thracian will use you and laugh at you. and when you think to come back to me....'
-he touched the dagger at his waist.
-in that moment there came confused sounds from without the room. suddenly the curtain was pulled aside, and there appeared the face of a frightened woman, who exclaimed: 'soldiers, lady, soldiers are in the house!'
-'pardon our hasty entrance, fair heliodora,' he said in greek. 'the commander has need of you--on pressing business.'
-'the commander must wait my leisure,' she replied with a note of indignation over-emphasised.
-'nay, that he cannot,' returned the officer, leering at sagaris. 'he is even now at supper, and will take it ill if you be not there when he rises from table. a litter waits.'
-not without much show of wrath did heliodora yield. as she left the room, her eyes turned to sagaris, who had shrunk into a corner, coward fear and furious passion distorting his face. the lady having been borne away, a few soldiers remained in the house, where they passed the night. on the morrow bessas himself paid a visit to that famous museum of sculpture, and after an inspection, which left no possible hiding-place unsearched, sent away to the palatine everything that seemed to him worth laying hands upon.
-meanwhile the domestics had all been held under guard. sagaris, who heard his relations with heliodora jested over by the slaves and soldiers, passed a night of terror, and when he knew of the commander's arrival, scarce had strength to stand. to his surprise, nothing ill befell him. during the pillage of the house he was disregarded, and when bessas had gone he only had to bear the scoffs of his fellow-slaves. these unfortunates lived together as long as the scant provisions lasted, then scattered in search of sustenance. the great house on the quirinal stood silent, left to its denizens of marble and of bronze.
-sagaris, who suspected himself to have been tricked by heliodora in the matter of her removal to the palatine, and had not the least faith in her power to beguile bessas, swore by all the saints that the day of his revenge should come; but for the present he had to think of how to keep himself alive. money he had none; it was idle to hope of attaching himself to another household, and unless he escaped to the goths, there was no resource but to beg from one or other of those few persons who, out of compassion and for their souls' sake, gave alms to the indigent. wandering in a venomous humour, he chanced to approach the via lata, and out of curiosity turned to the house of marcian. not knowing whether it was still inhabited, he knocked at the door, and was surprised to hear a dog's bark, for nearly all the dogs in rome had already been killed and eaten. the wicket opened, and a voice spoke which he well remembered.
-'you alive still, old stephanus? who feeds you? open and teach me the art of living on nothing.'
-he who opened looked indeed the image of famine--a fleshless, tottering creature, with scarce strength left to turn the key in the door. his only companions in the house were his daughter and the dog. till not long ago there had been also the daughter's child, whom she had borne to marcian, but this boy was dead.
-'i'm glad to see you,' said stephanus mysteriously, drawing his visitor into the atrium, and speaking as if the house were full of people who might overhear him. 'your coming to-day is a strange thing. have you, perchance, had a dream?'
-'what dream should i have had?' answered sagaris, his superstition at once stirring.
-the old man related that last night, for the third time, he had dreamt that a treasure lay buried in this house. where he could not say, but in his dream he seemed to descend stairs, and to reach a door which, when he opened it, showed him a pile of gold, shining in so brilliant a light that he fell back blinded, whereupon the door closed in his face. to this the syrian listened very curiously. cellars there were below the house, as he well knew, and hidden treasure was no uncommon thing in rome. having bidden stephanus light a torch, he went exploring, but though they searched long, they could find no trace of a door long unopened, or of a walled-up entrance.
-'you should have more wit in your dreaming, old scarecrow,' said sagaris. 'if i had had a dream such as that a second time, not to speak of a third, do you think i should not have learnt the way. but you were always a clod-pate.'
-thus did he revenge himself for the contumely he had suffered from heliodora. as he spoke they were joined by the old man's daughter, who, after begging at many houses, returned with a pocketful of lentils. the girl had been pretty, but was now emaciated and fever-burnt; she looked with ill-will at sagaris, whom she believed, as did others of his acquaintance, to have murdered marcian, and to have invented the story of his death at the hands of basil. well understanding this, sagaris amused himself with jesting on the loss of her beauty; why did she not go to the palatine, where handsome women were always welcome? having driven her away with his brutality, he advised stephanus to keep silent about the treasure, and promised to come again ere long.
-he now turned his steps to the other side of tiber, and, after passing through poor streets, where some show of industries was still kept up by a few craftsmen, though for the most part folk sat or lay about in sullen idleness, came to those grinding-mills on the slope of the janiculum which were driven by trajan's aqueduct. day and night the wheels made their clapping noise, seeming to clamour for the corn which did not come. at the door of one of the mills, a spot warmed by the noonday sun, sat a middle-aged man, wretchedly garbed, who with a burnt stick was drawing what seemed to be diagrams on the stone beside him. at the sound of a footstep, rare in that place, he hastily smeared out his designs, and looking up showed a visage which bore a racial resemblance to that of sagaris. recognising the visitor, he smiled, pointed to the ground in invitation, and when sagaris had placed himself near by, began talking in the tongue of their own eastern land. this man, who called himself apollonius, had for some years enjoyed reputation in rome as an astrologer, thereby gaining much money; and even in these dark days he found people who were willing to pay him, either in coin or food, for his counsel and prophecies. fearful of drawing attention upon himself, as one who had wealth in store, he had come to live like a beggar in this out-of-the-way place, where his money was securely buried, and with it a provision of corn, peas, and lentils which would keep him alive for a long time. apollonius was the only man living whom sagaris, out of reverence and awe, would have hesitated to rob, and the only man to whom he did not lie. for beside being learned in the stars, an interpreter of dreams, a prophet of human fate, apollonius spoke to those he could trust of a religion, of sacred mysteries, much older, he said, and vastly more efficacious for the soul's weal than the faith in christ. to this religion sagaris also inclined, for it was associated with memories of his childhood in the east; if he saw the rising of the sun, and was unobserved, he bowed himself before it, with various other observances of which he had forgotten the meaning.
-his purpose in coming hither was to speak of stephanus's dream. the astrologer listened very attentively, and, after long brooding, consented to use his art for the investigation of the matter.
-generously made available by the internet archive.)
-archæology and the bible
-archæology and the bible
-by george a. barton, ph. d., ll. d. professor of biblical literature and semitic languages in bryn mawr college; sometime director of the american school of oriental research in jerusalem
-the bible lands, their exploration, and the resultant light on the bible and history
-translations of ancient documents which confirm or illuminate the bible
-philadelphia american sunday-school union 1816 chestnut street
-copyright, 1916, by american sunday-school union
-all rights vested in and reserved by american sunday-school union
-first edition, may, 1916. second edition, june, 1917.
-to caroline b. d. barton faithful comrade in the campaign of life
-for a hundred years or more the explorer and the excavator have been busy in many parts of the world. they have brought to light monuments and texts that have in many cases revolutionized our conceptions of history and have in other cases thrown much new light on what was previously known.
-in no part of the world have these labors been more fruitful than in the lands of the bible. in egypt and babylonia vistas of history have been opened to view that were undreamed of before exploration began. the same is true for that part of the history of palestine which antedates the coming of israel. information has also been obtained which illumines later portions of the history, and makes the biblical narrative seem much more vivid. it is now possible to make real to oneself the details of the life of the biblical heroes, and to understand the problems of their world as formerly one could not do. exploration has also brought to light many inscriptions in the various countries that confirm or illuminate the traditions, history, poetry, and prophecy of the bible. the sands of egypt have even yielded us some reputed new sayings of our lord.
-it is the purpose of this book to gather into one volume the most valuable information of all sorts that the excavations in bible lands have afforded, and to put it in such form that it may be of service to the pastor and sunday-school teacher. an attempt has been made so to present the material that one may not only have the wealth of illumination for biblical study that exploration has produced, but also that he may possess an outline of the history of the exploration and of the countries sufficient to enable him to place each item in its proper perspective. whether in handling so large a mass of data the writer has achieved his aim, the reader must judge. the preparation of the volume was undertaken at the request of the board of managers of the american sunday-school union, for publication under the john c. green income fund,--a fund founded in 1877 “for the purpose of aiding ... in securing a sunday-school literature of the highest order of merit ... by procuring works ... germane to the objects of the society.” the foundation requires that the manuscripts procured by the fund shall become the exclusive property of the american sunday-school union, and, that the selling price may be reduced, the society is prohibited from including the cost of the manuscript in the price of the book.
-this work is confined to those phases of archæology upon which light has been thrown by exploration. no attempt is made, for example, to treat the constitution of the hebrew family, or the dress worn in ancient palestine, for these are subjects to which exploration has contributed no new knowledge.
-the texts published in part ii have, with few exceptions, been freshly translated by the writer especially for this work. this is true of all except the majority of the egyptian texts and two greek papyri which were not accessible in the original. translations of these were taken from the works of well-known scholars, to each of whom credit is given in connection with the passage quoted from his work. the quotations of palestinian place names from the inscriptions of the egyptian kings, of which the writer has made a special study, are based on his own translations of the originals.
-an archæological fact, or a text brought to light by excavation, is often of little significance apart from its interpretation, and the interpretation of such data frequently varies according to the point of view occupied by the interpreter. as stated in the foreword of part ii, it has been the writer’s aim throughout to maintain a neutral attitude on controverted points.
-not the least service that archæology has rendered has been the presentation of a new background against which the inspiration of the biblical writers stands out in striking vividness. often one finds traditions in babylonia identical with those embodied in the old testament, but they are so narrated that no such conception of god shines through them as shines through the biblical narrative. babylonians and egyptians pour out their hearts in psalms with something of the same fervor and pathos as the hebrews, but no such vital conception of god and his oneness gives shape to their faith and brings the longed-for strength to the spirit. egyptian sages developed a social conscience comparable in many respects with that of the hebrew prophets, but they lacked the vital touch of religious devotion which took the conceptions of the prophets out of the realm of individual speculation and made them the working ethics of a whole people. archæology thus reinforces to the modern man with unmistakable emphasis the ancient words, “men spake from god, being moved by the holy spirit” (2 peter 1:21).
-the writer is under obligation to all his predecessors. endeavor has been made in the footnotes to acknowledge each individual obligation. lest any oversight may have occurred there, he would here express both his indebtedness and his gratitude to all who by their various explorations and studies have preceded him and been his teachers.
-"margot," he said, "why don't you marry? you are twenty-seven; and life won't go on treating you so well if you go on treating it like this. as an old friend who loves you, let me give you one word of advice. you should marry in spite of being in love, but never because of it."
-before i went away to italy, peter and i, with passion-lit eyes and throbbing hearts, had said goodbye to each other for ever.
-the relief of our friends at our parting was so suffocating that i clung to the shelter of my new friend, the stranger of that house of commons dinner.
-the asquith family tree--herbert h. asquith's mother--asquith's first marriage; meets margot tennant for first time--talk till dawn on house of commons' terrace; other meetings--engagement a london sensation--marriage an event
-my husband's father was joseph dixon asquith, a cloth-merchant, in morley, at that time a small town outside leeds. he was a man of high character who held bible classes for young men. he married a daughter of william willans, of huddersfield, who sprang of an old yorkshire puritan stock.
-william willans--who is dead--was the eldest of the family and a clever little man. he taught at clifton college for over thirty years.
-lilian josephine died when she was a baby; and evelyn--one of the best of women--is the only near relation of my husband still living.
-my husband's mother, old mrs. asquith, i never knew; my friend mark napier told me that she was a brilliantly clever woman but an invalid. she had delicate lungs, which obliged her to live on the south coast; and, when her two sons went to the city of london school, they lived alone together in lodgings in islington and were both poor and industrious.
-although henry's mother was an invalid she had a moral, religious and intellectual influence over her family that cannot be exaggerated. she was a profound reader and a brilliant talker and belonged to what was in those days called orthodox nonconformity, or congregationalists.
-after my husband's first marriage he made money by writing, lecturing and examining at oxford. when he was called to the bar success did not come to him at once.
-he had no rich patron and no one to push him forward. he had made for himself a great oxford reputation: he was a fine scholar and lawyer, but socially was not known by many people.
-it was said that gladstone only promoted men by seniority and never before knowing with precision what they were like, but in my husband's case it was not so.
-lord james of hereford, then sir henry james, was attorney general, overburdened with a large private practice at the bar; and, when the great bradlaugh case came on, in 1883, it was suggested to him that a young man living on the same staircase might devil the affirmation bill for him. this was the beginning of asquith's career: when gladstone saw the brief for his speech, he noted the fine handwriting and asked who had written it. sir henry james, the kindest and most generous of men, was delighted at gladstone's observation and brought the young man to him. from that moment both the attorney general and the prime minister marked him out for distinction; he rose without any intermediary step of an under-secretaryship from a back-bencher to a cabinet minister; and when we married in 1894 he was home secretary. in 1890 i cut and kept out of some newspapers this prophecy, little thinking that i would marry one of the "new english party."
-a new english party
-amid all the worry and turmoil and ambition of irish politics, there is steadily growing up a little english party, of which more will be heard in the days that are to come. this is a band of philosophico-social radicals--not the old type of laissez-faire politician, but quite otherwise. in other words, what i may call practical socialism has caught on afresh with a knot of clever, youngish members of parliament who sit below the gangway on the radical side. this little group includes clever, learned, metaphysical mr. haldane, one of the rising lawyers of his day; young sir edward grey, sincere, enthusiastic, with a certain gift for oratory, and helped by a beautiful and clever wife; mr. sidney buxton, who has perhaps the most distinct genius for practical work; and finally, though in rather loose attachment to the rest, mr. asquith, brilliant, cynical, cold, clear, but with his eye on the future. the dominant ideas of this little band tend in the direction of moderate collectivism--i.e., of municipal socialism.
-the dinner where i was introduced to henry was in the house of commons and i sat next to him. i was tremendously impressed by his conversation and his clean cromwellian face. he was different from the others and, although abominably dressed, had so much personality that i made up my mind at once that here was a man who could help me and would understand everything. it never crossed my brain that he was married, nor would that have mattered; i had always been more anxious that peter flower should marry than myself, because he was thirteen years older than i was, but matrimony was not the austere purpose of either of our lives.
-after dinner we all walked on the terrace and i was flattered to find my new friend by my side. lord battersea chaffed me in his noisy, flamboyant manner, trying to separate us; but with tact and determination this frontal attack was resisted and my new friend and i retired to the darkest part of the terrace, where, leaning over the parapet, we gazed into the river and talked far into the night.
-our host and his party--thinking that i had gone home and that mr. asquith had returned to the house when the division bell rang--had disappeared; and when we finished our conversation the terrace was deserted and the sky light.
-we met a few days later dining with sir algernon west--a very dear and early friend of mine--and after this we saw each other constantly. i found out from something he said to me that he was married and lived at hampstead and that his days were divided between 1 paper buildings and the house of commons. he told me that he had always been a shy man and in some ways this is true of him even now; but i am glad that i did not observe it at the time, as shy people disconcerted me: i liked modesty, i pitied timidity, but i was embarrassed by shyness.
-i cannot truly say, however, that the word shy described my husband at any time: he was a little gauche in movement and blushed when he was praised, but i have never seen him nervous with any one or embarrassed by any social dilemma. his unerring instinct into all sorts of people and affairs--quite apart from his intellectual temperament and learning--and his incredible lack of vanity struck me at once. the art of making every man better pleased with himself he had in a high degree; and he retains to this day an incurable modesty.
-when i discovered that he was married, i asked him to bring his wife to dinner, which he did, and directy i saw her i said:
-"i do hope, mrs. asquith, you have not minded your husband dining here without you, but i rather gathered hampstead was too far away for him to get back to you from the house of commons. you must always let me know and come with him whenever it suits you."
-in making this profound and attaching friendship with the stranger of that house of commons dinner, i had placed myself in a difficult position when helen asquith died. to be a stepwife and a stepmother was unthinkable, but at the same time the moment had arrived when a decision--involving a great change in my life--had become inevitable. i had written to peter flower before we parted every day for nine years--with the exception of the months he had spent flying from his creditors in india--and i had prayed for him every night, but it had not brought more than happiness to both of us; and when i deliberately said good-bye to him i shut down a page of my life which, even if i had wished to, i could never have reopened. when henry told me he cared for me, that unstifled inner voice which we all of us hear more or less indistinctly told me i would be untrue to myself and quite unworthy of life if, when such a man came knocking at the door, i did not fling it wide open. the rumour that we were engaged to be married caused alarm amounting to consternation in certain circles. both lord rosebery and lord randolph churchill, without impugning me in any way, deplored the marriage, nor were they by any means alone in thinking such a union might ruin the life of a promising politician. some of my own friends were equally apprehensive from another point of view; to start my new life charged with a ready-made family of children brought up very differently from myself, with a man who played no games and cared for no sport, in london instead of in the country, with no money except what he could make at the bar, was, they thought, taking too many risks.
-my melton friends said it was a terrible waste that i was not marrying a sporting man and told me afterwards that they nearly signed a round-robin to implore me never to give up hunting, but feared i might think it impertinent.
-the rumour of my engagement caused a sensation in the east-end of london as well as the west. the following was posted to me by an anonymous well-wisher:
-at the meeting of the "unemployed" held on tower hill yesterday afternoon, john e. williams, the organiser appointed by the social democratic federation, said that on the previous day they had gone through the west-end squares and had let the "loafers" living there know that they were alive. on the previous evening he had seen an announcement which, at first sight, had caused tears to run down his face, for he had thought it read, "mr. asquith going to be murdered." however, it turned out that mr. asquith was going to be married, and he accordingly proposed that the unemployed, following the example of the people in the west-end, should forward the right hon. gentleman a congratulatory message. he moved: "that this mass meeting of the unemployed held on tower hill, hearing that mr. asquith is about to enter the holy bonds of matrimony, and knowing he has no sympathy for the unemployed, and that he has lately used his position in the house of commons to insult the unemployed, trusts that his partner will be one of the worst tartars it is possible for a man to have, and that his family troubles will compel him to retire from political life, for which he is so unfit." the reading of the resolution was followed by loud laughter and cheers. mr. crouch (national union of boot and shoe operatives) seconded the motion, which was supported by a large number of other speakers and adopted.
-i was much more afraid of spoiling henry's life than my own, and what with old ties and bothers, and new ties and stepchildren, i deliberated a long time before the final fixing of my wedding-day.
-i had never met any of his children except little violet when i became engaged and he only took me to see them once before we were married, as they lived in a villa at redhill under the charge of a kind and careful governess; he never spoke of them except one day when, after my asking him if he thought they would hate me and cataloguing my grave imperfections and moderate qualifications for the part, he stopped me and said that his eldest son, raymond, was remarkably clever and would be devoted to me, adding thoughtfully:
-"i think--and hope--he is ambitious."
-this was a new idea to me: we had always been told what a wicked thing ambition was; but we were a fighting family of high spirits and not temper, so we had acquiesced, without conforming to the nursery dictum. the remark profoundly impressed me and i pondered it over in my heart. i do not think, by the way, that it turned out to be a true prophecy, but raymond asquith had such unusual intellectual gifts that no one could have convicted him of lack of ambition. to win without work, to score without an effort and to delight without premeditation is given to few.
-one night after our engagement we were dining with sir henry and lady campbell-bannerman. while the women were talking and the men drinking, dear old mrs. gladstone and other elderly ladies and political wives took me on as to the duties of the spouse of a possible prime minister; they were so eloquent and severe that at the end of it my nerves were racing round like a squirrel in a cage.
-when mr. gladstone came into the drawing-room i felt depressed and, clinging to his arm, i switched him into a corner and said i feared the ladies took me for a jockey or a ballet-girl, as i had been adjured to give up, among other things, dancing, riding and acting. he patted my hand, said he knew no one better fitted to be the wife of a great politician than myself and ended by saying that, while i was entitled to discard exaggeration in rebuke, it was a great mistake not to take criticism wisely and in a spirit which might turn it to good account.
-i have often thought of this when i see how brittle and egotistical people are at the smallest disapprobation. i never get over my surprise, old as i am, at the surly moral manners, the lack of humbleness and the colossal personal vanity that are the bed-rock of people's incapacity to take criticism well. there is no greater test of size than this; but, judged by this test, most of us are dwarfs.
-disapproving of long engagements and wishing to escape the cataract of advice by which my friends thought to secure both my husband's and my own matrimonial bliss, i hurried on my marriage. my friends and advisers made me unhappy at this time, but fortunately for me henry asquith is a compelling person and, in spite of the anxiety of the friends and relations, we were married at st. george's, hanover square, on may the 10th, 1894. i doubt if any bride ever received so many strange letters as i did. there was one which i kept in front of me when i felt discouraged. i shall not say who it is from, as the writer is alive:
-my dear margot,
-you are not different to other people except in this respect--you have a clear, cold head, and a hot, keen heart, and you won't find everything; so choose what lasts, and with luck and with pluck, marrying as you are from the highest motives, you will be repaid. asquith is far too good for you. he is not conventional, and will give you a great deal of freedom. he worships you, and understands you, and is bent on making the best of you and the life together. you are marrying a very uncommon man--not so much intellectually-- but he is uncommon from his determination, reality and concentrated power of love. don't pity yourself--you would not wish to have loved peter less--though you might wish you had never seen him--but you must know you have allowed too much love in your life, and must bear the consequences. deep down in your heart you must feel that you ought to put a stop to your present life, and to the temptation of making people love you. depend upon it with your rich and warm nature you need not be afraid of not loving asquith intensely. by marrying him you will prove yourself to be a woman of courage and nobility, instead of a woman who is talked about and who is in reality self-indulgent. you are lucky after your rather dangerous life to have found such a haven and should bless god for it.
-in those days it was less common for people to collect in the streets to see a wedding. the first marriage i ever saw which collected a crowd was lady crewe's, but her father, lord rosebery, was a derby winner and prime minister and she was married in westminster abbey. from grosvenor square to st. george's, hanover square, is a short distance, but from our front door to the church the pavements were blocked with excited and enthusiastic people.
-an old nurse of my sister charlotte's, jerusha taylor, told me that a gentleman outside st. george's had said to her, "i will give you l10 for that ticket of yours!" and when she refused he said, "i will give you anything you like! i must see margot tennant married!" i asked her what sort of a man he was. she answered,
-"oh! he was a real gentleman, ma'am! i know a gentleman when i see him; he had a gardenia in his buttonhole, but he didn't get my ticket!"
-our register was signed by four prime ministers: mr. gladstone, lord rosebery, arthur balfour and my husband. we spent the first part of our honeymoon at mells park, frome, lent to us by sir john and lady horner, and the second at clovelly court with our friend and hostess, mrs. hamlyn.
-the asquith children by the first marriage--margot's stepdaughter violet--memory of the first mrs. asquith--raymond's brilliant career--arthur's heroism in the war
-i do not think if you had ransacked the world you could have found natures so opposite in temper, temperament and outlook as myself and my stepchildren when i first knew them.
-if there was a difference between the tennants and lytteltons of laughter, there was a difference between the tennants and asquiths of tears. tennants believed in appealing to the hearts of men, firing their imagination and penetrating and vivifying their inmost lives. they had a little loose love to give the whole world. the asquiths--without mental flurry and with perfect self- mastery--believed in the free application of intellect to every human emotion; no event could have given heightened expression to their feelings. shy, self-engaged, critical and controversial, nothing surprised them and nothing upset them. we were as zealous and vital as they were detached and as cocky and passionate as they were modest and emotionless.
-they rarely looked at you and never got up when any one came into the room. if you had appeared downstairs in a ball-dress or a bathing-gown they would not have observed it and would certainly never have commented upon it if they had. whether they were glowing with joy at the sight of you or thrilled at receiving a friend, their welcome was equally composed. they were devoted to one another and never quarrelled; they were seldom wild and never naughty. perfectly self-contained, truthful and deliberate, i never saw them lose themselves in my life and i have hardly ever seen the saint or hero that excited their disinterested emotion.
-when i thought of the storms of revolt, the rage, the despair, the wild enthusiasms and reckless adventures, the disputes that finished not merely with fights, but with fists in our nursery and schoolroom, i was stunned by the steadiness of the asquith temper.
-let it not be inferred that i am criticising them as they now are, or that their attitude towards myself was at any time lacking in sympathy. blindness of heart does not imply hardness; and expression is a matter of temperament or impulse; hut it was their attitude towards life that was different from my own. they over- valued brains, which was a strange fault, as they were all remarkably clever. hardly any prime minister has had famous children, but the asquiths were all conspicuous in their different ways: raymond and violet the most striking, arthur the most capable, herbert a poet and cyril the shyest and the rarest.
-cys asquith, who was the youngest of the family, combined what was best in all of them morally and intellectually and possessed what was finer than brains.
-he was two, when his mother died, and a clumsy ugly little boy with a certain amount of graceless obstinacy, with which both tennants and asquiths were equally endowed. to the casual observer he would have appeared less like me than any of my step-family, but as a matter of fact he and i had the most in common; we shared a certain spiritual foundation and moral aspiration that solder people together through life.
-it is not because i took charge of him at an early age that i say he is more my own than the others, but because, although he did not always agree with me, he never misunderstood me. he said at murren one day, when he was seventeen and we had been talking together on life and religion:
-"it must be curious for you, margot, seeing all of us laughing at things that make you cry."
-this showed remarkable insight for a schoolboy. when i look at his wonderful face now and think of his appearance at the time of our marriage, i am reminded of the hans andersen toad with the jewel in its head, but the toad is no longer there.
-one night when he was a little boy, after i had heard him say his prayers he asked me to read the general confession out of his prayer book to him. it was such an unusual request that i said:
-"very well, darling, i will, but first of all i must read you what i love best in the prayer book."
-to which he answered:
-"oh, do! i should like that."
-i put a cushion behind my head and, lying down beside him, read:
-"lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, o lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night, for the love of thine only son, our saviour jesus christ. amen."
-after this i read him the general confession, opening, "we have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep," and ending, "that we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life." when i had finished i said to him:
-"what do you take sober to mean here, darling?"
-cys (looking furtively at me with his little green eyes): "it does not mean drunkenness." (a slight pause and then reflectively): "i should say moderate living."
-i told the children one day to collect some of their toys and that i would take them to the hospital, where they could give them away themselves. i purposely did not say broken toys; and a few days afterwards i was invited to the nursery. on arriving upstairs i saw that cys's eyes were scarlet; and set out in pathetic array round the room was a large family of monkeys christened by him "the thumblekins." they were what he loved best in the world. i observed that they were the only unbroken toys that were brought to me; and he was eyeing his treasures with anguish in his soul. i was so touched that i could hardly speak; and, when i put my arms round his neck, he burst into sobs:
-"may i keep one monkey ... only one, margot? ... please? ...please, margot? ..."
-this was the window in his soul that has never been closed to me. for many years during a distinguished college career he was delicate, but since his marriage to miss ann pollock--a daylight creature of charm, beauty and goodness--he has been happy and strong.
-my stepdaughter violet--now lady bonham carter--though intensely feminine, would have made a remarkable man. i do not believe there is any examination she could not have passed either at a public school or a university. born without shyness or trepidation, from her youth upwards she had perfect self-possession and patience. she loved dialectics and could put her case logically, plausibly and eloquently; and, although quite as unemotional as her brothers, she had more enterprise and indignation. in her youth she was delicate, and what the french call tres personelle; and this prevented her going through the mill of rivalry and criticism which had been the daily bread of my girlhood.
-she had the same penetrating sense of humour as her brother raymond and quite as much presence of mind in retort. her gift of expression was amazing and her memory unrivalled. my daughter elizabeth and she were the only girls except myself that i ever met who were real politicians, not interested merely in the personal side--whether mr. b. or c. spoke well or was likely to get promoted--but in the legislation and administration of parliament; they followed and knew what was going on at home and abroad and enjoyed friendships with most of the young and famous men of the day. violet bonham carter has, i think, a great political future in the country if not in the commons. she is a natural speaker, easy, eloquent, witty, short and of imperturbable sang-froid.
-life in the house is neither healthy, useful nor appropriate for a woman; and the functions of a mother and a member of parliament are not compatible. this was one of the reasons why my husband and i were against giving the franchise to women. violet is a real mother and feels the problem acutely, but she is a real liberal also and, with gifts as conspicuous as hers, she must inevitably exercise a wide-spread political influence. her speeches in her father's election at paisley, in february of this year, brought her before a general as well as intellectual audience from which she can never retire; and, whenever she appears on a platform, the public shout from every part of the hall calling on her to speak.
-raymond asquith was born on the 6th of november, 1878, and was killed fighting against the germans before his regiment had been in action ten minutes, on the 15th of september, 1916.
-he was intellectually one of the most distinguished young men of his day and beautiful to look at, added to which he was light in hand, brilliant in answer and interested in affairs. when he went to balliol he cultivated a kind of cynicism which was an endless source of delight to the young people around him; in a good- humoured way he made a butt of god and smiled at man. if he had been really keen about any one thing--law or literature--he would have made the world ring with his name, but he lacked temperament and a certain sort of imagination and was without ambition of any kind.
-his education was started by a woman in a day-school at hampstead; from there he took a winchester scholarship and he became a scholar of balliol. at oxford he went from triumph to triumph. he took a first in classical moderations in 1899; first- class literae humaniores in 1901; first-class jurisprudence in 1902. he won the craven, ireland, derby and eldon scholarships. he was president of the union and became a fellow of all souls in 1902; and after he left oxford he was called to the bar in 1904.
-in spite of this record, a more modest fellow about his own achievements never lived.
-raymond was charming and good-tempered from his boyhood and i only remember him once in his life getting angry with me. he had been urged to go into politics by both his wife and his father and had been invited by the liberal association of a northern town to become their candidate. he was complaining about it one day to me, saying how dull, how stupid, how boring the average constituents of all electorates were; i told him i thought a closer contact with common people would turn out not only more interesting and delightful than he imagined, but that it would be the making of him. he flared up at once and made me appear infinitely ridiculous, but being on sure ground i listened with amusement and indifference; the discussion ended amicably, neither of us having deviated by a hair's breath from our original positions. he and i seldom got on each other's nerves, though two more different beings never lived. his arctic analysis of what he looked upon as "cant" always stirred his listeners to a high pitch of enthusiasm.
-one day when he was at home for his holidays and we were all having tea together, to amuse the children i began asking riddles. i told them that i had only guessed one in my life, but it had taken me three days. they asked me what it was, and i said:
-"what is it that god has never seen, that kings see seldom and that we see every day?"
-raymond instantly answered:
-i felt that the real answer, which was "an equal," was very tepid after this.
-in 1907 he married, from 10 downing street, katherine horner, a beautiful creature of character and intellect, as lacking in fire and incense as himself. their devotion to each other and happiness was a perpetual joy to me, as i felt that in some ways i had contributed to it. katherine was the daughter of laura's greatest friend, frances horner, and he met her through me.
-raymond found in both his mother-in-law and sir john horner friends capable of appreciating his fine flavour. he wrote with ease and brilliance both prose and poetry. i will quote two of his poems:
-in praise of young girls
-lines to a young viscount, who died at oxford, on the morrow of a bump supper (by the president of his college)
-dear viscount, in whose ancient blood the blueness of the bird of march, the vermeil of the tufted larch, are fused in one magenta flood.
-dear viscount--ah! to me how dear, who even in thy frolic mood discerned (or sometimes thought i could) the pure proud purpose of a peer!
-so on the last sad night of all erect among the reeling rout you beat your tangled music out lofty, aloof, viscontial.
-you struck a bootbath with a can, and with the can you struck the bath, there on the yellow gravel path, as gentleman to gentleman.
-we met, we stood, we faced, we talked while those of baser birth withdrew; i told you of an earl i knew; you said you thought the wine was corked;
-and so we parted--on my lips a light farewell, but in my soul the image of a perfect whole, a viscount to the finger tips--
-an image--yes; but thou art gone; for nature red in tooth and claw subsumes under an equal law viscount and iguanodon.
-deem that in his mysterious day god puts the peers upon his right, and hides the poor in endless night, for thou, my lord, art more than they.
-it is a commonplace to say after a man is dead that he could have done anything he liked in life: it is nearly always exaggerated; but of raymond asquith the phrase would have been true.
-when raymond was dying on the battle-field he gave the doctor his flask to give to his father; it was placed by the side of his bed and never moved till we left whitehall.
-i had not realised before how powerless a step-wife is when her husband is mourning the death of his child; and not for the first time i profoundly wished that raymond had been my son.
-among the many letters we received, this one from sir edward grey, the present lord grey of fallodon, gave my husband the most comfort:
-33 eccleston square, s.w. sept. 18, 1916.
-my dear asquith,
-a generation has passed since raymond's mother died and the years that have gone make me feel for and with you even more than i would then. raymond has had a brilliant and unblemished life; he chose with courage the heroic part in this war and he has died as a hero.
-if this life be all, it matters not whether its years be few or many, but if it be not all, then raymond's life is part of something that is not made less by his death, but is made greater and ennobled by the quality and merit of his life and death.
-i would fain believe that those who die do not suffer in the separation from those they love here; that time is not to them what it is to us, and that to them the years of separation be they few or many will be but as yesterday.
-if so then only for us, who are left here, is the pain of suffering and the weariness of waiting and enduring; the one beloved is spared that. there is some comfort in thinking that it is we, not the loved one, that have the harder part.
-i grieve especially for raymond's wife, whose suffering i fear must be what is unbearable. i hope the knowledge of how the feelings of your friends and the whole nation, and not of this nation only, for you is quickened and goes out to you will help you to continue the public work, which is now more than ever necessary, and will give you strength. your courage i know never fails.
-raymond asquith was the bravest of the brave, nor did he ever complain of anything that fell to his lot while he was soldiering.
-it might have been written of him:
-our second son, herbert, began his career as a lawyer. he had a sweet and gentle nature and much originality. he was a poet and wrote the following some years before the great war of 1914, through which he served from the first day to the last:
-here lies a clerk who half his life had spent toiling at ledgers in a city grey, thinking that so his days would drift away with no lance broken in life's tournament; yet ever 'twixt the book and his bright eyes the gleaming eagles of the legions came, and horsemen, charging under phantom skies, went thundering past beneath the oriflamme.
-and now those waiting dreams are satisfied, from twilight to the halls of dawn he went; his lance is broken--but he lies content with that high hour, he wants no recompense, who found his battle in the last resort, nor needs he any hearse to bear him hence, who goes to join the men at agincourt.
-he wrote this when he was in flanders in the war:
-the fallen spire (a flemish village)
-that spire is gone that slept for centuries, mirrored among the lilies, calm and low; and now the water holds but empty skies through which the rivers of the thunder flow.
-the church lies broken near the fallen spire, for here, among these old and human things, death sweeps along the street with feet of fire, and goes upon his way with moaning wings.
-on pavements by the kneeling herdsmen worn the drifting fleeces of the shells are rolled; above the saints a village christ forlorn, wounded again, looks down upon his fold.
-and silence follows fast: no evening peace, but leaden stillness, when the thunder wanes, haunting the slender branches of the trees, and settling low upon the listless plains.
-"beb," as we called him, married lady cynthia charteris, a lovely niece of lady de vesci and daughter of another beloved and interesting friend of mine, the present countess of wemyss.
-our third son, arthur asquith, was one of the great soldiers of the war. he married betty, the daughter of my greatest friend, lady manners, a woman who has never failed me in affection and loyalty.
-arthur asquith joined the royal naval division on its formation in september, 1914, and was attached at first to the "anson," and during the greater part of his service to the "hood" battalion. in the early days of october, 1914, he took part in the operations at antwerp and, after further training at home in the camp at blandford, went in february, 1915, with his battalion to the dardanelles, where they formed part of the second naval brigade. he was in all the fighting on the gallipoli peninsula and was wounded, but returned to duty and was one of the last to embark on the final evacuation of helles, in january, 1916.
-in the battle of the ancre (february, 1917) arthur asquith was severely wounded and was awarded the d.s.o.
-in the following april, commander freyberg having been promoted to be a brigadier, arthur asquith took over the command of the "hood" battalion and played a leading part in the operations against gavrelle, taking the mayor's house (which was the key to the position) by assault and capturing the german garrison. it was largely due to him that gavrelle was taken; and he was awarded a bar to his d.s.o.
-in october, 1917, in the battle of passchendaele the naval division were heavily engaged. the following account of what happened near poelcappelle (october 26th) is taken from the "history of the royal naval division," by sub-lieutenants fry and mcmillan:
-near poelcappelle, during the operations of october 26th-27th, 1917, commander asquith displayed the greatest bravery, initiative and splendid leadership, and by his reconnaissance of the front line made under heavy fire, contributed much valuable information which made the successful continuance of the operations possible. during the morning of the 26th, when no news was forthcoming of the position of the attacking troops, commander asquith went forward, through heavy fire, round the front positions, and heedless of personal danger, found out our dispositions, got into touch with the troops on the right, and returned after some hours with most valuable information. on the night of the same day, he went forward alone in bright moonlight and explored the ground in the vicinity of varlet farm, where the situation was not clear. he was observed by the enemy, but, in spite of heavy rifle and machine-gun fire directed at him, and the fact that the going was necessarily slow, owing to the awful state of the ground, he approached varlet farm then reported to be in the hands of the enemy. entering a concrete building alone he found it occupied by a small british garrison, who were exhausted and almost without ammunition and the most of them wounded. after investigating the ground thoroughly he returned and led up three platoons of a company of this battalion and relieved the garrison. he superintended the disposal of the troops, putting one platoon in the building as garrison and placing the other two platoons on each flank. a very important position was therefore kept entirely in our hands, owing to magnificent bravery, leadership and utter disregard of his own personal safety. this example of bravery and cool courage displayed throughout the operations by commander asquith encouraged the men to greater efforts, and kept up their moral. his valuable reconnaissance, the manner in which he led his men and his determination to hold the ground gained, contributed very largely to the success of the operations.
-on december 16th, 1917, he was appointed brigadier to command the 189th brigade; and a few days later, in reconnoitring the position, he was again severely wounded. his leg had to be amputated and he was disabled from further active service in the war. i never saw arthur asquith lose his temper or think of himself in my life.
-. . . . . . .
-i look around to see what child of which friend is left to become the wife of my son anthony; and i wonder whether she will be as virtuous, loving and good-looking as my other daughters-in-law.
-we were all wonderfully happy together, but, looking back, i think i was far from clever with my stepchildren; they grew up good and successful independently of me.
-in consequence of our unpopularity in peebles-shire, i had no opportunity of meeting other young people in their homes; and i knew no family except my own. the wealth of art and music, the luxury of flowers and colour, the stretches of wild country both in scotland and high leicestershire, which had made up my life till i married, had not qualified me to understand children reared in different circumstances. i would not perhaps have noticed many trifles in my step-family, had i not been so much made of, so overloved, caressed and independent before my marriage.
-every gardener prunes the roots of a tree before it is transplanted, but no one had ever pruned me. if you have been sunned through and through like an apricot on a wall from your earliest days, you are over-sensitive to any withdrawal of heat. this had been clearly foreseen by my friends and they were genuinely anxious about the happiness and future of my stepchildren. i do not know which of us had been considered the boldest in our marriage, my husband or myself; and no doubt step- relationships should not be taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, and soberly. in every one of the letters congratulating me there had been a note of warning.
-mr. gladstone wrote:
-may 5th, 1894.
-you have a great and noble work to perform. it is a work far beyond human strength. may the strength which is more than human be abundantly granted you.
-ever yours, w. e. g.
-i remember, on receiving this, saying to my beloved friend, con manners:
-"gladstone thinks my fitness to be henry's wife should be prayed for like the clergy: 'almighty and everlasting god, who alone workest great marvels . ...'"
-john morley wrote:
-95 elm park gardens, south kensington, s.w. march 7,1894. my dear miss margot,
-now that the whirl of congratulations must be ceasing, here are mine, the latest but not the least warm of them all. you are going to marry one of the finest men in all the world, with a great store of sterling gifts both of head and heart, and with a life before him of the highest interest, importance and power. such a man is a companion that any woman might envy you. i daresay you know this without my telling you. on the other part, i will not add myself to those impertinents who--as i understand you to report--wish you "to improve." i very respectfully wish nothing of the sort. few qualities are better worth leaving as they are than vivacity, wit, freshness of mind, gaiety and pluck. pray keep them all. don't improve by an atom.
-circumstances may have a lesson or two to teach you, but 'tis only the dull who don't learn, and i have no fear but that such a pair have happy years in front of them.
-looking back now on the first years of my marriage, i cannot exaggerate the gratitude which i feel for the tolerance, patience and loyalty that my stepchildren extended to a stranger; for, although i introduced an enormous amount of fun, beauty and movement into their lives, i could not replace what they had lost.
-henry's first wife, helen asquith, was an exceptionally pretty, refined woman; never dull, never artificial, and of single-minded goodness; she was a wonderful wife and a devoted mother, but was without illusions and even less adventurous than her children. she told me in one of our talks how much she regretted that her husband had taken silk and was in the house of commons, at which i said in a glow of surprise:
-"but surely, mrs. asquith, you are ambitious for your husband! why, he's a wonderful man!"
-this conversation took place in grosvenor square the second time that we met, when she brought her little girl to see me. violet was aged four and a self-possessed, plump, clever little creature, with lovely hair hanging in victorian ringlets down her back.
-the children were not like helen asquith in appearance, except raymond, who had her beautiful eyes and brow; but, just as they had none of their father's emotion and some of his intellect, they all inherited their mother's temperament, with the exception of violet, who was more susceptible to the new environment than her brothers. the greatest compliment that was ever paid to my appearance--and one that helped me most when i felt discouraged in my early married life--was what helen asquith said to my husband and he repeated to me: "there is something a little noble about margot tennant's expression."
-if my stepchildren were patient with me, i dare not say what their father was: there are some reservations the boldest biographer has a right to claim; and i shall only write of my husband's character--his loyalty, lack of vanity, freedom from self, warmth and width of sympathy--in connection with politics and not with myself; but since i have touched on this subject i will give one illustration of his nature.
-when the full meaning of the disreputable general election of 1918, with its promises and pretensions and all its silly and false cries, was burnt into me at paisley in this year of 1920 by our coalition opponent re-repeating them, i said to henry:
-"oh, if i had only quietly dropped all my friends of german name when the war broke out and never gone to say good-bye to those poor lichnowskys, these ridiculous lies propagated entirely for political purposes would never have been told; and this criminal pro-german stunt could not have been started."
-to which he replied:
-"god forbid! i would rather ten thousand times be out of public life for ever."
-visit to woman's prison--interview there with mrs. maybrick--scene in a lifer's cell; the husband who never knew thought wife made money sewing--margot's plea that failed
-my husband was home secretary when we married, and took a serious interest in our prison system, which he found far from satisfactory. he thought that it would be a good thing, before we were known by sight, to pay a surprise visit to the convict-- prisons and that, if i could see the women convicts and he could see the men privately, he would be able to examine the conditions under which they served their sentences better than if we were to go officially.
-i was expecting my baby in about three months when we made this expedition.
-wormwood scrubs was the promising, almost dickens-like name of one of our convict-prisons and, at that time, took in both men and women.
-the governor scrutinised henry's fine writing on our permits; he received us dryly, but without suspicion; and we divided off, having settled to meet at the front door after an hour and a half's inspection.
-the matron who accompanied me was a powerful, intelligent-looking woman of hard countenance and short speech. i put a few stupid questions to her about the prison: how many convicts they had, if the food was good, etc.
-she asked me if i would care to see mrs. maybrick, an american criminal, who had been charged with murder, but sentenced for manslaughter. this woman had poisoned her husband with mild insistence by arsenic, but, as he was taking this for his health at the time of his death, the evidence was conflicting as to where he stopped and she began. she had the reputation of being a lady and beautiful; and petitions for her reprieve were sent to us signed by every kind of person from the united states. i told the matron i would see her and was shown into her cell, where i found her sitting on a stool against a bleak desk, at which she was reading. i noted her fine eyes and common mouth and, apologising, said:
-"i hope you will not mind a stranger coming to enquire how you are getting on," adding, "have you any complaints to make of the prison?"
-the matron had left me and, the doors being thick, i felt pretty sure she could not hear what we were saying.
-mrs. maybrick (shrugging her shoulders): "the butter here is abominable and we are only given two books--the pilgrim's progress and the bible--and what do you say to our looking-glasses?" (pointing to a little glass, four inches big, in a deep thick frame hanging on a peg). "do you know why it is so small?"
-mrs. maybrick: "because the women who want to kill themselves can't get their heels in to break the glass; if they could they would cut their throats. the men don't have looking-glasses at all."
-margot: "do you think they would like to have them?"
-mrs. maybrick (shrugging her shoulders again and fingering her blue cotton blouse): "i don't suppose they care! i'm sure no one could wish to see themselves with cropped hair and in these hideous clothes."
-margot: "i think that i could get you every kind of book, if you like reading, and will tell me what you want."
-mrs. maybrick (with a sudden laugh and looking at me with a contemptuous expression which made my heart ache): "oh, no, you couldn't! never mind me! but you might tell them about the butter."
-i did not find mrs. maybrick sympathique and shortly after this rejoined the matron. it was the first time i had seen a prison and my heart and mind were moved as we went from cell to cell nodding to the grey occupants.
-"have you any very bad cases?" i asked. "i mean any woman who is difficult and unhappy?"
-matron: "yes, there is one woman here who has been sitting on the floor for the last three days and, except a little water, i don't think she has swallowed a mouthful of food since she came in. she is a violent person and uses foul language. i do not think you had better see her."
-margot: "thank you, i am not at all afraid. please take me to her cell."
-matron (still reluctant and eyeing my figure): "she may not speak to you, but if she does it might give you a shock. do you think you are wise to go in your present condition?"
-margot: "oh, that's all right, thanks! i am not easily shocked."
-when we came to the cell, i took the precaution of telling the matron she could leave me, as after this visit i should have to join my husband and i could find my way to the front hall by myself. she opened the door in silence and let me in.
-crouching on the stone floor, in an animal attitude, i saw a woman. she did not look up when i went in nor turn when i shut the door. her eyebrows almost joined above a square-tipped nose; and her eyes, shaded by long black lashes, were fixed upon the ground. her hair grew well, out of a beautiful forehead, and the red curve of her mouth gave expression to a wax-like face. i had never seen a more striking-looking creature.
-after my usual apology and a gentle recitative of why i had come, she turned what little i could see of her face away from me and whatever i suggested after that was greeted with impenetrable silence.
-at last i said to her:
-"it is so difficult for me to stand and talk while you are sitting on the ground. won't you get up?"
-no answer. at this--being an active woman--i sat down beside her on the stone floor and took her hand in both of mine. she did not withdraw it, but lifted her lashes to look at me. i noted the sullen, exhausted expression in her grey eyes; my heart beat at the beauty of her face.
-"why don't you speak to me?" i said. "i might, for all you know, be able to do a great deal for you."
-this was greeted by a faint gleam and a prolonged shake of the head.
-margot: "you look very young. what is it you did, that brought you into this prison,"
-my question seemed to surprise her and after a moment's silence she said:
-"don't you know why i am sentenced?"
-margot: "no; and you need not tell me if you don't want to. how long are you here for?"
-the woman (in a penetrating voice): "life!"
-margot: "that's impossible; no one is punished for life unless they commit murder; and even then the sentence is always shortened."
-the woman: "shortened in time for what? for your death and burial? perhaps you don't know how kind they are to us here! no one is allowed to die in prison! but by the time your health is gone, your hair white and your friends are dead, your family do not need you and all that can be done for you is done by charity. you die and your eyes are closed by your landlady."
-margot: "tell me what you did."
-the woman: "only what all you fashionable women do every day ..."
-the woman: "i helped those who were in trouble to get rid of their babies."
-margot: "did you take money for it?"
-the woman: "sometimes i did it for nothing."
-margot: "what sort of women did you help?"
-the woman: "oh, quite poor women!"
-margot: "when you charged them, how much money did you ask for?"
-the woman: "four or five pounds and often less."
-margot: "was your husband a respectable man and did he know anything about it?"
-the woman: "my husband was highly respected. he was a stone-mason, and well to do, and knew nothing at all till i was arrested. ... he thought i made money sewing."
-margot: "poor man, how tragic!"
-after this rather stupid ejaculation of mine, she relapsed into a frozen silence and i got up off the ground and asked her if she liked books. no answer. if the food was good? no answer. if her bed was clean and comfortable? but all my questions were in vain. at last she broke the silence by saying:
-"you said just now that you might be able to help me. there is only one thing in the world that i want, and you could not help to get it . ... no one can help me ..."
-margot: "tell me what you want. how can i or any one else help you while you sit on the ground, neither speaking nor eating? get up and i will listen to you; otherwise i shall go away."
-after this she got up stiffly and lifted her arms in a stretch above her head, showing the outline of her fine bust. i said to her:
-"i would like to help you."
-the woman: "i want to see one person and only one. i think of nothing else and wonder night and day how it could be managed."
-margot: "tell me who it is, this one person, that you think of and want so much to see."
-the woman: "i want to see mrs. asquith."
-margot (dumb with surprise): "why?"
-the woman: "because she is only just married and will never again have as much influence over her husband as she has now; and i am told she is kind ..."
-margot (moving towards her): "i am mrs. asquith."
-at this the woman gave a sort of howl and, shivering, with her teeth set, flung herself at my feet and clasped my ankles with an iron clutch. i should have fallen, but, loosening her hold with great rapidity, she stood up and, facing me, held me by my shoulders. the door opened and the matron appeared, at which the woman sprang at her with a tornado of oaths, using strange words that i had never heard before. i tried to silence her, but in vain, so i told the matron that she might go and find out if my husband was ready for me. she did not move and seemed put out by my request.
-"i really think," she said, "that you are extremely foolish risking anything with this woman.'
-the woman (in a penetrating voice): "you clear out and go to hell with you! this person is a christian, and you are not! you are a-- ----!"
-i put my hand over her mouth and said i would leave her for ever if she did not stop swearing. she sat down. i turned to the matron and said:
-"you need not fear for me, thank you; we prefer being left alone."
-when the matron had shut the door, the woman sprang up and, hanging it with her back, remained with arms akimbo and her legs apart, looking at me in defiance. i thought to myself, as i watched her resolute face and strong, young figure, that, if she wanted to prevent me getting out of that room alive, she could easily do so.
-the woman: "you heard what i said, that you would never have as much influence with your husband as you have now, so just listen. he's all-powerful and, if he looks into my case, he will see that i am innocent and ought to be let out. the last home secretary was not married and never took any interest in us poor women."
-hearing the matron tapping at the door and feeling rather anxious to get out, i said:
-"i give you my word of honour that i will make my husband read up all your case. the matron will give me your name and details, but i must go now."
-the woman (with a sinister look): "oh, no, you don't! you stay here till i give you the details: what does a woman like that care for a woman like me?" (throwing her thumb over her shoulder towards the matron behind the door). "what does she know about life?"
-margot: "you must let me open the door and get a pencil and paper."
-the woman: "the old lady will do it for you while i give you the details of my case. you have only got to give her your orders. does she know who you are?"
-margot: "no; and you must not tell her, please. if you will trust me with your secret, i will trust you with mine; but you must let me out first if i am to help you."
-with a lofty wave of my hand, but without taking one step forward, i made her move away from the door, which i opened with a feeling of relief. the matron was in the passage and, while she was fetching a pencil, the woman, standing in the doorway of her cell, told me in lowered tones how cruelly unlucky she had been in life; what worthless, careless girls had passed through her hands; and how they had died from no fault of hers, but through their own ignorance. she ended by saying:
-"there is no gratitude in this world ..."
-when the matron came back, she was much shocked at seeing me kiss the convict.
-i said, "good-bye," and never saw her again.
-my husband looked carefully into her case, but found that she was a professional abortionist of the most hopeless type.
-margot's first baby and its loss--dangerous illness--letter from queen victoria--sir william harcourt's pleasantries--asquith ministry falls--visit from duchess d'aosta
-on the 18th of may, 1895, my sisters charlotte and lucy were sitting with me in my bedroom. i will quote from my diary the account of my first confinement and how i got to know him:
-"i began to feel ill. my gamp, an angular-faced, admirable old woman called jerusha taylor--'out of the book of kings'--was bustling about preparing for the doctor. henry was holding my hands and i was sobbing in an arm-chair, feeling the panic of pain and fear which no one can realise who has not had a baby.
-"when williams arrived, i felt as if salvation must be near; my whole soul and every beat of my heart went out in dumb appeal to him, and his tenderness on that occasion bred in me a love and gratitude which never faded, but was intensified by all i saw of him afterwards. he seemed to think a narcotic would calm my nerves, but the sleeping-draught might have been water for all the effect it had upon me, so he gave me chloroform. the room grew dark; grey poppies appeared to be nodding at me--and i gasped:
-"'oh, doctor, dear doctor, stay with me to-night, just this one night, and i will stay with you whenever you like!'
-"but williams was too anxious, my nurse told me, to hear a word i said.
-"at four o'clock in the morning, henry went to fetch the anaesthetist and in his absence williams took me out of chloroform. then i seemed to have a glimpse of a different world: if pain is evil, then it was hell; if not, i expect i got nearer heaven than i have ever been before . ...
-"i saw dr. bailey at the foot of the bed, with a bag in his hand, and charty's outline against the lamp; then my head was placed on the pillow and a black thing came between me and the light and closed over my mouth, a slight beating of carpets sounded in my brain and i knew no more . ...
-"when i came to consciousness about twelve the next morning, i saw charty looking at me and i said to her in a strange voice:
-"'i can't have any more pain, it's no use.'
-"charty: 'no, no, darling, you won't have any more.' (silence.)
-"margot: 'but you don't mean it's all over?'
-"charty (soothingly): 'go to sleep, dearest.'
-"i was so dazed by chloroform that i could hardly speak. later on the nurse told me that the doctor had had to sacrifice my baby and that i ought to be grateful for being spared, as i had had a very dangerous confinement.
-"when sir john williams came to see me, he looked white and tired and, finding my temperature was normal, he said fervently:
-"'thank you, mrs. asquith.'
-"i was too weak and uncomfortable to realise all that had happened; and what i suffered from the smallest noise i can hardly describe. i would watch nurse slowly approaching and burst into a perspiration when her cotton dress crinkled against the chintz of my bed. i shivered with fear when the blinds were drawn up or the shutters unfastened; and any one moving up or down stairs, placing a tumbler on the marble wash-hand-stand or reading a newspaper would bring tears into my eyes."
-in connection with what i have quoted out of my diary here it is not inappropriate to add that i lost my babies in three out of my five confinements. these poignant and secret griefs have no place on the high-road of life; but, just as henry and i will stand sometimes side by side near those little graves unseen by strangers, so he and i in unobserved moments will touch with one heart an unforgotten sorrow.
-out of the many letters which i received, this from our intimate and affectionate friend, lord haldane, was the one i liked best:
-my dear friend,
-i cannot easily tell you how much touched i was in the few minutes i spent talking to you this afternoon, by what i saw and what you told me. i left with the sense of witnessing triumph in failure and life come through death. the strength that is given at such times arises not from ignoring loss, or persuading oneself that the thing is not that is; but from the resolute setting of the face to the east and the taking of one step onwards. it is the quality we touch--it may be but for a moment--not the quantity we have, that counts. "all i could never be, all that was lost in me is yet there--in his hand who planned the perfect whole." that was what browning saw vividly when he wrote his rabbi ben ezra. you have lost a great joy. but in the deepening and strengthening the love you two have for each other you have gained what is rarer and better; it is well worth the pain and grief--the grief you have borne in common--and you will rise stronger and freer.
-we all of us are parting from youth, and the horizon is narrowing, but i do not feel any loss that is not compensated by gain, and i do not think that you do either. anything that detaches one, that makes one turn from the past and look simply at what one has to do, brings with it new strength and new intensity of interest. i have no fear for you when i see what is absolutely and unmistakably good and noble obliterating every other thought as i saw it this afternoon. i went away with strengthened faith in what human nature was capable of.
-may all that is highest and best lie before you both.
-your affec. friend,
-r. b. haldane.
-i was gradually recovering my health when on may the 21st, 1895, after an agonising night, sir john williams and henry came into my bedroom between five and six in the morning and i was told that i should have to lie on my back till august, as i was suffering from phlebitis; but i was too unhappy and disappointed to mind. it was then that my doctor, sir john williams, became my friend as well as my nurse, and his nobility of character made him a powerful influence in my life.
-to return to my diary:
-"queen victoria took a great interest in my confinement, and wrote henry a charming letter. she sent messengers constantly to ask after me and i answered her myself once, in pencil, when henry was at the home office.
-"i was convalescing one day, lying as usual on my bed, my mind a blank, when sir william harcourt's card was sent up to me and my door was darkened by his huge form.
-i had seen most of my political and other friends while i was convalescing: mr. gladstone, lord haldane, mr. birrell, lord spencer, lord rosebery, the archbishop of canterbury, john morley, arthur balfour, sir alfred lyall and admiral maxse; and i was delighted to see sir william harcourt. when he came into my room, he observed my hunting-crops hanging on the wall from a rack, and said:
-"i am glad to see those whips! asquith will be able to beat you if you play fast and loose with him. that little tight mouth of his convinces me he has the capacity to do it.
-"after my nurse had left the room, he expressed surprise that i should have an ugly woman near me, however good she might be, and told me that his son, bobby, had been in love with his nurse and wrote to her for several years. he added, in his best hanoverian vein:
-"'i encourage my boys all i can in this line; it promises well for their future.'"
-"john morley: 'i can only say i agree with what joe once said to me, "i would rather the newspapers were for than against me."'
-"sir william: 'my dear chap, you would surely not rather have the daily chronicle on your side. why, bless my soul, our party has had more harm done it through the daily chronicle than anything else!'
-"margot: do you think so? i think its screams, though pitched a little high, are effective!'
-"john morley: 'oh, you like massingham, of course, because your husband is one of his heroes.'
-"sir william: 'well, all i can say is he always abuses me and i am glad of it.'
-"john morley: 'he abuses me, too, though not, perhaps, quite so often as you!'
-"margot: 'i would like him to praise me. i think his descriptions of the house of commons debates are not only true and brilliant but fine literature; there is both style and edge in his writing and i rather like that bitter-almond flavour! how strangely the paper changed over to lord rosebery, didn't it?'
-"feeling this was ticklish ground, as harcourt thought that he and not rosebery should have been prime minister, i turned the talk on to goschen.
-"sir william: 'it is sad to see the way goschen has lost his hold in the country; he has not been at all well treated by his colleagues.'
-"john morley--the most fastidious and fascinating of men--stayed on with me and suggested quite seriously that, when we went out of office (which might happen any day), he and i should write a novel together. he said that, if i would write the plot and do the female characters, he would manage the men and politics.
-i asked if he wanted the old wilkie collins idea of a plot with a hundred threads drawn into one woof, or did he prefer modern nothingness, a shred of a story attached to unending analysis and the infinitely little commented upon with elaborate and pretentious humour. he scorned the latter.
-i asked him if he did not want to go permanently away from politics to literature and discussed all his wonderful books and writings. i chaffed him about the way he had spoken of me before our marriage, in spite of the charming letter he had written, how it had been repeated to me that he had said my light-hearted indiscretions would ruin henry's career; and i asked him what i had done since to merit his renewed confidence.
-"he did not deny having criticised me, for although 'honest john' --the name by which he went among the radicals--was singularly ill- chosen, i never heard of morley telling a lie. he was quite impenitent and i admired his courage.
-"after an engrossing conversation, every moment of which i loved, he said good-bye to me and i leant back against the pillow and gazed at the pattern on the wall.
-"henry came into my room shortly after this and told me the government had been beaten by seven in a vote of censure passed on campbell-bannerman in supply, in connection with small arms ammunition. i looked at him wonderingly and said:
-"'are you sad, darling, that we are out?'
-"to which he replied:
-"'only for one reason. i wish i had completed my prison reforms. i have, however, appointed the best committee ever seen, who will go on with my work. ruggles-brise, the head of it, is a splendid little fellow!'
-"at that moment he received a note to say he was wanted in the house of commons immediately, as lord rosebery had been sent for by the queen. this excited us much and, before he could finish telling me what had happened, he went straight down to westminster . ... john morley had missed this fateful division, as he was sitting with me, and harcourt had only just arrived at the house in time to vote.
-"henry returned at 1 a.m. and came to say good night to me: he generally said his prayers by my bedside. he told me that st. john brodrick's motion to reduce c. b.'s salary by l100 had turned the government out; that rosebery had resigned and gone straight down to windsor; that campbell-bannerman was indignant and hurt; that few of our men were in the house; and that akers douglas, the tory whip, could not believe his eyes when he handed the figures to tom ellis, our chief whip, who returned them to him in silence.
-"at 3:30 princess helene d'orleans came to see me and told me of her engagement to the due d'aosta. she looked tall, black and distinguished. she spoke of prince eddy to me with great frankness. i told her i had sometimes wondered at her devotion to one less clever than herself. at this her eyes filled with tears and she explained to me how much she had been in love and the sweetness and nobility of his character. i had reason to know the truth of what she said when one day queen alexandra, after talking to me in moving terms of her dead son, wrote in my prayer book:
-"man looketh upon the countenance, but god upon the heart.
-"'what would you do if he were unfaithful to you?' i asked.
-"princess helene: 'oh! i told emanuel. ... i said, "you see? i leave you ... if you are not true to me, i instantly leave you," and i should do so at once.'
-"she begged me never to forget her, but always to pray for her.
-"'i love you,' she said, 'as every one else does'; and with a warm embrace she left the room.
-"she came of a handsome family: blowitz's famous description,'de loin on dirait un prussien, de pres un imbecile,' was made of a near relation of the duchesse d'aosta."
-with the fall of the government my diary of that year ceases to have the smallest interest.
-margot in 1906 sums up her life; a lot of love-making, a little fame and more abuse--a real man and great happiness
-i will finish with a character-sketch of myself copied out of my diary, written nine weeks before the birth of my fifth and last baby in 1906, and like everything else that i have quoted never intended for the public eye:
-"i am not pretty, and i do not know anything about my expression, although i observe it is this that is particularly dwelt upon if one is sufficiently plain; but i hope, when you feel as kindly towards your fellow-creatures as i do, that some of that warmth may modify an otherwise bright and rather knifey contour.
-"i think i have imagination, born not of fancy, but of feeling; a conception of the beautiful, not merely in poetry, music, art and nature, but in human beings. i have insight into human nature, derived not only from a courageous experience, but also from imagination; and i have a clear though distant vision, down dark, long and often divergent avenues, of the ordered meaning of god. i take this opportunity of saying my religion is a vibrating reality never away from me; and this is all i shall write upon the subject.
-"it is difficult to describe what one means by imagination, but i think it is more than inventiveness, or fancy. i remember discussing the question with john addington symonds and, to give him a hasty illustration of what i meant, i said i thought naming a highland regiment 'the black watch' showed a high degree of imagination. he was pleased with this; and as a personal testimonial i may add that both he and jowett told me that no one could be as good a judge of character as i was who was without imagination. in an early love-letter to me, henry wrote:
-"imaginative insight you have more than any one i have ever met!
-"i think i am deficient in one form of imagination; and henry will agree with this. i have a great longing to help those i love: this leads me to intrepid personal criticism; and i do not always know what hurts my friends' feelings. i do not think i should mind anything that i have said to others being said to me, but one never can tell; i have a good, sound digestion and personally prefer knowing the truth; i have taken adverse criticism pretty well all my life and had a lot of it; but by some gap i have not succeeded in making my friends take it well. i am not vain or touchy; it takes a lot to offend me; but when i am hurt the scar remains. i feel differently about people who have hurt me; my confidence has been shaken; i hope i am not ungenerous, but i fear i am not really forgiving. worldly people say that explanations are a mistake; but having it out is the only chance any one can ever have of retaining my love; and those who have neither the courage, candour nor humbleness to say they are wrong are not worth loving. i am not afraid of suffering too much in life, but much more afraid of feeling too little; and quarrels make me profoundly unhappy. one of my complaints against the shortness of life is that there is not time enough to feel pity and love for enough people. i am infinitely compassionate and moved to my foundations by the misfortunes of other people.
-"as i said in my 1888 character-sketch, truthfulness with me is hardly a virtue, but i cannot discriminate between truths that need and those that need not be told. want of courage is what makes so many people lie. it would be difficult for me to say exactly what i am afraid of. physically and socially not much; morally, i am afraid of a good many things: reprimanding servants, bargaining in shops; or to turn to more serious matters, the loss of my health, the children's or henry's. against these last possibilities i pray in every recess of my thoughts.
-"with becoming modesty i have said that i am imaginative, loving and brave! what then are my faults?
-"i did not marry till i was thirty. this luckily gave me time to read; and i collected nearly a thousand books of my own before i married. if i had had real application--as all the asquiths have-- i should by now be a well-educated woman; but this i never had. i am not at all dull, and never stale, but i don't seem to be able to grind at uncongenial things. i have a good memory for books and conversations, but bad for poetry and dates; wonderful for faces and pitiful for names.
-"when i read arthur balfour's books and essays, i realised before i had heard them discussed what a beautiful style he wrote. raymond, whose intellectual taste is as fine as his father's, wrote in a paper for his all souls fellowship that arthur had the finest style of any living writer; and raymond and henry often justify my literary verdicts.
-"from my earliest age i have been a collector: not of anything particularly valuable, but of letters, old photographs of the family, famous people and odds and ends. i do not lose things. our cigarette ash-trays are plates from my dolls' dinner-service; i have got china, books, whips, knives, match-boxes and clocks given me since i was a small child. i have kept our early copy-books, with all the family signatures in them, and many trifling landmarks of nursery life. i am painfully punctual, tidy and methodical, detesting indecision, change of plans and the egotism that they involve. i am a little stern and severe except with children: for these i have endless elasticity and patience. many of my faults are physical. if i could have chosen my own life-- more in the hills and less in the traffic--i should have slept better and might have been less overwrought and disturbable. but after all i may improve, for i am on a man-of-war, as a friend once said to me, which is better than being on a pirate-ship and is a profession in itself.
-"well, i have finished; i have tried to relate of my manners, morals, talents, defects, temptations, and appearance as faithfully as i can; and i think there is nothing more to be said. if i had to confess and expose one opinon of myself which might differentiate me a little from other people, i should say it was my power of love coupled with my power of criticism, but what i lack most is what henry possesses above all men: equanimity, moderation, self-control and the authority that comes from a perfect sense of proportion. i can only pray that i am not too old or too stationary to acquire these.
-"'an unfettered childhood and triumphant youth; a lot of love- making and a little abuse; a little fame and more abuse; a real man and great happiness; the love of children and seventh heaven; an early death and a crowded memorial service.'
-"but perhaps i shall not die, but live to write another volume of this diary and a better description of an improved self."
-the end of book two
-anthony von leeuwenhoek
-the fundamentals of bacteriology
-by charles bradfield morrey, b.a., m.d.
-professor of bacteriology and head of the department in the ohio state university, columbus, ohio
-illustrated with 171 engravings and 6 plates
-second edition, thoroughly revised
-to grace hamilton morrey american pianist
-preface to second edition
-the first edition seems to have fulfilled a need for a general text-book on the subject of bacteriology. the original method of presentation is preserved. the text-book idea is adhered to, so that the individual instructor may have full liberty to expand on topics in which he is especially interested. a number of illustrations have been added, the text has been improved in many instances by the addition of further explanatory matter and the most recent general advances in the science. examples are the system of classification of the society of american bacteriologists, which is used throughout the text, their key to the genera of bacteria, a discussion of the h-ion concentration method of standardization, the selective action of anilin dyes, the mechanism of entrance of pathogenic organisms into the body, a more detailed explanation of the origin of antibodies, the nature of antigens and a table of antigens and antibodies.
-professor vera mccoy masters has assisted in the revision by aiding in the preparation of manuscript and the reading of proof and in the making of the index, for which services the author’s thanks are hereby expressed.
-c. b. m. columbus, ohio, 1921.
-preface to first edition
-an experience of nearly twenty years in the teaching of bacteriology has convinced the author that students of this subject need a comprehensive grasp of the entire field and special training in fundamental technic before specializing in any particular line of work. courses at the university are arranged on this basis. one semester is devoted to general bacteriology. during the second semester the student has a choice of special work in pathogenic, dairy, soil, water, or chemical bacteriology. a second year may be devoted to advanced work in any of the above lines, to immunity and serum therapy, or to pathogenic protozoa.
-this text-book is intended to cover the first or introductory semester’s work, and requires two classroom periods per week. each student is compelled to take two laboratory periods of three hours per week along with the class work. the outline of the laboratory work is given at the end of the text. results attained seem to justify this plan. a text-book is but one of many pedagogical mechanisms and is not intended to be an encyclopedia of the subject.
-the author makes no claim to originality of content, since the facts presented are well known to every bacteriologist, though the method of presentation is somewhat different from texts in general. during the preparation of this work he has made a thorough review of the literature of bacteriology, covering the standard text-books as well as works of reference and the leading periodicals dealing with the subject. thus the latest information has been incorporated.
-no attempt has been made to give detailed references in a work of this character.
-the photomicrographs are original except where otherwise indicated and are all of a magnification of one thousand diameters where no statement to the contrary appears. these photographs were made with a bausch & lomb projection microscope fitted with a home-made camera box. direct current arc light was used and exposures were five to ten seconds. photographs of cultures are also original with a few indicated exceptions. all temperatures are indicated in degrees centigrade.
-for the preparation of many cultures and slides, for great assistance in the reading of proof and in the preparation of the index, miss vera m. mccoy, instructor in bacteriology, deserves the author’s thanks.
-the author trusts that the book will find a place in college and university courses in bacteriology.
-c. b. m.
-the study of bacteria.
-general pathogenic bacteriology.
-bacteriology as a science is a development of the latter half of the nineteenth century. it may be said to have begun in the decade between 1870 and 1880, due largely to the wide circulation given to koch’s work in proving that bacillus anthracis is the cause of anthrax in 1876, in devising new culture methods and in demonstrating that wound infections are due to microörganisms, 1878. associated with this work were the great improvements in the microscope by abbé and the introduction of anilin dyes for staining bacteria by weigert. these results attracted workers throughout the world to the “new science.” nevertheless, this work of koch’s was preceded by numerous observations and experiments which led up to it. certainly the most important discoveries immediately responsible were those of pasteur. he must be considered as the greatest of the pioneer bacteriologists since he worked in all fields of the subject. some of the antecedent work was done in attempting to disprove the old “spontaneous generation” theory as to the origin of organisms; some in searching for the causes of disease and some in the study of fermentation and putrefaction.
-speculation as to the first origin of life is as old as history and doubtless older. every people of antiquity had its own legends, as for example, the account in genesis. this question never can be definitely settled, even though living matter should be made in the laboratory.
-the doctrine of the “spontaneous origin” of particular animals or plants from dead material under man’s own observation is a somewhat different proposition and may be subjected to experimental test. the old greek philosophers believed it. anaximander (b.c. 610-547) taught that some animals are derived from moisture. even aristotle (b.c. 384-322) said that “animals sometimes arise in soil, in plants, or in other animals,” i.e., spontaneously. it can be stated that this belief was general from his day down through the dark and middle ages and later. cardano (a.d. 1501-1576) wrote that water gives rise to fish and animals and is also the cause of fermentation. van helmont (1578-1644) gives directions for making artificial mice. kircher (1602-1680) describes and figures animals produced under his own eyes by water on plant stems.
-however, many thinkers of the seventeenth century doubted the truth of this long-established belief. francesco redi (1626-1698) made a number of experiments which tended to prove that maggots did not arise spontaneously in meat, as was generally believed, but developed only when flies had an opportunity to deposit their eggs on the meat. it seems that by the latter part of this century the idea that organisms large enough to be seen with the naked eye could originate spontaneously was generally abandoned by learned men.
-the work of leeuwenhoek served to suspend for a time the subject of spontaneous generation, only to have it revived more vigorously later on. he is usually called “the father of the microscope,” though the compound microscope was invented probably by hans zansz or his son zacharias, of holland, about 1590. leeuwenhoek used a simple lens, but his instruments were so much more powerful that they opened up an entirely new and unknown world. (fig. 1.)
-anthony van leeuwenhoek (1632-1723) was apprenticed to a linen draper and accumulated a comfortable fortune in this business. he became interested in the grinding of spectacle lenses, then an important industry in delft, holland, where he lived, and did a great deal of experimental work in this line, mainly for his own enjoyment. finally he succeeded in making a lens so powerful that he could see in water and various infusions very minute living bodies never before observed. leeuwenhoek contributed 112 papers to the royal society of great britain, the first in 1673, many of them accompanied by such accurate descriptions and drawings, for example a paper submitted september 12, 1683, that there is no doubt that he really saw bacteria and was the first to do so (fig. 2). rightly may he be styled “the father of bacteriology,” if not of the microscope. he says in one paper: “with the greatest astonishment i observed that everywhere through the material i was examining were distributed animalcules of the most microscopic dimness which moved themselves about in a remarkably energetic way.” thus he considered these living objects to be animals, from their motion, and this belief held sway for nearly two hundred years.
-leeuwenhoek was a pure observer of facts and made no attempt at speculation, but his discoveries soon started the theorists to discussing the origin of these minute organisms. most observers, as was probably to be expected, believed that they arose spontaneously. needham, in 1749, described the development of microörganisms around grains of barley in water. bonnet, in 1768, suggested that probably needham’s animalcules came from ova in the liquid. the abbot spallanzani, in 1769, called attention to the crudeness of needham’s methods and later, in 1776, attempted to disprove spontaneous origin by heating infusions of organic material in flasks and then sealing them. his critics raised the objections that heating the liquids destroyed their ability to support life, and that sealing prevented the access of fresh air which was also necessary. the first objection was disproved by the accidental cracking of some of the flasks which thereafter showed an abundant growth. this accident seemed also to support the second objection, and spallanzani did not answer it. though spallanzani’s experiments failed to convince his opponents, they led to important practical results, since françois appert, in 1810, applied them to the preserving of fruits, meats, etc., and in a sense started the modern canning industry.
-from spallanzani to schultze, there were no further experiments to prove or disprove spontaneous generation. schultze, in 1836, attempted to meet the second objection to spallanzani’s experiment, i.e., the exclusion of air, by drawing air through his boiled infusions, first causing it to bubble through concentrated sulphuric acid to kill the “germs” (fig. 3.). his flasks fortunately showed no growths, but his critics claimed that the strong acid changed the properties of the air so that it would not support life. this experiment of schultze’s, though devised for a different purpose, was really the first experiment in the use of chemical disinfectants, though thaer (page 31) had used chemicals in a practical way. schwann, in 1837, modified this experiment, by drawing the air through a tube heated to destroy the living germs (fig. 4). his experiments were successful but the “spontaneous generation” theorists raised the same objection, i.e., the change in the air by heating. this was the first experiment in which the principle of “dry heat” or “hot air” sterilization was used. similar arguments were brought forward, also to the use of cotton plugs as filters by schroeder and dusch in 1859 (fig. 5). this was the first use of the principle of sterilization by filtration. it remained for chevreuil and pasteur to overcome this objection in 1861 by the use of flasks with long necks drawn out to a point and bent over. these permitted a full access of air by diffusion but kept out living germs, since these cannot fly but are carried mechanically by air currents or fall of their own weight (fig. 6.). hoffman, the year before (1860), had made similar experiments but these remained unnoticed. the pasteur flasks convinced most scientists that “spontaneous generation” has never been observed by man, though some few, notably dr. charlton bastian, of england, vigorously supported the theory from the early seventies until his death in november, 1915.
-john tyndall, in combating bastian’s views showed that boiled infusions left open to the air in a closed box through which air circulated did not show any growth of organisms provided the air was so free of particles that the path of a ray of light sent through it from side to side could not be seen (fig. 7). or if such sterilized infusions were exposed to dust-free air, as in the high alps, the majority showed no growth, while all infusions in dusty air did show an abundance of organisms. tyndall’s experiments confirmed those of pasteur and his predecessors and showed that the organisms developed from “germs” present in the air falling into the liquids and not spontaneously.
-while tyndall’s experiments were of great value as indicated, they probably were harmful in another way. these “germs in the air” were considered by bacteriologists as well as laymen to include necessarily many disease germs and to indicate the very general, if not universal, presence of these latter in the air. this idea led to many erroneous practices in sanitation and disinfection which even to this day are not eliminated.
-causation of disease.
-the transmission of disease from person to person was recognized by the ancients of european and asiatic countries. inoculation of smallpox was practiced in china and india probably several thousand years ago and was introduced by lady mary wortley montague into england in 1721, from constantinople. these beliefs and practices do not seem to have been associated with any speculations or theories as to the cause of the disease.
-apparently the first writer on this subject was varo, about b.c. 70, who suggested that fevers in swampy places were due to invisible organisms. the treatment of wounds during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries by hot wine fomentations and by the application of plasters was based on the theory that the air brought about conditions in the wounds which led to suppuration. these practices were indeed primitive antisepsis, yet were not based on a germ theory of the conditions which were partially prevented. fracastorius (1484-1553), in a work published in 1546, elaborated a theory of “disease germs” and “direct and indirect contagion” very similar to modern views, though based on no direct pathological knowledge. nevertheless kircher (mentioned already) is usually given undeserved credit for the “contagium vivum” theory. in 1657 by the use of simple lenses he observed “worms” in decaying substances, in blood and in the pus from bubonic plague patients (probably rouleaux of corpuscles in the blood, certainly not bacteria in any case). based on these observations and possibly also on reading the work of fracastorius, his theory of a “living cause” for various diseases was published in 1671, but received little support.
-plenciz, a prominent physician and professor in the vienna medical school, published in 1762 a work in which he gave strong arguments for the “living cause” theory for transmissable diseases. he taught that the agent is evidently transmitted through the air and that there is a certain period of incubation pointing to a multiplication within the body. he also believed that there was a specific agent for each disease. his writings attracted little attention at the time and the “contagium vivum” theory seems to have been almost lost sight of for more than fifty years. indeed, oznam, in 1820, said it was no use to waste time in refuting hypotheses as to the animal nature of contagium.
-isolated observers, were, however, keeping the idea alive, each in his own locality. in 1787 wollstein, of vienna, showed that the pus from horses with glanders could infect other horses if inoculated into the skin. abilgaard, of copenhagen, made similar experiments at about the same time. in 1797 eric viborg, a pupil of abilgaard’s, published experiments in which he showed the infectious nature not only of the pus but also of the nasal discharges, saliva, urine, etc., of glandered horses. jenner in 1795-98 introduced vaccination as a method of preventing smallpox. this epoch-making discovery attracted world wide attention and led to the overcoming of this scourge which had devastated europe for centuries, but contributed little or nothing to the question of the causation of disease. prevost’s discovery of the cause of grain rust (puccinia graminis) in 1807 was the first instance of an infectious disease of plants shown to be due to a microscopic plant organism, though not a bacterium in this case.
-doubtless one reason why the work on glanders and grain rust attracted little attention among the practitioners of human medicine was owing to the prevalent belief in man’s complete separation from all lower forms of life. the evolutionists had not yet paved the way for experimental medicine.
-in 1822 gaspard showed the poisonous nature of material from infected wounds by injecting it into animals and causing their death. tiedemann (1822), peacock (1828) described “little bodies” in the muscles of human cadavers which hilton (1832) considered to be parasitic in nature. paget (1835) showed that these bodies were round worms and owen (1835) described them more accurately and gave the name trichina spiralis to them. leidy (1846) found organisms in the muscles of hogs which he considered to be the same as owen’s trichina and paved the way for the work of zenker (1860) in showing the pathological relation between the trichina of pork and human trichinosis. bearing on the “contagium vivum” theory was the rediscovery of the “itch mite” (sarcoptes scabiei) by renucci (1834), an italian medical student. this had been declared several hundred years before but had been lost sight of. chevreuil and pasteur, in 1836, showed that putrefaction did not occur in meat protected from contamination, and suggested that wound infection probably resulted from entrance of germs from without. bassi, investigating a disease of silkworms in italy, demonstrated that a certain mold-like fungus (botrytis bassiana) was the cause in 1837. this was the first instance of a microscopic vegetable organism proved to be capable of causing disease in an animal.
-boehm, in 1838, observed minute organisms in the stools of cholera patients and conjectured that they might have a causal connection with the disease. dubini of milan in 1838 discovered the ankylostoma duodenale which later was further described by omodei in 1843 and shown to be the cause of egyptian chlorosis by griesinger (1851). the fungous nature of favus, a scalp disease, was recognized by schönlein in 1839, and the organism was afterward called “achorion schoenleinii.” berg, in 1839-41, showed that thrush is likewise due to a fungus, “oidium albicans.”
-in 1842-43 gruby showed that herpes tonsurans, a form of ringworm, is due to the fungus trichophyton tonsurans. klencke, in 1843, produced generalized tuberculosis in a rabbit by injecting tuberculous material into a vein in the ear, but did not carry his researches further. in 1843, doctor oliver wendell holmes wrote a paper in which he contended that puerperal fever was contagious. liebert identified the peronospora infestans as the cause of one type of potato rot in 1845. the skin disease pityriasis (tinea) versicolor was shown to be due to the microsporon furfur by eichstedt in 1846. in 1847 semmelweiss of vienna recommended disinfection of the hands with chloride of lime by obstetricians because he believed with holmes in the transmissibility of puerperal fever through poisons carried in this way from the dissecting room but his theories were ridiculed.
-pollender, in 1849, and davaine and rayer, in 1850, independently observed small rod-like bodies in the blood of sheep and cattle which had died of splenic fever (anthrax). that egyptian chlorosis, afterward identified with old world “hookworm disease,” is caused by the ankylostoma duodenale was shown by greisinger in 1851. in the same year the schistosomum hematobium was shown to be the cause of the “bilharzia disease” by bilharz. küchenmeister discovered the tapeworm, tænia solium, in 1852, cohn, an infectious disease of flies due to a parasitic fungus (empusa muscæ) in 1855, and zenker showed the connection between trichinosis of pork (“measly pork”) and human trichinosis (1860) as indicated above. the organisms just mentioned are, of course, not bacteria, but these discoveries proved conclusively that living things of one kind or another, some large, most of them microscopic, could cause disease in other organisms and stimulated the search for other “living contagiums.” in 1863 davaine, already mentioned, showed that anthrax could be transmitted from animal to animal by inoculation of blood, but only if the blood contained the minute rods which he believed to be the cause. davaine later abandoned this belief because he transmitted the disease with old blood in which he could find no rods. it is now known that this was because the bacilli were in the “spore” form which davaine did not recognize. he thus missed the definite proof of the bacterial nature of anthrax because he was not familiar with the life history of the organism which was worked out by koch thirteen years later. in 1865 villemin repeatedly caused tuberculosis in rabbits by subcutaneous injection of tuberculous material and showed that this disease must be infectious also. in the same year lord lister introduced antiseptic methods in surgery. he believed that wound infections were due to microörganisms getting in from the air, the surgeon’s fingers, etc., and without proving this, he used carbolic acid to kill these germs and prevent the infection. his pioneer experiments made modern surgery possible. in this year also, pasteur was sent to investigate a disease, pebrine, which was destroying the silkworms in southern france. he showed the cause to be a protozoan which had been seen previously by cornalia and described by nägeli under the name nosema bombycis and devised preventive measures. this was the first infectious disease shown to be due to a protozoan. in 1866 rindfleisch observed small pin-point-like bodies in the heart muscle of persons who had died of wound infection. klebs, in 1870-71, published descriptions and names of organisms he had found in the material from similar wounds, though he did not establish their causal relation. bollinger, in 1872, discovered the spores of anthrax and explained the persistence of the disease in certain districts as due to the resistant spores. in 1873 obermeier observed in the blood of patients suffering from recurrent fever long, flexible spiral organisms which have been named spirochæta obermeieri. lösch ascribed tropical dysentery to an ameba, named by him amœba coli, in 1875. finally, koch, in 1876, isolated the anthrax bacillus, worked out the life history of the organism and reproduced the disease by the injection of pure cultures and recovered the organism from the inoculated animals, thus establishing beyond reasonable doubt its causal relationship to the disease. this was the first instance of a bacterium proved to be the cause of a disease in animals. pasteur, working on the disease at the same time, confirmed all of koch’s findings, though his results were published the next year, 1877. bollinger determined that the actinomyces bovis (streptothrix bovis) is the cause of actinomycosis in cattle in 1877. woronin in the same year discovered a protozoan (plasmodiophora brassicæ) to be the cause of a disease in cabbage, the first proved instance of a unicellular animal causing a disease in a plant. in 1878 koch published his researches on wound infection in which he showed beyond question that microörganisms are the cause of this condition, though pasteur in 1837, had suggested the same thing and lister had acted on the theory in preventing infection.
-these discoveries, especially those of koch, immediately attracted world-wide attention and stimulated a host of workers, so that within the next ten years most of the bacteria which produce disease in men and animals were isolated and described. it is well to remember that the first specific disease of man proved to be caused by a bacterium was tuberculosis, by koch in 1882.
-progress was greatly assisted by the introduction of anilin dyes as suitable stains for organisms by weigert in 1877, by koch’s application of special technic and gelatin cultures for isolation and study, 1881, and the great improvements in the microscope by prof. abbé, of jena.
-laveran’s discovery of the malarial parasite in 1880 turned attention to protozoa as the causes of disease and led to the discovery of the various piroplasmoses and trypanosomiases in man and the lower animals.
-pasteur’s protective inoculations in chicken cholera and anthrax directed attention to the possibility of using bacteria or their products as a specific protective or curative means against particular diseases. this finally led to the discovery of diphtheria antitoxin by behring, and independently by roux, in 1890, a discovery which opened up the wide field of immunity which is so persistently cultivated at the present time.
-while the causation of disease by bacteria has probably attracted most attention, especially in the popular mind, it should not be forgotten that this is but one of the numerous ways in which these organisms manifest their activities, and in a sense it is one of their least-important ways, since other kinds are essential in many industries (dairying, agriculture) and processes (sewage purification) and are even indispensable for the very existence of all green plants and hence of animals, including man himself.
-putrefaction and fermentation.
-the idea that there is a certain resemblance between some infectious diseases and the processes of putrefaction and fermentation seems to have originated during the discussion on spontaneous generation and the “contagium vivum” theory which followed leeuwenhoek’s discoveries. plenciz (1762) appears to have first formulated this belief in writing. he considered putrefaction to be due to the “animalcules” and said that it occurred only when there was a coat of organisms on the material and only when they increased and multiplied. spallanzani’s experiments tended to support this view since his infusions did not “spoil” when boiled and sealed. appert’s practical application of this idea has been mentioned.
-thaer, in his principles of rational agriculture, published in the first quarter of the nineteenth century, expressed the belief that the “blue milk fermentation” was probably due to a kind of fungus that gets in from the air, and stated that he had prevented it by treating the milk cellars and vessels, with sulphur fumes or with “oxygenated hydrochloric acid” (hypochlorous acid).
-in 1836 chevreuil and pasteur showed that putrefaction did not occur in meat protected from contamination. in 1837 caignard-latour, in france, and schwann, in germany, independently showed that alcoholic fermentation in beer and wine is due to the growth of a microscopic plant, the yeast, in the fermenting wort. c. j. fuchs described the organism which is commonly called the “blue milk bacillus” in 1841 and conjectured that the souring of milk was probably bacterial in origin. it remained for pasteur to prove this in 1857. during the following six or seven years pasteur also proved that acetic acid fermentation, as in vinegar making, butyric acid fermentation (odor of rancid butter and old cheese) and the ammoniacal fermentation of urea, so noticeable around stables, were each due to different species of bacteria. pasteur also, during the progress of this work, discovered the class of organisms which can grow in the absence of free oxygen--the anaërobic bacteria. there is no question that pasteur from 1857 on did more to lay the foundations of the science of bacteriology than any other one man. influenced by pasteur’s work von hesseling, in 1866, stated his belief that the process of cheese ripening, like the souring of milk, was associated with the growth of fungi, and martin also, in 1867, stated that cheese ripening was a process which was akin to alcoholic, lactic and butyric fermentations. kette, in 1869, asserted the probability of pasteur’s researches furnishing a scientific basis for many processes of change in the soil. in 1873 schlösing and müntz showed that nitrification must be due to the action of microörganisms, though the discovery of the particular ones remained for winogradsky in 1889. thus the belief that fermentation and putrefaction are due to microörganisms was as well established by the early eighties of the last century as that similar organisms are the causes of infectious diseases.
-study of forms.
-an important part of the scientific knowledge of living organisms is dependent on a study of their forms and relationships. as has been stated, leeuwenhoek considered bacteria to be “animalcules” because they showed independent movement. but little attention was paid to the natural history of these animalcules for nearly a hundred years after leeuwenhoek. during the last quarter of the eighteenth century, however, workers busied themselves chiefly with the discovery and description of new forms. among these students were baron gleichen, jablot, lesser, reaumur, hill and others. müller, of copenhagen, in 1786 published the first attempt at classification, a most important step in the study of these organisms. müller introduced the terms monas, proteus and vibrio, which are still in use. ehrenberg, in his work on infusoria, or the organisms found in infusions, published in 1838, introduced many generic names in use at present, but still classed the bacteria with protozoa. joseph leidy, the american naturalist, considered that the “vibrios” of previous writers were plants and not “animalcules.” he seems to have been the first to have made this distinction (1849). perty (1852) recognized the presence of spores in some of his organisms. ferdinand cohn (1854) classed the bacteria among plants. nägeli (1857) proposed the name “schizomycetes” or “fission fungi,” which is still retained for the entire class of bacteria. cohn in the years 1872-1875 established classification on a modern basis and added greatly to the knowledge of morphology and natural history of bacteria. he described spore formation and the development of spores into active bacteria, and showed the close relationships as well as differences between the bacteria and the lower algæ. robert koch was a pupil of cohn.
-an examination of the accompanying chronological table will show how the investigations and discoveries in connection with “spontaneous generation,” the “contagium vivum” theory and putrefaction and fermentation must have been mutually suggestive:
-1546. fracastorius, disease germs theory and direct and indirect contagion.
-1671. kircher, “contagium vivum” theory.
-1675. leeuwenhoek, first saw bacteria, “animalcules.”
-1701. andry, “animalcules” cause of diseases.
-1718. lancisi, “animalcules” cause of malaria.
-1749. needham, described development of organisms in water around barley grains.
-1762. plenciz, arguments for “living cause” theory and that “animalcules” cause putrefaction.
-1768. bonnet, suggested that probably needham’s organisms came from germs in the liquid.
-1776. spallanzani, boiled and sealed infusions.
-1786. müller, first classified “animalcules.”
-1787. wollstein, glanders pus infectious.
-1795-1798. jenner, vaccination against smallpox.
-1797. viborg, transmitted glanders repeatedly.
-1807. prevost, grain rust, puccinia graminis. the first instance of a microscopic plant organism shown to be the cause of a disease in a higher plant.
-1810. appert, directions for “canning.”
-1822. gaspard, infectiousness of material from wounds.
-1834. renucci, itch--itch mite (sarcoptes scabiei).
-1835. paget and owen, trichina spiralis.
-1836. schultze, air through acid to kill “germs.”
-1837. chevreuil and pasteur, protected meat did not putrefy; suggested wound infection due to entrance of germs from without.
-1837. caignard-latour, schwann, alcoholic fermentation--yeast.
-1837. schwann, air through heated tubes to kill germs.
-1837. bassi, muscardine of silkworms, botrytis bassiana. the first instance of a microscopic plant organism shown to be the cause of a disease in an animal.
-1838. boehm, cholera, saw organisms in stools (not the cause).
-1838. dubini discovered ankylostoma duodenale.
-1838. ehrenberg, study of forms.
-1839. schönlein, favus, achorion schoenleinii.
-1839-41. berg, thrush, oidium albicans.
-1840. henle, theory of contagious diseases.
-1841. fuchs, bacterial cause of blue milk.
-1842-43. gruby, herpes tonsurans, trichophyton tonsurans.
-1843. klencke, inoculations of tuberculous material into rabbit.
-1843. holmes, puerperal fever contagious.
-1845. liebert, a potato rot, peronospora infestans.
-1846. leidy, joseph (american naturalist), trichina spiralis in pork.
-1846. eichstedt, pityriasis versicolor, microsporon furfur.
-1847. semmelweiss, recommended disinfection to prevent puerperal fever. not followed.
-1849. leidy, considered “vibrios” to be plants.
-1849. pollender, anthrax, saw rods in blood.
-1850. davaine and rayer, anthrax, saw rods in blood.
-1851. griesinger, egyptian chlorosis, ankylostoma duodenale.
-1851. bilharz, bilharzia disease, schistosomum hematobium.
-1852. kückenmeister, tapeworm, tænia solium.
-1852. perty, saw spores in bacteria.
-1854. cohn, classed bacteria as plants.
-1855. cohn, disease of flies, empusa muscæ.
-1857. nägeli, named bacteria, schizomycetes.
-1857. pasteur, lactic, acetic, butyric acid fermentation.
-1860. zenker, trichinosis, trichinella spiralis.
-1861. pasteur, disproof of spontaneous generation.
-1863. davaine, transmitted anthrax by blood injections.
-1865. pasteur, pebrine of silkworms, nosema bombycis. the first instance of a protozoan shown to be the cause of a disease in a higher animal.
-1865. villemin, repeatedly transmitted tuberculosis to rabbits.
-1865. lister, introduced antisepsis in surgery.
-1860. rindfleisch, pyemia, organisms in the pus.
-1866. von hesseling, cheese ripening.
-1867. de martin, cheese ripening akin to alcoholic fermentation.
-1869. kette, pasteur’s researches scientific basis for many processes in the soil.
-1871. klebs, pyemia, organisms in the pus.
-1872. bollinger, spores in anthrax.
-1872-75. cohn, definite classification.
-1873. obermeier, recurrent fever, spirochæta obermeieri.
-1873. schlösing and münz, nitrification due to organisms.
-1875. lösch, amebic dysentery, amœba coli.
-1875-76. tyndall, germs in the air.
-1876. robert koch, anthrax, bacillus anthracis. the first instance of a bacterium shown to be the cause of disease in an animal.
-1877. bollinger, actinomycosis, actinomyces bovis (streptothrix bovis).
-1877. weigert, used anilin dyes for staining.
-1877. woronin, cabbage disease, plasmodiophora brassicæ. the first instance of a protozoan shown to be the cause of a disease in a plant.
-1878. koch, wound infections, bacterial in origin.
-1881. koch, gelatin plate cultures, abbé, improvements in the microscope.
-bacteria are considered to belong to the plant kingdom not because of any one character they possess, but because they most nearly resemble organisms which are generally recognized as plants. while it is not difficult to distinguish between the higher plants and higher animals, it becomes almost, if not quite, impossible to separate the lowest, forms of life. it is only by the method of resemblances above mentioned that a decision is finally reached. it has even been proposed to make a third class of organisms neither plants nor animals but midway between in which the bacteria are included, but such a classification has not as yet been adopted.
-in many respects the bacteria are most nearly related to the lowest algæ, since both are unicellular organisms, both reproduce by transverse division and the forms of the cell are strikingly similar. the bacteria differ in one important respect, that is, they do not contain chlorophyl, the green coloring matter which enables all plants possessing it to absorb and break up carbon dioxide in the light, and hence belong among the fungi. bacteria average much smaller than even the smallest algæ.
-bacteria are closely connected with the fission yeasts and the yeasts and torulæ. all are unicellular and without chlorophyl. the bacteria, as has been stated, reproduce by division but the others characteristically by budding or gemmation, though the fission yeasts also by division.
-there is a certain resemblance to the molds in their absence of chlorophyl. but the molds grow as branching threads and also have special fruiting organs for producing spores as a means of reproduction, neither of which characteristics is found among the true bacteria. the higher thread bacteria do show true branching and rudimentary fruiting bodies (streptothrix) and appear to be a link connecting the true bacteria and the molds.
-further the chemical composition of bacteria is more like that of other fungous plants than of any of the forms classed as animals.
-one of the most marked differences between animals and plants is with respect to their energy relationships. plants are characteristically storers of energy while animals are liberators of it. some bacteria which have the power of swimming in a liquid certainly liberate relatively large amounts of energy, and in the changes which bacteria bring about in the material which they use as food considerable heat is evolved (“heating” of manure, etc.). nevertheless the evidence is good that the bacteria as a class store much more of the energy contained in the substances actually taken into the body cell as food than is liberated in any form.
-bacteria do show some resemblance to the protozoa, or single-celled animal forms, in that the individuals of each group consist of one cell only and some bacteria have the power of independent motion from place to place in a liquid as most “infusoria” do, but here the resemblance ceases.
-bacteria are among the smallest of organisms, so small that it requires the highest powers of the microscope for their successful study, and the use of a special unit for their measurement. this unit is the one-thousandth part of a millimeter and is called the micro-millimeter or micron. its symbol is the greek letter mu (µ).
-the size varies widely among different kinds but is fairly constant in the same kind. the smallest described form is said to be only 0.18µ long by 0.06µ thick and is just visible with the highest power of the microscope, though it is possible and even probable that there are forms still smaller which cannot be seen. some large rare forms may measure 40µ in length, but the vast majority are from 1µ to 4µ or 5µ long, and from one-third to one-half as wide.
-from the above description a bacterium might be said to be a microscopic, unicellular plant, without chlorophyl, which reproduces by dividing transversely.
-the essential structures which may by appropriate means be distinguished in the bacterial cell are cell wall and cell contents, technically termed protoplasm, cytoplasm. the cell wall is not so dense, relatively, as that of green plants, but is thicker than the outer covering of protozoa. it is very similar to the cell wall of other lower fungi. diffusion takes place readily through it with very little selective action on substances absorbed as judged by the comparative composition of bacteria and their surrounding medium.
-if bacteria are suddenly transferred from a relatively dense medium to one which is of decidedly less density, it occasionally happens that water diffuses into the cell and swells up the endoplasm so much more rapidly than the cell wall that the latter ruptures and some of the endoplasm exudes in the form of droplets on the surface of the cell wall. this phenomenon is called plasmoptysis. students will seldom observe the distinction between cell wall and cell contents, except that in examining living bacteria the outer portion appears more highly refractive. this is chiefly due to the presence of a cell wall, but is not a proof of its existence.
-1. those who do not admit, the presence of a nucleus or of anything equivalent to it. (fischer, migula, massart).
-2. those who consider that the entire bacterial cell is the equivalent of a nucleus and contains no protoplasm. (ruzicka).
-3. those who admit the presence of nuclein but say that this is not morphologically differentiated from the protoplasm as a nucleus. (weigert).
-4. those who consider the bacterial protoplasm to consist of a central endoplasm throughout which the nuclein is diffused and an external layer of ectoplasm next to the cell wall. (bütschli, zettnow).
-5. those who say that the bacterial cell contains a distinct nucleus, at least in most instances. these authors base their claims on staining with a giemsa stain. (feinberg, ziemann, neuvel, dobell, douglass and distaso).
-that nucleoproteins are present in the bacterial cell in relatively large amounts is well established. also that there are other proteins and that the protoplasm is not all nuclein.
-some workers as noted above have been able to demonstrate collections of nuclein by staining, especially in very young cells. in older cells this material is in most instances diffused throughout the protoplasm and can not be so differentiated.
-the following statement probably represents the generally accepted view at the present time:
-a nucleus as such is not present in bacterial cells, except in a few large rare forms and in very young cells. nuclein, the characteristic chemical substance in nuclei, which when aggregated forms the nucleus, is scattered throughout the cell contents and thus intimately mingled with the protoplasm, and cannot be differentiated by staining as in most cells.
-the chemical composition of the bacterial cell is discussed in chapter vii.
-in addition to the essential parts just described the bacterial cell may show some of the following accidental structures: vacuoles, capsules, metachromatic granules, flagella, spores.
-it is obvious that bacteria which can move about in a liquid have an advantage in obtaining food, since they do not need to wait for it to be brought to them. this advantage is probably slight.
-flagella are very delicate and easily broken off from the cell body. slight changes in the density or reaction of the medium frequently cause this breaking off, so that preparations made from actively motile bacteria frequently show no flagella. for this reason and also on account of their fineness the demonstration of flagella is not easy, and it is not safe to say that a non-motile bacterium has no flagella except after very careful study.
-the motion of bacteria is characteristic and a little practice in observing will enable the student to recognize it and distinguish between motility and “brownian” or molecular motion. dead and non-motile bacteria show the latter. in fact, any finely divided particles suspended in a liquid which is not too viscous and in which the particles are not soluble show brownian motion or “pedesis.” this latter is a dancing motion of the particle within a very small area and without change of place, while motile bacteria move from place to place or even out of the field of the microscope with greater or less speed. there is a marked difference in the character of the motion of different kinds of bacteria. some rotate around the long axis when moving, others vibrate from side to side.
-among the higher thread bacteria there are some which show motility without possessing flagella. just how they move is little understood.
-if the spore is placed in favorable conditions the protoplasm absorbs water, swells, the capsule bursts at some point, a cell wall is formed and the bacterium grows to normal size and divides, that is, it is an active growing cell again. this process is called “germination” of the spore. the point at which the spore capsule bursts to permit the new cell to emerge is characteristic for each kind of bacterium. it may be at the end when the germination is said to be polar (fig. 26). it may be from the middle of one side which gives equatorial germination (fig. 27). rarely it is diagonally from a point between the equator and the pole, which type may be styled oblique germination. in one or two instances the entire spore swells up, lengthens and becomes a rod without any special germination unless this type might be designated bi-polar.
-spores are most commonly oval or elliptical in shape, though sometimes spherical. a spore may be formed in the middle of the organism without (fig. 28) or with (fig. 29) a change in size of the cell around it. if the diameter through the cell is increased, then the cell with the contained spore becomes spindle-shaped. such a cell is termed a “clostridium.” sometimes the spore develops in the end of the cell either without (fig. 30) or with enlarging it (fig. 31). in a few forms the spore is placed at the end of the rod and shows a marked enlargement. this is spoken of as the “plectridium” or more commonly the “drumstick spore” (fig. 32). the position and shape of the spore are constant for each kind of bacteria. in one or two instances only, two spores have been observed in a single organism.
-the fact that the protoplasm is denser and the spore capsule thicker (the percentage of water in each is decidedly less than in the growing cell) gives the spore the property of much greater resistance to all destructive agencies than the active bacterium has. for example, all actively growing cells are destroyed by boiling in a very few minutes, while some spores require several hours’ boiling. the same relation holds with regard to drying, the action of chemicals, light, etc. that the coagulation temperature of a protein varies inversely with the amount of water, it contains, is shown by the following table from frost and mccampbell, “general bacteriology”:
-this resistance explains why it happens that food materials boiled and sealed in cans to prevent the entrance of organisms sometimes spoil. the spores have not been killed by the boiling. it explains also in part the persistence of some diseases like anthrax and black leg in pastures for years. from the above description it follows that the spore is to be considered as a condensation of the bacterial protoplasm surrounded by an especially thick cell wall. its function is the preservation of the organism under adverse conditions. it corresponds most closely to the encystment of certain protozoa--the ameba for example. possibly the spore represents a very rudimentary beginning of a reproductive function such as is gradually evolved in the higher thread bacteria, the fission yeasts, the yeasts, the molds, etc. its characteristics are so markedly different, however, that the function of preservation is certainly the main one.
-it must not be supposed that spores are formed under adverse conditions only, because bacteria showing vigorous growth frequently form spores rapidly. special conditions are necessary for their formation just as they are for the growth and other functions of bacteria (chapters vi and vii).
-the second cell form is that of a cylinder or rod typified by a section of a lead-pencil. the name bacillus, plural bacilli, is applied to this type (fig. 34). the bacillus may be short (fig. 35), 1µ or less in length, or long, up to 40µ in rare cases. most bacilli are from 2µ to 5µ or 6µ long. the ends of the rod are usually rounded, occasionally square and very rarely pointed. it is evident that a very short rod with rounded ends approaches a coccus in form and it is not always easy to differentiate in such cases. most bacilli are straight, but some are slightly curved (fig. 36).
-the third cell form is the spiral, typified by a section of a cork-screw and named spirillum, plural spirilla (fig. 37). a very short spiral consisting of only a portion of a turn is sometimes called vibrio (fig. 38). vibrios when seen under the microscope look like short curved rods. the distinction between the two can be made only by examining the organism alive and moving in a liquid. the vibrio shows a characteristic spiral twisting motion. very long, flexible spirals are usually named spirochetes (fig. 39). the spirochetes are motile but flagella have not been shown to be present.
-besides the three typical cell forms bacteria frequently show very great irregularities in shape. they may be pointed, bulged, club-shaped or even slightly branched. these peculiar and bizarre forms practically always occur when some of the necessary conditions for normal growth, discussed in chapters vi and vii, are not fulfilled. they are best regarded as involution or degeneration forms for this reason (fig. 40). in a very few cases it is not possible to obtain the organism without these forms (the diphtheria group). it is probable that these cell forms are normal in such cases, or else conditions suitable for the normal growth have not been obtained.
-it has been stated that bacteria reproduce by transverse division, that is, division across the long axis. following repeated divisions the new cells may or may not remain attached. in the latter case the bacteria occur as separate isolated individuals. in the former, arrangements characteristic of the particular organism almost invariably result. these arrangements are best described as cell groupings or growth forms.
-since the coccus is spherical, transverse division may occur in any direction, though in three planes only at right angles to each other. division might occur in one plane only as in spirilla and bacilli, or in two planes only or in all three planes. as a matter of fact these three methods of division are found among the cocci, but only one method for each particular kind of coccus. as a result there may be a variety of cell groupings among the cocci. when division occurs in one plane only, the possible groupings are the same as among the spirilla or bacilli. the cocci may occur in groups of two--diplococcus grouping (fig. 44), or in chains--streptococcus grouping (figs. 45 and 46). when the grouping is in diplococci, the individual cocci most commonly appear as hemispheres with the plane surfaces apposed (fig. 44). sometimes they appear as spheres and occasionally are even somewhat elongated. the individuals in a streptococcus grouping are most commonly elongated, either in the same direction as the length of the chain, or at right angles to it. the latter appearance is probably due to failure to enlarge completely after division. streptococci frequently appear as chains of diplococci, that is, the pair resulting from the division of a single coccus remain a little closer to each other than to neighboring cells, as a close inspection of fig. 45 will show.
-when division occurs in all three planes, there is in addition to all the groupings possible to one- and two-plane division a third grouping in which the cells are in solid packets, multiples of eight. the name sarcina is applied to this growth form (fig. 48). the individual cells in a sarcina packet never show the typical coccus form so long as they remain together, but are always flattened on two or more sides.
-the above descriptions indicate how the method of division may be determined. if in examining a preparation the sarcina grouping appears, that shows three-plane division. if there are no sarcina, but tetrads or staphylococci (rarely merismopedia), then the division is in two planes. if none of the foregoing is observed but only diplo- or streptococci, these indicate one-plane division only. cocci show their characteristic groupings only when grown in a liquid medium, and such should always be used before deciding on the plane of division.
-as the above description shows, these terms which are properly adjectives describing the cell grouping, are quite generally used as nouns. thus the terms a diplococcus, a tetrad, a streptococcus, etc., are common, meaning a bacterium of the cell form and cell grouping indicated.
-the arrangement of living organisms in groups according to their resemblances and the adoption of fixed names is of the greatest advantage in their scientific study. for animal forms and for the higher plants this classification is gradually becoming standardized through the international congress of zoölogists and of botanists respectively. unfortunately, the naming of the bacteria has not as yet been taken up by the latter body, though announced as one of the subjects for the congress of 1916 (postponed on account of the war). hence there is at present no system which can be regarded as either fixed or official.
-since müller’s first classification of “animalcules” in 1786 numerous attempts have been made to solve the problem. only those beginning with ferdinand cohn (1872-75) are of any real value. as long as bacteria are regarded as plants it appears that the logical method is to follow the well-established botanical principles in any system for naming them. botanists depend on morphological features almost entirely in making their distinctions. the preceding chapters have shown that the minute plants which are discussed have very few such features. they are, to recapitulate, cell wall, protoplasm, vacuoles, metachromatic granules, capsules, flagella, spores, cell forms and cell groupings. most bacteria show not more than three or four of these features, so that it is impossible by the aid of morphology alone to distinguish from each other the large number of different kinds which certainly exist. in the various systems which are conceded to be the best these characteristics do serve to classify them down to genera, leaving the “species” to be determined from their physiological activities. one of these systems was adopted by the laboratory section of the american public health association and by the society of american bacteriologists and was practically the standard in this country until superseded by the society’s own classification. it is that of the german bacteriologist migula and is given below for comparison. since practically the entire discussion in this book is concerned with the first three families the generic characteristics in these only will be given. the full classification as well as a thorough discussion of this subject is given in lafar’s handbuch, whence the following is adopted:
-order i. eubacteria.
-1. family: coccaceæ (zopf) migula, all cocci.
-2. family: bacteriaceæ migula, all bacilli.
-genus 1. bacterium (ehrenberg) migula: no flagella; non-motile. „ 2. bacillus (cohn) migula: flagella peritrichic (fig. 52). „ 3. pseudomonas migula: flagella at the end: monotrichic, lophotrichic, amphitrichic (fig. 53).
-3. family: spirillaceæ migula, all spirilla.
-4. family: chlamydobacteriaceæ.
-cells cylindrical in long threads and surrounded by a sheath. reproduction also by gonidia formed from an entire cell.
-genus 1. chlamydothrix migula (fig. 57). „ 2. crenothrix colin (fig. 58). „ 3. pragmidiothrix engler. „ 4. spherotilus (including cladothrix).
-order ii. thiobacteria: sulphur bacteria.
-cells without a nucleus, but containing sulphur granules, may be colorless or contain bacteriopurpurin and be colored reddish or violet.
-1. family beggiatoaceæ.
-genus 1. thiothrix winogradsky.
-„ 2. beggiatoa trevisan. of interest since it is without a sheath, is motile, but without flagella (fig. 59).
-2. family rhodobacteriaceæ.
-this has five subfamilies and twelve genera, most of which are due to the russian bacteriologist winogradsky who did more work than anyone else with the sulphur bacteria.
-the classification of the society of american bacteriologists.
-the committee on classification of the society of american bacteriologists at the meeting held in december, 1919, submitted its final report. this report has not been formally adopted as a whole, but in all probability will be substantially as outlined below. this outline does not attempt to give the detailed characterizations of the different groups as defined by the committee, but does show the names to be applied to the commoner organisms. these organisms are included in the 4th and 5th orders. details of the first three orders have not been worked out. they are listed merely for completeness.
-unicellular, chlorophyl-free plants, reproducing by transverse division (some forms by gonidia also).
-a. myxobacteriales--cells united during vegetative stage into a pseudo-plasmodium which passes over into a highly developed cyst-producing resting stage.
-b. thiobacteriales--sulphur bacteria.
-c. chlamydobacteriales--iron bacteria and other sheathed bacteria.
-d. actinomycetales--actinomyces, tubercle and diphtheria bacilli.
-e. eubacteriales--all the other common bacteria.
-genera of orders d and e.
-d. actinomycetales-- family i. actinomycetaceæ buchanan, 1918. genus 1. actinobacillus, brampt, 1900. type species, actinobacillus lignieresi brampt, 1900. genus 2. leptotrichia trevisan, 1879. type species, leptotrichia buccalis (robin, 1847) trevisan. genus 3. actinomyces harz, 1877. type species, actinomyces bovis harz. genus 4. erysipelothrix rosenbach, 1909. type species, erysipelothrix rhusiopathiæ (kitt, 1893) rosenbach, swine erysipelas. family ii. mycobacteriaceæ chester, 1897. genus 1. mycobacterium lehmann and neumann, 1896. type species, mycobacterium tuberculosis (koch, 1882) l. and n. genus 2. corynebacterium lehmann and neumann, 1896. type species, corynebacterium diphtheriæ (loeffler, 1882) l. and n. genus 3. fusiformis hoelling, 1910. type species, fusiformis termitidis hoelling. vincent’s angina. genus 4. pfeifferella buchanan, 1918. type species, pfeifferella mallei (loeffler, 1896) buchanan. glanders bacillus.
-e. eubacteriales family i--nitrobacteriaceæ--proto- or autotrophic for n or c and sometimes for both (except acetobacter). tribe i--nitrobactereæ--autotrophic for c. genus 1. hydrogenomonas jensen, 1909. type species, hydrogenomonas pantotropha (kaserer, 1906) jensen; oxidizes free h. genus 2. methanomonas jensen, 1909. type species, methanomonas methanica (söhngen) jensen; oxidizes ch₄. genus 3. carboxydomonas jensen, 1909. type species, carboxydomonas oligocarbophila (beijerinck and van delden, 1903) jensen; oxidizes co. genus 4. acetobacter fuhrman, 1905. type species, acetobacter aceti (thompson, 1852) fuhrman; oxidizes alcohol to acetic acid. genus 5. nitrosomonas winogradsky, 1892. type species, nitrosomonas europoea winogradsky; oxidizes ammonia or ammonium salts to nitrous acid, hence nitrites. genus 6. nitrobacter winogradsky, 1892. type species, nitrobacter winogradskyi committee of 1917; oxidizes nitrous acid (nitrites) to nitric acid (nitrates). tribe ii--azotobactereæ--prototrophic for n. genus 7. azotobacter beijerinck, 1901; large, free-living, aerobic n absorbers. type species, azotobacter chroococcum beijerinck. genus 8. rhizobium frank, 1889. type species, rhizobium leguminosarum frank; root tubercle bacteria of legumes. family ii--pseudomonadaceæ, committee of 1917. genus 1. pseudomonas migula, 1894. type species, pseudomonas violacea (schroeter, 1872) migula. family iii--spirillaceæ migula, 1894--all spiral bacteria. genus 1. vibrio müller, 1786, emended by e. f. smith, 1905. type species, vibrio choleræ (koch, 1884) schroeter, 1886. genus 2. spirillum ehrenberg, 1830, emended migula, 1894. type species, spirillum undula (müller, 1786) ehrenberg. family iv--coccaceæ zopf, 1884, emended migula, 1894--all cocci. tribe i--neissereæ. genus 1. neisseria trevisan, 1885. type species, neisseria gonorrhoeae trevisan. tribe ii--streptococceæ trevisan, 1889. genus 2. diplococcus weichselbaum, 1886. type species, diplococcus pneumoniae weichselbaum. genus 3. leuconostoc van tieghem, 1878. type species, leuconostoc mesenterioides (cienkowski) van tieghem. genus 4. streptococcus rosenbach, 1884; emended winslow and rogers, 1905. type species, streptococcus pyogenes rosenbach. tribe iii--micrococceæ trevisan, 1889. genus 5. staphylococcus rosenbach, 1884; animal parasites. type species, staphylococcus aureus rosenbach. genus 6. micrococcus cohn, 1872, emended winslow and rogers, 1905. facultative parasites or saprophytes. type species, micrococcus luteus (schroeter, 1872) cohn. genus 7. sarcina goodsir, 1842, emended winslow and rogers, 1905. type species, sarcina ventriculi goodsir. genus 8. rhodococcus zopf, 1891, emended winslow and rogers, 1905; cocci with red pigment. type species, rhodococcus rhodochrous zopf. family v--bacteriaceæ cohn, 1872, emended by committee of 1917; bacilli without spores not above included. tribe i--chromobactereæ committee of 1919; producing red or violet pigment, mainly water forms. genus 1. erythrobacillus fortineau, 1905. type species, erythrobacillus prodigiosus (ehrenberg, 1848) fortineau. genus 2. chromobacterium bergonzini, 1881. type species, chromobacterium violaceum bergonzini. tribe ii--erwineæ committee 1919; plant pathogens. genus 3. erwinia committee 1917. type species, erwinia amylovora (burrill, 1883) committee 1917. tribe iii--zopfeæ committee of 1919; gram +, no pigment, non-carbohydrate-fermenting. genus 4. zopfius wenner and rettger, 1919. type species, zopfius zopfii (kurth) wenner and rettger. tribe iv--bactereæ committee of 1919; gram -, carbohydrate fermenters. genus 5. proteus hauser, 1885; liquefy gelatin. type species, proteus vulgaris hauser. genus 6. bacterium ehrenberg, 1828, emended jensen, 1909; liquefy gelatin rarely. type species, bacterium coli. tribe vi--lactobacilleæ committee of 1919; gram +, high acid, thermophils. genus 7. lactobacillus beijerinck, 1901. type species, lactobacillus caucasicus (kern?) beijerinck; bulgarian bacillus. tribe vi--pasteurelleæ committee of 1919; organisms of hemorrhagic septicemia. genus 8. pasteurella trevisan, 1888. type species, pasteurella cholerae-gallinarum (flügge, 1886); trevisan. tribe vii--hemophileæ committee of 1917; require hemoglobin for growth. genus 9. hemophilus committee of 1917. type species, hemophilus influenzae (pfeiffer, 1893) committee of 1917. family vi--bacillaceæ fischer, 1895. spore forming rods. genus 1. bacillus cohn, 1872; aerobic, no change of form around the spore. type species, bacillus subtilis cohn. genus 2. clostridium prazmowski, 1880; anaërobic, frequently enlarged around spore. type species, clostridium butyricum prazmowski.
-as compared with migula’s classification it is to be noted that there are 38 genera listed by the committee instead of 13 in the same general groups.
-the following list of genera conservanda submitted by the committee was formally adopted by the society and these are therefore its official names for the organisms included in these genera.
-acetobacter fuhrman actinomyces harz bacillus cohn bacterium ehrenberg chromobacterium bergonzini clostridium prazmowski erythrobacillus fortineau leptotrichia trevisan leuconostoc van tieghem micrococcus cohn rhizobium frank sarcina goodsir spirillum ehrenberg staphylococcus rosenbach streptococcus rosenbach vibrio müller
-it is greatly to be desired that the society’s classification when finally completed shall become the standard in the united states at least.
-such names as have been adopted by the society are used throughout this work.
-the committee also submitted the following artificial key for determining the genera in the two orders actinomycetales and eubacteriales:
-general conditions for growth.
-bacteria are probably the most widely distributed of living organisms. they are found practically everywhere on the surface of the earth. likewise in all surface waters, in streams, lakes and the sea. they occur in the air immediately above the surface, since they are carried up mechanically by air currents. they cannot fly of themselves. there is no reason to believe that any increase in numbers occurs to an appreciable extent in the air. the upper air, for example, on high mountains, is nearly free from them. so also is the air over midocean, and in high latitudes. as a rule, the greater the amount of dust in the air, the more numerous are the bacteria. hence they are found more abundantly in the air in cities and towns than in the open country. the soil is especially rich in numbers in the upper few feet, but they diminish rapidly below and almost disappear at depths of about six feet unless the soil is very porous and open, when they may be carried farther down. hence the waters from deep wells and springs are usually devoid of these organisms. in the sea they occur at all levels and have been found in bottom ooze dredged from depths of several miles. it is perhaps needless to add that they are found on the bodies and in the alimentary tract of human beings and animals; on clothing, utensils; in dwellings, stables, outhouses, etc. from one-fourth to one-half of the dry weight of the feces of animals and men is due to the bacteria present. the urine is practically free from them in health.
-while bacteria are thus found nearly everywhere, it is an entirely mistaken idea to suppose that all are injurious to man. as a matter of fact, those which are dangerous are relatively few and are for the most part found only in close association with man. most bacteria are harmless and the vast majority are beneficial or even essential to man’s existence on the earth. these facts must be constantly borne in mind, and it is hoped that the pages which follow will make them clear.
-in order that any organism may thrive there are a number of general environmental conditions which must be fulfilled. these conditions vary more or less for each kind of organism. bacteria are no exception to this general rule. these conditions may be conveniently considered under the general heads of moisture; temperature; light; oxygen supply; osmotic pressure; action of electricity; of röntgen and radium rays; pressure; mechanical vibration; and chemical environment, including the reaction of the medium, the effect of injurious chemicals, and especially the food requirements of bacteria. for each of these conditions there is a maximum, meaning the greatest amount of the given condition which the organism can withstand, a minimum, or the least amount, and an optimum or that amount which is most favorable for development. further, there might be distinguished a maximum for mere existence and a lower maximum for development; also a minimum for mere existence and a higher minimum for development. these maxima, minima, and optima for bacteria have been determined with exactness for only a very few of the general conditions and for comparatively few kinds.
-the maximum moisture is absolutely pure water, and no organism can thrive in this alone owing to the factor of too low osmotic pressure and to the further factor of absence of food material. there are many bacteria which thrive in water containing only traces of mineral salts and a large class whose natural habitat is surface water. these “water bacteria” are of great benefit in the purification of streams. they are as a class harmless to men and animals. some of the disease-producing bacteria like bacterium typhosum (of typhoid fever) and vibrio choleræ (of asiatic cholera) were undoubtedly originally water bacteria, and it is rather striking that in these diseases conditions are induced in the intestine (diarrheas) which simulate the original watery environment. the minimum moisture condition is absolute dryness, and no organism can even exist, not to say develop, in such a condition since water is an essential constituent of living matter. some bacteria and especially most spores may live when dried in the air or by artificial means for months and even years, while some are destroyed in a few hours or days when dried (typhoid, cholera, etc.). the optimum amount of moisture has not been determined with any great accuracy and certainly a rather wide range in percentage of water is permissible with many, though a liquid medium is usually most favorable for artificial growth. the “water bacteria” have been mentioned. in the soil a water content of 5 to 15 per cent. seems to be most suitable for many of the organisms which aid in plant growth. in animals and man the organisms infecting the intestinal tract prefer a high percentage of moisture as a rule, especially those causing disease here. those found on the surface of the body (pus cocci) need a less amount of water, while those invading the tissues (tuberculosis, black-leg, etc.) seem to be intermediate in this respect. in artificial culture media a water content of less than 30 per cent. inhibits the growth of most bacteria.
-as a general rule those bacteria which require the largest percentage of water are most susceptible to its loss and are most readily killed by drying. the typhoid and cholera organisms die in a few hours when dried, while pus cocci and tubercle bacilli live much longer.
-the optimum temperature for development varies within rather wide limits for different organisms. in general it may be stated that the optimum temperature is approximately that of the natural habitat of the organism, though there are exceptions. the optimum of the “hot spring” bacteria just mentioned is apparently that of the springs (93° in this case). many soil organisms are known whose optimum is near 70° (a temperature rarely, if ever, attained in the soil), but only when grown in air or oxygen; but is very much lower when grown in the absence of oxygen. many other soil organisms exhibit very little difference in rate or amount of growth when grown at temperatures which may vary as much as 10° or 15°, apparently an adaptation to their normal environment. the disease-producing organisms show much narrower limits for growth, especially those which are difficult to cultivate outside the body. for example, the bacterium of tuberculosis in man scarcely develops beyond the limits of 2° or 3° from the normal body temperature of man (37°), while the bacterium of tuberculosis in birds grows best at 41° to 45°, the normal for birds, and the bacterium of so-called tuberculosis of cold-blooded animals at 14° to 18°.
-those bacteria whose optimum temperature is above 40° are sometimes spoken of as the “thermophil” bacteria. the fixing of the “thermal death-point” that is, the minimum temperature at which the bacteria are killed is a matter of great practical importance in many ways and numerous determinations of this have been made with a great many organisms and by different observers. the factors which enter into such determinations are so many and so varied that unless all the conditions of the experiment are given together with the time of application, the mere statements are worthless. it may be stated that all young, actively growing (non-spore-containing) disease-producing bacteria, when exposed in watery liquids and in small quantities are killed at a temperature of 60° within half an hour. it is evident, that this fact has very little practical application, since the conditions stated are rarely, if ever, fulfilled except in laboratory experiments. (see sterilization and pasteurization, chapter xiii.)
-speaking generally, it can be said that light is destructive to bacteria. many growing forms are killed in a few hours when properly exposed to direct sunlight and die out in several days in the diffuse daylight of a well-lighted room. even spores are destroyed in a similar manner, though the exposure must be considerably longer. certain bacteria which produce colors may grow in the light, since the pigments protect them. some few kinds, like the sulphur bacteria, which contain a purplish-red pigment that serves them to break up h₂s, need light for their growth. since disease-producing bacteria are all injuriously affected by light, the advantage of well-lighted habitations both for men and animals is obvious.
-oxygen is one of the constituents of protoplasm and is therefore necessary for all organisms. this does not mean that all organisms must obtain their supply from free oxygen, however, as animals and plants generally do. this fact is well illustrated by the differences among bacteria in this respect. some bacteria require free oxygen for their growth and are therefore called aërobic bacteria or aërobes (sometimes strict aërobes, though the adjective is unnecessary). others cannot grow in the presence of free oxygen and are therefore named anaërobic bacteria or anaërobes (strict is unnecessary). there are still other kinds which may grow either in the presence of free oxygen or in its absence, hence the term facultative anaërobes (usually) is applied to them. the distinction between facultative aërobe and facultative anaërobe might be made. the former means those which grow best in the absence of free oxygen, though capable of growing in its presence, while the latter term means those which grow best in the presence of free oxygen, but are capable of growing in its absence. the amount of oxygen in the atmosphere in which an organism grows may be conveniently expressed in terms of the oxygen pressure, i.e., in millimeters of mercury. it is evident that the maximum, minimum and optimum oxygen pressures for anaërobic bacteria are the same, namely, 0 mm. hg. this is true only for natural conditions, since a number of anaërobic organisms have been gradually accustomed to increasing amounts of o, so that by this process of training they finally grew in ordinary air, that is, at an oxygen pressure of about 150 mm. hg. (normal air pressure is 760 mm. hg. and oxygen makes up one-fifth of the air.) the minimum o pressure for facultative anaërobes is also 0 mm. hg. some experiments have been made to determine the limits for aërobes, but on a few organisms only, so that no general conclusions can be drawn from them. to illustrate: bacillus subtilis (a common “hay bacillus”) will grow at 10 mm. hg. pressure but not at 5 mm. hg. it will also grow in compressed oxygen at a pressure of three atmospheres (2280 mm. hg.), but not at four atmospheres (3040 mm. hg.), though it is not destroyed.
-parodko has determined the oxygen limits for five common organisms as follows:
-these few instances do not disclose any general principles which may be applied either for the growth or for the distinction of aërobes or facultative anaërobes.
-it has been shown that compressed oxygen will kill some bacteria but this method of destroying them has little or no practical value. oxygen in the form of ozone, o₃, is rapidly destructive to bacteria, and this fact is applied practically in the purification of water supplies for certain cities where the ozone is generated by electricity obtained cheaply from water power. the same is true of oxygen in the “nascent state” as illustrated by the use of hypochlorites for the same purpose.
-like all living cells bacteria are very susceptible to changes in the density of the surrounding medium. if placed in a medium less concentrated than their own protoplasm water is absorbed and they “swell up”; while if placed in a denser medium, water is given off and they shrink (plasmoptysis or plasmolysis). should these differences be marked or the transition be sudden, the cell walls may even burst and the organisms be destroyed. if the differences are not too great or if the transition is made gradually, the organisms may not be destroyed, but will either cease to grow and slowly die out, or will show very much retarded growth, or will produce abnormal cell forms. this is illustrated in the laboratory in attempting to grow bacteria on food material which has dried out. a practical application of osmotic effects is in the use of a high percentage of sugar in preserving fruits, etc., and in the salting of meats. neither the cane-sugar nor the common salt themselves injure the bacteria chemically, but by the high concentration prevent their development. in drying material in order to preserve it there are two factors involved: first, the loss of water necessary for growth and second, the increased osmotic pressure.
-in a medium of greater density diffusion of water is outward from the cell and this will continue until an equilibrium is established between cell contents and medium. food for the organism must be in solution and enter the cell by diffusion. therefore, growth ceases in a medium too dense, since water to carry food in solution does not enter the cell.
-röntgen or x-rays and radium emanations when properly applied to bacteria will destroy them. the practical use of these agents for the direct destruction of bacteria in diseases of man or animals is restricted to those cases where they may be applied directly to the diseased area, since they are just as injurious to the animal cell as they are to the bacteria, and even more so. their skilful use as stimuli to the body cells to enable them to resist and overcome bacteria and other injurious organisms or cell growths is an entirely different function and will not be considered here.
-hydrostatic pressure up to about 10,000 pounds per square inch is without appreciable effect on bacteria as has been shown by several experimenters and also by finding living bacteria in the ooze dredged from the bottom of the ocean at depths of several miles.
-pressures from 10,000 to 100,000 pounds show variable effects. some bacteria are readily killed and others, even non-spore formers, are only slightly affected. the time factor is important in this connection. the presence of acids, even co₂, or organic acids, results in the destruction of most non-spore formers.
-vibrations transmitted to bacteria in a liquid may be injurious to them under certain circumstances. some of the larger forms like bacillus subtilis may be completely destroyed by shaking in a rapidly moving shaking machine in a few hours. bacteria in liquids placed on portions of machinery where only a slight trembling is felt, have been found to be killed after several days. reinke has shown that the passing of strong sound waves through bacterial growths markedly inhibits their development.
-reaction of medium.
-most bacteria are very susceptible to changes in the degree of acidity or alkalinity of the medium in which they grow. some kinds prefer a slightly acid reaction, some a slightly alkaline, and some a neutral (with reference to litmus as indicator). the organism which is the commonest cause of the souring of milk thrives so well in the acid medium it produces that it crowds out practically all other kinds, though its own growth is eventually stopped by too much acid. acid soils are usually low in numbers of bacteria and as a consequence produce poor crops. the disease-producing bacteria as a class grow best in a medium which is slightly alkaline.
-accurate determination of limits have been made on but few organisms. the reaction is a most important factor in growing bacteria on artificial media (see making of media, chapter xvi).
-injurious chemical substances.
-the chemical composition is subject to wide variation chiefly for two reasons: first, the cell wall in most instances seems to exert only a slight selective action in the absorption of mineral salts so that their concentration within the cell is very nearly that of the surrounding medium. second, the chief organic constitutents vary remarkably with the kind and amount of food material available--a rich protein pabulum increases the protein, a plentiful supply of carbohydrates or of fat results in the storing of more fat, especially and vice versa. these facts must be borne in mind in considering the chemistry of bacteria.
-of the chemical elements known, only the following seem to be essential in the structure of bacteria: carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, sulphur, phosphorus, chlorine, potassium, calcium, magnesium, iron, manganese. other elements, as sodium, iodine, silicon, aluminum, lithium, copper, etc., have been reported by different analysts, but none of them can be regarded as essential, except possibly in isolated instances.
-these elements exist in the bacterial cell in a great variety of combinations of which the most abundant is water. the amount of water varies in different species from 75 to 90 per cent. of the total weight in growing cells, and is less in spores. the amount of ash has been shown by different observers to vary from less than 2 per cent. to as much as 30 per cent. of the dry weight. the following table compiled from various sources will give an idea of the relative abundance of the different elements in the ash.
-as to the form in which the last six elements in the table exist in the cell, little is known. the sulphur and phosphorus are essential constituents of various proteins. the high percentage of phosphorus points to nuclein compounds as its probable source.
-the carbon and nitrogen, together with most of the hydrogen and oxygen not united as water, make up the great variety of organic compounds which compose the main substances in the bacterial cell.
-though it is extremely difficult to separate the cell wall of bacteria from the cell contents, in the light of our present knowledge it can be stated that the cell walls are composed of a carbohydrate body closely related to cellulose, though not true cellulose, probably in close combination with chitin.
-of the organic constituents of the cell contents the most abundant are various proteins which ordinarily make up about one-half of the dry weight of the entire cell. the “mycoproteid” of nencki, 1879, and other earlier workers is deserving of little more than historical interest, since these substances were certainly very impure and probably consisted of mixtures of several “proteins” in the more recent sense.
-from later studies it seems probable that substances resembling the albumin of higher forms do not occur in bacteria, at least in appreciable quantities. globulin has been reported by hellmich in an undetermined bacterium, but is certainly not commonly found. the larger portion of the protein is of a comparatively simple type, in fact, consists of protamins most of which are in combination with nucleic acid as nucleoprotamins. practically all recent workers find a high percentage of nuclein, both actually isolated and as indicated by the amounts of purin bases--xanthin, guanin, adenin--obtained, as well as by the abundance of phosphorus in the ash, already mentioned. some of these nucleins have been shown to have poisonous properties.
-closely related to but not identical with the proteins are the enzymes and toxins which are formed in the cell and exist there as endo-enzymes or endo-toxins respectively. these substances will be discussed later under the heading “physiological activities of bacteria” (chapter xii).
-carbohydrates are not commonly present in the cell contents, though glycogen has been observed in a few and a substance staining blue with iodine in one or two others. this latter substance was at first considered to be starch “granulose,” but is probably more closely related to glycogen.
-fats seem to be very generally present. the commoner fats--tri-olein, tri-palmitin, tri-stearin have been found by many analysts. the “acid-fast bacteria” are particularly rich in fatty substances, especially the higher wax-like fats. lecithins (phosphorized fats) and cholesterins (not fats but alcohols) have been repeatedly observed and probably occur in all bacteria as products of katabolism.
-organic acids and esters occur as cell constituents but will be discussed in connection with their more characteristic occurrences as products of bacterial activity, as will also pigments which may likewise be intracellular in some instances.
-the following analysis of tubercle bacilli, from de schweinitz and dorset, while not intended as typical for all bacteria, still illustrates the high percentage of protein compounds which undoubtedly occurs in most, as well as showing the large amount of fatty substance in a typical “acid-fast” organism:
-chemical environment (continued).
-general food relationships. metabolism.
-the foregoing brief review of the chemical composition of the bacterial cell illustrates the variety of compounds which necessarily occurs, but affords no definite clue as to the source of the elements which enter into these compounds. these elements come from the material which the organism uses as food. under this term are included elements or compounds which serve as building material, either for new cell substance or to repair waste, or as sources of energy.
-it is evident that all parasites that may be cultivated outside the body are for the time saprophytic, hence the terms strict parasites and facultative parasites, which should require no further explanation.
-the changes which the above-mentioned types of food material undergo in the various anabolic and katabolic processes within the cell are as yet but very slightly known. nevertheless there are a number of reactions brought about by bacteria acting on various food materials, partly within but largely without the cell which are usually described as “physiological activities” or “biochemical reactions.” some of these changes are to be ascribed to the utilization of certain of the elements and compounds in these materials as tissue builders, some as energy-yielding reactions and still others as giving rise to substances that are of direct benefit to the organism concerned in its competition with other organisms.
-though all of the twelve elements already mentioned are essential for the growth of every bacterium, two of them are of especial importance for the reason that most of the “physiological activities” to be described in the next chapters are centered around their acquisition and utilization. these elements are carbon and nitrogen. some few of the special activities of certain groups have to do with one or the other of the remaining nine, as will be shown later. but generally speaking when a bacterium under natural conditions secures an adequate supply of carbon and nitrogen, the other elements are readily available in sufficient amount.
-carbon is necessary not only because it is an essential constituent of protoplasm but because its oxidation is the chief source of the energy necessary for the internal life of the cell, though nitrogen and sulphur replace it in this function with a few forms. this latter use of carbon constitutes what may be called its respiratory function. bacteria like other organisms in their respiration utilize oxygen and give off carbon dioxide. the amount of the latter given off from the cell in this way is very small as compared with that which is frequently produced as an accompaniment of other reactions (see fermentation, next chapter). but there is no doubt of its formation and it has been determined by a few investigators. on account of this use of carbon, bacteria require relatively large amounts of this element. one group of bacteria concerned in the spontaneous heating of coal seems to be able to use free carbon from this material. another group is said to be able to oxidize marsh gas, ch₄, and use this as its source of carbon. the nitrite, nitrate and sulphur bacteria mentioned later utilize carbon dioxide and carbonates as their carbon supply, and one kind has been described which uses carbon monoxide. with these few exceptions bacteria are dependent on organic compounds for their carbon and cannot use co₂ as green plants do.
-the oxygen requirement is high partly for the same reason that carbon is, i.e., respiration. oxygen is one of the constituents of protoplasm, and combined with hydrogen forms water which makes up such a large part of the living cell. anaërobic bacteria are dependent on so-called “molecular respiration” for their energy. that is, through a shifting or rearrangement of the atoms in the compounds used as food the oxidation of carbon is brought about. enzymes are probably responsible for this action. carbon dioxide is produced by anaërobes as well as by aërobes, and frequently in amounts readily collected. a carbohydrate is usually though not always essential for the growth of anaërobes and serves them as the best source of energy.
-nitrogen is the characteristic element of living material. protoplasm is a chemical substance in unstable equilibrium and nitrogen is responsible for this instability. no other of the commoner elements is brought into combination with such difficulty, nor is so readily liberated when combined (all commercial explosives are nitrogen compounds). bacteria, like other forms of protoplasm, require nitrogen. more marked peculiarities are shown by bacteria with reference to the sources from which they derive their nitrogen than for carbon. some can even combine the free nitrogen of the air and furnish the only natural means of any importance for this reaction. some few forms (the nitrite and nitrate formers, chapter xi) obtain their energy from the oxidation of inorganic nitrogen compounds, ammonia and nitrites respectively, and not from carbon. these latter bacteria use carbon from carbon dioxide and carbonates. a great many bacteria can secure their nitrogen from nitrates but some are restricted to organic nitrogen. many bacteria obtain their carbon from the same organic compounds from which their nitrogen is derived.
-sulphur serves mainly as a constituent of protein compounds in the protoplasmic structure. in some of the sulphur bacteria it is a source of energy, since either free sulphur or h₂s is oxidized by them. some of these bacteria can obtain their carbon from co₂ or carbonates, and their nitrogen from nitrates or ammonium salts.
-whether the iron bacteria, belonging to the genus crenothrix of the higher, thread bacteria, use this element or its compounds as sources of energy is still a disputed question. the evidence is largely in favor of this view.
-free hydrogen has been shown to be oxidized by some forms which obtain their energy in this way.
-whether there is a special class of phosphorus bacteria remains to be discovered. that phosphorus is oxidized during the activity of many bacteria is undoubted, but whether this represents a source of energy or is the accidental by-product of other activities is undetermined.
-practically nothing is known about the metabolism of the other elements as such.
-from the preceding brief review of the relation of certain bacteria to some of the elements in the free state and from the further fact that there is scarcely a known natural organic compound which cannot be utilized by some kind of bacterium, it is evident that this class of organisms has a far wider range of adaptability than any other class, and this adaptability helps to explain their seemingly universal distribution.
-as to the metabolism within the cell, no more is known than is the case with other cells, nor even as much. the materials used for growth and as sources of energy are taken into the cell, built up into various compounds some of which have been enumerated and in part broken down again. carbon dioxide and water are formed in the latter process. what other katabolic products occur it is not easy to determine. certainly some of the substances mentioned in the next chapters are such products but it is not always possible to separate those formed inside the cell from those formed outside. perhaps most of the latter should be considered true metabolic products. it would seem that on account of the simplicity of structure of the bacterial cell and of the compounds which they may use as food they would serve as excellent objects for the study of the fundamental problems of cell metabolism. their minuteness and the nearly impossible task of separating them completely from the medium in or on which they are grown makes the solution of these problems one of great difficulty.
-when all of the environmental conditions necessary for the best development of a given bacterium are fulfilled, it will then develop to the limit of its capacity. this development is characterized essentially by its reproduction, which occurs by transverse division. the rate of this division varies much with the kind even under good conditions. the most rapid rate so far observed is a division in eighteen minutes. a great many reproduce every half-hour and this may be taken as a good average rate. if such division could proceed without interruption, a little calculation will show that in about sixty-five hours a mass as large as the earth would be produced.
-such a rate of increase evidently cannot be kept up long on account of many limiting factors, chief of which is the food supply.
-the foregoing calculation is based on the assumption that the organism divides in one plane only. if it divides in 2 or 3 planes, the rate is much faster, as is shown by the following formulæ, which indicate the theoretical rate of division:
-with two-plane or three-plane division, assuming that each organism attains full size, as was assumed in the first calculation, the “mass as large as the earth” would be attained in about thirty-two and twenty-two hours respectively.
-this extraordinary rate of increase explains in large measure why bacteria are able to bring about such great chemical changes in so short a time as is seen in the rapid “spoiling” of food materials, especially liquids. the reactions brought about by bacteria on substances which are soluble and diffusible are essentially “surface reactions.” the material diffuses into the cell over its entire surface with little hindrance. the bacteria are usually distributed throughout the medium, so that there is very intimate contact in all parts of the mass which favors rapid chemical action. the following calculation illustrates this:
-the volume of a coccus 1µ in diameter is 0.5236 × 10⁻¹³ cc. the surface of a coccus 1µ in diameter is π × 10⁻⁸ sq. cm.
-it is not uncommon to find in milk on the point of souring 1,000,000,000 bacteria per cc.
-assuming these to be cocci of 1µ diameter the volume of these bacteria in a liter is only 0.05 cc. or in the liter there would be 19999 parts of milk and only 1 part bacteria. the surface area of these bacteria is 3141.6 sq. cm. with this large surface exposed, it is not strange that the change from “on the point of souring” to “sour” occurs within an hour or less.
-although large numbers of bacteria can and do cause great chemical changes the amount of material actually utilized for maintenance of the cell is very slight, infinitesimal almost, and yet is fairly comparable to that required for man, as is illustrated by the following computations:
-e. kohn has shown that certain water bacteria grew well in water to which there was added per liter 0.000002 mg. dextrose, 0.00000007 mg. (nh₄)₂so₄ and 0.0000000007 mg. (nh₄)₂hpo₄. the bacteria numbered about 1000 per cc. taking the specific gravity at 1 (a little too low) the mass of the bacteria in the liter was about 0.001 mg. hence the bacteria used 0.002 of their weight of carbohydrate and 0.00007 of ammonium sulphate. a 150-pound (75-kilo) man can live on 375 g. of sugar (0.005 of his weight) and 52.5 g. of protein (0.0007 of his weight). from these figures it can be calculated that the man utilizes about two and a half times as much carbohydrate and about seven times as much nitrogen as the bacterium, relatively speaking.
-the physiological activities of motion, reproduction and metabolism within the cell have been discussed in previous chapters. the objects in view in the discussion of the “physiological activities” (sometimes spoken of as “biochemical” activities) of bacteria in this and subsequent chapters are to familiarize the student to some extent with the great range of chemical changes brought about by these minute organisms, to show their usefulness, even their necessity, and to impress the fact that it is chiefly by a careful study of these “activities” that individual kinds of bacteria are identified. it should always be borne in mind that the bacteria, in bringing about these changes which are so characteristic in many instances, are simply engaged in their own life struggle, in securing the elements which they need for growth, in liberating energy for vital processes, or occasionally in providing conditions which favor their own development and hinder that of their competitors.
-fermentation of carbohydrates.
-these changes are marked chiefly by the production of gas or acid. the former is called “gaseous fermentation” the latter “acid fermentation.” the gases commonly produced are carbon dioxide (co₂) hydrogen and marsh gas (ch₄). other gases of the paraffin series may also be formed as ethane (c₂h₆), acetylene (c₂h₂), etc. co₂ and h are the ones usually formed from sugars by the few gas-forming bacteria which produce disease, though even here some ch₄ is present. the common bacterium coli forms all three, though the ch₄ is in smallest quantity.
-in the fermentation of the polysaccharids--starch and especially cellulose and woody material--large amounts of ch₄ occur, particularly when the changes are due to anaërobic bacteria. this phenomenon may be readily observed in sluggish streams, ponds and swamps where vegetable matter accumulates on the bottom. the bubbles of gas which arise when the mass is disturbed explode if a lighted match is applied to them.
-one of the very few practical uses of the gaseous fermentation of carbohydrates is in making “salt rising” bread. the “rising” of the material is due not to yeasts but to the formation of gas by certain bacteria which are present on the corn meal or flour used in the process (fig. 63).
-another is in the formation of the “holes” or “eyes” so characteristic of swiss and other types of cheese (fig. 64).
-a great many organic acids are formed during the “acid fermentation” of carbohydrates by bacteria. each kind of bacterium, as a rule, forms several different acids as well as other substances, though usually one is produced in much larger amounts, and the kind of fermentation is named from this acid. one of the commonest of these acids is lactic. the “lactic acid bacteria” form a very large and important group and are indispensable in many commercial processes. in the making of butter the cream is first “ripened,” as is the milk from which many kinds of cheese are made (fig. 65). the chief feature of this “ripening” is the formation of lactic acid from the milk-sugar by the action of bacteria. a similar change occurs in the popular “bulgarian fermented milk.” the reaction is usually represented by the equation:
-it is not probable that the change occurs quantitatively as indicated, because a number of other substances are also formed. some of these are acetic and succinic acids and alcohol. another industrial use of this acid fermentation is in the preparation of “sauer kraut.” these bacteria are chiefly anaërobic and grow best in a relatively high salt concentration. they occur naturally on the cabbage leaves.
-in the formation of ensilage (fig. 66) the lactic acid bacteria play a very important part, as they do also in “sour mash” distilling, and in many kinds of natural “pickling.” in fact, whenever green vegetable material “sours” spontaneously, lactic acid bacteria are always present and account for a large part of the acid. this property of lactic acid formation is also taken advantage of in the preparation of lactic acid on a commercial scale in at least one plant in this country.
-acetic acid is another common product of acid fermentation. however, in vinegar making the acetic acid is not formed directly from the sugar in the fruit juice by bacteria. the sugar is first converted into alcohol by yeasts, then the alcohol is oxidized to acid by the bacteria (fig. 67). the reaction may be represented as follows:
-butyric acid is generally produced where fermentation of carbohydrates occurs under anaërobic conditions. some of the “strong” odor of certain kinds of cheese is due to this acid which is formed partly from the milk-sugar remaining in the cheese. most of it under these conditions comes from the proteins of the cheese and especially from the fat (see page 101).
-as has been indicated alcohol is a common accompaniment of most acid fermentations, as are the esters of acids other than the chief product. bacteria are not used in a commercial way to produce alcohol, however, as the yield is too small. there are some few bacteria in which the amount of alcohol is prominent enough to call the process an “alcoholic fermentation” rather than an acid one. in brewing and distilling industries, yeasts are used to make the alcohol, though molds replace them in some countries (“sake” and “arrak” from rice).
-in all of these fermentations the bacteria are utilizing the carbon both as building material and for oxidation and the fermentations are incidental to this use. as a rule, the acid-forming bacteria can withstand a higher concentration of acid than the other bacteria that would utilize the same material, and in a short time crowd out their competitors or inhibit their growth, and thus have better conditions for their own existence, though finally their growth is also checked by the acid.
-splitting of fats.
-the splitting of fats into glycerin and the particular acid or acids involved may be brought about by bacteria. an illustration is the development of rancidity in butter at times and the “strong” odor of animal fats on long keeping and of many kinds of asuncion. the next best-known firm is the industriel paraguaya. both are capitalized heavily and have their main offices in asuncion and villa encarnacion with branch offices throughout argentina. barthe is a very wealthy man; he was formerly a french adventurer who struck it rich through none too scrupulous means. his latest trick was to sell a lot of his maté under the trademark of the industriel paraguaya. this was done at rosario. he was tried there and found guilty. he was sentenced to one year in jail and to pay a fine of two hundred thousand dollars. before they could get him, he got into paraguay where he is immune from the argentine law. he owns a fleet of steamers plying between montevideo and asuncion which touch at argentine ports. on these he is safe since his steamship line is not incorporated in argentina. nevertheless barthe has helped advance progress and industry in argentina and this should not have been overlooked when sentence was pronounced upon him. at that time he was about to build a million-dollar hotel at posadas. although what he did was unprincipled, his sentence was twenty-fold too severe, and shows plainly that the argentine bloodsuckers are out to exploit the foreigners for every cent they can get out of them.
-there are in paraguay boundless tracks of virgin soil suitable for yerbales. it requires but little expense to work them and there is an unlimited market for paraguayan tea. it is said that the argentine army is going to adopt yerba maté to be distributed among the soldiers for their daily rations. this tea-drinking craze among the natives is uncanny. to many of them it is life; the foreigner, however, rarely acquires the habit, although he partakes of it for the sake of sociability while in paraguay.
-next in line among paraguay's industries is the saladerias. the whole country covered with a thick matting of grasses is a paradise for cattle. land is inexpensive, the pasturage is better than in argentina, and more stock can be raised to the acre. here and in matto grosso, a future stock country, the grazing lands come down to the great waterways, and although the river boats are of low draught necessitating a rehandling at the seaport towns, canned beef can be shipped direct from the saladerias in the stock country.
-tannin is a more staple industry than in argentina although it is still in embryo. the writer had an opportunity to engage in this manufacture, which he nearly took up; in ordinary times it would have been all right, but at this particular time there was a change in paraguayan politics and the manufacture of tannic acid was handicapped by the european war. a barcelona spaniard, señor andres pujol, president of the banco constructador del paraguay and a friend of the writer, was held in high esteem by the then dictator, señor eduardo schaerer. one of the large brick buildings owned by the hernandarias and frias brewery at puerto sajonia, on the outskirts of asuncion, was vacated in favor of a modern brewery plant in the city. its machinery could be used in the manufacture of tannic acid and the plant could have been bought for a song. it was the idea of señor pujol for he and myself to buy this building and erect, in connection with it, a sawmill. we were to pay for quebracho logs delivered at the plant from which we were to strip the bark, from which we were to extract the tannin. at that time asuncion was having most of its new streets paved with quebracho blocks. we were to give señor schaerer stock in the company and in return he was to give us a franchise to furnish the paving material which we would manufacture by cutting up the logs at the sawmill. we were also to be exempt from taxes for a number of years. soon after this schaerer was succeeded in the presidency by dr. manuel franco, a native, and it was likely that he would undo everything that schaerer did, in which case our franchise would not amount to a picayune. this combined with the present prospects of no shipment of tannic acid to foreign parts caused me not to inaugurate this enterprise, which will still be open to anybody. the best time to start this is soon after the election of a popular president, because in the four years during which he will hold office, there will be plenty of time in which to accumulate a fortune.
-the future manufacturing and commercial opportunities in chile is utterly different and far brighter than in any other south american country. chile has a decidedly bright future and at the present time only lacks capital to develop her resources. business conditions are much better; there is more snap to her people; there is less graft and it is a cheaper country to live in. to this is added the fact that the climate is good. topographically and geographically this republic can be divided into three distinct zones. beginning at its extreme north and running down the coast one-third of its whole longitude is the rainless zone. this is a vast forbidding desert, interspersed at varying distances by a few oases. the mountains begin at the ocean and gradually rise in steep ranges until a maximum of twenty thousand feet is attained in a hundred and fifty miles at the eastern boundary which is the argentine frontier. twenty miles back from the ocean are plateaus averaging from two thousand to five thousand feet high which furnish most of the world's nitrate supply. this nitrate is from two to six feet underneath the surface of the soil and is supposed to be the manure of birds that infested this region in pre-glacial periods. from these fields is derived much of the wealth of the country. many of the older nitrate fields have become exhausted, especially those farthest north on the iquique pampa, but new ones are constantly being opened up to the south of the old workings and from them is due the importance of antofagasta. it was to acquire these nitrate deposits that chile declared war upon bolivia and peru in 1879 which caused them to change hands. it is a blessing to that part of the country that it never rains, because if it did, the nitrate deposits would be washed away. this zone is hot.
-the second zone is that which begins immediately south of the rainless one and which extends another third of the length of the country down the coast. it consists of a coast range of mountains timbered with conifers and small hardwood trees, the mountain peaks rarely rising above three thousand feet in altitude. beyond them is the great longitudinal valley from thirty to fifty miles in width. here are situated most of the towns and two thirds of the country's population. this is the granary of the republic, and it is here that are located the great vineyards, the fruit farms, and the small manufacturing industries. this zone has a sufficiency of annual precipitation but climatically is divided into two seasons, the dry and the rainy one. during the winter months from may to october there are frequent rains while the rest of the year it seldom rains, although showers are likely to occur at any time, these being of more frequent prevalence the farther south one goes.
-the remaining zone which reaches the remaining distance of the coast line as far as cape horn is an archipelago and a narrow strip of land extending inland about fifty miles to the argentine frontier. this district is a mountainous mass, indented by many bays and fiords, well timbered, but so steep are the mountains that come down to the water's edge that there are no towns and but few places where habitations can be built. a great part of this region is unexplored. it undoubtedly is rich in mineral deposits but its inaccessibility has kept it from being developed. the annual rainfall is great but this diminishes towards the southern apex. in winter there are heavy snowfalls, while the tops of the mountains possess innumerable glaciers.
-chile is rich in minerals. some of its mines have been worked ever since the spanish conquest and new fields are constantly being opened. in the arid north copper is found behind gatico and at chuquicamata, the guggenheim interests being at the latter place. there are copper mines in the provinces of atacama, and coquimbo, and at the headwaters of the cauquenes river in the province of colchagua is the large productive mine of the braden copper company. there are iron mines at la higuera in the province of coquimbo and coal mines at lota, in the province of concepcion. silver and gold is found throughout the whole republic in paying quantities. next to nitrate and minerals, vineyards play the most important part. from the province of aconcagua southward 250 miles, grapes play a great rôle, yet but little wine is exported. the southern provinces and the central valley produce an abundance of wheat, rye, and barley, but owing to an inadequate market, it is a gamble whether the farmer will lose or make a profit on his crops.
-what chile needs more than capital is immigration. her increase in population has been small, likewise her immigration. the european immigrant lands at buenos aires and seeks employment in argentina, while if he crossed the andes into chile, he would find a land where he could make a better living for himself and buy some of the most fertile land in this universe for a cheap price. southern chile has a large population of german descent who have done remarkably well, but the great number of spaniards and italians who yearly immigrate to the republics of south america's eastern littoral are here conspicuous by their absence.
-in manufactures, the breweries are chile's largest industry. there is a brewery trust in chile, like in argentina, but it is nowhere near so strong nor so well capitalized. it consists of la calera brewery at la calera, the valdivia breweries company at valdivia, the andres ebner brewery at santiago, the floto brewery at la serena and the limache-cousiño brewery at limache, which is the largest in chile. a fact which shows that the trust is not strong is that all the independent breweries have done well. aubel's brewery at osorno, and keller's breweries at concepcion and talca are large ones. there are many small breweries such as petersen's at punta arenas, julius jenson's at chillán, and horstmann's at santiago. much beer is drunk in chile, and there is plenty of grain, so after the war there will be an excellent opportunity of starting a brewery. the only drawback has been the supply of malt and hops which comes from foreign countries and which the brewers have been unable to procure in sufficient quantities in recent years owing to the freight shortage.
-santiago is a city of over four hundred thousand inhabitants yet only has two breweries, that of ebner which belongs to the trust and that of horstmann which does not. horstmann before the war got a supply of hops large enough to last him six years if his brewery ran at its full capacity. he is an old man who has amassed all the money he wants, and his heirs have no inclination to continue the business. in 1917 he could have been bought out at a very reasonable price and i believe the same holds true to-day. his business has been a family trade and his beer is said to be the best in chile. since there is small likelihood of chile ever going prohibition, here is a chance for somebody. valparaiso has no brewery on account of its water being too hard. i have no doubt but that a brewery at either chillán, which has only one small brewery, or at curicó which has no brewery, would pay. temuco, los angeles, san fernando, and linares could support breweries. in northern chile there are no breweries excepting one at la serena, yet either antofagasta or iquique would be ideal spots for one. the water in these cities has to be piped in from a distance of 150 miles, yet since there is sufficient to supply other establishments there would be enough to supply breweries. copiapó is likewise well situated for a brewery. it could be made the central distributing point for other towns such as antofagasta, taltal, chañaral, vallenar, and huasco. the output could be shipped to its seaport caldera, and thence along the coast to the other towns in case of a shortage of freight cars. in chile as in the united states the breweries buy saloon licenses to put into business men who handle only their goods, but unlike in the united states, saloons play no part in politics, and with the exception of the sailors' dives in the seaports they are run in strict accordance with the law. the violations that i have mentioned in this book occurred in antofagasta which has the reputation of being a notoriously tough town.
-a business with a future and which could be made profitable is an enamel works and tin-ware factory. in all south america, business signs, doctors' signs, street names, and house numbers are of enamelled tin. most of the kitchen ware, bathtubs, and chamber sets are of the same article. there is an enamel ware works at valparaiso and another one at santiago. the latter is the esmaltadera chilena, managed by don federigo reddoehl. this would be a paying proposition but so far lacks capital. the heaviest interest is owned by a senator named charme, but the other stockholders could be bought out at par. chile is dependent upon the united states for its sheet-iron and tin supply; the war has put a damper on this, but as soon as shipments can be renewed, there is no reason why an enterprise of this kind would not be a good investment.
-unfortunately chile's timber is hardwood, so lumber mills would not pay. it is dependent on its lumber for building purposes from the united states. although there is much hardwood, the floors are tile or cement, which is much cheaper there than oak or maple, and since the ordinary pocket-book cannot afford to pay the price of the latter, a hardwood flooring plant would be negative.
-in the south there are plenty of small flour mills but there are but few in the central valley. since much grain goes to waste and since flour is in demand, more of these small mills could be started, but none of the cities near to the grain supply are large enough to warrant large mills.
-chile is not a stock country. cattle are dear, likewise the hides. therefore a shoe factory would not pay.
-the railroads of the central valley are owned by the state and do not pay on account of it. the personnel is large and is made up entirely of political henchmen of the senators and congressmen. the government realizes this and there has been talk of renting the lines or selling them to private companies. this would be good sense. this central valley is crossed lengthwise by one main trunk-line touching at the important towns. from these at right angles run branch lines to places of minor importance. yet so thickly settled is this valley, and so productive is it, that another parallel line from santiago to concepcion, touching points not on the government railway, could possibly be made to pay a profit. from talca it could run southwestward through san javier, and cauquenes crossing the coast range between quirihue and coelemu at no perceptibly steep grade, opening up a new country, and saving a distance of seventy-five miles between the terminals. the country is mostly level and there would be no difficult engineering feats. the railroad from santiago to valparaiso is a roundabout one and crosses the steep mountain pass of tiltil. for years it has been talked of to shorten this line making it go through casa blanca, but the government has had no money for expenditures of such a sort. i have no doubt but that it would give a private company a concession if it meant business. an interurban electric line between these two large cities might pay. it would be eighty-five miles long and would also open up a new country.
-chile is in need of many first-class modern hotels built on the north american style, but not cramped for room like in the united states, and with the guests' rooms large enough for comfort. santiago, valparaiso, and concepcion have good hotels, but in the other cities they are poor. it would not pay a north american to build a hotel south of concepcion because in that region german influence predominates, and in many places the german population outnumbers that of the native. for years to come after the war the north american would be boycotted there. antofagasta opens an excellent field in the hotel line. there are four hotels there where it is possible to sleep and eat, but they fall much below the standard for such a busy port. the trade is evenly divided between them, but an up-to-date hostelry could easily shift that to themselves. arica is badly off in the hotel line. this is the port of la paz, bolivia, and traveling men to and from that city are often obliged to put in a few days in this most northern seaport of chile while waiting for their steamer. coquimbo, talca, and chillán need modern hotels, as well as los andes. the latter town which has a population of 8097 is important because it is the jumping-off place for argentina. the narrow-gauge railroad from there to mendoza is of such a nature that the trip has to be made in daylight on account of curves, bridges, and steep gradients which would be dangerous to traverse at night. passengers en route for argentina leave santiago and valparaiso in the evening arriving at los andes at night where they stop over, and continue the next morning. the train coming from argentina arrives at los andes at night and as it is sometimes late, passengers prefer to stop over there, continuing to santiago in the morning, rather than to change trains and arrive at santiago at an unseemly hour. the only hotel fit to stop at in los andes is the poor one owned by the transandine railway, and it is nearly always overcrowded. it is a flimsy frame structure, dirty, and with poor service. it is some distance from the main part of the city, but another hotel built in its neighborhood would catch all the transient trade, because most of it focuses there instead of in the town. rancagua has a floating population comprised of the mining element from the braden copper company. many of these are north americans and canadians, and every day some of them are obliged to stop overnight at rancagua to get a train out the following day. also rancagua is the station for the baths of cauquenes to which there is constant journeying to and fro during the summer season. the city has a population of 10,380 irrespective of transient trade with no hotel fit to stop at.
-plaza pringles san luis
-plaza san martin mendoza
-plaza arenales salta
-plaza independencia tucumán
-plaza o'higgins chillán
-plaza santo aldea chillán
-plaza in san felipe
-inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved.
-obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
-on page 407, "cue" should possibly be "clue."
-a book of remarkable criminals
-by h.b. irving
-to my friend
-"for violence and hurt tangle every man in their toils, and for the most part fall on the head of him from whom they had their rise; nor is it easy for one who by his act breaks the common pact of peace to lead a calm and quiet life."
-lucretius on the nature of things.
-the upper outside corner of page 15 and 16 has been torn from the hardcopy. the spots are marked with?? and a best guess at missing words is in brackets. footnotes have been moved from end of page to end of paragraph positions, sequentially numbered.
-the life of charles peace:
-i. his early years ii. peace in london iii. his trial and execution
-the career of robert butler:
-i. the dunedin murders ii. the trial of butler iii. his decline and fall
-i. the climbing little grocer ii. the gaye of bluff
-i. an unhappy coincidence ii. the trial of dr. castaing
-the mysterious mr. holmes:
-i. honour amongst thieves ii the wandering assassin
-partnership in crime:
-a book of remarkable criminals
-"the silent workings, and still more the explosions, of human passion which bring to light the darker elements of man's nature present to the philosophical observer considerations of intrinsic interest; while to the jurist, the study of human nature and human character with its infinite varieties, especially as affecting the connection between motive and action, between irregular desire or evil disposition and crime itself, is equally indispensable and difficult."--wills on circumstantial evidence.
-i remember my father telling me that sitting up late one night talking with tennyson, the latter remarked that he had not kept such late hours since a recent visit of jowett. on that occasion the poet and the philosopher had talked together well into the small hours of the morning. my father asked tennyson what was the subject of conversation that had so engrossed them. "murders," replied tennyson. it would have been interesting to have heard tennyson and jowett discussing such a theme. the fact is a tribute to the interest that crime has for many men of intellect and imagination. indeed, how could it be otherwise? rob history and fiction of crime, how tame and colourless would be the residue! we who are living and enduring in the presence of one of the greatest crimes on record, must realise that trying as this period of the world's history is to those who are passing through it, in the hands of some great historian it may make very good reading for posterity. perhaps we may find some little consolation in this fact, like the unhappy victims of famous freebooters such as jack sheppard or charley peace.
-but do not let us flatter ourselves. do not let us, in all the pomp and circumstance of stately history, blind ourselves to the fact that the crimes of frederick, or napoleon, or their successors, are in essence no different from those of sheppard or peace. we must not imagine that the bad man who happens to offend against those particular laws which constitute the criminal code belongs to a peculiar or atavistic type, that he is a man set apart from the rest of his fellow-men by mental or physical peculiarities. that comforting theory of the lombroso school has been exploded, and the ordinary inmates of our prisons shown to be only in a very slight degree below the average in mental and physical fitness of the normal man, a difference easily explained by the environment and conditions in which the ordinary criminal is bred.
-a certain english judge, asked as to the general characteristics of the prisoners tried before him, said: "they are just like other people; in fact, i often think that, but for different opportunities and other accidents, the prisoner and i might very well be in one another's places." "greed, love of pleasure," writes a french judge, "lust, idleness, anger, hatred, revenge, these are the chief causes of crime. these passions and desires are shared by rich and poor alike, by the educated and uneducated. they are inherent in human nature; the germ is in every man."
-convicts represent those wrong-doers who have taken to a particular form of wrong-doing punishable by law. of the larger army of bad men they represent a minority, who have been found out in a peculiarly unsatisfactory kind of misconduct. there are many men, some lying, unscrupulous, dishonest, others cruel, selfish, vicious, who go through life without ever doing anything that brings them within the scope of the criminal code, for whose offences the laws of society provide no punishment. and so it is with some of those heroes of history who have been made the theme of fine writing by gifted historians.
-mr. basil thomson, the present head of the criminal investigation department, has said recently that a great deal of crime is due to a spirit of "perverse adventure" on the part of the criminal. the same might be said with equal justice of the exploits of alexander the great and half the monarchs and conquerors of the world, whom we are taught in our childhood's days to look up to as shining examples of all that a great man should be. because crimes are played on a great stage instead of a small, that is no reason why our moral judgment should be suspended or silenced. class machiavelli and frederick the great as a couple of rascals fit to rank with jonathan wild, and we are getting nearer a perception of what constitutes the real criminal. "if," said frederick the great to his minister, radziwill, "there is anything to be gained by it, we will be honest; if deception is necessary, let us be cheats." these are the very sentiments of jonathan wild.
-crime, broadly speaking, is the attempt by fraud or violence to possess oneself of something belonging to another, and as such the cases of it in history are as clear as those dealt with in criminal courts. germany to-day has been guilty of a perverse and criminal adventure, the outcome of that false morality applied to historical transactions, of which carlyle's life of frederick is a monumental example. in that book we have a man whose instincts in more ways than one were those of a criminal, held up for our admiration, in the same way that the same writer fell into dithyrambic praise over a villain called francia, a former president of paraguay. a most interesting work might be written on the great criminals of history, and might do something towards restoring that balance of moral judgment in historical transactions, for the perversion of which we are suffering to-day.
-in the meantime we must be content to study in the microcosm of ordinary crime those instincts, selfish, greedy, brutal which, exploited often by bad men in the so-called cause of nations, have wrought such havoc to the happiness of mankind. it is not too much to say that in every man there dwell the seeds of crime; whether they grow or are stifled in their growth by the good that is in us is a chance mysteriously determined. as children of nature we must not be surprised if our instincts are not all that they should be. "in sober truth," writes john stuart mill, "nearly all the things for which men are hanged or imprisoned for doing to one another are nature's everyday performances," and in another passage: "the course of natural phenomena being replete with everything which when committed by human beings is most worthy of abhorrence, anyone who endeavoured in his actions to imitate the natural course of things would be universally seen and acknowledged to be the wickedest of men."
-here is explanation enough for the presence of evil in our natures, that instinct to destroy which finds comparatively harmless expression in certain forms of taking life, which is at its worst when we fall to taking each other's. it is to check an inconvenient form of the expression of this instinct that we punish murderers with death. we must carry the definition of murder a step farther before we can count on peace or happiness in this world. we must concentrate all our strength on fighting criminal nature, both in ourselves and in the world around us. with the destructive forces of nature we are waging a perpetual struggle for our very existence. why dissipate our strength by fighting among ourselves? by enlarging our conception of crime we move towards that end. what is anti-social, whether it be written in the pages of the historian or those of the newgate calendar, must in the future be regarded with equal abhorrence and subjected to equally sure punishment. every professor of history should now and then climb down from the giddy heights of thucydides and gibbon and restore his moral balance by comparing the acts of some of his puppets with those of their less fortunate brethren who have dangled at the end of a rope. if this war is to mean anything to posterity, the crime against humanity must be judged in the future by the same rigid standard as the crime against the person.
-the individual criminals whose careers are given in this book have been chosen from among their fellows for their pre-eminence in character or achievement. some of the cases, such as butler, castaing and holmes, are new to most english readers.
-charles peace is the outstanding popular figure in nineteenth-century crime. he is the type of the professional criminal who makes crime a business and sets about it methodically and persistently to the end. here is a man, possessing many of those qualities which go to make the successful man of action in all walks of life, driven by circumstances to squander them on a criminal career. yet it is a curious circumstance that this determined and ruthless burglar should have suffered for what would be classed in france as a "crime passionel." there is more than a possibility that a french jury would have found extenuating circumstances in the murder of dyson. the fate of peace is only another instance of the wrecking a strong man's career by his passion for a woman. in albert butler we have the criminal by conviction, a conviction which finds the ground ready prepared for its growth in the natural laziness and idleness of the man's disposition. the desire to acquire things by a short cut, without taking the trouble to work for them honestly, is perhaps the most fruitful of all sources of crime. butler, a bit of a pedant, is pleased to justify his conduct by reason and philosophy--he finds in the acts of unscrupulous monarchs an analogy to his own attitude towards life. what is good enough for caesar borgia is good enough for robert butler. like borgia he comes to grief; criminals succeed and criminals fail. in the case of historical criminals their crimes are open; we can estimate the successes and failures. with ordinary criminals, we know only those who fail. the successful, the real geniuses in crime, those whose guilt remains undiscovered, are for the most part unknown to us. occasionally in society a man or woman is pointed out as having once murdered somebody or other, and at times, no doubt, with truth. but the matter can only be referred to clandestinely; they are gazed at with awe or curiosity, mute witnesses to their own achievement. some years ago james payn, the novelist, hazarded the reckoning that one person in every five hundred was an undiscovered murderer. this gives us all a hope, almost a certainty, that we may reckon one such person at least among our acquaintances.(1)
-(1) the author was one of three men discussing this subject in a london club. they were able to name six persons of their various acquaintance who were, or had been, suspected of being successful murderers.
-derues is remarkable for the extent of his social ambition, the daring and impudent character of his attempts to gratify it, the skill, the consummate hypocrisy with which he played on the credulity of honest folk, and his flagrant employment of that weapon known and recognised to-day in the most exalted spheres by the expressive name of "bluff." he is remarkable, too, for his mirth and high spirits, his genial buffoonery; the merry murderer is a rare bird.
-perhaps webster's case is the clearest of the three. here we have a selfish, self-indulgent and spendthrift gentleman who has landed himself in serious financial embarrassment, seeking by murder to escape from an importunate and relentless creditor. he has not, apparently, the moral courage to face the consequences of his own weakness. he forgets the happiness of his home, the love of those dear to him, in the desire to free himself from a disgrace insignificent{sic} in comparison with that entailed by committing the highest of all crimes. one would wish to believe that webster's deed was unpremeditated, the result of a sudden gust of passion caused by his victim's acrimonious pursuit of his debtor. but there are circumstances in the case which tell powerfully against such a view. the character of the murderer seems curiously contradictory; both cunning and simplicity mark his proceedings; he makes a determined attempt to escape from the horrors of his situation and shows at the same time a curious insensibility to its real gravity. webster was a man of refined tastes and seemingly gentle character, loved by those near to him, well liked by his friends.
-the mystery that surrounds the real character of eugene aram is greater, and we possess little or no means of solving it. from what motive this silent, arrogant man, despising his ineffectual wife, this reserved and moody scholar stooped to fraud and murder the facts of the case help us little to determine. was it the hope of leaving the narrow surroundings of knaresborough, his tiresome belongings, his own poor way of life, and seeking a wider field for the exercise of those gifts of scholarship which he undoubtedly possessed that drove him to commit fraud in company with clark and houseman, and then, with the help of the latter, murder the unsuspecting clark? the fact of his humble origin makes his association with so low a ruffian as houseman the less remarkable. vanity in all probability played a considerable part in aram's disposition. he would seem to have thought himself a superior person, above the laws that bind ordinary men. he showed at the end no consciousness of his guilt. being something of a philosopher, he had no doubt constructed for himself a philosophy of life which served to justify his own actions. he was a deist, believing in "one almighty being the god of nature," to whom he recommended himself at the last in the event of his "having done amiss." he emphasised the fact that his life had been unpolluted and his morals irreproachable. but his views as to the murder of clark he left unexpressed. he suggested as justification of it that clark had carried on an intrigue with his neglected wife, but he never urged this circumstance in his defence, and beyond his own statement there is no evidence of such a connection.
-the revd. john selby watson, headmaster of the stockwell grammar school, at the age of sixty-five killed his wife in his library one sunday afternoon. things had been going badly with the unfortunate man. after more than twenty-five years' service as headmaster of the school at a meagre salary of l400 a year, he was about to be dismissed; the number of scholars had been declining steadily and a change in the headmastership thought necessary; there was no suggestion of his receiving any kind of pension. the future for a man of his years was dark enough. the author of several learned books, painstaking, scholarly, dull, he could hope to make but little money from literary work. under a cold, reserved and silent exterior, selby watson concealed a violence of temper which he sought diligently to repress. his wife's temper was none of the best. worried, depressed, hopeless of his future, he in all probability killed his wife in a sudden access of rage, provoked by some taunt or reproach on her part, and then, instead of calling in a policeman and telling him what he had done, made clumsy and ineffectual efforts to conceal his crime. medical opinion was divided as to his mental condition. those doctors called for the prosecution could find no trace of insanity about him, those called for the defence said that he was suffering from melancholia. the unhappy man would appear hardly to have realised the gravity of his situation. to a friend who visited him in prison he said: "here's a man who can write latin, which the bishop of winchester would commend, shut up in a place like this." coming from a man who had spent all his life buried in books and knowing little of the world the remark is not so greatly to be wondered at. profound scholars are apt to be impatient of mundane things. professor webster showed a similar want of appreciation of the circumstances of a person charged with wilful murder. selby watson was convicted of murder and sentenced to death. the sentence was afterwards commuted to one of penal servitude for life, the home secretary of the day showing by his decision that, though not satisfied of the prisoner's insanity, he recognised certain extenuating circumstances in his guilt.(2)
-(2) selby watson was tried at the central criminal court january, 1872.
-in castaing much ingenuity is shown in the conception of the crime, but the man is weak and timid; he is not the stuff of which the great criminal is made; holmes is cast in the true mould of the instinctive murderer. castaing is a man of sensibility, capable of domestic affection; holmes completely insensible to all feelings of humanity. taking life is a mere incident in the accomplishment of his schemes; men, women and children are sacrificed with equal mercilessness to the necessary end. a consummate liar and hypocrite, he has that strange power of fascination over others, women in particular, which is often independent altogether of moral or even physical attractiveness. we are accustomed to look for a certain vastness, grandeur of scale in the achievements of america. a study of american crime will show that it does not disappoint us in this expectation. the extent and audacity of the crimes of holmes are proof of it.
-to find a counterpart in imaginative literature to the complete criminal of the holmes type we must turn to the pages of shakespeare. in the number of his victims, the cruelty and insensibility with which he attains his ends, his unblushing hypocrisy, the fascination he can exercise at will over others, the richard iii. of shakespeare shows how clearly the poet understood the instinctive criminal of real life. the richard of history was no doubt less instinctively and deliberately an assassin than the richard of shakespeare. in the former we can trace the gradual temptation to crime to which circumstances provoke him. the murder of the princes, if, as one writer contends, it was not the work of henry vii.--in which case that monarch deserves to be hailed as one of the most consummate criminals that ever breathed and the worthy father of a criminal son--was no doubt forced to a certain extent on richard by the exigencies of his situation, one of those crimes to which bad men are driven in order to secure the fruits of other crimes. but the richard of shakespeare is no child of circumstance. he espouses deliberately a career of crime, as deliberately as peace or holmes or butler; he sets out "determined to prove a villain," to be "subtle, false and treacherous," to employ to gain his ends "stern murder in the dir'st degree." the character is sometimes criticised as being overdrawn and unreal. it may not be true to the richard of history, but it is very true to crime, and to the historical criminal of the borgian or prussian type, in which fraud and violence are made part of a deliberate system of so-called statecraft.
-shakespeare got nearer to what we may term the domestic as opposed to the political criminal when he created iago. in their envy and dislike of their fellowmen, their contempt for humanity in general, their callousness to the ordinary sympathies of human nature, robert butler, lacenaire, ruloff are witnesses to the poet's fidelity to criminal character in his drawing of the ancient. but there is a weakness in the character of iago regarded as a purely instinctive and malignant criminal; indeed it is a weakness in the consistency of the play. on two occasions iago states explicitly that othello is more than suspected of having committed adultery with his wife, emilia, and that therefore he has a strong and justifiable motive for being revenged on the moor. the thought of it he describes as "gnawing his inwards." emilia's conversation with desdemona in the last act lends some colour to the correctness of iago's belief. if this belief be well-founded it must greatly modify his character as a purely wanton and mischievous criminal, a supreme villain, and lower correspondingly the character of othello as an honourable and high-minded man. if it be a morbid suspicion, having no ground in fact, a mental obsession, then iago becomes abnormal and consequently more or less irresponsible. but this suggestion of emilia's faithlessness made in the early part of the play is never followed up by the dramatist, and the spectator is left in complete uncertainty as to whether there be any truth or not in iago's suspicion. if othello has played his ancient false, that is an extenuating circumstance in the otherwise extraordinary guilt of iago, and would no doubt be accorded to him as such, were he on trial before a french jury.
-the most successful, and therefore perhaps the greatest, criminal in shakespeare is king claudius of denmark. his murder of his brother by pouring a deadly poison into his ear while sleeping, is so skilfully perpetrated as to leave no suspicion of foul play. but for a supernatural intervention, a contingency against which no murderer could be expected to have provided, the crime of claudius would never have been discovered. smiling, jovial, genial as m. derues or dr. palmer, king claudius might have gone down to his grave in peace as the bluff hearty man of action, while his introspective nephew would in all probability have ended his days in the cloister, regarded with amiable contempt by his bustling fellowmen. how claudius got over the great difficulty of all poisoners, that of procuring the necessary poison without detection, we are not told; by what means he distilled the "juice of cursed hebenon"; how the strange appearance of the late king's body, which "an instant tetter" had barked about with "vile and loathsome crust," was explained to the multitude we are left to imagine. there is no real evidence to show that queen gertrude was her lover's accomplice in her husband's murder. if that had been so, she would no doubt have been of considerable assistance to claudius in the preparation of the crime. but in the absence of more definite proof we must assume claudius' murder of his brother to have been a solitary achievement, skilfully carried out by one whose genial good-fellowship and convivial habits gave the lie to any suggestion of criminality. whatever may have been his inward feelings of remorse or self-reproach, claudius masked them successfully from the eyes of all. hamlet's instinctive dislike of his uncle was not shared by the members of the danish court. the "witchcraft of his wit," his "traitorous gifts," were powerful aids to claudius, not only in the seduction of his sister-in-law, but the perpetration of secret murder.
-the case of the murder of king duncan of scotland by macbeth and his wife belongs to a different class of crime. it is a striking example of dual crime, four instances of which are given towards the end of this book. an italian advocate, scipio sighele, has devoted a monograph to the subject of dual crime, in which he examines a number of cases in which two persons have jointly committed heinous crimes.(3) he finds that in couples of this kind there is usually an incubus and a succubus, the one who suggests the crime, the other on whom the suggestion works until he or she becomes the accomplice or instrument of the stronger will; "the one playing the mephistophelian part of tempter, preaching evil, urging to crime, the other allowing himself to be overcome by his evil genius." in some cases these two roles are clearly differentiated; it is easy, as in the case of iago and othello, cassius and brutus, to say who prompted the crime. in others the guilt seems equally divided and the original suggestion of crime to spring from a mutual tendency towards the adoption of such an expedient. in macbeth and his wife we have a perfect instance of the latter class. no sooner have the witches prophesied that macbeth shall be a king than the "horrid image" of the suggestion to murder duncan presents itself to his mind, and, on returning to his wife, he answers her question as to when duncan is to leave their house by the significant remark, "to-morrow--as he proposes." to lady macbeth from the moment she has received her husband's letter telling of the prophecy of the weird sisters, murder occurs as a means of accomplishing their prediction. in the minds of macbeth and his wife the suggestion of murder is originally an auto-suggestion, coming to them independently of each other as soon as they learn from the witches that macbeth is one day to be a king. to banquo a somewhat similar intimation is given, but no foul thought of crime suggests itself for an instant to his loyal nature. what macbeth and his wife lack at first as thorough-going murderers is that complete insensibility to taking human life that marks the really ruthless assassin. lady macbeth has the stronger will of the two for the commission of the deed. it is doubtful whether without her help macbeth would ever have undertaken it. but even she, when her husband hesitates to strike, cannot bring herself to murder the aged duncan with her own hands because of his resemblance as he sleeps to her father. it is only after a deal of boggling and at serious risk of untimely interruption that the two contrive to do the murder, and plaster with blood the "surfeited grooms." in thus putting suspicion on the servants of duncan the assassins cunningly avert suspicion from themselves, and macbeth's killing of the unfortunate men in seeming indignation at the discovery of their crime is a master-stroke of ingenuity. "who," he asks in a splendid burst of feigned horror, "can be wise, amazed, temperate and furious, loyal and natural in a moment?" at the same time lady macbeth affects to swoon away in the presence of so awful a crime. for the time all suspicion of guilt, except in the mind of banquo, is averted from the real murderers. but, like so many criminals, macbeth finds it impossible to rest on his first success in crime. his sensibility grows dulled; he "forgets the taste of fear"; the murder of banquo and his son is diabolically planned, and that is soon followed by the outrageous slaughter of the wife and children of macduff. ferri, the italian writer on crime, describes the psychical condition favourable to the commission of murder as an absence of both moral repugnance to the crime itself and the fear of the consequences following it. in the murder of duncan, it is the first of these two states of mind to which macbeth and his wife have only partially attained. the moral repugnance stronger in the man has not been wholly lost by the woman. but as soon as the crime is successfully accomplished, this repugnance begins to wear off until the king and queen are able calmly and deliberately to contemplate those further crimes necessary to their peace of mind. but now macbeth, at first the more compunctious of the two, has become the more ruthless; the germ of crime, developed by suggestion, has spread through his whole being; he has begun to acquire that indifference to human suffering with which richard iii. and iago were gifted from the first. in both macbeth and lady macbeth the germ of crime was latent; they wanted only favourable circumstances to convert them into one of those criminal couples who are the more dangerous for the fact that the temptation to crime has come to each spontaneously and grown and been fostered by mutual understanding, an elective affinity for evil. such couples are frequent in the history of crime. eyraud and bompard, mr. and mrs. manning, burke and hare, the peltzer brothers, barre and lebiez, are instances of those collaborations in crime which find their counterpart in history, literature, drama and business. antoninus and aurelius, ferdinand and isabella, the de goncourt brothers, besant and rice, gilbert and sullivan, swan and edgar leap to the memory.
-(3) "le crime a deux," by scipio sighele (translated from the italian), lyons, 1893.
-in the cases of eyraud and bompard, both man and woman are idle, vicious criminals by instinct. they come together, lead an abandoned life, sinking lower and lower in moral degradation. in the hour of need, crime presents itself as a simple expedient for which neither of them has any natural aversion. the repugnance to evil, if they ever felt it, has long since disappeared from their natures. the man is serious, the woman frivolous, but the criminal tendency in both cases is the same; each performs his or her part in the crime with characteristic aptitude. mrs. manning was a creature of much firmer character than her husband, a woman of strong passions, a redoubtable murderess. without her dominating force manning might never have committed murder. but he was a criminal before the crime, more than suspected as a railway official of complicity in a considerable train robbery; in his case the suggestion of murder involved only the taking of a step farther in a criminal career. manning suffered from nerves almost as badly as macbeth; after the deed he sought to drown the prickings of terror and remorse by heavy drinking mrs. manning was never troubled with any feelings of this kind; after the murder of o'connor the gratification of her sexual passion seemed uppermost in her mind; and she met the consequences of her crime fearlessly. burke and hare were a couple of ruffians, tempted by what must have seemed almost fabulous wealth to men of their wretched poverty to commit a series of cruel murders. hare, with his queer, mephistophelian countenance, was the wickeder of the two. burke became haunted as time went on and flew to drink to banish horror, but hare would seem to have been free from such "compunctious visitings of nature." he kept his head and turned king's evidence.
-in the case of the peltzer brothers we have a man who is of good social position, falling desperately in love with the wife of a successful barrister. the wife, though unhappy in her domestic life, refuses to become her lover's mistress; marriage is the only way to secure her. so armand peltzer plots to murder the husband. for this purpose he calls in the help of a brother, a ne'er-do-well, who has left his native country under a cloud. he sends for this dubious person to europe, and there between them they plan the murder of the inconvenient husband. though the idea of the crime comes from the one brother, the other receives the idea without repugnance and enters wholeheartedly into the commission of the murder. the ascendency of the one is evident, but he knows his man, is sure that he will have no difficulty in securing the other's co-operation in his felonious purpose. armand peltzer should have lived in the italy of the renaissance.
-the crime was cunningly devised, and methodically and successfully accomplished. only an over-anxiety to secure the fruits of it led to its detection. barre and lebiez are a perfect criminal couple, both young men of good education, trained to better things, but the one idle, greedy and vicious, the other cynical, indifferent, inclined at best to a lazy sentimentalism. barre is a needy stockbroker at the end of his tether, desperate to find an expedient for raising the wind, lebiez a medical student who writes morbid verses to a skull and lectures on darwinism. to barre belongs the original suggestion to murder an old woman who sells milk and is reputed to have savings. but his friend and former schoolfellow, lebiez, accepts the suggestion placidly, and reconciles himself to the murder of an unnecessary old woman by the same argument as that used by raskolnikoff in "crime and punishment" to justify the killing of his victim.
-in all the cases here quoted the couples are essentially criminal couples. from whichever of the two comes the first suggestion of crime, it falls on soil already prepared to receive it; the response to the suggestion is immediate. in degree of guilt there is little or nothing to choose between them. but the more interesting instances of dual crime are those in which one innocent hitherto of crime, to whom it is morally repugnant, is persuaded by another to the commission of a criminal act, as cassius persuades brutus; iago, othello. cassius is a criminal by instinct. placed in a social position which removes him from the temptation to ordinary crime, circumstances combine in his case to bring out the criminal tendency and give it free play in the projected murder of caesar. sour, envious, unscrupulous, the suggestion to kill caesar under the guise of the public weal is in reality a gratification to cassius of his own ignoble instincts, and the deliberate unscrupulousness with which he seeks to corrupt the honourable metal, seduce the noble mind of his friend, is typical of the man's innate dishonesty. cassius belongs to that particular type of the envious nature which shakespeare is fond of exemplifying with more or less degree of villainy in such characters as iago, edmund, and don john, of which robert butler, whose career is given in this book, is a living instance. cassius on public grounds tempts brutus to crime as subtly as on private grounds iago tempts othello, and with something of the same malicious satisfaction; the soliloquy of cassius at the end of the second scene of the first act is that of a bad man and a false friend. indeed, the quarrel between brutus and cassius after the murder of caesar loses much of its sincerity and pathos unless we can forget for the moment the real character of cassius. but the interest in the cases of cassius and brutus, iago and othello, lies not so much in the nature of the prompter of the crime. the instances in which an honest, honourable man is by force of another's suggestion converted into a criminal are psychologically remarkable. it is to be expected that we should look in the annals of real crime for confirmation of the truth to life of stories such as these, told in fiction or drama.
-the strongest influence, under which the naturally non-criminal person may be tempted in violation of instinct and better nature to the commission of a crime, is that of love or passion. examples of this kind are frequent in the annals of crime. there is none more striking than that of the widow gras and natalis gaudry. here a man, brave, honest, of hitherto irreproachable character, is tempted by a woman to commit the most cruel and infamous of crimes. at first he repels the suggestion; at last, when his senses have been excited, his passion inflamed by the cunning of the woman, as the jealous passion of othello is played on and excited by iago, the patriotism of brutus artfully exploited by cassius, he yields to the repeated solicitation and does a deed in every way repugnant to his normal character. nothing seems so blinding in its effect on the moral sense as passion. it obscures all sense of humour, proportion, congruity; the murder of the man or woman who stands in the way of its full enjoyment becomes an act of inverted justice to the perpetrators; they reconcile themselves to it by the most perverse reasoning until they come to regard it as an act, in which they may justifiably invoke the help of god; eroticism and religion are often jumbled up together in this strange medley of conflicting emotions.
-a woman, urging her lover to the murder of her husband, writes of the roses that are to deck the path of the lovers as soon as the crime is accomplished; she sends him flowers and in the same letter asks if he has got the necessary cartridges. her husband has been ill; she hopes that it is god helping them to the desired end; she burns a candle on the altar of a saint for the success of their murderous plan.(4) a jealous husband setting out to kill his wife carries in his pockets, beside a knife and a service revolver, a rosary, a medal of the virgin and a holy image.(5) marie boyer in the blindness of her passion and jealousy believes god to be helping her to get rid of her mother.
-(4) case of garnier and the woman aveline, 1884.
-a lover persuades the wife to get rid of her husband. for a whole year he instils the poison into her soul until she can struggle no longer against the obsession; he offers to do the deed, but she writes that she would rather suffer all the risks and consequences herself. "how many times," she writes, "have i wished to go away, leave home, but it meant leaving my children, losing them for ever.. that made my lover jealous, he believed that i could not bring myself to leave my husband. but if my husband were out of the way then i would keep my children, and my lover would see in my crime a striking proof of my devotion." a curious farrago of slavish passion, motherly love and murder.(6)
-(6) case of madame weiss and the engineer roques. if i may be permitted the reference, there is an account of this case and that of barre and lebiez in my book "french criminals of the nineteenth century."
-there are some women such as marie boyer and gabrielle fenayrou, who may be described as passively criminal, chameleon-like, taking colour from their surroundings. by the force of a man's influence they commit a dreadful crime, in the one instance it is matricide, in the other the murder of a former lover, but neither of the women is profoundly vicious or criminal in her instincts. in prison they become exemplary, their crime a thing of the past.
-gabrielle fenayrou during her imprisonment, having won the confidence of the religious sisters in charge of the convicts, is appointed head of one of the workshops. marie boyer is so contrite, exemplary in her behaviour that she is released after fifteen years' imprisonment. in some ways, perhaps, these malleable types of women, "soft paste" as one authority has described them, "effacees" in the words of another, are the most dangerous material of all for the commission of crime, their obedience is so complete, so cold and relentless.
-there are cases into which no element of passion enters, in which one will stronger than the other can so influence, so dominate the weaker as to persuade the individual against his or her better inclination to an act of crime, just as in the relations of ordinary life we see a man or woman led and controlled for good or ill by one stronger than themselves. there is no more extraordinary instance of this than the case of catherine hayes, immortalised by thackeray, which occurred as long ago as the year 1726. this singular woman by her artful insinuations, by representing her husband as an atheist and a murderer, persuaded a young man of the name of wood, of hitherto exemplary character, to assist her in murdering him. it was unquestionably the sinister influence of captain cranstoun that later in the same century persuaded the respectable miss mary blandy to the murder of her father. the assassin of an old woman in paris recounts thus the arguments used by his mistress to induce him to commit the crime: "she began by telling me about the money and jewellery in the old woman's possession which could no longer be of any use to her"--the argument of raskolnikoff--"i resisted, but next day she began again, pointing out that one killed people in war, which was not considered a crime, and therefore one should not be afraid to kill a miserable old woman. i urged that the old woman had done us no harm, and that i did not see why one should kill her; she reproached me for my weakness and said that, had she been strong enough, she would soon have done this abominable deed herself. 'god,' she added, 'will forgive us because he knows how poor we are.'" when he came to do the murder, this determined woman plied her lover with brandy and put rouge on his cheeks lest his pallor should betray him.(7)
-(7) case of albert and the woman lavoitte, paris, 1877.
-there are occasions when those feelings of compunction which troubled macbeth and his wife are wellnigh proof against the utmost powers of suggestion, or, as in the case of hubert and prince arthur, compel the criminal to desist from his enterprise.
-a man desires to get rid of his father and mother-in-law. by means of threats, reproaches and inducements he persuades another man to commit the crime. taking a gun, the latter sets out to do the deed; but he realises the heinousness of it and turns back. "the next day," he says, "at four o'clock in the morning i started again. i passed the village church. at the sight of the place where i had celebrated my first communion i was filled with remorse. i knelt down and prayed to god to make me good. but some unknown force urged me to the crime. i started again--ten times i turned back, but the more i hesitated the stronger was the desire to go on." at length the faltering assassin arrived at the house, and in his painful anxiety of mind shot a servant instead of the intended victims.(8)
-(8) case of porcher and hardouin cited in despine. "psychologie naturelle."
-in a town in austria there dwelt a happy and contented married couple, poor and hard-working. a charming young lady, a rich relation and an orphan, comes to live with them. she brings to their modest home wealth and comfort. but as time goes on, it is likely that the young lady will fall in love and marry. what then? her hosts will have to return to their original poverty. the idea of how to secure to himself the advantages of his young kinswoman's fortune takes possession of the husband's mind. he revolves all manner of means, and gradually murder presents itself as the only way. the horrid suggestion fixes itself in his mind, and at last he communicates it to his wife. at first she resists, then yields to the temptation. the plan is ingenious. the wife is to disappear to america and be given out as dead. the husband will then marry his attractive kinswoman, persuade her to make a will in his favour, poison her and, the fortune secured, rejoin his wife. as if to help this cruel plan, the young lady has developed a sentimental affection for her relative. the wife goes to america, the husband marries the young lady. he commences to poison her, but, in the presence of her youth, beauty and affection for him, relents, hesitates to commit a possibly unnecessary crime. he decides to forget and ignore utterly his wife who is waiting patiently in america. a year passes. the expectant wife gets no sign of her husband's existence. she comes back to europe, visits under a false name the town in which her faithless husband and his bride are living, discovers the truth and divulges the intended crime to the authorities. a sentence of penal servitude for life rewards this perfidious criminal.(9)
-(9) case of the scheffer couple at linz, cited by sighele.
-derues said to a man who was looking at a picture in the palais de justice: "why study copies of nature when you can look at such a remarkable original as i?" a judge once told the present writer that he did not go often to the theatre because none of the dramas which he saw on the stage, seemed to him equal in intensity to those of real life which came before him in the course of his duties. the saying that truth is stranger than fiction applies more forcibly to crime than to anything else. but the ordinary man and woman prefer to take their crime romanticised, as it is administered to them in novel or play. the true stories told in this book represent the raw material from which works of art have been and may be yet created. the murder of mr. arden of faversham inspired an elizabethan tragedy attributed by some critics to shakespeare. the peltzer trial helped to inspire paul bourget's remarkable novel, "andre cornelis." to italian crime we owe shelley's "cenci" and browning's "the ring and the book." mrs. manning was the original of the maid hortense in "bleak house." jonathan wild, eugene aram, deacon brodie, thomas griffiths wainewright have all been made the heroes of books or plays of varying merit. but it is not only in its stories that crime has served to inspire romance. in the investigation of crime, especially on the broader lines of continental procedure, we can track to the source the springs of conduct and character, and come near to solving as far as is humanly possible the mystery of human motive. there is always and must be in every crime a terra incognita which, unless we could enter into the very soul of a man, we cannot hope to reach. thus far may we go, no farther. it is rarely indeed that a man lays bare his whole soul, and even when he does we can never be quite sure that he is telling us all the truth, that he is not keeping back some vital secret. it is no doubt better so, and that it should be left to the writer of imagination to picture for us a man's inmost soul. the study of crime will help him to that end. it will help us also in the ethical appreciation of good and evil in individual conduct, about which our notions have been somewhat obscured by too narrow a definition of what constitutes crime. these themes, touched on but lightly and imperfectly in these pages, are rich in human interest.
-and so it is hardly a matter for surprise that the poet and the philosopher sat up late one night talking about murders.
-the life of charles peace
-"charles peace, or the adventures of a notorious burglar," a large volume published at the time of his death, gives a full and accurate account of the career of peace side by side with a story of the family herald type, of which he is made the hero. "the life and trial of charles peace" (sheffield, 1879), "the romantic career of a great criminal" (by n. kynaston gaskell, london 1906), and "the master criminal," published recently in london give useful information. i have also consulted some of the newspapers of the time. there is a delightful sketch of peace in mr. charles whibley's "book of scoundrels."
-his early years
-charles peace told a clergyman who had an interview with him in prison shortly before his execution that he hoped that, after he was gone, he would be entirely forgotten by everybody and his name never mentioned again.
-posterity, in calling over its muster-roll of famous men, has refused to fulfil this pious hope, and charley peace stands out as the one great personality among english criminals of the nineteenth century. in charley peace alone is revived that good-humoured popularity which in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries fell to the lot of claude duval, dick turpin and jack sheppard. but peace has one grievance against posterity; he has endured one humiliation which these heroes have been spared. his name has been omitted from the pages of the "dictionary of national biography." from duval, in the seventeenth, down to the mannings, palmer, arthur orton, morgan and kelly, the bushrangers, in the nineteenth century, many a criminal, far less notable or individual than charley peace, finds his or her place in that great record of the past achievements of our countrymen. room has been denied to perhaps the greatest and most naturally gifted criminal england has produced, one whose character is all the more remarkable for its modesty, its entire freedom from that vanity and vaingloriousness so common among his class.
-the only possible reason that can be suggested for so singular an omission is the fact that in the strict order of alphabetical succession the biography of charles peace would have followed immediately on that of george peabody. it may have been thought that the contrast was too glaring, that even the exigencies of national biography had no right to make the philanthropist peabody rub shoulders with man's constant enemy, peace. to the memory of peace these few pages can make but poor amends for the supreme injustice, but, by giving a particular and authentic account of his career, they may serve as material for the correction of this grave omission should remorse overtake those responsible for so undeserved a slur on one of the most unruly of england's famous sons.
-from the literary point of view peace was unfortunate even in the hour of his notoriety. in the very year of his trial and execution, the annual register, seized with a fit of respectability from which it has never recovered, announced that "the appetite for the strange and marvellous" having considerably abated since the year 1757 when the register was first published, its "chronicle," hitherto a rich mine of extraordinary and sensational occurrences, would become henceforth a mere diary of important events. simultaneously with the curtailment of its "chronicle," it ceased to give those excellent summaries of celebrated trials which for many years had been a feature of its volumes. the question whether "the appetite for the strange and marvellous" has abated in an appreciable degree with the passing of time and is not perhaps keener than it ever was, is a debatable one. but it is undeniable that the present volumes of the annual register have fallen away dismally from the variety and human interest of their predecessors. of the trial and execution of peace the volume for 1879 gives but the barest record.
-charles peace was not born of criminal parents. his father, john peace, began work as a collier at burton-on-trent. losing his leg in an accident, he joined wombwell's wild beast show and soon acquired some reputation for his remarkable powers as a tamer of wild animals. about this time peace married at rotherham the daughter of a surgeon in the navy. on the death of a favourite son to whom he had imparted successfully the secrets of his wonderful control over wild beasts of every kind, mr. peace gave up lion-taming and settled in sheffield as a shoemaker.
-it was at sheffield, in the county of yorkshire, already famous in the annals of crime as the county of john nevison and eugene aram, that peace first saw the light. on may 14, 1832, there was born to john peace in sheffield a son, charles, the youngest of his family of four. when he grew to boyhood charles was sent to two schools near sheffield, where he soon made himself remarkable, not as a scholar, but for his singular aptitude in a variety of other employments such as making paper models, taming cats, constructing a peep-show, and throwing up a heavy ball of shot which he would catch in a leather socket fixed on to his forehead.
-the course of many famous men's lives has been changed by what appeared at the time to be an unhappy accident. who knows what may have been the effect on charles peace's subsequent career of an accident he met with in 1846 at some rolling mills, in which he was employed? a piece of red hot steel entered his leg just below the knee, and after eighteen months spent in the sheffield infirmary he left it a cripple for life. about this time peace's father died. peace and his family were fond of commemorating events of this kind in suitable verse; the death of john peace was celebrated in the following lines:
-"in peace he lived; in peace he died; life was our desire, but god denied."
-of the circumstances that first led peace to the commission of crime we know nothing. how far enforced idleness, bad companionship, according to some accounts the influence of a criminally disposed mother, how far his own daring and adventurous temper provoked him to robbery, cannot be determined accurately. his first exploit was the stealing of an old gentleman's gold watch, but he soon passed to greater things. on october 26, 1851, the house of a lady living in sheffield was broken into and a quantity of her property stolen. some of it was found in the possession of peace, and he was arrested. owing no doubt to a good character for honesty given him by his late employer peace was let off lightly with a month's imprisonment.
-after his release peace would seem to have devoted himself for a time to music, for which he had always a genuine passion. he taught himself to play tunes on a violin with one string, and at entertainments which he attended was described as "the modern paganini." in later life when he had attained to wealth and prosperity the violin and the harmonium were a constant source of solace during long winter evenings in greenwich and peckham. but playing a one-stringed violin at fairs and public-houses could not be more than a relaxation to a man of peace's active temper, who had once tasted what many of those who have practised it, describe as the fascination of that particular form of nocturnal adventure known by the unsympathetic name of burglary. among the exponents of the art peace was at this time known as a "portico-thief," that is to say one who contrived to get himself on to the portico of a house and from that point of vantage make his entrance into the premises. during the year 1854 the houses of a number of well-to-do residents in and about sheffield were entered after this fashion, and much valuable property stolen. peace was arrested, and with him a girl with whom he was keeping company, and his sister, mary ann, at that time mrs. neil. on october 20, 1854, peace was sentenced at doncaster sessions to four years' penal servitude, and the ladies who had been found in possession of the stolen property to six months apiece. mrs. neil did not long survive her misfortune. she would seem to have been married to a brutal and drunken husband, whom peace thrashed on more than one occasion for ill-treating his sister. after one of these punishments neil set a bulldog on to peace; but peace caught the dog by the lower jaw and punched it into a state of coma. the death in 1859 of the unhappy mrs. neil was lamented in appropriate verse, probably the work of her brother:
-"i was so long with pain opprest that wore my strength away; it made me long for endless rest which never can decay."
-on coming out of prison in 1858, peace resumed his fiddling, but it was now no more than a musical accompaniment to burglary. this had become the serious business of peace's life, to be pursued, should necessity arise, even to the peril of men's lives. his operations extended beyond the bounds of his native town. the house of a lady living in manchester was broken into on the night of august 11, 1859, and a substantial booty carried away. this was found the following day concealed in a hole in a field. the police left it undisturbed and awaited the return of the robber. when peace and another man arrived to carry it away, the officers sprang out on them. peace, after nearly killing the officer who was trying to arrest him, would have made his escape, had not other policemen come to the rescue. for this crime peace was sentenced to six years' penal servitude, in spite of a loyal act of perjury on the part of his aged mother, who came all the way from sheffield to swear that he had been with her there on the night of the crime.
-he was released from prison again in 1864, and returned to sheffield. things did not prosper with him there, and he went back to manchester. in 1866 he was caught in the act of burglary at a house in lower broughton. he admitted that at the time he was fuddled with whisky; otherwise his capture would have been more difficult and dangerous. usually a temperate man, peace realised on this occasion the value of sobriety even in burglary, and never after allowed intemperance to interfere with his success. a sentence of eight years' penal servitude at manchester assizes on december 3, 1866, emphasised this wholesome lesson.
-whilst serving this sentence peace emulated jack sheppard in a daring attempt to escape from wakefield prison. being engaged on some repairs, he smuggled a small ladder into his cell. with the help of a saw made out of some tin, he cut a hole through the ceiling of the cell, and was about to get out on to the roof when a warder came in. as the latter attempted to seize the ladder peace knocked him down, ran along the wall of the prison, fell off on the inside owing to the looseness of the bricks, slipped into the governor's house where he changed his clothes, and there, for an hour and a half, waited for an opportunity to escape. this was denied him, and he was recaptured in the governor's bedroom. the prisons at millbank, chatham and gibraltar were all visited by peace before his final release in 1872. at chatham he is said to have taken part in a mutiny and been flogged for his pains.
-on his liberation from prison peace rejoined his family in sheffield. he was now a husband and father. in 1859 he had taken to wife a widow of the name of hannah ward. mrs. ward was already the mother of a son, willie. shortly after her marriage with peace she gave birth to a daughter, and during his fourth term of imprisonment presented him with a son. peace never saw this child, who died before his release. but, true to the family custom, on his return from prison the untimely death of little "john charles" was commemorated by the printing of a funeral card in his honour, bearing the following sanguine verses:
-"farewell, my dear son, by us all beloved, thou art gone to dwell in the mansions above. in the bosom of jesus who sits on the throne thou art anxiously waiting to welcome us home."
-whether from a desire not to disappoint little john charles, for some reason or other the next two or three years of peace's career would seem to have been spent in an endeavour to earn an honest living by picture framing, a trade in which peace, with that skill he displayed in whatever he turned his hand to, was remarkably proficient. in sheffield his children attended the sunday school. though he never went to church himself, he was an avowed believer in both god and the devil. as he said, however, that he feared neither, no great reliance could be placed on the restraining force of such a belief to a man of peace's daring spirit. there was only too good reason to fear that little john charles' period of waiting would be a prolonged one.
-in 1875 peace moved from sheffield itself to the suburb of darnall. here peace made the acquaintance--a fatal acquaintance, as it turned out--of a mr. and mrs. dyson. dyson was a civil engineer. he had spent some years in america, where, in 1866, he married.
-toward the end of 1873 or the beginning of 1874, he came to england with his wife, and obtained a post on the north eastern railway. he was a tall man, over six feet in height, extremely thin, and gentlemanly in his bearing. his engagement with the north eastern railway terminated abruptly owing to dyson's failing to appear at a station to which he had been sent on duty.
-it was believed at the time by those associated with dyson that this unlooked-for dereliction of duty had its cause in domestic trouble. since the year 1875, the year in which peace came to darnall, the domestic peace of mr. dyson had been rudely disturbed by this same ugly little picture-framer who lived a few doors away from the dysons' house. peace had got to know the dysons, first as a tradesman, then as a friend. to what degree of intimacy he attained with mrs. dyson it is difficult to determine. in that lies the mystery of the case mrs. dyson is described as an attractive woman, "buxom and blooming"; she was dark-haired, and about twenty-five years of age. in an interview with the vicar of darnall a few days before his execution, peace asserted positively that mrs. dyson had been his mistress. mrs. dyson as strenuously denied the fact. there was no question that on one occasion peace and mrs. dyson had been photographed together, that he had given her a ring, and that he had been in the habit of going to music halls and public-houses with mrs. dyson, who was a woman of intemperate habits.
-peace had introduced mrs. dyson to his wife and daughter, and on one occasion was said to have taken her to his mother's house, much to the old lady's indignation. if there were not many instances of ugly men who have been notably successful with women, one might doubt the likelihood of mrs. dyson falling a victim to the charms of charles peace. but peace, for all his ugliness, could be wonderfully ingratiating when he chose. according to mrs. dyson, peace was a demon, "beyond the power of even a shakespeare to paint," who persecuted her with his attentions, and, when he found them rejected, devoted all his malignant energies to making the lives of her husband and herself unbearable. according to peace's story he was a slighted lover who had been treated by mrs. dyson with contumely and ingratitude.
-but he himself was not idle. from hull he went to manchester on business, and in manchester he committed his first murder. entering the grounds of a gentleman's home at whalley range, about midnight on august 1, he was seen by two policemen. one of them, constable cock, intercepted him as he was trying to escape.
-peace took out his revolver and warned cock to stand back. the policeman came on. peace fired, but deliberately wide of him. cock, undismayed, drew out his truncheon, and made for the burglar. peace, desperate, determined not to be caught, fired again, this time fatally. cock's comrade heard the shots, but before he could reach the side of the dying man, peace had made off. he returned to hull, and there learned shortly after, to his intense relief, that two brothers, john and william habron, living near the scene of the murder, had been arrested and charged with the killing of constable cock.
-if the dysons thought that they had seen the last of peace, they were soon to be convinced to the contrary. peace had not forgotten his friends at darnall. by some means or other he was kept informed of all their doings, and on one occasion was seen by mrs. dyson lurking near her home. to get away from him the dysons determined to leave darnall. they took a house at banner cross, another suburb of sheffield, and on october 29 moved into their new home. one of the first persons mrs. dyson saw on arriving at banner cross was peace himself. "you see," he said, "i am here to annoy you, and i'll annoy you wherever you go." later, peace and a friend passed mr. dyson in the street. peace took out his revolver. "if he offers to come near me," said he, "i will make him stand back." but mr. dyson took no notice of peace and passed on. he had another month to live.
-whatever the other motives of peace may have been--unreasoning passion, spite, jealousy, or revenge it must not be forgotten that dyson, by procuring a warrant against peace, had driven him from his home in sheffield. this peace resented bitterly. according to the statements of many witnesses, he was at this time in a state of constant irritation and excitement on the dyson's account. he struck his daughter because she alluded in a way he did not like to his relations with mrs. dyson. peace always believed in corporal chastisement as a means of keeping order at home. pleasant and entertaining as he could be, he was feared. it was very dangerous to incur his resentment. "be sure," said his wife, "you do nothing to offend our charley, or you will suffer for it." dyson beyond a doubt had offended "our charley." but for the moment peace was interested more immediately in the fate of john and william habron, who were about to stand their trial for the murder of constable cock at whalley range.
-the trial commenced at the manchester assizes before mr. justice (now lord) lindley on monday, november 27. john habron was acquitted.
-the case against william habron depended to a great extent on the fact that he, as well as his brother, had been heard to threaten to "do for" the murdered man, to shoot the "little bobby." cock was a zealous young officer of twenty-three years of age, rather too eager perhaps in the discharge of his duty. in july of 1876 he had taken out summonses against john and william habron, young fellows who had been several years in the employment of a nurseryman in whalley range, for being drunk and disorderly. on july 27 william was fined five shillings, and on august 1, the day of cock's murder, john had been fined half a sovereign. between these two dates the habrons had been heard to threaten to "do for" cock if he were not more careful. other facts relied upon by the prosecution were that william habron had inquired from a gunsmith the price of some cartridges a day or two before the murder; that two cartridge percussion caps had been found in the pocket of a waistcoat given to william habron by his employer, who swore that they could not have been there while it was in his possession; that the other constable on duty with cock stated that a man he had seen lurking near the house about twelve o'clock on the night of the murder appeared to be william habron's age, height and complexion, and resembled him in general appearance; and that the boot on habron's left foot, which was "wet and sludgy" at the time of his arrest, corresponded in certain respects with the footprints of the murderer. the prisoner did not help himself by an ineffective attempt to prove an alibi. the judge was clearly not impressed by the strength of the case for the prosecution. he pointed out to the jury that neither the evidence of identification nor that of the footprint went very far. as to the latter, what evidence was there to show that it had been made on the night of the murder? if it had been made the day before, then the defence had proved that it could not have been habron's. he called their attention to the facts that habron bore a good character, that, when arrested on the night of the murder, he was in bed, and that no firearms had been traced to him. in spite, however, of the summing-up the jury convicted william habron, but recommended him to mercy. the judge without comment sentenced him to death. the manchester guardian expressed its entire concurrence with the verdict of the jury. "few persons," it wrote, "will be found to dispute the justice of the conclusions reached." however, a few days later it opened its columns to a number of letters protesting against the unsatisfactory nature of the conviction. on december 6 a meeting of some forty gentlemen was held, at which it was resolved to petition mr. cross, the home secretary, to reconsider the sentence. two days before the day of execution habron was granted a respite, and later his sentence commuted to one of penal servitude for life. and so a tragic and irrevocable miscarriage of justice was happily averted.
-peace liked attending trials. the fact that in habron's case he was the real murderer would seem to have made him the more eager not to miss so unique an experience. accordingly he went from hull to manchester, and was present in court during the two days that the trial lasted. no sooner had he heard the innocent man condemned to death than he left manchester for sheffield--now for all he knew a double murderer.
-it is a question whether, on the night of november 28, peace met mrs. dyson at an inn in one of the suburbs of sheffield. in any case, the next morning, wednesday, the 29th, to his mother's surprise peace walked into her house. he said that he had come to sheffield for the fair. the afternoon of that day peace spent in a public-house at ecclesall, entertaining the customers by playing tunes on a poker suspended from a piece of strong string, from which he made music by beating it with a short stick. the musician was rewarded by drinks. it took very little drink to excite peace. there was dancing, the fun grew fast and furious, as the strange musician beat out tune after tune on his fantastic instrument.
-peace went to gregory's house, but his friend was not at home. the lure of the dysons was irresistible. a little after eight o'clock peace was watching the house from a passageway that led up to the backs of the houses on the terrace. he saw mrs. dyson come out of the back door, and go to an outhouse some few yards distant. he waited. as soon as she opened the door to come out, mrs. dyson found herself confronted by peace, holding his revolver in his hand. "speak," he said, "or i'll fire." mrs. dyson in terror went back. in the meantime dyson, hearing the disturbance, came quickly into the yard. peace made for the passage. dyson followed him. peace fired once, the shot striking the lintel of the passage doorway. dyson undaunted, still pursued. then peace, according to his custom, fired a second time, and dyson fell, shot through the temple. mrs. dyson, who had come into the yard again on hearing the first shot, rushed to her husband's side, calling out: "murder! you villain! you have shot my husband." two hours later dyson was dead.
-after firing the second shot peace had hurried down; the passage into the roadway. he stood there hesitating a moment, until the cries of mrs. dyson warned him of his danger. he crossed the road, climbed a wall, and made his way back to sheffield. there he saw his mother and brother, told them that he had shot mr. dyson, and bade them a hasty good-bye. he then walked to attercliffe railway station, and took a ticket for beverley. something suspicious in the manner of the booking-clerk made him change his place of destination. instead of going to beverley that night he got out of the train at normanton and went on to york. he spent the remainder of the night in the station yard. he took the first train in the morning for beverley, and from there travelled via collingham to hull. he went straight to the eating-house kept by his wife, and demanded some dinner. he had hardly commenced to eat it when he heard two detectives come into the front shop and ask his wife if a man called charles peace was lodging with her. mrs. peace said that that was her husband's name, but that she had not seen him for two months. the detectives proposed to search the house. some customers in the shop told them that if they had any business with mrs. peace, they ought to go round to the side door. the polite susceptibility of these customers gave peace time to slip up to a back room, get out on to an adjoining roof, and hide behind a chimney stack, where he remained until the detectives had finished an exhaustive search. so importunate were the officers in hull that once again during the day peace had to repeat this experience. for some three weeks, however, he contrived to remain in hull. he shaved the grey beard he was wearing at the time of dyson's murder, dyed his hair, put on a pair of spectacles, and for the first time made use of his singular power of contorting his features in such a way as to change altogether the character of his face. but the hue and cry after him was unremitting. there was a price of l100 on his head, and the following description of him was circulated by the police:
-"charles peace wanted for murder on the night of the 29th inst. he is thin and slightly built, from fifty-five to sixty years of age. five feet four inches or five feet high; grey (nearly white) hair, beard and whiskers. he lacks use of three fingers of left hand, walks with his legs rather wide apart, speaks somewhat peculiarly as though his tongue were too large for his mouth, and is a great boaster. he is a picture-frame maker. he occasionally cleans and repairs clocks and watches and sometimes deals in oleographs, engravings and pictures. he has been in penal servitude for burglary in manchester. he has lived in manchester, salford, and liverpool and hull."
-this description was altered later and peace's age given as forty-six. as a matter of fact he was only forty-four at this time, but he looked very much older. peace had lost one of his fingers. he said that it had been shot off by a man with whom he had quarrelled, but it was believed to be more likely that he had himself shot it off accidentally in handling one of his revolvers. it was to conceal this obvious means of identification that peace made himself the false arm which he was in the habit of wearing. this was of gutta percha, with a hole down the middle of it into which he passed his arm; at the end was a steel plate to which was fixed a hook; by means of this hook peace could wield a fork and do other dexterous feats.
-here peace found a convenient lodging at the house of one, mrs. adamson, a lady who received stolen goods and on occasion indicated or organised suitable opportunities for acquiring them.
-she lived in a low part of the town known as the marsh. it was at her house that peace met the woman who was to become his mistress and subsequently betray his identity to the police. her maiden name was susan gray.
-she was at this time about thirty-five years of age, described as "taking" in appearance, of a fair complexion, and rather well educated. she had led a somewhat chequered married life with a gentleman named bailey, from whom she continued in receipt of a weekly allowance until she passed under the protection of peace. her first meeting with her future lover took place on the occasion of peace inviting mrs. adamson to dispose of a box of cigars for him, which that good woman did at a charge of something like thirty per cent. at first peace gave himself out to mrs. bailey as a hawker, but before long he openly acknowledged his real character as an accomplished burglar. with characteristic insistence peace declared his passion for mrs. bailey by threatening to shoot her if she did not become his. anxious friends sent for her to soothe the distracted man. peace had been drowning care with the help of irish whiskey. he asked "his pet" if she were not glad to see him, to which the lady replied with possible sarcasm: "oh, particularly, very, i like you so much." next day peace apologised for his rude behaviour of the previous evening, and so melted the heart of mrs. bailey that she consented to become his mistress, and from that moment discarding the name of bailey is known to history as mrs. thompson.
-life in nottingham was varied pleasantly by burglaries carried out with the help of information supplied by mrs. adamson. in the june of 1877 peace was nearly detected in stealing, at the request of that worthy, some blankets, but by flourishing his revolver he contrived to get away, and, soon after, returned for a season to hull. here this hunted murderer, with l100 reward on his head, took rooms for mrs. thompson and himself at the house of a sergeant of police. one day mrs. peace, who was still keeping her shop in hull, received a pencilled note saying, "i am waiting to see you just up anlaby road." she and her stepson, willie ward, went to the appointed spot, and there to their astonishment stood her husband, a distinguished figure in black coat and trousers, top hat, velvet waistcoat, with stick, kid gloves, and a pretty little fox terrier by his side. peace told them of his whereabouts in the town, but did not disclose to them the fact that his mistress was there also. to the police sergeant with whom he lodged, peace described himself as an agent. but a number of sensational and successful burglaries at the houses of town councillors and other well-to-do citizens of hull revealed the presence in their midst of no ordinary robber. peace had some narrow escapes, but with the help of his revolver, and on one occasion the pusillanimity of a policeman, he succeeded in getting away in safety. the bills offering a reward for his capture were still to be seen in the shop windows of hull, so after a brief but brilliant adventure peace and mrs. thompson returned to nottingham.
-here, as the result of further successful exploits, peace found a reward of l50 offered for his capture. on one occasion the detectives came into the room where peace and his mistress were in bed. after politely expressing his surprise at seeing "mrs. bailey" in such a situation, one of the officers asked peace his name. he gave it as john ward, and described himself as a hawker of spectacles. he refused to get up and dress in the presence of the detectives who were obliging enough to go downstairs and wait his convenience. peace seized the opportunity to slip out of the house and get away to another part of the town. from there he sent a note to mrs. thompson insisting on her joining him. he soon after left nottingham, paid another brief visit to hull, but finding that his wife's shop was still frequented by the police, whom he designated freely as "a lot of fools," determined to quit the north for good and begin life afresh in the ampler and safer field of london.
-peace in london
-peace's career in london extended over nearly two years, but they were years of copious achievement. in that comparatively short space of time, by the exercise of that art, to his natural gifts for which he had now added the wholesome tonic of experience, peace passed from a poor and obscure lodging in a slum in lambeth to the state and opulence of a comfortable suburban residence in peckham. these were the halcyon days of peace's enterprise in life. from no. 25 stangate street, lambeth, the dealer in musical instruments, as peace now described himself, sallied forth night after night, and in camberwell and other parts of south london reaped the reward of skill and vigilance in entering other people's houses and carrying off their property. though in the beginning there appeared to be but few musical instruments in stangate street to justify his reputed business, "mr. thompson," as he now called himself, explained that he was not wholly dependent on his business, as mrs. thompson "had money."
-so successful did the business prove that at the christmas of 1877 peace invited his daughter and her betrothed to come from hull and spend the festive season with him. this, in spite of the presence of mrs. thompson, they consented to do. peace, in a top hat and grey ulster, showed them the sights of london, always inquiring politely of a policeman if he found himself in any difficulty. at the end of the visit peace gave his consent to his daughter's marriage with mr. bolsover, and before parting gave the young couple some excellent advice. for more reasons than one peace was anxious to unite under the same roof mrs. peace and mrs. thompson. things still prospering, peace found himself able to remove from lambeth to crane court, greenwich, and before long to take a couple of adjoining houses in billingsgate street in the same district. these he furnished in style. in one he lived with mrs. thompson, while mrs. peace and her son, willie, were persuaded after some difficulty to leave hull and come to london to dwell in the other.
-this now famous house in peckham was of the ordinary type of suburban villa, with basement, ground floor, and one above; there were steps up to the front door, and a bow window to the front sitting-room. a garden at the back of the house ran down to the chatham and dover railway line. it was by an entrance at the back that peace drove his horse and trap into the stable which he had erected in the garden. though all living in the same house, mrs. peace, who passed as mrs. ward, and her son, willie, inhabited the basement, while peace and mrs. thompson occupied the best rooms on the ground floor. the house was fitted with venetian blinds. in the drawing-room stood a good walnut suite of furniture; a turkey carpet, gilded mirrors, a piano, an inlaid spanish guitar, and, by the side of an elegant table, the beaded slippers of the good master of the house completed the elegance of the apartment. everything confirmed mr. thompson's description of himself as a gentleman of independent means with a taste for scientific inventions. in association with a person of the name of brion, peace did, as a fact, patent an invention for raising sunken vessels, and it is said that in pursuing their project, the two men had obtained an interview with mr. plimsoll at the house of commons. in any case, the patent gazette records the following grant:
-"2635 henry fersey brion, 22 philip road, peckham rye, london, s.e., and john thompson, 5 east terrace, evelina road, peckham rye, london, s.e., for an invention for raising sunken vessels by the displacement of water within the vessels by air and gases."
-at the time of his final capture peace was engaged on other inventions, among them a smoke helmet for firemen, an improved brush for washing railway carriages, and a form of hydraulic tank. to the anxious policeman who, seeing a light in mr. thompson's house in the small hours of the morning, rang the bell to warn the old gentleman of the possible presence of burglars, this business of scientific inventions was sufficient explanation.
-socially mr. thompson became quite a figure in the neighbourhood. he attended regularly the sunday evening services at the parish church, and it must have been a matter of anxious concern to dear mr. thompson that during his stay in peckham the vicarage was broken into by a burglar and an unsuccessful attempt made to steal the communion plate which was kept there.
-mr. thompson was generous in giving and punctual in paying. he had his eccentricities. his love of birds and animals was remarkable. cats, dogs, rabbits, guinea-pigs, canaries, parrots and cockatoos all found hospitality under his roof. it was certainly eccentricity in mr. thompson that he should wear different coloured wigs; and that his dark complexion should suggest the use of walnut juice. his love of music was evinced by the number of violins, banjoes, guitars, and other musical instruments that adorned his drawing-room. tea and music formed the staple of the evening entertainments which mr. and mrs. thompson would give occasionally to friendly neighbours. not that the pleasures of conversation were neglected wholly in favour of art. the host was a voluble and animated talker, his face and body illustrating by appropriate twists and turns the force of his comments. the russo-turkish war, then raging, was a favourite theme of mr. thompson's. he asked, as we are still asking, what christianity and civilisation mean by countenancing the horrors of war. he considered the british government in the highest degree guilty in supporting the cruel turks, a people whose sobriety seemed to him to be their only virtue, against the christian russians. he was confident that our ministers would be punished for opposing the only power which had shown any sympathy with suffering races. about ten o'clock mr. thompson, whose health, he said, could not stand late hours, would bid his guests good night, and by half-past ten the front door of no. 5, east terrace, evelina road, would be locked and bolted, and the house plunged in darkness.
-not that it must be supposed that family life at no. 5, east terrace, was without its jars. these were due chiefly to the drunken habits of mrs. thompson. peace was willing to overlook his mistress' failing as long as it was confined to the house. but mrs. thompson had an unfortunate habit of slipping out in an intoxicated condition, and chattering with the neighbours. as she was the repository of many a dangerous secret the inconvenience of her habit was serious. peace was not the man to hesitate in the face of danger. on these occasions mrs. thompson was followed by peace or his wife, brought back home and soundly beaten. to hannah peace there must have been some satisfaction in spying on her successful rival, for, in her own words, peace never refused his mistress anything; he did not care what she cost him in dress; "she could swim in gold if she liked." mrs. thompson herself admitted that with the exception of such punishment as she brought on herself by her inebriety, peace was always fond of her, and treated her with great kindness. it was she to whom he would show with pride the proceeds of his nightly labours, to whom he would look for a smile when he returned home from his expeditions, haggard and exhausted
-the range of peace's activities extended as far as southampton, portsmouth and southsea; but the bulk of his work was done in blackheath, streatham, denmark hill, and other suburbs of south london. many dramatic stories are told of his exploits, but they rest for the most part on slender foundation. on one occasion, in getting on to a portico, he fell, and was impaled on some railings, fortunately in no vital part. his career as a burglar in london lasted from the beginning of the year 1877 until october, 1878. during that time this wanted man, under the very noses of the police, exercised with complete success his art as a burglar, working alone, depending wholly on his own mental and physical gifts, disposing in absolute secrecy of the proceeds of his work, and living openly the life of a respectable and industrious old gentleman.
-all the while the police were busily seeking charles peace, the murderer of mr. dyson. once or twice they came near to capturing him. on one occasion a detective who had known peace in yorkshire met him in farringdon road, and pursued him up the steps of holborn viaduct, but just as the officer, at the top of the steps, reached out and was on the point of grabbing his man, peace with lightning agility slipped through his fingers and disappeared. the police never had a shadow of suspicion that mr. thompson of peckham was charles peace of sheffield. they knew the former only as a polite and chatty old gentleman of a scientific turn of mind, who drove his own pony and trap, and had a fondness for music and keeping pet animals.
-peace made the mistake of outstaying his welcome in the neighbourhood of south-east london. perhaps he hardly realised the extent to which his fame was spreading. during the last three months of peace's career, blackheath was agog at the number of successful burglaries committed in the very midst of its peaceful residents. the vigilance of the local police was aroused, the officers on night duty were only too anxious to effect the capture of the mysterious criminal.
-about two o'clock in the morning of october 10, 1878, a police constable, robinson by name, saw a light appear suddenly in a window at the back of a house in st. john's park, blackheath, the residence of a mr. burness. had the looked-for opportunity arrived? was the mysterious visitor, the disturber of the peace of blackheath, at his burglarious employment? without delay robinson summoned to his aid two of his colleagues. one of them went round to the front of the house and rang the bell, the other waited in the road outside, while robinson stayed in the garden at the back. no sooner had the bell rung than robinson saw a man come from the dining-room window which opened on to the garden, and make quickly down the path. robinson followed him. the man turned; "keep back!" he said, "or by god i'll shoot you!" robinson came on. the man fired three shots from a revolver, all of which passed close to the officer's head. robinson made another rush for him, the man fired another shot. it missed its mark. the constable closed with his would-be assassin, and struck him in the face. "i'll settle you this time," cried the man, and fired a fifth shot, which went through robinson's arm just above the elbow. but, in spite of his wound, the valiant officer held his prisoner, succeeded in flinging him to the ground, and catching hold of the revolver that hung round the burglar's wrist, hit him on the head with it. immediately after the other two constables came to the help of their colleague, and the struggling desperado was secured.
-(10) later, mrs. peace was arrested and charged with being in possession of stolen property. she was taken to london and tried at the old bailey before mr. commissioner kerr, but acquitted on the ground of her having acted under the compulsion of her husband.
-it was no doubt to get news of his family that peace wrote to brion. but the letters are sufficiently ingenious. peace represents himself as a truly penitent sinner who has got himself into a most unfortunate and unexpected "mess" by giving way to drink. the spelling of the letters is exaggeratedly illiterate. he asks mr. brion to take pity on him and not despise him as "his own famery has don," to write him a letter to "hease his trobel hart," if possible to come and see him. mr. brion complied with the request of the mysterious "john ward," and on arriving at newgate where peace was awaiting trial, found himself in the presence of his friend and colleague, mr. thompson.
-in the meantime the police were getting hot on the scent of the identity of "john ward" with the great criminal who in spite of all their efforts had eluded them for two years. the honour and profit of putting the police on the right scent were claimed by mrs. thompson. to her peace had contrived to get a letter conveyed about the same time that he wrote to mr. brion. it is addressed to his "dearly beloved wife." he asks pardon for the "drunken madness" that has involved him in his present trouble, and gives her the names of certain witnesses whom he would wish to be called to prove his independent means and his dealings in musical instruments. it is, he writes, his first offence, and as he has "never been in prison before," begs her not to feel it a disgrace to come and see him there. but peace was leaning on a broken reed. loyalty does not appear to have been susan thompson's strong point. in her own words she "was not of the sentimental sort." the "traitress sue," as she is called by chroniclers of the time, had fallen a victim to the wiles of the police. since, after peace's arrest, she had been in possession of a certain amount of stolen property, it was easier no doubt to persuade her to be frank.
-in any case, we find that on february 5, 1879, the day after peace had been sentenced to death for the murder of dyson, mrs. thompson appealed to the treasury for the reward of l100 offered for peace's conviction. she based her application on information which she said she had supplied to the police officers in charge of the case on november 5 in the previous year, the very day on which peace had first written to her from newgate. in reply to her letter the treasury referred "mrs. s. bailey, alias thompson," to the home office, but whether she received from that office the price of blood history does not relate.
-the police scouted the idea that any revelation of hers had assisted them to identify "john ward" with charles peace. they said that it was information given them in peckham, no doubt by mr. brion, who, on learning the deplorable character of his coadjutor, had placed himself unreservedly in their hands, which first set them on the track. from peckham they went to nottingham, where they no doubt came across sue thompson, and thence to sheffield, where on november 6 they visited the house in hazel road, occupied by mrs. peace and her daughter, mrs. bolsover. there they found two of the boxes which mrs. peace had brought with her from peckham. besides stolen property, these boxes contained evidence of the identity of ward with peace. a constable who had known peace well in sheffield was sent to newgate, and taken into the yard where the prisoners awaiting trial were exercising. as they passed round, the constable pointed to the fifth man: "that's peace," he said, "i'd know him anywhere." the man left the ranks and, coming up to the constable, asked earnestly, "what do you want me for?" but the governor ordered him to go on with his walk.
-it was as john ward, alias charles peace, that peace, on november 19, 1878, was put on his trial for burglary and the attempted murder of police constable robinson, at the old bailey before mr. justice hawkins. his age was given in the calendar as sixty, though peace was actually forty-six. the evidence against the prisoner was clear enough. all mr. montagu williams could urge in his defence was that peace had never intended to kill the officer, merely to frighten him. the jury found peace guilty of attempted murder. asked if he had anything to say why judgment should not be passed upon him, he addressed the judge. he protested that he had not been fairly dealt with, that he never intended to kill the prosecutor, that the pistol was one that went off very easily, and that the last shot had been fired by accident. "i really did not know," he said, "that the pistol was loaded, and i hope, my lord, that you will have mercy on me. i feel that i have disgraced myself, i am not fit either to live or die. i am not prepared to meet my god, but still i feel that my career has been made to appear much worse than it really is. oh, my lord, do have mercy on me; do give me one chance of repenting and of preparing to meet my god. do, my lord, have mercy on me; and i assure you that you shall never repent it. as you hope for mercy yourself at the hands of the great god, do have mercy on me, and give me a chance of redeeming my character and preparing myself to meet my god. i pray, and beseech you to have mercy upon me."
-peace's assumption of pitiable senility, sustained throughout the trial, though it imposed on sir henry hawkins, failed to melt his heart. he told peace that he did not believe his statement that he had fired the pistol merely to frighten the constable; had not robinson guarded his head with his arm he would have been wounded fatally, and peace condemned to death. he did not consider it necessary, he said, to make an inquiry into peace's antecedents; he was a desperate burglar, and there was an end of the matter. notwithstanding his age, mr. justice hawkins felt it his duty to sentence him to penal servitude for life. the severity of the sentence was undoubtedly a painful surprise to peace; to a man of sixty years of age it would be no doubt less terrible, but to a man of forty-six it was crushing.
-not that peace was fated to serve any great part of his sentence.
-with as little delay as possible he was to be called on to answer to the murder of arthur dyson. the buxom widow of the murdered man had been found in america, whither she had returned after her husband's death. she was quite ready to come to england to give evidence against her husband's murderer. on january 17, 1879, peace was taken from pentonville prison, where he was serving his sentence, and conveyed by an early morning train to sheffield. there at the town hall he appeared before the stipendiary magistrate, and was charged with the murder of arthur dyson. when he saw mrs. dyson enter the witness box and tell her story of the crime, he must have realised that his case was desperate. her cross-examination was adjourned to the next hearing, and peace was taken back to london. on the 22nd, the day of the second hearing in sheffield, an enormous crowd had assembled outside the town hall. inside the court an anxious and expectant audiience{sic}, among them mrs. dyson, in the words of a contemporary reporter, "stylish and cheerful," awaited the appearance of the protagonist. great was the disappointment and eager the excitement when the stipendiary came into the court about a quarter past ten and stated that peace had attempted to escape that morning on the journey from london to sheffield, and that in consequence of his injuries the case would be adjourned for eight days.
-peace's daring feat was not, according to his own account, a mere attempt to escape from the clutches of the law; it was noble and roman in its purpose. this is what he told his stepson, willie ward: "i saw from the way i was guarded all the way down from london and all the way back, when i came for my first trial, that i could not get away from the warders, and i knew i could not jump from an express train without being killed. i took a look at darnall as i went down and as i went back, and after i was put in my cell, i thought it all over. i felt that i could not get away, and then i made up my mind to kill myself. i got two bits of paper and pricked on them the words, 'bury me at darnall. god bless you all!' with a bit of black dirt that i found on the floor of my cell i wrote the same words on another piece of paper, and then i hid them in my clothes. my hope was that, when i jumped from the train i should be cut to pieces under the wheels. then i should have been taken to the duke of york (a public-house at darnall) and there would have been an inquest over me. as soon as the inquest was over you would have claimed my body, found the pieces of paper, and then you would have buried me at darnall."
-this statement of peace is no doubt in the main correct. but it is difficult to believe that there was not present to his mind the sporting chance that he might not be killed in leaping from the train, in which event he would no doubt have done his best to get away, trusting to his considerable powers of ingenious disguise to elude pursuit. but such a chance was remote. peace had faced boldly the possibility of a dreadful death.
-with that strain of domestic sentiment, which would appear to have been a marked characteristic of his family, peace was the more ready to cheat the gallows in the hope of being by that means buried decently at darnall. it was at darnall that he had spent some months of comparative calm in his tempestuous career, and it was at darnall that he had first met mrs. dyson. another and more practical motive that may have urged peace to attempt to injure seriously, if not kill himself, was the hope of thereby delaying his trial. if the magisterial investigation in sheffield were completed before the end of january, peace could be committed for trial to the ensuing leeds assizes which commenced in the first week in february. if he were injured too seriously, this would not be possible. here again he was doomed to disappointment.
-peace recovered so well from the results of his adventure on the railway that the doctor pronounced him fit to appear for his second examination before the magistrate on january 30. to avoid excitement, both on the part of the prisoner and the public, the court sat in one of the corridors of the town hall. the scene is described as dismal, dark and cheerless. the proceedings took place by candlelight, and peace, who was seated in an armchair, complained frequently of the cold. at other times he moaned and groaned and protested against the injustice with which he was being treated. but the absence of any audience rather dashed the effect of his laments.
-the most interesting part of the proceedings was the cross-examination of mrs. dyson by mr. clegg, the prisoner's solicitor.
-its purpose was to show that mrs. dyson had been on more intimate terms with peace than she was ready to admit, and that dyson had been shot by peace in the course of a struggle, in which the former had been the aggressor.
-in the first part of his task mr. clegg met with some success. mrs. dyson, whose memory was certainly eccentric--she could not, she said, remember the year in which she had been married--was obliged to admit that she had been in the habit of going to peace's house, that she had been alone with him to public-houses and places of entertainment, and that she and peace had been photographed together during the summer fair at sheffield. she could not "to her knowledge" recollect having told the landlord of a public-house to charge her drink to peace.
-another letter ran: "if you have a note for me, send now whilst he is out; but you must not venture, for he is watching, and you cannot be too careful. hope your foot is better. i went to sheffield yesterday, but i could not see you anywhere. were you out? love to jane." mrs. dyson denied that she had known of an accident which peace had had to his foot at this time. in spite of the ruling of the magistrate that mr. clegg had put forward quite enough, if true, to damage mrs. dyson's credibility, he continued to press her as to her authorship of these notes and letters, but mrs. dyson was firm in her repudiation of them. she was equally firm in denying that anything in the nature of a struggle had taken place between peace and her husband previous to his murder.
-at the conclusion of mrs. dyson's evidence the prisoner was committed to take his trial at the leeds assizes, which commenced the week following. peace, who had groaned and moaned and constantly interrupted the proceedings, protested his innocence, and complained that his witnesses had not been called. the apprehension with which this daring malefactor was regarded by the authorities is shown by this clandestine hearing of his case in a cold corridor of the town hall, and the rapidity with which his trial followed on his committal. there is an appearance almost of precipitation in the haste with which peace was bustled to his doom. after his committal he was taken to wakefield prison, and a few days later to armley jail, there to await his trial.
-this began on february 4, and lasted one day. mr. justice lopes, who had tried vainly to persuade the manchester grand jury to throw out the bill in the case of the brothers habron, was the presiding judge. mr. campbell foster, q.c., led for the prosecution. peace was defended by mr. frank lockwood, then rising into that popular success at the bar which some fifteen years later made him solicitor-general, and but for his premature death would have raised him to even higher honours in his profession.
-in addressing the jury, both mr. campbell foster and mr. lockwood took occasion to protest against the recklessness with which the press of the day, both high and low, had circulated stories and rumours about the interesting convict. as early as november in 1878 one leading london daily newspaper had said that "it was now established beyond doubt that the burglar captured by police constable robinson was one and the same as the banner cross murderer." since then, as the public excitement grew and the facts of peace's extraordinary career came to light, the press had responded loyally to the demands of the greedy lovers of sensation, and piled fiction on fact with generous profusion. "never," said mr. lockwood, "in the whole course of his experience--and he defied any of his learned friends to quote an experience--had there been such an attempt made on the part of those who should be most careful of all others to preserve the liberties of their fellowmen and to preserve the dignity of the tribunals of justice to determine the guilt of a man." peace exclaimed "hear, hear!" as mr. lockwood went on to say that "for the sake of snatching paltry pence from the public, these persons had wickedly sought to prejudice the prisoner's life." allowing for mr. lockwood's zeal as an advocate, there can be no question that, had peace chosen or been in a position to take proceedings, more than one newspaper had at this time laid itself open to prosecution for contempt of court. the times was not far wrong in saying that, since muller murdered mr. briggs on the north london railway and the poisonings of william palmer, no criminal case had created such excitement as that of charles peace. the fact that property seemed to be no more sacred to him than life aggravated in a singular degree the resentment of a commercial people.
-the first witness called by the prosecution was mrs. dyson. she described how on the night of november 29, 1876, she had come out of the outhouse in the yard at the back of her house, and found herself confronted by peace holding a revolver; how he said: "speak, or i'll fire!" and the sequence of events already related up to the moment when dyson fell, shot in the temple.
-mr. lockwood commenced his cross-examination of mrs. dyson by endeavouring to get from her an admission; the most important to the defence, that dyson had caught hold of peace after the first shot had been fired, and that in the struggle which ensued, the revolver had gone off by accident. but he was not very successful. he put it to mrs. dyson that before the magistrate at sheffield she had said: "i can't say my husband did not get hold of the prisoner." "put in the little word 'try,' please," answered mrs. dyson. in spite of mr. lockwood's questions, she maintained that, though her husband may have attempted to get hold of peace, he did not succeed in doing so. as she was the only witness to the shooting there was no one to contradict her statement.
-mr. lockwood fared better when he came to deal with the relations of mrs. dyson with peace previous to the crime. mrs. dyson admitted that in the spring of 1876 her husband had objected to her friendship with peace, and that nevertheless, in the following summer, she and peace had been photographed together at the sheffield fair. she made a vain attempt to escape from such an admission by trying to shift the occasion of the summer fair to the previous year, 1875, but mr. lockwood put it to her that she had not come to darnall, where she first met peace, until the end of that year. finally he drove her to say that she could not remember when she came to darnall, whether in 1873, 1874, 1875, or 1876. she admitted that she had accepted a ring from peace, but could not remember whether she had shown it to her husband. she had been perhaps twice with peace to the marquis of waterford public-house, and once to the star music hall. she could not swear one way or the other whether she had charged to peace's account drink consumed by her at an inn in darnall called the half-way house. confronted with a little girl and a man, whom mr. lockwood suggested she had employed to carry notes to peace, mrs. dyson said that these were merely receipts for pictures which he had framed for her. on the day before her husband's murder, mrs. dyson was at the stag hotel at sharrow with a little boy belonging to a neighbour. a man followed her in and sat beside her, and afterwards followed her out. in answer to mr. lockwood, mrs. dyson would "almost swear" the man was not peace; he had spoken to her, but she could not remember whether she had spoken to him or not. she denied that this man had said to her that he would come and see her the next night. as the result of a parting shot mr. lockwood obtained from mrs. dyson a reluctant admission that she had been "slightly inebriated" at the half-way house in darnall, but had not to her knowledge been turned out of the house on that account. "you may not have known you were inebriated?" suggested mr. lockwood. "i always know what i am doing," was mrs. dyson's reply, to which an unfriendly critic might have replied that she did not apparently know with anything like certainty what she had been doing during the last three or four years. in commenting on the trial the following day, the times stigmatised as "feeble" the prevarications by which mrs. dyson tried to explain away her intimacy with peace. in this part of his cross-examination mr. lockwood had made it appear at least highly probable that there had been a much closer relationship between mrs. dyson and peace than the former was willing to acknowledge.
-the evidence of mrs. dyson was followed by that of five persons who had either seen peace in the neighbourhood of banner cross terrace on the night of the murder, or heard the screams and shots that accompanied it. a woman, mrs. gregory, whose house was between that of the dysons and the passage in which dyson was shot, said that she had heard the noise of the clogs mrs. dyson was wearing as she went across the yard. a minute later she heard a scream. she opened her back door and saw dyson standing by his own. she told him to go to his wife. she then went back into her house, and almost directly after heard two shots, followed by another scream, but no sound as of any scuffling.
-another witness was a labourer named brassington. he was a stranger to peace, but stated that about eight o'clock on the night of the murder a man came up to him outside the banner cross hotel, a few yards from dyson's house. he was standing under a gas lamp, and it was a bright moonlight night. the man asked him if he knew of any strange people who had come to live in the neighbourhood. brassington answered that he did not. the man then produced a bundle of letters which he asked brassington to read. but brassington declined, as reading was not one of his accomplishments. the man then said that "he would make it a warm 'un for those strange folks before morning--he would shoot both of them," and went off in the direction of dyson's house. brassington swore positively that peace was the stranger who had accosted him that night, and mr. lockwood failed to shake him in his evidence. nor could mr. lockwood persuade the surgeon who was called to dyson at the time of his death to admit that the marks on the nose and chin of the dead man could have been caused by a blow; they were merely abrasions of the skin caused by the wounded man falling to the ground.
-evidence was then given as to threats uttered by peace against the dysons in the july of 1876, and as to his arrest at blackheath in the october of 1878. the revolver taken from peace that night was produced, and it was shown that the rifling of the bullet extracted from dyson's head was the same as that of the bullet fired from the revolver carried by peace at the time of his capture.
-mr. campbell foster wanted to put in as evidence the card that dyson had flung into peace's garden at darnall requesting him not to interfere with his family. this card had been found among the bundle of letters dropped by peace near the scene of the murder. mr. lockwood objected to the admission of the card unless all the letters were admitted at the same time. the judge ruled that both the card and the letters were inadmissible, as irrelevant to the issue; mr. lockwood had, he said, very properly cross-examined mrs. dyson on these letters to test her credibility, but he was bound by her answers and could not contradict her by introducing them as evidence in the case.
-mr. lockwood in his address to the jury did his best to persuade them that the death of dyson was the accidental result of a struggle between peace and himself. he suggested that mrs. dyson had left her house that night for the purpose of meeting peace, and that dyson, who was jealous of his wife's intimacy with him, had gone out to find her; that dyson, seeing peace, had caught hold of him; and that the revolver had gone off accidentally as dyson tried to wrest it from his adversary. he repudiated the suggestion of mr. foster that the persons he had confronted with mrs. dyson in the course of his cross-examination had been hired for a paltry sum to come into court and lie.
-twice, both at the beginning and the end of his speech, mr. lockwood urged as a reason for the jury being tender in taking peace's life that he was in such a state of wickedness as to be quite unprepared to meet death. both times that his counsel put forward this curious plea, peace raised his eyes to heaven and exclaimed "i am not fit to die."
-mr. justice lopes in summing up described as an "absolute surmise" the theory of the accidental discharge of the pistol. he asked the jury to take peace's revolver in their hands and try the trigger, so as to see for themselves whether it was likely to go off accidentally or not. he pointed out that the pistol produced might not have been the pistol used at banner cross; at the same time the bullet fired in november, 1876, bore marks such as would have been produced had it been fired from the pistol taken from peace at blackheath in october, 1878. he said that mr. lockwood had been perfectly justified in his attempt to discredit the evidence of mrs. dyson, but the case did not rest on her evidence alone. in her evidence as to the threats uttered by peace in july, 1876, mrs. dyson was corroborated by three other witnesses. in the judge's opinion it was clearly proved that no struggle or scuffle had taken place before the murder. if the defence, he concluded, rested on no solid foundation, then the jury must do their duty to the community at large and by the oath they had sworn.
-it was a quarter past seven when the jury retired. ten minutes later they came back into court with a verdict of guilty. asked if he had anything to say, peace in a faint voice replied, "it is no use my saying anything." the judge, declining very properly to aggravate the prisoner's feelings by "a recapitulation of any portion of the details of what i fear, i can only call your criminal career," passed on him sentence of death. peace accepted his fate with composure.
-before we proceed to describe the last days of peace on earth, let us finish with the two women who had succeeded mrs. peace in his ardent affections.
-a few days after peace's execution mrs. dyson left england for america, but before going she left behind her a narrative intended to contradict the imputations which she felt had been made against her moral character. an irishwoman by birth, she said that she had gone to america when she was fifteen years old.
-there she met and married dyson, a civil engineer on the atlantic and great western railway. theirs was a rough and arduous life. but mrs. dyson was thoroughly happy in driving her husband about in a buggy among bears and creeks. she did not know fear and loved danger: "my husband loved me and i loved him, and in his company and in driving him about in this wild kind of fashion i derived much pleasure." however, mr. dyson's health broke down, and he was obliged to return to england. it was at darnall that the fatal acquaintance with peace began. living next door but one to the dysons, peace took the opportunity of introducing himself, and mr. dyson "being a gentleman," took polite notice of his advances. he became a constant visitor at the house. but after a time peace began to show that he was not the gentleman mr. dyson was. he disgusted the latter by offering to show him improper pictures and "the sights of the town" of sheffield.
-the dysons tried to shake off the unwelcome acquaintance, but that was easier said than done. by this time peace had set his heart on making mrs. dyson leave her husband. he kept trying to persuade her to go to manchester with him, where he would take a cigar or picture shop, to which mrs. dyson, in fine clothes and jewelry, should lend the charm of her comely presence. he offered her a sealskin jacket, yards of silk, a gold watch. she should, he said, live in manchester like a lady, to which mrs. dyson replied coldly that she had always lived like one and should continue to do so quite independently of him. but peace would listen to no refusal, however decided its tone. dyson threw over the card into peace's garden. this only served to aggravate his determination to possess himself of the wife. he would listen at keyholes, leer in at the window, and follow mrs. dyson wherever she went. when she was photographed at the fair, she found that peace had stood behind her chair and by that means got himself included in the picture. at times he had threatened her with a revolver. on one occasion when he was more insulting than usual, mrs. dyson forgot her fear of him and gave him a thrashing. peace threatened "to make her so that neither man nor woman should look at her, and then he would have her all to himself." it was with some purpose of this kind, mrs. dyson suggested, that peace stole a photograph of herself out of a locket, intending to make some improper use of it. at last, in desperation, the dysons moved to banner cross. from the day of their arrival there until the murder, mrs. dyson never saw peace. she denied altogether having been in his company the night before the murder. the letters were "bare forgeries," written by peace or members of his family to get her into their power.
-against the advice of all her friends mrs. dyson had come back from america to give evidence against peace. to the detective who saw her at cleveland she said, "i will go back if i have to walk on my head all the way"; and though she little knew what she would have to go through in giving her evidence, she would do it again under the circumstances. "my opinion is," she said, "that peace is a perfect demon--not a man. i am told that since he has been sentenced to death he has become a changed character. that i don't believe. the place to which the wicked go is not bad enough for him. i think its occupants, bad as they might be, are too good to be where he is. no matter where he goes, i am satisfied that there will be hell. not even a shakespeare could adequately paint such a man as he has been. my lifelong regret will be that i ever knew him."
-with these few earnest words mrs. dyson quitted the shores of england, hardly clearing up the mystery of her actual relations with peace.
-a woman with whom mrs. dyson very much resented finding herself classed--inebriety would appear to have been their only common weakness--was mrs. thompson, the "traitress sue." in spite of the fact that on february 5 mrs. thompson had applied to the treasury for l100, blood money due her for assisting the police in the identification of peace, she was at the same time carrying on a friendly correspondence with her lover and making attempts to see him. peace had written to her before his trial hoping she would not forsake him; "you have been my bosom friend, and you have ofttimes said you loved me, that you would die for me." he asked her to sell some goods which he had left with her in order to raise money for his defence. the traitress replied on january 27 that she had already sold everything and shared the proceeds with mrs. peace. "you are doing me great injustice," she wrote, "by saying that i have been out to 'work' with you. do not die with such a base falsehood on your conscience, for you know i am young and have my living and character to redeem. i pity you and myself to think we should have met." after his condemnation mrs. thompson made repeated efforts to see peace, coming to leeds for the purpose. peace wrote a letter on february 9 to his "poor sue," asking her to come to the prison. but, partly at the wish of peace's relatives and for reasons of their own, a permission given mrs. thompson by the authorities to visit the convict was suddenly withdrawn, and she never saw him again.
-his trial and execution
-in the lives of those famous men who have perished on the scaffold their behaviour during the interval between their condemnation and their execution has always been the subject of curiosity and interest.
-it may be said at once that nothing could have been more deeply religious, more sincerely repentant, more christian to all appearances than peace's conduct and demeanour in the last weeks of his life. he threw himself into the work of atonement with the same uncompromising zeal and energy that he had displayed as a burglar. by his death a truly welcome and effective recruit was lost to the ranks of the contrite and converted sinners. however powerless as a controlling force--and he admitted it--his belief in god and the devil may have been in the past, that belief was assured and confident, and in the presence of death proclaimed itself with vigour, not in words merely, but in deeds.
-in obedience to the wishes of his family, peace had refrained from seeing sue thompson. this was at some sacrifice, for he wished very much to see her and to the last, though he knew that she had betrayed him, sent her affectionate and forgiving messages. these were transmitted to sue by mr. brion. this disingenuous gentleman was a fellow-applicant with sue to the treasury for pecuniary recognition of his efforts in bringing about the identification of peace, and furnishing the police with information as to the convict's disposal of his stolen property. in his zeal he had even gone so far as to play the role of an accomplice of peace, and by this means discovered a place in petticoat lane where the burglar got rid of some of his booty.
-after peace's condemnation mr. brion visited him in armley jail. his purpose in doing so was to wring from his co-inventor an admission that the inventions which they had patented together were his work alone. peace denied this, but offered to sell his share for l50. brion refused the offer, and persisted in his assertion that peace had got his name attached to the patents by undue influence, whatever that might mean. peace, after wrestling with the spirit, gave way. "very well, my friend," he said, "let it be as you say. i have not cheated you, heaven knows. but i also know that this infamy of mine has been the cause of bringing harm to you, which is the last thing i should have wished to have caused to my friend." a deed of gift was drawn up, making over to brion peace's share in their inventions; this peace handed to brion as the price of the latter's precious forgiveness and a token of the sincerity of his colleague's repentance. thus, as has often happened in this sad world, was disreputable genius exploited once again by smug mediocrity. mr. brion, having got all he wanted, left the prison, assuring the governor that peace's repentance was "all bunkum," and advising, with commendable anxiety for the public good, that the warders in the condemned cell should be doubled.
-peace had one act of atonement to discharge more urgent than displaying christian forbearance towards ignoble associates. that was the righting of william habron, who was now serving the third year of his life sentence for the murder of constable cock at whalley range. peace sent for the governor of the jail a few days before his execution and obtained from him the materials necessary for drawing up a plan. peace was quite an adept at making plans; he had already made an excellent one of the scene of dyson's murder. he now drew a plan of the place where cock had been shot, gave a detailed account of how he came by his death, and made a full confession of his own guilt.
-in the confession he described how, some days before the burglary, he had, according to his custom, "spotted" the house at whalley range. in order to do this he always dressed himself respectably, because he had found that the police never suspected anyone who wore good clothes. on the night of the crime he passed two policemen on the road to the house. he had gone into the grounds and was about to begin operations when he heard a rustle behind him and saw a policeman, whom he recognised as one of those he had met in the road, enter the garden. with his well-known agility peace climbed on to the wall, and dropped on to the other side, only to find himself almost in the arms of the second policeman. peace warned the officer to stand back and fired his revolver wide of him. but, as peace said, "these manchester policemen are a very obstinate lot." the constable took out his truncheon. peace fired again and killed him.
-soon after the murderer saw in the newspapers that two men had been arrested for the crime. "this greatly interested me," said peace. "i always had a liking to be present at trials, as the public no doubt know by this time." so he went to manchester assizes and saw william habron sentenced to death. "people will say," he said, "that i was a hardened wretch for allowing an innocent man to suffer for the crime of which i was guilty but what man would have given himself up under such circumstances, knowing as i did that i should certainly be hanged?" peace's view of the question was a purely practical one: "now that i am going to forfeit my own life and feel that i have nothing to gain by further secrecy, i think it is right in the sight of god and man to clear this innocent young man." it would have been more right in the sight of god and man to have done it before, but then peace admitted that during all his career he had allowed neither god nor man to influence his actions.
-how many men in the situation of peace at the time, with the certainty of death before him if he confessed, would have sacrificed themselves to save an innocent man? cold-blooded heroism of this kind is rare in the annals of crime. nor did peace claim to have anything of the hero about him.
-"lion-hearted i've lived, and when my time comes lion-hearted i'll die."
-though fond of repeating this piece of doggerel, peace would have been the last man to have attributed to himself all those qualities associated symbolically with the lion.
-a few days before his execution peace was visited in his prison by mr. littlewood, the vicar of darnall. mr. littlewood had known peace a few years before, when he had been chaplain at wakefield prison. "well, my old friend peace," he said as he entered the cell, "how are you to-day?" "'i am very poorly, sir," replied the convict, "but i am exceedingly pleased to see you." mr. littlewood assured peace that there was at any rate one person in the world who had deep sympathy with him, and that was himself. peace burst into tears. he expressed a wish to unburden himself to the vicar, but before doing so, asked for his assurance that he believed in the truth and sincerity of what he was about to say to him. he said that he preferred to be hanged to lingering out his life in penal servitude, that he was grieved and repentant for his past life. "if i could undo, or make amends for anything i have done, i would suffer my body as i now stand to be cut in pieces inch by inch. i feel, sir, that i am too bad to live or die, and having this feeling i cannot think that either you or anyone else would believe me, and that is the reason why i ask you so much to try to be assured that you do not think i am telling lies. i call my god to witness that all i am saying and wish to say shall be the truth--the whole truth--nothing but the truth." mr. littlewood said that, after carefully watching peace and having regard to his experience of some of the most hardened of criminals during his service in wakefield prison, he felt convinced that peace was in earnest and as sincere as any man could be; he spoke rationally, coherently, and without excitement.
-peace was determined to test the extent of the reverend gentleman's faith in his asseverations. "now, sir," he said, "i understand that you still have the impression that i stole the clock from your day-schools." mr. littlewood admitted that such was his impression. "i thought so," replied peace, "and this has caused me much grief and pain, for i can assure you i have so much respect for you personally that i would rather have given you a clock and much more besides than have taken it. at the time your clock was stolen i had reason for suspecting that it was taken by some colliers whom i knew." there was a pause. mr. littlewood thought that peace was going to give him the name of the colliers. but that was not peace's way. he said sharply: "do you now believe that i have spoken the truth in denying that i took your clock, and will you leave me to-day fully believing that i am innocent of doing that?" mr. littlewood looked at him closely and appeared to be deliberating on his reply. peace watched him intently. at last mr. littlewood said, "peace, i am convinced that you did not take the clock. i cannot believe that you dare deny it now in your position, if you really did." once more peace burst into tears, and was unable for some time to speak.
-having recovered his self-possession, peace turned to the serious business of confession. he dealt first with the murder of dyson.
-he maintained that his relations with mrs. dyson had been of an intimate character. he wanted to see her on the night of the crime in order to get her to induce her husband to withdraw the warrant which he had procured against him; he was tired, he said, of being hunted about from place to place. he intercepted mrs. dyson as she crossed the yard. instead of listening to him quietly mrs. dyson became violent and threatening in her language. peace took out his revolver, and, holding it close to her head, warned her that he was not to be trifled with. she refused to be warned. dyson, hearing the loud voices, came out of his house. peace tried to get away down the passage into banner cross road, but dyson followed and caught hold of him. in the struggle peace fired one barrel of his revolver wide. dyson seized the hand in which peace was holding the weapon. "then i knew," said peace, "i had not a moment to spare. i made a desperate effort, wrenched the arm from him and fired again. all that was in my head at the time was to get away. i never did intend, either there or anywhere else, to take a man's life; but i was determined that i should not be caught at that time, as the result, knowing what i had done before, would have been worse even than had i stayed under the warrant." if he had intended to murder dyson, peace pointed out that he would have set about it in quite a different and more secret way; it was as unintentional a thing as ever was done; mrs. dyson had committed the grossest perjury in saying that no struggle had taken place between her husband and himself.
-it is to be remembered that peace and mrs. dyson were the sole witnesses of what took place that night between the two men. in point of credibility there may be little to choose between them, but peace can claim for his account that it was the statement of a dying, and, to all appearances, sincerely repentant sinner.
-peace then repeated to mr. littlewood his confession of the killing of constable cock, and his desire that habron should be set free.(11) as to this part of his career peace indulged in some general reflections. "my great mistake, sir," he said, "and i can see it now as my end approaches, has been this--in all my career i have used ball cartridge. i can see now that in using ball cartridge i did wrong i ought to have used blank cartridge; then i would not have taken life." peace said that he hoped he would meet his death like a hero. "i do not say this in any kind of bravado. i do not mean such a hero as some persons will understand when they read this. i mean such a hero as my god might wish me to be. i am deeply grieved for all i have done, and would atone for it to the utmost of my power." to mr. littlewood the moment seemed convenient to suggest that as a practical means of atonement peace should reveal to him the names of the persons with whom he had disposed of the greater part of his stolen property. but in spite of much attempted persuasion by the reverend gentleman peace explained that he was a man and meant to be a man to the end.
-(11) william habron was subsequently given a free pardon and l800 by way of compensation.
-earlier in their interview peace had expressed to mr. littlewood a hope that after his execution his name would never be mentioned again, but before they parted he asked mr. littlewood, as a favour, to preach a sermon on him after his death to the good people of darnall. he wished his career held up to them as a beacon, in order that all who saw might avoid his example, and so his death be of some service to society.
-before mr. littlewood left, peace asked him to hear him pray. having requested the warders to kneel down, peace began a prayer that lasted twenty minutes. he prayed for himself, his family, his victims, mr. littlewood, society generally, and all classes of the community. mr. littlewood described the prayer as earnest, fervent and fluent. at the end peace asked mr. littlewood if he ought to see mrs. dyson and beg her forgiveness for having killed her husband. mr. littlewood, believing erroneously that mrs. dyson had already left the country, told peace that he should direct all his attention to asking forgiveness of his maker. at the close of their interview peace was lifted into bed and, turning his face to the wall, wept.
-tuesday, february 25, was the day fixed for the execution of peace. as the time drew near, the convict's confidence in ultimate salvation increased. a dr. potter of sheffield had declared in a sermon that "all hope of peace's salvation was gone for ever." peace replied curtly, "well, dr. potter may think so, but i don't." though his health had improved, peace was still very feeble in body. but his soul was hopeful and undismayed. on the saturday before his death his brother and sister-in-law, a nephew and niece visited him for the last time. he spoke with some emotion of his approaching end. he said he should die about eight o'clock, and that at four o'clock an inquest would be held on his body; he would then be thrown into his grave without service or sermon of any kind. he asked his relatives to plant a flower on a certain grave in a cemetery in sheffield on the day of his execution. he was very weak, he said, but hoped he should have strength enough to walk to the scaffold. he sent messages to friends and warnings to avoid gambling and drinking. he begged his brother to change his manner of life and "become religious." his good counsel was not apparently very well received. peace's visitors took a depressing view of their relative's condition. they found him "a poor, wretched, haggard man," and, meeting mrs. thompson who was waiting outside the gaol for news of "dear jack," wondered how she could have taken up with such a man.
-when, the day before his execution, peace was visited for the last time by his wife, his stepson, his daughter, mrs. bolsover, and her husband, he was in much better spirits. he asked his visitors to restrain themselves from displays of emotion, as he felt very happy and did not wish to be disturbed. he advised them to sell or exhibit for money certain works of art of his own devising. among them was a design in paper for a monument to be placed over his grave. the design is elaborate but well and ingeniously executed; in the opinion of frith, the painter, it showed "the true feeling of an artist." it is somewhat in the style of the albert memorial, and figures of angels are prominent in the scheme. the whole conception is typical of the artist's sanguine and confident assurance of his ultimate destiny. a model boat and a fiddle made out of a hollow bamboo cane he wished also to be made the means of raising money. he was describing with some detail the ceremony of his approaching death and burial when he was interrupted by a sound of hammering. peace listened for a moment and then said, "that's a noise that would make some men fall on the floor. they are working at my own scaffold." a warder said that he was mistaken. "no, i am not," answered peace, "i have not worked so long with wood without knowing the sound of deals; and they don't have deals inside a prison for anything else than scaffolds." but the noise, he said, did not disturb him in the least, as he was quite prepared to meet his fate. he would like to have seen his grave and coffin; he knew that his body would be treated with scant ceremony after his death. but what of that? by that time his soul would be in heaven. he was pleased that one sinner who had seen him on his way from pentonville to sheffield, had written to tell him that the sight of the convict had brought home to him the sins of his own past life, and by this means he had found salvation.
-the time had come to say good-bye for the last time. peace asked his weeping relatives whether they had anything more that they wished to ask him. mrs. peace reminded him that he had promised to pray with them at the last. peace, ever ready, knelt with them and prayed for half an hour. he then shook hands with them, prayed for and blessed each one singly, and himself gave way to tears as they left his presence. to his wife as she departed peace gave a funeral card of his own designing. it ran:
-for that i don but never intended.
-the same day there arrived in the prison one who in his own trade had something of the personality and assurance of the culprit he was to execute. william marwood--unlike his celebrated victim, he has his place in the dictionary of national biography--is perhaps the most remarkable of these persons who have held at different times the office of public executioner. as the inventor of the "long drop," he has done a lasting service to humanity by enabling the death-sentence passed by the judge to be carried out with the minimum of possible suffering. marwood took a lofty view of the office he held, and refused his assent to the somewhat hypocritical loathing, with which those who sanction and profit by his exertions are pleased to regard this servant of the law. "i am doing god's work," said marwood, "according to the divine command and the law of the british crown. i do it simply as a matter of duty and as a christian. i sleep as soundly as a child and am never disturbed by phantoms. where there is guilt there is bad sleeping, but i am conscious that i try to live a blameless life. detesting idleness, i pass my vacant time in business (he was a shoemaker at horncastle, in lincolnshire) and work in my shoeshop near the church day after day until such time as i am required elsewhere. it would have been better for those i executed if they had preferred industry to idleness."
-marwood had not the almost patriarchal air of benevolent respectability which his predecessor calcraft had acquired during a short experience as a family butler; but as an executioner that kindly old gentleman had been a sad bungler in his time compared with the scientific and expeditious marwood. the horncastle shoemaker was saving, businesslike, pious and thoughtful. like peace, he had interests outside his ordinary profession. he had at one time propounded a scheme for the abolition of the national debt, a man clearly determined to benefit his fellowmen in some way or other. a predilection for gin would seem to have been his only concession to the ordinary weakness of humanity. and now he had arrived in armley jail to exercise his happy dispatch on the greatest of the many criminals who passed through his hands, one who, in his own words, "met death with greater firmness" than any man on whom he had officiated during seven years of crown employment.
-the day of february the 25th broke bitterly cold. like charles i. before him, peace feared lest the extreme cold should make him appear to tremble on the scaffold. he had slept calmly till six o'clock in the morning. a great part of the two hours before the coming of the hangman peace spent in letter-writing. he wrote two letters to his wife, in one of which he copied out some verses he had written in woking prison on the death of their little boy john. in the second he expressed his satisfaction that he was to die now and not linger twenty years in prison. to his daughter, step-son and son-in-law he wrote letters of fervent, religious exhortation and sent them tracts and pictures which he had secured from well-intentioned persons anxious about his salvation. to an old friend, george goodlad, a pianist, who had apparently lived up to his name, he wrote: "you chose an honest industrious way through life, but i chose the one of dishonesty, villainy and sin"; let his fate, he said, be a warning.
-peace ate a hearty breakfast and awaited the coming of the executioner with calm. he had been troubled with an inconvenient cough the night before. "i wonder," he said to one of his warders, "if marwood could cure this cough of mine." he had got an idea into his head that marwood would "punish" him when he came to deal with him on the scaffold, and asked to see the hangman a few minutes before the appointed hour. "i hope you will not punish me. i hope you will do your work quickly," he said to marwood. "you shall not suffer pain from my hand," replied that worthy. "god bless you," exclaimed peace, "i hope to meet you all in heaven. i am thankful to say my sins are all forgiven." and so these two pious men--on the morning of an execution marwood always knelt down and asked god's blessing on the work he had to do--shook hands together and set about their business. firmly and fearlessly peace submitted himself to the necessary preparations. for one moment he faltered as the gallows came in sight, but recovered himself quickly.
-as marwood was about to cover his face, peace stopped him with some irritation of manner and said that he wished to speak to the gentlemen of the press who had been admitted to the ceremony. no one gainsaid him, and he thus addressed the reporters: "you gentlemen reporters, i wish you to notice the few words i am going to say. you know what my life has been. it has been base; but i wish you to notice, for the sake of others, how a man can die, as i am about to die, in fear of the lord. gentlemen, my heart says that i feel assured that my sins are forgiven me, that i am going to the kingdom of heaven, or else to the place prepared for those who rest until the great judgment day. i do not think i have any enemies, but if there are any who would be so, i wish them well. gentlemen, all and all, i wish them to come to the kingdom of heaven when they die, as i am going to die." he asked a blessing on the officials of the prison and, in conclusion, sent his last wishes and respects to his dear children and their mother. "i hope," he said, "no one will disgrace them by taunting them or jeering them on my account, but to have mercy upon them. god bless you, my dear children. good-bye, and heaven bless you. amen: oh, my lord god, have mercy upon me!"
-after the cap had been placed over his head peace asked twice very sharply, as a man who expected to be obeyed, for a drink of water. but this time his request was not compiled with. he died instantaneously and was buried in armley jail.
-had peace flourished in 1914 instead of 1874, his end might have been honourable instead of dishonourable. the war of to-day has no doubt saved many a man from a criminal career by turning to worthy account qualities which, dangerous in crime, are useful in war. absolute fearlessness, agility, resource, cunning and determination; all these are admirable qualities in the soldier; and all these charles peace possessed in a signal degree. but fate denied him opportunity, he became a burglar and died on the scaffold. years of prison life failed, as they did in those days, to make any impression for good on one resolute in whatever way he chose to go. peace was a born fighter. a detective who knew him and had on one occasion come near capturing him in london, said that he was a fair fighter, that he always gave fair warning to those on whom he fired, and that, being a dead shot, the many wide shots which he fired are to be reckoned proofs of this. peace maintained to the last that he had never intended to kill dyson. this statement ex-detective parrock believed, and that the fatal shot was fired over peace's shoulder as he was making off. though habitually sober, peace was made intoxicated now and then by the drink, stood him by those whom he used to amuse with his musical tricks and antics in public-houses. at such times he would get fuddled and quarrelsome. he was in such a frame of mind on the evening of dyson's murder. his visit to the vicar of ecclesall brought him little comfort or consolation. it was in this unsatisfactory frame of mind that he went to dyson's house. this much the ex-detective would urge in his favour. to his neighbours he was an awe-inspiring but kind and sympathetic man. "if you want my true opinion of him," says detective parrock, "he was a burglar to the backbone but not a murderer at heart. he deserved the fate that came to him as little as any who in modern times have met with a like one." those who are in the fighting line are always the most generous about their adversaries. parrock as a potential target for peace's revolver, may have erred on the side of generosity, but there is some truth in what he says.
-as peace himself admitted, his life had been base. he was well aware that he had misused such gifts as nature had bestowed on him. one must go back to mediaeval times to find the counterpart of this daring ruffian who, believing in personal god and devil, refuses until the end to allow either to interfere with his business in life. in this respect charles peace reminds us irresistibly of our angevin kings.
-there is only one criminal who vies with charley peace in that genial popular regard which makes charles "charley" and john "jack," and that is jack sheppard. what jack was to the eighteenth century, that charley was to the nineteenth. and each one is in a sense typical of his period. lecky has said that the eighteenth century is richer than any other in the romance of crime. i think it may fairly be said that in the nineteenth century the romance of crime ceased to be. in the eighteenth century the scenery and dresses, all the stage setting of crime make for romance; its literature is quaint and picturesque; there is something gay and debonair about the whole business.
-sheppard is typical of all this. there is a certain charm about the rascal; his humour is undeniable; he is a philosopher, taking all that comes with easy grace, even his betrayal by his brother and others who should have been loyal to him. jack sheppard has the good-humoured carelessness of that most engaging of all eighteenth century malefactors, deacon brodie. it is quite otherwise with charley peace. there is little enough gay or debonair about him. compared with sheppard, peace is as drab as the surroundings of mid-victorian crime are drab compared with the picturesqueness of eighteenth century england.
-crime in the nineteenth century becomes more scientific in its methods and in its detection also. the revolver places a more hasty, less decorous weapon than the old-fashioned pistol in the hands of the determined burglar. the literature of crime, such as it is, becomes vulgar and prosaic. peace has no charm about him, no gaiety, but he has the virtues of his defects. he, unlike sheppard, shuns company; he works alone, never depending on accomplices; a "tight cock," as sheppard would have phrased it, and not relying on a like quality of tightness in his fellows. sheppard is a slave to his women, edgeworth bess and mrs. maggot; mrs. peace and sue thompson are the slaves of peace. sheppard loves to stroll openly about the london streets in his fine suit of black, his ruffled shirt and his silver-hilted sword. peace lies concealed at peckham beneath the homely disguise of old mr. thompson. sheppard is an imp, peace a goblin. but both have that gift of personality which, in their own peculiar line, lifts them out from the ruck, and makes them jack and charley to those who like to know famous people by cheery nicknames.
-and so we must accept charles peace as a remarkable character, whose unquestioned gifts as a man of action were squandered on a criminal career; neither better nor worse than a great number of other persons, whose good fortune it has been to develop similar qualities under happier surroundings. there are many more complete villains than the ordinary criminal, who contrive to go through life without offending against the law. close and scientific investigation has shown that the average convicted criminal differs intellectually from the normal person only in a slightly lower level of intelligence, a condition that may well be explained by the fact that the convicted criminal has been found out. crime has been happily defined by a recent and most able investigator into the character of the criminal(12) as "an unusual act committed by a perfectly normal person." at the same time, according to the same authority, there is a type of normal person who tends to be convicted of crime, and he is differentiated from his fellows by defective physique and mental capacity and an increased possession of antisocial qualities.(13)
-(12) "the english convict," a statistical study, by charles goring, m.d. his majesty's stationery office, 1913.
-how does peace answer to the definition? though short in stature, his physical development left little to be desired: he was active, agile, and enjoyed excellent health at all times. for a man of forty-seven he had aged remarkably in appearance. that is probably to be accounted for by mental worry. with two murders on his conscience we know from sue thompson that all she learnt of his secrets was what escaped from him in his troubled dreams--peace may well have shown traces of mental anxiety. but in all other respects charles peace would seem to have been physically fit. in intellectual capacity he was undoubtedly above the average of the ordinary criminal. the facts of his career, his natural gifts, speak for themselves. of anti-social proclivities he no doubt possessed his share at the beginning, and these were aggravated, as in most cases they were in his day, by prison life and discipline.
-judged as scientifically as is possible where the human being is concerned, peace stands out physically and intellectually well above the average of his class, perhaps the most naturally gifted of all those who, without advantages of rank or education, have tried their hands at crime. ordinary crime for the most part would appear to be little better than the last resort of the intellectually defective, and a poor game at that. the only interesting criminals are those worthy of something better. peace was one of these. if his life may be said to point a moral, it is the very simple one that crime is no career for a man of brains.
-the career of robert butler
-there is a report of butler's trial published in dunedin. it gives in full the speeches and the cross-examination of the witnesses, but not in all cases the evidence-in-chief. by the kindness of a friend in new zealand i obtained a copy of the depositions taken before the magistrate; with this i have been able to supplement the report of the trial. a collection of newspaper cuttings furnished me with the details of the rest of butler's career.
-the dunedin murders
-on the evening of march 23, 1905, mr. william munday, a highly respected citizen of the town of tooringa, in queensland, was walking to the neighbouring town of toowong to attend a masonic gathering. it was about eight o'clock, the moon shining brightly. nearing toowong, mr. munday saw a middle-aged man, bearded and wearing a white overcoat, step out into the moonlight from under the shadow of a tree. as mr. munday advanced, the man in the white coat stood directly in his way. "out with all you have, and quick about it," he said. instead of complying with this peremptory summons, mr. munday attempted to close with him. the man drew back quickly, whipped out a revolver, fired, and made off as fast as he could. the bullet, after passing through mr. munday's left arm, had lodged in the stomach. the unfortunate gentleman was taken to a neighbouring hospital where, within a few hours, he was dead.
-in the meantime a vigorous search was made for his assailant. late the same night constable hennessy, riding a bicycle, saw a man in a white coat who seemed to answer to the description of the assassin. he dismounted, walked up to him and asked him for a match. the man put his hand inside his coat. "what have you got there?" asked the constable. "i'll--soon show you," replied the man in the white coat, producing suddenly a large revolver. but hennessy was too quick for him. landing him one under the jaw, he sent him to the ground and, after a sharp struggle, secured him. constable hennessy little knew at the time that his capture in queensland of the man in the white coat was almost as notable in the annals of crime as the affray at blackheath on an autumn night in 1878, when constable robinson grappled successfully, wounded as he was, with charles peace.
-the man taken by hennessy gave the name of james wharton, and as james wharton he was hanged at brisbane. but before his death it was ascertained beyond doubt, though he never admitted it himself, that wharton was none other than one robert butler, whose career as a criminal and natural wickedness may well rank him with charles peace in the hierarchy of scoundrels. like peace, butler was, in the jargon of crime, a "hatter," a "lone hand," a solitary who conceived and executed his nefarious designs alone; like peace, he supplemented an insignificant physique by a liberal employment of the revolver; like peace, he was something of a musician, the day before his execution he played hymns for half an hour on the prison organ; like peace, he knew when to whine when it suited his purpose; and like peace, though not with the same intensity, he could be an uncomfortably persistent lover, when the fit was on him. both men were cynics in their way and viewed their fellow-men with a measure of contempt. but here parallel ends. butler was an intellectual, inferior as a craftsman to peace, the essentially practical, unread, naturally gifted artist. butler was a man of books. he had been schoolmaster, journalist. he had studied the lives of great men, and as a criminal, had devoted especial attention to those of frederick the great and napoleon. butler's defence in the dunedin murder trial was a feat of skill quite beyond the power of peace. peace was a religious man after the fashion of the mediaeval tyrant, butler an infidel. peace, dragged into the light of a court of justice, cut a sorry figure; here butler shone. peace escaped a conviction for murder by letting another suffer in his place; butler escaped a similar experience by the sheer ingenuity of his defence. peace had the modesty and reticence of the sincere artist; butler the loquacious vanity of the literary or forensic coxcomb. lastly, and it is the supreme difference, butler was a murderer by instinct and conviction, as lacenaire or ruloff; "a man's life," he said, "was of no more importance than a dog's; nature respects the one no more than the other, a volcanic eruption kills mice and men with the one hand. the divine command, 'kill, kill and spare not,' was intended not only for joshua, but for men of all time; it is the example of our rulers, our fredericks and napoleons."
-butler was of the true prussian mould. "in crime," he would say, "as in war, no half measures. let us follow the example of our rulers whose orders in war run, 'kill, burn and sink,' and what you cannot carry away, destroy.'" here is the gospel of frightfulness applied almost prophetically to crime. to butler murder is a principle of warfare; to peace it was never more than a desperate resort or an act the outcome of ungovernable passion.
-ireland can claim the honour of butler's birth. it took place at kilkenny about 1845. at an early age he left his native land for australia, and commenced his professional career by being sentenced under the name of james wilson--the same initials as those of james wharton of queensland--to twelve months' imprisonment for vagrancy. of the sixteen years he passed in victoria he spent thirteen in prison, first for stealing, then in steady progression for highway robbery and burglary. side by side with the practical and efficient education in crime furnished by the victorian prisons of that day, butler availed himself of the opportunity to educate his mind. it was during this period that he found inspiration and encouragement in the study of the lives of frederick and napoleon, besides acquiring a knowledge of music and shorthand.
-when in 1876 butler quitted australia for new zealand, he was sufficiently accomplished to obtain employment as a schoolmaster.
-at cromwell, otago, under the name of "c. j. donelly, esq.," butler opened a "commercial and preparatory academy," and in a prospectus that recalls mr. squeers' famous advertisement of dotheboys hall, announced that the programme of the academy would include "reading, taught as an art and upon the most approved principles of elocution, writing, arithmetic, euclid, algebra, mensuration, trigonometry, book-keeping, geography, grammar, spelling and dictation, composition, logic and debate, french, latin, shorthand, history, music, and general lectures on astronomy, natural philosophy, geology, and other subjects." the simpler principles of these branches of learning were to be "rendered intelligible, and a firm foundation laid for the acquirement of future knowledge." unfortunately a suspicion of theft on butler's part cut short the fulfilment of this really splendid programme, and butler left cromwell hurriedly for the ampler field of dunedin. there, less than a fortnight after his arrivel{sic}, he was sentenced to four years' hard labour for several burglaries committed in and about that city.
-on the 18th of february, 1880, butler was released from prison. with that consummate hypocrisy which was part of the man, he had contrived to enlist the sympathies of the governor of the dunedin jail, who gave him, on his departure, a suit of clothes and a small sum of money. a detective of the name of bain tried to find him employment. butler wished to adopt a literary career. he acted as a reporter on the dunedin evening star, and gave satisfaction to the editor of that newspaper. an attempt to do some original work, in the shape of "prison sketches," for another newspaper, was less successful. bain had arranged for the publication of the articles in the sunday advertiser, but when the time came to deliver his manuscript, butler failed to appear. bain, whose duty it was to keep an eye on butler, found him in the street looking wild and haggard. he said that he had found the work "too much for his head," that he had torn up what he had written, that he had nowhere to go, and had been to the end of the jetty with the intention of drowning himself. bain replied somewhat caustically that he thought it a pity he had not done so, as nothing would have given him greater joy than going to the end of the jetty and identifying his body. "you speak very plainly," said butler. "yes, and what is more, i mean what i say," replied bain. butler justified bain's candour by saying that if he broke out again, he would be worse than the most savage tiger ever let loose on the community. as a means of obviating such an outbreak, butler suggested that, intellectual employment having failed, some form of manual labour should be found him. bain complied with butler's request, and got him a job at levelling reclaimed ground in the neighbourhood of dunedin. on wednesday, march 10, butler started work, but after three hours of it relinquished the effort. bain saw butler again in dunedin on the evening of saturday, march 13, and made an appointment to meet him at half-past eight that night. butler did not keep the appointment. bain searched the town for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
-about the same time butler had some talk with another member of the dunedin police force, inspector mallard. they discussed the crimes of charles peace and other notable artists of that kind. butler remarked to mallard how easy it would be to destroy all traces of a murder by fire, and asked the inspector whether if he woke up one morning to find some brutal murder had been committed, he would not put it down to him. "no, butler," replied the inspector, "the first thing i should do would be to look for suspicious circumstances, and most undoubtedly, if they pointed to you, you would be looked after."
-in the early morning of this saturday, march 13, the house of a mr. stamper, a solicitor of dunedin, had been broken into, and some articles of value, among them a pair of opera glasses, stolen. the house had been set on fire, and burned to the ground. on the morning of the following day, sunday, the 14th, dunedin was horrified by the discovery of a far more terrible crime, tigerish certainly in its apparent ferocity. in a house in cumberland street, a young married couple and their little baby were cruelly murdered and un{sic}{an??} unsuccessful attempt made to fire the scene of the crime.
-nothing more was known of what had occurred that morning until at half-past six robb saw the smoke coming from dewars' house. mrs. dewar, who alone could have told something, never recovered consciousness and died on the day following the crime. three considerable wounds sufficient to cause death had been inflicted on the unfortunate woman's head, and five of a similar character on that of her husband. at the head of the bed, which stood in the corner of the room, there was a large smear of blood on the wall just above the door; there were spots of blood all over the top of the bed, and some smaller ones that had to all appearances spurted on to the panel of the door nearest to the bed.
-the investigation of this shocking crime was placed in the hands of detective bain, whose duty it had been to keep an eye on robert butler, but he did not at first associate his interesting charge with the commission of the murder. about half-past six on sunday evening bain happened to go to a place called the scotia hotel, where the landlord informed him that one of his servants, a girl named sarah gillespie, was very anxious to see him. her story was this: on the morning of thursday, march 11, robert butler had come to the hotel; he was wearing a dark lavender check suit and carried a top coat and parcel. butler had stayed in the hotel all thursday and slept there that night. he had not slept in the hotel on the friday night, and sarah gillespie had not seen him again until he came into the house about five and twenty minutes to seven on sunday morning. the girl noticed that he was pale and excited, seemed afraid and worried, as if someone were coming after him. after giving her some money for the landlord, he went upstairs, fetched his top coat, a muffler, and his parcel. before leaving he said he would have a pint of beer, as he had not breakfasted. he then left, presumably to catch an early train.
-butler was next seen a few minutes later at a shop near the hotel, where he bought five tins of salmon, and about the same time a milk-boy saw him standing on the kerb in cumberland street in a stooping position, his head turned in the direction of dewars' house. a little after ten the same night butler entered a hotel at a place called blueskin, some twelve miles distant from dunedin. he was wearing an overcoat and a light muffler. he sat down at a table in the dining-room and seemed weary and sleepy. someone standing at the bar said "what a shocking murder that was in cumberland street!" butler started up, looked steadily from one to the other of the two men who happened to be in the room, then sat down again and, taking up a book, appeared to be reading. more than once he put down the book and kept shifting uneasily in his chair. after having some supper he got up, paid his reckoning, and left the hotel.
-at half-past three the following morning, about fifteen miles from dunedin, on the road to waikouaiti, two constables met a man whom they recognised as butler from a description that had been circulated by the police. the constables arrested and searched him. they found on him a pair of opera glasses, the property of mr. stamper, whose house had been burgled and burned down on the morning of the 13th. of this crime butler acknowledged himself to be the perpetrator. besides the opera glasses the constables took from butler two tins of salmon, a purse containing four shillings and sixpence, a pocket knife, a box of matches, a piece of candle, and a revolver and cartridges. the prisoner was carrying a top coat, and was dressed in a dark coat and grey trousers, underneath which he was wearing a white shirt, an under flannel and a rob roy crimean shirt. one of the constables noticed that there were marks of blood on his shirt. another singular feature in butler's attire was the fact that the outer soles of his boots had been recently removed. when last seen in dunedin butler had been wearing a moustache; he was now clean shaven.
-the same evening a remarkable interview took place in the lock-up at waikouaiti between butler and inspector mallard. mallard, who had some reason for suspecting butler, bearing in mind their recent conversation, told the prisoner that he would be charged with the murder in cumberland street. for a few seconds, according to mallard, the prisoner seemed terribly agitated and appeared to be choking. recovering himself somewhat, he said, "if for that, you can get no evidence against me; and if i am hanged for it, i shall be an innocent man, whatever other crimes i may have committed." mallard replied, "there is evidence to convict you--the fire was put out." butler than{sic} said that he would ask mallard a question, but, after a pause, decided not to do so. mallard, after examining butler's clothes, told him that those were not the clothes in which he had left the scotia hotel. butler admitted it, and said he had thrown those away in the north east valley. mallard alluded to the disappearance of the prisoner's moustache. butler replied that he had cut it off on the road. mallard noticed then the backs of butler's hands were scratched, as if by contact with bushes. butler seemed often on the point of asking questions, but would then stop and say "no, i won't ask you anything." to the constables who had arrested him butler remarked, "you ought to remember me, because i could have shot you if i had wished." when mallard later in the evening visited butler again, the prisoner who was then lying down said, "i want to speak to you. i want to ask the press not to publish my career. give me fair play. i suppose i shall be convicted and you will see i can die like a man."
-a few days after butler's arrest a ranger on the town belt, a hill overlooking dunedin, found a coat, a hat and silk striped cravat, and a few days later a pair of trousers folded up and placed under a bush. these articles of clothing were identified as those which butler had been seen wearing on the saturday and sunday morning. they were examined. there were a number of bloodstains on them, not one of them larger in size than a pea, some almost invisible. on the front of the trousers about the level of the groin there were blood spots on both sides. there was blood on the fold of the left breast of the coat and on the lining of the cuff of the right arm. the shirt butler was wearing at the time of his arrest was examined also. there were small spots of blood, about fourteen altogether, on the neck and shoulder bands, the right armpit, the left sleeve, and on both wristbands. besides the clothes, a salmon tin was found on the town belt, and behind a seat in the botanical gardens, from which a partial view of the dewars' house in cumberland street could be obtained, two more salmon tins were found, all three similar to the five purchased by butler on the sunday morning, two of which had been in his possession at the time of his arrest.
-such were the main facts of the case which butler had to answer when, a few weeks later, he was put on his trial before the supreme court at dunedin. the presiding judge was mr. justice williams, afterwards sir joshua williams and a member of the privy council. the crown prosecutor, mr. haggitt, conducted the case for the crown, and butler defended himself.
-the trial of butler
-to a man of butler's egregious vanity his trial was a glorious opportunity for displaying his intellectual gifts, such as they were. one who had known him in prison about this time describes him as a strange compound of vanity and envy, blind to his own faults and envious of the material advantages enjoyed by others. self-willed and arrogant, he could bully or whine with equal effect. despising men, he believed that if a man did not possess some requisite quality, he had only to ape it, as few would distinguish between the real and the sham.
-but with all these advantages in the struggle for life, it is certain that butler's defence would have been far less effective had be{sic} been denied all professional aid. as a matter of fact, throughout his trial butler was being advised by three distinguished members of the new zealand bar, now judges of the supreme court, who though not appearing for him in court, gave him the full benefit of their assistance outside it. at the same time butler carried off the thing well. where imagination was required, butler broke down; he could not write sketches of life in prison; that was too much for his pedestrian intellect. but given the facts of a case, dealing with a transaction of which he alone knew the real truth, and aided by the advice and guidance of trained intellects, butler was unquestionably clever and shrewd enough to make the best use of such advantages in meeting the case against him.
-thus equipped for the coming struggle, this high-browed ruffian, with his semi-intellectual cast of countenance, his jerky restless posturing, his splay-footed waddle, "like a lame muscovy duck," in the graphic words of his gaol companion, stood up to plead for his life before the supreme court at dunedin.
-it may be said at the outset that butler profited greatly by the scrupulous fairness shown by the crown prosecutor. mr. haggitt extended to the prisoner a degree of consideration and forbearance, justified undoubtedly towards an undefended prisoner. but, as we have seen, butler was not in reality undefended. at every moment of the trial he was in communication with his legal advisers, and being instructed by them how to meet the evidence given against him. under these circumstances the unfailing consideration shown him by the crown prosecutor seems almost excessive. from the first moment of the trial butler was fully alive to the necessities of his situation. he refrained from including in his challenges of the jury the gentleman who was afterwards foreman; he knew he was all right, he said, because he parted his hair in the middle, a "softy," in fact. he did not know in all probability that one gentleman on the jury had a rooted conviction that the murder of the dewars was the work of a criminal lunatic. there was certainly nothing in butler's demeanour or behaviour to suggest homicidal mania.
-the case against butler rested on purely circumstantial evidence.
-no new facts of importance were adduced at the trial. the stealing of dewar's wages, which had been paid to him on the saturday, was the motive for the murder suggested by the crown. the chief facts pointing to butler's guilt were: his conversation with mallard and bain previous to the crime; his demeanour after it; his departure from dunedin; the removal of his moustache and the soles of his boots; his change of clothes and the bloodstains found upon them, added to which was his apparent inability to account for his movements on the night in question.
-butler's speech in his defence lasted six hours, and was a creditable performance. its arrangement is somewhat confused and repetitious, some points are over-elaborated, but on the whole he deals very successfully with most of the evidence given against him and exposes the unquestionable weakness of the crown case. at the outset he declared that he had taken his innocence for his defence. "i was not willing," he said, "to leave my life in the hands of a stranger. i was willing to incur all the disadvantages which the knowledge of the law might bring upon me. i was willing, also, to enter on this case without any experience whatever of that peculiarly acquired art of cross-examination. i fear i have done wrong. if i had had the assistance of able counsel, much more light would have been thrown on this case than has been." as we have seen, butler enjoyed throughout his trial the informal assistance of three of the most able counsel in new zealand, so that this heroic attitude of conscious innocence braving all dangers loses most of its force. without such assistance his danger might have been very real.
-a great deal of the evidence as to his conduct and demeanour at the time of the murder butler met by acknowledging that it was he who had broken into mr. stamper's house on the saturday morning, burgled it and set it on fire. his consciousness of guilt in this respect was, he said, quite sufficient to account for anything strange or furtive in his manner at that time. he was already known to the police; meeting bain on the saturday night, he felt more than ever sure that he was susspected{sic} of the robbery at mr. stamper's; he therefore decided to leave dunedin as soon as possible. that night, he said, he spent wandering about the streets half drunk, taking occasional shelter from the pouring rain, until six o'clock on the sunday morning, when he went to the scotia hotel. a more detailed account of his movements on the night of the dewars' murder he did not, or would not, give.
-when he comes to the facts of the murder and his theories as to the nature and motive of the crime--theories which he developed at rather unnecessary length for the purpose of his own defence--his speech is interesting. it will be recollected that on the discovery of the murder, a knife was found on the grass outside the house. this knife was not the property of the dewars. in butler's speech he emphasised the opinion that this knife had been brought there by the murderer: "horrible though it may be, my conclusion is that he brought it with the intention of cutting the throats of his victims, and that, finding they lay in rather an untoward position, he changed his mind, and, having carried out the object with which he entered the house, left the knife and, going back, brought the axe with which he effected his purpose. what was the purpose of the murderer? was it the robbery of dewar's paltry wages? was it the act of a tiger broken loose on the community? an act of pure wanton devilry? or was there some more reasonable explanation of this most atrocious crime?"
-butler rejected altogether the theory of ordinary theft. no thief of ambitious views, he said, would pitch upon the house of a poor journeyman butcher. the killing of the family appeared to him to be the motive: "an enemy hath done this." the murderer seems to have had a knowledge of the premises; he enters the house and does his work swiftly and promptly, and is gone. "we cannot know," butler continues, "all the passages in the lives of the murdered man or woman. what can we know of the hundred spites and jealousies or other causes of malice which might have caused the crime? if you say some obscure quarrel, some spite or jealousy is not likely to have been the cause of so dreadful a murder, you cannot revert to the robbery theory without admitting a motive much weaker in all its utter needlessness and vagueness. the prominent feature of the murder, indeed the only feature, is its ruthless, unrelenting, determined vindictiveness. every blow seemed to say, 'you shall die you shall not live.'"
-whether butler were the murderer of the dewars or not, the theory that represented them as having been killed for the purpose of robbery has its weak side all the weaker if butler, a practical and ambitious criminal, were the guilty man.
-a few years after its appearance in society, this account of butler was reproduced in an auckland newspaper. bain, the detective, wrote a letter questioning the truth of the writer's statements. he pointed out that when butler first came to dunedin he had been at liberty only a fortnight before serving his first term of imprisonment, very little time in which to make the acquaintance of a woman and dispose of the stolen jewellery. he asked why, if butler had hidden the jewellery just before his arrest, he had not also hidden the opera-glasses which he had stolen from mr. stamper's house. neither of these comments is very convincing. a fortnight seems time enough in which a man of butler's character might get to know a woman and dispose of some jewellery; while, if butler were the murderer of mr. dewar as well as the burglar who had broken into stamper's house, it was part of his plan to acknowledge himself guilty of the latter crime and use it to justify his movements before and after the murder. bain is more convincing when he states at the conclusion of his letter that he had known mrs. dewar from childhood as a "thoroughly good and true woman," who, as far as he knew, had never in her life had any acquaintance with butler.
-at the same time, the account given by butler's fellow-prisoner, in which the conduct of the murdered woman is represented as constituting the provocation for the subsequent crime, explains one peculiar circumstance in connection with the tragedy, the selection of this journeyman butcher and his wife as the victims of the murderer. it explains the theory, urged so persistently by butler in his speech to the jury, that the crime was the work of an enemy of the dewars, the outcome of some hidden spite, or obscure quarrel; it explains the apparent ferocity of the murder, and the improbability of a practical thief selecting such an unprofitable couple as his prey. the rummaged chest of drawers and the fact that some trifling articles of jewellery were left untouched on the top of them, are consistent with an eager search by the murderer for some particular object. against this theory of revenge is the fact that butler was a malignant ruffian and liar in any case, that, having realised very little in cash by the burglary at stamper's house, he would not be particular as to where he might get a few shillings more, that he had threatened to do a tigerish deed, and that it is characteristic of his vanity to try to impute to his crime a higher motive than mere greed or necessity.
-butler showed himself not averse to speaking of the murder in cumberland street to at least one of those, with whom he came in contact in his later years. after he had left new zealand and returned to australia, he was walking in a street in melbourne with a friend when they passed a lady dressed in black, carrying a baby in her arms. the baby looked at the two men and laughed. butler frowned and walked rapidly away. his companion chaffed him, and asked whether it was the widow or the baby that he was afraid of. butler was silent, but after a time asked his companion to come into some gardens and sit down on one of the seats, as he had something serious to say to him. for a while butler sat silent. then he asked the other if he had ever been in dunedin. "yes," was the reply. "look here," said butler, "you are the only man i ever made any kind of confidant of. you are a good scholar, though i could teach you a lot." after this gracious compliment he went on: "i was once tried in dunedin on the charge of killing a man, woman and child, and although innocent, the crime was nearly brought home to me. it was my own ability that pulled me through. had i employed a professional advocate, i should not have been here to-day talking to you." after describing the murder, butler said: "trying to fire the house was unnecessary, and killing the baby was unnecessary and cruel. i respect no man's life, for no man respects mine. a lot of men i have never injured have tried to put a rope round my neck more than once. i hate society in general, and one or two individuals in particular. the man who did that murder in dunedin has, if anything, my sympathy, but it seems to me he need not have killed that child." his companion was about to speak. butler stopped him. "now, don't ever ask me such a silly question as that," he said. "what?" asked his friend. "you were about to ask me if i did that deed," replied butler, "and you know perfectly well that, guilty or innocent, that question would only be answered in one way." "i was about to ask nothing of the kind," said the other, "for you have already told me that you were innocent." "good!" said butler, "then let that be the end of the subject, and never refer to it again, except, perhaps, in your own mind, when you can, if you like, remember that i said the killing of the child was unnecessary and cruel."
-having developed to the jury his theory of why the crime was committed, butler told them that, as far as he was concerned, there were four points against him on which the crown relied to prove his guilt. firstly, there was the fact of his being in the neighbourhood of the crime on the sunday morning; that, he said, applied to scores of other people besides himself. then there was his alleged disturbed appearance and guilty demeanour. the evidence of that was, he contended, doubtful in any case, and referable to another cause; as also his leaving dunedin in the way and at the time he did. he scouted the idea that murderers are compelled by some invisible force to betray their guilt. "the doings of men," he urged, "and their success are regulated by the amount of judgment that they possess, and, without impugning or denying the existence of providence, i say this is a law that holds good in all cases, whether for evil or good. murderers, if they have the sense and ability and discretion to cover up their crime, will escape, do escape, and have escaped. many people, when they have gravely shaken their heads and said 'murder will out,' consider they have done a great deal and gone a long way towards settling the question. well, this, like many other stock formulas of old world wisdom, is not true. how many murders are there that the world has never heard of, and never will? how many a murdered man, for instance, lies among the gum-trees of victoria, or in the old abandoned mining-shafts on the diggings, who is missed by nobody, perhaps, but a pining wife at home, or helpless children, or an old mother? but who were their murderers? where are they? god knows, perhaps, but nobody else, and nobody ever will." the fact, he said, that he was alleged to have walked up cumberland street on the sunday morning and looked in the direction of the dewars' house was, unless the causes of superstition and a vague and incomplete reasoning were to be accepted as proof, evidence rather of his innocence than his guilt. he had removed the soles of his boots, he said, in order to ease his feet in walking; the outer soles had become worn and ragged, and in lumps under his feet. he denied that he had told bain, the detective, that he would break out as a desperate tiger let loose on the community; what he had said was that he was tired of living the life of a prairie dog or a tiger in the jungle.
-butler was more successful when he came to deal with the bloodstains on his clothes. these, he said, were caused by the blood from the scratches on his hands, which had been observed at the time of his arrest. the doctors had rejected this theory, and said that the spots of blood had been impelled from the axe or from the heads of the victims as the murderer struck the fatal blow. butler put on the clothes in court, and was successful in showing that the position and appearance of certain of the blood spots was not compatible with such a theory. "i think," he said, "i am fairly warranted in saying that the evidence of these gentlemen is, not to put too fine a point on it, worth just nothing at all."
-butler's concluding words to the jury were brief but emphatic: "i stand in a terrible position. so do you. see that in your way of disposing of me you deliver yourselves of your responsibilities."
-in spite of a summing-up distinctly favourable to the prisoner, the jury were out three hours. according to one account of their proceedings, told to the writer, there was at first a majority of the jurymen in favour of conviction. but it was saturday night; if they could not come to a decision they were in danger of being locked up over sunday. for this reason the gentleman who held an obstinate and unshaken belief that the crime was the work of a homicidal maniac found an unexpected ally in a prominent member of a church choir who was down to sing a solo in his church on sunday, and was anxious not to lose such an opportunity for distinction. whatever the cause, after three hours' deliberation the jury returned a verdict of "not guilty." later in the session butler pleaded guilty to the burglary at mr. stamper's house, and was sentenced to eighteen years' imprisonment. the severity of this sentence was not, the judge said, intended to mark the strong suspicion under which butler laboured of being a murderer as well as a burglar.
-the ends of justice had been served by butler's acquittal. but in the light of after events, it is perhaps unfortunate that the jury did not stretch a point and so save the life of mr. munday of toowong. butler underwent his term of imprisonment in littleton jail. there his reputation was most unenviable. he is described by a fellow prisoner as ill-tempered, malicious, destructive, but cowardly and treacherous. he seems to have done little or no work; he looked after the choir and the library, but was not above breaking up the one and smashing the other, if the fit seized him.
-his decline and fall
-in 1896 butler was released from prison. the news of his release was described as falling like a bombshell among the peaceful inhabitants of dunedin. in the colony of victoria, where butler had commenced his career, it was received with an apprehension that was justified by subsequent events. it was believed that on his release the new zealand authorities had shipped butler off to rio. but it was not long before he made his way once more to australia. from the moment of his arrival in melbourne he was shadowed by the police. one or two mysterious occurrences soon led to his arrest. on june 5 he was sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment under the criminal influx act, which makes it a penal offence for any convict to enter victoria for three years after his release from prison. not content with this, the authorities determined to put butler on trial on two charges of burglary and one of highway robbery, committed since his return to the colony. to one charge of burglary, that of breaking into a hairdresser's shop and stealing a wig, some razors and a little money, butler pleaded guilty.
-but the charge of highway robbery, which bore a singular resemblance to the final catastrophe in queensland, he resisted to the utmost, and showed that his experience in the supreme court at dunedin had not been lost on him. at half-past six one evening in a suburb of melbourne an elderly gentleman found himself confronted by a bearded man, wearing a long overcoat and a boxer hat and flourishing a revolver, who told him abruptly to "turn out his pockets." the old man did ashe was told. the robber then asked for his watch and chain, saying "business must be done." the old gentleman mildly urged that this was a dangerous business. on being assured that the watch was a gold one, the robber appeared willing to risk the danger, and departed thoroughly satisfied. the old gentleman afterwards identified butler as the man who had taken his watch. another elderly man swore that he had seen butler at the time of the robbery in the possession of a fine gold watch, which he said had been sent him from home. but the watch had not been found in butler's possession.
-on june 18 butler was put on his trial in the melbourne criminal court before mr. justice holroyd, charged with robbery under arms. his appearance in the dock aroused very considerable interest. "it was the general verdict," wrote one newspaper, "that his intellectual head and forehead compared not unfavourably with those of the judge." he was decently dressed and wore pince-nez, which he used in the best professional manner as he referred to the various documents that lay in front of him. he went into the witness-box and stated that the evening of the crime he had spent according to his custom in the public library.
-for an hour and a half he addressed the jury. he disputed the possibility of his identification by his alleged victim. he was "an old gentleman of sedentary pursuits and not cast in the heroic mould." such a man would be naturally alarmed and confused at meeting suddenly an armed robber. now, under these circumstances, could his recognition of a man whose face was hidden by a beard, his head by a boxer hat, and his body by a long overcoat, be considered trustworthy? and such recognition occurring in the course of a chance encounter in the darkness, that fruitful mother of error? the elderly gentleman had described his moustache as a slight one, but the jury could see that it was full and overhanging. he complained that he had been put up for identification singly, not with other men, according to the usual custom; the police had said to the prosecutor: "we have here a man that we think robbed you, and, if he is not the man, we shall be disappointed," to which the prosecutor had replied: "yes, and if he is not the man, i shall be disappointed too." for the elderly person who had stated that he had seen a gold watch in butler's possession the latter had nothing but scorn. he was a "lean and slippered pantaloon in shakespeare's last stage"; and he, butler, would have been a lunatic to have confided in such a man.
-butler after his trial admitted that it was he who had robbed the old gentleman of his watch, and described to the police the house in which it was hidden. when the police went there to search they found that the house had been pulled down, but among the debris they discovered a brown paper parcel containing the old gentleman's gold watch and chain, a five-chambered revolver, a keen-edged butcher's knife, and a mask.
-butler served his term of imprisonment in victoria, "an unmitigated nuisance" to his custodians. on his release in 1904, he made, as in dunedin, an attempt to earn a living by his pen. he contributed some articles to a melbourne evening paper on the inconveniences of prison discipline, but he was quite unfitted for any sustained effort as a journalist. according to his own account, with the little money he had left he made his way to sydney, thence to brisbane. he was half-starved, bewildered, despairing; in his own words, "if a psychological camera could have been turned on me it would have shown me like a bird fascinated by a serpent, fascinated and bewildered by the fate in front, behind, and around me." months of suffering and privation passed, months of tramping hundreds of miles with occasional breakdowns, months of hunger and sickness; "my actions had become those of a fool; my mind and will had become a remnant guided or misguided by unreasoning impulse."
-it was under the influence of such an impulse that on march 23 butler had met and shot mr. munday at toowong. on may 24 he was arraigned at brisbane before the supreme court of queensland. but the butler who stood in the dock of the brisbane criminal court was very different from the butler who had successfully defended himself at dunedin and melbourne. the spirit had gone out of him; it was rather as a suppliant, represented by counsel, that he faced the charge of murder. his attitude was one of humble and appropriate penitence. in a weak and nervous voice he told the story of his hardships since his release from his victorian prison; he would only urge that the shooting of mr. munday was accidental, caused by munday picking up a stone and attacking him. when about to be sentenced to death he expressed great sorrow and contrition for his crime, for the poor wife and children of his unfortunate victim. his life, he said, was a poor thing, but he would gladly give it fifty times over.
-the sentence of death was confirmed by the executive on june 30. to a freethought advocate who visited him shortly before his execution, butler wrote a final confession of faith: "i shall have to find my way across the harbour bar without the aid of any pilot. in these matters i have for many years carried an exempt flag, and, as it has not been carried through caprice or ignorance, i am compelled to carry it to the last. there is an impassable bar of what i honestly believe to be the inexorable logic of philosophy and facts, history and experience of the nature of the world, the human race and myself, between me and the views of the communion of any religious organisation. so instead of the 'depart christian soul' of the priest, i only hope for the comfort and satisfaction of the last friendly good-bye of any who cares to give it."
-from this positive affirmation of unbelief butler wilted somewhat at the approach of death. the day before his execution he spent half an hour playing hymns on the church organ in the prison; and on the scaffold, where his agitation rendered him almost speechless, he expressed his sorrow for what he had done, and the hope that, if there were a heaven, mercy would be shown him.
-the climbing little grocer
-m. etienne saint-faust de lamotte, a provincial nobleman of ancient lineage and moderate health, ex-equerry to the king, desired in the year 1774 to dispose of a property in the country, the estate of buisson-souef near villeneuve-le-roi, which he had purchased some ten years before out of money acquired by a prudent marriage.
-with an eye to the main chance m. de lamotte had in 1760 ran away with the daughter of a wealthy citizen of rheims, who was then staying with her sister in paris. they lived together in the country for some time, and a son was born to them, whom the father legitimised by subsequently marrying the mother. for a few years m. and mme. de lamotte dwelt happily together at buisson-souef. but as their boy grew up they became anxious to leave the country and return to paris, where m. de lamotte hoped to be able to obtain for his son some position about the court of louis xvi. and so it was that in may, 1775, m. de lamotte gave a power of attorney to his wife in order that she might go to paris and negotiate for the sale of buisson-souef. the legal side of the transaction was placed in the hands of one jolly, a proctor at the chatelet in paris.
-now the proctor jolly had a client with a great desire to acquire a place in the country, m. derues de cyrano de bury, lord of candeville, herchies, and other places. here was the very man to comply with the requirements of the de lamottes, and such a pleasing, ready, accommodating gentleman into the bargain! very delicate to all appearances, strangely pale, slight, fragile in build, with his beardless chin and feminine cast of feature, there was something cat-like in the soft insinuating smile of this seemingly most amiable, candid and pious of men. always cheerful and optimistic, it was quite a pleasure to do business with m. derues de cyrano de bury. the de lamottes after one or two interviews were delighted with their prospective purchaser. everything was speedily settled. m. derues and his wife, a lady belonging to the distinguished family of nicolai, visited buisson-souef. they were enchanted with what they saw, and their hosts were hardly less enchanted with their visitors. by the end of december, 1775, the purchase was concluded. m. derues was to give 130,000 livres (about l20,000) for the estate, the payments to be made by instalments, the first of 12,000 livres to be paid on the actual signing of the contract of sale, which, it was agreed, was to be concluded not later than the first of june, 1776. in the meantime, as an earnest of good faith, m. derues gave mme. de lamotte a bill for 4,200 livres to fall due on april 1, 1776.
-what could be more satisfactory? that m. derues was a substantial person there could be no doubt. through his wife he was entitled to a sum of 250,000 livres as her share of the property of a wealthy kinsman, one despeignes-duplessis, a country gentleman, who some four years before had been found murdered in his house under mysterious circumstances. the liquidation of the duplessis inheritance, as soon as the law's delay could be overcome, would place the derues in a position of affluence fitting a cyrano de bury and a nicolai.
-at this time m. derues was in reality far from affluent. in point of fact he was insolvent. nor was his lineage, nor that of his wife, in any way distinguished. he had no right to call himself de cyrano de bury or lord of candeville. his wife's name was nicolais, not nicolai--a very important difference from the genealogical point of view. the duplessis inheritance, though certainly existent, would seem to have had little more chance of realisation than the mythical crawford millions of madame humbert. and yet, crippled with debt, without a penny in the world, this daring grocer of the rue beaubourg, for such was m. derues' present condition in life, could cheerfully and confidently engage in a transaction as considerable as the purchase of a large estate for 130,000 livres! the origin of so enterprising a gentleman is worthy of attention.
-antoine francois derues was born at chartres in 1744; his father was a corn merchant. his parents died when he was three years old. for some time after his birth he was assumed to be a girl; it was not until he was twelve years old that an operation determined his sex to be masculine. apprenticed by his relatives to a grocer, derues succeeded so well in the business that he was able in 1770 to set up on his own account in paris, and in 1772 he married. among the grocer's many friends and acquaintances this marriage created something of a sensation, for derues let it be known that the lady of his choice was of noble birth and an heiress. the first statement was untrue. the lady was one marie louise nicolais, daughter of a non-commissioned artillery officer, turned coachbuilder. but by suppressing the s at the end of her name, which derues was careful also to erase in his marriage contract, the ambitious grocer was able to describe his wife as connected with the noble house of nicolai, one of the most distinguished of the great french families.
-there was more truth in the statement that mme. derues was an heiress. a kinsman of her mother, beraud by name, had become the heir to a certain marquis desprez. beraud was the son of a small merchant. his mother had married a second time, the husband being the marquis desprez, and through her beraud had inherited the marquis' property. according to the custom of the time, beraud, on coming into his inheritance, took a title from one of his estates and called himself thenceforth the lord of despeignes-duplessis. a rude, solitary, brutal man, devoted to sport, he lived alone in his castle of candeville, hated by his neighbours, a terror to poachers. one day he was found lying dead in his bedroom; he had been shot in the chest; the assassin had escaped through an open window.
-the mystery of beraud's murder was never solved. his estate of 200,000 livres was divided among three cousins, of whom the mother of mme. derues was one. mme. derues herself was entitled to a third of his mother's share of the estate, that is, one-ninth of the whole. but in 1775 derues acquired the rest of the mother's share on condition that he paid her an annual income of 1,200 livres. thus on the liquidation of the duplessis inheritance mme. derues would be entitled nominally to some 66,500 livres, about l11,000 in english money. but five years had passed since the death of despeignes-duplessis, and the estate was still in the slow process of legal settlement. if derues were to receive the full third of the duplessis inheritance--a very unlikely supposition after four years of liquidation--66,000 livres would not suffice to pay his ordinary debts quite apart from the purchase money of buisson-souef. his financial condition was in the last degree critical. not content with the modest calling of a grocer, derues had turned money-lender, a money-lender to spendthrift and embarrassed noblemen. derues dearly loved a lord; he wanted to become one himself; it delighted him to receive dukes and marquises at the rue beaubourg, even if they came there with the avowed object of raising the wind. the smiling grocer, in his everlasting bonnet and flowered dressing-gown a la j. j. rousseau, was ever ready to oblige the needy scion of a noble house. what he borrowed at moderate interest from his creditors he lent at enhanced interest to the quality. duns and bailiffs jostled the dukes and marquises whose presence at the rue beaubourg so impressed the wondering neighbours of the facile grocer.
-this aristocratic money-lending proved a hopeless trade; it only plunged derues deeper and deeper into the mire of financial disaster. the noblemen either forgot to pay while they were alive, or on their death were found to be insolvent. derues was driven to ordering goods and merchandise on credit, and selling them at a lower price for ready money. victims of this treatment began to press him seriously for their money or their goods. desperately he continued to fence them off with the long expected windfall of the duplessis inheritance.
-paris was getting too hot for him. gay and irrepressible as he was, the strain was severe. if he could only find some retreat in the country where he might enjoy at once refuge from his creditors and the rank and consequence of a country gentleman! nothing--no fear, no disappointment, no disaster--could check the little grocer's ardent and overmastering desire to be a gentleman indeed, a landed proprietor, a lord or something or other. at the beginning of 1775 he had purchased a place near rueil from a retired coffeehouse-keeper, paying 1,000 livres on account, but the non-payment of the rest of the purchase-money had resulted in the annulment of the contract. undefeated, derues only determined to fly the higher. having failed to pay 9,000 livres for a modest estate near rueil, he had no hesitation in pledging himself to pay 130,000 livres for the lordly domain of buisson-souef. so great were his pride and joy on the conclusion of the latter bargain that he amused himself by rehearsing on paper his future style and title: "antoine francois de cyrano derues de bury, seigneur de buisson-souef et valle profonde." he is worthy of thackeray's pen, this little grocer-snob, with his grand and ruinous acquaintance with the noble and the great, his spurious titles, his unwearied climbing of the social ladder.
-on hearing of mme. de lamotte's contemplated visit to paris, derues was filled with alarm. if she were living free and independent in paris she might find out the truth about the real state of his affairs, and then good-bye to buisson-souef and landed gentility! no, if mme. de lamotte were to come to paris, she must come as the guest of the derues, a pleasant return for the hospitality accorded to the grocer at buisson-souef. the invitation was given and readily accepted; m. de lamotte still had enough confidence in and liking for the derues to be glad of the opportunity of placing his wife under their roof. and so it was that on december 16, 1776, mme. de lamotte arrived at paris and took up her abode at the house of the derues in the rue beaubourg her son she placed at a private school in a neighbouring street.
-to derues there was now one pressing and immediate problem to be solved--how to keep buisson-souef as his own without paying for it? to one less sanguine, less daring, less impudent and desperate in his need, the problem would have appeared insoluble.
-but that was by no means the view of the cheery and resourceful grocer. he had a solution ready, well thought out and bearing to his mind the stamp of probability. he would make a fictitious payment of the purchase-money to mme. de lamotte. she would then disappear, taking her son with her. her indiscretion in having been the mistress of de lamotte before she became his wife, would lend colour to his story that she had gone off with a former lover, taking with her the money which derues had paid her for buisson-souef. he would then produce the necessary documents proving the payment of the purchase-money, and buisson-souef would be his for good and all.
-the prime necessity to the success of this plan was the disappearance, willing or unwilling, of mme. de lamotte and her son. the former had settled down quite comfortably beneath the hospitable roof of the derues, and under the soothing influence of her host showed little vigour in pressing him for the money due to herself and her husband. she had already spent a month in quietly enjoying paris and the society of her friends when, towards the end of january, 1770, her health and that of her son began to fail. mme. de lamotte was seized with sickness and internal trouble. though derues wrote to her husband that his wife was well and their business was on the point of conclusion, by the 30th of january mme. de lamotte had taken to her bed, nursed and physicked by the ready derues. on the 31st the servant at the rue beaubourg was told that she could go to her home at montrouge, whither derues had previously sent his two children. mme. derues, who was in an interesting condition, was sent out for an hour by her husband to do some shopping. derues was alone with his patient.
-in the evening a friend, one bertin, came to dine with derues. bertin was a short, hustling, credulous, breathless gentleman, always in a hurry, with a great belief in the abilities of m. derues. he found the little man in excellent spirits. bertin asked if he could see mme. de lamotte. mme. derues said that that was impossible, but that her husband had given her some medicine which was working splendidly. the young de lamotte called to see his mother. derues took him into her room; in the dim light the boy saw her sleeping, and crept out quietly for fear of disturbing her. the derues and their friends sat down to dinner. derues kept jumping up and running into the sick room, from which a horrible smell began to pervade the house. but derues was radiant at the success of his medicine. "was there ever such a nurse as i am?" he exclaimed. bertin remarked that he thought it was a woman's and not a man's place to nurse a lady under such distressing circumstances. derues protested that it was an occupation he had always liked. next day, february 1, the servant was still at montrouge; mme. derues was again sent out shopping; again derues was alone with his patient. but she was a patient no longer; she had become a corpse. the highly successful medicine administered to the poor lady by her jolly and assiduous nurse had indeed worked wonders.
-derues had bought a large leather trunk. it is possible that to derues belongs the distinction of being the first murderer to put that harmless and necessary article of travel to a criminal use. he was engaged in his preparations for coffining mme. de lamotte, when a female creditor knocked insistently at the door. she would take no denial. clad in his bonnet and gown, derues was compelled to admit her. she saw the large trunk, and suspected a bolt on the part of her creditor. derues reassured her; a lady, he said, who had been stopping with them was returning to the country. the creditor departed. later in the day derues came out of the house and summoned some porters. with their help the heavy trunk was taken to the house of a sculptor, a friend of derues, who agreed to keep it in his studio until derues could take it down to his place in the country. bertin came in to dinner again that evening, and also the young de lamotte. derues was gayer than ever, laughing and joking with his guests. he told the boy that his mother had quite recovered and gone to versailles to see about finding him some post at the court. "we'll go and see her there in a day or two," he said, "i'll let you know when."
-on the following day a smartly dressed, dapper, but very pale little gentleman, giving the name of ducoudray, hired a vacant cellar in a house in the rue de la mortellerie. he had, he said, some spanish wine he wanted to store there, and three or four days later m. ducoudray deposited in this cellar a large grey trunk. a few days after he employed a man to dig a large hole in the floor of the cellar, giving as his reason for such a proceeding that "there was no way of keeping wine like burying it." while the man worked at the job, his genial employer beguiled his labours with merry quips and tales, which he illustrated with delightful mimicry. the hole dug, the man was sent about his business. "i will bury the wine myself," said his employer, and on one or two occasions m. ducoudray was seen by persons living in the house going in and out of his cellar, a lighted candle in his hand. one day the pale little gentleman was observed leaving the cellar, accompanied by a porter carrying a large trunk, and after that the dwellers in the rue de la mortellerie saw the pale little gentleman no more.
-a few days later m. derues sent down to his place at buisson-souef a large trunk filled with china. it was received there by m. de lamotte. little did the trusting gentleman guess that it was in this very trunk that the body of his dear wife had been conveyed to its last resting place in the cellar of m. ducoudray in the rue de la mortellerie. nor had m. mesvrel-desvergers, importunate creditor of m. derues, guessed the contents of the large trunk that he had met his debtor one day early in february conveying through the streets of paris. creditors were always interrupting derues at inconvenient moments. m. mesvrel-desvergers had tapped derues on the shoulder, reminded him forcibly of his liability towards him, and spoken darkly of possible imprisonment. derues pointed to the trunk. it contained, he said, a sample of wine; he was going to order some more of it, and he would then be in a position to pay his debt. but the creditor, still doubting, had m. derues followed, and ascertained that he had deposited his sample of wine at a house in the rue de la mortellerie.
-on wednesday, february 12, a m. beaupre of commercy arrived at versailles with his nephew, a fat boy, in reality some fourteen years of age, but given out as older. they hired a room at the house of a cooper named pecquet. m. beaupre was a very pale little gentleman, who seemed in excellent spirits, in spite of the fact that his nephew was clearly anything but well. indeed, so sick and ailing did he appear to be that mme. pecquet suggested that his uncle should call in a doctor. but m. beaupre said that that was quite unnecessary; he had no faith in doctors; he would give the boy a good purge. his illness was due, he said, to a venereal disorder and the drugs which he had been taking in order to cure it; it was a priest the boy needed rather than a doctor. on the thursday and friday the boy's condition showed little improvement; the vomiting continued. but on saturday m. beaupre declared himself as highly delighted with the success of his medicine. the same night the boy was dead. the priest, urgently sent for by his devout uncle, arrived to find a corpse. on the following day "louis anotine beaupre, aged twenty-two and a half," was buried at versailles, his pious uncle leaving with the priest six livres to pay for masses for the repose of his erring nephew's soul.
-the same evening m. derues who, according to his own account, had left paris with the young de lamotte in order to take the boy to his mother in versailles, returned home to the rue beaubourg. as usual, bertin dropped in to dinner. he found his host full of merriment, singing in the lightness of his heart. indeed, he had reason to be pleased, for at last, he told his wife and his friend, buisson-souef was his. he had seen mme. de lamotte at versailles and paid her the full purchase-money in good, sounding gold. and, best joke of all, mme. de lamotte had no sooner settled the business than she had gone off with a former lover, her son and her money, and would in all probability never be heard of again. the gay gentleman laughingly reminded his hearers that such an escapade on the part of mme. de lamotte was hardly to be wondered at, when they recollected that her son had been born out of wedlock.
-to all appearances mme. de lamotte had undoubtedly concluded the sale of buisson-souef to derues and received the price of it before disappearing with her lover. derues had in his possession a deed of sale signed by mme. de lamotte and acknowledging the payment to her by derues of 100,000 livres, which he had borrowed for that purpose from an advocate of the name of duclos. as a fact the loan from duclos to derues was fictitious. a legal document proving the loan had been drawn up, but the cash which the notary had demanded to see before executing the document had been borrowed for a few hours. duclos, a provincial advocate, had acted in good faith, in having been represented to him that such fictitious transactions were frequently used in paris for the purpose of getting over some temporary financial difficulty. on the 15th of february the deed of the sale of buisson-souef had been brought by a woman to the office of a scrivener employed by derues; it was already signed, but the woman asked that certain blanks should be filled in and that the document should be dated. she was told that the date should be that of the day on which the parties had signed it. she gave it as february 12. a few days later derues called at the office and was told of the lady's visit. "ah!" he said, "it was mme. de lamotte herself, the lady who sold me the estate."
-in the meantime derues, through his bustling and ubiquitous friend bertin, took good care that the story of mme. de lamotte's sale of buisson-souef and subsequent elopement should be spread sedulously abroad. by bertin it was told to m. jolly, the proctor in whose hands the de lamottes had placed the sale of buisson-souef. it was m. jolly who had in the first instance recommended to them his client derues as a possible purchaser. the proctor, who knew mme. de lamotte to be a woman devoted to her husband and her home, was astonished to hear of her infidelity, more especially as the story told by derues represented her as saying in very coarse terms how little she cared for her husband's honour. he was surprised, too, that she should not have consulted him about the conclusion of the business with derues, and that derues himself should have been able to find so considerable a sum of money as 100,000 livres. but, said m. jolly, if he were satisfied that mme. de lamotte had taken away the money with her, then he would deliver up to derues the power of attorney which m. de lamotte had left with him in 1775, giving his wife authority to carry out the sale of buisson-souef. mme. de lamotte, being a married woman, the sale of the property to derues would be legally invalid if the husband's power of attorney were not in the hands of the purchaser.
-the game of bluff
-to derues, on the eve of victory, the statement of jolly in regard to the power of attorney was a serious reverse. he had never thought of such an instrument, or he would have persuaded mme. de lamotte to have gotten permission of it before her disappearance. now he must try to get it from jolly himself. on the 26th of february he once again raised from a friendly notary a few thousand livres on the duplessis inheritance, and deposited the deed of sale of buisson-souef as further security. his pocket full of gold, he went straight to the office of jolly. to the surprise of the proctor derues announced that he had come to pay him 200 livres which he owed him, and apologised for the delay. taking the gold coins from his pockets he filled his three-cornered hat with considerably more than the sum due, and held it out invitingly to m. jolly. then he proceeded to tell him of his dealings with mme. de lamotte. she had offered, he said, to get the power of attorney for him, but he, trusting in her good faith, had said that there was no occasion for hurry; and then, faithless, ungrateful woman that she was, she had gone off with his money and left him in the lurch. "but," he added, "i trust you absolutely, m. jolly, you have all my business in your hands, and i shall be a good client in the future. you have the power of attorney--you will give it to me?" and he rattled the coins in his hat. "i must have it," he went on, "i must have it at any price at any price," and again the coins danced in his hat, while his eyes looked knowingly at the proctor. m. jolly saw his meaning, and his surprise turned to indignation. he told derues bluntly that he did not believe his story, that until he was convinced of its truth he would not part with the power of attorney, and showed the confounded grocer the door.
-derues hastened home filled with wrath, and took counsel with his friend bertin. bertin knew something of legal process; they would try whether the law could not be invoked to compel jolly to surrender the power of attorney. bertin went off to the civil lieutenant and applied for an order to oblige m. jolly to give up the document in question. an order was made that jolly must either surrender it into the hands of derues or appear before a referee and show cause why he should not comply with the order. jolly refused still to give it up or allow a copy of it to be made, and agreed to appear before the referee to justify his action. in the meantime derues, greatly daring, had started for buisson-souef to try what "bluff" could do in this serious crisis in his adventure.
-at buisson-souef poor m. de lamotte waited, puzzled and distressed, for news from his wife. on saturday, 17th, the day after the return of derues from versailles, he heard from mme. derues that his wife had left paris and gone with her son to versailles. a second letter told him that she had completed the sale of buisson-souef to derues, and was still at versailles trying to obtain some post for the boy. on february 19 mme. derues wrote again expressing surprise that m. de lamotte had not had any letter from his wife and asking if he had received some oysters which the derues had sent him. the distracted husband was in no mood for oysters. "do not send me oysters," he writes, "i am too ill with worry. i thank you for all your kindness to my son. i love him better than myself, and god grant he will be good and grateful." the only reply he received from the derues was an assurance that he would see his wife again in a few days.
-the days passed, but mme. de lamotte made no sign. about four o'clock on the afternoon of february 28, derues, accompanied by the parish priest of villeneuvele-roi, presented himself before m. de lamotte at buisson-souef. for the moment m. de lamotte was rejoiced to see the little man; at last he would get news of his wife. but he was disappointed. derues could tell him only what he had been told already, that his wife had sold their estate and gone away with the money.
-m. de lamotte was hardly convinced. how, he asked derues, had he found the 100,000 livres to buy buisson-souef, he who had not a halfpenny a short time ago? derues replied that he had borrowed it from a friend; that there was no use in talking about it; the place was his now, his alone, and m. de lamotte had no longer a right to be there; he was very sorry, poor dear gentleman, that his wife had gone off and left him without a shilling, but personally he would always be a friend to him and would allow him 3,000 livres a year for the rest of his life. in the meantime, he said, he had already sold forty casks of the last year's vintage, and would be obliged if m. de lamotte would see to their being sent off at once.
-by this time the anger and indignation of m. de lamotte blazed forth. he told derues that his story was a pack of lies, that he was still master at buisson-souef, and not a bottle of wine should leave it. "you are torturing me," he exclaimed, "i know something has happened to my wife and child. i am coming to paris myself, and if it is as i fear, you shall answer for it with your head!" derues, undismayed by this outburst, re-asserted his ownership and departed in defiant mood, leaving on the premises a butcher of the neighbourhood to look after his property.
-but things were going ill with derues. m. de lamotte meant to show fight; he would have powerful friends to back him; class against class, the little grocer would be no match for him. it was immediate possession of buisson-souef that derues wanted, not lawsuits; they were expensive and the results uncertain. he spoke freely to his friends of the difficulties of the situation.
-what could he do? the general opinion seemed to be that some fresh news of mme. de lamotte--her reappearance, perhaps--would be the only effective settlement of the dispute. he had made mme. de lamotte disappear, why should he not make her reappear? he was not the man to stick at trifles. his powers of female impersonation, with which he had amused his good friends at buisson-souef, could now be turned to practical account. on march 5 he left paris again.
-on the evening of march 7 a gentleman, m. desportes of paris, hired a room at the hotel blanc in lyons. on the following day he went out early in the morning, leaving word that, should a lady whom he was expecting, call to see him, she was to be shown up to his room. the same morning a gentleman, resembling m. desportes of paris, bought two lady's dresses at a shop in lyons.
-the same afternoon a lady dressed in black silk, with a hood well drawn over her eyes, called at the office of m. pourra, a notary.
-the latter was not greatly attracted by his visitor, whose nose struck him as large for a woman. she said that she had spent her youth in lyons, but her accent was distinctly parisian. the lady gave her name as madame de lamotte, and asked for a power of attorney by which she could give her husband the interest due to her on a sum of 30,000 livres, part of the purchase-money of the estate of buisson-souef, which she had recently sold. as mme. de lamotte represented herself as having been sent to m. pourra by a respectable merchant for whom he was in the habit of doing business, he agreed to draw up the necessary document, accepting her statement that she and her husband had separate estates. mme. de lamotte said that she would not have time to wait until the power of attorney was ready, and therefore asked m. pourra to send it to the parish priest at villeneuvele-roi; this he promised to do. mme. de-lamotte had called twice during the day at the hotel blanc and asked for m. desportes of paris, but he was not at home. while derues, alias desportes, alias mme. de lamotte, was masquerading in lyons, events had been moving swiftly and unfavourably in paris. sick with misgiving and anxiety, m. de lamotte had come there to find, if possible, his wife and child. by a strange coincidence he alighted at an inn in the rue de la mortellerie, only a few yards from the wine-cellar in which the corpse of his ill-fated wife lay buried. he lost no time in putting his case before the lieutenant of police, who placed the affair in the hands of one of the magistrates of the chatelet, then the criminal court of paris. at first the magistrate believed that the case was one of fraud and that mme. de lamotte and her son were being kept somewhere in concealment by derues. but as he investigated the circumstances further, the evidence of the illness of the mother and son, the date of the disappearance of mme. de lamotte, and her reputed signature to the deed of sale on february 12, led him to suspect that he was dealing with a case of murder.
-when derues returned to paris from lyons, on march 11, he found that the police had already visited the house and questioned his wife, and that he himself was under close surveillance. a day or two later the advocate, duclos, revealed to the magistrate the fictitious character of the loan of 100,000 livres, which derues alleged that he had paid to mme. de lamotte as the price of buisson-souef. when the new power of attorney purporting to be signed by mme. de lamotte arrived from lyons, and the signature was compared with that on the deed of sale of buisson-souef to derues, both were pronounced to be forgeries. derues was arrested and lodged in the prison of for l'eveque.
-the approach of danger had not dashed the spirits of the little man, nor was he without partisans in paris. opinion in the city was divided as to the truth of his account of mme. de lamotte's elopement. the nobility were on the side of the injured de lamotte, but the bourgeoisie accepted the grocer's story and made merry over the deceived husband. interrogated, however, by the magistrate of the chatelet, derues' position became more difficult. under the stress of close questioning the flimsy fabric of his financial statements fell to pieces like a house of cards. he had to admit that he had never paid mme. de lamotte 100,000 livres; he had paid her only 25,000 livres in gold; further pressed he said that the 25,000 livres had been made up partly in gold, partly in bills; but where the gold had come from, or on whom he had drawn the bills, he could not explain. still his position was not desperate; and he knew it. in the absence of mme. de lamotte he could not be charged with fraud or forgery; and until her body was discovered, it would be impossible to charge him with murder.
-a month passed; mme. derues, who had made a belated attempt to follow her husband's example by impersonating mme. de lamotte in paris, had been arrested and imprisoned in the grand chatelet; when, on april 18, information was received by the authorities which determined them to explore the wine-cellar in the rue de la mortellerie. whether the woman who had let the cellar to derues, or the creditor who had met him taking his cask of wine there, had informed the investigating magistrate, seems uncertain. in any case, the corpse of the unhappy lady was soon brought to light and derues confronted with it. at first he said that he failed to recognise it as the remains of mme. de lamotte, but he soon abandoned that rather impossible attitude. he admitted that he had given some harmless medicine to mme. de lamotte during her illness, and then, to his horror, one morning had awakened to find her dead. a fear lest her husband would accuse him of having caused her death had led him to conceal the body, and also that of her son who, he now confessed, had died and been buried by him at versailles. on april 23 the body of the young de lamotte was exhumed. both bodies were examined by doctors, and they declared themselves satisfied that mother and son had died "from a bitter and corrosive poison administered in some kind of drink." what the poison was they did not venture to state, but one of their number, in the light of subsequent investigation, arrived at the conclusion that derues had used in both cases corrosive sublimate. how or where he had obtained the poison was never discovered.
-justice moved swiftly in paris in those days. the preliminary investigation in derues' case was ended on april 28. two days later his trial commenced before the tribunal of the chatelet.
-it lasted one day. the judges had before them the depositions taken by the examining magistrate. both derues and his wife were interrogated. he maintained that he had not poisoned either mme. de lamotte or her son; his only crime, he said, lay in having concealed their deaths. mme; derues said: "it is buisson-souef that has ruined us! i always told my husband that he was mad to buy these properties--i am sure my husband is not a poisoner--i trusted my husband and believed every word he said." the court condemned derues to death, but deferred judgment in his wife's case on the ground of her pregnancy.
-and now the frail, cat-like little man had to brace himself to meet a cruel and protracted execution. but sanguine to the last, he still hoped. an appeal lay from the chatelet to the parliament of paris. it was heard on march 5. derues was brought to the palais de justice. the room in which he waited was filled with curious spectators, who marvelled at his coolness and impudence. he recognised among them a benedictine monk of his acquaintance. "my case," he called out to him, "will soon be over; we'll meet again yet and have a good time together." one visitor, wishing not to appear too curious, pretended to be looking at a picture. "come, sir," said derues, "you haven't come here to see the pictures, but to see me. have a good look at me. why study copies of nature when you can look at such a remarkable original as i?" but there were to be no more days of mirth and gaiety for the jesting grocer. his appeal was rejected, and he was ordered for execution on the morrow.
-at six o'clock on the morning of may 6 derues returned to the palais de justice, there to submit to the superfluous torments of the question ordinary and extraordinary. though condemned to death, torture was to be applied in the hope of wringing from the prisoner some sort of confession. the doctors declared him too delicate to undergo the torture of pouring cold water into him, which his illustrious predecessor, mme. de brinvilliers, had suffered; he was to endure the less severe torture of the "boot."
-his legs were tightly encased in wood, and wedges were then hammered in until the flesh was crushed and the bones broken. but never a word of confession was wrung from the suffering creature. four wedges constituting the ordinary torture he endured; at the third of the extraordinary he fainted away. put in the front of a fire the warmth restored him. again he was questioned, again he asserted his wife's innocence and his own.
-at two o'clock in the afternoon derues was recovered sufficiently to be taken to notre dame. there, in front of the cathedral, candle in hand and rope round his neck, he made the amende honorable. but as the sentence was read aloud to the people derues reiterated the assertion of his innocence. from notre dame he was taken to the hotel de ville. a condemned man had the right to stop there on his way to execution, to make his will and last dying declarations. derues availed himself of this opportunity to protest solemnly and emphatically his wife's absolute innocence of any complicity in whatever he had done. "i want above all," he said, "to state that my wife is entirely innocent. she knew nothing. i used fifty cunning devices to hide everything from her. i am speaking nothing but the truth, she is wholly innocent--as for me, i am about to die." his wife was allowed to see him; he enjoined her to bring up their children in the fear of god and love of duty, and to let them know how he had died. once again, as he took up the pen to sign the record of his last words, he re-asserted her innocence.
-of the last dreadful punishment the offending grocer was to be spared nothing. for an aristocrat like mme. de brinvilliers beheading was considered indignity enough. but derues must go through with it all; he must be broken on the wheel and burnt alive and his ashes scattered to the four winds of heaven; there was to be no retentum for him, a clause sometimes inserted in the sentence permitting the executioner to strangle the broken victim before casting him on to the fire. he must endure all to the utmost agony the law could inflict. it was six o'clock when derues arrived at the place de greve, crowded to its capacity, the square itself, the windows of the houses; places had been bought at high prices, stools, ladders, anything that would give a good view of the end of the now famous poisoner.
-pale but calm, derues faced his audience. he was stripped of all but his shirt; lying flat on the scaffold, his face looking up to the sky, his head resting on a stone, his limbs were fastened to the wheel. then with a heavy bar of iron the executioner broke them one after another, and each time he struck a fearful cry came from the culprit. the customary three final blows on the stomach were inflicted, but still the little man lived. alive and broken, he was thrown on to the fire. his burnt ashes, scattered to the winds, were picked up eagerly by the mob, reputed, as in england the pieces of the hangman's rope, talismans.
-some two months after the execution of her husband mme. derues was delivered in the conciergerie of a male child; it is hardly surprising, in face of her experiences during her pregnancy, that it was born an idiot. in january, 1778, the judges of the parliament, by a majority of one, decided that she should remain a prisoner in the conciergerie for another year, while judgment in her case was reserved. in the following august she was charged with having forged the signature of mme. de lamotte on the deeds of sale. in february, 1779, the two experts in handwriting to whom the question had been submitted decided in her favour, and the charge was abandoned.
-but mme. derues had a far sterner, more implacable and, be it added, more unscrupulous adversary than the law in m. de lamotte.
-not content with her husband's death, m. de lamotte believed the wife to have been his partner in guilt, and thirsted for revenge.
-to accomplish it he even stooped to suborn witnesses, but the conspiracy was exposed, and so strong became the sympathy with the accused woman that a young proctor of the parliament published a pamphlet in her defence, asking for an immediate inquiry into the charges made against her, charges that had in no instance been proved.
-at last, in march, 1779, the parliament decided to finish with the affair. in secret session the judges met, examined once more all the documents in the case, listened to a report on it from one of their number, interrogated the now weary, hopeless prisoner, and, by a large majority, condemned her to a punishment that fell only just short of the supreme penalty. on the grounds that she had wilfully and knowingly participated with her husband in the fraudulent attempt to become possessed of the estate of buisson-souef, and was strongly suspected of having participated with him in his greater crime, she was sentenced to be publicly flogged, branded on both shoulders with the letter v (voleuse) and imprisoned for life in the salpetriere prison. on march 13, in front of the conciergerie mme. derues underwent the first part of her punishment. the same day her hair was cut short, and she was dressed in the uniform of the prison in which she was to pass the remainder of her days.
-paris had just begun to forget mme. derues when a temporary interest was-excited in her fortunes by the astonishing intelligence that, two months after her condemnation, she had been delivered of a child in her new prison. its fatherhood was never determined, and, taken from her mother, the child died in fifteen days. was its birth the result of some passing love affair, or some act of drunken violence on the part of her jailors, or had the wretched woman, fearing a sentence of death, made an effort to avert once again the supreme penalty? history does not relate.
-there are two reports of the trial of castaing: "proces complet d'edme samuel castaing," paris, 1823; "affaire castaing," paris, 1823.
-an unhappy coincidence
-edme castaing, born at alencon in 1796, was the youngest of the three sons of an inspector-general in the department of woods and forests. his elder brother had entered the same service as his father, the other brother was a staff-captain of engineers. without being wealthy, the family, consisting of m. and mme. castaing and four children, was in comfortable circumstances. the young edme was educated at the college of angers--the alma mater of barre and lebiez--where, intelligent and hard working, he carried off many prizes. he decided to enter the medical profession, and at the age of nineteen commenced his studies at the school of medicine in paris. for two years he worked hard and well, living within the modest allowance made him by his father. at the end of that time this young man of two or three-and-twenty formed a passionate attachment for a lady, the widow of a judge, and the mother of three children. of the genuine depth and sincerity of this passion for a woman who must have been considerably older than himself, there can be no doubt. henceforth the one object in life to castaing was to make money enough to relieve the comparative poverty of his adored mistress, and place her and her children beyond the reach of want. in 1821 castaing became a duly qualified doctor, and by that time had added to the responsibilities of his mistress and himself by becoming the father of two children, whom she had brought into the world. the lady was exigent, and castaing found it difficult to combine his work with a due regard to her claims on his society. nor was work plentiful or lucrative. to add to his embarrassments castaing, in 1818, had backed a bill for a friend for 600 francs. to meet it when it fell due two years later was impossible, and desperate were the efforts made by castaing and his mother to put off the day of reckoning. his father, displeased with his son's conduct, would do nothing to help him. but his mother spared no effort to extricate him from his difficulties. she begged a highly placed official to plead with the insistent creditor, but all in vain. there seemed no hope of a further delay when suddenly, in the october of 1822, castaing became the possessor of 100,000 francs. how he became possessed of this considerable sum of money forms part of a strange and mysterious story.
-among the friends of castaing were two young men of about his own age, auguste and hippolyte ballet. auguste, the elder, had the misfortune a few days after his birth to incur his mother's lasting dislike. the nurse had let the child fall from her arms in the mother's presence, and the shock had endangered mme. ballet's life. from that moment the mother took a strong aversion to her son; he was left to the charge of servants; his meals were taken in the kitchen. as soon as he was five years old he was put out to board elsewhere, while his brother hippolyte and his sister were well cared for at home. the effect of this unjust neglect on the character of auguste ballet was, as may be imagined, had; he became indolent and dissipated. his brother hippolyte, on the other hand, had justified the affectionate care bestowed on his upbringing; he had grown into a studious, intelligent youth of a refined and attractive temperament. unhappily, early in his life he had developed consumption, a disease he inherited from his mother. as he grew older his health grew steadily worse until, in 1822, his friends were seriously alarmed at his condition. it became so much graver that, in the august of that year, the doctors recommended him to take the waters at enghien. in september he returned to paris apparently much better, but on october 2 he was seized with sudden illness, and three days later he was dead.
-a few years before the death of hippolyte his father and mother had died almost at the same time. m. ballet had left to each of his sons a fortune of some 260,000 francs. though called to the bar, both auguste and hippolyte ballet were now men of independent means. after the death of their parents, whatever jealousy auguste may have felt at the unfair preference which his mother had shown for her younger son, had died down. at the time of hippolyte's death the brothers were on good terms, though the more prudent hippolyte disapproved of his elder brother's extravagance.
-of hippolyte ballet dr. castaing had become the fast friend. apart from his personal liking for castaing, it was a source of comfort to hippolyte, in his critical state of health, to have as his friend one whose medical knowledge was always at his service.
-about the middle of august, 1822, hippolyte, on the advice of his doctors, went to enghien to take the waters. there castaing paid him frequent visits. he returned to paris on september 22, and seemed to have benefited greatly by the cure. on tuesday, october 1, he saw his sister, mme. martignon, and her husband; he seemed well, but said that he was having leeches applied to him by his friend castaing. on the wednesday evening his sister saw him again, and found him well and with a good appetite. on the thursday, after a night disturbed by severe attacks of vomiting, his condition seemed serious. his brother-in-law, who visited him, found that he had taken to his bed, his face was swollen, his eyes were red. his sister called in the evening, but could not see him. the servants told her that her brother was a little better but resting, and that he did not wish to be disturbed; they said that dr. castaing had been with him all day.
-on friday castaing himself called on the martignons, and told them that hippolyte had passed a shockingly bad night. madame martignon insisted on going to nurse her brother herself, but castaing refused positively to let her see him; the sight of her, he said, would be too agitating to the patient. later in the day mme. martignon went to her brother's house. in order to obey dr. castaing's injunctions, she dressed herself in some of the clothes of the servant victoire, in the hope that if she went into his bedroom thus disguised, hippolyte would not recognise her. but even this subterfuge was forbidden by castaing, and mme. martignon had to content herself with listening in an adjoining room for the sound of her brother's voice. at eight o'clock that evening the martignons learnt that hippolyte was better, but at ten o'clock they received a message that he was dying, and that his brother auguste had been sent for. mme. martignon was prostrated with grief, but her husband hastened to his brother-in-law's house. there he found castaing, who said that the death agony of his friend was so dreadful that he had not the strength to remain in the room with the dying man. another doctor was sent for, but at ten o'clock the following morning, after protracted suffering, hippolyte ballet passed away.
-a post-mortem was held on his body. it was made by drs. segalas and castaing. they stated that death was due to pleurisy aggravated by the consumptive condition of the deceased, which, however serious, was not of itself likely to have been so rapidly fatal in its consequences.
-hippolyte had died, leaving a fortune of some 240,000 francs. in the previous september he had spoken to the notary lebret, a former clerk of his father's, of his intention of making a will. he had seen that his brother auguste was squandering his share of their inheritance; he told lebret that whatever he might leave to auguste should not be placed at his absolute disposal. to his servant victoire, during his last illness, hippolyte had spoken of a will he had made which he wished to destroy. if hippolyte had made such a will, did he destroy it before his death? in any case, no trace of it was ever found after his death. he was presumed to have died intestate, and his fortune was divided, three-quarters of it going to his brother auguste, the remaining quarter to his sister, mme. martignon.
-on the day of hippolyte's death auguste ballet wrote from his brother's house to one prignon: "with great grief i have to tell you that i have just lost my brother; i write at the same time to say that i must have 100,000 francs to-day if possible. i have the greatest need of it. destroy my letter, and reply at once. m. sandrie will, i am sure, accommodate me. i am at my poor brother's house, from which i am writing." prignon did as he was asked, but it was two days before the stockbroker, sandrie, could raise the necessary sum. on october 7 he sold out sufficient of auguste's stock to realise 100,000 francs, and the following day gave prignon an order on the bank of france for that amount. the same day prignon took the order to auguste. accompanied by castaing and jean, auguste's black servant, auguste and prignon drove to the bank. there the order was cashed. prignon's part of the business was at an end. he said good-bye to auguste outside the bank. as the latter got into his cabriolet, carrying the bundle of notes, prignon heard him say to castaing: "there are the 100,000 francs."
-why had auguste ballet, after his brother's death, such urgent need of 100,000 francs? if the statements of auguste made to other persons are to be believed, he had paid the 100,000 francs which he had raised through prignon to lebret, his father's former clerk, who would seem to have acted as legal and financial adviser to his old master's children. according to auguste's story, his sister, mme. martignon, had offered lebret 80,000 francs to preserve a copy of a will made by hippolyte, leaving her the bulk of his fortune. castaing, however, had ascertained that lebret would be willing, if auguste would outbid his sister and pay 100,000 francs, to destroy the will so that, hippolyte dying intestate, auguste would take the greater part of his brother's fortune. auguste agreed to accept lebret's terms, raised the necessary sum, and handed over the money to castaing, who, in turn, gave it to lebret, who had thereupon destroyed the copy of the will. castaing, according to the evidence of auguste's mistress, an actress of the name of percillie, had spoken in her presence of having himself destroyed one copy of hippolyte's will before his death, and admitted having arranged with lebret after hippolyte's death for the destruction of the other copy.
-how far was the story told by auguste, and repeated in somewhat different shape by castaing to other persons, true? there is no doubt that after the visit to the bank of france with prignon on october 8, auguste and castaing drove together to lebret's office. the negro servant said that on arriving there one of them got out of the cab and went up to lebret's house, but which of the two he would not at first say positively. later he swore that it was auguste ballet. whatever happened on that visit to lebret's--and it was the theory of the prosecution that castaing and not auguste had gone up to the office--the same afternoon auguste ballet showed his mistress the seals of the copy of his brother's will which lebret had destroyed, and told her that lebret, all through the business, had refused to deal directly with him, and would only act through the intermediary of castaing.
-did lebret, as a fact, receive the 100,000 francs? a close examination of his finances showed no trace of such a sum. castaing, on the other hand, on october 10, 1822, had given a stockbroker a sum of 66,000 francs to invest in securities; on the 11th of the same month he had lent his mother 30,000 francs; and on the 14th had given his mistress 4,000 francs. of how this large sum of money had come to castaing at a time when he was practically insolvent he gave various accounts. his final version was that in the will destroyed by auguste, hippolyte ballet had left him an income for life equivalent to a capital of 100,000 francs, and that auguste had given him that sum out of respect for his brother's wishes. if that explanation were true, it was certainly strange that shortly after his brother's death auguste ballet should have expressed surprise and suspicion to a friend on hearing that castaing had been buying stock to the value of 8,000 francs. if he had given castaing 100,000 francs for himself, there was no occasion for surprise or suspicion at his investing 8,000. that auguste had paid out 100,000 francs to some one in october the state of his finances at his death clearly proved. according to the theory of the prosecution, auguste believed that he had paid that money to lebret through the intermediary of castaing, and not to castaing himself. hence his surprise at hearing that castaing, whom he knew to be impecunious, was investing such a sum as 8,000 francs.
-no money had ever reached lebret. his honesty and good faith were demonstrated beyond any shadow of a doubt; no copy of any will of hippolyte ballet had ever been in his possession. but castaing had shown auguste ballet a copy of his brother's will, the seals of which auguste had shown to his mistress. in all probability, and possibly at the instigation of castaing, hippolyte ballet had made a will, leaving the greater part of his property to his sister. somehow or other castaing had got possession of this will. on his death castaing had invented the story of mme. martignon's bribe to lebret, and so persuaded auguste to outbid her. he had ingeniously kept auguste and lebret apart by representing lebret as refusing to deal direct with auguste, and by these means had secured to his own use the sum of 100,000 francs, which auguste believed was being paid to lebret as the price of his alleged destruction of his brother's will. the plot was ingenious and successful. to lebret and the martignons castaing said that hippolyte had made a will in mme. martignon's favour, but had destroyed it himself some days before his death. the martignons expressed themselves as glad that hippolyte had done so, for they feared lest such a will should have provoked resentment against them on the part of auguste. by keeping auguste and lebret apart, castaing prevented awkward explanations. the only possible danger of discovery lay in auguste's incautious admissions to his mistress and friends; but even had the fact of the destruction of the will come to the ears of the martignons, it is unlikely that they would have taken any steps involving the disgrace of auguste.
-castaing had enriched himself considerably by the opportune death of his friend hippolyte. it might be made a matter of unfriendly comment that, on the first day of may preceding that sad event, castaing had purchased ten grains of acetate of morphia from a chemist in paris, and on september 18, less than a month before hippolyte's death, he had purchased another ten grains of acetate of morphia from the same chemist. the subject of poisons had always been a favourite branch of castaing's medical studies, especially vegetable poisons; morphia is a vegetable poison.
-castaing's position relative to auguste ballet was now a strong one. they were accomplices in the unlawful destruction of hippolyte's will. auguste believed it to be in his friend's power to ruin him at any time by revealing his dealings with lebret. but, more than that, to auguste, who believed that his 100,000 francs had gone into lebret's pocket, castaing could represent himself as so far unrewarded for his share in the business; lebret had taken all the money, while he had received no recompense of any kind for the trouble he had taken and the risk he was encountering on his friend's behalf. whatever the motive, from fear or gratitude, auguste ballet was persuaded to make a will leaving dr. edme samuel castaing the whole of his fortune, subject to a few trifling legacies. but auguste's feelings towards his sole legatee were no longer cordial. to one or two of his friends he expressed his growing distaste for castaing's society.
-dr. castaing can hardly have failed to observe this change. he knew auguste to be reckless and extravagant with his money; he learnt that he had realised another 100,000 francs out of his securities, and that he kept the money locked up in a drawer in his desk. if auguste's fortune were dissipated by extravagance, or he revoked his will, castaing stood to lose heavily. as time went on castaing felt less and less sure that he could place much reliance on the favourable disposition or thrift of auguste. the latter had fallen in love with a new mistress; he began to entertain expensively; even if he should not change his mind and leave his money away from castaing, there might very soon be no money to leave. at the end of may, 1823, castaing consulted a cousin of his, malassis, a notary's clerk, as to the validity of a will made by a sick man in favour of his medical attendant. he said that he had a patient gravely ill who, not wishing to leave his money to his sister, whom he disliked, intended to leave it to him. malassis reassured him as to the validity of such a will, and gave him the necessary instructions for preparing it. on may 29 castaing sent malassis the will of auguste ballet with the following note, "i send you the will of m. ballets examine it and keep it as his representative." the will was dated december 1, 1822, and made castaing sole legatee. on the same day that the will was deposited with malassis, castaing and auguste ballet started to-gether on a little two days' trip into the country. to his friends auguste seemed in the best of health and spirits; so much so that his housekeeper remarked as he left how well he was looking, and castaing echoed her remark, saying that he looked like a prince!
-during the afternoon the two friends visited saint germain, then returned to paris, and at seven o'clock in the evening arrived at the tete noire hotel at saint cloud, where they took a double-bedded room, castaing paying five francs in advance. they spent the following day, friday, may 30, in walking about the neighbourhood, dined at the hotel at seven, went out again and returned about nine o'clock. soon after their return castaing ordered some warmed wine to be sent up to the bedroom. it was taken up by one of the maid-servants. two glasses were mixed with lemon and sugar which castaing had brought with him. both the young men drank of the beverage. auguste complained that it was sour, and thought that he had put too much lemon in it. he gave his glass to the servant to taste, who also found the drink sour. shortly after she left the room and went upstairs to the bedside of one of her fellow-servants who was ill. castaing, for no apparent reason, followed her up and stayed in the room for about five minutes. auguste spent a bad night, suffering from internal pains, and in the morning his legs were so swollen that he could not put on his boots.
-castaing got up at four o'clock that morning and asked one of the servants to let him out. two hours later he drove up in a cabriolet to the door of a chemist in paris, and asked for twelve grains of tartar emetic, which he wanted to mix in a wash according to a prescription of dr. castaing. but he did not tell the chemist that he was dr. castaing himself. an hour later castaing arrived at the shop of another chemist, chevalier, with whom he had already some acquaintance; he had bought acetate of morphia from him some months before, and had discussed with him then the effects of vegetable poisons. on this particular morning he bought of his assistant thirty-six grains of acetate of morphia, paying, as a medical man, three francs fifty centimes for it instead of the usual price of four francs. later in the morning castaing returned to saint cloud, a distance of ten miles from paris, and said that he had been out for a long walk. he found auguste ill in bed. castaing asked for some cold milk, which was taken up to the bedroom by one of the servants. shortly after this castaing went out again. during his absence auguste was seized with violent pains and sickness. when castaing returned he found his friend in the care of the people of the hotel. he told them to throw away the matter that had been vomited, as the smell was offensive, and auguste told them to do as his friend directed. castaing proposed to send for a doctor from paris, but auguste insisted that a local doctor should be called in at once.
-accordingly dr. pigache of saint cloud was summoned. he arrived at the hotel about eleven o'clock. before seeing the patient castaing told the doctor that he believed him to be suffering from cholera. pigache asked to see the matter vomited but was told that it had been thrown away. he prescribed a careful diet, lemonade and a soothing draught.
-dr. pigache returned at three o'clock, when he found that the patient had taken some lemonade, but, according to castaing, had refused to take the draught. he called again that afternoon. ballet was much better; he said that he would be quite well if he could get some sleep, and expressed a wish to return to paris. dr. pigache dissuaded him from this and left, saying that he would come again in the evening. castaing said that that would be unnecessary, and it was agreed that pigache should see the patient again at eight o'clock the next morning. during the afternoon castaing sent a letter to paris to jean, auguste's negro servant, telling him to take the two keys of his master's desk to his cousin malassis. but the negro distrusted castaing. he knew of the will which his master had made in the doctor's favour. rather than compromise himself by any injudicious act, he brought the keys to saint cloud and there handed them over to castaing.
-when jean arrived his master complained to him of feeling very ill. jean said that he hoped he would be well enough to go back to paris the following day, to which auguste replied, "i don't think so. but if i am lucky enough to get away to-morrow, i shall leave fifty francs for the poor here." about eleven o'clock that night castaing, in jean's presence, gave the sick man a spoonful of the draught prescribed by dr. pigache. four or five minutes later auguste was seized with terrible convulsions, followed by unconsciousness. dr. pigache was sent for. he found ballet lying on his back unconscious, his throat strained, his mouth shut and his eyes fixed; the pulse was weak, his body covered with cold sweat; and every now and then he was seized with strong convulsions. the doctor asked castaing the cause of the sudden change in ballet's condition. castaing replied that it had commenced shortly after he had taken a spoonful of the draught which the doctor had prescribed for him. dr. pigache bled the patient and applied twenty leeches. he returned about six; ballet was sinking, and castaing appeared to be greatly upset. he told the doctor what an unhappy coincidence it was that he should have been present at the deathbeds of both hippolyte and his brother auguste; and that the position was the more distressing for him as he was the sole heir to auguste's fortune. to m. pelletan, a professor of medicine, who had been sent for to st. cloud in the early hours of sunday morning, castaing appeared to be in a state of great grief and agitation; he was shedding tears. pelletan was from the first impressed by the suspicious nature of the case, and pointed out to castaing the awkwardness of his situation as heir to the dying man. "you're right," replied castaing, "my position is dreadful, horrible. in my great grief i had never thought of it till now, but now you make me see it clearly. do you think there will be an investigation?" pelletan answered that he should be compelled to ask for a post-mortem. "ah! you will be doing me the greatest service," said castaing, "i beg you to insist on a post-mortem. you will be acting as a second father to me in doing so." the parish priest was sent for to administer extreme unction to the dying man. to the parish clerk who accompanied the priest castaing said, "i am losing a friend of my childhood," and both priest and clerk went away greatly edified by the sincere sorrow and pious demeanour of the young doctor. about mid-day on sunday, june 1, auguste ballet died.
-during the afternoon castaing left the hotel for some hours, and that same afternoon a young man about twenty-five years of age, short and fair, left a letter at the house of malassis. the letter was from castaing and said, "my dear friend, ballet has just died, but do nothing before to-morrow, monday. i will see you and tell you, yes or no, whether it is time to act. i expect that his brother-in-law, m. martignon, whose face is pock-marked and who carries a decoration, will call and see you. i have said that i did not know what dispositions ballet may have made, but that before his death he had told me to give you two little keys which i am going to deliver to you myself to-morrow, monday. i have not said that we are cousins, but only that i had seen you once or twice at ballet's, with whom you were friendly. so say nothing till i have seen you, but whatever you do, don't say you are a relative of mine." when he returned to the hotel castaing found martignon, lebret, and one or two friends of auguste already assembled. it was only that morning that martignon had received from castaing any intimation of his brother-in-law's critical condition. from the first castaing was regarded with suspicion; the nature of the illness, the secrecy maintained about it by castaing, the coincidence of some of the circumstances with those of the death of hippolyte, all combined to excite suspicion. asked if auguste had left a will castaing said no; but the next day he admitted its existence, and said that it was in the hands of malassis.
-the effect of such laws is very serious. let it be granted, for the sake of argument, that the government and the social system in the state of new york are the best that have ever existed on this planet; yet even then both would presumably be capable of improvement. any person who admits this obvious proposition is by law incapable of teaching in a state school. thus the law decrees that the teachers shall all be either hypocrites or fools.
-the growing danger exemplified by the new york law is that resulting from the monopoly of power in the hands of a single organization, whether the state or a trust or federation of trusts. in the case of education, the power is in the hands of the state, which can prevent the young from hearing of any doctrine which it dislikes. i believe there are still some people who think that a democratic state is scarcely distinguishable from the people. this, however, is a delusion. the state is a collection of officials, different for different purposes, drawing comfortable incomes so long as the status quo is preserved. the only alteration they are likely to desire in the status quo is an increase of bureaucracy and of the power of bureaucrats. it is, therefore, natural that they should take advantage of such opportunities as war excitement to acquire inquisitorial powers over their employees, involving the right to inflict starvation upon any subordinate who opposes them. in matters of the mind, such as education, this state of affairs is fatal. it puts an end to all possibility of progress or freedom or intellectual initiative. yet it is the natural result of allowing the whole of elementary education to fall under the sway of a single organization.
-religious toleration, to a certain extent, has been won because people have ceased to consider religion so important as it was once thought to be. but in politics and economics, which have taken the place formerly occupied by religion, there is a growing tendency to persecution, which is not by any means confined to one party. the persecution of opinion in russia is more severe than in any capitalist country. i met in petrograd an eminent russian poet, alexander block, who has since died as the result of privations. the bolsheviks allowed him to teach æsthetics, but he complained that they insisted on his teaching the subject “from a marxian point of view.” he had been at a loss to discover how the theory of rhythmics was connected with marxism, although, to avoid starvation, he had done his best to find out. of course, it has been impossible in russia ever since the bolsheviks came into power to print anything critical of the dogmas upon which their regime is founded.
-the examples of america and russia illustrate the conclusion to which we seem to be driven—namely, that so long as men continue to have the present fanatical belief in the importance of politics free thought on political matters will be impossible, and there is only too much danger that the lack of freedom will spread to all other matters, as it has done in russia. only some degree of political scepticism can save us from this misfortune.
-for the present i am not in search of remedies, but am only concerned with diagnosis. we are faced with the paradoxical fact that education has become one of the chief obstacles to intelligence and freedom of thought. this is due primarily to the fact that the state claims a monopoly; but that is by no means the sole cause.
-there are two quite different evils about propaganda as now practised. on the one hand, its appeal is generally to irrational causes of belief rather than to serious argument; on the other hand, it gives an unfair advantage to those who can obtain most publicity, whether through wealth or through power. for my part, i am inclined to think that too much fuss is sometimes made about the fact that propaganda appeals to emotion rather than reason. the line between emotion and reason is not so sharp as some people think. moreover, a clever man could frame a sufficiently rational argument in favour of any position which has any chance of being adopted. there are always good arguments on both sides of any real issue. definite mis-statements of fact can be legitimately objected to, but they are by no means necessary. the mere words “pear’s soap,” which affirm nothing, cause people to buy that article. if, wherever these words appear, they were replaced by the words “the labour party,” millions of people would be led to vote for the labour party, although the advertisements had claimed no merit for it whatever. but if both sides in a controversy were confined by law to statements which a committee of eminent logicians considered relevant and valid, the main evil of propaganda, as at present conducted, would remain. suppose, under such a law, two parties with an equally good case, one of whom had a million pounds to spend on propaganda, while the other had only a hundred thousand. it is obvious that the arguments in favour of the richer party would become more widely known than those in favour of the poorer party, and therefore the richer party would win. this situation is, of course, intensified when one party is the government. in russia the government has an almost complete monopoly of propaganda, but that is not necessary. the advantages which it possesses over its opponents will generally be sufficient to give it the victory, unless it has an exceptionally bad case.
-the objection to propaganda is not only its appeal to unreason, but still more the unfair advantage which it gives to the rich and powerful. equality of opportunity among opinions is essential if there is to be real freedom of thought; and equality of opportunity among opinions can only be secured by elaborate laws directed to that end, which there is no reason to expect to see enacted. the cure is not to be sought primarily in such laws, but in better education and a more sceptical public opinion. for the moment, however, i am not concerned to discuss cures.
-in america, which is the most advanced country industrially, and to a lesser extent in other countries which are approximating to the american condition, it is necessary for the average citizen, if he wishes to make a living, to avoid incurring the hostility of certain big men. and these big men have an outlook—religious, moral, and political—with which they expect their employees to agree, at least outwardly. a man who openly dissents from christianity, or believes in a relaxation of the marriage laws, or objects to the power of the great corporations, finds america a very uncomfortable country, unless he happens to be an eminent writer. exactly the same kind of restraints upon freedom of thought are bound to occur in every country where economic organization has been carried to the point of practical monopoly. therefore the safeguarding of liberty in the world which is growing up is far more difficult than it was in the nineteenth century, when free competition was still a reality. whoever cares about the freedom of the mind must face this situation fully and frankly, realizing the inapplicability of methods which answered well enough while industrialism was in its infancy.
-there are two simple principles which, if they were adopted, would solve almost all social problems. the first is that education should have for one of its aims to teach people only to believe propositions when there is some reason to think that they are true. the second is that jobs should be given solely for fitness to do the work.
-to take the second point first. the habit of considering a man’s religious, moral, and political opinions before appointing him to a post or giving him a job is the modern form of persecution, and it is likely to become quite as efficient as the inquisition ever was. the old liberties can be legally retained without being of the slightest use. if, in practice, certain opinions lead a man to starve, it is poor comfort to him to know that his opinions are not punishable by law. there is a certain public feeling against starving men for not belonging to the church of england, or for holding slightly unorthodox opinions in politics. but there is hardly any feeling against the rejection of atheists or mormons, extreme communists, or men who advocate free love. such men are thought to be wicked, and it is considered only natural to refuse to employ them. people have hardly yet waked up to the fact that this refusal, in a highly industrial state, amounts to a very rigorous form of persecution.
-if this danger were adequately realized, it would be possible to rouse public opinion, and to secure that a man’s beliefs should not be considered in appointing him to a post. the protection of minorities is vitally important; and even the most orthodox of us may find himself in a minority some day, so that we all have an interest in restraining the tyranny of majorities. nothing except public opinion can solve this problem. socialism would make it somewhat more acute, since it would eliminate the opportunities that now arise through exceptional employers. every increase in the size of industrial undertakings makes it worse, since it diminishes the number of independent employers. the battle must be fought exactly as the battle of religious toleration was fought. and as in that case, so in this, a decay in the intensity of belief is likely to prove the decisive factor. while men were convinced of the absolute truth of catholicism or protestantism, as the case might be, they were willing to persecute on account of them. while men are quite certain of their modern creeds, they will persecute on their behalf. some element of doubt is essential to the practice, though not to the theory, of toleration. and this brings me to my other point, which concerns the aims of education.
-if there is to be toleration in the world, one of the things taught in schools must be the habit of weighing evidence, and the practice of not giving full assent to propositions which there is no reason to believe true. for example, the art of reading the newspapers should be taught. the schoolmaster should select some incident which happened a good many years ago, and roused political passions in its day. he should then read to the school children what was said by the newspapers on one side, what was said by those on the other, and some impartial account of what really happened. he should show how, from the biased account of either side, a practised reader could infer what really happened, and he should make them understand that everything in newspapers is more or less untrue. the cynical scepticism which would result from this teaching would make the children in later life immune from those appeals to idealism by which decent people are induced to further the schemes of scoundrels.
-history should be taught in the same way. napoleon’s campaigns of 1813 and 1814, for instance, might be studied in the moniteur, leading up to the surprise which parisians felt when they saw the allies arriving under the walls of paris after they had (according to the official bulletins) been beaten by napoleon in every battle. in the more advanced classes, students should be encouraged to count the number of times that lenin has been assassinated by trotsky, in order to learn contempt for death. finally, they should be given a school history approved by the government, and asked to infer what a french school history would say about our wars with france. all this would be a far better training in citizenship than the trite moral maxims by which some people believe that civic duty can be inculcated.
-it must, i think, be admitted that the evils of the world are due to moral defects quite as much as to lack of intelligence. but the human race has not hitherto discovered any method of eradicating moral defects; preaching and exhortation only add hypocrisy to the previous list of vices. intelligence, on the contrary, is easily improved by methods known to every competent educator. therefore, until some method of teaching virtue has been discovered, progress will have to be sought by improvement of intelligence rather than of morals. one of the chief obstacles to intelligence is credulity, and credulity could be enormously diminished by instruction as to the prevalent forms of mendacity. credulity is a greater evil in the present day than it ever was before, because, owing to the growth of education, it is much easier than it used to be to spread misinformation, and, owing to democracy, the spread of misinformation is more important than in former times to the holders of power. hence the increase in the circulation of newspapers.
-if i am asked how the world is to be induced to adopt these two maxims—namely (1) that jobs should be given to people on account of their fitness to perform them; (2) that one aim of education should be to cure people of the habit of believing propositions for which there is no evidence—i can only say that it must be done by generating an enlightened public opinion. and an enlightened public opinion can only be generated by the efforts of those who desire that it should exist. i do not believe that the economic changes advocated by socialists will, of themselves, do anything towards curing the evils we have been considering. i think that, whatever happens in politics, the trend of economic development will make the preservation of mental freedom increasingly difficult, unless public opinion insists that the employer shall control nothing in the life of the employee except his work. freedom in education could easily be secured, if it were desired, by limiting the function of the state to inspection and payment, and confining inspection rigidly to the definite instruction. but that, as things stand, would leave education in the hands of the churches, because, unfortunately, they are more anxious to teach their beliefs than freethinkers are to teach their doubts. it would, however, give a free field, and would make it possible for a liberal education to be given if it were really desired. more than that ought not to be asked of the law.
-my plea throughout this address has been for the spread of the scientific temper, which is an altogether different thing from the knowledge of scientific results. the scientific temper is capable of regenerating mankind and providing an issue for all our troubles. the results of science, in the form of mechanism, poison gas, and the yellow press, bid fair to lead to the total downfall of our civilization. it is a curious antithesis, which a martian might contemplate with amused detachment. but for us it is a matter of life and death. upon its issue depends the question whether our grandchildren are to live in a happier world, or are to exterminate each other by scientific methods, leaving perhaps to negroes and papuans the future destinies of mankind.
-the conway memorial lectureship
-at a general meeting of the south place ethical society, held on october 22, 1908, it was resolved, after full discussion, that an effort should be made to establish a series of lectures, to be printed and widely circulated, as a permanent memorial to dr. conway.
-moncure conway’s untiring zeal for the emancipation of the human mind from the thraldom of obsolete or waning beliefs, his pleadings for sympathy with the oppressed and for a wider and profounder conception of human fraternity than the world has yet reached, claim, it is urged, an offering of gratitude more permanent than the eloquent obituary or reverential service of mourning.
-the range of the lectures (of which the thirteenth is published herewith) must be regulated by the financial support accorded to the scheme; but it is hoped that sufficient funds will be eventually forthcoming for the endowment of periodical lectures by distinguished public men, to further the cause of social, political, and religious freedom, with which dr. conway’s name must ever be associated.
-the conway memorial lecture committee, although not yet in possession of the necessary capital for the permanent endowment of the lectureship, have inaugurated and maintained the work while inviting further contributions. the funds in hand, together with those which may reasonably be expected from supporters of the movement, will ensure the delivery of an annual lecture for some years at least.
-the committee earnestly appeal for either donations or subscriptions from year to year until the memorial is permanently established. contributions may be forwarded to the hon. treasurer.
-on behalf of the executive committee:—
-printed by watts and co., johnson’s court, fleet street, e.c.4.
-transcriber's note: minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. words printed in italics are noted with underscores: italics.
-james frederick ferrier
-famous scots series
-the following volumes are now ready--
-james frederick ferrier
-e. s. haldane
-famous scots series
-published by oliphant anderson & ferrier edinburgh and london
-the designs and ornaments of this volume are by mr. joseph brown, and the printing from the press of morrison & gibb limited, edinburgh.
-james frederick ferrier
-mr. oliphant smeaton has asked me to write a few words of preface to this little book. if i try, it is only because i am old enough to have had the privilege of knowing some of those who were most closely associated with ferrier.
-when i sat at the feet of professor campbell fraser in the metaphysics classroom at edinburgh in 1875, ferrier's writings were being much read by us students. the influence of sir william hamilton was fast crumbling in the minds of young men who felt rather than saw that much lay beyond it. we were still engrossed with the controversy, waged in books which now, alas! sell for a tenth of their former price, about the conditioned and the unconditioned. we still worked at reid, hamilton, and mansel. but the attacks of mill on the one side, and of ferrier and dr. stirling on the other, were slowly but surely withdrawing our interest. ferrier had pointed out a path which seemed to lead us in the direction of germany if we would escape from mill, and stirling was urging us in the same sense. it was not merely that ferrier had written books. he had died more than ten years earlier, but his personality was still a living influence. echoes of his words came to us through grant and sellar. outside the university, men like blackwood and makgill made us feel what a power he had been. but that was not all for at least some of us. mrs. ferrier had removed to edinburgh--and i endorse all that my sister says of her rare quality. she lived in a house in torphichen street, which was the resort of those attracted, not only by the memory of her husband, but by her own great gifts. she was an old lady and an invalid. but though she could not move from her chair, paralysis had not dimmed her mental powers. she was a true daughter of 'christopher north.' i doubt whether i have seen her rival in quickness, her superior i never saw. she could talk admirably to those sitting near her, and yet follow and join in the conversation of another group at the end of the room. she could adapt herself to everyone--to the shy and awkward student of eighteen, who like myself was too much in awe of her to do more unhelped than answer, and to the distinguished men of letters who came from every quarter attracted by her reputation for brilliance. the words of no one could be more incisive, the words of no one were habitually more kind than hers. she had known everybody. she forgot nobody. in those days the relation between literature and the parliament house, if less close than it had been, was more apparent than it is to-day, and distinguished scottish judges and advocates mingled in the afternoon in the drawing-room, where she sat in a great arm-chair, with such men as sellar and stevenson and grant and shairp and tulloch. but her personality was the supreme bond.
-those days are over, and with them has passed away much of what stimulated one to read in the institutes or the philosophical remains. but for the historian of british philosophy ferrier continues as a prominent figure. he it was who first did, what stirling and green did again at a stage later on--make a serious appeal to thoughtful people to follow no longer the shallow rivulets down which the teaching of the great german thinkers had trickled to them, but to seek the sources. if as a guide to those sources we do not look on him to-day as adequate, we are not the less under a deep obligation to him for having been the pioneer of later guides. what ferrier wrote about forty years ago has now become readily accessible, and what has been got by going there is in process of rapid and complete assimilation. the opinions which were in 1856 regarded by the authorities of the free and united presbyterian churches as disqualifying ferrier for the opportunity of influencing the mind of the youth of edinburgh, from the chair of logic and metaphysics in succession to sir william hamilton, are regarded by the present generation of presbyterians as the main reliable bulwark against the attacks of unbelievers. if one may judge by the essays in the recent volume called lux mundi, the same phenomenon displays itself among the young high church party in england. the time-spirit is fond of revenges.
-but even for others than the historians of the movement of thought the books of ferrier remain attractive. there is about them a certain atmosphere in which everything seems alive and fresh. their author was no dryasdust. he was a living human being, troubled as we are troubled, and interested in the things which interest us. he spoke to us, not from the skies, but from among a crowd of his fellow human beings, and we feel that he was one of ourselves. as such it is good that a memorial of him should be placed where it may easily be seen.
-r. b. haldane.
-it may be a truism, but it is none the less a fact, that it is not always he of whom the world hears most who influences most deeply the thought of the age in which he lives. the name of james frederick ferrier is little heard of beyond the comparatively small circle of philosophic thinkers who reverence his memory and do their best to keep it green: to others it is a name of little import--one among a multitude at a time when scotland had many sons rising up to call her blessed, and not perhaps one of the most notable of these. and yet, could we but estimate the value of work accomplished in the higher sphere of thought as we estimate it in the other regions of practical work--an impossibility, of course--we might be disposed to modify our views, and accord our praises in very different quarters from those in which they are usually bestowed.
-james ferrier wrote no popular books; he came before the public comparatively little; he made no effort to reconcile religion with philosophy on the one hand, or to propound theories startling in their unorthodoxy on the other. and still we may claim for him a place--and an honourable place--amongst the other famous scots, for the simple reason that after a long century of wearisome reiteration of tiresome platitudes--platitudes which had lost their original meaning even to the utterers of them, and which had become misleading to those who heard and thought they understood--ferrier had the courage to strike out new lines for himself, to look abroad for new inspiration, and to hand on these inspirations to those who could work them into a truly national philosophy.
-james frederick ferrier's mother, margaret wilson, was a sister of professor john wilson--the 'christopher north' of immortal memory, whose daughter he was afterwards to marry. margaret ferrier was a woman of striking personal beauty. her features were perfect in their symmetry, as is shown in a lovely miniature, painted by saunders, a well-known miniature painter of the day, now in the possession of professor ferrier's son, her grandson. many of these personal charms descended to james ferrier, whose well-cut features bore considerable resemblance to his mother's. and his close connection with the wilson family had the result of bringing the young man into association with whatever was best in literature and art. while yet a boy, we are told, he sat upon sir walter's knee; the ettrick shepherd had told him tales and recited border ballads; while lockhart took the trouble to draw pictures, as he only could, to amuse the child.
-it is known that ferrier took his bachelor's degree in 1832, and that he had by that time managed to acquire a very tolerable knowledge of the classics and begun to study philosophy, so that his time could not have been entirely idle. for the rest, he probably passed happily through his years at college, as many others have done before and after him, without allowing more weighty cares to dwell upon his mind. another friend of after days, the late principal tulloch, after noting the fact that oxford had not then developed the philosophic spirit which in recent years has marked her schools, and which had not then taken root any more than the high church movement which preceded it, goes on: 'it may be doubted, indeed, whether oxford exercised any definite intellectual influence on professor ferrier. he had imbibed his love for the latin poets before he went there, and his devotion to greek philosophy was an after-growth with which he never associated his magdalen studies. to one who visited the college with him many years afterwards, and to whom he pointed out with admiration its noble walks and trees, his associations with the place seemed to be mainly those of amusement. there is reason to think that few of those who knew him at magdalen would have afterwards recognised him in the laborious student at st. andrews, who for weeks together would scarcely cross the threshold of his study; and yet to all who knew him well, there was nevertheless a clear connection between the gay gownsman and the hard-working professor.'
-in 1832, ferrier became an advocate at edinburgh, but it does not appear that he had any serious idea of practising at the bar. this is the period at which we know that the passion for metaphysical speculation laid hold of him,--a passion which is unintelligible and inexplicable to those who do not share in it,--and as ferrier could not clearly say in what direction this was leading him, as far as practical life was concerned, he probably deemed it best to attach himself to a profession which left much scope to the adopter of it, to strike out lines of his own. what led ferrier to determine to spend some months of the year 1834 at heidelberg it would be extremely interesting to know. the friend first quoted writes: 'i cannot tell of the influences under which he devoted himself to metaphysics. my opinion is that there were none, but that he was a philosopher born. he attached himself at once to the fellowship of sir william hamilton, to whom he was introduced by a common friend--i think the late mr. ludovic colquhoun. i know that he looked on sir william at that time as his master.'
-probably the friendship with hamilton simply arose from the natural attraction which two sympathetic spirits feel to one another. it is clear that at this time ferrier's bent was towards metaphysics, and that, as mr. inglis says, this bent was born with him and was only beginning to find its natural outlet; therefore it would be very natural to suppose that acquaintance would be sought with one who was at this time in the zenith of his powers, and whose writings in the edinburgh review were exciting liveliest interest. a casual acquaintanceship between the young man of three-and-twenty and the matured philosopher twenty years his senior soon ripened into a friendship, not perhaps common between two men so different in age. it is perhaps more remarkable considering the differences in opinion on philosophical questions which soon arose between the two; for it is just as difficult for those whose point of view is fundamentally opposed on speculative questions to carry on an intercourse concerning their pursuits which shall be both friendly and unconstrained, as for two political opponents to discuss vital questions of policy without any undercurrent of self-restraint, when they start from entirely opposite principles. most likely had the two been actually contemporaries it might not have been so easy, but as it was, the younger man started with, and preserved, the warmest feelings to his senior; and even in his criticisms he expresses himself in the strongest terms of gratitude: 'he (hamilton) has taught those who study him to think, and he must take the consequences, whether they think in unison with himself or not. we conceive, however, that even those who differ from him most, would readily own that to his instructive disquisitions they were indebted for at least half of all they know of philosophy.' and in the appendix to the institutes, written soon after sir william's death, ferrier says: 'morally and intellectually, sir william hamilton was among the greatest of the great. a simpler and a grander nature never arose out of darkness into human life; a truer and a manlier character god never made. for years together scarcely a day passed in which i was not in his company for hours, and never on this earth may i expect to live such happy hours again. i have learned more from him than from all other philosophers put together; more, both as regards what i assented to and what i dissented from.' it was this open and free discussion of all questions that came before them--discussion in which there must have been much difference of opinion freely expressed on both sides, that made these evenings spent in manor place, where the hamiltons, then a recently married couple, had lately settled, so delightful to young ferrier. he had individuality and originality enough not to be carried away by the arguments used by so great an authority and so learned a man as his friend was reckoned, and then as later he constantly expressed his regret that powers so great had been devoted to the service of a philosophic system--that of reid--of which ferrier so thoroughly disapproved. but at the same time he hardly dared to expect that the labours of a lifetime could be set aside at the bidding of a man so much his junior, and to say the truth it is doubtful whether hamilton ever fully grasped his opponent's point of view. still, ferrier tells us that from first to last his whole intercourse with sir william hamilton was marked with more pleasure and less pain than ever attended his intercourse with any human being, and after hamilton was gone he cherished that memory with affectionate esteem. a touching account is given in sir william's life of how during that terrible illness which so sadly impaired his powers and nearly took his life, ferrier might be seen pacing to and fro on the street opposite his bedroom window during the whole anxious night, watching for indications of his condition, yet unwilling to intrude on the attendants, and unable to tear himself from the spot where his friend was possibly passing through the last agony. such friendship is honourable to both men concerned.
-perhaps, then, it was this intercourse with kindred spirits (for many such were in the habit of gathering at the professor's house) that caused ferrier finally to determine to make philosophy the pursuit of his life--this combined, it may be, with the interest in letters which he could not fail to derive from his own immediate circle. he was in constant communication with susan ferrier, his aunt, who encouraged his literary bent to the utmost of her power. then professor wilson, his uncle, though of a very different character from his own, attracted him by his brightness and wit--a brightness which he says he can hardly bring before himself, far less communicate to others who had not known him. perhaps, as the same friend quoted before suggests, the attraction was partly due to another source. he says: 'how ferrier got on with wilson i never could divine; unless it were through the bright eyes of his daughter. wilson and ferrier seemed to me as opposite as the poles; the one all poetry, the other all prose. but the youth probably yielded to the mature majesty and genius of the man. had they met on equal terms i don't think they could have agreed for ten minutes. as it was, they had serious differences at times, which, however, i believe were all ultimately and happily adjusted.'
-professor ferrier's daughter tells us that long after, in the summer of 1856, the family went to visit the english lakes, the centre of attraction being elleray, mr. ferrier's old home and birthplace. 'the very name of elleray breathes of poetry and romance. our father and mother had, of course, known it in its glorious prime, when our grandfather, "christopher north," wrestled with dalesmen, strolled in his slippers with wordsworth to keswick (a distance of seventeen miles), and kept his ten-oared barge in the long drawing-room of elleray. in these days they had "rich company," and the names of southey, wordsworth, de quincey, and coleridge were to them familiar household words. the cottage my mother was born in still stands, overshadowed by a giant sycamore.'
-we can easily imagine the effect which society such as this would have on a young man's mind. but more than that, the friendship with the attractive cousin, margaret wilson, developed into something warmer, and an engagement was finally formed, which culminated in his marriage in 1837. not many of james ferrier's letters to his cousin during the long engagement have been preserved; the few that are were written from germany in 1834, the year in which he went to heidelberg; they were addressed to thirlstane house, near selkirk, where miss wilson was residing, and they give a lively account of his adventures.
-wanderjahre--social life in scotland--beginning of his literary life
-in the present century in germany we have seen a period of almost unparalleled literary glory succeeded by a time of great commercial prosperity and national enthusiasm. but when ferrier visited that country in 1834 the era of its intellectual greatness had hardly passed away; some, at least, of its stars remained, and others had very recently ceased to be. goethe had died just two years before, but heine lived till many years afterwards; amongst the philosophers, though kant and fichte, of course, were long since gone, schelling was still at work at munich, and hegel lived at berlin till november of 1831, when he was cut off during an epidemic of cholera. most of the great men had disappeared, and yet the memory of their achievements still survived, and the impetus they gave to thought could not have been lost. the traditional lines of speculation consistently carried out since reformation days had survived war and national calamity, and it remained to be seen whether the greater tests of prosperity and success would be as triumphantly undergone.
-we can imagine ferrier's feelings when this new world opened up before him, a scottish youth, to whom it was a new, untrodden country. it may be true that it was his literary rather than his speculative affinities that first attracted him to germany. to form in literature he always attached the greatest value, and to the end his interest in letters was only second to his attachment to philosophy. german poetry was to him what it was to so many of the youth of the country from which it came--the expression of their deepest, and likewise of their freshest aspiration. the poetry of other countries and other tongues--english and latin, for example--meant much to him, but that of germany was nearest to his heart. french learning did not attract him; neither its literature nor its metaphysics and psychological method appealed to his thoughtful, analytic mind; but in germany he found a nation which had not as yet resigned its interest in things of transcendental import in favour of what pertained to mere material welfare.
-such was the germany into which ferrier came in 1834. he did not, so far as we can hear, enter deeply into its social life; he visited it as a traveller, rather than as a student, and his stay in it was brief. considering the shortness of his time there, and the circumstances of his visit, the impression that it made upon him is all the more remarkable, for it was an impression that lasted and was evident throughout all his after life. since his day, indeed, it would be difficult to say how many young scotsmen have been impressed in a similar way by a few months' residence at a university town in germany. for partly owing to ferrier's own efforts, and perhaps even more owing to the 'boom'--to use a vulgarism--brought about by carlyle's writings, and by his first making known the marvels of german literature to the ordinary english-speaking public, who had never learned the language or tried to understand its recent history, the old traditional literary alliance between scotland and france appeared for the time being to have broken down in favour of a similar association with its rival country, germany. the work of goethe was at last appreciated, nothing was now too favourable to say about its merits; philosophy was suddenly discovered to have its home in germany, and there alone; our insularity in keeping to our antiquated methods--dryasdust, we were told, as the old ones of the schools, and perhaps as edifying--was vigorously denounced. theology, which had hitherto found complete support from the philosophic system which acted as her handmaid, and was only tolerated as such, was naturally affected in like manner by the change; and to her credit be it said, that instead of with averted eyes looking elsewhere, as might easily have been done, she determined to face the worst, and wisely asked the question whether in her department too she had not something she could learn from a sister country across the sea. hence a great change was brought about in the mental attitude of scotland; but we anticipate.
-ferrier, after leaving heidelberg, paid a short visit to leipzig, and then for a few weeks took up his abode at berlin. from leipzig he writes to miss wilson again: 'how do you like an epistola dated from this great emporium of taste and letters, this culminating point of germanism, where waggons jostle philosophy, and tobacco-impregnated air is articulated into divinest music? it is fair-time, and i did not arrive, as one usually does, a day behind it, but on the very day it commenced. it will last, i believe, some weeks, and during that time all business is done on the open streets, which are lined on each side with large wooden booths, and are swarming with men and merchandise of every description and from every quarter of the world. it very much resembles a ladies' sale in the assembly rooms (what i never saw), only the ladies here are frequently jews with fierce beards, and have always a pipe in their mouths when not eating or drinking. as you walk along you will find the order of the day to be somewhat as follows. you first come to pipes, then shawls, then nails, then pipes, pipes again, pipes, gingerbread, dolls, then pipes, bridles, spurs, pipes, books, warming-pans, pipes, china, writing-desks, pipes again, pipes, pipes, pipes, nothing but pipes--the very pen will write nothing but pipes. pipes, you see, decidedly carry it. i wonder they don't erect public tobacco-smoke works, lay pipes for it along the streets, and smoke away--a city at a time. private families might take it in as we do gas!'
-ferrier appears to have spent a week at frankfort before reaching his destination at leipzig. he describes his journey there: 'at frankfort i saw nothing worthy of note except a divine statue of ariadne riding on a leopard. after lumbering along for two nights and two days in a clumsy diligence, i reached leipzig two days ago. i thought that by the way i might perhaps see something worthy of mention, and accordingly sometimes put my head out of the window to look. but no--the trees, for instance, had all to a man planted their heads in the earth, and were growing with their legs upwards, just as they do with us; and as for the natives, they, on the contrary, had each of them filled a flower-pot, called a skull, full of earth, put their heads in it, and were growing downwards, just as the same animal does in our country; and on coming to one's recollection in the morning in a german diligence you find yourself surrounded by the same drowsy, idiotical, glazed, stained, and gummy complement of faces which might have accompanied you into carlisle on an autumn morning after a night of travel in his majesty's mail coach.'
-berlin impressed ferrier by its imposing public buildings and general aspect of prosperity. it had, of course, long before reached a position of importance under the great frederick's government, though not the importance or the size that it afterwards attained. still, it was the centre of attraction for all classes throughout prussia, and possessed a cultivated society in which the middle-class element was to all appearances predominant. ferrier writes of the town: 'of the inside of the buildings and what is to be seen there i have nothing yet to say, but their external aspect is most magnificent. palaces, churches, mosque-like structures, spires and domes and towers all standing together, but with large spaces and fine open drives between, so that all are seen to the greatest possible advantage, conspire to form a most glorious city. at this moment a fountain which i can see from my window is playing in the middle of the square. a jet d'eau indeed!! it may do very well for a frenchman to call it that, but we must call it a perfect volcano of water. a huge column goes hissing up as high as a steeple, with the speed and force of a rocket, and comes down in thunder, and little rainbows are flitting about in the showery spray. it being sunday, every thing and person is gayer than usual. bands are playing and soldiers are parading all through the town; everything, indeed, is military, and yet little is foppish--a statement which to english ears will sound like a direct contradiction.'
-our traveller had been given letters to certain berlin professors from young blackie, afterwards professor of greek in edinburgh university, who had just translated goethe's faust into the english tongue. 'i went about half an hour ago to call upon a sort of professor here to whom i had a letter and a faust to present from blackie--found him ill and confined to bed--was admitted, however, very well received, and shall call again when i think there is a chance of his being better. i have still another professor to call on with a letter and book from blackie, and there my acquaintance with the society of berlin is likely to terminate.' one other introduction to ferrier on this expedition to germany is mentioned in a note from his aunt, miss susan ferrier, the only letter to her nephew that has apparently been preserved: whether or not he availed himself of the offer, history does not record. it runs as follows:--
-'edinr., 1st august.
-'i could not get a letter to lord corehouse's german sister (countess purgstall), as it seems she is in bad health, and not fit to entertain vagabonds; but i enclose a very kind one from my friend, mrs. erskine, to the ambassadress at munich, and if you don't go there you may send it by post, as it will be welcome at any time on its own account.'
-it was, as has been said, only about three years previously to this visit that hegel had passed away at berlin, and one wonders whether ferrier first began to interest himself in his writings at this time, and whether he visited the graveyard near the city gate where hegel lies, close to his great predecessor fichte. one would almost think this last was so from the exact description given in his short biography of hegel; and it is significant that on his return he brought with him a medallion and a photograph of the great philosopher. this would seem to indicate that his thoughts were already tending in the direction of hegelian metaphysics, but how far this was so we cannot tell. certainly the knowledge of the german language acquired by ferrier during this visit to the country proved most valuable to him, and enabled him to study its philosophy at a time when translations were practically non-existent, and few had learned to read it. that knowledge must indeed have been tolerably complete, for in 1851, when sir edward bulwer (afterwards lord lytton) was about to republish his translation of schiller's ballads, he corresponded with ferrier regarding the accuracy and exactness of his work. he afterwards, in the preface to the volume, acknowledges the great services ferrier had rendered; and in dedicating the book to him, speaks of the debt of gratitude he owes to one whose 'critical judgment and skill in detecting the finer shades of meaning in the original' had been so useful. ferrier likewise has the credit, accorded him by de quincey, of having corrected several errors in all the english translations of faust then extant--errors which were not merely literary inaccuracies, but which also detracted from the vital sense of the original. as to lord lytton, ferrier must at this time have been interested in his writings; for in a letter to miss wilson, he advises her to read bulwer's pilgrims of the rhine if she wishes for a description of the scenery, and speaks of the high esteem with which he was regarded by the germans.
-during her infancy edinburgh had become mrs. ferrier's home, though she made frequent visits to westmorland, of whose dialect she had a complete command. the courtship, however, had been for the most part carried on at the picturesque old house of gorton, where 'christopher north' was temporarily residing, and which, situated as it is overlooking the lovely glen made immortal by the name of hawthornden, in view of roslin chapel, and surrounded by old-fashioned walks and gardens, must have been an ideal spot for a romantic couple like the ferriers to roam in. another friend writes of wilson's later home at elleray: 'in his hospitable house, where the wits of blackwood gathered at intervals and visited individually in season and out of season, his daughter saw strange men of genius, such as few young ladies had the fortune to see, and heard talk such as hardly another has the fortune to hear. lockhart, with his caricatures and his incisive sarcasm, was an intimate of the house. the ettrick shepherd, with his plaid and homely doric, broke in occasionally, as did also de quincey, generally towards midnight, when he used to sit pouring forth his finely-balanced, graceful sentences far on among the small hours of the morning. there were students, too, year after year, many of them not undistinguished, and some of whom had, we doubt not, ideas of their own regarding the flashing hazel eyes of their eloquent professor's eldest daughter.' but her cousin was her choice, though wealth offered no attraction, and neither side had reason to regret the marriage of affection.
-at the time of his marriage ferrier had been practising at the bar, probably with no great measure of success, seeing that his heart was not really set upon his work. it was at this period that he first began to write, and his first contribution to literature took the form of certain papers contributed to blackwood's magazine, the subject being the 'philosophy of consciousness.' from that time onwards ferrier continued to write on philosophic or literary topics until his death, and many of these writings were first published in the famous magazine.
-before entering, however, on any consideration of ferrier's writings and of the philosophy of the day, it might be worth while to try to picture to ourselves the social conditions and feelings of the time, in order that we may get some idea of the influences which surrounded him, and be assisted in our efforts to understand his outlook.
-in the beginning of the nineteenth century scotland had been ground down by a strange tyranny--the tyranny of one man as it seemed, which man was henry dundas, first viscount melville, who for many long years ruled our country as few countries have been ruled before. what this despotism meant it is difficult for us, a century later, to figure to ourselves. all offices were dependent on his patronage; it was to him that everyone had to look for whatever post, advancement, or concession was required. and dundas, with consummate power and administrative ability, moulded scotland to his will, and by his own acts made her what she was before the world. but all the while, though unperceived, a new spirit was really dawning; the principles of the revolution, in spite of everything, had spread, and all unobserved the time-spirit made its influence felt below a surface of apparent calm. it laid hold first of all of the common people--weavers and the like: it roused these rough, uneducated men to a sense of wrong and the resolution to seek a remedy. not much, however, was accomplished. some futile risings took place--risings pitiable in their inadequacy--of hard-working weavers armed with pikes and antiquated muskets. of course, such rebels were easily suppressed; the leaders were sentenced to execution or transportation, as the case might be; but though peace apparently was restored and public meetings to oppose the government were rigorously suppressed, trade and manufactures were arising: scotland was not really dead, as she appeared. a new life was dawning: reform was in the air, and in due time made its presence felt. but the memory of these times of political oppression, when the franchise was the privilege of the few, and of the few who were entirely out of sympathy with the most part of their countrymen or their country's wants, remained with the people just as did the 'killing-time' of covenanting days two centuries before. time heals the wounds of a country as of an individual, but the operation is slow, and it is doubtful whether either period of history will ever be forgotten. at anyrate, if they are so as this century closes, they were not in the scotland known to ferrier; they were still a very present memory and one whose influence was keenly felt.
-and along with this political struggle yet another struggle was taking place, no less real though not so evident. the religion of the country had been as dead as was the politics in the century that was gone--dead in the sleep of moderatism and indifferentism. but it, too, had awakened; the evangelical school arose, liberty of church government was claimed, a liberty which, when denied it, rent the established church in twain.
-in our country it has been characteristic that great movements have usually begun with those most in touch with its inmost life, the so-called lower orders of its citizens. the nobles and the kings have rather followed than taken the lead. in the awakening of the present century this at anyrate was the case. 'society,' so called, remained conservative in its view for long after the people had determined to advance. scott, it must be remembered, was a retrogressive influence. the romanticism of his novels lent a charm to days gone by which might or might not be deserved; but they also encouraged their readers to imagine a revival of those days of chivalry as a possibility even now, when men were crying for their rights, when they had awakened to a sense of their possessions, and would take nothing in their place. the real chieftains were no more; they were imitation chieftains only who were playing at the game, and it was a game the clansmen would not join in. few exercises could be more strange than first to read the account of scottish life in one of the immortal novels by scott dealing with last century, and then to turn to miss ferrier or galt, depicting a period not so very different. setting aside all questions of genius, where comparison would be absurd, it would seem as if a beautiful enamel had been removed, and a bare reality revealed, somewhat sordid in comparison. the life was not really sordid,--realism as usual had overshot its mark,--but the enamel had been somewhat thickly laid, and might require to be removed, if truth were to be revealed.
-so in the higher grades of edinburgh society the enamel of gentility has done its best to prejudice us against much true and genuine worth. it was characterised by a certain conventional unconventionality, a certain 'preciosity' which brought it near deserving a still stronger name, and it maintained its right to formulate the canons of criticism for the kingdom. edinburgh, it must be recollected, was no 'mean city,' no ordinary provincial town. it was still esteemed a metropolis. it had its aristocracy, though mainly of the order of those unable to bear the greater expense of london life. it had no manufactories to speak of, no mercantile class to 'vulgarise' it; it possessed a university, and the law courts of the nation. but above all it had a literary society. in the beginning of the century it had such men as henry mackenzie, dugald stewart, john playfair, dr. gregory, dr. thomas brown, not to speak of scott and jeffrey--a society unrivalled out of london. and in later days, when these were gone, others rose to fill their places.
-of course, in addition to the movement of the working people, there was an educated protest against toryism, and it was made by a party who, to their credit be it said, risked their prospects of advancement for the principles of freedom. in their days toryism, we must recollect, meant something very different from what it might be supposed to signify in our own. it meant an attitude of obstruction as regards all change from established standards of whatever kind; it signified a point of view which said that grievances should be unredressed unless it was in its interest to redress them. the new party of opposition included in its numbers whig lawyers like gibson craig and henry erskine, in earlier days, and francis jeffrey and lord cockburn later on; a party of progress was also formed within the church, and the same within the precincts of the university. the movement, as became a movement on the political side largely headed by lawyers, had no tendency to violence; it was moderate in its policy, and by no means revolutionary--indeed it may be doubted whether there ever was much tendency to revolt even amongst those working men who expressed themselves most strongly. the advance party, however, carried the day, and when ferrier began to write, scotland was in a very different state from that of twenty years before. the reform bill had passed, and men had the moulding of their country's destiny practically placed within their hands. in the university, again, sir william hamilton, a whig, had just been appointed to the chair of logic, while moncreiff, chalmers, and the rest, were prominent in the church. the traditions of literary edinburgh at the beginning of the century had been kept up by a circle amongst whom lockhart, wilson, and de quincey may be mentioned; now carlyle, who had left edinburgh not long before, was coming into notice, and a new era seemed to be dawning, not so glorious as the past, but more untrammelled and more free.
-how philosophy was affected by the change, and how ferrier assisted in its progress, it is our business now to tell; but we must first briefly sketch the history of scottish speculation to this date, in order to show the position in which he found it.
-philosophy before ferrier's day
-in attempting to give some idea of philosophy as it was in scotland in the earlier portion of the present century, we shall have to go back two hundred years or thereabout, in order to find a satisfactory basis from which to start. for philosophy, as no one realised more than ferrier, is no arbitrary succession of systems following one upon another as their propounders might decree; it is a development in the truest and highest significance of that word. it means the gradual working out of the questions which reason sets to be answered; and though it seems as if we had sometimes to turn our faces backwards, and to revert to systems of bygone days, we always find, when we look more closely, that in our onward course we have merely dropped some thread in our web, the recovery of which is requisite in order that it may be duly taken up and woven with the rest.
-at the time of which we write the so-called 'scottish school' of reid, stewart, and beattie reigned supreme in orthodox scotland; it had undisputed power in the universities, and besides this obtained a very reputable place in the estimation of europe, and more especially of france. as it was this school more especially that ferrier spent much of his time in combating, it is its history and place that we wish shortly to describe. to do so, however, it is needful to go back to its real founder, locke, in order that its point of view may fairly be set forth.
-in applying his mind to the views of locke, the ordinary man finds himself arriving at very commonplace and well-accustomed conceptions. locke, indeed, may reasonably be said to represent the ideas of common, everyday life. the ordinary man does not question the reality of things, he accepts it without asking any questions, and bases his theories--scientific or otherwise--upon this implied reality. locke worked out the theory which had been propounded by lord bacon, that knowledge is obtained by the observation of facts which are implicitly accepted as realities; and what, it was asked, could be more self-evident and sane? it is easy to conceive a number of perceiving minds upon the one hand, ready to take up perceptions of an outside material substance upon the other. the mind may be considered as a piece of white paper--a tabula rasa, as it was called--on which external things may make what impression they will, and knowledge is apparently explained at once. but though locke certainly succeeded in making these terms the common coin of ordinary life, difficulties crop up when we come to examine them more closely. after all, it is evident, the only knowledge our mind can have is a knowledge of its own ideas--ideas which are, of course, caused by something which is outside, or at least, as locke would say, by its quality. now, from this it would appear that these 'ideas' after all come between the mind and the 'thing,' whatever it is, that causes them--that is to say, we can perhaps maintain that we only know our 'ideas,' and not things as in themselves. locke passes into elaborate distinctions between primary qualities of things, of which he holds exact representations are given, and secondary qualities, which are not in the same position; but the whole difficulty we meet with is summed up in the question whether we really know substance, or whether it is that we can only hope to know ideas, and 'suppose' some substratum of reality outside. then another difficulty is that we can hardly really know our selves. how can we know that the self exists; and if, like malebranche, we speak of god revealing substance to us, how do we know about god? we cannot form any 'general' impressions, have any 'general' knowledge; only a sort of conglomeration of unrelated or detached bits of knowledge can possibly come home to us. the fact is, that modern philosophy starts with two separate and self-existent substances; that it does not see how they can be combined, and that the 'white-paper' theory is so abstract that we can never arrive at self-consciousness by its means.
-berkeley followed out the logical consequences of locke, though perhaps he hardly knew where these would carry him. he acknowledged that we know nothing but ideas--nothing outside of our mind. but he adds the conception of self, and by analogy the conception of god, who acts as a principle of causation. whether there is necessary connection in his sensations or not, he does not say. hume followed with criticism, scathing and merciless. he states that all we know of is the experience we have; and by experience he signifies perceptions. ideas to him are nothing more than perceptions, and whether they are ideas simply of the mind, or ideas of some object, is to him the same. if we begin to imagine such conceptions as those of universality or necessity, of god or the self, beyond a complex of successive ideas, we are going farther than experience permits. we cannot connect our perceptions with an object, nor can we get beyond what experience allows. custom merely brings about certain conclusions which are often enough misleading. it connects effect and cause, really different events: it brings about ideas of morality very often deceptive. we have our custom of regarding things, another has his--who can say which is correct? all we can do is, what seems a hopeless task enough--we can try to show how these unrelated particulars seem by repetition to produce an illusionary connection in our minds.
-both mind and matter appear, then, to be wanting, and experience alone is suggested as the means of solving the difficulty in which we are placed--a point in the argument which left an opportunity open to kant to suggest a new development, to ask whether things being found inadequate in producing knowledge, we might not ask if knowledge could not be more successful with things. but it is the scottish lines of attempted solution that we wish to follow out, and not the german. perhaps they are not so very different.
-philosophy, as reid found it, was in a bad way enough, as far as the orthodox mind of scotland was concerned. all justification for belief in god, in immortality, in all that was held sacred in a century of much orthodoxy if little zeal, was gone. such things might be believed in by those who found any comfort in so believing, but to the educated man who had seriously reflected on them, they were anachronisms. the very desperateness of the case, however, seemed to promise a remedy. men could not rest in a state of permanent scepticism, in a world utterly incapable of being rationally explained. even the propounder of the theories allowed this to be true; and as for others, they felt that they were rational beings, and this signified that there was system in the world.
-a champion arose when things were at their worst in thomas reid, the founder, or at least the chiefest ornament, of the so-called scottish school of philosophy. he it was who set himself to add the principle of the coherence of the universe, and the consequent possibility of establishing faith once more in the world. reid, to begin with, instead of looking at hume's results as serious, regarded them as necessarily absurd. he started a new theory of his own, the theory of immediate perception, which signified that we are able immediately to apprehend--not ideas only, but the truth. and how, we may ask, can this be done?
-it had been pointed out first of all that sensations as understood by locke--that is, the relations so called by locke--might be separated from sensation in itself; in fact, that these first pertained to mind. hence we have a dualistic system given us to start with, and the question is how the two sides are to be connected? what does this theory of immediate perception, which reid puts forward as the solution, mean? is it just a mechanical union of two antitheses, or is it something more?
-as to this last, perhaps the real answer would be that it both is, and is not. that is, the philosophy of reid would seem still dualistic in its nature; it certainly implies the mechanical contact of two confronting substances whose independence is vigorously maintained, in opposition to the idealistic system which it superseded; but in reference to reid we must recollect that his theory of immediate perception was also something more. as regards sensation, for example, he says that we do not begin with unrelated sensations, but with judgment--that is, we refer our sensations to a permanent subject, 'i.' sensations 'suggest' the nature of a mind and the belief in its existence. and this signifies that we have the power of making inferences--how we do not exactly know, but we believe it to be, not by any special reasoning process, but by the 'common-sense' innately born within us. common-sense is responsible for a good deal more--for the conceptions of existence and of cause, for instance; for reid acknowledges that sensations alone must fail to account for ideas such as those of extension, space, and motion. this standpoint seems indeed as if it did not differ widely from the kantian, but at the same time reid appears to think that it is not an essential that feelings should be perceptively referred to an external object; the first part of the process of perception is carried on without our consciousness--the mental sensation merely follows--and sensation simply supposes a sentient being and a certain manner in which that being is affected, which leaves us much where we were, as far as the subjectivity of our ideas is concerned. he does not hold that all sensation is a percept involving extension and much else--involving, indeed, existence.
-following upon reid, dugald stewart obtained a very considerable reputation, and he was living and writing at the time ferrier was a young man. his main idea would, however, seem to have been to guard his utterances carefully, and enter upon no keen discussions or contentions: when a bold assertion is made, it is always under shelter of some good authority. but his rounded phrases gained him considerable admiration, as such writing often does. he carried--perhaps inadvertently--reid's views farther than he would probably have held as justifiable. he says we are not, properly speaking, conscious of self or the existence of self, but merely of a sensation or some other quality, which, by a subsequent suggestion of the understanding, leads to a belief in that which exercises the quality. this is the doctrine of reid put very crudely, and in a manner calculated to bring us back to unrelated sensation in earnest. stewart adopted a new expression for reid's 'common-sense,' i.e. the 'fundamental laws of belief,' which might be less ambiguous, but never took popular hold as did the first.
-there were many others belonging to this school besides reid and stewart, whom it would be impossible to speak of here. the scottish philosophy had its work to do, and no doubt understood that work--the first essential in a criticism: it endeavoured to vindicate perception as against sensational idealism, and it only partially succeeded in its task. but we must be careful not to forget that it opened up the way for a more comprehensive and satisfactory point of view. it was with kant that the distinction arose between sensation and the forms necessary to its perception, the form of space and time, and so on. as to this part of the theory of knowledge, reid and his school were not clear; they only made an effort to express the fact that something was required to verify our knowledge, but they were far from satisfactorily attaining to their goal. the very name of 'common-sense' was misleading--making people imagine, as it did, that there was nothing in philosophy after all that the man in the street could not know by applying the smallest modicum of reflection to the subject. philosophy thus came to be considered as superfluous, and it was thought that the sooner we got rid of it and were content to observe the mandates of our hearts, the better for all concerned.
-what, then, was the work which ferrier placed before himself when he commenced to write upon and teach philosophy? he was thoroughly and entirely dissatisfied with the old point of view, the point of view of the 'common-sense' school of metaphysicians, to begin with. sometimes it seems as though we could not judge a system altogether from the best exponent of it, although theoretically we are always bound to turn to him. in a national philosophy, at least, we want something that will wear, that will bear to be put in ordinary language, something which can be understood of the people, which can be assimilated with the popular religion and politics--in fact, which can really be lived as well as thought; and it is only after many years of use that we can really tell whether these conditions have been fulfilled. for this reason we are in some measure justified in taking the popular estimate of a system, and in considering its practical results as well as the value of its theory. now, the commonly accepted view of the eighteenth-century philosophers in scotland is that there is nothing very wonderful about the subject--like the bourgeois gentilhomme of molière, we are shown that we have been philosophising all our lives, only we never knew it. 'common-sense'--an attribute with which we all believe we are in some small measure endowed--explains everything if we simply exercise it, and that is open to us all: there has been much talk, it would seem, about nothing; secrets hidden to wise men are revealed to babes, and we have but to keep our minds open in order to receive them.
-we are all acquainted with this talk in speculative regions of knowledge, but we most of us also know how disastrous it is to any true advancement in such directions. what happens now is just what happened in the eighteenth century. men relapse into a self-satisfied indolence of mind: in religion they are content with believing in a sort of general divine beneficence which will somehow make matters straight, however crooked they may seem to be; and in philosophy they are guided by their instincts, which teach them that what they wish to believe is true.
-kant, as we have said, made an important development upon the position of hume. hume had arrived at the point of declaring the particular mind and matter equally incompetent to afford an ultimate explanation of things, and he suggested experience in their place. this is the first note of the new philosophy: experience, not a process of the interaction of two separate things, mind on the one hand, matter on the other, but something comprehending both. this, however, was scarcely realised either by hume or kant, though the latter came very near the formulation of it. kant saw, at least, that things could not produce knowledge, and he therefore changed his front and suggested starting with the knowledge that was before regarded as result--a change in point of view that caused a revolution in thought similar to that caused in our ideas of the natural world by the introduction of the system of copernicus. still, while following out his copernican theory, kant did not go far enough. his methods were still somewhat psychological in nature. he still regarded thought as something which can be separated from the thinker; he still maintained the existence of things in themselves independent and outside of thought. he gives us a 'theory' of knowledge, when what we want to reach is knowledge itself, and not a subjective conception of it.
-here it is that the absolute idealism comes in--the idealism most associated with the name of hegel. hegel takes experience, knowledge, or thought, in another and much more comprehensive fashion than did his predecessors. knowledge, in fact, is all-comprehending; it embraces both sides in itself, and explains them as 'moments,' i.e. complementary factors in the one reality. to make this clearer: we have been all along taking knowledge as a dualistic process, as having two sides involved in it, a subject and an object. now, hegel says our mistake is this: we cannot make a separation of such a kind except by a process of abstraction: the one really implies the other, and could not possibly exist without it. we may in our ordinary pursuits do so, without doubt; we may concentrate our attention on one side or the other, as the case may be; we may look at the world as if it could be explained by mechanical means, as, indeed, to a certain point it can. but, hegel says, these explanations are not sufficient; they can easily be shown to be untrue, when driven far enough: the world is something larger; it has the ideal side as well as the real, and, as we are placed, they are both necessarily there, and must both be recognised, if we are to attain to true conceptions.
-without saying that ferrier wholly assimilated the modern german view,--for of course he did not,--he was clearly largely influenced by it, more largely perhaps than he was even himself aware. it particularly met the present difficulties with which he was confronted. the negative attitude was felt to be impossible, and the other, the belief which then, as now, was so strongly advocated, the belief which meant a more or less blind acceptance of a spiritual power beyond our own, the belief in the god we cannot know and glory in not being able so to know, he felt to be an equal impossibility. ferrier, and many others, asked the question, are these alternatives exhaustive? can we not have a rational explanation of the world and of ourselves? can we not, that is, attain to freedom? the new point of view seemed in some measure to meet the difficulty, and therefore it was looked to with hope and anticipation even although its bearing was not at first entirely comprehended. ferrier was one of those who perceived the momentous consequences which such a change of front would cause, and he set himself to work it out as best he could. in an interesting paper which he writes on 'the philosophy of common-sense,' with special reference to sir william hamilton's edition of the works of dr. reid, we see in what way his opinions had developed.
-the point which ferrier made the real crux of the whole question of philosophy was the distinction which exists between the ordinary psychological doctrine of perception and the metaphysical. the former drew a distinction between the perceiving mind and matter, and based its reasonings on the assumed modification of our minds brought about by matter regarded as self-existent, i.e. existent in itself and without regard to any perceiving mind. now, ferrier points out that this system of 'representationalism,' of representative ideas, necessarily leads to scepticism; for who can tell us more, than that we have certain ideas--that is, how can it be known that the real matter supposed to cause them has any part at all in the process? scepticism, as we saw before, has the way opened up for it, and it doubts the existence of matter, seeing that it has been given no reasonable grounds for belief in it, while idealism boldly denies its instrumentality and existence. what then, he asks, of dr. reid and his school of common-sense? reid cannot say that matter is known in consciousness, but what he does say is that something innately born within us forces us to believe in its existence. but then, as ferrier pertinently points out, scepticism and idealism do not merely doubt and deny the existence of a self-existent matter as an object of consciousness, but also because it is no object of belief. and what has reid to show for his beliefs? nothing but his word. we must all, ferrier says, be sceptics or idealists; we are all forced on to deny that matter in any form exists, for it is only self-existent matter that we recognise as psychologists. stewart tries to reinstate it by an appeal to 'direct observation,' an appeal which, ferrier truly says, is manifestly absurd; reasoning is useless, and we must, it would appear, allow any efforts we might make towards rectifying our position to be recognised as futile.
-but now, ferrier says, the metaphysical solution of the problem comes in. we are in an impasse, it would appear; the analysis of the given fact is found impossible. but the failure of psychology opens up the way to metaphysic. 'the turning-round of thought from psychology to metaphysic is the true interpretation of the platonic conversion of the soul from ignorance to knowledge, from mere opinion to certainty and satisfaction; in other words, from a discipline in which the thinking is only apparent, to a discipline in which the thinking is real.' 'the difference is as great between "the science of the human mind" and metaphysic, as it is between the ptolemaic and the copernican astronomy, and it is very much of the same kind.' it is not that metaphysic proposes to do more than psychology; it aims at nothing but what it can fully overtake, and does not propose to carry a man farther than his tether extends, or the surroundings in which he finds himself. metaphysic in the hands of all true astronomers of thought, from plato to hegel, if it accomplishes more, attempts less.
-metaphysic, ferrier says, demands the whole given fact, and that fact is summed up in this: 'we apprehend the perception of an object,' and nothing short of this suffices--that is, not the perception of matter, but our apprehension of that perception, or what we before called knowledge, ultimate knowledge in its widest sense. and this given fact is unlike the mere perception of matter, for it is capable of analysis and is not simply subjective and egoistic. psychology recognises perception on the one hand (subjective), and matter on the other (objective), but metaphysic says the distinction ought to be drawn between 'our apprehension' and 'the perception-of-matter,' the latter being one fact and indivisible, and on no account to be taken as two separate facts or thoughts. the whole point is, that by no possible means can the perception-of-matter be divided into two facts or existences, as was done by psychology. and ferrier goes on to point out that this is not a subjective idealism, it is not a condition of the human soul alone, but it 'dwells apart, a mighty and independent system, a city fitted up and upheld by the living god.' and in authenticating this last belief ferrier calls in internal convictions, 'common-sense,' to assist the evidence of speculative reason, where, had he followed more upon the lines of the great german idealists, he might have done without it.
-now, ferrier continues, we are safe against the cavils of scepticism; the metaphysical theory of perception steers clear of all the perplexities of representationalism; for it gives us in perception one only object, the perception of matter; the objectivity of this datum keeps us clear from subjective idealism.
-from the perception of matter, a fact in which man merely participates, ferrier infers a divine mind, of which perceptions are the property: they are states of the everlasting intellect. the exercise of the senses is the condition upon which we are permitted to apprehend or participate in the objective perception of material things. this, shortly, is the position from which he starts.
-'fierce warres and faithful loves'
-after his marriage in 1837, ferrier devoted his attention almost entirely to the philosophy he loved so well. he did not succeed--did not perhaps try to succeed--at the bar, to which he had been called. many qualities are required by a successful advocate besides the subtle mind and acute reasoning powers which ferrier undoubtedly possessed: possibly--we might almost say probably--these could have been cultivated had he made the effort. he had, to begin with, a fair junior counsel's practice, owing to his family connections, and this might have been easily developed; his ambition, however, did not soar in the direction of the law courts, and he did not give that whole-hearted devotion to the subject which is requisite if success is to follow the efforts of the novice. but if he was not attracted by the work at the parliament house, he was attracted elsewhere; and to his first mistress, philosophy, none could be more faithful. in other lines, it is true, he read much and deeply: literature in its widest sense attracted him as it would attract any educated man. poetry, above all, he loved, in spite of the tale sometimes told against him, that he gravely proposed turning in memoriam into prose in order to ascertain logically 'whether its merits were sustained by reason as well as by rhyme'--a proposition which is said greatly to have entertained its author, when related to him by a mutual friend. works of imagination he delighted in--all spheres of literature appealed to him; he had the sense of form which is denied to many of his craft; he wrote in a style at once brilliant and clear, and carelessness on this score in some of the writings of his countrymen irritated him, as those sensitive to such things are irritated. he has often been spoken of as a living protest against the materialism of the age, working away in the quiet, regardless of the busy throng, without its ambitions and its cares. sometimes, of course, he temporarily deserted the work he loved the best for regions less remote; sometimes he consented to lecture on purely literary topics, and often he wrote biographies for a dictionary, or articles or reviews for blackwood's edinburgh magazine. as it was to this serial that ferrier made his most important contributions, both philosophic and literary, for the next fifteen years, and as it was in its pages that the development of his system may be traced, a few words about its history may not be out of place, although it is a history with which we have every reason to be familiar now.
-about 1816 the edinburgh review reigned supreme in literature. what was most strange, however, was that the conservative party, so strong in politics, had no literary organ of their own--and this at a time when the line of demarcation between the rival sides in politics was so fixed that no virtue could be recognised in an opponent or in an opponent's views, even though they were held regarding matters quite remote from politics. the whig party, though in a minority politically and socially, represented a minority of tremendous power, and possessed latent capabilities which soon broke forth into action. at this time, for instance, they had literary ability of a singularly marked description; they were not bound down by traditions as were their opponents, and were consequently much more free to strike out lines of their own, always of course under the guidance of that past-master in criticism, francis jeffrey. although his words were received as oracular by his friends, this dictatorship in matters of literary taste was naturally extremely distasteful to those who differed from him, especially as the influence it exerted was not a local or national influence alone, but one which affected the opinion of the whole united kingdom. for a time, no doubt, the party was so strong that the matter was not taken as serious, but it soon became evident that a strenuous effort must be made if affairs were to be placed on a better footing, and if a protest were to be raised against the cynical criticism in which the reviewers indulged. consequently, in april 1817, a literary periodical called the edinburgh monthly magazine was started by two gentlemen of some experience in literary matters, with the assistance of mr. william blackwood, an enterprising edinburgh publisher, whose reputation had grown of recent years to considerable dimensions. this magazine was not a great success: the editors and publisher did not agree, and finally mr. blackwood purchased the formers' share in it, took over the magazine himself, and, to make matters clear, gave it his name; thus in october of the same year the first number of blackwood's edinburgh magazine appeared. from a quiet and unobtrusive 'miscellany' the magazine developed into a strongly partisan periodical, with a brilliant array of young contributors, determined to oppose the edinburgh review régime with all its might, and not afraid to speak its mind respecting the literary gods of the day. every month some one came under the lash; coleridge, leigh hunt, and many others were dealt with in terms unmeasured in their severity, and in the very first number appeared the famous 'chaldee manuscript' which made the hair of edinburgh society stand on end with horror. in spite of the immoderate expression of its opinions, the magazine flourished--it was fresh and novel, and much genius was enlisted in writing for its pages. the editor's identity was always matter for conjecture; but though the contributors included a number of distinguished men, such as mackenzie, de quincey, hogg, fraser tytler, and jameson, there were two names which were always associated with the periodical--those of john gibson lockhart and ferrier's uncle and father-in-law, john wilson. the latter in particular was often held to be the real editor whom everyone was so anxious to discover, but this belief has been emphatically denied. although the management might appear to be in the control of a triumvirate, blackwood himself kept the supreme power in his hands, whatever he might at times find it politic to lead outsiders to infer.
-when ferrier began to write for it in 1838, blackwood's magazine was not of course the same fiery publication of twenty years before; nor were ferrier's articles for the most part of a nature such as to appeal strongly to an excitable and partisan public. things had changed much since 1817: the reform bill had passed; the politics of the country were very different; the toryism of ferrier and his friends was quite unlike the toryism of the early part of the century: it more resembled the conservatism or traditionalism of a yet later date, which objected to violent changes only owing to their violence, and by no means to reform, if gradually carried out. this policy was reflected in maga's pages, to which ferrier would naturally turn when he wished to reach the public ear, both from family association and hereditary politics. his first contribution was certainly not light in character; nor did it resemble the 'bright, racy' articles which are supposed to be the requisite for modern serial publications. the subject was 'an introduction to the philosophy of consciousness,' and it consisted of a series of papers contributed during two successive years (1838 and 1839), which really embodied the result of the work in which ferrier had during the past few years been engaged, and signified a complete divergence from the accepted manner of regarding consciousness, and a protest against the 'faith-philosophy' which it became ferrier's special mission to combat. perhaps it is only in scotland that a public could be found sufficiently interested in speculative questions to make them the subject of interest to a fairly wide and general circle, such as would be likely to peruse the pages of a monthly magazine like blackwood's. but of this interesting contribution to metaphysical speculation, in which ferrier commenced his philosophical career by grappling with the deepest and most fundamental questions in a manner, as hamilton acknowledges, hitherto unattempted in the humbler speculations of this country, we shall speak later on, as also of his further contributions to the magazine.
-of these early days professor fraser writes:--'my personal intercourse with ferrier was very infrequent, but very delightful when it did occur. he was surely the most picturesque figure among the scottish philosophers--easy, graceful, humorous, eminently subtle, and with a fine literary faculty--qualities not conspicuous in most of them. when i was a private member of sir w. hamilton's advanced class in metaphysics in 1838-39, and for some years after, i was often at sir william's house, and ferrier was sometimes of the party on these occasions. i remember his kindly familiarity with us students, the interest and sympathy with which he entered into metaphysical discussion, his help and co-operation in a metaphysical society which we were endeavouring to organise. his essays on the philosophy of consciousness were then being issued in blackwood, and were felt to open questions strange at a time when speculation was almost dead in scotland--reid at a discount, brown found empty, and hamilton, with kant, only struggling into ascendency.
-'in these days, if i remember right, ferrier lived in carlton street, stockbridge--an advocate whose interest was all in letters and philosophy, a student of simple habits, fond of german, not a conspicuous talker, of easy polished manners and fond of a joke, with a scientific interest in all sorts of facts and their meanings, and perhaps a disposition to paradox. i remember the interest he took in phenomena of "mesmeric sleep," as it was called. an eminent student was sometimes induced for experiment to submit himself to mesmeric influence at these now far-off evening gatherings at sir william's. to ferrier the phenomena suggested curious speculation, but i think without scientific result.' the subject was one on which ferrier afterwards wrote in blackwood, and it was a subject which always had the deepest interest for him. it, however, as he believed, cost him the friendship of professor cairns, a frequent subject at these informal séances, and one whom ferrier rashly twitted for what he evidently regarded as a weakness, his easily accomplished subjection to the application of mesmeric power.
-in 1845 the chair of moral philosophy in the university of st. andrews, then occupied by dr. cook, and once held by dr. chalmers, became vacant by the former's death, and ferrier entered as a candidate. highly recommended as he was by hamilton and others, ferrier was the successful applicant, and st. andrews became his home for nineteen years thereafter, or until his death in 1864.
-such is a bald statement of the facts of what would seem a singularly uneventful life. life divided between the study, library, and classroom, there was little room for incident outside the ordinary incidents of domestic and academic routine. yet ferrier never sank into the conventionality which life in a small university town might induce. his interests were always fresh; he was constantly engaged in writing and rewriting his lectures, which, unlike some of his calling, he was not content to read and re-read from year to year unaltered. his thoughts were constantly on his subject and on his students, planning how best to communicate to them the knowledge that he was endeavouring to convey--a life which came as near the ideal of philosophic devotion as is perhaps possible in this nineteenth century of turmoil and unrest. still, gentleman and man of culture as he was, ferrier had a fighting side as well, and that side was once or twice aroused in all the vehemence of its native strength.
-twice ferrier made application for a philosophical chair in the town of his birth and boyhood. in 1852, when his father-in-law, john wilson, retired, he became a candidate for the professorship of moral philosophy in the university of edinburgh; and then again, in 1856, he offered himself as a successor to sir william hamilton as professor of logic and metaphysics. on neither occasion was he successful, and on both occasions he suffered much from calumnious statements respecting his 'german' and unorthodox views--a kind of calumny which is more than likely to arise and carry weight when the judges are men of honourable character but of little education, men to whom a shibboleth is everything and real progress in learning nothing. on the first occasion there were several candidates who submitted their applications, but on professor m'cosh's retiring from the combat, the two who were 'in the running' were professor ferrier of st. andrews and professor macdougall of the free church college in edinburgh. it is curious, as instancing the strange change which had come over the politics of scotland since the reform act had passed, that the very influences that told in favour of john wilson in applying for a professorship in 1821 should thirty years later tell as strongly against his son-in-law. in 1852, nine years after the disruption, so greatly had matters altered, that the free church liberal party carried all before it in the corporation. and although the liberal journals of the earlier date were never tired of maintaining liberty of thought and action, yet when circumstances changed, the liberty appeared in a somewhat different light; and the qualification of being a whig was added to a considerable number of appointments both in the church and in the state. professor macdougall, ferrier's opponent, had held his professorship in the free church college, lately established for the teaching of theology and preparation of candidates for the ministry. on the establishment of the college, the subject of moral philosophy was considered to be one which should be taught elsewhere than in an 'erastian' university, and accordingly it was thought necessary to institute the chair occupied by professor macdougall. in the first instance the class was eminently successful in point of numbers, and the corresponding class in the university proportionately suffered; but as time went on the attendance in the free church class dwindled, and it was considered that this chair need not be continued, but that students might be permitted to attend at the university. when professor macdougall now offered himself as candidate for the university chair, there was of course an immediate outcry of a 'job.' rightly or wrongly it was said, 'let the free church have a professor of her own body and opinions if she will, but why force him upon the established church as well; are her country and ministers to be indoctrinated with voluntary principles?' there might not have been much force in the argument had the status of the two candidates been the same, but it was evident to all unprejudiced observers that this was far from being the case. and it could hardly be pleaded in justification of the council's action that they formed their judgment upon the testimonials laid before them; for ferrier's far exceeded his rival's in weight, if not in strength of expression, and included in their number communications from such men as sir william hamilton, de quincey, bulwer, alison, and lockhart--men the most distinguished of the age. de quincey's opinion of ferrier is worth quoting. he says that he regards him as 'the metaphysician of greatest promise among his contemporaries either in england or in scotland,' and the testimonial which at this time he accorded ferrier is as remarkable a document as is often produced on such occasions, when commonplace would usually appear to be the object aimed at. it is several pages in length, and goes fully into the question not only of what ferrier was, but also of what a candidate ought to be. de quincey speaks warmly of ferrier's services in respect of the english rendering of faust before alluded to, and points out the benefit there is in having had an education which has run along two separate paths--paths differing from one another in nature, doubtless, but integrating likewise--the one being that resulting from his intercourse with wilson and his literary coterie, the other that of the course of study he had pursued on german lines. he sums up ferrier's philosophic qualities by saying, 'out of germany, and comparing him with the men of his own generation, such at least as i had any means of estimating, mr. ferrier was the only man who exhibited much of true metaphysical subtlety, as contrasted with mere dialectical acuteness.' for this testimonial, we may incidentally mention, ferrier writes a most interesting letter of thanks, which is published in his remains. as a return for the kindness done him, he 'sets forth a slight chart of the speculative latitudes' he had reached, and which he 'expects to navigate without being wrecked'--really an admirably clear epitome in so short a space of the argument of the institutes.
-but to come back to the contest: in spite of testimonials, the fact remained that ferrier had studied german philosophy, and might have imbibed some german infidelity, while his opponent made no professions of being acquainted either with the german philosophy or language, besides having the advantage of being a liberal and free churchman; and he was consequently appointed to the chair. of course, there was an outcry. the election was put forward as an argument against the abolition of tests, though in this case ferrier, as an episcopalian, might be said to be a dissenter equally with his opponent. it was argued that the election should be set aside unless the necessary subscription were made before the presbytery of the bounds. for a century back such tests had not been exacted as far as the moral philosophy chair was concerned, nor would they probably have been so had ferrier himself been nominated. but though the presbytery concerned was in this case prepared to go all lengths, it appeared that it was not in its members that the initiative was vested, the practice being to take the oath before the lord provost or other authorised magistrate. consequently, indignant at discovering their impotence, the members of the body retaliated by declaring that they would divert past the new professor's class the students who should afterwards come within their jurisdiction, and thus, by their foolish action, they probably did their best to bring about the result they deprecated so much--the abolition of tests in their entirety.
-ecclesiastical feeling ran high at the time, and things were said and done on both sides which were far from being wise or prudent. but the effect on a sensitive nature like ferrier's is easy to imagine. this was the first blow he had met with, and being the first he did not take it quite so seriously to heart. but when it was followed years later by yet another repulse, signifying to his view an attitude of mind in orthodox scotland opposed to any liberty of thought amongst its teachers, ferrier felt the day for silence was ended, and, wisely or unwisely, he published a hot defence of his position in a pamphlet entitled scottish philosophy, the old and the new. on this occasion the question had risen above the mere discussion of church and tests; the whole future of philosophy in scotland was, he believed, at stake; it was time, he felt, that someone should speak out his mind, and who more suitable than the leader of the modern movement and the one, as he considered it, who had suffered most by his opinions?
-without having lived through the time or seen something of its effects, it would be difficult to realise how narrow were the bounds allowed to speculative thought some forty years ago in scotland. since the old days of moderatism and apathy there had, indeed, been a great revival of interest in such matters as concerned belief. men's convictions were intense and sincere; and what had once been a subject of convention and common usage, had now become the one important topic of their lives. so far the change was all for the good; it promoted many important virtues; it made men serious about serious things; it made them realise their responsibilities as human beings. but as those who lived through it, or saw the results it brought about, must also know, it had another side. a certain spiritual self-assurance sprang into existence, which, though it was bred of intense reality of conviction, brought with it consequences of a specially trying kind to those who did not altogether share in it. as so often happens when a new light dawns, men thought that to them at length all truth had been revealed, and acted in accordance with this belief. they formulated their systems--hide-bound almost as before--and decided in their minds that in them they had the standards for judging of their fellows. but truth is a strange will-o'-the-wisp after all,--when we think we have reached her, she has eluded our grasp,--and so when those rose up who said the end of the matter was not yet, a storm of indignation fell upon their heads. this is what happened with ferrier and the orthodox edinburgh world. there might, it was said by the latter, be men lax enough to listen to reasonings such as his, and even to agree with them, but for those who knew the truth as it was in its reality, such pandering to latitudinarian doctrines was unpardonable. and as at this time the town council of edinburgh was seriously inclined (some of the members, in the second instance, were the same as those who had adjudicated in the former contest), ferrier's fate was, he considered, sealed before the question really came before them. whether the matter was quite as serious as ferrier thought, it is perhaps unnecessary to say. at anyrate, there was a considerable element of truth in the view he took of it, and he was justified in much--if not in all--of what he said in his defence. the institutes, first published in 1854, had just reached a second edition, so that his views were fairly before the world. what caused the tremendous outburst of opposition we must take another chapter to consider; and then we must try to trace the course of ferrier's development from the time at which he first began to write on philosophic subjects, and when he openly broke with the scottish school of philosophy.
-development of 'scottish philosophy, the old and the new'--ferrier as a correspondent
-it is probably in the main a wise rule for defeated candidates to keep silence about the cause of their defeat. but every rule has its exception, and there are times in which we honour a man none the less because--contrary to the dictates of worldly wisdom--he gives voice to the sense of injustice that is rankling in his mind. ferrier had been disappointed in 1852 in not obtaining the chair of moral philosophy for which he was a candidate; but then he had not published the work which has made his name famous, and his claims were therefore not what afterwards they became. but when in 1856, after the institutes had been two years before the public, and just after the book had reached a second edition, another defeat followed on the first, ferrier ascribed the result to the opposition to, and misrepresentation of, his system, and claimed with some degree of justice that it was not his merits that were taken into account, but the supposed orthodoxy, or want of orthodoxy, of his views. for this reason he issued a 'statement' in pamphlet form, entitled scottish philosophy, the old and the new, dealing with the matter at length.
-in ferrier's view, a serious crisis had been arrived at in the history of the university of edinburgh, and one which might lead to yet further evil were not something done to place matters on a better footing. had the town council, the electing body, been affected simply by personal or sectarian feelings, it would not so much have mattered; but when ferrier was forced to the conclusion that what they did must end in the curtailment of all liberty in regard to philosophical opinion, so far as the university was concerned, he felt the time had come to speak. for a quarter of a century he had devoted the best part of his life and energies to the study of philosophy, and he held he had a duty to discharge to it as one of the public instructors of the land. what cause, he asked, had a body like the council to say originality was to be proscribed and independence utterly forbidden? through their liberalism tests had been practically abolished: was another test, far more exacting than the last, to be substituted in their place? a candidate for a philosopher's chair need not be a believer in christ or a member of the established church; but he must, it would appear, believe in dr. reid and the hamiltonian system of philosophy.
-the 'common-sense' school, against which ferrier's attacks were mainly directed, too often found its satisfaction in commonplace statements of obvious facts, and we cannot wonder that ferrier should ask why scottish students should be required to pay for 'bottled air' while the whole atmosphere is 'floating with liquid balm that could be had for nothing?'--a question, indeed, which cannot fail to strike whoever tries to wade through certain tedious dissertations of the time, all expressing truths which seem incontrovertible in their nature, but all of which are also inexpressibly uninteresting. philosophy to ferrier is not the elementary science that it would appear from these discourses: loose ways of thinking which we ordinarily adopt must, he considers, be rectified and not confirmed. and yet he disclaims the accusation that he has conjured with 'the portentous name of hegel,' or derived his system from german soil. hegel, he constantly confesses, is frequently to him inexplicable, and his system is scottish to the core.
-a warm debt of gratitude to hamilton, ferrier, it is true, acknowledges even while he differs from his views--a debt to one whose 'soul could travel on eagles' wings,' and from whom he had learned so much--whom, indeed, he had loved so warmly. hamilton had not agreed with ferrier; he had thought him wrong, and told him so, and ferrier was the last to resent this action, or think the less of him for not recanting at his word the conclusions of a lifetime's labour. provocation, the younger man acknowledges, he had often given him, and 'never was such rough provocation retaliated with such gentle spleen.'
-we cannot, of course, deal in detail with ferrier's energetic repudiation of the accusation brought so specifically against him. the heat with which he wrote seems scarcely justified now that we look back on it from the standpoint of more than forty years ahead. but we do not realise how much such accusations meant at the time at which they were made--how they affected not a man's personal advancement only, but also the opinion in which he was held by those for whose opinion he cared the most. the greater toleration of the present day may mean corresponding lack of zeal or interest, but surely it also means a recognition of the fact that men may choose their own methods in the search for truth without thereby endangering the object held in view. mr. cairns's attack--without intention, for he was an honourable man and able scholar--was unjust. ferrier does not claim to prove existence--he accepts it, and only reasons as to what it is; as to the material world, he acknowledges not a mere material world, but one along with which intelligence is and must be known; the separate existence of mind he likewise denies only in so far as to assert that mind without thought is nonsense. the substantiality of the mind he maintains as the one great permanent existence amid all fluctuations and contingencies, and without personal identity, he tells us, there can be no continued consciousness amid the changes of the unfluctuating existence called the 'i'--though in this regard one feels that something is left to say in criticism, from the orthodox point of view. absolute existence is indeed reduced into relations, but into relations together constituting the truth, if contradictory in themselves; that is, a concrete, as distinguished from an abstract truth. as to the final accusation of the insufficiency of ferrier's view of the deity, it is true he states that the deity is not independent of his creative powers, revelation and manifestation; but surely this is a worthier conception than the old one of the unknown god, which tells us to worship we know not what.
-one cannot help speculating on the effect of the mass of criticism and counter-criticism (for there were others who took up the cudgels on either side, once the controversy was fairly started) upon the unfortunate town councillors of edinburgh, to whom they were directed: one would imagine them to wish their powers curtailed if they were to involve their mastering several conflicting theories of existence, and forming a just judgment regarding their respective merits. the exercise of patronage is always a difficult and thankless task, but surely in no case could it have been more difficult than in this, and we can hardly wonder now that the electors simply took the advice of those they deemed most worthy to bestow it; certainly the candidate finally selected was one who did everything in the occupation of his chair to disarm the criticism then brought to bear upon the appointment. in cooler moments probably none would have been readier to admit this than was ferrier; but when he wrote he was smarting under the sense of having failed to receive a fair consideration of his claims, and he undoubtedly spoke more strongly than the case required.
-after this controversy was over, ferrier's interest in polemical philosophy in great degree waned; and in the quiet of the old university town of st. andrews--the town which provides so rich a fund of historic interest combined with the academic calm of university life--ferrier passed the remainder of his days working at his favourite subjects. sometimes these were varied by incursions into literature, in which his interest grew ever keener; and economics, which was one of the subjects he was bound to teach. his life was uneventful; it was varied little by expeditions into the outer world, much as these would have been appreciated by his friends. his whole interest was centred in his work and in the university in which he taught, and whose well-being was so dear to him. of his letters, few, unfortunately, have been preserved; and this is the more unfortunate that he had the gift, now comparatively so rare, of expressing himself with ease, and in bright, well-chosen language. of his correspondents one only seems to have preserved the letters written to him, mr. george makgill of kemback, a neighbouring laird in fife and advocate in edinburgh, whose similarity in tastes drew him towards the st. andrews philosophy professor.
-of these letters there are some of sufficient interest to bear quotation. one of the first is written in october 1851 from st. andrews, and plunges into the deepest topics without much preface. ferrier says:--
-'what is the beginning of philosophy? philosophy must have had the same beginning that all other things have, otherwise there would be something peculiar or anomalous or sectarian in its origin, which would destroy its claims to genuineness and catholicity. what, then, is the beginning of all things and consequently the beginning of philosophy?
-'want is the beginning of philosophy because it is the beginning of all things. is the beginning of philosophy a bodily want? no. why not? because nothing that may be given to the body has any effect in appeasing the want. the beginning of philosophy, then, must be an intellectual want--a hunger of the soul.
-'but all wants have their objects in which they seek and find their gratification. what then is the object of the hunger of the soul?
-'philosophy is a hunger of the soul after knowledge. what is knowledge?--reduced through various intermediate stages to question, what is the common and essential quality in all knowledge--the quality which makes knowledge knowledge? answer approached by raising question: what is the essential quality in all food--the quality which makes food food? this is obviously its physically nutritive quality. whatever has the nutritive property is food; whatever has it not is not food, however like excellent beef and mutton it may be. so in regard to knowledge, its common and essential quality--the quality in virtue of which knowledge is knowledge--is its nutritive quality. whatever nourishes and satisfies the mind is knowledge, as whatever nourishes and satisfies the body is food. the intellectually nutritive property in knowledge is the common and essential property in knowledge. what is the nutritive quality in knowledge? answer (without beating about the bush)--truth.
-'what is truth? answer--truth is whatever is supported by evidence.
-'what is evidence? evidence is whatever is supported by experience. what is experience? here we stop; we can only divide experience into its kinds, which are two, experience of fact and experience of pure reason. observe the manoeuvre in the last line by which you knaves of the anti-metaphysical school are outwitted. you oppose pure reason to experience, and philosophers generally assent to the distinction. this at once gives your school the advantage, for the world will always cleave to experience in preference to anything else, leaving us metaphysicians, who are supposed to abandon experience, hanging as it were in baskets in the clouds. but i do not abandon experience as the ultimate foundation of all knowledge; only i maintain that there are two kinds of experience, both of which are equally experience, the experience of fact and the experience of pure reason. you are thus deprived of your advantage. i am as much a man of experience as you are.'
-evidently it had been a question with ferrier whether he should use the expression experience, so well known to us now, or substitute for it consciousness, which, as a matter of fact, he afterwards did: 'why is it so grievous and fatal an error to confound experience and consciousness? is not a man's experience the whole developed contents of his consciousness? i cannot see how this can be denied. and therefore, before you wrote, i was swithering (and am so still) whether i should not make consciousness the basis of the whole superstructure--the raw material of the article which in its finished state is knowledge. after all, the dispute, i suspect, is mainly verbal.'
-mr. makgill had accused ferrier of anthropomorphism in his system, and he replies as follows:--'you cannot charge me with anthropomorphism without being guilty of it yourself. don't you see that "the beyond" all human thought and knowledge is itself a category of human thought? there is much naïveté in the procedure of you cautious gentry who would keep scrupulously within the length of your tether: as if the conception of a without that tether was not a mode of thinking. will you tell me why you and kant and others don't make existence a category of human thought? this has always puzzled me.
-'surely the man who made extension and time mere forms of human knowledge need have made no bones of existence. meanwhile, as the post is just starting, i beg you to consider this, that the anthropomorphist and the anti-anthropomorphists are both of necessity anthropomorphists, and for my part i maintain that the anti-man is the bigger anthropomorphist of the two.' this criticism of the 'beyond' and its unknowableness, while yet it was acknowledged, is as much to the point in the present day as it was in those, and its statement brings forcibly before our minds the truth of goethe's well-known saying: 'der mensch begreift niemals wie anthropomorphisch er ist.'
-the doctrine of ignorance, so essential to ferrier's system, he found it hard to make clear to others:--'i am astonished at your not seeing the use, indeed the absolute necessity, of a true doctrine of ignorance. this blindness of yours shows me what i may expect from the public; and how careful i must be, if i would go down at all, to render myself perfectly clear and explicit. don't you see that a correct doctrine of ignorance is necessary for two reasons--first, on account of the false doctrine of ignorance universally prevalent, one which has hitherto rendered, and must ever render, anything like a scientific ontology impossible; and, secondly, because this correct theory of ignorance follows inevitably from my doctrine of knowledge? this, which i consider a very strong recommendation, an indispensable condition of the theory of ignorance, is the very ground on which you object to it. surely you would not have me establish a doctrine of ignorance which was not consistent with my doctrine of knowledge. surely i am entitled to deduce all that is logically deducible from my principles. your meaning i presume is that my doctrine of ignorance flows so manifestly from my doctrine of knowledge that it is unnecessary to develop and parade it. there i differ from you. it flows inevitably, but i cannot think that it flows obviously. else why was it never hit upon until now?... don't tell me, then, that my conclusions that matter per se, ding an sich, is what it is impossible for us to be ignorant of, just because it is absolutely unknowable (and for no other reason). don't tell me that this conclusion is so obvious as not to require to be put down in black and white, when we find kant and every other philosopher drawing, but most erroneously, the directly opposite conclusion from the same premises. matter per se, ding an sich, was of all things that of which we were most ignorant!! and the ruin of metaphysics was the consequence of their infatuated blindness. your objection, then, to my doctrine of ignorance, viz., that it is fixed in the very fixing of the doctrine of knowledge, and therefore does not require explication or elucidation, i cannot regard as a good objection. it is true that the one of these fixes the other; but it requires some amount of explanation and demonstration to make this palpable to the understandings even of the most acute, and i am not sure that even you (yes, put on your best pair of spectacles, you will need them) yet see how impossible it is for us to be ignorant of matter per se, or of anything which is absolutely unknowable.'
-this matter of the ding an sich ferrier felt to be the crucial point in his system: 'you talk glibly of "existence per se," as maids of fifteen do of puppy dogs. this shows that, like a carpet knight, you have never smelt the real smoke of metaphysical battle, but at most have taken part in the sham fights and listened to the shotless popguns of the martinet of königsberg. you will find existence per se a tougher customer than you imagine.'
-as to the institutes, then on the verge of publication, the author says: 'i am inclined to follow your advice, so far, in regard to the title of the work, and to call it the "theory of knowing and being," leaving out ignorance. but why an introduction to metaphysics? if this be an introduction to metaphysics, pray, mr. pundit, what and where are metaphysics themselves? no, sir, it shall be called a text-book of metaphysics, meaning thereby, that it is a complete body (and soul) of metaphysics. you are an uncommonly modest fellow in so far as the protestations of your friends are concerned!'
-this correspondence appears to have continued regularly for some years, and to have dealt almost entirely with metaphysical and economic subjects--the subjects which were constantly in ferrier's mind, as he taught them in the university and tried to work them out in his study. doubtless it was of the greatest use to him to be able to write about them as he would, had opportunity served, have spoken; and this opportunity was afforded by his friendship with his correspondent, whose interest in philosophy was keen, and whose critical faculties were exceptionally acute, although he never accomplished any original work on philosophical lines.
-of other letters few have been preserved. absence from home did not make a reason for writing, for ferrier's journeyings were but few. in 1859, however, he made an expedition to england to see his newly-married daughter, lady grant, start for india with her husband, sir alexander grant, after his appointment to the chancellorship of the university of bombay. from southampton he made his way to the scene of his schooldays at greenwich, from which place he writes to one of the sons of dr. bruce of ruthwell, with whom he spent a happy childhood: 'one of our fêtes was a sumptuous fish dinner at greenwich. i call it sumptuous, but in truth the fish was utter trash, the best of them not comparable to loch fyne herring. whitebait is the greatest humbug of the age, though it may be heresy to say so in your neighbourhood.' this journey was concluded by a visit to oxford and to the lake country, with both of which ferrier's associations were so many and so agreeable.
-the following is a letter, dated 21st march 1862, to professor lushington, his friend and biographer:--'i have been very remiss in not acknowledging your photograph, which came safe, and is much admired by all who have seen it. i must get a book for its reception and that of some other worthies, otherwise my children will appropriate it for their collections, with which the house is swarming.... the ego is an infinite and active capacity of never being anything in particular. i will uphold that definition against the world. did you never feel how much you revolted from being fixed and determined? depend upon it, that is the true nature of a spirit--never to be any determinate existence. this is our real immutability--for death can get hold only of that which has a determinate being. we stand loose from all determinations. that is our chance of escaping his clutches."
-this expresses ferrier's views and hopes for an after life: he looked forward to an immortality in which the particular and determinate should disappear and only the absolute element remain--in which death should mean only the rising from the individual into a true and universal life. it is a matter to which he frequently refers, and always in terms of a very similar nature. we shall see how, when the end was coming near, his views remained the same, and he was able to face the inevitable without a qualm or shadow of complaint.
-ferrier's system of philosophy--philosophical writings
-'if one were asked,' says professor fraser, 'for the english writings which are fitted in the most attractive way to absorb a reader of competent intelligence and imagination in the final or metaphysical question concerning the being in which we and the world of sensible things participate, berkeley's dialogues, hume's inquiry into human understanding, and some of the lately published philosophical remains of professor ferrier are probably those which would best deserve to be mentioned.'
-it has been given to few philosophers of modern days to write on philosophic questions in a manner at once so lucid and so convincing as that of ferrier. nor can it in his case be said that matter is sacrificed to form, for the writer does not hesitate to 'nail his colours to the mast,' as he himself expresses it, and to tackle questions the most vital in their character in a straightforward and uncompromising fashion. his earliest published writings, as we have seen, took the form of a series of seven articles, which appeared, roughly speaking, in alternate months, between february of 1838 and march of 1839. these articles, entitled an introduction to the philosophy of consciousness, represented the results of their author's work during the years which had elapsed since he first began to be really interested in philosophy, and to feel that the way of looking at it adopted almost universally in scotland was not satisfying to himself, or in any way defensible.
-the whole point in ferrier's view turns upon the way in which we look at 'mind.' 'the human mind, to speak it profanely,' says ferrier, 'is like the goose that laid the golden eggs. the metaphysician resembles the analytic poulterer who slew it to get at them in a lump, and found nothing for his pains.... look at thought, and feeling, and passion, as they glow in the pages of shakespeare--golden eggs indeed! look at the same as they stagnate on the dissecting-table of dr. brown, and marvel at the change. behold how shapeless and extinct they have become!' locke began by saying there are no original ideas, simply impressions from without; hume then says cause and effect are incapable of explanation, and the notion which we form of them is a nonentity, seeing that we have a series of impressions alone to work from; reid says there is a mind and there is an object, and calls in common-sense to interpret between the two. but the mistake all through is very evident: man looks at nature in a certain way, interprets her by certain categories, and then he turns his eye upon himself, endeavouring thereby to judge of what he finds within by methods of a similar kind. and the human mind cannot be so 'objectised'; it is something more than the sum of its 'feelings,' 'passions,' and 'states of mind.' dr. reid had done a service by exploding the old doctrine of 'ideas'; he brought mind into contact with immediate things, but much more is left for us to do; the same office has to be performed for 'mind'--that is, mind when we regard it as something which connects us with the universe, or something which can be looked at and examined, as we might look at or examine a thing outside ourselves, and not as that which is necessary to any such examination. 'is it not enough for a man that he is himself? there can be no dispute about that. i am; what more would i have? what more would i be? why would i be mind? i am myself therefore let it perish.'
-what, then, makes a man what he is? it is the fact of consciousness, the fact which marks him off from all other things with a deep line of separation. it is this and this alone, ferrier says, this 'human phenomenon,' and not its objects, passions, or emotions, which leads us into pastures fresh and far separated from the dreary round which the old metaphysicians followed. the same discovery, of course, is always being made, though to ferrier it was new; we are always straying into devious ways, ways that lead us into grey regions of abstraction, and we always want to be called back to the concrete and the real, to the freshness and the brightness of life as it is and lives.
-ferrier from this time onwards, from his youth until his death, kept one definite aim in view: the object of his life was to insist with all his might that our interests must be concentrated on man as he is as man, and not on a mere sum-total of passions and sensations by which the human being is affected. the consciousness of a state of mind is very different from that state of mind itself, and the two must be kept absolutely distinct. 'let mind have the things which are mind's, and man the things which are man's.' we should, ferrier says, fling 'mind' and its lumber overboard, busy ourselves with the man and his facts. man's passions and sensations may be referred to 'mind' indeed, but he cannot lay his hands upon the fact of consciousness. that fact cannot be conceived of as vested in the object called the 'human mind,' an object being something really or ideally different from ourselves. in speaking of 'my mind,' mind may be what it chooses, but the consciousness is in the ego; and mind is really destitute of consciousness, otherwise the ego would necessarily be present in it. the dilemma is as follows: 'unless the philosophers of mind attribute consciousness to mind, they leave out of view the most important phenomena of man; and if they attribute consciousness to mind, they annihilate the object of their research, in so far as the whole extent of this fact is concerned.'
-since ferrier's time this point has been worked out very fully, and by none more successfully than by an english philosopher, professor t. h. green of oxford, in his introduction to the works of hume. but when ferrier wrote, his ideas were new; in england at least he was breaking up ground hitherto untouched, and therefore the debt of gratitude we owe him is not small, especially when we consider the forces against which he warred. 'common-sense,' the solution offered for all philosophic difficulties, is really the problem of philosophy, and to speak of the 'philosophy of common-sense' is simply to confuse the problem with its solution. common-sense, or rather what is given by its means, has simply to be construed into intelligible forms: in itself it makes no attempt to solve the difficulties that present themselves, and it is folly to suggest its doing so. when a man speaks of my sensations or my states of mind, he means something of which he--as consciousness--is independent, and which can be made an object to him. were it not so, of course he could not possibly arrive at freedom, but would merely be the helpless child of destiny; and, as ferrier points out, were consciousness and sensation one, consciousness would not have the power, undoubtedly possessed by it, of 'recovering the balance' that it loses on experiencing pain or passion; the return of consciousness, as he puts it, 'lowers the temperature' of the sensation or the passion, and the man regains the personality that for the time had almost vanished. a man, he tells us, can hardly even be said to be the 'victim' of his mind, and irresponsible--i.e., man stands aloof from the modifications which may visit him, therefore we should study him as he is, and not merely these 'states of mind' common to him and to animals alike. and consciousness must be active, exercising itself upon those states, and thereby realising human freedom.
-philosophy, then, is the gospel of freedom as contrasted with the bondage of the physical kingdom. but we are in subjection at the first, and all our lifetime a constant fight is being carried on. philosophy paints its grey in grey, another great philosopher has told us, only when the freshness and life of youth has gone: the reconciliation is in the ideal, not the actual world. and so with ferrier: 'the flowers of thy happiness,' says he, 'are withered. they could not last; they gilded but for a day the opening portals of life. but in their place i will give thee freedom's flowers. to act according to thy inclination may be enjoyment; but know that to act against it is liberty, and thou only actest thus because thou art really free.' great and weighty words, which might be pondered by many more than those to whom they were originally addressed.
-having established his fundamental principles, ferrier goes on to trace the birth of self-consciousness in the child--the knowledge of itself as 'i,' which means the knowledge of good and evil--the moral birth. perception, again, is a synthesis of sensation and consciousness--the realisation of self in conjunction with the sensation experienced: it is, of course, peculiar to man. things can only take effect on 'me' when there is a 'me' to take effect upon, and not at birth, or before i come to consciousness. consciousness is the very essence and origin of the ego; without consciousness no man would be 'i.' it is our refusal to be acted on by outside impressions that constitutes our personality and perception of them; our communication with the universe is the communication of non-communication. and the ego is not something which comes into the world ready-made; it is a living activity which is never passive, for were it passive, it would be annihilated; in submitting to the action of causality its life would be gone. our destiny is to free ourselves from the bonds of nature, from that 'blessed state of primeval innocence,' the blessedness, after all, of bondage. a man cannot be until he acts, for his being arises out of his actions: consciousness being an act, our proper existence is the consequence of that act. his natural condition for others, and before he comes to existence, ferrier says, is given, while his existence for himself is made by his thinking himself. it is only in the latter case that he can attain to liberty, instead of remaining bound by the bonds imposed upon him by necessity. the three great moments of humanity are: first, the natural or given man in enslaved being; second, the conscious man in action working into freedom against passion; third, the 'i': man as free, that is, real personal being.
-philosophy has thus a great future before her. instead of being a mere dead theory as heretofore, she becomes renovated into a new life when she gets her proper place; she is separated from her supposed connection with the physical world, and is recognised as consciousness. when this is so, she loses her merely theoretic aspect, and is identified with the living practical interests of mankind. the dead symbols become living realities, the dead twigs are clothed with verdure. 'know thyself, and in knowing thyself thou shalt see that this self is not thy true self; but, in the very act of knowing this, thou shalt at once displace this false self, and establish thy true self in its room.' and ferrier goes on to trace the bearings of his theories in the moral and intellectual world. he finds in morality something more than a refined self-love; he finds the dawning will endeavouring to assert itself, to break free from the trammels imposed upon it by nature. freedom, the great end of man, is contravened by the passive conditions of his nature; these are therefore wrong, and every act of resistance tends to the accomplishment of the one important end, which is to procure his liberty.
-this essay, or series of essays, gives the keynote to ferrier's thought and writings, therefore it seemed worth while to consider its argument in detail. the completeness of the break with the old philosophy is manifest. the 'scientific' methods applied to every region of knowledge were then in universal use, and no little courage was required to challenge their pretensions as they were challenged by ferrier. but in courage, as we know, ferrier was never lacking. his mind once made up, he had no fear in making his opinions known. he considered that the scottish philosophy had become something very like materialism in the hands of brown and others, and he believed that the whole point of view must be changed if a really spiritual philosophy was to take its place. there may be traces of the impetuosity of youth in this attack: much working out was undoubtedly required before it could be said that a system had been established. but all the same this essay is a brilliant piece of philosophic writing--instinct with life and enthusiasm--one which must have made its readers feel that the dry bones of a dead system had wakened into life, and that what they had imagined an abstract and dismal science had become instinct with living, practical interest--something to be 'lived' as well as studied.
-the institutes of metaphysics--the work by which ferrier's name will descend to posterity--is a development of the philosophy of consciousness; but it is more carefully reasoned out and systematised--the result of many years of thoughtful labour. for several years before the work was published (in 1854) the propositions which are contained in it were developed in the course of ferrier's regular lectures. the institutes, or theory of knowing and being, commences with a definition of philosophy as a 'body of reasoned truth,' and states that though there were plenty of dissertations on the subject in existence, there was no philosophy itself--no scheme of demonstrated truth; and this, and not simply a 'contribution' to philosophy was what was now required, and what the writer proposed to give. the divisions into which he separates philosophy are: first, the epistemology, or theory of knowledge; secondly, the agnoiology, or theory of ignorance; and thirdly, the ontology, or theory of being. the fundamental question is, 'what is the one feature which is identical, invariable, and essential in all the varieties of our knowledge?'
-the first condition of knowledge is that we should know ourselves, and reason gives certainty to this proposition which is not capable of demonstration, owing to its being itself the starting-point; the counter-proposition, asserting the separate subject and object of knowledge, and the mutual presence of the two without intelligence's being necessarily cognisant of itself, represents general opinion, and the ordinary view of popular psychology. knowledge, then, ferrier goes on, always has the self as an essential part of it; it is knowledge-in-union-with-whatever-it-apprehends. the objective part of the object of knowledge, though distinguishable, is not really separable from the subjective or ego; both constitute the unit of knowledge--an utterance thoroughly hegelian in its character, however ferrier may disclaim a connection with hegel's system. in space they may be separated, but not in cognition, and this idealism does not for one moment deny the existence of 'external' things, but only says they can have no meaning if out of relation to those which are 'internal'; as hegel might have put it, they could be known as separable by means of 'abstraction' only. from this point we are led on to the next statement, and a most important statement it is, that matter per se is of necessity absolutely unknowable; or to what ferrier calls the theory of ignorance. whether or not this theory can make good the title to originality which its author claims for it, there is no doubt that its statement in clear language, such as no one can fail to understand, marks an important era in english speculation. there are, ferrier says, two sorts of so-called ignorance: one of these is incidental to some minds, but not to all--an ignorance of defect, he puts it--just as we might be said to be ignorant of a language we had never learned. but the other ignorance (not, properly speaking, ignorance at all) is incident to all intelligence by its very nature, and is no defect or imperfection. the law of ignorance hence is that 'we can be ignorant only of what can be known,' or 'the knowable is alone the ignorable.' the bearing of this important point is seen at once when we turn back to the theory of knowing. knowledge is something of which the subject cannot shake himself free; 'i' must always, in whatever i apprehend, apprehend 'me.' we don't apprehend 'things,' that is, but what is apprehended is 'me-apprehending-things.' things-plus-me is the only knowable, and consequently the only 'ignorable.'
-this brings us a great way towards the absolute idealism associated mainly with the name of hegel--towards the knowledge or 'experience' (a word which ferrier afterwards himself makes use of) which shall cease to be a 'theory,' being recognised as comprehending within itself all reality--as recognising no distinction between object and subject, excepting when they are regarded as two poles both equally essential, and separated only when looked at in abstraction. if ferrier's 'theory of knowledge' did not proceed so far, he at least made the discovery that the subjective idealism of kant was as unsatisfactory as the relativity of hamilton, and as certainly tending to agnosticism. kant's 'thing-in-itself' is not that of which we are ignorant, or a hidden reality which can be known by faith. it is that which cannot possibly be known--and, in other words, a contradiction or nonsense. now, ferrier says, we arrive at the true idealism--the triumph of philosophy. if it is said to reduce all things to the phenomena of consciousness, it does the same to every nothing. what falls out of consciousness becomes incogitable; it lapses, not into nothing, but into what is contradictory. the material universe per se, and all its qualities per se, are not only absolutely unknowable, but absolutely unthinkable. we do indeed know substance, but only as object plus subject--as matter mecum or in cognition as thought together with the self.
-it may be true that we cannot claim for ferrier complete originality in his thinking; work on very similar lines was being carried on elsewhere. it is not difficult to trace throughout his writings the mode of his development. the earlier works are evidently influenced by fichte and his school, since the personal ego and individual freedom figure as the principal conceptions in our knowledge; and even while the scottish school of psychologists is being combated, the influence of hamilton is very manifest. but as time goes on, ferrier's ideas become more concrete; the theory of consciousness becomes more absolute in its conception; the human or individual element is less conspicuous as the universal element is more, which signifies that gradually he approaches closer to the standpoint of the later german thinkers by a careful study of their works, though for the most part it is reid and hamilton his criticisms have in view, and not the corresponding work of kant.
-still, we should say that ferrier's attitude represented another phase in the same struggle against abstraction and towards unity in knowledge, rather than being a simple outcome of the german influence in scotland. this last assumption he at least repudiated with energy, and boldly claimed to have developed and completed his system for himself. he claimed to have worked on national lines; to have started from the philosophy of his country as it was currently accepted, and to have little difficulty in proving from itself its absolute inadequacy. he felt that in his doctrine of the reality of knowledge he had found the means of solving problems hitherto dark and obscure, and he used his instruments bravely, and on the whole successfully.
-the faith-philosophy which professed to know reality through the senses, when these senses were a part of the external universe, or signified taking for granted the matter in dispute, was utterly repugnant to ferrier. the unknowable of sir william hamilton was inconceivable to him, and he ever kept this theory and its errors in his mind, while developing a system of his own. it is better that a philosophic system should grow up thus, instead of coming to us from without in language hard to understand because of foreign idioms and unwonted modes of expression. to be of use, a philosophy should speak the language of the people: until it becomes identified with ordinary ways of thinking, its influence is never really great; and the idealism of germany has in this country always suffered from being intelligible only to the few. therefore we hold all credit due to ferrier for consistently refusing to adopt the phraseology of a foreign country, and setting himself, heart and soul, to find expression for his thoughts in the language of his birth.
-ferrier introduces his lectures on greek philosophy, the last subject on which he undertook to write, in a manner which reminds us of hegel's remarkable introduction to his history of philosophy; he begins, like hegel, by pointing out that the study of philosophy is just the study of our own reason in its development, but that what is worked out in our minds hurriedly and within contracted limits, is in philosophy evolved at leisure, and seen in its just proportions: the historian of philosophy has not merely to record the existence of dead systems of thought that are past and gone, but the living products of his own, full of present, vital interest, and there is nothing arbitrary or capricious in such a history: all is reasoned thought as it manifests and reveals itself.
-philosophy, ferrier defines, by calling it the pursuit of truth--not relative truth, but absolute, what necessarily exists for all minds alike; and man's faculties (contrary to what is generally supposed) are competent to attain to it, provided only that they have something in common with all other minds, i.e., are partakers in a universal intelligence. he works this out in his introduction in an extremely interesting way, showing, as he does, how in all intelligence there must be a universal, a unity; that the very essence of religion, for example, rests on the unity which constitutes the bond between god and man, and that when this is denied, religion is made impossible. what then, we may ask, is the truth that has to be pursued?
-it is that which is the real, the object of philosophy--the real which exists for all intelligence. the historian of philosophy must show that philosophy in its history corresponds with this definition, if the definition be a true one.
-the lectures begin with thales and the followers of the ionic school, and ferrier points out how, in spite of the material elements which are taken as a basis, their systems are philosophic, in so far as they aim at the establishment of a universal in all things, and carry with them the belief that this universal is the ultimately real; and this gives them an interest which from their sensuous forms we could hardly have expected to find. but it was heraclitus' doctrine of becoming that was most congenial to ferrier, as it was to his great predecessor hegel. being and not-being, the unity of contraries as essential sides of truth, in such conceptions as these ferrier believes we come nearer to the truth of the universe than in the current views of philosophy, in which the unity of contrary determinations in one subject is regarded as impossible. apart, either side is incomprehensible, and hence mr. mansel and sir william hamilton argue the impotence of human reason; but if, as ferrier believes, they are shown to be but moments or essential factors in conception, the antagonism will be proved unreal--it will be an antagonism proper to the very life and essence of reason.
-possibly in his account of the early greek philosophers ferrier may have done what many historians of philosophy have done before him, he may have read into the systems which he has been describing much more than he was entitled so to read. he may, when he is talking of the eleatics of heraclitus, and even of socrates and plato, have had before his mind the special battle which he had chosen to fight--the battle against sensationalism in scotland, against materialism in the form in which he found it--rather than fairly to set before his readers an exact and accurate account of the teaching of the particular philosopher of whom he writes. but has it ever been otherwise in any history of thought that was ever written, excepting perhaps in some dryasdust compendium which none excepting those weighed down with dread of examination questions, care to peruse? thought reads itself from itself, and if it sometimes reads the present into the past, and thinks to see it there, is there matter for surprise, or is it so very far wrong? if it tells us something of the secrets it itself conceals, it is surely telling us after all much of those that are gone.
-for plato, ferrier naturally had a very great affinity; he deals with him at length, and evidently had made a special and careful study of his writings. but the same method is applied by him to plato as was before applied to the other greek philosophers. 'it is not so much by reading plato as by studying our own minds that we can find out what ideas are, and perceive the significance of the theory which expounds them. it is only by verifying in our own consciousness the discoveries of antecedent philosophers that we can hope rightly to understand their doctrines or appreciate the value and importance of their speculations.' and so ferrier proceeds to prove the necessity for the existence of 'ideas'--of universals--as the absolute truth and groundwork of whatever is. no intelligence can be intelligent excepting by their light, and they are the necessary laws or principles on which all being and knowing are dependent. 'all philosophy,' he says of plato, 'speculative and practical, has been foreshadowed by his prophetic intelligence; often dimly, but always so attractively as to whet the curiosity and stimulate the ardour of those who have chosen him as a guide.' and it was as such that ferrier marked him out and chose him as his own. with aristotle he had probably less in common, and his treatment both of him and of the stoics, epicureans, and neo-platonists, with which the history ends, is less sympathetic in its tone and understanding in its style. but these lectures as a whole, though never put together for printing as a book, must always be of interest to the student of philosophy.
-a philosophic article, entitled berkeley and idealism, and published in june of 1842, was designed to meet the attack of mr. samuel bailey, who had written a review of berkeley's theory of vision, criticising the soundness of his views. mr. bailey replied, and ferrier a year later published an article on that reply. ferrier rightly appreciates the very important place which ought to be allowed to berkeley as a factor in the development of philosophic truth--a place which has only been properly understood in later years. he saw the part he had played in bringing the real significance of absolute idealism into view, and deprecated the representation of his system made by david hume, or the popular idea that berkeley denied all reality to matter. what he did deny was the reality which is supposed to lie beyond experience, and his criticism in this regard was invaluable as a basis for a future system. in his own words, he did not wish to change things into ideas, but ideas into things: matter could not exist independently of mind. but yet ferrier is perfectly aware that berkeley did not entirely grasp the absolute standpoint that the thing is the appearance, and the appearance is the thing. regarded merely as a literary production, this article is entitled to rank with the classics of philosophic writings both as regards the beauty of its style and its logical development. ferrier does not often touch directly on questions of religion or theology, but there is an interesting passage in this essay which shows his views regarding the question of immortality. he is talking of the impossibility of our ever conceiving to ourselves the idea of our annihilation. such an idea could not be rationally articulated. we appear, indeed, to be able to realise it, but we only think we think it: real thought of death in this sense would involve our being already dead; but in thought we are and must be immortal. 'we have nothing to wait for; eternity is even now within us, and time, with all its vexing troubles, is no more.'
-it was something absolute and enduring for which ferrier was ever on the search. those of his introductory lectures which are preserved bear out this statement, if nothing else were left to do so. philosophy, thought, is more than systems: 'as long as man thinks, the light must burn.' could he but teach the young men who gathered round him day by day to think, he cared little as to what so-called 'system' they adopted. he put his arguments clearly before them, but they were free to criticise as they would. and perhaps it was because they realised that the truth was more to him than personal fame that their affection for him was so great. he always kept before him, too, that in teaching any science the mental discipline which it involves must not be overlooked. the practical rule of disciplining the mind should run side by side with the theoretical instruction, which might soon be forgotten; the great effort of a teacher should be in the best and highest sense to educate his students. that is, he has not only to instil their minds with multifarious learning, but to make their thinking systematic.
-and philosophy must, he tells us, be made interesting if it is to be of any use: we must arrive at a 'philosophic consciousness,' and distinguish philosophy from mere opinion. it is mind which is the permanent and immutable in all change and mutation; even the greeks found the idea of permanence in mind while they regarded change as the principle of matter.
-the coleridge plagiarism--miscellaneous literary work
-the story of the so-called coleridge plagiarism is an old one now, but it is one which roused much feeling at the time, and likewise one on which there is considerable division of opinion even in the present day. into this controversy ferrier plunged by writing a formidable indictment of coleridge's position in blackwood's magazine for march of 1840.
-when ferrier took up the cudgels the matter stood thus. in the earlier quarter of the century german philosophy was coming, or rather had already come, more or less into vogue in england; and as the german language was not largely read, and yet people were vaguely interested, though in what they hardly knew, they welcomed an appreciative interpreter of that philosophy, and an original writer on similar lines, in one whose reputation was esteemed so highly as that of coleridge. coleridge in this matter, indeed, occupied a position which was unique; for the treasures of german poetry and prose had not as yet been fully opened up, and he was held to possess the means of doing this in a quite exceptional degree. the works of schiller, goethe, and the other poets came to the world--and to coleridge with the rest--as a sort of revelation. but the poet in his own mind was nothing if not a philosopher--a kind of seer amongst men, speculating, somewhat vaguely it might be, on matters of transcendental import--and in schelling he thought he had discovered a kindred spirit; in his writings he believed he had found the idealism for which he had so long been seeking in böhme, fox, and the other mystics--a creed which, though pantheistic in its essence, yet fulfilled the condition of being both orthodox and trinitarian in its form. this, for many reasons, was a creed presenting many attractions to the younger men of the day, especially when set forth with a certain literary flavour. we have carlyle's immortal picture of how it influenced john sterling and his friends.
-coleridge's biographia literaria, in which the principal so-called schelling plagiarisms are contained, was published in 1817, but it was not for a considerable time after that that the plagiarisms were discovered, or at least taken notice of. the first serious indictment came from no less an authority than de quincey, whose interest in philosophical matters was as great as coleridge's, and who published his views in an appreciative but gossipy article in tait's magazine of september 1834. to commence with, he took up the question of the 'hymn to chamouni'; but since, in this matter, coleridge afterwards admitted his indebtedness to a german poetess, frederica brun, it does not seem an important one. nor, indeed, does de quincey pretend to take exception to certain expressions in coleridge's 'france' which are evidently borrowed from milton, or to regard them as indicating more than a peculiar omission of quotation marks. but the really serious matter, one for which de quincey cannot by any means account, is that in the biographia literaria there occurs a dissertation on the doctrine of knowing and being which is an exact translation from an essay written by schelling. de quincey cannot indeed explain away the mystery, but he makes the best of it, pleading excuses such as we often hear adduced in cases of 'kleptomania' when they occur amongst the well-to-do, or so-called higher classes--e.g., the evident fact that there was no necessity so to steal, no motive for stealing, even though the theft had evidently been committed. still, though the defence may be ingenious, and though we may go so far as to acknowledge that coleridge had sufficient originality of mind to weave out theories of his own without borrowing from others, it must be confessed that under the aggravated circumstances the argument falls somewhat flat; and this was the impression made on many minds even at the time. the ball once set rolling, the dispute went on, and the next important incident was an article by julius hare in the british magazine of january 1835. this is a hot defence of the so-called 'christian' philosopher, who is said to be influencing the best and most promising young men of the day, as against the assault of the 'english opium-eater'--'that ill-boding alias of evil record.' as to de quincey's somewhat unkind but entertaining stories, there is some reason in hare's objections, seeing that they were told of one to whom the writer owned himself indebted. but when hare tackles the plagiarisms themselves, and endeavours to defend them, his task is harder. coleridge had indeed stated that his ideas were thought out and matured before he had seen a page of schelling; but at the same time, in an earlier portion of his work, he made a somewhat ambiguous reference to his indebtedness to the german philosopher, and deprecated his being accused of intentioned plagiarism from his writings. of course it may be said that a thief does not draw attention to the goods from which he has stolen, but yet even hare acknowledges that it is hard to understand how half a dozen pages (we now know that it really exceeded thirty) should have been bodily transferred from one work to another, and suggests that the most probable solution is that coleridge had a practice of keeping notebooks for his thoughts, mingled with extracts from what he had been reading at the time, and that he thus became confused between the two.
-at this point ferrier steps in and takes the whole matter under review--a matter which he looked upon as serious (perhaps more serious than we should now consider it) from a national as well as an individual point of view. he held that the reputation of his country was at stake, as well as that of a single philosophic thinker, and that neither de quincey nor hare had gone into the matter with sufficient care or knowledge, or ascertained how large it really was. it was undoubtedly the case that coleridge's reputation in philosophic matters--and in these days that reputation was not small--was derived from what he had purloined from the writings of a german youth, and whatever the poet's claim on our regard on other scores may be, it was certainly due to schelling that the debt should be acknowledged. as far as the biographia literaria is concerned, the facts are plain. coleridge makes certain general acknowledgments of indebtedness to schelling to begin with. he acknowledges that there may be found in his works an identity of thought or phrase with schelling's, and allows him to be the founder of the philosophy of nature; but he claims at the same time the honour of making that philosophy intelligible to his fellow-countrymen, and even of thinking it out beforehand. having said so much, there follow pages together--sometimes as many as six or eight on end--which are virtually copied verbatim from schelling, though with occasional interpolations of the so-called author here and there. ferrier has examined the whole matter most minutely, and made a long list of the more flagrant cases of copying: thirty-one pages, he points out, are faithfully transcribed, partially or wholly, from schelling's works alone, without allowing for what the author admits to be translated in part from a 'contemporary writer of the continent.' and schelling was not the only sufferer, nor was it only in the region of metaphysics that the thefts were made. the substratum of a whole chapter of the biographia literaria is, ferrier discovered, taken from another author named maasz, and coleridge's lecture 'on poesy or art' is closely copied and largely translated from schelling's 'discourse upon the relations in which the plastic arts stand to nature.' this was a blow indeed to those who had boasted of the profundity of coleridge's views on art; but his poetry surely remained intact. but no, 'verses exemplifying the homeric metre' are found to be--unacknowledged--a translation from schiller; and yet worse, because less likely to be discovered, the lines written 'to a cataract' have the same metre, language, and thought as certain verses by count von stolberg, which were shown to ferrier by a friend.
-though it is easy to understand that ferrier felt the editing of his father-in-law and uncle's work was a duty which it was incumbent upon him to perform, one cannot help surmising that it may have been a less congenial task to him than many others. there was little in common between the two men, both distinguished in their way, and wilson's humour and poetic fancy, however bright and vivid, was not of the sort that would appeal most to ferrier. a few years before his death ferrier gave up the project he had in view of writing wilson's life, partly in despair of setting forth his talents as he felt they should be set forth, and partly from the lack of material to work from. he says, in a letter written at the time, 'it would do no good to talk in general terms of his wonderful powers, of his genius being greater (as in some sense it was) than that of any of his contemporaries--greater, too, than any of his publications show. the public would require other evidences of this beyond one's mere word--something might have been done had some of us boswellized him judiciously, but this having been omitted, i do not see how it is possible to do him justice.' the book was eventually undertaken, and successfully accomplished, by wilson's daughter, mrs. gordon.
-we have spoken of ferrier's interest in german literature; so early as 1839 he published a translation of pietro d'abano by ludwig tieck, one of the inner circle of the so-called romantic school to which the schlegels and novalis also belonged--the school which opposed itself to the eighteenth-century enlightenment, making its cry the return to nature, and demanding with fichte that a work of art should be a 'free product of the inner consciousness.' another specimen of ferrier's translating powers is given in a rendering from deinhardstein's bild der danæ, a love story in which salvator rosa figures. this appeared in blackwood of september 1841, and an extract from it is published in the remains.
-but one of the earliest and most remarkable of ferrier's literary criticisms in blackwood's magazine was an anonymous article on the various translations of goethe's faust published in 1840. we have seen that ferrier had made a special study of the writings of schiller and goethe, and that his work had been much appreciated both by lytton and de quincey. in this article the writer takes seven different renderings of the drama, carefully analyses them, points out their deficiencies, and even adventures on the difficult task, for a critic, of himself translating one or two pages. now that german is so widely read in england, we are all too well aware of the insufficiency of any translation of faust to regard even the best in any other light than as a makeshift. but then things were different, and it was possible that wrong impressions of the original might be conveyed by inadequate translations. ferrier's point was that goethe, while writing in rhyme and in exquisitely poetical language, managed at the same time to find words such as might really be used by ordinary mortals; but the translators, in endeavouring rightly enough to keep to the rhyming form, entirely fail in their endeavour after the same end. he considers that though in prose we may deviate from the ordinary proprieties of language, we may not do so in rhyming poetry; for though the poet has to describe the thought and passion of real men in the language of real life, his dialect must at the same time be taken out of the category of ordinary discourse because of the use of rhyme; and he is therefore called upon as far as possible to remove this bar, and reconcile us to the peculiarity of his style by the simplicity of his language; otherwise all illusion will be at an end. rhymes brought together by force can succeed in giving us no pleasure; the writer should possess the power of mastering his material and compelling it to serve his ends.
-ferrier's speculative instincts naturally led him to discuss the often-discussed motive of the play. is it so, as coleridge says, that the love of knowledge for itself could not bring about the evil consequences depicted in the character of faust, but only the love of knowledge for some base purpose? ferrier replies, no, the love of knowledge as an end in itself would people the world with fausts. 'such a love of knowledge exercises itself in speculation merely, and not in action; and if the experiences of purely speculative men were gathered, we think that most of them would be found to confess, bitterly confess, that indulgence in an abstract reflective thinking (whatever effect it may have ultimately upon their nobler genius, supposing them to have one) in the meantime absolutely kills, or appears to kill, all the minor faculties of the soul--all the lesser genial powers, upon the exercise of which the greater part of human happiness depends. they would own, not without remorse, that pure speculation--that is, knowledge pursued for itself alone--has often been tasted by them to be, as coleridge elsewhere says, 'the bitterest and rottenest part of the core of the fruit of the forbidden tree.' this seems a strange confession for a thinker reputed so abstract as ferrier, but of course the truth of what he says is evident. knowledge regarded as an end in itself might have brought faust into his troubles, it is true, and he might likewise have found himself ready to rush into what he conceives to be the opposite extreme; but a greater philosopher than ferrier has said that though 'knowledge brought about the fall, it also contains the principle of redemption,' and we take this to signify that we must look at knowledge as a necessary element in the culture and education of an individual or a people, which, though it carries trouble in its wake, does not leave us in our distress, but brings along with it the principle of healing, or is the 'healer of itself.'
-soon after the above, ferrier contributes to the same journal an article entitled 'the tittle-tattle of a philosopher,' or an account of the 'journey through life' of professor krug of leipzig. krug appears to have been a sort of admirable crichton amongst philosophers, to whom no subject came amiss, and who was ready to take his part in every sort of philosophical discussion. by hegel and the idealist school he is somewhat contemptuously referred to as one of that class of writers of whom it is said 'ils se sont battus les flancs pour être de grands hommes.' anyhow, his recollections are at least amusing, if not philosophically edifying.
-a review of the poems of coventry patmore a few years later is a very different production. it carries us back to the old days of blackwood, when calm judgment was not so much an object as strength of expression, withering criticism, and biting sarcasm. ferrier no doubt believed it would be well for literature to turn back to the old days of the knout; but few, we fancy, will agree with him, even if they suffer for so differing by permitting certain trashy publications to see the light. too often, unfortunately, the knout, when it is applied, arrives on shoulders that are innocent. of course ferrier believed that the worst prognostications of a quarter of a century before were now being realised by the application not being persevered in; but as to this particular piece of criticism, whatever our opinion of patmore's poetic powers may be, surely the writer was unreasonably severe; surely the work does not deserve to be dealt with in such unmeasured terms of opprobrium. it is refreshing to turn to an appreciative, if also somewhat critical review of the poems of elizabeth barrett, published in the same year, 1844, part of which has been republished in the remains. in this article ferrier urges once more the point on which he continually insists--the adoption of a direct simplicity of style: one which goes straight to the point, or, as he puts it, which is felt to 'get through business.' excepting certain criticism on the score of style and phraseology, however, ferrier is all praise of the high degree of poetic merit which the writings revealed--merit which he must have been amongst the first to discover and make known.
-the last of ferrier's work for the magazine in which he had so often written, was a series of articles on the new readings from shakespeare, published in 1853. these articles were in the main a criticism of mr. payne collier's 'notes and emendations' to the text of shakespeare's 'plays' from early ms. corrections which he had discovered in a copy of the folio 1632. ferrier, who was a thorough shakespeare student, and whose appreciation of shakespeare is often spoken of by those who knew him, had no faith in the authenticity of the new readings, though he thinks they have a certain interest as matter of curiosity. he goes through the plays and the alterations made in them seriatim, and comes to the conclusion that in most cases they have little value. in fact, he proceeds so far as to say that they have opened his eyes to 'a depth of purity and correctness in the received text of shakespeare' of which he had no suspicion--a satisfactory conclusion to the ordinary reader.
-besides his work for blackwood, ferrier was in the habit of contributing articles to the imperial dictionary of universal biography on the various philosophers. two of these, the biographies of schelling and hegel, are printed in the remains, but besides these he wrote on adam smith, swift, schiller, etc., and occasionally utilised the articles in his lectures.
-on yet another line ferrier wrote a pamphlet in 1848, entitled observations on church and state, suggested by the duke of argyll's essay on the ecclesiastical history of scotland. this pamphlet aims at proving that the assembly of the church is really, as the duke argues, not merely an ecclesiastical, but a national council, or, as ferrier terms it, the 'second and junior of the scottish houses of parliament.' being therefore amenable to no other earthly power, it was justified in opposing the decrees of the court of session; though, however, the free church ministers were right in defending their constitutional privileges, ferrier holds that they were wrong in doing so as the 'church' in opposition to the 'state,' and that this brought upon them their discomfiture. they should not, in his view, have acknowledged that the church's property could be forfeit to the state, and consequently should not have voluntarily resigned their livings. the pamphlet shows considerable interest in the controversy raging so vehemently at the time.
-in st. andrews there was no social meeting at which ferrier was not a welcome guest. when popular lectures, then coming into vogue, were instituted in the town, ferrier was called upon to deliver one of the series, the subject chosen being 'our contemporary poetical literature.' he says in a letter: 'i am in perfect agony in quest of something to say about "our contemporary poets" in the town hall here on friday. i must pump up something, being committed like an ass to that subject, but devil a thing will come. i wish aytoun would come over and plead their cause.' however, in spite of fears, the lecture appears to have been a success: it was an eloquent appeal on behalf of poetry as an invaluable educational factor and agent in carrying forward the work of human civilisation, and an appreciation of the work of tennyson, macaulay, aytoun, and lytton. in the same year, but a few months later, ferrier was asked to deliver the opening address of the edinburgh philosophical institution. this institution has for long been the means of bringing celebrities from all parts of the country to lecture before an edinburgh audience, and its origin and conception was largely due to professor wilson, ferrier's father-in-law, who was in the habit of opening the session with an introductory address. his health no longer permitting this to be done, the directors requested ferrier to take his place. the address was on purely general topics, dealing mainly with the objects of the institution, then somewhat of a novelty. he concluded: 'labour is the lot of man. no pleasure can surpass the satisfaction which a man feels in the efficient discharge of the active duties of his calling. but it is equally true that every professional occupation, from the highest to the lowest, requires to be counterpoised and alleviated by pursuits of a more liberal order than itself. without these the best faculties of our souls must sink down into an ignoble torpor, and human intercourse be shorn of its highest enjoyments, and its brightest blessings.' this is characteristic of ferrier's view of life. one-sidedness was his particular abhorrence, and if he could in any measure impress its evil upon those whose daily business was apt to engross their attention, to the detriment of the higher spheres of thinking, he was glad at least to make the attempt.
-the st. andrews university has the reputation of being given to strife, and never being thoroughly at rest unless it has at least one law-plea in operation before the court of session in edinburgh, or an appeal before the house of lords in london. in a small town, and more especially in a small university town, there is of course unlimited opportunity for discussing every matter of interest, and battles are fought and won before our very doors--battles often just as interesting as those of the great world outside, and more engrossing because in them we probably play the part of active participators, instead of being simple spectators from outside. of this time sheriff smith, however, writes: 'never was the university set more social, and less given to strife than in ferrier's day. grander feats i have often seen elsewhere, but brighter or more intellectual talk, ranging from the playful to the profound, never have i heard anywhere.' in this respect it contrasts with the more self-conscious and less natural social gatherings of the neighbouring city of edinburgh, whose stiffness and formality was unknown to the smaller town. the company, without passing beyond university bounds, was excellent. there was tulloch at st. mary's, still a young man at his prime, and a warm friend of ferrier's in spite of the traditional decree that st. mary's dealings with the other college should be as few as might be; there was shairp, afterwards professor of poetry in oxford, and always a delightful and inspiring companion; in the chair of logic there was professor spalding, whose ill-health alone prevented him from sharing largely in the social life; and he was succeeded by professor veitch, afterwards of glasgow, whose appreciation of ferrier was keen, and with whom ferrier had so much intercourse of a mutually enjoyable sort. then there was professor sellar, a staunch friend and true, and likewise sir david brewster, the veteran man of science, whom scotland delights to honour. when brewster resigned the principalship of the united college in 1859, ferrier was pressed to become a candidate for the post, and brewster himself promised his support, and urged ferrier's claims; but there were difficulties in the way, and his place was filled by another follower of science, principal forbes.
-ferrier was not, perhaps, naturally endowed with any special capacity for business, but the business that fell to him as a member of the senatus academicus was performed with the greatest care and zeal. with the movement for women's university education, which has always been to the front in st. andrews, he was sympathetic, although it was not a matter in which he played any special part. 'no one,' it was said, 'had clearer perceptions or a cooler and fairer judgment in any matter which seemed to him of importance.' principal tulloch tells how on one occasion in particular, where the interests of the university were at stake, his clear sense and vigilance carried it through its troubles. his loyalty to st. andrews at all times was indeed unquestioned. it is possible that had he made it his endeavour to devote more interest to practical affairs outside the university limits, it might have been better for himself. there may, perhaps, be truth in the saying that metaphysics is apt to have an enervating effect upon the moral senses, or at least upon the practical activities, and to take from men's usefulness in the ordinary affairs of life; but one can hardly realise ferrier other than he was, a student whose whole interests were devoted to the philosophy he had espoused, and who loved to deal with the fundamental questions that remained beneath all action and all thought, rather than with those more concrete; and the former lay in a region purely speculative. such as he was, he never failed to preserve the most perfect order in his class, and to do what was required of him with praiseworthy accuracy and minute attention to details.
-'life in his study,' says principal tulloch, 'was professor ferrier's characteristic life. there have been, i daresay, even in our time, harder students than he was; but there could scarcely be anyone who was more habitually a student, who lived more amongst books, and took more special and constant delight in intercourse with them. in his very extensive but choice library he knew every book by head-mark, as he would say, and could lay his hands upon the desired volume at once. it was a great pleasure to him to bring to the light from an obscure corner some comparatively unknown english speculator of whom the university library knew nothing.'
-we are often told how he would be found seated in his library clad in a long dressing-gown which clung round his tall form, and making him look even taller--a typical philosopher, though perhaps handsomer than many of his craft. 'my father rarely went from home,' writes his daughter, 'and when not in the college class-room was to be found in his snug, well-stocked, ill-bound library, writing or reading, clad in a very becoming dark blue dressing-gown. he was no smoker, but carried with him a small silver snuff-box.'
-professor shairp says that now and then he used to go to hear him lecture. 'i never saw anything better than his manner towards his students. there was in it ease, yet dignity so respectful both to them and to himself that no one could think of presuming with him. yet it was unusually kindly, and full of a playful humour which greatly attached them to him. no one could be farther removed from either the don or the disciplinarian. but his look of keen intellect and high breeding, combined with gentleness and feeling for his students, commanded attention more than any discipline could have done. in matters of college discipline, while he was fair and just, he always leant to the forbearing side.... till his illness took a more serious form, he was to be met at dinner-parties, to which his society always gave a great charm. in general society his conversation was full of humour and playful jokes, and he had a quick yet kindly eye to note the extravagances and absurdities of men.' and the professor goes on to narrate how on a winter afternoon he would fall to talking of horace, an especial favourite of his, and how then he would read the racy and unconventional translation he had made up for amusement. and afterwards he would talk of wordsworth and the feelings he awoke in him, showing 'a richness of literary knowledge, and a delicacy and keenness of appreciation, of which his philosophical writings, except by their fine style, give no hint.' hegel and plato were the favourite objects of his study. of the former he never satisfied himself that he had completely mastered the conception. but the insight that he had got into his dialectic and into the doctrine of reality contributed very largely to making his philosophy what it was. he endeavoured to apply the system in various directions, and ever continued in his efforts to work it out more fully.
-'"professor.--well, mr. brown, answer a few questions, if you please. what is the first proposition of the lectures?
-'"student repeats it.
-'"professor.--quite right, mr. brown. and, mr. brown, is this quite true?
-'"prof.--quite right, mr. brown. at least, so i think. and, mr. brown, is it not absurd to hold the reverse?
-'"prof.--yes, yes. thank you, mr. brown. that will do."
-'the professor then begins his lecture. as long as he is stating and proving the propositions in his metaphysical system, his tone is simple and matter-of-fact. his great aim is to make his meaning plain, and for that purpose he often expresses an important idea in various ways, using synonyms, and sometimes reading a sentence twice. but when he comes to illustrate his thoughts, his manner changes. he lets loose his fancy, his imagination, and even his humour; and his whole soul comes into his voice. his burr, scarcely distinguishable in his ordinary speech, now becomes strong, and his whole utterance is slow, intense, and fervid. he is particularly happy in his quotations from the poets, and he has a peculiarity in reading them which increases the effect. when rolling forth a line he sometimes pauses before he comes to the end, as if to collect his strength, and then utters the last word or words with redoubled emphasis. the effect of his eloquence on the students is electrical. they cease to take notes; every head is raised; every face beams with delight; and at the end of a passage their feelings find vent in a thunderstorm of applause.
-'the two most remarkable features of his lectures were their method and clearness. order and light were the very elements in which his mind lived and moved. he kept this end in view, threw aside the facts that were unnecessary, arranged the facts that were necessary, and expressed them with a precision about which there could be no ambiguity. in fact, each idea and the whole chain of ideas were visible by their own light. so perspicuous were the words that they might have been called crystallised thoughts.
-'out of the classroom ferrier was equally polite and kind, especially to those students who showed a love and a capacity for philosophy. it was no uncommon thing for him to stop a student in the street and invite him to the house to have a talk about the work of the class. i have a distant recollection of my first visit to his study; i see him yet, with his noble, benignant countenance, as he reads and discusses passages in my first essay, gravely reasoning with me on the points that were reasonable, passing lightly over those that were merely rhetorical, and smiling good-naturedly at those that attacked in no measured language his own system.'
-professor ferrier was never failing in hospitality to his students as to his other friends. dr. pryde goes on: 'every year ferrier invited the best of his students to dinner. at the dinner at which i was present there were two of his fellow-professors, sellar and fischer. it was a great treat for a youth like me. mrs. ferrier was effervescent with animal spirits and talk; ferrier himself, looking like a nobleman in his old-fashioned dress-coat with gold buttons, interposed occasionally with his subtle touches of wit and humour.' the professor appears to have been an inveterate snuffer. his students used to tell how the silver snuff-box was made the medium of explaining the berkeleian system, and how to their minds the system, fairly clear in words, became a hopeless tangle when the assistance of the snuff-box was resorted to. and dr. pryde narrates how he used to see professor spalding and professor ferrier seated side by side in the students' benches, looking on the same book, listening to their young colleague professor sellar's inspiring lectures, and at intervals exchanging snuff-boxes. he gives the following account of his last visit to ferrier, when he was on his deathbed, but still in his library among his books: 'he told me that his disease was mortal; but face to face with death he was cheerful and contented, and had bated not one jot of his interest in learning and in public events. he was very anxious that i should take lunch with mrs. ferrier and the rest of the family; and though he could not join us, he sent into the dining-room a special bottle of wine as a substitute for himself. two months afterwards he had passed away.'
-after london, oxford was visited, and here the friends lived at balliol with mr. jowett, who had not yet become the master. ferrier would doubtless delight in showing to his friend the beauties of the place with which he had so many memories, but to attend eight-o'clock chapel with tulloch was, the latter tells us, beyond the limits of his zeal. just before this, in 1857, another visit was paid by ferrier to oxford with his family, and this time to visit lady grant, the mother of his future son-in-law. it was at commemoration-time, we are told, and a ball was given in honour of the party. on this occasion ferrier for the first time met professor jowett, besides many other kindred spirits, and he thoroughly enjoyed wandering about the old haunts at magdalen, where in his youth he had pelted the deer and played the part of a young and thoughtless gownsman.
-a little book was published some years ago, on behoof of the st. andrews students' union, entitled speculum universitatis, in which former students and alumni piously record their recollections of their alma mater. some of these papers bring before us very vividly the sort of impression which the life left upon the lads, drawn together from all manner of home surroundings, and equally influenced by the memories of the past and the living presence of those who were the means of opening up new tracts of knowledge to their view. one of them, already often quoted, says in a paper called 'the light of long ago': 'i always sink into the conviction that the st. andrews united college was never so well worth attending as during the days when in its classrooms duncan taught mathematics, spalding taught logic, and ferrier taught metaphysics and moral science, illustrating living literature in his literary style, and in the strange tones, pauses, and inflections of his voice. to the field of literature and speculation ferrier restored glimpses of the sunshine of paradise. under his magical spell they ceased to look like fields that had been cursed with weeds, watered with sweat and tears, and levelled and planted with untold labour. every utterance of his tended alike to disclose the beauty and penetrate the mystery of existence. he was a persevering philosopher, but he was also a poet by a gift of nature. the burden of this most unintelligible world did not oppress him, nor any other burden. intellectual action proving the riddles of reason was a joy to him. he loved philosophy and poetry for their own sake, and he infected others with a kindred, but not an equal, passion. he could jest and laugh and play. if he ever discovered that much study is a weariness of the flesh, he most effectually concealed that discovery.'
-and to conclude, we have the testimony of another former student who is now distinguished in the fields of literature, but who always remains faithful to his home of early days. mr. andrew lang says: 'professor ferrier's lectures on moral philosophy were the most interesting and inspiriting that i ever listened to either at oxford or st. andrews. i looked on mr. ferrier with a kind of mysterious reverence, as on the last of the golden chain of great philosophers. there was, i know not what of dignity, of humour, and of wisdom in his face; there was an air of the student, the vanquisher of difficulties, the discoverer of hidden knowledge, in him that i have seen in no other. his method at that time was to lecture on the history of philosophy, and his manner was so persuasive that one believed firmly in the tenets of each school he described, till he advanced those of the next! thus the whole historical evolution of thought went on in the mind of each of his listeners.'
-life at st. andrews
-in an old-world town like st. andrews the stately, old-world moral philosophy professor must have seemed wonderfully in his place. there are men who, good-looking in youth, become 'ordinary-looking' in later years, but ferrier's looks were not of such a kind. to the last--of course he was not an old man when he died--he preserved the same distinguished appearance that we are told marked him out from amongst his fellows while still a youth. the tall figure, clad in old-fashioned, well-cut coat and white duck trousers, the close-shaven face, and merry twinkle about the eye signifying a sense of humour which removed him far from anything which we associate with the name of pedant; the dignity, when dignity was required, and yet the sympathy always ready to be extended to the student, however far he was from taking up the point, if he were only trying his best to comprehend--all this made up to those who knew him, the man, the scholar, and the high-bred gentleman, which, in no ordinary or conventional sense, professor ferrier was. it is the personality which, when years have passed and individual traits have been forgotten, it is so difficult to reproduce. the personal attraction, the atmosphere of culture and chivalry, which was always felt to hang about the professor, has not been forgotten by those who can recall him in the old st. andrews days; but who can reproduce this charm, or do more than state its existence as a fact? perhaps this sort only comes to those whose life is mainly intellectual--who have not much, comparatively speaking, to suffer from the rough and tumble to which the 'practical' man is subjected in the course of his career. sometimes it is said that those who preach high maxims of philosophy and conduct belie their doctrines in their outward lives; but on the whole, when we review their careers, this would wonderfully seldom seem to be the case. from socrates' time onwards we have had philosophers who have taught virtue and practised it simultaneously, and in no case has this combination been better exemplified in recent days than in that of james frederick ferrier, and one who unsuccessfully contested his chair upon his death, thomas hill green, professor of moral philosophy at oxford. it seems as though it may after all be good to speculate on the deep things of the earth as well as to do the deeds of righteousness.
-if the saying is true, that the happiest man is he who is without a history, then ferrier has every claim to be enrolled in the ranks of those who have attained their end. for happiness was an end to ferrier: he had no idea of practising virtue in the abstract, and finding a sufficiency in this. he believed, however, that the happiness to be sought for was the happiness of realising our highest aims, and the aim he put before him he very largely succeeded in attaining. his life was what most people would consider monotonous enough: few events outside the ordinary occurrences of family and university life broke in upon its tranquil course. unlike the custom of some of his colleagues, summer and winter alike were passed by ferrier in the quaint old sea-bound town. he lived there largely for his work and books. not that he disliked society; he took the deepest interest even in his dinner-parties, and whether as a host or as a guest, was equally delightful as a companion or as a talker. but in his books he found his real life; he would take them down to table, and bed he seldom reached till midnight was passed by two hours at least. one who knew and cared for him, the attractive wife of one of his colleagues, who spent ten sessions at st. andrews before distinguishing the humanity chair in edinburgh, tells how the west park house had something about its atmosphere that marked it out as unique--something which was due in great measure to the cultured father, but also to the bright and witty mother and the three beautiful young daughters, who together formed a household by itself, and one which made the grey old town a different place to those who lived in it.
-ferrier, as we have seen, had many distinguished colleagues in the university. besides professor sellar, who held the chair of greek, there was the principal of st. mary's (principal tulloch), professor shairp, then professor of latin, and later on the principal; the logic professor, veitch, sir david brewster, principal of the united colleges, and others. but the society was unconventional in the extreme. the salaries were not large: including fees, the ordinance of the scottish universities commission appointing the salaries of professors in 1861, estimates the salary of the professorship of moral philosophy at st. andrews at £444, 18s., and the principal only received about £100 more. but there were not those social customs and conventions to maintain that succeed in making life on a small income irksome in a larger city. all were practically on the same level in the university circle, and st. andrews was not invaded by so large an army of golfing visitors then as now, though the game of course was played with equal keenness and enthusiasm. professor ferrier took no part in this or other physical amusement: possibly it had been better for him had he left his books and study at times to do so. the friend spoken of above tells, however, of the merry parties who walked home after dining out, the laughing protests which she made against the professor's rash statement (in allusion to his theory of perception-mecum) that she was 'unredeemed nonsense' without him; the way in which, when an idea struck him, he would walk to her house with his daughter, regardless of the lateness of the hour, and throw pebbles at the lighted bedroom windows to gain admittance--and of course a hospitable supper; how she, knowing that a tablemaid was wanted in the ferrier establishment, dressed up as such and interviewed the mistress, who found her highly satisfactory but curiously resembling her friend mrs. sellar; and how when this was told her husband, he exclaimed, 'why, of course it's she dressed up; let us pursue her,' which was done with good effect! all these tales, and many others like them, show what the homely, sociable, and yet cultured life was like--a life such as we in this country seldom have experience of: perhaps that of a german university town may most resemble it. in spite of being in many ways a recluse, ferrier was ever a favourite with his students, just because he treated them, not with familiarity indeed, but as gentlemen like himself. other professors were cheered when they appeared in public, but the loudest cheers were always given to ferrier.
-mrs. ferrier's brilliant personality many can remember who knew her during her widowhood in edinburgh. she had inherited many of her father, 'christopher north's' physical and mental gifts, shown in looks and wit. a friend of old days writes: 'she was a queen in st. andrews, at once admired for her wit, her eloquence, her personal charms, and dreaded for her free speech, her powers of ridicule, and her withering mimicry. faithful, however, to her friends, she was beloved by them, and they will lament her now as one of the warmest-hearted and most highly-gifted of her sex.' mrs. ferrier never wrote for publication,--she is said to have scorned the idea,--but those who knew her never can forget the flow of eloquence, the wit and satire mingled, the humorous touches and the keen sense of fun that characterised her talk; for she was one of an era of brilliant talkers that would seem to have passed away. mrs. ferrier's capacity for giving appropriate nicknames was well known: jowett, afterwards master of balliol, she christened the 'little downy owl.' her husband's philosophy she graphically described by saying that 'it made you feel as if you were sitting up on a cloud with nothing on, a lucifer match in your hand, but nothing to strike it on,'--a description appealing vividly to many who have tried to master it!
-in many ways she seemed a link with the past of bright memories in scotland, when these links were very nearly severed. five children in all were born to her; of her sons one, now dead, inherited many of his father's gifts. her elder daughter, lady grant, the wife of sir alexander grant, principal of the edinburgh university and a distinguished classical scholar, likewise succeeded to much of her mother's grace and charm as well as of her father's accomplishments. under the initials 'o. j.' she was in the habit of contributing delightful humorous sketches to blackwood's magazine--the magazine which her father and her grandfather had so often contributed to in their day; but her life was not a long one: she died in 1895, eleven years after her husband, and while many possibilities seemed still before her.
-perhaps we might try to picture to ourselves the life in which ferrier played so prominent a part in the only real university town of which scotland can boast. for it is in st. andrews that the traditional distinctions between the college and the university are maintained, that there is the solemn stillness which befits an ancient seat of learning, that every step brings one in view of some monument of ages that are past and gone, and that we are reminded not only of the learning of our ancestors, of their piety and devotion to the college they built and endowed, but of the secular history of our country as well. in this, at least, the little university of the north has an advantage over her rich and powerful rivals, inasmuch as there is hardly any important event which has taken place in scottish history but has left its mark upon the place. no wonder the love of her students to the alma mater is proverbial. in scotland we have little left to tell us of the mediæval church and life, so completely has the reformation done its work, and so thoroughly was the land cleared of its 'popish images'; and hence we value what little there remains to us all the more. and the university of st. andrews, the oldest of our seats of learning, has come down to us from mediæval days. it was founded by a catholic bishop in 1411, about a century after the dedication of the cathedral, now, of course, a ruin. but it is to the good bishop kennedy who established the college of st. salvator, one of the two united colleges of later times, that we ascribe most honour in reference to the old foundation. not only did he build the college on the site which was afterwards occupied by the classrooms in which ferrier and his colleagues taught, but he likewise endowed them with vestments and rich jewels, including amongst their numbers a beautifully chased silver mace which may still be seen. of the old college buildings there is but the chapel and janitor's house now existing; within the chapel, which is modernised and used for presbyterian service, is the ancient founder's tomb. the quadrangle, after the reformation, fell into disrepair, and the present buildings are comparatively of recent date. the next college founded--that of st. leonard--which became early imbued with reformation principles, was, in the eighteenth century, when its finances had become low, incorporated with st. salvator's, and when conjoined they were in ferrier's time, as now, known as the 'united college.' besides the united college there was a third and last college, called st. mary's. though founded by the last of the catholic bishops before the reformation, it was subsequently presided over by the anti-prelatists andrew melville and samuel rutherford. st. mary's has always been devoted to the study of theology.
-of this same renovating provost, it is told that one day he dropped in to see the moral philosophy professor, who, however deeply engaged with his books, was always ready to receive his visitors. 'well, major, i have just completed the great work of my life. in this book i claim to make philosophy intelligible to the meanest understanding.' playfair at once requested to hear some of it read aloud. ferrier reluctantly started to read in his slow, emphatic way, till the major became fidgety; still he went on, till playfair started to his feet. 'i say, ferrier, do you mean to say this is intelligible to the meanest understanding?' 'do you understand it, major?' 'yes, i think i do.' 'then, major, i'm satisfied.'
-of the social life, mrs. oliphant says in her life of principal tulloch: 'the society, i believe, was more stationary than it has been since, and more entirely disposed to make of st. andrews the pleasantest and brightest of abiding-places. sir david brewster was still throned in st. leonard's. professor ferrier, with his witty and brilliant wife--he full of quiet humour, she of wildest wit, a mimic of alarming and delightful power, with something of the countenance and much of the genius of her father, the great "christopher north" of blackwood's magazine--made the brightest centre of social mirth and meetings. west park, their pleasant home, at the period which i record it, was ever open, ever sounding with gay voices and merry laughter, with a boundless freedom of talk and comment, and an endless stream of good company. professor ferrier himself was one of the greatest metaphysicians of his time--the first certainly in scotland; but this was perhaps less upon the surface than a number of humorous ways which were the delight of his friends, many quaint abstractions proper to his philosophic character, and a happy friendliness and gentleness along with his wit, which gave his society a continual charm.' professor knight, who now occupies ferrier's place in the professoriate of st. andrews, in his life of professor shairp, quotes from a paper of reminiscences by professor sellar: 'the centre of all the intellectual and social life of the university and of the town was professor ferrier. he inspired in the students a feeling of affectionate devotion as well as admiration, such as i have hardly ever known inspired by any teacher; and to many of them his mere presence and bearing in the classroom was a large element in a liberal education. by all his colleagues he was esteemed as a man of most sterling honour, a staunch friend, and a most humorous and delightful companion.... there certainly never was a household known to either of us in which the spirit of racy and original humour and fun was so exuberant and spontaneous in every member of it, as that of which the professor and his wife--the most gifted and brilliant, and most like her father of the three gifted daughters of "christopher north"--were the heads. our evenings there generally ended in the professor's study, where he was always ready to discuss, either from a serious or humorous point of view (not without congenial accompaniment), the various points of his system till the morning was well advanced.'
-ferrier's daughter writes of the house at west park: 'it was an old-fashioned, rough cast or "harled" house standing on the road in market street, but approached through a small green gate and a short avenue of trees--trees that were engraven on the heart and memory from childhood. the garden at the back still remains. in our time it was a real old-fashioned scotch garden, well stocked with "berries," pears, and apples; quaint grass walks ran through it, and a summer-house with stained-glass windows stood in a corner. west park was built on a site once occupied by the grey friars, and i am not romancing when i say that bones and coins were known to have been discovered in the garden even in our time. our home was socially a very amusing and happy one, though my father lived a good deal apart from us, coming down from his dear old library occasionally in the evenings to join the family circle.' this family circle was occasionally supplemented by a french teacher or a german, and for one year by a certain mrs. huggins, an old ex-actress who originally came to give a shakespeare reading in st. andrews, and who fell into financial difficulties, and was invited by the hospitable mrs. ferrier to make her home for a time at west park. the visit was not in all respects a success, mrs. huggins being somewhat exacting in her requirements and difficult to satisfy. so little part did its master take in household matters that it was only by accident, after reading prayers one sunday evening, that he noticed her presence. on inquiring who the stranger was, mrs. ferrier replied, 'oh, that is mrs. huggins.' 'then what is her avocation?' 'to read shakespeare and draw your window-curtains,' said the ever-ready mrs. ferrier! the children of the house were brought up to love the stage and everyone pertaining to it, and whenever a strolling company came to st. andrews the ferriers were the first to attend their play. the same daughter writes that when children their father used to thrill them with tales of burke and hare, the murderers and resurrectionists whose doings brought about a reign of terror in edinburgh early in the century. as a boy, ferrier used to walk out to his grandfather's in morningside--then a country suburb--in fear and trembling, expecting every moment to meet burke, the object of his terror. on one occasion he believed that he had done so, and skulked behind a hedge and lay down till the scourge of edinburgh passed by. in 1828 he witnessed his hanging in the edinburgh prison. professor wilson, his father-in-law, it may be recollected, spoke out his mind about the famous dr. knox in the noctes as well as in his classroom, and it was a well-known fact that his favourite newfoundland dog brontë was poisoned by the students as an act of retaliation.
-murder trials had always a fascination for ferrier. on one occasion he read aloud to his children de quincey's essay, 'murder as a fine art,' which so terrified his youngest daughter that she could hardly bring herself to leave her father's library for bed. somewhat severe to his sons, to his daughters ferrier was specially kind and indulgent, helping them with their german studies, reading schiller's plays to them, and when little children telling them old-world fairy tales. a present of grimm's tales, brought by her father after a visit to london, was, she tells us, a never-to-be-forgotten joy to the recipient.
-the charm of the west park house was spoken of by all the numerous young men permitted to frequent its hospitable board. there was a wonderful concoction known by the name of 'bishop,' against whose attraction one who suffered by its potency says that novices were warned, more especially in view of a certain sunk fence in the immediate vicinity which had afterwards to be avoided. the jokes that passed at these entertainments, which were never dull, are past and gone,--their piquancy would be gone even could they be reproduced,--but the impression left on the minds of those who shared in them is ineffaceable, and is as vivid now as forty years ago.
-there was a custom, now almost extinct, of keeping books of so-called 'confessions,' in which the contributors had the rather formidable task of filling up their likes or dislikes for the entertainment of their owners. in mrs. sellar's album ferrier made several interesting 'confessions'--whether we take them au grand sérieux or only as playful jests with a grain of truth behind. here are some of the questions and their answers.
-these last two answers are very characteristic of ferrier's point of view in later days. he was above all reasonable--no ascetic who could not understand the temptations of the world, but one who enjoyed its pleasures, saw the humorous side of life, appreciated the æsthetic, and yet kept the dictates of reason ever before his mind. and his ambition to reach the truth
-'differed from a host of aims alike in character and kind, mostly in this--that in itself alone shall its reward be, not an alien end blending therewith.'
-thus, like paracelsus, he aspired.
-during these three years, in which death had been a question of but a short time, ferrier had not ceased to be busy and interested in his work. the dates of his lectures on greek philosophy show that he had not failed to carry on the work of bringing them into shape, and though the wish could not be accomplished in its entirety, it speaks much for his resolution and determination that through all his bodily weakness he kept his work in hand. of course much had to be forgone. ferrier was never what is called robust, and his manner of life was not conducive to physical health, combining as it did late hours with lack of physical exercise. but in these later years he was unable to walk more than the shortest distance, the ascent of a staircase was an effort to him, and tendencies to asthma developed which must have made his life often enough a physical pain. still, though it was evident that there could be but one ending to the struggle, ferrier gave expression to no complaints, and though he might, as principal tulloch says, utter a half-playful, half-grim expression regarding his sufferings, he never seemed to think there was anything strange in them, anything that he should not bear calmly as a man and as a christian. nor did he talk of change of scene or climate as likely to give relief. he 'quietly, steadily, and cheerfully' faced the issue, be it what it might. the very day before he died, he was, we are told, in his library, busy amongst his books. truly, it may be said of him as of another cut off while yet in his prime, 'he died learning.'
-'towards his friends during this time,' says his biographer, 'all that was sweetest in his disposition seemed to gain strength and expansion from the near shadow of death. he spoke of death with entire fearlessness, and though this was nothing new to those who knew him best, it impressed their minds at this time more vividly than ever. the less they dared to hope for his life being prolonged, the more their love and regard were deepened by his tender thoughtfulness for others, and the kindliness which annihilated all absorbing concern for himself. in many little characteristic touches of humour, frankness, beneficence, beautiful gratitude for any slight help or attention, his truest and best nature seemed to come out all the more freely; he grew as it were more and more entirely himself indeed. if ever a man was true to philosophy, or a man's philosophy true to him, it was so with ferrier during all the time when he looked death in the face and possessed his soul in patience.' and, as so often happens when the things of this world are regarded sub specie æternitatis, the old animosities, such as they were, faded away. it is told how a former opponent on philosophical questions whose criticisms he had resented, called to inquire for him, and when the card was given to him, ferrier exclaimed, 'that must be a good fellow!' principal tulloch, his friend and for ten years his colleague, was with him constantly, and talked often to him about his work--the work on plato and his philosophy, that he would have liked to accomplish in order to complete his lectures. the summer before his death they read together some of plato's dialogues which he had carefully pencilled with his notes. he also took to reading virgil, in which occupation his friend frequently joined with him, and this seemed to relieve the languor from which he suffered. as to religion, which was a subject on which he thought much, although he did not frequently express an opinion, tulloch says: 'he was unable to feel much interest in any of its popular forms, but he had a most intense interest in its great mysteries, and a thorough reverence for its truths when these were not disfigured by superstition and formalism.' immortality, as we have seen, meant to him that there is a permanent and abiding element beyond the merely particular and individual which must pass away, and so far it was a reality in his mind. god was a real presence in the world, and not a far away divinity in whom men believed but whom they could not know; but as to the creeds and doctrines of the church, they seemed far removed from the essential, from true reality. professor (afterwards principal) shairp writes: 'in the visits which i made to his bedroom from time to time, when i found him sometimes on chair or sofa, sometimes in bed, i never heard one peevish or complaining word escape him, nothing but what was calm and cheerful, though to himself as to others it was evident that the outward man was fast perishing. the last time but one that i saw him was on a sunday in april. he was sitting up in bed. the conversation fell on serious subjects, on the craving the soul feels for some strength and support out from and above itself, on the certainty that all men feel that need, and on the testimony left by those who have tried it most, that they had found that need met by him of whose earthly life the gospel histories bear witness. this, or something like this, was the subject on which our conversation turned. he paused and dwelt on the thought of the soul's hunger. "hunger is the great weaver in moral things as in physical. the hunger that is in the new-born child sits weaving the whole bodily frame, bones and sinews, out of nothing. and so i suppose in moral and spiritual things it is hunger that builds up the being."'
-professor veitch, a later colleague at st. andrews, adds: 'we miss the finely-cut decisive face, the erect manly presence, the measured meditative step, the friendly greeting. but there are men, and ferrier was one of them, for whom, once known, there is no real past. the characteristic features and qualities of such men become part of our conscious life; memory keeps them before us living and influential, in a higher, truer present which overshadows the actual and visible.' and professor baynes speaks of him as one of the noblest and most pure-hearted men that he had ever known, combining 'a fine ethereal intelligence with a most gallant, tender, and courageous spirit.'
-"famous scots" series.
-some opinions of the press on
-by hector c. macpherson.
-"the style is pleasant, and the treatment luminous. the monograph, as a whole, should be found attractive and informing."--globe.
-"smith's life is briefly and clearly told, and there is a good deal of independent criticism interspersed amidst the chapters on the philosopher's two principal treatises. mr. macpherson's analysis of smith's economic teaching makes excellent reading."--echo.
-"his personal and intellectual career, so far as the limits of the 'famous scots' series permitted, is clearly and entertainingly presented by mr. macpherson."--morning leader.
-"the book is of great price. it is complete, proportioned, vivid, the picture of a great man, and with all its brevity, worthy of his greatness."--expository times.
-"interesting both as a contribution to the literature of political economy, and as a sketch of the career of one of scotland's most illustrious sons."--publishers' circular.
-"the monograph is a clear and able exposition and criticism of its subject. it deserves a prominent place in the series it belongs to."--bookman.
-"an interesting and lively study of the english founder of political economy, this little book is remarkable as a whole-hearted vindication of the cobdenic ideas of international policy. the author considers it to be adam smith's chief achievement that he has demonstrated with scientific completeness that free trade, as cobden happily expressed it, is the international law of god almighty."--spectator.
-"this little book is written with brains and a degree of courage which is in keeping with its convictions. it has vision, too, and that counts for righteousness, if anywhere, in political economy."--speaker.
-"a sound and able piece of work, and contains a fair and discerning estimate of smith in his essential character as the author of the doctrine of free trade, and consequently of the modern science of economics."--glasgow herald.
-"the writer of this biography deserves to be warmly congratulated on the result of his labour. he has written, to my mind at least, one of the best of the series of 'famous scots,' and has enshrined the author of the 'wealth of nations' in a manner at once attractive, interesting, and instructive."--northern figaro.
-"of adam smith the man there are some interesting stories in this volume."--academy.
-"this book is one warmly to be commended as among the very best of a notable series."--kilmarnock standard.
-"the story of smith's life is plainly but interestingly told, with occasional graphic descriptions of the society of his time; but it will undoubtedly be as an exposition of the philosophical questions involved that the book will be most highly prized."--daily free press.
-"it is a biography with a specific purpose, and this purpose is admirably worked out. in some respects, indeed, mr. macpherson's object is educational. not content with doing justice to the great master of economic science, he shows what we owe to other workers in the same school of thought."--leeds mercury.
-"those who have read mr. macpherson's 'thomas carlyle,' with which this highly interesting series was opened, will turn with pleasure and expectancy to the volume just issued. mr. macpherson has given us a volume much above the average of the series both in literary merit and thoughtfulness. we strongly recommend this excellent pen-and-ink portrait, of the man who gave britain the key to the wealth of the world, of our fellow-students."--student.
-"one of the best of an admirable series."--scots pictorial.
-"an admirable monograph."--london daily mail.
-"a thoughtful and capably written monograph."--liverpool daily post.
-"mr. macpherson states the facts most admirably, and he has such a knowledge of the movements and events of the times in which smith lived that he is able to make an excellent use of them as showing how they influenced such a thinker as the author of the 'wealth of nations,' and how, in turn, he was able to change the trend of the thinking of his age."--perthshire courier.
-mr. herbert spencer says: "i have learned much from your sketch of adam smith's life and work. it presents the essential facts in a lucid and interesting way. especially am i glad to see that you have insisted upon the individualistic character of his teaching. it is well that his authority on the side of individualism should be put forward in these days of rampant socialism, when the great mass of legislative measures extend public agency and restrict private agency; the advocates of such measures being blind to the fact that by small steps they are bringing about a state in which the citizen will have lost all freedom."
-sixpenny :: pieces ::
-by a. neil lyons
-london: john lane, the bodley head new york: john lane company: mcmix
-william brendon and son, ltd., printers, plymouth
-by the same author
-arthur’s. with a cover-design by w. graham robertson. crown 8vo. second edition.
-to k. l. s.
-i was a beautiful evening in the month of may.
-the stars were shining.
-the beautiful moon looked beautifully forth from her beautiful throne.
-a nightingale greeted her with a beautiful sonnet. england—our england—bore upon her bosom the beautiful perfume of woodruff and the wild clover. in bovingdon street, london, e., a lover was kicking his sweetheart.
-that was the beginning of this book. i happened to be standing at mr. wilson’s coffee stall. and i heard the screaming. and i saw some shadows moving briskly, like the funny silhouettes on the blind at a pantomime. and some of us laughed and some of us whined and one of us blew a whistle. and the constabulary arrived, and with their coming the tumult died. and they brought the girl to the light of the stall, and her face was bruised and swollen and she lost her voice. but before doing so she was able to assure us that "’e done it in drink." "’e" was removed under escort.
-they did not take her to a hospital, because there was a round little man at the stall who prevented them from doing so. "lemme alone," the lady had remarked, upon regaining speech. "don’t you worry me. i’m all right, i am. i got my doctor ’ere: this genelman in the top ’at. ain’t that right, sir? you are my doctor, ain’t you?"
-"that is so," said the round little man, "i’m her doctor. shift your dam carcases and give the woman some air."
-"there you are," gasped the woman, "what did i tell you? he is my doctor. i got ’is confinement card in me pocket this minute."
-"she can’t stop ’ere you know, dr. brink," expostulated a constable.
-"i’ll take her home," said the round man.
-"be a lot better in the ’orspital," muttered the constable.
-"i’m obliged for your opinion, officer; but i think i’ll have my own way this time. catch hold of her middle, will you, sonny?"
-it was your servant who had the honour to be addressed as sonny, and he hastened to do the little round man’s bidding. when we had got the lady into a perpendicular attitude, the doctor put his arm about her, and, anticipating the little man’s commands, your servant did the same. and so we led her from the stall, all the cut-throats of bovingdon street following reverently behind us. happily our march was not a long one, for the patient lived in smith street; and smith street, as everybody knows, is the second turning past the african chief beer-house in bovingdon street. short as the journey was, however, i could have wished it to be shorter: for the cut-throats pressed us close, breathing thickly about our ears; and the woman weighed heavy, having no manner of use for her legs and being stupid in the head. she only spoke once during the walk, and that was to say, in a drowsy sort of monotone: "’e done it—in drink."
-we came at last to 13, smith street, and the fact that eighteen eager faces were already distributed among the six small windows of that dwelling-house removed my latent fears that our arrival would disturb "the neighbours." the owners of these faces were entirely mute, save for one, an elderly woman, who, in a loud wail, made certain representations to providence in regard to one ’erry barber, whom i understood to be the lusty gallant primarily responsible for this adventure. having repeated these commands a great number of times, and having exercised undoubted talent in describing ’erry and ’erry’s parentage, the old woman proceeded to chronicle her views respecting a vast number of alien subjects. at last this lady had the great misfortune to "catch her breath," at which the doctor cut in.
-"stop that beastly noise!" he shouted, "and shut the window, and put on a respectable garment, and come downstairs and let us in."
-the lady looked benignly down upon us.
-"go’ bless ye, doctor," she exclaimed, "you are a good man. but you didn’t ought to talk like that to me. i lorst a son in the bower war."
-at that moment the door was opened by some other dweller in the house. and the doctor and his patient entered in. not knowing the neighbourhood and not liking it, and being also of a curious nature, i awaited the doctor’s return. i had not long to wait. he came out very soon, and we walked away together into clearer air. and the doctor spoke.
-"it is a deuced queer thing," he said, "that a man can’t stop for five minutes at a dam coffee stall without some fool or other finding work for him. i’ll never go to that stall again. i’ll be damned if i will. i ought to have got home half an hour ago."
-"yes," i said—i believe that vaguely i sought to comfort him—"and she would have been better off in the infirmary?"
-"don’t talk foolishness, young man," replied the round little doctor. "you are talking dam nonsense. infirmary—pooh! with a baby almost due,
-"you evidently didn't come to work today," said he with a careless, fleeting glance at the grande toilette. "but we are prepared against such tricks. garvey, take her down to the rear dressing-room and have the maid lay her out a simple costume." to susan, "be as quick as you can." and he seated himself at his desk and was reading and signing letters.
-susan, crestfallen, followed garvey down the stairway. she had confidently expected that he would show some appreciation of her toilette. she knew she had never in her life looked so well. in the long glass in the dressing-room, while garvey was gone to send the maid, she inspected herself again. yes--never anything like so well. and brent had noted her appearance only to condemn it. she was always telling herself that she wished him to regard her as a working woman, a pupil in stagecraft. but now that she had proof that he did so regard her, she was depressed, resentful. however, this did not last long. while she was changing to linen skirt and shirtwaist, she began to laugh at herself. how absurd she had been, thinking to impress this man who had known so many beautiful women, who must have been satiated long ago with beauty--she thinking to create a sensation in such a man, with a simple little costume of her own crude devising. she reappeared in the studio, laughter in her eyes and upon her lips. brent apparently did not glance at her; yet he said, "what's amusing you?"
-she confessed all, on one of her frequent impulses to candor--those impulses characteristic both of weak natures unable to exercise self-restraint and of strong natures, indifferent to petty criticism and misunderstanding, and absent from vain mediocrity, which always has itself--that is, appearances--on its mind. she described in amusing detail how she had planned and got together the costume how foolish his reception of it had made her feel. "i've no doubt you guessed what was in my head," concluded she. "you see everything."
-"i did notice that you were looking unusually well, and that you felt considerably set up over it," said he. "but why not? vanity's an excellent thing. like everything else it's got to be used, not misused. it can help us to learn instead of preventing."
-"i had an excuse for dressing up," she reminded him. "you said we were to dine together. i thought you wouldn't want there to be too much contrast between us. next time i'll be more sensible."
-"dress as you like for the present," said he. "you can always change here. later on dress will be one of the main things, of course. but not now. have you learned the part?"
-and they began. she saw at the far end of the room a platform about the height of a stage. he explained that garvey, with the book of the play, would take the other parts in lola's scenes, and sent them both to the stage. "don't be nervous," garvey said to her in an undertone. "he doesn't expect anything of you. this is simply to get started." but she could not suppress the trembling in her legs and arms, the hysterical contractions of her throat. however, she did contrive to go through the part--garvey prompting. she knew she was ridiculous; she could not carry out a single one of the ideas of "business" which had come to her as she studied; she was awkward, inarticulate, panic-stricken.
-"rotten!" exclaimed brent, when she had finished. "couldn't be worse therefore, couldn't be better."
-she dropped to a chair and sobbed hysterically.
-"that's right--cry it out," said brent. "leave us alone, garvey."
-brent walked up and down smoking until she lifted her head and glanced at him with a pathetic smile. "take a cigarette," he suggested. "we'll talk it over. now, we've got something to talk about."
-she found relief from her embarrassment in the cigarette. "you can laugh at me now," she said. "i shan't mind. in fact, i didn't mind, though i thought i did. if i had, i'd not have let you see me cry."
-"don't think i'm discouraged," said brent. "the reverse. you showed that you have nerve a very different matter from impudence. impudence fails when it's most needed. nerve makes one hang on, regardless. in such a panic as yours was, the average girl would have funked absolutely. you stuck it out. now, you and i will try lola's first entrance. no, don't throw away your cigarette. lola might well come in smoking a cigarette." she did better. what burlingham had once thoroughly drilled into her now stood her in good stead, and brent's sympathy and enthusiasm gave her the stimulating sense that he and she were working together. they spent the afternoon on the one thing--lola coming on, singing her gay song, her halt at sight of santuzza and turiddu, her look at santuzza, at turiddu, her greeting for each. they tried it twenty different ways. they discussed what would have been in the minds of all three. they built up "business" for lola, and for the two others to increase the significance of lola's actions.
-"as i've already told you," said he, "anyone with a voice and a movable body can learn to act. there's no question about your becoming a good actress. but it'll be some time before i can tell whether you can be what i hope--an actress who shows no sign that she's acting."
-susan showed the alarm she felt. "i'm afraid you'll find at the end that you've been wasting your time," said she.
-"put it straight out of your head," replied he. "i never waste time. to live is to learn. already you've given me a new play--don't forget that. in a month i'll have it ready for us to use. besides, in teaching you i teach myself. hungry?"
-"no--that is, yes. i hadn't thought of it, but i'm starved."
-"this sort of thing gives one an appetite like a field hand." he accompanied her to the door of the rear dressing-room on the floor below. "go down to the reception room when you're ready," said he, as he left her to go on to his own suite to change his clothes. "i'll be there."
-the maid came immediately, drew a bath for her, afterward helped her to dress. it was susan's first experience with a maid, her first realization how much time and trouble one saves oneself if free from the routine, menial things. and then and there a maid was set down upon her secret list of the luxurious comforts to which she would treat herself--when? the craving for luxury is always a part, usually a powerful part, of an ambitious temperament. ambition is simply a variously manifested and variously directed impulse toward improvement--a discomfort so keen that it compels effort to change to a position less uncomfortable. there had never been a time when luxury had not attracted her. at the slightest opportunity she had always pushed out for luxuries--for better food, better clothing, more agreeable surroundings. even in her worst hours of discouragement she had not really relaxed in the struggle against rags and dirt. and when moral horror had been blunted by custom and drink, physical horror had remained acute. for, human nature being a development upward through the physical to the spiritual, when a process of degeneration sets in, the topmost layers, the spiritual, wear away first--then those in which the spiritual is a larger ingredient than the material--then those in which the material is the larger--and last of all those that are purely material. as life educated her, as her intelligence and her knowledge grew, her appreciation of luxury had grown apace and her desire for it. with most human beings, the imagination is a heavy bird of feeble wing; it flies low, seeing only the things of the earth. when they describe heaven, it has houses of marble and streets of gold. their pretense to sight of higher things is either sheer pretense or sight at second hand. susan was of the few whose fancy can soar. she saw the earthy things; she saw the things of the upper regions also. and she saw the lower region from the altitudes of the higher--and in their perspective.
-as she and brent stood together on the sidewalk before his house, about to enter his big limousine, his smile told her that he had read her thought--her desire for such an automobile as her very own. "i can't help it," said she. "it's my nature to want these things."
-"and to want them intelligently," said he. "everybody wants, but only the few want intelligently--and they get. the three worst things in the world are sickness, poverty and obscurity. your splendid health safeguards you against sickness. your looks and your brains can carry you far away from the other two. your one danger is of yielding to the temptation to become the wife or the mistress of some rich man. the prospect of several years of heart-breaking hard work isn't wildly attractive at twenty-two."
-"you don't know me," said susan--but the boast was uttered under her breath.
-she lifted her eyes, to distract her mind from these depressing sensations. brent was looking at her with that amused, mocking yet sympathetic expression which was most characteristic of him. she blushed furiously.
-he laughed. "no, i'm not ashamed of your homemade dress," said he. "i don't care what is thought of me by people who don't give me any money. and, anyhow, you are easily the most unusual looking and the most tastefully dressed woman here. the rest of these women are doomed for life to commonplace obscurity. you----
-"we'll see your name in letters of fire on the broadway temples of fame."
-"i know you're half laughing at me," said susan. "but i feel a little better."
-"then i'm accomplishing my object. let's not think about ourselves. that makes life narrow. let's keep the thoughts on our work--on the big splendid dreams that come to us and invite us to labor and to dare."
-and as they lingered over the satisfactory dinner he had ordered, they talked of acting--of the different roles of "cavalleria" as types of fundamental instincts and actions--of how best to express those meanings--how to fill out the skeletons of the dramatist into personalities actual and vivid. susan forgot where she was, forgot to be reserved with him. in her and rod's happiest days she had never been free from the constraint of his and her own sense of his great superiority. with brent, such trifles of the petty personal disappeared. and she talked more naturally than she had since a girl at her uncle's at sutherland. she was amazed by the fountain that had suddenly gushed forth in her mind at the conjuring of brent's sympathy. she did not recognize herself in this person so open to ideas, so eager to learn, so clear in the expression of her thoughts. not since the burlingham days had she spent so long a time with a man in absolute unconsciousness of sex.
-they were interrupted by the intrusion of a fashionable young man with the expression of assurance which comes from the possession of wealth and the knowledge that money will buy practically everything and everybody. brent received him so coldly that, after a smooth sentence or two, he took himself off stammering and in confusion. "i suppose," said brent when he was gone, "that young ass hoped i would introduce him to you and invite him to sit. but you'll be tempted often enough in the next few years by rich men without my helping to put temptation in your way,"
-"i've never been troubled thus far," laughed susan.
-"but you will, now. you have developed to the point where everyone will soon be seeing what it took expert eyes to see heretofore."
-"if i am tempted," said susan, "do you think i'll be able to resist?"
-"i don't know," confessed brent. "you have a strong sense of honesty, and that'll keep you at work with me for a while. then----
-"thank you," said susan, her strange eyes fixed upon him.
-"why do you put so much gratitude in your tone and in your eyes?" asked he.
-"i didn't put it there," she answered. "it--just came. and i was grateful because--well, i'm human, you know, and it was good to feel--that--that----"
-"go on," said he, as she hesitated.
-"i'm afraid you'll misunderstand."
-"what does it matter, if i do?"
-"well--you've acted toward me as if i were a mere machine that you were experimenting with."
-"and so you are."
-"i understand that. but when you offered to help me, if i happened to want to do something different from what you want me to do, it made me feel that you thought of me as a human being, too."
-the expression of his unseeing eyes puzzled her. she became much embarrassed when he said, "are you dissatisfied with spenser? do you want to change lovers? are you revolving me as a possibility?"
-"i haven't forgotten what you said," she protested.
-"but a few words from me wouldn't change you from a woman into a sexless ambition."
-an expression of wistful sadness crept into the violet-gray eyes, in contrast to the bravely smiling lips. she was thinking of her birth that had condemned her to that farmer ferguson, full as much as of the life of the streets, when she said:
-"i know that a man like you wouldn't care for a woman of my sort."
-"if i were you," said he gently, "i'd not say those things about myself. saying them encourages you to think them. and thinking them gives you a false point of view. you must learn to appreciate that you're not a sheltered woman, with reputation for virtue as your one asset, the thing that'll enable you to get some man to undertake your support. you are dealing with the world as a man deals with it. you must demand and insist that the world deal with you on that basis." there came a wonderful look of courage and hope into the eyes of lorella's daughter.
-"and the world will," he went on. "at least, the only part of it that's important to you--or really important in any way. the matter of your virtue or lack of it is of no more importance than is my virtue or lack of it."
-"do you really believe that way?" asked susan, earnestly.
-"it doesn't in the least matter whether i do or not," laughed he. "don't bother about what i think--what anyone thinks--of you. the point here, as always, is that you believe it, yourself. there's no reason why a woman who is making a career should not be virtuous. she will probably not get far if she isn't more or less so. dissipation doesn't help man or woman, especially the ruinous dissipation of license in passion. on the other hand, no woman can ever hope to make a career who persists in narrowing and cheapening herself with the notion that her virtue is her all. she'll not amount to much as a worker in the fields of action."
-susan reflected, sighed. "it's very, very hard to get rid of one's sex."
-"it's impossible," declared he. "don't try. but don't let it worry you, either."
-"everyone can't be as strong as you are--so absorbed in a career that they care for nothing else."
-this amused him. with forearms on the edge of the table he turned his cigarette slowly round between his fingers, watching the smoke curl up from it. she observed that there was more than a light sprinkle of gray in his thick, carefully brushed hair. she was filled with curiosity as to the thoughts just then in that marvelous brain of his; nor did it lessen her curiosity to know that never would those thoughts be revealed to her. what women had he loved? what women had loved him? what follies had he committed? from how many sources he must have gathered his knowledge of human nature of--woman nature! and no doubt he was still gathering. what woman was it now?
-when he lifted his glance from the cigarette, it was to call the waiter and get the bill. "i've a supper engagement," he said, "and it's nearly eleven o'clock."
-"eleven o'clock!" she exclaimed.
-"times does fly--doesn't it?--when a man and a woman, each an unexplored mystery to the other, are dining alone and talking about themselves."
-"it was my fault," said susan.
-his quizzical eyes looked into hers--uncomfortably far.
-she flushed. "you make me feel guiltier than i am," she protested, under cover of laughing glance and tone of raillery.
-"guilty? of what?"
-"you think i've been trying to--to 'encourage' you," replied she frankly.
-"and why shouldn't you, if you feel so inclined?" laughed he. "that doesn't compel me to be--encouraged."
-"honestly i haven't," said she, the contents of seriousness still in the gay wrapper of raillery. "at least not any more than----"
-"you know, a woman feels bound to 'encourage' a man who piques her by seeming--difficult."
-"naturally, you'd not have objected to baptizing the new hat and dress with my heart's blood." she could not have helped laughing with him. "unfortunately for you--or rather for the new toilette--my poor heart was bled dry long, long ago. i'm a busy man, too--busy and a little tired."
-"i deserve it all," said she. "i've brought it on myself. and i'm not a bit sorry i started the subject. i've found out you're quite human--and that'll help me to work better."
-they separated with the smiling faces of those who have added an evening altogether pleasant to memory's store of the past's happy hours--that roomy storehouse which is all too empty even where the life has been what is counted happy. he insisted on sending her home in his auto, himself taking a taxi to the players' where the supper was given. the moment she was alone for the short ride home, her gayety evaporated like a delicious but unstable perfume.
-why? perhaps it was the sight of the girls on the stroll. had she really been one of them?--and only a few days ago? impossible! not she not the real self . . . and perhaps she would be back there with them before long. no--never, never, in any circumstances!. . . she had said, "never!" the first time she escaped from the tenements, yet she had gone back. . . were any of those girls strolling along--were, again, any of them freddie palmer's? at the thought she shivered and quailed. she had not thought of him, except casually, in many months. what if he should see her, should still feel vengeful--he who never forgot or forgave--who would dare anything! and she would be defenseless against him. . . . she remembered what she had last read about him in the newspaper. he had risen in the world, was no longer in the criminal class apparently, had moved to the class of semi-criminal wholly respectable contractor-politician. no, he had long since forgotten her, vindictive italian though he was.
-the auto set her down at home. her tremors about freddie departed; but the depression remained. she felt physically as if she had been sitting all evening in a stuffy room with a dull company after a heavy, badly selected dinner. she fell easy prey to one of those fits of the blues to which all imaginative young people are at least occasional victims, and by which those cursed and hampered with the optimistic temperament are haunted and harassed and all but or quite undone. she had a sense of failure, of having made a bad impression. she feared he, recalling and reinspecting what she had said, would get the idea that she was not in earnest, was merely looking for a lover--for a chance to lead a life of luxurious irresponsibility. would it not be natural for him, who knew women well, to assume from her mistakenly candid remarks, that she was like the rest of the women, both the respectable and the free? why should he believe in her, when she did not altogether believe in herself but suspected herself of a secret hankering after something more immediate, more easy and more secure than the stage career? the longer she thought of it the clearer it seemed to her to be that she had once more fallen victim to too much hope, too much optimism, too much and too ready belief in her fellow-beings--she who had suffered so much from these follies, and had tried so hard to school herself against them.
-she fought this mood of depression--fought alone, for spenser did not notice and she would not annoy him. she slept little that night; she felt that she could not hope for peace until she had seen brent again.
-toward half-past ten the next day, a few minutes after rod left for the theater, she was in the bathroom cleaning the coffee machine. there came a knock at the door of the sitting-room bedroom. into such disorder had her mood of depression worried her nerves that she dropped the coffee machine into the washbowl and jumped as if she were seeing a ghost. several dire calamities took vague shape in her mind, then the image of freddie palmer, smiling sweetly, cruelly. she wavered only a moment, went to the door, and after a brief hesitation that still further depressed her about herself she opened it. the maid--a good-natured sloven who had become devoted to susan because she gave her liberal fees and made her no extra work--was standing there, in an attitude of suppressed excitement. susan laughed, for this maid was a born agitator, a person who is always trying to find a thrill or to put a thrill into the most trivial event.
-"what is it now, annie?" susan asked.
-"mr. spenser--he's gone, hasn't he?"
-"yes--a quarter of an hour ago."
-annie drew a breath of deep relief. "i was sure he had went," said she, producing from under her apron a note. "i saw it was in a gentleman's writing, so i didn't come up with it till he was out of the way, though the boy brought it a little after nine."
-"oh, bother!" exclaimed susan, taking the note.
-"well, mrs. spenser, i've had my lesson," replied annie, apologetic but firm. "when i first came to new york, green as the grass that grows along the edge of the spring, what does i do but go to work and take up a note to a lady when her husband was there! next thing i knew he went to work and hauled her round the floor by the hair and skinned out--yes, beat it for good. and my madam says to me, 'annie, you're fired. never give a note to a lady when her gent is by or to a gent when his lady's by. that's the first rule of life in gay new york.' and you can bet i never have since--nor never will."
-susan had glanced at the address on the note, had recognized the handwriting of brent's secretary. her heart had straightway sunk as if the foreboding of calamity had been realized. as she stood there uncertainly, annie seized the opportunity to run on and on. susan now said absently, "thank you. very well," and closed the door. it was a minute or so before she tore open the envelope with an impatient gesture and read:
-dear mrs. spenser:
-mr. brent requests me to ask you not to come until further notice. it may be sometime before he will be free to resume.
-yours truly, john c. garvey.
-it was a fair specimen of garvey's official style, with which she had become acquainted--the style of the secretary who has learned by experience not to use frills or flourishes but to convey his message in the fewest and clearest words. had it been a skillfully worded insult susan, in this mood of depression and distorted mental vision, could not have received it differently. she dropped to a chair at the table and stared at the five lines of neat handwriting until her eyes became circled and her face almost haggard. precisely as rod had described! after a long, long time she crumpled the paper and let it fall into the waste-basket. then she walked up and down the room--presently drifted into the bathroom and resumed cleaning the coffee machine. every few moments she would pause in the task--and in her dressing afterwards--would be seized by the fear, the horror of again being thrust into that hideous underworld. what was between her and it, to save her from being flung back into its degradation? two men on neither of whom she could rely. brent might drop her at any time--perhaps had already dropped her. as for rod--vain, capricious, faithless, certain to become an unendurable tyrant if he got her in his power--rod was even less of a necessity than brent. what a dangerous situation was hers! how slender her chances of escape from another catastrophe. she leaned against wall or table and was shaken by violent fits of shuddering. she felt herself slipping--slipping. it was all she could do to refrain from crying out. in those moments, no trace of the self-possessed susan the world always saw. her fancy went mad and ran wild. she quivered under the actuality of coarse contacts--mrs. tucker in bed with her--the men who had bought her body for an hour--the vermin of the tenements--the brutal hands of policemen.
-then with an exclamation of impatience or of anger she would shake herself together and go resolutely on--only again to relapse. "because i so suddenly cut off the liquor and the opium," she said. it was the obvious and the complete explanation. but her heart was like lead, and her sky like ink. this note, the day after having tried her out as a possibility for the stage and as a woman. she stared down at the crumpled note in the wast-basket. that note--it was herself. he had crumpled her up and thrown her into the waste-basket, where she no doubt belonged.
-it was nearly noon before she, dressed with unconscious care, stood in the street doorway looking about uncertainly as if she did not know which way to turn. she finally moved in the direction of the theater where rod's play was rehearsing. she had gone to none of the rehearsals because rod had requested it. "i want you to see it as a total surprise the first night," explained he. "that'll give you more pleasure, and also it will make your criticism more valuable to us." and she had acquiesced, not displeased to have all her time for her own affairs. but now she, dazed, stunned almost, convinced that it was all over for her with brent, instinctively turned to rod to get human help--not to ask for it, but in the hope that somehow he would divine and would say or do something that would make the way ahead a little less forbidding--something that would hearten her for the few first steps, anyhow. she turned back several times--now, because she feared rod wouldn't like her coming; again because her experience--enlightened good sense--told her that rod would--could--not help her, that her sole reliance was herself. but in the end, driven by one of those spasms of terror lest the underworld should be about to engulf her again, she stood at the stage door.
-as she was about to negotiate the surly looking man on guard within, sperry came rushing down the long dark passageway. he was brushing past her when he saw who it was. "too late!" he cried. "rehearsal's over."
-"i didn't come to the rehearsal," explained susan. "i thought perhaps rod would be going to lunch."
-"so he is. go straight back. you'll find him on the stage. i'll join you if you'll wait a minute or so." and sperry hurried on into the street.
-susan advanced along the passageway cautiously as it was but one remove from pitch dark. perhaps fifty feet, and she came to a cross passage. as she hesitated, a door at the far end of it opened and she caught a glimpse of a dressing-room and, in the space made by the partly opened door, a woman half-dressed--an attractive glimpse. the woman--who seemed young--was not looking down the passage, but into the room. she was laughing in the way a woman laughs only when it is for a man, for the man--and was saying, "now, rod, you must go, and give me a chance to finish dressing." a man's arm--rod's arm--reached across the opening in the doorway. a hand--susan recognized rod's well-shaped hand--was laid strongly yet tenderly upon the pretty bare arm of the struggling, laughing young woman--and the door closed--and the passage was soot-dark again. all this a matter of less than five seconds. susan, ashamed at having caught him, frightened lest she should be found where she had no business to be, fled back along the main passage and jerked open the street door. she ran squarely into sperry.
-"i--i beg your pardon," stammered he. "i was in such a rush--i ought to have been thinking where i was going. did i hurt you?" this last most anxiously. "i'm so sorry----"
-"it's nothing--nothing," laughed susan. "you are the one that's hurt."
-and in fact she had knocked sperry breathless. "you don't look anything like so strong," gasped he.
-"oh, my appearance is deceptive--in a lot of ways."
-for instance, he could have got from her face just then no hint of the agony of fear torturing her--fear of the drop into the underworld.
-"find rod?" asked he.
-"he wasn't on the stage. so--i came out again."
-"oh, no--please don't. i stopped on impulse. i'll not bother him." she smiled mischievously. "i might be interrupting."
-sperry promptly reddened. she had no difficulty in reading what was in his mind--that her remark had reminded him of rod's "affair," and he was cursing himself for having been so stupid as to forget it for the moment and put his partner in danger of detection.
-"i--i guess he's gone," stammered sperry. "lord, but that was a knock you gave me! better come to lunch with me."
-susan hesitated, a wistful, forlorn look in her eyes. "do you really want me?" asked she.
-"come right along," said sperry in a tone that left no doubt of his sincerity. "we'll go to the knickerbocker and have something good to eat."
-"oh, no--a quieter place," urged susan.
-sperry laughed. "you mean less expensive. there's one of the great big differences between you and the make-believe ladies one bumps into in this part of town. you don't like to be troublesome or expensive. but we'll go to the knickerbocker. i feel 'way down today, and i intended to treat myself. you don't look any too gay-hearted yourself."
-"i'll admit i don't like the way the cards are running," said susan. "but--they'll run better--sooner or later."
-"sure!" cried sperry. "you needn't worry about the play. that's all right. how i envy women!"
-"oh--you have rod between you and the fight. while i--i've got to look out for myself."
-"so have i," said susan. "so has everyone, for that matter."
-"believe me, mrs. spenser," cried sperry, earnestly, "you can count on rod. no matter what----"
-"please!" protested susan. "i count on nobody. i learned long ago not to lean."
-"well, leaning isn't exactly a safe position," sperry admitted. "there never was a perfectly reliable crutch. tell me your troubles."
-susan smilingly shook her head. "that'd be leaning. . . . no, thank you. i've got to think it out for myself. i believed i had arranged for a career for myself. it seems to have gone to pieces that's all. something else will turn up--after lunch."
-"not a doubt in the world," replied he confidently. "meanwhile--there's rod."
-susan's laugh of raillery made him blush guiltily. "yes," said she, "there's rod." she laughed again, merrily. "there's rod--but where is there?"
-"you're the only woman in the world he has any real liking for," said sperry, earnest and sincere. "don't you ever doubt that, mrs. spenser."
-when they were seated in the café and he had ordered, he excused himself and susan saw him make his way to a table where sat fitzalan and another man who looked as if he too had to do with the stage. it was apparent that fitzalan was excited about something; his lips, his arms, his head were in incessant motion. susan noted that he had picked up many of brent's mannerisms; she had got the habit of noting this imitativeness in men--and in women, too--from having seen in the old days how rod took on the tricks of speech, manner, expression, thought even, of whatever man he happened at the time to be admiring. may it not have been this trait of rod's that gave her the clue to his character, when she was thinking him over, after the separation?
-sperry was gone nearly ten minutes. he came, full of apologies. "fitz held on to me while he roasted brent. you've heard of brent, of course?"
-"yes," said susan.
-"fitz has been seeing him off. and he says it's----"
-susan glanced quickly at him. "off?" she said.
-susan had paused in removing her left glove. rod's description of brent's way of sidestepping--rod's description to the last detail. her hands fluttered uncertainly--fluttering fingers like a flock of birds flushed and confused by the bang of the gun.
-"and fitz says----"
-"for europe," said susan. she was drawing her fingers slowly one by one from the fingers of her glove.
-"yes. he sailed, it seems, on impulse barely time to climb aboard. fitz always lays everything to a woman. he says brent has been mixed up for a year or so with---- oh, it doesn't matter. i oughtn't to repeat those things. i don't believe 'em--on principle. every man--or woman--who amounts to anything has scandal talked about him or her all the time. good lord! if robert brent bothered with half the affairs that are credited to him, he'd have no time or strength--not to speak of brains--to do plays."
-"i guess even the busiest man manages to fit a woman in somehow," observed susan. "a woman or so."
-sperry laughed. "i guess yes," said he. "but as to brent, most of the scandal about him is due to a fad of his--hunting for an undeveloped female genius who----"
-"i've heard of that," interrupted susan. "the service is dreadfully slow here. how long is it since you ordered?"
-"twenty minutes--and here comes our waiter." and then, being one of those who must finish whatever they have begun, he went on. "well, it's true brent does pick up and drop a good many ladies of one kind and another. and naturally, every one of them is good-looking and clever or he'd not start in. but--you may laugh at me if you like--i think he's strictly business with all of them. he'd have got into trouble if he hadn't been. and fitz admits this one woman--she's a society woman--is the only one there's any real basis for talk about in connection with brent."
-susan had several times lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips and had every time lowered it untasted.
-"let's drop mr. brent," cried susan. "tell me about--about the play."
-"rod must be giving you an overdose of that."
-"i've not seen much of him lately. how was the rehearsal?"
-"fair--fair." and sperry forgot brent and talked on and on about the play, not checking himself until the coffee was served. he had not observed that susan was eating nothing. neither had he observed that she was not listening; but there was excuse for this oversight, as she had set her expression at absorbed attention before withdrawing within herself to think--and to suffer. she came to the surface again when sperry, complaining of the way the leading lady was doing her part, said: "no wonder brent drops one after another. women aren't worth much as workers. their real mind's always occupied with the search for a man to support 'em."
-"not always," cried susan, quivering with sudden pain. "oh, no, mr. sperry--not always."
-"yes--there are exceptions," said sperry, not noting how he had wounded her. "but--well, i never happened to run across one."
-"can you blame them?" mocked susan. she was ashamed that she had been stung into crying out.
-"to be honest--no," said sperry. "i suspect i'd throw up the sponge and sell out if i had anything a lady with cash wanted to buy. i only suspect myself. but i know most men would. no, i don't blame the ladies. why not have a nice easy time? only one short life--and then--the worms."
-she was struggling with the re-aroused insane terror of a fall back to the depths whence she had once more just come--and she felt that, if she fell again, it would mean the very end of hope. it must have been instinct or accident, for it certainly was not any prompting from her calm expression, that moved him to say:
-"now, tell me your troubles. i've told you mine. . . . you surely must have some?"
-susan forced a successful smile of raillery. "none to speak of," evaded she.
-when she reached home there was a telegram--from brent:
-compelled to sail suddenly. shall be back in a few weeks. don't mind this annoying interruption. r. b.
-a very few minutes after she read these words, she was at work on the play. but--a very few minutes thereafter she was sitting with the play in her lap, eyes gazing into the black and menacing future. the misgivings of the night before had been fed and fattened into despairing certainties by the events of the day. the sun was shining, never more brightly; but it was not the light of her city of the sun. she stayed in all afternoon and all evening. during those hours before she put out the light and shut herself away in the dark a score of susans, every one different from every other, had been seen upon the little theater of that lodging house parlor-bedroom. there had been a hopeful susan, a sad but resolved susan, a strong susan, a weak susan; there had been susans who could not have shed a tear; there had been susans who shed many tears--some of them susans all bitterness, others susans all humility and self-reproach. any spectator would have been puzzled by this shifting of personality. susan herself was completely confused. she sought for her real self among this multitude so contradictory. each successive one seemed the reality; yet none persisted. when we look in at our own souls, it is like looking into a many-sided room lined with mirrors. we see reflections--re-reflections--views at all angles--but we cannot distinguish the soul itself among all these counterfeits, all real yet all false because partial.
-"what shall i do? what can i do? what will i do?"--that was her last cry as the day ended. and it was her first cry as her weary brain awakened for the new day.
-at the end of the week came the regular check with a note from garvey--less machine-like, more human. he apologized for not having called, said one thing and another had prevented, and now illness of a near relative compelled him to leave town for a few days, but as soon as he came back he would immediately call. it seemed to susan that there could be but one reason why he should call--the reason that would make a timid, soft-hearted man such as he put off a personal interview as long as he could find excuses. she flushed hot with rage and shame as she reflected on her position. garvey pitying her! she straightway sat down and wrote:
-dear mr. garvey: do not send me any more checks until mr. brent comes back and i have seen him. i am in doubt whether i shall be able to go on with the work he and i had arranged.
-she signed this "susan lenox" and dispatched it. at once she felt better in spite of the fact that she had, with characteristic and fatal folly, her good sense warned her, cut herself off from all the income in sight or in prospect. she had debated sending back the check, but had decided that if she did she might give the impression of pique or anger. no, she would give him every chance to withdraw from a bargain with which he was not content; and he would get the idea that it was she who was ending the arrangement, would therefore feel no sense of responsibility for her. she would save her pride; she would spare his feelings. she was taking counsel of burlingham these days--was recalling the lesson he had taught her, was getting his aid in deciding her course. burlingham protested vehemently against this sending back of the check; but she let her pride, her aversion to being an object of pity, overrule him.
-a few days more, and she was so desperate, so harassed that she altogether lost confidence in her own judgment. while outwardly she seemed to be the same as always with rod, she had a feeling of utter alienation. still, there was no one else to whom she could turn. should she put the facts before him and ask his opinion? her intelligence said no; her heart said perhaps. while she was hesitating, he decided for her. one morning at breakfast he stopped talking about himself long enough to ask carelessly:
-"about you and brent--he's gone away. what are you doing?"
-"nothing," said she.
-"going to take that business up again, when he comes back?"
-"i don't know."
-"i wouldn't count on it, if i were you. . . . you're so sensitive that i've hesitated to say anything. but i think that chap was looking for trouble, and when he found you were already engaged, why, he made up his mind to drop it."
-"do you think so?" said susan indifferently. "more coffee?"
-"yes--a little. if my play's as good as your coffee---- that's enough, thanks. . . . do you still draw your--your----"
-his tone as he cast about for a fit word made her flush scarlet. "no--i stopped it until we begin work again."
-he did not conceal his thorough satisfaction. "that's right!" he cried. "the only cloud on our happiness is gone. you know, a man doesn't like that sort of thing."
-"i know," said susan drily.
-and she understood why that very night he for the first time asked her to supper after the rehearsal with sperry and constance francklyn, the leading lady, with whom he was having one of those affairs which as he declared to sperry were "absolutely necessary to a man of genius to keep him freshened up--to keep the fire burning brightly." he had carefully coached miss francklyn to play the part of unsuspected "understudy"--susan saw that before they had been seated in jack's ten minutes. and she also saw that he was himself resolved to conduct himself "like a gentleman." but after he had taken two or three highballs, susan was forced to engage deeply in conversation with the exasperated and alarmed sperry to avoid seeing how madly rod and constance were flirting. she, however, did contrive to see nothing--at least, the other three were convinced that she had not seen. when they were back in their rooms, rod--whether through pretense or through sidetracked amorousness or from simple intoxication--became more demonstrative than he had been for a long time.
-"no, there's nobody like you," he declared. "even if i wandered i'd always come back to you."
-"really?" said susan with careless irony. "that's good. no, i can unhook my blouse."
-"i do believe you're growing cold."
-"i don't feel like being messed with tonight."
-"oh, very well," said he sulkily. then, forgetting his ill humor after a few minutes of watching her graceful movements and gestures as she took off her dress and made her beautiful hair ready for the night, he burst out in a very different tone: "you don't know how glad i am that you're dependent on me again. you'll not be difficult any more."
-a moment's silence, then susan, with a queer little laugh, "men don't in the least mind--do they?"
-"being loved for money." there was a world of sarcasm in her accent on that word loved.
-"and dogs--and cats--and birds--and all the lower orders." she took a book and sat in a wrapper under the light.
-"come to bed--please, dear," pleaded he.
-"no, i'll read a while."
-she now spent a large part of every day in wandering, like a derelict, drifting aimlessly this way or that, up into the park or along fifth avenue. she gazed intently into shop windows, apparently inspecting carefully all the articles on display; but she passed on, unconscious of having seen anything. if she sat at home with a book she rarely turned a page, though her gaze was fastened upon the print as if she were absorbingly interested.
-what was she feeling? the coarse contacts of street life and tenement life--the choice between monstrous defilements from human beings and monstrous defilements from filth and vermin. what was she seeing? the old women of the slums--the forlorn, aloof figures of shattered health and looks--creeping along the gutters, dancing in the barrel houses, sleeping on the floor in some vile hole in the wall--sleeping the sleep from which one awakes bitten by mice and bugs, and swarming with lice.
-she had entire confidence in brent's judgment. brent must have discovered that she was without talent for the stage--for if he had thought she had the least talent, would he not in his kindness have arranged or offered some sort of place in some theater or other? since she had no stage talent--then--what should she do? what could she do? and so her mind wandered as aimlessly as her wandering steps. and never before had the sweet melancholy of her eyes been so moving.
-but, though she did not realize it, there was a highly significant difference between this mood of profound discouragement and all the other similar moods that had accompanied and accelerated her downward plunges. every time theretofore, she had been cowed by the crushing mandate of destiny--had made no struggle against it beyond the futile threshings about of aimless youth. this time she lost neither strength nor courage. she was no longer a child; she was no longer mere human flotsam and jetsam. she did not know which way to turn; but she did know, with all the certainty of a dauntless will, that she would turn some way--and that it would not be a way leading back to the marshes and caves of the underworld. she wandered--she wandered aimlessly; but not for an instant did she cease to keep watch for the right direction--the direction that would be the best available in the circumstances. she did not know or greatly care which way it led, so long as it did not lead back whence she had come.
-in all her excursions she had--not consciously but by instinct--kept away from her old beat. indeed, except in the company of spenser or sperry she had never ventured into the neighborhood of long acre. but one day she was deflected by chance at the forty-second street corner of fifth avenue and drifted westward, pausing at each book stall to stare at the titles of the bargain offerings in literature. as she stood at one of these stalls near sixth avenue, she became conscious that two men were pressing against her, one on either side. she moved back and started on her way. one of the men was standing before her. she lifted her eyes, was looking into the cruel smiling eyes of a man with a big black mustache and the jaws of a prizefighter. his smile broadened.
-"i thought it was you, queenie," said he. "delighted to see you."
-she recognized him as a fly cop who had been one of freddie palmer's handy men. she fell back a step and the other man--she knew him instantly as also a policeman--lined up beside him of the black mustache. both men were laughing.
-"we've been on the lookout for you a long time, queenie," said the other. "there's a friend of yours that wants to see you mighty bad."
-susan glanced from one to the other, her face pale but calm, in contrast to her heart where was all the fear and horror of the police which long and savage experience had bred. she turned away without speaking and started toward sixth avenue.
-"now, what d'ye think of that?" said black mustache to his "side kick." "i thought she was too much of a lady to cut an old friend. guess we'd better run her in, pete."
-black mustache laughed, laid his hand on her arm. "you'll come along quietly," said he. "you don't want to make a scene. you always was a perfect lady."
-she drew her arm away. "i am a married woman--living with my husband."
-black mustache laughed. "think of that, pete! and she soliciting us. that'll be good news for your loving husband. come along, queenie. your record's against you. everybody'll know you've dropped back to your old ways."
-"i am going to my husband," said she quietly. "you had better not annoy me."
-pete looked uneasy, but black mustache's sinister face became more resolute. "if you wanted to live respectable, why did you solicit us two? come along--or do you want me and pete to take you by the arms?"
-"very well," said she. "i'll go." she knew the police, knew that palmer's lieutenant would act as he said--and she also knew what her "record" would do toward carrying through the plot.
-"and up to her old tricks, sergeant," said black mustache. "she solicited me and pete."
-susan was looking the sergeant straight in the eyes. "i am a married woman," said she. "i live with my husband. i was looking at some books in forty-second street when these two came up and arrested me."
-the sergeant quailed, glanced at pete who was guiltily hanging his head--glanced at black mustache. there he got the support he was seeking. "what's your husband's name?" demanded black mustache roughly. "what's your address?"
-and rod's play coming on the next night but one! she shrank, collected herself. "i am not going to drag him into this, if i can help it," said she. "i give you a chance to keep yourselves out of trouble." she was gazing calmly at the sergeant again. "you know these men are not telling the truth. you know they've brought me here because of freddie palmer. my husband knows all about my past. he will stand by me. but i wish to spare him."
-the sergeant's uncertain manner alarmed black mustache. "she's putting up a good, bluff" scoffed he. "the truth is she ain't got no husband. she'd not have solicited us if she was living decent."
-"you hear what the officer says," said the sergeant, taking the tone of great kindness. "you'll have to give your name and address--and i'll leave it to the judge to decide between you and the officers." he took up his pen. "what's your name?"
-susan, weak and trembling, was clutching the iron rail before the desk--the rail worn smooth by the nervous hands of ten thousand of the social system's sick or crippled victims.
-"come--what's your name?" jeered black mustache.
-susan did not answer.
-"put her down queenie brown," cried he, triumphantly.
-the sergeant wrote. then he said: "age?"
-no answer from susan. black mustache answered for her: "about twenty-two now."
-"she don't look it," said the sergeant, almost at ease once more. "but brunettes stands the racket better'n blondes. native parents?"
-"native. you don't look irish or dutch or dago--though you might have a dash of the spinnitch or the frog-eaters. ever arrested before?"
-no answer from the girl, standing rigid at the bar. black mustache said:
-"at least oncet, to my knowledge. i run her in myself."
-"oh, she's got a record?" exclaimed the sergeant, now wholly at ease. "why the hell didn't you say so?"
-"i thought you remembered. you took her pedigree."
-"i do recollect now," said the sergeant. "take my advice, queenie, and drop that bluff about the officers lying. swallow your medicine--plead guilty--and you'll get off with a fine. if you lie about the police, the judge'll soak it to you. it happens to be a good judge--a friend of freddie's." then to the policemen: "take her along to court, boys, and get back here as soon as you can."
-"can't do it," said the sergeant. "if she makes a yell about police oppression, our holding on to her would look bad. no, put her through."
-susan now straightened herself and spoke. "i shan't make any complaint," said she. "anything rather than court. i can't stand that. keep me here."
-"not on your life!" cried the sergeant. "that's a trick. she'd have a good case against us."
-"then hunt him up right away. to court she's got to go. i don't want to get broke."
-the two men fell afoul each other with curse and abuse. they were in no way embarrassed by the presence of susan. her "record" made her of no account either as a woman or as a witness. soon each was so well pleased with the verbal wounds he had dealt the other that their anger evaporated. the upshot of the hideous controversy was that black mustache said:
-in after days she could recall starting for the street car with the officer, pete; then memory was a blank until she was sitting in a stuffy room with a prison odor--the anteroom to the court. she and pete were alone. he was walking nervously up and down pulling his little fair mustache. it must have been that she had retained throughout the impassive features which, however stormy it was within, gave her an air of strength and calm. otherwise pete would not presently have halted before her to say in a low, agitated voice:
-"if you can make trouble for us, don't do it. i've got a wife, and three babies--one come only last week--and my old mother paralyzed. you know how it is with us fellows--that we've got to do what them higher up says or be broke."
-susan made no reply.
-she was still silent, not through anger as he imagined but because she had no sense of the reality of what was happening. the officer, who had lost his nerve, looked at her a moment, in his animal eyes a humble pleading look; then he gave a groan and turned away. "oh, hell!" he muttered.
-again her memory ceased to record until--the door swung open; she shivered, thinking it was the summons to court. instead, there stood freddie palmer. the instant she looked into his face she became as calm and strong as her impassive expression had been falsely making her seem. behind him was black mustache, his face ghastly, sullen, cowed. palmer made a jerky motion of head and arm. pete went; and the door closed and she was alone with him.
-"i've seen the judge and you're free," said freddie.
-she stood and began to adjust her hat and veil.
-"i'll have those filthy curs kicked off the force."
-she was looking tranquilly at him.
-"you don't believe me? you think i ordered it done?"
-she shrugged her shoulders. "no matter," she said. "it's undone now. i'm much obliged. it's more than i expected."
-"you don't believe me--and i don't blame you. you think i'm making some sort of grandstand play."
-"you haven't changed--at least not much."
-"i'll admit, when you left i was wild and did tell 'em to take you in as soon as they found you. but that was a long time ago. and i never meant them to disturb a woman who was living respectably with her husband. there may have been--yes, there was a time when i'd have done that--and worse. but not any more. you say i haven't changed. well, you're wrong. in some ways i have. i'm climbing up, as i always told you i would--and as a man gets up he sees things differently. at least, he acts differently. i don't do that kind of dirty work, any more."
-"i'm glad to hear it," murmured susan for lack of anything else to say.
-he was as handsome as ever, she saw--had the same charm of manner--a charm owing not a little of its potency to the impression he made of the man who would dare as far as any man, and then go on to dare a step farther--the step from which all but the rare, utterly unafraid man shrinks. his look at her could not but appeal to her vanity as woman, and to her woman's craving for being loved; at the same time it agitated her with specters of the days of her slavery to him. he said:
-"you've changed--a lot. and all to the good. the only sign is rouge on your lips and that isn't really a sign nowadays. but then you never did look the professional--and you weren't."
-his eyes were appealingly tender as he gazed at her sweet, pensive face, with its violet-gray eyes full of mystery and sorrow and longing. and the clear pallor of her skin, and the slender yet voluptuous lines of her form suggested a pale, beautiful rose, most delicate of flowers yet about the hardiest.
-"so--you've married and settled down?"
-"no," replied susan. "neither the one nor the other."
-"why, you told----"
-"i'm supposed to be a married woman."
-"why didn't you give your name and address at the police station?" said he. "they'd have let you go at once."
-"that was square," said he. "yes, it'd have been a dirty trick to drag him in."
-it was the matter-of-course to both of them that she should have protected her "friend." she had simply obeyed about the most stringent and least often violated article in the moral code of the world of outcasts. if freddie's worst enemy in that world had murdered him, freddie would have used his last breath in shielding him from the common foe, the law.
-"if you're not married to him, you're free," said freddie with a sudden new kind of interest in her.
-"i told you i should always be free."
-they remained facing each other a moment. when she moved to go, he said:
-"i see you've still got your taste in dress--only more so."
-she smiled faintly, glanced at his clothing. he was dressed with real fashion. he looked fifth avenue at its best, and his expression bore out the appearance of the well-bred man of fortune. "i can return the compliment," said she. "and you too have improved."
-at a glance all the old fear of him had gone beyond the possibility of return. for she instantly realized that, like all those who give up war upon society and come in and surrender, he was enormously agitated about his new status, was impressed by the conventionalities to a degree that made him almost weak and mildly absurd. he was saying:
-"i don't think of anything else but improving--in every way. and the higher i get the higher i want to go. . . . that was a dreadful thing i did to you. i wasn't to blame. it was part of the system. a man's got to do at every stage whatever's necessary. but i don't expect you to appreciate that. i know you'll never forgive me."
-"i'm used to men doing dreadful things."
-"you don't do them."
-"oh, i was brought up badly--badly for the game, i mean. but i'm doing better, and i shall do still better. i can't abolish the system. i can't stand out against it--and live. so, i'm yielding--in my own foolish fashion."
-"you don't lay up against me the--the--you know what i mean?"
-the question surprised her, so far as it aroused any emotion. she answered indifferently:
-"i don't lay anything up against anybody. what's the use? i guess we all do the best we can--the best the system'll let us."
-and she was speaking the exact truth. she did not reason out the causes of a state of mind so alien to the experiences of the comfortable classes that they could not understand it, would therefore see in it hardness of heart. in fact, the heart has nothing to do with this attitude in those who are exposed to the full force of the cruel buffetings of the storms that incessantly sweep the wild and wintry sea of active life. they lose the sense of the personal. where they yield to anger and revenge upon the instrument the blow fate has used it to inflict, the resentment is momentary. the mood of personal vengeance is characteristic of stupid people leading uneventful lives--of comfortable classes, of remote rural districts. she again moved to go, this time putting out her hand with a smile. he said, with an awkwardness most significant in one so supple of mind and manner:
-"i want to talk to you. i've got something to propose--something that'll interest you. will you give me--say, about an hour?"
-she debated, then smiled. "you will have me arrested if i refuse?"
-he flushed scarlet. "you're giving me what's coming to me," said he. "the reason--one reason--i've got on so well is that i've never been a liar."
-"no--you never were that."
-"you, too. it's always a sign of bravery, and bravery's the one thing i respect. yes, what i said i'd do always i did. that's the only way to get on in politics--and the crookeder the politics the more careful a man has to be about acting on the level. i can borrow a hundred thousand dollars without signing a paper--and that's more than the crooks in wall street can do--the biggest and best of them. so, when i told you how things were with me about you, i was on the level."
-"i know it," said susan. "where shall we go? i can't ask you to come home with me."
-"we might go to tea somewhere----"
-susan laughed outright. tea! freddie palmer proposing tea! what a changed hooligan--how ridiculously changed! the other freddie palmer--the real one--the fascinating repelling mixture of all the barbaric virtues and vices must still be there. but how carefully hidden--and what strong provocation would be needed to bring that savage to the surface again. the italian in him, that was carrying him so far so cleverly, enabled him instantly to understand her amusement. he echoed her laugh. said he:
-"you've no idea the kind of people i'm traveling with--not political swells, but the real thing. what do you say to the brevoort?"
-"you needn't be worried about being seen with me, no matter how high you're flying," he hastened to say. "i always did keep myself in good condition for the rise. nothing's known about me or ever will be."
-the girl was smiling at him again. "i wasn't thinking of those things," said she. "i've never been to the brevoort."
-"it's quiet and respectable."
-susan's eyes twinkled. "i'm glad it's respectable," said she. "are you quite sure you can afford to be seen with me? it's true they don't make the fuss about right and wrong side of the line that they did a few years ago. they've gotten a metropolitan morality. still--i'm not respectable and never shall be."
-"don't be too hasty about that," protested he, gravely. "but wait till you hear my proposition."
-as they walked through west ninth street she noted that there was more of a physical change in him than she had seen at first glance. he was less athletic, heavier of form and his face was fuller. "you don't keep in as good training as you used," said she.
-"it's those infernal automobiles," cried he. "they're death to figure--to health, for that matter. but i've got the habit, and i don't suppose i'll ever break myself of it. i've taken on twenty pounds in the past year, and i've got myself so upset that the doctor has ordered me abroad to take a cure. then there's champagne. i can't let that alone, either, though i know it's plain poison."
-and when they were in the restaurant of the brevoort he insisted on ordering champagne--and left her for a moment to telephone for his automobile. it amused her to see a man so masterful thus pettily enslaved. she laughed at him, and he again denounced himself as a weak fool. "money and luxury are too much for me. they are for everybody. i'm not as strong willed as i used to be," he said. "and it makes me uneasy. that's another reason for my proposition."
-"well--let's hear it," said she. "i happen to be in a position where i'm fond of hearing propositions--even if i have no intention of accepting."
-she was watching him narrowly. the freddie palmer he was showing to her was a surprising but perfectly logical development of a side of his character with which she had been familiar in the old days; she was watching for that other side--the sinister and cruel side. "but first," he went on, "i must tell you a little about myself. i think i told you once about my mother and father?"
-"i remember," said susan.
-"well, honestly, do you wonder that i was what i used to be?"
-"no," she answered. "i wonder that you are what you seem to be."
-"what i come pretty near being," cried he. "the part that's more or less put on today is going to be the real thing tomorrow. that's the way it is with life--you put on a thing, and gradually learn to wear it. and--i want you to help me."
-there fell silence between them, he gazing at his glass of champagne, turning it round and round between his long white fingers and watching the bubbles throng riotously up from the bottom. "yes," he said thoughtfully, "i want you to help me. i've been waiting for you. i knew you'd turn up again." he laughed. "i've been true to you in a way--a man's way. i've hunted the town for women who suggested you--a poor sort of makeshift--but--i had to do something."
-"what were you going to tell me?"
-her tone was business-like. he did not resent it, but straightway acquiesced. "i'll plunge right in. i've been, as you know, a bad one--bad all my life. i was born bad. you know about my mother and father. one of my sisters died in a disreputable resort. the other--well, the last i heard of her, she was doing time in an english pen. i've got a brother--he's a degenerate. well!--not to linger over rotten smells, i was the only one of the family that had brains. i soon saw that everybody who gets on in the world is bad--which simply means doing disturbing things of one kind and another. and i saw that the ordinary crooks let their badness run their brains, while the get-on kind of people let their brains run their badness. you can be rotten--and sink lower and lower every day. or you can gratify your natural taste for rottenness and at the same time get up in the world. i made up my mind to do the rotten things that get a man money and power."
-"respectability," said susan.
-"respectability exactly. so i set out to improve my brains. i went to night school and read and studied. and i didn't stay a private in the gang of toughs. i had the brains to be leader, but the leader's got to be a fighter too. i took up boxing and made good in the ring. i got to be leader. then i pushed my way up where i thought out the dirty work for the others to do, and i stayed under cover and made 'em bring the big share of the profits to me. and they did it because i had the brains to think out jobs that paid well and that could be pulled off without getting pinched--at least, not always getting pinched."
-palmer sipped his champagne, looked at her to see if she was appreciative. "i thought you'd understand," said he. "i needn't go into details. you remember about the women?"
-"yes, i remember," said susan. "that was one step in the ladder up?"
-"it got me the money to make my first play for respectability. i couldn't have got it any other way. i had extravagant tastes--and the leader has to be always giving up to help this fellow and that out of the hole. and i never did have luck with the cards and the horses."
-"why did you want to be respectable?" she asked.
-"because that's the best graft," explained he. "it means the most money, and the most influence. the coyotes that raid the sheep fold don't get the big share--though they may get a good deal. no, it's the shepherds and the owners that pull off the most. i've been leader of coyotes. i'm graduating into shepherd and proprietor."
-"i see," said susan. "you make it beautifully clear."
-he bowed and smiled. "thank you, kindly. then, i'll go on. i'm deep in the contracting business now. i've got a pot of money put away. i've cut out the cards--except a little gentlemen's game now and then, to help me on with the right kind of people. horses, the same way. i've got my political pull copper-riveted. it's as good with the republicans as with democrats, and as good with the reform crowd as with either. my next move is to cut loose from the gang. i've put a lot of lieutenants between me and them, instead of dealing with them direct. i'm putting in several more fellows i'm not ashamed to be seen with in delmonico's."
-"what's become of jim?" asked susan.
-"dead--a kike shot him all to pieces in a joint in seventh avenue about a month ago. as i was saying, how do these big multi-millionaires do the trick? they don't tell somebody to go steal what they happen to want. they tell somebody they want it, and that somebody else tells somebody else to get it, and that somebody else passes the word along until it reaches the poor devils who must steal it or lose their jobs. i studied it all out, and i've framed up my game the same way. nowadays, every dollar that comes to me has been thoroughly cleaned long before it drops into my pocket. but you're wondering where you come in."
-"women are only interested in what's coming to them," said susan.
-"sensible men are the same way. the men who aren't--they work for wages and salaries. if you're going to live off of other people, as women and the rich do, you've got to stand steady, day and night, for number one. and now, here's where you come in. you've no objection to being respectable?"
-"i've no objection to not being disreputable."
-"that's the right way to put it," he promptly agreed. "respectable, you know, doesn't mean anything but appearances. people who are really respectable, who let it strike in, instead of keeping it on the outside where it belongs--they soon get poor and drop down and out."
-palmer's revelation of himself and of a philosophy which life as it had revealed itself to her was incessantly urging her to adopt so grappled her attention that she altogether forgot herself. a man on his way to the scaffold who suddenly sees and feels a cataclysm rocking the world about him forgets his own plight. unconsciously he was epitomizing, unconsciously she was learning, the whole story of the progress of the race upward from beast toward intellect--the brutal and bloody building of the highway from the caves of darkness toward the peaks of light. the source from which springs, and ever has sprung, the cruelty of man toward man is the struggle of the ambition of the few who see and insist upon better conditions, with the inertia and incompetence of the many who have little sight and less imagination. ambition must use the inert mass--must persuade it, if possible, must compel it by trick or force if persuasion fails. but palmer and susan lenox were, naturally, not seeing the thing in the broad but only as it applied to themselves.
-"i've read a whole lot of history and biography," freddie went on, "and i've thought about what i read and about what's going on around me. i tell you the world's full of cant. the people who get there don't act on what is always preached. the preaching isn't all lies--at least, i think not. but it doesn't fit the facts a man or a woman has got to meet."
-"i realized that long ago," said susan.
-"and we've got to live in it," said she, "and get out of it the things we want and need."
-"that's the talk!" cried palmer. "i see you're 'on.' now--to make a long story short--you and i can get what we want. we can help each other. you were better born than i am--you've had a better training in manners and dress and all the classy sort of things. i've got the money--and brains enough to learn with--and i can help you in various ways. so--i propose that we go up together."
-"we've got--pasts," said susan.
-"who hasn't that amounts to anything? mighty few. no one that's made his own pile, i'll bet you. i'm in a position to do favors for people--the people we'd need. and i'll get in a position to do more and more. as long as they can make something out of us--or hope to--do you suppose they'll nose into our pasts and root things up that'd injure them as much as us?"
-"it would be an interesting game, wouldn't it?" said susan.
-she was reflectively observing the handsome, earnest face before her--an incarnation of intelligent ambition, a freddie palmer who was somehow divesting himself of himself--was growing up--away from the rotten soil that had nourished him--up into the air--was growing strongly--yes, splendidly!
-"and we've got everything to gain and nothing to lose," pursued he. "we'd not be adventurers, you see. adventurers are people who haven't any money and are looking round to try to steal it. we'd have money. so, we'd be building solid, right on the rock." the handsome young man--the strongest, the most intelligent, the most purposeful she had ever met, except possibly brent--looked at her with an admiring tenderness that moved her, the forlorn derelict adrift on the vast, lonely, treacherous sea. "the reason i've waited for you to invite you in on this scheme is that i tried you out and i found that you belong to the mighty few people who do what they say they'll do, good bargain or bad. it'd never occur to you to shuffle out of trying to keep your word."
-"it hasn't--so far," said susan.
-"well--that's the only sort of thing worth talking about as morality. believe me, for i've been through the whole game from chimney pots to cellar floor."
-"there's another thing, too," said the girl.
-"not to injure anyone else."
-palmer shook his head positively. "it's believing that and acting on it that has kept you down in spite of your brains and looks."
-"that i shall never do," said the girl. "it may be weakness--i guess it is weakness. but--i draw the line there."
-"but i'm not proposing that you injure anyone--or proposing to do it myself. as i said, i've got up where i can afford to be good and kind and all that. and i'm willing to jump you up over the stretch of the climb that can't be crossed without being--well, anything but good and kind."
-she was reflecting.
-"you'll never get over that stretch by yourself. it'll always turn you back."
-"just what do you propose?" she asked.
-it gave her pleasure to see the keen delight her question, with its implication of hope, aroused in him. said he:
-"that we go to europe together and stay over there several years--as long as you like as long as it's necessary. stay till our pasts have disappeared--work ourselves in with the right sort of people. you say you're not married?"
-"not to the man i'm with."
-"to somebody else?"
-"i don't know. i was."
-"well--that'll be looked into and straightened out. and then we'll quietly marry."
-susan laughed. "you're too fast," said she. "i'll admit i'm interested. i've been looking for a road--one that doesn't lead toward where we've come from. and this is the first road that has offered. but i haven't agreed to go in with you yet--haven't even begun to think it over. and if i did agree--which i probably won't--why, still i'd not be willing to marry. that's a serious matter. i'd want to be very, very sure i was satisfied."
-palmer nodded, with a return of the look of admiration. "i understand. you don't promise until you intend to stick, and once you've promised all hell couldn't change you."
-"another thing--very unfortunate, too. it looks to me as if i'd be dependent on you for money."
-freddie's eyes wavered. "oh, we'd never quarrel about that," said he with an attempt at careless confidence.
-"no," replied she quietly. "for the best of reasons. i'd not consider going into any arrangement where i'd be dependent on a man for money. i've had my experience. i've learned my lesson. if i lived with you several years in the sort of style you've suggested--no, not several years but a few months--you'd have me absolutely at your mercy. you'd thought of that, hadn't you?"
-his smile was confession.
-"i'd develop tastes for luxuries and they'd become necessities." susan shook her head. "no--that would be foolish--very foolish."
-he was watching her so keenly that his expression was covert suspicion. "what do you suggest?" he asked.
-"not what you suspect," replied she, amused. "i'm not making a play for a gift of a fortune. i haven't anything to suggest."
-there was a long silence, he turning his glass slowly and from time to time taking a little of the champagne thoughtfully. she observed him with a quizzical expression. it was apparent to her that he was debating whether he would be making a fool of himself if he offered her an independence outright. finally she said:
-"don't worry, freddie. i'd not take it, even if you screwed yourself up to the point of offering it."
-he glanced up quickly and guiltily. "why not?" he said. "you'd be practically my wife. i can trust you. you've had experience, so you can't blame me for hesitating. money puts the devil in anybody who gets it--man or woman. but i'll trust you----" he laughed--"since i've got to."
-"no. the most i'd take would be a salary. i'd be a sort of companion."
-"anything you like," cried he. this last suspicion born of a life of intimate dealings with his fellow-beings took flight. "it'd have to be a big salary because you'd have to dress and act the part. what do you say? is it a go?"
-"oh, i can't decide now."
-she reflected. "i can tell you in a week."
-he hesitated, said, "all right--a week."
-she rose to go. "i've warned you the chances are against my accepting."
-"that's because you haven't looked the ground over," replied he, rising. then, after a nervous moment, "is the--is the----" he stopped short.
-"go on," said she. "we must be frank with each other."
-"if the idea of living with me is--is disagreeable----" and again he stopped, greatly embarrassed--an amazing indication of the state of mind of such a man as he--of the depth of his infatuation, of his respect, of his new-sprung awe of conventionality.
-"i hadn't given it a thought," replied she. "women are not especially sensitive about that sort of thing."
-"they're supposed to be. and i rather thought you were."
-she laughed mockingly. "no more than other women," said she. "look how they marry for a home--or money--or social position--and such men! and look how they live with men year after year, hating them. men never could do that."
-"don't you believe it," replied he. "they can, and they do. the kept man--in and out of marriage--is quite a feature of life in our chaste little village."
-susan looked amused. "well--why not?" said she. "everybody's simply got to have money nowadays."
-"and working for it is slow and mighty uncertain."
-"where shall i send you word?"
-"i've an apartment at sherry's now."
-"then--a week from today."
-she put out her hand. he took it, and she marveled as she felt a tremor in that steady hand of his. but his voice was resolutely careless as he said, "so long. don't forget how much i want or need you. and if you do forget that, think of the advantages--seeing the world with plenty of money--and all the rest of it. where'll you get such another chance? you'll not be fool enough to refuse."
-she smiled, said as she went, "you may remember i used to be something of a fool."
-"but that was some time ago. you've learned a lot since then--surely."
-"we'll see. i've become--i think--a good deal of a--of a new yorker."
-"that means frank about doing what the rest of the world does under a stack of lies. it's a lovely world, isn't it?"
-"if i had made it," laughed susan, "i'd not own up to the fact."
-she laughed; but she was seeing the old women of the slums--was seeing them as one sees in the magic mirror the vision of one's future self. and on the way home she said to herself, "it was a good thing that i was arrested today. it reminded me. it warned me. but for it, i might have gone on to make a fool of myself." and she recalled how it had been one of burlingham's favorite maxims that everything is for the best, for those who know how to use it.
-she wrote garvey asking an appointment. the reply should have come the next day or the next day but one at the farthest; for garvey had been trained by brent to the supreme courtesy of promptness. it did not come until the fourth day; before she opened it susan knew about what she would read--the stupidly obvious attempt to put off facing her--the cowardice of a kind-hearted, weak fellow. she really had her answer--was left without a doubt for hope to perch upon. but she wrote again, insisting so sharply that he came the following day. his large, tell-tale face was a restatement of what she had read in his delay and between the lines of his note. he was effusively friendly with a sort of mortuary suggestion, like one bearing condolences, that tickled her sense of humor, far though her heart was from mirth.
-"something has happened," began she, "that makes it necessary for me to know when mr. brent is coming back."
-"really, mrs. spencer----"
-"miss lenox," she corrected.
-"yes--miss lenox, i beg your pardon. but really--in my position--i know nothing of mr. brent's plans--and if i did, i'd not be at liberty to speak of them. i have written him what you wrote me about the check--and--and--that is all."
-"mr. garvey, is he ever--has he----" susan, desperate, burst out with more than she intended to say: "i care nothing about it, one way or the other. if mr. brent is politely hinting that i won't do, i've a right to know it. i have a chance at something else. can't you tell me?"
-"i don't know anything about it--honestly i don't, miss lenox," cried he, swearing profusely.
-"you put an accent on the 'know,'" said susan. "you suspect that i'm right, don't you?"
-"i've no ground for suspecting--that is--no, i haven't. he said nothing to me--nothing. but he never does. he's very peculiar and uncertain . . . and i don't understand him at all."
-"isn't this his usual way with the failures--his way of letting them down easily?"
-susan's manner was certainly light and cheerful, an assurance that he need have no fear of hysterics or despair or any sort of scene trying to a soft heart. but garvey could take but the one view of the favor or disfavor of the god of his universe. he looked at her like a dog that is getting a whipping from a friend. "now, miss lenox, you've no right to put me in this painful----"
-"that's true," said susan, done since she had got what she sought. "i shan't say another word. when mr. brent comes back, will you tell him i sent for you to ask you to thank him for me--and say to him that i found something else for which i hope i'm better suited?"
-"i'm so glad," said garvey, hysterically. "i'm delighted. and i'm sure he will be, too. for i'm sure he liked you, personally--and i must say i was surprised when he went. but i must not say that sort of thing. indeed, i know nothing, miss lenox--i assure you----"
-"and please tell him," interrupted susan, "that i'd have written him myself, only i don't want to bother him."
-"oh, no--no, indeed. not that, miss lenox. i'm so sorry. but i'm only the secretary. i can't say anything."
-it was some time before susan could get rid of him, though he was eager to be gone. he hung in the doorway, ejaculating disconnectedly, dropping and picking up his hat, perspiring profusely, shaking hands again and again, and so exciting her pity for his misery of the good-hearted weak that she was for the moment forgetful of her own plight. long before he went, he had greatly increased her already strong belief in brent's generosity of character--for, thought she, he'd have got another secretary if he hadn't been too kind to turn adrift so helpless and foolish a creature. well--he should have no trouble in getting rid of her.
-after the play fitzalan took the authors and the leading lady, constance francklyn, and miss lenox to supper in a private room at rector's. this was miss francklyn's first trial in a leading part. she had small ability as an actress, having never risen beyond the primer stage of mere posing and declamation in which so many players are halted by their vanity--the universal human vanity that is content with small triumphs, or with purely imaginary triumphs. but she had a notable figure of the lank, serpentine kind and a bad, sensual face that harmonized with it. especially in artificial light she had an uncanny allure of the elemental, the wild animal in the jungle. with every disposition and effort to use her physical charms to further herself she would not have been still struggling at twenty-eight, had she had so much as a thimbleful of intelligence.
-"several times," said sperry to susan as they crossed long acre together on the way to rector's, "yes, at least half a dozen times to my knowledge, constance had had success right in her hands. and every time she has gone crazy about some cheap actor or sport and has thrown it away."
-"but she'll get on now," said susan.
-"perhaps," was sperry's doubting reply. "of course, she's got no brains. but it doesn't take brains to act--that is, to act well enough for cheap machine-made plays like this. and nowadays playwrights have learned that it's useless to try to get actors who can act. they try to write parts that are actor-proof."
-"you don't like your play?" said susan.
-"like it? i love it. isn't it going to bring me in a pot of money? but as a play"--sperry laughed. "i know spenser thinks it's great, but--there's only one of us who can write plays, and that's brent. it takes a clever man to write a clever play. but it takes a genius to write a clever play that'll draw the damn fools who buy theater seats. and robert brent now and then does the trick. how are you getting on with your ambition for a career?"
-susan glanced nervously at him. the question, coming upon the heels of talk about brent, filled her with alarm lest rod had broken his promise and had betrayed her confidence. but sperry's expression showed that she was probably mistaken.
-"the thought of work was too much for you--eh?"
-susan shrugged her shoulders.
-a sardonic grin flitted over sperry's punch-like face. "the more i see of women, the less i think of 'em," said he. "but i suppose the men'd be lazy and worthless too, if nature had given 'em anything that'd sell or rent. . . . somehow i'm disappointed in you, though."
-that ended the conversation until they were sitting down at the table. then sperry said:
-"are you offended by my frankness a while ago?"
-"no," replied susan. "the contrary. some day your saying that may help me."
-"it's quite true, there's something about you--a look--a manner--it makes one feel you could do things if you tried."
-"i'm afraid that 'something' is a fraud," said she. no doubt it was that something that had misled brent--that had always deceived her about herself. no, she must not think herself a self-deceived dreamer. even if it was so, still she must not think it. she must say to herself over and over again "brent or no brent, i shall get on--i shall get on" until she had silenced the last disheartening doubt.
-miss francklyn, with fitzalan on her left and spenser on her right, was seated opposite susan. about the time the third bottle was being emptied the attempts of spenser and constance to conceal from her their doings became absurd. long before the supper was over there had been thrust at her all manner of proofs that spenser was again untrue, that he was whirling madly in one of those cyclonic infatuations which soon wore him out and left him to return contritely to her. sperry admired susan's manners as displayed in her unruffled serenity--an admiration which she did not in the least deserve. she was in fact as deeply interested as she seemed in his discussion of plays and acting, illustrated by brent's latest production. by the time the party broke up, susan had in spite of herself collected a formidable array of incriminating evidence, including the stealing of one of constance's jeweled show garters by spenser under cover of the tablecloth and a swift kiss in the hall when constance went out for a moment and spenser presently suspended his drunken praises of himself as a dramatist, and appointed himself a committee to see what had become of her.
-at the door of the restaurant, spenser said:
-"susan, you and miss francklyn take a taxicab. she'll drop you at our place on her way home. fitz and sperry and i want one more drink."
-"not for me," said sperry savagely, with a scowl at constance. but fitzalan, whose arm susan had seen rod press, remained silent.
-"come on, my dear," cried miss francklyn, smiling sweet insolent treachery into susan's face.
-susan smiled sweetly back at her. as she was leaving the taxicab in forty-fifth street, she said:
-"send rod home by noon, won't you? and don't tell him i know."
-miss francklyn, who had been drinking greedily, began to cry. susan laughed. "don't be a silly," she urged. "if i'm not upset, why should you be? and how could i blame you two for getting crazy about each other? i wouldn't spoil it for worlds. i want to help it on."
-"don't you love him--really?" cried constance, face and voice full of the most thrilling theatricalism.
-"i'm very fond of him," replied susan. "we're old, old friends. but as to love--i'm where you'll be a few months from now."
-miss francklyn dried her eyes. "isn't it the devil!" she exclaimed. "why can't it last?"
-"why, indeed," said susan. "good night--and don't forget to send him by twelve o'clock." and she hurried up the steps without waiting for a reply.
-she felt that the time for action had again come--that critical moment which she had so often in the past seen come and had let pass unheeded. he was in love with another woman; he was prosperous, assured of a good income for a long time, though he wrote no more successes. no need to consider him. for herself, then--what? clearly, there could be no future for her with rod. clearly, she must go.
-must go--must take the only road that offered. up before her--as in every mood of deep depression--rose the vision of the old women of the slums--the solitary, bent, broken forms, clad in rags, feet wrapped in rags--shuffling along in the gutters, peering and poking among filth, among garbage, to get together stuff to sell for the price of a drink. the old women of the tenements, the old women of the gutters, the old women drunk and dancing as the lecherous-eyed hunchback played the piano.
-she must not this time wait and hesitate and hope; this time she must take the road that offered--and since it must be taken she must advance along it as if of all possible roads it was the only one she would have freely chosen.
-yet after she had written and sent off the note to palmer, a deep sadness enveloped her--a grief, not for rod, but for the association, the intimacy, their life together, its sorrows and storms perhaps more than the pleasures and the joys. when she left him before, she had gone sustained by the feeling that she was doing it for him, was doing a duty. now, she was going merely to save herself, to further herself. life, life in that great and hard school of practical living, new york, had given her the necessary hardiness to go, aided by rod's unfaithfulness and growing uncongeniality. but not while she lived could she ever learn to be hard. she would do what she must--she was no longer a fool. but she could not help sighing and crying a little as she did it.
-it was not many minutes after noon when spenser came. he looked so sheepish and uncomfortable that susan thought constance had told him. but his opening sentence of apology was:
-"i took too many nightcaps and fitz had to lug me home with him."
-"really?" said susan. "how disappointed constance must have been!"
-spenser was not a good liar. his face twisted and twitched so that susan laughed outright. "why, you look like a caught married man," cried she. "you forget we're both free."
-"whatever put that crazy notion in your head--about miss francklyn?" demanded he.
-"when you take me or anyone for that big a fool, rod, you only show how foolish you yourself are," said she with the utmost good humor. "the best way to find out how much sense a person has is to see what kind of lies he thinks'll deceive another person."
-"now--don't get jealous, susie," soothed he. "you know how a man is."
-the tone was correctly contrite, but susan felt underneath the confidence that he would be forgiven--the confidence of the egotist giddied by a triumph. said she:
-"don't you think mine's a strange way of acting jealous?"
-"but you're a strange woman."
-susan looked at him thoughtfully. "yes, i suppose i am," said she. "and you'll think me stranger when i tell you what i'm going to do."
-he started up in a panic. and the fear in his eyes pleased her, at the same time that it made her wince.
-she nodded slowly. "yes, rod--i'm leaving."
-"i'll drop constance," cried he. "i'll have her put out of the company."
-"no--go on with her till you've got enough--or she has."
-"i've got enough, this minute," declared he with convincing energy and passion. "you must know, dearest, that to me constance--all the women i've ever seen--aren't worth your little finger. you're all that they are, and a whole lot more besides." he seized her in his arms. "you wouldn't leave me--you couldn't! you understand how men are--how they get these fits of craziness about a pair of eyes or a figure or some trick of voice or manner. but that doesn't affect the man's heart. i love you, susan. i adore you."
-she did not let him see how sincerely he had touched her. her eyes were of their deepest violet, but he had never learned that sign. she smiled mockingly; the fingers that caressed his hair were trembling. "we've tided each other over, rod. the play's a success. you're all right again--and so am i. now's the time to part."
-"is it brent, susie?"
-"i quit him last week."
-"there's no one else. you're going because of constance!"
-she did not deny. "you're free and so am i," said she practically. "i'm going. so--let's part sensibly. don't make a silly scene."
-she knew how to deal with him--how to control him through his vanity. he drew away from her, chilled and sullen. "if you can live through it, i guess i can," said he. "you're making a damn fool of yourself--leaving a man that's fond of you--and leaving when he's successful."
-"i always was a fool, you know," said she. she had decided against explaining to him and so opening up endless and vain argument. it was enough that she saw it was impossible to build upon or with him, saw the necessity of trying elsewhere--unless she would risk--no, invite--finding herself after a few months, or years, back among the drift, back in the underworld.
-he gazed at her as she stood smiling gently at him--smiling to help her hide the ache at her heart, the terror before the vision of the old women of the tenement gutters, earning the wages, not of sin, not of vice, not of stupidity, but of indecision, of over-hopefulness--of weakness. here was the kind of smile that hurts worse than tears, that takes the place of tears and sobs and moans. but he who had never understood her did not understand her now. her smile infuriated his vanity. "you can laugh!" he sneered. "well--go to the filth where you belong! you were born for it." and he flung out of the room, went noisily down the stairs. she heard the front door's distant slam; it seemed to drop her into a chair. she sat there all crouched together until the clock on the mantel struck two. this roused her hastily to gather into her trunk such of her belongings as she had not already packed. she sent for a cab. the man of all work carried down the trunk and put it on the box. dressed in a simple blue costume as if for traveling, she entered the cab and gave the order to drive to the grand central station.
-at the corner she changed the order and was presently entering the beaux arts restaurant where she had asked freddie to meet her. he was there, smoking calmly and waiting. at sight of her he rose. "you'll have lunch?" said he.
-"a small bottle of champagne?"
-"yes--i'm rather tired."
-he ordered the champagne. "and," said he, "it'll be the real thing--which mighty few new yorkers get even at the best places." when it came he sent the waiter away and filled the glasses himself. he touched the brim of his glass to the bottom of hers. "to the new deal," said he.
-she smiled and nodded, and emptied the glass. suddenly it came to her why she felt so differently toward him. she saw the subtle, yet radical change that always transforms a man of force of character when his position in the world notably changes. this man before her, so slightly different in physical characteristics from the man she had fled, was wholly different in expression.
-"when shall we sail?" asked he. "tomorrow?"
-"first--there's the question of money," said she.
-he was much amused. "still worrying about your independence."
-freddie nodded. "by marriage or otherwise, but always through a man."
-"don't you want me to be candid? but even if you don't, i've got to be."
-"yes--truth--especially disagreeable truth--is your long suit," said he. "not that i'm kicking. i'm glad you went straight at the money question. we can settle it and never think of it again. and neither of us will be plotting to take advantage of the other, or fretting for fear the other is plotting. sometimes i think nearly all the trouble in this world comes through failure to have a clear understanding about money matters."
-susan nodded. said she thoughtfully, "i guess that's why i came--one of the main reasons. you are wonderfully sensible and decent about money."
-"and the other chap isn't?"
-"oh, yes--and no. he likes to make a woman feel dependent. he thinks--but that doesn't matter. he's all right."
-"now--for our understanding with each other," said palmer. "you can have whatever you want. the other day you said you wanted some sort of a salary. but if you've changed----"
-"no--that's what i want."
-"so much a year?"
-"so much a week," replied she. "i want to feel, and i want you to feel, that we can call it off at any time on seven days' notice."
-"but that isn't what i want," said he--and she, watching him closely if furtively, saw the strong lines deepen round his mouth.
-she hesitated. she was seeing the old woman's dance hall, was hearing the piano as the hunchback played and the old horrors reeled about, making their palsy rhythmic. she was seeing this, yet she dared. "then you don't want me," said she, so quietly that he could not have suspected her agitation. never had her habit of concealing her emotion been so useful to her.
-he sat frowning at his glass--debating. finally he said:
-"it's all i can do--at present," replied she firmly. and she was now ready to stand or fall by that decision. she had always accepted the other previous terms--or whatever terms fate offered. result--each time, disaster. she must make no more fatal blunders. this time, her own terms or not at all.
-he was silent a long time. she knew she had convinced him that her terms were final. so, his delay could only mean that he was debating whether to accept or to go his way and leave her to go hers. at last he laughed and said:
-"you've become a true new yorker. you know how to drive a hard bargain." he looked at her admiringly. "you certainly have got courage. i happen to know a lot about your affairs. i've ways of finding out things. and i know you'd not be here if you hadn't broken with the other fellow first. so, if i turned your proposition down you'd be up against it--wouldn't you?"
-"yes," said she. "but--i won't in any circumstances tie myself. i must be free."
-"you're right," said he. "and i'll risk your sticking. i'm a good gambler."
-"if i were bound, but didn't want to stay, would i be of much use?"
-"of no use. you can quit on seven minutes' notice, instead of seven days."
-"and you, also," said she.
-laughingly they shook hands. she began to like him in a new and more promising way. here was a man, who at least was cast in a big mold. nothing small and cheap about him--and brent had made small cheap men forever intolerable to her. yes, here was a man of the big sort; and a big man couldn't possibly be a bad man. no matter how many bad things he might do, he would still be himself, at least, a scorner of the pettiness and sneakiness and cowardice inseparable from villainy.
-"and now," said he, "let's settle the last detail. how much a week? how would five hundred strike you?"
-"that's more than twelve times the largest salary i ever got. it's many times as much as i made in the----"
-"no matter," he hastily interposed. "it's the least you can hold down the job on. you've got to spend money--for clothes and so on."
-"two hundred is the most i can take," said she. "it's the outside limit."
-he insisted, but she remained firm. "i will not accustom myself to much more than i see any prospect of getting elsewhere," explained she. "perhaps later on i'll ask for an increase--later on, when i see how things are going and what my prospects elsewhere would be. but i must begin modestly."
-"well, let it go at two hundred for the present. i'll deposit a year's salary in a bank, and you can draw against it. is that satisfactory? you don't want me to hand you two hundred dollars every saturday, do you?"
-"no. that would get on my nerves," said she.
-"now--it's all settled. when shall we sail?"
-"there's a girl i've got to look up before i go."
-"maud? you needn't bother about her. she's married to a piker from up the state--a shoe manufacturer. she's got a baby, and is fat enough to make two or three like what she used to be."
-"no, not maud. one you don't know."
-"i hoped we could sail tomorrow. why not take a taxi and go after her now?"
-"it may be a long search."
-"she's a----?" he did not need to finish his sentence in order to make himself understood.
-"oh, let her----"
-"i promised," interrupted she.
-"then--of course." freddie drew from his trousers pocket a huge roll of bills. susan smiled at this proof that he still retained the universal habit of gamblers, politicians and similar loose characters of large income, precariously derived. he counted off three hundreds and four fifties and held them out to her. "let me in on it," said he.
-susan took the money without hesitation. she was used to these careless generosities of the men of that class--generosities passing with them and with the unthinking for evidences of goodness of heart, when in fact no generosity has any significance whatever beyond selfish vanity unless it is a sacrifice of necessities--real necessities.
-"i don't think i'll need money," said she. "but i may."
-"you've got a trunk and a bag on the cab outside," he went on. "i've told them at sherry's that i'm to be married."
-susan flushed. she hastily lowered her eyes. but she need not have feared lest he should suspect the cause of the blush . . . a strange, absurd resentment of the idea that she could be married to freddie palmer. live with him--yes. but marry--now that it was thus squarely presented to her, she found it unthinkable. she did not pause to analyze this feeling, indeed could not have analyzed it, had she tried. it was, however, a most interesting illustration of how she had been educated at last to look upon questions of sex as a man looks on them. she was like the man who openly takes a mistress whom he in no circumstances would elevate to the position of wife.
-"so," he proceeded, "you might as well move in at sherry's."
-"no," objected she. "let's not begin the new deal until we sail."
-the wisdom of this was obvious. "then we'll take your things over to the manhattan hotel," said he. "and we'll start the search from there."
-but after registering at the manhattan as susan lenox, she started out alone. she would not let him look in upon any part of her life which she could keep veiled.
-she left the taxicab at the corner of grand street and the bowery, and plunged into her former haunts afoot. once again she had it forced upon her how meaningless in the life history are the words "time" and "space." she was now hardly any distance, as measurements go, from her present world, and she had lived here only a yesterday or so ago. yet what an infinity yawned between! at the delancey street apartment house there was already a new janitress, and the kinds of shops on the ground floor had changed. only after two hours of going up and down stairs, of knocking at doors, of questioning and cross-questioning, did she discover that clara had moved to allen street, to the tenement in which susan herself had for a few weeks lived--those vague, besotted weeks of despair.
-when we go out into the streets with bereavement in mind, we see nothing but people dressed in mourning. and a similar thing occurs, whatever the emotion that oppresses us. it would not have been strange if susan, on the way to allen street afoot, had seen only women of the streets, for they swarm in every great thoroughfare of our industrial cities. they used to come out only at night. but with the passing of the feeling against them that existed when they were a rare, unfamiliar, mysteriously terrible minor feature of life, they issue forth boldly by day, like all the other classes, making a living as best they can. but on that day susan felt as if she were seeing only the broken down and cast-out creatures of the class--the old women, old in body rather than in years, picking in the gutters, fumbling in the garbage barrels, poking and peering everywhere for odds and ends that might pile up into the price of a glass of the poison sold in the barrel houses. the old women--the hideous, lonely old women--and the diseased, crippled children, worse off than the cats and the dogs, for cat and dog were not compelled to wear filth-soaked rags. prosperous, civilized new york!
-a group of these children were playing some rough game, in imitation of their elders, that was causing several to howl with pain. she heard a woman, being shown about by a settlement worker or some such person, say:
-"really, not at all badly dressed--for street games. i must confess i don't see signs of the misery they talk so much about."
-a wave of fury passed through susan. she felt like striking the woman full in her vain, supercilious, patronizing face--striking her and saying: "you smug liar! what if you had to wear such clothes on that fat, overfed body of yours! you'd realize then how filthy they are!"
-she gazed in horror at the allen street house. was it possible that she had lived there? in the filthy doorway sat a child eating a dill pickle--a scrawny, ragged little girl with much of her hair eaten out by the mange. she recalled this little girl as the formerly pretty and lively youngster, the daughter of the janitress. she went past the child without disturbing her, knocked at the janitress' door. it presently opened, disclosing in a small and foul room four prematurely old women, all in the family way, two with babies in arms. one of these was the janitress. though she was not a jewess, she was wearing one of the wigs assumed by orthodox jewish women when they marry. she stared at susan with not a sign of recognition.
-"i am looking for miss clara," said susan.
-the janitress debated, shifted her baby from one arm to the other, glanced inquiringly at the other women. they shook their heads; she looked at susan and shook her head. "there ain't a clara," said she. "perhaps she's took another name?"
-"perhaps," conceded susan. and she described clara and the various dresses she had had. at the account of one with flounces on the skirts and lace puffs in the sleeves, the youngest of the women showed a gleam of intelligence. "you mean the girl with the cancer of the breast," said she.
-susan remembered. she could not articulate; she nodded.
-"oh, yes," said the janitress. "she had the third floor back, and was always kicking because mrs. pfister kept a guinea pig for her rheumatism and the smell came through."
-"has she gone?" asked susan.
-"couple of weeks."
-the janitress shrugged her shoulders. the other women shrugged their shoulders. said the janitress:
-"her feller stopped coming. the cancer got awful bad. i've saw a good many--they're quite plentiful down this way. i never see a worse'n hers. she didn't have no money. up to the hospital they tried a new cure on her that made her gallopin' worse. the day before i was going to have to go to work and put her out--she left."
-"can't you give me any idea?" urged susan.
-"she didn't take her things," said the janitress meaningly. "not a stitch."
-the janitress shrugged her shoulders. "she always said she would, and i guess----"
-again the fat, stooped shoulders lifted and lowered. "she was most crazy with pain."
-there was a moment's silence, then susan murmured, "thank you," and went back to the hall. the house was exhaling a frightful stench--the odor of cheap kerosene, of things that passed there for food, of animals human and lower, of death and decay. on her way out she dropped a dollar into the lap of the little girl with the mange. a parrot was shrieking from an upper window. on the topmost fire escape was a row of geraniums blooming sturdily. her taxicab had moved up the street, pushed out of place by a hearse--a white hearse, with polished mountings, the horses caparisoned in white netting, and tossing white plumes. a baby's funeral--this mockery of a ride in state after a brief life of squalor. it was summer, and the babies were dying like lambs in the shambles. in winter the grown people were slaughtered; in summer the children. across the street, a few doors up, the city dead wagon was taking away another body--in a plain pine box--to the potter's field where find their way for the final rest one in every ten of the people of the rich and splendid city of new york.
-susan hurried into her cab. "drive fast," she said.
-when she came back to sense of her surroundings she was flying up wide and airy fifth avenue with gorgeous sunshine bathing its palaces, with wealth and fashion and ease all about her. her dear city of the sun! but it hurt her now, was hateful to look upon. she closed her eyes; her life in the slums, her life when she was sharing the lot that is really the lot of the human race as a race, passed before her--its sights and sounds and odors, its hideous heat, its still more hideous cold, its contacts and associations, its dirt and disease and degradation. and through the roar of the city there came to her a sound, faint yet intense--like the still, small voice the prophet heard--but not the voice of god, rather the voice of the multitude of aching hearts, aching in hopeless poverty--hearts of men, of women, of children----
-the children! the multitudes of children with hearts that no sooner begin to beat than they begin to ache. she opened her eyes to shut out these sights and that sound of heartache.
-she gazed round, drew a long breath of relief. she had almost been afraid to look round lest she should find that her escape had been only a dream. and now the road she had chosen--or, rather, the only road she could take--the road with freddie palmer--seemed attractive, even dazzling. what she could not like, she would ignore--and how easily she, after her experience, could do that! what she could not ignore she would tolerate would compel herself to like.
-poor clara!--happy clara!--better off in the dregs of the river than she had ever been in the dregs of new york. she shuddered. then, as so often, the sense of the grotesque thrust in, as out of place as jester in cap and bells at a bier--and she smiled sardonically. "why," thought she, "in being squeamish about freddie i'm showing that i'm more respectable than the respectable women. there's hardly one of them that doesn't swallow worse doses with less excuse or no excuse at all--and without so much as a wry face."
-in the ten days on the atlantic and the mediterranean mr. and mrs. palmer, as the passenger list declared them, planned the early stages of their campaign. they must keep to themselves, must make no acquaintances, no social entanglements of any kind, until they had effected the exterior transformation which was to be the first stride--and a very long one, they felt--toward the conquest of the world that commands all the other worlds. several men aboard knew palmer slightly--knew him vaguely as a big politician and contractor. they had a hazy notion that he was reputed to have been a thug and a grafter. but new yorkers have few prejudices except against guilelessness and failure. they are well aware that the wisest of the wise hebrew race was never more sagacious than when he observed that "he who hasteth to be rich shall not be innocent." they are too well used to unsavory pasts to bother much about that kind of odor; and where in the civilized world--or in that which is not civilized--is there an odor from reputation--or character--whose edge is not taken off by the strong, sweet, hypnotic perfume of money? also, palmer's appearance gave the lie direct to any scandal about him. it could not be--it simply could not be--that a man of such splendid physical build, a man with a countenance so handsome, had ever been a low, wicked fellow! does not the devil always at once exhibit his hoofs, horns, tail and malevolent smile, that all men may know who and what he is? a frank, manly young leader of men--that was the writing on his countenance. and his italian blood put into his good looks an ancient and aristocratic delicacy that made it incredible that he was of low origin. he spoke good english, he dressed quietly; he did not eat with his knife; he did not retire behind a napkin to pick his teeth, but attended to them openly, if necessity compelled--and splendid teeth they were, set in a wide, clean mouth, notably attractive for a man's. no, freddie palmer's past would not give him any trouble whatever; in a few years it would be forgotten, would be romanced about as the heroic struggles of a typical american rising from poverty.
-"thank god," said freddie, "i had sense enough not to get a jail smell on me!"
-susan colored painfully--and palmer, the sensitive, colored also. but he had the tact that does not try to repair a blunder by making a worse one; he pretended not to see susan's crimson flush.
-her past would not be an easy matter--if it should ever rise to face her publicly. therefore it must not rise till freddie and she were within the walls of the world they purposed to enter by stealth, and had got themselves well intrenched. then she would be susan lenox of sutherland, indiana, who had come to new york to study for the stage and, after many trials from all of which she had emerged with unspotted virtue, whatever vicious calumny might in envy say, had captured the heart and the name of the handsome, rich young contractor. there would be nasty rumors, dreadful stories, perhaps. but in these loose and cynical days, with the women more and more audacious and independent, with the universal craving for luxury beyond the reach of laboriously earned incomes, with marriage decaying in city life among the better classes--in these easy-going days, who was not suspected, hinted about, attacked? and the very atrociousness of the stories would prevent their being believed. one glance at susan would be enough to make doubters laugh at their doubts.
-the familiar types of fast women of all degrees come from the poorest kinds of farms and from the tenements. in america, practically not until the panics and collapses of recent years which have tumbled another and better section of the middle class into the abyss of the underworld--not until then did there appear in the city streets and houses of ill repute any considerable number of girls from good early surroundings. before that time, the clamor for luxury--the luxury that civilization makes as much a necessity as food--had been satisfied more or less by the incomes of the middle class; and any girl of that class, with physical charm and shrewdness enough to gain a living as outcast woman, was either supported at home or got a husband able to give her at least enough of what her tastes craved to keep her in the ranks of the reputable. thus susan's beauty of refinement, her speech and manner of the lady, made absurd any suggestion that she could ever have been a fallen woman. the crimson splash of her rouged lips did not suggest the cocotte, but the lady with a dash of gayety in her temperament. this, because of the sweet, sensitive seriousness of her small, pallid face with its earnest violet-gray eyes and its frame of abundant dark hair, simply and gracefully arranged. she was of the advance guard of a type which the swift downfall of the middle class, the increasing intelligence and restlessness and love of luxury among women, and the decay of formal religion with its exactions of chastity as woman's one diamond-fine jewel, are now making familiar in every city. the demand for the luxurious comfort which the educated regard as merely decent existence is far outstripping the demand for, and the education of, women in lucrative occupations other than prostitution.
-luckily susan had not been arrested under her own name; there existed no court record which could be brought forward as proof by some nosing newspaper.
-susan herself marveled that there was not more trace of her underworld experience in her face and in her mind. she could not account for it. yet the matter was simple enough to one viewing it from the outside. it is what we think, what we feel about ourselves, that makes up our expression of body and soul. and never in her lowest hour had her soul struck its flag and surrendered to the idea that she was a fallen creature. she had a temperament that estimated her acts not as right and wrong but as necessity. men, all the rest of the world, might regard her as nothing but sex symbol; she regarded herself as an intelligence. and the filth slipped from her and could not soak in to change the texture of her being. she had no more the feeling or air of the cocotte than has the married woman who lives with her husband for a living. her expression, her way of looking at her fellow beings and of meeting their looks, was that of the woman of the world who is for whatever reason above that slavery to opinion, that fear of being thought bold or forward which causes women of the usual run to be sensitive about staring or being stared at. sometimes--in cocottes, in stage women, in fashionable women--this expression is self-conscious, or supercilious. it was not so with susan, for she had little self-consciousness and no snobbishness at all. it merely gave the charm of worldly experience and expertness to a beauty which, without it, might have been too melancholy.
-susan, become by sheer compulsion philosopher about the vagaries of fat, did not fret over possible future dangers. she dismissed them and put all her intelligence and energy to the business in hand--to learning and to helping palmer learn the ways of that world which includes all worlds.
-toward the end of the voyage she said to him:
-"about my salary--or allowance--or whatever it is---- i've been thinking things over. i've made up my mind to save some money. my only chance is that salary. have you any objection to my saving it--as much of it as i can?"
-he laughed. "tuck away anything and everything you can lay your hands on," said he. "i'm not one of those fools who try to hold women by being close and small with them. i'd not want you about if you were of the sort that could be held that way."
-"no--i'll put by only from my salary," said she. "i admit i've no right to do that. but i've become sensible enough to realize that i mustn't ever risk being out again with no money. it has got on my mind so that i'd not be able to think of much else for worrying--unless i had at least a little."
-"do you want me to make you independent?"
-"no," replied she. "whatever you gave me i'd have to give back if we separated."
-"that isn't the way to get on, my dear," said he.
-"it's the best i can do--as yet," replied she. "and it's quite an advance on what i was. yes, i am learning--slowly."
-"save all your salary, then," said freddie. "when you buy anything charge it, and i'll attend to the bill."
-her expression told him that he had never made a shrewder move in his life. he knew he had made himself secure against losing her; for he knew what a force gratitude was in her character.
-her mind was now free--free for the educational business in hand. she appreciated that he had less to learn than she. civilization, the science and art of living, of extracting all possible good from the few swift years of life, has been--since the downfall of woman from hardship, ten or fifteen thousand years ago--the creation of the man almost entirely. until recently among the higher races such small development of the intelligence of woman as her seclusion and servitude permitted was sporadic and exotic. nothing intelligent was expected of her--and it is only under the compulsion of peremptory demand that any human being ever is roused from the natural sluggishness. but civilization, created by man, was created for woman. woman has to learn how to be the civilized being which man has ordained that she shall be--how to use for man's comfort and pleasure the ingenuities and the graces he has invented.
-it is easy for a man to pick up the habits, tastes, manners and dress of male citizens of the world, if he has as keen eyes and as discriminating taste as had palmer, clever descendant of the supple italian. but to become a female citizen of the world is not so easy. for susan to learn to be an example of the highest civilization, from her inmost thoughts to the outermost penumbra of her surroundings--that would be for her a labor of love, but still a labor. as her vanity was of the kind that centers on the advantages she actually had, instead of being the more familiar kind that centers upon non-existent charms of mind and person, her task was possible of accomplishment--for those who are sincerely willing to learn, who sincerely know wherein they lack, can learn, can be taught. as she had given these matters of civilization intelligent thought she knew where to begin--at the humble, material foundation, despised and neglected by those who talk most loudly about civilization, art, culture, and so on. they aspire to the clouds and the stars at once--and arrive nowhere except in talk and pretense and flaunting of ill-fitting borrowed plumage. they flap their gaudy artificial wings; there is motion, but no ascent. susan wished to build--and build solidly. she began with the so-called trifles.
-when they had been at naples a week palmer said:
-"don't you think we'd better push on to paris?"
-"i can't go before saturday," replied she. "i've got several fittings yet."
-"it's pretty dull here for me--with you spending so much time in the shops. i suppose the women's shops are good"--hesitatingly--"but i've heard those in paris are better."
-"the shops here are rotten. italian women have no taste in dress. and the paris shops are the best in the world."
-"then let's clear out," cried he. "i'm bored to death. but i didn't like to say anything, you seemed so busy."
-"i am busy. and--can you stand it three days more?"
-"but you'll only have to throw away the stuff you buy here. why buy so much?"
-"i'm not buying much. two ready-to-wear paris dresses--models they call them--and two hats."
-palmer looked alarmed. "why, at that rate," protested he, "it'll take you all winter to get together your winter clothes, and no time left to wear 'em."
-"you don't understand," said she. "if you want to be treated right in a shop--be shown the best things--have your orders attended to, you've got to come looking as if you knew what the best is. i'm getting ready to make a good first impression on the dressmakers and milliners in paris."
-"oh, you'll have the money, and that'll make 'em step round."
-"don't you believe it," replied she. "all the money in the world won't get you fashionable clothes at the most fashionable place. it'll only get you costly clothes."
-"maybe that's so for women's things. it isn't for men's."
-"i'm not sure of that. when we get to paris, we'll see. but certainly it's true for women. if i went to the places in the rue de la paix dressed as i am now, it'd take several years to convince them that i knew what i wanted and wouldn't be satisfied with anything but the latest and best. so i'm having these miserable dressmakers fit those dresses on me until they're absolutely perfect. it's wearing me out, but i'll be glad i did it."
-palmer had profound respect for her as a woman who knew what she was about. so he settled himself patiently and passed the time investigating the famous neapolitan political machine with the aid of an interpreter guide whom he hired by the day. he was enthusiastic over the dresses and the hats when susan at last had them at the hotel and showed herself to him in them. they certainly did work an amazing change in her. they were the first real paris models she had ever worn.
-"maybe it's because i never thought much about women's clothes before," said freddie, "but those things seem to be the best ever. how they do show up your complexion and your figure! and i hadn't any idea your hair was as grand as all that. i'm a little afraid of you. we've got to get acquainted all over again. these clothes of mine look pretty poor, don't they? yet i paid all kinds of money for 'em at the best place in fifth avenue."
-he examined her from all points of view, going round and round her, getting her to walk up and down to give him the full effect of her slender yet voluptuous figure in that beautifully fitted coat and skirt. he felt that his dreams were beginning to come true.
-"we'll do the trick!" cried he. "don't you think about money when you're buying clothes. it's a joy to give up for clothes for you. you make 'em look like something."
-"wait till i've shopped a few weeks in paris," said susan.
-"let's start tonight," cried he. "i'll telegraph to the ritz for rooms."
-when she began to dress in her old clothes for the journey, he protested. "throw all these things away," he urged. "wear one of the new dresses and hats."
-"but they're not exactly suitable for traveling."
-"people'll think you lost your baggage. i don't want ever to see you again looking any way except as you ought to look."
-"no, i must take care of those clothes," said she firmly. "it'll be weeks before i can get anything in paris, and i must keep up a good front."
-he continued to argue with her until it occurred to him that as his own clothes were not what they should be, he and she would look much better matched if she dressed as she wished. he had not been so much in jest as he thought when he said to her that they would have to get acquainted all over again. those new clothes of hers brought out startlingly--so clearly that even his vanity was made uneasy--the subtle yet profound difference of class between them. he had always felt this difference, and in the old days it had given him many a savage impulse to degrade her, to put her beneath him as a punishment for his feeling that she was above him. now he had his ambition too close at heart to wish to rob her of her chief distinction; he was disturbed about it, though, and looked forward to paris with uneasiness.
-"you must help me get my things," said he.
-"i'd be glad to," said she. "and you must be frank with me, and tell me where i fall short of the best of the women we see."
-he laughed. the idea that he could help her seemed fantastic. he could not understand it--how this girl who had been brought up in a jay town away out west, who had never had what might be called a real chance to get in the know in new york, could so quickly pass him who had been born and bred in new york, had spent the last ten years in cultivating style and all the other luxurious tastes. he did not like to linger on this puzzle; the more he worked at it, the farther away from him susan seemed to get. yet the puzzle would not let him drop it.
-they came in at the gare de lyon in the middle of a beautiful october afternoon. usually, from late september or earlier until may or later, paris has about the vilest climate that curses a civilized city. it is one of the bitterest ironies of fate that a people so passionately fond of the sun, of the outdoors, should be doomed for two-thirds of the year to live under leaden, icily leaking skies with rarely a ray of real sunshine. and nothing so well illustrates the exuberant vitality, the dauntless spirit of the french people, as the way they have built in preparation for the enjoyment of every bit of the light and warmth of any chance ray of sunshine. that year it so fell that the winter rains did not close in until late, and paris reveled in a long autumn of almost new york perfection. susan and palmer drove to the ritz through paris, the lovely, the gay.
-"this is the real thing--isn't it?" said he, thrilled into speech by that spectacle so inspiring to all who have the joy of life in their veins--the place de l'opéra late on a bright afternoon.
-"it's the first thing i've ever seen that was equal to what i had dreamed about it," replied she.
-they had chosen the ritz as their campaign headquarters because they had learned that it was the most fashionable hotel in paris--which meant in the world. there were hotels more grand, the interpreter-guide at naples had said; there were hotels more exclusive. there were even hotels more comfortable. "but for fashion," said he, "it is the summit. there you see the most beautiful ladies, most beautifully dressed. there you see the elegant world at tea and at dinner."
-at first glance they were somewhat disappointed in the quiet, unostentatious general rooms. the suite assigned them--at a hundred and twenty francs a day--was comfortable, was the most comfortable assemblage of rooms either had ever seen. but there was nothing imposing. this impression did not last long, however. they had been misled by their american passion for looks. they soon discovered that the guide at naples had told the literal truth. they went down for tea in the garden, which was filled as the day was summer warm. neither spoke as they sat under a striped awning umbrella, she with tea untasted before her, he with a glass of whiskey and soda he did not lift from the little table. their eyes and their thoughts were too busy for speech; one cannot talk when one is thinking. about them were people of the world of which neither had before had any but a distant glimpse. they heard english, american, french, italian. they saw men and women with that air which no one can define yet everyone knows on sight--the assurance without impertinence, the politeness without formality, the simplicity that is more complex than the most elaborate ornamentation of dress or speech or manner. susan and freddie lingered until the departure of the last couple--a plainly dressed man whose clothes on inspection revealed marvels of fineness and harmonious color; a quietly dressed woman whose costume from tip of plume to tip of suede slipper was a revelation of how fine a fine art the toilet can be made.
-"well--we're right in it, for sure," said freddie, dropping to a sofa in their suite and lighting a cigarette.
-"yes," said susan, with a sigh. "in it--but not of it."
-"i almost lost my nerve as i sat there. and for the life of me i can't tell why."
-"those people know how," replied susan. "well--what they've learned we can learn."
-"sure," said he energetically. "it's going to take a lot of practice--a lot of time. but i'm game." his expression, its suggestion of helplessness and appeal, was a clear confession of a feeling that she was his superior.
-"we're both of us ignorant," she hastened to say. "but when we get our bearings--in a day or two--we'll be all right."
-"let's have dinner up here in the sitting-room. i haven't got the nerve to face that gang again today"
-"nonsense!" laughed she. "we mustn't give way to our feelings--not for a minute. there'll be a lot of people as badly off as we are. i saw some this afternoon--and from the way the waiters treated them, i know they had money or something. put on your evening suit, and you'll be all right. i'm the one that hasn't anything to wear. but i've got to go and study the styles. i must begin to learn what to wear and now to wear it. we've come to the right place, freddie. cheer up!"
-he felt better when he was in evening clothes which made him handsome indeed, bringing out all his refinement of feature and coloring. he was almost cheerful when susan came into the sitting-room in the pale gray of her two new toilettes. it might be, as she insisted, that she was not dressed properly for fashionable dining; but there would be no more delicate, no more lady-like loveliness. he quite recovered his nerve when they faced the company that had terrified him in prospect. he saw many commonplace looking people, not a few who were downright dowdy. and presently he had the satisfaction of realizing that not only susan but he also was getting admiring attention. he no longer floundered panic-stricken; his feet touched bottom and he felt foolish about his sensations of a few minutes before.
-after all, the world over, dining in a restaurant is nothing but dining in a restaurant. the waiter and the head waiter spoke english, were gracefully, tactfully, polite; and as he ordered he found his self-confidence returning with the surging rush of a turned tide on a low shore. the food was wonderful, and the champagne, "english taste," was the best he had ever drunk. halfway through dinner both he and susan were in the happiest frame of mind. the other people were drinking too, were emerging from caste into humanness. women gazed languorously and longingly at the handsome young american; men sent stealthy or open smiles of adoration at susan whenever freddie's eyes were safely averted. but susan was more careful than a woman of the world to which she aspired would have been; she ignored the glances and without difficulty assumed the air of wife.
-"i don't believe we'll have any trouble getting acquainted with these people," said freddie.
-"we don't want to, yet," replied she.
-"oh, i feel we'll soon be ready for them," said he.
-"yes--that," said she. "but that amounts to nothing. this isn't to be merely a matter of clothes and acquaintances--at least, not with me."
-"what then?" inquired he.
-"oh--we'll see as we get our bearings." she could not have put into words the plans she was forming--plans for educating and in every way developing him and herself. she was not sure at what she was aiming, but only of the direction. she had no idea how far she could go herself--or how far he would consent to go. the wise course was just to work along from day to day--keeping the direction.
-"all right. i'll do as you say. you've got this game sized up better than i."
-is there any other people that works as hard as do the parisians? other peoples work with their bodies; but the parisians, all classes and masses too, press both mind and body into service. other peoples, if they think at all, think how to avoid work; the parisians think incessantly, always, how to provide themselves with more to do. other peoples drink to stupefy themselves lest peradventure in a leisure moment they might be seized of a thought; parisians drink to stimulate themselves, to try to think more rapidly, to attract ideas that might not enter and engage a sober and therefore somewhat sluggish brain. other peoples meet a new idea as if it were a mortal foe; the parisians as if it were a long-lost friend. other peoples are agitated chiefly, each man or woman, about themselves; the parisians are full of their work, their surroundings, bother little about themselves except as means to what they regard as the end and aim of life--to make the world each moment as different as possible from what it was the moment before, to transform the crass and sordid universe of things with the magic of ideas. being intelligent, they prefer good to evil; but they have god's own horror of that which is neither good nor evil, and spew it out of their mouths.
-at the moment of the arrival of susan and palmer the world that labors at amusing itself was pausing in paris on its way from the pleasures of sea and mountains to the pleasures of the riviera and egypt. and as the weather held fine, day after day the streets, the cafés, the restaurants, offered the young adventurers an incessant dazzling panorama of all they had come abroad to seek. a week passed before susan permitted herself to enter any of the shops where she intended to buy dresses, hats and the other and lesser paraphernalia of the woman of fashion.
-"i mustn't go until i've seen," said she. "i'd yield to the temptation to buy and would regret it."
-and freddie, seeing her point, restrained his impatience for making radical changes in himself and in her. the fourth day of their stay at paris he realized that he would buy, and would wish to buy, none of the things that had tempted him the first and second days. secure in the obscurity of the crowd of strangers, he was losing his extreme nervousness about himself. that sort of emotion is most characteristic of americans and gets them the reputation for profound snobbishness. in fact, it is not snobbishness at all. in no country on earth is ignorance in such universal disrepute as in america. the american, eager to learn, eager to be abreast of the foremost, is terrified into embarrassment and awe when he finds himself in surroundings where are things that he feels he ought to know about--while a stupid fellow, in such circumstances, is calmly content with himself, wholly unaware of his own deficiencies.
-susan let full two weeks pass before she, with much hesitation, gave her first order toward the outfit on which palmer insisted upon her spending not less than five thousand dollars. palmer had been going to the shops with her. she warned him it would make prices higher if she appeared with a prosperous looking man; but he wanted occupation and everything concerning her fascinated him now. his ignorance of the details of feminine dress was giving place rapidly to a knowledge which he thought profound--and it was profound, for a man. she would not permit him to go with her to order, however, or to fittings. all she would tell him in advance about this first dress was that it was for evening wear and that its color was green. "but not a greeny green," said she.
-"i understand. a green something like the tint in your skin at the nape of your neck."
-"perhaps," admitted she. "yes."
-"we'll go to the opera the evening it comes home. i'll have my new evening outfit from charvet's by that time."
-it was about ten days after this conversation that she told him she had had a final fitting, had ordered the dress sent home. he was instantly all excitement and rushed away to engage a good box for the opera. with her assistance he had got evening clothes that sent through his whole being a glow of self-confidence--for he knew that in those clothes, he looked what he was striving to be. they were to dine at seven. he dressed early and went into their sitting-room. he was afraid he would spoil his pleasure of complete surprise by catching a glimpse of the grande toilette before it was finished. at a quarter past seven susan put her head into the sitting-room--only her head. at sight of his anxious face, his tense manner, she burst out laughing. it seemed, and was, grotesque that one so imperturbable of surface should be so upset.
-"can you stand the strain another quarter of an hour?" said she.
-"don't hurry," he urged. "take all the time you want. do the thing up right." he rose and came toward her with one hand behind him. "you said the dress was green, didn't you?"
-"well--here's something you may be able to fit in somewhere." and he brought the concealed hand into view and held a jewel box toward her.
-she reached a bare arm through the crack in the door and took it. the box, the arm, the head disappeared. presently there was a low cry of delight that thrilled him. the face reappeared. "oh--freddie!" she exclaimed, radiant. "you must have spent a fortune on them."
-"no. twelve thousand--that's all. it was a bargain. go on dressing. we'll talk about it afterward." and he gently pushed her head back--getting a kiss in the palm of his hand--and drew the door to.
-ten minutes later the door opened part way again. "brace yourself," she called laughingly. "i'm coming."
-a breathless pause and the door swung wide. he stared with eyes amazed and bewitched. there is no more describing the effects of a harmonious combination of exquisite dress and exquisite woman than there is reproducing in words the magic and the thrill of sunrise or sunset, of moonlight's fanciful amorous play, or of starry sky. as the girl stood there, her eyes starlike with excitement, her lips crimson and sensuous against the clear old-ivory pallor of her small face in its frame of glorious dark hair, it seemed to him that her soul, more beautiful counterpart of herself, had come from its dwelling place within and was hovering about her body like an aureole. round her lovely throat was the string of emeralds. her shoulders were bare and also her bosom, over nearly half its soft, girlish swell. and draped in light and clinging grace about her slender, sensuous form was the most wonderful garment he had ever seen. the great french designers of dresses and hats and materials have a genius for taking an idea--a pure poetical abstraction--and materializing it, making it visible and tangible without destroying its spirituality. this dress of susan's did not suggest matter any more than the bar of music suggests the rosined string that has given birth to it. she was carrying the train and a pair of long gloves in one hand. the skirt, thus drawn back, revealed her slim, narrow foot, a slender slipper of pale green satin, a charming instep with a rosiness shimmering through the gossamer web of pale green silk, the outline of a long, slender leg whose perfection was guaranteed by the beauty of her bare arm.
-his expression changed slowly from bedazzlement to the nearest approach to the old slumbrous, smiling wickedness she had seen since they started. and her sensitive instinct understood; it was the menace of an insane jealousy, sprung from fear--fear of losing her. the look vanished, and once again he was freddie palmer the delighted, the generous and almost romantically considerate, because everything was going as he wished.
-"no wonder i went crazy about you," he said.
-"then you're not disappointed?"
-he came to her, unclasped the emeralds, stood off and viewed her again. "no--you mustn't wear them," said he.
-"oh!" she cried, protesting. "they're the best of all."
-as she could not see herself as he saw her, she pleaded for the jewels. she loved jewels and these were the first she had ever had, except two modest little birthday rings she had left in sutherland. but he led her to the long mirror and convinced her that he was right. when they descended to the dining-room, they caused a stir. it does not take much to make fashionable people stare; but it does take something to make a whole room full of them quiet so far toward silence that the discreet and refined handling of dishes in a restaurant like the ritz sounds like a vulgar clatter. susan and palmer congratulated themselves that they had been at the hotel long enough to become acclimated and so could act as if they were unconscious of the sensation they were creating. when they finished dinner, they found all the little tables in the long corridor between the restaurant and the entrance taken by people lingering over coffee to get another and closer view. and the men who looked at her sweet dreaming violet-gray eyes said she was innocent; those who looked at her crimson lips said she was gay; those who saw both eyes and lips said she was innocent--as yet. a few very dim-sighted, and very wise, retained their reason sufficiently to say that nothing could be told about a woman from her looks--especially an american woman. she put on the magnificent cloak, white silk, ermine lined, which he had seen at paquin's and had insisted on buying. and they were off for the opera in the aristocratic looking auto he was taking by the week.
-she had a second triumph at the opera--was the center that drew all glasses the instant the lights went up for the intermission. there were a few minutes when her head was quite turned, when it seemed to her that she had arrived very near to the highest goal of human ambition--said goal being the one achieved and so self-complacently occupied by these luxurious, fashionable people who were paying her the tribute of interest and admiration. were not these people at the top of the heap? was she not among them, of them, by right of excellence in the things that made them, distinguished them?
-ambition, drunk and heavy with luxury, flies sluggishly and low. and her ambition was--for the moment--in danger of that fate.
-during the last intermission the door of their box opened. at once palmer sprang up and advanced with beaming face and extended hand to welcome the caller.
-"hello, brent, i am glad to see you! i want to introduce you to mrs. palmer"--that name pronounced with the unconscious pride of the possessor of the jewel.
-brent bowed. susan forced a smile.
-"we," palmer hastened on, "are on a sort of postponed honeymoon. i didn't announce the marriage--didn't want to have my friends out of pocket for presents. besides, they'd have sent us stuff fit only to furnish out a saloon or a hotel--and we'd have had to use it or hurt their feelings. my wife's a western girl--from indiana. she came on to study for the stage. but"--he laughed delightedly--"i persuaded her to change her mind."
-"you are from the west?" said brent in the formal tone one uses in addressing a new acquaintance. "so am i. but that's more years ago than you could count. i live in new york--when i don't live here or in the riviera."
-the moment had passed when susan could, without creating an impossible scene, admit and compel brent to admit that they knew each other. what did it matter? was it not best to ignore the past? probably brent had done this deliberately, assuming that she was beginning a new life with a clean slate.
-"been here long?" said brent to palmer.
-as he and palmer talked, she contrasted the two men. palmer was much the younger, much the handsomer. yet in the comparison brent had the advantage. he looked as if he amounted to a great deal, as if he had lived and had understood life as the other man could not. the physical difference between them was somewhat the difference between look of lion and look of tiger. brent looked strong; palmer, dangerous. she could not imagine either man failing of a purpose he had set his heart upon. she could not imagine brent reaching for it in any but an open, direct, daring way. she knew that the descendant of the supple italians, the graduate of the street schools of stealth and fraud, would not care to have anything unless he got it by skill at subtlety. she noted their dress. brent was wearing his clothes in that elegantly careless way which it was one of freddie's dreams--one of the vain ones--to attain. brent's voice was much more virile, was almost harsh, and in pronouncing some words made the nerves tingle with a sensation of mingled irritation and pleasure. freddie's voice was manly enough, but soft and dangerous, suggestive of hidden danger. she compared the two men, as she knew them. she wondered how they would seem to a complete stranger. palmer, she thought, would be able to attract almost any woman he might want; it seemed to her that a woman brent wanted would feel rather helpless before the onset he would make.
-it irritated her, this untimely intrusion of brent who had the curious quality of making all other men seem less in the comparison. not that he assumed anything, or forced comparisons; on the contrary, no man could have insisted less upon himself. not that he compelled or caused the transfer of all interest to himself. simply that, with him there, she felt less hopeful of palmer, less confident of his ability to become what he seemed--and go beyond it. there are occasional men who have this same quality that susan was just then feeling in brent--men whom women never love yet who make it impossible for them to begin to love or to continue to love the other men within their range.
-she was not glad to see him. she did not conceal it. yet she knew that he would linger--and that she would not oppose. she would have liked to say to him: "you lost belief in me and dropped me. i have begun to make a life for myself. let me alone. do not upset me--do not force me to see what i must not see if i am to be happy. go away, and give me a chance." but we do not say these frank, childlike things except in moments of closest intimacy--and certainly there was no suggestion of intimacy, no invitation to it, but the reverse, in the man facing her at the front of the box.
-"then you are to be in paris some time?" said brent, addressing her.
-"i think so," said susan.
-"sure," cried palmer. "this is the town the world revolves round. i felt like singing 'home, sweet home' as we drove from the station."
-"i like it better than any place on earth," said brent. "better even than new york. i've never been quite able to forgive new york for some of the things it made me suffer before it gave me what i wanted."
-"i, too," said freddie. "my wife can't understand that. she doesn't know the side of life we know. i'm going to smoke a cigarette. i'll leave you here, old man, to entertain her."
-when he disappeared, susan looked out over the house with an expression of apparent abstraction. brent--she was conscious--studied her with those seeing eyes--hazel eyes with not a bit of the sentimentality and weakness of brown in them. "you and palmer know no one here?"
-"not a soul."
-"i'll be glad to introduce some of my acquaintances to you--french people of the artistic set. they speak english. and you'll soon be learning french."
-"i intend to learn as soon as i've finished my fall shopping."
-"you are not coming back to america?"
-"not for a long time."
-"then you will find my friends useful."
-she turned her eyes upon his. "you are very kind," said she. "but i'd rather--we'd rather--not meet anyone just yet."
-his eyes met hers calmly. it was impossible to tell whether he understood or not. after a few seconds he glanced out over the house. "that is a beautiful dress," said he. "you have real taste, if you'll permit me to say so. i was one of those who were struck dumb with admiration at the ritz tonight."
-"it's the first grand dress i ever possessed," said she.
-"you love dresses--and jewels--and luxury?"
-"as a starving man loves food."
-"then you are happy?"
-"perfectly so--for the first time in my life."
-"it is a kind of ecstasy--isn't it? i remember how it was with me. i had always been poor--i worked my way through prep school and college. and i wanted all the luxuries. the more i had to endure--the worse food and clothing and lodgings--the madder i became about them, until i couldn't think of anything but getting the money to buy them. when i got it, i gorged myself. . . . it's a pity the starving man can't keep on loving food--keep on being always starving and always having his hunger satisfied."
-"ah, but he can."
-he smiled mysteriously. "you think so, now. wait till you are gorged."
-she laughed. "you don't know! i could never get enough--never!"
-his smile became even more mysterious. as he looked away, his profile presented itself to her view--an outline of sheer strength, of tragic sadness--the profile of those who have dreamed and dared and suffered. but the smile, saying no to her confident assertion, still lingered.
-"never!" she repeated. she must compel that smile to take away its disquieting negation, its relentless prophecy of the end of her happiness. she must convince him that he had come back in vain, that he could not disturb her.
-"you don't suggest to me the woman who can be content with just people and just things. you will always insist on luxury. but you will demand more." he looked at her again. "and you will get it," he added, in a tone that sent a wave through her nerves.
-her glance fell. palmer came in, bringing an odor of cologne and of fresh cigarette fumes. brent rose. palmer laid a detaining hand on his shoulder. "do stay on, brent, and go to supper with us."
-"i was about to ask you to supper with me. have you been to the abbaye?"
-"no. we haven't got round to that yet. is it lively?"
-"and the food's the best in paris. you'll come?"
-brent was looking at susan. palmer, not yet educated in the smaller--and important--refinements of politeness, did not wait for her reply or think that she should be consulted. "certainly," said he. "on condition that you dine with us tomorrow night."
-"very well," agreed brent. and he excused himself to take leave of his friends. "just tell your chauffeur to go to the abbaye--he'll know," he said as he bowed over susan's hand. "i'll be waiting. i wish to be there ahead and make sure of a table."
-as the door of the box closed upon him freddie burst out with that enthusiasm we feel for one who is in a position to render us good service and is showing a disposition to do so. "i've known him for years," said he, "and he's the real thing. he used to spend a lot of time in a saloon i used to keep in allen street."
-"allen street?" ejaculated susan, shivering.
-"i was twenty-two then. he used to want to study types, as he called it. and i gathered in types for him--though really my place was for the swell crooks and their ladies. how long ago that seems--and how far away!"
-"another life," said susan.
-"that's a fact. this is my second time on earth. our second time. i tell you it's fighting for a foothold that makes men and women the wretches they are. nowadays, i couldn't hurt a fly--could you? but then you never were cruel. that's why you stayed down so long."
-susan smiled into the darkness of the auditorium--the curtain was up, and they were talking in undertones. she said, as she smiled:
-"i'll never go down and stay down for that reason again."
-her tone arrested his attention; but he could make nothing of it or of her expression, though her face was clear enough in the reflection from the footlights.
-"anyhow, brent and i are old pals," continued he, "though we haven't seen so much of each other since he made a hit with the plays. he always used to predict i'd get to the top and be respectable. now that it's come true, he'll help me. he'll introduce us, if we work it right."
-"but we don't want that yet," protested susan.
-"you're ready and so am i," declared palmer in the tone she knew had the full strength of his will back of it.
-faint angry hissing from the stalls silenced them, but as soon as they were in the auto susan resumed. "i have told mr. brent we don't want to meet his friends yet."
-"now what the hell did you do that for?" demanded freddie. it was the first time she had crossed him; it was the first time he had been reminiscent of the freddie she used to know.
-"because," said she evenly, "i will not meet people under false pretenses."
-"i will not do it," replied she in the same quiet way.
-he assumed that she meant only one of the false pretenses--the one that seemed the least to her. he said:
-"then we'll draw up and sign a marriage contract and date it a couple of years ago, before the new marriage law was passed to save rich men's drunken sons from common law wives."
-"i am already married," said susan. "to a farmer out in indiana."
-freddie laughed. "well, i'll be damned! you! you!" he looked at her ermine-lined cloak and laughed again. "an indiana farmer!" then he suddenly sobered. "come to think of it," said he, "that's the first thing you ever told me about your past."
-"or anybody else," said susan. her body was quivering, for we remember the past events with the sensations they made upon us at the time. she could smell that little room in the farmhouse. allen street and all the rest of her life in the underworld had for her something of the vagueness of dreams--not only now but also while she was living that life. but not ferguson, not the night when her innocent soul was ravished as a wolf rips up and munches a bleating lamb. no vagueness of dreams about that, but a reality to make her shudder and reel whenever she thought of it--a reality vivider now that she was a woman grown in experiences and understanding.
-"he's probably dead--or divorced you long ago."
-"i do not know."
-"what was his first name?"
-she tried to recall. "i think--it was jim. yes, it was jim." she fancied she could hear the voice of that ferocious sister snapping out that name in the miserable little coop of a general room in that hot, foul, farm cottage.
-"where did he live?"
-"his farm was at the edge of zeke warham's place--not far from beecamp, in jefferson county."
-she lapsed into silence, seemed to be watching the gay night streets of the montmartre district--the cafés, the music halls, the sidewalk shows, the throngs of people every man and woman of them with his or her own individual variation upon the fascinating, covertly terrible face of the paris mob. "what are you thinking about?" he asked, when a remark brought no answer.
-"the past," said she. "and the future."
-"well--we'll find out in a few days that your farmer's got no claim on you--and we'll attend to that marriage contract and everything'll be all right."
-"do you want to marry me?" she asked, turning on him suddenly.
-"we're as good as married already," replied he. "your tone sounds as if you didn't want to marry me." and he laughed at the absurdity of such an idea.
-"i don't know whether i do or not," said she slowly.
-he laid a gentle strong hand on her knee. gentle though it was, she felt its strength through the thickness of her cloak. "when the time comes," said he in the soft voice with the menace hidden in it, "you'll know whether you do or don't. you'll know you do--queenie."
-the auto was at the curb before the abbaye. and on the steps, in furs and a top hat, stood the tall, experienced looking, cynical looking playwright. susan's eyes met his, he lifted his hat, formal, polite.
-"i'll bet he's got the best table in the place," said palmer, before opening the door, "and i'll bet it cost him a bunch."
-brent had an apartment in the rue de rivoli, near the hotel meurice and high enough to command the whole tuileries garden. from his balcony he could see to the east the ancient courts of the louvre, to the south the varied, harmonious façades of the quay d'orsay with the domes and spires of the left bank behind, to the west the obélisque, the long broad reaches of the champs elysées with the arc de triomphe at the boundary of the horizon. on that balcony, with the tides of traffic far below, one had a sense of being at the heart of the world, past, present, and to come. brent liked to feel at home wherever he was; it enabled him to go tranquilly to work within a few minutes after his arrival, no matter how far he had journeyed or how long he had been away. so he regarded it as an economy, an essential to good work, to keep up the house in new york, a villa in petite afrique, with the mediterranean washing its garden wall, this apartment at paris; and a telegram a week in advance would reserve him the same quarters in the quietest part of hotels at luzerne, at st. moritz and at biarritz.
-susan admired, as he explained his scheme of life to her and palmer when they visited his apartment. always profound tranquillity in the midst of intense activity. he could shut his door and he as in a desert; he could open it, and the most interesting of the sensations created by the actions and reactions of the whole human race were straightway beating upon his senses. as she listened, she looked about, her eyes taking in impressions to be studied at leisure. these quarters of his in paris were fundamentally different from those in new york, were the expression of a different side of his personality. it was plain that he loved them, that they came nearer to expressing his real--that is, his inmost--self.
-"though i work harder in paris than in new york," he explained, "i have more leisure because it is all one kind of work--writing--at which i'm never interrupted. so i have time to make surroundings for myself. no one has time for surroundings in new york."
-she observed that of the scores of pictures on the walls, tables, shelves of the three rooms they were shown, every one was a face--faces of all nationalities, all ages, all conditions--faces happy and faces tragic, faces homely, faces beautiful, faces irradiating the fascination of those abnormal developments of character, good and bad, which give the composite countenance of the human race its distinction, as the characteristics themselves give it intensities of light and shade. she saw angels, beautiful and ugly, devils beautiful and ugly.
-when she began to notice this peculiarity of those rooms, she was simply interested. what an amazing collection! how much time and thought it must have taken! how he must have searched--and what an instinct he had for finding the unusual, the significant! as she sat there and then strolled about and then sat again, her interest rose into a feverish excitement. it was as if the ghosts of all these personalities, not one of them commonplace, were moving through the rooms, were pressing upon her. she understood why brent had them there--that they were as necessary to him as cadavers and skeletons and physiological charts to an anatomist. but they oppressed, suffocated her; she went out on the balcony and watched the effects of the light from the setting sun upon and around the enormously magnified arc.
-"you don't like my rooms," said brent.
-"they fascinate me," replied she. "but i'd have to get used to these friends of yours. you made their acquaintance one or a few at a time. it's very upsetting, being introduced to all at once."
-she felt brent's gaze upon her--that unfathomable look which made her uneasy, yet was somehow satisfying, too. he said, after a while, "palmer is to give me his photograph. will you give me yours?" he was smiling. "both of you belong in my gallery."
-"of course she will," said palmer, coming out on the balcony and standing beside her. "i want her to have some taken right away--in the evening dress she wore to the opera last week. and she must have her portrait painted."
-"when we are settled," said susan. "i've no time for anything now but shopping."
-they had come to inspect the apartment above brent's, and had decided to take it; susan saw possibilities of making it over into the sort of environment of which she had dreamed. in novels the descriptions of interiors, which weary most readers, interested her more than story or characters. in her days of abject poverty she used these word paintings to construct for herself a room, suites of rooms, a whole house, to replace, when her physical eyes closed and her eyes of fancy opened wide, the squalid and nauseous cell to which poverty condemned her. in the streets she would sometimes pause before a shop window display of interior furnishings; a beautiful table or chair, a design in wall or floor covering had caught her eyes, had set her to dreaming--dreaming on and on--she in dingy skirt and leaky shoes. now--the chance to realize her dreams had come. palmer had got acquainted with some high-class sports, american, french and english, at an american bar in the rue volney. he was spending his afternoons and some of his evenings with them--in the evenings winning large sums from them at cards at which he was now as lucky as at everything else. palmer, pleased by brent's manner toward susan--formal politeness, indifference to sex--was glad to have him go about with her. also palmer was one of those men who not merely imagine they read human nature but actually can read it. he knew he could trust susan. and it had been his habit--as it is the habit of all successful men--to trust human beings, each one up to his capacity for resisting temptation to treachery.
-"brent doesn't care for women--as women," said he. "he never did. don't you think he's queer?"
-"he's different," replied susan. "he doesn't care much for people--to have them as intimates. i understand why. love and friendship bore one--or fail one--and are unsatisfactory--and disturbing. but if one centers one's life about things--books, pictures, art, a career--why, one is never bored or betrayed. he has solved the secret of happiness, i think."
-"do you think a woman could fall in love with him?" he asked, with an air of the accidental and casual.
-"if you mean, could i fall in love with him," said she, "i should say no. i think it would either amuse or annoy him to find that a woman cared about him."
-"amuse him most of all," said palmer. "he knows the ladies--that they love us men for what we can give them."
-"did you ever hear of anyone, man or woman, who cared about a person who couldn't give them anything?"
-freddie's laugh was admission that he thought her right. "the way to get on in politics," observed he, "is to show men that it's to their best interest to support you. and that's the way to get on in everything else--including love."
-susan knew that this was the truth about life, as it appeared to her also. but she could not divest herself of the human aversion to hearing the cold, practical truth. she wanted sugar coating on the pill, even though she knew the sugar made the medicine much less effective, often neutralized it altogether. thus palmer's brutally frank cynicism got upon her nerves, whereas brent's equally frank cynicism attracted her because it was not brutal. both men saw that life was a coarse practical joke. palmer put the stress on the coarseness, brent upon the humor.
-brent recommended and introduced to her a friend of his, a young french jew named gourdain, an architect on the way up to celebrity. "you will like his ideas and he will like yours," said brent.
-she had acquiesced in his insistent friendship for palmer and her, but she had not lowered by an inch the barrier of her reserve toward him. his speech and actions at all times, whether palmer was there or not; suggested that he respected the barrier, regarded it as even higher and thicker than it was. nevertheless she felt that he really regarded the barrier as non-existent. she said:
-"but i've never told you my ideas."
-"i can guess what they are. your surroundings will simply be an extension of your dress."
-she would not have let him see--she would not have admitted to herself--how profoundly the subtle compliment pleased her.
-because a man's or a woman's intimate personal taste is good it by no means follows that he or she will build or decorate or furnish a house well. in matters of taste, the greater does not necessarily include the less, nor does the less imply the greater. perhaps susan would have shown she did not deserve brent's compliment, would have failed ignominiously in that first essay of hers, had she not found a gourdain, sympathetic, able to put into the concrete the rather vague ideas she had evolved in her dreaming. an architect is like a milliner or a dressmaker. he supplies the model, product of his own individual taste. the person who employs him must remold that form into an expression of his own personality--for people who deliberately live in surroundings that are not part of themselves are on the same low level with those who utter only borrowed ideas. that is the object and the aim of civilization--to encourage and to compel each individual to be frankly himself--herself. that is the profound meaning of freedom. the world owes more to bad morals and to bad taste that are spontaneous than to all the docile conformity to the standards of morals and of taste, however good. truth--which simply means an increase of harmony, a decrease of discord, between the internal man and his environment--truth is a product, usually a byproduct, of a ferment of action.
-gourdain--chiefly, no doubt, because susan's beauty of face and figure and dress fascinated him--was more eager to bring out her individuality than to show off his own talents. he took endless pains with her, taught her the technical knowledge and vocabulary that would enable her to express herself, then carried out her ideas religiously. "you are right, mon ami," said he to brent. "she is an orchid, and of a rare species. she has a glorious imagination, like a bird of paradise balancing itself into an azure sky, with every plume raining color and brilliancy."
-"somewhat exaggerated," was susan's pleased, laughing comment when brent told her.
-"somewhat," said brent. "but my friend gourdain is stark mad about women's dressing well. that lilac dress you had on yesterday did for him. he was your servant; he is your slave."
-abruptly--for no apparent cause, as was often the case--susan had that sickening sense of the unreality of her luxurious present, of being about to awaken in vine street with etta--or in the filthy bed with old mrs. tucker. absently she glanced down at her foot, holding it out as if for inspection. she saw brent's look of amusement at her seeming vanity.
-"i was looking to see if my shoes were leaky," she explained.
-a subtle change came over his face. he understood instantly.
-"have you ever been--cold?" she asked, looking at him strangely.
-"one cold february--cold and damp--i had no underclothes--and no overcoat."
-"and dirty beds--filthy rooms--filthy people?"
-"a ten-cent lodging house with a tramp for bedfellow."
-they were looking at each other, with the perfect understanding and sympathy that can come only to two people of the same fiber who have braved the same storms. each glanced hastily away.
-her enthusiasm for doing the apartment was due full as much to the fact that it gave her definitely directed occupation as to its congeniality. that early training of hers from aunt fanny warham had made it forever impossible for her in any circumstances to become the typical luxuriously sheltered woman, whether legally or illegally kept--the lie-abed woman, the woman who dresses only to go out and show off, the woman who wastes her life in petty, piffling trifles--without purpose, without order or system, without morals or personal self-respect. she had never lost the systematic instinct--the instinct to use time instead of wasting it--that fanny warham had implanted in her during the years that determine character. not for a moment, even without distinctly definite aim, was she in danger of the creeping paralysis that is epidemic among the rich, enfeebling and slowing down mental and physical activity. she had a regular life; she read, she walked in the bois; she made the best of each day. and when this definite thing to accomplish offered, she did not have to learn how to work before she could begin the work itself.
-all this was nothing new to gourdain. he was born and bred in a country where intelligent discipline is the rule and the lack of it the rare exception--among all classes--even among the women of the well-to-do classes.
-the finished apartment was a disappointment to palmer. its effects were too quiet, too restrained. within certain small limits, those of the man of unusual intelligence but no marked originality, he had excellent taste--or, perhaps, excellent ability to recognize good taste. but in the large he yearned for the grandiose. he loved the gaudy with which the rich surround themselves because good taste forbids them to talk of their wealth and such surroundings do the talking for them and do it more effectively. he would have preferred even a vulgar glitter to the unobtrusiveness of those rooms. but he knew that susan was right, and he was a very human arrant coward about admitting that he had bad taste.
-"this is beautiful--exquisite," said he, with feigned enthusiasm. "i'm afraid, though, it'll be above their heads."
-"what do you mean?" inquired susan.
-palmer felt her restrained irritation, hastened to explain. "i mean the people who'll come here. they can't appreciate it. you have to look twice to appreciate this--and people, the best of 'em, look only once and a mighty blind look it is."
-but susan was not deceived. "you must tell me what changes you want," said she. her momentary irritation had vanished. since freddie was paying, freddie must have what suited him.
-"oh, i've got nothing to suggest. now that i've been studying it out, i couldn't allow you to make any changes. it does grow on one, doesn't it, brent?"
-"it will be the talk of paris," replied brent.
-the playwright's tone settled the matter for palmer. he was content. said he:
-"thank god she hasn't put in any of those dirty old tapestry rags--and the banged up, broken furniture and the patched crockery."
-at the same time she had produced an effect of long tenancy. there was nothing that glittered, nothing with the offensive sheen of the brand new. there was in that delicately toned atmosphere one suggestion which gave the same impression as the artificial crimson of her lips in contrast with the pallor of her skin and the sweet thoughtful melancholy of her eyes. this suggestion came from an all-pervading odor of a heavy, languorously sweet, sensuous perfume--the same that susan herself used. she had it made at a perfumer's in the faubourg st. honoré by mixing in a certain proportion several of the heaviest and most clinging of the familiar perfumes. "you don't like my perfume?" she said to brent one day.
-he was in the library, was inspecting her selections of books. instead of answering her question, he said:
-"how did you find out so much about books? how did you find time to read so many?"
-"one always finds time for what one likes."
-"not always," said he. "i had a hard stretch once--just after i struck new york. i was a waiter for two months. working people don't find time for reading--and such things."
-"that was one reason why i gave up work," said she.
-"that--and the dirt--and the poor wages--and the hopelessness--and a few other reasons," said he.
-"why don't you like the perfume i use?"
-"why do you say that?"
-"you made a queer face as you came into the drawing-room."
-"do you like it?"
-"what a queer question!" she said. "no other man would have asked it."
-"the obvious," said he, shrugging his shoulders.
-"i couldn't help knowing you didn't like it."
-"then why should i use it?"
-his glance drifted slowly away from hers. he lit a cigarette with much attention to detail.
-"why should i use perfume i don't like?" persisted she.
-"what's the use of going into that?" said he.
-"but i do like it--in a way," she went on after a pause. "it is--it seems to me the odor of myself."
-"yes--it is," he admitted.
-she laughed. "yet you made a wry face."
-"at the odor?"
-"at the odor."
-"do you think i ought to change to another perfume?"
-"you know i do not. it's the odor of your soul. it is different at different times--sometimes inspiringly sweet as the incense of heaven, as my metaphoric friend gourdain would say--sometimes as deadly sweet as the odors of the drugs men take to drag them to hell--sometimes repulsively sweet, making one heart sick for pure, clean smell-less air yet without the courage to seek it. your perfume is many things, but always--always strong and tenacious and individual."
-a flush had overspread the pallor of her skin; her long dark lashes hid her eyes.
-"you have never been in love," he went on.
-"so you told me once before." it was the first time either had referred to their new york acquaintance.
-"you did not believe me then. but you do now?"
-"for me there is no such thing as love," replied she. "i understand affection--i have felt it. i understand passion. it is a strong force in my life--perhaps the strongest."
-"no," said he, quiet but positive.
-"perhaps not," replied she carelessly, and went on, with her more than manlike candor, and in her manner of saying the most startling things in the calmest way:
-"i understand what is called love--feebleness looking up to strength or strength pitying feebleness. i understand because i've felt both those things. but love--two equal people united perfectly, merged into a third person who is neither yet is both--that i have not felt. i've dreamed it. i've imagined it--in some moments of passion. but"--she laughed and shrugged her shoulders and waved the hand with the cigarette between its fingers--"i have not felt it and i shall not feel it. i remain i." she paused, considered, added, "and i prefer that."
-"you are strong," said he, absent and reflective. "yes, you are strong."
-"i don't know," replied she. "sometimes i think so. again----" she shook her head doubtfully.
-"you would be dead if you were not. as strong in soul as in body."
-he rose--sighed--laughed--at her and at himself. "don't delay too long," said he.
-"my career? why, i am in the full swing of it. i'm at work in the only profession i'm fit for."
-"the profession of woman?"
-"yes--the profession of female."
-he winced--and at this sign, if she did not ask herself what pleased her, she did not ask herself why. he said sharply, "i don't like that."
-"but you have only to hear it. think of poor me who have to live it."
-"have to? no," said he.
-"surely you're not suggesting that i drop back into the laboring classes! no, thank you. if you knew, you'd not say anything so stupid."
-"i do know, and i was not suggesting that. under this capitalistic system the whole working class is degraded. they call what they do 'work,' but that word ought to be reserved for what a man does when he exercises mind and body usefully. what the working class is condemned to by capitalism is not work but toil."
-"the toil of a slave," said susan.
-"it's shallow twaddle or sheer want to talk about the dignity and beauty of labor under this system," he went on. "it is ugly and degrading. the fools or hypocrites who talk that way ought to be forced to join the gangs of slaves at their tasks in factory and mine and shop, in the fields and the streets. and even the easier and better paid tasks, even what the capitalists themselves do--those things aren't dignified and beautiful. capitalism divides all men except those of one class--the class to which i luckily belong--divides all other men into three unlovely classes--slave owners, slave drivers and slaves. but you're not interested in those questions."
-"in wage slavery? no. i wish to forget about it. any alternative to being a wage slave or a slave driver--or a slave owner. any alternative."
-"you don't appreciate your own good fortune," said he. "most human beings--all but a very few--have to be in the slave classes, in one way or another. they have to submit to the repulsive drudgery, with no advancement except to slave driver. as for women--if they have to work, what can they do but sell themselves into slavery to the machines, to the capitalists? but you--you needn't do that. nature endowed you with talent--unusual talent, i believe. how lucky you are! how superior to the great mass of your fellow beings who must slave or starve, because they have no talent!"
-"talent?--i?" said susan. "for what, pray?"
-"for the stage."
-she looked amused. "you evidently don't think me vain--or you'd not venture that jest."
-"for the stage," he repeated.
-"thanks," said she drily, "but i'll not appeal from your verdict."
-"my verdict? what do you mean?"
-"i prefer to talk of something else," said she coldly, offended by his unaccountable disregard of her feelings.
-"this is bewildering," said he. and his manner certainly fitted the words.
-"that i should have understood? perhaps i shouldn't--at least, not so quickly--if i hadn't heard how often you have been disappointed, and how hard it has been for you to get rid of some of those you tried and found wanting."
-"believe me--i was not disappointed in you." he spoke earnestly, apparently with sincerity. "the contrary. your throwing it all up was one of the shocks of my life."
-she laughed mockingly--to hide her sensitiveness.
-"one of the shocks of my life," he repeated.
-she was looking at him curiously--wondering why he was thus uncandid.
-"it puzzled me," he went on. "i've been lingering on here, trying to solve the puzzle. and the more i've seen of you the less i understand. why did you do it? how could you do it?"
-he was walking up and down the room in a characteristic pose--hands clasped behind his back as if to keep them quiet, body erect, head powerfully thrust forward. he halted abruptly and wheeled to face her. "do you mean to tell me you didn't get tired of work and drop it for--" he waved his arm to indicate her luxurious surroundings--"for this?"
-no sign of her agitation showed at the surface. but she felt she was not concealing herself from him.
-he resumed his march, presently to halt and wheel again upon her. but before he could speak, she stopped him.
-"i don't wish to hear any more," said she, the strange look in her eyes. it was all she could do to hide the wild burst of emotion that had followed her discovery. then she had not been without a chance for a real career! she might have been free, might have belonged to herself----
-"it is not too late," cried he. "that's why i'm here."
-"it is too late," she said.
-"it is not too late," repeated he, harshly, in his way that swept aside opposition. "i shall get you back." triumphantly, "the puzzle is solved!"
-she faced him with a look of defiant negation. "that ocean i crossed--it's as narrow as the east river into which i thought of throwing myself many a time--it's as narrow as the east river beside the ocean between what i am and what i was. and i'll never go back. never!"
-she repeated the "never" quietly, under her breath. his eyes looked as if they, without missing an essential detail, had swept the whole of that to which she would never go back. he said:
-"go back? no, indeed. who's asking you to go back? not i. i'm not asking you to go anywhere. i'm simply saying that you will--must--go forward. if you were in love, perhaps not. but you aren't in love. i know from experience how men and women care for each other--how they form these relationships. they find each other convenient and comfortable. but they care only for themselves. especially young people. one must live quite a while to discover that thinking about oneself is living in a stuffy little cage with only a little light, through slats in the top that give no view. . . . it's an unnatural life for you. it can't last. you--centering upon yourself--upon comfort and convenience. absurd!"
-"i have chosen," said she.
-"no--you can't do it," he went on, as if she had not spoken. "you can't spend your life at dresses and millinery, at chattering about art, at thinking about eating and drinking--at being passively amused--at attending to your hair and skin and figure. you may think so, but in reality you are getting ready for me . . . for your career. you are simply educating yourself. i shall have you back."
-she held the cigarette to her lips, inhaled the smoke deeply, exhaled it slowly.
-"i will tell you why," he went on, as if he were answering a protest. "every one of us has an individuality of some sort. and in spite of everything and anything, except death or hopeless disease, that individuality will insist upon expressing itself."
-"mine is expressing itself," said she with a light smile--the smile of a light woman.
-"you can't rest in this present life of yours. your individuality is too strong. it will have its way--and for all your mocking smiling, you know i am right. i understand how you were tempted into it----"
-she opened her lips--changed her mind and stopped her lips with her cigarette.
-"i don't blame you--and it was just as well. this life has taught you--will teach you--will advance you in your career. . . . tell me, what gave you the idea that i was disappointed?"
-she tossed her cigarette into the big ash tray. "as i told you, it is too late." she rose and looked at him with a strange, sweet smile. "i've got any quantity of faults," said she. "but there's one i haven't got. i don't whine."
-"you don't whine," assented he, "and you don't lie--and you don't shirk. men and women have been canonized for less. i understand that for some reason you can't talk about----"
-"then why do you continue to press me?" said she, a little coldly.
-he accepted the rebuke with a bow. "nevertheless," said he, with raillery to carry off his persistence, "i shall get you. if not sooner, then when the specter of an obscure--perhaps poor--old age begins to agitate the rich hangings of youth's banquet hall."
-"that'll be a good many years yet," mocked she. and from her lovely young face flashed the radiant defiance of her perfect youth and health.
-"years that pass quickly," retorted he, unmoved.
-she was still radiant, still smiling, but once more she was seeing the hideous old women of the tenements. into her nostrils stole the stench of the foul den in which she had slept with mrs. tucker and mrs. reardon--and she was hearing the hunchback of the dive playing for the drunken dancing old cronies, with their tin cups of whiskey.
-no danger of that now? how little she was saving of her salary from palmer! she could not "work" men--she simply could not. she would never put by enough to be independent and every day her tastes for luxury had firmer hold upon her. no danger? as much danger as ever--a danger postponed but certain to threaten some day--and then, a fall from a greater height--a certain fall. she was hearing the battered, shattered piano of the dive.
-"for pity's sake mrs. palmer!" cried brent, in a low voice.
-she started. the beautiful room, the environment of luxury and taste and comfort came back.
-gourdain interrupted and then palmer.
-the four went to the cafe anglais for dinner. brent announced that he was going to the riviera soon to join a party of friends. "i wish you would visit me later," said he, with a glance that included them all and rested, as courtesy required, upon susan. "there's room in my villa--barely room."
-"we've not really settled here," said susan. "and we've taken up french seriously."
-"the weather's frightful," said palmer, with a meaning glance at her. "i think we ought to go."
-but her expression showed that she had no intention of going, no sympathy with palmer's desire to use this excellent, easy ladder of brent's offering to make the ascent into secure respectability.
-"next winter, then," said brent, who was observing her. "or--in the early spring, perhaps."
-"oh, we may change our minds and come," palmer suggested eagerly. "i'm going to try to persuade my wife."
-"come if you can," said brent cordially. "i'll have no one stopping with me."
-when they were alone, palmer sent his valet away and fussed about impatiently until susan's maid had unhooked her dress and had got her ready for bed. as the maid began the long process of giving her hair a thorough brushing, he said, "please let her go, susan. i want to tell you something."
-"she does not know a word of english."
-"but these french are so clever that they understand perfectly with their eyes."
-susan sent the maid to bed and sat in a dressing gown brushing her hair. it was long enough to reach to the middle of her back and to cover her bosom. it was very thick and wavy. now that the scarlet was washed from her lips for the night, her eyes shone soft and clear with no relief for their almost tragic melancholy. he was looking at her in profile. her expression was stern as well as sad--the soul of a woman who has suffered and has been made strong, if not hard.
-"i got a letter from my lawyers today," he began. "it was about that marriage. i'll read."
-"'as the inclosed documents show,'" he read, "'we have learned and have legally verified that jeb--not james--ferguson divorced his wife susan lenox about a year after their marriage, on the ground of desertion; and two years later he fell through the floor of an old bridge near brooksburg and was killed.'"
-the old bridge--she was feeling its loose flooring sag and shift under the cautious hoofs of the horse. she was seeing rod spenser on the horse, behind him a girl, hardly more than a child--under the starry sky exchanging confidences--talking of their futures.
-"so, you see, you are free," said palmer. "i went round to an american lawyer's office this afternoon, and borrowed an old legal form book. and i've copied out this form----"
-she was hardly conscious of his laying papers on the table before her.
-"it's valid, as i've fixed things. the lawyer gave me some paper. it has a watermark five years old. i've dated back two years--quite enough. so when we've signed, the marriage never could be contested--not even by ourselves."
-"what were you thinking about?" said he.
-"i wasn't thinking," she answered, with her slow sweet smile of self-concealment. "i was feeling--living--the past. i was watching the procession."
-he nodded understandingly. "that's a kind of time-wasting that can easily be overdone."
-"easily," she agreed. "still, there's the lesson. i have to remind myself of it often--always, when there's anything that has to be decided."
-"i've written out two of the forms," said he. "we sign both. you keep one, i the other. why not sign now?"
-she read the form--the agreement to take each other as lawful husband and wife and to regard the contract as in all respects binding and legal.
-"do you understand it?" laughed he nervously, for her manner was disquieting.
-"you stared at the paper as if it were a puzzle."
-"it is," said she.
-"come into the library and we'll sign and have it over with."
-she laid the papers on the dressing table, took up her brush, drew it slowly over her hair several times.
-"wake up," cried he, good humoredly. "come on into the library." and he went to the threshold.
-she continued brushing her hair. "i can't sign," said she. there was the complete absence of emotion that caused her to be misunderstood always by those who did not know her peculiarities. no one could have suspected the vision of the old women of the dive before her eyes, the sound of the hunchback's piano in her ears, the smell of foul liquors and foul bodies and foul breaths in her nostrils. yet she repeated:
-"no--i can't sign."
-he returned to his chair, seated himself, a slight cloud on his brow, a wicked smile on his lips. "now what the devil!" said he gently, a jeer in his quiet voice. "what's all this about?"
-"i can't marry you," said she. "i wish to live on as we are."
-"but if we do that we can't get up where we want to go."
-"i don't wish to know anyone but interesting men of the sort that does things--and women of my own sort. those people have no interest in conventionalities."
-"that's not the crowd we set out to conquer," said he. "you seem to have forgotten."
-"it's you who have forgotten," replied she.
-"yes--yes--i know," he hastened to say. "i wasn't accusing you of breaking your agreement. you've lived up to it--and more. but, susan, the people you care about don't especially interest me. brent--yes. he's a man of the world as well as one of the artistic chaps. but the others--they're beyond me. i admit it's all fine, and i'm glad you go in for it. but the only crowd that's congenial to me is the crowd that we've got to be married to get in with."
-she saw his point--saw it more clearly than did he. to him the world of fashion and luxurious amusement seemed the only world worth while. he accepted the scheme of things as he found it, had the conventional ambitions--to make in succession the familiar goals of the conventional human success--power, wealth, social position. it was impossible for him to get any other idea of a successful life, of ambitions worthy a man's labor. it was evidence of the excellence of his mind that he was able to tolerate the idea of the possibility of there being another mode of success worth while.
-"i'm helping you in your ambitions--in doing what you think is worth while," said he. "don't you think you owe it to me to help me in mine?"
-he saw the slight change of expression that told him how deeply he had touched her.
-"if i don't go in for the high society game," he went on, "i'll have nothing to do. i'll be adrift--gambling, drinking, yawning about and going to pieces. a man's got to have something to work for--and he can't work unless it seems to him worth doing."
-she was staring into the mirror, her elbows on the table, her chin upon her interlaced fingers. it would be difficult to say how much of his gentleness to her was due to her physical charm for him, and how much to his respect for her mind and her character. he himself would have said that his weakness was altogether the result of the spell her physical charm cast over him. but it is probable that the other element was the stronger.
-"you'll not be selfish, susan?" urged he. "you'll give me a square deal."
-"yes--i see that it does look selfish," said she. "a little while ago i'd not have been able to see any deeper than the looks of it. freddie, there are some things no one has a right to ask of another, and no one has a right to grant."
-the ugliness of his character was becoming less easy to control. this girl whom he had picked up, practically out of the gutter, and had heaped generosities upon, was trying his patience too far. but he said, rather amiably:
-"certainly i'm not asking any such thing of you in asking you to become a respectable married woman, the wife of a rich man."
-"yes--you are, freddie," replied she gently. "if i married you, i'd be signing an agreement to lead your life, to give up my own--an agreement to become a sort of woman i've no desire to be and no interest in being; to give up trying to become the only sort of woman i think is worth while. when we were discussing my coming with you, you made this same proposal in another form. i refused it then. and i refuse it now. it's harder to refuse now, but i'm stronger."
-"stronger, thanks to the money you've got from me--the money and the rest of it," sneered he.
-"haven't i earned all i've got?" said she, so calmly that he did not realize how the charge of ingratitude, unjust though it was, had struck into her.
-"you have changed!" said he. "you're getting as hard as the rest of us. so it's all a matter of money, of give and take--is it? none of the generosity and sentiment you used to be full of? you've simply been using me."
-"it can be put that way," replied she. "and no doubt you honestly see it that way. but i've got to see my own interest and my own right, freddie. i've learned at last that i mustn't trust to anyone else to look after them for me."
-"are you riding for a fall--queenie?"
-at "queenie" she smiled faintly. "i'm riding the way i always have," answered she. "it has carried me down. but--it has brought me up again." she looked at him with eyes that appealed, without yielding. "and i'll ride that way to the end--up or down," said she. "i can't help it."
-"then you want to break with me?" he asked--and he began to look dangerous.
-"no," replied she. "i want to go on as we are. . . . i'll not be interfering in your social ambitions, in any way. over here it'll help you to have a mistress who--" she saw her image in the glass, threw him an arch glance--"who isn't altogether unattractive won't it? and if you found you could go higher by marrying some woman of the grand world--why, you'd be free to do it."
-he had a way of looking at her that gave her--and himself--the sense of a delirious embrace. he looked at her so, now. he said:
-"you take advantage of my being crazy about you--damn you!"
-"heaven knows," laughed she, "i need every advantage i can find."
-he touched her--the lightest kind of touch. it carried the sense of embrace in his look still more giddily upward. "queenie!" he said softly.
-she smiled at him through half closed eyes that with a gentle and shy frankness confessed the secret of his attraction for her. there was, however, more of strength than of passion in her face as a whole. said she:
-"we're getting on well--as we are aren't we? i can meet the most amusing and interesting people--my sort of people. you can go with the people and to the places you like and you'll not be bound. if you should take a notion to marry some woman with a big position--you'd not have to regret being tied to--queenie."
-"but--i want you--i want you," said he. "i've got to have you."
-"as long as you like," said she. "but on terms i can accept--always on terms i can accept. never on any others--never! i can't help it. i can yield everything but that."
-where she was concerned he was the primitive man only. the higher his passion rose, the stronger became his desire for absolute possession. when she spoke of terms--of the limitations upon his possession of her--she transformed his passion into fury. he eyed her wickedly, abruptly demanded:
-"when did you decide to make this kick-up?"
-"i don't know. simply--when you asked me to sign, i found i couldn't."
-"you don't expect me to believe that."
-"it's the truth." she resumed brushing her hair.
-"look at me!"
-she turned her face toward him, met his gaze.
-"have you fallen in love with that young jew?"
-"have you a crazy notion that your looks'll get you a better husband? a big fortune or a title?"
-"i haven't thought about a husband. haven't i told you i wish to be free?"
-"but that doesn't mean anything."
-"it might," said she absently.
-"i don't know. if one is always free--one is ready for--whatever comes. anyhow, i must be free--no matter what it costs."
-"i see you're bent on dropping back into the dirt i picked you out of."
-"even that," she said. "i must be free."
-"haven't you any desire to be respectable--decent?"
-"i guess not," confessed she. "what is there in that direction for me?"
-"a woman doesn't stay young and good-looking long."
-"no." she smiled faintly. "but does she get old and ugly any slower for being married?"
-he rose and stood over her, looked smiling danger down at her. she leaned back in her chair to meet his eyes without constraint. "you're trying to play me a trick," said he. "but you're not going to get away with the goods. i'm astonished that you are so rotten ungrateful."
-"because i'm not for sale?"
-"queenie balking at selling herself," he jeered. "and what's the least you ever did sell for?"
-"a half-dollar, i think. no--two drinks of whiskey one cold night. but what i sold was no more myself than--than the coat i'd pawned and drunk up before i did it."
-the plain calm way in which she said this made it so terrible that he winced and turned away. "we have seen hell--haven't we?" he muttered. he turned toward her with genuine passion of feeling. "susan," he cried, "don't be a fool. let's push our luck, now that things are coming our way. we need each other--we want to stay together--don't we?"
-"i want to stay. i'm happy."
-"then--let's put the record straight."
-"let's keep it straight," replied she earnestly. "don't ask me to go where i don't belong. for i can't, freddie--honestly, i can't."
-a pause. then, "you will!" said he, not in blustering fury, but in that cool and smiling malevolence which had made him the terror of his associates from his boyhood days among the petty thieves and pickpockets of grand street. he laid his hand gently on her shoulder. "you hear me. i say you will."
-she looked straight at him. "not if you kill me," she said. she rose to face him at his own height. "i've bought my freedom with my body and with my heart and with my soul. it's all i've got. i shall keep it."
-he measured her strength with an expert eye. he knew that he was beaten. he laughed lightly and went into his dressing-room.
-they met the next morning with no sign in the manner of either that there had been a drawn battle, that there was an armed truce. she knew that he, like herself, was thinking of nothing else. but until he had devised some way of certainly conquering her he would wait, and watch, and pretend that he was satisfied with matters as they were. the longer she reflected the less uneasy she became--as to immediate danger. in paris the methods of violence he might have been tempted to try in new york were out of the question. what remained? he must realize that threats to expose her would be futile; also, he must feel vulnerable, himself, to that kind of attack--a feeling that would act as a restraint, even though he might appreciate that she was the sort of person who could not in any circumstances resort to it. he had not upon her a single one of the holds a husband has upon a wife. true, he could break with her. but she must appreciate how easy it would now be for her in this capital of the idle rich to find some other man glad to "protect" a woman so expert at gratifying man's vanity of being known as the proprietor of a beautiful and fashionable woman. she had discovered how, in the aristocracy of european wealth, an admired mistress was as much a necessary part of the grandeur of great nobles, great financiers, great manufacturers, or merchants, as wife, as heir, as palace, as equipage, as chef, as train of secretaries and courtiers. she knew how deeply it would cut, to find himself without his show piece that made him the envied of men and the desired of women. also, she knew that she had an even stronger hold upon him--that she appealed to him as no other woman ever had, that she had become for him a tenacious habit. she was not afraid that he would break with her. but she could not feel secure; in former days she had seen too far into the mazes of that italian mind of his, she knew too well how patient, how relentless, how unforgetting he was. she would have taken murder into account as more than a possibility but for his intense and intelligent selfishness; he would not risk his life or his liberty; he would not deprive himself of his keenest pleasure. he was resourceful; but in the circumstances what resources were there for him to draw upon?
-when he began to press upon her more money than ever, and to buy her costly jewelry, she felt still further reassured. evidently he had been unable to think out any practicable scheme; evidently he was, for the time, taking the course of appeal to her generous instincts, of making her more and more dependent upon his liberality.
-well--was he not right? love might fail; passion might wane; conscience, aiding self-interest with its usual servility, might overcome the instincts of gratitude. but what power could overcome the loyalty resting upon money interest? no power but that of a longer purse than his. as she was not in the mood to make pretenses about herself to herself, she smiled at this cynical self-measuring. "but i shan't despise myself for being so material," said she to herself, "until i find a genuine case of a woman, respectable or otherwise, who has known poverty and escaped from it, and has then voluntarily given up wealth to go back to it. i should not stay on with him if he were distasteful to me. and that's more than most women can honestly say. perhaps even i should not stay on if it were not for a silly, weak feeling of obligation--but i can't be sure of that." she had seen too much of men and women preening upon noble disinterested motives when in fact their real motives were the most calculatingly selfish; she preferred doing herself less than justice rather than more.
-she had fifty-five thousand francs on deposit at munroe's--all her very own. she had almost two hundred thousand francs' worth of jewels, which she would be justified in keeping--at least, she hoped she would think so--should there come a break with freddie. yet in spite of this substantial prosperity--or was it because of this prosperity?--she abruptly began again to be haunted by the old visions, by warnings of the dangers that beset any human being who has not that paying trade or profession which makes him or her independent--gives him or her the only unassailable independence.
-the end with freddie might be far away. but end, she saw, there would be the day when he would somehow get her in his power and so would drive her to leave him. for she could not again become a slave. extreme youth, utter inexperience, no knowledge of real freedom--these had enabled her to endure in former days. but she was wholly different now. she could not sink back. steadily she was growing less and less able to take orders from anyone. this full-grown passion for freedom, this intolerance of the least restraint--how dangerous, if she should find herself in a position where she would have to put up with the caprices of some man or drop down and down!
-what real, secure support had she? none. her building was without solid foundations. her struggle with freddie was a revelation and a warning. there were days when, driving about in her luxurious car, she could do nothing but search among the crowds in the streets for the lonely old women in rags, picking and peering along the refuse of the cafés--weazened, warped figures swathed in rags, creeping along, mumbling to themselves, lips folded in and in over toothless gums.
-one day brent saw again the look she often could not keep from her face when that vision of the dance hall in the slums was horrifying her. he said impulsively:
-"what is it? tell me--what is it, susan?"
-it was the first and the last time he ever called her by her only personal name. he flushed deeply. to cover his confusion--and her own--she said in her most frivolous way:
-"i was thinking that if i am ever rich i shall have more pairs of shoes and stockings and take care of more orphans than anyone else in the world."
-"a purpose! at last a purpose!" laughed he. "now you will go to work."
-through gourdain she got a french teacher--and her first woman friend.
-the young widow he recommended, a madame clélie délière, was the most attractive woman she had ever known. she had all the best french characteristics--a good heart, a lively mind, was imaginative yet sensible, had good taste in all things. like most of the attractive french women, she was not beautiful, but had that which is of far greater importance--charm. she knew not a word of english, and it was perhaps susan's chief incentive toward working hard at french that she could not really be friends with this fascinating person until she learned to speak her language. palmer--partly by nature, partly through early experience in the polyglot tenement district of new york--had more aptitude for language than had susan. but he had been lazy about acquiring french in a city where english is spoken almost universally. with the coming of young madame délière to live in the apartment, he became interested.
-it was not a month after her coming when you might have seen at one of the fashionable gay restaurants any evening a party of four--gourdain was the fourth--talking french almost volubly. palmer's accent was better than susan's. she could not--and felt she never could--get the accent of the trans-alleghany region out of her voice--and so long as that remained she would not speak good french. "but don't let that trouble you," said clélie. "your voice is your greatest charm. it is so honest and so human. of the americans i have met, i have liked only those with that same tone in their voices."
-"but i haven't that accent," said freddie with raillery.
-madame clélie laughed. "no--and i do not like you," retorted she. "no one ever did. you do not wish to be liked. you wish to be feared." her lively brown eyes sparkled and the big white teeth in her generous mouth glistened. "you wish to be feared--and you are feared, monsieur freddie."
-"it takes a clever woman to know how to flatter with the truth," said he. "everybody always has been afraid of me--and is--except, of course, my wife."
-he was always talking of "my wife" now. the subject so completely possessed his mind that he aired it unconsciously. when she was not around he boasted of "my wife's" skill in the art of dress, of "my wife's" taste, of "my wife's" shrewdness in getting her money's worth. when she was there, he was using the favorite phrase "my wife" this--"my wife" that--"my wife" the other--until it so got on her nerves that she began to wait for it and to wince whenever it came--never a wait of many minutes. at first she thought he was doing this deliberately either to annoy her or in pursuance of some secret deep design. but she soon saw that he was not aware of his inability to keep off the subject or of his obsession for that phrase representing the thing he was intensely wishing and willing--"chiefly," she thought, "because it is something he cannot have." she was amazed at his display of such a weakness. it gave her the chance to learn an important truth about human nature--that self-indulgence soon destroys the strongest nature--and she was witness to how rapidly an inflexible will disintegrates if incessantly applied to an impossibility. when a strong arrogant man, unbalanced by long and successful self-indulgence, hurls himself at an obstruction, either the obstruction yields or the man is destroyed.
-time, declined to leave warsaw. but saint-huberty pleaded so eloquently in the letters which he continued to send her that ultimately she relented, and, in spite of the remonstrances of her kind-hearted patroness, took the road to vienna.
-here she quickly found that the opera-house and the brilliant prospects had no existence, save in the imagination of m. saint-huberty, who was reduced to such straits as to be actually in want of bread, and had only sent for his wife in order to save himself from starvation. happily, almost so soon as she arrived, circumstances compelled the impresario to quit vienna in the same manner as he had quitted berlin and warsaw.
-on september 23, 1777, madame saint-huberty made her début in the small part of mélisse, in armide, and the mercure de france referred to her performance in the following terms:
-“she has an agreeable voice. she sings and acts with much delicacy of expression. she appears to be an excellent musician, and needs only a little stage experience in order to acquire greater development for her voice and greater ease for her acting.”
-on an order from the lieutenant of police, a portion of the stolen property was subsequently restored; but if madame saint-huberty flattered herself that she was safe from further depredations, she was speedily undeceived. on august 10, she removed to a little apartment in the rue de l’arbre sec, in the house of gourdan, one of the king’s valets-de-chambre, for which she paid a rental of 490 livres and had furnished herself. three weeks later, at seven o’clock in the morning, she was sleeping peacefully, dreaming perhaps of the time not far distant when all the musical world would be at her feet, when she was abruptly awakened by the entrance of four men, amongst whom she at once recognised the scoundrelly saint-huberty. that worthy, pointing to a person attired in the black garb of a commissary of police, to indicate that he had legal authority for what he was about to do, cried: “the pockets, messieurs; search her pockets.” the hapless woman was then dragged from her bed, and, while the man in black held her in his arms, her husband showered blows upon her, after which he took a pair of scissors and cut the ribands of the pockets of her night-dress, inflicting several severe scratches in the process. next, having possessed himself of her keys, he opened all the drawers and cupboards in the apartment, and proceeded to ransack them, at the same time addressing to his wife the most shocking language. finally, a fifth person, also clad in black, entered, who announced himself as the procurator of the husband, but, like his fellows, only laughed at the poor actress’s distress, and declined to answer when she demanded to see his authority. when her husband and his confederates had taken their departure, madame saint-huberty found that she had been robbed of a packet of twenty-two letters, “which, at first sight, appeared to be love-letters,” and a pair of diamond shoe-buckles of the value of six louis.
-this outrage was, of course, made the subject of a complaint by its victim, of which the aforegoing account is a summary. but, as saint-huberty had really had legal authority for his proceedings, having had the audacity to declare to the police that his wife had “secretly quitted their common abode and carried away with her numerous effects belonging to him,” no steps could be taken against him. when, however, madame saint-huberty threatened to retire from the opera, “unless her personal safety were guaranteed,” she received an assurance that she need no longer fear the visits and assaults of her husband.
-but, if the unhappy woman had contrived to secure herself against personal molestation, she was not yet free from trouble of another kind. some weeks before the adventure which we have just related, she had succeeded in obtaining from saint-huberty, in return, we may be sure, for some pecuniary consideration, a formal renunciation of all claim to her professional earnings, whether derived from the opera or from engagements at private concerts or other entertainments. by the law, however, she still remained answerable for his debts, and the cunning scoundrel now determined to obtain the money he required through the claims of fictitious creditors. on the demand of a certain demoiselle guérin, who declared herself to be a creditor for the sum of 489 francs against the sieur saint-huberty and his wife, a formal objection was lodged to the payment of the dame saint-huberty’s salary; and, on october 2, 1778, the châtelet declared this opposition good and valid, and made an order for the directors and treasurers of the opera to deliver over to the sieur saint-huberty all sums due to his wife, until the debt should be liquidated.
-poor madame saint-huberty was in despair. it was in vain that she protested that she knew nothing of the demoiselle guérin, and had never been called upon by her, previous to the legal proceedings, to pay any debt. the officials of the opera assured her that they were powerless in the matter. deeply as they sympathised with her, they could pay her nothing, until she had obtained a recession of the order of the court.
-this she, accordingly, endeavoured to procure. but the machinery of the law worked even more slowly in those days than at the present time, and it was not until march 19, 1779, that the appeal came on for hearing before the parliament of paris. then, at last, fortune declared itself on her side; for the judges, carried away apparently by the eloquence of the plaintiff’s advocate, maître mascassies, who, in a speech of several hours’ duration, traced the history of the stage from its origin to the middle of the eighteenth century, with special reference to the influence of the fall of constantinople on the “mysteries,” and the relative merits of the operas of lulli and rameau, reversed the decision of the châtelet, ordered the authorities of the opera to hand over to the singer her arrears of salary, and condemned saint-huberty and his confederates to pay all the costs of the proceedings.
-madame saint-huberty followed up this victory by another and more important one. six months later, she instituted proceedings for a formal dissolution of her marriage on the following grounds:
-no one seems to have expected this opera to succeed. the composer himself believed its failure inevitable. the evening of the first representation, when he was about to start for the theatre, his family refused to accompany him, and, aware of his extremely sensitive nature used every persuasion to induce him to remain at home. his wife, his children, his friends were in tears. “one would have imagined that he was on his way to the scaffold.”
-piccini endeavoured to reassure them. “my children,” said he, “we are not in the midst of barbarians, but of the politest people in the world. if they do not approve of me as a musician, they will at least respect me as a man and a foreigner.” and he tore himself away.
-a delightful surprise awaited him. roland, so far from being a failure, was an unqualified triumph, and, at the conclusion of the performance, piccini was escorted home by an enthusiastic crowd of admirers. this happy result was undoubtedly due, in the first instance, to madame saint-huberty’s admirable rendering of the part of angélique. “where is saint-huberty? where is she?” cried the grateful composer, as the curtain fell to the accompaniment of round upon round of applause. “i wish to see her, to embrace her, to thank her, to tell her that i owe to her my success!”
-the critic of the mercure expresses himself as follows on the acting and singing of madame saint-huberty in this her first important part:
-“having spoken of roland, we shall seize this opportunity to say something of madame saint-huberty, whose progress, every day more marked, merits a special mention. we have seen her with pleasure in the rôle of angélique, in which she has, in many respects, acquitted herself very well. we invite her only to be careful of her articulation; she neglects it so far as to cause us to lose part of what she says. the fault is common to foreign singers or to those trained abroad.”
-a month later, the singer gained another success, as lise, in le seigneur bienfaisant, an indifferent work by rochon de chabannes and floquet, when she rendered with such fiery energy the despair of the heroine that she fell ill from excess of emotion and was absent from the theatre for several weeks.
-in those days, it was the fashion at the opera to frequently present entire pieces composed of acts extracted from various works. these performances, called “fragments,” were very popular with the patrons of the theatre, since they constituted but little strain upon the imagination, while the variety of their subjects and music provided an agreeable change. on september 24, 1782, four “fragments” were performed at the opera, the most important of which was a new act by moline and edelmann, entitled ariane dans l’île de naxos. madame saint-huberty, who played the part of ariane, had always had a strong predilection in favour of historical accuracy in stage costume, and, on the advice of the painter moreau, who held similar views and had designed the dresses for this opera, she resolved to make a move in the direction of reform.
-“we have seen, for the first time, on the stage,” says the journal de paris, “in the principal personage, the costume rigorously observed. these designs have been made on the advice of m. moreau le jeune, favourably known in artistic circles by the number, the variety, and the continual beauty of his works.”
-levacher de chamois, in his work on theatrical costume, has traced a description of the costume worn by madame saint-huberty on this occasion:
-notwithstanding this mortification, the actress had no reason to be dissatisfied with her performance of ariane. it was indeed, for her, a veritable triumph. “as for madame saint-huberty,” says the journal de paris, “we do not know which serves her the best, her face, her voice, or her acting; she knows how to give to each song inflections which occasion the most lively emotions.” and the musical critic of the mercure writes: “madame saint-huberty, in the opera of ariane, has added yet further to the idea that one has always entertained of her intelligence and her talent. she played in a manner always animated and interesting, and sang with the greatest expression the music constantly loud and passionate of a long and difficult rôle.”
-“embarras d’intérêt, embarras dans les rôles, embarras dans ballet, embarras de paroles, des embarras en sorte que tout est embarras, mais venez à la porte, vous n’en trouverez pas.”
-madame saint-huberty was not a pretty woman. she had neither the beautiful eyes nor the willowy grace of sophie arnould. she was short and thick-set, with long, thin arms, a large mouth and a “nez de soubrette”; in a word, an “ignoble figure,” as the ungallant art critic of the mémoires secrets calls her, in his notice of madame vallayer coster’s portrait of the actress, as dido, exhibited at the salon of 1785.
-the great services which madame saint-huberty had already rendered to the opera, and the wonderful talent which she had displayed in the various difficult rôles entrusted to her, made the administration keenly alive to the importance of definitely attaching to the theatre an artiste of such exceptional ability, whose value to them was immensely enhanced by the approaching retirement of mlle. laguerre and the decline of rosalie levasseur. during the year 1782, madame saint-huberty had only received 5500 livres, a very inadequate remuneration for the attraction which she exercised over the public; and, fully aware of her own value, she had been at no pains to conceal her dissatisfaction. on november 22, 1782, la ferté, the intendant des menus, wrote to amelot, the minister of the king’s household, pointing out the importance of having the matter settled without delay. “she (madame saint-huberty) is a very troublesome person,” he says; “but we cannot dispense with her, in view of the indifferent services and the unwillingness of the demoiselle levasseur. all that we can hope for is that the dame saint-huberty will make the conditions as little onerous as possible, and i suppose there will be no hesitation in according her the court pension of 1500 livres destined at first for the demoiselle laguerre.”
-after some further correspondence on the subject, the prima donna was invited to formulate her demands. they were as follows:
-la ferté agreed readily enough to four of these proposals; indeed, the first two had already been accorded, while, as we have just seen, he himself had recommended the granting of the fourth. but he annotated the third: “to promise it when circumstances permit”; and he declared the sixth “impossible, as being contrary to the regulations.”
-madame saint-huberty’s reply was to temporarily retire from the opera, on the plea of ill-health, and to announce that she contemplated leaving the stage altogether.
-then la ferté submitted to amelot an arrangement whereby the sum of 8000 livres a year was assured to the singer, independently of allowances for firing, lights, and so forth, and of a pension of 1500 livres on the musical establishment of the king, which would give her an annual income of 9500 livres. she was also to be permitted to give two private concerts every year, the expenses to be borne by the administration of the opera. these, it was calculated, would bring her another 3000 livres. finally, she was to be granted the congé she demanded, on condition that she should not take it at a time when her services were particularly necessary to the opera or during the visit of the court to fontainebleau.
-on february 27, 1783, the minister wrote to madame saint-huberty, to inform her of these proposals, as follows:
-“rendering to your talents and your zeal, mademoiselle, all the justice that they deserve, i afforded myself the pleasure to give an account of them to his majesty, who, in consequence, has willingly consented to authorise me to announce to you that he has placed you on his musical establishment for the sum of 1500 francs, to begin from january 1, 1782, which gives you the benefit of a year in advance. secondly, to complete by a gratification an annual salary of 8000 francs at the opera; that is to say that, supposing your place of first subject should only produce, for example, 7000 francs, then the court would give you 1000 francs to make up the 8000 francs. you will also be accorded every year a congé of two months. finally, his majesty consents to your giving every year, if that be agreeable to you, two concerts for your own benefit. his majesty’s intention is that ‘these particular favours should remain entirely secret.’ i am very pleased at having been able to contribute towards securing them for you. you will kindly advise me promptly of the receipt of this letter.”
-to this letter madame saint-huberty vouchsafed no reply; and, after waiting until the middle of march, the minister wrote again:
-“the king inquired this morning, mademoiselle, what reply you had made to the letter which he authorised me to write to you. his majesty was not a little surprised when i informed him that i had not yet received it. he charges me to demand of you a positive reply as promptly as possible. i do not doubt that it will be such as the king has the right to expect.”
-but this letter, like the first, remained unacknowledged.
-in the face of the obstinate silence of the actress, supported by public opinion, which now began to declare itself in her favour, the minister’s position became so embarrassing that la ferté counselled him, on the occasion of a concert given at his hôtel, in which madame saint-huberty was to take part, to have recourse to the following little stratagem. he advised amelot to speak privately to the singer before the concert began, and, in the event of his failing to obtain a satisfactory reply, all the minister’s personal friends, by previous arrangement, should demand of madame saint-huberty, after she had concluded her song, whether she had definitely decided to remain at the opera, and that amelot should then announce that he had done everything in his power to retain her services. the luckless intendant des menus saw in this species of public explanation the only way of giving the lie to the report spread everywhere by the actress that she was leaving the opera, because she found it impossible to obtain adequate remuneration.
-and at the bottom of the letter in which amelot announced their surrender, the triumphant prima donna wrote as follows:
-“in conformity with the arrangements made in this letter, i engage myself to remain at the opera for the space of eight years, to begin from the first of january, 1784.
-“(signed) de saint-huberty.
-executed this 22 march 1783.
-eight months after her victory over the authorities of the académie royale de musique, madame saint-huberty reached the apogee of her fame by her impersonation of dido, in piccini’s celebrated opera of that name.
-when he had accepted the engagement which the baron de breteuil, the french ambassador at naples, had offered him, piccini had fondly imagined that he would find a position at once honourable and tranquil. he came to paris, and had no sooner arrived, than he perceived that those who had summoned him thither had been prompted by no other motive than that of pitting him against the composer who was then revolutionising the french lyric stage. the poor musician was naturally much troubled by this discovery, but all arrangements were concluded, and he had no option but to accept the situation.
-roland and atys had succeeded, in spite of the efforts of the gluckists, who had combated their success by every means in their power; but iphigénie en tauride failed. the struggle was unequal: piccini, though capable of contending with gluck, was unable to conquer him. mortified, discouraged, eager only for rest and tranquillity, he resolved to compose no more, but he had counted without his librettist and faithful ally, marmontel. the maréchal de duras, gentleman of the chamber in waiting that year, had demanded of marmontel an entirely new opera, to be played before the court during its annual sojourn at fontainebleau. marmontel replied that he could promise nothing, unless piccini would consent to collaborate with him again, and suggested that, in order to arouse the composer from the state of dejection into which he had fallen, the marshal should persuade the queen to change the annual gratification which the italian had hitherto received into a perpetual pension. and this the marshal readily promised to do.
-“he asked for and obtained it,” continues marmontel, “and when piccini went with me to thank him: ‘it is to the queen,’ said he, ‘that you must show your gratitude, by composing for her this year a fine opera.’
-“‘i do not ask anything better,’ said piccini, as he left us, ‘but what opera shall it be?’
-“‘we must compose,’ said i, ‘the opera of didon. i have long been revolving the plan of it. but i forewarn you that i mean to unfold my ideas at length; that you will have long scenes to set to music, and that in these scenes i shall require a recitative as natural as simple repetitions. your italian cadences are monotonous; the accents of our language are more favourable and better supported. i beg you to mark it down in the same manner as i repeat it.’
-“‘well,’ said he, ‘we shall see.’
-“in this manner we formed the design of bestowing on recitative that ease, that truth of expression which was so favourable to the performance of the celebrated actress for whom the character of dido was intended.
-at the moment when marmontel and piccini judged it advisable to put didon into rehearsal, madame saint-huberty was entitled to the annual congé which she had stipulated for and obtained some months previously; and she had made arrangements for a tour in provence. she took her part with her, however, telling the authors that they could rehearse the opera without her, as they could rely upon her knowing her music quite thoroughly before she returned, and probably before any one else would be ready.
-the rehearsals began at fontainebleau, the part of the heroine being, as a rule, taken by a chorus-singer, who, without attempting to sing madame saint-huberty’s music from beginning to end, read the part and did her best to replace the prima donna in the concerted pieces. on two or three occasions, however, mlle. maillard, a young actress, for whom the intendant la ferté had a very pronounced tendresse, was entrusted with the principal rôle.
-the real dido, meanwhile, was making a high successful tour in provence, where she was everywhere received with enthusiasm. at aix, she caught such a severe cold that for a time she lost her voice, but had, fortunately, fully recovered its use by the time she returned to paris. “the part of didon,” she wrote to one of her friends in provence, “having been composed for me, for my voice, and being the only very interesting part in this piece, it will be impossible to give it anywhere without me. this looks like conceit on my part, but i will explain the matter to you. the part of didon is all acting. the recitative is so well composed that it is impossible to sing it.
-“an immense number of persons had attended the early rehearsals of didon, and had come to the conclusion that it was one of piccini’s worst productions. but piccini consoled himself by saying: ‘wait till my didon comes!’ at the first rehearsal, which took place with myself in the part, every one said: ‘ah! he has recomposed the greater part of his opera!’ and yet only four days had elapsed since the previous rehearsal. piccini heard it and remarked: ‘no, messieurs, i have altered nothing in the part. but until now didon was being played without didon.’”
-from which letter it will be gathered that undue modesty was not one of madame saint-huberty’s failings.
-this time she succeeded better than in ariane, and went to the extreme of simplicity. she announced that the costume she proposed to adopt was an exact copy of a design by moreau le jeune, sent from rome, where the artist then was. the tunic was of linen, the buskins laced on the bare foot, the crown encircled by a veil, which fell down her back, the mantle of purple, the robe fastened by a girdle below the bosom.
-didon was at length presented on october 16, 1783. it was a dazzling triumph for both composer and actress. never had such enthusiasm been witnessed at the court. louis xvi., though, as a rule, he did not care for opera, was delighted and declared that “this opera had given him as much pleasure as a fine tragedy.” to mark his satisfaction, he at once decided that a pension of 1500 livres should be bestowed on the principal actress, and sent the maréchal de duras to compliment her and inform her of the pleasure she had afforded him.
-“this,” writes one who was present, “was the finest scene of the evening. when the maréchal de duras arrived behind the scenes, followed by a crowd of courtiers in gala dress, madame saint-huberty had not yet had time to change her costume. she was standing up, the crown on her head, draped in the purple mantle of the queen of carthage. marmontel and piccini, intoxicated with joy, had thrown themselves at her feet and were kissing her hands. one would have called them two criminals, whose lives she had just spared. they only rose when m. de duras approached to repeat what the king had said. the actress listened to the marshal, and her countenance, still animated by inspiration, became illumined with the joy of this new triumph. the blush of pride rose to her forehead. she had so much grandeur, nobility, and majesty in her bearing, with these men at her feet, that better even than when upon the stage she conveyed the idea of the queen of carthage. all the great nobles present had the appearance of being only her courtiers.”
-métra describes this scene in the ironical tone characteristic of him. he represents piccini precipitating himself at the feet of the singer, and amorously squeezing her hand. he shows us marmontel, although more slow to bend the knee, employing vows and the most tender expressions to assure her that she arouses in his heart the most novel and the most lively emotions. and he concludes: “what a pleasing contrast to picture to oneself in this scene saint-huberty, still clothed in the purple of didon, receiving with dignity the incense of great noblemen and men of letters, and to behold her, as a voluptuary of the time found her, two days later, in paris, playing a game of piquet with her page, at the end of a table covered with a coarse and dirty dishcloth!”
-in paris, the opera and the singer obtained an even greater triumph than at fontainebleau. the evening of the first representation (december 1, 1783) was “an evening of transports and delirium.” the public could not find means to express its admiration. at the conclusion of the impressive song,
-“ah! que je fus bien inspirée,”
-the audience rose in a body and interrupted the performance with frenzied applause. at the touching air,
-“ah! prends pitié de ma faiblesse,”
-among the critics, not a dissentient voice was heard; all joined in a chorus of praise of didon and the great lyric tragédienne. “madame saint-huberty,” wrote the mémoires secrets, “played the part with the highest talent. she excelled even herself, and showed herself not less a great actress than an accomplished singer.” “it is the voice of todi; it is the acting of clairon!” cries grimm. “it is a model which has not been seen on the stage for a long time, and will not soon be seen again.”
-and guinguéné, in his valuable study of the life and works of piccini, writes: “the talent of this sublime actress has its origin in her extreme sensibility. an air might be better sung, but it would be impossible to give to any air, to any recitative, a truer, more passionate expression. no action could be more dramatic than hers, no silence more eloquent. one still recalls her terrible dumb-show, her tragic immobility; and the awful expression of her countenance during the long ritornello of the chorus of the priests, towards the end of the third act, and while the chorus is being sung.
-“at the performance she did no more than replace herself in the position in which she had naturally found herself at the first general rehearsal. some one spoke to her of the impression she had seemed to feel, and which she communicated to the whole audience.
-it has been said that madame saint-huberty was an infinitely better actress than she was a singer. this, however, was certainly not the case. castil-blaze declares her to have been the first vocalist worthy of the name who appeared at the french opera; while one of her biographers points out that piccini would never have composed for her so difficult an air as that beginning: “ah! que je fus bien inspirée,” had he not known her to possess a cultivated voice, full of charm and expression.
-but the best proof that she really could lay claim to exceptional vocal as well as dramatic talent, and was not merely “an actress who spoke song”--to borrow grétry’s definition of madame dugazon--is the success which attended her appearance at the “concerts spirituels,” where she took her place beside mara and todi, and acquitted herself so well that some critics went so far as to speak of her as a formidable rival to these eminent singers.
-apropos of this coronation, la ferté wrote to amelot:
-“another trouble, monseigneur. i do not know whether you have been informed that on friday evening last a crown, bearing the inscription: ‘à la immortelle saint-huberty,’ was thrown upon the stage. the actress who was playing with her picked it up and placed it on madame saint-huberty’s head. this episode, apparently the result of an arrangement concerted with the demoiselle saint-huberty, cannot be ignored; for those who in this manner give crowns (an incident hitherto without example in the theatre in connection with an actor) might equally accustom themselves to throw baked apples and oranges, as happens in england, at an actor who does not meet with their approbation. the confusion would then be beyond remedy!”
-the intendant then goes on to say that the honour paid her had not rendered madame saint-huberty more accommodating, since she had refused to play on the following tuesday, and, as the receipts for that evening would inevitably show a great decrease, if didon were not performed, he suggests that the prima donna should be replaced by mlle. maillard, whom, as we have mentioned elsewhere, m. de la ferté honoured with his favours. the old intendant must have been very much in love or exceedingly deaf, for he actually goes so far as to assure amelot that mlle. maillard’s voice is one which may well excite the envy of madame saint-huberty.
-mlle. maillard secured the appearance she coveted, though madame saint-huberty protested vigorously against her being allowed to play the part, on the ground that it was an infringement of the last clause of the agreement of the previous march, which provided that no other actress should be allowed to play any part which she had created, save at her own suggestion. but the young lady must have regretted her misplaced ambition, for the public, learning of its idol’s feeling in the matter, accorded her anything but a flattering reception.
-the acclamations of court and capital did not content madame saint-huberty; she desired the applause of the whole of france, and she received it. the enthusiasm of the provinces indeed reached the point of absurdity; a royal progress could hardly have been more splendid.
-at marseilles, the first city of importance which she visited, and where she gave no less than twenty-three representations, it was resolved to organise a magnificent fête in her honour. cannon thundered salutes, the vessels in the harbour were decorated with flags, and, in the evening, the entire city was illuminated. an eight-oared gondola, lined throughout with satin and furnished with velvet cushions, had been prepared for the occasion, in which the prima donna embarked, arrayed in a greek costume of the most extravagant richness, the gift of the ladies of marseilles. the gondola was then rowed out to sea, escorted by more than one hundred vessels of various kinds, including several barges filled with musicians. aquatic sports were held, the victors in which had the felicity of being crowned by the heroine of the day.
-on her return to land, the cannon again fired salutes; the whole population had flocked to the quays. the diva was conducted, through an avenue of illuminated pavilions, to a pleasure-house, where she rested for a while in a salon of verdure lighted by coloured lanterns. then she entered a tent, in which a temporary theatre had been constructed, where an allegorical play was performed in her honour, and apollo crowned her with laurel as the “tenth” muse. a ball followed, during which madame saint-huberty occupied a seat on a daïs between melpomene and thalia. finally, a splendid supper, to which sixty of the principal inhabitants of marseilles sat down, was served in a room protected by a wooden grill, to guard the idol against the too-pressing attentions of her worshippers. at dessert, madame saint-huberty sang several couplets in the provençal patois, the people joining in the chorus. the enthusiasm of the city on this memorable night was indescribable, and spread far into the country.
-when, at length, the prima donna contrived to tear herself away from her admirers at marseilles, an extra horse had to be harnessed to her post-chaise, to draw the trophies of her twenty-three performances, which included more than a hundred crowns.
-at toulouse, if the fêtes were less splendid, there was no diminution in the enthusiasm of the public. in the third act of didon, the performance was suddenly stopped, while twelve young girls, dressed in white, advanced towards madame saint-huberty. they carried a basket of flowers surmounted by a crown, which their leader begged the singer to accept, as “the tribute of a grateful country.”
-at strasburg--her birthplace and the town where she had made her first appearance on the stage--which she visited in the summer of 1787, the ovations continued. there, amongst a thousand other compliments in verse, of various degrees of merit, she received the following gallant madrigal:
-“romains qui vous vantez d’une illustre origine, voyez d’où dépendait votre empire naissant: didon n’eut pas de charme assez puissant pour arrêter la fuite où son amant s’obstine; mais si l’autre didon, ornement de ces lieux, eût été reine de carthage, il eût, pour la servir, abandonné ses dieux, et votre beau pays serait encore sauvage.”
-these verses have been ascribed by edmond de concourt, gaboriau, and several other writers to no less a personage than napoleon bonaparte, then a young officer of artillery. but they are in error, for m. adolphe jullien, who has carefully investigated the matter, points out that napoleon passed the whole of the year 1787 not at strasburg, but in corsica.
-two years after the great success of their didon, marmontel and piccini reappeared on the stage of the opera with pénélope. unfortunately, the vogue which the preceding work had obtained had aroused too many expectations in regard to this new essay--author and composer, so to speak, were the victims of their own excellence--and though pénélope was, in its way, a fine opera, it was received in comparative silence. all the critics, however, were agreed that madame saint-huberty, in the part of the virtuous wife of ulysses, was superb, and that she had seldom been heard to more advantage than in the two airs: “je le vois, cette ombre errante,” and “il est affreux, il est horrible,” and in the scene where telemachus comes to announce the return of her husband.
-it was madame saint-huberty again who, in may, 1786, rescued from complete disaster the thémistocle of philidor, which, after a tolerably good reception by the court, had been greeted, at first, by the town with marked disfavour; and it was not one of her least successes to have invested with life the inanimate figure of the heroine, mandane.
-in november of the same year, the singer was able to discharge the debt of gratitude which she owed to her first master, lemoine. lemoine, it will be remembered had, some years before, produced an électre, which had failed, in spite of the heroic efforts of his former pupil. now, however, he had composed a far more important work on the subject of phædra, from which he expected great things; and madame saint-huberty exerted all her influence to secure it precedence over the œdipe of sacchini, who was also impatiently awaiting his turn.
-unhappily, she succeeded. sacchini had the queen’s promise that his work should be the first to be performed before the court, at fontainebleau; but one day marie antoinette approached him, and said, with tears in her eyes: “m. sacchini; it is said that i show too much favour to foreigners. i have been so earnestly solicited to allow the phèdre of m. lemoine to be performed, in place of your œdipe, that i could not refuse. you see my position; forgive me.”
-lemoine’s phèdre, the precedence for which had been so dearly purchased, was coldly received by the court, and still more coldly by the town; and it was in vain that madame saint-huberty called to her aid all her genius to save the work of her old master. at the third performance the theatre was almost empty. ultimately, however, it proved a success, thanks to the ingenious intervention of a friend of the composer.
-the character of madame saint-huberty was far less agreeable than her talent. dauvergne, the director of the opera, declared that she was the most abandoned woman in his theatre--which was to say a good deal--and, in a letter to amelot, cited by edmond de goncourt, in his monograph on the actress, charges her with the most revolting vices--the same of which sophie arnould and mlle. raucourt had formerly been accused. moreover, she was insolent and exacting, and wearied the administration with her caprices and pretensions.
-during a visit to lyons, in 1785, where she was received with the same enthusiasm as elsewhere in the provinces, madame saint-huberty conceived a violent fancy for the local tenor, one saint-aubin by name, who took the part of énée in didon, and did not rest content with making love to him on the stage. when her congé expired, nothing would satisfy her but that the fascinating tenor should follow her to paris, and no sooner had she returned to the capital than she persuaded the administration to engage him for the opera, and an ordre de début was accordingly despatched to lyons:
-“de par le roi:
-“the sieur saint-aubin, tenor of the lyons theatre, is directed to come immediately to paris, to make his début on the stage of the opera.
-“executed at paris, etc.”
-in vain did the management of the lyons theatre represent that the services of the sieur saint-aubin could not possibly be dispensed with; that there was no one to replace him; that he had anticipated his salary to the extent of 3433 livres, 4 sols.; that the theatre, already in a bad way financially, would be completely ruined by his departure, and so forth. the authorities in paris, spurred on by the amorous prima donna, were inexorable, and the sieur saint-aubin had to obey. he made his début on december 9, 1785, as atys, in piccini’s opera of that name, and was pronounced by the critics a tolerably good singer, but far too stout for a lover--at least on the stage.
-after a year of love duets with madame saint-huberty, the passion of the stout tenor began to cool. the husband awoke in him; he remembered that he had left at lyons a young and charming wife and two pretty children, and manifested a strong inclination to rejoin them. fearful of losing her lover altogether, the prima donna resigned herself to sharing him with another, and a second imperious summons, in the king’s name, brought to paris the young wife and the two children. and that is how madame saint-aubin, afterwards a great attraction at the opéra-comique, was introduced to the paris stage.
-the arrogance and caprices of madame saint-huberty increased every year; the letters of dauvergne to la ferté and amelot teem with complaints in regard to her conduct. on may 22, 1785, the lady had promised the director to sing the following evening in armide, and that opera had duly been announced. but, at eleven o’clock the next morning, a message came that madame saint-huberty was not fit to sing, that she had temporarily lost her voice; but that she was about to try a remedy which she had never yet known to fail, and would let him know definitely at two o’clock whether she would appear or not. an hour later, a friend of the singer called upon dauvergne to inform him that the remedy had not yet had the desired effect, but that, if at four o’clock the lost voice had returned, its owner would “make an effort.” finally, almost at the last moment, madame saint-huberty sent a servant to announce that it was absolutely impossible for her to appear that evening; and an actress, who was only very imperfectly acquainted with the part--for, since no one was allowed to replace the imperious prima donna, save with her own consent, it was worth no one’s while to understudy her--was compelled to sing the difficult rôle of armide, and to be soundly hissed for her pains.
-a few days later, madame saint-huberty started for her annual tour in the provinces. on the eve of her departure, there was a terrible scene, in the green-room, between the actress and dauvergne, because the latter had very properly declined to allow the lady to carry away with her ten costumes, the property of the theatre, the removal of which would have rendered it impossible to play any of the operas for which they had been designed until madame saint-huberty returned or fresh ones had been made.
-the arrogance and insolence of the prima donna seem to have reached a climax in the year 1787. on january 13, at a general meeting of the company, called for the purpose of examining the accounts, madame saint-huberty rising from her seat, “not like a reasonable woman, but like a fury,” denounced vion, the conductor of the orchestra, who had apparently declined to allow her to take liberties with the time, as incapable of holding the bâton, and demanded his immediate dismissal, vowing that if he appeared again in the orchestra, she would, no matter what might be the result, refuse to sing her part.
-at the end of the following march, some days before the annual closing of the theatre, and without troubling to ask permission, the actress started off for alsace, with the view of singing at the strasburg theatre. she was, however, speedily followed by a courier, with a letter for the director at strasburg, forbidding him to allow her to appear, and orders for the lady to return immediately to paris.
-she obeyed, burning with indignation and resolved no longer to submit to such humiliations, and wrote to the long-suffering dauvergne the following letter:
-“the trouble, the disgust and the vexation occasioned me by the reprimands and threats which your continual complaints bring upon me from the minister (amelot), far from increasing my courage, affect my health and strength, and will end by bringing about what is so ardently desired: the renunciation of my engagement, which it is wished to annul, and my definite retirement from the theatre; for it is impossible for me to support any longer such vexations. you know, monsieur, that i am not ignorant how much you hate me, and that i expect to feel all the effects of your hatred.”
-however, in spite of this letter, madame saint-huberty did not actually retire from the opera until more than three years later.
-not only did madame saint-huberty treat the wishes of the authorities of the opera with contempt, but she encouraged others to follow her example. in september 1786, a certain mlle. gavaudan, one of her particular friends, relying on her support, refused to sing in a now forgotten opera called le toison d’or, presumably because she considered the rôle of calliope, for which she had been cast, unworthy of her talents. thereupon, dauvergne, according to the custom in such cases, obtained a lettre de cachet, in virtue of which the recalcitrant actress was carried off to the prison of la force, where she would appear to have been treated as a first-class misdemeanant. madame saint-huberty was furious at the punishment meted out to her protégée; threatened the director that she would employ all the influence at her command to have him driven ignominiously from his post, and demanded that mlle. gavaudan should be permitted to leave the prison, in order that she might dine with her and sing her part in sacchini’s œnone, before the general rehearsal. this request was granted; but the pleasure of the two friends was somewhat marred by the fact that a police-agent was deputed to accompany the young lady to the prima donna’s house and escort her back to prison afterwards. madame saint-huberty then wrote an impertinent letter to la ferté, insisting on the immediate and unconditional release of her friend; but failed to obtain any satisfaction in that quarter; and, shortly afterwards, mlle. gavaudan, having been threatened with a period of solitary confinement, if she continued contumacious, decided to capitulate, and sang the despised part of calliope very charmingly, notwithstanding the fact that she was in a state of semi-intoxication at the time.
-a prolific source of dispute between madame saint-huberty and the administration of the opera, and one in which the singer is certainly entitled to every sympathy, was her determination to wear the costumes appropriate to the parts she played. the chief objection on the part of the authorities to gratify her wishes in this respect was on the score of expense, for never was theatre conducted with such sordid, such cheeseparing, economy as the paris opera. in 1784, a special general meeting of the committee was considered necessary to examine the design of a costume which madame saint-huberty desired for the part of armide, and to decide whether she should be permitted to have it. “the committee,” says the report on the subject addressed to amelot, “considering that this part, in which madame saint-huberty has not yet been seen, might give to the work the charm of novelty and procure for the opera advantageous receipts during several representations, believes that they ought to give to madame saint-huberty the satisfaction she deserves, the more so since she has no objection to sharing the part with mlle. levasseur, it having been arranged that, in case she should be indisposed, the dress should be worn by the actresses who replace her.”
-but the authorities were seldom so complacent. two years later, there was a sharp difference of opinion in regard to the necessity of certain costumes which madame saint-huberty had demanded for the operas of pénélope and alceste; and la ferté wrote to the singer the following letter:
-then, in september 1788, we find dauvergne writing to la ferté that fresh complications had arisen, because madame saint-huberty had demanded two new dresses for the part of chimène, in sacchini’s opera of that name, and one for each of her four attendants. he finds comfort, however, in the reflection, that, in the event of the lady refusing to sing, owing to her request not being acceded to, he has provided himself with no less than four substitutes.
-about the same time, there was a good deal of friction between madame saint-huberty and the administration on the subject of a chignon, which the prima donna had taken upon herself to order, without apparently consulting the committee. the bill for this chignon, the design for which had been submitted to a number of experts, was pronounced by the committee “horribly dear,” and they unanimously decided that in future none must be ordered, unless the sketch and the estimate had first been approved by themselves.
-an ardent politician and possessed of considerable literary gifts, he, in 1788, made his début as a publicist by a mémoire sur les états généraux, leurs droits et la manière de les convoquer, which showed a marked predilection for republican government, and created no small sensation. however, his opinions underwent a sudden and startling transformation soon after he had taken his seat in the states-general, and thenceforth he combated with warmth the very doctrines of which he had once been the ardent advocate. so complete a volte-face naturally excited the ridicule and contempt of his former political friends, and mirabeau, in a published letter addressed to him, compared him to a weather-cock; but that he was animated by sincere conviction there can be no question.
-at what period began the connection between the count and the singer, which was to end in so tragic a manner, is uncertain. but, according to a letter written by d’antraigues to his wife, after their secret marriage in 1790, their first relations went back to 1783. however that may be, d’antraigues did not immediately become the lady’s lover, for his early letters, several of which were in the possession of edmond de goncourt, at the time when he wrote his monograph on the actress, reveal him as still in the character of a soupirant, and a very humble one at that. “i beg you,” one of these epistles concludes, “to continue your kindness towards me, and to be well assured of the esteem and attachment with which you have inspired me.”
-gradually, however, the esteem and attachment develop into a warmer feeling, and we find him imploring her not to forget “a man who loves her heart and her virtues,” though two hundred leagues separate them. one of these later letters, written in answer to some complaints of madame saint-huberty in regard to the envious and jealous persons by whom she was surrounded, is of interest, since it shows that at the height of her fame the great singer still led a simple life, and that, even if she were the abandoned woman that dauvergne declared her to be, she did not stoop to venal amours:
-madame saint-huberty, on her side, was far from insensible to the count’s devotion. writing from bordeaux, in september 1784, she informed him that she keeps his bust in her room, and that all the crowns she receives in the theatre from her enthusiastic admirers she places on his head. and, at length, three years later, comes a very tender and charming letter, which shows us that the thin dividing line between friendship and love has already been passed:
-“if i have lost, by the constant labours and fatigues which i have undergone, the freshness of youth, in which coarse-grained men find pleasure, i hope that, in forming my heart on that of the one i love, it will take the place of all that another than thyself might desire. i love thee with passion, and it is not blind; thou canst not change thy nature, and that is all that interests me in thee.”
-madame saint-huberty’s assertion that she was “killing herself” was merely a figure of speech; but, at the same time, there was no disputing the fact that the immense amount of work she voluntarily imposed on herself during her provincial tours had told heavily upon her, and was gradually destroying the freshness of her voice, so that she now never sang more than twice a week, and had been compelled to abandon several of her most famous rôles, which she dared no longer attempt. “yesterday,” writes dauvergne to la ferté, “the demoiselle saint-huberty appeared to the public to have lost much of her voice. i predicted to you that this woman would not last another two years. i am persuaded that, if she makes another provincial tour, she will finish herself altogether.” nevertheless, she still retained her hold on the affections of the public, and, on the evenings on which she was announced to sing, all paris flocked to the boulevard saint-martin.
-it was well for the administration of the opera that, in the splendid houses which madame saint-huberty never failed to draw they were able to find some compensation for the lady’s insolence and insubordination which, in these later years, passed all bounds. at the beginning of october 1789, she, as usual at the eleventh hour, declined to sing the part of chimène, in sacchini’s opera of that name, on the ground of feeling too fatigued. the authorities, aware that this was merely an excuse, insisted on her appearing, when she replied that she would “make an effort,” on condition that an employé of the theatre, named parisis, who had recently been discharged for drunkenness and insolence, should be at once reinstated. this, however, was too much even for the long-suffering dauvergne to submit to; and the threat of mulcting her in a month’s salary saved the situation.
-at the weekly meetings of the company, at which it was customary to settle the répertoire for the ensuing week, and where the administrative correspondence was read, madame saint-huberty never failed to create some unpleasantness or other. now, she would encourage some unruly actress or danseuse to resist the authority of the director; now, she would punctuate the reading of the comminatory letters of la ferté with bursts of derisive laughter (no wonder that the old intendant alludes to her, in writing to dauvergne as “une impudente coquine”); anon, she would object to the arrangements for the week. how was it possible, she would inquire, for her to sing alceste on friday, after singing didon on tuesday? did they wish to kill her? dauvergne would innocently suggest that another actress should sing didon, and that madame saint-huberty should rest, that her voice might be fresh for alceste. what! allow another actress to sing didon!--her own rôle!--her own creation! no one but herself should sing it, so long as she remained a member of the company.
-finally, the unfortunate administration, for the sake of peace and tranquillity, agreed that the lady should not be required to sing more than once a week, that is to say on fridays, the fashionable night at the opera.
-in march 1790, the comte d’antraigues openly accused of apostacy, denounced by the revolutionary press to public vengeance, and the recipient, every day, of violent anonymous letters threatening assassination, deemed it prudent to quit france. on april 3, madame saint-huberty obtained a passport to geneva and, accompanied by her femme de chambre and two men-servants, set out for switzerland, where she joined the count in the environs of lausanne.
-the two lovers remained for nearly three months at lausanne, and then removed to a château, near mindrisio, belonging to the count turconi, and here, on december 29, they were secretly married in the neighbouring church of saint-eusèbe.
-for grave reasons known to himself, the bishop of como, in whose diocese the marriage took place, had granted to the officiating priest permission to perform the ceremony without inquiries or proofs, at whatever date, hour, or place the parties might select.
-the day after the marriage, the count addressed to his wife the following letter:
-“i may die, my dear wife, and cannot acquit myself too soon of the most sacred of duties.
-“it is possible that there may be wanting to our union some of the formalities, which, according to the law of france, are required for the legalisation of marriages, and imperious circumstances may prevent me from fulfilling them for some time to come.
-“if i happen to die before that time, i wish you to render to my memory the honour which you owe it, by rendering to yourself that which is due to you.
-“i declare then that, after seven years of mutual confidence, i have united by marriage to my destiny the woman who has had the courage to wish to share my misfortunes; that, on december 29, 1790, after having obtained from the bishop of como a dispensation for the publication of banns, and permission for us to marry at any time and place that might please us, i married you in the château of castel san-pietro, in the presence of two priests as witnesses.
-“with several reasons for keeping this marriage secret, i did not conceal from you the most imperative of all: the grief it would cause my worthy and venerable mother. but i knew her; if she had only tears to give to my memory, she would forgive our secret union, and would see only the wife of her son in the woman who watched over his destinies, who softened their rigour, and who received the last sighs of his heart.”
-towards the end of the following year, the comtesse d’antraigues became enceinte. the marriage having been kept secret, the count was anxious that the birth of the child should not be known in the neighbourhood; and it was at a little village on the outskirts of milan that, on june 26, 1792, the ex-singer presented him with a son, baptized two days later, under the names of pierre antoine emmanuel jules, born of the illustrious emmanuel louis alexandre henri de launai, comte d’antraigues and of the dame antoinette clavel. so soon as the countess was sufficiently recovered to travel, she, with her husband and infant son, returned to mindrisio.
-in discharge of these diplomatic missions, he travelled incessantly, accompanied everywhere by his wife, who shared his fatigues and dangers, and received, in return, his full confidence. the count and countess were at venice, in may 1795, when the city was occupied by the french troops. the count, who was at the time specially attached to the russian legation, left with the minister and his suite, accompanied by his wife and child; but at trieste the party was stopped by orders of bernadotte, who commanded the french there, and d’antraigues arrested.
-on being told that he was to be sent to milan, the count begged the russian minister to take charge of madame saint-huberty--for by that name she was still known--but the ex-singer insisted on sharing his captivity.
-touched by so much devotion, d’antraigues explained to his captors that the lady was his lawful wife, and obtained permission for her to accompany him to milan. “i declared at once to my tyrants,” he says, “that i was married, that i had a son, and that i desired to see him. they acceded to my request. she came, with that dear child of five years old, who threw himself upon me. that moment, which made her mine for ever, caused me to forget my foes, my persecutors, the future and the present. i owe that to my persecutors. to say how much i was indebted to my wife in these frightful circumstances is beyond my power. never did there exist a courage more firm, a soul more mistress of itself, a character stronger in adversity; never did one behold more self-confidence in misfortune.”
-at milan, the count was at first imprisoned in a convent, where prisoners of war were confined, but, soon afterwards, taken to the citadel, and there placed in a dungeon, twelve feet long by six broad. thanks, however, to the urgent representations of his wife, he was, some weeks later, liberated on parole, the understanding being that he was not to leave the city or even change his residence. but, in the early hours of the morning of august 25, he broke his parole and escaped, his flight, thanks to the ingenuity of his wife, who gave out that he was ill in bed, and went about the house preparing broth and other remedies, not being discovered till some days later.
-successively we find the adventurous couple at vienna, berlin, and dresden, in which last-named city they seemed to have passed the greater part of the year 1804, the whole of the year 1805, and the first months of the year 1806, the count, who had been nominated a counsellor of state by the emperor alexander of russia, corresponding with sweden, through alopeus, the swedish minister in london, and working generally to bring about a european coalition against napoleon. in september 1806, driven from dresden by napoleon’s victories, and unable to find an asylum on the continent, they quitted germany and established themselves in england. here they resided in a pretty cottage at barnes, and lived in good style on the various pensions which they had received. the count lost no time in entering into negotiations with the english government, to whom he is said to have communicated the articles, real or imaginary, of the treaty of tilsit, though how he contrived to obtain particulars of a treaty drawn up with so much privacy is somewhat difficult to understand.
-however, that may be, it is certain that d’antraigues was employed by the foreign office in certain delicate negotiations and that he received a pension in return for his services; and it was this which, according to a legend which still finds acceptance with some french writers, brought about the tragic end of both himself and his wife, on the morning of july 22, 1812.
-the story went that fouché, desirous of discovering what was going on between d’antraigues and the english government, despatched two trusted agents to london, with orders at all costs to intercept the correspondence. the agents succeeded in bribing the count’s piedmontese servant lorenzo, to tamper with the letters which passed between his master and the foreign office; and that this man, finding that his treachery was certain to be discovered, through a visit which the count was on the point of making to canning, in a moment of frenzied despair, assassinated both his master and mistress, and then took his own life. from the evidence given at the inquest, however, it would appear that lorenzo committed the crime, in a fit of frenzy, due simply to his having received notice to leave the count’s service.
-the times of july 23, 1812, contained the following account of the tragedy:
-“the count and countess d’antraigues, french noblesse, and distantly related to the unfortunate family of the bourbons, resided on barnes terrace, on the banks of the thames. they lived in a style which, though far from what they had formerly moved in, yet was rather bordering on high life than the contrary. they kept a carriage, coachman, footman, and a servant out of livery. the latter was an italian or piedmontese, named lawrence, and it is of this wretch that we have to relate the following particulars. the count and countess, intending to visit london as yesterday, ordered the carriage to be at the door by eight in the morning, which it accordingly was; and, soon after that hour, they were in the act of leaving the house to get into it, the countess being at the door, the count coming downstairs, when the report of a pistol was heard in the passage, which, it has since appeared, took no effect, nor was it then ascertained by whom it was fired. lawrence was at the time in the passage, and, on the smoke subsiding, was seen to rush past the count and proceed with great speed upstairs. he almost immediately returned, with a dirk in his hand, and plunged it up to the hilt into the count’s left shoulder; he continued his course and made for the street door, where stood the countess, whom he instantly despatched by plunging the same dirk into her left breast. this last act had scarcely been completed when the count appeared also at the door, bleeding, and following the assassin, who made for the house and ran upstairs. the count, though extremely weak and faint, continued to follow him; but so great was the terror occasioned that no one else had the same resolution. the assassin and the count had not been upstairs more than a minute when the report of another pistol was heard, which satisfied those below that lawrence had finally put an end to the existence of his master. the alarm was now given, and the cry of ‘murder, murder!’ resounded from every mouth. the countess was still lying at the front door, by which the turnpike road runs, and at length men of sufficient resolution were found to venture upstairs, and, horrible to relate, they found the count lying across his own bed, groaning heavily and nearly dead, and the bloodthirsty villain lying by his side a corpse. he had put a period to his own existence by placing a pistol that he found in the room in his mouth and discharging its contents through his head. the count only survived about twenty-five minutes after the fatal blow, and died without being able to utter a single word.
-“the countess had by this time been brought into the house; the wound was directly on her left breast, extremely large, and she died without uttering a single word. the servants of the house were all collected last night; but no cause for so horrid an act was at that time known; all was but conjecture.
-“the following circumstance, in so extraordinary a case, may be, however worth while relating. the count it appears, always kept a brace of pistols loaded in his bedroom, and a small dirk. about a month ago the countess and the servants heard the report of a pistol upstairs, and were, in consequence, greatly alarmed; when one of the latter, a female, went upstairs and looked into her mistress’s room, it was full of smoke and she screamed out. on its clearing away, she saw lawrence standing, who told her nothing was the matter: he had only fired one of his master’s pistols. it afterwards appeared that he had fired into the wainscot; it was loaded with ball, and the ball from the pistol is yet to be seen.
-“the count and countess were about sixty years of age. the latter was highly accomplished, a great proficient in music, and greatly admired for her singing in fashionable parties. there is no reason whatever to believe that lawrence was insane. only about ten minutes previous to his committing this deed of blood, he went over to an adjoining public-house and took a glass of gin. he had lived only three months in the family, and, report says, was to be discharged in a few days.
-“the count and countess had resided in barnes for four or five years, and have left an only son, who, we understand, is at present in this country, studying the law.
-and the same impression of the times contained this other account:
-“the count d’antraigues, a very eminent political character, formerly a deputy of the nobility of vivarais to the states-general, author of many eloquent tracts, who had married the celebrated singer and actress of the royal academy of music at paris, madame saint-huberty, was murdered yesterday morning at seven o’clock, along with his lady, in their summer residence on barnes terrace, by one of their servants named lorenzo, a piedmontese, aged twenty-five years, who had been only a few months in their service, and whom they had no reason to suspect of such a diabolical design.
-“both the count and countess d’antraigues were preparing to come to town, as they usually did every wednesday. the count had an appointment (as we understand) with his particular friend mr. canning, to meet him at ten o’clock, and had actually taken his papers in his hat and proceeded down the staircase from his bedroom, his lady, who went before, being at the door waiting, and calling for the servant to open the carriage. lorenzo at that moment took from the bed of his master a pistol and a most superb turkish poignard, which the count d’antraigues had brought with him from constantinople. he discharged the pistol at his master, at six paces distance, on the staircase, and missed him, the ball passing between the count and countess.
-“the murderer, seeing that the ball had not taken effect, took to the poignard, and stabbed his master in the shoulder. though the blow was mortal, the count had still strength to walk to his room. the servant then ran to the countess, who was shrieking, and plunged, in the most audacious manner, the poignard into her breast. she fell, and died instantly, without any groans, saying only, ‘lorenzo! lorenzo!’
-“the alarm was given by the coachman, who was standing at the door, and the other servants. two professional men came instantly, but no assistance could prevail. the house was besmeared with blood, and presented a most shocking spectacle, the three bodies being extended in such a small space. the coachman drove to town to fetch the doctor and the lawyer who was generally employed by the count, and to convey the melancholy tidings to the house of the deceased in queen anne street, w., where a great crowd of people were collected during the whole of the day. dr. chavernac of gerrard street, the surgeon, and mr. trickey, the solicitor, both the intimate friends of the deceased, went post-haste to barnes terrace. the papers, jewels, and other effects of the count and countess were put under seal in their presence, and in that of a magistrate and several respectable neighbours. a coroner’s inquest is to take place this day at barnes on the three bodies.
-“no cause is yet known for the atrocious act which has deprived of life two persons, who, by their talents, knowledge, amiable manners, and powerful connections, ranked very high in society. the count was a man of colossal stature and imposing countenance, only fifty-eight years of age, and his lady fifty-two.
-“mr. vansittart, the chancellor of the exchequer, the particular friend of the count, was informed of the lamentable event early yesterday, and lord sidmouth commissioned mr. brooks of the alien office to take, conjointly with the count la châtre, commissary of his majesty louis xviii., the proper measures to secure the papers and property of the deceased, who had been formerly commissary of his most christian majesty in italy, and till his death an agent and correspondent of the emperor of russia.”
-report of the inquest.
-“an inquest was held yesterday at the ‘white hart,’ barnes terrace, before charles jemmett, esq., coroner for the county, after a view of the bodies of the count and countess d’antraigues, and of lawrence, who murdered them.
-“susannah black, the first witness, deposed that, on july 22nd inst., she was ordered by the countess, about eight o’clock in the morning, to take some books, &c., to the carriage door; that she followed the countess to the door, and saw lawrence near the carriage with his face to the door, and ordered him to open the carriage door for his mistress, instead of which he walked into the house, and as he passed her mistress a pistol was fired, but she did not know who discharged it. she saw the count on the stairs, and lawrence going up the stairs. did not see anything in his hand. she afterwards saw lawrence coming downstairs with a pistol in his right hand, and his left hand behind him, but could not see whether he had anything in it or not; that she ran into the garden alarmed; and that, on her return into the house by the hall, she went to the front door and saw her mistress lying on the ground, in the footpath of the street, near the carriage. she called for assistance, and another servant and the coachman, david hebditch, came to her, and they took the countess into the house. there was a great deal of blood about her, and she was alive, though speechless. mr. ball, a surgeon, was sent for, who attended immediately. but her mistress died in a few minutes after the same. witness stated that one day, about three weeks ago, when the count was absent, she was with the countess in her bedroom, when they heard a loud report, and she ran downstairs, thinking it was a rap at the door. but finding no one there, she called ‘lawrence,’ but no one answered. she then returned upstairs. the countess met her at the door of the bedroom, and said it was the report of a pistol. witness ran upstairs to the count’s room, and on coming to the door, she saw some smoke issue from it, and saw lawrence in the room. she asked him what he was doing and he answered, ‘nothing.’ she then went to her mistress, and told her lawrence had fired off a pistol. the countess went upstairs, and witness followed her, and heard her talk to lawrence very coolly, but could not tell what she said, as she spoke french or italian; but the countess told her afterwards that he said he had been handling the pistol and it went off. when lawrence came to the kitchen, she asked him how he dared to meddle with his master’s pistols in his absence, and he answered it went off by chance as he was handling it. she never knew of any quarrel or anger between the count and lawrence. said lawrence was a sober man, but latterly had been more passionate than before. yesterday morning, the wind having blown the parlour door to with a great noise, the count spoke rather sharply to lawrence, thinking he banged it, and would wake his mistress. lawrence had lived in the family about three months. believed the dagger produced to be her master’s, having many times seen it hanging in his room.
-“elizabeth ashton, another servant of the count and countess, deposed that when the countess came first downstairs, she was standing at the street door to wait on her mistress. the carriage was at the door. her mistress passed her and went towards the carriage--the count was coming downstairs. witness heard the report of a pistol, was stunned by it, said she was a dead woman, turned round and said, ‘lawrence! lawrence!’ when, looking up, she saw lawrence coming downstairs, with a pistol in one hand, and a dagger in the other. she screamed out, and ran into the street, crying ‘murder murder!’ went over to the public-house to give the alarm and, on her return, found her mistress lying on the footpath of the street near the carriage, and, being so affected that she found she could not give any assistance, she went away.
-“david hebditch, coachman to the count and countess, deposed that he received orders from lawrence to have the carriage ready yesterday morning, july 22, at five minutes before eight; that he was at the door with the carriage before the clock struck eight; that, as soon as he arrived there, lawrence came to the coach, opened the door, and put into the carriage a tin can filled with oil; that he then went into the house, and soon afterwards returned; that when the countess came down and was proceeding to the carriage, lawrence went into the house, and soon after he passed his mistress, the report of a pistol was heard; that the countess asked him, the coachman, what was the matter, and he answered it was from the inside of the house, that in a few minutes afterwards, as he was sitting on his box before the door, he saw lawrence come downstairs, and, with a sharp instrument he held in his hand, which the witness believed to be a dagger, strike it into the shoulder of the count--he saw the dagger under his shoulder; that lawrence then passed the count and proceeded towards the street-door; that he, the coachman got off the box as quickly as he could, and, as he was going towards his master, the countess passed him, going towards the carriage, and, on turning round, to follow her, he saw her staggering, and she fell, exclaiming: ‘it was lawrence! it was lawrence!’ he saw blood about her, and some on the ground, but could not tell exactly what part it came from. did not see lawrence afterwards, but in about three minutes more heard report of another pistol, which appeared to come from upstairs. soon after the count came to the door, and blood ran out of his sleeve. left him there, and went to assist the countess into the house. on surgeon coming and desiring her to be stripped, went out of the room to look after his master, and found him sitting on the bed in his own room, in a reclining posture, with his feet on floor. was then alive, but speechless. at the same time, saw lawrence, with his face lying on the floor, apparently dead, with some blood near his mouth. mr. king, a surgeon, then came and desired the count might be stripped. witness assisted to do so, and held him while they got a sponge and some water, and washed the wound. after that he went away and drove carriage to town. believed lawrence was sober. he spoke very correct to him, the coachman, when he gave him his order, and did not appear at all mentally deranged.
-“william hitchin, master of the ‘sun’ public-house, at barnes, deposed that yesterday morning, about eight o’clock, coming along the street, he saw lawrence put a tin can into the count’s carriage, and return into the house. when he got opposite the door, he heard the report of a pistol. turned immediately round, and saw the count and countess just within the door. the countess said something to the coachman, who answered, ‘it is indoors, my lady.’ the count and lady returned into the house. he then heard some persons screaming, and was going to get some weapon, but coachman begged him not to go, and he did not. the coachman and he were going into the house, when the countess came out of the house, passed them and fell down. thought she had only fainted, and, while standing by her, saw the count come out of the house, with blood streaming from his shoulder. the count instantly returned into the house, and immediately afterwards witness heard the report of a pistol in one of the upper rooms; this report occurred before the count could possibly get to his own room. some people came up, and he accompanied them into the house. the first thing he saw on the floor of the passage was a dagger, bloody and with some silk on it, as if it came from a shawl; on desiring a person to go upstairs with him, he refused without having a weapon, on which witness gave him the dagger, and himself took a poker. the coachman followed, and the witness desired him to go first into the room, which he did. on entering the room, he saw the count sitting on a bed, alive, but speechless, and lawrence lying on the floor dead, with a brass double-barrelled pistol close to him.
-“matthew ball, surgeon, of barnes, deposed that, about a quarter past eight o’clock in the morning, a woman came to his house, and desired him to come immediately to count d’antraigues, for the count and countess were both murdered; immediately went, and when he came into the house, saw the countess lying on the floor of the parlour, and a great deal of blood both on the floor and on her clothes. then examined and found a large lacerated wound on her right breast, made by a sharp instrument, which had passed through the third and fourth ribs to the cavity of the chest, from which a great effusion of blood had proceeded. as soon as he found the wound was mortal, and that she could not live many minutes, witness went up to the count, to assist mr. king, a surgeon, who had previously gone up to dress his wound, and found the count had received a wound on the shoulder from a sharp instrument, which had penetrated four inches. he was motionless and speechless, and died in about a quarter of an hour after his (mr. b.) seeing him. saw two small leaden bullets in the string-board of the stairs, which appeared to have been shot from a pistol. when he entered the count’s room, saw lawrence lying on the floor on his belly, with a quantity of blood under his face; on examination, found a loaded pistol had been discharged into his mouth, the contents of which had very much lacerated and torn his mouth, and from which wound he had instantly died, the bullet being still lodged in the vertebra of the neck.
-“the coroner then told the jury that, as they had not only heard what the witnesses had sworn, but also the depositions read over to them, it was unnecessary for him to go into a recapitulation thereon. he should, therefore, leave them to determine whether, from the evidence they had heard, they believed, first that lawrence had murdered the count and countess; and, secondly, whether he had committed suicide, being in his senses.
-“in about five minutes, the jury returned a verdict that lawrence had murdered the count and countess, and had afterwards committed suicide, being in his senses.”
-antraigues, comtesse: d’, see saint-huberty, madame
-bernard, marie anne (mother of mlle. guimard), 101, 102, 104, 105.
-berton (director of the opera), 53 note
-boufflers, chevalier de, 53 note
-bouillon, duc de, 32, 320 note
-burney, dr. (cited), 44 note
-clairon, mlle., gives sophie arnould lessons in acting, 18; her pension compared with that of sophie arnould, 78 trains mlle. raucourt for the stage, 147 and note
-clytemnestre, comte de lauraguais’s, 35 note
-colasse (composer), 15 note
-collé, 112, 120, (cited) 17, 24, 26 note
-conti, prince de, pays assiduous attentions to sophie arnould, 43; invites her to his box at the opera, 45; “wishes her to be entirely his own,” 45 note; gives her a pension, 80 note
-cour du roi pétaud, la, comte de lauraguais, 25, 26 and note
-dauberval (dancer), one of the lovers of mlle. guimard, 113 note
-devin du village, sophie arnould’s performance in, 54 note
-ducis, his adaptations of shakespeare, 258 and note
-duplant, mlle., 73 note
-dugazon, gustave (son of madame dugazon), 22, 121 and note
-dugazon, louis (actor), marries louise lefèvre, 199; his singular character, 200; insults marie antoinette at an opera-ball, 201; quarrels with his wife, 202; forces m. de cazes to surrender his wife’s letters, 202, 203; canes him at the comédie-italienne, 203, 204; his affray with the marquis de langeac, 205; resigns himself to his wife’s infidelity, 205; his conduct during the revolution, 219 note; his death, 219 note
-fausse lord, le, incident during a performance of, 302 note
-favart, charles simon (cited), 37 note
-fontenelle, 4, 15 and note
-garrick, david, anecdote of, 230 note
-hawkins, mr. frederick (cited), 145 note, 258 note
-lebrun: see vigée lebrun
-legouvé, ernest, 187; (cited) 257 note
-le maure, mlle, (singer), 17 and note
-lemercier, 257 and note
-mercure de france, le (cited), 14, 15, 16, 53, 54 note, 65, 68, 105, 106, 123, 149, 163, 229 note, 275, 284, 288 note
-miromesnil, m. de, his wager with the comte de vaudreuil, 230 note
-walpole, horace (cited), 44 note, 117 note
-printed by ballantyne & co. limited tavistock street, london
-piquant memoirs of 18th century france
-queens of the french stage
-by h. noel williams
-illustrated by portraits, etc. 10s. 6d. net (post free 11s.)
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-pall mall gazette.
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-by h. noel williams
-bound in buckram and gold, with 16 fine photogravures. demy 4to.
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-madame de pompadour
-by h. noel williams
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-and her friends
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-typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
-“the year one thousand seven hundred and forty, 14th of february, magdeleine sophie, daughter of jean arnould, here present, and of rose marguerite laurent, his wife, born yesterday, rue saint-louis in this parish, has been baptized.
-“godfather: louis le vasseur, manager of the king’s farms, rue coq-héron, parish saint-eustache; godmother: magdeleine chevalier, spinster, rue du mail, of the above-mentioned parish.”
-the staid dr. burney was another of mlle. heinel’s admirers, and informs us that, besides the six hundred pounds salary she received from the management of covent garden, she was “complimented with a regallo of six hundred more from the macaroni club.”
-“vouloir qu’on soit amoureux avec raison, c’est vouloir qu’on soit fou avec raison.”
-“une femme qui sait mal est moins supportable qu’une femme qui ne sait rien.”
-“le plaisir est comme une fleur, dont l’odeur est délicate, et qu’il faut sentir légèrement, si on veut toujours lui trouver le même parfum.”
-“la plupart des femmes ressemblent à des énigmes qui cessent de plaire, dès qu’elles sont devinées.
-“qui aime est bien plus heureux que d’être aimé.
-“on combat l’amour par la fuite et la colère par le silence.”
-“il faut que je vous désigne de ma taille la grandeur: cinq pieds, trois pouces, neuf lignes, voilà juste ma hauteur. large front, bouche moyenne, menton pointu, le nez long, les yeux gris, figure pleine, sourcils bruns, cheveux blonds.”
-burritt college centennial celebration
-address by charles lee lewis
-as daniel webster said in his famous speech on the dartmouth college case, so do we say of burritt college, “though it is a little college, there are those who love it.” that explains why we have gathered here from far and wide to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of its founding.
-a hundred years seems a long time, even to some of us who first became students in this institution more than fifty years ago. many changes take place in the course of a century. let us turn back the clock of time and take a bird’s-eye view of the year 1848, the year when burritt college received its charter.
-van buren county had been formed from white, warren, and bledsoe counties only about eight years previously, and spencer had been settled shortly afterwards as the county seat. the little village was then quite isolated. the roads were rough, and a journey to sparta or mcminnville, which now takes but a short time, then required several hours particularly on the return up the mountain. though the nashville, chattanooga, and st. louis railway was under construction in 1848, it was not completed until 1853, and the branch from tullahoma to mcminnville was not finished until 1858. there were not many colleges in this part of the state. irving college, rebuilt in 1845 and then chartered by the legislature, was flourishing, but the cumberland female college was not founded in mcminnville until 1850. when burritt college was established, there was no vanderbilt university, no university of the south at sewanee, no university of tennessee, no peabody college. tennessee had been a state only 52 years; nashville had been the capital city only five years and the capitol, which had been commenced in 1845 with official ceremony, was quite unfinished.
-in january, 1848, peace was signed ending our war with mexico. also in january, gold was discovered near sutter’s fort in california. oregon was organized as a free territory in august, and wisconsin was admitted that year as the thirtieth state. at that time the only states west of the mississippi river were texas, louisiana, arkansas, missouri, and iowa. that year zachary taylor was elected president of the united states. in europe, 1848 was a year of political upheaval. there were revolutions in austria, prussia, hungary, spain, and italy. in france, king louis philippe fled and louis napoleon became president of the second republic. europe was in ferment then as now, one hundred years later; but then the united states was guided by the monroe doctrine, only recently promulgated, and was not burdened, like atlas, with the world on its shoulders, as it is today.
-in american literature, 1848 was the year in which edgar allen poe ended his unhappy life; the year in which emerson, lowell, irving, longfellow, parkman, thoreau, and whittier all published books. the following year appeared hawthorne’s scarlet letter. in england, dickens, thackeray, browning, tennyson, macaulay, matthew arnold, and carlyle were flourishing, thackeray’s vanity fair being published the year before 1848 and dickens’ david copperfield the year following.
-in the united states the year 1848 was a time of comparative peace and security, of bright hope and golden promise, with land for all who wished it, work and opportunity for the industrious and the ambitious. it was inspiring to live in such a country at such a time; it was likewise a propitious time for a college to begin a long and useful period of service.
-“what’s in a name?” shakespeare has one of his characters ask, suggesting that a rose would smell as sweet by any other name. on the contrary, a name bestowed upon a person or institution, when its significance is rightly understood, becomes an important factor in the development of character and individuality. what a wonderful asset there is in the name of washington and lee university, bearing the names of two of the greatest men born on this continent! no other american college has such a heritage. burritt college, however, is among those appropriately and honorably named.
-in 1848, elihu burritt, for whom the college was named, had for several years been widely known as “the learned blacksmith.” by the time he was thirty he was able to read more or less fluently about fifty different languages. at his native town, new britain, connecticut, while he was working the hand-bellows to heat a piece of metal in his blacksmith shop, he studied from a book conveniently propped open. this is the reason the seal of burritt college portrays a blacksmith at work at his anvil. figuratively, elihu burritt had many irons in the fire. in 1848, he was the publisher of a weekly paper in worcester, massachusetts, called “the christian citizen,” which was devoted to anti-slavery, temperance, peace, and self-culture. it was the first publication of its kind in america to give definite space to the cause of peace. in england in 1846, he drafted the plan for a society called “the league of universal brotherhood.” when this college at spencer was given his name in 1848, burritt was in brussels, belgium, attending a congress of this “brotherhood,” where he presented a plan for “a congress of nations, for the purpose of establishing a well-defined code of international law, and a high court of adjudication to interpret and apply it, in the settlement of all international disputes, which cannot be satisfactorily arranged by negotiation.” accordingly, burritt had the vision of what tennyson some years later prophetically called, in his “locksley hall,” “the parliament of men, the federation of the world.” this was nearly a hundred years before the league of nations, and the united nations of our time.
-burritt began to lecture when about thirty, his first subject being “application and genius,” in which he sought to prove that what was generally thought to be genius was not something peculiar and native but merely the result of long and persistent application. though he had an international reputation, he was devoted to his native town and the friends of his youth. in the nineteenth provision of his will, he wrote: “having thus disposed of the property which a kind providence has put in my possession, in a way which i hope may testify my gratitude for such a gift, i bequeath to this my native town the undying affection of a son who held its esteem and special tokens of consideration above all the honors which he received elsewhere.” i believe you will agree with me when i declare that we have reason to be proud of the name of burritt college, given in honor of such a scholar and generous-hearted idealist. in one way or another, his ideals became the ideals of the college bearing his name,—true scholarship, the dignity of labor, and service for humanity.
-the charter for burritt college was secured by a board of thirteen trustees. they apparently were not superstitious regarding the number thirteen in those days. this board, of which john gillentine was the chairman, obtained money for the erection of a college building from citizens of white, warren, and van buren counties and probably elsewhere. nathan trogdon was employed as contractor and builder. the building, a two-story brick structure, a drawing of which appears at the top of the early diplomas, stood about midway between the present main building and billingsley hall. its original foundation could be partly traced when i was a student at the college.
-the first president was isaac newton jones. he and w. b. huddleston were the chief promoters of the college. president jones, born at calhoun, mcminn county, tennessee, was only twenty-six years old when he accepted the presidency of burritt college. being the first graduate of irving college in warren county, he was both a scholar and a gentleman and a man of great energy. from the beginning, the curriculum of burritt stressed greek and latin, moral philosophy, mathematics, logic, natural philosophy, and evidences of christianity. for at least sixty years, little change was made in these courses of study, except by addition of other subjects.
-after one year, jones resigned and went to bedford county where he married mary ann davis. in 1873 he became president of waters and walling college in mcminnville; after three years he was elected to the presidency of manchester college, which he held for five years. he continued to reside in manchester until his death in 1898. he is remembered in his later years for his venerable appearance, his long white beard covering his chest and reaching almost to his waist.
-jones was succeeded as president of burritt by william davis carnes. in 1809, young carnes had come, when only four years old, with his parents from south carolina to mcminnville, where his father alexander carnes engaged in the mercantile business. william carnes completed his education at east tennessee college (now the university of tennessee), where he finished the four years’ course in three years. here he was called “pop carnes” as he was already married and had three children. after graduation, he became the principal of the preparatory department and continued his studies, receiving the a.m. degree two years later. he then became professor of english language and literature in the college. a serious illness caused him to return to his farm in sequatchie valley; and after his complete recovery here, he was offered the presidency of burritt college.
-president carnes introduced two reforms. the first was coeducation, then a novelty against which there was much objection. he met this by building a dormitory for girls as an annex to his residence and by making his daughter mary head of the female department. the other reform was the introduction of scientific physical culture. both of these are now, a hundred years afterwards, considered necessary in modern education.
-the second year carnes sold his farm and mill, and invested the money in building brick dormitories for the growing student body, who came during his presidency from all the southern states except maryland, virginia, and the carolinas, older states which had good colleges. his greatest problem was drunkenness, for which many students were expelled. finally carnes went to nashville and with the assistance of organized temperance forces he secured the enactment of a law by the legislature prohibiting the sale of intoxicants within four miles of a chartered institution of learning except in incorporated towns and cities. this aroused a great deal of feeling against him. one of the distilleries in the vicinity of spencer is said to have been owned by a preacher. carnes’ home, including the girls’ dormitory, was burned. at this time he was invited by the board of trustees of east tennessee university to become president of that institution. they assured him that a gymnasium would be built, that the sentiment in favor of coeducation was growing, and that the municipal government of knoxville would prevent the sale of liquor to students. he accordingly accepted the invitation, and resigned the presidency of burritt college, a position he had held for eight years.
-carnes was succeeded by john powell who continued to be president of burritt until 1861, when most of the male students left to join the armies in the war between the states. during the war the college premises were used as an encampment for soldiers, and the buildings were greatly abused and damaged, the dormitories being used for stables for horses.
-at the close of the war the college was reopened under the presidency of martin white. he was a relative of the john white for whom white county was named. the family was from virginia, where martin white was educated. after three years his health was impaired and his physician advised him to leave the high altitude of spencer. he was succeeded by john powell, who became president for a second time. he, in turn, after two years, was followed by carnes for a second term which lasted for six years.
-as president a total of fourteen years of the first twenty-three years of burritt college’s history. carnes was largely responsible for setting its standards, intellectual, moral, and religious. the school day was a long one, extending from five in the morning to nine in the evening. the schedule required the students to awake and leave their beds at the ringing of the bell at that early hour during all seasons. there was no daylight saving in those days. an hour of study was required before breakfast. the students marched into the chapel at eight o’clock for a short religious service. this was followed by recitations interspersed with study periods until about four o’clock in the afternoon, except for an intermission of an hour and a half for the noon meal and two brief periods for exercise during the morning and afternoon. two hours of study were required in the evening. all lights were to be extinguished at the ringing of the bell at nine o’clock. there were strict rules and regulations against fighting and carrying deadly weapons; against swearing and the use of obscene language; against gambling, card playing, and other behavior “calculated to corrupt the morals of youth”; against using tobacco and drinking intoxicating liquor. there were many other rules regulating the relationship between the male and female students, behavior on sunday, the care of college property, and the avoidance of indebtedness.
-life at burritt was somewhat austere and simple but it was on a very high intellectual and religious plane,—a good example of the ideal of “the attic soul in a spartan mould,” a combination of what was best in the two somewhat contrasting spartan and athenian cultures of ancient greece. the most important extracurricular activity centered around the two literary societies, philomatheian and calliopean, founded early in the history of the college. they afforded the students opportunities for development in written and oral expression. many later eloquent and effective public speakers thus secured their first experience and training. the programs of these societies were composed of recitations, orations, and debates. girls were admitted to membership in 1884, and it then became apparent that they were a healthful factor in the social as well as intellectual development of these organizations. later in the new college building each society was given a special room for its meetings and for housing its library, each having as many as 800 volumes by 1895. the college curriculum also provided for weekly exercises in public speaking on friday afternoons, and in later years introduced a department of elocution, or expression as it was also called.
-when carnes retired from the presidency in 1878 at the age of 78, he was succeeded by dr. t. w. brents. like elihu burritt, brents when a young man became a blacksmith by trade and developed a robust, powerful physique. he later studied medicine, and taught anatomy and surgery in macon medical college in georgia previous to the war between the states. then he returned to tennessee where he divided his time between the practice of medicine and preaching and the mercantile business. during his four years as president of burritt he completed the raising of money for the construction of a new three-story building. this was a large, commodious, elegant building which stood for twenty-eight years until it was destroyed by fire in 1906. after rendering this great service to burritt, dr. brents retired from the presidency to devote himself to writing and preaching, becoming widely known as the author of the gospel plan of salvation and as a very successful debater who exposed scriptural error with merciless logic. i recall hearing him preach at spencer only once, when i was impressed with his scholarship and forceful delivery, his dignity, and his long beard which gave him a patriarchal appearance.
-dr. brents was followed, in turn, by a. t. seitz, a. g. thomas, and w. h. sutton, who served as president for four, one and two years respectively. seitz, a native of warren county and a lawyer by profession, was baptized into the church by president carnes. after leaving burritt, seitz went to italy, texas where he established a successful school and also devoted himself to preaching. thomas came from georgia and brought his faculty with him. he was unsuccessful, the student body of seventy being reduced to thirty-five by the middle of the fall term. one of his students characterized him and his faculty as being “kid glove.” william howard sutton had been a student at the college of manchester, tennessee, while carnes was its president just prior to his return to the presidency of burritt. he then had studied in the business department of cumberland university and had later taught there and in bryant and stratton’s business college in nashville. before becoming president of burritt, he had been a professor in that institution for six years. he resigned the presidency after two years to devote his life to preaching, in which he was eminently successful. as h. leo boles has written, “every one who knew him called him ‘brother sutton.’ he had a kind word for everybody and his friends were numbered by his acquaintances. for the length of time that he lived, labored, and loved, possibly no other man ever did more good than did brother sutton. many who were blessed by this good man are still living and cherish sacred memories of him.” as one who was “blessed by this good man” through whose preaching i became a member of the church of christ, i wish to pay tribute to his warm friendliness, his spontaneous humor, his earnest eloquence, and his practical christianity.
-in 1890, william newton billingsley became president of burritt college, where he had graduated in 1873. never were the man and the position better suited for each other. since his graduation at burritt, he had taught at eaton institute and onward seminary in white county, whose superintendent of public instruction he had been for four years. president billingsley was an excellent scholar and an extraordinarily skillful teacher, also a careful administrator and disciplinarian. he was an eloquent and effective lecturer and preacher. he taught his students much more than the subject matter in the textbooks and the courses of study. he taught them by precept and example the fundamental moral and religious principles of right living and honest thinking—the best preparation that young people can have for the battle of life. i owe to him as teacher and friend a debt of gratitude for knowledge and inspiration which for many years i have attempted to repay by trying to pass on to others the lessons i learned from him,—the kind of repayment which would be most pleasing and satisfying to such a man.
-the period of the twenty-one years of billingsley’s presidency was the most noteworthy during the history of the college. upon the solid foundations already laid, he built with a sure hand a beautiful and imposing superstructure. for many years i have preserved a copy of his address to the graduating class of burritt on may 22, 1903, of which i was a member. it is entitled, “no excellence without great labor,” a theme on which he often spoke, as it was the keystone in the arch of his philosophy of education and of life. may i quote the concluding paragraph as an example of his eloquent, sincere, and inspiring leadership?
-“you have all heard,” he declared, “the story of the stone-cutter in a strange city who had no greater ambition than to earn a humble living for his dear ones. this was his joy, his life. faithfully and conscientiously he does his allotted work with patience and care. today he carves a leaf, the next a flower, hour by hour bringing some new beauty out of the rough stone or marble before him, not knowing what was to be its use. one day, however, when walking quietly along the street, he came to a large building of stone rising loftily and grandly above its surroundings. he stopped to admire it and, on drawing nearer, recognized his own work. all unconsciously he had helped to rear a monument that would be as lasting as time, that would be an example and joy in ages to come. so it is with our lives; if we are engaged in honest work, we shall go on from day to day, all unconscious of the monuments which we are building, the fabrics which we are weaving. the day may often close and leave us discouraged and dissatisfied, feeling that little, if any, good has been accomplished; but let us remember that, if we have worked faithfully and honestly, in the fabric we have woven there will be many bright shining threads—threads of gold and silver, mingled, they may be, with the darker ones of sorrow, disappointment, and failure, yet all so interwoven as to form a pattern of grace and beauty. in cheerfully, patiently doing what our hands find to do with christ for our foundation, we can build monuments of worth,—yea, of eternal glory.”
-how often did we hear professor billingsley, as we called him, declare, “there is no royal road to learning” and “knowledge is power” and quote these inspiring lines by longfellow:
-“the heights by great men reached and kept were not attained by sudden flight; but they while their companions slept were toiling upward in the night.”
-in march, 1906, burritt college suffered a great disaster when the main building was destroyed by fire. but through the energetic leadership of president billingsley money was raised for the reconstruction of the building. after being closed only one term, the college continued its useful educational service. burritt, phoenix-like, had risen from its ashes.
-billingsley by this time had become an important figure in education in tennessee, having served as president of the state association of public school officers, and of the state teachers’ association as well as a member of the state textbook commission and of the state board of education. in 1911 he was, accordingly, invited to join the faculty of the middle tennessee state normal school at murfreesboro.
-unfortunately death came to him the following year just after he had entered into this broad field of usefulness. i remember, with what a feeling of personal loss, i read the news of his death which reached me some weeks afterwards in constantinople, turkey, where i was then a teacher.
-“there has not lived another man in this portion of the state in the last forty years,” declared the sparta expositor, “whose influence has been more widespread and powerful for good than was his. earnest, honest, modest, clean, wholesome, highminded, honorable, tireless, and unceasing in the discharge of his duty, a well grounded scholar, a wise counsellor and true friend, he has inspired thousands of young men and women to lead the life that is worth while.”
-the last three presidents of burritt college were w. s. graves, serving twice, h. b. walker, and h. e. scott. for several years the college continued to prosper. president billingsley bequeathed the most of his estate as an endowment for the benefit of burritt college and the church of christ in spencer and for the preaching of the gospel in backward communities. a new dormitory, called billingsley hall, was erected and also a gymnasium. but certain developments in education began to make it difficult for burritt to make progress. the first was the establishment of county high schools throughout the state, with free tuition, which took away a large number of students from the preparatory department of the college. the second adverse development was the increase in the facilities of the university of tennessee and the establishment of state normal schools and other state schools on the college level. burritt could not successfully compete with such institutions in which tuition was free. as a private school burritt could have survived only with a large endowment, and that was not to be secured. no vanderbilt, duke, or peabody came to the rescue of burritt.
-the scientific age, then far advanced, and the growing emphasis on athletics demanded laboratory equipment and gymnasiums and fieldhouses which cost much money. the old claim that a log with mark hopkins sitting on one end with a student on the other constituted a college was long out of date. under such conditions it was only a question of time until burritt ceased to function in the form in which it had had a remarkable influence for good for nearly one hundred years.
-joseph conrad declared, “the dead can live only with the exact intensity and quality of the life imparted to them by the living.” the truth of this, as applied to man, is open to serious doubt, but it is applicable to institutions like burritt. our college can never really die as long as there are those who love it and who live by the high intellectual, moral, and religious principles learned within its walls. burritt college lives in the influence still alive in the hearts and minds, and spirits of its alumni scattered far and wide.
-that we still love the old college is evident by our presence here on this historic occasion. we are here to drink from a kind of ponce de leon “fountain of youth.” we would not drink, as did the characters in hawthorne’s “dr. heidegger’s experiment,” of a magic elixir that would make us physically children again “just for tonight.” but we may be restored imaginatively to that golden youthful period of life, and the imagination works more easily and effectively in the physical surroundings of our youth.
-i question the truth of robert browning’s lines in “rabbi ben ezra,”
-“grow old along with me; the best of life is yet to be.”
-“bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven! o times, in which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways of custom, law, and statute took at once the attraction of a country in romance!”
-ah, yes, “to be young was very heaven!” as we look upon these scenes of our early recollection, we are “softened and subdued into a sweet, pensive sorrow, which only the happiest and holiest associations of bygone years can call into being.” these last words are from the lecture on “visions and dreams” by the eloquent, tender-hearted bob taylor. “o beautiful isle of memory,” he continued, “lighted by the morning star of life, where the roses bloom by the door, where the robins sing among the apple blossoms, where bright waters ripple in eternal melody! there are echoes of songs that are sung no more, tender words spoken by lips that are dust, blessings from hearts that are still!”
-i hesitate to break the charm cast over us by such a beautiful expression of truth and feeling. but i must end our imaginative rejuvenation and backward turning to the days of our youth at this dear college. in conclusion, may i quote the closing paragraph of president billingsley’s address to the graduating class on may 19, 1911, the last speech of this kind he delivered at burritt. may it be a benediction to us as we return to our homes and the duties of life, which we have laid aside, for a time.
-“i desire to speak a word of congratulations to you,” he declared, “for your success in completing the prescribed course of instruction in this institution with so much honor to yourselves and pleasure to your instructors. right nobly have you performed your parts, and the impressions you have made upon us will not be forgotten.
-‘the echoes roll from soul to soul, and are not lost forever.’
-“scattered though you may soon be from the atlantic to the pacific, whether in the remotest west, where the weary sun sinks nightly to his ocean bed, or in the golden east, where the gates of the morning unbar their shining folds to let in the day god’s flashing beams, wherever you may be, let the thought of the love of burritt college cheer and comfort you and be an inspiration to you to always be the noblest and do your best.”
---there was no copyright notice on the original pamphlet, scanned from the library of john c. hutcheson. hence the necessity of the ministry of the church having the spirit of prophecy and revelation.
-how long i have delayed the direct consideration of my thesis! the foregoing remarks, however, were necessary since the belief that the volume of scripture was completed and forever closed; that the voice of prophecy is no more to be heard; that the visitation of angels is not to be expected; that revelation has forever ceased--all stood as so many obstacles to be removed before we could consider the direct testimony supporting the proposition that the gospel in the last days is to be restored to the earth by re-opening the heavens and giving a new dispensation thereof to the children of men. but now all things are ready. i have shown that since men corrupted and lost the gospel, together with divine authority to administer its ordinances, the only way to regain possession of it is by receiving a new dispensation thereof through a revelation from god; that the sectarian teaching that the volume of scripture is completed and closed is based upon assumption merely; that the same sectarian teaching that revelation and prophecy had ceased forever is equally false; on the contrary we have seen that the very spirit and genius of the gospel contemplates the continuation of revelation both to the church and to individuals; therefore it can be neither unscriptural nor unreasonable to expect a new revelation that will restore the gospel.
-1. mark xvi.
-2. matt. xxviii.
-3. acts xix.
-4. see ii. samuel vi, in connection with numb. iv, 5-15.
-5. ii. chron. xxvi.
-6. heb. v: 1-4.
-7. "and take unto thee aaron, thy brother, and his sons with him, from among the children of israel, that he may minister unto me in the priest's office." word of the lord to moses, ex. xxviii: 1.
-8. john xv: 16.
-9. heb. v: 5, 6.
-11. vide biblical literature (kitto), art. book of revelation.
-12. early days of christianity, ch. xxvii.
-13. this would make the 1st epistle of john the closing book of the canon.
-14. deut, iv: 2.
-15. proverbs xxx: 6.
-16. st. john xix: 30.
-17. corinth xiii: 8.
-18. ibid, verse 9-12.
-19. it should be remembered that the division of the epistle, and for that matter the whole of the new testament, into chapters and verses was not made by the writers of it, but is quite a modern work. the verse with which the fourteenth chapter opens is a direct and close continuation of the subject with which the thirteenth chapter closes, and ought not to have been separated from it into another chapter. it is an instance of how clumsily the work of dividing the new testament into chapters and verses was done.
-20. matt. xvi.
-21. st. john i: 42.
-22. footnote in the douay bible on matt. xvi: 17, 18.
-23. genesis v:24; heb. xi: 5.
-24. exodus xxxiii: 11.
-25. ii peter i: 20, 21.
-26. john xvi: 13.
-27. john xv: 26--jesus to the apostles.
-28. i cor. xii.
-30. acts ii: 38, 39.
-31. john iii: 5.
-32. acts ii.
-33. isaiah xi.
-35. acts xiii.
-36. acts xvi:6.
-37. acts xvi:7.
-38. acts xvi:9, 10.
-39. i cor. ii: 11.
-40. i cor. ii: 4, 5.
-41. i cor. ii: 14.
-42. i cor. ii: 9, 10, 12.
-43. rom. ii: 11.
-prophetic history of the church--the restoration of the gospel by an angel.
-and now as to the direct testimony for the restoration of the gospel by means of a new revelation. it is to be found in one of the revelations to st. john upon the isle of patmos. while there, either as an exile, or a prisoner in the mines during the persecution under the emperor domitian--and in either case suffering for the word of god and the testimony of jesus christ--the apostle received many visions pertaining to the past, the present and the future of the church of christ. especially are the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth chapters of his revelation instructive. there is a unity of design in them that cannot be mistaken. they contain a history of the church from the time it was presided over by the twelve apostles of the lamb, unto the time when the judgments of god fall upon babylon to her utter destruction. without entering into minute detail let me point this out.
-in the first two verses of the twelfth chapter, under the figure of a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and about her head a crown of twelve stars, and ready to be delivered of a child, john describes the church presided over by the apostles, and ready to bring forth the complete organization of the priesthood--the male child that is to rule the nations.
-in the third and fourth verses, under the figure of a great red dragon, whose tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven, and who stood before the woman to devour her child as soon as it was born,--we have a description of lucifer standing ready to destroy the priesthood so soon as it should be brought forth.
-in verses five and six, under the figure of the woman bringing forth the male child, the child being caught up into heaven, and the flight of the woman into the wilderness, where god has a place prepared for her, where she is nourished for a thousand two hundred and three score days--we have a description of the coming forth of the priesthood as an organization, its being taken up into heaven out of reach of lucifer, and also the flight of the church beyond his power into the wilderness, where it is nourished for a certain time.
-in the verses from seven to twelve, inclusive, we have a deflection from the main line of history to explain who and what the great red dragon is. we are told of the war in heaven, where michael and his angels fought; and the dragon and his angels fought, but prevailed not; and how at last the dragon, that old serpent called the devil and satan, was cast out of heaven into the earth and his angels with him. we are told of the joy there was in heaven when the accuser of the brethren was cast out; and how there had come salvation and strength and the kingdom of god and the power of his christ. but those who thus rejoiced in heaven cry woe unto the inhabitants of the earth, because the devil had come down unto them having great wrath.
-the thirteenth verse brings us back from the deflection to the line of history again; and from there to the close of the chapter under the figure of the woman flying into the wilderness, the dragon casting out of his mouth floods of water to carry her away if possible, and the return of the dragon full of wrath to make war on the seed of the woman,--"which keep the commandments of god and have the testimony of jesus"--we have repeated the story of the flight of the church from the earth, the slander of lucifer still seeking to destroy the church, now beyond the direct influence of his power, and his return to make was upon the few saints that remained after the church as an organization had been taken from among men.
-in the first and second verses of the thirteenth chapter, under the figure of a monstrous, hydra-headed beast rising out of the sea, and the dragon giving unto him his power and his seat and great authority--we have a description of the rise and nature of pagan rome, and lucifer giving unto it his power and inspiring it with his spirit of hatred towards the saints.
-in the third and fourth verses, under the figure of one of the heads of the beast being wounded and afterwards healed, all the world wondering after the beast, the dragon who gave him his power being worshiped, and the beast being worshiped--we have the transition from the pagan to the papal power of rome described, and the worship of lucifer in return for giving his power to the beast.
-then follows in verses from the fifth to the tenth, inclusive, the proclamation of this devil-inspired power to blaspheme against god, against his tabernacle and the saints in heaven; "to make war upon the saints and to overcome them;" his dominion over all kindreds and tongues and nations; the prophecy that all who dwell upon the earth shall worship him whose names are not written in the lamb's book of life from the foundation of the world; and also the prophecy of the captivity of this power which has led into captivity, and the killing of him by the sword who killed with the sword.
-from the tenth verse to the close of the chapter we have the rise of other powers described which shall under new forms inaugurate the old worship, exercise the old tyranny, practice the old deceptions, and confirm them by the performance of miracles.
-the first seven verses of the fourteenth chapter describe the blessedness of a special company of the servants of god who have been redeemed from the earth, an hundred and forty and four thousand of them, being the first fruits unto god and the lamb, in whose mouth was found no guile, and who are without fault.
-the sixth and seventh verses describe an angel flying "in the midst of heaven having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people, saying with a loud voice, fear god and give glory to him, for the hour of his judgment is come: and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of waters."
-the eighth verse proclaims the fall of babylon which has made all nations drunk with the wine of the wrath of her fornication. the rest of the chapter forbids the worship of the beast or his image, pronouncing the wrath of god against those who do so; and deals with the successive judgments which shall overtake the earth to cleanse it of its wickedness. thus in prophecy was the history of the church written, its establishment; the war made upon its priesthood by lucifer; the taking away of the priesthood and the church from within the circle of his power; lucifer's league first with pagan and afterwards with papal rome; the establishment of devil and man worship; the blaspheming of god, his tabernacle and the saints in heaven; the rise of other powers who under new forms establish old blasphemies and devil-worship; the restoration of the gospel in the hour of god's judgment; and the final fall of babylon and the cleansing of the earth preparatory to the reign of peace and righteousness inaugurated by the restoration of the gospel. there it is, a mighty compendium of history written by the spirit of prophecy!
-however obscure some parts of the books of revelation may be considered, this prophecy is perfectly clear. looked at from any standpoint, it means simply this: in the hour of god's judgment an angel will come from heaven bringing with him the everlasting gospel, which is thence to be preached unto all nations and peoples of the earth. the fact that the gospel is to be restored in the hour of god's judgment by the ministry of an angel, and thence is to be preached to every nation and kindred and tongue and people is proof positive that every nation and kindred and tongue and people in the hour of god's judgment would be without the gospel, hence the necessity of restoring it in the manner described. for if the lord had a church on the earth, possessing divine authority, there would be no necessity to bring in a new dispensation of the gospel as described in the prophecy under consideration.
-in this passage several of the facts for which i have contended meet: first, that there has been a universal apostasy from the gospel, so complete in its departure from the doctrines and rites of the christian religion, so universal, as to destroy the church of christ; second, the necessity of restoring the gospel by a re-opening of the heavens; and third, the fact of the restoration of the gospel by the ministration of an angel who commits a new dispensation of it to man, to be preached throughout the world.
-joseph smith is the new witness for god; a prophet divinely authorized to teach the gospel, and re-establish the church of jesus christ on earth.
-the new witness introduced.
-at the beginning of the nineteenth century, the western part of the state of new york was a new country, by which i mean--one recently settled, and comparatively a wilderness. at the close of the revolutionary war, which secured to the former british colonies independence, the people of the new-born nation found their country and themselves impoverished. manufactures owing to the narrow and selfish policy of england toward her colonies (that policy had been to discourage the colonies from manufacturing, least they should compete with the manufactures of england) could scarcely be said to have an existence. commerce, owing to the fact that the new nation had not yet established a commercial standing in the world, afforded little opportunity for american activity. moreover, the american people themselves, of that generation, because of the conditions which had surrounded them in the new world, were neither skilled artisans capable of competing with the british workmen in manufacturing, nor had they the cunning that comes by training, which qualified them for immediate success. what they did possess was sturdy physical frames--constitutions unimpaired either by the excesses practiced among barbarians, or by the vices which abound in older civilizations. they possessed strong hands, superb courage and simple tastes, and with these they entered into that almost boundless empire of wilderness to the west of them, to make homes for themselves and their children.
-looking from the standpoint of our modern life, which knows so much of ease and comfort, the lot of these pioneers was a hard one. the soil which their rude shares upturned to the sun was indeed virgin and fertile, but before it could be cultivated it had to be cleared of its heavy growth of timber and underbrush, and with the means then employed, to clear a farm was well-nigh a life's labor. each pioneer with the help of a few neighbors--which help he paid for by helping them in return--built his own house, his barn, his sheds, and fenced his "clearing." each family within itself was practically self-supporting. the hum of the spinning-wheel, the rattle of the shuttle and the thumping of the loom was heard in every home, as wool and flax were converted into fabrics to clothe the family; and every pioneer cultivated such a variety of products that his farm and his labor supplied his wants and those of his household. happily for their contentment, the conditions in which they lived rendered their wants but few.
-it was a simple, honest life these pioneers led. a life full of toil; for it was a stubborn fight they had with the wilderness to subdue it. and yet their very hardships tended towards virtue. a busy life in honorable pursuits can never be a vicious one; and the constant toil of these men in wood and field so kept hands and head employed that there was left no time nor opportunity to pursue evil. their amusements were few and simple, consisting in the main of the occasional gatherings of neighbors for social enjoyments--the love of youth and maiden seeking its legitimate expression in that companionship which alone satisfies the hunger of the heart, i doubt not, was the incentive which brought about these gatherings--at least their frequency; and the old, well pleased to see their own youth reflected in that of their sons and daughters, looked on with unconcealed delight.
-not only was this life in the wilderness favorable to morality, it contributed equally well to the cultivation of the religious sentiment in man. man is by nature a religious animal, and where natural conditions prevail instead of artificial ones, true to his nature, man inclines toward a religious state of mind. there is something in the awful stillness of the wood that says to man--"god is in this solitude!" the murmur of the brook splashing over its pebbly bed, and the mournful sighing of the winds through the tree tops, whisper to his spirit the fundamental truth of all religion--"god lives!" the stars looking down through the trees or mirrored in stream or lake bear witness to the same great truth; while the orderly course of the seasons, bringing with such undeviating regularity seed time and harvest, the period of summer's growth and winter's rest, accompanied by the fact of the sun shining for the wicked as for the good, and the rain falling upon the just and the unjust alike, gives ample evidence of god's interest in the world he has created and of his beneficence and mercy towards all men.
-when conditions were so favorable for the development of natural religion, it is not surprising that profound interest was manifested also in revealed religion. especially when we remember that these pioneers of the wilderness were but from one to three generations removed from ancestors who had left the old world for the express purpose of worshiping god according to their understanding of that same revealed religion. that skepticism of the eighteenth century which in some quarters had such a baneful influence upon religious belief was scarcely felt in these settlements remote from the old centers of the new world civilization. these men of the wilderness believed the bible and looked upon it with the reverence worthy of men descended from protestant fathers who had in their system of theology made it take the place of pope and church, and established it as their sole authority and infallible guide in the matters of faith and morals. while many of them refused to identify themselves with any of the various sects about them, or subscribe to their creeds, they were profound believers in the word of god, and often confessed this short creed which they duly impressed upon their descendants: "i believe in god, in the bible, and in a state of future rewards and punishments."
-there was no lack of zealous churchmen among the pioneers, sectaries who taught special forms of faith and contended for the necessity of particular dogmas and formulas with all that ardor and narrowness of view that usually characterizes the sectarian mind. their contentions for the correctness of their respective creeds were not always free from bitterness but for all that the protestant sects recognized each other as parts of a great universal church, and occasionally would so far put away the differences of creed which separated them as to unite for the purpose of holding union protracted meetings for the conversion of unbelievers.
-during the continuance of these meetings the minister avoided preaching any doctrine except such as could be accepted by all the sects--evangelical doctrine. professedly their sole effort was to lead the unconverted to believe in and accept christ, let them join what sect they pleased. usually matters went on very agreeably until the converts made by these united efforts began to express their preference for one or the other of the different religious sects. then would break out those fierce sectarian struggles for advantage which have ever been so disgraceful to protestant christendom. the good feeling temporarily exhibited during the union meetings nearly all disappeared, and by the fact of its vanishing impressed an observer with the idea that all along it was more pretended than real. sectarian zeal was unbounded in its efforts to secure as many of the new converts as possible to its own particular denomination. there was a cry of lo here and of lo there, not unfrequently accompanied with remarks of detraction about the opposing sects. the priests, each jealous for his own church, contended fiercely with one another, so that they who ought to have been the most exemplary in that conduct which makes for peace on earth and good will towards men, were often the most to be blamed for stirring up contention.
-such a wave of religious fervor brought about in the manner above set forth, and attended with results described, passed over the western part of the state of new york in the winter and spring of 1820. the movement at that time was of unusual interest, first on account of its extent, and second on account of the intensity of the religious excitement produced. it can well be imagined that with these two conditions existing, the bitterness among the sects taking part in the movement would be correspondingly great when it came to dividing up the spoils. by which i mean when the converts made by a unity of effort began to file off some to one sect and some to another. such was the case. presbyterians opposed methodists, and methodists baptists; and baptists opposed both the other sects. all was strife, contention, confusion, beneath which christian charity and good will to man--these weightier matters of the law--were buried so far out of sight that it might be questioned if they ever existed.
-no sooner had he begun calling upon the lord than there sprang upon him a being from the unseen world, who so entirely overcame him, and bound his utterance, that he could not speak. thick darkness gathered about him, and it seemed to the struggling boy that he was doomed to sudden destruction. he still exerted all his power to call upon the lord to deliver him from the power of the enemy who had seized him. but still his unseen though none the less real enemy continued to prevail. despair filled his heart. he was about to abandon himself to destruction when at the moment of his greatest alarm he saw a pillar of light exactly over his head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon him. no sooner did this light appear than he was free from the enemy which had held him bound. as the light rested upon him he saw within it two personages whose brightness and glory defy all description. they stood above him in the air, and one of them pointing to the other said: "joseph, this is my beloved son, hear him."
-the object of the lad in going to that place to engage in secret prayer was to learn of god which of all the sects was right, that he might know which to join. no sooner, therefore, did he recover his self-possession than he asked the personage to whom he was thus introduced, which of all the sects was right--which he should join. he was answered that he must join none of them; for they were all wrong their creeds were an abomination in god's sight; the professors of them were all corrupt--"they draw near me with their lips," said the personage, talking to him, "but their hearts are far from me; they teach for doctrine the commandments of men; having a form of godliness but denying the power thereof." again he was told that he must join none of them.
-with this the vision closed, and the boy on coming to himself was lying upon his back looking up into heaven. he arose to his feet and looked upon the place of his fierce struggle with his unseen though powerful enemy--the place also of his splendid vision!
-what a change had come to the lad in one brief hour! he was no longer struggling with doubts or troubled with perplexities as to which of the sects was right. he had gone to that place of prayer plagued with uncertainty, now no one among the children of men so well assured as he of the course to pursue. he had proved the correctness of james' doctrine--men may ask god for wisdom, receive liberally and not be upbraided. he knew that the religious creeds of the world were untrue; that they taught for doctrine the commandments of men; that religionists observed a form of godliness, but in their hearts denied the power of god; that they drew near to the lord with their lips, but their hearts were far from him. he knew that god, the father, lived, for he had both seen him and heard his voice; he knew that jesus lived and was the son of god, for he had been introduced to him by the father, conversed with him in heavenly vision and had received instruction and a promise that the fullness of the gospel should yet be made known to him. up to that time his life had been uneventful, and of a character to make him of no particular consequence in the world; now he stood as god's witness among the children of men. henceforth he must bear witness to the great truths he had learned. his testimony will arouse the wrath of men, and with unrelenting fury they will pursue him. slander, outright falsehood and misrepresentation will play havoc with his reputation. everywhere his name will be held up as evil. derision will laugh at his testimony, ridicule mock it. on every hand he will be met with the cry of "false prophet! false prophet!" chains and the dungeon's gloom await him; mobs with murderous hate will assail him again and again; and at the last, while under the protection of the law, and the honor of a great commonwealth pledged for his safety, he will be murdered in cold blood for the word of god and the testimony of jesus!
-how little that fair-haired boy, standing there in the unpruned forest, with the sunlight stealing through the trees about him, realized the burden placed upon his shoulders that morning by reason of the visitation he received in answer to his prayer!
-here is not the place for argument, that is to come later; but let us consider the wide-sweeping effect of this boy's vision upon the accepted theology of christendom.
-first, it was a flat contradiction to the assumption that revelation had ceased, that god had no further communication to make to man.
-second, it reveals the errors into which men had fallen concerning the personages of the godhead. it makes it manifest that god is not an incorporeal being without body, or parts; on the contrary he appeared to the prophet in the form of a man, as he did to the ancient prophets. thus after centuries of controversy the simple truth of the scriptures which teach that man was created in the likeness of god--hence god must be the same in form as man--was re-affirmed.
-third, it corrected the error of the theologians respecting the oneness of the persons of the father and the son. instead of being one in person as the theologians taught, they are distinct in their persons, as much so as any father and son on earth; and the oneness of the godhead referred to in the scriptures, must have reference to unity of purpose and of will; the mind of the one being the mind of the other, and so as to the will and other attributes.
-the announcement of these truths, coupled with that other truth proclaimed by the son of god, viz.: that none of the sects and churches of christendom were acknowledged as the church or kingdom of god, furnish the elements for a religious revolution that will affect the very foundations of modern christian theology. in a moment all the rubbish concerning religion which had accumulated through all the centuries since the gospel and authority to administer its ordinances had been taken from the earth, was grandly swept aside--the living rocks of truth were made bare upon which the church of christ was to be founded--a new dispensation of the gospel was about to be committed to the earth--god had raised up a witness for himself among the children of men.
-1. joseph smith the prophet was born in sharon, windsor county, state of vermont, 23rd of december, 1805.
-6. the exact date of this occurrence is not known.
-a new dispensation of the gospel.
-the true test of moral courage is to stand alone against the world and maintain what one believes or knows to be the truth. it is easy enough to join in the chorus that cries "amen" to orthodox doctrines, or even to lead in advocating opinions that the multitude by very force of tradition accept with applause. even unpopular opinions are maintained and that stoutly by men whose moral courage falls very far short of the sublime, if only they are supported by a following. just as men of indifferent physical courage will sometimes show a spirit of desperate daring, and rush into the jaws of death, borne up against the danger by the sheer consciousness of moving upon it with a large number of their fellows. examples are furnished by armies in battle. not a few of those who charge the enemy with apparent reckless bravery are borne along by the strength which comes from the support of numbers. the charge upon the enemy, therefore, even in the face of a galling fire, is not the truest test of the courage of the soldier. a better evidence of courage is given by the solitary sentinel upon his beat; when alone under the quiet stars he walks the path of danger, uncertain where it may be lurking or from what quarter it may come; when the shouts of his comrades are hushed in slumber; when the soul-stirring drum and ear-piercing fife are silent; when the excitement which comes from action, and the tumult of glorious battle no longer sustains him--then if his spirit fails him not, and he calmly and alone faces the danger and does his duty, he gives his commander a better evidence of his courage than he will ever give in the mad recklessness of the charge.
-as dogs best hunt in packs, so men best fight in armies; and so, too, do men best stand by their convictions when strengthened by that moral support which comes from the approval of their fellows. but, as i remarked, the truest test of moral courage is to stand alone and maintain what one either knows or believes to be the truth against the sneers and ridicule of the world.
-when the one who stands alone against millions is young, and the influences brought to bear against him are the most powerful that can be employed; if he break not down, but steadily holds to the assertion or principle which gives offense, his courage and integrity must stand as presumptive evidence that he either has the truth or what he believes to be the truth, for out and out falsehood has no such heroes. the truth alone, or what is honestly taken for it, can support men in such an issue as this. and more especially is this the case if the one undergoing the trial, in addition to tender years, is also unschooled in the vices of the world, is of quick sympathies and easily persuaded.
-he made no secret of the vision. only a few days after receiving it, being in company with a prominent methodist minister, he gave him an account of the revelation which he had received from god, when to the boy's astonishment the minister railed most viciously against it. "he treated my communication not only lightly," says the prophet, writing of those early experiences later in life, "but with contempt, saying it was all of the devil, that there was no such thing as visions or revelations in these days; that all such things had ceased with the apostles, and that there never would be any more of them. i soon found, however, that by telling the story i had excited a great deal of prejudice against me among professors of religion, and was the cause of great persecution, which continued to increase, and though i was an obscure boy, only between fourteen and fifteen years of age, and my circumstances in life such as to make a boy of no consequence in the world, yet men of high standing would take notice sufficient to excite the public mind against me, and create a hot persecution, and this was common among all the sects, all united to persecute me.
-"it has often caused me serious reflection, both then and since, how very strange it was that an obscure boy, a little over fourteen year of age, and one, too, who was doomed to the necessity of obtaining a scanty maintenance by his daily labor, should be thought a character of sufficient importance to attract the attention of the great ones of the most popular sects of the day, so as to create in them a spirit of the hottest persecution and reviling. but strange or not, so it was, and was often a cause of great sorrow to myself. however, it was, nevertheless, a fact that i had had a vision. i have thought since that i felt much like paul when he made his defense before king agrippa, and related the account of the vision he had when he saw a light and heard a voice, but still there were but a few who believed him; and some said he was dishonest; others said he was mad, and he was ridiculed and reviled; but all this did not destroy the reality of his vision. he had seen a vision, he knew he had, and all the persecution under heaven could not make it otherwise; and though they should persecute him unto death, yet he knew and would know to his latest breath that he had both seen a light, and heard a voice speaking to him, and all the world could not make him think or believe otherwise.
-the constancy of the lad, under all the circumstances, laid deep the foundation for faith in the man, and in the work which, under god, he founded. there were so many interests--the peace of himself and family; his own and his family's good name and standing in society; the applause of religionists who would have hailed with delight his renunciation of the vision as a delusion of the devil--all these things cried out, "renounce it!" but the fact that to all such demands the lad shouted back, "'tis god's truth, i saw the vision!"--will go far towards making men believe that he did; for had he been base enough to invent such a story, when he found that it made against his interest and brought nothing but reproaches, without doubt, he would have denied it; for men seldom persist in conscious falsehood which works only to their disadvantage. and in this instance the renunciation would have been so easy by calling it a delusion wrought by the adversary of men's souls, by which he had been deceived. but neither ease of denial nor the seeming advantages to accrue from it moved him; against it all he was supported by the consciousness of having told the truth. unless indeed we can believe him so insane as to have been a candidate for disgrace and ambitious of the contempt of his fellows.
-at the end of three years' silence, viz., on the 21st of september, 1823, he was blessed with another vision. during the three years he was left to stand alone he lays no claim to perfect sanctity, but freely confesses to have fallen frequently into "foolish errors, and displayed the weakness of youth, and the corruption of human nature." in consequence of these things he often felt condemned; and on the above mentioned 21st of september, he betook himself to prayer to almighy god, sought a remission of his sins, and asked for a manifestation of his standing before the lord.
-after these explanations, moroni began quoting and explaining a number of the prophecies of the old testament. following are the passages in the order in which he quoted them: part of the 3rd chapter of malachi, 4th chapter of malachi; 11th chapter of isaiah--saying it was about to be fulfilled; 3rd chapter of acts, 22nd and 23rd verses, saying that the prophet therein named was jesus christ, but the time when those who would not hear his voice should be cut off from among the people had not yet come, but would soon come; 2nd chapter of joel, from 28th verse to the last: this was not fulfilled, but soon would be.
-some of the passages he quoted differently from the way they read in our english version. malachi 3rd chapter, 1st verse, for example, he quoted as follows: "for behold the day cometh that shall burn as an oven, and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly shall burn as stubble; for they that come shall burn them, saith the lord of hosts, and it shall leave them neither root nor branch."
-the 5th and 6th verses he quoted thus: "behold i will reveal unto you the priesthood by the hand of elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the lord. and he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers; if it were not so the whole earth would be utterly wasted at his coming."
-this heavenly messenger appeared to him three times during that night and each time related the same things to him, the interviews occupying nearly the whole night.
-the next day while working beside his father in a field joseph was taken ill. his father observing it advised him to go to the house. this the boy started to do, but in climbing over the fence, which separated the field from the house, his strength utterly failed him, and he sank to the ground unconscious. he was aroused by some one calling his name, and when he regained consciousness the messenger of the night before stood near him. again the things of the night before were repeated; and he received a commandment to go and tell his father the vision. this he did and his father encouraged him to do as he had been commanded. he accordingly went as directed in his vision to the place where the record of the ancient americans was concealed--to a hill called by them cumorah.
-removing the grass and soil which was about the edges of the stone box that contained the ancient record, with a lever he raised the lid and there saw the gold plates and the urim and thummim. he was about to take them from the box, when the angel moroni again stood before him, and forbade his taking them out, as the time for them to be given to him for translation had not yet come, nor would it come until four years from that date. he was commanded to come at the end of each year to that place, and the angel would meet him to give the necessary instruction.
-this joseph did for four successive years, and each time met the same heavenly messenger and received instruction. on the occasion of the fourth meeting, viz., on the 22nd of september, 1827, the record was given into his hands to translate. this work of translation, through the grace of god, he accomplished, and in 1830 the book of mormon was published to the world.
-it must be understood that during the progress of the young prophet's work, persecution was continuous; and slander with her thousand tongues was inventing falsehood to destroy the work of god. but while opposition was strong, the lord from time to time raised up friends to assist him in his labors and share his responsibilities. among such persons was one oliver cowdery, a young school teacher, who while following his profession in the town of manchester, was boarding in the family of joseph smith's parents, from whom he learned of the revelations of god to joseph, and of his having the record of the ancient inhabitants of america.
-the youthful prophet at this time was living at harmony, susquehanna county, pennsylvania. he had married a miss emma hale and settled there on a piece of land purchased of his father-in-law. oliver cowdery went to harmony to investigate the claims of joseph smith, both in respect to his receiving revelations from god and having the book of mormon. he became satisfied upon both points and remained with him to act as his scribe in the work of translation.
-in may, 1829, the work of translation drawing near to completion, they came upon a passage in the book of mormon respecting baptism, upon which they held different views. they retired to the woods on the 15th of may to present the matter before the lord for further light, and while engaged in calling upon god in prayer, a personage appeared to them surrounded by a glorious light, who, as he laid his hands upon their heads, said: "upon you my fellow servants, in the name of messiah, i confer the priesthood of aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; and this shall never be taken again from the earth, until the sons of levi do offer again an offering unto the lord in righteousness."
-the messenger who thus conferred the aaronic priesthood upon them was named john, the same that is called the baptist in the new testament. he had been raised from the dead, and was now sent as a messenger from god to confer the keys of the aaronic priesthood upon joseph smith and oliver cowdery. he told them that he acted under the direction of the apostles peter, james and john, and that some time in the near future the melchisedek or higher priesthood would be conferred upon them. he then commanded them to each baptize the other, joseph to first baptize oliver, and then oliver to baptize joseph. thus the work of baptizing men for the remission of sins began in the new dispensation.
-some time in the following month, june, 1829, the promise made by john to joseph and oliver that the melchisedek priesthood would be conferred upon them was fulfilled. in the wilderness between harmony, susquehanna county, penn., and colesville, broom county, new york, on the banks of the susquehanna river, peter, james and john conferred upon joseph smith and oliver cowdery the apostleship, the keys of the melchisedek priesthood, which gave them the right to build up the church of christ in all the world, and organize it in all its departments.
-it is proper here to say a few words upon the subject of priesthood. priesthood is power which god confers upon man, by which he becomes an agent for god, authorized to act in his name. it may be to warn a city or nation of approaching calamity because of corruption; it may be to teach faith in god, or cry repentance to the wicked; it may be to baptize in water for the remission of sins, or lay on hands, as the ancient apostles did, for the baptism of the holy ghost; or it may be to lay on hands for the healing of the sick, or all these things combined. men who hold the priesthood possess divine authority thus to act for god; and by possessing part of god's power they are in reality part of god, that is, in the sense of being part of the great governing power that extends throughout the universe. this is the authority of men that hold the priesthood, and when those who possess it walk in obedience to the commandments of god, men who honor the priesthood in them, honor god; and those who reject it reject god, even the power of god.
-four years after the vision of joseph smith and sidney rigdon, viz., april 6th, 1836, other visions of jesus christ and several mighty angels were given to the prophet and oliver cowdery. the visions occurred during the dedication of the kirtland temple. the first was of jesus christ, who declared his acceptance of the temple. the angels came to deliver certain keys of authority to joseph smith. following is the prophet's account of the several manifestations:
-"the vail was taken from our minds, and the eyes of our understanding were opened. we saw the lord standing upon the breastwork of the pulpit, before us, and under his feet was a paved work of pure gold in color like amber. his eyes were as a flame of fire, the hair of his head was white like pure snow, his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun, and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters, even the voice of jehovah, saying 'i am the first and the last, i am he who liveth, i am he who was slain, i am your advocate with the father. behold, your sins are forgiven you, you are clean before me, therefore lift up your heads and rejoice. let the hearts of your brethren rejoice, and let the hearts of all my people rejoice who have, with their might, built this house to my name; for behold, i have accepted this house, and my name shall be here, and i will manifest myself to my people in mercy in this house. yea, i will appear unto my servants and speak unto them with mine own voice, if my people will keep my commandments, and do not pollute this holy house, yea, the hearts of thousands and tens of thousands shall greatly rejoice in consequence of the blessings which shall be poured out, and the endowment with which my servants have been endowed in this house; and the fame of this house shall spread to foreign lands, and this is the beginning of the blessing which shall be poured out upon the heads of my people, even so, amen.
-"after this vision closed, the heavens were again opened unto us, and moses appeared before us and committed unto us the keys of the gathering of israel from the four parts of the earth, and the leading of the ten tribes from the land of the north.
-"after this elias appeared and committed the dispensation of the gospel of abraham, saying, that in us, and our seed, all generations after us should be blessed.
-with the revelations thus received, as well as those received through the urim and thummim, we shall have more or less to do in this work; but the visions and ministrations of angels related in this and the preceding chapter constitute the basis upon which the work of god in this new dispensation is founded. from the information and authority received through them comes the organization of the church of christ and the proclamation of the gospel in all the world.
-the manifestations are of a character which preclude all possibility of the parties who received them being mistaken. if the great work of god in these last days, were founded alone upon the internal inspiration or illumination of the prophet joseph, the probability of his belonging to that very large number of well-meaning but mistaken men who have thought themselves inspired of god would be very much increased; for nothing is more common perhaps than self-deception in such matters. "mormonism," however, came into existence not alone from internal inspiration, or divine inward illumination of joseph smith; but from what we may term external revelations as well; revelations which appeal to the senses of the mind as well as to the inner consciousness. review them i pray you:
-god the father and his son jesus christ are beheld in the full light of day--nay, in an effulgence of light, brighter than the sunlight at noon-day. and a direct conversation is held with them upon a matter-of-fact subject for some length of time.
-one of the resurrected prophets of ancient america appears three times in one night, and twice the following day; he conversed upon a variety of subjects, but the main purpose of his visitation was to reveal the existence of the record of an ancient people. at the end of each year, for four successive years, this same heavenly messenger repeats his visits, and at the last gives into the possession of joseph smith a volume of gold plates, the engravings on which the prophet translated into the english language.
-an angel exhibits these same plates to other men, and permits them to examine the engravings thereon.
-eight other men see and handle the plates and examine the characters engraven on them.
-another angel, also a resurrected prophet, appears in broad day light and lays his hands upon the heads of two men, viz: joseph smith and oliver cowdery, and ordains them to the aaronic priesthood.
-three of the ancient apostles appear and ordain the same men to the melchisedek or higher priesthood.
-jesus is seen by two men, viz., joseph smith and sidney rigdon, at the right hand of god the father, and a protracted conversation ensues.
-jesus is again seen in the temple at kirtland, by joseph smith and oliver cowdery and again his voice is heard.
-on the same occasion moses, elias, and elijah, the prophet, appeared and conferred certain keys of authority upon two men--joseph smith and oliver cowdery.
-now all this appeals to the outward senses. it is matter of fact. it is tangible. it all occurred and is a solemn verity, or it is all wicked fabrication. a fabrication it is possible for it to be, but it can never be resolved into a mere mistake--a self-deception. the men who affirm all of it to have taken place may have been villains, bent on deluding mankind; for wicked men still lie in wait to deceive; but they can never be classed as well-meaning but mistaken men. either what joseph smith and his associates affirm is true, or they are base and conscious imposters. the manifestations of which they proclaim themselves witnesses are so palpable to the senses--to sight, and touch and hearing; they occur at such times and places, and under such circumstances, and are so frequently repeated, that there can be no possibility of mistake. in the consideration of their testimony, therefore, there is no middle ground between the extremes of absolute truthfulness or absolute falsehood, and i ask the readers of this book to take up the investigation upon which we are about to enter in this spirit.
-3. "before i formed thee in the belly i knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb i sanctified thee, and ordained thee a prophet unto the nations"--the lord to jeremiah, jeremiah ch. i:5.
-5. it certainly ought not to be difficult for christians to believe in the existence of resurrected men; for in matthew's gospel we read: "and the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after his (christ's) resurrection, and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many" (matt. xxvii: 52, 53). if the ancient saints on the eastern hemisphere who were worthy arose from the dead after the resurrection of jesus, it is not improbable, but rather reasonable, that the worthy saints who had lived upon the western hemisphere also should be raised from the dead.
-6. this is a very brief and imperfect account of the coming forth of the book of mormon. a fuller account will be given in a volume which will treat upon the book of mormon as a 'witness for god, now in course of preparation by the author, and i shall then write in greater detail of its coming forth. i could not do so in this volume on account of the space it would require, and besides, such an account more properly belongs to the part of my work that will treat exclusively of that book.
-7. matt. x.
-8. matt. xvi.
-11. in the english version of the new testament the passage reads: "and shall come forth; they that have done good unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil to the resurrection of damnation." st. john v: 29.
-objections to the witness considered.
-since, as we have seen, a new dispensation of the gospel in the last days is to be given to man; and as neither the "reformers" of the sixteenth century, nor any person since their day and before joseph smith has even made any pretension that god by a new revelation and the ministry of angels restored the gospel; and as that is the manner in which god has promised to restore the gospel, may not joseph smith be the prophet of the new dispensation, the instrument in the hands of god to bring to pass his purpose in the great work of the last days? some man must be chosen, why not he?
-these questions lead me to the consideration of those objections urged against joseph smith as reasons for believing that he was not a prophet of god. first of all, i shall consider the one made against him on account of his humble birth and lowly station in life.
-it would be well-nigh an endless, as also a useless task to repeat what has been said of joseph smith on this score. not content with the facts in the case, malice has employed misrepresentation to degrade his family in the estimation of the world; and sneer and ridicule have done what they could to cast discredit upon his pretensions, by pointing to the rock from whence he was hewn, and the supposed pit from whence he was digged. his friends and followers are prepared to admit the whole truth in respect to his humble origin and lowly station in life. the character of his parents, the circumstances under which he himself was reared are detailed in chapter x of this book.
-it will be remembered that his forefathers were among the earlier settlers of new england; that his father was a farmer, industrious, honorable, though in humble circumstance; and under the necessity of laboring with his hands in wood or field to support his large family. it has already been said that the youthful prophet joseph shared these labors.
-but of what value is the objection of lowly birth and humble station? is it to be argued that if the lord had a communication to make to mankind, such as joseph smith claims to have received, he would have chosen some of the great ones of the earth, one of high birth, of vast fortune, of profound learning, of deep knowledge and famous for eloquence? such an one man might choose, but how often has god done otherwise! let the roll in part be called: moses and aaron, the sons of an israelitish slave; joshua, the same; david, a shepherd; the prophet amos, a shepherd and dresser of sycamore trees; the apostles of jesus christ, men of the lowliest birth and humblest occupations; peter and andrew his brother, were fishermen; john and james, the sons of zebedee, also fishermen; matthew, a despised tax-collector; paul, a tent-maker; and while of the occupations of the rest of the apostles nothing is known definitely, we have every reason to believe that they were men of the humblest extraction and meanest occupation.
-these are some of those whom god called to do his work. he has not always confined his choice to men of this class; sometimes he has chosen men of royal descent and from what are called the higher walks of life. because deity has chosen his servants so frequently from those of humble extraction and occupation, it is not for me to flout the rich and learned and great. that were an arrogance as offensive to the spirit of right reason and to heaven, as that which i condemn in those who affect to despise the prophet joseph because of his humble birth and circumstances. by citing the fact that god in other ages has chosen men of lowly birth and mean occupation, i only desire to show that there is no value in the objection urged against joseph smith on the ground of his humble station in life.
-from the very nature of things it must be necessary that men whose minds are unwarped by prevailing customs and traditions, should be selected to establish a new order of religion, of government or society. how could the jewish priests and rabbis, bound by long custom to a slavish adherence to the outward forms and ceremonies of the mosaic ritual, the spirit of which had long been made of no effect by the rubbish of false traditions, open their minds to receive the larger and nobler doctrines of the gospel of christ unmixed with the pomp and circumstance which men of that age considered essential to religion? can men educated to an attachment for despotic government, and whose interests are bound up with its maintenance, be expected to look with favor on democratic principles, or become the champions of a republic?
-finally, were the religious leaders of the early part of the nineteenth century educated to the idea that revelation had ceased; that the voice of prophecy was forever silenced; that the ministration of angels was ended; that the miraculous powers of the holy ghost were done away; that the ancient organization of the church was no longer needed--were such men, filled with pride which the learning of the world too often infuses into the hearts of those who possess it--were such men qualified to stand at the head of, and become leading actors in the dispensation of the fullness of times? a dispensation opened by a new revelation, by numerous visitations of angels, and to end eventually in the full establishment of the church of christ, the restoration of the house of israel and the complete redemption of the earth and all its inhabitants?
-such a work was too large, too high and too deep for minds filled with false sectarian ideas. hence god chose for his servant to stand at the head of this great and last dispensation, a man whose mind was unwarped by false education; but one of large capacity; possessing breadth and freedom of thought, of sanguine, fearless temperament: a child of nature, with a conscience unseared by worldly guile and a stranger to motives other than those dictated by an honest purpose; and withal, full of implicit confidence in god--a confidence born of a living faith in the fact of deity's existence, and a consciousness of the rectitude of his own intentions and life.
-as ill-founded as the objection based upon his humble parentage and station in life is that objection which arises out of the fact that he was evil spoken of by the world. let not the reader here confound reputation with character. they are quite distinct, i assure you. the latter is what one is; the former may be a fool's estimate of one; or, even worse, it may be and often is a thing created by liars and knaves--formed by misrepresentations and set on its feet by malice. when favorable it is often obtained without merit, and as often lost without deserving. but with character it is not so. that stands independent of the estimate of fools or the misrepresentation of knaves. it is formed in great part by ourselves; in part by our surroundings; in part by god. it is what we are irrespective of what the world may think or say of us.
-i have said so much that the reader may be reminded that a man's character may be good, while his reputation may be villainous; or vice versa. there is nothing, therefore, that is so unsafe a criterion by which to estimate a man as by what the world says of him--by his reputation.
-especially is this true of the servants of god. commissioned as they usually are to reprove the world of sin and unrighteousness, and to call mankind to repentance, they have appeared as rude disturbers of the peace and ease of mankind--iconoclasts bent on breaking the images on which men set their hearts. the world does not love them, and what it hates it maligns--and thence, with the world, springs the reputation of the servants of god. the balances in which they are weighed are false, hence the announcement of their value from that source is untrue.
-judged by his reputation with the world when he lived among men, the lord jesus himself would be condemned as a blaspheming malefactor; a violator of ancient customs; a traitor to caesar's government; one so base as to be in league with lucifer by whose power he cast out devils; by magic healed the sick and blind and halt; who for his many crimes was crucified between two thieves; and whose body his disciples--being of like spirit with their master--stole, and then sent out the lying report that jesus was risen from the dead. such was the world's account of christ, in his day, and in the days of his apostles--such the reputation of the son of god! if judged by it would he not be rejected as an imposter? how unjust would such a judgment be! to those who reject joseph smith as a servant and witness for god, because he was, and is evil spoken of by the world, i put this question: "may not the judgment you pass upon him--which you base upon what the world, and generally what his enemies, say of him, be equally unjust and untrue?"
-here i may pause again to ask: what is the value of the objection made to joseph smith as a prophet and witness for god, based upon the fact that he was evil spoken of by the world? that has been the heritage of the servants of god so long that the memory of man runneth not to the contrary. had joseph smith failed to have received this treatment at the hands of the world, he would have failed of one of the marks of a true prophet. had he been received with open arms by the world, he could with some effect have been denounced as a false prophet; for in such manner they have been received:--"woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you, for so did their fathers of the false prophets!" the fact here stated by the son of god is a complete answer to the objections based on the calumny of the world against the prophets of god in all subsequent times; and no less an answer to the objections urged against joseph smith than to other prophets.
-2. i cor. i: 26, 27.
-3. i cor. i: 29, 31.
-4. isaiah lv: 8, 9.
-5. life of john taylor, chapter 1.
-6. st. john xv: 18-21.
-7. luke vi: 22, 23.
-8. matt. xxiii. 29,
-9. luke vi: 26.
-the character of the new witness.
-in view of the fact that so much which is evil has been said of joseph smith i think it proper here to give some account of his character. of necessity what is said must be brief.
-i have selected this passage from a mass of such matter at command, first, because of the prominence of the one who utters it; second, because in it is focused the spirit of coarseness and vulgarity characteristic of all that has been said by those who have rejected the claims of joseph smith as a witness and prophet of god; and third, because it may be looked upon as the "complete consensus of the testimony" of his enemies and presents all they have to say against him in a single sentence, slightly modified by one other sentence, recognizing the prophet's force of character.
-i am happy also in having another utterance, representative of another class of men who have viewed the character of the prophet from the standpoint of the savant--the dispassionate philosopher looking at passing events without prejudice, and speculating upon what shall grow out of them--such was josiah quincy, author of the book "figures of the past." he visited joseph smith at nauvoo a little before the tragedy at carthage, and after the prophet's death wrote:
-of course testimony which sustains the virtue and uprightness of joseph smith is abundant, but i shall content myself by a very limited reference to it; depending not so much upon the testimony of men as upon the work he has accomplished for the vindication of his character. but i think it proper that the world should know in what esteem he was held by his friends and followers.
-"he possessed a noble boldness and independence of character; his manner was easy and familiar; his rebuke terrible as the lion; his benevolence unbounded as the ocean; his intelligence universal, and his language abounding in original eloquence peculiar to himself--not polished--not studied--not smoothed and softened by education and refined by art, but flowing forth in its own native simplicity, and profusely abounding in variety of subject and manner. he interested and edified, while, at the same time, he amused and entertained his audience; and none listened to him that were ever weary with his discourse. i have even known him to retain a congregation of willing and anxious listeners for many hours together, in the midst of cold or sunshine, rain or wind, while they were laughing at one moment and weeping the next. even his most bitter enemies were generally overcome, if he could once get their ears. i have known him when chained and surrounded with armed murderers and assassins who were heaping upon him every possible insult and abuse, rise up in the majesty of a son of god and rebuke them, in the name of jesus christ, till they quailed before him, dropped their weapons, and, on their knees, begged his pardon and ceased their abuse.
-brigham young, the successor of joseph smith in the presidency of the church, said of him:
-if of these testimonies it shall be said they are borne by men who were joseph smith's friends and followers--interested parties, bent on perpetuating the frauds he inaugurated, i would reply by asking: whose testimony do christians accept as representing the true character of jesus christ? certainly not the testimony of the sadducees and pharisees; but the testimony of matthew, of mark, of luke and john--"his friends and followers," the infidel exclaims--"interested parties, bent on perpetuating the frauds he inaugurated!" will the christian world because of that preposterous claim that christ's friends and followers are not proper witnesses of his life and character, give up the evidence supplied in the testimonies of his friends to the uprightness and purity of his life, and the divinity of himself and his mission? ah, no! they will ask rather, "who so competent to bear testimony of his life and the divinity of his character as those who intimately knew him, who lived with him, who shared his joys and his sorrows; who were in sympathy with his life's mission and could enter into its spirit?" i only ask that the same reasoning be applied to the testimony given by the friends of joseph smith.
-one thing connected with the character of joseph smith, and one that distinguishes him from false prophets and mere enthusiasts is the unaffectedness of his conduct. it was the prevailing idea of his day and even now that the calling of a prophet is inseparably connected with a life of austerity--with inordinate fastings and midnight prayers; with the vows of monastic life, with gloom and self-mortifications; with hair shirts, long robes, and sandals; with long hair, beard unkempt and bodies filthy--as if prophets had no time to keep clean--with solemn, awful brows and measured tread--lives wherein there is nothing natural--no sunshine, nor smiles nor rose-lipped laughter--as if communing with god was such awful business that it chills the heart and drives all happiness out of the life of man! joseph smith was nothing of all this. there was no affectation about him. he complied with the customs of his time and nation in respect to his apparel--scrupulously neat and clean therein; face smooth shaven, and hair cut according to the prevailing fashion. while temperate in his habits and content with the humble fare which adverse circumstances during the most of his life forced upon him, he was not averse to good food and pleasant surroundings--he was not the prophet of sackcloth and ashes. while dignified in deportment and having a due comprehension of the magnitude of his calling and the work committed to his hands, there was nothing strained or unnatural in his demeanor--no striving after effect; and often he unbent, played ball, wrestled, or romped with children--with whom he was a general favorite--with all the joyousness and freedom of a boy. and what may be regarded as one of the true tests of his greatness is, that while here and there his happiness and freedom shocked some over-pious persons who looked on from without, and expected austerity and gloom in one claiming to be a prophet, he never lost caste with his friends for his unconventional conduct. he was the prophet of a joyous countenance; of unconventional but upright deportment; the apostle of cleanliness and becoming apparel. he believed that serving god should make men happier and that the good things of the earth were made for the comfort and to increase the happiness of the righteous.
-to take such a stand as this in the face of the traditional ideal of a prophet, stamps him as an original character, and separates him by long distances from the mere enthusiasts and the false prophets whose extreme pretensions to sanctity, whose studied gloom, whose affectation of impassioned devotion and assumption of the garb and supposed severe demeanor of ancient prophets--all too plainly proclaim their hypocrisy and declare them players of parts they have assigned themselves.
-1. john x: 22-37, also ch. v: 17, 18.
-2. levit. xxiv: 15, 16.
-6. journal of discourses.
-fitness in the development of the new dispensation.
-having considered the objections urged against joseph smith and ascertained their value, i am now prepared to proceed with the testimony and argument which sustains my fourth thesis; viz.:--joseph smith is a new witness for god, a prophet divinely authorized to teach the gospel and establish the church of christ on earth.
-i have already argued at some length that the only way the gospel could be restored to the earth when once taken from it was by a new revelation. it was upon the principle of revelation that jesus promised to build his church; it was through the ministration of an angel that the apostle john foresaw that the gospel would be restored in the hour of god's judgment; and it was at this particular point that joseph smith started, thus differing from all other religious teachers who have arisen in modern times.
-all this, however, i may be told, was but a bold stroke of genius on the part of a bold imposter. that might answer for an explanation if it were not for the fact that it all happened in connection with a youth not yet parted from the innocence of childhood. then, again, why is it, if this happiness on the part of joseph smith in starting right is to be attributed to the master stroke of genius--why is it that some one of the many imposters who have arisen among christians, and founded sects, have not hit upon the plan of announcing a new revelation from god and the restoration of the gospel through the ministration of an angel? surely among the many imposters and "reformers" who have arisen since the days of jesus there have been some who were not lacking that which men recognize as genius! why was it left for a mere lad in the wilds of western new york to display more "genius" than all the imposters since the days of christ? the fact that one so unsophisticated in the ways of the world had the boldness to announce a new revelation to the world, and proclaim a restoration of the gospel through the ministration of an angel, carries on the face of it much evidence of its truth.
-thus he was called and ordained of god through divinely appointed agents as was aaron, and therefore fulfilled the law which provides that those who minister for men in things pertaining to god, must be called of god as aaron was, by prophecy and revelation.
-4. eph. i: 10.
-5. malachi iv: 5, 6.
-6. heb. v: 4-10.
-the evidence of scriptural and perfect doctrines.
-i do not wish to be understood as saying that joseph smith did not teach doctrines which perhaps are not to be found in the bible; for since the bible itself is fragmentary, containing at most but part of that which god has revealed to man, it does not contain all the truth; nor does it contain a fullness of the truth concerning some of those matters of which it treats; and hence in the revelations which the lord has given to joseph smith, there are many truths in respect to which the bible is silent; and in other instances the modern revelations contain the truths spoken of in the bible in greater fullness. but since the prophet recognized the bible as the word of god; and imperfect only so far as imperfection may result from its being fragmentary and marred through faulty translations, his revelations and teachings must be in harmony with the truths of the bible. the bible thus becomes, in some measure, at least, a standard by which to test the truths of joseph smith's claims and work. speaking broadly, his doctrines must be in harmony with the bible, and while much that he teaches may go beyond that which was written in the jewish scriptures, yet between his doctrines and those of the bible, so far as the latter treats of the same themes, there must be substantial agreement.
-the doctrines which our prophet teaches as the revelations of god, must be perfect in every particular; for since he claims to have received them from the lord almighty at first hand, by revelation, there is left no room to plead the error of historians or of translators, and certainly the lord would not reveal erroneous or untrue doctrine.
-the force of the argument in favor of the genuineness of the claims of mr. smith derived from the fact that his doctrines are scriptural and perfect in every particular, as in the case of the argument based upon the fitness there was in the order of the development of the great work, is best seen from the negative side, that is, by contemplating what the result would be if his doctrines were absolutely contrary to the bible, and imperfect in some particulars. if such a thing could be demonstrated, it would prove fatal to the validity of his pretensions; and therefore, if on the one hand the finding of unscriptural and imperfect doctrine would be so disastrous to his pretensions, on the other, if it can be shown that his doctrines are in harmony with the bible and perfect in every particular--such a fact should be accepted as a strong presumptive evidence that he was a true witness and prophet sent of god.
-with these considerations in mind, let us examine his doctrines. i wish to say, however, that some of the doctrines briefly noticed here will receive, because of their importance, special attention in subsequent chapters devoted to their attention.
-first, then, joseph smith taught the existence of god, the father, the creator of heaven and earth; that jesus christ is the son of god, in whose name the father is to be worshiped; that the holy ghost is a witness for the father and the son, and that these three constitute the godhead or grand presidency of heaven and earth.
-second, he taught that god the father so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son for the redemption of mankind; that jesus christ suffered temptations but gave no heed to them; that he was crucified, died, and rose again the third day; that he ascended into heaven to sit down on the right hand of the father, to reign with almighty power according to the will of god. this is all so perfectly in harmony with the well known teachings of the bible that i do not deem it necessary to give references to particular texts in proof of it.
-but not alone from the consequences of adam's transgression does the gospel save men, but also from the consequences of their own sins, on condition of their obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel. the beauty and justice of this doctrine is apparent when we regard it in relation to the doctrine we have just considered: all men are to be saved from the consequences of adam's transgression without compliance with any conditions whatsoever, because their agency was not involved in the transgression; but to be saved from the consequences of their own sins--their personal violations of god's laws, certain conditions are to be complied with because their agency was exercised in the act of transgression, and justice has a claim upon them and may command their obedience to conditions.
-fourth, he taught that a man must be called of god, by prophecy and by the laying on of hands, by those who are in authority to preach the gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.
-fifth, he taught that the church of christ should be organized in the same manner--i. e., with the same officers that existed in the primitive church, viz.: apostles, prophets, seventies, bishops, elders, pastors, teachers, evangelists, etc.
-this is, of course, but an epitome of the teachings of the prophet, and as before stated a number of these doctrines will be considered in chapters by themselves; but even in this epitome there may be discerned the outlines of a great work, the harmonious parts of a great and perfect whole; a system which contemplates the completion of the work of redemption for the whole race of men and of the earth itself--a conception of the mighty purposes of god which far out-runs anything which the mind of joseph smith unaided by the inspiration of god was capable of perceiving.
-1. i have been careful thus to limit the teachings of the prophet which i call "scriptural and perfect in every particular" to those doctrines that he taught officially as the word of the lord; for the reason that there are some things accredited to him by individuals that i feel sure they must have misunderstood at the time, or unconsciously changed through imperfect recollection of what the prophet said. even some of his published sermons do him an injustice; for the reason that they are not accurately reported nor from the nature of the circumstances could they be. they were not reported by stenographers, but by men writing down what they could in long hand during the course of delivery, and published with such additions and corrections as could be made afterwards from memory. these published sermons therefore are little better than synopses of what the prophet said, and necessarily imperfect.
-2. in this statement i have grouped together the second and third articles of faith as prepared by joseph smith for mr. john wentworth for publication in the chicago democrat, in 1842. see also book of alma; in book of mormon, chapter xi: 4-44. iii nephi (book of mormon) ch. xxvii: 12, 13.
-3. i cor. xv: 20-22 and rom. v: 12-19.
-4. see fourth article of faith. those desirous of inquiring into the agreement of these doctrines with the scripture may examine the following text: heb. xi: 6; rom. i: 16, 17; rom. x: 14, 15; james iii; mark xvi: 15, 16; acts ii: 38, 39; john iii: 5; acts viii; acts xix: 1-6; heb. vi: 1-6. also author's "gospel."
-5. seventh article of faith. see also mark xvi: 15-20; i cor. xii; james v: 1315; i thess. v: 19, 20; john xiv: 12; acts ii: 17.
-6. the eighth article of faith. volume ii of this work is to be devoted to the consideration of the book of mormon as a witness for god, and the evidences of its divine authenticity will there receive full attention.
-8. see tenth article of faith. a subsequent chapter is devoted to the gathering of israel and the other statements of the above paragraph.
-9. eleventh article of faith.
-10. thirteenth article of faith.
-manner of the prophet's teaching.
-next to what joseph smith taught may be considered his manner of teaching; in which, as i think, may be seen evidences of divine inspiration as well as in the correctness of his doctrines. before inquiring into his manner of teaching, however, it is necessary to explain that i shall feel at liberty to refer to any of the revelations he has published as illustrating this method. it must ever be borne in mind that it is claimed for joseph smith in these pages that he was a man inspired of god; and as at this point we are about to consider his manner of teaching as an evidence of his inspiration, it will be readily seen that the revelations he announced and any peculiar style they possess may properly be referred to in evidence.
-one other remark should be made, namely: that joseph smith was not a learned man in the sense that the world regards learning. how limited his scholastic attainments were has already been stated; and though his industry in pursuit of knowledge later in life did much to make up the deficiency occasioned by lack of opportunity in early life, yet, when that is allowed, it must still be said that he was not a learned man in the sense in which that phrase is understood by the world. he knew but little of history, less of languages, and still less of science or the world's philosophy. nor can this be any reproach to him when the conditions in the midst of which he was reared and lived are taken into account; nor, for that matter, do i believe that the lack of education as that term is understood by the world, was any serious bar to his success in the work to which god called him. if indeed he lacked the polish and finish which a liberal and polite education are supposed to impart, he also escaped the bias and warping which a training in the schools and colleges gives to the mind.
-it has already been stated how joseph smith received his revelations; and from the fact that much of his teaching is in the form of revelations, it may naturally be expected that it will come in the tone and spirit of authority, and will not be like the teaching of men who make no such pretensions as the prophet did,--but satisfy themselves with deductions drawn from the revelations given in former dispensations, teaching as the scribes and pharisees of old. joseph smith announced himself a teacher sent of god; and necessarily must place the truth of what he taught upon that authority. it is that which is the peculiar characteristic of his teaching. it is a style that would be altogether out of place for the philosopher or moralist; but one that the position of our prophet made imperative; and had he failed to teach in that style, his manner would have been out of all harmony with his pretensions and would have been a means of detecting an imposter. as an illustration of the style here pointed out, i quote the following:
-"it is impossible for a man to be saved in ignorance."
-"whatever principles of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection, and if a person gains more knowledge and intelligence in this life through his diligence and obedience than another, he will have so much the advantage in the world to come."
-"there is no such thing as immaterial matter. all spirit is matter, but it is more fine and pure and can only be discerned by purer eyes. we cannot see it; but when our bodies are purified, we shall see that it is all matter."
-"the father has a body of flesh and bones as tangible as man's; the son also; but the holy ghost has not a body of flesh and bones, but is a personage of spirit. were it not so the holy ghost could not dwell in us."
-"there are in the church, two priesthoods, namely, the melchisedek, and aaronic, including the levitical priesthood. why the first is called the melchisedek priesthood is because melchisedek was such a great high priest. before his day it was called the holy priesthood after the order of the son of god. but out of respect or reverence to the name of the supreme being, to avoid the too frequent repetition of his name, they, the church, in ancient days, called that priesthood after melchisedek, or the melchisedek priesthood."
-"let no man break the laws of the land, for he that keepeth the laws of god hath no need to break the laws of the land. wherefore be subject to the powers that be, until he reigns whose right it is to reign, and subdues all enemies under his feet."
-"thou shalt not be proud in thy heart; let all thy garments be plain, and their beauty the beauty of the work of thine own hands."
-"thou shalt not be idle; for he that is idle shall not eat the bread nor wear the garments of the laborer."
-this perhaps is enough for the purpose of illustration; and will exhibit the spirit of all his teaching. in this manner he sets the officers of the church in order, asserts the powers they severally possess, and defines their relations to the church and to each other. in like manner he states the laws of the church, and gives instruction as to the manner in which the ordinances are to be administered. for example, of baptism--about which there has been so much controversy in christendom--he says:
-"baptism is to be administered in the following manner: the person who is called of god, and has authority from jesus christ to baptize, shall go down into the water with the person who has presented him or herself for baptism, and shall say, calling him or her by name--having been commissioned of jesus christ, i baptize you in the name of the father; and of the son, and of the holy ghost. amen."
-and so on throughout in the ordinances to be performed, instruction is given in this spirit. not a statement deduced from ancient scripture, sustained by labored logic, but stated in bold, round terms by virtue of the authority he possessed. it is to be observed, too, that in all such cases the simplicity and appropriateness of the language employed bear witness to its inspiration. the tendency of man is to verbosity in administering in sacred things; to introduce form and pomp and ceremony; while simplicity and directness mark all the works of god in revelation as in nature. looked at with a view to the discovery of these excellencies in them, to what advantage do the formulas for ordinances given by joseph smith appear! take this ceremony for baptism--not a superfluous word in it--direct--covering all the ground necessary, and yet how simple withal!
-so it is with the formula given for administering the sacrament of the lords supper, which is as follows: "o god, the eternal father, we ask thee in the name of thy son jesus christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it, that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy son, and witness unto thee, o god the eternal father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy son, and always remember him, and keep his commandments which he has given them, that they may always have his spirit to be with them. amen."
-the same qualities, directness and simplicity, are to be observed in the ordination of joseph smith and oliver cowdery to the aaronic priesthood, by john the baptist. this is the more surprising when the circumstances connected with that event are taken into account. the aaronic priesthood had not been upon the earth for many centuries; it is to be restored by the great forerunner of messiah, whose business it is to prepare the way before him; he descends out of heaven in a pillar of light, and appears to joseph smith and oliver cowdery and lays his hands upon them--i am bold to affirm it as my steadfast belief that any mere enthusiast or impostor would have taken advantage of these really dramatic circumstances to have indulged in something theatrical in the ceremony of ordination that was to follow. some reference to the long absence of the priesthood from the earth; some glowing words relative to its importance; the awful solemnity of conferring part of god's power on men; the honor these men received in having it bestowed upon them--the temptation to the mere enthusiast or impostor to have indulged in some extravagant expression would have been simply irresistible. but hear what the angel said: "upon you, my fellow-servants, in the name of messiah, i confer the priesthood of aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; and this shall never be taken again from the earth, until the sons of levi do offer again an offering unto the lord in righteousness." that was all, except that the messenger explained that he acted under the direction of peter, james and john, that a higher priesthood would later be conferred upon them, and commanded them each to baptize the other.
-the simplicity, directness and appropriateness of this ordination in the presence of such temptation to introduce pomp and ceremony, stamp it with the seal of truth. it is just such an ordination as we would expect--upon due reflection--an angel to make, full, covering all necessary ground, but simple and direct.
-thus it is seen that the manner of joseph smith's teaching is in harmony with his pretensions; and while not a conclusive it is at least presumptive evidence of the truth of his pretentions.
-1. the quoted part of the statement is what archdeacon paley says of the lord's prayer.
-the testimony of toil and suffering--exertion and danger--a christian argument applied.
-archdeacon paley in his work, "the evidences of christianity," says: "there is satisfactory evidence that many, pretending to be original witnesses of the christian miracles, passed their lives in labors, dangers, and sufferings, voluntarily undertaken and undergone in attestation of the accounts which they delivered, and solely in consequence of their belief of the truth of those accounts."
-the world, at least that part of it called christian, accept as conclusive the argument of the archdeacon; and even unbelievers in the christian story recognize the force of his reasoning. it is my intention to apply his argument to the new dispensation of the gospel introduced by joseph smith; for if the argument tends to prove the divinity of the mission of the ancient apostles of the church, it ought also to prove the divinity of the mission of the apostles of the new dispensation, provided, of course, that the same conditions exist in the latter as in the former case. those conditions exist in the new dispensation, as in the old, men come to the world with a miraculous story--a story that relates the personal appearing of god the father, and his son jesus christ; bringing to light the record of an ancient people and translating it by miraculous means into the english language; and the visitation of angels to restore divine authority. the public ministry of joseph smith and his associates was founded upon the allegation of these miracles wrought within their own knowledge, and which are of a character, as i have already said, that they can not be resolved into delusion or mistake; their conduct really had its origin in these miraculous accounts; and in support of their declarations they endured lives of toil, poverty, persecution, danger and suffering. the reader has the proof of all these statements in the preceding pages of this work, except in regard to the last, and it is now my purpose to furnish him proof of that.
-it has already been stated how the story of the appearance of the father and the son to joseph smith brought upon his youthful head the wrath of the ministers of the locality where he lived; how his own name and that of his parents were loaded with opprobrium for no other reason than because he asserted he had seen a vision.
-persecution and annoyance increased when it was noised abroad that he had the plates from which he translated the book of mormon.
-soon after the church was organized there were a number of vexatious law suits growing out of charges against him for setting the country in an uproar by preaching the book of mormon.
-in march, 1832, the prophet's house was broken into in the night. he was dragged from his bed into an adjacent field, where the mob beat him in the most inhuman and brutal manner. his body was bruised and lacerated from head to foot. he was be-smeared all over with tar and covered with feathers. at the same time sidney rigdon, who was now connected with him in the ministry, was similarly treated. during the night the friends of the prophet removed the tar and cleansed his body, and the next day (sunday), scarred and bruised as he was, he preached to the people and baptized three persons.
-the exiled saints subsequently settled some fifty or sixty miles north of jackson county, and organized caldwell county, where they were joined by large numbers of their co-religionists from the east. joseph smith also settled with them. the religious intolerance of their neighbors, however, gave them no peace, and in the fall and winter of 1838 the whole state of missouri arose against the church and expelled some twelve thousand peaceful and law-abiding united states citizens from their homes solely on account of their religious views. joseph smith, under circumstances of great cruelty, was torn from his family and friends, and with a number of his prominent brethren was thrust into prison where they remained for six months awaiting trial, while their families and the church in the midst of great suffering--hunger, cold and nakedness--the greater part of their property destroyed--were driven from the state. recognizing their inability to prove aught against the prophet and his fellow-prisoners, after six months' incarceration, while moving them from one part of the state to another, their guards, evidently through an understanding with the judges--connived at their escape. after enduring many hardships the prophet rejoined his family and the church in illinois, where the saints were then settling.
-during his residence in illinois the prophet's life was one continual course of toil, excitement, sickness, and danger. old foes and false friends were well-nigh constantly seeking to entrap him. new schemes were constantly hatching to destroy him. during his career some fifty times he was dragged before the tribunals of his country and as many times were the judges compelled to dismiss him. while living in illinois an effort was made to kidnap him and take him to missouri among his old enemies. in the midst of these persecutions he was constantly preaching, translating, or completing the organization of the church--setting in order the various quorums of the priesthood and instructing them in their duties. he endured poverty and hardship throughout the greater part of his career and scarcely knew what it was to enjoy peace--save that god-given peace that comes from within; and which, however great the tempest from without may be, gives serenity and joy unspeakable to the servants and prophets of god.
-at last, after a life of continual warfare with error; after enduring untold toil and persecution, illegal prosecutions and mob violence, hardships and suffering--wicked men conspired against him, and while in the charge of the officers of the state of illinois, with the honor of the great state pledged through the governor for his protection, he was murdered in cold blood for the word of god and the testimony of jesus, in the thirty-ninth year of his age.
-counting from the time that he received his first vision, when a lad of fourteen years, he stood a witness for god a little less than a quarter of a century; but in that short time he suffered more and accomplished more than has fallen to the lot of any other man to suffer and accomplish since the son of god expired on the summit of golgotha.
-these labors they continued after the death of their prophet leader; and i may say of them what mr. paley says of the first christian ministers--only slightly paraphrasing his words: these men could not be deceivers. by only not bearing testimony they might have avoided all these sufferings and have lived quietly. would men in such circumstances pretend to have seen what they never saw; assert facts which they had no knowledge of; go about lying, to teach virtue; and though not only convinced of joseph smith's being an impostor but having seen the success of his imposture in his martyrdom, yet persist in carrying it on; and so persist, as to bring upon their own heads, for nothing, and with a full knowledge of the consequences, enmity and hatred, danger and death?
-the conditions demanded in mr. paley's argument all exist in the experience of the ministry of the new dispensation of the gospel, and if the same weight be given the argument in the case of this dispensation as is accorded to it when employed to prove the truth of the christian story as told by the ancient apostles and elders, the divinity of the mission of joseph smith is proven beyond all controversy.
-first: the subject of the mission must be of importance to the conduct and happiness of human life. this is true of the message with which joseph smith came to the world, since it cries repentance to all men, warns them of the approaching judgments of god, and calls upon them to worship god who created heaven and earth. if such a message is not a subject of importance "to the conduct and happiness of human life" what message could be? this message was surely of such importance since the acceptance or rejection of it would affect the condition of men in time and in eternity.
-second, it must testify of that which it behoves mankind to know from such authority. this the message brought to the world by joseph smith does, for it proclaims first, that the gospel together with the authority to administer its ordinances had been taken from among men; and second, that this same gospel and authority had been restored by a new revelation, the only way it could be re-established when once taken from the earth. i take it that it behooves mankind to know of such a great transaction as this from "such authority"--that is, divine authority.
-third, the nature of what is delivered must require the sort of proof which is alleged. this the new dispensation does; for claiming to be a revelation from god it requires just the same kind of testimony that the old christian dispensation did--the testimony of suffering and toil on the part of those who receive it, and especially upon the part of those who enter its ministry. it may be remarked in passing that the new dispensation is just as worthy of such testimony as the old christian dispensation.
-fourth, the occasion must be adequate to the divine interposition--the end worthy of the means. this is true of the new dispensation since restoring the gospel to the earth after its absence for many centuries, is not only an occasion worthy of the interposition but the only way in which the plan of salvation could be restored. to make such a restoration to the human race was surely an end worthy of such means--that is, worthy of a revelation.
-fifth, the effects of the original transaction must remain. this is true of the new dispensation as the religious faith at the first promulgated by joseph smith and his associates is still in the earth, and the circle of its influence is constantly widening.
-sixth, a change must be wrought at the time of the transaction in the opinion and conduct of such members as to lay the foundation of an institution, and of a system of doctrines which have since overspread the greatest part of the civilized world. this condition also the new dispensation fulfills. that is, a change was wrought at the time, and by the means of the introduction of the new dispensation in the opinions and conduct of a sufficient number to lay the foundation of an institution, and of a system of doctrines which has since spread throughout the greater part of the civilized world. i do not mean to say by the last part of the statement that the new dispensation has been accepted as true throughout the greater part of the civilized world; but i do mean to say that a knowledge of it has since overspread civilized nations; and that it has drawn to itself as great a number of disciples as christianity did in the first sixty-three years of its existence. the change wrought in the opinions of those who have accepted the testimony of joseph smith was quite as radical as that which came to those who accepted the gospel in the first century of christianity. from believing that the volume of scripture was completed and closed, and that the bible contained all that had been revealed to man, they turned to the belief that it contained but a few fragments of the revelations of god and accepted a new volume of scripture received and preserved by the people of the western hemisphere. from believing that the ministrations of angels had forever ceased, they turned to the belief that a number of angels had ministered to joseph smith, and that in the future the visitation of angels to men would be still more frequent. from believing that the spiritual graces and gifts of the gospel were no more to be expected, they turned to the belief that these blessings so abundantly enjoyed in the primitive christian church could also be possessed by them. they consequently sought for and according to a volume of testimony that cannot be rejected, they enjoyed the spiritual gifts of healing the sick, speaking in tongues, interpretation of tongues, discernment of spirits, prophecy, revelation, etc.; and sought a closer walk with god, and read and practiced the moral law of the gospel more strictly.
-thus, as in the testimony of toil and suffering on the part of those who came with the new faith--or the old faith renewed--there is nothing wanting in these supplemental conditions which, in archdeacon paley's opinion, adds to the weight of the testimony of toil and suffering. every condition in his argument for the truth of the old dispensation of christianity is met in the circumstance in the midst of which the new dispensation of christianity came into existence; and i claim for the latter all the force that has been demanded for this argument when applied to the former. the argument is the archdeacon's, not mine; but finding the conditions existing in the new dispensation that mr. paley claims existed when the old was brought forth, i merely apply the argument to the new; and throw the weight of mr. paley's reputation for logic and force of statement into the support of the divinity of joseph smith's mission.
-2. paley's evidences, proposition i., ch. x.
-4. the governor recognized the right of the people to be returned to their lands, and agreed to call out the militia to accomplish that object; but held that he had no authority to keep a force in jackson county to protect them from the mob. as to go back to their lands under such circumstances would only be inviting another expulsion--the saints not being sufficiently strong to hold their possessions against the invasions of the mob--the attempt to re-instate the exiles was abandoned.
-5. as late as august, 1884, two elders while in the act of beginning religious service, on sunday, in the state of tennessee, were murdered by a mob; two young men, members of the church, were also killed, and an aged woman, a member of the church, savagely wounded.
-6. paley's evidences, proposition ii., ch. i.
-the testimony of miracles--the evidence of fulfilled promises.
-it has been already remarked that christian writers have attached too much importance to miracles as evidences of the divine authority of those who worked them; for the reason that in some instances the prophets of god have worked no miracles; in other instances impostors have worked miracles, and it is predicted for the future that the spirits of devils will have power to work miracles to deceive men. i have also pointed out the fact that miracles are not, properly speaking, events which take place in violation of the laws of nature, but that they take place through the operation of higher laws of nature not yet understood by man; hence the occurrences which are called miracles are only so in appearance, and we may confidently expect the day to come when they will cease to appear as miraculous.
-i say that christian writers have attached too much importance to the testimony based on what are called miracles; and yet i would not be understood as ignoring the importance which may attach to them as collateral evidence. when the miracles follow the claimants to divine authority in fulfillment of their promises, the testimony becomes very important indeed; for the reason that if certain miraculous gifts or powers are promised by the claimants of divine authority and then they do not follow--then, granting of course that their disciples comply with the conditions upon which the promises are based, the failure in the fulfillment of their promises would prove them impostors. more especially would miracles under these circumstances be strong proof of divine authority if the promises were of a nature beyond the power of man to fulfill, or of lucifer to imitate. for example: peter on the day of pentecost, in the boldest manner conceivable, told the people on condition of their repentance and baptism that they should receive the holy ghost.
-that, i take it, was a promise that could not be fulfilled by the agency of man; and still more revolting to reason would it be to suppose that the spirit of devils could influence the fulfillment of such a promise. it would be insulting to the dignity of god--blasphemy of the first degree--to say that agencies of lucifer could confer the holy ghost. however great the powers which god in his wisdom has permitted lucifer to retain, to confer the holy ghost, or in any manner to operate through or by it, is not one of them. if this promise made by peter, then, is fulfilled, the people to whom he made it would have most positive proof that he held divine authority. or, on the other hand, if this or any other promise of heavenly gifts or powers, though of a subordinate nature to the great promise of the holy ghost, should fail of fullfilment--provided always that the conditions were complied with--it would be all that was necessary to prove that the one making it was an impostor.
-it is in the light of these reflections that i propose to submit the evidence of miracles to the divinity of joseph smith's mission. that is, making their chief weight as evidence consist in the fact that they are possessed and enjoyed by his followers in fulfillment of his promises to them.
-john the baptist, when he conferred the aaronic priesthood upon joseph smith and oliver cowdery, told them that this priesthood did not hold the power of laying on hands for the gift of the holy ghost; but that such power would be given to them later. subsequently they received the higher or melchisedek priesthood under the hands of peter, james and john, which gave them the authority promised by the baptist--the power to lay on hands for the gift of the holy ghost.
-i thought proper to call attention to the fact that joseph smith claimed to have received power through ordination by heavenly messengers to confer the holy ghost by the laying on of hands; and then that afterwards in this revelation a promise of the reception of the holy ghost is made to all those who will believe the testimony of the servants of god in the new dispensation and be baptized for the remission of their sins. accordingly joseph smith and the elders of the church have made this promise to all the inhabitants of the earth, and upon as many as have complied with the conditions prescribed, they have laid their hands and said--"receive ye the holy ghost." if this promise that they shall receive the holy ghost fails, then the men making the promise stand convicted as impostors. if it is fulfilled, since, as already remarked, neither man nor the agencies of lucifer can fulfill such a promise--god only--then it stands as very positive evidence that joseph smith through whom the promise is made was divinely authorized, and that he conferred divine authority upon others. if he was authorized to impart the holy ghost by an ordinance of the gospel, it follows also that he was divinely authorized to preach a new dispensation of the gospel, and re-establish the church of christ on earth. the only question that remains to be considered is, do those who comply with the conditions receive the fulfillment of the promise?
-for over sixty years the gospel has been preached among nearly all the nations of the earth, during which time hundreds of thousands have received the message, and they have testified that to them the word of promise made to the ear has not been broken to the hope--but they have realized its fulfillment. not always, and indeed not frequently, in the earth-quake, or the whirlwind, have they seen the evidence of having received the holy ghost; but in the whisperings of the still, small voice of the comforter, which fills the soul with assurance; which enlarges while it quickens the intellect; makes broader while it sanctifies the affections; shows things to come, or testifies that jesus is the christ; through adversity or affliction is a voice in the ear saying, when those who have it would turn to the right hand or to the left, this is the way, walk ye in it; or which, though it brings together men and women from all nations and tribes of the earth, with all their diverse customs and peculiarities, yet makes them one people; blends all their desires in the accomplishment of a common purpose, and enables them to dwell together in perfect peace and unity. such is the manner of its operations--and in such operations the saints have evidence of its existence among them; and the whole church of christ is ready and does testify to the world that the holy ghost is given in fulfillment of the promise made through joseph smith.
-the last part of the passage i have written in italics that it might be the clearer understood that this promise of the miraculous gifts enumerated was not made that servants of god in the new dispensation might have evidence of what are commonly looked upon as miracles to point to in attestation of their divine authority; but are blessings given to the saints for their profit and salvation. for the very reasons that they were not given as evidence of divine authority, but as a promise of blessing to the saints, they will become all the stronger proof of divine authority in the ministry of the new dispensation, provided it can be proven that they follow those who believe. and i want to say, also, that because of the commandment that the servants of god shall not boast of these powers before the world is the very reason that so little has been said of them as proof of the divine mission of our new witness; and even now i make their chief weight as evidence consist in the fact that their enjoyment is the fulfillment of a promise made by the god of heaven through joseph smith, which if it had not been fulfilled would prove him beyond all question an impostor. but i affirm that these promises are fulfilled in the experience of those who believe in, and accept the new dispensation and offer the following testimony in evidence:--
-in the month of april, 1830, joseph smith was visiting at the house of a mr. joseph knight, at colesville, broome county, new york. this gentleman had rendered the prophet some timely assistance while translating the book of mormon, and he was anxious that mr. knight and his family should receive the truth. while in mr. knight's neighborhood the prophet held a number of meetings. among those who attended regularly was newel knight, son of joseph knight. he and the prophet had many serious conversations on the subject of man's salvation. in the meetings held the people prayed much, and in one of the aforesaid conversations with the prophet, newel knight promised that he would pray publicly. when the time came, however, his heart failed him, and he refused, saying that he would wait until he got into the woods by himself. the next morning when he attempted to pray in the woods, he was over-whelmed with a sense of having neglected his duty the evening before, in not praying in the presence of others. he began to feel uneasy and continued to grow worse both in body and mind, until upon reaching home his appearance was such as to alarm his wife. he sent for the prophet, who, when he came found newel in a sad condition and suffering greatly. his visage and limbs were distorted and twisted in every shape imaginable. at last he was caught up off the floor and tossed about most fearfully. the neighbors hearing of his condition came running in. after he had suffered for a time the prophet succeeded in getting him by the hand, when newel immediately spoke to him, saying he knew he was possessed of the devil, and that the prophet had power to cast him out. "if you know i can, it shall be, done," replied the prophet; and then almost unconsciously he rebuked satan and commanded him to depart from the man. immediately newel's contortions stopped, and he spoke out and said he saw the devil leave him and vanish from sight.
-"this was the first miracle which was done in this church, or by any member of it," writes the prophet; "and it was done not by man, nor by the power of man, but it was done by god and by the power of godliness; therefore let the honor and praise, the dominion and the glory, be ascribed to the father, son and holy spirit, for ever and ever. amen."
-the following account of a miraculous healing is to be found in hayden' history of the disciples (campbellites); and is the statement of witnesses hostile to the prophet and the work in which he was engaged:
-when the saints first settled at commerce, afterwards called nauvoo, it was a very unhealthy locality. malaria was prevalent and other people who had tried to make a settlement there had failed. the exposure to which the saints had been subjected in their expulsion from missouri, made them easy victims to the malaria. by the middle of july, 1839, the greater part of them were stricken down of the fever, and in the most helpless condition. from the 21st of july to the 23rd, inclusive, there were remarkable manifestations of the power of god in the church through the administrations of the prophet joseph to the sick. his own account of the matter in his journal is extremely brief, it stands thus:
-"sunday, 21st. there was no meeting on account of much rain and much sickness; however, many of the sick were this day raised by the power of god, through the instrumentality of the elders of israel ministering unto them in the name of jesus christ."
-another hand, however, has recorded the manifestation of god's power on that memorable 22nd of july, 1839, that of wilford woodruff, now president of the church, and i quote his account of it.
-"in consequence of the persecutions of the saints in missouri, and the exposures to which they were subjected, many of them were taken sick soon after their arrival at commerce, afterwards called nauvoo; and as there were but a small number of dwellings for them to occupy, joseph had filled his house and tent with them, and through constantly attending to their wants, he soon fell sick himself. after being confined to his house several days, and while meditating upon his situation, he had a great desire to attend to the duties of his office. on the morning of the 22nd of july, 1839, he arose from his bed and commenced to administer to the sick in his own house and door-yard, and he commanded them in the name of the lord jesus christ to arise and be made whole; and the sick were healed upon every side of him.
-"many lay sick along the bank of the river; joseph walked along up to the lower stone house, occupied by sidney rigdon, and he healed all the sick that lay in his path. among the number was henry g. sherwood, who was nigh unto death. joseph stood in the door of his tent and commanded him in the name of jesus christ to arise and come out of his tent, and he obeyed him and was healed. brother benjamin brown and his family also lay sick, the former appearing to be in a dying condition. joseph healed them in the name of the lord. after healing all that lay sick upon the bank of the river as far as the stone house, he called upon elder kimball and some others to accompany him across the river to visit the sick at montrose. many of the saints were living at the old military barracks. among the number were several of the twelve. on his arrival, the first house he visited was that occupied by elder brigham young, the president of the quorum of the twelve, who lay sick. joseph healed him, then he arose and accompanied the prophet on his visit to others who were in the same condition. they visited elder w. woodruff, also elders orson pratt and john taylor, all of whom were living in montrose. they also accompanied him.
-"the next place they visited was the home of elijah fordham, who was supposed to be about breathing his last. when the company entered the room, the prophet of god walked up to the dying man and took hold of his right hand and spoke to him; but brother fordham was unable to speak, his eyes were set in his head like glass, and he seemed entirely unconscious of all around him. joseph held his hand and looked into his eyes in silence for a length of time. a change in the countenance of brother fordham was soon perceptible to all present. his sight returned, and upon joseph asking him if he knew him, he, in a low whisper, answered 'yes'. joseph asked him if he had faith to be healed. he answered, 'i fear it is too late; if you had come sooner i think i could have been heald.' the prophet said, 'do you believe in jesus christ?' he answered in a feeble voice, 'i do.' joseph then stood erect, still holding his hand in silence several moments; then he spoke in a very loud voice, saying, 'brother fordham, i command you in the name of jesus christ, to arise from this bed and be made whole.' his voice was like the voice of god, and not of man. it seemed as though the house shook to its very foundations. brother fordham arose from his bed, and was immediately made whole. his feet were bound in poultices which he kicked off; then putting on his clothes he ate a bowl of bread and milk and followed the prophet into the street.
-"the company next visited brother joseph bates noble, who lay very sick. he also was healed by the prophet. by this time the wicked became alarmed and followed the company into brother noble's house. after brother noble was healed, all kneeled down to pray. brother fordham was mouth, and while praying, he fell to the floor. the prophet arose, and on looking around he saw quite a number of unbelievers in the house, whom he ordered out. when the room was cleared of the wicked, brother fordham came to and finished his prayer.
-"after healing the sick in montrose, all the company followed joseph to the bank of the river, where he was going to take the boat to return home. while waiting for the boat a man from the west, who had seen that the sick and dying were healed, asked joseph if he would not go to his house and heal two of his children, who were very sick. they were twins and were three months old. joseph told the man he could not go, but he would send some one to heal them. he told elder woodruff to go with the man and heal his children. at the same time he took from his pocket a silk bandanna handkerchief, and gave to brother woodruff, telling him to wipe the faces of the children with it, and they should be healed; and remarked at the same time: 'as long as you keep that handkerchief it shall remain a league between you and me.' elder woodruff did as he was commanded, and the children were healed, and he keeps the handkerchief to this day.
-the manifestation of god's power was by no means confined to the personal ministry of joseph smith, nor to the land of america. god honored the ministrations of those who received authority through his prophet, and poured out his blessings on those who received the message in distant lands, as will be seen by the testimony i now introduce.
-the following is an editorial in the merlin, a non-mormon paper, published in merthyr tydvil, wales, under the caption of an "extraordinary occurrence."
-subsequently mr. reuben brinkworth himself made a statement of the miraculous event, and it was published in the millennial star, from which i quote it.
-"on the 2nd of july, 1839, i entered on board the terror, commodore sir j. franklin being then about to set out on a voyage of discovery for a northwest passage to india. upon returning to england we landed at bermuda on the 16th of july, 1843, and in the afternoon of the same day a terrible thunder storm occurred, in which i was suddenly deprived of my hearing and speech. at the same time five of my comrades, viz., john ennis, william collins, john rogers, richard king, and william simms were summoned into eternity. i remained insensible fifteen days--perfectly unconscious of all that was passing around me; but upon the return of reason, came the dreadful conviction that i was deprived of two of my faculties. i well remember the period, and shall ever continue to do so--language cannot describe the awful sensations that pervaded my mind when i became fully sensible of the reality of my condition.
-"i will here remark, that the subject of religion had never troubled my mind; nor did the calamity i was called to suffer awaken any feeling akin to it; nevertheless i felt a certain feeling of gratitude that i had not met with the same fate as my more unfortunate companions; yet i must, to my shame, confess that it was not directed to the great disposer of all events, who could have taken my life as those of my companions, had he willed it. but it was not his design. i was spared, and am now a living witness of his loving kindness to the most abandoned sinners, if they will turn and seek his face.
-"at that time i was about nineteen years old. after remaining at bermuda about three weeks, we again set sail for england, and reached chatham on the 14th of december. i remained there only fourteen days, after which i went to london, and, by the kind assistance of some gentlemen, entered the deaf and dumb school in old kent road, where i remained for ten weeks, but not liking the confinement, and being from home, i became dissatisfied and unhappy, and resolved to leave it, and accordingly did so. i then went to george lock's, oxford arms, silver street, reading, with whom i lived eighteen months, supporting myself the whole of that period upon the wages i earned on board the terror. i afterwards went to rugby not to remain there, but on the way to my mother at stroud, gloucestershire.
-"i will here relate a circumstance of cruelty of which i was made the sufferer; being thirsty, i stepped into a public house to get something to drink; there were gentlemen in the parlor, who, seeing that i was dumb, motioned me to them, and put many questions in writing, which i answered in the same manner. while i was thus being questioned, one of the men went out and brought in a policeman, who hauled me away to the lock-up in which place i was kept all that night, the next day, and following night, and on the morning of the second day i was taken before a magistrate who ordered me to be taken to a doctor, where i underwent an operation, namely having my tongue cut in two places; he became satisfied that i was both deaf and dumb, and then i was discharged. from the treatment i had received i was determined to go to another of the magistrates of that town, to whom i related by writing what had happened. he said very little to me, more than that he would write to london respecting it, and i have since heard from a gentleman, that the magistrate who examined me, has been removed from his office. i then continued my journey to stroud, which i reached without any other inconvenience, and remained there two days. i then went to newport, monmouthshire, and occupied my time in teaching the deaf and dumb alphabet for about three years, at the end of which i became acquainted with the latter-day saints. at that time i was lodging at a public house, kept by james durbin, sign of the "golden lion," pentonville. one of the customers of this house became acquainted with me and prevailed upon me to go and live with him and his brother, who was a member of the latter-day saints' church. there i first became acquainted with the doctrines taught by this people, by reading and by means of the finger alphabet. i continued to investigate them for about three months, when i felt convinced of the truth of those doctrines which have since become so beneficial to my temporal and eternal welfare. on the 22nd of september i had been, by means of the deaf and dumb alphabet, conversing freely with some of the saints, and had fully determined to be baptized that evening; therefore i expressed my desire to receive the ordinance of baptism, and was taken to the canal early on the morning of the 23rd, and baptized in the name of the father, son and holy ghost; and upon my head emerging from the water, i heard the voices of persons upon the towing path, and this was the first sound i had heard since my deprivation upon the island of bermuda, in 1843. with my hearing came also my speech, and the first words that i uttered were, 'thank the lord, i can speak and hear again as well as any of you.' i scarcely need state my own surprise at the moment, but such it was, and it appears marvelous in my own eyes, not that god is possessed of such power, but that he should manifest it in my behalf. i have much cause to praise him and glorify his holy name, for in obedience to his divine commands, i not only received the remission of my sins, which i esteem above all earthly blessings, but also the removal of my deafness and dumbness; and now i can hear as distinctly and speak as fluently as i ever did, although i have been deprived of both these faculties for upwards of five years, not being able to hear the loudest noise, nor to use my tongue in speech.
-"there is a mistake in the merlin of the date of my landing at bermuda, it should have been 1843, instead of 1840. the same error appeared also in the millennial star, no. 22, vol. x, which was caused by extracting the account from that paper.
-"the following individuals are witnesses to my baptism:
-"john walden. members of the church.
-i quote the following cases from one of the publications of the church--the millennial star--from which alone could be selected enough of such incidents to fill a large volume. these letters were addressed to elder orson pratt, one of the twelve apostles of the new dispensation, who in 1848-50 was editor of the star and president of the european mission:
-the blind healed.
-berrien, montgomeryshire, north wales,
-may 23, 1849.
-i feel it my bounden duty to make the following narrative known to the authorities of the church of jesus christ, to show that the manifestation of the power of god attends this church, in the last days, as it did the church of the early apostles, viz:--my daughter sophia matilda, aged eight years, was in the month of may, 1848, afflicted in her eyes; she soon lost the sight of her left eye, and on applying to medical aid, instead of the sight being restored she immediately lost the other, the surgeon stating that the pupils were closed, and feared she could never be restored to her sight. i was advised to try an eminent surgeon in shrewsbury, in the county of salop, where in june, 1848, i sent her and her mother, as she was now quite blind, and the poor little creature's sufferings were indescribable, though the lord enabled her to be patient in her afflictions; she remained in shrewsbury a fortnight but found no benefit, and as the last resource to human aid, i was advised to send her to an eminent oculist in liverpool (dr. neile) under whose treatment she was relieved, and a gradual improvement took place, to our great joy, until the autumn of the same year. i corresponded with dr. neile, who desired me to continue the treatment he had prescribed, but it was all to no purpose, for she relapsed into the same state as before, and was in total darkness the whole of the winter, suffering acutely, and by february of the present year, 1849, she had wasted to a mere skeleton, when my brother-in-law paid me a visit previous to his embarkation to california, and told me that if i would have faith in the lord jesus christ, and call for the elders of the church, he believed she would be healed. i also soon was enabled to believe and obeyed the command of st. james. the church put up their prayers for us, and i found, thanks to the giver of all good, some improvement ere the ordinance was performed. on the following sabbath, elder dudley and richards, from pool quay, came to my house, performed the ordinance upon my child, the pain soon left her, and she was soon by the power of god and the prayers of the faithful restored to sight and health and, thanks be to almighty god, she is still in the enjoyment of these great blessings; trusting you will rejoice in the lord with me for his great mercies manifested to me, i remain, etc. etc.,
-some years ago, the author speaking in farmington, the county seat of davis county, utah, had occasion to refer to this instance of healing, and at the conclusion of his remarks a gentleman of the name of james loynd arose and said he was well acquainted with the circumstance, as the person healed was a relative of his, and said the incident above related was true in every particular. happening to remember this when making his selection of cases of healing that have occurred in the church, i wrote this gentleman and here give my letter to him and his reply:
-salt lake city, utah. dec. 31, 1894.
-james loynd, esq., farmington, utah.
-dear brother:--a number of years ago, when delivering a public discourse in your village, i had occasion to refer to some of the testimonies to remarkable cases of healing in the church that were collected and published in the millennial star by elder orson pratt. my recollection is that after i had read one of the many cases published by elder pratt, you arose in the body of the house and testified that the person healed--i think restored to sight--was a relative of yours, perhaps your wife.
-if the circumstance still lives in your memory i wish you would confirm my statement of the case, as i am about to go to press with a book where your confirmation of my recollection will be of service to me.
-i trust you will pardon me for thus intruding upon you, but believing you have an interest in the great cause of truth i make bold to trouble you.
-very truly, your brother,
-b. h. roberts.
-farmington, utah., dec. 16th, 1894.
-elder b. h. roberts, salt lake city.
-dear brother:--i very distinctly remember the circumstance of you speaking some years ago in farmington, and my confirming one of the cases of healing read by you on that occasion. it was the case of sophia matilda pugh, who is now my wife, sophia m. loynd. the circumstance of her receiving her sight, is accurately stated by her father in a letter to the star (vol xi). it is now forty-six years ago since the miracle was performed. sophia m. loynd, who was then healed in so remarkable a manner, is still alive and joins me in signing this letter to you. she is fifty-four years old, in good health, and a living witness to the miraculous power that is in the church of christ. she says that this case of healing is what brought her parents into the church. they immigrated to utah, where they died in the faith. i have written this in the presence of my wife, have read the same to her and she now joins me in saying that you may make such use of it as you choose.
-very truly yours,
-sophia m. loynd.
-healing of one born blind.
-bristol, november 25, 1849.
-dear president pratt:--as you were so kind as to publish the letter i sent, dated july 9, 1849, containing an account of the miraculous power of god, displayed in the healing of elizabeth ann bounsell, which made quite a stir amongst the pious christians of this city, i now venture to write to you again, and say that the above circumstance caused many to call at the house to see if it were true. and upon seeing, many rejoiced, others mocked, saying, "she would have got well if the elders had not laid their hands upon her." among the latter, was one would-be great man, by the name of charles smith (who has written a flimsy attack against the saints,) who said it was not enough to satisfy him. so the mother took another of her daughters, and put her upon his knee, and said, "sir, is that child blind?" after he had examined the eyes he said "she is." "well," said the mother, "she was born blind: and now she is four years old; and i am going to take her to the elders of our church for them to anoint her eyes with oil and lay their hands upon her; and you can call again when you have time and see her with her eyes opened; for i know the lord will heal her and she will see." "well," said he, "if she ever does see it will be a great proof." accordingly the mother brought the child to the elders and elder john hackwell anointed her eyes, and laid hands upon her, only once, and the lord heard his prayer, so that the child can now see with both of her eyes, as well as any other person. for which we all feel thankful to our heavenly father, and are willing to bear testimony of it to all the world.
-yours in the kingdom of god,
-no. 12, broad street, bristol.
-bones set through faith.
-rumford, may 1st, 1849.
-dear brother gibson:--at your request, i now sit down to give you a short account of the goodness and power of god, made manifest in my behalf. about two years ago, while working at my trade of coach-builder, while assisting in removing a railway carriage, i dislocated my thigh, and was conveyed home, and my parents not being in the church, and no elders in the town, (viz. sterling) medical skill was called in, but from the swelling it could not be set. i was again examined by a doctor jeffrey, and one taylor of glasgow, who said that a kind of jeal had gathered in the hip joint, and before it could be set this must be removed by cupping; so i was cupped with twenty-four lances but it did no good and i lingered in great pain for three weeks when it was proposed that i should again be cupped; but i was determined that it should not be; and hearing from you that elder samuel w. richards, from america was coming to sterling, i told my friends that when he came they would see the power of god, and i should be healed. accordingly, when he came, he anointed me in the name of the lord, and the bone went into its place, and i got up in the morning and went to my work, to the astonishment of doctors and friends. i am now a traveling elder, and have a great deal of walking, but experience no inconvenience from it. i can get a dozen witnesses to attest to the truth of this cure both in and out of the church.
-i remain your brother,
-james s. low.
-nantygwnith, georgetown, merthyr tydfil,
-september 14, 1850.
-dear president pratt:--i enclose a testimony of a miraculous case of healing which has taken place a few days ago in abercanaid; i saw the brother in his affliction and the accompanying testimony he bore at my house more than two miles distant from his. i send it to you with permission to do with it as you think proper.
-the testimony of david richards.
-merthyr tydfil. september 10, 1850.
-on friday, august 23rd, 1850, at about eleven o'clock while i was working among the coal, a stone fell upon me, about 200 pounds weight. i was carried home, and the doctor who was present said he could do nothing for me, and told those around me to wrap me up in a sheet that i might die. there was a lump on my back as big as a child's head. the doctor afterwards told one of my relatives, about six o'clock in the evening, that i could not recover. elder phillips called to see me, attended to the ordinance of the church for the sick, and while commanding the bones in the name of jesus, they came together, making a noise like the crushing of an old basket; my strength returned, and now i am able to go some miles to bear my testimony to this great miracle. the doctor who called to see me was astonished, and said in the hearing of witnesses that my backbone was broken; but that it now was whole, and that i was now recovering as well as any man he ever saw. many of our greatest enemies confessed that i was healed by the power of god, and while coming here today, many who heard of my accident were struck with the greatest amazement. but i thank my heavenly father for his kindness towards me, hoping i shall live to serve him more faithfully henceforth than ever.
-no. 9 guardian street, springfield lane,
-salford, may 19, 1849.
-last winter, a young woman addressed me in the carpenter's hall, the daughter of a fustian cutter, named lee, residing in cook street, salford, and said her parents were desirous that i should go and see her brother, who was very bad with a leprosy. i went in company with one or two of my brethren. i think i never saw anything so bad as the boy was (the small pox excepted); the whole lower part of his face and under his chin, as well as the back of his hands and wrists, were one entire mass of scabs; indeed, you could not have inserted a needle point, they were so thick. he was eight and a half years of age, and had been afflicted since he was six months old; they had him at the manchester infirmary and the salford dispensary, and are at this time paying the surgeon's bill who attended him as a private patient. the surgeon told his parents he could do nothing for him, as the disease was too virulent for medicine to reach it. his parents told me they did not know what it was to get a regular night's rest with him, and it frequently took three hours to wash him. the first night we went they were not disturbed during the night, and in three weeks he was entirely free, and his flesh was renewed like that of a young child.
-to all whom it may concern. this is to certify, that i was seized with a disease like the leprosy, in the year 1837, and tried all that i could to get a cure, but i could not, and all the doctors that i applied to could do me no good; and it continued with me over all my body till the month of september, 1843, when i went and was baptized into the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints, by william mcfarland, elder of the church, on the first of september, 1843, and on that same night the leprosy left me.
-the instances of what are usually called miraculous cases of healing in the church are by no means confined to the past, they take place today and are of frequent occurrence. by permission of elder heber j. grant, one of the twelve apostles, i give herewith a letter of his written to his cousin, mrs. julia macdonald, living in st. george, utah, that relates a case of quite recent date.
-tooele city, april 28th, 1894.
-my dear cousin julia:--i am half inclined to the opinion that you will be thinking that i have entirely forgotten the promise which i made you, some time ago, to write about the case of healing, that came under my observation in connection with my brother hyrum. i have not forgotten the promise, but i have been pretty busy with my usual duties, and the conference matters which needed attention before and since april 6th.
-the girl recovered, and the last i heard of her she was still working in the z. c. m. i. shoe factory. i have a faint recollection that i was told that she was married, but of this i would not be sure. i have never seen her since i called with hyrum at her house, and i do not know whether or not her family ever knew that she was given up to die by the doctors. i think the sister's name was maria degray, but in case you wish to use her name i will make sure that this is correct. with love and best wishes to each and all of the folks, not forgetting yourself, i remain,
-your affectionate cousin,
-heber j. grant.
-the following account of a case of healing is taken from the juvenile instructor, one of the leading periodicals of the church, the pages of which are replete with such accounts of healing by the power of god as is here presented:
-healed of blindness.
-as near as i can remember, it was in the month of june, 1879, that i was engaged in building a rock cellar for vernee halliday, in provo city. about noon, after finishing the walls as high as i could from the inside, before drawing my lines off to go outside, i looked along the wall to see if every rock was in keeping with the line, when i saw a small corner of a rock a little out of place. with my hammer i tapped it very lightly to bring it to its proper position, keeping my eye along the line to see when it came to its place. while doing this i felt as if something had touched my eye, but nothing to cause me any uneasiness. at the time i did not think more of the affair.
-i worked all the afternoon and the next forenoon, but felt my eye beginning to get very hot, and water came therefrom. in the afternoon my eye became worse, and was inflamed to such an extent that i could not see; my head also became so affected that about four o'clock i was obliged to cease work and go home. arriving there my wife, seeing my eye in such an inflamed condition, got me into a dark room, and from that time till very early the next morning she used about two packets of tea in making strong lotions to bathe my eye to keep down the inflammation. at four o'clock in the morning i got a handkerchief on my eye, and went away to arouse dr. w. r. pike. when i arrived at his house he was attending a man from payson. this done, he asked me what he could do for me. i told him of the inflammation of my eye and the pain in my head, and said i wanted him to examine it and see what was the matter with it, or to tell the cause of my suffering. after examining my eye he said there was one-third of the lens of my eye entirely destroyed. the center of the lens was gone and only a little on each edge remained. he said it had been struck with something rough like a rock, and that i would never see again with that eye. he described the transparency of the eye, and assured me that it could not by nature be restored. he said it was likely to take away the use of my other eye at any time, and that a white opaque substance would grow over my eye so that i could never see any more.
-after leaving his office, i met on the street a mr. harrison, who had formerly lived in salt lake city. he told me of dr. pratt, who had just returned to salt lake from the east, where she had been studying the eye, and had done a great deal of good. i therefore went the same day to see her, but had then to be led by my wife. when we arrived in salt lake it was too late for her to do anything with my eye that day, and she told us to come back the following morning at ten o'clock. we did so, and after hearing my story she examined my injured member by the aid of many glasses, and told me the same as dr. w. r. pike had done. she allowed my wife to look through the glass at my eye, and she described its appearance as that of a wound from which a dog had bitten a piece. dr. pratt then took me by my front hair, and pushing my head back, was about to take my eye out. i inquired what she was about to do, and she answered me that she was going to take it out and put in a glass one.
-my wife seized her arm, and i scrambled out of the chair saying, "no you don't, or you will shoot me first."
-i then asked if she could give me a lotion to check the pain. she took a small vial and put one drop of its contents in my eye, which immediately took away all pain. she then gave me a prescription, which i had filled, and then went home.
-just as both doctors had said, the opaque matter gradually grew on my eye for three or four weeks, at the end of which time i could not distinguish my own wife standing so that her dress touched my clothes, unless she spoke. up to this time i had not been able to work, and i was getting dissatisfied.
-about that time the quarterly conference took place in provo. on the sunday morning i found my way to conference, still with the napkin on my eye. there were present of the general authorities, presidents george q. cannon and joseph f. smith and apostle john henry smith. during the morning meeting i made up my mind to have them administer to me for my sight, and at the close of the services i went to the vestry where they were attending to this ordinance for many who were there before me. when i entered brothers joseph f. and john henry smith came and shook hands with me, enquiring what was the matter, and what i wanted them to do. they introduced me to brother george q. cannon, whom i had never before known. i knew the brothers smith in the old country. i was told to take a seat, and when they had attended to the rest they would administer to me, and that i would get my sight. after they got through with the others they came to me. i cannot now call to mind who anointed, or who confirmed it, but this i do know that from that very hour the white, opaque matter that had gradually grown over my eye as gradually began to disappear, until my eyesight was completely restored and has remained to this date as perfect as it ever has been. to this fact myself and family, and others yet living in provo can testify.
-while suffering with this affliction i reasoned that as god made the eye he also knew how to repair and restore a damaged one, and i testify to all to whom this may come that he did restore sight to the blind one.
-let me assure the reader that these cases of healing the sick, opening the eyes of the blind, unstopping the ears of the deaf, etc., are but as a handful of earth to a mountain. it would require volumes to contain the testimonies of the saints to the fulfillment of the promises of the lord made through the great modern prophet; but what is set down in this chapter will doubtless be sufficient to prove the fulfillment of his promises. the church has taken little or no pains to publish accounts of "miracles." but the fact that more than sixty years after these promises of the gifts of healing, etc., were made to the church, the chief reliance of the saints in times of sickness is upon the anointing with oil and the laying on of hands by the elders--and this throughout all the branches of the church--it must be evident even to the most skeptical that the promises of jesus christ through joseph smith have been realized, or else long ago the faith of the firmest would have failed them.
-2. i.e. in the name of jesus christ.
-the evidence of prophecy
-i know of no more simple, yet common-sense and effective test than this. of course it must be understood in applying it that many predictions which prophets utter may not come to pass immediately. some of them perhaps not in the lifetime of the prophet, or even in the generation in which he lived; for some prophets have been given the power to look into the future, and predict things which the wheels of time will not bring due until the very last generation of men; but if when the time for the fulfillment of the prophecies uttered comes due they are not fulfilled, the world may know that the lord did not speak through that prophet, but he has spoken presumptuously, without revelation from god, and the people need have no regard for him or his pretended messages.
-from this it appears that the power to foretell future events is regarded peculiarly as one belonging to god alone, or that spirit which emanates from him; and those who possess that power, and can point to the fulfillment of their prophecies in attestation of their inspiration and divine authority may be looked upon as possessing evidence of special and peculiar force in their favor.
-before applying the test here purposed to the prophetic claims of joseph smith, i would remark that at least two things in relation to prophecy must be established: first, that the prediction ante-dates the events; and, second, that the events must be of a nature that no merely human foresight or judgment, unaided by divine inspiration or revelation, could have foretold them. furthermore, i may add, that one's belief in the divine inspiration of a prophet would be materially increased, if his prophecies are of a nature to make them of importance either to the individuals or nations to whom they may be addressed. for i take it as a common-sense idea that god does not give revelation to men or inspire them in relation to trivial or unimportant things; but deals with those matters that are worthy of god's attention and communication. hence in my opinion, many of those who have made pretensions to the prophetic gift stand condemned, because the things they bring forth are of a nature too trivial to be worthy the notice or intelligence of men, much less worthy the attention of god.
-the first prophecy to be considered is one not made by joseph smith, but one made of him by the angel moroni, on the occasion of joseph's first visit to the hill cumorah, when he beheld for the first time the plates from which he afterwards translated the book of mormon. but as joseph smith is the one who acquainted the world with this prediction i am about to quote, in a certain way it is his prophecy, and will answer all the purposes of a test such as i am making in this chapter. on the occasion of this interview with moroni, before referred to, that the young prophet might not be deceived by the powers of darkness, he was given a vision of satan and his hosts and their methods of deception. after the vision closed the angel said:
-the severe skeptic will insist that the prophecy can only be considered with reference to its fulfillment from the time it was published to the world in the messenger and advocate, in 1834; this at first glance would seem to cut down much of the prophetic part of the passages i am considering. it would cut out the prediction that notwithstanding the opposition that would be arrayed against the young prophet he would have power to bring forth the book of mormon; that the lord would give the holy priesthood to some; that they would begin to proclaim the gospel and baptize by water; and give the holy ghost by the laying on of hands. this much would be cut out by the skeptic because it could be alleged that all this it is claimed occurred before 1834, the time when the prophecy was first published. let these items, then, be eliminated; and still the greater part of the prophecy remains to be fulfilled after 1834.
-the items left are, first, that a knowledge of what the book of mormon contains will go to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people under the whole heaven; second those not built upon the rock of truth will oppose the work of god, but it will increase the more it is opposed and spread farther and farther; third joseph smith shall be known among the nations because of the work the lord would perform by his hands--by the righteous he would be held in honor, by the wicked in reproach. all this was fulfilled after 1834, though some of it was in process of fulfillment before and at that time--such as the work thriving in spite of opposition and the name of joseph being received either in honor or reproach among the people. i now enter into a more particular consideration of the fulfillment of this prophecy.
-first, the knowledge of what the book of mormon contains will go to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people under the whole heavens. in 1834 the book of mormon had been published only in the english language, and but little was known of it even in the united states and canada. yet here is a prediction that it shall be known in all the world. since then it has been published in the following languages: french, german, danish, italian, dutch, welsh, swedish, spanish, hawaiian and maori. it has also been translated but not yet published in hindostanee and modern hebrew. proclamation of the new dispensation, and hence also of the book of mormon, has been made by the elders of the church of christ in the following nations: great britain, france, germany, holland, belgium, denmark, sweden, norway, iceland, finland, italy, switzerland, hindostan, malta, south africa, mexico, and to many of the indian tribes of america; all the states of the american union, british america, sandwich islands, samoa, friendly islands, new zealand, west indies, turkey and palestine. while this enumeration does not include the principal ones. that a knowledge of what the book of mormon contains will yet go to the remaining nations where the gospel has not yet been proclaimed, and into whose language the book of mormon has not yet been translated, cannot be doubted; for this item of the prophecy has been so nearly completed that the end is in sight; and if the church while in its infancy and childhood has done so much, it will not fail in its strong manhood to fulfill what remains.
-the proclamation of the knowledge which the book of mormon contains to all nations and peoples and tongues of the earth, is not an event which could have been foretold by human foresight, or shrewdness, in 1823, or even in 1834. the reception given up to that time to the book of mormon was anything but flattering. only a very few people had received it. all the learned ridiculed it; the christians mocked and rejected it because it was a new revelation. it will be remembered that it was the universal belief of christians that the volume of revelation was completed and forever closed; and hence anything that claimed to be a new revelation was summarily rejected. in the face of all these circumstances it required more than mere human foresight on the part of a few obscure and persecuted followers of joseph smith to see that the time would come when proclamation of the knowledge contained in the book of mormon would be made in all the nations and tongues of the earth.
-second, the work of the lord will meet opposition, but it will increase the more it is opposed and spread farther and farther. the reader already knows that from its inception the work of the lord in the new dispensation met with the most violent opposition. only the year before oliver cowdery published this prophecy under consideration, twelve hundred of the saints were driven from their lands and homes in jackson county, missouri, more than two hundred of their houses burned and much other property destroyed. but i am to prove that opposition met the church after 1834, and that in spite of that opposition the work increased, and a knowledge of it became more widely diffused. be it so. five years after the expulsion from jackson county, missouri, opposition so increased that the inhabitants of the state of missouri, with the officers of the state at their head, arose against the saints; directly or indirectly caused the death of some four hundred, and drove between twelve and fifteen thousand from their homes into exile, confiscated their lands, drove off their cattle and wantonly destroyed other property.
-it was rather a remarkable prediction that the more the work of the lord in the last days was opposed the more it would prosper. it was still more remarkable that it should be predicted that opposition would rise against it at all, since the great work had its birth in a land where the constitution of the government guaranteed religious liberty. the marvelous fulfillment of the prediction under these circumstances is evidence that there was behind it more than human foresight.
-third, the name of joseph smith is to be known among the nations. the work which the lord would perform by his hands would cause the righteous to rejoice and the wicked to rage: by the former his name would be held in honor, by the latter in reproach. the probability of joseph smith ever being known outside of the nation where he was born was very limited, even in 1834, much less when the prophecy was uttered by the angel in 1823. it was a strange thing to say that his name among the nations would be held either in honor or reproach. but the fulfillment of the prediction will be so generally conceded that to point out the fact is not necessary. it will be enough to say that everywhere the new dispensation of the gospel has been proclaimed, there the people have been made acquainted with the name of joseph smith, and there he is known for good or evil--he is held in honor or reproach--the righteous have rejoiced, the wicked have raged, and in many instances have resorted to violence in resisting the message of heaven.
-the fulfillment of the three items just considered in the prediction of moroni proves the genuineness of the prophecy; and therefore i have a right to claim for it the date on which it was first delivered, the year 1823. and when considered from that date--when the existence of the book of mormon was as yet unknown except by joseph smith; when joseph smith was an obscure boy still in his teens and unknown outside of his own family and immediate neighborhood; before the priesthood had been received, or the remission of sins obtained through baptism, or the holy ghost imparted by the laying on of hands; before the work of god prospered in spite of opposition--when considered from that date which places the prediction before all these events, how much more the prophetic character of the prediction stands out in bold relief! and who can question its divine inspiration?
-1. deut. xviii: 21, 22.
-2. isaiah xli: 21-23.
-3. referring to the record of the nephites, the records lying before them in the stone box from which joseph had just removed the covering.
-4. meaning the record of the nephites--the book of mormon.
-5. the plates comprising the book of mormon.
-6. meaning the people who receive the gospel.
-7. meaning the prophet joseph.
-8. the plates of the book of mormon were given to the prophet to translate in 1827.
-9. it was in may, 1829, that the priesthood was first given.
-10. the church was organized april 30th, 1830.
-11. the first foreign mission in the new dispensation was opened in england, 1837.
-12. times and seasons, vol. ii, no. 13.
-13. matt. xxiv: 14.
-the evidence of prophecy--continued.
-this prophecy that a great and marvelous work was about to come forth among the children of men, i say, was uttered before the translation of the book of mormon was completed or the church organized. how well it has been fulfilled let the history of the church of jesus christ in the new dispensation, its present condition and the wonder with which the world regards it, answer. of all the religions that have arisen since the days of jesus christ and the apostles, it is looked upon as the most marvelous; its growth, all things considered, has been most wonderful; it has a history the most thrilling; a present interest the most widespread; and a future that challenges more speculation than any other religious organization. the prophecy was a true one--a great and a marvelous work has come forth among the children of men.
-condensed the prophecy stands thus: (1) the saints from the 24th of february, 1834, are to begin to prevail over god's enemies; and are to continue to prevail until the kingdoms of this world are subdued under his feet--provided they hearken to his counsel: the kingdoms of this world will prevail against the saints if they hearken not to the counsels of god: (2) after much tribulation the saints shall return and build up the waste places of zion--they are to be restored to the land of zion; and zion is to be established, never more to be thrown down--provided the saints pollute not their inheritances.
-the first part of the prophecy has had a remarkable fulfillment. though there have been individuals in the church of christ who have failed to walk in the holy counsels of god, and have reaped an abundant harvest of sorrow and shame, and many have made complete shipwreck of faith, still the church as a whole has kept reasonably well the counsel of god. the saints may not have attained to that ideal obedience to the will of god which all recognize as desirable; but human weakness and all the circumstances by which they have been surrounded considered, i repeat that the church has reasonably well walked in accordance with the counsels of the lord; and as a result has prevailed, so far, over all the powers that have been arrayed for its destruction. in proof of this let the present condition of the church be contrasted with what it was in february, 1834.
-though but few individuals in the church can be considered wealthy, yet the saints are a prosperous, contented, happy people. a greater percentage of them own the homes they live in and the lands they cultivate than is the case with any other community in the world; and they are freer than any other people on earth from those difficulties which perplex mankind. peace is in their habitations, god is honored at the family altars as well as in the public sanctuaries; faith and confidence in god abound, and on every hand are evidences that the lord has owned them and blessed them as his people. it is true that the church has had its tribulations. immunity from them was not promised. the expulsion from the state of missouri; the exodus from illinois; the subsequent journey into the wilderness; the desperate struggle for existence in the early days of utah; the judicial crusade waged against the church during the last decade; these events and all the bloodshed, wholesale imprisonment, and the suffering and sorrow incident to them rise up to proclaim that mob violence and other forces of this world have been employed to destroy the work of god, but they have not prevailed. the church of christ still exists; its members are more numerous and stronger in faith than ever before; the saints are more perfectly organized, happier circumstanced, more experienced; they are more confident of god's sustaining power, more convinced of their high destiny and the complete fulfillment of this noble prophecy, namely, that if they continue to hearken to the counsels of the lord, they will continue to prevail until the kingdoms of this world are subdued under his feet, and the earth given to the saints to possess it forever and ever.
-of the second division of the prophecy little need be said, except that the first part of it, viz: that which relates to the tribulation which is to befall the saints previous to the redemption of zion has been, in part at least, fulfilled; and like the partial fulfillment of the first division of the prophecy, gives good earnest of the complete accomplishment of all that it predicts.
-this prophecy is contained in a letter written by the prophet and his fellow-prisoners from liberty jail, and addressed to the saints then settling in quincy, illinois, to "those scattered abroad" and "to bishop edward partridge in particular." it was written in march, 1839. the fulfillment of the prophecies contained in the above extract are notorious. while fools hold the name of the prophet in derision the wise and the virtuous from the ends of the earth have inquired and are inquiring after joseph smith, and the work he established; and though there were many who turned against him and became strong enemies, for they were strong men, his people were never turned against him by the testimony of traitors. while living his people were true to him, and since his death they have revered his memory.
-at this meeting they excommunicated a number of persons from the church, ordained wilford woodruff and george a. smith apostles, and others were ordained to the office of seventy. the apostles each prayed in turn, and a beautiful hymn called "adam-ondi-ahman" was sung. at the conclusion of the hymn, elder alpheus cutler, the master workman of the lord's house, laid the south-east corner stone in its position, and stated that in consequence of the peculiar situation of the saints it was deemed prudent to discontinue further labor on the house until the lord should open the way for its completion. the apostles then took leave of some seventeen saints who were present and started on their way to fulfill their missions beyond the atlantic. thus the commandment and prophecy which the mobs of missouri so confidently boasted should fail, were fulfilled.
-first, then, before the great and dreadful day of the lord, jacob, that is israel, or descendants of israel, shall flourish in the wilderness.
-second, the american indians shall blossom as the rose, that is, they will be in a blessed and happy condition.
-third, zion, the pure in heart, the saints of god, shall flourish upon the hills, rejoice upon the mountains and shall be assembled together unto the place which the lord has appointed.
-the parts of the prophecy which are in progress of fulfillment are the first and third items. israel is flourishing in the wilderness, and zion, or the saints of god, who are also, for the most part, descendants of israel gathered from among the gentile nations are rejoicing upon the mountains; and though the lamanites are not yet blossoming as the rose, neither has "the great day of the lord" come; and before that day does come, this second item of the prophecy, referring to the lamanites, will be fulfilled. let it be borne in mind that the prophecy was uttered in march, 1831, long ere the saints had so much as dreamed of settling in the rocky mountains.
-at this juncture i may be permitted to introduce another prophecy of joseph smith's relating to this same subject, and then consider the fulfillment of both at once.
-at that date, august 6th, 1842, the rocky mountains seemed like a country afar off to the people of illinois. the missouri river was the extreme frontiers of the united states. all beyond that was well nigh an unexplored wilderness filled with savages. the church was fairly settled at nauvoo, the state authorities were apparently very friendly, the future of the saints in illinois seemed propitious. yet in the midst of all these favorable circumstances the prophet predicted much affliction for some of the saints, death from persecution for others, apostasy for many, and for the great body of the church an exodus to the rocky mountains, where some of those present who were listening to the prediction, should live to assist in making settlements and building cities in the rocky mountains where they would see the saints become a mighty people.
-there can be no question as to the reality of these two predictions, the one of march, 1831, and the other of august, 1842, or of their being of a character to test the divine inspiration of him who uttered them. that they were proclaimed some years before the events predicted in them began to be fulfilled, or even there was any thought or prospect of such events taking place, is well known; that the latter prophecy has been fulfilled to the uttermost, the whole history of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints from august, 1842, until now witnesses. the saints suffered many afflictions in illinois. their homes, fields, stacks of grain, stock and other property were destroyed; their prophets and a number of others were killed outright by mob violence; many more perished from exposure and disease occasioned by being driven from their homes at an inclement season of the year. in those trying times, following the martyrdom of the prophet and the expulsion from nauvoo, many turned away from the faith, and it is too generally known to need comment, that the great body of the church made its way to the rocky mountains, where cities, towns and villages have been founded, the wilderness subdued, and the saints are fast becoming a mighty people.
-3. holes dug in the ground and covered over with brush and earth.
-5. a stake of zion is a division of the church comprised of several ecclesiastical wards; and is presided over by a presidency consisting of three high priests.
-9. a temple site had been selected at far west and an excavation made for the foundation. it is this "spot" that the revelation refers. the excavation for the temple at far west still remains, or did in 1884, when the writer visited it.
-the evidence of prophecy--continued.
-in the journal of william clayton, under date of may 18th, 1843, is the following entry, relating a conversation that took place between joseph smith and stephen a. douglas, at the house of sheriff backenstos, at carthage, illinois: "dined with judge stephen a. douglas, who is presiding at court. after dinner judge douglas requested president joseph to give him a history of the missouri persecution, which he did in a very minute manner for about three hours. he also gave a relation of his journey to washington city, and his application in behalf of the saints to mr. van buren, the president of the united states, for redress; and mr. van buren's pusillanimous reply--'gentlemen, your cause is just, but i can do nothing for you;' and the cold, unfeeling manner in which he was treated by most of the senators and representatives in relation to the subject, clay saying, 'you had better go to oregon,' and calhoun shaking his head solemnly, saying, 'it's a nice question--a critical question; but it will not do to agitate it.'
-"the judge listened with the greatest attention, and then spoke warmly in deprecation of governor boggs and the authorities in missouri, who had taken part in the extermination, and said that any people that would do as the mobs of missouri had done ought to be brought to judgment; they ought to be punished.
-"president smith, in concluding his remarks, said that if the government, which receives into its coffers the money of citizens for its public lands, while its officials are rolling in luxury at the expense of its public treasury, cannot protect such citizens in their lives and property, it is an old granny anyhow; and i prophesy in the name of the lord god of israel, unless the united states redress the wrongs committed upon the saints in the state of missouri and punish the crimes committed by her officers, that in a few years the government will be utterly overthrown and wasted, and there will not be so much as a potsherd left, for their wickedness in permitting the murder of men, women, and children, and the wholesale plunder and extermination of thousands of her citizens to go unpunished, thereby perpetrating a foul and corroding blot upon the fair fame of this great republic, the very thought of which would have caused the high-minded and patriotic framers of the constitution of the united states to hide their faces with shame. judge, you will aspire to the presidency of the united states; and if you ever turn your hand against me or the latter-day saints, you will feel the weight of the hand of the almighty upon you; and you will live to see and know that i have testified the truth to you; for the conversation of this day will stick to you through life. he appeared very friendly, and acknowledged the truth and propriety of president smith's remarks."
-let us now search out the cause of his failure. fourteen years after the interview containing the prophecy with which this chapter opens, and about one year after the prophecy had been published in the deseret news, mr. douglas was called upon to deliver a speech in springfield, the capital of illinois. his speech was delivered on the 12th of june, 1857, and published in the missouri republican of june 18th, 1857. it was a time of much excitement throughout the country concerning the mormon church in utah. falsehoods upon the posting winds seemed to have filled the air with the most outrageous calumny. crimes the most repulsive--murders, robberies, rebellion, and high treason--were falsely charged against its leaders. it was well known that mr. douglas had been on terms of intimate friendship with the prophet joseph smith; and was well acquainted with the other church leaders. he was therefore looked upon as one competent to speak upon the "mormon question," and was invited to do so in the speech to which reference is here made. mr. douglas responded to the request. he grouped the charges against the mormons which were then passing current, in the following manner:
-"second, that the inhabitants, whether native or alien born, known as mormons (and they constitute the whole people of the territory) are bound by horrible oaths, and terrible penalties, to recognize and maintain the authority of brigham young, and the government of which he is head, as paramount to that of the united states, in civil as well as in religious affairs; and they will in due time, and under the direction of their leaders, use all the means in their power to subvert the government of the united states, and resist its authority.
-"third, that the mormon government, with brigham young at its head, is now forming alliances with indian tribes in utah and adjoining territories--stimulating the indians to acts of hostility--and organizing bands of his own followers under the name of danites or destroying angels, to prosecute a system of robbery and murders upon american citizens who support the authority of the united states, and denounce the infamous and disgusting practices and institution of the mormon government."
-the speech of mr. douglas was of great interest and importance to the people of utah at that juncture. mr. douglas had it in his power to do them great good. because of his personal acquaintance with joseph smith and the great body of the mormon people then in utah, as well as their leaders (for he had known both leaders and people in illinois, and those whom he had known in illinois constituted the great bulk of the people in utah, when he delivered that springfield speech), he knew that the reports carried to the east by vicious and corrupt men were not true. he knew that these reports in the main were but a rehash of the old exploded charges made against joseph smith and his followers in missouri; and he knew them to be false by many evidences furnished him by joseph smith in the interview of the 18th of may, 1843, and by the mormon people at sundry times during his association with them at nauvoo. he had an opportunity to befriend the innocent; to refute the calumny cast upon a virtuous community; to speak a word in behalf of the oppressed; but the demagogue triumphed over the statesman, the politician, over the humanitarian; and to avoid the popular censure which he feared befriending the mormon people would bring to him, he turned his hand against them with the result that he did not destroy them but sealed his own doom--in fulfillment of the words of the prophet, he felt the weight of the hand of the almighty upon him.
-it was impossible for any merely human sagacity to foresee the events predicted in this prophecy. stephen a. douglas was a bright but comparatively an unknown man at the time of the interview, in may, 1843. there is and can be no question about the prophecy preceding the event. it was published as before stated in the deseret news of the 24th of september, 1856, about one year before the douglas speech at springfield, in june, 1857; and about four years before douglas was nominated for the presidency by the charleston democratic convention.
-it would be mere conjecture, of course, to say what the result would have been had stephen a. douglas been true to the saints--the people of his friend joseph smith. but certainly had he been elected in 1860 the southern states would have had no such excuse for their great movement of secession as they at least pretended to have in the election of abraham lincoln. and had mr. douglas in the event of his election followed the counsel given to the government and people of the united states by joseph smith in respect to the question of slavery, that evil might have been abolished without the effusion of blood, and no place found in the history of the united states for that horrible conflict known as the american civil war.
-the document from which this counsel is quoted was published in february, 1844. eleven years later, namely, in 1855, mr. ralph waldo emerson declared that the question of slavery should be met in accordance "with the interests of the south, and with the settled conscience of the north." "it is not really a great task," said this eminent writer, "a great feat for this country to accomplish, to buy that property of the planter as the british nation bought the west indian slaves." he also predicted that "the united states will be brought to give every inch of their public lands for a purpose like this." this plan suggested by mr. emerson in 1855, brought to him no end of praise as a sage philosopher and wise humanitarian. but what of joseph smith, whose suggestion preceded that of mr. emerson by eleven years? let another--josiah quincy--answer:
-by indulging in these reflections based upon the supposition of the success of stephen a. douglas in the election of 1860, i have wandered from the line of direct argument. i have nothing further to do with the career of mr. douglas than to point out in it the remarkable fulfillment of a prophecy which demonstrates the divine inspiration of the man who uttered it.
-1. mill. star, vol. xxi, no. 9.
-4. shortly after the result of the election of 1860 was known in utah, elder orson hyde, one of the twelve apostles, then residing in sanpete county, utah, wrote to the deseret news the following letter:
-"will the judge now acknowledge that joseph smith was a true prophet? if he will not, does he recollect a certain conversation had with mr. smith at the house of sheriff backenstos, in carthage, illinois, in the year 1843, in which mr. smith said to him: 'you will yet aspire to the presidency of the united states. but if you ever raise your hand or your voice against the latter-day saints, you shall never be president of the united states.'
-"does judge douglas recollect that in a public speech delivered by him in the year 1857, at springfield, illinois, of comparing the mormon community, then constituting the inhabitants of utah territory, to a 'loathsome ulcer on the body politic,' and of recommending the knife to be applied to cut it out?
-"among other things, the judge will doubtless recollect that i was present and heard the conversation between him and joseph smith at mr. backenstos' residence in carthage, before alluded to.
-"now, judge, what do you think about joseph smith and mormonism?
-the evidence of prophecy--concluded.
-on the 25th of december, 1832, the following revelation and prophecy in relation to the great american civil war, and war among all nations, was given through joseph smith:
-"verily, thus saith the lord, concerning the wars that will shortly come to pass, beginning at the rebellion of south carolina, which will eventually terminate in the death and misery of many souls.
-"the days will come that war will be poured out upon all nations, beginning at that place.
-"for behold, the southern states shall be divided against the northern states, and the southern states will call on other nations, even the nation of great britain, as it is called, and they shall also call upon other nations, in order to defend themselves against other nations; and thus war shall be poured out upon all nations.
-"and it shall come to pass, after many days, slaves shall rise up against their masters, who shall be marshalled and disciplined for war: and it shall come to pass also, that the remnants who are left of the land will marshal themselves and shall become exceeding angry, and shall vex the gentiles with a sore vexation;
-"and thus, with the sword, and by bloodshed, the inhabitants of the earth shall mourn; and with famine and plague and earthquakes and the thunder of heaven, and the fierce and vivid lightning also, shall the inhabitants of the earth be made to feel the wrath, and indignation and chastening hand of an almighty god, until the consumption decreed hath made a full end of all nations;
-"that the cry of the saints, and of the blood of the saints, shall cease to come up into the ears of the lord of sabaoth, from the earth, to be avenged of their enemies.
-"wherefore, stand ye in holy places, and be not moved, until the day of the lord come; for behold it cometh quickly, saith the lord. amen."
-i am careful to make these statements that the reader may have ample assurance that the revelation and prophecy preceded the event of the great civil war. the revelation containing the prophecy was given on the 25th of december, 1832. the first shot fired in the great american civil war was fired early on the morning of april 12th, 1861. hence the prediction preceded the commencement of its fulfillment by twenty-eight years, three months and seventeen days. ten years before the war began, the prophecy was published in england and circulated both in that country and in the united states. there can be no question, therefore, as to the prophecy preceding the event.
-let us inquire if the events predicted were of a nature that they could not be foreseen and hence foretold by human judgment, unaided by divine inspiration. the prophecy predicts,
-first, that the war would begin with the rebellion of south carolina.
-second, that it would terminate in the death and misery of many souls.
-third, that the southern states would be divided against the northern states.
-fourth, that the southern states would call upon other nations for assistance, even upon the nation of great britain.
-fifth, that great britain would call upon other nations for assistance, and thus war would eventually be poured out upon all nations.
-but notwithstanding these hostile demonstrations on the part of south carolina, there was really no very great danger to the union at that time. andrew jackson, a man of great determination of character, and patriotically devoted to the union, was president; and his political principles ran parallel with his devotion. he issued a proclamation in which he urged south carolina not to persist in the enforcement of her ordinance as it would necessarily bring the federal and state authorities in conflict, and if the citizens of south carolina took up arms against the united states they would be guilty of treason. "the ordinance," said he, "is founded not on the indefeasible right of resisting acts which are plainly unconstitutional, and too oppressive to be endured; but on the strange position that any one state may not only declare an act of congress void but prohibit its execution, and only once will i truly describe him for i have promised mr. dugald to think of lavender as the poor flower on the crooked stem and i make myself shut my inside eyes so that i cannot see that he is different. he is small for he only comes to my ears and his arms hang way down and he has funny, long fingers and one shoulder is higher than the other and he has a hump on his back. there, i have written the truth. now i will remember the flower. lavender has beautiful and very wise eyes and a low voice that sounds like music and a lovely name, like a name in a languishing novel. and he is dreadfully smart, and gets it all from the lots and lots of books which he reads to make up for not going to school. i suppose he hates to go to school and anyway his mind is working all the while other boys are playing ball and doing things he can't do. at least mr. dugald thinks it's that way. mr. dugald told me how to win lavender's affection for he is terribly shy and that was by making a great fuss over nip and tuck who are the cats and lavender is passionately fond of the cats. that was hard, too, for we never had any cats as you know and the only cat i ever touched was mrs. jordan's old tommy when i wanted him in a play nancy and i were going to give in the attic and he scratched me. but i bravely took nip and tuck in my arms and you would have been surprised if you could have seen how beatified lavender looked. at least that's the way mr. dugald said he looked afterwards. and he has liked me ever since. i mean lavender, of course. i must digress to say a word of nip and tuck. they are extraordinary cats. they are quite old and big and black and i think they are solid aristocrats, too, and you can only tell them apart by a nick in nip's ear that he got in a fight. they can lick any dog or cat in this part of provincetown. they are terrors. and they are twins, i forgot to say. and they do the same things all the time like the crooker twins at school. lavender loves all animals. he is always bringing home some stray thing only nip and tuck will not let them stay and that makes lavender sad.
-"but i must not spend all my time telling you of my cousins and the cats when there is so much terribly exciting to write about. this is the most different place i ever knew. it is all sand and the houses look like doll's houses most of them and come right out to the funniest little streets that are not much wider that our sidewalks at home and all the nice houses have flowers around them somewhere. and they are mostly a lovely shiny gray that is pinky in the sun. mr. dugald says they get that way from the salt in the air and that most of the old houses were shingled from the wood that was in old masts. and he says the reason flowers grow brighter and bigger here is because years ago the ships used plain earth for ballast and changed it when they got into the harbor and that there is soil right here in provincetown from almost every corner of the world. i held a handful from cousin achsa's garden and pretended i knew it was from algiers. there are a lot of stores on the main street and some are like the stores home and mr. dugald says they are a shame. it is hard to walk on the sidewalk because it is so narrow and most of the time you have to walk in the street. and everybody talks to everybody else whether they know them or not or if they do not talk they smile. there are lots of portuguese and they have beautiful eyes and lovely voices like isolde's. i think mr. dugald means it's them who have crowded out the solid aristocracy, but they are nice for they make it seem just like i was in a foreign land. but most, most of all, i like the docks. mr. dugald laughs at me when i call them docks; but i always forget to call them wharves. they are all gray and crookedy, as though they were leaning against one another and when the tide goes out it leaves the posts all shiny and green. and there are funny little houses all along the edge of the beach that are something like the boathouses of cascade lake, only more interesting and people live right in them and have flower boxes all around them and fix up weeny verandas over the water and go in bathing right out of their front doors. and some of them are fish lofts only mr. dugald says that consolidated companies (i do not exactly know what he means but will write it because he said it) have bought out all the small fish companies and that means that the men do not get enough for their 'catch' to pay for the expense and danger of their going out to sea. he says the portuguese are satisfied to only get a little. everyone knows lavender and they let him go anywhere and on to the boats and everything and i follow him, though at first the little rowboats which mr. dugald calls dorys smelled so that it made me sick. but i did not want even lavender to think i was afraid so i held my nose inside and went wherever he did. i cannot wear anything but my old clothes--but no one dresses up here like pola probably does, which is a disappointment, for vick let me bring her cherry crêpe de chine for she is very sure godmother jocelyn will get her some new dresses and i am simply dying to wear it.
-"i must now tell you of my new acquaintances.
-"first there is aunt achsa and lavender of whom i have written. second, there is the boarder. his name is dugald allan which i think is a perfectly lovely name. i am sorry to say he is an artist. i would have preferred that he had been a fisherman. when i told him that he laughed very hard. he laughs at me a great deal which i did not like at first and then i decided it is his nature and he cannot help it. he spends every summer with aunt achsa and says he is her half-nephew. even though he gave the arabella to lavender i think he must be a poor artist because his clothes look old and have no style. he knows everyone and everyone calls him dug. at first i thought it was horrid visiting a relative who kept boarders but afterwards i learned that here in provincetown someone else lives in nearly all the houses besides the families, because they are not nearly enough houses for all the people who want to come to provincetown. mr. dugald says that artists and poets and musicians come here from all over the world for the inspiration. i cannot tell the men artists from the fishermen for they wear things like sailors but the women artists all wear big hats and smocks all covered with paint. i am sure i saw a poet yesterday and i do not know what a musician would look like and mr. dugald said he did not know, either. that was one of the times when he laughed. but i said then and repeat now that there are enough other people around so that i do not mind the artists and poets.
-"third of my acquaintance is captain phin davies. aunt achsa says he is very rich, that he was smart enough to buy up a lot of fishing boats and a storage house of his own and he could laugh at the boston and new york people. but he used to sail a boat like cousin zeke's which is what they call my relative. and he is very, very nice and invited me to go to wellfleet and visit him and his wife and aunt achsa says she does not see no harm in my going. aunt achsa's grammar is so bad that i blush to write it here.
-"fourth, martie calkins who is mrs. eph calkins' granddaughter and lives in the house next to aunt achsa's. she is very different from the girls i know at school and nancy would shudder if she saw her for nancy is so sensitive, but then this is not middletown and i am sensitive like nancy and mart is just my age and she can go out on the arabella with us, though she told me confidentially that her grandmother thought achsa green stark daffy to trust lavender out of her sight. mart does not think about lavender the way mr. dugald taught me to think. she can tell the grandest stories of the sea because her father and grandfather were fishermen who went out on big boats and her father was lost at sea so she is an aristocrat, too. she is going to show me how to dig clams tomorrow. and we are going to the moving pictures on saturday. it seems very queer and like home to have moving pictures here but mr. dugald says they are like the poor. to quote him exactly, 'alas, the movies--like the poor, we have always with us!' he says very queer things.
-"fifth, miss letitia vine, a most picturesque character. i quoted mr. dugald then for i did not know people could be picturesque. no one but miss letty herself knows how old she is and she won't tell. aunt achsa said she paid to have the date and year of her mother's death scratched off her tombstone so folks couldn't figure out her age. but she is very cultured and is a music teacher, only a funny one. she drives all over this part of the cape and gives music lessons. she has done it for years and years, aunt achsa calculates she has worn out three horses teaching folks their notes. she stays in one town two or three days sleeping round with her pupils and then hitches up and drives to the next. she scorns a ford. mr. dugald says he's thankful for that for a ford would spoil the most perfect thing on the cape. she looks like the figurehead of a ship (again quoting mr. dugald) and she isn't afraid of man or beast. she and mr. dugald are very good friends and mr. dugald took me there to call and i think he told her that i was the daughter of a poet, because she looked at me like that though he had promised not to and i hate to think he broke his promise. she has very interesting things in her house that she has picked up from all over the cape as she gave her music lessons. i guess she does not have many pupils now but aunt achsa said letty vine would have to die in the harness so that is probably why she keeps going.
-"sixth is mr. commander nelson at the coast guard station who invited me to come to see him again. he said if he needed a hand at any time he'd send for me. it would be exciting to help save souls from a wreck at sea. i would like to even see one though that sounds wicked and i must curb my thirst for adventure.
-"jed starrows is not an acquaintance but i intend to know more about him. when anyone speaks of him they put such a funny tone in their voices. i asked mr. dugald if he is aristocratic too and he laughed and said he most certainly is not. but he owns a big boat--an auxiliary schooner that is the fastest one here and he has just bought out a fish company and aunt achsa says it beats everything where he gets his money because he wasn't much more than a common clam-digger a year or so ago. but i will record here that captain davies spoke of jed starrows as though he might know something about pirates and i mean to find out if i can.
-and later sidney wrote the following letter to her sisters.
-"i have not written before because everything is so marvellously exciting. my telegram told you that i had arrived safely at cousin achsa's. the hours of my journey, all too short, sped on wings of happiness. thus they are still speeding. this is the loveliest and the unusualest place and it is filled with quaint homes and the most interesting people. our relatives are among the most aristocratic and aunt achsa, she wants me to call her that, is of the proudest blood of cape cod. she is very nice to me and asks a great many questions about you all and about our mother. she has a nephew who lives here who is only a year older than i am. and a family friend of aunt achsa's lives here summers and he takes lavender (which is our cousin's name) and me out on a big boat which is most exciting.
-"there is a girl about my own age who lives right next door and i think we will be very good friends. she is not at all like nancy which i am glad as variety is the sauce of living. she is of pure cape cod blood, too.
-"if i do not write often and only very little letters it is because i'm so busy, for i must make the most of every minute. i wish you would write to me an awful lot though and please send all of vick's letters to me so that i will know what she's doing just as though i was home, and trude, you write every day. and when you write to vick tell her that i am having the most wonderful time. be sure to do that. loads and loads of love,
-"your sister, sidney."
-kneeling against a half-packed trunk, trude read sidney's letter aloud to isolde. victoria had gone the day before.
-"what do you think?" trude asked, slowly, as she finished.
-"think? what do you mean? i'm glad the child's there safe and happy."
-"but, issy, that letter doesn't ring just--true. i know how sid usually writes and talks. it's too brief and there's something, well--forced about it."
-isolde put down a box of papers she had been sorting over. her conscience had troubled her not a little at letting sidney go off alone among strangers, even though they were relatives, and now trude's doubts sharpened the pricks.
-"forced? i didn't notice it. it was short, of course, but probably she is having too good a time to write a longer letter. anyway, trude, she's there safe, and we're almost packed and our tickets are bought--it isn't going to do anyone a bit of good, now, to upset all our plans and bring sid home. that's the way i look at it. and she would have been perfectly wretched here with the league convention filling the house. it's dreadful to contemplate."
-"i can't bear to think of sid going out on boats with a harum-scarum boy--" trude groaned.
-"i don't feel half as concerned over the boats as i do wondering if living there in luxury may not spoil her for her own poor home--make her dissatisfied. she is probably meeting all the wealthy summer people--there are a lot on the cape, you know."
-trude was still studying the letter as though to find something between the written lines.
-"she wants me to write every day. that sounds a little homesicky. well, i will, bless the kid's heart--no matter how rushed i am. and i will warn her in every letter to be careful around the boats. and not to get her head turned by our relatives' high estate, either. isn't it funny, issy, that we never knew they were wealthy--until now? not that it would have made a bit of difference with mother or dad," she finished, defensively.
-isolde, her conscience quieted for the hundreth time, turned her attention to her box. she lifted out a small packet of letters tied together and handed them to trude.
-"these are yours."
-one slipped from the packet and fell to the floor between the two girls. trude picked it up quickly, a deep crimson sweeping her face.
-"why, it's one of those letters--" exclaimed isolde, accusingly.
-trude nodded, guiltily. "i know it. i--i couldn't bear to destroy them all."
-"trude, dear, you don't care anything about that man--now?"
-trude forced a light laugh but her eyes avoided isolde's searching glance. "why, no--at least not in that way. if you like things in a person very much you just have to keep on liking them no matter what happens. and, issy, it wasn't his fault that i--i imagined--he cared--for me--" her voice broke. isolde gave a quick little cry.
-"trude, you do care! and he isn't worth the tiniest heartache. he must have led you on to think things. and all the time he was playing with you. it makes me furious! you're such an old peach."
-the "old peach" made no answer. there flashed across her mind all that isolde had had to say before about this man; every fibre of her being shrank from a repetition that would bring pain as well as humiliation. she straightened.
-"we are a couple of geese to dig all this up now. i was just sentimental enough to hang on to one of the letters--i suppose it's because they are the only letters i've ever had from a man--but i see my mistake now. i will destroy it." she slipped the letter into her pocket with the tiniest sigh. "so there." (but the letter was not destroyed.)
-"i wish you'd meet someone down at the whites'--some perfectly grand man. i should think uncle jasper would realize--"
-isolde's tone was so tragic that trude laughed, now with genuine amusement. "i was thinking of some of uncle jasper's friends," she explained. "they are mostly nice, fat settled bankers and lawyers, but if any bachelor doctors, tinkers or tailors slip in i promise to flirt desperately--"
-"trude, you think i am joking and i am not. if you don't meet someone at the whites' where will you meet him? what chance have you and i, shut up here, to know the kind of men we'd--we'd like to know? do you think i enjoy the namby-pamby sort that flock here to sit in dad's chair? no, indeed. and trude--i'm--twenty-six next october! i'm--an old maid!"
-before isolde's earnestness trude unknowingly lowered her voice to a soft note. "do you feel like that, too, issy? i've felt that way often. i'm twenty-four. but i'm not afraid of being an old maid--i've always sort of known i'd be one--but i catch myself just longing to do something with my life, different--as little sid put it. then i chastise myself severely for my repinings. anyway, it'll be fun watching vick's and sid's experiences, won't it? bless them, they seem to have escaped our bounds, don't they?"
-"i am afraid my vicarious enjoyment of their adventures may be tempered with a little jealousy. i am not as noble as you are, trude. it is hard to think that you and i have to go on sitting still and watching our lives go by--and our one and only life, remember!"
-trude shook herself a little--perhaps she was "chastising" her inner spirit. "come, we mustn't get mopey on the eve of a holiday. they're too rare to spoil. and two trunks still to pack. do you think the leaguers will mind if we shroud that painting in the living-room. it's the best thing we own and i hate to have it get too dusty."
-isolde lifted her shoulders rebelliously. "i don't know what has happened to me but, do you know, trude, i am beginning to think it's the limit that we have to consider the league in even a little thing like that. thank goodness we are going to have a holiday! but i wonder if the summer will bring anything to any of us."
-in answer trude smiled down into the trunk. "well--it's bringing something to sid. rather she went out and got it. and it surely will to vick, new clothes if nothing more. and i hope it will to you, too, issy, dear, something grand and--contenting."
-it was typical of trude that she did not think of herself.
-"golly day, but i'm tired!"
-martie calkins threw herself on the cool sand of the beach and gave vent to a long breath. sidney, standing over her, wished she could do likewise with the same picturesque abandon. mart was so splendidly "i don't care a hang"; her tumbled hair now was thick with sand, across her tanned face was a smear of black, her shabby blouse was torn and open at the throat exposing her chest to the hot sun, her bare, hard-muscled legs were outstretched, the heels digging into the sand and the grimy toes separating and curling like the tentacles of a crab.
-"oh, this is the life," she sang. "sit down and make yourself at home. this beach's yours as much as mine i guess."
-sidney sat down quickly lest her companion guess how she was tied inside with the innumerable bonds and knots of conventions, century old, which martie had somehow escaped. of course sidney herself did not think it that way; she only knew that she felt ridiculously awkward with martie calkins in spite of her growing determination to be just like her.
-they had been friends now for two whole weeks, the shortest two weeks sidney had ever known simply because into them they had crowded so much. she had met mart the day after her coming to sunset lane. mart had appeared at aunt achsa's with some baking soda her grandmother had borrowed two months before. aunt achsa had said: "i cal'late you two girls better make friends." that was so obviously sensible that sidney quickly put from her the impression that mart was the "queerest" girl she had ever met. she had seen queerer but had never talked to them. but mart was young and frankly friendly and lived next door and, anyway, everything was so very different here that it was ridiculous to expect to meet a girl like nancy or the others at school or perfect like pola.
-before mart's experience, her knowledge of the sea and boats, her background of seafaring ancestors, her easy assurance, sidney's pleasant sense of superiority soon went crash. too, mart revealed a quality of strongheartedness and a contentment with everything as it came along that amazed sidney at the same time that it put her own restlessness to shame. why, mart, in all her life, had never been farther than falmouth and had gone there to a funeral, but she had none of sidney's yearnings to "see places." pressed by sidney's inquiries she had answered, with a deceiving indifference: "oh, what's the use of wanting to go anywhere, it's nice enough here." nor did mart's multitudinous tasks embarrass her; she would keep sidney waiting while she finished scrubbing the kitchen floor. and she had a way of swishing her brush that made even this homely labor seem like play until sidney, watching from the safety of a chair, her feet securely tucked between its rungs, longed to roll up her own sleeves and thrust her arms into the sudsy water. martie had to work much harder than any girl sidney had ever known or heard about; she did a man's work and a woman's work about her home and did not even think it was out of kindly proportion to her years. "oh, there's just gran'ma and me and she has rheumatiz awful," she had explained just once to sidney. that was why, of course, martie looked so unkempt and overgrown and had had so little schooling, but sidney came to think these shortcomings and their cause made martie the more interesting.
-though after a week sidney could toss her head like mart, run as fast, go barefooted, sprinkle her chatter with a colloquial slang that would have horrified the league, affect ignorance to anything schooly, she found that it was not easy to emulate mart's fine independence. there was always that feeling of being tied to the things ingrained within her.
-mart's ease with everyone, young or old, gave her, in sidney's eyes, the desirable quality of grown-upness. mart talked to the fishermen and the women who were her grandmother's friends and the artists and the tradespeople exactly as though she were their equal in point of years; sidney, marvelling and admiring, did not know that this assurance was really a boldness that had grown naturally out of there just being "gran'ma and me." martie had had to hold her own since she was six years old.
-though from the first day of her coming sidney, moved by a sense of the courtesy to be expected from a guest, had insisted that they include lavender in all their plans, at the same time she had wished that he would refuse for she could not conquer a shyness with him. he was a boy and she had never known any boys very well, and he was a "different" boy. but mart did not mind him at all; she played tolerantly with him, quarreled cheerfully and bitterly with him, laughed with him and at him exactly as though he were a girl like herself or she the boy that she should have been, gran'ma considered.
-on this day mr. dugald had taken lavender to the backside. he had not invited the girls to join them which had roused sidney's curiosity. she had watched them depart, loaded down with books and stools and an easel and a box of lunch and had wondered what they were going to do all day, alone, in the dunes. she was soon to know that those hours were sacred to lavender, that in the great silences of the sandy stretches he and his mr. dugald with their books went far from the cape and sunset lane and the crooked body.
-the girls, left to themselves, had decided to go clamming. of all the novel things she had done in the last two weeks sidney liked clamming best. it was even more fun than the arabella for after all the arabella was only pretend. she liked to feel her bare toes suck up the goosy sand as she stepped over the wet beds. she could never dig as fast as mart or lavender because she had to stop and watch the sky and the clouds and the moving sails and the swooping seagulls. "you'd never make a living digging clams," martie had scolded. (mart herself could dig faster than old jake newberry who had peddled clams through the town for fifty years. mart had sometimes sold hers at the hotels.)
-"there's so much to look at!" sidney had answered, drawing in a long happy breath.
-"look at! what? all i can see is sky and water and a lot of that and that ain't nothing new."
-"but it is always different! the sky gets bluer and the clouds pinker and the water dances just as though there were sprites hiding in each wave."
-"gee, anyone 'ud think you were a poet!" mart had laughed and at that sidney had fallen hastily to digging.
-now, as they lay on the beach, hot and happy, their basket of clams between them, sidney's thoughts went back to lavender's and mr. dugald's mysterious departure.
-"we've had just as much fun," she declared, aloud.
-"aunt achsa packed them an awfully good lunch," sidney reflected.
-"sure she did. she spoils lav like anything. gran'ma says it's a shame. and what she doesn't spoil that boarder does."
-for an instant sidney flared with resentment at her companion's tone. however she realized that she was at a disadvantage in that she had only known these people for only two weeks and mart for her whole lifetime.
-"what do you s'pose they do over there?"
-mart shrugged her shoulders. "i used to be curious but i'm not any more. they go off somewhere like that together all the time, packed up 'sif they were headin' for a whole winter's cruise. i guess i know. like as not the boarder's paintin' lav's picture and lav don't want him to do it where people'll see on account of his being crooked." mart, satisfied with her explanation, stretched herself luxuriously, her arms upflung.
-sidney shuddered. "oh, why should he want to paint lavender's picture? i think he's cruel!" then she remembered dugald allan's allusion to the flower on the crooked stem. "maybe he's painting lav's spirit."
-at this mart raised herself on her elbow, stared at sidney, and burst into a loud laugh. "oh, that's the best! lav's spirit! oh, my! you're the funniest kid. say, don't get sore but i just have to howl, you're so rich." she threw herself back in the sand and rolled from one side to the other.
-sidney sat very still biting the lips that had betrayed her. she'd remember after this; she'd never make another slip that would provoke mart to such amusement. mart began looking hard at her again and she squirmed uneasily under the scrutiny. but mart only asked:
-"say, ain't your hair awful hot?"
-relieved, sidney answered promptly, "yes. i hate it." she gave a fling to the heavy braids.
-"why do you have it then? i'd cut it off. i cut mine. i wouldn't be bothered with a lot of hair. i s'pose your folks would make an awful fuss if you did, though."
-sidney twisted her bare toes in the sand and frowned down at them. yet it was not at their whiteness she frowned but at a sudden recollection of mrs. milliken's: "always wear your hair like that, my lamb, it is so beautifully quaint."
-"i don't know that they'd mind. it's my own hair. i've thought of having it cut often."
-mart sat upright. "say, i'll do it for you--if you want me to. we can go straight home now. we'll divide our clams when we get to our house. that is if you're not afraid."
-"afraid--of just cutting my hair? i may look a sight but who cares? i'll do it. come on!" sidney sprang to her feet, a challenge in her voice that mart, of course, could not understand.
-mart rose more leisurely and took the dripping basket of clams and seaweed. they were not far from sunset lane. it took them but a few moments to reach the calkins' house--not long enough for sidney's courage to falter.
-"gran'ma isn't home, but anyway she wouldn't say anything. she lets me do just as i please. she never said a word when i cut my own hair. sit down here and i'll find the shears in a jiffy."
-sidney sat down in a rush-bottomed chair, thrilling pleasantly. this was a high moment in her life--the clipping of the two despised braids; a declaration of independence, a symbol of a freedom as great as mart's. and certainly mart must be impressed by the way she had responded to the suggestion. "afraid!" well, mart might laugh at things she said but she would see that she was quite her own mistress.
-mart returned with a pair of huge shears.
-"of course i can't do it as good as a regular barber but it'll be good enough for the first time and around here, anyway. sure you don't mind? your hair is dandy!" while she was speaking she was unbraiding one pigtail. she shook it out. "it's awful thick and wavy. mebbe you could sell it. i've heard of girls doing that but i don't know's there's any place around here. sit still, now, so i can get it straight."
-click. sidney shut her eyes and sat rigid with a fearful certainty that she must suffer physical pain from the operation. click. the touch of the steel against her neck sent icy shivers down her spine.
-"there, now--it's off," cried mart, taking a step backward. "it's sort of crooked but that won't show when it's all loose. go in gran'ma's room and take a look at yourself."
-sidney turned and stared stupidly at the mass of hair in martie's hand. it was beautiful hair. for an instant she wanted to cry out in a violent protest; she checked it as it rose to her lips. mart's eyes were on her. she managed instead a little laugh. "it feels so funny."
-"oh, you'll get used to that. you'll like it. take a look now and say i'm some barber."
-gran'ma calkins' old mirror, hung where the light shone strong upon it, reflected back to sidney a strange and pleasing image.
-"why i like it!" she cried, running her fingers through the mass. "it's--it's--so different. it's jolly."
-"you won't have to bother combing it much, either. i don't touch mine sometimes for days."
-sidney, still staring at the stranger in the old mirror, laughed softly. "wait until nancy sees it. nancy hair is straight as can be or i'll bet she'd cut hers. and issy. issy will have a fit when she knows. and mrs. milliken!" here she broke off abruptly, not even in her triumph must she give hint to mart of the league and its hold upon the house of romley. "oh, i like it!" she repeated exultingly. "and it won't be half the bother." she felt now that she was mart's peer in point of abandon.
-"you don't think your aunt achsa will make a fuss, do you?" asked martie, with tardy concern.
-"aunt achsa? oh, no! at least--" it had not occurred to sidney that aunt achsa had anything to say about it. "she lets me do anything." which was quite true. but something of sidney's exultance faded; she was beginning to wish that she had just said something to aunt achsa about it before she let mart clip her braids--not exactly asked permission but confided her intentions. that mart might not perceive her moment's perturbation she turned her attention to the clams.
-"i ought not to have half for i didn't find nearly as many as you did."
-"oh, rats. take 'em. all you want." to mart, who could dig clams faster than old jake newberry, an accurate division of their spoils meant nothing. to sidney who dug awkwardly each clam was a treasure.
-her step lagged as she approached aunt achsa's. she hoped aunt achsa would not be home. then she wondered why she could not be as confidently defiant as martie; she supposed it was the restraint of the league and the three sisters under whom she had had to live and martie had not. but it was absurd to feel even apprehensive of aunt achsa's displeasure when aunt achsa was such a little thing and so indefinite a relative.
-aunt achsa was in the kitchen trimming the edge of a pie. she was holding it high on the tips of her fingers and skilfully cutting the crust with a small knife when under it she spied sidney's shorn head. she promptly dropped the pie upon the table upside down. a trickle of red cherry juice ran out over the spotless table.
-"why, i swum! sidney romley! wh--what have you gone and done? what's ever happened to you?"
-"my hair was so hot and such a bother. i can swim now and won't have to sit around for an hour drying it. i hated my braids--" all good arguments which rang true but did not seem to convince aunt achsa who continued to stare at sidney with troubled eyes.
-"it's my hair, aunt achsa. if i look a sight it's my own fault."
-"that ain't it, child. only--it's so sudden. your--doing it--without a word or--or anything. what'll your folks say? i--i--kind a wish you'd just told me, you see."
-sidney laughed with a lightness she did not feel. aunt achsa eyes were so reproachful, even hurt. "why, i did not have time to tell you. i didn't think of it myself until a few moments ago. and mart offered to do it for me. it's such a little thing to make any fuss about."
-the cherry juice went on dripping until a big round stain disfigured the tablecloth and still aunt achsa stared at sidney with troubled eyes.
-a dark flush had swept sidney's face. there was no such thing as freedom anywhere--there must always be someone in authority somewhere to warn and rebuke, even this absurd little old woman, who seemed so remotely related. she wished she could think of something very withering and at the same time dignified to retort.
-"i think i am perfectly capable of knowing what is right and what is wrong and my sisters have perfect confidence in me," she said slowly and with deep inward satisfaction. then she added scornfully: "of course it is very different here and if i don't seem to get used to it you can't blame me!" with which she stalked through the parlor to her room and slammed the door.
-aunt achsa pattered after her.
-"child! child!" she called through the door. "here's a letter for you. i was that taken back when i saw you i forgot to give it you." she slipped the letter through the inch of opening that sidney, now tearful, vouchsafed her.
-the letter was from trude. to poor sidney this was the crowning humiliation; it was exactly as though trude could look out from the pages and see the mutilated locks. trude had always loved her hair and had often brushed it for her for the simple delight of fingering its wavy strands. more than once trude had said: "you're lucky to have this hair, kid. look at mine." now she would gasp in horror as aunt achsa had done. "you should not have done it, sidney--at least without consulting one of us." it was not the deed itself even trude would censure--it was her independence. oh, how terribly difficult it was to be like mart!
-trude had written to her almost daily, sketchy letters full of the news of what she was doing at the whites. sidney could not know that trude purposely made them lively and wrote them often because she believed sidney was homesick. in this letter her concern had reached the height of sacrifice.
-"if you're ready to go home, have had enough of cape cod, just say the word, little sister, and i'll join you at middletown. perhaps you have been with cousin achsa long enough--you do not want to impose upon her hospitality. she may have other friends she wants to invite to her house. but you must decide at once for mrs. white is making plans for the next few weeks and will want to know if i am going to be here. she is perfectly wonderful to me and i think she likes to have me here and that i help her a little, but if you want me to join you at home she will understand.
-"why in the world haven't you written to me? i shall scold you soundly for that when we are together. be a good girl and remember how much we all love you. i shall expect a letter within three days at most telling me what you want to do."
-sidney gasped. her barbered hair, aunt achsa, were forgotten for the moment. go home--leave all her fun and sunset lane and mart--and lavender? her consternation gave no room for the thought that two weeks had indeed worked a strange conversion. why, she would sit right down and write to trude that she did not want to go home. that was silly!
-then she thought of the hurt on aunt achsa's face only a few moments before when she had flung her angry retort at her. and aunt achsa had been so good to her! why, that cherry pie that had come to such a disastrous end aunt achsa was baking just because she had said she adored cherry pies. that was aunt achsa's way of showing affection. that aunt achsa had trusted her--she had given her complete freedom in the two last whirlwind weeks because she had trusted her. and how ungrateful, now, aunt achsa must think her. well, she had punished her own self for now, of course, aunt achsa would want her to go.
-sidney was too deep in her slough of despond to see that behind mr. dugald's shock of surprise was a smiling admiration of her bobbed head. and even lavender avowed at once that it "looked swell." two hours before sidney would have gloried in their approval but with trude's letter in her pocket and the humiliating memory of her silly retort to aunt achsa she was beyond feeling pleasure at anything.
-she ate her supper in a heavy silence. lavender's and mr. dugald's high spirits seemed to her as unfitting as jazz at a funeral. she kept her eyes carefully away from aunt achsa's face and found a faint solace in only nibbling at the especially delectable supper until aunt achsa asked her anxiously if she "wa'n't well?"
-she felt infinitely far removed, too, from the curiosity that had obsessed her throughout the day. it didn't matter now what mr. dugald and lavender had been doing over there among the sand dunes!
-the next morning lav invited her to go with him while he helped cap'n hawkes take a fishing party out to the mabel t. this was one of the odd jobs lavender often did around the harbor. sidney had gone with him twice before and had thoroughly enjoyed it. it was fun to sit in the bow of the old dory and watch the harbor lazily coming to life in the bright morning sun, sails lifting and dipping to the breeze, boats swinging at their moorings, the low roofs of the houses on the shore glistening pink against the higher ridges of sand, the dancing waves, their tips touched with gold. she liked to listen to the noisy chatter of the picnicers, to most of whom everything was as novel as it was to her; the women invariably squealed as they climbed aboard the mabel t just as she had squealed the first time she boarded the arabella. and her greatest thrill came when the tourists took her for a native, like lavender, asking her questions which she invariably answered glibly.
-this was probably the last time she would go out in the harbor with lavender. she thought it, sitting very still behind a barricade of bait pails and baskets. she glared at a tanned girl who was telling her companion that they were going to stay on at the cape through august. the brightness of the morning only deepened her gloom--she could stand things much better if it were pouring rain.
-the fishing party and all the paraphernalia shipped safely aboard the mabel t, lavender let the dory drift as sidney had begged him to do the first time she had gone out. he looked at her anticipating her noisy pleasure only to find her eyes downcast, her face disconsolate.
-she felt his glance questioning her and lifted her head.
-"i've got to go home."
-that he simply stared and said nothing was balm to her. and she caught, too, the strange expression that flashed into the boy's great dark eyes.
-"i got a letter yesterday from trude. she thinks i've stayed long enough--that i am imposing upon aunt achsa's hospitality."
-still lavender said nothing. now he was looking off to where the sails of the mabel t cut the blue of the sky like the wings of a great bird.
-"she wants me to write at once just when i am going." which was of course not exactly the way trude had written and yet was the correct interpretation sidney now put upon her letter.
-and still no word from lavender.
-"i--i hate to go. dreadfully. will you miss me the least bit, lav? i--i mean you and mart--"
-"oh, hang mart!" burst out the boy hotly. "who cares 'bout her? i can fool 'round with her anytime only i don't want to. i--i--" he stopped short with a queer inarticulate sound and sidney gasped. why, lavender was almost crying!
-"oh, lav, i'm so glad you are sorry that i am going. we have had such fun together and you see i've never known any boys before--oh, except the ones i've met at parties and things and they're terribly stupid. but you have been such a peach to me and showed me how to do everything just as though i was a boy. i'll miss you, too, lav--"
-"oh, no, you won't. i mean it isn't the same," muttered lavender, his shoulders quiet now. across his face settled a sullenness that sidney had never seen on it. she did not like it; it made him look ugly. she turned away. the boy went on, in a thick voice.
-"y'see, i never do anything with anyone because, well--i'm different. that's why. i c'n always see them lookin' at me curious or pitying and i won't stand it! i just won't. i hate it. that's why i wouldn't ever go to school. some of the kids wouldn't come near me--'fraid of touchin' me, i guess. and some'd try to touch me--for luck, y'know. it's always been like that--and i get awful lonesome. but some day when i'm grown up i'm going to save money and go away. out in the big cities there are lots of people that are different--all kinds of shapes and colors and everything and they are too busy to stop to pity you. mr. dugald says so. i'm goin' to study and learn to be a doctor. not the kind that goes around to see folks like dr. blackwell but the kind that works in a big laboratory and finds out what cures the sick people. they are just as important mr. dugald says. and no one will see me then--they'll just know about me. i don't care how old i am, i'm going to do it some time."
-before the sudden fire in his voice sidney's heart quickened with excitement. why, lavender was revealing to her his innermost soul and it was fine and straight, just as mr. dugald had said.
-"oh, lavender, you're wonderful!" she cried, her eyes shining. "it must be grand to know just what you want to do and i hope you won't have to wait until you're very old. i'm glad you told me. only, only--" a doubt assailed her. "won't you have to go to school?"
-lavender flushed. "sometime, i s'pose. but not here. mr. dugald understands how it is and he's helped me. and he says i know more than the other fellows in the grade i'd be in if i had kept on going. he sends me books all winter long and miss letty hears me and she got some examination papers from the teachers at school and i tried them and gee, they were a cinch. only don't tell anyone--mart, anyway," he admonished, in sudden alarm. "it's a secret between me and mr. dugald and miss letty. let 'em think i'm a loafer."
-the sullen look that had made lavender's face so ugly disappeared under sidney's understanding. and she in turn forgot her own sorrow in her joy of lavender's confidences. now the golden sun and the dancing water gladdened her and lifted her spirit; all was well in the world.
-lavender nodded with a sheepish grin. "yep, that's our school."
-"oh, what fun! to study like that. i'd learn a lot, too. mart and i were dreadfully curious and mart said she knew that mr. dugald was painting you and didn't want to do it where anyone might see you on account of--" poor sidney stopped, abruptly in sorry confusion.
-"oh, that's all right! i don't care what you say because you don't feel sorry for me. that's why i like to have you 'round. you think i can do something. sidney, mr. dugald says there was a man who was an electrical wizard and knew everything and what he didn't know he worked over until he found out and he--he--was--like me--only worse. i'll work--gee, how i'll work--if i get a chance--" lavender clenched his long fingers together and his dark eyes glared fiercely. "i'd cut and run now from here--if it wasn't for aunt achsa."
-"oh, yes,--aunt achsa." that brought sidney sharply back to her own troubles.
-"she's been awful good to me and i can't leave her now even though i don't do much. mr. dugald says that just now my job's right here and i must show folks that my back can carry its job even if it is--"
-"don't, lav--" cried sidney, near to the pity that lavender despised, but he was too engrossed in his own feelings to notice it.
-"of course you can't leave aunt achsa. lav, i feel so cheap and--and--horrid. i was very rude to aunt achsa yesterday and hurt her feelings which was ungrateful of me after her letting me come and doing everything here to make me happy. it was about my hair. i--i--oh, i won't even repeat what i said--it was so silly. and that's really why i must go home. trude didn't exactly tell me i had to go--she just said perhaps i ought to go and that i must decide. but of course i know now--after yesterday--aunt achsa would not want me to stay--"
-"say, is that all! as though aunt achsa is holding anything against you! why, she's the most forgivingest person you ever heard of. she wants to forgive anyone before they've done anything. she's like that. i'll bet the next second after you said it she'd forgotten what you said."
-"but it's worse to hurt anyone like that!" cried sidney miserably, yet with her heart lifting. for a thought was taking shape--a reasonable and just thought.
-"lavender--do you think--as long as you like to have me here--that that would sort of make up for my rudeness? i mean--can't i go and ask aunt achsa to let me stay? i'll tell her how ashamed i am."
-"gee, you're square!" exclaimed lavender, proudly. "i'll tell you--we'll go together and ask her. i know just what she'll say but you'll feel more honest about it."
-"lav, you're wonderful--the way you understand." sidney's responsive mood leaped out to the boy's. lavender had found something in her that was above his estimation of girls. and she had been vouchsafed a glimpse into the heart that lay beneath the crooked body--with its sensitiveness, its ambition. "we're just like pals," she finished shyly, "and i'm as proud as can be." mentally she was resolving to live true to lavender's standard. that would be much finer than to try to be like mart. in her effort to attain mart's showy independence she had--almost--come to grief, not quite. lavender seemed certain that aunt achsa would want her to stay. and he had said he would go with her while she apologized which would make it as easy as could be.
-"let's go now!" she said aloud, unmindful of the fact that lavender could not possibly be following her high flight of thought.
-"home--to aunt achsa." sidney said it very simply. and to her it seemed like home, now. with a warm feeling in her heart she thought of herself as truly belonging to them all and to sunset lane and the homely cottage.
-"all right." with a dexterous motion lavender swung his strength into the oars. the dory cut the shining water. sidney stared solemnly straight ahead, going over in her mind just what she would say to aunt achsa.
-at sight of the two aunt achsa paused in one of her multitudinous tasks. it was not usual for either the boy or the girl to appear until noontime. her first thought was an anxiety that something had happened. she fluttered out to meet them.
-"there ain't anything happened, has there?" her fond eyes on lavender.
-"i'll say something's most happened," the boy began. "sidney here thinks she ought to go home on account of something she said yesterday--"
-"lav, let me do it," implored sidney. "aunt achsa, i--i'm so ashamed of the way i answered you yesterday about my hair. i ought to have told you--you had a right--but i guess i wanted to feel grown up and independent. and i am sorry."
-at sidney's halting confession aunt achsa looked what lavender, with his odd coinage of words, had described as the "most forgivingest person." she actually blushed.
-"why, law's sake, child, your aunt ascha didn't mind--don't worry your little head over that. i ain't forgotten how a girl feels even if it was a long spell ago that i was fifteen. old as i am my tongue gets loose in my head lots of times and runs away with itself. that's a way tongues has of doing. and you worryin' over it and thinkin' about going home! why, why--it's nice to have you here. only last evening i said it to mr. dugald. it's like you were one of us--"
-"do you really mean that, aunt achsa? i'm not company any more or--or--a distant cousin?"
-"not a bit. and now long's you and lavender's come home in the middle of the morning, which i will say give me a turn, you can set down on the step out there and pit these cherries for me!"
-"cherry pie?" cried sidney, glad over everything.
-"better. i'll bet pickled cherries!" lavender had spied the row of glistening glass jars on the table. "and they're licking good."
-sidney took the checkered apron aunt achsa handed her and tied it about her slim person, then they sat down upon the step in the sunshine and fell to their task. from the shade of the lilac bush nip and tuck regarded them with their inscrutably wise eyes. without doubt nip and tuck knew why sidney's voice lifted so gaily as the red juice trickled down her brown arms.
-when mr. dugald returned for dinner he had to hear how nearly sidney had come to going home. "why, that's the worst thing i've heard," he exclaimed with exaggerated alarm, "now, you wouldn't really go and do that, would you?" his eyes laughed above the serious twist of his lips; sidney wondered if he was remembering that first night of her coming.
-"i think we ought to celebrate this crisis through which we have lived," he declared. "what say to a picnic supper over at the backside and a call upon captain nelson. he'll be expecting us about this time. if i commandeer pete cady's ford you can go, too, aunt achsa."
-when he was in his rollicking mood aunt achsa could never resist her mr. dugald. though she'd as soon trust herself in one of "them ar-y-planes" as in pete cady's ford, which only went under stress of many inward convulsions and ear-splitting explosions, she accepted mr. dugald's invitation and fell at once to planning the "supper," though their dinner was not yet cleared away.
-"i'll write a letter and mail it and then stop and tell mart. mart may go, may she not?" sidney asked anxiously.
-yes, mart must go, too. plainly the occasion was a momentous one.
-and to trude sidney wrote, hastily, for lavender was waiting and there would be time for a swim on the arabella before they started off in the ford.
-"--aunt achsa and lavender both want me to stay very much. they like me and i am just one of the family. i help aunt achsa too, in a great many ways and lavender and i are like pals--it's just as though i had a brother which i never thought would be any fun but now i know it would be a lot especially if the brother was a twin. you must not worry when i do not write often for there is so much to do that i don't have a bit of time--"
-and in her excited state of mind sidney forgot to tell trude about her shorn braids.
-plots and counterplots
-rockman's wharf was the center of the fishing activities of the town. to it, each day, the small fishermen came in their dories with their day's catch. from it motor boats chugged off to the bigger boats moored in the bay, some schooner was always tied to the gray piles waiting to be overhauled or to be chartered for deep sea fishing. there was always something to watch on rockman's, or someone to talk to. the fishing folk spent their leisure hours loafing in the shadow of the long shed, smoking and talking; often the artists boldly pitched their easels and stools in everyone's way and painted a gray hull and a pink-gray sail, checkered with white patches, or a dark-skinned portuguese bending to the task of spiking shiny cod from the bottom of a dory and throwing them to the wharf to be measured and weighed.
-sidney never failed to thrill to the changing scenes that rockman's offered. she had become, like mart and lavender and a score of other youngsters, a familiar figure on the old wharf. with the ease of a cape coder born she talked to the portuguese fishermen and to the men who worked in the shed and to captain hawkes, who when he was not on the mabel t sat on a leaning pile smoking and waiting for tourists to engage him. she knew the fishermen and their boats by name and was as interested in how much old amos martin got for his beautiful catch as amos himself. rockman's knew her as "that summer gal of achsa green's." "she beats all for askin' questions," it agreed, smilingly. "ain't anything misses that gal!"
-sidney certainly did not intend anything should. she had to make up for all the years she had not lived in provincetown and if she watched and listened closely she might some day catch up with mart and lavender. she sat on the wharf late one afternoon, dangling her bare legs over its edge, and watched the sails and the circling seagulls and everything within sight and waited for mart and lavender to join her as they had agreed. lavender was running an errand for cap'n hawkes and mart had gone to commercial street for some candy.
-it was too early in the day for the fishermen to come in. sidney knew that. for that reason a dory approaching rockman's caught her eye. in it were two men, in oilskins and rubber boots. as it came near to the wharf a thickset fellow stepped out from the shed. sidney had never noticed him before. and her eyes grew round as she observed that in place of one hand he wore an iron hook. like a flash there came to her a confused memory of stories she had read of high piracy and buccaneers. she looked at the ugly hook and at the man and then at the approaching dory and every pulse quickened and tingled. without moving a muscle she leapt to attention.
-partly concealed as she was by the pile of old canvas the man did not see her. nor did the two in the dory notice her. as the dory bumped its nose against the wharf one of the men threw a line to the man on the dock who caught it dexterously with the iron hook. he had evidently been waiting for the dory. then one of the two in the boat sprang to the wharf while the other busied himself in shutting off the engine.
-"'lo, jed. good catch?"
-the two men walked slowly up the wharf, jed starrow a little in advance of the other. the man in the dory, having shut off the engine, lounged in the bow of the boat and lighted a pipe.
-sidney sat very still until jed starrow and his companion were out of sight. then she climbed to her feet, slipped along the side of the shed and ran up the wharf until she could jump down on the beach. here she waited mart's return.
-mart and lavender came almost at the same moment, mart with a bulging bag of assorted and dreadful-hued candies. mysteriously sidney beckoned to them to join her in the seclusion of the beach.
-"whatever's happened?" mumbled mart her mouth full of candy. "you act like you were struck silly."
-"i've found something out!" sidney spoke in a sepulchral whisper though their voices could not have been heard by anyone on the wharf. "lav, who is jed starrow!"
-lav stared at her in wonder.
-"why--why--he's jed starrow. that's all. fellow 'round town. owns the puritan, that new schooner."
-"i believe--" sidney spoke slowly. "i believe jed starrow is a--pirate!"
-at this lav and mart broke into loud laughter. but sidney stood her ground, not even flushing under their derision.
-"you can laugh. but i know--i know--instinctively. i sometimes do know things like that. i guess it's an occult power i have. and, anyway, cap'n davies hinted as much."
-"oh, cap'n davies--he's always snoopin' round for trouble. we have plenty of rum-runners and i guess lots of things get smuggled--but pirates--"
-"captain davies distinctly said pirates--" insisted sidney who had not sufficient experience to properly classify rum-runners and smugglers. anyway, pirates sounded more exciting.
-"what's started all this?" asked lavender.
-sidney told of the landing of the dory and the man with the iron hook for a hand.
-"oh, that's only joe josephs. he's a wrecker."
-mart was catching something of sidney's spirit; in truth mart was unconsciously catching a great deal from sidney these days.
-"well, he's certainly doing something besides wrecking. it's been an awful poor season for wrecks and gran'ma says joe josephs' wife's been to her sister's at plymouth and got a new coat and hat for the trip and she hasn't had a new thing since letty vine give her her blue serge dress and that wasn't new."
-"you see--" cried sidney, exulting, "joe josephs has divided the spoils!"
-"oh, you girls are crazy! why everyone in the town knows jed starrow. don't you think everyone 'ud know if he was a pirate? he's lived here ever since he was born, i guess."
-"but, lav, it was so funny for them to say just alike 'good catch' when they didn't have any fish at all! it was a password. pirates always have passwords."
-"prob'bly a code," jeered lav, rocking with laughter. "you watch the sky anights; mebbe they use rockets to signal one another, too."
-sidney was still sufficiently stirred by the whole incident as to be able to tolerate lav's stupidity.
-"of course i know pirates--even these days--wouldn't use rockets and codes. i'm not as ignorant as all that. and i am going to watch, day and night. it'll be easy for me to watch 'cause i'm a girl and no one will suspect what's in my head."
-"i should say they wouldn't! gee!" and lav permitted himself a last long laugh.
-"and you may change your tune yet," cried sidney, really vexed, "when mart and i discover something."
-"we'll both keep our eyes open!" mart agreed, admiring sidney's imagination even though she could not always follow it. "but we ought to keep quiet 'bout our suspicions, hadn't we?"
-sidney hesitated. she did want to tell mr. dugald about the "good catch." but mart went on convincingly.
-"if we told anyone we were on, y'see it might get to jed starrow himself."
-"that'd be the biggest joke in town," lav warned, with a chuckle.
-sidney ignored him. "of course we must not breathe a word of our suspicions to a soul," she averred. "and if either of us finds out anything she must tell the other at once. i think we will find something, too, for two heads are better than one."
-"say, are you going to leave me out of your fun--just 'cause i laughed?"
-sidney did not want to leave lavender out but she did want to punish him a little. she pretended to consider his question.
-"if you find it all so highly amusing you might be tempted to tell someone--"
-"what'ya mean? that i'd squeal on you? if you think that, well, i don't want to be in on it--"
-"oh, lav, of course i know you wouldn't squeal," cried sidney, relenting. "and we will need you to help find things out. oughtn't we to have some sign or a word or something to sort of signal that one of us knows something to tell the others? what'll it be--"
-mart scowled down at the sand. for the moment she was possessed with an envy for sidney's agile imagination, a disgust at her own stolid faculties. why couldn't she think of things right offhand the way sidney could?
-but it was lavender who suggested the "signal."
-"hook!" he offered and sidney clapped her hands in delight.
-"oh, grand! no one would ever guess. and it sounds so shivery! why, that man with the iron hook just has to be a pirate!" then she suddenly grew embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. "it's different with you two," she explained, "you've lived here all your lives and you don't know what it's like to have to be a po--" she broke off, startled. one breath more and she would have revealed the truth to lavender and mart. "middletown is the pokiest town--there's nothing exciting ever happens there."
-"i don't know as much exciting happens here. i s'pose enough happens, only you have to have something inside you that makes you think it exciting, i guess." which was mart's initial step into any analysis of emotion, but not her last.
-lavender turned toward the wharf. "i got to go and hunt up cap'n hawkes," he announced regretfully. "so it'll be 'hook,' will it? well, i swear from henceforth i'll watch every citizen of provincetown to see if he has a cutlass at his belt or a tattoo on his chest. come on, girls--sleuths, i mean--"
-"i do hope," sighed sidney as she and mart wandered homeward over the hard sand, "that one of us'll have to say 'hook' soon. don't you?"
-but in her heart sidney had an annoying conviction that neither mart nor lav took her pirate suspicions quite as seriously as she did. at supper lav deliberately kept the conversation on jed starrow and his activities with a disconcerting twinkle in his eyes. mart assumed the same lofty tolerance of their secret game as she showed to their play on the arabella--as though it were a sort of second-best fun.
-"well, i don't care," sidney declared stoutly. to think of jed starrow as a wicked buccaneer and joe josephs, the wrecker, as his accomplice in piracy, satisfied her craving for adventure. for the next many days she let it color everything she saw, every word she overheard; the connecting links she forged from her own active imagination.
-words that sing
-to seal their pact of palship lavender took sidney to top notch.
-he led her over a little path that wound around the smaller sand dunes directly behind sunset lane until they came to a clump of old willows. once a cottage had stood under the willows; its timbers and crumbling bricks still lay about half buried in the sand and covered over with moss and climbing weeds. though not a quarter of a mile from aunt achsa's the spot offered as complete solitude as though it had been at the ends of the world. the only sounds that reached its quiet were the far-off screaming of the seagulls as they fought for their food at low tide, and the distant boom-boom of the surging sea on the beach of the backside.
-"look up there!" commanded lavender proudly. and sidney, looking as he had bidden her, gave a little cry of delight. for there among the great limbs of the biggest of the willows was a tiny house.
-"that's mine. top notch. mr. dugald built it. that's where i study."
-"why, it's the cutest thing i ever saw!" sidney was already at the bottom of the narrow ladder that led to the house. "can i go up? i feel just like alice in wonderland, as though i'd have to take a pill to get small enough to squeeze in."
-"oh, no, you won't. it's big enough for two."
-the structure had been cleverly contrived; plankings securely nailed to the spreading branches gave indeed ample space for two and even more; there were comfortable seats and wide unshuttered windows, a rough table and a secret shelf that looked like part of the wall until one unlocked and let down a little door and revealed a neat row of books. a "wing" of the house, added to another branch, sidney declared, was "upstairs."
-sidney sat down on one of the seats and lavender sat on the other.
-"why, this is the best yet!" sidney cried with a long breath. "i don't see how mr. dugald thinks of the nice things he does."
-"he's the best sort that ever lived." lavender asserted with a little break in his voice. "i don't know why he bothers 'bout me. but he found out that i came over here and sort o' camped among those ruins down there and i used to hide my things in that old oven so's aunt achsa wouldn't find them. he knew why, too. y'see it bothers aunt achsa a lot to have me want to read and study so much--she's afraid i'll get to thinkin' of going away. she don't know, y'see, that i am going, some day. so then mr. dugald helped me build top notch. there are all my books."
-sidney ran her eye over the different volumes; among them were stories of seafaring adventure and books on travel and science, a dictionary, a bible--and a volume of browning's poetry. sidney's hand shot out toward this last, then quickly dropped to her side.
-lavender saw the gesture. "i like poetry," he explained shyly. "i'm kinda afraid of it--i mean i don't understand it and i wish i did. mr. dugald says he don't, either. but there's something about the way poetry goes that's like music--it makes a sound. it's like the ocean, moving and beating, and kind o' like your heart. and sometimes the words hurt, they're so beautiful. i wish i knew more about poetry."
-sidney felt shivery cold all over and hot at the same moment. she kept her eyes on the square that was the open window. she knew she ought to tell the truth to lavender--right now. but, oh, she couldn't. yet she must! she had almost summoned the right words to begin when lavender rose and stepped toward the ladder.
-"i brought you here so's you'd know 'bout it and use it when you want to--the books'n everythin'. only don't let mart come. she'd make fun of it. here's where i hide the key to the shelf. s'long. i got to get down to rockman's." lavender abruptly slipped down the ladder and ran out of sight among the dunes.
-left alone in the top notch sidney felt a guilty remorse sweep over her. lavender had shared with her his sanctum sanctorum, he had admitted his love of poetry and she had sat silent and had not told him the truth.
-like music--like the waves of the ocean beating--like one's heart--words that hurt, his shy sentences rang in her ears. probably he had found it hard to tell her for fear she might laugh. laugh--why, suddenly she knew that that was really the way poetry seemed to her! she just made herself believe she hated it when she did not hate it at all. music--she could hear isolde's soft drawling voice reading from one of father's books and it was indeed music. she had all that treasure that she could share with lavender, hungry for the beautiful, and yet she had sat mum. oh, she had been horrid, stingy. and he was sharing top notch with her.
-quite naturally sidney, brooding secretly over her shortcomings, fell back upon the long-neglected "dorothea." and she took "dorothea" at once to top notch, the better to pour out her feelings undisturbed. she covered a whole page with her appreciation of lavender's confidence and her utter unworthiness of such tribute. then the fascination of top notch brought her to mr. dugald.
-"i wish the girls knew him. he's so much nicer than any of their suitors, than even any of vick's." let it be recorded here that sidney paused and chewed her pencil and pondered the difficulties of bringing about an acquaintance between mr. dugald and any one of her three sisters. romance was never far from sidney's imaginings; she invariably endowed every young man who came to the romley house for any sort of a reason with deep purposes of wooing. but this situation offered obstacles to even sidney's imagination for miles separated mr. dugald from the charms of her sisters; there seemed no way in which he could meet them.
-however, obstacles only stimulated sidney. "i know," she wrote furiously, "i'll pick out one of them and talk about her all the time and wish and wish in my heart and just make something happen. now, which one, dear dorothea, is the important thing for me to decide."
-from point of romance vick offered the most possibilities--there was so much about vick to talk about. but mr. dugald did not seem vick's sort. vick liked what she called "smooth" men and mr. dugald was most certainly not that. and, anyway, vick would simply have to have a rich man to give her all the things she said she intended having and mr. dugald was not rich or he'd have more fashionable clothes. no, vick was out of it. isolde--well, he wasn't issy's sort, either. sidney did not know just what issy's sort was like but she did not think it was like mr. dugald. anyway, she did not want issy to have him. she wanted trude to have him, dear old peachy trude who had never had any beau except her lost love.
-"i shall talk about dear trude and all her nice points. i shall even say she is beautiful for she is in the eyes of love and i like to talk about trude, anyway. so from this day forth i shall gather the threads of destiny into my white hands and weave a beautiful pattern of love and happiness."
-forthwith sidney began her weaving and found it amazingly easy. she talked through supper about trude and took it as a promising sign that mr. dugald himself asked her all sorts of questions as though he "thirsted" to know more. and sidney answered generously. she walked with him after supper to the postoffice in order to talk more about trude. the next day she produced a very unflattering snapshot of trude and left it on the kitchen table and later gloated in secret over its disappearance, though of course aunt achsa might have burned it up in her tireless cleaning and straightening.
-after that trude's name crossed the conversation of the little family frequently and quite naturally. mr. dugald called her "truda" and knew that she was staying with the whites on long island and that she was the prop of the entire romley family and never thought of herself at all and that she wasn't as pretty as vick or isolde but really, nicer--sidney quite opened her heart. and then one morning when she was helping mr. dugald clean his brushes she told him of trude's lost love. not much about it for the reason that she herself knew only a little and also because a strange look went suddenly over mr. dugald's face.
-"put on the brakes, little sister. aren't you letting me into secrets that perhaps your trude would not want me to know?"
-sidney's face flamed. she knew mr. dugald was right. "oh, i should not have told you. i--just got started and didn't think. can't you forget what i said as though i didn't say it?" she pleaded.
-"i'll forget what you said," mr. dugald promised, knowing perfectly well that he could not and from that day on he never asked any more questions of sidney concerning her family.
-"i'm not playing fair," he said to himself but not to her.
-to "dorothea" sidney confided her chagrin. "i didn't say much--just that trude had had one heartbreaking affair with a man she met at mrs. white's and that i didn't believe she'd gotten over it yet. i read a book once where it said pity was akin to love and i thought if mr. dugald knew that trude's heart was broken he would feel very sorry for her. but he looked so embarrassed that i knew i had not been maidenly as isolde would say and i blushed furiously. he promised to forget it and i think he will. but, oh, perhaps i have defeated my dear purpose for now when i speak of trude he looks funny as though he was afraid of what i was going to say next. i am in despair."
-the sound of voices, one unmistakably mr. dugald's, disturbed sidney's musings. she thrust "dorothea" into the secret shelf and locked it. then she peeped out of the window.
-mr. dugald and miss letty vine approached down the narrow path of hard sand straight toward the willows. sidney's first impulse was to call to them; in the next moment she realized that they had no intention of climbing to top notch. miss vine wore heavy gloves on her hands and carried a trowel and a basket and was making little jumps here and there among the weeds in search of "specimens."
-sidney sat very still and watched her. she thought miss letty the most interesting person, anyway. she always looked like the figurehead of a ship come to life, as mr. dugald had described her. she was very tall and bony, with huge bones that made lumps in her shoulders and elbows and even at her knees; her temples protruded and her cheek-bones and her jaw. she had long fingers with prominent knuckles.
-miss letty always wore a style of dress that she had evolved for herself long ago and that was plainly built for comfort rather than style or beauty. she held any grace of trimming as "froppery" and scorned it, going always unadorned. she wore her "learning" just as she wore her clothes. that she had gone to school in boston and studied music there no one would ever know from anything she said. one just thought of miss letty as being born with knowledge, the way she was born capable. "capable from the cradle," aunt achsa sometimes said.
-everyone liked miss letty in spite of the bones and the sharp tongue and the freakish dresses, and no one knew exactly why; it might have been her eyes which were kindly and had little twinkles deep-set within their irises, or her way of knowing the thing to do and going ahead and doing it. everyone respected miss letty and acknowledged her worth at once.
-now mr. dugald was lounging against one of the rotting timbers of the house-that-had-been and sketching miss letty on the pad which he always carried in the pocket of his old coat. he thought miss letty most interesting, too. he spent considerable time at her house and often took long walks with her.
-while sidney watched, miss letty sat down stiffly by mr. dugald's side and looked with interest at the sketch.
-"that's about the thousandth one you've made, isn't it? and you can't seem to get any of them bad enough."
-"i can't get into it what i want," dugald allan laughed, tearing off the sheet and crumpling it in his hand. "you see i feel something about you that i haven't been able yet to put on canvas. but i will some day. then i'll know i have gotten somewhere."
-miss letty considered his words as though they were of some one quite apart from herself.
-"i suppose it's my soul you're hoping to catch. well, i never did wear it on my sleeve," and she laughed, a great laugh like a man's.
-"no, you do not. that's true. but it's my job to get at people's souls, wherever they wear 'em, and paint them in."
-"well, hunt, then. souls are queer things," opined miss letty, carefully drawing off her old gloves and smoothing them out with her long, bony fingers. "i sometimes think the lord gets the souls mixed up and puts them in the wrong bodies. maybe that's wicked but if 'tis i think lots wickeder things."
-"maybe he knows more about it than we think he does--" said dugald so softly that sidney, frankly eavesdropping, had hard work to catch the words. they were so interesting, these two, that she was glad she had not let them know she was in top notch; she hoped they would talk a long time about souls and such things. but without warning miss letty changed the subject.
-"did you ever know such a smart piece as that girl of achsy green's?"
-"sidney?" and mr. dugald chuckled. "she's sure one rare kid. i don't know when i've enjoyed anything as much as having her around. and do you know the youngster's rarely gifted--she has a colorful imagination and a perception of verities that may take her further than her father. she is fighting destiny just now, but it will get her; if she isn't a poet she'll be a creator of something equally fine."
-"i'm too old to live to know--but you will," answered miss letty, quite calmly. "and maybe we're both wrong. maybe her finest work will be to raise a family. and i don't know, when all's said and done, but that's as good a job as your daubs or my music or a book of verse. you've got something then that can love you back."
-but sidney did not hear this simple philosophy for she had dropped to the floor of top notch and covered her ears with her hands. her face flamed with the anger that held her. how dared they sit there and talk her over! and say that she was going to write poetry! that she had something or other and might be greater than her father! a poet! well, she wouldn't! she would not! she thought, with stinging humiliation, of the verses she had written in her attic den and that lay now hidden in the secret place under the floor. she'd written them just because they hummed so in her ears that she had had to write them, but when she returned home she'd tear them into tiny bits and never, never write another line, even though the words did jingle and hum.
-she sat cramped on the floor of top notch, until she was certain the intruders had gone away. then she got stiffly to her feet and reached for "dorothea." hot tears of mortification blinded her eyes so that she had to dash them away with the back of her hand. one splashed upon the page she had opened.
-"i have come, dear dorothea, to another crossroad in life. you only shall witness my solemn vow. i shall not be a poet! i shall be a missionary. a missionary's life is fraught with danger and takes them to distant climes and they have to dress in what is given to them out of a barrel--"
-she felt a little better and pleasantly sacrificial after she had written this vow. poor sidney, she did not know that the words that lavender had likened to music and the beating sea would sing in her ears as persistently in timbuctoo as in the quiet of her attic den!
-what made life at sunset lane so delightful to sidney was that she never knew from one day to the next what she was going to do. back at middletown everything was always arranged ahead--they did this on tuesday and this on wednesday and always on saturday there was the league. at sunset lane she did not even know when it was tuesday or thursday unless she stopped to think; jolly things happened as though they popped out of the blue ether.
-like that miss letty dropped in one evening after supper.
-"do you want to ride over to wellfleet with me enough to be ready at six o'clock?" she asked sidney very casually, as though it were nothing at all to suggest. sidney had longed to ride with miss letty in the sideboard buggy behind king who, mr. dugald declared, had come off the ark with noah. and to go to wellfleet, perhaps see her friend cap'n phin davies!
-"can we call on cap'n davies?" she asked eagerly.
-miss letty smiled. "i reckon i couldn't steer king away from elizy davies' house. i thought i'd take you there and leave you while i give my lessons and then i'd ride 'round and have a visit with elizy and phin and maybe some of elizy's gingerbread. elizy and i went to school together."
-the next morning sidney was ready and on her, way to miss letty's house before six o'clock. she had been far too excited to eat any of the breakfast aunt achsa had set out for her but miss letty, guessing this, made her sit down and eat a bit of toast and a boiled egg.
-"it's a long way between here and wellfleet and king's slower than he used to be."
-seated next to miss letty, jogging along through the misty morning, sidney could not speak for pure rapture of delight. she had never ridden behind a horse in her life! she thought king a giant steed; with every swish of his long tail her heart skipped a beat, the move of his great muscles under his heavy flanks held her fascinated gaze. miss letty talked to him as though he were human and the animal understood and tossed his head. she said: "now, king, we're going to wellfleet and we got to get there before noon." and then she let the reins slacken and slip down between her knees as though she had no further care. one certainly could not do that with an automobile! sidney did not wonder now that miss letty preferred king to a ford.
-she wished she dared ask miss letty how old king really was but she did not think it polite anymore than if she asked miss letty how old she was. king was not handsome, he was bony like his mistress, but he certainly understood everything. miss letty said he knew they were going to elizy davies' by the way he loped ahead; king, too, had a strong liking for elizy davies' gingerbread.
-"she feeds it to him in great hunks. and he won't eat anyone else's gingerbread, either. scornful as you please even when i offer him some. now i say that's discriminating for a horse. i suppose it's what folks call horse-sense."
-sidney did not know which she liked better, watching the gleaming marshes through which the highway wound or listening to miss letty's spasmodic conversation. miss letty pointed out old landmarks to sidney, then told her something of the school at truro to which she and elizy davies had gone, then of the little girls to whom she was about to give music lessons. she had taught their mothers. then she lapsed into a deep silence broken only by an occasional "cl-lk" to king which she made with her tongue against her teeth and to which king paid no attention except for a flick of his right ear.
-sidney, looking down at the great bony hands limply holding the reins, thought it very funny to picture them on the keyboard of a piano. if she had spoken her thoughts aloud miss letty would have told her, quite calmly, that she couldn't play a note now, but that she knew when notes were played right and she could still rap lagging fingers smartly across the knuckles. folks would have her, anyway. sidney did not know, of course, that miss letty was a tradition and that cape cod clings to its traditions.
-a winding road, all sweet with wild primroses led up to the queer house on the eminence. sure enough, there was the front part like the forward hull of a ship, deck-houses and all; and the back like any sensible new england home. sidney giggled delightedly.
-"but there aren't two finer people on this cape!" declared miss letty. "and there's phin coming to meet us. reckon he spied king through his glasses along beyond wellfleet."
-cap'n phin davies was overjoyed to see sidney. "why, it's the little gal i found on the train!" he repeated over and over. "elizy," he called lustily toward the kitchen door, "come and see! it's the little gal i told you 'bout that i found on the train."
-elizy davies came hurrying from the kitchen door. she was lean to gauntness and tall and wore round, steel-rimmed glasses low on the sharp bridge of her nose. sidney immediately understood how she had been able to hold out for her half of the house. but she greeted sidney with kindly interest and miss letty with real affection.
-"i thought you'd be over this way today. anne matthews said maida was going to have a lesson. got my gingerbread all mixed."
-miss letty had not gotten out of the buggy. she turned king's head.
-"thought i'd leave sidney here while i gave my lessons," she explained briefly and then clucked to king.
-mrs. davies took sidney into her part of the house. it was cool and dark and sweet-smelling and very, very neat. sidney sat down in a stiff rocker and answered mrs. davies' questions concerning her aunt achsa and lavender, while cap'n davies stumped restlessly about.
-"now i cal'late you've heard enough, elizy, and i'm goin' to carry my little shipmate off and show her my part o' the old hull."
-elizy accepted his suggestion with a smile and admitted that she had to finish up her work. immensely relieved sidney followed cap'n davies. with the enthusiasm of a boy he took her to the front rooms of the house and showed her his treasured possessions. there was not a corner of the globe that had not contributed something to his collection of mementoes. and each meant to the old seafarer, not its own intrinsic value, but a certain voyage. "i got that when we took a cargo to shanghai. roughest v'yage i ever ran into," and "i picked that up when we had to lay to at buenos aires 'cause every man jack in the fo'castle had small-pox," or "found that when elizy shipped with me on the old amanda l. downs. forget just where--" and so on.
-"now set down on that bunk and let me have a look at you," the cap'n commanded, seating himself in an old swivel chair that creaked and trembled under his weight. "'pears to me you've picked up quite a bit!" he smiled his approval and nodded his great head. "yes, they ain't starvin' you and i'd say you'd been runnin' in the sun and there ain't anything that can beat our cape sun for bringin' out roses on bushes and little gal's cheeks." he beamed with satisfaction over his long speech. "now, tell me, how's the pirates? seen any?"
-his question came so suddenly that sidney started. she hesitated, then answered slowly. "yes, i have."
-"well, i'll be dumblasted!" exclaimed the captain, plainly astonished by her answer. he had spoken only in pleasant chaff and had not thought sidney would take him seriously.
-"at least--" sidney amended, "i think i've seen some. i told lavender and mart they're pirates or--or something, and we're going to watch every move jed starrow makes, at least every chance we get--"
-the jovial expression suddenly left the captain's genial face and a heavy frown furrowed the leathery forehead.
-"jed starrow! now what in thunder would make you set on jed starrow--"
-his frown alarmed sidney. perhaps she had made a dreadful mistake in divulging their suspicions of jed starrow, suspicions which really lavender and mart did not share, except as it helped their fun along--
-"oh, i shouldn't have said that it's jed starrow we suspect. i heard mr. starrow and that--that man with the hook--say something that sounded mysterious and i told the others, mart and lav, about it and we're just pretending that we think they're pirates! it's something to do and makes it exciting when we're down on the wharves. and they do look like pirates--especially the wrecker man. but i ought not to have said their names--as long as it's only a sort of game we're playing, ought i? you won't tell anyone, will you?"
-cap'n davies promised hastily and took sidney off to see the new heifer calf, just a week old. in the delight of fondling the pretty little creature sidney forgot her embarrassing break. she did not notice that the captain seemed deeply absorbed by some thought and that when he was not talking he still frowned.
-after she had visited the cove and watched the waves dash against the head and explored the boathouse miss letty arrived with king and mrs. davies summoned them to dinner. they ate dinner in the big kitchen that stretched from one side of the house to the other so that a breeze, all tangy with salt, stirred the heat of the room. mrs. elizy and miss letty talked and sidney ate and laughed as cap'n phin surreptitiously, and with sly winks at her, fed the old maltese cat under the table. there were fried chicken and peas and mashed potatoes and the gingerbread and cocoa and flaky cherry pie. and after dinner they all went out to watch king eat the gingerbread of his choice.
-sidney and miss letty helped mrs. elizy clear up and then they joined cap'n phin under the shade of the trees on the head from where they could see far out over the bay. sidney stretched on the grass and listened while the others talked, determining to put down every word they said in "dorothea" so that she could read it over when she was a very old woman. she loved the way miss letty answered back to cap'n davies when he teased her and she was not the least bit afraid of mrs. davies, now. all in all, though it was a very quiet afternoon, it was one sidney long remembered.
-when miss letty announced that they'd "have to be starting for home," cap'n davies recollected that there was something in the lookout he wanted to show sidney and had forgotten. but when they reached the lookout it appeared that he had forgotten again for he sat down in the swivel chair and faced her.
-"looky here," he commanded in a voice sidney had not heard before in their brief acquaintance, "don't know as it's any o' my affair but i want you to keep off the wharves after dark. off the beach, too. play your games in daylight. things are shapin' to a sort o' head and there may be mischief anytime and you'd best be at home come dark. if you don't promise me i'll speak a word to achsy green--"
-"oh, i'll promise," cried sidney anxiously. a warning to aunt achsa would most likely curtail their precious freedom. but she could not resist the temptation of questioning. "what mischief?" she asked, eagerly.
-cap'n davies hesitated. then he drew a letter from his pocket and tapped it with his finger.
-"that's from the custom house in boston. come last week. they're sending secret service men down to comb the cape. been huntin' the hul coast for a year and a half and they sort o' suspicion these parts because a lot of 'em was shipped into boston that--"
-"oh, what! you haven't said what--" broke in sidney, aquiver.
-"so i didn't. i'm sailin' stern first, i cal'late. well, there's always smuggling and smuggling and i guess there always will be, but when it comes to diamonds uncle sam sets up and takes notice. and they're suspicionin' that they're comin' in somewheres along the cape, and this part of the cape, too. and this--" he shook another sheet in sidney's face, "this is a notice of a reward offered by wellfleet and truro counties for findin' the dog that's givin' this part of the cape a bad name! five thousand dollars. in two weeks it'll be stuck on every post hereabouts 's far as provincetown. and phin davies ain't goin' to lay to 'till i've found out whether it's someone on the cape that's doing it or not. cape cod's brung up a race of honest men who could sleep with their doors wide open and if anybody is hurtin' the good name of the cape i want to know it. 'taint the money i want."
-sidney was scarcely drawing a breath for excitement. the captain, suddenly subsiding, observed her tenseness. he laughed embarrassedly.
-"now there i go spillin' everything i know like a ship that's sprung a leak. i'll have to ask you to keep mum 'bout what i've told you, mate, and remember your word to keep off the beach come night. ain't no place for a gal like you." and without another word he rose and led sidney down the narrow stairs.
-on the homeward ride miss letty found sidney an abstracted companion. after a few attempts to keep up conversation she subsided into silence herself. "it's good to find a young one who can keep her tongue still a spell and enjoy her own thoughts."
-but sidney was not enjoying her thoughts, not at all. with the realization that she could not share with mart and lavender the astounding revelations cap'n phin davies had made all joy in them had fled. had not she and mart and lavender agreed solemnly to tell one another anything any one of them discovered? it would be so perfectly thrilling to greet them the instant she reached home with "hook!" they would be so surprised. they wouldn't laugh if she told them what she knew! but she couldn't.
-cap'n phin davies had said: "i'll have to ask you to keep mum" and that was quite enough to seal sidney's lips.
-for the next few days mart and lav found sidney strangely quiet. sidney on her part wondered if they could not tell, simply by looking at her, that her uncomfortable heart carried a great secret. then something happened that put pirates and secrets completely out of her mind, something so amazing, so unexpected, as to turn her world on its head. pola came!
-in her zeal to get out of each day all the joy that it offered sidney had forgotten pola, or at least she had tucked her idol into a far-back corner of her mind where it was fast gathering dust.
-one morning mart, racing over the sand of the beach, hailed her. "sid! sid! they want us to pose for them! that craig woman and the others!"
-sid gasped, unbelieving. the girls had often wished they might pose for some of the artists. mart, having caught up with her, clutched her arm and hauled her hurriedly forward toward where little groups of artists were gathering on the beach in the shadow of one of the long wharves.
-"but--but--" sidney protested breathlessly. it would be fun to pose, of course, but not dressed as she was at that moment! vick, in the picture that had been hung in paris, had worn a black velvet dress which the artist had borrowed for her sitting; she could run home and don the precious cherry crêpe de chine that she had not worn since she had come to sunset lane.
-"miss craig said to get that--other--girl--" mart was explaining as they ran. "and they're waiting."
-miss craig, a pretty, earnest-eyed woman who was studying in one of the summer art classes, came forward to meet them. her glance went over sidney's figure with enthusiastic approval.
-"you found her! how nice. miss higgins will pose you--"
-"can't i go home and change my dress? i have an awfully pretty--"
-but miss craig cut sidney's appeal short.
-"gracious no! why, that would spoil you! we want you exactly as you are this moment--both of you. you're--you're precious!"
-sidney resented her "precious." she resented other remarks that came to their ears as miss higgins, who had charge of the little group, posed them against an old, overturned dory. "a perfect type--native--girls----freedom----wild beauty----" she resented the rotting dory. vick had leaned against a crimson velvet chair. why, her hair had not been combed since the morning before, her skirt was in tatters where she had torn it climbing into top notch; she was horribly conscious of her long legs, bare, brown, and bruised.
-sidney found that posing in the morning sun on a beach at provincetown was not the lark vick had declared posing for the great stuart gelding had been. but then vick had flirted a little with stuart gelding and had always had a cup of tea with him and his wife afterward; these art students appeared to have forgotten that their models were human with legs that ached from holding a position and arms that trembled with very eagerness to move. it was not one bit of fun.
-then, after an interminable time, miss craig called out cheerily; "there, that's enough for this morning," and came down to the dory, opening a little crocheted bag. from it she took two crisp one dollar bills. "take this, girls, and divide it. and we are ever so grateful--you were splendid types. we'll have you again some day."
-sidney's hand had barely closed over her dollar bill when she spied a woman and a girl slowly walking along the wharf, watching with interest the artists who were still at work. the girl looked startlingly familiar to sidney. she gave a little gasp and ran forward.
-"pola!" she called loudly.
-the girl turned in astonishment at the sound of her name, stared for a moment, then quickly advanced laughing.
-"why, you're the romley girl, aren't you? of all the things! what are you doing here?"
-"i'm visiting my aunt," explained sidney, suddenly conscious of her appearance and in consequence painfully ill-at-ease.
-"oh, and do they hire you to pose? what fun! i suppose that's a sort of costume they make you wear, isn't it?"
-"y--yes," sidney faltered, miserably. pola's manner was prettily condescending and she made no move to join sidney on the beach.
-"i'm a wreck myself," pola went on, airily surveying her trim and elegant person. "mother and i are motoring. and i made her bring me down here to see my cousin. he's an artist and lives here summers. he'll just despise seeing us because he comes here to get rid of everything home. and the car's broken down and goodness knows how long we'll have to stay."
-"pola!" her mother called sharply.
-pola waved her hand toward her mother. "yes, mamma!" then, to sidney, "isn't it simply rare our meeting like this? it shows how small the world is. i must run now! by-by!" she gave the slightest flip of her hand in sign of leave-taking and, turning, ran lightly up the wharf toward her mother.
-sidney's eyes followed her, devouring her dainty clothes, the tight-fitting motoring hat, the buckled pumps. pola--the pola she had carried enshrined in her heart! that heart hurt now, to the core. she had dreamed of a meeting sometime, somewhere, had planned just what it would be like and what she'd say and what pola would say. and now pola had turned a shoulder upon it.
-mart's laugh behind her roused her.
-"who's guinevere, anyway? her ma called her just in time--we might a hurt the doll-baby!"
-sidney turned on mart fiercely. "she's a friend of mine," she cried, in a voice she made rough to keep the tears from it. "and she's not a doll-baby."
-"all right--go and play with her then--she's crazy about you, i guess." and with that mart swung on her heel and stalked away, her head in the air.
-poor sidney hurried back to sunset lane to hide her humiliation and her dismay. for some reason she could not understand she had offended mart. and pola had snubbed her. it had indeed been a cruel fate that had brought pola out on the wharf at that precise moment!
-she spent a lonely afternoon in top notch, too miserable to even pour out her heart to "dorothea." then she helped aunt achsa prepare supper and after supper, which was lonely, too, for neither lavender nor mr. dugald were there, she insisted upon clearing up the dishes while aunt achsa went down to tillie higgins'.
-swishing her hands in the soapy water sidney pondered sadly the things she had longed to learn of pola. her name--why she hadn't even found out her name! what had her teacher said of that theme she had written on her visit to the romley house? where did pola live? of course she might see her again--pola had said that they'd be in provincetown for a few days, but she did not want to see her; she did not want pola to see sunset lane and the little gray cottage and aunt achsa and lavender. pola would laugh at them and she would hate her!
-at that moment footsteps crunched the gravel of the path and a shadow fell across the kitchen door. sidney turned from the table. there stood mr. dugald and with him--pola.
-"i've brought my cousin, sidney. she blew out to the cape with that ill-wind we felt this morning. if you know what we can do with her i'll be your slave for life."
-playfully pushing dugald allan aside pola walked into the kitchen.
-"isn't he horrid? you wouldn't dream that he's really crazy about me, would you? i told him how we'd met, even before this morning. he'd written home that miss green's cousin was here but i never dreamed it was you. i'm so sorry i didn't have a chance to introduce you to mother this morning. but mother wants me to take you back to the hotel. you can have a room right next to mine and we'll have scads of fun--you'll come, won't you?" for sidney's face was unyielding.
-like one cornered, sidney stood straight against the table, her hands, red from the hot dish water, clasped tightly behind her back. though she knew that pola was trying to make amends for her rudeness of the morning, something within her heart turned hard. the dusty idol was crumbling to bits of clay.
-"she's only inviting me because mr. dugald has told her to," she reasoned inwardly. and aloud she answered in a steady voice:
-"i'm sorry, but i simply can't leave aunt achsa. you must come here and we'll find lots of jolly things to do--"
-"here?" laughed pola, glancing around the old kitchen.
-"why not here?" roared mr. dugald. "as long as you've broken into our secret garden we'll introduce you to some things you've never done before in your life. only sid will have to find some suitable clothes for you, and you'd better leave your complexion on the dressing table."
-pola accepted his banter good-naturedly. "i shall be deeply grateful, old dear, if you will introduce me to any sensations i have not experienced before. there, now, will that hold you for awhile?" she turned to sidney. "we quarrel like this all the time, but it's fun and i always have the last word. i make him so mad he can't think of anything withering enough to say and i seize that strategic moment to cease firing. you see, i practice on dug. i will come tomorrow if i may. now, duggie dear, lead me out of this funny lane or else i'll never find my way back to mamma. goodby, miss romley."
-behind pola's back mr. dugald cast such a despairing, apologetic and altogether furious look toward sidney as to make sidney suddenly laugh. and with her laugh all her sense of dismay and humiliation vanished. she forgot her red hands and the big gingham apron and the dishes spread about her in her amusement over pola's pathetic attempt to be very grown-up and sophisticated. and so ill-bred! how ashamed mr. dugald had been of her!
-then a thought struck sidney with such force that she sat down in the nearest chair. why, if mr. dugald was pola's own cousin, belonged to the grandeur that was pola's, he would never be attracted by poor, plain trude. her beautiful hopes were shattered! she felt distinctly aggrieved.
-however, there was vick. sidney hated to give mr. dugald to vick, who always got everything, yet it seemed the only thing to do if any of the sisters were to have him. almost sadly she went to her room, opened her satchel and took from it a small framed photograph of victoria, a photograph which, while it did not flatter victoria, paid full justice to her enticing beauty. considering it, sidney reflected on how lucky it was that at the last moment she had put the pictures of her sisters into her baggage. then she carried it to the kitchen and stood it on the narrow mantel next to the clock where mr. dugald's eyes must surely find it. unlike the snapshot of trude the picture remained there undisturbed.
-early the next day pola appeared with mr. dugald in sunset lane in a simple garb that must have satisfied even her exacting cousin. her mood was in accord with her attire as though she had left her sophistication behind with her silks and her rouge. she declared she felt as "peppy as they make them" and ready to do anything anyone suggested. and mr. dugald, resigned to wasting two weeks to entertaining his young cousin, of whom he was really very fond, promptly offered an astonishing assortment of suggestions from which he commanded the girls to choose.
-"why, you wouldn't believe there were so many things to do!" cried pola with real enthusiasm. "sidney, you'll have to decide." and sidney at once decided upon a tramp to peaked hill on the ocean side with an early picnic supper.
-in the days that followed, sidney's first admiration for pola returned. though pola would never again be the idol she was much more enjoyable as a chum. her spirits, though an affectation, were infectious and gay; in her pretty clothes and with her pretty face she made sidney think of a butterfly, a fragile, golden-winged, dainty flitting butterfly. she professed to enjoy everything they did--even to the picnics. she tramped endlessly in her unsuitable shoes without a murmur of fatigue and sidney suspected that she really did care a great deal for her cousin dugald's approval.
-with mr. dugald they motored to highland light and to chatham. they toured the shops at hyannis. they sailed with captain hawkes on the mabel t. they rose very early one morning and went to the coast guard station to watch the drill and then ate ham and eggs with commander nelson. more than once sidney donned the cherry crêpe de chine and dined with mrs. allan and pola and dugald at the hotel, feeling very grand and traveled.
-but to sidney's deep regret pola professed an abhorrence of swimming.
-"just please don't ask me," she had begged, shuddering. "i loathe it! it's one of my complexes. of course i've gone swimming in almost every body of water on the globe, but i hate it. you'll spoil my fun utterly if you even try to make me!" after that sidney could not urge. she did not know what complexes were, but pola had made them sound real and convincing and a little delicate. though sidney missed the jolly swims with lavender and mart she refrained from even a hint of her feelings.
-often when they were together pola waxed confidential over her cousin. "he's a thorn in aunt lucy's side," she explained one day as the girls lounged in pola's room at the hotel, a huge box of candy on a stool between them. "she always wants him to go in for society and to go abroad with her and do all the fashionable resorts on the continent, but couldn't you see him? not for duggie boy, ever! when she starts planning something like that he bolts off somewhere and the next thing you hear is that he's painted a wonderful picture and sold it or had first mention or a gold medal. of course that makes him terribly interesting and there are dozens of single ladies from forty to fourteen itching to catch him. and dug's such a simple old dear that he doesn't know it. but his mother does and she has them all sorted over and the eligible ones ticketed. you see dug will be dreadfully rich some day and goodness knows what he'll do with the money for he hasn't the brains of a child where business is concerned. his father's even richer than dad."
-sidney literally blinked before the picture pola drew--blinked and blushed that she had dared angle for mr. dugald herself like the forty-to-fourteen single ladies. mr. dugald belonged to a world that was foreign to the romley girls, pola's dazzling, peacock-world.
-sidney felt immensely flattered that pola had taken her in among her peacocks. (secretly, too, she considered that she carried herself well among them. she was most careful of her dress, now!) she did not know that pola's sort instinctively seeks out someone to dazzle, that pola's generosity was a part of the dazzling process. she thought pola wonderful to accept so casually her gilded privileges. why, if pola didn't like a dress or a hat or a pair of shoes she simply didn't wear it; she could buy anything she wanted from any one of the priceless bits of jewelry in the shops at hyannis to the delectable sweets in the tea-rooms on commercial street. she could do just as she pleased--even more than mart, for she never had to darn or mend or wipe dishes or dust or hang up her clothes or brush them. realizing all this sidney came to forgive that first condescension that had stung; she thought pola little short of an angel to be so prettily friendly with them all.
-so engrossed was sidney in basking in pola's favor that for a time she felt no compunctions at deserting mart and lavender; in fact she did not even think of them. both mart and lavender had become suddenly very busy with affairs that kept them out of sight. if, once in awhile, sidney wondered what they were doing something of pola's or something pola said quickly crowded the thought from her head. but one afternoon they encountered mart as they strolled toward the green lantern to sit under its gay awnings and drink tea. sidney introduced mart to pola and to cover pola's rude stare she added quickly: "we're going down to the green lantern, mart. won't you come with us?" conscious as she said it that her voice sounded stilted.
-"no, thanks. i'm going to do something lots more exciting than sitting there! and i'm in a hurry, too." and with that mart swung on past them, her head high.
-sidney had a moment's longing to run after her and coax her to come, but pola's light giggle checked her. "isn't she a riot? i'd have died if she'd come with us!"
-"oh, pola--she'll hear you!" pleaded sidney.
-she hated herself because she did not tell pola at once how bravely mart shouldered her responsibilities, about gran'ma, who looked to mart for everything. instead she simply walked along with pola and let pola giggle. pola, sensing sidney's feelings, slipped her arm through hers and gave it an affectionate little squeeze.
-"you're such a funny child," she said softly. "you'd be nice to anything. i can't, of course, for i go around to so many places and mother's warned me often about strangers. anyway, it's lots nicer for just us two to be together, isn't it?"
-but in spite of pola's soft flattery and countless lumps of sugar the tea tasted bitter to sidney and the green lantern, with its futurist awnings, its bizarre hangings and cushions, had no allure. the thought came suddenly to sidney that it had been a whole week since she had even seen mart; in that time she had scarcely exchanged more than a half dozen words with lavender.
-to the tune of pola's ceaseless chatter sidney's thoughts kept darting back to that uncomfortable fact. pola always talked of things she had done at home, abroad, at school, of her boy friends whom she called "men." she liked to hint of countless "affairs" which simply must not come to her mother's attention, assuring sidney that she was absolutely the only one to whom she confided these deep intrigues. she had worn guy townsend's fraternity pin the whole winter before and not a soul had known whose pin it was for guy was tabooed by mothers in general and mrs. allan in particular. now pola was simply crazy over a jack sicard who was playing the lead in "hearts aquiver." but not even jack's manly beauty, as described by pola, failed to draw from sidney more than a mild: "he must be cute." pola gave way to vexation.
-"you're scarcely listening to me, sidney romley, when i'm telling you things i haven't told a soul! i believe you're still thinking of that ridiculous girl we met."
-"she isn't ridiculous!" sidney was prompt enough now in mart's defense. "she looks funny, but you see i've gotten well acquainted with her and she's awfully nice."
-"oh, nice, of course! but anyone can be nice! you know perfectly well, sidney, that there's as much class in this country as there is in europe and being nice does not break down social barriers."
-sidney had no answer ready for this. curiously into her mind flashed what mr. dugald had said about the solid aristocracy. but somehow she knew pola would not understand this. pola went on:
-"i'm a dreadful little snob, anyway. but i suppose that is the result of my education. it would be funny to go to the most expensive schools and have all the culture that europe can offer and not be a snob."
-pola mistook sidney's silence for hurt. "you goose, i'm not saying i think i'm any better than you are! but you must see that neither of us are a bit like that native girl!" which admission pola considered most generous.
-"i wasn't thinking about whether you are any better than i am or not. i've been brought up, you see," with a rueful laugh, "to believe that my father being a poet set me a little apart from everyone else. and i've hated it. what i was thinking was that there really isn't any class difference in people--except what we make ourselves, like the league building a barrier around me and you thinking you're in another class from mart because you're rich. maybe it isn't really the outside things that count, maybe it's the big things we have got or haven't got inside us--"
-"like what?" demanded pola.
-sidney was thinking of lav's self-effacing ambition to serve the world from the seclusion of a laboratory, of mart's cheerfulness in the face of her lot and her loyal affection for her exacting and rheumatic grandmother; of the courage of mart's grandfather, ambrose calkins, who had lost his own life in going back to his sinking schooner for the cook who could not swim; of her own ancestor, priscilla ellis. those were the things which set people apart from their fellows, sidney thought, but the understanding was too new in her own heart for her to find words in which she could tell pola of it. "like what?" pola demanded again and this time her voice was a little haughty.
-"oh, dug!" laughed pola. "he's nutty about all that! look at the way he lives here on the cape. but mother says he'll get over it when he marries. now i have no intention of getting serious this grand day so let's have another piece of that chocolate fudge cake--it's on me, too, remember!" which was pola's pretty way of pretending she did not know that sidney did not have any money with her. the dollar sidney had earned for posing had long since been spent.
-sidney was relieved that pola had rescued her from the "deep water." at the same time she suffered from the sense that she had not made pola see mart in another light. she had failed in loyalty. the sparkling blue of the bay that stretched before them only reminded her that this was the hour she usually went swimming. due to pola's "complex" she had not gone swimming for a whole week.
-even with her mouth full of the fudge cake, she vowed to herself that the very next day she would hunt out her chums and her old pastimes. pola and mr. dugald must plan without her!
-she had promised to dine again at the hotel with pola and her mother but as soon as she could after dinner she returned to sunset lane. because of her determination her heart was lighter. and her way was made easier, too, for mrs. allan had told pola at dinner that the "truxtons were at chatham bars." pola had been as excited over the truxtons as her mother.
-"can we go and see them right away?"
-"not tonight. but i have arranged for a car and shields will drive us over tomorrow. we can stay there for a few days. i shall welcome the change for this place has been very stupid for me, my dear."
-"poor mamma! i've been selfish. it'll be a lark seeing cora truxton again!" pola had explained to sidney: "we met the truxtons at nice. cora and millicent are both older, but they're the cutest girls. will we go in the morning, mamma?"
-pola's manner had indicated that the coming of the truxtons into their plans raised a barrier that now excluded sidney. throughout the dinner she had talked exclusively of the trip on the morrow and the renewing of that acquaintance that had begun in nice. but sidney felt nothing but a sense of escape.
-she found aunt achsa alone in the cottage on sunset lane. she was sitting on the doorstep, "coolin' off." sidney sat down beside her.
-"where's lavender?" she asked, wishing lavender was at home that she might begin her "making up" at once.
-"don't know. and i wish i did. don't know what's gotten into that boy. i'm as worried as can be."
-"about lav? oh, what's the matter?" for aunt achsa was close to tears. something must have happened to break her habitual optimism.
-"he's acted so queer like lately. cal'late you'd of noticed it if you hadn't been off so much with mr. dugald's folks. i thought it might a' been his stomach and i put a powder into his coffee, but he ain't been a mite different--"
-"but what does he do, aunt achsa? he looks all right--"
-now aunt achsa hesitated. one tear separated itself from its fellows and rolled down her withered cheek and dropped upon her withered hand. she looked at it, startled, then lifted her hand and dashed it across her eyes.
-"aunt achsa, lavender is wonderful. he's talked to me a lot and he's going to be a great man some day, i know. he has the grandest plans shut away in his heart and he is happy--"
-aunt achsa looked at her, startled. "plans--how can he when he's--" she bit off the words. her lips trembled.
-"aunt achsa, it doesn't matter what one's like on the outside!" now sidney floundered for the second time in one day under the pressure of her own thoughts. "i mean--lav can do anything he wants to do, anyway. and he's working hard reading and studying and some day, after awhile, he'll go away somewhere and study more--"
-"sidney romley, you're crazy!" cried aunt achsa, in a quavering voice. "go away! how can he go away when we ain't even the money to go 'sfar as orleans. and he ain't plannin' to go on anyone's charity!"
-"oh, i don't mean he's going away soon! i shouldn't have told anyway for lav told me as a secret. but i thought maybe it would make you happier knowing he had great ambitions. and he'll tell you sometime himself."
-when aunt achsa spoke it was in a thin, grieved voice.
-"it's what i didn't want him to ever take into his head. goin' off somewhere--alone. for i'm too old to go with him and he'll need me!"
-"oh i wouldn't have told you if i'd thought it would make you unhappy. he won't go for a long time, aunt achsa. and when he does he'll come back real often."
-now aunt achsa sat so still that sidney thought she had consoled her. but aunt achsa was facing in her own way this at which sidney had hinted, drawing for it from that courage of hers that had not yet been exhausted. well, if it was best for lavender some day to go away she'd send him away with a smile even though the heart that had taken him, a wee baby, from the dying mother did burst with loneliness. besides, even if lavender went away she could go on praying to the lord to keep him "happy"--no distance could keep her from doing that!
-"it's like as not his plans in his head that's makin' him act so quiet like and short-spoken. and last night he didn't sleep in his bed at all!"
-"why, aunt achsa, where was he?" gasped sidney, really startled.
-"i don't know, dearie. he used to take to spells like that when he was little. but lately he's got over them. i followed him once and i found him out in the sand dunes lying flat on his face cryin' awful--out loud and beatin' his arms. i let him be. i stole home and i never let on i knew. when he came back all white lookin' i had a nice cake ready--roll jell, his favorite."
-"do--do you think he was out in the sand dunes--last night?"
-"i don't know. he come in about nine o'clock, awful quiet and i didn't ask him anything, but i just set his breakfast before him as though the morning wa'n't half over. and then he went off again and i ain't seen him sense. i thought mebbe it was these folks of mr. dugald's--"
-"what do you mean, aunt achsa?" but sidney knew what she meant.
-"like as not lav's plain jealous. mr. dugald hasn't had any time for anything but toting this pola round everywhere and lav notices it. he hasn't any right to be jealous as i can see for miss pola is mr. dugald's own cousin, but lav thinks the sun rises and sets in mr. dugald. and like as not he misses you--"
-"i've missed lav dreadfully. i didn't know how much i missed him and mart until today when it came over me suddenly that the things i was doing with pola weren't really much fun--just at first they were because they were different. i'm afraid, aunt achsa, that i love different things! but tomorrow i am going to play all day long with lav and mart, see if i don't. i can't wait for tomorrow to come!"
-sidney found it a little difficult to take up the fun with her erstwhile chums where she had left off. when she stopped at the calkins' house directly after breakfast, mart coolly declined to go anywhere with her, and smiled scornfully at her bare legs.
-"i s'pose your million-dollar friend is otherwise engaged today!"
-sidney truthfully admitted that she was. "she's gone to chatham with her mother to see some people they know. and i'm glad. i've been just dying for a good swim. let's go out to the arabella this morning."
-but mart declared she was tired of all that. in fact she was tired of doing lots of the silly things they'd been doing. she'd promised gert bartow to go there right after lunch.
-as she wandered slowly toward the town sidney wondered what mart and gert bartow were going to do. gert bartow was a girl of nineteen at least, and much more grown up than even that. mart had pointed her out to sidney. sidney wished mart had asked her to go with her to gert's. she felt very lonely.
-perhaps she had spoiled everything. pola would come back, of course, but, somehow, pola's glamour had faded. after all, what, besides tons of candy and quarts of sweet mixtures and much glitter, had there been to it? the sweets and the glitter and pola's endless confidences of "men" had left sidney jaded and bored, though she did not know it; she did know that she was suddenly lonely for mart and lav and the stimulating pastimes they seemed to find always right at hand.
-as she approached rockman's, wandering there from force of habit, she saw lav pushing off in a dory. she ran down the wharf, hailing him.
-"oh, lav, take me with you!" she pleaded, breathlessly.
-he hesitated a moment before he swung the dory back to the wharf. something of the look mart had given her flashed into his eyes.
-then: "come on if y'want to," he answered ungraciously.
-as she sat down in the bow of the boat sidney wanted to cry more than anything else, but lav's dark face suddenly reminded her of what aunt achsa had told her. perhaps he had been out in the sand dunes last night, lying on his face, sobbing aloud! she began chattering with resolute cheerfulness.
-"isn't it hot this morning, lav? where are you going?" lav answered shortly that he was going out to the arabella. sidney noticed a book in his pocket, but said nothing. she ventured other remarks concerning the activities in the bay to which lavender answered in monosyllables, if at all.
-"oh, look, the puritan's in, lav!" and even to this lavender only grunted: "it's been in two days!"
-by the time they reached the arabella sidney's remorse was yielding to a spark of indignation. lav needn't be quite so mad for, after all, it had been his own precious mr. dugald who had thrown her and pola so constantly together! and if lav had not hidden himself away he most certainly would have been included in all the plans. it was not fair in lav to act so cross.
-"i know you came out to read, lav, and i've some thinking to do, so i'm going up in the bow and leave you quite to yourself," sidney said as they boarded the arabella, and if in her tone there was something of mart's tartness, it may be forgiven for sidney had been punished enough.
-"i don't care if you hang 'round," lav conceded. "it's too hot to read, anyways. i thought maybe there'd be a breeze out here. what's that?" for he had suddenly spied an object lying on the deck close to the rail as though it had dropped there from someone's pocket.
-at almost the same moment sidney spied it, too. both darted for it. lavender reached it first and picked it up and examined it with frowning eyes.
-"it's a knife!" cried sidney, at his elbow.
-"sure it's a knife. anybody can see that. what i want to know--"
-"let me look at it. isn't it mr. dugald's?"
-"no, it isn't mr. dugald's. he hasn't been out here for a week. and that knife wasn't here yesterday for i'd a' seen it."
-"let me look at it, lav," pleaded sidney, for lav, a curious expression on his face, had covered the knife with his hand.
-"it's funny, that's all i got to say. i mean--how it come here."
-"lavender green, show me that knife this minute! you act so mysterious and i have a right to know why."
-slowly lavender placed the knife in sidney's eager hands. it was an ordinary case knife such as the fishermen carried, but lavender pointed to two initials that had been carved on the case.
-"j.s." repeated sidney; then she cried: "why--j.s.! that's jed starrow!"
-"sure it's jed starrow!"
-"but how did it get on the arabella?"
-"that's what i'd like to know."
-"he's been on the arabella, lav!"
-"or someone of his gang."
-"isn't that funny? what would he come here for?"
-lavender was silent. and sidney, staring at him as though to read from his face some explanation, suddenly fell silent, too. the secret that cap'n davies had laid upon her weighed heavily. she wished she could tell.
-"sid, i haven't played square," lavender suddenly blurted out, flushing. "we promised to tell one another if any one of us found out anything and i did--and i didn't tell!"
-lavender's admission faded beside the fact that he knew something.
-"oh, what?" sidney cried.
-"i wasn't going to tell you. i thought you didn't care anything about the pirates any more. and the laugh's sort o' on me, anyway, because i thought we were all crazy to suspect jed starrow."
-"tell me quick, lav," commanded sidney, quivering with excitement.
-lav leaned against the rail. to tell his story meant confessing his state of mind.
-"i guess i've been sore because you and mr. dugald fooled 'round with those new folks. jealous. i get that way lots of times--all hot inside because i'm different. and i go off somewhere alone and stay there until i fight it down."
-"one night i did. stayed there all night. but one evening i went out on the breakwall. there's a place out there where the rocks are piled so's to make a cave. i used to play there a lot when i was a little kid. i crawled into it. and i hadn't been there very long when i heard somebody talking--two men. they were up close so's i heard everything they said."
-"and what did they say, lav? oh, tell me quick!"
-"i could only get scraps of it. i didn't dare look, i didn't dare move. but one fellow called the other jed. i heard 'em say something about 'risk' and a 'stranger from boston asking too many questions 'round rockman's to be healthy,' and jed starrow--i'm dead sure it was his voice--said, sort of blustering like, 'let them search the puritan! they won't find anything on her now!' and the other fellow answered him: 'there's too much in this, jed, to take any chances.' that's what they said, sid, and then they went on."
-"oh, lav, they're pirates!"
-"well, not exactly pirates, but they're up to something that's sure. maybe they're rum-runners. there's a lot of that going on. i thought you were crazy, but i guess you weren't."
-sidney's lips trembled with eagerness. as long as lavender knew what he knew she felt that she would be justified in telling him what cap'n davies had told her.
-"it isn't rum--lav," she whispered, "it's diamonds!"
-"diamonds! oh, go on, where did you get that stuff?"
-"sid, five thousand dollars!" lavender whistled.
-"if someone 'round here's doing it cap'n davies wants to catch him himself. he says he doesn't want the reward but he wants to punish the man who's hurting the honest name of this part of cape cod. i think that's a grand spirit."
-lavender's shoulders lifted. why couldn't someone else save the fair name of cape cod--someone like a crippled boy whom most of the towns-people looked upon as a loafer?
-"i'd like to catch 'em, myself," he said slowly in such a low voice that sidney barely caught the words.
-"oh, lav, why not? we have as good a chance as anyone, knowing as much as we do. what'll we do first?" for sidney was ready for adventure.
-suddenly lavender realized that he was gripping the knife in his hand. he looked down at it.
-"what we ought to do first is to find out how this knife got here. let's put it where we found it and go back around the other side of that schooner so's no one on the puritan'll see us. then we can come out late this afternoon and if it's gone--well, we'll know someone came to look for it!"
-"and then we'd know for sure that someone had been on the arabella."
-"that's the idea. you get on quickly for a girl, sid. come on, now, we'll pull the dory round to the starboard side."
-sidney caught herself tiptoeing across the deck of the arabella. in her excitement she scarcely breathed. every move, every act, was fraught with significance. lavender took the precaution to beach the dory at an abandoned wharf near sunset lane.
-"just as well not to show ourselves 'round rockman's."
-"when can we go out to the arabella?"
-"not 'till four o'clock. we can go out to swim just like we always do. even if they see us they won't think it's funny for us to do that. they'd think it funnier if we didn't."
-sidney admitted the truth of this, but wondered how she could live until four o'clock!
-as they walked up sunset lane sidney reminded lavender that, because of their promise, they ought to tell mart. but when they stopped at the calkins' house they found that mart had already gone to gert bartow's.
-"oh, dear," sighed sidney, with an added pang of remorse.
-at four o'clock sidney and lavender went out to the arabella to swim as they had done always before pola's coming. except for a brightness in sidney's eyes, an alertness about her whole body, and the occasional significant glances that passed between them they both appeared quite normal. lav talked casually of the heat of the day.
-"gee, the water'll feel great. this is the hottest day we've had yet."
-"i can't wait to get in." most certainly jed starrow, had he been listening, could not have guessed how closely nemesis pressed upon his heels!
-lavender pulled up alongside of the arabella and deliberately made the boat fast.
-"we got to act as though we haven't found the knife, y'see," he warned. "as though we were going just swimming."
-in her eagerness to board the arabella sidney stumbled. lavender had to clutch her to keep her from tumbling into the water.
-"oh!" they both cried in one sound as they clambered to the deck--for the knife was gone!
-"well, that means they'd been on the arabella. jed starrow dropped that knife and he missed it and came back to look for it!"
-"lav, i believe they've hidden their treasure on the arabella!" sidney still reverted to the more romantic terms of buccaneering. "let's look for it now!"
-"with 'em watching maybe from the puritan? i guess not. we got to go ahead and swim the way we always do, sid. don't let's even appear to be talking about anything. come on, i'll beat you in!"
-for the space of the few minutes while the water closed about her with delicious coolness sidney forgot everything in an intoxication of delight. presently she came back to the arabella and climbed aboard with a sigh of utter content. "thank goodness i haven't any complexes," she laughed, shaking the salt drops from her bobbed head. "and now what?"
-lavender pulled on the light sweater he had worn over his bathing suit.
-"when it gets dark i'm coming out to the arabella and stay all night. maybe they'll come back and i'll find out why. that fellow said something 'bout rockman's not being safe. they'll learn the arabella isn't safe either!"
-"but lav, i'm coming with you!"
-"you can't. and this isn't any work for a girl to get mixed up in."
-sidney drew herself to her full height.
-"lavender green, if you think you're going to lose me now you're mistaken. i guess we went into this in a sort of partnership and it's going to hold. i found out just as much as you did! and if you come out to the arabella, i'm coming, and mart, too, if she's home."
-lav still hesitated.
-"aunt achsa won't let you. how'd you get away?"
-this staggered sidney for a moment, then she thought of a "way." this was wednesday night and miss letty had said that on wednesday night she was going to drive to truro and that sidney might go with her. from truro miss letty was going on to wellfleet. aunt achsa would think sidney wanted to see cap'n davies again. she explained all this breathlessly to lavender. "this is important enough to warrant a fib. and when it's all over aunt achsa will understand. let's go home now and find mart."
-unwillingly lavender conceded sidney's right to share with him his night's vigil at any cost. again they beached the dory near sunset lane.
-now they found mart at home. sidney put her head in the door, made certain that gran'ma was not in hearing, and cried "hook!"
-mart had only to look once at sidney's face to know that something had happened. sidney dragged her out to the lane and there she and lavender, in words as quick as pistol shots, told the story.
-"meet us down on the beach near milligan's at eight o'clock," lav whispered, as they parted.
-exactly at the appointed hour sidney met lavender on the beach. she was breathless and a little worried for it had been neither easy nor to her liking to deceive aunt achsa. aunt achsa had declared that a storm was "comin'" for she could smell it in the air and tillie higgins had seen sam doolittle start for the backside with his pike pole and that meant a blow for sam didn't waste steps. "'tisn't likely letty vine'll go to truro tonight."
-"but i'll see if she's going, anyway," sidney had cried and had raced off, a sweater over her arm.
-"i wish i could tell her how very important it is and then she'd understand, but i can't for maybe she wouldn't understand," sidney thought as she hurried to the rendezvous.
-"gee, how'd you ever get away?" asked lav, admiringly, but sidney had no opportunity to explain for at that moment mart joined them, eager and excited.
-"i put some cookies in my pocket," she exclaimed. "you can't tell what'll happen."
-"good. and i've got matches."
-sidney wished she had thought of something to bring. lav went on:
-"it isn't dark enough to go out yet. we got to be awful careful. you girls sort o' walk up the beach as though we weren't all together."
-lavender was actually pale and his eyes burned fiercely. sidney looked at him admiringly. she knew he was not thinking of the reward but of the fair name of the cape.
-obediently the girls strolled up the beach. and, as they turned, a voice hailed them. to their consternation pola came flying toward them.
-at sight of her sidney bit her lips with vexation. she gave a sidewise glance at mart and saw mart's chin set stubbornly.
-"sidney--wait a minute!" pola called and sidney could do nothing but wait until pola came up to them.
-"i thought you were going to stay in chatham tonight."
-"i should say not!" pola had enough breath to make her answer expressive. "i was never so bored in my life. those truxton girls are stupid. and i kept wondering what you were doing. i coaxed mother to let shields bring me back and she said she would provided i came and stayed with you tonight. can you squeeze me in? dug will give me his room, i know."
-sidney cast a wild glance toward mart. she started to answer, then stopped. pola looked from her to mart and back again to sidney.
-"what's the mystery? if you don't want me i'll go to the hotel."
-"oh, pola, it isn't that. it's--it's--"
-the girls turned slowly and walked toward lav and the dory, pola between them.
-"it isn't any fun," sidney explained slowly. "it's something serious--and--and dangerous. and you'll have to ask mart and lav if you can come with us."
-"you'll let me go, won't you, mart?" pola begged with friendly entreaty, forgetting she had ever thought mart a riot.
-sidney introduced pola to lavender and turned away that she might not see the pain that flashed across lavender's face.
-"pola came back to stay all night with me. she wants to go with us and if she doesn't i guess i'll have to go back home."
-"i'll do anything you say," promised pola. "i'm so curious that i'm fairly bursting."
-"i don't care, but you'll have to take off your shoes and stockings," muttered lav, scarcely looking at pola.
-"oh, i'll do that! i'll do anything!" pola flopped upon the beach and commenced removing her sport shoes. "and i won't even ask any questions until you're ready to tell me." rising, her small feet pink against the sand, she saluted lav with mock solemnity.
-"there, captain lavender green, i'm at your command."
-her pretty acquiescence won the girls at once. if any doubt assailed them as to the prudence of letting pola go, their admiration for pola's gameness stilled it. sidney rolled pola's shoes and stockings and her own in her sweater and hid them behind some logs. then the little party waded out to the dory and embarked.
-"we're going to the arabella," sidney whispered to pola. she felt pola shiver, but the girl made no protest. "we have to go 'round this way so's no one can see us from the harbor. sh--h!"
-silently they boarded the old hull, lavender last. with the line from the dory in his hand the boy considered.
-"if anyone comes up and sees the dory they'll know someone's aboard."
-"that's true. what'll we do?" whispered sidney, anxiously.
-"we can set her adrift. it's an old tub anyway."
-"but how'll we get ashore?"
-"the tide'll be out towards morning."
-"you mean swim?" cried pola. "but i can't swim! i--i--"
-true, pola's complex! sidney hastened to reassure her.
-"when the tide's out it won't be over your head. and i'll help you."
-lavender had already let the line of the dory slip out of his hand. they saw the old boat become a shadowy outline as the tide carried it slowly away, then--nothing. pola caught sidney's hand and held it.
-"i'm not frightened--but it's so--spooky!"
-it had been decided that they should conceal themselves in the fo'castle cabin. they groped their way forward, sidney guiding pola in the dark, for lavender dared not light any of his matches. stumbling, scarcely breathing, they slipped down the companion ladder and crawled into the small, ill-ventilated cabin. sidney sat down upon some tarpaulins. pola crouched close to sidney's side. lav and mart stowed themselves upon one of the bunks.
-"there--now we'll wait!"
-"i--i wish i knew what for!" whispered pola. the smell of rank bilge water, the lift and drop of the boat sickened her. the wind was whining and that and the swish of the water against the sides of the boat terrified the girl.
-in a few short words lav vouchsafed pola a little information. like sidney he admired the girl's gameness though he was beginning to wish they had not let her come.
-"how long do you think we'll have to wait? and what if no one comes?"
-"we'll have to wait until most morning anyway before the tide is out. and if no one comes tonight we'll have to come out again, that's all. we're not in this business for any fun!"
-"oh--h!" sighed pola, clinging closer to sidney.
-the wind howled over their heads with increasing velocity and sidney thought involuntarily of the snugness of miss letty's buggy. miss letty was probably almost to truro now. and aunt achsa thought she was with her!
-"is--is the boat tied tight?" asked pola; and lav assured her that it was. "the wind could get a lot worse and you'd be as safe out here as in your bed at home."
-after a long while mart muttered, "what's that?" the others leaned forward in the blackness of the cabin. they had all felt rather than heard a soft thud as though something had touched the side of the boat. and in a few moments heavy footsteps came straight toward the fo'castle.
-"oh, will they come here?" breathed pola, shaking. and for answer sidney caught pola's arm with a warning clutch.
-for an instant it seemed that the footsteps must descend to the cabin. but at the companionway they halted. a voice came, heavy and thick.
-"i tell you it ain't safe to take it off now. they got a man on rockman's and another on teal's and no knowin' how many in the bay! every constable on the cape's here, damn them! and old davies's been 'round all day and he ain't rigged up for any picnic!"
-"if we don't take it off tonight lav green may find it--or that girl--"
-sidney, reaching her hand out instinctively, caught lavender's and held it tight. she felt the writhing of his body.
-a new voice broke in above them. "i got a better scheme. listen. we'll--" but the voices suddenly died to silence; the footsteps moved away.
-the four, huddled in the darkness of the cabin, drew long trembling breaths.
-"lav, those diamonds are on this boat!"
-"sh--h. i know it. but we got to be careful. they haven't gone yet. we got to wait. and we'll wait until we find 'em. damn them i'll show them who's crooked!"
-"hush," implored sidney. "of course you will"
-"isn't it most morning? i--i wish i was home," quavered pola; but no one paid any heed to her.
-with the howling of the wind, the slap-slap of the water, it was difficult to make out whether the men had left the boat or not. once lav crawled to the top of the companion ladder but a muttering like a human voice drove him back. queer sounds struck upon their sensitized ears. and the boat seemed to lift to a new motion.
-they waited for an interminable time. then mart spoke quickly.
-"lav, we're moving!"
-lav needed no warning. he, too, had missed the pull of the boat on the anchor rope. he shot up the ladder.
-"oh, what's the matter?" cried sidney and pola, forgetting all caution.
-mart had no time to explain her fears. in an instant lav was back, fairly throwing himself into the cabin.
-"we're drifting! they cut the anchor rope! we're drifting out! fast! way out! to sea!"
-that had been the "better scheme." to cut the arabella free from its mooring and let the wind and tide carry it out into the bay. at first starrow had not favored the plan; he had declared that it was too much risk, that the wind was shifting and freshening fast and that the old tub might open a seam, but joe josephs had convinced him with: "the arabella would be good for a week out in a nastier sea than this. it's safer than riskin' runnin' afoul one of phin davies' men ashore. guthrie's sally'll stand this squall and pick up the arabella easy and we can reckon sure on the course the old tub'll take, even 'lowin' for the wind to shift."
-as she comprehended what had happened pola screamed. mart and sidney dragged her with them up the ladder. lav was at the side of the boat tearing off his blouse.
-"oh, lav, what'll we do! what are you going to do now?" cried sidney.
-"it's so black," wailed pola. "i'm--sick!"
-"you shan't swim alone, lavender green. we'll all swim. that's nothing of a swim--"
-"you can't! you forget--pola."
-sidney wheeled in consternation. "pola's complex!" the girl was crouched, now, on the deck, an abject, wailing figure.
-"you go with lav, mart," said sidney in a quiet voice. "i'll stay with pola."
-"what do you think i am? i guess i'll stay with her too!"
-"but your grandmother--"
-"oh, gran'ma!" mart's voice choked. "but she'd be the one to tell me to stay--"
-"maybe it's too far for you to swim!" sidney was at lavender's side, her hands on his arm. the boy's form in its light underwear showed pitifully crooked but sidney saw him straight and she saw the gleam in his eyes. suddenly she remembered what vick had said so lightly about the grail. ah, she was seeing its gleam now, transcendently beautiful, in lav's eyes! she dropped her hold of his arm.
-"you see, i've got to try it, sid." and she understood. he went on: "i'll swim for the lighthouse. they can telephone from there to rockman's. you girls find a light and signal with it. don't lose your nerve, sid." he poised for an instant on the rail then plunged into the black water.
-"oh, lav," cried sidney. she leaned far over the side of the boat. she could see nothing but a crest of foam. "mart, he's--he's--drowned!"
-pola screamed again.
-"there's something wrong!"
-in the sunny embrasure of mrs. white's morning room trude romley sorted over the mail that pepper, the butler, had brought in. so gay and colorful was the room itself with its cretonnes, its soft tinted walls, its singing birds, in wicker cages, that it seemed a part of the fragrant garden that crowded close to the french windows. a tiny fountain splashed azure blue water over delicately sculptured nymphs; a flowering vine trailed around the windows.
-the mail arranged, trude sat back in the cushions of a great wicker chair and with a long breath of delight enjoyed the beauty around her. each day edgeacres enraptured her anew and roused in her a wonder as to why it should be her lot to be there. "it ought to be vick or issy," she would apologize to the nodding flowers or to mitie, the yellow warbler.
-and as might be expected trude had found innumerable ways of making herself useful to mrs. white as an expression of her gratitude. there were telephone calls she could answer, letters she could write, shopping she could do, ordering, she even conferred with old pepper and jonathan, the gardener. she drove with mrs. white in the afternoon and served tea to the callers who flocked to the house from the nearby summer hotels.
-"i do not know how i ever got along without you, my dear," mrs. white had said more than once. "what do you do to make yourself so invaluable? it seems as though just to look at you one leans on you! even pepper is saying 'miss trude thinks this and miss trude thinks that--'"
-her benevolent interest in her husband's wards, a certain pride in saying to her friends: "my husband, you know, is looking after the daughters of joseph romley, who was a college friend of his," had grown into a real fondness for trude. "i have never appreciated the dear girl when she's been with us before," she declared to her husband. "i suppose it was because we were in town, then, and i was too busy to get acquainted with her. why, she's really pretty. and she makes such a slave of herself to her sisters! she hasn't any life of her own. i don't believe they appreciate it, either. it's a shame she doesn't marry some nice young man--" mrs. white's kind always found virtue's reward in the proverbial "nice young man."
-mr. white agreed with her on every point but this. "if she deserted that household it would fall! she's the only one that isn't like her father."
-"then she must find someone who'll take the family with her," mrs. white asserted determinedly. but having no godmother's fairy wand she had not been able, during the summer weeks, to bring the prince to edgeacres; her husband's acquaintances were too bald and round to play the part of princes.
-trude had not minded the dearth of young men. since her unhappy experience on a former visit she was glad of that dearth. the serenity of the summer, the relaxation and rest from responsibilities had brought a lovely freshness to her face, a brightness to her eyes that was not all a reflection of the brightness about her. the sheer luxury of loafing, of not having to think out petty problems or worry one single minute was all her old-young heart now asked. once in awhile, of course, she fretted because isolde was not enjoying edgeacres with her, or getting to know how really nice aunt edith white was. where vick and sidney were concerned she had no remorse for vick was seeing new lands, doubtless conquering them, and sidney was happy at cape cod; but she could not help thinking that issy must be working too hard at the deerings--getting up early in the morning and typing all through the hot day and doubtless fussing over the housework and the small babies as well.
-trude thought of the mail. again there had been no letter from either issy or sidney! sidney really ought to write. perhaps it had not been wise to let her go off alone with relatives of whom they knew nothing!
-suddenly a postmark on one of the letters on the little table at her elbow caught her eye. provincetown. trude caught it up apprehensively. that letter might be from their cousin achsa! she turned it over and over, wishing she might open it.
-"good morning, my dear! i get up with the birds myself and find that you're up before me!"
-trude laughed, to cover her anxiety. "i told jonathan i'd inspect his new beds this morning."
-"there, didn't i say you were supplanting me in jonathan's esteem? but he only wants you to admire them and smile at him. he knows you know nothing about gardens, even though you are a very wise young woman! ah, the mail--is there anything there worth looking at before breakfast?"
-"two cards, three advertising envelopes and--and two personal letters." trude held out the two letters, her heart beating in her throat.
-mrs. white glanced at them indifferently. she turned one as though to tear open the envelope, then stopped to play with mitie. next she gave her attention to pepper who appeared in the door to summon her to breakfast. and all the time trude's eyes were beseeching her to open them--to open one of them quickly.
-trude followed her into the breakfast room and sat down across from her. after she had eaten her fruit mrs. white took up the envelope that was postmarked provincetown and studied it while trude waited.
-"why, that's from laura craig--a cousin of mine. i remember now she said she was going to study in a summer school on cape cod. i hope the girl's getting on. she's dependent upon her own labor." as she spoke she spread out the sheet. a sketch dropped to the table.
-trude drew a long breath. she had not known how worried she was. she wanted to laugh aloud now from sheer relief. because she had to do something she took up the sketch with a murmured: "may i?"
-"laura writes it's a little sketch she made in class. 'this will show you i am improving. it's from life. it will give you an idea of the delightful types we find around here, types that you will not find anywhere else. these are two little vagabonds whom you see almost anytime on the beach or around the wharves--as wild and free and beautiful as the seagulls--'"
-mrs. white looked up from the letter to take the sketch and exclaimed aloud at trude's face. it had gone deathly white.
-"my dear, what is it?"
-for a moment trude could not answer. she was staring at the sketch as though she could not take her eyes from it.
-"read that again! these are types--you find these girls any time on the wharves--wild--vagabonds! oh, aunt edith that's--that's--sidney!"
-"why, it can't be, trude. you said--"
-trude shook her head. "i can't help what i said. it's sidney. i--know. the likeness is true--there can't be anyone else who looks like sidney! but she's barefooted--and--and so--slovenly--and--her hair! she's cut her beautiful hair!"
-mrs. white took the sketch forcibly from trude. she frowned over it. one of the girls certainly did look like sidney as she remembered the child from their one meeting.
-"how do you explain it, trude?"
-trude sighed heavily. "i can't explain it. there's something wrong somewhere. and it's my fault, aunt edith. i--i consented--we all consented to let sidney go off down there just so that we could go ahead with our own plans. but we thought--we felt certain that these cousins were very nice--i--i mean had a lovely home and were rich so that sidney might get something out of her visit that she couldn't get at home. it sounds shameful to say it."
-"i understand, my dear. but what made you think so?"
-"the--the letter this cousin achsa wrote. it was a very nice letter!"
-"well, i have always thought you could judge anyone's character and background by a letter. there must be something wrong. this girl--" pointing to the sketch, "is positively shocking! at least she would be around here."
-"i remember now something sidney said--when she was begging us to let her go away. 'i want to be different! i want to go somewhere where i won't be joseph romley's daughter. i want adventure and to do exciting things--' those were her very words! i didn't take them seriously then, but, oh, aunt edith, perhaps she meant them more than we guessed!" poor trude rose quickly to her feet. "aunt edith, i simply must go to provincetown at once. may i ask pepper to find out about trains? you'll--you'll understand, won't you? i can't be happy one minute until i see the child. i feel that it's all my fault."
-mrs. white was all concern. she summoned pepper and instructed him to find out the first train; she sent her maid to trude's room to pack her clothes. and last she wrote a generous check.
-"you may need it, my dear. it is nothing. don't thank me. i wish i could do more. somehow your shoulders seem too young to carry so much responsibility!"
-so on the selfsame day that sidney and the others set out upon their adventure trude was journeying to cape cod. she missed connections at boston and hired an automobile to take her to provincetown, in her heart thanking mrs. white for the check that made this possible. two blow-outs delayed her journey so that it was midnight when she reached her destination. she could scarcely hunt out the greens and sidney at that hour. she took a room at the hotel for the night and sat for a while at its window straining her eyes out into the darkness. the howling of the wind intensified her apprehension; somewhere out in that strange blackness that enwrapped her was her little sister. perhaps sidney needed her that very moment!
-"what the night held"
-"oh--h, take me back to the cabin!" moaned pola.
-"i guess we might as well," muttered mart. their matches had been long since exhausted; they had been of little avail for the one ship's light on the boat was without oil.
-one on each side of her, mart and sidney helped pola down into the cabin. the boat was rolling heavily now in the rough sea, each lift and drop sending terror to the three young hearts. in the blackness of the night the waves looked mountain high. even mart was glad to shut them from view.
-"if--if we're going to drown i'd rather drown in--a--room," gasped pola, clinging to sidney and burying her face in sidney's shoulder.
-it seemed to the girls as though months had passed since lav had plunged to what they felt certain was his death. the arabella had tossed about on the roughening water like some wild thing, her old timbers creaking and groaning under their new living. just at first sidney and mart had been too concerned in quieting the panic-stricken pola to face their danger; not until pola had exhausted herself did they think of their possible fate.
-unless lav succeeded in reaching the beach and giving an alarm, they might toss about for days or be dashed to pieces on some reef. or, worse fate, jed starrow and his gang might find the boat and--
-"wh-at are you thinking about, mart?" whispered sidney after a long time of silence, broken only by the howling of the wind and the pounding of the water. "let's talk--and then we can't hear--"
-"don't be afraid, sidney," mart spoke calmly. "you sort o' belong to the cape and we cape folks don't think anything of drowning. we sort of expect to, sometime--" but here her voice broke with a tremble. "i--i was thinking of gran'ma. i wish i'd been better to her. i talk back to her lots of times when i shouldn't."
-"honest, sid, was your father a poet? and you can write it yourself? gee," softly. "i wish i could do something like that. i'd rather be like that than anything else. i just pretend that i hate school and books and such things--it's because i had to stop going to school to stay with gran'ma that i've put on that i didn't have any use for it. even when i was sort of laughing at you, sid, down in my heart i was feeling aw'fly proud that you'd want to fool 'round with anyone like me--i'll always be proud."
-"oh, mart--" sidney faltered. "i wish i could put into words what mr. dugald taught me when i first came here. that it's the big inside things that really count. he told me so's i'd see aunt achsa and lav as they really are. and, mart, your giving up school to take care of your grandmother is a big thing, a real thing! you don't want to forget it."
-"oh, i'm--i'm--sick!" broke in pola.
-"sit up straight and talk and you won't think about it," commanded mart, so sternly that pola straightened, her white face wan in the darkness.
-"i don't see how you can talk when you're--may be--going--to die!"
-"well, talking helps you more than crying."
-"but i--i don't want to--die."
-"who does?" retorted mart roughly. nevertheless, touched by pola's helplessness, she found pola's hand and held it close in hers. "but let's face whatever happens with our heads up!"
-"to the wind," breathed sidney, shivering.
-"i--i just can't be brave like you two. i--i'm an awful coward. i can't help it. i've always been afraid to even try to swim. i'm afraid of lots of things. oh, i'm afraid to--to--"
-sidney caught pola's other hand.
-"don't say it, pola. maybe someone will find us. and probably you can't help feeling afraid."
-mart suddenly remembered the cookies she had brought. she found them where she had hidden them at the back of one of the bunks.
-"here, eat a cookie and you'll forget things. i'm hungry, aren't you, too?"
-pola ate with nervous greed. sidney bit off a piece but found it dry in her mouth. she was thinking of her sisters and the safety of the dear old house; as vividly as though it hung in a picture before her eyes she saw the little circle around the dining room table, the embroidered square of indian cloth, the green shaded lamp, issy's books and trude's sewing, vick's sketching things, the girls at their beloved tasks--and her chair empty! oh, what if she never sat again in that dear circle? her heart broke in an agony of longing for trude.
-a sudden thought roused pola to a feeble show of spirit.
-"if i had known how to swim we'd all be ashore now! and you two stayed with me! i--i don't believe i'm worth that, girls." she spoke with gloomy conviction.
-but mart answered with a promptness that settled that question forever. "forget it. why, you don't think we could a' done anything else, do you? and now i'm going up on deck and get some air. we must be most to halifax by this time."
-"halifax!" but this time pola did not scream.
-lavender, after his first plunge, had struck out toward the lighthouse. his mr. dugald had taught him the science of swimming and because it was the one thing he could do easily and well, in spite of his misshaped body, lavender had taken pride in perfecting the practice. his assurance helped him now; he had no fear, he knew how to save his strength; he swam first with one stroke, then with another, always keeping in sight the beacon of light.
-but after a little it came to him that the yellow gleam did not seem any closer; in fact, it grew fainter; he knew then, with a moment's panic, that the tide and wind were too strong for him. he cursed his frail strength, with a smarting in his eyes that did not come from the salt water.
-there was only one thing he could do. turn his back on the friendly light and strike out in the direction of the beach. it would be further, but the cross currents of the tide would not impede his progress so much.
-for a long time he fought ahead stubbornly, changing his strokes, even swimming on his back. but his breath came with increasing difficulty, a sharp pain stabbed at his side. he labored on. the pain grew sharper and caught at him like a horrible vise. once he yielded to it and sank down, down into the black water. but it passed and, as he rose, he struck out again, blindly, now, for he had lost all sense of direction.
-"oh, god! oh, god!" he shouted in his heart. his aunt achsa's god, whose all-embracing love he had questioned because that god had made him crooked, must help him now! "i got to get help!" god must hear him.
-a great exhaustion seized him. he sank again with a quivering breath. but now his feet touched sand. with new strength he plunged ahead. again he was in deep water but he swam with eager strokes. the dreadful pain stabbed but he did not heed. now he saw moving lights. he was near the beach! with a heartbreaking effort he fought the strength of the water, finally gaining the shallow depths. he heard voices nearby in the darkness.
-knee-deep in the water he tried to shout but he had no strength. a terrible faintness was creeping over him. his arms outstretched, he stumbled forward toward the voices. oh, he must not yield to that overpowering sleepiness until he had made them know!
-"help--help!" he gasped, reeling toward the shadowy forms.
-"what the blazes--" a man ran forward. two others came at his heels.
-"why, it's lav green!" one of them cried.
-"the arabella--adrift out there--sidney's on it--oh--help! and then lavender slipped into the strong arms that reached out to catch him.
-"quick, the sally! she's at rockman's!" captain davies ran toward rockman's wharf. before jed starrow's men, concealed behind the shed could guess their intention, three men had jumped into the big motor boat and had swung her free of the wharf.
-"what the hell--" shouted an ugly voice after them, but the sally only chugged out into the darkness of the bay.
-"look, sid--light! it's--it's--morning!" mart's voice came in a thin whisper. for a long time the girls had lain huddled against the taff-rail of the boat, too weary and disheartened to even talk.
-sidney lifted her face to the tiny streak of light that gleamed palely in the east.
-then she shook pola ever so slightly. poor pola had fallen into a sleep of exhaustion. she stirred now with a little cry. "what is it?"
-"it's morning--daylight. see--there--"
-"oh--h!" pola whimpered. "is that all?" she clung to sidney in fresh terror. "if we're going to die--i'd rather not see--"
-"hark," cried mart, suddenly leaning forward. "don't you hear something? girls, that's a motor boat! i know! quick. let's signal! yell! wave something! anything!" she sprang to her feet, leaning her body against the rail for support as the boat rolled in the heavy sea. she cupped her hands to her lips and shouted lustily. "come on, girls!" she commanded.
-"maybe it's the pirates," wailed pola.
-"i don't care if it is! i don't care what it is!" and mart and sidney lifted their chorus.
-out of the mist that lay over the surging water a small, gray object gradually shaped. the chug-chug of an engine now came distinctly to their ears. after a little they could make out the forms of two men standing. and then someone shouted faintly.
-pola, a solemn happiness transfiguring her face, clung to sidney.
-"girls," she whispered, "we're going to be saved! and i'll never forget this night--never. or you two. or what you've done! or what you are. and i'm never going to get over being ashamed of myself!"
-sidney had some solemn resolutions of her own shaping in her heart but the moment gave her no time to pronounce them.
-"mart!" she cried. "it's not jed starrow! it's--it's--cap'n phin davies! and that means that--lav--made--it!" and happy tears ran down her cheeks.
-under the skilled guidance of the man at its wheel the sally soon came alongside of the arabella. cap'n davies promptly boarded the schooner and the next instant sidney was in his arms.
-"all i'll say is praise be to god!" the old mariner muttered. "and now i cal'late you and your mates here are 'bout ready to abandon your cruisin'--"
-"lav, is he--all right?" demanded sidney, still clinging to cap'n phin.
-"well, he jest about made port and how he is now i can't say for i didn't waste any time shippin' in the sally. lucky for us it was lyin' there at rockman's. give us a hand, saunders, while we load on this cargo of distress!" a roughness in the old man's voice betrayed that the big heart was not as light as he would have the girls think. for hours they had searched the bay with only their knowledge of tides and winds to guide them; more than once the others had been ready to abandon the search as futile, but the captain had held them stubbornly to it.
-pola needed no urging but leaped into the sally and sank to its bottom with a long gasp of relief. sidney and mart were about to follow her example when a word from cap'n davies held sidney.
-"we'll let a government boat pick up the arabella. we'll take no chances tryin' to tow her in with the sally." and then sidney thought of the treasure.
-"but the diamonds!" she cried.
-"diamonds--" cap'n davies stared at her, his mouth open.
-"why, yes, they're on this boat. they must be! we were in the forward cabin watching and jed starrow came on board and they talked right where we could hear. they were going to take them off and then they decided it wasn't safe and they'd wait and they went away. and then they must have cut the boat adrift. but we're sure they're on this boat."
-"so that was it! of all the low-down dastardly tricks! well, never mind your diamonds, now. we got to get back to shore and let a few folks know--"
-"but i won't go until we've looked!" sidney protested, almost in tears. "why, that was why we risked everything! and lav wants to save the name of the cape--the--the way--you do! oh, please look!"
-the old captain dropped his hold of the girl's arm. "well, i'll be ding-blasted!" he stormed. but he motioned to saunders. "climb aboard and give us a hand. 'taint likely they'd hide their stuff above deck. you look round the stern and the girls and me'll give a hunt forward. of all the stubborn, crazy-headed female pieces you'll beat 'em all!"
-while saunders searched the stern of the schooner the captain and sidney and mart searched the fo'castle cabin. sidney, tugging away the heavy tarpaulins, disclosed a small wooden box.
-"i'm sure it wasn't there before--" she cried. "why--why, i was sitting on it--"
-cap'n davies lifted the box. "it's pretty big to be diamonds but it looks suspicious like! and you're sure it wasn't there before? that it ain't the property of that summer boarder of miss green's?"
-sidney's face was flaming with excitement. "oh, i'm sure! the other stuff was there but there wasn't any box under it. if i hadn't been so excited listening i'd have realized i was sitting on something different. can't we look inside?"
-"we won't take the time to look at anything now, mate. we'll get ashore. i reckon by this time there are folks strainin' their eyes for a sight o' you--"
-he fairly pushed sidney and mart ahead of him and toward the sally. saunders lifted the girls into the smaller boat, then took the box.
-"to rockman's. quick as you can make it," snapped cap'n phin.
-"you need a big brother"
-aunt achsa had not slept through the storm. accustomed though she was to the howl of the wind and the roar of the pounding surf, tonight it filled her heart with dread. lavender had not come home.
-twice during the night hours she crept to the door of his small room and peered in, shielding her candle with a trembling hand. for a long while she sat in the window straining her eyes into the darkness. the cats came and rubbed her bare ankles and nip meowed plaintively. she picked him up and cuddled him to her.
-suddenly a moving object in the lane caught her attention. it separated itself into the forms of men, men moving slowly as though they bore a burden. they turned into the garden patch.
-"lavender!" aunt achsa cried, jumping up quickly, shaking. "oh--my boy!"
-but that was the only sound she made. she opened the door as though she had been waiting for these men with their limp burden. she directed them to carry the boy to his own room. she moved aside for doctor blackwell who had come with the others, an old pair of flannel trousers drawn over his night shirt. she felt mr. dugald put a restraining arm over her shoulders and nodded as though to say: "i'm all right--just look out for lavender."
-one of the men coming back from lavender's room offered an explanation. "those young 'uns were on the arabella and it broke from its moorin's. the boy swum ashore to give an alarm. plucky, i say--don't know how he did it."
-"those young ones--who?" cried dugald allan.
-"why, i cal'late that gal sidney and i don't know who else--"
-"sidney went with miss vine!" protested achsa.
-but at that moment miss letty appeared in the door, as scantily clad as the doctor had been. from her window which faced doctor blackwell's house, she had heard the men summoning him. she had lost no time in getting to sunset lane.
-"who went with me? where? what's happened?"
-now aunt achsa let her whole weight drop against mr. dugald.
-"didn't sidney go 'long to truro with you?" she asked falteringly.
-"i didn't go to truro. knew this storm was comin'. where--"
-"oh--h!" aunt achsa moaned mr. dugald motioned to miss vine.
-"take care of things--here. i'm off--"
-"cap'n davies and jim saunders and pete cady's gone out in the sally," cried one of the men who had brought lavender home. but dugald allan had plunged into the darkness without hearing him. the men rushed after him.
-miss vine pushed aunt achsa into a chair.
-"you're not going to cross any bridges 'til you come to them, achsy green. doctor blackwell brought lav into this world and he isn't going to let him quit it without putting up a pretty good fight. jeremiah berry's in with him and he's as good as two women. you wrap that shawl 'round you 'til i can light a lamp and get you some clothes. you're shivering like it was december. i'll put the kettle over, too--"
-oddly huge and gaunt in the shadowy room, miss vine moved and talked briskly to keep up aunt achsa's nerve and her own against the black fear that held them.
-mr. dugald ran with all speed to rockman's, the other men after him. as their hurrying steps echoed through the silent street heads popped out of windows, doors opened. then more men, half-dressed and dressing as they ran, rushed after them toward rockman's. they knew, with that intuition inbred in seacoast communities, that something was wrong. old simon tibbetts, too crippled to join the gathering crowds, rang up commander nelson at the life guard station on the backside.
-when, in the gray light of the dawn, the sally chugged up to rockman's wharf with its precious cargo sidney and mart found a weary, anxious crowd of men and women gathered there. and as cap'n davies and saunders lifted the girls ashore a lusty shout of rejoicing went up--eager hands reached out to touch the rescued as though to make certain they were safe and sound.
-sidney had eyes only for mr. dugald who seemed to tower above them all, his eyes dark lined with the strain of anxious watching, his mouth set sternly. and strangely enough, at first, dugald allan saw only sidney, yet it was not strange, for the white-faced, shrinking, abject girl, barefooted and disheveled, who was hiding behind mart and sidney, had little semblance to his gay young cousin.
-mr. dugald opened his arms and sidney ran into them like a little child, and clung to him. he felt her slender body shaking.
-"i--i can't help crying. i wanted trude--so much!"
-"i was thinking of trude, too. thank god!" but sidney was too moved at the moment to wonder at his words or that the cheek he bent to hers was wet with tears.
-then dugald allan spied pola shivering forlornly behind mart and sidney. "you--" he cried, pushing sidney aside. "i thought you were at chatham!" his mouth tightened in a straight, stern line. "what is all this? but wait, i must get sidney back to aunt achsa. you shall explain things as we go along."
-he hurried the girls through the crowd which parted, smilingly, to let them pass. on commercial street he hailed old hiram moss, who with an eye to business in the midst of tragedy, had harnessed his horses to his ancient cab and had them ready for an emergency.
-after he had bundled his charges in dugald allan turned to sidney.
-"now give me some inkling of what started this crazy adventure. thank god it has not ended as it might have ended though lavender is still fighting for his life! answer me, sidney."
-but before sidney could begin her tale she had to know what had happened to lavender.
-"fighting for his life? but--he got here, didn't he?"
-"yes--he reached shore, by an effort so great as to completely prostrate him. they took him home. i left doctor blackwell with him." dugald allan spoke shortly and his crisp sentences had the effect of stunning poor sidney. she shivered and leaned close to him. her voice, when she spoke, came with a childish tremor.
-"oh, lavender can't die. if he does--it will be all my fault! i started everything. i--i told him about the diamonds--"
-"yes--the diamonds. that's why we went out on the arabella--" in broken sentences sidney told the story; she wanted mr. dugald to know that they had cared most for the honor of cape cod!
-"and we found them--a big box--at least we think it's the diamonds! cap'n phin davies says it's something queer!"
-dugald allan's exclamation had much the character of an explosion. "diamonds! what nonsense! you've risked bereaving three homes for what is probably nothing more than a case of rum. if ever a girl needed a big brother to keep her in check, you do!"
-during the early morning hours of that summer day that sidney was destined never to forget, the girl passed through every emotion that a fifteen-year-old heart can suffer.
-first, to her dismay no one at the cottage had seemed to rejoice, as the crowd on the wharf had rejoiced, at her rescue. when mr. dugald led her in miss vine was making coffee at the stove and all she said was: "well, you're all right! better go to bed now as quick as you can and keep out from under foot." then mr. dugald had taken pola back to the hotel. aunt achsa was with doctor blackwell and lavender. sidney had tried to summon sufficient courage to ask miss vine's forbidding back for some word of lavender, but the words failed in her throat. cold, forlorn, hungry, she crept to her room, threw off her clothes and huddled down into the bed-clothes.
-they would all blame her--miss vine and mr. dugald, aunt achsa, doctor blackwell. probably now pola would have more complexes to suffer; pola's mother would be angry and they could never be friends again. and mart--aunt achsa had said old mrs. calkins could be terrible when she was "worked up!" even if lavender lived aunt achsa would never forgive her and if he didn't live--mr. dugald had said he was fighting. those boards creaking faintly meant that doctor blackwell and aunt achsa were helping lavender fight. dear old lav with his fine dreams!
-the desperate longing for trude shook her. she sobbed into her pillow. and yet the longing brought only added remorse. trude would scold her. trude would take her home. that meant stinging humiliation. how vick would laugh at her when everything was over. a case of rum! sidney writhed under the soft covers.
-somewhere boards creaked again--lavender's fight. sidney pictured the doctor and aunt achsa bending over him. and outside everything was so quiet and gray. that was the way death probably came, sidney thought.
-on the morrow they would send her home--in disgrace. she might not even be allowed to see lavender, or mart, or pola--or mr. dugald. someone would telegraph to trude and trude would meet her back at middletown. she would live a long, sad life of penance behind the crumbing stone wall she had so detested.
-she sat bolt upright and rubbed her eyes. then she flung out her arms with a low glad cry that was half sob.
-trude held her long and close, stroking the shorn head, murmuring soothing words. finally sidney wriggled from her.
-"have you come to take me home? but how could they send for you so quickly? how long have i been asleep? oh, lavender--is he--is he--"
-"one question at a time, sid. lavender is better. he'll be all right, the doctor says, after a good rest. yes, i think i'd better take you home. no, they did not send for me." briefly, as though now that earlier concern was of little consequence, trude told of the sketch that had so bewildered and alarmed her.
-"i couldn't understand," she finished.
-"i couldn't either, at first. you see the boarder--the man who has boarded here so long and is dreadfully fond of aunt achsa wrote that letter to me and wrote it nice so as to please her, and, at first--but, oh, trude, aunt achsa is wonderful and so is lavender, really, truly, even though they are poor--"
-"hush, sidney." trude's eyes darkened with feeling. "you do not have to tell me that. i have learned that in only a few hours. oh, i have seen straight into souls--those kind men on the street, as concerned as though you belonged to them, and here--aunt achsa with her great courage and her love. and that miss vine--they're so simple--and so fine--it made me ashamed of my silly standards, my fears."
-"and lavender is best of all--"
-now quick tears shone like stars in trude romley's eyes. she reached out her hands and caught sidney's.
-"oh, lavender--when i think what he did i--i--" she could not finish, but sidney understood the gratitude that was in her heart. she leaned her face against trude's shoulder with a long sigh.
-"i'm cured of lots of things, trude. i wanted something different but i didn't want all this to happen! you see i made lavender and mart believe it was diamonds jed starrow was hiding when it was probably only a case of rum--"
-suddenly trude straightened. "i almost forgot. a boy came here and said a captain davies wanted you to come down to rockman's wharf as soon as you could. that was two hours ago. you see it is nearly noon now. you'd better dress quickly and i'll go out and fix you some breakfast."
-sidney obeyed reluctantly. in her mingled remorse and humiliation she shrank from facing the world. she was not even curious as to why cap'n phin wanted to see her.
-by the time she had dressed trude had a poached egg and a glass of milk ready for her. miss letty was with lavender and aunt achsa had gone to bed.
-sidney begged so hard that trude accompany her to rockman's that trude put on her hat and went with her. and poor sidney needed trude's support for sunset lane was thronged with curious men and women; as they walked along the waterfront fishermen and tourists and boys and girls stared and nodded and sidney's sensitive soul mistook their obvious interest for ridicule. she walked with lowered eyes lest she encounter mrs. calkins or pola's mother.
-cap'n phin was waiting outside the door of the shed on rockman's wharf. he nodded to sidney and trude and beckoned them inside. at any other time, in any other state of mind, sidney would have thrilled to his air of mystery.
-four men sat in wooden chairs tipped at various angles and on the floor before them stood the wooden box from the arabella. the men nodded and smiled at sidney and brought their chairs to the floor as though to attention.
-cap'n davies solemnly motioned sidney and trude to two vacant chairs and then cleared his throat.
-"i cal'late, miss sidney, that you've a sort o' interest in this cargo we brought in on the sally so we stood by 'til you hove in sight. now, mebbe it's what we think it is and mebbe it isn't. si, give a hand and unload."
-one of the men knelt down by the box and proceeded to open it with a hammer and a chisel. the others leaned forward with interest. sidney held her breath.
-the man si, having torn off the cover, put his hands into the paper wrappings and drew forth yards and yards of magnificently embroidered fabric that made sidney and trude gasp in admiration and astonishment. but the others were plainly disappointed. a low murmur of disgust went around the room.
-"give it here," one of the men asked. and as si handed over the contraband it slipped from his hands. he caught at it quickly to save it from the dirt of the floor. suddenly something small and gleaming fell from the folds and rolled upon the floor.
-"i'll be ding-blasted!" roared cap'n phin. someone swore softly. the man si dropped to his knees. sidney blinked.
-cap'n phin seized the silk and unwound it. and among the countless folds he found a cunningly contrived pocket filled with hundreds of the priceless gems.
-for a moment no one spoke. the daring of it all, the wealth of the glistening jewels, held each man in the room. cap'n phin folded the gorgeous silk and passed it to one of the men.
-"i guess this belongs to you in trust for uncle sam," he said gravely. "our business is with one jed starrow." he turned to sidney who was trembling violently. "now, matie, will you tell these men how you happened to ship aboard the arabella last night?"
-sidney's story tumbled out in quick, eager words and in careful detail. the men listened closely. the one who had taken the diamonds "in trust for uncle sam" made notes in a small black book. when she had finished cap'n phin nodded, his face serious.
-"reckon we'd better not question lav green just yet, he's pullin' out of the fog. we got enough as 'tis to hold jed starrow. if i ain't much mistaken he'll turn yellow when we face him and squeal on the folks higher up what's paid him to hurt the name of the cape. that'll do for now, little gal."
-walking homeward sidney could not speak for excitement. it had not been rum! it had been the diamonds they had sought! their recklessness had not been in vain. her disgrace had a sweeter flavor.
-as they turned in to sunset lane sidney spied mr. dugald ahead. he must hear the news! and he could tell her of pola! she ran toward him, calling. at the sound of her voice he lifted his head.
-"oh, mr. dugald, it was diamonds--in that box, you know, why--" but here sidney stopped. for mr. dugald was not even hearing her, he was staring over her head at trude.
-"oh, i forgot--this is my sister, trude. trude, this is mr. dugald, aunt achsa's--"
-but her introduction went no farther. at sight of trude's face she broke off abruptly. and mr. dugald was saying quietly:
-"i know your sister, sidney. trude, i am more glad to see you than you can ever know!"
-sidney's brain whirled. mr. dugald knew trude! and trude--only once before had she seen that look on trude's face and that had been when she had watched trude reading a letter to issy.
-"why--why--why--" she gasped, a great enlightenment slowly dawning over her. "you're--you're--why, you're trude's lost love!"
-"sidney!" cried trude, scarlet-faced.
-sidney stared after them; even the excitement of the diamonds faded to nothing by the side of this amazing revelation. mr. dugald had known trude all the time! he was the man who had made trude so unhappy! he had let her talk of trude and had never betrayed by so much as a blush their acquaintance!
-sidney had no choice but to go on alone to the cottage. her elation and her delight at seeing lavender were shadowed by a growing apprehension. mr. dugald had promised to forget what she had told him of trude's broken heart, but perhaps he hadn't! and he might tell trude that he knew!
-what the day held
-"dear dorothea, again i stand at the crossroads, a saddened soul, and wiser--"
-but sidney could get no further than that. there was so much to tell dorothea that she did not know how to begin. for those terrible hours on the arabella she had no words; she shrank from trying to depict lavender's splendid courage for his white face as she had seen it in the precious five minutes still haunted her. even the diamonds lost their lustre beside trude's ultimatum that they must go home.
-go home so ingloriously!
-it was two hours since dugald had led trude away down the lane and sidney's apprehension had mounted as the time had passed. she was feeling very young and very forgotten; miss letty who had remained at the cottage to "be handy" and to answer the stream of inquiries that came to the door, had warned her to "keep quiet" as there had been enough excitement for one day and she had been too rebuffed to even confide to miss letty that mr. dugald was someone her sister had known a few years before and that they had gone away without her.
-miss letty was baking vigorously, her great hands moving deftly among the cupboards, her straight back eloquently expressive of her mood. "i guess folks'll have a different opinion of lavender green now," she muttered and as sidney was the only person within hearing she accepted the remark as addressed to her and agreed. miss letty went on, shaking the flour-sifter as though she wished she were shaking someone in particular: "i guess folks like that mrs. allan will have a different opinion of cape cod. she came here and asked to see lavender and i took her in and waited outside the door--"
-"oh, what did she say?" begged sidney.
-"she offered him money! well, i thought the boy'd have a relapse on the spot. and i walked in and took her by the arm and led her out and i said to her: 'madam, we on cape cod do not sell our bravery--we give it!' i said just that. and she withered like a limp leaf. she sort of clung to me and cried like a baby. yes, she'll know now what sort o' breed we cape coders are."
-even that sidney could not record in dorothea.
-she began to pack because it was the occupation best suited to her mood and because from the window of her room she could see trude and mr. dugald the moment they turned the corner by mart's house. she spread her scant belongings over the bed and set the old satchel on the rush-bottomed chair. she was in the act of folding the precious cherry crêpe de chine when she spied approaching figures--trude and mr. dugald, walking slowly. her heart gave a quick bound only to grow cold at the sight of trude's chin which was set stubbornly in a way that sidney well knew! nor did mr. dugald appear the happy lover; he walked with bent face and occasionally kicked at the flowers that edged the lane.
-trude sought sidney directly and nodded with approval when she saw the packing. she sat down on the edge of the bed.
-"sid," she began in a queer voice that sidney had never heard before. "i suppose i ought to tell you how i happened to know--dugald allan."
-trude spoke so slowly and with such difficulty that sidney hastened to make it easier for her.
-"i do know. you met him at the whites three winters ago and he wrote something. i overheard you and issy talking once but i didn't hear his name and i saw you crying over a letter--"
-trude laughed shakily.
-"sidney, you're simply the limit! yes, i met him there that first winter i went to visit aunt edith. his father and mr. white are old friends and he was staying at aunt edith's while he painted a portrait of one of aunt edith's friends. i was just a silly, countrified girl and--i didn't understand lots of things and thought--well, there's no use, now going into all that. i lost my head and let myself think things that weren't so--"
-sidney interrupted, impatiently. "trude, you talk to me as though i was a baby and couldn't hear the truth. i guess i know; you fell in love with mr. dugald and you thought he was in love with you--"
-"thank you, sid. yes, i had forgotten your extreme age. i fell in love with--him. i am not ashamed to admit it. i had never known anyone like him before. and i thought--yes, that--there was another girl there, sylvia thorn, from atlanta. she was very pretty and she and dugald were great pals and one day aunt edith told me she hoped they would marry, that it would be a very nice match for dugald, a relief to his family, that he needed that type of girl to cure him of his queer ways. i remember just what she said. 'you understand, my dear, you have lived with genius yourself.' it wasn't exactly what she said, it was the way she said it, as though she thought i would know because i lived entirely out of dugald allan's class. it hurt cruelly. it made me sensitive and made me see little things between dugald--and sylvia. and it made me see myself as someone quite unworthy of--dugald. i found some pretext to go home. i thought by running away from it all i could forget. dugald wrote a few times--then that letter telling me that he was going on a six months' painting cruise in the south seas with sylvia thorn and her father and mother and wanted to run up to middletown to tell me something before he went. i wrote back that he must not come that i--could not--see him. that's all."
-sidney was listening with clasped hands, a color on her cheeks that matched trude's, stars in her eyes. with magic swiftness her romantic soul was piecing together a beautiful picture.
-"why, that can't be all! how could you have written to him like that! and he wasn't in love with that sylvia, was he?"
-trude's eyes softened. "n--no. i know now. he told me--today. sylvia was engaged at the time to his best friend, but they wanted it kept secret for awhile. dugald thought i knew."
-"then--then--" cried sidney. but, somehow, she could not ask trude what had happened during the afternoon, something new in trude's dear eyes plainly warned her that just now all that was too much her own to be shared with anyone.
-instead she threw her arms around trude and hugged her violently.
-"oh, trude, how i love you! and it's so good to be with you. out there--on the boat--i kept thinking of you and how safe i always feel with you--how i need you! i don't ever want to feel grown-up again and independent, i don't care how old i am--"
-trude kissed the tousled head. "you've said just what i wanted to hear, dear," she answered softly. "and that you--need me!"
-after supper, while they still lingered over the empty plates, the voices of men came from the lane.
-"more folks askin' after lav," declared miss letty with pride.
-cap'n davies himself halted before the door and nodded to the women inside. back of him stood the men sidney had met that morning at rockman's and back of them mr. dugald, smiling, and back of him many others, curious and excited. what ever had happened!
-cap'n davies wore his most important air.
-"i'm here to see one lavender green and one sidney romley."
-"phin davies, you know lav green's flat on his back," retorted miss letty brusquely but smiling. it seemed to sidney, standing close to trude, that everyone was smiling.
-mr. dugald pushed into the room.
-"doctor blackwell says that it won't hurt lav for me to carry him in!" and without another word he rushed off to lav's room and returned almost instantly with the boy in his arms. he put him carefully in aunt achsa's rocker and then stood close to him.
-cap'n phin cleared his throat an extra number of times. having done this to his satisfaction he drew a blue slip of paper from a leather pocketbook and held it high.
-"in the name of truro and wellfleet counties i take great pleasure in presenting to lavender green and sidney romley this reward for the capture of--"
-he never did finish his speech. his voice was drowned in loud hurrahs that echoed and reechoed down the lane and brought gran'ma calkins and mart and tillie higgins in a great hurry to achsa green's.
-sidney's face flamed.
-"oh, i don't want it!" she cried. "it's lav's. honestly. he really found out about the diamonds. i--i just--"
-everyone looked at lavender, whose face had gone even whiter. against it his eyes shone big and black. he seemed to straighten in the old chair and his poor shoulders took on a fine dignity.
-"i--didn't--want--any--money," he answered in a voice so weak that it was scarcely anything more than a whisper.
-but here the practical miss letty, who had taught mrs. allan her lesson on cape cod folks, took charge of matters.
-"well, you can do a whole lot with money, lav green. as long as the two counties decided it was worth that much to run down these smugglers i reckon you've earned it. and i want you men to go away from here and spread the word over the whole of cape cod that in that crooked body of lav green's is a heart that's as brave as the bravest and ambition, too. folks have gotten to think he's a loafer because he wouldn't go to school, but they'll come to know he isn't and you can tell them letty vine knows for she's taught him herself and he knows as much and more than any boy his age! and now--well, you watch lav green! that's all i can say. some day you men will hear about him and remember this day and be awful proud!"
-miss vine had to stop to swallow something in her throat. cap'n phin forgot entirely the nice phrases he had practiced for the occasion. his men shuffled slowly out of the room, some of them coughing and others covertly wiping their eyes.
-mr. dugald and doctor blackwell and cap'n phin and martie and gran'ma calkins remained. mart and sidney were excitedly examining the little slip of paper that meant five thousand whole dollars, not with any coveting, for mart was as vehement as sidney in disclaiming any share in the reward. it was lav's. but for lav's risking everything to swim to shore no one might have known anything about jed starrow's connection with the persistent smuggling.
-"oh, where is jed starrow?" sidney suddenly asked and cap'n phin told her jed starrow was in jail.
-"it'll be a lesson to him and others like him," he continued, sternly. "betrayin' the honor of the cape! and him born and brought up on it!"
-sidney felt a moment's regret that anyone had to be in jail. then she forgot it in everyone's interest as to what lavender would do with so much money. they pressed him on every side, heedless of doctor blackwell's warning that the boy should not be unduly excited.
-lav's eyes found aunt achsa's smiling face.
-"get aunt achsa an oil stove," he answered promptly. "and--and lots of things. and books. and--" his eyes kindled. but he broke off abruptly. he was going to say that now he could go to school in one of the big cities where folks did not notice other folks who were "different." but he did not say it, he did not want to spoil aunt achsa's joy.
-sidney understood and, reaching out, squeezed one of lavender's hands.
-doctor blackwell ordered his patient back to bed. martie took gran'ma calkins home. with much handshaking cap'n phin took his leave. miss letty and trude and sidney briskly cleared away the dishes.
-"i feel as though i had lived ten years since i heard those men pounding on steve blackwell's door," declared miss letty, piling the plates with a clatter.
-"oh, ten! a hundred! i didn't know anyone could live so fast all at one time!" agreed sidney solemnly. "sometimes i think i'm just dreaming and will wake up and find that nothing's happened. i won't mind going home now for i'll have so much to think about!"
-"going home?" gasped aunt achsa. "why--why--"
-dugald allan, coming from lavender's room, interrupted them.
-"i beg to report that your millionaire nephew is resting quietly and is in fine shape." sidney noticed with a little glow of feeling how quickly mr. dugald's eyes sought trude's. and she thought trude cruel to look away!
-miss vine persuaded aunt achsa to go to bed and then said good-night herself. her "ten years" had left her fatigued. dugald allan walked as far as the lane with her then came back, remembering suddenly that he was carrying two letters in his pocket.
-"in the excitement i nearly forgot them," he apologized. he drew them out. both were for trude and had been forwarded by special delivery from long island. one was from vick and one from issy.
-"oh, open them quickly," begged sidney.
-trude's hand trembled as she held issy's envelope. "i'm--almost afraid to. i know it's silly--but so much has happened today that--i don't think--i could bear--anything more!"
-no one laughs last
-trude read issy's letter aloud, not noticing in her high pitch of anxiety that dugald allan had lingered.
-"--i am going to tell something now concerning which i have given no hint in my former letters. it's something that means so much to me that i have not dared write about it until it was decided. and now it is decided. professor deering has asked me to stay on with him as his secretary. and i have accepted. the salary will not be so very big though it will seem big to me and i am happy among books and bookish people and working right here in the college will give me opportunities i never had before.
-"but trude dear, i feel like a deserter! to think that i who used to preach the loudest of our duty to dad's memory and the tradition of his genius should be the first to break from it! i believe now that sidney, that morning she had her little flare-up and we promised her the egg, broke down restraints that have been holding us all. certainly, ever since then, rebellious thoughts have been growing in me. i have come to see our lives differently and to believe that we've been silly. we thought we had to go on living the same kind of lives we led when dad was with us, that we had to submerge our own personalities to his because his was so great. maybe the league frightened us into thinking that; they bought us or thought they did. but trude, they couldn't! they can buy the house and the atmosphere and dad's coat and chair and pens and all that but they can't buy dad's children! dad wouldn't want it that way. why, we are his greatest creation and our lives are his gift to us and he would want us to make something fine of those gifts--something that would be our own. sidney said that she wanted to be something besides joseph romley's daughter and that was simply her real self crying for escape. i hope the dear child has found it in a happy summer and has had her fill of the adventure she craved.
-"happy as i am i cannot bear thinking of leaving you with the responsibilities of vick and sidney and the league, except that you have always carried the responsibility anyway. but it seems too much for even shoulders like yours. so i've been making schemes. vick will be sure to marry soon, bless her pretty face, and then with my salary and the royalties we can send sidney away to school and you can plan something for yourself just as i have done. it's a wonderful feeling, trude, i am just beginning to live! i don't mind a bit now thinking of being an old maid--"
-trude folded the letter, suddenly conscious of her listeners. sidney caught at it as though to make certain it had actually been written by her sister isolde.
-"think of it. trude! a hope-to-die secretary with a salary! i do believe it's old issy who's going to laugh last."
-"what do you mean sidney?" asked trude; but she did not wait for sidney to answer. her thoughts were elsewhere. "i believe issy has torn a veil from us all. we were silly. we held to the ties of dad as a poet and were losing the sweet real ones of him as a father. of course he'd want us--the father part of him--to live our own lives, make of them what we can--"
-"would he?" cried dugald allan from his corner. and at the sound of his voice trude started, her face flushing crimson. "then, trude romley, will you please withdraw that answer you gave me out on the breakwall? it can't hold good now."
-"oh, hush! don't! not here--now--"
-sidney, alert to some deeper meaning, took up his question.
-"what answer?" she demanded.
-mr. dugald threw his arm about her shoulder. "sid, i asked your sister to marry me. you see i found out that you needed a big brother, someone with a stern eye and a hard heart and i rather want the job. and that's the only way i can think of. and she says she cannot, that she must keep the little household together in return for what the league has done and cook and sew and sweep and keep accounts. i think there was a lot more--"
-sidney threw out an imploring hand to her sister.
-"oh, trude, please! i do need a big brother. and mr. dugald's grand! and rich. pola said so. and dear. and it'd be such fun having him in the family! i'll go away to school and vick can work and we can give the old house over to the league. issy said they couldn't buy us! and--why, there are just loads of women trying to get mr. dugald--"
-"sidney romley, stop!" trude stamped her foot in confused exasperation. she refused to meet dugald's yearning eyes.
-"no league can mortgage your heart or your happiness!" he pleaded softly. "it belongs to you--to give--"
-"i object to being courted in this--public--manner," trude broke in, her hands flying to her face. but dugald allan caught the surrender in her eyes. he seized her hand.
-"all right. we'll go out in the garden. excuse us, sid. when i come back i think i'll be your big brother."
-sidney's eyes followed them longingly until they disappeared behind a hedge of hollyhocks. she wanted to laugh and to cry all at once she was so strangely happy; her girl heart stirred with a vicarious thrill to the look she had seen in trude's face. well, trude would laugh last! dear old trude. trude a bride when everyone had thought that she would never marry, just because she had no beaus like vick or languishing poets like issy.
-sidney stood still in the center of the dusk gray room. she did not know what she wanted to do next--or even think of. she would like to plan the wedding at once with herself as a beautiful bridesmaid in shimmery white and mart and pola and lavender and aunt achsa there to see, and she would like just to think of mrs. milliken's face when she heard about everything and--
-suddenly her eyes fell upon vick's forgotten letter. what had vick written? no ordinary letter could come on this momentous day! perhaps vick had written that she had eloped--she had read that sometimes even nice girls did that, girls oppressed by things like the league. she opened the letter without any hesitation and carried it to the door that she might read it by the fading light.
-it was not neatly margined like issy's; the big letters raced slantwise across the page. nor was it wordy, rather straight to the point.
-"dear old girls everybody: you'll die. godmother jocelyn's a good sort, in spite of her lace and her lap-dog. she's going to take me around the world! she says that as long as we're this far we might as well go all the way. it isn't the cherry blossoms and the rickshaws and the southern moons alone that thrill me--we're going with the peppiest family from chicago--some people we met on the train. a father, a mother, a girl my age--and--a very nice brother! nicest yet! but am i a pig? yes. to leave my sisters there under mrs. milliken's thumb! but you'll forgive me, won't you? do you remember how we used to play going to china? and i'm going!"
-sidney drew a long breath. she wished she were not alone. she wanted to shout or something. "well!" she cried softly. "no one laughs loudest! i guess--the whole family of romley--laughs together long--and--loud!"
-"the books you like to read at the price you like to pay"
-there are two sides to everything--
---including the wrapper which covers every grosset & dunlap book. when you feel in the mood for a good romance, refer to the carefully selected list of modern fiction comprising most of the successes by prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every grosset & dunlap book wrapper.
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-there is a grosset & dunlap book for every mood and for every taste
-the novels of temple bailey
-may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list.
-the blue window
-the heroine, hildegarde, finds herself transplanted from the middle western farm to the gay social whirl of the east. she is almost swept off her feet, but in the end she proves true blue.
-the eternal conflict between wealth and love. jerry, the idealist who is poor, loves mimi, a beautiful, spoiled society girl.
-the dim lantern
-the romance of little jane barnes who is loved by two men.
-the gay cockade
-unusual short stories where miss bailey shows her keen knowledge of character and environment, and how romance comes to different people.
-the trumpeter swan
-randy paine comes back from france to the monotony of every-day affairs. but the girl he loves shows him the beauty in the common place.
-the tin soldier
-a man who wishes to serve his country, but is bound by a tie he cannot in honor break--that's derry. a girl who loves him, shares his humiliation and helps him to win--that's jean. their love is the story.
-a girl in maryland teaches school, and believes that work is worthy service. two men come to the little community; one is weak, the other strong, and both need anne.
-an old-fashioned love story that is nevertheless modern.
-glory of youth
-a novel that deals with a question, old and yet ever new--how far should an engagement of marriage bind two persons who discover they no longer love.
-grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york
-margaret pedler's novels.
-may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list.
-the game of love is fraught with danger. to win in the finest sense, it must be played fairly.
-a gripping story of a doctor who failed in a crucial operation--and had only himself to blame. could the woman he loved forgive him?
-the barbarian lover
-a love story based on the creed that the only important things between birth and death are the courage to face life and the love to sweeten it.
-the moon out of reach
-nan davenant's problem is one that many a girl has faced--her own happiness or her father's bond.
-the house of dreams-come-true
-how a man and a woman fulfilled a gypsy's strange prophecy.
-the hermit of far end
-how love made its way into a walled-in house and a walled-in heart.
-the lamp of fate
-the story of a woman who tried to take all and give nothing.
-the splendid folly
-do you believe that husbands and wives should have no secrets from each other?
-the vision of desire
-an absorbing romance written with all that sense of feminine tenderness that has given the novels of margaret pedler their universal appeal.
-waves of destiny
-each of these stones has the sharp impact of an emotional crisis--the compressed quality of one of margaret pedler's widely popular novels.
-grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york
-peter b. kyne's novels
-may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset and dunlap's list.
-the enchanted hill
-a gorgeous story with a thrilling mystery and a beautiful girl.
-never the twain shall meet
-a romance of california and the south seas.
-cappy ricks retires
-cappy retires, but the romance of the sea and business, keep calling him back, and he comes back strong.
-the pride of palomar
-when two strong men clash and the under-dog has irish blood in his veins--there's a tale that kyne can tell!
-kindred of the dust
-donald mckay, son of hector mckay, millionaire lumber king, falls in love with "nan of the sawdust pile," a charming girl who has been ostracized by her townsfolk.
-the valley of the giants
-the fight of the cardigans, father and son, to hold the valley of the giants against treachery.
-cappy ricks gave matt peasley the acid test because he knew it was good for his soul.
-webster: man's man
-a man and a woman hailing from the "states," met up with a revolution while in central america. adventures and excitement came so thick and fast that their love affair had to wait for a lull in the game.
-this sea yarn recounts the adventures of three rapscallion seafaring men.
-the long chance
-grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york
-edgar rice burrough's novels
-may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list.
-the mad king the moon maid the eternal lover bandit of hell's bend, the cave girl, the land that time forgot, the tarzan of the apes tarzan and the jewels of opar tarzan and the ant men tarzan the terrible tarzan the untamed beasts of tarzan, the return of tarzan, the son of tarzan, the jungle tales of tarzan at the earth's core pellucidar the mucker a princess of mars gods of mars, the warlord of mars, the thuvia, maid of mars chessmen of mars, the
-grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york
-jackson gregory's novels
-may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list.
-the maid of the mountain
-a thrilling story, centering about a lovely and original girl who flees to the mountains to avoid an obnoxious suitor--and finds herself suspected of murder.
-daughter of the sun
-a tale of aztec treasure--of american adventurers who seek it--of zoraida, who hides it.
-this is a story of action and of the wide open, dominated always by the heroic figure of timber-wolf.
-the everlasting whisper
-the story of a strong man's struggle against savage nature and humanity, and of a beautiful girl's regeneration from a spoiled child of wealth into a courageous strong-willed woman.
-a college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold. they meet a rancher who loses his heart, and becomes involved in a feud.
-man to man
-how steve won his game and the girl he loved, is a story filled with breathless situations.
-the bells of san juan
-dr. virginia page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night journey into the strongholds of a lawless band.
-judith of blue lake ranch
-judith sanford part owner of a cattle ranch realizes she is being robbed by her foreman. with the help of bud lee, she checkmates trevor's scheme.
-the short cut
-wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a quarrel. financial complications, a horse-race and beautiful wanda, make up a thrilling romance.
-the joyous trouble maker
-a reporter sets up housekeeping close to beatrice's ranch much to her chagrin. there is "another man" who complicates matters.
-six feet four
-beatrice waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon buck thornton, but she soon realizes he is not guilty.
-no luck drennan, a woman hater and sharp of tongue, finds a match in ygerne whose clever fencing wins the admiration and love of the "lone wolf."
-grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york
-detective stories by j. s. fletcher
-may be had wherever books are sold. ask for grosset & dunlap's list
-the secret of the barbican the annexation society the wolves and the lamb green ink the king versus wargrave the lost mr. linthwaite the mill of many windows the heaven-kissed hill the middle temple murder ravensdene court the rayner-slade amalgamation the safety pin the secret way the valley of headstrong men
-ask for complete free list of g. & d. popular copyrighted fiction
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-the little cryptogram:
-a literal application to the play of hamlet of the cipher system of mr. ignatius donnelly.
-by j. gilpin pyle, assistant editor of the saint paul pioneer press.
-“as i do live by foode, i met a foole, when i did heare the motley foole, thus morall on the time, my lungs began to crow like chanticleere, that fooles should be so deepe contemplative; and i did laugh, sans intermission, an houre by his diall. oh noble foole, a worthy foole: motley’s the onely weare.” as you like it: ii., 7.
-saint paul. the pioneer press co. 1888.
-copyright, 1888. by j. gilpin pyle. all rights reserved.
-a considerable portion of the contents of these pages appeared first as an editorial article in the pioneer press. by request of many friends, this practical application of mr. donnelly’s cipher system to six pages of hamlet is presented, revised and enlarged, to the general public.
-the little cryptogram.
-“the great cryptogram,” the monumental work in which mr. ignatius donnelly essays to prove that the so-called shakespeare plays contain a cipher story, discoverable by a system which he has worked out with infinite labor, is at last in the hands of an expectant public. no book so thoroughly advertised has appeared for many a year. for months and months the eye has been assailed by paragraphs and pages in the literature of two worlds, contending for or against the existence in the shakespeare plays of a cipher that would assign the honor of their authorship to lord bacon. it has been admitted on all sides, and declared by mr. donnelly himself, that the appearance of this volume would rid the world of a delusion forever, and stamp the successful explorer of the mystery with undying fame, or write him down as the most daring and stupendous literary fraud that all the ages have produced. the author has challenged the test. it is his due that the results of his labor should have a candid and impartial investigation.
-mr. donnelly claims that there is concealed in the plays not only a declaration that bacon wrote them, but a detailed history of the times. this is to be read by means of a word cipher, depending on a series of fixed numbers. the root numbers which he gives as the starting point are 505, 506, 513, 516, 523. these numbers are combined, at pleasure, with a vast number of “modifiers.” the latter consist of the number of words in a column, page or subdivision of the play selected; and of these numbers plus or minus the hyphenated and bracketed words. by this method the first two pages attacked yield him the following thirty-four “modifying” numbers: 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 50, 51, 62, 63, 79, 80, 90, 91, 141, 142, 167, 168, 169, 189, 208, 209, 211, 212, 218, 219, 237, 240, 283, 284, 291, 294, 301, and 302. counting forward or backward, at pleasure, from the top or the bottom of each page, and from the beginning or the end of each scene, he finds himself directed to the specific words that tell the tale; each new count supplying a new “modifier.” he does not tell whence he derives his root numbers—and the world loses little by that—because he is informed by his publishers that there is nothing in our law of copyright to prevent some ingenious fellow, less conscientious than himself, from studying out his whole system, applying it to the rest of the plays, and bursting upon the world with the remainder of the story, which mr. donnelly wants to reserve for a future volume and future profits. how well grounded were his apprehensions the appearance of this lesser cryptogram may serve to show. therefore he wraps himself in congenial mystery, and both his root numbers and his modifiers must be taken on faith. it is hard for the average man, at this point, to repress his scepticism, and to refuse straightforward treatment to a man who advertises for two years a great discovery and then reserves it for the future. there is a strong flavor of the keeley motor about the process. but not thus unjustly shall the public deal with minnesota’s gifted son. we, the people, want to get at the bottom of this cipher, and re-read our history of the elizabethan era and its literature.
-the first step is to take an actual illustration of the cipher and mr. donnelly’s use of it, in order that the public may see just how the thing works. the names “shakespeare” and “cecil” do not occur in the plays. to obtain them, mr. donnelly’s arithmetical process points him to the words “shakes” and “peere,” and to the other words “seas” and “ill;” combining the former he gets shakespeare, and the latter give him cecil. now if the reader is the happy possessor of a copy of “the great cryptogram,” let him turn to page 718 as a base of operations. if his library is not so enriched, what he finds here is ample for purposes of illustration. this chapter deals with the revelations growing out of the root number 516, judiciously modified. there are 167 words in the second column of page 74 of king henry iv, following the subdivision made by a stage direction. there are 21 words in brackets, and one hyphenated word, making 22 in all. add 22 to 167, and you have 189. subtract 189 from 516, and you have 327. this 327 is combined with other numbers, derived from previous operations; the number of words on an antecedent page or a former column, or some of the “modifiers” that wait modestly till their assistance is needed. out of these additions and subtractions, perfectly arbitrary in their nature, comes finally a number which directs the searcher to a word on page 76. how intricate are these mathematical operations will be perceived only upon examination. therefore, the following, taken literally from pages 718, 719, is subjoined as fairly illustrative of the cipher gambols:
-to those who have never visited leamington such a description may not evoke any visions of beauty, but the regularity which marks the laying out of the town has been wisely tempered by the preservation and planting, wherever possible, of rows of elms, lindens, and plane trees, which not only break up the monotony of streets, but impart to the town an almost garden–like aspect. notwithstanding, however, the fact that in the byroads, streets, and avenues of the residential quarters, more especially of milverton and lillington, grass plats separate the footpaths from the road, adding materially to the beauty and distinction of the place, the business quarter is no less business–like than that of other towns. nathaniel hawthorne, the american novelist, has written enthusiastically of leamington; and those who have resided in this beautiful spot all the year round can testify that his statement, that it is a place of charm which is “always in flower,” is not far from the truth.
-the rise of leamington has been of considerable rapidity, as until the end of the eighteenth century it was merely an obscure village, and in the year 1801 the population was only just over three hundred souls, and the number of houses but sixty–seven.
-its full tide in former years was leamington priors, derived from the fact that the town is built on the banks of the river leam, and once belonged to the priors of kenilworth. in modern days it has become known as leamington spa, the late queen victoria, in memory of a visit she paid to the place in 1838, giving it the title of the royal leamington spa.
-the town is very unlike in appearance its ancient and more celebrated neighbour warwick. in fact, whilst the latter has its chief attraction in antiquity, leamington has its chief interest as a modern and fashionable health resort. it is wrong, however, to suppose that leamington has no history, and is as entirely modern as its appearance would lead one at first sight to presume.
-the name of the river upon which it stands is of ancient celtic origin, and means the elm–tree or elm–bordered stream, and doubtless in ancient times it was well–wooded for the greater part of its course on both banks. there are many celtic river names to be met with in warwickshire, and generally these survivals have indicated an ancient settlement, or at least camp of the invaders, although as regards leamington no traces of one now remain if it ever existed.
-the town was in ancient times a portion of the very wide possessions of turchill, the last and most powerful of all the saxon earls of warwick. in the domesday book the estate is put down as containing two hides, or about two hundred acres of land, the value of which was £4. there is also a mention of two mills situated on the stream within its boundaries. turchill’s son was robbed of this part of his patrimony, and it was granted by william the conqueror to a norman baron, roger de montgomery, who was afterwards created earl of shrewsbury.
-in those early days the town, or rather perhaps should we say the hamlet, known as leamington underwent great vicissitudes of ownership, for although roger de montgomery’s son hugh inherited the estates, his brother robert, to whom they descended during the reign of william rufus, called de beleseme from the name of a castle which belonged to him, was declared a traitor, and all his possessions, including leamington, were seized, and the latter was given to the bishop of lichfield and coventry. after a few years the possession of it passed to geoffrey de clinton, and was by him granted to gilbert nutricius of warwick and his heirs, who held it by the service of half a knight’s fee. for some reason, however, it speedily reverted to the de clintons, and geoffrey de clinton, son of the original owner, gave it to the canon and priors of kenilworth about the year 1166, in whose possession it remained until the dissolution of the monasteries. it remained the property of the crown till 1563, when elizabeth granted it to ambrose dudley, earl of warwick. he dying without an heir male, his title became extinct, and from this period leamington had many owners, ultimately coming into the possession of the earls of aylesford.
-notwithstanding fuller’s opinion, medical writers soon began to publish speculations concerning mineral waters, and upon these very springs in particular. the earliest pamphleteer upon record was dr. guidot in 1689, and he was succeeded by many others, including doctors allen, short, johnson, kerr, kirwan, middleton, and loudon. it was dr. allen who first settled in the place, and mr. william abbotts, who, in 1786, sunk the second well and erected and opened the first baths in june of the same year. this well was almost in the centre of the old village. the third spring or the road well, is situated on the high road from warwick to daventry and london, and was discovered in 1790.
-leamington was much patronised by those who either were afflicted by real or fancied ailments, which the waters might be hoped to cure, and the efforts of dr. abbotts did much to popularise the place. in his endeavour to spread abroad the fame of the place, he was ably seconded by his friend benjamin satchwell, the village poet and shoemaker, who had had the good fortune, in 1784, to discover the well on a piece of land in bath street.
-referring to the increased importance, size, and prosperity of the town, satchwell wrote:—
-if muster abbotts had not done, his baths of laud and praise; it must have been poor leamington, now, as in former days.
-these two men, no doubt, had much to do with the initial stages of the town’s prosperity, and on the tomb of satchwell may be traced, but with difficulty, as the inscription is greatly obliterated:—
-hail the unassuming tomb, of him who told where health and beauty bloomed; of him whose lengthened life improving ran— a blameless, useful, venerable man.
-the advocacy of these and other leamingtonians caused the town to advance rapidly into public favour, and the discovery of other wells up till the year 1819 served to provide ample accommodation for bathers and others, making the place one of the most famous health–resorts in england.
-in these days, indeed, leamington might well have been called “the bath of the midlands,” for to the town were attracted much the same classes of invalids and fashionable folk as were drawn to its more famous somersetshire prototype; and, indeed, leamington must have been then even a gayer and more fashionable town than it is at the present time.
-from the leamington of the last few years of the eighteenth century to the flourishing town of to–day is, indeed, a far cry. then, according to one authority, it was little more than a small sequestered village, to which the mail–coaches came no nearer than warwick, and any letters or parcels for the inhabitants could only be obtained by some enterprising villager going over to the latter place for them.
-and even in the first decade of the nineteenth century macready, the great actor, writes thus of the place in his diary. referring to birmingham he says: “the summer months were passed there, diversified by a short stay at leamington, then a small village consisting only of a few thatched houses—not one of them tiled or slated; the bowling green being the only one where very moderate accommodation could be secured. there was in process of erection a hotel of more pretention, which i fancy was to be the ‘dog’ or ‘greyhound,’ but which had some months of work to fit it for the reception of guests.”
-some other famous visitors who came to leamington in the early years of the last century were the princess victoria, in company with her mother the duchess of kent; and later john ruskin, who testified to the benefit derived from a six weeks’ course of the chalybeate spring as follows: “my health is in my own hands, i have gone back to brown potatoes and cherry pie!”
-but leamington of to–day owes a good deal less of its popularity to its springs than it does to its beautiful situation, and the fact of it being such an excellent centre for interesting excursions; whilst hunting people regard the place as an almost unequalled sporting district, from the circumstance that a fashionable life can be enjoyed there in conjunction with hunting six days a week, and the choice of as many packs. warwickshire, indeed, has been called the third best hunting county in england, and leamington must take even a higher place as a centre for hunting folk.
-one of the prettiest features of this town, distinguished nowadays for its handsome shops and villas, are the jephson gardens, covering an area of some twenty acres, and situated almost in the centre of the town, the picturesqueness of which is greatly added to by the presence of the river leam skirting them along the southern boundary. this site was rented to trustees for a period of two thousand years at a pepper–corn rent (if demanded) by the late mr. edward willes, of newbold comyn, with the stipulation that the ground should never be built upon. the property, which was then a strip of meadow land, was taken over by the trustees in may 1846, and was immediately laid out by them in much its present form.
-on the opposite side of the river are the mill gardens; and on the same side of the river and along its western circuit has been laid out a pretty victoria park, with its picturesque new river walk.
-still farther sylvan promenades are afforded by the pump room gardens. the grounds are several acres in extent, and are beautifully laid out with ornamental flower–beds and winding paths; whilst on the side next to the parade is the famous linden avenue, three–quarters of a century old, and forming one of the finest shady promenades in leamington, or indeed in any town of the midlands.
-of ancient public buildings leamington has practically none, if one excepts the reconstructed and much altered pump room, once the scene of so much of the fashionable life of the town.
-none of the other public buildings, with the exception of the town hall, call for particular notice.
-there are not a few literary associations with leamington, and the holly walk, which is a continuation of regent grove, a fine tree–lined avenue, will always possess an interest for lovers of dickens from the fact that here the novelist laid the scene of the first meeting between edith granger and mr. carker in dombey and son. scarcely a more picturesque spot than this walk, with its row of fine trees running down the centre, its grass plats, shady seats, and flower beds, could be found for a meeting of the kind.
-the old bedford hotel, which was the scene of one of the famous jack mytton’s most remarkable exploits, when for a wager he rode his mare upstairs into the dining–room, set her at the large table, which she cleared, jumping over the heads of his assembled friends, and then continued her course out of the balcony into the street below, has long disappeared; doubtless to the regret of all hunting folk and of the curious sightseer.
-like hawthorne, those who have visited leamington carry away with them pleasant memories of a town which, although owing much to natural beauty of situation, yet owes also not a little to the intelligence and foresight of those responsible for its development, who may be said to have coaxed rather than coerced nature in their efforts to make the spot one of uncommon rural and urban attractiveness, whilst still mindful of the demands of exigent moderns.
-the story of birmingham
-the city of birmingham has been sung by a local poet as follows:—
-illustrious off–spring of vulcanic toil! pride of the country! glory of the isle! europe’s grand toy shop! arts’ exhaustive mine these, and more titles, birmingham, are thine. from jealous fears, from chartered fetters free, desponding genius finds a friend in thee; thy soul as liberal as the breath of spring, cheers his faint heart and plumes his flagging wing.
-but, nevertheless, it presents more of a prosaic and commercial than a romantic attraction for a writer.
-the derivation of the name has not yet been satisfactorily arrived at, and by even its most accurate and painstaking historian is considered “too remote for explanation.” aided by the erratic spelling of former times, during the last four centuries alone there have been eight modes of spelling it,—burmyngham, bermyngham, byrmyngham, bermyngeham, brumychcham, bromycham, bromicham, and lastly the more modern and generally accepted birmingham. the curious, however, may be set yet a greater puzzle of selective ingenuity, as from different authors, documents, records, and papers it is possible to find upwards of a hundred additional methods of spelling the name of the town which is popularly known as “the capital of the midlands.”
-of the eight ways we have enumerated in detail two alone have been in a measure satisfactorily accounted for; one deriving its origin from a family, and the other from the situation of the town. early inhabitants and even mere settlers of a place in almost every country of the world were in the habit of describing in their place–names, the mountain, lake and valley, the moorland and the heath, and also the character, situation, and size of these; and villages, towns, and cities which grew up afterwards in these situations were frequently given names which in a measure described or perpetuated some place or object in their immediate vicinity, or the actual spot where they were founded.
-dugdale, the historian, is inclined to believe that birmingham, or bromwycham, was a name given by a saxon owner or settler. in this regard he says, “the appellation need not be doubted; the last part of it, viz. ‘ham,’ denoting a home or dwelling, and the former manifesting itself to be a proper name.”
-hutton, on the other hand, is inclined to make it of an even more ancient date, and argues that “brom,” derived possibly from the broom, a shrub growing freely in the soil of the district, and “wych,” signifying a dwelling, constituted its original name bromwych. he finds, moreover, some confirmation of his opinion from the names of two other towns in the immediate neighbourhood, west bromwych and castle bromwych; the terminal “ham,” he argues, being subsequently added, and up till the time of the saxon heptarchy the spot retained its full name, “bromwycham.” this argument, however, in reality seems to support dugdale’s idea concerning the derivation of the name, as all three portions of it are of saxon origin. the alteration locally to bromicham was only a contraction, which continued in use down till the eighteenth century, and indeed is to be traced in the pronunciation of the word as “brumijum” by some locals even at the present day. it would appear, however, that it is more than possible, whatever its ancient name may have been, and whatever its derivation, that the present–day name “birmingham” was given to the place from the owner of the estate rather than the owner taking his name from it.
-this latter view has been borne out by modern research, and it has been now generally admitted that a family or tribe called “beorm” or “berm” gave the place its early saxon name. more than six centuries ago, indeed, and for a period lasting four centuries, we find the name of de bermingham as lords of the fee. the first was a peter de bermingham, who in the reign of henry ii. in 1154 had a castle here, and lived in considerable splendour. here all succeeding members of the family dwelt until the duke of northumberland ousted them in 1537, and with their ejectment the castle soon fell into ruins and disappeared, although as late as 1816 a moat and some traces of the walls remained.
-in the days of edward the confessor the town probably formed part of the possessions of ulwin, generally identified with the alwyne whose son turchill founded the warwickshire family of arden, of whom the mother of shakespeare was a descendant. there is no doubt that the place was of considerable importance in saxon times, as proof exists of the holding of a market there prior to the conquest.
-although there is no mention in the domesday book of any church at that date, during the rebuilding of st. martin’s in 1562, some early stone–work, evidently belonging to a former building and pointing to the existence of a church dating from before the conquest, was discovered. fairs were certainly held very early in birmingham’s existence as a town, and in the bodleian library, oxford, is a curious ms. map dating from the last years of the thirteenth century, with a church clearly indicated, in addition to a considerable number of houses. on this map, where the name is given as “brymingha,” many neighbouring towns of traditionally greater importance at that period are not even marked, and neither coventry nor warwick are named.
-it would thus appear that in medieval times, although birmingham must have been a small town it was also a flourishing one, with a market for country produce, cattle, hides, etc., which was visited not only by local traders but by those of adjoining and even distant counties.
-in 1382 the guild of the holy cross was founded to maintain two priests at st. martin’s church, and was ten years later made a fraternity of men and women under the name of “the bailiffe and communalite of birmingham and other adjacent places for a chantrie of priestes, and services in the church for the souls of the founders and all the fraternitie.” it also had other and more secular objects. in the year 1545 the lands belonging to it were seized by the crown, and five years afterwards were given by edward vi. for the “free grammar school of king edward the sixth, for the education and instruction of children in grammar for ever.” the property so arbitrarily acquired was thus in the end devoted to a useful purpose. at that time it was valued at £31 : 2 : 10, and this formed the endowment fund of the famous school, the income of which at the close of 1880 amounted to the large sum of nearly £22,000, and is now computed to be almost £50,000.
-the manor–house and seat of the de berminghams, not a trace of which now remains, was situated within a few yards of st. martin’s church, and a little to the west of digbeth, the site now being occupied by the prosaic cattle–market of large extent.
-leland speaks of the town at the time of his visit, which took place in 1538, thus: “the beauty of birmingham, a good markett towne in the extreame parts of warwickshire, is one streete going up alonge almost from the left rype (bank) of the brook, up a meane hill, by the length of a quarter of a mile. i saw but one paroche church in the towne.”
-camden, who visited birmingham some half century later, writes of it as “full of inhabitants, and resounding with hammers and anvils, for the most of them are smiths.” “the lower part” (of the town), he adds, “standeth very waterish; the upper riseth with faire buildings.”
-some authorities seem to infer that birmingham was not noted for its metal works until a comparatively recent period, but leland states: “there be many smithes in the town that used to make knives and all mannour of cutting tooles, and many loriners that make bittes and a great many naylors. soe that a great part of the town is maintained by smithes whoe have their iron and seacole out of staffordshire.”
-hutton, birmingham’s most famous and completest historian of the past, claims for this city, whose rise has been so phenomenal during the last half century, that history proves its progress has been continuous, and that the town has never suffered a decline. but, of course, during the centuries before charles ii. it was slow, and only notable in comparison with that of other places.
-although the town in leland’s day is spoken of as having its chief beauty in “one streete going up alonge from the left of the brook, up a meane hill, by the length of a quarter of a mile,” and could have then been but a comparatively small village, hutton argues that even in the days of the ancient britons the smiths of birmingham supplied implements of war and husbandry. it may even be possible, according to this historian, that the scythes fixed to boadicea’s chariot wheels had their genesis at a birmingham forge. in support of this theory he quotes that “upon the borders of aston parish stands aston furnace, appropriated for melting iron–stone, and reducing it into ‘pigs’; this has the appearance of great antiquity. from the melting ore in this subterraneous region of infernal aspect is produced a calx, or cinder, of which there is an enormous mountain. from an attentive survey the observer would suppose so prodigious a heap could not accumulate in a hundred generations; however, it shows no perceptible addition in the age of man.”
-before birmingham became famous for its manufactures it was known for the great number of tanners resident there; and the hides which furnished a supply for the rest of the county were laid out in the high street in piles on fine days; and in wet weather were deposited in the leather hall. this leather market was identified with birmingham in the tenth or eleventh century, and continued until the beginning of the eighteenth century; and it was in this ‘high’ or main street that early settlers manufactured coarse ironware, nails, and similar articles. hutton is inclined to believe that in quite ancient times carpenters’ tools as well as spades, forks, and other implements of husbandry were made here; and that the worn hollow ways in the roads that proceeded from birmingham form additional evidence of the town’s antiquity and commercial importance. he goes on to observe concerning these rutted roads, “though modern industry, assisted by various turn–pike acts, has widened the upper part and filled up the lower, yet they were all visible in the days of our fathers, and are traceable even in ours.”
-this painstaking historian places the ancient centre of the town at old cross from the number of streets which lead towards it, and the fact of the position of st. martin’s church. it is difficult, indeed, when contemplating modern birmingham with its fine streets, magnificent public buildings, and general appearance of wealth, industry, and prosperity, to realise that the ancient houses were of a type similar to those at shrewsbury and chester. built principally of timber, with the space between the beams wattled and plastered over with mortar; others of slightly more recent date being of bricks and plaster.
-the first streets that were paved are said to have been high street, the bull ring, corn cheaping, digbeth, st. martin’s lane, egbaston street, moat lane, spiceal street, and part of moor street, and the streets where the fairs were held. these formed the boundaries of the town in the thirteenth century; and from this period onwards there was a distinct and gradual increase of area and also of improvements of an uninterrupted character.
-the most stirring event in the history of birmingham itself was the attack made upon it by prince rupert on april 5, 1643, during the civil war. it created an immense amount of additional antagonism towards the cavaliers on the part of the inhabitants, whose sympathies from the outset of the quarrel between king and parliament had been with the latter.
-the town was at that period but a small one of about 6000 inhabitants. but it had caused the king’s party much trouble by having on several occasions intercepted messengers between the scattered royalist forces. these messengers were sent to coventry and imprisoned. prince rupert’s attack was chiefly prompted by two reasons: the desire for plunder and the intention to frustrate the completion of the fortifications and earthworks the inhabitants had commenced. he apparently anticipated only slight resistance.
-the attack was commenced between two and three in the afternoon; two assaults were repulsed, but eventually the royalist horse forced an entry. the cavaliers rode through the town, with the earl of denbigh at their head, “like so many furies.” people were shot at their windows, at their doors, and in the streets. having possessed themselves of the town the royalists commenced to pillage it. next day on leaving the town they set fire to it in many places.
-the effect of all this harshness naturally was to make the birmingham folk even more parliamentarian than before.
-the history of birmingham appears to have been uneventful for more than twenty years after the memorable visit of prince rupert and his cavaliers. and the next happening of any great moment was the outbreak of the plague in 1665, which was said to have been brought to the town in a box of clothes by a carrier, which he deposited at the white hart inn. the visitation seems to have been a severe one, for it was found impossible to inter the victims in the usual burying–ground, and a full acre of land was set aside at lady wood green (known for many years after as the “pest” ground) for the reception of those who had died of the plague. the town soon, however, appears to have recovered from this misfortune, and made, during the ensuing years, from the time of the restoration to the commencement of the eighteenth century, a period of forty years, a progress which can scarcely be considered as otherwise than remarkable, demonstrated by figures given by hutton, the accuracy of which has never been impuned.
-at the restoration the number of streets appears to have been fifteen, though all were not complete; whilst there were some 907 houses and 5472 inhabitants. in the year 1700 the streets had increased in number to 28, the houses to 2504, and the inhabitants to 15,032. thirty–one years later the streets had doubled, the houses had nearly doubled, and the inhabitants had increased almost in the same proportion; whilst at the commencement of the last decade of the eighteenth century the streets had quadrupled from the last figures, the houses had done the same, and the inhabitants had increased in like ratio.
-but only ten years later birmingham saw one of the few periods of temporary decline, when, owing to the stagnation in trade, consequent upon the french war, the population decreased nearly 4000; and the entry of many younger men of birmingham into the army, and the exodus of masters and journeymen, left upwards of 1500 houses uninhabited. notwithstanding the set–back caused by the war, only seven years later there was a distinct revival and reaction, and nearly 2000 additional houses were erected, with an increase of population more than sufficient to occupy them, as well as all the other houses which had fallen vacant.
-in the latter half of the seventeenth century birmingham made remarkable strides, and during this period sprang up an increasing demand for many of the articles manufactured there, and the firearm trade soon became a very important and lucrative one. hampered by no charters or ancient corporative customs, the town attracted to itself reformers of all kinds, and also skilled workmen, drawn hither by the freedom of manufacture which existed. the iniquitous “five mile” and similar acts had served to drive many wealthy and able men out of corporate towns. in birmingham these found a “city of refuge,” with fewer restrictions; and with their coming the industrial energy and initiative of the town was greatly and speedily increased. during the eighteenth century these forces were continuously at work, and in the latter half the fullest development was attained and manufactures of all kinds, including iron, hardware, brass, steel, and other articles became wonderfully advanced.
-not a little of this prosperity was undoubtedly directly traceable to the practice which obtained of letting large portions of land at low ground rents and on long leases; thereby giving notable encouragement to the erection of buildings, both residential and commercial, in the centre of the town and in the contiguous suburbs.
-quite early in the century cotton spinning by machinery had been introduced and tried by lewis paul and john wyatt, and somewhere about 1780 a cotton mill was built, but only to prove an unsuccessful experiment, afterwards to be converted into one for metal rolling.
-one of the truly great events in the history of birmingham of this period—nay, of any period—was the foundation by matthew boulton of the famous soho works in 1763. he possessed unbounded enterprise, enthusiasm, and taste, and his original business in birmingham itself as a “toy–maker,” manufacturing sword–hilts, buckles, brooches, and other ornaments, increased rapidly, and he was compelled to transfer it to larger and better premises. it was to boulton that james watt ultimately came in despair at not being able to get his newly invented steam–engine well and carefully made. as events proved, he had come to the right man, and an engine factory, from which the whole world was eventually supplied, was speedily erected. the partnership lasted many years; boulton, who was a skilled mechanic, was also, above all, a good business man—which watt was not—and but for him it is more than probable that the inventor would have failed to attain either practical or financial success and recognition.
-of this great workshop of soho, one of the greatest early factors in birmingham’s ultimate triumph as a manufacturing and industrial centre, boulton is reputed to have said, “i supply here what all the world desires to have—power.” and the founder of soho, through stormy and even occasionally dangerous times, doggedly persevered, and by great powers of initiative and control secured for himself and for watt large fortunes, and did much to assist in the general and speedy progress of the town by the invention of machinery and the practical application of the “new power.”
-but boulton, who has left so deep a mark upon birmingham history of his time, was by no means a mere ingenious manufacturer and good business man. he was a magnetic and personal force, which gathered around him and attracted to soho from all parts of the world men of genius, scientists, and others. the “soho circle” or “lunar club,” called the latter from the fact that it met only when there was a full moon, on account of the ill–lit and dangerous condition of the streets, was one of the most famous institutions of its kind of the age, and, indeed, probably of any succeeding age.
-to his house at one time or another came many men destined to prove famous or who were already so. dr. darwin; william murdock, the inventor of—amongst other things—gas–lighting for houses; priestly, with his keen brain and recent discoveries; john baskerville, with his type, paper, and printing, which “astonished the librarians of europe”; dr. withering, the noted botanist; joseph berington, the roman catholic historian; and many others who brightened and made notable what may fairly be called “the golden age” of birmingham’s eighteenth–century progress, and who were the initiators of the advances made in after years.
-the great soho works, in the history of which is, in fact, enshrined much of that relating to the early days of engineering, have passed away; the engine factory having been removed to smethwick in 1848, after the death of james watt, the son of the inventor. the site on which boulton’s house stood is now occupied by streets and terraces of unromantic houses. but the memory of soho lingers in the name of an open space, and in that of streets and roads.
-at the beginning of the nineteenth century the desire to modernise birmingham and to erect buildings with some pretension to architectural beauty seemed to have concerned the inhabitants, and we read, the town “is daily improving in the style of her buildings; there are now architects of the first eminence in the town, and others rapidly rising into notice.”
-the progress of birmingham during the latter half of the nineteenth century has been wonderfully steady and marked.
-of the ancient town there are nowadays scarcely any survivals; certainly few buildings of any public character, although “the mansion house of tymber” which leland saw and specially mentioned, still remains in the guise of the “old crown inn,” with several other quaint, timbered houses in the district of deritend.
-in the old bull ring, an historic spot used in former times for the sport of bull baiting, stands st. martin’s church, the most notable and authentic building in birmingham, for the modern building erected in 1872–75, at the cost of a sum of nearly £30,000, stands on the site of a norman church of undoubted antiquity. in this ancient fabric, during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, many additions and alterations were effected, and the walls of the old church were formerly plentifully adorned with frescoes, representing amongst other scenes st. martin on horseback giving part of his cloak to a beggar.
-nowadays the only portion of the old church still standing is in the tower, but there are some fine altar tombs with recumbent figures of the old lords of birmingham in the chancel. one is believed to be that of the third william de bermingham, who was at the siege of belgrade in france in 1297, and was taken prisoner there. there are also many other interesting and important memorials, and some extremely fine modern stained glass by the late william morris.
-st. philip’s church, which occupies a fine site fronting on colmore row, has an importance other than its architecture from the fact that it is now the pro–cathedral. finely situated, this handsome building has an added grace and importance from its elevated and isolated position. the church stands upon ground which was originally part of a farm called horse close, afterwards barley close, and the land was given by one robert phillips and the church named after the saint and also the founder. it was commenced in 1711 from designs by thomas archer, a pupil of john vanbrugh, who was also the architect for the church of st. john, at westminster. the building was consecrated in 1715, although not finished till four years later. it is said to have cost only £5000.
-the church of st. john at deritend possesses a somewhat remarkable history. it is a chapel in the parish of aston, and was the one referred to by leland as “a propper chappel” in 1538. at that date it was a picturesque and interesting early english building, which unhappily was demolished about a century ago, and re–erected in the form of an uninspiring structure of georgian plainness in brick. it contains the bust of john rogers, a native of the district, who was the first martyr in the days of the marian persecution. the original church was founded in 1375 by thirteen persons, who had found themselves on many occasions unable to reach the mother church at aston owing to floods. these provided between them a handsome endowment in lands, worth at that time ten marks (about £6 : 13 : 4, and nowadays some £450), the original charter and licence in mortmain are in the reference section of the public library, and bear dates 1381 and 1383.
-the chaplain was formerly strangely elected by household suffrage, both men and women voting. the last election was in 1889, when a fierce contest was waged and continued for over a month in thoroughgoing electioneering style, ultimately thinning out the candidates to two in number, who went to the final poll, which lasted a day.
-roman catholicism has a strong following in the city, and the roman catholic cathedral, dedicated to st. chad, a seventh–century bishop of lichfield, is a large and handsome though modern building. erected from designs by a. w. pugin in 1839–41 in the decorated style, it forms one of the principal churches of birmingham. in it are some fine modern stained glass; a sixteenth–century carved oak pulpit brought from louvain; and the remains of its dedicatory saint, which are traditionally stated to have been removed from lichfield cathedral at the time of the reformation, and more or less miraculously preserved, and ultimately brought here.
-the new era of the town’s history, progress, and wealth began in 1875, when the late joseph chamberlain was elected mayor.
-it is impossible in so brief a sketch as is possible within the scope of the present volume to deal in detail with the many reforms, the growth and commercial expansion which the last forty years have brought about. birmingham of to–day, with its magnificent town hall, council house, museum, and art gallery, containing some notable modern as well as older pictures, and a fine collection of the work of the pre–raphaelite school; free library; mason university college; great western arcade; midland institute; edward vi.’s grammar school, the ancient foundation nowadays housed in a modern building by sir charles barry, r.a., in the tudor style; bluecoat school, founded in 1727 for the education of orphans of both sexes; and many other important commercial, educational, and social institutions, and its fine parks, may be said to represent a modern city of unique convenience and considerable structural beauty.
-birmingham, too, has not been without generous benefactors, to whom it owes a debt not easily repaid. to all who know anything of the city’s history the names of the rylands, jaffray, tangye, feeny, and colmore families will at once occur.
-about modern birmingham there is indeed a spaciousness and air of modernity which strikes the visitor almost from the first moment of his introduction to the town; and although essentially a trade centre, there certainly hangs about this city, which has owed in later years so much to the energy, wisdom, and enterprise of such men as john thackray bunce, joseph chamberlain, josiah mason, george dawson, george tangye, samuel timmins, and philip henry muntz, a certain element of even romantic interest, which, however, is that attaching to modern industry rather than to survivals of ancient greatness.
-naturally so great an industrial centre as birmingham played a great and even distinguished part in the great war. very early in the struggle the city became one of the most important munitions centres in the kingdom. situated in the heart of england, and far distant from the sea coast, it seemed peculiarly suited for the site of a great national arsenal, quite irrespective of the fact that for many years the manufacture of guns and other weapons of war had formed a part of its most prosperous industrial life.
-although zeppelins in several of their wanderings over the face of england, intent upon inflicting injury upon this home of war–time industry, are reported to have hovered over birmingham, no considerable material damage resulted.
-within a very short time of mr. lloyd george assuming the reins of government and the responsibility for the supply of the vast quantities of munitions which were found necessary for an energetic and successful prosecution of the war to final victory, birmingham became one immense area of feverish war activity. factories which in times of peace were employed in the production of agricultural implements for use throughout the world; the making of “birmingham” jewellery; the provision of “trade” articles for barter with the uncivilised tribes of central africa, new guinea, the south seas, and elsewhere were speedily adapted for the more sinister purposes of the great conflict in which almost the whole of the civilised world found itself gradually becoming more or less directly involved.
-birmingham was engaged in beating its ploughshares into machine–guns, and its reaping hooks into bayonets, an inversion of the biblical dream picture of the arts of peace.
-munitions were turned out in such vast quantities that the human mind cannot grasp their sum. small arms ammunition by the thousand million rounds, shells in their millions, machine–guns in their thousands, and materials raw and otherwise of all kinds for munitions of war and clothing poured constantly from the factories of the city.
-a darkened city it was!
-but behind shuttered and curtained windows there was all the time unceasing work, the colossal output was maintained, and the titanic struggle of human brains, sinews, muscles, and sheer endurance went on.
-in a word, birmingham took its place among the foremost cities of sacrifice in the empire she played so great a part to save.
-the appeal to her manhood, her womanhood, her patriotism was never made in vain, whether it was for munitions made by tens of thousands of tons, or for money with which to assist national finance by way of munificent subscriptions to loans, and the purchase of many hundreds of thousands of war savings certificates.
-and the records of birmingham men, in the warwickshire and other regiments which covered themselves with “an eternal weight of glory” in the field, will form a noble page in national history as long as time endures.
-the story of some ancient manor–houses—baddesley clinton—packington old hall—maxstoke castle—astley castle
-in the north–western portion of the county lies a group of historic houses and churches which present many unique features. one of the most interesting of these, distant some seven miles from warwick and situated amidst lovely scenery, is baddesley clinton, a typical old moated manor–house, such as a few years ago was associated in christmastide publications with stories of ghosts and midnight villainy. this exquisite survival of ancient domestic architecture is a low–built house with grey stone walls, timbered gables, and battlemented parapets. it forms an unusually fine specimen of the old fortified manorial dwellings dating from the fifteenth century, and nowadays, alas! becoming fewer and fewer by reason of destruction by fire or the exigencies of the times.
-during its early history the manor appears to have had several owners. from the middle of the thirteenth century, for a period of about a hundred years, it belonged to the clinton family of coleshill, becoming in the last years of the fifteenth century the property of one nicholas brome, at whose death it passed in 1517 to his daughter and co–heiress, constantia, who had married in 1497 sir edward ferrers, a grandson of william lord ferrers of groby, in which family the estates have ever since remained. it is the boast of the family that their ancestry came over with the conqueror, and there is little doubt that the boast is no idle one.
-the ferrers family of baddesley clinton are descended from the second son of the earl who met his death so unromantically on the bridge at st. neots; groby passing into the hands of the greys. a younger son of the ferrers of tamworth was the father of sir edward ferrers, who by marriage with constance brome became the possessor of baddesley clinton.
-during the civil war baddesley clinton, although its owners appear to have sided neither with the king nor the parliament, was plundered by the forces of the latter; and in a ms. of the period one finds a statement of some of the booty which was acquired by the roundheads. this included a grey and a bright bay horse, which were led away by the troopers, one of them with a rich plush saddle trimmed round about the skirts with gold lace and gold fringe; arms and armour; gunpowder; cash taken from a desk; a geneva bible, and even the linen from the drying room! but the family appear to have succeeded in maintaining their neutral attitude, and at the restoration were still in quiet enjoyment of their estates; which, however, had become smaller, and from the fact of their fidelity to roman catholicism were little likely in succeeding centuries to be added to.
-the last squire of the line was marmion edward ferrers, a noted antiquarian who lived quietly at baddesley clinton, and died leaving no heir; his widow married a second time edward heneage dearing, esq., the present owner of the property.
-as was the case with most manor–houses of ancient times, and more especially with those belonging to catholic families, there were several secret hiding–places at baddesley clinton, constructed for the salvation of the ministering romish priests, or for other fugitives in times of need. near the chapel is a well–like shaft of stone, formerly provided with steps or projecting stones, by means of which a fugitive was able to reach a secret passage extending round nearly the whole length of two sides of the house, and giving access to a small water–gate opening on the moat, at which a boat was kept at hand for use in cases of emergency. on the eastern side of the building adjoining the banqueting room is a secret chamber some six feet square, which has a bench running round it. this of recent years has been walled up, but the narrow staircase leading to it behind the wainscoting remains in its original condition.
-there are probably other chambers in this ancient building, the existence of which may possibly at some future time be diescovered quite by accident, as have so many other hiding–places in similar houses throughout the country.
-the house, one of the most ancient in warwickshire, is approached by a brick bridge of two arches crossing the moat, and the entrance is through an archway under an embattled tower, which although giving a distinction to this, the north–eastern front of the building, is apparently of no great age. the door is an ancient one, studded thickly with iron bolts, guarding the house at the inner end of the bridge; the stabling being at the outer end and separate from the house.
-the drawing–room is panelled oak and has oaken benches in the recesses of the window, and is rendered notable by the large carved oak fireplace, which is ornamented by the arms of the ferrers of groby. in this room, too, is a fine portrait of sir walter raleigh, attributed by several authorities to marc garrard.
-in the southern angle of the hall is a handsome staircase leading to the enclosed gallery running round the inner part of three sides of the house, and giving access to the upper story rooms.
-the state bedroom, which contains a very fine and elaborately carved chimney–piece, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, is on the left of the staircase, and this room is finely panelled in oak, as are so many of the others of this most interesting house.
-in the oratory or domestic chapel of the house is a most curious and interesting flemish sanctus bell, dating from 1555, and having on it a small incised female effigy, supposed to represent the wife or daughter of nicholas brome; there is also an inscription, ihesvs es minen naem.
-the banqueting hall of the house is situated over the gateway, and is a fine room lighted by a mullioned window, and containing some good and very ancient oak carving and panelling, and also some beautiful tapestry. unfortunately the high pitched roof of open timber–work has been covered by a plaster ceiling.
-a touch of romance still hangs about the adjoining room, which is the library, but is traditionally known as the “ghost room,” and was in former times popularly supposed to be haunted, possibly by the spirit of nicholas brome or that of the parish priest he found, according to dugdale, “chocking his wife under the chin, whereat he was so enraged that he presently kil’d him.” for this offence the murderer had to obtain the king’s pardon and also the pope’s, who enjoined him to do something towards expiation of his crime. in pursuance of this mandate he built the “tower–steeple,” and bought three bells for it, as well as carrying out other additions and alterations to the thirteenth–century church of baddesley.
-in the church are many monuments of the bromes and ferrers, and also some beautiful and ancient stained glass in the east window. in connection with the manor of baddesley clinton there is an interesting entry in the manor rolls, recording that the shakespeare family held lands in baddesley as early as 1389, and it is possible that these were the remote ancestors of the poet himself.
-it seems not improbable that much of the oak panelling and most of the carved mantelpieces in the house were placed there by edward ferrers, son of the antiquarian, about the middle of the seventeenth century, or perhaps rather earlier. the decorations within the house make plain for the student of architecture, and to the eyes of the skilled antiquarian, the three chief periods of its history. the outer walls are those of the ancient home of the bromes, as it came into possession of the ferrers family; but inside the house are many evidences of the money spent in its fittings and beautifying by edward ferrers towards the middle part of the seventeenth century. then there is the last period, comprising the black and white timber–work and other restorations carried out by captain dering, who found on his accession to the property the building suffering from the ravages of both age and neglect.
-few manor–houses in warwickshire possess greater charms than baddesley clinton, and the views from the upper windows into the ivy–covered courtyard, with its wealth of flower–beds and blossom, are charming to a degree.
-some eight miles north–east of baddesley clinton, through a stretch of pretty country, lies packington park, famous for its ancient oaks, and made unusually picturesque by the presence of its sheets of ornamental water. packington hall is now the seat of the earl of aylesford, a substantial building, set amid a pleasant park, built by sir clement fisher in 1693, and enlarged and faced with stone three–quarters of a century later. about a mile to the north–east of maxstoke priory lies maxstoke castle, surrounded by fine trees, so retired that its very existence might be unsuspected by those who pass along the road at the foot of the avenue.
-few houses in england can be exactly compared with this wonderfully preserved survival of medieval times, which is set in so picturesque a position, surrounded by trees of a deer park of considerable size. all who have visited maxstoke are agreed concerning the almost unique interest that this ancient fortified residence possesses for students of architecture and of the manners and customs of past ages. in maxstoke, indeed, there is little to break the medieval spell which seems to hang so closely about its time–worn walls, and be so in keeping with its retired situation. as one approaches it by the fine avenue of elms leading, for the last portion of it, in a straight line to the gate–house and bridge, one almost, indeed, expects to see watchers upon the twin towers, and to find one’s ingress barred by closely–shut doors and lowered portcullis.
-a beautiful survival of a past age, now the residence of the tangye family, whose name is so intimately connected with the neighbouring city of birmingham, the house has been closely identified with many historic names and strenuous deeds of english history.
-it dates from the period when the great and strongly fortified castles—more fortresses, indeed, than residences—were giving place to dwelling–houses, well–defended, it is true, but which, though still protected by walls, towers, and even drawbridges and portcullises, were yet an indication of the change bound to come when such defences became unnecessary.
-the foundations of the castle, which is completely enclosed within an embattled enceinte, and is protected by a deep and broad moat and defended by strong angle towers, were laid by william de clinton under a licence from edward iii. in 1345. the great entrance, a survival of the old barbican, is beneath or rather between two tall and formidable towers; the ancient drawbridge having been replaced by a stone bridge crossing the moat, and leading from the avenue of elms to the courtyard. but although both drawbridge and portcullis are gone, the grooves in which the latter was lowered still remain, as do the ancient oaken doors scarred by the weather of centuries, and perhaps by evidences of attack. the castle itself lies in one of the most beautiful districts of england, almost midway between birmingham and coventry.
-at maxstoke in ancient times resided a family of the name of oddingsells, who were evidently of great importance in the district, as they possessed all the feudal privileges of gallows and tumbril, and assay of bread and beer. edmund oddingsells, who died without issue in edward i.’s reign, had, however, several sisters, to whom he left his property; ida the eldest having maxstoke for her share, which passed to john de clinton on her marriage with him.
-this john de clinton was one of the great barons of his time, and he accompanied edward i. on his invasion of scotland in 1296, and for his assistance had conferred on him some of the possessions of malcolm drummond. thus it is seen maxstoke in very early times became identified with the doings of men who played a conspicuous part in the affairs of their country. the mother of ida, the wife of john de clinton, was elizabeth, daughter of the famous william longespée, earl of salisbury. john de clinton left two sons, the second of whom was the builder of the castle in its present form, although there undoubtedly was an older house standing on the site, of which some fragments have been discovered incorporated into the base of the existing building.
-william de clinton was a man of note, for he held the office of justice of chester, constable of dover castle, warden of the cinque ports, and admiral of the western seas. he also had the custody of the king’s forests from the trent southward; and in 1337 was made earl of huntingdon. by his will, dated 1354, the castle was left to his nephew, a sir john de clinton, for whom he appears to have designed it. this john de clinton was the son of his elder brother john, and was, therefore, the grandson of the first possessor of maxstoke of the clinton line. the family were barons by writ, and the new owner was a soldier, who had fought through the french war, and was present at poitiers and other battles, and was also at one time constable of windsor castle. his grandson, who succeeded him, was known as lord say, his mother, the first wife of sir john de clinton, having been idonia, the sister and heiress of william de say.
-lord say was, like his grandfather, a soldier, and proved a great benefactor to maxstoke priory. he was succeeded by his son, another john, who in 1437 exchanged the castle with humphrey, earl of stafford, for other manors in northamptonshire, the reason for which exchange is not known.
-the last of the de clintons of maxstoke was also a soldier, who had the misfortune to be captured in the french war and to suffer a long term of imprisonment. humphrey, earl of stafford, the new owner of maxstoke, who was made a knight of the garter in 1429, and was created duke of buckingham in 1444, was lieutenant governor of normandy and calais, and ambassador to france. he had also another distinction conferred upon him, that of precedence before all other dukes who might thenceforward be created, excepting only descendants of the king. he was a warm supporter of the lancastrian cause and, owing to his marriage with margaret beaufort, daughter and heiress of edmund duke of somerset, was related to the royal house. he fell at the battle of northampton, july 10, 1460, when leading the lancastrian forces, one of his sons having been killed at the battle of st. albans five years previously; and he proved on his death a great benefactor to the destitute poor, some of whom he directed should carry tapers at his funeral, and pray for the repose of his soul.
-it was buckingham who strengthened the oaken doors of maxstoke by sheets of iron bearing his arms and supporters, and also the “burning nave and knot,” which was the ancient badge of the house.
-it does not appear that buckingham made maxstoke by any means his chief residence, but the names of many of the constables he appointed, and of those who came after him, have been placed on record.
-the castle and estates were forfeited by the second duke and have had during its history many owners.
-the dwelling–house occupies the north–west angle of the inner court. it is a partly timbered house, the front portion having been rebuilt in the seventeenth century, and some changes have been made since that date.
-at the south end of the great hall was formerly the chapel, the west window of which, in the late decorated period, still remains. the kitchen was somewhat strangely placed adjoining this, and communication between it and the hall must have been carried on across the chapel, the lower part of which is nowadays used as a butler’s pantry, and the upper part a corridor to the great hall. in the chapel the marriage of john talbot, afterwards earl of shrewsbury, and catherine, daughter of the duke of buckingham, took place in 1457.
-the great baronial halt, with a dais at one end, is on the first floor, and forms a handsome apartment lighted by three windows. on the west side there is a fine carved mantelpiece of coloured stone, ornamented with the numerous quarterings of the dilke family, and bearing the following quaint inscriptions:—
-the room contains some good pictures, amongst which is a full–length portrait of charles ii. by sir peter lely. in the hall are also some interesting relics of former times, such as stone cannon balls, iron balls, pipe bowls found in the moat, some fine armour, and a pair of jack–boots worn by one of the family at the battle of the boyne.
-the oak drawing–room is a beautiful apartment, distinguished by a magnificently carved mantelpiece, and a unique carved doorway forming a sort of inner porch, and with the door very deeply panelled. there is in this room a curious picture of the last jester of maxstoke, 1681, one tom grainger, who is depicted with an owl perched on his shoulder, and pipe in hand.
-a relic which never fails to interest the visitor is an antique oak chair, which tradition states was brought from an old house at bosworth field. it bears on the brass plate attached to it the following inscription: “in this chair king henry vii. was crowned at bosworth field, a.d. 1485.”
-the tower drawing–room is also oak panelled, and contains a fine mantelpiece. above it is the bedroom known as henry vii.’s; and over that again is the top tower bedroom, from which beautiful views of the park and moat are to be obtained.
-the dining–room on the ground floor contains a sideboard which is stated to have been made out of a tree at which oliver cromwell practised marksmanship in coleshill park, and also some interesting portraits of the fetherstons and fetherstonhaughs.
-scarcely a room at maxstoke but contains something either in its decorations or its furniture of great interest; and, indeed, it is a matter for congratulation on the part of all those interested in architectural survivals and the preservation of historic houses that the castle presents in this twentieth century so interesting and perfect an example of the fortified manor–houses of ancient times. maintained, let it be added, with all the loving care which such a unique treasure–house of antiquity deserves.
-some six miles to the north–east of maxstoke is situated astley castle, prettily placed in arbury park. although known as a castle, it is in reality rather an example of the defensive manor–house which came into being when residences of a more formidable nature had become no longer necessary. the house is surrounded by a moat, which is picturesquely overhung with foliage, and spanned by a bridge admitting to the house through an arched gateway.
-within a mile and a half of the church, and reached by a lovely avenue through hawk’s wood, is south farm, where, on november 22, 1819, was born mary ann evans, afterwards to become famous as “george eliot.” the building is quite a small farmhouse, having one bay and a gabled east wing, and is coated with rough cast. it stands pleasantly situated a little distance on the right of the park road to griff.
-“george eliot’s” father, mr. robert evans, was agent for the arbury estate, and the family afterwards, whilst the future novelist was quite a child, removed to a larger house at griff.
-as was perhaps not unnatural, “george eliot” drew much of her early inspiration and local colour from the immediate neighbourhood in which she was born, and in “mr. gilfil’s love story,” which she commenced to write on christmas day 1856, astley church appears under the disguise of “knebley church”; whilst sir robert newdigate, who collected so many art treasures for his beautiful home of arbury, figures in the same story under the name of “sir christopher cheverel.”
-the story and romance of some south warwickshire manor–houses
-some twelve miles to the south–east of stratford lies compton wynyates, one of the most interesting and picturesque manor–houses in warwickshire, reached by a road scarcely more than a by–way from upper tysoe, and lying beautifully situated and secluded in a thickly wooded dell. scarcely seen until one comes quite close to it, at first sight it gives merely an impression of a multitude of gables, turrets, and chimneys, with the central porch flanked by two picturesque half–timbered gables partly overgrown by creepers and ivy.
-the whole building except the gables is battlemented, and the ancient chimneys of zigzag and cable pattern give it an additional and unique picturesqueness. the old moat which formerly surrounded it has been filled in, with the exception of a portion to the north, now enclosing a beautiful flower–garden, which was very probably in former days covered with buildings.
-the name compton wynyates is supposed by many to have been derived from the fact that in ancient times a vineyard was situated on the slopes which surround the house, and the weight of tradition is also in favour of this derivation. the property has been in the possession of the compton family since the reign of king john, and although records are lacking to support the view, it seems possible that it came into the hands of the comptons at the date of the conquest. but, although in the reign of edward iii. one john de compton was a knight for the shire in parliament, the family appear not to have gained any great distinction until the beginning of the sixteenth century.
-at the end of the fifteenth century william compton succeeded his father edmund, but being then only eleven years of age he became a ward of the crown, and was brought up with henry viii. his association with the latter was destined to bear very material fruit in the way of advancement in later years, as, becoming a great favourite with henry, he eventually received several important appointments in the state.
-old fuller, the chronicler, says of compton, “he was highly and deservedly a favourite to this king, so that, in the court, no laymen, abating onely charles brandon (in whom affection and affinity met), was equall unto him.”
-to this william compton the king granted an augmentation to his arms from his own royal ensigns and devices, and at the beginning of his reign made him custodian of the castle at fulbroke, which had fallen into ruins.
-about 1509 sir william compton, who had gained great distinction at the battle of spurs, and had been knighted for his gallantry, pulled down the castle, and with part of the materials—consisting in the main of some of the stone, the chimneys, and part of the woodwork—set about building himself a mansion at compton wynyates. tradition asserts that the chimneys were carried from the ruined castle, for use in the new mansion, in panniers on the backs of horses and donkeys. thus was built one of the most interesting and picturesque mansions of warwickshire, and, indeed, of any county in england.
-on passing beneath the entrance porch into the inner court one is at once struck by the beautiful bay–window on the right–hand side containing eight lights, with mullions and transoms and carved panels, and battlements above. between two windows on the left of the door is a lion’s head carved in stone, which is worth notice, as there is a tradition that on festive occasions it ran with wine, which was supplied from the inside of the house and ran into a basin formerly fixed below the head. this courtyard is rendered more picturesque than even it would otherwise be by the beautiful flowers and creepers, more especially the fuchsias, which adorn it.
-on entering the house one passes the buttery on the left, divided from the hall itself by an oak screen carved in the linen–fold pattern, and from this a short passage leads to the kitchens, which still contain the large recessed fireplaces of tudor times.
-between the chapel and the hall is the great parlour, with its oak panelling and plaster ceiling bearing the arms of compton and spencer, built in the reign of elizabeth by william compton, first earl of northampton.
-the great hall itself extends the full height of the house, and possesses a fine open–timbered roof, the beams of which spring from a richly carved cornice. the roof was apparently brought from some older building and reduced in size to fit its present use. it is probable, too, that it originally extended one bay farther, which would give it its true proportions.
-at one end is a picturesque half–timbered minstrel gallery, with open panel–work, the gallery in the south–east angle being a modern addition.
-there is an interesting survival of the games of our ancestors in the huge slab of elm, over 23 feet in length and 30 inches in width, which was made to rest on tressels, and in all probability was used for playing “shovel–board,” a popular amusement in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
-the great window on the south–western side of the chapel contains five lights, with cinquefoil heads divided by a transom, and with the spandrils and sill carved. in it was formerly some beautiful painted glass representing the passion, in which also were depicted the figures of the builder of the house and his wife and three children, and the family arms. the glass was removed to balliol college, oxford, during the period of the civil war. it is difficult to exactly locate the former position of the high altar in reference to the great window, it being possible, as was sometimes the case, that the celebrant took up his position behind it, and thus faced north–east, having his back, of course, towards the window itself.
-amongst the other more notable portions of this fine manor–house, which in its entirety contains eighty rooms with seventeen separate flights of stairs and 275 windows, which in the days of the window tax were reduced to the number of thirty, is the private dining–room built in the reign of elizabeth by william compton, first earl of northampton, ornamented with the arms of compton and spencer. the carving of the chimney–piece moulding of hard fir–wood is supposed to be the work of thomas chippendale, the well–known wood–carver of george ii.’s time.
-the music– or smoking–room is probably a comparatively modern addition to the house, about the year 1738; here too the chimney moulding appears to be the work of chippendale.
-on the second floor, approached by the great staircase, which although occupying its original position is a modern reproduction dating only from 1867, king charles’ room is reached, situated on the north side overlooking the moat. in this room charles is said to have slept when a guest here. the moat and the upper part of the house could in those days be reached by a spiral staircase just outside the room.
-the drawing–room on the south side of the house is a beautiful room, oak panelled, and with a handsome plaster ceiling placed there in the time of elizabeth and recently carefully restored. the carving and panelling over the mantelpiece were brought from canonbury house, which was the manor–house of islington, purchased by sir john spencer, the father of the first earl, in 1570. the chapel drawing–room, in which are oak carvings and a moulded ceiling, has on the south side hinged panels, and a door which leads into the upper portion of the chapel, and through which people in the room could hear the service.
-next to this room is the bed–chamber occupied by henry viii. when visiting the house, and containing a window in which is some old painted glass. in one of the lights is a tudor rose intact, and in others there are portions of the arms of catherine of aragon. the ceiling, which is interesting and curious, was probably made in the reign of charles i., and contains the arms of the various royal guests who had honoured the house with their presence, including henry viii., queen elizabeth, james i., and charles i.
-the council chamber in the great tower is reached by a circular staircase, and is notable for its beautiful split oak panelling, exhibiting the grain of the wood in a manner impossible where sawn timber is used. in a small chamber adjoining is a well–hole, probably once forming the entrance to a secret passage communicating with a trap–door in the north wing.
-there were in ancient times a large number of secret hiding–places at compton wynyates. next but one to the room of henry viii. is a chamber from which there was communication with a secret hiding–place of quite considerable dimensions, reached from it by a stairway of eleven steps only 19 inches wide. in this stairway is an “observation hole,” some 10 inches high and about 2–1/2 inches wide, formerly concealed by the panelling, by means of which the approach of the enemy or of a search party could be watched by the fugitive in hiding. the secret chamber is about seven feet square, and has two windows and a small fireplace. one of the distinguishing features of the house is the number of its windows and chimneys; a circumstance that made it extremely difficult for searchers to locate any secret hiding–place, even though furnished with both. few manor–houses have, or at least had, more numerous places of concealment great and small than compton wynyates. in the south–western turret is another hiding–place, stated to have been discovered by lady frances compton about 1770, whilst she was playing there as a child. the story goes that she fell against the plaster–work which concealed the door, and the hollow sound emitted caused investigation to be made. upon opening the chamber it was found (so tradition states) to contain the skeletons of a woman (a nurse?) and two children, concealed, it is supposed, at some period of trouble and forgotten.
-the famous priests’ room or chapel in the roof is reached from the council chamber by three newel staircases, and it is even possible there was a fourth in ancient times. this room was undoubtedly used as a chapel, as there were many popish recusants dwelling in the immediate neighbourhood; a safer and less unostentatious place of worship was scarcely possible. on an elm shelf below the south–west window are, rudely carved, five consecration crosses, showing that it had been used for the purpose of an altar, and was consecrated according to the rites of the romish church. the slab of wood is unique, in that it forms the only known instance of a wooden altar in england.
-the part played by the northampton family in the civil war was such as to attract the attention of the parliamentary forces to even so secluded a spot as compton wynyates, and on thursday, june 6, a detachment of parliamentarians under major bridges appeared before the house and besieged it for three days, when it surrendered. the parliamentarians are reported by dugdale to have killed many of the deer in the park, and also to have wantonly defaced the ornaments in the church.
-james, the third earl of northampton, was ultimately permitted to resume possession of the house and estates on payment of a heavy fine to the parliamentary party.
-since that time the peace of the fine old grey pile has been undisturbed, and the ninth earl, who was created a marquis in 1812, repaired the house, which had fallen somewhat into decay.
-whether one regards compton wynyates from the point of view of an ancient building of romantic and architectural interest, or as a mansion set amid scenery of singular beauty, the place deserves to rank very high indeed among the old houses around which has in past days been woven so much of the glory and romance of england.
-but to the interest of the house must be added the charm of the most beautiful and picturesque gardens, maintained all the year round with a care and lavishness which make them some of the most lovely in the country.
-some four miles to the south–west of wormleighton, picturesquely situated amidst a group of the burton hills, is the tiny village of burton dassett, once said to have been a market–town, and then known as chipping dassett. it was, however, almost entirely destroyed in the reign of henry vii. by sir edward belknap; who, then lord of the manor, destroyed the village for the purpose of making enclosures of the lands. he was never punished for this ruthless act, because of the public services he had rendered the king, and at the close of the fifteenth century was granted immunity by his sovereign from being punished for or questioned concerning his deeds. the village nowadays consists of but two or three farm–houses.
-it possesses, however, a fine and very interesting church of all saints, and a romantic interest in its ancient beacon, which stands upon the extreme north–western point of the burton hills, near the well–known windmill.
-the beacon, which is a stone fourteenth and fifteenth century building, some sixteen feet in height and sixty–two feet in circumference, with walls of extreme thickness, has a conical roof, and projecting from the top are twenty–five corbels, which apparently supported a gallery in former times reached by a wooden ladder or outside stairs. there are two windows, one looking out westward to the malvern hills, and another in a north–easterly direction towards rugby and high cross. from the summit of this stunted tower there is on a clear day a wonderful prospect to the south–east, only bounded by irvinghoe, forty miles distant, where there was another beacon; whilst to the north–east, twenty miles distant, was bickenhill beacon, and to the north north–east high cross in leicestershire, and the south south–east nettlebed in oxfordshire, twenty–five miles off, with all of which places there was in former days signalling communication by means of a fire lighted in a large cresset, some three feet in diameter and some eighteen inches deep, which was placed upon a pole and fixed to the roof.
-very prettily situated below the beacon, on the southern spur of the hill, is the church, which in its size and beauty speaks eloquently of the town which once supplied it with worshippers, but is now almost untraceable. the building consists of a chancel, transepts, nave, aisles, and north porch, and at the west end an embattled tower. the architectural features of the exterior, which at once attract attention, are the fine early english five–light window in the north transept, with its plate tracery.
-the north porch is decorative in design, and is ornamented with ball flower moulding; the doorway, however, is norman, as is also that on the south side of the church. it seems more than possible, indeed, that these doorways are survivals of the ancient norman church, which the present building superseded. the tower dates from the early part of the fourteenth century, and has exceedingly massive walls. the interior of the church, when viewed from the tower entrance, is unusually impressive and striking.
-the interior presents a number of most interesting features, for in it is to be found work of the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and seventeenth centuries. the unusually fine chancel arch is transitional; the chancel itself is probably early fourteenth–century work.
-some eight miles south–west of compton wynyates, retired from the oxford road, stands the interesting, picturesque, and considerable manor–house of little wolford. with its ancient courtyard, shaded by yews and gay in summer with hollyhocks and other old–time flowers, it is still a fine specimen of a half–timbered stone mansion of the early part of the sixteenth century. formerly belonging to the ingraham family, the place has fallen into decay, and from its old estate as a considerable and picturesque mansion.
-the hall, which possesses an open timbered roof, has a good tudor fireplace, and on the walls are hung old portraits of former owners, and relics in the shape of saddlery and arms, said to have been used during the civil war. at the back of the house is a chamber with a large oven, in which, tradition asserts, rightly or wrongly, charles ii. hid when a fugitive after worcester fight.
-shakespeare’s life and shakespeare’s town
-the history of stratford–on–avon, which takes its name from the saxon stroete or street, in allusion to the highway on the great north road leading from london to birmingham and holyhead, and the ford, from the passage of the avon, which in ancient times ran parallel with the bridge of fourteen arches erected by sir hugh clopton at his own expense in the reign of henry vii.
-the existence of the town can be traced to a date some three centuries prior to the norman conquest, but historical details of its early days are scant, although there was in the seventh century a saxon monastery possessed by æthelard, one of the subordinate kings of the wiccians. this foundation was, however, in all probability, dissolved a couple of centuries later. although doubtless the celtic invader, the proud legions of rome, and the saxon settlers who succeeded the latter, all visited stratford, which from time immemorial must have been a “sweet and pleasant place of good pasturage and watering,” there exist no records of those long–past days, when the great forest of arden covered with an almost impenetrable boscage the whole country which lay between the avon to the south and watling street to the north, to whose depths and fastnesses the original inhabitants retreated in front of the invaders who, afflicting britain, found their all–conquering way at times even into the heart of england itself.
-in the immediate neighbourhood of stratford are many survivals of celtic origin in the nomenclature, and there are some authorities who seek to trace some measure of shakespeare’s poetic genius to a remote and long–forgotten celtic ancestry.
-anciently the town stood almost on the edge of the wooland or woodland district, in contradistinction to the feldon, which was less thickly afforested. at even so late a period as the times of the poet camden speaks of the greater part of the district as thickly wooded, although possessing tracts of pasture and land given over to corn. probably the immediate neighbourhood very closely resembled the more thickly–wooded portions of the new forest of the present day.
-the first record of the existence of a place of any importance is the entry in the domesday book where, in 1085, is given a valuation of the manor; that then appears to have consisted of barely 2000 acres, which land was in the occupation of men who were to all intents and purposes villeins. the lord of the manor, at the time of the survey, was the bishop of worcester, to whose see the town belonged, king ethelred of mercia having given the monastery in 691 to egwin, the third bishop of the diocese. this monastery is generally supposed to have been founded by the river side on that exquisite site now occupied by holy trinity church.
-the first event of any historical importance in connection with “the town of stratford by avon,” and one destined to have a great effect upon its ultimate growth and importance, was the granting by richard i., in the year 1197, of the right to hold a market each thursday. this privilege was obtained for the inhabitants by the then bishop of worcester, who charged the townsfolk the sum of sixteen shillings per annum for it. this market was held on the site of the present rother market, and to it the drovers brought their cattle weekly from the pastures round about or from the cleared spaces of the forest of arden near by. the word itself serves to preserve a memorial of the nature of the institution, “rother” being anglo–saxon for horned cattle.
-the market, however, appears to have declined in importance towards the middle of the thirteenth century, but was reinstituted or recovered its lost popularity in the early years of the fourteenth. in addition to the market, which, as we have already pointed out, must have been largely devoted to cattle, five annual fairs were held, which were doubtless a great attraction to the townsfolk and to dwellers in the immediate neighbourhood. four of these were, we find, largely patronised by drovers, and a great trade was done at them in cattle. the reason for this circumstance is not far to seek when one takes into consideration the fact that in the immediate vicinity of stratford there were considerable extents of rich pasture land which, from time immemorial, had been used for herds and flocks. the market frequented by dealers in other goods and by the wandering pedlars of the middle ages lay around the high cross, at the northern end of the high street, in the space which in those days lay between rother market and the ancient timber bridge across the avon.
-to these fairs doubtless came the inhabitants from far and near; from the scattered homesteads amid the forest glades of arden, and from the manor–houses which began in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries to spring up upon the lands granted by successive kings to their vassals for services rendered or for political reasons. ultimately there came to stratford fairs merchants of east anglia and enterprising traders from so far afield as london. pedlars there had always been from quite early times.
-from the fourteenth century onwards the town appears to have had no lack of sons interested in her welfare, and amongst the earliest benefactors were two brothers named robert and john de stratford, and a nephew. the two brothers were destined to become distinguished ornaments of the church, the second named being in turn archdeacon of lincoln in 1319, bishop of winchester in 1323, and archbishop of canterbury in 1333. robert being vicar of his native town, then in 1335 chancellor of the university of oxford, and two years later he was consecrated bishop of chichester. ralph de stratford, the nephew, being raised to the see of london in 1339.
-in a measure these two brothers, who were not alone churchmen but also statesmen, holding in turn the chancellorship of england, john occupying that high office four times, may be said to have inherited the spirit of benefaction for which they were to be remembered by their native town. some time during the reign of the first edward their father had founded a chapel for the famous guild of the holy cross, which in all likelihood was built upon the same site as that occupied by the guild chapel now surviving at the corner of church street and chapel lane. to this chapel robert de stratford was appointed the first master in 1269, on the sanction of godfrey giffard, bishop of worcester. during the next year the bishop fostered the newly–founded religious community (which was not, however, ecclesiastical) by granting a forty–days’ indulgence to all those who had presented gifts to the guild. the register, which exists at the present day, and contains entries from the middle of the fourteenth century, shows that the guild must have been wealthy, as it possessed property in almost every street of the town.
-to his brother robert belongs the credit of local improvement of the town. in his time the streets were little more than rough tracks or paths connecting the different quarters where the inhabitants had erected dwellings along the roads which led to henley–in–arden and alcester. “the ways,” we read, “were of such unevenness that all who traversed them in rainy days came to their end muddied, and many a cart stuck fast even within the town.” robert de stratford decided to amend this state of affairs, and to enable him to pave them he, in 1332, obtained leave to tax the produce brought into the town for sale by the farmers and others of the immediate neighbourhood. thereby he not only conferred a great benefit upon his fellow–townsmen, but also upon those who came to stratford for business.
-the history of the town subsequent to this date until the reign of edward vi. is very obscure. indeed, although it is more than probable that it saw something of the wars of the roses, and in a measure played its part in the history of the county at large, the records of its progress and the doings of its inhabitants are scanty indeed. the name of one family, however, which became indissolubly connected with stratford towards the close of the fifteenth century, calls for at least a passing mention. in 1483 sir hugh clopton, of the manor of clopton, which lies about a mile to the north of stratford, came to the town and built himself a fine house (as houses were so considered in those days) on the site now occupied by new place. it was he that, seeing the old bridge of wood which then spanned the avon was in a “sorry state,” erected the stone structure which, since the days of henry vii. till the present day, has spanned the river with its fourteen arches, except for a short period from 1645–52, when there was at most a temporary passage across, owing to the destruction of the second arch of the end farthest from the town by the parliamentarians. during the reign of the virgin queen, stratford, which had by then become a country town of some little importance and size, made some progress. but in even the spacious days of elizabeth there was still something of mediæval ways and manners clinging to the life and habits of towns such as stratford. it is difficult for us, who dwell in the twentieth century, with its almost fanatical cleanliness and idolisation of everything which can be described as progress, to realise the conditions prevailing in places like stratford, which was probably not worse governed or overseen than other towns of similar size. in a contemporary record one reads with astonishment that a “muck heap” was permitted in no less than six places, the removal of which unsavoury deposits was only suffered twice a year! the streets were, notwithstanding the official refuse heap, often almost impassable for filth, “fine gentlemen and dames passing with difficulty without the soiling of their garments along them.” even a vicar of the town was interrogated by the council regarding a pig–stye he had erected in the open street, to the obstruction of the common way! the town council (stratford had been granted a charter of incorporation in 1553 by edward vi.) seem to have attempted some control of the inhabitants, but, if one may believe the evidence afforded by contemporary documents, with but scant and qualified success. rushes were still strewn on the clay floors of even the best houses, and, what is of greater importance, were not removed too frequently. and although a mandate was issued by the town council in the year before elizabeth ascended the throne for the inhabitants in the winter to hang out a lantern before their doors between the hours of five and eight in the evening, this order was frequently disregarded. it is from these fragmentary records that one is able to gain at least an approximate picture of the ancient town of stratford in the period just preceding shakespeare’s birth.
-twice during the reign of elizabeth was the town visited by devastating fires, each of which destroyed some two hundred houses and rendered a large number of the townsfolk homeless and almost destitute. it was the fate that very frequently befell ancient towns, and was repeated again in the year 1614, when upwards of fifty houses, some of them the handsomest in the town, were burned to the ground. stratford is still rich for a place of its size in architectural survivals of an age when picturesqueness was so marked a feature of domestic buildings, but for these devastating conflagrations what might it not have been?
-the place has never played any important part in history, but at the outset of the civil war it took the side of the king, and although the royalist garrison was in 1642 driven out of the town by a parliamentarian force under lord brooke of warwick, the townsfolk remained faithful in heart to the cause they had espoused, and in 1643 queen henrietta maria and prince rupert with a large body of troops were quartered there. the queen remained three days, and stayed at new place, where she was entertained by mrs. hall, shakespeare’s daughter.
-so far as history making goes, stratford’s part may be said to have ceased when the civil war no longer caused it to be the venue of the contending parties. and had it not been for the event which had occurred on april 23, 1564 (old style), when the bard of avon entered the world in the henley street house to which so many pilgrims flock each year, the claim of the town to special notice and description would be far less easily defined.
-obscure as many of the incidents of shakespeare’s early life unfortunately are, the connection of his family with warwickshire and with stratford are happily traceable with some considerable degree of certitude. richard shakespeare (the christian name of whom is traditional, it must be admitted) is popularly supposed to have been the owner or tenant of some land and tenements at snitterfield, a small village about four miles north of stratford, situated on rising ground, which were granted to him for “his faithful and approved service to the most prudent prince, king henry vii. of famous memory”; what these services were does not appear. of his several children two at least were sons named john and henry. the former, afterwards to be the father of the poet, was born about the year 1530, and was certainly a resident in stratford prior to 1552. about the latter year he was following the trade of fell–monger (hide seller) and glover, possibly also combining with these the trade of butcher, and it is ascertained that he at times also dealt in corn and timber. all of which trades he carried on in henley street. he appears to have prospered in his business, for in the month of october 1556 he is recorded as having purchased the copyhold of a house, garden, and some other property in greenhill street, not far from henley street. in the following year he was married to mary arden, the daughter of one robert arden, of aston cantlow, a village some six miles north–west of stratford, who left her a small estate called asbies, as well as reversionary rights in property at snitterfield, including the farm which he had leased to shakespeare’s father. in the same year john shakespeare became a member of the stratford corporation.
-his house on the northern side of henley street was one of considerable size, and, indeed, in those days was doubtless esteemed a fine house. as was not inappropriate for the birthplace of one who loved and must have often rambled in the forest of arden, it was from thence that came the oak planks and beams of which the house was built,—timbers tough and well seasoned, fit to outlast a thousand years. it was here that to john and mary shakespeare was born a daughter, joan, in 1558 (who, it is probable, died some two years later); another daughter, margaret, in 1562 (who died when about four months old); and then in 1564 a son, william, destined to be the greatest of english poets and dramatists.
-the exact date of his birth is, unfortunately, but conjectural. it is usually accepted as being april 23. but, as was the custom with the other children of john and mary shakespeare, only the dates of baptism are recorded. that in the case of william was april 26, and the date being old style brings it actually to may 5 in our present calendar. but there is a well–authenticated and continuous tradition that st. george’s day, april 23, was the actual date of the poet’s birth; and most authorities are agreed that in this case tradition is probably right. it must be remembered in this connection that in those days it was the custom to bring children to baptism as soon as possible after birth, and two or three days after was a very common time.
-shakespeare came into the world at a period when there was a perfect galaxy of prospective literary talent. michael drayton, born the previous year, was still an infant; walter raleigh, philip sidney, and edmund spenser were boys; and francis bacon, destined to provide so much material for shakespearian controversy in later times, was a tiny child.
-indeed, the remembrance of shakespeare’s birth year was likely to remain in the public mind for some considerable period, for it was the year of the great frost, when the thames froze almost solidly from side to side above london bridge, and a fair of several weeks’ duration was held upon it. whilst in stratford there was a recurrence of the plague, which is stated to have carried off at least one in seven of the total population. fortunately the house of john shakespeare escaped the scourge.
-in the following year shakespeare’s father was made an alderman of the borough, and in 1566 a son, gilbert, was born to him. in 1568 the alderman became high–bailiff of the town; in the following year a daughter was born, who (in spite of the ill–fortune popularly supposed to follow such a thing as giving a child the name of a previous one who had died) was named joan. in 1571 john shakespeare became senior alderman of the town, which was the most exalted civic office the place could bestow, and entitled its possessor to the title of magister, both after as well as during his term of office. it is by this title that he is at and from this date described in the parish registers. in the same year was born his daughter anne, who was baptized on september 28; and two years afterwards a son, baptized richard, was born.
-in 1575 is recorded the purchase by john shakespeare from one edmund hall of the house in henley street, now known as the birthplace, for the sum of £40. from this period the star of shakespeare’s father, which hitherto, except for quite trivial ups and downs of fortune, appears to have been so distinctly in the ascendant, waned. three years later his embarrassment was such that he was compelled to mortgage asbies, which his wife had brought him, and also to sell his interest in certain lands at snitterfield.
-he appears also to have ceased attending the meetings of the town council, and even to have had his taxes remitted. in 1579 his daughter anne died, and in the following year his name appears in several lists of recusants, which circumstance has been held by some to afford evidence of his having either been a romanist or having become one. at this time the roman catholic religion was of course proscribed, and it has been thought by some that his troubles may possibly have arisen in part from his apostasy or belonging to the “old faith.” there is, however, no clear evidence in support of this contention. in 1585 his affairs seem to have gone from bad to worse, for he was deprived of his office of alderman for non–attendance, the record reading “he doth not come to the halles, nor hath he of long time.”
-it was a few years later, however, that the crisis in his affairs seems to have been reached, for during this period we learn that he could not attend church for fear of “processe of debt.” in 1597, on account of the success of his son (as some think), there was a distinct recovery in the position of the shakespeares. and during the year a bill was filed by him in the court of chancery against john lambert, the son of the man to whom his estate of asbies had been mortgaged in 1578, the object of the action being for its recovery. the argument of john shakespeare being that though money had been tendered for the release of the property the lamberts still held it, and refused to resign possession. about the same time, too, a grant of arms was made to him by one dethick, garter king–at–arms. the motto afterwards used by the poet was “non sanz droict.”
-in 1601 shakespeare’s father died, the fact being recorded in the burial register at stratford as follows:—
-1601, sept. 8, mr. johanes shakspeare.
-thus ends the record of a life which saw quite its fair share of vicissitudes.
-of shakespeare’s early life, unfortunately, comparatively little is known. it appears probable, however, that about the year 1571, when he was seven years old, he was sent to the grammar school founded in 1481 by one thomas jolyffe. there is no reason for doubting that he was for some considerable time a scholar there, and learned the “small latin and less greek” which was assigned to him by ben jonson.
-it was whilst he was still a schoolboy that queen elizabeth visited the earl of leicester at kenilworth; and thither many from the districts round about flocked to gaze upon her majesty, and to witness with open–eyed wonder the magnificent pageants which were enacted for her amusement. as stratford is but thirteen miles distant from kenilworth by road it appears more than possible that both shakespeare and his father were amongst the spectators. if this were the case it is probable that the kenilworth festivities were the first introduction which the future dramatist had to the stage, and that the influence of the scenes he must have witnessed becomes easily traceable in several of his plays.
-every life of shakespeare, even with the benefit of the latest discoveries and the most recent and learned reasoning and deductions, must unhappily be largely conjectural. not because it is possible to believe that it was blank or useless in its earlier days, but because, alas! the records are so scanty that the most able and painstaking research has succeeded in eliciting from the past but a fragmentary chain of circumstances and comparatively unimportant facts where one would have had detailed evidence. shakespeare’s wedding with anne hathaway when he was nineteen and she seven years his senior, some time in the early part of the month of december 1582, was followed on may 26 of the succeeding year by the birth of his daughter susannah. no evidence exists to settle the question of either shakespeare’s employment or mode of life during the early period of his married life, and the only indisputable fact that has come down to us relating to the next year or two is the record of the birth of twins, a son hamnet and a daughter judith, on february 2, 1585, who were baptized in stratford church.
-it was about this time that shakespeare went to london, though probably quite late in the year. the reason of his removal from his native town is quite unknown, although some authorities appear to favour the traditional story that it was in consequence of his poaching exploits, and the action of sir thomas lucy. others think that he was drawn thither by a desire to better his position, and thus provide for his increasing family. two years later, in 1587, he was found, according to mr. fleay, a member of the earl of leicester’s players either at the time of or shortly after their visit to stratford, when they probably gave performances in the guild hall. this is, however, entirely supposition, as there is neither any very definite tradition nor any recorded fact which proves shakespeare to have left stratford under these circumstances.
-for several years after this date there is nothing to connect the poet with his native town, but in 1596 the register at stratford contains an entry recording the burial of his only son hamnet, which took place on august 11. the following year the poet purchased from william underhill, gentleman, “one messuage, two barns, two gardens, and two orchards, with appurtenances, in stratford–on–avon,” for the sum of £60, the house being that erected by sir hugh clopton in the reign of henry vii., and known then as the great house. shakespeare renamed it new place, and by this name the site (for the house has disappeared) is known to this day.
-from this time onward the poet seems to have enjoyed very material prosperity, and became at various times the purchaser of other property in the town and neighbourhood.
-in 1607 his elder daughter susannah married one of the leading medical men of the town, dr. john hall, and in the following year a grand–daughter was born to the poet, named elizabeth. his younger daughter judith married in 1616 a vintner of stratford named thomas quiney. of this marriage there were three children born, two of whom survived to attain manhood, but died without issue.
-these somewhat bare facts unhappily constitute almost all that is known of shakespeare and his family life. his death occurring on april 23, 1616, after an illness of some weeks.
-of the latter part of his life his first biographer, rowe, writes, it “was spent, as all men of sense may wish theirs may be, in some retirement, and the conversation of his friends. his pleasurable wit and good nature engaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood.”
-but, however meagre may be the details of the poet’s life at stratford and elsewhere, fortunately for pilgrims to his native town and admirers of his plays, there are still surviving the ravages of time and modern changes, so often destructive of these things, many buildings and spots directly or indirectly connected with him and incidents in his career.
-the birthplace, situated in henley street, is of course the most interesting and important building in the eyes of shakespearian “critics” and admirers alike. it is a half–timbered, two–storied building with dormer windows and a wooden porch, which although largely restored in 1857–58, may be considered to fairly represent the house as it stood at the time of the poet’s birth, great care having been taken at the time of restoration to follow every indication discoverable of its former state. both the birthplace and the wool–shop adjoining were probably erected at the commencement of the sixteenth century, and at that period the house would have undoubtedly held rank as one of the better sort, and as forming a very comfortable residence for a tradesman in a small provincial town such as stratford then was. but in those far–off elizabethan days the environment of the house was very different from what it now is. we have already referred to the state of stratford streets when rubbish and household refuse not only disfigured them, but made passage through them both difficult and unsavoury, and john shakespeare would not seem to have been more particular than his neighbours, for we find that in april 1552 he was mulcted in the not then inconsiderable sum of twelve–pence for cleaning away the rubbish which he had allowed to accumulate in front of his own door. the roadway was probably little more than a deeply rutted track, with a walnut tree, which was standing as late as 1765, in front of the entrance door, and under the shade of which doubtless shakespeare’s father, when his business was done, used to sit and gossip with his neighbours. across the road was a pool of water (probably a duck pond), and at the rear of the house a garden and outbuildings.
-after john shakespeare’s death, the dwelling probably remained in the occupation of his widow till her death in 1608, when it came into possession of joan hart, her sister. the poet himself left the house to her by will, and she lived in it until 1646. shakespeare’s daughter susannah hall afterwards came into possession (having previously been the owner of the wool–shop), and from her it descended to her daughter lady barnard. ultimately, after various owners and vicissitudes, the building was converted in 1784 into an open–fronted butcher’s shop, the windows and porch being removed to allow of a proper display of the stock in trade. the wool–shop next door had long previously, in 1603, become an inn, called at first “the maidenhead,” and afterwards “the swan and maidenhead.” its front was faced with brickwork in 1808, and some forty years later the buildings were bought for the nation, and ten years afterwards were restored, as already mentioned.
-the street entrance is directly into the chief living room of the house, which is stone paved, and provided with an old–fashioned recessed fireplace, as is also the kitchen. behind the latter are two small apartments known as the wash–house and pantry. beneath the kitchen is a small cellar reached by a flight of steps, and probably remaining much in its original state.
-the principal room of the upper floor, facing the street, and reached by an oak staircase of ten steps, is the birth–room. the walls, ceiling, and windows are covered by numberless signatures, written and scratched upon them by “pilgrims” before the custom was strictly prohibited. amongst this strange collection of autographs can still be deciphered many of interest, including those of izaak walton, thomas carlyle, sir walter scott, and other famous people. the bureau in the room was brought from the old college, demolished in 1799, and the chairs were gifts. this by no means imposing chamber not only witnessed the birth of the poet, but in all likelihood those of his brothers and sisters, and was the death–chamber of his father, mother, and sister susannah, mrs. hart. in a room at the back of this, originally forming two small bedrooms, is an oil painting presumed to be that of shakespeare. it closely resembles the bust in the church, and was possibly copied from it. it was given to the house by mr. w. o. hunt, and is supposed to have originally belonged to the clopton family, having been found in edward clopton’s house on his death. curiously enough, the face was formerly disguised with a beard, which a mr. collins, a connoisseur of some note, discovered was painted over the original picture. the portrait was, therefore, cleaned and repaired (the beard being removed in the process), and was afterwards deposited at the birthplace. the sign–boards in the room are old ones belonging to the house.
-there is none of the original furniture in the house, it having long ago been sold, broken up, or otherwise disposed of. in shakespeare’s day the furniture of a house of this size and type must have been of a very simple character. it would have consisted of little beyond a substantial table, a press, chairs, a cupboard, and a tall clock, with the usual table utensils in the living room; and a four–post wooden bedstead, a chair or two, and a table or washstand in the bedrooms. the floors were carpetless, though those of the living room and kitchen might be strewn with rushes.
-in the central case of relics are a ring with his initials, w.s., entwined on the setting; and a sword supposed to have belonged to him. the glass jug from which david garrick drank at the jubilee in 1769, and the inn sign of the falcon tavern at bidford, are also preserved in this part of the museum; with a considerable number of deeds relating to property acquired by various members of the shakespeare family, or bearing their signatures as witnesses thereto. of the books none are of particular note, although amongst them are several copies of early editions of the poet’s plays.
-the garden in the rear of the house is of considerable beauty and interest from the fact that it is largely stocked with specimens of the trees, fruits, and flowers mentioned by shakespeare in his various plays. in the centre now reposes the remains of the ancient market cross of stratford, dating from the fourteenth century.
-in the angle formed by chapel street and chapel lane, beyond the town hall and past the well–known shakespeare hotel, is a group of houses of considerable interest situated upon the left–hand side of the street. the first is known as hathaway’s house, and was the residence in 1647 of a descendant of the family of shakespeare’s wife, named thomas hathaway. next door but one is nash’s house, once the property of thomas nash, who married elizabeth hall, the poet’s grand–daughter; on her death it came again into the possession of the nash family, and was one of the buildings purchased with new place in 1861. the front of the house has been several times restored since shakespeare’s day, and the interior has been greatly modernised, but a part of the back and the beams of the chimney are without doubt portions of the original building. the house is now a museum, containing several items of distinct interest, amongst which are some chairs formerly at new place, and a fine photographic copy of the proof impression of the droeshout portrait of shakespeare engraved in 1623. the house of shaw, an intimate friend of the poet’s, and one of the witnesses to his will, is next door to the museum, between it and the hathaways’ house.
-only the site, and garden, and a few traces of the foundations of new place, shakespeare’s home in his latter years, remain. nothing of the mansion originally erected for sir hugh clopton has been left standing. the fact that it was probably the most imposing residence in the town in shakespeare’s time affords interesting evidence of the prosperity which undoubtedly came to him from his companies of players and the performance of his plays. on acquiring the property of new place, shakespeare made considerable alterations to fit it to his requirements and ideas; the house at this time having two gardens attached to it, one small and one larger. it is probable that the famous mulberry tree, which was in all likelihood one of a considerable number distributed through the eastern counties and midlands by a frenchman of the name of verton or verdon in 1609, was planted by the poet in the smaller garden. of the great garden shakespeare made an orchard, and in it there is some evidence that he passed much of his time. prior to the year 1609 the house was occupied by one thomas greene, town clerk of stratford, who claimed cousinship with the poet; and after the latter’s death in 1616 the property descended to his married daughter, mrs. hall, and here in 1643 she entertained henrietta maria, consort of charles i.
-in addition to the shakespearian dwellings we have described, there are a considerable number of domestic buildings and fragments in stratford of interest as architectural survivals, but with which there is no space to deal here. the curious and the serious student of shakespeare’s town will have little difficulty and much pleasure in discovering them.
-exactly opposite new place, on the other side of chapel lane, are the old guild hall and guild chapel. the latter anciently the chapel of the guild of the holy cross. this organisation, like some of those of coventry and other places, was partly religious and partly secular in character. although it was certainly in existence in the reign of edward i. the actual date of its foundation is unknown. the ancient governing body of the guild consisted of two aldermen and six councillors, who were fined fourpence if they failed to attend its meetings. the annual subscription in 1389 was sixpence, and admission to the guild was made upon payment of an entrance fee, which varied in amount according to whether the applicant was married or single. there were social feasts at various times during the year, more especially at easter–tide, and the existing records of these form a valuable contribution to our knowledge of the habits and manners of those far distant times.
-that stratford could not in those early days have been a place of great resource or importance is made clear by the fact that it was necessary to obtain supplies for these guild festivities from outside, and keep the live stock, pigs, fowls, sheep, goats, etc. alive in charge of the guild until required.
-by the middle of the thirteenth century the guild had prospered to such a degree that in 1269 it obtained a license from the then bishop of worcester to build a chapel and hospital. the present guild chapel is the one erected during the earlier part of the fifteenth century, on the site of the original building. the nave was rebuilt in 1292, in henry vii.’s reign, by sir hugh clopton. on the exterior of the porch are four shields bearing the arms of sir hugh clopton, those of the city of london (of which he was lord mayor), those of the merchants of the woolstaple, and the remaining shield bearing what are thought to be the original arms of stratford. early in the nineteenth century a series of frescoes were discovered in the chapel, which were promptly whitewashed over or otherwise destroyed; fortunately, however, not before one thomas fisher had made a series of drawings, which in some measure permits us to realise the character of the pictures; the subjects were “the doom,” “the history of the holy cross,” “the combat between st. george and the dragon,” and “the martyrdom of st. thomas of canterbury.” a fragment of a fresco (a figure with mutilated legs bearing a shield) is discernible on the west of the arch of the inner door.
-with this building shakespeare must have been well acquainted when a boy, and also as a man. whilst resident at new place he, in all probability, attended it, as there was a pew attached to the property. not only is this small building interesting as a survival of a bygone age, but as intimately connected with at least two portions of shakespeare’s life—boyhood, and his later years of residence in the town of his birth.
-another building of great and enduring interest is the guild hall, an ancient, half–timbered structure standing on the south side of the chapel, and built in 1296 by robert de stratford, but greatly altered during the fifteenth century. it was erected for the use of the members of the guild, and after the dissolution of that body it was granted by edward vi. in 1553 to the principal inhabitants, and was later on used for the purposes of a town hall, until the present one was erected in 1768 on the site of a previous building. in 1890, at the south end, underneath the wainscot, some traces of frescoes were discovered in the plaster panels. the centre one contains a representation of the crucifixion, with the virgin on one side and a figure (probably st. john) on the other. in the other panels are coats of arms. it was in this hall that shakespeare most probably first became acquainted with “stage plays” and players, and not, as some suppose, at kenilworth, for it was here that travelling companies, invited by the bailiff and aldermen of the town, used to give performances. the first of these of which a record exists visited the town in 1569; subsequently the companies of the earls of leicester, worcester, and warwick all gave performances at stratford; that of the first named in 1587, the year in which shakespeare is supposed to have gone to london in their company.
-the famous grammar school, founded in henry vi.’s reign by thomas jolyffe, a priest who was a native of stratford, is above the guild hall. as was the case with so many other institutions of a like character, the dissolution of the monasteries and foundations saw its funds “appropriated” by the crown, and this remained the case until the accession of edward vi., who in 1553 granted a charter of incorporation to the principal inhabitants, and with it restored the property formerly belonging to the guild. the mathematical room and the latin room are both immediately above the guild hall, and in both there are high open–timbered roofs, with remarkably stout tie–beams. it was at the lower end of the latin room that shakespeare’s traditional desk used to stand, which was formerly the second master’s desk. aubrey states that the poet was for a short period a schoolmaster in the country, and, if this is correct, it is, of course, quite possible that he filled the office of junior master at the grammar school, and used the desk associated by tradition with him.
-the almshouses, which were formerly for twenty–four poor members of the guild, and nowadays have twelve male and twelve female inmates, adjoin the school—a row of picturesque half–timbered houses.
-close to the river and not far from the memorial theatre stands stratford church of the holy trinity, ideally situated, almost embosomed in trees, and approached on the north side by a beautiful avenue of limes. the building, which was a collegiate church from the reign of edward iii. to the dissolution, is a cruciform edifice consisting of a nave with aisles, a chancel, transepts, and a central tower with an elegant octagonal spire, which seems to dominate the whole town when viewed from a little distance. the building is of mixed styles of architecture, the oldest portions of which are the early english tower (the present spire was erected in 1764, replacing the ancient wooden one); nave of the same period, though possessing a decorated clerestory; and the north aisle, built about the beginning of the thirteenth century. the transepts, which were very considerably restored in the reign of henry vii. by the executors of sir hugh clopton, probably date from the beginning of the thirteenth century.
-the decorated south aisle was erected in 1332 by john de stratford, archbishop of canterbury, and he it was who founded at its east end a chapel dedicated to sir thomas of canterbury.
-the chancel is perpendicular, and was built by dr. thomas balshall at the end of the fifteenth century. the north porch is perpendicular, and the clerestory of the nave was erected late in the fifteenth century, replacing an earlier one of about the same period as the arcade.
-the north aisle had a chapel at its eastern end, called formerly the chapel of our lady the virgin, but now commonly known as the clopton chapel, on account of the number of tombs belonging to that family which it contains.
-judicio pylium, genio socratem, arte maronem, terra tegit, populus moeret, olympus habet.
-stay, passenger, why goest thou so fast? read, if thou canst, whom envious death hath plast within this monument; shakespeare, with whome quicke natur dide; whose name doth deck ys tombe, far more than cost; sith all yt he hath writt, leaves living art, but page to serve his witt.
-originally the bust was coloured, but at the end of the eighteenth century it was given a coat of white paint, which remained on for nearly seventy years, when on its removal in 1861 sufficient traces of the original colouring were discovered to permit of restoration.
-it is generally assumed that the face of this bust was modelled from a death mask, possibly even from the cast which is now at darmstadt; and although either the execution was originally poor or the likeness has been spoiled by restoration, the monument is, of course, of the greatest interest to all admirers of the poet, and to those who are students of his life and works. it is believed that the memorial was provided by dr. hall and his wife, and at all events there seems little doubt that they superintended its erection.
-close beneath the monument and within the altar rails is the poet’s grave, with the well–known lines:—
-good frend for jesus sake forbeare
-it is supposed that these lines were written by shakespeare himself, fearful lest his remains might be disturbed; for anciently, on the north side of the chancel, was a charnel–house in which were a large collection of human bones. this was done away with in 1800.
-next to the north wall, on the left of the poet’s grave, is that of his wife, who died on august 6, 1623; a latin inscription on a small brass plate marking the spot. close by are also buried thomas nash, the first husband of elizabeth hall, shakespeare’s grand–daughter, who died in 1647; dr. john hall, who died in 1635; and susannah hall, shakespeare’s daughter, who died in 1649. the original lines on the grave of the latter were obliterated some time at the beginning of the eighteenth century, and an inscription to some one else put in their place. the lines were, however, restored in 1836.
-witty above her sexe, but that’s not all, wise to salvation was good mistris hall. something of shakespeare was not that but this wholy of him with whom she’s now in blisse. then, passenger, ha’st ne’re a teare to weepe with her that wept with all? that wept, yet set her selfe to chere them up with comforts cordiall. her love shall live, her mercy spread, when thou ha’st ne’re a teare to shed.
-the stained glass in the east window dates from 1895. the “american” window, presented in 1885, is situated on the north side of the chancel, the subject of which is “the seven ages of man.” the choir stalls are very handsomely carved, and contain grotesques on their misereres. the fine stained–glass window unveiled in 1896 by mr. bayard, the then american ambassador to this country, is another gift of admirers of the poet in the united states. the chancel screen, which now occupies a position across the chancel archway, was originally in the nave, and the former screen is placed in the north transept and forms the vestry.
-in the clopton chapel are to be found a number of excellent memorials of the family, one of the finest being one against the wall of george carew, earl of totnes, and baron clopton and joyce his wife. the effigies of the earl and countess, which are of coloured alabaster, lie under an arch supported by corinthian columns. the earl is in armour, and the weapons and other warlike objects represented on the tomb commemorate the fact that he was the master of ordnance of james i. the high tomb, which is without effigy or inscription, has numerous panels formerly adorned with “latten” shields. it was thought that this tomb was intended for sir hugh clopton, lord mayor of london in 1492, from the fact that he left directions that if he died at stratford he was to be buried there. he was, however, buried in st. margaret’s, lothbury.
-another interesting memorial placed against the north wall is that of william clopton and his wife ann. the recumbent effigies are respectively in armour and in a low–bodiced robe. william clopton has his head resting upon his helmet, whilst on the head of his wife is a close–fitting hood with a peaked front. the tomb also has upon it effigies of their children, some of whom are depicted as in swaddling bands, indicating that they must have died in infancy.
-amongst the other objects of universal interest in this fine church are the old font, in which shakespeare is supposed to have been baptized; and the ancient register of the church, wisely protected by a glass case placed at the western end of the north aisle, containing the entries of shakespeare’s baptism and burial, and many other records of interest.
-the shakespeare memorial buildings, which stand adjoining the bancroft gardens at the foot of chapel lane by the river, form an imposing and fairly picturesque pile in the elizabethan style of architecture; but which, frankly, to most people must in its newness appear somewhat out of character with the general atmosphere of the old town. the buildings contain a library; theatre, capable of seating nearly 900 persons; a picture gallery; and central tower. the idea of a national memorial to the nation’s poet had been several times brought forward prior to the autumn of 1874, when mr. charles e. flower presented the fine site on which the memorial stands, and the sum of £1000, coupled with the suggestion that the memorial should take the form of a theatre. a committee was formed, and the first stone was laid on shakespeare’s day, april 23, 1877. the theatre portion was opened on the same day two years later, and the whole building was completed in 1883. many years before, david garrick had made the suggestion that a “school for actors” should be founded at stratford, but this idea—with several others mooted at various times—was never proceeded with.
-in the library, which is on the ground floor, are more than 10,000 volumes relating to shakespeare, his works and times; a collection alike valuable to the student of the poet and to those who would seek to know what were the modes of life and manners of the elizabethan age. the picture gallery contains some interesting portraits of famous actors and actresses, a copy of the davenant bust of the poet, and a portrait of shakespeare, from which some authorities claim that the droeshout engraving was made. whether this latter supposition is correct or not is still in dispute; and, indeed, around the whole question of its authenticity has raged a fierce battle, in which many artists and antiquarians of note have at various times taken part. the portrait is on an elm panel, and bears date 1609. the most interesting point is what became of the portrait from which droeshout engraved his? for many years it had been untraceable, but some few years ago the picture in question was presented to the memorial by mrs. flower. such well–known authorities as mr. sidney lee and mr. salt brassington are inclined, for reasons into which it is impossible to enter here, to accept the portrait as that from which droeshout engraved his, with which shakespeare’s friend ben jonson would appear to have been satisfied as being a good representation of his dead friend. if authentic, it is unnecessary to add that it forms the most important relic of shakespeare we have.
-of the many other pictures in the gallery, the several portraits of garrick by reynolds, pine, and others; the one of john kemble by sir thomas lawrence; bell’s fine picture of miss ada rehan as katharina in “the taming of the shrew,” and subject pictures by reynolds, nomney, opie, smirke, and others claim especial notice.
-in the theatre, the drop curtain of which—an interesting one by beverley—illustrates queen elizabeth going in state to the opening of the globe theatre, are given annually during the week in which shakespeare’s birthday comes representations of various of his plays. the building is also occasionally used by travelling dramatic companies.
-in the bancroft gardens stands the statue and monument sculptured by lord ronald gower, and presented by him, around the base of which are excellent figures of prince henry, hamlet, falstaff, and lady macbeth.
-linking the past with the present age of letters is the fact that in the fine old house in church street, called mason’s croft, resides miss marie corelli, the writer and novelist, whose interest in the preservation of old buildings in stratford and shakespearian survivals is well known.
-after the birthplace and perhaps holy trinity church, there is no spot connected with shakespeare so visited as anne hathaway’s traditional home at shottery, distant about a mile from stratford, just off the alcester road. unhappily there is no satisfactory proof that the house was ever tenanted by anne hathaway’s parents, or that anne herself was at shottery at all. all that is certain is that the picturesque, half–timbered, and thatched dwelling to which so many pilgrims yearly journey was, about shakespeare’s time, tenanted by one richard hathaway, who was the head of one of the three families of the same surname resident in the district. on his death his property was divided, and in bequeathing certain sums of money to his children he mentioned three daughters by name, of whom an agnes was one. this name was at that period often the equivalent of anne. in his will one thomas whittington, a shepherd of stratford, is mentioned as a creditor, and later on in whittington’s will appears a bequest to the poor of the town of stratford of eleven shillings lying “in the hand of anne shaxpere, wyfe unto mr. wyllyam shaxpere, and is due debt unto me.” the witnesses of the poet’s marriage bond also appear in richard hathaway’s will, one as witness and the other as supervisor. these facts, although, it must be admitted, by no means proving that anne hathaway was the daughter of the occupier of the cottage, formerly a considerable farmhouse, are certainly evidence of some weight in favour of the tradition. the property was acquired by the trustees of the birthplace in 1892, and this fact has, of course, conferred a certain imprimatur of authenticity upon the building.
-much more of interest might be written of this fascinating town which, although the resort of so many thousands from all parts of the world almost the year through, yet seems without effort to preserve an atmosphere even in these modern times not altogether out of keeping with the bygone age in which its most famous son lived. to whatever cause, whether commercial or otherwise, this lingering savour of romance and of past times is due, those who value antiquities, and who revel in memorials of the days gone by, may be unfeignedly grateful.
-a group of shakespeare’s villages
-around stratford lie grouped quite a number of villages which shakespeare undoubtedly knew and visited, and possibly described in one or other of his plays and poems. great as is the attraction of stratford itself to many, there will be also pleasurable interests found in the old–world villages which lie within easy distance. in them and about them, indeed, there still lingers much of the “atmosphere” of shakespearian times, and in travelling to them along winding roads and leafy by–ways one breathes the wider air of the feldon and arden, and from the summits of their little hills can catch glimpses of the district which speed, not altogether unwarrantably, referred to as another eden. in the fields still toil peasants little differing, in the more retired spots, in mode of life from those who toiled in shakespeare’s days, gathering the harvest of peas in autumn, or sowing them in spring. some, of course, who garner the peas are merely birds of passage, wayside toilers, here to–day and gone to–morrow; but many others are natives of the place or neighbourhood in which they dwell, speaking with much the same voices and phraseology as the peasants of shakespeare’s time.
-through sweet warwickshire lanes and by–paths one may reach many a retired village well worth seeing, and wander, as shakespeare wandered, into places which he undoubtedly knew. in spring and summer few counties can show a richer wealth of wayside flowers, or a greater glory of leaf and bud; and the autumn is not less lovely. if only for the beauty of the lanes and the by–ways many will feel rewarded in making a pilgrimage to some of the spots which we shall briefly describe.
-some six miles north–west of stratford, close to the banks of the picturesque little river alne, lies aston cantlow, anciently known as estone cantilupe. the first portion of the old name having probably a reference to its position as regards alcester, from which it is distant five miles; and the latter part being derived from william de cantelu, or cantilupe, a man of considerable power and influence in the reign of king john, from whom he obtained a charter for the holding of a market and a yearly fair.
-the family of cantilupe appears to have possessed the manor for rather more than half a century, from 1205 to 1272.
-the village is a very pretty one, and has additional interest in its fine church, dating principally from the end of the thirteenth century. originally the family of cantilupe erected or possessed a castle here, some traces of the earthworks of which are still to be seen close to the river alne, on the north side of the church. the ancient moat is quite clearly traceable, and this at flood–tide is filled by the overflow of the river.
-there is a fine half–timbered house in the village (now, alas! split up into small tenements), which was formerly the hall of the “guild of the blessed virgin.” the church itself consists of chancel, nave, north aisle and chapel, and a south porch, and it has at the western end an embattled tower with pinnacles. the roof, which is probably the original one, is cradle pattern, with the rafters trussed with curved braces. there is a somewhat elementary but very interesting stone carving over the north door of the nave, depicting the virgin mary in bed with the infant christ, whilst st. joseph stands at the foot. the date of this work it is difficult to fix absolutely, but it seems probable that it dates from the beginning of the fourteenth century. the western end of the north aisle contains an uncommon newel staircase, originally intended to serve as a means of communication between the church and some upper parvise or chamber; but this apartment can never have been completed, as the stairs lead nowhere. in the chancel are an interesting triple sedilia, a piscina, and a credence table, all connected together by means of a moulding, which terminates in two carved heads. the church also contains a fifteenth century octagonal font, placed on a short shaft, each face of which is ornamented by a sunk panel embellished with a quatrefoil placed in a circle, and having a rose in the centre. at the east end of the church is the chantry chapel of the “guild of the blessed virgin,” in which are two old–fashioned open pews, noticeable for the carved poppy heads which adorn the elbows.
-in the chapel are also an ancient prie–dieu, and two old wooden candelabra, each having five receptacles, and pedestals of carved foliated work. it is probable that these formerly did service as “elevation” candlesticks, and were placed on the lower steps of the altar, to be lighted at high festivals and during the elevation of the host.
-most of the woodwork of the church dates from the fifteenth century, and is well worth examination. to the shakespearian students the building, of course, has an added interest from the fact that it seems very probable that it was here john, shakespeare’s father, was married to mary arden in 1557. of the eight villages referred to in the rhyme traditionally ascribed (but apparently without foundation) to shakespeare, which runs as follows—
-piping pebworth, dancing marston, haunted hillborough, hungry grafton, dodging exhall, papist wixford, beggarly broom, and drunken bidford—
-two, pebworth and dancing marston, are over the borders in gloucestershire, and scarcely call for detailed mention here.
-temple grafton, the “hungry” grafton of the rhyme, lies about five miles south of aston cantlow. the village which is prettily situated on elevated ground was, in the reign of henry i., bestowed by henry de grafton on the knights hospitallers, who afterwards gave a portion of it to simon de arden. it bore the name of grafton until the reign of henry viii., and it is supposed that the word grafton is derived from the anglo–saxon graef, a moat or ditch, the word “hungry” being an epithet given it by reason of the poverty of the soil.
-billesley, a little village lying nearly midway between stratford and alcester, is the third competitor for notoriety as the place where the poet was married. the evidence in favour of billesley is entirely traditional, and may be dismissed, but there is one interesting fact in connection with the place, i.e. that in 1639 elizabeth, daughter of dr. and mrs. hall (shakespeare’s son–in–law and daughter), was married to mr., afterwards sir john, barnard.
-the manor–house at billesley, comprising the south wing of the original elizabethan building, contains a room, the oak panelling of which is said to have been brought from new place. this chamber, which is known as shakespeare’s room, is traditionally supposed to have been occupied by the poet on the occasion of his visits to the house.
-hillborough lies close to the river, some four miles from stratford, down a by–road running almost due south from the main road. it is the “haunted” hillborough of the rhyme, although the origin of the ghostly prefix is lost in obscurity. it is a picturesque stone–gabled building, beautifully trellised with ivy, which has lost one of its original wings. apparently the house dates from tudor times, but bears traces of several later additions and alterations. the interior contains an interesting survival in the shape of ascham or locker for bows and arrows in the corner of one of the oak–panelled rooms.
-hillborough seems chiefly noted nowadays for its profusion of fruit, the trees in the garden bearing such heavy crops as to necessitate their being propped in order to sustain them; whilst peaches and even grapes ripen and come to maturity on the sunny south walls as they do in few places in the county.
-travelling westward, about three–quarters of a mile outside bidford one comes to a small red–brick barn in a field on the right–hand side of the roadway. about fifty yards farther, on the opposite side, near by an iron gate, stands a young crab–apple tree, which, tradition asserts, sprang from the ancient one known as “shakespeare’s crab tree,” under which the poet is reputed to have slumbered off the effects of a drinking bout in which he had taken part at bidford. the old tree, however, stood farther in the field. it long ago disappeared, and it is even doubtful, alas! whether the young tree is, after all, related in any way to it.
-from this point there is a magnificent view of the worcestershire hills, and also ragley hall, set deeply amid the surrounding woods. bidford, one of the most picturesque and charming old–world villages in warwickshire, is now speedily reached along the descending road. there is little doubt that this village, noticeable for its picturesque and old tiled houses—many of them creeper–grown and quaintly irregular as regards their architecture—is a place of great antiquity, as it is situated at the point where the ancient icknield street crosses the river avon.
-although but a small village nowadays formerly it was a market town, the lordship of which was anciently given by king john to llewellyn, prince of wales, on the marriage of the latter to his daughter joan. the market was granted by henry iii. in 1220, and was still existent in the reign of elizabeth.
-bidford seems to have derived its somewhat unpleasant appellation of “drunken” from the traditional tale which was published in the gentleman’s magazine in december 1794; wherein it was said that formerly the village contained an association or club of topers, who took pride in the quantity of ale they could swallow without falling under the table. these persons, tradition states, were in the habit of challenging the residents in neighbouring places to a contest of endurance, and those of stratford–on–avon were on one occasion so invited to a trial of strength.
-the story further states that shakespeare was one of the party who came over from stratford, and with the rest of his companions was speedily conquered and had to leave the scene of action. it was whilst on the road home after the contest that shakespeare and his fellow–townsmen are stated to have laid themselves down in a drunken state under the crab–apple tree.
-however true or otherwise the story may be, certain it is that bidford in ancient times possessed a somewhat unenviable notoriety for festivity and drunkenness.
-in the reign of edward i. the lordship of bidford was purchased by robert burnell, who, in addition to being lord treasurer and lord chancellor of england, was also bishop of bath and wells. it was he who built the castle of acton burnell, shropshire, at which the first parliament was held. in the reign of henry vii. bidford was the property of lord lovell, which on his attainder escheated to the crown, henry viii. subsequently granting it to gerard danet.
-nowadays bidford is chiefly distinguished as a resort of shakespearian pilgrims and excursionists. its chief attractions are a fine and picturesque old bridge spanning the avon, built at the end of the fifteenth century by the monks of alcester to replace the existing ford.
-the church of st. laurence, which is built on a slight knoll overlooking the river almost at the stratford end of the village, possesses a tower of a most unusual type, the date of which it is very difficult to fix. the church consists of a chancel, nave, and aisles; the first named is early english, but the nave and aisles were rebuilt in 1835 in a very unfortunate and commonplace style. the windows of the chancel are filled by rather good stained glass, some of it by capronnier of brussels. whatever failings the restored building may have, the church plate is of undoubted interest. probably of spanish workmanship, it is of silver gilt repoussé work, and was presented by the duchess of dudley in 1665. the church chest, probably dating from the sixteenth century, is of an unusual kind, possessing heavy bands and hinges with three locks, and in the middle of each end a ring, such as is frequently found in old sea–chests.
-quite close to the church is an interesting old elizabethan house, known as the falcon inn, built of stone, the gabled front containing three stories, and the principal windows mullioned. formerly there was a picturesque projecting gallery, which was done away with many years ago. it was at this same inn that tradition states two fraternities known as the “topers” and “sippers” used to meet, and here it is alleged shakespeare was frequently found carousing with his companions. unfortunately the building is now divided up into tenements. it was from here that the inn sign and chair—now located in the birthplace—came.
-wixford church is small and picturesque, and of mixed architecture. one of the most pleasing portions of the building is the chantry chapel of the fifteenth century, which possesses a very fine tudor arched window of five lights on the east, and three good windows of the same kind on the south. in this beautiful chapel is a remarkably large and handsome tomb of thomas de cruwe and his wife juliana, who died at the commencement of the fifteenth century. the figures are of finely engraved brass under crocketed pedimental canopies, enclosed and divided by slender buttresses. thomas de cruwe is attired in armour, and his wife wears a coif with a veil depending to the shoulders, a close–fitting gown bound in with a cord at the waist, and a long mantle open in front. above the canopies are fixed shields of arms, and the badge of a human foot is seen both above and below the figures.
-the step to the chantry altar still remains, and on the south side of it is an extremely interesting piscina, with a semi–octagon canopy within a ogee double–pointed arch. there are also several early brasses in the church of considerable interest.
-in the churchyard itself is the base of a fine old fourteenth–century cross, with three steps; the centrepiece was found buried at the foot some years ago, and has a representation of the crucifixion on one side, and the virgin and child on the other.
-the little church of beaudesert, probably built by de montfort, and originally the castle church, lies at the foot of the earthworks. although the church has been considerably restored it still contains much norman work; particularly is this noticeable in the eastern window, which is ornamented with zigzag, star and indented mouldings. the chancel arch is also a fine specimen of norman work, recessed and ornamented with wave and tooth mouldings. the tower dates only from the fifteenth century, but the walls and nave of the chancel are norman, with some fourteenth–century windows inserted. there is an interesting holy water stoup on the east side of the south door, of about the same period as the doorway itself; and in the north wall are two small splayed norman windows, the wall itself being of the thickness of five feet.
-in the whole of warwickshire there is scarcely more beautiful scenery to be found than in the immediate neighbourhood of henley–in–arden. here are still some few scattered remnants left of the great forest which once covered the district so thickly, but which was gradually cut down to meet the necessities of the iron furnaces of aston, birmingham, and other places. indeed, the destruction of the forest of arden may be considered as having been brought about almost entirely by the means we have indicated. here, too, may be found, often hidden away in by–lanes, picturesque survivals of the thatched and half–timbered cottages, which are, alas! now disappearing one by one to make room for modern erections, the ugliness of whose architecture is too often a blot on their surroundings.
-only about a mile and a half from stratford itself is clopton house, once the manor–house of the clopton family, whose name is so closely identified with stratford, and to whom the manor was granted in the thirteenth century. most of the present house was built in the latter part of the fifteenth century, in the reign of henry vii.; but it has been much altered at various periods, chiefly when the south and eastern portions were reconstructed by sir edward walker about 1665, in the reign of charles ii. the house has also been restored in recent times. there is a good jacobean oak staircase, and in the bay–window of the dining–room are the shields of several of the cloptons.
-the house has additional historical interest as the residence, in 1605, of ambrose rokewood, one of the chief conspirators in the gunpowder plot, and from the fact that it was here catesby, winter, the wrights, and others used to assemble. after the failure of the plot clopton was raided by the bailiff of stratford, and amongst other things, consisting of papers, etc., was seized a bag containing “copes, vestments, crosses, crucifixes, chalices, and other massing reliques,” belonging to the then tenant, a full inventory of which is deposited in the museum at stratford.
-in the grounds are several small ponds, and beyond them a spring, now arched over, where margaret clopton is stated to have drowned herself in 1588, as a result of a love affair. it is supposed that this incident suggested to shakespeare’s mind the death of ophelia, and there seems some considerable probability that the second scene of the introduction of “the taming of the shrew” is represented as taking place at clopton house.
-about four miles from stratford, along the kineton road, lies charlecote, in a picturesque park prettily situated close to the junction of the wellesbourne brook with the avon. it was here, of course, that the somewhat apocryphal deer–stealing exploits of shakespeare are said to have taken place. whether there is any foundation in fact or not for the tradition, it seems certain that there was some considerable amount of friction at one time existing between the then owner, sir thomas lucy, and the poet. but whether, as has been suggested by some, this circumstance had its rise in a difference of religion, or from some other cause, it has never been possible to determine. it is supposed by some that at the actual time the deer–stealing is stated to have taken place there were none at charlecote, although there were in the parks of fulbroke, which also belonged to the lucys, and it may even be that it was at the latter place and not the former that the poaching took place, if at all. whatever truth there may be in the story there seems little doubt that the poet satirised sir thomas lucy in “the merry wives of windsor” under the guise of “mr. justice shallow.”
-the village of charlecote was granted to walter de charlecote by henry de montfort in the reign of richard i. in the year 1216 william de charlecote, son of the original owner, assumed the name of lucy, by which the family has ever since been known. the present house, which was erected by sir thomas lucy in 1558, probably occupies much the same site as that of the older mansion. with the exception of the dining–room and library, which were added in 1833, charlecote remains to–day practically as it was in the elizabethan age. it is approached from the road through an ancient gate–house, one of the most beautiful and well–preserved specimens of elizabethan architecture still extant, the upper story of which is supposed to have anciently been used as a banqueting–room.
-the house itself is also of red brick with stone dressings, and in the ground plan is very much of the shape of the letter e. the mansion, which is in a beautiful state of preservation throughout, contains the great hall, a very handsome chamber with a fine bay window, in which are the family arms blazoned in the upper part, and a large number of family portraits by noted artists of different periods, including, amongst others, some fine examples of the work of cornelis janssens, dahl kneller, de manara, and lely. the dining–room, which has a fine panelled plaster ceiling of elizabethan design, also contains some admirable pictures, and from its windows are charming views of the avon and the wellesbourne brook, and the famous and stately avenue of lime trees.
-charlecote has witnessed several historic scenes, the chief of which are the visit of queen elizabeth to sir thomas lucy when on her way from warwick to compton wynyates, august 24, 1572, and the presence in the park of the scottish army on its way northward from hereford on september 9, 1745. just two hundred years before which date john fox, the noted martyrologist, came as a guest to charlecote and remained there for some considerable period. in this house one has an almost unique example of the higher type of purely domestic architecture of the elizabethan age, preserved with a success which makes it possible for those who visit it to realise in a measure the needs and ambitions of those spacious days when elizabeth honoured so many of her noble or distinguished subjects with visits.
-—obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
-italic text is denoted by underscores. obvious punctuation errors and typos repaired. footnotes moved to end of relevant chapters. index of illustrations adjusted to match html version. two un-indexed illustrations, 'whistler's grave in chiswick cemetery adjoining chiswick churchyard' and 'monument in whistler's memory at the united states military academy at west point', added to the "list of illustrations". in the original book the illustrations are indexed as "facing page nnn". these have been changed to refer to the nearest page.
-the life of james mcneill whistler
-the life of james mcneill whistler
-e. r. and j. pennell
-new and revised edition the sixth
-philadelphia j. b. lippincott company london: william heinemann
-printed in great britain
-preface to the sixth edition
-the fifth edition of our book was exhausted before war was declared, and not until peace was declared was it thought by the publishers advisable to issue this sixth edition, which has been revised and brought up to date, and contains new material and new illustrations. all the while we have been collecting and verifying documents, and all the while we have received suggestions, facts, and inquiries. the book has been published in french, but for the war it would have been long since translated into other languages. during these years of needless, senseless, useless horrors, the name and fame of whistler have steadily grown. his works have served as propaganda--what a comment!--even the portrait of his mother has been used as a poster by the british, and his own portrait has obtained the glory of appearing as a tribute to the power of advertising. all the while, endless stories, most of them garbled from this book, when not invented, have gone from end to end of the world. exhibitions of his paintings and prints and of documents relating to him have been held. galleries and private collectors have acquired what little of his work was left to acquire. even the national gallery of great britain has accepted three of his pictures from the late arthur studd though whistler had distinctly said that he did not wish to be represented in any english gallery. dealers have found in his art inexhaustible attraction and asset for shows. mr. freer's collection in the national museum, washington, is about to open. our collection is being installed in the library of congress, also in washington--though it was damaged by unpardonable and undiscoverable carelessness in transit, caused by this cursed war. washington must soon be visited to see whistler as madrid is to see velasquez. all the while, too, the financial appreciation of whistler--the standard by which art and everything is judged to-day--has vastly increased, the mrs. leyland and lady meux selling for more hundreds of thousands than he asked hundreds of dollars for. his etchings and lithographs have so improved in value in the collector's estimation that persons whom whistler did everything to help in forming their collections have considered them too valuable to keep, and so have parted with them at an enormous rise over even his "posthumous prices." what would he have thought of all this, he who so carefully selected the prints "kindly lent their owners?"
-whistler, fortunately, has escaped the indignity of commercial popularity, but he has come into his own; his name and his fame are world-wide, he is with the immortals; we said so in the beginning, and time has proved us right. there have been no books of importance issued about him of late years, though contemporary authors who spurned him during his life now claim his acquaintance and add a paragraph or a page, mostly from our book, as a bait to sell their own. miss philip delays, or awaits the lapse of twenty years, before issuing the letters. when she does print them--if properly edited--they will be a great addition to the knowledge of whistler. mr. freer announces also a life which is to supersede or expose us, or whistler. still they tarry, but anything they may issue will add to the success and, we trust, the completeness of the authorized life of whistler. we should be grateful for any further information, suggestions, or corrections to that end from any of our readers.
-we wish to thank, for the permission to reproduce paintings and drawings, to consult letters and documents, mrs. a. j. cassatt, mr. mitchell kennerley, mr. roland knvedler, messrs. keppel and company, mr. george j. c. grasberger, mr. a. e. gallatin, mr. r. c. frick, mr. west, colonel hughes, mr. e. g. kennedy, the metropolitan museum of new york, the maryland institute, the librarian of congress, dr. putnam, and dr. koch, mr. roberts, and miss wright, also of the library of congress.
-elizabeth robins pennell
-publisher's note to the fifth edition
-mr. and mrs. pennell's authorised life of james mcneill whistler appeared in two volumes in october 1908, and has had to be reprinted in that form three times since then. its sale even in that comparatively expensive form has been an unexpectedly large one, proving without doubt that interest in whistler's life is alive and growing. during the three years since its first publication much new material has come into the hands of the authors, and a complete revision of the book has therefore become necessary. the present volume is, to all intents and purposes, a new one. many of the older illustrations in the earlier editions have been superseded by new ones, a number of which are reproduced for the first time.
-for the new material included in this edition the authors and the publisher are indebted to friends and numerous sympathetic correspondents, and they wish to express their indebtedness especially to mr. john w. beatty, director of the carnegie institute in pittsburgh; mr. e. d. brooks; mr. clifford gore chambers; mr. e. t. cook; mr. leon dabo; mr. frederick dielmann; messrs. dowdeswell; m. théodore duret; mr. a. j. eddy; mrs. wickham flower; right hon. jonathan hogg; mr. h. s. hubbell; mr. will h. low; mr. burton mansfield; judge parry; mr. h. reinhardt; mr. h. s. ridings; mr. albert rouiller; miss alice rouiller; mr. william scott; m. ströhlen; mr. ross turner; mr. c. f. g. turner; mr. c. howard walker; mr. j. h. wrenn.
-whistler's ancestors--his parents--birth--early years
-life in russia--schooldays--begins his art studies in the imperial academy of fine arts--death of major whistler-- return to america
-the pomfret school and schoolmates--early drawings
-whistler as cadet in the u.s. military academy-- his studies--failure--stories told of him--his estimate of west point
-life in washington--obtains position as draughtsman in the u.s. coast and geodetic survey--first plates--resignation-- starts for paris
-arrival in paris--enters as student at gleyre's--his fellow students--adventures--journey to alsace
-his studies--work at the louvre--visit to art treasures exhibition at manchester--etchings--paintings--rejection at the salon and exhibition in bonvin's studio
-in london with the hadens--first appearance at royal academy--kindness to french fellow students--shares studio with du maurier--gaieties--mr. arthur severn's reminiscences --work on the river--jo--etchings published by mr. edmund thomas
-paintings and exhibitions--the music room--visits to mr. and mrs. edwin edwards--summer in brittany--"the white girl" --berners street gallery--baudelaire on his etchings-- illustrations--salon des refuses--first gold medal
-settles with his mother at no. 7 lindsey row, chelsea-- the greaves family--the limerston street studio and mr. j. e. christie--rossetti--the tudor house circle, swinburne, meredith, frederick sandys, howell--"blue and white"-- w. m. rossetti's reminiscences
-the japanese pictures--"the princesse du pays de la porcelaine"--japanese influence--"the little white girl" --fantin's "hommage à delacroix"--"the toast"--arrival in london of dr. whistler--at trouville with courbet-- journey to valparaiso
-return to london--removal to no. 2 lindsey row--the house and its decorations--the 1867 exhibition in paris-- affair at the burlington fine arts club--"symphony in white, no. iii." the first picture exhibited as a symphony--theories --development--discouragement--mr. fred jameson's reminiscences--decoration--hamerton's "etching and etchers" --etchings and dry-points--exhibitions--rejection at the royal academy--first exhibition of picture as a nocturne-- relations to the royal academy
-nocturnes--extent of debt to japanese--methods and materials--subjects--origin of title--his explanation in "the gentle art"
-"the mother"--"carlyle"--"miss alexander"-mr. and mrs. leyland--mrs. louis huth--show of his own work in pall mall--indignation roused by his titles
-whistler's gaiety and hospitality--his amusement in society--his dinners and sunday breakfasts--reminiscences of his entertainments--his talk--clubs--restaurants-- the theatre
-work at exhibitions and in the studio--portrait of irving --"rosa corder"--"the fur jacket"--"connie gilchrist"-- the peacock room--mr. leyland's house in prince's gate-- its decoration--whistler's scheme for the dining-room and its development--the work finished--quarrel with leyland
-sir coutt lindsay's new gallery--first exhibition at the grosvenor--whistler's contributions--ruskin's criticism of "the falling rocket" in "fors clavigera"--whistler sues him for libel--etchings--lithographs--drawings of blue and white for sir henry thompson's catalogue-- caricatures--sends a second time to the grosvenor
-paris universal exhibition of 1878--harmony in yellow and gold--whistler as decorator--lady archibald campbell's appreciation--plan for opening an atelier for students-- no. 2 lindsey row given up--e. w. godwin builds the white house for him--his mother's health--she leaves him for hastings--money difficulties--mezzotints of the "carlyle" and "rosa corder"
-whistler again at the grosvenor--his critics--his financial embarrassments--his manner of meeting them--declared bankrupt --"the gold scab"--commission from the fine art society for the venetian etchings--starts for venice--the sale of the white house--sale of blue and white, pictures, prints, &c., at sotheby's
-whistler's arrival in venice--first impressions-- disappointments and difficulties--his friends in venice and their memories of him--duveneck and his "boys"--whistler's hard work--his lodgings and restaurants--the cafés--stories told of him--reminiscences of mr. harper pennington and mr. ralph curtis
-his work in venice--pastels and his methods--etchings-- printing--japanese method of drawing--water-colours and paintings
-return to london and sudden appearance at fine art society's-- prints venice plates--exhibition of "the twelve" at the fine art society's--exhibition of venice pastels--decoration of gallery-- bewilderment of critics and public--death of his mother--"the piper papers"--the portrait of his mother exhibited in philadelphia--etchings begin to be shown in america
-takes a studio at no. 13 tite street--his "joyousness"-- letters to the press--his "amazing" costumes--portrait of lady meux--his other sitters--mrs. marzetti's account of the painting of "the blue girl"--lady archibald campbell's reminiscences of the sittings for her portrait--portrait of m. duret--"the paddon papers"--second exhibition of venice etchings at the fine art society's--excitement it created-- the "carlyle" at edinburgh--proposal to buy it for scottish national portrait gallery--comes to nothing--whistler involved in a church congress
-joseph pennell meets whistler--first impressions--the "sarasate"--sir seymour haden
-whistler's friends in tite street--sir rennell rodd's reminiscences--oscar wilde--reasons for the friendship and for its short duration--the followers--their devotion and their absurdities--mr. harper pennington's reminiscences of whistler in london
-whistler moves to the fulham road--description of the new studio--pictures in progress--mr. william m. chase, his portrait and his reminiscences--plans to visit america
-whistler writes the "ten o'clock"--proposes to publish it as article--then to deliver it as lecture in ireland--exhibition of his work in dublin--arranges with mrs. d'oyly carte for lecture in london--the "ten o'clock" given at prince's hall-- the audience--the critics--analysis of the "ten o'clock"--its delivery in other places--its publication--swinburne's criticism
-approached by the british artists--elected a member of the society--his position as artist at this period and the position of the society--reasons for the invitation and his acceptance-- his interest in the society--his contributions to its exhibitions--the graham sale--publication of twenty-six etchings by dowdeswell's--exhibition of notes, harmonies, nocturnes, at dowdeswell's--elected president of the british artists
-whistler as president--his decoration of the gallery and hanging of pictures--indignation by members--visit of the prince of wales--growing dissatisfaction in the society--jubilee of queen victoria--whistler's congratulatory address--british artists made a royal society--dissatisfaction becomes open warfare--the crisis--wyke bayliss elected president-- whistler's resignation
-whistler's wedding--reception at the tower house--his wife-- his devotion--influence of marriage
-water-colours--etchings, belgian and dutch--exhibition of dutch etchings--lithographs
-honours from paris, munich, and amsterdam--dinner to whistler --paris universal exhibition of 1889--exhibition of whistler's work in queen square--moves to no. 21 cheyne walk--m. harry's impressions of the house--portrait of the comte de montesquiou --w. e. henley and "national observer"--new friends
-whistler collects his letters and writings--work begun by mr. sheridan ford--mr. j. mclure hamilton's account--action at antwerp to suppress ford's edition--mr. heinemann publishes "the gentle art" for whistler--summary of the book--period of unimportant quarrels
-the "carlyle" bought by the glasgow corporation--"the mother" bought for the luxembourg--the exhibition at the goupil gallery --mr. d. croal thomson's account--success of the exhibition-- the catalogue--commissions--demand for his pictures--mr. h. s. theobald's reminiscences--whistler's indignation at sale of early pictures by old friends--invited to show in chicago exhibition--not known at r.a.--decorations for boston public library
-whistler goes to paris to live--joseph pennell with him there in 1892 and 1893--lithographs--colour work--studio in rue notre-dame-des-champs--apartment in the rue du bac--etchings printed--afternoons in the garden--day at fontainebleau-- wills signed--mr. e. g. kennedy's portrait--rioting in the latin quarter
-whistler's friends in paris--mr. macmonnies', mr. walter gay's, and mr. alexander harrison's reminiscences-- mr. a. j. eddy's portrait--portraits of women begun
-du maurier's "trilby"--apology--mrs. whistler's illness-- the eden trial--whistler challenges george moore--in lyme regis and london--portraits in lithography--mr. s. r. crockett's account of the sittings for his portrait--mrs. whistler's death--new will
-work and little journeys--mr. e. g. kennedy's reminiscences-- evenings with whistler--visit to the national gallery-- whistler goes to live with mr. heinemann at whitehall court-- mr. henry savage landor--mr. edmund heinemann--eden affair-- last meeting with sir seymour haden--christmas at bournemouth
-mr. walter sickert's article in "saturday review"--joseph pennell sues him for libel--whistler the principal witness-- in the witness-box under cross-examination--verdict-- whistler's pleasure
-m. boldini's portrait of whistler--in london--visits to hampton--journey to dieppe--the eden case in the cour de cassation--whistler's triumph--"the baronet and the butterfly" --the whistler syndicate: company of the butterfly
-illness in paris--fever of work--portrait of mr. george vanderbilt--other portraits and models--pictures of children-- nudes--pastels--spanish war--journey to italy--"best man" at mr. heinemann's wedding--impressions of rome--mr. kerr-lawson's account of his stay in florence--winter in paris--loneliness-- meetings with old student friends--dr. whistler's death--dinner at mr. heinemann's--mr. arthur symon's impressions of whistler
-the international society of sculptors, painters, and gravers-- whistler elected first president--activity of his interest-- first exhibition at knightsbridge--second exhibition-- difficulties--third exhibition at the royal institute-- exhibitions on the continent and in america--whistler's presidency ends only with death
-school opened in the passage stanislas, paris--whistler and mr. frederick macmonnies propose to visit it--history of the school written, at whistler's request, by mrs. clifford addams --her account--his methods--his advice--his palette-- misunderstandings--mrs. addam apprenticed to whistler--men's class discontinued--third year begins with woman's class alone --school closed--mr. clifford addams made an apprentice-- mr. macmonnies' account--comparison with other art schools
-whistler authorises j. and e. r. pennell to write his life and mr. heinemann to publish it--whistler gives his reminiscences--photographing began in studio--paris universal exhibition--interest in the boer war--the "island" and the "islanders"--the pekin massacre and blue pots--domberg--visit to ireland--sir walter armstrong's reminiscences of whistler in dublin--irritation with critics of his pictures in paris-- increasing ill-health in the autumn--serious illness--starts for the south
-tangier--algiers--marseilles--ajaccio--winter in corsica-- visit from mr. heinemann--dominoes--rests for the first time-- return to london in the spring--work in the summer--illness in the autumn--bath--no. 74 cheyne walk--annoyances--journey to holland--dangerous illness in the hague--mr. g. sauter's account of his last visit to franz hals at haarlem
-return to no. 74 cheyne walk--illness--gradual decline--work-- portraits--prints--exhibition of silver--degree of ll.d. from glasgow university--st. louis exposition--worries--last weeks-- death--funeral--grave
-list of illustrations
-portrait of mrs. louis huth--arrangement in black, no. ii. (oil) 180 in the possession of the executors of the family
-fanny leyland (study for the etching. g. 108) (pencil sketch) 180 formerly in the possession of j. h. wrenn, esq.
-portrait of a lady (drawings on wood) in the pennell collection, library of congress, washington
-chapter i: the whistler family. the years eighteen thirty-four to eighteen forty-three.
-james abbott mcneill whistler was born on july 10, 1834, at lowell, massachusetts, in the united states of america.
-whistler, in the witness-box during the suit he brought against ruskin in 1878, gave st. petersburg as his birthplace--or the reporters did--and he never denied it. baltimore was given by m. théodore duret in the gazette des beaux-arts (april 1881), and m. duret's mistake, since corrected by him, has been many times repeated. the late mrs. livermore, who knew whistler as a child at lowell, asked him why he did not contradict this. his answer was: "if any one likes to think i was born in baltimore, why should i deny it? it is of no consequence to me!" on entering west point he stated that massachusetts was his place of birth. but, as a rule, he met any one indiscreet enough to question him on the subject as he did the american who came up to him one evening in the carlton hotel, london, and by way of introduction said, "you know, mr. whistler, we were both born at lowell, and at very much the same time. there is only the difference of a year--you are sixty-seven and i am sixty-eight." "and i told him," said whistler, from whom we had the story the next day, "'very charming! and so you are sixty-eight and were born at lowell! most interesting, no doubt, and as you please! but i shall be born when and where i want, and i do not choose to be born at lowell, and i refuse to be sixty-seven!'"
-whistler was christened at st. anne's church, lowell, november 9, 1834. "baptized, james abbott, infant son of george washington and anna mathilda whistler: sponsors, the parents. signed, t. edson"; so it is recorded in the church register. he was named after james abbott, of detroit, who had married his father's elder sister, sarah whistler. mcneill (his mother's name) was added shortly after he entered west point. abbott he always kept for legal and official documents. but, eventually, he dropped it for other purposes, "j. a. m." pleasing him no better than "j. a. w.," and he signed himself "james mcneill whistler" or "j. m. n. whistler."
-the american whistlers are descended from john whistler of the irish branch. in his youth he ran away and enlisted. sir kensington whistler, an english cousin, was an officer in the same regiment, and objected to having a relative in the ranks. john whistler, therefore, was transferred to another regiment starting for the american colonies. he arrived in time to surrender at saratoga with burgoyne. he went back to england, received his discharge, eloped with anna, daughter of sir edward bishop or bischopp, and, returning to america, settled at hagerstown, maryland. he again enlisted, this time in the united states army. he rose to the brevet rank of major and served in the war of 1812 against great britain. he was stationed at fort dearborn, which he helped to build, and fort wayne. according to mr. a. j. eddy (recollections and impressions of whistler), whistler once said to a visitor from chicago:
-"chicago, dear me, what a wonderful place! i really ought to visit it some day; for, you know, my grandfather founded the city, and my uncle was the last commander of fort dearborn!"
-in 1815, upon the reduction of the army, major john whistler was retired. he died in 1817, at bellefontaine, missouri. of his fifteen children, three sons are remembered as soldiers, and three daughters married army officers. george washington, the most distinguished son, was the father of james abbott mcneill whistler.
-george washington whistler was born on may 19, 1800, at fort wayne. he was educated mostly at newport, kentucky; and from kentucky, when a little over fourteen, he received his appointment to the military academy, west point, where he is remembered for his gaiety. mr. george l. vose, his biographer, and others tell stories that might have been told of his son. one is of some breach of discipline, for which he was made to bestride a gun on the campus. as he sat there he saw, coming towards him, the miss swift he was before long to marry. out came his handkerchief, and, leaning over the gun, he set to work cleaning it so carefully that he was "honoured, not disgraced," in her eyes. he was number one in drawing, and his playing on the flute won him the nickname "pipes." he graduated on july 1, 1819. he was appointed second lieutenant in the first artillery, and, in 1829, first lieutenant in the second artillery. he served on topographical duty, and for a few months he was assistant professor at the academy. there was not much fighting for american officers of his generation. but railroads were being built, and so few were the civil engineers that west point graduates were allowed by government to work for private corporations, and he was employed on the baltimore and ohio railroad, the baltimore and susquehanna, and the paterson and hudson river. for the baltimore and ohio he went to england in 1828 to examine the railway system. he was building the line from stonington to providence, when, in 1833, he resigned from the army with the rank of major, to carry on his profession as a civil engineer.
-in the meanwhile major whistler had married twice. his first wife was mary swift, daughter of dr. foster swift, of the united states army. she left three children: george, who became a well known civil engineer; joseph, who died in youth; and deborah, lady haden. his second wife was anna mathilda mcneill, daughter of dr. charles donald mcneill, of wilmington, north carolina, and sister of william gibbs mcneill, a west point classmate and an associate in major whistler's engineering work. the mcneills were descended from the mcneills of skye. their chief, donald, emigrated with sixty of his clan to north carolina in 1746, and bought land on cape fear river. charles donald mcneill was his grandson and was twice married; his second wife, martha kingsley, was the mother of anna mathilda mcneill, who became mrs. george washington whistler. the mcneills were related by marriage to the fairfaxes and other virginia families, and whistler, on his mother's side, was the southerner he loved to call himself.
-in 1834 major whistler accepted the post of engineer of locks and canals at lowell, and to this town he brought his family. there, in the paul moody house on worthen street, james mcneill whistler was born, and the house is now a whistler memorial museum. two years later the second son, william gibbs mcneill, was born. in 1837 major whistler moved to stonington, connecticut, and miss emma w. palmer and mrs. dr. stanton, his wife's nieces, still remember his "pleasant house on main street." it is said that he had a chaise fitted with car wheels in which he and his family drove every sunday on the tracks to church at westerly; also that a locomotive named whistler was in use on the road until recently. he was consulted in regard to many new lines, among them the western railroad of massachusetts, for which he was consulting engineer from 1836 to 1840. in 1840 he was made chief engineer, and he removed to springfield, massachusetts, where he lived in the ethan chapin homestead on chestnut street, north of edward street. a third son, kirk booth, born at stonington in 1838, died at springfield in 1842, and here a fourth son, charles donald, was born in 1841.
-in 1842 nicholas i. of russia sent a commission, under colonel melnikoff, round europe and america to find the best method and the best man to build a railroad from st. petersburg to moscow, and they chose the american, george washington whistler. the honour was great and the salary large, 12,000 dollars a year. he accepted, and started for russia in midsummer 1842, leaving his family at stonington.
-"as soon as mrs. whistler was strong enough, she sent for me to go and see her boy, and i did see her and her baby in bed! and then i asked, 'where is jemmie, of whom i have heard so much?' she replied, 'he was in the room a short time since, and i think he must be here still.' so i went softly about the room till i saw a very small form prostrate and at full length on the shelf under the dressing-table, and i took hold of an arm and a leg and placed him on my knee, and then said, 'what were you doing, dear, under the table?' 'i'se drawrin',' and in one very beautiful little hand he held the paper, in the other the pencil."
-the pencil drawings which we have seen, owned by mrs. livermore, are curiously firm and strong for a child of four.
-chapter ii: in russia. the years eighteen forty-three to eighteen forty-nine.
-in 1843, when whistler was nine years old, major whistler sent for his wife and children. mrs. whistler sailed from boston in the arcadia, august 12, 1843, taking with her deborah and the three boys, james, william, and charles. george whistler, major whistler's eldest son, and her "good maid mary" went with them. the story of their journey and their life in russia is recorded in mrs. whistler's journal.
-they arrived at liverpool on the 29th of the same month. mrs. whistler's two half-sisters, mrs. william winstanley and miss alicia mcneill, lived at preston, and there they stayed a fortnight. then, after a few days in london, they sailed for hamburg.
-there was no railroad from hamburg, so they drove by carriage to lübeck, by stage to travemünde, where they took the steamer alexandra for st. petersburg, and george whistler left them. between travemünde and cronstadt, charles, the youngest child, fell ill of seasickness and died within a day. there was just time to bury him at cronstadt--temporarily; he was afterwards buried at stonington--and his death saddened the meeting between major whistler and his wife and children.
-mrs. whistler objected to hotels and to boarding, and a house was found in the galernaya. she did her best to make it not only a comfortable, but an american home, for major whistler's attachment to his native land, she said, was so strong as to be almost a religious sentiment. their food was american, american holidays were kept in american fashion. many of their friends were americans. major whistler was nominally consulting engineer to colonel melnikoff, but actually in charge of the construction and equipment of the line, and as the material was supplied by the firm of winans of baltimore, mr. winans and his partners, messrs. harrison and eastwick, of philadelphia, were in russia with their families.
-mrs. whistler's strictness did not mean opposition to pleasure. yet at times she became afraid that her boys were not "keeping to the straight and narrow way." there were evenings of illuminations that put off bedtime; there were afternoons of skating and coasting; christmas gaieties, with christmas dinners of roast turkey and pumpkin pie; visits to american friends; parties at home, when the two boys "behaved like gentlemen, and their father commended them upon it"; there were presents of guns from the father, returning from long absences on the road; there were dancing lessons, which jemmie would have done anything rather than miss.
-whistler as a boy was exactly what those who knew him as a man would expect; gay and bright, absorbed in his work when that work was art, brave and fearless, selfish if selfishness is another name for ambition, considerate and kindly, above all to his mother. the boy, like the man, was delightful to those who understood him; "startling," "alarming," to those who did not.
-mrs. whistler's journal soon becomes extremely interesting:
-march 29 (1844). "i must not omit recording our visiting the gastinnoi to-day in anticipation of palm sunday. our two boys were most excited, jemmie's animation roused the wonder of many, for even in crowds here such decorum and gravity prevails that it must be surprising when there is any ebullition of joy."
-april 22 (1844). "jemmie is confined to his bed with a mustard plaster on his throat; he has been very poorly since the thawing season commenced, soon becoming overheated, takes cold; when he complained of pain first in his shoulder, then in his side, my fears of a return of last year's attack made me tremble, and when i gaze upon his pale face sleeping, contrasted to willie's round cheeks, my heart is full; our dear james said to me the other day, so touchingly, 'oh, i am sorry the emperor ever asked father to come to russia, but if i had the boys here, i should not feel so impatient to get back to stonington,' yet i cannot think the climate here affects his health; willie never was as stout in his native land, and james looks better than when we brought him here. at eight o'clock i am often at my reading or sewing without a candle, and i cannot persuade james to put up his drawing and go to bed while it is light."
-the journal explains that whistler as a boy suffered from severe rheumatic attacks that added to the weakness of his heart, the eventual cause of his death. major and mrs. whistler rented a country-house on the peterhoff road in the spring of 1844. there is an account of a day at tsarskoé seló, when colonel todd, american minister to russia, showed them the palace:
-may 6 (1844). "rode to the station, and took the cars upon the only railroad in russia, which took us the twenty versts to the pretty town. it would be ungenerous in me to remark how inferior the railroad, cars, &c., seemed to us americans. the boys were delighted with it all. jemmie wished he could stay to examine the fine pictures and know who painted them, but as i returned through the grounds i asked him if he should wish to be a grand duke and own it all for playgrounds: he decided there could be no freedom with a footman at his heels."
-july 1 (1844). "... i went with willie to do some shopping in the nevski. he is rather less excitable than jemmie, and therefore more tractable. they each can make their wants known in russ., but i prefer this gentlest of my dear boys to go with me. we had hardly reached home when a tremendous shower came up, and jemmie and a friend, who had been out in a boat on a canal at the end of our avenue, got well drenched. just as we were seated at tea, a carriage drove up and mr. miller entered, introducing sir william allen, the great scotch artist, of whom we have heard lately, who has come to st. petersburg to revive on canvas some of the most striking events from the life of peter the great. they had been to the monastery to listen to the chanting at vespers in the greek chapel. mr. miller congratulated his companion on being in the nick of time for our excellent home-made bread and fresh butter, but, above all, the refreshment of a good cup of tea. his chat then turned upon the subject of sir william allen's painting of peter the great teaching the mujiks to make ships. this made jemmie's eyes express so much interest that his love for art was discovered, and sir william must needs see his attempts. when my boys had said good night, the great artist remarked to me, 'your little boy has uncommon genius, but do not urge him beyond his inclination.' i told him his gift had only been cultivated as an amusement, and that i was obliged to interfere, or his application would confine him more than we approved."
-of these attempts there remain few examples. one is the portrait of his aunt alicia mcneill, who visited them in russia in 1844, sent to mrs. palmer at stonington, with the inscription: "james to aunt kate." in a letter to mrs. livermore, written in french, when he was ten or eleven, "he enclosed some pretty pen-and-ink drawings, each on a separate bit of paper, and each surrounded by a frame of his own designing." he told us he could remember wonderful things he had done during the years in russia. once, he said, when on a holiday in london with his father, he was not well, and was given a hot foot-bath, and he could never forget how he sat looking at his foot, and then got paper and colours and set to work to make a study of it, "and in russia," he added, "i was always doing that sort of thing."
-july 4 (1844). "i have given my boys holiday to celebrate the independence of their country.... this morning jemmie began relating anecdotes from the life of charles xii. of sweden, and rather upbraided me that i could not let him do as that monarch had done at seven years old--manage a horse! i should have been at a loss how to afford my boys a holiday, with a military parade to-day, but there was an encampment of cadets, about two estates off, and they went with colonel t.'s sons to see them."
-july 10 (1844). "a poem selected by my darling jamie and put under my plate at the breakfast-table, as a surprise on his tenth birthday. i shall copy it, that he may be reminded of his happy childhood when perhaps his grateful mother is not with him."
-august 20 (1844). "... jemmie is writing a note to his swedish tutor on his birthday. jemmie loves him sincerely and gratefully. i suppose his partiality to this swede makes him espouse his country's cause and admire the qualities of charles xii. so greatly to the prejudice of peter the great. he has been quite enthusiastic while reading the life of this king of sweden, this summer, and too willing to excuse his errors."
-august 23 (1844). "i wish i could describe the gardens at peterhoff where we were invited to drive to-day. the fountains are, perhaps, the finest in the world. the water descends in sheets over steps, all the heathen deities presiding. jemmie was delighted with the figure of samson tearing open the jaws of the lion, from which ascends a jet d'eau one hundred feet.... there are some fine pictures, but peter's own paintings of the feathered race ought to be most highly prized, though our jemmie was so saucy as to laugh at them."
-august 28 (1844). "i avail myself of col. todd's invitation to visit tsarskoé seló to-day with aunt alicia, deborah, and the two dear boys, who are always so delighted at these little excursions.... my little jemmie's heart was made sad by discovering swords which had been taken in the battle between peter and charles xii., for he knew, from their rich hilts set in pearls and precious stones, that they must have belonged to noble swedes. 'oh!' he exclaimed, 'i'd rather have one of these than all the other things in the armoury! how beautiful they are!'... i was somewhat annoyed that col. todd had deemed it necessary to have a dinner party for us.
-"... the colonel proposed the emperor's health in champagne, which not even the russian general, who declined wine, could refuse, and even i put my glass to my lips, which so encouraged my little boys that they presented their glasses to be filled, and, forgetting at their little side-table the guests at ours, called out aloud, 'santé à l'empereur!' the captain clapped his hands with delight, and afterwards addressed them in french. all at the table laughed and called the boys 'bons sujets.'"
-they were at st. petersburg again in september, preparing their christmas gifts for america. whistler, sending one to his cousin amos palmer, wrote in an outburst of patriotism that "the english were going to america to be licked by the yankees": it was at the time of the disagreement over oregon territory. in another letter he gives the fourth of july as his birthday.
-ash wednesday (1845). "i avail myself of this lenten season to have my boys every morning before breakfast recite a verse from the psalms, and i, who wish to encourage them, am ready with my response. how very thankful i shall be when the weather moderates so that jemmie's long imprisonment may end, and willie have his dear brother with him in the skating grounds and ice-hills. here comes my good boy jemmie now, with his history in hand to read to me, as he does every afternoon, as we fear they may lose their own language in other tongues, and thus i gain a half-hour's enjoyment by hearing them read daily."
-april 5 (1845). "our boys have left the breakfast table before eight o'clock to trundle their new hoops on the quai with their governess, and have brought home such bright red cheeks and buoyant spirits to enter the schoolroom with and to gladden my eyes. jemmie began his course of drawing lessons at the academy of fine arts just on the opposite side of the neva, exactly fronting my bedroom window. he is entered at the second room. there are two higher, and he fears he shall not reach them, because the officer who is still to continue his private lesson at home is a pupil himself in the highest, and jemmie looks up to him with all the reverence an artist merits. he seems greatly to enjoy going to his class, and yesterday had to go by the bridge on account of the ice, and felt very important when he told me he had to give the isvóshtclók fifteen copecks silver instead of ten."
-in the archives of the imperial academy of science there is a "list of scholars of the imperial academy of fine arts," and in this and the "class journal of the inspector" for 1845 james whistler is entered as "belonging to the drawing class, heads from nature." in 1846 he was on march 2 examined and passed as first in his class, the number being twenty-eight. from 1845 to 1849 professors vistelious and voivov were the masters of the life class.
-on may 14 (1845) there was a review of troops in st. petersburg, and the whistlers saw it from a window in the prince of oldenburg's palace.
-"jemmie's eagerness to attain all his desires for information and his fearlessness often makes him offend, and it makes him appear less amiable than he really is. the officers, however, seemed to find amusement in his remarks in french or english as they accosted him. they were soon informed of his military ardour, and that he hoped to serve his country. england? no, indeed! russia, then? no, no; america, of course!"
-may 2 (1846). "the boys are in the schoolroom now, reading the roman history in french to m. lamartine, promising themselves the pleasure of reviewing the pictures at the academy of fine arts at noon, which they have enjoyed almost every day this week. it is the triennial exhibition, and we like them to become familiar with the subjects of the modern artists, and to james especially it is the greatest treat we could offer. i went last wednesday with whistler and was highly gratified. i should like to take some of the russian scenes so faithfully portrayed to show in my native land. my james had described a boy's portrait said to be his likeness, and although the eyes were black and the curls darker, we found it so like him that his father said he would be glad to buy it, but its frame would only correspond with the furniture of a palace. the boy is taken in a white shirt with crimped frill, open at the throat; it is half-length, and no other garment could show off the glow of the brunette complexion so finely."
-may 30 (1846). "yesterday the empress was welcomed back to st. petersburg. last night the illumination which my boys had been eagerly expecting took place. when at 10.30 they came in, jamie expressed such an eager desire that i would allow him to be my escort just to take a peep at the nevski that i could not deny him. the effect of the light from vasili ostrow was very beautiful, and as we drove along the quai, the flowers and decorations of large mansions were, i thought, even more tasteful. we had to fall into a line of carriages in the isaac square to enter that broadway, and just then a shout from the populace announced to us that the empress was passing. i was terrified lest the poles of their carriage should run into our backs, or that some horses might take fright or bite us, we were so close, but jamie laughed heartily and aloud at my timidity. he behaved like a man. with one arm he guarded me, and with the other kept the animals at a proper distance; and, i must confess, brilliant as the spectacle was, my great pleasure was derived from the conduct of my dear and manly boy."
-by sir william boxall
-in the charles l. freer collection, national gallery of american art
-lent by miss emma palmer
-formerly in the possession of mrs. george d. stanton and miss emma w. palmer
-july 7 (1846). "my two boys found much amusement in propelling themselves on the drawbridge to and from the fancy island in the pond at mrs. g.'s, where we went to spend the day; they find it such a treat to be in the country, and just run wild, chasing butterflies and picking the wild flowers so abundant. but nothing gave them so much pleasure as their 4th july, spent with their little american friends at alexandrovsky, the eastwicks; the fireworks, percussion caps, muskets, horseback riding, &c., made them think it the most delightful place in russia. in some way james caught cold, and his throat was so inflamed that leeches were applied, and he has been in consequence confined to his room.... we spend our mornings in reading, drawing, &c. then the boys take their row with good john across the neva, to the morning bath, and in the cool of the afternoon a drive to the island, or a range in the summer gardens, or a row on the river."
-july 27 (1846). "last wednesday they had another long day in the country, and got themselves into much mischief. they had at last broken the ropes of the drawbridge, by which it was drawn to and from the island, and there were my wild boys prisoners on it. i thought it best for them to remain so, as they were so unruly, but the good-natured dominie was pressed into their service, and swimming to their rescue, ere i could interfere; jemmie was so drenched by his efforts that dear mrs. r. took him away to her room to coax him to lie down awhile and to rub him dry, lest his sore throat return to tell a tale of disobedience.
-"... on thursday there was another grand celebration of the birthday of the grand duchess olga. i gladly gave mary permission to take the boys in our carriage.... they were gone so long that i grew anxious about them, but finally they arrived very tired, and poor mary said she never wanted to go in such a crowd again. james had protected her as well as he was able, but she was glad to get home safely. the boys, however, enjoyed it immensely, as they saw all the imperial family within arm's length, as they alighted from their pony chaises to enter the new palace.... we were invited to go to the new palace, and went immediately to the apartment occupied by his lamented daughter. on one side is the lovely picture painted by buloff, so like her in life and health, though taken after death, as representing her spirit passing upwards to the palace above the blue sky. she wears her imperial robes, with a crown on her head; at the back of the crown is a halo of glory--the stars surround her as she passes through them. no wonder james should have thought this picture the most interesting of all the works of art around us."
-in the autumn of 1846 major whistler "placed the boys, as boarders, at m. jourdan's school. my dear boys almost daily exchange billet-doux with mother, since their absence of a week at a time from home. james reported everything 'first-rate,' even to brown bread and salt for breakfast, and greens for dinner, and both forbore to speak of homesickness, and welcome, indeed, were they on their first saturday at home, when they opened the front door and called 'mother, mother!' as they rushed in all in a glow, and they looked almost handsome in their new round black cloth caps, set to one side of their cropped heads, and the tight school uniform of grey trousers and black jacket makes them appear taller and straighter; jamie found the new suit too tight for his drawing lesson, so he sacrificed vanity to comfort, and was not diverted from his two hours' drawing by the other boys' frolics, which argues well for his determination to improve, as he promised his father. how i enjoyed having them back and listening to all their chat about their school--they seemed to enjoy their nice home tea. when it came time for them to go back, willie broke down and told me all he had suffered from homesickness, and when i talked to my more manly james, i unfortunately said, 'you do not know what he feels.' then jamie's wounded love melted him into tears, as he said, 'oh! mother, you think i don't miss being away from home!' he brushed away the shower with the back of his hand as if he was afraid of being seen weeping. dear boys, may they never miss me as i miss them!"
-shortly after this, mrs. whistler's youngest son, john bouttatz, born in the summer of 1845, died.
-november 14 (1846). "jamie was kept in until night last saturday, and made to write a given portion of french over twenty-five times as a there was no answer, save that eternal and infernal:
-drip! . . . drip! . . . drip! . . .
-a giant tree shook itself in a slight breeze which sprang up, and i saw a snake make its way stealthily across one corner of the clearing and disappear into the underbrush.
-silence and stillness again.
-and then an answering call came from the depths of the jungle. like a cry of some triumphant and bloodthirsty accomplishment, it rose slowly upwards and upwards until it reached a pæan of ecstacy and abandonment; then it sank into a low gurgle of animal contentment.
-was it gran'pa, or dr. croft, or another gorilla?
-stringer turned his head and looked at me in a way which, in spite of his anthropoid appearance, was almost human. no doubt he was asking himself (and me), the same question.
-i shook my shaggy head and waddled out into the open. there, i emitted a cry very similar to the one that we had just heard.
-it was answered almost immediately, from two separate points in succession, and i knew at once that gran'pa and dr. croft were now engaged in the same occupation as ourselves and that they were notifying us of the fact.
-presently, we heard and sensed the vague stir of animal life. birds alighted on near-by trees; distant and hidden twigs and branches cracked; a little curious-visaged monkey appeared on a tree-top and watched us alertly; a brilliantly colored parrot shrieked and whistled. the denizens of the forest were at last emerging from that temporary retirement occasioned by the advent of our party from the outside world. with only a couple of playful-looking gorillas in sight, they were no doubt feeling quite at home again.
-when we gave vent to our ardent appeals for the companionship of our tribe, the sounds of busy life around us continued with unabated industry--a great compliment to our power of imitative animal articulation. we, and our cage, and the statuesque negroes in the two back corners, were definitely part and parcel of the jungle. we were being accepted by its folk, sheltered by its encompassing vegetation, and warmed and moistened by its atmosphere. so acclimatized did i feel that i ventured further out into the open and joined stringer.
-"there doesn't seem to be anything doing yet," i whispered in civilized, human slang.
-"it's a game of patience. we may have to wait hours or even days. we'll bring a book to read to-morrow."
-"might frighten them."
-"not if you kept it well out of sight in this long grass."
-"yes! . . . we could take it in turns. it would never do for both of us to get absorbed in a yarn. one would have to watch while the other read."
-at this point our conversation suddenly ceased. we had heard the sharp crack of breaking twigs in some spot immediately behind us.
-turning swiftly but cautiously, we peered at the dense green tangle of leaves and branches, trying to make our gaze penetrate into the gloomy interior of the forest.
-with great presence of mind, stringer also began making little whimpering and seductive noises at the back of his throat, like a female gorilla in distress.
-the noise stopped and i was conscious--with every high-strung nerve in my body!--that we were being watched. was it with curiosity, with malicious intent, or with fear? and by what? had the fateful hour at last struck? were all our plans and preparations for the previous six months now to be put to the great test? were we facing victory, or defeat--or death?
-as these thoughts sped through my mind i became aware of a feeling of intense exhilaration. i was eager to see what stark and naked peril lay behind the shelter of those harmless trees and bushes. to have advanced towards the spot with the intention of making closer investigations would have been foolish. it might frighten away our unseen watcher, or lead to a sudden attack which would take us unawares.
-so stringer and i commenced slowly waddling back to our cage, with gas nozzles and revolvers in readiness for instant use. as we moved, we made a pretence of eating the plentiful supply of nuts and white-ribbed pineapple leaves which we had brought with us. at the same time we emitted alluring noises signifying "food." surely no male gorilla, at any rate, would be able to resist this joint attraction of food and mates!
-we were mistaken, however, for presently we heard faint and stealthy movements of retreat and a few moments later our ears were listening to only the constant: drip! . . . drip! . . . drip! . . . of the jungle.
-"damn!" i whispered to stringer.
-"don't worry!" he said. "if it's a gorilla i'll bet its curiosity will get the better of it presently and it'll return to another spot. if it is not a gorilla--then we've lost nothing!"
-i let forth another call and heard gran'pa and dr. croft give their answering cries as if in mocking derision at our first failure.
-"it may go ambling off to their cages," i whispered, in a spirit of intense rivalry.
-"just as good," answered stringer.
-"it isn't! we want to score the first victory."
-again we called to our kinsmen of the forest; and this time our efforts were rewarded with astonishing success.
-without the least sound or warning, the branches of the surrounding trees suddenly parted at two places at once, and there emerged into the open a couple of huge male gorillas on all fours.
-they stopped, stared first at us, and then at one another.
-"rivals for our hands--by jingo!" whispered stringer, with a nervous attempt at humor.
-"i hope to goodness they don't fight!" i answered.
-for fully a minute they sat there on their haunches, supporting themselves with their long arms and glaring at each other with hatred, but indecision.
-suddenly the larger one arose and commenced moving slowly in our direction, using its arms as sort of crutches. it looked stringer straight in the face, and stringer returned the gaze with all the unwavering calmness of his magnetic soul!
-the other brute also began waddling towards us and, as it did so, the first turned its head, struck its immense chest with its hands and let forth roar upon roar of defiance. it bared its teeth, rapidly oscillated its eyebrows, and assumed the most threatening attitude it could command.
-its smaller rival hesitated--as well it might--then it looked covetously in my direction and i could see from the way it eyed me that it was not going to be intimidated in this manner. i adopted an air of complete indifference and went on pretending to eat my pineapple leaves. whether it was the tasty food or me it wanted i would not be conceited enough to say; but, anyway, it decided to fight.
-with a sharp bark and a roar like thunder the two gorillas were upon one another in an instant.
-the sight was magnificent, but awful. the great, muscular brutes tore at each other's throats with their hands (and even their feet); they twisted and turned and contorted themselves; they bit; they scratched; and they screamed out their hatred in every key conceivable. the brutality of two men fighting to the death was a mere, friendly sparring match compared with this. they fought without conforming to any rules of sport, without mercy, and without respite. pieces of hairy skin were torn off by tooth and claw; arms and legs were wrenched and twisted to breaking point; heads were thrust back in an endeavor to get at the throat; and bodies were lacerated with pieces of broken wood as the two infuriated and interlocked monsters flung themselves hither and thither on the earth.
-once, their powerful, wide-open jaws met one against the other in a hideous clash and something white and glistening flew out on to the grass. it was a broken tooth! the strength they were exerting must have been tremendous--sufficient to crush a man to jelly--and yet neither seemed able to gain any decisive advantage over the other.
-for nearly a couple of minutes we watched with horror and fascination this deadly combat between two of the cruellest and most vindictive brutes in the whole of the animal world. we could do nothing but stare breathlessly at the scene, and thank god that we were not actively involved as well.
-at last, however, one of us spoke.
-"we must stop this," whispered stringer, hoarsely. "they'll kill each other."
-"what can we do--except shoot?"
-"there's . . . this!" he answered quietly. "if we can get near enough."
-he held up the nozzle of the gas projector.
-"by jove!" i said. "of course!"
-i gave the prearranged sign to the two scared negroes crouching in the cage and they turned on the cocks of the cylinders.
-as the gas began sizzling out of the flexible tubes, we fixed over our nostrils the breathing apparatus connected with the filters which we carried on our backs.
-then we advanced stealthily towards the gyrating mass of animal fury and played on it.
-the miraculous happened. gradually, the monsters relinquished their stranglehold. it was as if sudden exhaustion had seized them. they sat down on their haunches, like two worn-out old men, panting for breath, dazed and clearly very surprised.
-one of them made a whimpering noise, opened its mouth in a vain endeavor to escape the suffocating effects of the gas, passed its arm wearily across its face as if to wipe something away--and suddenly collapsed.
-the other attempted to escape. but its legs and arms were too weak to propel its great body and a moment or so later it, too, lay down with a deep grunt of contentment.
-i shouted to the negroes--shouted at the top of my voice in modern english:
-without a second's delay they came running out to us with all the paraphernalia of bondage--ropes, chains, handcuffs, and sacks.
-i gave stringer my gas projector, asked him to keep the two brutes quiet while i fetched the ether, and told the negroes to hold their breath until they had dropped their burden and retreated again.
-for the next five minutes we were four of the busiest people on earth. we substituted ether for gas, got the gorillas into a nice pliable condition of utter unconsciousness, handcuffed their hands behind their backs, tied up their legs in sacks, wound their arms and bodies round and round with ropes and chains, and then withdrew to our cage, where we took a cool and refreshing draught of lime-juice and water.
-the perspiration was running from us. the gorilla is an immense brute weighing from two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds, and the trussing up of that amount of dead weight in the damp tropical heat had demanded tremendous exertions. even the great six-foot negroes looked exhausted.
-"well!" i said to stringer, "how's that for the first morning's bag?"
-"great! won't the others be jealous!"
-"won't they just! we'll send them word at once."
-i despatched the two blacks with our message of victory, turned to the wire which held our balloon captive, hauled down the bright red ball to earth, fastened the stars and stripes and the union jack beneath it, and let it up into the air again. this was our simple method of requesting oakley and newland to send carriers from the aerodrome.
-"now," i said, "let's go and inspect the vanquished!"
-they lay there on the green grass as peaceful as little children asleep in their cots, and to look at them lying thus it was difficult to imagine that they were the same two beings that less than ten minutes previously, had been locked in deadly combat.
-their coats were of an iron-gray color, due to alternate rings of black and gray on the individual hairs--which were quite two inches long on the arms. the skin was black and naked on the face, the breast and the palms of the hands; the head was covered in short, reddish brown hair; the eyes were deeply sunken, and lay beneath overhanging ridges of bone, which gave the face an expression of scowling savagery; and the wide mouth was fringed by sharply-cut lips which were drawn back so as to expose the huge and powerful canines.
-in spite of the ferocity of their recent encounter, they were practically undamaged, excepting for a few skin wounds and contusions. we anointed several wounds with carbolic ointment, removed a particle of broken wood which was embedded in the smaller gorilla's thigh, propped the two brutes up against a couple of tree trunks, and then stepped back and awaited their return to consciousness.
-stringer's suitor awoke first. he was in such a position that he could see us, but not his rival, and no doubt his first impression was that he had won the fight--but had naturally been left very bruised and exhausted. he looked at stringer and me with what was very nearly an expression of quiet triumph and he seemed to invite our approach.
-we spoke to him soothingly, trying to convey to his numbed brain that all danger was over and that prosperity (in the shape of food) lay before us all.
-he listened intelligently, gave a little grunt of satisfaction and tried to join us.
-the sudden realization that it was impossible to move any part of himself save his head must have proved a terrible shock. we saw him inflate his immense chest to its fullest capacity, strain at his bonds, and then relax into a condition of panting impotence.
-by this time, my own suitor had regained consciousness and was also endeavoring to reach us.
-neither of them showed the least trace of anger or fear--a remarkable fact when one considers their position of helpless bondage. had they seen each other, the situation would no doubt have developed into another display of tempestuous fury, but, as it was, they made no sound other than that of labored breathing. possibly, they had experienced this feeling of returning consciousness and helplessness before, and were convinced that it would presently pass off. it was one of the symbols of victory.
-i put my mouth to stringer's ear and whispered:
-"let's get nearer and see if they still suffer from the delusion that we are of the same blood."
-apparently they did; and stringer actually had the temerity to reach out a hairy arm and stroke his gorilla on the head. the poor brute shut its eyes in mild contentment.
-could anything have been more pitiably human than this great monster succumbing to such a kindly caress? were not all those stories of the untamable ferocity of the male gorilla merely due to ignorance and superstition? were these animals any more malignant and savage than we should be, had we to face the same daily perils of life in the jungle?
-i recalled gran'pa's display of murderous intent on that terrible night when i had tried to coax him from his dug-out into the warm shelter of a house, and i could see that external conditions accounted for a great deal, even in human conduct. how much more so must this have been the case with animals.
-here were these two poor, misguided brutes, shattered and dazed by recent battle, asking for comfort and kindness, and when it was administered to them (by the women of their own species!) they became as little children. it was a touching sight, and i was so pleased with stringer's achievement that i could not refrain from leaning forward to stroke my own captive.
-but the brute was suspicious (smelling beneath the aniseed, perhaps, a whiff of that hate-inducing scent of man), and it suddenly showed its ill-temper in a quick jerk of the head, a clash of white teeth and a guttural snarl. the fingers of my right hand were saved by less than an inch and the tenth of a second.
-"you would, would you?" i said, completely forgetting my anthropoid part.
-at the sound of my human voice it barked again, and as it did so, stringer's gorilla twisted its head round, saw its rival still in the land of the living, and let up a terrible, rolling roar of defiance.
-and so i had; for at the opposite side of the clearing an immense gorilla was standing, erect and uncertain, clutching in its hands the broken and leafless bough of a tree.
-"look out!" i warned stringer.
-he swung round in the direction i pointed, and for one awful half-minute there was a dead silence, as the whole five of us stood watching one another for the first sign of attack.
-revolvers in hand, stringer and i came together and commenced backing towards the cage. but before we could reach it, the newcomer was after us on all fours--running along the ground like a bent old man, with incredible speed and ungainliness.
-we didn't wait the hundredth part of a second. nor, thank heaven, did we fire. i don't believe we could have hit the brute had we tried.
-we simply turned, rushed pell mell for our shelter, scrambled inside, slammed the trap doors to, and retreated to the farthest corner.
-with an ear-splitting roar, the monster flung itself at the bars, bending them and shaking the whole cage with the force of its impact.
-"quick!" i cried. "turn on that blooming gas!"
-there was no time to bother about gas masks. i picked up the nearest tube, held my breath, and thrust the projector right between the hideous brute's open jaws.
-"this is our busy day!"
-the next second i saw stringer, the gorilla, the cage and the whole jungle spin round, turn a somersault and begin converging in on me. i thought:
-"we're nose-diving . . . side-slipping. . . . now for the crash! . . . ugh!"
-i shut my eyes tightly, terrified by the sudden drumming of blood in my ears, and felt all sensation of touch slipping from my limbs and body. the sounds of the outside world grew fewer and fainter, and i heard the beating of my heart quieten down into a little murmur of weary contentment.
-"this is death!" i thought, without fear or excitement.
-then i seemed to leave the falling aeroplane and ascend rapidly into space.
-i saw the stars winking at me in a pitch black sky and performing phantasmagoric dances; but presently these, too, disappeared and i was alone in an infinite void, without light, or sound, or movement. in some strange way i still had the power of thought, but every vestige of sensation had been taken from me.
-"is this life after death?" i asked myself dispassionately.
-my mind struggled with the problem, trying its utmost to achieve some form of activity. but it had no eyes, no hands, no limbs, no ears, no nose, no mouth, with which to accomplish anything. it was steam without the engine, electricity without the motor, energy without the necessary mechanism for transmitting it to power, soul without the body.
-"let me die outright!" i prayed. "annihilation is better than this mere mentality afloat in nothing. . . ."
-a little twinkle of light showed itself in the utter darkness. then another, and another. and again the stars came into being.
-but, by this time they were receding and i began dropping back to the dear old earth.
-"this is resurrection!" i thought gladly. "life--and movement! . . ."
-i felt my body returning to me as something warm, and sensitive, and oh! so human! never was home more welcome to a weary traveller than was this uprush of sensuous consciousness to my isolated and lonely brain.
-as the first sounds of the outside world broke on my ears again, i opened my eyes and was surprised to find myself contemplating the intense blue of a tropical sky.
-i was lying on the grass, a few yards from our cage, and when i raised my head i saw stringer panting and puffing over the prostrate form of our latest capture. single-handed, he was trying to bind the brute's arms and legs.
-"what's happened?" i cried, sitting up dizzily.
-"you got a whiff of that gas, young man, and i had to drag you out into the open. if you can, give me a hand before he comes round."
-"did you--give it a . . . sniff of ether?" i gasped between by exertions.
-"you must have been pretty quick."
-"never hustled so much in my life. . . ."
-"this is absurd," i said. "we can't continue raking in gorillas at this rate all day. the strain's too great."
-i wiped my perspiring brow and helped to tie the last knot.
-"the other two seem to be very quiet," remarked stringer.
-we turned and looked at them. they were sitting just as they had been placed, perfectly still and upright, and showed clear signs of the deepest interest in our movements. naturally, they had never seen anything like this before and must have been almost hypnotized with amazement. once the elements of fear and anger are eliminated, it is probable that the anthropoid ape is capable of experiencing emotions very similar to our own. they can feel pity, affection, astonishment and--most of all--intense curiosity.
-apparently, they did not fear us and were not angry with us (or even with one another, now) but their curiosity must have been tremendous. nothing else could account for their quiet behavior under such circumstances. it might be argued that the pressure of their bonds would hurt sufficiently to enrage even the most curious brute, but i think that the pain from the wounds caused in the fight would, in their opinion, account for all such discomforts. their reasoning powers, equal to those of an eighteen months old child, were too limited to connect stringer and myself with most of their troubles, and no doubt they still looked on us as two harmless and inoffensive females of their own species.
-when our third captive regained consciousness, however, he must have told them of his suspicions, for i distinctly heard him give the danger call. it was followed by a guttural sound in a low key--an anthropoid expression with which i was not familiar. it may have been equivalent to "impostors!" or "spiteful beasts!" or "bad characters!" gorillas must meet such animals in their own tribe, and it is probable that they can express their resentment of the fact to one another.
-it is only human conceit which makes us think that character-reading, with the allied arts of backbiting and slander, are peculiar to our own species. many of the so-called "dumb" brutes may be just as proficient as we are in telling one another exactly what they think of a third animal. in any case, i am convinced that our last victim gave us away to the other two.
-the noise which they all began making was terrible. it must have been audible two or three miles away, and was evidently an exhibition of rage, with the intention of frightening us away.
-"d'you think they're calling for help?" i asked stringer. "if so, we'd better get back into the cage again."
-"i don't like it," he shouted in reply. "why haven't those infernal natives returned by now? and when are those stretcher bearers from the aerodrome going to arrive?"
-i could feel in my bones that something tragic had happened--or was going to happen--or might happen! what was it? whence would it come?
-i scanned the encircling trees and when my gaze alighted on the first two gorillas i saw a sight which held me spellbound. the bushes immediately behind the smaller of the brutes had suddenly been thrust aside, and there emerged another of these jungle folk with an uplifted hand, bearing a club-shaped piece of wood.
-it flashed through my startled brain that this ferocious-looking newcomer was about to strike one of our defenceless captives--an unthinkable crime--a piece of animal "awfulness" which could not be tolerated by even the most callous human being.
-there was only one way of preventing this sudden and dastardly attack, and i chose it unhesitatingly. raising my automatic, i cried out to stringer, hooked my finger round the trigger and pulled.
-but i was too late. the strangest thing in the world had happened. stringer's hand had shot forth with incredible swiftness, struck up my own, and diverted the bullet into the tree-tops.
-"good god!" he shouted, "are you blind, man?"
-i peered through the clearing smoke.
-"well, i'm damned!" i said.
-the gorilla at home
-my emotions were mixed. i was angry, and yet at the same time i was very grateful to stringer and providence. no man enjoys being the victim of a practical joke; neither does he relish the feeling that only good luck has prevented his committing homicide.
-i thrust my revolver back into my hip pocket, and strode over to the gentleman with the club.
-"gran'pa!" i said. "you and your confounded monkey tricks will end in disaster one of these bright days. why you couldn't have acquainted us of your approach is beyond me. you might have known that we were on the alert--ready to shoot at almost anything."
-he removed his gorilla mask, mopped his brow and gave a forced laugh.
-"perhaps it was rather foolish of me," he admitted. "but i'd been watching you all from behind that bush for some minutes, and i couldn't resist a little practical joke. . . . phew! that was a near thing, george! i thought my last day had come."
-he looked very shaky (served him right) and we had to take him over to the cage and give him a sip of brandy. i also had one, and so did stringer.
-we all felt better after that, and stringer and i took off our anthropoid heads and escorted gran'pa on a tour of inspection.
-the enraged prisoners of war roared at us more defiantly than ever, now that their suspicions were confirmed. their attempts at escape became prodigious and their language frightful.
-"we got these two birds with one stone, so to speak," i shouted.
-"did you, by jove?" he cried.
-he looked at them more closely and a shadow of pain seemed to flit over his features.
-"you've knocked them about a lot, george. was it necessary?"
-"we didn't do it. they did it themselves. fighting!"
-i explained things to him in detail.
-"no 'fluence?" he inquired of stringer.
-"no time for it!"
-"h'm! still, we might try a little of it now, to quieten them. . . ."
-"anything to stop this infernal row," agreed stringer.
-so, once more--but this time in the heart of the african jungle--stringer brought his great mental powers to bear on the gorilla.
-he stood as near as he dared to the largest and noisiest of our captives, focussed his compelling gaze on its wicked little eyes, and made domineering noises in the back of his throat.
-the great brute quavered, fought a brief struggle for mental mastery, and then began shifting its gaze hither and thither in a vain endeavor to escape that burning, penetrating, hypnotic glare.
-"keep it up!" i said. "he's giving way!"
-"tchah!" cried stringer.
-the poor animal gave a shiver, let up a little whimper of shame and submission, and suddenly grew resigned to its fate. at the psychological moment stringer stretched forth a hand, rested it on the monster's head and pressed downwards. the victory of mind over matter was complete.
-five minutes later, the other two had been similarly pacified. but when the stretcher bearers arrived from the aerodrome the three brutes began to recover their evil tempers again, and we had great difficulty in placing them on their portable beds. the negroes were scared and refused to help us. finally, however, gran'pa, and stringer and i each took charge of a stretcher and persuaded three of the blacks to catch hold of the opposite ends.
-thus we carried our roaring burdens along the narrow jungle pathway which led to the place of embarkation.
-"they're quietening down again," said gran'pa, as we unloaded. "even a gorilla has enough sense to find out the futility of noise. look! that big one's beginning to sulk. he'll probably maintain that attitude now and never utter another word. let's give him some food, to show our approval."
-we tried him with some of the white ribs of the pineapple leaf (a particular gorilla delicacy), but he refused. so did the others.
-"well, we can't waste time. they'll soon come round when they've got over their bad temper and begin to feel hungry. . . . we'd better get them aboard the 'planes."
-oakley had two on his machine, and newland had the third.
-it was a strange sight. the poor fellows looked so old-fashioned, sitting up in their chairs, with their curious little eyes peering from one side to another and their heads moving from side to side while the remainder of their bodies kept perfectly still. one could hardly believe that they were animals.
-"as this is the first consignment," said gran'pa, "i think you'd better pop over in newland's 'plane, george, and see them put safely aboard 'the pilgrim father.' you'll also be able to keep an eye on the others. . . . i say, oakley!"
-"don't get too far apart on the way back. mr. barnett's coming, as well, to act as an observer for both of you!"
-i clambered aboard (with our gorilla in the middle seat), the propellers were swung, and off we went--upwards and upwards into the blue sky and the refreshingly cool air.
-my excitement was intense. i had not even bothered to take off my gorilla skin. the head had been removed, of course, and i had slipped into my great coat and helmet, but i had not yet rid myself of the feeling that i was half-man and half-anthropoid ape.
-for the first hundred miles, we flew without anything unusual happening.
-our own gorilla made neither movement nor sound, but the rear one on oakley's machine kept straining at its bonds, with a stupid, brutish persistency. it was the huge beast which stringer had commenced to bind while i was lying under the evil influence of that gas, and once or twice i couldn't help thinking:
-"is that brute secure?"
-when we reached the upper course of the "moondah" i scribbled a note on a scrap of paper and thrust it over to newland.
-"keep as near as you can to oakley's 'plane," i had written.
-i watched him read it, saw him nod his head, and felt the machine put on an extra spurt until the two 'planes were flying almost side by side.
-oakley's machine was now about fifty feet to the right and a little below the level of ours, so that i could see his passengers quite distinctly. the front one was quiet and resigned, but the rear one was still viciously struggling to escape. i was getting anxious, and, had there been any landing place visible, i should have felt very much inclined to signal oakley to make a temporary halt for the purpose of examining the animal's bonds. the thought of its breaking loose in mid-air was appalling.
-i kept a careful watch on its every movement and once, when it looked vindictively upwards at our 'plane, i shook my fist at it threateningly, waved my arms, and tried in every way i could to distract its attention. but it was useless. it turned its face away with supreme contempt and merely renewed its efforts with more enthusiasm than ever. it wrenched, and twisted, and strained; and suddenly something seemed to give way. after that, it kept very still for a while.
-"what's happened?" i thought. "has it kinked a muscle, broken a bone, or . . . ?"
-my mental query was answered by the dramatic appearance of first one free arm and then another. the scene was strangely reminiscent of one of those turns at a music hall, when a man undertakes to escape from a complexity of knotted ropes in so many minutes. it thrilled me by its cleverness; but it scared me by its dangerous possibilities.
-in an instant i had my revolver out and kept the brute covered. as long as it remained quiet, it was safe; but the moment it got out of that seat it would be a dead gorilla.
-i saw newland glance round at me and take in the whole situation. he brought the machine a little closer to the other and, as he did so, the gorilla grew alarmed, raised its hands in the air and sought for a hold amidst the struts.
-"my god! the controls!" i thought, swiftly. "if it touches one of those, oakley's done!"
-i took a steady aim, pressed my finger to the trigger and fired three times in rapid succession.
-but i was too late. the gorilla was hit at the precise moment that it had grabbed one of the thin wires on which so much depends when a man is in mid-air.
-down went the great roaring machine--spinning round and round like a falling leaf in an autumn gale. for over two thousand feet it must have dropped. and then, i saw a little brown speck fall out into space. the machine nose-dived, flattened out, switchbacked, and gradually began to ascend into the blue heavens again.
-"good old oakley!" i thought. "you're a marvel, man!"
-as he came up, so we glided down to meet him, until at last i could wave my handkerchief as a sign of approval and welcome.
-he answered my signal with a raised arm (and probably a quiet smile of triumph, had i been able to see it!) and once more we continued our journey homewards.
-he had sufficient intelligence and perseverance to liberate himself from the remainder of the bonds without our help, and when he had done this we raised the sliding door, drove him into the larger cage, closed the door again--and were ready for the next! could anything have been simpler or safer?
-our two captives safely berthed, we wasted no time in returning to the gorilla country, which we again reached in just over an hour and a half.
-i expected to find on our arrival a further consignment of live gorilla. but i was disappointed. the three red balloons hung lazily in the still, tropical air; but none of them showed the welcome flags of victory.
-it appeared that gran'pa and stringer had returned to the jungle immediately after we had left for corisco and since then--silence had reigned. not a roar, not a bark of a gorilla had been heard. the three white men, with their retinue of blacks, might have been non-existent for all the signs of life they had shown since their return to the gloomy depths of the forest.
-"well," i said to oakley, "i think i'll be getting along to my cage again."
-"we have to start back in four hours' time, don't we?"
-he looked at his wrist watch. "better not leave it any later than that."
-"so long!" he answered, lighting a cigarette.
-i went along the narrow pathway which led to our first cage, alone--and a little scared (although i wouldn't have admitted it to myself or anyone else for worlds).
-there is something terribly unnerving about the perpetual, twilight gloom of the great african forests, unpenetrated by the sun even at mid-day. the trees lean over and threaten one with their immense bulk of branch and leaf; the bushes harbor god knows what crawling and prowling peril; and the swaying tendrils wave their arms to and fro like long, sentient things. all vegetable life seems to be working in unison with the animal life which creeps behind its dark and sinister shelter. one is given no respite.
-there is always that sense of a vindictive something sneaking behind, or waiting in ambush in front, or prowling alongside--watching for its opportunity to spring. the snap of a twig, the sudden flight of a bird, the scurry of something small and harmless, the sough of the wind (like a deep breath), the rustle of leaves, the pad-pad of one's own feet, even the thumping of one's own heart--all these sounds are instantly translated into a sign of some terrible, carnivorous menace. one's sense of hearing becomes painfully acute--almost raw! one's nerves become keyed up to the breaking point. one's feeling of immense loneliness is appalling--and palpable!
-as i hurried along, the conviction grew that i was no longer man, the lord of creation, but merely a poor little defenceless creature, fleeing through a land of hideous, nightmare shapes. of what use was a sporting rifle, or a revolver? i could not aim in the dark. and, even if i could, there was still the danger of being taken unawares.
-what was that?
-merely, the shrill cry of a parrot. . . .
-i tried to laugh at my folly, and, as a temporary diversion, i even tried to picture the wet and glistening streets converging on piccadilly circus--that symbol of a great civilized city where man was indeed omnipotent.
-but the vision would not persist. it became an epitome of vain endeavor. new york, london, paris, all those huge capitals--what were they? little blobs of buildings, which did not cover a millionth part of the world's wide surface; mere temporary excrescences on the immobile face of mother earth.
-the jungle was unchanging, cynically indifferent to all but the relentless laws of nature. it had seen men like me before, travelling blindly and painfully onwards to some ephemeral goal, and now and then it smote at us with its diseases, its lurking animals, its crawling reptiles, and its poisonous vegetation. but still we came.
-what did these little serious and eager white men seek? it was not food; nor was it mates--as was the custom of the jungle folk. who were these men, to-day, who came over on their great roaring birds and disguised themselves in the skins of their ancestors? who was this solitary unit of humanity stumbling onward in the gloom? what did he seek?
-i looked upwards at the great questioning canopy of green. but i could not answer. my name sounded too tragically inconsequential; my mission so childishly absurd!
-the day before yesterday, men brought the bible and medicine to the blacks, and received in exchange their intangible souls. yesterday, they brought cheap jewelry and deadly firearms, and took away ivory and rubber--and human life. to-day, they came with weird cries and sleep-inducing vapors--and flew away with live and protesting gorillas. to-morrow? . . . perhaps, they would remove the jungle itself. . . .
-it was strange that i, george barnett, late of his britannic majesty's civil service, should become so psychological. strange it was that i (who had never found thought of much consequence in my old profession) should now utilize my brains so freely. was it morbid, or was it natural? . . .
-i was brought back from the abstract to the real by the sudden appearance of a gigantic snake lying right in the centre of my path. it evidently heard my approach, for it erected its head, slid forward a little, and prepared to strike.
-at the same moment, i fired--and missed.
-not daring to risk another shot, i turned and ran for my life, the hideous thing coming after me with a peculiar half-leaping, half-slithering motion.
-i ran as i've never run before, with sheer terror lending a miraculous aid to my flying feet, and when i saw an elephant track crossing my line of retreat at right-angles i rounded the corner like the wind.
-but it was a vain hope. the serpent, with the age-long wisdom of its kind, was not to be hoodwinked in this simple manner. instead, it cut through the underbrush and thereby gained a good yard.
-on and on i tore--a man in gorilla's clothing, but with the heart of a mouse!
-it is astonishing how quickly the human mind can work in moments of real danger. in the merest fraction of a second my eyes had taken in the one possible avenue of escape--a long vertical creeper, dangling the end of its thick arm within a yard of my head.
-with a cry, i leapt into the air, grabbed my hope of salvation in both hands and hauled myself aloft.
-the serpent, too, had erected itself on a coiled base and was preparing to strike. its head swayed slowly to and fro and its evil tongue shot in and out, as if in grim, sardonic anticipation of its meal.
-i wriggled my right hand free, got at my revolver, took aim, and fired straight into its open mouth.
-the sight was terrible--but majestic! the huge bulk of headless muscle lurched forward, struck blindly at my legs and collapsed in a writhing mass of impotence.
-for fully a minute i hung there, watching the death throes of my pursuer. then, when i could hold on no longer, i jumped clear, landed heavily on my feet and hands, and commenced scrambling out of that horrible pit.
-safe and sound again, i retraced my steps at a gentle trot.
-to the chattering monkeys who swung from branch to branch above and looked down on me with startled curiosity, i must have presented a strange sight. my gorilla skin was tattered and torn, my face and hands were scratched and bleeding, my hair was in wild disorder. a fine caricature of a man who had known the joys of white spats and carefully creased trousers and a well cut coat, and bone-rimmed, circular spectacles!
-i must have covered nearly a mile before i realized what i ought to have guessed long ago. i was lost!
-it was not a pleasant discovery, and, the moment i made it, i stood still and did some very hard thinking. now that it was too late, i saw that we should have prepared for such a contingency and marked some of the trees which flanked our pathway from the aerodrome to the cages.
-i tried to recollect the way i had come, but knew that any attempt to get back to the open country where the aerodrome was situated might only lead me still further astray.
-"oh, for a 'plane--or a balloon!" i thought.
-that last mental image saved me! i sought out a suitable tree, leapt up at its lowest branch, caught hold of it, and raised my bruised and weary body to the first step upwards.
-i climbed slowly but alertly--and much to the alarm of a couple of monkeys perched in one of its topmost branches. they fled chattering along the pale green surface above.
-half-way up, i cursed my torn and impeding gorilla skin, discarded it, and resumed the journey in a pair of "shorts" and a shirt.
-below, everything was dark and gloomy and foreboding; but, above, the sun extended thin fingers of gold amidst the green leaves.
-"if i have to die," i thought, "let it be up here, where the air is pure and there is light."
-for over a hundred feet i continued that ascent to freedom, and then i stopped and listened to a peculiar fluttering noise on my left.
-i craned my neck and peered through the branches.
-the "thing" came into view--a great red ball, beneath which there billowed and waved the flags of america and england!
-"balloon ahoy!" i shouted, deliriously.
-there was no answer, and after giving still another futile shout, i began working my way from one tree to another until i came to the edge of a clearing containing one of our cages. by crawling out to the extremity of a huge horizontal branch, i was at last able to look below.
-"hello, there!" i shouted.
-i saw the two blacks turn their faces skywards and, tearing off my vest, i waved it aloft.
-"hel-lo-oh . . . !" came a voice which was apparently gran'pa's.
-without further palaver, i commenced my descent to terra firma. from bough to bough i dropped in quick succession, until, when i reached the last, i was only twenty feet above ground level.
-having no desire to drop from this height into a tangle of underbrush, i worked my way out to the tip of the branch, hung for a moment on the end of the arch it so considerately made, and then let go.
-i fell on my feet as gracefully as an acrobat.
-"by george!" exclaimed gran'pa, running up to me. "it's . . . george!"
-"what's left of him!" i breathed.
-"what on earth have you been doing now?" he asked.
-"it's a new game," i observed, quietly. "when you get lost in that damned jungle it may occur to even you! i've been up there looking for the nearest balloon. thank god i found it--even if it did happen to be yours!"
-i told him the tale of my adventures.
-"it was very foolish of you to come alone," he admonished. "and--where's your gorilla skin?"
-"half-way up a tree--such as there's left of it. . . . you've caught another gorilla, i see."
-"yes! a beauty! how did you get on with the other three?"
-"so--so! . . . one of them broke loose on the way back--and i had to shoot it."
-"but. . . ."
-"for heaven's sake, don't argue!" i said. "if i hadn't shot the brute. . . . well, as it was, oakley very nearly crashed."
-"we do seem to be unlucky, george!" he complained.
-"i think it's just the opposite. four captures on the first day is far better than any of us expected. we're collecting gorillas--not monkey-nuts."
-"i agree. but stringer and you should have paid greater attention to the bindings. there's really no excuse, george, for slipshod work in a dangerous job like this. we don't want any blood shed, either our own or the gorillas. already, we've lost one life and it was apparently by the merest fluke that we didn't lose two others."
-it was disgraceful of him to start lecturing a man who had just been through what i had. besides, he was no paragon himself.
-"what about yourself and your silly monkey trick this morning?" i retorted. "you nearly lost your life! if ever a man had a beam in his eye . . ."
-"now, now, george! i'm only telling you what should be obvious to everyone of us. we must exercise more care. we're getting far too matter-of-fact. things have been too easy for us."
-i glanced at my bruised and bloodstained legs and arms.
-"i'd like you to have ten minutes with that snake i met. you'd be a much better man for it--if you were spared!"
-"don't be so vindictive, george! it was your own fault. you shouldn't go wandering about the jungle alone! you ought to have known better."
-"oh, rats!" i exclaimed. "i'm fed up with this. i've had quite enough for one day--and i want my tea. . . . i'm going home."
-"go back to the aerodrome by all means, but at least wait there until the rest of us are ready to return."
-i could feel my temper rising rapidly and could also see that gran'pa was in one of his calm, sarcastic, irritating moods. it was safer to go, before i rose in my wrath and smote him.
-"very well!" i snapped. "lend me a black to take me back."
-without another word to me, gran'pa beckoned to one of them, told him to escort me to the aerodrome, and then walked away in the direction of his cage, softly whistling to himself.
-i left immediately, deliberately stifling all desire for a reconciliation. i would not stand any more of this rejuvenated old man's impertinence. damn him and his collection of doddering ancients! why should i endanger my health and vitality as a gland-snatching maniac in the middle of a jungle? for two pins i'd mutiny and return to england. . . .
-my temper rose. so did my temperature. and the upshot of it was that my complaint was diagnosed that evening as malaria.
-it was a mild attack, and quinine and sally rebecca soon pulled me through; but it left me weak and depressed for many days. to add to my depression, the others experienced a spell of very bad luck in the jungle. the gorillas had apparently "got the wind up," as gran'pa said. they not only avoided our cages, but even migrated from the whole of the surrounding country. negroes went out reconnoitering, hoping to discover their line of retreat; the cages were moved by aeroplane to spots fifty or sixty miles further inland; and the hangar was transferred to a new aerodrome. by these means we managed to capture another eight gorillas, making a grand total of eleven (not counting the one lost in transit).
-already the first two of the six months dry season had nearly passed.
-"this will never do," i said to gran'pa, who had just returned from spending the day in libreville. "even if we maintain the same rate of capture we can't collect more than thirty or forty before the wet season sets in."
-i was sitting on the veranda of our bungalow, overlooking the deep blue bay of corisco. it was evening, and from the shore came the sound of negro merriment.
-"you'll be able to join us again next week," said gran'pa. "i hope for better luck then. . . ."
-"that's very nice of you!"
-"besides, we now have half the neighboring tribes searching for new hunting grounds. these blacks will do anything for a trip in a 'plane. it gives them a big social status, you know--like a knighthood in your country."
-molly and sally rebecca entered.
-"hello, mollikins!" greeted gran'pa. "been for a swim?"
-"rather!" cried molly. "it was lovely!"
-"the water's like silk to-night," corroborated sally rebecca. "i do wish i could swim--instead of wading. . . . how are you feeling, george?"
-"not so bad for a youngster," i said, contrasting my own jaded condition with that of gran'pa's fiancée. (there was no doubt that the active, open-air life and gran'pa's system of physical jerks had greatly improved her health and vitality).
-"i think daddy looks heaps better," asserted molly, standing and viewing me with her feet apart.
-"so i am, my dear! who wouldn't be, with two such companions as you girls?"
-the girl of seventy blushed and the girl of twelve laughed good-humoredly--the old and the modern way of taking a compliment.
-then stringer and dr. croft entered.
-they had just come back from the jungle, and looked a little jaded and despondent.
-"any luck today?" i asked.
-"none!" answered croft, briefly. "but we've news--of a sort. old nchago says that he's discovered a fresh hunting ground, and has seen, or heard, upwards of a dozen male and female gorillas."
-"ah!" exclaimed gran'pa, with a quick glance at his beloved. "i'm glad there's a chance of getting a lady gorilla or two. i was beginning to lose heart. . . ."
-"they'll take some catching," i said. "if we could pursue the ladies, instead of trying to lure them . . . up to the gas-works. . . ."
-"you're quite right, george. were we merely after their blood, instead of their glands--like the so-called average sportsman--we should have been overstocked by now!"
-stringer, who very seldom had any suggestion to make, joined in. the slump in captives had depressed him even more than the rest of us.
-"i think the mistake," he observed, "was not to have kept the old men in corisco. we could then have shot our gorillas, taken their glands back the same evening, and finished the whole job within twenty-four hours. this business of collecting live gorillas and keeping them for several months. . . ." words failed him and he made no effort to conceal his disgust.
-gran'pa disagreed, as usual.
-"i thought all this out before," he said. "i didn't feel that the climate here would suit men of seventy and upwards."
-"it seems to have agreed with miss froud," grunted stringer, rather rudely.
-i am thankful to say that sally rebecca and molly had tactfully left us, no doubt aware that trouble was brewing.
-gran'pa, who hated criticism, kept calm. he weighed his words carefully, and uttered them soothingly.
-"you must remember," he pointed out, "that miss froud is an exception. not only is she the youngest and healthiest of these old people but, in addition, she has naturally been the object of more individual care and attention than i could possibly lavish on a party of eighty-seven old men."
-"i admit that," mumbled stringer, pessimistically. "but i don't see why the others couldn't have taken their chance. we have to--out there in the jungle. . . ." he waved a podgy arm eastwards, in the direction of the dark continent.
-"no man recognizes the fact more than i do," replied gran'pa, quickly and warmly. "i needn't have come at all. none of us need!"
-i could see that both stringer and gran'pa were beginning to lose their tempers, and i tried to smooth matters down.
-"all this," i remarked, "doesn't get us any further. the point is, would it be advisable to bring the old men to the gorillas, as stringer suggests, or take the gorillas to the old men, as we had arranged?"
-"we can't have them here," said gran'pa. "the delay and trouble would be tremendous. besides, i will not be a party to the wholesale slaughter of any animal. it isn't sport, but murder! you've read of modern tiger-hunting. half-naked blacks, armed with sticks, drive the poor, frightened beasts out of the jungle as if they were rabbits. and the big game hunters shoot them down--again, like rabbits. pah! it makes my blood boil! what chance has the tiger? . . . they'll start shelling animals next--or machine-gunning them. . . . no! we must go on doing our best, and doing it cleanly and humanely. there may be a temporary slump; but things aren't hopeless. to-morrow, we'll get on the track of this new colony, or whatever it is. come, stringer, i'm surprised at you! . . . don't look so miserable. . . ."
-stringer's expression of old bill-like melancholy slowly vanished, and we began basking in the sunshine of one of his most fascinating smiles. his bushy eyebrows and walrus moustache gave up bristling, and gently subsided; his eyes twinkled; once more did hope kindle in his breast.
-"that's better!" exclaimed gran'pa. "now, if only we could only hit on some idea for attracting the females--which seem to be about six times as plentiful as the males--and a hundred times as shy. . . . we might, for instance, capture one of their babies and use it as a sort of decoy duck. . . . it's obviously no good trying to disguise ourselves as infant gorillas-in-arms. the real article is what we want. . . . george, we must get one of their 'puppies'--something which will howl for its mummie! if only we can awaken the lady gorilla's finer feelings--her desire to cherish and fondle the young--she's ours! what? . . . ?"
-"it sounds rather a low down trick," i replied.
-"not at all," said dr. croft. "it's perfectly legitimate--if it works!"
-stringer, who had been looking much brighter and happier up to this point, again showed signs of despondency.
-"if you do get a baby gorilla," he observed, "it doesn't follow that any but its own mother will show affection for it."
-"nonsense!" dogmatized gran'pa. "the moment its howl for food or material comfort goes up, it will awaken a tender response in the breast of every true feminine gorilla in the jungle. you see if i'm not correct!"
-four days later, we got our first chance of proving--or disproving--gran'pa's new theory.
-the capture of little willie
-from what little we already knew of the anthropoid apes and from what the natives told us, we soon realized the improbability of discovering a very young gorilla without its mother. even then, it would be necessary to sacrifice life before a capture could be effected.
-it took over two hours to convince gran'pa of the likelihood of having to shoot at least one female gorilla. fortunately, i was not yet well enough to take part in the affair, and so the objectionable task fell to the lot of stringer and dr. croft.
-for the first time in the history of our campaign we sent forth a detachment of our party with the sole aim of killing--like "real sportsmen," as gran'pa said with bitter cynicism.
-to our eternal shame, this is what happened.
-armed with guns and accompanied by two natives, stringer and croft were walking cautiously and quietly through the forest when they heard the wail of a young gorilla--a harsh, half-moaning sound, quite unlike any cry uttered by the adult.
-the heavy silence of mid-day was upon the woods, and the four assassins crept noiselessly towards the spot where the baby was spasmodically conversing with its mother and, possibly, its father--who would be doubly dangerous when protecting his wife and offspring.
-croft's heart was beating furiously, stringer's eyebrows and moustache were bristling with excitement, and the two negroes were showing a very evident desire for flight. one can understand the emotions of the party, for this was their first attempt at big game stalking.
-presently, through a sheltering screen of branches and leaves, they had their first vision of what might be called the domestic side of gorilladom.
-a young gorilla was seated on the ground, enjoying a meal of berries; whilst a yard or so further away sat its mother, who was also having lunch. stringer says that it was a pretty and interesting sight. i believe him.
-with a quiet courage, born possibly of intense curiosity, stringer, croft and the two natives lay down on the earth, hardly daring to breathe, their guns in readiness, determined to wait awhile--and watch. . . .
-so far, there were no signs of the dread paterfamilias, but before a couple of minutes had passed, the bush moved and the huge husband waddled forth. he looked a trifle uneasy, as if sensing some vague, antagonistic presence, and his wicked and cunning little eyes seemed to search the surrounding foliage in bloodthirsty anticipation of slaughter.
-after glancing round at him, his wife called her child, with a low guttural cluck. it ran over to her immediately and flung its arms round her neck, its legs round her body, and its face against her chest--the very picture of human infantile shyness!
-apparently, the female gorilla's sensitiveness to danger would shame the most coy and retiring woman ever created.
-without waiting for a word of real warning from her lord and master, she gave vent to a loud scream and took to instant flight. meanwhile, the male protector erected himself to his full height. he then let up a deep, challenging roar of defiance and smote at his chest with clenched fists, as if beating himself into a fury.
-both stringer and croft afterwards stated that, at this point, the powers of human reason and kindliness forsook them. they became mere machines behind the gleaming barrels of the guns--sportsmen, relentlessly driven into action by the spirit of the chase--or the spirit of self-defence--or, what you will.
-they fired almost simultaneously, and both the adult gorillas fell mortally wounded, the baby still clinging to its mother and crying pitifully. "hoo! . . . hoo! . . ."
-ashamed and trembling, stringer and croft waited in ambush for a few moments, before they prepared to take the little one from its dead mother.
-still clutching her neck and body, it kept its face half-buried in her chest; but the moment its enemies came into the open it turned and screamed at them with all the inherited savagery of its race.
-then, with extraordinary courage, it suddenly rushed at one of the natives, bit him in the leg, and rapidly retreated to a small tree.
-a second later, it was sitting aloft, shouting vindictive threats at its aggressors.
-a council of war was held. no one showed the least inclination to try and capture this mere two-year-old baby boy. apart from its biting capacity, it was probably much stronger than a full grown man--and certainly twice as nimble.
-but in the end, as gran'pa had so often insisted, brains will tell. stringer, who had secretly profited by his circus experience in the old lion-taming days, gave a little exhibition in the gentle art of lassoing--under difficulties.
-after an extremely thrilling performance, lasting over half-an-hour, little willie, as he was eventually called, was brought home, ignominiously and under great protest, in a sack.
-never have i met such a two-foot bundle of savagery and cunning. four men could hold him more or less comfortably; three, uncomfortably; two, with the utmost difficulty; and, one--i shudder to think what would have happened. . . .
-when he and gran'pa were first introduced to one another, little willie was sitting peacefully at the end of his fully extended chain, deeply absorbed in one of his toe-nails.
-"well, old chap?" said gran'pa, affably.
-"poor little fellow! i expect he's pretty homesick, george!"
-little willie ignored him for about half a minute. then he turned his head slightly, as though measuring the distance which separated him from this new and talkative specimen of humanity.
-the next moment a hairy foot shot out; there was a gorilla scream of revengeful glee, a human yell of alarm and pain, a sound of scuffling and tearing--and little willie quickly retreated, holding a piece of trouser-leg in his left foot.
-unsatisfied with gran'pa's curses and this tangible emblem of victory (which was now in little willie's mouth), the sprightly gorilla-child next dashed across to an amused native, severely bit him in the leg, and then described a large circle round the stake to which his chain was fastened.
-apparently, he wanted to make a clean sweep of all spectators. he accomplished his desire quite easily. the natives ran for their lives. gran'pa and i hurriedly withdrew; and stringer, who had been coming in our direction, suddenly stopped--and thought better of it.
-"cunning little beast!" grunted gran'pa, exploring his bruised shin through the hole in his trouser leg.
-"i told you he was dangerous!" i said.
-"dangerous, yes! but you didn't say treacherous!"
-"is it any worse," i asked, "than our dressing up as lady gorillas and gassing our innocent admirers?"
-"er . . . put that way, perhaps not. still, we must be very careful. . . ."
-"i always am!" i observed, thinking of the air of indifference displayed by gran'pa when i had once been chased by a snake in the jungle.
-"don't goad me, george! it was perfectly natural to try if the little fellow was amenable to ordinary human kindness?"
-stringer had joined us by now and expressed the opinion that all gorillas, especially male, were absolutely untamable and that it was a waste of time to appeal to their better nature, because they had none.
-"we shall see. . . ." said gran'pa mysteriously.
-unfortunately, we didn't; for the next day little willie performed the same gymnastic feat on oakley. the only difference was that, instead of procuring a piece of cloth as a reward, he removed a small portion of oakley's flesh.
-so much for a newly-captured baby gorilla as a possible pet.
-as a decoy, however, little willie was much more promising, and a week or so after his compulsory enlistment in the services of the aged we took him out to his native jungle again.
-staking him in the centre of a small clearing in the forest--as near as possible to the new gorilla haunt discovered by nchago--croft and i donned our gorilla garb and retired to the cage.
-instead of sitting in the open and calling for mates, we intended giving little willie the honor of notifying the females of his race that he was in dire need of help and comfort.
-he did this admirably and almost incessantly, while several yards away from him lay a circle of half-a-dozen hidden nozzles connected with the "gas-works."
-exactly what he said was not known to us. he may have been merely complaining of the great difficulty of escaping to the shelter of the forest. or, he may have been shouting out the names of his friends and relations.
-once or twice, he made that pathetic noise of "hoo! . . . hoo! . . ." as if pondering on the tenderness of his years and bemoaning the harshness of life.
-still as death, we sat huddled in our cage, watching and waiting!
-the minutes dragged by into hours. noon came, with its strange silence and stifling heat. a long way off, we heard the bark of a male gorilla. later, the scream of a startled female.
-as this last sound reached him, little willie gave a loud cry of distress and tugged wildly at his chain. then silence again.
-i looked at my watch. in two hours' time we should have to start our flight back to corisco.
-stealthily and silently, croft and i partook of food and drink. we needed it. so, no doubt, did poor little willie; but it would have been very unwise to have left our cage in order to feed him. in the gloomy shelter of the surrounding bush, we knew not how many pairs of eyes might even now be watching--how many gorilla hearts might be on the point of responding to his plaintive appeals.
-every jungle sound, too, was magnified by our alert brains into something of tremendous importance. a cracking twig or branch immediately betokened the hesitating steps of some curious gorilla. an unusual cry or movement on the part of willie was instantly interpreted as a sign that he had seen or heard one of his kinsfolk.
-our disappointments were innumerable, and our faith in the gorilla's "human" nature was being undermined with every passing minute. it was inconceivable that none of willie's own people had heard his cries. why, then, had they not answered? were they so utterly inhuman that no appeal, however pitiful, could penetrate their selfishness?
-i half expected such depravity of the males, but i could not bring myself to believe it of the females. nchago had told me that he once saw a mother gorilla tenderly stroking the head of her child as it fed at her breast. if she could do that, why could she not understand and respond to little willie's cries for maternal comfort? were the gorilla's nobler instincts confined solely to its own children?
-at three o'clock in the afternoon i lost hope completely and grew reckless enough to stretch my arms and legs.
-in sympathy, croft did likewise.
-"confound these shy and sensitive females. . . ." he whispered. "there's only half-an-hour left."
-as if he were able to read our thoughts and was very anxious to help us, little willie threw back his head and gave a great cry of distress--a sort of last whining appeal to the better nature of his male and female relations in general.
-in the ensuing silence, it seemed as though the whole jungle was listening--and hesitating. not a tree moved; not a branch; not a leaf. coincidental as it must have been, that childlike wail of anguish was followed by all nature suddenly becoming inanimate.
-even croft and i had turned to stone, so expectant were we, so convinced of the imminence of great events.
-then the tension relaxed.
-a neighboring tree stirred, a small, brightly colored bird flew by with a startled tweet, twigs began cracking, and little willie ran along on all fours until he was roughly pulled up by the jerk of his fully-extended chain. back again in the opposite direction he scampered, excitedly muttering to himself the while.
-there was now no doubt whatever that his quick eyes had seen something. he emitted a long drawn "hoo--oo--oo! . . ." repeated it, and finally lost his self-control in a fit of gibbering ecstasy.
-a second later, the reward of all those long hours of patience was at hand. the bush parted, the hideous face of an adult gorilla appeared in the opening, a low "cluck-cluck!" proceeded from its great, projecting muzzle, and little willie commenced wildly dancing up and down on his hands and feet.
-the newcomer hesitated before advancing into the open, but i was already convinced by its action, its build and its voice that it belonged to the female persuasion--which was exactly what we wanted.
-as the brute cautiously waddled into full view i saw that she was long past her prime. her hair was grayish, her back bowed with age, and her gait awkward and jerky, a veritable grandmother.
-my disappointment at this unexpected development was so keen that i nearly shouted at her to go away. from little willie's point of view she was undoubtedly a great success, for he put his arms around her at once; but from our own, and more humanitarian point of view, she was useless. only a lunatic would think of trying to rejuvenate himself with the glands of a grandmother gorilla. the thing was ridiculous and, in our enthusiasm for the cause, wholly unanticipated. what we required were young, virile gorillas, not doddering old females.
-i glanced at croft through the corner of my eyes, forgetting for the moment that any dismay which he might be feeling would naturally be hidden behind his gorilla mask.
-when i looked round again at little willie and his companion, i was surprised to find that three other gorillas were now approaching, and--what was still more exciting--they were youthful and active--and feminine.
-"aunts!" i thought. "or, possibly, sisters. . . ."
-without further speculation as to the precise relationships involved in this family reunion, i leant carefully forward, found the taps of the cylinders, and turned on the gas.
-for nearly half-a-minute little willie and his fair companions continued their affectionate demonstrations. they examined him, chattered amicably with one another, and showed an intelligent but suspicious interest in his chain.
-the other three ladies looked puzzled and stupefied; then slightly alarmed. they commenced sauntering back to the bush, where they probably intended sleeping off the effect of this strange tired feeling which had seized them.
-we watched them calmly, staking the reputation of our gas against their waning powers of locomotion. their great difficulty was to use their long arms in the normal way--as a species of crutches--and before they had gone a couple of yards it was clear that whatever else happened, a short recuperative rest was first essential.
-"one . . . two . . . three . . ." counted croft, as they capitulated. "nice little bag of flappers, eh?"
-after those six weary hours of silence, i laughed aloud. it was, indeed, a fitting reward for our exemplary patience--and wouldn't gran'pa (and sally rebecca) be pleased?
-"so that's that!" i said. "now let's get into our gas masks."
-we donned our protectors, opened the door of the cage, and swaggered forth to truss up the fruits of victory.
-with the grace and skill that comes of long practice, we first bound and handcuffed the three younger females. then we turned to the grandmother.
-it was at this point that the usual thing happened--the unexpected. it seems characteristic of any well-organized jungle always to spring some surprise on human intruders.
-about half-a-dozen yards to the rear of us, a sudden roll of thunder burst from the bush. without attempting to finish the job we already had on hand, we swung round in the direction of the newcomer, just in time to see him advance into the open.
-he was extremely angry, as any faithful husband naturally would be at seeing one (or more) of his wives lying bound and helpless on the grass; and he signified his emotion in the usual theatrical way.
-first, he stood erect; then he smote himself on the chest, as if he were beating a drum; finally, he broke into a long roar, which ended in a series of staccato barks.
-i saw croft shiver through his gorilla skin, and knew that he had a similar vision of me. except for our disarming and feminine disguise, we were unprotected. in our haste we had left our revolvers in the cage. but, thank heavens, we had not turned off the gas. therein lay our one hope of victory.
-realizing the importance of pacific measures, i raised my gas mask for a moment and gave the low guttural call of the female to its mate. so did croft.
-but the huge brute, which was now hardly a dozen feet away, was not going to be hoodwinked in this manner. he may have believed that we were friendly disposed females of his own race, but apparently he intended demanding an explanation of our conduct. what had we been doing to the others? why were they lying there wounded?
-he struck himself again--and there we sat, gibbering with fear and contrition, in the midst of that invisible cloud of gas.
-i tried to echo his sentiments, but couldn't. the great, terrifying bulk was so near that i could hear its breath coming out in deep gasps, could see into its cavernous mouth--black-lipped, white-fanged and hideous. my limbs were dead and useless, my throat dry, and my heart pounding madly at my ribs.
-i saw the brute raise his hand to strike, and waited for the shock with a half-stupefied feeling of resignation.
-but the blow never matured. at the last second of the eleventh hour, his energy and anger forsook him. with a deep groan, he lurched forward, blundered on to me (as i fell backwards), and sprawled face downwards on the grass.
-croft was at my side instantly, tugging at the dead weight which lay across my legs. bruised and shaken, i wriggled my way back to freedom. then we staggered over to the cage, gulped down a brandy, pocketed our revolvers and returned to the fray.
-ten minutes later, all the gorillas, except little willie, were safely bound, the gas was turned off and we were sitting in the cage again, slowly recuperating. the perspiration was streaming from me, my hands and knees were trembling, and i felt as weak as a man recovering from a severe attack of influenza.
-"it--never rains--but it pours!" panted croft.
-"yes!" i gasped. "even the perspiration! . . . we're understaffed. it's too much--for only two of us."
-having no desire for further captures that afternoon, we presently fired half-a-dozen revolver shots to scare off any intending intruders and then let up the balloons with a string of five stars and stripes and union jacks attached, as a signal to the aerodrome.
-with a very luke-warm interest, after so much excitement, we watched the gorillas slowly regain consciousness, and listened sympathetically to the male's language when he fully awoke to the general state of affairs. it must have been extremely galling to find himself sitting bound, helpless and dazed, after the dramatic and promising appearance which he had made only a few minutes previously. but to suffer this indignity in full view of his womenfolk must indeed have been draining the cup of misery to the dregs.
-whether or not the others were taunting him i do not know, but after listening to some of their softer and more ladylike remarks, he broke out into a terrible paroxysm of fury, glaring in our direction and barking and roaring at us for quite five minutes with hardly a pause for breath. add to this deafening noise the encouraging screams of the three young females, the croaks of the old grandmother, and the harsh yells of little willie as he dashed to and fro, deliberately fanning the flames of hatred and revenge. the result may be imagined. our bruised nerves threatened to give way under the strain.
-"give 'em a little gas, for the love of glory!" shouted croft.
-in this way we quietened them down, until gran'pa arrived from the aerodrome, followed by a single file of stretcher bearers.
-"this is very gratifying, george," he said. "when i counted those flags i could hardly believe my eyes. you get extraordinary luck. everything you touch seems to turn to--gorilla!"
-the gas having been cut off, the chorus of hate broke loose again.
-"we can't have this din," shouted gran'pa.
-"i don't see how you'll get your gorilla without it," i cried. "it's those wretched females that keep the old man going. i believe he'd have enough sense to remain quiet if he were by himself."
-gran'pa watched them for awhile.
-"yes," he said at last. "you can see that they're deliberately inciting him to shout us down--evidently under the impression that if only they scream hard enough we shall funk it and run. just like some of our own women, george. . . ."
-i was not in the mood for cheap cynicism. all i wanted was peace, comfort, and corisco.
-"we've very little time to waste," i yelled. "what are you going to do?"
-"take them as they are," he answered. "once we get them separated they may calm down a bit."
-plunging boldly into the midst of the inferno of noise, we first lifted the three young females on to the stretchers and despatched them to the aerodrome, with croft in charge of the procession.
-then we turned to the gray-haired grandmother, who had shouted herself so hoarse that she could now speak hardly above a whisper.
-gran'pa looked down at her, with a kindly light in his eyes, as if he understood only too well what it was to be old and decrepit.
-"the really humane thing," he said, during a comparative calm, "would be to ask her to join the rejuvenation club. but the other members might object. so we'll let her end her days in peace. she seems a decent old lady--a little rugged and repulsive-looking, judged by our own standards of beauty, but probably quite a respected member of society in the jungle. . . . very interesting, george! do these old people support themselves, or are they dependent on their children and grandchildren, i wonder. . . ."
-gran'pa's speculative garrulity irritated me. i still felt far too jumpy to respond to his feeble attempts at humor.
-"why not spend a few days with her?" i suggested. "dressed up as her eldest daughter, you could obtain quite an insight into gorilla life."
-"too risky!" he laughed. "the other girls might be jealous--which would only lead to discord."
-"on the other hand, you might get an offer of marriage from some wealthy young bachelor."
-"you flatter me, george!"
-"not at all! you've just the build and . . . becoming appearance. . . ."
-"now you're getting merely rude, george. . . . give me a hand with papa!"
-we lifted the roaring mass of bone and muscle on to the stretcher, tucked him in, so to speak, and then turned our attention to little willie.
-it was terrible to see such rage in one so young. he must have been repeating every oath in the gorilla vocabulary. he also showed us every tooth in his head, tore savagely at his chain, and even flung handfuls of turf at us. but we knew how to deal with these childish tantrums. a novice might have tried smacking him--and so might one of his own people. our method was much safer. a straight six-foot branch, forked at the one end, is the best device i know for leading baby gorillas quietly home.
-after about five minutes' active manoeuvring, gran'pa managed to place the fork against little willie's neck, the chain being held just slack enough to permit of sufficient room for breathing purposes.
-"now!" said gran'pa, kindly but firmly.
-his captive made what was no doubt a fitting reply, caught hold of the branch in both hands, tried to bite it, found the feat a gymnastic impossibility, and ignominiously gave in. sitting down, he awaited developments.
-"come along!" requested gran'pa, tugging at the chain and stick.
-little willie was wise. he followed gran'pa much in the same playful and affectionate way that a monkey follows an organ grinder.
-when they were twenty yards or so away i loosened the old lady gorilla's bonds sufficiently to allow her to escape--after a little necessary ingenuity--and hurried after gran'pa.
-a couple of hours later we were all safely back in corisco.
-in one day we had demonstrated beyond question that not only could baby gorillas communicate with their own people, but also that the female adults were creatures capable of exhibiting an astonishing depth of devotion towards the young. furthermore, our total number of live and serviceable gorillas had leapt from eleven to fifteen--a progress sufficiently noteworthy to impress gran'pa with a sense of even my importance.
-that same evening, he said:
-"we're getting on, george, although it's a much longer job than i expected when we first came out here. we must be patient, however. at any moment there may be a new idea come along which will cause a landslide--and we shall capture a whole jungleful of 'em. i feel much more hopeful now you've joined up again. . . ."
-a gorilla breaks loose
-in spite of gran'pa's optimism and my reputed good luck, we captured only eight more gorillas in the next two months. little willie also escaped by intelligently pulling up his peg and making a sudden dash for the jungle--an act of gross ingratitude after all we had done for him.
-to add to our gloomy forebodings of the future, we lost one of the finest males through illness. i am convinced that its trouble was mental. for nearly a week it refused to eat, but merely sat brooding over what may well have been its lost kingship of the jungle--a truly touching picture of a banished anthropoid bonaparte.
-this suicide by hunger-striking was only one instance of the many psychological complexities with which we had to contend. the male gorilla is a bundle of crude and intense emotions--such as rage, hatred, egotism, churlishness and depression. its mind has no half tones. the emotions which prompt a smile, a handshake, or a tender embrace would be unthinkable. and yet the brute can hunger strike!
-"what i'm afraid of," said gran'pa, "is that--monkey-like--the others will start imitating, and that they'll all become passive resisters."
-it was a terrible thought, and knowing what a powerful weapon the hunger-strike had been in the happy, pre-war days of the suffragette, we were naturally alarmed.
-"i'm strongly of the opinion," continued gran'pa, "that it's time we packed up what we have got--and went. we shall never capture eighty-seven of the brutes."
-i pointed out to him that, although no actual census had been taken of the anthropoid apes, a learned professor had once estimated their numbers as 200,000 chimpanzees, 200,000 gibbons, 50,000 orangs and 30,000 gorillas--the whole population being confined to the jungle lands of the equatorial zone, which was less than a fifteenth part of the earth's surface.
-"you must admit," i added, "that twenty-two gorillas out of thirty thousand is rather a poor show."
-"thirty thousand!" he exclaimed, "i should put it at about thirty dozen, from what we've seen--or haven't seen--of them!"
-"anyway, eighty-seven into twenty-two won't go."
-"if you knock off sixty-five, it will!" he retaliated.
-"it's hard lines on the old chaps you're going to 'knock off.'"
-"that's their business. we've done our best. if we caught the whole lot of the anthropoids in existence--and such a thing may happen any day if gland-grafting becomes popular--we should still find we hadn't enough to satisfy everyone. there wouldn't even be sufficient glands for the septuagenarians in england alone. i believe that there are about one thousand five hundred million human beings on the earth, george--an absolute glut of people--and possibly thirty millions of them are ripe for monkey glands. the demand for the latter, at any rate, will always be fifty times greater than the supply. in our case it will be only four times greater. that's logic, isn't it?"
-"yes," i admitted. "cold, hard logic for men who have travelled seven thousand miles for--nothing."
-"nonsense! the voyage will have done them good. so will the 'physical jerks' they're going through at present. i don't see what they'll have to complain about."
-"you will when you try to explain matters."
-gran'pa was determined, however.
-"you leave it to me!" he boasted.
-"i've no intention of doing otherwise."
-he contemplated me for awhile.
-"so you think we ought to go on--and on--and on?" he said, at last.
-"i certainly think that we should do what we can until the dry season is over."
-gran'pa thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and strode up and down the veranda of our bungalow. he was a man who always hated the idea of giving up a task to which he had once put his hand, and i knew that there was some unconfessed reason behind this sudden desire to leave corisco.
-i asked him what it was.
-"it's simply the realization of defeat," he replied evasively.
-"i don't believe it, gran'pa. you're the last man on earth to realize such a thing--still less to admit it."
-he said that he was pleased to hear me say so.
-"why not be frank?" i persisted.
-"well--it's like this, george. . . . i'm worried over sally. she is going back. . . ."
-"what!" i exclaimed. "returning to england?"
-"no! no! i mean . . . receding. all the good she's got out of the life over here is rapidly being undone. after all, she's an old woman, george--and i have the feeling that--we must be quick. at her age, strange things happen. something slips--and suddenly the wheels slow down. you must have noticed the difference in her during the last two or three weeks."
-i had to admit that she certainly seemed very depressed and listless of late. at the same time, i thought that it was nothing to be alarmed about.
-"i'm not alarmed!" said gran'pa. "i'm merely taking precautions. it may be selfish of me to consider her before the rest of these old people--but it is natural, george!"
-"quite so! then why not take her to windhuk and let us follow later with as many gorillas as we can get by then?"
-"it is not practicable."
-"you and sally could 'plane it, accompanied by the necessary lady gorilla."
-"no! it is too late in the day to start doing things by instalments, like that. we must all go together. if you've any respect for my feelings, george, give in like a good fellow."
-"very well!" i sighed. "it's your expedition--not mine. and perhaps you're right. . . ."
-"you might admit it less grudgingly. . . . i don't want to seem a killjoy. . . ."
-"killjoy!" i exclaimed. "you don't think that i'm fooling with these gorillas for the joy of the thing. the novelty wore off months ago. it's simply a matter of patience, followed by hard work if you're lucky, and a fit of depression if you aren't. what glamour is there in sitting in a cage, muffled up in a monkey skin, with your hand on the gas tap--waiting for some fool gorilla to stray by? it's as bad as being a spider. if only we could go in for a little genuine hunting . . . a few hippo, or elephants. . . . but no! we should scare away these precious apes. pampered brutes!"
-"you're very bitter, george!"
-"naturally i am when you suggest that i want to finish this job because i like it."
-"come now! even you have your moments of gayety. there's always some new thrill in the jungle. that snake, for instance. . . . one isn't always sitting and waiting. . . . still, the point is that you agree with me in the main. capturing gorillas is a long and tedious business. we shall never get enough. therefore, let us take what we have before any more of them die."
-so at last, after many hardships and adventures, we came to the beginning of the end.
-that same evening we called a board meeting, with gran'pa, as managing director, in the chair. dr. croft was in favor of "closing down" immediately; so was stringer. the only one who opposed gran'pa (beside myself) was obongi, our native interpreter. his reason was simple. he didn't want us to go because everyone on corisco would miss us!
-it is only fair to admit that gran'pa had a very strong case. he pointed out that we should never overcome the initial difficulty caused by the unsociableness of the male gorilla, who sought food and shelter only in the company of a few wives and children. unhandicapped, too, by any housing problems, the brute moved from spot to spot at will, and seemed seldom to visit the same place twice in succession. it also preferred the gloomiest, unhealthiest and most inaccessible parts of the jungle. taking all these facts into consideration, had we not been extraordinarily lucky? what other body of men could have captured over twenty full grown gorillas in such a short time?
-"supposing," said gran'pa, "that the news was flashed through to civilization at this moment. how many people do you think would believe it? i'm convinced that we've accomplished little short of a miracle. let us be grateful, then, and not ruin everything by a spirit of overreaching greed."
-i asked precisely what he intended doing.
-"i shall explain matters fully," he replied, easily. "then i shall suggest the drawing of lots. there will be white beans for the gorillas, and red beans for . . . those who are compelled to end their lives naturally."
-as if this were the solution of the simplest problem imaginable, gran'pa rose to his feet and announced:
-"we'll weigh anchor to-morrow, gentlemen! meanwhile, i'll go and see captain morgan."
-thus did our sojourn in corisco draw to its inevitable close, and when the dawn came we crept aboard "the pilgrim father" with sorrow in our hearts. most of us wanted to go--and yet we didn't. molly was particularly reluctant to leave.
-"i do think it's a shame!" she said, tearfully.
-"must we go to-day, charles?" pleaded sally rebecca.
-"alas!" murmured gran'pa. "we must, my dear! . . . time is always on the wing. it waits for no one. and, here, our task is finished. . . ."
-i leant over the deck rail and gazed pensively at the white cliffs rising from the blue green sea. corisco the beautiful! the romance of the happy days which we had spent there awoke tender memories and we were filled with the sadness of parting farewells. obongi broke down completely, as did many of the other negroes. even the missionaries and their wives could not conceal their grief. molly had been to them everything that gran'pa had prophesied--a ray of light in a dark world of ignorance and superstition; a link with "old times;" a glimpse of all they had left behind them in the countries of the civilized; a spirit of feminine youthfulness and abandon--such as is only understood and tolerated by the whites.
-joey was her white-haired old "nigger man"--her particular pet--her swimming instructor--her bodyguard--her right hand. . . .
-"certainly, i will, if possible," he answered.
-"daddy will pay for his fare to london," she explained.
-i hadn't the heart to protest against this new form of extravagance at such a moment. in fact, i almost suggested taking joey with us there and then, and was greatly surprised that molly had not thought of it herself!
-"all ashore!" cried captain morgan, breezily.
-the handshakings, the embraces and the kisses ceased; the gangway was drawn up; the engines throbbed; and the good ship swung slowly round and pointed its bow to the south. from the eastern horizon the sun suddenly shot its golden arrows of light. at the same moment our two aeroplanes rose from the centre of the island and came roaring overhead. all was commotion and noise. below deck, we even heard the sharp bark of a male gorilla and the shrill cry of a female.
-the 'planes sped swiftly out to sea, until they were mere specks; the land, with its cheering and gesticulating crowd of blacks, slipped slowly away; the native craft contracted into tiny toy boats--now peeping at us from the tops of white crests of foam, now hiding in the trough of the waves. gradually, we became a little, isolated community, afloat on the open sea. the terrors and hardships of the jungle and the queer, half-dream-like quality of the life we had led on corisco resolved themselves into mere memories. our mental outlook changed with the physical. we might almost have been aboard a steamer en route from england to france! romance was dying; the glory of conquest was departing; adventure was dead. henceforth, our task would be merely the commonplace one of spectators. except for sally rebecca, we should now have to be content with watching others tread the paths of danger and excitement. and when that was finished--what then? would life become ordinary and respectable and safe again, or would it open into vistas of still greater accomplishments?
-"you look miserable, george!" said gran'pa, breaking into my thoughts.
-"i am! i'm loath to leave. it is as if fate has written 'finis' and only blank pages are left in the book of life. . . ."
-"nonsense! this is merely the 'introduction.'"
-"it's all very well for you," i complained. "you and sally rebecca are just beginning."
-"your time will come later!"
-"the zest will have gone by then."
-"did it with me?"
-"no! but you're different. . . ."
-"we're of the same flesh, george! you'll be just as keen when you're my age. cheer up, old man!"
-it was poor comfort to suggest that i ought to look forward to growing old in order that i might become young again, but it was typical of gran'pa's strange outlook on life. he revelled in his aged youthfulness, and i believe that he felt really sorry for merely young people.
-"it's such an anticlimax," i complained. "sneaking back with only a couple of dozen pairs of monkey glands after all our adventures and excitements."
-"don't you worry," he said. "there'll be plenty of excitement at windhuk when i tell those old people. i wouldn't be surprised at a riot. you don't know how obstinate and querulous octogenarians are when they're in danger of being robbed of their rights. they hate sporting chances. we shall wish we were peacefully back amongst the gorillas yet."
-touching at swakopmund, we despatched sally rebecca and stringer by rail to windhuk, a distance of about 240 miles. molly, who insisted on going there by 'plane, remained on board.
-when we reached walfisch bay, "the pilgrim father" was anchored some distance out from the land to prevent any troublesome questions being asked by the port authorities.
-it was our intention eventually to convey the glands by rowboat to the mainland and thence by aeroplane to windhuk. meanwhile, gran'pa, dr. croft and i went ashore to make final arrangements with oakley and newland, who were awaiting us with their machines. the crew, anxious to get a glimpse of "civilization" again, followed in another boat. thus it came about that molly, captain morgan and the gorillas were left on board alone--one of those foolish arrangements which never reveal their importance until it is too late.
-we were met by oakley and newland the moment we landed and at once inspected the "town"--a miserable looking collection of corrugated iron buildings, an uninviting hotel, and a few stores--all dumped down in a great expanse of bare, flat sand. a terrible example of how not to develop one of the finest natural harbors on the east coast of africa.
-oppressed by the gloomy aspect of the place, dr. croft and i decided to return to the ship, leaving gran'pa to come back later with the crew.
-anchored about half a mile out, "the pilgrim father" looked very picturesque and romantic, standing silhouetted against the faint yellowish-gray glow of the twilight sky.
-as we approached, we heard sounds of music stealing over the quiet waters, "march of the men of harlech!"
-"captain morgan's busy with his concertina," remarked croft.
-"yes! he sounds a little erratic, though," i replied.
-the music stopped and the gentle splash of the oars took its place. from the shore came the sound of a sudden burst of human cries in the still night air, and then the sharp yelp-yelp of a dog.
-then more music--quick and rollicking--of the "hi-tiddly-hi-ti!" variety. it lasted for about a minute and was immediately succeeded by a man's deep laugh.
-silence again. a star winked here and there, and presently a bright yellow light sprang out of the ship's side, casting a moon-like image on the water.
-"how peaceful!" i thought.
-once more the concertina spoke to us--but with a different, steadier and surer voice than before.
-"ah! this is the real captain morgan!" i said to croft. "but the other. . . . i wouldn't be surprised if the old sinner hasn't been teaching molly to play!"
-we were now within about a hundred yards of the ship's side and i could see the silhouette of molly's pretty little girlish head moving swiftly hither and thither as if she were dancing. snatches of song also came from her lips--half-remembered lines and phrases, little animal-like grunts of joy, weird hummings. . . .
-"ho! . . . ho! . . . that fas-cin-a-ting, ju-ust so glide, it's a tum-tum tum-tum tum-tum. . . . ju-ust so slide, there's a rumor that the puma do-oes it now, monkeys have taken to it . . . la-da-da-dah-dee do it . . . !"
-the deliciously cool sea air, the lapping of the water against our boat, a swaying lantern on "the pilgrim father," the hushed stillness of nature, and the great gray shroud of mist creeping down on us from the horizon, all imparted to the scene a vague dream-like quality. molly became a nymph, a will-o'-the-wisp, a sprite. youth indeed! what nonsense this business of rejuvenation was compared with the care-free ecstasy of those who were young in soul! what a terrible mockery of the real joy of life were we instituting in that awful hospital for the aged at windhuk!
-as i watched her swiftly-moving and gyrating figure, i was filled with pity for myself and others--for all that vast multitude of humans who could never again recover the fine, free spirit of youth. in our blindness we might seek palliatives against pain, and foolish stimulants for jaded nerves and waning appetites and diminishing pleasures, but our greatest endeavors would always be in vain. one by one, we were creeping onwards and downwards. here and there, a little rise on life's roadway; here and there, a whiff of fresh keen air again; here and there a shaft of sunlight in a slowly darkening world; but always that view of the straight pathway which leads down to a "ripe old age."
-the song of youth, with its rippling, flute-like accompaniment, grew faster and faster until at last it suddenly stopped and i heard molly cry out in a loud (and almost breathless) voice:
-"oh! . . . you are mean! . . . how can i keep up with that?"
-the concertina slackened its speed into a mere drawl and then changed into a terrible discord of squeaks and grunts.
-"i believe molly's shaking the old chap!" whispered croft.
-we brought our boat to a standstill, anxious to remain an unseen audience for a little while longer.
-"do stop playing!" cried molly.
-"i have!" answered taffy.
-"i don't mean that playing--i mean being so silly! do you know any irish jigs?"
-evidently he did, for the next moment the concertina broke out into a wild, celtic dance tune.
-i saw molly spin round with sheer delirious joy, extend her arms, throw back her head, and proceed to give an unauthorized version of an irish dancer.
-"begorrah!" she cried; and "och!" (apparently under the impression that all primitive people emitted weird noises when executing a national dance.)
-the next moment the music ceased, and i saw a light in one of the port-holes flicker out into nothingness. there followed the sharp, rending crash of breaking wood-work, a roar like distant thunder, a heavy plump on deck, and a deep-throated animal cry of triumph.
-"my god!" i cried. "it's one of those gorillas! row, man! . . . row!"
-we must have been some thirty to forty yards from the ship's side, but in the pandemonium which followed it seemed as inaccessible as if we had been that many miles away. everything happened so quickly. everything was so indeterminate and phantomlike in the dusk.
-i heard molly and captain morgan give a shout of dismay and terror and saw them turn their heads swiftly in the direction of the hatch. a second later they were running for their lives in the opposite direction.
-"jump!" i shouted at the top of my voice. "molly! jump!"
-whether the poor distracted child heard me i do not know, but she certainly took no heed. as she and the captain disappeared round the other side of the ship there was a sudden and uncanny silence, broken presently by another blood-curdling roar from the gorilla.
-i stood up in the rocking boat, shouted again, raised my revolver in the air, and fired into the starlit sky.
-"molly!" i cried, in anguish of soul.
-she heard this time--thank god!--for there was an immediate answering long-drawn cry of: "dad-dee!" from the bows. we rowed quickly in that direction and saw a huddled shape drop from the rigging and run along the deck like the shadow of a little old man. i fired, missed the brute, and heard a sudden scream of terror from molly as it rushed on all fours towards her.
-"jump!" i bellowed.
-another cry from the bows, the sudden appearance of a slight, girlish figure on the deck rail, a splash, a bump as our canoe struck the ship's side--and molly was saved!
-with my own hands, i hauled her in--surely the most precious burden that a man ever landed from the dark, mysterious sea.
-"daddy!" she wept, as she clung to me in her dripping clothes. "oh! i am glad you were here!" and then, with a swift dismissal of all thought of her own plight: "where's captain morgan?"
-without waiting for a reply, she raised her hands, cup-shaped, to her mouth.
-"captain morgan!" she called. . . . "here we are!"
-no answer. but as we strained our ears for some sound of life on the dark and silent vessel which loomed above us, we heard a thud and the muffled curse of a man in difficulties. then something hard and metallic struck the mast and fell to the deck with a crash.
-thrusting the canoe away from the ship's side, i shouted again:
-the words were no sooner out of my mouth than over he came, striking the water within a couple of yards of our boat.
-we dragged him aboard, as though he were some huge, wet fish, thrown up unexpectedly from the deep; and then we held a council of war.
-to have attempted to locate and shoot an enraged gorilla on board a vessel which was a hive of shelters and shadows would have been running risks that no one but a lunatic would have faced. far simpler and safer to wait until morning. the gorilla is not an animal which will swim, even under the greatest provocation. consequently, there was no fear of his taking his glands away with him in the dead of night.
-"do you think any of the others have escaped?" i asked captain morgan.
-"can't say! that fellow was most likely the one we had to put by himself because of his vile temper. if he is one of the twenty in the big cage, then the rest of them must be free--or soon will be!"
-this seemed logical enough.
-"it will be a pity if we have to kill the whole lot of the brutes," said croft. "we could never capture them alive."
-i agreed. shooting gorillas is not sport; it seems too much like murdering one's fellow creatures--a form of enlightenment laudable only in human warfare. quite apart from this, it was our intention to replace the gorilla's glands with live goat glands--an absurd, unfruitful operation to perform on a dead animal.
-"hadn't we better get ashore?" asked captain morgan rather abruptly. "i don't like hanging about in these wet clothes."
-we commenced rowing again, but before we had gone a couple of dozen yards, i heard the sound of the other boat returning.
-"that you, george?" came gran'pa's voice out of the darkness.
-molly and i let up a joint shout of affirmation.
-unaware of what had happened, gran'pa drew near to us and announced boisterously:
-"well, george--we've got our goats all right!"
-"what's that?" he barked.
-i repeated the information and gave him lurid details of molly's and captain morgan's miraculous escape.
-"if we'd stopped with you," i observed, "instead of returning when we did, god knows what would have happened. there's a streak of luck even in our worst misfortunes."
-seldom have i seen gran'pa as excited as he was at that moment. he spluttered inarticulately, stood up in the boat, and nearly fell overboard.
-"hell!" he exploded. "what are we going to do if the brute starts running amok--and letting out the others? anything may happen. there may be a free fight--murder--anything! . . . those females, too. . . ."
-he broke off dramatically and i could see at once that his real fear was that the gorilla (and consequently the glands) chosen for sally rebecca might be damaged.
-"we can't do anything to-night. . . ." i began.
-"can't we?" he cried. "if you think i'm going to leave that hulking brute in charge of the ship you were never more mistaken in your life. who'll come with me?"
-silence! who, indeed, would board that vessel and face heaven knew what horrible peril?
-"listen to me, gran'pa. . . ."
-"very well!" he snapped. "i'll go myself! i'm not afraid! . . . come alongside. . . . that's right!"
-in spite of our remonstrances and arguments, gran'pa clambered into our boat, turned captain morgan and molly out into the other one, and ordered the crew to take them ashore at once.
-a couple of minutes later, croft and gran'pa and i were staring up at the dark hull of "the pilgrim father"--surely one of the most strangely manned vessels which ever rode the seas.
-for all we knew to the contrary, its crew consisted solely of over twenty escaped gorillas--lying in wait, watching, scheming. the first human being to board such a ship might be torn to pieces in an instant, and yet--
-"keep the damned boat still, george!" whispered gran'pa, hoarsely. "i can see something. . . ."
-so could i. the vessel was filled with weird, fantastic shapes, every one of which might be a gorilla. some of them seemed to move like stealthy ghosts in a phantom world; some were statuesque, corpselike; and all rose and fell with the gentle sway of the ocean. but there was not a sound anywhere, save the lap, lap of the water against the ship's side. from a solitary port-hole came the gleam of a light which only intensified the surrounding darkness, whilst on deck a lantern flickered and then went out.
-it was the spectre-like quality of the scene which made it so gruesome and unnerving. one felt afraid not so much of gorillas as of--things. . . .
-only a man like gran'pa--driven to desperation by an exaggerated sense of danger to something he valued--would have dared to face such unknown, terrifying perils. but he never hesitated for one moment.
-unable to locate anything at which we could fire with the certainty that it was a gorilla, gran'pa insisted on our rowing round to the bows, where he removed his boots, swarmed up the anchor chain, and dropped silently aboard. conscious of the intensely dramatic aspect of the situation, croft and i backwatered our boat a dozen yards or so, and waited.
-we saw gran'pa creep along, in a crouching attitude, until he reached a dense, black shadow, where he suddenly vanished, as if he had dropped to his hands and knees. a second later something moved on the captain's bridge.
-"see that?" i whispered to croft. "it couldn't possibly be gran'pa. shall we fire?"
-"no! there's a chance that it might be he--he's so quick! shout, instead!"
-"look on the bridge!" we cried, as in one voice.
-the words of warning had hardly left our lips when a little red spurt of flame leaped out of the darkness, a crash rent the still air and a shrill yell of pain told us immediately that the bullet had found its mark.
-a medley of vague, half muffled sounds followed. we heard a heavy thud as the gorilla flung himself straight from the bridge to the deck; then the rush of padded feet; another thud; a groan, which might have been either human or simian--and, finally, a sudden, breathless silence.
-i was horrified by the imaginative but vivid picture of gran'pa lying helpless, with perhaps a broken limb or neck, and the wounded gorilla seeking some ghastly revenge.
-"gran'pa!" i shouted. "i'm coming aboard!"
-"stop where you are, you fool . . . !" came the reply.
-pandemonium ensued. the gorilla roared; gran'pa fired; and the whole deck seemed to be suddenly alive with bustle and noise. i was convinced that not one, but a dozen apes were loose. cries, bumps, yells and roars ascended into the night air as if the lid had been taken off some hidden inferno of lost and tortured souls. every gorilla on board, whether free or captive, must have been contributing to that chorus of rage and hatred.
-at times, individual cries followed one another in quick succession, culminating in a unanimous roar that seemed to shake the vessel from stem to stern.
-"george!" he yelled, during the first lull.
-"yes?" i shouted back.
-"it's all right, laddie! he's dead!"
-he actually had the temerity to strike a match, and we then saw that he was bending down, looking at something.
-"aren't there any others loose?" i cried, in amazement.
-"i don't think so!" he replied coolly. "i'll just go and see!"
-once more a deep silence had fallen on the vessel and, tense with anxiety, we waited while he went below.
-"he simply doesn't know what fear is," said croft.
-"i don't think he ever did," i answered. "certainly, not since he was rejuvenated."
-"if those old men at windhuk start complaining, it would be as well to mention this affair."
-"don't worry!" i observed. "gran'pa will be the first to rub it in, if necessary. his accomplishments are many--and he never forgets the fact."
-a minute or so later, gran'pa was on deck again, serenely explaining that everyone below was quite comfortable and safe.
-"a little excited, perhaps," he joked. "but that is only to be expected."
-he was about to return to our boat when he suddenly thought of the dead gorilla.
-"we'd better have this fellow's glands put into cold storage. a pity to waste them. . . . if you'll just wait a moment i'll light up and you can come aboard. it's quite safe now, george. . . ."
-i held my peace--mainly because i had no adequate reply--but even when we did go aboard i could feel cold shivers running up and down my back.
-"did you count the gorillas below?" i asked.
-"what a man you are!" laughed gran'pa. "yes! i read the roll call twice. there was a full attendance."
-i could see that he was in a taunting mood, so i flattered him a little.
-"you had nerve," i said, "to come on this deck in the dark."
-he put his hand on my shoulder good-humoredly.
-"george," he replied, "you never seem able to see both sides of the question. that gorilla had scores of hiding-places; but i had just as many, minus one--the one being the particular spot he was in at any given moment. he may have had the beef, too; but i had the brains--and a loaded revolver. i was sorry for that poor, misguided brute the second my socks touched the deck."
-how simple everything always was when gran'pa explained!
-all i desired now was that he would be able to use the same species of disarming logic on the morrow, when eighty-seven eager old men began clamoring for their new glands.
-the ancients cast lots
-by eight o'clock the following morning we had stored, in ice-packed vacuum flasks, twenty-two pairs of strong, active glands (eighteen culled from gentlemen and four from ladies). in return for their mainsprings of youth, so to speak, the gorillas had unfortunately to content themselves with goat glands, a much inferior article, but as gran'pa so aptly said: "half a life is better than none."
-leaving the poor brutes on board until we returned, by which time they would be convalescent, we set out, in a cool steady breeze, for windhuk, a little over one hundred miles away and lying 5,000 feet above sea level.
-our 'planes flew evenly and swiftly over the narrow coastal sand belt, and then the great sand dunes, and finally the hilly country that gradually ascends towards the immense plateau of the interior.
-physically, the journey was uneventful and tame after our many jungle flights; but psychologically, it was one of the most romantic that could be imagined.
-we were carrying youth and life, happiness and power--the veritable concentrated essence of being--monkey glands. gods we were, moving through the high heavens for the benefit of the little humans who toiled and grew weary and old on the green lands beneath. gods we were, soaring above the tempest and lightning of the mountain sides.
-even bellerophon, aflight on his winged pegasus, was no more godlike than we. for were we not going forth to fight the terrible chimæra of old age--a much more formidable and elusive monster than the mythological creature which threatened lycia.
-our foe dwelt not in one country, but in all the lands of the earth. it arose with the first dim speck of life, striving slowly and ruthlessly against youth and the beauty of youth. it stole the roses from the maiden's cheek, the lustre from her eye, the fleetness from her limbs, the gold from her hair, the grace from her movements, and the swiftness of thought from her brain.
-it blunted the keen edge of appetite, robbed the flesh of its earthly pleasures, weakened the powers of resistance against disease, and painted the world a dull monotone of gray. its victims clogged the wheels of industry and progress, hampered politics, handicapped art, fostered wars which were fought by others, and scoffed at romance. the dragon, the hydra and the chimæra were merely harmless and playful little creatures compared with this insidious monster of old age.
-little wonder that our hearts were light and gay as we thought of the subtle weapons of attack which we carried in those innocent-looking thermos flasks.
-for over an hour we went hustling and humming through the blue heavens in pursuit of our prey; then we saw windhuk, the city of the aged, lying beneath us like a cluster of toy huts on a green and brown carpet.
-the engines suddenly ceased their roar, the wind whistled through the struts, the tree-clad earth tilted and spun round in an ascending spiral, antlike inhabitants hurried hither and thither in curiosity and alarm, and down we dropped in an ecstasy of aerial exuberance.
-gran'pa was the first to alight. with a youthful spring, he leapt to the ground and ran over to the other 'plane to help out molly. it was a lesson in politeness--an art which few people are able to practice in moments of intense excitement.
-i watched the scene with humility and shame, admitting to myself that i had been far too engrossed in my own speculations to think of others, and was about to compliment gran'pa on his courtesy when my attention was suddenly diverted elsewhere.
-a loud cry on our right had heralded the sudden appearance of between fifty and sixty strange looking men, clad in vests and "shorts." with their fists clenched on each side of their chests, they came quietly trotting round a cluster of trees at the one end of the open space to which we had just descended.
-"what on earth is it?" newland asked. "the finish of a cross-country race, or a deputation from the local mayor?"
-"heaven knows!" i answered. "they must be having some sort of sports here."
-"why, they're the boys!" i exclaimed, hysterically.
-"what boys?" queried newland.
-"the club! . . . the rejuvenation club, man! . . ." i cried, gazing anxiously at gran'pa, round whom they were clustering, like a pack of hungry hounds.
-"three cheers!" shouted a thin, reedy voice out of the half-clad mass of surging humanity.
-"hip-hip-hurrah!" came the unanimous reply.
-"hurrah! . . . hurrah! . . ."
-their excitement was piteous to behold. some of the older and weaker of them were blubbering with joy. they jostled and pushed one another, laughed, shouted, jumped up on tiptoe, waved their arms, and coughed and spluttered with overexertion--behaving for all the world as if they had just been rescued from some such calamity as a shipwreck, or a six months' siege. in their wholesale endeavor to reach gran'pa and shake his hand, they gravely endangered not only his toes but even his life.
-"gentlemen!" i heard him shout. "gentlemen! . . . confound you! . . ."
-in the momentary lull which followed, he managed to back his way to the aeroplane and climb into a seat. standing there, he appealed for a hearing.
-"let him speak!" piped the same thin voice which had called for those lusty cheers.
-the uproar died down into a murmur, and the murmur into a silence, broken here and there by the stray clearing of some aged throat, or the sharp, short cough of overexcitement.
-"i appreciate your welcome!" said gran'pa in restrained and even tones. "look where you're going, sir; you'll smash the machine!" the crowd swayed and shouted. then silence again. gran'pa continued:
-"i appreciate your welcome," he repeated, "and i understand your joy. let me therefore proclaim at once that we have accomplished . . . much of what we promised. the glands . . ."
-but he could proceed no further. the noise of the old people, eager and almost crazy for youth, rose into another volley of hoarse cheers and cackling coughs and laughter. they had waited over ten months for this moment, and once they had heard the glad tidings further speech was regarded as useless. to them, the word "glands" was sufficient. they had yet to learn that there were not nearly enough to go round. ignorance was indeed bliss!
-"gentlemen!" shouted gran'pa at the top of his voice. "do behave yourselves! remember that we are all tired out. we've been up half the night on your behalf. we want rest--even if it is only a few minutes' rest. if you will only have the goodness to disperse i will come to the sanatorium presently and tell you everything. i have news for you--good news--but not exactly what you expected. . . . confound you, sir! will you look where you are going!"
-they saw that he was angry and, like the children that they were at heart, they obeyed his entreaty. with low murmurs and shakings of heads, they slowly withdrew from gran'pa's hastily-chosen forum.
-"that's better!" he cried. "now, if you will only go home i'll promise to be round there in half-an-hour at the most."
-so they retired once more, in gesticulating twos and threes--dampened and crestfallen, but still hopeful.
-"extraordinary!" i heard gran'pa exclaim to dr. croft. "they look twenty years younger already. it's really astonishing what exercise, fresh air and diet alone will do on the road to rejuvenation. we couldn't have better material for our first experiment."
-"there seemed to be about fifty," said dr. croft. "i wonder where the others are. . . . ah! here comes dr. martin! now we shall know."
-we welcomed the newcomer, who was head of the hospital staff in windhuk, and presently discovered that the contingent of ancients which we had just encountered represented the pick of the club. the partly rejuvenated graybeards had been doing their daily "jerks" in the gymnasium when our 'planes were sighted, and they had sallied forth immediately. the remainder of the members were under treatment for such minor complaints as sore throats, sprains, broken bones, sciatica, and so on. the physician in charge also regretted to state that four of the members had expired since arriving in windhuk. one had died from heart failure, another from pneumonia, another from apoplexy as a result of overexertion, and another had simply lost heart and pined away.
-gran'pa was clearly upset.
-"what a pity!" he murmured, as we set out for the sanatorium. "what a pity! i had hoped to pull this thing through without any loss of life. how many do you consider able to undergo the operation to-day, dr. martin?"
-"all except six or seven. that is, about eighty."
-"more than enough!" grunted gran'pa. "take us over to the sanatorium, give us something to eat and drink, and then we'll explain matters. by that time my fiancée should have arrived by train from swakopmund."
-dr. martin said that he was glad to hear it, and also indicated that our sudden arrival was very welcome--though a little unexpected.
-"what do you think of the old chaps?" he asked.
-"splendid!" exclaimed gran'pa. "in fact, the glands seem superfluous. . . ."
-"not quite," chuckled the doctor. "but very nearly. . . ."
-"what have you been up to, eh?"
-"well, first of all, we've given the old people plenty of physical jerks, embracing movements in every joint--fingers, elbow, neck--waist, knees, toes, ankles, spine--and so on. . . . they've gone in for dancing, too. jigs, reels, clog-dancing, hornpipes . . ."
-"it all sounds very hot and perspiring!" observed gran'pa.
-"did you think so when you saw them just now?"
-"no! i can't say that i did. on the contrary, they looked astonishingly cool and fresh!"
-dr. martin beamed with pride.
-"they'd come straight from an hour's drill in the gymnasium," he remarked succinctly.
-"you amaze me!" conceded gran'pa. "well, what else have you done? 'jerks' alone wouldn't have produced such a--miracle."
-"i suppose that you've heard of the latest theory, glandular stimulants?" asked dr. martin.
-"vaguely! isn't it potashes, or something?"
-"yes, a colloidal, radioactive potash. it works with extraordinary rapidity and, what is most important, it seems to stimulate all the glands in equal proportion. i believe that coördination of effects is a vital necessity to any process of rejuvenation. that's why i am not particularly in favor of grafting only one type of gland, such as the thyroid. the result may not be lasting. you may easily develop one part of the organism at the expense of the rest."
-this was touching gran'pa on his tenderest spot, so to speak--his own glands (or rather alfred's). i could see that he was annoyed.
-"such has not been the case with me," he said, airily.
-"not so far, perhaps," answered dr. martin.
-"you mean to suggest that it may. i disagree with you entirely, sir! i feel that you are wrong. i know it!"
-"please don't look on this as a personal matter, mr. hadley. it is merely a general observation. we know very little of the precise function of any gland at present, but we do know that the stimulation of one kind often leads to degeneration of another."
-"have you told all this to the old people?" inquired gran'pa, after a pause.
-"that's a pity!"
-"why?" asked dr. martin.
-"because most of them will badly need some such comforting theory. i'm sorry to inform you, doctor, that we've not done nearly as well as we expected. instead of the eighty-seven pairs of glands promised, we've managed to get only twenty-two."
-dr. martin's expression was one of surprise and pain. in spite of his profession, he seemed to be deeply moved.
-"this is very bad news!" he said. "they will be terribly upset."
-"i am certain they will," agreed gran'pa, almost cheerfully. "but they must make the best of it. some of us will have to die of old age--sometime. it's not a new grievance. men and women have been putting up with it for millions of years. why, then, should these people complain?"
-dr. martin shrugged his shoulders.
-"you must remember that they have been here a long time and worked very hard at their exercises, solely in preparation for the new glands. their enthusiasm has astounded all of us. when they find that only about a quarter of them are going to be rejuvenated, there will be trouble."
-an idea struck me at this point.
-"how would it be to distribute single glands, instead of pairs?" i suggested.
-"no!" said gran'pa, firmly. "i hate makeshifts. we must have one thing or the other--either youth or old age. we can't have men who don't know what they are. it would be as absurd as fitting a three-horse-power engine to a four-seater car. . . ."
-"i agree," murmured dr. martin, despondently. "the only thing is to explain matters--"
-"and let them draw lots," added gran'pa.
-dr. croft joined in.
-"there is no reason," he said, "why we should not tell them that this is merely the first consignment of glands--the remainder to follow later."
-"no!" exclaimed gran'pa. "why should we lie to them? within the next twenty-four hours this business is finished as far as i'm concerned. if the unrejuvenated like to go gland-hunting on their own, they're welcome to any information we can give them. that is an idea quite worth mentioning."
-we had now reached the sanatorium, and adjourned the discussion until we had refreshed ourselves with food and drink. during the meal sally rebecca and stringer arrived, looking rather hot and tired after their twenty-four-hour train journey. their appetites, however, appeared to be much keener than usual, so they joined us immediately.
-feeling much brighter after our meal, we left molly and sally in charge of the matron and proceeded to the gymnasium, where gran'pa was to deliver his eagerly-awaited speech.
-gran'pa, looking very spruce and cheerful, headed the procession, and as we filed in through the narrow doorway a low murmur of hope and joy rose from the assembled multitude. the noise increased in volume until at last it broke into wave upon wave of cheers.
-under happier circumstances, it would have been a scene to make one's heart glow with pride. seventy-nine of the club's members were there in all stages of dress and undress--a fine, well-nourished, brown-skinned, clean-shaven, athletic-looking gathering of hale old men, with a total of well over 5,000 years to their credit! the contrast, when one compared this with the inaugural meeting at battersea, was indeed startling. gone was the bushy assortment of whiskers, the array of bent backs, the staccato accompaniment of coughings, the throaty undertone one usually associates with excited old men. sun, fresh air, colloidal potashes, and plenty of physical jerks had already produced marvellous results. would that we could have gone still further, and wrought a miracle by providing a sufficiency of the little glandular engines of complete youth. . . .
-one by one, we mounted the platform which had been erected for the occasion, bowed and then sat down.
-so we faced one another, the saviours, the saved--and the lost. . . .
-gran'pa took from one of his pockets a handful of little red beans and, from another, a much smaller supply of white ones. he placed them in two separate heaps on the table in front of him and, from the way some of the old people behaved, i believe that they were under the impression that these objects were the actual glands! in any case, the uproar became more deafening than ever!
-standing up, and raising a hand for silence, gran'pa began speaking in his clear, steady voice.
-"gentlemen," he said, with dramatic simplicity, "the hour is at hand."
-i saw one old man in the audience blow his nose and wipe away some tears which had gathered in his eyes. another was trembling from head to foot with excitement. still another seemed to be on the verge of fainting. the silence was intense. i heard a bean roll off the table and fall to the floor with a click. it was as if the proverbial pin had dropped.
-rapidly and cleverly and logically, gran'pa got into his stride.
-opening with a short history of our campaign in the gorilla country, he referred to the tremendous difficulties we had to overcome, the hardships we had to endure, and the diseases we had to face. with a motion in my direction, he stated that malaria had nearly carried me off (which was the first i had known of it!) and that the daily dangers of the jungle had brought every one of us within an ace of death, not once but scores of times.
-he described the gorilla in lurid and blood-curdling details, drawing a little on his imagination here and there. he spoke of the enormous strength of the fully grown male; of its cunning, its cruelty and its vindictiveness. allusion was also made to the baby gorilla which had so playfully torn gran'pa's trousers, and to the grandmother gorilla which had come to its assistance in the forest.
-the narration of these incidents greatly amused the audience, but in the midst of their chuckles gran'pa suddenly pulled them up by pointing out that, at the time, it was no laughing matter. leaning forward, with clenched fists resting on the table, he said, in a low voice:--
-"dressing up as a lady gorilla and luring amorous or curious males to their doom may sound very humorous in this room to-day; but out there, in a country where all animal life is engaged in a grim and earnest struggle for existence, death--horrible and sudden--awaits the man who makes the least mistake."
-having been thus restored to a sense of reality, the old men were gradually given to understand that in the present backward state of science it was practically impossible to capture eighty odd live gorillas.
-as gran'pa approached nearer to the crux of the situation i could see that he was analyzing the psychology of his audience with all the cunning of a politician. he tactfully prepared the ground by stating that it would be a marvellous feat to obtain even half-a-dozen gorillas in the short time we had had at our disposal.
-in this way he skilfully led the old people into the dark shadows of despair. then he suddenly flung at them the magnificent announcement that we had caught not six, but twenty-two gorillas!
-"twenty-two!" he repeated, in a voice which simulated deep emotion. "it is an achievement of which i am justifiably proud!"
-even to me, it appeared a much larger number than it actually was. the effect on the audience was electrical. for more than a minute they cheered quite as vociferously as if we had already accomplished the miracle of rejuvenation in every one of them.
-gran'pa, too surprised at his success to continue his speech, sat down for a while. he glanced sideways at me, as much as to say: "well! what do you think of that, george?" stringer, with the maximum expression of old-billishness on his face, beamed paternally on everyone: dr. croft looked bright and cheerful; and dr. martin appeared to be slightly relieved--but by no means hopeful.
-he must have understood the old people better than any of us, for presently the uproar died down into an ominous and expectant silence.
-once again, gran'pa was on his feet, talking quickly and persuasively.
-he pointed out that even this magnificent total of twenty-two pairs of glands was unfortunately not enough for our purpose. the fact had worried him more than he could say. it had been the subject of numerous discussions. amongst the many suggestions made, was the rather obvious one of supplementing the supply with glands obtained from the smaller monkeys. but he considered that this would have been a very unsatisfactory solution of the difficulty, and, in any case, it would be comparatively simple to obtain these at any time. little monkeys were plentiful, widely distributed, and easy to catch. incidentally, they were far more suitable for organ grinders than rejuvenation.
-at this point gran'pa picked up a handful of the red beans reposing on his right, ran them through his fingers, and said quietly:--
-"the only fair way out of the difficulty, gentlemen, is for you to draw lots."
-i saw one of the old men lose his bright red color and turn a muddy white. possibly, he was always unlucky in functions of this nature. another rubbed his hands together and chuckled gleefully--evidently convinced that good luck was one of his assets.
-the general effect, however, was one of intense disappointment, followed by bitter resentment. they began to realize the unkindness of fate in permitting the failure of an expedition which had started so promisingly. also, they wanted a scapegoat--and gran'pa was obviously the only one available.
-some hard words were flung at gran'pa. he was accused of negligence, of bad stewardship, and even of breach of contract--especially by those who had contributed to the expenses of the club.
-it was really a most disgraceful exhibition of narrow-mindedness and gross unfairness. to hear these people, one would have thought that gran'pa had acted selfishly from beginning to end, that he had never considered their interests, and that none of us had even endangered our lives. no labor leader, about to be deposed by a yelling horde of fellow-workers, was treated more scurvily than gran'pa. it made my blood boil; and stringer's moustache and eyebrows were bristling with suppressed indignation.
-i was almost hoping that there would be a free fight. and i am sure that there was not a finger on our platform that wasn't itching to do mischief to some of those venerable necks and heads.
-serene and dignified, gran'pa raised a hand for quiet. but the uproar increased. was there ever a worse example of obstinate, greedy old age?
-"confound them!" i heard gran'pa say.
-then he stood on the table and shouted at them as if they were dogs.
-"be quiet!" he yelled.
-a sudden silence followed his words and, roused to fury at last, gran'pa shouted out:--
-"if there's another murmur i'll scrap the damned lot of those glands! what the devil do you mean by all this commotion? a nice lot of miserable cowards you are . . ."
-he turned to his supporters on the platform and made a gesture in the direction of the audience.
-"these are the men," he sneered, "who fattened on the late war--men who boasted of what they would have done had they been thirty years younger! look at their courage now! my god! . . ."
-he said very little more in this strain, but what he did say was to the point. it shamed those seventy-nine resentful and spiteful old men into the most abject silence i have ever seen. they cringed and wilted before the tornado of his passion, until at last one of them stood up and apologized for himself and the rest of the company.
-"that's quite all right! . . ." murmured gran'pa, diffidently. "i think we all lost our heads for a moment. please forgive me if i broke the bad news too suddenly."
-how could they help cheering him after that?
-more noise! then quietness, as gran'pa counted out the beans.
-"with your permission, gentlemen," he said tactfully, "i am retaining the first white one for my fiancée."
-"that," he continued, "leaves twenty-one. . . . now for the red ones."
-after a momentary and dramatic silence, gran'pa said:--
-"fifty-eight! would you mind checking the numbers, george? . . . oh! we want a hat! . . ."
-a battered old thing was handed up by an octogenarian company promoter, and the proceedings began.
-i would a thousand times rather have died from old age than face that terrible ordeal. it was gruesome, piteous, cruel. it seemed as if we were executioners taking part in some frightful bolshevik rite. and yet it had to be. . . .
-one by one, they filed past the altar of youth and death, plunging shaking hands into that innocent-looking symbol of the future, fumbling therein for awhile, and then bringing forth--everything or nothing. a groan, a sigh, a sharp exclamation of despair, or satisfaction, or joy escaped each one of them as they went slowly by.
-some of those who drew the white beans of youth tried to conceal their good luck, as if afraid that their unfortunate brothers might think they were gloating. it was that spirit of consideration more than anything, which moved me almost to tears.
-on the other hand, there was one man who branded himself for all time. i should imagine that he was a retired card-sharper.
-his crime consisted of taking out three beans, quickly separating the white one from two reds, and dropping the latter back in the hat.
-"put the other back!" rapped out gran'pa. "you're disqualified, sir."
-"it was an accident!" protested the old man. "they stuck to my fingers, and . . ."
-"put it back!" roared gran'pa. "i'm here to see fair play and i'll get it! . . . oh, no, you don't. you've had your draw. we can't allow two goes. . . . move along, please!"
-flushed with shame, and still mumbling and protesting, he stepped back from the queue and the proceedings were resumed.
-when they were finished, gran'pa looked into the hat, uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and said:--
-"owing to the little lapse from propriety which you witnessed a moment ago, there is a bean left over, gentlemen. those of you who have drawn the red will be agreeably surprised to hear that the remaining one is white! i therefore suggest that the losers all place their red beans in the hat and try their luck again."
-everyone cheered (with the exception of the unfortunate individual who was the cause of this fresh lease of hope) and the supplementary draw opened amidst great enthusiasm and excitement.
-when it was presently discovered that the first fifty-six (out of the fifty-eight losers) had all drawn reds, the tension became so great that the remaining two old men were compelled to sit down for a few moments. they were so exhausted with emotion that dr. martin was afraid they might collapse.
-"come along!" he said. "you must get this over at once!"
-"toss for it!" cried gran'pa. "that is the fairest!"
-so they tossed--and the man who called "tails!" won.
-"i . . . i always . . . say 'heads!'" he half sobbed. "but this time . . ."
-then he fainted!
-a bottle of smelling salts, however, and about a quarter of a bottle of brandy worked wonders, and the moment he regained consciousness the loser shook his hand and even congratulated him. more astonishing still, all the happy possessors of the white beans were the centre of an admiring and cheerful crowd of well-wishers, none of whom showed the least signs of jealousy or resentment.
-"bravo!" cried gran'pa. "you're real sportsmen, gentlemen--every one of you! i withdraw the rash statement i made a few minutes ago, and ask your pardon."
-he got it--in the form of more cheers.
-we were beginning to congratulate ourselves on this happy and unexpected termination, when a little bald-headed man of eighty or ninety summers emitted a high-pitched wail of dismay.
-"my bean!" he cried. "somebody's stolen it! . . . stop thief! . . . ah-h!"
-he uttered the last syllable triumphantly, having grabbed the supposed miscreant by the coat collar.
-there was a short scuffle, in which some half-dozen other old men took part and a yell of pain from the victim as someone bent back his clenched fist. instead of a white bean, however, a red one fell from his open palm--a complete vindication of his innocence, which drove the loser of the bean to frenzy.
-"i've been robbed!" he shouted hysterically. "it is shameful! where is the blackguard?"
-naturally enough, no one answered his query. to add to the difficulty, nobody was certain exactly who were the winners and who were the losers before the theft had occurred.
-"this is disgraceful!" said gran'pa. "we must register the names of the winners at once, or there'll be still more pilfering."
-"what about me?" yelled the victim of this daylight robbery. "the man who stole my bean will come forward as if he drew it."
-"i don't see how we can possibly prevent it," observed gran'pa.
-"i insist on my name being included. failing that, there must be another draw."
-"no!" protested the whites.
-"yes! . . . another draw!" clamored the reds, completely losing their previous sense of chivalry.
-"absurd!" retaliated gran'pa. "we can't have all this business over again through the gross carelessness of one man. will the holders of the white beans kindly give their names at once?"
-they did--all together!
-"one at a time, please!" ordered gran'pa, taking out paper and pencil. "and we want to see your beans, as well!"
-so, at last, after an arduous and exciting afternoon, we drew up a list of those who were entitled to the full fruits of rejuvenation.
-the task was accomplished under great difficulties, owing to the noisy behavior of the individual who had lost his bean. but gran'pa was adamant. he refused to give way either to his pleadings or his threats.
-"for which of these names do you suggest i should substitute yours?" he asked quietly.
-it was a poser worthy of solomon. it was unanswerable.
-"now," said gran'pa, "i should be glad if the twenty-one winners would accompany dr. martin to his consulting room. it is essential that the operation should take place either this evening or to-morrow. the doctor will decide which of you are composed enough to undergo the treatment now. i need hardly say that the operation is a fairly simple one, but as it will involve the administration of an anæsthetic it is best to take elementary precautions. i wish you the best of luck, a speedy recovery--and complete youth, gentlemen."
-they greeted his good wishes in the usual way, and then the gymnasium slowly began to empty itself.
-one would have thought that no further problems could possibly be presented to gran'pa for solution. but difficulties dogged our footsteps to the end.
-the last man was on the point of leaving the room when he suddenly drew back, closed the door on the retiring crowd and strode over to the platform.
-"a few minutes ago," he explained briefly, "colonel wilkins offered me five thousand dollars for my interest in the glands. i've decided to close with him."
-"you'll do nothing of the sort!" exclaimed gran'pa. "we cannot permit the question of money to enter into a matter of this kind. you were all chosen irrespective of position, wealth or influence, and it would be establishing a vicious and dangerous precedent to allow any buying and selling of the glands. we should have the whole thing degenerate into a sort of auction sale in no time. . . . don't you agree with me, george?"
-"most emphatically," i said. "it would be introducing terrible temptations to the poorer members of the club."
-"quite so! youth--and life--are much too precious to be bartered for mere money. suppose we had started selling the glands. . . . go to dr. martin at once, sir, and thank your lucky stars you have men of principle as your advisers and leaders."
-when he had gone gran'pa turned to me with a great sigh.
-"george," he said, "for peace and quietness, give me the haunts of the wild gorilla every time. another day or two of this would kill me. i must go and see sally. i want comforting. . . ."
-sally slips back
-the first person to recover from the operation and exhibit clear signs of rejuvenation was a red-faced little man, called jonathan abbott. in less than forty-eight hours after the new glands had been grafted, he not only played gran'pa a game of chess, but actually beat him (in thirty-one moves). it was a great intellectual achievement which very much annoyed gran'pa.
-"mate in three! . . . by jingo!" exclaimed abbott, ecstatically. "this game takes me back forty years--to the time when i was on the county team!"
-his boyish flippancy was a great comfort to the other patients, who naturally all anticipated the same marvellous results in their own particular cases.
-to see the old people returning to their youth was like watching a brood of chickens hatch. one by one they crept out of the shells of their old age, fluttered their wings and began to manifest a keen desire for activity.
-intoxicated with youthful exuberance, jonathan abbott used to go outside the sanatorium and run about like a kitten after a fly, while those who were not yet capable of such exertions stood and encouraged him. they sang songs, laughed, gesticulated, stretched themselves, and emitted little, self-satisfied grunts.
-in spite of the powerful properties of gorilla glands, i do not think that they alone accounted for these extraordinary scenes at windhuk. no single remedy for old age could have wrought such a change in so short a time. i was inclined to agree with dr. martin that the previous administration of radioactive potashes and thyroid gland extract, the open air life, the physical exercises, and the peculiar, contagious atmosphere associated with crowds, all played very important parts. the resultant of these forces was so strong that the poor old brains and bodies were seething with superfluous energy.
-this phase of exaggerated second childhood lasted for several weeks, until, under the counteracting influence of bromide draughts, it gradually subsided into a more restrained joy in life.
-meanwhile, sally rebecca, too, was recovering her youth. not having been subjected to a preliminary treatment of intensive culture, she naturally made slower progress than the men.
-gradually, her features became less harsh in outline, her eyes brightened, new layers of fat were formed, her movements grew more graceful, her voice improved in depth and tone, and even her hair was darkening.
-now and then, a quaint girlishness exhibited itself, as if modestly peeping out on a new world. keeping pace with the wonderful transformation of her body, the spirit of youth led her soul back to the past. she began treating gran'pa and me as companions of her own age.
-in contrast to the women of this generation, she showed a strange mixture of awakening motherliness and innocence and purity that belonged to the period in which she was born. and yet, behind it all was the wisdom of maturity, its tolerance, its deep understanding, its great gift of forgiveness.
-intensely curious, i asked gran'pa:
-"is she as you knew her forty or fifty years ago?"
-"very nearly, george!" he answered, meditatively. "it is a spiritual revelation. she has all the qualities she had in those days--only they are a little more subdued. that touch of abandonment is not there, but----"
-"you can't expect everything the same," i pointed out.
-"no. . . . of course not!"
-he seemed to be somewhat lacking in enthusiasm, i thought, and i could not help saying:
-"surely you are not disappointed?"
-"how can you suggest such a thing, george?"
-but the impression remained. i was certain that something was amiss. even sally herself seemed to be less inclined towards gran'pa than she had been before the operation.
-a trifle resentfully, she told me that he was very domineering at times. she also felt that he spent far too much time with the other members of the club, and that she was consequently being neglected.
-to make matters worse, gran'pa became the moving spirit in a vicious little clique of gamblers who played poker and auction bridge with a wild desperation--as if determined to seek solace in cards, now that the glands had failed them. the stakes, too, were dangerously high.
-"we must get him away from these wicked, unrejuvenated old men," i said to sally one morning. "he's becoming demoralized."
-the next morning sally announced that she insisted on returning to england before the week was out.
-"but, my dear. . . ." protested gran'pa. "you can't rush things like this."
-sally showed her spirit.
-"charles," she said, "if you and your numerous friends don't wish to come--you needn't. i can go alone."
-"don't talk nonsense, sally! we can't have the party broken up in this absurd manner. it's idiotic for a mere woman to try and upset . . ."
-"steady, gran'pa!" i whispered.
-"well, so it is," he growled.
-sally was pink with indignation.
-"i won't be referred to as 'a mere woman'!" she snapped.
-seeing all the elements of a young lovers' quarrel in being, i withdrew and left gran'pa and sally to settle their differences alone.
-five minutes later gran'pa strode past me with an air of grim determination. he was followed a few moments later by sally, weeping.
-"don't cry!" i said, taking her arm and trying to soothe her. "neither of you intend to be unkind to one another. . . ."
-"i do!" she exclaimed. "oh! i could . . . kill him! (sniff--sniff). just fancy! he said that . . ."
-"don't repeat it, sally! it always makes it worse to go over things. whatever he said, you know that he didn't really mean it."
-she dabbed her eyes, stopped weeping, and then turned on me!
-"of course you stick up for him--being a man!" she cried.
-i mumbled something implying humility, and she relented a little.
-"oh! he does make me lose my temper, george! . . . i'm sorry i was horrid to you as well."
-"i don't mind it a bit," i lied.
-sally suddenly began laughing.
-"it's very foolish," she said. "we ought to know better at our age. . . . anyway, i shall certainly return to england this week--if only you and molly will back me up and come as well. please, george!"
-it was nice to think that someone relied on me. it was still nicer to think of home--comfort--and nanny's efficient guardianship, after so much strife and worry. i was tired of africa, its old men, and its monkeys.
-so i gave sally my promise of active support.
-"i feel happier than i've been for weeks," she confessed, with a blush. "it's very good of you, george. if only your gran'pa followed your example, he would have much better manners."
-i wished he had been there to hear it. at the same time, i could not help wondering whether sally had been a flirt in her younger days. even now, she was certainly very promising in this respect. or was she merely testing the powers of her new-found youth?
-the same afternoon i told gran'pa that i, too, was returning home with sally.
-"it's a conspiracy!" he barked. "you're a nice sort of great-grandson, george! what the devil . . . ?"
-"come, now," i said, quietly. "don't lose your temper. i'm fed up with this monkey-gland business and i want to get back to civilization. you can come later, if you prefer. what point is there in my remaining here any longer?"
-"none. . . . i don't even know why you came."
-"that's merely spiteful! i caught three times as many monkeys as you. . . ."
-"they were not monkeys. they were gorillas--apes! don't be so supercilious! can't you find anything better to do than keep up this thin trickle of sneers at the old people?"
-"not if i stay here!" i replied. "they get on my nerves--with their chest smacking and all their other feeble imitations of youth."
-"you wait until you're old!"
-"i'd rather die first!"
-gran'pa glanced at me, spluttered, and then strode furiously away.
-but i knew already that sally was winning. gran'pa's bark was always worse immediately before he--didn't bite. . . .
-the following morning he said:
-"you're right, george! you always are, confound you! we're wasting time out here and the sooner we go home the better!"
-having unburdened himself thus, he went to the other extreme and couldn't complete our preparations for the departure quickly enough.
-excited at the prospect of returning to their friends, and possibly to fame, the rejuvenated also commenced hustling. but the unlucky ones--artificially fed on potashes, and apparently incapable of sustained effort--became vindictive and irritable. they accused us of backsliding, breach of faith, and cowardice.
-i don't know what rash promises gran'pa had made during the last few weeks, but i had the suspicion that he must have given the old people some hope of rejuvenation in the near future.
-on the morning of our departure he received three anonymous and threatening letters, which made him more determined than ever!
-"i will not be intimidated!" he stormed. "i'm going home, even if it's my corpse that has to be taken on board. they'd merely be killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. . . ."
-". . . or glands!" i observed.
-"you have a dry wit, george!"
-"twelve months in this tropical heat would make anyone dry. it's worse than being in america."
-sally looked perturbed.
-"you don't think they're serious, charles, do you?" she asked, timorously.
-"they haven't the guts!" he commented, vulgarly. "if they had, they'd go gorilla-hunting themselves. i've offered to place the whole of our machinery at their disposal. but no--they want waiting on hand and foot, like babies. when i think of the money and time i've wasted--pah! . . ."
-there and then he called a meeting in the gymnasium, swore at the whole assembly, and ended by saying that they could either came back with us, or stay and moulder where they were.
-demoralized and shaken by the storm of gran'pa's passion, they permitted themselves to be driven like sheep to the slaughter, and that afternoon we set out for england once again.
-gran'pa refused to allow any of us to return to "the pilgrim father" by 'plane. full of feeble excuses about the lack of petrol, the disadvantages of carrying unnecessary cargo, and the waste of time, he told oakley and newland to fly their machines straight to corisco, at which spot we were touching on the way home. as if deeply resentful of our presence, he went with them. so did molly--to whom all things were still possible. the remainder of us proceeded to the coast by train.
-it was a tedious and abominable journey, and when we at last boarded "the pilgrim father," i am certain that there was not a man who wasn't thankful to shake the dust of africa off his feet for ever.
-little jonathan abbott was hilarious with joy the instant we got on deck, and was so eager to view the convalescent gorillas that i shouldn't have been surprised to see him embrace them.
-"poor, dumb brutes!" he murmured, gazing through the bars of the great cage.
-"not so much of the dumb!" i warned him, as one of the huge males inflated its chest, preparatory to a deafening roar.
-as i expected, the noise nearly scared the onlookers out of their lives. until this moment none of them had guessed the fund of animal fury and power on which those innocent looking glands had thriven.
-"imagine meeting that fellow in the open," said dr. croft. "it could tear any one of you into shreds in half a minute."
-a glance at their faces showed me that the old people did not doubt the statement. they were very quiet and timid looking. fear of wild gorillas (and respect for their captors) had already produced a great change in their demeanor. they behaved as children who have been intimidated by weird stories of the "bogie-man." in the presence of such terrifying forces they became quite plastic and obedient--until the thrilling moment when two of the males flung themselves at the bars. panic-stricken, the old men stampeded up to the deck.
-"it's done them good," said croft.
-i cordially agreed with him, and prophesied a quiet, homely voyage back.
-but i was mistaken. south of the gaboon, we liberated the gorillas on a lonely shore which was backed by dense woodland, and a few hours later the trouble broke out anew. the unrejuvenated began pestering us like a large family of greedy children.
-couldn't we all stay at corisco awhile and capture a few more gorillas? failing that, what about chimpanzees, or even the smaller monkeys?
-"you'd better discuss the matter with my grandfather," i suggested.
-"can't you persuade him?" asked the ring-leader.
-"i'll certainly do my best," i prevaricated. "but you know what he is. . . ."
-as we drew nearer to corisco they grew more and more importunate, until at last croft and i could stand the worry no longer. we developed sudden sickness and hid ourselves in our cabin.
-naturally, it was hard on stringer. being the only member of our party left on deck, he was nearly mobbed, but, with the aid of a little mental magnetism, and his great fund of good-natured patience, he pulled through. he made the suggestion--possibly a hypnotic one--that the old people should form a sub-committee, appoint a chairman, and draw up a definite scheme of action. they could ask gran'pa to join them as leader on another gorilla hunt. if he refused the honor, they would then have to carry the thing through themselves.
-all this stringer afterwards told croft and me as we sat in our sick chamber--where i had just lost twenty-five shillings at double dummy bridge.
-"have they done as you suggested?" asked croft.
-"yes! forty-nine of them have decided to stop at corisco. the other nine are returning to england."
-"good!" i said. "now we know where we are."
-never for one moment did i think that gran'pa would stay and help those old people. it was grossly selfish to ask a man who had already gone through so much for their sakes to give up his well earned rest, to face hardships and dangers again, and to postpone his marriage with the woman he loved. but old men are always selfish.
-when we landed at corisco, the chairman of the sub-committee immediately sought out gran'pa, and took him away to some secret place of concourse.
-no one knows what the chairman said or did, or what prevented gran'pa's being his normal, dominating self. if ever the full story of those later days comes to be written this will still remain one of the unsolved riddles of his existence. he was always an impulsive man; but what followed that interview was downright recklessness, folly, idiocy.
-"george," he said, "i've decided to stay on here for another season's gorilla hunting."
-"you're mad!" i exclaimed.
-"all actions worth while appear stupid to the timid and cautious," he replied, smoothly and pompously.
-"i won't quibble with you. all i want to know is why are you doing it? why? . . ."
-"it's a kink in me, george. the glamour of corisco--the joy of the chase--the dangers and excitements--the bigness of it all, compared with the quiet, suburban respectability awaiting me in england or even america. . . . i want to live--while i'm still alive. i want the candle to burn not only at both ends, but brilliantly. as kipling has it, let me 'fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run.' i must live. to vegetate would be to annihilate myself. i should--burst! . . . let me die with my boots on, george!"
-his eyes shone, his face glowed, his whole body was vibrant with emotion. i was carried away in spite of myself. it took me several minutes to recover.
-when i did, it was only to bow to the inevitable. gran'pa's determination was like granite. unmoved by the storm of entreaties hurled at him by sally and me, he began making his plans at once.
-moreover, he drew to his aid other adventurous spirits. stringer, croft, oakley and newland all turned their backs on england. it was like an upheaval in a government. sally and i were deserted by even our best friends. we were dethroned. our only consolation was that we were not quite alone.
-with us, returned molly and twenty-one rejuvenated old men, and--terrible anti-climax--nine cowardly octogenarians who were afraid to stay at corisco and take their chance of again tasting the joys of new found youth.
-it was a sad farewell. molly looked more miserable than i had ever seen her. sally was pale, red-eyed--but proudly defiant. dr. croft was quietly reproachful. stringer was wistful and old-billish in the extreme. gran'pa's expression was one of tragic majesty--a napoleon giving up his josephine--a martyr suffering for a great cause.
-his nobility made me feel what a wretched worm i was. how happy i should have been to have stayed with them all in corisco--the beautiful! how i repented that rash promise which i had made to sally!
-as the anchor was weighed i went below, unable to take a farewell glance at the island. i was afraid of myself. a call from gran'pa and i believe that i should have gone overboard and swum to the land. it was a moment when one must do everything--or nothing!
-the engines throbbed and a distant cheer came from the receding shore. so great was my agony that i actually groaned.
-for over an hour i remained below struggling with my emotions, and it was not until we had lost sight of land that i began to recover.
-in the early hours of the morning a terrific storm arose and the ship rolled and lurched through the water like a drunken animal. to add to my misery, i was horribly sick.
-perhaps it was as well. it helped me to forget.
-for nearly two days i cared little what had happened or what might happen. then came a sudden calm and, with it, the sense of peaceful recovery after a great illness.
-slowly and shakily, we emerged on deck, where, chastened by sickness and grief, sally, molly and i sought comfort in one another's company. we even went so far as to avoid the other passengers; many of them reminded us so much of gran'pa, and his cheerful boisterous way.
-gradually the wounds began to heal and we found ourselves looking forward to our arrival in england. much would have happened during our absence abroad. industrial unrest, high prices, the housing problem, over-crowded trains, bad plays, and poor books might have all vanished by now. in fact, we might find that the old country was really worth living in, after all. . . .
-after this enlivening anticipation, the days seemed to pass more rapidly than ever, and when "the pilgrim father" at last dropped anchor in portsmouth harbor i could hardly restrain my joy.
-the scene which fate had so kindly set for our arrival home was magnificent. the docks were alive with activity, tugs were hooting, busy little boats were moving hither and thither over the calm surface of the water, a huge liner was stealing out to sea, and over all shone the warm and beneficent sun.
-we bade farewell to those who were not journeying with us, left them aboard the ship, and caught the first train to town.
-after the bleak and sandy shores of west africa, the dense jungles, the swamps, the wide rivers, the huge strangely-tinted mountains, and that air of dark mystery and barbarism which enveloped the whole country of the gorilla, it was a wonderful contrast to gaze once again on the garden-like compactness of england, with its atmosphere of cultured peace and security.
-never was a train journey more soothing and swift and comfortable. it was a credit to any railway company.
-in london, sally and molly and i said good-by to the rest of the party, after inviting a few of the pleasanter members of the club to pay us a visit at richmond. then we had dinner, listened awhile to some of the latest songs and music, and finally found ourselves in the crowded streets again.
-it was theatre-time, and tired as we were, the temptation for amusement was great. but we resisted it and strolled part of the way home instead.
-sally, who had proved that she was a connoisseur in both food and wine, was in a meditative and affectionate mood. she took my arm, while molly walked on ahead.
-at charing cross, i heard a cry which sent the blood rushing to my head. i felt naked and almost ashamed. it was as if every eye in london was on me. hastily and doubtfully, i bought an evening paper, drew sally and molly aside, and sought out this latest and fleetest example of modern journalism.
-it ran as follows:--
-twenty-one old men made young
-a strange voyage
-we have just received exclusive news of one of the most startling voyages of discovery ever made by man.
-over eighteen months ago there set sail from england between eighty and ninety old men in search of gorilla glands in western africa. . . .
-"we'll read it on the way back to richmond," i said hurriedly. "this is treachery. in spite of their promises, one of the old men has given us away. let's get a taxi before someone recognizes us."
-shall i ever forget that night?
-we arrived home at ten o'clock, thrust our way through a little knot of enterprising journalists who had discovered my address, hammered at the door, and tumbled in on a half-prostrate nanny.
-"go away!" i cried to the swarm of news-seekers, and i slammed the door in their faces, took off my hat and gripped nanny by the hand.
-she was dumfounded at the change in sally, but as soon as she had recovered her faculties, commenced ministering to us and mothering us as of old.
-never was home more welcome to any man than it was to me that night. nanny unearthed molly's best silk pajamas, lent sally one of her own nightdresses, prepared our rooms, and even coaxed us to eat and drink. then she sat and watched us, too full of joy to speak.
-bed, at last--cool and sweet and restful. then sleep--and finally the morrow.
-it was a day packed with excitement--not the least of which was getting rid of those importunate journalists, to whom i refused all information. i told them to go to--corisco; gave them gran'pa's address; and wished them a pleasant voyage.
-time sped by on wings. weeks passed. like a girl with a new frock, sally displayed her youth to her friends--timidly at first, and then with a sort of reckless abandon. her vivacity and enthusiasm made gran'pa's initial exploits seem puerile and lukewarm. the illustrated papers clamored for her portrait and she even had several offers to go on the stage "for big money," as one man with a thick voice and a thicker waist put it.
-but she kept her head throughout and never forgot the dignity of her position as a pioneer in real feminine rejuvenation. finally, after one of the happiest months in my life, she decided to return to her flat in maida vale.
-giving her time to get straight, i called one afternoon.
-"i'm so pleased to see you, george," she said; but she seemed to be a little depressed.
-"you look worried," i replied.
-"i'm . . . quite all right . . . really! it's just a headache. . . ."
-i knew that this was not wholly true.
-"won't you confide in me?" i asked.
-"it's . . ." she hesitated.
-then she said suddenly:
-"i'm hurt, george, and yet--in some ways, i'm relieved. . . ."
-"what is it, sally?"
-"your grandfather has written asking me to release him from our engagement!"
-"impossible! . . . what's the reason?" i stammered.
-"he says that he doesn't think we're suited to one another. and he wants to be free." she paused, and added, rather quaintly: "he seems to think that there aren't enough adventures in england."
-"the old fool!" i exclaimed.
-"you mustn't say that!"
-"of course you'll release him. he isn't worthy of you."
-"i owe everything to him, george," she said in a low voice.
-"didn't croft and stringer--and i, help?"
-she looked at me tenderly and gravely.
-"can i ever forget it? you've all been--splendid!"
-for awhile neither of us spoke.
-then i said again.
-"give him his wretched freedom, sally!"
-"i . . . have!"
-"do you regret it?" i asked.
-"no-o! he was too impulsive--too eager--and reckless. and so very youthful . . . i should never have been really happy with him." she hesitated; and then, with a little shrug of her shoulders, she astonished me by adding:
-"i can't delude myself any longer, george. i'm an old woman--really old!"
-what could i say? i looked at her more closely and, although she was sitting with her back to the light, i saw that she was indeed speaking the sorrowful truth. even during the few weeks which had elapsed since her leaving richmond, she had aged considerably. little wrinkles were creeping back to their natural strongholds round the eyes and mouth. her hair was losing its lustre; her voice its depth; her neck its roundness. when i had first entered the room i had been so surprised and disgusted at the news of gran'pa's latest folly that i had not noticed the change in sally. but now it was pathetically evident.
-youth was going--going--almost gone. . . .
-"you're just tired and depressed," i said, at last, trying to lie, even to myself. "it will soon pass off, and then . . ."
-"no, george! . . . it will get gradually worse--until i'm old again, and . . . back where i started. . . ."
-"but . . . gran'pa?" i stammered. "he's still young!"
-"he's an exception," she answered, with astonishing calmness. "i felt it all along. that is why i hesitated so at the very first. it's not the glands which have made such a difference to him, but his faith--the sort of wonderful faith that moves mountains, george. he's been like that all his life--an american, through and through. everything he put his hand to--and believed in--he accomplished. i'm sure that anything is possible if only one has real faith. . . ."
-"i haven't got it!" she added, wistfully. "i've always been shrinking back from things--afraid of anything new. perhaps that is why i never married. . . . when your grandfather came, after all those years, still full of fire . . . i was carried away. i tried, oh, so hard, to believe in him, and in myself. but i've found that it is too late to alter my disposition. i haven't the faith. i'm still shrinking--doubtful--timid. . . ."
-it was a pitiful confession.
-outside, the evening was drawing in, and gray, shroud-like shadows stole into the room. i did not like leaving her.
-"come back to richmond with me," i suggested. "molly will soon pull you round. you're brooding here."
-"no!" she said. "i'm not unhappy. it's just the . . . sudden change. in a short time i shall be my old self again. don't think me ungrateful, george, but the last twelve months have not been natural. i don't seem to have had a moment's rest. all the bustle and hurry have unnerved me. i feel more contented, now that it is over and done with. . . ."
-she must have seen that i doubted her last statement, for she placed a hand on my arm and said:
-"young people can never understand that it's no hardship to be old--if one is still well. it all happens so gradually. nature is kind. it is only her children who make life so difficult!"
-her philosophy astounded me. it even converted me. i felt that sally's view was right, and gran'pa's wrong. the one was art; the other vandalism. why had we tried to patch up and renovate nature's old masterpieces? not because we sought artistic improvement but merely because we were eager to show our own cleverness. gran'pa's whole attitude was: "look what i've done!" unfortunately, i, too, had adopted the pose, and sally's youthfulness had temporarily captivated me solely because it was the living proof of a marvellous achievement (by us).
-sally rejuvenated was impossible, absurd. but sally as a gracious, white-haired old lady was lovable--a work of art, hallowed and moulded and softened by the hand of time. to tamper with such a masterpiece was sacrilegious, profane.
-thus did this sudden relapse present itself to me, and i eventually returned home feeling much as a man must feel when he has become converted to a new religion. i saw old age not as a tragedy or curse, but as a sort of blissful and holy peace. it was the quiet pleasure of relaxation after effort, accomplishment after strife.
-and yet i could not dispel my curiosity as to the condition of the others who had been rejuvenated. were they also slipping back to old age? or had some of them that wonderful, gran'pa-like faith which was capable of moving mountains--and finding thereunder the springs of perpetual youth?
-unable to resist the temptation, i telephoned through to one of the club's members--a bucolic-looking retired colonel who had greatly annoyed me on the voyage home by his frequent assertions of physical well-being.
-"well?" i inquired. "how are things?"
-"fine. . . . fine!" he barked, as if on parade.
-i heard him smite himself on the chest, or make some queer noise which sounded very like it. then there was a peculiar metallic click followed by the confused sound of distant voices and an uncanny silence as i was suddenly cut off.
-i got through again, however, and heard the terrible news that the poor old fellow had dropped dead!
-shaken and scared by such a disaster, i was far too afraid to make inquiries of any of the other old people that night.
-was it an omen? was it the beginning of the end--or, at any rate, of the slow march back to a natural and respectable old age?
-to the eternal shame of modern science in general, and of our expedition in particular, i regret to say that it was.
-old age did not creep stealthily upon them, as nature normally arranged; it overtook them by leaps and bounds. wrinkles appeared on the old people almost as swiftly as the rash of a disease. they went to bed at night and woke up next morning a year, or even two years older. in spite of their youthful posings and their ejaculations of: "great!" "never felt better!" "fine!" they began doddering once more. after all the excitement and promise of the last twelve months, they had merely returned to england, home, and--bath-chairs.
-it would be hypocritical of me to say that it was pathetic, for, logically considered, it was but the fulfilment of the law of all life--the wisely ordained destiny of man, and animal, and even vegetable. in time, i myself would bow to this great and inflexible law--as unflinchingly and calmly as my ancestors. why, then, should i feel sorry for these people?
-i wrote to gran'pa and told him that one of the old men had died, and that the remainder had practically returned to the point whence they had started. i requested him to come home, lest evil befell him out there in the wilds. i drew a picture of sally--happy and gracious and beautiful again--and of the many comforts and joys of civilization, compared with the hardships and dangers of gorilla hunting in the dark continent.
-but he refused to be cajoled.
-"not a day older since you left," he wrote, in the same jerky way as he talked. "not even a minute! . . . what sally says about faith is perhaps right. i don't know--and i don't care. i'm still youthful, whatever the cause. . . . caught ten more gorillas up to date; but afraid the old boys here may lose heart and refuse to be grafted if the bad news percolates through to them. i rely on your keeping silent. . . . don't kill yourself with worry. your 'old' gran'pa is still going strong; so you've no need for sleepless nights, laddie! . . . england's too slow for me. the first twelve months there put ten years on my age. except for the glands i'm positive that another twelve months would have killed me. can you wonder at my being in no violent hurry to return? . . ." and so on.
-that is gran'pa's point of view--at present.
-this is mine. i am young (in the true sense of the word). i can afford to be patient. the dug-out in the garden has been filled in again. gran'pa's clothes have been carefully brushed and put away--with a good supply of "moth balls."
-but his arm-chair is still by the fireside--waiting. he cannot resist its call--and mine--forever. time is on our side.
-time will win.
-transcriber's note: the ellipses in the original text were typeset erratically. the spacing and number of dots in ellipses has been adjusted for stylistic consistency. numerous obvious punctuation errors have been corrected.
-the hyphenation of several words, such as "anti-climax" and "to-day", was inconsistent in the original text. when a hyphen spanned a line break in the original text, the hyphen was retained or deleted based on the predominant usage elsewhere in the text. otherwise, hyphenation has been left as it was in the original text.
-the following typographical errors have also been corrected.
-in the section titled what this story is about, "thrilling adventues with the gorillas" was changed to "thrilling adventures with the gorillas".
-in chapter ii, "gran'pa's beard and the monkey's tail" was changed to "gran'pa's beard and the monkey's tail".
-in chapter iv, "which semed to suggest that" was changed to "which seemed to suggest that".
-in chapter vi, "too much from you as it it is" was changed to "too much from you as it is", "there semed to be nothing" was changed to "there seemed to be nothing", and "how carefully and scientifically gran'pa was proceeding" was changed to "how carefully and scientifically gran'pa was proceeding".
-in chapter vii, "the ir was like wine" was changed to "the ir was like wine", "old men of seventy-or eighty" was changed to "old men of seventy--or eighty", and quotation marks were adjusted around the phrase "?..?..?!"
-in chapter viii, "whispered gran'pa to me" was changed to "whispered gran'pa to me".
-in chapter ix, "a monosyllablic ejaculation" was changed to "a monosyllabic ejaculation".
-in chapter xi, "molly was delirious with exitement" was changed to "molly was delirious with excitement", and "persuaded the brute to swing the propellor" was changed to "persuaded the brute to swing the propeller".
-in chapter xii, "turned out attention to the 'gas-works'" was changed to "turned our attention to the 'gas-works'", "whimpering and seductives noises" was changed to "whimpering and seductive noises", and "turn a somesault" was changed to "turn a somersault".
-in chapter xiii, "three times in rapid sucession" was changed to "three times in rapid succession".
-in chapter xiv, "a monkey follows on organ grinder" was changed to "a monkey follows an organ grinder", and "the gentle art of lassooing" was changed to "the gentle art of lassoing".
-in chapter xv, "'thirty thousand!' he exlaimed" was changed to "'thirty thousand!' he exclaimed", and "we reached walfish bay" was changed to "we reached walfisch bay".
-in chapter xvi, "noisy behavior of the the individual" was changed to "noisy behavior of the individual", and "dropping the later back in the hat" was changed to "dropping the latter back in the hat".
-in chapter xvii, "what followed that interiew" was changed to "what followed that interview", and "that it why i never married" was changed to "that is why i never married".
-mercantile printing company wilmington, delaware
-drawings by ethel pennewill brown
-to all delaware children
-dear girls and boys:
-these true stories are written just for you. they tell how once upon a time brave men and women came across the ocean and landed here in the wilderness, among the indian tribes; how they made farms and towns and cities and formed a state; and how they fought for the freedom and the peace that delaware now enjoys. only thirteen out of the forty-eight states of our union are original colonies, and delaware is one of these famous thirteen. you are the young citizens, therefore, of an historic state. to you it will fall, some day, to uphold the honor of delaware. may you be as patriotic and as brave as the delaware settlers who conquered the wilderness and the delaware soldiers who laid down their lives for liberty and right.
-the delaware society of the
-colonial dames of america.
-this book is published by the delaware society of the colonial dames of america for the use, primarily, of the children of delaware, in school and out. its style and matter are therefor chosen to suit young readers.
-many historical points in these stories are more or less disputed. the original sources do not always agree. in preparing these stories of delaware for children’s reading, it has been thought best to use anecdotes and interesting traditions whenever they could be found. the result is a substantially true set of stories, which do not however, undertake to settle the facts in any disputed case, but are designed to leave in a child’s mind the broad outlines of delaware history.
-table of contents
-how once upon a time the dutch came to zwannendael.
-it was a clear warm day in may in the year 1631, and the sunlight shone pleasantly on a little indian village of the leni lenapes on the banks of the broad delaware river.
-from the openings in the tops of the wigwams—openings that answered in place of chimneys—the smoke of the fires rose toward the cloudless may sky. kettles were suspended over these fires, and from their contents came a savory smell of cooking—of game, of fish, or of a sort of hasty pudding that the squaws make of corn, which they have ground to meal between stones.
-a number of the young men had gone off to the forest in search of game, or had paddled away in their canoes to distant fishing grounds, but some of them were still left in the village. now and then a brave stalked with grave dignity among the wigwams; and the three chiefs, quescacous, entquet, and siconesius sat a little withdrawn, and in the shadow of some trees, smoking together.
-an indian youth who was setting a trap down by the river paused, when he had finished his task, to look up and down the stream for returning canoes. there was none in sight, but what he did see caught his attention and brought a startled look of wonder to his face. he bent forward in eager attention and gave vent to a low guttural exclamation. down toward the bay two objects such as he had never seen before moved slowly over the surface of the water. they moved like great birds with wide spread wings; but they were no birds, as the indian knew well. whatever they were, they were the work of human hands, and they were coming toward the village.
-once satisfied of this, the indian turned and sped back to the wigwams to carry the news.
-what he had to tell was enough to arouse not only the interest of the younger indians, but of the braves and the chiefs as well. soon a group of natives had gathered on the shore, all gazing down toward the bay.
-and a marvellous sight it must have been to those indians that may morning when the two ships of the first colonists who ever settled in delaware came sailing up the river toward them. in the lead came a vessel of eighteen guns, her sails spread wide to the light breeze, the flag of holland floating from her masthead. following her was a smaller yacht named the walrus. over the sides of these vessels leaned the sailors and the colonists, blue eyed and fair haired, dressed in cloth suits and glittering buttons.
-these immigrants gazed with wonder at the strange natives gathered on the shore—at their painted faces and feathers; and they saw with joy the beauty of this new land. for five months these ships had sailed the trackless ocean, now beaten by storms, now driven on by favoring winds; and now at last, under their leader, devries, they had reached their haven.
-they were not the first white men who had sailed these waters. long, long before, hudson had come this way on his search for a north-east passage to china. in 1612 hendrickson had ventured up the river in his little ship restless, but neither of these had set foot on the land, unless it was to seek a spring for water to drink. these men under devries in 1631 were the first who ever made an attempt to settle.
-very joyously these first colonists landed in delaware. flags were flying and music playing. the cannon of the ship boomed out a salute across the water. it reverberated solemnly over the wild and lonely country where such a sound had never been heard before. the colonists were so delighted with the peace and the beauty of the land that they named the point where the boat first touched, paradise point. it is the little projection of land at the mouth of what is now known as lewes creek.
-the three chiefs, gorgeous in paint and feathers, came down to meet the strangers and conducted them up the shore to the village. here they motioned to them to seat themselves around the fire and smoke the pipe of peace.
-the various small tribes of indians in delaware all belonged to the one great tribe of the leni lenapes.
-devries, on his side, was very anxious to establish friendly relations with them. he believed that if the natives were treated fairly and kindly there would be no trouble with them.
-we do not know how the bargain was made between the indians and the white men, whether by signs or whether through an interpreter sent down from the new netherlands (new york) which had been settled some time before. but we are told in the old documents that this first tract of land, thirty-two miles along the bay and river from cape henlopen, was sold by the indians for “certain parcels of cargoes,” probably kettles, cloth, beads and ornaments.
-down in the newly purchased land the colonists immediately set about building shelters for themselves. their possessions had been landed with them—their chests of clothing, their farming tools, and the seeds they had brought from home. they must begin to prepare fields, too; for it was time the seeds were planted.
-the spot they selected was near the mouth of the creek, where there was a spring of delicious cool water; and, because of the wild swans that were sometimes seen there, they named their little settlement zwannendael. the river they called hoornekill in honor of devries, whose native place was hoorne in holland.
-the natives watched with wonder the strange work of these colonists, and the square houses with doors and windows which they made, and which were so different from the round wigwams woven of boughs and barks.
-beside separate cabins the settlers built themselves a general house to serve as defense in time of need. they called it fort uplandt; but devries placed such extraordinary confidence in the indians that the so-called fort was only a house, larger and stronger than the cabins, and surrounded by a high fence.
-so diligently did the settlers go about their work that by the middle of the summer they were quite well established.
-it was with heavy hearts that the little band of colonists saw the ship that had brought them from home spread its wings and sail away.
-they watched it until it was only a speck in the distance, until even the speck had disappeared. then they turned again to their work with a new feeling of loneliness. they were so few in that great land of savages.
-they had provisions enough, brought from home to last them a year and there was some comfort in the fact that the yacht walrus was left behind. she was anchored just off shore in the river, and from there she could keep guard over the little colony like a mother bird guarding her nest. if danger arose, the settlers could retreat to her. but what danger was there to fear when the indians seemed so peaceable and friendly?
-for some months after devries left them, all went well; and then trouble arose. the trouble was over a very little thing, no more nor less than a little square of tin.
-one of the first things the colonists had done after settling their farms, was to erect a pillar, and place on it a piece of tin carved with the arms of the united provinces, as holland was called. those arms, set high above the village, were to them a constant reminder of their old home across the sea; and often, as they went to and fro about their work, their homesick eyes would turn to it for comfort.
-but one morning when the colonists arose to go to their daily toil, the piece of tin was missing. evidently, someone had wrenched it from its place in the night.
-angry and excited, the colonists began to make inquiries. for a time they learned nothing of how or why it had been taken, but at length they found it had been stolen by an old chief to make tobacco pipes. then the colonists were more angry than ever. it seemed an insult to their country that her arms should have been put to such a base use.
-the natives were much alarmed when they found how angry the settlers were. they did not understand why they set such value upon the arms. was the piece of tin something sacred—something that the pale faces worshiped? out in the river lay the walrus, seeming to threaten them with its presence; and soon the great sachem devries would return, unless they could make their peace with the pale faces.
-a few days later some of the natives came to the settlement, bringing a gift to the white men—a gift that they hoped might soothe the anger of the settlers. it was the bloody scalp of the old chief. they had killed him and brought this as a peace offering.
-the settlers, with giles hosset at their head, were overcome with horror.
-“what have you done!” hosset cried, “why did you not bring him to the fort? we could have reproved him, and told him that if he did such a thing again he would be punished. but you yourselves should be punished for this. it is a bloody and barbarous act!”
-the indians heard him with sullen look. they in their turn were enraged. they had thought to please the white men by killing the white men’s enemy, and now the white men were more angry than ever. the natives dissembled, however; they went away with calm looks, but black rage was in their hearts.
-giles hosset was deeply troubled.
-“evil will surely come of this,” he said. “innocent blood has been shed, and something tells me that more will follow.”
-however, the next few days passed peacefully. giles hosset’s fears began to die away. the indians were apparently as friendly as ever, and the whole tragic event seemed to have been forgotten. but it was not. there were friends of the chief who remembered and blamed the pale faces for his death, and whose hearts were full of hatred and revenge.
-one morning the little ship walrus drew up its anchor and sailed down the bay and out into the ocean to look for whales. there were said to be a great many along the coast, and an indian had brought them news of one that had been spouting outside at dawn.
-the colonists were gathering in their crops, and the little cluster of cabins lay peaceful and deserted in the golden autumn sunlight. two people only were left in the strong house. one was a man who was sick and so unable to work; the other was a stout, strong fellow who stayed there on guard. a great brindled mastiff was chained to the wall by a strong staple. he lay asleep, sometimes rousing himself to snap lazily at the flies. the guard was sharpening some farm implements; the man on the bed lay watching him, and now and then they chatted idly.
-suddenly the great mastiff lifted its head and listened. then it sprang to its feet, struggling against the chain and growling ominously.
-“what is it?” asked the sick man.
-the guard went to the door and looked out.
-“indians,” he answered.
-“indians?” repeated the sick man, “i like not that they should come here when all the others are away and out of call.”
-however, it seemed that these indians had come on a matter of barter. they had with them a stack of beaver skins, which they wished to exchange for cloth or provisions. they spread them out on the floor, and the white men grew quite interested in examining them.
-presently they made their bargain, and the guard said he would go up to the loft and get certain of the stores that were kept there.
-one of the indians followed him up and stood around as he selected the things he was to exchange for the skins. then, as the guard started down the ladder, swift as lightning the indian struck him with an axe he had picked up, and crushed in his head. the man had not even time to cry out.
-immediately, and as though this sound had been the signal, the natives fell upon the sick man and killed him. others rushed upon the dog, but there they met with such a fierce defense that they fell back. the brave beast pulled and struggled against the chain, and a moment later he fell pierced by a shower of arrows.
-when nothing was left alive in the strong house, the indians went out to where the colonists were quietly at work in the fields, guessing nothing of the tragedy that had just been enacted at the strong house.
-the indians approached them tranquilly, their weapons carefully concealed. so friendly were their looks that the white men felt no fear; but only giles hosset, remembering the death of the chief, watched them with some uneasiness. but even he had no faintest suspicion of the bloody work so soon to begin.
-when the indians were quite close to the settlers, their friendly look suddenly turned to one of ferocity and hate. weapons were flourished, they burst into their terrible war cry and fell upon the defenseless colonists. so thorough was their work that, when it was ended, not one white man was left alive to tell the tale of the terrible massacre of zwannendael.
-meanwhile, out in the ocean, the walrus had cruised about all day; but the sailors had seen no signs of the whales the indians had told of and at evening they came sailing home.
-what was their surprise, as they approached the settlement, to see no signs of life. they could not understand it. only when they reached the strong house and saw the bodies of the men and the dog, did they begin to guess at the terrible tragedy of that day.
-they hastened to the field where they had left their friends cheerfully at work that morning. not one was left alive.
-we are told that devries had almost finished his preparations and was expecting soon to return to zwannendael, but that when he heard the tidings he was overcome.
-the return voyage was given up, for the new colonists were afraid to risk the fate of the others. and so, in the massacre of zwannendael, ended the first settlement ever made on delaware soil.
-yet still the land had been possessed by the dutch. it was not, any more, unclaimed land that belonged to any man that came along. when the king of england gave away all the land along that part of the coast to lord baltimore, only three years later, he could not give this land of delaware, because it had already been settled by devries for holland. our state began when the dutch colonists first stepped ashore on paradise point.
-how once upon a time the swedes built a fort.
-spring had come again. the sun shone as bright and clear as when, seven years before, devries and his dutch settlers had sailed up the delaware and landed on its shores.
-six months before, these men, fifty in all, had started out from gottenburg to journey across the sea to this new land. for six months they had been tossed and beaten by many storms upon the ocean, but now at last they had reached the promised land.
-stores and implements were carried to the shore, and soon the silence of the new land was broken by the sound of the ax and the voices of the settlers talking and calling to one another.
-lonely and deserted as the country had seemed to the new settlers, their coming was quickly known to both the indians and the dutch.
-the first to visit them was an indian chief named mattahoon. he and some of his braves stalked in among the colonists one day, with silent indian tread, and stood looking about them with curious, glittering black eyes. minuit gave them some presents, and they seemed much pleased. then mattahoon told minuit that the land belonged to him and his braves.
-minuit wished to buy it from him, and the sachem agreed to sell it for a copper kettle and some other small articles. these were given to him, and he and his braves went away, well content with their bargain.
-the next visitor to come to them was a messenger from new amsterdam. he told them that director general kieft, the dutch governor, had sent him to ask why they had settled on land that belonged to the dutch. the dutch had bought it from the indians long ago, at the time devries had settled on the river.
-minuit answered the messenger very civilly. he gave the dutchman to understand that he and his swedes were on their way to the west indies, and had only landed on this shore for rest and refreshment.
-the messenger believed what minuit said, and was quite satisfied, and the next day he returned to new amsterdam and told kieft there was nothing to fear from these strangers; they were only passers-by and had no wish to settle upon the river.
-however, not long after this, a dutch ship sailing up the river saw that the strangers were still there. moreover, they were building houses and something that looked like a fort, and gardens were laid out.
-kieft, the dutch governor was very angry when he heard this. again he sent a messenger in haste, to ask why the swedes were building, and to demand that they should re-enter their ships and sail away.
-minuit paid but little attention to this second messenger. he was very busy. the fort was almost finished. reorus torkillus, a clergyman who had come from sweden with him, had already held services in it, and had prayed for the welfare of their little settlement of christinaham, for that was what they had named it. the fort itself was called fort christina, in honor of the swedish queen, and the name of the creek was changed from minquas to christina.
-with these presents the savages were delighted; and they signed a paper with their marks, giving to the swedes all the land from cape henlopen to santican, or what is now called the falls of trenton. when the dutch heard this, they were indignant for they claimed that all that land had already been sold to them.
-the indians understood but little of the teachings of torkillus; but there was one thing that they did understand, and that was that the swedes gave them many presents and paid them better for their furs and skins than the dutch did. minuit, indeed, was always careful to find out what the dutch were paying them and then to offer a little more. in this way he secured all the best and choicest of the furs—a cause of fresh anger to the dutch.
-the scalping itself was not always fatal. there is a story of a drunken soldier who fell asleep across his gun. when he awoke, he had a strange feeling in his head. at first he thought it was the effect of what he had drunk, but presently, to his terror, he found he had been scalped. and there is a story too, of a woman who had gone into the forest to gather fire-wood. she was struck down, stunned, and scalped by a flathead, but she lived many years afterward. her hair, however, never grew out again, except as a fine down.
-there was another thing about the indians that, as time went on, made the settlers more and more anxious. in order to keep them in good temper, it was necessary to continue to give them presents. at first it was easy for the colonists to do this, for they had brought with them from sweden a large store of things for that very purpose. but as time went on, their stores dwindled away. they had expected ships from home to bring them a fresh supply, but no ships came.
-week after week and month after month passed by; the home land seemed to have forgotten them. their cloth was all gone, their clothes were threadbare, and many of their cattle had died. the indians came to christinaham, expecting presents, and went away with angry looks and empty hands.
-in the year 1640 the chief mattahoon called together a great meeting of the sachems and warriors of delaware. the meeting was held deep in the wood where no white man could come. all the chiefs and braves were gathered there, old and young. they ate and drank. then mattahoon spoke to them. he asked them whether it would not be better to kill all the swedes. he said:
-an indian warrior answered:
-“why should we kill all the swedes? they are in friendship with us. we have no complaint to make of them. presently they will bring here a large ship full of all sorts of good things.”
-with this speech all the others agreed. then mattahoon said:
-“then we native indians will love the swedes, and the swedes shall be our good friends. we and the swedes and dutch shall always trade with each other.”
-soon after this the meeting was dissolved, and all the indians returned to their own villages.
-the swedish settlers knew nothing of this meeting, but they had felt that they were in danger. it was in march of that year, 1640, that they decided, with sad hearts, to give up their little settlement and remove to new amsterdam. preparations were made for abandoning christinaham. tools and provisions were packed, and the boats made ready.
-however, the very day before the swedes were to leave, a vessel arrived from sweden, bringing them cattle, seeds, cloths and all the things of which they were so in need. the ship also brought a letter from the wise swedish councillor oxenstiern and his brother. in this letter, the colonists were encouraged in their undertaking and told to keep brave hearts. they were also promised that two more vessels should be sent out to them in the spring.
-when the colonists heard this news, they shouted for joy. the household goods which they had packed with such heavy hearts were now unpacked, the houses were opened, and the work of the village was taken up again.
-the indians were greatly pleased. now they saw how wise they had been to have patience and wait, instead of killing all the swedes as they had been tempted to do. the swedes were again their best friends, and the givers of many gifts.
-the dutch were obliged to swallow their disappointment as best they could, for now the swedes were more firmly settled than ever. fields were tilled, and orchards planted. later on they built forts at the mouths of various creeks, so as to prevent the dutch from trading with the indians.
-the governor held absolute power over the little colony, and all matters were decided by him according to his own will.
-there were, at this time, two kinds of people upon the delaware; the freemen, who owned their own land and farmed and traded, and prisoners, who had been sent over from sweden on the earliest vessels, and who were employed in digging ditches and hewing and building, and were treated as slaves. in fact, there was no lack of laborers in the colony.
-rich cargoes of furs and tobacco were now sent back to sweden. the dutch were in despair. they saw all the indian trade being taken out of their hands; but sweden was too powerful both at home and abroad for them to dare to interfere with her, and from this time until stuyvesant came out to be governor of the new netherlands the swedes ruled supreme along the delaware.
-the spot where the swedes first landed is still preserved, and is marked by a portion of the original rock, placed close to the landing-place on the bank of the christiana. this rock bears an inscription, and is enclosed by a low iron railing. it may be called the plymouth rock of delaware, for it is taken from the natural wharf of rocks on which the swedes first stepped, and marks the first permanent settlement made in delaware.
-site of fort christina
-how once upon a time governor stuyvesant had his way.
-old tile house
-peter stuyvesant was a tall, red-faced dutchman who came out to the new netherlands in 1647, to take the place of kieft as governor of that province.
-governor stuyvesant had fought in many battles, and in one of them had lost a leg. when he came out to new netherlands he had a wooden leg; and as it was fastened together by rings of silver, it was often called “the governor’s silver leg.” stuyvesant had also a very violent temper; and, when he was angry, he stamped about with this leg as though it were a club and he were beating the floor with it.
-at this time, in 1647, the swedes claimed all of delaware as theirs, and called it new sweden. they had driven many of the dutch away, had torn down their buildings, and had kept them from trading with the indians. every little while news of fresh wrongs to the dutch was brought from delaware to governor stuyvesant; and every time a letter or messenger arrived, the governor had a fresh fit of rage. he believed that the dutch were the real owners of the river; and, if he could, he would have gathered his soldiers together and sailed down to new sweden, and have done his best to drive every swede out of the country.
-this he could not do, however; for the directors of the west india company, who had given him his position as governor, had told him to keep peace not only with the indians, but with the swedes as well.
-this was a hard thing for a hot-tempered man like stuyvesant to do. now the story would be that the swedes had destroyed more of the dutch buildings along the delaware; again, that the swedes had incited the indians to try to surprise and massacre the dutch; and hudde, the dutch commissioner in new sweden, wrote that a swedish lieutenant and twenty-four soldiers had come to his house one day and cut down all his trees, even the fruit trees.
-stuyvesant stamped about louder than ever when he heard this. the insult to the dutch commissioner seemed the worst thing that had yet happened; and he made up his mind to sail down to new sweden and remonstrate with the swedish governor printz himself.
-governor printz lived in a very handsome house called printz hall, on tinnicum island. all about it were fine gardens and an orchard. there was also a pleasure house, and indeed everything that could help to make it comfortable and convenient. governor printz received governor stuyvesant very politely in the great hall of the house, and presently the two governors sat down and began to talk. stuyvesant complained bitterly of the treatment the dutch had received in delaware. he repeated that by rights the dutch really owned the land; they had bought it years before from the indians, and their right to it had been sealed by the blood they had shed upon its soil.
-printz himself was a very violent man, and often gross and abusive; but this time he kept his temper and answered the dutch governor civilly. stuyvesant, though, gained nothing by his visit, and all his talk and reasoning. printz was determined to keep all the land along the delaware, and to govern it as he pleased. as to cutting down hudde’s trees, he said he had had nothing to do with that matter, and was sorry it had happened.
-so stuyvesant went back to his own fine house at new amsterdam, and the dutch in new sweden were no better off.
-however, he was not one to let the matter rest at that. he kept it in his mind, and at last, as the result of his thinking, he sent messengers to all the indian sachems along the delaware, inviting them to come to a great meeting at the governor’s house in new amsterdam.
-the meeting was set for early in july; and, on the day appointed, the indians came. they were grave and fierce looking, in spite of their gay paint and feathers. stuyvesant received them in the hall of his house; and after they had all arrived, they sat down there in council.
-the first thing stuyvesant wished to learn from them was exactly how much land they had sold to the swedes.
-the indians told him they had not sold any land to the swedes, except that upon which fort christina stood, and ground enough around it for a garden to plant tobacco in.
-“then will you sell the land to us?” asked stuyvesant.
-the indians were quite willing to do this. they were always willing to sell anything, even if they had already sold it; but what they wished to know was what the dutch would give. the price finally agreed upon was, if they had only known it, an absurd price indeed; but the indians were quite content with it. it was;—12 coats of duffels (a kind of cloth), 12 kettles, 12 axes, 12 adzes, 24 knives, 12 bars of lead and 4 guns with some powder; besides this, the dutch to repair the gun of the chief penomennetta when it was out of order, and to give the indians a few handfuls of maize when they needed it. this was the price for which the indians sold to the dutch all the land along the delaware river, from fort christiana to bombay hook.
-the indians then went away, very much pleased. governor stuyvesant, too, was in high good humor. now he would show printz who was the real owner of the land.
-printz, as soon as he knew what stuyvesant was about, protested against the building of the fort; but he was not strong enough to prevent it. he had grown very unpopular, because of his violent and coarse temper. he was hated not only by the dutch and the english, but by his own people as well. things began to grow more and more unpleasant for him, so that at last he begged to be allowed to go back to sweden; and in 1653 he left the shores of new sweden and his house on tinnicum island, and sailed away not to return. to do, and place the grapes near his bedside, so that he may be able to reach them with his hand when he awakes.
-~the being in grey.~~
-thus in sound and happy slumber sleeps the man--buoyed up with fond, delusive hopes. his breathing is as calm as that of a little child, and his aged heart beats evenly and quietly as he rests. he knows not that within a few seconds his son will have passed away for ever into the infinite. yet even as the man lies there the shadowy mists of sleep are presenting to his vision a dream of happiness which shall never be. he dreams that he is with his son, and that together they are gliding in a fair white boat down a broad and peaceful river. it seems to him that it is a beautiful day in summer, and that he is gazing upon pure blue sky and water clear as crystal. he can hear the rustling of the reeds as they part before the boat, and in his heart he is joyous and hopeful. for all his senses are deceiving the man.
-yet suddenly he grows uneasy. some strange fancy has pierced the mists of sleep and seared his soul. "why have thy golden locks been shorn, my boy? why have they done that?"
-"my head was hurting me, papa. that is why they have shorn my locks." and once again, in his fond delusion, the man feels happy as he gazes at the blue sky and listens to the rustling of the reeds as they part before the boat.
-no; he knows not that at this moment his son is dying. he knows not that his beloved child is calling to him with a last voiceless cry of the soul as, in the throes of delirium, the boy's childish instinct turns once more to its belief in the superior strength of his elders. "papa, papa! i am dying! save me, papa!" no; the man sleeps on, in sound and happy slumber, while secret, fleeting dreams continue to present to his vision a dream of happiness which shall never be.
-awake, man, awake! thy son is--dead!
-i feel a sort of fear upon me. i thought i heard some one call.
-our--our son? is--is he dead?
-yes--he is dead!
-did he call-to me just now?
-no; he never returned to consciousness; he never recognized any one. yes, he is dead--our son, our darling son!
-villain! thou hast wounded a woman, and thou hast killed a child!
-and for thee--fate, life, god, or devil, whatsoever be thy name--i hereby curse thee!
-~the man's curse.~~
-hereby i curse thee, and all that thou hast given me! i curse the day whereon i was born, and the day whereon i shall die! i curse my whole life, its joys and its sorrows! i curse myself, my ears, my eyes, my heart, my tongue, my head! all those things which thou hast given me i fling back in thy face, thou fate, thou demon! cursed be thou--aye, cursed for ever! yet with this very curse will i vanquish thee at the last. for, in truth, what more canst thou do unto me? strike me, if thou wilt--aye, strike me to the ground: i will yet laugh aloud in thy face, and cry, "my curse be upon thee, my curse be upon thee!" or fill my mouth full with the creeping worms of death: i will yet with my last breath gasp into thy obscene ears, "my curse be upon thee, my curse be upon thee!" seize thou my carcase, gnaw it like a dog, worry, it in the outer darkness of hell: what though my soul have left it and be fled to other regions, i will yet repeat, again and again, "my curse be upon thee, my curse be upon thee!" aye! by the head of this woman whom thou hast wounded, and by the body of this child whom thou hast slain, i curse thee, i curse thee--aye, i, the man!
-act v--the death of the man
-~dialogue of the drunkards.~~
-o my god, my god!
-see how the room is heaving about! i can scarcely keep an eye fixed upon anything at all!
-it is shivering as though with ague--ceiling, tables, floor, and walls!
-it is as though we were at sea!
-hark! do you hear that strange sound--a sound as of iron wheels being rattled, or of great stones rolling down a hillside--showers of stones as thick as raindrops?
-pooh! that sound is in your own ears. 'tis the blood makes it. my blood too is playing me strange pranks, for it has turned all thick and black, and smells of vodka. it will scarce pass through the veins now, and when it draws near to the heart it dams itself up, and refuses to flow at all.
-i can see lightning flashing, lightning flashing!
-and i can see great funeral-piles, with men burning on them! i can smell the horrid smell of their roasting flesh i i can see black shadows dancing round them! hi, shadows! let me come and dance with you awhile!
-o my god, my god!
-i must have another dram. who will join me? no one? then a curse upon you all! i will drink alone.
-see! a lovely woman is kissing me on the lips! she smells of musk, and her teeth are like a crocodile's i ugh! she will bite me, she will bite me! away, harridan!
-i am no harridan. i am only an old serpent with young, and have been watching little serpents crawl out of my womb this hour past, or more. see the little devils, how they wriggle about! hi, you! do not you dare to tread upon my serpent brood!
-where are you off to?
-who is that going away? sit down again. you make the whole room shake with your tread.
-no, i dare not stay; i dare not sit down again.
-nor i. when i sit down i feel the horrors coming over me.
-over me too. let me pass, i say!
-see what that monster is doing! for two hours past it has been trying to climb on to my lap, only it cannot succeed. i keep driving it away, yet it always returns. at what sort of a game is it playing?
-i feel as though a swarm of cockroaches were buzzing about, and nesting in my skull.
-and i as though my skull were splitting in two--as though the very brains were coming out of it. they must have turned all maggoty, those brains, for they smell like mouldy cheese.
-or, rather, like carrion.
-o my god, my god!
-to-night i am going to creep up to her on my hands and knees, and slit her throat for her. yes, her blood shall flow to-night; that nice red blood of hers shall soon be streaming down her breast.
-three men keep following me about everywhere. some day they mean to catch me alone in some dark, lonely spot, and murder me. at this very moment they are waiting for me outside.
-what sort of a creature is it keeps walking about over the walls and ceiling?
-o my god! they have come in! they are after me!
-those three men! i cannot move hand or foot! whatever shall i do? whatever shall i do?
-see! my clothes are slipping off me! soon i shall be turned inside out--and a fine sight i shall look then!
-help, some one! help! a monster is after me! it is seizing me by the hand! help! help!
-what is it? god be with us! 'tis a! monstrous spider! help! help!
-oh, we are drunk; that is all. go and call down the rest of the town. it is so cold and miserable up there.
-no, no; i dare not ascend into the street. if i were to do so i should find her waiting for me, and raging like a wild beast. she would kill me, to a certainty.
-well, there are enough of us here already, so let us have some more liquor, and be merry.
-no, no! it only gives me the horrors. i have been shaking with them this many an hour past.
-better the horrors than real life. who would want to be sober, and to go back to real life?
-nor i! i would rather stay down here. no, i have no wish to go back to life.
-nor has any one else.
-o my god, my god!
-why does the man come here? he drinks little, but he sits much. we don't want his company.
-no, indeed! let him go home, since he has a home to go to. 'tis a home with sixteen rooms in it!
-yes, but they are empty now. only the rats scamper and squeak in them.
-but he has a wife?
-no, she is dead.
-~mingled dialogue of drunkards and old women.~~
-the man is near his end now. he can scarce stand for very weakness. do you know, he has a mansion with sixteen rooms in it! sixteen rooms!
-listen to the beating of his heart, how irregular and feeble it is! soon it will have stopped for ever.
-hi, man! invite us to your mansion, since there are sixteen rooms in it.
-yes, that heart will soon have stopped for ever. it is an old, weak, diseased heart now.
-hi, man! wake up i
-think how that heart used to beat when it was young and strong.
-who says more liquor? by the way, there seems to be a larger company present now.
-what do you mean? i see only the same company as before.
-i am going up into the street to raise the alarm! i have been robbed! i am nearly naked i see how my green skin is showing through!
-well, go; and good luck to you!
-do you remember the night when the man was born? i think you were present on that occasion?
-i am dying, i am dying! o my god! who will carry me to the grave, or lay me in it? my corpse will be left to cumber the streets like a dog's, to be trodden upon by passers-by, to be ridden over and crushed! o my god, my god!
-do you remember the relations saying, "let us congratulate you, dear kinsman, on the birth of a son"?
-i am certain you are wrong when you say that the circle can be squared. i will prove to you how absurd it is.
-well, you may be right.
-o my god, my god!
-only an ignoramus in geometry would make such an assertion. i do not admit it--do you hear? i do not admit it.
-do you remember how the man's wife looked, in her poor pink dress and shabby hair-riband?
-yes; and the flowers, too--the may lilies with the dew not dry upon them, the violets, and the grasses?
-"do not touch them, dear: children; do not touch the flowers."
-o my god, my god!
-~dialogue of the old women alone.~~
-good evening to you!
-and to you! what a glorious night it is!
-we are all here, are we not? how are you?
-i have caught a little cold, i think.
-this time we shall not have very long to wait. death and the man have nearly met.
-see the candle! see its thin, blue, ragged flame! it has almost no wax now--only wick.
-yes; but it seems reluctant to go out?
-well? are not all candles reluctant to go out?
-come, come! no quarrelling, no quarrelling! whether the candle chooses to go out or not, the man's time is fast ebbing away.
-do you remember his motor-car? once it nearly ran me down.
-and his mansion, too, with the sixteen rooms in it?
-yes. i was in them a short while ago. the rats nearly devoured me, and the draughts nearly blew me away, for some one had stolen the window-frames from their sockets, and the wind was tearing through the rooms.
-and you had a snooze on the very bed on which his wife died, did you not? oh, you sentimental old thing!
-i did. but i must confess that some queer thoughts passed through my mind as i wandered through those rooms. there used to be such a charming nursery in the mansion, and i felt hurt to see that its windows were all shattered, and that the wind was blowing the dust in clouds over the floor. and there used to be such a lovely little cradle in the room! now the rats are making their nests in that nursery, and rocking their children to sleep in that cradle.
-oh the dear little naked rat-children!
-and on a table in the study, i saw some broken toys--a little horse without a tail, a pasteboard helmet, and a red-nosed clown doll. i played with them each in turn, and tried on the helmet. it would have suited me well enough if it had only been a trifle less mouldy and covered with dust.
-and surely you paid a visit to the grand salon where the ball was given that night? what a gay scene it was!
-yes, i went in there too. but judge of my surprise when i found it in darkness, with the windows broken, and the wind whistling round the cornices!
-ah! that would serve as music.
-yes, of course. and the walls were all lined with guests--with guests sitting there in the darkness! you should have seen how queer they looked!
-we can imagine it.
-and you should have heard them ejaculating with their old wheedling lips, "how rich it all is! how sumptuous!"
-oh, you are joking!
-yes, i am only joking. you know my playful disposition.
-how "rich" indeed, how "sumptuous," everything must have looked when you went in!
-man, do you remember the tune that played at your ball?
-ah! he is near his death now.
-do you remember how the dancers surrounded you, and how tenderly, how bewitchingly, the music played? it played like this.
-let us have a ball ourselves. it is so long since, i had a dance!
-very well. "imagine this to be a palace--a supernaturally beautiful palace."
-first of all we must call the musicians. one cannot have a proper ball without music.
-yes, certainly. do you not remember them?
-now we can have our ball!
-"how rich it all is!"
-do you remember it, man?
-do you remember it, man?
-you are going to die soon, but do you remember it?
-do you remember it?
-do you remember it?
-you are going to die soon, but do you remember it?
-do you remember it, man?
-do you remember it?
-how ravishing it all was--how voluptuous? how delightful to the soul?
-do you remember it, man?
-you are going to die soon!
-you are going to die soon!
-you are going to die soon!
-do you remember it, man?
-where is my armour-bearer?--where is my sword?--where is my buckler?--i am without arms!--to my aid!--speed!--speed!--my curse be upon-----
-~the being in grey.~~
-silence ye! a man is dead!
-by j. e. buckrose
-because of jane a bachelor’s comedy the browns gay morning
-george h. doran company new york
-by j. e. buckrose author of “down our street,” “love in a little town,” etc. george h. doran company new york
-copyright, 1912 by george h. doran company
-dramatic rights reserved by the author
-a bachelor’s comedy
-a bachelor’s comedy
-this was no comedy to those most concerned, of course, for comedy is like happiness—directly a person knows he is in it, he is out of it. tragedy, on the other hand, can only touch those who do not take themselves seriously enough.
-no man, however, could take himself more seriously than did the reverend andrew deane as he travelled down alone in a third-class railway carriage to his new living of gaythorpe-on-the-marsh.
-when the train neared millsby, the station for gaythorpe, he rose hastily and peered at the piece of looking-glass provided for self-conscious travellers. yes, his worst fears were altogether justified. his hair curled in a stiff bush above his forehead, in spite of brilliantine applied at the very last moment before leaving his london lodgings. why—he demanded desperately of himself—why had he not brought a bottle in his pocket?
-for he considered curls not only undignified but unclerical. his sensitiveness on the subject had started at the age of six, when he still wore them rather long and other little boys called him “annie”! he fought the other little boys and induced his mother to have his hair cut, but the wound remained and rankled.
-“pshaw! most annoying!” he said, passing his hand over his offending head. then he sat down and blew his nose nervously as the train glided into millsby station.
-“morning, mr. deane. i suppose you are the reverend deane?” said a fat gentleman with black hair and a red face, approaching the carriage door.
-“yes. thank you. how-do-you-do?” said andy, rather jerkily.
-“my name’s thorpe,” said the fat man, with colossal repose. “i’m the churchwarden. glad to welcome you to your new parish, though it’s only for a few hours.”
-“you are very kind,” responded andy, feeling sure that the porter, the stationmaster and three stragglers were listening, and anxious to be as like his late senior curate—who was tall, lean, and immensely impressive—as possible.
-“i expect you’re going to see what you want in the way of furniture for the vicarage?” said mr. thorpe, moving ponderously towards the gate.
-“yes,” said andy breathlessly.
-it is rather a breathless thing, of course, to stand finally on the summit of one’s desires.
-“cart’s waiting. no luggage this time, i s’pose?” said mr. thorpe, who economised words. “come this way, then.” and to the stationmaster, who stepped forward, thin and alert: “this is the reverend deane, our new vicar.”
-again the parson shook hands, but that was nothing; because an eternal handshaking is as essential a part of a clergyman’s life as putting on his trousers: it was the absence of the andrew that went home to him. all his life he had been dogged by an undignified “andy,” which was even more unclerical than the curls. now he meant to drop it for ever. no one here had known him before at school or college—no one here was acquainted with the aunt by marriage and the cousins who had been his family since the age of sixteen—he would drop the boyish “andy” into the limbo of the past.
-from all this it will be gathered, and rightly, that the reverend andrew deane had obtained a living almost as soon as it was legally possible, and that he had a boyish air which made every one treat him like a boy.
-“there’s a good strawberry bed in the vicarage garden,” said mr. thorpe, as he settled himself in the cart. “gee-up, mare!”
-then he seemed to think he had said all there was to say, and they jogged on silently through the quiet lanes.
-after the hurry and bustle of the growing years, and the time at college, and the london curacy, andy seemed, as he sat there, to have come out into some quiet place where he could look round and listen. he felt, unconsciously, as a man does who has stood on a country road to watch a noisy procession pass: the last straggler vanishes in the cloud of dust behind it—the clash of music and shouting dies away—and a lark that has sung unnoticed all the time, goes on singing.
-this is the voice of peace grown audible at last, and those are very happy who hear it.
-“h-hem,” said mr. thorpe, rousing himself at a sharp corner. “funny you should be a bachelor. we seem in for unmarried parsons.”
-“in the present day there are many——” began andy. but when mr. thorpe started a speech he had a sort of steam-roller habit of finishing it.
-“i was looking at the church-books the other day—they only go back to 1687—and the first vicar whose name stands there was a bachelor. he was there fifty years. he signed himself will ford, though he’s called gulielmus now on his grave by the churchyard path. gee-up, mare!”
-but in that minute andy saw it all, and across the centuries he greeted a brother.
-“that’s the church,” said mr. thorpe, pulling up on the crest of a little hill and pointing with his whip towards a square tower with the roofs of a village clustering near; a flight of rooks trailed across blue sky and grey-white clouds.
-andy drew a long breath.
-“it’s—it’s extraordinarily peaceful,” he said.
-“not so peaceful as you’d——however, best find out for yourself,” said mr. thorpe.
-so they jogged on again, cop, cop, cop in a sunny silence, until they neared the vicarage, when the churchwarden added—
-“mr. and mrs. stamford are away, else they’d have asked you to lunch, of course, as they gave you the living. i thought you’d maybe look round the vicarage, and then come up to my house for a meal. mrs. thorpe has a cold fowl waiting for you when you’re ready for it.”
-“thank you. it’s awfully good——”
-“and i’d have stopped to show you round myself,” said mr. thorpe, rolling on, as it were, over andy’s acknowledgments, “but i have to see a man about some pigs. however, young sam petch’ll be there. he was odd man to the old vicar.”
-“do you advise me to retain his services?” inquired andy, with the responsible dignity of a vicar and a householder.
-“um,” said mr. thorpe. “i don’t know. the poor old vicar grew very feeble towards the end, and let things go. and those petches are none of ’em models. they don’t seem to know when they’re speaking the truth and when they aren’t. and young sam drinks a bit too. no, i can’t really advise you to keep him on.”
-“i shall certainly not do so after what you tell me,” said the new vicar, sitting very erect. “i have the strongest feelings about the households of the clergy—they should be above reproach.”
-“y-yes,” said mr. thorpe. then, relieved, “and, of course, the petches have william to fall back on.”
-“if there is any one responsible that settles——” began andy, when the mare shied violently at a man on the road, and he had to devote his attention to his new hat.
-“it’s the man who’s waiting to see me about the pigs,” said mr. thorpe calmly, indicating a red-faced, angry-looking person on the roadside. “he looks as if he was tired of waiting. should you mind walking across the churchyard instead of driving round to the vicarage gate?”
-“of course,” cried andy, jumping down; and followed by mr. thorpe’s hearty “mind you come up for a meal as soon as you’re ready,” he went through the churchyard gate.
-it clicked loosely behind him, easy with the passing of the generations, and as he walked down the path a great many of these thoughts which are common to all generous youth passed through his mind; for there is, in every one of us, such a glorious wish to do something for the world when we are young, though we can no more talk about it, then, than andy could have done as he looked at the gravestone of that gulielmus who in life had been plain will ford.
-even to his own soul, andy did not say those things; he only remarked to himself that he would be always, as it were, gulielmus. the abbreviation should not intrude. the reverend andrew deane he was, and the reverend andrew deane he would remain.
-thus reflecting he reached the little gate leading into the vicarage garden, and a tall, middle-aged man stood there, cap in hand. honesty was in his blue eyes—respectful candour in his pleasant voice.
-���mr. thorpe wished me to show you round, sir,” he said.
-“ah! good-day. where is the lad?”
-“the lad?” said the man, a little surprised. “oh, he’s got a place at millsby, sir.”
-“good. that’s excellent,” said andy, much relieved at not being obliged to start with a dismissal. “now for the house.”
-“peas here,” said the man, passing a plot of ground, “and beans there. i bought the seed and sowed them on my own responsibility. ‘whoever’s coming,’ says i to myself, ‘old or young, he’ll want peas and beans.’”
-the words flowed in that delightful easy way which is of all human sounds the most comfortable, running into the heart like a cordial.
-“most thoughtful of you,” said andy warmly.
-and his fellow-curates in london had talked of the apathy of village people! he would tell them about this when he saw them. what working-man of their flock would buy peas and beans and sow them for love of the church?
-“i put a row of potatoes in too,” continued the man. “says i to my wife, ‘married or single, he’ll want potatoes.’”
-“you’re married, then?” said andy, as they reached the house door, wishful to show interest in the domestic concerns of this ardent churchman.
-“yes,” replied the man. “my wife can’t get about much, i’m sorry to say. legs given way. but”—he gave a queer side look at andy—“it isn’t that she’s lost power, so to speak: the power’s only moved from her legs into her tongue.”
-andy smiled back—and when two men enjoy together the immemorial joke about a woman’s tongue it is as good as a sign of freemasonry—then he said solemnly, “very sad for you both, i am sure.”
-“yes,” said the man, immediately solemn too. “i’m sure i don’t know what we would do if it wasn’t for william.”
-“william!” repeated andy. “why—what is your name?”
-“samuel petch,” said the man.
-“then it will be young sam petch who has taken a situation at millsby?” demanded andy.
-“i’m young sam petch. father’s old sam petch. he’s eighty-one.”
-“oh!” said andy.
-and almost in silence he went over the vicarage escorted by his pleasant and obliging guide, who said at every turn, “we ought to trim honeysuckle; i only waited until you came,” or “i put a few newspapers down here, because the sun seemed to be fading the paint.”
-andy tramped up and down stairs, and peered into cellars, and found no words in which to inform young sam petch that his services were not required.
-how was it possible in face of that trustful confidence to say abruptly, “you are mistaken. you may remove your peas, beans, and potatoes, or i will pay for them. even your wife’s legs are nothing to me, though i deplore them. you must depart”? andy could not do it.
-at last sam petch went back to lock up the opened rooms while the new vicar stood alone at his own front door. it was rather a dignified door, with pillars where roses grew and five steps leading into the garden, and andy’s heart swelled with a proud sense of possession. here he would stand welcoming in the senior curate who had treated him like a rather stupid schoolboy. here the aunt and cousins who could not remember that he was a man and a clergyman would take on a proper attitude of respect. here the lady lay-helper who had so condescended to him in the london parish would be received, kindly, but—he held out a hand and rehearsed the greeting. the bland and prosperous vicar on his own threshold. quite equal to dealing with anything.
-“a-hem!” coughed sam petch behind him.
-“ah—that you, sam?” said andy, turning very red and drawing in his hand. “we—er—we had better be moving on. i was just—er—exercising my arm.”
-“exercise splendid thing, sir,” said sam, tactfully looking away. and while they walked down the road andy said to himself that a man accustomed for two years to dealing with sharp cockneys would find the simple villager a very easy problem. all he had to do was to wait until they reached the cottage at the next turning and then say, firmly but kindly, that he did not need mr. petch’s services.
-the turning was two hundred yards away—one hundred and fifty——
-“here’s my poor wife at the gate,” said sam. “looked after the old vicar like a mother, she did, until her legs went. it’s one of her bad days, but she was bent on saying a word of welcome to you as you went past.”
-and of course andy had to put it off a little longer while he took mrs. petch’s hand and bade her “good morning.”
-she placed her other hand on her heart, and began to speak quickly in a thin, high voice with a gasp in it.
-“i’m done up, sir—waiting here so long for you—will you step in?”
-so, of course, andy went through the little garden in the wake of mrs. petch’s dragging footsteps.
-“it’s such a comfort,” said mrs. petch, sitting limply, “to feel we’re settled again. unsettledness is what tries the female nerves worse than anything, as you’ll no doubt find out some day, sir.”
-andy passed his hand across his brow. it was very difficult. but it was now or never. he rushed blindly at the fence with an incoherent—
-“i’m sorry to disappoint you, mrs. petch, but i have—that is to say—your husband’s services will not be required.”
-he mopped his brow, forgetful of all clerical dignity, while mr. and mrs. petch looked at him and said nothing, and he felt as if red-hot worms were crawling about his unprotected person. still they said nothing; and that was what made it so awful. at last a parrot screeched in the stillness.
-“you—you have a relative to—er—fall back upon,” said poor andy.
-mrs. petch took a drink of water and passed a handkerchief across her eyes, then she asked faintly—
-“one named—er—william,” said andy. “i understand——”
-“t-that’s william!” interrupted mrs. petch, pointing to the parrot; then she laughed hysterically and burst into tears. “we get five shillings a week from an old mistress of mine as long as the parrot lives. and for that my poor husband is to lose his place. oh, it’s hard—it’s cruel hard.”
-andy stood up, rather upset, but determined now to go through with it.
-“look here,” he said. “that’s not the only reason. i gather that your husband is addicted to drink.” andy paused and elevated his chin. “a clergyman’s household must be above reproach.”
-“it’s not true,” said mrs. petch eagerly. “he’s always so much livelier than the other men at gaythorpe that when he gets a glass and is a bit livelier still, they think he’s drunk.”
-“give me a chance, sir,” said sam petch, in a low tone, speaking at last.
-and of all the winged words in any language which he could have chosen to shoot straight at andy’s heart, those were most sure to hit the core of it.
-oh, andy’s young soul had been wrung during those two years in london by the sight of thousands who had never had a chance, or who had missed it, or had wilfully wasted it. the ragged horde of them with haggard eyes and dirty soft hands seemed to press about him in the flowery silence of the cottage doorway.
-“all right,” he said, drawing a long breath. “i’ll give you a chance.”
-“you shan’t have cause to regret it, sir,” said sam petch quietly, with a simple manliness that pleased andy.
-all the same, on leaving the cottage, he felt bound to pause at the door in order to deliver a further warning.
-“i must ask you to adhere to the strict truth in all our dealings together,” he remarked austerely.
-“he always does,” said mrs. petch, before her husband could reply.
-“i shall be glad to find it so,” said andy.
-“only,” added sam petch, scratching his head, “it’s so hard to tell the difference. a lie—well, often it isn’t exactly a lie——”
-“what else can it be?” demanded andy.
-“a lie——” repeated sam. “well, it’s often”—he searched the ceiling and derived inspiration from a string of onions—“it’s often the truth the other way out.”
-“the difference between truth and falsehood is always perfectly clear and distinct,” said andy, opening the door. and, really, he was still young enough to think so.
-sam petch accompanied him with a sort of subdued dignity to the thorpes’, and there said farewell.
-“you may rely on me, sir,” he said.
-andy held out his hand impulsively.
-“i think i may, petch.”
-then the churchwarden’s wife came hospitably forward and shook hands with the new vicar. she was as fat as mr. thorpe, but with a different sort of fatness; for while he seemed to be made of something very solid, like wood, she shook and wobbled to such an extent that andy, following her down two steps into a cool room, held his breath involuntarily for fear she should crack.
-“mr. thorpe’s out still,” she said, panting slightly. “but my nephew will take you to wash your hands. wa-alter!”
-a fat youth with round cheeks that swelled up under his eyes came reluctantly through the french window, followed by a friend.
-“they’re holidaying,” said mrs. thorpe. “now you go and have a wash, and then come down and help yourself. i shall be somewhere about when you’ve finished your meal.”
-the fat boy escorted the guest upstairs, and left him in the spotless stuffiness of the spare-bedroom, where everything smelt of camphor and lavender. when andy came down he was almost dismayed to see the banquet which had been prepared for him. cold fowls. a whole ham. a huge trifle. a dish of tarts and cheesecakes. a cream cheese. it was stupendous. and mrs. thorpe’s fowls and cheeses and hams were all bigger, tarts more full of jam, cheesecakes more overflowing with yellow richness, than any in the whole shire.
-mrs. thorpe had never been an uncharitable woman, and in speaking of a mean relative the most scornful thing she could say was, “you could eat one of her cheesecakes in a mouthful. now you know the sort of woman!”
-andy sat down, realising that he was very hungry, and he was rather consoled to find that some one had obviously been lunching before him. he would scarcely have dared to mar the exquisite proportions of the trifle or to disturb the elegant decoration of the fowls. the previous luncher had even spilt fragments on the shining tablecloth.
-he glanced at his watch, and began to eat hastily, finding his time was growing short, and as he was finishing mrs. thorpe came in. she paused at the door, gave a little grunt of astonishment which she changed into a cough, and said heartily—
-“well, i am glad you’ve enjoyed your lunch. mary”—she shouted down a long stone passage—“bring in the coffee.”
-mary—and this was a queer thing—mary also paused in the doorway with a grunt of astonishment which she turned into a cough; but andy did not notice this, and after drinking his coffee he climbed into mr. thorpe’s cart, and was driven to the station, feeling as only a man can feel who gets what he wants from life before he loses his illusions.
-the groom eyed him curiously as he sat looking straight ahead with the light of youth and hopeful candour shining in his eyes—but the groom’s gaze was upon his slack waistcoat, not upon his face.
-and in a corner of the thorpes’ orchard fat walter and his friend were still munching the last remnants of a stolen feast.
-the cart arrived so early at the railway station that andy had nearly half an hour to wait, and as one country person after another came upon the platform, and joined a group, an obvious whisper went round, followed by a furtive inspection of the black-coated stranger.
-andy straightened his shoulders, and unconsciously endeavoured to assume an expression of benevolent dignity. naturally, they were interested in the new vicar of gaythorpe. it would have surprised andy very much at the moment to have met any one who was not interested in that gentleman, and he felt a little glow, in passing one of the groups, to hear a woman say—
-“he’s so slight and thin. you’d wonder where he could put it.”
-“h-hush!” warned the rest.
-andy smiled inwardly and settled his collar. of course they referred to his brain. well, it was rather a wonderful thing to have a living presented to one at twenty-five by a man who had only chanced to hear a single sermon. he thought it all over again. the old friend of his vicar attending morning service—the interview three days later—the astonishing offer of a living that was a rich one, as livings go in these days.
-“of course,” said andy to himself, stepping into the railway carriage, “i was rather trenchant that morning.”
-he glanced out of the window as the train slipped away through the spring afternoon, and congratulated himself on the impression he seemed to have made on his new neighbours. they would be eager to see him again. ridiculous for the london clergy to talk of apathy in the face of such interest as he had seen at millsby station. the parishioners were already discussing the mental qualifications of the new vicar with a keenness that was perfectly delightful.
-and in the next compartment three women bent together, discussing a wonder.
-“was it six cheesecakes that thorpe’s groom said?”
-“and eight tarts! and you know mrs. thorpe’s tarts.”
-“besides ham and fowl and half one of her great trifles.”
-“he must have got some complaint.”
-“but you’d think he’d burst!”
-“that’s just it. that’s just where the wonder comes in. cool and thin as a lath after it all.”
-“i shall go to hear him preach.”
-“so shall i. good as the sword-eating man at bardswell fair. ha-ha!”
-as andy passed through his own hall between his own umbrella-stand and eight-day clock on his way to pay a parochial call, he stepped lightly, less like the proud incumbent of an excellent country living than a schoolboy who endeavours to escape a maiden aunt.
-but it was no use. before he reached the porch a door was opened, and mrs. jebb, the housekeeper, fluttered forth from the back regions. she had previously fluttered in and out of matrimony in rather the same way, and seemed to have brought nothing from it but a wedding ring and a black satin dress trimmed with beads.
-she had, however, brought something hidden as well—a profound conviction that she was fascinating to the gentlemen. her late husband had been wont to remark, during their brief married life, that there was a something in her way of looking out of her eye-corners that was enough to upset an aconite. he meant a rather different thing, but he was not as cultured as mrs. jebb would have liked him to be. still the habit of—as she inwardly phrased it—“eye-cornering” clung to her still.
-andy’s aunt chose her solely because she and sex seemed to have no connection—which is only another proof that nobody knows anything at all about anybody else—and she called herself a lady-cook-housekeeper.
-she “eye-cornered” andy now as she came flitting after him to the front door, but more for the sake of practice than from any ulterior motive.
-“might i ask you—you do pass the grocer’s shop—and we are out of soft sugar?” she had a way of talking in gasps until she got fairly started, when nothing would stop her. “i am so sorry to make mistakes, but i must ask you to try and remember that i never expected to serve even in the—er—higher reaches of domestic—when mr. jebb——”
-“excuse me,” said andy, seizing his hat from the peg, “i am rather pressed for——”
-“and a pound of rice, if you would be so very kind?”
-“delighted. of course,” said andy incoherently, escaping down the steps.
-he had already learned that the reminiscences of life with mr. jebb were so long and varied that it seemed strange a year could have held them all, and of so intimate and pathetic a nature that, once fairly started, it were sheer brutality to cut them short.
-but half-way down the drive a thin voice floated out to him—
-“candles—a pound of candles—if you could?”
-he looked back, and there she stood on the doorstep, eye-cornering andy from afar, with strands of brownish hair and odd bits of cheap white lace fluttering about her.
-“all right,” he shouted back; but to himself he grunted, “silly old kitten. what on earth did aunt dixon get me an old fool like that for?”
-then a sudden waft of lilac scent warmed by sunshine, which is the essence of spring, swept across andy’s freckled nose, and he felt kind to all the world.
-“oh, let her be a kitten! i don’t care. it’s hardish lines on an old woman like that having to go out into service——”
-what a glorious thing it is that nobody can see into the mind of anybody else.
-andy turned into parson’s lane, where the birds sang, and wild flowers bloomed earlier than anywhere else, and lovers walked silent on summer evenings; and he began to whistle from pure happiness. then he remembered his position and hummed the “march of the men of harlech” instead.
-the widow’s house stood at the farther end of the village, and when andy went in at the farm gate he saw preparations going forward for that little tragedy, a country sale. the room into which he was ushered stood carpetless, miraculously swept and garnished, its large table crowded with glass and china that had remained for years hidden in the great storeroom, excepting on rare festivals, when it was brought out with care and put away by the hands of the mistress. a big sideboard filled one wall.
-“i’m afraid,” said andy, “that i’ve come at the wrong time, mrs. simpson. i’ll call again.”
-mrs. simpson, who was a fair woman with a meek brow and an obstinate mouth, motioned him to a seat.
-“everything’s ready,” she said. “we go into the little cottage near you to-night. my husband’s cousins, the thorpes, wanted us to stop with them for a few days, but i felt i couldn’t.”
-“i hope—i hope you’ll be comfortable in your new home,” said andy, who was not glib at consolation.
-“oh, i shall be comfortable enough. my husband’s family have behaved well. they have clubbed together to make me and the children a little allowance—and they’re buying in all the furniture we need.”
-andy rose. he could not find anything to say to a woman years older than himself, who had lost her husband and her home—so, of course, he was a poor sort of parson.
-“is there a garden in your new home? may i send you some flowers?” he asked, going towards the door.
-“thank you; but flowers make dirt in a little house.”
-they were near the big sideboard now, and in his confusion andy caught his elbow in the corner.
-“that is going to be sold, too,” said mrs. simpson. “the thorpes won’t buy that in.”
-“ah—yes,” said andy.
-andy stood there, touched to the heart, struggling for something to say, and only able to stammer out ridiculously at last—
-“perhaps they’ll use mats.”
-but as he went home he began to wonder if he could afford to buy the sideboard and present it to mrs. simpson. no; he had had so many expenses on entering the incumbency that there was practically nothing at the bank. the little fortune which had sufficed for his education and for furnishing the vicarage was now at an end. he literally could not lay hands on a spare five-pound note. a certain sum he had set aside for the new bicycle which was a necessity in a country living, but that was all he had over and above the amount for current expenses——
-his thoughts stopped in that unpleasant way everybody knows, when a conclusion is forced upon an unwilling mind. he turned into the yard and pulled out his old bicycle. it would do. it was not a dignified machine, but it would do.
-he had to see that as he trundled it dismally back again and went into the house to search for a bill of mrs. simpson’s sale among his papers.
-oh, nonsense! he wouldn’t!
-he sat down to tea and glanced at his dining-room furniture, almost ecclesiastical in its chaste simplicity, and heaved a sigh of annoyance. then, taking a large piece of cake in one hand and a newspaper in the other, he endeavoured to immerse himself in the news of the day.
-did mr. and mrs. simpson feel anything like as jolly as he did when he bought his new furniture? if so——
-he turned to the foreign telegrams, and in the midst of china and peru he saw mrs. and an imaginary mr. simpson buying a sideboard for their new home.
-pshaw! he flung down his paper and rang for the little maid.
-“please tell mrs. jebb i shall want lunch at twelve to-morrow. i am going out.”
-then, feeling that it was a deed which accorded more with a freckled nose and an abbreviated christian name than with the dignified attitude of a vicar of position, he began to search the sale catalogue for a mahogany sideboard. he knew that the senior curate would never have done such a thing. he would have given the money to the deserving poor.
-andy felt profoundly thankful that the senior curate would never know as he wrote to countermand his order for a new bicycle.
-after that he went across the field and looked over the hedge into the churchyard, where that mrs. werrit who was his rival for the sideboard chanced to be tending the graves of such werrits as were already taking their rest. people in gaythorpe said that it was the only time a true werrit did rest; and mrs. will was one to the backbone though she had been born a thorpe of millsby.
-it was strange to andy, who had always lived in towns, to find that nearly all the people were more or less related to one another: the thorpes and werrits permeated the social relationships of the countryside in the very same way as one or two great families have done the aristocracy of england. it is a thing that is going, but it survives still in many country places, and it produces a social atmosphere which is rather different from any other.
-“good afternoon,” said andy.
-“oh, good afternoon, mr. deane,” called mrs. will werrit, shrill and piping.
-andy stood idly watching the low sun slant across the graves, and across the woman’s kneeling figure. a cuckoo cried up into the clear, keen air; a little way off a cock was crowing. something that andy felt, and tried to grasp, and couldn’t, was in that quiet afternoon.
-he came back over the fields with his hands deep in his pockets, unconsciously trying to make out what it was, and he felt inclined to write a piece of poetry that afternoon because he was young and alone and in love with life. it is an instinct, under such circumstances, for people to try to catch hold of the glory by putting it into words, just as a child instinctively tries to get hold of the sunshine, and both occupations are equally silly and joyful and engrossing.
-so andy walked in through his study window and sat at his table, looking out over the green and golden day that shimmered up by most exquisite gradations to a sky just before sunset. green of the close-cut lawn—green and gold of the holly hedge—gold and green of the trees full in the sun—gold of the lower sky—translucent green of the cloudless upper reaches. no wonder andy’s growing soul groped and groped after some way of keeping this. no wonder he stretched out baby hands of the soul. and no wonder that he grasped nothing. or so near nothing that this is all he found to say about the werrits near the church porch with mrs. will werrit bending over them. he called it “the others,” and was melancholy—as all happy poets are—
-a moment—and i go where green grass waves, where still-eyed daisies grow on quiet graves, while every afternoon the setting sun falls on the names there, like a benison.”
-andy read it over. he thought it was very beautiful indeed, and began to compose an epitaph for himself when he should lie, like gulielmus, beneath the shadow of the ancient church.
-“a great poet and a great priest. fifty years of untiring service——”
-oh, he was so young and so happy that he enjoyed it very much indeed. and he was so hungry afterwards that he was able to eat mrs. jebb’s pastry.
-the next day about two o’clock he went across the lawn to speak to his gardener about the radishes when it suddenly occurred to him that he had seen nothing of that worthy since half-past ten, though he had been about the place all the morning. evidently young sam petch was beginning his games. this should be put a stop to at once. andy walked over the short grass with a determined step, and was about to start the inquisition when sam, with a pleasant smile, remarked—
-“nice morning i had of it. searching high and low, i was, for bits of cloth to nail up the creepers on the stable wall. and in the end my poor missus gave me the clippings she’d saved for pegging a hearthrug.”
-andy looked hard at his gardener, but it was his own eyes which fell before the radiant honesty shining in sam petch’s face.
-“very good of mrs. petch—i must see if i haven’t an old pair——”
-he broke off, for he had come closer to sam in speaking, and there was somewhere in the air an unmistakable odour of the public-house.
-“your oldest would be too good for that job,” said sam hastily. “my wife would sponge ’em with beer with a drop o’ gin in it and they’d look like new. she does that, time and again, to my old clothes. these i have on she did last night. on’y drawback is, you can’t get the smell of the liquor out all at once. you’ll maybe not have noticed, but i smell a smell of drink about this here jacket yet, though i’ve been out in it since morning.”
-andy looked hard again. again he was met by the clear, blue gaze of honesty and simple candour. he walked away, making no remark.
-but half-way across the grass he paused, shook his head, and went back.
-“i would have you know,” he said, copying as closely as possible the air and manner of the senior curate, “that i am perfectly able to appreciate the difference between the odour of beer applied externally and internally. pray remember that for the future.”
-then, head in air, he marched towards the house, feeling greatly annoyed that a dandelion root should trip him up half-way and spoil the exit.
-sam watched him go into the house, and then bent over the mowing machine in a paroxysm of helpless laughter.
-“golly—he’s a rum ’un—but not so soft as he looks.”
-for young sam petch had many failings, but also the great virtue of being able to enjoy a joke against himself.
-meanwhile, andy made his way to mrs. simpson’s sale, and as he entered the house the auctioneer’s raucous voice could be heard selling the spare-bedroom furniture. every one was upstairs save a few who waited in the dining-room so as to have a good place when the auctioneer came in there.
-mrs. thorpe and mrs. will werrit, for instance, had planted themselves firmly by the table on which mrs. simpson’s cut glass and china were displayed. they were not surprised to see the new vicar, as they supposed he would be wanting things for his house, and mrs. thorpe tore herself away from a fascinating and confidential conversation with her neighbour to say pleasantly glancing at him over her ample chest—
-“i hope you’re comfortable at gaythorpe, mr. deane?”
-that was what mrs. thorpe wanted every one to be in this world—comfortable—and it was certainly what she hoped for in the world to come.
-“i’m more than comfortable,” said andy. “i love the place already. and after london it seems so peaceful—like one big family.”
-mrs. will werrit’s thin lips curled at the corners.
-“are big families peaceful in london?” she said.
-“well, well!” said mrs. thorpe, soothingly. “human nature is human nature. and how does your housekeeper cook, mr. deane?”
-“oh, not very grandly,” said andy, with a laugh.
-“can she make decent pastry?” asked mrs. will werrit.
-“no. but i’m not much of a pastry lover—”
-“oh!” said mrs. thorpe and mrs. will werrit. then they coughed behind their gloves to tone down the ejaculation, and carefully avoided each other’s glance.
-but andy wondered what on earth there was to be so surprised at in the fact that he did not like pastry. he walked to the window and stood there with his hands in his pockets while the two women resumed their interrupted conversation.
-“did you hear?” said mrs. will werrit. “he said he didn’t like pastry. after eating six tarts and eight cheesecakes at a sitting.”
-“well, well. i’m sure i don’t know how that got about. i never told a soul, that i can swear.”
-“nobody,” said mrs. will werrit, snapping her lips together, “can blame a lad for liking tarts and cheesecakes. but what i hate is his lying about it.”
-“come, come! you can’t call it lying,” said mrs. thorpe. “poor lad, he’s ashamed of his appetite, i expect.” she touched a set of glass dishes on the table before her. “i’m bidding for those.”
-“i shan’t go beyond two shillings apiece,” said mrs. thorpe.
-“you don’t know. sales are such queer things. you’d think”—mrs. will lowered her voice still further and glanced at andy’s back—“you’d think sometimes when you get home with a lot of rubbish you’ve no use for, that you’d been possessed.” she paused. “i shall bid for the jelly glasses. i remember thinking i should like them the last time we had supper here before mr. simpson’s illness.”
-“did you, now?” said mrs. thorpe. “well, i thought the same about the glass dishes on that very night. last party they gave before he was taken ill.”
-and yet they were good women, and would do the widow and her children a thousand kindnesses. it is such things that make the dullest-seeming person so tremendously interesting.
-“finger-bowls!” said mrs. will werrit, touching one with a scornful finger. “no wonder he died in debt!”
-“maybe they were a wedding——” began mrs. thorpe, but a great trampling of feet announced that the auctioneer was coming downstairs, and with a hasty “now, stick to your place; don’t let yourself be pushed into a corner,” the two ladies prepared gleefully for the conflict.
-andy grew very tired indeed of waiting, as one thing after another was knocked down to flushed and excited buyers. the auctioneer was a kind-hearted man, and went out of his way to try and make the best price he could of the things, cracking jokes with a bad headache in a stentorian voice, which may not be a picturesque sacrifice upon the altar of charity, but is a very real one, all the same. and he understood his audience so well that he had them all in high good-humour, ready to bid for anything.
-“and now,” he remarked, “we come to the sideboard. you’re not like the greedy boy who said, ‘best first for fear i can’t hold it.’ i kept the best until the last, sure that the spacious residences of those i see around me could hold it, and find it the greatest ornament of their homes.” he put his hand to his head, feeling he was getting muddled. “ladies—it’s not drink—it’s love! i meant to say this exquisite sideboard in solid mahogany, plate-glass back, will be the chief ornament of some home: for to my regret only one of you can possess it.” he paused. how his head ached! “now, what shall i say for this magnificent piece of furniture fit for a ducal palace?”
-“five pounds,” said a red-faced man near the door.
-“five pounds! you offer the paltry sum of five pounds for this magnificent sideboard, which contains a cellaret for the wedding champagne and a cupboard for the christening cake! ladies and gentlemen——”
-he threw himself, as it were, upon their better feelings. and several people who did not want the sideboard began to bid for it as if their happiness in life depended upon their getting it.
-“five pounds ten! six pounds! seven pounds ten!”
-“eight!” said andy, beginning to be awfully excited too.
-“eight ten!” said mrs. will werrit.
-“nine!” said andy.
-“nine ten!” said a new voice—clear, and yet breathless.
-“ten pounds!” said andy, glaring in the direction of the voice.
-“ten ten!” and the crowd opened, leaving a little space around a girl who seemed to bloom suddenly upon the dull background of oldish faces like an evening primrose on the twilight. she was pale with the fear of being late and the excitement of arriving just in time, and she waited with parted lips for andy’s defiant “eleven!”
-the other buyers had all stopped bidding, and her quick “eleven ten!” rang clear across a silence.
-“twelve!” said andy, doggedly fixing his chin into his collar.
-“thirteen!” said andy, looking at his opponent with extreme distaste.
-“thirteen ten!” responded she, catching her breath.
-“fourteen!” shouted andy, who had actually forgotten both the sideboard and mrs. simpson, and only felt that he would sell his shirt rather than let this girl conquer him.
-back and forth rang the words like pistol shots.
-“nineteen ten!” they were both pale now, and trembling with excitement. an electric thrill ran through the room, a strange spirit hovered almost visibly about the commonplace group in the farmhouse parlour, and the auctioneer recognised it easily enough and without surprise, for he had grown used to knowing that men and women touch the borders of the inexplicable at little country sales.
-andy had the ‘twenty-one’ ready on his lips, when, instead of the expected retort, there was a moment’s silence that could be felt.
-“going at twenty!”
-“now, won’t any one give another ten shillings for this exceptionally handsome sideboard?”
-the hammer fell, and with that sound the two young people stared at each other with a sort of odd surprise, as if they had just awakened from a queer dream.
-“that’s miss elizabeth atterton,” whispered mrs. thorpe to andy as he began to push his way out, marvelling at his own folly.
-twenty pounds was a ridiculous sum for him to have paid for the thing in any case, and just now when he was so short of money it was sheer lunacy.
-“miss elizabeth atterton,” he said vaguely—“oh, the young lady who bid against me? i see.”
-then he made arrangements for the delivery of the sideboard, and went home to find a dapper, middle-aged gentleman walking down the drive.
-“how-de-do. just been to call on you. sorry to find you out,” said the dapper gentleman.
-“do come in,” said andy, “and have a cup of tea.”
-“sorry i can’t. but i’ll go back with you for a few minutes, if i may. fact is, i told my daughter to bring the cart round here for me at four. she’s gone off to a sale or something. queer taste. but it’s better than developing nerves. if a female of my household developed nerves i should—er—duck her.”
-“sensible plan,” said andy, wisely shaking his head. “most women are as full of fancies as an egg is full of meat.”
-“just so, just so,” said the dapper gentleman, sitting very straight. and thus they disposed of the mystery and tragedy of womanhood.
-“miss elizabeth atterton is here with the cart, sir,” said the little maid, putting her head in at the door.
-“ha, my daughter’s here early,” said mr. atterton, rising.
-andy accompanied him to the cart, where miss elizabeth atterton stood holding the head of a rather restive pony. the light shone full on her face, showing most clearly the gold in her brown hair and in her eyes and in her exquisite skin, which was of a deep cream with a faint red in the cheeks-not at all like milk and roses, but like some perfect fruit grown in the youth of the world. her features were irregular, the upper lip being rather too long and the nose broad and short, but her forehead and her eyes were very lovely.
-“my daughter elizabeth,” said mr. atterton, as andy took the pony’s head. “oh, by the way, my gloves,” and he bolted back to fetch them.
-“i am afraid i ran the price of your sideboard up,” said elizabeth stiffly.
-“not at all,” said andy, with equal stiffness.
-then mr. atterton came out, and the little cart clattered away through the lilac-scented afternoon.
-nothing could be less like a messenger of fate than a mahogany sideboard with a plate-glass back.
-“here’s mrs. simpson’s little girl for the third time since seven!” said mrs. jebb, coming hastily into the room, with ribbon-strings all aflutter about her, as usual.
-“what does she want?” said andy, buttering his toast.
-“something about a sideboard,” said mrs. jebb, poised, as it were, upon one hand at the table corner. “three times before breakfast about a sideboard! you really must make a stand, or you will never have a minute to call your own. you are too good-natured.”
-and she turned her head slightly, so as to give andy the benefit of that glance which the late mr. jebb found irresistible.
-“nonsense,” said andy. “it’s what i’m paid for;” and he rustled his letters together, carefully avoiding the amorous eye.
-“as your aunt remarked, in engaging my services,” said mrs. jebb, “it is a great thing for you to have a lady in the house. i hope you will let me help you in any way that i can.”
-“thank you. i’ll go round to mrs. simpson’s at once,” said andy, leaving an excellent corner of the buttered toast. “by the way, i should like my potatoes soft in the middle if you don’t mind.”
-“of course. anything you wish, please mention at once,” said mrs. jebb. nothing could subdue her gaiety upon this summer morning, when the birds were singing, and the sun was shining, and hope threw wreaths upon the tombstone of mr. jebb.
-andy glared at her.
-“there is nothing more at present, thank you,” he said, going out; then mrs. jebb went to the window and looked after him with an easy tear in her eye.
-“impetuous,” she murmured, “impetuous, but sweet.”
-could andy but have heard her!
-however, by this time he was already entering the little garden before mrs. simpson’s cottage at the lane end, and all his thoughts were engrossed by the unexpected sight of the famous sideboard standings in sections around the creeper-covered doorway. the widow sat weeping on an empty box near that part containing the cellaret, while a dark, anxious-looking little girl of about six stood pulling her mother’s sleeve, and a big boy of three hammered the little girl with broad, fat fists.
-“stop that,” said andy, seizing the boy from behind; but the culprit turned on him such a jolly, good-natured smile that he was disarmed, and only said lamely—
-“you shouldn’t hit your little sister.”
-“i haven’t got nobody elth to hit,” lisped the cherub, looking up at andy with blue-eyed surprise.
-“you mustn’t mind what he says,” interposed sally anxiously. “boys are born naughty. they can’t help it.”
-andy glanced at mrs. simpson, who still sat with her face hidden, evidently overcome by her feelings, and he braced himself for a scene of tearful gratitude. it was unpleasant, but no doubt inevitable, so the best thing to do was to get it over as soon as possible.
-“h-hem! i see you got the sideboard all right, mrs. simpson. i am afraid it would be rather late last night before you received it, but the carrier——”
-“i’ve been sitting on this box since six, waiting to see you,” interposed mrs. simpson.
-“please don’t! don’t say a word more. i’m only too delighted,” began andy.
-“there’s nothing,” wept mrs. simpson, “to be delighted about. it won’t go into the house. and you can’t keep a sideboard in a garden. oh, i know you meant well, but this makes me realise my comedown more than anything else that has happened. after thinking i’d got it, it still has to go all the same. i dreamt last night that rows of great girls came up one after the other and banged hot-water cans down on the polished top, and when i wasn’t dreaming i was looking out of the window to see if it rained. and mrs. werrit will get my sideboard after all. and the thorpe family will say they were in the right not to buy it in for me. and i shall look like a fool. i hate people that always turn out to be right in the end.”
-it was a very long speech for mrs. simpson, who was usually neither tearful nor garrulous, and andy saw that the woman had been stirred to the foundations of her being.
-“what can i do? if i could do anything?” he said helplessly.
-mrs. simpson dabbed her eyes with a black-bordered handkerchief and tried to pull herself together.
-“i never gave way like this before—not even when my husband died. and you mustn’t think me ungrateful. it was very kind indeed of you to buy the sideboard for me. only, you see how it all is.”
-“well, suppose we get the thing moved away from here at once,” said andy, ruefully surveying the scene.
-mrs. simpson looked at him.
-“there’s one thing—but i don’t suppose you would—one couldn’t expect——”
-“what is it?” demanded andy. “i’d do anything i could, but i don’t see——”
-“well, i was wondering if you could possibly take care of it for me at the vicarage until i did get a house where there was room for it.”
-“why, splendid!” said andy. “the very thing. of course i will.”
-“splendid!” said jimmy, butting at andy’s legs like a young goat.
-“and mother can go across and shine it, can’t she?” said sally gravely. “she doesn’t never let anybody shine it but herself.”
-“of course she can,” said andy, “and you too. i have heaps of empty rooms.”
-“but it must be in a room with a fire,” said mrs. simpson, beginning to weep again. “it would soon look different if it was put away in an unoccupied room.”
-“it’s not a piano,” smiled andy. “oh, it’ll be all right in the drawing-room. that isn’t furnished yet you know.”
-“it ought to be in a room with a fire,” persisted mrs. simpson, setting her lips.
-“but my study is not large enough, and the dining-room is fully furnished. i really could not——”
-“of course. i said not from very first. i couldn’t expect it,” said mrs. simpson, rising with resigned sadness. “shall i let mrs. will werrit know, or will you?”
-“but, mrs. simpson, i assure you it’ll be perfectly all right,” urged andy.
-“i’m sure you think so, mr. deane, and i’m most grateful to you for what you’ve done. i’ll drop a line to mrs. will werrit at once.”
-she turned to go into the cottage and jimmy set up a piercing yell, the tired little girl whimpered; there were loose straw and paper blowing desolately about the garden. it seemed most melancholy to andy, this everyday trouble of a broken-up home. the dreariness of it pierced through the young hope and glamour that surrounded him, and for one dull moment he heard the hopeless chant which underlies all life: “is it worth while? is it worth while?”
-as andy stood there, staring blankly at the dust and straw, the tasteful appearance of his dining-room seemed quite suddenly to be a very small thing—and he had thought it so tremendously important.
-“we will put your sideboard into the dining-room, then, until we find a better place for it,” he said.
-“well, that is good of you—though it’s an ornament to any room,” said mrs. simpson, brightening at once. “we must make some arrangement by which it becomes your property altogether if i die first,” she added, in a burst of real gratitude.
-“no,” said andy, driven to asserting himself at last by the idea of being saddled with the sideboard for life. “no. to that i will never agree.” he paused. “but there’s no need to talk about dying at present.”
-mrs. simpson dried her eyes, folded her hands, and spoke with almost her wonted tranquillity.
-“you never know. anybody would have taken a lease of mr. simpson’s life.”
-“i am sorry i never knew your husband,” said andy, resuming his professional manner.
-“well,” said mrs. simpson, “i don’t suppose you’d have seen much of him if he’d been here. he didn’t like the clergy. not that he had anything against them, but he didn’t like them.” she paused, then, wishful to avoid offence, she added: “it was just a matter of taste. he never could eat oysters either, and they’re a delicacy, as everybody knows.”
-“of course,” said andy solemnly, his face grave but his heart light with laughter, and the dolorous chanting of the underworld forgotten.
-life was a splendid thing—like the spring morning—and something glorious must be round the corner.
-mrs. stamford, the wife of the squire of the parish, stood before the mantelpiece awaiting the arrival of the new vicar. she was a tall, spare woman, and her garments always seemed to cling to her, not because they couldn’t come off, but because they dared not. even in repose, mrs. stamford always looked as if she had that moment finished doing something energetic, or were just about to start again.
-“pleased to see you, mr. deane,” she said, when andy, very flat and shining about the head, was ushered in. “only got back a day or two since, or we should have looked you up before. have you got settled down? how d’you like gaythorpe?”
-she fired these remarks with such directness that andy could not help feeling as if some one had thrown something at him.
-“i like it immensely.” then, after a moment’s pause, and with a good deal of effort, “i am more than grateful to you and mr. stamford——”
-“oh, that’s all right; we’ll take that as read,” interrupted mrs. stamford with a short laugh so exactly like that of william the parrot that andy could not help having a bewildered feeling that she would next begin to draw corks as well. however, she looked towards the door behind her guest instead, and remarked in a voice which she kept for that one topic—
-“here is my son, dick.”
-a tall young fellow, very like his mother, but somehow indefinably weaker, came forward and shook hands without effusion.
-“got settled down yet?”
-“quite, thank you.”
-“you’ll find it dullish, i expect.”
-“no—rather exciting, so far.”
-the young men took each other’s measure, and then dick stamford said in a different tone—
-“well, come in and have a game of billiards with me when you’ve nothing better to do.”
-“thanks, i shall be very pleased,” said andy.
-it was queer how anxiously mrs. stamford had looked from one to the other during the little conversation, and more odd still that this tough, unemotional woman should be unable to keep back a long sigh of relief when it was over.
-“have a turn in the garden until the others turn up?” said dick, after a pause.
-so the two young men went out, and a moment later mr. stamford came into the room, limping slightly, and walking with a stick. as he closed the door he looked across anxiously at his wife.
-“i think it will be a success. he has taken mr. deane round the garden.”
-“i wonder, ellen, if we ought not to have let him remain in the guards. he showed no tendency to drink when he was with his regiment, so far as i know.”
-mrs. stamford’s mouth set into those firm lines her husband knew so well.
-“it was his duty to come home and look after things when your accident made you unable to do so. he will be master here. he must learn how to manage the estate.”
-mr. stamford smiled at his wife, and it could be seen then whence dick’s weakness came.
-“you wanted him home, ellen, and so did i.”
-“i should never have suggested it if i had not thought it the right thing,” said mrs. stamford, flushing a little.
-“of course not—of course not,” agreed her husband. “young companionship is all he needs, and i think mr. deane will supply that deficiency. it was his open look and pleasant, manly tone that struck me when i first heard him preach. ‘just the sort of young fellow to make a nice companion for dick,’ i said to myself.” he rubbed his hands together as he repeated this little story for the hundredth time, after the manner of people who live deep in the country and have little to talk about. “i went straight to my cousin after the service and asked if the lad wouldn’t do for us.”
-“your cousin thought it an unsuitable appointment. he wanted you to take the senior curate,” said mrs. stamford, “and in some ways he was quite right. of course this boy can’t preach.”
-“no.” mr. stamford chuckled. “i believe, though, he thinks he got the living on account of that sermon about saul.”
-“oh, well, so long as he doesn’t preach more than half an hour i don’t care what he says.”
-they were both smiling as the two young men came in through the glass door, and then luncheon was announced.
-“mrs. atterton and elizabeth can’t be coming,” said mrs. stamford, glancing at the clock. “anyhow, we won’t wait any longer.”
-so they went across the spacious old hall into a dining-room where everything was so harmonious and so mellowed by long companionship, that you noticed the various objects in it at first no more than you do, at first sight, the details of any beautiful thing which has grown and not been made. mr. stamford himself was no more conscious of his treasure-house than he was of the nose upon his face. he was, of course, in some hidden place, proud of both. the nose was the best kind of nose, and the house was the best kind of house, and it would have been incongruous if a stamford of gaythorpe manor had been provided with a nose or a house that was less than the best; but he felt no more inclination to draw his visitor’s attention to his surroundings than to his nose.
-“cold beef, please,” said andy, in answer to the butler’s discreet inquiries; and when the man returned with quite a mountain of thins slices on the plate he felt too much of a stranger to offer any remonstrance.
-mrs. stamford gave the man an imperceptible nod of approval, for it had already penetrated to her ears—as such things do penetrate in country places—that the new vicar had an enormous appetite.
-but andy wrestled with the cold beef, all unheeding, for it takes a lifetime to learn—and some happy ones never learn—how different are people’s thoughts of us from what we imagine they must be—not worse, necessarily, or better, but so extraordinarily different.
-“elizabeth at last. dick!” said his mother.
-the young man left his luncheon and went, with more alertness than andy had supposed him capable of, to welcome the belated guest. a minute later he returned with her, and mr. and mrs. stamford both glanced with pleased eyes at the tall, gallant-looking couple who came down the long room together. evidently, felt andy, there was something in the air, though he saw, when elizabeth sat down, that she had no engagement ring on her finger.
-“i’m so sorry to be late,��� she said, “but at the last moment mamma’s back gave way.”
-“oh, how unfortunate; but i quite understand,” responded mrs. stamford, more nearly gushing than andy could have believed possible.
-“i hoped mrs. atterton’s back had been better of late,” said mr. stamford.
-then mrs. stamford added, to draw the stranger into the conversation, “poor mrs. atterton is troubled with a weak back, mr. deane.”
-thus was andy introduced to that feature of gaythorpe society—mrs. atterton’s back. he looked across at elizabeth and remembered vividly his first sight of her, shining out, as it were, between the drab, middle-aged crowd, and his secret resentment against her was increased. she obviously had everything; it must have been simply a childish desire to ‘best’ him which had led her to bid against him until he was obliged to pay some pounds more than he need have done.
-“and how,” said elizabeth, leaning towards him, “do you like gaythorpe?”
-the question did not surprise him, because it would have been much more unusual at this period if any one had failed to ask it; but what did astonish him was the change in elizabeth’s manner from the extreme stiffness of their last parting to an eager kindness that made andy say to himself, with some pleasant feeling of man-of-the-worldness, that she was evidently the sort who would flirt with a broomstick if nothing else were available. he had known that kind in london town. and he winked to himself astutely over the fruit-tart as he responded to her overtures with some reserve.
-after luncheon they all went into the garden, and just for a moment, while dick fetched the key of one of the fruit-houses, and mrs. stamford was settling her husband in his long chair, andy and the young lady were alone together on a broad grass walk beside a hedge of lilacs. there was a border of flowering plants on the other side just coming into bloom, and at the end you could see a little figure of love without an arm under a copper beech. somewhere in the distance a pigeon was cooing. the full sun lay very calm and bright and even over the old stable tower and the long house, and the grass path before them. the stable clock chimed a quarter to three. it all seemed the very embodiment of age-long prosperity and pleasant ease.
-andy felt at peace with all the world. she could flirt with him if she liked—he didn’t care.
-“so you’re fond of walking?” he said indulgently, continuing a topic started at luncheon.
-“yes,” she said, staring at the grass path. then she put out a hand, not touching him, only nearly, and the colour in her cheeks deepened until they were like some exquisite fruit that a young sun had kissed in orchards that belonged to the youth of the world. but elizabeth was always greatly annoyed at her trick of blushing, and compared herself bitterly to a beetroot.
-“you were going to say!” remarked andy.
-“oh, there’s mr. stamford coming. i must tell you. i’ve been to see mrs. simpson,” said elizabeth.
-“well?” said andy, taken aback.
-“you wanted it for her. and i bid against you until you had to pay pounds more than you need have done. and you must have had so many expenses getting into your house. and it was all so idiotic of me. my sister always says i’m an idiot, and i am. i only stopped when i did because i hadn’t another penny until next july.”
-“why”—andy stood still, facing her, and the most wonderful scent from all the sun-warmed lilacs blew across them—enveloped them—“why—you wanted it for mrs. simpson too?”
-“you surely couldn’t think,” said elizabeth, “that i wanted that beast for myself!”
-“you thought i did,” muttered andy.
-“oh—a man—that’s different,” said miss elizabeth.
-“my furniture is all sheraton—modern, of course, but good in style,” said andy loftily. then he saw elizabeth’s hair against the lilacs, all brown and gold, and something made him forget he was the new vicar—he was a boy and she a girl, with a joke between them. “i say,” he chuckled, “you know it wouldn’t go into her house. she’s made me put her sideboard into my dining-room.”
-ha-ha-ha! they laughed together for the first time, and the sound mingled with the rustling of young leaves and the love-song of a thrush, as much a part of the sweetness of nature in springtime as the rest.
-then dick stamford came towards them with his mother, and elizabeth slipped her arm through that of the elder woman with her little air of reposeful tenderness which sat almost oddly on a young girl. she had that sort of kindness in her ways which most girls only learn from their first baby, and her voice held deep notes which caught the heart every now and then, breaking her light chatter like a stone in a narrow stream.
-“you’ll stay tea, elizabeth, and then dick shall take you home,” said mrs. stamford.
-“i’m awfully sorry, but i must have the cart round in half an hour. mamma’s back——” apologised elizabeth.
-so mamma’s back was not only a convenience to herself, personally.
-then andy said good-bye, and mrs. stamford, leaving dick and elizabeth alone, strolled down the drive with her other guest.
-“you will find gaythorpe very quiet,” said mrs. stamford at the gate, obviously thinking of something else, and yet lingering.
-andy glanced back at it all, and a sudden vivid picture of the tumult of things warring beyond this quiet place struck across his mind.
-“this seems——” he sought a way to say it, but none came. “this does seem quiet.” he tried again. “seems as if it had been lived in easily for ages.”
-“um. well, people have no leisure to live now; they’ve only time to make a living,” said mrs. stamford absently. then she said what she had been meaning to say all down the drive. “my son is a great deal alone here in the evenings. more alone than is good for him. i shall be grateful if you will come in when you can and have a game of billiards. you play, don’t you?”
-“oh yes—we had a couple of tables at the men’s institute in my last parish. i shall be very pleased to come,” said andy.
-so he went away down the road, feeling that pleasant as the world had been that morning early, it was immensely more delightful now.
-two urchins watched him go up the road, then squashed disreputable hats down on their brows and began to imitate his professional stride which he had unconsciously copied on first arrival in london from the senior curate.
-“parson andy walks like this! parson andy walks like this!” they chanted together under their breath, stepping down the road behind him.
-for by this abbreviation was the reverend andrew deane already known to his parishioners. it was inevitable, of course, but as yet he remained in blissful ignorance of the fact, and only the night before had secretly burned a satin tie-case on which a tactless cousin had embroidered ‘andy.’
-as he went across the churchyard, taking the short-cut home, he glanced once more at the gravestone of gulielmus; and having glanced, he stood a moment, thinking.
-it was most probable that this dead brother of his had been entertained by a stamford of gaythorpe manor, just as he had been. will ford—who was now gulielmus—had no doubt walked back by the very path beside which his body now lay sleeping.
-what had he felt? why had he never married? how had life gone with him?
-andy was standing very still in the warm quiet of the spring afternoon when suddenly a sense of jolly-good-fellowship and kindness seemed to fill his spirit—as if some comrade had passed that way and shouted a merry greeting. there was nothing strange or abnormal about it, either then or in the ineffaceable after-remembrance of it.
-only—andy had felt on his first journey to gaythorpe as if, across the centuries, he greeted a brother; now he felt as if, across the centuries, a brother greeted him.
-andy sat in his study, endeavouring to prepare a sunday-morning sermon that should justify the high opinion of his preaching which had led mr. stamford to present him to the living of gaythorpe.
-a light rain fell outside and a scent of the honeysuckle—it being now june—came through the open window; but andy was not yet aware that every wayside flower preaches the finest sermon man can preach to man, and says, more convincingly than any parson ever could, ‘god so loved the world.’
-the new vicar, therefore, had taken in turn such topics as the origin of evil and the reason for free will, handling them with a courage perfectly remarkable when you consider how the saints of all ages have hesitated afraid before them. this morning, however, having settled these questions, he cast about him for something else which should be at once striking and profound, and it was some time before he noticed a gradually increasing noise in the other part of the house.
-even when he did become aware of it he brushed it aside from his mind and went peacefully on, reconciling the doctrine of evolution with the second chapter of genesis. at last, however, the study door was burst open in a manner that even a poet could not ignore, and mrs. jebb paused, inarticulate with some unknown emotion, upon the threshold.
-“not the boiler burst again?” exclaimed andy, who had already learned some of the trials of a housekeeper.
-mrs. jebb swallowed, blinked, and demanded—
-“did you give that—female—permission to clean my furniture?”
-it was a long way from the dawn of the world to mrs. simpson’s sideboard, and for the moment andy felt nonplussed; then he remembered.
-“oh, she’s turned up to polish it, poor woman, has she?” he said, with an air of relief. “i told her she could. it’s all right.”
-mrs. jebb fluttered forward, wavering a little like a butterfly that has imbibed too much nectar, and she alighted with one trembling hand upon the writing-table edge.
-“it is not all right,” she said. “it is all very, very wrong, mr. deane. poor, i am, reduced to domestic service, i may be—but i will retire to the workhouse before i will allow a female from outside to polish furniture in this house while i remain your lady-cook-housekeeper.”
-“really, mrs. jebb—i’m sure i never——” began andy.
-“what will the parish say?” went on mrs. jebb, growing still more agitated as she saw andy’s concerned face. “what will the world say? naturally that i’m not fit to be your housekeeper, if mrs. simpson has to come with dusters and furniture polish and an—an infant, to clean the vicar’s dining-room sideboard.”
-a dragging sound as of something being pulled reluctantly along, a bump, a yell, and mrs. simpson’s voice in the rear, shrill with motherly indignation.
-“how dare you call this dear child names?” she cried, replying to the limitless opprobrium which lay behind the word ‘infant’ rather than to the term itself.
-“come, come,” said andy, rising. “he is an infant all right, aren’t you, jimmy? not twenty-one yet, ha-ha! there is nothing unpleasant in the word ‘infant.’”
-he smiled ingratiatingly from one angry face to the other, trying to carry it off easily, but in truth as frightened as a decent young man always is when he stands between two quarrelling women.
-“there’s a way,” replied mrs. simpson slowly, glaring with her prominent light-blue eyes at mrs. jebb—“there’s a way of saying ‘woman’ that implies things i wouldn’t sully my lips by uttering. and yet ‘woman’ isn’t a bad word.”
-“it all comes to this,” panted mrs. jebb. “is mrs. simpson to walk in without a with-your-leave or a by-your-leave and start polishing your sideboard, or is she not?”
-“it’s her sideboard,” said andy weakly. “but i’m sure you’ll look after it all right, if mrs. simpson doesn’t mind.”
-“why should she mind? and if it’s hers, why doesn’t she take it away? dozens of times i’ve said that the hideous thing completely ruins your dining-room, and i’m sure——”
-“now,” interposed mrs. simpson, who grew, quiet as her opponent grew noisy, “now i shall say what i’d meant to keep to myself, because mrs. jebb has her living to earn, poor thing, and i wouldn’t do her an injury. that sideboard in its present state, mr. deane, is a disgrace. so is your beautiful table. so is all the furniture.”
-“it only wants dusting. we’ve not had time this morning,” quavered mrs. jebb, retreating before this onslaught.
-“it wants what you’ll never give it,” said mrs. simpson, hauling jimmy away, and looking back for a last shot. “it wants elbow-grease.”
-“look here,” said andy, pulling himself together. “i—er—really—discord in a clergyman’s house is what i greatly dislike. mrs. jebb, i told mrs. simpson she could come and clean her sideboard. mrs. simpson, you must put yourself in mrs. jebb’s place and consider if your feelings might not have been hurt under similar circumstances. this really won’t do.”
-he threw his head back, settled his chin in his collar, and looked as nearly like the senior curate before a refractory bible class as nature permitted.
-mrs. simpson paused.
-“i came peacefully enough,” she said, “and i was going to tell mrs. jebb, only she went off at such a tangent, that i did ring five times. but i couldn’t make any one hear, so i walked into the hall. then i saw the dining-room door open, and nobody there, so i went in there and started polishing. i’ll own it may have looked funny, but she shouldn’t have spoken as she did.”
-“won’t. hate her. she’s got yeller teef like old towzer.”
-“hush, hush,” said mrs. simpson, changing all in a minute from the fighting woman to the careful mother. “jimmy mustn’t talk like that. jimmy must beg the lady’s pardon.”
-“won’t,” said that gentleman truculently.
-“jimmy must do as he’s told,” said mrs. simpson, then, grasping the pudgy little hand firmly, she held it out to the housekeeper.
-“i’m sure i’ve no wish——” began mrs. jebb, with trembling stateliness, when andy cast aside the mantle of the senior curate, grabbed mrs. jebb’s hand in his own, and pushed the bony fingers of his lady-cook-housekeeper towards jimmy.
-“i say,” he exclaimed boyishly, “you can’t refuse to shake hands with a little chap like that!”
-mrs. jebb felt the touch of the firm, young fingers on her wrist, weakened, advanced a step, finally ‘eye-cornered’ andy with a tremulous smile and waggled once the fat hand of master simpson.
-“i’m sure,” she said, “i’ve no wish to be un-neighbourly, mrs. simpson. it was just seeing you there on your knees rubbing the sideboard front when i never expected to see anything but the cat or mr. deane. i ought to be able to enter into a widow’s feelings if anybody ever could. with mr. jebb i was not merely a wife, i was an obsession.”
-“with all my wordly goods i thee endow, of course,” quoted mrs. simpson vaguely, in whose mind the words possession and obsession had somehow run together and produced a blurred impression of mrs. jebb’s meaning. but she saw andy was anxious for peace, and gratitude for the sideboard gradually overcoming her anger, she wished to do her part.
-that settled it; for jimmy was so fond of eating that he would have accompanied the sweep—his idea of the embodiment of evil—to search for biscuits with pink sugar on them.
-so the baize door of the study banged in the rear of an amicable trio while andy sat down and mopped his brow. it was difficult to catch evolution by the tail after that—he seemed to have gone so far from it. but he knitted his brow, shook his fountain-pen, and started on the quest.
-“i trust,” said mrs. atterton, “that william is in good health. he looks”—she paused— “he looks far from well, emma.”
-“moulting, ’m,” said mrs. petch. “that’s all.”
-“but this is not the season for moulting,” objected elizabeth.
-“ah,” said mrs. petch, with an easy smile, “but william always was different to other birds. scores and hundreds of times i’ve heard my poor mistress say so.”
-“well, it was a remark my poor aunt often made,” said mrs. atterton, eyeing the dejected attitude and naked chest of the parrot doubtfully.
-“i’m sure you give him every attention. you would, of course, when your annuity dies with him. my poor aunt no doubt felt that.” she paused again, and added in answer to mrs. petch’s look of wounded innocence, “of course, you would in any case. i do not forget what a devoted maid you were to poor aunt arabella.”
-“she trusted me with william,” said mrs. petch simply, applying the corner of her apron to her eye.
-“i know. i was not reflecting on you in any way, of course, emma,” said mrs. atterton kindly. “only, i promised to see after william sometimes, and i like to do it. poor william! of course, one can’t expect him to live for ever.”
-“parrots sometimes live to be a hundred,” said mrs. petch quickly. “sam read that in the paper only the other day, ’m.”
-“well, we’ll hope william may,” said mrs. atterton comfortably. “i never liked him, even in his best days, but i don’t want him to die.”
-there was a reposeful kindness about mrs. atterton that seemed exactly like that of her daughter elizabeth—and yet, in its essence it was altogether different.
-“oh, mamma, here is mr. deane. mr. deane, you haven’t met my mother?” said elizabeth, who was, for some foolish and obscure reason, a little nervous.
-“no—er—i am very glad—that is—i am sorry—at least, i mean to say i am delighted to meet you now,” said andy, who, for some equally foolish and obscure reason, was nervous too.
-mrs. atterton beamed placidly on him.
-“sorry i did not see you when you called, mr. deane, but it was one of my bad days. my back——” she paused, as if that explained all, and andy filled in the blank with a sympathetic—
-“of course. i’m afraid you are a great sufferer.”
-“oh,” said mrs. atterton pleasantly, “it is not that i have any great pain, but i collapse. don’t i, elizabeth?”
-“mamma is so patient,” said elizabeth, with loving sincerity. “she hates to make us feel——”
-“come, come, come! bring that cup of tea! bring that cup of tea!” interrupted william, croaking hideously.
-“poor aunt arabella! couldn’t you fancy you heard her voice from the grave?” murmured mrs. atterton, shedding an easy tear.
-“william belonged to my great-aunt, mr. deane,” explained elizabeth.
-then it swept over andy again with renewed force, how everybody here was connected in some way with everybody else. he had always known in a general way, of course, as we all do, that if you slip on a banana skin and use expressions better left unemployed you may influence some one for evil in central china—but he had never before come near enough to the principle to be able to see the working of it with the naked eye.
-“i thought when i first came to gaythorpe that william was a person,” said andy, noticing the pink nails of elizabeth’s ungloved hand upon the carriage door.
-“well, poor aunt arabella always did say he had an immortal soul—and you never know,” said mrs. atterton, willing to give everything created the benefit of the doubt.
-then the fat coachman, who was tired of waiting, made one of his fat charges stamp idly on the ground in a perfunctory manner, and mrs. atterton said the horses were growing restive and it was time to go.
-“so glad we are to see you on thursday evening,” she said, over her shoulder. “good-bye, mr. deane. good afternoon, emma. let me know how william is, please.”
-the farewells of andy and elizabeth were somehow merged in the salutations of mrs. atterton, and the responses of mrs. petch, but they looked at each other just as the carriage went off with a direct glance which held more than either of them could yet understand of young hope and joy and question.
-“what was it?” that look said. they didn’t know—they didn’t know—only something glorious!
-andy stood staring after the carriage until at last mrs. petch’s voice from behind penetrated his understanding.
-“cars are all very well,” she said, “but there is a something about a carriage and pair—however, they own motor-cars—it isn’t that.”
-andy understood that the wealth and standing of the atterton family were being defended, and replied at once—
-“of course. all the same, i can’t understand when you have a limousine——”
-“mrs. atterton’s back won’t stand motor-cars,” said mrs. petch gravely, but if so perfectly behaved a gardener’s wife could have ever winked, andy would have said she winked then. however, he felt the light must have dazzled his eyes.
-“quite so,” he said. “it is a great affliction.”
-“yes, sir. it is, indeed,” responded mrs. petch at once. “everything in life, as you may say, and yet a back to spoil it all.”
-“there’s always—er—something,” said andy, feeling he ought to improve the occasion.
-“there is, indeed,” sighed mrs. petch, with a sort of serious cheerfulness. “no rose without a thorn in this world, sir, and we can’t expect any different. we should never want to go to another if we’d everything we wanted here.”
-“nice, right-thinking woman!” reflected andy, as he went up the road.
-he was on his way to visit a woman called old mrs. werrit, an obscure connection of the werrit family who had drifted near them again in her extreme old age, and andy had been told that day that she was dying. but he was ready enough to help any old person to die, just as he was ready to help any young one to live, and he went up some crooked stairs to the bedroom, full of confidence in himself and his office.
-for some time the old woman said nothing in response to his remarks, and allowed a daughter of mrs. will werrit’s to answer for her. maggie werrit felt rather glad that her aged relative was not in a talkative mood because she lacked that polish which the best boarding-school in bardwell had imparted to the latest generation of the family, and the new vicar would look down on them all if he heard one of them talk about ‘ankerchers.’
-“i hope you don’t suffer much?” said andy, sitting down beside the bed.
-then mrs. werrit opened her eyes, and he was surprised to find how full of life they were in that sunken, dull old face.
-“i did suffer,” she said, “but that’s over now,” and she shut her eyes again.
-andy took out his little book and prepared to read, when mrs. werrit looked at him once more.
-“the others are all gone first,” she said. “every one of us six but me.”
-“i’m sorry,” said andy, very gently.
-“you needn’t be,” said old mrs. werrit. “it doesn’t matter now.” she paused, and added after a moment, “you’ll find out—all that matters at the very end—is how near you’ve gotten to god in your life.”
-then she closed her eyes again, and andy shut his little book and put it in his pocket without a word, and crept reverently down the crooked stairs as if he were leaving the presence of some one very great.
-when he was far down the village street, and too far from the little house to go back again, he realised that, for the first time in his professional career, he had failed in his ministration to the aged poor. he fingered his little book, feeling inclined to go back again, and all the way home something within him smarted and burned underneath his wandering thoughts.
-youth knows nothing more unpleasant than those secret growing pains of the soul of which it does not understand the meaning.
-perhaps it was these—or it might have been the dull evening after a day of clouds and storms—anyway, andy felt driven forth after supper to tramp restlessly up and down the garden path by the churchyard hedge. had he chosen the right life? was he fitted for a country parson?
-new and perplexing doubts of himself began to assail him for the first time as he tramped up and down, casting a glance at brother gulielmus every now and then over the churchyard hedge.
-had he tramped up and down here too? for the garden dated back to that time, though the house was modern. had he wondered and felt restless too?
-but gradually the regular motion quieted andy’s nerves, and he began to notice how the crimson rambler had grown, and to feel the freshness of the dew-laden air.
-then, quite suddenly, for no reason at all, he remembered with wonderful vividness how elizabeth’s hand had looked upon the door of the carriage. his mental picture of her face was indistinct, but her hand seemed painted on the summer darkness, and he felt an intense longing to take it in his own.
-that was all he wanted—so exquisite a thing is the first beginning of young love.
-“oh, just as you like. i’ve told you so before,” said andy.
-“but i like to consult your tastes,” said mrs. jebb pathetically.
-“eggs and bacon, then,” said andy.
-“it’s damp under foot,” said mrs. jebb. then something in the woman’s voice and look as she tried to keep him there for company struck home to andy’s perceptions, and he suddenly realised that she might be dull and lonely too.
-“i say—it’s awfully good of you to bother about my tastes like that. you mustn’t think i don’t appreciate it,” he said eagerly. “those gooseberry dumplings we’ve been having are fine.”
-“now mr. jebb couldn’t assimilate boiled paste at any price,” began mrs. jebb, delighted.
-so andy listened to her for quarter of an hour and then went back to the path by the churchyard hedge and that dream which mrs. jebb had interrupted.
-or perhaps it was scarcely a dream as yet—only the indescribably delicate stuff of which dreams are made.
-gradually, however, the quietness of all about andy seemed to fit in with his misty memories of elizabeth. tenderness. sweetness. repose. why—those meant elizabeth—they were but other names for her.
-words gathered in his mind, singing of themselves about her sweetness. the nightingale in a little wood half a mile away was no more singing to his mate than andy there, beneath the churchyard hedge.
-only, the nightingale’s song was lovely for every one, and andy’s could never be lovely for any one but elizabeth.
-“let us watch the quiet village till each little casement glows for there’s something in the sight, love, that is like a heart’s repose.
-let us watch the starlight glimmer through the windless evening air, for there’s something in your eyes, love, that is like a star at prayer.
-let us watch——”
-“beg pardon, sir. didn’t see you. churchyard’s chortesh way home for me,” said sam petch, blundering through the gate in the hedge. “beautiful night, sir.”
-sam was not uproariously drunk, but he was affably so, and took no notice of andy’s frigid—
-“i will speak with you in the morning, petch. go home at once.”
-“sho i will, sir. sho i will,” said sam heartily. “an’thing to oblige. good-night, sir.” he paused, then looked back and said pleasantly, “had a bit o’ bad luck on my way home, sir. wife sent me for sixpennoth o’ brandy for her spasms, and i’ve broke the bottle. i suppose you haven’t a drop you could——”
-“no,” said andy sternly. “go home.”
-“of course, sir. of course. no offence taken and none meant,” said sam, moving off. he paused again and added solemnly, “it’s a great relief to me, after the way our poor late vicar went on, to find you don’t keep no spirits in the house, sir. a great relief it is. good-night.”
-when andy went into the garden next morning he buckled on tight the mantle of the senior curate and advanced across the grass to where sam petch was bending over a flower-bed with an air of decent contrition. no skulking behind bushes for him—he prodded dismally for all the world to see.
-andy, in spite of himself, felt slightly mollified, but he had made up his mind to say a certain thing, and he said it.
-“this state of things cannot continue. you bring discredit on my profession, my parish, and myself.”
-there—that was it—just as the senior curate would have put it; andy took hold of his coat lapel, coughed, and waited—just as the senior curate would have done.
-it is one of those facts about human nature which cannot be explained, that while andy disliked the senior curate exceedingly, and had groaned under his oppressive rule, he strove to imitate that gentleman. perhaps he unconsciously wanted people to be as much impressed by him as he had been by the senior curate.
-anyway, sam petch appeared to be greatly impressed by the dignified rebuke.
-“i own i’d had a drop too much,” he said repentantly. “but bill shaw drank five times what i did and never turned a hair. it shows how unfair things is, sir.”
-“if a little makes you drunk you must refrain from that little,” said andy, severely.
-“i know,” acknowledged sam. “but it is hard when a man can’t take his mug o’ beer with the rest without getting what you might call jolly; isn’t it, sir?”
-“after all—what is a mug of beer?” argued andy. “i’m not a total abstainer myself, but i will become one if you will.”
-sam’s potations of the previous night still hung about him sufficiently to make him very irritable, and he suddenly lost control of his temper.
-“it’s all very well talking like that,” he said. “you, who don’t care whether you ever have another drink or not—what do you know about it? give up the thing you like best and then i’ll do the same.”
-andy looked at the man, and the mantle of the senior curate was blown away in the blast of truth that swept across him. he even forgot to notice the disrespectfulness of sam’s manner as that wind burst open a closed chamber in his mind and he saw farther than he had ever done before.
-“all right,” he said simply. “i like”—he sought for his preference—“i like butter best of anything—always did, as a little kid—i’ll give up that.”
-“i’ll give up beer, then,” agreed sam petch; but he made certain mental reservations of which andy, naturally, could know nothing. every man had a right to beer on a saturday night, of course; that was the privilege of a british working-man which was above and beyond all other agreements.
-then andy went back into the house with a complete sense of failure dogging his footsteps. it was a ridiculous and undignified thing to do, to make a compact of that nature with a drunken gardener. he ought to have insisted in a dignified manner upon instant reform or instant dismissal.
-“mrs. jebb,” he said, looking in at the kitchen door, “please do not send butter into the room with my meals. i shall not be taking any for some time.”
-“what? no butter?” said mrs. jebb. “are you bilious? well, i know towards the last mr. jebb never could——”
-“and i am dining out to-night,” continued andy, who was particularly disinclined, just then, for mr. jebb.
-“how convenient! i mean, how strange!” said mrs. jebb. “i was just about to ask if you would have any objection to my going over to millsby hall this evening.”
-“why—are you invited too?” said andy, very much astonished. “i mean, there’s no reason why you should not be dining with the attertons, only i hadn’t heard——”
-“once a lady always a lady, of course,” replied mrs. jebb, smoothing her lace cravat. “but the conventions of life are such that, as lady-cook-housekeeper, i neither am, nor expect to be, bidden to mrs. atterton’s table. i was referring to the long night.”
-she gave to the two last words such a melancholy emphasis that andy had a vague idea, for the moment, that she was in some new way referring to the demise of mr. jebb.
-“the long night?” he echoed stupidly.
-“i mean the final evening of the parish dancing class,” said mrs. jebb, “which mr. and miss fanny kirke have pressed me to attend.”
-“of course,” said andy. “i’d forgotten. it is to be held at millsby hall, of course, so that mrs. atterton may see the final practice of the country dances for the garden fête next week.”
-“mr. and miss kirke told me in confidence,” added mrs. jebb, with an indescribable air of being ‘in the know,’ “that mrs. atterton’s back would not permit of her coming to the village schoolroom.”
-“ah,” said andy, to whom even the back of the beloved’s mamma was sacred. “well, go, by all means, mrs. jebb. i expect i shall see you dancing like a girl.”
-“my girlhood’s days are over,” sighed mrs. jebb. “but”—she cheered up—“married ladies are very popular in ballrooms now, i understand. the gentlemen seem to like mature conversation combined with their dancing. and i do not intend to refuse. i think it neither christian nor right, mr. deane, for a widow to make a suttee of herself.”
-“of course not,” agreed andy absently. “well—no butter—you quite understand?”
-“trust me,” said mrs. jebb effusively, “to understand a gentleman’s inside. for months before he died, mr. jebb——”
-andy departed, and the recording angel put it down to the right side of his everlasting account that he did not say, “damn mr. jebb.”
-the day seemed long, and the afternoon appeared to stretch out interminably until the hour when andy could adorn himself in a new clerical dress-suit which he now thanked the aunt and cousins in birmingham for insisting upon; thus arrayed, he surveyed his newly plastered curls in the looking-glass, and felt that, though severely freckled and rather short than otherwise, he was the right thing.
-he stepped jauntily in the cool of the evening past brother gulielmus asleep, and never gave him a thought, only wondering if he had buckled his braces high enough, or if his trousers were, after all, a shade too long. he paused behind the yew at the corner to adjust matters, and gazed down at his legs with a keen preoccupation that left no room for anything else.
-he felt it was such an immensely important thing that elizabeth should see him with his trousers exactly the right length, and he was very much startled to hear a voice behind him saying tentatively—
-“excuse me—as a married lady—perhaps i might oblige with a safety-pin——”
-mrs. jebb again!—taking the air in the congenial neighbourhood of the tombstones.
-not daring to trust himself to speech, andy shook his head and marched out of the churchyard. he began to hate mrs. jebb.
-but when he came in sight of millsby hall he forgot all about her, and approached with beating pulses the extremely ugly, modern house which sheltered the lady of his dreams. it had been built by mr. atterton’s father after he developed from a small county landowner into the owner of a watering-place. marshaven, previously to 1850, had been the resort of fishermen and waterfowl only; now it was crowded from june to september with train-loads of trippers from all over the country, and mr. atterton found the joy and interest of his existence in supervising the erection of ever-new rows of red-brick villas, and in putting his finger into every pie which the town council of that prosperous resort made for the purpose of attracting visitors.
-“i believe we’ve got that matter arranged with the bandmaster,” he said, rubbing his hands energetically as he entered his drawing-room that evening. “i did think for a time that the situation looked serious, but i approached him informally at first, and then officially, as the chairman of the ‘amusements committee,’ and i think the crisis is over.” he paused, and smiled with satisfaction at his assembled family. “i’m glad to have my mind free for the promenade question—that will take some engineering—but of one thing i am absolutely determined,”—he hit one hand on the other—“i will not have blue seats picked out with gold. i admit they may look prosperous—that is the argument smith uses—but i dislike the idea. i cannot say why, but i dislike it.”
-“your artistic sense suggests to you unconsciously that they’ll make the sea look dirty,” said his daughter norah, glancing across at him with the corners of her thin lips more mocking than usual—and she always seemed to be making game, a little contemptuously, of all that happened at millsby hall.
-“oh, i hadn’t thought of that,” said mr. atterton eagerly. “that will be an argument to use at our next meeting. it polishes your wits up, norah, going about speaking in public as you do—though i can’t say i always——”
-“mr. deane,” said the servant.
-then, immediately afterwards—
-“mrs. stamford. mr. richard stamford.”
-there were only eight people in all, in the room, but they seemed to andy like a crowd each possessing more than the normal number of feet, and it was only after treading upon the toes of bill atterton and then stepping back heavily upon those of the divinity that he managed to pull himself together sufficiently to realise that there was ample space in the apartment for the feet of a small army.
-“very—er—hot for the time of year,” he said to dick stamford, with whom he had become more or less intimate.
-“think so?” said dick, as perfectly at his ease as if this were the ordinary drawing-room of commerce and not the shrine of a sacred lady. “well, i thought myself it was chilly. had to get a whisky before i came to warm me up a bit. funny thing,” he added, with unusual animation, “but when i am cold whisky warms me, and when i am warm it cools me. i think i must have a peculiar constitution.”
-“i don’t know. i’ve met chaps like that before,” said andy, with a grin.
-“oh, so have i, of course. but it’s a rum thing, all the same,” said dick, looking at elizabeth.
-“now, mr. deane,” said mrs. atterton, “this is a family party, so we will just go in to dinner informally. but as you are the only one who does not know the way, you must come with me.” then when they were all settled she added pleasantly, choosing a topic for andy, “you’ll be sorry to hear that we are anxious about william. he is very ill. elizabeth”—she spoke across the table—“do remember to go and see how he is to-morrow morning.”
-“yes, mamma,” said elizabeth dutifully, from the midst of a laughing conversation with dick stamford.
-“it will be a misfortune for the petches if he does die,” said andy.
-“i hear,” said mr. atterton from the other end of the table, “that the gaythorpe dancing class is to be held in our ballroom to-night. what next, norah?”
-“i want to make quite sure that those girls know how to dance before i ask a lot of people down to the garden fête for the children’s hospital,” said norah. “as i’m getting the thing up, i intend to see that it is properly done.”
-“my daughter norah,” said mrs. atterton, leaning confidentially towards andy, “has a genius for organisation. now, elizabeth possesses no particular talent that way.”
-andy swallowed a piece of chicken hastily, choked, turned very red, and blurted forth—
-“she always seems to be doing something.”
-but that was, of course, not at all what he really meant to say. what he tried to bring out from the chaotic ideas which surrounded elizabeth in his mind like the storm-clouds about a pictured saint, was the fact that she did a great deal more than exercise a talent—she created an atmosphere.
-mrs. atterton glanced at his red face and said, in her comfortable way—
-“that’s a tough chicken, i’m afraid, mr. deane. we always do have tough fowls, because my husband will grow our own poultry, and we put off killing them. you would be surprised how attached they become to us all.”
-“i’m not surprised in the least,” said andy, with a very pleasant look, half bold, half shy.
-and mrs. atterton, who had her feelings, though she did measure thirty-four inches round the waist, smiled very kindly on her young guest.
-“well, i hope you’ll like us, too, when you get to know us,” she said. then she turned to her eldest daughter. “what time are we to join the revels, norah? i shall not be able to stay long as my back is troubling me a little.”
-andy felt very sorry to hear that, because mrs. atterton had so enjoyed everything but the chicken that he hoped her back was in abeyance; but norah’s reply showed rather a want of sympathy.
-“will your back last out for half an hour?” she said. “because, if so, we will do the country dances from half-past nine to ten.”
-“that will do excellently. then martin can bring me my cocoa to my room at ten. by the way, elizabeth, have you seen about the refreshments for the dancing class?”
-for it was mrs. atterton’s second daughter who attended to the domestic arrangements of the establishment.
-“yes, mamma. mrs. smith knows all about it,” said elizabeth.
-“i hope you are giving them something decent, elizabeth,” said norah. “i hold socialistic principles, mr. deane, and i hate the bun-and-mug system of entertaining so-called social inferiors.”
-“that’s all right,” said elizabeth.
-“but what are you giving them?” insisted norah, thinking she perceived a reluctance in her sister’s reply.
-“oh, the usual thing—sandwiches, creams, fruit, hock-cup, iced coffee, strawberry ices——”
-“what?” said norah. “ices? quite unnecessary!”
-“i know all the girls,” said elizabeth, defending herself. “i’ve played with rose werrit at every school-treat since i could toddle. i wanted them to have things they would like.”
-“you’re so sentimental, elizabeth,” said norah lightly. “i can’t stand sentiment. can you, mr. deane?”
-“there are as many kinds of sentiment as there are of”—andy paused for a simile, and concluded somewhat lamely—“of sauce.”
-“elizabeth’s is the sweet kind, then, flavoured with vanilla,” said norah, with her little upward curve of the lips.
-“i expect yours is that tart kind like they have with fried sole, norah,” laughed dick stamford, who had been on intimate terms with them all since he was in petticoats.
-“haven’t got any,” said norah. “nor you, either, mrs. stamford; have you?”
-“not a scrap,” said mrs. stamford, thinking she was speaking the truth. “still—it’s nice in elizabeth,” and she patted the girl’s round arm.
-“i am not at all sentimental,” said elizabeth with indignation. “sentiment is so squashy!”
-“i don’t know,” said mr. atterton, quite unexpectedly. “i’ve a sort of idea that—well, that sentiment is the thing that makes it all seem worth while, you know.”
-“oh, if father begins to get sentimental, i’ve done,” said norah, laughing. “come on, elizabeth.”
-so the two young ladies followed mrs. atterton and mrs. stamford through the open door, and after a very brief interval the whole party went into the ballroom.
-the usual pianist provided for the class had been supplemented by a violin, and the lancers were being danced in rather a frozen manner when mrs. atterton entered.
-“delighted to see you,” she said to the village schoolmaster, who also acted as dancing-master and choir-master, teacher of singing and mender of broken clocks—a person of such extraordinary energy that no wonder he seemed to be made of wire and india rubber, instead of the ordinary materials, and had never found time to get married.
-“the pleasure is mutual,” said mr. willie kirke, bowing; he always prided himself on having the right word ready. “i trust your—er—back is fairly well?”
-“you’re very kind. it is troubling me a little this evening, owing to the sudden change of temperature,” said mrs. atterton, who was always gratified by any reference to the institution, and would have talked about it with pleasure to a crossing-sweeper.
-mrs. jebb and miss fanny kirke and mrs. will werrit sat in a corner and looked at andy as he came in with the atterton girls.
-“i believe he has his eye on miss elizabeth,” said mrs. jebb. “of course this is in strict confidence.”
-“no! what makes you think so?” said the other women eagerly.
-“i don’t know. i’ve a sort of second sight in these matters,” replied mrs. jebb modestly, forbearing to mention that she had held his blotter to the looking-glass that morning. “mr. jebb always used to say, ‘emma detects an incipient love-affair as a—as a——’”
-“a weasel does a rat,” supplied mrs. will werrit obligingly. “well, he seems a nice young fellow enough, but the attertons won’t want miss elizabeth to marry a country parson, with all their money.”
-and norah atterton, at the other end of the room, whispered in substance the same thing to her sister.
-“this is awful!” she said. “i feel i made a mistake in getting them to have the class here. we shall have to make dick stamford and bill join in and start the country dances at once. now for it!”
-she flew about in her gold and black gown like some new sort of human wasp, and planted a little sting here and there until she had the whole company on the alert. elizabeth talked first to one girl and then another, her slow drawl with the deep notes in it contrasting oddly with her sister’s quick, clear accents. but there still hung about the occasion that leaden dullness which can be felt, but never described, and it was mr. atterton, coming in breezily unconscious from an after-dinner stroll, who saved the situation.
-“now then, mr. kirke,” he said, “i hear you and my daughter are reviving the old country dances for the ball on the lawn next week after the bazaar. excellent! excellent! rubbish trying to waltz on a lawn. and i shouldn��t wonder if your great-grandfather and mine stood up at a dance on the green together a hundred years ago. they were both neighbours here, anyway. really an excellent idea!”
-it truly did seem a grand idea to him now that he had adopted it, for that was his way. everything was splendid when it all belonged to him—even an idea.
-“everybody must join in—everybody,” he said. “now, mrs. werrit, now miss kirke—no skulking in corners. mr. thorpe, you stand up with my daughter elizabeth. my dear,” to his wife, “you take mr. deane.”
-“i never dance,” said andy with dignified decision.
-“nonsense! nonsense! my wife hasn’t danced for years—mr. thorpe hasn’t either—they both came as spectators.”
-“and i shall not begin again now, my dear,” laughed mrs. atterton.
-“mamma’s back!” said elizabeth. “how can you, father!”
-then the unexpected happened, as it always does—mrs. atterton glanced at andy, and the spirit of mischief within her, which years and fat had sent to sleep, flickered up for a moment.
-“very well,” she chuckled; “if mr. deane will dance, i will!”
-“now!” said mr. atterton.
-“of course,” andy was obliged to respond.
-so the company were placed in two long lines by the omniscient mr. kirke, and the leaden dullness was lifting—lifting. with the first beginning of the tune an old spirit of merry-making that had been hiding in the bushes round millsby common for fifty years or more crept forth, heard the scraping of the fiddle, began to lose the stiffness in his joints before he reached the open windows, and was all a-caper, jocund, jovial, glorious, by the time mrs. atterton had tripped down the middle with the queer, surprising lightness of fat people, crossed hands with mr. thorpe, and returned panting and laughing to her place.
-andy was the next to go—clerical coat-tails flying, curls rising in spite of half a bottle of brilliantine, the spirit of ancient revelry skipping behind him, pricking his cheeks, whispering in his ear, making him forget everything but that life was most jolly, and he was off across a shining space to clasp hands with elizabeth.
-mr. atterton chuckled, stamped to keep time with the rest, perceived mrs. jebb drooping in a corner, and led her triumphantly forth. it was a sight that remained long in the memory of millsby parish, to see mr. atterton’s trim little figure bobbing up and down gaily in his place, while his grey hair hung in damp strands over his forehead, and he responded to the “eye-cornering” of mrs. jebb with reckless gallantry.
-dick stamford had a tendency to put his arm round any pretty girl that came his way, pleading ignorance of the proper person and moment in a country dance, and mrs. stamford jogged enduringly forward to meet wiry little mr. will werrit, making the best of it because she was above all things anxious to conciliate mr. atterton. she would have jogged toward a charge of light cavalry with the same stoic calmness if she could have saved her son from any danger by so doing. but the spirit of ancient revelry never came near her. he knew quite well that she thought him an absolute and incomprehensible fool.
-the schoolmaster hovered round, pulling, pushing, commanding, advising—miraculously at the bottom when he had been at the top a second before—and at last he flung up his arms distractedly—“ladies! ladies! you don’t want to waddle, you want to willow!”
-the musicians stopped; with the last wail of the fiddle the spirit of ancient revelry fled through the window and, creeping ever more slowly, lay down to sleep again in the bushes at the edge of the green; people remembered that they were enlightened products of the twentieth century, with a superior education and a purpose in life, and a chance to be as good as anybody if they didn’t give themselves away.
-“to willow—that’s a new verb! how clever of mr. kirke, and how appropriate to the present style of dress,” said mrs. atterton artificially, putting up her eyeglass.
-she had to do something to obliterate the fact that her toupee was over one eye, and that she had, for a quarter of an hour, totally forgotten that she possessed a back.
-“this kind of thing suits neither you nor me, mr. deane,” said the churchwarden to andy behind his hand; “but, of course, we didn’t like to disoblige mr. atterton.”
-thus was the dignity of the church restored.
-“silly sort of dance, i think,” remarked rose werrit to dick stamford; “but, of course, they had primitive ideas in those days.”
-“well, i liked it,” said dick, who was more lined about the mouth and heavier about the eyes than a young man ought to be. “no stiffness about it.”
-“we’re not dancing now, mr. stamford,” giggled rose, moving her arm.
-“oh, i thought we were. i forget what i’m doing when i’m with such a pretty girl as you,” responded dick, whose mode of compliment had been learned in circles where, in such matters, you dot your i’s and cross your t’s.
-rose frowned, but only as an offering to propriety, and accompanied dick in high feather to a buffet where supper was already in progress.
-mrs. will werrit, mrs. thorpe, and mrs. jebb again foregathered round a little table and criticised the refreshments.
-“never was a cook yet who could make bread,” said mrs. thorpe. “the inside of these sandwiches is all right—but the bread——”
-“there’s a tang about the butter too,” said mrs. will werrit.
-“talking of butter,” said mrs. jebb, rather left out and anxious to make herself conversationally felt, “it’s a queer thing—i’m telling you in strictest confidence—that mr. deane never touches it now.”
-“doesn’t he?” said mrs. thorpe, astonished. she paused, then added tentatively, “i suppose he eats pretty well otherwise?”
-“he’s not what i call a hearty eater,” said mrs. jebb. “now my poor husband——”
-“eats no butter?” interjected mrs. will werrit with a side-glance at andy as he stood by the buffet. “you may depend on it he’s ruined his digestion with eating too much.”
-“well,” agreed mrs. thorpe, “i should never have hinted at such a thing if it hadn’t leaked out somehow without my knowledge, but of course no stomach could stand the strain for any great length of time.”
-their combined gaze, fixed on andy’s slack waistcoat, somehow drew his attention towards the group, and he came forward, saying in his most cheery, parochial manner—
-“well, mrs. thorpe, can i get you anything more?”
-“not for us, thank you,” said mrs. thorpe.
-“perhaps you are like me, not great supper-eaters,” said andy, anxious to be agreeable.
-glances passed round. of course he could not eat any supper. no doubt inordinate eating had made him into a confirmed dyspeptic. no young man in ordinary health would give up eating butter.
-but at that moment a servant came quietly through the crowd and spoke first to mrs. werrit and then to andy. old mrs. werrit had been taken suddenly worse and wished to see him.
-mrs. will werrit rose at once.
-“can we give you a lift, mr. deane? we were going in a few minutes, so it makes no matter. rose can come home with her cousins. my sister-in-law, mrs. tom, has gone to the old lady already. no one can say that it won’t be a happy release.”
-it seemed so strange—after the noise and bustle and laughter—to sit in the back seat of the werrits’ cart and see the house and garden gradually receding in the starlight. every pulse was thrilling still to the remembered touch of his arm about elizabeth—to the fragrance of her as she rested for a second so near him—to the sweetness of her eyes as she had glanced up at him.
-for andy was in love, after the fashion which is supposed to be dying out. however, so far, the young lover still sees his lady infinitely fair: and when that changes——
-well—it is a pleasant thought—we shall be somewhere else.
-it was so late that the june dawn was breaking as andy stood by the side of the old woman’s bed in his dress clothes, his round face kind and grave beneath his ruffled hair, his young voice most clear and solemn in the still morning.
-“unto god’s gracious mercy and protection we commit thee. the lord bless thee and keep thee.”
-the familiar word seemed to spread round the old dying woman a precious atmosphere of love and peace—to speed her forth on the long journey with a certainty of joy and welcome at the journey’s end.
-then she died.
-“great-aunt margaret’s been dead fifty years,” wept mrs. will werrit.
-so death led mrs. werrit most tenderly—as he does the very old—through the land of youth to the land of unknown peace.
-“i wish,” said mrs. tom werrit, bidding andy good-bye, “that i’d made her a plum-cake yesterday. i knew she couldn’t eat it if i did, but she seemed to want one such as they used to have at gaythorpe feast when she was young. i wish i’d made it!”
-“you were very good to her,” was all andy found to say.
-for he had often heard already, and had felt once in his own heart, that terrible, hopeless cry of the bereaved—“come back and let us be kind.”
-he walked home very gravely through the early freshness of the morning, and the great things of life—love, birth, death, and faith in god—began to take their right places in his soul.
-he had been going to preach on the next sunday morning upon the evidences of immortality, but he changed his mind upon that homeward walk. he actually felt the subject was too big for him.
-andy did not feel inclined to go to bed when he got home, and so had a bath and went to work in the garden. he was not what you would call a sentimental gardener, and only weeded the herbaceous border because it was full of weeds, and he had invited the attertons and the stamfords to luncheon on the following day—so, of course, he wished everything to be perfect before it greeted the eyes of the perfect lady.
-but after a while the windless freshness of the early morning began to have its effect on his preoccupied thoughts, and he felt a sort of cool spaciousness in the little hot chambers of his mind, as if all the doors had been thrown open.
-every one knows how. the hot throbbing of a thousand anxious thoughts, the gradual subsidence, the sense of freshness and peace—but only one person has been able to put it into words, and that one is thomas à kempis: he no doubt felt it one early morning, after having striven all night long for cool light amid a hot darkness full of fears.
-“quietness of heart and pleasant joy.”
-but andy’s only conscious thought was that he felt fresher now, and that he would take a few vegetables up the lane to mrs. simpson. she had nothing more than a little flower-garden before her cottage, and would no doubt be glad of them.
-so he ate his breakfast with an appetite which almost justified his early reputation in gaythorpe, and went off with a basket of green things, all wet with dew, to his neighbour’s door.
-“you’re very kind,” said mrs. simpson. “i never touch greens myself, but the children will like them. it takes a green stomach to tackle greens, i always think.”
-she glanced placidly from andy to the two children by the door, so evidently including him among the green things of the earth that he felt bound to assert himself.
-“it is extremely bad for the health to take no vegetables,” he remarked, with a flavour in his voice compounded of the senior curate and the lady lay helper.
-“oh,” said mrs. simpson, moving her calm gaze from the distant fields, where it had strayed, “well, my great-grandmother lived to be ninety-six, and she never touched greens.”
-andy frowned. that was the way things happened in real life—so different from a well-ordered parish—no method anywhere.
-“i’m glad you’ve made friends with mrs. jebb,” he said, begging the question until he thought of a good reply. “it’s rather lonely for her, and i shall be grateful if you would look her up sometimes—without your furniture polish,” he added, with a laugh.
-“you know miss elizabeth bid for the sideboard to give me as well?” said mrs. simpson.
-“yes,” said andy eagerly, so delighted to speak of elizabeth that he quite forgot to address any further admonition on the subject of ‘greens.’ “yes, it was a queer thing we should both think of the same thing, wasn’t it?”
-how lovely the ‘we’ sounded! andy thrilled to the exquisite, fresh music of it.
-but mrs. simpson stroked sally’s hair and said calmly—
-“i don’t know that there was anything so strange about it. all my life i’ve had things happen like that. when i was a little girl like sally here i lost my best gloves—new ones they were—and i went up into the china-cupboard by myself and prayed hard to find them, and i did find them under my bed—a place nobody would think of finding new gloves in, would they?”
-“n-no,” said andy.
-“and it was the same thing,” continued mrs. simpson, “with the cupboard. i prayed hard about that sideboard, and i said if anything could cheer me up a bit, it would, and i got it. i expect them that overlooks all thought i had had as much as i could stand.” she paused, then added, just in the same tone, “sally, if that boy swallows that carrot he’ll choke himself.”
-sally’s responsible little face sharpened, and she ran out to rescue her charge from an untimely end.
-“naughty boy,” she said, taking the carrot from his fat hand to substitute her own ripe gooseberry, and she did it without any ill-feeling; he was behaving, of course, as well as you could expect boys to behave.
-but as andy tramped off with his empty basket, an almost incredible idea crossed his mind. could mrs. simpson have reached a place beyond him?
-ridiculous! her idea of the deity as a sort of lost property office was an altogether wrong and hideously material one.
-a thought forced itself from somewhere outside upon andy’s mental vision. had she not perhaps grasped with the fingers of superstition a corner of that gigantic truth which is above all creeds—all theories—the truth that there is no limit whatever to the power of faith?
-andy sat down to his study-table and wrote his article for a paper to which he contributed at those times—very rare times—when the editor would accept his contributions. and after he had been writing five minutes he felt perfectly certain, of course, that he knew more about everything in the world than mrs. simpson could ever possibly do.
-still—there had been a moment——
-about eleven o’clock he began to get restless and to wonder at what hour a young lady would be likely to visit the invalid parrot of a deceased great-aunt.
-not so very early, because, after all, william was not a lovable person in himself.
-and not so very late, because of the great-aunt deceased.
-andy washed his hands, put on a clean collar, which is all a young person can do, be he never so much in love, and strolled carelessly through the garden to the back lane which led past the petches’ cottage.
-he pretended not to see sam petch as he went by the asparagus bed, and hummed abstractedly when he went out of the little corner gate. it was as if he said to himself, “ah, here is a gate—i may as well go through it.”
-and he walked a step or two up the lane, then viewed the garden hedge with an intent air, as if he were laying deep plans about it. he even pulled a leaf or two, critically, and so managed to reach the holly bush at the end where there was a stile deep in shadow.
-again he paused, appearing to say to the blank universe, “this is actually a stile. stiles are made to sit upon. i will sit.”
-thus he waited for his girl to pass, by a sort of logical sequence, which impressed the sparrows very much, and quite allayed any undue curiosity on the part of the fieldmice.
-but sam petch, being neither a sparrow nor a fieldmouse, peeped through the holly bush and wondered.
-then he saw elizabeth coming along, and he did not wonder any longer, but he did wish andy good luck, for he had a sort of generosity, had young sam petch, and a sort that is rarer than it seems—he could be glad that somebody else was enjoying a treat while he had to work.
-but all the same he chuckled to himself at the thought that andy was going without butter, and he had no scruples whatever about drinking all he could afford to pay for, as usual; for he considered that his master had interfered with the most sacred right of a briton—the right to get drunk on beer—and that the punishment exquisitely fitted the crime.
-still, he was growing fond of andy, and he gazed after him through the hole in the holly bush with a benevolent eye.
-“gosh, i could put him up to a thing or two! he doesn’t know how to begin. squeeze ’er ’and, squeeze ’er ’and, you young ijiot!”
-and he quite danced with impatience behind the holly bush at the respectful brevity of his master’s salute.
-then the young couple went sedately down the lane, and sam petch strolled back to his work, remarking scornfully, “i could do better than that when i was fifteen.”
-he would have been more scornful still if he could have walked behind them, for andy knew, and elizabeth knew, and both knew the other knew, that this was not a chance meeting. it was, for both of them, the first definite step upon that journey which leads to the mysterious city of wedded love.
-it lay before them, as it does before every young lover—strange, wonderful, and yet with familiar streets that we all know by name—an enchanted muddle of realism and romance.
-“i think it’s going to rain,” remarked andy, but, of course, his heart said, “how sweet you are—sweeter even than i thought!”
-and elizabeth replied—
-“yes, the glass has gone down,” but, of course, she really said, and andy understood, “i’m glad to be here with you.”
-then for a little while they walked along saying nothing at all, because that had been so tremendous. only andy’s young body worshipped the exquisite harmony of his lady—cream gown, skin of that peach-like shade that has no name, golden eyes, and pure, burning sunlight in the brown of her hair.
-and his soul worshipped the kindness of her voice and the clear candour of the girl’s eyes.
-oh, he was in love, body and soul, was parson andy.
-he would never have believed that norah was really far the better looking of the two sisters, with lovely features, graceful figure, and perfect colouring, which left nothing for the imagination of a lover to idealise, while elizabeth’s charm must always be, to a certain extent, in the eye of the beholder.
-however, old sam petch, in his little shanty at the fag-end of the village, gave a description of his friend elizabeth, which was perhaps correct, though not refined. “she’s just a niceish-looking lass,” he said; “no beauty, though.” then he paused, pulled at his pipe, and winked at andy, who was his visitor. “bud, howivver,” he added, “she’s a cuddlesome one, she is.”
-andy had replied with cold dignity at the time, but he thought of it now, as he walked near elizabeth—he thought of it to the exclusion of all the brilliant things he meant to have said to her.
-“here we are,” said he, opening the gate of young sam petch’s garden.
-“oh yes, here we are,” echoed elizabeth, who really was rather an intelligent talker as a rule.
-but the ‘we’ she echoed was the second step—the enchanted muddle was that glorious much nearer—and they could find no words in face of such a view.
-“how-do-you-do, mrs. petch?” said elizabeth at last; then she glanced round for the next remark, quite forgetting what she had come for.
-“and how are your legs to-day, mrs. petch?” said andy, hiding his emotions under an expression of overdone sympathy. then he felt a lady’s legs were perhaps not subjects to mention before elizabeth, and added with incoherent haste, “but, of course, it’s heads the heat affects. sunstroke. most dangerous thing!”
-mrs. petch glanced at the poor ostrich trying to stick his head in the sand.
-“my uncle had sunstroke,” she said, helping to bury his wriggling extremities with a sort of tolerant contempt.
-“mr. deane and i have been talking about the change in the weather ever since we met by accident in the lane,” remarked elizabeth, with a little laugh. “it really is quite remarkable.”
-“indeed it is, miss. fine to-day and dull to-morrow, as you may say,” assented mrs. petch cordially, casting a little sand over the other ostrich, but asking herself scornfully what they took her for.
-finally, elizabeth remembered the purpose of her visit, and looking round the room for an absent bird-cage, she said hastily—
-“william’s not dead, is he?”
-“why, no, miss; william’s a lot better, only he has to be kept quiet. sam saw the bird-fancier when he went into bardswell on saturday, and he said perfect quiet was the thing. it just fell out lucky, mr. deane giving sam the afternoon off to go and sell an old clock that the second-hand dealer’s been wanting so long. just right it did, for it gave us a chance to get the best of advice for william. it isn’t,” said mrs. petch, applying the corner of her apron to her left eye, “it isn’t only what we get with him that makes us so anxious, but me and sam has no bairns, and we’re fair soft about him. we love him like a child, that we do.”
-it might have been thought that mrs. petch was talking on to ward off the question she saw trembling on elizabeth’s lips, but if so, she was disappointed, for elizabeth asked at once—
-“where is william? i should like to look at him. mamma will not be satisfied if i go away without seeing him.”
-“he stands on the dressing-table upstairs in our bedroom window,” said mrs. petch. “that looks out into the garden, and it’s just the place for him, and he’s scattering seed all over everything; but what do i care, poor lamb, so long as he gets better? let him only get himself again, say i, and no matter——”
-“i should like to see him,” said elizabeth, with a look which her family would have recognised. indeed, she possessed rather more than her share of a quality which her friends called firmness, and her family something else.
-“i really couldn’t take it upon myself with sam away——” began mrs. petch; then she glanced at elizabeth’s face, and added reluctantly, “of course, miss, if you accept the responsibility——”
-“i do,” said elizabeth. “shall i go up and see the bird?”
-“i haven’t done the room yet,” said mrs. petch.
-“then i’m afraid i shall have to ask you to fetch him down,” said elizabeth.
-mrs. petch went slowly upstairs, creaking remonstrance at every step, and elizabeth whispered to andy—
-“i’m convinced that william is either dead or dying, and mrs. petch is trying to hide it from us. don’t you think so?”
-lovely to have her appeal to him, even about a bird with an unpleasant character. andy thrilled as he responded baldly, “seems so.”
-but, contrary to all expectations, william appeared to be in excellent health and feather; he looked better, in fact, than he had done for a long time. elizabeth felt ashamed of having suspected the poor woman.
-“william,” she murmured. “poor old william!” and held out a finger. “is that tea ready? is that tea ready?”
-but william, for the first time since elizabeth had known him, failed to echo that familiar remark. he refused to whistle, to draw corks, to cry “cat”—to do anything at all that he had been in the habit of doing for the past twenty years.
-“that’s it!” said mrs. petch desperately. “i daren’t tell you. i knew mrs. atterton would think we’d been neglecting him, and we never have. he’s lost his vocaberlery. he can only make a hoarse shriek.”
-she threw her apron over her head in a dramatic attitude of despair, and in that moment the parrot turned so that the light caught three yellow feathers in his tail.
-“why, william never had a yellow feather before!” exclaimed elizabeth.
-“no,” muttered mrs. petch, still hidden in her apron; “it’s the strong medicine the bird-fancier sent as has done it.”
-elizabeth’s glance met andy’s rightfully indignant, then both pairs of eyes began to twinkle, and finally a tide of ridiculous, uncontrollable laughter rose up within them. they felt it coming, tried to keep it down, and were overcome by it.
-“ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” laughed elizabeth, clear as a bell.
-“ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” laughed andy in deeper tones, but just as fresh and jolly.
-she put up her hand to wipe her eyes, when, somehow, she caught her elbow on andy’s stick and hurt it. andy instinctively touched her arm, drew it tighter as they laughed together. then mrs. petch looked out from under her apron.
-“er—miss atterton has hurt her arm,” stammered andy.
-mrs. petch’s shrewd little eyes were lowered discreetly as she replied in a dejected manner—
-“you seem to think it funny, miss, poor william losing his voice.”
-“well, it isn’t exactly—funny,” said elizabeth, very red and more breathless than a fit of laughter should have left a gay young woman. “it’s more—what you would call peculiar, isn’t it, mr. deane?”
-she paused, recovered her self-control with a rapidity that astonished andy, and added briskly, “i must tell mamma about it; but no doubt his vocabulary will come back.”
-“i doubt it,” said mrs. petch. “i doubt it very much.”
-elizabeth walked to the door and said good-bye, but at the last minute she turned back.
-“mrs. petch, i think william had better give up taking the medicine that turns his tail yellow before mamma sees him, don’t you?”
-outside, norah and the pony-cart were already in sight, so andy only had time to murmur hastily—
-“i say, you really ought to tell mrs. atterton; it’s a shame to let yourself be done like——”
-“hush!” interrupted elizabeth. “i am the only person it really matters to, because the money comes out of my pocket eventually. i inherit my aunt’s fortune when i am twenty-five, you know.”
-“it isn’t a question of money only,” began andy instructively.
-“then what is it?” laughed elizabeth. but a glance at his face showed her that something else must be done, and she put her hand lightly on his arm.
-“let’s keep it a secret,” she said—“do.”—oh, elizabeth!
-“well, if you really think——” said andy.
-then norah clattered up with the little cart, and elizabeth got in.
-it was the day of the luncheon-party at the vicarage, and the vicar sat in solemn conclave with his lady-cook-housekeeper.
-“then you really think boilers?” he said anxiously.
-“i ordered boilers, so they’ll have to be,” said mrs. jebb, with the air of a person rather at the end of her tether. “we agreed that with white sauce and grated egg and lemon slices you could make boiled fowls look more dressy than plain roast.”
-“of course, of course,” said andy hastily, wishing to keep her in a good temper until the great day was over. “stupid of me to have forgotten that. and the asparagus”—he hardly dared it, but he did—“i suppose you’re quite accustomed to cooking asparagus?”
-“any one can cook asparagus,” said mrs. jebb coldly. “i haven’t cooked it, because we never had it when i was a girl at home, and mr. jebb didn’t like it. but it’s boiled with plain water.”
-“and melted butter served with it,” suggested andy.
-“of course,” said mrs. jebb.
-“i think we’d better not have any waiting,” continued andy. “sophy” (sophy was the small maid) “will hardly be up to it, eh? and is there anything else that you can think of, mrs. jebb? being a lady yourself, you will understand——”
-mrs. jebb thawed a little and considered dramatically, with her finger to her brow.
-“what is it?” demanded andy. “anything i can——”
-“well, perhaps it’s hardly a subject to mention to an unmarried gentleman,” hesitated mrs. jebb; “but if you want everything to be complete you ought to provide face powder. it’s always done. ladies come in warm, or flustered, or shiny about the nose, and a dash of powder means everything to them.”
-“but there’s none to be bought in gaythorpe,” said andy, cast down at the omission.
-“yes, there is. go to the grocer’s and ask for a box of violet powder the same as he keeps for babies. that’ll do quite well,” said mrs. jebb.
-“oh, i can’t,” said andy.
-“well, neither sophy nor i have time to go,” said mrs. jebb, “and it doesn’t really matter at——”
-“if it’s the right thing to have i’ll go and fetch it,” interposed andy desperately, which shows once more what any man—even a new vicar, who thinks he knows nearly everything—will do for the beloved before he gets her.
-it was disappointing that the atterton girls did not enter the guest-chamber prepared for them with such care, after all, but laid their sunshades and dust-coats down in the hall.
-“you’re sure you wouldn’t like to wash your hands?” urged andy, thinking of the black and white pins, scented soap, and violet powder.
-“mine are quite clean. i don’t know about elizabeth’s,” said norah, with her little smile, marching into the dining-room, followed by her brother bill.
-“mamma was so sorry not to be able to come at the last minute,” apologised elizabeth. “but she is not very well to-day.”
-“she took the schoolmaster’s words to heart the night of the dancing class and ‘wanted to willow,’” said norah. “at least she wanted to willow more than she did. so she started some sort of treatment—hot water—strict diet—and it has upset her.”
-“it wasn’t the treatment that upset the mater,” said bill, with a grin; “it was the way she broke loose last night to make up for a week of fasting. i watched her.”
-that was how they talked about their mother, and yet it was strikingly evident in every word they spoke how they loved her and one another. an atmosphere of invincible family affection surrounded the attertons like a glow of firelight—as if they were always gathered in spirit round a cheerful hearth.
-“father’s in marshaven, gloating over a new row of red-brick houses,” said norah. “but you knew he couldn’t come? he has a magistrates’ meeting at bardswell to-day as well.”
-“oh, here are mrs. stamford and dick,” said bill.
-voices were heard from the hall.
-“no, thank you,” in mrs. stamford’s croaky, distinct voice.
-mrs. jebb in a vague, persuasive undertone.
-“no, my dear woman, i can’t and won’t wash my hands again. do you think they’re as dirty as my gloves?”
-indeed, as the squire’s wife came forward to greet her host, it could be plainly seen that her wash-leather gloves had known long and faithful service.
-“your housekeeper nearly pushed me up the stairs,” she said indignantly to andy. “what’s she mean by it?”
-“well, mr. deane seemed rather anxious we should wash our hands,” laughed norah, coming carelessly to andy’s assistance. “i know what it is. the vicarage is sacred, and you wash your hands when you enter in the same way as you take off your shoes at the door of a mosque.”
-“the—the fact is,” said andy, “mrs. jebb has made everything as smart as she could upstairs, and i expect she wanted you to see.”
-“oh, poor thing! i say, mrs. stamford, let us go after all. she’ll be so disappointed,” said elizabeth.
-“i’ll come too, if you like,” suggested dick, whose conception of wit was rather elemental.
-“don’t be foolish, dick,” said his mother, who actually enjoyed his jokes because they showed his frequent moods of sullen discontent had lifted for the time being.
-then they all went out and returned in five minutes, norah’s nose being conspicuously white.
-“you see we’ve used all the luxuries you provided,” she said.
-andy gave an involuntary chuckle, for the coating of coarse, white violet powder had such an odd effect on her little nose, contrasted with her delicate face. then all the others began to laugh too—mrs. stamford because the rest did, and she wished to be a sort of jolly-good-fellow with her son’s friends. it was really almost grotesque to see this woman run counter to every instinct but that of mother-love in order to please her boy—at least it would have been grotesque if it had not been almost tragic.
-but a violent irritation was produced in her by the effort, all the same, and she turned sharply to bill atterton.
-“when do you start work?”
-“in october. at least i’m supposed to be reading with old banks and bardswell now, but i go up to cambridge in october.”
-“hum,” said mrs. stamford. “well, it’s time you did. you are getting too stout. face of fourteen and figure of forty.”
-the atterton girls laughed and took it all in good part—they were so used to shafts of that kind flying about the family—but it hit bill on his most tender spot.
-“i can return the compliment,” he said, with a pleasant smile. “now, you have the figure of sixteen and the face of sixty.”
-they all involuntarily glanced at mrs. stamford’s spare, angular form and weather-beaten face, and found it too true to trifle with.
-“what nonsense,” said norah, with a lightning glance at bill.
-“ha-ha! i call it rather good,” laughed dick stamford.
-mrs. stamford laughed too, with him; but something pulled tight inside of her. so that was how she looked to her son!
-then they all began to cast surreptitious glances at the clock, and andy saw that it was already ten minutes past two, though the guests had been invited for one-thirty. the anxious host began to fidget about the room and give distracted replies, and the conversation grew more desultory than ever.
-“so this is mrs. simpson’s sideboard,” said norah. “how dreadful in this room! and how weak of you! don’t you hate it?”
-andy caught sight of elizabeth’s averted face and for a moment forgot all about the lateness of the luncheon. she was thinking the same thing as he was thinking. glorious moment!
-“don’t you hate it?” repeated norah.
-“no, i—er—sort of like it now,” said andy.
-then a faint colour crept up the bloomy cream of elizabeth’s cheek to her ear, and andy could not help trying to make her turn towards him with a futile, “what do you think of it, miss elizabeth?”
-“oh, it’s hideous! but there’s something i rather like about it too,” said miss elizabeth demurely.
-then the little maid appeared in the doorway with an expression which would have made the most obtuse hostess on earth remember that she had forgotten her handkerchief and go hastily in search of it. but andy, being a man, only glared vacantly at her and wondered what she wanted.
-she whispered a ‘sir’ so hoarse with nervousness that no one could hear it, and then in despair she beckoned with her forefinger.
-“i think,” suggested elizabeth apologetically, “that your maid——”
-“what is it? luncheon ready? then bring it in,” commanded andy.
-but the child shook her head hopelessly and tears appeared in her goggling blue eyes. a sound as of wood crackling and a range roaring, with all dampers out, came through the open door behind her.
-“what is it?” asked andy again, with some impatience.
-“she said i was to tell in private, but you won’t be private,” burst forth the maid, half crying and finding her voice at last “the asparagus won’t cook. we’ve been feeding the fire since twelve with all the firewood there is, and the soft end is boiled to a mush, but the hard end’s as hard as ever it was. you’ll have to do without it.”
-then she flung up her apron and clattered back to the kitchen.
-“it’s really most——” began andy, pale with annoyance, striding towards the door.
-but bill caught hold of a flying coat-tail.
-“easy on,” he said. “she couldn’t help it. she’s done”—he paused, then burst out into an irresistible guffaw—“she’s done her best!”
-“it’s very kind of you to make a joke——” began andy again, when norah remarked—
-“make a joke! you couldn’t make a joke like that!”
-and the whole party, excepting mrs. stamford, laughed with such infectious gaiety that the agitated host at last joined in.
-however, the little maid now reappeared bearing the chickens, which were so elegant in their white sauce and golden egg and green parsley that andy felt comforted.
-“nothing i like so much as a boiled chicken,” said elizabeth, assuming an air of greedy expectation.
-“i always maintain,” said bill, “that if you ask the king to lunch and give him a fowl, he’s all right.”
-“i expect that’s what you gave him, last time he lunched with you, eh?” chaffed dick stamford.
-andy took no part in the conversation. he was too much engaged in carving, and being at no time an expert, he failed to find the joints of the fowls and cut slices from various parts. it required a silent concentration of mind and muscle to sever the legs, of which in cooler moments he would have been incapable.
-at last, however, everybody was served, and he sat down, bathed in perspiration, to talk about the weather. he had already done so twice over, but he could think of nothing else. he forgot to give himself any chicken, and ate potatoes agitatedly with a knife and fork.
-“one wonders if this weather can possibly last,” he said, unconsciously grasping at the manner of the senior curate in his emergency. “it will be a providence for the farmers if it continues to——”
-his voice slackened—stopped. he glanced from one guest to the other. no one had even touched their chicken.
-“i hope——” he began.
-then mrs. stamford, as it were, stepped forward.
-“we’re so very sorry. no doubt your cook, being from the town, is accustomed to have the fowls ready prepared.” she paused.
-“i got these from mrs. werrit. usually we have them from mrs. thorpe,” said andy hopelessly.
-“in summer,” continued mrs. stamford, “it is usual about here to send the poultry home not drawn—it keeps better so.”
-“not drawn,” echoed andy vaguely, all at sea.
-then bill took hold of the situation.
-“the old girl’s boiled ’em with their insides in,” he explained.
-“i thought,” said andy, staring wide-eyed from one to the other, “that there was something funny. but i never dreamed of anything as bad as this.”
-“mrs. jebb’ll die. she’s so refined,” said dick stamford, trying to turn the thoughts of his host from his own despair.
-“she deserves to die,” said andy with extreme bitterness.
-the beloved for the first time under his roof—and he had offered her this! if he had been a woman he would have wept.
-“poor mrs. jebb! she decorated them so beautifully. she tried so hard,” murmured elizabeth.
-“i must say i’m sorry for the woman. it will never be forgotten in gaythorpe so long as gaythorpe exists,” said norah.
-“look here,” said bill. “it is rough on the poor old thing. she’s tried her best. let’s bury the bits in the garden, and she’ll think we’ve eaten them, and we’ll say nothing about it.”
-“ridiculous!” said mrs. stamford. “personally i like bread and cheese for lunch better than anything, so i am going to help myself from that gorgonzola on the sideboard.”
-but the idea of burying the lunch in the garden struck the atterton family as novel and delightful. and when they were in certain moods there was no withstanding them; so a procession headed by mrs. stamford and closed by andy, each person bearing a plate, actually did creep with caution through the french window of the dining-room.
-“a spade,” whispered bill, to whom the whole thing had already become a thrilling adventure.
-“here’s one,” replied andy in the same tone; he was gradually warming to the spirit of it all and forgetting his despair. “that’s a good place under the gooseberry bushes.”
-“you’ll have some juicy ones next year,” suggested dick stamford.
-“now,” said norah. “we must do the thing in proper style. mrs. stamford—you first. mr. deane—you didn’t take any.”
-andy lifted an anxious face from the hole under the gooseberry bushes.
-“you surely don’t think——” he began, aghast.
-“rubbish. of course not. here, elizabeth, pop in your lot,” said norah briskly, but in a guarded tone, and with an eye on the windows of the house. “give me the spade. i’ll pat him down. now, let’s creep back to the house. oh, isn’t it lovely? don’t you feel as if you had murdered somebody and just been burying the body?”
-they sat down again before empty plates, and andy, half amused and half rueful, paused with a hand on the bell.
-“shall i ring now?”
-“yes, yes. we’re all ready,” said the young people excitedly.
-so the little maid came in and began to remove the plates in her usual clattering style. but when she had gathered four in a heap on her tray, her blue eyes began to goggle again, and by the time she had amassed the lot they seemed ready to fall out of her head with some incomprehensible emotion; or a mixture of emotions. for horror, surprise, and admiration were all mingled in the final goggle which she cast upon the party as she retired from the room.
-in an incredibly brief space of time, considering she had to put on a clean apron, mrs. jebb appeared bearing a dish of stewed raspberries and cream. the little maid followed close behind her, as if for protection, and they both now wore the queer mingled expression, complicated, in mrs. jebb’s case, by the most acute and lively curiosity.
-she had sworn never to wait, and held any form of “waiting” to be beneath the dignity of a lady-cook-housekeeper, but curiosity is a passion stronger than pride, and she glanced hastily round the room, searching the sideboard, the side-table, the window-seat, even the floor.
-then an imperceptible nod passed between her and the little maid—but it expressed columns of close newspaper print—and they retired backwards together, both now goggling alike upon the company and closing the door with an odd reluctance, as if they shut in some fascinating horror.
-the guests feigned to be unconscious of this singular behaviour, though mrs. stamford really began to feel as if she were having lunch in a nightmare, and it was andy himself who spluttered out, purple with suppressed laughter—
-“they think we’ve eaten the b-bones!”
-“the what?” cried bill.
-then a light kindled from one face to the other until they all sat in a blaze of hilarious comprehension.
-the young laughter pealed out through the open windows, and across the garden as far as the quiet place where old gulielmus lay asleep—but it made no discordance there, because it only sang in the long grass above his head, the jolly creed of his lifetime: “laugh when you can, and cry when you can’t, and trust god to make all right at the finish.”
-“don’t know why i’m going on like this,” said norah, wiping her eyes.
-“it’s never the funny things that do split your sides,” said bill. “it’s always something just idiotic.”
-“that little maid of yours thought we were going to crunch her bones next,” gasped elizabeth.
-then they all started again. again the young laughter pealed out over the quiet graves, saying “life’s a jolly thing!” and there was, in that moment, an atmosphere in the room which seemed made up of beauty and hope and simple merriment.
-oddly enough, andy himself suddenly thought of the grave beyond the yew hedge. it was almost as if gulielmus had answered back that message of laughter with a splendid, “and death’s also jolly.”
-but, of course, all this passed sub-consciously through andy’s mind, and the only definite thought that reached him was embodied in his casual—
-“there was another bachelor vicar here in 1687. a man called will ford.”
-“i wonder if he gave luncheon parties,” laughed elizabeth.
-“oh, he’d give anything that was going, would will ford,” said andy, smiling back at her.
-but, oddly enough, he felt as if he were talking of his friend to the woman he loved.
-“i’ve had a splendid lunch,” said mrs. stamford, rising. “haven’t eaten so much for years.”
-“i’d no idea bread and butter and cheese were so delicious,” said elizabeth. “it shows we always eat them at the wrong end of a meal.”
-“never enjoyed a luncheon-party so much in my life,” said bill. “hate ’em as a rule,” he added, rather dimming the compliment.
-“great sport,” condescended dick stamford, helping elizabeth on with her coat. he did not talk much to her, but he was usually somewhere near her.
-andy stood, looking from one to the other, half proud and half dubious.
-“i’m glad—if you really did—awfully good of you to be so kind about it.”
-“and now,” said norah, “we shall have a most delightfully ghoulish reputation in gaythorpe village. the bone-eaters—to be seen almost any day free of charge—ladies and gentlemen—please walk up!”
-“i shall inform mrs. jebb,” began andy anxiously.
-“if you do, i’ll never speak to you again—nor elizabeth either,” she added, with something far too delicate to be called a wink—and yet—
-“of course—if you’d rather not——”
-then he remembered he had said that to elizabeth about the parrot secret, and blushed still more deeply, and could have kicked himself for blushing at all.
-norah’s lips curled in that odd little smile of hers that did not show her teeth, and her eyes twinkled maliciously.
-“i should be greatly annoyed, and i’m sure you wouldn’t annoy me for the world, would you, mr. deane?”
-“n-no,” said andy, puzzled what on earth she was driving at.
-but if he had been behind the two sisters as they walked up the drive to their own house that evening he might have felt enlightened—or he might not.
-“it was fun at gaythorpe vicarage, wasn’t it?” said norah blandly.
-“yes,” said elizabeth. “are you going to bardswell to-morrow or——”
-“elizabeth!” interrupted norah. “surely you’re not going to be so silly?”
-“i don’t know what you mean,” said elizabeth.
-“i mean,” responded norah, “that you’d better remember life at a country vicarage isn’t all laughing at nothing and burying boiled fowl under a gooseberry bush.”
-“i never thought it was,” said elizabeth somewhat shortly. “oh, here’s father!”
-and she greeted her parent with quite unusual effusion.
-andy paid one or two calls in the parish that afternoon and then went into the church to ring the bell for evensong. clang, clang, cling! come to church! so it had rung for generations of sundays across the quiet fields, but only for andy had it worked upon a week-day. he had a great argument on the subject with mr. thorpe, who thought that week-day services in gaythorpe, where every one was busy from morning to night, would be merely an accentuation of the fact that the parson had nothing to do. for gaythorpe never could and never would believe that a parson’s occupations could be truthfully called work.
-it was only when andy did finally so envelop himself in the mantle of the senior curate as to leave not a trace of the original andy to be seen, that mr. thorpe said, “have two a day, then, if you like. but to my mind it’s ridiculous! and nobody’ll come unless they want to get something out of you.”
-nobody, evidently, thought what could be got out of andy worth leaving work and attending daily service for, so he read the service grimly alone each morning and late afternoon. labourers, looking up from their work, used to say in a morning with a chuckle, “parson’s at it again. pity he hasn’t nowt better to do.” and later in the day, women, straining the milk, would remark to one another, “does he think we’re going to leave all this and go up to church just at tea-time? here—are them eggs for mr. deane? oh, he only gets twelve to the shilling. it’s grocer gets thirteen.”
-so andy rang a quiet one—two—three, one—two—three, through the golden light of a late june afternoon, and afterwards stood alone as usual to read the lovely words of prayer and praise which seem to have been written in an age when men could be poets and yet sincere. an atmosphere of simple goodness and humanity clings like incense about the evening service, and the close of it is—in the dullest, dreariest place—like evening light through a stained window. it leaves such an impression of solemn peace and beauty.
-andy forgot to be annoyed at the absence of a congregation before he reached the exquisite prayer about the perils and dangers of this night, and he walked home quite content. he was not, of course, a model clergyman, or perhaps he would have gone on worrying about the absent flock. and when he got in he found mr. thorpe waiting for him.
-“waste of time,” said mr. thorpe. “waste of time! what good does it do?”
-here was a poser! what good did it do?
-“stops me from getting slack,” said andy, at last.
-“oh, you!” mr. thorpe implied that andy ought to be able to look after his own eternal welfare without any outside help—it was his business.
-“and perhaps when people hear the bell going it reminds them of good thoughts,” suggested andy.
-“what if they’re chapel?” said mr. thorpe. “there’s more chapel than church in gaythorpe.”
-andy ceased arguing and called up the senior curate.
-“i do what i think right.”
-“well, well! nobody can do more than that,” admitted mr. thorpe, and he glanced slowly round the room for a change of subject. “i see you have the sideboard still. looks well there. handsome bit o’ furniture.”
-“very,” said andy.
-“but you made a mistake, buying it in. you oughtn’t to have bought it in. if us thorpes had thought mrs. simpson required that sideboard, us thorpes would have bought it in for her. you meant well. but you made a mistake. us thorpes would have bought it in ourselves if it had been required.”
-he straightened his chest as one who has delivered himself of a burden, and added—
-“i’m not one to bear grudges and tattle from one to another. if i have anything to say to a man i say it to him. us thorpes are like that.”
-“thank you, mr. thorpe. i’m afraid i did seem officious. i didn’t mean to be,” said andy, with a manly simplicity and an understanding of the point of view of “us thorpes” which was very pleasant and was all andy—not a vestige of the senior curate in it.
-“naturally,” continued mr. thorpe in a tone that somehow responded to andy’s, but in words which he had previously rehearsed to mrs. thorpe and did not intend to depart from—“naturally it was narking to a well-known family like us thorpes, with big farms all around bardswell, to have the tale going about. if we’d thought she required the sideboard bought in, we should have bought it in. we knew she didn’t require it, so we didn’t buy it. but,” he added, unrehearsed, “all’s well that ends well, and so it is.”
-“anyway i promise not to buy any more sideboards,” said andy with a rueful smile.
-mr. thorpe relaxed altogether, and his black eyes began to twinkle in his fat red face.
-“she run you up, i hear. you had to pay a matter of eight pounds odd more than you would have done if miss elizabeth hadn’t been there. appears mrs. simpson had been complaining to both of you, and you neither of you knew the other was going to give it to her. would have been a rare good joke under some circumstances.”
-what mr. thorpe really meant was that it would have been a rare good joke if it had happened in the werrit family—but he did not say so, even to himself. he added, instead—
-“handsome young lady, miss elizabeth. though most people admire miss norah most. but she’s one of your clever ones—you don’t want a wife too clever.”
-“some people don’t want a wife at all,” said andy, with self-conscious jocularity.
-“but that’s neither you nor me, mr. deane,” said mr. thorpe with a fat wink.
-andy drew himself up and toyed with the paperknife.
-“and the school-treat?” he remarked.
-“yes—that’s what i came about,” said mr. thorpe, responding to the check. “it appears that you’ve consulted miss fanny kirke about the date.”
-“yes,” said andy. “i expected she would know all the details.”
-“everybody knows them,” said mr. thorpe. “they’re always the same. but you ought to have gone to some responsible lady like mrs. thorpe or mrs. will werrit. i, myself, make nothing of being churchwarden. but mrs. thorpe seems to think that, in the position of churchwarden’s wife, she ought to have been asked to fix the date. or mrs. tom werrit. or mrs. will.” he rose. “i was to tell you they can’t take trays this year.”
-“not take trays!” said andy, who had already learned what that involved. “why, they used to make themselves responsible for nearly all the provisions required. what shall we do?”
-“i don’t know. they said i was to let you know, and i’ve let you know.”
-but it was evident he had acted under compulsion, and he added, as one man to another—
-“you go and have it out with ’em. butter ’em up a bit and they’ll come round.”
-and andy replied—as one man to another—
-“i’m hanged if i will! i’ll manage somehow if i have to make the cakes myself!”
-mr. thorpe nodded.
-“just as you like, of course.”
-but, oddly enough, his respect for andy was increased by this unreasonable behaviour, and he stood by the door, scratching his head, and slowly evolving a means of compromise. then he closed the door again, advanced a few steps, and remarked with the air of a conspirator, “i’ve got it!”
-his manner was so queerly at variance with his appearance, that any one not concerned in the serious question must have been tickled by the incongruity; but andy peered at him anxiously—
-“i’ll fix the date. can’t let you have my waggons to take the children until the 12th. you’d said the 5th. and if the date’s altered to suit me, mrs. thorpe must oblige you. and mrs. will and mrs. tom werrit’ll follow her.”
-it was mr. thorpe’s first effort at diplomacy, and he was fifty-one. no wonder he glowed with the late joy of the creator and forgot everything but the splendour of his own idea.
-“my word. that’s a splendid plan. awfully good of you,” said andy with eager sincerity.
-“but not a word to mrs. thorpe. not a word,” chuckled mr. thorpe, going towards the door.
-“you may rely on me,” said andy warmly.
-mr. thorpe paused with his hand on the door before opening it again.
-“look here,” he said. “you can’t know as much about women as i do. you come to me if you get stuck.”
-he really felt, now he had started on a diplomatist’s career, that he should like to go on. he felt all the stirring pleasure of using talents hitherto unsuspected.
-“i will,” said andy gratefully, though he did think it rather ridiculous that fat mr. thorpe should consider he knew more about women than a young man who had been a curate in london.
-“there’s a pack of women in gaythorpe,” said mr. thorpe, opening the door. “good-bye.”
-but that was not what he meant to say, nor what andy understood. he intended to convey to his vicar the strange comradeship which binds all men together against all women. and the hand-shake they exchanged was a final expression of this bond.
-for it is ridiculous to pretend that spoken words are so tremendously important, and that they alone bridge the blank space between one soul and another; they cast a line, as it were, but souls cross always in silence. the intrinsic part of every conversation is without words, which, if you think of it, becomes very comforting. it shows that our souls are not so lonely as we feared, and that they have a language which even death need not cause us to forget.
-so andy went back to his study full of the things that mr. thorpe had never said, and the churchwarden plodded sedately down the road mentally patting his vicar on the back for remarks he had never made; and they both felt pleased with themselves, and each other—which is not a bad result for any conversation to have.
-andy pulled out a few sheets of foolscap, and began to write one of those articles which were sometimes accepted, when mrs. jebb came in to apologise about the asparagus.
-“i’m sorry,” she said with mournful dignity, “but it is my misfortune and not my fault that my youth was not passed in circles where asparagus can be afforded.”
-“never mind,” said andy. “i’m sure they enjoyed the party.”
-mrs. jebb pursed her lips together and approached mysteriously.
-“one thing,” she said in a low voice, “strikes me as very strange. the bones!”
-“i and sophy have searched the dining-room. then a cat occurred to our minds.”
-“the poor old cat looked hungry,” said the vicar after a pause.
-“ah, i thought you must have given them to the cat,” said mrs. jebb. “but at a luncheon party—however, in a bachelor’s establishment——”
-she evidently felt that andy had not known how to behave, and that made the next step easier.
-“i fear,” she continued, “that mrs. thorpe is to blame for what might have been a catastrophe if the fowls had been—er—entirely dismembered. i forget if it is larks, or a woodcock, or what, that you do cook in that way, though i never thought it really nice. however, as everything went off all right——” she paused for andy’s reply, having put the matter, it must be confessed, with some delicacy.
-“oh, excellently,” said andy. “you must have heard us laughing.”
-“yes. if there had been champagne—but there wasn’t——”
-again the point of a conversation passed unspoken, and then andy pulled his paper towards him with such determination that mrs. jebb fluttered from the room.
-ten minutes later she tripped back, bearing a vase of roses.
-“i always think a man’s room looks so desolate without flowers. as if he had no woman to care for him,” and she placed the vase close to andy’s elbow.
-“blest if the old girl isn’t gone on me! how unpleasant!”
-the attentions of certain elderly-young church workers in his late parish had paved the way for comprehension, and he comprehended. but though it was intensely annoying he did not feel it to be unnatural.
-he was, of course, an attractive fellow.
-that he had learned, too, in his late curacy, for before that he had been exceedingly doubtful of his own charms.
-he went in to supper feeling annoyed with mrs. jebb, but rather sorry for her all the same. and after supper he strolled out into the garden, where twilight was falling and the young moon was rising above a bank of cloud. a feeling of loneliness drove him to the front gate, where he could watch the distant houses being lighted up, one after the other.
-homes—thought andy. places where people were trying—trying——
-he could not get hold of the tail of the flying thought.
-then an oldish man passed, worn with long labour, most patient in the twilight.
-the thought came near again, but not near enough, and andy called out a friendly ‘good-night.’ then he added impulsively, because he somehow wanted to do something—he somehow felt ashamed before that plodding figure—“i say, will you have a cigar?”
-the man stopped, stared, and replied bluntly—
-“i never smoked a cigar.”
-“then take these,” said andy, emptying his case of that portion of his aunt’s last christmas present with which he had stocked it in anticipation of the luncheon-party.
-“thank you, sir,” said the man, stuffing them into his bag with a bit of bread and half an onion.
-then he plodded on again, thinking the vicar was a rum ’un, and no mistake, and agreeing with the newspaper he took that parsons ought to be done away with if they could afford to go about with their pockets crammed with cigars.
-andy stood there, looking after the man as he went up the lane to the little house where he slept at night, and where he had kept his wife, and maintained his children ever since early youth. he smelt of earth and sweat and was rough in his manner, and yet he enabled the vicar of gaythorpe to get hold of that thought which had previously eluded him.
-it is pleasant to see the glory in things that are glorious, but there is a still more intimate and exquisite pleasure about seeing glory in things which seem sordid. it is a sort of treasure-hunting of the soul—as fresh and full of life as a boy’s treasure-hunt in a water-logged hulk—as full of the thrillingly unexpected.
-andy went back into the study and took down some accounts which he had shelved. they dated from the late vicar’s time, and were complicated, and he stuck to them until they were done.
-but he had no idea why he did it.
-at last he put down his pen and stretched himself, and something he had vaguely been keeping at bay ever since the early afternoon swept over him like a tide. he lit a candle and went out into the silent hall where the light was already extinguished, and unlocked the dining-room door. it had the odd look common to all unused rooms at night—they seem to be waiting in some uncanny and yet quite conscious way for somebody long gone.
-andy came there to search for nearer dreams of elizabeth. elizabeth as she had been in her youth and gracious kindness only a few hours before. elizabeth as she might be when they were married. and he found instead the most clear and vivid memory of a man he had never seen. he never thought much of the old vicar, for what he had heard of him in no way appealed to the imagination. and yet now he suddenly remembered the years his predecessor had spent between these walls, and that he must, too, have been young when he came—young and full of life and hope.
-it was, truly, as if the old vicar held out a hand in that still, dimly-lighted room, claiming recognition, and the new vicar gave it in a half-spoken—
-“poor old chap! i’d forgotten he planted the rose trees and the holly hedge. he must have liked the garden.”
-then andy went to bed, but he was restless and could not sleep, for now the dreams of elizabeth that he went to look for in the dining-room pressed so close around him that he remained vividly awake.
-he could not have told next morning what those confused dreams were—no one, not even a young man can describe the dreams of a young man about the girl he hopes to marry. they are like the city of married love itself, that has spires soaring into a clear heaven and little dim places where a man may hide. and one tells of the spires and another of the dark, but no one of the whole; for the poet and realist and true lover all combined who can write about those dreams as they are, has yet to be born.
-and married love—that enchanted muddle—is different from any other love.
-for love without marriage has also the dark places and the spires pointing upwards, but it has no battlements—and battlements keep in and keep out many things.
-andy got up in the morning, hoping to see elizabeth, and yet almost afraid to see her, lest she should guess that he had dared to come so near to her in his dreams.
-a letter lay on the breakfast-table that seemed, even when opened and read, to be of minor importance. but that is the extraordinarily interesting thing about life—you never can tell what is important and what is not.
-still, of course, “dear andy.—we are coming to marshaven for a few days on the 15th. promenade hotel. do come over and see us.—your affectionate aunt,” could hardly—any more than the sideboard—be regarded as a likely messenger of fate.
-andy beamed as he helped himself to fried bacon. fortunate—most fortunate. just when he needed some one to back him up in demanding the hand of a girl who might marry a duke if she wanted, here was the fashionable aunt dixon with her two stylish daughters by a husband previous to uncle dixon.
-the gratitude which andy had always felt to his aunt by marriage for her kindness to him, and the admiration he had always entertained for the webster girls, grew stronger than ever as he sat eating his breakfast; then his reflections were interrupted by the incursion of mrs. jebb.
-“excuse me interrupting,” she said, “but an extraordinary thing’s happened. the cat buried the bones under a gooseberry bush, and sam petch found them. i’ve never heard of a cat doing that before. you ought to write to some paper about it.”
-“most odd,” said andy, rising—andy, who had always seen so clearly that straight line between truth and fiction. “by the way, i want to speak to sam about something.” and he hastily escaped across the lawn to the rose-garden, where he found sam engaged in doing something mysterious with two old umbrellas.
-“what on earth——”
-“i’m sheltering some fine blooms that’s coming out, sir,” replied sam. “i thought you’d maybe like ’em sheltered. they’ll be ready to cut by to-morrow. fit for a queen they’ll be.”
-“beautiful,” said andy.
-“i rayther fancied you might want ’em, sir,” said sam.
-“the grass in front of the study window requires cutting,” said andy. “i should like it to be done at once.”
-“yes, sir—certainly, sir,” said sam, with deep respect.
-but there passed between the two men an unspoken conversation, thrilling and full of point, which left andy greatly annoyed. how had a fellow like that learned a secret that he had told to no one in the world?
-it enraged him to think that sam petch should know he loved elizabeth before he had told even her. mrs. petch’s apron could not have been so opaque as it appeared during that exquisite moment when he held elizabeth’s arm in the cottage kitchen and they laughed together.
-however, the memory of that moment thrilled him to a bravery that made him care naught for fifty sam petches. he returned to the rose-garden.
-“you can keep those roses sheltered. i may want them, after all.”
-but when his vicar had passed out of sight he straightened his long figure and looked towards the house with a queer mixture of scorn and affection on his handsome face.
-“why doesn’t he ask me how to go on? i could let him have a tip or two. there isn’t enough of the ‘give us a kiss, me lass, first, and talk after,’ about him.”
-young sam petch smiled pleasantly as he moved to another rose bush—a vista of happy occasions not neglected rose before his mind; anyway, he had had nothing of the sort to reproach himself with at twenty-five.
-but it was not worthy of andy—either as a beneficed clergyman or a lover—that he should sneak into the rose-garden next day during sam’s dinner-hour and cut the blooms surreptitiously, afterwards secreting them in his bedroom washbasin. nor did it do any good. for when mrs. jebb went there with a fresh pat of soap she put the roses and a young lady together and made matrimonial intentions out of the combination. on the day of the luncheon-party she had suspected, and her suspicions had fallen on elizabeth for the reason—unflattering both to andy and the beloved—that norah was certain to look higher.
-so there was another person in it; and one quite wanting in the sympathy felt by sam petch.
-there is a saying that everybody loves a lover, but, though it sounds nice, it is not true; anyway, it does not go far enough. everybody loves a lover in some one else’s household.
-and, of course, mrs. jebb did not want andy to marry, because she would then certainly lose one of her titles and be only lady-cook, and possibly she might lose her place altogether. therefore she was anxious, and, being a nervous person, she was also irritable, and being human, like all the rest of us, she felt inclined to pass on some of the discomfort to the cause of it.
-so she waited about the hall after luncheon, dusting and rearranging, until andy’s bedroom door opened and she heard him coming downstairs. she knew he would have the flowers in his hand and that he would prefer to escape unobserved. if not, why had he put them in his washbasin instead of asking for a proper receptacle?
-now there is no reason in the world why a gentleman should not lean over his own banisters if he so desire, and there is equally no reason why his lady-cook-housekeeper should not look up towards the first landing; but the fact remains that when the two pairs of eyes met they both blinked with conscious guilt.
-“oh—er—i was just wondering if you were there,” said andy. “could you give me a bit of string?”
-andy—who was still boy enough always to have string in his pockets!
-and mrs. jebb said, almost at the same moment—
-“i was just looking at that crack in the ceiling. i often wonder if it really is safe.”
-but she remained in the hall, having procured string from the hall-table drawer, and she busied herself in polishing doors and skirting-boards with such an air of having eternity at her disposal, that andy, after two or three noiseless sorties upon the landing, was reduced to the necessity of facing her with the roses in his hand or going down the back stairs.
-he gave his hair a final dose of brilliantine to subdue an objectionable curl on his forehead, and came down the front stairs, armed with a bunch of roses and an air of unapproachable dignity.
-after all—so far as she knew—he might be going to take them to some invalid.
-“how beautiful!” murmured mrs. jebb as he passed. “how it brings things back. i well remember mr. jebb presenting me with just such a bunch when he proposed; but his was surrounded with maiden-hair fern. it seems a pity, mr. deane, that you haven’t a little maiden-hair to put with them.”
-andy made no reply, and marched out of the front door.
-but as he walked along the pleasant field-paths that lead to the attertons’ house he began to lose his sense of irritation, and to wonder vaguely if mr. jebb could by any human possibility have felt for mrs. jebb anything at all like he was feeling then.
-it seemed incredible.
-and yet, andy reflected, the longer you lived the more you found out that people did think and feel the most unsuspected things. for love and nature together were opening andy’s eyes, and he began vaguely to see how very different people are from what you think. perhaps mr. jebb had felt something the same, after all.
-however, when he neared the small park which surrounded the attertons’ house, he dismissed the idea as ridiculous.
-he was quite sure no one at all had ever loved any girl in just the wonderful and particular way that he loved elizabeth. he had invented it, and it would die with him.
-and, of course, if he had not felt like that, he would not have been a real lover.
-during the last quarter of an hour before he rang the bell he was preparing phrases to use in presenting the flowers.
-“i just saw some fine blooms as i came away, and i thought you might like them, miss elizabeth. i remember your saying you were fond of roses.”
-no. that was too casual.
-“i saw these roses in the garden and they reminded me of you. so i brought them to you.”
-no. that was too pointed.
-but he wanted to be pointed.
-then he saw a motor before the door and a cart going round to the stables and was thus made aware of a possibility that he had quite left out of his calculations. there were other visitors in the house.
-his throat grew quite dry with nervousness and annoyance and disappointment, and he thought he would hide the roses in a bush; but a certain doggedness made him cling to them, and as he stood undecided the stamfords passed him in their motor and he had to go on or look like a fool.
-so he went on, and was ushered into a room half full of people, where elizabeth sat laughing in a distant window-seat with dick stamford and her brother bill, and he had to account for the roses in his hand.
-“how-do-you-do, mrs. atterton?” he heard himself saying in a voice that sounded queerly unfamiliar.
-“and you’ve brought me those roses? how sweet of you,” said mrs. atterton in her good-natured way, thinking he was shy and wanted helping out. “i love roses!” she glanced round with the eye of the born hostess. “will you take miss banks in to tea? mr. deane of gaythorpe—miss banks, the daughter of mr. banks, the rector of millsby.”
-“oh, mr. deane and i are quite old friends,” said miss banks with animation.
-“delighted,” said andy.
-and half an hour later he came back to the room to find his roses wilting on a side-table and elizabeth absent.
-“i hope your daughters are quite well?” he remarked wistfully to mr. atterton, whom he encountered on the lawn.
-“oh yes. norah’s away and elizabeth is playing tennis in the lower court, i expect,” said mr. atterton carelessly, as if he were speaking of any ordinary girl.
-“miss elizabeth plays very well, doesn’t she?” said andy.
-“no ... rotten service,” said mr. atterton, and andy felt he did not deserve to have such a daughter.
-“i suppose the lower court is over there?” suggested andy.
-“yes. i say, would you like to come and see my pigs?”
-now pigs were, next to red villas, the main interest of mr. atterton’s existence, and an invitation to visit them in his company was a great honour. what was a possible prospective son-in-law to do?
-“thank you very much,” said andy, following his host, and endeavouring to take an intelligent interest in queer-looking and precious animals that rather resembled a wild boar than the domestic porker. he must have succeeded, for on leaving to be in time for evensong, he received an immense compliment.
-“you’re like me,” said mr. atterton. “pigs more in your line than girls and tea-drinking, hey?”
-the year was just at that most pleasant pause between hay-time and harvest, and the vicarage brooded in the sun amongst the full-leaved trees like an architectural embodiment of repose. quiet joys seemed to cluster round its broad windows like the roses, and a very faint ‘coo-coo!’ from the pigeons in mr. thorpe’s yard sounded like a lullaby heard only by the soul—something too deeply peaceful to be real.
-and in spite of all that, there were three broken hearts, or cracked hearts—anyway, hearts not in a comfortable condition—under that very roof.
-for elizabeth had receded, mentally and physically, to a remote distance. she first departed to some inaccessible region in a sort of glory of white draperies and careless smiles when andy caught sight of her in the window-seat across the blank distance of her mother’s drawing-room. it seemed then incredibly audacious that he could ever have dreamed what he had dreamed.
-in addition to which she had actually gone to stay with an aunt for a week, a fact of which andy was unaware; and he haunted the lanes where he had sometimes met her in the past with so sad a countenance, that such of his parishioners as met him reported it was true—he had ruined his stomach with over-eating—no young feller with a good house and a decent income would go about like that if he could digest his food. there was no doubt a very good reason for his abstaining from butter, as mrs. jebb told miss kirke he continued to do.
-then mrs. jebb herself. she also suffered—not from blighted affection exactly, but from a blight upon certain vague hopes which were ready to ripen into affection. it was, she had felt on coming to the vicarage, notorious that young men did, in the present age, often marry women old enough to be their maiden aunts; and though mr. jebb still loomed monumental in her heart, she had a large heart, and there was plenty of room for another occupant. so she went about her work with a certain romantic melancholy that was not unpleasant, and her sighs were like the wind rushing sadly through those empty spaces which andy declined to fill. she was short with the little maid, however, during those days, to a degree that would have caused sophy to rebel if she had not been so full of her own concerns, and inclined to disregard a universe on account of a blue silk tie presented to another young lady.
-so, by the day previous to the school-treat, there was a charged atmosphere at gaythorpe vicarage, which only required a match to make it explode; and the match was provided by mrs. jebb in the shape of a gingerbread pudding, which she had absently sweetened with carbonate of soda, instead of sugar.
-andy rang the bell.
-“take this stuff away,” he said. “it is not fit for human food. tell mrs. jebb i wish to speak to her.”
-but in the five minutes which elapsed before she appeared, andy’s wrath began to cool, and, unfortunately, his courage cooled with it, so that the dignified and stern rebuke which had been waiting for her at the moment of tasting the pudding petered out on her arrival into a rather feeble—
-“i say, mrs. jebb, this won’t do, you know. you really must cook better than this.”
-“when i entered your service,” said mrs. jebb, whom sophy had not spared in her recital of the message, “i expected to be treated very differently from what i have been in many ways. i never expected to be sent for by cheeky maid-servants, in a manner”—she paused, gulped, and concluded—“that no gentleman should send for a lady in.”
-“it’s not only the pudding,” said andy, nettled afresh by this want of a proper attitude, “it’s your cooking altogether. you must see that.”
-but mrs. jebb’s interview with the triumphant sophy had left her in a state of mind that allowed her to see nothing but a mist, through which andy’s boyish, reproving face loomed as a last irritation. she wanted to box his ears, but replied instead—
-“if you are not satisfied, i will go. pray accept my notice from this day forth.”
-feeling vaguely that she had given notice in a dignified, biblical manner suited to her position as housekeeper at a vicarage, she walked from the room.
-but when she reached the door the air blew in from the garden, and a little shower of rose-leaves fluttered down through the sunshine. she stopped short with a sudden stunned contraction of the heart.
-what was she doing? what on earth was she doing? had she been mad?
-she passed a handkerchief over her forehead and came back slowly into the room.
-“i apologise,” she said breathlessly. “my temper got the better of me. pray think no more about it.”
-andy turned round from the window.
-“i think we will not discuss the matter further,” he said. “please consider your resignation accepted.”
-he was pleased now at the thought of getting rid of her—though if she had not given notice, he would have kept her for an indefinite period, with a man’s usual dislike for any change in his domestic arrangements.
-“very well,” replied mrs. jebb, gathering some remnants of dignity round her, “it must, of course, be as you wish.”
-she attempted to flutter with her usual light air towards the door, but just before she reached it she stopped short and began to cry.
-“come, mrs. jebb,” said andy, unable to leave well alone, “you gave me notice, you know. and you’ll find heaps of other places.”
-“where?” said mrs. jebb, turning on him with a sort of desperate sincerity that made all her foolish little affectations fall from her like a mantle, leaving the real woman—old, defenceless, incapable—so nakedly plain for andy to see that he felt almost ashamed.
-“lady-cooks,” he murmured—“there’s a constant demand for lady-cooks.”
-“i’m not very strong,” sobbed mrs. jebb. “i couldn’t take an ordinary place. no—i shall have to go back to my brother—and his wife——”
-“well, that will be pleasanter for you—with relations,” suggested andy cheerfully.
-then the bitterness of the unwanted—which is no less terrible because
-so sandy kissed him.
-...if you enjoyed the wailing asteroid be sure not to miss
-twists in time
-by murray leinster t389 35¢
-here are six strange and startling stories, calculated to entrance science-fiction lovers. in these fantastic and brilliantly imaginative plots murray leinster has bent, turned inside-out and upside-down, accelerated, decelerated, and obliterated time in a weird, uncanny manner. from the hilarious chaos of a man's telephone feud with himself to the tender pathos of lovers reaching across the chasm of death ... from the hair-raising discovery of a buried city to the chill horror of the end of time ... these tales will thrill and delight imaginative people.
-by theodore sturgeon t439 35¢
-pass through the strange, shining curtain of the mind that conceals the eeriest of all telepathies. with this series of stories, master science-fiction writer sturgeon takes the reader into dark worlds where man is merely another molecule, where centuries whirl by and civilizations shudder to a stop, where intelligent worms rule. thrilling, extraordinary, and totally engrossing, these stories are tops in science-fiction.
-both of these fine avon science-fiction books are available at your local newsdealer. if he cannot supply you, order direct from avon book division--the hearst corporation, 250 west 55th street, new york 19, n. y. enclose price listed, plus 10¢ extra per copy to cover cost of wrapping and mailing.
-the first sounds came at midnight a plaintive keening from an unknown voice in the vastness of uncharted space. within hours the whole world had heard the strange, unearthly music--and the panic had begun.
-were the sounds a plea for help? from whom? from where? or were they a command too terrible to think about? no one knew. and in billions of earth-bound minds the horror grew....
-for how could man, who had not yet claimed the moon, defy a challenge from the stars?
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-and earth's days were numbered!
-a terrifying tale of tomorrow--or maybe tonight--by the undisputed master, mr. science-fiction himself!
-other avon books by:
-the planet explorer monsters and such twists in time
-studies in history, economics and public law.
-edited by the university faculty of political science of columbia college.
-the economics of the russian village.
-by isaac a. hourwich, ph.d., seligman fellow in political science, columbia college.
-new york. 1892.
-table of contents.
-the russian village community of historical times--survivals of communal co-operation--the communistic peasant household--origins of private property in land--patrimony and fee--slavery resulting from the obligation of loan--tenure in fee an institute of public law--limitation of the peasant’s right of migration--the fee becomes hereditary--statute of peter the great on inheritance in the estates held by the nobility; abolition of the distinction between patrimony and fee--the poll tax--slaves and serfs put upon a common footing--emancipation of the nobility from their duty toward the state--the serfs agitated by a feeling in favor of emancipation--“land and liberty”--the question discussed in the legislative assembly convoked by catherine ii.--insurrection under the head of emilian pougatchoff--further developments of the abolitionist problem--peasant riots about the time of the crimean war--economic necessity of abolition of serfdom--evolution of private property achieved by the emancipation--expropriation of the peasantry--legends of land nationalization popular with the peasantry--the statute of 1861 in its characteristic features--russian taxation--limitation of the personal liberty of the taxpayer--the village community upheld by over-taxation of the land--counteracting influence of the rise of rent.
-the region selected for review with regard to geographical position and population--forms of ownership in land--agrarian communism--community of land with shares fixed in perpetuity--history of the latter form of ownership--evolution of the same into agrarian communism--opinions of russian students on the origin of agrarian communism.
-normal size of a farm required by the present state of agriculture--actual size of peasant farms--legal discrimination--want of fodder--depressed condition of stock breeding--want of fuel--manure used as fuel--the land not fertilized--exhaustion of the soil--improper situation of the lots--yields of cereals--balance of peasant agriculture--review of real peasant budgets--development of money economy in peasant farming.
-the taxes in inverse ratio to the income--the redemption tax paid by the former serf--assessment per capita--arrears in taxes--bearing upon the peasant’s live stock--the fiscal system lived down by economic development.
-economic relations arising from the lack of land--tenure at will--community as party to the agreement--easements--pasture--tendency toward individualism produced by inequality of wealth and money economy--arable land and grass land--individualism prevailing--communal agreements--influence of divergent interests within the community--rental partnerships, a step toward individualism.
-relations between landlord and tenant--division of crops--labor in payment for rent--tendency towards money agreements--rise of rent--rate of rent to wages--differentiation of tenant and farm laborer.
-farmer as wage-worker--farm work prevailing--indebtedness of the farmer--wages in rural districts cut down by the farmer-workingman--low wages a drawback to the development of industry--pauperism.
-increasing movement away from the rural districts--wages higher abroad--the bonds to the village severed--growth of the proletariat.
-the position of the peasantists and of the government in the question--opinions of students of peasant life on the dissolution of the patriarchal family--the typical family of to-day--influence of outside jobs--parcellation of the soil--landless--ruin of the farmer occasioned by the decay of family co-operation--the employing farmer.
-the vagueness of class distinctions at a primitive stage of economic development--the peasantist conception of class antagonism in the village--results of statistical investigation--farmers deriving a net profit from agriculture--farmer and business man--concentration of the land and a strong patriarchal household--the employing farmer developing side by side with the dissolution of the compound family--the rural proletariat--lack of land--the dissolution of the patriarchal family complete--the russian proletarian as wage-laborer and employer at the same time--the transitional class--deficit in the balance of farming resulting from the division of the co-operative family--the farmer as wage laborer--imminent transition into the proletarian class--“the struggle of generations” in the village a reflected form of class antagonism.
-their effects upon the distribution of landed property--lease of communal land a step toward expropriation of the poor--speculation in peasant lots--mobilisation of communal land.
-the censuses for the assessment of the poll tax--redivisions of land--general redivisions--partial redivisions brought into disuse by the rise of rent--lease of communal land a check to its redivision by the mir--vote required for redivision--privilege for the wealthy minority--concentration of communal land in private hands--influence of redemption--antagonism of economic interests within the village--dissolution of the community going on.
-note: the “inalienability” scheme.
-the bearing of the above discussion upon middle russia at large--the economic policy of the government--crédit foncier for the peasants, and its failure--the famine a result of agricultural backwardness--failure of the peasantry and of the landed nobility--the rise of capitalistic agriculture.
-appendices. statistical tables.
-the rise of “peasantism.”
-the awful famine which has lately been raging over an area as large as the territory of the dreibund, and inhabited by a population as numerous as that of the “allied republic,” has called the attention of the whole civilized world to the condition of the starving russian peasant. a movement has been set on foot in this country to relieve the hard need of the sufferers. this has induced me to think that it would perhaps not be without some interest for the american student of economics to cast a glance at the rural conditions which have finally resulted in that tremendous calamity. i felt bound to improve the opportunity of having been educated in russia, by introducing the american reader to some one portion of the vast russian economic literature which, because of the language, remains as yet completely unknown to the scientific world at large.
-the last named discovery was destined to play a prominent part in the subsequent political history of russia. agrarian communism, spread throughout a vast country during an age of extreme economic individualism, when the last traces of such a form of possession were deeply buried in the past of european nations, gave rise for years to an erroneous theory both in russia and in western europe, viz: that this was a specifically russian or slavic institution. in russia it contributed greatly towards drawing the line between the two parties of the russian educated class in “the epoch of the forties,” between the “occidentalists” (zapadniki) and the “slavophiles.”
-the latter regarded the village community as being, with autocracy and orthodoxy, an emanation of the russian “national spirit.” these three institutions were predestined in their belief to prevent holy russ from entering upon the impious ways of the “rotten west,” with its class antagonism, extremes of luxury and poverty, intestinal discords and civil wars.
-precisely for the same reasons, considering the village community as an integral part of the prevailing system of paternalism, the “occidentalists,” opposed to autocracy and orthodoxy, strove for the abolition of the mir as well as of bond serfdom.
-the archaic communism of the mir appeared to them to stand in acute contradiction to western liberalism or individualism. the “epoch of emancipation,” however, that came to realize the aspirations of the occidentalists, brought about a fundamental change of public opinion in regard to the village community.
-the intellectual development in russia was ever going on under the steady influence of western ideas. the “epoch of the forties” coincided with the era during which socialistic and communistic ideas were in full blast throughout france. thanks to the many russian tourists and students who became imbued with these ideas during their sojourn in paris, socialism, towards the end of “the forties,” attained no inconsiderable popularity among the educated class in russia. not to speak of herzen or bakunin--who were at that time closely affiliated with proudhon, karl marx and other prominent representatives of the social movements of the day--belinsky, who was the foremost russian critic and publicist, equally renowned among all parties (except, of course, the bureaucratic party), became in his latter years a socialist. “secret circles,” or, as they would be called in this country, debating clubs, swarmed in every large centre of intellectual culture. among the young men connected with this movement, there was one who was later on to play a part of extraordinary importance in russian history; this was nicholas gavrielovitch tchernyshefsky.
-the influence of tchernyshefsky upon the development of russia was far wider, and far more many-sided, than might be supposed. philosophy, ethics, æsthetics, criticism, political economy, politics, fiction:--these were the various fields of his activity; and everywhere his ideas determined the course of further development. it would require the elaborate study of a scholar to truly represent the historical value of tchernyshefsky, who can justly be called the father of russian nihilism.
-nihilism was entirely misunderstood in western countries. it will, perhaps, appear somewhat surprising to an english reader to learn that jeremy bentham’s doctrine of utilitarianism offered the philosophical foundation of nihilism. the latter was in reality nothing but an attempt to construct socialism upon the basis of individual utility.
-the village community, seen in the light of nihilism, must evidently have presented quite a different aspect from that which it presented to both the slavophiles and the occidentalists of the preceding epoch. the first article of tchernyshefsky upon the village community was written in 1857, on the eve of the emancipation of the peasants, and was in the form of a criticism on the papers that had appeared in the slavophile magazine russkaya beseda. tchernyshefsky, though apparently an “occidentalist,” sided with the slavophiles, and in a series of brilliant articles laid down the basis of the so-called “peasantism” (narodnitchestvo) which since then, and until quite recently, has constituted the common ground of all liberal and radical aspirations in russia, however greatly they may have differed upon other questions.
-“must russian development of historical necessity follow in the tracks of western europe? cannot russia benefit by the lessons taught by the history of western nations, and find out some new way of her own to avoid that evil of pauperism which necessarily accompanies private enterprise in production?”
-these were the questions raised by tchernyshefsky. taking as a basis hegel’s famous triad, he showed that western europe went from state regulation to individualism and laissez-faire, and now was entering upon a new path which tended toward coöperation and social regulation of economic phenomena. why then should russia pass through the intermediate phase, since she already possessed a national institution which permeated the whole economic life of the people, and embodied the principles of coöperation? the individualistic french farmer must inevitably succumb in the war of competition with the large landholder, for the latter is in a position to utilize all new agricultural improvements, while the former lacks all means of combination with his neighbors. on the other hand, supposing that the time has come for the introduction of improved machinery into russian agriculture, would it require any revolution in the social relations prevailing in the russian village? not in the least; the land belongs to the community, and not to the individual; the forms of distribution of land are very various, and admit, not infrequently, even of collective mowing and subsequent distribution of the hay. if new machinery were to be introduced, the russian community would combine at once the advantages of a large concern, and those of having each individual worker directly interested in his work. this latter, it is claimed, is the characteristic feature of small farm holding. having thus proved the superiority of russian communism in land, judged from the standpoint of individual utility, tchernyshefsky goes on to the other very important question:
-“is it possible for russia to leap over one phase of her historical development? natura non agit per saltus.”
-to answer this question he quoted the history of technical progress. there was a time when our forefathers produced fire by rubbing together pieces of dry wood. man next found out how to strike the fire from flint, but centuries elapsed before matches were invented. now suppose an african nation were to come into contact with european culture, would such a nation have to pass through all the inconveniences of the period of transition suffered by europeans, or would it not rather adopt matches immediately? applying the same principle to social institutions, tchernyshefsky advocated nationalization of land, and communal landholding, as a basis for the emancipation of the peasants, which was then under the consideration of the government. in a paper entitled is the redemption of land difficult? he showed in figures the practicability of buying out the land by the government, and in a series of other articles he maintained that such a reform would prevent the formation of a proletariat in russia.
-the period that preceded the reform of 1861, was a time of universal enthusiasm for the liberal government on the part of the educated class. so much the greater was the disappointment when the reform was at last proclaimed. it has not been stated whether tchernyshefsky himself was in any way connected with the ��underground” agitation against the government, of which he was accused at so early a date as 1862. tried in 1864, and exiled to siberia, he was allowed to return to european russia only in 1883, when the revolutionary party seemed to have been finally suppressed by the government. and yet for this whole period none but tchernyshefsky was the spiritual leader of the social movement that sprang up from the disappointment caused by the manner in which the emancipation of the peasants had been carried out. it will be seen further that, owing to the origin and development of private ownership in land, nationalization of land became intimately connected, in the minds of the russian peasants, with emancipation. hence a series of riots in 1861-62, at the time when the reform was being put in force. the peasants claimed that they were duped by the “masters” and the officials, who were concealing from the people “the true will of the czar.” the belief that the czar desired to nationalize the land for the use of the tiller of the soil was so universal among the peasants that, in 1878, minister makoff found himself under the necessity of issuing a special circular for the purpose of dispelling the gossip current upon the subject. the priests were ordered to read and explain this circular in all the churches; and on the 16th day of may, 1883, while receiving the elders of the peasants, who presented their congratulations on the solemn occasion of the czar’s coronation, the latter told the delegates to disabuse the peasants’ minds of the false rumors of gratuitous distribution of land, that were being spread abroad by the enemies of the throne. yet the influence of the said enemies of the throne was infinitesimal as compared with the extent to which these rumors became popular. on the contrary, instead of its being a case of the radicals influencing the people, it was precisely the radicals themselves who were influenced by this popular belief. the latter seemed to them a proof of the moral support their aspirations were to gain from the people; and if “the will of the people” is not to be fulfilled through the government, why, this will must be complied with against the government. thus revolutionary peasantism came into being. after years of propaganda it broke out in 1873-1874 in a huge movement that was called “the pilgrimage amongst the folk.” hundreds of boys and girls, chiefly college students, settled in villages as common laborers to make propaganda among the peasants for what they believed to be socialistic ideas. they hoped to be able, sooner or later, to foment a popular uprising that would result in the establishment of a new social order.
-certainly this juvenile movement must, under any circumstances, have inevitably proved a failure. defeat was, however, accelerated by the merciless persecution of the government. the events which followed are only too well known for it to be necessary for me to dwell on them. the final defeat of revolutionary peasantism after 1881, brought into the foreground a peaceable peasantist movement that excited little attention, but which will certainly be of great consequence for the coming development of russia. having suffered shipwreck in their revolutionary course, the peasantists came to the conclusion that scientific investigation of the economics of the village was the most essential preliminary for any rational political action. and scores of former revolutionists zealously took part in the statistical investigation started by the zemstvos (provincial assemblies).
-it is true that the revolutionary peasantists cannot be credited with the initiative of this important work. the founder of the so-called “moscow method” of statistical investigation, the late vasili ivanovitch orloff, was a peaceable peasantist in 1875, when a young man of twenty-seven he took into his hands the statistical bureau of the moscow zemstvo. yet the many who helped him in his work, and who afterwards became somewhat prominent in spreading his system over new provinces, such men as messrs. greegoryeff, werner, shtcherbina, annensky, etc., had previously spent several years in prison and in exile for “political offences.”
-it is by no means exaggerated to say that in the hundreds of volumes of the censuses, ordered by the majority of the thirty-two zemstvos, russia possesses a masterpiece of statistics which for its completeness, and for the mathematical exactness of its figures, has hardly been rivalled in any country. the following quotations will give some idea of the methods practiced by the russian statisticians:
-this is about one-fifth of the total population of european russia.
-as the unit for all information is identical with the economic cell--the peasant household--these investigations present us with the true scientific anatomy of russian economic life. nevertheless there may be cases in which plain truth is not exceedingly welcome. this holds true even of the most advanced reform parties. why then should the russian nobility be among the exceptions, if there are any? if the rent is exorbitant and the earnings of the farmer are scanty, it does not require a genius to draw the conclusion that there must be some connection of cause and sequence between the two facts. still, this is precisely what the landlords would like to keep hidden from public notice. hence strong opposition by the party of the nobility to the statistical investigations. the statisticians were generally charged with representing only such facts as favored their leanings toward land nationalization and expropriation of the landlords. the first outbreak of this opposition took place in 1882 in ryazañ against mr. greegoryeff, superintendent of the ryazañ bureau of statistics, and his assistants. the assembly passed a resolution that the two volumes of the census which dealt with the districts of dankoff and ranenburg should be suppressed. these volumes were confined exclusively to raw material, and contained only tables and statements, without any generalizations. the excitement was so great that some of the members moved to buy out all copies which had already been put in circulation, though it should cost 100 roubles ($50) a copy, and to solemnly burn them as a public example. it is true that this extreme motion was not carried, but mr. greegoryeff was sent for four years into administrative exile at kineshma, a small town of the province of kostroma, and put under police surveillance as a political suspect. thus russian statistics have already had their martyr. mr. greegoryeff’s book, the emigration of the peasants from the province of ryazañ, founded on the same proscribed data, was subsequently honored with a prize by the university of moscow.
-similar occurrences took place in kazañ and kursk. in the latter province the assembly proscribed the general review of the province, although the review consisted merely of the totals of the respective items for the several districts, and the volumes containing these items were in due time published by the assembly.
-however, it must be admitted that mr. werner’s fate was not a specially hard one, since he was not even exiled, while his book, which caused his discharge from the bureau, was awarded the same honor by the university of moscow, as mr. greegoryeff’s investigation had received.
-finally the government saw fit to interfere, and a law was passed in 1888 forbidding any investigations into the relations between landlord and peasant, and putting the programmes of statistical investigations under the control of the administrative authorities. the work, however, had been done; a work that may be truly called the social work of the eighties.
-was it virtually a fallacious census, imbued with party spirit?
-the present famine has offered the most striking proof of the authenticity of the much-assailed figures.
-general sketch of the development of landholding in russia.
-it seems now to be a fairly well established fact in science that at the dawn of the evolution of mankind the individual had not yet differentiated from the social aggregate. archaic communism in the production of food and other necessaries, as well as in possession and consumption, is now, i imagine, universally recognized as the primitive form of social life. it is only during the higher stages of development that private ownership by individuals comes into existence; and private property in land was the latest to appear on the historical scene. the dissolution of the land community in western europe is a fact of comparatively very recent date. in russia, where the process of evolution has been less rapid, we see this primeval institution preserved until to-day.
-in russia we do not find within historical times that tribal communism which lewis h. morgan met with among the american indians. the russian village community of historical times consists of a number of large families, often, yet not necessarily, of common ancestry, who possess the soil in common, but cultivate it by households. the ancient communal coöperation re-appears sporadically, upon various special occasions, in the form of the pómoch (help). some householder invites his neighbors to help him in a certain work: to mow his meadow lot, to reap his field, to cut down wood for a new house he has undertaken to build, etc. this is considered as a reception tendered by the family to its neighbors, and different kinds of refreshments are prepared for the occasion. these constitute the only remuneration for the work done collectively by the guests. of course, there is nothing compulsory in the custom, and no one is bound to answer the call in case he does not like to do so. on the other hand, the party benefited is under an obligation to appear at the call of all those who participated in the pómoch. this custom, which is now limited for the most part to extraordinary occasions and is more and more falling into disuse, apparently played a far more conspicuous part in former days, when rural settlements were scattered clearings in the midst of virgin forests, and pioneer work was constantly needed. still even then it was but a social revival, hinting at a preceding epoch of closer communistic co-operation, yet at the same time pointing out the existing severance between the households of which the community was formed. in other words, the pómoch, being undoubtedly a revival of primeval communism, is at the same time a sign of the dissolution of communism into individual households.
-however, it is essential to notice that the russian household is not identical with the roman family or its derivatives. the roman paterfamilias is the absolute master of all living under his patria potestas; he is the unlimited owner of all property belonging to the household, even where such property is the product of the personal industry of particular members of the family. the modern family, on the other hand, is merely a union of individuals having their individual rights recognized by law, though sometimes not without certain limitations in favor of the head of the family. the russian peasant family alone is a perfect communistic commonwealth. all the moveables belonging to the household, as well as its whole income, constitute the collective property of the family, but not of its head. the same holds good even of those parts of the empire in which the village community disappeared long before the emancipation of the peasants. in little russia and white russia, as elsewhere, the statute of 1861 recognized the rural institutions upheld by peasant common law. thus the land was there allotted to the families, and it was subsequently reaffirmed by the senate, in one of its interpretations, that the land does not belong to the head of the family, but does belong to the family as a whole.
-moreover, an old russian family greatly resembled a community even in the number of its members. mr. krasnoperoff, in a paper which appeared some ten years ago in the otechestvenniya zapiski, described a family he met with in the province of mohileff. the family numbered ninety-nine members, and was composed of a grandmother, with her children and married grandchildren, all of whom were living together and working for their own common benefit. such households are, indeed, isolated exceptions at the present day, but they were universal in the past.
-thus ownership of land by the community without, and complete communism within the family, were the fundamental elements in the structure of the village at the dawn of russian history.
-the rise and growth of private property in land soon came in to restrict the domain of the village community.
-in the early days of mankind coöperation is essential to success in the struggle for life which man is carrying on daily against his natural surroundings. landholding, whether collective or individual, must be large enough to admit of coöperation. therefore private ownership in land first appears in history in the form of large holdings. now, so long as population is thin, and vacant land lies practically free to anybody, it would be useless to occupy large estates if there were no means of compelling the husbandman to labor in the landlord’s fields instead of for his own benefit. indeed, private property in land in the early periods of history goes hand in hand with the personal dependence of the tiller of the soil.
-in the muscovite state we find two forms of individual landed property: patrimony (vottchina) or freehold, and fee (pomest’ye) or benefice.
-while fee was an institution of public law, patrimony owed its origin to private law and to a more ancient epoch. patrimonies were to be found in the republic of novgorod, and in some other states of the russian federation, before their conquest by the great princes of muscovy, afterwards czars of all the russias. the rise of this form of property is intimately bound up with the growth of slavery in ancient russia. slavery, like patrimony, was also an institution of private law, arising from the transaction of loan. the payment of the debt was secured, as in the civil law (jus civile), by the person of the debtor. unquestionably this was the only possible security in an historical epoch when landed property had no value, save when human labor was applied to it. as in rome, war was the constant cause that put the peasant under the necessity of contracting loans. as in rome, there could hardly be found two years of uninterrupted peace in the course of the first centuries of russia’s history. destruction, by force of arms and rapine, usually compelled the plundered peasant to alienate his liberty to the “better man” (vir bonus, καλὸς κἀγαθός) who furnished him with cattle, seed, and implements. the peasant sold himself either for a term of years, or for life, and in the course of time the state of serfdom became hereditary. the labor of these slaves (zakup, kabalniy holóp) was used by the creditors to cultivate their estates, or to reclaim new acres from the forest. amidst the wilderness of primitive forests, such parcels of cultivated land had already a certain value which attracted settlers. here we have the origin of patrimonies in russia during the “period of federation and witenagemote.”
-left, however, as it was, to private intercourse and initiative, the spread of individual landed property, like the number of slaves, remained comparatively limited. it was only as political institutions that individual landholding and personal dependence of the peasant were to become the foundations of social life in russia.
-the fee was the virtual germ of russian private property in land.
-not only in russia, but also in many other countries, private property in land owed its origin to relations of public law. public land (ager publicus) was primarily held by officers on the ground of, and for the purposes of their office as a benefice. in proportion as the offices became hereditary, and the relations growing out of administration of public affairs developed into personal dependence of the common people upon the office holders, the tenure of land by reason of office became hereditary, and subsequently developed into an institution of private law. the next step was in the direction of freeing the landholder from the duty of public service connected with the tenure of his land. thus his possession became independent. on the other hand, the free ownership of land by the people was replaced, in the course of evolution, by dependent possession. and finally, with the abolition of the personal dependence of the peasant, his right to land expired.
-such was, taking a bird’s eye view, the evolution of private property in most european countries. in russia the course was essentially the same.
-old republican and semi-republican russia of “the period of federation and witenagemote” knew no firm government. the prince was elected and deposed by the people, and it was very difficult for him to hold his position for more than any single year amidst the dissensions of the hostile factions of turbulent citizens. usually princes tramped their whole life long from one principality to another, attendants tramping with them. war was their chief business and war was also their chief source of income. moreover, through a confiscation of the judicial functions by the prince, a part of the wergild paid by the convicted wrongdoer to the right party, found its way into the treasury of the prince to be distributed among his followers. no bond wedded the prince and his followers to the land until the nomadic elected prince was replaced by the muscovite great prince and lord of all the russias. struggle with the tartar conquerors--a struggle that lasted for two centuries--furthered the growth of centralization and of monarchical authority, and the former free attendant of the prince became the servitor of his sovereign. the state in russia has always been a self-sufficing entity, which claimed the services of everybody, without owing in return anything to anybody. and this still remains to-day the fundamental principle wherein russian public law differs from constitutional law. if, perchance, the state engaged in suppressing crime, it was not for the sake of justice or defense to the people, but rather for fiscal considerations, or for the sake of the safety of the state, threatened by gangs of brigands and highway robbers. it was the duty of the “servitor” (sloozhiliy chelovek) to prosecute bandits, to defend the frontiers from invasion by nomadic tribes, and to appear in case of war among his sovereign’s troops with a number of armed men. to furnish the “gentleman” with the necessary means for the support of his detachment, and in general for the discharge of his office, he was granted a certain tract of land “in fee.” the peasant who settled upon this lot was bound to pay a certain tax (in kind) to the “gentleman” to whom the power of taxation was delegated by the state. however, it was no easy task to enforce the exact payment of the taxes, since the peasant could run away at any time he chose as soon as he found the payments becoming burdensome.
-indeed, even in modern russia, wherever land is in abundance, agriculture is to a great extent a nomadic pursuit. a field is cultivated uninterruptedly for from two to three years, and the peasant then leaves it and turns to another fresh lot. it is only after a period of not less than twenty years that the peasant will perhaps return to the first lot. it may be, however, that he will change his place for an entirely new one.
-in olden times the facilities for migration were the same as they now are in siberia. this state of things gave rise to competition among the gentry, who vied with one another in cutting down the rate of payments exacted from the peasants. the gentry constantly complained of being unable to fulfil their duties toward the state so long as this self-willedness on the part of the peasants continued. in order to secure exact fulfilment by each of his duties toward the state, freedom of migration was first limited, and then gradually abolished. the free peasant became bound to the soil, glebæ adscriptus. yet this dependence was based entirely upon public law. the peasant was made subject to the gentleman, not for the gentleman’s sake, but for the benefit of the state. the only restriction of civil rights imposed upon the peasant by his dependence was the prohibition of emigration; and even in that no distinction existed between the peasant and the gentleman, since the latter was also forbidden to quit his fee. throughout the muscovite period the peasant was considered as a citizen, and was protected by the state against abuses of power on the part of the gentleman. the latter was not even the owner of the land; it belonged to the state, or to the czar, as the personification of the state. land was allotted to the gentleman for service, and for lifetime only, and could escheat by the state for cause. inasmuch, however, as the gentleman’s son also entered the service of the czar, it became little by little a custom to transfer to the son his father’s fee. thus the fee became hereditary.
-peter the great effaced all the distinctions that were characteristic of the preceding epoch. by compelling every landholder to enter the service of the state, and by establishing a uniform law of inheritance for all real estate belonging to the nobility, he merged in one patrimonies and fees. on the other hand, by imposing the poll tax upon peasants, and by making the landholder responsible for the exact payment of this tax, he put slaves and serfs upon a common footing, and made the latter personally dependent upon the landlord. his successors restricted the civil rights of the peasants and took away from them the right to sue their masters. at the same time the latter were granted the right to exile their peasants to siberia, and to sell them, even where such sale entailed the separation of the wife from her husband, of the child from its parents. on the other hand, after the time of peter the great, the duty of service was gradually relaxed, and at last definitively abolished by peter iii in 1762.
-this legend found its way readily into the minds of the peasants, who for a whole year, under the leadership of the rebellious cossack emilian pugacheff, alias “emperor peter theodorovitch,” held half russia in their power. it would be, of course, a rash conclusion to seek to establish any immediate connection between the bloody uprising of 1773-1774 and the discussion of the question of emancipation in the “commission for the enactment of a new code,” called by catherine ii. in 1767. yet it is worth noticing that such a question did arise, and that the emancipation of the peasants was pleaded for by the representative of the don cossacks, who were shortly to lead the insurrection. and, indeed, many of those who represented the cossacks in the commission were later on active in the civil war. the suppression of the latter led to the expansion of serfdom, since the “pension system” of that epoch consisted, of necessity, only in grants of “peasant souls.” thus in the reign of catherine ii. about one million “state serfs” were given into the private possession of landlords, for military, or civil (or “personal”) merit.
-the reigns of her successors were marked by an uninterrupted series of peasant uprisings, agrarian crimes, and half-measures on the part of the government to loosen the bonds of serfdom. at the same time, after the conclusion of the napoleonic wars, abolitionist ideas began to win their way among the land-owning, upper classes. the insurrection of december 14th (26th), 1825, had among its chief purposes the abolition of serfdom. the disastrous termination of that insurrection did not stop the propaganda of the abolitionist ideas which reached even to the palace, through the famous russian poet zhukoffsky, instructor of alexander ii.
-the political necessity of emancipation, as guaranteeing the safety of the state, was brought still farther home to the minds of the ruling classes by the general excitement among the peasantry which followed the crimean war, and broke out in numberless riots of a most alarming character throughout the country. “we must free the peasants from above, before they begin to free themselves from below,”--these were the historical words addressed by alexander ii to the assembly of the nobility in moscow, august 31st (september 12th), 1858. yet such political farsightedness could hardly have developed, had not the economic conditions been ripe for the change. indeed, after the crimean war it became obvious to the government that russia, with her old-fashioned methods of transportation, could play no prominent part in the “european concert.” now it was perfectly evident that an extensive system of railways could not possibly be supported out of the resources of agriculture alone, in a country in which nine-tenths of the people were serfs, either of the state or of the landlords, and had to bear out of their scanty income the expenses of a large military state, and of an aristocracy. industry and commerce were necessary for the maintenance of the state. the emancipation of the peasants was the scheme to attract domestic and foreign capital to industrial pursuits in russia. by placing money in the hands of the landlords it was sought to promote the progress of agriculture, and the growth of industries intimately connected therewith. by setting at liberty twenty million serfs, who were the subjects of the landlords, wage-workers were created for industrial enterprises.
-the economic significance of the reform of february 19th, (march 3d,) 1861, lies in the fact that, on the one hand, it completed the evolution of private property in land, and that, on the other hand, it effected at a single blow the expropriation of the peasantry on a large scale.
-before the emancipation anything like distinction between the land of the lord and that of the peasant existed on those estates on which the duties of the serf toward his master were discharged in compulsory labor. yet even there the distinction was not clearly marked, for the peasants enjoyed the right of pasture in common with the lord, and were furnished a modicum of wood from the lord’s forest. the distinction, moreover, was not a rigid one, since the lord could, at his option, transform the corvée into tallage (taille)--compulsory labor into compulsory payments. the latter form prevailed on many estates. in such cases the lord enjoyed merely the legal ownership, ober-eigenthum (dominium ex jure quiritium) while to the peasant belonged the real possession, nutzeigenthum (possessio ex jure gentium). now the severance of a tract of land from the fields held by the community transformed communal possession into private property of the gentleman. the owner who tilled the soil was transformed into a tenant or into a wage-laborer.
-there was a party among the nobility at the time of the emancipation who would have liked to see a still more decided reform in the same direction. in compliance with the wishes of the members of this party it was accordingly proposed to transfer all the land into the private property of the noble, while leaving to the peasant merely his homestead (i. e. house, yard and garden). but, after consideration, this radical plan was abandoned, for fear lest it might prove seriously dangerous to the public peace.
-unquestionably, the principles in accordance with which the reform was carried out stood in striking contradiction to the aspirations of the peasants, who held fast to the idea expressed by the old saying: “we are yours, but the land is ours!” hence general disappointment of the peasantry with the reform, which failed to grant the people “land” as well as “liberty.” now, since the land is the czar’s and has been unlawfully seized by the masters, can there be any doubt that the gentlemen and the officials have conspired together against the will of the czar? we here arrive at the source of those wide-spread legends of land nationalization that were so popular with the peasants for a quarter of a century after the emancipation.
-to obviate all incitement to acute outbreaks of popular discontent, the government, as far as possible, avoided drastic measures.
-in order to meet the wishes of those who leaned toward the irish system of landholding, the government satisfied itself with offering to every community the choice either of agreeing to pay the redemption tax for the normal lots, or of taking in lieu thereof the so called “donated lots” extending to one-fourth of the normal lots, and free from the redemption tax. at the same time these lots became at once the absolute property of the donees.
-similarly, the government did not proceed to an immediate assault upon agrarian communism, though considering the same as an obstacle to agricultural progress. wherever communism was in existence, the land was allotted to the community as a whole. but a road was opened to the spontaneous and gradual dissolution of the community. the “homesteads,” i. e. the house, the yard and garden, were declared the property of the family. further, the community was empowered to divide the field into private property, upon a vote of two-thirds of the householders. finally every individual householder was granted the right of enclosing his lot, after having complied with certain formalities, and paid the whole amount of amortization. it was hoped that as soon as the way had been opened to private property, the latter would not fail to take the place of communism. these expectations were, however, fulfilled but in a comparatively meagre measure. the reason lay in the fact that the government could not make up its mind to break entirely with the old regime.
-whatever may have been the effect of permitting the dependence of the peasant to be continued, the support offered to the community by the old fiscal system, which has remained up to this very day, was still more influential.
-the lots are strictly proportioned to the number of males in each family, or to that of the workers (from the ages of 15-18 to 55-60), or even to the number of “eaters”; democratic principles being so far lived up to as to efface all distinction between male and female “mouths.” the terms of distribution vary according to the kinds of land. meadows are subdivided every summer. arable is usually distributed at intervals of greater length. yet, in the meantime, for some reason or other, land may become vacant, or fall to the disposal of the community. it often happens that some householder requests to be relieved of a part of his land on the ground of the decrease in the number of workers in his family, e. g., because his son has been enlisted in the army. at the same time there may be other families who are “strong,” i. e., well-off and numerous enough to pay the taxes for an additional tract of land. in such cases a partial subdivision between the households is made by the community. after a time, with the increase in the number of these partial subdivisions, the complexity and inequality of distribution necessitate a fresh general subdivision. the land is once more minutely redivided among the villagers. the optimistic enthusiast of the community would fancy that at last it stood firmly rooted in the soil, in spite of all unfavorable environments.
-and yet, notwithstanding the strictest minuteness in the distribution of land, wherein the sovereignty of the mir over private interests is manifested, the equilibrium of the rural community must be defined as utterly unstable, since it rests upon such a shaky basis as over-taxation of the land. the economic development of russia, however, tends to eliminate the disproportion between tax and income.
-the peasants now found themselves tied to the place in which they had been born. the increased demand for land could not but react upon the peasants’ plots, by raising the rent that they brought, and so neutralizing the effects of over-taxation. the fiscal influence which tends to counteract the dissolution of the village community is thus passing away.
-community of land.
-according to the census taken by the zemstvo in 1882, the entire peasant population of this region numbered 36,126 families, composed of 232,323 males and females, and living in 653 village communities.
-agrarian communism is the prevailing form of land tenure; the right of property belongs to the community, while the land is either used in common, or subdivided in equal shares among the members of the community, according to some scale, adopted by the same.
-it is the pasture alone that remains to-day in the common use of all the members of the community. arable land and meadow are subdivided, and remain in the temporary possession of the several householders. but after harvest and mowing they return into communal usage, for pasture.
-in all the villages inhabited by these 533,201 persons, agrarian communism came to be substituted for the once generally prevailing quarterly possession. in the region now in question there were, according to the census taken by the government in 1849, 287 villages inhabited by odnodvortzy in the whole gubernia of ryazañ. according to the forms of landholding they were divided as follows:
-extension of quarterly possession.
-what appears here in most striking contradiction with the ideas universally adopted by modern writers, is the inverse historical correlation between these two forms of possession. this fact seems to offer a new argument in favor of the theory which regards community of land as a derivative form of ownership owing its origin to the policy of the state. prof. tschitscherin, the author of this theory, maintains that the land community was called into life by the ukases of peter i establishing the poll tax and the responsibility in solido of all members of the community for the punctual payment of the tax.
-a full discussion of the issue in controversy does not come within the scope of this essay; for whatever may have been the origin of the land community, its existence during the past two centuries is a fact beyond dispute; and it is only the period after the emancipation that constitutes the immediate subject under consideration. moreover, the theory belongs to an epoch when the study of the history of the russian peasantry was yet in its infancy. in the course of the last thirty years this special branch of knowledge has progressed enormously, and prof. tschitscherin’s views have been since abandoned by the students of the history of russian law. a few remarks will suffice for the purpose of the present discussion, inasmuch as no one to-day believes that communism in land sprang, like minerva, from the head of some administrative jupiter.
-responsibility in solido for the payment of taxes could hardly be thought of in a country of developed individualism. it presupposes a state of society in which not the individual but the aggregate alone counts in social relations. and such was indeed the social condition of russia as late as the seventeenth century. the council of the commons (zemskee sobor) represented, not, as under modern constitutional governments, the individual voters, but the communities alone. these councils were convoked on extraordinary occasions, one of their chief purposes being to assess certain additional taxes upon the communities represented therein, but never upon individual tax-payers. even punishments were inflicted in solido upon the community where a murdered body had been found, or some other crime had been perpetrated, and the culprit remained undiscovered. collective ownership in land appears to be the inseparable concomitant, if not the material basis, of such social conditions.
-the study of the development of landed property among the odnodvortzy, however, brought about a revival of the views held by prof. tschitscherin, so far as this class of the russian peasantry is concerned. prof. klutschefsky advanced the opinion that the growth of communal landholding was due to the policy of the government, which saw in this form of ownership a means of guaranteeing the fiscal interest. the fact that the ukases of the government interfered with the method of surveying the land among the odnodvortzy, as well as with the purchase and sale of their lots, seems to support this opinion. on the other hand, mr. semefsky, the famous historian of the russian peasantry, thinks that the establishment of agrarian communism was due to the initiative of the peasantry, who came to the conclusion that this form of ownership suited their needs better than did quarterly possession. the government acted only in accordance with the wishes of the peasants, as expressed in numberless petitions and land-suits, and granted the sanction of law to the results of economic development.
-mr. pankeyeff, the statistician, inclines to the latter opinion. the investigations made by the statisticians of the zemstvo, showed that the struggle over the form of landholding was very obstinate and lasted for years. oftentimes the contending parties had recourse to violence. the courts were encumbered with interminable suits, and not infrequently the courts and the government decided in favor of quarterly possession. thus the decisive stand made by the government in favor of the village community is open to question. moreover, the development of agrarian communism from quarterly possession after the emancipation, when the policy of the government took a turn directly favoring private property, is considered by the peasantists as a proof of the vitality of the communistic spirit among the peasantry. while the promoters of agriculture upon a large scale, on the one hand, and the russian marxists, on the other hand, point out the growing dissolution of the village community, the example of the quarterly landholding tends, in the view of the peasantists, to disprove their position. mr. pankeyeff claims that, even at present, quarterly landholding cannot be considered as a settled form of possession. a hidden strife is ever going on within the village between the rich and the poor, similar to that which previously led to the final victory of agrarian communism; and it seems very probable that the latter will soon triumph over quarterly possession all along the line.
-there appears, however, to be room for yet a third view. the case can hardly be considered as one of evolution from private property to communal landholding; nor, consequently, can it serve to support the theory that derives communal landholding from the policy of the government.
-as mr. pankeyeff correctly puts it, quarterly landholding, even in its present aspect, combines the features of private and communal property.
-in the district now under review we are able to observe the steps in the transition from possession by occupancy to subdivision of arable land. we find here the original form--quarterly ownership, and the final form--equal subdivision of the land by the community among its members, and the intermediate stage in which one part of the field is subdivided into fixed hereditary shares, and the other part in equal lots among all the members of the community.
-the conclusion which can be drawn from the facts as presented above is that quarterly landholding, is but an archaic form of communal landholding, and follows no exceptional course in its development, though that development has been somewhat retarded.
-the productive forces of the peasantry.
-the old laws governing the state peasants, before the reform of 1866, fixed the normal size of the plots at eight dessiatines (about 21 acres) to each male “of the revision” (i. e., included in the last preceding census) for the “regions where land is scarce.”
-the table on the top of the next page gives the total number of communities, in which all the householders were able to carry on farming with their own stock and implements.
-the favorable condition of these few communities was due to the fact that the land rented and acquired as private property by the prevailing majority equalled in extent the communal tract. the communities in question occupied, as a whole, over one-half more land than the average.
-still land tenure is unequally distributed among the peasantry, thanks to legal discrimination. the main distinctions date from the reforms of 1861 and 1866. here is the proportion of land to population in the several classes of the peasantry of our region:
-that the disproportion is not the result of subsequent alterations in population or property can be seen from the comparison between the average lot fixed by law for the former serf in 1861, and that given to the former state peasant in 1866:
-want of land urged the peasant to convert everything into arable land, and that to such an extent that no improvements worth mentioning were left for the use of the cattle.
-the depressed condition of stock-breeding reacts in its turn upon agriculture. apart from this there is another universal cause that diverts the cattle manure from its natural use. i refer to the lack of woods.
-apart from these general conditions, we cannot pass by without notice certain special circumstances that continually depress the level of the peasants’ agriculture in a number of villages inhabited by former serfs.
-the reform of 1861 was not carried out without serious troubles which in certain cases called for the intervention of armed force. as an example we may quote the village speshnevo, bailiwick (volost) hrushchefskaya, dankoff district. we find the following in the statistical reports:
-“in 1861 the peasants refused to accept the present tract, which was allotted to them in the place of one they had formerly held. the latter was far superior as regards both situation and quality. they stopped ploughing for seven years and finally agreed to accept the tract only after a detachment of soldiers had arrived at the village.”
-in short, the effects of the scarcity of land are summed up in the lack of animal power, which is no unimportant drawback to agricultural progress, and in the predatory character of the peasant farming.
-this would give a deficit of 86.61 rubles a year. to cover this deficit gabriel trupoff used to engage in various occupations besides his farming.
-2. the second family is likewise one of the best off, since they can even allow themselves the luxury of consuming one pound of tea, and five pounds of sugar yearly. their farm yields them however a total income of only 358.80 rubles and the balance, 660.45, must be provided from other sources.
-3. finally, the third family of “peasant-proprietors” draws a yearly income of 27.80 rubles from farm and house, while the entire expenditure amounts to 241.80 a year, or 20.15 a month for 8 persons. although it causes a yearly deficit of 65.20, which must be covered through loans, and probably through the sale from time to time of their chattels, yet they are tax-payers, and contribute 8.00 yearly toward the expenses of the state.
-in short, it is manifest that even the most favored classes of the russian peasantry are hardly able to make a living, however moderate, by farming on their plots. hence the economic dependence of the russian peasant, evidenced in various ways.
-taxation of the peasant.
-the former serf is taxed more, absolutely (every male and every worker), and relatively (every acre of land), than is the former state peasant. the difference is literally the tribute paid to the landlord class for the emancipation of their serfs.
-indeed, the greater part of the contributions of the former serf is composed either of his redemption tax, or of the payment due to his master (taille):
-amount of taxes (in rubles) to one “revision” male.
-on the other hand, the least amount in taxes is paid by those among the former serfs who have already redeemed their lots (“absolute proprietors”) or who received the so-called donated lots, i. e., the least is levied from those who are free from the obligation to their former masters.
-here, however, we are again face to face with the characteristic feature of the russian financial system: the “absolute proprietor,” who owns from six to ten times as much land as the donee, and who breeds more than twice as much stock as the latter, is taxed from four to eight times less upon every acre. it would be absurd to suspect even a russian financial administration of the intention to overtax the neediest while relieving the burdens of the better-off. yet this is the necessary result of a financial system which belongs to a different historical epoch, and has survived the overthrow of its economic foundations through a social revolution.
-let us take as a unit every male of the revision, (i. e., the official unit of taxation); let us then compare with one another the assessments levied upon both exceptional classes of absolute proprietors and donees, on the one hand, and let us again compare with each other the assessments levied upon the remaining classes of the peasantry. we shall see that every male is taxed on the whole at an approximately uniform rate. this is the usual system of taxation in every primitive state, where land is in abundance and human labor is the main source of wealth. the labor powers of men being approximately equal, assessment per capita insures a rude equity in taxation. but after the reforms of 1861 and 1866, which added new and sharp distinctions to those already in existence among the peasantry, taxation per capita became a power that accentuated the social inequalities, and hastened, through its extortion, the ruin of the feeble.
-the amount of ���arrears” due by the peasants to the treasury is represented by no inconsiderable figure, as may be seen from the following table:
-moreover they bind the peasant to the spot, and thus restrict the market for his labor.
-this, however, is only an evil of the transitional epoch. a change of great moment has taken place in so short a period as the ten years which separate the census of the zemstvo from the investigations of the above mentioned commissions of the central government.
-thus the old question of chronic arrears is to-day easy to be settled through public sale of the peasant’s stock. flogging as a measure of financial policy can be dispensed with, so far at least as the insolvent debtor is concerned; for the taxes are secured by the land, over and above the body of the taxpayer.
-thus economic evolution has loosened the legal bonds which formerly chained the russian peasant to the soil.
-communal tenure and small holdings.
-two economic features determined the further development of russia, after the abolition of serfdom. personal dependence of the serf was replaced, as above shown, by economic dependence of the “peasant-proprietor” compelled to seek work for wages beyond the limits of his own holding. inequality of condition among the peasants, created by legal discrimination and furthered by the fiscal system, furnished the basis for the division of labor by which the peasants tried to fill up the holes in their farming. what were these occupations, and how did they react upon the village community?
-in the times of serfdom the village community, as above mentioned, enjoyed certain rights to the land which was used by the master himself. pasture, and water, and way in the landlord’s estate were free to the community. the emancipation deprived the peasants of these privileges and put them under the necessity of entering into agreements, of one kind or another, with the landlord for the use of these easements.
-where lack of water, or the necessity of a way through the landlord’s estate, has been artificially created by the reform, it is obviously the community as a whole that must contract the agreement.
-we find the province of communism extended in only two villages of the former state peasants, who had nothing to do with the landlords’ pasture before the emancipation. on the other hand, the right of pasture held by the mir in the landlord’s fields in the times of serfdom has disappeared in 408 out of the 562 free communities. yet wherever pasture is rented, the mir prevails, and individual agreements are the rarest exception. the latter form is, however, likely to keep pace with the development of money economy in rural relations. so long as the easement is granted in consideration of a certain amount of farm work to be done, (and this is now the ordinary rule), it is to the landlord’s advantage to secure the collective labor of a whole community at once, instead of entering into a special agreement with each peasant for a small service. the fulfilment of the obligation is secured by the joint suretyship of the community, while to sue each peasant for failure to perform two or three days’ work would be far too troublesome. it certainly matters little to the landlord, how the labor is distributed among the several members of the community, and it was but in 12 cases out of 105 that the agreement was made for so much work to be done per head. on the other hand payment was stipulated for at so much per head in 14 out of 37 cases, in which the transaction was one of money. but as soon as the agreement is made in this form, the householders can act individually as well as through the mir, and this was in reality the case in 6 communities out of the 156, the peasants managing to get their cattle counted as part of the landlord’s flock.
-we notice here how economic inequality weakens the tie of communism, even where that communism has its roots set deep in the prevailing methods of agriculture, the cattle grazing in one flock upon the common pasture under the surveillance of the communal shepherd.
-quite naturally we find individualism to be the rule as soon as we come to the tenure of arable land, which is cultivated by the householders individually:
-as appears from this table, in so far as peasant farming has survived on the landlord’s estate, agrarian communism has been almost entirely superseded by individual tenancy.
-should not, however, the few cases of communal tenure be considered, on the contrary, as signs of a budding agrarian communism? is it not a fact that peasant tenancy has sprung into existence from nothing within recent times, and that in 48 villages agrarian communism has acquired a foothold even in that tenancy which was always considered as being essentially an individualistic form of landholding?
-on the other hand, the land which had been before the emancipation occupied by the village community of the serfs, is now held by the individual tenant.
-really worth thinking over is the question; why could not communal tenure stand the competition of individual peasant tenancy?
-why then should not other communities imitate this praiseworthy example? the answer seems to be found precisely in the higher economic level of the communities concerned, which carries with it greater uniformity of interests:
-the language of the figures is unequivocal. wherever land is leased by the mir, the prevailing majority is made up of tenants, while under ordinary circumstances they form but a small minority. on the contrary above one-half of the village assembly consists at large of those householders who are indifferent to the question, and would not put themselves to the trouble of incurring responsibility.
-thus it is in the growing heterogeneity of the village that the cause of the decline of communism in tenancy is to be sought.
-on the other hand, the same reason accounts for the substitution of the usual method of distribution of land and burdens by the community, through subdivision of the rented land in proportion to the money invested by each householder.
-as above mentioned, in those very communities where communal tenure is yet in existence, side by side with it individual tenancy has taken root:
-the evolution of the farmer into the agricultural laborer.
-the patriarchal custom of division of the product itself between landlord and tenant (métayage) has now become about entirely obsolete, and is now to be found only in combination with extra payments in money. forced labor on the part of the peasant for the benefit of the landlord continued in use. abolished by law, it has been upheld until to-day, through the economic pressure of the need of land. the free tenant was compelled to bind himself to do a certain amount of work for the landlord. if he failed in this he could not get the opportunity of renting land. pecuniary agreements were in vogue on those estates alone, whose owners did not care for farming.
-on the one hand, the amount of work done by the tenant for the landlord has enormously increased, thereby diminishing the demand for compulsory labor.
-thus in the process of the economic evolution, compulsory labor becomes obsolete. it was only in the minority of cases that the promise of labor was required as an essential part of the rental agreement, and even then it was only in exceptional cases that farm work was to be performed for the full amount of the rent. generally only a part of the latter was to be covered through labor; the rest could be paid, at the option of the tenant, either in work or in money.
-in this transitional form of agreement prevalent in 1882, the peasant appears, properly speaking, as tenant and laborer at once. the next step is toward the differentiation of both.
-the purely money form of rent has already won the field over about one half of the whole area of rented land.
-that this is the form which is finally to prevail, follows from the fact, undisputed by russian statisticians, that peasants in good standing avoid working on the landlords’ estates, and prefer to pay their rent in money. the miserable remuneration for farm work is the very obvious reason of this dislike.
-these are the average amount of rent and the average price paid for the full work of cultivating, and harvesting one dessiatine, and carrying the crops to the barn:
-the average figures can be considered, however, merely as representing static conditions at any given moment. the tendency of the movement is rather indicated by the extreme limits.
-when work is offered in payment of rent, wages very often sink far below the level. at the same time rent is ever on the rise.
-let us take for purposes of comparison, some communities in which piece wages are lowest, and some others in which rent is highest:
-as the ratio of rent to wages is moving from 3:1 towards 5:1, it finally becomes questionable whether we should class among tenants or among laborers a peasant who has to till five dessiatines for the landlord in exchange for one dessiatine given to himself.
-thus land tenure is degenerating into wage labor.
-the wages in the rural districts.
-the amphibious character of the peasant, who is at once farmer and laborer, proves a very important factor in shaping the relations of russian economic life.
-we have seen how, in the course of the evolution from farmer to wage worker, the tenant first becomes farm laborer. accordingly it is natural to find farm labor prevailing among the local occupations of the peasants:
-low pay for piece work beats down the workman proper, who has to depend entirely upon his employment. the wages for day-labor may serve as an illustration:
-board furnished by the employer.
-certainly, the maximum of two rubles, say $2.00, a week, and board, to a skilled carpenter, falls short of the minimum in some civilized countries. it is in this rate of wages that we must seek the reason for the slow development of industry in the rural districts.
-indeed, it is but for a small part of the hands who have been “freed” from farming, that room could be found in local industry:
-the ranks of the rural proletarians, who had no working horses with which to carry on their farming, grew four times as fast as rural industry, though it might be expected that the latter would have been fostered by low wages. the example of the quarries in the bailiwick ostrokamenskaya, district of dankoff, can be used to make the matter plain.
-the rural surplus population.
-the movement of population away from the rural districts, which is an economic law in capitalistic countries, plays a very conspicuous part in modern russian economy.
-colonization of the border districts and periodical migration in quest of work, are tending to absorb the natural increase of the peasant population:
-as to this class of the peasantry, it is commonly regarded by the russian press as standing on the lowest round of the ladder of village life. it does not seem generally to occur to the public mind that a regular movement of the working population, like the movement of mercury in the barometrical tube, has to select the line of least resistance. indeed, it is distinctly shown by comparison that the wages are higher outside than within the village.
-we have here consequently an indication of the recent growth of russia’s town proletariat.
-the dissolution of the patriarchal family.
-this new dictate of paternalism has certainly caused much annoyance in the village, and it must unquestionably have failed in achieving the desired end. the matter has been excellently elucidated by mr. gleb oospensky, one of russia’s foremost writers, as well as by mrs. epheemenko and prof. engelhardt.
-this presentation of the case, made as the result of individual observation, was fully proved by the figures subsequently collected by the statisticians.
-this is the comparative membership per household before, and a quarter of a century after, the emancipation, and the distribution of the peasantry according to the membership of the several families:
-the rate of separated families increases with the percentage of wage laborers. it is by wage laborers that most of the households of the modern type (with one adult male) have been started, while within the patriarchal household about two-thirds of its labor forces are applied to farming.
-the dissolution of the old household was of the greatest economic consequence, parcellation of the soil being its necessary result:
-furthermore we find a certain percentage of the village community absolutely without any land: thus we have--
-this new class of the peasantry owes its existence solely to the division of the family:
-it might be supposed that landlessness was connected mainly with old age, widowhood, orphanry, and bodily defects (blindness, lameness, etc.). yet such, what we may call, biological phenomena will carry with them consequences that vary according to the social institutions of the time. the patriarchal family was not destroyed by the death of one of its male members. his widow and orphans belonged, in some analogy with the roman family, not to the husband, but to the household as a whole. it was no unusual thing for a widowed daughter-in-law to be given in marriage to an outsider with the purpose of introducing a new male worker into the coöperative body in the place of the deceased member. similarly the other members remained until death in their family. it was only after the dissolution of the patriarchal household that the feeble and helpless began to figure as a distinct group in village life.
-on the other hand the division of the original household and of its lot in the communal land necessarily resulted in a decrease of the live stock belonging to each family, and consequently in a decrease of its agricultural efficiency.
-this is shown by the following tables:
-i. households classified according to the number of adult male workers.
-ii. households classified according to the number of horses raised.
-the highest class in regard to the ownership of live stock is composed chiefly of the households of the old type that number at least three male workers, and whose shares in the communal land exceed the average.
-the households of the new type consisting of two adult male workers are provided in the majority of cases with two working horses; but there is a very notable minority which is gradually falling into the lower group with only one working horse to a household.
-finally even that level appears to be too high for the households in which there is only one male worker. only the minority of such households are in the position to keep up at least two working horses; the great majority have either one horse or none, and vice versâ: the groups with one horse or without horses are made up mainly of those households with only one adult male worker, their plots only very seldom exceeding the average, or even falling short of the average.
-it becomes plain that small peasant agriculture, based on the labor of the farmer alone, could stand only as long as its basis, the compound coöperative family, held together. the previous economic evolution has demonstrated that the co-operation of three adult workers is required upon an average to constitute a stable peasant household. as the progress of individualism will not stop in presence of the survivals of the patriarchal compound family, so the lacking labor force will have to be supplied by hire. the dissolution of the patriarchal family brings forth, of necessity, the employing farmer.
-the modern agricultural classes.
-the existence of the employer presupposes his correlative, the employee. thus we are brought close to the fact that there have arisen opposite social classes within the village community.
-thus we have the very peculiar economic type of a wage-laborer who is at the same time employer of wage labor. it is obvious that the characteristics of a modern european proletarian could not properly be extended to the russian agricultural laborer.
-we shall divide the peasantry into three main classes:
-i. those whose income from farming is sufficient to meet all the expenses of the household (taxes included), so as to obviate any need of wage earnings.
-households that pay their expenses by the income from commercial or industrial enterprises and draw a net profit from agriculture, are also included in that class.
-ii. farmers who are at the same time wage laborers, either in agriculture, or in industry.
-iii. proletarians, i. e. those who stopped working on their plots and earn their living exclusively by means of wage labor.
-let us examine these classes in detail.
-ad i. combine all merely agricultural groups in which the income from farming exceeds the expenses of housekeeping, taxes and rent, and in which, furthermore, all the householders cultivate their plots with their own stock and implements. the results are presented in the following tables:
-1. balance sheet.
-2. land to 1 farm.
-3. live stock to 1 farm.
-the requirements for a “strong” household, as evidenced by the above tables, are as follows: 1, a farm exceeding in size fifteen dessiatines, i. e. one of above the average size; 2, at least two working horses.
-guided by these principles, we obtain the following table comprising all the householders of the class in question, in the district of korotoyak:
-in the class. in the district at large.
-households classified with regard to--
-the class in question occupies the top of the village. it owes its economic independence to the fact that the majority of the households represent a co-operation of at least two adult male workers, assisted by half-workers, as well as to the favorable circumstance that the size of the farm exceeds by about one-half, relatively to the number of workers, the average in the district. the number of working horses is accordingly increased in the same ratio, three horses constituting about the average to a farm, while about one half of the households at large fall short of even the average two to a farm.
-another branch of the same class is formed by those householders with whom trade and commerce are as important a source of revenue as agriculture, as shown by the balance below:
-district of korotoyak.
-ad ii. the mean between both extremes, i. e. between the independent farmers and the proletarian laborers, is occupied by a transitional class who are farmers and wage laborers at once.
-within this class a further distinction is to be made as between (a), those with whom outside earnings are to cover only a small deficit in their farming, and (b), those with whom wage labor has become as important a source of income as farming:
-the “single” householders permanently employed as farm laborers have in most cases stopped working on their plots. the separation of the remaining 1242 compound householders would swell the proletarian class by nearly as many families, which would constitute an increase of the proletariat by forty-five per cent.
-after having examined in detail the several classes of the village, let us sum up their characteristic features in one schedule, to show the tendency of the evolution going on:
-we find a clue to the coming development of the village in the fact that the main classes within the peasantry correspond to the age of the householders.
-it is but the minority of old-fashioned compound families that have stood their ground as virtual farmers; the middle economic group of the village, is formed by “the middlers” i. e. the householders of middle age, who count in their families half-workers or one adult worker besides themselves. the proletarians are recruited from among the youngest generations, who consist of husband and wife with their little children.
-individual ownership and agrarian communism.
-thus far we have seen the changes which the parcelling of soil wrought in the constitution of the village population. we are now brought face to face with the question of how small peasant landholding is influenced by this parcelling.
-in countries with individual property in land, the question is settled. in russia the case is complicated by the system of communal ownership in land.
-yet the right of alienation, the main essential for the question at issue, is inherent in quarterly possession on an equal footing with private property. thus we can avail ourselves of the opportunity for comparative study.
-quite naturally, the distribution of land shows more irregularity under quarterly possession than under agrarian communism.
-the maximum extent of one quarterly holding exceeded ten times the average. under the rule of agrarian communism, where land is periodically distributed pro rata, according to the membership of the families, such extremes are quite impossible, so far as ownership is concerned.
-let us compare further the number of the dispossessed under agrarian communism and under quarterly possession:
-it must be taken into account that the plots of the emigrants remain, under agrarian communism, the property of the community, which is not the case under any other form of possession that is at all analogous to private property. thus the rural community appears to be a fairly efficient safety-valve against the expropriation of the poorest among the peasantry. in reality, however, the influence of communal ownership is merely formal. communal land escapes from the hands of its titular owners under the form of lease.
-the communal land held under lease is now nearly equal in amount to that leased by the peasants directly from the landlords.
-furthermore, the figures show that only about one-fourth of the lessors are regular farmers, cultivating their lots with their own horses and implements, while about one-half have abandoned farming altogether:
-in reality the contrary is the case. the fact that communal land is disposed of by private agreement, means the displacement of agrarian communism by economic individualism. this was most strikingly demonstrated when the question of the general redivision of the communal land came up before the free mir in the beginning of the eighties.
-the redivision of the communal land.
-peasant russia of the time of serfdom was a kind of a single tax realm. land was treated by the peasantry as the only source of taxable income. accordingly, the terms of the general subdivisions of the land were adapted to the censuses (revisions), made by the government for the assessment of the poll-tax, at average intervals of fifteen years.
-in 6 bailiwicks (out of the 45), i. e. in 87 communities, a serious obstacle to the subdivision arose from the lease of communal land.
-the resolution must be passed by a vote of two-thirds of the mir. now, about one-fifth of the householders are absent from home, engaged in some wage-earning occupation, and there is also a certain percentage among the emigrants who have not yet severed their relations with the community. after subtraction of both these groups, which are counted in the vote, it becomes very easy for the stronger households to stand against the advocates of subdivision. furthermore, those who are in the habit of leasing their plots would have no interest in the subdivision, even if present. the case of the adherents of the mir thus becomes a very precarious one. this is strikingly evidenced by the following figures:
-we know that the lessor class is constantly growing with the increase of the population, and the spread of the movement from the village. thus the young generation grows indifferent to the custom of the village community.
-the old-fashioned households, on the other hand, are accumulating the plots of the declining farmers, and show a pronounced opposition to agrarian communism. there still remain the intermediate groups of the “weak” householders, who faithfully preserve their allegiance to the mir. the position of these groups is, however, very unstable.
-it follows that the formation of classes within the mir tends to perpetuate the expropriation of the “weak” families, and the concentration of communal land, formerly held by them, in the hands of the “strong.”
-it is true that it is only the right of possession which is conferred upon the lessee of communal land. but there are many facts that go to show the possible evolution of possession into property.
-thus the play of economic interests is dissolving the village community into, on the one hand, a landless rural proletariat, and, on the other hand, a peasant bourgeoisie, to whom the title to a large portion of communal land is destined to be transferred.
-note to chapter xii., the “inalienability” scheme.
-the antiquated presumption of the homogeneity of the village found its practical expression in a scheme which came out of the peasantist press, and caught the ear of the ruling classes. this was the proposal to declare communal land inalienable. the question at issue has had its history. so long as the capitalized amortization tax exceeded the value of the land, the number of peasants who had redeemed their lots in absolute property was limited to a score of the wealthiest householders in a district. it took about 20 years before the rise of rent brought the price of land above the redemption debt, as decreased by the previous amortization payments made by the peasants. it then became profitable for speculators to advance the money necessary for the repayment of the remainder, so as to compel the community to carve out the lot into a separate tract, and thus make the sale feasible. as this speculation dates only from the eighties, the statistics gathered by local investigations are as yet insufficient. the question can be properly handled only when we have the data of a large region comprising, at least, several gubernias. so the matter has been dealt with in a series of articles in the russian press. it appears that a considerable number of peasant plots have passed, by sale, into the hands of strangers, thanks to the law permitting the alienation of communal land. (sec. 165 of the general statute of the peasants freed from bond serfdom.)
-to see our way clearly through the question at issue, we have to discover who are the buyers of the land sold by the peasants.
-we have seen that only a minor portion of the quarterly lots have been purchased by merchants. as a rule, the small lots sold by the nobility are acquired by peasants only. (cf., next chapter.)
-the question at issue is thus one that has been settled as between peasants alone, and that affects neither the interests of the nobility nor those of the capitalistic class. in such cases it may well please the russian government to throw a sop to the peasantists. this mésalliance of oriental paternalism with some queer sort of state socialistic prohibitionism, however, would be apt to meet with opposition from the very ones who were supposed to be benefited.
-as the process of dissolution is obviously spreading from within, and not from without the village, inalienability of peasant land would simply mean gratuitous expropriation of the poor for the benefit of the wealthy members of the community.
-we notice that the percentage of emigrants among the quarterly possessors who have enjoyed the right of alienating their land has been far greater than that among the former state peasants who live in agrarian communism:
-to what is this difference due? a single concrete example will clear up the matter.
-agriculture on a large scale.
-this attractive theory gained for a time control of the whole monthly press. statistical investigation, however, has subsequently brought to light the utter baselessness of the very premises of the doctrine.
-given the development and actual condition of farm labor, the character of agriculture on a large scale is fully determined thereby. farming on the estates of the nobility after the emancipation of the peasants continued for a time as a pursuit of merely natural economy. one part of the land was rented to the peasants in consideration of a certain amount of work to be done on the other part. labor was also provided for through the grant of easements to the peasant communities. the entire area of the estate, whether rented or farmed by the owner, was cultivated by the peasants’ implements and live stock. this enabled the landlord to carry on agriculture on a large scale without any outlay of capital.
-the rise of rent resulted in the increase of the work to be performed by the tenant for the benefit of the landlord. the area cultivated by the latter increased, diminishing the part of the estate rented to the peasant. small peasant agriculture was being step by step displaced by large farming, and that continually without any additional investment of capital.
-finally, however, the displacement of the small farmer must needs have led to the gradual substitution of money economy for natural economy. as the number of impoverished peasants increased in inverse ratio to the tenant class, a time arrived when the demand for labor could no longer be supplied by tenants alone, and had to be provided for through wage labor. the employer became the creditor of the laborer. this necessitated money payments for the land given in tenure.
-as yet the major part of the area of private property is cultivated by means of peasant live stock and implements, as evidenced by the comparative quantity of live stock raised on the large farms and in the rural districts abroad:
-still, even that slight increase of productivity is sufficient to make large farming prevail over small peasant tenure:
-another reason for the prevalence of large farming over small peasant tenure is to be found in the greater economic dependence of the farm laborer as compared with the tenant, while the laborer, being a farmer himself, saves his employer the investment of fixed capital.
-nevertheless a certain outlay of capital for the payment of wages was necessitated by the development of money economy in agriculture. this has drawn the line between the smaller and the larger estates.
-while on the smaller estates peasant tenure is practiced to the extent of excluding landlord agriculture, on the larger estates, on the contrary, peasant tenure plays but a subordinate part:
-still all these improvements presuppose a corresponding investment of capital. thus we are face to face with the beginnings of capitalistic agriculture in russia.
-the nobility, as a class, owed its existence to relations of natural economy. the bonds, which were issued to the landlords by the government in payment for the land allotted to the peasantry, were promptly wasted for personal enjoyment, for all kind of risky speculations, and for agricultural improvements which could not pay from a business standpoint. thus, as soon as the need of capital began to be felt in agriculture, the estates of the nobility flew, through lease, mortgage and sale, into the hands of the capitalist class.
-immediately after the emancipation of the peasants the domains of the nobility covered nearly the total area of private property. twenty years after the reform, one-third of their property had already gone to other classes. the land which was lost by the nobility was divided between the capitalist and the small farmer in the ratio of two to one, the possessions of the capitalist growing about three times as fast as small private property.
-the following figures may serve as an illustration:
-the growth of capitalistic tenure furthers the progress of capitalistic agriculture. the small tenant is being superseded by the large business man (or merchant, to use the russian expression), exploiting the land by means of wage labor. this is proved by the following figures:
-the nobility has proved able to farm only on the largest estates. where the nobleman would merely distribute his estate in small lots among peasant tenants, the capitalist landholder carries on agriculture on a large scale:
-the average holding on which peasant tenure pays the capitalist better than farming, is less than one-half the corresponding size of a noble’s estate. accordingly we find that wherever the capitalist has replaced the noble, the exclusive practice of small peasant tenure has lost over one-half of its area:
-moreover, the management of the estates by the capitalists is far superior to that which the noble landlord could afford.
-the capitalist would manure his fields as soon as his holding reaches scarcely one-half the average estate on which the nobleman would care to fertilize the soil; and even then the latter lags behind the capitalist as regards the area yearly manured:
-the expense of fertilizing is compensated by the greater productivity of capitalistic agriculture.
-we observe that wheat is planted by the capitalist where rye would be the only winter crop raised by a nobleman:
-it appears from these figures--
-1. that on the estates of the nobility the average yield of wheat amounts to what can be got from the soil without the application of manure, while on capitalistic farms the average is nearly on a par with that which is raised from fertilized land.
-the rise of the income from agriculture, as above shown, goes hand in hand with the development of stock breeding. thus where the nobleman would have all his land tilled with peasant live stock, the capitalist draws a benefit from cultivating a part of his estate with his own stock, and this part is relatively greater than on the largest estates owned by the nobility. the evidence is presented in the following table:
-to sum up, it is thanks solely to the obstinate persistence of backward methods in russian agriculture that the nobility is able to maintain its position.
-on the whole, the existence of the nobility as an agricultural class is closely dependent upon the continued vegetation of a class of peasants, who are farmers and laborers at once, or who, to express it more accurately, are neither farmers nor laborers. we have seen what is the trend of the times with regard to this class of peasantry. the former masters will inevitably share the fate of their former serfs.
-conclusion: the consequences of the famine.
-the conclusions drawn from the previous discussion of the economic structure of the russian village must be taken with a threefold limitation.
-in the first place, the science of statistics is essentially a science of large numbers. there are many questions, by no means unimportant, which it has been impossible even to touch upon, their discussion being feasible only where large agricultural areas are concerned.
-in the second place, inasmuch as the facts and deductions have only a local basis, the question arises whether the conclusions drawn would also hold good when applied upon a larger scale.
-in the third place, the conditions prevailing some five or ten years ago must inevitably have undergone by this time great modifications.
-it may be questioned whether the operations of the bank have been even sufficient to counterbalance the further parcellation of peasant holdings which has resulted from the growth of population. the economic tendencies prevalent in the village during the first year of the present reign may be regarded as being even more pronounced to-day.
-thus the present famine must be considered as a genuine turning-point in the economic history of russia.
-family co-operation, village community, nobility, and natural economy--such was the economic constitution of russia in the past.
-table i.--distribution of land among the several sections of the peasant population.
-table i, a.
-to make it clearer for the purposes of comparative study, some of these data are translated into english measures:
-acreage of a peasant farm or household on average.
-table ii.--taxation of the peasantry.
-table iii.--arrears in taxes.
-a.--classification with regard to ownership of land.
-b.--classification with regard to stock-breeding.
-budgets of typical peasant households.
-i. gabriel michea’s (son) trupoff, village sukmanka, bailiwick (volost) sukmanka.
-the family selected is one of medium standing, getting along well with its farming. the figures refer to 1879, when the crops were good, the yield being in the ratio of 10:1 to the seed.
-members of the family.
-1. the housefather, 60 year old, doing all kinds of farm work.
-2. his wife, of the same age, keeping the house.
-3. their son, aged 27.
-4. their daughter-in law, aged 26, and,
-5-7. the son and daughter-in-law’s three children, between 3 and 8 years of age.
-schedule of property owned by the family.
-1. wooden house, straw roof:
-add thereto sheds, etc., used for various farming purposes.
-income in rubles.
-expenses in rubles.
-ii. kosma abramoff, village michaïlovka, bailiwick nicholo-kabañ yevskaya.
-the family counts as one of the “strong” economically.
-schedule of property.
-1. 1 house (with appurtenances):
-2. land, 3 dessiatines (8 acres).
-income in rubles.
-iii. capiton popoff, village pavlovka, bailiwick pavlodarovka.
-the family is considered one of the “powerless.”
-5. girl of 16.
-6. girl of 13.
-7-8. two little boys.
-schedule of property.
-1. house, 14×14 square feet.
-2. land, 1½ dessiatines (4 acres).
-yearly income in rubles.
-by gertrude atherton
-author of “the conqueror,” etc.
-all rights reserved
-copyright, 1902, by mrs. gertrude atherton.
-copyright, 1903, by the macmillan company.
-set up, electrotyped, and published june, 1903.
-norwood press j. s. cushing & co.—berwick & smith co. norwood, mass., u.s.a.
-mrs. pendleton’s four-in-hand
-jessica, her hands clenched and teeth set, stood looking with hard eyes at a small heap of letters lying on the floor. the sun, blazing through the open window, made her blink unconsciously, and the ocean’s deep voice rising to the newport sands seemed to reiterate:—
-tall, finely pointed with the indescribable air and style of the new york woman, she did not suggest intimate knowledge of the word the ocean hurled to her. in that moss-green room, with her haughty face and clean skin, her severe faultless gown, she rather suggested the type to whom poets a century hence would indite their sonnets—when she and her kind had been set in the frame of the past. and if her dress was conventional, she had let imagination play with her hair. the clear evasive colour of flame, it was brushed down to her neck, parted, crossed, and brought tightly up each side of her head just behind her ears. meeting above her bang, the curling ends allowed to fly loose, it vaguely resembled medusa’s wreath. her eyes were grey, the colour of mid-ocean, calm, beneath a grey sky. not twenty-four, she had the repose and “air” of one whose cradle had been rocked by society’s foot; and although at this moment her pride was in the dust, there was more anger than shame in her face.
-the door opened and her hostess entered. as mrs. pendleton turned slowly and looked at her, miss decker gave a little cry.
-“jessica!” she said, “what is the matter?”
-“i have been insulted,” said mrs. pendleton, deliberately. she felt a savage pleasure in further humiliating herself.
-“insulted! you!” miss decker’s correct voice and calm brown eyes could not have expressed more surprise and horror if a foreign diplomatist had snapped his fingers in the face of the president’s wife. even her sleek brown hair almost quivered.
-“yes,” mrs. pendleton went on in the same measured tones; “four men have told me how much they despise me.” she walked slowly up and down the room. miss decker sank upon the divan, incredulity, curiosity, expectation, feminine satisfaction marching across her face in rapid procession.
-“i have always maintained that a married woman has a perfect right to flirt,” continued mrs. pendleton. “the more if she has married an old man and life is somewhat of a bore. ‘why do you marry an old man?’ snaps the virtuous world. ‘what a contemptible creature you are to marry for anything but love!’ it cries, as it eats the dust at mammon’s feet. i married an old man because with the wisdom of twenty, i had made up my mind that i could never love and that position and wealth alone made up the sum of existence. i had more excuse than a girl who has been always poor, for i had never known the arithmetic of money until my father failed, the year before i married. people who have never known wealth do not realise the purely physical suffering of those inured to luxury and suddenly bereft of it: it makes no difference what one’s will or strength of character is. so—i married mr. pendleton. so—i amused myself with other men. mr. pendleton gave me my head, because i kept clear of scandal: he knew my pride. now, if i had spent my life demoralising myself and the society that received me, i could not be more bitterly punished. i suppose i deserve it. i suppose that the married flirt is just as poor and paltry and contemptible a creature as the moralist and the minister depict her. we measure morals by results. therefore i hold to-day that it is the business of a lifetime to throw stones at the married flirt.”
-“for heaven’s sake,” cried miss decker, in a tone of exasperation, “stop moralising and tell me what has happened!”
-“do you remember clarence trent, edward dedham, john severance, norton boswell?”
-“do i? poor moths!”
-“they were apparently devoted to me.”
-“how long is it since mr. pendleton’s death?”
-“about—he died on the sixteenth—why, yes, it was six months yesterday since he died.”
-“exactly. you see these four notes on the floor? they are four proposals—four proposals”—and she gave a short hard laugh through lips whose red had suddenly faded—“from the four men i have just mentioned.”
-miss decker gasped. “four proposals! then what on earth are you angry about?”
-mrs. pendleton’s lip curled scornfully. she did not condescend to answer at once. “you are clever enough at times,” she said coldly, after a moment. “it is odd you cannot grasp the very palpable fact that four proposals received on the same day, by the same mail, from four men who are each other’s most intimate friends, can mean but one thing—a practical joke. oh!” she cried, the jealously mastered passion springing into her voice, “that is what infuriates me—more even than the insult—that they should think me such a fool as to be so easily deceived! o—h—h!”
-“if i remember aright,” ventured miss decker, feebly, “the intimacy to which you allude was a thing of the past some time before you disappeared from the world. in fact, they were not on speaking terms.”
-“oh, they have made it up long ago! don’t make any weak explanations, but tell me how to turn the tables on them. i would give my hair and wear a grey wig—my complexion and paint—to get even with them. and i will. but how? how?”
-she paced up and down the room with nervous steps, glancing for inspiration from the delicate etchings on the walls to the divan that was like a moss bank, to the carpet that might have been a patch of forest green, and thence to the sparkling ocean. miss decker offered no suggestions. she had perfect faith in the genius of her friend.
-suddenly mrs. pendleton paused and turned to her hostess. the red had come back to her curled mouth. her eyes were luminous, as when the sun breaks through the grey sky and falls, dazzling, on the waters.
-“i have it!” she said. “and a week from to-day—i will keep them in suspense that long—new york will have no corner small enough to hold them.”
-the hot september day was ten hours old. the office of the st. christopher club was still deserted but for a clerk who looked warm and sleepy. the postman had just left a heap of letters on his desk, and he was sorting them for their various pigeonholes. a young man entered, and the clerk began to turn over the letters more rapidly. the newcomer, tall, thin, with sharp features and shrewd american face, had an extremely nervous manner. as he passed through the vestibule a clerk at a table put a mark opposite the name “mr. clarence trent,” to indicate that he was in the club.
-“any letters?” he demanded of the office clerk.
-the man handed him two, and he darted into the morning-room and tore one open, letting the other fall to the floor. he read as follows:—
-“our engagement must be a profound secret until the year of my mourning is over.”
-trent’s drab and scanty whiskers seemed to curl into hard knots over the nervous facial contortion in which he indulged. nature being out of material when at work upon him had seemingly constructed his muscles from stout twine. an inch of it joining his nose to the upper lip, the former’s pointed tip was wont to punctuate his conversation and emotions with the direct downward movement of a machine needle puncturing cloth. he crumpled the letter in his bony nervous fingers, and his pale sharp grey eyes opened and shut with sudden rapidity.
-“i knew i could not be mistaken,” he thought triumphantly. “she is mine!”
-in the vestibule another name was checked off,—“mr. norton boswell,”—and its owner made eagerly for the desk. his dark intellectual face was flushed, and his sensitive mouth twitched suddenly as the clerk handed him a roll of mss.
-“never mind that,” he said hastily. “give me my letters.”
-the clerk handed him several, and, whisking them from left to right through his impatient hands, he thrust all but one into his pocket and walked rapidly to the morning-room. seating himself before a table, he looked at the envelope as if not daring to solve its mystery, then hastily tore it apart.
-“our engagement must be a profound secret until the year of my mourning is over.”
-boswell, with quivering nostrils, plunged a pen into the ink-well, and in that quiet room two hearts thumped so loudly that only passion and scratching pens averted mutual and withering contempt.
-as boswell left the office a very young man entered it. he possessed that nondescript blond complexion which seems to be the uniform of the new york youth of fashion. the ciphers of the four hundred have achieved the well-scrubbed appearance of the anglo-saxon more successfully than his accent. mr. dedham might have been put through a clothes-wringer. even his minute and recent moustache looked as if each hair had its particular nurse, and his pink and chubby face defied conscientious dissipation. he sauntered up to the clerk’s desk with an elaborate affectation of indifference, and drawled a demand for his mail.
-the clerk handed him a dainty note sealed with a crest. he accepted it with an absent air, although a look of genuine boyish delight thrust its way through the fishy inertness of his average expression.
-it took him a minute and a half to get into the morning-room and read these fateful lines:—
-“our engagement must be a profound secret until the year of my mourning is over.”
-a tall broad-shouldered young man, with much repose of face and manner, entered the office from the avenue, glanced at the pigeon-holes above the clerk’s desk, then sauntered deliberately into the morning-room and looked out of the window. a slight rigidity of the nostrils alone betokened the impatience within, and his uneasy thoughts ran somewhat as follows:—
-“what a fool i have been! after all my experience with women to make such an ass of myself over the veriest coquette that ever breathed; but her preference for me last winter was so pointed—oh, damnation!”
-he stood gnawing his underlip at the lumbering ’bus, but turned suddenly as a man approached from behind and presented several letters on a tray. the first and only one he opened ran thus:—
-“mon ami!—i have but this moment received your letter, which seems to have been delayed. i say nothing here of the happiness which its contents have given me. come at once.
-“our engagement must be a profound secret until the year of my mourning is over.”
-severance folded the note, his face paling a little.
-“well, well, she is true after all. what a brute i was to misjudge her!” he strolled back to the office. “i will go home and write to her, and to-morrow i shall see her! great heaven! were six months ever so long before?”
-as he turned from the coat-room boswell entered the office by the opposite door.
-“the fellow looks as gay as a lark,” he thought. “he hasn’t looked like that for six months. i believe i’ll make it up with him—particularly as i’ve come out ahead!”
-“give me that package,” demanded boswell dreamily of the clerk. then he caught sight of severance. “why, jack, old fellow!” he cried, “how are you? haven’t seen you looking so well for an age. don’t go out. it’s too hot.”
-“oh, hang it! i’ve got to. i’m off for newport to-morrow. it’s so infernally dull in town.”
-“going to newport to-morrow! so am i. my aunt is quite ill and has sent for me. i’m her heir, you know.”
-“no? didn’t know you had an aunt. i congratulate you. hope she’ll go off, i’m sure.”
-“hope so. here comes teddy,—looks like an elongated rubber ball. it’s some time since i’ve seen him so buoyant. how are you, teddy?”
-“how are you, norton, old boy?” explained dedham, rapturously. “how glad i am to hear the old name once more! you’ve given me the cold shoulder of late.”
-“oh, well, my boy, you know men will be fools occasionally. but give by-gones the go-by. i’m going to newport to-morrow. can i take any messages to your numerous—”
-“dear boy! i’m going to newport to-morrow. sea-bathing ordered by my physician.”
-“jove! i am in luck! severance is going over, too. we’ll have a jolly time of it.”
-“i should say so!” murmured teddy. “heaven! hello, sev, how are you? didn’t see you. as long as we are all going the same way we might as well bury our hatchet. what do you say, dear boy?”
-“only too happy,” said severance, heartily. “and may we never unearth it again. here comes trent. he looks as if he had just been returned for the senate.”
-“how are you?” demanded trent, peremptorily. “you have made it up? don’t leave me out in the cold.”
-dedham made a final lunge for his deserting dignity, then sent it on its way. “i should think not,” he cried, with dancing eyes. “give me your fist.”
-in a moment they were all shaking each other’s hand off, and good-fellowship was streaming from every eye.
-“come over to my rooms, all of you,” gurgled teddy, “and have a drink.”
-“with pleasure, my boy,” said trent. “but native rudeness will compel me to drink and run. i am off for newport—”
-“newport!” cried three voices.
-“yes; anything strange in that? i’m going on vital business connected with the coming election.”
-“this is a coincidence!” exclaimed boswell, with the appreciation of the romanticist. “why, we are all going to newport. dedham in search of health, severance of pleasure, and i of a fortune—only the old mummy is always making out her cheques, but never passes them in. well, i hope we’ll see a lot of each other when we get there.”
-“oh, of course,” said severance, hastily. “we will have many another game of polo together.”
-“well,” said dedham, “come over to my rooms now and drink to the success of our separate quests.”
-miss decker paced restlessly up and down the sea-room waiting for the mail. mrs. pendleton, more composed but equally nervous, lay in a long chair, with expectation in her eyes and triumph on her lips.
-“will they answer or will they not?” exclaimed miss decker. “if the mail would only come! will they be crushed?—furious?—or—will they apologise?”
-“i care nothing what they do,” said mrs. pendleton, languidly. “all i wanted was to see them when they received my notes, and later when they met to compare them. i hold that my revenge is a masterpiece—to turn the joke on them and to let them see that they could not make a fool of me at the same time! oh! how dared they?”
-“well, they’ll never perpetrate another practical joke, my dear. you have your revenge, jessica; you have blunted their sense of humour for life. i doubt if they ever even read the funny page of a newspaper again. here comes the postman. there! the bell has rung. why doesn’t hart go? i’ll go myself in a minute.”
-mrs. pendleton’s nostrils dilated a little, but she did not turn her head even when the manservant entered and held a silver tray before her.
-four letters lay thereon. she placed them on her lap but did not speak until the man had left the room. then she looked at miss decker and gave the letters a little sweep with the tips of her fingers.
-“they have answered,” she said.
-“oh, jessica, for heaven’s sake don’t be so iron-bound!” cried her friend. “read them.”
-“you can read them if you choose. i have no interest beyond knowing that they received mine.”
-miss decker needed no second invitation. she caught the letters from mrs. pendleton’s lap and tore one of them open. she read a few lines, then dropped limply on a chair.
-“jessica!” she whispered, with a little agonised gasp, “listen to this.”
-mrs. pendleton turned her eyes inquiringly, but would not stoop to curiosity. “well,” she said, “i am listening.”
-“it is from mr. trent. and—listen:—
-“‘angel! i think if you had kept me waiting one day longer you would have met a lunatic wandering on the newport cliffs. last night i attended a primary and made such an egregious idiot of myself (although i was complimented later upon my speech) that i shall never understand why i was not hissed. but hereafter i shall be inspired. and how you will shine in washington! that is the place for our talents. after reading your reserved yet impassioned note, i do not feel that i can talk more rationally upon politics than while in suspense. what do you think i did? i made it all up with severance, dedham, and boswell, whom i met just after receiving it. i could afford to forgive them. they, by the way, go to newport to-morrow. farewell, most brilliant of women, destined by heaven to be the wife of a diplomatist—for i will confide to you that that is my ultimate ambition. until to-morrow,
-“well! what do you think of that?”
-a pink wave had risen to mrs. pendleton’s hair, then receded and broken upon the haughty curve of her mouth.
-“read the others,” she said briefly.
-“oh! how can you be so cool?” and miss decker opened another note with trembling fingers.
-“it is from norton boswell:—
-“‘you once chided me for looking at the world through grey spectacles, and bade me always hope for the best until the worst was decided. when you were near to encourage me the sky was often pink, but even the memory of the last six months has faded before the agonised suspense of these seven days. oh! i shall be an author now, if suffering is the final lesson. but what incoherent stuff i am writing! loneliness and despair are alike forgotten. i can write no more! to-morrow! to-morrow!
-“read severance’s,” said jessica, quickly.
-“i believe you like that man!” exclaimed miss decker. “i think he’s a brute. but you’re in a scrape. this is from the lordly severance:—
-“‘an englishman once said of you, with a drawl which wound the words about my memory—“y-a-a-s; she flirts on ice, so to speak.” coldest and most subtle of women, why did you keep me in suspense for seven long days? do you think i believe that fiction of the delayed letter? you forget that we have met before. but why torment me? did i not in common decency have to wait six months before i dared put my fate to the test? how i counted those days! i had a calendar and a pencil—in short, i made a fool of myself. now the chess-board is between us once more: we start on even ground; we will play a keen and close game to the end of our natural lives. i love you; but i know you. i will kiss the rod—until we marry; after that—we shall play chess. i shall see you to-morrow.
-“well, that’s what i call a beast of a man,” said miss decker.
-“i hate him!” said jessica, between her teeth.
-she looked hard at the ocean. under its grey sky to-day it was the colour of her eyes, as cold and as unfathomable. the glittering medusa-like ends of her hair seemed to leap upward and writhe at each other.
-“i should think you would hate him,” said miss decker; “he is the only living man who ever got the best of you. but listen to what your devoted infant has to say. nice little boy, teddy:—
-“‘dearest! sweetest! do you know that i am almost dancing for joy at this moment? indeed, my feet are going faster than my pen. to think! to think!—you really do love me after all. but i always said you were not a flirt. i knocked a man down once and challenged him to a duel because he said you were. he wouldn’t fight, but i had the satisfaction of letting him know what i thought of him. and now i can prove it to all the world! but i can’t write any more. there are three blots on this now—the pen is jumping and you know i never was much at writing letters. but i can talk, and to-morrow i will tell you all.
-“‘your own teddy.
-“well, madam, you’re in a scrape, and i don’t envy you. what will you do?”
-mrs. pendleton pressed her head against the back of the chair, straining her head upward as if she wanted the salt breeze to rasp her throat.
-“i have been so bored for six months,” she said slowly. “let them come. i will see each of them alone, and keep the farce going for a week or so. it will be amusing—to be engaged to four men at once. you will command the forces and see that they do not meet. of course, it cannot be kept up very long, and when all resources are failing i will let them meet and make them madly jealous. it will do one of them good, at least.”
-“well, you have courage,” ejaculated miss decker. “you can’t do it. but yes, you can. if the woman lives who can play jackstraws with firebrands, that woman is you. and what fun! we are so dull here—both in mourning. i’ll help you. i’ll carry out your instructions like a major.”
-mrs. pendleton rose and walked up and down the room once or twice. “there is only one thing,” she said, drawing her brows together: “if i am engaged to them they will want to—h’m—kiss me, you know. it will be rather awkward. i never was engaged to any one but mr. pendleton, and he used to kiss me on my forehead and say, ‘my dear child.’ i am afraid they won’t be contented with that.”
-“i am afraid they won’t! but you have tact enough. come, say you will do it.”
-“yes,” said jessica, “i will do it. in my boarding-school days i used to dream of being a tragedy queen; i find myself thrust by circumstances into comedy. but i have no doubt it will suit my talents better.”
-severance strode impatiently up and down the room overlooking the ocean.
-“‘will be down in a minute.’ i suppose that means the usual thirty for reflection and contemplation of bric-à-brac. what a pretty room! no bric-à-brac in it, by the way. i wonder if this is the room my lady jessica is said to have furnished to suit herself? it looks like a woodland glade. she must look stunning against those moss-green curtains. i wonder how madam liked my letter? it was rather brutal, but to manage a witch you have got to be jove astride a high horse. here she comes. i know that perfume. she uses it to sweeten the venom of those snakes of hers.”
-mrs. pendleton entered and gave him her hand with frank welcome. her “snakes” seemed vibrant with life and defiance, and her individuality pierced through her white conventional gown like a solitary star in a hueless sky.
-“how do you do?” she asked, shaking his hand warmly; then she sat down at once as a matter of course.
-he understood the manœuvre.
-“let us play chess, by all means,” he said and took a chair opposite. “your seclusion has done you good,” he added, smiling as the crest of a wave appeared in her eyes. “you have lost your fagged look and are more like a girl than a widow. dissipation does not agree with you. two more winters! you would try to make up for it by your wit, and then your nose would get sharp, and you would have a line down the middle of your forehead and another on each side of your mouth.”
-“you are as rude as ever,” said jessica, coldly; but the wave in her eyes threatened to become tidal. “if you marry a blonde and incarcerate her, however, you may find the effect more bleaching than society.”
-“was that a reflection upon my own society? i do not incarcerate; i only warn.”
-“so do i,” said mrs. pendleton, significantly; “i have occasionally got the best of a bad bargain.”
-“and as you will find me the worst in the world you are already on the defensive,” said severance, with a laugh. “come, i have not seen you for six months, and i am hard hit. i wrote you that i marked off each day with a pencil—a red one at that; i bought it for the occasion. don’t take a base advantage of the admission, but give me one kind syllable. i ask for it as humbly as a dog does for a bone.”
-“you do, indeed. i began by making disagreeable remarks about your personal appearance, did i not? if you will be a brute, i will be a—cat.”
-“you will acquit yourself with credit. but i will not quarrel with you to-day.” he rose suddenly and went over to her, but she was already on her feet. she dropped her eyes, then raised them appealingly; but the sea was level.
-“do not kiss me,” she said.
-“i would rather not—yet. do you know that i have never kissed a man—a lover, i mean—in my life? and this is so sudden—i would rather wait.”
-he raised her hand chivalrously to his lips. “i will wait,” he said; “but you will wear my ring?” and he took a circlet from his pocket and slipped it on her finger.
-“thank you,” she said simply and touched it with a little caressing motion.
-he dropped her hand and stepped back. miss decker had pushed aside the portière.
-“how do you do, mr. severance?” she said cordially; “i did not interrupt even to congratulate, but to take jessica away for a moment. my dear, your dressmaker came down on the train with mr. severance and has but a minute. you had better go at once, for you know her temper is not sweet.”
-“provoking thing!” said jessica, with a pout. it was the fourth mood to which she treated severance in this short interview, and he looked at her with delight. “but i will get rid of her as soon as possible. will you excuse me for a few moments? i will be back in ten.”
-“a dressmaker is the only tyrant to whom i bow, the only foe before whom i lay down my arms. go; but come back soon.”
-“in ten minutes.”
-“which is it, and where is he?” she whispered eagerly as they crossed the hall.
-“mr. trent. he is in the library.”
-trent was standing before a bust of daniel webster, speculating upon how his own profile would look in bronze.
-“you would have to shave off your side-whiskers,” murmured a soft voice behind him.
-he turned with a nervous start, and a suspicion of colour appeared under his grey skin. mrs. pendleton was standing with her hands resting lightly on the table. she smiled with saucy dignity—an art she had brought to perfection.
-“i give you five years,” she said.
-“with you to help me,” he cried enthusiastically. “ah! i see you now, leaning on the arm of a foreign ambassador, going in to some great diplomatic dinner!”
-“it is too bad, i shall have to take the arm of a small one; you will be but the american minister, you know. (great heaven! how determined he looks! i know he means to kiss me. if i can only keep his ambition going.)”
-“i will be senator first, and pass a bill placing this country on an equal diplomatic footing with the proudest in europe. you will then go to your embassy as the wife of an ambassador.”
-“i know you will accomplish it; and let it be paris. i cannot endure to shop anywhere else.”
-“it shall be paris.”
-“are you not tired?” she asked hurriedly.
-“tired? i have not thought of fatigue.”
-“the day is so warm.”
-“i have not felt it. jessica!”
-“o—h—h—h!” and catching her face convulsively in her hand, she sank into a chair.
-“what is it? what is it?” he cried, hopping about her like an agitated spider, the tip of his nose punctuating his excitement. “what can i do? are you ill?”
-“what shall i ring for? antipyrine? horse-radish for your wrists? belladonna? what?”
-“nothing. sit down and talk to me, and perhaps it will go away. tell me something about yourself, and i’ll forget it. sit down.”
-“there is but little to tell. i have been busy making friends against the next election. i have addressed several meetings with great success. i have every chance for the house this time—for the senate next term. how’s your face?”
-“misery! you said that several of my old friends came down with you. how odd!”
-“was it not?”
-“i suppose they will all come to see me.”
-“h’m. i don’t know. doubt if they know you are here. i shall not tell them. they would only be coming to see you and getting in my way. i’ll wait until our wedding-day approaches and ask them to be ushers. but now, jessica, that you do not seem to suffer so acutely—”
-“oh! oh! (thank heaven, i hear edith.)”
-trent sprang to his feet in genuine alarm. “dearest! let me go for the doctor. i cannot stand this—”
-miss decker entered with apparent haste, spoke to trent, then stopped abruptly.
-“jessica!” she cried. “what is the matter?”
-“my face! you know how i have suffered—worse than ever.”
-“oh, you poor dear! she is such a martyr, mr. trent, with that tooth—”
-“i mean neuralgia! she was up all night. but, my dear, don’t think me a heartless fiend, but you must see your lawyer. he is here with those deeds for you to sign, and he says that he must catch the train.”
-“that estate has given me so much trouble,” murmured mrs. pendleton, wretchedly; “and how can i talk business when my head is on the rack? i do not wish to leave mr. trent so soon, either.”
-“leave mr. trent to me. i will entertain him. i will talk to him about you.”
-“may i speak to you one moment before you go?” asked trent.
-“yes,” pinching her lips with extremest pain, “you need not mind edith.”
-“not in the least.” he took a box from his pocket with an air of resignation which boded well for the trials of a diplomatic career. “i cannot wait longer to fetter you. you told me once that the emerald was your favourite stone.”
-she relaxed her lips and swept her lashes down and up rapturously. “so good of you to remember,” she murmured; “it reminds me of mermaids and things, and i love it.”
-“you were always so poetical! but where did you get that ring? i thought you never wore rings. on your engagement finger, too!”
-“it was a present from grandma, and i wear it to please her. i’ll slip it in my pocket now—it is too large for any other finger—and you can put yours where it belongs.”
-“you will never take it off until you need its place for your wedding-ring?”
-“angel! and your face is better?”
-“yes; but edith is looking directly this way.”
-mrs. pendleton entered the drawing-room on tiptoe, with hand upraised.
-“well! the sky did not fall, and the train did not ditch, and the lightning did not strike, and we are neither of us dead. and you—you look as strapping as a west point cadet. fie upon your principles!”
-“that is a charming tirade with which to greet an impatient lover,” cried boswell, with beaming face. “you are serious, of course?”
-“you have heard the parable of a woman’s ‘no’?” she gave both his outstretched hands a little shake, then retreated behind a chair and rested both arms on its back.
-“my anger is appeased, but i think i am entitled to some recompense.”
-“what can he mean? would you prefer sherry or red wine?”
-“there is a draught brewed upon olympus which the gods call nectar—”
-“so sorry. we are just out. i gave the last thimbleful away an hour ago.”
-“oh, you did! may i inquire to whom you gave it?”
-“you may, indeed. and i would tell you—could i only remember.”
-“provoking—goddess! but perhaps you will allow me to look for myself. perchance i might find a drop or two remaining. i am willing to take what i can get and be thankful.”
-“then you will never get much,” she thought. “the dregs are always bitter.”
-“there can be no dregs to the nectar in question.”
-“and the last drop always goes to the head. i have heard it asserted upon authority. think of the scandal—the butler—oh, heaven!”
-“the intoxication would make me but tread the air. i should walk right over the butler’s head. where did you get that ring?”
-“is it not lovely? it was” (heaving a profound sigh) “the last gift of poor dear mr. pendleton.”
-“indeed! well, under the circumstances, perhaps you will not mind removing it and wearing that of another unfortunate,” and he placed one knee on the chair over which she leaned and produced a ring.
-“not at all. what a beauty! how did you know that the ruby was my favourite stone?” and she bent her body backward, under pretence of holding the stone up to the light.
-“but you have a number of rubies and pearls in your possession, of which i consider myself the rightful owner. shall i have to call in the law to give me mine own?”
-“the pearls are sharp, and the rubies may be paste. i have the best of the bargain.”
-“i am a connoisseur on the subject of precious stones—of precious articles of all sorts, in fact. what an outrageous coquette you are! what is the use of keeping a man in misery?”
-“why are men always in such a hurry? if i were a man now—and an author—i should wait for moonlight, waves breaking on rocks, and all the rest of it.”
-“all the old property business, in short. i am both a man and an author, therefore i know the folly of delay in this short life.”
-“but suppose the door should open suddenly?”
-“i have been here ten minutes, and it has not opened yet.”
-“but it might, you know; and the small boys of this house are an exaggeration of all that have gone before. ah! here comes some one. sit down on that chair instantly.”
-miss decker entered and looked deprecatingly at boswell.
-“you have come at last,” she said. “we were afraid something had happened to you. i cannot help this interruption, jessica. your grandmother is here and wants to see you immediately. she has been telegraphed for to go to philadelphia; mrs. armstrong is very ill. i would not keep her waiting.”
-“poor grandma! to think of her being obliged to go to philadelphia in september. where is she?”
-“in the yellow reception-room. mr. boswell will excuse you for a few minutes.”
-boswell bowed, his face stamped with gloom.
-“what have you done with the others?” asked jessica, as she closed the door.
-“mr. severance is storming up and down the sea-room. mr. trent is like a caged lion in the library; i expect to hear a crash every minute. but both know what lawyers and dressmakers mean. boswell will learn something of grandmothers. but they are safe for a quarter of an hour longer. trust all to me.”
-dedham was sitting on the edge of one of the reception-room chairs, locking and unlocking his fingers until his hands were as red as those of a son of toil. he was nervous, happy, terrified, annoyed.
-“that beastly porter to keep me waiting so long for my portmanteau!” he almost cried aloud. “what must she think of me?”
-“you wicked boy!” said a voice of gentle reproach. “what made you so late? i was just about to send and inquire if anything had happened to you. but sit down. how tired you must be! would you like a glass of sherry and a biscuit?”
-“nothing! nothing! you know, it’s not my fault that i’m late. my portmanteau got mislaid and my travelling clothes were so dusty. and you really are glad to see me?”
-“what a question! it makes me feel young again to see you.”
-“young again! you!”
-“i am twenty-four, teddy, and a widow,” and she shook her head sadly. “i feel fearfully old—like your mother. i have had so much care and responsibility in my life, and you are so careless and debonair.”
-“you’ll make me cry in a minute,” said teddy; “and i wish you wouldn’t talk like that. you seem to put a whole adirondack between us.”
-“i can’t help it. perhaps i’ll get over it after a time. it’s so sad being mewed up six whole months!”
-“then marry me right off. that’s just the point. we’ll go and travel and have a jolly good time. that’ll brace you up and make you feel as young as you look.”
-“i can’t, teddy. i must wait a year in common decency. think how people would talk.”
-“let ’em. they’ll soon find something else and forget us. marry me next month.”
-“it would be rather fun to be the hero and heroine of a sensation, anyhow. that’s what everybody’s after. you’re just a nonentity until you’ve been black-guarded in the papers. whose ring is that?”
-“one of edith’s. i put it on to remember something by.”
-“well, take it off and wear this instead. it’ll help your memory just as well.”
-“what, a solitaire!”
-“i knew you would prefer it. i know all your tastes by instinct.”
-“you do, teddy. coloured stones are so tiresome.”
-“by the way, i think your old admirer, severance, must be about to put himself in silken fetters, as boswell would say. i caught him buying an unusually fine sapphire in tiffany’s yesterday. said it was for his sister. h’m—h’m.”
-“ah! i wonder who it can be?”
-“don’t know. hasn’t looked at a woman since you left. but i have a strong suspicion that it is some one here in newport.”
-“here! i wonder if it can be edith?”
-“miss decker? sure enough. never seemed to pay her much attention, though. she’s not my style; too much like sixteen dozen other new york girls.”
-he buttoned up his coat, braced himself against it, and gave his moustache a frantic twist.
-“mrs.—jessica!” he ejaculated desperately, “you are engaged to me—won’t you—won’t you—”
-she drew herself up and glanced down upon him from her higher chair with a look of sad disapproval.
-“i did not think it of you, teddy,” she said. “and it is one of the things of which i have never approved.”
-“but why not?” asked teddy, feebly.
-“i thought you knew me better than to ask such a question.”
-“i know you are an angel—oh, hang it! you do make me feel as if you were my mother.”
-“now, don’t be unreasonable, or i shall believe that you are a tyrant.”
-“a tyrant? i? horri—no, i wish i was. what a model of propriety you are! i never should have thought it—i mean—darling! you were always such a coquette, you know. not that i ever thought so. you know i never did—oh, hang it all—but if i let you have your own way in this unreasonable—i mean this perfectly natural whim—you might at least promise to marry me in a month. and, indeed, i think that if you are an angel, i am a saint.”
-“well, on one condition.”
-“it must be an absolute secret until the wedding is over. i hate congratulations, and if we are going to have a sensation we might as well have a good concentrated one.”
-“i agree with you, and i’ll never find fault with you again. you—”
-miss decker almost ran into the room.
-“jessica!” she cried. “oh, dear mr. dedham, how are you? jessica, mother has one of her terrible attacks, and i must ask you to stay with her while i go for the doctor myself. i cannot trust servants.”
-“let me go! let me go!” cried teddy. “i’ll bring him back in a quarter of an hour. who shall—”
-“coleman. he lives—”
-“i know. au revoir!” and the girls were alone.
-“there!” exclaimed miss decker, “we have got rid of him. now for the others. you slip upstairs, and i’ll dispose of them one by one. you are taken suddenly ill. teddy will not be back for an hour. dr. coleman has moved.”
-a lamp burned in the sea-room, and the two girls were sitting in their evening gowns before a bright log fire. miss decker was in white this time—an elaborate french concoction of embroidered muslin which made her look like an expensive fashion plate. jessica wore a low-cut black crêpe, above which she rose like carved ivory and brass. the snakes to-night were held in place by diamond hair-pins that glittered like baleful eyes. in her lap sparkled four rings.
-“what shall i do?” she exclaimed. “if my life depended upon it, i could not remember who gave me which.”
-“let us think. what sort of a stone would a politician be most likely to choose?”
-mrs. pendleton laughed. “a good idea. if couleur de rose be synonymous with conceit, then i think the ruby must have come from mr. trent.”
-“i am sure of it. and as your author is always in the dumps, i am certain he takes naturally to the sapphire.”
-“but the emerald—”
-“is emblematic of your deluded teddy. the solitaire therefore falls naturally to mr. severance. well, now that you have got through the first interviews in safety, what are you going to do next?”
-“edith, i do not know. they are all so dreadfully in earnest that i believe i shall finally take to my heels in down-right terror. but no, i won’t. i’ll come out of it with the upper hand and save my reputation as an actress. i will keep it up for two or three days more, but after that it will be impossible. they are bound to meet here sooner or later. thank heaven, we are rid of them for to-night, at least!”
-the manservant threw back the portière.
-“heavens!” cried edith, under her breath; “i forgot to give orders that we were not receiv—how do you do, mr. trent?”
-“it is very soon to come again,” he said, “but i simply had to call and inquire if you felt better. i am delighted to see that you apparently do.”
-“i am better, thank you.” her voice was weak. “it was good of you to come again.”
-“whose ring is that?”
-“jessica!” cried miss decker, “have you gone off with my ring again? you are so absent-minded! i hunted for that ring high and low!”
-“you should not be so good-natured, and my memory would turn over a new leaf. here, take it.” she tossed the ring to miss decker and raised her eyes guiltily to trent’s. “shall i go up and get the other?”
-“no. but i thought you promised never to take it off.”
-“i forgot that water ruins stones.”
-“well, it is a consolation to know that water does not ruin a certain plain gold circlet.”
-jessica gasped and looked at the flames. a crisis had come. would she be clever enough? then the situation stimulated her. she held out her hand to boswell.
-“you have come to see me?” she cried delightedly. “mr. trent has just been telling us that you came down with him, and i hoped you would call soon.”
-“yes, to be sure—to be sure. you might have known i would call soon.” he bowed stiffly to trent, and, seating himself close beside jessica, murmured in her ear: “cannot you get rid of that fellow? how did he find you out so soon?”
-“why, he came to see edith, of course. do you not remember how devoted he always was to her?”
-“i do not—”
-“may i ask what you are whispering about, mr. boswell?” demanded trent, breaking from miss decker. “is he confiding to you the astounding success of his last novel, mrs. pendleton? or was it a history of the united states? i really forget.”
-“not the last, certainly. i leave it to you to make history—an abridged edition. my ambition is a more humble one.”
-“oh, you will both need biographers,” said mrs. pendleton, who was beginning to enjoy herself. “i will give you an idea. join the theosophists. arrange for reincarnation. come back in the next generation and write your own biographies. then your friends and families cannot complain you have not had justice done you.”
-“ha! ha!” said trent.
-“you are as cruel as ever,” said boswell, with a sigh. “where is my ring?” he whispered.
-“it was so large that i could not keep it on. i must have a guard made.”
-“dear little fingers—”
-“you may never have been taught when you were a small boy, mr. boswell,” interrupted trent, “that it is rude to whisper in company. therefore, to save your manners in mrs. pendleton’s eyes, i will do you the kindness to prevent further lapse.” and he seated himself on the other side of jessica and glared defiantly at boswell.
-“mr. severance and mr. dedham!”
-severance entered hurriedly. “i am so glad to hear—ah, boswell! trent!”
-“how odd that you should all find your way here the very first evening of your arrival!” and jessica held out her hand with a placid smile. miss decker was more nervous, but five seasons were behind her. “ah!” continued mrs. pendleton, “and mr. dedham, too! this is a most charming reunion!”
-“charming beyond expression!” said severance.
-trent and boswell being obliged to rise when miss decker went forward to meet the newcomers, severance took the former’s chair, dedham that of the future statesman.
-“you are better?” whispered severance. “i have been anxious.”
-“oh, i have been worried to death!” murmured teddy in her other ear. “that wretched doctor had not only moved but gone out of town; and when i came back at last and found—”
-“mr. severance,” exclaimed trent, “you have my chair.”
-“is this your chair? you have good taste. a remarkably comfortable chair.”
-“you would oblige me—”
-“by keeping it? certainly. you were ever generous, but that i believe is a characteristic of genius.”
-“mrs. pendleton,” said boswell, plaintively, “as mr. dedham has taken my chair, i will take this stool at your feet.”
-trent was obliged to lean his elbow on the mantelpiece, for want of a better view of mrs. pendleton, and miss decker sat on the other side of dedham.
-“how are you, teddy?” she said.
-“young and happy. you must let me congratulate you.”
-“i see you wear severance’s ring. ah, sev, did the ring suit your sister?”
-“to a t. said it was her favourite stone.” he stopped abruptly. “what the deuce—” below his breath; and jessica whispered hurriedly:—
-“edith was looking at it when mr. trent came in, and forgot to return it.”
-“ah! boswell, i am sure you are sitting on mrs. pendleton’s foot. by the way, how is your aunt?”
-“i wonder you could tear yourself away so soon,” said trent, viciously. “you’d better be careful. she might make a new will.”
-“don’t worry. i spent the happiest fifteen minutes of my life with her this afternoon. she promised me all.” he turned to severance. “you have been breaking hearts on the beach, i suppose.”
-“which is better, at all events, than breaking one’s head against a stone wall.”
-“politics brought you here, i suppose, mr. trent,” interrupted miss decker. “i hear you made a stirring speech the other night.”
-“i did. it was on the question of radicalism in the press versus civil service reform. something must be done to revolutionise this hotbed of iniquity, american politics. such principles need courage, but when the hour comes the man must not be wanting—”
-“that was all in the paper next morning,” drawled boswell. “mrs. pendleton, did you receive the copy of my new book i sent a fortnight ago? unlike many of my others, i had no difficulty in disposing of it. it was lighter, brighter, less philosophy, less—brains. the critics understood it, therefore they were kind. they even said—”
-“don’t quote the critics, for heaven’s sake,” said severance. “it is enough to have read them.”
-“oh, mrs. pendleton,” exclaimed teddy, “if you could have been at the yacht race! such excitement, such—”
-“to change the subject,” said trent, with determination in his eye, “mrs. pendleton, did you receive all the marked papers i sent you containing my speeches, especially the one on jesuitism in politics?”
-“don’t bother mrs. pendleton with politics!” exclaimed boswell, whose own egotism was kicking against its bars. “you did not think my book too long, did you? one purblind critic said—”
-“good night, mrs. pendleton,” said severance, rising abruptly. “good evening,” and he bowed to miss decker and to the men. jessica rose suddenly and went with him to the door.
-“i am going to walk on the cliffs—‘forty steps’—at eleven to-morrow,” she said, as she gave him her hand. “this may be unconventional, but i choose to do it.”
-he bowed over her hand. “mrs. pendleton will only have set one more fashion,” he said. “i shall be there.”
-as he left the room by one door, jessica crossed the room and opened another.
-“good night,” she said to the astounded company, and withdrew.
-severance sauntered up and down the “forty steps,” the repose of his bearing belying the agitation within.
-“why on earth doesn’t she come?” he thought uneasily. “can she be ill again? she is ten minutes behind time now. what did it mean—all those fellows there last night? she looked like an amused spectator at a play, and miss decker was nervous, actually nervous. damn it! here they all come. what do they mean by keeping under my heels like this?”
-dedham, trent, and boswell strolled up from various directions, and, although each had expectation in his eye, none looked overjoyed to see the other men. there were four cold nods, a dead pause, and then teddy gave a little cough.
-“beautiful after—i mean morning.”
-“it is indeed,” said severance. “i wonder you are not taking your salt-water constitutional.”
-“i always take a walk in the morning;” and teddy glanced nervously over his shoulder.
-boswell and trent, each with a little missive burning his pocket, turned red, fidgeted, glared at the ocean, and made no remark. severance darted a glance at each of the three in succession, and then looked at the ground with a contemplative stare. at this moment mrs. pendleton appeared.
-three of the men advanced to meet her with an awkward attempt at surprise, but she waved them back.
-“i have something to say to you,” she said.
-the cold languor of her face had given place to an expression of haughty triumph. a gleam of conscious power lay deep in her scornful eyes. the final act in the drama had come, and the dénouement should be worthy of her talents. she looked like a judge who had smiled encouragement to a guilty defendant only to confer the sentence of capital punishment at last.
-“gentlemen,” she said, and even her voice was judicatorial, “i have asked you all to meet me here this morning”—(three angry starts, but she went on unmoved)—“because i came to the conclusion last night that it is quite time this farce should end. i am somewhat bored myself, and i have no doubt you are so, as well. your joke was a clever one, worthy of the idle days of autumn. when i received your four proposals by the same mail, i appreciated your wit—i will say more, your genius—and felt glad to do anything i could to contribute to your amusement, especially as all the world is away and i knew how dull you must be. so i accepted each of you, as you know, had four charming interviews and one memorable one of a more composite nature; and now that we have all agreed that the spicy and original little drama has run its length i take pleasure in restoring your rings.”
-she took from her handkerchief a beautiful little casket of blue onyx, upon which reposed the pendleton crest in diamonds, touched a spring, and revealed four rings sparkling about as many velvet cushions. the four men stood speechless; not one dared protest his sincerity and see ridicule in the eyes of his neighbour.
-mrs. pendleton dropped her judicial air, and taking the ruby between her fingers, smiled like a teacher bestowing a prize.
-“mr. boswell,” she said, “i believe this belongs to you;” and she handed the ring to the stupefied author. he put it in his pocket with never a word.
-she raised the emerald. “mr. trent, this is yours?—or is it the sapphire?”
-“the emerald,” snorted trent.
-she dropped it in his nerveless palm with a gracious bend of the head, and turned to teddy.
-“you gave me a solitaire, i remember,” she said sweetly. “a most appropriate gift, for it is the ideal life.”
-teddy looked as if about to burst into tears, gave her one beseeching glance, then took his ring and strode feebly over the cliffs. trent and boswell hesitated a moment, then hurried after.
-jessica held the casket to severance, with a little outward sweep of her wrist. he took it and, folding his arms, looked at her steadily. a tide of angry colour rose to her hair, then she turned her back upon him and looking out over the water tapped her foot on the rocks.
-“why do you not go?” she asked. “i hate you more than any one on earth.”
-“no. you love me.”
-“i hate you! you are a brute! the coolest, the rudest, the most exasperating man on—on earth.”
-“that is the reason you love me. my dear mrs. pendleton,” he continued, taking the ring from the casket and laying the latter on a rock, “a woman of brains and headstrong will—but unegoistic—likes a brutal and masterful man. an egoistical woman, whether she be fool or brilliant, likes a slave. the reason is that egoism, not being a feminine quality primarily, but borrowed from man, places its fair possessor outside of her sex’s limitations and supplies her with the satisfying simulacrum of those stronger characteristics which she would otherwise look for in man. you are not an egoist.”
-he took her hand and removed her glove in spite of her resistance.
-“don’t struggle. you would only look ridiculous if any one should pass. besides, it is useless. i am so much stronger. i do not know or care what really possessed you to indulge in such a freak as to engage yourself to four men at once,” he continued, slipping the ring on her finger. “you had your joke, and i hope you enjoyed it. the dénouement was highly dramatic. as i said, i desire no explanation, for i am never concerned with anything but results. and now—you are going to marry me.”
-“i am not!” sobbed jessica.
-“you are.” he glanced about. no one was in sight. he put his arm about her shoulders, forcing her own to her sides, then bent back her head and kissed her on the mouth.
-“checkmate!” he said.
-gertrude atherton was born in san francisco and received her early education in california and kentucky, but her best training was in her grandfather’s library, a collection, it is said, of english masterpieces only, containing no american fiction whatever. yet mrs. atherton is as thorough an american as a niece, in the third generation, of benjamin franklin should be.
-it seems to have been the english critics who first recognised her originality, power, intensity, vividness, and vitality, but from her first book, “what dreams may come,” published in 1888, her writings have revealed the unusual combination of brains and feeling. this gives her work both keen, clever strength and brilliancy of colour, developed through years of hard work, many of which were spent abroad, and reaching their best manifestation in her latest fiction, the one quality in “the conqueror” and the other in “the splendid idle forties.” both of these books go to prove the foresight of mr. harold frederic, who, shortly before his death, declared her to be “the only woman in contemporary literature who knew how to write a novel,” and that her future work would be her best. another eminent english critic, dr. robertson nicholl, spoke for some of the best students of modern literature in saying:—
-“gertrude atherton is the ablest woman writer of fiction now living.”
-in her most notable novel, “the conqueror,” gertrude atherton has chosen in “the true and romantic story of alexander hamilton” a subject which would have attracted few woman writers, and has handled those parts of it with which many men have busied their brains in such a way that the new york times saturday review remarked that it
-“holds more romance than nine-tenths of the imaginative fiction of the day and more veracity than ninety-nine hundredths of the history. she is master of her material.”
-“certainly this country has produced no writer who approaches mrs. atherton,” says one critic, while another adds that to have so “re-created a great man as mrs. atherton has done in this novel is to have written one’s own title to greatness.” all alike regard it as “a thing apart” (the critic); “a remarkable production, full of force, vigour, brains, and insight” (boston herald); “an entrancing book . . . brilliantly written” (glasgow herald). “it is hardly too much to say that she has invented a new kind of historical novel” is the comment of the athenæum (london), with the addition that “the experiment is a remarkable success.”
-equally strong in fascination and vigour is “the splendid idle forties,” but as far removed from “the conqueror” as were the eastern and western seaboards of this country in the times of which the stories treat, “the long, drowsy, shimmering days before the gringo came,” to the california of which she writes. “pointed, spirited, and spanish” are these “rich and impressive” stories; “such as could hardly have been told in any other country since the bagdad of the ‘thousand and one nights.’ the book is full of weird fascination, and will add to mrs. atherton’s deservedly high reputation,” says the athenæum.
-“in this book even more than in her others is shown that imaginative brilliancy so striking as to set one wondering what is the secret of the effect. . . . for the rest, her charm lies in temperament, magnetic, restless, assertive, vivid.”—washington times.
-in close relation to “the conqueror” stands mrs. atherton’s still more recent selection of “a few of hamilton’s letters,” chosen from the great bulk of his state papers and other letters in such a way as to bring to the average reader the means of estimating the personality of this remarkable man from his own words. incidentally it is the surest refutation of some of the hasty criticisms upon the picture of him in “the conqueror,” where, as mr. le gallienne justly observes, “it was reserved for mrs. atherton to make him really alive to the present generation.”
-the macmillan little novels
-by favourite authors
-philosophy four a story of harvard university by owen wister author of “the virginian,” etc.
-man overboard by f. marion crawford author of “cecilia,” “marietta,” etc.
-mr. keegan’s elopement by winston churchill author of “the crisis,” “richard carvel,” etc.
-mrs. pendleton’s four-in-hand by gertrude atherton author of “the conqueror,” “the splendid idle forties,” etc.
-the macmillan company 66 fifth avenue, new york
-spelling and hyphenation have been retained as in the original publication. punctuation errors have been corrected without note.
-canada team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) from page images generously made available by internet archive/american libraries (https://archive.org/details/americana)
-note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 51064-h.htm or 51064-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51064/51064-h/51064-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51064/51064-h.zip)
-images of the original pages are available through internet archive/american libraries. see https://archive.org/details/rubiytofmoto00well
-rubáiyát of a motor car
-rubáiyát of a motor car
-author of idle idyls, folly for the wise, a nonsense anthology, &c.
-with illustrations by frederick strothmann
-¶to the crank that makes the machine go
-rubáiyát of a motor car
-wake! for the “honk,” that scatters into flight the hens before it in a flapping fright, drives straight up to your door, and bids you come out for a morning hour of sheer delight!
-come, fill the tank, adjust the valve and spring, your automobile garments 'round you fling; the bird of time wants but to get away; (i think that name’s a rather clever thing!)
-and as the corkscrew drawing out the cork, i crank my car and try to make it work. you know how little while we have to ride; and once departed, may go to new york.
-whether at naishápúr or babylon, whether the car shall jerk or sweetly run, the wine of life is in a motor trip, (though all the parts keep breaking one by one!)
-why, if the soul can know this glorious game, all other stunts seem dry and dull and tame; this is the ultimate, triumphant joy, automobile elation is its name!
-would you your last remaining thousands spend about the secret? quick about it, friend! a hair perhaps divides this make from that— and on that hair, prithee, may life depend!
-now the new year reviving old desires, the thoughtful soul to catalogues retires; he scorns his last year’s runabout, and to the newest, biggest touring car aspires!
-each year a hundred models brings, you say; yes, but who buys the car of yesterday? and every mail brings in new catalogues that make a last year’s model fade away!
-waste not your hour nor in the vain pursuit of demonstrators who will loud dispute; “this one is best, because it’s painted red!” “that one, because it has a louder toot!”
-’tis only a beginner, young and green, who thinks he wants an odorless machine; what fragrance is to rose or violet, so to the motor-car is gasolene.
-some advocate gear-driven cars, and some sigh for a jockey-pulley yet to come; oh, crank your car, and let the old thing go! nor heed the brake upon your sprocket drum.
-’tis but a toy on which one spends a pile, and brags about it for a little while; ambition rises—and the foolish man sighs, and prepares to buy another style.
-you know, my friends, with what a brave carouse i put a second mortgage on my house so i could buy a great big touring-car, and run down chickens, dogs, and even cows!
-for it my future income did i owe, and with mine own hand wrought to make it go; and this was all the wisdom that i reap’d— “we cost like thunder and like lightning go!”
-and those “accessories” advertisements that offer you supplies at slight expense; you read them over, and they always make your own belongings look like thirty cents.
-look to the blowing horn before us—“lo,” “gaily,” it says, “into the world i blow!” behold its lovely bulb, and sweet-toned reed,— (the most expensive in the garden show!)
-i had to have a snakeskin auto-coat, a leather foot-muff, lined with thibet goat; a steering-apron, and a sleeping-bag; for these things help a motorer to mote.
-and then my luncheon-kit, and hamper, swell, robbed me of many a hard-earned dollar! well, i often wonder what the dealers buy one-half so easy as the folks they sell.
-myself when young, did eagerly frequent garage and club, and heard great argument about it and about,—yet evermore came out more addled than when in i went.
-indeed, with my big car i’ve run so long it seems to me there’s always something wrong; faulty ignition, or a blown out shoe, or maybe the compression is too strong.
-then to the laughing face that lurks behind the veil, i lifted up mine eyes to find two pouting lips, demurely murmuring, “i don’t see why you ever bought this kind!”
-indeed, i’ve learned to treat it as a joke when nuts work loose, or carburetors choke; and then, and then—the spring, and then the belt, a punctured tire, or change-speed lever broke!
-a look of anguish underneath the car, another start,—a squeak,—a grunt,—a jar! the aspiration pipe is working loose! the vapor can’t get out! and there you are!
-for i remember stopping by the way to tinker up the old machine one day, and with a reckless and unbridled tongue, i muttered,—well, i wouldn’t like to say!
-why, even saints and sages would have cuss’d if, speeding through the world, their tires had bust! like foolish people now, whose words of scorn are utter’d while their mouths are stopt with dust.
-when suddenly, an angel shape was seen approaching in an up-to-date machine, bearing a vessel which he offered me, and bid me smell of it. ’twas gasolene!
-the stuff that can with logic absolute the two-and-seventy jarring parts confute; the sovereign alchemist that in a trice a drop of oil will into power transmute.
-whose secret presence through the motor’s veins running quicksilver-like defies our pains; cutting up tricks from here to jericho,— we try to start the car,—but it remains!
-strange, is it not, that of the myriads who have empty tanks and know not what to do, not one will tell of it when he returns! as for ourselves,—why, we deny it too.
-what! out of oily nothing to invoke a powerful something, born of fire and smoke! an unremitting pleasure, if it goes; an everlasting worriment, if broke.
-we are no other than a moving row of automobile cranks that come and go. and what with goggles and tale-windowed veils, in motoring get-up, we’re a holy show!
-but helpless pieces of the game bestowed upon the checker-board of hill and road; hither and thither moved and sped and stopped, and one by one back to the garage towed.
-the car no question makes of ayes or noes, but here or there as strikes its fancy goes. but the bystander, offering advice, he knows about it all—he knows—he knows!
-and if in vain down on the stubborn floor of earth you lie. and weary, cramped and sore, you gaze to-day; you may be jolly sure to-morrow ’twill be worse than ’twas before!
-yesterday’s troubles made you mad for fair. to-morrow’s trials too, will make you swear. crank! for you know not what’s the hitch nor why! crank! for you know not when you go, nor where!
-each morn a thousand troubles cause delay. yes: but you left some unfixed yesterday; and this first impulse that should bring the spark— confound this old igniter, anyway!
-you thaw your freezeless circulation first; then mend your puncture proof tire where it burst. helpless you skid upon your anti-skids, but starting a self-starter is the worst!
-perhaps you get out your repairing-kit, and try to regulate the thing a bit; you test the coil, adjust the shifting-gear,— and then it goes? not so you’d notice it!
-ah, love, could you and i with him conspire to fix this sorry scheme of things entire, would we not take it all apart, and then remodel with no danger of back-fire?
-ah, make the most of time we yet may spend before we too, into the dust descend; dust unto dust. under the car to lie, sans coat, sans breath, sans temper, and—sans friend!
-and that reviving herb, whose tender green upon the julep cup is sometimes seen, ah, interview it lightly, for you know you’ll need your wits to manage your machine.
-ah, my beloved, fill the lamps that shed a steady searchlight on our path ahead; to-morrow!—why, to-morrow i may be myself with yesterday’s seven thousand dead.
-why, if your car can fling the dust aside, and flying, through the air of heaven ride, were’t not a shame, were’t not a shame, i say, within speed limit, tamely to abide?
-what! without asking, stop our speed immense? and, without asking, jailward hurried hence! oh, many a cop of this forbidding mien, must rue the memory of his insolence!
-and fear not lest a smashup closing my account and yours, machines no more shall fly; the eternal motorist has ever bought millions of bubbles like ours, and will buy.
-i sometimes think that every shining star is but the tail lamp of a motor car; which leap’d from earth in its mad ecstasy, and into space went speeding fast and far.
-and this i know. though in a magazine perfectly-running motor cars i’ve seen, it’s quite a different proposition when they’re on the road, and filled with gasolene!
-the moving motor speeds, and having sped, moves on. nor all the cries and shrieks of dread shall lure it back to settle damage claims; not even if the victims are half dead!
-then in your glorious success exult! when your car plunges like a catapult, sit tight! hold hard! pass everything in sight! and you will be surprised at the result!
-spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained as in the original publication.
-note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 51070-h.htm or 51070-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51070/51070-h/51070-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/51070/51070-h.zip)
-images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/raidersofsarhadb00dyeruoft
-text enclosed by underscores is in italics (italics).
-the raiders of the sarhad
-the raiders of the sarhad
-being the account of a campaign of arms and bluff against the brigands of the persian-baluchi border during the great war
-brigadier-general r. e. h. dyer, c.b.
-with numerous photographs and two maps
-with the greatest diffidence i have at last made up my mind to write the story of my small campaign with the sarhad raiders in 1916.
-this campaign sinks into utter insignificance when compared with the great deeds done in other theatres of war by men who said nothing about them. but, insignificant as it was, it forms part of the mosaic of the great war, and for this reason may be of some general interest.
-i take this opportunity of paying a tribute to all the officers who took part in this little campaign. their untiring devotion to duty, and their efforts to do their utmost under conditions that were often more than trying, accounts for its success.
-i would like, in particular, to mention major landon of the 35th scinde horse, whose great knowledge of the people and their country was invaluable; major sanders of the 36th sikhs; colonel claridge of the 28th light cavalry; captain brownlow and captain hirst, both of the 28th light cavalry; major lang; captain moore-lane; lieutenant bream of the hazara pioneers, and captain english, r.a.
-in addition i would mention how much, not only i, but the old country owes to khan bahadur, the sarhad-dar, and to idu, non-commissioned officer of the chagai levies.
-the photographs are from snapshots taken by various officers during the campaign.
-the road to robat
-a plan of campaign
-bluff and arms
-khwash and more bluff
-a full bag of prisoners
-the race for khwash
-khwash and the second surrender
-treachery and its sequel
-failure and fresh plans
-success in miniature
-victory and peace
-list of illustrations
-the raiders of the sarhad
-orders for the west
-i receive my orders--german agents and india--their routes--a deal in chauffeurs--concerning an appetite and sausages--nushliki--the last of civilisation--further information--sand-holes and digging--petrol in the desert.
-towards the end of february, 1916, general kirkpatrick, chief of staff at delhi, sent for me and gave me orders to take charge of the military operations in south-east persia.
-although persia, as a country, was neutral during the war, there is a certain district in the south-east, abutting on to the frontiers of afghanistan and of baluchistan, and known as the sarhad, which is occupied by a number of nomad tribes who claim absolute independence. at this time these tribes were causing considerable embarrassment and difficulty to the indian government.
-the germans and their agents, who were past masters in the art of propaganda, were still endeavouring, as they had done for years before the outbreak of hostilities, to work upon the discontented portion of the indian population in the hope of rousing them into open rebellion. they believed this to be quite possible, in spite of the magnificent way in which india had offered her resources of men and money to the british raj, and hoped thereby to handicap us still further in our great struggle in the west.
-they were pouring their agents, with their lying propaganda, into india via persia and afghanistan. afghanistan, like persia, was nominally neutral, but she was breaking her neutrality by many open acts of aggression, and was offering every facility in her power to the german agents in their passage through her territories, and thence into the punjab.
-to reach afghanistan, however, the german agents had to pass through some part of persia. the persian government placed no restrictions on the movements of either british or germans, of which fact the latter took full advantage.
-a glance at the map will show that apparently the easiest route for them to take across persia was in the north, in the russian sphere of influence, and to approach afghanistan through korasan; or, failing this, by a route rather farther south, across the lut desert, in the direction of birjand. as a matter of fact they had tried both these routes, but without much success, owing to the inhospitable nature of the country through which they had to pass and also to the opposition they met with from the hazara tribes round herat, who, belonging as they do to the shiah section of the mahommedan religion, are at daggers drawn with the afghans, who belong to the sunni section.
-therefore the germans had to try yet another road, and succeeded farther south where they had failed in the north. by taking the longer route through kerman and narmashir in the south and south-east of persia, they found easy ingress into afghanistan.
-to effect this, however, they had to make friends with the nomad and war-like tribes of the sarhad. these tribes were traditionally friendly to the british, but the germans had bribed them heavily and had moreover assured them that germany had turned islam and that the kaiser william himself was a convert to their religion. as the sarhad tribes were always out for a good thing for themselves, and as they believed the lie about the german conversion, they had allowed themselves to be tricked into helping the germans. this they were doing not only by permitting them to pass through their territory, but also by harassing the lines of communication between the inadequately small british frontier posts.
-the story of germany having turned mahommedan, farcical as it was, was nevertheless a potential source of grave danger for us in india. it must be remembered that germany's ally, turkey, was mahommedan, and that in helping us against germany, the mahommedans of india were already being called upon, indirectly, to fight against their own co-religionists. when, in addition, india was assured that powerful germany was winning, so her agents avowed, in every theatre of war, it was inevitable that in time her loyalty to us must suffer.
-it was vital to stop this lying but insidious propaganda, and the first step was to prevent german agents from entering india at all. to do this the nomad tribes of the sarhad must be brought back into line with their old policy of friendship with britain. hence my orders from general kirkpatrick.
-he instructed me to proceed without a moment's unnecessary delay to quetta, where i was to receive more detailed instructions.
-on leaving him i hurried, with car and native chauffeur, to the railway station, and asked for a truck on which to place the car for entrainment to nushki. the station-master assured me i was asking for an impossibility. a great maharajah, then travelling, had commandeered every available truck for his suite, luggage and cars. i told him that the government business on which i had been sent was all important, and, by a little persuasion, soon had myself on the way to pindi and the car on the way to nushki.
-arrived at pindi i found i had exactly one hour left in which to catch the train for quetta. there was no time to pack, sort out kit, or decide what should, or should not, be taken on a campaign which might last only a few weeks or many months, and which might assume a political aspect sooner than expected. my servant, allah-dad, was therefore directed to take everything for sorting out when time could be spared, and i rushed off to try and "do a deal" with general sir gerald kitson, before starting.
-i realised that a motor-car might play an important part in this prospective campaign, as it would be necessary to travel for long distances in a land of no railways and no regular roads, the best road to be hoped for probably being a sandy track used by camel caravans. i had already had some experience of difficult motoring with an inefficient chauffeur, so naturally wanted to secure the best man that could be got.
-i must here explain that i possessed an english chauffeur, allan by name, and that general kitson employed his brother in the same capacity. now, without any disparagement of my allan, i knew his brother to be a more practical and experienced man. general kitson generously gave his consent to an exchange of chauffeurs.
-i may as well say, at once, that it was a lucky day for me that saw allan of the 9th middlesex regiment enter my service, for, during the months to come, he was as cheery and full of resource as he was ready for any event, however untoward. his appetite stood forth as the only thing that ever caused me uneasiness, and i must admit that i have never met a man with one of such colossal proportion. as an instance--on one occasion, when camped out in the desert, between nushki and robat, and supplies were none too plentiful, we cooked twelve sausages for breakfast.
-i had one, and then was persuaded by allan to attempt a second. i only succeeded in disposing of half of it. i then got up and left allan to have his own breakfast. allah-dad, being a mahommedan, of course refused to touch sausage.
-at lunch-time allah-dad asked what i would have to eat, and got the answer, "oh, some of the cold sausages left from breakfast."
-allah-dad replied, "but there are no sausages, sahib. allan has eaten them all."
-i expostulated, maintaining that it was impossible. no normal man could have eaten ten and a half large sausages. but allah-dad was not to be shaken. it may be well imagined that the feeding of my chauffeur during the months to come loomed up as one of my minor anxieties.
-from pindi i went to quetta by train, my car, with the native chauffeur having gone direct to the then rail-head at nushki, in the north of indo-baluchistan.
-at quetta i laid in a store of petrol, spare tyres, a few personal necessities, reported to general grover for orders and information, and then proceeded to nushki; which place was reached, and the car picked up, on, if i remember rightly, the 25th of february.
-this day in nushki was to prove the last in a civilised town for many months to come. the look of the country lying before us so intimidated my native chauffeur that he came to me, a short time before we were due to start, with a countenance torn with grief and, with lamentations and protestations of sorrow, told me that both his father and mother were ill, and that it was vital for him to return and succour them. as i had been in two minds as to the advisability of taking the rascal with me, this sign of the white feather at the very outset at once decided the point, and i gave him to understand that he could go and bury as many of his relations as he pleased. with a countenance swiftly transformed to cheerfulness he left me.
-just before starting a wire was handed in from a high political official at quetta informing me that the baluch raiders had already cut our lines of communication, were right across my path, and he advised, if not ordered, me not to proceed.
-however, as explicit military instructions were to endeavour to reach robat (near the koh-i-maliksia), a hill at which the baluch, afghan and persian frontiers meet, as well as that of the district known as the sarhad, with the least possible delay, and as i knew the raiders were across my path even before i left quetta, i saw no reason for altering previously made plans or for delaying my departure.
-accordingly i started on the journey to robat early on the morning of the 27th. i reckoned it would take at least five days to reach that town, as the route it would be necessary to follow would be fully three hundred and seventy-five miles. i already knew that it would be essential to make many long détours round freshly formed sand dunes and other obstacles, for it must be remembered that there was no proper road but only a rough camel-track continually blown over and obliterated by sand, along which supplies were taken from india to robat, and the small garrison posts which we had established at various points northward.
-the mention of small garrison posts may lead the reader to suppose that this area of wild activity was fairly well policed, but, as a fact, one battalion of indian infantry, a regiment of indian cavalry and, i believe, four mountain guns, constituted the entire force of regulars holding a front of close upon three hundred miles. it was small wonder, then, that the sarhad tribes, commonly known as raiders, from their raiding proclivities, who knew every inch of the country, could climb like cats, and could do long marches on short rations, had succeeded in cutting our lines of communication, and in carrying off our supplies.
-i could, therefore, look for no further help for the time in the matter of supplies and so took with me all that i thought would be necessary for our three hundred and seventy-five mile trek across the sandy wastes lying between nushki and robat.
-petrol was, at the moment, the most important of our needs; we had, therefore, to carry with us all we should require, making allowance at the same time for mishaps. moreover, we had to take enough food and water to last allan, allah-dad and myself for five or six days.
-as regards personal luggage we travelled absolutely light, leaving all kit to follow at a slower pace on camels, together with my horse, galahad. i had some compunction in leaving the latter behind, but my orders were concise and urgent--to reach robat, endeavour to get into touch with all our scattered posts, and effect a combination against the raiders at the earliest possible moment.
-a start was made very early in the morning, but the first day's journey proved disappointing. instead of doing the ninety miles planned, we only accomplished thirty. the track was even worse than i had expected, for we constantly ran into sand-hills, and had to dig the car out. i have never done so much digging in my life as i did on that journey to robat. sand-hills were, however, only a portion of our afflictions, for, in addition, there were many water pools and small shallow lakes--due to recent rain--which had to be taken at a rush, or somehow circumvented.
-so serious, at last, did our rate of progress become that, as we approached what seemed to be the hundredth of these wide, shallow pools, i lost patience and ordered allan to drive straight through.
-he attempted to carry out the order, but about half-way we sank up to the axle and stuck. no power on earth would induce the car to budge another inch, and, though we all three got out into the water, and lugged, pushed and dragged at the wretched car, no impression could be made upon her.
-so we remained till, at last, about two a.m., i caught sight of a light on a small hill not very far away in the west, and, on going over to it, found a sort of recluse, or holy man, quietly cooking his food. after the usual courtesies i asked him to come and help me to pull my car out. he replied that he was an old man and could not do much by himself, but that a caravan of nomads, who had arrived the evening before, were encamped close by. so off i went again, flushed my "quarry", and, with the help of large bribes, persuaded all the able-bodied men to come back to the car. fortunately we carried a good strong rope as part of our kit, so soon had the car out and running again.
-allan was never again ordered to drive through water on that route.
-on the second day our troubles recommenced, for we had barely done a dozen miles than we stuck in another sand-hill, and the laborious digging-out process had to be done all over again. fortunately, the party who had got the car out of the lake the night before were close behind, and for an obvious reason. they had been given so many rupees for their timely help that, knowing the difficulties lying ahead, they had followed in the hope of further largesse. they got it.
-once safely out again i made a tour of inspection round the car, but only to find more trouble.
-"hullo, what on earth is this, allan? she's leaking!"
-allan smiled a superior smile. "i don't think so, sir. my cars don't leak."
-but a moment later his superiority turned to consternation, and he was burying his head in the bowels of the car.
-after a moment's inspection he showed a face of such utter dismay that it would have been comical had not the situation been so serious.
-"great scott, sir! i must have left the petrol tap turned on, and the tank is nearly empty."
-here, i'm afraid, my language was violent, and it was some minutes before allan was able to ascertain exactly how much petrol we had left. his calculations established the fact that we had lost some fourteen gallons. this meant that we should have to walk the greater part of the last two hundred miles of our journey. a pleasant prospect in that forbidding country. but orders were to go on, and go on we did.
-that day we made good time, and before evening had done the ninety miles set as a day's march. but, as we had lost so much ground the previous day, i determined to go on as long as allan could stick at the driving wheel, and we went on--to a post called yadgar.
-i should explain that in this barren, townless, roadless district there are occasional small rest-houses, very modest types of dâk bungalows, established by the indian government for the benefit of travellers, or soldiers on their way to frontier duty. they are quite bare except for a camp bed or two, a tub, a table, a few chairs and a wash-hand basin, with a chokidar, or keeper, in charge.
-such a rest-house we found at yadgar, and being not only very tired and dusty, but filthily dirty, as the result of our struggles with the car, we pulled up to try and get a superficial wash.
-i jumped out and tried the door. it was locked, and i banged loudly without getting any answer. it would not do to lose an unnecessary minute, for the many miles we should have to walk later on loomed unpleasantly ahead, but i knew there were pretty certain to be water and washing-basin behind that door, and did not intend to leave them unused if i could help it, chokidar or no chokidar. so, i took a butting run with my shoulder, the door gave, and i set out in search of the water tub.
-an open door on my right showed me a small room, absolutely empty, except for a row of tins against the wall. knowing that petrol was carried in such tin drums i went and examined them. the next moment allan heard a shout that brought him hastily inside, wondering whether i had gone mad, had been bitten by a wild beast, or was being murdered.
-"look!" i cried, as he came running up to me. "look at those tins and tell me what's inside!"
-allan seized hold of one of the drums, read what was written on it, gave it a shake, and we could both hear the blessed sound of lapping inside.
-"it's petrol, sir," he whispered in an awed voice.
-petrol in the desert--petrol where one would as soon have expected to find a bond street jeweller!
-at first we could neither of us believe it. personally i imagined we had both got temporary jim-jams, but allan, with his usual stolid, common sense, opened one of the drums, tested the contents, and pronounced it to be first-class petrol. there were seven drums, each containing four gallons.
-"this means we'll motor, not walk into robat after all, sir," said allan, with a grin and sigh of relief. the thought of those miles of desert--nearly two hundred of them--which confronted us after the mishap had been haunting us both like a nightmare.
-at this moment the chokidar returned, in great trepidation, fearing a dressing-down for being absent from duty. but i was far too elated at the turn of events to want to swear at anyone.
-i asked him where the petrol had come from, and whose it was. he shook his head, and said he had no idea. it had always been there. it belonged to no one, and no one had put it there, so far as he knew. he had never seen a car there before; in fact, he had never seen a car anywhere before, and could not understand how it was that men could travel on a thing which was not alive, which was not like any horse or camel he had ever seen.
-this was all very good hearing, so i proceeded to tell him that the petrol belonged to me, and, as he quite cheerfully acquiesced, i gave him a receipt which he could show to any government official in case of needed absolution in the future. as we now had means to finish our journey by car, i decided to spend the night at the rest-house.
-after a simple camp meal allan, worn out with the strenuous work of the past two days and night, was quickly snoring in the deep sleep of exhaustion, so i went for a stroll.
-as i paced up and down i tried to draw up some preliminary plan for the coming campaign. but such occupation was somewhat futile, as, until i could reach robat, i had no knowledge at all as to the strength and composition of the force that would be at my disposal. but upon one thing i made up my mind--even at that early stage--i would do my utmost to show these raiders, who were doing us so much harm, that they could not do this with impunity. the lesson once driven home, an endeavour should be made to become friendly with them, to win them back to our side, and, so to speak, appoint them as doorkeepers of the baluchistan frontier; but doorkeepers with their rifles pointed at our enemies instead of at ourselves.
-in the midst of these meditations i found myself stumbling with fatigue, so, with a last look at the beauty of the night, i turned indoors, and in a few minutes was sound asleep, and making up for the "whiteness" of the night before.
-the road to robat
-mushki-chah--the native contractor--an evening rencontre--idu of the chagai levies--the native idea of an airship--idu the invaluable--robat.
-on the third day we made good progress, fate being kind in helping us to avoid the sandy pitfalls which had hitherto been our undoing, and, by nightfall, we found ourselves approaching the post of mushki-chah.
-here we found the road blocked with a number of camel caravans carrying government food supplies for our scattered posts along the frontier. these posts were already in difficulties owing to the raiders' interference with their commissariat.
-as can be imagined there was a great deal of noise, the native drivers gesticulating and talking in a way which proved that something was afoot. i got out of the car and asked who was in charge of the caravan. a huge native contractor was pointed out to me, and, summoning him to my side i asked him what all the hubbub was about.
-he was in a state of great agitation and told me that he had received information from several reliable sources that the whole of the countryside ahead of them was in the hands of the raiders, and that, therefore, it was useless to go a step further.
-i expostulated with the man, pointing out that, by the terms of his contract, he must go on, and that if he did not the soldiers for whom he was bringing supplies would die of starvation.
-but he was dogged. he knew too well the methods of the raiders with the men they captured.
-"it's no use, sahib," he said, respectfully but firmly. "my men will not go on as they are unarmed, and a single armed raider is enough to hold up the whole caravan."
-i knew the man was right, but persisted in my efforts to persuade him to chance it, pointing out that he might be lucky enough to elude the raiders and to win through.
-"if the government will give me a military escort i will go, but not without," was his final word.
-i had no authority to compel him to go on, so gave up the struggle. but i realised more than ever how imperative it was to endeavour to reach robat without a moment's unnecessary delay, and start conclusions with the raiders, whose menace was growing more dangerous every day.
-we were, therefore, on the road very early next morning, for i hoped to make saindak that night. i had intended to go by borgar, but now that i knew--for i had verified the contractor's statements, and believed them to be correct--that that place was in the hands of the raiders, i elected to go by an alternative route, known as the webb-ware route, which is practically out of use nowadays, hoping, thereby, to avoid the enemy.
-it was still dark when we set off on the most strenuous part of our journey; climbing, making détours, digging the car out again and again till we were all three worn out in body and temper. we hardly halted that day, for the necessity for speed was as fully realised by allan as by myself.
-when night fell we had not yet sighted saindak, but i knew we could not be very far off, and cursed the coming of the night which made it impossible to see where we were. i knew we had got off the camel track somehow, for the ground was even more bumpy than it had been, and was frequently intersected by nullahs or rocky ravines, which made the going positively dangerous. if the car were knocked right out of action our difficulties would reach the last stage of disaster.
-at last, in despair, allan stopped, saying it was useless going on any further. we might overturn the car at any moment and smash it as well as ourselves. he submitted that the only sane thing would be to camp just where we were and wait for daylight, when we might regain the camel track.
-i knew he was right, but said i would make one final effort on foot to find the track, and directed him to give me the hurricane lamp we carried on the car.
-stumbling and slipping over the broken ground in the pitch darkness, the lamp barely lighting up my immediate path, i had wandered some distance from the car when i heard voices. instantly i thought of the raiders who were over-running the district. it would be too galling, too humiliating to be captured by them before the campaign, on which i was building such high hopes, had even begun.
-noiselessly i put out the lamp and listened in the dense darkness. there was absolute silence for some minutes, and i stood stock still. then voices sounded again, and i conjectured that there were not more than two, or at the most three, speakers.
-i thought rapidly, and finally decided that there would not be many men in front of me. had there been anything approaching an encampment of the raiders in the neighbourhood, there would have been lights, camp fires and considerable noise. the voices i had heard probably belonged to men who had seen the lights of the car, and had come to find out what it was.
-i turned swiftly and made my way back to the car, where i had foolishly left my revolver. recovering my weapon i warned allan in a whisper of the voices i had heard, and told him to be ready to stand by. then i made my way back in the darkness, and when i had regained the spot, called out loudly, in hindustani, "who's there?"
-instantly a voice answered, "i am idu of the chagai levies, friendly to the british government."
-i then called out who i was, and, immediately, three fully armed men came forward in the darkness.
-i asked them what they were doing there, and the voice that had answered me before replied that they were all three members of the chagai levies, and that they, and about fifty others, had come out to fight me.
-"to fight me?" i exclaimed. "whatever for?"
-i reassured them as completely as i could, adding that i was delighted to meet such redoubtable warriors, and hoped that now they would come with me and help me, as my business was to fight germans, airships and all. this was strictly true, for, but for german influence, there would have been no need to wage war on the raiders who had only been induced to become our enemies by lying german propaganda.
-idu said they would be only too glad to go with the sahib and to help him fight the enemies of the british raj. he also told me that he had already saved my life once that evening.
-"how was that?" i asked, my spirits rising as i gazed through the darkness at my first three recruits.
-"well, sahib," returned idu, "when the airship, which you say is no airship, stopped, in a little while we saw the figure of a man, carrying a lantern moving towards us, and halil here," laying his hand on the shoulder of one of his pals, "lifted his rifle and was about to shoot. but i said, 'nay. see, it is but one man. let us wait and see who he is.' and then the lantern went out and there was no longer a target."
-"you did well, idu," i said solemnly. "you have most certainly saved my life, and as you seem to be as intelligent as you are brave, i shall appoint you to my personal staff. i am the officer who has been sent out to take command of the forces along the sarhad, and in seistan. but at the present moment my chief concern is to find the right road to saindak. can you show it to me?"
-idu laughed. "i could lead you there blindfold, sahib."
-i felt the difficulties of the road were now over, and, piloted by these three stalwarts, the car--a source of the utmost excitement and wonderment to them--allan, allah-dad and my weary self were, ere long, safe in the rest-house of the small mud fort at saindak.
-the following morning, after a good night's rest, i had a long talk with idu, and the very favourable impression i had formed of the man the night before was greatly increased. i found him by daylight to be a highly intelligent-looking, splendidly proportioned fellow of about five feet eight, with a big black beard. i had glimpses, even then, of the keen sense of humour which was to do so much to lighten the difficulties of the ensuing campaign. never once in all the months to come did i find his wit and humour fail.
-as after-events proved he was absolutely invaluable. in fact, i often called him, and told him that i called him, my "head." not only did he know every yard of the country, but he knew by name practically every one of the raiders, knew their peculiarities and their weak points as well as their strength. idu was a man in a million, and i should like to think that, some day, this public appreciation of him, and of what he did to help in this campaign, may reach him.
-after breakfast and my talk with idu, we set out on the last march of the first phase of my journey, and reached robat by two o'clock in the afternoon.
-a plan of campaign
-an "intelligent" officer--matters political--three tribes and a fourth--their women and inter-tribal laws--sarhad conditions--a summons to the chiefs--a bid for rank--telegraph wires and sheitan--two first-class liars--a strategic scheme--an ungazetted general--lost kit--swallows and flies--forces available--communications freed--the kacha levy and a shock--mirjawa.
-my first visit in robat was to the officer who had been commanding the scattered british forces up to that date. he was a very sick man, and had been holding out with the utmost difficulty until he could be relieved. here i met major landon of the 35th scinde horse, one of the three intelligence officers employed by the indian government in persia.
-i very quickly realised that landon was an officer of very high intelligence, as well as an intelligence officer, and that he had a fund of information concerning the country, and the conditions and characteristics of the inhabitants of both persia and baluchistan. in fact, i judged that he would be such an asset that, then and there, i invited him to become my brigade-major, although i ruefully remarked that i had, at present, no brigade!
-he was keen to accept, but did not know how the authorities at simla would view his acceptance of such a post, and asked me whether i should be willing to shoulder the responsibility of annexing him for the campaign. considering that my shoulders were broad enough, i promptly replied that my orders had been to take command of all the scattered forces i could find and co-ordinate them, and that i looked upon him as my second "find," idu and his two companions being the first. further, that he was here as intelligence officer and would acquire no intelligence sitting down in robat, whereas, if he came with me, he would get all he wanted at first hand!
-i set myself to pick up all the information i could about the conditions of british "influence" in this part of persia, and on the borders of afghanistan. to make it in any way clear why we had any influence here at all we must revert to the old fear of the threatened advance of russia on india, in the days before russia became our ally in the great war.
-slowly and gradually russia had been extending her influence in the pamirs until her outposts on the oxus river were only eight marches from chitral. evidently, as a wide counter, strategic move, the indian government had sought to increase its own influence with persia and afghanistan by pushing forward her outposts to robat and nasaratabad.
-consequently, at the time of which i am writing, robat, nasaratabad and birjand were held lightly by chains of small posts composed entirely of indian troops and some local levies commanded by british officers. our lines of communication running from birjand to nushki, a distance of about six hundred miles, were held, in widely scattered posts, by only one battalion of indian infantry and one regiment of indian cavalry and four mountain guns. thus it will be seen that it was very difficult to obtain any troops for a movable column.
-a british consulate had also been established at nasaratabad, which is on the borders of afghanistan and persia. during the war the importance and influence of the consul increased considerably, as he was in a position to gather information which was of great value to the military commanders, who constantly sought his advice.
-there was also a baluch political officer, known as the sarhad-dar, who worked under orders from the british political officer at quetta. the sarhad-dar, to a certain degree, controlled the sarhadi raiders, occasionally with the help of the chagai levies, which were raised by the indian government for this particular work.
-supplies were brought to these scattered posts by camel caravans from india.
-communication with india was maintained by means of the telegraph. later on it became necessary to send out a wireless troop from india to establish communication between my force at khwash and saindak.
-at the same time i did my best to learn all i could about the tribes amongst whom i was going to operate, their ways and customs, and the nature of the country in which they lived.
-a glance at the map will show the situation and boundaries of the sarhad--literally meaning boundary. it will be seen that it extends from jalk in the east to galugan in the west. the eastern part, from jalk to safed-koh, is held by a tribe known as the gamshadzais, under their notable leader, halil khan.
-the central portion is held by the yarmahommedzais under jiand khan, an elderly man, who has been undisputed chief, and a sort of over-lord of the whole of the sarhad, for very many years. he has been looked upon by his own and neighbouring tribes as well-nigh a demi-god. as jiand enters later, and largely, into this narrative all further description of him will be reserved till actual contact is established with him.
-khwash--known also as vasht or washt--is the capital of the sarhad, and is situated within jiand's jurisdiction, although he is not the actual owner of the town. the word khwash literally means "sweet," and, i believe, owes its name to the water, which is, by the way, quite warm when it appears at the surface of the ground in the immediate vicinity.
-the western portion of the sarhad, extending roughly from khwash to galugan, is held by the ismailzais under their redoubtable leader, juma khan.
-all three of these tribes possess approximately one thousand families apiece, and, of course, each family has many members, as well as large numbers of camels, and herds of sheep and goats.
-each of these tribes, at the time of which i write, could muster, roughly, from one to two thousand riflemen, chiefly armed with mauser rifles and modern ammunition.
-south of robat lay a fourth tribe, the rekis, fewer in number than any one of those already mentioned. this tribe was entirely friendly to the british, and, although nominally under a leader called ibrahim, paid more heed to idu, who, as i have already said, was one of the most remarkable men i have ever had the pleasure of meeting. he was also a havildar (sergeant) in the chagai levies; a local force raised by the indian government.
-these various tribes all belong to the sunni branch of the mahommedan religion, and are of arab origin. as a whole they are a fine-looking set of men, slim and graceful, with fine, intelligent faces, and aquiline features. their hair is allowed to grow unrestricted, and falls in long black ringlets, on either side of the face, in true king charles i. style. in fact, one of these men, with whom i afterwards made good friends, was nicknamed charles i. on sight, as, with his flowing ringlets and short pointed beard, he bore such a strong resemblance to the pictures of that unfortunate monarch.
-these men are fine skirmishers, and will fight with the utmost bravery when well led, and have confidence in their leaders. being nomads, they possess but few villages, such as khwash, gusht, and jalk; which consist of a mud fort or forts and a few houses. their lives are spent for the most part in tents, called jugis, which are made of camels' hair, dyed black, and are pitched wherever a convenient spot can be found.
-wives, families and herds accompany them on their wanderings from place to place. their womenkind are often good-looking, and usually lighter skinned than the men. the women's endurance, too, is wonderful, for they can climb the precipitous hills with as much agility as the men, bear the hardships of long marches, the violent summer heat and the intense cold of the winter nights with great fortitude. they go unveiled, and appear to be treated well by their husbands and sons. in fact, in some notable instances, the women of the sarhad exercise great influence over their husbands, and, when this is so, rule with the proverbial "rod of iron." each man is allowed four wives, and, though he does not always acquire this number, he never exceeds it.
-the tribes literally live by raiding. they know no fear, and seldom show mercy. they not only raid travellers but villages, and, on occasion, large towns. these raids have been known to be pushed as far as meshed, the sacred town and "mecca" of persia, which lies far away in the north upon the turkestan border. such expeditions are carried out with immense skill and cunning, and are seldom unsuccessful. the raiders not only loot jewels, carpets, food, cattle and herds, but women and children, whom they subject to a life of utter misery.
-persian ladies are frequently carried off in this way, to become eventually abject slaves subject to inter-tribal barter. the prices paid for such slaves naturally vary according to quality, age and looks. as much as three hundred rupees may be taken as an average price for a young woman, and as little as twenty-five rupees for a small child.
-but, although they are utterly lawless in regard to other people, their few inter-tribal laws are fairly strictly observed. these laws, however, chiefly consist of the doctrine that might is right and success pardons all sins. in the sarhad a man is expected to tell the truth--unless a lie better suits his purpose. any oath given on the koran is binding, provided a mullah or priest is present. otherwise such an oath is as often honoured in the breach as in the observance.
-they have, however, some standards of honour to which they strictly adhere. if, for instance, they come as invited guests to your camp, or if you go as an invited guest to theirs, treachery is not thought of. the laws of hospitality, as in nearly all eastern countries, are strictly maintained.
-their food consists mostly of flour-cake, made, as a rule, of barley, though occasionally of wheat, and goat-flesh and wild herbs. as their herds always travel with them, except when fighting or raiding, there is always a plentiful supply of meat and milk. their slaves, on the contrary, are half starved, and present the most pitiful contrast to their own women and children, who are well fed, healthy and provided with ample clothing.
-their country, the sarhad, is very arid, sandy, sparsely cultivated, and crossed by range upon range of bare volcanic hills, with rugged peaks and precipitous sides. some of these hills rise to considerable heights, as, for example, the koh-i-bazman, overlooking bampur in the south. this peak reaches an altitude of eleven thousand four hundred feet. the koh-i-taftan is another, of something over thirteen thousand feet, and is snow-capped in winter and early spring, despite the fact that it is an active volcano. the word taftan signifies boiling. its crater possesses two main outlets, from which clouds of sulphur-smoke are constantly being emitted. the whole summit is in consequence covered with white ash, so giving it a wonderfully imposing and picturesque appearance from a distance, especially at sunset or sunrise. the effect is very like that of fuji-yama, but certainly on a grander scale.
-the hills of this district are all of volcanic origin, and, for this reason, rich in sulphur and sal-ammoniac deposits. the low-lying country obviously once formed the bed of a sea, for the fossils to be found here in quantity are of marine origin, and the soil is thickly impregnated with salt. fresh water is very scarce, though large salt water lakes are fairly frequent.
-it is interesting to think how much could be done with this country were some scheme of irrigation introduced. the natives have a simple method of supplying water to meet their wants. this is done by means of karezes, underground channels which tap underground springs and so bring the water to where it is wanted.
-trees are occasionally planted by these karezes, in the towns, but otherwise are scarcely ever seen in this inhospitable, arid region, where it is even hard to find sufficient food for camels, horses or herds, when on the march. there are occasional valleys through which a small stream may flow for a certain distance, but which, very soon, disappears again into the sand. in those rare spots where water is plentiful the luxuriance of the vegetation is phenomenal, proving how fertile the country might become were it irrigated in the same way as are certain parts of india. wheat, barley, spinach, cucumbers, pumpkins and green vegetables grow readily where water exists.
-climatic conditions in these regions are curiously extreme. great cold prevails in the winter, but the heat in spring and summer is terrific. there is, too, a curious feeling of intense lightness in the atmosphere which induces a queer feeling of "emptiness" in those unaccustomed to its rarified quality. a hot wind, impregnated with sand, blows in seistan more or less continually from april to july, so adding to the general discomfort of the white man. this wind is known as the sad-o-bistroz (literally, "wind which blows for one hundred and twenty days"). but, though disagreeable and irritating, this wind saves the health of the seistani inhabitants during the most trying months of the year, as it checks malaria by blowing away the mosquitoes.
-this rather vague, and very incomplete, attempt at a sketch of the people who were causing such serious trouble to our government, and of the country in which they lived, may, at any rate, serve to give some idea of the foe, and his terrain, in this small but terse campaign which i shall make an attempt to describe in the following chapters.
-it grew more evident daily that it was necessary to organise a movable column to operate against the raiders as soon as possible.
-there were more troops at nasaratabad than at any other post, and i considered that some of these might well be taken for the purpose. moreover, there was a british consul there whose advice and information would be very valuable. accordingly, landon and i arranged to go there by car on the first possible day.
-but i thought it would be a good preliminary move to find out exactly how the land lay with regard to the raiders, and to force them, so to speak, to declare their policy towards us.
-i therefore told the local baluchi political officer to send out notices to jiand khan, the leader of the yarmahommedzais, to halil khan, the leader of the gamshadzais, to juma khan, leader of the ismailzais, and to the leader of the rekis, to meet the new british general, just arrived from india, so that counsel might be taken together on a certain date at a small post called kacha.
-of course, from all i had heard, i did not for one moment expect these raider chiefs to keep the rendezvous. but if, by some amazing chance, they did, we might come to some amicable arrangement and so avoid actual fighting. if, on the other hand, they refused to do so, it would be tantamount to a declaration of war.
-thereupon i returned to robat and planned my campaign.
-already i could see i was going to be badly handicapped by my lack of rank, and determined to make a bid for the rank which would give me more authority. with this object in view i sent a telegram to general kirkpatrick--already mentioned as chief of staff at simla, and acting as commander-in-chief in the absence of general sir beauchamp duff--asking him to make me a general, and stating baldly that i considered it necessary.
-it may seem strange that, in this wild, desolate country, largely in the hands of lawless, rebellious tribes, it was possible to send a telegram at all. but a fine telegraph line, right across persia, connecting europe with india, has been in existence for over fifty years. the concession to erect this line was obtained from the shah by mr eastwick in 1862, then british chargé d'affaires in teheran.
-there had been long negotiations over this concession, which had been consistently refused by the persian government; but the shah's personal friendship for mr eastwick prevailed where diplomatic negotiations had failed. it was a particularly advantageous arrangement for us, as, by the contract drawn up by the persian government in 1864, that government undertook to construct a telegraph line from the persian frontier, near baghdad, to india, at the expense of persia, but to place it under the control of british officers. this and other telegraph lines had not been interfered with or cut in any way by the raiders, for the simple reason that they have strong superstitious fears of telegraph wires, and imagine them in some way to be in close communication with sheitans (devils).
-whilst i was awaiting a reply to my urgent request for an advance in rank, idu, landon and i took counsel together. i asked idu whether he had two first-class liars amongst his friends, in whom he could place implicit trust. his eyes twinkled as he assured me he had many friends on whose complete fidelity, as well as on whose absolute qualifications, he could rely.
-i then unfolded to him my scheme. it was quite obvious that it would be utterly impossible to defeat the raiders in open fight. they numbered several thousands of fully armed men, amply equipped, and supplied with all the ammunition and food they needed. they were also in their own country, every yard of which they knew well.
-in a straightforward fight any small force we could muster would be wiped out in a few minutes. but as it was necessary to fight and beat those raiders, who were doing us such immeasurable damage, bluff must be used to strengthen our arms.
-i suggested to idu that he should procure his two skilled friends and tell them, at the outset, that if they succeeded in the plan entrusted to them their pockets would be literally lined with rupees. they were, then, to run away from me to the two principal raider chiefs, jiand and halil khan, and their story was to be that they had managed to escape from the great and famous british general who had just arrived with five thousand fully armed troops. also, that this general dyer was greatly incensed at their disobedient method of treating his summons to meet him at kacha, and that he was starting in great force to attack them, but that he was planning to march first against halil khan in the direction of jalk.
-if idu's men succeeded in making the raiders swallow all this, the immediate stroke i had in view, namely, an attack on khwash, might hope for some success. it would at any rate draw the raiders off the lines of communication and so enable supply caravans to proceed to robat.
-idu was greatly taken with the idea. it appealed to his sense of humour, and he had soon produced his two spies, on whom, he assured us, he could rely as on himself. their mission fully explained, idu's friends started off at once.
-meanwhile, though i was not yet a general i determined to act the part. the 28th light cavalry made crossed swords for my shoulders and the necessary red tabs. the former were considerably bigger than the regulation pattern, but were otherwise well made. then landon and i went off by car to nasaratabad.
-we found the place to be a small mud-walled enclosure with walls of great thickness. inside the enclosure were something like a hundred shops, for the most part kept by persian soldiers, whose military duties are not usually onerous. we made our way to the consul's house, and had a very interesting interview with him. whilst we were there a telegram arrived from simla informing me that i had been promoted to the rank of brigadier-general. this was a great relief, for i now no longer felt an impostor.
-as a set-off against this bit of good news, i heard that the whole of my kit, which had followed me from nushki, had been captured by the raiders. in addition they had killed my horse, galahad, robbed the groom of all his clothing and torn his golden ear-rings from his ears. on my return to robat he came to me stark naked, with his nerves utterly shattered, and absolutely useless for any further service.
-we also met colonel claridge, who was commanding the 28th cavalry and the troops at nasaratabad. i asked him to send to robat as soon as possible all the food supplies he could collect, two mountain guns, a squadron of cavalry, and as many infantry as he could spare. i was very disappointed, however, at the few troops available at nasaratabad for the expedition, but i realised that the situation in afghanistan demanded the presence of a fairly strong garrison at nasaratabad itself.
-on the way back to robat we stopped at a post where i was accommodated in a room with a domed mud roof, which had been whitewashed. as i lay on my blankets in the morning, gazing up at the roof, i noticed that the dome was covered with small black spots. as the light grew stronger i realised that they were flies, thousands of them, in a comatose condition, owing to the cold of the night.
-as the morning advanced, swallows flew in by the open door, and, fluttering round the dome, picked off the helpless flies one by one, until not a single one was left.
-directly we reached robat landon and i set to work on our plans. after considerable thought we determined to make an attempt to capture khwash, the capital of the sarhad, and so endeavour to entice the raiders off our lines of communication. but it took some time to get the guns and food supplies to robat, for robat was quite one hundred miles from nasaratabad. it was also necessary to get in enough supplies for a month at least, as it was useless placing reliance on anything reaching us from india. in other words we had to be quite independent of all lines of communication.
-at last the two guns, and supplies, under major macgowan, reached robat, where were now collected about a dozen or fifteen of idu's chagai levies, and seventeen sawars of the 28th light cavalry under lieutenant hirst. but i still had no infantry. that, however, i hoped to get at kacha, the garrison of which consisted of a hundred sepoys of the 19th punjab infantry, and two maxim guns.
-therefore, landon and i arranged to go to kacha for the infantry, while macgowan proceeded with his two guns, seventeen cavalrymen and supplies, direct to mirjawa, via saindak. we would then join him there, as soon as we had collected the infantry for our advance on khwash.
-our real movements had been kept marvellously secret, whilst the news of the five thousand fully armed troops under my command had been spread far and near by idu's spies; the consequence being that the raiders were all quietly retiring, from raids upon our lines of communication, to organise their own lashkars (armies), and their own defence.
-thus, and at any rate temporarily, the lines of communication of our scattered frontier posts were cleared, and without striking a blow. one small objective had at least been accomplished.
-while macgowan's little force was making its way to mirjawa, landon and i rode to kacha, reaching that place on the 2nd of april. there lieutenant yates, of the 12th pioneers, paraded all the men he could lay his hands on in front of the mess-house, and, as we rode up, gave the order for the men to present arms.
-the result was a shock.
-i dismounted and called on all those men who had ever fired a shot in their lives to fall out.
-to my dismay only nine men obeyed.
-lieutenant yates told me that he had done his best with the men, but the greater proportion of them were mere raw recruits. it was a bitter disappointment, and it was very obvious that a great deal of brick-making had to be done without straw. but there was nothing else for it. these were the only men, trained or untrained, available for the expedition, and i had to be thankful for them.
-i took the nine trained soldiers, sixty-five of the untrained recruits, and two maxim guns belonging to the 12th pioneers, and, with these, landon and i made our way to the rendezvous at mirjawa, where we all met on the evening of the 6th of april.
-bluff and arms
-ladis and its fort--a force without arms--first sight of the enemy--shah sawar and more bluff--battle--bluff succeeds--casualties--bad news from the north--idu's proposition--jiand's stragglers--jiand's white flag.
-the following day we marched to ladis, reaching that place just before nightfall, and without incident.
-ladis is a camping place situated in a comparatively fertile tract of country fully four thousand feet above sea-level on the slopes of the famous koh-i-taftan. a considerable stream flows through the valley. if this stream were exploited for irrigation purposes the whole district could be made most productive and profitable. the climate is far better than in the greater part of the sarhad, and there is an abundance of chikor and other partridges, ibex, and wolves.
-on the right bank of the stream is a fine old deserted fort, which is far more substantially built than the occupied forts of khwash and jalk, but it has been ruined by the disintegrating effect of the water on the banks on which it is built. a passage at the base of it indicates that at one time an underground tunnel connected the fort, which lies on the right bank, with the left bank, thus affording a means of escape, or of reinforcement, for the garrison.
-we found, waiting for us at ladis, a band of about fifty rekis, who had come to join the expedition in answer to an urgent appeal from idu.
-i found they had no arms, ammunition or equipment, and asked them where their rifles were.
-"we have none, sahib," their spokesman replied. "we thought the general sahib would give us rifles."
-i was obliged to tell them that we had no spare arms, but as every extra man would be an asset in our great game of bluff i was not going to let them go, and would find some means of utilising their services.
-at first they were greatly disappointed to find that they were not going to be awarded a free issue of british rifles, and commented on the absurdity of a force of the size they saw before them attempting to attack the great raider chief, jiand khan.
-"why, sahib," the spokesman said, "jiand has fully two thousand well-armed men, all out to meet you. they will wipe you out in about two minutes."
-if it came to an open fight we all knew that this was literally true. but we were relying on bluff and luck.
-the local political officer, a baluch, was entirely of the rekis' way of thinking, and did his utmost to persuade us to turn back and save our skins. but we had not come so far to turn back. orders were, therefore, given to go forward.
-fortunately for us, and before we struck camp early on the following morning, another political officer arrived to supersede him--a man of totally different calibre. khan bahadur, the sarhad-dar (the chief political officer of all matters concerning the sarhad) was full of fight, greatly taken with our game of bluff, and fully prepared to enter into its spirit, the only spirit which could possibly bring such an enterprise as ours to a successful conclusion.
-from ladis the force marched south in the direction of khwash, covering about eighteen miles. this was not bad going when it is remembered that the average rate for a camel caravan over rough sandy country of this sort is about ten or twelve miles a day. we camped that night in a narrow valley, surrounded by hills, and with a good water supply.
-the following day the march was resumed, and we were beginning to wonder how soon we should get in touch with jiand's forces when our advance scouts reported that the enemy was just ahead, and encamped on the low hills running out in spurs from the koh-i-taftan.
-our force was halted, and, riding forward myself, i dismounted and took a good look at the enemy's position. this appeared to be, as i had to admit to myself, a very strong one, and, as far as i could gather, it looked as if it had been no idle report that jiand's force numbered something like two thousand men. in any case we were in for it now, and must take our chances as they came.
-i rode back, ordered the mountain guns to be brought up to some low hills on the left, and the cavalry to move forward under cover to the right.
-the transport camels, numbering about six hundred, now came up, under cover, and were put in charge of the sixty-five untrained infantrymen. the two machine guns were brought up to a favourable position in the centre, and our little force was now fully deployed for action.
-at this moment a man mounted on a camel was seen coming from the enemy's camp, accompanied by a man on foot carrying a white flag of truce.
-when the messenger had approached nearer the sarhad-dar exclaimed, "why, it is shah sawar himself!"
-now shah sawar was a very famous raider chief, and a relation of jiand's. at one time he had been the owner and governor of khwash, but it appears that he had greatly coveted, as a bride, a very beautiful lady known as the gul-bibi, or rose lady. as usual, negotiations were conducted between the prospective bridegroom and the lady's nearest male relative, who, in this instance, happened to be a somewhat weak-charactered man named mahommed-hassan. the price that mahommed-hassan placed on the gul-bibi was no less than the ownership of khwash itself. shaw sawar's infatuation drove him to pay the price, though, from what i came to know of the ruffian afterwards, i am perfectly convinced that he had every intention of recovering his patrimony as soon as a favourable opportunity presented itself.
-when he rode up to me, preceded by the flag of truce, i was struck by his fine appearance.
-he announced that he had come with a message from his kinsman, jiand khan, to the effect that, "if the general sahib, accompanied by only one man, would meet jiand half-way, jiand, also accompanied by one man, would meet him and discuss the situation."
-of course the very last thing i wanted to do was to prolong any negotiations. every moment that passed increased the danger that our bluff would be discovered, for it was quite obvious that, up to date, jiand believed in the existence of the great force being brought against him under a british general, as reported to him by idu's spies. therefore, it was necessary to bluster, and answer indignantly, "how dare you come to a british general with any such proposal from a scoundrel like jiand? go back and tell him that i am coming, not half-way, but the whole way, and at once. i will give you time to take him my message. i will then fire a shot into the air as the signal that hostilities have begun, and the attack, which will wipe him out, will commence."
-shah sawar was visibly impressed, and, after a few moments' hesitation, beckoned to the man who had come with him. after a whispered colloquy the latter returned to jiand with the general sahib's message. shah sawar himself said that he intended to remain with me.
-he was obviously cowed and bewildered. he firmly believed we had a great army in the low hills behind us, and deemed it safer to remain with us as a prisoner than to return to jiand's camp and engage in a battle against five thousand troops--which he could not see from his present position!
-whilst the messenger was racing back to jiand the seventeen cavalrymen were ordered to show themselves, and as they topped the hills, apparently the advance guard of a great force, their big horses looked most imposing.
-lieutenant hirst, commanding them, was directed to make a pretence of threatening the left flank and rear of jiand's position, but ordered not to go too close!
-then, as soon as information came that jiand's messenger had reached his camp--some six hundred yards distant--and had had time to deliver his message, one of the chagai levies was ordered to fire a shot into the air as a signal that the battle had begun.
-he pulled his trigger, but nothing happened.
-i told him to try again.
-again he pulled the trigger, and this time with the desired result.
-the battle had begun.
-the order to charge was given. the cavalry moved rapidly to the right, the machine guns rattled, and the infantry--nine trained men and a handful of chagai levies, rushed forward in the centre.
-what happened in the enemy's camp i only learned afterwards, but it appears to have been as follows: jiand, seeing the cavalry advancing as if to threaten his retreat, really believed that the mythical army of five thousand was commencing its attack in full force, and, mounting his own camel, he gave an order which literally amounted to a "sauve qui peut." in any case, and in a moment, his force was scattered in a frenzy of terror, and in full retreat, amongst the hills and valleys.
-for a moment landon and i looked at each other. then, as we realised that the great bluff had succeeded, we rushed forward, with a loud whoop, closely accompanied by the sarhad-dar. as we were mounted, we got ahead of the others, and actually overtook a number of jiand's men retreating down a nullah. we emptied our revolvers into them, and some of our infantry coming up, their terror was increased, for they thought they had been trapped by overwhelming numbers.
-the enemy had suffered a loss of seven killed. on our side we had one man wounded, and i honestly believe he was wounded by one of our own untrained infantrymen, who, in the excitement and enthusiasm of the moment, had disobeyed orders and joined in the chase.
-by the evening there was no one left in sight to chase, so we halted and made preparations to camp where we were. only a few hours before we had known that if the truth of our numbers had leaked out not one of us would live till night to tell the tale. fortunately the secret had been well kept, and, although we had only accounted for seven of the enemy, it was obvious we had won a decisive victory. jiand's entire force was scattered and demoralised, and it would take him a considerable time, even when he did learn how he had been tricked, to collect them again.
-he was a very notable man, with enormous power and prestige, not only with his own tribe, the yarmahommedzais, but with all the nomad tribes of the district, and was regarded as a personage by the governments of both india and of persia. his defeat would be a very bitter pill for him to swallow. although he was looked on by the ismailzais and the gamshadzais as a sort of over-lord, even of their own chiefs, there was always great rivalry between the various tribes, and he would know that juma khan, whilst outwardly sympathising with him, would, in reality, be jubilant.
-accordingly, and for the sake of his own prestige, he must make the most of the forces brought against him. that very evening i learned from one of his men, who had been overtaken and brought back as a prisoner, that he had given out that he had had seven hundred men killed and amongst the number was his own favourite son. the death of this son, i afterwards found, was a bitter blow to the famous old chief, and i have always been sorry that he credited my hand as being the one which had struck him down, though this was absolutely untrue.
-seven men multiplied by a hundred was not bad as a free advertisement. but i determined to go one better.
-"seven hundred!" i retorted to the trembling prisoner. "nonsense! if you had said seven thousand, it would be far nearer the mark."
-now the great thing was to make the most of our almost bloodless victory near koh-i-taftan, and pursue jiand and his men as far as possible amongst the rocky fastnesses of the hills into which they had fled. if only the old ruffian could be persuaded to surrender before the bluff was called, it would be just possible to make the other tribes think that the whole game was up, and so make terms with us; thus obviating a long and harassing campaign.
-so we pursued him for two days, as far as kamalabad, his own special winter headquarters, nearly overtaking him. but he just eluded us as we entered the place by riding out at the other end, and so escaped into the morpeish hills, where it was quite hopeless to think of following him with our very small force.
-on the other hand, if we left him there, he became an hourly menace. it could be only a question of time before jiand would be bound to learn how he had been duped. he would then collect his men once more, summon the other tribes to his assistance, and wipe out our little force as he might have done, had he only known, at koh-i-taftan.
-moreover, news had just reached us of an untoward little incident which had occurred away to the west of robat. a small british force had been operating in the vicinity of nasaratabad-sippi (not to be confused with nasaratabad in seistan) and this force had been attacked in overwhelming numbers by the ismailzais, under juma khan. it had suffered considerable loss, not only in men, but in mules, rifles, and, most important of all, ammunition. the british officer commanding had fought ably and had averted disaster, but the losses had been sufficient to create a rumour that juma khan had scored an exaggerated victory.
-this must undoubtedly be avenged, and the only hope of doing so was to strike at once, and whilst jiand's forces were still scattered and demoralised.
-landon, the sarhad-dar, idu and i immediately took counsel together. we discussed the reports of the various scouts who had been sent out in every direction. it appeared that the redoubtable jiand had received a great shock, and that his nerves were thoroughly shattered. he had dearly loved his son, and the loss was a great grief. he also firmly believed he had lost a great number of his followers in killed and wounded, and his pride was suffering badly in the loss of his prestige as a practically unbeaten chief.
-then idu evolved a brilliant scheme by which he believed we should be able to lure jiand, in his present broken state, to surrender. kamalabad, where we were at present encamped, and which was jiand's favourite winter residence, is one of the few spots in the sarhad well irrigated and consequently well cultivated. the place is freely intersected with karezes, from which the fields are systematically watered. moreover, the valley is watered on its western side by a stream which gushes out of the ground, and, after flowing past gazo, winds round the northern slopes of the morpeish hills and the sar-i-drokan, to lose itself soon afterwards in the sand.
-kamalabad is not, strictly speaking, a village, as there are no houses there. but it becomes densely populated when jiand's nomad families camp there in their jugis during the winter months.
-beyond this fertile valley, which for half the year is teeming with life, though it is practically deserted during the summer months, the morpeish hills rise abruptly and precipitately out of the plain to a height of ten thousand feet.
-on the farther side of these hills, and shut in beyond by the sar-i-drokan range, rising to about the same height as the morpeish hills, and running parallel with them for a distance of about seventy-five miles, is another valley, jiand's favourite summer haunt.
-it will thus be seen that it was utterly impossible to think of attempting to drive jiand out of his refuge. even supposing that we succeeded in dislodging him from the morpeish hills he would at once make for the sar-i-drokan, a range which would be still more difficult to negotiate, apart from the fact that it would draw us farther and farther from our base and any hope of supplies. but it was evident that something must be done, and done quickly. idu's proposal was, therefore, the only one offering any hope of success.
-all the crops of wheat and barley in the kamalabad valley were then at their full growth, though still green, and it was upon these crops, when harvested, that jiand and the entire yarmahommedzai tribe relied for their yearly bread supply.
-idu's idea was substantially this, that we should send a message to jiand, whilst he still believed himself pursued by a vast force, summon him to surrender forthwith, and tell him that, if he failed to comply with the instant summons, the whole of his crops would be destroyed. anyhow the idea was worth trying.
-accordingly, trustworthy messengers were sent to him telling him that if he surrendered himself on behalf of his tribe, before sundown on the following day, the lives of himself and his followers would be safe, and his crops would be spared. if, however, he failed to surrender by the appointed time, six hundred camels, which had already arrived with the advance guard of the great force operating against him, would be turned loose in his fields, and, as he well knew, would make very short work of his crops.
-the hours that passed between the sending out of the messengers, and the time limit for jiand's surrender, were very anxious ones. would bluff continue to carry us through, or had the bubble been pricked?
-during that day news reached us from stragglers, who came trembling to join us at kamalabad, that many of the old people and women of jiand's tribe were in great distress. during the headlong flight of himself and his fighting men the weaklings were left behind, and, in their terror, they had fled into all sorts of hiding places where there was neither water nor food. orders were immediately given that they were to be reassured and succoured in every way, and that food and water were to be supplied to them, also jugis, wherever possible, to shelter them.
-the day passed and the time limit was rapidly running out when, between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, we saw a little group of men emerge from the morpeish hills, carrying a white flag.
-these men approached and announced that they had come as emissaries from jiand khan, who was on his way to surrender. he admitted his defeat by the overwhelming numbers brought against him, said he knew it was no use continuing to fight against them, and that his heart was broken by the loss of his son. for the sake of his people he must save the crops or they would surely die. therefore, if the general sahib swore on his honour that the lives of himself and his men would be safe, and that his crops would be spared, he would surrender.
-khwash and more bluff
-jiand's surrender--a political lecture--jiand's oath--bluff for khwash--the army moves forward--khwash and its fort--mahommed-hassan comes in--beetles as scavengers--halil khan comes in--rifle prices, a comparison--idu's warning--news of izzat--order of march--bluff for bampur--the meteor hole.
-at five o'clock jiand arrived riding a camel, and followed by a few attendants.
-i went forward to meet him, and treated him with all the courtesy due to his position.
-he dismounted and offered his salaams. he was a fine but pathetic-looking figure--a tall, spare man--but the weight of years, and the strain of recent events, were beginning to bow his shoulders. his thick beard was quite grey, but his eyes could still flash with passion and anger, though, at present, they were dulled with grief and humiliation.
-i immediately offered him my condolences on the death of his son, and told him i had heard that he believed that i personally was responsible for his death. i assured him that this was not so, and that i greatly regretted that so valiant a father should suffer the loss of a valiant son. i then invited him to sit down on a small rise of ground where a few sparse bushes offered some shade from the sun, and as we had no seats we sat down on the ground round him.
-i pointed out to jiand his folly in having proved false to the traditional friendship which had existed between him, his tribes and the british raj. i also told him that i knew perfectly well he had been misled by german lies as to the breaking of british power, coupled with advice to harry the british lines of communication, and to help himself to all supplies upon which he could lay his hands before the german forces advanced into india, for, when they did, nothing much would be left to take. but, i asked him, how could a man of his intelligence have ever allowed himself to be gulled in such a manner? had he thought, he must have known that british might was far too firmly established to be overthrown by anything so despicable as the german race, and he must have known too that, in deserting his old friends the british, and in fighting against them, he was only courting disaster.
-i further asked him if he had ever, with his own eyes, seen one of the german airships which they had been boasting were flying everywhere, destroying enemy's lands, towns and herds. jiand admitted that he had not.
-i asked him how it came about that, if he had really believed so much in the strength and power of the germans, not one of them was to be found in the district to come to his help in his present difficulties? either they were cowards and had run away, or they had lied to him and there had never been any german forces sweeping on victoriously to wipe out the british raj.
-jiand admitted the force of all my arguments, and replied that he, and all the sarhadis, had been grossly deceived, but pleaded that he himself had done his best to restrain his men from interfering with the british lines of communication, warning them that it was neither safe nor wise. however, he could not seriously have expected that i would swallow this excuse, as he was known to be held in such awe by his followers that not one of them would have dared to dispute his authority.
-i demanded the return of all government camels and stores and of my kit, captured between nushki and robat, and he assured me that everything should be sent back in full.
-while we were talking i noticed his eyes kept wandering round, and, at last, he could restrain his curiosity no longer, and asked me point blank where the vast mass of troops was which had conquered his own.
-i replied, "it was not necessary to bring all my men to kamalabad. i only came here with my advance guard to make you my prisoner. we have yet to capture khwash."
-the rest was left to his imagination.
-his parole was then demanded, which he promptly gave, and solemnly swore, on the koran, that neither he nor any of his tribe, would raise a hand again against the british raj.
-neither he nor the handful of men he had brought with him, were disarmed. we had to continue our game of bluff and had to show that we were not in the least afraid of him.
-after i had dismissed him, telling him he would accompany me wherever i went under open arrest, landon, the sarhad-dar, idu and myself took counsel together as to the best way to obtain the surrender of khwash with its fort, the main stronghold of the yarmahommedzais.
-we decided to send a couple of landon's scouts direct to khwash--about nineteen miles distant--with a message to mahommed-hassan, telling him that jiand was a prisoner in my hands, and that he himself admitted a loss of seven hundred men killed in open fight with my forces, but that the figure was an under-estimate. shah sawar was also a prisoner in my hands. i called on him, therefore, to surrender the fort of khwash to me before twelve, noon, on the following day, or warned him i should blow the whole place to the skies. nor should i hold myself responsible for the future action of my troops.
-idu's eyes twinkled. "just suppose, general sahib, that mahommed-hassan refuses; may i ask how you propose to blow khwash to the skies--or anywhere?"
-i replied with becoming dignity that i should of course blow it to the skies with my artillery.
-idu roared with laughter. he said he had seen my pop-guns firing and he was afraid that, unless our bluff could do the trick, i should be unpleasantly surprised at the strength of the walls of khwash.
-the next morning our entire force of two mountain guns, two machine guns, seventeen cavalrymen, nine trained and sixty-five untrained infantry and a handful of chagai levies, moved forward to the assault of the raiders' stronghold. by eleven o'clock, and while we were still about three miles distant, we came into full view of the fort. even from that distance i could see that idu's boast as to its strength was no idle one, and that if mahommed-hassan elected to put up a fight we could not possibly expect to be able to take it by assault.
-our anxieties were now further increased by rumours that halil khan, with all his gamshadzais, was on the way to reinforce jiand, of whose personal surrender he had not yet heard.
-our objective, khwash, lay on a plateau about six miles wide, bordered on either side by two ranges of hills. these hills have an altitude of some six thousand feet and run parallel to each other on the north-east and south-west sides of the fort. the fort itself is somewhere about four thousand five hundred feet above sea-level. this plateau was at one time well populated, well wooded and cultivated with some seventy-three karezes running along it, all tapping the great underground stream which flows from the southern slopes of the koh-i-taftan.
-we were hot and played out after our sixteen-mile march, so halted to rest, and to speculate as to whether mahommed-hassan would surrender on, or before, the time-limit given him.
-we had not long to wait, however, for hardly had we halted when we saw a messenger, on foot and carrying a white flag, coming towards us.
-he salaamed as he reached us and said he bore a message from mahommed-hassan, imploring me not to blow khwash into the skies, as he had heard all about the defeat of the yarmahommedzais under jiand, and that, under the circumstances, he recognised the folly of attempting to oppose my advance. moreover, he was now on his way to surrender himself and the fort.
-so bluff still held the day!
-and sure enough, a few minutes later, mahommed-hassan, a miserable-looking creature, arrived and tendered his formal surrender.
-as we marched forward in style to enter the fort the yarmahommedzai garrison marched out and joined the local population of "khwashis," who have lived in and around the fort for many generations. these latter are peaceful cultivators of the soil, and are allowed to exist because they are useful servants to jiand and his fighting men.
-they and their womenfolk are graciously allowed to keep a certain proportion of the crops they grow, the bulk of which goes to jiand. these khwashis are a much lower type of humanity than the raiders, and only ask to be allowed to exist in peace.
-the fort, on closer inspection, proved to be some seventy yards square, with two gates, one to the south-east and one to the north-west. the outer walls rise to about thirty feet with towers at the four corners, three of which are about thirty-five feet high, while the fourth is probably fully fifty feet. this latter tower was the one occupied by the garrison.
-of the seventy-three fine karezes originally existing in and around the fort we could only find two. but one of these was a particularly good one whose waters came to the surface and flowed outside the south-east walls in an extraordinarily clear and limpid stream, in refreshing contrast to so many of the tepid, brackish streams found throughout the sarhad.
-but the one feature of the neighbourhood which struck me most forcibly was the quantity of beetles to be found everywhere. never in my life have i seen so many. they were of the variety commonly known as dung-beetles. this kind is larger than the ordinary house beetle, round and flat, jet black, and can fly, which adds to its unpleasantness. directly occasion offers it flies from every direction and is soon rapidly and effectively at work. as a scavenger, unpleasant as it is, it undoubtedly represents a provision of nature to keep the place--where sanitation is unknown--clean and healthy.
-a few trees are scattered round khwash, and a welcome sight these were after unending vistas of sandy waste and bare hillside.
-the country in the close vicinity of khwash was well cultivated, whilst i noted with satisfaction that some of the hill slopes were covered with a tall grass. this would prove invaluable as fodder for the horses.
-that same day another piece of good news reached us, to the effect that halil khan, the great leader of the gamshadzais, had just heard of the surrender of jiand, also the full details of his great defeat, and loss of seven hundred men. but beyond this the news ran that he was coming himself to surrender, and to tell me that he had seen the folly of his past actions.
-upon receipt of this news landon and i looked at each other and then roared with laughter. we began to realise that the battle of koh-i-taftan had indeed been a decisive victory!
-that same evening halil khan, and about fifty of his chosen men, arrived, and, formally salaaming, surrendered themselves. i was immensely impressed by the appearance of this raider chief. he was not very tall, but was magnificently proportioned and developed, with an intelligent, handsome head, and a peculiarly alert look. he certainly looked what he was well known to be, namely, one of the best fighting leaders in the sarhad.
-he and all his men were armed with mauser rifles and an abundance of ammunition. halil khan seemed wedded to his, and when he was informed that the general sahib was going to extend to him the same terms as to jiand and allow him to keep his rifle, his joy was very apparent.
-these german rifles had either been provided by the germans, and sent direct across persia, or were the outcome of the gun-running in the persian gulf prior to the war.
-the price of a mauser in the sarhad, at that time, was about one thousand one hundred rupees, though i was glad to learn that the british lee-enfield was valued at one thousand two hundred rupees. the real cost of manufacturing these rifles is, i believe, from six to ten pounds or sixty to one hundred rupees, so that it will be seen what sort of a price the raiders are prepared to pay for their arms.
-halil khan was particularly anxious to learn how we had managed to defeat jiand, and was of course curious to know where the vast british forces were. but he gathered no more information than jiand had done.
-my own private opinion is that halil khan was disgusted with jiand for surrendering, and that he himself would have dearly loved a fight, for--as i was afterwards to learn to my cost--he was not only a magnificent fighter, but did not know the meaning of fear.
-the only way in which i can account for his own surrender--for only a day or so previously he had been fully prepared to fight us--is that he had just become aware of the fact that jiand was a prisoner in our hands. he was afraid, therefore, that if he attacked us the proud old chief might suffer, and that, on the whole, it would be wiser to appear submissive--for the moment.
-but idu warned me at the time, and again and again in the immediate future, "jiand and halil khan will never rest until they have fought you again. unless you can get a much larger force, at the very first opportunity, and almost certainly when they learn that you have at present practically no troops, they will turn and attack you. place no reliance on their word or their oath, even though it be given on the koran."
-that same evening i learnt of a great raid that had recently been made into persia by a section of the yarmahommedzais, under a leader called izzat. as an outcome of this raid hundreds of persian ladies and children had been dragged from their homes and brought by izzat into the sarhad, there to be bartered as slaves. their sufferings, both from the indignity and shame of their present state, and the hardships they must inevitably have undergone amongst their nomad captors, after the comparative luxury of their own homes, can well be imagined.
-the sarhad-dar, a well-educated and sensitive man, as well as a brave fighter, was so overcome by the picture drawn of the sufferings of these wretched women and children that he burst into tears, and sobbing like a child, pleaded with me to ignore everything else and to at once set about returning these persians to their homes.
-strongly as my own wishes coincided with his, i knew such a course to be impossible. i had still more important things to do. moreover, our own situation might become desperate at any moment. although jiand and halil khan, with a handful of their followers, were prisoners in my hands, their tribes were at large, and at the first suspicion of the trick that had been played on them would be on us like a swarm of bees. it must be remembered too, that juma khan of the ismailzais was still at liberty, in a position to learn that we really had no troops, and might bring his men against us at any moment.
-it was obvious, therefore, that i had to deal with him before i dared attempt the rescue of any persian women, though the thought of them and their plight, and the determination to endeavour to rescue and return them to their homes at the first possible moment never left me.
-the following day i decided to hold a durbar, so gave orders that all the sarhadi chiefs were to be present, and that they could bring as many of their followers as they chose.
-the durbar was held on the banks of the stream, just outside the fort, and under the shade of one of the trees. we all sat on the ground, and i opened the durbar as i thought a commissioner might do in india, though, truth to tell, i knew very little indeed about durbars!
-i explained to the sarhadi chiefs, jiand, halil khan, shah sawar, and mahommed-hassan, that the sirkar (literally, ruling power) was not represented in force by what they saw at khwash. they might be interested to know, however, that some four millions of the very finest troops in the world were then fighting under the british flag in various theatres of war all over the world, and that, as surely as night follows day, germany would be defeated, because right and might were on our side.
-i explained to them collectively, as i had explained to jiand individually, that they had been misled by german lies and propaganda into believing that germany was winning, and also that the germans had turned mussulmans. i told them that it was quite the other way about, for, in point of fact, their own fellow-mahommedans, the turks, had really become germans, taking their orders from their new masters, and had taken to drinking wine and to doing other acts absolutely contrary to the teachings of the koran.
-i told them that christians never became mahommedans, though it was easy for them to say so to secure their own ends. i also told them that i would give them a lakh of rupees for every german they could produce who had really become a follower of the prophet. i advised them that on such matters they should look for decision to the sherif of mecca as their spiritual head, and that he was entirely on the british side.
-they were then recommended no longer to make fools of themselves, for i had originally come to the sarhad as their friend, and that, though they had fought against me, i was willing to let bygones be bygones and to be friends with them in the future. i also pointed out that all their interest lay in retaining the friendship of the sirkar, for they would surely lose their country for ever if they persisted in the mad course of opposing us.
-i asked them why their new friends had not helped them to oppose me, with advice if with nothing else? and, if these friends had really been sweeping victoriously on to overcome the british raj, why they were not there with them?
-jiand, halil khan, shah sawar and mahommed-hassan all expressed their keen regret at what had occurred, promised that they would return to their old allegiance, and that, instead of fighting me any more, they would help me to restore order in the sarhad. they also promised to bring juma khan and his ismailzais to book.
-i then explained my plans for the immediate future. i told them of my intention to retain khwash as a pledge for their good behaviour, and until such time as a benign indian government might see fit to return it to them. but i promised that i would send in a faithful report of their repentance for their past misdeeds, and of their promise to assist us in the future, and told them they might rest assured that the government would do all that was right and fair.
-the following day we marched out once more with the object of attacking juma khan at galugan, leaving the head of the reki clan (i think his name was mirza khan) in command of khwash, with a few of his own tribe, and five of my nine infantrymen who could handle a rifle. not, it will be considered, a very formidable garrison to leave in charge, but it was impossible to spare any more men.
-we marched in the following order: shah sawar and his men were in front as advance guards, halil khan and the gamshadzais on the left flank, and jiand and his yarmahommedzais on the right flank. our infantry went with the baggage, and the guns and ammunition brought up the rear. the cavalry and a few infantrymen formed my personal escort.
-i hoped by this arrangement to keep the various sarhadi chiefs well apart so that they might be unable to compare notes. my own small force was kept in the rear, and well together.
-i was asked by the raiders why i was making all these careful arrangements to protect my camels.
-i replied that in war one had to be prepared to meet any emergency, and that i was not at all satisfied with what i had heard concerning the conduct of the khan of bampur, for there had been rumours that he might be foolish enough to try conclusions with me.
-bampur is situated in persian baluchistan, fully six marches away to the south of khwash, and is overlooked by the koh-i-bazman. bampur, it will be remembered, was the old capital of baluchistan, but to-day it is only a squalid collection of mud-built huts and deserted gardens, clustered round a semi-ruined fort standing in an unhealthy, malarial district.
-it was held at this date by a baluchi chief, apparently as cowardly as he was arrogant. the fear i expressed of his intention was to lull any possible suspicion of the sarhadi chiefs--nominally my prisoners--as to the formation of my battle array; but there remained a modicum of truth behind the reason given.
-when we halted that night landon, the sarhad-dar, idu and myself, as usual, took counsel as to the next day's movements, and finally decided to send two of landon's spies to bampur. arrived there they were to tell the khan that they had run away from us to warn him, because my mighty army, now on the march, might possibly take bampur in its stride. in addition they were to tell him that, whilst it was true that the general commanding had given out that he was only going to march along the borders of the bampur district in order to reach galugan, where he intended to crush juma khan, they fully believed this to be only a blind, and that bampur was to be first destroyed. khwash itself had recently been threatened, and had only escaped destruction by surrender. it was now left in charge of five hundred of the british general's best troops, with ample supplies for a month.
-it was only later on that i learned the success of this mission. the two spies arrived on a certain night at about one a.m. and did their part so well that, by two a.m., the terrified khan had mounted his camel, and set forth for makran.
-makran is an arid region lying along the shores of the persian gulf, and stretching inland for a distance of about sixty miles. it is filled with bare, dry mountains, and hills with curiously serrated edges. from the more fertile parts large quantities of dates are grown and exported.
-arrived at the headquarters of the british political officer, colonel dew, the khan flung himself on his mercy, and implored him (so i have been told) not to allow general dyer to attack him, though i have never seen colonel dew since to obtain an authentic account of the interview.
-but this was another potential enemy cleared from our path, at any rate for the moment, and this was all that mattered to us.
-on, or about, the 15th of april we continued our march towards galugan, and on the second day came in view of the koh-i-bazman, an extinct volcano. this is an imposing mountain of between ten and eleven thousand feet, covered with snow and rising, a sheer, solitary peak, out of the plain.
-at one point on the march idu asked me whether i would like to see a curious hole in the ground lying only a little way off our line of route.
-we turned aside for a few hundred yards, and, on a plain as flat as a billiard-table, with a surface coated with hardened clay--obviously, at one time, the bed of a lake--we came upon it. the perfectly level, smooth lips of the hole offered no suggestion that it had been excavated by human agency. on the contrary, it gave the appearance of having been punched in the ground by some tremendous force. the hole was about one hundred and fifty feet long, one hundred and twenty feet wide, and about fifty feet deep, with absolutely perpendicular sides.
-idu asked whether i could suggest any explanation of this formation, and, after examination, i admitted i had none to offer, asking him in turn whether any tradition was attached to it.
-he replied that the hole had once been only half its present size, but twice as deep, and that his grandfather remembered how and when the hole was made.
-the old man had told him that, one night when he was a youth, something had exploded in the sky and fallen to the earth, punching a hole one hundred feet deep in the plain. owing to weather and climatic conditions, the sides of this hole had gradually fallen in, hence its present width and shallowness.
-there can, therefore, be little doubt that an enormous meteorite fell here, and that it lies buried at the bottom of this hole. its locality is about seven hundred yards from a hill called gwarko, and could easily be found by anyone interested in such phenomena.
-this is not the only natural feature which would repay a visit from those interested in natural science, for, though i am no geologist or scientist myself, i was greatly interested in the numerous gorges in the vicinity of kacha, a post in the hills near robat, where, at certain seasons of the year, violent spates occur, and the rushing water has so burnished the sides of the rocks that they glisten in the sun like polished, variegated marble. the sections so made show a close mass of fossils, which, apparently, were once oysters, centipedes, crabs, etc.
-a full bag of prisoners
-the march to kacha--the food supply--flowers in the wilderness--galugan--repeated strategy--juma khan comes in--the bag is full--the throne of the dancing-maidens--landon declines--idu's doubts--suspicions aroused--halil khan closes up--kacha, oaths, and thumb-marks--the chiefs depart--bad news.
-the march from khwash to kacha was over constantly ascending ground, and the higher the altitude reached the more abundant did the vegetation become.
-on the third day i noticed that a great many of the raiders were carrying bunches of green stuff under their arms, plucked along the line of march, and i asked idu what they were going to do with it.
-he replied that they would eat it raw, and supplemented this information with the further news that, beyond a few dried dates, the surrendered raiders had brought hardly any rations with them. consequently, and very shortly, i should be called upon to feed them. this was an alarming prospect. we had left a generous supply of food behind for the garrison of khwash, thus reducing our own rations to a bare sufficiency for the considerable distance to be covered.
-i instructed idu to ward off the evil day as long as possible, but told him that, in the last extremity, our food supplies would, of course, be fairly and evenly shared with the sarhadis.
-at this stage in the march we reached a height of some seven thousand feet, and i was struck with the beauty of the scene. around us the slopes were covered with a profusion of flowers of every hue, forming, so it seemed, a vast, variegated carpet. although i know nothing whatever of flowers from a botanical point of view the beauty of many of them struck me so much that, later in the year, i collected some of the seeds and preserved them carefully with the idea of home cultivation. these seeds remained with me in all my wanderings, but, unfortunately, on my journey home the pocket-book containing them was lost.
-one plant in particular, the asefœtida (locally known as hing), is very striking, and most effective in the distance. the lower leaves are very big, and the plant throws up a tall, yellow shoot, two or three feet high, topped by a cluster of the most brilliant flowers of the same colour. this plant is much valued by the baluchis, and i am told that large quantities are exported from this district to india.
-we were lucky in finding cool camping places on the third and fourth nights of the march. on the fifth we commenced our last march on the plain to galugan, the territory belonging to the ismailzais under their leader, juma khan.
-galugan is like kamalabad, a district only populated during certain seasons of the year, when the ismailzais make a regular encampment there, live in jugis, and settle down for a time to the cultivation of their crops. the place is well watered, with a very fertile soil capable of bearing magnificent crops of wheat and barley.
-as we approached the camping ground of galugan our scouts came back to inform us that juma khan had deserted galugan, and had gone, with all his tribe, into the high hills surrounding the place. he had heard of the defeat of jiand at koh-i-taftan, of his subsequent surrender, and of the capture of khwash. he had also seen our forces approaching, and had no hope of success if he had remained to offer battle.
-as a matter of fact we really did present quite an imposing appearance by this time. our numbers had been augmented by small groups of jiand's and halil khan's men who had joined us at intervals all along the route.
-we accordingly marched, without any opposition, into galugan, and found it, as reported, absolutely deserted, with the exception of one old woman who had utterly refused to desert her crops, and was eventually discovered hiding in a field.
-as the threat of destruction to his crops had been so successful with jiand we determined to try the same threat on juma khan. accordingly, messengers were sent summoning him to surrender at once, with all his force, under a similar penalty. i told the messengers to impress upon him the fact that he and his tribe were now quite isolated, that the gamshadzais and yarmahommedzais had surrendered, but that they, and their leaders, had been well and generously treated, their lives and crops spared, and that the same generous treatment would be accorded to him if he delivered himself up without delay.
-very shortly he sent back a message to say that he realised he was in a hopeless position, and was quite prepared to surrender unconditionally. he also offered to restore all the plunder he had taken in the direction of nasaratabad-sippi. but he asked for a definite guarantee that his life would be spared.
-i sent back word that he need have no fear on that score. my mission was to make him see the error of his ways and to re-establish good relations between his tribe and the british; also, that he would be treated exactly as i had treated jiand and halil khan.
-that same evening he came into camp, with some thirty of his followers as a body-guard, and formally surrendered.
-he was a somewhat different type from both jiand and halil khan. juma khan was of medium height, and slightly built. he had a very pleasing, well-cut, high-bred face, always full of smiles and laughter, as though life were one huge joke.
-i was especially glad that juma khan had come into line, and for a very good reason. the easiest route for german emissaries into afghanistan lay through his territory. on all routes across persia water-supply is one of the most vital considerations, the consequence being that many an otherwise convenient road had had to be abandoned owing to lack of water. now the stream which runs from galugan, piercing the hills and running into the persian district of narmashir, offers an excellent supply, so making this route an easy one for german agents--if not opposed by juma khan. but with juma khan on our side it would be practically impossible for such to get through the sarhad. it was, therefore, my policy to treat him with special consideration. to be plain, i wished him, though an unwilling captive, to be a real convert to our interests.
-all the sarhadi chiefs were now prisoners, but the problem arose as to the best and safest method of transporting them, and all their followers, back to kacha, fully eighty miles distant. our own food supplies were already running very short, yet i was obliged to promise the raiders a fair and equal share of these. we were, therefore, immediately obliged to go on half rations.
-to add to our troubles the weather was beginning to get very hot on these plains, and i well knew that, at any rate on some days--owing to water difficulties--it would be necessary to make long marches.
-the first march out of galugan proved to be heavy uphill work, our route lying up a steady, steep incline. but at night we found a suitable camping ground by the side of a stream. here again the ground was covered by a mass of beautiful flowers. the following day we descended to the duzd-ab plain, and had only crossed some five miles of it when a hill of such extraordinary appearance came into view that landon and i simultaneously exclaimed. this looked for all the world like a huge mushroom with flattened dome and very thick stem--obviously a hill whose upper part was of a harder formation than the lower, thus resisting with better success the attacks of time and weather.
-idu cantered up on his pony and pointed to the hill with pride. "that, sahib," he said, "is called the takht-i-jinikan" (throne of the dancing maidens).
-"why was it given that name?" i asked. "do maidens live there alone?"
-idu grinned. "listen, sahib, and i will tell you the story of the takht-i-jinikan. on beautiful moonlight nights immortal maidens are supposed to dance on the flat top of this hill. if a young man is really very good he may climb to the top of the hill alone, while they are dancing, in the hope of obtaining a bride. but he must be very good to be sufficiently worthy to win the love of one of these immortal maidens. if he succeeds she becomes mortal, and they are married."
-i asked idu if he had met anyone who had obtained an immortal bride.
-idu smiled. "i fear there is no young man in the sarhad good enough to be worthy of the honour!"
-i persuaded landon, who was unmarried, to climb the hill with me--but not by moonlight! on our return idu asked major landon if he had seen the jinikan.
-landon replied regretfully that he had not, but was sure it was because he had not been able to ascend the hill by moonlight--certainly not because he was not good enough. he, however, had seen some very large footprints, which he sincerely trusted, for the sake of the beauty of the legend, did not belong to these immortal damsels!
-but what pleased me more than the romantic hill was the discovery of a stream only a short distance away. this afforded not only an unexpectedly good supply of water, but, from a quantity of dry bushes along its banks, an abundance of fire wood for cooking.
-on each day of the march we held counsel with the sarhadis and soon became on friendly terms with them. we found them a very interesting crowd, full of adventure and the joy of life. they informed me that, as they had now thrown in their lot with me, they were quite ready to take part in any raid with me, if only i would organise one. nor did the objective matter. persia, afghanistan, or, in fact, anywhere where there might be excitement and adventurous doings. so friendly, indeed, were we all that i began to think my work, and the whole object for which i had been sent to the sarhad, accomplished.
-but idu was never optimistic on the subject. he invariably shook his head, and warned me, in and out of season, against halil khan and jiand. he, at last, so infected me with his own anxiety, that i began to wonder whether the two chiefs might not take it into their heads to wipe out our little force one night. they could have done this with the utmost ease. this change of mind induced me at last to make my camp dispositions with redoubled care. the raiders were given to understand that they must take part in organising the camp against some unknown foe who might make them, as well as myself, an object of attack.
-my suspicions were further aroused by the minute way in which they questioned me as to the individuality of that foe, and the direction from which it would be possible for him to come. i told them that habit in soldiers becomes second nature; that it was a soldier's habit to take the utmost precaution in self-defence, and that neglected precaution might always bring possible disaster. but i could see that they accepted the explanation with doubt, and obviously disbelieved in my mythical foe.
-the third day's march across the duzd-ab valley was a very trying one. we had to make a double march, for our food supplies were almost exhausted, and it was obviously imperative to reach kacha as soon as possible. it must be remembered, too, that we had been on half rations since leaving galugan, and already there had been much grousing amongst the whole force.
-that night we encamped at the base of a hill which jiand proudly announced as "koh-i-jiandsiah," or the "hill of black jiand." i asked him who black jiand might be, and he replied that his father's name was jiand, though he was not black, and that the hill had been named after him. the old fellow was obviously proud of the honour which had been conferred on his father.
-here landon and i spent an anxious night, for both idu and the sarhad-dar were very nervous and depressed. the latter said that a rumour had got about amongst the sarhadis that all my promises and protestations to them were false, and that i was really leading them into a trap at kacha, where they were all to be killed. consequently, the idea had been discussed as to whether it might not be safer, and wiser, to attack our small force, overwhelm us during the night, and escape before daybreak.
-as may be imagined, the prospect was scarcely a pleasant one, but we could take no stricter precautions than had already been done, and our sole remaining action now was to show an absolutely untroubled and confident front to men who, though nominally our prisoners, held us in the hollow of their hands. in other words to "trust to luck."
-fortunately for us the raiders, who still could not make head or tail of the real situation, determined on a pacific course, and the night passed without incident. so luck stood with us, and on the following morning we were early astir for the last march south of kacha.
-as we drew in towards kacha i noticed that halil khan and his band gathered as close in behind me as possible, and i learned afterwards that he had said, "if we are to be led into a trap i will see to it that the general sahib does not escape me."
-for the moment all need for anxiety seemed at an end.
-on the 1st of may i summoned a durbar, to be held, on the following day, close to the political officer's house. idu was not present, for he had asked for leave to go to robat on important personal business. i suspected this important business was a visit to one of his numerous wives, though the rascal always disclaimed the suggestion that his absences ever had anything to do with a woman.
-the durbar was an impressive affair. several bags of money were brought from the government treasury by the sarhad-dar and placed at my feet. these were to be given to the chiefs as rewards for future good conduct. after delivering an address--more or less a repetition of what i had said at khwash as to the folly of deserting the british for the germans--i called on the chiefs to sign an agreement whereby they handed their country over to the sirkar, and promised in future to be loyal to the indian government. further than this, and under this agreement, they were to give timely warning of the approach of german agents from any direction.
-as most of the raiders could not write, their thumb-marks were duly impressed on an imposing looking document produced by the sarhad-dar, and the chiefs swore on the koran to abide by the agreement. they were then handed the money rewards promised them, jiand receiving the largest amount--two thousand rupees.
-i then announced to them that they were all free to return to their homes, and that if ever any of them needed a friend, or would like me to adjudicate between them on any local quarrel, they were at liberty to call upon me for the purpose.
-they professed themselves as very grateful for all that had been given them; admitted they had been treated generously, and promised, on oath, that there should be no more trouble in the sarhad, nor should any german or german agent be permitted to pass through their territories.
-thus, when they left for their homes, on the morning of may 3rd, all parties were, apparently, on excellent terms.
-i wrote a despatch to headquarters at simla, giving a short account of the expedition and its results, at the same time bringing forward the names of various officers, and other ranks, for good work done. i also mentioned the fact that i did not know what to do in regard to the traffic in slaves.
-that evening idu returned. he came straight to my room and told me i had acted unwisely in disregarding his repeated warnings as to the unreliability of jiand and halil khan. he further added that some of his own chosen men, who had been scouting around and picking up all possible information, had met him, on his return to kacha, and had given him the following authentic and disquieting news. it was to the effect that, hardly had jiand got out of kacha, that morning, with promises of devotion and loyalty still hot upon his lips, than he had halted and called a meeting of the raider chiefs, urging them to repudiate their oaths, to collect all their fighting men as quickly as possible, attack and take khwash, and then to turn their attention to my force, which he now openly said he knew to be a contemptibly small one.
-this was bad news indeed. we naturally knew that khwash could be captured in a few minutes. there were only five men there. we were also quite conscious of the fact that we could be wiped out in less than the same time if attacked in any force.
-but the bad was leavened by the good, for the same report told us that juma khan had resolutely and absolutely refused to fall in with jiand's plans. he was also reported to have said that the general sahib had kept every promise made to them, had spared their lives and crops when he could have destroyed them, had treated them, from the commencement of hostilities, as honourable foes, and later as friends, and had finally given them considerable sums of money. he had never broken his word, and he did not intend to begin doing so now. therefore, he was to be counted out of any plans of treachery which jiand might be meditating. upon which expression of opinion he had ridden off to his own country with his following.
-but, even with juma khan eliminated, the situation was serious enough, for i saw no chance of obtaining reinforcements from any quarter in time to prevent a disaster. however, it was no use crying over spilt milk. things must be faced as they were.
-after all, as i pointed out to idu, jiand could not do the impossible. he and halil khan could not collect their scattered men in a moment. the one thing left for us to do was to set off on the morrow, march back to khwash, endeavour to reach it before jiand, and organise our defence against his coming.
-i have often since been blamed for an apparent foolhardiness in trusting the raiders sufficiently to let them go. but it must be remembered that i had not come out to fight the raiders--unless events made it absolutely necessary to do so--but, rather, to make friends with them and to keep the germans, or their agents, from coming through their country. moreover, the force at my disposal was very small indeed, and quite insufficient to keep these raiders in check when once the bluff was called. in other words, i should soon lose the game if i persisted in treating them as enemies.
-it must be understood, too, that the sarhad was only the southern portion of my command, and that rumours were constantly coming in that germans, who had failed to get through into afghanistan via the south, were not only moving north towards birjand, but were trying to cross the border in that direction.
-i knew, also, that it would soon be necessary to move north in order to induce the russians to keep a more careful guard than they had been doing in the district north of birjand, a district within their sphere of influence in persia.
-nor must it be supposed that i had not quite realised, before i let the raiders go, that i had not obtained all the safeguards i could have wished. but i did not then, nor do i now, see that i had any other alternative.
-in any case i had gained one very definite advantage. i had won over juma khan to our side; and it was through his territory that the germans would first have to pass in order to get through the sarhad.
-but, though juma khan had already given a practical example of his determination to be loyal to his oath, i recognised that he would be bolstered up in his loyalty if he felt there was apparent some show of strength on our side. the loss of khwash to jiand would, therefore, be a terrible confession of weakness.
-landon and the sarhad-dar fully concurred with me that the one and only wise plan to follow would be to march at daybreak with all the forces we could command, and endeavour, by a series of forced marches, to reach and enter khwash before jiand could take it.
-the race for khwash
-plans and routes--car versus legs--an equestrian interlude--the trap in the gorge--more digging--rendezvous--mrs idu and gastronomy--a reinforcement--a message to landon--izzat's men--idu's romance--a "british bulldog"--the car abandoned.
-time was obviously the chief factor to be reckoned with for any hope of ultimate success; i wondered, therefore, whether the car might not be utilised in this dash back to khwash.
-considering the nature of the ground over which we had marched, it seemed rather a mad idea, but idu pounced on it.
-"the very thing, sahib," he said excitedly. "you remember how astonished even i was when i first saw it? how much more will it impress jiand's ignorant men! they will think it a new sort of devil, and it will be more useful than a dozen guns!"
-"i believe idu is right," landon said. "why don't you go in the car, whilst i take charge of the army?"
-after further details had been discussed, we decided to adopt this plan. the car was still at robat, about twenty-four miles distant, with allan in charge. i, therefore, sent a telegram, and also a duplicate message by a sawar on a mari camel, telling allan to provision the car, bring all the spare tubes and tyres he possessed, and start early the following morning on the track to saindak, where, at a spot to which the sawar would guide him, about nine miles out of kacha, idu and i would meet him on horseback.
-landon, who would be able to use a far more direct route to khwash than the car could take, was to start with the army--the same old army of seventeen cavalrymen, four trained infantrymen (it will be remembered five had been left in khwash), sixty-five untrained men, with two mountain guns, two machine-guns, and six hundred camels. he was to endeavour to reach the raiders' stronghold in seven marches.
-six hundred camels for so small a force would seem out of all proportion. but it must be remembered that transport for provisions, and everything else we should need for at least a full month, was required; that we could not depend on keeping open any sort of lines of communication; and that whenever a durbar or meeting was held, all those attending it expected to be fed, and well fed. our very existence depended on an ample supply of food. further, the presence of so many camels helped to uphold the game of bluff it was still necessary to play, and a distant view of these six hundred camels gave an appearance of numbers out of all proportion to our real fighting strength.
-landon's route would take him by a comparatively short cut, though, even by this--over the western slopes of the koh-i-taftan--he could not hope to accomplish the march in less than seven days.
-very early in the morning idu and i rode off on a couple of small ponies provided by the former, and he assured me that it was only a very special breed of pony that could hope to cope with the difficulties of the nine hilly miles lying between us and the meeting-place arranged with allan and the car.
-idu was fully justified in his criticism of the track we had to follow, for it grew steeper and narrower as we proceeded, until, at last, we were negotiating a mere cleft in the hill, with our elbows almost touching the rocky sides.
-suddenly, my pony, who had probably been deciding that he had had enough of it, stopped dead, quivered all over and--sat down! idu, who was immediately in front, turned round to see what had happened, and his pony promptly rolled backwards on the top of us.
-i got clear as well as i could for laughing, helped idu--who was very badly shaken--to extricate himself from the ponies, and then, between us, got the ponies out of the crevasse into which they had managed to jam themselves. this took some time, and when we got them up we found the poor beasts so frightened that we had to walk them the greater part of the way.
-at eleven o'clock, perspiring from every pore, we reached the rendezvous arranged, and to our great relief found allan waiting, stolid, imperturbable, reliable as ever, with the car in spick-and-span order. poor allan little knew what he was in for. he had, of course, seen nothing of our recent little campaign, as he had remained at robat during the past few weeks. he was, therefore, quite delighted at the prospect of a little activity.
-we gave our ponies to the camel sawars who had acted as guides to allan, with instructions to take them back to kacha, so idu and i took our places, thankful to be in the car once more, and set off on our journey south.
-we soon passed through saindak, and, as the going was not quite as bad on that first day as we had expected, we got farther than we had hoped, reaching a halting place called jujak, where there was an old ruined sarai (rest-house) and a good spring. here we slept out in the open, and set off early on the following morning. idu was greatly impressed with the powers of the car, and began to think it could go anywhere, scale any height, and slip through any opening, however narrow. this was flattering to the overland, but it led us into future difficulties from which only great good luck extricated us.
-we had intended going via mirjawa, but idu pointed out that there was a much shorter way through the hills, which, he was quite certain, the car could manage. but we were to prove once more that the longest way round may often be the shortest way home!
-the car entered the hills by a gorge which rose steeply to their summits, and, though we had to get out occasionally and push, it really was astonishing how well she took the inclines. but it was when we descended that our troubles began, for, in doing so, we entered another gorge which grew narrower and narrower, till, at last, allan stopped the car dead, declaring that we could go no farther. and a glance at our route did seem to show that we had manœuvred ourselves into a hopeless impasse.
-ahead the gorge was too narrow to allow of going on. behind it was so steep that the car could not back out. on the right we were completely shut in by the high steep sides of the gorge, on the left it looked as impassable; whilst it was quite impossible to turn!
-there remained nothing for it but to dig a way out, so we set to work, and, after working till we were wet through, managed somehow to get the car through the wall of earth shutting us in on the left, and out on to the open hill-side.
-idu openly expressed his disgust and disappointment with the car. he had given her credit for being capable of doing anything and going anywhere, and this failure to pass through "the eye of a needle" diminished his respect for her.
-there was still no direct way down the hill, and we had perforce to go many miles out of our course, in a long hair-pin loop, to reach anything like decent going. no one who has not attempted to take a car over trackless hills of rough, broken surface, and filled with blind gorges, can have any idea of the difficulties that confronted us here, and during the greater part of our journey to khwash.
-by dint of ceaseless pulling and pushing, and digging the car out again and again, we managed to reach the rendezvous with landon before nightfall. he marched in a few minutes after we arrived, and was as frankly pleased as astonished to see us. he had just come through another section of those hills himself. he had not, therefore, expected the car would get through, and was wondering how on earth i should ever rejoin him and the army. so we all camped out in the open, grateful for the coolness of the evening, for the heat of the day had been terrific.
-before sunrise on the following morning landon marched out, and, as soon as we had lost sight of him, idu, allan, and myself set off in the car.
-i do not propose to give a detailed account of the remainder of our journey. one day was very like another, and the bad surface only differed in quality and degree. the heat was very great by day, and the glare over the sandy wastes and hills almost blinding. here and there, especially in the galugan valley, we came across groups of human beings, mostly of a low type of humanity, who bolted in terror at sight of the car.
-one evening we halted at a settlement of rekis, idu's own tribe, and received a very warm welcome, for one of idu's wives was amongst his people. the rascal always maintained that he had no interest in women, but, nevertheless, seemed to me to be a very good understudy to the proverbial sailor, for he appeared to have a wife in every village and encampment.
-this particular mrs idu was delighted at the unexpected reunion with her husband, and did the honours of the camp right royally. following accepted custom, i, first of all, bought a few sheep from the jugi-dwellers, and then presented these to them so that they could prepare a feast. mrs idu, a very unprepossessing-looking, but highly amiable lady, acted as hostess, and we all squatted round the camp fires while the meat was roasting.
-allan's face was a picture as he watched the tribesmen cook and eat their meat. they hacked chunks of flesh from the dead carcasses of the sheep with the knives they always carried, spitted them on the cleaning rods of their rifles, and roasted them over the fire. these they ate voraciously, as though very hungry, and, as a matter of fact, food in that district is both scarce and monotonous. in any case they devoured the meat whilst it was still nearly raw. even idu ate his meat half-cooked, maintaining that it was far more tender in such a state.
-of course, the car was a source of intense interest and excitement. at first the tribesmen were too afraid of it to go anywhere near it, but when they saw it stand quite still at allan's orders, and that it had no bite, curiosity overcame fear, and, one by one, they crept up and nervously touched it. at this stage allan sounded the claxton, and, with shrieks of terror, they all bolted. but idu, who had come over the mountains in it, and, therefore, had lost all fear of the monster, felt a devil of a fellow, and, with a flourish, assured them it was not the roar inside which made it go, and that it would do no one any harm. so they came back to it once more, and, after some persuasion, were induced to sound the claxton themselves. once familiar with it, they laughed like children each time it barked, and i began to wish i had taken the thing off before we started.
-after supper idu prepared my blankets under the shelter of a small bush, but, before turning in, i sat down on the ground for a final smoke, placing the hurricane lamp from the car on the hard smooth earth in front of me.
-the light naturally attracted myriads of insects of all sorts, many of which i had never seen before, and which are, i feel sure, unknown in india. beetles of many sorts swarmed around, both in the air and on the ground, whilst a scorpion, the biggest i have ever seen, darted out from the darkness to inspect the light. he was a brown fellow, not an iridescent blue, like the burmese variety, though he was quite as big. with his tail curled right over his back, and sting ready to strike, he looked a formidable person, and it was comic to watch the haste with which all the lesser fry scuttled out of his way, and, though he made many attempts to secure his supper, i did not see him succeed, so swift were his intended victims in escaping from their dreaded enemy.
-we were, as usual, up in the morning before daybreak, and en route before the rest of the camp was astir. the going that morning proved fairly good, the chief obstacle being huge clumps of a coarse, rank grass, which we had to circumvent.
-we had proceeded some distance when idu, whose eyes seemed able not only to see in the dark, but through hills and fields of crops, suddenly exclaimed, "i can see men in front of us. we had better halt while i go forward and find out whether they are friends or enemies."
-we stopped the car, for we were now on the borders of jiand's territory, and these men might be his followers treating us to an ambush. idu leapt out, and, advancing under cover with the eel-like movements all these raiders possess, reconnoitred the position. obviously all was well, for, shortly afterwards, he sauntered back in the open and told me that it was quite all right. the men he had seen were rekis, and they were now coming to speak to me.
-soon afterwards fifteen well-armed, powerful-looking men on camels ambled up to us, and i was grateful indeed to know they were friendlies and not jiand's men.
-they, however, kept at a respectful distance from the car, which was still retaining its moral effect, and implored me, as the friend and protector of idu and of themselves, to go back.
-"jiand is advancing on khwash, sahib, with a big lashkar," they said. "he is probably already there, and he will kill you and your followers unless you run away on the devil which has brought you here."
-i expressed a hope that their information was wrong, and that, as it was not certain that jiand was already in khwash, i still hoped to get there first. i pointed out to them that if we could only get into khwash we could, with their help, hold it or even bluff jiand into surrendering without a fight. after a little further persuasion by idu--who told them what wonders the car could do, and what rewards they would gain--and after considerable talk among themselves they decided to throw in their lot with us.
-"we shall want all the help they can give us with the car", idu whispered to me, "for the ground we have to pass through between here and khwash is far worse than anything we have crossed yet."
-i could imagine nothing worse than the first two days amongst the hills. but idu knew what he was talking about, as we were to discover during the next twenty-four hours.
-at this point i sent one of these men back to try and find landon and the army. as idu had sketched out the best route for them to follow he was able to tell him the exact direction in which to go. in the interval i wrote a message to landon urging him to use his best speed, for it had now developed into a race between jiand and ourselves, and telling him that i hoped to reach khwash myself before the following evening.
-i of course knew that nearly everything hung upon getting to khwash first. if jiand got in with his men, he could hold it as long as he chose against us, and vice versa. it was clear, too, that the holder of khwash was master of the sarhad. moreover, i felt a grave responsibility for the lives of the five sepoys i had left there, for they would meet with short shrift at jiand's hands.
-the message dispatched, we set off once more, with our new cavalcade in attendance, and had gone some twenty or twenty-five miles when idu again asked for a halt as he believed he saw men camped in a little nullah straight ahead of us. were he correct they would be yarmahommedzais, and so our enemies, for we were now right in the heart of jiand's territory.
-allan was, therefore, directed to drive the car into the mouth of a nullah close at hand, where the car, and the rekis with their camels, could be concealed, and where we could fill up our water-bottles and the radiator, from a small stream that trickled through it. the banks of the nullah had been hollowed out by the action of the water, so affording a certain amount of shade, for which we were very grateful after the burning heart of the open sandy plain.
-after rest and a drink idu went out to reconnoitre, and presently returned with a glum face.
-"how many men has he with him?" i asked.
-"about eighteen," idu replied.
-"only eighteen?" i felt relieved. "why, then we are about equal in numbers, to say nothing of the car. if they want a fight they shall have it."
-idu looked dubious. "in any case it would mean the loss of many of my tribe, and we shall want them all if we are to hold khwash. will the general sahib permit me to go and see if i can persuade izzat not to fight?"
-knowing idu's persuasive qualities i gave a ready consent, but warned him to take no personal risks. with his great knowledge of the country, and of all the sarhadis with their different peculiarities, he was absolutely indispensable to me, and i have no hesitation in making the admission. furthermore, i had conceived a very genuine affection for the man, whose utter devotion and loyalty never swerved from the moment he joined me.
-"have no fear, sahib," he said with a grin. "you know the law of our tribes. it is the one law we never break."
-idu then went forward, and, from safe cover, shouted out to izzat, explaining who he was, and asking for a safe conduct. this was instantly given.
-i have said before in this narrative, and i proved again and again, that whilst the raiders would break every other law and oath, even when given on the koran, the one law they never break is that of hospitality. if they promise safe conduct it is absolutely observed in letter and spirit.
-accordingly, idu went forward boldly, quite certain, according to the code of his enemies, that his life was safe until he returned to his friends.
-his conversation with izzat proved a lengthy one. izzat was hard to convince. but, at last, and as usual, idu's wily tongue won the day. when he returned it was to tell me that he had persuaded izzat and his men to come along with us, if not as friends at any rate not as enemies.
-he gave me a résumé of the arguments he had used. these were original, even for idu, with whose methods i was beginning to be familiar. the conversation must have been something as follows:
-"what are you doing here, izzat? your home is a long way from here."
-"i have come to fight the british general, and i am in command of a reconnoitring party to report to jiand, who is advancing on khwash."
-"do i understand you?" said idu. "do you seriously mean that you have come with the intention of fighting the general sahib?"
-"i do," replied izzat.
-"then," said idu scornfully, "all i can tell you is that you will be wiped out in a couple of seconds. if you fight, you will prove yourself a liar. the general sahib captured you and could have killed you and all your men. instead he treated you well, gave you back your rifles, large sums of money, and let you go free. moreover, you swore on the koran at kacha that you would never fight against him again, and put your thumb-mark on the agreement. you are a fine kind of mahommedan to break your oath given on the koran. besides, you fool, don't you know that the general sahib has brought a wonderful devil with him? come over here and look."
-he led izzat to a spot whence he could see the car.
-"do you see," he went on, "that queer thing there? and do you see that the front part of it is filled with hundreds of little holes? the general sahib has only to press a button and a hail of bullets will come out of those holes, and you, and all your men, will be killed. he is only waiting till i go back. i have come out to try and save your lives. if i tell him that you are going to fight he will press the button, and there will not be one of you left. your only hope is to go and fall at his feet and ask him to forgive you."
-dizzy. from within june cried:
-“here i am,” and out she ran in the last crimson gown of her young girlhood--her sleeves rolled up and her hair braided down her back as she used to wear it.
-“you've made up my bed and i'm going to make yours--and i'm going to cook your supper--why, what's the matter?” hale's face was radiant with the heaven-born idea that lighted it, and he seemed hardly to notice the change she had made. he came over and took her in his arms:
-“ah, sweetheart, my sweetheart!” a spasm of anxiety tightened her throat, but hale laughed from sheer delight.
-“never you mind. it's a secret,” and he stood back to look at her. she blushed as his eyes went downward to her perfect ankles.
-“it is too short,” she said.
-“no, no, no! not for me! you're mine now, little girl, mine--do you understand that?”
-“yes,” she whispered, her mouth trembling, again he laughed joyously.
-“come on!” he cried, and he went into the kitchen and brought out an axe:
-“i'll cut wood for you.” she followed him out to the wood-pile and then she turned and went into the house. presently the sound of his axe rang through the woods, and as he stooped to gather up the wood, he heard a creaking sound. june was drawing water at the well, and he rushed toward her:
-“here, you mustn't do that.”
-she flashed a happy smile at him.
-“oh, isn't it fun?” she stopped grinding suddenly.
-“what would the neighbours say?”
-“we haven't any.”
-“but if we had!”
-“terrible!” said hale with mock solemnity.
-“i wonder if uncle billy is at home,” hale trembled at his luck. “that's a good idea. i'll ride down for him while you're getting supper.”
-“no, you won't,” said june, “i can't spare you. is that old horn here yet?”
-hale brought it out from behind the cupboard.
-“i can get him--if he is at home.”
-hale followed her out to the porch where she put her red mouth to the old trumpet. one long, mellow hoot rang down the river--and up the hills. then there were three short ones and a single long blast again.
-“that's the old signal,” she said. “and he'll know i want him bad.” then she laughed.
-“he may think he's dreaming, so i'll blow for him again.” and she did.
-“there, now,” she said. “he'll come.”
-it was well she did blow again, for the old miller was not at home and old hon, down at the cabin, dropped her iron when she heard the horn and walked to the door, dazed and listening. even when it came again she could hardly believe her ears, and but for her rheumatism, she would herself have started at once for lonesome cove. as it was, she ironed no more, but sat in the doorway almost beside herself with anxiety and bewilderment, looking down the road for the old miller to come home.
-back the two went into the kitchen and hale sat at the door watching june as she fixed the table and made the coffee and corn bread. once only he disappeared and that was when suddenly a hen cackled, and with a shout of laughter he ran out to come back with a fresh egg.
-“now, my lord!” said june, her hair falling over her eyes and her face flushed from the heat.
-“no,” said hale. “i'm going to wait on you.”
-“for the last time,” she pleaded, and to please her he did sit down, and every time she came to his side with something he bent to kiss the hand that served him.
-“you're nothing but a big, nice boy,” she said. hale held out a lock of his hair near the temples and with one finger silently followed the track of wrinkles in his face.
-“it's premature,” she said, “and i love every one of them.” and she stooped to kiss him on the hair. “and those are nothing but troubles. i'm going to smooth every one of them away.”
-“if they're troubles, they'll go--now,” said hale.
-all the time they talked of what they would do with lonesome cove.
-“even if we do go away, we'll come back once a year,” said hale.
-“yes,” nodded june, “once a year.”
-“i'll tear down those mining shacks, float them down the river and sell them as lumber.”
-“and i'll stock the river with bass again.”
-“and i'll plant young poplars to cover the sight of every bit of uptorn earth along the mountain there. i'll bury every bottle and tin can in the cove. i'll take away every sign of civilization, every sign of the outside world.”
-“and leave old mother nature to cover up the scars,” said june.
-“so that lonesome cove will be just as it was.”
-“just as it was in the beginning,” echoed june.
-“and shall be to the end,” said hale.
-“and there will never be anybody here but you.”
-“and you,” said june.
-while she cleared the table and washed the dishes hale fed the horses and cut more wood, and it was dusk when he came to the porch. through the door he saw that she had made his bed in one corner. and through her door he saw one of the white things, that had lain untouched in her drawer, now stretched out on her bed.
-the stars were peeping through the blue spaces of a white-clouded sky and the moon would be coming by and by. in the garden the flowers were dim, quiet and restful. a kingfisher screamed from the river. an owl hooted in the woods and crickets chirped about them, but every passing sound seemed only to accentuate the stillness in which they were engulfed. close together they sat on the old porch and she made him tell of everything that had happened since she left the mountains, and she told him of her flight from the mountains and her life in the west--of her father's death and the homesickness of the ones who still were there.
-“bub is a cowboy and wouldn't come back for the world, but i could never have been happy there,” she said, “even if it hadn't been for you--here.”
-“i'm just a plain civil engineer, now,” said hale, “an engineer without even a job and--” his face darkened.
-“silly,” she said, tracing them gently with her finger tips, “i love every one of them, too,” and she leaned over and kissed them.
-“we're going to be happy each and every day, and all day long! we'll live at the gap in winter and i'll teach.”
-“no, you won't.”
-“then i'll teach you to be patient and how little i care for anything else in the world while i've got you, and i'll teach you to care for nothing else while you've got me. and you'll have me, dear, forever and ever----”
-“amen,” said hale.
-something rang out in the darkness, far down the river, and both sprang to their feet. “it's uncle billy!” cried june, and she lifted the old horn to her lips. with the first blare of it, a cheery halloo answered, and a moment later they could see a gray horse coming up the road--coming at a gallop, and they went down to the gate and waited.
-“hello, uncle billy” cried june. the old man answered with a fox-hunting yell and hale stepped behind a bush.
-“jumping jehosophat--is that you, june? air ye all right?”
-“yes, uncle billy.” the old man climbed off his horse with a groan.
-“lordy, lordy, lordy, but i was skeered!” he had his hands on june's shoulders and was looking at her with a bewildered face.
-“what air ye doin' here alone, baby?”
-june's eyes shone: “nothing uncle billy.” hale stepped into sight.
-“oh, ho! i see! you back an' he ain't gone! well, bless my soul, if this ain't the beatenest--” he looked from the one to the other and his kind old face beamed with a joy that was but little less than their own.
-“you come back to stay?”
-“my--where's that horn? i want it right now, ole hon down thar is a-thinkin' she's gone crazy and i thought she shorely was when she said she heard you blow that horn. an' she tol' me the minute i got here, if hit was you--to blow three times.” and straightway three blasts rang down the river.
-“now she's all right, if she don't die o' curiosity afore i git back and tell her why you come. why did you come back, baby? gimme a drink o' water, son. i reckon me an' that ole hoss hain't travelled sech a gait in five year.”
-june was whispering something to the old man when hale came back, and what it was the old man's face told plainly.
-“yes, uncle billy--right away,” said hale.
-“just as soon as you can git yo' license?” hale nodded.
-“an' june says i'm goin' to do it.”
-“yes,” said hale, “right away.”
-again june had to tell the story to uncle billy that she had told to hale and to answer his questions, and it was an hour before the old miller rose to go. hale called him then into june's room and showed him a piece of paper.
-“is it good now?” he asked.
-the old man put on his spectacles, looked at it and chuckled:
-“just as good as the day you got hit.”
-“well, can't you----”
-“right now! does june know?”
-“not yet. i'm going to tell her now. june!” he called.
-“yes, dear.” uncle billy moved hurriedly to the door.
-“you just wait till i git out o' here.” he met june in the outer room.
-“where are you going, uncle billy?”
-“go on, baby,” he said, hurrying by her, “i'll be back in a minute.”
-she stopped in the doorway--her eyes wide again with sudden anxiety, but hale was smiling.
-“you remember what you said at the pine, dear?” the girl nodded and she was smiling now, when with sweet seriousness she said again: “your least wish is now law to me, my lord.”
-“well, i'm going to test it now. i've laid a trap for you.” she shook her head.
-“and you've walked right into it”
-“i'm glad.” she noticed now the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and she thought it was some matter of business.
-“oh,” she said, reproachfully. “you aren't going to bother with anything of that kind now?”
-“yes,” he said. “i want you to look over this.”
-“very well,” she said resignedly. he was holding the paper out to her and she took it and held it to the light of the candle. her face flamed and she turned remorseful eyes upon him.
-“and you've kept that, too, you had it when i----”
-“when you were wiser maybe than you are now.”
-“god save me from ever being such a fool again.” tears started in her eyes.
-“you haven't forgiven me!” she cried.
-“uncle billy says it's as good now as it was then.”
-he was looking at her queerly now and his smile was gone. slowly his meaning came to her like the flush that spread over her face and throat. she drew in one long quivering breath and, with parted lips and her great shining eyes wide, she looked at him.
-“now?” she whispered.
-“now!” he said.
-her eyes dropped to the coarse gown, she lifted both hands for a moment to her hair and unconsciously she began to roll one crimson sleeve down her round, white arm.
-“no,” said hale, “just as you are.”
-she went to him then, put her arms about his neck, and with head thrown back she looked at him long with steady eyes.
-“yes,” she breathed out--“just as you are--and now.”
-uncle billy was waiting for them on the porch and when they came out, he rose to his feet and they faced him, hand in hand. the moon had risen. the big pine stood guard on high against the outer world. nature was their church and stars were their candles. and as if to give them even a better light, the moon had sent a luminous sheen down the dark mountainside to the very garden in which the flowers whispered like waiting happy friends. uncle billy lifted his hand and a hush of expectancy seemed to come even from the farthest star.
-by charles dye
-illustrated by emsh
-the plagues that struck mankind could be attributed to one man. but was he fiend ... or savior?
-the blood was added to a pool of other blood, mixed, centrifuged, separated to plasma and corpuscles, irradiated slightly, pasteurized slightly, frozen, evaporated, and finally banked. some of the plasma was used immediately for a woman who had bled too much in childbirth.
-others received plasma and did not die. but their symptoms changed, including a syndrome of multiple endocrine unbalance, eccentricities of appetite and digestion, and a general pattern of emotional disturbance.
-an alert hospital administrator investigated the mortality rise and narrowed it to a question of who had donated blood the week before. after city residents were eliminated, there remained only the signed receipts and thumbprints of nine men. nine healthy unregistered travelers poor enough to sell their blood for money, and among them a man who carried death in his veins. the nine thumbprints were broadcast to all police files and a search began.
-the effort was futile, for there were many victims who had sickened and grown partially well again without recognizing the strangeness of their illness.
-three years later they reached the carrier stage and the epidemic spread to four cities. three more years, and there was an epidemic which spread around the world, meeting another wave coming from the opposite direction. it killed two out of four, fifty out of a hundred, twenty-seven million out of fifty million. there was hysteria where it appeared. and where it had not appeared there were quarantines to fence it out. but it could not be fenced out. for two years it covered the world. and then it vanished again, leaving the survivors with a tendency toward glandular troubles.
-time passed. the world grew richer, more orderly, more peaceful.
-a man paused in the midst of his work at the u.n. food and agriculture commission. he looked up at the red and green production map of india.
-"just too many people per acre," he said. "all our work at improving production ... just one jump ahead of their rising population, one jump ahead of famine. sometimes i wish to god there would be another plague to give us a breathing spell and a fair chance to get things organized."
-he went back to work and added another figure.
-two months later, he was one of the first victims of the second plague.
-in the dining hall of a university, a biochemical student glanced up from his paper to his breakfast companion. "you remember johnny, the mythical carrier that they told about during the first and second epidemics of syndrome plague?"
-"sure. syndrome johnny. they use that myth in psychology class as a typical example of mass hysteria. when a city was nervous and expecting the plague to reach them, some superstitious fool would imagine he saw syndrome johnny and the population would panic. symbol for death or some such thing. people imagined they saw him in every corner of the world. simultaneously, of course."
-it was a bright morning and they were at a window which looked out across green rolling fields to a towering glass-brick building in the distance.
-the student who had gone back to his paper suddenly looked up again. "some peruvians here claim they saw syndrome johnny--"
-"idiotic superstition! you'd think it would have died down when the plague died."
-the other grinned. "the plague didn't die." he folded his newspaper slowly, obviously advancing an opening for a debate.
-his companion went on eating. "another of your wild theories, huh?" then through a mouthful of food: "all right, if the plague didn't die, where did it go?"
-"nowhere. we have it now. we all have it!" he shrugged. "a virus catalyst of high affinity for the cells and a high similarity to a normal cell protein--how can it be detected?"
-"then why don't people die? why aren't we sick?"
-"because we have sickened and recovered. we caught it on conception and recovered before birth. proof? why do you think that the countries which were known as the hungry lands are now well-fed, leisured, educated, advanced? because the birth rate has fallen! why has the birth rate fallen?" he paused, then very carefully said, "because two out of three of all people who would have lived have died before birth, slain by syndrome plague. we are all carriers now, hosts to a new guest. and"--his voice dropped to a mock sinister whisper--"with such a stranger within our cells, at the heart of the intricate machinery of our lives, who knows what subtle changes have crept upon us unnoticed!"
-his companion laughed. "eat your breakfast. you belong on a horror program!"
-a police psychologist for the federated states of the americas was running through reports from the bureau of social statistics. suddenly he grunted, then a moment later said, "uh-huh!"
-"uh-huh what?" asked his superior, who was reading a newspaper with his feet up on the desk.
-"remember the myth, of syndrome johnny?"
-"ghost of syndrome plague. si, what of it?"
-"titaquahapahel, peru, population nine hundred, sent in a claim that he turned up there and they almost caught him. crime statistics rerouted the report to mass phenomena, of course. mass phenomena blew a tube and sent their folder on syndrome johnny over here. every report they ever had on him for ninety years back! a memo came with it." he handed the memo over.
-the man behind the desk looked at it. it was a small graph and some mathematical symbols. "what is it?"
-"it means," said the psychologist, smiling dryly, "that every crazy report about our ghost has points of similarity to every other crazy report. the whole business of syndrome johnny has been in their 'funny coincidence' file for twenty years. this time the suspect hits the averaged description of johnny too closely: a solid-looking man, unusual number of visible minor scars, and a disturbing habit of bending his fingers at the first-joint knuckles when he is thinking. the coincidence has gotten too damn funny. there's a chance we've been passing up a crime."
-"an extensive crime," said the man at the desk softly. he reached for the folder. "yes, a considerable quantity of murder." he leafed through the folder and then thought a while, looking at the most recent reports. thinking was what he was paid for, and he earned his excellent salary.
-"this thumbprint on the hotel register--the name is false, but the thumbprint looks real. could we persuade the bureau of records to give their data on that print?"
-"without a warrant? against constitutional immunity. no, not a chance. the public has been touchy about the right to secrecy ever since that police state was attempted in varga."
-"how about persuading an obliging judge to give a warrant on grounds of reasonable suspicion?"
-"no. we'd have the humanist press down on our necks in a minute, and any judge knows it. we'd have to prove a crime was committed. no crime, no warrant."
-"it seems a pity we can't even find out who the gentleman is," the crimes department head murmured, looking at the thumbprint wistfully. "no crime, no records. no records, no evidence. no evidence, no proof of crime. therefore, we must manufacture a small crime. he was attacked and he must have defended himself. someone may have been hurt in the process." he pushed a button. "do you think if i send a man down there, he could persuade one of the mob to swear out a complaint?"
-"that's a rhetorical question," said the psychologist, trying to work out an uncertain correlation in his reports. "with that sort of mob hysteria, the town would probably give you an affidavit of witchcraft."
-"phone for you, doctor alcala." the nurse was crisp but quiet, smiling down at the little girl before vanishing again.
-ricardo alcala pushed the plunger in gently, then carefully withdrew the hypodermic needle from the little girl's arm. "there you are, cosita," he said, smiling and rising from the chair beside the white bed.
-"will that make me better, doctor?" she piped feebly.
-he patted her hand. "be a good girl and you will be well tomorrow." he walked out into the hospital corridor to where the desk nurse held out a phone.
-the voice was unfamiliar. "my deepest apologies for interrupting your work, doctor. at this late hour i'm afraid i assumed you would be at home. the name is camba, federation investigator on a health case. i would like to consult you."
-alcala was tired, but there was nothing to do at home. nita was at the health resort and johnny had borrowed all his laboratory space for a special synthesis of some sort, and probably would be too busy even to talk. interest stirred in him. this was a federation investigator calling; the man's work was probably important. "tonight, if that's convenient. i'll be off duty in five minutes."
-thirty minutes later they were ordering in a small cantina down the street from the hospital.
-julio camba, federation investigator, was a slender, dark man with sharp, glinting eyes. he spoke with a happy theatrical flourish.
-"order what you choose, senor. we're on my expense account. the resources of the federated states of all the americas stand behind your menu."
-alcala smiled. "i wouldn't want to add to the national debt."
-"not at all, senor. the federated states are only too happy thus to express a fraction of their gratitude by adding a touch of luxury to the otherwise barren and self-sacrificing life of a scientist."
-"you shame me," alcala said dryly. it was true that he needed every spare penny for the health of nita and the child, and for the laboratory. a penny saved from being spent on nourishment was a penny earned. he picked up the menu again and ordered steak.
-the investigator lit a cigar, asking casually: "do you know john osborne drake?"
-alcala searched his memory. "no. i'm sorry...." then he felt for the first time how closely he was being watched, and knew how carefully his reaction and the tone of his voice had been analyzed. the interview was dangerous. for some reason, he was suspected of something.
-camba finished lighting the cigar and dropped the match into an ash-tray. "perhaps you know john delgados?" he leaned back into the shadowy corner of the booth.
-johnny! out of all the people in the world, how could the government be interested in him? alcala tried to sound casual. "an associate of mine. a friend."
-"i would like to contact the gentleman." the request was completely unforceful, undemanding. "i called, but he was not at home. could you tell me where he might be?"
-"what do you know of his activities?" camba asked.
-"a biochemist." alcala tried to see past the meditative mask of the thin dark face. "he makes small job-lots of chemical compounds. special bug spray for sale to experimental plantations, hormone spray for fruits, that sort of thing. sometimes, when he collects some money ahead, he does research."
-camba waited, and his silence became a question. alcala spoke reluctantly, anger rising in him. "oh, it's genuine research. he has some patents and publications to his credit. you can confirm that if you choose." he was unable to keep the hostility out of his voice.
-a waiter came and placed steaming platters of food on the table. camba waited until he was gone. "you know him well, i presume. is he sane?"
-the question was another shock. alcala thought carefully, for any man might be insane in secret. "yes, so far as i know." he turned his attention to the steak, but first took three very large capsules from a bottle in his pocket.
-"i would not expect that a doctor would need to take pills," camba remarked with friendly mockery.
-"i don't need them," alcala explained. "mixed silicones. i'm guinea pigging."
-"can't such things be left to the guinea pigs?" camba asked, watching with revulsion as alcala uncapped the second bottle and sprinkled a layer of gray powder over his steak.
-"guinea pigs have no assimilation of silicones; only man has that."
-"yes, of course. i should have remembered from your famous papers, the need of trace silicon in human diet and silicon deficiency diseases."
-obviously camba had done considerable investigating of alcala before approaching him. he had even given the titles of the research papers correctly. alcala's wariness increased.
-"what is the purpose of the experiment this time?" asked the small dark federation agent genially.
-"to determine the safe limits of silicon consumption and if there are any dangers in an overdose."
-"how do you determine that? by dropping dead?"
-he could be right. perhaps the test should be stopped. every day, with growing uneasiness, alcala took his dose of silicon compound, and every day, the chemical seemed to be absorbed completely--not released or excreted--in a way that was unpleasantly reminiscent of the way arsenic accumulated without evident damage, then killed abruptly without warning.
-already, this evening, he had noticed that there was something faulty about his coordination and weight and surface sense. the restaurant door had swung back with a curious lightness, and the hollow metal handle had had a curious softness under his fingers. something merely going wrong with the sensitivity of his fingers--?
-tapping his fingers gently, his heavy fingers ... the answer was dreamily fantastic. i'm turning into silicon plastic myself, he thought. but how, why? he had not bothered to be curious before, but the question had always been--what were supposedly insoluble silicons doing assimilating into the human body at all?
-several moments passed. he smoothed back his hair with his oddly heavy hand before picking up his fork again.
-"i'm turning into plastic," he told camba.
-"i beg your pardon?"
-"nothing. a joke."
-camba was turning into plastic, too. everyone was. but the effect was accumulating slowly, by generations.
-camba lay down his knife and started in again. "what connections have you had with john delgados?"
-concentrate on the immediate situation. alcala and johnny were obviously in danger of some sort of mistaken arrest and interrogation.
-as alcala focused on the question, one errant whimsical thought suddenly flitted through the back of his mind. in red advertising letters: try our new model rust-proof, waterproof, heat & scald resistant, strong--extra-long-wearing human being!
-camba chose a piece of salad with great care. "we have reason to believe that he is syndrome johnny."
-the investigator was watching his expression with bright brown eyes.
-johnny, yes ... but not syndrome johnny. he tried to think of some quick refutation. "the whole thing is preposterous, senor camba. the myth of syndrome plague johnny started about a century ago."
-"doctor alcala"--the small man in the gray suit was tensely sober--"john delgados is very old, and john delgados is not his proper name. i have traced his life back and back, through older and older records in argentina, panama, south africa, the united states, china, canada. everywhere he has paid his taxes properly, put his fingerprints on file as a good citizen should. and he changed his name every twenty years, applying to the courts for permission with good honest reasons for changing his name. everywhere he has been a laboratory worker, held patents, sometimes made a good deal of money. he is one hundred and forty years old. his first income tax was paid in 1970, exactly one hundred and twenty years ago."
-"other men are that old," said alcala.
-"other men are old, yes. those who survived the two successive plagues, were unusually durable." camba finished and pushed back his plate. "there is no crime in being long-lived, surely. but he has changed his name five times!"
-"that proves nothing. whatever his reasons for changing his name, it doesn't prove that he is syndrome johnny any more than it proves he is the cow that jumped over the moon. syndrome johnny is a myth, a figment of mob delirium."
-as he said it, he knew it was not true. a federation investigator would not be on a wild goose chase.
-the plates were taken away and cups of steaming black coffee put between them. he would have to warn johnny. it was strange how well you could know a man as well as he knew johnny, firmly enough to believe that, despite evidence, everything the man did was right.
-"why must it be a myth?" camba asked softly.
-"it's ridiculous!" alcala protested. "why would any man--" his voice cut off as unrelated facts fell into a pattern. he sat for a moment, thinking intensely, seeing the century of plague as something he had never dreamed....
-not too high a price in the long run, considering what was purchased. of course, the great change over into silicon catalysis would be a shock and require adjustment and, of course, the change must be made in several easy stages--and those who could not adjust would die.
-"go on, doctor," camba urged softly. "'why would any man--'"
-he tried to find a way of explaining which would not seem to have any relationship to john delgados. "it has been recently discovered"--but he did not say how recently--"that the disease of syndrome plague was not a disease. it is an improvement." he had spoken clumsily.
-"an improvement on life?" camba laughed and nodded, but there were bitterness and anger burning behind the small man's smile. "people can be improved to death by the millions. yes, yes, go on, senor. you fascinate me."
-"we are stronger," alcala told him. "we are changed chemically. the race has been improved!"
-"come, doctor alcala," camba said with a sneering merriment, "the syndrome plagues have come and they have gone. where is this change?"
-alcala tried to express it clearly. "we are stronger. potentially, we are tremendously stronger. but we of this generation are still weak and ill, as our parents were, from the shock of the change. and we need silicone feeding; we have not adjusted yet. our illness masks our strength." he thought of what that strength would be!
-camba smiled and took out a small notebook. "the disease is connected with silicones, you say? the original name of john delgados was john osborne drake. his father was osborne drake, a chemist at dow corning, who was sentenced to the electric chair in 1967 for unauthorized bacterial experiments which resulted in an accidental epidemic and eight deaths. dow corning was the first major manufactury of silicones in america, though not connected in any way with osborne drake's criminal experiments. it links together, does it not?"
-"it is not a disease, it is strength!" alcala insisted doggedly.
-the small investigator looked up from his notebook and his smile was an unnatural thing, a baring of teeth. "half the world died of this strength, senor. if you will not think of the men and women, think of the children. millions of children died!"
-the waiter brought the bill, dropping it on the table between them.
-"lives will be saved in the long run," alcala said obstinately. "individual deaths are not important in the long run."
-"that is hardly the philosophy for a doctor, is it?" asked camba with open irony, taking the bill and rising.
-they went out of the restaurant in silence. camba's 'copter stood at the curb.
-"would you care for a lift home, doctor alcala?" the offer was made with the utmost suavity.
-alcala hesitated fractionally. "why, yes, thank you." it would not do to give the investigator any reason for suspicion by refusing.
-as the 'copter lifted into the air, camba spoke with a more friendly note in his voice, as if he humored a child. "come, alcala, you're a doctor dedicated to saving lives. how can you find sympathy for a murderer?"
-alcala sat in the dark, looking through the windshield down at the bright street falling away below. "i'm not a practicing medico; only one night a week do i come to the hospital. i'm a research man. i don't try to save individual lives. i'm dedicated to improving the average life, the average health. can you understand that? individuals may be sick and individuals may die, but the average lives on. and if the average is better, then i'm satisfied."
-the 'copter flew on. there was no answer.
-"i'm not good with words," said alcala. then, taking out his pen-knife and unfolding it, he said, "watch!" he put his index finger on the altimeter dial, where there was light, and pressed the blade against the flesh between his finger and his thumb. he increased the pressure until the flesh stood out white on either side of the blade, bending, but not cut.
-"three generations back, this pressure would have gone right through the hand." he took away the blade and there was only a very tiny cut. putting the knife away, he brought out his lighter. the blue flame was steady and hot. alcala held it close to the dashboard and put his finger directly over it, counting patiently, "one, two, three, four, five--" he pulled the lighter back, snapping it shut.
-"three generations ago, a man couldn't have held a finger over that flame for more than a tenth part of that count. doesn't all this prove something to you?"
-disconcerted, alcala watched the 'copter lift away into the night, then, turning, saw that the lights were still on in the laboratory. camba might have deduced something from that, if he knew that nita and the girl were not supposed to be home.
-alcala hurried in.
-johnny hadn't left yet. he was sitting at alcala's desk with his feet on the wastebasket, the way alcala often liked to sit, reading a technical journal. he looked up, smiling. for a moment alcala saw him with the new clarity of a stranger. the lean, weathered face; brown eyes with smile deltas at the corners; wide shoulders; steady, big hands holding the magazine--solid, able, and ruthless enough to see what had to be done, and do it.
-"i was waiting for you, ric."
-"the feds are after you." ricardo alcala had been running. he found he was panting and his heart was pounding.
-delgados' smile did not change. "it's all right, ric. everything's done. i can leave any time now." he indicated a square metal box standing in a corner. "there's the stuff."
-what stuff? the product johnny had been working on? "you haven't time for that now, johnny. you can't sell it. they'd watch for anyone of your description selling chemicals. let me loan you some money."
-"thanks." johnny was smiling oddly. "everything's set. i won't need it. how close are they to finding me?"
-"they don't know where you're staying." alcala leaned on the desk edge and put out his hand. "they tell me you're syndrome johnny."
-"i thought you'd figured that one out." johnny shook his hand formally. "the name is john osborne drake. you aren't horrified?"
-"no." alcala knew that he was shaking hands with a man who would be thanked down all the successive generations of mankind. he noticed again the odd white web-work of scars on the back of johnny's hand. he indicated them as casually as he could. "where did you pick those up?"
-john drake glanced at his hand. "i don't know, ric. truthfully. i've had my brains beaten in too often to remember much any more. unimportant. there are instructions outlining plans and methods filed in safety deposit boxes in almost every big city in the world. always the same typing, always the same instructions. i can't remember who typed them, myself or my father, but i must have been expected to forget or they wouldn't be there. up to eleven, my memory is all right, but after dad started to remake me, everything gets fuzzy."
-"after he did what?"
-johnny smiled tiredly and rested his head on one hand. "he had to remake me chemically, you know. how could i spread change without being changed myself? i couldn't have two generations to adapt to it naturally like you, ric. it had to be done artificially. it took years. you understand? i'm a community, a construction. the cells that carry on the silicon metabolism in me are not human. dad adapted them for the purpose. i helped, but i can't remember any longer how it was done. i think when i've been badly damaged, organization scatters to the separate cells in my body. they can survive better that way, and they have powers of regrouping and healing. but memory can't be pasted together again or regrown."
-the last one had been before alcala was born. he had not thought that johnny would start another. it was a shock.
-alcala walked over to the cage where he kept his white mice and looked in, trying to sort out his feelings. the white mice looked back with beady bright eyes, caged, not knowing they were waiting to be experimented upon.
-a timer clicked and john delgados-drake became all rapid efficient activity, moving from valve to valve. it lasted a half minute or less, then drake had finished stripping off the lab whites to his street clothes. he picked up the square metal box containing the stuff he had made, tucked it under his arm and held out a solid hand again to alcala.
-"good-by, ric. wish me luck. close up the lab for me, will you?"
-alcala took the hand numbly and mumbled something, turned back to the cages and stared blindly at the mice. drake's brisk footsteps clattered down the stairs.
-another step forward for the human race.
-there came at last a pressure that was a thought emerging from the depth of intuition. doctor ricardo alcala will die in the next plague, he and his ill wife nita and his ill little girl.... and the name of alcala will die forever as a weak strain blotted from the bloodstream of the race....
-he'd find out what was in the box by dying of it!
-he tried to reason it out, but only could remember that nita, already sickly, would have no chance. and alcala's family genes, in attempting to adapt to the previous steps, had become almost sterile. it had been difficult having children. the next step would mean complete sterility. the name of alcala would die. the future might be wonderful, but it would not be his future!
-"johnny!" he called suddenly, something like an icy lump hardening in his chest. how long had it been since johnny had left?
-running, alcala went down the long half-lit stairs, out the back door and along the dark path toward the place where johnny's 'copter had been parked.
-a light shone through the leaves. it was still there.
-john osborne drake was putting his suitcase into the rear of the 'copter.
-"what is it, ric?" he asked in a friendly voice without turning.
-it would be impossible to ask him to change his mind. alcala found a rock, raised it behind syndrome johnny's back. "i know i'm being anti-social," he said regretfully, and then threw the rock away.
-his fist was enough like stone to crush a skull.
-the marching morons
-by c. m. kornbluth
-illustrated by don sibley
-in the country of the blind, the one-eyed man, of course, is king. but how about a live wire, a smart businessman, in a civilization of 100% pure chumps?
-some things had not changed. a potter's wheel was still a potter's wheel and clay was still clay. efim hawkins had built his shop near goose lake, which had a narrow band of good fat clay and a narrow beach of white sand. he fired three bottle-nosed kilns with willow charcoal from the wood lot. the wood lot was also useful for long walks while the kilns were cooling; if he let himself stay within sight of them, he would open them prematurely, impatient to see how some new shape or glaze had come through the fire, and--ping!--the new shape or glaze would be good for nothing but the shard pile back of his slip tanks.
-a business conference was in full swing in his shop, a modest cube of brick, tile-roofed, as the chicago-los angeles "rocket" thundered overhead--very noisy, very swept-back, very fiery jets, shaped as sleekly swift-looking as an airborne barracuda.
-the buyer from marshall fields was turning over a black-glazed one liter carafe, nodding approval with his massive, handsome head. "this is real pretty," he told hawkins and his own secretary, gomez-laplace. "this has got lots of what ya call real est'etic principles. yeah, it is real pretty."
-"how much?" the secretary asked the potter.
-"seven-fifty each in dozen lots," said hawkins. "i ran up fifteen dozen last month."
-"they are real est'etic," repeated the buyer from fields. "i will take them all."
-"i don't think we can do that, doctor," said the secretary. "they'd cost us $1,350. that would leave only $532 in our quarter's budget. and we still have to run down to east liverpool to pick up some cheap dinner sets."
-"dinner sets?" asked the buyer, his big face full of wonder.
-"dinner sets. the department's been out of them for two months now. mr. garvy-seabright got pretty nasty about it yesterday. remember?"
-"garvy-seabright, that meat-headed bluenose," the buyer said contemptuously. "he don't know nothin' about est'etics. why for don't he lemme run my own department?" his eye fell on a stray copy of whambozambo comix and he sat down with it. an occasional deep chuckle or grunt of surprise escaped him as he turned the pages.
-uninterrupted, the potter and the buyer's secretary quickly closed a deal for two dozen of the liter carafes. "i wish we could take more," said the secretary, "but you heard what i told him. we've had to turn away customers for ordinary dinnerware because he shot the last quarter's budget on some mexican piggy banks some equally enthusiastic importer stuck him with. the fifth floor is packed solid with them."
-"i'll bet they look mighty est'etic."
-"they're painted with purple cacti."
-the potter shuddered and caressed the glaze of the sample carafe.
-the buyer looked up and rumbled, "ain't you dummies through yakkin' yet? what good's a seckertary for if'n he don't take the burden of de-tail off'n my back, harh?"
-"we're all through, doctor. are you ready to go?"
-the buyer grunted peevishly, dropped whambozambo comix on the floor and led the way out of the building and down the log corduroy road to the highway. his car was waiting on the concrete. it was, like all contemporary cars, too low-slung to get over the logs. he climbed down into the car and started the motor with a tremendous sparkle and roar.
-"gomez-laplace," called out the potter under cover of the noise, "did anything come of the radiation program they were working on the last time i was on duty at the pole?"
-"the same old fallacy," said the secretary gloomily. "it stopped us on mutation, it stopped us on culling, it stopped us on segregation, and now it's stopped us on hypnosis."
-"well, i'm scheduled back to the grind in nine days. time for another firing right now. i've got a new luster to try...."
-"i'll miss you. i shall be 'vacationing'--running the drafting room of the new century engineering corporation in denver. they're going to put up a two hundred-story office building, and naturally somebody's got to be on hand."
-"naturally," said hawkins with a sour smile.
-there was an ear-piercingly sweet blast as the buyer leaned on the horn button. also, a yard-tall jet of what looked like flame spurted up from the car's radiator cap; the car's power plant was a gas turbine, and had no radiator.
-"i'm coming, doctor," said the secretary dispiritedly. he climbed down into the car and it whooshed off with much flame and noise.
-the potter, depressed, wandered back up the corduroy road and contemplated his cooling kilns. the rustling wind in the boughs was obscuring the creak and mutter of the shrinking refractory brick. hawkins wondered about the number two kiln--a reduction fire on a load of lusterware mugs. had the clay chinking excluded the air? had it been a properly smoky blaze? would it do any harm if he just took one close--?
-common sense took hawkins by the scruff of the neck and yanked him over to the tool shed. he got out his pick and resolutely set off on a prospecting jaunt to a hummocky field that might yield some oxides. he was especially low on coppers.
-the long walk left him sweating hard, with his lust for a peek into the kiln quiet in his breast. he swung his pick almost at random into one of the hummocks; it clanged on a stone which he excavated. a largely obliterated inscription said:
-ersity of chic ogical labo eloved memory of killed in act
-the potter swore mildly. he had hoped the field would turn out to be a cemetery, preferably a once-fashionable cemetery full of once-massive bronze caskets moldered into oxides of tin and copper.
-well, hell, maybe there was some around anyway.
-he headed lackadaisically for the second largest hillock and sliced into it with his pick. there was a stone to undercut and topple into a trench, and then the potter was very glad he'd stuck at it. his nostrils were filled with the bitter smell and the dirt was tinged with the exciting blue of copper salts. the pick went clang!
-hawkins, puffing, pried up a stainless steel plate that was quite badly stained and was also marked with incised letters. it seemed to have pulled loose from rotting bronze; there were rivets on the back that brought up flakes of green patina. the potter wiped off the surface dirt with his sleeve, turned it to catch the sunlight obliquely and read:
-"honest john barlow
-"honest john," famed in university annals, represents a challenge which medical science has not yet answered: revival of a human being accidentally thrown into a state of suspended animation.
-in 1988 mr. barlow, a leading evanston real estate dealer, visited his dentist for treatment of an impacted wisdom tooth. his dentist requested and received permission to use the experimental anesthetic cycloparadimethanol-b-7, developed at the university.
-after administration of the anesthetic, the dentist resorted to his drill. by freakish mischance, a short circuit in his machine delivered 220 volts of 60-cycle current into the patient. (in a damage suit instituted by mrs. barlow against the dentist, the university and the makers of the drill, a jury found for the defendants.) mr. barlow never got up from the dentist's chair and was assumed to have died of poisoning, electrocution or both.
-morticians preparing him for embalming discovered, however, that their subject was--though certainly not living--just as certainly not dead. the university was notified and a series of exhaustive tests was begun, including attempts to duplicate the trance state on volunteers. after a bad run of seven cases which ended fatally, the attempts were abandoned.
-honest john was long an exhibit at the university museum, and livened many a football game as mascot of the university's blue crushers. the bounds of taste were overstepped, however, when a pledge to sigma delta chi was ordered in '03 to "kidnap" honest john from his loosely guarded glass museum case and introduce him into the rachel swanson memorial girls' gymnasium shower room.
-on may 22nd, 2003, the university board of regents issued the following order: "by unanimous vote, it is directed that the remains of honest john barlow be removed from the university museum and conveyed to the university's lieutenant james scott iii memorial biological laboratories and there be securely locked in a specially prepared vault. it is further directed that all possible measures for the preservation of these remains be taken by the laboratory administration and that access to these remains be denied to all persons except qualified scholars authorized in writing by the board. the board reluctantly takes this action in view of recent notices and photographs in the nation's press which, to say the least, reflect but small credit upon the university."
-it was far from his field, but hawkins understood what had happened--an early and accidental blundering onto the bare bones of the levantman shock anesthesia, which had since been replaced by other methods. to bring subjects out of levantman shock, you let them have a squirt of simple saline in the trigeminal nerve. interesting. and now about that bronze--
-he heaved the pick into the rotting green salts, expecting no resistence and almost fractured his wrist. something down there was solid. he began to flake off the oxides.
-a half hour of work brought him down to phosphor bronze, a huge casting of the almost incorruptible metal. it had weakened structurally over the centuries; he could fit the point of his pick under a corroded boss and pry off great creaking and grumbling striae of the stuff.
-hawkins wished he had an archeologist with him, but didn't dream of returning to his shop and calling one to take over the find. he was an all-around man: by choice and in his free time, an artist in clay and glaze; by necessity, an automotive, electronics and atomic engineer who could also swing a project in traffic control, individual and group psychology, architecture or tool design. he didn't yell for a specialist every time something out of his line came up; there were so few with so much to do....
-he trenched around his find, discovering that it was a great brick-shaped bronze mass with an excitingly hollow sound. a long strip of moldering metal from one of the long vertical faces pulled away, exposing red rust that went whoosh and was sucked into the interior of the mass.
-it had been de-aired, thought hawkins, and there must have been an inner jacket of glass which had crystalized through the centuries and quietly crumbled at the first clang of his pick. he didn't know what a vacuum would do to a subject of levantman shock, but he had hopes, nor did he quite understand what a real estate dealer was, but it might have something to do with pottery. and anything might have a bearing on topic number one.
-back at his dig, he chipped for another half hour to expose the juncture of lid and body. the hinges were hopeless; he smashed them off.
-hawkins extended the telescopic handle of the pick for the best leverage, fitted its point into a deep pit, set its built-in fulcrum, and heaved. five more heaves and he could see, inside the vault, what looked like a dusty marble statue. ten more and he could see that it was the naked body of honest john barlow, evanston real estate dealer, uncorrupted by time.
-the potter found the apex of the trigeminal nerve with his needle's point and gave him 60 cc.
-in another hour, he rasped, "did it work?"
-"did it!" muttered hawkins.
-barlow opened his eyes and stirred, looked down, turned his hands before his eyes--
-"they'll grow back," said hawkins casually. "also your epidermis. those parts of you weren't alive, you know, so they weren't preserved like the rest of you. i'm afraid the clothes are gone, though."
-"what is this--the university hospital?" demanded barlow. "i want a phone. no, you phone. tell my wife i'm all right and tell sam immerman--he's my lawyer--to get over here right away. greenleaf 7-4022. ow!" he had tried to sit up, and a portion of his pink skin rubbed against the inner surface of the casket, which was powdered by the ancient crystalized glass. "what the hell did you guys do, boil me alive? oh, you're going to pay for this!"
-"you're all right," said hawkins, wishing now he had a reference book to clear up several obscure terms. "your epidermis will start growing immediately. you're not in the hospital. look here."
-he handed barlow the stainless steel plate that had labeled the casket. after a suspicious glance, the man started to read. finishing, he laid the plate carefully on the edge of the vault and was silent for a spell.
-"poor verna," he said at last. "it doesn't say whether she was stuck with the court costs. do you happen to know--"
-"no," said the potter. "all i know is what was on the plate, and how to revive you. the dentist accidentally gave you a dose of what we call levantman shock anesthesia. we haven't used it for centuries; it was powerful, but too dangerous."
-"centuries ..." brooded the man. "centuries ... i'll bet sam swindled her out of her eyeteeth. poor verna. how long ago was it? what year is this?"
-hawkins shrugged. "we call it 7-b-936. that's no help to you. it takes a long time for these metals to oxidize."
-"like that movie," barlow muttered. "who would have thought it? poor verna!" he blubbered and sniffled, reminding hawkins powerfully of the fact that he had been found under a flat rock.
-almost angrily, the potter demanded, "how many children did you have?"
-"none yet," sniffed barlow. "my first wife didn't want them. but verna wants one--wanted one--but we're going to wait until--we were going to wait until--"
-"of course," said the potter, feeling a savage desire to tell him off, blast him to hell and gone for his work. but he choked it down. there was the problem to think of; there was always the problem to think of, and this poor blubberer might unexpectedly supply a clue. hawkins would have to pass him on.
-"come along," hawkins said. "my time is short."
-barlow looked up, outraged. "how can you be so unfeeling? i'm a human being like--"
-the los angeles-chicago "rocket" thundered overhead and barlow broke off in mid-complaint. "beautiful!" he breathed, following it with his eyes. "beautiful!"
-he climbed out of the vault, too interested to be pained by its roughness against his infantile skin. "after all," he said briskly, "this should have its sunny side. i never was much for reading, but this is just like one of those stories. and i ought to make some money out of it, shouldn't i?" he gave hawkins a shrewd glance.
-"you want money?" asked the potter. "here." he handed over a fistful of change and bills. "you'd better put my shoes on. it'll be about a quarter-mile. oh, and you're--uh, modest?--yes, that was the word. here." hawkins gave him his pants, but barlow was excitedly counting the money.
-"eighty-five, eighty-six--and it's dollars, too! i thought it'd be credits or whatever they call them. 'e pluribus unum' and 'liberty'--just different faces. say, is there a catch to this? are these real, genuine, honest twenty-two-cent dollars like we had or just wallpaper?"
-"they're quite all right, i assure you," said the potter. "i wish you'd come along. i'm in a hurry."
-"who? oh, no. we call them 'president' and 'congress.' no, that wouldn't do any good at all. i'm just taking you to see some people."
-"i ought to make plenty out of this. plenty! i could write books. get some smart young fellow to put it into words for me and i'll bet i could turn out a best-seller. what's the setup on things like that?"
-"it's about like that. smart young fellows. but there aren't any best-sellers any more. people don't read much nowadays. we'll find something equally profitable for you to do."
-back in the shop, hawkins gave barlow a suit of clothes, deposited him in the waiting room and called central in chicago. "take him away," he pleaded. "i have time for one more firing and he blathers and blathers. i haven't told him anything. perhaps we should just turn him loose and let him find his own level, but there's a chance--"
-"the problem," agreed central. "yes, there's a chance."
-the potter delighted barlow by making him a cup of coffee with a cube that not only dissolved in cold water but heated the water to boiling point. killing time, hawkins chatted about the "rocket" barlow had admired, and had to haul himself up short; he had almost told the real estate man what its top speed really was--almost, indeed, revealed that it was not a rocket.
-he regretted, too, that he had so casually handed barlow a couple of hundred dollars. the man seemed obsessed with fear that they were worthless since hawkins refused to take a note or i.o.u. or even a definite promise of repayment. but hawkins couldn't go into details, and was very glad when a stranger arrived from central.
-"tinny-peete, from algeciras," the stranger told him swiftly as the two of them met at the door. "psychist for poprob. polasigned special overtake barlow."
-"thank heaven," said hawkins. "barlow," he told the man from the past, "this is tinny-peete. he's going to take care of you and help you make lots of money."
-the psychist stayed for a cup of the coffee whose preparation had delighted barlow, and then conducted the real estate man down the corduroy road to his car, leaving the potter to speculate on whether he could at last crack his kilns.
-hawkins, abruptly dismissing barlow and the problem, happily picked the chinking from around the door of the number two kiln, prying it open a trifle. a blast of heat and the heady, smoky scent of the reduction fire delighted him. he peered and saw a corner of a shelf glowing cherry-red, becoming obscured by wavering black areas as it lost heat through the opened door. he slipped a charred wood paddle under a mug on the shelf and pulled it out as a sample, the hairs on the back of his hand curling and scorching. the mug crackled and pinged and hawkins sighed happily.
-the bismuth resinate luster had fired to perfection, a haunting film of silvery-black metal with strange bluish lights in it as it turned before the eyes, and the problem of population seemed very far away to hawkins then.
-barlow and tinny-peete arrived at the concrete highway where the psychist's car was parked in a safety bay.
-"what--a--boat!" gasped the man from the past.
-"boat? no, that's my car."
-barlow surveyed it with awe. swept-back lines, deep-drawn compound curves, kilograms of chrome. he ran his hands futilely over the door--or was it the door?--in a futile search for a handle, and asked respectfully, "how fast does it go?"
-the psychist gave him a keen look and said slowly, "two hundred and fifty. you can tell by the speedometer."
-"wow! my old chevvy could hit a hundred on a straightaway, but you're out of my class, mister!"
-tinny-peete somehow got a huge, low door open and barlow descended three steps into immense cushions, floundering over to the right. he was too fascinated to pay serious attention to his flayed dermis. the dashboard was a lovely wilderness of dials, plugs, indicators, lights, scales and switches.
-the psychist climbed down into the driver's seat and did something with his feet. the motor started like lighting a blowtorch as big as a silo. wallowing around in the cushions, barlow saw through a rear-view mirror a tremendous exhaust filled with brilliant white sparkles.
-"do you like it?" yelled the psychist.
-"it's terrific!" barlow yelled back. "it's--"
-he was shut up as the car pulled out from the bay into the road with a great voo-ooo-ooom! a gale roared past barlow's head, though the windows seemed to be closed; the impression of speed was terrific. he located the speedometer on the dashboard and saw it climb past 90, 100, 150, 200.
-"fast enough for me," yelled the psychist, noting that barlow's face fell in response. "radio?"
-he passed over a surprisingly light object like a football helmet, with no trailing wires, and pointed to a row of buttons. barlow put on the helmet, glad to have the roar of air stilled, and pushed a pushbutton. it lit up satisfyingly and barlow settled back even farther for a sample of the brave new world's super-modern taste in ingenious entertainment.
-"take it and stick it!" a voice roared in his ears.
-he snatched off the helmet and gave the psychist an injured look. tinny-peete grinned and turned a dial associated with the pushbutton layout. the man from the past donned the helmet again and found the voice had lowered to normal.
-"the show of shows! the super-show! the super-duper show! the quiz of quizzes! take it and stick it!"
-there were shrieks of laughter in the background.
-"here we got the contes-tants all ready to go. you know how we work it. i hand a contes-tant a triangle-shaped cut-out and like that down the line. now we got these here boards, they got cut-out places the same shape as the triangles and things, only they're all different shapes, and the first contes-tant that sticks the cutouts into the board, he wins.
-"now i'm gonna innaview the first contes-tant. right here, honey. what's your name?"
-"hoddaya like that, folks? she don't remember her name! hah? would you buy that for a quarter?" the question was spoken with arch significance, and the audience shrieked, howled and whistled its appreciation.
-it was dull listening when you didn't know the punch lines and catch lines. barlow pushed another button, with his free hand ready at the volume control.
-"--latest from washington. it's about senator hull-mendoza. he is still attacking the bureau of fisheries. the north california syndicalist says he got affidavits that john kingsley-schultz is a bluenose from way back. he didn't publistat the affydavits, but he says they say that kingsley-schultz was saw at bluenose meetings in oregon state college and later at florida university. kingsley-schultz says he gotta confess he did major in fly-casting at oregon and got his ph.d. in game-fish at florida.
-"and here is a quote from kingsley-schultz: 'hull-mendoza don't know what he's talking about. he should drop dead.' unquote. hull-mendoza says he won't publistat the affydavits to pertect his sources. he says they was sworn by three former employes of the bureau which was fired for in-com-petence and in-com-pat-ibility by kingsley-schultz.
-"elsewhere they was the usual run of traffic accidents. a three-way pileup of cars on route 66 going outta chicago took twelve lives. the chicago-los angeles morning rocket crashed and exploded in the mo-have--mo-javvy--what-ever-you-call-it desert. all the 94 people aboard got killed. a civil aeronautics authority investigator on the scene says that the pilot was buzzing herds of sheep and didn't pull out in time.
-"hey! here's a hot one from new york! a diesel tug run wild in the harbor while the crew was below and shoved in the port bow of the luck-shury liner s. s. placentia. it says the ship filled and sank taking the lives of an es-ti-mated 180 passengers and 50 crew members. six divers was sent down to study the wreckage, but they died, too, when their suits turned out to be fulla little holes.
-"and here is a bulletin i just got from denver. it seems--"
-barlow took off the headset uncomprehendingly. "he seemed so callous," he yelled at the driver. "i was listening to a newscast--"
-tinny-peete shook his head and pointed at his ears. the roar of air was deafening. barlow frowned baffledly and stared out of the window.
-a glowing sign said:
-moogs! would you buy it for a quarter?
-he didn't know what moogs was or were; the illustration showed an incredibly proportioned girl, 99.9 per cent naked, writhing passionately in animated full color.
-the roadside jingle was still with him, but with a new feature. radar or something spotted the car and alerted the lines of the jingle. each in turn sped along a roadside track, even with the car, so it could be read before the next line was alerted.
-another animated job, in two panels, the familiar "before and after." the first said, "just any cigar?" and was illustrated with a two-person domestic tragedy of a wife holding her nose while her coarse and red-faced husband puffed a slimy-looking rope. the second panel glowed, "or a vuelta abajo?" and was illustrated with--
-barlow blushed and looked at his feet until they had passed the sign.
-"coming into chicago!" bawled tinny-peete.
-other cars were showing up, all of them dreamboats.
-watching them, barlow began to wonder if he knew what a kilometer was, exactly. they seemed to be traveling so slowly, if you ignored the roaring air past your ears and didn't let the speedy lines of the dreamboats fool you. he would have sworn they were really crawling along at twenty-five, with occasional spurts up to thirty. how much was a kilometer, anyway?
-the city loomed ahead, and it was just what it ought to be: towering skyscrapers, overhead ramps, landing platforms for helicopters--
-he clutched at the cushions. those two 'copters. they were going to--they were going to--they--
-he didn't see what happened because their apparent collision courses took them behind a giant building.
-screamingly sweet blasts of sound surrounded them as they stopped for a red light. "what the hell is going on here?" said barlow in a shrill, frightened voice, because the braking time was just about zero, he wasn't hurled against the dashboard. "who's kidding who?"
-"why, what's the matter?" demanded the driver.
-the city grew on them slowly: scattered buildings, denser buildings, taller buildings, and a red light ahead. the car rolled to a stop in zero braking time, the rush of air cut off an instant after it stopped, and barlow was out of the car and running frenziedly down a sidewalk one instant after that.
-they'll track me down, he thought, panting. it's a secret police thing. they'll get you--mind-reading machines, television eyes everywhere, afraid you'll tell their slaves about freedom and stuff. they don't let anybody cross them, like that story i once read.
-winded, he slowed to a walk and congratulated himself that he had guts enough not to turn around. that was what they always watched for. walking, he was just another business-suited back among hundreds. he would be safe, he would be safe--
-a hand tumbled from a large, coarse, handsome face thrust close to his: "wassamatta bumpinninna people likeya owna sidewalk gotta miner slamya inna mushya bassar!" it was neither the mad potter nor the mad driver.
-"excuse me," said barlow. "what did you say?"
-"oh, yeah?" yelled the stranger dangerously, and waited for an answer.
-barlow, with the feeling that he had somehow been suckered into the short end of an intricate land-title deal, heard himself reply belligerently, "yeah!"
-the stranger let go of his shoulder and snarled, "oh, yeah?"
-"yeah!" said barlow, yanking his jacket back into shape.
-"aaah!" snarled the stranger, with more contempt and disgust than ferocity. he added an obscenity current in barlow's time, a standard but physiologically impossible directive, and strutted off hulking his shoulders and balling his fists.
-barlow walked on, trembling. evidently he had handled it well enough. he stopped at a red light while the long, low dreamboats roared before him and pedestrians in the sidewalk flow with him threaded their ways through the stream of cars. brakes screamed, fenders clanged and dented, hoarse cries flew back and forth between drivers and walkers. he leaped backward frantically as one car swerved over an arc of sidewalk to miss another.
-the signal changed to green, the cars kept on coming for about thirty seconds and then dwindled to an occasional light-runner. barlow crossed warily and leaned against a vending machine, blowing big breaths.
-look natural, he told himself. do something normal. buy something from the machine.
-he fumbled out some change, got a newspaper for a dime, a handkerchief for a quarter and a candy bar for another quarter.
-the faint chocolate smell made him ravenous suddenly. he clawed at the glassy wrapper printed "crigglies" quite futilely for a few seconds, and then it divided neatly by itself. the bar made three good bites, and he bought two more and gobbled them down.
-thirsty, he drew a carbonated orange drink in another one of the glassy wrappers from the machine for another dime. when he fumbled with it, it divided neatly and spilled all over his knees. barlow decided he had been there long enough and walked on.
-the shop windows were--shop windows. people still wore and bought clothes, still smoked and bought tobacco, still ate and bought food. and they still went to the movies, he saw with pleased surprise as he passed and then returned to a glittering place whose sign said it was the bijou.
-the place seemed to be showing a quintuple feature, babies are terrible, don't have children, and the canali kid.
-it was irresistible; he paid a dollar and went in.
-he caught the tail-end of the canali kid in three-dimensional, full-color, full-scent production. it appeared to be an interplanetary saga winding up with a chase scene and a reconciliation between estranged hero and heroine. babies are terrible and don't have children were fantastic arguments against parenthood--the grotesquely exaggerated dangers of painfully graphic childbirth, vicious children, old parents beaten and starved by their sadistic offspring. the audience, barlow astoundedly noted, was placidly champing sweets and showing no particular signs of revulsion.
-the coming attractions drove him into the lobby. the fanfares were shattering, the blazing colors blinding, and the added scents stomach-heaving.
-when his eyes again became accustomed to the moderate lighting of the lobby, he groped his way to a bench and opened the newspaper he had bought. it turned out to be the racing sheet, which afflicted him with a crushing sense of loss. the familiar boxed index in the lower left hand corner of the front page showed almost unbearably that churchill downs and empire city were still in business--
-blinking back tears, he turned to the past performances at churchill. they weren't using abbreviations any more, and the pages because of that were single-column instead of double. but it was all the same--or was it?
-he squinted at the first race, a three-quarter-mile maiden claimer for thirteen hundred dollars. incredibly, the track record was two minutes, ten and three-fifths seconds. any beetle in his time could have knocked off the three-quarter in one-fifteen. it was the same for the other distances, much worse for route events.
-what the hell had happened to everything?
-he studied the form of a five-year-old brown mare in the second and couldn't make head or tail of it. she'd won and lost and placed and showed and lost and placed without rhyme or reason. she looked like a front-runner for a couple of races and then she looked like a no-good pig and then she looked like a mudder but the next time it rained she wasn't and then she was a stayer and then she was a pig again. in a good five-thousand-dollar allowances event, too!
-barlow looked at the other entries and it slowly dawned on him that they were all like the five-year-old brown mare. not a single damned horse running had the slightest trace of class.
-somebody sat down beside him and said, "that's the story."
-barlow whirled to his feet and saw it was tinny-peete, his driver.
-"i was in doubts about telling you," said the psychist, "but i see you have some growing suspicions of the truth. please don't get excited. it's all right, i tell you."
-"so you've got me," said barlow.
-"don't pretend. i can put two and two together. you're the secret police. you and the rest of the aristocrats live in luxury on the sweat of these oppressed slaves. you're afraid of me because you have to keep them ignorant."
-there was a bellow of bright laughter from the psychist that got them blank looks from other patrons of the lobby. the laughter didn't sound at all sinister.
-"let's get out of here," said tinny-peete, still chuckling. "you couldn't possibly have it more wrong." he engaged barlow's arm and led him to the street. "the actual truth is that the millions of workers live in luxury on the sweat of the handful of aristocrats. i shall probably die before my time of overwork unless--" he gave barlow a speculative look. "you may be able to help us."
-"i know that gag," sneered barlow. "i made money in my time and to make money you have to get people on your side. go ahead and shoot me if you want, but you're not going to make a fool out of me."
-"you nasty little ingrate!" snapped the psychist, with a kaleidoscopic change of mood. "this damned mess is all your fault and the fault of people like you! now come along and no more of your nonsense."
-he yanked barlow into an office building lobby and an elevator that, disconcertingly, went whoosh loudly as it rose. the real estate man's knees were wobbly as the psychist pushed him from the elevator, down a corridor and into an office.
-a hawk-faced man rose from a plain chair as the door closed behind them. after an angry look at barlow, he asked the psychist, "was i called from the pole to inspect this--this--?"
-"unget updandered. i've dee-probed etfind quasichance exhim poprobattackline," said the psychist soothingly.
-"doubt," grunted the hawk-faced man.
-"try," suggested tinny-peete.
-"very well. mr. barlow, i understand you and your lamented had no children."
-"what of it?"
-"this of it. you were a blind, selfish stupid ass to tolerate economic and social conditions which penalized child-bearing by the prudent and foresighted. you made us what we are today, and i want you to know that we are far from satisfied. damn-fool rockets! damn-fool automobiles! damn-fool cities with overhead ramps!"
-"as far as i can see," said barlow, "you're running down the best features of time. are you crazy?"
-"the rockets aren't rockets. they're turbo-jets--good turbo-jets, but the fancy shell around them makes for a bad drag. the automobiles have a top speed of one hundred kilometers per hour--a kilometer is, if i recall my paleolinguistics, three-fifths of a mile--and the speedometers are all rigged accordingly so the drivers will think they're going two hundred and fifty. the cities are ridiculous, expensive, unsanitary, wasteful conglomerations of people who'd be better off and more productive if they were spread over the countryside.
-"we need the rockets and trick speedometers and cities because, while you and your kind were being prudent and foresighted and not having children, the migrant workers, slum dwellers and tenant farmers were shiftlessly and short-sightedly having children--breeding, breeding. my god, how they bred!"
-"wait a minute," objected barlow. "there were lots of people in our crowd who had two or three children."
-"the attrition of accidents, illness, wars and such took care of that. your intelligence was bred out. it is gone. children that should have been born never were. the just-average, they'll-get-along majority took over the population. the average iq now is 45."
-"but that's far in the future--"
-"so are you," grunted the hawk-faced man sourly.
-"but who are you people?"
-"just people--real people. some generations ago, the geneticists realized at last that nobody was going to pay any attention to what they said, so they abandoned words for deeds. specifically, they formed and recruited for a closed corporation intended to maintain and improve the breed. we are their descendants, about three million of us. there are five billion of the others, so we are their slaves.
-"during the past couple of years i've designed a skyscraper, kept billings memorial hospital here in chicago running, headed off war with mexico and directed traffic at laguardia field in new york."
-"i don't understand! why don't you let them go to hell in their own way?"
-the man grimaced. "we tried it once for three months. we holed up at the south pole and waited. they didn't notice it. some drafting-room people were missing, some chief nurses didn't show up, minor government people on the non-policy level couldn't be located. it didn't seem to matter.
-"in a week there was hunger. in two weeks there were famine and plague, in three weeks war and anarchy. we called off the experiment; it took us most of the next generation to get things squared away again."
-"but why didn't you let them kill each other off?"
-"five billion corpses mean about five hundred million tons of rotting flesh."
-barlow had another idea. "why don't you sterilize them?"
-"two and one-half billion operations is a lot of operations. because they breed continuously, the job would never be done."
-"i see. like the marching chinese!"
-"who the devil are they?"
-"it was a--uh--paradox of my time. somebody figured out that if all the chinese in the world were to line up four abreast, i think it was, and start marching past a given point, they'd never stop because of the babies that would be born and grow up before they passed the point."
-"that's right. only instead of 'a given point,' make it 'the largest conceivable number of operating rooms that we could build and staff.' there could never be enough."
-"say!" said barlow. "those movies about babies--was that your propaganda?"
-"it was. it doesn't seem to mean a thing to them. we have abandoned the idea of attempting propaganda contrary to a biological drive."
-"so if you work with a biological drive--?"
-"i know of none which is consistent with inhibition of fertility."
-barlow's face went poker-blank, the result of years of careful discipline. "you don't, huh? you're the great brains and you can't think of any?"
-"why, no," said the psychist innocently. "can you?"
-"how so?" asked the hawk-faced man.
-"those were normal, suspicious customers and these are morons, born suckers. you just figure out a con they'll fall for; they won't know enough to do any smart checking."
-the psychist and the hawk-faced man had also had training; they kept themselves from looking with sudden hope at each other.
-"you seem to have something in mind," said the psychist.
-barlow's poker face went blanker still. "maybe i have. i haven't heard any offer yet."
-"there's the satisfaction of knowing that you've prevented earth's resources from being so plundered," the hawk-faced man pointed out, "that the race will soon become extinct."
-"i don't know that," barlow said bluntly. "all i have is your word."
-"if you really have a method, i don't think any price would be too great," the psychist offered.
-"money," said barlow.
-"all you want."
-"more than you want," the hawk-faced man corrected.
-"prestige," added barlow. "plenty of publicity. my picture and my name in the papers and over tv every day, statues to me, parks and cities and streets and other things named after me. a whole chapter in the history books."
-the psychist made a facial sign to the hawk-faced man that meant, "oh, brother!"
-the hawk-faced man signaled back, "steady, boy!"
-"it's not too much to ask," the psychist agreed.
-barlow, sensing a seller's market, said, "power!"
-"power?" the hawk-faced man repeated puzzledly. "your own hydro station or nuclear pile?"
-"i mean a world dictatorship with me as dictator!"
-"well, now--" said the psychist, but the hawk-faced man interrupted, "it would take a special emergency act of congress but the situation warrants it. i think that can be guaranteed."
-"could you give us some indication of your plan?" the psychist asked.
-"ever hear of lemmings?"
-"they are--were, i guess, since you haven't heard of them--little animals in norway, and every few years they'd swarm to the coast and swim out to sea until they drowned. i figure on putting some lemming urge into the population."
-"i'll save that till i get the right signatures on the deal."
-the hawk-faced man said, "i'd like to work with you on it, barlow. my name's ryan-ngana." he put out his hand.
-barlow looked closely at the hand, then at the man's face. "ryan what?"
-"that sounds like an african name."
-"it is. my mother's father was a watusi."
-barlow didn't take the hand. "i thought you looked pretty dark. i don't want to hurt your feelings, but i don't think i'd be at my best working with you. there must be somebody else just as well qualified, i'm sure."
-the psychist made a facial sign to ryan-ngana that meant, "steady yourself, boy!"
-"very well," ryan-ngana told barlow. "we'll see what arrangement can be made."
-"it's not that i'm prejudiced, you understand. some of my best friends--"
-"mr. barlow, don't give it another thought. anybody who could pick on the lemming analogy is going to be useful to us."
-and so he would, thought ryan-ngana, alone in the office after tinny-peete had taken barlow up to the helicopter stage. so he would. poprob had exhausted every rational attempt and the new poprobattacklines would have to be irrational or sub-rational. this creature from the past with his lemming legends and his improved building lots would be a fountain of precious vicious self-interest.
-ryan-ngana sighed and stretched. he had to go and run the san francisco subway. summoned early from the pole to study barlow, he'd left unfinished a nice little theorem. between interruptions, he was slowly constructing an n-dimensional geometry whose foundations and superstructure owed no debt whatsoever to intuition.
-upstairs, waiting for a helicopter, barlow was explaining to tinny-peete that he had nothing against negroes, and tinny-peete wished he had some of ryan-ngana's imperturbability and humor for the ordeal.
-the helicopter took them to international airport where, tinny-peete explained, barlow would leave for the pole.
-the man from the past wasn't sure he'd like a dreary waste of ice and cold.
-"it's all right," said the psychist. "a civilized layout. warm, pleasant. you'll be able to work more efficiently there. all the facts at your fingertips, a good secretary--"
-"i'll need a pretty big staff," said barlow, who had learned from thousands of deals never to take the first offer.
-"i meant a private, confidential one," said tinny-peete readily, "but you can have as many as you want. you'll naturally have top-primary-top priority if you really have a workable plan."
-"let's not forget this dictatorship angle," said barlow.
-he didn't know that the psychist would just as readily have promised him deification to get him happily on the "rocket" for the pole. tinny-peete had no wish to be torn limb from limb; he knew very well that it would end that way if the population learned from this anachronism that there was a small elite which considered itself head, shoulders, trunk and groin above the rest. the fact that this assumption was perfectly true and the fact that the elite was condemned by its superiority to a life of the most grinding toil would not be considered; the difference would.
-the psychist finally put barlow aboard the "rocket" with some thirty people--real people--headed for the pole.
-barlow was airsick all the way because of a post-hypnotic suggestion tinny-peete had planted in him. one idea was to make him as averse as possible to a return trip, and another idea was to spare the other passengers from his aggressive, talkative company.
-barlow during the first day at the pole was reminded of his first day in the army. it was the same now-where-the-hell-are-we-going-to-put-you? business until he took a firm line with them. then instead of acting like supply sergeants they acted like hotel clerks.
-it was a wonderful, wonderfully calculated buildup, and one that he failed to suspect. after all, in his time a visitor from the past would have been lionized.
-at day's end he reclined in a snug underground billet with the 60-mile gales roaring yards overhead, and tried to put two and two together.
-it was like old times, he thought--like a coup in real estate where you had the competition by the throat, like a 50-per cent rent boost when you knew damned well there was no place for the tenants to move, like smiling when you read over the breakfast orange juice that the city council had decided to build a school on the ground you had acquired by a deal with the city council. and it was simple. he would just sell tundra building lots to eagerly suicidal lemmings, and that was absolutely all there was to solving the problem that had these double-domes spinning.
-they'd have to work out most of the details, naturally, but what the hell, that was what subordinates were for. he'd need specialists in advertising, engineering, communications--did they know anything about hypnotism? that might be helpful. if not, there'd have to be a lot of bribery done, but he'd make sure--damned sure--there were unlimited funds.
-just selling building lots to lemmings....
-he wished, as he fell asleep, that poor verna could have been in on this. it was his biggest, most stupendous deal. verna--that sharp shyster sam immerman must have swindled her....
-it began the next day with people coming to visit him. he knew the approach. they merely wanted to be helpful to their illustrious visitor from the past and would he help fill them in about his era, which unfortunately was somewhat obscure historically, and what did he think could be done about the problem? he told them he was too old to be roped any more, and they wouldn't get any information out of him until he got a letter of intent from at least the polar president, and a session of the polar congress empowered to make him dictator.
-he got the letter and the session. he presented his program, was asked whether his conscience didn't revolt at its callousness, explained succinctly that a deal was a deal and anybody who wasn't smart enough to protect himself didn't deserve protection--"caveat emptor," he threw in for scholarship, and had to translate it to "let the buyer beware." he didn't, he stated, give a damn about either the morons or their intelligent slaves; he'd told them his price and that was all he was interested in.
-would they meet it or wouldn't they?
-the polar president offered to resign in his favor, with certain temporary emergency powers that the polar congress would vote him if he thought them necessary. barlow demanded the title of world dictator, complete control of world finances, salary to be decided by himself, and the publicity campaign and historical writeup to begin at once.
-"as for the emergency powers," he added, "they are neither to be temporary nor limited."
-somebody wanted the floor to discuss the matter, with the declared hope that perhaps barlow would modify his demands.
-"you've got the proposition," barlow said. "i'm not knocking off even ten per cent."
-"but what if the congress refuses, sir?" the president asked.
-"then you can stay up here at the pole and try to work it out yourselves. i'll get what i want from the morons. a shrewd operator like me doesn't have to compromise; i haven't got a single competitor in this whole cockeyed moronic era."
-congress waived debate and voted by show of hands. barlow won unanimously.
-"you don't know how close you came to losing me," he said in his first official address to the joint houses. "i'm not the boy to haggle; either i get what i ask or i go elsewhere. the first thing i want is to see designs for a new palace for me--nothing unostentatious, either--and your best painters and sculptors to start working on my portraits and statues. meanwhile, i'll get my staff together."
-he dismissed the polar president and the polar congress, telling them that he'd let them know when the next meeting would be.
-a week later, the program started with north america the first target.
-mrs. garvy was resting after dinner before the ordeal of turning on the dishwasher. the tv, of course, was on and it said: "oooh!"--long, shuddery and ecstatic, the cue for the parfum assault criminale spot commercial. "girls," said the announcer hoarsely, "do you want your man? it's easy to get him--easy as a trip to venus."
-"huh?" said mrs. garvy.
-"wassamatter?" snorted her husband, starting out of a doze.
-"ja hear that?"
-"he said 'easy like a trip to venus.'"
-"well, i thought ya couldn't get to venus. i thought they just had that one rocket thing that crashed on the moon."
-"aah, women don't keep up with the news," said garvy righteously, subsiding again.
-"oh," said his wife uncertainly.
-and the next day, on henry's other mistress, there was a new character who had just breezed in: buzz rentshaw, master rocket pilot of the venus run. on henry's other mistress, "the broadcast drama about you and your neighbors, folksy people, ordinary people, real people"! mrs. garvy listened with amazement over a cooling cup of coffee as buzz made hay of her hazy convictions.
-mona: darling, it's so good to see you again!
-buzz: you don't know how i've missed you on that dreary venus run.
-sound: venetian blind run down, key turned in door lock.
-mona: was it very dull, dearest?
-buzz: let's not talk about my humdrum job, darling. let's talk about us.
-sound: creaking bed.
-well, the program was back to normal at last. that evening mrs. garvy tried to ask again whether her husband was sure about those rockets, but he was dozing right through take it and stick it, so she watched the screen and forgot the puzzle.
-she was still rocking with laughter at the gag line, "would you buy it for a quarter?" when the commercial went on for the detergent powder she always faithfully loaded her dishwasher with on the first of every month.
-the announcer displayed mountains of suds from a tiny piece of the stuff and coyly added: "of course, cleano don't lay around for you to pick up like the soap root on venus, but it's pretty cheap and it's almost pretty near just as good. so for us plain folks who ain't lucky enough to live up there on venus, cleano is the real cleaning stuff!"
-then the chorus went into their "cleano-is-the-stuff" jingle, but mrs. garvy didn't hear it. she was a stubborn woman, but it occurred to her that she was very sick indeed. she didn't want to worry her husband. the next day she quietly made an appointment with her family freud.
-in the waiting room she picked up a fresh new copy of readers pablum and put it down with a faint palpitation. the lead article, according to the table of contents on the cover, was titled "the most memorable venusian i ever met."
-"the freud will see you now," said the nurse, and mrs. garvy tottered into his office.
-his traditional glasses and whiskers were reassuring. she choked out the ritual: "freud, forgive me, for i have neuroses."
-he chanted the antiphonal: "tut, my dear girl, what seems to be the trouble?"
-"i got like a hole in the head," she quavered. "i seem to forget all kinds of things. things like everybody seems to know and i don't."
-"well, that happens to everybody occasionally, my dear. i suggest a vacation on venus."
-the freud stared, open-mouthed, at the empty chair. his nurse came in and demanded, "hey, you see how she scrammed? what was the matter with her?"
-he took off his glasses and whiskers meditatively. "you can search me. i told her she should maybe try a vacation on venus." a momentary bafflement came into his face and he dug through his desk drawers until he found a copy of the four-color, profusely illustrated journal of his profession. it had come that morning and he had lip-read it, though looking mostly at the pictures. he leafed through to the article advantages of the planet venus in rest cures.
-"it's right there," he said.
-the nurse looked. "it sure is," she agreed. "why shouldn't it be?"
-"the trouble with these here neurotics," decided the freud, "is that they all the time got to fight reality. show in the next twitch."
-he put on his glasses and whiskers again and forgot mrs. garvy and her strange behavior.
-"freud, forgive me, for i have neuroses."
-"tut, my dear girl, what seems to be the trouble?"
-like many cures of mental disorders, mrs. garvy's was achieved largely by self-treatment. she disciplined herself sternly out of the crazy notion that there had been only one rocket ship and that one a failure. she could join without wincing, eventually, in any conversation on the desirability of venus as a place to retire, on its fabulous floral profusion. finally she went to venus.
-all her friends were trying to book passage with the evening star travel and real estate corporation, but naturally the demand was crushing. she considered herself lucky to get a seat at last for the two-week summer cruise. the space ship took off from a place called los alamos, new mexico. it looked just like all the spaceships on television and in the picture magazines, but was more comfortable than you would expect.
-mrs. garvy was delighted with the fifty or so fellow-passengers assembled before takeoff. they were from all over the country and she had a distinct impression that they were on the brainy side. the captain, a tall, hawk-faced, impressive fellow named ryan-something or other, welcomed them aboard and trusted that their trip would be a memorable one. he regretted that there would be nothing to see because, "due to the meteorite season," the ports would be dogged down. it was disappointing, yet reassuring that the line was taking no chances.
-there was the expected momentary discomfort at takeoff and then two monotonous days of droning travel through space to be whiled away in the lounge at cards or craps. the landing was a routine bump and the voyagers were issued tablets to swallow to immunize them against any minor ailments. when the tablets took effect, the lock was opened and venus was theirs.
-it looked much like a tropical island on earth, except for a blanket of cloud overhead. but it had a heady, other-worldly quality that was intoxicating and glamorous.
-the ten days of the vacation were suffused with a hazy magic. the soap root, as advertised, was free and sudsy. the fruits, mostly tropical varieties transplanted from earth, were delightful. the simple shelters provided by the travel company were more than adequate for the balmy days and nights.
-it was with sincere regret that the voyagers filed again into the ship, and swallowed more tablets doled out to counteract and sterilize any venus illnesses they might unwittingly communicate to earth.
-vacationing was one thing. power politics was another.
-at the pole, a small man was in a soundproof room, his face deathly pale and his body limp in a straight chair.
-in the american senate chamber, senator hull-mendoza (synd., n. cal.) was saying: "mr. president and gentlemen, i would be remiss in my duty as a legislature if'n i didn't bring to the attention of the au-gust body i see here a perilous situation which is fraught with peril. as is well known to members of this au-gust body, the perfection of space flight has brought with it a situation i can only describe as fraught with peril. mr. president and gentlemen, now that swift american rockets now traverse the trackless void of space between this planet and our nearest planetarial neighbor in space--and, gentlemen, i refer to venus, the star of dawn, the brightest jewel in fair vulcan's diadome--now, i say, i want to inquire what steps are being taken to colonize venus with a vanguard of patriotic citizens like those minutemen of yore.
-"mr. president and gentlemen! there are in this world nations, envious nations--i do not name mexico--who by fair means or foul may seek to wrest from columbia's grasp the torch of freedom of space; nations whose low living standards and innate depravity give them an unfair advantage over the citizens of our fair republic.
-"this is my program: i suggest that a city of more than 100,000 population be selected by lot. the citizens of the fortunate city are to be awarded choice lands on venus free and clear, to have and to hold and convey to their descendants. and the national government shall provide free transportation to venus for these citizens. and this program shall continue, city by city, until there has been deposited on venus a sufficient vanguard of citizens to protect our manifest rights in that planet.
-"objections will be raised, for carping critics we have always with us. they will say there isn't enough steel. they will call it a cheap giveaway. i say there is enough steel for one city's population to be transferred to venus, and that is all that is needed. for when the time comes for the second city to be transferred, the first, emptied city can be wrecked for the needed steel! and is it a giveaway? yes! it is the most glorious giveaway in the history of mankind! mr. president and gentlemen, there is no time to waste--venus must be american!"
-black-kupperman, at the pole, opened his eyes and said feebly, "the style was a little uneven. do you think anybody'll notice?"
-"you did fine, boy; just fine," barlow reassured him.
-hull-mendoza's bill became law.
-drafting machines at the south pole were busy around the clock and the pittsburgh steel mills spewed millions of plates into the los alamos spaceport of the evening star travel and real estate corporation. it was going to be los angeles, for logistic reasons, and the three most accomplished psycho-kineticists went to washington and mingled in the crowd at the drawing to make certain that the los angeles capsule slithered into the fingers of the blind-folded senator.
-los angeles loved the idea and a forest of spaceships began to blossom in the desert. they weren't very good space ships, but they didn't have to be.
-the los angeles flight went off on schedule, under tremendous press, newsreel and television coverage. the world cheered the gallant angelenos who were setting off on their patriotic voyage to the land of milk and honey. the forest of spaceships thundered up, and up, and out of sight without untoward incident. billions envied the angelenos, cramped and on short rations though they were.
-wreckers from san francisco, whose capsule came up second, moved immediately into the city of the angels for the scrap steel their own flight would require. senator hull-mendoza's constituents could do no less.
-the president of mexico, hypnotically alarmed at this extension of yanqui imperialismo beyond the stratosphere, launched his own venus-colony program.
-across the water it was england versus ireland, france versus germany, china versus russia, india versus indonesia. ancient hatreds grew into the flames that were rocket ships assailing the air by hundreds daily.
-dear ed, how are you? sam and i are fine and hope you are fine. is it nice up there like they say with food and close grone on trees? i drove by springfield yesterday and it sure looked funny all the buildings down but of coarse it is worth it we have to keep the greasers in their place. do you have any truble with them on venus? drop me a line some time. your loving sister, alma.
-dear alma, i am fine and hope you are fine. it is a fine place here fine climate and easy living. the doctor told me today that i seem to be ten years younger. he thinks there is something in the air here keeps people young. we do not have much trouble with the greasers here they keep to theirselves it is just a question of us outnumbering them and staking out the best places for the americans. in south bay i know a nice little island that i have been saving for you and sam with lots of blanket trees and ham bushes. hoping to see you and sam soon, your loving brother, ed.
-sam and alma were on their way shortly.
-poprob got a dividend in every nation after the emigration had passed the halfway mark. the lonesome stay-at-homes were unable to bear the melancholy of a low population density; their conditioning had been to swarms of their kin. after that point it was possible to foist off the crudest stripped-down accommodations on would-be emigrants; they didn't care.
-black-kupperman did a final job on president hull-mendoza, the last job that genius of hypnotics would ever do on any moron, important or otherwise.
-hull-mendoza, panic-stricken by his presidency over an emptying nation, joined his constituents. the independence, aboard which traveled the national government of america, was the most elaborate of all the spaceships--bigger, more comfortable, with a lounge that was handsome, though cramped, and cloakrooms for senators and representatives. it went, however, to the same place as the others and black-kupperman killed himself, leaving a note that stated he "couldn't live with my conscience."
-the day after the american president departed, barlow flew into a rage. across his specially built desk were supposed to flow all poprob high-level documents and this thing--this outrageous thing--called poprobterm apparently had got into the executive stage before he had even had a glimpse of it!
-he buzzed for rogge-smith, his statistician. rogge-smith seemed to be at the bottom of it. poprobterm seemed to be about first and second and third derivatives, whatever they were. barlow had a deep distrust of anything more complex than what he called an "average."
-while rogge-smith was still at the door, barlow snapped, "what's the meaning of this? why haven't i been consulted? how far have you people got and why have you been working on something i haven't authorized?"
-mollified, barlow followed his statistician down the corridor.
-"you still shouldn't have gone ahead without my okay," he grumbled. "where the hell would you people have been without me?"
-"that's right, chief. we couldn't have swung it ourselves; our minds just don't work that way. and all that stuff you knew from hitler--it wouldn't have occurred to us. like poor black-kupperman."
-they were in a fair-sized machine shop at the end of a slight upward incline. it was cold. rogge-smith pushed a button that started a motor, and a flood of arctic light poured in as the roof parted slowly. it showed a small spaceship with the door open.
-barlow gaped as rogge-smith took him by the elbow and his other boys appeared: swenson-swenson, the engineer; tsutsugimushi-duncan, his propellants man; kalb-french, advertising.
-"in you go, chief," said tsutsugimushi-duncan. "this is poprobterm."
-"but i'm the world dictator!"
-"you bet, chief. you'll be in history, all right--but this is necessary, i'm afraid."
-the door was closed. acceleration slammed barlow cruelly to the metal floor. something broke and warm, wet stuff, salty-tasting, ran from his mouth to his chin. arctic sunlight through a port suddenly became a fierce lancet stabbing at his eyes; he was out of the atmosphere.
-lying twisted and broken under the acceleration, barlow realized that some things had not changed, that jack ketch was never asked to dinner however many shillings you paid him to do your dirty work, that murder will out, that crime pays only temporarily.
-the last thing he learned was that death is the end of pain.
-generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org)
-note: images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/prideofjennicobe00castrich
-text enclosed by underscores is in italics (italics).
-the pride of jennico
-the pride of jennico
-being a memoir of captain basil jennico
-agnes and egerton castle
-all rights reserved
-copyright, 1897, 1898, by the macmillan company.
-set up and electrotyped february, 1898. reprinted february, april, june three times, july, september, october, december, twice, 1898.
-norwood press j. s. cushing & co.—berwick & smith norwood, mass. u.s.a.
-the pride of jennico
-memoir of captain basil jennico (begun, apparently in great trouble and stress of mind, at the castle of tollendhal, in moravia, on the third day of the great storm, late in the year 1771)
-as the wind rattles the casements with impotent clutch, howls down the stair-turret with the voice of a despairing soul, creeps in long irregular waves between the tapestries and the granite walls of my chamber and wantons with the flames of logs and candles; knowing, as i do, that outside the snow is driven relentlessly by the gale, and that i can hope for no relief from the company of my wretched self,—for they who have learnt the temper of these wild mountain winds tell me the storm must last at least three days more in its fury,—i have bethought me, to keep from going melancholy crazed altogether, to set me some regular task to do.
-and what can more fitly occupy my poor mind than the setting forth, as clearly as may be, the divers events that have brought me to this strange plight in this strange place? although, i fear me, it may not in the end be over-clear, for in sooth i cannot even yet see a way through the confusion of my thoughts. nay, i could at times howl in unison with yonder dismal wind for mad regret; and at times again rage and hiss and break myself, like the fitful gale, against the walls of this desolate house for anger at my fate and my folly!
-but since i can no more keep my thoughts from wandering to her and wondering upon her than i can keep my hot blood from running—running with such swiftness that here, alone in the wide vaulted room, with blasts from the four corners of the earth playing a very demon’s dance around me, i am yet all of a fever heat—i will try whether, by laying bare to myself all i know of her and of myself, all i surmise and guess of the parts we acted towards each other in this business, i may not at least come to some understanding, some decision, concerning the manner in which, as a man, i should comport myself in my most singular position.
-having reached thus far in his writing, the scribe after shaking the golden dust of the pounce box over his page paused, musing for a moment, loosening with unconscious fingers the collar of his coat from his neck and gazing with wide grey eyes at the dancing flames of the logs, and the little clouds of ash that ever and anon burst from the hearth with a spirt when particles of driven snow found their way down the chimney. presently the pen resumed its travels:
-everything began, of course, through my great-uncle jennico’s legacy. do i regret it? i have sometimes cursed it. nevertheless, although tossed between conflicting regrets and yearnings, i cannot in conscience wish it had not come to pass. let me be frank. bitter and troubling is my lot in the midst of my lonely splendour; but through the mist which seems in my memory to separate the old life from the new, those days of yesteryear (for all their carelessness and fancy-freedom) seem now strangely dull. yes, it is almost a year already that it came, this legacy, by which a young englishman, serving in his royal and imperial majesty’s chevau-legers, was suddenly transformed, from an obscure rittmeister with little more worldly goods than his pay, into one of the richest landowners in the broad empire, the master of an historic castle on the bohemian marches.
-it was indeed an odd turn of fortune’s wheel. but doubtless there is a predestination in such things, unknown to man.
-my great-uncle had always taken a peculiar interest in me. some fifty years before my birth, precluded by the religion of our family from any hope of advancement in the army of our own country, he had himself entered the imperial service; and when i had reached the age of manhood, he insisted on my being sent to him in vienna to enter upon the same career. to him i owe my rapid promotion after the turkish campaign of 1769. but i question, for all his influence at court, whether i should have benefited otherwise than through his advice and interest, had it not been for an unforeseen series of moves on the part of my elder brother at home.
-one fine day it was announced to us that this latter had been offered and had accepted a barony in the peerage of great britain. at first it did not transpire upon what grounds a catholic gentleman should be so honoured, and we were obliged, my uncle and i, to content ourselves with the impossible explanation that “dear edmund’s value and abilities and the great services he had rendered by his exertions in the last suffolk elections had been brought to the notice of his majesty, who was thus graciously pleased to show his appreciation of the same.”
-our good mother (who would not be the true woman she is did she not set a value on the honours of this world), my excellent brother, and, of course, his ambitious lady, all agreed that it was a mighty fine thing for sir edmund jennico to become my lord rainswick, and they sent us many grandiloquent missives to that effect.
-but with my great-uncle things were vastly different. to all appearance he had grown, during the course of his sixty odd years in the imperial service, into a complete unmitigated foreigner, who spoke english like a german, if, indeed, the extraordinary jargon he used (under the impression that it was his mother tongue) could be so called. as a matter of fact it would have been difficult to say what tongue was my great-uncle’s own. it was not english nor french—not even the french of german courts—nor true german, but the oddest compound of all three, with a strong peppering of slovack or hungarian according as the country in which he served suggested the adjunction. a very persuasive compound it proved, however, when he took up his commanding voice, poor man! but, foreigner as he was, covered as his broad chest might be with foreign orders, freely as he had spent his life’s energy in the pay of a foreign monarch, my great-uncle jennico had too much english pride of race, too much of the old jennico blood (despite this same had been so often let for him by bavarian and hanoverian, prussian, french, and turk), to brook in peace what he considered a slight upon his grand family traditions.
-now this was precisely what my brother had committed. in the first place he had married a lady who, i hear, is amazingly handsome, and sufficiently wealthy, but about whose lineage it seems altogether unadvisable to seek clear information. busy as he was in the midst of his last campaign, my great-uncle (who even in the wilds of bulgaria seemed to keep by some marvellous means in touch with what moves were being played by the family in distant suffolk) nevertheless had the matter probed. and the account he received was not of a satisfactory nature. i fear me that those around him then did not find the fierceness of his rule softened by the unwelcome news from that distant island of britain.
-the jennicos, although they had been degraded (so my uncle maintained) by the gift of a paltry baronetcy at the hands of charles ii., as a reward for their bleeding and losses in the royal cause, were, he declared, of a stock with which blood-royal itself might be allied without derogation. the one great solace of his active life was a recapitulation of the deeds, real or legendary, that, since the landing of the danes on saxon soil, had marked the passage through history of those thirty-one authentic generations, the twenty-ninth of which was so worthily represented by himself. the worship of the name was with him an absolute craze.
-it is undoubtedly to that craze that i owe my accession of fortune—ay, and my present desolation of heart....
-but to resume. when, therefore, already dissatisfied with my brother’s alliance, he heard that the head of the family proposed to engraft upon it a different name—a soi-disant superior title—his wrath was loud and deep:
-“eh quoi! mille millions de donnerblitzen! what the teufel idiot think? what you think?”
-i was present when the news arrived; it was in his chancellerie on the josefsplatz at vienna. i shall not lightly forget the old man’s saffron face.
-“does that schaffkopf brother of yours not verstand what jennico to be means? what thinkest thou? would i be what i am, were it not that i have ever known, boy, what i was geborn to when i was jennico geborn? how comes it that i am what i here am? how is it gecome, thinkest thou, that i have myself risen to the highest honour in the empire, that i am field-marshal this day, above the heads of your princekins, your grand-dukeleins, highnesses, and serenities? dummes vieh!”—with a parenthetical shake of his fist at the open paper on his desk—“how is it gecome that i wedded la belle héritière des woschutzski, the most beautiful woman in silesia, the richest, pardi! the noblest?” and his excellency (methinks i see him now) turned to me with sudden solemnity: “you will answer me,” he said in an altered voice, “you will answer me (because you are a fool youth), that i have become great general because i am the bravest soldier, the cleverest commander, of all the imperial troops; that i to myself have won the lady for whom transparencies had sued in vain because of being the most beautiful man in the whole kaiserlich service.”
-here the younger jennico, for all the vexation of spirit which had suggested the labour of his systematic narrative as a distraction, could not help smiling to himself, as, with pen raised towards the standish, he paused for a moment to recall on how many occasions he had heard this explanation of the field-marshal’s success in life. then the grating of the quill began afresh:
-when my venerable relative came to this, i, being an irreverent young dog, had much ado to keep myself from a great yell of laughter. he was pleased to remark, latterly, in an approving mood, that i was growing every day into a more living image of what he remembered himself to have been in the good times when he wore a cornet’s uniform. i should therefore have felt delicately flattered, but the fact is that the tough old soldier, if in the divers accidents of war he had gathered much glory, had not come off without a fine assortment of disfiguring wounds. the ball that passed through his cheeks at leuthen had removed all his most ornamental teeth, and had given the oddest set to the lower part of his countenance. it was after kolin that, the sight of his left eye being suppressed by the butt end of a lance, he had started that black patch which imparted a peculiar ferocity to his aspect, although it seemed, it is true, to sharpen the piercing qualities of the remaining orb. at hochkirch, where he culled some of his greenest laurels, a prussian bullet in his knee forced on him the companionship of a stout staff for ever afterwards. he certainly had been known in former days as le beau jennico, but of its original cast of feature it is easy to conceive that, after these repeated finishing touches, his countenance bore but little trace.
-“but no,” the dear old man would say, baring his desolate lower tusks at me, and fixing me with his wild-boar eye, “it is not to my beauty, kerl, not to my courage, kerl, that i owe success, but because i am geborn jennico. when man jennico geborn is, man is geborn to all the rest—to the beauty, to the bravery. when i wooed your late dead tante, they, mere ignorant poles, said to me: ’it is well. you are honoured. we know you honourable; but are you born? to wed a countess woschutzski one must be born, one must show, honoured sir,’ they said, ’at least seize quartiers, attested in due proper form.’
-“nephew basil,” he then went on, this day i speak of, “if i were not seventy-three years old i would marry again—i would, to have an heir, by heaven! that the true race might not die out!”
-and despite his wall-eye, his jaw, his game leg, his generally disastrous aspect, i believe he might have been as good as his threat, his seventy-and-three years notwithstanding. but what really deterred him from such a rash step was his belief (although he would not gratify me by saying so) that there was at hand as good a jennico as he could wish for, and that one, myself, basil. and he saw in me a purer sproutling of that noble island race of the north that he was so fiercely proud of, than he could have produced by a marriage with a foreigner. for, thorough “imperial” as he now was, and notwithstanding his early foreign education (which had begun in the stuart regiments of the french king), the dominant thought in the old warrior’s brain was that a very law of nature required the gentle-born sons of such a country to be honoured as leaders among foreign men. and great was the array of names he could summon, should any one be rash enough to challenge the assertion. butlers and lallys, brownes and jerninghams, by gad! keiths and dillons and berwicks, morbleu! fermors, loudons, and lacys, and how many more if necessary; ay, and jennicos not the least of them, i should hope, teremtété!
-i did not think that my brother had bettered himself by the change, and still less could i concur in the turn-coat policy he had thought fit to adopt in order to buy from a hanoverian king and a bigoted house of lords this accession of honour. for my uncle was not far wrong in his suspicions, and in truth it did not require any strong perspicacity to realise that it was not for nothing my brother was thus distinguished. i mean not for his merits—which amounts to the same thing. i made strong efforts to keep the tidings of his cowardly defection from my uncle. but family matters were not, as i have said, to be hidden from feldmarschall edmund von jennico. i believe the news hastened his dissolution. repeated fits of anger are pernicious to gouty veterans of explosive temper. it was barely three weeks after the arrival of the tidings of my brother having taken the oaths and his seat in the house of lords that i was summoned by a messenger, hot foot, from the little frontier town where i was quartered with my squadron, to attend my great-uncle’s death-bed. it was a sixteen-hours’ ride through the snow. i reached this frowning old stronghouse late at night, hastened by a reminder at each relay ready prepared for me; hastened by the servants stationed at the gate; hastened on the stairs, at his very door, the door of this room. i found him sitting in his armchair, almost a corpse already, fully conscious, grimly triumphant.
-“thou shalt have it all,” was the first thing he whispered to me as i knelt by his side. his voice was so low that i had to bend my ear to his mouth. but the pride of race had never seemed to burn with brighter flame. “alles ist dein, alles ... aber,” and he caught at me with his clawlike hand, cold already with the very chill of earth, “remember that thou the last jennico bist. royal blood, kerlchen, knut, plantagenet, stuart ... noblesse oblige, remember. bring no roturière into the family.”
-his heiduck, who had endured his testy temper and his rigid rule for forty years, suddenly gave a kind of gulp, like a sob, from behind the chair where he stood, rigid, on duty at his proper post, but with his hands, instead of resting correctly on hip and sword-handle, joined in silent prayer. a striking-looking man, for all his short stature, with his extraordinary breadth of shoulders, his small piercing eyes, his fantastically hard features all pock-seared, that seemed carved out of some swarthy, worm-eaten old oak.
-“thou fool!” hissed my uncle, impatiently turning his head at the sound, and making a vain attempt to seek the ever-present staff with his trembling fingers. “basil, crack me the knave on the skull.” then he paused a moment, looked at the clock and said in a significant way, “it is time, jános.”
-the heiduck instantly moved and left the room, to return promptly, ushering in a number of the retainers who had evidently been gathered together and kept in attendance against my arrival.
-they ranged themselves silently in a row behind jános; and the dying man in a feeble voice and with the shadow of a gesture towards me, but holding them all the while under his piercing look, said two or three times:
-“your master, men, your master.” whereupon, jános leading the way, every man of them, household-steward, huntsmen, overseers, foresters, hussars, came forward, kissed my hand, and retired in silence.
-then the end came rapidly. he wandered in his speech and was back in the past with dead and gone comrades. at the very last he rallied once more, fixed me with his poor eye that i had never seen dim before, and spoke with consciousness:
-“thou, the last jennico, remember. be true. tell the renegade i rejoice, his shame striketh not us. tell him that he did well to change his name. kerlchen, dear son, thou art young and strong, breed a fine stock. no roture! but sell and settle ... sell and settle.”
-those words came upon his last sigh. his eye flashed once, and then the light was extinguished.
-thus he passed. his dying thought was for the worthy continuance of his race. i found myself the possessor, so the tabellions informed me some days later, of many millions (reckoned by the florins of this land) besides the great property of tollendhal—fertile plains as well as wild forests, and of this same isolated frowning castle with its fathom-thick walls, its odd pictures of half-savage dead and gone woschutzskis, its antique clumsy furniture, tapestries, trophies of chase and war; master, moreover, of endless tribes of dependants: heiducks and foresters; females of all ages, whose bare feet in summer patter oddly on the floors like the tread of animals, whose high-boots in winter clatter perpetually on the stone flags of stairs and corridors; serf-peasants, factors, overseers; the strangest mixture of races that can be imagined: slovacks, bohemians, poles, to labour on the glebe; saxons or austrians to rule over them and cypher out rosters and returns; magyars, who condescend to manage my horseflesh and watch over my safety if nothing else; the travelling bands of gipsies, ever changing but never failing with the dance, the song and the music, which is as indispensable as salt to the life of that motley population.
-and i, who in a more rational order of things might have been leading the life of a young squire at home, became sovereign lord of all, wielding feudal power over strings of vassals who deemed it great honour to bend the knee before me and kiss my hand.
-no doubt, in the beginning, it was vastly fine; especially as so much wealth meant freedom. for my first act, on my return after the expiration of my furlough, was to give up the duties of regimental life, irksome and monotonous in these piping days of peace. then i must hie me to vienna, and there, for the first time of my life of six-and-twenty years, taste the joy of independence. in vienna are enough of dashing sparks and beautiful women, of princes and courtiers, gamblers and rakes, to teach me how to spend some of my new-found wealth in a manner suitable to so fashionable a person as myself.
-but how astonishingly soon one accustoms oneself to luxury and authority! it is but three months ago that, having drained the brimming cup of pleasure to the dregs, i found its first sweetness cloying, its first alluring sparkle almost insufferable; that, having basked in perpetual smiles, i came to weary of so much favour. winning at play had no fascination for a man with some thirty thousand pounds a year at his back; and losing large slices of that patrimony which had, i felt, been left me under an implied trust, was dully galling to my conscience. i was so uniformly fortunate also in the many duels in which i was involved among the less favoured—through the kindness which the fair ladies of vienna and bude began to show to le beau jennico (the old dictum had been revived in my favour)—that after disabling four of my newly-found “best friends,” even so piquant an entertainment lost all pretence of excitement.
-and with the progress of disillusion concerning the pleasure of idleness in wealth, grew more pressing the still small voice which murmured at my ear that it was not for such an end, not for the gratification of a mere libertine, gambler, and duellist, that my great-uncle jennico had selected me as the depositary of his wealth and position.
-“sell and settle, sell and settle.” the old man’s words had long enough been forgotten. it was high time to begin mastering the intricacies of that vast estate, if ever i was to turn it to the profit of that stream of noble jennicos to come. and in my state of satiety the very remoteness of my new property, its savageness, its proud isolation, invested it with an odd fascination. from one day to the other i determined on departure, and left the emptiness of the crowd to seek the fulness of this wild and beautiful country.
-here for a time i tasted interest in life again; knew a sort of well-filled peace; felt my soul expand with renewed vigour, keenness for work and deeds, hope and healthy desire, self-pride and satisfaction. then came the foolish adventure which has left me naked and weak in the very midst of my wealth and power; which has left rudderless an existence that had set sail so gaily for glorious happiness.
-the bell of the horologe, from its snow-capped turret overlooking the gate of honour in the stronghold of tollendhal, slowly tolled the tenth hour of that tempestuous night; and the notes resounded in the room, now strongly vibrating, now faint and distant, as the wind paused for a second, or bore them away upon its dishevelled wing. upon the last stroke, as basil jennico was running over the last page of his fair paper, the door behind him, creaking on its hinges, was thrown open by jános, the heiduck, displaying in the next chamber a wide table, lit by two six-branched chandeliers and laid for the evening meal. the twelve yellow tongues of flame glinted on the silver, the cut glass, and the snow-white napery, but only to emphasise the sombre depth of the mediæval room, the desolate eloquence of that solitary seat at the huge board. jános waited till his master, with weary gesture, had cast his pen aside, and then ceremoniously announced that his lordship’s supper was ready.
-impatiently enough did the young man dip his fingers in the aiguière of perfumed water that a damsel on his right offered to him as he passed through the great doors, drying them on the cloth handed by another on his left. frowning he sat him down in his high-backed chair behind which the heiduck stood ready to present each dish as it was brought up by other menials, to keep the beaker constantly filled, to answer with a bow any observation that he might make, should the lord feel disposed to break silence.
-but to-night the lord of tollendhal was less disposed than ever in such a direction. he chafed at the long ceremony; resented the presence of these creatures who had seen her sit as their mistress at that table, where now lay nought but vacancy beyond the white cloth; resented even the silent solicitude that lurked in jános’s eyes, though the latter never broke unauthorised his rule of silence.
-the generous wine, in the stillness and the black solitude, bred presently a yet deeper melancholy. after a perfunctory meal the young man waved aside a last glass of the amber tokay that was placed at his hand, rose, and moodily walked to and fro for some time. feeling that the coming hours had no sleep in reserve for a mind in such turmoil as his, he returned to his writing-table, and, whilst jános directed the servants to bring in and trim fresh candles, and pile more logs upon the hearth, basil jennico resumed his task.
-basil jennico’s memoir continued
-my great-uncle’s will, forcible, concise, indisputable as it was, had been (so the man of law informed me) drawn out in a great hurry, dictated, indeed, between spasms of agony and rage. (the poor old man died of gout in his stomach.) doubtless, had he felt sure of more time, he would have burdened the inheritance with many directions and conditions.
-from his broken utterances, however, and from what i had known of him in life, i gathered a fair idea of what his wishes were. his fifty years of foreign service had filled him, old pandour that he seemed to have become, with but increased contempt for the people that surrounded him, their ways and customs, while his pride as an englishman was only equalled by his pride as a jennico.
-“sell and settle....”
-the meaning of the words was clear in the light of the man as i knew him. i was to sell the great property, carry to england the vast hoard of foreign wealth, marry as befitted one of the race, and raise a new and splendid line of jennicos, to the utter mortification, and everlasting confusion, of the degenerate head of the house.
-now, though i knew it to be in me, and felt it, indeed, not otherwise possible, to live my life as true a jennico as even my uncle could desire, i by no means deemed it incumbent upon me to set to work and carry out his plans without first employing my liberty and wealth as the humour prompted me. nor was the old country an overpoweringly attractive place for a young man of my creed and kidney. in vienna i was, perhaps, for the moment, the most noted figure—the guest most sought after that year. in england, at daggers drawn with my brother, i could only play an everyday part in an unpopular social minority.
-it was in full summer weather that, as i have written, already tried by the first stage of my career of wealth, i came to take possession of my landed estates. the beauty and wildness of the scenery, the strangeness of the life in the well-nigh princely position to which this sudden turn of fortune’s wheel had elevated me, the intoxicating sensation of holding sway, as feudal lord of these wide tracts of hill and plain, over so many hundreds of lives—above all, the wholesome reaction brought about by solitude and communion with nature after the turmoil of the last months—in short, everything around me and in me made me less inclined than ever to begin ridding myself of so fair a possession.
-and do i wish i had not thus delayed in obeying the injunction that accompanied the bequest? odds my life! i am a miserable dog this day through my disobedience; and yet, would i now undo the past if i could? a thousand times no! i hate my folly, but hug it, ever closer, ever dearer. the bitter savour of that incomprehensible yearning clings to the place: i would not exchange it for the tameness of peace. weakling that i am, i would not obliterate, if i could, the memory of those brief, brief days of which i failed to know the price, until the perversity of fate cut their thread for ever—ay, perhaps for ever, after all! and yet, if so, it were wiser to quit these haunted walls for ever also. but, god! how meagre and livid looks wisdom, the ghost, by the side of love’s warm and living line!
-and now, on! since i have put my hand to the task, undertaken to set forth and make clear the actual condition of that vacillating puppet, the new-fledged lord of tollendhal, i will not draw it back, cost me what pain it may.
-no doubt it was this haunting pride of wealth, waxing every day stronger, even as the pride of birth which my great-uncle had fostered to such good purpose, the overweening conceit which they bred within me, that fogged my better judgment and brought me to this pass. and no doubt, likewise, it is a princely estate that these lords of tollendhal of old carved for themselves, and rounded ever wider and nurtured—all that it should some day, passing through the distaff, come to swell the pride of suffolk jennicos!
-my castle rises boldly on the northernmost spur of the glatzer mounts, and defiantly overlooks the marches of three kingdoms. its lands and dependencies, though chiefly moravian, extend over the bohemian border as well as into that silesia they now are able to call prussian. north and west it is flanked by woods that grow wilder, denser, as they spread inwards towards the giant mountains. on the southern slopes are my vineyards, growths of note, as i hear. my territories reach, on the one hand, farther than can be seen under the blue horizon, into the eastern plains, flat and rich, that stretch with curious suddenness immediately at the foot of the high district; upon the other hand, on the moravian side, i doubt whether even my head steward himself knows exactly how much of the timber-laden hill-ranges can be claimed as appertaining to the estate. all the peaks i can descry in a fine day from these casements are mine, i believe; on their flanks are forests as rich in game—boar and buck, wolf and bear, not to speak of lesser quarry—as are the plains below in corn and maize and cattle—que sais-je? a goodly heritage indeed!
-i promised myself many a rare day’s sport so soon as the time waxed ripe. meanwhile, my days were spent in rambles over the land, under pretence of making acquaintance with the farms and the villages, and the population living on the soil and working out its wealth for my use, but in reality for the enjoyment of delicious sylvan and rustic idleness through which the memory of recent viennese dissipations was like that of a fevered dream.
-the spirit of my country-keeping ancestors lived again within me and was satisfied. yet there were times, too, when this freedom of fancy became loneliness—when my eyes tired of green trees, and my ears hungered for the voice of some human being whom i could meet as an equal, with whom i could consort, soul and wit. then i would resolve that, come the autumn, i would fill the frowning stronghouse with a rousing throng of gallant hunters and fair women such as it had never seen before. ay, and they should come over, even from old england, to taste of the jennico hospitality!
-it was in one of these glorious moods that, upon a september day, sultry as summer, although there was a touch of autumn decay in the air as well as in the tints around me, i sallied forth, after noon, to tramp on foot an as yet unexplored quarter of my domain. i had donned, according to my wont (as being more suitable to the roughness of the paths than the smallclothes, skirted coats, high heels and cocked hat of viennese fashion), the dress of the moravian peasant—i gather that it pleases the people’s heart to see their seigneur grace their national garb on occasions. there was a goodly store of such costumes among the cupboards full of hereditary habiliments and furs preserved at tollendhal, after the fashion of the country, with the care that english housewives bestow upon their stores of linen. my peasant suit was, of course, fine of cloth and natty of cut, and the symmetry of the handsome figure i saw in my glass reminded me more of the pastoral disguises that were the courtly fashion of some years back than of our half-savage ill-smelling boors. thus it was pleasant as well as comfortable to wear, and at that time even so trifling a sensation of gratified vanity had its price. but, although thus freed of the incumbrance of a gentleman’s attire, i could not shake off the watchful tyranny of jános, the solemn heiduck who never allowed me to stir abroad at all without his escort, nor, indeed (if my whim took me far afield), without the further retinue of two jägers, twin brothers, and faithful beyond a doubt. these, carbine on shoulder, and hanger on thigh, had their orders to follow their lord through thick and thin, and keep within sight and sound of whistle.
-in such odd style of state, on this day, destined to begin for me a new chapter in life, i took my course; and for a long hour or so walked along the rocky cornice that overhangs the plains. the land looked bare and wide and solitary, the fields lay in sallow leanness bereft of waving crops, but i knew that all my golden grain was stacked safely in the heart of the earth, where these folk hoard its fruits for safety from fire. the air was so empty of human sounds, save the monotonous tramp of my escort behind me, that all the murmurs of wind and foliage struck with singular loudness upon my ear. over night, there had, by my leave, been songs and dancing in the courtyard of tollendhal, and the odd tunes, the capricious rhythm of the gipsy musicians, came back upon me as i walked in the midst of my thoughts. these melodies are fitful and plaintive as the sounds of nature itself, they come hurrying and slackening, rising and falling, with as true a harmony and as unmeasured a measure,—now in a very passion of haste, and now with a dreamy long-drawn sigh. i was thinking on this, and on the love of the empress for that music (my empress that had been when i wore her uniform, ay, and my empress still so long as i retain these noble lands), when i came to a field, sloping from the crag towards the plain, where an aftermath of grass had been left to dry. there was a little belt of trees, which threw a grateful shade; and feeling something weary i flung me down on the scented hay. it was on the silesian portion of my land. against the horizon, the white and brown of some townlet, clustering round the ace-of-club-shaped roof of its church-tower, rose glittering above the blue haze. a little beyond the field ran a white road. so i reclined, looking vaguely into the unknown but inviting distance, musing on the extent of those possessions so wide-spread that i had not as yet been able to ride all their marches, ever and anon recognising vaguely in the voice of the breeze through the foliage an echo of the music that had been haunting my thoughts all day. everything conspired to bring me pleasant fancies. i began to dream of past scenes and future fortunes, smiling at the thought of what my dashing friends would say if they saw le beau jennico in this bucolic attitude, wondering if any of my court acquaintances would recognise him in his peasant garb.
-ah me, how eternally and lovingly i thought of my proud and brilliant self then!...
-i cannot recall how soon this musing became deep sleep, but sleep i did and dream—a singular, vivid dream, which was in a manner a continuation of my waking thoughts. i seemed to be at a great fête at the imperial palace, one of the countless throng of guests. the lights were brilliant, blinding, but i saw many faces i knew, and we all were waiting most eagerly for some wonderful event. no one was speaking, and the only sounds were the rustling and brushing of the ladies’ brocades and the jingle of the officers’ spurs, with over and above the wail of the czimbalom. all at once i knew, as we do in dreams, what we were expecting, and why this splendid feast had been prepared. marie antoinette, the fair young dauphine of france, the memory of whose grace still hangs about the court, had come back to visit her own country. the crowd grew closer and closer. the crowd about me surged forward to catch a glimpse of her as she passed, and i with the rest, when suddenly my great-uncle stood before me, immensely bestarred and beribboned in his field-marshal’s uniform, and with the black patch on his eye so black that it quite dazzled me.
-“na, kerlchen,” he was saying to me, “thou hast luck! her imperial and royal highness has chosen the young jennico to dance with ... as the old one is too old.”
-now i, in common with the young men about me, have grown to cherish since my coming to this land a strange enthusiasm for the most womanly and beautiful of all the empress’s daughters, and therefore, even in my dream, my heart began to beat very fast, and i scarce knew which way to turn. i was much troubled too by the music, which went on always louder and quicker above my head, somewhere in the air, for i knew that no such things as country dances are danced at court, and that i myself would make but a poor figure in such; yet a peasant dance it undoubtedly was. next, my uncle was gone, and though i could not see her, i knew the princess was coming by the swish of her skirt as she walked. i heard her voice as clear as a silver bell. “où est-il?” it said, and i felt she was looking for me. i struggled in vain to answer or turn to her, and the voice cried again: “où est-il?” upon which another voice with a quaver in its tones made reply: “par ici, altesse!”
-the sound must have been very close to me, for it startled me from my deep sleep into, as it were, an outer court of dreams. and between slumber and consciousness i became aware that i was lying somewhere very hot and comfortable; that, while some irresistible power kept my eyes closed, my ears were not so, and i could hear the two voices talking together; and, in my wandering brain believed them still to belong to the princess marie antoinette and her attendant.
-during my sleep the shade of the sun had shifted and i lay in the full glare, and so, as i opened my eyes, i could see nothing.
-“où est son altesse? où est son altesse?”
-she clapped her hands and turned with a crow of laughter to some one behind me. and then i became aware that, as in the dream, there were two. i also turned.
-my eyes were in their normal state again, but for a moment i thought myself still wandering. here was her highness. a princess, indeed, as beautiful as any vision and yet most exquisitely embodied in the flesh; a princess in this wilderness! it seemed a thing impossible, and yet my eyes now only corroborated the evidence of my ears.
-i marked, almost without knowing, the rope of pearls that bound her throat (i had become a judge of jewels by being the possessor of so many). i marked her garments, garments, for all their intended simplicity, rich, and bearing to my not untutored observation the latest stamp of fashion. but above all i marked her air of race, her countenance, young with the first bloom of youth, mantled with blushes yet set with a royal dignity.
-i have, since that eventful day, passed through so many phases of feeling, sweet and violent, my present sentiments are so fantastically disturbed, that i must try to the last of this writing and see matters still as i saw them at the time. yes, beyond doubt what i noticed most, what appealed to me most deeply then, was the great air of race blended and softened by womanly candour and grace. she looked at me gravely, with wide brown eyes, and i stumbled into my best courtly bow.
-“he wants to know,” said the damsel of the yellow skirts, this time in german, the clear, clean utterance of which had nothing of the broad austrian sounds i was accustomed to hear—“he wants to know ’where is the highness?’ but he seems to have guessed where she stands, without the telling. truly ’tis a pity the lord chamberlain is not at his post to make a presentation in due form!”
-“know, sir,” continued the speaker then, “since you are so indiscreet as to wake at the wrong moment, and surprise an incognito, the mysteries of which were certainly not meant for such as you, that altesse she is. son altesse sérénissime la princesse marie ottilie. marie is her highness’s first name, and ottilie is her highness’s last name. and between the two and after those two, being as i said an altesse sérénissime, she has of course a dozen other names; but more than this it does not suit her highness that you should know. now if you will do me, a humble attendant that i am, the courtesy to state who you are, who, in a silesian boor’s attire, speak french and wear diamond watches to your belt, i can proceed with the introduction, even in the absence of the lord chamberlain.”
-the minx had an easy assurance of manner which could only have been bred at court. her mistress listened to her with what seemed a tolerant affection.
-to keep myself something in countenance despite my incongruous garb (and also perchance for the little meanness that i was not displeased to show this princess that i too kept a state of my own), i lifted my hand and beckoned to my retinue, which instantly advanced and halted in a rank with rigid precision five paces behind me.
-“gracious madam,” said i in german, bowing to her who had dubbed herself the lady-in-waiting, with a touch, i flattered myself, of her own light mockery of tone, “i shall indeed feel honoured if her serene highness will deign to permit the presentation of so unimportant a person as myself—in other words of basil jennico of farringdon dane, in the county of suffolk, in the kingdom of great britain, lately a captain in his royal imperial majesty’s moravian regiment of chevau-legers, now master of the castle of tollendhal, not far distant, and lord of its domain.” here, led by jános, my three retainers saluted.
-i thought i saw in the princess’s eyes that i had created a certain impression, but my consequent complacency did not escape the notice of the irrepressible lady-in-waiting. she promptly did her best to mar the situation.
-“fi donc,” she cried, in french, “we are at court, monsieur, and at the court of—at the court of her highness we are not such savages as to perform introductions in german.”
-then, drawing up her slight figure and composing her face into preternatural gravity, she took two steps forward and another sideways, accompanied by as many bows, and resting her hand at arm’s length on the china head of her stick, with the most ridiculous assumption of finikin importance and with a quavering voice which, although i have never known him, i recognised instantly as the chamberlain’s, she announced:
-“monsieur basile jean nigaud de la faridondaine, dans le comté où l’on suffoque, ... d’importance, au royaume de la grande bretagne, maître du castel des fous, ici proche, et seigneur des alentours,—ahem!”
-inwardly cursing the young woman’s buffoonery and the incredible facility with which she had so instantly burlesqued an undoubtedly impressive recital, i had no choice but to make my three bows with what good grace i could muster. whereupon, the princess, still smiling but with a somewhat puzzled air, made me a curtsey. as for the lady-in-waiting, nothing abashed, she took an imaginary pinch of most excellent snuff with a pretence of high satisfaction; then laughed aloud and long, till my ears burned and her own dimple literally rioted.
-“and now, to complete the ceremony,” said she, as soon as she could speak at all, “let me introduce the court, represented to-day by myself. mademoiselle marie ottilie. two ottilies as you will perceive, but easily explained, thus: feu the highest her sérénissime’s gracious ducal grandmother being an ottilie and godmother to us both—mademoiselle ottilie: the rest concerns you not. well, monsieur de la faridondaine, capitaine et seigneur, etc., etc.,—charmed to have made your acquaintance. so far, so good. but ... these gentlemen? surely also nobles in disguise. will you not continue the ceremony?”
-she waved a little sunburnt hand towards my immovable body-guard, and the full absurdity of my position struck me with the keenest sense of mortification.
-i looked back at the three, biting my lips, and miserably uncertain how to conduct myself so as to save some shred of dignity. my ancient jános had seen too many strange things during his forty years’ attendance on my great-uncle to betray the smallest surprise at the present singular situation; but out of both their handsome faces, set like bronze,—they had better not have moved a muscle otherwise or jános would have known the reason why,—the eyes of my twin attendants roamed from me to the ladies, and from the ladies to me, with the most devouring curiosity. i tartly dismissed them all again to a distance, and then, turning to the mysterious princess i begged to know, in my most courtlike manner if i might presume to lay my services at her feet for the time of her sojourn in this, my land.
-with the same adorable yet dignified bashfulness that i had already noted in her, the lovely woman looked hesitatingly at her lady-in-waiting, which lively wench, not being troubled with timidity (as she had already sufficiently demonstrated), promptly took upon herself to answer me. but this time she so delightfully fell in with my own wishes that i was fain to forgive her all that had gone before.
-“but certainly,” she exclaimed, “her serene highness will condescend to accept the services of m. de jean nigaud. it is not every day that brings forth such romantic encounters. know, sir, that we are two damozels that have by the most extraordinary succession of fortunate accidents escaped from school. you wonder? by school, i mean the insupportable tedium, etiquette, and dulness of the court of his most gracious and worshipful serenity the father of her highness. we came out this noon to make hay, and hay we will make. or rather we shall sit on the hay, and you shall make a throne for the princess, and a little tabouret for me, and then you may sit you down and entertain us ... but on the ground, and at a respectful distance, that none may say we do not observe proper forms and conventions, for all that we are holiday-making. and you shall explain to us how you, an englishman, came to be master of château des fous, and masquerading in peasant’s attire. is masquerading a condition of tenure? after which, her serene highness having only one fault, that being her angelic softness of heart, which is pushed to the degree of absolute weakness, she will permit me to narrate to you (as much as is good for you to know) how we came to be here at such a distance from our own country, and in such curious freedom—for her highness quite sees that you are rapidly becoming ill with suppressed curiosity, and fears that you may otherwise burst with it on your way home to your great castle, or at least that the pressure on the brain may seriously affect its delicate balance—if indeed,” with a peal of her reckless childish laughter, “you are not already a lunatic, and those your keepers!”
-this last piece of impudence might have proved even too much for my desire to cultivate an acquaintance so extraordinarily attractive to one of my turn of mind and so alluring by its mysteriousness, but that i happened to catch a glance from her highness’s eyes even as the speaker finished her tirade, which glance, deprecating and at the same time full of a kindly and gentle interest, set my heart to beat in a curious fashion between pleasure and pain. i hastened therefore to obey the younger lady’s behests, and began to gather together enough of the sweet-smelling hay to form a throne for so noble and fair an occupant.
-whereupon the little creature herself—she seemed little by reason of her slenderness and childishness, but in truth she was as tall as her tall and beautiful mistress—fell to helping me with such right good-will, flashing upon me, as she flitted hither and thither, such altogether innocently mocking looks from her yellow-hazel eyes, that i should have been born with a deeper vanity, and a sourer temper, to have kept a grudge against her.
-once seated in our fragrant court, in the order laid down for us, the attendant, so soon as she had recovered breath sufficient, began to ply me with questions so multiplied, so searching, and so pointed, that she very soon extracted from me every detail she wished to know about myself, past and present.
-but although, as from a chartered and privileged advocate, the sharp cross-questioning came from the mademoiselle marie ottilie, it was to the soft dumb inquiry i read in the princess marie ottilie’s eyes that were addressed my answers. and then those eyes and the listening beauty of that gracious face, made it hard for me to realise, as later reflection proved, that their owner did not utter a single word during the whole time we sat there together.
-i mind me that when she had drawn from me all she had wanted to know, the little lady’s pert tongue became still for a while, and that she stretched her long young limbs and lay back upon her mound of hay with the most absolute unconcern either of my presence or of the princess’s, gazing skyward with a sudden gravity in her look. as for me, i was content to sit in silence too, glad of the quiet, because it gave me leisure to taste the full zest of this fortunate and singular meeting. i thought i had never seen a human being whom silence became so well as the princess ottilie. contrasted with the recklessness and chatter of her companion her attitude struck me as the most perfectly dignified it had ever been my lot to observe.
-presently the nymph in yellow roused herself from her reverie, and sat up, with her battered hat completely on one side and broken bits of grass sticking in the tangled mass of her brown hair. she arched her lip at me with her malicious smile, and addressed her companion.
-“is it your highness’s pleasure,” she asked, “that i should gratify some of this young english nobleman’s curiosity concerning the wandering of a princess in so unprincely a fashion?”
-“ach!” rebuked her highness, on the wings of a soft sigh. the truth of the girl’s assertion that her mistress’s kindness of heart amounted to weakness, was very patent; the dependant was undoubtedly indulged to the verge of impertinence, although it is also true that her manner seemed to stop short of any open show of disrespect.
-“now attention, please, monsieur de la faridondaine! his most absolutely to be revered and most gracious serenity, father of her highness, reigns over a certain land, a great many leagues from here,” she began, with all the gusto of one who revels in the sound of her own voice. “her highness is his only daughter, and this august person has the condescension to feel for her some of those sentiments of paternal affection which are common even to the lowest peasant. you have been about courts, monsieur jean nigaud, the fact is patent and indubitable. you can therefore realise the extent of such condescension. a little while ago, moved by these sentiments, my gracious sovereign believed there was a paleness upon her highness his daughter’s cheek.”
-involuntarily i looked at the princess, to see, with a curious elation, how the rich colour rushed, under my gaze, yet more richly into her face.
-“it does not appear now,” pursued the imperturbable speaker, whom no blink of mine seemed to escape, “but there was a paleness, and the court doctor decided there was likewise a trifling loss of tone and want of strength. he recommended a change of air, tonic baths, and grape cure. in consequence, after due deliberation and consultation, it was decreed that her highness should be sent to a certain region in the mountains, where höchst die selbe has a grand, a most high, ducal aunt, the said region being noted for its salubrious air, its baths, the quality and extent of its vineyards. in company, therefore, of a few indispensable court officials—the lord chamberlain (as a responsible person for her highness’s movements), the most gracious a certain aged and high born gräfin (our chief court lady, once the highness’s own gouvernante), the second court doctor, the third officier de bouche, and mine own humble self——”
-here she paused, and, with a sudden assumption of dolefulness that was certainly comic, proceeded in quite another voice:
-“i am a person of no consequence at court, monsieur de la faridondaine. i am merely tolerated because of her highness’s goodness, and also because, you must know, that i have a reputation of being a source of amusement to her serenity. you may already have noticed that it is fairly well founded that i am talkative and entertaining, as a lady-in-waiting should be, and this is the reason why i have attained a position to which my birth does not entitle me.”
-a little frown came across the princess’s smooth brow at these words. she shot a look of deprecation at her attendant, but the latter went on, resuming her former manner, in a bubbling of merriment:
-“facts are facts, you see—i am even hardly born. my mother happened to be liked by the mother of her serene highness—an angel—and when i was orphaned she took me closer to her. so we grew up together, her highness and i, and so i come to be in so grand a place as a court. there, monsieur, you have in a word the history of mademoiselle marie ottilie. i have no wish that she should ever seem to have appeared under false colours.”
-the princess, whose sensitive blood had again risen to a crimson tide, cast a very uneasy look at her companion. i could see how much her affectionate delicacy was wounded by this unnecessary candour.
-but little mademoiselle, after returning the glance with one as mischievous and unfeeling as a jackdaw’s, continued, hugging her knees with every appearance of enjoyment:
-“and now we come to the series of delightful accidents which brought us here. behold! no sooner had we left the court of—the court her highness belongs to—than the smallpox broke out in the residenz and in the palace itself. the father of her serenity had had it; there was no danger for him, and he was in the act of congratulating himself upon having sent the princess out of the way, when, in the most charming manner (for the ducal court of her highness’s aunt was even duller than höchst die selbe’s own, and after the tenth bunch of grapes you get rather tired of a grape cure, and as for mud baths—oh fie, the horror!), we discovered that we had brought the pretty illness with us. and first one and then the other of the retinue sickened and fell ill. then a court lady of the duchess took it, and next who should develop symptoms but the old growl-bear and scratch-cat, our own chief hofdame, chief duenna, and chief bore. that was a stroke of fortune, you must admit! but wait a moment, you have not heard the best of it yet.”
-at the very first mention of the smallpox the princess grew pale, and made the sign of the cross. and indeed it seemed to me, myself, a tempting of providence to joke thus lightly about a malady so dangerous to life and so fatal to looks. but the girl proceeded coolly:
-“her serene highness, like her most venerated brother, had had the disease; i believe they underwent it together in their serene babyhood. but her serene highness was deeply alarmed by the danger to which her serene niece was exposed. the court doctor was no less concerned—it is a bad thing for a court doctor if a princess in his charge fall a victim to an epidemic—so they put their heads together and resolved to send the exalted young lady into some safer region, in company of such of her retinue as seemed in the soundest health. an aged lady, mother of m. de schreckendorf, our chamberlain already described to you, dwells in these plains. as a matter of fact,” said the speaker, pointing a small finger in the direction of the town, “her castle is yonder. the duchess had once condescended to spend a night there to break a journey, and it had remained stamped on her ducal memory that the place was quiet,—not to say a desert,—that there were vineyards close by, and also that the air was particularly salubrious. she knew, too, that the countess schreckendorf was quite equal to the guarding of any youthful serenity, in short, a dragon of etiquette, narrow-mindedness, prudery, and ugliness. together, therefore, with the chamberlain, a few women, and the poor doctor, we were packed into a ducal chariot, and carted here, the countess receiving the strictest orders not to divulge the tremendous altitude of her visitor’s rank. she would die rather than betray the trust,—especially as to thwart innocent impulses is one of her chief pleasures, nay, i may say her only pleasure in life. little does she or the highness her mistress suspect the existence of a seigneur de la faridondaine, roaming about in the guise of a simple silesian shepherd and pretending to sleep in order to surprise the little secrets of wandering princesses! we were told, when we asked whether there was no neighbourly creature within reach, that the only one for leagues was a fearful old man with one eye and one tooth, who goes about using his cane as freely on every one’s shoulders as the prussian king himself. well, never mind, don’t speak, i have yet the cream of the tale to offer! we arrived here three weeks ago and found the grapes no more spicy, the castle no more amusing, and the neighbourhood more boring than even the ducal court itself. but one excellent day, the good little chamberlain began to look poorly, complained of his poor little head, and retired to his room. the next morning what does the doctor do, but pack him into a coach and drive away with him like a fury. neither coach, nor postillions, nor doctor, nor chamberlain, have been seen or heard of since! but i, who am awake with the birds, from my chamber window saw them go—for i heard the clatter in the courtyard, and by nature, m. the captain, i am as curious as a magpie.”
-“oh, that,” said i with conviction, “you need not tell me!”
-she seemed vastly tickled by the frankness of this my first observation after such long listening, and had to throw herself back on the hay, and laugh her laugh out, before she could sit up again and continue:
-“so, as i was saying, i saw the departure. the doctor looked livid with fright, and as for the herr chamberlain, he was muffled up in blankets and coats, but i got a glimpse of his face for all that, and it was spotted all over with great red spots!”
-the princess pushed her hat off her forehead, and turned upon her lady-in-waiting a face that had grown almost livid.
-“pooh!” said the lady-in-waiting; “your highness is over-nervous; ’tis now a good fortnight since the old gentleman left us, and if you or i were to have had it we should have shown symptoms long ago. well, sir, to continue: our worthy hostess the countess was in a fine fume, as you can fancy, between duty and natural affection, terror and anxiety. she was by way of keeping the whole matter a dead secret both from us and from the servants; but the fumigations she set going in the house, the airing, the dosing, together with her own frantic demeanour, would have been enough to enlighten even obtuser wits than ours. with one exception all our servants fled, and all hers. she had to replace them from a distance. the anger, the responsibility, the agitation generally, were too much for her years and constitution; and three days ago—in the act (as we discovered) of writing to the duchess for instructions, for she had expected the court doctor would have sent on special messengers to the courts of her highness’s relatives, and was in a perfect fever at receiving no news—as i say, in the very act of writing evidently to despatch another post herself, the poor old lady was struck with paralysis, and was carried speechless to bed. now, monsieur jean nigaud, you english are a practical race. do you not agree with me that since the lord, in his wisdom, decreed that it was good for the countess’s soul to have a little physical affliction, it could not have happened at a better moment for us? i know that her highness disapproves of what she calls my heartlessness, but i cannot but rejoice in our freedom.
-“the countess is recovering, but she won’t speak plain for a long time to come. meanwhile we are free—free as air! our only personal attendant is my own—my old nurse. you shall see her. she speaks but little, but she adores me. but as we cannot understand a word of the language spoken here, and the resources of this district are few, i will own to you, her highness has found it a little dull, in spite of her lady-in-waiting’s well-known gift of entertainment, up to to-day.”
-she threw me an arch look as she spoke, but the princess, rising with the dignity peculiar to her, conveyed her sense that the joke had this time been carried a little too far.
-the shadows were lengthening, the wind had fallen, it was an hour of great peace and beauty in the land. the princess took a few steps towards the road where waited the carriage; i ran forward and presumed to offer her my arm, which she very graciously, but not without a blush, accepted. the maid of honour, springing to her feet, followed us, tripping over the rough ground, with a torn frock and her hat hanging on her neck by its ribbons. i mind me well how the chasseurs of the equipage stared to see their lady come leaning on the arm of a peasant. how they stared, too, at the unabashed, untidy apparition of the lady-in-waiting! but she, humming a little song as she went, seemed the last in the world to care what impression she made.
-as we neared the coach, a tall woman all in black, with a black shawl over her black hair, jet-black eyes, staring blankly out of a swarthy face, descended from it. she looked altogether so dark and forbidding a vision that i gave a start when i saw her thus unexpectedly. she seemed a sort of blot on the whole smiling, sunny landscape. but as mademoiselle ottilie drew near, the woman turned to her, her whole face breaking pleasantly into a very eloquence of silent, eager love.
-of course i guessed at once that this was the nurse to whom the saucy maiden had already referred. i heard them whisper to each other (and it seemed to me as if the woman were remonstrating with her mistress) while i installed the princess on her cushions. then both rejoined us to enter the carriage likewise. before she jumped in, mademoiselle ottilie tapped her nurse on the shoulder with the sort of indifferent, kind little pat one would bestow on a dog. the woman caught the careless hand and kissed it, and her eyes as she looked after the girl’s figure were absolutely adoring; but her whole countenance again clouded over strangely when her glance fell upon us. at length they all three were seated, and my graceful retirement was clearly expected. but still i lingered.
-“the vintage had begun in my vineyards,” quoth i hesitatingly; “if her highness would honour me by coming again upon my lands, the sight might interest her.”
-the princess hesitated, and then, evidently doubtful as to the propriety of the step, threw a questioning glance at her companion.
-“but certainly,” said the latter instantly, “why not accept? your highness has been advised to keep in the open air as much as possible, and your highness has likewise been recommended innocent diversion: nothing could be better. when shall we say?”
-“if to-morrow would suit,” i suggested boldly, “i could ride over after noon, if her highness would permit me to be her escort. and perhaps she will also further honour me by accepting some slight refreshment at my castle. it is worth seeing,” i said, for i saw no reason why i should be bashful in pushing my advantages, “if your highness is not afraid to enter le château des fous?” i ventured to look deep into her eyes as i spoke, and i remember how those eyes wavered shyly from my gaze, and how the white lids fell over them. and i remember, too, with what a sudden mad exultation leaped my heart.
-but, as before, it was the lady-in-waiting who answered.
-“afraid! who is afraid? your highness, will you not comfort the poor young man and tell him you are not afraid?”
-“if your highness would deign,” said i, pleadingly, and leaning forward into the carriage.
-and then she looked at me, and said to me in the sweetest guttural in all the world, “no, i am not afraid.”
-we were speaking french. i bowed low, fearing to spoil it all by another word. the princess stretched out her hand and i kissed the back of her glove, and then i had the privilege of also kissing miss ottilie’s sunburnt, scratched, and rather grimy bare little paw, which she, with affected dignity, thrust forward for my salute.
-the carriage drove away, and as it went i mind me how the nurse looked after me with a darkling anxiety, and also how as i stalked homewards through the evening glow, with my body-guard tramping steadily behind me, i kept recalling the sound of the four gracious words with which the princess had consented to accept of my hospitality.
-she had said, it is true, “che n’ai bas beur,” but none the less was the memory a delicate delight to my heart the whole night through.
-i had questioned jános on our homeward way concerning my new acquaintances; but the fellow was so ill-disposed by nature to external gossip, so wholly occupied with the minute fulfilment of his daily task, which was to watch over the well-being and safety of his master, that he had gathered no acquaintance with affairs outside his province. with the head factor, however, whom i sent for immediately after supper, i was more fortunate. this man, karl schultz, is saxon-born, and consequently one of the few of my numerous dependants with whom i can hold converse here. it was but natural that among the peasantry the advent of strangers, evidently of wealth and distinction, should have created some stir, and it is schultz’s business, among many other things, to know what the peasantry talk about; although in this more contented part of the world this sort of knowledge is not of such importance as among our neighbours the poles. schultz, therefore, was aware of the arrival of the ladies, likewise of the rumour of smallpox, which had, so he informed me, not only driven all the servants out of the castle of schreckendorf, but spread something like a panic over the country-side. tidings had also come to his ears that two gentlemen—one of them suffering from the dreadful malady (doubtless the poor chamberlain)—had been abandoned in their carriage by their postillions and servants at the small village of kittlitz, some forty miles from here, just over the lusatian border. he corroborated, in fact, greatly to my joy, all that i had been told; for i had had an uneasy fear upon me, now and again, as i marched home in the evening chill, that i had been too ready to lend credence to a romantic and improbable story. but, better than all, schultz, having felt a special curiosity concerning visitors from his own country, had, despite the attempt to keep the matter secret, contrived to satisfy himself to the full as to their identity. and thus did i, to my no small triumph, from the first day easily penetrate the ill-guarded incognita.
-the beautiful wandering princess was the only daughter of the old reigning house of lausitz-rothenburg; and it was from georgenbrunn, where she had been on a visit to her aunt the dowager duchess of saxony, that the second outbreak of the epidemic had driven her to take refuge with the countess schreckendorf in our neighbourhood.
-vastly satisfied with my discovery, and not a little fluttered by the impending honour, i made elaborate preparations the next day against the coming of such guests. we rifled the gardens, the greenhouses, and the storerooms, and contrived a collation the elegance of which taxed our resources to the uttermost.
-not in peasant garb did i start at noon upon my romantic quest, but in my finest riding suit of mulberry cloth embroidered with green and silver, (of what good auguries did i not think when i remembered that green and white were actually the colours of the maison de lusace, and that in this discreet manner i could wear on my sleeve the mark of a delicate homage?), ruffles of finest mechlin fluttered on my throat and wrists, and a hat of the very latest cock was disposed jauntily at the exact angle prescribed by the vienna mode.
-with my trim fellows behind me, and with as perfect a piece of horseflesh between my knees as the emperor himself could ever hope to bestride, i set out in high delight and anticipation.
-now, on this freezing winter’s night, when i look back upon those days and the days that followed, it seems to me as though it were all a dream. the past events are wrapped to memory in a kind of haze, out of which certain hours marked above the rest stand out alone in clearness.—that particular day stands forth perhaps the clearest of all.
-i remember that the princess ottilie looked even more queenly to my mind than at first, with her fair hair powdered and a patch upon the satin whiteness of her chin. in the complacency of my young man’s vanity, i was exceedingly elated that she should have considered it worth while to adorn herself for me. i remember, too, that the lady-in-waiting examined me critically, and cast a look of approval upon my altered appearance; that she spoke less and that her mistress spoke more than upon our first meeting; that even the presence, mute, dark, and scowling, of their female attendant could not spoil the pleasure of our intercourse.
-i suppose it is my english blood that rises within me at the sight of a woman struck. upon the impulse of the first moment i had well-nigh wrenched the staff from his hands and laid it about his shoulders; but fortunately, on second thought, i had wisdom enough to refrain from an act which would have been so fatal to all future discipline. nevertheless, as i stood by, a passive spectator of it, the blood mounted, for very shame, to my cheek, and i felt myself degraded to the level of my administrator’s brutality.
-the poor fools fell apart, screaming between laughter and pain. one handsome wench i marked, indeed, who withdrew to the side of a sullen gipsy-looking fellow, her husband or lover apparently; and as she muttered low in his ear they both cast looks charged with such murderous import, not only at the uncompromising justiciary, but also at me, and the man’s hand stole instinctively to his back with so significant a gesture, that i realised for the first time quite fully that there might be good reasons for jános’s precautions anent the lord’s precious person when the lord took his walks abroad.
-another girl passed me close by, sobbing aloud, as she returned to her labour. she rubbed her shoulder sorely, and the tears hopped off the rim of her fat cheeks, contorted like those of a blubbering child. in half-ashamed and sneaking fashion, yet unable to resist the urging of my heart, i followed her behind the next row of vines and touched her on the arm.
-she recognised me with a start, and i, all fearful of being noticed by the others, in haste and without a word—as what word could i find in which to communicate with a slovack?—hastily dropped a consolatory coin, the first that met my touch, into her palm.
-it was a poor plain creature with dull eyes, coarse lips, and matted hair, and she gazed at me a moment stupidly bewildered. but the next instant, reading i know not what of sympathy and benevolence in my face, as a dog may read in his master’s eyes, she fell at my feet, letting the gold slip out of her grasp that she might the better seize my hand in hers and cover it with kisses, pouring forth the while a litany of gratitude, as unintelligible to me as if she had been indeed a dog whining at my feet.
-to put an end to the absurd situation, distasteful to my british free-born pride for all my foreign training, i pushed her from me and turned away, to find the lady-in-waiting at my elbow.
-instead, however, of making my weakness a mark for her wit, this latter, to my great relief, and likewise to my astonishment, looked wistfully from the ugly besmeared face to the coin lying on the black soil, then at my countenance, which at that moment was, i felt, that of a detected schoolboy. and then, without a word, she followed me back to her mistress’s side.
-my august visitor had not yet regained her wonted serenity. still fluttered, she showed me something of a pouting visage. i thought to discern in her not only satisfaction at the punishment she had seen administered, but some resentment at my passive attitude. and this, i confess, surprised me in her, who seemed so gentle and womanly. but i told myself then that it was but natural in one born as she was to a throne.
-on the other hand, while i confounded myself in excuses and explanations, blaming myself for having (through my inexperience of this country) neglected to prevent the possibility of so untoward an incident, i heard behind me the voice of the young court lady, rating schultz in most explicit german for the heaviness of his hand upon my folk. and, as the princess gradually became mollified towards me and showed me once again her own smiling graciousness, i contrasted her little show of haughtiness with the unreserve of her companion, and convinced myself that it did but become her (being what she was). the while i watched mademoiselle ottilie, mingling with peasants as if she had been born among them, with an ever renewed wonder that she should have been chosen for the high position she occupied.
-later on my guest, according to her promise, condescended to rest and refresh herself in the castle. this was the culminating moment of a golden afternoon. i felt the full pride of possession when i led her in through the old halls that bore the mark of so many centuries of noble masters; although indeed, as a jennico, i had no inherited right to peacock in the glories of the house of tollendhal. but, at each portrait before which she was gracious enough to halt, i took care to speak of some notable contemporary among the men and women of my own old line, in that distant enchanted island of the north, where the men are so brave and strong and the women so fair. and, without stretching any point, i am sure the line of jennico lost nothing in the comparison.
-she was, i saw, beyond mistake impressed. i rejoiced to note that i was rapidly becoming a person of importance in her eyes. even the lady-in-waiting continued to measure me with an altered and thoughtful look.
-between the eating of our meal together—which, as i said, was quite a delicate little feast, and did honour to my barefooted kitchen retinue—and the departure of my visitors, i took them through many of the chambers, and showed them some of the treasures, quaint antiquities, and relics that my great-uncle had inherited or himself collected. on a little table under his picture—yonder on that wall it hangs before me—i had spread forth in a glass case, with a sort of tender and pious memory of the rigid old hero, his own personal decorations and honours, from the first cross he had won in comparative youth to the last blazing order that a royal hand had pinned over the shrunken chest of the field-marshal. in this portrait, painted some five years before his death, my uncle had insisted on appearing full face, with a fine scorn of any palliation of the black patch or the broken jaw. it is a grim enough presentment in consequence,—the artist having evidently rather relished his task,—and sometimes, indeed, when i am alone here in this great room at night, and it seems as if the candle-light does but serve to heighten the gloom of the shadows, i find my uncle’s one eye following me with so living a sternness that i can scarce endure it.
-but that day of which i am writing, i thought there was benignity in the fierce orb as it surveyed such honourable company, and even an actual touch of geniality in the set of the black patch.
-as i opened the case, both the ladies fell, women-like, to fingering the rich jewels. there was a snuff-box set around with diamonds, upon the lid of which was painted a portrait of the dauphine. this, maria theresa had herself given to my uncle on the occasion of her daughter’s marriage, to which it was deemed my uncle’s firm attitude in council over the franco-austrian difficulty had not a little contributed.
-mademoiselle ottilie took up the miniature in her turn, and, after gravely comparing it with her own elfish, sunburnt visage in the glass, gazed at her mistress; then, heaving a lugubrious sigh, she assented to my remarks, adding, however, that there was no ground for surprise, as the princess marie ottilie was actually cousin to her royal highness the dauphine.
-the princess blushed again, and lifted up her hand as if to warn her companion. but the latter, with her almost uncanny perspicacity, continued, turning to me:
-“of course, m. de jennico” (she had at last mastered my name)—“of course, m. de jennico has found out all about us by this time, and is perfectly aware of her highness’s identity.”
-then she added, and her eyes danced:
-“since m. de jennico is so fond of genealogy” (among the curiosities of the place i had naturally shown them my uncle’s monumental pedigree), “he can amuse himself in tracing the connection and relationships—no doubt he has the ’almanach de gotha’—between the houses of hapsburg and the catholic house of lausitz-rothenburg.”
-and indeed, although she meant this in sarcasm, when, after i had escorted them home, i returned, through the mists and shades of twilight, to my solitude (now peopled for me with delightful present, and god knows what fantastic future, visions), i did produce that excellent new book, the “almanach de gotha,” and found great interest in tracing the blood-relation between the dauphine and the fairest of princesses. and afterwards, moved by some spirit of vainglory, i amused myself by comparing on the map the relative sizes of the duchy of lausitz and the lands of tollendhal.
-and next i was moved to unroll once again my uncle’s pedigree, and to study the fine chain of noble links of which i stand the last worthy jennico, when something that had been lying unformed in my mind during these last hours of strange excitement suddenly took audacious and definite shape.
-what first entered my brain as the wildest possibility grew rapidly to a desire which possessed my whole being with absolute passion. the situation was in itself so singular and tantalising, and the princess was so beautiful a woman, to be on these terms of delicious intimacy with the daughter of one of europe’s sovereigns (a little sovereign it is true, but great by race and connection), to meet her constantly in absolute defiance of all the laws of etiquette, yet to see her wear through it all as unapproachable a dignity, as serene an aspect of condescension, as though she were presiding at her father’s court—it was enough, surely, to have turned the head of a wiser man than myself!
-it was not long before mademoiselle ottilie, the lady-in-waiting, discovered the secret madness of my thoughts—in the light of what has since occurred i can truly call it so. and she it was who, for purposes of her own, shovelled coals on the fire and fanned the flame. one way or another, generally on her initiative, but always by her arrangement, we three met, and met daily.
-on the evening of a day passed in their company, with the impression strong upon me of the princess’s farewell look, which had held, i fancied, something different to its wont; with the knowledge that i had, unrebuked, pressed and kissed that fair hand after a fashion more daring than respectful, with my blood in a fever and my brain in a whirl, now seeming sure of success, now coldly awake to my folly, i bethought me of taking counsel again with my great-uncle’s pedigree. and heartened by the proofs that the blood of jennico was good enough for any alliance, i fell to completing the document by bringing it up to date as far as concerned myself. now, when i in goodly black letters had set down my own cognomen so fair upon the parchment, i was further seized with the fancy to fill in the space left blank for my future marriage; and i lightly traced in pencil, opposite the words “basil jennico, lord of tollendhal,” the full titles and names, which by this time i had studied till i knew them off by heart, of her serene highness the princess marie caroline dorothée josephine charlotte ottilie of lausitz.
-it made such a pretty show after all that had gone before, and it brought such visions with it of the glories the name of jennico might yet rise to, that i could not find it in me to erase it again, and so left it as it stood, telling myself, as i rolled up the great deed again and hooked it in its place beneath my uncle’s portrait, that it would not be my fault if the glorious entry did not remain there for ever.
-the next time the ladies visited me, mademoiselle ottilie—flitting like a little curious brown moth about the great room, dancing pirouettes beneath my uncle’s portrait, and now and again pausing to make a comical grimace at his forbidding countenance, while i entertained her mistress at its further end—must needs be pricked by the desire to study the important document, which i had, as i have said, already submitted to her view.
-struck by her sudden silence and stillness, i rose and crossed the room to find her with the parchment rolled out before her, absorbed in contemplation, her elbows on the table, her face leaning on her hands. with a fierce rush of blood to my cheeks, in a confusion that set every pulse throbbing, i attempted to withdraw from her the evidence of what must seem the most impudent delusion. but she held tight with her elbows, and then, disregarding my muttered explanation that i intended to rub out at once the nonsense i had written in a moment of idleness, she laid her small finger upon the place, and, looking at me gravely, said:
-the whole room whirled round with me.
-“my god,” i cried, “don’t mock me!”
-but she, with a new ring of feeling in her voice, said earnestly:
-“she has such misery before her if her father carries out his will.”
-to hear these words from her, who of all others must be in her mistress’s confidence, ought, however amazing to reason and common sense, to have been a spur to one whose ambition soared so high. nevertheless, i hesitated. to be honest with myself, not from a lover’s diffidence, from a lover’s dread of losing even hope, but rather from the fear of placing myself in an absurd position—of risking the deadly humiliation of a refusal.
-i dared therefore nothing but soft looks, soft words, soft pressures of the hand; and the princess received them all as she received everything that had gone before. from one in her position this might seem of itself encouragement enough in all conscience; but i waited in vain for some break in her unruffled composure—some instant in which i could mark that the princess was lost in the woman. and so what drew me most to her kept me back. at the same time a rooted distrust of the little lady-in-waiting, a certain contempt, too, for her personality as belonging to that roture so despised of my great-uncle and myself, prevented me from placing confidence in her.
-but she, nevertheless, precipitated the climax. it was three days after the scene in my great-uncle’s room, one sunday morning, beside the holy-water font in the little chapel of schreckendorf castle, whither, upon the invitation of its present visitors—my own priest being ill, poor man, of an ague—i had betaken myself to hear mass. the princess had passed out first, and had condescended, smiling, to brush the pious drops from my finger; but mademoiselle ottilie paused as she too touched with hers my outstretched hand, and said in my ear as crossly as a spoilt child:
-“you are not a very ardent lover, m. de jennico. the days are going by; the countess schreckendorf is beginning to speak quite plain again. it is impossible that her highness should be left in this liberty much longer.”
-i caught her hand as she would have hurried away.
-“if i could be sure that this is not some foolish jest,” i said in a fierce whisper in her ear.
-and she to me back again as fiercely:
-that settled it.
-i rode straight home, though i was expected to have joined the ladies in some expedition. i spent the whole day in a most intolerable state of agitation; and then, my mind made up, i sat down after supper to write, beneath my uncle’s portrait. and the first half of the night went by in writing and re-writing the letter which was to offer the hand and heart of basil jennico to the princess marie ottilie of lausitz.
-i wrote and tore up till the ground around me was strewn with the fragments of paper; and now i seemed too bold, when the whole incongruity and absurdity of my desire took tangible form to mock me in the silence of the night; and now too humble, when in the flickering glimmer of candle-light my great-uncle would frown down upon me, and i could hear him say:
-“remember that thou jennico bist!”
-at last a letter lay before me by which i resolved to abide. i believe that it was an odd mixture of consciousness of my own temerity in aspiring so high, and at the same time of conviction that the house of jennico could only confer, and not receive, honour. i even proposed to present myself boldly with my credentials at the court of lausitz (and here of course the famous pedigree came in once more), and i modestly added that, considering my wealth and connections, i ventured to hope the duke, her father, might favourably consider my pretensions.
-this written and sealed, i was able to sleep for the rest of the night, but was awake again with dawn and counting the minutes until i could decently despatch a mounted messenger to schreckendorf.
-when the man rode forth i believe it was a little after eight; and i know that it was on the stroke of one when i heard his horse’s hoofs ringing again in the courtyard. but time had no measure for the strange agony of doubt in which i passed those hours, not (once again have i to admit it) because i loved her too dearly to bear the thought of life without her, but because of my fierce pride, which would not brook the shame of a refusal.
-i called in a frenzy to hurry the lagging fool into my presence; and yet when he laid the letter on my table i stared at the great seal without daring to open it. and when at last i did so my hand trembled like an aspen leaf.
-“monsieur de jennico,” it began abruptly, “i ought to call you mad, for what you propose is nothing less indeed than madness. you little know the fetters that bind such lives as mine, and i could laugh and weep together to think of what the duke, my father, would say were you really to present yourself before him as you suggest.”
-so it ran, and as i read i thought i was contemned, and in my fury would have crushed the letter in my hand, when a word below caught my eye, and with an intensity of joy on a par only with the passion of wounded pride that had preceded it, i read on:
-“but, dear monsieur de jennico,” so ran the letter then, “since you love me, and since you honour me by telling me so; since you offer me so generously all you have to give, i will be honest with you and tell you that my present life has no charm for me. i know only too well what the future holds for me in my own home, and i am willing to trust myself to you and to your promises rather than face the lot already drawn for me.
-“therefore, monsieur de jennico, if it be true that, as you say, all your happiness depends upon my answer, i trust it may be for the benefit of both that i should say ’yes’ to you to-day. but what is to be must be secretly done, and soon are you willing, to obtain your desire, to risk a little, when i am willing to risk so much in granting it? if so, meet my lady-in-waiting to-day at six, alone, where we first met, and she will tell you all that i have decided.”
-it was signed simply—“marie ottilie.”
-there was no hint of answering love to my passionate declaration, but i did not miss it. i had won my princess, and the few clear words in which she laid bare before me the whole extent of my presumption only added to the exquisite zest of my conquest.
-it was a very autumn day—autumn comes quickly in these lands. it had been raining, and i rode down from the higher level into a sea of white writhing mists. it was still and warm—one of those heavy days that as a rule seem like to clog the blood and fill one with reasonless foreboding. i remember all that now; but i know that there was no place for foreboding in my exulting heart as i sallied out full early to the trysting-place.
-the mare i rode, because of the close atmosphere and her own headstrong temper, was in a great lather when i arrived at the little pine-wood, and i dismounted and began to lead her gently to and fro (for i loved the pretty creature, who was as fond and skittish as a woman) that she might cool by degrees and take no injury. i was petting and fondling her sleek coat, when of a sudden, without my having had the least warning of her coming, i turned to find mademoiselle ottilie before me.
-she looked at me straight with one of those odd searching looks which i had now and again seen her fix upon me; and without either “good-even” or “how-do-you-do,” she said abruptly:
-“i saw you coming all the way along the white road from the moment it turns the corner, and i saw how your mare fought you, and how difficult it was to bring her past the great beam of the well yonder. you made her obey, but you have not left a scratch upon her sides—yet you wear spurs.”
-she looked at me with the most earnest inquiry, and, ruffled by the futility of the question when so much was at stake, i said to her somewhat sharply:
-“what has this to do, mademoiselle, with our meeting here to-day?”
-“it has this to do, monsieur,” she answered me composedly, “that her highness’s interests are as dear to me as my own, and that i am glad to learn that the man she is to wed has a merciful heart. i know a man,” she went on, “in our own country who passes for the finest, the bravest, the most gallant, but when he brings a horse in from the chase its legs will be trembling and it will be panting so that it can scarce draw breath, because the rider is so brave and dashing that he must go the fastest of all, and he will have left his mark upon the poor beast’s sides in great furrows where he has ploughed them with his spurs. he is greatly admired by every one; but his horses die, and his hounds shrink when he moves his hand: that is what my country-people call being manly—being a real cavalier!”
-the scorn of her tone was something beyond the mere girlish pettishness i generally associated with her; but to me, except as she represented or influenced her mistress, she had never had any interest. and so again impatiently i brought her back to the object of our meeting.
-“her highness has entrusted you with a message?” i asked.
-“her highness would first of all know,” said the maid of honour, “if you fully realise the difficulties you may bring upon yourself by the marriage you propose?”
-“the princess,” said i proudly, “has condescended to say that she will trust herself to me. after that, as far as i am concerned, there can be no question of difficulty. as for her, if she will consent to accompany me to england, no trouble or reproach need ever reach her ears. if she prefers to remain here, i shall none the less be able to protect my wife, were it against the whole empire itself.”
-“that is the right spirit,” said mademoiselle ottilie, nodding her head approvingly. “what you say has not got a grain of common sense, but that is all as it should be. and next,” she continued, drawing closer to me, for there was a twilight dimness about us, and standing on tiptoe in the endeavour to bring her gaze on a level with mine, “her highness wishes to know”—she dropped her voice a little—“if you love her very much?”
-as if the gaze of those yellow hazel eyes of hers had cast a sudden revealing light upon my soul, i stood abashed and dumb, self-convicted by my silence. love! did i love her whom i would make my wife? taken up with schemes of vainglory and ambition, what room had i in my heart for love? in all my triumph at having won her, was there one qualifying thread of tenderness? would i, in fine, have sought the woman, beautiful though she was, were she not the princess?
-in a sort of turmoil i asked myself these things under the compelling earnestness of mademoiselle ottilie’s eyes, and everything in myself looked strange and hideous to myself, as beneath a vivid lightning flash the most familiar scene assumes a singular and appalling aspect.
-in another moment she moved away and turned aside from me; and then, even as after the lightning flash all things resume their normal aspect, i wondered at my own weak folly, and my blood rose hotly against the impertinence that had evoked it.
-“by what right,” said i, “mademoiselle, do you ask me such a question? if it be indeed by order of her highness, pray tell her that when she will put it to me herself i will answer it to herself.”
-the maid of honour wheeled round with her arch, inscrutable smile.
-“oh!” she said, “believe me, you have answered me very well. i was already convinced of the sincerity and ardour of your attachment to ... her highness—so convinced, indeed, that i am here to-night for the sole purpose of helping both you and her to your most insane of marriages. the princess is accustomed to rely upon me for everything, and upon me, therefore, falls the whole burden of preparation and responsibility. whether the end of all this will be a dungeon for the lady-in-waiting, if indeed the duke does not have her executed for high treason, is naturally a contingency which neither of you will consider worth a moment’s thought. it is quite certain, however, that without me you would both do something inconceivably stupid, and ruin all. but, voyons, monsieur de jennico,” she went on with sudden gravity of demeanour, “this is no time for pleasantry. it is a very serious matter. you are wasting precious moments in a singularly light-hearted fashion, it seems to me.”
-the reproach came well from her! but she left me no time to protest.
-“i am here,” she said, “as you know, to tell you what the princess has decided, and how we must act if the whole thing is not to fail. first of all, the arrival of some important person from the court of lausitz may take place any day, and then—’bonjour!’” she blew an airy kiss and waved her hand, while with a cold thrill i realised the irrefutable truth of her words.
-“if it is to be,” she went on, unconsciously repeating almost the exact text of her mistress’s letter to me, “it must be at once and in secret. mind, not a word to a soul till all is accomplished! on your honour i lay it! and she, her highness, enjoins it upon you not to betray her to any single human being before you have acquired the right to protect her. it is surely not too much to ask!”
-she spoke with deep solemnity, and yet characteristically cut short my asseverations.
-“and, that being settled, and you being willing to take this lady for your wife,—probably without a stiver, and certainly with her father’s curse” (i smiled proudly in the arrogance of my heart: all duke as he was i did not doubt, once the first storm over, but that my exalted father-in-law would find very extenuating circumstances for his wilful daughter’s choice).—“that being settled,” continued miss ottilie, “it only remains to know—are you prepared to enter the marriage state two nights hence?”
-“i wish,” said i, and could not keep the note of exultation from my voice at having the rare prize thus actually within my reach—“i wish you would ask me for some harder proof of my complete devotion to her highness.”
-“well, then,” she said hastily, whispering as if the pines could overhear us, “so be it! i have not been idle to-day, and i have laid the plot. you know the little church in that wretched village of wilhelmsdhal we posted through two days ago? the priest there is very old and very poor and like a child, because he has always lived among the peasants; and now indeed he is almost too old to be their priest any more. i saw him to-day, and told him that two who loved each other were in great straits because people wanted to wed the maiden to a bad and cruel man,—that is true, monsieur de jennico,—i told him that these two would die of grief, or lose their souls, perhaps, were they separated, because of the love they bore each other.... there, sir, i permitted myself a poetical license! to be brief, i promised him in your name what seemed a great sum for his poor, a thousand thalers—you will see to that—and he has promised me to wed you on wednesday night, at eight of the clock, secretly, in his poor little church. he is so old and so simple it was like misleading a child, but nevertheless, the cause being good, i trust i may be forgiven. drive straight to the church, and there you will find one who will direct you. the princess will not see you again till she meets you before the altar. you will bring her home to your castle. a maid will accompany her. and that is all. adieu, monsieur de jennico.”
-she stretched out her hand and her voice trembled.
-“you will not see the maid of honour perhaps ever again. her task is done,” she added.
-i took her hand, touched by her accent of earnestness, and gratefully awoke to the fact that she alone had made the impossible possible to my desire. i looked at her face, close to mine in the faint light; and as she smiled at me, a little sadly, i was struck with the delicate beauty of the curve of her lip, and the exquisite finishing touch of the dimple that came and went beside it, and the thought flashed into my mind—“that little maid may one day blossom into the sort of woman that drives men mad.”
-she slipped her hand from mine as i would have kissed it, and nodded at me with a return of the cool impudence that had so often vexed me.
-“good-bye, gallant cavalier,” she said mockingly.
-she whistled as if for a dog, and i saw the black figure of the nurse start from the shadow of the trees a few yards away, and, meeting, they joined in the mist and merged swiftly into it.
-whereupon i mounted the mare, who was sorely tried by her long waiting; and as we cantered homewards i was haunted, through the extraordinary blaze of my triumphant thoughts, to my own exasperation and surprise, oddly and unwillingly, by the arch sweetness of the maid of honour’s smile.
-and once (i blushed all alone in the darkness for the shame of such a thought in my mind at such a moment) i caught myself picturing the sweetness a man might find in pressing his lips upon the tantalising dimple.
-when supper was over i bade my servants retire. they had thought me cracked, and with reason, i believe, for the way in which i had wandered about the house all day, moving and shifting and preparing, and giving orders to no seeming purpose. i sat down in my uncle’s room, and, drawing the chair he had died in opposite his portrait, i held a strange conclave with (as i believed then) his ghost. i know now that if any spirit communed with me that night it was my own evil angel.
-i had had the light set where it best illuminated the well-known countenance. at my elbow was a goodly bottle of his famous red wine.
-“na, old one,” said i aloud, leaning back in my chair in luxurious self-satisfaction and proud complacency, “am i doing well for the old name? who knows if one day thou countest not kings among thy descendants!”
-methought the old man grinned back at me, his hideous tusked grin.
-“‘tis well, kerlchen,” he said.
-i unrolled the pedigree. that cursed parchment, what a part it has played in my life!—as evil a part, as fatal as the apple by which our first parents fell. it is pride that damns us all! and i read aloud the entries i had made: they sounded very well, and so my uncle thought—or seemed to—for i swear he winked at me and said:
-“write it in ink, lad; that must stand clear, for das klingt schön.”
-and then, though i was very comfortable, i had to get up and find the ink and engross the noble record of my marriage, filling in the date with care, for my uncle, dead or alive, was not one to disobey.
-“‘tis good,” then again said my uncle, “and thou dost well. but remember, without i had done so well, lad, thou hadst not risen thus. and what,” added my uncle, sniggering, “will the brüderl say when he hears the news—hey, nephew basil?”
-i had thought of that myself: it was another glorious pull over the renegade!
-whereupon my uncle—it was surely the proud fiend himself bent upon my destruction—fell to telling me i must write to my family at once, that the letter might be despatched in the morning.
-i protested. i was bound to secrecy, i told him. but he scowled, and would have it that i must remember my duty to my mother, and he further made me a very long sermon upon the curses that will befall a bad child. and thus egged on—and what could i do?—i indited a very flaming document indeed, and under the seal of the strictest confidence made my poor mother acquainted with all the greatness her son was bringing into his family, and bade her rejoice with him.
-the night was well worn when i had finished, and the bottle of potent burgundy was nearly out too. then, meaning to rise and withdraw, i fell asleep in my chair. it was grey dawn before i awoke, and i was cold as i stretched myself and staggered to my feet. in the weird thin light my uncle’s face now shone out drawn and austere, with something of the look i remembered it to have borne in death.
-but it was the dawn of my wedding-day, and i went to my bed—stumbling over old jános, who sat, the faithful dog! asleep on the threshold—to dream of my wedding ... a wedding with royal pomp, to the blare of trumpets and the acclamations of a multitude:
-“jennico hoch—hoch dem edlen jennico!”
-the village of wilhelmsdhal is quite an hour’s drive (even at the pace of my good horses) along the downhill road which leads from my uplifted mansion into the valley land; it takes two hours for the return way.
-for safety’s sake i made the announcement of my approaching marriage to the household as late in the day as possible, and, though sorely tempted to betray the exalted rank of the future mistress to the astonished major-domo, to whom jános, with his usual imperturbability, interpreted my commands, i refrained, with a sense that the impression created would only after all be heightened if the disclosure were withheld till the actual apparition of the newly-made wife.
-but in the vain arrogance of my delight i ordered every detail of the reception which was to greet us, and which i was determined should be magnificent enough to make up for the enforced hole-and-corner secrecy of the marriage ceremony.
-schultz the factor, my chief huntsman, and the highest among my people were to head torch-light processions of their particular subordinates at stated places along the avenue that led upwards to the house. there was to be feasting and music in the courtyard. flowers were to be strewn from the very threshold of her new home to the door of my princess’s bridal chamber.
-god knows all the extravagance i planned! it makes me sick now to think back on it!
-and the wedding! ah! that was a wedding to be proud of!
-it was a dull and cloudy evening, with a high, moist wind that came in wild gusts, sweeping over the plains and tearing the leaves from the forest trees, bringing with it now a swift moonlit clearing upon the lowering face of heaven, now only thicker darkness and torrents of rain. it was all but night already in the forest roads when i started, and quite night as i emerged from out of the shelter of the mountains into the flat country. jános sat on the box and my chasseurs hung on behind, and my four horses kept up a splendid pace upon the level ground. i had dressed very fine, as became a bridegroom; but fortunate it was that i had brought a dark cloak with me, for a fearful burst of storm-rain came down upon me as i jumped out from the carriage at the church door. and indeed, despite that protection, my fine white satin clothes were splashed with mud, my carefully powdered queue sadly disarranged in the few steps i had to take before reaching shelter, for the wind blew a very hurricane, and the rain came down like the rain of the deluge.
-the church porch was lit only by an ill-trimmed wick floating in a saucer of oil; but by the flickering light, envious and frail as it was, i discerned at once the figure of mademoiselle ottilie’s nurse awaiting us. without a word she beckoned to me to follow her into the church.
-the place struck cold and damp with a death-like closeness after the warm blustering air i had just left. it was even darker than the porch outside, its sole illumination proceeding from the faint glow of the little sanctuary lamp and the sullen yellow flame of two or three tallow candles stuck on spikes before a rough wooden statue on a pillar at one side. i, flanked by jános and his two satellites, followed the gaunt figure to the very altar rails, where, with an imperious gesture, she signed to me to take my place.
-then i heard her feet go down the aisle, the door open and close, and we were left alone. in the silence of the church—the most poverty-stricken and desolate, the most miserable, the most ruined to be yet used as the house of god, i think i had ever entered—at the foot of the altar of my faith, a sudden misgiving seized upon me. how would all this end? i was going to bind myself for life with the most solemn vows. would all the honour and glory of the alliance compensate me for the loss of my liberty?
-i was only twenty-six, and i knew of her who was henceforth to be my second self no more, rather less, than i knew of any of the barefooted maids that slipped grinning about the passages of tollendhal. to be frank with myself, the glamour of gratified vanity once stripped from before the eye of my inmost soul, what was the naked, hideous truth? i had no more love for her—man for woman—than for rosy kathi or black-browed sarolta!
-here my reflections were broken in upon by that very patter of naked soles that had been in my thoughts, and a little ragged boy, in a dilapidated surplice, ran round the sanctuary from some back door, and fell to lighting a pair of candles on the altar, a proceeding which only seemed once more to heighten the darkness. presently, in a surplice and cassock as tattered as his acolyte’s, with long white hair lying unkempt upon his shoulders, an old priest—in sooth, the oldest man i have ever seen alive, i believe—came forth with tottering steps; before him the tattered urchin, behind him a sacristan well-nigh as antique as himself, and as utterly pauperised.
-these were to be the ministers of my grand marriage!
-but almost immediately a fresh clamour of opening doors, and a light, sedate footfall, struck my ear, and all doubt and dismay disappeared like magic. closely enveloped in the folds of a voluminous dark velvet cloak, with its hood drawn forward over her head, and beneath this shade her face muffled in the gathers of a white lace veil, i knew the stately height of my bride as she advanced towards me—and the sight of her, the sound of her brave step, set my heart dancing with the old triumph.
-we were drenched with a perfect shower of holy water out of a tin bucket; and then, man and wife, we went to the sacristy to sign our names by the light of one smoking tallow candle.
-i dashed mine forth with splendid flourish—the good old name of jennico of farringdon dane and tollendhal, all my qualifications, territorial, military, and inherited. and she penned hers in the flowing handwriting i already knew, marie ottilie: the lofty, simple signature, as i thought with swelling heart, of sovereigns!
-i pressed into the old priest’s cold fingers, as he peered at us from the book, right and left, with dull, bewildered eyes, in which i thought to see the dawn of a vague misgiving, a purse bulging with notes to the value of double the sum promised; and then, with her hand upon my arm, i led her to my carriage.
-the rain had begun again and the wind was storming when we drove off, my wife and i. and for a little while—a long time it seemed to me—there was silence between us, broken only by the beating of the drops against the panes of the carriage, and the steady tramp of my horses’ hoofs on the wet road. now that i had accomplished my wish, a strange embarrassment fell upon me. i had no desire to speak of love to the woman i had won. i had won her, i had triumphed—that was sufficient. i would not have undone my deed for the world; but none the less the man who finds himself the husband and has never been the lover is placed in a singular position.
-i looked at the veiled figure beside me and wondered at its stillness. the light of the little lantern inside the carriage flickered upon the crimson of the velvet cloak and the white folds of the veil that hid her face from me. then i awoke to the consciousness of the sorry figure i must present in her eyes, and, drawing from my pocket a ring,—the richest i had been able to find among my aunt’s rich store,—i took the hand that lay half hidden and passive beside me, meaning to slip the jewel over the plain gold circlet i had already placed upon it. now, as i took the hand into my own, i was struck with its smallness, its slenderness, its lightness; i remembered that even in the dark church, and with but the tips of the fingers resting in my own, a similar impression had vaguely struck me. i lifted it, spread out the little, long, thin fingers—too often had i kissed the dimpled firm hand of her serene highness not to know the difference! this was my wife’s hand; there was my ring. but who was my wife?
-i felt like a man in a bad dream. i do not know if i spoke or not; but every fibre of me was crying out aloud, as it were, in a frenzy. i suppose i turned, or looked; at any rate my companion, as if in answer to a question, said composedly:
-“yes, sir, it is so.” at the same moment, putting up her veil with her right hand, she disclosed to me the features of ottilie, the lady-in-waiting.
-i must have stared like a madman. for very fear of my own violence, i dared not move or speak. mademoiselle ottilie, or, to call her by her proper name, madame de jennico, very composedly removed her veil from her hair, pushed back her hood, and withdrew the hand which i still unconsciously clutched. then she turned and looked at me as if waiting for me to speak first. i said in a sort of whisper:
-“what does this mean?”
-“it means, monsieur de jennico, that, for your own good, you have been deceived.”
-there was a little quiver in her voice. was it fear? was it mockery? i thought the latter, and the strenuous control i was endeavouring to put upon my seething passion of fury and bewilderment broke down. i threw up my arms, the natural gesture of a man driven beyond bounds, and as i did so felt the figure beside me make a sudden, abrupt movement. i thought that she shrank from me—that she feared lest i, i, basil jennico, would strike her, a woman! this aroused me at once to a sense of my own position, and at the same time to one of bitterest contempt for her. but as i wheeled round to gaze at her, i saw that whatever charges might be laid upon her—and god knows she had wrought a singular evil upon me!—the accusation of cowardice could not be part of them. her face showed white, indeed, in the pale light, her features set; but her eyes looked fearlessly into mine. every line of her figure expressed the most dauntless determination. she was braced to endure, ready to face, what she had drawn upon herself. this was no craven, rather the very spirit of daring.
-“in god’s name,” i cried, “why have you done this?”
-“and did you think,” she said, looking at me, i thought, with a sort of pity, “that princesses, out of fairy tales, are so ready to marry lovers of low degree, no matter how rich or how gallant? oh, i know what you would say—that you are well-born; but for all that, princesses do not wed with such as you, sir!”
-every drop of my blood revolted against the smart of this humiliation. stammering and protesting, my wrath overflowed my lips.
-“but this deception,—this impossible, insane fraud,—what is its object? what is your object? you encouraged me—you incited me. confusion!” i cried and clasped my head. “i think i am going mad!”
-“her serene highness thought that she would like to see me settled in life,” said my bride, with the old look of derision on her face.
-i seized her hand.
-“it was the princess’s plan, then?” i asked in a whisper; and it seemed to me as if everything turned to crimson before my eyes.
-she met my look—and it must have been a terrible one—with the same dauntlessness as before, and answered, after a little pause, with cool deliberation:
-“yes, it was the princess’s plan.”
-the carriage drove on through the rain; and again there was silence between us. my pulses beat loud in my ears; i saw, as if written in fire, the whole devilish plot to humiliate me for my presumption. i saw myself as i must appear to that high-born lady—a ridiculous aspirant whose claim was too absurd even to be seriously dealt with. and she, the creature who had lent herself to my shame, without whose glib tongue and pert audacious counsels i had never presumed, who had dared to carry out, smiling, so gross a fraud, to wear my ring and front me still—how was i to deal with her?
-these were the thoughts that surged backward and forwards in my mind, futile wreckage on stormy sea, in the first passion of my anger.
-“you know,” i said at last, and felt like a man who touches solid earth at last, “that this is no marriage.”
-her countenance expressed at this the most open amazement and the most righteous indignation.
-“how, sir,” she cried—“has not the priest wedded us? are we not of the same faith, and does not the same church bind us? have not we together received a most solemn sacrament? have not you, basil, and i, marie ottilie, sworn faith to each other until death do us part? you may like it or not, monsieur de jennico, but we are none the less man and wife, as fast as church can make us.”
-as they say men do at the point of some violent death, so i saw in the space of a second my whole life stretched before me, past and future.
-i saw the two alternatives that lay to my hand, and their full consequences.
-i knew what the audacious little deceiver beside me ignored—that it rested upon my pleasure alone to acknowledge or not the validity of this marriage. let me take the step which as a man of honour i ought to take, which as a jennico and my uncle’s heir i was pledged in conscience to take, it was to hold myself up to universal mockery—and i should lay bare before a grinning world the whole extent of my pretensions and their requital.
-on the other hand, let me keep my secret for a while and seemingly accept my wife: the whole point of the cursed jest would fail.
-let me show the princess that my love for her was not so overpowering, nor my disappointment so heart-breaking, but that i had been able to find temporary compensation in the substitute with whom she had herself provided me. there are more souls lost, i believe, through the fear of ridicule than through all the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil!
-my resolution was promptly taken: my revenge would be more exquisite and subtle than the trick that had been played upon me.
-i would take her to my home, this damsel whom no feeling of maidenly restraint, of womanly compassion, had kept from acting so base a part; and for a while, at least, not all the world should guess but that in winning her my dearest wish had been accomplished. afterwards, when i had tamed that insolent spirit, when i had taught this wild tassel-gentle to come to my hand and fly at my bidding—and i smiled to myself as i laid that plan which was full as cruel as the deception that had been practised upon me, and which i am ashamed to set out in black and white before me now—afterwards, when i chose to repudiate the woman who had usurped my name through the most barefaced imposture, if i knew the law both of land and church, i could not be gainsaid. i had warned her that this marriage was no marriage. what could a gentleman do more?
-a sudden calmness fell over me; it struck me that the laugh would be on my side after all.
-my companion was first to speak. she settled herself in the corner of the carriage something like a bird that settles down in its nest, and, still with her eyes, which now looked very dark in the uncertain light, fixed upon me, said in a tone of the utmost security:
-“you can beat me of course, if you like, and you can murder me if you are very, very angry; but you cannot undo what is done. i am your wife!” she gave a little nod which was the perfection of impudence. she was like some wild thing of the woods that has never seen a human being before, and is absolutely fearless because of its absolute ignorance. i ought to have pitied her, seeing how young, how childish, she was. but though there sprang into my heart strange feelings, and that dimple tempted me more and more, there was no relenting in my angry soul. only i told myself that my revenge would be sweet. and i was half distraught, i think, between the conflict of pride, disappointment, and the strange alluring charm that this being who had so betrayed me was yet beginning to have upon me.
-the speed of our four horses was slackening; we were already on the mountain road which led to my castle. there was a glimmer of moon again, the rain-beat was silent on the panes, and i could see from a turning in the road the red gleam of the torch-bearers whom i had ordered for the bridal welcome.
-the monstrous absurdity of the situation struck me afresh, and my resolution grew firmer. how could i expose myself, a poor tricked fool, to the eyes of that people who regarded me as something not unlike a demi-god? no, i would keep the woman. she had sought me, not i her. i would keep her for a space at least, and let no man suspect that she was not my choice. and then, in the ripeness of time, when i would sell this old rook’s nest and betake me home to england as a dutiful nephew, why, then my lady princess should have her maid of honour back again, and see if she would find it so easy to settle her in life once more! what pity should i have upon her who had no pity for me, who had sold her maiden pride in such a sordid barter for a husband? this was no mere tool of a woman’s scorn. no! contemned by her i had wooed, played with, no doubt i had been; but i had seen enough of the relations of the two girls not to know well who was the moving spirit in all their actions. this lady had had an eye to her own interests while lending herself to my humiliation. thinking upon it now with as cool a brain as i might,—and once i had settled upon my resolve, the first frenzy of my rage died away,—i told myself that the new madam jennico lied when she said it was altogether the princess’s plan; and indeed i afterwards heard from her own lips that in this i had guessed but a third of the actual truth.
-and now, as we were drawing close to the first post where my over-docile and zealous retainers were already raising a fearful clamour, and i must perforce assume some attitude to face the people, i turned to my strange bride, and said to her:
-“do you think, then, it is the right of a husband to strike or slay his wife? if so, i marvel that you should have been so eager to enter upon the wedded state.”
-she put out her hand to me, and for the first time her composure wavered. the tears welled into her eyes and her lip quivered. lighthouse illumination. the dioptric apparatus was of the sixteen panel type, so that the rays were thrown out in sixteen brilliantly white horizontal spokes. to one approaching the lighthouse at night-time, the effect in the sky was somewhat curious. it recalled a huge and illuminated cart wheel or catherine wheel, lying flat on its side, throwing its rays to all points of the compass in a steadily moving circle. this practice had been borrowed from the french, who went so far as to introduce a twenty-four panel system, and, as in france, the st. catherine’s light, when first brought into service, was not a complete success. the french considered that, by distributing the light through as many panels as possible, the question of bringing the flashes into action at short intervals would be facilitated, ignoring the fact that by so doing the intensity of each ray was impoverished. in other words, with the twenty-four panel light each panel only received and threw out one-twenty-fourth part of the volume of light emitted by the arc. similarly, in the st. catherine’s light only one-sixteenth part of the light produced was thrown through each panel. a few years ago the optical system was replaced by an apparatus having fewer panels. the light thrown from the isle of wight pharos, with its beam exceeding 5,000,000 candle-power, represents a marked advance upon the oil light which it displaced, and certainly it ranks as the most brilliant light in the english channel.
-a few years ago another magnificent light was brought into service in the north sea by the installation of electricity in the lighthouse of heligoland. with characteristic teuton thoroughness, the germans discussed the question of the illuminant for this beacon in all its bearings, and resolved to introduce the most powerful light possible. this decision was influenced by the dangerous character of the waters washing the island, as it is flanked on all sides by highly perilous ridges and sandbanks, which must become accentuated owing to the heavy sea-erosion that prevails.
-the german authorities investigated the various electrical installations that had been laid down for lighthouse work, with a view to discovering the most suitable system, the advantages and defects of existing electric lights, and how the drawbacks might be overcome most successfully. meantime the famous siemens firm discovered a means of grinding glass mirrors into parabolic form, and this discovery was accepted as the solution to the problem.
-in this type of mirror the back is silvered. the metallic polished surface is protected completely from mechanical injury and from all possibility of tarnishing. the inventors claim that mirrors so prepared are able to compete successfully with lenses and totally reflecting prisms--in fact, it was maintained that the silvered glass parabolic mirror possessed the advantages of greater reflecting power and enhanced accuracy, with less divergence of the beam of light.
-owing to the perfection of the lenses and prisms system of lighthouse optics, the introduction of arc lights in conjunction with parabolic mirrors was received with considerable hesitation. in order to dispel these doubts, the above-mentioned firm forthwith embarked upon an elaborate series of comparative tests at nuremberg to ascertain the relative value of the two systems, and as a result of these experiments they concluded that quite as good an effect is obtainable with the arc and parabolic mirror as with the best examples of any other method.
-accordingly, the authorities decided to install the system in the heligoland lighthouse. they stipulated that the intensity of the beam of light should be at least 30,000,000 candle-power, with a maximum current of 100 ampères. the duration of the flash was to be one-tenth of a second, followed by eclipses of five seconds’ duration.
-the electrical engineering firm entrusted with the contract fulfilled these conditions by mounting three searchlights spaced 120 degrees apart upon a rotating platform. that is to say, each light is projected outwards from a point equal to a third of the circumference of a circle. the mirror diameter was settled at 75 centimetres (29½ inches) and the focal length at 250 millimetres (10 inches), the current being taken at 34 ampères when the table made four revolutions per minute.
-subsequently a fourth searchlight was introduced into the apparatus, for the purpose of practical experiments and observations concerning the duration of the light-flash. this fourth unit was mounted above the three searchlights, but in the axis itself. it is so disposed that its flash comes midway between any of the two below, and it is arranged to rotate three times as quickly as the main group of lights. accordingly, the duration of the flash thrown from the fourth searchlight is only one-third of the flash thrown by the others--that is, one-thirtieth of a second. this lamp is provided with all the necessary mechanism for keeping it in steady rotation at the increased speed, and for drawing current from its feed-cable.
-before the installation was placed in the lighthouse at heligoland, it was submitted to searching tests at the nuremberg works of the builders. these trials proved that with a current of only 26 ampères the average intensity was as high as 34,000,000 candle-power, with a maximum of nearly 40,000,000 candle-power; while with 34 ampères the average intensity rose to approximately 40,000,000, with a maximum of nearly 43,000,000 candle-power. accordingly, the terms of the contract were fulfilled completely.
-on the other hand, the hornum electric light, which is the most modern of its type in germany, is more economical, although by no means so powerful. the tower is of cast-steel, and carries two electric lights; while about half a mile distant is a second tower, which throws a third electric light. in the main tower, on the ground floor, is installed the electric generating plant (in duplicate), together with all accessories, such as switchboards, etc. the floor above is devoted to housing 100 accumulators, which are charged during the day. this task can be completed by one generating set in about six hours. a single charge is sufficient to keep the three lights going for ten or eleven hours, and the lights are controlled by a simple throw-over switch. by this arrangement the cost of the maintenance of the light is reduced very appreciably, as only one keeper is on duty at a time, the station being equipped with two men, who have proved adequate for the purpose.
-above the accumulator-room is the storeroom and a general workshop, followed by a bedroom and above that the service-room. as only one keeper is on duty at a time, he is provided with ample devices whereby he can summon his comrade in times of emergency; the generating machinery is also controllable from this floor. from the service-room the lower light-room is entered. this is a secondary or back light in the range, the front light being in the tower half a mile away. each of these two light-rooms is fitted with two 150 candle-power incandescent electric lights, but only one is burned in each set at a time: the second is a reserve. should the light in action fail from any cause, although the keeper is warned of the occurrence, he does not have to stir a finger to bring the reserve light into service. the short-circuit produced by the accident to the light automatically revolves the table upon which the lamps are mounted, swings the reserve light into focus, and then sets it going.
-above the secondary light in the main tower is the principal beacon, comprising a brilliant rapidly-flashing light, the characteristic of which is groups of two flashes alternating with four flashes, the cycle being completed once in thirty seconds. the optical apparatus has been devised especially for the “differential arc-light,” as it is called, with a reflecting lens having a focal distance of 250 millimetres (10 inches), the lens itself being 1,180 millimetres (approximately 47 inches) in diameter. in front of the lens is placed a disperser, having a diameter of 1,200 millimetres (48 inches) whereby the ray of light is dispersed through an arc of 10½ degrees. before the disperser is the means for producing the characteristic flash. this comprises a blind, or shutter, which is opened and closed by mechanism adjusted to requirements; while the rotating mechanism, instead of being weight-driven, is actuated by an electric motor.
-the “differential arc,” which is utilized in this installation, is considered by german engineers to be the best system that has yet been devised for the exacting purposes of lighthouse engineering, and the description has arisen from the disposition of the carbons. while the positive carbon is held horizontally, the negative carbon is placed at an angle of 70 degrees thereto, and only the crater of the positive carbon is considered for the lighting effect, this being placed in the focus of the apparatus. the positive carbon is 3/5 inch, and the negative carbon 2/5 inch, in diameter, although both have a common length of 19 inches, which is sufficient for nine hours’ service. the beam emitted is of some 5,000,000 candle-power. this is one of the cheapest electric stations at present in operation, the annual running charges averaging less than £300, or $1,500.
-some lighthouses in australian waters
-although the waters washing the australian continent are not so thickly intersected with steamship lanes, and the mercantile traffic is not so dense there as in the seas of the northern hemisphere, yet, owing to the activity in emigration from great britain, as well as to the increasing prosperity of the various rising industries under the southern cross, they are becoming more crowded with each succeeding year. the efficient lighting of the coasts is an inevitable corollary of this expansion. lighthouse engineering, however, is unavoidably expensive, especially when sea-rocks demand indication.
-from time to time severe strictures are passed by european shipping interests upon the apparent lack of coastal lights in australasian waters, and the various government departments concerned with this responsibility are often accused of parsimony and neglect. unfortunately, the greater number of these critics are apt to consider the situation through european glasses; to take the countries of the old world and the united states as a basis for their arguments, and to ignore local conditions. it has taken a century or more for europe and the united states to develop their respective organizations, and in the majority of instances there are ample funds from which expenses in this direction may be met, especially when passing shipping is mulcted a small sum in light-dues for the purpose. when the shipping is heavy, these levies are certain to represent in the aggregate a large sum every year.
-from time to time new zealand has been roundly assailed for its apparent negligence in the extension of its lighthouse system. it maintains thirty-four lighthouses and beacons, which represent a capital outlay of over £200,000, or $1,000,000. the total maintenance charges average about £16,500, or $82,000, per annum, while the dues collected from shipping for the maintenance of these aids to navigation approximate £38,000, or $190,000, per annum. the balance is not amazing, and certainly is not sufficient to warrant heavy expenditure towards new lights, as the installation of such warnings nowadays is highly expensive if they are to conform with modern requirements. if the demands of the critics were met, and a comprehensive scheme, such as is advised, were taken in hand, the shipowner would have to pay to meet the deficiency on the revenue account, and this individual complains that he is overtaxed already.
-those australian states which possess what may be described as a normal coastline--that is, one fairly free from solitary rocks rising from the sea some distance from land--are fortunate, since the sea-rock light is notoriously costly. on the other hand, lights placed on the mainland, even of the most powerful type, may be completed for a small outlay, relatively speaking.
-such a fortunate condition exists in connection with new south wales. here and there off the mainland are small reefs and ridges, but, taken on the whole, all these danger spots are adequately covered, so that the state has not been faced with searching problems of a technical or financial character in this connection. the state boasts only two “rock” lighthouses, and these obstructions are large enough to be called “islands.” the one is south solitary island, off the coast north of sydney; the other is montague island, to the south of the port. on the other hand, the mainland is very well patrolled, some thirty lights being scattered between point danger and cape howe, the respective northern and southern sea-limits of the country.
-although the light-keepers upon the rocks may consider themselves somewhat isolated, yet their plight is enviable as compared with that of some of their comrades in other parts of the world. at montague island the three keepers and their families are housed in comfortable cottages in close proximity to their ward, and they maintain a small farm, including a horse, goats, well-stocked gardens, and so forth. the keepers on south solitary island used to be able to vary the monotony of their daily or nightly round by indulgence in exciting sport. this assumed the form of rabbit trapping and hunting, as the island was overrun with these animals. one form of game must have become somewhat nauseating in time upon the menu of the keepers, but this diversion is now a thing of the past. a mysterious disease appeared among the rabbits, and its ravages were so devastating that within a short time montague island knew them no more.
-the lighthouses of new south wales deserve distinction in one direction. as specimens of architecture they are magnificent pieces of work, so that what the towers lack in romance they make up in attractiveness. the most imposing is the macquarie tower, or sydney lighthouse, mounting guard over the harbour. the first beacon was erected upon this site as far back as 1816, thereby rendering it the first lighthouse in the state, and it was fitted with an oil light, while one or two of the english lights were still open coal fires. in 1883 it was decided to modernize the lighting apparatus, so that a more powerful beam might be thrown. electricity was the illuminant selected, the machinery for the generation of the requisite current being designed for installation in the original tower. but three-quarters of a century’s exposure to the elements had rendered this building somewhat too weak to carry the requisite heavy lenses and machinery, so a new tower was projected. the old light was kept going while its successor sprang up alongside; when the latter was completed, the oil light in the famous old tower was extinguished for ever and the building demolished.
-the new lighthouse is a fine structure. at the foot of the tower is a spacious, well-lighted, and artistic one-floor building housing the electrical machinery as well as the office. the domiciles for the keepers and the engineers are placed on either side of the spreading lawn surrounding the station.
-the most southerly light upon the new south wales coastline is that at green cape, a few miles north of cape howe. as at the other stations, three keepers are maintained, being accommodated, with their families, in roomy cottages; while a small patch of land is turned to agricultural advantage, cows, horses, etc., being maintained by the men. the most easterly light on the australian continent is at cape byron. this light is perched on a dangerous cliff, which drops almost vertically into the water 371 feet below; but it is within touch of civilization, a winding road having been cut down the flank of the promontory on the land side into the neighbouring town of byron bay, so that the tradesmen’s carts are able to make their rounds up the cliff to satisfy the varied wants of the wardens of the light. one of the loneliest lights is that on norah head--bungaree norah it is called--and this is also the latest light erected by the state, as it dates from 1903. although somewhat out of the way, it is not to be compared with some of the isolated british, canadian, and united states lights, being, in fact, no more inaccessible or lonely than most localities in the australian bush.
-sugar-loaf point is one of the most serious danger spots along the shoreline, but is now well guarded with a fine lighthouse planted on its summit, the welcome rays of which are visible for many miles out to sea. the light-keepers here had a surprising discovery one morning in 1910. the satara fouled the point and was wrecked, though fortunately her passengers were succoured by passing steamers. on this vessel at the time of the disaster there was a staghound, and although, when the rescues were effected, search for the animal was made high and low on the wreck, no signs of it could be seen. it was given up as lost. some days later the lighthouse-keepers ventured to the beach below to have a look round, and to their astonishment a staghound come bounding towards them, yelping with joy at the sight of a human face. for a dog to be in such a lonely spot was a strange circumstance, but at last it was surmised to be the animal which was missed on the satara. apparently the animal clung to the crippled craft for some time, and then, realizing that the ship was abandoned, dived overboard and swam ashore. it fraternized with the keepers, and for some time kept them company at the station.
-one of the worst wrecks which have happened upon the shores of new south wales was that of the steamer ly-ce-moon. by some inexplicable means the ship got out of her course on a fine sunday night, and came to grief off green cape. the lighthouse-keepers at once hurried to the rescue, the hapless passengers, as they were got ashore, being tended at the station until they were removed to their homes. the lighthouse-keepers worked tremendously hard, but they were not entirely successful. although by herculean effort they brought a large number of people to safety, there is a small fenced enclosure in the bush behind the station where lie the remains of some fifty persons who lost their lives in the wreck, and whose bodies were washed ashore.
-while new south wales has a comparatively easy length of coastline to protect, the neighbouring colony of new zealand, on the other hand, has a wild, forbidding, and extensive stretch of shore. up to the present the government has concentrated its energies upon the illumination of the busiest reaches of water, and has planted prominent outposts at the respective extreme tips of the twin islands. during the financial year ending march 31, 1912, sixteen wrecks occurred in these seas, of which six were total losses. the most ill-famed corner appears to be the large sweeping indentation at the southern end of north island, lying between cape egmont and wellington, particularly in the vicinity of wanganui, since this stretch of coast claimed five victims. cook’s strait, which is dangerous to navigators, is well protected, however, the most prominent beacon being that on stephens island, its group-flashes, occurring every thirty seconds, being particularly powerful, and having a range of thirty-two miles.
-the marine department maintains thirty-two coastal lights, of which twenty-two are on the mainland, and ten situate on islands off the coast. they are of a varied description, ranging from powerful lights of the first order to beacons dependent upon dissolved acetylene, stored in cylinders of sufficient capacity to keep the light gleaming for sixty days continuously. some of the places in which the warning lights are placed are exceedingly lonely and inaccessible, so that the perfection of the unattended light has solved a complex problem, and has enabled many terrible stretches of forbidding coast to be well indicated.
-by permission of the lighthouse literature mission.
-painting the troubridge lighthouse, south australia.
-the first tower to be brought into service in new zealand was that on pencarrow head, to indicate the entrance to the inlet in which wellington nestles. it shed its rays for the first time on new year’s day, 1859. it is an iron structure, from the top of which a fixed white light may be picked up by a vessel twenty-seven miles off the coast. the iron had to be prepared and shaped in england, as there was no foundry in the islands at that time capable of executing the work. the building was shipped to new zealand in sections and erected. to-day, owing to the growth of the iron industry, the country can supply all its own needs in this field without difficulty, but in all cases the lanterns, mechanism, and lenses, have to be acquired in europe.
-as may be imagined, with such a rugged coastline as new zealand possesses, some of the stations are terribly lonely and difficult of access, owing to the treacherous nature of the waters over which they mount guard. with the exception of the brothers light, which is situated on an exposed rock in cook’s strait, three keepers are maintained at each island lighthouse--one as relief--and at the more isolated mainland lights. those of the latter stations which are within easy reach of civilization have only two keepers. the brothers light, which is new zealand’s most lonely station, has four keepers, three on the rock at one time, while the fourth is ashore. the spell of service on the rock is three months, followed by one month’s leave. the wives and families of the men reside at wellington. the authorities, however, do not condemn the light-keeper to one station throughout his whole term of service. he undergoes frequent transference, so that all may have a turn at good and bad stations. the duration of the stay at each light averages about three years, so that there is very little possibility of these patient, long-suffering stalwarts being condemned to such a period of loneliness as to provoke taciturnity and melancholia.
-the keeper of the lighthouse light in new zealand is as well provided for as his colleague in any other part of the world. when he enters the service, he is placed on probation as assistant keeper for six months, at an annual salary of £90, or $450. emerging from this ordeal satisfactorily, he finds his salary increased at once to £100, or $500, per annum, rising by increments of £10 every two years, until it reaches £130, or $650, per annum. it remains at this figure until he is promoted to the position of head-keeper, which post brings an annual wage of £140, or $700, rising by biennial increments of £10 to a maximum annual remuneration of £180, or $900. in addition to the foregoing scale, a keeper receives an extra annual station allowance of £10 in the case of third-class stations, which are those on lonely rocks and islands, and £5 in the case of stations which are not isolated or difficult of access. all keepers in the service live rent-free, and are supplied with coal and oil, together with the free use of sufficient land, if available, to prepare gardens, as well as grazing for two or three cows and a few sheep, etc.; while their stores and provisions are carried without charge by the government steamer hinemoa. this vessel is retained solely for attending upon the lighthouses and buoys, and visits every light, save in exceptionally rough weather, once in three months.
-by permission of the lighthouse literature mission.
-green point lighthouse, natal.
-at all the isolated and rock stations landing is a hazardous task, even under the most favourable conditions. the swell and currents breaking upon the rocks render it impossible for freight and men to be landed direct from the steamer to the rock. consequently all the work has to be carried out by means of surf-boats, and heavy drenchings from breaking waves, and exciting moments, are unavoidable. at times the task assumes exceptional difficulty, and is attended with fatal mishaps. on june 2, 1899, the hinemoa stood in towards the east cape, the most easterly promontory on the islands, on the southern arm enclosing the bay of plenty. the sea looked wicked, but the relieving ship decided to go ahead with its work. all went well until a heavy roller suddenly came in and caught one of the boats at a disadvantage. the craft was capsized before the crew realized their position, and the chief officer, with three of his men, was drowned. such is one of the penalties which have been exacted by the relentless sea, while courageous men have been engaged in the risky occupation of keeping the coast lights shining for the guidance of seafarers.
-the new zealand shores have been the scenes of some heartrending catastrophes. the steamship tararua, of 563 tons register, was making her way from dunedin to the bluff, when she crashed on to the reef which juts seaward from waipapapa point. there was no light to warn the ship--hence the accident. the vessel, battered by sledge-hammer seas, broke up very rapidly, and 130 passengers lost their lives. if the point had been guarded, no accident would have happened. now a second-order dioptric flashing light of ten seconds guards the reef, and may be seen from a distance of thirteen and a half miles. another calamity was the loss of the huddart parker liner on a danger spot known as the three kings rock. the fearsome character of this peril has been recognized for many years past, but, as it is to be marked by a light suited to the locality, it is hoped that its evil harvest will come to an end. yet at the same time it must be pointed out that the provision of a light does not always prevent a wreck even in the clearest weather, owing to the weakness of human nature. this was proved by the steamship triumph, of 1,797 tons register. she left auckland on the night of november 29, 1883, picked up the tiri-tiri island light--this fixed star can be seen from a distance of twenty-four miles--and yet within two hours of her sailing was wrecked almost under the lighthouse. in this instance gross negligence was only too palpable, and the court of inquiry, after its investigation of the wreck, signified its opinion of the carelessness displayed by suspending the certificate of the master for three years, and that of the chief officer for six months.
-apart from cook’s strait, the narrow passage between the two islands, the extreme points of the country are well guarded, the towers for the most part being located upon the prominent headlands. the southern extremity of the south island is a dangerous coast to navigate, since going east, after the puysegur point ten seconds flashing light is dropped at a distance of nineteen miles from the headland, the vessel’s course is set to traverse foveaux strait, between the mainland and stewart island. in the centre of the neck of water is an ominous rock, centre island, which, however, is well guarded by a first-order catadioptric fixed light, shining from a wooden tower, the range of which extends for twenty-two and a half miles, with red arcs marking the inshore dangers. overlapping this beacon’s field of patrol is a light mounted on dog island, revolving once in thirty seconds, and visible for eighteen miles, which in turn meets the waipapapa light. thus the approach to invercargill is well indicated, and, with the east coast promontories all protected, the possibility of a repetition of the tararua disaster is rendered remote.
-while the majority of the new zealand coastal lights are attended, certain beacons, from their exposed position, come in the category of unattended lights, as described elsewhere. these burn acetylene gas, and are replaced with fresh supplies of dissolved acetylene every three months by the hinemoa. simultaneously with the provision of additional beacons the existing lights are being overhauled and fitted with modern apparatus, rendering them more reliable, economical, and of greater power. when the service was established, the doty burner, using paraffin-oil, was adopted; but the perfection of the incandescent oil system, and its many advantages over that in vogue, have influenced the government towards its adoption. the transformation will be completed as soon as practicable, the work being in active progress, as maintenance expenses are reduced appreciably thereby, because kerosene, a cheaper oil, is used in lieu of paraffin, while, furthermore, less oil is burned under the incandescent system.
-before many years have passed, the coasts of new zealand will be as adequately protected as is humanly possible by a complete chain of coastal lights, which is being forged as rapidly as the circumstances permit. the government has revised its light-dues in order to meet the increased expenditure in connection with the lighthouse service. vessels arriving from outside the dominion have to pay oversea light-dues at the first port of call, and coastal dues at all other new zealand ports which they touch; while vessels arriving from the chatham, auckland, campbell, antipodes, and bounty islands also have to contribute to the funds.
-the signposts of the sandbanks
-the utilization of the lightship, however, is not restricted by any means to marking shoals and sandbanks. here and there are clusters of rocks obstructing the ocean highway, which from their extremely exposed character would offer the engineer a searching and expensive problem to solve, and which, accordingly, are protected by a floating light. but, taken on the whole, the lightship is used very sparingly. if it is at all possible to provide a permanent structure, even at an apparently prohibitive cost, upon a danger spot, this practice is followed in preference to the mooring of a light-vessel thereto. a masonry tower is stationary in its resistance to the assaults of the wildest tempest, but the lightship swings like a cork at the free end of a chain. at times it drags its anchors, and thereby unconsciously shifts its position, so that it may throw its light from some distance beyond the actual area of danger. again, a lightship, although not costly in the first instance, is somewhat expensive to maintain. it cannot withstand the poundings of the waves and the force of the wind for long without developing some signs of weakness. it may ride over its reef or shoal for several years, but depreciation is sure to set in, so that at last it becomes too decrepit to be trusted. moreover, the number of men required to man a lightship exceeds the force necessary to maintain a lighthouse.
-lightships follow much the same general shape and construction the whole world over. there is very little opportunity to depart from well-tried lines; the experience of a century and more has indicated conclusively the form of hull, as regards both material and shape, best adapted to the peculiar work which has to be fulfilled. the modern lightship is essentially a british idea, the first floating beacon of this description having been built and placed in the mouth of the thames as far back as 1713. from this small beginning, which virtually was an experiment, has grown the large fleet of light-vessels scattered all over the globe.
-the craft is sturdily built, and, although of clumsy appearance, is capable of withstanding the onslaughts of the fiercest gales. internally it is made as snug as possible, but the opportunities in this direction are not very extensive, as the beacon is built primarily to protect ships and lives against accident, and comfort is necessarily made subordinate to reliability, durability, and serviceability.
-photo, paul, penzance.
-in her helplessness, the light-vessel depends upon the friendly aid of any craft. the rescuer may be the alert tender, which, having received intimation that the floating beacon has got adrift, raises steam in all haste, hurries out, scours the seas for the wanderer, recovers and rechains her to the danger spot below. or it may be that a passing· steamer sights the breakaway, retrieves and restores her to the allotted position, making her temporarily secure, and reporting her condition when passing or entering a port.
-the lightship may be identified easily. there is nothing inspiring about her lines. her ugly hull, built for strength and not beauty, is painted red, black, or white, according to the colour practice of the country to which she belongs, while on her sides in huge letters, stretching almost from water-line to taffrail, is the name of her station, “nore,” “seven stones,” “norderney,” “ruytingen,” “fire island,” or whatever it may be. nor is this the sole means of identification. from afar the mariner learns her character and business by a huge skeleton sphere, a triangular cage, or some other device, carried at the top of the mast or masts. at night a lantern, entirely surrounding the mast, and large enough to enable a person to stand upright within to trim the lamps, throws its warning glare from an elevation about halfway between the deck and the mast-top with the intensity of 12,000 or more candles. oil is the illuminant most generally employed for the purpose, although in one or two instances electric light is used.
-the specific purpose of the lightship, as already mentioned, is to warn passing vessels. but the french government, when they made an elaborate investigation of their lightship service with a view to its modernization and elaboration, discovered that at times the floating signpost fulfils another and unofficial duty. the entrance to st. malo harbour is flanked by an uneven group of rocks lying about midway between the french coast and the island of jersey. though a terrible spot for mariners, it is one of incalculable value to the sturdy french and jersey fishermen, as in the waters around these barriers rich hauls may be made with the net; indeed, the fishing industry here affords employment for several score of persons. the french government contemplated the withdrawal of the lightship marking the minquiers, as these rocks are called, and the substitution in its stead of a number of powerful automatic buoys which would indicate the exact position of the most conspicuous dangers, whereas the lightship only indicated their general whereabouts, compelling mariners to calculate their distances from the peril, which, by the way, was no easy matter owing to the short range of the beacon.
-this revelation, needless to say, clinched the commission’s decision. to-day four unattended gas-buoys mount vigil over these rocks, and the rollicking days on the floating café chantant are known no more.
-the average crew for a lightship numbers some seven men under a captain and mate, who take it in turns to have charge of the vessel, the second official being responsible during the former’s spell of leave on shore. the crew is not a man too many, owing to the several and varied duties to be performed, especially when the storm-fiend is roused or fog pays a visit. the arrival of the latter demands the foghorn’s mournful dirge to penetrate the dense white curtain. some of the vessels possess a hooter, the unmusical wail of which in its discordance is almost sufficient to put false teeth on edge, because a blast runs through the whole chromatic gamut with variations which would startle a disciple of tschaikowsky or wagner. but discordance in this instance is of incalculable value. the ear of the captain of a passing vessel is unconsciously arrested; he can distinguish the sound readily, and by noting its character can identify the particular light-vessel from which it proceeds, although he cannot get a glimpse of her form.
-the southern coasts of england, owing to the density of the maritime traffic, especially on both sides of the bottle-neck formed by the straits of dover, are well patrolled by this form of warning which supplements the lighthouses. those guarding the dreaded goodwin sands perhaps are the most important. the crew of a vessel in these waters is busy throughout the day and night even in calm, clear weather, and the feeling of isolation is not so pronounced, since the continuous sight of traffic dispels despondency. the nore light is another station which encounters very few minutes of rest throughout the complete revolution of the clock hands; especially is this the case when fog settles down, rendering the thames inapproachable, so that incoming craft have to line up in long queues, ready to dash forward directly the pall lifts sufficiently for them to see 100 yards ahead.
-there have been some exciting incidents among the lights strung around the south-eastern toe of england. the vessel outside dover harbour appears to be particularly unlucky, or to exercise such a peculiar magnetism upon passing vessels that they must needs embrace her. this is the peril that a lightship crew dreads more than any other. certainly it seems a sorry trick of fortune that occasionally the workers in the cause of humanity should be compelled to fight desperately for their lives from a blow inflicted by the very interests they strive might and main to protect. the dover light was sent to the bottom twice within a very short time, and in each instance the men were rescued only in the nick of time. on another occasion a relief lightship was being towed to a station on the east coast, the acting vessel being much in need of overhaul and repair. the tug laboured through the north sea with her charge, and just before daybreak sighted the twinkling light which was her goal. she eased up, meaning to stand by with her charge until the beacon’s round of vigilance should be over, and the light extinguished before the gathering dawn. her crew saw the light grow dimmer, until it was no longer of sufficient power to penetrate the whitening haze. with the sun just creeping over the horizon the tug weighed anchor, and, heralding her approach vociferously on the siren, steamed slowly towards the danger spot. to the surprise of the captain, there came no answering blare. when he thought he was alongside the light-vessel he stopped, and the haze lifted. but there was no sign of the light-vessel; she had vanished completely. the captain of the tug and the master of the relief-boat wondered what had happened, but without more ado the relief-ship was moored in position, and the tug returned home empty-handed. there the crew heard one of those grim stories sometimes related in the service. the light-keepers had sighted the tug with the relief-vessel, and were anticipating keenly their return to civilization, when there was a crash! a cliff of steel reared above them like a knife-edge; a vessel had blundered into them, cutting their home in two. the next moment they were shot pell-mell into the water as their craft sank beneath their feet.
-on a calm day, when the lightship is riding quietly at anchor, and the members of the crew, maybe, are beguiling the tedium by fishing, a passer-by on a liner is apt to consider the life one of quietness and enjoyment, albeit monotonous. but contrast this placidity with the hours of storm. then the ungainly vessel writhes and twists, saws and rasps at the chains which hold her prisoner. at one moment, with bow uplifted, she is on the crest of a spray-enveloped roller; the next instant she drives her dipping nose into the hissing white and green valley, meanwhile lurching and staggering wildly as she ships a sea, first on this side and then on that.
-the plight of the lighthouse-keeper in a gale is unenviable, but it is far and away preferable to that of the lightship crew under similar circumstances. the tower may bow slightly like a tree before the storm, and the waves may cause it to shiver at times, but that is the only movement. on the lightship the crew appear to be tossed, rolled, and spun, in all directions simultaneously. the deck becomes untenable, but the men in the performance of their duties have to grope and crawl from point to point, holding on grimly with both hands when an angry sea douches them. the spherical ball overhead gyrates in an amazing manner, as if it were a pendulum bob boxing the compass. the crew have a stiff struggle, to keep everything below safe and sound, while the waves, as they come aboard, thump on the deck as if determined to smash it to splinters, and to drive the whole fabric to the bottom. to be so unlucky as to be run down by a passing craft under such conditions is certain death, as there is no hope of rescue in such maddened seas.
-the crew of an english ship emerged badly battered from one heavy gale. two or three rollers got aboard, and drove their blows well home, pulverizing the lifeboat on deck, and tearing up stretches of the bulwarks by the roots. the crew were flung about like shuttlecocks. one of the hands was making his way cautiously along the deck, trying to maintain equilibrium upon an alarming incline, when a breaker struck him from behind. he grabbed the ratlins to secure himself, but his hand was wrenched away, and he was flung against the mast, where the wave left him. he was half stunned by the concussion, but a comrade, realizing his plight, dashed forward while the vessel rolled over in the other direction, grabbed the prostrate form by the collar of its coat, and dragged it into the companion-way. the man’s face was disfigured, and when bathed it was found to have been cut, or rather burst, open from the eye to the chin by the force of the blow.
-bad weather tends to make the crew despondent at times, inasmuch as its persistency holds them prisoners, so that they cannot get ashore when the relief day comes round. during some seasons of the year a delay of ten or twelve days is not uncommon, owing to the weather, but the men on the relief tender are so used to hard knocks and rough seas that they do not wait for an absolute calm to achieve their purpose. heavy risks are incurred often in order to lighten the lives of those who guard the deep by bringing them ashore as near to the scheduled date as possible.
-another ship that has to mount guard over a dangerous corner of the coast of england is that which indicates the cluster of rocks lying between land’s end and the scilly isles, about sixteen miles off the mainland. for the most part the reef is submerged, but as the water goes down seven ugly scattered pinnacles thrust themselves into the air. they are terrible fangs with which to rip out the bottom of a steamer, and they have accomplished their fell work only too often. the number of the projections has given its name to the graveyard, which is known far and wide as the seven stones, though the mariner refers to them simply as the stones.
-it would be difficult to say offhand which has claimed the greater number of victims from the mercantile marine--the sucking, glue-like sands of the goodwins, or the splitting granite teeth of the seven stones; they run a close race for ill-fame. the latter lie right in the path of vessels rounding the western toe of england, and the sea-bed on all sides of them is littered with the shivered timbers of wooden sailing-ships, the splintered iron and steel of steamers, and the bones of scores of unfortunate passengers and crews. although a light of 12,000 candle-power strives to warn the seafarer, now and again there is a miscalculation, and the intimation is conveyed to the mainland: “ship and all hands lost.”
-the french lighthouse service has a magnificent lightship in the ruytingen, which rides in 60 feet of water over a treacherous sandbank outside dunkirk. it is a steel vessel about 100 feet in length, and displaces in loaded condition about 387 tons. it is held in position by massive umbrella-like anchors, weighing some 2 tons, which, burying themselves in the ground, refuse to drag even under the most fearful tugs and jerks imposed by a gale, while the chains which hold the ship in leash are able to give her a run of approximately 1,000 feet.
-the german coast is as dangerous to approach, owing to the shoals and banks, as the eastern shores of england, and one or two magnificent lightships have been built and stationed over the most notorious danger areas, among which may be mentioned the norderney and eider vessels. the latter is about 133 feet in length by 24 feet wide, and is fitted with three masts. it throws a fixed white light, which may be seen on all sides from eight to eleven miles away. this boat is fitted with every modern device to increase its warning powers and service, including wireless telegraphy and the submarine bell.
-these two latter inventions have improved the serviceability of the lightship to a vast degree, inasmuch as the ocean liners and many freighters are equipped with both these useful handmaids to navigation. the tolling of the bell under water may be heard for several miles, and conveys intimation of the approach to danger in foggy weather, when the siren or other fog-signal is somewhat precarious.
-the norderney lightship is probably one of the finest craft in operation upon the seven seas. before it was designed the german engineers carried out a thorough inspection of all the most modern lightships in service in europe, and from the results of their investigations contrived this magnificent aid to navigation. the vessel is about 150 feet in length, and is built of steel. the light is shown from a lantern fitted with a third-order pendular lens carried at the top of a hollow steel mast. the illuminant used is pintsch’s oil-gas, with incandescent mantle, the fuel being stored in reservoirs stowed in the hold of the ship; fresh supplies are brought out by the tender at periodical intervals. weight-driven clockwork mechanism is employed to revolve the lantern. the light is one of the most powerful in european waters, 50,000 candle-power being emitted with an incandescent gas mantle having a diameter of 30 millimetres (1¼ inches).
-by permission of the lighthouse literature mission.
-the vessel is also equipped with 200 horse-power oil-engines, driving an air-compressor for the operation of the fog-siren, the air being stored in reservoirs in the hold and maintained at the working pressure, so that the signal may be brought into service at a moment’s notice. the vessel is also furnished with a pintsch submarine bell, driven by compressed air. when not required, this bell is housed amidships on the spar-deck, and when the occasion arises for its service it is lowered into the water through an open tube built in the ship for this purpose. this important light-vessel carries a full complement of thirteen men, including the captain, mate, and engineer. the arrangement is, one-third of the crew on shore-leave at a time; but this does not apply to the winter months, when the full number has to remain on board, owing to the duties being more arduous and continuous during that season of the year.
-“fire island!” what a thrill the sound of this name sends through the floating town approaching the new world from europe. its effect is magical among the emigrants who scan the horizon eagerly for the first glimpse of this outpost of the new home, in which all their hopes are centred. the sullen red hull of this flush-deck, schooner-rigged steam-vessel, with her two masts, and name painted in huge white letters on her flanks, rides in 96 feet of water, nine and three-eighth miles south of fire island lighthouse. a few miles beyond is a similar craft marking the nantucket shoals, whence incoming and outgoing vessels are reported, while the end of the chain is “no. 87,” marking the ambrose channel off the entrance to new york.
-but the light-vessel controlled by the united states which occupies the most responsible and perilous post is the diamond shoal, off cape hatteras. it throws its warning rays from a spot about four and five-eighth miles beyond the most seaward point of this terrible ocean graveyard, and is thirteen and five-eighth miles distant from cape hatteras light on the mainland. a long way from the actual danger spot, you say, but the little squad of men who have to maintain the light through storm and calm will tell you that the situation, in 180 feet of water, is quite as near as is pleasant when there is the ever-present danger of anchors being dragged, or of the craft breaking adrift under the force of the cyclonic disturbances which ravage this sinister coast. even in calm weather the relief-boat has many anxious moments, owing to the swell and currents, while storms rise with startling suddenness. while the exchange of men is being made and stores are being transferred, a keen lookout is kept by the relief-boat hands so as to be ready to cut and run for the open sea the moment the clouds begin to collect ominously. in these latitudes the weather is placid one minute; the next the elements are writhing in fury.
-one hurricane swept cape hatteras, and the lightship received its full energy. the boat strained and groaned at her chains. suddenly they snapped. no steam could hold the boat against the assault. she was picked up, thrown about like an empty box, and carried inshore, luckily missing the ridges of sand. had she plumped into one, it would have gripped her tightly while the waves pounded her to fragments. the crew were helpless and could only wonder what the end would be, as they saw the rugged coastline approach nearer and nearer. when they thought all was over and that their fate was sealed, a big incoming wave snatched the lightship, hurried her along on its bosom, and dropped her on the beach, practically uninjured, and safe from further attack.
-when the crew surveyed their position, they found themselves faced with a difficult proposition. the ship was safe and sound, but on the wrong side of the shoals, and the question was how to lift her over those greedy ridges. there was only one method. that was to dig a pit around her on the beach, let in the water so that she could float, and then to cut a wide deep trench out to sea so as to regain deep water. it was feasible, and was attempted. while the pond on the beach was being dug, a powerful dredger came up, and ploughed its way through the shoals from deep water to the stranded light-vessel. when the craft was once more afloat, the dredger carved its way back again, the light-vessel being taken through the narrow, shallow ditch thus provided, which was closed up by the running sand as the two boats crept slowly forward, until at last the shoals were negotiated. the ship was taken to headquarters, the relief-vessel, which is always kept ready for an emergency, having taken up her position on the station immediately the hurricane had blown itself out.
-prolonged imprisonment on the diamond shoal precipitated one mutiny. the crew on duty were awaiting the arrival of the reserve vessel to take them home; but the weather disposed otherwise. with that inexplicable persistence, the wind got round to a rough quarter and kept there tenaciously, never moderating for a few hours, but just blowing, blowing, blowing, getting up a nasty sea which made the lightship reel and tumble, while at intervals a comber came aboard to flush the decks.
-the moment the crew stepped on dry land, every man, with the exception of the mate, deserted the ship, thoroughly satiated with the uncertainty pertaining to watching the diamond shoals. they indulged in a hearty carousal, and were arrested. and the captain, who also was not averse to enjoyment on shore, having lodged the charge of mutiny, followed their example. an inquiry was held, and the sequel is interesting. the captain, having deserted his ship upon reaching port, was dismissed from the service; the mate, who had provoked the captain, not only was acquitted of the grave charge, but was promoted to the command of the light-vessel, because there was one outstanding feature in his favour which negatived everything else--he had stuck to his post.
-life on a lightship, although somewhat strenuous, has its interludes. in fine weather the men have considerable time on their hands, and while away the hours in various occupations. fretwork, mat-making, carpentering, and other hobbies, are followed with keen enjoyment. owing to the light attracting flocks of birds during the migratory seasons, the men often effect valuable captures on the deck, rare songsters and other specimens falling exhausted into their hands. cages are contrived, and the silence of the living-quarters is relieved by the piping and trilling of the birds when once they have shaken down to their captivity. meteorological work, which is practised in some cases, relieves the round of toil, while contributions to science are made by investigating the depths of the sea and its bed with small trawls and other devices, so as to secure data concerning life in the deep, the vagaries of currents, submarine temperatures, and so forth.
-the lightship, however, is both a safeguard and a menace. when she is riding quietly at the end of her chains she is an incalculable boon to the passing mariner, but after a gale the navigator and the light-keepers are suspicious. the boat may, and indeed probably has, dragged her anchors somewhat. now, the seafarer on his chart has the precise position which the lightship should occupy. consequently, if she has shifted and he is unaware of the error, his calculations will lead him astray. after a tempest the master of a lightship endeavours to ascertain if his craft has moved, and if he can he takes his bearings at once. if this is impossible, or if he entertains any doubt in his mind, he flies a signal, which warns the navigator that the lightship has moved. unless the vessel is able to regain her station under her own steam, she communicates with the shore at once, and a boat is sent out to reset her. every time the relief is effected the officer in charge takes the bearings, so that the lightship may be truly in the position she is intended to assume, and able to effect her humane work satisfactorily.
-the evolution of the most efficient illuminating apparatus for the lightship has been a most perplexing problem to the lighthouse engineer. what is applicable for the masonry tower is not necessarily adapted to its floating contemporary, since the conditions are so dissimilar. the united states service has adopted electric lighting on all its steam-driven vessels, the current being easily obtainable in this instance. on the whole, however, oil is the most popular form of illuminant, the burners--there are several lamps arranged in a ring round the mast--being fitted with two circular wicks, one within the other; while behind the lamp an ordinary parabolic reflector is placed in order to increase the intensity of the light produced. these reflectors are disposed in such a manner around the mast that the concentrated beam of light from one lamp just overlaps the rays which are projected similarly from the lamp placed on either side, the result being that a fixed white light of equal luminosity throughout the circle is projected. but, unlike the illuminant in the lighthouse, the light is not stationary in its vertical plane; it is swung from side to side and up and down in rhythm with the movement of the vessel. under these circumstances, at one moment the light would project a short ray owing to the declination of the beam in relation to the line of the water, thereby bringing it below the horizon, while the next moment, when the ship lurched in the opposite direction, the ray of light would be thrown into the air and above the horizon. the problem is to keep the light at one steady angle, irrespective of the motion of the vessel, and this end is achieved by hanging each reflector upon gimbals, so that the rolling practically is counteracted, the reflectors maintaining a constant vertical position.
-a flaming sentinel of the malacca straits
-with the development of commerce between europe, china, and japan, following the awakening of the east, it became imperative to render the seas approaching these countries far safer to navigation. if one consults the atlas, and follows the routes taken by the great liners from britain and the continent to the orient, he will see a rampart forming the boundary between the indian ocean and the south china sea. this is the east indian archipelago, and it bristles with dangers of all descriptions to the mercantile traffic flowing to and fro. after leaving india, the steamships turn their noses towards singapore, at the extremity of the malay peninsula; but this busy port is shut in on the south by the attenuated rocky chain of islands forming the dutch east indies, of which sumatra and java are the most important.
-the steamship lane lies between sumatra and the asian mainland, and is known as the straits of malacca. it is a fearsome neck of water, studded with islands and sandbanks, some visible above high-water, others revealed only by the falling tide; while still more never see daylight at all, yet owing to their shallow position are none the less perilous.
-in order to foster the growth of the sea-traffic with china, these unattractive waters demanded full illumination, while the rock-girt shores of china and japan were similarly in need of protective outposts. japan was particularly enterprising in this forward movement. the country was emerging from the state of suspended civilization in which it had reposed so calmly for centuries. the rising forces were not slow to realize that unless they safeguarded steamship traffic their ports would wait in vain for the ships from europe. in fact, the mercantile interests of the western world bluntly stated that unless this course were followed their ships would not come to trade.
-japan at that time had not capable men at home for the purpose of completing the first part of a comprehensive coast-lighting scheme, and it was acknowledged that years must elapse before the country would be able to walk alone in this field. accordingly they sought britain’s assistance. the stevenson family, as narrated already, elaborated a comprehensive scheme, which was accepted. the structures were prepared in britain, sent out piecemeal to japan together with a force of competent men, and erected at the desired points.
-upon this foundation the japanese built up their excellent lighthouse service. the eastern pupil, in his own estimation, became as competent as the scottish teachers. at all events, japan has since completed all works of this description at home and unaided. china followed suit, but in this instance it was due to british initiative purely and simply. the british inspector-general of the imperial maritime customs took up the question. he appointed an engineer-in-chief, to whom the construction and repair of the lights were entrusted. the chief engineer was provided with a coast inspector, upon whom devolved the responsibility for the personnel and the maintenance of the stations, he in turn being assisted in his exacting and, at that time, difficult work by a corps of zealous officers.
-although the countries concerned and the shipping companies of europe appreciated this forward policy, one class of individuals resented this introduction of western ideas into oriental life. this was the population who lived by wrecking and piracy. they recognized the fact only too well, that, if brilliant beacons were to be permitted to be erected freely throughout these troublous seas, their despicable but remunerative calling would cease. their solution of the problem assumed a characteristic chinese and malay form; they endeavoured to wreak their revenge upon the lights. now and again there were sharp tussles between the engineering staffs and these high-water brigands, but firearms well handled by the white men invariably got the better of the argument. pirates caught in the attempt to tamper with the lights received very short shrift. one engineer who had seen service in these waters related to me that in the early days the amount of lead expended in protecting a light from these marauders exceeded the quantity of this metal used in the tower itself.
-the malacca straits, from their exceedingly dangerous nature, constituted a happy hunting-ground for these gentlemen, and the lighting of these waters was effected as soon as possible. among the innumerable menaces abounding, a shoal some sixteen miles west of the coastline was particularly harassing to mariners. it became known as one fathom bank, and the shallowest part was only about 18 feet below the surface at high-water. when these waters were guarded first, a lightship did duty; but the position is so open, and is so exposed to the full fury of the monsoon, that she frequently dragged her anchors, so that the warning became somewhat uncertain.
-accordingly, it was decided to supersede the floating light by a permanent structure, and a lighthouse on stilts, similar to those familiar to american waters, was erected in 1874, and emitted a white flash once a minute. although this ironwork structure was pounded mercilessly by the seas, it withstood all assaults completely, and was only superseded eventually owing to the ever-increasing exigencies of commerce, which demanded a more powerful and elevated light.
-the present tower was commenced in 1907. the engineers appreciated the fact that they were being called upon to carry out an undertaking in an especially trying position. the bank is well out to sea, and when the monsoon is in full blast waves 8 feet in height thunder upon the shoal, their ferocity varying according to the state of the tide, which rises and falls a matter of 14 feet. the difficulties attending the building of the rothersand and fourteen foot bank lighthouses under closely similar conditions were not forgotten, and the prospect of building a huge caisson on the mainland, and then towing it to the site to be sunk, was by no means attractive, even if the fullest avail were taken of the spells of calmest weather.
-the project was somewhat novel and daring, because, although this constructive principle had been adopted previously for stations upon the mainland, it had never been utilized in connection with exposed sea-lights. the system recommended was that known as the hennebique, which had been employed extensively for buildings, bridges, sea-defences, and other works. the proposal was investigated thoroughly by the hon. a. murray, m.inst.c.e., the colonial engineer and surveyor-general for the straits settlements, and, as it met with his full approval, the work was handed over to the singapore engineers to fulfil upon the lines advanced.
-the structure comprises the main building, including the living-quarters, supported upon piles disposed in two rings, an inner and an outer, about a central pile, the whole being well braced together. the shape is octagonal in plan. from the roof of the living-quarters, to which point the outer piles are carried vertically from the sea-bed, these members rise with an inward rake, forming an octagonal pyramid, with the lantern and its room below forming the apex.
-the piles forming the main support to the building were made 50½ feet long, and hollow. the concrete, composed of broken granite and portland cement, encased a steel skeleton, consisting of four longitudinal round steel rods, 1¾ inches in diameter, laid at the corners, and laced together with steel wire 3/16 inch thick. eight of these piles were made 18 inches square, while nine were 24 inches square, and each was fitted with a pointed end to facilitate driving into the sea-bed.
-the piles were sunk into the soft sea-bed by means of water-jets, which, playing about the foot of the pile, burrowed a hole into which it could move downwards. a depth of 15 feet had been considered necessary to secure the desired rigidity, and as a rule the pile could be driven to this depth in about four hours. when the pile-driving commenced, however, it was found that the sandbank had undergone a marked change since the surveys were made. erosion had been very active owing to the currents having been checked by the obstructions which the legs of the staging offered. under these circumstances a novel experiment was made upon the site. one of the piles was lengthened by 14½ feet, to be driven to its limits, just to ascertain how far it would go into the sand. this in itself was a somewhat daring undertaking, seeing that the tiny colony on the staging did not possess the facilities which were available on shore for the work. however, it was accomplished satisfactorily, and when the pile was sunk it was found to descend another 13½ feet, where it touched hard rock. this discovery brought about a modification in the plans. as a solid foundation could be gained at a depth of 28½ feet, and as the piles could be lengthened successfully upon the site, it was decided to extend all the piles to a complete length of 64½ feet, and to drive them down to the hard bottom. when the piles were all lowered, they were subjected to four blows from a “monkey” weighing 2½ tons, dropped from a height of 4 feet. but these four final blows only drove the piles from ¼ to 7/8 inch farther into the sea-bed, whereas, according to the specification, a margin of 1 inch was allowed for this test.
-the diameter of the tower at the base is 40 feet, and heavy bracing is introduced at a point 4 feet below high-water to hold the fabric together, and to supply the requisite strength and rigidity. at a height of 21 feet above this main bracing is the floor of the superstructure, comprising an octagonal two-floor building, surrounded by an overhanging gallery, built on the cantilever principle, 5 feet in width, which forms the landing platform. the two floors have a total height of 24 feet, and constitute the keepers’ home. the roof is flat, in order to facilitate the collection and conduct of rain-water into two ferro-concrete cisterns, each holding 1,000 gallons. the lower floor is devoted to housing stores, oil, etc., while the upper story forms the living-quarters. the roof is caused to overhang a distance of 4 feet on all sides, thereby providing a flat surface 44 feet across. from this point the eight main columns of the building slope inwards, until, at a height of 30 feet, they have a diameter of 18½ feet, where the lantern is introduced. the lower part of the latter constitutes the service-room, and leads directly to the lantern above. access to the different levels is afforded by means of a teak-wood staircase, while that leading from the entrance floor to the water for landing purposes is hinged, so that it may be accommodated to the condition of the tide.
-the lantern, which weighs 17½ tons, is of the modern type, and is more powerful than that of the 1874 light, which it displaced. the white light is thrown in groups of flashes every fifteen seconds, and the warning is visible from the deck of a vessel some fifteen miles away. the central pier, which carries a great proportion of the total weight of the tower, and which extends continuously from the bed-rock foundation to the lantern-room, is solid to the roof of the living-quarters. above this point it is hollow, having a bore of 12 inches, and in this space the weight actuating the revolving mechanism of the light moves up and down.
-although the idea was novel at the time, the complete success of the work justified the recommendations of the designers as to the suitability of this form of construction for open-sea lighthouses. in this instance the enterprise not only was completed for a less sum than would have been required for a corresponding lighthouse erected in masonry upon orthodox lines, but the structure is lighter, was more rapidly built, and is thoroughly hygienic. the complete weight of the whole tower is less than 1,000 tons; and from the setting of the first pile to the lighting of the lamps only fourteen months elapsed, notwithstanding the fact that work was interrupted and hindered frequently by inclement weather. any doubts that were entertained concerning the ability of the structure to resist the attacks of the wind and seas encountered in these latitudes was dispelled during erection, because the monsoons which broke during the period of erection were abnormally heavy, and submitted the fabric to exceptional strains and stresses, which it withstood with complete success.
-another fine light which has been provided for the benefit of the navigator in these eastern seas is that on gap rock. this is a rugged, lofty eminence, rising from the sea, thirty-two miles south of hong-kong. being exposed on all sides, it is difficult to approach, while at the same time it lies in the path of vessels. a few years ago the hong-kong government decided to conquer this islet, and to deprive it of its perils to shipping. with great effort a landing was effected, and one of the pinnacles was decapitated and levelled off, to form a spacious platform for landing. the light itself rises from the highest point of the rock, and its rays are visible through a circle of twenty miles radius. the gap rock light is also a signal-station, being in telegraphic communication with hong-kong.
-although the days of human hostility to the lighthouse in eastern waters have passed, the engineer is confronted by an enemy which is in every way as destructive. this is the white ant. the ravages of this insect are so relentless and complete where wood is concerned that timber towers are quite impracticable. moreover, this material has to be used only sparingly for fittings, even in masonry and iron buildings.
-a curious experience with this insidious and implacable foe was related to me by a lighthouse engineer. he was engaged in the erection of a new beacon at a remote point on the coast. the lenses and lantern apparatus, as usual, had been ordered in england, and were despatched to the east carefully packed in substantial tin-lined cases. in order to secure the utmost protection during transit, each metallic and lenticular part was wrapped in tow. care also was bestowed upon the sealing of the tin case, since the propensity of the ant to discover the smallest pinhole so as to reach the interior was emphasized upon the packers. accordingly the seams were doubly soldered.
-in due course the cases with their precious contents reached the site of erection, but unfortunately the season was so far advanced that the engineer concluded he could not complete the erection of the lantern before the monsoon broke. as the contents of the cases were preserved by the tin armour from climatic attacks, he stored the cases securely, and with his workmen left the place until favourable weather returned.
-some weeks later the chief and his toilers reappeared upon the scene. all preparations for setting the optical apparatus were completed. imagine the dismay of the engineer when, on opening the case containing the most important parts of the lantern, he found that it had been raided by white ants. they had driven their tracks spirally through the tow, which evidently they had enjoyed, and although this was of little consequence, the formic acid had played sad havoc with the bright surfaces of the spindles. in lighthouse engineering the surfaces of these parts must be as bright and as clean as a mirror to insure smooth, steady working. but now these spindles were as pitted and marked as a victim to smallpox. it was a maddening contretemps, since the only way to restore the vital bright surfaces was to turn them in the lathe. such a tool was not available within a hundred or more miles. erection had to be delayed, however, until this treatment was effected.
-seeing that the tin case was soldered up with such infinite care, the question arises. how did the ants get into it? to the engineer it seemed an inscrutable puzzle, but he subjected the case to a minute examination. finally he solved the problem. at one corner he found that a nail, while being driven during the process of nailing up the heavy outer wooden case at the english factory, had turned slightly, so that its point had punctured the inner metal case. the ants, too, had discovered this minute breach, and through it had swarmed to the attack upon the interior.
-during the past fifty years engineering science as applied to lighthouses has made remarkable advances. this has been due largely to the indefatigable perseverance and ceaseless labour of the chemist in regard to illumination. this wonder-worker has given us acetylene, has evolved means whereby oil-gas may be compressed to a pressure of several atmospheres with safety, and has discovered other gases obtainable by inexpensive and simple means. the engineer has not hesitated to profit from these developments, and has devised highly ingenious apparatuses whereby these illuminating mediums may be stored and used, so as to dispense with the human element almost entirely; in fact, in these instances the latter factor has been reduced to such a degree that it is only called upon to perform certain perfunctory operations, such as the recharging of the storage vessels at long intervals--three, six, or twelve months, according to circumstances.
-this combination has provided the lighthouse engineer with a new, powerful, and efficient means of overcoming abnormal difficulties. many a rock, reef, or stretch of uninhabited coastline has demanded indication, but has defied such protection from motives of cost, inaccessibility, or searching problems concerning the accommodation and relief of the keepers. as i have shown in the course of this volume, the erection of a first-class lighthouse is a costly undertaking, and the shipping interests, which in the case of great britain and a few other countries are called upon to pay the bill, naturally demur, unless the rock or other obstacle is situate in the centre of the marine thoroughfare, or the approach to a pitiless coast is extremely hazardous, when the erection of the tower becomes absolutely imperative. if one were to add up the costs of all the great lights scattered throughout the seven seas, it would be found that several millions sterling had been sunk in this humane effort, and yet, relatively speaking, but a small area of danger in the aggregate is safeguarded.
-then the human factor demands consideration. a colony of four or six men scarcely could be found willing to suffer isolation from the world at large and to be deprived of intercourse with their fellow-beings in the interests of shipping, say, through the straits of magellan, around cape horn, among the icy fastnesses of the northern labrador coast, or in hudson bay. life in the lighthouses which guard the busy steamship lanes is monotonous and nerve-shattering enough, but to maroon men in such remote places as those mentioned above would be to promote a wholesale rush of inmates for the lunatic asylums.
-this is where the chemist and the engineer in collaboration have triumphed. by their joint efforts it is now possible to supply the most inhospitable shore with a belt of lights equal in every respect to those mounting sentinel over the more densely populated reaches of coast in the civilized parts of the globe. the unattended lighthouse is a modern development born of necessity, which has proved highly serviceable, effective, and reliable. the passenger, as he lolls against the taffrail of the steamer ploughing her way carefully through the lane 375 miles long separating the mainland of south america from tierra del fuego, and watches the faithful star twinkling upon the top of a frowning cliff and urging the mariner to keep clear, may cherish a feeling of pity for the man who has to keep that beam shining. but his commiseration is misplaced. no human hands touch that beacon, perhaps, for six months or more at a time. it is a triumph of automatic operation. the same applies to the wicked shores of new zealand, the uninviting northern stretches of the gulf of bothnia, the iron-bound coasts of norway and sweden, and many another unattractive mainland and island.
-all the great maritime nations possess several of these silent, faithful lights, which, although upon their introduction they were regarded with a certain amount of suspicion, owing to the urgent necessity of a light never failing in its duty for the guidance of the seafarer, yet have been proved by the convincing lesson of experience to be as reliable in every respect as the light which is tended by human hands.
-so far as great britain is concerned, the unattended light has been brought to a high stage of efficiency and utility by the efforts of messrs. david and charles stevenson, while in other parts of the world the apparatus and methods perfected by mr. gustaf dalén of stockholm are used extensively.
-the most interesting example of the stevenson unattended lighthouse is provided in the english channel, indicating the entrance to the strait which leads to the guernsey capital of st. peter port. this was one of the first of its character to be erected, but the type is now being adopted widely owing to the success of this initial undertaking. the channel islands have achieved an unsavoury reputation in marine annals, as they form a graveyard of the channel; they have claimed their victims, during recent years at any rate, mostly from the ranks of the heavy cross-channel traffic.
-the russell channel, leading to st. peter port from the north, is exceedingly dangerous, the sea being littered with granite rocks both submerged and exposed, of which the grande braye, barsier, and platte fougère, form the outer rampart. readers of victor hugo may gather some realistic idea of the perilous nature of these waters by perusing “the toilers of the sea,” in which these rocks figure very prominently, particularly the platte fougère. the menace of this corner of the channel is accentuated by the velocity of the tidal currents which swing and swirl round the reefs, together with the extreme range of the tides, which averages about 30 feet. formerly, in thick weather, vessels found it almost impossible to pick up the russell, and often a captain, by the rip and crash of metal being torn, to his dismay learned that he had swung too far to the westward.
-the companies engaged in this traffic repeatedly petitioned the authorities to mark the entrance to the strait by some adequate means. a light was not required so keenly as a sound-signal, because in clear weather navigation was tolerably safe. the proposal was discussed time after time, but no solution appeared to be forthcoming. to erect a lighthouse on the outer fringe of the barrier would have entailed prodigious expenditure, which the island authorities could ill afford, even if such a scheme were practicable.
-the question was taken up boldly by general campbell during his occupation of the post of governor-general of the island of guernsey, and he pressed forward the scheme vigorously in a resolute determination to bring about a diminution in the number of maritime disasters at this point. he approached messrs. david and charles stevenson, who had considerable experience of similar conditions around the scottish coasts, and they, after an elaborate survey of the site, recommended the erection of a light and fog-signal station upon the platte fougère, which should be controlled from the land a mile distant. they agreed that the erection of a tower similar to those generally planted on sea-rocks would be a formidable undertaking and enormously expensive, owing to the conditions prevailing, but the station they suggested was quite practicable, and would serve the purposes equally well.
-instead of a massive, gracefully-curving tower, measuring some 40 feet in diameter at the base, these engineers suggested a building of irregular octagonal shape, measuring 14½ and 17 feet across the faces, 80 feet in height, and carried out in ferro-concrete. they advocated its erection upon the platte fougère, because there the fog-signal would be brought into the most serviceable position for shipping. a narrow or thin building was advised, to offer the minimum of surface to the waves, which break very heavily on these ridges. the wisdom of this design has been revealed very convincingly since the tower has been in service. the seas fall on either side, divide and rush round the building, so that it does not experience the full brunt of their heavy, smashing blows. as the engineers pointed out, “it is better to avoid heavy sea pressures, where feasible, in preference to courting them.”
-still, the platte fougère was not an ideal rock from the engineers’ point of view, although it is a solid knot of granite. its head is visible only at low-water spring-tides, while it is difficult to approach, even in the smoothest weather, owing to the tides and currents. much of the foundation work had to be carried out under water. the season was unavoidably limited, as the days when both the wind and the sea are calm in this part of the channel are very few and far between.
-on the entrance level is a compartment containing an electric motor and air-compressor, while on the floor immediately above is a duplicate installation. the siren projects through the top of the tower, the trumpet being so turned as to throw the sounds in a horizontal direction over the water. on the top of the tower is a small automatic acetylene gas plant and light, such as the engineers have employed so successfully in their unattended scottish light-stations, two air-receivers, and a water-tank. a new type of burner is used, and a clockwork mechanism is incorporated to extinguish the light at dawn and to ignite it at dusk, with a special arrangement to allow for the short summer nights and the long periods of darkness during the winter.
-as mentioned above, the station is controlled electrically from a point on shore. in deciding the latter, it was necessary to discover the most favourable landing-place for the submarine cable in relation to its route, and doyle fort was selected as meeting all requirements in this direction. here a two-floor dwelling has been erected for the keepers, together with an adjoining engine-house, which measures 32 feet in length by 20 feet wide. the tower being a mile distant, the designers had to meet the possibility of the machinery therein breaking down. accordingly, at the shore station there is an auxiliary fog-siren and air-compressing plant, which is brought into use when the sea apparatus is deranged.
-by courtesy of messrs. d. and c. stevenson.
-an unattended beacon light placed upon a wild part of the scottish coast.
-a visit to this lighthouse is a somewhat curious experience. climbing the ladder and entering the building, one finds it apparently abandoned. not a sound beyond the murmuring of the waves playing about the rocks below disturbs a silence which is uncannily tense. suddenly there is an almost imperceptible click. the keeper at the light-station has moved his switch, and simultaneously that in the tower has closed. the electric motors instantly commence to revolve, with a low grunt at first, but rising quickly to a loud humming as they settle down to their stride, driving the air-compressors. then comes the ear-splitting, deep-toned roar from the siren overhead, attended by the whirr of machinery in motion. the humming of the motors and the compressors dies down, and in a few seconds absolute stillness prevails once more. the sensation is decidedly eerie. it seems impossible that a silence so intense as to be felt should be interrupted by a click--the result of a slight movement by an unseen hand a mile away--which gives forth such a nerve-shattering din as to convey the idea that bedlam had been let loose. at the land-station the experience is similarly weird. the keeper moves his switch which brings the tower machinery into action. presently there is the sharp tinkle of an electric bell. this notifies the keeper that the blast on the tower has been given, but conclusive evidence of this fact does not arrive until five seconds later, when the baying of the siren comes rolling over the water.
-a complete check is kept upon the isolated station out at sea. if the electric bell does not ring out at the appointed period, to notify the keeper that the siren has emitted its warning note, he knows that something is amiss. the land-station is brought into service without delay, the intimation to the mariner to stand clear being thrown from doyle fort once every ninety seconds. the men on shore take it in turns to mount watch for fog both day and night, and their vigil is checked. there is an electric alarm, which maintains silence only so long as the man on duty fulfils his appointed task and records this fact upon his mechanical register at scheduled intervals. should he fail to perform this function, there is a frenzied clanging by the alarm-bell, which summons the second keeper to duty.
-the system which has been devised by mr. gustaf dalén of stockholm, and which is exploited by the gas accumulator company of the swedish capital, operates with dissolved acetylene. the first light in scandinavian waters to be brought into action upon the “aga” principle, as it is called, was installed in the gasfeten tower, an exceedingly isolated beacon which offered every means of testing it thoroughly. the idea follows the broad lines of that adopted in connection with lightships, and, the gasfeten experiments proving completely successful, it has been adopted extensively since, not only by the swedish authorities for the lighting of lonely waters in the baltic sea and gulf of bothnia, but by various other powers. the straits of magellan are protected in this way, and when one recalls the sparse population which dwells upon the banks of this short-cut between the atlantic and pacific oceans, and bears in mind the fact that the lights have to be left to their own automatic action for some months on end, then one may realize the perfection and reliability of the invention. the failure of a light in such treacherous waters would be notified speedily to the authorities responsible for the illumination of this sea-lane, but no such complaints appear to have been received from passing vessels. these lonely lights for the most part are of a very simple character, a result due to local conditions. as a rule they are planted on lofty eminences--not at too high an elevation, as thereby they might be rendered useless by headland fogs--at a height varying between 150 and 250 feet. the base of the tower forms a space for the accommodation of the gas-accumulators, wherein the illuminating medium is stored under pressure, surmounted by the lantern which carries the requisite optical apparatus, and the flasher whereby the characteristic visual warning is given.
-although adoption of the flasher enabled the consumption of gas to be reduced very appreciably, there was one noticeable drawback: the light had to burn both night and day, unless clockwork mechanism were introduced to extinguish the light at sunrise and to ignite it at twilight. some authorities, however, do not place trust in clockwork mechanism. certainly it is liable to fail at a critical moment, and in the case of an isolated light, several hundred miles from the nearest base, this would be a serious calamity, intimation of the fact not being available until several weeks after the disability had been observed.
-in order to overcome the fallibility of clockwork, and to insure a still further marked decrease in the consumption of gas, mr. gustaf dalén devoted his energies to the perfection of a device which should achieve the self-same end, but be operated by nature herself. his efforts were crowned with complete success by the invention of the “light-valve,” but which has become more widely known as the “sun-valve.”
-this device is based upon a well-known principle. if two objects, fashioned from the same metal, and identical in every respect except that one is made light-absorbing and the other light-reflecting, are exposed to daylight, while the former will expand, the latter will remain unaffected. this result is due to the fact that the one which absorbs light transforms it into energy. the acting part of the “sun-valve” therefore is a light-absorber. it consists of a central rod, the surface of which is coated with lampblack, so that its light-absorbing qualities are enhanced as much as possible. the lower part of this rod is connected to a small lever, which opens and shuts an orifice through which the gas passes to the flasher in the lantern above. around this central black copper rod are three other copper rods, disposed equidistantly. they resemble the former in every respect except that they have no light-absorbing qualities, but they are given polished gold surfaces, so that their light-reflecting properties are raised to the maximum.
-this sun-valve is exposed. at the break of dawn, under the gathering intensity of daylight, the central black rod absorbs the luminosity, the amount of which is increased by the light thrown from the gold-burnished outer rods, and, converting it into energy, expands longitudinally. in so doing it forces the lever at the base downwards, closing the opening through which the gas flows to the flasher. in a short while, when the day has broken fairly and there is no further need for the beacon’s services, the gas-feed is cut off entirely, only the pilot burner remaining alight, the gas-supply to this not being affected by the sun-valve. in order to bring the greatest possible pressure upon the lever, the blackened rod is so arranged that it can expand only in one direction--namely, downwards.
-upon the approach of evening, owing to the daylight becoming weaker, the blackened rod contracts, and, the pressure upon the lever being released, the gas commences to flow once more to the burner. it is a small stream at first, but as the darkness gathers, and the shrinking continues, the valve opens wider and wider, until at last, when night has settled down and the copper central rod has fully contracted, the gas-valve is opened to its fullest extent, permitting the greatest pressure of gas to flow to the burner, so that the beacon throws its most brilliant light. this automatic action continues infallibly every dawn and dusk, and is the simplest and at the same time most reliable means of economizing gas during the day that has yet been devised.
-there is another feature of this system which must not be overlooked. suppose, for some reason or other, that the sea becomes shrouded in suffused light, such as might arise from the obscuring of the sun by an overhanging bank of fog or smoke, the beacon comes automatically into service, as the cutting off of the daylight must bring about a contraction of the blackened copper rod controlling the valve.
-the central rod can be adjusted to any degree of sensitiveness, by means of a screw, while protection of the vital parts is insured by enclosure within a heavy glass cylinder. the first apparatus of this character was tested by the swedish authorities in 1907, and proved so successful that it is now in service at all the exposed unattended lighthouses in swedish and finnish waters; while it has been adopted, also, very extensively by the united states, more particularly for the lighting of the lonely stretches of the alaskan coastline and of the panama canal.
-of course, the saving of gas which is rendered possible by the use of the sun-valve varies according to the season of the year. during the winter, when the nights are long, the saving may not be very marked, but in the summer, when darkness does not last more than four or five hours, the economy is very noticeable. according to the experience of the swedish authorities, the average saving of gas during the year varies from 35 to 40 per cent., as compared with similar lights not fitted with this device.
-but there is another factor which is influenced to a very appreciable degree by the utilization of the sun-valve. by cutting off the light when it is not required, the capacity of--i.e., the duration of service upon--one charge is lengthened, and this in the case of an isolated light is a very important consideration. in fact, with the “aga” system wherein the sun-valve is combined with the flasher, it is possible for the light to work a round twelve months without the least control or necessity for intermediate inspection, and at as low an annual charge as £2 15s., or about $14.
-one of the latest unattended installations which have been carried out upon these lines is the lagerholmen lighthouse, marking a dangerous rock in the baltic sea. it is a cylindrical tower, with the focal plane 56 feet 4 inches above sea-level, and the flashing light, with sun-valve control, has a range of eighteen miles. the geographical range, however, is only thirteen miles, owing to the comparatively low height of the tower.
-an interesting and ingenious automatic unattended light has also been established in an isolated part of the bristol channel. it was designed by sir thomas matthews, the engineer to the brethren of trinity house. this is purely and simply a clockwork-controlled apparatus in which extreme care has been taken to eliminate the disadvantages incidental to such mechanism. this type of light was designed to fulfil three conditions--to give a flashing light; to light up and go out at the proper times; and to require attention only at long intervals. acetylene is the illuminant used, the gas being stored in a reservoir under high pressure. the gas as it emerges from the supply cylinder is expanded, so that the pressure at the burner does not exceed 2 pounds per square inch.
-the outstanding feature of this apparatus is that the clockwork control cutting off and turning on the gas does not require to be wound by hand, but is actuated by the mechanism which revolves the lenses, through a simple set of gearing. the gas as it issues from the reservoir passes into one of two cylinders. each of these is provided with an inlet and an exhaust valve, while the upper end is closed with a lid of leather, covering the top like the vellum of a drum. to each leather cover is attached a circular piece of metal, smaller than the leather diaphragm, and from this in turn extends a vertical rod, the upper end of which is connected to one end of a centrally pivoted rocking arm. when the gas enters one cylinder, naturally in expanding it forces the leather lid upwards, and with it the vertical rod. this elevates the corresponding end of the rocking arm, and simultaneously drives down the rod attached to the opposite end of the beam, which in turn drives down the leather lid of the second cylinder, and forces out any gas that may be therein. the apparatus consequently is something like a double pump, owing to the rocking arm having a seesaw motion. this reciprocating action serves to wind up the clock, and also to revolve the lenses through spurs and pinions. the mechanism, however, is controlled completely by the clock whereby the light is started, inasmuch as without this the apparatus cannot be set in motion. there are two dials, one of which is divided into twenty-four divisions, corresponding to the hours of the day, and the other into twelve divisions, representing the twelve months of the year. the clocks work together, and the time of lighting up is advanced or retarded, according to the time of the year, through the clock train wheels.
-the apparatus is very compact, highly ingenious, and has proved efficient in service. although this is the first application of the idea for rotating the lenses by the gas which feeds the burners, so far as england is concerned, it has been employed under similar circumstances in germany with conspicuous success, in combination with the pintsch oil-gas apparatuses, but it lacks the simplicity and reliability of the sun-valve.
-a different system, which has been adopted widely throughout the east and in australian waters, is the wigham petroleum beacon. this system possesses many notable features, the most important being that well-refined petroleum oil is employed. in many parts of the world carbide of calcium is not readily obtainable, and, moreover, is somewhat expensive, whereas, on the other hand, oil is comparatively cheap and available in unlimited quantities. the principle of working is somewhat novel. the wick is not burned in the manner generally followed in regard to lamps--viz., at the end, which within a short time becomes carbonized and brings a marked diminution of the illuminating power--but it is moved so that the same part is not exposed continuously to the action of the heat arising from combustion. it is caused to travel horizontally over a small roller, in a specially-constructed burner, combustion taking place, therefore, on its flat side. it is moved slowly and continuously over this roller, so that it cannot burn through, and in this manner the flame, being constantly emitted from a fresh surface, is of uniform intensity.
-the light is generally carried at the top of a lattice-work steel tower. a support of this character can be taken to pieces, packed within small compass, and transported without difficulty, while erection is simplified and facilitated. seeing that a large number of these beacons have been erected on headlands along the wildest stretches of the african continent and the loneliest coasts of australia, where the methods of transport are restricted to coolies or mules, this method of packing is distinctly advantageous. the lamp is secured to the top of the tower, with the float cylinder of the lamp depending from the centre. in this arrangement, as a rule, a small tank is provided into which a drain-pipe empties the oil dropping from the drip-valve. in this way the oil may be drawn off, filtered, and used again in the float cylinder. in some instances the lamp is mounted upon a cast-iron column, in which case the float cylinder and the oil-drip tank are placed within the tube, access thereto being obtained through a door.
-the length of service on one charge varies according to the situation of the light. if in a very exposed and inaccessible place, it may be required to burn for two or three months without attention. taken on the average, however, a monthly charge has been found to offer the greatest advantages. but in some places the longer interval is unavoidable. for instance, the wigham light which is mounted upon the extremity of the manora breakwater at karachi cannot be approached for three months at a time during the monsoon. under these circumstances a one-hundred-day service is imperative.
-the maintenance charges are guided by the local market values of materials and labour, the item of repairs and renewals being practically negligible. so far as oil consumption per month is concerned, this fluctuates according to the type of lamp used, ranging from 1-1/5 pints per twenty-four hours, or 4·8 gallons per month, in the case of a 1-1/8-inch single-wick burner, to 2¼ pints per twenty-four hours, or 8¾ gallons of oil per month, in the case of the latest 1-5/8-inch duplex-wick burner. american petroleum-oil, of a specific gravity of about 0·795, gives the best results and the brightest and clearest flame. russian and other heavier oils generally used in lighthouses are unsuitable. in view of the world-wide operations of the standard oil company, however, no difficulty is experienced in procuring adequate supplies of this oil anywhere between the two poles.
-the advantages of the unattended, automatic light have been appreciated by the various maritime powers, and their application is being developed rapidly. they are inexpensive in first cost, and their maintenance charges are very low. in sweden a second-order light, consuming 6 cubic feet of acetylene gas per hour, throwing a fixed white light of 4,000 candle-power, and visible for seventeen miles in clear weather, costs about £15, or $75, per annum; while the smaller lights, with a 300-millimetre lens and a 12-inch burner emitting 360 candle-power, may be run for £2, or $10, per annum, the low cost in this instance being attributable to use of the dalén flasher and sun-valve.
-the cost of the acetylene gas averages ¾d., or 1½ cents, per cubic foot, a result attributable to the fact that scandinavia is the world’s largest producer of carbide of calcium.
-the wigham petroleum system has proved similarly economical and reliable, and has been installed in some of the wildest corners of the globe. the congested districts board for ireland have established a number of these beacons on the rugged west coast to assist the fishermen in making their harbours at night. many are placed in very exposed positions on headlands, where they are frequently swept by the full force of the atlantic gales. the austrian government has adopted the principle for lighting the dangerous coasts of the adriatic near trieste, while the shoreline of jamaica is safeguarded by more than sixteen lights of this type. many of these lights suffered severely from the effects of the earthquake which overwhelmed the island a few years ago, but others withstood all the shocks successfully. in this instance, had expensive and massive lighthouses of the usual type been erected, the loss would have been considerable, in view of the severity of this seismic disturbance and the widespread destruction which was wrought. these lights play a very prominent part in the guarding of the southern ocean, the australian shores being protected by over sixty such beacons, many of which are established in very exposed and isolated positions off the mainland.
-while the day is still far distant when expensive graceful towers, carrying immensely powerful lights, will be no longer constructed, the perfection and utility of the unattended light, in one or other of its many forms, are assisting tangibly in the solution of the problem of lighting busy shorelines adequately and inexpensively. structures costing tens of thousands sterling in future will be restricted to important places, especially in connection with sea-rocks, such as landfalls, or to those some distance from the land, where a fog-signal station must be maintained, unless the example of the platte fougère land-controlled station becomes adopted.
-hand in hand with the development of the unattended light for service on land positions has proceeded the adaptation of the floating light. this may be described briefly as an enlarged edition of the lighted buoy, which is such a conspicuous feature of our harbours and estuaries. yet it is more than a buoy. it can fulfil all the purposes of a light-vessel, both as regards the emission of a ray of light or a distinctive sound, so that both audible and visual warning are given simultaneously. these lights likewise are automatic in their action, and, when set going, require no further attention for some time. nine months or more are often permitted to pass without human hands touching them, and they have solved some very abstruse problems in connection with coast lighting.
-for instance, there is probably no such lonely stretch of coastline as that of british columbia and alaska. there is only one large port north of vancouver--prince rupert--and this rising hive of maritime activity is 550 miles distant. the coast is as wild as that of norway, which, indeed, it resembles very closely, bristling as it does with fjords and islands, with rugged cliffs rising abruptly from the water to a height of several hundred feet. navigation at night is extremely hazardous, as the path leads by devious ways through deep channels intersecting the outer barriers of islands, where fogs hang low and thickly. the captain has to pick his way carefully, determining his course by timing the period between the blast of his siren and its echo, as it is thrown from headland to headland. as the passenger traffic developed, the masters of the vessels entrusted with so many human lives felt the increased responsibility keenly, and agitated for more adequate protection. the erection of lighthouses, even of the most economical type, would have entailed huge expenditure by both the united states and canadian governments, while the question of maintenance would have bristled with searching problems.
-accordingly, it was decided to adopt the floating automatic system, which had proved eminently satisfactory in other parts of the world. in this manner a highly successful and inexpensive solution of the difficulty was found. these buoys have been installed at all the most treacherous points leading to sounds and canals, as the lochs are called, and have been found in every way equal to the simplest type of attended lighthouse. the southern coast of nova scotia has been protected in a similar manner, a chain of automatic lights, spaced ten miles apart, having been completed, so that this wild, rugged shore is patrolled very efficiently at the present moment. other countries have not been dilatory in adopting the same methods. consequently, to-day the automatic floating lighthouse is one of the handiest, most efficient and reliable devices for assisting navigation that the lighthouse engineer has at his command.
-the lights assume different forms, this factor being influenced by position, specific duty, and local conditions. similarly, the character of the illuminant employed also varies, acetylene, compressed oil-gas, petroleum, and electricity, being utilized, according to circumstances. on the whole, however, acetylene gas appears to be the most favoured illuminating medium, inasmuch as the preparation of the carbide of calcium has undergone such marked improvement.
-when mr. thomas l. willson discovered the cheap process for the manufacture of carbide of calcium upon a commercial scale, and the new industry became placed upon a firm footing, it was only natural that the inventor should realize the possibilities of applying the new illuminant to the assistance of navigation. acetylene gas gives a brilliant clear light of intense whiteness, which is capable of penetrating a great distance. accordingly, he set to work to devise a buoy lighted by this gas, and able to carry sufficient storage of calcium carbide to burn for weeks or months without attention. when he had completed the first apparatus of this character, he handed it over to the marine department of the canadian government for submission to any test that they might consider expedient, in order to ascertain the limits of its application. the buoy was set in position and watched carefully. periodically it was examined to ascertain whether overhauling and cleaning were necessary, as well as the behaviour of the light under all conditions of weather. captains of vessels passing the beacon were requested to pronounce their opinions upon the quality of the light, and their remarks concerning its range, facility with which it might be picked up, reliability, and so forth, were carefully marshalled and digested by the authorities. precisely what the officials thought of the invention is reflected most convincingly by the fact that to-day over 300 lights working upon this principle are stationed in canadian waters, both upon the storm-bound ocean coasts and upon the wind-swept shores of the great lakes and waterways.
-the willson buoys are absolutely automatic in their operation. all the impurities in the gas are removed by passing it through a special purifier, so that the burner cannot become clogged or the light impoverished. a charge of 1,300 to 1,500 pounds of carbide is carried within the apparatus, and the gas is generated under low pressure. the lantern is fitted with a fresnel lens, so that the light is condensed into an intensely powerful and penetrating horizontal beam. one prominent feature is that the candle-power of acetylene gas is seven times as high as that of compressed oil-gas, while the reservoir of a given size will contain this equivalent of more light. the candle-power of these floating lights obviously varies, the largest size being capable of emitting a beam of 1,000 candle-power, this flame being the maximum that the lens will stand without breaking.
-the construction and the principle of operation are exceedingly simple, as may be gathered from reference to fig. 16. the beacon comprises a gas generator tube of steel (1), which is supported by the steel float chamber (2), on the upper side of which is placed the support (3) carrying the lantern (4). stability is insured by means of the counterweight (6) attached to the lower end of the generator tube. a few feet from the bottom of the latter is a diaphragm (7), fitted centrally with a conically-seated valve (8) which is mounted on a stem (9). this extends through the centre of the generator and its head (10). the upper end of the valve stem carries a hexagonal nut (11), while the stem itself at this point has a keyway cut into it. a spline is fitted into the generator head to engage the keyway, and when the nut (11) is turned to close or to open the valve, the stem itself cannot move with it, except in two directions only--up or down. the nut itself cannot be turned too far, in which event it might drop the stem and valve, as there is a stop-collar (12). leakage of gas is prevented by a cap (14), which is screwed into the generator head and sealed with a rubber washer. this cap is sufficiently long to permit the valve stem to be raised or lowered so as to adjust the movement of the valve. the stem of the valve is protected from the carbide by enclosure within a tube (13), which works through a guide bar (24) bolted to the side of the generator tube. a grid (23) is fitted in the centre of the diaphragm (7) and surrounding the valve (8), so as to prevent small pieces of carbide, which may pass through the grate (16), from falling into the water, and thereby being wasted. the steel grate upon which the carbide rests is attached to the inside of the generator, a short distance above the diaphragm. the grid (23) also acts as a valve seat, and is provided with a rubber packing (15), which is held in a groove in the seat, and projects a sufficient distance to make a good joint with the valve (8) when it is closed, even if the valve happen to be foul.
-the carbide of calcium, in the form of large crystals measuring about 8 by 4 inches, is placed in the generator tube when the beacon is immersed in the water, the valve (8) being opened and the valve-cap (14) screwed down. in the centre of the counterweight (6) is an orifice through which the water enters from the outside, and passes through the open valve, to come into contact with the carbide resting upon the grate. gas is generated instantly, to ascend through the carbide into the purifying chamber (5), where all deleterious matter is removed, the gas escaping thence through the small aperture (17) and pipe (18) to the lantern, to which the supply-pipe is connected by the aid of the coupling (19).
-of course, at times gas is liable to be generated more rapidly than it can be consumed. what happens? the apparatus is not provided with facilities to receive the surplus gas. being unable to escape upwards through the generator tube, it collects at the bottom, and as the pressure increases it gradually forces the water away from the carbide, so that generation ceases, and is not resumed until the surplus gas has been absorbed, when the water once more is able to come into contact with the carbide. thus it will be seen that the gas generation is controlled automatically, and that it is almost impossible for the gas pressure within the plant to reach a disruptive degree, owing to the fact that when it exceeds a certain limit it has a free vent from the bottom of the device, where the water normally is permitted to enter to carry out its designed purpose.
-this invention has been utilized for a wide variety of purposes, from the lighting of harbours, navigable channels, rivers, bays, and so forth, to that of exposed coasts. the automatic beacon, properly so called, has a tower, which brings the focal plane to an elevation varying between 50 and 100 feet, this tower being built of lattice steelwork attached to the top half of the buoy, with a day mark surrounding the lantern gallery, access to which is secured by an iron ladder. this type of light carries a sufficient storage of carbide in a single charge to keep the light burning continuously for about forty weeks. in this instance the only modification from that already described is that the water for the production of the gas is admitted into the top instead of to the bottom of the generator. when an excess of gas occurs, the pressure thereof drives the water away from the carbide until the surplus has been consumed. another type, somewhat smaller, carrying a charge sufficient for nearly six months, has proved highly successful as a coastal light, some thirty beacons of this class being stationed along the shore of british columbia. the only trouble experienced therewith in these waters has been due to frost, which, solidifying the water around the buoy, has interrupted the designed functions.
-but probably the most complete and useful type of willson acetylene gas beacon is that in which the courtenay whistling device is incorporated, so that in thick weather audible warning of the danger may be extended. in this instance the floating chamber which supports the superstructure carrying the light and also the generator tube, is fitted with two further tubes which project from the base like huge legs. these tubes are open at the bottom, but are closed at the top except for a connection with a valve-casing, which is fitted with a ball-valve, and upon which a powerful whistle is bolted. now, if the buoy is lowered and anchored in absolutely still water, the water will rise to the same level within the tubes as it is outside; but when the buoy is lifted upon the crest of a wave, the level of the water falls, so that the air space within the tubes is increased. air enters this augmented space through the ball-check inlet valve in the valve-casing. when the beacon falls, naturally the water endeavours to maintain its level within the tubes, and therefore the air which was admitted into the space becomes compressed, to be expelled through the only possible vent--the whistle--thereby producing a very powerful blast. thirty of these combined light and whistling buoys have been strung along the rugged nova scotia coast, and have proved highly popular, that outside halifax harbour being known colloquially among seafarers as the “outer automatic.”
-dissolved acetylene may be stored within the cylinder, or accumulator, as it is called, to a pressure of at least ten atmospheres, and at this pressure it contains 100 times its own volume of acetylene gas. the accumulators may be made of any desired size, this factor being governed by considerations of transport and application, as well as of the consumption of the burner.
-the perfection of the dissolved acetylene process came as a great boon to the swedish lighting authorities, inasmuch as they have probably the most difficult stretch of coastline in the world to protect. at the same time, owing to the wild, exposed character of many of the points which demanded lighting, a perfect, economical, and reliable automatic system was in urgent demand. acetylene was an obvious illuminant, since, while the country is deficient in the essential resources for the preparation of other fuels, carbide of calcium is very cheap, sweden, in fact, being the largest producer of this commodity. the swedish board of pilotage experimented with acetylene lighting for six or seven years, submitting every known acetylene lighting system to searching practical trials, but failed to be sufficiently convinced on the vital question of reliability. freezing-up was the most pronounced shortcoming, but when dissolved acetylene appeared as a commercial product this disadvantage was removed completely, and acetylene was adopted.
-yet dissolved acetylene, though completely successful, possessed one drawback. it was expensive as compared with oil-gas. accordingly, there was great scope for a means of economizing the consumption of the fuel without interfering with its lighting value and efficiency. at the same time a superior flashing system was desired. the methods which were in vogue to this end were satisfactory so far as they went, but they involved a considerable useless consumption of gas.
-this is where mr. gustaf dalén completed one of his greatest achievements. he perfected a flashing apparatus wherein the gas passes to the burner in intermittent puffs, to be ignited by a small invisible pilot light. the device was tested and proved so successful that it was adopted throughout the service. in swedish waters to-day there are 127 aids to navigation operating upon this system, of which five are lightships. the success of the invention in the land of its origin attracted other nations to its possibilities. at the present moment over 700 lights, scattered throughout the world, are working upon this principle.
-if a beacon throws a fixed light, unless it is of extreme power, it is liable to be confused with a ship’s mast-light, a fact which was found to be one of the greatest objections to the fixed white light of the acetylene aid to navigation. on the other hand, a flashing warning must be of such a character that it cannot be mistaken for the twinkling of a brilliant star, or of a light which has nothing to do with navigation. this is where the “aga” flasher emphasizes its value. it throws a short, powerful gleam at brief intervals. the mariner cannot possibly confuse or misconstrue it; the regularity of the flash arrests his immediate attention, and its purport may be divined instantly. the apparatus is simple and highly effective, while it has the advantage that the periods of light and darkness can be altered in relation to one another, or grouped, as desired.
-from the maintenance point of view, however, the invention is of far greater significance. as the gas is consumed only during the light periods, which are very brief in comparison with the eclipse, the economy effected is very appreciable. when the apparatus was first brought within the range of practical application, many authorities, which had become wedded to the oil-gas lighting system, wherein the light flashes are of long duration in comparison with the dark periods, maintained that the dalén flash was too short to be of any value. they disregarded the fact that the power of the acetylene-gas flash is about seven times as intense as that of the oil-gas light. for instance, when the united states acquired the first aga light in the autumn of 1908, the authorities demanded either a characteristic signal comprising ten seconds of light followed by five seconds of darkness, or flashes and eclipses of equal duration--five seconds.
-there was a prejudice against short, powerful, and oft-repeating flashes, mainly because their advantages were misunderstood. practical experience, however, demonstrated the fact that the period of light might be reduced very considerably, and, as a result of prolonged investigations, the swedish board of pilotage adopted a characteristic comprising 0·3 second light followed by darkness for 2·7 seconds. this has become known since as the “one-tenth flash,” owing to the luminous interval occupying one-tenth of the combined period of light and darkness. it will be seen that, as a result of this arrangement, twenty flashes are thrown per minute.
-as the flame is lighted for only one-tenth of the signal period, it will be seen that the saving of gas amounts to 90 per cent., as compared with the light which is burning constantly. accordingly, the gas charge will last ten times as long with the flashing apparatus; consequently, the accumulator need have only one-tenth of the capacity of that for a similar beacon which burns constantly. the economy really is not quite 90 per cent., as a certain volume of gas is consumed by the pilot flame, which ignites the charge of gas issuing from the flasher burner. this, however, is an insignificant item, inasmuch as the quantity of gas burned by the pilot light does not exceed one-third of a cubic foot per twenty-four hours.
-not only has this highly ingenious system been adapted to varying types of buoys, similar in design and range of action to those described in connection with the willson apparatus, wherein the light may be left unattended for as long as twelve months, according to the capacity of the accumulator, but it has also been applied to “light-boats” and light-vessels. the “light-boat” is a hybrid, being a combination of the buoy and the lightship, and was devised to meet special conditions. thus, the “gerholmen” light-boat stationed in the mouth of a swedish river, where the current runs exceedingly strongly, resembles a small boat with a water-tight deck. from the centre of this rises a steel tripod, at the top of which the lantern is placed. the gas accumulators are stored within the hull, and are of sufficient capacity to maintain the light for a round twelvemonth without attention, as the flashing apparatus is incorporated.
-the aga light has come to be regarded as one of the greatest developments in lighthouse engineering, and has been adopted extensively throughout the world in connection with either floating or fixed aids to navigation. the united states have decided to adopt the system exclusively henceforth, until a further progressive step is achieved, and several floating lights of this type have been acquired already to guard wild and lonely stretches of the coastline.
-here and there attempts have been made to apply electricity to inaccessible lights. the most interesting endeavour in this direction was in connection with the lighting of the gedney channel from the open atlantic to new york harbour. this formerly constituted the only available highway for the big liners, and it is exceedingly tortuous and treacherous--so much so that vessels arriving off sandy hook in waning daylight invariably anchored and awaited the dawn before resuming the journey. the great difficulty in connection with gedney’s channel was the distance of the main lights on shore, the direct range at one part being over thirteen miles. consequently the land lights were of little utility to the pilot.
-the authorities decided to convert the channel into an electric-lighted waterway. buoys were laid down on either side of the thoroughfare. they were of the spar type, resembling decapitated masts projecting from the water, and were held in position by mushroom anchors, weighing 4,000 pounds, or nearly 2 tons, apiece. each buoy was crowned with a 100 candle-power incandescent electric lamp, encased within a special globe having a diameter of 5 inches. an electric cable was laid on either side of this street and connected with each buoy. the first section was completed in 1888, the electric gleams being shed for the first time on november 7 of that year. the system appeared to give such complete satisfaction that it was extended. altogether six and a quarter miles of cable were laid down, which in itself was no easy feat, while prodigious difficulties were experienced in its maintenance, owing to the severity of the currents and the treacherous character of the sea-bed. the lights were controlled from a central point ashore, and the idea of being able to switch on and off a chain of aids to navigation by a simple movement presented many attractive features. although navigation appreciated this improvement, the great white waterway did not prove a complete success. it did not possess that vital element of complete reliability which is so essential to navigation.
-compressed oil-gas has been employed extensively for unattended floating lights, but it possesses so many shortcomings that it is being superseded on all sides by acetylene, with the exception of one or two countries which appear to be inseparably wedded to this principle. it is expensive both to install and to maintain, while the “radius of action”--otherwise, the period during which it may be left without human attention--is unavoidably brief. for temporary purposes, such as the indication of a submerged wreck, it is efficient, while it is also serviceable for accessible positions, but it is not regarded as being a satisfactory system for places which human hands cannot reach for months at a time.
-crude petroleum in conjunction with the wigham long-burning petroleum lamp, wherein the flame is produced from a moving wick, has been adopted widely. lights installed upon this principle may be left for ninety-three days at a time without anxiety. in many instances the wigham light is mounted upon steel boats; in other cases it is attached to floating wooden structures. the british admiralty in particular is partial to this type of light, and it must be confessed that it has proved highly serviceable and reliable.
-i have described already the general principles and features of this system. when it is applied to a floating beacon, and it is desired to save the oil dropping from the drip valve, a tank is fixed to the deck of the floating structure, and connected by a flexible pipe to the coupling at the bottom of the float cylinder. a universal joint is attached to the connection on the top of the tank to prevent the pipe being twisted by the swinging and swaying motion of the lamp on the gimbals. when the lamp is inspected, the oil may be pumped out of the tank, strained, and used time after time in the float cylinder.
-one of the most interesting of this type of floating boat-lights is to be seen in queenstown harbour. the hull is 30 feet in length, and has a beam of 11 feet. on this, within a conical structure measuring 7½ feet high and 6½ feet in diameter at the deck, is mounted the lantern. although the lamp is exposed to drenching seas and heavy storms, it has never yet failed, a fact which conclusively points to its efficiency. it rides well, and the lamp is kept much drier than the lights on ordinary buoys, according to the observations of the engineer responsible for its maintenance. in this case the focus of the light is brought 12 feet above the level of the sea.
-the gas cylinders are charged from the supply-ship through flexible hoses, the gas being compressed to about 180 pounds per square inch. the light is of sufficient power and elevation to be seen from a distance of some twelve miles. the beacon gives not only a visual, but also an audible warning. on the deck of the boat a bell is mounted, this being rung not only by the motion of the ship, in the manner of a bell-buoy, but also by the gas on its passage from the tanks to the lantern, the bell being fitted with two clappers for this purpose. the gas in passing from the tank enters a receptacle having a flexible diaphragm, which, as it becomes filled with gas, is naturally pressed outwards. on this is mounted a central metal piece, which is connected to a rod and lever. as the diaphragm is forced outwards, it moves the rod and actuates the lever, which, when the diaphragm falls, return to their normal positions. attached to this mechanical arrangement is the bell-clapper, which alternately is lifted and dropped upon the dome of the bell, thereby causing it to ring. after the gas has performed its duty in raising the clapper lever and rod, it passes to the lantern to be consumed. thus, while the light gleams brightly and steadily, the bell rings with unerring regularity--about three times per minute--day and night for months on a single charge; both must continue in operation until the supply of gas is expended. the success of this interesting and novel lightship has been responsible for similar installations in other similarly wild and exposed positions where approach is uncertain and often impossible for weeks at a time.
-photo by permission of messrs. edmondsons ltd., dublin.
-the lantern used in the wigham automatic petroleum beacon.
-one misadventure befell the otter rock light-vessel, which is moored in an open position over the rock of that name near islay, although it was not the fault of either the system or the designing engineers. there was a flaw in one of the shackles, and while the ship was sawing and tugging at her anchors during a heavy gale the flaw asserted itself, the shackle broke, and the lightship got away. she was recovered with some difficulty, after having drifted about twenty miles. she was found stove in, having embraced the rocks during her wayward journey, but otherwise was unharmed. she was towed into port, repaired, and then taken back to her station, where she was secured more firmly than ever, while her chains were closely inspected to make assurance doubly sure. no repetition of the accident has occurred since, and the otter rock lightship, tethered firmly to the rock, rides gales and calms, throwing her welcome rays and droning her musical warning the whole year round as steadily and efficiently as if she had a crew aboard.
-a similar lightship was built for the trinity house authorities from the designs of their engineer, sir thomas matthews, for service on the english coast. this boat, built of steel, measures 65 feet in length, by 18½ feet beam and 10½ feet depth, with the lantern carried at the point of an open steel pyramidal structure, rising sufficiently high above the boat’s deck amidships to bring the focal plane 26 feet above the level of the water, thereby giving it a visible range of some ten miles. the boat is provided with two holds, in which the gas reservoirs are placed, the total gas capacity being about 1,500 cubic feet--enough to keep the light burning for one hundred days.
-this light is of the revolving type, and the rotation of the apparatus is accomplished very ingeniously. before the gas passes to the burner, it drives a tiny three-cylinder engine, the crank-shaft of which is connected to the revolving apparatus through gearing. the speed of the turntable is kept constant by the aid of a governor, and the apparatus works so smoothly and perfectly that there is not the slightest divergence from the rate at which the apparatus is set. as the gas emerges from the engine, it passes to the burner to be consumed. by means of a novel apparatus, should anything befall the little motor or the rotating mechanism, the light does not drop out of service. in that event the gas flows directly to the burner, the only difference being that a fixed instead of a revolving light is emitted.
-by permission of messrs. edmondsons ltd., dublin.
-the “6-bar” floating automatic wigham light in portsmouth harbour.
-when the scandinavian liner norge, while on her way to the united states in july, 1904, fouled the terrible rockall and lost 750 of her passengers, the outcry about the absence of all means of indicating this spot to the navigator vibrated round the world. yet it was a useless agitation. rockall is a no-man’s land; no nation has planted its flag upon its cone of granite; no power cares whether it continues its harvest of human lives or otherwise. the various countries appear to think that it is too much off the map to be worthy of a moment’s thought; its existence is brought home only by a holocaust.
-after this heartrending disaster, messrs. d. and c. stevenson adumbrated a promising means of indicating this awful graveyard to the seafarer. they suggested that two automatic unattended lightships should be constructed, and that one should relieve the other every six months. the project was eminently practicable, but every country seemed to shirk responsibility in the expense of its adoption. but rockall is a unique danger spot; in no other part of the known world does such a formidable isolated peak of granite rise from the ocean depths, for it is in mid-atlantic, 160 miles west of st. kilda, and 290 miles off the scottish mainland. it may be away from the great steamship lanes of the atlantic, yet a vast volume of shipping passes within sight of its curious formation. seeing that the foremost maritime powers defray between them the cost of maintaining the light off cape spartel, surely the dictates of humanity are sufficiently pressing to secure the indication of this islet. the maintenance of an unattended automatic beacon, such as messrs. stevenson advocated, would not impose a severe strain upon the treasuries of the leading powers of the world, whose interests are associated intimately with the north atlantic.
-the perfection of the unattended lightship, working automatically, has provided the lighthouse engineer with a powerful weapon for marking the most exposed and out-of-the-way danger spots. when the new development is carried to its uttermost lengths, no graveyard of the ocean, no matter how remote and inaccessible, need be without means of warning shipping of its whereabouts.
-the light-keeper and his life
-the life of the guardian of a blazing signpost of the coast is much the same the whole world over. it is unavoidably monotonous under the best conditions. each succeeding day and night brings a similar round of toil, with very little variation. there are the same duties to be performed in strict accordance with routine, and under normal circumstances there are many idle hours which have to be whiled away as best one can. on the mainland, especially in the south of england, france, germany, and the united states, the loneliness and monotony are not felt so keenly by the wardens of the light, as in many instances they are in close proximity to ports and towns, where a little welcome relaxation may be obtained during the rest spells; while in the summer evenings, if the lights should be only a few miles away from civilization, visitors are frequent. again, the keepers as a rule live with their families in cosy solid buildings, and, having a stretch of garden flanking their homes, can expend their hours of leisure to advantage.
-on the isolated, lonely rock, however, the conditions are vastly different. the average person, when regarding on a calm day the tall slim outlines of a tower rising from the water, is apt to regard the life of those responsible for keeping the light going as one enveloped in romance and peace, far removed from the trials and worries of the maelstrom of civilization. but twenty-four hours on one of these beacons completely dispel all romantic impression. the gilt of fascination wears away quickly, and the visitor recognizes only too forcibly the terrible desolation of it all, and admires the little band of men who watch vigilantly over the deep for the guidance of those who go down to the sea in ships.
-the keepers of such stations are marooned as completely as any castaway on a barren island. in many instances they cannot even signal to the shore. if anything should go wrong, they must wait until a ship comes in sight, to communicate their tidings by flag signals. if the call is urgent, say for illness, and the passing boat carries a doctor, she will heave to, and, if conditions permit, will launch a boat to carry the medical man to the rock to administer aid. if it is a matter of life or death, the ship will take the man off.
-as may be imagined, upon a sea-rock, owing to the slender proportions of the tower, the quarters are inevitably very cramped, with no facilities for the men to stretch their limbs. the manner in which space is economized in the small circular apartments is astonishing. the essential furniture is built to the wall, and liberal cupboard space is provided, the governing consideration being to provide the men with as much open space as the restricted circumstances will permit. the only exercise that the men can obtain in the open air is upon the narrow shelf forming the landing platform, or the narrow gallery around the lantern. in the majority of circumstances it is less than that provided for the benefit of a prisoner in an exercise yard.
-unremitting vigilance has to be maintained while the lamp is burning. it demands attention from time to time, while, should anything serious go wrong, the attendant must bring the reserve lamp into service without a moment’s loss of time and without interruption of the ray.
-“the light must not go out!” that is the inflexible rule of all attended lights between the two poles. even if it failed only for a minute, the circumstance would not escape observation. some vessel would detect the breakdown; it would be recorded in the captain’s log-book. when he touched the first port, intimation would be sent to the organization responsible for the beacon, setting forth the fact that on such and such a night, at a certain hour, this light was not showing in accordance with the official light list, or was giving a warning different from that laid down for the guidance of the seafarer. an inquiry would be instituted immediately to ascertain the reason, and the light-keeper probably would find himself in an awkward position, although months might have elapsed since the incident.
-there is nothing haphazard about the control of lights. the circumstances are too serious to permit the slightest deviation from hard-and-fast regulations. the passing mariner is entirely dependent upon these blazing guardians, maybe from a distance of fifteen miles or more. he has his chart wherewith he is able to steer his way, but he must have certain marks to guide him at night, so that he may be sure of his course and position. accordingly, every lighthouse possesses some individual characteristic in regard to its light. as explained elsewhere, it may be a group flash, an occulting flash of a distinctive nature, a revolving light which completes a revolution once in a certain period of time, or a fixed blaze.
-fortunately, the men watching over the lights appreciate the gravity of their responsibility, and are reliable to an heroic degree. each is a man picked for the duty, who is not appalled by loneliness, and is of unimpeachable precision. of course, accidents will happen, but dereliction of duty is criminal, because it may bring about loss of life. carelessness on the part of a light-keeper precipitated the loss of the steamer victoria when crossing the english channel from newhaven to dieppe on april 12, 1887. the french coast, as it was being approached, became shrouded by the inexorable fog-fiend. the captain lost his way, although he knew, from the time he had been steaming, that he must be perilously near the french shore. he listened for the droning of the fog-siren mounted on pointe d’ailly, but in vain. he sent to the engine-room to ascertain the number of revolutions the engines had made, and this convinced him that he must be close inshore, despite the silence of the fog-signal. thinking that he might have strayed some distance east of dieppe, he brought his vessel round, and then crawled slowly ahead. but he had scarcely settled into his forward stride when there was a crash--a terrible splitting and crunching. the vessel had kept a true course, and now had hit the very rocks which the captain had sought to avoid. the passengers, being ready to land, were got into the boats and pushed through the dense curtain for land, but some thirty passengers and crew were never seen again.
-the subsequent inquiry revealed an amazing breach of duty on the part of those in charge of the light-station. the head lighthouse-keeper, off duty at the time, was asleep in bed, but his wife awoke him as she observed the fog settling upon the water. he dressed hurriedly, and rushed to see what his companion was doing. this official had failed lamentably in his duties. instead of starting the boiler fires to raise the steam to work the siren upon the first signs of the approaching enemy, as he should have done, he had delayed the duty. the result was that an hour was wasted, and during this interval the unfortunate captain took his ship upon the rocks. to make matters worse, the keepers did not perceive the wreck until some two hours after the disaster, although they admitted that they heard the cries of people an hour and a half previously, but never suspected the cause of the turmoil.
-the man on watch during the night maintains a keen lookout. the faintest signs of a gathering mist are sufficient to cause him to wake his assistant to manipulate the fog-signal, even if the precaution proves to be unnecessary. “it is better to be safe than sorry,” is the lighthouse-keeper’s motto; so he runs no risks.
-when the gathering brightness of the dawn enables the form of the tower to be identified from a distance of several miles, the light is extinguished. heavy curtains are drawn across the windows, not only to protect the lenses from the sun, but also to give a characteristic colour to the lantern. thus, by daylight a lantern may appear to be a dull red or an intense black. to give a brilliant light by night and be a prominent landmark by day forms the dual duty of the guardian of the coast.
-when the lantern has cooled, the keepers coming on the day shift have to clean the lamps and put them in order for service the following evening. everything has to be overhauled and got ready for use at a moment’s notice. the oil reservoirs have to be examined and charged, and the panes of glass, with which the lantern is glazed, cleaned and brightened. the reflectors have to be polished, for they must be kept in a constant state of mirror-like brilliancy. all brasswork has to be cleaned and polished until it gleams like burnished gold, while the rooms must be washed and kept in the pink of condition, free from the smallest specks of dust.
-the necessity for extreme cleanliness and spotlessness is emphasized in every lighthouse. the inspector has a highly-trained, quick eye for detecting carelessness, and he has one instinct developed peculiarly--the discovery of dust. he draws his fingers over everything, and squints quizzically at an object from all angles. woe betide the keeper if the slightest trace of dirt is detected. then the inspector closes the other eye, and the keeper receives a squint which does not augur well for his future. a few sharp, pointed remarks are rasped out, and it is not long before the relief-boat comes out with another man.
-the engineers and other representatives of authority are remorseless. a man is judged from apparently trifling details. if he permits a door-knob to become sullied, he is just as likely to overlook the polishing of the lenses, or to perform some other vital task in a perfunctory manner.
-one of the stevensons achieved a peculiar notoriety among the scottish keepers for his unbending attitude in this connection. he had a scent for dust and untidiness developed as keenly as that of a mouse for cheese. when his boat came alongside a light, and the keeper stepped forward to extend a helping hand, the eyes of the engineer scanned him searchingly. if the man’s appearance were not immaculate, trouble loomed ahead. this engineer maintained that if a man were indifferent to his own appearance, and permitted dust to collect upon his own clothes, he could not be trusted to maintain the delicate apparatus of a lighthouse in apple-pie order! what was more to the point, the engineer generally was correct in his deductions. he spared no effort to place the most responsible lights in the hands of men above suspicion in regard to cleanliness. although, as this martinet confessed, nothing pained him more than to have words with any of his keepers, cleanliness had to be maintained.
-by permission of the “syren and shipping.”
-when the keeper has completed his routine duties, he is at liberty to spend his leisure according to his inclinations. as a rule the men turn these periods to advantage. reading is a popular recreation, and the authorities maintain a circulating library, the books being changed with every relief. but the men could accept twice as much literature as is available at present. here a word should be said concerning the lighthouse literature mission and its work, which is international. the idea was conceived by mr. samuel h. strain, and the work is conducted from belfast, ireland. the most conspicuous feature of this organization is that every penny received is turned to good and useful purpose in connection with the object. the founder conducts it without monetary reward, so that the item of “operating” charges does not swamp the greater proportion of receipts, as is the case with so many so-called missions in other fields. there are few organizations which are so deserving of financial support, because this mission brings welcome relaxation to a hard-worked community whose vigil secures the safety of those who travel on the sea. the labours of mr. strain are highly appreciated by those who keep watch and ward in seagirt prisons, and the mission deserves far stauncher support from the philanthropic than it receives at present. sympathizers with the loneliness of the lighthouse-keeper are prone to think that these men are in dire need of spiritual pabulum, and are apt to send literature of an emphatic goody-goody nature. but the keeper of the light is as human as the clerk in the city. he is so accustomed to the company of nature, and has cultivated such a deep respect for the master of the universe during his spells of duty, that he welcomes a diversion therefrom in his hours of leisure. a humorous paper is more welcome than a tract on the evils of drink.
-when the weather is favourable the men seek a little relaxation in fishing, but here again they have to suffer considerable denial, as the tackle invariably becomes inextricably entangled with the rocks, so that the losses exceed the prizes. in the united states the greater number of the keepers maintain a garden well stocked with vegetables and flowers. the tending of these charges carries the minds of the men from their work completely, and for the opportunity to practise this hobby they are indebted to the kindness of the government, which supplies seeds free of charge.
-it is when the gale is raging tumultuously that the men in the tower are compelled to realize their position. the waves pound the rock and building so ceaselessly and relentlessly that the latter trembles and shakes like a leaf. at times the din is so deafening that the men cannot converse; they are compelled to communicate with each other by signs. the waves pick up stones and hurl them with terrific force against the lantern. occasionally the elements triumph in their assault, and the missiles shatter the glass. to step out on the gallery in the teeth of a blizzard to clear the snow away demands no little courage. as the man emerges upon the narrow platform, he is engulfed in the swirling flakes, and often is pinned against the masonry so tightly by the wind that he cannot move a limb; at other times he is swept almost off his feet. while engaged in his freezing task, he also runs the risk of being drenched by a rising comber.
-by permission of the “syren and shipping.”
-the men on the lonely, exposed tillamook rock, off the oregon coast, have had more than one occasion to respect the storm-fiend. one night, while a fearful gale was raging, a huge mass of rock was torn away from the islet, snatched by the waves, and thrown high into the air. it fell with terrific force upon the dome of the lantern, splintering the roof and smashing the light, so that no welcome rays could be thrown from the tower again that night. the keepers at once set to work with the fog-signal, and during the hours of darkness worked like slaves, blaring out a warning by sound which they were unable to give visually.
-fortunately, such an experience as befell the keepers of the american thimble shoal light is very rare. this beacon marks the shoal of that name, and is, or rather was, a screw-pile iron lighthouse, marking 11 feet of water at the entrance to chesapeake bay, virginia, u.s.a. on december 27, 1909, the keepers were immersed in their tasks, when there was a terrible crash followed by a dismal rending and splitting. the building shivered from top to bottom. the keepers were thrown off their feet, and when they regained their wits they found that the schooner malcolm baxter junior, while being towed by a tug, had blundered into them, and had carried a considerable portion of the building away. the impact upset the light; the scattered oil burst into flame, and within a few minutes the lighthouse was blazing like a gigantic bonfire. the keepers stuck to their posts, and endeavoured frantically to extinguish the outbreak, but their efforts were too puny to make any impression. at last, when a foothold was no longer possible with safety, and under extreme pressure, they abandoned their charge. when the flames had completed their destructive work the lighthouse presented a sorry sight, being a mass of broken and twisted ironwork. a wooden tower was erected with all despatch, and a fog-signal was installed, so that the men could carry on their duties while the reconstruction of the station was hurried forward.
-the keepers turn their hands to strange occupations. fretwork, wood-carving, poker-work, and similar hobbies, are practised freely. a few devote their leisure to intellectual improvement to fit them for other walks in life. the keeper of windward point, guantanamo bay, cuba, devoted his energies to studying, and obtaining diplomas in, mechano-therapy and suggestive therapeutics, as well as becoming proficient in esperanto. the keepers of two other american lights set themselves to the mastery of jurisprudence, and in due course resigned their positions and rented offices in the city, where in the course of a few years they built up very remunerative legal practices. as a rule the lighthouse-keeper is an expert handy-man, as he is compelled to complete a whole list of duties in addition to maintaining the lights. in the summer the metal and wooden lights have to be given a coat of paint, while plumbing and other displays of skill in metal have to be carried out, even if only temporarily.
-the calling is exceedingly healthy, which accounts for the immunity from illness which these men enjoy. also, as a rule, the land-lights are set amidst wild romantic surroundings. some years ago a number of american families, in the search for a quiet, health-restoring rest, were in the habit of spending their vacations at lighthouses, to the financial profit of the keepers. eventually, however, the authorities, fearing that the keeper might be distracted from his duties, issued a summary order forbidding this practice, much to the disgust of the men, and “attractive lighthouse apartments” became a thing of the past. in great britain an order was issued that “no ale or other intoxicating liquor be allowed to be sold in any lighthouse.” the precise reason for this strange ordinance is not quite clear, but it is significant to note that it came into force immediately after the disastrous fire at the leasowe lighthouse, on the wirral shore.
-the lighthouse invariably is an object of attraction among the general public, but this interest seldom goes to the length narrated by a keeper of one of the west indian lights. one night two of the men at this particular station decided to hunt for red crabs on the beach below. they started off with a hurricane lamp, but were astonished, when they gained the foreshore, to see a large sloop hard and fast on the reef, although the night was beautifully clear and the light was burning brilliantly. with much effort the keepers got out their dory, put off to the wreck, and endeavoured to get the sloop out of her uncomfortable position, but, finding her too well fixed, took off the passengers. the survivors were housed in the keepers’ quarters until next morning, when they were succoured. the head-keeper asked the captain how he managed to get into such a position, and to his surprise learned that, as the passengers were anxious to obtain a clear close view of the light, the master had stood inshore, not knowing that the reef over which vigil was mounted ran out far into the water. that navigator paid dearly for his attempt to satisfy curiosity. his sloop broke up, since she was impaled too firmly to be salvaged.
-it is not often that the utter loneliness and monotony of the daily round unhinges a keeper’s mind, but this awful fate overtook the warden of a somewhat isolated american light. the man had served with admiral dewey off manila, and upon his return home the government placed him in charge of a station as an occupation for the evening of his life, and as a recompense for faithful service. he settled down with his wife and family, but the isolation soon began to affect his brain. for days he would absent himself from the light, which would soon have failed had it not been for the unswerving devotion of his wife and the assistance of one of two friends living in the locality. they spared no effort to keep the beacon burning, lest the authorities might hear about the keeper’s strange behaviour, and deprive him of his charge, and, incidentally, of his livelihood. in due course the incident did reach the authorities, and, not knowing what was the matter with the man, they took action accordingly. as the keeper entered the station after one of his inexplicable expeditions of a fortnight’s duration, he was arrested for desertion. he was examined promptly by two doctors, who found him hopelessly insane, and was incarcerated in an asylum, where in the course of a few days he became a raving lunatic.
-often the keepers, although only condemned to imprisonment for a certain period at a time, have to tolerate a longer stay, owing to the relief-boat being unable to approach them. in some instances the delay may run into five weeks or more. during the winter the relief of the eddystone, longships, wolf, fastnet, skerryvore, and dhu-heartach lights is always a matter of extreme uncertainty. although the men have to provide themselves with supplies, a reserve is maintained at the station by the authorities for such emergencies. even some of the land stations are not approachable readily. there is the punta gorda light-station on the californian coast, the situation of which is wild and forbidding. there is a landing about eight miles above the station, but it is extremely precarious. still, unless a certain element of risk is accepted in coming ashore here, it is necessary to face a tramp or stage journey of nearly fifty miles across country in order to gain the lighthouse.
-the lighthouses in the red sea are, perhaps, among the most unenviable and trying in the world. this stretch of water, lying between two blistered coasts of sand, is no more or less than an oven, where even the strongest constitution finds it difficult to hold out for long. moreover, the absence of civilization, owing to the extreme aridity of the country, renders the life exceptionally depressing. in the summer the heat is wellnigh intolerable. the thermometer hovers between 95° and 110° f. in the shade throughout the twenty-four hours, so that night brings no relief to the oppressiveness.
-at some of the stations the men seek a little diversion, and incidentally add occasionally to their pocket-money, by shark-catching, which is a tolerably profitable pursuit, since these waters are thickly infested with this fish. the jawbone and backbone invariably find ready purchasers, the former being mounted as a curiosity, while the backbone forms a novel and serviceable walking-stick.
-one method of trapping these monsters which affords keen delight was related to me. the requirements are an electric battery, some rope, a few feet of electric wire, a cartridge, and an empty box, with a chunk or two of bad meat. the cartridge is fitted with an electric primer, the wire of which stretches to the battery. this cartridge is buried in a hunk of meat, the whole being dangled from a box--an empty cask is better--which serves as a float, while a rope is stretched from the box to the shore, with the electric wire spirally wound round it. a short length of chain is preferable, if available, to attach the bait to the float, but a short piece of rope will do. this novel line is thrown into the water, and the man keeps his eye on the float, with one finger on the battery. the hungry shark, espying the tempting morsel, makes a grab and swallows it, but the chain prevents him tearing away with it. the pull causes the float to disappear, the man’s finger presses the button, and the trick is done. there is an explosion, and pieces of shark and showers of water fly into the air. the incident is all over too quickly for the fish to marvel about the strange indigestibility of the tainted meat he grabbed so greedily. the men enjoy this sport hugely when it can be followed, as they regard the shark with intense detestation.
-by permission of the “syren and shipping.”
-despite the vigilance of the various powers, slave-running is still a lucrative business on these forbidding coasts. now and again a forced labourer gets away from his taskmaster, and comes panting into the lighthouse territory. this is sanctuary to the hapless wretch, and although the keepers invariably receive a call from the runaway’s master, he meets with scant courtesy, while his demand for the surrender of the fugitive is answered by a point-blank refusal. the slave-driver may storm, threaten, and abuse, to his heart’s content, and, as he is generally a past-master in arabian invective, the keepers have to listen to a pretty tune. but the slave is kept in the lighthouse until the relief-tender makes its periodical call, when he is taken back to suez and liberated.
-fortunately, owing to the extreme care that is manifested by the authorities, mishaps at a lighthouse are few and far between. the men are supplied with rules and regulations which are drawn up with an eye for every possible emergency. yet accidents will happen, due in the majority of instances to familiarity bred of contempt. the majority of these calamities occur in connection with the explosive fog-signalling apparatus, although every device is adopted to safeguard the men. at one of the scottish stations a keeper was manipulating the fog-signal, but, flying in the face of instructions, he caused the charge to explode prematurely. the man escaped injury, but the detonation shattered several panes of glass in the lantern.
-one of the keepers of the rathlin light, on altacarry head, was not so fortunate. the white star canadian liner megantic was rounding the corner of ireland to enter the last lap of the homeward journey one saturday evening, when the captain’s attention was arrested by a signal of distress flying from the lighthouse. the interpretation of the signal revealed the fact that a doctor was wanted, so, easing up the ship, he lowered a boat, and the doctor was sent away to the island. upon landing he found one of the men in dire straits. he had been cleaning the fog-gun, when a charge, which had been left in the weapon inadvertently upon the last occasion it was used, exploded. the man’s arm had been wrenched off, and he was burned terribly. it was a stroke of luck that the liner hove in sight at the moment she did. there was no chance of extending succour to the injured man on the spot, and he would have died before a doctor could have been summoned by boat from ballycastle, nine miles away. the surgeon bound up the man’s injuries, lowered him into his boat, and, on regaining the liner, placed him in the hospital, where he was tended until the vessel’s arrival in liverpool, where he was landed and placed in hospital.
-by permission of “syren and shipping.”
-a lighthouse bedroom.
-more remarkable was the accident which happened at the flannen islands light-station in 1900; it remains an unsolved mystery to this day. this is one of scotland’s lonely lights, mounting guard over a group of islets fifteen miles off the hebrides. on december 26 the relief-tender approached the station on her usual fortnightly visit, but, to the amazement of those on board, no signs of the keepers or the usual signals were to be seen, while the lantern was not dressed in its daylight garb. the crew landed hurriedly, wondering what was amiss. they found the lighthouse absolutely deserted; not a sign of any of the three keepers was to be seen or heard. they examined the log, and found that the light had not been burning for some days, the last entry being made about 4 a.m. nearly a week previously. the rock was searched, but yielded no clue to the mystery of the complete disappearance of the men. the light had not been abandoned; it had simply burned itself out. it was a fortunate circumstance that very little shipping frequents these seas during the winter, or there would have been one or two marine disasters, as the islands are often wrapped in fog.
-it is surmised that one of the men ventured outside on to a rocky ledge in the early hours of the morning. according to the log, a vicious storm was raging at the time, and probably in the darkness the man was swept off his feet and carried into the sea. the second keeper on duty, marvelling at the non-return of his assistant, evidently had roused his other companion, and the two had instituted a search in the storm, only in turn to be caught by a wave and carried away.
-in great britain, since 1860, men only have been employed by the trinity house brethren for the maintenance of the lights, but in the united states women still are engaged in this duty. some of the british lights have been controlled by one family through two or three generations. it was only a few years ago that a darling retired from the vigil on the longstones of farne islands, the scene of grace darling’s heroism, while for a century and a half one family kept the south foreland light faithfully. the casquets light off alderney, in the channel islands, was maintained by one family, some of the children spending the whole of their lives on the rock, son succeeding father at the post of duty.
-on the american coast, however, women are more extensively employed. seeing that many of the lights are burned in a low tower projecting from the dwelling-house, this circumstance may be readily understood, as the duties beyond the maintenance of the light are not exacting. one of the most notable instances, however, is the point pino light at the entrance to monterey bay, on the californian coast, the guardianship of which has been in feminine hands for the past thirty years. for something approaching half a century a woman maintained the michigan city harbour light on the great lake of that name. indeed, the associations were so deep-rooted and long that the beacon became popularly known as “miss colfax’s light,” after the name of its keeper. even when she attained the age of eighty years she was as active and attentive to her charge as on the day, in 1861, when she first assumed responsibility for its safe-keeping.
-in 1886 the pier tower was taken out of her hands for ever. a furious gale, such as is peculiar to these inland seas, and which cannot be rivalled on the ocean for fury, was raging. at dusk she started on her usual journey. time after time she was wellnigh swept off her feet, so that she staggered rather than walked, for the spray and sand flecking her face nearly blinded her. when she gained the tower she paused, and observed that it was trembling violently. undismayed, she ascended, lit the light, and tramped back to the shore. scarcely had she gained the mainland, when, glancing seawards, she saw the light sway from side to side for a second or two, and then make a dive into the water. a few moments later a crash reverberated above the noise of the storm: the decrepit pier had succumbed at last. hers was a lucky escape, but she hurried home, and sat by the main light gleaming from her roof all that night, apprehensive that some vessel might endeavour to make the harbour and come to grief. when the pier was rebuilt, a new beacon was placed on its extremity, but its upkeep was taken over by the harbour authorities, leaving only the shore light in the trusty woman’s keeping, the wicks of which for over forty years were trimmed and lit at dusk, and extinguished with the dawn, with her own hands.
-during the migratory season of the birds extraordinary sights are witnessed around the light at night. the brilliant glare attracts enormous flocks, which flit to and fro. as the monster flaming spoke swings round, the birds, evidently blinded by the glare, dash with such fury against the glass panes of the lantern as to flutter to the floor of the gallery with broken necks and wings, while large numbers, dazed or killed, fall into the water. the birds are of all species, and at times may be picked up by the basketful. then the light-keepers are able to secure a welcome change in their dietary. moths, too, often hover in clouds round the light, and are of such variety that an hour on the gallery would bring infinite delight and rich harvests to the youthful entomologist who has to be content to hunt around electric lamps in quiet streets at night.
-bungaree norah. see norah head
-inchcape. see bell rock
-ouessant, ile d’. see ushant
-sea-rock lighthouses, construction, 20 et seq.
-seven hunters. see flannen islands
-sydney lighthouse. see macquarie tower
-billing and sons, ltd., printers, guildford
-punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.
-simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced quotation marks retained.
-ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
-index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references.
-ditto marks in the index have been replaced by the actual text.
-empty, featureless areas along the side(s) of some illustrations have been removed by transcriber. this allowed those illustrations to be shown larger and with greater detail.
-page 233: “ly-ce-moon” likely is a misprint for “ly-ee-moon”.
-(http://mormontextsproject.org), with thanks to trevor nysetvold for proofreading.
-defense of the faith
-and the saints
-b. h. roberts
-"outlines of ecclesiastical history"
-"new witness for god"
-"mormon doctrine of deity"
-salt lake city
-no word of preface is necessary to this volume, except to say that in presenting it to his readers, the author feels that that he is fulfilling a promise made to them when volume i of the series was issued.
-a word of explanation will be found as an introduction to each subdivision of the book, which excludes the necessity of making any reference to such subdivisions in this general forward.
-salt lake city, january, 1912.
-table of contents
-origin of the book of mormon.
-the appearing of moroni.
-the book of mormon.
-description of the nephite record.
-the origin of the book of mormon.
-by theodore schroeder.
-solomon spaulding and his first manuscript.
-spaulding's rewritten manuscript.
-erroneous theories examined.
-how about sidney rigdon?
-rigdon's prior religious dishonesty.
-rigdon had opportunity to steal the manuscript.
-rigdon's only denial analyzed.
-rigdon and lambdin in 1815.
-rigdon exhibits spaulding's manuscript.
-rigdon foreknows the coming and contents of the book of mormon.
-rigdon visits smith before mormonism.
-rigdon's miraculous conversion.
-the plagiarism clinched.
-for the love of gold, not god.
-the origin of the book of mormon.
-by brigham h. roberts.
-justifications for replying to mr. schroeder.
-various classes of witnesses.
-conflicting theories of origin.
-mr. schroeder's statement of his case.
-the facts of the spaulding manuscript.
-the task of the present writer.
-the enemies of the prophet.
-"dr." philastus hurlburt.
-the "second" spaulding manuscript.
-the failure of howe's book.
-the conneaut witnesses.
-e. d. howe discredited as a witness.
-the davidson statement.
-alleged statement of mrs. davidson, formerly the wife of solomon spaulding.
-the haven-davidson interview.
-mrs. ellen e. dickinson's repudiation of the davidson statement.
-reverend john a. clark and the davidson statement.
-mutilation of the haven-davidson interview.
-mr. schroeder and the davidson statement.
-why mr. schroeder discredits the spaulding witnesses.
-the connection of sidney rigdon with the spaulding manuscript.
-of rigdon's alleged "religious dishonesty."
-rigdon's opportunity to steal spaulding's manuscript.
-did rigdon exhibit the spaulding manuscript.
-did rigdon foreknown the coming and contents of the book of mormon?
-alexander campbell and the book of mormon in 1831. damaged, most of these were subsequently repaired and put into use.
-on the next day (the 7th) the armoured cars attached to the 5th cavalry division made a reconnaissance to beirût, which they entered without opposition about mid-day. the townspeople received them with acclamation, and showed with pride a party of about 600 turkish soldiers whom they had collected and disarmed. the 7th indian infantry division, which had left haifa on october the 3rd, reached beirût on the 8th, and took over these prisoners.
-on the 10th the cars reconnoitred northwards as far as baalbek, without encountering any of the enemy, and the commander-in-chief thereupon decided to make a farther advance as far as homs.
-unfortunately malaria had by now laid such a hold upon the men of the 4th division, that the surviving hale scarce sufficed to carry on the ordinary duties of camp, and any further work by this division was out of the question. this left only the 5th division, itself much reduced in numbers, to carry on the advance.
-the 7th infantry division was directed to send a brigade to tripoli, where there was a small port, with jetties suitable for landing stores in fine weather, and a fairly good, metalled road running inland to homs, which would facilitate the sending of supplies to the cavalry at the latter place. the 5th division was then ordered to occupy homs as soon as possible, the 4th remaining in the zahle-rayak-baalbek area.
-the 13th brigade entered baalbek on the 11th of october, and collected 500 turks who had surrendered to the inhabitants, and who had been 'offered' to the armoured cars the previous day.
-the railway from aleppo to rayak was in working order, and it was quite possible for the enemy to send troops south to delay our advance. it was very important, therefore, that any further move forward, once decided upon, should be carried out as rapidly as possible.
-to this end general macandrew organised his division at baalbek in two columns. column 'a,' which was to lead the advance, consisted of the divisional headquarters, three batteries of armoured cars, and three light car patrols, supported by the 15th brigade. this brigade had only two regiments, the hyderabad lancers being still on the line of communications. the remainder of the division formed column 'b.' it will be apparent that column 'a' was little more than a raiding force, but it was considered that the heavy volume of machine-gun fire provided by the twenty-four cars would be sufficient to disperse, or at least to break up and disorganise, any body of the enemy that might be encountered. the country was very suitable for the employment of armoured cars, being open and fairly flat, with a hard surface.
-a wing of the royal air force was attached to the division for reconnaissance purposes. throughout the campaign, the close co-operation between our aeroplanes and the cavalry had given most excellent results. during the advance on damascus, air force motor cars had accompanied the advanced headquarters of the corps, carrying a party who selected and marked landing grounds at each halting place. lorries carrying petrol and stores followed a few miles in rear. these arrangements resulted in maintaining that close personal contact between the two forces without which satisfactory work is impossible. moreover, the provision of a landing ground beside the advanced corps headquarters meant that there was always an aeroplane ready at hand for instant use, if any special work was required.
-similar arrangements were now made with the 5th division, and the subsequent assistance of the wing attached to the division was of the highest value.
-at this time no orders had been received as to aleppo, but it is evident that general macandrew had in his mind the probability of an advance to seize that city. at any rate, this organisation of his division enabled him to do so when the time came, and by a piece of sheer bluff.
-the march proceeded without incident up the valley of the orontes, and the armoured cars of column 'a' entered homs unopposed on the 15th, where they met a force of sherifian troops, under sherif nasir, who had marched from damascus by the direct north road. two days previously the 20th corps cavalry regiment had occupied tripoli, where it was joined a few days later by part of the 7th infantry division, and arrangements were at once put in hand to land stores at the little port, and send them up by road to homs. column 'b' arrived on the 16th.
-the commander-in-chief now determined to complete the political part of the campaign by seizing aleppo, and occupying all the arab-speaking country from the sea to the euphrates.
-the only troops available for the enterprise were the 5th cavalry division and the armoured cars. the australian division was at damascus, over 100 miles away, and could not be brought up in time. the 4th division, reduced in strength and exhausted by disease, was incapable of any work till men and horses had been given a thorough rest and time to recover from sickness. this division and the australian division had suffered some 300 deaths from disease since reaching damascus, a fortnight before. even the 5th division, which had suffered far less severely than the other two, was in a deplorable state. the whole division hardly mustered 1500 sabres. the two r.h.a. batteries with the division numbered between them but four officers and eighty men.
-it was known that there were about 20,000 turks and germans at aleppo, or south of that place, and it was believed that about half of these were combatants, though probably ill-armed and disorganised. aleppo is over 100 miles from homs, and 180 from tripoli or baalbek, the two nearest points from which any possible reinforcements could be sent.
-in the face of these facts, the boldest of commanders might well have been excused for deciding to call a halt. but the political and moral advantages to be gained by a farther advance into the enemy's country appeared so great that general allenby determined to accept the risk. on the 19th of october he directed general macandrew to advance to aleppo.
-the divisional field squadron royal engineers, covered by the 15th brigade, at once moved out to el rastan, to repair the bridge over the orontes at that place, which had been blown up by the turks during their retreat. the following day the divisional headquarters and the cars joined the 15th brigade at el rastan, and, on the morning of the 21st, column 'a' crossed the repaired bridge, and, making a long march, reached zor defai, five miles north of hama, that evening. no opposition was encountered during the march.
-next morning the cars pushed off early on an extended reconnaissance. reaching ma'arit el na'aman, thirty-five miles distant, about mid-day, without meeting any of the enemy, they made a short halt, and then started off again towards aleppo. seven miles farther north, near khan sebil, they sighted some enemy armoured cars and armed motor lorries. these at once turned and fled, pursued by our cars, and a nice little hunt ensued. hounds were stopped after a fifteen mile point, as it was getting late, but not before a german armoured car, two armed lorries, and thirty-seven prisoners had been captured. just as our cars drew off, two enemy aeroplanes appeared, and, evidently mistaking the german lorries for our troops, promptly dived, and machine-gunned them vigorously! the armoured cars had reached a point fifty-five miles from zor defai, and only twenty miles south of aleppo, before they turned back. they withdrew to a point four miles north of seraikin, where they bivouacked for the night, finding their own outposts. the 15th brigade reached khan shaikhun late in the afternoon.
-on the 23rd the cars pushed on again, and encountered some enemy cavalry at khan tuman, about ten miles south of aleppo. these they brushed aside without much difficulty, and proceeded along the road. some miles farther on, however, they were held up by strong turkish rearguards holding an entrenched position astride the road, through el ansarie and sheikh said. a reconnaissance of this position, carried out by the cars and some aeroplanes, indicated that it was held by a force of 2000 to 3000 infantry. it was reported locally that there were six or seven thousand more in aleppo.
-general macandrew thereupon determined to try and bluff the enemy into surrendering, and, to this end, sent an officer with a flag of truce into aleppo in a car, to demand the capitulation of the city. the turks took this officer through their defences without blindfolding him, apparently in order to show him that the position was a strong one, which it was, and adequately held. having done so, they entertained him most courteously with cigarettes, coffee, and small talk for half an hour or so, and then handed him a reply to take back to the british general. the officer got back to divisional headquarters about four in the afternoon, and delivered his letter, which proved brief and to the point. 'the commander of the turkish garrison of aleppo,' it ran, 'does not find it necessary to answer your note.' fortunately for us, however, the turkish commander, after making this bold reply, began to get uneasy, and, in the course of the next three days, evidently came to the conclusion that discretion was the better part of valour. during the night of the 25th he commenced to withdraw his forces to the north.
-at seven o'clock the cars were withdrawn into bivouac on the open plain south of khan tuman, so as to give them freedom of movement if attacked during the night.
-the 24th was occupied in further reconnaissance of the enemy positions. the turks were found in occupation of the same trenches, with cavalry outposts pushed forward on to the hills north of khan tuman. some of the cars were sent off in a north-westerly direction, with the object of discovering a practicable way through the rocky hills south-west of aleppo, to the alexandretta road. they were unable, however, to find any track that was possible for cars.
-further reconnaissances on the 25th disclosed the enemy positions more fully, and drew considerable fire from guns, machine guns, and rifles all along the line. the 15th brigade came up in the evening, and relieved the cars on outpost duty that night. sherif nasir's arabs, who had been marching at a great pace along the railway, had arrived earlier in the day, and moved east towards tel hasil, to attack the city from that side.
-column 'b,' which had been steadily plodding along, a day's march in rear of column 'a,' reached seraikin the same evening.
-with the arrival of the 15th brigade and the arabs, general macandrew deemed himself strong enough to take aleppo. he ordered the 15th to advance early next morning, through the hills west of aleppo, via turmanin, and get astride the aleppo-alexandretta road, while the arabs and the armoured cars attacked from the east and south respectively. during the night of the 25th, however, the arabs, assisted by friends in aleppo, succeeded in entering the city. they enjoyed a first-rate, old-fashioned, hand-to-hand fight with the turks, and beat them decisively. by ten o'clock in the morning the city was in their hands, and general macandrew motored in with the armoured cars. sherif nasir had lost about sixty killed, but he had inflicted far heavier casualties on his enemies, and driven them out of aleppo full speed.
-meanwhile the 15th brigade had started at seven in the morning, and reached the alexandretta road, without opposition, about ten o'clock. the only definite information the brigade had received at this time, was that about 300 turkish cavalry were on the road, eight miles north of aleppo. shortly afterwards a verbal message was brought in by a car, to the effect that about a thousand 'scallywags' of all descriptions, with two field guns, had left aleppo, going north, about half-past seven in the morning.
-the brigade proceeded along the road, and, about eleven o'clock, two squadrons of the jodhpur lancers, who were acting as advanced guard, topped the ridge overlooking the village of haritan from the south-east, and about a mile and a half distant. they immediately came under heavy rifle fire from the village, and took up a dismounted position on the ridge.
-rightly deeming that instant action was all important, and relying on the information he had received as to the strength and composition of the enemy force in front of him, general harbord decided to attack at once. he ordered the mysore lancers to move out to the east, and endeavour to charge the enemy on his left flank. two squadrons of the jodhpur lancers were directed to move in support of the mysores, as a 'mopping up' party, while the remainder of this regiment, with the machine gun squadron, held the turks in front, with fire directed from the ridge on which the advance guard had first taken up its position.
-just after the mysore lancers commenced their move eastwards, general harbord was reinforced by a battery of armoured cars, which had been sent out from aleppo to join him. he directed these cars to approach the enemy positions along the road, and assist the attack with their machine-gun fire. unfortunately something went wrong with the battery leader's car, and it was withdrawn and driven back to aleppo. the remaining three cars, through some misunderstanding, followed it, and the brigade was thus deprived of their support.
-meanwhile the mysore lancers, finding that the enemy's position extended farther than was expected, moved more to the east to gain the flank. at twelve o'clock, major lambert, finding himself in a favourable position, ordered a charge. the ground was rather rocky, and gave some trouble to the horses, but the charge was driven well home, and a considerable number of the enemy was killed. the turks, however, were to be found in much greater strength than had been expected, and, after driving through their flank, the lancers were heavily fired on by turks farther west. many of those who had been ridden over, and had thrown down their arms, now picked them up again, and continued the fight. seeing that his regiment had not sufficient weight to charge through the large body of turks farther west, major lambert rallied his squadrons behind the turkish line, and took up a dismounted position on the left rear of the enemy, where the two squadrons of the jodhpur lancers joined him.
-the charge had compelled the turks to reveal their full strength, which turned out to be about 3000 infantry and 400 cavalry, with ten or twelve guns and about thirty-five machine guns. seeing the smallness of the force opposed to them, they now advanced boldly to the attack, but, when about 800 yards away, thought better of it, and began to dig themselves in.
-the 15th brigade remained in observation of the turks, and desultory firing continued till about nine o'clock at night, when the enemy faded gradually and silently away. two hours later the 14th cavalry brigade, which had reached aleppo with column 'b' late in the evening, arrived on the scene, and relieved the 15th brigade. the casualties in the latter brigade totalled sixty-three killed, wounded, and missing, which comparatively light bill might have been very much heavier had the turks showed any real disposition to fight. they outnumbered our men by at least seven to one, and were well supplied with artillery and machine guns, but their morale had sunk so low that it was only surprising that they did not all surrender, or break into helpless flight, when charged. we learnt afterwards that the turkish commander in aleppo had been completely deceived by general macandrew, whose boldness in detaching the whole of his cavalry to cut the alexandretta road led him to believe that we had a much larger force at our disposal than was actually the case.
-in the thirty-eight days since the commencement of the operations, the 5th cavalry division had marched 567 miles, fought six actions, and taken over 11,000 prisoners and fifty-eight guns. the total captures of the desert mounted corps in the same period were 83,700 prisoners and about 160 guns.
-the australian mounted division left damascus on october the 27th to march to aleppo, a distance of rather over 200 miles. marching by the direct road to homs, which runs almost due north from damascus, the division reached the small village of jendar, eighteen miles south of homs, at nine o'clock on the night of the 31st. here the news of the armistice was received by wireless, but, as there was no water available in the neighbourhood, the australians continued the march the same night, and arrived at homs at eight o'clock on the morning of the 1st of november. three days later they moved down to tripoli, on the coast, where they remained until sent to egypt, en route for australia, at the end of february 1919.
-the commander-in-chief made his official entry into aleppo on the 12th of december. as at damascus, we had installed an arab governor here, but, in view of the disorders that had occurred at the former place, his powers were restricted to giving advice, and the whole of the policing of the city was in the hands of our troops. the 'chief' took the occasion to give him some good advice, couched in the vigorous language for which he was famous.
-one of the first things general allenby did, when order had been restored in the country, was to direct that a day should be set aside to be observed throughout the force as one of thanksgiving for victory. tuesday, december the 16th, was selected for the purpose, and was celebrated by the holding of religious services in the morning by all the many religions and denominations in the corps. the afternoon was spent in such games and sports as could be organised.
-the cavalry had reached their final goal, and their fighting work was over. but there was still much to be done. the desert mounted corps took over the administration of the conquered country from damascus in the south to marash, in cilicia, 120 miles north of aleppo; and from the sea coast to ras el ain, 120 miles east of the euphrates, an area of about 35,000 square miles. corps headquarters was established at homs. the 5th cavalry division, at aleppo, had a brigade at aintab, eighty miles farther north, and detachments at alexandretta, islahie, marash, arab punar and jerablus on the euphrates. later on, infantry, attached to the corps, occupied alexandretta, adana, tarsus, smyrna, and other towns on or near the coast. the 4th cavalry division remained at beirût and in the neighbourhood, and the australian division at tripoli, with a brigade at baalbek, and detachments at shtora, lebwe, and rayak. at the end of february 1919, when the australians returned to egypt, the 4th division handed over beirût to the french, and was quartered at homs, baalbek, rayak, and deraa.
-as was only to be expected after the events of the past four years, the country was in a most unsettled state. the crops and live stock had been mercilessly requisitioned by the turks over large areas, and many of the peasants, left callously to starve, had taken to a life of brigandage. the whole country was infested with robber bands. even large parties dared not travel at night, and indeed few ventured to travel at all. those whose business or duty took them about the country crept from village to village by unfrequented bye-paths, avoiding the roads. merchants and shopkeepers buried most of their wares, displaying in their places of business only a few miserable samples.
-the direct road from damascus to homs was so overrun with robbers that even considerable bodies of turkish soldiers marching along it had been attacked and massacred; so that it had been, at last, altogether abandoned as a line of communications in favour of the longer, and far worse, road through baalbek.
-within three weeks of the signing of the armistice, unarmed pedestrians travelled alone and unafraid through all the land. on every road were to be seen throngs of refugees returning to their ravished homes, accompanied by carts piled high with household goods. when night came on, these people pulled off the road, and slept in peace and safety till morning. merchants brought out their wares from secret places, and buyers crowded into the cities in thousands.
-during the whole time the british forces were in occupation of the country, from the end of october 1918 till november 1919, there were only two attempts to disturb the peace, and both of these were nipped in the bud at once. the first occurred on the night of november the 30th, 1918, when a notorious robber chief, who lived in an almost inaccessible village up in the anti-lebanon, attempted to raid one of our ammunition and store depots at rayak. the robbers were driven off, with the loss of six men killed and twenty prisoners, and we had no more trouble of that sort.
-the second attempt took place at aleppo on the 23rd february 1919. a plot was engineered by turkish ex-officers and local arabs, to bring about a massacre of the hated armenians in the city. the disturbance was quickly put down, but not before a few persons on both sides had been killed. several prominent natives were arrested in connection with the plot, and tried by a mixed court of british and arab officers. those of the conspirators who were proved actually to have taken life were executed, and others were sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. these sentences had a most salutary effect, and there was no further effort to disturb the peace.
-there was a detachment of the arab army, about 200 strong, at aleppo, and one or two soldiers were quartered in all outlying villages of any importance. it is pleasant to be able to record that the arab government made a genuine, and successful, effort to assist in maintaining law and order in the country, and the arab governor of aleppo was always on the best of terms with our officials. the governor at this time was gafar pasha, who had been a general in the turkish army, and had fought against us in the senussi campaign, where he was taken prisoner, and sent to cairo to be interned. he was liberated, at his own request, in order to join the arab army, in which he commanded a division with distinction from the latter part of 1917 till the end of the war.
-one of the most difficult tasks carried out by the corps was that of restoring to the armenians their houses and property. a reparation committee was formed in aleppo, with representatives at aintab and marash, and much useful work was done. all houses that formerly belonged to armenians were evacuated by their moslem occupiers, and, as far as possible, restored to their rightful owners. very many of these had, however, been killed or had disappeared. others, attracted by tales of the fabulous sums to be made in aleppo by trading with the british, flocked into the city, and refused to return to their own homes. many armenian women had entered the harems of turks or arabs, and a number of these did not now wish to leave. they were well treated there, and protected, and they preferred the comfort of the harem to the prospect of starting again in the cold world outside.
-notwithstanding all these difficulties, very large numbers of armenians were restored to their houses, furniture and effects were recovered or made good, and families were re-united. some 3000, who were awaiting repatriation, were housed in the barracks at aleppo, fed by the british, and given work at high wages.
-it must be confessed that the armenians are, as a nation, a very unpleasant people. that this is largely due to the treatment they have received in the past does not alter the fact. deprived of their land many centuries ago, and debarred, to a great extent, from engaging in industry, they have become moneylenders, as have the jews in similar circumstances. usurers in all countries are a detested class, and the armenians are no exception to the rule. they are the usurers of turkey, grasping and avaricious, the holders of mortgages on the peasants' land, the speculators in food, hated and despised by all classes. small wonder that the turk, blood-thirsty as he is by nature, needs little encouragement to start a massacre of them, whenever he has the chance.
-this was the last and greatest of the many gambles in exchange that enlivened the days of the merchants of aleppo during the early period of our occupation of the place. gradually, by means of a vigorous publicity campaign, and by selling surplus enemy stores for egyptian money only, the monetary position was stabilised, and, by the end of may, egyptian paper was generally accepted all over the country.
-it must not be supposed that the life of the corps was all work and no play. at beirût and tripoli racecourses were laid out very soon after the cavalry occupied those places, and several capital little meetings were held. later on an excellent course was made at aleppo, with two grand stands, paddock, judge's box, parade ring, and everything complete, even to a fully equipped totalisator (run by the corps cashier). races were held every fortnight, and the social amenities were provided for by a tastefully laid out 'lawn,' and first-rate catering arrangements! aleppo also boasted a really good polo ground and several football and cricket grounds. both the racing and the polo were considerably better than were to be had in cairo or alexandretta.
-there was also a pack of 'fox hounds' at aleppo and another at tripoli. the 'lebanon hounds,' at the latter place, showed some quite good sport over the comparatively flat country near the coast, but the 'aleppo hunt' was handicapped by the rocky nature of the country, and by the fact that most of the 'earths' were holes in solid rock, out of which it was impossible to dig a fox that had got to ground. moreover, as they met at five o'clock on sunday mornings only, the fields were never very large!
-the 13th brigade, at aintab, held a series of point-to-point meetings in the vale of the kuwaik su, and the regiment at marash organised a pig-sticking club, which met once or twice near the ak su lakes. there was not much sport, as the pigs came from the hills, which were unridable, and to which they speedily retired, as soon as they were disturbed.
-expeditions to the ruins of the hittite city of carchemish, near jerablus, to the summer palace of haroun al rashid at rakka on the euphrates, 150 miles east of aleppo, to palmyra, the city of zenobia, in the desert eighty miles east of homs, and to various other historical remains, added interest to life, and, at the same time, served to give officers and men a knowledge of the country that they could have obtained in no other way.
-in november of the same year the administration of northern syria was finally handed over to our french allies, and the last of the british and indian cavalry marched out of the country they had conquered and held for over a year.
-the british desert mounted corps aided by the arab forces of king hussein captured damascus homs and aleppo. october 1918.
-command.--of all the matters concerning the employment of horse artillery which came under discussion during the campaign, none was more important than the vexed question of command.
-the cavalry brigadier is naturally eager to have a battery attached to him permanently, and considered as part of his brigade. apart from the conviction that a battery always on hand and under his own orders will be of more value to him than one over which he has no direct control, there is the feeling that the battery rounds off his command, and makes it, in effect, a miniature army, complete with all modern conveniences. if the powers that be would only throw in a couple of armoured cars and a private aeroplane, the cavalry brigadier would be the happiest man on earth!
-most r.h.a. battery commanders will agree with the brigadiers. attached to a brigade, the battery commander is freer and more independent, and gets, perhaps, more of the 'fun of the fair' and less of the drudgery than he does when acting as a divisional unit.
-in spite of these opinions, however, the hard facts of this campaign go to prove that our guns invariably rendered more efficient aid to the cavalry they were supporting when employed under the orders of the divisional commander than when attached to brigades. the divisional commander must always know more of the fortunes of the battle than any of his brigadiers, and is thus generally in the better position to decide where artillery support is most needed. moreover, if each battery is attached to a brigade, and acting under the orders of a brigadier, each brigade can only receive the support of one battery. but there are occasions, in most engagements, when one brigade needs all the artillery support available, while another, in reserve, or not yet heavily engaged, requires none. if the control of the artillery is left to one individual, fire can be concentrated quickly in support of those brigades or regiments that are most in need of it, and no gun is ever idle. there were one or two lamentable instances, in the 1917 operations, of a brigade remaining in reserve all day with its attached battery sleeping peacefully beside it.
-the actions of summeil in the 1917 operations and of kaukab in 1918 may be taken as fair illustrations of the employment of artillery as a divisional unit. that of jisr benat yakub in 1918 was an example of the principle of attaching each battery to a brigade.
-with the small, three-brigade cavalry division of the present day the former arrangement will practically always yield better results than the latter. direct artillery liaison should, of course, be maintained between the divisional artillery commander and each brigade, if it is at all possible to do so.
-reserves.--there were, in the early days of the campaign, indications of an idea on the part of some commanders that a certain proportion of the artillery should be held in reserve, in the same way as a brigade or regiment. this idea probably arose from the fact that one of the essential differences between artillery and other arms had been overlooked. when once a brigade or regiment has been committed to an attack, in a moving battle, and is in contact with the enemy, it can seldom be easily withdrawn in order to be transferred to another part of the field. guns, on the other hand, do not come into direct contact with the enemy--at least the gunners try their best to avoid doing so! they can, therefore, as a rule, be withdrawn without difficulty, if their services are required elsewhere. all guns in action may thus, in a sense, be said to be in reserve, since they can readily be moved to another part of the field if required. except, therefore, for the purposes of conserving ammunition, guns should rarely be unemployed during the progress of an action.
-artillery with advance and rearguards.--at the beginning of the campaign, most divisional commanders, when moving with one brigade as advance guard, allotted one battery to it. as the operations progressed, however, the view that a larger force of artillery might profitably accompany the advance guard began to gain ground. the experience of the whole campaign points to the conclusion that, in view of the small number of guns available in a cavalry division, two of the three batteries should normally accompany the advance guard brigade. the practice may be open to the objections that it makes the advance guard column unduly long, and that some risk is involved in leaving the main body so short of artillery. both these objections appear, however, to be outweighed by the advantages of having a large proportion of the artillery in front. whether the enemy's resistance is stubborn or feeble, artillery fire can assist in breaking it, and the greater the number of guns available, the quicker will that object be achieved, and the less delay will there be to the advance of the main body.
-the battery or batteries with the advance guard should, of course, march as far forward as is compatible with safety. guns must always take longer than cavalry to move a given distance, and, if they are well to the front, no time will be lost in getting them into the only formation in which they are of any use, i.e. in action.
-the divisional artillery commander should accompany the vanguard commander. when contact is established with the enemy, he is then on the spot, and able to make a personal reconnaissance at once, and decide, subject to the orders of the advance guard commander, how his guns can best and most quickly assist the cavalry. no time will then be lost in getting the guns into action. in the final series of operations, the enemy was in too demoralised a state for his action to form a very reliable guide in future wars, but it was found that vigorous artillery fire, delivered immediately after the first contact of our cavalry with his rearguards, invariably exercised a powerfully adverse effect on his morale. the little action of kaukab well exemplifies this fact.
-the above remarks as to artillery with the advance guard apply with equal force, mutatis mutandis, to the artillery of a rearguard during a retirement.
-escorts.--the campaign afforded few opportunities on our side to test the efficacy of artillery escorts. the action at huj, however, in november 1917, was an excellent example of bad escort work on the part of the enemy. our gunners have always maintained that the rôle of an escort is to obtain information rather than to afford protection. guns on the march are vulnerable to a sudden attack, especially from cavalry; in action they are, or should be, well able to take care of themselves. if this contention is right, it follows that escorts need not be large, and should not be kept near the guns, but should patrol the country in any quarter from which attack may be expected, search dead ground, woods, etc., and give early information to the guns of the approach of the enemy.
-at huj the enemy had two battalions of infantry and several machine guns disposed about his batteries, but he had not a single patrol pushed out to the east. our cavalry were thus able to approach to within 800 yards of the position of the guns unseen and unsuspected. the result of the turks' negligence was a severe disaster, and it is to be hoped that the lesson will not be thrown away on future commanders of artillery escorts in the british army. the escort work in our cavalry in palestine and syria was almost invariably very good, especially amongst the australians.
-r.h.a. howitzers.--most officers, both of the r.h.a. and the cavalry, who served in syria, agreed as to the desirability of having a few light howitzers attached to each cavalry division. such a gun as the 3·7-inch mountain howitzer, if it could be mounted on a suitable field carriage, would be admirably adapted for use with cavalry. had a few howitzers been available during the attack on beersheba, the stone block-houses and the rocky sangars of tel el saba would soon have been rendered untenable by the enemy, and would not have delayed our advance as they did.
-as to whether two guns in each six-gun battery should be replaced by howitzers, or a separate battery of four howitzers should be provided for each division, opinion varied amongst the gunners on the spot. the writer is strongly in favour of the latter alternative, as being simpler, and in conformity with the existing practice in field artillery.
-shrapnel and h.e.--the question of the best proportions of shrapnel and high explosive shell to be carried in a horse artillery battery came under discussion at various times during the campaign, and opinions varied according to the nature of fighting in progress at the time. amongst the rocks of the hill country, most battery commanders preferred a large preponderance of h.e., while, in open country, they wanted more shrapnel. one thing certain is that the turks themselves dreaded the former far more than the latter. on several occasions enemy officer prisoners told the writer that they always had greater difficulty in getting their men to attack through h.e. shell fire than through shrapnel, even though, as they averred, the latter invariably caused them more casualties than the former. as before remarked, the behaviour of the turks was not a very reliable guide for future wars, but it is to be noted that the same aversion to h.e. shell was observed amongst the germans, and even amongst our own troops.
-there seems little doubt, therefore, that the moral effect of h.e. is much greater than that of shrapnel. if this be so, r.h.a. 13-pounder guns, whose lethal effect is so comparatively small, should be provided with a large proportion of it. the writer suggests, on the experience of this campaign, that the due proportion lies somewhere between 50 and 75 per cent. of the total ammunition carried.
-general.--the batteries serving with the desert mounted corps, being territorial units, had each only four guns. there is no doubt that cavalry divisions with four-gun batteries are seriously under-gunned, and it is satisfactory to note that, under the new territorial war establishments, all r.h.a. batteries are to have six guns.
-a consideration of this fact leads to the conclusion that, if guns are to keep up with cavalry when moving fast and far, certain advantages must be allowed them.
-in the first place orders should reach the artillery early, in order to enable it to get on the move before the cavalry start, when the situation allows.
-on the move, guns should march close to the head of the column. this order of march is also desirable from the fighting point of view, as has been pointed out above. the advisability of keeping the guns well to the front was generally recognised towards the end of the campaign, but, in the early days, there was a tendency to keep them too far back.
-if there is a shortage of water or forage, the artillery horses should be the last to suffer from it.
-though the writer happens to be a gunner, these remarks are not set down as a special appeal on behalf of the artillery, but in the belief that, only by giving to the guns some such special privileges, will they be able to do the work that is required of them. horse guns are the servants of cavalry as field guns are of infantry, but, unless the servant is adequately fed and looked after, he cannot serve his master properly.
-needless to say, if a cavalry commander considers that he can carry out the task assigned to him without the help of his guns, and time presses, he is perfectly justified in pushing on at once with his cavalry, and leaving the guns to follow as best they can, as was done, quite properly, by the 5th cavalry division when crossing the carmel range in september 1918.
-one of the greatest difficulties with which the cavalry had to contend throughout the operations arose from the constant struggle to keep the horses sufficiently fit to carry on. this is, of course, always the case in war time, but the difficulties in the syrian campaign were probably greater than in any previous one in which the british army had taken part.
-condition.--in the second place, the health of the horses was in an unsatisfactory state when the cavalry operations commenced.
-whatever their outward appearance might have been, and it varied considerably in different units, their internal condition was by no means good. the great bulk of them had taken part in the advance across sinai, and had been in egypt for a long time prior to that. two years of unaccustomed and indifferent forage, added to the large quantities of sand they had consumed in their food while in the desert, had more or less permanently injured their digestive organs. it is true that sand colic, that scourge of the desert, had almost ceased to trouble the force by the end of the summer of 1917, but the dire effects of the sand were evident in every post-mortem. in a large number of cases the membrane of the stomach and intestines was freely marked with the scars of old ulcers, and in some instances large portions of it had sloughed away. sand muzzles were almost universally employed up to the commencement of the advance on beersheba, but it was impossible to prevent sand getting into the forage; indeed quantities of it had been purposely placed there by the dishonest native merchants, in order to increase the weight of bales and sacks.
-it is probable that 90 per cent. of the draught horses of the artillery and transport had strained their hearts to some extent during the terrible work in the heavy sands of the desert. the writer carried out, or was present at, upwards of twenty post-mortems on draught horses that died during the advance across sinai, and, in every case, found an enlargement of the heart greater than could possibly be accounted for by the age of the horse. in one instance, the wall of the heart was ruptured right through. this horse had been led four miles back to camp after first showing signs of extreme distress. on arriving in camp he drank well, ate a bran mash, and lived for six hours afterwards, a wonderful example of endurance.
-the experience of the campaign proved that horses cannot be in too 'big' condition at the commencement of operations, provided they have been kept adequately exercised while being conditioned. the really fat, round horses finished both series of operations in better condition than those which had looked harder and more muscular, but not so fat, at the beginning. this was especially the case in the first series, during which the shortage of water was so acute.
-forage.--during both campaigns the forage was of very poor quality and woefully scanty. up to the commencement of the 1917 operations, the daily issue had consisted of 10 lb. of barley, gram or maize and 10 lb. of tibben (chopped barley straw) and bursȳm (a kind of hay made of a coarse species of lucerne, of good feeding value and much liked by the horses). the food value of the whole daily ration was about 23 per cent. below that of an average horse in england doing the same work. the barley and tibben, being produced in egypt, were very dusty, and contained a large proportion of earth and small stones. the gram and maize were of fair quality, but the latter was sometimes issued whole, and, when issued crushed, was often very dusty. the daily ration during operations in both campaigns was 9-1/2 lb. of grain per day, and nothing else. so that the horses were called upon to do very much harder work on less than half the amount of food to which they had been accustomed, and only about 36 per cent. of the normal ration for such horses in england.
-for the first month of the 1917 campaign this ration was exclusively gram. as the horses had previously only been accustomed to a small proportion of this grain in their daily feeds, it caused them to scour badly, thus increasing the weakness engendered by hard work and starvation. it is difficult to understand why gram was decided upon in preference to barley, of which there was plenty available, but, at all events, the lesson was taken to heart, and, for the remainder of the campaign, the marching ration was always barley.
-from the 25th september 1918 till the cavalry left the country in november 1919, all forage was bought locally. it was generally of good quality, and there was a certain amount of grazing available.
-during the advance across the sinai desert a number of experiments had been carried out, both by the royal army veterinary corps and by the commanders of different units, with a view to ascertaining whether horses would do better, under the existing conditions, with two drinks a day or three. the usual plan was to select a large number of horses of the same type and of about equal condition, and put half of these on two waterings and half on three. the result of these experiments was conclusively in favour of the two drinks a day. not only did the horses on this régime improve in condition quicker than those which were watered three times, but it was proved by actual measurement that they drank more water in the day. by the time the force arrived at el arish, watering twice a day was generally accepted as the standard.
-later on, during the period between the second battle of gaza and the commencement of general allenby's operations (may to october 1917 inclusive) many of the horses of the cavalry division in the line had so far to go for water that they could only be watered once a day. it is probable that this resulted in some loss of condition, though, as there were other contributory causes, such as the periodical long reconnaissances, the heat, dust and flies, it is not possible to apportion the blame exactly. during operations, so long as the horses got water once a day, they kept fairly fit, and, given anything in the nature of bulk food, such as might be got in many countries by grazing, there seemed no reason why they should not have been able to continue indefinitely on this régime. during the beersheba-jerusalem operations, however, the average number of waterings per horse in the corps was only one every thirty-six hours.
-during the 1918 campaign there was no lack of water, except for the few days during which the 4th cavalry division was advancing on damascus east of the jordan. at all other times, water was always available for horses at least once a day.
-much has been said and written about the ability of horses to scent water afar off. the experience of this campaign seems to prove that this ability does not extend to water in deep wells, even when the supply is plentiful. there were many instances of horses, which had been without water for a long period, passing quite close to wells, without evincing any signs of knowledge of the proximity of water. that they can, and do, scent water lying in large pools or rivers was made clear on several occasions, but this power was shared by many of the australian soldiers and by a few englishmen. brigadier-general grant, commanding the 4th a.l.h. brigade, a noted 'bushman,' had this useful sense highly developed. the 'sensation' of water, once experienced, is quite unmistakable, though it is difficult to describe. the sense of smell undoubtedly plays a part, but the sensation is more one of a sudden freshness and sweetness of the atmosphere than a scent. it is noticeable particularly just after sunset, when the presence of water lying in pools may often be detected several miles away. unfortunately, damp ground, from which water has recently evaporated, produces the same sensation, and frequently deceived horses as well as men.
-remounts.--the last horses shipped to egypt arrived in may or june 1917, and most of these were issued to units before the commencement of the beersheba-gaza operations. from that date till the end of the war, no more horses arrived in the country; 8000 remounts, which had been bought by the british government in australia, could never be moved, owing to the shortage of shipping. when the stock of remounts in palestine was exhausted, casualties were replaced by horses that had already seen service, and had been sent, sick or wounded, to remount hospitals, and reissued as soon as they were reasonably fit for further work. at the commencement of the advance in september 1918 the remount depots were emptied, and there was scarcely a single fit horse left behind the fighting troops.
-such remounts as reached the country, nearly all from australia or canada, were of a good type, sound and reliable. the depots were admirably managed, and the whole remount service was a model of efficiency.
-some 1500 arab ponies and a considerable number of mules and camels were captured from the turks in 1917. they were nearly all in wretched condition and covered with galls, but, after being well fed and looked after for a few weeks, fetched the most astonishing prices. £50 was the average price paid at jerusalem for a pony, £40 for a small mule, and £35 for a camel. we were able to make use of the camels, and a few of the stouter ponies were issued to the infantry as 'cobs,' but the great majority of ponies and mules were of no use to us. during the 1918 operations about 2000 enemy animals fell into our hands, and these realised even higher prices in northern syria and the lebanon.
-type.--some remarks on type have already been made in chapter viii. the experience of the latter part of the campaign served but to confirm the conclusion as to the superiority of well-bred, fairly lightly-built horses over those of coarser fibre. well-bred horses will go farther and faster, eat less, and recover condition more quickly than the coarse-bred ones. in this connection, when is the dismal practice of subdividing the horses of a battery into 'riders' and 'draught horses' going to be abandoned? every gunner wants to have practically nothing but light draught horses, so that every horse in the battery shall be capable of taking its turn in a gun team if necessary. the result of classifying nearly half the horses in a horse artillery battery as 'riders' too often results in all the weedy, fifteen hand ponies in the remount depots being issued to the gunners. such horses are even more useless in a battery than they would be in a cavalry regiment. in the latter they might carry a trumpeter; in the former even the trumpeter's horse is expected to be able to take his turn in draught. on more than one occasion in 1917 even officers' chargers were used in the teams.
-the 5th cavalry division suffered somewhat from laminitis in september 1918, as a result of the rather unnecessarily fast pace the division had set on the morning of the 19th. thirty or forty horses had to be destroyed on the following day. neither of the other two divisions, however, had any trouble of this sort.
-equipment.--leather muzzles proved a necessity in all units whose horses were picketed on ropes stretched between wagon wheels instead of on ground lines. otherwise the hungry brutes ate the woodwork of the wheels voraciously. it was only necessary to muzzle the two or three horses picketed next to the wheels. the nostril holes of the service pattern muzzle are much too small, and should be enlarged downwards and outwards to an oval shape at least three inches long.
-in the australian light horse regiments neither manes nor tails were ever cut or pulled. during operations there was little time to care for manes and tails, and they looked somewhat untidy, but there is no doubt that in a hot country, it is preferable to let them grow freely. not only does a mane assist the horse to rid itself of flies, but it appears to give some protection from the fierce rays of the sun, and a long thick tail is unquestionably a very great blessing to a horse in a fly country.
-transport and ammunition supply
-the advance to damascus and aleppo in september and october 1918 proved with what a small amount of transport cavalry can operate, when local supplies are available. as already explained, during this advance no transport accompanied the divisions, except ammunition wagons and a few motor ambulance cars.
-the opportunities for cavalry making a raid such a great distance into enemy country have seldom occurred in the past, and are likely to become even more rare in the future. when they do occur, however, the experience of this campaign points to the conclusion that there can be few countries in which cavalry can operate as such effectively, where they would not be able to dispense almost entirely with transport. the fact that mounted troops can move freely, denotes that the country is not excessively mountainous, and is, therefore (excluding desert land), more or less cultivated, thus providing food for man and horse. it must be remembered that much of the country through which the cavalry passed between the 25th of september and the 28th of october is poorly cultivated, and all of it had been mercilessly laid under requisition by the turks and germans for the supply of their armies. yet it was found possible to secure food and forage for three cavalry divisions, a total of nearly 20,000 men and a similar number of horses, without extreme difficulty, and without in any way depriving the inhabitants of essential food.
-if, however, the country through which it is proposed to advance is incapable of supporting the force, sufficient transport must be taken to carry supplies for such a number of days as may be requisite. the pace of the cavalry will then be, to a great extent, limited by the pace of their transport, and for this reason every effort should be made to increase the mobility of cavalry transport vehicles.
-vehicles.--at the beginning of the 1917 operations the cavalry ammunition columns and supply trains were equipped partly with g.s. and partly with limbered g.s. wagons. during the subsequent operations, both at the beginning, when movement took place over a sandy or dusty plain, and later on, when the whole country was a sea of mud, and vast areas were under water, the g.s. wagons were constantly in trouble. the experience of the whole campaign was overwhelmingly in favour of the l.g.s. wagon. the sole advantage of the g.s. wagon lies in its greater capacity for carrying bulky loads. for this reason it is very suitable for use in barracks or standing camps, where such stuff as hay, straw, etc., have to be carried. as regards weight, however, the l.g.s. wagon holds its own against the g.s. on roads, and is superior in roadless or hilly country. that is to say, the l.g.s. wagon, with two men and four horses, can, in such country, carry more than two-thirds of the load possible for the g.s. wagon, with its three drivers and six horses. further, the lower centre of gravity, four large wheels and much greater lock angle of the former, enables it to cross country over which the latter cannot move at all. one advantage claimed for the g.s. type is that the wagon body is supposed to be capable of being used as a pontoon. the writer has tried it as such, in peace time, and his experience has decided him that he would rather swim.
-the above remarks are, of course, to be taken as applying to cavalry transport only.
-there is one weakness in the l.g.s. wagon which is commended to the notice of the royal ordnance corps. the bolt which fastens the wagon body on to the carriage passes through the axle. towards the end of the campaign, after several years' hard and continuous work, a number of these axles began to break, and always at the place where the bolt passed through them. it is suggested that, in future manufacture, the fastening might consist of a steel collar over the axle, instead of a bolt through it.
-horses.--the remarks on type, which have been made with regard to the cavalry riding horse, apply with equal force to the cavalry draught horse. many of our english draught animals were of far too heavy a type, either for horse artillery or for cavalry transport. it is sometimes argued that a proportion of heavy horses is very useful when wagons begin to get stuck in boggy places. but it is not much use having these equine samsons at all, if they are not available at the time their services are required. and this is what invariably happens. nothing in the nature of a cart horse can live with cavalry in a march of forty miles, and, in this campaign, there was one of over ninety miles on end, and marches of forty, fifty and sixty miles were comparatively common. if heavy horses are forced to keep up with cavalry over such distances, they very soon give up the unequal fight and die; if they are allowed to go their own pace, they are a day's march in rear at the end of twenty-four hours, and the transport thus requires an escort of a size that can ill be spared from the fighting forces.
-another advantage of having a lighter-built, better-bred type of horse for transport, is that they then form a reserve for the cavalry. in the artillery it is the rule for riding and draught horses to change places frequently, thus resting both kinds in turn. this custom might profitably be employed occasionally in the cavalry.
-the australians have an admirable type of cavalry draught horse: 15 to 15.2 hands high, short-backed, well-coupled, and showing a good deal of breeding. the disappearance from our english roads first of the coaches and then of the horse-drawn buses, has deprived us almost entirely of our once fine type of light draught horse, and it seems as if we shall, in the future, have to depend more and more on the dominions for our supply of such horses. there were a certain number of canadian horses in the corps transport. they were hard and sound, but of a coarser type, with heavier shoulders and less handy than those from australia.
-other transport animals.--at different times, camels, mules, and donkeys were used by the cavalry for transport purposes. the first named are, of course, entirely unsuitable, except for work in the desert, but, as we had some 30,000 of them in our possession in 1917, a legacy from sinai, and there was a shortage of other transport, they were largely used during the 1917 operations. no attempt was made to keep up, or even near, the cavalry on the march, but the camels worked in a system of convoys along defined routes, forming dumps behind the advancing line of cavalry, from which the divisional trains drew supplies. the uselessness and danger of camels in mountainous country was convincingly demonstrated in the mountains of judæa and in the two trans-jordan raids, and, after the second of these, the imperial camel corps brigade was disbanded, and the cavalry saw no more of the patient but unlovable beasts that had worked for them for more than two years.
-mules were in use in the transport to a certain extent all through the campaign, but the experience of the 1917 operations led to their being replaced by horses in all transport that was required to keep up with the cavalry. their hardihood, soundness, and remarkable freedom from disease, no less than their patience and docility, render them admirable for infantry transport, and even, possibly, for field artillery, but they suffer from the serious disability, from the cavalry or horse artillery point of view, that they cannot go the pace. left to themselves, they can march indefinitely, but, if pushed along faster than their natural gait, they rapidly lose condition, and soon become so debilitated as to be well-nigh useless. as this natural pace is slower than that of horses, they must always be pushed when acting with cavalry, and this fact renders them unsuitable for use with mounted troops.
-donkeys were first used in supply convoys in the judæan hills in the winter of 1917, some 400 being sent up from egypt for this purpose. they did most excellent work, supplying the troops in the line at a time when there were no roads available. they are admirably adapted for such special work, being small, hardy, and easily handled, and requiring no attention. for any other purpose they are, of course, not to be seriously considered. owing to the chronic shortage of horses in the country, those details of regiments who did not usually accompany their units into action were, in 1917, given donkeys to ride. there were about half a dozen in each cavalry regiment or similar unit. most of these were gradually exchanged for arab ponies captured from the enemy, but a few carried on right through the campaign, up to the capture of aleppo. how they kept up through some of the long marches of 1918, carrying a heavy man and all his kit, is a mystery, but they contrived to do so somehow.
-ammunition.--prior to the commencement of the 1917 operations in palestine, the amount of small arm ammunition laid down to be carried in a cavalry divisional ammunition column was 250,000 rounds per brigade, or 1,000,000 in the column for the four-brigade divisions of that time. this was a ridiculously over-large amount. on the other hand, the amount of gun ammunition was very small. indeed the divisional column commander who said that he carried in his column three weeks' supply for the small arms and three hours' for the guns, can scarcely be accused of hyperbole.
-after the second battle of gaza, during which the cavalry were engaged all day long dismounted, in a very heavy fire fight, it was found that, after replenishing the regimental reserves, only about one-sixth of the small arm ammunition in the divisional ammunition columns had been issued. the guns, on the other hand, had expended nearly three times the total quantity of ammunition carried in the column.
-as a result of this action, the whole question of ammunition supply was considered afresh, and the columns were reorganised with an establishment of 200 rounds of shell per gun, and 120,000 of small arm ammunition per brigade, calculated as to 84,000 rounds for the machine gun squadron and 12,000 rounds for each regiment. these proportions worked satisfactorily, though the gun ammunition might still be somewhat increased, even at the expense of the small arms. the result of the whole series of operations seems to point to the fact that an establishment of 100,000 rounds of small arm ammunition per brigade, or 300,000 per division, and 250 rounds of gun ammunition per gun, or 4500 for a division, would form the best proportion. this would give a total of 442 rounds of shell per gun, carried in the field, not an unduly large amount for a modern, quick-firing gun, when it is remembered that napoleon considered that the muzzle-loading, slow-firing field pieces of his day should be supplied with not less than 300 rounds apiece.
-loads.--the weights laid down in the 1914 war establishments to be carried both in g.s. and l.g.s. wagons were found to be only suitable for transport accompanying infantry along well-metalled roads. after the second battle of gaza, a new load table was drawn up empirically. a series of experiments, carried out just prior to the commencement of the beersheba operations, demonstrated that even these reduced loads were far too heavy for g.s. wagons in such country. unfortunately these experiments were ignored, and the g.s. wagons started the operations with the loads as laid down in the new tables. the result was that, during the march from the shellal area to khalasa, the g.s. wagons were strewn over twenty miles of country, and some 200 camels had to be requisitioned at short notice from the supply columns to lighten the wagons.
-after the fall of beersheba, the g.s. wagons of the divisional ammunition column were taken over by the corps, as already narrated, and they took no further part in the operations until they rejoined their respective divisions on the 19th november.
-as a result of the 1917 series of operations, the load question was again reviewed, and the following loads were decided upon.
-g.s. wagons, 23 boxes of 13-pounder gun ammunition or 26 boxes of small arm ammunition, a total load behind the 6 horses of about 35 cwt.
-l.g.s. wagons, 16 boxes of gun or 18 boxes of small arm ammunition, a total load behind the 4 horses of about 24 cwt.
-these loads were proved by considerable subsequent experience to be the maximum with which wagons could operate efficiently with cavalry in such country. it is to be remarked that practically no sandy country was encountered after the fall of beersheba, but the unmetalled tracks along which the transport had to march were, in the winters of 1917 and 1918, often almost impassable owing to the mud.
-before leaving the subject of ammunition supply, attention should be drawn to the vital necessity of cavalry regiments replenishing their regimental reserve of small arm ammunition from the ammunition column every day. obvious as this duty may appear, it is one that is frequently neglected, especially during a time of long marches. it frequently happened that, in spite of repeated applications, the ammunition column commanders could not get indents from the regiments for days at a time. such delays were often followed by sudden demands for the immediate supply of a large quantity of ammunition, which, perhaps, was not all available at the moment. there ensued mutual recriminations, and much extra work for the tired horses of both the columns and the regimental ammunition wagons, all of which might have been avoided by more forethought and attention to detail.
-(a) the desert mounted corps
-when the desert mounted corps officially came into being, it was constituted as follows:--
-commander: lieutenant-general sir harry chauvel, k.c.b., k.c.m.g., australian imperial forces.
-australian and new zealand mounted division (anzac).
-1st australian light horse brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general c.f. cox, c.b., c.m.g., d.s.o., a.i.f.
-1st, 2nd, and 3rd regiments australian light horse.
-2nd australian light horse brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general g. de l. ryrie, c.b., c.m.g., a.i.f.
-5th, 6th, and 7th regiments australian light horse.
-new zealand mounted brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general w. meldrum, c.m.g., d.s.o., n.z.i.f.
-auckland, canterbury, and wellington regiments of mounted rifles.
-18th brigade r.h.a. (inverness, ayrshire, and somerset batteries) and divisional ammunition column.
-6th mounted brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general c.a.c. godwin, d.s.o., i.a. dorset, bucks, and berks yeomanry regiments.
-8th mounted brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general c.s. rome, d.s.o.
-1st city of london and 1st and 3rd county of london yeomanry regiments.
-22nd mounted brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general f.a.b. fryer (relinquished command december 1917).
-stafford, lincoln, and east riding yeomanry regiments.
-20th brigade r.h.a. (berks, hants, and leicester batteries) and divisional ammunition column.
-australian mounted division.
-3rd australian light horse brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general l.c. wilson, c.m.g., d.s.o., a.i.f.
-8th, 9th, and 10th regiments australian light horse.
-4th australian light horse brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general w. grant, c.m.g., d.s.o., a.i.f.
-4th, 11th, and 12th regiments australian light horse.
-5th mounted brigade.
-19th brigade r.h.a. ('a' and 'b' batteries honourable artillery company, and notts battery r.h.a.) and divisional ammunition column.
-7th mounted brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general j.t. wigan, c.m.g., d.s.o., (relinquished command december 1917).
-sherwood rangers, south notts and herts yeomanry regiments, with essex battery r.h.a., and brigade ammunition column.
-imperial camel corps brigade.
-two australian and one british camel battalions, with the hongkong and singapore mountain battery r.g.a.
-after the reorganisation consequent on the despatch of many of the yeomanry regiments to france, in april and may 1918, and the arrival of indian cavalry regiments from europe, the corps was expanded into four divisions as follows:--
-4th cavalry division.
-commander: major-general sir g. de s. barrow, k.c.m.g., etc.
-10th cavalry brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general w.g.k. green, d.s.o., i.a.
-dorset yeomanry, 2nd lancers, 38th central india horse.
-11th cavalry brigade.
-12th cavalry brigade.
-commander: brigadier-general j.t. wigan, c.m.g., d.s.o. stafford yeomanry, 6th cavalry, 19th lancers.
-20th brigade r.h.a. and divisional ammunition column.
-5th cavalry division.
-commander: major-general sir h.j.m. macandrew, k.c.m.g., c.b., d.s.o., indian army.
-13th cavalry brigade.
-brigadier-general g.a. weir, d.s.o.
-gloucester yeomanry, 9th hodson's horse, 18th lancers.
-14th cavalry brigade.
-sherwood rangers yeomanry, 20th deccan horse, 34th poona horse.
-'b' battery h.a.c. and essex battery r.h.a., with divisional ammunition column.
-the anzac and the australian mounted divisions remained the same, except that the 5th mounted brigade was replaced in the latter by the 5th a.l.h. brigade, which consisted of the 14th and 15th regiments a.l.h. (composed of men of the camel corps brigade, which had been disbanded after the second trans-jordan raid), and the french régiment mixte de cavalerie. swords were issued to the australian mounted division at the beginning of august 1918, and the men had about six weeks' training in the use of them before the operations commenced. the australian troopers took to their new weapon enthusiastically, and showed, later on, that they knew how to use it.
-during the 1917 operations, the infantry were organised as follows:--
-commander: lieutenant-general sir philip chetwode, bart., k.c.b., k.c.m.g., d.s.o.
-commander: major-general j.r. longley, c.b., c.m.g.
-commander: major-general e.s. girdwood, c.b.
-commander: major-general j. hill, c.b., d.s.o., a.d.c., i.a.
-commander: major-general s.w. hare, c.b.
-three-quarters of the british troops in all divisions except the 54th were replaced by indians.
-note on the arab movement
-a sherif (plur. ashraf) is one who claims descent direct from the prophet mohammed, through his daughter fatima, wife of ali, the third khalif. these ashraf are found all over the arabic-speaking world, but only those whose pedigrees are inscribed in the register of mecca are universally accepted as true descendants of the prophet. this register has been kept with extraordinary care, and it is probable that it dates back to the time of mohammed himself. there are in the hedjaz several families of these true ashraf, who form the aristocracy of the arab world, live under a law of their own, and enjoy a number of special privileges.
-for the first four centuries after the death of the prophet, the ashraf, though regarded with veneration and respect by the arabs, held no temporal power. at the end of the tenth century, however, a sherif of mecca proclaimed himself emir of the ashraf, and succeeded in establishing his dynasty as the temporal chiefs (under the khalif) of the hedjaz. the ruling prince of the ashraf of mecca was known for centuries in europe as 'the grand sherif of mecca,' and, in former times, when the city was not as jealously guarded as it now is, more than one christian sovereign sent an embassy to him there.
-during the succeeding five hundred years, internecine strife, resulting in frequent changes of dynasty, weakened the temporal power of the emirs of mecca, and correspondingly increased the ascendancy of the turks. in the sixteenth century, however, the emir katada, by a series of conquests of rival claimants, possessed himself of the chief power in the hedjaz, and established his own family as the head of the ashraf.
-sherif hussein, a lineal descendant of katada, succeeded to the emirate in 1908. a man of powerful will and strong ambitions, hussein began almost at once to consider the possibility of securing the independence of the hedjaz, and possibly even of all the arabs, from turkish dominion. his task was an exceedingly difficult one. the sultan of turkey, as khalif of islam, was regarded as the spiritual head of all moslems, and any open action against him would be likely to meet with strong opposition in all moslem countries outside arabia. a turkish army corps, with its headquarters at sanah, near aden, garrisoned and controlled the country; and the emir's own people, split up into innumerable tribes and clans, were torn by bitter inter-tribal feuds, many of which dated back for centuries.
-the declaration of war by turkey on great britain furnished the emir with the chance which he had long awaited, and the atrocities committed by the turks in syria at the beginning of the war caused the oppressed arabs to turn to him as their national champion. he at once threw in his lot with the british, though not openly at first, and set to work, with the fierce energy characteristic of him, to stir up the tribes of the hedjaz against the turks.
-the outbreak of the rebellion was precipitated by the arrival at medina in may 1916 of a large turkish force, charged with the task of re-establishing the waning authority of the sultan in the hedjaz. the emir himself, though as full of energy and determination as ever, was now too old to bear the rigours of a desert campaign, and accordingly placed the command of his bedouin followers in the hands of his three eldest sons ali, abdullah, and feisal. of ali we know little, though he was active in the summer of 1918 and in the early part of 1917. abdullah, the second son, was of a retiring disposition, a theologian and philosopher, and a deep student of the koran. feisal alone inherited his father's energy and power of command, without, however, the old man's ungovernable temper. the youngest son, zeid, was still only a boy.
-a line of arab pickets was established round medina, under the command of feisal, and the railway north of the town was cut in several places. but the arabs, not being provided at this time with explosives, and being ignorant of modern methods of demolition, did not effect enough before being driven off by relief parties with machine guns, to interrupt seriously the communication of medina with the north, and the besieging force, short of arms and supplies, and without artillery, could do little more than watch the city from afar. jiddah, however, the port of mecca, which was attacked on june 9th, held out barely a week. cut off from mecca by the loss of the military block-houses on the road, and bombarded by british warships and aeroplanes, the turkish garrison surrendered on the 16th june. the fall of mecca followed a month later, and an arab force under sherif abdullah then proceeded to blockade the hill town of taif, where the bulk of the turkish forces, outside medina, was established in summer quarters. this place held out till near the end of september, when ghalib pasha, the g.o.c., despairing of help, and cut off by the arabs from all sources of supply, surrendered with the garrison of 2000 men.
-by the end of the year all the small turkish posts scattered throughout the hedjaz had fallen to the arabs. medina still held out, and it was clear that the arab forces, indifferently armed, and inexperienced in modern siege warfare, could not hope to reduce this city. the turkish garrison, with the lines of communication troops along the railway to the north, numbered some 15,000 men, well-armed and equipped, and in all respects capable of prolonged resistance.
-acting on the advice of the british officers with them, the arabs, therefore, abandoned for the time being all attempts on medina, and concentrated all their efforts on a systematic attack on the hedjaz railway north of the town. during the first six months of 1917 a constant succession of raids so interrupted the traffic on the railway that the turks could with difficulty keep open their communications between medina and damascus.
-in july 1917 the emir feisal seized akaba, at the north end of the red sea, and made this place his base for further raiding operations on the railway as far north as maan.
-the strong position taken up by the turkish ivth army east of the jordan during the summer of 1918, prevented the emir from making any further move northwards. he remained about maan, collecting his resources for the coming struggle, and carrying on a vigorous propaganda among the surrounding tribes, till the british advance in september caused the ivth army to retire, and gave the arabs the opportunity of completing the task to which they had set themselves in 1916.
-summary of terms of the turkish armistice which came into force on october 31, 1918.
-art. 1.--opening of the dardanelles and bosphorus and access to the black sea. the allied occupation of the dardanelles and bosphorus forts.
-art. 2.--the position of all minefields, torpedo tubes, and other obstructions in turkish waters to be indicated, and assistance to be given to sweep or remove them as may be required.
-art. 3.--all available information regarding the mines in the black sea to be communicated.
-art. 4.--all allied prisoners and armenians interned to be collected in constantinople, and handed over unconditionally to the allies.
-art. 5.--the immediate demobilisation of the army except troops required for the surveillance of the frontier and maintenance of internal order, their number and disposal to be determined later by the allies, after consultation with the turkish government.
-art. 6.--the surrender of all war vessels in turkish waters or the waters occupied by turkey. these ships to be interned at such turkish port or ports, as may be directed, except such small vessels as are required for police or similar purposes in turkish territorial waters.
-art. 7.--the allies to have the right to occupy any strategic points, in the event of any situation arising which threatens the security of the allies.
-art. 8.--the free use by allied ships of all ports and anchorages now in turkish occupation, and the denial of their use to the enemy. similar conditions to apply to turkish mercantile shipping in turkish waters, for the purposes of trade and the demobilisation of the army.
-art. 9.--the use of all ship-repairing facilities at all turkish ports and arsenals.
-art. 10.--allied occupation of the taurus tunnel system.
-art. 11.--withdrawal of turkish troops from north-western persia. part of trans-caucasia to be evacuated; the remainder to be evacuated if the allies require, after they study the situation there.
-art. 12.--wireless and cable stations to be under allied control; turkish government messages excepted.
-art. 13.--prohibition of the destruction of any naval, military, or commercial material by the turks.
-art. 14.--facilities to be given for the purchase of coal, oil-fuel, and naval material from turkish sources, after the requirements of the country have been met. none of the above material to be exported.
-art. 15.--allied control of all railways, and allied occupation of batoum. turkey not to object to the allied occupation of baku.
-art. 16.--the surrender of the garrisons of the hedjaz, asir, yemen, syria, and mesopotamia, and the withdrawal of troops from cilicia, except those maintaining order, as determined under clause 5. the surrender of all ports in cilicia.
-art. 17.--the surrender of all turkish officers in tripolitania and cyrenaica to the nearest italian garrison. turkey to guarantee to stop supplies to, and communication with, these officers, if they do not obey the order of surrender.
-art. 18.--the surrender of all ports occupied in tripolitania and cyrenaica, including misurata, to the nearest allied garrison.
-art. 19.--all germans and austrians, naval, military, and civilian, to quit turkey within a month. those in remote districts to do so as soon as possible thereafter.
-art. 20.--compliance with the allies' orders as regards the disposal of arms and the transport of the demobilised, under clause 5.
-art. 21.--an allied representative to be attached to the turkish ministry of supplies, to safeguard allied interests.
-art. 22.--turkish prisoners to be kept at the disposal of the allies. the release of turkish civilian prisoners and prisoners over military age to be considered.
-art. 23.--turkey to cease all relations with the central powers.
-art. 24.--in case of disorder in the six armenian vilayets the allies reserve the right to occupy any of them.
-abasan el kebir, 12.
-abdullah, emir, 339.
-abid miriam, 177.
-abraham's well, 41.
-abu el teaha, 3.
----- jerwal, 32.
----- shusheh (plain of philistia) 85, 89.
----- ---- (plain of esdraelon), 200, 206.
----- tellul, 178.
----- ---- action of, 181, 185.
----- el hareira, 3.
-acre, capture of, 232.
-administration of enemy territory. see enemy territory.
-advance guards, 252-257, 267-269, 285-289.
----- ---- artillery with, 305, 306.
-afule, 4, 191, 192.
----- capture of, 210.
-ain arik, 105.
----- el duk, 177, 180.
----- el hekr, 137.
----- el sir, 135, 241.
----- el subian, 222.
----- hemar, 159.
----- kohleh, 38.
----- shibleh, 193, 222.
-aintab, 295, 301.
-aircraft, british, xv, 15, 188, 197, 198, 204.
----- ---- superiority of, 6, 261.
----- ---- co-operation with cavalry, 285, 286.
----- ---- bombing operations, 198, 216, 218, 222, 226.
----- enemy, 6, 9, 15, 174, 210, 216, 261, 288.
-ajalon, vale of, 89, 102.
-ajje, 199, 219.
-akaba, 129, 340.
-akir, 79, 84.
-ak su lakes, 301.
-aleppo, 4, 282, 295.
----- advance on, 287, 288, 289.
----- capture of, 290.
----- riots in, 297.
-'aleppo hunt,' 301.
-ali, emir, 339.
-allenby, field-marshal viscount, 1, 7, 247.
----- ---- tactics of, xiv, xv, 20, 39, 194.
----- ---- success in deceiving enemy, 5, 17, 195.
----- ---- good judgment of, 39, 76.
----- ---- meeting with general chauvel, 225.
-amman, 5, 126, 132.
----- unsuccessful attacks on, 143, 145, 147-149.
----- capture of, 241.
-ammunition-- captured enemy, 56, 85. columns, 46, 48, 63, 96, 328, 329, 330. gun, 328, 329, 330. loads of, for wagons, 329, 330. replenishment of, 46, 330. sent up to el salt, 166, 167. small arm, 328, 329, 330. supply, 328, 329, 330.
-amwas, 88, 102.
-anti-lebanon mountains, 296.
-arab movement. appendix ii.
-arab ponies. see horses.
-arab punar, 295.
-arabs-- beni sakhr tribe, 155, 156, 165, 244, 245. butchered by turks, 264. character of, 130, 280. christian, 98, 144. friendly, 37, 145. guides, 23, 206. hostile to british, 15, 35, 150, 244, 245. hostile to turks, 212, 240, 243, 244, 245, 275, 280. huweitat tribe, 130. intertribal feuds among, 130, 144, 338. looting by, 211, 243, 280, 281. regular army of. see sherifian army. spies, 5, 119. unreliable information of, 104, 135, 206, 259, 260. vengeance of, 265.
-arak el menshiye, 59, 61, 62, 74.
----- suweidan, 60.
-arkub el khaluf, 165.
-armenians, character of, 299.
----- attempt to massacre, 297.
-armenian refugees, 296.
----- reparations committee, 297, 298.
----- terms of, 342.
-armoured cars, xv, 85, 109, 160, 195, 204, 205, 208, 209, 211, 220, 226, 232, 249, 267, 284.
----- ---- in advance on aleppo, 285-292.
----- ---- enemy, 288.
-artillery, royal horse. see horse artillery.
----- ---- ---- loss of. see guns loss of.
----- shortage of, 179, 190.
----- enemy field, xiv, 26, 186.
----- ---- heavy, xiv, 9, 45, 186, 187, 188.
----- ---- shelling own troops, 60, 66, 183.
-australian and new zealand mounted division. see anzac mounted division.
-australian light horse brigades-- 1st, 7, 8, 24, 45, 51, 59, 65, 69, 71, 128, 136, 154, 157, 165, 174, 181, 229, 240, 243. 2nd, 7, 8, 24, 45, 51, 59, 137, 154, 157, 165, 228, 229, 241, 242. 3rd, 7, 8, 21, 26, 52, 72, 102, 115, 117, 157, 165, 213, 249, 259, 267, 277, 279. 4th, 8, 28, 31, 45, 52, 56, 72, 115, 157, 160, 175, 248, 249, 268. 5th, 190, 199, 217, 220, 259, 269.
-australian light horse regiments-- 1st, 157. 2nd, 27, 28, 69, 182. 3rd, 28, 229. 4th, 162, 250, 268, 269. 5th, 184, 242. 6th, 170. 8th, 158, 159, 172, 267. 9th, 158, 267. 10th, 158, 159, 213, 268, 277. 11th, 157, 160, 249, 263. 12th, 250, 268, 269, 275. 14th, 217. 15th, 221.
-australians as scouts, 140.
----- weight of, 95.
-ayun kara, 86.
-baalbek, 284, 285, 287, 295.
-baldwin ii., castle of, 258.
-balin, 66, 72.
-barada, river, 269.
-baramkie station, 277.
-barley, 313, 314.
-barrow, major-general sir g. de s., 42, 80, 89, 209, 240, 302.
-barrow's detachment, 42.
-bayonets, used in cavalry charge, 29, 56.
-beersheba, arabs in, 36, 37, 38.
----- capture of, 30.
----- defences of, 3, 20.
----- description of, 20, 33, 34, 35.
----- railway, 4.
-beirût, 282, 284, 295.
-beisan, 134, 191, 211.
-beit dejan, 19, 220.
----- dukka, 107.
----- duras, 60.
----- hanun, 48, 52.
----- jibrin, 66, 70, 97.
----- lid, 220.
----- likia, 107.
----- ras, 253.
----- sira, 103.
----- ur el foka, 106, 113.
----- ur el tahta, 101, 103, 113.
-belled el sheikh, 233.
-berkusie, 66, 72.
-bir adas, 199.
----- el arara, 23.
----- el hammam, 23.
----- el makruneh, 32.
----- el nettar, 39.
----- jemameh, 44, 51.
----- salim abu irgeig, 23.
-birket ata, 204.
-bivouac shelters, 12.
-blockhouses, 20, 27, 28, 256.
-bluff, the, 182, 183.
-bridges, and bridgeheads-- beersheba, 35. benat yakub, 258. el rastan, 288. enemy, 128, 129, 157, 158. esdud, 65, 69, 118. jordan, 128, 129, 135, 136, 146, 153, 157, 158, 175. nahr el auja, 108, 109, 110. shellal, 17.
-brisbane, captain, 142.
-british forces. see troops, british.
-bulfin, lieutenant-general sir edward, 9.
-bureir, 50, 59.
-burka, 65, 71.
-butler, lady, 55.
-cacolets, 151, 173.
-camel transport corps, 36, 62, 63.
-camels, 36, 63, 325.
----- arabs impressed by british, 36.
----- prices realised by captured, 318.
----- unsuitability of, in hill country, 141, 173, 325, 326.
-cameron, lieutenant-colonel, 244.
-carmel, mount, 192, 212, 233.
-casualties, british, 31, 54, 84, 92, 94, 114, 151, 152, 181, 268, 287, 293.
----- enemy, 31, 54, 83, 85, 92, 117, 153, 154, 184, 251, 272, 276, 278.
-charges of cavalry-- abu naj, 230, 231. abu shusheh, 90. beersheba, 29. haifa, 235, 236. haritan, 292. henu ford, 185, 186. huj, 53. irbid, 253. kaukab, 269. khan ayash, 279. remte, 256. training for, 55, 56. unsuccessful, 230, 253, 254, 292. of turkish cavalry, 22.
-chauvel, lieutenant-general sir h.g., k.c.b., k.c.m.g., xvi, 8, 169, 279.
-chaytor, major-general sir e.w.c., 108, 138, 143, 149, 164.
-chaytor's force, 196, 201, 220, 227, 229, 240-246.
-chetwode, lieutenant-general sir philip, bart., viii, 7, 9, 33.
-christians, 98, 144.
-circassians, 144, 263, 264.
-climate, 15, 63, 104, 117, 177, 179, 180, 189, 311.
-cold, 104, 118, 119, 137, 144.
-committee of union and progress, 298.
-communications, british, 16, 17, 112, 129, 164, 263.
----- enemy, 4, 129, 191, 192, 193.
-communiqués, enemy, 16, 100.
-counter-attacks, enemy-- balin, 72, 73, 74. el burj, 117. jisr el damieh, 160. khuweilfeh, 38, 39, 40. nebi samwil, 107. richon-le-zion, 86.
-country, description of. see topography.
-cox, brigadier-general, 27, 65.
-cripps, lieutenant-colonel, 90.
----- capture of, 275, 279.
----- disorders in, 280, 281.
----- importance of, 247.
----- the race for, 251-275.
-darb el haj, 243.
-darfur campaign, 314.
-davison, captain, 209.
-dead sea, 126, 179, 180.
-deceiving the enemy, 5, 17, 175, 176, 177, 195, 196, 197, 210, 211, 213, 214, 293.
-defences, british-- gaza-beersheba, 5, 12. jaffa-jerusalem, 114. jordan valley, 175, 178, 179.
-defences, turkish-- gaza-beersheba, 3, 20. damascus, 268.
-defences, turkish-- jaffa-jerusalem, 114. on 19th september 1918, 191, 193, 199, 200, 220. nazareth, 214. trans-jordan, 133, 156. nahr rubin, 70, 71. aleppo, 289.
-deir ali, 268.
----- el belah, 16, 17.
----- el ghusn, 219.
----- el hawa, 39.
----- el kuddis, 119.
----- el saras, 261.
----- khabiye, 273.
----- sineid, 4.
-deraa junction, 4, 191, 192, 248, 252, 257, 264, 295.
-desert column, the, viii, 7, 16.
-desert mounted corps, ix, 9, 293.
----- ---- ---- administration of syria by, 295-301.
----- ---- ---- disbandment of, 302.
-disease, among british troops, x, 181, 246, 283, 284, 287.
----- ---- enemy, 60, 276, 278, 279.
-dobell, major-general sir c., viii.
-documents, captured enemy, 5, 57, 178, 194, 198, 208.
-donkeys, 166, 325, 326, 327.
-dothan pass, 213.
-druses, 263, 264.
-dust, 71, 179, 180, 187, 311.
-dysentery, 60, 278.
-eastern force, viii.
-egyptian expeditionary force, 1, 7.
-enemy territory, advances into, 122, 293.
----- ---- administration of, 295-301.
----- ---- disorder in, 296, 297.
-engineers, royal, 16, 17, 287, 288.
----- australian, 16, 17.
----- enemy, 49, 132.
-entrenching tools, 13.
-equipment, 12, 13, 320, 321.
----- weight of, 95.
-escorts. see horse artillery.
-esdraelon, plain of, 191, 209.
-esdud, 60, 118.
-euphrates, river, 282.
-exchange, stabilisation of, 299, 301.
----- gambles in, 299, 300.
-falkenhayn, marshal von, 2, 72.
-faluje, 59, 61, 62, 66.
-feisal, emir, 130, 153, 280, 281, 339, 340, 341.
-fevzi pasha, 9.
-fire support, 29, 55, 82, 90, 209, 254, 260, 269, 291, 304, 305.
-flag of truce, 289.
-forage, 13, 62, 248, 313, 314.
----- local, 248, 314.
-fox hounds, 301.
-fuheis, 144, 168.
-gafar pasha, 297.
-galilee, sea of, 134, 191.
-gaza, defences of, 3.
----- attack of, 22, 32.
----- capture of, 48.
----- description of, 124, 125.
-gebel el shegeib, 23.
-german emperor, 121.
-germans, 9, 154, 181, 214, 219, 250, 251.
----- ill-treatment of turks by, xiii, xiv, 193, 194, 260, 276.
----- breaches of laws of war by, 216, 250, 251.
----- drunkenness, 185.
----- venereal disease among, 279.
----- indifference to turkish brutality, 265.
----- spies, 5.
-ghalib pasha, 340.
-ghoraniyeh, 128, 133, 135, 153, 228.
----- enemy attack on, 154.
-godwin, brigadier-general c.a., 80, 90.
-good samaritan inn, 127.
-gram, 313, 314.
-grant, brigadier-general w., 28, 29, 31, 161, 249, 263, 317.
-gray-cheape, lieut.-colonel h., 53.
-gregory, brigadier-general, 231.
-guns, captured, xii, 30, 52, 55, 85, 100, 102, 122, 205, 211, 226, 232, 238, 245, 262, 268, 279, 283, 293.
----- loss of r.h.a., 163.
-haifa, 191, 192, 232.
----- capture of, 232-238.
----- annexation expedition, 227.
-hama, 282, 288.
-harbord, brigadier-general, 233, 291.
-harista el basal, 277.
-haritan, action of, 291.
-haroun al rashid, 302.
-haud, 133, 136, 157, 165.
-hauran, 248, 263, 272.
-head ropes. see picketing gear.
-heat, 15, 63, 177, 179, 180, 311.
-hedjaz, 126, 337.
----- force, 129, 130, 131, 133, 153, 240, 242, 243.
----- ---- surrender of, 244, 245.
----- king of. see hussein.
-heel ropes. see picketing gear.
-henu ford, 185.
-hermon, mount, 212.
-hills. see topography.
-hish forest, 130, 340.
-hodgson, major-general sir h.w., 21, 73, 74, 75, 167, 169.
-homs, 282, 286, 287, 294, 295.
-horse artillery-- employment of, 74, 75, 259, 260, 269. escorts for, 306, 307. horses for, 319. howitzers, 307. reserves 304, 305. special requirements of, 309. with advance guard, 269, 305, 306. see also r.h.a. batteries.
-horsemastership, 318, 319.
-horses-- arab, 314, 317, 318. australian, 94, 95, 325. barb, 190. canadian, 317, 325. condition, 119, 123, 180, 240, 283, 312, 313. detecting presence of water, 316. disease amongst, 312, 320. draught, 319, 324. english, 95, 317. hardships of, 58, 61, 63, 77, 94, 119. in waterless country, 316. manes and tails of, 321. muzzles for, 312, 320, 321. pack, 13, 82. remounts, 123, 317. type, 319, 324, 325. watering of, 58, 61, 64, 94, 314, 315, 316. weight carried by, 95.
-hotchkiss rifles, 236, 274.
-howitzers. see horse artillery.
-huj, 44, 52, 53, 54.
-huleh, lake, 247, 259.
-hussein, sherif, 130, 247, 338, 339.
----- ---- character of, 338.
-indian cavalry divisions--
-organisation of, for aleppo, 285.
-indian cavalry brigades-- 10th, 208, 252, 255. 11th, 230, 239, 240, 271, 274. 12th, 209. 13th, 187, 224, 232, 272, 274, 275, 285, 301. 14th, 210, 272, 274, 293. 15th (imperial service), 8, 9, 48, 155, 185, 232, 285, 290, 291.
-indian cavalry regiments-- central india horse, 222, 249, 253, 256. hodson's horse (9th), 204, 224. 18th lancers, 206, 224. 2nd lancers, 208, 209, 253. jacob's horse (36th), 204, 226, 230. mysore lancers, 233, 291. hyderabad lancers, 232, 263, 285. jodhpur lancers, 234, 291. 29th lancers, 230, 232, 239, 275. 6th cavalry, 204. 19th lancers, 211, 249.
-infantry, enemy. see turks.
----- french, 199.
-intelligence, british, xv, 36.
----- enemy, 5, 6, 57, 178, 194, 198.
-irbid, 248, 253.
-ismet bey, 24, 30.
-itweil el semin, 23.
----- gate, 121.
-jebel ekteif, 127.
----- el aswad, 268, 273, 275.
----- el mania, 269.
----- kalimun, 127.
----- kuruntul, 127.
-jemal pasha, 276.
-jenin, 4, 191, 192.
----- capture of, 213, 214, 215.
-jerablus, 282, 295.
-jericho, 5, 126, 127, 128, 177, 180, 187.
-'jericho jane,' 187.
-jerusalem, 3, 4, 5, 21.
----- surrender of, 121.
-jeshimon, wilderness of, 127.
-jezreel, valley of, 191.
-jisr benat yakub, 252, 261.
----- ---- ---- action of, 258-261.
----- esdud, 65.
----- el damieh, 146, 157.
----- el sheikh hussein, 211.
----- mejamieh, 200, 211, 248, 252.
-jordan river, 125, 134, 146, 211.
----- ---- raids across, 135-152, 154-176.
----- valley, 128, 129, 177, 227.
----- ---- climate, 177, 179, 180.
----- ---- defences. see defences, british.
----- ---- description of, ix, 189.
-joyce, lieut.-colonel, 130.
-junction station, importance of, 4.
----- ---- capture of, 85.
----- ---- description of, 96.
-jurat el mikreh, 44.
-kabr mujahid, 229.
-kadem station, 275.
-kalaat aneiza, 130.
----- el zerka, 241.
----- el nuhas, 274.
-kalkili, 191, 192.
-kasr el azrak, 195.
-katada, emir, 337.
-katrah, 70, 79.
-kaukab, action of, 268, 269.
-kefr harris, 220.
----- kara, 205.
----- kenna, 224.
----- ruai, 219.
-khan ayash, 279.
----- el shiha, 273.
----- kusseir, 277.
----- meizelun, 284.
----- sebil, 288.
----- shaikhun, 288.
----- tuman, 289.
-khashim zanna, 24, 25.
-khiyara chiftlik, 274.
-khurbet arak, 208.
----- atuf, 232.
----- deiran, 86.
----- el likiye, 39.
----- el mujeidilat, 58.
----- el muweileh, 32.
----- el raseife, 143.
----- hadrah, 88, 108.
----- jeladiyeh, 73.
----- kauwukah, 43.
----- surafend, 86.
-kishon, river, 192, 213, 233.
-kiswe, 266, 268, 275.
-kress von kressenstein, general, 9, 57.
-kubeibe, 70, 79, 84.
-kuryet el enab, 101.
-kusr atra, 258.
-kut el amara, 1.
-kuwaik su, 301.
-lady's brook, the, 213.
-lambert, major, 292.
-lawrence, lieutenant-colonel, 130, 195, 255, 257, 278.
-lawrence, lieut.-general the hon. sir h., viii.
-'lebanon hounds,' 301.
-lebanon mountains, 311.
-leben station, 242.
-lebon, colonel, 190.
-light car patrols, 97, 232.
----- ---- ---- in advance on aleppo, 285-292.
-liktera, 200, 204.
-liman von sanders, 193, 207, 250.
-lorries, british, 13, 63, 64.
----- enemy, 208, 211, 288.
-lubban, 191, 220.
-ludd, 101, 189.
-maan, 129, 130, 153, 340.
-ma'arit el na'aman, 288.
-macandrew, major-general sir h.j.m., 272.
----- ---- orders to 5th cavalry division at damascus, 272.
----- ---- captures aleppo, 290.
-machine guns, british, 56, 82, 90, 220, 274, 285.
----- ---- ammunition for, 328.
----- ---- enemy, xiv, 27, 91.
-ma el mallaka, 23.
-mafid jozeleh, 229.
-makhadet hajlah, 135.
----- abu naj, 230.
----- fath allah, 231.
-makhruk, 193, 227.
-malaria, x, 177, 181, 246, 278, 283, 284.
-maps, 23, 266.
-marash, 295, 301.
-marches, xii, 11, 18, 94, 139, 148, 166, 200, 211, 212, 219, 266, 283.
----- night, 23, 61.
-mason, lieutenant, 256.
-masudi, action of, 239.
-mecca, 3, 339.
----- register of ashraf at, 337.
----- grand sherif of, 337.
-medina, 339, 340, 341.
-meissner pasha, 35.
-mejdel (plain of philistia), 59, 60.
----- (plain of sharon), 200.
----- (sea of galilee), 252, 259.
-merchants, native, 296, 299, 300.
-messudieh junction, 4, 192.
-mezerib, 257, 264.
-money, stabilisation of exchange. see exchange.
-morale. see turks.
-mosques, beersheba, 35.
----- gaza, 125.
-motor boats, german, 126, 128, 129, 251.
----- ---- ---- used by british, 129, 136.
-mountains. see topography.
-mounted attacks, methods employed in, 55, 56.
-mud, 104, 118, 119, 138, 140, 311.
----- action of, 78.
-mules, 318, 325, 326.
----- prices realised by captured, 318.
-musallabeh, 178, 181.
-muslimic junction, 282, 293.
-musmus pass, 192.
----- ---- crossing of, 205, 206, 208, 209, 212.
-nablus, 101, 192, 198.
----- capture of, 221.
-nahr el auja, 88.
----- ---- ---- first crossing of, 108, 109, 110.
----- ---- ---- second crossing of, 122.
----- el awaj, 274.
----- el falik, 199, 203.
----- el mukatta, 233.
----- el zerka, 158, 160.
----- iskanderuneh, 204.
----- mefjir, 200.
----- mughaniye, 267.
----- rubin, 70.
----- sukereir, 65.
-napoleon, a memory of, 261.
-nasir, sherif, 257, 286.
----- ---- seizes aleppo, 290.
-natives. see arabs.
-navy, the royal, 17, 48, 69, 93, 129, 213.
-nazareth, 193, 208.
----- capture of, 207, 224.
-nebi samwil, 107.
----- tari, 110.
----- musa, 127.
-new zealand mounted brigade, 7, 24, 26, 28, 69, 86, 88, 128, 136, 175, 184, 227, 229, 240, 243.
-night marches. see marches.
-nose bags, 13.
-olives, mount of, 121.
-onslow, brigadier-general, 217, 219, 220, 270.
-operating unit, 152.
-orontes, river, 286.
-pack animals, 13, 82.
-palestine, description of. see topography.
-paper money, values of. see exchange.
-philistia, plain of, 7.
-picketing gear, 321.
-plans of major operations-- gaza-beersheba, 10-11, 18, 20, 42. jerusalem, 101. 1st trans-jordan raid, 132, 133, 134. 2nd trans-jordan raid, 154, 155, 156, 157. esdraelon, 194, 195, 199, 200, 201. relief of damascus, 247, 248.
-political objectives, 3, 247, 282.
-ponies, arab. see horses.
-port saïd, 17.
-prisoners-- as allies of british, 245. attitude of, 30, 60. difficulty of feeding, 225. mortality amongst, 278. numbers taken, xii, 30, 31, 32, 59, 60, 83, 84, 88, 92, 100, 117, 122, 153, 154. 172, 175, 184, 186, 204, 207, 208, 209, 211, 213, 214, 215, 221, 224, 225, 227, 230, 232, 236, 238, 239, 242, 245, 251, 256, 268, 271, 273, 274, 275, 277, 278, 279, 283, 284, 285, 293. water for, 65, 238, 239.
-protection on march, 61, 201, 206.
-railways-- british, 16, 93. british, construction of, 16, 93, 103, 191, 196. demolition of enemy, 4, 62, 130, 139, 142, 143, 153, 206, 219, 241, 242, 339, 340. hedjaz, 4, 129, 130, 131, 191, 240, 339, 340. northern palestine, 191, 192. southern palestine, 4, 16, 17, 18, 35. syrian, 271, 282.
-rain, 104, 117, 118, 119, 122, 127, 137, 138, 146, 147, 151, 311.
-ram allah, 105.
-ram allah rakhman, 98.
-ramleh, 86, 197.
-ras el ain, 295.
----- el humeiyir, 232.
-ras el nukb. 39, 42.
----- ghannam, 18, 20.
----- umm zoka, 232, 240.
-rations, 13, 225, 248.
-rayak, 282, 284, 295.
----- attempted raid on, 296.
-rearguard actions, amman, 150, 151.
----- ---- el salt, 173, 174, 175.
-reconnaissance, 14, 15, 16, 235, 254.
----- method of, of villages, 78.
-red hill, 157, 160, 161, 187.
-red sea, 129.
-remounts. see horses.
-remte, 253, 255.
-reserves, british, 8, 141.
----- ---- see also horse artillery.
----- enemy, 17.
-r.h.a. batteries-- 'a' battery, h a.c., 29, 162, 213, 269. 'b' battery, h.a.c., 72, 161, 163, 190, 224, 232. ayrshire battery, r.h.a., 274. berks battery, r.h.a., 80, 90, 91, 253, 256. essex battery, r.h.a., 274. hants battery, r.h.a., 230, 239. notts battery, r.h.a., 21, 29, 162, 215, 269. somerset battery, r.h.a., 109, 148.
-richard coeur de lion, 107.
-richon-le-zion, 86, 96.
-rivers, passage of, auja, 108, 109, 110, 122.
----- ---- ---- jordan (ghoraniyeh), 134, 135, 136, 157.
----- ---- ---- (benat yakub), 258-261, 262.
-roads-- northern palestine, 191, 192, 193, 205. southern palestine, 4, 21, 62, 101, 103, 127. syria, 261, 262, 266, 272, 282, 285, 294, 296. trans-jordan, 126, 133, 134, 137, 156, 159.
-robbers. see brigandage.
-rosh pina, 262.
-royal air force. see aircraft.
-rujm el bahr, 128.
----- el oshir, 137.
-rushdi bey, 239.
-russian notes, 300.
-ryrie, brigadier-general, 143.
-salt, 133, 146, 149, 157, 167, 170, 229.
----- first capture of, 139.
----- ---- withdrawal from, 150, 151.
----- second capture of, 158, 159.
----- ---- withdrawal from, 174, 175.
----- colic, 312.
-sea traffic, 17, 69, 93, 248.
-second mounted division, 8.
-selmeh, 189, 197.
-semakh, 191, 248, 249.
----- capture of, 250, 251.
-senussi campaign, 8, 297.
-720 point, 21.
-shannon, major, 172.
-shea, major-general sir j.m., 53.
-shefa amr, 232.
-sheikh hassan, 32.
----- muannis, 109.
----- saad, 255, 257, 264.
----- said, 289.
-sherifian army, 129, 130, 192, 195, 240, 243, 245, 255, 264, 271, 277, 279, 280, 286, 290, 293, 294.
----- ---- police work of, 297.
-shtora, 284, 295.
-shunet nimrin, 133, 170, 228.
----- ---- unsuccessful attack of, 158 et seq.
-sinai desert, 7, 16.
-630 point, 21.
-smyrna, 295, 302.
-spies, enemy, 5, 97, 119, 120.
-sport, 301, 302.
-strategical objectives, 4, 192, 282.
-suafir el sharkiye, 60.
-suez canal, 2, 7, 16.
-supply, difficulties of, 62, 63, 105, 107, 118, 225.
----- drawn from country, 248, 322, 323.
-sweileh, 140, 144, 241.
-swords, cavalry, 8, 54, 83, 92.
-tabor, mount, 191, 212.
-tactics, general allenby's. see allenby.
----- cavalry, 55, 56, 78, 90-92, 235, 236, 253, 254, 256, 269, 292.
-talaat el dumm, 127.
-tel abu dilakh, 46.
----- ---- hawam, 233.
----- el dhrur, 205.
----- el hesi, 61.
----- el marrakeb, 12.
----- el murre, 65, 69.
----- el nejile, 44, 51, 52.
----- el saba, 20, 23, 24, 27.
----- ---- ---- capture of, 28.
----- el safi, 72.
----- el sakaty, 20, 23, 24.
----- el sharia, 3, 45.
----- el subat, 234.
----- el sultan, 178.
----- el turmus, 70, 84.
----- hasil, 290.
----- jezer, 89.
----- khuweilfeh, 38, 39, 58.
----- ---- capture of, 40.
----- madh, 252.
-tel shadud, 208.
-temptation, mount of, 127, 188.
-thothmes iii., 192.
-3039 point, 147, 148.
-tiberias, 249, 251, 252.
----- lake, 134, 191.
-tine station, 72, 85.
-tire (philistia), 113.
----- (sharon), 199.
-topography-- northern palestine, 191, 192. southern palestine, 6, 7, 20, 50, 78, 89, 106, 126, 127. syria, 260, 266, 272, 285, 290. trans-jordan, 133, 134.
-training. see cavalry.
-trains, divisional, 63.
-transport, 62, 63, 248, 323-330.
-trench warfare, 3-5, 123.
----- ---- unsuitability of cavalry for, 155, 156.
-tripoli, 285, 286, 287, 294, 295.
-tubk el kaneitra, 127.
-tul keram, 4, 192, 217, 218, 221.
-umbrella hill, 32.
-um el ameidat, 46.
----- el fahm, 212.
----- el shert, 156, 164, 191, 227, 229.
-venereal disease, 278, 279.
-villages, description of, 78.
----- method of reconnoitring, 78.
-wadi amman, 141.
----- arseniyet, 138.
----- ashlul el wawy, 233.
----- dhahr, 72.
----- el arab, 255.
----- el auja, 126, 129, 153, 178, 186.
----- el hammam, 242.
----- el retem, 163, 164.
----- el shreikiye, 23.
----- el sitt, 213.
----- el sunt, 105.
----- el tabil, 233.
----- el zabirani, 273.
----- farah, 193, 222.
----- ghuzze, 7.
----- hanafish, 43.
----- hesi, 48, 52, 61.
----- jamus, 79.
----- jofet el ghazlaniye, 137.
----- kafrinji, 240.
----- kefrein, 137.
----- kumran, 128.
----- maraba, 277.
----- mejma, 60.
----- nueiameh, 186, 187.
----- ratam, 256.
----- saba, 20.
----- selman, 235.
----- sharia, 21, 45.
----- shellal el ghor, 82.
----- sherar, 232.
----- surar, 102.
-wagons, 13, 323.
----- loads of, 329, 330.
----- g.s. and l.g.s. compared, 323, 324.
-water, detecting presence of, 317.
----- supply, 16, 33, 38, 52, 61, 95, 96, 178, 186, 244.
-water, shortage of, 7, 14, 32, 33, 41, 44, 58, 63, 64, 94, 105, 314, 315, 316, 317.
-water-carts, 14, 248.
-weather, 63, 104, 117, 311.
-wells, destruction of, 7, 30, 33, 57, 64.
----- depth of, 44, 57, 64.
----- pumping plant, 44, 51, 59, 95, 96.
-west indies regiment, 179, 227, 229.
-wilson, brigadier-general l., 215.
-wind, 63, 71, 118, 119, 179, 180, 311.
-wounded, evacuation of, 151, 152, 173.
----- ---- disbandment of, 116, 154.
-yeomanry brigades-- 5th, 7, 8, 55, 72, 94, 157, 165. 6th, 8, 79, 89, 104, 112. 7th, 8, 24, 39, 51, 113. 8th, 8, 21, 22, 58, 78, 103. 22nd, 8, 79, 103, 113.
-yeomanry regiments-- berks, 80, 90. bucks, 80, 90. dorsets, 80, 90, 253, 255. gloucester, 117, 207, 275. middlesex, 21, 22, 230, 239. sherwood rangers, 234. warwick, 53. worcester, 53, 221, 226, 232.
-yilderim army group, 1, 4, 70, 105.
-zeid, emir, 339.
-zernuka, 70, 79, 84.
-ziza station, 242.
-zor defai, 288.
-edinburgh: printed by t. and a. constable ltd.
-handbook to the mennonite hymnary
-by lester hostetler, b. d. coeditor, the mennonite hymnary
-copyright, 1949, by the general conference of mennonites, board of publications printed by the brethren publishing house, elgin, illinois
-to all who love the hymns of the church and desire to sing them with the spirit and the understanding this book is dedicated in gratitude and love
-the aim of this book is to serve as a companion to the mennonite hymnary. it seeks to explain, as far as possible, the origin of the words and music of every hymn in the hymnary.
-the great lyrics of the church, contributed by every age since the days of the apostles, are a precious heritage, and a source of inspiration and power. this work is intended to foster an understanding of and love for our hymns, new and old, and to stimulate the time-honored and blessed practice of congregational singing in the church today.
-the handbook may be found useful as an aid (1) in the private study of hymns or their use in family devotions; (2) in selecting suitable hymns for the many and varied services of public worship; (3) in preparing special music services or hymn sings where such occasions are planned to improve the singing in the church; (4) for study groups in hymnology in churches and schools. the historical development of hymnology may be followed in the brief “introduction to our hymns and tunes.”
-the author has endeavored to make the work as comprehensive as possible without overburdening the reader with too many details. many hymns have interesting stories connected with their origin and use while others, equally valuable, were just written, without drama or incident, the poet scarcely knowing how or why, except that the inner voice spoke. the apocryphal tales which have been circulated concerning some hymns have been studiously avoided. the aim has been to include only such material as seems to bear genuine marks of authenticity. the bibliography of “principal works consulted,” found elsewhere in the book, indicates the main sources.
-the original versions of translated hymns are not always readily available and for that reason they are reproduced in the handbook. translated hymns are usually selections from a much larger number of stanzas and it is often instructive to be able to study the whole structure of the original work.
-the book, written during spare moments of a busy pastorate, is sent forth with the prayer that, in spite of errors and imperfections, it may inspire all who use it to sing with greater devotion the praises of him who loved us and redeemed us.
-in the interest of brevity and to avoid repetition, certain recurring words are abbreviated:
-hymnary is used for mennonite hymnary.
-c. (circa) means approximate date.
-tr. is prefixed to the names of all translators.
-anon. (anonymous) means without any name acknowledged, as that of author or composer.
-the word “number” has been omitted: thus hymn 22 means hymn no. 22.
-cf. means compare. (latin: confer).
-the original texts of german hymns found throughout the handbook, especially in the section of chorales, book iv, are the versions used in one or more of the following works: gesangbuch mit noten, (berne, ind., 1890); gesangbuch der mennoniten, (canadian, 1942); the handbook to the lutheran hymnal, (concordia pub. house, 1942); gesangbuch zum gottesdienstlichen und häuslichen gebrauch in evangelischen mennoniten-gemeinden, (konferenz der süddeutschen mennoniten zu ludwigshafen a. rh. 1910); and knapp, evangelischer liederschatz. many variations occur in the texts as found in these versions, the explanation of which would require a much greater knowledge of german hymnody than the author possesses. an effort has been made to bring the spelling into conformity with the modern german practice of omitting the “h” where it was formerly used with the “th”; the use of “ss” instead of “sz”; and printing the initial letter of the pronouns referring to deity, in lower case rather than with capitals.
-an introduction to our hymns and tunes
-with illustrations from the hymnary
-1. definition of a hymn. 2. the beginnings of christian song. 3. hymns of the eastern church: greek and syriac. 4. hymns of the western church: latin. 5. hymns of the bohemian brethren. 6. hymns of the reformation: the german chorales. 7. hymns of the reformation: the metrical psalms. 8. psalm versions. 9. english hymnody. 10. american hymns. 11. the gospel songs. 12. women hymn writers. 13. mennonite hymnody. 14. antecedents of the mennonite hymnary. 15. the translation of hymns. 16. church unity in the hymn book. 17. hymn meters. 18. hymn tunes. 19. john wesley’s rules for singing.
-1. definition of a hymn.
-st. augustine, 354-430, gave a definition of a hymn, which has been widely accepted:
-a hymn is the praise of god by singing. a hymn is a song embodying the praise of god. if there is merely praise but not praise of god it is not a hymn. if there be praise, and praise of god, but not sung, it is not a hymn. for it to be a hymn, it is needful, therefore, for it to have three things—praise, praise of god, and these sung.
-a recent definition, accepted by the hymn society of america, is that of the late carl f. price:
-a christian hymn is a lyric poem, reverently and devotionally conceived, which is designed to be sung and which expresses the worshiper’s attitude toward god, or god’s purposes, in human life.
-l. f. benson, america’s foremost hymnologist, defines a hymn in these simple words:
-the christian hymn ... is a form of words appropriate to be sung or chanted in public devotions.
-a hymn is to be sung by a congregation. its message must be simple, not subtle. it must read well and sing well. in modern usage, the hymn is not limited to the praise of god but includes other moods of worship such as resignation and consecration.
-2. the beginnings of christian song.
-be filled with the spirit; speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the lord. eph. 5:18, 19.
-let the word of christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the lord. col. 3:16.
-i will sing with the spirit, and i will sing with the understanding also. i cor. 14:15.
-besides the psalms, the early church sang the nativity lyrics that adorn the first two chapters of the gospel of luke. it also made extensive use of hallelujah as a part of the people’s praise, adding, in the course of time, the gloria patri, the sanctus, the te deum, and other canticles.
-the nativity hymns in luke, five in all, are extensively used in roman catholic and anglican services.
-ave maria (hail mary). 1:28-29, 42-45. the salutation of gabriel and of elizabeth.
-magnificat. “my soul doth magnify the lord....” 1:46-55. hymn of the virgin mary.
-benedictus. “blessed be the lord god of israel....” 1:68-79. song of zacharias.
-nunc dimittis. “lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.” 2:29-32. song of simeon.
-gloria in excelsis. “glory to god in the highest....” 2:14. song of the angels. used as a part of the roman mass and often found in protestant hymns, e.g., “angels we have heard on high” 82.
-beginnings of christian song in the hymnary
-psalms. book five. 575-600. gloria patri 606-7. ter sanctus (trisagion) “holy, holy, holy” 601-2. te deum. “holy god we praise thy name” 519. a metrical translation of an ancient version.
-3. hymns of the eastern church: greek and syriac.
-the ancient eastern church developed a rich hymnody, rising steadily in the fourth century until it reached its culmination in the eighth and ninth centuries. since it employed the greek and syriac languages, its hymnic treasures remained almost completely hidden and unknown to the english speaking churches for many centuries. it is only in recent years, through the efforts of scholars like john mason neale and edward caswall that some of the eastern hymns have been translated and made available for modern use. eastern hymns are characterized by an objective, dignified, contemplation of god. except when confessing sin and unworthiness, they contain nothing of the subjective feelings of the worshipper such as is found in many modern hymns. though there is very little in the hymnary from the eastern church, our collection is enriched by the inclusion of a small number of hymns from this source.
-greek hymns in the hymnary
-clement of alexandria, 170-220, “shepherd of tender youth” (398) candle lighting hymn, “o gladsome light” (34) synesius, c. 375-430, “lord jesus, think on me” (196) st. germanus, 634-734, “a great and mighty wonder” (526) st. john of damascus, 8th century, “the day of resurrection” (115) “come, ye faithful, raise the strain” (113) st. stephen the sabaite, 725-94, “art thou weary, heavy-laden” (143) candle lighting hymn, “darkening night, the land doth” (32)
-4. hymns of the western church: latin.
-two great names are associated with the music of the western church: ambrose, c. 340-97, known as the “father of hymnody in the western church;” and gregory the great, 540-604, the missionary-minded pope, and reformer of church music.
-ambrose, bishop of milan, not only composed hymns and music but stimulated others to do the same. under his leadership there developed a large body of church music based upon four scales, which came to be known as ambrosian chant. although widely known as a scholar, theologian, and preacher, ambrose’s most lasting influence was upon the music of the church. none of his hymns are found in our collection.
-gregory the great, two centuries later, carried forward the work of ambrose. he added four more scales or modes to the ambrosian system, thus giving to the repertory of church music more definiteness and variety. the music that developed during the papacy of gregory came to be known as gregorian chant, or plainsong, or plainchant. it is “plain” because unadorned, unharmonized and unmeasured. its rhythm is the free rhythm of speech, the beats falling irregularly. the gregorian chant remained the music of the church for a thousand years and forms the basis of all roman catholic music today. some of these chants were adapted by luther for congregational singing, and set to words in the vernacular of the people. a few of the tunes, usually in a form scarcely recognizable from the original, are used today in protestant hymnals, as for instance, the tune “hamburg.” some of the music in the amish church services is traceable to the gregorian chant.
-the singing in the medieval church was liturgical in character and confined to the clergy and trained choirs. this was its weakness. the laity was not expected to sing, neither were they able to do so. congregational singing, so important in our worship today, had for centuries been unknown in the roman catholic church. reform was inevitable and it came in due time.
-while only remnants of the music survive, many hymns from the western church have been translated from the latin and a few choice ones have found their way into the hymnary.
-latin hymns in the hymnary
-prudentius, 348-c. 413, “bethlehem, of noblest cities” (88) gregory the great, 540-604, “father, we praise thee” (24) anonymous, 6th or 7th century, “christ is made the sure” (277) “joy dawned again on easterday” (415) theodulph of orleans, 9th century, “all glory, laud, and honor” (100) bernard of clairvaux, 1091-1153, “jesus the very thought” (155) “o sacred head, now wounded” (539) bernard of cluny, 12th century, “jerusalem, the golden” (262-3) anonymous, 12th century, “o come, o come, emmanuel” (67) savonarola, 1452-98 (italian), “jesus, refuge of the weary” (536) anonymous, 17th-18th centuries, “o come, all ye faithful” (80) “the year is gone beyond recall” (382)
-5. hymns of the bohemian brethren.
-if laymen are forbidden to preach and interpret the scriptures, much more are they forbidden to sing publicly in the churches.
-as a result of their persecution, the brethren in 1508 sent out messengers to search for true christian people into whose communion they might apply for admission—one to russia, one to greece, one to bulgaria, and one to palestine and egypt. all returned unsuccessful. no such christians had been found. they therefore remained in their own country, giving themselves assiduously to the translation and printing of the bible.
-two centuries later, the brethren, known now as the moravians, settled on count zinzendorf’s estates in saxony, spreading rapidly from thence into other countries in europe and to the united states. one of england’s foremost hymn writers and hymnologists, james montgomery, was an adherent to their faith.
-bohemian brethren and moravian hymns in the hymnary
-michael weisse, 1480-1534, “christ, the lord, is ris’n again” (544) tunes: “mit freuden zart” (512), “ravenshaw” (292) von zinzendorf, nikolaus l., 1700-60, “jesus, still lead on” (574) von zinzendorf, christian r., 1724-62, “man of sorrows” (537) henriette luise von hayn, 1724-82, “i am jesus’ little lamb” (430) james montgomery, 1771-1854, “hail to the lord’s anointed” (65) “angels from the realms of glory” (81) “go to dark gethsemane” (107) and many others
-6. hymns of the reformation: the german chorales.
-the movement toward congregational singing, inaugurated by the bohemian brethren, was soon to be merged into the greater reformation movement. luther’s influence on the worship and music of the church was revolutionary. for a thousand years the laymen had had no part in church song. congregational singing was unknown. ambrosian music had at first been introduced for congregational use but it became more and more liturgical, thrusting the laity into the background. the gregorian chant which followed was never intended for use except by the priests and trained choirs. the followers of hus pioneered in congregational singing; but it was luther and his followers who brought it into full fruition.
-luther was a born music lover and a musician of adequate training. moreover he possessed a remarkable gift for writing hymns in clear thought to bring the word of god home to the hearts of the common people. he and his followers put songs on the lips of the german people and they sang themselves into the reformation. so effective were these songs that his enemies in the roman church declared that “luther’s songs have damned more souls than all his books and speeches.”
-chorales. the word “chorale” (“choral” in german) refers to the hymn tunes of lutheran protestantism, though in common usage the term includes the words associated with the tunes. the melodies had much to do with the popularity of the songs. they came from various sources. many of them were original compositions by luther and others; some were borrowed from the hymn books of the bohemian brethren; a considerable number were adaptations of plainsongs used in the catholic church; still others were adopted from beloved folksongs. luther was an eclectic in his choice of music. he used any tune from any source that suited his purpose. many thousands of chorales came into existence in germany during his time and the two centuries that followed. the hundreds still in use represent the best in church music today. they are characterized by a plain melody, a strong harmony, and a stately rhythm; all of which adapts them well for effective congregational singing.
-the chorales at first did not have the regular rhythms that they later took on. the steady progression of even notes, invariable in bach’s day, had come only gradually into use. some of the recent hymnbooks, in the interest of greater variety of rhythm, are returning to the original “rhythmic chorales.”
-though unison singing has been widely practiced and is advocated today by some good authorities in church music, luther encouraged part singing. in his first preface to the geystliches gesangbücklin, 1525, he wrote:
-these songs have been set in four parts, for no other reason than because i wished to provide our young people (who both will and ought to be instructed in music and other sciences) with something whereby they might rid themselves of amorous and carnal songs, and in their stead learn something wholesome, and so apply themselves to what is good with pleasure, as becometh the young.
-the period of the german chorales may be said to have begun with luther, 1483-1546, and ended two centuries later with j. s. bach, 1685-1750. bach brought the chorale tunes to their highest perfection, using many of them in his larger choral works. he composed about 30 original chorale melodies, wrote reharmonizations for approximately 400, and composed many chorale preludes for the organ which are in wide use today.
-the german hymns and chorale tunes, used constantly in the home and school, as well as in the church, have been of great importance in our mennonite worship in the past. they constitute the main body of material in all our german collections of hymns. in an effort to preserve and emphasize this rich heritage, there was incorporated into the hymnary, a special section, book iii, made up exclusively of chorales.
-german chorales in the hymnary
-16th century martin luther, 1483-1546, “a mighty fortress is our god” (549) “from heaven above to earth i come” (527) “out of the depths i cry to thee” (531-2) nicolaus selnecker, 1532-92, “now cheer our hearts” (557) philipp nicolai, 1556-1608, “wake, awake, for night is flying” (522) “how brightly shines the morning star” (529) 17th century (1)—period of the thirty years war—1618-48 johann heerman, 1585-1647, “ah, dearest jesus” (534) josua stegman, 1588-1632, “abide with us, our savior” (559) matthaus von löwenstern, 1594-1648, “lord of our life” (278) georg weissel, 1590-1635, “lift up your heads” (523) heinrich albert, 1604-51, “god who madest earth” (573) ernst homburg, 1605-81, “christ, the life of all the living” (535) michael schirmer, 1606-73, “o holy spirit, enter in” (546) paul gerhardt, 1607-76, “o sacred head, now wounded” (539) and others gerhard tersteegen, 1697-1769, “god reveals his presence” (506) “o power of love, all else transcending” (517) (2)—later 17th century johann franck, 1618-77, “deck thyself, my soul,” (552) tobias clausnitzer, 1619-84, “liebster jesu, wir sind hier” (553a) georg neumark, 1621-81, “he who would be in god” (571) johann scheffler, 1624-77, “i am the lord, o hear my voice” (565) joachim neander, 1650-80, “heaven and earth, the sea” (510) 18th century johann mentzer, 1658-1734, “o that i had a thousand voices” (509) erdmann neumeister, 1671-1756, “sinners jesus will receive” (466) benjamin schmolck, 1672-1737, “my jesus, as thou wilt” (250) philipp f. hiller, 1699-1769, “o son of god, we wait for” (524) “what mercy and divine compassion” (562) christian f. gellert, 1715-69, “how great, almighty is thy” (516) johann sebastian bach, 1685-1750. the life of the great musician marks the close of the german chorale period and for that reason his name is placed here. none of bach’s original chorale melodies are found in the hymnary but use is made of a number of his harmonizations. see 539, 545, 556, 557, 564, 566.
-7. hymns of the reformation: the metrical psalms.
-while the german people, under the leadership of luther, were singing chorales set to original religious poems, a large section of protestantism, under the influence of john calvin, confined itself to the singing of psalms. to the french reformer, now preaching at geneva, hymns were “man-made,” whereas the psalms were the inspired word of god and the only proper vehicle for the praise of god. calvin, unlike luther, was not a musician, and at first permitted only unison singing, unaccompanied. part singing and instrumental accompaniment seemed to savor of the frivolous and worldly, an opinion which calvin, however, was soon to modify. for two hundred years the calvinistic churches on the continent and in britain were influenced in their worship song by the strict views of calvin, limiting themselves to the metrical psalms and scriptural paraphrases. the german people in the meantime produced a rich treasury of original religious lyrics, contributed by some of their best poets.
-psalter tunes and metrical psalms in the hymnary
-genevan psalter tunes, 1551. o seigneur (19) old 134th (128, 132, 616) rendez à dieu (306) old 124th (354) old 100th (594) scottish psalter, 1650. book five (575 to 600) with a few exceptions new version, 1696, tate and brady. “through all the changing scenes of life” (583) “as pants the hart for cooling streams” (586) “o come, loud anthems let us sing” (18) “while shepherds watched their flocks by night” (73-4)
-8. psalm versions.
-the use of the psalms in singing, first on the continent, then in england and scotland, and later in america, brought forth many metrical versions of the psalter, the principal ones being the following:
-a. the genevan psalter, begun 1539, published complete in 1562. it was made at the request of john calvin by clément marot, court poet of france, and theodore beza, a french scholar. it became the psalm book for the reformation churches on the continent, and is spoken of as the most famous book of praise the christian church ever produced. it was issued in at least one thousand editions and translated into a number of tongues. some of the original tunes are still in use, e.g., “old hundredth.”
-b. the anglo-genevan psalter, geneva, 1556. this was used by john knox, the scottish reformer, and his followers who fled the persecutions of “bloody mary,” and formed a congregation at geneva. the book incorporated some of the sternhold and hopkins versions which were in use in england, and added others.
-c. the old version, sternhold and hopkins, completed in 1562. used in england for 134 years. it is entitled, the whole booke of psalmes, but came to be known as the “old version.”
-d. the bay psalm book, boston, 1640. this was the first book printed in english-speaking america. it was made to obtain greater literalness to the hebrew original than was found in the versions then in use. the book reigned supreme among the english churches in new england for over a century. seventy editions of it were printed in america, the last in 1773. eighteen editions appeared in england, and twenty-two in scotland. there were no tunes given it until 1698, then only 13, with the air in the bass.
-e. the scottish psalter, completed 1650. special mention is made of this version of the psalms because it is the source of nearly all the selections of metrical psalms which constitute book five of the hymnary. the number of versions and editions of psalms which appeared on the continent and in england were numerous and confusing, each claiming its own special merits. finally, in the interests of better literary diction and greater unity in singing in the scottish presbyterian churches, the general assembly authorized a new version. the result, after many years’ work, was the famous scottish psalter of 1650 which remains the standard work in scotland today.
-there is a certain “dignified crudeness” in some of the literary expressions but the psalms have long been learned in this version and have become an important part of the religious training and experience of millions of english speaking people, especially in scotland.
-the scottish psalter first appeared with words only. there were no notes and no suggestions for melodies. the succeeding one hundred years were a time of confusion. the tunes used were few in number, such as the leaders had learned from various sources, and passed on to succeeding generations by rote. the time came when better singing and better tunes were demanded and gradually the psalter appeared with tunes. early tune versions put the melody invariably in the tenor. the latest edition, printed in 1929, by the oxford press, contains the best psalm tunes which had gradually come into use, many of them arranged with “faux-bourdon” (wherein the congregation sings one or more verses to the melody while the choir supplies the harmony), and “descant” (a second melody over that of the tune).
-f. the new version, tate and brady, london, 1696. this version gradually supplanted the old version of sternhold and hopkins, and held its place in the worship of the church for 150 years. it was adopted, in 1789, by the protestant episcopal church in the united states and bound with the prayer book of that communion.
-the above versions are only a few of the large number of psalters that were published by the calvinistic churches on the continent, in great britain, and in america. the metrical psalms were designed for the singing church. they were intended to restore song to the people in their worship, serving in this respect a similar purpose to the chorales in germany.
-some of the psalm books were published without music, some with the melody only, and others in four-part harmony. the statement is frequently made that calvinistic protestantism approved only unison singing. the appearance of numerous books, complete with four voice parts, points to the contrary. it is true that calvin at first encouraged unison singing only, regarding harmony more in the nature of amusement than the worship of god; but upon observing the effectiveness of singing in germany, he soon changed his views and became more liberal in this respect.
-9. english hymnody.
-the youthful, courageous isaac watts, 1674-1748, an ardent dissenter, pioneered the movement which resulted in a flood of hymns and hymnbooks in the english churches. watts was not satisfied with the psalm singing of his time, which by now had become formal and lifeless. parts of the psalter, he pointed out, were obviously not written in the spirit of the gospel. “by keeping too close to david,” he wrote in one of his prefaces, “the vail of moses is thrown over our hearts.” watts removed that “vail,” christianizing the psalms and composing during his lifetime more than 600 original hymns, expressing in the language of the time, the thoughts of the worshippers. through his influence, his age, the 18th century, became the first age of hymn singing in england.
-john and charles wesley, following watts, made enormous use of hymn singing in their evangelistic work, giving the movement for congregational singing a powerful impetus. charles is said to have composed over 6,000 hymns.
-from the wesleys onward through the 19th century, the hymn writers in england became numerous. the restrictive shackles of psalm singing had been broken and the creative urge to worship in new forms resulted in a vast number of original religious lyrics and the publication of hundreds of hymnbooks. the development can be summarized here only in outline form.
-english hymnody in the hymnary
-early—17th century henry wotton, 1568-1639, “how happy is he” (208) george herbert, 1593-1633, “teach me, my god and king” (226) john milton, 1608-74, “let us with a gladsome mind” (64) “how lovely are thy dwellings fair” (592) thomas ken, 1637-1711, “awake, my soul, and with the sun” (25) “all praise to thee, my god, this night” (33) “praise god, from whom all blessings flow” (618) joseph addison, 1672-1719, “the spacious firmament on high” (50) “how are thy servants blest” (338) 18th century 1. two independents: isaac watts, 1674-1748, “father of english hymnody” “when i survey the wondrous cross” (105-6) “joy to the world! the lord is come” (70) “god is the refuge of his saints” (257) and many others philip doddridge, 1702-51, “how gentle god’s commands” (56) (and 128, 167, 218, 383, 465) 2. the wesleys and their associates: john wesley, 1703-91, translations (170, 226, 246, 508, 558) charles wesley, 1707-88, “bard of methodism” “come, thou long-expected jesus” (69) “jesus, lover of my soul” (158-9) “love divine, all loves excelling” (178-9) and many others william williams, 1717-91, “sweet singer of wales” “guide me, o thou great jehovah” (160) john cennick, 1718-55, “lo, he comes, with clouds” (130) “jesus, my all, to heav’n is gone” (468) thomas olivers, 1725-99, “the god of abraham praise” (14) edward perronet, 1726-92, “all hail the power of jesus” (3, 4, 5) 3. a calvinistic antagonist of wesley augustus toplady, 1740-78, “rock of ages, cleft for me” (148) 4. the olney hymnists: john newton, 1725-1807, “glorious things of thee” (274) “safely through another week” (284) “amazing grace! how sweet the sound” (463) william cowper, 1731-1800, “god moves in a mysterious way” (60) “o for a closer walk with god” (197) “there is a fountain filled with blood” (492) 5. others—18th century: anne steele, 1716-78, “father, whate’er of earthly bliss” (251) joseph grigg, c. 1720-68, “behold a stranger at the door” (141) “jesus, and shall it ever be” (192) robert robinson, 1735-90, “mighty god, while angels bless” (46) “come, thou fount of every blessing” (189) john fawcett, 1740-1817, “blest be the tie that binds” (41) “lord, dismiss us with thy blessing” (45) modern english—19th century 1. earliest: thomas kelly, 1769-1854, “look, ye saints, the sight” (119) “hark, ten thousand harps and voices” (123) “on the mountain top appearing” (336) james montgomery, 1771-1854, “prayer is the soul’s sincere” (184) “angels, from the realms of glory” (81) “in the hour of trial” (195) and many others robert grant, 1779-1838, “o worship the king” (7) “savior, when, in dust to thee” (145) reginald heber, 1783-1826, “holy, holy, holy” (1) “bread of the world in mercy broken” (304) “from greenland’s icy mountains” (333) charlotte elliott, 1789-1871, “just as i am, without one plea” (458) “o holy savior, friend unseen” (233) “my god and father, while i stray” (245) henry milman, 1791-1868, “ride on, ride on in majesty” (101) john bowring, 1792-1872, “in the cross of christ i glory” (110) “watchman, tell us of the night” (66) “god is love; his mercy brightens” (55) henry f. lyte, 1793-1847, “abide with me” (40) 2. the oxford group: john keble, 1792-1866, “new every morning is the love” (22) “sun of my soul, thou savior dear” (30) matthew bridges, 1800-94, “crown him with many crowns” (118) john henry newman, 1801-90, “lead, kindly light” (162-3) richard trench, 1807-86, “lord, what a change within” (183) frederick faber, 1814-63, “there’s a wideness in god’s mercy” (58) “faith of our fathers” (154) mrs. cecil frances alexander, 1823-95, “there is a green hill” (104) (translators of latin and greek hymns) john chandler, 1806-76, “christ is our cornerstone” (9) “what star is this” (87) edward caswall, 1814-78, “bethlehem, of noblest cities” (88) “jesus, the very thought of thee” (155) john m. neale, 1818-66, “o come, o come emmanuel” (67) “all glory, laud, and honor” (100) 3. translators of german hymns: catherine winkworth, 1829-78, “wake, awake for night” (522) and 24 others frances e. cox, 1812-97, “sing praise to god” (512) “jesus lives” (543) jane l. borthwick, 1813-97, “be still, my soul” (54) “my jesus, as thou wilt” (250) “jesus, still lead on” (574) sarah borthwick findlater, 1823-1907, “o happy home” (358) 4. other hymnists—19th century: christopher wordsworth, 1807-85, “gracious spirit,” (174) “o day of rest and gladness” (285) horatius bonar, 1808-89, “i heard the voice of jesus say” (142) “i lay my sins on jesus” (444) “when the weary, seeking rest” (203) and others alfred tennyson, 1809-92, “strong son of god” (149) “sunset and evening star” (265) “ring out, wild bells” (379) henry alford, 1810-71, “we walk by faith, and not by sight” (152) “come, ye thankful people, come” (377) w. w. how, 1823-97, “o jesus, thou art standing” (144) “for all the saints who from their labor rest” (317) “o word of god incarnate” (289) and others godfrey thring, 1823-1903, “from the eastern mountains” (89) “thou to whom the sick and dying” (370) adelaide proctor, 1825-64, “my god, i thank thee” (177) “i do not ask, o lord” (471) edward h. bickersteth, 1825-1906, “peace, perfect peace” (256) john ellerton, 1826-93, “savior, again to thy dear name” (43) “now the laborer’s task is o’er” (315) “throned upon the awful tree” (109) and others s. baring-gould, 1834-1924, “now the day is over” (29) “onward, christian soldiers” (225) edwin hatch, 1835-89, “breathe on me, breath of god” (135) frances r. havergal, 1836-79, “take my life, and let it be” (215) “lord, speak to me, that i may speak” (296) “thou art coming, o my savior” (126) and others samuel stone, 1839-1900, “the church’s one foundation” (273) george matheson, 1842-1906, “o love that wilt not let me go” (175) recent english hymns rudyard kipling, 1865-1936, “father in heav’n” (401) stopford a. brooke, 1832-1916, “let the whole creation cry” (49) john oxenham, 1852-1941, “in christ there is no east” (320) “peace in our time, o lord” (357) percy dearmer, 1867-1936, “remember all god’s children” (436) richard roberts, 1874—, “for them whose ways” (166) laurence housman, 1865—, “father eternal” (354)
-10. american hymns.
-the english speaking colonists who settled in america during the 17th century continued the psalm singing traditions of their forebears in england. the practice prevailed in their churches for two hundred years. the first book printed by them was the bay psalm book, in 1640, at cambridge, massachusetts. it contained no original hymns. the singing of psalms, and later of hymns borrowed from england made up nearly the entire repertory of church music until the middle of the 19th century.
-in the meantime there was very little original hymnody produced in america, with the exception of the work of the wesleys during their brief experiment in georgia, and the composition of certain hymns and tunes by the german people of pennsylvania, which have remained, until recently, in manuscript form. timothy dwight’s hymn on the church, “i love thy kingdom, lord” (275) is probably the earliest american hymn still in use.
-after the middle of the 19th century the number of hymn writers became large and their works came into increasing use, some choice examples finding their way into english hymnbooks. america’s original contribution to christian hymnody has not been only the gospel songs represented by the writings of fanny crosby, but the more permanent works of whittier, george w. doane, hosmer, samuel longfellow, washington gladden, s. f. smith, and many others. our musical contributions have been less conspicuous, but the tunes of mason are coming into their own again and many of them will doubtless survive for a long time, as will also those of bradbury, hastings, and others.
-the tendency today in american hymnbooks is to unite the best in english and german traditions. the hymnary illustrates this trend. it makes large use of the english hymns while at the same time preserving a considerable body of the german chorales. in keeping with this trend, the recent hymnbooks of the episcopal, presbyterian, methodist and other churches of english origin, incorporate some of the german chorale tunes and in some cases the translations of the words. the hymn books of our time have become the channels through which flow the rich contributions to the stream of christian hymnody from christian people of all times and places.
-american hymns in the hymnary
-early american timothy dwight, 1752-1817, “i love thy kingdom, lord” (275) thomas hastings, 1784-1872, “hail to the brightness” (332) henry ware, jr., 1794-1843, “happy the home when god” (361) wm. b. tappan, 1794-1849, “’tis midnight; and on olive’s brow” (103) francis scott key, 1779-1843, “lord, with glowing heart” (511) george w. doane, 1799-1859, “softly now the light of day” (36) 19th century leonard bacon, 1802-81, “o god, beneath thy guiding hand” (367) john g. whittier, 1807-92, “dear lord and father” (181) ray palmer, 1808-87, “my faith looks up to thee” (150) s. f. smith, 1808-95, “the morning light is breaking” (324) oliver w. holmes, 1809-94, “lord of all being, throned afar” (53) e. h. sears, 1810-76, “it came upon the midnight clear” (75) w. h. burleigh, 1812-71, “lead us, o father, in the paths” (164) harriet beecher stowe, 1811-96, “still, still with thee” (23) sylvanus phelps, 1816-95, “savior, thy dying love” (220) arthur c. coxe, 1818-96, “o where are kings and empires” (276) elizabeth payson prentiss, 1818-78, “more love to thee” (472) edward hopper, 1818-88, “jesus, savior, pilot me” (161) george duffield, jr., 1818-88, “stand up, stand up for jesus” (193) samuel longfellow, 1819-92, “holy spirit, truth divine” (136) james russell lowell, 1819-91, “once to every man” (346) anna warner, 1820-1915, “we would see jesus” (201) john h. hopkins, 1820-91, “we three kings of orient are” (90) eliza scudder, 1821-96, “thou grace divine, encircling all” (57) samuel johnson, 1822-82, “father, in thy mysterious” (188) jeremiah e. rankin, 1828-1904, “god be with you” (365) joseph h. gilmore, 1834-1918, “he leadeth me” (478) phillips brooks, 1835-93, “o little town of bethlehem” (84) recent american hymns washington gladden, 1836-1918, “o master, let me walk” (223) frederick l. hosmer, 1840-1929, “not always on the mount” (98) mary lathbury, 1841-1913, “day is dying in the west” (31) “break thou the bread of life” (288) frank mason north, 1850-1936, “where cross the crowded” (222) m. woolsey stryker, 1851-1929, “almighty lord, with one” (390) henry van dyke, 1852-1933, “joyful, joyful, we adore thee” (10) louis f. benson, 1855-1930, “o sing a song of bethlehem” (92) maltbie d. babcock, 1858-1901, “this is my father’s world” (48) katherine lee bates, 1859-1929, “o beautiful for spacious” (343) milton s. littlefield, 1864-1934, “o son of man, thou” (373) jay t. stocking, 1870-1936, “o master workman” (93) wm. m. vories, 1880—, “let there be light, lord god” (353) harry webb farrington, 1880-1931, “i know not how that” (99) w. russel bowie, 1882—, “lord, through changing days” (402) howard arnold walter, 1884-1918, “i would be true” (207) earl marlatt, 1892—, “‘are ye able,’ said the master” (392)
-11. gospel songs.
-during the latter part of the 19th century there came into use, both in the united states and in england, a type of religious song known as the gospel song. less dignified than the chorales or the english hymns, these songs made a popular appeal and were widely used in prayer meetings and revivals.
-the words of the typical gospel song are usually simple and easily remembered and concern themselves largely with the individual’s salvation. the personal pronouns “i” and “my” predominate. the tunes are rhythmic and catchy and always have a refrain added. their harmonies are largely built on the simple tonic, dominant, and subdominant chords. the masses of the people readily learned to sing these tunes and experienced a thrill in singing them which the use of the more stately and solid hymns failed to effect.
-the great bulk of these songs were produced in america during the latter half of the 19th century and were found extremely useful in large mass meetings. the evangelistic work of moody and sankey during the 1870’s, 1880’s, and 1890’s brought the gospel songs into special prominence and the salvation army has made them known in nearly every country in the world. collections of gospel songs sold by the millions of copies and every denomination was affected, to a greater or lesser extent, by this type of singing.
-since the standard of music and words in the gospel songs is considerably below that which prevails in our best hymnals as well as in secular music and literature taught in the public schools, churches should seriously consider the ultimate effect of their too frequent use. it is a fallacy to assert that the people will respond to nothing better. gospel songs have a legitimate place, particularly in special services and revivals, but they leave much to be desired in the total work and worship of the church. neither the music nor the words possess the strength and dignity entirely adequate for the worshipful praise of the eternal.
-the principal names associated with gospel songs are the following:
-it should be noted that there is no absolute line of demarcation between hymns and some of the gospel songs. some of the numbers in the gospel songs section of the hymnary might well be classified as hymns, e.g., nos. 441, 444, 447, 458, 463, 468, 470, 471, 472, and 492. either words or music meet the generally accepted standards of a hymn.
-12. women hymn writers.
-there have been no outstanding women composers of church tunes but some of our finest lyrics have been contributed by women, as the following list from the hymnary will show:
-german katharina von schlegel, b. 1697, “be still, my soul” (54) henriette luise von hayn, 1724-82, “weil ich jesu” (430) english anne steele, 1716-78, “father, whate’er of earthly bliss” (251) marianne nunn, 1778-1847, “one is kind above all others” (447) harriet auber, 1773-1862, “our blest redeemer” (138) dorothy ann thrupp, 1779-1847, “saviour, like a shepherd” (395) charlotte elliott, 1789-1871, “just as i am, without one plea” (458) margaret mackay, 1802-87, “asleep in jesus” (314) sarah flower adams, 1805-48, “nearer my god, to thee” (202) jemima luke, 1813-1906, “i think when i read that sweet” (427) anne brontë, 1820-49, “believe not those who say” (210) cecil frances alexander, 1823-95, “there is a green hill” (104) adelaide proctor, 1825-64, “my god, i thank thee” (177) elizabeth clephane, 1830-69, “beneath the cross of jesus” (112) anna l. coghill, 1836-1907, “work, for the night is coming” (221) frances r. havergal, 1836-79, “take my life and let it be” (215) dorothy blomfield, 1858-1932, “o perfect love, all human” (312) jessie adams, 1863—, “i feel the winds of god today” (391) (translators) frances cox, 1812-97, “sing praise to god” (512) jane l. borthwick, 1813-97, “be still my soul” (54) sarah borthwick findlater, 1823-1907, “o happy home” (358) catherine winkworth, 1829-78. numerous hymns. foremost translator of german chorales. american harriet beecher stowe, 1811-96, “still, still with thee” (23) he began to cough. joyce put his arm around him for support, and tended him gently.
-“you have a lot to do, old man,” he said soon after. “the foolscap has come, and a great jar of ink, and you can start copying out the manuscript to-morrow.”
-“ah yes, i can do that,” said noakes.
-“yes, old man.”
-“make me a promise.”
-“bury that dear lady’s letter with me.”
-“will it make you happy to promise?”
-“then i promise,” said joyce, humouring him. “now i’m not going to talk to you any more.”
-a few minutes later, his breathing told joyce that he slept. the newspapers fell from joyce’s hand, and he put his elbows on his knees and crouched over the smouldering logs. noakes spoke truly. there was little chance of recovery. he would be left alone again soon. it would be very comfortless. the poor wreck who was dragging out his last days upon that wretched bed had been an unspeakable solace to him. without his womanlike devotion he would have died of fever six months back on the arato goldfield. without the influence of his calm fatalism, he would have given up heart long ago. without his steadfast purity of soul, he would have gone recklessly to the devil. the thought of losing him was a great pang.
-he himself, too, was far from strong. the climate, the hard manual labour for which he was physically unfit were telling upon him heavily. he yearned for home, for civilised life, for the lost heritage of honour. yvonne’s letter, telling of the little commonplaces of the lost sweet life of decent living, had revived the ever dormant longing. he began to dream of her, of that last day he had seen her, of her voice singing gounod’s serenade.
-it was difficult to picture her as married to his cousin everard, whom, in the days of his vanity, he had despised as a prig and now dreaded as a scornful benefactor. it was a strange mating. and yet she seemed happy and unchanged.
-the wind blustered outside. the cold draught whistled through the room. joyce rose to his feet with a shiver, went to a corner for a couple of sacks, which he threw over the sleeping man, and, after having wistfully read yvonne’s letter once more, ascended the ladder to the loft, where the shapeless mattress of dried grass and sacking awaited him.
-chapter xii--histoire de revenant
-such was mrs. winstanley’s passing thought one day. she was there with sophia and evan wilmington. it was always a great pleasure, she used to say, to have young people about her; and very naturally, since young people can be particularly useful in strange places to a middle-aged lady. the brother and sister fetched and carried for her all day long, which was very nice and suitable, and mrs. winstanley was in her most affable mood. on the day in question, however, she saw, to her astonishment and annoyance, canon chisely and yvonne making their way towards her through the crowded lines of tables.
-“so we are,” replied the canon. “we have broken our journey. and as for getting here, we took the boat from dover and then walked.”
-“the frivolity of the place is infecting you already, canon,” cried sophia, with a laugh. “i hope you are going to stay a long time.”
-“oh, not too long,” said yvonne. “it wouldn’t be fair to the canon, who needs some mountain air. this is just a little treat all for me.”
-she glanced at him affectionately as she spoke. it was good of him to tarry for her sake in this vanity fair of a place.
-“we were going by calais, as you know,” said the canon, explanatively to mrs. winstanley. “we only changed our minds a day or two ago--we thought it would be a little surprise for you.”
-“of course it is--a delightful one--to see dear yvonne and yourself. where are you staying?”
-“at the océan,” said the canon, “and you must all come and dine with us this evening.”
-“and will you come to the bal here afterward?” asked sophia. “evan has run across some college friends--or won’t you think it proper?”
-“i am going to wear the whole suit of motley while i am here,” replied the canon gaily.
-he kept his word, not being a man of half measures. no check should be placed on yvonne’s enjoyment. she had been moping, as far as yvonne could mope, during the latter dullness of fulminster; now she expanded like a flower to the gaiety around her. the canon found an aesthetic pleasure in watching her happiness. her expressions of thanks too were charmingly conveyed. since that unfortunate attempt on his part, over a twelvemonth back, to instruct her in the responsibilities of her position, she had never exhibited toward him such spontaneous feeling. he let her smile upon whom she would, without a twinge of jealousy.
-yvonne enjoyed herself hugely. she danced and jested with the young men; she chattered in french to her table d’hôte neighbours, delighted to speak her mother’s tongue again; she staked two-franc pieces on the public table, and one afternoon came out of the gaming-room into the great hall where the canon was sitting with mrs. winstanley, and poured a great mass of silver on to the table--as much as her two small hands joined could carry.
-“i thought gambling was against your principles, everard,” said mrs. winstanley, after yvonne had gone again.
-“i am sacrificing them for my wife’s happiness, emmeline,” he replied, with a touch of irony.
-“yes, it would be a pity to spoil her pleasure. she is such a child.”
-“i wish we all had something of her nature,” said the canon.
-mrs. winstanley noted the snub. she was treasuring up many resentments against yvonne. in her heart she considered herself a long-suffering woman.
-“you seem to enjoy it too, everard,” said yvonne to him that evening. they were sitting near the entrance watching the smartly-dressed people. “and i am so glad to be alone with you.”
-he was pleased, smiled at her, and throwing off his dignity, entered into the frivolous spirit of the place. yvonne forgot the restraint she had always put upon her tongue when talking to him. she chattered about everything, holding her face near him, so as to be heard through the hubbub of thousands of voices, the eternal shuffling of passing feet, and the crash of the orchestra in the far gallery.
-“it is a revue des deux mondes,” she said, looking rapidly around her, with bright eyes.
-“how?” asked the canon.
-“the beau and the demi,” she replied, wickedly. she shook his knee. “oh, do look at that woman! what does she think a man can see in her!”
-“powder,” answered the canon. “she has been using her puff too freely.”
-“she has been putting it on with a muff,” cried yvonne.
-he laughed. yvonne had such a triumphant air in delivering herself of little witticisms.
-a magnificently dressed woman, in a great feathered hat and low-dress, with diamonds gleaming at her neck, passed by. “you are right, i fear, about the two worlds,” said the canon.
-“are n’t there crowds of them? i like to look at them because they wear such beautiful things. and they fit so. and then to rub shoulders with them makes one feel so delightfully wicked. you know, i knew a girl once--she went in for that life of her own accord and she was awfully happy. really. is n’t it odd?”
-“my dear yvonne!” said the canon, somewhat shocked, “i sincerely trust you did not continue the acquaintance, afterwards.”
-“oh, no,” she replied, sagely. “it would not have done for me at all. a lone woman can’t be too careful. but i used to hear about her from my dressmaker.”
-her point of view was not exactly the canon’s. but further discussion was stopped by the arrival of the wilmingtons, who carried off yvonne to the dancing-room. the canon, drawing the line at his own appearance there, strolled back contentedly to the hotel to finish the evening over a book.
-two mornings afterwards yvonne was walking by herself along the digue. they were to leave for switzerland the next day, and she determined to make the most of her remaining time. sophia wilmington, for whom she had called, had already gone out. the canon, who was engaged over his correspondence, she was to meet later at the kursaal. it was a lovely morning. the line of white hotels, with their al fresco breakfast tables spread temptingly on the terraces, gleamed in the sun. the digue was bright with summer dresses. the sands below alive with tennis players, children making sand-castles, and loungers, and bathers, and horses moving among the bathing-machines. yvonne tripped along with careless tread. her heart was in harmony with the brightness and movement and the glint of the sun on the sea. once a man, meeting her smiling glance, hesitated as if to speak to her, but seeing that the smile was addressed to the happy world in general, he passed on his way. it was easy to kill time. she went down the rue flammande and looked at the shops. the jewelry and the models of paris dresses delighted her. the display of sweets at nopenny’s allured her within. when she returned to the digue, it was time to seek the canon at the kursaal.
-the liveried attendants lifted their hats as she ran up the steps and passed the barrier. she gave them a smiling “bonjour.” neither the canon nor any of the friends being visible on the verandah, she entered the great hall, where the morning instrumental concert was going on. she scanned the talking, laughing crowd as she passed through. many eyes followed her. for yvonne, when happy, was sweet to look upon. she was turning back to retrace her steps, when, suddenly, a man started up from a group of three who were playing cards and drinking absinthe at a small table, and placed himself before her.
-“tiens! c’est yvonne!”
-she stared at him with dilated eyes and parted lips and uttered a little gasping cry. seeing her grow deadly white and thinking she was going to faint, the man put out his arm. but yvonne was mistress of herself.
-“allons d’ici,” she whispered, turning a terrified glance around.
-the man raised his hat to his companions and signed to her to come. he was a handsome, careless, dissipated-looking fellow, with curly hair and a twirled black moustache; short and slightly made. he wore a tyrolese hat and a very low turned-down collar and a great silk bow outside his waistcoat. there was a devil-may-care charm in his swagger as he walked--also an indefinable touch of vulgarity; the type of the cabotin in easy circumstances.
-yvonne, more dead than alive, followed him through the deserted salle des jeux on to the quiet bit of verandah, and sank into a chair that he offered. she looked at him, still white to the lips.
-“yes,” he said laughingly, “why not? it is not astonishing.”
-“but i thought you dead!” gasped yvonne, trembling.
-“a la bonne heure! and i seem a ghost. oh, i am solid. pinch me. but how did you come to learn? ah! i remember it was given out in paris. a canard. it was in the hospital--paralysis, ma chère. see, i can only just move my arm now. cétait la verte, cette sacrée verte--”
-“absinthe?” asked yvonne, almost mechanically.
-he nodded, went through the motions of preparing the drink, and laughed.
-“but if it will kill you?”
-“bah. what do i care? when one lives, one amuses oneself. and i have well amused myself, eh, yvonne? for the rest, je m’en fiche!”
-he went on talking with airy cynicism. to yvonne it seemed some horrible dream. the husband she had looked upon as dead was before her, gay, mocking, just as she had known him of old. and he greeted her after all these years with the-same lightness as he had bidden her farewell.
-“et toi, yvonne?” said he at length. “ça roule toujours? you look as if you were brewing money. ravishing costume. crépon--not twenty-five centimes a yard! a hat that looks like the rue de la paix! gants de reine et petites bottines de duchesse! you must be doing golden business. but speak, petite, since i assure you i am not a ghost!”
-yvonne forced a faint smile. she tried to answer him, but her heart was thumping violently and a lump rose in her throat.
-“i am doing very well, amédée,” she said. the dreadfulness of her position came over her. she felt sick and faint. what was going to happen? for some moments she did not hear him as he spoke. at last perception returned.
-“but i am already married!” cried yvonne.
-“thinking me dead?”
-he looked at her for a few seconds, then slapped his thigh and, rising from his chair, bent himself double and gave vent to a roar of laughter. the tears stood in yvonne’s eyes.
-“oh, but it’s comic. you don’t find it so?”
-he leant back against the railings and laughed again in genuine merriment.
-“why, it’s all the more reason to come back to me. ça y met du salé. have you any children?”
-yvonne shook her head.
-“eh bien!” he exclaimed, triumphantly, stepping towards her with outstretched hands. but she shrank from him, outraged and bewildered.
-“never, never!” she cried. “go away. have pity on me, for god’s sake!”
-amédée bazouge shrugged his shoulders carelessly.
-“it’s a comedy, not a tragedy, ma chère. if you are happy, i am not going to be a spoilsport. it is not my way. be tranquil with your good fat englishman--i bet he’s an englishman--in two years--bah! i can amuse myself always till then--my poor little yvonne. no wonder i frightened you.”
-the affair seemed to cause him intense amusement. a ray of light appeared to yvonne.
-“you won’t interfere with me at all, amédée--not claim anything?”
-“oh, don’t be afraid. dès ce moment je vais me reflanquer au sapin! i shall be as dead as dead can be for you. suis pas méchant va!”
-“thank you,” said yvonne. “you were always kind-hearted, amédée--oh, it was a horrible mistake--it can’t be altered. you see that i am helpless.”
-“why, my child,” said he, seating himself again, “i keep on telling you it is a farce--like all the rest of life. i only laugh. and now let us talk a little before i pop into the coffin again. what is the name of the thrice happy being?”
-“oh, don’t ask me, i beg you,” said yvonne shivering. “it is all so painful. tell me about yourself--your voice--is it still in good condition?”
-“never better. i am singing here this afternoon.”
-“in the kursaal?”
-“why, yes. that’s why i am here. oh, ca marche--pas encore paralysée, celle-là. come and hear me. et ton petit organe à toi?”
-“i am out of practice. i have given up the profession.”
-“ah, it’s a pity. you had such an exquisite little voice. i regretted it after we parted. two or three times it nearly brought me back to you--foi d’artiste!”
-“i think i must go,” said yvonne after a little. “i am leaving ostend to-morrow and i shall not see you again. you don’t think i am treating you unkindly, amédée?”
-he laughed in his bantering way and lit a cigarette.
-“on the contrary, cher ange. it is very good of you to talk to a poor ghost. and you look so pathetic, like a poor little saint with its harp out of tune.”
-she rose, anxious to leave him and escape into solitude, where she could think. she still trembled with agitation. in the little cool park, on the other side of the square below, she could be by herself. she dreaded meeting the canon yet awhile.
-“do give up that vile absinthe,” she said, as a parting softness.
-“it is the only consoler that remains to me--sad widower.”
-“well, good-bye, amédée.”
-“ah--not yet. since you are the wife of somebody else, i am dying to make love to you.”
-he held her by the wrist, laughing at her. but at that moment yvonne caught sight of the canon and mrs. winstanley, entering upon the terrace. she wrenched her arm away.
-“there is my husband.”
-“nom de dieu!” cried bazouge, stifling a guffaw before the austere decorum of the english churchman. “ça? oh, my poor yvonne!” she shook hands rapidly with him and turned away. he bowed gracefully, including the new-comers in his salute. the canon responded severely. mrs. winstanley stared at him through her tortoise-shell lorgnette.
-“we have been looking all over the place for you,” said the canon, as they passed through the window into the salle des jeux, leaving bazouge in the corner of the verandah.
-“i’m sorry,” said yvonne penitently.
-“and who was that rakish-looking little frenchman you were talking to?”
-“an old friend--i used to know him,” said yvonne, struggling with her agitation. “a friend of my first husband--i had to speak to him--we went there to be quiet. i could n’t help it, everard, really i could n’t.”
-“my dear child,” said the canon, kindly, “i was not scolding you--though he did look rather undesirable.”
-“i suppose you had to mix with all kinds of odd bohemian people in your professional days?” said mrs. winstanley.
-“of course,” faltered yvonne.
-they went through the great hall. at the door they parted with mrs. winstanley, who was waiting for the wilmingtons. “we will call for you on our way to the concert this afternoon,” said the canon.
-“thanks,” said mrs. winstanley, and then, suddenly looking at yvonne--
-“mercy, my dear! how white you are!”
-“there’s nothing the matter with me,” said yvonne, trying to smile.
-“it’s past our déjeuner hour,” said the canon, briskly. “you want some food.”
-“perhaps i do,” said yvonne.
-she went with the canon on to the digue, and walked along the shady side, by the hotels, past the gay terraces thronged with lunching guests. but all the glamour had gone from the place. an hour had changed it. and that hour seemed a black abyss separating her from happiness.
-an hour ago she had looked upon this kind, grave man who walked by her side as her husband. now what was he to her? she shrank from the thought, terrified, and came nearer to him, touching the flying skirt of his coat as if to take strength from him.
-they entered the crowded dining-room, where the maître d’hôtel had reserved them a table. she struggled bravely through part of the meal, strove to keep up a conversation. but the strain was too great. another five minutes, she felt, would make her hysterical. she rose, with an excuse to the canon, and escaped to her room.
-there she flung herself down on the bed and buried her face in the cool pillows. it was a relief to be alone with her fright and dismay. she strove to think, but her head was in a whirl. the incidents of the late scene came luridly before her mind, and she shivered with revulsion. a rough hand had been laid on the butterfly and brushed the dust from its wings.
-the canon came later to her room, kindly solicitous. was she ill? would she like to see a medical man? should he sit with her? she clasped his hand impulsively and kissed it.
-“you are too good to me. i am not worth it. i am not ill. it was the sun, i think. let me lie down this afternoon by myself and i shall be better.”
-surprised and touched by her action, he bent down and kissed her.
-“my poor little wife.”
-he stepped to the window and pulled the curtain to shield her eyes from the glare, and promising to order some tea to be brought up later, he went out.
-the kiss, the term, and the little act of thoughtfulness comforted her, gave her a sense of protection. she had been so bruised and frightened. now she could think a little. should she tell everard? then she broke down again and began to cry silently in a great soothing pity for herself.
-“it would only make him unhappy,” she moaned. “why should i tell him?”
-she grew calmer. if amédée would only keep his promise and leave her free, there was really nothing to fret about. she reassured herself with his words. through all his failings toward her he had ever been “bon enfant.” there was no danger.
-suddenly a thought came that made her spring from her bed in dismay. the concert. she had forgotten that amédée was singing there. everard was going. he would see the name on the programme, “amédée bazouge.” there could not be two tenors of that name in europe. everard must be kept away at all costs.
-she rushed from the room and down the stairs, in terrible anxiety lest he should have already left the hotel. to her intense relief, she saw him sitting in one of the cane chairs in the vestibule smoking his after-lunch cigar. he threw it away as he caught sight of her at the head of the stairs, breathless, and holding the balusters, and went up to meet her.
-“my poor child,” said he in an anxious tone. “what is the matter?”
-“oh, everard--i don’t want any more to be left alone. don’t think me silly and cowardly. i am afraid of all kinds of things.”
-“of course i ’ll come and sit with you a little,” he replied kindly.
-they entered her room together. yvonne lay down. her head was splitting with nervous headache. the canon tended her in his grave way and sat down by the window with a book. yvonne felt very guilty, but yet comforted by his presence. at the end of an hour, he looked at his watch and rose from his seat.
-“are you easier now?”
-“you are not going to the kursaal, everard?”
-“i am afraid emmeline is expecting me.” she signed to him to approach, and put her arms round his neck.
-“don’t go. send her an excuse--and take me for a drive. it would do me good, and i should so love to be alone with you.”
-it was the very first time in her life that yvonne had consciously cajoled a man. her face flushed hot with misgivings. it was with a mixture of her sex’s shame and triumph that she heard him say.
-“whatever you like, dear. it is still your holiday.”
-chapter xiii--dis aliter visum
-but the best laid schemes of yvonnes and men often come to nothing. while she was devising, on her drive along the coast, a plan for spending a quiet dangerless evening at the hotel, mrs. winstanley was sitting in solitary dignity at the concert, nursing her wrath over professor drummond’s “natural law in the spiritual world,” a book which she often perused when she wished to accentuate the rigorous attitude of her mind.
-yvonne had reckoned without mrs. winstanley. otherwise she would have offered her a seat in the carriage. as it was, mrs. winstanley felt more resentful than ever. under the impression that the canon was to accompany her to the kursaal, she had graciously dispensed with the escort of the wilmingtons, who had gone off to see bicycle races at the vélodrome. she was left in the lurch.
-to dislike this is human. to wrap oneself up in one’s sore dignity is more human still, and there was much humanity that lurked, unsuspected by herself, in mrs. winstanley’s bosom. it asserted itself, further, in certain curiosities. she had seen that morning what had escaped the canon’s notice--the stranger’s grasp on yvonne’s arm and the insolent admiration on his face. this fact, coupled with yvonne’s agitation, had put her upon the track of scandal. the result was, that at the concert she made interesting discoveries, and, piecing things together in her mind afterwards, bided her time to make use of them.
-it would be for the canon’s sake, naturally. a woman of mrs. winstanley’s stamp is always the most disinterested of god’s creatures. she never performed an action of which her conscience did not approve. but she was such a superior woman that her conscience trembled a little before her, like most of the other friends whom she patronised. she did not have to wait long. the canon called upon her soon after his return to invite herself and the wilmingtons to dinner. it was his last evening at ostend, and yvonne was not feeling well enough to spend it, as usual, at the kursaal.
-“yvonne is still poorly, everard?” she asked, with her air of confidential responsibility.
-“has it not occurred to you that her encounter this morning may have had something to do with it?”
-“of course not,” replied the canon, sharply. “it would be ridiculous.”
-“i have reasons for not thinking so, everard. the man was singing at the kursaal this afternoon. here is his name on the programme.” she handed him the slip of paper. he read the name among the artistes. “m. bazouge.” he returned it to her.
-“does it not seem odd to you?”
-“not at all. a relation of her first husband’s, i suppose. in fact yvonne said as much.”
-“i could not help being struck by the name, everard. it is so peculiar. i remembered it from the publication of the banns.”
-“i compliment you on your memory, emmeline,” said the canon.
-mrs. winstanley drew herself up, offended.
-she walked from the window where they were standing to a table, and fetched from it a newspaper.
-“do you remember the christian name of yvonne’s first husband?”
-the canon drew himself up too, and frowned.
-“what is the meaning of all this, emmeline? what are you trying to insinuate?”
-“if i thought you were going to adopt this tone, everard, i should have kept my suspicions to myself.”
-“i certainly wish that you had,” said he, growing angry. “it is an insult to yvonne which i cannot permit. my wife is above suspicion.”
-“duty is one of the chief instruments of the devil, if you will excuse my saying so,” replied the canon.
-“oh, very well then, everard,” she said hotly. “you can go on being a fool as long as you like. i saw your wife struggling in this man’s embrace, more or less, this morning. two or three strange coincidences have been forced upon my notice. for your sake i have been excessively anxious. my conscience tells me i ought to take you into my confidence, and i can do no more. you can see the christian name of this bazouge in the visitors’ list, and adopt what course of action you think fit. i wash my hands of the whole matter. and i must say that from the very beginning, two years ago, you have treated me all through with the greatest want of consideration.”
-the canon did not heed the peroration. he stood with the flimsy sheet clenched in his hand and regarded her sternly. she shrank a little, for her soul seemed to be naked.
-“you have tried to ferret this out through spite against yvonne. whether the horrible thing you imply is true or not, i shall find it hard to forgive you.”
-mrs. winstanley shrugged her shoulders. “in either case, you will come to your senses, i hope. meanwhile, considering the present relations, it might be pleasanter not to meet at dinner to-night.”
-“i am sorry to have to agree with you, emmeline,” said the canon.
-she made him a formal bow and was leaving the room; but his voice stopped her.
-“your anxiety cannot be very great, or you would wait to learn whether your suspicions are baseless or not.”
-she paused, in a dignified attitude, with her hand on the back of a chair, while he adjusted his gold pince-nez and ran through the list.
-“you are right so far,” he said coldly. “the names are identical.”
-they parted at the door. the canon walked back to his hotel with anger in his heart. in spite of cumulative evidence, the theory that his cousin had insinuated was prima facie preposterous. it was important enough, however, to need some investigation. but the feeling uppermost in his mind was indignation with mrs. winstanley. he was too shrewd a man not to have perceived long ago her jealousy of yvonne; but beyond keeping a watchful eye lest his wife should receive hurt, he had not condescended to take it into serious consideration. now, beneath her impressive manner he clearly divined the desire to inflict on yvonne a deadly injury. to have leaped at such a conclusion, to have sought subsequent proof from the visitors’ list, argued malicious design. he could never forgive her.
-still the matter had to be cleared up at once. on his arrival at the océan, he went forthwith to yvonne’s room, and entered on receiving an acknowledgment of his knock. she was standing in the light of the window by the toilet table, doing her hair. the rest of the room was in the shadow of the gathering evening.
-“well,” she said, without turning, “are they coming?”
-the grace of her attitude, the intimacy of the scene, the pleasantness of her greeting, made his task hateful.
-“no,” he said, with an asperity directed towards the disinvited guest. “we shall dine alone to-night.”
-but his tone made yvonne’s heart give a great throb, and she turned to him quickly.
-“has anything happened?”
-“a great deal,” said the canon.
-where he stood in the dusk of the doorway, the shadow accentuated the stern lines of his face and deepened the sombreness of his glance. his brows were bent in perplexities of repugnance. it was horrible to demand of her such explanations. to yvonne’s scared fancy, his brows seemed bent in accusation. that was the pity of it. for a few seconds they looked at one another, the canon severely, yvonne in throbbing suspense.
-“what?” she asked at length.
-he paused for a moment, then threw his hat and the crumpled visitors’ list on to the table and plunged into the heart of things--but not before yvonne had glanced at the paper with a sudden pang of intuition.
-“emmeline has discovered, yvonne, that the man--”
-he got no further. yvonne rushed to him with a cry of pain, clung to his arm, broke into wild words.
-“don’t say any more--don’t--don’t. spare me--for pity’s sake. i did not want you to know. i tried to keep it from you, everard! don’t look at me like that?”
-her voice ended in a note of fright. for the canon’s face had grown ashen and wore an expression of incredulous horror. he shook her from him.
-“do you mean that this is true? that you met your first husband this morning?”
-“yes,” said she, with quivering lips. question and answer were too categorical for misunderstanding. for a moment he struggled against the overwhelming.
-“are you in your right senses, yvonne? do you understand what i asked you? your first husband is still alive and you saw him to-day?”
-“yes,” said yvonne again. “didn’t you know when you came in?”
-“i did n’t know,” he repeated almost mechanically.
-the blow crushed him for a while. he stood quite rigid, drawing quick breaths, with his eyes fixed upon her. and she remained still, half-sitting on the edge of the bed, numb with a vague prescience of catastrophe, and a dim, uncomprehended intuition of the earthquake and wreck in the man’s soul. the silence grew appalling. she broke it with a faltering whisper.
-“will you forgive me?”
-the poor little commonplace fell in the midst of devastating emotions--pathetically incongruous.
-“did you know that this man was alive when you married me?” he asked in a hard voice.
-“no,” cried yvonne. “how could i have married you? i thought he had been dead nearly three years.”
-“what proofs did you have of his death?”
-“a friend sent me a number of the figaro, with the announcement.”
-“was that all?”
-“yes,” said yvonne.
-“do you mean to tell me,” he insisted, “that you married a second time, having no further proofs of your first husband’s death than a mere newspaper report?”
-“it never occurred to me to doubt it,” she replied, opening piteous, innocent eyes.
-the childlike irresponsibility was above his comprehension. her apparent insensibility to the most vital concerns of life was another shock to him. it seemed criminal.
-“god forgive you,” he said, “for the wrong you have done me.”
-“but i did it unknowingly, everard,” cried poor yvonne. “if one has to get greater proofs, why did you not ask for them, yourself?”
-the canon turned away and paced the room slowly, without replying. at last he stood still before her.
-“among ordinary honourable people one takes such things for granted,” he said.
-“forgive me,” she said again, humbly.
-but he could find no pity for her in his heart. she had wronged him past redemption.
-“how much truth was there in the newspaper story?” he asked coldly.
-she told him rapidly what amédée bazouge had said concerning his attack in the hospital and his subsequent stroke.
-“so the man is wilfully killing himself with absinthe?” he said.
-“it appears so,” replied yvonne with a shudder.
-“could you tell me what passed between you otherwise--in general terms?” he asked, after a short silence. “you explained your position? or did you leave him in ignorance, as you were going to leave me?”
-“i told him--of course. it was necessary. and he laughed--i thought to spare you, everard.”
-“spare me, yvonne?”
-“yes,” she said, simply, “i could have borne all the pain and fright of it alone--why should i have made you unhappy? and he said he would never interfere with me, and i can trust his word. why should i have told you, everard?”
-“do you actually ask me such a question, honestly?”
-“god knows i do,” she replied pitifully.
-“and you would have gone on living with me--i not being your husband?”
-“but you are my husband,” cried yvonne, “nothing could ever alter that.”
-“but good god! it does alter it,” cried the canon in a voice of anguish, breaking the iron bonds he had placed on his passion. “neither in the eyes of god nor of man are you my wife. you have no right to bear my name. after this hour i have no right to enter this room. every caress i gave you would be sin. don’t you understand it, child? don’t you understand that this has brought ruin into our lives, the horror of loneliness and separation?”
-“separation?” said yvonne.
-she rose slowly from her seat on the bed and stared at him aghast.
-the twilight in the room deepened; the shadow of a wall opposite the window fell darker. their faces and yvonne’s bare neck and arms gleamed white in the gloom. they had spoken with many silences; for how long neither knew.
-“yes,” replied the canon in his harder tones, recovering himself “it means all that.”
-“i am to go--not to live with you any more?”
-“could you imagine our past relations could continue?”
-“i don’t understand,” she began feebly. and then the darkness fell upon her, and her limbs relaxed. she swayed sideways and would have fallen, but he caught her in his arms and laid her on the couch.
-“thank you,” she murmured faintly.
-she hid her face in her hands and remained, crouched up, quite still, in a stupor of misery. the canon stood over her helplessly, unable to find a word of comfort.
-the sight of her prostration did not move him. he had been wounded to the very depths of his being. his pride, his honour, his dignity were lacerated in their vitals. he burned with the sense of unpardonable wrong.
-“it is self-evident,” he said at last, “that we must part. our remaining together would be a sin against god and an outrage upon society.”
-she rased herself wearily, with one hand on the couch, and shook her head slowly.
-“such things are beyond me. no one will ever know.”
-“there is one who will always know, yvonne.”
-she pondered over the saying, as far as her tired, bewildered brain allowed. it conveyed very little meaning to her. theology had not altered her child-like conception of the benevolence of the creator. after a long time she was able to disentangle an idea from the confusion.
-“if it is a sin--don’t you love me enough to sin a little for my sake?”
-“not that sin,” he said.
-yvonne lifted her shoulders helplessly.
-“i would commit any sin for your sake,” she said. “it would seem so easy.”
-curiously assorted as they were, a poetic idealism on the one side and grateful veneration on the other had hitherto bound them together. now they were sundered leagues apart; mutual understanding was hopeless. each was bewildered by the other’s moral attitude.
-the logical consequences of the discovery, that appeared so luridly devious to the canon’s intellect, failed entirely to appeal to yvonne. she referred them entirely to his personal inclinations. on the other hand, the canon had a false insight into her soul that was a chilling disillusion.
-the beauty of her exquisite purity and innocence had always captivated in him the finer man. it was a mirage. it was gone. emptiness remained. she was simply a graceful, non-moral being--a spiritual anomaly.
-yvonne shivered, and rising, walked unsteadily to the wardrobe, whence she took a dressing-jacket. putting it on, she returned to the couch. it was almost dark. the canon watched her dim, slight figure as it passed him, with a strange feeling of remoteness. a hundred trivial instances of her want of moral sense crowded into his mind to support his view--her inability to see the wrong-doing of stephen, her indefinite notions in religious matters, her mental attitude toward the girl that had gone astray, of whom she had been talking only the night before, her expressed intention of hiding this terrible discovery from him. he had been duped, not by her, but by his own romantic folly.
-yet what would his life be without her--or rather without his illusion? an icy hand gripped his heart. he turned to the glimmering window and stared at the blank wall.
-presently a moan struck upon his ear. he wheeled round sharply, and distinguished her lying with helpless outspread arms on the couch. mere humanity brought him to her side.
-“i am so tired,” she moaned.
-“you must go to bed,” he replied in a gentler voice than hitherto. “we had better part now. to-morrow, if you are well enough to travel, we will leave for england.”
-“let me go alone,” she murmured, “and you go on to switzerland. why should your holiday be spoiled?”
-“it is my life that is spoiled,” he said ungenerously. “the holiday matters very little. it is best to return to england as soon as possible. between now and to-morrow morning i shall have time to reflect upon the situation.”
-he struck a match and lit the candles and drew down the blind. the light revealed her to him so wan and exhausted that he was moved with compunction.
-“good-night,” she said miserably.
-and so, without touch of hand, they parted.
-they left ostend quietly the following morning by the dover boat. during the whole journey the canon treated yvonne with the deferential courtesy he could always assume to women, seeing to her comforts, anticipating her wants, even exchanging now and then casual remarks on passing objects of interest. but of the subject next his heart he said not a word. the crossing was smooth. the sea air revived yvonne’s strength.
-his silence half comforted, half frightened her. had he relented? she glanced often at his impassive face, in cruel anxiety to pierce to the thoughts that lay behind. yet a little hope came to her; for fear of losing it she dared not speak. to her simple mind it seemed impossible that merely conscientious scruples could make him cast her off. if he loved her, his love would triumph. if he persisted in his resolve, he cared for her no longer. in this case her future was very simple. she would go back to london and sing.
-she seemed to have cried her feeling away during the night--such as he had left unbruised and untorn. for the quivering flesh is only sensitive up to a certain point of maceration. he had trodden upon her pitilessly; but she felt no resentment. in fact, she would have been quite happy if he had put his arms round her and said, “let us forget, yvonne.” by the end of the journey she had cajoled herself into the idea that he would do so.
-a suite of rooms received them in the quiet west end hotel where the canon always stayed. they dined alone, the discreet butler waiting on them, for the canon was an honoured guest. when the cloth was removed, the canon said in his even voice:--
-“are you sufficiently recovered, yvonne, to discuss this painful subject?”
-“i am quite ready, everard.”
-“we will make it as short as possible. what i said last night must remain, whatever be the suffering. i have loved you deeply--like a young man--in a way perhaps ill befitting my years. the memories, for they are innocent, will always be there, yvonne. if i did not seek strength from elsewhere, it might wreck my life to part from you.”
-her hope was dashed to the ground. she interrupted him with one more appeal. “why need we part, everard?” she said, in a low voice. “i mean, why cannot we live in the same house--before the world--?”
-“it is impossible,” he replied. “you don’t know what you are asking.”
-his voice grew husky. he paused a few seconds, then, recovering himself continued in the same hard tones:--
-“as we must live apart, it is my duty to make provision for you. i shall alter my will, securing to you what would have come to you as my wife. during my lifetime i shall make you an allowance in fair proportion to my means. and it will be, of course, unconditional.”
-then, for the first time, her gentle nature rose up in revolt against him.
-“i could not accept it, everard,” she cried with kindling cheeks. “if i have no right to bear your name i have no right to your support. don’t ask me to take it, for i can’t.”
-“yvonne, listen to me--”
-“no,” she went on passionately, “i am speaking as a woman now; the time has come, and you were right in your prophecy--i would sooner die than live away from you and be supported by you. you don’t understand--it is as if i had done something shameful and you were putting me away from you. oh, don’t speak of it,--don’t speak of it. if i am not your wife before god, i have no claims on you.”
-“to hear you speak like that pains me intensely,” he said. “do you think i have lost all regard for you?”
-“if you loved me, you would not wish to part from me,” said yvonne with her terrible logic.
-they were on different planes of thought and feeling. the canon argued, insisted, but to no purpose. yvonne was inconvincible.
-the talk continued, drifted away for a time to arrangements for the immediate future. a reply telegram came from geraldine vicary, to the effect that she would be with yvonne in the morning. it was settled that yvonne should stay with her provisionally, and that she, in order to avoid painful meetings and communications, should be yvonne’s agent in the necessary settlement of affairs. finally, the canon returned to the subject of the allowance. he would settle a certain sum upon her, whether she would accept it or not. yvonne flashed again into rebellion. the idea was hateful to her. he had no right to make her lose her self-respect.
-“but it is my solemn duty that i must perform. will nothing i can say ever make you understand?” he exclaimed at last, in exasperation.
-yvonne rose and came to where he sat, and laid her hand upon his shoulder with an action full of tenderness, and looked down upon him with her wistful dark eyes, all the more wistful for the rings beneath them.
-“don’t be angry with me--over last evening. it is good and generous of you to wish to make provision for me. but i shall be much happier to feel myself no burden upon you. and it will be so easy for me to earn my living again. i shall be much happier, really.”
-the little word, with which she so often confirmed her statements, the familiar touch of her hand, the sense of her delicate, fragile figure so near him caused a spasm of pain to pass through his heart; disillusion had not touched his common, human want of her. he bowed his head in his hands.
-“some day, yvonne, it may be possible for me to ask you--to come back. if i give in to your wishes now, will you give in to mine then?”
-the emotion in his voice was too strong to escape her. it stirred all the yielding sweetness and tender pity of yvonne. she forgot the reproaches, the pitilessness, the religious scruples comprehended only as unloving. his broad shoulders shook beneath her touch.
-“i will come whenever you want me,” she said.
-“if i have been ungenerous in word or thought to you, yvonne, forgive me.”
-her hand strayed shyly to a lock of grizzling hair above his temples and smoothed it back gently.
-he raised his head, and looked at her for a second or two with an expression of anguish.
-then he sprang to his feet, and before yvonne, shrinking back, could realise his intention, his arms were about her in a tight clasp, and his kiss was on her face. “god help us. god help us both, my child.” he released her and went hurriedly from the room.
-and so they parted.
-chapter xiv--“in a strange land”
-they buried noakes on the other side of the kopje behind the house. he had lasted through the winter and early spring, but the season of the rains and heat, when the damp oozed through wooden walls and mud floor, and hung clammily upon sheets and pillows, gave the remnants of his lungs no breathing chance, and noakes went uncomplainingly to his place.
-joyce laid “the dear lady’s” letter on his breast before nailing down the rough wooden coffin. it seemed as if most of his own heart too were enclosed with the letter, to be put away under the ground for ever and ever. wilson the farmer, himself, and a kaffir carried the coffin to the hole that had been dug beneath a blue gum-tree. there wilson read the burial service of the church of england.
-he was a religious man, when he was not drunk, and set great store by a prayer-book that he had saved from the wreckage of churchgoing times. over a fat, phlegmatic, brick-red face the sun had spread a glaze, as if to shield the colour from other counteracting climatic influences. his speech was thick and uneducated. at first joyce had resented his intention as a mockery, and only to avoid unseemly wrangling did he stand there and listen, while the kaffir squatted by, scratching his limbs in meditative wonder at the incantation. but very soon the solemn beauty of the service appealed to him. “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” he stooped and threw some handfuls of the red soil reverently into the grave. it seemed not unfitting that the rude voice should give the broken life this rude burial.
-the service over, wilson signed to the kaffir to fill in the grave, and flicking the perspiration from his forehead, for the sun beat down fiercely, turned to joyce.
-“come in now and have a drink.”
-but joyce refused and remained there alone, with his head sunk on his breast, watching the kaffir. when the task was done, he set at the grave-head a great stone he had previously brought there, and slowly went away. his steps took him mechanically back over the kopje. but when he arrived at the prickly-pear hedge on top, the sight of the mean shanty and the kaffir huts and the straggling fields high with corn and maize, jarred upon his mood. he turned, and descending, struck across the rank, sodden veldt, that stretched eastward in a terrible monotony to the sky-line. there, at any rate, he could be alone, away from the sights and sounds of his dreary toil. a broad gully, half filled with a red, swollen stream, stopped his progress. half a mile farther up was a bridge. but he was tired and hot and sick at heart. a slab in the shade of an overhanging edge of the ravine met his eye. he clambered down and sat there, looking into the small swirling flood.
-a centipede crawled close by. he drew his knife from his belt, cut the creature in two, and flicked the pieces into the water, which swept them instantaneously out of sight. he looked at his knife that had so speedily given death to the insect. was he much better, more useful? one gash, a leap into the stream, and he would be carried away into eternity. till yesterday his life had some meaning--the support of the poor forlorn man just buried. now, what was the good of his living? there was no joy for himself, no service to one of god’s creatures. but after digging his knife idly into the crumbling slab, he returned it to his belt.
-the lines in which the passage occurred came into his head. he repeated them aloud. such reminiscences of former culture occasionally visited him and smote him with their ironic incongruity. he broke into a mirthless laugh.
-the westering sun had already touched the top of the far distant high veldt when he turned his steps homeward.
-wilson was squirting tobacco juice over a gate and giving directions as to the repairing of one of the sluices, that drained the land into the gully, whence joyce had come.
-“this damn thing will all go to glory soon,” he said.
-“we ought to get some pipes,” said joyce.
-“and lay on gas and hot-water,” returned wilson, sarcastically. “where’s the money to come from?”
-joyce shrugged his shoulders and continued his way to the house. he did not much care. things were going badly. well, things had gone badly with him since he stepped aside from the paths of honest living. he could expect nothing else.
-joyce read here and there, at last became interested. the work was good. and then for the first time he seriously contemplated mailing it to a publisher. when the kaffir came in later to help him prepare supper, he had made up his mind.
-it was a gloomy book, dealing with the abject side of colonial pioneer work--a tragedy of wasted lives and hopes foredoomed to disappointment. a picture of wrecks and derelicts; men of broken fortunes, breaking hearts, degraded lives; poor fools, penniless, craftless, who had come hither like noakes, allured by vague visions of el dorado, to find no place for them in this new rude land where unskilled labour belongs to the natives, who defy competition. he called it “the wasters.” almost unconsciously, his intellectual powers had returned to him whilst writing it. the english was pure, the style vigorous and scholarly. and the feeling--he had written it with his heart’s blood. before he went to sleep that night, he appended to it an alternative title, “the dream of a shadow.”
-in the course of time the manuscript was despatched and joyce settled down to many months’ forgetfulness of it, and to humdrum loneliness and labour. time went quickly, for he took no heed of its flight, having nothing to hope for. he tried to begin another book, but the stimulus of noakes’s appreciation was gone and he sank again into intellectual apathy. in the long evenings he taught a kaffir boy to read and write, while wilson boozed away the profits of the farm. at the best of times there was little sympathy between the two men. often mutual antipathy manifested itself actively under a thin disguise. the farmer despised joyce for a broken-down gentleman unacquainted with any handicraft or the principles of farming, and joyce considered his partner a dull sot, who was letting the farm go to rack and ruin. still, a habit of life is a strange help in living. often joyce told himself that he must sell out and try his luck elsewhere. but there was no particular reason for bringing matters to a crisis on one day more than on another. so the months wore on.
-some men thrive physically and morally in the wilds. the incessant conflict with the elemental forces of nature braces nerves and strengthens the will. and these are exclusive of such as find satisfaction of primitive instincts only in uncivilised lands--such as are a reversion to the savage type, and, in the forest or the desert, live a life truer to their natures than amid the decencies of civilisation. but the men who thrive are physically and morally adapted to the struggle--men of energy, ambition, daring, who see in it a means towards the yet ungained or forfeited place in civilisation. the pioneer work of new colonies is done by them, and they generally gain their reward. joyce had found all the successful men in south africa belonging to this type. he had looked at noakes and himself and groaned inwardly. they were doomed to perish, it seemed, by natural selection. in the case of noakes the foreboding had been fulfilled. would it be so with himself? his unfitness for his environment weighed heavier day by day on his mind: all the more since the loss of the companionship that had cheered him in dark hours. a habit of brooding silence fell upon him. he spoke as little as in those awful years of prison. and as his life grew lonelier and more self-centred, softer memories faded, and those chiefly remained that had branded themselves in his brain. the gaol came back to his dreams. once, in the shed where he had taken up his abode since the beginning of spring, he awoke in a sweating terror. the disposition of his bed as regards the window and the height of the latter from the ground corresponded with the arrangements of his cell. the nightmare held him paralysed. and this in some form or the other repeated itself at intervals, so that he was forced to rearrange his room.
-he had shifted his quarters owing to the arrival of a fat boer woman who claimed connubial relations with wilson. the suggestion had proceeded from himself from motives of delicacy and good-nature. at first he had welcomed her in spite of unprepossessing manners and appearance, and tried to win her esteem by little acts of civility. but the lady drank; and one day wilson, finding her alone in joyce’s hut, whither she had come to steal whisky, grew unreasonably jealous and blacked both her eyes. after which occurrence joyce and she let each other severely alone. he relapsed into his sombre apathy.
-the life was killing him, brutalizing him. he lost even interest in the kaffir boy’s education, which had not been without its light side of amusement. hour after hour he would sit, on summer nights, on the doorstep of his shed, pipe in mouth, elbows on knees, thinking of nothing, his mind a dull blank. now and then he thought of yvonne, but only in a vague, far-off way. he never wrote or felt urged to write. what was the good? and he had received no letter from yvonne since the one that had accompanied her line to noakes. once, several months afterwards, one of the ox-waggons from the town had been overturned in a swollen river, and many stores including the mail had been swept away. the driver told him there had been letters for him. possibly one from yvonne. at the time he regretted it, but his morbid indifferentism had already begun to darken his mind. he laid conjecture dully aside. the weeks and months passed and, with all his other longings for sweeter things, the desire for her letters died. and so the last strand wore through of the last thread that bound him to england.
-and then gradually the longing for england grew more insistent, until at last it took the form of a settled determination. one day he saddled a rough farm-pony and rode to the good samaritan who had taken him in during his illness. the farmer, a hard-headed scotchman, shook his head dubiously when joyce unfolded his plan.
-“stick to the farm and buy wilson out. you ’ll mak’ more money, and then you can retire in a few years.”
-“the profits are nearly swallowed up in improvements and transit,” said joyce. “it is a bare subsistence.”
-“that’s because you don’t go the right way to work. if i had the land, i’d make it pay soon enough.”
-“you are a practical farmer, and i am not,” said joyce. “even if i desired to gain experience, it is precious little i could gain with wilson--and i long for home again.”
-“that’s all very well--but if you fail with your writing? i have heard it is a precarious trade.”
-“i’m used to failure,” replied joyce. “that’s what i came into the world for. you can’t say that i am a conspicuous success as a colonist.”
-“sell out from wilson, and come here,” said the farmer, “on the metayer system. i will put you up to a few things.”
-joyce looked round him; they were sitting on the verandah of the nicely-built house. everything had the trim appearance of scientific english farming--the outbuildings solid and clean, the fields high with grain, the dams in perfect repair, the yard spick and span. a flower garden lay beneath him. a well-trimmed vine covered the lattice-work of the verandah. all was a striking contrast to his own ramshackle, neglected surroundings. a month ago he would have leaped at the offer. but now he declined it. he distrusted himself, his power of content. if he once put his hand to the plough, he would not be able to draw back. and he held ploughs in cordial detestation. he rode back, having thanked his friend and obtained his consent to act as arbiter, if need were, between wilson and himself.
-a day or two later, he took advantage of a sober and quasi-friendly moment, to announce his intention to wilson, who listened to him stolidly.
-“i hope my sudden withdrawal won’t cause you inconvenience,” said he, politely. “if it does--”
-“my good friend,” replied wilson, “i am only too damn glad to get rid of you.”
-“then if you ’ll give me a lump sum down for my share, and lend me a team, i ’ll leave the infernal place this afternoon,” said joyce, nettled.
-wilson went into the house and came out with a roll of greasy notes.
-“there,” he said, “will that satisfy you? i ’ve been wanting to part company for a long time, and i ’ve kept ’em by me.”
-joyce counted the notes, and to his surprise found the sum exceeded that which he himself calculated to be his due. after half an hour’s joint examination of their roughly-kept accounts, he found that wilson was right.
-“you are an honest man,” he said with a smile. “it is a pity you have so many other failings.”
-“i can keep myself out of quod, at any rate,” replied wilson, “which is more than some people can say.”
-the retort was like a blow in the face. joyce staggered under it.
-“another time don’t be so devilish smart with your tongue,” said wilson. “i ain’t the one to cast a man’s misfortunes in his teeth, but, all the same, it’s best for a man like you to lie low.”
-“what the devil are you talking of?” said joyce, fiercely.
-“what’s the good of bluff? you’ve given yourself away heaps of times.”
-“i insist upon knowing what you mean,” said joyce.
-“what a brute you are!” he said angrily.
-wilson broke into a laugh.
-“you’d better thank mr. joyce for saving your beauty from being damaged,” he said, pulling on the boot again.
-“now,” said joyce, as soon as domestic peace was restored, “tell me what you meant just now.”
-wilson rose, went to the door and ostentatiously spat over the boer woman’s head; then he turned round to joyce:--
-“look here,” he said, “i have my hands full enough of quarrelling as it is. you ’d better trek off with that waggon and a couple of niggers. and i ’ll give you a piece of advice. when next you shake down alongside of a man to sleep, just keep from blabbing all your private affairs to him. and that’s why i wanted to be shut of you. we can do without your kind hereabouts. no wonder you were surprised to find me honest.”
-“i suppose i must beg your pardon,” said joyce humiliated. “i had no right to speak to you as i did.”
-“if you had held your tongue, i should have held mine, as i have done for the last year and a half,” replied wilson.
-a few hours later joyce stood up in the ox-waggon and looked back at the detested place that had so long been his home. it was just a speck in the midst of the cheerless plain under the irregular mound, the kopje, behind which poor noakes lay buried. he drew an envelope from his pocket and looked at the blade of grass he had picked from the grave. ashamed of his sentimentality, he twirled it between his fingers, undecided whether to throw it away or not. he ended by replacing it in his pocket. after all, it symbolised a pure, tender feeling, and he was not carrying away with him too many.
-he smoked in silence through the night, under the clear stars. he was sore at heart, deeply humiliated. the buoyancy of new hopes which his little literary success had occasioned during the last few weeks, had gone. the sense of the ineffaceable stain overpowered him. it was a fatality. go where he would, he could not hide it from the knowledge of men. in his own land, accusing fingers pointed to it at street corners. in the uttermost ends of the earth he himself proclaimed it aloud.
-to have lived for months and months under the silent contempt of this drunken woman-beating brute, to have been watched narrowly in all his business dealings--as he knew, from wilson’s nature, must have been the case--to have been forced to stand helpless, degraded before this sot, while he vaunted his one virtue, honesty--it was gall and wormwood and all things bitter.
-the southern cross flashed down from the myriad stars in its startling splendour. the moon shone bright over the vast silent plain, limitless, broken only by the undulating mounds and the infinitely stretching clumps of karroo bushes. the camp-fire, just replenished with damp twigs and shrubs, burned sulkily and the smoke ascended in spirals into the clear air. the hooded waggon depended helplessly on its shafts. the kaffirs, wrapped in blankets, slept beneath. the oxen, outspanned some distance off, chewed the cud in sharp, rhythmic munches. the universe was still--awfully still. all gave the sense of the littleness of man and the immensity of space.
-in a strange, imperious need of expansion, joyce threw himself down on the wet earth and clutched the grasses and cried aloud:--
-“oh, god! i have suffered enough for my sin. take this stain and degradation from my soul.”
-after a while he arose, ashamed of his weakness, the futility of his appeal. relighting his pipe, he clambered into the waggon, and sitting on the floor against the back, watched the portion of starry sky framed by the hood, until the first streaks of dawn announced the hour for inspanning the oxen again and continuing his journey.
-for all the change about him and within him, the hand of time might have been put back four years, and the tender might have been nearing the outward bound ship, instead of the southampton landing-stage. it was the same raw mizzling rain as when he had crossed the harbour four years before; the same wet, shivering crowd of second-class passengers, with the water streaming from waterproofs, umbrellas and hand luggage on to the sloppy deck. in his heart was the same mingling of anxiety and apathy, the same ineradicable sense of pariahdom. he had thought that the sight of england once more would have brought him a throb of gladness. it only intensified his depressing fears for the future.
-the circumstances reproduced themselves with startling actuality. one of the men in charge of the tender had a great ugly seam across his face. joyce remembered having seen him before, in just the same attitude, with a coil of rope in his hand. had he not awakened from a minute’s dream that had covered an illusory four years of his life? he looked around, almost expecting to see noakes, in his ridiculous curly silk hat and old frieze overcoat.
-the tender came alongside the landing-stage, and he stepped ashore with the dripping crowd. the flurry of the custom house and the transport of his meagre baggage to the railway station broke the illusion. he was in england at last, and it seemed a strange country. during the journey to london, he had the companionship of some of his fellow-travellers. at waterloo they parted. then he felt terribly lonely.
-“cab, sir?” asked a porter.
-he was standing over his luggage, somewhat lost amid the bustle and tumult of the station. it was the late afternoon, and the platforms were hurrying with suburban passengers. the incessant movement through the blue glare of the electric light dazed his unaccustomed eyes. he declined the porter’s offer. cabs were a luxury he could ill afford. besides, one meagre gladstone bag contained his whole possessions, and he could easily carry it. leaving the station, he took an omnibus for victoria, with the idea of seeking his old pimlico lodgings. if he could not be taken in there, it would not be difficult to find a room in the neighbourhood. still confused by the sudden transition to the midst of the roar of london, he peered through the glass sides at the wet pavements glistening in the gaslight, the shop fronts, the eternal hurrying by of vague forms, and the dash past of vehicles. from westminster bridge the face of big ben greeted him. he stared at it stupidly as long as he could see it. the light on the clock tower announced that the house was sitting. it was all curiously familiar, and yet he felt like an alien. there was not a soul in london to welcome his home-coming. his heart sank with the sense of loneliness. he was as infinitesimal and as isolated a unit in this seething, swarming ant-hill of humanity as amid the starry solitudes of the african veldt.
-as chance willed it, he found the house in pimlico in the same hands as before, and his old room in the attics vacant. nothing had altered, except that it looked smaller and four years shabbier. the same discoloured blind hung before the window, the same fly-blown texts adorned the walls. the same acrid smell of dust and ashes and earth and the unaired end of all human things met his nostrils. when he went to sleep that night, it seemed incredible that four years should have passed since he had last lain there.
-in a day or two the strangeness wore off. london is in a londoner’s blood. no matter how long his exile, life there comes to him as naturally as swimming does to a swimmer after years of non-practice. he remembered how he had yearned for its sights and sounds and stimulating movement. now they were his again, and he took a measure of content. his first care was to provide himself with some clothes; his next, to visit the publishers. a cordial reception gratified him. the book was bound to have some success. the manuscript was in the printer’s hands. publication was announced for the spring. joyce went home lighter-hearted after the interview. it was delightful to be treated as an intellectual man once more. his prospects too were not so very gloomy. with the little capital he had brought back from south africa and the £80 for his book, he saw himself saved from starvation for two years, if he lived very, very humbly on a little over a pound a week. meanwhile he could earn something by occasional odds and ends of writing, and also complete his second novel. he arranged his scheme of life as he walked along. he would leave his lodging punctually at a certain hour after breakfast, walk to the british museum, write all day in the reading room, dine, walk home, and write or read in the evenings until it was time for bed.
-thus, as ever, his sensitive nature reflected the little ray of hope. but, as usual, it was soon eclipsed by the darkening shadow in his soul, although he set to work with dogged determination. the prospect of life-long solitude appalled him. it was the terrible part of his never-ending punishment. to a nature like his, companionship and sympathy are essentials of development. without them it withers like a parched plant and yet he dreaded making new acquaintances, on account of the shame that would inevitably follow if his identity and history leaked out he accepted loneliness as his portion. there were only two people in england whom, knowing his story, he could trust to shake him by the hand--yvonne and the actor mckay. the latter was necessarily lost in the obscurities of his roving profession. yvonne was married to his cousin, moving in the sphere to which beyond all others he was rigorously denied access. one day, however, when the memory of her sweet kind face came back to him, and he yearned for its bright sympathy, he wrote to her at fulminster.
-he felt somewhat cheered after he had despatched the letter. and as comfortings often come in pairs, he was further cheered by seeing in an evening paper which he bought from a stand near the pillar-box, a general article he had sent up two or three days before. it was an encouraging beginning. at any rate, london streets were more stimulating to his intellectual powers than the dull, deadening life of the african farm. he made many good resolutions during these first days in london. he would win back his lost scholarship, begin to form a humble library. on his way home he bought out of a fourpenny box an old copy of plato’s “republic.” he sat up half the night reading it.
-to his surprise and disappointment, instead of a letter coming from yvonne, his own was returned through the dead letter office. “left fulminster two years ago--present address unknown.” he was puzzled. at the museum he consulted the clergy list for the year. according to it, canon chisely was still rector of fulminster. what had happened to yvonne?
-“it must be some silly mistake,” he said to himself. he wrote again; but with the same result. he thought of writing to everard, but reflected that he too must be ignorant of yvonne’s address; also that in any case, perhaps, he would disregard his letter. there was some mystery. both his affection for yvonne and the novelty of a curiosity outside himself spurred his interest. a day or two afterwards, he noticed on a hoarding an advertisement of cheap excursion trains to the great provincial town next to fulminster. the journey would be very inexpensive. why should he not go down and pick up what information he could? the idea of the little excitement pleased him.
-he started the next morning at a very early hour, and arrived at fulminster about noon. the place was well known to him. he had often visited his cousin in days gone by.
-many bitter-sweet associations crowded upon him as he walked up from the station through the streets.
-he went on, without any definite idea as to his course of action. almost mechanically he bent his steps toward the old abbey, whose spire rose above the housetops, at the end of the high street. soon the great mass towered above him. he stood for a while looking upwards at the wealth of tracery, and crocket, and pinnacle, feeling its beauty, and then wandered idly round. at last his eye fell upon a notice on the board by the vestry door. it was signed “j. abdy, rector”; other notices bore the same signature. this was a new surprise. wondering what had occurred, he left the abbey close and proceeded round the familiar path to the front door of the rectory. he would take the bull by the horns.
-“is the rector in?” he asked the servant who opened to him.
-“could i see him for a moment?”
-“what name, sir?”
-“chisely,” said joyce, instinctively, then he coloured. it was odd that he should have been taken off his guard.
-the servant showed him into the library. a glance proved that everard no longer inhabited it. no trace of the dilettante was visible in its homely comfort. presently the door opened, and the rector, a kindly grey-bearded man, entered the room. joyce made his apology for intrusion.
-“i came down expecting to find canon chisely. i am a distant relation of his, not long come from abroad.”
-“i fear you have come on a vain errand,” said the rector with a smile. “he took over his diocese in new zealand some months ago.”
-“his diocese?” repeated joyce.
-“dear me, have n’t you heard? canon chisely accepted the bishopric of taroofa at the beginning of the year.”
-“how very extraordinary!” said joyce, nonplussed. but the other took his remark literally.
-“yes, it is singular. most people think he has thrown himself away. a very able man, you know--quite young. he might have had an english bishopric if he had waited.”
-“and mrs. chisely?” asked joyce, interrogatively.
-the rector raised a deprecative hand.
-“that’s where the whole trouble came in, apparently. it weighed on his mind--a very proud man. he took the first chance that offered.”
-“pardon my questioning you,” said joyce, “but i am quite in the dark as to what you are referring to. the last letter, two years back, that i received from mrs. chisely was dated from here. she was happily married and all that. i am an old friend of hers. what has happened?”
-“i can only repeat the gossip, mr. chisely. it seems that just about then some misfortune arose--a first husband of mrs. chisely’s, supposed dead, turned up, and so there was a separation.”
-“and where is mrs. chisely now?”
-“that’s more than i can say. a lady--a great friend of mine--also i believe a connexion of your own--”
-“the same. i see you know her. she may be able to inform you. i believe she has said authoritatively that the late mrs. chisely went back to her former husband.”
-“that i can’t believe,” said joyce, indignantly.
-“i can only give you what i hear,” said the rector, placidly. “i know bishop chisely went to paris, where they were supposed to be, before starting for new zealand. but mrs. winstanley will tell you.”
-“i think i know enough,” said joyce, hurriedly, and rising from his chair. “i am greatly indebted to you for your kindness, mr. abdy.”
-“can i offer you some lunch? it will be on the table in a moment.”
-joyce declined, pleaded a train. he would have liked to sit with this kind gossipy old man, but he could not accept such hospitality under false pretences. perhaps it was well that he acted thus, for later in the afternoon the rector described his visitor to mrs. winstanley. she listened for some time, and at last broke out:--
-“why, my dear mr. abdy, it could have been no one else than the convict cousin! he must have come to get money out of everard.”
-“dear me,” said mr. abdy, arresting his hand in a downward stroke of his beard. “who would have thought it? he seemed such a gentlemanly fellow. and i asked him to lunch!”
-“i ’ll write and put the dear bishop on his guard,” said mr. winstanley, virtuously.
-meanwhile, joyce went away full of wonder and pity. it was an amazing story. poor yvonne! he could not believe that she had returned to the scamp of a first husband. the thought was repulsive. at any rate communication between everard and yvonne seemed to have been cut off. he was not very sorry for everard.
-“a little trouble will do him good,” he muttered to himself. and he found a certain grim amusement in the contemplation of the chastened bishop, his cousin. but he felt a great concern for poor fragile little yvonne cast adrift again upon the world. “i will find out what has become of her, at any rate,” he said, digging his stick into the road.
-the natural course was to write to miss geraldine vicary, whose address he fortunately remembered. if she had lost count of yvonne, he would set to work to find her some other way. he felt as eager now to recover yvonne’s friendship as he had been apathetic before. to lose no time, while waiting for the early return excursion train, he went into a post-office and wrote and despatched his letter.
-the following morning he resumed his newly schemed out life of literary work. three days passed and no reply came from miss vicary. on the fourth morning he received a black-edged envelope bearing the swansea postmark. he opened it and read:--
-dear sir,--your letter to miss geraldine vicary was, according to instructions, forwarded to me. i regret to inform you that my poor sister died three weeks ago, of diphtheria. she caught the disease whilst nursing the lady concerning whom, i believe, you inquire. madame latour had been living with her for the past two years. shortly after my poor sister’s death, madame latour was removed to st. mary’s hospital, where, as far as i know, she still lies very ill.
-trusting this sad information may be of service to you,
-i am yours faithfully,
-joyce hurried through his dressing, bolted his breakfast, and rushed out into the street, with one idea in his head. yvonne alone and uncared for, dying in a london hospital--it was incredible. the apparent heartlessness of the woman who wrote, her calm disclaimer of all interest in her dead sister’s dying friend, made his blood boil. a london hospital--an open common ward, with medical students chattering round--it was a cruel place for the sweet delicate woman he remembered as yvonne. where were all her friends?
-in the dismay, excitement, and indignation of the moment, he forgot his poverty, and jumped into the first hansom-cab he saw.
-“st. mary’s hospital, quick!”
-and the cabman, thinking it a matter of life and death, went at a breakneck pace.
-chapter xvi--la cigale
-seeing yvonne at that time of the morning was out of the question. but he penetrated to the landing outside the ward and had a few words with the sister in charge. she was a fresh, pleasant-faced woman, who, having fallen in love with yvonne, felt kindly disposed toward her friends.
-madame latour was slowly recovering. one of the most lingering of the sequelae of diphtheria, diphtheritic paralysis, had set in. it was her larynx and left arm that were affected. at present she was suffering from general weakness. it would be some time yet before she could be moved.
-“do you think i could see her?” asked joyce--“that is to say, if she would care about it.”
-“certainly,” replied the sister. “it would probably do her good. to-day is a visiting day--after two o’clock.”
-“i wonder whether she would like it,” said joyce, questioningly.
-“i will take her a message,” said the sister.
-he scribbled a few words on a scrap of paper and handed it to her. she retired and presently returned, smiling.
-“she will be delighted. i have not seen her look like that since she has been here. ‘tell him it will be a joy to see him.’ those were her words.”
-joyce thanked her warmly, rased his hat, and departed. it was a fine crisp morning. the message seemed to bring a breath of something sweet into the air. he walked along almost buoyantly in spite of the sad plight of yvonne. the appalling weight of loneliness was lifted from his shoulders. the sight of him would be a joy to one living creature. it was a new conception, and it winged his feet.
-on the stroke of two the great doors of the ward opened, and he entered with a group of visitors, chiefly women of the poorer classes, some carrying babies. it was bewildering at first--the long double row of beds, each with its pale, wistful woman’s face. some of the patients were sitting up, with shawls or wraps around them; the greater number lay back on their pillows, turning eyes of languid interest towards the visitors. two beds curtained round broke the uniformity of the two white lines of bedsteads. at the end of the ward, a great open fireplace, with glowing blocks of coal, struck a note of cheerfulness in the grey november light, that streamed through the series of high windows. joyce felt a man’s shyness in walking among these strange sick women, and looked helplessly down the ward from the doorway, to try to discover yvonne. the sister came to his help from a neighbouring bedside.
-“at the very end. the last bed on the left.”
-joyce walked down the druggetted aisle, and as soon as he saw her and knew himself to be recognised, he quickened his pace.
-there she was, half sitting in the bed, propped up by pillows, her wavy dark hair like a nimbus around her pale face. in honour of the visit she had done up her hair, with infinite difficulty, poor child, and put on a pretty white dressing-jacket tied with knots of crimson ribbon. his heart was smitten with pity. she was so changed, so wasted. her delicate features were pinched, her childlike lips blanched. only the old yvonne’s eyes remained--the great, pathetic, winning dark eyes. they gave him glad and grateful welcome.
-it was all he could find in his head to say as he pressed her little thin hand.
-“how good of you to come to see me,” she said.
-joyce was unprepared. it was not yvonne’s voice--once as sweet in speech as in singing; but a toneless, distressed sound devoid of quality, like that of a cracked silver bell. he could not conceal the shadow of dismay on his face. she was quick to note it.
-“i am afraid i speak like a wicked old raven,” she said with a smile; “but you mustn’t mind.”
-“i can’t tell you how grieved i am to see you like this,” he said, sitting down by the bedside. “you must have been very ill. poor yvonne.”
-“yes. awfully ill. you would have been quite sorry to see how ill i was. do you mind moving your chair further down, so that i can look at you? i can’t turn my head, you know. is n’t it silly not to be able to turn one’s head?”
-“you must make haste and get well,” he said, after he had complied with her request “i’m afraid i can’t,” she said, looking at him wistfully. “they all say it’s going to be a long, long business. but i want to know how you came here--to england, i mean,” she added more brightly, after a pause. “it was such a startling surprise when sister brought me your note this morning. why have you left africa? i ’ve been dying to know all day.”
-joyce sketched rapidly the events that had led him back--the death of noakes, the year of wretched apathy, the purchase of his book by the publishers, the craving for civilisation.
-“so i sold out and came home,” he concluded. “i have been back a fortnight.”
-“you must have been very sad at losing your friend,” said yvonne. “death is an awful, awful thing. have you ever thought of it? a person is living and feeling, like you and me, to-day--and to-morrow--gone--out of the world--for ever and ever.”
-her voice sank to a whisper and she looked at him out of great, awe-stricken eyes.
-“i have lost my dear friend too--just lately. did you know?”
-“yes,” he replied gently. “i wrote to her for your address and her sister answered the letter, telling me of her death.”
-“wasn’t it terrible? and she so bright and brave and strong. i never loved anybody as i loved her. it was only after she was buried that i knew--and then i wished i had died instead--i who am no good to any one at all. and i am alive. isn’t it an awful mystery?”
-the man’s eyes fell for a moment beneath the intense, child-like earnestness of hers. silence fell upon them. he stretched out his arm and took her hand that rested outside the coverlet. a man is often instinctively driven to express his sympathy by touch, where a woman would find words.
-after a while she withdrew her hand gently, as if to break the current of thoughts.
-“i was wondering why you looked different,” she said. “you have grown a beard.”
-“yes,” he said, with a sudden laugh--the transition was so abrupt. “i was too slack to shave in south africa. don’t you like it?”
-“oh, not at all. it spoils you.”
-“i will cut it off at once.”
-“not just to please me?”
-“just to please you. it will be a new sensation.”
-“to have it off?”
-“no--to please you, yvonne.”
-her eyes smiled gratefully at him.
-“tell me when i must go,” he said, after a while. “i must n’t tire you. and you may have other visitors.”
-“don’t go yet. no one else will come.”
-“how do you know?”
-“you are the only person who has been to see me since i was brought here,” she replied sadly.
-joyce looked at her for a moment incredulously.
-“do you mean to say you have been quite alone here, among strangers, all these weeks?”
-“yes,” she said. “but sister is kind to me, and they allow me all sorts of little indulgences.”
-“but you should be among loving friends, yvonne,” said joyce.
-“i have so few. and i have told no one that i am here. i couldn’t. besides, whom could i tell?”
-joyce could not understand. it was so strange for yvonne to be friendless. delicacy forbade him to question further.
-“i have had a lot of trouble, you know,” she said. “it has been nearly all trouble for over two years. i wrote and told you what had happened. then i went to live with geraldine vicary, and began to sing again. but i was always being laid up with my throat and i never knew whether i could fulfil an engagement when i made it--so i didn’t get on as i used to. people won’t employ you if they fear you may have to throw them over at the last moment, will they? and geraldine used to keep me in a great deal, for fear i should hurt my voice. but, you see, i had to make some money. so i went out and sang just before this illness, when i ought not, and my throat became inflamed and i caught another cold, and it got worse and worse until diphtheria came on. then poor dina caught it and there was no one to nurse me. you could n’t expect her sister, who did n’t know me, to do much, could you? and then dina was just giving up her flat, and of course i couldn’t keep it on--so the doctor thought i had better come here. ‘j’y suis, j’y reste. it is not a gay little story, is it?”
-“it is a heart-rending story altogether,” said joyce, with a concerned puckering of the forehead. “i wish i could do something to brighten you, yvonne.”
-“you have done so,” she said with a smile, “by coming to see me. how good of you to remember--and, you know, by your not writing, i thought you had quite forgotten.”
-“forgive me, yvonne--a kind of dull brutishness came over me--i couldn’t.”
-“and i could n’t either, after the one i wrote--about my trouble--at fulminster. you never answered it, and i thought--it was n’t because you despised me, was it?”
-“i did n’t get the letter, yvonne,” he said, unable to disregard this second reference as he had done the first. “it must have been the one i heard was lost. i will explain afterwards. i thought you were happy at fulminster--so why should i inflict my eternal grumblings on you?”
-“i learned it a few days ago. i went to fulminster to find you, as my letters were returned to me through the post office. i was determined to discover you, but i never dreamed of finding you here. i came as soon i got the news this morning.”
-“i have one friend left,” said yvonne.
-“and you shall always have him, if you will,” said joyce. “you are the only one he has.”
-“poor fellow,” said yvonne.
-though the sweet voice was broken and hard, there was the same tender pity in the words as when she had uttered them four years back, on their first re-meeting.
-“we are two lonesome bodies, are n’t we?” she added.
-“we ’ll do our best to comfort each other,” said joyce.
-the visiting hour was nearly at an end, and the ward was growing silent again. the sister came down the aisle and stood by yvonne’s bed and smoothed her pillows.
-“you have had quite enough talking for one day,” she said pleasantly. “it has given you quite a colour--but we mustn’t overdo it.”
-joyce rose to take his leave.
-“i may come again, the next time?” he asked.
-“would you?” said yvonne, with an eager look.
-“i would come to-morrow--every day, if they would let me,” he said with conviction.
-he shook hands with her and walked away. at the end of the ward he turned, looked back and saw the mass of black against the white pillow and the specks of crimson that showed yvonne. he hated leaving her among strangers and the rough comforts of an open ward in a hospital. an odd feeling of personal responsibility was mingled with his resentment against the freaks of fortune--an irrational sense of mean-spiritedness in letting her lie there.
-he went back to his work, cheered and strengthened within; but his outlook on life was darkened by one more shadow of the inexorable cruelty of fate. that he should have suffered--well and good. it was a penalty he was paying. but yvonne, the sweetest, innocentest soul alive--why should her head be brought low? and thus the pages that he wrote grew darker by the shadow.
-a fortnight passed, during which he saw her as often as the visiting hours allowed. he brought her whatever little trifles he could afford, and she accepted them with the eager gratification of a child. there was a second-hand bookshop he had come across during his late wanderings, in upper street, islington, which had a speciality in cheap, tattered french novels. thither he tramped one day in order to gratify a desire she had expressed, and spent an hour turning over the stock. it seemed hard not to be able to go into a west end shop and order the newest paris fiction; but a poor devil must do as best he can and be cheerful. yvonne’s delight repaid him for wounded pride. she dipped into them all, while he was there, turning to the last page to see how they ended. and then the rakish air their soiled yellow covers gave to the bed, as they sprawled upon it, amused them both.
-they talked of many things. yvonne interested herself in the patients and gossiped about their progress and their eccentricities. often her artless candour and innate love of laughter gave him details unfit perhaps for ears masculine. then she would catch herself up, while a faint tinge of colour came into her cheek, and with still smiling eyes, say:
-“i always forget that you’re a man. you ought to remind me.”
-joyce, for his part, strove to amuse her with whatever gleams of brightness he could find in his colonial adventures. noakes grew to be the hero of an arthurian cycle. as for the fat boer woman, he was surprised at the amount of grim humour he extracted from her doings.
-“i hope you are going to put it in a book,” yvonne would say, with her little air of wisdom. “you must n’t waste it all upon me.”
-and joyce, by thus disintegrating incidents from his confused mass of impressions, found the talks of material benefit as well as a delight. for a delight they were; the more so, because yvonne’s gladness at his visits was so obviously genuine and spontaneous. she told him that she counted the hours between them. and yvonne scarcely exaggerated. his visits were bright spots in a sorrowful, fear-haunted time. when he came, she summoned up all her strength and courage so as to make the hour pass pleasantly. men do not like crying, complaining women, thought poor yvonne. unless she was bright for him, he might grow tired of coming, and then she would be lonelier than before. so yvonne told him little of the anxieties that lay like a dead weight upon her poor little soul and kept her awake at nights, amid the moans of the sleeping women, that sounded faint and ghostly in the dim ward.
-her patient acceptance of her lot won joyce’s admiration. but of her real position he had no idea. the gentleman in him that had survived his shame and degradation forbade him to pry into her private affairs. besides, he took it for granted that when she recovered, she would live by herself again, in the old way, and that her drawing-room would be a haven of rest to him for indefinite years. the question of nursing alone, he thought, and her incomprehensible friendlessness, had brought her to the hospital. he longed for her to leave it.
-one day, however, he found her lying down in bed, her hair in dark loose masses over the pillow, her face turned away towards the sister who was sitting by her side. the latter rose on seeing him, and hurried forward to meet him in the aisle.
-“be as kind as you can to her,” she said; “she is in great trouble to-day, poor little thing.”
-“what is the matter?” asked joyce, anxiously.
-“let her speak for herself. i was to send you away when you came. she was not fit to see you, she said. but i am sure it will comfort her to talk to a friend.”
-the sister moved away, and joyce approached yvonne’s bedside with quick steps. something serious must have happened.
-yvonne rased a wan, desolate face and eyes heavy with crying, and put out her hand timidly from beneath the bedclothes. he retained it, as he sat down upon the chair just vacated by the sister. the few little cakes he had brought her he placed on the stand near by. she looked too woe-begone for cakes.
-“i have come in spite of your message,” he said. “why did you want to send me away?”
-“i am too miserable,” murmured yvonne, in her broken voice.
-“what has happened to make you miserable?” he asked very softly. “tell me, if it is anything i can hear.”
-“it’s my voice that has gone,” cried yvonne in a sob. “they told me this morning--the doctor brought a throat specialist--i shall never be able to sing again--never.”
-before this sudden calamity the man was powerless for comfort.
-“my poor little woman!” he said.
-“it is worse than losing a limb,” moaned yvonne. “i have been dreading it--hoping against hope all along. i wished i had died instead of dina. i wish i could die now.” the tears came again. she drew away her hand and dabbed her eyes with a miserable little wet rag of a handkerchief.
-“don’t,” said joyce, helplessly. “if you give way you will make yourself worse. they may be mistaken. perhaps it will come again after a year or two.”
-he strove to cheer her, brought forward all the arguments he could think of, all the tender phrases his unaccustomed mind could suggest. at last the tears ceased for a time.
-“but it is my means of livelihood gone,” she said. “when i leave here i shall starve.”
-“not while i live,” said joyce, impulsively. then he reflected. surely she could not be entirely without means. he coloured slightly at his remark, as at an impertinence.
-“i shall never get any money any more as long as i live,” said yvonne. “i can only go from this hospital into the workhouse. and i won’t go there. i will pray to die rather.”
-“but,” began joyce, in an embarrassed way,
-“i don’t understand. forgive me for touching upon it--but has not everard--?”
-“no, oh, no! i refused. i could n’t take his money, if i was not his wife.”
-“that’s absurd,” said joyce. but his opinion did not alter the facts. he remained for a moment in thought. “don’t lose heart,” he said at length. “things are never as bad as they seem. i ’ve had awfully bad times and yet i have pulled through, somehow. you can live quietly for a little on what you have, and then--”
-“but i have n’t a penny, stephen,” she cried piteously. “not a penny in the world. i earned scarcely anything the last year. if it hadn’t been for dina, i don’t know what i should have done. i don’t own anything but a few sticks of furniture and some clothes--”
-“where are they?”
-“the porter’s wife at the mansions is keeping them for me, i believe. they may be sold. i was too ill to trouble.”
-“i ’ll see about them for you,” said joyce. his heart was moved with great pity for the sweet, helpless little soul. it seemed hard to realise that, when they had met four years ago, he had looked upon her as a lady bountiful, who had only to stretch out her kind arm to save him from starvation. oh, the whirligig of time! and yet the memory of her help was very precious to him.
-“you must let me act for you, yvonne, will you?”
-“you have your own troubles, poor fellow,” said yvonne.
-“yours will drive mine away, so they will be a blessing in disguise. i wonder if you could trust me?”
-“i have always done so--and i do. are n’t you the only friend i have?”
-“that is what beats me entirely,” he said. “what are all your friends doing?”
-“they have all disappeared gradually,” said yvonne. “my poor marriage cut me adrift from my old circle. and at fulminster--i did n’t make many real friends.”
-“there was a girl you wrote to me about once or twice.”
-“sophia wilmington? she’s married and gone out to india. i should have written to her if she had been in england, for she was fond of me.”
-“i should have thought that the whole world was fond of you, yvonne.”
-“i don’t know,” she said wistfully. “it seems that i have always been a kind of waif. i never had any solid kinds of friends, families and so forth--except your dear mother. i once knew a lot of professionals--but i saw men mostly--i could never tell why--and they don’t bother about you much when they’ve lost sight of you, do they? i thought vandeleur might have wondered what had become of me.”
-“dear, dear!” said joyce, reflectively. “i remember vandeleur from the long ago.”
-“yes, he’s an old friend. but, you see, it was through dina. he behaved badly to her and married elsie carnegie--and so they were cuts. i only saw him once all last year. i heard she was awfully jealous. is n’t it silly of a woman? i think, if he knew i was here he’d come. but what would be the use?”
-“not much, except to say a friendly word to you. but still--while you were living with miss vicary, you must have made some acquaintances. it seems so extraordinary.”
-“we lived so very much alone,” explained yvonne. “poor dina didn’t know many people--no one liked her. with one exception--and he died long ago--i think i am the only one in the world who ever loved dina. no--i am just a waif--that’s what i am.”
-in her simple way she had accounted to him accurately for her life since her rupture with everard. at first she had been too sore at heart to go much into the world. then geraldine, whose influence with her was paramount, continually discouraged her from renewing old acquaintanceships. her friends had literally melted away. had she so chosen, she might have interested in her misfortunes a score of professional well-wishers. but yvonne was proud in many unexpected ways, and would have died rather than have the shame of sending the hat round for relief. as for communicating with fulminster, it was not to be thought of.
-“i don’t care,” she added, after a pause; “i have found you again.”
-“then dry your poor eyes,” he said comfortingly; “and don’t think any more of the worries. don’t you remember how happy you made me once, when i was in desperate straits--when all the world cast me off but you? you are still the only being who knows me and cares whether i live or die. you are neither going to starve, yvonne, nor die in a workhouse. as long as i have a penny you shall have half of it. don’t think of anything more than the immediate future, little woman. we will manage that all right. be comforted.”
-he spoke earnestly, leaning forward with his arm on the bed. the precariousness of his own fortunes scarcely occurred to him. he was deeply moved. at that moment he would have cut off his right hand for her.
-yvonne thanked him with her eyes, which grew very soft and grateful. his man’s strength brought her comfort. she trusted him implicitly, as she had all her life trusted those who were kind to her. she closed her eyes for a moment with a little sigh of relief. she was so content to yield to the generous hand that was taking the terrible burden from her shoulders, felt as if she could go to sleep like a tired child. when she opened her eyes they were almost smiling.
-“i ’ll try to be happy again, so as to thank you, stephen,” she said.
-“well, here is something for you--what you like--eat one to show me you are comforted.”
-he put the paper bag into her hand, and, tilting back his chair, watched her pleased expression as she peeped into the mouth and drew out one of the cakes.
-“oh, how sweet of you!” she said, with a flash of her old sunlight.
-suddenly he rose, and stood, hands in pockets, by the window, frowning absently at the gathering mist of evening outside. a conviction was forcing itself on his mind--a cold douche for his quixotic impulses. obvious right and common-sense prevailed.
-“yvonne,” he said turning round. “you had no quarrel with everard, had you, at parting?”
-“oh, no,” she replied, looking up round-eyed from her paper-bag. “he was very kind to me.”
-“have you written to him about this?”
-“no. we arranged we should not correspond. he sent me word when he was going out to new zealand. but i couldn’t let him know--i should be ashamed. oh, no, stephen, i could n’t write to him and say, ‘i am a beggar now, please give me charity.’ why should he support me?”
-“i hate questioning you,” said joyce in some embarrassment, “but--is it repugnant to you to--to think of everard?”
-“why, of course not, stephen. it was a time of awful pain and misery--but if he came to take me back as his wife, i would go to him. if he ever can, i have promised that i will.”
-with all his knowledge of her, joyce was taken aback by her simple candour.
-“if that is so, why on earth shrink from reconsidering, now, his former offer?” he asked, exceedingly puzzled at her point of view.
-“you tell me what i ought to do, and i will do it,” said yvonne.
-“you must write to everard.”
-“then you need not have any fears at all for the future. it will be all so simple.”
-“how can i thank you?” said yvonne. “oh, if i could only sing for you! but nothing will ever give me back my voice--i am a useless little creature. and you have been so good to me to-day. i shall never forget it all my life.”
-but joyce’s heart was at ebb-tide again. he rose soon, and took his hat and stick.
-“there is no reason to thank me, yvonne,” he said, with bitterness. “what i have done for you has cost me nothing--the cheapest of all services; i have only given you advice.”
-yvonne looked at him wistfully.
-“if you talk like that, you will make me cry again.”
-“forgive me,” said joyce. “i am a beast.”
-chapter xvii--yvonne proposes
-it was night. yvonne lay wide awake. a suffused sound of breathing filled the air. now and then a moan or a smothered cry of pain broke sharply upon the stillness. the woman in the adjacent bed began to murmur broken words in her sleep: “for the children’s sake, joe--my poor little children--i wish we was all dead.” some poor tragedy reenacting itself in slumber. yvonne listened pityingly. the woman had seemed as broken down that day with misery as she herself. then silence again, and yvonne fell back upon her own tragedy, which seemed to be working itself out in the staring wakeful hours.
-she had not written to everard. pen, ink, and paper had been brought. the sister had propped her up with pillows in a posture especially comfortable for writing. but her strength had failed her. to ask him for money was more than her pride could do.
-instead, she had written a long outpouring to joyce, which lay unposted under her pillow.
-this pride was a seam of flint in her soft nature. she would have returned to everard as his wife, willingly, gratefully, glad to lay her tired head on his shoulder, and feel his strong protection around her once more. but from any one rather than him would she accept charity. illogical, irrational, absurd--but a reality none the less in her heart.
-perhaps it was a protest of wounded sex. if everard had treated her differently on that disastrous day, the quivering feminine might have gone unscathed. but in his anger, pain and disillusion he had driven her wrongs towards him into her flesh, almost like infidelities. she was too generous to feel resentful. an offer of remarriage would be a natural acknowledgment of error. to accept his support, apart from him, stung her to the soul with a sense of being cast off as faithless wife or dishonest mistress, to whom, however, he was forgivingly and charitably disposed. and yet what was she to do? joyce would save her from immediate want, but she could not look to him for anything but temporary assistance. more was preposterous.
-“but the mail goes to-morrow,” he said. “i have been making enquiries. if we don’t write now, we shall lose a month. shall i write to everard, seeing that your poor little self is incapable?”
-she murmured assent, and sighed as if in grateful relief. joyce comforted her as best he could and left her reluctantly. when he got home, he wrote the letter, a bald statement of facts to which he appended his signature and the address of his lodgings. he sealed it, directed it, in his nervous, characteristic handwriting and hurried out to post it at once. it was a most disagreeable duty over, for to communicate with his cousin went sorely against the grain. a pleasanter duty awaited him, as soon as he could settle down to his evening’s work, the correction of the first batch of proofs from the publishers.
-in the course of time, yvonne recovered her spirits and was on the mend again. signs of returning strength showed themselves in her left arm, which, together with the throat on that side, had been affected by the disease. her speaking voice also began to regain some of its old sweetness, though the surgeons confirmed their statement that the singing voice was irrevocably gone.
-“do say they are wrong,” said yvonne casting a pleading look at joyce.
-“perhaps they are,” said he; “let us hope.”
-“then i may not need everard’s money, after all.”
-“you will for a couple of years, at least,” he said kindly. “but you may be able to pay it back afterwards.”
-this consoled her, and she began to build great schemes. on another occasion she said to him irrelevantly:--
-“do you think i ought to write to everard?” she had raised him by this time to the position of father confessor. a certain feminine weakness in joyce’s nature, developing gradually, through his intercourse with her, into a finer sensitiveness, made it easy for her to give him her confidence, to speak with him much as she used to speak with geraldine. and yet, he being a man, his utterances on such questions, had for her all their masculine weight.
-“it is a matter entirely of your own inclination,” he replied oracularly.
-“but i don’t know what my inclination is,” said yvonne. “everard once told me that it was a much harder thing to know what one’s duty was than to do it when you know what it is.”
-“i won’t talk grammar,” cried yvonne. “i always hated it. it is silly stuff. you understood perfectly what i meant, did n’t you?”
-“perfectly,” said joyce.
-“then what’s the good of grammar?” cried yvonne, triumphantly. “but you make me forget what i was going to say. it was something quite clever. oh yes! substitute ‘inclination’ for ‘duty,’ and you have my difficulty. now do tell me what i am to do.”
-“well, wait until you hear from everard, and then write him a nice long letter,” said joyce.
-“that’s just what i wanted to do,” said she; “you are so good to me.”
-she was to leave the hospital in january. the time was rapidly approaching. much of their time together was spent in the discussion of plans for the immediate future. yvonne wanted to sell her furniture, which joyce had inspected and found in safe hands. he opposed the idea. what was the use, when she would want it again, as soon as she was comfortably situated? in three months she would be in receipt of funds. everard might cable her back a remittance long before. in the meantime, he could advance her a lump sum out of his capital.
-“then you can take unfurnished rooms and put in your own things at once. it will be much cheaper.”
-“but suppose i don’t pay you back,” said yvonne. “how can you make me?”
-“i can suggest nothing but a bill of sale on the furniture,” he replied laughingly.
-“what is that?”
-“well, you sign a paper saying that if the debt is not paid in three months, at the end of that time i can put in the brokers and sell your furniture and take all the money.”
-“oh, that would be lovely!” cried yvonne. “do let me do it. i should feel so businesslike. draw it up now and i ’ll sign it.”
-“it will have to be registered,” said joyce.
-“well, register it then. what’s to prevent you?”
-“i was only jesting,” said joyce.
-“but i’m quite serious. don’t you see how serious i am? come--to please me.”
-the idea caught her childish fancy, and she spoke quite in her old, gay mood. she was sitting up now, partially dressed, and, being able to move her limbs more freely, reached for writing materials that lay on the little table by her bed.
-“there, draw it up at once, as fearfully legally as you can, with all kinds of ‘afore-saids’ in it.”
-joyce fell into her humour, and drew up the document in due form, read it over to her solemnly, and called one of the nurses to witness the signatures. then he wrote out a cheque for the amount of the loan, which she locked up in her despatch-box. he went away with the bill of sale in his pocket. on his next visit he informed her that it had been registered and that he would be a merciless creditor. the frivolity of the proceedings cheered him.
-meanwhile, the real problem of yvonne’s arrangements presented itself. the idea of going at once into unfurnished rooms was abandoned. she was far too weak and helpless as yet for the worries of housekeeping. he suggested a boarding-house. but yvonne shrank from the prospect of living among strangers.
-“besides, you could n’t come and see me as often as i should like,” she added, with a little air of worldly wisdom. “you haven’t an idea what scandal is talked in those places.” so joyce quickly acquiesced in her taboo of boarding-houses, and found the choice of domicile narrowed down to furnished apartments.
-yvonne was beginning to be a vital interest in his life. on the days that the hospital was not open to him, he sent her little notes of his doings and of such things as might amuse her. in her helpless dependence she grew to be what noakes had been to him in his latter days--with the sweet and subtle difference made by her sex. he had moods almost of happiness. yet, like noakes, yvonne had not the power of freeing him from himself, from the awful memories, from the taint that clung to him. his crime and its punishment was his hair-shirt, for ever next the sensitive skin, never for the shortest intervals forgotten. small incidents were never wanting to bring back the old burning anguish. already in the streets he had passed, unrecognised, two old prison-associates. the sight of them was hateful. once, in the strand, he came face to face with a man, his chief intimate in that fashionable demi-reputable world which had drawn him to his precipice. the man cut him dead. on another occasion he met a troop of his cousins from holland park on the terrace of the british museum. he noticed a girl recognize him and turn round another way, with a start, as he sprang hurriedly by through the folding doors. after such encounters, he cowered under the sense of everlasting disgrace. the old longing that always had lain dormant within him revived with intense poignancy; the longing to redeem his self-respect by some wild heroic deed of atonement. sometimes he thought of realising all his capital, including the publisher’s eighty pounds and giving it to yvonne. but soon she would be beyond the need of his help and his sacrifice would be merely silly. common-sense leads us generally to the most hopeless commonplace. nor did patient bearing of his lot appeal to his sensitive fancy as an expiation. the self-respect that would enable him to free the world’s back with cheerful calm could only be purchased by some great self-sacrifice. but what chances for such were offered in his humdrum, poverty-stricken life?
-one afternoon, toward the middle of january, he visited yvonne for the last time in the hospital. she received him, as on the last two or three occasions, in the sister’s little sitting-room just outside the ward. for the first time, however, she was completely dressed, and only now did joyce realise how thin and fragile she had become. she looked absurdly small in the great cane armchair before the fire.
-“so i am to call for you on thursday at twelve and carry you off to your new abode,” he said.
-“have you settled yet?” asked yvonne.
-“no, not yet. if i can get the place in elm park, i shall give up the other. i shall hear to-morrow.”
-yvonne looked wistfully into the fire, and sighed.
-“i shall feel awfully lonesome there, by myself. i am beginning to dread it. you won’t think me silly, will you? i used not to mind living alone. but then it was different. you ’ll come and see me very, very often. bring your writing, and i ’ll be as quiet as a mouse and won’t disturb you. you don’t know how frightened and nervous i am. i suppose it’s because i have been so ill.”
-“you poor little thing,” said joyce, looking down upon her, as he stood on the hearthrug, “i wish i knew some motherly soul to take care of you--or that i could take care of you myself,” he added, with a smile.
-“oh, i wish you could,” cried yvonne, piteously, with an appealing glance. “oh, stephen--could n’t you? i would n’t give you much trouble.”
-“do you mean, yvonne, that you would like me to get lodgings in the same house as you?” asked joyce, with a sudden flash in his eyes.
-“yes,” said yvonne. “just at first. until i feel stronger. i have been longing to ask you, but i didn’t dare. don’t think me selfish and horrid.”
-the notion dawned upon him like an inspiration. why had he not thought of it before? why should he not find a garret above her rooms whence he could look protectingly down upon her, in brotherly affection, instead of leaving her ill and alone to the dubious mercy of landladies and lodging-house servants? he was quite bewildered by the charm of her proposal.
-“but, yvonne, do you know what undreamed of happiness you are offering me?” he said.
-“then you would like it?” she cried gladly.
-“why, my dear child!” said joyce; and he walked about the room to express his feelings.
-“i have thought it all out,” said yvonne, sagely. “we can go to much cheaper rooms than you intended me to have, so that you can pay the same for your own lodgings as you pay now. i would n’t lead you into extravagances for anything in the world.”
-“if it comes to that,” said joyce, “the second floor is vacant where i lodge now.”
-“but that is delightful!” cried yvonne. “the fates have arranged it on purpose for us.” they talked for a while over the new plan. joyce’s acquiescence, relieving her of much nervous dread of loneliness, raised her spirits wonderfully.
-“you won’t tyrannise over me too much, will you? if i am going out with tan shoes, you won’t send me indoors to put on black ones? promise me.”
-he laughed. the idea of such an attitude towards her seemed to belong more to comic opera than to real life. and yet he felt his authority. she regarded him with the implicit trust of a stray child.
-was it a right thing that he was about to do--to associate his tarnished name with hers? it was all very well to dream of the sweetness and light that daily companionship with her would bring into his life--but was he fit, socially, morally, spiritually, to live with her? it was taking advantage of her innocence. his sensitiveness shrank, as if from the suggestion of a baser disloyalty to her trustingness.
-yvonne, leaning back in her long chair, kept her dark eyes fixed upon him. at first she wondered at his sudden gloom, and fancied distressedly that it proceeded from her proposal. but suddenly an illumination, such as she had never in her life experienced, lit up her mind, and caused her a strange little thrill. she called his name softly. he started, turned, rose at her sign and bent low over her chair.
-“i want to come and live with you more than ever now, stephen,” she said; and as she spoke her voice seemed to have regained its musical softness. “i mean to try and drive away the sad thoughts from you. perhaps, after all, though i can’t sing, i may do a little good in the world.”
-her tenderness touched him. he wished she was a child that he might kiss her. the temptation to receive this boon the gods were giving him was too strong. he yielded entirely. and from that hour began yvonne’s conscious battle with the powers of darkness in the desolate depths of a man’s heart.
-“what is to be done?�� she asked, when he had finished his report.
-“i don’t know,” replied joyce, truthfully.
-he looked at her, puzzled and distressed.
-“you must pay yourself out of the furniture and let me go,” said yvonne.
-“where would you go to?”
-“i don’t know,” said yvonne in her turn.
-at the picture of helpless dismay joyce broke into a laugh.
-“oh, how can you laugh, when i owe you all this money?” she said, with a choke in her voice.
-“because i am glad, yvonne, that fate seems to compel me to go on looking after you.”
-“but how can you go on? how can i burden you any further?”
-“don’t talk about burdens,” he said gently. “you repay me twice over for what little i have given you.”
-“but the furniture is not worth all that,” said yvonne.
-“what has the furniture to do with it?”
-“why it is yours, is n’t it?”
-“the bill of sale,” replied yvonne seriously.
-“oh, you dear little goose,” cried joyce, “you don’t suppose i am going to sell you up!”
-“why not--if you need the money? the furniture is all your own.”
-“how can it be when i don’t claim it?”
-yvonne shook her head. ordinarily the most easily swayed of women, now and then she was inconvincible. she had got it into her head that the furniture had lapsed by sheer law of england into his possession, and no argument could move her. he explained that he could renew the bill. she dismissed the explanation with a little foreign gesture.
-“i own nothing in the world but what i stand up in,” she persisted.
-“then you’re worse off than ever,” said joyce.
-“i am,” she said despondently. “is n’t it strange to want money! i never knew what it was before.”
-there was an odd pathos in her face that touched him.
-“cheer up, little woman. nothing is ever so bad as it looks.”
-comforting words were nice, but they did not change the position. money had to be obtained. where was it to come from?
-“i suppose i must write to everard, since your letter has miscarried.”
-“letters don’t miscarry nowadays,” said joyce. “they don’t even do so in novels. still, you had better write. i wish you felt you need n’t.”
-“so do i.”
-“we shall have to part as soon as he cables a remittance.”
-“oh, i wish we could get along as we are,” said yvonne. “i have been so happy here with you.”
-“then let us fight it out between us,” exclaimed joyce resolutely. “you ’ll soon be able to get some singing lessons, and i ’ll find a situation as railway porter, or something, and we ’ll rub along somehow till better times.”
-“oh, you don’t know how much gladder i should be!” cried yvonne with a sparkle in her eyes. “if i only could earn something--not be a drag upon you! oh, i would sooner lead the life of a poor, poor woman, in the humblest way, than take everard’s money--you know that.”
-“we can’t go on living here,” said joyce, gently.
-“of course not. we will go to much cheaper rooms and live like working-folks. i can do lots of things, lay fires, make pastry--”
-“dumplings will be as far as we can get,” said joyce.
-“well, then, they ’ll be beautiful dumplings,” said yvonne.
-“and i dare say we can find a way to settle the furniture question,” said joyce. “i shall begin to look about for a cheap place at once.” so the trouble fell from yvonne for a time. now that she had decided to make no further appeal to everard, but to endeavour once more to earn her livelihood, she felt lighter-hearted. her attachment to stephen had grown so strong that she had contemplated the loss of his daily protection with dismay. the solitary life frightened her. the vicissitudes through which she had passed, the loss of her voice especially, had taken away her nerve. at first, she had been so weak from her long illness and her helpless arm, that she found stephen’s presence an unspeakable comfort, and did not speculate upon any anomaly in her position. by the time she regained health, their life under the same roof appeared in the natural order of every-day things. and it was very pleasant. besides, with the daily intercourse, came a deeper comprehension of his shipwreck. she began to realise that the material dependence on her side was reciprocated by a spiritual dependence on his. it awoke new and delicious stirrings of pride to feel her influence over him, to find herself of use to a man. once she could sing, amuse--yield her lips with kind passivity to satisfy strange unknown needs. she had regarded herself with wistful seriousness in her relations with men, as a poor little instrument for men to play on. they fingered the stops, extracted what music they could, and then laid the pipe aside while they devoted themselves to the business of the world. but stephen approached her differently from other men. he did not want her for her voice; he did not throw himself weary into a chair and say, “chatter and amuse me;” and he did not look at her with eyes yearning for her lips. but his needs, quite other than she had known before, were revealing themselves to her with gradual distinctness. she was learning his humbled pride, his lacerated self-respect, his ingrained sense of degradation, his crying need of sympathy and encouragement and ennobling object in life. the strong man came to her, yvonne, to be healed and strengthened; and, from some fresh-discovered fountain within her, she was finding remedy for maladies and sustaining draughts for weakness. a new conception of herself was dawning before her, in a great, quiet happiness; and her nature unconsciously expanded.
-thus a twofold instinct urged her to throw in her lot with joyce.
-he passed a very anxious week. it seemed as if his old bitter and fruitless search for work was to be repeated. neither could he find suitable apartments. “i’m afraid it will have to come to the workhouse,” he said in dejected jest.
-“oh, that will never do!” cried yvonne. “they would separate us.”
-she had been more successful. two or three of the ex-pupils to whom she had written had replied, promising their recommendation. with a shrewdness that won joyce’s admiration she used the address of her former agents, who willingly forwarded her letters. but the sight of the familiar office, whither she had gone to beg this favour, had brought her a bitter pang of regret for the lost voice. she had cried all the way home and then looked anxiously in the glass, afraid lest joyce should perceive the traces of her tears. she strove valiantly to cheer him in his worries.
-at last joyce went to his friend, the secondhand bookseller in islington, whom he had seen less frequently since his life with yvonne, and there, to his delighted surprise, found a solution for all his difficulties. the old man was growing too infirm to carry on the business single-handed. he wanted an assistant “and where am i to get one?” he said querulously. “i don’t want a damned fool who does n’t know an elzevir from a catnach.”
-“i ’ll come like a shot if you ’ll have me,” said joyce, eagerly.
-“you? why, you’re a gentleman and a scholar,” said the old man.
-“so much the better,” returned joyce, laughing. “there will be something mediaeval about the arrangement.”
-these reserved quarters, the vacant three rooms and a kitchen with an adjoining servant’s bedroom, made up the internal arrangements of the old-fashioned, rather dilapidated house. joyce went up to inspect. at first his heart sank. the rooms were only half-furnished, the paper was mouldy, dirt abounded, the ceilings were low and blackened. however, many of these drawbacks could be remedied. mr. runcle promised a thorough cleansing and repapering, whereat joyce’s spirits rose again. next to the sitting-room was a fair-sized bedroom for yvonne; upstairs a little room for himself. he enquired about attendance. the old man explained that a woman lived on the premises. she did for him and would doubtless be glad to do for joyce also, for a small sum per week.
-by the end of a few days they were settled in their new abode. the bits of furniture, that had been the subject of such dispute, made the place habitable. re-papered and whitewashed and hung with curtains and a few pictures out of yvonne’s salvage, it looked almost cosy. but the threadbare carpet and rug, the horsehair sofa, and odd, rickety chairs and the small-paned, cheaply-painted windows gave it an aspect of poverty that nothing could efface.
-“it’s not a palace,” said joyce ruefully, looking round him on the day they took definite possession. “you will miss many comforts, yvonne.”
-“i’m not going to miss anything,” she replied, “except worry and anxiety. i am going to be perfectly happy here.”
-“you don’t know what a sweet incongruity you are among these surroundings,” he said; “you remind one of a dainty piece of lace sewn on to corduroys. oh, i hope this life won’t be too rough for you--we shall have to practise so many miserable little economies--coals, gas, food--”
-yvonne broke into a sunny laugh. “oh, that’s just like a man! did you ever hear of a well-regulated woman that did n’t love to economise? when i was at fulminster, you have no idea how i cut down expenses!”
-she turned to take off her hat before the discoloured gilt mirror over the mantelpiece, and then threw it quickly on the round centre table and faced him again.
-“i shall be quite as happy here as i was in fulminster. perhaps happier, in a sense. you know, i always felt so small in that big house. this just suits me.”
-joyce found his work fairly light. the important part of the business was carried on by orders through the post. purchases of “rare and curious books” at prices per volume from three pounds upwards are rarely made casually over the counter. joyce knew this, of course, but he was nevertheless surprised at the extensiveness of ebenezer runcle’s connection. every morning there was considerable correspondence to be got through, parcels of books to be made up and despatched, the slips for the monthly catalogue to be kept up to date. after that, if no new stock was brought in, there was little else to do but wait for customers. the long spells of leisure were invaluable to him for writing. he found his mind worked smoothly in the quiet, musty atmosphere of the books. there they were in brilliant rows around the walls, on bookcases running longitudinally through the shop, piled in stacks by the doorway, in comers, upon trestles, anywhere. a great rampart of them cut off the draught of the door. in the small enclosed space thus formed was a stove, on one side of which he placed his writing-table, while on the other, in a dilapidated cane armchair, sat the old man, a bent, wheezing figure, deep in his beloved patristic literature.
-at intervals during the day he saw yvonne, who was proud and happy in the superintendence of her humble establishment. not long after the move, some welcome singing-lessons came, at a house in russell square, and enabled her to contribute her mite towards the household expenses. it was a hard problem to make ends meet sometimes, on what joyce was able to set apart for housekeeping, and at first, through lack of experience in close economy, she made dreadful blunders. then she came in tearful penitence to joyce. on one of these occasions, he had arrived for dinner, and found her gazing piteously upon three meatless bones, standing like ribs of wreck in a beach of potatoes. she had thought enough had been left from yesterday for two more meals. he consoled her as best he could, and tackled the potatoes. but she watched him with so miserable and remorse-stricken a face that at last he broke out laughing. and then, yvonne, who was quick to see the light side of things, laughed too and forgot her troubles. after a time, no housewife in the neighbourhood kept a shrewder eye upon the butcher.
-the evenings they usually spent together, working or talking. now and then, at joyce’s invitation, the old man would come in, and the trio would talk literature, the old man vaunting the ancients and joyce defending the moderns, until a veritable battle of the books was recontested, while yvonne sat by, in awed silence, wondering at the vastness of human learning. often he wrote or discussed the novel with her. in this she took the deepest interest. the intellectual processes involved were a perpetual mystery to her, and caused her to place joyce on a pinnacle of genius. but her sympathy and enthusiasm helped him as few other things could. and gradually her influence made itself felt in his writing. his sympathies widened, his aspect upon life softened. planned to reveal the bitter sordidness of broken lives, and half written in a grey, hopeless atmosphere, imperceptibly the book lost in harshness, grew in tenderness and humanity. and this corresponded to the softening in the nature of the man himself.
-yet now and then incidents occurred that brought back the past in all its gloom. one in particular weighed for many days afterwards upon his mind.
-it was a sultry night. he had come out for a stroll down upper street and high street, before going to bed. outside the angel, the limit of his walk, he lingered a moment and was looking with idle interest at the great block of omnibuses, when he became aware that a poorly-dressed woman was standing by him, gazing rigidly into his face. he started, tried to fix her identity.
-“good god! it is you!” said the woman.
-then he remembered. it was annie stevens, the girl who had betrayed him so miserably to the theatrical company years before.
-“won’t you speak to me?” she asked, somewhat humbly, as he remained silent.
-“you recall a very bitter time to me,” said joyce.
-“do you think it is any sweeter to me?” she asked.
-and then, with a quick glance round at an approaching policeman:--
-“walk on a little way with me, will you?”
-he hesitated for a moment, but a beseeching look in her eyes touched him. her presence at that place, at that hour, spoke of tragedy. she had never been pretty. now she had grown thin and hard-featured.
-“you need n’t fear i’m going to ask you for anything--you of all people in the world. of course, if you don’t want to be seen with me, don’t come. you can’t hurt me. i’m past that. but i’d like to speak with you for a minute or two.”
-he had moved on with her while she was talking. then there were a few moments’ silence.
-“well?” he enquired. “what do you wish to say?”
-“god knows--anything--just to ask you, perhaps, whether you’re right again. i have thought of you enough.”
-he glanced at her curiously.
-“why have you come to this?”
-“why did you go to prison?” she retorted.
-“i did wrong and was punished for it.”
-“so did i. this is my punishment. after you had gone, i could have torn my heart out. i went on the drink--could n’t get engagements--went downhill. i can’t go much lower, can i? if you want revenge, you ’ve got it.”
-she tossed her head in her old, defiant way. joyce, perceiving her association of himself in her downfall, felt somewhat moved with pity.
-“god knows, revenge is the last thing i want. on the contrary, i am distressed to see you come to this. if i could help you, i would do so. but that, you know as well as i, is out of my power.”
-“yes; the only thing you could do, would be to marry me and make an honest woman of me, and that is n’t likely,” she said, cynically.
-“no, it is n’t likely,” said joyce. “i can only be deeply sorry for you.”
-“i wonder whether you could tell what it is to me to talk to you even in this way. oh, god! if you knew how i longed to see you!”
-“why did you act as you did toward me?” he asked.
-“i don’t know. don’t ask me. because every woman’s got a tiger in her somewhere, i suppose. i used to think men were the brutes. now i know it’s women. we’re all the same. i hate myself. i wish you would take me up a back street and kill me. this is a hell of a life. do you remember the last words you said to me? ‘some people are better dead.’ it’s the truest thing i ’ve ever heard from man or woman.”
-“it’s easy enough to get out of the world, if we want to,” said joyce. “but perhaps it’s better to fight it out. you must make an effort and get out of this life--a proud girl like you.”
-“i have n’t much pride left.”
-“i thought so too. but it takes a lot of killing. i ’ve come out fairly straight. why shouldn’t you?”
-“i ’ll come out straight, the only way--a corpse. but i’m glad things are better with you. it relieves me to know it. i thought i had sent you to the devil, and that’s why i went there myself, i suppose. well, i won’t keep you any longer. i know you hate being seen with me.”
-“can’t i do anything for you?” said joyce, feeling in his pocket.
-“yes--flay me alive by offering me money. you did once--do you remember?”
-she stopped abruptly, took joyce’s proffered hand, and said in a softer voice:--
-“it’s good of you to shake hands with me. men are better than women. thank god i ’ve seen you at last. good-bye.”
-“good-bye,” said joyce, kindly.
-they parted, and went their different ways, annie stevens to the horror of her life and joyce to the home that held yvonne. the parallel and the contrast smote him as he walked along the familiar street. both himself and this girl that had fallen were derelicts, both were expiating the past, both were carrying within them a degraded self, that with a nobler self waged cruel and eternal warfare. for the injury she had done him he cherished no resentment. he felt a great pity for her, and judged her gently.
-it was strange how his rudderless course through the last six years had been influenced by other lonely and drifting craft. annie stevens, who had loved and nearly wrecked him, had been the cause of his linking fortunes with poor noakes; and it was through yvonne--with whom, sweetest of derelicts, he was now voyaging on unruffled waters--that he had first drifted towards annie stevens. he was pondering over this one day during an idle hour in the shop with the old bookseller, when a whimsical fancy seized him.
-“you lead a very lonely life, mr. runcle,” he said suddenly.
-“yes,” replied the old man. “i suppose i do. beyond one sister, who has been dying for many months, i have neither kith nor kin in the world.”
-is all this true?” asked yvonne, mournfully.
-“yes, worse luck,” replied joyce, looking up from his sunday newspaper.
-“it is very dreadful,” said yvonne.
-she was finishing “the wasters,” joyce’s lately published novel. it was not a success. its cultivated style received recognition everywhere, but the unrelieved pessimism, powerfully as it was presented, repelled most readers. he was inclined to be depressed at its reception. to yvonne, however, it was a revelation. she closed the book with a sigh, and remained for some time gazing absently at the cover. then she rose in her quick way.
-“let us go out--into the sunshine--or i shall cry. i feel miserable, stephen.”
-“on account of that wretched book?”
-“that and other things. take me to regent’s park--to see the flowers.”
-he assented gladly and yvonne went to put on her things. shortly afterwards they were side by side on the garden seat of a westward bound omnibus.
-“i feel better,” said yvonne, breathing in the summer air. “don’t you?”
-“it is nice,” answered joyce. “i shall be better pleased when we are out of these joyless streets. the pentonville road on a sunday is depressing. i haven’t seen a smile on a human face since we have been out. what grey lives people lead.”
-“but they can’t all be unhappy,” she said.
-the ’bus stopped for a moment. three or four young roughs, in sunday clothes, with coarse, animal faces and discordant speech passed by below on the pavement, and noisily greeted a couple of quiet-looking girls, evidently acquaintances.
-“these seem cheerful enough,” said yvonne.
-joyce shrugged his shoulders.
-“did it ever occur to you what misery men of that type work in the world? by the laws of their class they will all marry--and marry young. fancy a woman’s life in the hands of any of those fellows.”
-the ’bus moved on. yvonne was silent.
-his tone was that of the book she had just been reading. she stole a side glance at him. his face in repose was always sad and brooding. to-day she seemed to read more clearly in it the lines that the breaking of the spirit had caused. she identified him with the characters in the sordid scenes he had described. presently she laid her hand lightly on his arm.
-“do you think we live a very grey life--now?”
-“you have a very hard, dull, monotonous life,” he replied.
-“i don’t,” said yvonne stoutly. “i am very pleased and contented. i only want one thing to make me perfectly happy.”
-“so does every one. the one thing just makes the difference. it’s the one thing we can’t possibly get.”
-“it is n’t what you imagine,” said yvonne. “you are thinking of money and all that.”
-“no. it’s your voice.”
-“it is n’t!” cried yvonne, with a touch of petulant earnestness. “it is to see you bright and happy--as you used to be long, long ago. you might have known.”
-“it is very dear of you,” he answered, after a pause. “i am selfish--and can’t understand your sweet spirit. sometimes i seem to have a stone heart, like the man in the german story.”
-“you have a warm, generous heart, stephen. what other man would have done what you have for me?”
-“it was pure selfishness on my part,” he replied. “the loneliness was too appalling. and then, further, i am never quite sure i have acted rightly by you.”
-“i am,” she said. “and i’m the best judge, i think.”
-but joyce was correct in his bitter self-analysis. now and then his sensitive fibres vibrated. but generally the weight of the past years was on his heart, and repressed continuous emotion. to live on these intimate terms with yvonne and never consider the possibility of loving her, after the way of men, was absurd. the chivalrous instincts awakened by her implicit trust in him, and the double barrier which forbade a love that could result in marriage, made him dismiss such considerations. but often, in gloomy introspective moods, his self-contempt denied these instincts as arrogant pretensions, and attributed the absence of warmer feelings towards yvonne to the petrifaction of all emotional chords. of late, however, he had ceased to speculate, taking his insensibility for granted.
-when they arrived at the regent’s park, they proceeded for some distance northwards up the great avenue. it was crowded. joyce looked about him, with a fidgeted air, at the stream of passers-by.
-“let us get away from the people and sit under a tree,” he said at length.
-yvonne slipped her hand impulsively through his arm.
-“i wish you knew how proud i am of you,” she said.
-“it’s for your sake, too, yvonne, dear,” he replied in a touched voice.
-she made one of her magnificent little gestures with the hand holding her sunshade.
-“i have never done anything to be ashamed of yet,” she said proudly, and glanced from joyce to a pompous elderly couple with an air of defiance. then she brought him abruptly to a stand before a flower-bed bright in its summer glory.
-“oh, how lovely! look!”
-she broke into little joyous exclamations. colour affected her like music. a glow came into her cheek. she became again the thing of warmth and sunshine that had gladdened him four years before, when his degradation lay heavy on him.
-“it is a beautiful world, stephen.”
-“you are right, dear. it is. and you are the most beautiful thing in it.”
-the glow deepened on her face, and a bright moisture appeared in her eyes as she glanced upwards.
-“that’s very, very foolish. but you said it as if you meant it.”
-“i did indeed, yvonne.”
-“let us go and find a place under the trees,” she said softly.
-they left the main avenue and wandered on over the green turf, seeking for a long time a piece of shade untenanted by sprawling men, or lovers, or heterogeneous families. at last they found a lonely tree and sat down beneath it.
-“are you happier here?” she asked.
-“much. it is so peaceful. when i was in south africa i yearned for civilisation and men and women. now i am in london, i am happiest away from them. men are funny animals, yvonne.”
-yvonne looked down at the ground and nervously plucked at the grass. then she raised her eyes quickly.
-“when are you going to be quite happy, stephen?”
-“i am happy enough now.”
-“but when you get home, the black mood may come over you again. can’t you forget all the horrid past--the prison--and all that?” it was the first time she had ever alluded to it directly; her voice quavered on the word.
-“no, i can never forget it,” he replied in a low tone. “if i live to be a hundred, i shall remember it on my deathbed.”
-“you seem to feel it--just like a woman does--who has been on the streets--as if nothing could wipe it away.”
-he was startled. signs had not been wanting of a change coming over yvonne, but he had never heard a saying on her lips of such perceptive earnestness. it was strange, too, that she had hit upon a parallel that had been in his mind since the night he had met annie stevens.
-“nothing can wipe it away, yvonne. it is like a woman’s sense of degradation--just as you say.”
-“i would give anything--my voice over again, if i had it--to help you. you have never told me about it--the dreadful part of it--i want to know--every bit--tell me now, will you?”
-“you would loathe me, as much as i loathe myself, if i told you.”
-he was lying on one elbow, by her side. she ventured a gossamer touch upon his forehead.
-“you don’t know much about a woman, although you do write books,” she said.
-the touch and the tone awoke a great need of expansion. he struggled for a few moments, and at last gave way.
-“yes, i ’ll tell you--from the very beginning.” and there in the quasi-solitude of their tree--one of innumerable camping-spots for recumbent figures, that met the eye on all sides--he gave, for the first time, definite utterance to the horrors that had haunted him for six years. he told her the old story of the earthenware pot careering down the stream in company with the brazen vessels; of his debts, staring ruin, and his yielding to the great temptation; of his trial, his sentence rendered heavier by the fact that his malversations had brought misery into other lives. he described to her in lurid detail just what the prison-life was, what it meant, how its manifold degradation ate into a man’s flesh, became infused in his blood and ran for ever through his veins. he spared her nothing of which decency permitted the telling. now and then yvonne shivered a little and drew in a quick breath; but her great eyes never left his face--save once when he showed her his hands still scarred by the toil from which delicate fingers never recover.
-he had spoken jerkily, in hard, dry tones; so he ended abruptly. there was silence. yvonne’s little gloved hand crept to his and pressed it. then, with a common impulse, they rose to their feet.
-“thank you for telling me,” she said, coming near to him and taking his arm. “i did not know how how terrible it has been--and i never realised what a brave man you are.”
-“i--brave, yvonne?” he cried with a bitter laugh.
-“yes--to have gone through that and to be the loyal, tender, true-hearted gentleman that you are.”
-he looked down at her and saw her soft eyes filled with tears and her lips quivering.
-“you still feel the same to me, yvonne, now that you know it all?” he asked, bending forward on his stick.
-“more,” she answered. “oh,--much more.”
-they walked back to the park gates in a happy silence, drawn very near to one another, since both hearts were very full. so close together did they walk, so softened was the man’s face, and so sweetly proud the woman’s, that they might have been taken for lovers. but if love was hovering over them, he touched neither with an awakening feather. and so they passed on their way untroubled.
-that day was, in a certain sense, a landmark in their lives. yvonne never referred to the prison again, but she learned to know when its shadow was over him and at such times her nature melted in tenderness towards him.
-the days wore on. the second novel, over whose pages yvonne had cast gleams of sunshine, was finished and disposed of to the same publishers. his source of income from occasional journalism showed signs of becoming steadier. but all the same, the struggle with poverty continued hard. yvonne fell ill again and lost her music-lessons. it took some time after her recovery to pay off the debts incurred for doctor, medicine, and invalid necessaries. to obtain funds to take her to the seaside for a few days, joyce was forced to ask his publishers for an advance. however, the trip restored yvonne to health again, and their uneventful life pursued its usual course.
-one day a strange phenomenon occurred. a visitor was announced. it was the sister who had tended yvonne in the hospital. once before, while yvonne was living in the pimlico lodgings, she had paid a flying visit. on this occasion she stayed for a couple of hours with yvonne, who, happy as she was with joyce, felt a wonderful relief in talking again familiarly with one of her own sex. she poured forth the little history of all that had befallen her since she had left the hospital.
-“do you mean to tell me,” the sister said at last, “that you keep house together on this romantically platonic basis?”
-yvonne regarded her, wide-eyed.
-“of course. why should n’t we?”
-the sister was a woman of the world. when she had entered the room and perceived the unmistakable signs of a man’s general presence, she had drawn her own conclusions.
-that these were erroneous, yvonne’s innocent candour most clearly proved. yet she was astonished, perhaps a little disappointed. the offending eve lingers in many women, even after much self-whipping--for the greater comfort of their lives.
-“but how can a man look at you and not fall in love with you?” she asked downright.
-yvonne laughed, and ran to the kettle that was boiling over on the gas-stove--she was making tea for her visitor.
-“oh, you can’t think of the number of people who have said those same words to me! why, that is why i am so happy with stephen--he has never dreamed of making love to me; never once--really. and, do you know, he’s the only man i ’ve ever had much to do with who has n’t.”
-“he looks like a man who has seen a great deal of trouble,” said the sister.
-yvonne’s laugh faded, and a great seriousness came into her eyes.
-“awful trouble,” she said in a very low and earnest voice.
-“perhaps that makes him different from other men,” said the sister, taking her hand and smoothing it.
-“perhaps,” replied yvonne.
-it was a new light, quick and clear, flashed upon their relations. her woman’s instinct clamoured for confirmation.
-“do you think that if he had not this great trouble, he would necessarily have fallen in love with me, like the others?”
-“it stands to reason,” replied the elder woman gently--“if he’s a man at all. and he is a man--one, too, that many women could love and be proud of.”
-“so you ’ll come and see me often,” she said at last. “i have n’t very many friends.”
-“and i haven’t any at all,” said yvonne, smiling. “and oh! you don’t know what a comfort it would be to have a woman to go to now and then!”
-the visit left yvonne thoughtful and happy. a new feeling towards joyce budded in her heart and the process was accompanied by tiny shocks of tender resentment. so conscious was she of this, that that evening whilst joyce was working in the armchair opposite to her, she suddenly broke into a little musical laugh. he looked up and caught the reflection of her smile.
-“what is amusing you, yvonne?”
-she still smiled, but a deep red flush showed beneath her dark skin.
-“my thoughts,” she said, in a tone that admitted of no further question.
-yet she would have liked to tell him. it was so humorous that she should feel angry because he did not fall in love with her.
-sometimes light moods are delicate indexes to far-away, unknown commotions. afterwards, in the serious moments, when the birdlike inconsequence fled away from her and she realised herself as a grown woman to whom had come the knowledge of life, this that she had laughed and blushed over appeared sad and painful. it kept her awake sometimes at nights. once she got out of bed, lit her candle, and looked closely at her face in the glass. but she returned comforted. she was not getting old and unattractive.
-yet a vague ferment in her nature began to puzzle her sorely. her mind, that was once as simple as a child’s and as clear as spring water, seemed now tangled with many complexities; she saw into it, as in a glass, darkly. life, for the first time appeared to her incomplete. she was weighed down with a sense of failure. the very facts that had caused the happy possibility of her comradeship with joyce smote her as proofs of the inadequacy of her own womanhood. the essential fierce vanity of sex was touched.
-once only before had she used her sex as a weapon--on that miserable day at ostend, to keep everard by her side. then she had felt the fire of shame. now she was tempted to use it again, and the shame burned deeper.
-and joyce, familiarised with the daily sweetness of her companionship, did not notice the gradually stealing increase of tenderness in her ways.
-it was late in the afternoon. the old man had gone away to exeter, to bury his sister, his only surviving relative. joyce was alone in the shop busily sorting a job lot of books that had come in during the morning. they were stacked in great piles at the further end, forming a barrier between himself and the doorway, where the falling light was creeping in upon the neatly-arranged shelves. above him flared a gas-jet. it was warm and dusty work, and joyce had taken off his coat and collar and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. some of the worthless books he threw on two piles on the floor, to be placed in the twopenny and fourpenny boxes outside. others he priced and catalogued. others, again, in good bindings, or otherwise obviously of value, he dusted with a feather brush and put aside for the old man’s inspection. now and again space failed for the assorted lots, and he would carry great strings of volumes supported under his chin to convenient stacking-spaces on the shelves. then he would proceed with his sorting, cataloguing, and cleansing.
-presently the back-parlour door opened and yvonne appeared. joyce paused, with a grimy volume in his hand, in the midst of a cloud of dust that rose like incense, and his heart gave a little throb of gladness. she looked so fresh and sweet as she stood there, daintily aproned, in the darkness of the doorway, with the light from the gas-jet falling upon her face.
-“tea’s ready,” she remarked.
-“let me finish this lot,” he said, pointing to a pile, “and then i ’ll come.”
-she nodded, advanced a step and took up a great in-folio black-letter.
-“what silly rubbish,” she said, with a superior little grimace, as she turned over the pages. “fancy any one wanting to buy this.”
-“you had better put it down, if you don’t want to cover yourself with dirt,” said joyce.
-she dropped the book, looked at her soiled hands with a comic air of disgust.
-“horrid things! why did n’t you tell me?”
-joyce laughed for answer. it was so like yvonne. after she had withdrawn, with a further reminder about the tea, he went on smiling to himself.
-it was very sweet, this brother and sister life of theirs, in spite of its isolation. there seemed no reason why it should not continue for ever. indeed, he scarcely thought of change. now that his small earnings seemed practically assured and yvonne could contribute from her singing lessons something to the household expenses, the wolf was kept pretty far from the door.
-he was in one of his lighter moods, when yvonne’s sunshine “scattered the ghosts of the past,” and illuminated the dark places in his heart. he hummed a song, forgetful of the gaol and his pariahdom, and thought of yvonne’s face awaiting him at the tea-table, as soon as he had completed his task.
-“another time you are sent out round the corner, don’t take a quarter of an hour,” he cried, without turning round.
-“you are the last person i expected to meet here,” said the bishop, haughtily.
-“your lordship is the last person i desired to see,” retorted joyce.
-“she is here--upstairs.”
-“in this--” began the bishop, looking round and seeking for a word expressive of distaste.
-“--hovel?” suggested joyce. “yes.”
-“under your protection?”
-“under my protection.”
-then joyce noticed that his lips twitched, and that the perspiration beaded on his forehead, and that an agony of questioning was in his eyes.
-“have you been villain enough--?” he began in a hoarse, trembling voice.
-but joyce checked him with a sudden flash and an angry gesture.
-“stop! she is as pure as the stars. let there be no doubt about that. i tell you for her sake, not for yours.”
-the bishop drew a long breath and wiped his forehead. joyce took his silence for incredulity.
-“if i were a villain,” he continued, “do you think it would matter a brass button to me whether you knew it? i should say ‘yes,’ and you would walk away and i should never see you again.”
-he thrust his hands in his pockets and faced his cousin. all the pariah’s bitter hatred arose within him against the man who stood there, the representative of the caste that had disowned and reviled him; conscious, too, as he was, of standing for the moment on a higher plane.
-“i believe you. oh--indeed--i believe you,” replied everard, hurriedly. “but why is she here? why has she sunk as low as this?”
-“your lordship should be the last to ask such a question.”
-“i don’t understand you.”
-“i should have thought it was obvious,” said joyce, with a shrug of his shoulders.
-the sarcasm sounded in the bishop’s ears like cynicism.
-“do you mean that you have inveigled madame latour into supporting you?” he asked in a tone of disgust.
-joyce laughed mirthlessly.
-“listen,” he said. “let us come to some understanding. i am a member of the criminal classes, and you are a bishop of the english church. perhaps the god you believe in may condescend to judge between us. the woman who was once your wife appealed to you when she was sick and penniless, and you disregarded her appeal. i, a poverty-stricken outcast supported her, gave her a home, and reverenced her as a sacred trust. ‘whether of them twain did the will of his father?’”
-“i received no appeal from her,” said the latter.
-“you did, through me. she was too ill to write.”
-“when was this?”
-“last november, a year ago.”
-everard reflected for a moment and then a sudden memory flashed upon him, and an expression of deep pain came over his face.
-“god forgive me! i threw your letter into the fire unopened.”
-“might i ask your reason?” asked joyce, feeling a grim joy in his cousin’s humiliation.
-“i had been warned that you had gone to fulminster on a begging errand--”
-“did the rector have the iniquity to write you that?” burst in joyce fiercely.
-“it was not the rector.”
-“who, then? i saw no one but him. i was simply seeking madame latour.”
-“i name no names,” replied the bishop, stiffly. “i am merely explaining. the letter, in fact, came by the same mail as yours. little suspecting that you could address me on any subject unconnected with yourself, and keeping to my resolution to hold no further communication with you, i destroyed, as i say, your letter unopened. believe me, the apology i tender to you--”
-“is neither here nor there,” said joyce, coldly. “i am past feeling such slights. i suppose your correspondent was that she-devil emmeline winstanley. i congratulate you.” the bishop made no reply, but paced backwards and forwards two or three times with bent head, along the book-lined shelves. then he stopped and said abruptly:--
-“tell me the facts about yvonne.”
-the conciliatory mention of her by her christian name thawed joyce for the moment. he rapidly sketched events, while everard listened, looking at him rigidly from under bent brows.
-“i would have given the last drop of my blood rather than she should have suffered so.”
-“so would i,” replied joyce.
-“would to god i had known of it!”
-“it was your own doing.”
-“you are right. my uncharitableness towards you has brought its punishment.”
-“i cannot say i am sorry,” said joyce, grimly.
-suddenly her voice was heard from the back-parlour door.
-“do come. the tea is getting quite cold.”
-both men started. a quick flash came into everard’s eyes and he made a hasty step forward. but joyce checked him with a gesture.
-“i had better prepare her for the surprise of seeing you.”
-the bishop nodded assent. joyce ran to the street door to see that the boy had returned to his post, and, satisfied, left the bishop and went to join yvonne in their little sitting-room upstairs.
-she had just entered, was lifting a plate of hot toast from the fender. she held it out threateningly with both hands.
-“if it’s all dried up it is not my fault,” she scolded. “and oh! you know i don’t allow you to sit down in your shirt-sleeves!”
-he made no reply, but took the plate mechanically from her and placed it on the table.
-“what is the matter, stephen?” she asked suddenly, scanning his face.
-“some one has called to see you, yvonne.”
-she looked at him for a puzzled moment. then something in his face told her. she caught him by his shirt-sleeve.
-“it can’t be everard?” she cried, agitated.
-“yes. it is everard.”
-she grew deadly pale and her breath came fast.
-“how has he managed to find me?”
-“i don’t know. possibly he will explain.”
-yvonne sat down by the table and put her hand to her heart.
-“it is so sudden,” she said deprecatingly.
-“perhaps you would rather put off seeing him,” suggested joyce.
-“oh no, no. i will see him now--if you don’t mind, stephen, dear. i am quite strong again. tell him to come. and don’t be unhappy about me.”
-she smiled up at him and held out her hand. he took it in his and kissed it.
-“my own brave, dear yvonne,” he said impulsively. a flush and a grateful glance rewarded him.
-he found the bishop scanning the book backs.
-“will you let me show you up to the sitting-room?” said joyce.
-the bishop bowed and followed. at the foot of the stairs he paused.
-“i think it right to tell you,” he said, “that i have received authentic news of the death of madame latour’s first husband. the object of my sudden visit to england is to take her back with me as my wife.”
-no sooner was he alone than a swift consciousness of his moral rout made him hot with shame and anger. his heart rose in fierce revolt. yvonne was free. free to marry whom she liked. what right over her had this man who had cast her off, spent two whole years at the other end of the world without once troubling to enquire after her welfare? what right had the man to come and rob him of the one blessing that life held for him?
-the prospect of life alone, without yvonne, shimmered before him like a bleak landscape revealed by sheet-lightning. a panic shook him. a second flash revealed him to himself. this utter dependence upon yvonne, this intense need of her that had gone on strengthening, week by week, and day by day, was love. use, self-concentration, the mere unconcealed affection of daily life had kept it dormant as it grew. now it awakened under the sudden terror of losing her. a thrill ran through his body. he loved her. she was free. this other set aside, he could marry her. he paced among the piles of books in strange excitement.
-the boy, who had been rapping his heels against his box-seat by the door, strolled in to see what was doing. joyce abruptly ordered him to put up the shutters and go home.
-meanwhile he made pretence to continue his work of cataloguing. but his brain was in a whirl. his eyes fell upon the marks of yvonne’s hands and arms on the dust of the folio she had been handling. the mute testimony of their intimacy eloquently moved him. she was part and parcel of his life. he would not give her up without fierce fighting.
-then, in the midst of the glow came the fresh memory of his collapse. he sat down by the little deal table, where he was wont to write, and buried his face in his hands, and shivered. his manhood had gone. nothing could ever restore it. its semblance was liable to be shattered at any moment by an honest man’s self-assertion. it had perished during those awful years; not to be revived, even by the pure passion of love that was throbbing in his veins.
-too restless to sit long, he rose presently and walked about the shop, among the books. the close, dusty air suffocated him. he longed to go out, walk the streets, and shake off the burden that was round his neck. but the feeling that he ought, for yvonne’s sake, to remain until the bishop’s departure kept him an irritable prisoner. the minutes passed slowly. outside was the ceaseless hum and hurry of the street: within, the flare of the gas-jets and the sound of his own purposeless tread. and so for two hours he waited, running the gamut of his emotions with maddening iteration. the terror of losing yvonne brought at times the perspiration to his forehead. with feverish intensity he argued out his claim upon her. she could not throw him over to go and live with that proud, unsympathetic man who must for ever be to her a stranger. then his jealous wrath burst forth again, and again came the old hated shiver of degradation. how dare he match himself against one who, with all his faults, had yet lived through his life a stainless gentleman?
-chapter xxi--a demand in marriage
-“yes, he is dead,” said the bishop, gravely. “you are a free woman. i have come from the other end of the world to tell you so.” yvonne, sitting opposite him, looked into the red coals of the fire, and clasped her hands nervously. his presence dazed her. she had not yet recovered from the shock of his sudden embrace. the pressure of his arms was yet about her shoulders. the change wrought in her life by the loss of her voice was almost like a change of identity. it was with an effort that she realised the former closeness of their relations. he seemed unfamiliar, out of place, to have dropped down from another sphere. the oddity of his attire struck a note of the unusual. the dignity of his title invested him with remoteness. his face too, did not correspond with her remembered impression. it was thinner, more deeply lined. his hair had grown scantier and greyer.
-she had listened, almost in a dream, to the story of his coming. how, to his bitter regret, he had destroyed joyce’s letter. how, later, growing anxious about her, he had written for news of her welfare. how his letter had been returned to him through the post-office. how, meanwhile, the detective whom he had employed for the purpose in paris, had sent him proofs of bazouge’s death. how he had been unable to rest until he had found her, and, impatient of the long weary posts, he had left new zealand; and lastly, how he had obtained her present address from the musical agents, who had informed him of her illness and the loss of her voice.
-the tidings scarcely affected her. she had counted amédée so long as dead, even after his disastrous resurrection, that now she could feel no shock either of pain or relief. it was not until the after-sound of everard’s last words penetrated her consciousness, that she realised their import. she started quickly from her attitude of bewilderment, and looked at him with a dawning alarm in her eyes.
-“it can make very little difference to me,” she said.
-“i thought it might make all the difference in the world to me,” said everard. “do you think i have ever ceased to love you?”
-there was the note of pain in his voice which all her life long had had power to move her simple nature. she trembled a little as she answered:--
-“it is all so long ago, now. we have changed.”
-“you have not changed,” he said, with grave tenderness. “you are still the same sweet flower-like woman that was my wife. and i have not changed. i have longed for you all through these bitter, lonely years. do you know why i left fulminster?”
-“no,” murmured yvonne.
-“because it grew unbearable--without you. i thought a changed scene and new responsibilities would fill my thoughts. i was mistaken. and added to my want of you was remorse for harshness in that terrible hour.”
-“i have only thought of your kindness, everard,” said yvonne, with tears in her eyes. his emotion impressed her deeply with a sense of his suffering.
-he rose, came forward and bent over her chair.
-“will you come back with me, yvonne?”
-she would have given worlds to be away; to have, at least, a few hours to consider her answer. he expected it at once. feminine instinct desperately sought evasion.
-“i shall be of no use to you. i can’t sing any more. listen.”
-she turned sideways in her chair, and drawing back her head far from him, began, with a smile, the “aria” of the angel in the elijah. the grave man drew himself up, shocked to the heart. he had not realised what the loss of her voice meant. instead of the pure dove-notes that had stirred the passion of his manhood, nothing came from her lips but toneless, wheezing sounds. she stopped, bravely tried to laugh, but the laugh was choked in a sob and she burst into tears.
-“come back with me, my darling,” he said, bending down again. “i will love you all the more tenderly.”
-yvonne dried her eyes in her impulsive way.
-“i am foolish,” she said. “crying can’t mend it.”
-“oh, give me time to answer you, everard,” she cried, driven to bay at last. “it is all so strange and sudden.”
-he left her side, with a kind of sigh, and resumed his former seat. he was somewhat disappointed. he had not contemplated the chance of her refusal. a glance, however, round the shabby, low-ceilinged room reassured him. the coarse, not immaculate tablecloth, the homely crockery, the half-emptied potted-meat tins on the table, the threadbare hearthrug at his feet--all spoke, if not of poverty, at least of very narrow means. she could not surely hesitate. but she did.
-“take your time--of course,” he said, crossing his gaitered legs. there was a short silence. at last she said, with a little quiver of the lip:--
-“i promised you, i know. but things have altered so since then. i thought i should always be free. but now i am not, you see.”
-“what do you mean?” he cried, startled.
-“it is stephen,” yvonne explained. “he saved me from starvation, gave me all he had, to make me well again, and has been staying all this time to support me. you don’t know how nobly he has behaved to me--yes, nobly, everard, there is no other word for it. he has rights over me that a brother or father would have--i could not leave him without his consent. it would be cruel and ungrateful. don’t you see that it would be wicked of me, everard,” she added earnestly.
-his face clouded over. pride rose in revolt. he crushed it down, however, and suffered the humiliation.
-“it would lift a responsibility from his shoulders,” he said. “i myself am willing to take him by the hand again, and help him to rise from his present position.”
-“you will let bygones be bygones--quite?”
-“with all my heart,” replied everard.
-“he suffers dreadfully still,” said yvonne.
-a flush of pleasure arose in yvonne’s cheeks, and her eyes thanked him. then she reflected, and said somewhat sadly:--
-“perhaps if you help him in that way, he won’t miss me.”
-“i will guarantee his prosperity,” he answered, with dignified conviction. and then, changing his manner, after a pause, and leaning forward and looking at her hungeringly, “yvonne,” he said, “you will come and share my life again--in a new world, where everything is beautiful--? i have been growing old there, without you. you will make me young again, and the blessing of god will be upon us. i must have you with me, yvonne. i cannot live in peace without your smile and your happiness around me. my child--”
-his voice grew thick with emotion. he stood up and stretched out his arms to her. yvonne rose timidly and advanced toward him, drawn by his pleading. but just as his hands were about to touch her, she hung back.
-“you must ask stephen for me,” she said, in her serious, simple way.
-his hands fell to his sides, in a gesture of impatience.
-“impossible. how can i do such a thing? it would be absurd.”
-“but i can’t,” she said.
-her tiny figure, the plaintiveness of her upturned face, the wistfulness of her soft eyes, brought back to him a flood of memories. she was still the same sweet, innocent soul. the lines about his lips relaxed into a smile, and he took her, yielding passively, into his arms and kissed her cheek.
-“i will do what you like, dear,” he said, in a low voice. “anything in the world to win you again. i will ask him. it will be making reparation. and then you will marry me?”
-“yes,” murmured yvonne faintly, “i promised you.”
-“why did you not write to me again?” he asked, still holding her hands.
-“i was going to write when the answer came,” she said, looking down. “but no answer did come. and then, i was content to help stephen.”
-“you could have helped stephen, all the same.”
-“oh, no!” she cried, with a swift look upwards. “don’t you understand?”
-the bishop saw the delicacy of the point, and motioned an affirmative. but he regarded stephen with mingled feelings. it was intensely repugnant to him to find his once reprobated cousin a barrier between himself and yvonne. an uneasy suspicion passed through his mind. might not stephen be even a more serious rival?
-“you are not marrying me merely on account of that promise years ago, yvonne?” he asked.
-“oh, no, everard,” she replied gently. “it is because you want me--and because it’s right.”
-he kissed her good-bye.
-“i shall not visit you here again, yvonne,” he said. “when i receive the final answer i shall make suitable arrangements. we shall be married quietly, by special licence. will that please you?”
-“yes,” said yvonne. “thank you.”
-at the door he turned for a parting glance. then he descended the stairs, with the intention of broaching the matter to joyce then and there. but although he found lights burning in the shop, joyce was nowhere to be seen. nor were there any apparent means of ascertaining his whereabouts. the bishop bit his lip with annoyance. he did not wish to procrastinate in this affair. suddenly his eye fell upon an old stationery-rack against the wall, in which were visible the paper and envelopes used for the business. with prompt decision the bishop took what was necessary, sought and found pen and ink, and wrote at joyce’s table a letter, which he addressed and left in a conspicuous position. then he found with some difficulty the street-door of the house and let himself out.
-in earnest of this i approach you, as man to man, with reference to one of the most solemn affairs in life. yvonne, gratefully acknowledging the vast obligations under which she is bound to you, has made her acceptance of my offer of remarriage dependent upon your consent. for this consent, therefore, i earnestly beg you.
-for the future, in what way soever my friendship can be of use to you, it will most gladly be directed.
-burgon’s hotel, w.
-joyce grew faint as he read. the words swam before his eyes. a great pain shot through his heart. the letter contained one torturing fact--that of yvonne’s acquiescence. the bishop’s acknowledgment of his uprightness, the courtesy of the formal request, the offer of friendship--all were meaningless phrases. yvonne was going to leave him--of her own free-will. although his fears had anticipated the blow, it none the less stunned him. he flung himself down by his table, with a groan, and buried his face in his arms. the realisation of what yvonne was to him flooded him with a mighty rush. she was his hope of salvation in this world and the next, his guardian angel, his universe. without her all was chaos, void and horrible.
-presently yvonne’s voice was heard calling him from the top of the stairs:--
-he raised a haggard face, and with an effort steadied his voice to reply. then he rose, turned off the gas, from force of habit, and went with heavy tread up the stairs.
-“your tea,” said yvonne, busying herself with a kettle. “i am making you some afresh.”
-“i will go and wash my hands,” he said drearily.
-he mounted to his bedroom and cleansed himself from the book-dust and returned to yvonne. he drew his chair to the table. she poured him out his tea, and helped him to butter, according to a habit into which she had fallen. she deplored the spoilt toast. he said that it did not matter. but when he tried to eat, the food stuck in his throat. yvonne made no pretence at eating, but trifled with her teaspoon, with downcast eyes. joyce looked at her anxiously. she seemed to have grown older. the childlike expression had changed into a sad, womanly seriousness. presently she raised her eyes, soft and appealing as ever, and met his.
-“did you see everard?” she asked.
-“no. i was out. but he left a note--that told me everything.”
-“he asks for your consent?”
-“and will you give it?” she asked, below her breath.
-“it would be worse than folly for me to try to withhold it,” he said, bitterly.
-“i will stay with you, and go on living this life, if you wish.”
-“i don’t count,” she said, “i must do as i am told.”
-“would you be happy with everard?” he asked huskily.
-“yes--of course--i was before,” she replied. but her cheek grew paler.
-“and you would stay, if i asked you, and share all this struggle and poverty with me?”
-“how could i refuse? don’t i owe you my life?”
-he looked for a tremulous second into her pure eyes and knew that he was master of her fate. the condition she had imposed upon everard was no graceful act of acknowledgment. it was a serious placing of her future in his hands. he was silent for a few moments, deep in agitated thought, trembling with a struggle against a fierce temptation. the hand that nervously tugged at his moustache was shaking. yvonne read the anxious trouble on his face.
-“don’t worry over it now,” she said, gently. “there is time, you know. why should people always want to decide things straight off?”
-“you are right, yvonne,” said stephen. “let us forget it for a little.”
-“your poor tea,” add yvonne, with pathetic return to her old manner. “it will never be drunk. and do eat something, to please me.”
-but it was a miserable meal. the tabooed subject filled the heart and thoughts of each. it was with an effort that they caught the drift of casual commonplaces uttered from time to time. now and then, during the long spells of silence, yvonne stole a swift feminine glance at his face. but his sombre expression seemed to tell her nothing of that which she longed to know. at last the farce ended. they rose from the table and went to their usual seats by the fireside. joyce filled his pipe, and was fumbling in his pockets for a match, when yvonne came forward with a spill and stood before him holding it until the pipe was alight. he tried to thank her, but the words would not come. the tender act of intimacy made his heart swell too painfully. yvonne rang the bell and the elderly, slatternly maid-of-all-work, cleared away the tea-things. sarah was one of the elements of the establishment that made joyce hate his poverty. she drank, was unclean, was a perpetual soil in the atmosphere that yvonne breathed. the sight of her was a new factor in the case against himself.
-it was a terrible decision that he was called upon to make. on the one hand, wealth and ease and social happiness for yvonne, despair and misery for himself. on the other, a selfish happiness for himself, and for yvonne this squalor and ostracism. he knew that her sweet, gentle nature would accept the latter portion unmurmuringly. a voice rang in his ears the certainty that she would marry him, if he pleaded. to repress the temptation to cast all other thoughts but his yearning passion to the winds was indescribable torture.
-“i wish i could sing to you,” she said, breaking a long silence. “i don’t know what to do now, when i feel things. once i could sing them.”
-“i should ask you to sing gounod’s ‘serenade,’” said joyce.
-“oh, not that!” she cried quickly. “it was the last thing i ever sang to you, and it brought us bad luck.”
-for a moment he put a lover’s passionate interpretation upon her words. his heart beat fast. he controlled the wild impulse that seized him, biting through the amber of his pipe with the nervous effort.
-and then he realised that he must be alone to work out this stern problem, on whose solution depended the happiness of three human lives. he rose to his feet.
-“i am going out, yvonne,” he said, in a constrained voice. “all this is rather upsetting--and you had better go to bed early. you look tired.”
-“yes. i have a splitting headache,” said yvonne.
-she tried to smile brightly, as he wished her good-night. but when the door closed upon him, the smile faded, and her face grew drawn, almost haggard. a spirit had descended, touched her with magical wings, and changed at last the child into the woman. her eyes were set in steadfast envisaging of the future; and they beheld the responsibilities and sadnesses of life, no longer as vague terrors and discomforts from which her light bird-like nature shrank to the nearest refuge, but as dull realities, commonplace in form and grey in hue.
-chapter xxii--seeking salvation
-he could walk no longer through the drizzling rain, in futile struggle with his soul’s needs. as possible to cut out his heart and fling it at everard’s feet as to surrender yvonne. he called himself a fool.
-the glare in front of a cheap music-hall attracted him. he entered, mounted to the nine-penny balcony, where he stood leaning over the wooden partition, wedged among a crowd of loungers. the air was filled with the smoke of cheap tobacco and the fumes of the bar behind. a girl on the stage was singing a song in the chorus of which the thronged house roared lustily. then came a tenor vocalist with drawing-room ballads. joyce attended absently, hearing and seeing in a confused dream. a neighbour asking him for a light aroused him from his reverie. he wondered why he had come. to-night of all nights, when he might be at home in the joy of his heart’s desire. yet he stayed.
-a flashing family appeared riding on nondescript cycles. he watched them with half-shut eyes, caressing a quaint conceit that they were his thoughts whirling around in concrete form. the bursts of deafening applause seemed to soothe him. presently a street-scene cloth was let down and a battered man appeared and sang a song about drink and twins and brokers. he threw such humourous gusto into the performance that joyce laughed in spite of his preoccupation, and remained in amused anticipation of his second turn. the bell tinkled. the “comedian” came on and was greeted with vociferous applause. with music-hall realism he was dressed in prison-clothes, glengarry, woollen stockings, and black-arrowed suit all complete. he had made up his face into a startling brute. joyce felt sick. he did not catch the first verse; only the concluding lines of the chorus,
-“i ‘ve done my bit of time,
-but then the man began to speak, and joyce could not help hearing. a horrible fascination held him. the ignoble figure poured out with grotesque and voluble cynicism the comic history of the prison-life; the plank-bed, the skilly, the oakum, the exercise-yard. he sketched his pals, detailed the sordid tricks for obtaining food, the mean malingering, the debasing habits. and all with a horrible fidelity. the audience shrieked with laughter. but joyce lost sense of the mime. the man was real, one of the degraded creatures with whom he himself had once been indistinguishably mingled--a loathsome fact from the past. the smell of the prison floated over the footlights and filled his nostrils. all his overwrought nerves quivering with repulsion, he broke through the crowd hemming him in against the partition, and rushed down into the street.
-how long and whither he walked he did not know. at last he found himself within familiar latitudes, outside the angel tavern. he was wet through from the fine, penetrating rain, tired, cold, and utterly miserable. the revulsion of feeling in the music-hall had thrown him back years in his self-esteem. the soil of the gaol had never seemed so ineffaceable. in the blaze of light by the tavern door he paused, irresolute. then, remembering the disastrous results of an attempt years before to seek such consolation, he shivered and turned away. it was too dangerous.
-about a hundred yards further, a woman passed him, turned, and overtook him.
-“i thought it was you,” she said. he recognised the voice as that of annie stevens. it was not far from the spot where he had first met her, and where, some short time after, he had met her again. for months, however, he had lost sight of her. he recognised her voice, but her appearance was unfamiliar, and her face was half hidden by a salvation army bonnet. the apparent cynicism of her attire revolted him.
-“why are you masquerading like this?” he asked, continuing to walk onwards.
-“it’s not masquerading. it’s real. i recognised you, and thought perhaps you’d care to know.”
-he slackened his pace imperceptibly, and she walked by his side.
-“you don’t seem to believe it,” she resumed. “i don’t tell lies. it’s the truth that has generally cursed me.”
-“then why are you walking up and down here at this time of night?”
-“doing rescue work.”
-“have you rescued any one yet?” asked joyce, with a touch of sarcasm.
-“no. i scarce expect to.”
-“then why are you trying?”
-“because it’s the beastliest thing i could think of doing,” she said, stopping abruptly, and facing him, as he turned, in the defiant way he remembered from the theatre days.
-“you ’re an odd girl,” he said.
-“you don’t suppose i wear this disgusting bonnet and get hustled by roughs and blackguarded by women because i like it! i haven’t been converted, and i don’t shriek out ‘hallelujah,’ and i won’t,--but i earn an honest living at the shelter during the day, and at night i come out. it’s the beastliest thing i can think of doing,” she repeated. “if i knew of anything beastlier i’d do it. i ’ve had flames inside me since i gave you away,--i’d have killed myself for you after,--and hell since i went on the streets,--but i think the other was worse. i ’ve learned what you felt like; now i’m trying to burn out the fire--”
-“stop for a moment,” he said, with a queer catch in his throat. “do you mean you are doing this for your own inner self?”
-“yes,” she replied, her direct intuition divining the implied alternative. “i don’t know much about jesus and my immortal soul. that ’ll come. i want one day to be able to remember that i loved you--without hating myself and feeling sick with the shame and the horror of it all. you may think me a silly fool if you like, but that’s why i’m doing it. let us walk on. we need n’t attract attention.” this was wise; for more than one passer-by had turned round, struck by the two intent white faces. joyce obeyed passively, but continued for some moments to look down upon her in great wonder. an idea, which he became dimly aware had been struggling for birth in the dark of his soul for the past two hours, dawned upon him amid a strange, exulting excitement. suddenly he took her by the arm and held it very tightly. she looked up at him, astonished.
-“what is the matter with you?”
-“do you know what you have done tonight?” he said, in a shaking voice. “you have shown me how to burn out my hell too. you have retrieved any wrong you have done me. if my forgiveness is worth having, you have it, from the depths of my soul.”
-he was strangely moved. in the impulse of his exaltation, he drew her quickly into the gloom of a doorway--the pavement was momentarily deserted--and kissed her. she uttered a little cry and shrank back.
-“is that for forgiveness?”
-“yes,” he cried; and then he broke from her abruptly, and went on along the pavement with great strides.
-he was no longer uncertain. the problem of his life was solved. his mind was crystal clear. at last the time had come for the great atonement to his degraded self, the supreme sacrifice that should clear his being of stain.
-at last he could perform that act of renunciation that would give the strength back into his eyes to meet calmly the scrutiny of his fellow-man. renunciation! the word rang in his ears and echoed to his footsteps.
-he did not doubt that it would not be to yvonne’s lesser happiness to regain her lost environment of luxury and tender care. on the other hand, he judged her rightly enough to know that she would have found compensating pleasures in a life of privation with himself. had it not been so, mere manliness would have decided in the bishop’s favour. in perfect fairness (he saw now), he could have claimed her. his sacrifice was made in pure loyalty to his conscience.
-and it had been reserved, too, for that ignorant, wayward woman, who had groped her unguided way thus grotesquely to the principle, to have led him thither and revealed its elemental application. he felt a stirring of shame that strengthened his manhood.
-the rain had stopped. the clouds broke and drifted across the heavens, and a misty moon appeared at intervals, shedding its pale light upon the unlovely thoroughfare. a fresh breeze sprang up and made joyce, in his wet things, shiver with cold. at the nearest tavern he stopped, entered, called for some hot spirits, this time from no temptation to drown care, and asked for writing materials. then, in the midst of the noise of thick voices and clatter of drinking vessels, he wrote at a corner of the bar his letter of renunciation.
-dear everard,--i accept your letter in the spirit in which it was written. i put the sweetest and purest of god’s creatures into your keeping. cherish her.
-a few minutes afterwards he dropped it into a pillar-box. the faint patter of its fall inside struck like a death-note upon his ear, shocked him with a sense of the irrevocable. now that the act of renunciation was accomplished, he felt frightened. the immensity of his sacrifice began to loom before him. he became conscious of the dull premonitions of an agony hitherto undreamed of, for all his suffering in the past.
-shiveringly he bent his steps homeward. the gas was burning dimly in the sitting-room. as was usual on the rare occasions when he had spent the evening out, yvonne had brought down his bedroom candle and had laid his modest supper neatly for him. his slippers were warming by the fire. at the sight, his pain grew greater. having taken off his wet boots and lit his candle--he could eat no supper--he turned off the gas, and went out of the room. on the landing outside yvonne’s door were the tiny shoes she had placed there for sarah to clean. he looked at them for a second or two and mounted the stairs hurriedly.
-in the shock and excitement of battle a man can bear the amputation of a mangled limb without great suffering. it is afterwards that the agony sets in, when the nerves have quieted to responsiveness. so it was with joyce on that sleepless night of his great renunciation, and with his misery was mingled despair lest all should prove to be futile, his theory of renunciation; a ghastly fallacy. time was when he would have mocked at the proposition. could he even now defend it upon rational grounds? had he not cut off his leg to compensate for the loss of an arm, thereby adding to the gaiety of the high gods? he tossed about in the bed in anguish, “burning out his hell.”
-a man of sensitive, emotional temperament, however, cannot pass through such an ordeal unchanged. some fibres must be shrivelled up, whilst others are toughened. joyce rose in the morning with aching head and exhausted nerves, but still with a dull sense of calm. fallacy or not, at any rate he had chosen the man’s part. the consciousness of it was an element of strength. he dressed and went downstairs.
-yvonne was already in the room, neat and dainty as usual, making the toast for breakfast. she was pale and had the faint rings below the eyes that ever tell tales on a woman’s face. she looked round at him anxiously, as she knelt before the fire. he saw her trouble and went and sat in the armchair beside her and spread out his hands to warm them.
-“you have been worrying, my poor little yvonne,” he said gently. “i was a selfish beast to let you think i wanted to make up my mind, when my course was so plain. i wrote to everard last night. i told him to cherish the treasure that he has got. you shouldn’t have worried over it.”
-yvonne turned away her face from him, and remained silent for some moments, half kneeling, half sitting, the toasting-fork drooping idly from her hand.
-“it was foolish of me,” she replied at last “but it seemed hard to leave you alone--and i ’ve got so used to this little place--one gets attached to places, like a cat--did you--were you sorry to give me away?”
-“of course,” said joyce. “i thought we could go on being brother and sister till the end of all things. well, all things have an end, and this is it.”
-“you would not prefer me to stay?” asked yvonne, in her soft voice.
-he would have given his soul to have been able to throw his arms round her, passionately and wildly--she was so near him, so maddeningly desired. did she realise, he wondered, what flame was in her words? he leaned back in the chair, as if to avert the temptation by increasing the distance between them.
-sarah brought in the breakfast and retired. they sat down to table. somehow or other the meal proceeded. two things had come by post for joyce, one a belated but laudatory notice of “the wasters,” the other a cheque from the office of a weekly paper. he passed them both to her, according to custom.
-“you mustn’t bother about me at all, yvonne. i am in a different way of business altogether from what i was when we first started housekeeping. the new book will do ever so much better than ‘the wasters.’ i shall miss you terribly--at first--but it will all dry straight, yvonne. i dare say i shall go on living here. runcle and i are immense pals, you know--perhaps i may go into partnership with him and bring some modern go-ahead ideas into the concern--become a quaritch or sotheran--who knows? yes, i should n’t like to leave these quaint, dear old rooms,” he said, looking round, anywhere but in yvonne’s face, with an air of cheerfulness that he felt in his heart must be ghastly. “something of you and your dear companionship will linger about them. i shall pretend, like the ‘marchioness,’ that you are with me.”
-he passed his tea-cup, and, meeting her eyes, tried to smile. the comers of her lips responded bravely.
-“and at last you will come into indisputed possession of your furniture,” she said.
-downstairs he resumed his unfinished task of the evening before. he worked at it doggedly, trying not to think. but it was as futile as trying to hold one’s breath beyond a certain period.
-“yvonne is going--to marry everard--going for ever--i shall be alone--she will lie in his arms--i shall go mad--god help me--if it is more than i can bear, there is a way out--i can keep up till she goes--she shall not know--afterwards.” his brain could not work beyond. the same thoughts throbbed with almost rhythmic recurrence as he priced and catalogued the books. once he opened a tattered “marcus aurelius”:--
-“if pain is an affliction, it must affect either the body or the mind; if the body is hurt, let it say so; as for the soul, it is in her power to preserve her serenity and calm, by supposing the accident no evil.”
-a messenger-boy appeared with a letter for madame latour. joyce sent it up to her by the shop-boy, who presently brought down a reply note. the preparations for her departure had begun. joyce’s heart seemed set in a vice and he nearly cried aloud with the pain.
-the hours wore on; the piles of books were disposed of; nothing to do, but wait for customers. to keep himself employed he copied untidy pages of his manuscript. he went up for dinner. yvonne was more subdued than at breakfast, and they scarcely spoke. when the meal was over, she told him quietly of the letter she had received.
-“everard says that he is getting the special licence to-day, and the marriage will take place to-morrow at st luke’s, islington. considering the circumstances, he thinks it best that there should be no delay.”
-“it is just as well,” he replied. “when changes come, it is best that they should come swiftly. has he made any more definite arrangements--the hour?”
-“he will send me a message later.”
-“you will have to put up your things. if i can help you, yvonne--”
-“thanks--no. i have so little. the few odds and ends i shall leave you--as mementoes. you would like to keep them, would n’t you?”
-“thank you, yvonne,” he said, turning away. they had spoken in subdued voices, as folks do when discussing funeral arrangements. joyce, blinded and dazed by his misery, was unperceptive of her joylessness. at the most, he was conscious of a seriousness that, under the circumstances, was not unnatural. his own pain he hid with anxious effort.
-the afternoon hours passed. he lit the gas in the shop, and proceeded with whatever mechanical employment he could find. it was a relief to be alone. the old man’s gossip would have jarred upon him, driven him up to the sitting-room where the ordeal was fiercest, or out into the hard-featured streets. he would have two or three days of solitude before runcle returned from exeter.
-he scribbled a line of acquiescence and gave it to the waiting messenger-boy. “i had not thought of the dregs,” he said to himself.
-that evening they sat drearily in their accustomed places by the fireside, each knowing it to be their last together. night after night they had spent in each other’s society, yvonne sewing or reading or dreaming in a lazy, contented way, joyce writing upon a board laid across his knees. sometimes she would come and lean over the back of his chair and watch the words as they came from his pen, her soft wavy black hair very near his fair, close-trimmed head.
-“send me away if i’m worrying you,” she used to say.
-whereupon he would laugh happily and answer:--
-“see how beautifully i am writing. i should never have thought of that remark if you had not been there.”
-“i like to play at feeling a guardian angel,” she said once.
-“you can feel it without the playing,” he replied, drawing his head aside and looking round at her. “when your wings are over me like that, i do work that i could n’t do unaided.”
-and she had blushed and felt very happy.
-but now, on this last evening, they sat apart--half the world already between them--and talked constrainedly, with long silences. for the greater part of the time he shaded his face with his hand, sparing himself the sight of her hungered-for sweetness and saving her the sight of the hunger he felt was in his eyes. when at last she rose to bid him good-night, he nerved himself to meet her gaze calmly. and then for the first time he was shocked at the change that the night and the day had wrought in her.
-she stood before him, infinitely sweet and simple; but more wan even than she had been on that day in the hospital when she had learned the loss of her voice. for the still unvanished pathos of childhood that had then smoothed her face was gone, and the sterner pathos of the woman’s experience had taken its place. yet the interpretation did not come to him.
-he caught her soft cold hand, put it to his lips, and shut the door quickly. the prison seemed as comfort when compared with this torment.
-chapter xxiii--an end and a beginning
-in the middle of the night he broke down utterly.
-if he had been a strong man he would not have yielded to the series of temptations that had culminated in his crime and his disgrace. or, passing that, his spirit would not have been broken during the months of his punishment if he had been even of slightly robuster fibre, the sense of degradation would not have palsied his life. he would have gone at once to a new land and made himself master of his destiny. a strong man would not have been found by yvonne, that august morning, sitting, a self-abhorring outcast before his rich uncle’s door. he would not have lost his wit and courage, when assailed by his prison companion at hull. he would not have joined fortunes with noakes in their futile african expedition. a strong man would not have clung for comfort and moral support to the poor ridiculous creature, his own protection of whom was that of the woman rather than that of the man. a strong man would not have yielded to the numbing despair of the after solitude in africa, nor writhed that night in agony of spirit upon the lonely star-lit veldt and lastly, a strong man would not have had that terror of loneliness which had made him in the first place cling to yvonne much as a child, afraid of the dark, clings to the hand of another child weaker than itself.
-by the law of evolution the strong survive and the weak die. but in the eternal struggle between humanity and the pitiless law, conditions are modified, and the sympathy of the race, that expression of revolt which we call civilisation, gives surviving power to the weak, so that not only the strong man has claims to life and love. and when the weak man strives with all his quivering fibres towards strength, he is doing a greater deed than the strong wot of.
-so joyce, fool or hero, had performed an act of strength beyond his nature. the strain of the day had been intense. every nerve in his body was stretched to breaking-point. at last, in the middle of the night, as he was pacing the room, one of them seemed to snap, and he fell forwards on to the bed and broke into a passion of sobbing. ashamed he buried his face in the blankets and bit them with his teeth. but a grown man’s sobbing is not to be checked, like a child’s. it is a terrible thing, which comes from the soul’s depths and convulses flesh and spirit to their foundations; and it is horrible to hear. the shuddering heaves came into his throat and forced their way in sound through his lips. and the utterances of pain came from him, inarticulate prayers to god to help him, and half-stifled cries for his love and for yvonne. but he knew that he was wrestling with his spirit for the last time, and that, after this paroxysm of agony, would come calm and strength to meet his fate.
-and yvonne, clad in dressing gown and bare-footed, with her hair about her shoulders, stood trembling outside his door and heard. although his room was not immediately above hers, being over the sitting-room, yet in her sleeplessness she had listened for hours and hours to his movements. at last, obeying an incontrollable impulse, she had crept up the stairs. a long time she waited, her hand upon the door, his name upon her lips, shaking from head to foot with the revelation of the man’s agony. every sound was like a stab in her tender flesh. the warm, impulsive old yvonne within her would have burst at the first sob into his room, but the newer womanhood held her back. when all was silent she crept downstairs again into her bed, and lay there, throbbing and shivering until the morning.
-and now he was to wear them at her wedding with another man. and he was to give her away.
-he had regained his nerve, felt equal to the task. after dressing with scrupulous care, he slowly went down to breakfast,--his last breakfast with yvonne. he contemplated the fact with the fatalistic calmness with which men condemned to death often face their last meal on earth. yvonne had not yet appeared. sarah had not even brought up the breakfast. he sat down and waited, unfolded his halfpenny morning paper and tried to read. after a time he became aware that he was studying the advertisements. so he laid it aside.
-he went back and rang the bell violently. after a short interval sarah appeared, leisurely bringing in the breakfast-tray.
-“where is madame latour?” asked joyce. “oh, she went out early, and said you weren’t to wait breakfast for her.”
-“at what time did she go out?”
-“shortly after eight.”
-“thank you,” said joyce.
-“i think she was took ill, and was going to see a doctor,” said sarah, unloading the tray noisily.
-“did madame latour tell you so?”
-“no. but she was looking so bad i was frightened to see her.”
-he walked to and fro in feverish helplessness, his heart weighed down by the new load. the cheap american clock on the mantel-piece struck ten. there came, soon after, a knock at the door. joyce sprang to open it. but it was only the boy from the shop wanting to know if any one was coming down. joyce put his hand to his forehead. he had entirely forgotten mr. runcle’s absence and his own consequent responsibility.
-“you can take the money for any book outside, tommy,” he said, after a little reflection. “if a customer wants anything inside, come up and call me.”
-the boy went away, proud at being left in charge. joyce filled a cup with the rapidly cooling coffee, and drank it at a draught. the minutes crept on. if his wild and dreadful fancies were groundless, where could yvonne be? she could not have chosen a time before the shops were open to make any necessary purchases before the ceremony. or had she gone out of the house so as to avoid spending a painful morning in his company? but that was unlike yvonne. at last he descended, and stood bareheaded in the raw air, gazing up and down the street.
-“i ‘ve taken eightpence already,” said the boy, handing him a pile of coppers.
-presently he became aware of an elderly man trying to pass him. he stepped aside with apologies, and followed the customer.
-“are you serving here?” asked the latter, with some diffidence.
-on joyce’s affirmative, he enquired after two editions of “berquin,” which he had seen in runcle’s catalogue. joyce took one from the shelves,--the original edition. it was priced two guineas. the customer haggled, then wished to see the other. as this was on the top shelf at the back part of the shop, joyce had to mount the ladder and hunt for it in the dusky light. while thus employed, he felt something sweep against the foot of the ladder, and, looking down, he saw yvonne. she shot a quick upward glance, and hurriedly disappeared.
-his heart gave a great bound as he saw her, and he dropped the books he was holding. he could not seek any more for the “berquin.” in another moment he was by the side of the customer.
-“we must have sold the other copy. how much will you give for this?”
-“you can have it,” said joyce.
-never was book tied up at greater speed. he thrust it into the man’s hand, received the money without looking at it, and left the elderly man standing in the middle of the shop, greatly astonished at the haste of the transaction.
-joyce flew up the stairs into the sitting-room.
-“oh, where--” he began.
-then he stopped, dazed and bewildered, for yvonne, her arms outstretched, her head thrown back, her lips parted, and a great yearning light in her eyes, came swiftly to him from where she stood, uttering a little cry, and in another moment was sobbing in his arms.
-“oh, my love, my dear, dear love!” she cried, “i could not leave you--take me--for always. i love you--i love you--i could n’t leave you!”
-“yvonne,” he cried hoarsely, his pulses throbbing like a great engine’s piston-rod, in the tremendous amazement, as he held her--how tightly he did not know--and gazed down wildly into her face, “yvonne, what are you saying? what is it? tell me--for god’s sake--the marriage--everard?” then she threw back her head further against his arm, and their eyes met and hung upon each other for a breathless space. and there was that in yvonne’s eyes--“the light that never was on sea or land”--that no man yet had seen or dreamed of seeing there. the straining, passionate love too deep for smiling, glorified her pure face.
-“there will be no marriage,” she murmured faintly, still holding him with her eyes, “i went to everard this morning.”
-she raised her lips almost unconsciously toward him, and then the man’s whole existence was drowned in the kiss.
-“oh, my darling, my darling, is this joy madness, or is it real?”
-“it is real,” said yvonne. “nothing can ever part us, until we die.”
-he helped her off with her hat and jacket and led her to the great armchair by the fire and knelt down by her side.
-“oh, stephen dear,” she said in piteous happiness, “it has been such suffering.”
-“my poor child,” he said tenderly.
-“i will tell you all, some day, dear, not now,” said joyce. “but one thing--i did not know either that you loved me--like this. when did you begin to love me, yvonne?”
-“i think i must have begun in the years and years ago--but i only knew it last night--knew it as i do now,” she added, with a tremor in her voice.
-she closed her eyes, gave herself up for a flooded moment to the lingering sense of the first great kiss she had ever given. and before she opened them, the memory had melted into actuality as she felt his lips again meet hers.
-“thank god, i have got you, my own dear love,” she murmured. “it has been a hard battle for you--this morning. i went out as soon as i dared--to go to him. i seemed to be going to do an awful thing--to give him that pain for our sakes. he told me i had not treated him wickedly--but i felt as if i had been committing murder, until i saw your face at the door. i told him all--all that i knew about my own feelings and yours. i said that you did not know i loved you--that your noble-heartedness was making the sacrifice--that i would marry him and leave you and never see you again, and be a devoted wife to him, if he wished it, but that my love was given to you. and he looked all the time at me with an iron-grey face, and scarcely spoke a word. tell me, stephen dear, does it pain you to hear?”
-“no,” said joyce, softly. “your heart has been bursting with it. it is best for us to share it, as we shall share all things, joy and pain, to the far end.”
-“i shall feel lighter for telling you. it was so terrible to see him--oh, stephen, if i had not loved you, i couldn’t have borne it--he seemed stricken. oh, why is there all this pain in the world? and to think that i--yvonne--should have had to inflict it--either on him, who has been good and kind to me, or on you, whom i love better than i thought i could love anything in the world! and when i had ended, he said, ‘he is young, and i am old; he has had all the sufferings and despair of life, and my lot has been cast in pleasant places; he has come out of the furnace with love and charity in his heart, and i have pampered my pride and uncharitableness. go back to him--and i pray god to bless you both.’ he spoke as if each word was a knife driven into him--and his face--i shall never forget it--it seemed to grow old, and ashen, and hardened.”
-it is also said that the name of ram or krishna is repeated, because the falling star enters the court of god bhagwan.--the schoolmaster of lakhapadar.
-the two maps of europe
-the two maps of europe
-and some other aspects of the great war
-by hilaire belloc
-printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. ltd. at the ballantyne press london and edinburgh
-the six chapters of this little book discuss and explain six separate and most important phases of the present war. every effort has been made to deal with the headings selected as comprehensively and as simply as possible, and it is hoped that, in this convenient form, the handbook will be welcomed by those who wish to follow the campaign with understanding. the various articles reprinted were written during the winter of the present year (1914-15), and many of the conclusions reached apply, therefore, to that period of the war only.
-the two maps of europe
-wherein the map of europe, as it will be if germany wins, is clearly defined and compared with the map of europe re-arranged in accordance with the ideals of the allies.
-the two maps of europe
-it is everywhere admitted that the result of the great war must be either, upon the whole, to produce a new map of europe upon the german model, or a new map of europe upon the model suitable to the ideas of the allies.
-by this it is not meant that either ideal will be completely reached, but that in the settlement one or the other will certainly preponderate. indeed, it is in the struggle between these two new maps of europe as ideals that the motive of the war consists.
-now, before attempting to determine in a graphic fashion what those two ideals are--before, that is, trying to draw two maps which shall represent respectively the german goal and the goal of the allies, we must lay down certain postulates which are not always recognized but which are certainly true.
-unless we recognize their truth we shall come to accept wild statements, and to be frightened of those ridiculous prophecies which propose the extermination of germany on the one hand, or the rule of the german government over england or france on the other.
-i. the first of these postulates is that a modern european nation no longer desires to annex white men in europe, and the territory they inhabit.
-the example of alsace-lorraine alone has proved a sufficient lesson; the continued vitality of poland after a hundred years has proved another, and even the difficulties of the austro-hungarian governments, with their subject races, a third. this does not mean that a modern european government would not annex in any circumstance. the possession of some all-important military or commercial point might occasionally make the perilous experiment worth while. but it means that the idea of annexation as an obvious corollary to military success has disappeared.
-ii. the second postulate is as follows: it is universally recognized--by the germans quite as much as by ourselves--that the political boundaries so long established in europe hardly ever correspond to exact national groupings, and very often violently conflict with the realities of national life.
-no one is so foolish, for instance, as to pretend that the finnish provinces of russia are not quite separate from the rest of the czar’s dominions in tradition, and consciousness, and habit, and all the rest that makes a nation. no one in england now denies the existence of an irish nationality.
-no one, to take an eastern case, would pretend that the serbian feeling of nationality was not very real, and was very far from being contained by the present boundaries of serbia.
-the excuse for the old point of view--the point of view that political boundaries were sufficient and that the true nationalities which they cut through or suppressed might be neglected--was that in time, with the modern rapidity of communication and the power of the modern state, these divergent elements would be absorbed, or digested into, the greater nationality which governed them. but experience has falsified this very reasonable conception. it has been found not only that this transformation did not take place, but even that the old real nationalities were actually getting stronger. poland, for instance, artificially cut through by the german, austrian, and russian frontiers, did seem for a time as though it were going to spring into a russian, a german, and an austrian type of polish men; and in the latter case, that of austria, some considerable advance was made towards such a result. but generations passed, and the process did not continue; on the contrary, the tide began to set backwards, and the conception of a united poland is far stronger to-day even in the small and successful austrian portion of poland than it was thirty years ago.
-in the face of these two postulates, the true national groupings have discovered their power and have already begun to appear in real form, as it were, through the artificial political boundaries which divided or suppressed them. any one, the germans as much as the rest, proposing to reconstruct europe must most certainly take account of such realities, and must deal with the many national groups of europe as the stones out of which the new building is to be erected.
-but the particular way in which those stones may be used, the combinations into which they may be grouped, the main influences which are to impose themselves upon particular great agglomerations of new nationalities are the whole issue of the debate, and form the whole subject of this war.
-the german empire and its ally, the austro-hungarian monarchy--that is, the reigning house of hapsburg-lorraine--wants the re-arrangement to take a certain form which would leave the german speech and culture and tradition the predominating thing in europe, and probably in the whole world.
-the allies, upon the other hand, are fighting for a less simple idea. they are fighting for the double conception of:
-this dual conception the allies rightly term the preservation and the extension of national liberties in europe.
-1, 2, 3, 4.--luxembourg, belgium, holland, switzerland.
-what makes a nation is corporate tradition. the strongest element in this is an historic memory. a nation which can point to having enjoyed a national existence in the past is much more firmly seated in its ambition to retain or to recover its independence than one which has never had such historic existence.
-another element in this constitution of a nationality is language. a common language is a much weaker element of nationality than tradition, as we see in the case of belgium, which is almost equally divided between latin-speaking and teutonic-speaking people; and in the case of switzerland. but it is none the less a strong thing; nowhere is it stronger than in the case of poland. while, upon the other hand, you have exactly the opposite in the case of irish national feeling; in the case of german-speaking lorraine and alsace; and you might very well have had a similar case in bohemia where there is now a strong national feeling backed by a national slav language, though that language was artificially revived comparatively recently.
-yet another factor is religion, and it is a most powerful one. it creates, for instance, a gulf between the catholic and the orthodox slav, and it creates an awkward complexity in the problem of those slavs whose religious ritual is greek, but who are yet in communion with rome.
-it is impossible to attribute numerical value to each of these various factors, or to say that language everywhere counts for so much, religion for so much, etc. we have to take each particular case and judge it as it stands. and if we do that with an impartial judgment upon the real national feeling, we get some such list as the following, for the continent alone.
-all german-speaking men and women with the exception of:
-now the boundaries of this “german feeling” group in europe are curiously involved and tortuous. beginning at the baltic, roughly at the mouth of the river niemen (which the germans call the memel), the true frontier of the german type runs southward for a short distance until it reaches what is called the region of the lakes, where the russian frontier begins to turn west. there the boundary turns west also, and begins to run north again, nearly reaching the baltic sea in the neighbourhood of dantzig. it then turns south by west, goes far west of thorn and even of posen, which are polish towns, and comes round not far east of frankfort-on-oder. then it goes south and east again, coming right through the middle of german silesia, but, on reaching the mountains that here bound bohemia, it curls round northwestward again, leaving the mountainous part of the barrier of bohemia all german, but excluding the slavonic true bohemian people in the centre of that isolated region. the upper valley of the elbe is not german. having thus gone all the way round bohemia proper, the boundaries of the german type run eastward again, very nearly following the watershed of the danube until they strike the march river about thirty miles from vienna. vienna is thus not a centre, but, like berlin, an outpost of german speech and civilization. from vienna the true frontier of the german folk runs south, more or less corresponding to the existing boundary between austria and hungary, until it passes the point of gratz--which counts as german. thence the boundary turns due west again, taking in the greater part of the tyrol, and so to the swiss frontier and on to the rhine opposite belfort. thence it follows the rhine to a point south of spiers, and after that follows the existing boundaries (excepting luxembourg), and is confined by the dutch and belgian frontier and the north and baltic seas with the exception of the danish belt north of the kiel canal, which is mainly danish.
-within that curiously twisted line nearly all speech and all feeling is german. there are many states within that line, there is much confusion of historic tradition, a sharp division in religion--roughly catholic in the south and west, protestant in the north and east. but the national group is, especially as against the slav and even as against western and southern europe, one body; and within that body prussia, with its capital of berlin, is the organizing and directing centre.
-are there anomalies to be discovered with regard to this curiously shaped body? there are; but they are of less importance than is often imagined. thus there are beyond eastern prussia and within the russian boundary the so-called “german” baltic provinces of russia. but the term is a misnomer. the leaders of industry are largely german, most of the towns, and the greater landed aristocracy for the most part. but the mass of the population is not german-speaking, and even of the german-speaking minority only a minority again are in any sympathy with the united german feeling to the west.
-there are colonies of german speech far eastward of vienna under the political dominion of hungary; a particularly large one being discoverable right up in the south-eastern carpathians next to the roumanian border. but these colonies could never be included in any united germany. nor could the considerable number of similar isolated colonies of germans in southern and western russia. finally, you have on the extreme west the little province of luxembourg, which is german-speaking, which has its railways and most of its industries controlled by germans, but which would in any perfectly free system certainly refuse incorporation with any new german unity, for it has an historic tradition of independence which has proved very valuable to it, and may be compared with that of the swiss german-speaking cantons.
-there are also just north of the carpathians two minor northern slavonic groups, the slovacs and the ruthenians. these northern slavs are divided into catholic slavs and slavs of the greek church, or orthodox, by a vague belt of territory running, roughly, from the town of vilna down to the borders of the bukovina; the poles and czechs, etc., being in communion with rome, while the russians are of the greek church.
-the southern slavs are again divided into catholic and orthodox by a very sharp and bitter division. the slovenes and the croats stand for the catholic group, the serbian nation, as a whole, for the orthodox group; a part of the serbians and all the slovenes and croats are in the austro-hungarian dominions, and it is the serbian element which is in rebellion. the rest of the serbians are now independent. and so complicated are population and religion in this region that nearly a third of bosnia and herzegovina, while slav in race, are mohammedan in religion.
-racially, the roumanians are probably slavs for the most part, but their tongue is a latin tongue; they are proud of latin descent, and they are just as much a wedge between the slavs of the north and south as the magyars themselves. they everywhere overlap their nominal political boundaries; three million and a half of them extend far into hungary, and a portion over the boundaries of russia. for the most part they are orthodox, or greek, in religion. but it must always be remembered, because it is essential to understanding the new europe, that the roumanian-speaking people under hungarian rule are, quite half of them and perhaps the majority, cut off from the orthodox church and in union with rome.
-with this summary, which has been expressed in map i, you have a fair, though of course rough, division of europe into its real national components.
-now let us ask what germany and austria would propose, in case of their victory, to make out of such materials.
-1. luxembourg 2. belgium 3. germany 4. switzerland 5. italy 6. mixed italian and german 7. russia 8. bohemia 9. bosnia 10. austrian 11. holland 12. bukovina 13. hungary 14. serbia 15. roumania 16. bulgaria 17. montenegro 18. albania 19. greece 20. turkey
-in the first place germany would keep all that she has, indifferent to national anomalies or the unquiet of subject and oppressed peoples. she would keep alsace-lorraine; she would keep in subjection the poles who are already in subjection to her; she would leave the austro-hungarian monarchy under the hapsburgs with all its present possessions, whether those possessions grossly interfered with national realities or no. would she annex territory, in spite of the first of the two postulates which i have already mentioned?
-the german constitutional system is of its nature federal. there is room in it for many kinds of states, each possessed of a very great measure of independence, and if the inclusion within one commercial system and one military system also, however loose that inclusion, be called annexation, then we may say that germany would annex in some degree. she would wish to control directly the mouth of the scheldt and probably the teutonic-speaking part of belgium, that is, the north of that country. she would certainly desire to administrate the ardennes, which would be her frontier against france, and she would quite certainly take over luxembourg.
-as to holland, her plan would probably be different there from that pursued in any other case. she would leave it as independent in its own eyes as it was before; she might insist upon an alliance with the dutch army, she would certainly insist upon commercial terms, and probably rights of using certain ports in certain cases for war. but nothing but inexcusable folly would tempt her to go further. the position of holland after a german settlement might not uncertainly be compared to the position of hamburg in the old days, on a larger scale, a free state just as hamburg was a free city.
-this easy and, as it were, mutually arranged compromise with holland, coupled with dominion over the scheldt and antwerp, would give the german peoples what they most desire, the whole littoral of the north sea. further, possessing antwerp, as they would certainly possess it, they would have a commercial lever for keeping holland in order. they could direct all their trade at will towards antwerp to the starvation of rotterdam.
-the scandinavian countries they would regard as naturally german in feeling, and as falling in a vague and general way into their orbit. possessing the kiel canal, they would not strictly need the sound. but they would so dominate denmark that they could make what commercial or military terms they chose with regard to the passages of the baltic; and you would have german firms, german methods, and to some extent the german language holding “civil garrisons” throughout the useful part of sweden and norway.
-on the east some have imagined they would erect as against russia a mutilated and dependent polish state. it is more probable that they would confine themselves to procuring some liberty for russian poland, and obtaining some convention as to fortification and commerce. russia will always be formidable, and to maintain the mutual bond of a subject poland between russia and herself would serve in the future, as it has served in the past, the ends of prussia. it is essential to prussia that no really independent poland should re-arise, even mutilated. it is even essential that there should be no one area that the poles could regard as the nucleus of a really free polish state.
-in the balkans the germanic powers would certainly demand the control over what is now serbia, and, at the risk of further war, the outlet at salonika. the remnant of the turkish empire in europe they already regard as being under their protectorate.
-as to the west, they would, rightly, treat it merely as a defeated foe. france (they would say) might continue to decline--for the germans, getting things out of berlin, always talk of “the decay of the latin peoples”--her decline accelerated by stringent commercial treaties and a heavy indemnity; england would be envisaged in the same terms. germany would demand from england certain coaling stations; she would impose on england also certain commercial conditions. but there would be no need to restrict the building of a fleet, for there a victorious germany would feel easily able to look after herself.
-boundary of germanic allies to-day, with their dependent states.
-small districts which might be actually annexed: the lower scheldt, middle meuse, ardennes, luxembourg, a corner of french lorraine, a few frontier districts of russian poland.
-countries which would be dependent upon the germanic hegemony, being of kindred blood and speech, and which would in special points admit actual economic or political control by germans.
-buffer polish states, which prussia might erect dependent on herself and as a barrier against russia.
-holland, a special case. kindred in speech. not actually annexed, perhaps, but allowed only a quasi-independent position with german control, veiled, in the two principal ports, and facilities for german navy. also included in any economic policy.
-districts in no way kindred to germanic peoples, but to be annexed, or at any rate directly controlled in order to command the balkans, to dominate constantinople, and to get a passage to the ægean sea.
-one may sum up and say that germany and austria expect from victory a europe in which all that is german-speaking and already within their moral influence shall support their power over the world, that power not coming in the shape of annexations, save at one or two selected points.
-once on the north sea, and once having broken british maritime supremacy, central europe would leave the future to do its work, content in the east with dominating the balkans and reaching the ægean sea, and with permanently holding back the further advance of russia.
-1. to retain their present boundaries: switzerland, belgium, luxembourg, holland, norway, sweden.
-2. the germanic peoples: with the catholic south leaning upon vienna and a large autonomy to individual states.
-3. france: with alsace-lorraine.
-4. poland: quasi-independent, but a holding of russia.
-5. czechs: quasi-independent, but probably still a holding of vienna.
-6. ruthenians (a minor slavonic group): either annexed to russia, or closely dependent on her.
-7. an independent magyar state.
-8. an independent catholic southern slav or croat state, probably a holding of vienna.
-9. an orthodox southern slav state, serbia, with access to adriatic, but not holding bulgarian territory.
-10. roumania, enlarged by her transylvanian population.
-if this is the german programme, what is that of the allies?
-primarily, it is the maintenance of not only liberties, but powers already acquired. in the economic sphere it is, of course, the maintenance of those international contracts upon which the wealth of england and of france depends. it is the maintenance of english power at sea, the re-establishment of a united france by land, the recovery of belgium, and the guaranteeing of holland in her neutrality, whether she wills it or no.
-but over and beyond this there is the problem of reconstruction, and here you have two clear principles:
-to some extent these two policies agree, but not entirely. to erect a larger serbia, to free the croats and the slovenes, or perhaps to take from their territory the ports necessary to serbia on the adriatic, giving serbia also the territory of bosnia and herzegovina; meanwhile, to let bulgaria occupy the purely bulgarian districts which serbia now has, to re-erect a united poland, to give roumania her nationals beyond the carpathians at the expense of hungary; to make hungary as far as possible independent of vienna in administration, and in particular in military affairs--all that is part of universal policy which everyone expects.
-but what of germany from within?
-it is evident that the control of the baltic, which the kiel canal involves, means that the kiel canal should be neutralized. it is equally evident that, while the bohemians may not be wholly separated from the germanic body which nearly encloses them, the largest measure of autonomy for these isolated slavs fits the case of the allies. but as for the policy to be pursued for germany herself in case of a victory on the part of the allies, that is a much more complex matter.
-roughly, it would seem to depend upon two main principles: first, that the more ancient and the more civilized pole of germany, the southern pole which is at vienna, should be in every way favoured at the expense of the northern pole, berlin, to which we have owed this catastrophe. secondly, that an economic policy should be imposed which shall leave industrial germany free to produce and yet compelled to pay.
-a policy of that kind means, of course, a carefully framed tariff, so designed that the tribute necessary to paying the cost of this great adventure shall fall upon its authors.
-germany showed the way in 1871 upon what now looks like a modest scale, but was then designed to be ruthless. it is our business to copy that example.
-numbers in war
-in which it is explained why, other things being equal, numbers are always the deciding element in warfare, and how the enemy had a superiority throughout the autumn and winter (written late in the winter of 1914-1915).
-numbers in war
-the general reader hears continually in these times that numbers are the decisive element in war. that every authority, every student and every soldier is convinced of it, he cannot fail to see from the nature of the orders given and of the appeals made. numbers in material, and in men, are the one thing urged. the public critique of the war is filled with estimates of enemy and allied numbers, numbers of reserve, numbers of killed, numbers of prisoners. the whole of the recruiting movement in this country is based on this same conception of numbers.
-now the general reader may appreciate the general character of this conception, but he must often be puzzled by the detailed application of it.
-if i am told that ten men are going to fight eight, the mere sound of the figures suggests superiority on the part of the ten, but unless i know how they are going to fight, i should be puzzled to say exactly how the extra two would tell. i certainly could not say whether the two would be enough to make a serious difference or not, and i might come to a very wrong conclusion about the chances of the eight or the ten. so it is worth while if one is attempting to form a sound opinion upon the present campaign to see exactly how and why numbers are the deciding factor in war.
-in the first place it is evident that numbers only begin to tell when other things are fairly equal. quite a few men armed with rifles will be a match for multitudes deprived of firearms, and the history of war is full of smaller forces defeating larger forces from marathon to ligny. but when war follows upon a long period of peace and takes place between nations of one civilization all closely communicating one with another, and when war has been the principal study of those nations during the period of peace, then all elements except those of numbers do become fairly equal. and that is exactly the condition of the present campaigns.
-the enemy have certain advantages in material, or had at the beginning of the struggle, notably in the matter of heavy artillery, but much more in the accurate forecast they had made of the way in which modern fighting would turn. all sorts of their tactical theories turned out to be just.
-the allied forces had advantages--the english in personal equipment, medical and commissariat service; the french, russians, and serbians, in the type of field gun. the french in particular in their theory of strategy, which has proved sound.
-but there was no conspicuous difference such as would make a smaller number able to defeat a much larger one, and the historical observer at a distance of time that will make him impartial, will certainly regard the war as one fought between forces of nearly the same weaponing and training. the one great differentiating point will be numbers.
-now how is it that these numbers tell?
-there are two aspects of the thing which i will call (1) the effect of absolute numbers and (2) the effect of proportionate numbers.
-there we see what is meant by the necessity of absolute numbers or a minimum.
-now that is exactly what you have in the case of a great line of trenches. your defending force does not get weaker and weaker as it diminishes in number until it reaches zero; it is able to hold trenches of a certain length with a certain minimum of men, and when it falls below that minimum it cannot hold the line at all. it has to fall back upon a shorter line. supposing you have, for instance, under such conditions as those of diagram i, a line of trenches a-b holding the issue between two obstacles x and y against an enemy who attacks from the direction e. the number of men holding these trenches, a-b, is nine units, and this number is just enough, and only just enough, to prevent an enemy attacking from e getting through. nine units just prevent any part of the line of trenches, a-b, from being left defenceless.
-what does one mean by saying: “just enough to prevent an enemy getting through?”
-one means that if you consider trenches in detail, a certain length of trench needs a certain number of men to hold it, and if that number of men is not present, it must be altogether abandoned. it is evident that a mile of trench, for instance, could not be held by half-a-dozen men, even if the forces opposed to them were only a half-dozen.
-you must, first, have enough men to cover the field of fire in front of the trench with the missiles from the weapons of each, and so stop the assault of the enemy. every man with his rifle may be regarded as accounting for a certain angle of space in front of him as in the angles a b c and the other similar angles in diagram ii. these angles must meet and cover the whole ground, in theory at least, not further from the trench than the most advanced point to which it has been discovered that an enemy’s rush will reach before combined fire stops it. in practice, of course, you need very many more men, but the theory of the thing is that if the extreme point at which you can expect to stop a rush is the line l-l, and if the angle over which a rifle is usefully used is the angle b-a-c, then you cannot hold the trench at all unless you have at least enough men a-a-a just to cover that line l-l with their fire. if you try to do it with less men, as in diagram iii, you would only cover a portion of the front; you would leave a gap in it between x and y through which the trench would be carried.
-it is evident, i repeat, that in practice there are needed to hold trenches a great many more men than this. you must allow for your wastage, for the difference in ability and coolness of different men, for the relieving of the men at regular and fairly short intervals, and in general, it will be found that a line of trenches is not successfully held with less than 3000 men to a mile.
-the germans are now holding in the west a line of trenches 500 miles long with something like 4000 men to a mile; so the best work in the war would seem to have been done by a portion of the british contingent in front of ypres when, apparently, a body only 1500 men to the mile, and those i understand, dismounted cavalry, successfully held some three miles of trenches for several days.
-it is apparent, then, that when you are considering a line of trenches you must consider them as a series of sections, to defend each of which sections a certain minimum is required. thus we may consider the line a-b in diagram iv as consisting of nine sections, as numbered, and each section as requiring a certain minimum unit of men, say a thousand. if any section has less than its proper minimum the whole line fails, for that section will be carried and the cord will be broken.
-now look back at the first diagram; there you have the line a-b, and there are nine units just able to hold it.
-suppose by killed and prisoners and wounded and disease the nine dwindle to six, then the line a-b can no longer be held. it means in practice that the six remaining would have to be grouped as in diagram v or as in diagram vi, and in any case there would be a bad gap, double or single, through which the enemy pressing from e would pierce. what can the general in command of the defence do when his force has thus dwindled?
-he has no choice but to fall back upon shorter lines. that is, having only six units left he must retire to some such point as the line f-g, diagram vii, where his remaining six units will be just sufficient to hold the line, and if the six dwindle to four he must again fall back to a yet shorter line, such as c-d.
-note carefully that this does not concern proportionate numbers. we are not here considering the relative strength of the defence and of the offence; we are dealing with absolute numbers, with a minimum below which the defensive cannot hold a certain line at all, but must seek a shorter one.
-now that is precisely the state of affairs upon the french and belgian frontiers at this moment. the germans are holding a line, which is roughly that shown in diagram viii, between the swiss mountains and the sea near nieuport, the line a-b about 400 miles long in all its twists and turns. if their numbers fall below a certain level they cannot hold that line at all, and they must take up a shorter line. how could they do this? either by abandoning alsace-lorraine and substituting c-g for the present c-b, or by abandoning most of belgium and all northern france, and falling back upon the line antwerp-namur-the ardennes and the vosges, substituting e-c for a-c. with failing numbers they would have to take up a still shorter line from liege southwards, just protecting german territory, the line f-b.
-so much for an illustration of what is meant by absolute numbers and of their importance in the present phase of the campaign.
-the first thing we have to see clearly is that austria and germany began the war with a very great preponderance in numbers of trained and equipped men ready to take the field within the first six weeks. they had here a great advantage over russia and france combined, and to see what that advantage was look at diagram ix.
-figure a represents the total number of men germany and austria together could put into the field by about the middle of september. b represents the french and the first british contingent in the west; c what the russians could do in the east.
-this original superiority of the enemy is a point very little appreciated because of two things. first, that men tend to think of the thing in nations and not in numbers, and they think of germany, one unit, attacked by england, france, russia, a lot of other units, and next because there is a grave misconception as to the numbers russia could put into the field early in the war.
-russia had a certain force quite ready, that is fully equipped, officered, trained, gunned, and the rest of it. but she had nothing like the numbers in proportion to her population that the enemy had. the proportions of population were between russia and her enemy as seventeen to thirteen. but germany and, to a less extent, austria and hungary, had organized the whole population ultimately for war. russia could not do this. her advantage, only to be obtained after a considerable lapse of time, was the power of perpetually raising new contingents, which, by the time they were trained and equipped could successively enter the field. but at the opening of the war, say by the middle of september, when she had perhaps at the most two-and-a-half million men in poland, the total forces of the enemy, that is the total number of men austria and germany had equipped, trained, and ready for the field since the beginning of the war, was at least eight million.
-you have the war, then, beginning with the enemy standing at quite 8, the french nominally at 4, but really nearer 3; russia at 2½.
-let us see how time was to modify this grave disproportion and how new contingents coupled with the effect of wastage were to affect it.
-the armies which were in the field in the early part of the war bear very various relations to the countries from which they come.
-great britain had upon the sambre in the first battle of the campaign rather more than one-tenth per cent. of her total population. the french had in the field at the outset of the war 5 per cent. of their total population, the russians 1 per cent., the germans perhaps 5 per cent., the austrians between 3 and 4 per cent., the serbians quite 10 per cent.--and 10 per cent. is the largest total any nation can possibly put into the field.
-now the chances of growth for each of these contingents were very different in each case.
-that of great britain was indefinitely large. given sufficient time, sufficient money, and sufficient incentive, great britain might ultimately put into the field two million or even three. she was certain of putting into the field in the first year of the war more than one million; she might hope to put in two. she had further behind her as a recruiting field, the colonies, and--a matter of discussion--the indian army.
-the germans had in reserve about as many men again as they had put under arms at the beginning of the war. if the french could hope for a grand total of four millions wherein somewhat over three might be really effective and of useful age for active service in any shape, then germany might hope to produce a grand total of somewhat over seven millions and a similar useful body of over five, for the german adult males are to the french as more than five to three.
-austria could in the same way call up a reserve somewhat larger in proportion than the germans, but as her population was somewhat smaller than germany, we must write her down for something over four millions instead of something over five, for a grand total of between five and six millions instead of for a grand total of seven.
-serbia, like france, could not increase her contingent save by calling up her younger men; and her army was, like that of the french, a fixed quantity, at any rate for the first six months of the war, and increased by one-tenth or less when the new class was trained.
-russia in her turn presented yet another type of growth. she had by far larger reserves of adult males than any other power, and was practically equal, in the material of which one can ultimately make trained soldiers, to germany and austria combined; theoretically, counting all her various races, she was the superior of austria and germany combined. but it was certain that she could not equip more than a certain number in a given time, or train them, or officer them, or govern them.
-i think it just to say that she certainly could not put into the european field more than five millions during the better part of the first year of the war. though it must be remembered that if the war lasted indefinitely she would have at her back at any period indefinitely large reserves to draw upon.
-let us call russia ultimately, for the purposes of the war during all its first months, a minimum of three and a maximum of five millions. let us count great britain in those same months at two millions, including all who have gone out, all since recruited, and the many more who will not be either recruited or fully trained for some months to come--but excluding foreign garrisons and naval forces. such an estimate is certainly a maximum for that period.
-then putting all these figures together and considering for the moment no wastage, the figures become as in diagram x.
-observe in this diagram and retain it for purposes of judgment throughout the war--it is far the most important truth to retain--that, apart from wastage, our enemies remained throughout the winter far superior to either half of the allies they are fighting. remember that we did not put as against austro-germany in the west more than 6 to 9 for a long time, nor russia in the east certainly more than 5 to 9.
-the allies combined will at last be superior to their enemy numerically, but only superior in a proportion of 11 to 9 (exclusive of wastage), and that maximum will not be reached till summer.
-i have italicized that paragraph because the misapprehension of so simple a truth is at the bottom of three-quarters of the nonsense one hears about the campaign. it was at the bottom of the conception that victory would be easy and short; at the bottom of the conception that it would be certain, and it is at the bottom of much foolish impatience and criticism to-day.
-it was a knowledge of this truth which made the german government feel secure of success when it forced on the war at its chosen day and hour (remember with what curious superstition the germans passed the frontier on the same day and at the same hour as in 1870), and an ignorance of it alone can account for the follies one still hears.
-even as i write i rise from reading the account of a sermon by some clergyman, an englishman--but not in england, i am glad to say--who talked of germany, with her back to the wall, fighting the world, and expressing his admiration thereat. he had evidently never considered the element of numbers.
-now what about the wastage?
-luckily for us, german necessities, as well as german doctrine, have involved very heavy wastage. and, luckily for us, that wastage has been particularly heavy in the matter of officers.
-a discussion on numbers does not allow one to stray into the equally important moral factors of the war, but the fact may be just alluded to that the whole general military organism of germany depends more than that of any other nation upon the gulf between the officer and those next in command. not only can you make a french non-commissioned officer into an officer without fear of losing an atom of the moral strength of the french military organism, but the thing is done continually during peace and during war on a large scale. in germany you can do nothing of the kind.
-the attack in close formation, with all its obvious advantages of speed and with all the very fine tradition of discipline which makes it possible, is another element of expense, but most expensive of all is the determination to win at once.
-why have the germans been thus prodigal of men in their determination to win rapidly? a long war is dreaded by germany for four separate and equal reasons:
-this last point merits illustration. an army fighting inferior bodies on two fronts is just like a very big man fighting two much smaller men. they can harass him more than their mere fighting power or weight accounts for, and they can do so because they are attacking upon different sides.
-the big man so situated will certainly attempt to put out of action one of his two opponents before he puts his full force against the other. it would be a plan necessary to the situation, and it is exactly the same with a power or a group of powers fighting upon two fronts, although they find themselves in superior numbers on either front, as the austro-germans do still.
-for all these four reasons, then, germany was bound to waste men, and she did waste men largely until about the end of last year. she threw them away recklessly during the first advance on paris, next during the great attacks in flanders, then--quite separately--in her desperate polish effort to reach warsaw, which goal, at the moment of writing, she has wholly failed to attain.
-but though we know that germany and austro-hungary have lost men in a greater proportion than the western allies, and though we may guess that they have lost men in a greater proportion than our eastern allies--in spite of the heavy losses in prisoners at tannenberg--it is less easy to give an accurate estimate of the proportion.
-in one case and up to one date we can arrive pretty accurately at the proportion. the german empire alone had, up to a particular date in the autumn, lost in hit, sick, and caught (i will speak in a moment of the question of “returns”) 40 per cent. of the individuals up to that date put into the field. both the french and the english had up to the same date lost just under 25 per cent.
-i know that that figure 40 per cent. looks absurdly exaggerated when it is put thus without support, but it is a perfectly sound conclusion. if you take the lists published by prussia, note the dates to which they refer, the proportion of killed to the admitted wounded, and add the proportion for bavaria, wurtemburg, and saxony, you find that at this date in the late autumn two millions were affected, and germany had not armed more than five millions at the most at that time.
-now, as in our own case, the proportion of officers hit, wounded, and caught was large compared to that of men; but what is more important, perhaps, the proportion of officers killed or badly wounded was very much larger in proportion to the slightly wounded than was the case with the men; it is fairly certain that one-half of the trained professional officers of the german service were permanently out of action by the end of the year.
-supposing the russian losses to be no greater than the western allies (they probably are somewhat greater, from the conditions of the fighting), or call them 30 per cent. instead of 25 per cent., and supposing the austro-hungarian losses to be comparable to the german (which, from the only available sources of statistics, they would seem to be), then we can strike a very rough estimate of the element of wastage, and we can say that if the central figure be taken as 9, 3.6 have gone; while of the 4 and 3 on either side (the proportionate strength of the allies west and east in the first phase) 1 has gone in each case, leaving 3 and 2.
-it will be seen that, from this rough calculation, the wastage of the enemy has been so much greater than our own that, if it were absolute, his preponderance in numbers would have ceased, and the figures would stand nearly equal.
-but there is one last element in the calculation which must not be forgotten. the only people permanently out of action in the war are the killed, the disabled, and the captured. much the greater part of the sick return to the centre, and just over half the wounded--at least, in a modern war, and where there are good ambulance arrangements and good roads for them to work on.
-now, though these “returns” are probably smaller in the east than in the west (for in the eastern field climate and absence of communication are fatal to many of the wounded, who would be saved in the western field), we should do well to take a conservative estimate, and regard it as half the wounded in each case; or, excluding prisoners, more than a third--say, 35 per cent. of all casualties.
-we must add, therefore, in that proportion to all our figures, and the result will slightly modify our conclusion, for as the central body--the enemy--has had more casualties, so it has a larger number of returns in proportion to its size, and the general deduction is that at the moment of writing (late winter) the germanic body and the allies opposed to them actually in the field or in training--just behind the field and ready to approach it within a few weeks--are nearly equal in total numbers, but with an appreciable margin still in favour of the enemy.
-after numbers, the second main factor in the strength of an army is its supply--its means of obtaining clothes, food, shelter, ammunition and all those objects without which it can neither exist nor fight. the marvellously complicated and expensive organization entailed is here fully explained.
-the first of these is so much the more obvious in the public eye that it is often alone considered. it is, of course, the basis of all the rest. unless you have a sufficient number of men for your task you cannot accomplish that task at all. but the second, which is less often considered by general opinion, is a necessity no less absolute than the necessity for adequate numbers.
-the general term “supply” covers all those objects without which an army cannot exist or fight--clothing, shelter, food, weapons, auxiliary instruments, ammunition.
-now it is not the intention of these few lines to enter into details or to give precise information, such as may be obtained by reference to the text books, but rather to bring out a few main points about supply which are not generally considered, especially in moments such as this, when the obtaining of numbers by voluntary recruitment is the chief matter in the public mind. and these chief points with regard to supply may be put briefly in three groups.
-first we ought to grasp the scale of supply: that is, the magnitude of the operation which is undertaken when an army is equipped, put into the field, and maintained there.
-next we must grasp the rate of supply--the pace at which the stream of supply has got to be kept moving (varying for various forms of supply) in order that an army shall neither break down nor dwindle in efficiency.
-lastly we must consider the delicacy or liability to embarrassment of supply; that is, the difficulties peculiar to the maintenance of an army in the field, the ease with which that maintenance may be fatally interrupted, and the consequent embarrassment which an enemy may be made to feel, or which the enemy may make us feel, in this vital operation of war.
-as to the scale of supply. remark that there are in this factor a number of elements easily overlooked, and the first is the element of comparative expense. it is of no great value to put before men rows of figures showing that a large army costs so many millions of pounds. it is the comparative economic burden of armed service as contrasted with civilian work which is really of importance, and which is much more easily grasped than the absolute amount of the cost.
-the great mass of men in an army are, of course, drawn from the same rank of society as the great mass of labourers and artisans during peace, and the very first point we have to note about a state of war is that these men are provided for their trade with instruments and provisions upon a higher scale than anything which they require in their civilian life.
-their clothing is and must be better, for the wear of a campaign is something very different from the wear of ordinary living. it is to this factor that one owes not a little of the complaints that always arise during a war upon the quality of the material used by contractors.
-let me give an example drawn from my personal experience. if i am not mistaken, the heavy dark blue great-coat worn by the gunners in the french service costs (when all expense was reduced to a minimum through the agency of government factories, through the purchase of clothing wholesale, and through the absence of a whole series of those profits attaching to ordinary trade) no less than 100 francs, or £4. that great-coat stood for material and workmanship which, sold in a west end shop in london, would have meant anything from £6 upwards. in other words, the private soldiers all through a vast body of men were wearing a great-coat of a quality--in expense, at least--which only very well-to-do men, only a tiny minority in the state, could afford in time of peace.
-next observe that you feed the man (i am glad to say) far better than the modern capitalist system of production feeds him. you must do this, or you would not be able to maintain your army at its highest efficiency.
-many a man who in civilian life would never get butcher’s meat more than once or twice a week, receives a pound and a quarter of meat a day in an army. he receives over a pound of bread. and it is curious to note in a conscript service how small a proportion of the men--only those, indeed, who are drawn from quite the wealthier classes--find the provisioning of the army distasteful (none find it inadequate), and how, for the great majority, it is an advance over that to which they were accustomed at home.
-but there is much more than this high scale of expenditure in the things necessary to the maintenance of the man himself. you are also equipping him with special furniture far more expensive than that which he uses in ordinary life.
-you give to the minesman a rifle which is a carefully constructed and expensive machine, much more valuable than all the tools that would ever be in the possession of any but a small minority of skilled artisans. he has belt, pouches, pack covering to match. he must expend in the use of that weapon ammunition costing something quite out of proportion to any expenditure involved by the use of his implements in his civilian trade.
-the cavalryman you equip with a horse, which he could not think of affording as his own property, and which is superior in quality to the horse he may be working with for a master in most trades, let alone the fact that the proportion of men thus equipped with horses is much larger than the proportion of men who in civilian life have to deal with those animals. to the driver of a gun you are apportioning two horses necessarily sound and strong; to the non-commissioned officers throughout the field artillery, to a great number of officers throughout the service, you are furnishing horses which, in a civilian occupation, they could never afford, and you are, of course, also providing the keep of those horses.
-many branches of the service you are equipping with instruments of very high expense indeed. a field gun does not cost less, i believe, than £600. and to every thousand men you actually put into the field you may reckon at least four of these instruments. every time one of them fires a shot it fires away fifteen shillings. apart from the wear and tear of the field piece itself, a modern quick-firing piece, firing moderately, will get rid of a ten pound note in ammunition in a minute, and each piece is allowed from the base onwards 1000 rounds.
-further, an army is equipped with heavy artillery, the pieces of which cost anything from many hundreds to many thousands of pounds, according to their calibre (a 9.2, with its mounting, comes to near £12,000); and it is also equipped with a mass of auxiliary material--vehicles, mechanical and other, telephones, field kitchens, aircraft, and the rest--none of which expense attaches to the same body of men in their civilian life.
-the scale of the business is further emphasised by the fact that once war is engaged the nation as a whole is suddenly called upon to produce material not only more expensive upon the average, man for man, than the same men would have used and consumed in the same time in civilian life, but things different from those things which the nation was organized to produce for use and consumption during peace. that change in effect is costly. and yet another element of cost is the novel use of existing instruments.
-it is more expensive to use an instrument for some purpose for which it was never designed, than to use it for some purpose for which it was designed. that is a universal truth from the hammering in of a nail with a boot heel to the commandeering of a liner for the transport of troops. and in time of war the whole nation begins at once to use instruments right and left for military purposes, which instruments had been originally designed for civilian purposes.
-all up and down france and england, for instance, at this moment, every workshop which can by hook or by crook turn out ammunition is turning it out, and very often is turning it out with instruments--lathes, cutting tools, etc.--that were originally designed not for making ammunition at all, but for making the parts of bicycles, of pumps, of motors, of turbines, etc.
-another instance. both powers have found their motor-buses extremely handy in this war. paris has been almost bereft of them. london has been largely denuded of her normal supply. but a motor-bus carrying meat or even troops is not doing what it was specially designed to do--to wit, to run on the good roads of a great town, with a certain maximum load. it needs adaptation, it is used far more roughly, has a shorter life, and is being therefore more expensively consumed.
-here is one fairly graphic way of showing what this scale of supply means. take an army corps of 40,000 men. that stands in meat alone for one year for about as many beasts. it means in clothing alone--initial expense--apart from waste of all kinds, and apart from weapons and auxiliary machinery, something between (counting accoutrement) a quarter and half a million pounds. it stands, in daily rations of bread alone, for nearly 200 sacks of wheat; in material equipment--initial, apart from ammunition--it stands in weapons and machines for at least another quarter of a million, in ready ammunition of small arms for at least £80,000, in shell for as much again.
-to all this conception of scale you must add two more points. the soldier is moved in a way that the civilian is not. he is given at the expense of the state and not for his pleasure, the equivalent of a great quantity of lengthy excursions. he is taken across the sea, brought back on leave or in convalescence, moved from place to place by train or by mechanical traction, and all that upon a scale quite out of proportion to the narrow limits of his travel during civilian occupation. within six months hundreds of thousands of englishmen have been conveyed to the heart of france, moved again in that country over a space of more than a hundred miles, and a considerable proportion of them brought back and sent out again in the interval. lastly, there is the indeterminate but heavy medical expense.
-if considerations such as these give us some idea of the scale of supply, a further series of considerations will help us to appreciate the rate or pace at which the stream of supply must flow.
-there are several ways in which this can be graphically presented through examples. here are a few.
-great britain controls half of the shipping of the world. she engages in the present war and part of her floating mercantile resources is suddenly required for the campaign. those ships have to be constantly steaming, consuming coal, provisions for their crews, materials for repairs, at a far higher rate than their civilian use demanded; and the thing translates itself to the ordinary citizen in the shape of vastly increased freights and consequently increased prices for the imports received by this island.
-here is another example. this country is as highly industrialized as any in the world. it is particularly fitted for the production of mechanical objects, and especially for mechanical objects in metal, yet suppose that even this country were asked suddenly (with no more than the plant it had before the war) to equip such a force as that with which the french defended their country last august--not to equip it with ammunition but with weapons and auxiliary machinery alone; the performance of such a task would have taken all the arms factories of great britain more than two years.
-take the rate of expenditure of ammunition. in considering this element in the pace or rate of supply we must remember the moments in which waste at the front becomes abnormal. a rapid retirement like the retreat from mons means the loss of material wholesale. a favourable moment seized, as september 6 was seized, for the counter-offensive, which is known as “the battle of the marne,” means such an expenditure of ammunition as was never provided for in any of the text-books or considered possible until this campaign was engaged.
-here is an example. the germans had prepared war for two years--prepared it specially for the particular moment in which they forced it upon europe. their first operations in france up to september 6 followed almost exactly the plan they had carefully elaborated. nevertheless, we now know that whole groups of the enemy ran through the enormous supplies which were pouring in to their front, and that one element in the disarray of the first german army in those critical days was the shortage of shell, particularly for the heavy pieces.
-it is generally reported, and it is probably true, that the enemy exhausted before the end of his great effort in the west (which lasted less than one hundred days, and the intensity of which was relaxed after the middle of november) seven times the heavy ammunition he had allowed for the whole campaign.
-here is another example. the life of a horse in the south african war was, i believe, not quite as many weeks as the same animal had expectation of years in civilian occupation.
-here is yet another example, connected with the transport. a troop train is a very long train, and it is packed close with men. for the transport of animals and of material objects every inch of space available is calculated and used. well, to move one army corps alone (without the cavalry) you must allow over 180 such trains. now, even at the origin of the war, upon one front alone, before the numbers had fully developed, the german invasion involved at least twenty-five army corps.
-such an appreciation of the scale and the pace of supply is sufficient to illuminate one’s third point, the delicacy of the whole business, and the peril of its embarrassment. you are feeding, munitioning, clothing, evacuating the wounded from, sheltering, and equipping millions of men; those millions subject to sudden abnormal periods of wastage, any one of which may come at any unexpected moment, and further subject to sudden unforeseen movements upon any scale. you must so co-ordinate all your movements of supply that no part of the vast line is pinched even for twenty-four hours.
-the whole process may be compared to the perpetual running of millions of double threads, which reach from every soldier back ultimately to the central depots of the army, and thence to the manufactories, and these double threads perpetually working back and forth from the manufactories to the front. these double threads--always travelling back and forth, remember--are gathered into a vast number of small, local centres, the sheaves or cords so formed are gathered back again to some hundreds of greater centres, and these ropes again concentrated upon some dozens of main bases of supply. and the ends of these threads--though all in continual movement back and forth--must each be kept taut, must cross sometimes one over the other in a complicated pattern perpetually requiring readjustment, while all the time now one, now another group of threads suddenly sets up a heavy strain, where the men to whom they relate are engaged in particularly violent action.
-to keep such a web untangled, duly stretched, and accurately working is an effort of organization such as will never be seen in civilian life, and such as was never seen, even in military life, until modern times.
-observe the fifth diagram, which concerns only one tiny detail of the process; no more than the supply of ammunition (out of all that has to be supplied) and no more than the ammunition of one part of a division (excluding cavalry) out of the hundreds of divisions and more that build up one of these great national armies. even that diagram, complex as it is, does not nearly represent the whole complexity even of so small a fraction, but is sufficient to illustrate my case.
-such a machine or organization, by which an army lives, and in the collapse of which an army rapidly ceases to be, is clearly at the mercy of the least disorder. it is indeed protected by the most careful dispositions, and everything is done to safeguard its gathering strands, as they unite towards the base, from interruption. but conceive what the effect of such interruption would be, or even the menace of it! deduce from this the importance where such a vast body of men is concerned, of freedom from embarrassment in the minds of those who have to direct the operation of the almost infinite skein!
-it is this point, the peril of embarrassment, which is--at the moment in which i am writing these lines--of such capital importance in connection with the question of blockade. we may blockade an enemy’s resources and say: “with very careful economy he has food for nine-tenths of the year”; or, “though already anxious for the future, he has sufficient copper for his shell and cartridge cases for some time to come”; or, “though already the government is forbidding the sale of petrol, the enemy can, for some time to come, supply his mechanical transport.” but the mere numerical calculation of his decreasing resources is no guide to the moral disorder which the peril alone may cause. the elasticity of the whole machine is at once affected from the mere knowledge that abnormal economy is demanded. the directing brain of it is disturbed in an increasing degree as civilian necessities mix with the already severe strain upon the supplies of the army.
-to produce such a confusion, moral as well as material, is the directing motive of blockade, and the success of such a policy begins long before the point of grave material embarrassment is reached.
-it is on this account that nations fighting with their whole strength, as modern nations in competition with the detestable prussian model are compelled to fight, must ultimately, willy-nilly, turn to the policy of complete blockade, and that the success of this policy attempted by both parties to a struggle--necessarily better achieved by one than by the other--will perhaps more largely than anything else determine--seeing what the complexity of national commerce now is--the issue of a great modern war.
-war to-day and yesterday
-this war, in many ways, is quite different from any war in the past. the length of defensive lines, the development of field fortification and of big guns, and other important matters are dealt with in the following pages.
-war to-day and yesterday
-there has appeared in the present campaign a number of situations so different both from what was known of war in the past and from what was expected of any great modern war in west europe that opinion upon the change is confused and bewildered. sometimes it is thrown right out of its bearings by the novelties it witnesses. and, what is more grave, opinion is sometimes led to misjudge altogether the nature of war by these novelties.
-for instance, you find people telling you that a war such as this can end in a “draw” or stalemate. they say this foolish thing simply because they are impressed by the present unexpected and apparently unprecedented phase of the war.
-or, again, people tell you vaguely that “the question of finance will end the war,” because they are bewildered by the magnitude of the figures of expense, forgetting that the only five things a nation needs in order to prosecute war are men, arms, clothing, shelter and food, and, these things being provided, the whole hotch-potch of reality and imagination which is called finance is indifferent to it.
-now, to prevent false judgments of that kind and the misleading of public opinion, there is nothing more useful than to distinguish between the things in which modern war between great forces, fought with modern weapons and by men trained to utilize their powers to the utmost, differs from and resembles the wars of the past.
-let us begin with the differences.
-when you are dealing with many miles of men whose armament is not only destructive at a great distance, but also over a wide belt of ground, you have, in the first place, a vast extension of any possible defensive lines. it is in this, perhaps, that the present war is most sharply distinguished from the wars of the past; and i mean by the wars of the past the wars of no more than a generation ago.
-there have been plenty of long defensive lines in the past. generals desiring to remain entirely upon the defensive, for any reason, over an indefinite space of time (for no one can remain on the defensive for ever), have constructed from time immemorial long lines behind which their men, though very thinly spread out, could hold against the enemy.
-they have been particularly led to do this since the introduction of firearms, because firearms give the individual man a wider area over which he can stop his enemy. but in every form of war, primitive or modern, these great lines have existed.
-the wall of china is one great instance of them; the roman wall over the north of britain, from sea to sea, is another; and the long-fortified roman frontier from the rhine to the danube was a third.
-the generals of louis xiv, in a line called by the now famous name of la bassée, established on a smaller scale the same sort of thing for a particular campaign. there are hundreds of examples. but the characteristic novelty of the present war, and the point in which it differs from all these ancient examples, is the rapidity with which such lines are established by the great numbers now facing each other, armed as they are by weapons of very long range.
-forty-eight hours’ preparation, or even less, is enough for troops to “dig themselves in” over a stretch of country which, in the maximum case of the french lines, is 300 miles in extent. every slight advance is guaranteed by a new construction of trenches, every retirement hopes to check the enemy at another line of trenches established at the rear of the first.
-roughly speaking, half a million of men could hold one hundred miles of such a line under modern conditions, and, therefore, when the vast numbers which such a campaign as this produces are brought into the field, you can establish a line stretching across a whole continent and incapable of being turned.
-that is what has been done in france during the present war. you have got trenches which, so long as they are sufficiently held in proportion to the numbers of the offensive, are impregnable, and which run from the swiss mountains to the north sea.
-it is possible that you may have to-morrow similar lines running from the carpathians to the baltic. though this i doubt, first, because in the eastern theatre of war russia can produce perpetually increasing numbers to assault those lines; secondly, because the heavy artillery essential for their support cannot be present in large numbers in the east.
-one may sum up, therefore, upon this particular novel feature of the present campaign and say that it is mainly due to the very large numbers engaged, coupled with the retaining power of the heavy artillery which the germans have prepared in such high numerical superiority over their opponents. it is not a feature which you will necessarily find reproduced by any means in all the wars, even of the near future, or in the later stages of this war.
-you must be able, as you retreat, to check your enemy appreciably before you can trace such a line; you must be able to hammer him badly with heavy guns stronger than his own while you are making it, and unless you are present in very great numbers you will only be able to draw it over a comparatively short line which your enemy may be able to turn by the left or the right.
-still, it may be of interest to compare the length of lines thus drawn apparently during the course of a campaign in the past with those drawn in the course of the present campaign, and in the first diagram i show the contrast. it is striking enough.
-another novel feature in which this war differs even from the balkan war is the new value which has been given to howitzer fire, and in particular to its domination over permanent fortification. this is perhaps the most important of all the changes which this war has introduced into military art and it is worth while understanding it clearly. its main principles are simple enough.
-mankind at war has always used devices whereby he has been able with a small number to detain the advance of a larger number. that, for instance, was the object of a castle in the middle ages. you built a stronghold of stone which the engines of that time could not batter down or undermine save at a very great expense of time, and you were certain that for every man able to shoot an arrow from behind such defences ten men or more would be needed for the work of trying to batter them down. so when you knew that your enemy would have to go through a narrow pass in the mountains, let us say, or across an important ford of a river, you built a castle which, as the military phrase goes, “commanded” that passage; that is, you devised a stronghold such that with, say, only 1000 of your men you would quite certainly hold up 10,000 of your enemy.
-if your enemy passed by without taking your castle the thousand men inside could sally out and cut off his supplies as they passed down the mountain road or across the ford, and so imperil his main forces that had gone forward.
-your stronghold would never, of course, suffice to win a war--its function was purely negative. you could not attack with it; you could not destroy your enemy with it. but you could gain time with it. you could check your enemy in his advance while you were gathering further men to meet him, and sometimes you could even wear him out in the task of trying to reduce the stronghold.
-now the whole history of the art of war is a history of the alternate strength and weaknesses of these permanent fortifications; the word permanent means fortifications not of a temporary character, hurriedly set up in the field, but solidly constructed over a long space of time, and destined to permit a prolonged resistance.
-when cannon came and gunpowder for exploding mines underground, the mediæval castle of stone could be quickly reduced. there was, therefore, a phase in which permanent fortification or permanent works were at a discount. the wars of cromwell in this country, for instance, were fought in the middle of such a phase. the castles went down like nine-pins. but the ingenuity of man discovered a new form of defence valuable even against cannon, in the shape of scientifically constructed earthworks. the cannon ball of the day could not destroy these works, and though they could be sapped and mined, that is, though tunnels could be dug in beneath them and explosives there fired to their destruction, that was a long business, and the formation of the works was carefully designed to give the garrison a powerful advantage of fire over the besiegers.
-works of this kind made the defensive strong again for more than two hundred years. just as there used to be a stone wall surrounding a town, at intervals from which people could shoot sideways along the “curtain” or sheer wall between the towers, so now there was earthwork, that is, banks of earth backed by brick walls to hold them up, and having a ditch between the outer parapet and the inner. these earthworks were star-shaped, sending out a number of projecting angles, so that an attack launched upon any point would receive converging fire from two points of the star, and the entrances were further protected by outer works called horn works.
-with the war of 1870, and even for somewhat before it, it was found that the increased range of modern artillery had destroyed the value of these star-shaped earthworks, taking the place of the old walls round a town. one could batter the place to pieces with distant guns. though the guns within the place were as strong as the guns outside, they were at this disadvantage: that they were confined within a comparatively small space which the besiegers could search by their fire, while the guns of the besiegers could not be equally well located by the gunners of the besieged within the fortress.
-so the next step was to produce what has been known as the ring fortress. that is, a series of detached forts lying three or four miles outside the inner place of stores, barracks, etc., which you wanted to defend. each fort supporting the two others next to it on either side of this ring was thought to be impregnable, for each fort was built within range of the two nearest, and on such a model were built toul, verdun, epinal, belfort, metz, strassburg, thorn, cracow, and fifty other great modern strongholds.
-the theory that these ring fortresses could hold out indefinitely was based upon the idea that the fort so far out from the fortress would keep the enemy’s guns too far away to damage the inner place of stores and garrison, and that the supporting fire of the various forts would prevent anyone getting between them. the three systems--first the stone wall, then the earthwork, then the ring fortress, are roughly expressed in the second diagram.
-well, the chief lesson, perhaps, of the present war is that these ring fortresses fall quickly to howitzer fire. each of the individual forts can be easily reduced by howitzer fire. this is concentrated against certain of the forts, which quickly fall, and once their ring is broken the result is equivalent to the breach in the wall of a fortress, and the whole stronghold falls. that is because in quite recent years two new factors have come in: (1) the mobile heavy howitzer; (2) the highest kinds of explosives.
-a howitzer is a gun with a shorter barrel than the ordinary gun (and therefore lighter in proportion to the width of the shell, and so to the amount of the explosive it can fire) and designed not to shoot its projectile more or less straight across the earth, as an ordinary gun does, but to lob it high up so that it falls more or less perpendicularly upon its target.
-thus the german 11.2-inch howitzer, of which we have heard so much in this war, has a maximum range when it is elevated to 43 degrees, or very nearly half-way between pointing flat and pointing straight up--and howitzers can be fired, of course, at a much higher angle than that if necessary.
-the advantage of the howitzer is two-fold.
-in the first place, you can hide it behind a hill or any other form of obstacle or screen, as it shoots right up in the air. a gun which fires more or less flat along the earth cannot get at it.
-the gun, though it has a longer range than the howitzer, can only get at the howitzer indirectly by firing over the point where it supposes the howitzer to be, as at a in diagram iv, and so timing the fuse that the shell bursts exactly there.
-now, that is a difficult operation, both because it is difficult to spot a machine which you cannot see, and though modern time fuses are very accurate, they cannot, of course, be accurate to a yard.
-secondly, the howitzer can drop its shell into a comparatively narrow trench, which the projectile of a gun with its flat trajectory will probably miss. if you want to make your shell fall into a trench of a fortification or come down exactly on the top of the shelter in a fort, as at a, the trench in the fifth diagram, or at b, the shelter, it is obvious that your howitzer firing from h, and lobbing a projectile along the high-angle trajectory m, will have a much better chance of hitting it than your gun g, sending a projectile further, indeed, but along the flatter trajectory n.
-of course, another howitzer within the fortifications could, in theory, lob a shell of its own over the hill and hit the besieging howitzer, but in practice it is very easy for the besieging howitzer to find out exactly where the vulnerable points of the fortress are--its trenches and its shelter and magazine--and very difficult for the people in the fortress to find out where the howitzer outside is. its place is marked upon no map, and it can move about, whereas the fortress is fixed.
-look, for instance, at diagram vi.
-the fort on an elevation at a, and confined within a narrow space, is a target for howitzers placed anywhere behind hills at, say, four miles off, as at b-b, c-c, d-d. it is difficult enough for the fort to find out where the howitzer fires from in any case, and even when it has spotted this the howitzer can move anywhere along the lines b-b, c-c, or d-d, and shift its position.
-further, be it remembered that under quite modern conditions the accuracy of the howitzer fire against the fort can be checked by aeroplanes circulating above the fort, whereas the fort is a poor starting-place for corresponding aeroplanes to discover the howitzer.
-but while the howitzer has this advantage, it has the grave disadvantage of not having anything like the same range as the gun, size for size. for a great many years it has been known that the howitzer has the advantage i have named. but, in spite of that, permanent fortification was built and could stand, for it was impossible to move howitzers of more than a certain small size. the explosives in those small shells did very great damage, but the fortress could, with its very heavy guns, keep the enemy out of range. but when large, and at the same time mobile howitzers were constructed which, though they fired shells of a quarter of a ton and more, could go along almost over any ground and be fired from almost anywhere, and moved at comparatively short notice from one place to another, it was another matter. the howitzer became dangerous to the fortress. when to this was added the new power of the high explosives, it became fatal to the fortress.
-to-day the 11-inch howitzer, with a range of about six miles, capable of hiding behind any elevation and not to be discovered by any gun within the fortress, and, further, capable of being moved at a moment’s notice if it is discovered, has the fortress at its mercy. air reconnaissance directs the fire, and great masses of high explosives can be dropped, without serious danger to the besieger, upon the fortified permanent points, which are unable to elude great shells of high explosive once the range has been found.
-another development of the present war, and somewhat an unexpected one, has been the effect of the machine-gun, and this has depended as much upon the new german way of handling it behind a screen of infantry, which opened to give the machine-gun play, as to any other cause.
-the fourth most obvious, and perhaps most striking change is, of course, the use of aircraft, and here one or two points should be noticed which are not always sufficiently emphasized. in the first place, the use of aircraft for scouting has given, upon the whole, more than was expected of it. it prevents the great concentration of troops unknown to the enemy at particular points on a line save in one important exception, which is the movement of troops by night over railways, and, indeed, this large strategical use of railways, especially in night movements, in the present war, is not the least of the novelties which it has discovered. but, on the other hand, aircraft has reintroduced the importance of weather in a campaign, and to some extent the importance of the season. when you doubtfully discovered your enemy’s movements by “feeling” him with cavalry or gathering information from spies and prisoners, it made little difference whether the wind was high or low or whether you were in summer or in winter. but the airman can only work usefully by day, and in bad weather or very strong gales he cannot fly, which means that unexpected attack is to be dreaded more than ever by night, and that for the first time in many centuries the wind has again come to make a difference, as it did against the missile of the bow and arrow.
-there are a great many other novel developments which this war has discovered, but these are, i think, the chief. it is advisable not only to discover such novelties, but also the permanent features, which even modern machinery and modern numbers have not changed. of these you have first the elementary feature of moral.
-ultimately, all europeans have much the same potential moral. different types of drill and different experiences in war, a different choice of leaders and the rest of it produce, however, different kinds of moral; different excellencies and weaknesses. now in this department much the most remarkable general discovery in the war has been the endurance and steadiness under loss of conscript soldiers.
-it had always been said during the long peace that modern conscript short-service soldiers would never stand the losses their fathers had stood in the days of professional armies, or longer service, or prolonged campaigns such as those of the napoleonic wars. but to this theory the manchurian campaign gave a sufficient answer if men would only have heeded it; the balkan war a still stronger one, while the present war leaves no doubt upon the matter.
-the short-service conscript army has in this matter done better than anything that was known in the past. of particular reasons perhaps the most interesting and unexpected has been the double surprise in the german use of close formation. it was always taken for granted, both by the german school and by their opponents, that close formation, if it could be used in the field at all, would, by its rapidity and weight, carry everything before it.
-you have in diagram vii a thousand men ready to attack. if they attack in long open waves of men as at a-a, it takes them a long time to spread out, and when they are spread out the effect of their shock is not overwhelming. they can only succeed by wave following wave.
-if they attack in denser bodies (diagram viii), as at b-b, they can be launched much more quickly, and the effect of their shock when they come on is much greater; it is, to use the german’s own term, the effect of a swarm.
-this seemed obvious, but the critics of the second system of close or swarm formation always said that, though they admitted its enormous power if it could be used at all, it could not be used because its losses would be so enormous against modern firearms. your spread-out line, as at a-a, offered but a small target, and the number of men hit during an assault would be far less than the number hit in the assault of such bodies as b-b, which presented a full target of dense masses.
-well, in the event, that criticism proved wrong in both its conceptions. the germans, thanks to their great courage and excellent discipline, have been able to use close formations. the immense losses these occasion have not prevented their continuous presence in the field, but, contrary to all expectations, they have not, as a rule, got home. in other words, they have, in the main, failed in the very object for which the heavy sacrifice they entail was permitted.
-another unexpected thing in which this war has warranted the old conception of arms is the exactitude of provision. everybody thought that there would be a great novelty in this respect, and that the provisioning of so many men might break down, or, at any rate, hamper their mobility. so far from this being the case, the new great armies of this modern war have been better and more regularly provisioned than were the armies of the past, and this is particularly true upon the side of the allies, even in the case of that astonishing march of three million of russians across poland with the roads in front of them destroyed and the railway useless.
-what to believe in war news
-showing how the reports in the press should be selected and compared, so as to arrive at a just estimate of the true position of affairs.
-what to believe in war news
-the other day there came a message to london from italy, solemnly delivered in printer’s ink and repeated in nearly every newspaper, that the town of cracow was invested, that the bombardment had begun, and that part of the city was in flames.
-cracow is the key of silesia, and silesia is the lancashire of prussia. the successful investment of cracow would certainly bring the war to its last phase, and that phase one bringing rapid victory to the allies.
-but cracow was not invested; no one had bombarded it. the whole thing was fantastic nonsense.
-so much for one particular newspaper report, which had nothing to distinguish it from other telegrams and news, and which millions of people must have read and believed.
-every one of the readers of these lines will be able to recall other instances of the same kind. i have before me as i write extract after extract of that sort. in one, roulers has been retaken; in another, lille is reoccupied; in another (a much earlier one), the germans are at pont oise.
-sometimes these accounts appear in long and detailed descriptions proceeding from the pens of men who are fairly well known in fleet street, and who have the courage to sign their names.
-there has, perhaps, never been a great public occasion in regard to which it was more necessary that men should form a sound judgment, and yet there has certainly not been one in our time upon which the materials for such a judgment have been more confused.
-the importance of a sound public judgment upon the progress of the war is not always clearly appreciated. it depends upon truths which many men have forgotten, and upon certain political forces which, in the ordinary rush and tumble of professional politics, are quite forgotten. let me recall those truths and those forces.
-the truths are these: that no government can effectively exercise its power save upon the basis of public opinion. a government can exercise its power over a conquered province in spite of public opinion, but it cannot work, save for a short time and at an enormous cost in friction, counter to the opinion of those with whom it is concerned as citizens and supporters. by which i do not mean that party politicians cannot act thus in peace, and upon unimportant matters. i mean that no kind of government has ever been able to act thus in a crisis.
-it is also wise to keep the mass of people in ignorance of disasters that may be immediately repaired, or of follies or even vices in government which may be redressed before they become dangerous.
-it is always absolutely wise to prevent the enemy in time of war from learning things which would be an aid to him. that is the reason why a strict censorship in time of war is not only useful, but essentially and drastically necessary. but though public opinion, even in time of peace, is only in part informed, and though in time of war it may be very insufficiently informed, yet upon it and with it you govern. without it or against it in time of war you cannot govern.
-now if during the course of a great war men come quite to misjudge its very nature, the task of the government would be strained some time or other in the future to breaking point. false news, too readily credited, does not leave people merely insufficiently informed, conscious of their ignorance, and merely grumbling because they cannot learn more, it has the positive effect of putting them into the wrong frame of mind, of making them support what they should not support, and neglect what they should not neglect.
-unfortunately, public authority, which possesses and rightfully exercises so much power in the way of censorship--that is, in the way of limiting information--has little power to correct false information. the censor receives a message, saying that at the expense of heavy loss general so-and-so’s brigade, composed of the downshires and the blankshires, repelled the enemy upon such-and-such a front, but that three hundred men are missing from the brigade at the end of the action. if he allows this piece of news to go through at all he must even so refuse to allow any mention of the names of the regiments, of their strength, of the place where they were fighting, and the numbers of those who are missing.
-why must the censor act thus? because this information would be of the utmost value to the enemy. the enemy, remember, does not ever quite know what is in front of him. indeed, the whole of military history consists in the story of men who are successful because they can gauge better than other men the forces which they have to meet.
-now if you let him know that on such-and-such an occasion the force that he met upon such-and-such a front was a brigade of infantry, and if you let him know its composition, and if you do this kind of thing with regard to the army in general, you end by letting him know two things which he particularly wants to know, and which it is all your duty to prevent him knowing. you let him know the size of the force in front of him, and you let him know its composition.
-similar reasons make the censor hide from the enemy the number of men missing. the enemy knows if he has taken in prisoners wounded and unwounded two hundred and fifty men, and, for all he knows, that is, excepting the dead, your total loss; but if you publish the fact that you have lost a thousand men, he is accurately informed of a weakness in your present disposition, which he otherwise would not suspect.
-all this action of the censor is as wise as it is necessary, but in the face of false news he is in another position. in the first place, it is difficult for him to judge it (unless, of course, it concerns our own particular forces). in the second place, it may not concern matters which the enemy can possibly ignore. for instance, in this example of the supposed investment of cracow. the russians were certainly approaching the place. the news might conceivably be true. if it were true, the enemy would already be amply acquainted with it, and it would be of a nature not to aid him, but to discourage him. but the news was, in fact, untrue, and, being untrue, its publication did not a little harm.
-now, how are we to counter this danger? how is the plain man to distinguish in his news of the war what is true from what is false, and so arrive at a sound opinion? after some months of study in connexion with my work upon the three campaigns, i may be able to suggest certain ways in which such a position should be approached.
-when i say “the official communiqués” i do not mean those of the british government alone, nor even of the allies alone, but of all the belligerents. you must read impartially the communiqués of the austro-hungarian and of the german governments together with those of the british government and its allies, or you will certainly miss the truth. by which statement i do not mean that each government is equally accurate, still less equally full in its relation; but that, unless you compare all the statements of this sort, you will have most imperfect evidence; just as you would have very imperfect evidence in a court of law if you only listened to the prosecution and refused to listen to the defence. now, these official communiqués have certain things in common by whatever government they are issued. there are certain features in them which you will always find although they come from natures as different as those of a prussian staff officer and a serbian patriot.
-these common features we may tabulate thus:
-those are the three points which all the official communiqués have in common, and by bearing them well in mind we can often frame an accurate picture, in spite of the apparent contradiction and confusion which the reading of several communiqués one after the other produces.
-for instance, the germans are trying to cross the bzura river according to the russian communiqué of saturday. next wednesday the russian communiqué says, “two attempts to cross the bzura at such-and-such places were repelled”; while the german communication says, “our troops succeeded in crossing the bzura river at such-and-such a village and established themselves upon the right bank.” in such a case the reader will be wise to believe the german communiqué and to take it for granted that while the russians have repelled certain other attempts of the enemy to cross, this attempt has succeeded. but if the germans go on to say, “the russians retired after suffering losses which cannot have been less than twenty thousand,” that is no news at all. it is obviously conjecture.
-the various governments issuing the communiqués have acquired certain habits in them which are worth noting if one is attempting to get at an accurate view of the war, and these habits may be briefly described as follows:
-the british government publishes short notes of advances made or of positions maintained, but very rarely refers to the losing of ground. it publishes casualty lists, which are, of course, not complete till very long after the events wherein the casualties were incurred. it supplements the short communiqués, and this by a more or less expanded narrative written by an official deputed for that purpose and giving accounts, often graphic, but necessarily of no military value; of no value, that is, for following the campaign. for if these narratives were of that kind the object of the censorship would be defeated.
-the belgian government at the beginning of the war allowed very full accounts to go through and permitted the presence of correspondents at the front itself. that phase is now over and does not immediately concern us.
-the french government is by far the most reticent. it occasionally mentions the capture of a colour, but it publishes no casualty lists, no account of the field guns taken by french troops, and only now and then hints at the number of prisoners. it is, however, minutely accurate and even detailed in helping us to locate the fluctuations of the front, and by the aid of the french communiqués we can follow the war upon the map better than by the aid of any other. in its control of the press the french general staff is absolute. there has been nothing like it before, and it has been perfectly successful. you will see whole columns cut out of the newspapers in france and left blank, so certain are the military authorities of that country that the most vigorous censorship is vital to modern war. there is lastly to be noted in connexion with the french communiqués, especially after the first two months of the campaign, a remarkable frankness with regard to the occasional giving of ground by their own troops. the theory is that the enemy will know this in any case, and that as the position is secure, details of the sort though adverse, lend strength to the general narrative. in all this it must be remembered, of course, that the french government, and, at this moment, the french army, is far more powerful than any newspaper proprietor or other capitalist, and it is well for any nation at war to be able to say that.
-the russian government is accurate, and, if anything, a little too terse in what it communicates to the public, but its censorship is far less strict than that of the french or even the english. thus during the fighting round lodz in defence of warsaw at the beginning of december, correspondents from petrograd were allowed to telegraph the most flamboyant descriptions of an immediately approaching german retreat which never took place. but, i repeat, the official russian news is sober and restrained and accurate to a fault.
-when we turn to the enemy’s communiqués, we note first that the austro-hungarians are rare, insufficient, and confused. they are of little service, and may almost be neglected. but the german ones are numerous, extended and precise, and it is our particular business to judge them accurately if we are to understand the war, for when or if they tell the truth it is from them that we learn what would otherwise be hidden.
-well, in my judgment, these official german communiqués are in the main remarkably exact, and i believe it is possible to say why they are so exact. the german general staff makes war in a purely mechanical fashion. it gravely exaggerates, as do all modern north germans, the calculable element in human affairs. it is what used to be called “scientific.” it is obvious that if you get a reputation for exactitude your falsehood, where it pays you to tell the falsehood, will be the more likely to work. the remarkable general accuracy of the official german communiqués cannot be due to any other object. it cannot be due to a mere love of truth, for the same government deliberately circulates to its own provincial press and to certain neutrals stories which cannot in the nature of things be true. nor is this inaccuracy the result either of haste or of stupidity, it is very intelligent and obviously deliberate.
-when, therefore, a german communiqué tells an untruth, that untruth is deliberate and upon an effective scale, and we have to consider what object it has, if we are to understand the news. we may take it that the object is nearly always domestic and political. remember that these official german falsehoods, countersigned by the general staff and the government, are as rare as they are solid. they do not slip in. they are not vague or led up to by doubtful phrases.
-let me take two of them. scarborough was officially described as a fortified port, like sheerness or cherbourg. that takes one’s breath away. but monstrous as it is, it is not childish, because it was intended to give to the public that read it at home a certain effect which was, in fact, produced.
-so successfully was that effect produced that a competent military critic in the german press, writing the day after, had already got the idea that scarborough was the most important naval base upon the east coast. we must remember when we read such things that very few educated men out of a thousand in our own country could give the names of the fortified naval bases upon, say, the adriatic, or even the atlantic coast of france.
-another example of the same thing in a rather different line is the illumination of berlin, the giving of a holiday to the school children and the official proclamation of a great and decisive victory in poland during the course of the second battle for warsaw, an action which had already lasted a fortnight, which was destined to last for many more days, and which remained at that time utterly undecided.
-according to fairly reliable accounts of what was passing in berlin at the moment, the government was under some necessity of acting thus because the beginning of popular unrest had appeared. but whatever the cause, my point is that these german inaccuracies when they occur, which is rarely, are easily distinguishable. they stand out from the rest of the sober narrative by their conspicuous nonsense. they do not disturb the judgment of a careful reader. they should not prevent our continuing to collate most closely german statements in detail with those of the allies, if we wish to understand the war.
-there is one other point which i have already alluded to briefly, in which german communiqués may mislead, and that is in the way they handle statistics. the actual wording of news is often chosen in order to deceive, although the figures may be accurate. for instance, under the title “prisoners,” the germans include all wounded men picked up, all civilians which in this singular war are carried away into captivity, and, probably, when it is to their interest to swell the number of captured, they include certain numbers of the dead. in the same way they will talk of the capture of verdun, and not infrequently include such of their own pieces as a re-advance has rediscovered upon the field.
-it may be added in conclusion that while german communiqués rarely wander into conjecture, when they do they are idiotic, and exactly the same reason made german diplomats wholly misunderstand the mind of europe immediately before the war. a german induction upon something other than material elements is worthless, and you see it nowhere more than in the careful but often useless, though monumental, work of german historians, who will accumulate a mass of facts greater in number than those of the scholars of any other nation, and then will draw a conclusion quite shamefully absurd; conclusions which, during the last forty years, have usually been followed by the dons of our own universities.
-there is one last element for the formation of a sound opinion on the war which must be mentioned at the end of this, and that is the private evidence which occasionally but rarely comes through. here there is no guide but that of one’s own experience in travel, or that of one’s own knowledge of the newspaper or the authority printing it. the occasions upon which such evidence is available are very infrequent, but when they do come the evidence is far more
-“want a little more information out of you, my lad. you gave me a vague sort of description of the food that was given you at that last place; just let me have a few more details—the exact truth about, say, the last meal you had there.”
-as the lad complied swan’s forehead took an extra crease; young mannering spoke with the fluency of one dealing with a subject on which he felt deeply.
-“steady on!” protested swan. “it couldn’t possibly have been so awful as all that.”
-“it was worse!” declared the other. “a jolly sight worse! at first it seemed all right; but the third day— you ought to have been there! if you ’appen to have a taste for tough meat—they say there’s nothing like leather; but that’s a mistake—overdone and all black at the edges, why, you would have enjoyed yourself!”
-“she doesn’t look like a woman who can’t cook.”
-“she’s a very nice person,” agreed the lad judicially, “and i’ve got no other fault to find whatsoever. horrible particular, though, about late hours. old-fashioned and out of date, i call her.”
-“what do you mean,” roared swan impetuously, “by talking in that way about a lady? keep a civil tongue in your head, will you? who are you, i should like to know, to find fault?”
-the lad begged for pardon.
-“what do you know about food?” he raved on. “accustomed to nothing but raw turnips hitherto, how can you possibly tell whether cooking is good or not? be off and see about your work, or else i’ll get you shifted back to that toad-in-the-hole station in the country. coming up here,” continued swan aggrievedly, “and dictating to londoners about food—i never heard of such impudence!”
-he strode to the porters’ room’, and, flinging off his jacket, sat at the desk and took a penholder, assuming the attitude of mental stress common to those who start upon literary efforts. like many others in similar position, he found himself baulked at the very start. should he, in writing to excuse himself from paying his call until after the hour of supper, begin, “my dear madam” or “dear friend,” or, his memory going back to the days of youth, dare to write “sweetest”? he tried all of these, and others, and could not persuade himself to feel satisfied with any. the old remedy of shining boots gave him an idea that brought back contentment to his features, and he went about his tasks for the remainder of the day humming cheerfully. at six o’clock he ran around to the eating-house near to the station and ordered a special eightpenny steak, with chipped potatoes.
-“that’ll save me!” remarked porter swan.
-in marching down towards railway terrace he could not help thinking of his soldier days when there was never a dearth of housemaids, and never a one who did not, sooner or later, betray some defect which led to cessation of amiabilities. here, again, was a case of a trim little woman who, if she but knew how to cook, might well be either highly commended or, perhaps, awarded the prize of second marriage. he had enjoyed his meal at the eating-house, and felt willing to look on the world with an indulgent air; nevertheless, he could not help seeing the drawback was serious.
-“hullo, my dear!” as the child opened the door. “how are we this time?”
-“brought me anythink?”
-“what do you say to a few chocolates?”
-“mr. swan,” called a pleasant voice from the kitchen, “don’t you go spoiling her. she’s not been behaving nicely.”
-“hand ’em over!” ordered the youngster.
-the mother came through the passage, slightly flushed by the fire or from confusion, reproved her daughter for want of manners, gave a welcome to mr. swan, and expressed a hope that he had a good appetite.
-“don’t know what’s the matter with me,” he replied anxiously. “if i don’t get better i shall have to see a chemist. i could no more touch food at the present moment than i could swim the channel. i’m very sorry, but you must excuse me, reelly.”
-“it’s a pity,” she said with distress. “you don’t mind sitting down and watching us eat, i hope.”
-“that’ll suit me,” declared swan, entering the room.
-the table was neatly set out for three, with glasses, shining knives and forks, an attractive roll of bread at each plate. she went to the kitchen.
-“we’ve got a fowel,” whispered the child importantly. “roast fowel!”
-“you’re welcome to my share,” he answered.
-this, repeated with some extravagance, caused the child’s mother to stop as she came in with the dish. she said “oh!” in such a pained way that he hastened to assure her no reflection upon her culinary skill was intended; the internal complaint from which he was suffering had to take the responsibility. the child said grace.
-“you’re a first-rate carver,” he said interestedly.
-“it’s a tender bird,” she remarked.
-“looks to me as though it’s beautifully done,” declared the astonished swan, his mouth watering.
-the staff subscribed threepences, and bought a fish knife and fork. porter swan sent in an application for leave, and for passes—passes for two: self and wife.
-“don’t want to bother you,” remarked the toddling baby, catching the hem of the other’s overcoat; “but if you could spare a minute!”
-“now, let me see,” said the deep thinker, looking down sideways at the small child and giving the pull-up of the cuffs preparatory to the making of an arch with two hands. “let me see, now. where are we?”
-“in notting dale.”
-“i mean, how far have we advanced? at what stage have we arrived?”
-“haven’t arrived at all,” answered the baby shortly. “i’m just starting, and it seems to me i’m starting in rather unfortunate circumstances. i’m not going to say anything against my father and mother; but, really, unless some one else steps in and—”
-“not so fast!” interrupted the deep thinker, taking off pince-nez and shaking it reprovingly at the child. “let us consider this case of yours fully, in all its various aspects. we must hasten slowly. i’m fully prepared to help you in every possible manner, and you can safely leave the case in my hands.”
-“fire away, then!” said the infant.
-the deep thinker, turning up the collar of his overcoat, found a sheltered space near the sirdar road schools, and opened the discussion, picking phrases so carefully that sometimes when the right word came first he rejected it, substituting one which represented second thoughts. the question to be decided—this he offered truculently as his humble opinion—was that nothing could be done for the notting dale baby until a large, momentous, important point received satisfactory settlement.
-“now, the act of 1870, you will remember—”
-the child protested that it knew nothing of events happening so long ago; the deep thinker lifted a warning forefinger as insistent demand for silence. warming to the arguments, he began to wave arms, to adopt emphatic forms of gesture; the boy stood clear, watching, and endeavouring to follow the involved and tortuous reasoning. “shall we,” said the deep thinker, “or shall we not reimpose tests?” the youngster gave the sigh of one struggling to understand and unable to see light. “ought we or ought we not to oppose with all the force and strength we possess undenominational religion; and, if so, why?” the other muttered, “because it’s ajar!” and, turning, found a little pack of grubby cards in his pocket.
-“we proceed now to consider the point of full popular control, and here is a subject on which i shall take the liberty of speaking at some length. it is a difficult point, and i beg you to give me your complete and absolute attention.”
-“that i jolly well sha’n’t!” replied the other definitely.
-it appeared an audience was not indispensable so long as the deep thinker could be permitted to talk without interruption; he found so much pleasure in the task that he gave a high giggle of satisfaction when, having set up a limp argument made of straw with the preface “but then my opponents will say—,” he knocked it down and jumped exultantly upon it with “i rather think that answers the other side!” as time went on, he became slightly hoarse, and the other standing near (whose manners really seemed to be getting worse and worse) warned him that his throat would presently resemble a nutmeg-grater; the deep thinker took a voice lozenge, gaining from this enough refreshment to enable him to proceed. public speakers can be divided into two sets—one not knowing where to begin, and the other not knowing where to leave off; it was evident to which party the deep thinker belonged, for whenever it seemed he was approaching finality and nothing remained but to take definite action, he always managed to discover a new and another branch on which he could perch himself and twitter.
-“for each individual, after due consideration of the convictions of others, the final authority as to the right or wrong of any opinion or action should be his own conscientious and well-reasoned judgment.”
-policemen came up and interfered between the lad and the girl who was suffering from his blows; the deep thinker, his attention distracted by the incident, begged the constables not to arrest the youth until the arguments that were being delivered should come to an end; and the two members of the f division, touching helmets, went off reluctantly, taking good note of the features of the combative parties. the young man now made no pretence of listening. as quiet folk went by he made a snatch at their watches or at their purses, or at both, and when success attended his efforts he was absent for a time, returning with a slight hiccough and a flushed countenance.
-he had developed during the discussion from a round-eyed, attractive infant to a bulgy, sullen youth with a shifting expression that never escaped aggressiveness. as the deep thinker announced that only a few brief words remained to be said, the youth temporarily gave up the task of incommoding his fellows, and offered a look of hopefulness.
-“i am warned,” said the deep thinker, blinking around, “that time does not stand still, and i propose therefore to put my remaining arguments into the briefest possible space. i flatter myself i am a man of action, rather than a man of words. the time has come to be up and doing. we must gird on our sword for the fray. the trumpet call is sounding, and it is the hour for coming to close quarters. first of all, however, i should like to run over the various heads of the arguments i have used, and freshen them, if i may say so—freshen them in your memory.”
-what the deep thinker meant by this proved to be that he should give himself an encore and accept it, for he went through the whole of his exhaustive address again, adding to it considerably here and there, and whenever he became involved in a thick undergrowth of words, laboriously retraced his footsteps and recommenced the journey. the lad, become a man, short and defiant, with a stubbly beard, made a very satisfactory haul from two well-dressed people, returning later with a revolver, that gave him a great amount of interest; the deep thinker broke off to urge him to be careful.
-“the crux of the whole question,” said the deep thinker, resuming, “put shortly is simply this. the moral life involves neither acceptance nor rejection of belief in any deity, personal or impersonal, or in a life after death!”
-possibly the bearded man did not fully comprehend the intention of this remark; probable, too, that, having been talked to for a considerable length of time, his sense of appreciation had become dulled. at any rate, a city gentleman, hurrying home, found himself at his last destination sooner than he expected. the police wanted the deep thinker to come along to the station; his evidence as witness would be required, but the deep thinker assured them earnestly that, absorbed by a particular topic, he had seen nothing of the affair.
-“thus we see,” went on the deep thinker, when they had disappeared, “that, whilst on the one side it may be fairly argued that—”
-he had not finished when there occurred a shock that genuinely pained and annoyed him. the rate-collector presented a demand for payment of the deep thinker’s share of the cost of keeping the sirdar road criminal in prison for the remainder of what was termed his natural life.
-“almost enough,” cried the deep thinker aggrievedly, “to make a man threaten to give up completely his interest in public questions!”
-unwin brothers, limited, woking and london.
-william b. white
-theory and practice of piano construction
-with a detailed, practical method for tuning
-dover publications, inc. new york
-published in canada by general publishing company, ltd., 30 lesmill road, don mills, toronto, ontario.
-published in the united kingdom by constable and company, ltd., 10 orange street, london wc 2.
-this dover edition, first published in 1975, is an unabridged and unaltered republication of the work originally published by edward lyman bill, publisher, new york, in 1906 under the title theory and practice of pianoforte building.
-some remarks by the publisher.
-for many years we have been receiving at the office of the music trade review constant inquiries for sources from which information might be gleaned regarding the theory and practice of tone production as applied to the piano. it has therefore been obvious to all who have given this subject the slightest consideration that there has been a lack of book information which should be at the hand of the student and the seeker of knowledge regarding scale draughting and other essentials relating to piano construction. some years ago, after careful consideration of this subject, special topics along these lines were assigned to the author of this work, who was well fitted for the task before him, and as a result of more than two years of conscientious study and research, the “theory and practice of pianoforte building” is put forth as representing in a concrete form a work of technical knowledge which hitherto has been unobtainable to the student.
-the necessity of acquiring some knowledge of the principles of mechanics before proceeding to the study of scale design is admitted. such knowledge, together with that of the principles of the acoustics as they apply to musical sounds produced by vibrating strings, is essential to a correct understanding of the fundamental ideas underlying true pianoforte design.
-to know a piano accurately one must understand the laws governing tone quality, and how the propagation and transmission of sound is produced as well as the pitch and intensity of sound. and there are thousands of men to-day in the various factories who are anxious to obtain sources of information from which to gain a more correct knowledge of a profession which should take high rank among industrial pursuits.
-owing to the gradual changes which have been wrought in all industries through the abandonment of the apprentice system, there is more need for instruction books than ever before.
-a factory operative, according to the present plan, may know thoroughly but one department of the business, but he can become more useful to himself and his employers when he possesses a knowledge of all branches. in the piano trade particularly there must be a correct knowledge of piano building, else there can be no advance, and with our old piano makers rapidly passing away there is need for a healthy school of new inventors, so that wherever possible, improvements may be made and defects remedied. these can only be accomplished by the possession of a knowledge of all the intricate principles involved in piano making.
-we feel that in presenting a work of this kind we are offering a volume which will meet with the approval of those who seek knowledge, for while there are great trade and technical schools which are the fountains of inspiration for various trades, the science of piano making is not included as a branch in any of them. it is therefore evident that knowledge must be gained outside, for piano schools there are none. to every mind seeking information there should be knowledge given, and we believe that a work of this kind must be of value to an industry wherein there is such a dearth of reliable text books.
-it will be seen by examination that all of the practical problems which are to be considered by the scale draughtsmen have been fairly treated in this volume and yet the desire of the author has been throughout to avoid tiresome details. condensation is one of the recognized laws of our day, and in producing this technical work the author has labored to create a volume of convenient size which shall be of service to the student, and to the advanced thinker as well, on account of the accuracy with which the subjects are treated.
-this book is not in the remotest sense a history of piano building or development, and it should not be so considered; in fact it has been deemed wise to dip into historical matters only to the extent of showing the application of an enduring principle rather than to give credit to a number of deserving inventors who have worked along special lines. a treatment of worthy inventions would require a much larger volume than this; and while there are many inventors who have given to the world special devices of value, it has not been considered timely to describe them in this volume or to enter into an exposé of their merits or demerits. we may say that this is not a critical work but rather one which we trust may be eminently practical in its mission as an instructive and an educational force.
-we may add in closing that the “theory and practice of pianoforte building” is the only work of its kind ever put forth in the english language, and we have every confidence that it will find a growing demand among music trade people everywhere.
-edward lyman bill.
-editorial rooms, the music trade review, new york, may, 1906.
-theory and practice of pianoforte building.
-the development of the modern american pianoforte presents a most interesting study to the practical member of the musical industries as well as to the pianist. for it is possible to view the subject with equal facility from the standpoints of both. descended through a clearly defined line of ancestry from the ancient psaltery, and showing traces of the various steps in its evolution throughout its entire modern form, the pianoforte of to-day is essentially the product of all the ages. there have not been wanting a sufficient number of writers upon the history and ancestry of the instrument; but an exposition of the correct principles of design has not hitherto appeared in the english language, at least in a form that possesses permanent value to the american manufacturer. the once classic work of rimbault is obsolete to-day, even in europe; while, on the other hand, the various german treatises have been difficult to obtain and necessarily limited in their appeal to an english speaking people, nor have any satisfactory translations of any of them yet been put forth.
-furthermore, the evolution of pianoforte building in this country has proceeded along characteristically american lines and has resulted in the existence to-day of a peculiarly national, advanced and complex type. american pianofortes are universally acknowledged to stand among the highest developments of applied musical craftsmanship, and artists of every degree have willingly given their assent to every claim that has been made for the instruments.
-while, however, these facts are easily demonstrable, it would be by no means correct to suppose that the development of the american types of pianoforte has been materially assisted by even a respectable minority of those who have been engaged in constructing them. on the contrary, the magnificent examples of the musical instrument maker’s art that grace the homes of musicians and people of culture throughout the united states owe their present high excellence to the labors and skill of a small band of enthusiastic and clever workers. the names of william hawkins, jonas chickering, and henry engelhard steinway should be written in letters of gold above the doors of all institutions devoted to the creation of artistic pianofortes. for it is to the earnest labor and untiring enthusiasm of these men and a few others, working alone and unassisted, that the modern american instrument owes its present proud position.
-and this state of affairs has continued to exist until the present day. there are, as there have always been, a few talented and skilful men who have never been content to rest upon their laurels or to desist from continual labor along the lines of musical and mechanical betterment; but such as they stand, and have always stood, alone. the great majority have been glad to accept the improvements of their preceding or contemporaneous masters after the commercial value of the innovations has been demonstrated; but they have always lacked the audacity or capability to strike out into new fields and untrodden pathways.
-we may, however, discern a sufficient reason for this timidity on the part of pianoforte makers. the principles that underly the design of the instrument are primarily acoustical. they have never been very easily digested, either by the mechanic or by the man of affairs. and since a knowledge of acoustics has been profoundly developed only within the last sixty years or so, it follows that its application to the design of musical instruments has naturally lagged behind the progress of the science itself. pianoforte makers are not usually professing scientists or practical musicians; and they have discerned little profit in attempting to keep up with the trend of modern acoustical research, even so far as this has directly affected the principles of musical instrument construction.
-the development of the pianoforte has, in fact, proceeded empirically, and has been prosecuted inductively rather than from any a priori notions. and while we cannot withhold our admiration from the splendid success that has attended so much of this empirical research, we cannot be blind to the fact that very many modern pianofortes exhibit clearly the inherent defects of such methods. the practical musical mechanician, if he possess the requisite knowledge, is often able to remedy existing faults in tone quality and tone-production. and while studying ways and means for doing this, he cannot but observe innumerable cases of neglected opportunities, or even of positive mistakes. the pure empirical method must always produce a large number of failures. yet the application of even the elementary principles of applied acoustics would frequently prevent the commission of serious sins in design. it is not necessary, of course, that every scale draughtsman or designer should have the results of modern acoustical discovery at his fingers’ ends; but it is here insisted that such knowledge, in so far as it relates to musical instruments, is essential to the correct construction of pianofortes.
-tone-production, otherwise than by the human voice, implies both scientific and mechanical problems. especially is this true of the pianoforte, which, with the exception of the pipe organ, may properly be considered the most complex of artificial devices for the performance of music.
-recognition of this truth and a general improvement in the knowledge of the acoustical and musical principles involved cannot fail to exercise a most beneficial influence upon the future of the american pianoforte.
-as has already been remarked, there is a dearth of convenient treatises in the english language that can be said to possess a present value to the earnest student of pianoforte design. the present book is an attempt in the direction of supplying the deficiency. the author has aimed at presenting the various problems pertaining to the art of pianoforte construction with due regard both to their acoustical and mechanical features. no attempt has been made to delve profoundly into the mysteries of sound; but the elementary and basic principles of tone-production have been stated, and their true application to the various stages of pianoforte construction explained. each step in the making of a pianoforte from beginning to completion has been subjected to analysis, and the correct principles pointed out.
-the author believes that the book may be read and comprehended, even by one to whom the very term acoustics has hitherto been unfamiliar. while he does not expect that a study of this book can make the novice a full-fledged scale draughtsman, as it were, overnight, he does expect, on the other hand, to assist those who have already investigated, or who intend to investigate the whole problem, to a clearer and broader comprehension of a beautiful art. if this hope be gratified, much will have been achieved, and no one who has at heart the future of musical industry in america can fail to be encouraged, if nothing else, by the appearance of this condensed work.
-the general outline of the book can be explained with little detail. recognizing, as has already been suggested, the dependence of all right pianoforte making upon the observance of the established principles of acoustics, the author has thought it well, after a short historical sketch of the pianoforte, to make a general statement of the laws that govern the propagation and transmission of sound. it is but a step from this to a concise explanation of the peculiarities of stretched strings and their behavior under varying conditions of excitation, and differing phases of tension, etc. this leads us directly to the discussion of pianoforte strings, their dimensions, and the manner in which they become the agents of sound-production in the instrument.
-continuing our investigations, we pass to the subject of resonance and come naturally to a discussion of the resonating apparatus of the pianoforte.
-the framing that holds together these two vital elements is next subjected to analysis and explanation, and finally the mechanisms of percussion and touch are brought under our inquiry and their peculiarities noted and expounded. the remarks upon the draughting of pianoforte scales, that conclude the volume, are necessarily broad and general, since it is quite impossible to indicate with exactitude the actual method to be employed in making mechanical drawings, at least within the limits that the relative importance of the subject imposes on us. attention has been drawn more particularly to the calculations for shrinkage that are rendered necessary by the vagaries of cast iron, such as is used in the manufacture of metal frames, and to the details of hammer-stroke points and string dimensions, the principles of which have been explained in their proper places within the body of the work.
-the evolution of the pianoforte.
-while the present work is by no means intended to serve as an elaborate analysis of pianoforte development, it seems that a proper comprehension of the various principles that are laid down in the course of our argument will be facilitated by a short survey of the evolution of the instrument, undertaken from an historical viewpoint. as we recognize in the pianoforte of to-day the culmination of the musical-mechanical effort of ages, and as a complete study of the results that have been achieved can best be introduced by a preliminary knowledge of the manner in which the various steps towards latter-day excellence have been attained, it seems that we cannot do better than make an attempt to survey the field of pianoforte evolution in a manner broad and general, though necessarily brief.
-as was incidentally remarked in the last chapter, we may properly consider the modern pianoforte as essentially the product of all the ages. the origin of stringed instruments is lost in the mists of antiquity, but greek mythology has supplied us with a most pleasing legend to account for the invention of that pioneer of all stretched-string instruments, the classic lyre. we are told that hermes, walking one day along the shore, found lying at his feet the shell of a dead tortoise. the intestines of the animal had been dried in the sun and were stretched along the rim of the shell so that when hermes’ foot struck against one of them, a musical sound was given forth and lo! the lyre was born. earlier still are the accounts, in the shape of cuneiform or other inscriptions, that show a form of lyre to have been in use among the assyrians. the biblical descriptions of various stringed instruments, such as the psaltery, or the harp of david, are generally familiar.
-while doubtless we need not consider it illogical to trace the beginning of modern stringed instruments, whether they be of the key-board variety or otherwise, to such misty and vague traditions, we must look to more modern times for a true understanding of the causes that operated to produce the key-board. this, the distinguishing feature of the pianoforte family, first arose through the need for a facile means of accompanying the voice in the then newly beginning art of music which required the simultaneous sounding of different tones. instruments of the organ type were earlier in the field, for we have accounts of the water-organ in the writings of the historians of the later roman empire. the earliest form of key-board seems to have been introduced in europe in the latter part of the eleventh century a. d. at about the same period we hear of a stringed instrument called the organistrum, having three strings, one of which was in connection with a number of tangents which were adapted to be pushed in upon it so as to sound different segments and produce different notes. later we find that the ecclesiastical musicians were in the habit of using more or less complicated monochords for the purpose of training their pupils in the plain-chants of the church. these monochords gradually became more complex and finally were mounted on a kind of sound board in groups and thus became no longer monochords but trichords, tetrachords, or polychords. the next step was obviously to furnish the instrument with a set of balanced key-levers borrowed from the organ and with tangents to connect the keys with the strings, these latter coming from the organistrum. thus we have at once the famous clavichord.
-but this was not the only form of keyed instrument that was thus early devised. we learn that the psaltery had contemporaneously been fitted with keys. there were two forms of this famous instrument, one trapezoid and one triangular. when both of these had been fitted with keys there were two more distinct forms of keyed instruments; differences which had a large influence upon the later development of the type.
-these three instruments were thus developed into the accepted forms that were in general use during the seventeenth century and later; becoming respectively the clavichord, harpsichord and spinet. it is from these that the pianoforte is directly sprung. the harpsichord, as its name implies, resembled a harp laid on its back and enclosed in a case, while the strings were plucked, by quills set on jacks, mounted on the keys. the natural shape of the harpsichord, therefore, was similar to that of the modern grand pianoforte and it derived this form from its direct relationship to the early keyed forms of the triangular psaltery. the harpsichord had been a favorite for a long time when bartolomeo cristofori, a maker of florence, completed in 1709 the invention of a hammer action to replace the quilled jack at the end of the harpsichord key. thus was made possible the production of dynamic effects, of which the harpsichord action had never been capable except through the employment of various mechanical devices, such as swells and double or triple banks of keys with jacks and quills to match. the hammer-action of cristofori as completed by him in 1726 shows a remarkable similarity to the mechanisms that are still to be found in certain forms of square pianofortes. he succeeded in producing an acceptable form of escapement and a damping device as well, although as the date shows, not until after several years of experimenting and improving upon the original design. examination shows that cristofori’s action differs in no essential respect from the square pianoforte actions that we have mentioned. there is the upper and under hammer, the jack working on a groove in the key, the escapement device to determine the travel of the jack, the back-check, and the damper. every feature that is essential to provide escapement, repetition and damping is found here. cristofori was, however, obliged to make many changes in the construction of his “gravicembalo col piano e forte” to provide the increased stiffness necessitated by the different manner of exciting the strings. his work, curiously enough, was not taken up after his death by any other italian harpsichord maker, and it remained for a german to continue his experiments and bring them to a practical and commercial success. only two pianofortes by cristofori are known to exist, and one of these is in the metropolitan museum of art, new york.
-gottfried silbermann, who took up the work of cristofori, built several grand pianofortes towards the end of the first half of the eighteenth century, and there still exist at potsdam some of these that were sold by him to frederick the great. these instruments appear to be essentially founded upon the work of cristofori, and the superior workmanship and better adjustment of them do not serve to disguise the evident fact that silbermann, while improving in details, did not discover any new principles either in action or otherwise.
-somewhat later we hear of zumpe, who was apparently struck with the idea of adapting the pianoforte hammer to the square-shaped clavichord, which was not deep enough to take the silbermann action, thus producing a veritable square pianoforte. zumpe’s device contained no provision for escapement, which fault was afterwards corrected by the celebrated inventor stein. mozart speaks of the merits of stein and joyfully describes how his mechanism prevented the blocking of the hammers. mozart used one of stein’s pianofortes during the rest of his life.
-the name of stein is justly famous among the early pianoforte makers. he was responsible, with the able assistance of his daughter nanette, for the viennese type of pianoforte, which was for long such a favorite over the heavier and more solid english style on account of its surprising delicacy and lightness of touch. after her marriage, nanette stein, in partnership with her husband streicher, made many other improvements, and her pianofortes were used by beethoven and others. the firm of streicher still existed in vienna a few years ago.
-at this point, namely at the beginning of the nineteenth century, we begin to hear of three revolutionary figures; a frenchman, an englishman and an american. these are erard, broadwood and hawkins.
-pierre sebastian erard settled in paris during the latter part of the eighteenth century as a maker of harps and harpsichords. shortly before the breaking out of the french revolution, erard came to london and began to make harps and pianofortes. in the meantime he was continually working to improve his instruments and was responsible for many useful inventions, such as the up-bearing to the strings by means of the “agraffe.” his chief claim to the consideration of pianoforte makers is due, however, to his invention of the “double repetition” action which was perfected by him in 1821, after many years of unsuccessful experiment. this action, with slight modification, is used at the present day in all grand pianofortes, and its manifold excellences have never been yet surpassed. erard took out a large number of patents, which were put into use by his successors, and the house founded by him is still in existence and one of the most famous in france or indeed in the world.
-john broadwood, the great english inventor and manufacturer, who also has his name perpetuated in the continued and flourishing career of the firm that he founded, was originally a workman in the shop of tschudi or shudi, a london harpsichord maker. he rose from an apprenticeship to the head of the house of shudi and finally turned his attention to the improvement of the pianoforte. he had early been the recipient of the knowledge of backers, the inventor of the so-called english action, and when he came to build pianofortes on his own account, this experience was made to bear practical fruit. broadwood’s first achievement was in the re-designing of the square piano of zumpe. about the year 1780 he entirely altered its construction, set the tuning pins at the back of the case, and added dampers and pedals. he next set about the improvement of the grand, and divided the bridge, giving a separate bass bridge and permitting the striking point of the hammers on the strings to be adjusted with correctness, something that had never been done before. this completed the divorce of the pianoforte from the harpsichord. with the addition of the action invented by backers, broadwood’s pianofortes became at once a standard of quality and excellence and until the introduction of iron framing stood alone.
-we now come to hawkins. this remarkable man was an engineer of philadelphia, english by birth but american by adoption. in the year 1800 he produced an upright pianoforte, the first of its kind. this instrument, though it was not a commercial success, was remarkable for the fact that hawkins in it anticipated so many of the ideas that have since become essential to modern instruments. he had an independent iron frame supporting the sound-board, a mechanical tuning device, and metal action frames. his action, too, had many features that have since been adopted. unfortunately, the tone was so poor that the instrument was a failure from the start. his ideas in regard to upright pianoforte construction were not allowed to languish, however, and the labors of wornum, who followed southwell, were at last successful in producing, in 1826, a practical action which at once settled the destiny of the upright. this action had as its peculiar feature the “bridle tape,” which is now such a necessary element of the upright pianoforte. he also introduced the centre pin and flange.
-at this point we begin to come to the great dividing line between the early and the modern pianoforte. the introduction of metal framing marks this division and it is from here that the american instrument begins its independent and extraordinarily successful career. indeed, the development of american instruments is bound up with the almost concurrent progress of ideas as to metal framing.
-although the first application of metal to pianofortes, not considering the unfortunately abortive invention of hawkins, may be credited to william allen, an englishman, yet we must look to the united states for the pioneer in the modern conception of metal bracing. the man in question, alpheus babcock, was a boston maker and had been originally an apprentice of crehore, who appears to have made the first american pianoforte. babcock applied his invention in boston in the form of a cast metal plate for a square pianoforte about the year 1822 and this date is most memorable in that it marks the epoch of the strictly modern conception of the instrument. continuing the consideration of this national school of design, we find that the celebrated jonas chickering produced, in 1840, a cast-iron plate for grand pianofortes, having the string-plate, agraffe-bridge and resistance-bars cast solid in one piece. this revolutionary invention unquestionably paved the way for the wonderful american productions of later years and at once placed the american pianoforte upon a plane of excellence that has never been altogether reached by its competitors in other parts of the world. european makers were at first slow to appreciate the eminently valuable nature of the invention of chickering, and until lately the solid cast plate was not extensively used in europe outside of germany. the house of collard and collard, which had the services of stewart, the assistant of chickering for many years, was, however, most progressive in this respect and for long was the only london firm which made grand pianofortes with the iron plate cast in one piece. the celebrated house of broadwood, after much experimenting, produced a form of iron plate for grands that was somewhat different in principle from that of chickering. in this type, the body of the structure was cast complete, but instead of the multiplicity of braces, we find only two. one of these runs parallel with the line of the vertically-strung bass strings at the extreme bass end of the instrument, while the other crosses the plate in a diagonal direction from near the middle of the agraffe-bridge to the point of greatest tension. both of these bars are cast separate from the body of the plate and secured to it by means of bolts and nuts. such a method has usually been characteristic of european as opposed to american methods, but the broadwoods, about fifteen years ago, brought out a decided novelty in their “barless grand.” this remarkable instrument has a plate of cast steel and is entirely without braces or bars of any kind, the necessary stiffness being gained through the tensile strength of the metal employed and the use of a number of turned up flanges along the sides of the structure, these being screwed into the case of the pianoforte at equal intervals on its periphery.
-as to the further development of the grand pianoforte, we may look to the progress of the chickerings and the steinways in america and to the broadwoods in england, the erards in france and the bechsteins and blüthners in germany. these makers are considered here because they have all contributed in no small degree to the development of the instrument as an artistic product and because they have all been responsible for some radical improvement that has later become essential to the make-up of a good pianoforte. we need only mention the steinway cupola plate, fan-like disposition of strings, overstrung bass, duplex scale and capo d’astro bar to give the reader some idea of the many inventions that have sprung from the fertile brains of the members of this house. the other houses, notably that of chickering in this country, and broadwood in england, have been prolific in improvements, and the development of the grand pianoforte has consequently been rapid and successful from the musical and scientific, no less than from the commercial view-point. the history of the type in more recent years is familiar to all, however, and it is unnecessary to enlarge upon it here.
-if we have seemed, hitherto, to have neglected proper consideration of the upright and square forms of pianoforte, the fault is more apparent than real. for there are two good reasons why discussion of these types should have been delayed. in the first place, the square is already obsolescent if not obsolete, while on the other hand the development of the upright into a commercially successful and largely produced instrument has only come about in recent years. this sketch would, of course, be incomplete without brief consideration of them and we shall therefore devote some space to this end.
-as has already been indicated, the square piano may be considered as having a genesis quite distinct from the grand or upright. it was developed, as we know, by zumpe, whose purpose was to fit the hammer action to the body of a clavichord. thus, when we consider the different roots from which the clavichord and spinet-harpsichord types were themselves evolved, and the direct descent of the grand pianoforte from the latter, the entirely separate and distinct growth of the square is easily discerned. this distinction is most interesting at the present day, when the glory of the square has departed and its days are numbered.
-the evolution of the square pianoforte in america has been recorded with faithful detail by spillane in his “history of the american pianoforte,” and the reader will find in that work an abundance of material to satisfy any curiosity that may possess him. incidentally it may be remarked that the idea of cross-stringing the bass had been applied to clavichords as early as the time of händel; so that the overstringing of the square pianoforte came about quite naturally, especially after the improvements of john broadwood the first. on the other hand, this principle was for long overlooked in the design of the other popular types; so much so, in fact, that european grands and uprights are still to be found in plenty with straight stringing throughout.
-the chief reasons for the gradual decline in the popularity of the square may be traced almost as much to social and economic as to artistic and mechanical causes, although these latter had the greater influence in shaping the ultimate destiny of the type. the square was developed in the united states until the native american product left all imitators and rivals far behind, but even at that the fundamental defects of construction could never be overcome entirely. the great gap in the middle of the structure, required for the passage of the hammers, entailed dangerous weakness, against which no reasonable weight of iron bracing has ever seemed to prevail. again, the fact that the bass keys, where the strength of the blow and the leverage of the action need to be greatest, were the shortest of all, while the extreme treble keys were longest, always tended to destroy the touch proportions and entailed much counter-balancing and other operations which were, however, but makeshifts at the best. moreover, the development of the grand type led to rivalry among those makers who confined themselves chiefly to the square, with the result that the latter was made more and more heavy and cumbrous in an effort to catch up with the fundamental advantage which the grand pianoforte possessed on account of its superior design. besides, the square was never a thing of beauty, and its increasing size was by no means an advantage in this respect, so that when the rapidly growing population of the great american cities began to make living room continually more valuable, the claims of the small, powerful, elegant, and moderate-priced upright soon were successfully asserted. as a last consideration, it should be mentioned that the makers of square pianofortes were never able to apply to it a mechanism having the elasticity and rapid repetition that belong to the erard grand action or the tape-check device of wornum, which is universal in the upright.
-in view of all these disadvantages, it is no longer a matter for wonderment that the upright pianoforte succeeded the square as a bidder for domestic favor, while the larger and more highly evolved grand remained the choice of professional musicians.
-the commercial development of the upright pianoforte, as we have remarked, began at a comparatively recent period. in this country, owing to the popularity of the square, we find that the upright was late in coming into favor. its development, however, had been going on in europe since the beginning of the nineteenth century. the “cabinet” piano of southwell and the “upright grand” of hawkins were examples of early attempts in this line, but it remained for the genius of robert wornum to place the upright instrument on a truly practical footing. this was accomplished through his invention of “the tape-check action,” which at once put the upright pianoforte upon an equal plane of efficiency with the prevailing types and assured its rapid adoption. by the end of the first half of the nineteenth century the upright piano had become firmly established as the home instrument throughout europe, and about the same time began to appear among american products. as soon as american manufacturers took hold of it, they set about making vast improvements upon european models; and we may properly date the modern development of the upright from this time. americans were responsible for the adoption of overstrung iron-framed scales, and for the increase in size and power which now makes our best instruments of this class equal, if not superior, to the grands of a few years ago.
-the later history of the upright, not less than of the grand, is a simple record of continuous improvement in details of workmanship and material, in beauty of case design and in scientific construction of scale. it is not necessary, for the purpose of this short sketch, to enter into the familiar modern history of manufacturing the various types of pianoforte, either in this country or abroad; but we may note, incidentally, that european makers have adopted more and more american inventions and improvements, so that the modern, up-to-date pianoforte owes a great part of its present efficiency to the genius of the great american makers, although these, of course, have worked along the great principles that broadwood, chickering, steinway, weber, knabe, erard and others laid down.
-thus we have surveyed, though truly in a somewhat hurried manner, the interesting history of the growth and development of the pianoforte of to-day. the reader will forgive the brief and sketchy nature of this bird’s-eye view, when he recollects that our purpose in this book is to lay down the correct principles of modern design, rather than to analyze those principles from an historical standpoint. some of the laws that we shall have occasion to expound have already been noted here. in the succeeding chapters these and others will be considered in the light of their scientific and practical application.
-description of the modern pianoforte.
-the pianoforte of to-day is the most complex and ingenious of musical instruments. with the possible exception of the pipe-organ, there is no existing tone apparatus that combines within itself the product of so many varied industries. both as to the raw material and the finished parts, this instrument draws its tonal charm, in the ultimate analysis, as much from the saw-mill, the machine shop and the iron foundry as from the forest and the mine. trees of the forest, ore from the mines--even the wooly coats of the peaceful sheep--alike contribute their share to the completion of the wonderful product of musico-mechanical ingenuity that we recognize in the modern pianoforte.
-in such circumstances as these, it is easy to understand that the commercial production of these instruments is a formidable undertaking. to the musical and technical skill that is essential must now be added large capital and a great manufacturing plant. the moderate prices at which it is at present possible to sell pianofortes would not be maintained for a moment without this modern system of productive concentration and distributive expansion. the application of such business systems to the production of an essentially artistic structure has had the double effect of cheapening the selling price and improving the quality.
-this is not the place to go into details of the organization of a modern pianoforte factory, but we may very properly devote some moments to a consideration of the main points of construction that are observable in the pianofortes of the day. critical analysis of these points will be in order later on in the course of the present work. for the moment we shall be content with obtaining a bird’s-eye view, as it were, of that which we are later to dissect and criticise.
-there are to-day two distinct and prevailing types of pianoforte. these are the “upright” and the “grand.” of the once popular “square” it is unnecessary here to do more than say that the type has passed into a state of obsolescence and is fast dying out. both structurally and tonally, it was most defective; and its popularity was due rather to the imperfect development of the other types during the period of its vogue than to any inherent advantages of its own. it has well and faithfully served its appointed time, and we may properly leave it to die in peace.
-for the last thirty years in this country and for considerably longer in europe, the upright, succeeding the square as a home instrument, has remained victorious. its small size and great convenience, together with the surprising tonal capacity that has been developed in it in the united states, have universally commended it, and only the development of the very small grand has lately seemed to be threatening its long unchallenged supremacy.
-the exterior form of an upright is familiar to all. if we strip from it all the outer appendages, and then remove the action and keys, we shall at once see that the instrument consists essentially of a sound-board and a frame, the latter partly wooden and partly metallic, upon which are stretched strings of regularly graduated lengths and thicknesses. attached to this framing are two more or less ornate wooden erections which are denominated the “sides” of the instrument, while a horizontal wooden shelf, called the “key-bed,” serves to join the sides and support the keys and their frame.
-the strings of an upright are arranged vertically from the top to the bottom of the framing already described, with the exception of those which serve the bass notes. these are strung diagonally over the treble strings. it will also be observed that the strings become progressively shorter as the scale ascends until the speaking lengths at the highest notes are two inches or less. the thickness also varies directly as the length. the material of which the strings are made is cast-steel wire, and the overstrung bass strings are, in addition, covered with copper or iron wire. these strings, in order that they may be maintained at the proper tensions and in the correct positions, must be supported by suitable framing. the demands of modern construction require that the framing be most massive. we have already cast a hurried glance at it, and may now proceed to describe it in more detail. first of all, however, it is necessary to investigate the apparatus that amplifies the sound waves projected from the strings and transforms them into the pleasing tones of the pianoforte. we must, in short, examine the sound-board.
-we shall have occasion later, critically to examine and discuss the resonance apparatus of the pianoforte. it is sufficient, therefore, that we glance briefly at it here, so as to familiarize ourselves with its general form and construction. the sound-board is usually constructed of a sheet of spruce fir of varying thickness and arched inwards towards the strings, the crown of the arch being at its middle portion. it carries wooden bridges, over which pass the strings and upon which the vibrations of these strings are impressed and which serve to limit their speaking lengths. the side of the sound-board, remote from the strings, is strengthened by the addition of a series of strips of hard wood called “ribs,” which are tightly glued on to it.
-all of this apparatus is fitted into a wooden frame technically called the “back.” it consists of two horizontal beams, situated at the top and bottom of the instrument and joined together with a number of vertical wooden posts of great strength. into this structure the sound-board is secured in such a manner as to produce the arched shape above described, and in such a manner also as to leave nearly the whole of its surface free to vibrate. the top beam of the back is covered with the “wrest-plank,” a wooden block built up of crossed strips of hard maple into which are driven the tuning pins, or “wrest-pins” as they used to be called.
-the whole structure is then covered by the “iron plate,” which is a massive affair cast in one piece and bolted all round to the sides of the sound-board and back, and to the wrest plank at the top and the bottom beam at the bottom. this plate contains the “hitch-pins,” over which are looped the waste ends of the strings, and also the iron bridge, which limits the upper extension of their speaking lengths. the strings are arranged upon this elaborate foundation, looped over the hitch-pins, passed over the sound-board--or “belly”--bridges, and thence through the bearing-bar, up to the tuning-pins.
-to the sides of this structure are glued the external walls. a wooden bed for the keys is provided, and the action is secured partly to the iron plate and partly to the key-bed. the pedals are placed upon the bottom board, which is secured between the external walls or sides, and the pedals are connected with the proper parts of the action. when this has been done the construction of the instrument is essentially completed.
-the various kinds of upright pianoforte do not vary greatly in size. in the united states the popular sizes vary between the extremes of four feet ten inches and four feet in height, with sufficient width to accommodate the eighty-eight notes that make up the modern compass of seven octaves and a minor third. the multitude of different scale arrangements need not be discussed here at all, nor is it necessary to enter into any investigation of the various individual arrangements and devices that different manufacturers fit to their instruments. all these things will be treated in their proper order.
-the grand pianoforte has always been the favorite of the composer and the interpretative artist. in this type alone has it been possible to combine the highest qualities of tonal beauty and mechanical ingenuity. to-day the concert grands of our most eminent makers stand unsurpassed, both as mechanical structures and as musical instruments.
-the most obvious dissimilarity between the grand and the upright is, of course, seen in the difference of their planes. the grand might properly be called the horizontal pianoforte. its strings are stretched parallel to the plane of the floor and the hammers strike upwards at them from below. the second conspicuous difference is in the function of the exterior casing. we have already noted that this part of the upright is chiefly required to complete the exterior ornamentation of the structure, and secondarily to support the keys and action. the case of the grand, on the other hand, is an essential part of the resonant body of the instrument. it consists of a rim, bent to suitable shape and built up of continuous veneers, running all round in one piece and glued together at crossed grain until the desired number of layers and the proper thickness are thus obtained. the whole of what corresponds to the upright back framing, as well as the sound-board and iron plate, are rigidly built into this continuous bent rim, and thus the whole structure forms one complete resonant entity, entirely unified and interdependent. the rim is made deep enough to permit of the insertion of action and keys in the front portion, and a gap in the framing is left for the hammers to strike upwards at the strings. the wrest-plank is placed on one side of the gap and the sound-board occupies the remainder of the space on the other side. the iron plate covers the entire structure, wrest-plank included, and sustains the same relations to the instrument as in the upright. its shape, as also that of the sound-board, is adapted to the peculiar outline of the grand, which is so aptly implied in the word “fluegel” (wing), used in germany to designate the entire grand type.
-until a comparatively recent period the large concert size grand was practically the only type of these instruments. the revolutionary improvements initiated by the steinways in the middle of the nineteenth century paved the way, however, for the general introduction of smaller styles. it was found possible to retain the characteristically full and rich tone of the large grand--at least to a great extent--while its inherent advantages in the matter of touch and action all combined to assure the popularity of the smaller instrument among the more critical and discriminating of the public. doubtless, also, the remarkable change in the housing of urban populations that has been so conspicuous during the last twenty years had much to do with the general desire for an instrument that should be less common than the ordinary upright and that should at the same time be less cumbersome than the full-sized grand. a powerful incentive was therefore given to manufacturers to strive towards the perfecting of the small types, and we cannot deny that they have succeeded in a remarkable manner.
-it is true that there exists today a tendency to cut the size of these small grands down to really impossible proportions. there is a limit to the cutting down process; and it is apparent to the observer that more than one maker is endeavoring to obtain a true grand tone from a sound-board area and from string lengths that are such as entirely to prohibit the attainment of this desirable goal. of course, it may be retorted that the term “true grand tone” is subject to variations of definition. it may even be plausibly said that tone of any kind is too intangible a thing to be limited by any definitions. nevertheless, it would seem that there is a very decided limit, and that when we arrive at the point where it is no longer possible to obtain the fullness, richness and volume of tone that we are accustomed to accept as the distinguishing characteristic of the grand pianoforte, then, indeed, we no longer have a true grand. other instruments may have the outline and the action of a grand, but if they have not the proper sound-board area and string length, then they are merely (if we may perpetrate a bull) “horizontal uprights.”
-the very general description that we have thus given of the two prevailing types of pianoforte has not been intended to serve as more than what it so obviously is--a rapid bird’s-eye view of the instruments as they appear to the casual observer. the reader may thus prepare himself for the more definite and critical investigation that is now about to be begun.
-acoustical laws of sounding strings.
-sound is an impression produced upon the brain through the ear by the motion of air particles excited by an external body. in the transmission of sound from the vibrating or “sonorous” body to the ear it is motion that is transferred and not the substance of the air itself. in the same way there can be no sensation of sound without the interposition of an elastic fluid such as air or water, and the production of sound in a vacuum is, therefore, impossible.
-sound, in short, has no objective existence. we know it simply as a sensation, primarily caused by certain physical processes, the nature of which is comparatively familiar to us. we are aware of all that goes on between a sounding body and the ear, but we know nothing of the processes whereby these physical motions are transformed until they become, within the brain, sensations of musical sound or of noise.
-while so much of mystery clouds our conception of the nature of sound, we may take comfort in the knowledge that to penetrate the enigma is by no means necessary. not even the musician requires such transcendent knowledge. to the student of musical craftsmanship it is equally non-essential. it is well, however, to recognize the fact that as soon as we leave the sure ground of physical investigation, we become lost in impenetrable mystery and find ourselves face to face with the ancient, yet ever new, questions of our origin and destination. when we reflect upon the essentially spiritual and unearthly influence of music, we cannot but feel that, in the making of instruments to serve this art, we are ourselves assisting, however blindly, at a more than eleusinian mystery.
-the ear easily distinguishes between musical and non-musical sounds. nor does it fail to recognize differences in relative loudness or softness of any given musical sound. again, the relative degree of acuteness or gravity is distinguished, and, lastly, the quality of the same musical note when played upon two different instruments or when sung by two different voices is no less easily observed.
-now we have first to ask ourselves in what the difference between musical and non-musical sounds consists. we may say that a musical sound is produced by regularly recurring motions of the sounding body communicated to the air; or, more technically, a musical sound may be defined as a sound produced by periodical vibrations. this may be proved by holding a piece of cardboard against a rapidly revolving toothed wheel. as long as the revolutions of the wheel are performed at a comparatively slow speed the noise produced by the impact of the cardboard is broken and disjointed; but as the wheel is caused to revolve with greater rapidity the noise becomes gradually continuous and assumes a definite pitch. by increasing the speed of the wheel we cause a higher pitched musical sound to be produced. now, if we arrange a second card and wheel and cause them to be set in motion together with the first we shall find that when the two wheels are revolved at the same speed, they produce sounds of the same pitch. thus it is apparent that the pitch of a musical sound depends upon the speed of vibration, or upon the number of vibrations per second. without going too deeply into technicalities it may be said that similar experiments have enabled investigators to determine the behavior of sonorous bodies in reference to all the other conditions that pertain to them. thus, in the case of strings such as are used in the pianoforte, we are in possession of facts that make it possible for us to state accurately the pitches that will pertain to strings of given lengths, densities and thicknesses, which are stretched at given tensions. it is unnecessary to go into details of the precise methods employed to demonstrate these laws, and it will be quite sufficient to quote the laws themselves. the reader is therefore invited to note carefully that:
-1. the number of vibrations of a string is inversely proportional to the length of the string.
-2. the pitch of a musical sound is proportional to the number of vibrations per second; the greater the number of vibrations, the higher the pitch.
-3. the number of vibrations per second of a string is proportional to the square root of its tension. that is to say, if a string is stretched with a weight of one pound it will give forth a sound one octave lower than the sound that it would emit if stretched with a weight of four pounds.
-4. the number of vibrations of a string varies inversely as the thickness of the string. so that if there are two strings of the same material and length and subjected to the same tension, and if the diameter of the first is twice the diameter of the second, the first will produce one-half as many vibrations as the second.
-5. the number of vibrations per second of a string varies inversely as the square root of its density. thus, if one string has four times the density of another, the first will produce one-half as many vibrations as the second.
-in addition to these valuable laws, there are certain others which have reference to the actual musical sounds produced by strings. by means of them we know the relative proportions of the strings that will, other things being equal, give the various notes of the musical scale. if a perfect musical string be stretched and excited into vibration it will be found that an exact octave above the note that the whole string gives out may be produced by dividing the string at its precise middle point and causing one of the halves to vibrate. now we have already noted that the number of vibrations of a string is proportional to its length, and it is therefore obvious that the halves of the given string each have double the number of vibrations of the whole, and that, consequently, the octave to a note is produced by either twice or half the number of vibrations that suffice to produce the given note.
-carrying the experiment further, we may, by dividing the given string at other points on its surface, obtain all the other notes of the musical scale. it will not be necessary to repeat the explanation in each case, and the reader will have no difficulty in comprehending the following table, which gives the relative string length required to produce the eight notes of the diatonic scale of c major, taking the length of the complete string that gives the keynote as 1, and considering all other pertinent conditions to remain equal:
-at first sight it might appear that the above data ought to give us all necessary information in regard to the phenomena of vibrating strings. undoubtedly, the difficulties that surround the pianoforte designer would have little power to cause worry if there were nothing more to learn. our troubles, however, are but just now beginning, and the difficulties that still exist are greater than any that we have yet investigated. these difficulties have their origin in the nature of the sounds that are emitted by musical strings.
-while we have been investigating the relative vibration speeds and pitches that pertain to the strings under various conditions, we have not as yet paid attention to any other difficulties that might have their origin under entirely different circumstances. there are, however, certain highly important phenomena which are determined by the nature of the strings themselves, irrespective of all other conditions. these phenomena affect the constitution of such sounds as any musical string may produce. sounds produced through the agency of musical strings are not and cannot be simple sounds. and this peculiarity arises from the fact that such strings in common with most other agencies for the production of musical sounds are incapable of performing perfectly simple vibrations. if a string vibrated as a whole uniformly and all the time, its motions might be compared to the rhythmic swing of a pendulum, and the sounds that it emitted would be absolutely simple and absolutely pure. the fact, however, is that this never occurs. no string ever vibrates as a whole without simultaneously vibrating in segments, which are aliquot parts of the whole. these segments, when thus vibrating, give out the sounds that pertain to them according to their relative lengths; while the vibration of the whole length of the string, at the same time, causes the production of the sound proper to it, which is called the “prime” or “fundamental” tone. the sounds produced by the simultaneously vibrating segments are called “partial tones” or “upper partials.” in the case of sounding strings, such as we are now investigating, the partials follow each other in arithmetical progression and are produced by the vibrating of segments the proportions of which may be expressed by the harmonic series 1, 1/2, 1/3, 1/4, 1/5, 1/6, 1/7, 1/8, 1/9, and so on ad infinitum. now, if we examine this series we shall see that the lower of the partial tones that are represented by the various fractions must bear distinct harmonic relations to the fundamental tone. it will simultaneously be observed, however, that as the series is continued, the fractional quantities become uniformly smaller, and the difference between any pair of them (for the same reason) is smaller as the position of the given pair is more remote from unity. naturally, this means that the partial tones represented by such fractional quantities are separated by continually decreasing intervals. if the process is carried far enough, the time comes when the interval of separation is less than a semitone. clearly, then, partial tones in this condition can bear no proper harmonic relation to the fundamental tone. they are, in fact, dissonant.
-here, then, we come upon a fact that has a very wide bearing. it is a demonstrated acoustical truth that tone quality depends upon the number and intensity of the partial tones that accompany the fundamental during the sounding of any musical note. if, through any cause, these high and dissonant partials are excited into undue prominence, they may, and do, exercise a profound and maleficent influence upon the quality of musical sounds. we shall later have occasion to confirm the truth of this statement, and we shall learn, in the course of our investigation, fully to appreciate its importance in the practical problems of pianoforte design.
-for the purpose of assisting the reader in the comprehension of the above argument, the following table is given, showing the order of succession and pitch of the partial tones of the note c (second line below the staff in the bass clef). taking the pitch of the octave above middle c, for convenience of calculation, as 512 vibrations per second, this gives us 64 for the c in question.
-it should be observed that the seventh, eleventh and fourteenth partials and their multiples cannot more than approximately be indicated in musical notation, as they do not exactly correspond to the notes that are written to represent them. we are obliged to be content with an approximation to the true pitch of these partials and the notation given here is as near as it is possible to approach.
-a brief consideration of the facts thus presented will convince the reader that a combination of any fundamental tone with its first eight partials will produce a relatively harmonious effect. at the same time we must observe that this harmoniousness is more and more obliterated as the higher partials are permitted to sound simultaneously with the others. in fact, it may be said that, although we can not and must not eliminate the dissonant partials altogether, we should attempt to cause the strings to vibrate with entire freedom only as far as concerns the first eight partials, and less freely as far as concerns the others.
-now, in what manner can this desirable end be attained? to answer this question we must first discover what pre-disposing causes, if any, exist towards the favoring of any combination of partials at the expense of any other.
-in speaking of the automatic sub-division of a string into vibrating segments, we omitted, at the time, to make mention of a fact which should, however, be obvious to the reader; namely, that the various points at which the sub-division occur are themselves motionless.
-it would be more correct, perhaps, to say “apparently motionless”; for, of course, if these dividing points or “nodes,” as they are called, were entirely without motion, the formation of the vibrating segments would be impossible. in most cases, however, the “amplitude” or length of swing of the nodes when in motion is very much smaller than the amplitude of vibration of the segments. consequently, as the vibration of the segments of a string is itself ordinarily invisible, the motion of the nodes may be considered as inappreciable.
-now, these nodes exercise considerable influence upon the problems that we are considering. for example, according to the researches of young, it appears that when a string is struck at any point all those partials are obliterated that have their nodes at that point. curiously enough, however, it has since been found in the case of the pianoforte, that those upper partials are not necessarily eliminated that have their nodes at the striking point. undoubtedly, however, a properly chosen node provides the best possible striking point, since its selection permits the operation of its tendency to suppress those particular partials that have their nodes at the same place.
-a consideration of the phenomena already observed has caused us to perceive that the highest partials of the compound tone produced by a musical string do not bear precise harmonic relations to the prime tone. as the successive sub-divisions of the string approach closer and closer to each other, the tones thus generated are seen to be distant by proportionately less intervals, until at length they cease to have a close similarity to any tone of the musical scale. consequently, as was said before, they exercise a generally harsh and dissonant influence upon the nature of the compound tone. we have already concluded that, broadly speaking, we should aim to eliminate these dissonant partials and, conversely, to favor the prominence of those which are more nearly harmonic. the reasoning which has served to lead us to this conclusion may profitably be carried a step further. if the highest partials are non-harmonic, it is obvious that their presence or absence, their prominence or the reverse, must necessarily exercise much influence upon the actual quality of a musical sound; upon the individual color which different generating agencies impart to the same musical note; in effect, upon all the numerous gradations of what we are accustomed to call harshness, hollowness or mellowness of tonal quality.
-this inevitable conclusion has been fully substantiated by the results of experiment. the labors of helmholtz and koenig have demonstrated conclusively that the quality of a musical sound depends upon the number and intensity of the partial tones that accompany the fundamental. thus the mystery of the individual tone coloring that distinguishes the voices of different musical instruments or of different persons is transferred from the realm of psychology to that of science. in fine, it becomes clear that if we can govern the number of the segments into which a vibrating string divides itself, and if we can also control the amplitude of vibration of these segments, we shall find it possible to alter the tone quality of a musical instrument at our pleasure.
-it has already been observed that the generation of certain partial tones is assisted or retarded as the position of the striking point on a string is changed. it may not be out of place to note that the various other methods of exciting a string, such as plucking, bowing, etc., permit the production of equally variable effects as the points at which they operate are changed. our inquiry, however, is confined to the pianoforte, and we shall therefore continue to limit ourselves to the cases of pianoforte strings as struck by the usual hammers.
-the matter of choosing a proper striking point was first systematically investigated by john broadwood, founder of the celebrated house of that name, in the early part of the nineteenth century. until that time the pianoforte makers had, apparently, paid no attention to this important problem and had been content to follow in the steps of the builders of harpsichords and spinets. examination of any of the instruments that are direct ancestors of the pianoforte will show that the strings are struck, indifferently, at any point from one-tenth to one-half of the speaking length. the only exceptions appear to be those clavichords in which the strings are all of the same length and in which the tangents on the keys impinge upon the strings at different fixed points to give the corresponding notes of the scale. since the time of broadwood, however, the vast importance of correctness in this particular has come to be recognized with more or less unanimity.
-the investigations undertaken by this eminent maker convinced him that the ideal striking point lay between one-seventh and one-ninth of the speaking length of the string. now, our investigations have shown us that the most harmonious and agreeable compound tone is that which is formed by the combination of the first eight partials. it would seem, therefore, that one-eighth of the speaking length would be more correct than the approximation that was arrived at by broadwood. theoretically, indeed, the latter is nearer to the ideal point; is, in fact, the ideal point. for obvious mechanical reasons, however, it is usually impossible to hit this point with exactitude, and the approximation suggested and used by broadwood has been proved, by the practice of the best makers, to offer the nearest practical solution.
-we may, then, lay it down as a rule to be followed that a point as nearly as possible midway between one-seventh and one-ninth of the speaking length of the string should be chosen and adhered to as the proper place where the blow of the hammer should be struck. if this rule be faithfully followed the greatest obstacle to purity of tone is removed and the most harmonious and agreeable combination of partials is in a fair way to be secured. nevertheless, it is necessary to make an exception for the highest notes on the piano. practical experience has shown that one-tenth is a better striking point for the very highest and shortest strings.
-thus we have been able to enunciate and discuss the principal laws that govern the activities of sounding strings, particularly those of the pianoforte. as the argument is developed, it will often appear that the theoretical exactitude of the rules here laid down must be modified in practice. such a condition is always inevitable as between a body of laws and the application thereof. it will be found, however, that the variations to be recorded are not generally very important, and the reader will be well advised to make the rules enunciated in this chapter his continual leaning post and guide.
-the most conspicuous difference is, perhaps, that which exists between the theoretical and practical results of halving string lengths to obtain octaves. in practice it is found that pianoforte strings generally sound a little flat of the octave when divided at exactly the middle point. but the variation is the fault of the steel wire and not of the rule.
-the musical scale and musical intonation.
-we have now considered as much of the phenomena of musical sounds as may be considered to have a bearing upon the purpose of our investigations. we may then devote some space to the matter of the expression of musical ideas, and the intonation which has been devised in order to reduce the mental products of composers to the limitations of musical instruments. music is expressed through the medium of a scale of tones, all of which bear definite relations to each other as to pitch. the “diatonic scale,” which is the foundation of musical intonation, is composed of a series of eight tones which are named after letters of the alphabet, the last tone having the same name as, and being the octave to, the first. the frequencies of these tones always bear the same ratios, one to another, whatever may be their positions within the compass of any instrument. now, considering the frequency of the first tone to be unity, the frequencies of the others are in the following proportions:
-if we now divide these proportionate numbers each by the other we have the proportionate intervals that separate them. doing this, we have the following result:
-now, it will be observed that we have in the above table three different kinds of interval represented by the three ratios, 9/8, 10/9 and 16/15. the first of these is called the major tone and the second the minor tone, while the third is known as the diatonic semitone. following out these ratios, we may obtain the frequencies of any diatonic series. we shall choose the scale of which c 528 is the key-note. its frequencies are as follows:
-knowing as we do the ratios and frequencies already calculated, it is obvious that we may similarly calculate the ratios and frequencies for the diatonic scale, of which any given tone is the tonic or key-note. before doing this, however, it is well for us to remember that the diatonic scale is not adequate to all the requirements of music. musicians have found it necessary to interpolate other sounds in between those which form the diatonic progression. the reason for this is that music, in order that it may have the greatest possible freedom of expression, must be written in a larger number of keys, and must contain more distinct sounds than the diatonic scale is able to afford. for these and other cognate reasons the chromatic scale was introduced. the addition of five chromatic semitones, obtained by taking the difference between a minor tone and a diatonic semitone, gives the chromatic scale thirteen semitones from key-note to octave. unfortunately, however, the same number of keys upon the pianoforte cannot provide us with thirteen pure chromatic sounds in every key. this may be demonstrated as follows: the ratio of a chromatic semitone is 25/24. the sharp of c 528 is, therefore, 550. but in the diatonic scale of d (the major second in scale of c), c sharp has a frequency of 1113-3/4. the octave below this latter sound is the c sharp, which is one chromatic semitone above c 528. we know the frequency of the latter to be 550. the frequency of the octave below c sharp, 1113-3/4, ought, therefore, to be 550. but we know that the octave below any given note has a frequency that is one-half that of the given note. now, one-half of 1113-3/4 is 556-7/8. therefore, we see that there is a difference of 6-7/8 vibrations per second between the c sharp that is a chromatic semitone above c 528 and the c sharp that is the octave below the major seventh of the scale of d, and which ought to be the same sound, as it is in the same position on the key-board as the former. by carrying the same investigation further we are enabled to perceive that sounds of the same name are not identical when played in different keys, or, rather, that the same name does not imply that the sound so denoted means the same thing when it is considered in its relation to any tonic different to that to which it was first related. there is another difficulty also that confronts us in the problem of playing pure sounds upon the pianoforte; that instrument, as we know, does not provide us with different keys for the sharp of one sound and the flat of the sound next above it. there is a general belief that c sharp, for example, and d flat are identical. but this is not so. the flat of d is a chromatic semitone below that note, while the sharp of c is the same interval above the latter. by referring to our former calculations it will be seen that the chromatic semitone ratio is 25/24. the sharp of c is, therefore, obtained by multiplying the frequency of c by 25/24, and the flat of d is likewise evolved by an inverse process, namely, by dividing the frequency of d by the same ratio. this is equivalent to adding a chromatic semitone to c and subtracting the same from d. if we take the notes c and d from the scale of c 528, we have the frequencies of c and d as 528 and 594 respectively. effecting the multiplication and division as above we see that c sharp has a frequency of 550, while that of d flat is 570-6/25. that is to say that these two notes differ by no less than 20-6/25 vibrations per second.
-it thus becomes obvious that the expression of all the sounds within the compass of an octave, in such a manner that absolutely correct sounds in every key may be obtained, is a problem that calls for more sounds than are provided by the pianoforte. as a correct understanding of this most important subject is essential, a somewhat elaborate treatment of it will be given here. the reader who takes the pains to master the true inwardness of the problem of musical intonation will have an insight into the matter which few pianoforte makers or musicians possess.
-“just intonation” is the name given to that system whereby we are enabled to command the expression of all the sounds that are required to be heard within the compass of an octave in order that the degrees of each and every possible scale may be correctly and exactly rendered. it is not difficult to see that performers upon instruments which do not have fixed tones should have no difficulty in adjusting the intonation of every tone to correspond with the variations in pitch required by the different positions in the scale that such tones may occupy. experiments have, in fact, been carried out with violinists and it has been shown that artists upon this instrument do naturally play the true diatonic and chromatic intervals when left to themselves and when not forced to adjust their intonation to that of fixed tone instruments.
-in order to show with accuracy the total number of different sounds that are required to produce “just intonation” in every possible key the reader is invited to consider the following table, which shows the smallest possible number of sounds that will give the true diatonic intervals in twelve keys. the first note in each row is the key-note and the last the octave thereto. the frequencies of those key-notes that are not represented in the first scale (that of c) have been calculated as follows:
-the key-note to scale of b-flat is the perfect fourth to key-note of scale f. the key-note to scale of e-flat is the perfect fourth to key-note of scale b-flat the key-note to scale of f-sharp is the octave below major seventh of scale g. the key-note to scale of g-sharp is the octave below major seventh of scale a. the key-note to scale of c-sharp is the octave below major seventh of scale d.
-we therefore have the following results:
-in order that the different sounds may more easily be separated, they have been collated in linear progression, together with their frequencies and the scales in which they or their octaves appear:
-thus we see that thirty-one different sounds are required to give the true diatonic intervals in only twelve keys. but it is not necessary to remind the reader that there are more keys than these used in music. we have, in fact, not yet considered the keys of a flat, d flat and g flat. the frequencies of the keynotes of these scales have been calculated as follows:
-we are therefore able to construct these following additional scales:
-by examining the last table the reader will perceive that we have obtained fourteen new sounds. they are shown graphically in this manner:
-in the scale of a-flat the new sounds are b-flat, c, d-flat, f and g. in the scale of d-flat the new sounds are e-flat, f, g-flat, and a-flat. in the scale of g-flat the new sounds are a-flat, c-flat, d-flat, e-flat and f.
-none of these sounds had been obtained in the scales given before and, consequently, we have to consider that there are fourteen more sounds to be added to the thirty-one that we have already found.
-the above calculations would suffice to provide us with the diatonic intervals in all the keys that are used in music. harmony demands, however, certain other intervals. these are minor thirds, minor sevenths, dominant sevenths and minor sixths. accordingly, if we desire to probe the matter of just intonation to its depths, we must calculate the sounds that are required to make up these intervals in such scales as are now without them. examining the tables already prepared, we find that there are wanting the following members:
-minor thirds to the key-notes of the scales c, d, e-flat, f, g, b-flat, a-flat, d-flat, g-flat.
-minor sixths to the key-notes of the scale c, e-flat, b-flat, a-flat, g-flat, and d-flat.
-dominant sevenths to the key-notes of the scales e-flat, f and b-flat.
-minor sevenths to the key-notes of the scales a-flat, d-flat, and g-flat.
-we shall have no difficulty in calculating the frequencies of the required notes by the same processes that we have followed heretofore.
-the result of these calculations may now be collated and summarized. we find that there are no less than sixty-six separate sounds required for the production of the necessary intervals in all the possible scales. these sounds are thus classified:
-now the obvious conclusion to be drawn from this analysis is that the true sounds of the just musical scales are very different from any that we hear upon the pianoforte. indeed, we may properly carry the reasoning a step further. if the expression of all the degrees of the true musical scales requires this formidable array of sounds, then surely, the sounds that are produced upon the piano are not all of the required true sounds, but are totally unlike any of them. for it is evident that if the sixty-six true sounds within the compass of an octave have to be reduced to the thirteen that are found upon the pianoforte, the process of compression to which the former must be subjected will force the latter into the position of so many compromises. in fact, with the exception of the standard tone from which all calculations and all tuning must start, and its octaves, there is no tone upon the piano, as it is now tuned, which is identical with any sound of the justly tuned scale. the process to which we have alluded, and which is necessary to secure to the piano and all other instruments with fixed tones the ability to perform music in all keys which are desired for the proper expression of the composers’ ideas, is called temperament. upon the skill and cunning with which this compromise with natural laws is effected depends the whole beauty of, and the whole of our pleasure in, music as we are accustomed to hear it. it would be vain to pretend that tempered intonation is preferable to that which is pure and just, but it is equally vain and foolish to decry the accepted system of temperament until the mechanical skill of manufacturers of musical instruments and the taste of performers have risen to the point of appreciating the beauties of pure intonation and of devising mechanical means of attaining it. until that time arrives we must fain be content to accept what we have and make the best of it. there have, of course, been attempts to provide instruments that could be used to give the pure intervals in every key, but they have been invariably failures. most of them have been forced to depend upon tempered intonation to a certain extent, while others have been mechanically impossible.
-in any case we must remember that the pianoforte, as at present constructed and played, depends entirely upon an equally tempered intonation. so strongly has the pianoforte entrenched itself in popular favor, indeed, that music and tempered intonation have become, to most people, exactly synonymous. it is proper that we should be able to draw true distinctions, however, as the practical work of piano building ought to be largely guided by the considerations induced from the necessity and fact of temperament.
-the equal temperament.
-as was suggested in the last chapter, it becomes necessary to effect a compromise between the demands of true musical intonation and the limitations of musical instruments, in order that the performance of music may be made practicable. the equal temperament, now universally employed, has only risen to its present commanding position within the last century. it seems to have been first used by johann sebastian bach. händel did not know it, and it struggled throughout the whole of the eighteenth century with the mean-tone system.
-temperament systems were, however, invented and used long before this period. pythagoras, the greek pre-christian philosopher, was one of the earliest experimenters along these lines. the method that he devised has come down to us, and we are thus able to see wherein lies the difference between it and the modern diatonic scale. without going into too much detail, we may note that the pythagorean system recognizes only two intervals; namely, the tone and semitone. the diatonic scale, as we know, has a major tone, a minor tone and a diatonic semitone. the pythagorean scale contemplates perfect fifths and sharped thirds, and is incapable of the effects of modern harmony.
-the next attempt to adapt the necessary compromise in the interests of practical music was introduced after the modern diatonic scale had become the standard method of octave-division; that is to say, some time in the fifteenth century. it has been variously called the “mean-tone,” “mesotonic” and “vulgar” temperament. in this method the tone is a mean or average between the major and minor tones of the diatonic scale. the fifths are all flattened, while the thirds are justly tuned. such a system possesses both advantages and disadvantages. on the one hand, the nearer and more frequently used scales are purer and more agreeable; on the other hand, the remoter scales are exceedingly dissonant; so much so, in fact, that they cannot be employed with pleasure to either the performer or the hearer. so long, however, as the music is written in the commoner scales the mean-tone temperament, possessing the great advantage over other methods of having pure thirds, is far more agreeable to the ear. in fact, up till a few years ago it was not uncommon to find organs in village churches in europe that were still tuned according to this system. the mean-tone system first made harmony, as we understand it, practicable, but as the knowledge and imagination of composers widened, the desire naturally arose to take advantage of the greater powers for harmony that could alone be afforded by the unrestricted possession of all possible scales. a substitute for the mean-tone system had, therefore, to be found, and thus arose the modern and accepted method, universally known as the equal temperament. by this method, which is at the present time universal, the octave is divided into thirteen equally distant semitones or half-steps. all distinctions between major and minor tones and diatonic and chromatic semitones are swept away, and it is assumed that the sound between any two sounds in the scale is equally sharp and flat respectively to the sound immediately preceding and following it.
-this method, of course, implies a rearrangement of the whole scale, for it is necessary to alter the precise pitch of every sound within the compass of the octave in order that the equalization may be effected. thus it comes about that the equally tempered scale has only one interval tuned purely. this interval naturally is the octave. all the others require to be sharped or flatted in varying degrees. every chord, every interval, with one exception, therefore, is more or less out of tune. the effect of this system of tempering cannot very well be noted accurately upon the pianoforte, owing to the evanescence of that instrument’s tone; but the organ often shows the dissonance of certain intervals and chords in a most distressing manner. perhaps the worst of the defects of the equal temperament are exhibited in the inability clearly to distinguish between true consonances and true dissonances. where the actual distinctions between the true intervals are fused together it is impossible that there should be such distinctions between them as the true scale shows, and, consequently, we often are obliged to miss many delicate shades of comparative consonance or dissonance that would be clearly exhibited in a scale in which the intervals were represented with fidelity. we already know, however, that no such method is at present possible, and we must fain resign ourselves to the compromise that we have, and hope for better things in the future. but at the same time, the equal temperament possesses not a few positive virtues. as explained above, there can be no difference between the sharp of a given tempered sound and the flat of the tempered sound one whole step above the former. in other words, the sharp of c in the equal temperament must be the same as the flat of d, for these two sounds are assumed to be equally distant from the sound which is between them, and the three are simply part of a series of equal semitones. this being the case, the ambiguity that arises from the identity of these sounds is very often found to be invaluable for the purposes of quick and convenient modulation. there are instances in which the connecting link between two modulations would entirely be lost without the peculiar intonation that is afforded by equally tempered sounds. it seems, in short, that the equal temperament, imperfect and artificial as it is, cannot easily be replaced in the existing states of our acoustical knowledge and of the mechanical musical industries.
-it would be without the province of our immediate purpose to enter into any special discussion of the possibility of manufacturing pianofortes that shall give pure intonation, as distinguished from the tempered sounds that we have thus exhibited. we have already had occasion to mention that the equal temperament has become so strongly and intimately bound up with the performance of music, that the majority of musicians are probably incapable of distinguishing between the idea of pure as opposed to that of tempered musical sounds.
-we have already pointed out, and reference to the various tables will confirm the assertion, that the equal temperament imposes excessive roughness of intonation upon very few of the musical intervals. thus the octave is pure, the fourths and fifths nearly so, and only the seconds, thirds, sixths and sevenths are so rough as to be noticeable to other ears than those of the professional pianoforte tuner. indeed it is very doubtful whether the musical public could ever be universally educated to the point of appreciating the differences between pure and equally-tempered fourths and fifths; while at the same time it must be remembered that the second and seventh, at least, are dissonances whether purely intoned or not.
-we may properly question the actual advantage that the mechanical attainment of just pianoforte intonation would produce; we may ask ourselves what would be gained thereby for the cause of art, and the answer does not appear to be other than that any conceivable benefit must be so slight as to be practically negligible.
-pianoforte strings and their proper dimensions.
-the strings of a modern pianoforte are made of cast steel and possess a relatively great thickness and stiffness. that is to say, they enjoy these characteristics to a far greater degree than do the strings of any other musical instruments that employ such agents for the purpose of generating musical sounds. the strings of any member of the viol family, for example, are so totally unlike those of the pianoforte that no comparison of their respective behavior when subjected to tension can be of interest to any save the scientist. in dealing with the strings of the pianoforte then, we face an isolated and unusual problem which we shall have to consider at some length. we shall investigate the peculiar effects produced by the high tension, great thickness and great stiffness of the strings, as well as the singular phenomena exhibited in the case of the covered bass strings. we shall note that the strings are responsible for many unpleasant things of which they are seldom accused, and that their proportions as to length and tension do not comprehend in themselves the whole problem that the scaling of them presents to the designer. this matter of the internal nature of the steel and other wire has not, unhappily, received that attention to which its importance justly entitles it. no treatment of the principles of pianoforte design could be considered complete, however, without some discussion of the phenomena thus presented. the investigation which we shall undertake will lead us to the development of more of those general principles that we are now engaged in enunciating, and we shall then be able to formulate certain rules of wide application which may be employed in the practical consideration of the problems with which the whole matter of pianoforte design abounds.
-as is generally known, the strings that are charged with the duty of emitting the sounds comprehended within the two lowest octaves on the pianoforte are customarily constructed of a combination of steel wire and some other, usually copper or iron. the latter is wound over a core of the former wire, and this winding is graduated, as to the amount and thickness of the material employed, according to the pitch to which it is desired that each string shall be tuned. there is an obvious reason for this procedure. for, as we have already shown, two strings whose lengths are as 2:1 will, other things being equal, emit musical sounds separated by the interval of an octave. consequently, under perfect mechanical conditions, the length of each string of a pianoforte should conform to the rule thus indicated, and should be one-half or double the length of that which produces the octave above or below it; the absolute application of this rule, however, being subject to certain practical modifications throughout the entire compass. these will be discussed later.
-even in the absence of such considerations, however, this ideal condition could not be attained. the mechanical difficulties presented would always operate to forbid the carrying out of such an arrangement throughout the whole compass of the instrument. for, to follow the rule with entire consistency would necessitate a length of 256 inches for the lowest c, on an assumed length of 2 inches for the highest note of the same denomination. as this would imply a length or height of the instrument of nearly 24 feet it is not difficult to see that such construction is impossible. furthermore, evenness of tone quality would be seriously hindered if the lowest strings were of any such dimensions. to secure equality of tonal result it is necessary, as has been noted above, that we should be able to equalize, as far as possible, the particular forms of vibration that pertain to each string. obviously, the nature of the blow that would produce a given form of vibration in a string of 256 inches in length must be very different from that which would produce similar forms in a string only one-tenth as long. again, to maintain such long strings at the required tension involves mechanical problems that savor more of engineering than of pianoforte building.
-for these and cognate reasons, therefore, the practice has arisen of artificially slowing the rate of vibration in the bass strings by wrapping them with brass, iron or copper wire. naturally, the form of the vibrations excited in these wrapped strings is entirely different from any that the plain steel wire is capable of producing. the iron or copper wire is itself thrown into vibration both independently of and together with the cord of steel, so that we have the phenomenon of one string emitting two separate series of vibrations, with resultant disarrangement of the generated upper partials and concomitant production of beats in a more or less appreciable quantity. now if, in addition, the bass strings are not scaled with approximate correctness as to their relative lengths, thicknesses, and other dimensions, it follows that there will be two distinct and different causes of dissonance and unevenness of tone-quality, either of which is sufficient, in itself, to produce very unpleasant tonal results. it is clear, then, that particular attention must be paid to the designing of the string arrangement, if excellence of tone-quality is to be anywhere approached.
-it is, fortunately, possible to give quite precise directions for the calculating of string dimensions. as a preliminary, we must remind the reader of the rules that were laid down in chapter iv, relating to the behavior of stretched strings. it will be recalled that we had occasion to observe that these rules would require certain modifications in practice, as they referred only to ideal musical strings which are of perfect flexibility and perfect uniformity, and are stretched at an absolutely constant tension.
-the first modification that appears upon investigation has reference to the division of string-lengths. it has already been pointed out that, in practice, we cannot obtain the octave above the fundamental tone of a given pianoforte string by dividing it exactly in the middle. conversely, an exact doubling of the length does not produce the exact octave below the given fundamental tone. this discrepancy occurs on account of the fact that the shortening or lengthening of a given string causes a corresponding change in the tension at which it is maintained and in the density of adhesion of its molecules.
-now if we double the length of a string in order to obtain the octave below its fundamental tone, we decrease its tension, and this causes a slowing of the frequency of vibration. then again, the increased resiliency of the string brought about by the lengthening tends also to decrease the frequency. the frequencies of vibration of a string vary directly as the square root of the tension, inversely as the thickness, and directly also as the stiffness. these axioms being admitted, we observe that to obtain an octave lower than a given fundamental tone, we must obtain one-half the frequency that produces the fundamental. therefore, as we see from above, the double length must be decreased by one-fourth to allow for the automatic decrease of stiffness which varies directly as the frequency. and this modification must itself be modified to compensate for the increase in frequency produced by the very act of shortening. therefore we must consider the tension, and we find that to reduce this tends again to decrease the stiffness in exactly the same proportions as it was before increased. but frequency of vibration varies as the square root of the tension; therefore we take the square root of one-fourth, which was the fraction first arrived at. this root is one-sixteenth and is the differential factor that must be subtracted from the ideal octave lengths, in order to obtain the practical lengths.
-it will be found of course, as must be apparent to the reader, that the differential factor here suggested does not provide a complete solution to the problem of allowing for the exhibited differences between theory and practice. it does, however, provide a true guide to the lengths. there is of course a difference of produced frequency to be allowed for yet. fortunately, however, this is provided for by the graduated thicknesses of pianoforte wire. by taking advantage of this almost geometrically proportioned graduation of diameter we are able to calculate a stringing scale that, if adhered to, will give the nearest possible approximation to complete harmony between theory and practice. that is to say, we can proceed with a string-length calculation based upon the differential factor already obtained, and then by arranging the distribution of the string thicknesses according to the diameters that are provided by the manufacturers of music wire, we may obtain a true estimation, not only as to the thickness of wire to be used at each place, but also as to the lengths proper to each string. of course the reader will remember that the matter of pitch is of considerable importance in all calculations of this kind. a difference in pitch implies difference of tension when the other factors remain equal, and we therefore have calculated the following tables on the assumption that the pitch to be used is that known as the international or c 517. attention is, therefore, directed to the following
-table showing true lengths of octave strings from the highest c string to the last c string that is usually left unwrapped.
-the above table, then, affords us a reliable guide to the scaling of the unwrapped strings. at the same time, however, it is not by any means complete, for the reason that there is no method shown as yet for the calculation of the other and intermediate string-lengths. we are, however, able to accomplish this task by the aid of a very ingenious rule proposed by the late professor pole, f.r.s. it is as follows:
-the proper length of any string may be determined from that of any other string, provided that the length and frequency of the second string be known. given these factors: then,
-for example, we have calculated already the proper length of c. in hundredths of an inch this length is expressed as 2882. the log. of this number is 45943. (this may be verified by any table of logarithms.)
-it is required to obtain the length of the string that, caeteris paribus, will produce one semitone above c.
-by reversing the process described above, and adding instead of subtracting, the proper lengths for the semitone below and all others in descending progression may be calculated with accuracy.
-having thus settled the matter of string lengths, we may proceed to consider the questions of diameter. but it is first of all necessary to warn the reader that the lengths that have here been calculated refer only to such pianofortes as are capable, by reason of their size, of taking the ideal string-lengths. very small uprights, for example, cannot be brought within that classification, except as regards the highest of their strings. in all pianofortes, no matter what their size, the higher strings are practically identical in length; but it will be found that shortness of height in an upright or of length in a grand begins, towards the middle of the scale, disastrously to affect the string proportions. as already pointed out, there are only two ways in which these disproportions can be overcome. these are through alterations in the tension or in the thickness. but such alterations necessarily disturb the whole tonal balance; and here we find a very strong reason for the poor tone that the average atrophied grand or upright possesses. moreover, it must not be forgotten that disproportionate thickness or unduly slackened tension affect the actual nature of the vibrations that are set up within the string. and the affections are operative both as to frequency and to form. therefore, naturally, bad tone and inability to stand in tune. this is not intended as an argument against the small pianoforte; but it is desired here to show that these little instruments, whether horizontal or vertical, must not be expected to perform impossibilities. if we are obliged to build small instruments, we must revise our calculations and tabulate the string-lengths according to a different basis of apportionment. for the purpose of the present work, however, the calculations have been made on the assumption that the standard size of pianoforte is to be designed.
-turn we then to the consideration of string diameters. the cast steel wire that is used for the pianoforte strings is supplied in definitely numbered and graded thicknesses. the numbers that are used generally run from no. 13 to no. 24. according to the tests made at the chicago world’s fair by the aid of riehle bros.’ testing machine, the wire of these numbers was of the following diameters and broke at the following strains. the wire manufactured by the firm of moritz poehlmann, nuremberg, germany, has been selected from among the various products that were subjected to these tests, on account of its superior durability and evenness of gradation.
-now it is a well known fact, and, indeed, obvious from what has already been said, that the proportional relations as to length, tension, diameter and breaking strain do not permit any other arrangement for the scaling of wire than that which is universally accepted by piano makers. that is to say, the shortest wires are taken from the thinnest numbers, and vice-versa, the whole scaling being so arranged as to secure for each tone that its strings shall be stretched at approximately the same tension. experience and the observations of the most eminent manufacturers seem to have established that the strain upon each of the uncovered strings should be maintained, as nearly as possible, at 160 lbs. if this be done it will be found that a pianoforte so constructed will produce the proper pitch at each string when the lengths are as calculated in the tables referred to. it will, of course, be necessary to arrange with due proportion the number of strings that are to be taken from the wire of each number. it will be found that the best practice takes into account the half sizes not shown here and strings the instrument with an average of five tones to each thickness of wire, beginning at 13 or 13-1/2 and continuing down to the end of the unwrapped strings according to the general directions suggested. experience and the individual ideas of the designer, assisted by such knowledge as this work aims to impart, are the best guides that can be followed. empirical induction, based upon observation and experience, provides the only possible and practical means for arriving at the true and proper arrangements to be made for each individual instrument. this empiricism extends with particular force to all string arrangements and is seen nowhere so conspicuously as in the variety of methods that are adopted by manufacturers in determining the number of strings within the unwrapped sections of the scale. thus, certain makers carry the wrapping over to the beginning of the treble strings and have two or three string-groups provided with wrapped wire before the overstringing is begun. the idea here is either to correct original defects of scale design or to shade down the break in tone that so often occurs at the point where the overstringing usually begins. from observation of the practice of the best makers, it may be said that the tone c below middle c is usually the first overstrung tone. of course, when the instrument is very small it will often be found that it is impossible to give the last unwrapped strings their proper lengths. in this case these offending strings may either be covered with light wrapping or may be put bodily over into the overstrung portion of the scale, in which latter case they will be wrapped anyway.
-supposing then that the matter of the number of overstrung strings has been determined, we may proceed to the consideration of the dimensions, number and covering of the strings that are to serve here. we are obliged to confess that the problem of attaining to good tone in the bass is, indeed, difficult. it is by no means hopeless, however, as the success of more than one eminent maker has already demonstrated.
-the simplest, most obvious, and easiest way out of the inherent difficulties of the scaling of bass strings is to be found in the consideration of their proper lengths. it does not require very much thought to perceive the truth that the longer the strings the less weight need be imposed upon them. if, in fact, we make the bass strings to approach as far as may be to the lengths that they would require to have if unwrapped, we shall be able to reduce proportionally the amount of artificial control that has to be exercised over the vibration speed. not only this, but the greater length thus attained implies greater tension. that is to say that, as we saw before, the tension at which a string is stretched acts to overcome the slowness of vibration-speed induced by its greater length, and, consequently, tends to generate a more regular progression of the upper partials (as experiment has demonstrated), with resultant tendency to greater purity of tone-quality.
-we may, in fact, accept it as an axiom that the bass strings should be as long and, simultaneously, as lightly weighted as possible, and that the weight of them should be strictly proportioned to the pitch of the musical tone that they are desired, at a given tension, to emit. as far as the second clause of these conditions is concerned it is well to remind the reader that limitations of space within the body of a piano usually determine the possible lengths of the bass strings. so much so is this the case, indeed, that it is not often possible to make any great difference in their respective lengths. the best makers appear to be agreed in a method of treating the problem that is at once simple and effective. they recognize the great advantage of scaling the bass strings at the greatest possible length, and then they take care that the descending increase of length is no greater than to make the lowest bass string one-fifth longer than the highest. at the same time they so graduate the weight of the wrapping material that the same results are attained as would naturally follow if they were as accurately scaled, in proportionate length, as are the plain wire strings.
-this equalization is, of course, only approximate. for the forms of vibration excited in two strings of the same pitch will be different whenever the various factors that govern the emission of sound by them are variable. thus when the factor of length is varied, no counter-adjustment of tension, thickness or density can restore to the string so modified the exact form of vibration that it may have originally possessed. consequently it becomes impossible to induce from artificially weighted strings precisely the same series of partial tones that a plain wire filament will emit, even when the tones generated by the two strings are of the same pitch.
-the lesson of this is plain. as perfection of tonal quality can only be attained in part, it especially behooves us to pay strict attention to such scaling of the bass strings as will furnish a complement of sound producing agencies that may be relied upon to induce as nearly as possible the same successions of partials as are habitually emitted throughout the higher sections of the piano. thus it becomes evident that the greatest practicable length and the least practicable weight are the chief factors that must govern the designer in laying out the scale for the bass strings.
-the relative densities of the wrapping material employed in the manufacture of bass strings have been the subject of considerable study. brass, which was the earliest object of experiment, has long been superseded by either copper or iron. as to the relative advantages possessed by these two materials, it can be said at once that the chief and almost the only advantage presented by the latter lies in its relative cheapness. acoustically, however, copper forms by all means the most suitable material for the winding of bass strings, and this for the following reasons: the specific gravity of copper is 8.78, while that of iron is but 7.78. again, the former metal, while inferior in tenacity to the latter, possesses, on the other hand, the great advantage of higher ductility, so that its elastic qualities are very marked. it is thus evident that copper is a more suitable material for the generation of musical sound than is iron, and the qualities which we have just noted as pertaining to it are precisely those most useful in the production of harmonic progressions of partial tones. it is therefore clear that as between copper and iron all the advantages lie with the former.
-the thickest wire used for the uncovered strings is generally no. 24. in beginning the scaling of the bass strings, however, we choose no. 17 or no. 18 for the notes nearest to the treble. the covering is usually from no. 25 to no. 28 (standard, not music, wire gauge) according to the size of the piano and the practicable string-length. of course, longer strings may be covered with lighter wire. the first covered string is generally approximately one-sixth shorter than the string immediately above it. this proportion, as suggested above, may, however, be profitably disregarded, if it thereby be possible to lengthen the bass strings. there are always two of these strings to each tone and the thickness of covering wire must be progressively increased as the scale descends. a descending increase of one number in thickness of the covering wire for each pair of strings may properly be allowed, unless the lengths are too closely alike, or vice-versa, in which cases suitable modifications may be made. but assuming that the descending lengths are arranged in arithmetical progression with a mean of 3/4 of an inch, and supposing the highest covered string to be 45 inches long; then the suggested increase of thickness should under all circumstances hold good. it may often be found, however, that the space limitations of an instrument or other practical considerations make it impossible to follow out these rules with exactitude. in any case, we must remember that all such rules are themselves the fruit of empirical observation and to such observations we must look, when it becomes necessary to revise them in order to satisfy the requirements of some particular situation.
-resonance and the resonance-apparatus of the pianoforte.
-we have now made a somewhat lengthy and thorough investigation into the nature and behavior of the various materials and substances that are employed in the construction of pianoforte strings. from this inquiry we have been able to deduce a set of rules which, when practically applied, will furnish us with a guide to the solution of many perplexing problems which take their root in the conditions imposed upon the designer by the limitations of space and the other mechanical conditions of pianoforte construction. it would not be proper, however, to proceed forthwith to the practical questions of support for the strings. for we must still find the correct solutions of another series of problems that spring, not from the strings themselves, but from their important and necessary accessories, the sound-board and belly bridges.
-the belly-bridge is the medium of connection between the strings and the sound-board. through it the vibrations excited in the strings are conveyed to the freely vibrating surface of the sound-board, and the sonority of the generated sounds is thereby enormously increased. this is the process in bare outline, but, in order to obtain a proper view of the matter under discussion it will be necessary to examine the phenomena to which the juxtaposition of strings, bridge and sound-board give rise. we must, in fact, make another brief excursion into the realms of acoustics.
-the property which the sound-board possesses of reinforcing and emphasizing the sounds generated by the strings is called “resonance.” important as this property of sonorous bodies is to musicians and the makers of musical instruments, the fact remains that it is a matter very little understood by the mass of them. this is the more remarkable when one considers that, without resonant properties, no musical instruments would be possible. for it is not difficult to perceive that music, as we know it, could not exist were the means of expressing it limited to the actual and immediate bodies that perform the motions which are the direct causes of musical sounds. this fact is most clearly illustrated in the case of the pianoforte. the unaided sound of a pianoforte string is ridiculously feeble; in fact, it is quite inaudible at the distance of a few feet. yet we are all familiar with the wonderfully harmonious and powerful sounds that the same string will be the means of producing when aided by the sound-board.
-resonance may be defined as the property which one sonorous body possesses of impressing its vibrations upon another sonorous body. the existence of this power may be demonstrated in a variety of ways. the most simple proofs are afforded by the pianoforte itself. for example, if we strike any key upon the instrument and at the same time gently press down the corresponding key one octave higher, so as to raise the damper without at the same time raising the hammer, we shall find that if the first key be released while the other is held open, the string corresponding to the latter will continue to give its proper sound. in this case the vibrations excited in the first string travel along the belly-bridge until they reach the nearest open string whose vibration rate is synchronous with that of the original sounding string. when such a string is reached it is immediately impressed with the motions excited in the former string, with the results above described. this is a case of resonance of two attached bodies. peculiar as it may seem, however, it is not essential as a preliminary condition to the existence of resonance between them that two sonorous bodies be tangibly connected. for instance, the foregoing experiment may be varied by employing two pianofortes and choosing one of the sounds from each. the result will be precisely the same. it will, however, be noted that only such sounds as have either synchronous or nearly synchronous rates of vibration will exhibit the phenomena of resonance when separated from each other. where they are connected, however, especially when the connecting body is a sound-board prepared for the purpose, synchronism is not necessary. in fact, it is a matter of common observation that the sound-board of the pianoforte, in conjunction with the belly-bridge, operates to set up more or less intense vibration in every string within the compass of the instrument when the dampers are raised, even if only one string be struck. when the damper pedal is raised in playing, every string throughout the instrument is immediately thrown into a state of vibration, and begins to sound. the result is a large augmentation of the total volume of sound produced. of course, the sound of any one string thus sympathetically excited is relatively feeble, but the total volume is considerable, with especial strength in the particular partials of each string that are more or less synchronous, as to their vibration rates, with the sounds originally produced by striking the keys. when the dampers are permitted to rest in their normal positions, on the other hand, the sound-board exercises its resonant powers in a different manner. whenever a string or group of strings are struck, the board is thrown into a state of vibration which affects only itself and not the strings that remain damped. the result of this excitement is to expose a relatively great vibrating surface to the atmosphere, with the immediate consequence that the quantity of air impelled into a state of periodic motion is multiplied many times. thus the size of the impelled layers of air, and the resultant sonorous waves is augmented until we obtain sounds of the intensity and richness which we are accustomed to associate with the pianoforte.
-now, from what we have already learned of the laws of tone-quality, it is obvious that the resonant medium must be capable of reinforcing not only the fundamental but the partials of all the tones which it influences. to this end we must provide a substance that combines elasticity with the freedom of vibration that is, of course, essential. it is not possible to employ metal on account of its excessive stiffness and consequent resistance to the influence of impressed vibrations; while on the other hand a wooden body will not be sufficiently stiff and rigid unless artificially strengthened. for this reason it is customary to construct sound-boards of a freely-vibrating wood (the spruce-fir is generally employed for this purpose) and to strengthen them by fastening to one side bars of hard wood called “ribs.” in this manner the requisite stiffness is imparted to the board, which at the same time is sufficiently susceptible to the impressed vibrations from the strings.
-it is a fact that this accepted and universal form of resonance table is essentially similar to that which was used in the ancient harpsichord and spinet. while there has been much experimentation along these lines, it does not appear that any lasting improvements have been devised as yet, at least in the governing principles of sound-board construction. we may then confine ourselves to a description of the accepted styles.
-the wood used in the construction of sound-boards is the spruce-fir, which, as stated above, has been found to be the best possible for the purpose. it is prepared in a sheet of suitable size, and is arranged so that the grain runs approximately at right angles to the plane of the belly-bridge.
-it can easily be understood that the thickness of the board must vary according to the dimensions of the strings that act upon it. in other words, we can perceive that more resonating power is required for the relatively weaker treble strings than for the relatively stronger bass strings. the actual thicknesses vary with individual makers. from 3/8 inch in the treble to 1/4 of an inch in the bass may be regarded as a fair approximation. nevertheless, it is necessary to bear in mind that these dimensions are subject to modification according to the variations in the total amount of tension that the instrument is made to bear. other things being equal, an increased tension load implies a thicker board, and vice-versa.
-after the dimensions and material of the board are thus determined, it remains to consider the bridging, the reinforcement, and the adjustment of the board. we shall consider these in their natural order, as given above.
-the belly-bridges are placed upon the surface of the board, as we know, for the purpose of conveying to the latter the minute blows that are inflicted by the vibrating strings, in order that the vibrations may be impressed upon the board and there amplified and intensified as described at the beginning of this chapter. a secondary duty is that of delimiting the lower boundaries of the speaking length of the strings. the bridges must naturally be constructed with a curved outline that is determined during the draughting of the scale. the actual shape of this curve has no effect per se, upon the activities of the bridge, but has to do entirely with the string lengths. the bridge which carries the overstrung portion of the scale may be considered as being similarly affected, as to outline, by the exigencies of the bass string dimensions. the bridges are made of hard wood, and their sizes are usually from one inch and one-quarter to one inch and one-half high, and in width about one-eighth of an inch less all round. the variations occur principally on account of the necessity which arises of giving a bearing to the strings as they cross over the bridges.
-it is necessary that the strings be raised at the bridges in order that they may be firmly held at the points of contact by means of the strain imposed by them on the surface of the bridge when they are stretched at proper tension. of course it is most essential that this bearing be not too high, as in that case the strain becomes too much for the board to bear with facility and its durability is thereby impaired. the necessary immobility of the portions of the strings that lie upon the bridge is secured by diverting the line of travel, and causing them to bear against pins placed on either edge of the bridge, so as to slant the line of the string as it passes over. the waste ends should run parallel to the speaking-length after the bridge has been crossed.
-it may be further properly remarked that there are interesting and complicated problems to be overcome in choosing the material and the exact method of building the belly-bridges. it is desired to combine extreme facility of vibration with the requisite resisting power. in other words, the bridge must allow the fullest possible scope to the impressed vibrations from the strings and, at the same time, must possess such strength that it can successfully resist the torsions imposed upon it by the pull of the strings. the only method that appears to be thoroughly practical and, at the same time, acoustically correct is one which most manufacturers have already had the acuteness to adopt. the bridge, according to this method, is built up of a number of layers of hard wood (generally maple) which are glued together in such a way that the grain of each layer crosses that of the other. in this way both the requisite strength and more or less facility of vibration are obtained. but it has remained for one distinguished piano maker to go a step further, and to apply thoroughly scientific methods to the design of the belly-bridges. in the instruments made by him, he has built the bridges in such a way that the impressed vibrations will travel in the line of the grain instead of across it. the bridges, in fact, are built of end-grain and not, as is general, of cross-grain wood. this ingenious and simple device facilitates the passage of the impressed vibrations and, in consequence, tends to impart a greater clarity to the various partials of the compound tones. some existing pianofortes might be greatly improved as to their clarity of speech if a similar device for increasing the power of resonance were fitted to them.
-there is another point to be emphasized in reference to the bridges. in some makes of pianos the line of the bridge construction is permitted to be broken wherever there is a corresponding break in the hammer line caused by the interposition of the various braces of the iron frame. the obvious result of such a method of construction is that the resonance of the board is much interfered with and the consequent tonal efficiency of the instrument lessened. for it is easy to see that if the bridge line be broken at any point, the vibrations that are carried from any sounding string along the bridge to the surface of the sound-board will be stopped at the break and will be unable to reach those parts of the board that are remote from its path, with rapidity and ease. incontestably, therefore, the bridge line should, if possible, be continuous. many manufacturers, however, while apparently recognizing the force of this proposition, seem to be afraid to follow it out to its logical conclusion. they are willing to make the line of bridge continuous until the end of the plain wire strings is reached. after that point they seem to think that it is no longer necessary that continuity of communication between the various sounding members of the scale should subsist. this idea is, of course, quite fallacious. the bass strings are simply a continuation of the higher ones, and are, in fact, precisely similar except in regard to the details of thickness and length. moreover, it is quite as important that the portions of the board over which the bass bridge exercises control should be made freely resonant, as it is that this process should be applied to the others. the bass bridge ought invariably, therefore, to be connected with the bridges that serve the rest of the strings.
-the reinforcement of the board is accomplished by gluing ribs of wood across its back surface in a direction crossing the grain of the board. these ribs are usually made about one inch square in the middle portions. this size is continued until near the edge of the board on each side, when they are gradually pared down in a graceful curve until at the actual edge the thickness is no more than about one-thirty-second of an inch. according to the most approved modern practice it is found advisable to pocket these ribs into the wooden framing of the instrument, by continuing them past the edge of the sound board and making suitable apertures in the framing, into which the extensions are adjusted and fastened. this has the effect of holding the board more firmly in its fastenings and also of preventing the early loosening of the ribs from their places; an occurrence which causes much rattling, and complete impairment of tonal quality. it is usual to have twelve ribs upon the surface of the board, but the number may be varied whenever it is considered necessary. if it is required to give specially ample support to the board on account of unusually great strain, or for any other reason, the number may be increased, but such procedure must be taken with caution, as too many ribs weight the board to such an extent as to deaden its power of molecular and undulatory vibration. this must at all costs be avoided.
-it is usual to glue the ribs upon the surface of the board first--that is before the bridges--and good practice dictates that the surface of the board be dried out in a hot-box for at least 24 hours before either of these processes take place. if this be carried out properly, the resultant shrinking of the wood will be taken up after the board has become thoroughly cooled, and if the process is repeated when the board is glued into the framing of the instrument, the result will be to endow it with a natural “crown,” or arch, caused by the re-active swelling that takes place after the artificially induced shrinking.
-although the above methods of ribbing are to be considered the best and as representing the most advanced practice, yet it will be found that some makers dispose the ribs in a fan-like manner, having the diverging points of the fan at the upper end of the board, while others adopt an oblique disposition and arrange them as before described. also, we find a straight up-and-down arrangement whereby the ribs are glued parallel to the plane of the treble strings. we term these three styles the fan form, the oblique form, and the vertical form respectively.
-as for the comparative advantages of the three types of construction thus described, it may be said that they all represent individual features that are more or less beneficial. for example, the fan-like disposition gives a greater number of long ribs, while the oblique form provides more of separate units. the vertical system may be considered as a mean between the other two.
-in general, we shall be well advised in remembering that the prime function of ribbing is to increase the tension of the board and its elasticity, and thus to promote the power of resonance. a secondary function is that of providing extra resisting power. now it is obvious that both of these duties can be better performed by a multiplicity of ribs, and consequently a system is to be recommended that permits the employment of the largest total area of ribbing. at the same time unduly long ribs are not good, for they have a greater tendency to become loose and to spring up from the surface of the board, with dire results to tone and durability. it would therefore seem that the oblique disposition has more to recommend it than the others, since it provides enough total ribbing area without imposing inconveniently long ribbing units upon the surface of the board.
-when the ribbing of the sound-board and the fixing of the bridges has been accomplished, it remains to adjust the completed structure within the wooden back-framing of the instrument. it is necessary that the board be so secured that it shall acquire a position analogous to that of a stretched membrane--at least as far as concerns the rigidity with which its edges are fixed to the framing. there are several methods for obtaining the required rigidity of the edges of the board. the natural or artificial crowning of the board’s surface is best attained through the medium of particularly rigid edge fastening; and the adoption of a continuous closing rim for the board, as in certain grand pianofortes, together with the use of a system of screw compression, alike indicate the various directions in which the ideas of experimenters have led them. the underlying notion in all these devices is to endow the vibrating surface with both elasticity and durability to an extent that could not be attained with the unaided wood.
-the gluing of the sound-board to the framing is a process that demands the greatest skill and care. it is essential that the board be warmed, and that the glue which is used be in just the proper condition; neither too thick nor too thin, and, above all, boiling hot. if the fastening be done when the board is in the shrunken condition described above, and with the required skill and care, it will be found that the fibres of the wood have been squeezed together so as to raise the center part of the board somewhat above the level of the edges. this gives what we have denominated the “crown,” and is important as affecting the durability and resisting power of the entire board. it must be remembered that by relieving the sound-board of as much as possible of the strain imposed by the strings, we are able to increase its durability and to preserve its tone-producing quality more surely than is otherwise possible. boards that are not so protected must inevitably become entirely flattened out in the course of a few years. when this happens the level of the belly-bridge sinks and the bearing of the strings upon the latter is destroyed. hence an immediate and inevitable deterioration of tone quality. for the altering of the level in this manner affects the impression of the vibrations of the strings upon the bridges and hence upon the board itself. if the height of the bridges be too great, the bearing of the strings upon them will likewise be excessive, and the board will be crushed down in the same manner. if, however, the directions as to bridging, ribbing and adjustment that have been given are followed with discretion, the troubles outlined here are likely at least to be minimized.
-of course, the later care of the pianoforte after it is sold has much to do with the manifold troubles that occur within the entire resonance apparatus. these things cannot be foreseen, and it is, therefore, most essential to guard against them as much as possible by careful attention to the details of construction and adjustment.
-lastly, we may observe that the practice of screwing the bridges down on to the board by screws driven in from the rear is to be condemned. while it is undoubtedly advantageous to take some measure to increase the permanency of the fastening, it will be found that it is far better, acoustically, to provide the bridge with wooden dowels and glue these into suitable holes in the board. thus the conducting power of the bridge is increased and the vibrating surface of the sound-board is not broken up by the insertion of foreign metallic substances. another and concomitant advantage is the absence of the wooden washers under the heads of these bridge-screws. such devices are too often, as they become loose, a source of rattling and jingling.
-it is well to be rid of them, as of all possible things that are likely to be similarly affected by wear or atmospheric conditions.
-the case and framing of the pianoforte.
-the grand pianoforte is distinguished conspicuously from the upright, as far as concerns the principles of its construction, by the different function which its exterior casing exercises. as was stated in chapter iii, the exterior walls of the upright have no part in the bearing or resisting work that the iron and wooden framing performs. they exist chiefly for the purpose of giving support to the key-board and action, and of affording a foundation whereon may be constructed the elaborate architectural and decorative structure that, in its entirety, is denominated the pianoforte case.
-the synonymous portions of the grand pianoforte, on the contrary, have a far more important duty to fulfill. while they are equally charged with the support of the key-frame and action, they are also an essential part of the wooden framing, are one and homogeneous with it, and, in fact, occupy much the same position as what is known as the “back” of the upright, as well as being the external and decorative coverings of the instrument.
-the case of the grand is constructed of a series of continuous veneers, glued one upon another, and each extending completely around the periphery of the case. these veneers are glued at cross grain to prevent splitting and are applied to the pianoforte and bent into shape when in a heated state. the complete outline thus obtained is denominated the “continuous bent rim” and is a distinguishing feature of the modern grand pianoforte as made in america. several eminent german makers, as bechstein, also employ similar means of constructing the external walls. in england, on the contrary, the case is usually made out of one thickness of wood bent into the required shape by steam and joined in several places. this system provides for separate moldings for the bent and straight sides and for the rear portion.
-the advantage claimed for the continuous bent rim is that the whole case, by this means, becomes so closely bound up with the rest of the structure as to become part of one homogeneous resonant whole, thus improving the general resonance and imparting a sostenuto and cantabile that can in no other manner be attained.
-while data are lacking for the precise investigation of this claim, it is significant that the bent rim method has not only become universal among american makers--by one of them it was first devised--but has even made its way into european favor.
-the case, after it has been bent in this manner into the proper shape, has to be decoratively veneered according to the style of ornamentation that is intended for it. the work of veneering these cases, whether for uprights or grands, need not be gone into here in detail. there are so many specialists in this department who confine themselves to the turning out of such veneered cases, and the whole matter is so far away from the principles of pianoforte construction, that it is not considered necessary to go into it here.
-it is, of course, required to provide the case of the grand pianoforte with a system of wooden struts which bind it together and give it strength and resisting power. these struts are set into the case in the general form of the letter a, having the apex at the forward end of the case. at this apex they are crossed by another wooden strut running parallel to the key-board, which serves to bind them together and to mark the limit of the space to be occupied by the sound-board. these struts are not, as we may thus see, carried into the very front of the case, but are confined to that portion which is directly underneath the sound-board. in front of this space is left the gap through which the action is later to strike, and underneath is provided a key-bed to carry the action and keys. the key-bed joins the front portions of the bent rim and closes the casing in the front, thus providing a definite and uniform structure. above the key-bed and in front of the gap is one of the most important parts of the entire instrument. it is called the “wrest-plank,” and is situated at the foremost portion of the case. this wrest-plank is built of a series of hard wooden layers, glued together at cross grain and adapted to be bored with holes in which are placed the “wrest-pins,” or tuning-pins, that control the tension of the strings. this block or plank must necessarily be of great solidity and be capable of holding the pins frictionally, so that they will not pull round under the immense strains that are imposed upon them.
-the gap which is necessary in the grand pianoforte between the sound-board and the tuning-pins makes it impossible to join the former to the wrest-plank. this state of affairs undoubtedly constitutes a weakness inherent in the grand and, besides, exceedingly unfortunate. for an interruption of the continuity of communication between the various sound-conducting materials of which the instrument is constructed entails a corresponding loss of resonance. the tone of the pianoforte is inevitably fleeting and evanescent; lack of continuity in the construction only increases this fault. it has somewhere been stated that the construction of the grand pianoforte implies greater resisting strength of the wrest-plank on account of its being entirely supported by the iron frame and not dependent upon a wooden back as in the upright. this view seems to be incorrect. a properly supported back on an upright affords a very strong support to the wrest-plank and in combination with the iron frame supplies all necessary rigidity, and in a manner more direct and efficient. but the wrest-plank of the grand pianoforte may and should possess a sufficient strength. various makers have adopted several different methods to secure this strength. one very good device supplies a rear truss to the lower surface of the wrest-plank by means of a downward projecting shoulder cast in the iron frame. there are other methods more or less similar. the arrangement of the tuning-pins within the body of the wrest-plank also requires considerable care. of course, their disposition depends ultimately upon the string arrangement, but there are problems to be considered in connection with the manner in which they are arranged with relation to their mutual positions as considered apart from the strings. for example, it is most important that they should be so placed that the strings do no rub against each other in their passage between the pins and the agraffes. the frequent neglect of this matter is a cause for regret. much loss of tonal purity would be avoided and the tuner’s work greatly simplified if all designers took the proper amount of care in this important matter. further, it may be remarked that the best practice accords with this suggestion in every respect. it will also be found that a slight tilting back of the pins in a direction that is remote from the strings tends to lighten the pull of the latter and to assist the resisting power of the wrest-plank.
-when the iron plate is fastened over the entire structure, it is fixed on to the wrest-plank by means of heavy iron bolts that should be sufficiently long to go entirely through it and be closed with a nut on the other side. by this means the wrest-plank is secured against lack of rigidity, and its durability immensely increased.
-the hardest kind of maple should be used in the construction of the wrest-plank. no other wood appears to have so many of the required qualities, and its use for this purpose has become, in america at least, universal.
-the general details of the external case of the grand pianoforte are not unfamiliar. the standard full size of nine feet and the miniature of six feet or less, as well as intermediate parlor sizes, are familiar to all. the shape of the fall-board that covers the keys is well known, and the design of the lid and supporting legs sufficiently common to make further description superfluous. it is proper, however, to note briefly the general change that has come about in the conception of the decorative function of the grand pianoforte case.
-formerly, the aim of pianoforte manufacturers was entirely different from that of the early harpsichord and spinet makers. instead of doing their utmost to improve the external æsthetic value of their instruments, they seemed too much occupied in providing means for internal improvement to pay proper attention to appearance. thus we see that the sombre and hideous decorative ideas which prevailed in the furniture of the last generation were long faithfully imitated in the external design of the grand pianoforte. the ugly and cumbersome carved legs, the inartistic curving of the lid and arms, and the general look of ponderosity and hugeness all combined to give to the instrument of that era the general appearance of a hypertrophied coffin on legs.
-modern makers, however, animated by a truer appreciation of decorative values, and recognizing the refining influence of beautiful things, in themselves, and apart from their other properties, have gone far towards consigning the more crude and hideous designs to the limbo of obscurity. it has become generally recognized that the coffin-like look of the concert grand may be largely modified, if not wholly removed. by altering the design of the legs and by regarding them rather as a part of the case than as mere supports, it has been possible to combine the proportions of legs and case so as to make them appear one harmonious entity. of course, the actual method of attaining to this end has varied largely among different makers, and, likewise, the greater number of successful efforts in the direction suggested have been made upon grand pianofortes designed to order to fit the furnishings and decorative schemes of music rooms in the homes of the wealthy. nevertheless it is a healthy sign of the general æsthetic development of the american people that the number of these specially ordered and designed cases increases yearly. in this way we are going back to the ideals that possessed the ancient makers of the virginals, clavichords and other instruments, who were wont to call in the services of the most famous artists in color and the most cunning carvers in wood to compass their beautiful and costly designs.
-it is true that the stock styles of grand pianoforte cases are usually plain as to contour and decoration, but no one now can deny to them grace and purity of outline or beauty and richness of material. on the other hand, the practice increases yearly of keeping in stock cases made in such styles as the chippendale, the sheraton and the empire, to say nothing of the perennial and truly american colonial designs. the fact that these numerous varieties all find purchasers is a striking commentary on the growing taste and refinement of the general public.
-in considering the case construction of the upright pianoforte, we are led to observe that this type exhibits, in these matters, certain important advantages over the grand. it is true that the case is not so homogeneously fitted into the resonant structure, and it is equally true that the grand has hitherto had much the better of it in the fight for tonal quality and volume. nevertheless, considering the upright in the light of its own peculiar fitness for popular use, we are bound to observe, in considering the construction of its case and back-framing, the special advantages over the grand that we mentioned as existing.
-while recognizing these facts, however, we are bound to recognize many other features that go far to destroy the great initial advantage here described. it cannot be doubted that today the upright is pre-eminently the popular type. whether this fact is entirely a matter for congratulation is doubtful, for the upright form lends itself readily to cheap and trashy production. the conditions of modern domestic life are such, on the other hand, that the portability and convenience of the popular type, no less than the possibility of producing it cheaply, have given it a hold upon the public fancy which its own inherent and undoubted advantages might never have secured for it.
-the upright form is capable of the highest artistic and mechanical development, and there is no good reason why it should not be so improved as to produce tones equal in volume, purity and richness to those of the grand.
-in considering the details of back and case construction in the upright, we are compelled to observe instances of faulty method. for example, it is usual to fasten the sides of the case to the back by gluing after the latter has been fitted with the sound-board, iron frame and strings. this method is obviously faulty. it is not difficult to understand that, although the back partially sustains the tensions imposed by the strings, the sides when glued to the former are constantly subjected to a modification of these tensions. now, gluing, while convenient, is not the best possible process to give to the sides the necessary strength to bear such strains, for it is a familiar fact that pianofortes that are not of the highest class invariably develop in the course of a few years, more or less serious cracks and breaks in the continuity of the joins between the glued surfaces. when this happens, the equilibrium of the instrument is disturbed and its strength diminished. in addition, the breaks in continuity have, of course, a serious effect upon the power of resonance. furthermore, the glue method is subject to various mechanical defects. it is absolutely necessary that the surfaces that are to be united should be maintained, during the process of gluing, at an absolutely uniform temperature. and this temperature must be high. consequently it is not hard to see that in the haste and confusion of construction in the factory, the large sides and backs may not be so carefully handled as to insure the continual maintenance of the ideal temperature conditions. if, in short, the surfaces to be glued together are permitted to become cold, it is obvious that the adhesion will be imperfect, that the wear and tear of constant usage will complete what carelessness in the factory began, and that the value of the instrument will be permanently impaired.
-before suggesting a remedy for these regrettable conditions, or a substitute for the faulty methods described, it will be well to examine carefully the principles that underlie the construction of the upright pianoforte back. it will thus become less difficult to find some better method of uniting the sides and back, so as better to conserve the strength and durability of the instrument.
-the back of the upright pianoforte might almost be considered as the foundation of the instrument. indeed, before the general introduction of iron framing, this part of the construction deserved such a description. its position, however, is now somewhat subordinate, since the wooden framing of which it is composed is quite inadequate to the task of supporting the tension of the strings. as generally built, this back consists of a number (usually six) of wooden posts arranged in an upright position and joined at the top and bottom by braces, also of wood and of similar dimensions. thus is provided a compact frame that may be made to possess great strength and resisting power. but, in order to accomplish properly the duties for which it is designed, the construction of this frame must be very carefully planned and carried out. at its upper end it must give proper support to the wrest-plank and the sound-board must rest easily and securely within its embrace. the iron frame must then be fastened upon and over the structure.
-it would be absurd to suppose that the back is not subjected to modifications of the strains imposed upon the sound-board, wrest-plank, and iron frame, and it is equally certain that carelessness in working out the details of construction will tend materially to reduce the coefficient of resistance.
-an important detail is the joining of the upright posts to the top and bottom rails. if these rails are made continuous and the posts are tenoned into them, the frame will possess the maximum of strength that is possible to such a structure, and if, in addition, the joints are at all places made more secure by the use of screws and other devices as supplements to the gluing, then we may consider that we have a properly made back.
-unfortunately, however, examination of any considerable number of pianofortes of various makes will soon convince the reader that these details of construction are seldom given enough attention. many instruments will be found to have the back posts joined at top and bottom by short pieces of wood which do not extend further than the two posts which each unites. such a method of construction, especially when combined with careless gluing and an absence of other fastenings, provides a frame that possesses none of the desiderata of homogeneity, compactness and strength.
-the upright wrest-plank differs somewhat from the synonymous structure used in the grand. it does not suffer under the disadvantage of an involuntary and inevitable separation from the sound-board and the lower portion of the back, but, when constructed with a due regard for correct principles, forms one homogeneous and uniform structure. the upright wrest-plank should, therefore, possess rigidity and resisting power of the highest order, and should form an unyielding support for the tuning-pins. the general construction of such a wrest-plank will not differ materially from that which has already been discussed in reference to the grand pianoforte. that is to say, the building up of the body of the structure from crossed layers of hard maple and the bolting of it into the iron frame (when the latter is made so as to extend over the whole surface of the back frame) will be done in the same way. but the upright wrest-plank derives from the peculiar form of construction that is proper to the upright pianoforte a further element of strength that is lacking in the grand. for it is in direct and solid connection with the sound-board and the other parts of the back-framing, and thus obtains a considerable addition of strength. indeed, the wrest-plank should be so constructed as to form an integral part of the top rail of the back, and should be, in fact, the front portion of this rail. further, its connection with the rest of the back-frame should be as close and binding as possible, and it is most essential that a sufficient number of lag screws should be driven into the wrest-plank and through the latter into the further and remote parts of the back-frame top-rail.
-having thus analyzed the construction of the back in all its parts and divisions, we may return to the discussion of the sides of the case and the best methods of uniting them with the back. the reader has now a good working knowledge of the construction, prior to the putting on of the sides, and he cannot have failed to come to the conclusion that gluing is a poor method for joining heavy sides to the elaborate structure known as the back. nor does there seem to be any good practical reason why some other method should not be substituted for the antiquated gluing. there is no good mechanical reason why a system of screws should not be devised that would not only not mar the outer appearance of the case, but also afford a more certain and secure manner of uniting the sides to the rest of the instrument. moreover, such a method would largely increase portability by making possible the removal of the sides when conditions of transport required this. manufacturers might profitably spend a little time in estimating the saving that a detachable side would enable them and the dealers to effect in their annual shipping and trucking bills.
-the various sizes of upright pianofortes that are customarily found range from nearly five feet in height down to about ten inches less. some very small models are made no more than four feet high. but the public appears to prefer the larger styles, and in this they are entirely right. for the very small pianofortes, no matter how cunningly they be scaled, cannot be equipped with strings of the proper lengths, nor with sound-boards of sufficient area. hence their tonal possibilities are very limited. the full sized upright, on the other hand, approaches closely to the tonal excellence of the grand.
-the styles of case decoration that are and have been applied to the upright are even more striking and varied than those of the grand. for the upright lends itself more readily to that kind of decorative treatment that considers the whole case as one single entity, and thus harmoniousness of design and unity of treatment are more easily obtained. at the same time, we are bound to confess that the outline of the upright is essentially box-like, and that this defect operates continually to nullify the efforts of the designer to conceal it. it is a fact that over-elaboration of decorative treatment is usually accompanied by most unfortunate effects; while the larger styles at least are little adapted to sustain the burden of meretricious exterior adornment. in fact, we may well say that the upright is decoratively at its best in the small sizes. since, however, there is a public demand for large models, which are indeed mechanically and acoustically superior, we must be content to observe the progress of decorative ideas as applied to the beautifying of these.
-one of the most striking features of the modern decorative movement, as applied to furniture, is seen in the great popularity of rare and beautiful woods. these are much prized, and it has come to be popular to finish them in such a manner as plainly to exhibit the natural figurings and markings. we have even seen a craze for plain rubbing with wax, which leaves the wood in absolutely its natural appearance. red and white mahogany, burled and circassian walnut, satin wood, bird’s-eye maple, golden and flemish oak, and many other beautiful and costly varieties are constantly made up into rich and elaborate pieces of furniture. in this development the upright has had a large part. while the large size and great first cost of the grand has made the purchasing of specially decorated cases a matter to be avoided by all except the wealthy, the same obstacle has not so largely existed to frighten away the artistic would-be-purchaser of an upright. in fact, the decorative movement has shown its best manifestations through the medium of the upright pianoforte, and this in spite of the unfortunate outline of the instrument that resists all efforts to conceal its excessive crudity.
-models of the english schools have been produced with great success, and the inlaying of rich woods, after the manner of chippendale, has resulted in some very beautiful specimens of this particular art. again, we find the so-called renaissance, the colonial, the empire (more elaborate than the other two), the doric (severely simple), and last but not least, the mission. the latter, extraordinary perversion of the handicraft of the spanish fathers as it usually is found to be, has nevertheless been the cause of one great good. it has begun to popularize the dull finish, and to teach the public that the high, glassy, fragile, and unreliable varnish finish is not the only possible way of putting a surface upon wood. the mission craze has taught many people to admire the natural figure and markings of a fine veneer or piece of lumber, without regard to the fact that it is or is not covered with a mirror-like finish that cracks as soon as the room becomes cold.
-in fact we may discern the encouraging signs of a growing sanity and refinement in the demand for, and production of, suitable designs for the decorative treatment of pianoforte cases. it has come to be recognized that a truly chaste and beautiful exterior is the fitting complement to richness and nobility of tone. the growth of this feeling deserves the highest encouragement from all. american makers may well congratulate themselves upon being the foremost exponents of this movement.
-the iron frame of the pianoforte.
-in the historical portion of the present work, ample reference has been made to the genesis and early development of metallic framing in the construction of pianofortes. we took occasion to point out that the independent development of the american pianoforte is intimately connected with the rise and improvement of the system. it is a matter of no little pride to recall that in the universal recognition of the value of metallic adjuncts to the framing devices of the modern pianoforte, the americans, as became their traditions, blazed the trail. it is unnecessary to repeat the observations that were made in chapter ii as to the controversies that have raged over the question of priority of invention. it is sufficient to refer the reader back to that portion of the present work where these questions have been treated in a sufficiently copious manner.
-we may therefore proceed directly to the task of investigating the nature of the universal metallic framing that has been demonstrated to be so essential in modern constructional systems. following the plan that we have adopted throughout, we shall first consider the nature and application of this kind of framing to the grand pianoforte.
-as to the form, then, of the iron framing, its weight and size. ever since the first grand pianoforte was produced with an iron plate cast in one piece, designers have been busy with attempts to improve upon the original invention. they have met with but moderate success. there have been multifarious changes in the details of bracing and of fitting the plate to the case, but the general form of the original design remains the same. it may be described in general terms as follows: a plate of iron cast in one piece, which follows the outline of the instrument and is so arranged that it may be secured to the case and to the wooden framing that underlies and knits together the latter and the sound-board. a gap is left in this plate at the point where the hammers strike the strings, and the resultant weakness is overcome by a system of bracing by means of resistance bars, also of iron and cast in the same piece with the main body. at its front end, nearest to the key-board, the plate is extended so as to cover the wrest-plank in which are driven the tuning-pins; and at the end remote from the key-board it is provided with a number of hitch-pins, to which are secured the waste ends of the strings. this plate, further, is so arranged that the sound-board is not covered by it except at the edges, and at the place where the bass bridge is constructed another gap is left in its surface.
-the above general description comprehends in bare outline the essential features of the iron framing. there are, of course, many variations of detail, and in seeking for the best methods of designing this important part of the pianoforte we shall have occasion to examine the greater number of these with some care.
-a--b. hammer line. 1. body of plate. 2. bass bridge. 3. continuous treble bridge. 4. agraffes. 5. capo d’astro bar.
-of the various differences of detail that designers have effected in the construction of iron framing, one of the most important is presented in the so-called “cupola” style of construction. in this form the surface of the plate is raised at the edges of the case in such a manner as to give the general outline of a cupola or semi-dome. the result of this method is to increase the resonance of the framing and, at the same time, greatly to enhance the tensile strength of the whole construction. the “cupola” style was the subject of a patent by steinway & sons of new york some years ago, but has been extensively copied since that time. the same celebrated house was the originator of another variation upon the classic manner of plate building. instead of arranging the strings in the usual manner, a fan-like disposition was adopted, with the result of distributing the strain more evenly throughout the entire surface and thus improving the tensile qualities of the whole plate. all these methods of construction, however, have failed to avoid that breaking up of the scale which is made necessary by the interposition, between the string groups, of bars and bracings. it has appeared impossible to obtain the requisite resisting power without the assistance of a number of heavy iron braces cast into the plate and designed to increase the tensile strength, which is weakened by the gap at the striking points of the hammers.
-there has, however, appeared an invention which would seem to overcome, in an effective manner, the objections to a multiplication of bracings. the inventor is a member of the celebrated house of broadwood, and his device is called the “barless” or “open scale” grand pianoforte. by this invention the barred iron frame is replaced by a plate of mild steel, which is entirely free from bracings, is constructed with a continuous turned-up flange and is bolted in the usual manner into the bottom framing. this flange provides the necessary tensile strength and apparently sustains the tension of the strings in a perfectly satisfactory manner. the advantages presented by a method of construction that avoids the breaking up of the string groups into three or four divisions are obvious and need not be explained in detail.
-it may be stated, however, that the principal and conspicuous advantage presented by this method of construction is found in the fact that the absence of the usual barring and bracing tends to subdue the metallic and tinkling quality of tone that is so often found to be induced by the presence of heavy masses of cast iron. at the same time, the material employed is so much more elastic than iron that there is no perceptible loss of resonance, nor is the tensile strength lessened to any appreciable degree. no one who has tested the pianofortes thus constructed has failed to be delighted with the singularly beautiful tone-quality and remarkable evenness that is shown throughout the whole compass. it is indeed a most difficult task to overcome the tendency to production of unduly prominent dissonant partials in those parts of the scale where the bracing is especially heavy, particularly in the lower portions, and consequently we must regard with admiration so successful an attempt to do away with these difficulties by removing their cause.
-it may be noted at this point that the eminent firm referred to before as having introduced the “cupola” form of construction, also employ steel in the making of their metal frames, and it seems curious that this example has not been more generally followed.
-the two types thus described are the most radical exceptions to the common style of metal framing. it is a matter of regret that manufacturers in general have been content to follow so closely in the footsteps of the pioneers, and have not experimented more energetically with a view to effecting other improvements in the accepted methods. the problem of sustaining the necessary tensions would undoubtedly be simplified by the adoption, at least in part, of the ideas of the eminent firms who have already been mentioned.
-in order thoroughly to understand the actual advantages and disadvantages of the various styles of framing that have been described, we must consider how great are the tensions that they are compelled to bear. a concert grand pianoforte of a standard american make is so constructed that it bears a total strain, when tuned at concert pitch, of not less than 30 tons. the requirements of increased tone and the weight and bulk of strings tend constantly to augment rather than to decrease these tremendous strains, and at the same time more and more to induce the production of those dissonant partials that have such a maleficent influence upon tone-quality. obviously, then, if we are to satisfy the popular demand for greater volume, and at the same time to maintain the highest standards of quality, we must seek for some method that will obviate the employment of yet heavier masses of cast iron and at the same time preserve the necessary strength and rigidity. the methods of construction that have been noticed at some length above seem to present manifold advantages over the older styles. steel has greater tensile strength than iron, and consequently a smaller bulk of it is required. again, its elasticity is higher and the vibrations impressed upon it traverse its surface with greater facility and in a shorter period of time. whether, therefore, we prefer the barless or the cupola style of construction, we must recognize the fact that steel is a better material than iron in any form.
-foremost among the requirements of a successful framing system are that it shall sustain its burden with such rigidity that the strings shall stand in tune and the wooden case of the instrument shall not be twisted out of shape. even if the material be the best possible, a faulty method of securing the metal frame to the case will not only prevent the consummation of these desires, but will tend to weaken the sound-board and hasten its splitting. it is essential, in fact, that the board should be relieved of strain, and great care must therefore be exercised in fitting the framing. the approved method is as follows: the framing is connected with the system of wooden posts that extend below the sound-board and bind together the sides of the case. the latter connection is made by means of long bolts that extend through the bracings of the frame and are sunk into the posts at convenient places. the sound-board is secured to the sides of the case by means of its ribs, which are continued beyond its edges and pocketed into the sides and the posts, and also by being glued to the bottom surface of the case and to the system of posts. lastly, the frame is connected both with the board and the posts, by a series of heavy screws that pass through the board and into the posts at regular intervals along its outer edges.
-this method of securing the frame and sound-board to the case ensures that the former shall be incorporated within the body of the instrument as rigidly as is possible, and that the latter shall have the fullest protection against those twisting strains that the metal frame alone ought to bear.
-with such a method as has been described we can find no great fault. it should be noted, however, that in the barless or open scale construction the bolts that were described as passing through the braces into the posts below are omitted, and the whole frame is supported within the case by a series of bolts driven through the turned-up steel flange at equal intervals in its surface.
-having thus considered the forms of framing that are employed by various makers we may turn our attention to the matter of suspending the strings across the frame and over the sound-board. the upward stroke of the hammer of the grand pianoforte tends to drive the string away from its bridge and thus to lessen the energy with which the vibrations imparted to the string are impressed upon the latter. we may note that all makers are agreed in giving to the strings of a grand pianoforte an upward thrust or “bearing” in order that the blow of the hammer may throw the strings against the upper surface of the bearing-bridge instead of away from it. there are two devices that are generally employed for this purpose. they are known as the “agraffe” and the “capo d’astro bar.”
-the “capo d’astro bar” performs the same functions in a slightly different manner. it is practically a continuous “agraffe,” and consists of a metal bar which is cast into the metal frame at the beginning of the speaking length of the strings. it is fitted, according to the best practice, with an under edge of tool steel, and the strings are caused to pass underneath it on their way toward the tuning-pins, which are higher than the bar, as before. the up-bearing is thus imparted to the strings in a manner similar to that which is followed in the case of the agraffes.
-as to the advantages of the two systems, it may be said that the “capo d’astro” undoubtedly overcomes those objections to agraffes which are based upon their tendency to pull out from their places. it provides an absolutely rigid resistance, and is therefore stronger and more reliable.
-on the other hand, however, the mass of metal employed is considerably greater than in the “agraffe” method, and the resultant influences upon tone-quality are clearly disadvantageous.
-further, the work of tuning is rendered more difficult by reason of the fact that the strings cannot so readily and correctly be pulled through the space intervening between the bar and the tuning-pin. it is debatable whether the greater rigidity and resonance offered by the “capo d’astro” method are not too dearly bought at the cost of inconvenience in tuning and deterioration of tone-quality. it is noteworthy that most manufacturers confine the “capo d’astro” bar to the high treble register of their instruments, where brilliancy and a somewhat metallic quality of tone are a desideratum.
-the iron framing of an upright piano follows the same general lines of construction as have already been noted in the previous discussion of the grand. the functions of the frame are precisely the same and its construction differs outwardly but little. there are, however, certain divergencies from the grand forms that must be noted carefully. for example, it will be remembered that the form of the upright pianoforte is such that the framing has no direct and positive connection with the outside case. it is thus impracticable to consider the sides of the iron plate as homogeneous with the sides of the case, nor is it possible to give to it that consistency of form that, in the grand, results from the shaping of the plate to correspond with the curved outline of the case. this, however, is no reason why the upright iron plate should not be as strong and secure as that of the grand.
-among the various differences of detail that we observe to exist between these two forms of plate is the device adopted to secure the bearing and rigidity of the strings at their upper end deserves notice. the practice is entirely different in this respect as regards the upright, and we are therefore introduced to a new feature: the “pressure bar.” this device has superseded both the old-fashioned pinned bearing bridge and the later agraffe forms. it consists, essentially, of a bar of heavy metal that is screwed into the wrest-plank through the metal plate and is placed so that the strings pass under it on the way to the tuning pins. in fact it occupies the same position as do the agraffes or capo d’astro bar on the grand. its function is also similar; namely, accurately to delimit the speaking lengths of the strings at the upper end and to assist in the formation of a thrust or bearing whereby the latter may more advantageously be secured.
-this form of building the bearing bridge possesses important advantages. it does not require to be cast into the plate, nor is it weakened, as in the agraffe system, by being broken up into a large number of units. moreover, the bearing for the strings is formed much more smoothly and easily between the pressure bar and its attendant ribs on the plate than is possible when either the agraffes or the capo d’astro bar are used. this is an important point, for such construction tends to make the task of tuning much more rapid and correct.
-there are, however, several points to be considered in the designing of pressure bars. as a general thing, it is impracticable to apply this form to the bass strings on account of the fact that the overstringing requires of them a slanting direction. on this account the pressure bar cannot be made properly to maintain the obliquely-running strings in their respective places. it is therefore usual to build the bass bridge after the old pinned type and thus to secure the bass strings by much the same device as is employed in the belly bridges.
-as far as the designing of pressure bars is concerned, it will be found that care should be exercised in arranging the space that the bar must occupy and its position with regard to the scale ribs that are placed on each side of it and that support the strings before and after their passage under it. in general it may be said that the pressure bar must be screwed in such a position that its lower curved surface is lower than the upper surfaces of the scale ribs by about one-half of the height of the latter. it must also describe a curve that corresponds to the dip or angle of the scale and must be secured by enough screws (one between each three string-groups is usual), to ensure that the pull of the strings will have no injurious effect upon its rigidity. it is also essential that the curve into which the string is bent during its passage under the pressure-bar and over the scale-ribs be not too deep or sudden. the bearing surface of the bar should be gently rounded until very near its middle point where the string exercises its greatest pulling strain. here the surface must be curved a little more sharply.
-the iron plate of the upright is the chief supporter of the strains imposed upon the structure by the strings. it is necessary, as in the grand, that it should be built so as to have absolute rigidity under these strains, and that it should be always capable of withstanding any others that may by any chance be imposed upon it. remembering this, what shall we say of the designs that we sometimes see where the iron is cut and shaved away at every possible point in order to save a few pounds of weight? there are pianofortes in existence where the iron framing is so much cut down that the treble can never be depended upon to stay in tune for a reasonable length of time, and where the unevenness of the distribution of metal throughout the body of the frame has caused a warping of the whole instrument out of its proper shape. all this is unnecessary, but it will continue so long as manufacturers are willing to effect small savings at the expense of the future reliability of their product.
-it is certainly much better to have the plate of the upright pianoforte so arranged that the total volume of iron, if it is to be decreased, may have this process applied evenly and all through. the most correct design would consider a moderately heavy plate of iron, or better, of steel. this plate would be so arranged that the hitch-pin plate (the portion which carries the hitch-pins) covers the entire surface of the instrument at its bottom end and is bolted into the back with as many and as heavy bolts as are employed at the other end. the upper portion of the proposed plate need not extend over the surface of the wrest-plank, for such a construction can add little to the resisting power of the frame, while it inevitably tends, for reasons that have already been described, to the production of dissonant partials and the consequent emission of a metallic tone. if it is desirable, for any reason, to cut down the weight of a frame, it can better be done at the upper end than at the lower, where diminution of the resisting power of the frame is most severely felt.
-we may, then, contemplate a form of iron frame which covers that portion of the back-framing whereon the edges of the sound-board are glued, and that is not continued up and over the wrest-plank. it will be cut away in the centre, as in the grand, and will thus expose a large part of the sound-board to view. it will be provided with a certain number of bracings for the purpose of taking up the strains that are imposed upon the structure at the points of greatest resistance, such as those where the over-stringing begins and ends, and those around the middle registers of the scale. there must not be more of these bracings, however, than is necessary, as it is very important that the scale should be broken up into the least possible number of divisions. the bracings will be so designed that no one of them interferes with the true curve of the belly-bridge. the whole structure will be solidly bolted into the back-framing through the sound-board by a series of long and heavy screws and bolts that will be inserted at frequent intervals along the edges.
-we cannot conclude this survey of plate-construction without taking note of a property that is common to all cast-iron structures. we refer to shrinkage. the calculations of the designer, no matter how carefully worked out, must take into consideration the fact that cast-iron shrinks largely in the cooling. it must be noted that the design for the iron plate is the chief portion of the work of scale draughting. as will be explained later on, this work is first done on paper and then transferred to a wooden pattern. from this pattern the casting is made. after the first casting is thus completed it is taken in hand by the designer, who marks and punches it for the boring and pinning and corrects it where necessary. the corrected casting is then used as a model for the future plates that are to be turned out for the same scale. but these also shrink; so that we are compelled to take into account both shrinkages, and allow for each. fortunately, however, there is no difficulty in arranging this.
-the method is as follows: after the string-lengths have been calculated and the size of the iron plate thus determined, a complete drawing is made, showing the exact dimensions, shape, and other features of the proposed plate. this is to be used as the guide for the wooden templet. but this difference exists between the two paper drawings; namely, that the second is multiplied as to every dimension of the plate by a quantity that represents the amount of shrinkage that is known to occur in the two castings.
-the average shrinkage of cast-iron in the form of pianoforte plates is estimated at about one per cent. consequently to account for the double shrinkage it becomes necessary to multiply by the square of 101/100; that is approximately 51/50.
-a great deal of trouble will be avoided if the shrinkage is carefully worked out in this manner. every dimension of the plate is affected, and the greatest care must be taken to ensure that the corrected calculations are accurate. only thus will it be possible for the ideas of the designer to be brought out in the completed instrument as he expects to see them.
-the mechanism of percussion.
-the pianoforte hammer is perhaps the most striking of the many and various features of that instrument. although it is a comparatively simple device, its historical and musical interest is supreme. for while the strings, the framing, and even the action that we see in the instruments of today are but the modern developments of their clavichord and harpsichord ancestors, the hammer, on the contrary, is the one revolutionary device that, at a single step, separated the pianoforte from all other stringed instruments and endowed it with its own peculiar and powerful attributes.
-it was the hammer, in fact, that made the pianoforte. as soon as it was fitted into a harpsichord, the pianoforte was born, and no refinement of stringing or framing could have effected the fundamental nature of key-board instruments in the same manner. for we must recognize the fact, sometimes overlooked, that the pianoforte is essentially an instrument of percussion. it is necessary that there be a more or less violent blow from the hammer to excite the sound-producing vibrations of the strings. the tone of the instrument, under the most favorable circumstances, cannot fail to partake of the character peculiar to sounds produced in this manner. the importance of the hammer as a tone-producer cannot, then, be underestimated. it stands upon a plane of importance equal to that occupied by the scale-designing, the stringing and the resonance apparatus. we are therefore justified in devoting space to consideration of the construction of this essential feature.
-we cannot say with absolute surety what was the nature of the material with which the hammers of cristofori’s original invention were covered. but we may presume that it was leather. we know that the hammers were exceedingly small and apparently all of the same size. neither silbermann nor zumpe can be said to have perfected any special improvements in the form of hammer construction, and we find that the revolutionary genius, john broadwood the first, and also sebastian erard, were the pioneers in the work of adapting the hammers to the more strenuous styles of playing that the improved touch mechanism invented by them permitted and encouraged.
-broadwood, who first perceived the necessity of adopting a scientifically correct striking point, likewise began to fit his pianofortes with hammers graduated in size, and under him the leather-covered hammer arrived at its full development.
-but leather as a covering material soon began to be decried. it was discovered that the kind of tone demanded by the rising pianoforte masters could not be obtained from such material. after much experiment on the part of pianoforte makers, the german-frenchman, pape, of paris, tried the use of felt. his success was immediate and conspicuous, and it was discovered that not only did this kind of covering produce finer tone quality, but there was little difficulty in regulating that quality through the hammers within certain well-defined limits. nevertheless, we find square pianofortes to-day in which the felt covering upon the higher hammers is overlaid with strips of buckskin. this practice, however, represented the last dying struggles of the leather-covered hammer, and now we use it no longer.
-it is true that the use of felt is not unattended with conspicuous disadvantages. it wears out rapidly, and unless constantly kept in good condition by use of the felt-needles, the iron, and the sand-paper file, soon comes to produce a harsh and unpleasant tone-quality. this defect arises from the fact that as usually constructed, the continual pounding of the hammer head upon the strings causes the felt on the crown of the hammer head to become tightly packed and compressed, and the shaping of the head to be lost. as will be explained later, this change in the manner in which the head is originally made up causes a modification in the nature of the vibrations set up in the strings, and, as we have already learned, this change in the nature of the produced excitement is the cause of unpleasant tone-quality. nevertheless, and in spite of these real disadvantages, the use of felt as a covering material for pianoforte hammers is now universal. nor does it seem at present that we are very likely to find a superior substitute. as we shall shortly see, however, a simple change in the manner of securing the felt to the wooden foundation of the hammer-head may be depended upon to add largely to the durability and efficiency of the whole structure, both as a tone-producing medium and as a mechanical device.
-as will be surmised by the reader, early covering of pianoforte hammers with felt was a tedious operation. the material was cut up separately for each hammer, and glued on to the wooden head by hand. but this method suffered under the grave disadvantage of affording no correct guide to the true thicknesses and no means other than furnished by hand-cutting, of graduating these thicknesses with exact evenness. it remained for an american (or americanized german) inventor to devise a machine that should glue up and finish an entire set of hammers from one continuous sheet of felt, of which the thickness was graduated in the making and which could be relied upon to contain the correct amount of felt, of any desired total weight, the whole graduated with great evenness. not merely was this so, but the methods of manufacturing felt for other special purposes connected with the manufacture of pianofortes has been entirely revolutionized, so that today we have dampers, punchings, and many other parts of the mechanism of pianofortes successfully manufactured out of various kinds of felt, which vary greatly in consistency, thickness, and other properties.
-to return, however, to the special case of hammer-felt. we find that the original methods of working together the layers of carded wool has been much improved, chiefly through the efforts of the inventor mentioned above. it is now a matter of slight difficulty to turn out sheets of felt for the making of piano hammers that shall have any desired weight, size and graduation of thickness.
-the weight of the sheets of felt varies largely according to the nature of the hammers that are to be produced. thus it is customary, as may be guessed, to provide full-size concert grands with hammers of greater thickness, while the smaller styles of instrument have progressively smaller hammers. the actual weights vary according to the caprice or calculation of manufacturers and designers. an average weight of felt for hammers suitable to be placed in a nine-foot concert grand is from 16 to 18 lbs. per sheet. this does not include the “underfelt,” which is glued directly to the wooden head of the hammer and is used to give greater resiliency to the lower hammers. it is generally omitted at the higher treble end.
-upright pianofortes frequently are hammered with felt weighing not more than 8 lbs. to the sheet, but this seems to be too light for really efficient results. 10 lbs. is quite light enough in most cases.
-as has already been indicated, the foundation of the hammer is a wooden molding. over this is glued, in the machine, a strip of “underfelt,” which is long enough to cover about five and a half or six octaves of hammers, counting from the bass end upwards. the main felting is then laid over this, the thickest end being at the lowest bass. by means of the machines, now so generally used, it is possible to glue the entire underfelt and also the topäfelt, in one piece. the moldings are then separated and the operation is complete. it is customary to insert a small piece of wire, doubled over in a loop, through each hammer, in order to ensure further strength to the fastening.
-as may well be imagined, the details of manufacture, of the quality of the felting, and of the dimensions of the completed hammers, require much care in their execution. long practice, study, and experience have combined to render the specialists, who devote themselves to the preparation of hammers and hammer-felt, most excellently fitted to place upon the market the very finest productions of this kind.
-there have been attempts made at various times to provide a hammer head, and a method of felting it, that would obviate the somewhat rapid deterioration caused by the pounding of the glued and compressed felt against the stiff steel wire strings. the felt, which requires to be compressed before it is glued on to the wooden molding, rapidly becomes altogether too hard. moreover, the fastening of the felt to the molding is by no means really permanent. it has been suggested that the felt might properly be contained within a wooden shell which would extend as far along the sides of the felt as the wooden molding now reaches within it. the compressed sheet of felt would be forced into this shell and fastened therein so that it would always be protected by an outer wooden covering. thus, not only would the fastening of the felt to the wood be reduced more secure, but the pounding upon the strings would not so rapidly assure the undue hardening of the felt. for there would not be the hard wooden base between which the strings and the felt is continually subjected to compression. the idea is good and undoubtedly will yet be recognized.
-details of the adjustment of the hammers to the rest of the action and of the preparation of them by the tone-regulator, for the better production of good and even tone, will be dealt with in the chapters upon action-and tone-regulating.
-the touch mechanism.
-as the hammer-idea evolved itself in the mind of cristofori and the other experimenters who were contemporaneously bending their efforts towards the improvement of the dynamic possibilities of keyed instruments, we may be certain that much perplexity was caused them by the problem of providing some mechanism that should form the connecting link between the hammer and the key. we may understand how the ingenious italian must have labored, with the picture of the dulcimer and its player continually in his mind, to obtain an efficient mechanical substitute for the uncertain stroke of the hand operated dulcimer-hammer, as well as the dynamically incapable harpsichord jack and quill. it is surprising to note, indeed, how early the present ruling principles of action-mechanism were elaborated by these pioneer workers. cristofori, as we have already mentioned, obtained, ere he died, a complete check to the rebound of the hammer and a form of escapement that may be seen unaltered in essentials in surviving square pianofortes of the “english action” variety. we may further reflect that the invention of backers, as improved by john broadwood the first, remains today the approved mechanism of many english and other european grands. not only is this so, but until the general adoption of the steinway overstrung model, there existed german makers who were content to fit their moderate priced grands with a slightly modified form of the viennese action invented by that remarkable woman nanette stein, afterwards madame streicher, the conspicuous feature of which was the mobility of the hammer-butt and the stationary condition of the jack. the fact that these early mechanisms remained satisfactory to performers until recent years is the best proof of the thorough and sure mechanical basis upon which they were designed.
-it is not necessary to go into elaborate detail in describing these early actions. reference to the accompanying cuts will be sufficient to lay bare their actuating principles. we may, however, observe that the radical difference of touch between the viennese (streicher) models and those of broadwood (known as the english grand action) continued to be a source of annoyance to performers until the increasing technical demands of the modern virtuoso school and the improvements in wire-drawing and iron casting made inevitable the supersession of the very light streicher action by the heavier, more durable and more efficient broadwood english model, which continued in favor until within recent years.
-it can easily be understood that such a vital change in action mechanism did not become popular at once. many pianists objected to double escapement. notable among these were chopin and kalkbrenner; these two being the greatest pianists of their day in paris. chopin preferred pianofortes fitted with the broadwood action.
-nevertheless, the merits of erard’s invention continued to impress themselves upon the musical world, although pierre erard, who had patented his uncle’s invention in 1821, was obliged to obtain an extension of the english patent in 1835, on the ground of the loss occasioned in working it. it did not become generally adopted, even after the expiration of the extended patent, until modified and simplified by henri herz, the famous pianist and pianoforte manufacturer. then its merits, in the modified form, were so generally recognized that it is now in use by steinway, chickering, knabe and all manufacturers of grand pianofortes in the united states; by broadwood, collard & collard, brinsmead, and others in england; by bechstein & bluthner in germany, and by most french makers of eminence with the sole exception of the house of erard itself. this eminent firm continues to employ the pure and original form of action as patented in 1821, with improvements only in details of workmanship and material.
-whatever we may say as to the general adoption of the erard action only after it had been considerably modified, we must not withhold admiration from the erards, whose genius and courage gave to us the enduring double-escapement principle that has never yet been superseded.
-the main features of the herz-erard mechanism may be seen at a glance. the roller is replaced by the notch, once more restored to favor, and the repetition lever is made more effective by being pivoted centrally with two free ends, and by having means provided to limit its up and down motion. moreover, the wippen is shortened and made straight, the single spring is replaced by two, and the damper is once more permitted to fall down on the strings by its own weight without recourse to artificial springs.
-the herz-erard action has been taken up by american makers, but we find that they have modified it again, after their own ideas. for example, if we look at the accompanying cut showing a modern american grand action of the highest class, we shall observe that the original roller of erard is restored, the damper mechanism simplified and additional means of controlling the movements of the jack introduced. these two latter improvements combine to make the present american grand action most perfect, and the achievements of the specialist action makers must ever command our respectful admiration.
-the reader has now been able to take a comparatively complete survey of the progress of invention in grand pianoforte action mechanism. we shall therefore turn to a critical examination of the modern standard grand action here illustrated, in order that the adjustment of it within the instrument may be understood.
-it will be observed that the key (1) is supported upon a key-frame, part of which is clearly shown in the drawing. this frame is provided with a cloth strip at its rear end, also shown, and with a “balance rail” upon which the key is pivoted by means of a pin. the position of this balance rail must be such that the divisions of the key thus made are to one another as 3:2. the part nearest to the player’s finger is the longer. but such a proportion as this holds good only for the actual operative lengths of the keys from the front to the point where the sticker, or capstan screw is placed. for otherwise we have a distinct change in the mechanical relations of the parts of the lever-system, and this, of course, entails a corresponding change in the forces that are brought into operation. it is therefore necessary to have a standard length of key, as between the points mentioned, and this length is placed at 15-3/4 inches. but, in order to maintain the mechanical relations between the dimensions of the lever we must also consider the depth to which the key sinks in front, and also the height to which it rises at the back. if, then, we arrange that the depth in front shall be 3/8-inch full and the rise in the rear 1/4-inch full, we shall be able to maintain the position of the balance pin as already calculated. such a proportion supplies the very best arrangement. in order to fix the proportions in the reader’s mind we repeat them in tabular form, as follows:
-the front portion of the key is mounted upon a rail of the key-frame which is provided with a pin. this pin works in a mortise cut in the bottom of the front portion of the key and bushed with cloth. the pin is oval in form and adapted to be turned so as partially to increase the amount of space occupied by it whenever wear or age tend unduly to enlarge the size of the mortise.
-the exact size of all the various action parts that are mounted above and in connection with the keys depends largely upon the exact interior dimensions of the grand pianoforte case. so that it becomes necessary carefully to measure the height from the key-bed to the level of the strings, and also the distance from the front of the keys to the line of damper lifter wires, and from there to the extreme rear end of the key-bed. likewise the exact position of the middle string of each three-string group, the middle point of each two-string group and the position of each single string must be marked upon a stick for the guidance of the action-maker. the latter will then be able to effect the correct alignment of the hammers, the rise of the escapement lever and jack, and the exact position, in reference to these, of the other parts of the action. it will, of course, be understood that the proportionate dimensions of all the action parts depend upon the measurements that we mentioned just now, as well as upon the dimensions of the keys. the greatest care is therefore necessary in making these measurements.
-the junction of these parts with the damper mechanism lies within the province of the action finisher and regulator and will therefore be treated in the chapter on action regulation.
-it will be observed then, to return to the consideration of the action in its actual movements, that the depression of the key causes the wippen to rise at its forward end. this brings the escapement lever (4) to bear upon the roller (6), with which it is in continual contact, and raises the hammer-shank and hammer-head (5) and (7). at the same time the jack (3) is raised and its tail end is brought nearer to the button (8), which it finally touches. as soon as this happens the jack is tripped up and its head comes out of contact with the roller. the latter in the meantime, having been raised away from the escapement lever by the action of the jack, falls back into contact with the former and is then borne up on the lever so that the hammer is maintained in position near to the strings. the result of this is that so long as the finger is held on the front of the key, the whole action is continually in proper position to actuate the hammer. the jack is not permitted to fall away, for the roller is maintained in the right place by the escapement lever and it thus happens that a very small angular motion of the key obtained by slightly raising and depressing the finger, is sufficient to cause the whole action to be set in motion, and the operation of actuating the hammer to be gone through as often and as rapidly as required.
-the “forte” pedal simply pushes up the whole line of damper levers (16) each of which is pivoted on flanges (21) for that purpose. the lifting is effected by means of a rod connecting with the pedal which is projected through the bottom of the key-bed and engages with a rail set under the line of damper levers and adapted to raise them when operated by the pedal-rod.
-there are, however, two variations to the pedal mechanism of grand pianofortes that require some attention on account of their mechanical interest. these are clearly illustrated and described in the cut and specifications shown on adjoining page.
-the working of the sostenuto pedal and of the new soft pedal device will be readily comprehended by reference to the cut.
-it will be noted, in the first place, that the metallic action brackets which were omitted in the previous drawing for the sake of exhibiting the working parts more clearly, are now shown.
-the “sostenuto pedal” is devised to permit the sustaining of a chord while the fingers of the performer, for the purpose of continuing the melody, are withdrawn from the keys. it will be observed that the action is provided with a rod (22) which is connected with a pedal and is adapted to be brought into contact with an additional damper-lever (23). this additional lever is provided with a tongue of felt, and when the rod is turned on its axis, this tongue engages with a similar metallic device on the rod, thus holding the damper up as long as the rod is kept in the position of contact. when the key is pressed down, the damper rises to clear the string, and brings the additional lever up with it, so that, if the rod is now caused to revolve, the tongues on each engage one with another and the damper is held up as long as the pedal is pressed down and irrespective of the position of the key. provided that the keys are first depressed, the pedal will always hold up as many of the dampers as are thus raised. the result is to sustain the sound of the strings after the hand has been removed from the key. this gives a more permanent character to the harmonization of a melody, without the dissonance that comes from the releasing of all the dampers by the ordinary “forte” pedal. the “sostenuto pedal” is generally situated between the others in the lyre or pedal case at the level of the player’s feet.
-the second device is also most interesting. it consists of a method for softening the sound of the string, by a method similar to that which is employed in the upright. it is claimed, and with some justice, that the use of the shifting key-frame is attended with various complications, and that the motion tends to hinder the adjustment of the action to the strings. moreover the hammers become unevenly worn by being continually caused to strike two, instead of three, strings and this operates to cause loss of directness in the hammer-strokes.
-in this new device, the hammer is provided with a swing-rail (25), having a cushion for the hammer-rebound similar to the ordinary cushion that is supported upon the wippen in most actions, and a rod (26) for pivoting it to the metallic action frame (24). the swing-rail also is fitted with a lifter (27), which is operated by the soft pedal through a lifter-rod (28). so far the process is simple. the effect of the motion of the swing-rail is to bring the hammer closer to the string and to soften the tone. but this is only accomplished at the cost of lost motion between the capstan-screw and the key. to avoid the loss of touch thus brought about, the lifter-rod is connected with two compensating levers (29) and (30), which are so adjusted that they form a continuous link between the parts where the lost motion would occur, and thus preserve the continuity of touch and the weight that is lost by the different actuating positions of the hammer. the ingenuity of this device commends it to the student of pianoforte mechanism, and the makers are entitled to great praise for the successful achievement of this important modification.
-we may conclude our survey by giving a list of the materials of which grand actions are constructed.
-we are now able to turn our attention to the action mechanism of the upright pianoforte. the historical chapter of this work contains a short description of the early history of the upright form. of course, it will at once be seen that the only real mechanical difficulty in designing a vertical type of pianoforte was to be found in the department of touch-mechanism. the problem was indeed primarily of the action. as such it is interesting to note the efforts of hawkins, southwell and loud, to produce an action that would approach in efficiency that of the grand. it was robert wornum, however, who found the solution, though not until nearly the end of the first quarter of the nineteenth century. the principle applied by wornum possessed such value that it has never been superseded, and remains today the distinguishing feature of the upright action.
-we refer, of course, to the tape. as applied to the action of uprights, this device has become universal, and all upright actions in consequence have for years been everywhere similar as to general design. thus we do not find those radical differences of actuating principle that to this day distinguish american from certain european grand pianofortes. this is partly due to the fact that the great battles had already been fought out when the first successful upright actions were made. at present, the only remaining types of the ancient “sticker” leather-hinged action are to be found in old-fashioned and obsolete european pianofortes of the cheaper grade. none are made now, however, except in the case of a very few worthless commercial english instruments. in the united states the “sticker” action has hardly been heard of.
-thus it seems unnecessary to give detailed drawings of any but the accepted type of upright action. the reader’s attention is immediately called, therefore, to the drawing herewith given.
-the method of operation may be seen very clearly. depression of the key, to which is screwed the key-rocker (1), causes the abstract (2) and the wippen (6) to rise. this brings the jack (7) to bear against the butt (18), which is raised, forcing the hammer (20) and (21) through the shank (19) against the string (32). as the hammer strikes, the rise of the jack has brought its tail against the regulating-button (16), which trips it up so that it falls towards the back-stop (14). the butt, being thus left free, drops back, assisted by the pull of the tape (13), until the back-stop is caught and held by the check (9), thus leaving time for the jack to get back under the hammer butt through the aid of the spring (8). repetition of the hammer is thus assured, and while the rapidity of stroke cannot be so great as that of the grand, it is sufficiently so to satisfy ordinary users. sometimes a spring is fastened to the front of the jack in connection with a silk loop and cord which stretches back and engages with the hammer spring (23). the latter is then fastened to the hammer butt instead of to a rail (24). this arrangement gives a far more rapid repetition to the action and causes it to approach the delicacy of the double escapement of the grand.
-the pedal mechanism is the same as in the grand. the “piano” effect is obtained by pushing forward the hammer-rail (22), so that the hammers approach nearer to the strings. the “forte” pedal effect is obtained by use of the damper lifting rod (26) which is turned rearwards and forces back the whole line of damper heads so that they leave the strings.
-the lost motion that occurs in the action when the “piano” pedal is used has been overcome in a most ingenious manner, and by means similar to those already described in the discussion of the grand action. the trouble to be overcome is the same, namely the lifting up of the abstract from the rocker or capstan screw caused by the forcing of the hammers towards the strings. this causes loss of touch and is very irritating to the performer.
-the drawing given herewith also shows the metallic action bracket for supporting the action and the capstan screw that is used as an alternate to the key-rocker.
-the lost motion attachment operates through the rod (36) which lifts the hammer rail and at the same time brings into play the compensation lever (38), which takes up the space between the abstract and the key that would otherwise intervene. thus the touch remains true irrespective of the position of the hammer.
-the materials that are required for the manufacture of the upright action do not differ from those, which we have already classified as pertaining to the grand.
-the adjustment of the upright action requires that the same precautions be taken in the measurement of the key-bed, of the height of the action between the keys and striking-point of hammers, the distance of hammer from strings when at rest and so on. all these assist the action maker to adjust the alignment of the hammers and the height of the abstracts. the size of the pianoforte sometimes requires the omission of the abstracts, in which case the bottom of the wippen is felted and brought into contact with the capstan or rocker direct. all these details are attended to by the action maker when the proper measurements are given. the marking on a stick of the run of the strings is done just as was suggested for the grand scale.
-in conclusion, it may be mentioned that much similarity exists between certain parts of the action of both types of instrument. it has become customary to make the length of the hammer shank and hammer butt, when fitted together, about five inches, counting from the center pin of the butt to the middle of the hammer molding. this measurement will be found correct for both grands and uprights.
-the length of the hammer blow is always as nearly as possible 1-24/25 inches for the bass end, graduating to 1-9/10 scant in the treble. these dimensions should be maintained at all costs. the key lengths that we gave before are applicable to all forms of uprights. when provided with these data the action maker will be able to put out a mechanism that will fulfill the individual requirements of each kind of instrument.
-regulation of pianoforte touch mechanism.
-we may presume that the reader is by this time quite familiar with the appearance and use of the various parts of the grand and upright pianoforte action, both as assembled and detached. we may therefore proceed to give general instructions for the adjustment of these within the instrument and the regulation of the various working parts into proper harmony with one another.
-we say “general instructions” advisedly; for it is quite out of the question to teach action finishing and regulating by means of written directions. experience and the practical routine of the shop must be gone through by anyone who hopes to be able to do this kind of work well. for there are few departments of mechanical endeavor that demand such skill, care, and patience as the regulation of pianoforte mechanism.
-nevertheless the directions that we shall give in this chapter will be sufficient to make him who reads and digests them a very efficient critic. it is much to the employer to be able to estimate correctly the value of each practical detail of the construction, and the correctness of the manner in which it is executed. this chapter is intended to provide as much of this knowledge as may be imparted by means of written words.
-we shall begin with the grand action, following the method that has been pursued throughout this work.
-the first step in the regulating and adjustment of the grand action is taken by the “action-finisher.” he receives the action and keys separately. the former is without hammers or dampers and the latter without rockers or capstan screws. the action has to be placed within the space destined for it in the instrument and the proper position for it noted. if the action has been well made there should be no difficulty in seeing that it fits its place correctly. the action is screwed on to the key-frame through its metallic brackets and the capstan screws are put into the keys at the proper points so that they engage with the cushions on the bottom of the wippens. when this has been done the weight of the action upon any one of the keys should be noted and the action may then be removed. a piece of lead should then be taken and fastened to the back of each key. this lead must have the same weight as the action has upon each key. the keys will then remain in their proper positions when the action is removed, and the work of leveling them may then be begun. remembering the depth of touch that was prescribed in the last chapter, let the extreme bass and treble keys be adjusted to an equivalent height by wooden blocks through their front rail pins. then run a straight edge over the keys and proceed to adjust their levels by means of the thin paper punchings that are provided for the purpose. these come in various thicknesses and are laid over the balance rail pins and under the cloth punchings that must first have been placed in position both on the balance rail and the front rail. when the leveling is accomplished let the action be screwed on again. then let the hammers be glued on. the striking point of the hammers must be carefully measured and the directions already given as to the striking of the highest hammer must be observed. it will be remembered that one-tenth of the string was recommended for the highest hammers, graduating down to the ideal one-ninth and one-eighth. the scale draughtsman will prepare a marking stick showing the true hammer line. the hammers are glued on absolutely at right angles to the plane of the strings. after they are dry, they must be adjusted to the proper position by the capstan screws or rockers. they must lie just over and not quite touching the wippen cushions. let them also be aligned to each other, horizontally, with great exactness. be sure that the keys work easily and that the depth of touch is roughly adjusted as already provided for.
-it next becomes necessary to fix the damper mechanism. this is chiefly situated in the back of the action and the damper levers are to be so adjusted that they rest a little above the backs of the keys, ready to be engaged with them when the fronts of the keys are depressed. the dampers must fit on to the strings straight and must drop with sufficient force to effect an instantaneous damping. the damper levers are leaded for this purpose.
-the instrument is then taken in hand by the action regulator. his work is most important. he first sees that the level of the keys is perfect and that they are properly balanced when suspended without the action. if any defects are found here they are remedied by changes in the leading. the keys should be so leaded that they balance when tested on a scale and the weight of touch with the action fitted must not be more than two and one-quarter ounces.
-the alignment of the hammers is then corrected and the length of the hammer stroke, as laid down in chapter xii, is adjusted by means of the capstan screw or rocker. the jack is so regulated by its button and screw that the trip up of the jack occurs when the hammer is 5/32 of an inch from the string. the checks must catch the hammers when they have fallen three-quarters of an inch away from the strings. the tails of the hammer-moldings must be roughened and the checks be so slanted that the catch is sure and tight.
-the escapement lever is then considered. the spring that governs it requires adjustment. it must be sufficiently strong to cause the hammer to dance and jump a little on the lever when the key is released. the escapement lever must also be regulated by means of the hook that is found at its rear end. there must be space enough between the hook and the lever to ensure that the catch of the hammer by the check is at all times free. the screw that regulates the rise of the escapement lever must also be attended to. it is necessary that the movement of the lever be arrested before the hammer has quite risen to the point of the trip up of the jack.
-the after-touch under the front of the keys is regulated by means of paper punchings. if enough punchings are placed under the keys to make very hard pressure necessary to force a release of the hammer, then punchings of 1/32 of an inch in thickness must be removed to make the after touch correct.
-the pedal mechanism is simple. it is essential to see that the feet work in the lyre without scraping; hence lubrication with graphite and tallow is necessary. the rods that connect with the action levers must so engage as to be just in contact without bearing too much. the soft “piano” pedal must engage with the shifting lever so as to allow a small space between it and the point of contact with the key-frame. the strength of the reaction spring in the case must be arranged so that the key-board is pushed back with promptness upon the release of the pedal. the “forte” pedal must be adjusted so that its connecting rod is in contact with the damper lever lifting rail, but not enough to operate without the depression of the pedal. the sostenuto pedal requires to be arranged to revolve the sostenuto rod instantly. here the rod has to be revolved its entire distance before it operates and the adjustment may therefore be made quite close.
-these directions will enable one at least to be sure that the regulation of a grand pianoforte action has been properly done; although it is not to be expected that the innumerable small details of practical work are to be learned other than practically. it must especially be borne in mind that the use of tools and facility in handling them and making definite adjustments with them is a matter of long and patient practice. the above instructions are intended merely to set the routine method before the reader, so that he may approach the subject with a correct knowledge of principles.
-the regulation and adjustment of the upright action is precisely similar as to principles. the differences occur through the somewhat dissimilar method whereby repetition is attained and the great variation in the general position of the parts with reference to the strings.
-the action of the upright is fastened, by means of the metallic brackets, to iron bolts which are set up in the key-bed. the height of these bolts depends upon the dimensions of the instrument and the striking point of the strings. in setting the action in place great care must be exercised in seeing that the hammer line lies truly in regard to the run of the strings. errors in the casting of the plate often lead to a distortion of the true string-line and the action finisher must take care to set the action with due regard to these matters. when the action, which is minus hammers and dampers, is thus set in, the keys may be placed under it for the purpose of marking the points where the capstan screws or rockers must be set. the hammers and dampers are then glued in and adjusted for position with regard to the strings. if the action and keys are truly proportioned, it is always possible to make the length of the key just as recommended in the last chapter. sometimes the size of the pianoforte makes impossible the employment of capstans or rockers with abstracts. in this case it is customary either to use a dowel prop or to lay the wippen directly upon the key. when the dowel prop is used it is driven firmly into the key, and its upper end, which is a wooden rod into which the lower spike is screwed, impinges against the wippen. in laying the place for the dowel to be driven, it must be remembered that it is necessary for the head of the dowel to hit the bottom of the wippen squarely. but the dowel describes a curve at its head when the key is moving, and the wippen has to be provided with a felted foot, curved so as to accommodate this circular motion of the dowel. this motion must be observed carefully, so that the dowel does not lay too far forward or back of the wippen foot when the key is at either of its extreme positions. the regulation proper now begins.
-abstracts, or dowels, are always regulated by a screw. this is either in the form of a capstan or of a rocker, or of the movable part of the dowel itself. the adjustment must be made with reference to the position of the jack under the hammer butt. it is necessary that the jack be just in contact with the notched heel of the butt. after the hammers and dampers have been put in and their positions with reference to the keys adjusted, it becomes necessary to regulate the escape of the hammer by means of the regulating buttons and the jacks. the directions given for grands apply here. the hammer springs must be put in place and the fall of the hammers noted. if they stick, the bushings are too tight or some cognate trouble exists which can be easily remedied with a drop of oil on the affected part.
-the checks must be adjusted to the back-stops and made to stand square to them and they must also be arranged to catch the back-stops when the hammer has recovered about two-thirds of an inch from the string. we know that the length of the hammer blow should be from 1-24/25 of an inch in the bass to 1-9/10 of an inch in the treble.
-the tapes must be adjusted so that they begin to exercise their pull when the hammer is started away from the strings. they must not be strained too tight, but should be left just a little loose, so that when the soft pedal pushes the hammers towards the strings the abstracts or dowels do not at once leave the keys.
-the dampers are adjusted, as to position, like those of the grand--that is, they must lie square on the strings and be in a straight line with one another. their movements are directed by the spoons and these must be so bent that the damper begins to move when about one-third of the angular motion of the key has taken place. when actuated by the pedal, they must fall against the back of the hammer spring rail, which is felted for the purpose, and their motion must be instantaneous when the pedal is depressed. the pedal mechanism is concealed behind the bottom frame of the case and will be found to be precisely similar to that of the grand, except as regards the mounting and pivoting of the levers. these must be kept lubricated with graphite and tallow to prevent squeaking. the connection of the soft pedal with the hammer rail must be close so that instantaneous action results when the pedal is operated. the motion of the pedal may push the hammers one-half of their stroke length towards the strings, not more.
-the leveling of the keys and the regulation of touch have already been described; nothing further need be said except that these operations are more easily performed in the upright owing to the open way in which everything is set in.
-it is unnecessary to go further into detail in regard to the regulation of actions. enough has been said to lay bare the general principles, and, as was stated before, the rest comes from experience only. a text-book can never replace an apprenticeship, but we cannot deny its value in laying down correct principles for the man who wants to know how things should be done.
-as a fitting conclusion to the present discussion, we may now note the order of the various processes which combine to make up the manufacture of a pianoforte, from the cutting of the lumber to the final tuning in the wareroom.
-the various kinds of lumber that are to be used are exposed, after cutting and rough dressing, in a lumber-yard. here they remain from three to ten years according to the kind of wood and the degree of care that is taken by the manufacturer. the best makers take the greatest care in seasoning their lumber.
-the first operations to be considered are those of the saw-mill. here the rough work for the case-making is done, and the moldings for actions and cases are turned out. the rough cases are then sent to the case department and made up into shape. the bent rims are there glued together for the grands, and the sides and frames of the uprights are shaped. the back framing, wrest-planks and other parts of the case and back construction are also put together in the case department.
-in the meantime, the machine work has gone in the rough from the saw-mill to the “action department,” where it is cut, shaped and made up into the delicate action parts. these have to be leathered, felted, provided with brackets, springs and the other accessories and assembled. the hammers are covered, dampers, prepared, and the whole of the action work is thus made ready against the time when the case shall be in condition to receive it. this action and hammer work is generally done by specialists, who supply many different makers with actions according to their particular scales and patterns.
-meanwhile the cases have been sent to the varnish room and are here prepared with filler and stain to receive the varnish finish. the best instruments have their cases left about four months in the varnish room, receiving eight or ten coats at intervals of ten days or more.
-while this is going on, the sound-board department is occupied in preparing the sheets of spruce for manufacture into sound-boards. here great care and skill are necessary to obtain the proper gradation of thickness at all parts of the board’s surface. when the boards are finished, they are put into drying rooms, to remain until wanted for ribbing, bridging and insertion within the instruments.
-the first operation in the assembling of the parts is performed by the “bellyman.” he takes the sound-board, ribs it and affixes the bridges according to pattern, bores the tuning pin holes in the wrest-plank, and fastens on the iron plate, which was cast to pattern in the iron foundry, to the back, upon which the completed sound-board has by this time been glued.
-then the “stringer” receives the bellied back, puts on the strings and pressure bar (if the latter is used instead of agraffes). the first rough approximation to pitch is then made by the “chipper,” who pulls the strings up roughly two or three times in succession at intervals of about twenty-four hours.
-the case is then turned over to the “side-gluer,” if the instrument be an upright. the case of the grand is incorporated with the back and is put together before the bellying. the side-gluer affixes the sides and key-bed of the upright and also the bottom-board, which contains the trap-work for the pedal mechanism. if the instrument be a grand this department confines itself to the fitting and adjustment of the lyre. after the sides are thus affixed the case is returned to the “flowing-room,” where the final coat of “flowing” varnish is carefully applied. this requires ten days to dry hard.
-the case is now ready for the “action finisher.” his work of setting in the action and keys and putting the instrument into rough playing condition has been described in detail.
-the next operation is performed by the “action regulator.” his work, which includes the finishing touches to the adjustments made by the action-finisher and side-gluer, has already been gone over in detail.
-the instrument is by this time ready for another and somewhat more careful tuning. here appears the “second tuner.” the instrument then is permitted to remain in its existing condition until two more tunings have been given at intervals of a week.
-the “fine-regulator” next takes the instrument and proceeds to review the work of the action-regulator and correct any deficiencies in touch or repetition that may have been effected by the pounding of the rough tuners.
-the “tone-regulator” is next called upon, and his delicate work is needed to give to the pianoforte evenness of tone throughout and an agreeable quality.
-then the polishers rub down the sides, the smaller parts being already polished as noted before, and give to the instrument its glossy and mirror-like finish. the “setter-up” then puts the various cabinet work parts together and the “fine-tuner” gives the final tuning. lastly, the superintendent looks over the whole work, and woe betide the unlucky wight who has slurred or skimped his part.
-the details listed above are, of course, subject to variations in the order in which they are performed. the variations are according to the practice of individual shops. of course, it may at any time be required to give more tunings, especially if the pianoforte is left on the floor of the factory very long. but there should never be less than four or five.
-when the instrument is sent to the wareroom or shipped to the dealer extra tunings are given according to the caprice or knowledge of both.
-tuning and tone regulation of the pianoforte.
-the art of tuning the pianoforte is one of considerable complexity and obscurity. during all the time that has elapsed since the key-board instrument first came into being, controversies innumerable have raged over the multifarious questions that the practice of the art implies. this distressing state of affairs is primarily due to the fact that a system of “tempering” the sounds produced by key-board instruments is necessary, in order that playing in more than one key may be possible.
-the whole matter of musical intonation was treated with some completeness in the early part of this work, and the reader may be expected to comprehend the principles of the equal temperament upon which the tuning of the pianoforte and of all other fixed tone instruments is now universally based. it is not within our province, in the course of a treatise upon the principles of pianoforte construction, to venture too deeply into the quagmires that surround the aspirant for the honors of the tuner. the discussion of musical intonation and the equal temperament was made for the principal purpose of acquainting the student with the reason for the peculiar construction of scales, as to their string lengths, and to make clear the raison d’etre of the frequent divergences from theoretical proportions of strings and tones that we have been obliged to note.
-the scale designer is better equipped for his task, however, if he possess a working knowledge of the principles upon which the science and art of tuning are based. this is the justification for the space and time devoted to the exhibition of certain of these principles in the earlier portion of this book. as a further contribution to this useful body of knowledge, we shall point out here the general scheme whereby the tuner proceeds to the execution of his important, indeed essential, portion of the whole work.
-the practical work of tuning is performed by the aid of certain acoustical phenomena which enable the tuner to distinguish between sounds that are very nearly in unison. as the equal temperament requires the slight roughening of all the intervals with the exception of the unison and octave, it is clear that there is great value in a method of estimating, not only the unisonal or non-unisonal condition of two sounds, but also the exact amount of difference that may occur between them. the phenomena mentioned are called “beats,” and it is well that their physical basis should be described here.
-from what has been said before, it is clear that musical sounds, generated as they are by the periodic agitation of the air according to fixed laws, are but the audible manifestations of a peculiar form of air-motion. the particular form of air-motion can best be described as a wave. whenever a sonorous body is excited into vibration it causes the surrounding atmosphere to make motions that correspond to its own. a vibrating body such as we have described (together with the segments thereof) partakes of a motion that may be compared to that of a pendulum. there is a rhythmic swinging back and forth of the body and its segments, with the result that the immediately adjacent layers of air are excited into alternate states of compression and expansion; or, more correctly, of condensation and rarefaction. this rhythmic motion is imparted by the layers of air adjacent to the sonorous body to the next adjacent layers, and so on. the result of this is that a wave is formed, the length of which varies inversely as the number of vibrations performed by the sonorous body. this wave is called a sonorous wave.
-now we know that sounds are at the same pitch when they are generated by sonorous bodies having the same speed of vibration, and it is easy to perceive that, if two such bodies are sounding together, the condensations and rarefactions of the layers of air will synchronize with each other, so that both will be exciting condensations at the same instant and likewise will generate rarefactions simultaneously. and even if the two bodies have not exactly the same speed, the result will be equally simple as long as their speeds bear simple ratios to each other. thus two bodies which are emitting sounds at the interval of an octave or of a fifth or fourth will generate condensations and rarefactions in such a manner that they will not interfere one with another. but the case is different where two sounds are separated by differences in pitch that cannot be expressed by simple ratios. for example, if one sound be one vibration per second higher than another, it is clear that by the time that the first sounding body has completed its given number of vibrations in one second, the other will be one vibration behind. when, therefore, the vibrations of the first body are continued into the next second the condensation of one wave will be completely synchronous with neither the condensation nor the rarefaction of the other. the obvious result is that at a certain point the condensations of each wave concur while at another point the condensation of one crosses the rarefaction of the other. in the first case we have a considerable augmentation of sound and in the other case a complete silence. as the waves thus approach and recede there is a gradual diminution of sound followed by a complete cessation for a small fraction of a second, and then a gradual increase until the point of greatest augmentation occurs. this latter happens when the two condensations concur, and the gradual rise and fall of the sound correspond to the gradual approach of this concurrence in the first case and to the similar advance of the point of crossing in the second. this phenomenon of alternate augmentation and diminution of sound separated by an almost inappreciable interval of silence occurs whenever two sounds of nearly the same pitch are heard simultaneously. these peculiar changes in the intensity of a sound are denominated “beats.”
-this description of the physical nature of “beats” will be sufficient to make clear to us how a recognition of them is of value to the tuner. from what we have just said, it will be observed that the number of beats that may be set up between any two sounds depends upon the difference in the frequency of the two sonorous bodies. so that the number of beats form a true guide to the exact amount of difference between sounds that are nearly in consonance. thus, if it becomes a matter of tuning a certain interval a little flat or sharp, in order to comply with the requirements of equal temperament, the operation may be readily performed by observing the number of beats that are heard between the two sounds when one of them is sharpened or flattened. so that all schemes of tuning must necessarily be founded upon a recognition of this important phenomenon.
-at this point it will be well to reiterate the fact that the equal temperament owes its popularity and long prevalence to the wonderful facility of modulation which it possesses. while it certainly involves discords and disharmonics that the mesotonic system, for instance, avoided, yet the fact that it does not limit the expression of musical ideas to a few scales, but permits the composer to roam at will through the whole field of tonalities, has given to it a deeply founded popularity that has not yet been seriously challenged. we must bear in mind that the equal temperament is the first fact, the “prius,” the “proton hemin,” as it were, of musical performance. obviously, therefore, the importance of a proper and close adherence to this system in the tuning of fixed-tone instruments cannot be insisted upon too strongly. the reader has already had occasion to examine a comparative table which showed the pitches of a true and of a corresponding tempered scale. he will have noted that the tempered scale errs very greatly in respect to certain intervals. the task of equalizing the thirteen sounds which a fixed-tone instrument allows to the octave, involves in each interval a greater or less divergence from purity, according to the ratio of such interval. thus we find that the error of a tempered third is greater than that of a fifth, and so on. now, if the four minor thirds within the compass of an octave be considered, it will be found that the octave to the tonic which is produced from the last of these is a good deal sharper than the octave taken direct from the tonic. again the octave produced from the building up of the three major thirds within the same compass is very much flatter than the octave taken direct from the tonic. again, it will be remembered that there are twelve fifths within the compass of seven octaves. the last sound in this progression of fifths is considerably sharper than the sound that is produced by taking a series of seven octaves from the tonic. without going into figures, we may give the differences thus noted concisely as follows:
-in the cases above considered the octaves obtained by building up intervals differ from the straight octave in the following proportions:
-the octave produced from minor thirds is sharper in the ratio 1296:1250.
-the octave produced from major thirds is flatter in the ratio 125:128.
-the octave produced from fifths is sharper in the ratio 531441:524288.
-obviously, therefore, it will be necessary to tune all the minor thirds, within an octave, flat by one-fourth each of the ratio given for them. it will also be necessary to tune each of the major thirds sharp by one-third of the ratio proper to those intervals. likewise each of the perfect fifths must be made flat by one-twelfth of the ratio given above for fifths.
-we are thus able to understand just how great divergencies from purity are involved in the equal temperament of major thirds, minor thirds and fifths. as far as the other intervals are concerned, it is obvious that if the thirds and fifths are equally tempered and the octaves tuned quite purely, the other intervals will be subjected simultaneously and automatically to a similar process of temper.
-now from what we learned of the phenomena of beats, we must conclude that the tempering process when applied to these intervals will generate beats between the sounds that compose each interval. we know that beats must occur when the sounds that form any consonant interval are not quite in tune with one another. we also know that the frequency of the beats depends upon the difference in frequency of the generating sounds. we can, therefore, easily see that those intervals that are subjected to the greatest amount of tempering will produce the greatest number of beats. and further, as the actual frequencies of the sounds increase according to their pitch, it is equally obvious that the tempering will result in greater differences as to actual frequency 1-11.
-624c. ----. 1915. trimerorhachis, a permian temnospondyl amphibian. jour. geol., xxiii, no. 3, 246-255, figs. 1-6.
-626. ----. 1913. ueber das hinterhaupt der labyrinthodonten. bull. geol. inst. of upsala, xii, 1-7, figs. 1-8.
-627. wiman, carl. 1914. ueber die stegocephalen aus der trias spitzbergens. bull. geol. inst. of upsala, xiii, 1-30, pls. i-ix, figs. 1-10, bibliography.
-628. woodward, a. smith. 1891. catalogue of the fossil fishes in the british museum, pt. ii, 474. (note on the synonymy of pygopterus, colosteus, and archegosaurus.)
-629. ----. 1891. on a microsaurian (hylonomus wildii) from the lancashire coal field. geol. mag., n. s., dec. iii, viii, 211-213, with figs.
-630. ----. 1897. on a new specimen of the stegocephalian ceraterpeton galvani huxley. geol. mag., dec. iv, iv, no. 397, 293, with plate.
-631. ----. 1904. on two new labyrinthodont skulls of the genera capitosaurus and aphaneramma (from the trias of spitzbergen). proc. zool. soc. london, 170-176, with 2 pls.
-632. ----. 1906. the relations of paleontology to biology. ann. and mag. nat. hist., xviii, no. 106, 312-318.
-633. ----. 1905. fishes and labyrinthodonts. paleontologica indica, n. s., ii, memoir no. 2, 10, 2 pls.
-635. woodward, h. b. 1887. the geology of england and wales. the northumberland coal field, 180.
-636. woodworth, j. b. 1900. vertebrate footprints on carboniferous shales of plainville, mass. bull. geol. soc. amer., xi, 449-454, pl. 40, fig. 1.
-637. wyman, jeffries. 1843. analogies which exist between the structure of the teeth of the lepidostei (gars and gar-pikes) and those of the labyrinthodonts (extinct amphibia). proc. bost. nat. hist. soc., i, 131-132; also silliman's journal, 843.
-638. ----. 1853. notes on the reptilian remains (dendrerpeton). quart. jour. geol. soc. london, ix, 64-66.
-640. ----. 1858. on some remains of batrachian reptiles discovered in the coal formation of ohio. amer. jour. science, xxv (2), mar., 158-164, fig. review: zeit. f. gesammt naturwissensch., xiii, 71; neues jahrb. f. mineral., geol. u. paleon., 1858, 340.
-641. yakowlew, n. 1902. neue funde von trias--saurier auf spitzbergen. verhandl. russ. k. min. gesell., xl, 180; nachtrag, xli, 165.
-642. zittel, karl von. 1887-1890. handbuch der paleontologie, i abth., bd. in, 337-437, amphibia. münchen u. leipsic, r. oldenbourg, also eastman's translation of above, 2, 114-139, figs.
-643. ----. 1888. ueber labyrinthodon ruetimeyeri (wiedersheim). neues jahrb. f. mineral., geol. u. paleon., bd. ii, 17. (regards the form as a reptile.)
-644. ----. 1899. amphibien. geschichte der geologie und paleontologie. muenchen u. leipzig, 1899, 827.
-645. zwick, w. 1897. beiträge zur kenntniss des baues und der entwickelung der amphibiengliedmassen, besonders des carpus und tarsus. zeitschr. wissen. zool., bd. 63, 62-144, taf. 4-5.
-an index to the bibliography of fossil amphibia.
-the following will be of assistance to those wishing aid in finding the literature on special phases, whether anatomical or geological, of the fossil amphibia. the author's name and the number of his paper in the preceding bibliography are given in groups of classified subjects, beginning with distribution and ending with anatomy. the various anatomical notes of interest are especially widely scattered in papers which often deal with a variety of other subjects.
-i. geological and geographical distribution.
-devonian: north america: marsh, 407. europe: lohest, 381; weiss, 596; thevenin, 566.
-mississippian: north america: branson, 50; barrell, 21; lea, 371-372. scotland: huxley, 331-334; atthey, n; hancock and atthey, 305.
-coal measures (pennsylvanian): north america: agassiz, 2; butts, 82, 83; case, 86, 94; cope, 105, 107, 115, 116, 118, 122, 123, 126, 127, 131, 145, 152, 167, 176; dawson, 200-225; eastman, 230; hay, 316; jaekel, 347; king, 356, 357; marsh, 404, 406; g. f. matthew, 408-413; moodie, 458-465. 469-475, 478, 479, 482-486; mudge, 490; newberry, 495-498; raymond, 531; schwarz, 540, 541; williston, 608; wyman, 639, 640.
-europe: andrews, 8; atthey, n; bailey, 12-13; barkas, 15-20; bolton, 42-43; credner, 179-194 (see also under permian); davis, 199; dunlop, 229; embleton and atthey, 235; etheridge, 241; fritsch, 251; gaudry, 263-268, 278, 281, 282; gergens, 291; goldfuss, 297; hancock and atthey, 304-310; lydekker, 394; von meyer, 422, 426, 436; oldham, 500; owen, 507-509, 514, 515; schwarz, 540; thevenin, 565-568; weiss, 597; woodward, 629, 630; woodworth, 636.
-australia: stephens, 557; woodward, 634.
-north america: broili, 55, 56, 58, 63, 65; case, 86-93, 95-100; cope, 129, 132-133, 137, 138, 140-144, 156, 169, 170-175; emmons, 237; gregory, 299; w. d. matthew, 414, 415; moodie, 457, 458, 476, 477; sternberg, 558; strickler, 564; williston, 607, 609, 610, 614, 615, 616, 617-624.
-europe: ammon, 7; branco, 48; broili, 59, 60, 61, 62, 66; credner, 179-195; deichmueller, 224, 225; eichwald, 233; emery, 236; fritsch, 251; gaudry, 258-261, 269-282; geinitz, 287; geinitz und deichmueller, 289, 290; goldfuss, 295, 296; von huene, 324-327; huxley, 328; jaekel, 344, 345; le roy, 375; lloyd, 379; lortet, 382; von meyer, 428, 436, 442; roemer, 534; trautschold, 573; twelvetrees, 576.
-africa: broom, 68-71-73, 74.
-asia: lydekker, 384, 386; huxley, 333; woodward, 633.
-north america: branson, 49; cope, 106, in, 121, 157; emmons, 237; leidy, 373; lucas, 383.
-europe: alberti, 4; burmeister, 80, 81; fraas, 242-245, 247a; von huene, 323; huxley, 329; jaeger, 338-341; metcalfe, 417; von meyer, 421, 425, 439; miall, 453; owen, 505; quenstedt, 527; seeley, 544; storrie, 560; ward, 588; wiedersheim, 602; woodward, 631.
-spitzbergen: wiman, 625-627; woodward, 631; yakowlew, 641; seeley, 547.
-africa: broom, 69; huxley, 330; owen, 517, 519-520.
-asia: lydekker, 384-391; owen, 510, 511.
-australia: huxley, 330; stephens, 554, 555.
-europe: dollo, 226.
-north america: marsh, 405; moodie, 480, 481.
-europe: vidal, 579, 580.
-north america: cope, 128; hatcher, 314; lambe, 365, 366; williston, 611.
-europe: beyrich, 36; bieber, 37; cuvier, 197; fraas, 246, 247; günther, 301; laube, 367-370; von meyer, 424, 430, 444, 446, 447; portis, 525; scheuchzer, 535; tschudi, 574-575; walterstorff, 585-586.
-north america: brown, 76; wheatley, 598.
-south america: lydekker, 393.
-asia: clark, 103; lydekker, 393; owen, 506.
-europe: lydekker, 393.
-ii. phylogeny of amphibia.
-arldt, 10; baur, 22-25, 31; boulenger, 44; branson, 49; budgett, 79; cope, 153, 166, 173; davison, 198; dollo, 228; gadow, 256; gaudry, 280, 282; gregory, 299, 300, 300a; haeckel, 312; huxley, 337; kingsley, 358; moodie, 489b; owen, 512; pollard, 524; quenstedt, 527; thevenin, 567-568; versluys, 578; vogt, 581; wiedersheim, 601.
-iii. ontogeny of amphibia.
-ammon, 7; credner, 187; fritsch, 251; hay, 315; von meyer, 422; thevenin, 566.
-lateral-line system of sensory organs: andrews, 8; baur, 31; branson, 49; fraas, 242, 2470; huxley, 333; malbranc, 401; miall, 450; von meyer, 436; moodie, 458, 465, 478, 488; thevenin, 568.
-pineal eye: cope, 160; credner, 187; jaekel, 346.
-morphology of the skull: albrecht, 5; baur, 24, 27, 29, 31; boulenger, 44; branson, 49; broili, 55, 56, 66; case, 85, 93, 98; cope, 136, 177; credner, 187-191; fraas, 242, 247a; fritsch, 251; fuchs, 255; gaupp, 283; goodrich, 298; jaekel, 347; maggi, 397, 398; von meyer, 428, 436, 439; moodie, 458, 478; owen, 511; seeley, 546; thevenin, 568; thyng, 570; williston, 612, 614, 615, 616, 619; wiman, 626; woodward, 631.
-brain: wiedersheim, 602; moodie, 487.
-ear: cope, 159; broom, 75.
-eye: cope, 105, 107; moodie, 478.
-teeth: broili, 58; credner, 194; fraas, 242; fritsch, 251; jaekel, 342; owen, 502, 503, 504, 505; seeley, 548; strickler, 564; tomes, 571-572; williston, 608; wyman, 637.
-gills: budgett, 79; credner, 187; cope, 123; fritsch, 251; gaudry, 268; thevenin, 566-568; von meyer, 436.
-vertebræ and ribs: baur, 25, 26; broili, 61; case, 98; cope, 133, 136, 142, 148, 153; credner, 179-193; fraas, 242; fritsch, 251; gadow, 256; gegenbaur, 284; jaekel, 344, 348; lillie, 378; marsh, 404; von meyer, 436; mivart, 456; moodie, 468; schwarz, 540, 541; thevenin, 565-568; williston, 620.
-pectoral and pelvic arches: broili, 62; broom, 72; cope, 161; credner, 180-185; fritsch, 251; gregory, 299, 300a; gegenbaur, 285; jaekel, 347; moodie, 478; williston, 610, 616.
-limbs, carpus, and tarsus: baur, 22, 23, 28; cope, 161; credner, 180-185; emery, 236; fritsch, 251; gregory, 299-3003; jaekel, 347; wiedersheim, 601; zwick, 645.
-clasping organs: barkas, 16; blanchard, 39; braun, 52; hilton, 319; moodie, 461; fritsch, 251; stock, 561; newberry, 498.
-muscles: moodie, 464.
-alimentary canal: moodie, 471, 474, 478.
-integument, scales, and structure of bone: jaekel, 343; moodie, 464, 465, 478; broili, 62; dawson, 208.
-footprints: barrell, 21; branson, 50; brodie, 54; bulls, 82-83; dawson, 207, 208; fritsch, 251; geinitz, 288; hickling, 318; king, 356-357; lea, 371, 372; leidy, 374; marsh, 406; g. f. matthew, 408-413; owen, 504; moodie, 465; pabst, 521; smith, 549; woodworth, 636.
-images were moved to prevent splitting paragraphs. hyphenation was standardized to the most prevalent form. the table on page 201 was modified (horizon names and kansas were abbreviated) to reduce the width.
-generously made available by the internet archive)
-veterinary science association of america
-notes on diseases of swine, sheep, poultry and the dog cause, symptoms and treatments
-graduate of the ontario veterinary college, in affiliation with the university of toronto, canada. hon. member of the ontario veterinary medical society. ex. state veterinarian for oregon. ex. president of the oregon state veterinary medical board of examiners. author of “the veterinarian”. principal of the veterinary science association of america. sixteen years of practical experience as a veterinary surgeon.
-published by the veterinary science association of america
-copyright 1917 by the veterinary science association of america
-table of contents.
-table of illustrations.
-diseases of swine
-cause, symptoms and treatment
-location of parts of swine
-this chapter on diseases of swine has been written with the purpose of placing in the hands of students and the veterinary profession, a book of practical worth; hence, all unnecessary technical language or terms have been eliminated and only such language used as all may read and understand.
-the treatment recommended in each disease is one i have used and found efficient in my many years of practice as a veterinary surgeon.
-if my readers will study the following chapter carefully, they will save much unnecessary loss to the swine industry and be of great value to the community in which they reside.
-hog regulator and tonic.
-nux vomica, one pound; hardwood charcoal, two pounds; sulphur, two pounds; common salt, three pounds; sulphide of antimony, one and one-half pounds; glauber salts, two pounds; bicarbonate of soda, four pounds; hyposulphite of soda, four pounds; nitrate of potash, one pound; quassia, one-half pound; gentian root, one pound; iron sulphate, one pound; pulverize and mix well.
-to every one hundred pounds of hog weight, give one tablespoonful in feed or swill once or twice daily. for hogs weighing two hundred pounds, the dose would be two tablespoonfuls; for a hog weighing fifty pounds, one-half tablespoonful.
-hogs, like other animals, require tonics, bowel regulators and worm expellers. for these purposes, i have prescribed under a number of the diseases of hogs, which i cover in this chapter, the above general tonic and regulator which i have used in my personal practice with marked success, especially serving the purpose of aiding hogs in the convalescence from debilitating diseases and in their recovery from a general run-down condition.
-aside from its general tonic and regulative effect, this prescription contains nerve tonics, intestinal antiseptics, laxatives, worm expellers, and aids digestion, etc.
-if regularly given to hogs, and sanitary conditions are maintained, this tonic and regulator will largely fortify them against contagious diseases.
-cause.—sows may abort at any state of pregnancy by slipping, falling, receiving kicks, or by being caught while crawling through or under fences. sows may also abort when allowed to crawl into quarters where there are other hogs. contagious diseases, such as cholera and pleuropneumonia also produce abortion. there is also a contagious form of abortion in sows, but this is very uncommon, as the disease spreads very slowly.
-symptoms.—there is no warning given, as a rule; the sows expel their pigs before any signs of abortion are noticed.
-in other cases the sows refuse to eat, become uneasy, shivering and trembling of the muscles, and straining or labor pains are noticed. as a rule, when a sow aborts, she will not prepare a bed, as she would normally.
-treatment.—preventive is the only safe and sure treatment, although when the first signs of abortion appear, and there are no signs of the membranes coming away, remove the sow to quiet, warm, clean quarters by herself, and if straining, give one dram of chloral-hydrate in her drinking water every two or three hours.
-when a sow aborts, burn the pigs and afterbirth, and disinfect the pens with a coal tar disinfectant. keep this up for several days, and do not breed until all discharges from the vagina have ceased flowing.
-administration of medicine to hogs.
-to administer medicine to hogs may seem easy, but, nevertheless, it is a difficult task. never lay a hog on his back to drench him, as in so doing there is great danger of strangling. the proper method is to stand or set him on end, holding him up by the ears, and by the use of a bottle with a piece of hose drawn over its neck, give the medicine very slowly, so as not to allow a large quantity to accumulate in the mouth or throat at one time. there is always danger of some of the liquid escaping into the lungs and causing the hog to strangle, and thus it may produce pneumonia. however, this is the best method of giving hogs medicine by force.
-hogs will generally take medicine in their feed or drinking water, unless they are very sick, or the medicine is extremely disagreeable to the taste.
-cause.—injuries, obstructed teats, accumulation of milk in the sow’s bag after the loss of part or all of her litter. difficult birth, slight wounds in the bag permit invasion of germs, which is frequently the common cause of bag inflammation.
-symptoms.—heat, pain and swelling in one or more teats. the general body temperature is elevated one or two degrees above normal. the sow perhaps refuses her feed, although she will drink water in large quantities.
-treatment.—feed soft, sloppy food and vegetables. give epsom salts, two to four ounces, in milk or feed. it is also well to milk the sow by hand, relieving her of the milk three or four times a day. this is very necessary. camphorated oil is very soothing, and i would recommend its use freely over affected teats.
-cause.—black tooth, so called in swine, is principally due to injuries to the teeth received by chewing hard matter, such as bone, etc., which causes them to decay.
-symptoms.—toothache. toothache in swine is similar to that exhibited by man, in showing loss of appetite, salivation, or slobbering, hanging the head mostly to the side which is affected, loss of fear of man, and offensive breath. if the hogs are fed on strongly acid food for any length of time, their teeth may become dark colored. as the teeth are not materially injured, so long as decayed tooth substance cannot be noticed, and while the appetite and chewing facilities of the hog do not appear to be diminished, no interference will be necessary.
-it is customary with some people to examine the teeth of hogs, and if one tooth is found darker colored than the others, it is supposed to be the cause of the hog not doing well, if he is in poor condition, and the tooth is hammered off flush with the jaw, leaving the broken roots, lacerated gums and nerves to increase the hog’s suffering. if the hog recovers, it is often concluded that this was a case of black tooth.
-my advice is, if you are determined to have the tooth out, extract it properly. do not break it off. when your hogs are not thriving, give them the regulator and tonic prescribed on the first page of this chapter.
-cause.—due to the toxic substance produced by germs that invade wounds, bruises, abscesses, or womb following farrowing, if lacerated.
-symptoms.—the seat of injury becomes swollen, pus may adhere to the hair, temperature elevated, appetite poor, hog moves about very slowly, becomes separated from the rest of the drove, lies around in some cool, quiet place, eventually becomes very weak and poor and dies, if good attention is not given.
-treatment.—separate from the other hogs and remove to a clean, comfortable place and wash the seat of injury with some good disinfectant, as a five per cent carbolic acid solution. in cases of abscess, open it low so as to assure good drainage. keep clean, cool water before your hogs at all times. give mashes made from wheat bran and hot water, or any good substantial food that is easily digested containing regulator and tonic prescribed on the first page of this chapter.
-cause.—lung worms, poorly ventilated sleeping quarters, sleeping in straw stacks, in manure heaps, over-heated, filthy pens, where the animals inhale irritating gases given off the bodies of other hogs, and from filth. smoke and dust are very common producers of bronchitis.
-symptoms.—breathing fast, appetite poor, slight rise in temperature and coughing. the hog is dull and stupid, refuses food, but drinks water frequently.
-treatment.—preventive; avoid the above named causes, but when hogs become affected, move them to clean, well ventilated quarters, avoiding dust and gases, disinfect bedding and floors with some good disinfectant, as crude carbolic acid, sprayed. also give large doses of the hog regulator and tonic as prescribed on the first page of this chapter. feed vegetables, or any easily digested food, and hot wheat bran mashes.
-in case the disease is due to lung worms, confine the animals in a closed shed and permit them to inhale the steam from turpentine and water for a few minutes, by placing water and turpentine in a tin receptacle holding about two gallons, and inserting heated bricks or stones into the solution.
-this is generally understood by every stockraiser, yet there are some points many do not know. for instance, you should use in this operation an antiseptic solution, as carbolic acid or bichloride of mercury. wash thoroughly with antiseptic your hands and knife, also the seat of operation and make your incision as low as possible to permit the pus to drain out nicely. if this is not practiced, the pus will become absorbed into the blood, producing blood poison, which may produce death, or at the best will cause the hog to become stunted, whereas, if the operation is performed properly, the hog will thrive, regardless of the shock from the operation. i may add that it is much better to castrate pigs or hogs when their stomachs or intestines are empty, and it is always good practice to feed laxative and easily digested foods sparingly after this operation.
-cause.—vegetables such as potatoes, etc., roots, as carrots, turnips and sometimes pieces of bone or glass, lodge in the gullet. paralysis of the muscular fibres of the gullet is a very common cause of choking in swine.
-symptoms.—the hog is unable to swallow, producing a frothing at the mouth and, if the obstruction cannot be dislodged, death occurs in a very short time. sometimes the obstruction in the gullet may be felt from the outside with the hand.
-treatment.—the administration of small doses of raw linseed or olive oil, or lard, will assist in dislodging the obstruction. also careful manipulation of the gullet from the outside with the hand assists in either forcing it into the stomach or bringing it out through hog’s mouth. if vomiting can be produced, it will dislodge the obstruction. if immediate results are not obtained from the above treatments, i would recommend butchering the hog for meat immediately.
-cold in the head.
-cause.—exposure to cold; a very common condition in cold, wet weather when hogs are allowed to sleep in manure heaps, straw stacks, or pile up together, when they become over-heated and later chill. nasal catarrh may also be due to inhaling dust or irritating gases.
-symptoms.—the animal is stupid and feverish, coughing and sneezing frequently; appetite is poor, eyes watery and inflamed; a discharge of mucus from the nose will terminate in yellow pus and the nose, if examined, is found to be inflamed and ulcerated.
-treatment.—the best and safest treatment is to provide clean sleeping quarters, avoid overcrowding in dusty, dirty sheds, especially during cold weather. pigs affected with cold in the head should be fed on laxative food, such as boiled carrots, potatoes, apples, hot wheat bran mashes and steamed rolled oats.
-medical treatment.—confine the affected hogs to a shed, close windows and doors and any large cracks; then compel them to inhale steam from the following mixture: turpentine, eight ounces; pine tar, one pint; water, two gallons. place in tin receptacle in center of shed and heat the above solution by adding hot bricks or stones to the mixture occasionally. compel the hogs to inhale this steam for at least thirty minutes twice a day. give chlorate of potash in twenty grain doses three times a day in feed or drinking water. this treatment is very successful if the inflammation has not extended to the lungs.
-diarrhoea in young pigs.
-cause.—decomposed foods, slops, etc., fed to the mothers, causing them to give toxic milk. poorly ventilated, filthy, cold and damp pens, insufficient exercise, lack of sunlight, raising pigs by hand or with other sow.
-symptoms.—frequent movement of the bowels, the passage being of a grayish-white color and the odor very disagreeable. at this stage of the disease, reliable remedies must be given or the pig will die very soon.
-the discharge from the bowels becomes very thin, the tail and legs become soiled, loss of appetite, the pigs become weak and dull, hair rough and it is difficult for them to move about. in very young pigs, treatment is of little value.
-cause.—by the bacillus sius; contaminated food, stagnant water, filth, etc., all have a tendency to aid its progress. i have seen farms, although located in sections where cholera was prevalent, not in the least troubled with the malady, perhaps due to careful feeding of clean foods, care in watering, cleanliness about the pens and sheds and disinfecting occasionally, but no doubt a better explanation is that those hogs received tonics, containing worm expellers, at least four times a year. many a case of supposed hog cholera is due to worms irritating and producing inflammation of the intestines, followed by diarrhoea. a person not familiar with the disease calls this “hog cholera.” in other cases, hogs which are fed swills from restaurants, hotels, etc., containing soap, washing powders, small particles of glass, etc., will die with symptoms leading a person to think they had hog cholera, but if a thorough investigation is made the true cause of death can easily be discovered.
-symptoms.—in true hog cholera, the temperature will be elevated two to four degrees above normal. there will be a loss of appetite, vomiting, diarrhoea, although there may be constipation when the hog is first affected. the hog wanders off by itself to some cool, quiet place and lies down. when it walks it will stagger and show great stiffness in its hind parts, due to soreness of the intestines. the hair will have a roughened appearance, the back arched, the eyes inflamed and discharging pus, red blotches will show themselves back of the ears, inside the legs and on the abdomen. at this stage the diarrhoea is watery, dark and tinged with blood, and very offensive in odor, breathing is very fast and labored. the hog grows very weak and dies.
-treatment.—prevention must always be borne in mind. do not feed filthy food. always feed good, wholesome food, and give clean water to drink. watch the condition of hog’s bowels and regulate them by feeding. burn manure and bedding and disinfect carefully. do not permit your hogs to drink out of running streams of water, especially if hog cholera is in your neighborhood. when buying hogs, it is well to keep them off by themselves for two or three weeks, as they may be diseased. do not permit neighbors, their stock or dogs on premises when hog cholera is raging, as the infection of hog cholera can be spread very rapidly by matter from the affected hogs adhering to the shoes of man, to the feet of stock and hogs, etc.
-i am positive that if this method were properly practiced by all hog raisers and feeders, hog cholera would be a very rare disease.
-serum treatment.—this is successful in some cases, and in others unsuccessful. the latter perhaps is due to poor serums, or the disease being so far advanced in its progress that the hogs are beyond recovery. serum treatment is very expensive and, as it requires a strictly septic operation of injecting the serum, the average hog raiser or grower is not qualified to administer the treatment properly. an additional and necessary expense is the services of a veterinary surgeon. therefore, i strongly urge adoption of preventive measures as stated. use some good disinfectant, such as crude carbolic acid, which destroys the bacillus of hog cholera. also administer hog regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter. this will expel worms, tone the system, regulate the bowels and fortify your hogs against hog cholera.
-cause.—worms are perhaps one of the most common causes. unwholesome, irritating food or swill containing soap or washing powder have a tendency to derange the process of digestion.
-symptoms.—abdominal pain, vomiting, back arched, breathing rapid and temperature elevated from two to three degrees. there may be diarrhoea or the animal may be constipated. vomiting, as a rule, relieves acute attacks by expelling the irritant from the bowels. when it takes a chronic form, the hogs become stunted.
-treatment.—endeavor to find out the cause and remove it. if constipated, give calomel, fifteen to twenty grains, or, if diarrhoea appears, give hog regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter. feed with hot wheat bran mashes. this will expel all worms and aid digestion.
-cause.—liver flukes, intestinal worms, gall stones, lack of exercise, overfeeding, or a stoppage of the bile duct.
-symptoms.—the white portions of the eyes take on a yellow color, as do the membranes of the mouth, back arched, hair looks rough, vomiting, temperature elevated, constipation, although diarrhoea is sometimes noticed. the urine is passed frequently, and is of a dark amber color.
-treatment.—this disease requires careful feeding and plenty of exercise. give calomel, ten to twenty grains, then follow with large doses of regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter. it is important in this disease, especially if due to worms. feed clean swill and vegetables. give hogs all the pure water they will drink.
-cause.—hogs are subject to various injuries about the kidneys, due to a large number of hogs piling up, exposure to cold, wet rains, etc.
-symptoms.—small quantities of dark colored urine are passed frequently, appetite poor, no energy to move about. hogs lie around a great deal; at times they may be paralyzed and drag their hind quarters.
-treatment.—apply cloths or blankets wrung out of hot water over the loin; also give potassium acetate in twenty grain doses four or five times a day in drinking water. feed soft, sloppy food, containing regulator and tonic as prescribed on the first page of this chapter. it contains nerve stimulants, just what is required in paralysis.
-cause.—damp, filthy surroundings seem to favor the growth of embryos of this worm. they are taken into the digestive canal with the food and eventually pass to the region of the kidneys, where they find conditions favorable in which to multiply.
-symptoms.—may produce paralysis of the hind quarters, in which case the animal would not exhibit such marked tenderness on being pressed over the loins with the fingers as it would if the weakness of the hind quarters was due to a sprain or to rheumatism of the loins. occasionally hogs may suffer from the presence of one or more worms in the kidneys; but the ailment is rarely fatal, becoming so only after a long time of suffering resulting in a degeneration of one or both kidneys. it is almost impossible to diagnose the presence of worms in the kidneys of hogs, except by chance through a microscopic examination of the urine. if worms are found in the kidneys of a hog that has died or has been slaughtered for food it may then be reasonably supposed that other hogs of the same herd not acting normal are infected with worms of the same species.
-treatment.—teaspoonful doses of turpentine in milk three times a week is the only treatment i could recommend. preventive measures is the only practical method of treating a disease of this nature. give your hogs pure water and food. disinfect pens occasionally and keep them clean.
-lice on hogs.
-dip, spray or scrub your hogs with some good coal tar disinfectant, but whatever remedy is used it should be applied more than once which, of course, causes considerable work where there is a large number of hogs infested, unless dipped, which is more quickly done. the reason for repeated applications being necessary is that although the lice which hogs pick up from the ground, bedding and rubbing places, may be killed by first application, it often does not affect the nits, which remain intact and hatch within a week or ten days. a new crop of lice appears on the hog from this source. remove all manure and bedding from pens and sheds and burn it. disinfect floors and spray sides of shed, pens and rubbing places with disinfectants, one part to seventy-two parts of water, once a month and you will be handsomely repaid for your labor.
-cause.—sudden changes, exposure to storms, piling up of hogs during cold nights, or sleeping in manure heaps, old straw stacks, etc.
-symptoms.—pig or hog is taken with shivering spells, is stupid, his back is arched, loss of appetite, temperature elevated two to four degrees above normal, short hurried breathing, generally accompanied with cough, which is deep and hoarse. as a rule the hog is constipated.
-treatment.—place in good, clean, warm, well ventilated quarters, free from drafts. keep water before them at all times, adding saltpeter, one teaspoonful to every gallon of water. if constipated, do not give physics; give injections of soap and warm water; also administer about one-half teaspoonful of pine tar on the tongue with a wooden paddle. this adheres to the tongue and gradually dissolves and gives excellent results, as it is very soothing to the organs of breathing. during the convalescent stage, give hog regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter.
-cause.—by thread-like worms varying in length from one-half to one and one-half inches and of brownish-white color. they are found in the windpipe and tubes leading into the lungs. the adult worms in the lungs produce large quantities of eggs, which are coughed up with mucus and become scattered over premises where other hogs are permitted to walk. the hogs inhale the dust containing the eggs into their lungs, where the eggs find moisture sufficient for their development.
-symptoms.—severe coughing spells. large quantities of mucus will escape from the nose and mouth. the hog becomes stunted, although he may eat fairly well, but if not relieved, the worms collect in the bronchi and produce sudden death due to suffocation. the worms may set up an inflammation of the lining membranes of the lungs, which is sometimes taken for swine plague, or cholera. this disease is not uncommon, especially in old, filthy, poorly drained hog houses and pastures.
-treatment.—confine the affected hogs to a shed; close the windows and doors and any large cracks, then compel the hogs to inhale steam from the following mixture: turpentine, eight ounces; pine tar, one pint; water, two gallons. place in tin receptacle in center of the shed and heat the above solution by adding hot bricks or stones to the mixture occasionally. compel them to inhale this steam for at least thirty minutes twice a day. feed wholesome food to which add hog tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter. a strong, vigorous hog may have worms, but it retains its vitality so long as it is well fed.
-cause.—by the sarcoptes scabei. this parasite burrows under the outer surface of the skin.
-symptoms.—the parasite usually manifests itself on the skin under the armpits, thighs and inside of the fore legs. at first small red blotches or pimples appear, and these gradually spread as the parasites multiply and burrow under the skin.
-treatment.—there is no other way of curing this disease, or of preventing it, than by killing the parasites and their eggs; not only on the pigs themselves, but also on the sides of the pens, sheds, rubbing-posts, or anything that an affected hog rubs against.
-when treating this disease, the real aim must be to kill the parasite by the prompt and continuous use of external remedies, such as washing or dipping, which is better done with some good disinfectant, one part to seventy parts water. repeat this every ten days until cured. two dippings are generally sufficient. it is well to feed cooling foods, such as clean slops and vegetables, containing regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter.
-cause.—injuries. pigs crowding through narrow doorways or openings in fences, small pigs sleeping with large pigs, and allowed to pile up, or being thrown about feed troughs when feeding. weakness and constipation also predisposes them to navel or umbilical rupture.
-symptoms.—a soft, puffy swelling about the navel or umbilicus, varying in size from a hazelnut to that of an ostrich egg. when a pig is placed on its back the intestines will gravitate into the abdominal cavity, providing the intestines have not adhered to the walls of the rupture.
-treatment.—this is more difficult than the scrotal or inguinal rupture operation, as often times the intestines will adhere to the inner surface of the rupture and, unless the operation is carefully performed, there is great danger. great care must be exercised in preparing the pig by fasting it for twenty-four hours. after this is accomplished, prepare an antiseptic solution, carbolic acid, five per cent, or bichloride of mercury, one in one-thousandths; also have a needle and absorbent silk or cat-gut ready. place the pig on its back, with its head downward. now, wash the seat of operation with either antiseptic solution. then make an incision through the skin carefully; as stated before, intestines sometimes adhere to the inner surface of the rupture. if such is the case, wash the hands in the antiseptic solution and with the fingers carefully break the adhesions or separate the intestines from their adhesions. after this is accomplished, sew the inner lining of the abdominal cavity with absorbent silk or cat-gut. then sew the outer skin with cotton or linen cord and your operation is complete. feed the hog sparingly for a few days following the operation on easily digested, laxative foods.
-cause.—irritations of the skin produced by sprinkling hogs with irritating solutions and powders, or from irritating dips when treating for lice, etc. feeding highly nitrogenous food predisposes hogs to this disease; also filth, poorly drained sheds and pens; is especially common in young pigs. nettle rash is not contagious, but what produces it in one hog may produce it in several at the same time.
-symptoms.—red, swollen blotches appear on the skin very suddenly, especially about the ears and the inside of the thighs, perhaps due to the skin being thin and deprived of hair. the hog rubs account of the intense itching, and he will not thrive when in this condition. in most cases there is a fluid oozing from the blotches, causing dirt and filth to adhere to the hair. however, if the disease is properly treated, a recovery is sure to follow in about two weeks.
-treatment.—prevention against this disease is most important, and it consists in keeping shoats and pigs in clean, well ventilated sheds and pens. do not sprinkle them with irritating solutions or powders, or irritating dips, but when the disease once shows itself give each pig or hog affected a dose of epsom salts, one ounce to every twenty-five pounds of hog weight, in feed, swill or drinking water. if the weather is hot, keep them in a clean, cool place, also purify their blood by feeding regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter.
-apply some good coal tar disinfectant, one part to one hundred parts of water. this is non-irritating, and will destroy hog lice, and will heal the pustules of nettle rash. apply twice ten days apart. it also must be borne in mind that pens and sleeping quarters must be disinfected; the old bedding and manure burned and replaced with good, clean straw or hay. feed easily digested food, slops, etc.
-paralysis of the hind quarters.
-cause.—there are a great many things that may produce paralysis of the hind quarters. for instance, shipping hogs in crates; fractions of thigh bones; rickets, due to feeding food that is deficient in mineral matter; hogs piling up; kicks or injuries to the back; frequently seen in sows nursing a litter of pigs and in a run-down condition. constipation and indigestion also produce paralysis of the hind quarters. some think it is caused by worms in the kidneys; this is not always the case. it is true that the presence of a parasite around the kidneys may cause irritation of the nerves of the spinal column and result in paralysis. yet, it is more often the result of weakness and loss of nervous power of the hind parts.
-symptoms.—regardless of the cause, the symptoms in either case, for they cannot be distinguished, are weakness of the back, wriggling of the hind parts, and finally the hogs sit down on their haunches. after some effort, they get up and run in a straight line quite fast, but swing to one side for a while and then go over to the other side, and finally get down so that they cannot rise, but drag themselves about. the appetite is good until a day or two before they die.
-treatment.—place the hog in clean, comfortable quarters, with plenty of fresh water to drink. give sour milk, fruit or vegetables, containing regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter. it contains nerve stimulants and blood purifiers. if the hog is constipated, add two to four ounces of epsom salts to its feed.
-treatment of all such cases requires perseverance, recovery being slow and not always certain.
-cause.—although the pig may look well, he has a weakness of the circular fibres of the intestines, due to irritating foods that either constipate or produce diarrhoea.
-symptoms.—very plain. a protrusion of the rectum all the way from two to four inches. the pig irritates the protrusion by rubbing it against the sides of pens, etc.; it cracks, bleeds and in warm weather will become fly-blown and maggots accumulate in large quantities.
-treatment.—in the first stages of this disease, wash the protruded parts with an antiseptic solution of carbolic acid, one teaspoonful to a pint of water. give rectal injections of soap and warm water or sweet oil, give about two ounces of castor oil internally and feed soft, sloppy food. in chronic cases of long standing, remove the exposed portion of the intestine after washing nicely with the antiseptic solution. remove the protrusion with a sharp knife and stitch the cut end of intestine edges to the anus. feed easily digested food, such as wheat bran, mixed with flaxseed meal on which boiling hot water has been poured, cooling before feeding. also give regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter.
-cause.—hogs consume the eggs that encapsule well matured embryonic worms with their food or drinking water. these worms multiply very rapidly in the small intestines and are from one-half to one inch in length.
-symptoms.—no signs are noticed unless the worms are very abundant, as they are small and difficult to see with the naked eye. the principal point of attack is in the back part of the small intestines, where considerable inflammation is set up, especially when there are other worms, such as the roundworm, present.
-treatment.—is of little value, as the worms in the intestines are very difficult to get at, but as their presence causes very little disturbance, it is hardly worth while treating; however, preventive measures should be applied by disinfecting, burning manure and bedding.
-the following has proven a very effective treatment for pinworms: powdered quassia, one pound; sulphur, two pounds; glauber salts, one pound; powdered tobacco, one-half pound; sulphide of antimony, one pound; hyposulphite of soda, two pounds; beechwood charcoal, one pound; common salt, two pounds.
-the above must be well powdered and thoroughly mixed. give one heaping teaspoonful to every one hundred pounds of hog weight. to small pigs, give doses in proportion to weight. place it in their feed or slop twice a day. in addition to being a vermifuge, it is an alterative and tonic that should be given pigs and hogs which do not thrive properly. best results are obtained in treatment of pinworm when the principal food consists of vegetables, mashes and slops.
-cause.—exposure to cold, damp, chilly weather, especially to drafts, or by a large number of hogs being allowed to pile up during cold nights, etc.
-symptoms.—chilling, temperature elevated two or three degrees above normal; breathing fast. the hog will show great pain when pressed over the lungs by flinching, squealing or grunting; couching suppressed, ribs rigid; breathing mostly with the muscles of the flanks; appetite poor and eventually there will be fluids accumulate in the lung cavities. at this stage, the breathing is labored and difficult. if the ear is pressed over the lungs, the fluids can be heard, and in the first stage the sound will be similar to that of rubbing hair between the finger and thumb.
-treatment.—remove the cause. the treatment is satisfactory if applied in due time. place in clean, comfortable shed, seeing that it is well ventilated, omit drafts; apply equal parts of aqua ammonia fort., turpentine and sweet oil over the lungs and give two or four ounces of castor oil in milk. feed easily digested food, such as hot wheat bran mashes, containing hog regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter. it is also well to feed vegetables.
-cause.—exposure, as in cold, damp houses. overfeeding also has a tendency to cause swellings of the joints and muscles.
-symptoms.—lameness of one or more limbs, swelling of the joints about the legs and feet. the hog does not care to move, refusing its feed in most cases: temperature slightly elevated; breathing quick and short; he will drink water frequently if offered.
-treatment.—i am of opinion that rheumatism in hogs would be a very rare disease if they were properly provided with clean, dry quarters, with a liberal quantity of bedding. do not allow hogs to pile up, as it is very injurious to them.
-medical treatment.—consists of feeding sloppy food to which add one-half dram of sodium salicylate two or three times a day in their feed. vegetables and green grass are very beneficial in this disease, as they have a cooling effect on the blood. the hog tonic and regulator recommended on first page of this chapter is very beneficial when given with food of a sloppy nature.
-cause.—food deficient in mineral matter or lime; filth, lack of exercise, and crowded quarters, all tend to produce a softening of the bones and swelling of the joints.
-symptoms.—the pigs affected generally appear in good condition and seem to be doing well, but suddenly they become paralyzed in the hind quarters, owing to the weakened condition of the bones, which sometimes fracture without receiving injury or any additional weight to that of the pig itself. the bones of the snout, back, limbs and feet bend and become deformed. the pigs grow weak, poor and stunted and perhaps the best treatment is to destroy them.
-preventive treatment.—careful feeding of good, wholesome food. this disease is very seldom seen where hogs are frequently fed corn.
-medical treatment.—when the first signs of rickets appear, feed regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter. it contains the mineral matter needed by the hog.
-cause.—is undoubtedly due to filth or hogs eating food or drinking water contaminated with well developed eggs or embryos of roundworms, thus taking them into their digestive canal, where they multiply rapidly and set up considerable irritation. this worm varies in length from three to thirteen inches, and is of a reddish-brown color.
-symptoms.—the roundworm is generally passed with the feces, and can be readily seen with the naked eye. a hog infested with a large number of these worms is generally restless, appetite varied. when these worms develop in large numbers, they obstruct the intestines. in other cases they irritate and inflame the intestines, causing inflammation and diarrhoea, and death may be due to either obstruction or inflammation of the bowels.
-treatment.—treatment is very satisfactory. withhold all food from eighteen to twenty-four hours. then place in one pint of finely ground feed, calomel and santonin, each five grains to every one hundred pounds of hog weight. for instance, if the hog affected with round worms weighs two hundred pounds, double the dose by giving ten grains of each of the above, but if the hog only weighs fifty pounds, give one-half the dose mentioned, or two and one-half grains of each. this treatment should be repeated in a week or ten days to assure the expulsion of worms that might have survived the first dose. feed sparingly on laxative food, as bran mashes and vegetables, for a few days following each treatment.
-definition.—in the male the intestines pass through the wide inguinal canal, through which the cord of the testicle passes. it is not difficult to recognize this form of rupture, as the scrotum that normally retains only the testicles is usually enlarged by the bowels entering it. sometimes the scrotum almost reaches the ground, and in this case, both sides of the scrotum, or the sack which contains the testicles, also contains intestines. if the pig is held up by the hind parts, the intestines will gravitate back into the abdominal cavity, but as soon as a pig lies down or stands they again return into the scrotum. the testicles can be located at the bottom of the enlargement.
-cause.—hereditary tendencies predisposes them to rupture; pigs having large inguinal canals through which the testicle passes; by pigs being crowded, injured, squeezed at troughs, or passing through narrow doorways. weakness and severe straining from constipation also produce rupture.
-symptoms.—an enlargement of the sack containing the testicles. sometimes there may be a strangulation of the intestines where they fold or twist. they become inflamed and produce death. the pig dies in great pain, but fortunately, strangulated ruptures in pigs are very rare, as the scrotum and canal which the intestines occupy relax and become very roomy.
-treatment.—operation is the only method of relieving or curing inguinal or scrotal rupture. my advice is to operate as soon as possible. when the pigs are small, there is less danger. the pig to be operated on should be fasted for at least twenty-four hours, as it is easier on both the operator and the pig when the intestines are empty, or nearly so.
-the operation which i have found to be very successful is as follows: have an assistant hold the pig up by its hind legs. prepare an antiseptic solution of carbolic acid five per cent, or bichloride of mercury, one in one-thousandths, in a pan. have a needle threaded with a medium sized absorbent silk or cat-gut suture. prepare a clean, sharp knife; wash the seat of operation with either antiseptic solution. now, proceed to locate the testicle by having the hind parts elevated. the intestines must be pressed back into the abdominal cavity. the testicle will remain in the sack or scrotum; now grasp the testicle between the fingers and make the incision through the scrotum and to the lower portion. it may be necessary to insert two fingers to withdraw the testicle. when the testicle is located, withdraw it. before cutting it off it is well to run a needle containing a thread through the last covering of the testicle so as to prevent the membrane from returning. after this is securely done, remove the testicle and sew the inner membranes that envelop the rupture and testicle with what is called a “tobacco pouch suture.” draw it together firmly and tie and cut off suture about one-half inch from the knot. your operation is now complete. do not sew the outer incision in the scrotum, as it would have a tendency to accumulate dirt and hold pus. it should have a free drainage. wash with one of the above mentioned antiseptics twice daily until thoroughly healed. also feed laxative foods that are easily digested.
-cause.—filth, especially common in large hogs when confined to hard floors or driven over rough, hard roads, or continually kept in filthy pens. the tissues of the feet become softened, especially those between the claws. irritation is set up by germs entering the abrasions.
-symptoms.—the hogs will be noticed going very lame and if closely examined the above named conditions will be found.
-treatment.—remove the hogs to clean, dry pens containing plenty of clean bedding, and wash the affected parts with some good disinfectant, as five per cent solution of carbolic acid. repeat this treatment at least once a day. in case the feet are badly inflamed, i would advise the application of hot flaxseed meal poultices to the feet. feed easily digested food, as it aids materially in the treatment of infectious wounds.
-cause.—decomposed foods. also slops or stagnant water, washing powders, broken glassware, etc., from the tables, fed in slops, barley or wheat beards, etc.
-symptoms.—difficulty in eating, or refusal to eat at all. stringy secretions of saliva continually oozing from the mouth. the mouth gives off a very offensive odor.
-treatment.—in this form of sore mouth, remove the cause. feed soft, wholesome food, such as wheat bran mashes and vegetables. in cases where it is due to the lodging of beards of wheat or barley, gag the hog’s mouth with a piece of wood and remove the beards with forceps. keep clean, cool water before them at all times and avoid feeding dry, hard food.
-sows eating their young.
-cause.—insufficient lime or mineral matter fed prior to farrowing; constipation is also a fruitful cause.
-prevention.—careful feeding for a few days prior to farrowing of slops, free from soap or washing powders; cool food, such as wheat bran mashes, with hog tonic and regulator as prescribed on the first page of this chapter. this is loosening to the bowels and also contains mineral matter and blood purifiers which are very valuable in the above mentioned condition.
-sun or heat stroke.
-cause.—hogs that are very fat, and driven, hauled or shipped to market when the weather is warm, are frequently stricken with heat or sun-stroke. sometimes when hogs are overcrowded and not protected from the rays of the sun, or from heat, they may become victims of heat or sun-stroke.
-symptoms.—first they stagger when walking, then they become very weak and temperature elevates three or four degrees higher than normal. prostration or extreme depression, or sometimes involuntary spasms or contractions of muscles occur.
-treatment.—prevention. do not drive, haul or ship during the hottest part of the day, hogs that are not accustomed to exercise or extreme heat. do not crowd hogs in small pens or sheds during the hot months, as their bodies give off considerable heat in addition to that of the sun. see that they are protected from the sun. when hauling or shipping hogs, wet them occasionally with water. it prevents heat stroke. in case a hog is suffering from heat or sun-stroke, place it in a cool, shady place and apply ice or cold water to the head only. also give saltpeter in teaspoonful doses every six hours diluted in one ounce of water. also give alcohol, one teaspoonful, every three hours in one ounce of water. good recovery is often obtained from the above treatment.
-cause.—a white grub that is found in old manure heaps, straw stacks and hog lots carries eggs containing embryos of the thorn-headed worm. the white grub is eaten by the hog. the larvae of the thorn-headed worm is liberated by the process of digestion and becomes a parasite in the intestines of the hogs, where it develops into a fully matured worm. large numbers of hogs quickly become infested with this parasite, as they multiply very rapidly. these worms vary from two to twelve inches in length, and have a whitish color.
-symptoms.—as a general rule, a worm can be seen in the feces. other signs are that the hog loses flesh, appetite irregular, constipation, and then again there may be diarrhoea, especially where there are large numbers of worms present.
-treatment.—first of all, burn all manure or decomposed vegetation that the hogs are liable to come in contact with. withhold all food from eighteen to twenty-four hours and give one teaspoonful of oil of turpentine to every one hundred pounds of hog weight, or if the hog weighs less than one hundred pounds, doses should be given in proportion. follow this treatment for three or, four consecutive days. turpentine is easily given to hogs, as they will drink it in milk when well mixed. perhaps it is advisable, where a large number of hogs are affected, to divide them into pens of five or ten hogs, as they are thus less likely to get an overdose. feed laxative food. clean and disinfect troughs and feeding floors. also give prescription on first page of this chapter.
-cause.—disorders of the digestive system from overloading the stomach and causing irritation of the nerves leading to the diaphragm, which is the membrane that separates the lungs and heart from the intestines, stomach, liver and spleen. it is a spasm of this membrane that causes a hog or pig to have “thumps.” insufficient exercise; a large number of pigs may become affected at the same time when closely confined.
-symptoms.—jerking of the flanks; the pig or hog becomes very weak and stunted in a very short time.
-treatment.—remove the cause. in pigs, when first affected, careful feeding and exercise will generally effect a cure. in some cases, where the pigs are very small, it is well to take them away from the mother, permitting them to nurse very little. give them castor oil in teaspoonful doses, and compel them to exercise. it may be necessary to give them chloral hydrate ten to fifteen grains two or three times a day diluted in a teaspoonful of water. where the pigs will not eat mashes or drink milk, give them medicine by force with a teaspoon.
-after treatment.—give hog regulator and tonic as prescribed on first page of this chapter.
-this worm is very uncommon, but occasionally is found in the large intestines.
-cause.—the eggs become imbedded in the manure, bedding, etc., and then mix with the food and drinking water and are taken into the digestive canal where they develop into matured worms. this worm is from one to three inches in length, the hind extremity of which is very thin, hence the name, “whipworm.”
-symptoms.—they produce very little disturbance, even though present in large quantities, except when other worms assist in their irritating the lining membranes of the large intestines.
-medical treatment.—withhold all food from eighteen to twenty-four hours, then give one teaspoonful of gasoline thoroughly mixed with milk, to every one hundred pounds of hog weight. small hogs, reduce the dose in proportion to their weight. it is advisable to follow this dose for two or three consecutive days. feed food that is easily digested, and see that they have fresh water to drink.
-diseases of sheep and goats
-cause, symptoms and treatment
-location of parts of sheep
-this chapter on the diseases of sheep and goats has been written for the benefit of the student of veterinary science as well as for the veterinary profession.
-i feel it will suffice to say that i have endeavored to the best of my ability to render the matter contained in the following chapter of as great practical value as possible, to present in the most plain and concise manner each disease in the form in which it most frequently occurs.
-i wish to express a hope that this chapter will be appreciated by all into whose hands it may find its way, more particularly by veterinary students and practitioners.
-cause.—is usually produced by injuries, or by the ewes being poisoned from eating poisonous foods, plants, etc. it has never occurred in infectious form in this country, although sometimes an outbreak is thought infectious on account of several ewes aborting about the same time, but all such outbreaks have been traced to some irritating poison which they had taken with their food or drinking water.
-preventive treatment.—remove the aborted lambs or kids and afterbirth from the yards, and also withdraw the ewe or nanny and place her in comfortable quarters. she requires care and extra nursing, or she will become very poor and lose a large portion of her fleece.
-remember all tonics are bitter, therefore beware of any so-called tonics that the animals eat readily, as these possess no real tonic values.
-symptoms.—naturally, the symptoms vary according to the violence of the attack. in well developed cases, the animal strains to defecate, and passes shreds of intestinal mucous along with blood-stained feces. finally a severe dysentery takes place, the animal becomes correspondingly weak, and death takes place in two or three days. some cases become chronic, in which death does not take place for a month or more. however, the latter is uncommon. other signs are staggering gait, trembling, eyes fixed, showing wild expression, neck turned to one side. then the animal appears as if in pain, and looks around at the flank frequently. there is a chopping of the jaws, and a very free flow of stringy saliva from the mouth. when an animal dies from the symptoms just described, it should be cut open and carefully examined for this particular parasite, which can be easily seen with the naked eye.
-treatment.—very successfully treated when the first symptoms appear by administering one ounce of gasoline with a pint of milk. to lambs or kids give half the dose. every precaution should be taken so as to prevent the drench from entering the lungs. perhaps the best method is to set the animals on its haunches and pour the liquid slowly and carefully; if they cough, let them down. any drench entering the lungs produces fatal pneumonia. feed good nourishing food, and supply them with fresh water to drink.
-cause.—atmospheric changes, sudden exposure to cold, wet weather after being accustomed to warm, comfortable surroundings, inhaling dust, smoke and gases or, in fact, anything that will produce an irritation to the membranes lining the nose; commonly seen in the spring and fall.
-symptoms.—chilling, elevation of temperature, nose dry, breathing hurried, sneezing, coughing, dullness, appetite varied. in the first stages of the malady, the nostrils are considerably inflamed, but in the course of a few days the temperature subsides and a yellowish-white discharge flows from the nose continuously.
-treatment.—keep the affected animals dry, omit drafts, feed good, wholesome food, and provide bedding for them to lie upon. in the first stages of this malady, it is advisable to confine the animals in a barn, closing the windows and doors and compelling them to inhale steam from boiling hot water and pine tar. the best method to accomplish this is by placing a tub about half full of water in the center of the barn and add about one gallon of pine tar. then heat bricks or stones and place them into the tub. in this way a large number can be treated at one time. the sheep should be compelled to inhale this steam for thirty to forty minutes twice a day. in addition to the above, the following is very beneficial: chlorate of potash, one ounce; nitrate of potassi, two ounces. make into sixteen powders and give one powder to each sheep in its drinking water two or three times daily. feed hot bran mashes and vegetables if possible.
-cause.—diarrhoea, or dysentery, is a sign of some irritation of the intestines resulting in increased secretions, or increased muscular contraction, or both. the irritation is sometimes the result of chilling from exposure, improper feeding, as contaminated or frozen foods, irritating foods, drinking cold or stagnant water, indigestion, organic diseases of the intestines, or parasitic diseases. (see strongylosis.)
-symptoms.—movements from the bowels are frequent, as first consisting of thin fecal matter, but as this malady progresses it becomes watery and offensive in smell, and streaked with blood. at first the animal shows no constitutional disturbances, but eventually it becomes weak and shows signs of abdominal pain by looking around to the flank, throwing the feet together, lying down, or moving restlessly. sometimes this disease is accompanied by fever, great depression, loss of strength, rapid loss of flesh; terminating in death.
-cause.—foot rot is produced by inflammation of the soft structures of the foot between the claws or toes. it may be due to an overgrowth and inward pressure, etc., or from filth accumulating and hardening between the claws, producing inflammation and softening or ulceration of the skin in the interdigital space (between the claws). under some conditions several sheep or goats in the same drove become affected at the same time, leading many to think that the disease is contagious. when foot rot appears in a very short time, among sheep or goats, this condition can almost always be traced to filth, irritation, etc.
-symptoms.—the animal is observed to limp when walking. on careful examination of the foot we find it hot, swollen above the claws and in the soft parts between them, frequently spreading the claws apart to a considerable extent, or the inflammation may have advanced to softening and sloughing of the soft structure between the claws. if this condition is neglected at this stage, deep abscesses form and the pus burrows under the horny wall, and the joints within the hoof become inflamed and destroyed, in which case the treatment is difficult and recovery will be very arduous.
-treatment.—in the early stages of the disease, before the pus burrows beneath the horny structures of the foot, any foreign substances impacted between the claws should be removed. then place a trough about one foot wide, six to eight inches high, and twelve to sixteen feet long, and fill with water and coal tar dip, diluted in proportions of one part dip to fifty parts of water. build a fence on each side of the trough, just wide enough for one sheep to pass through, and compel every sheep to walk in the solution slowly.
-this treatment should be repeated once or twice a week until the lameness has disappeared. in cases where deep sloughing has taken place under the horny structures, saturate a piece of oakum or cotton in the following liniment: oil of origanum, oil of pisis, oil of turpentine, each four ounces. place it between the claws and hold it there by means of a bandage. repeat this application every other day. the animals that do not show signs of improvement under this treatment in a few days invariably have the joints of the foot affected and should not be driven.
-cause.—this condition is produced by animals eating various foliage (grass or shrubbery) at a time when the peculiar poisonous principles are developed in it, as appears to happen in certain seasons. the disease is liable to affect a large proportion of animals which are under the same grazing conditions.
-treatment.—endeavor to find out the true cause and remove it if possible. change range or pasture for a short time; this has successfully eradicated this malady. the animal showing the above symptoms should receive four to eight ounces of castor oil regardless of whether there is diarrhoea or constipation. in either case the irritation will be relieved by its laxative effect. in cases where diarrhoea becomes chronic, after administering the castor oil, the following will be found very efficient in its control: protan, three ounces; ginger, one ounce; gum catechu, two ounces. make into sixteen powders and place one powder well back on the tongue every four or six hours. feed clean, wholesome food and supply clean, fresh water to drink. provide shelter for the animal if the weather is hot.
-cause.—as a rule, in garget or congestion of the udder in heavy milking ewes, just before and after lambing, the glands of the udder enlarge, become hot, tense and tender and a slight pasty swelling extends forward from the glands on the lower surface of the abdomen. this physiological condition is looked upon as a matter of course and disposed of in two or three days when the secretions of milk have been fully established. general breaking up of the udder may be greatly hastened by the sucking of a hungry lamb and the kneading it gives the udder with its nose is beneficial. the above mentioned congestion or garget may emerge into active inflammation resulting from continued exposure to cold weather, standing in cold drafts or injury to the udder from stone, clubs, feet of other animals, overfeeding or rich food, like cotton seed or soy bean, sore teats or a ewe losing her lamb in the period of full milking; serious disturbances of the animal’s health is liable to fall upon the udder.
-symptoms.—the symptoms and mode of attack vary in different cases. following exposure to cold drafts or cold, wet weather, there is usually severe chilling with cold ears and limbs and general dryness and brittleness of the wool. this is followed by a flush of heat, the ears and limbs become unnaturally warm and the glands swell up and become firm and solid in one or both sides of the udder. the muzzle is hot and dry, temperature elevated two or three degrees above normal, pulse firm and quick, excited breathing, appetite and rumination suspended, bowels constipated, urine scanty and the yield of milk may be entirely suppressed in the affected side.
-treatment.—determine the cause and remove it if possible. move the affected animals to comfortable quarters, supply liberal quantities of bedding for the animal to lie upon. give two to six ounces of glauber salts dissolved in a pint of hot water. permit it to cool. place the ewe on her haunches and drench carefully. feed laxative foods as hot bran mashes, steamed rolled oats and vegetables, supplying the animal with pure water to drink, to which add two drams of hyposulphite of soda, two or three times a day. in some cases it is advisable to apply camphorated ointment to the udder once or twice a day.
-cause.—gid is produced by a bladder worm, a larva or an egg of the tapeworm infesting the intestines of dogs, wolves and coyotes. the eggs of these tapeworms are scattered over the range or pastures in the droppings of infested dogs, wolves or coyotes, and these when swallowed in the food or water by the sheep, hatch out and the embryos migrate to the brain, spinal cord, etc., where they develop into cysts, bladder worms or water bags, etc. when the organs of sheep, thus infested, are eaten by dogs, wolves or coyotes, the cyst worms are also likely to be swallowed and then develop into mature tapeworms.
-symptoms.—in case a large number of embryos become lodged in the brain of sheep, the first signs will be shown in about eight to twelve days. bladder worms produce a congestion of the brain which causes dullness, dizziness, indicating an affection of the brain, walking or turning in circles. if the left side of the brain is affected, they will turn to the left; if the right side is affected, they will turn to the right. the head eventually droops, the eyes become red and the vision is impaired, the head very hot over the affected region, the affected sheep become separated from the flock. sometimes the sheep are partially or completely paralyzed.
-prevention.—prevention is the only method by which this disease can be eradicated. prevent the sheep from becoming infected with these parasites. stray dogs, wolves or coyotes should be killed whenever found, and dogs too valuable to kill should be kept free from tapeworm. meat should not be fed to dogs unless cooked or known to be free from tapeworm cysts.
-grubs in the head.
-cause.—grubs in the head of sheep are produced by the sheep gadfly which is yellowish-gray in color with five well divided rings around its body, covered over with fine hair and the lower portion of the head white. this fly is somewhat larger than the ordinary house fly. it attacks sheep and goats during the summer and fall and deposits its larva about the sheep’s and goat’s nostrils. this larva attaches itself to the mucous membrane of the nostrils with two hooklets by which it gradually works into the air cavities of the head, remaining there for about ten months. then it again passes from the nostrils, burrows into the ground and becomes a fully matured gadfly in six or eight weeks, which completes its life cycle, the head of the sheep or goat being its intermediate host where the newly born gadfly again attaches its larva.
-prevention treatment.—very successful. paint the sheep’s or goat’s nose with pine tar, or better still, place salt in a trough, covering it with boards, with holes bored in them just large enough for the animal to insert its nose. smear pine tar about the holes once or twice a week. this treatment has proven very efficient in localities where sheep gadflies are numerous.
-medical treatment.—after the animal once becomes infected with these grubs, bore holes (trephine) through the skull with a sharp instrument made for this purpose and remove the grubs.
-cause.—hoven is caused by various kinds of food which produce indigestion or fermentation and resultant gases in the rumen or paunch. when sheep are first turned into young clover, they eat so greedily of it that bloating frequently results. turnips, potatoes and cabbage may also produce it. middlings and corn meal also frequently give rise to it. in this connection it may be stated that an excessive quantity of any food, before mentioned, may bring on this disorder, or it may not be due to excessive eating but to eating too fast. sometimes the quality of food is at fault. grass, clover or alfalfa, when wet with dew or rain soaked, frequently produce digestive disorders and bloating follows. frozen roots or potatoes covered with white frost should be regarded as dangerous. when food has been eaten too hastily or when it is cold and wet, the digestive process is imperfectly performed and the food contained in the paunch ferments, during which process large quantities of gas are formed. this same result may follow when a sheep is choking, as the obstruction in the gullet prevents the eructation or passing of gas from the stomach so that the gas continues to accumulate until severe bloating results.
-symptoms.—the swelling of the left flank is very characteristic, as in well marked cases the flank at its upper part rises above the level of the backbone and when struck with the tips of the fingers emits a drum-like sound. the animal has an anxious expression, moves uneasily and is evidently distressed. if relief is not obtained in time the sheep breathes with difficulty, reels in walking or standing and in a short time falls down and dies from suffocation. the distention of the stomach or rumen may become so great that it pushes the diaphragm (the membrane separating the lung and intestinal cavity) forward against the lungs, so as to squeeze and stop their movements, thus preventing the animal from breathing and in some instances the case may be complicated by a rupture of the stomach.
-sometimes bloating becomes chronic, and if such is the case dissolve two teaspoonfuls of turpentine in one-half pint of milk and drench the animal very carefully, as some of this drench may escape into the lungs and produce fatal pneumonia. set a sheep upon its haunches to give the medicine; if it coughs let it down quickly to prevent strangulation.
-cause.—irritant food, damaged food, overloaded paunch or sudden change of diet may produce this disease. want of exercise predisposes an animal to it and it is caused by woody or indigestible food. food which possesses astringent (drying) properties tends to check the digestive secretions and may also act as an exciting cause. food in excessive quantity may lead to disorders of the digestion and to this disease. it is very likely to appear towards the end of the protracted season of drought, therefore a deficiency of water must be regarded as one of the conditions which favors its development.
-symptoms.—appetite diminished; rumination, or chewing the cud, irregular; tongue coated, mouth slimy, feces passed apparently not well digested and offensive in odor, dullness and fullness of the flanks. this disease may, in some cases, assume a chronic character, for in addition to the above mentioned symptoms, slight bloating of the left flank may be observed. the animal breathes with great difficulty and grunts with each respiration. the ears and legs alternately become hot and cold. the rumination, or cud chewing, at this stage ceases and the usual rumbling sound in the stomach is not audible. the passage of feces is entirely suspended and the animal passes only a little mucus occasionally. sometimes constipation and diarrhoea alternate; there is a rise in temperature in many cases. the disease continues for a few days or a week in this mild form, while the severe form of the disease may last for several weeks. in the severe form the emaciation and loss of strength may be very great. there is no appetite, no rumination or rumbling sound in the stomach or intestines. the mouth is hot and sticky, the eyes have retracted in their sockets and the milk secretion has ceased. in such cases the outlook for recovery is unfavorable. the affected animals fall away in flesh and become very weak, which is shown by the fact that one finds the animal lying down.
-on examination of sheep or goats which have died of this disease, it is found that the lining membranes of the fourth stomach and intestines, particularly the small intestines, are red, swollen, streaked with deep red or blushed lines or spotted. the lining of the third stomach is more or less softened and may be easily peeled off. the third stomach contains dry, hard food masses, closely adhering to its walls. in some cases the brain appears to become affected, probably from the pain endured and weakness and absorption of poisons generated in the digestive canal. in such cases there is weakness and a staggering gait; the sheep or goats do not appear to see, and will consequently run against obstacles. after a time it falls down and gives up to a violent disordered struggle. this delirious condition is succeeded by stupor and death.
-cause.—jaundice or liver congestion is due to constipation where there is an inactive or torpid condition of the bowels and the bile which passes into the intestines is absorbed and produces a yellow staining of jaundice. jaundice is merely a symptom of a disease and ought to direct attention to ascertain if possible the cause or causes which give rise to it. inflammation of the liver usually occurs as a complication of infectious diseases. it may also occur as a complication of intestinal catarrh, or in hot weather from overheating, eating decomposed or irritating food or from drinking stagnant water.
-symptoms.—the signs are sometimes obscure and their real significance is frequently overlooked. the most prominent symptoms are the yellowness of the white of the eyes and of the mucous membranes lining the mouth, appetite poor, body presents an emaciated appearance, the feces is light in color, while the urine is likely to be unusually dark and there is great thirst present. the gait is weak and the animal lies down more than usual and while doing so frequently has its head around resting on the side of its chest. temperature is slightly elevated above normal and breathing is somewhat hurried.
-treatment.—remove the cause if possible. give glauber salts in three to four ounce doses, diluted in a pint of hot water permitted to cool and give at one dose. when drenching, be very careful, as some of the liquid may escape into the lungs and produce severe complications. feed green food or hot bran mashes and supply them with a liberal quantity of pure water to drink.
-cause.—the parasite that produces liver fluke in sheep has an oblong, flat, leaf-like body, brownish in color, measuring from one-fourth to one-half inch in length. sheep become infected with this liver fluke from grazing on low marshy pastures infected by the larvae of liver fluke.
-symptoms.—a sheep, when first infected with liver fluke, generally thrives as the parasites tend to stimulate the process of digestion, being located as they are in the liver, but eventually rumination becomes irregular, the sheep becomes anemic, weak and the visible mucous membranes of the mouth, nose and eyes become pale, bloodless, taking on a yellowish color as the disease progresses. swellings will also appear under the jaw along the neck and under the lung cavity. the process of breathing becomes feeble and temperature irregular. pregnant ewes will generally abort and nursing ewes’ milk will become so deprived of its nourishing properties that the lambs become emaciated, although not necessarily affected with the liver fluke.
-prevention.—move to non-infected pastures, supply the animals grazing on low marshy pastures with a liberal amount of salt, also introduce frogs, toads, carp, etc., into the marshy ponds, as they destroy the parasite in its first stages of development, feeding on their intermediate host, the snail.
-medical treatment.—this is of little value. after an animal once becomes infected with the parasite, it never makes a complete recovery, although calomel administered in ten grain doses every two or three weeks appears to have a very good effect in some cases, if fed freely on nitrogenous food and permitted to drink well of pure running water.
-acute congestion and inflammation of the spongy tissues of the lungs is frequently seen in sheep, the same as in other animals.
-cause.—sheep that are overdriven are subject to lung congestion in acute or chronic form and sometimes pulmonary apoplexy, and especially when in a plethoric condition are predisposed to inflammation of the lungs. the exciting cause is very much the same as in different diseases of the air passage and it is not uncommon for the inflammation to extend from these parts of the lungs. however, there are a number of causes in addition to those already mentioned. it frequently results when sheep are accustomed to warm, comfortable quarters and are changed to cold, drafty pens, or shipping some distance in open stock cars during cold weather. in fact, any sudden chilling of the body is a common cause of lung disorders. giving fat sheep too much exercise when they are not accustomed to it is a very frequent cause of congestion and inflammation of the lungs. this may occur when they are chased by dogs, etc., or when driven to a distant market at too rapid a gait. exercise during the hot summer months is apt to cause congestion of the lung substance, as well as heat stroke. dipping sheep during cold weather may chill the body and result in this disease.
-treatment.—the preventive treatment in pneumonia must not be overlooked. briefly, it consists in avoiding such conditions as may predispose the animal to the disease or act in any way as an exciting cause. careful nursing is a very important part of the treatment. the sheep should be given a comfortable, well ventilated shed and kept as quiet as possible. if the bowels become constipated, give two or three ounces of castor oil and feed sloppy food. as one attack predisposes the sheep to a second, it should be protected from severe cold, or the other extreme, heat, for a month after making a complete recovery.
-lung worms, lamb disease.
-cause.—due to a white thread-like worm (strongylus filaria) varying in length from one to three inches. the worms affect and live in the trachea (windpipe) and bronchial tubes. infected animals, in coughing, expel fertilized eggs which develop on the grass and stagnant water. the larvae are again taken up either in the drinking water or in eating grass or hay gathered on low marshy soil. warm wet weather favors their development.
-symptoms.—this worm is liable to attack a number of animals at the same time. the weakest sheep and young lambs are the first to show signs by coughing forcibly, distressing, hacking and convulsive in character. a stringy mucus is sometimes expelled during the spasm of coughing. this mucus contains worms which can be detected, or their ova observed under a magnifying glass. in the latter stages of the disease, they cough severely at night. these attacks have a sub-acute character and prove very exhausting. the parasite by becoming entwined in balls severely affects the animal’s breathing which is always remarkably labored in the latter stages of the disease. the animal refuses to eat, becomes emaciated, anemic, mucous membranes of the eyes, mouth and nose become very pale and the sheep die in convulsions from suffocation.
-preventive treatment.—avoid grazing your sheep on low marshy soil, especially during warm wet weather. young lambs and weak ones are especially susceptible to this disease.
-medical treatment.—the writer has tried various treatments as fumigation with different substances and injection of remedies into the windpipe by the use of a hypodermic syringe, etc., but none have proven very successful, from a practical standpoint. i would recommend placing the affected animals in a tightly closed barn or shed, in the center of which place a pan of red hot coals and cover with sulphur.
-a person should remain in the barn or shed as long as he possibly can and after the fumes become so irritating that he cannot endure them any longer, he should immediately make his exit. the sheep should be compelled to stay a minute or two longer and then quickly open the doors and windows. repeat this treatment once or twice a week. feed affected animals well. give them fresh water to drink and protect them from exposure. this treatment, as above described, has given very good results, providing the parasites were not too numerous.
-cause.—the mange mite (psoroptes communis). this parasite is equipped with stylets which pierce the skin at the seat where the mange mite penetrates the skin, and produces small red spots followed by a blister filled with serum, which ruptures, the serum drying and forming a small scab. it is in this way that innumerable mange mites cause the piling up of scabs thus producing a very scaly condition. as mange advances, the scaly patches eventually pile up until they attain the thickness of one-half inch, unless these scabs have been severely rubbed.
-symptoms.—very easily detected, as a bunch of sheep that have been recently infected will be uneasy or restless, rubbing against fences, posts, brush, etc., causing bunches of wool to loosen. the itching seems to be more intense at night and during warm weather. the affected animals will even make attempts to bite themselves, due to the agony produced by the mange mite. if the skin is examined by the aid of a magnifying glass, the mange mite can be easily noticed, or by scraping the skin with a knife and placing the scabs on a dark paper and exposed to the warmth of the sun, the mange mite moving about can readily be seen with the naked eye. mangy sheep become very poor and eventually die.
-prevention.—this is important, for although the disease is treated with very good results, the mange mite annoy the sheep until they become very weak and emaciated and the loss of wool is enormous due to the affected animal continually rubbing against fences, brush, etc.
-treatment.—consists of using various dips, as lime and sulphur, which is recommended by the united states bureau of animal industry. this is very effective and inexpensive. scabby sheep should be dipped a week or ten days after shearing; two dippings are necessary at the interval of ten days. after dipping, move to non-infected range or pastures.
-symptoms.—long wooled sheep are more susceptible to this tick as their wool provides shelter for both the tick and its eggs. after shearing the sheep the ticks have a tendency to leave the body and to migrate to the legs or to unshorn lambs where their snouts or trunks pierce the skin which appears to become infected, producing a swelling and inflammation. the infected sheep run, scratch and bite themselves. when these ticks become developed in large quantities, they produce a paleness of the mucous membranes of the eyes, mouth and nose, as the ticks suck large quantities of blood, which produces an anemic condition. the sheep become poor, weak and unthrifty.
-treatment.—satisfactorily treated by dipping infected sheep in coal tar dips or emulsions of crude petroleum. shearing the sheep has a good effect, but care must be exercised as the ticks then rapidly migrate to the lambs.
-diseases of poultry
-cause, symptoms and treatment
-location of parts of the fowl
-0. beak. 1. comb. 2. face. 3. wattles. 4. ear lobe. 5. hackle. 6. breast. 7. back. 8. saddle. 9. saddle feathers. 10. sickles. 11. lesser sickles. 12. tail coverts. 13. main tail feathers. 14. wing bow. 15. wing coverts, forming wing bar. 16. secondaries, wing bar. 17. primaries or flight feathers. 18. flight coverts. 19. point of breast bone. 20. fluff. 21. thigh. 22. knee joint. 23. shank. 24. spur. 25. toes, or claws.
-this chapter, as its title indicates, is to give to the students and veterinary profession a general view of the diseases of poultry, their causes, symptoms and treatment in a condensed and yet in a complete form.
-thousands of dollars worth of poultry are lost each year because of the veterinarians not having for immediate reference a book giving full information regarding the causes, symptoms, and treatment of diseases, with reliable and authentic advice on what to do for poultry that are sick or unthrifty.
-if this brief chapter proves itself of value to our students to which it is most fraternally dedicated, the writer will feel himself amply repaid.
-air sac mite.
-cause.—produced by a parasite called cylodites nudus, which bears a close resemblance to the parasite causing mange or scabies in the domesticated animal. owing to the peculiar construction of their breathing organs fowls are more susceptible to parasites than animals. in addition to effecting the lungs, the air sac mite may extend its operations to the intestines, kidneys, liver and bones.
-symptoms.—unthriftiness is first noticed, but after the parasites become numerous, the fowl shows signs of difficult breathing, perhaps terminating in bronchial pneumonia. in some cases death occurs without apparent cause. the bird will be inactive, becomes separated from the rest of the flock, comb pale, head drawn close to the body, wings hang pendulous, lose flesh, breathing becomes hard, coughing, sneezing and a rattling from the mucus in the windpipe is heard. death is produced from suffocation.
-treatment.—separate the sick from the healthy fowls. disinfect coops and runways of both sick and healthy birds with crude carbolic acid, undiluted. also fumigate the fowls in their coops with steam from hot water and pine tar. this may be done by placing the water and tar in a pan and then inserting a hot stone or brick in the solution. this perhaps is the simplest method of fumigation. also mix sulphur in their feed regularly.
-due to the rupture of a blood vessel of the brain and pressure from the escaping blood.
-cause.—mechanical injuries, straining when laying eggs (hens are frequently found dead on the nest from this cause), overfeeding, stimulating food, etc., all tend to produce apoplexy.
-symptoms.—appear very suddenly, bird is seen to walk unsteadily, falls, or perhaps is found dead.
-cause.—due to fungi.
-symptoms.—the first noticeable sign is the whitish appearance of the comb due to gray spots about the size of a pin head. as the disease progresses, this condition spreads to other parts of the body; the feathers look rough and dry and break easily. the fowl grows weaker, refuses to eat and if not properly treated, dies.
-treatment.—remove the scabs by separating the feathers and using a brush. apply sulphur ointment. repeat this treatment after two or three days. great care must be taken to prevent the fowl from chilling or taking cold.
-beak and throat obstruction.
-cause.—lodgment in the beak or food canal of a foreign substance, such as a kernel of corn, sunflower seed, bone, etc.
-symptoms.—fowl jerks its head suddenly and frequently attempts to swallow. if a close examination is made the foreign body can be felt from the outside.
-treatment.—for the removal of such obstructions, no special treatment is needed further than to use care and avoid any injury to the beak or throat. feed nutritious food, as wheat bran mashes and vegetables and see that they have a liberal quantity of good pure water at all times.
-cause.—due to a protozoa taken into the system with the food or drinking water. this parasite enters the caeca which becomes inflamed and discolored and the liver is enlarged and studded with yellowish spots about the size of a pea.
-symptoms.—although this disease is termed blackhead, the discoloration of the head is not necessarily present in all cases; neither is this condition confined to this particular disease. one of the first symptoms is loss of appetite, followed in most cases by diarrhoea. the fowl becomes weak and loses weight rapidly. examination of the liver after death will determine whether or not death has been caused by infectious entero hepatitis. the dead birds should be burned to prevent the spread of the disease.
-treatment.—prevention is one of the most important factors as this disease is very contagious and the protozoa once implanted in the turkey runs is almost impossible to eradicate. provide clean, well ventilated coops and feed clean, wholesome food and good fresh water to drink.
-medical treatment.—give bismuth salicylate and quinine sulphate each one grain two to three times a day. also mix hyposulphite of soda in the proportion of two to four grains to every fowl in their drinking water twice daily. disinfect coops and runs with crude carbolic acid, undiluted.
-cause.—insanitary conditions. communicated by direct contact.
-symptoms.—young chicks become emaciated and die quickly. older birds withstand the parasite much longer, but in time show signs of uneasiness by dusting themselves frequently. the comb and wattles become pale and bloodless, the feathers rough, dry and brittle. the birds grow weak, poor and eventually die.
-treatment.—dust the birds with the following: sulphur, one part; napthaline, one part; tobacco dust, twenty-eight parts and seventy parts of middlings. powder finely and mix well together and dust the birds once daily. also sprinkle freely in the dust baths.
-cause.—exposure to dampness, cold drafts of air, inhaling irritating gases, vapors or dust. the fowls should be carefully examined, as bronchitis is occasionally caused by the presence of gapeworms.
-symptoms.—loss of appetite, the bird moves about slowly, breathing with difficulty and making a sort of whistling sound accompanied by a cough. as the disease progresses, there will be a peculiar bubbling sound from breathing due to an excessive accumulation of mucus in the windpipe. at this stage of the disease the bird becomes very weak and if not properly treated and cared for will rapidly lose strength, the feathers will become rough, head and wings droop, and the bird dies.
-treatment.—this disease is most satisfactorily treated by placing the affected birds in warm, dry, well ventilated quarters, admitting sunlight if possible, but excluding all drafts of air. feed stale bread, middlings, etc. also place the fowls in a moderately air tight coop and compel them to inhale steam from hot water and turpentine. this is readily done by placing the water and turpentine in a pan and then insert a hot stone or brick in the solution. force them to inhale this steam from twenty to thirty minutes twice a day. also add chlorate of potash to their drinking water, one teaspoonful to every twenty-five aged fowls. to chicks add one-fourth teaspoonful to every twenty-five. if the weather is favorable and the above treatment is followed, bronchitis yields very favorably.
-cause.—sharp-edged or narrow perches which bruise the feet or where the perches are high, heavy fowls often injure their feet by alighting on stones or other hard objects.
-symptoms.—the bird limps or hobbles about, moving with great difficulty. examination will show the foot to be hot and tender to the touch.
-treatment.—wash with clean, warm water and in some cases it is advisable to apply hot flaxseed poultices. when soft spots or abscesses develop, lance them with a clean, sharp knife. after abscesses and bruises are opened, treat them antiseptically by washing with a solution of carbolic acid, one teaspoonful to a pint of water. the foot should be bandaged to keep out dust and dirt.
-cause.—exposure; poorly constructed coops which admit rain or drafts. weak birds are very susceptible to catarrh.
-symptoms.—the bird is dull, moves about slowly, coughing or sneezing; appetite is poor, the mucous membrane of the air passage becomes inflamed and the breathing difficult, especially through the nose. the discharge from the nostrils at first watery, becomes mucus-like and thick and sticky, closing the nose, causing the bird to breathe wholly through the mouth with a wheezing sound.
-treatment.—the cause of catarrh shows the necessity of clean and comfortable quarters for the fowls. keep the birds strong and vigorous by feeding clean, nourishing food.
-medical treatment.—to each fowl administer in their drinking water or feed: chlorate of potash, one grain, twice daily.
-cause.—these diseases are due to low forms of parasites or fungi and occur most frequently in wet weather especially if the coops are leaky and allow the rain to fall on the droppings, causing mold or fungi. poor ventilation and lack of light also promotes the growth of fungi.
-symptoms.—the disease is usually confined to the head and affects principally young chickens, pigeons and turkeys, but rarely ducks and geese. the infection appears in form of yellowish warts or nodules about the nose, eyelids, comb, wattles, under the wings, or any unfeathered place. the warts vary in size from that of a pin head to the size of a pea and they discharge a fluid which at first is thin and watery but as the disease progresses, it becomes thick and sticky, yellow in color and fetid in smell. at this stage the appetite is poor, the feathers appear rough, and where the eyelids are affected, as in most cases, the bird cannot see, fails to eat, becomes emaciated, loses weight and strength rapidly and if not properly treated, dies.
-treatment.—this disease is very contagious, therefore the coops and runs should be disinfected with crude carbolic acid, undiluted. in the drinking water add hyposulphite of soda in the proportion of one to two grains to each fowl (one-half grain to chicks). wash the nodules or warts about the head with carbolic acid solution, one teaspoonful to a quart of water. feed easily digested food, such as vegetables or warm bran mashes.
-congestion of the liver.
-cause.—lack of exercise, overfeeding, tainted or moldy food, infection, or impure blood.
-symptoms.—birds suffering from this disease seldom show signs of sickness and it is well to dissect the fowl after death to ascertain the exact cause. if death is caused by congestion of the liver, the organ will be greatly enlarged and easily torn.
-treatment.—if the fowls are fat and sluggish, compel them to exercise by driving them about. also give fifteen to twenty grains of epsom salts to each affected fowl. feed laxative foods that are easily digested, as vegetables and warm bran mashes. they are cooling and relieve congestion.
-congestion of the lungs.
-cause.—exposure; the bird chills, causing contraction of the blood vessels near the surface of the body, thereby forcing a large quantity of blood to the internal organs; the small blood vessels in the lungs become distended with blood and rupture.
-symptoms.—rapid and difficult breathing; the bird appears stupid and sleepy and does not care to move about; appetite poor, wings drooping, plumage ruffled, a thick mucus, colored with blood, escapes from the mouth, comb and wattles show a dark-red color from lack of oxygen in the blood. this disease is of very short duration, the bird dying within a few hours. it is very common among young chicks and turkeys that are permitted to run out in the early spring rains.
-treatment.—medical treatment is of no value, as the disease progresses so rapidly that the bird dies shortly after the first symptoms appear. sanitary surroundings, good light, pure air and exercise are essential. do not allow the birds to stand out in the cold or rains, especially during the molting season. keep your poultry strong and vigorous by feeding clean, nourishing food and give them pure water to drink.
-cause.—irritation of the membranes lining the intestines, caused by dry feed, glass or gravel; may also be due to parasitic worms. obstruction may occur in any part of the intestines although the external opening is the part most frequently affected.
-symptoms.—bird appears dull and stupid, walks with difficulty and attempts frequently to expel the obstructing material. the appetite is poor and the feathers rough. by examination and manipulation the obstruction may be located. dried masses of excrement by adhering to the feathers sometimes block the outer opening of the intestines.
-cause.—errors in feeding; birds that are not fed regularly are predisposed to any of the above conditions; may also be due to swallowing large pieces of bone, thread, nails, pins, glass, gravel, etc.
-symptoms.—loss of appetite, frequent attempts to swallow, crop greatly distended and hard on pressure; eventually the food decomposes and a liquid may escape from the mouth and nose. the bird appears dull, stupid and sleepy, comb pale, feathers rough, beak open, owing to pressure on the windpipe. if caused by swallowing sharp objects, they may penetrate the crop and skin, causing a gangrenous condition. grain in the crop will sometimes send out sprouts of considerable lengths.
-after-treatment consists of feeding very little food until the crop is fairly well healed. feed soft bran mashes and vegetables. to the drinking water add boracic acid, one grain, twice daily. it relieves the catarrhal condition that is present, such as irritations of the crop and intestines.
-cause.—inflammation of the digestive organs can be traced in every instance to the quality or quantity of food and water consumed. the food or water may contain parasites, or large quantities of mustard, pepper, or may be moldy or tainted.
-symptoms.—loss of appetite, the feathers appear rough, the crop is sometimes paralyzed and distended with gas, the bird moves slowly, the droppings vary in color from a white to a yellow or a green and finally becomes tinged with blood; at this stage there is a rise in temperature accompanied by great thirst and signs of pain. mild cases of simple diarrhoea if not properly treated when first symptoms appear, will develop the same severe conditions described above.
-treatment.—determine the cause and remove it if possible. see that the food is clean and nutritious, the coops well ventilated, the runs well lighted. sunlight is very beneficial. avoid exposures, drafts and dampness. place oatmeal in their drinking water, also give two grains of bismuth mixed with dough and make into a small pill. give one every six hours.
-when in addition to the above symptoms a bloody discharge is present, give six drops of tincture of catechu every four hours. warm mashes made of bran or oatmeal are very nourishing and soothing to the intestinal canal.
-cause.—due to a specific germ. the disease is very contagious and is communicated by direct contact. great care should be exercised, therefore, when showing or buying birds. any new birds to be added to the flock should be kept in separate pens for a week or two to make sure they are in good condition.
-symptoms.—the first symptoms are similar to those of catarrh or cold. a clear, watery liquid escapes from the eyes and nostrils, the head is drawn in toward the body, the feathers appear rough, the breathing fast, the temperature rises from three to five degrees above normal. the bird walks about as if blind, sneezing, swallowing with difficulty, and showing signs of great weakness. if the mouth is open small white spots or elevations will be seen on the back of the tongue. there may be diarrhoea of a green or yellow color. as the disease progresses the discharge from the nose and eyes becomes thick and stringy, obstructing the air passages and gathering in large quantities between the eyelids. the mouth, throat and tongue are very much inflamed and swollen and in most cases it is impossible for the bird to make a sound. recovery is doubtful after the disease has reached this stage.
-treatment.—isolate the affected birds in some clean, warm, light, well ventilated quarters, excluding drafts. dissolve thirty grains of chlorate of potash in one ounce of water and one ounce of glycerine, and to the average sized fowl give one teaspoonful three or four times a day. to chicks give one-fourth the dose. when the scum loosens in the back part of the tongue, remove gently. care should be taken so as to prevent bleeding. feed soft, nourishing food.
-eggs are frequently found with two yolks. this condition is produced by two ovary capsules bursting at about the same time and gaining entrance together into the oviduct where they are concealed in the same shell. double-yolked eggs are larger than normal and may injure the oviduct when expelled. when hatched they produce twins or abnormal chicks.
-cause.—generally due to irritating, indigestible food, causing inflammation of the membraneous lining of the intestinal cavity.
-symptoms.—the abdomen becomes enlarged, is tender to the touch and contains a watery fluid, the movement of which can be heard in most cases by pressure on the swollen parts. the bird appears stupid, the comb pale and the appetite poor.
-treatment.—unless the bird is very valuable, treatment is not advisable. in case the bird is valuable, give one grain of potassium iodide twice daily in the feed or drinking water. also feed nourishing food as beef-scraps, vegetables, wheat bran mashes, etc.
-cause.—due to the eggs being too large, the bird too fat, or to the absence of the secretions lubricating the oviduct.
-symptoms.—the first signs are scarcely noticeable but soon the feathers appear rough, the bird becomes dull and moves slowly, making frequent efforts to expel the egg.
-cause.—is usually due to lack of shell-building material in the food; in such case the shell of the egg is thin and easily broken and the fowl craving the lime contained in the egg shell, naturally contracts the habit.
-treatment.—supply ground bone and oyster shells. feed green food such as cabbage, kale, potatoes, carrots, etc.
-eggs without shells.
-cause.—deficiency of shell material; or it is possible that fright sometimes causes premature expulsion of the eggs before the shell is formed.
-treatment.—feed ground bone, oyster shells. they contain egg shell producing material. perhaps the best results are obtained when mixed with wheat bran. also feed vegetables such as cabbage, potatoes and carrots.
-cause.—irritation of the skin due to lice, mites, or to lack of exercise and improper food.
-treatment.—feed meat, ground bones and vegetables. place the food where the fowls are compelled to scratch and work to obtain it. dust the fowls with powdered aloes.
-if due to lice, treat the same as recommended under the heading of lice.
-cause.—a red, parasitic worm, the male measuring about one-fifth of an inch and the female one-half an inch in length. fowls become infected by eating worms containing this parasite or its eggs, and by coming in contact with other birds suffering from the disease.
-symptoms.—the most noticeable symptom is frequent gaping; the gapeworms attach themselves by their mouths to the walls of the windpipe where they suck the blood which nourishes them; they cause irritation and inflammation of the windpipe, bronchial tubes and lungs; breathing is difficult and the bird loses strength rapidly; windpipe eventually becomes totally obstructed and the bird dies from suffocation and exhaustion. young, weak chickens are more susceptible to this disease than strong ones.
-treatment.—separate the sick birds from the healthy ones. clean and disinfect the coops and runs. burn all manure. remove the worms from the windpipe by the use of a feather, from which the fan has been stripped, leaving only a small brush at the end. dip the feather into oil of turpentine or coal oil, removing the surplus liquid by drawing the feather between the fingers. now insert the feather into the windpipe of the bird and by turning gently you will dislodge the worms from their attachments. repeat this treatment once a day for two or three days. disinfect coops and runs with undiluted crude carbolic acid. feed good nutritious food as wheat bran mashes, etc.
-cause.—result of insanitary conditions and lack of care. communicated by direct contact with infected birds, or by infected coops or brooders.
-symptoms.—the head soon becomes denuded of feathers, and also sore by being constantly scratched with the feet. if not properly treated the chicks weaken and die.
-treatment.—an ointment made of one part sulphur and four parts lard well mixed and applied two to three times will exterminate the lice. if the fowl is run down in condition, feed good nutritious food as wheat bran mashes.
-how to feed young poultry.
-withhold all food for at least eighteen hours; then feed stale bread moistened with boiled milk every three hours. when they are three or four days old, feed rolled oats, ground corn moistened with pure water, finely chopped meat and boiled vegetables. feed them often and you will be well repaid by their rapid growth, strength, and the low death rate. after they reach the age of one week or ten days, watch them closely and regulate their feed to their apparent needs.
-cause.—irritation of the oviduct; improper secretion of albumen or internal egg-producing material.
-treatment.—careful feeding will overcome this condition. warm wheat bran mashes, ground bone, beef scraps, all tend to allay the irritations of the oviduct and stimulate the secretions of albumen.
-cause.—obstruction of the bile duct, due to rich, nitrogenous food and insufficient exercise.
-symptoms.—disease is not easily detected. the yellow color of the wattles and comb is the first symptom; the appetite is variable, the feathers appear rough and dry, the head is retracted, and the bird finally dies owing to the absorption of bile in the blood.
-cause.—due to a parasite that resembles the mite.
-symptoms.—when the affected bird is closely examined large quantities of scales or scabs are found in the soft feathers. the appetite is poor; the bird walks slowly about showing signs of uneasiness. if the disease is allowed to run its course, the bird grows weak and eventually dies. the disease is easily transmitted from one bird to another and should be treated without delay.
-treatment.—disinfect roost, coops and pens with undiluted crude carbolic acid. apply to the irritations that present themselves on the body of the birds: sulphur ointment twice a week and feed good nourishing food as wheat bran mashes and vegetables.
-cause.—irritations, injuries, or micro-organisms. it is sometimes caused by nothing more than a dry condition of the mucous membrane due to the bird breathing through the mouth when suffering from respiratory diseases.
-symptoms.—dryness of the mucous membrane of the mouth; especially the part covering the tongue, which becomes hard and ragged, forming rough edges along its sides. these dried portions become loose and partially detached from the tongue, interfering with its movements and causing more or less pain and annoyance.
-treatment.—do not forcibly detach these pieces, but assist nature to remove them. this can be accomplished by mixing glycerine and water, equal parts, and dropping into the mouth with an ordinary syringe or dropper. it is advisable to add boracic acid, one teaspoonful to every gallon of drinking water, which will prevent the entrance of parasites into the blood.
-cause.—these grow spontaneously in favorable surroundings, as the interior of poultry houses and brooders containing numerous cracks and crevices.
-symptoms.—this mite is a blood-sucker; irritates the skin and sometimes causes sores to form on the body of the chick. the birds grow stupid and weak and die rapidly if not properly treated. older fowls withstand the irritation of mites much longer, but do not thrive, or lay regularly, and will finally die if the insects become too numerous. the insect may be transmitted to horses, cattle, and even to man.
-treatment.—paint the roosts and spray the interior of the coops and runs with crude carbolic acid, undiluted, being very careful that the solution reaches the bottoms of the cracks and crevices. also paint the interior of brooders with the same solution.
-cause.—damp coops and pens, lack of ventilation and improper food.
-symptoms.—fowl refuses to stand or walk, and on examination, the legs are found to be swollen and painful, especially about the joints. in some cases suppuration of the joints takes place and they become open running sores. the bone finally becomes diseased and the fowl dies.
-treatment.—preventive measures are first to be considered. see that the coops and pens are clean and dry. avoid drafts. feed vegetables, also wheat bran mashes. give internally salicylic acid, one-half grain, twice daily. when the legs are swollen and sore apply zinc ointment once or twice daily.
-cause.—due to a mite that burrows under the scales of the leg.
-symptoms.—white, scaly-looking scabs form about the upper part of the foot. the feet and legs become swollen and painful as the disease progresses and if not checked will result in lameness, inflammation of the joints, and the toes may slough off. great care is necessary as the disease is very easily transmitted from one bird to another.
-cause.—a vegetable parasite called oidium albicans.
-symptoms.—inflammation of the mucous membrane lining the mouth, throat, gullet and crop, which finally terminates in white ulcerations. other symptoms are swelling of the head, poor appetite and a rapid loss in weight and strength.
-treatment.—isolate the sick from the healthy fowls. give as much sunlight as possible, feed nourishing food, such as warm oatmeal mashes, kale, potatoes, etc. add one grain each of chlorate of potash and boracic acid to a tablespoonful of water and give three or four times a day or oftener if they will drink it. a good disinfectant must be used to prevent the disease from spreading and i would recommend the use of undiluted crude carbolic acid about the coops and poultry runs.
-cause.—this dreaded disease is caused by the bacillus of tuberculosis. damp, ill-ventilated, and poorly-lighted coops are favorable to the development of the disease.
-symptoms.—except in advanced stages, this disease is not easily detected as it affects various organs, and considerable experience in post-mortems and a skillful use of the microscope is required to successfully diagnose a case.
-treatment.—preventive measures should be practiced as the disease is incurable. do not expose the fowls to cold wet weather. see that the coops are well ventilated and lighted and feed no contaminated food.
-cause.—constipation is perhaps the most common cause, the hard droppings causing irritation of the vent which is followed by inflammation and suppuration of the membranes lining the rectum and oviduct.
-symptoms.—frequent straining due to irritation. as the disease progresses a pus-like discharge is noticed. the disease may extend into the rectum or oviduct. the bird appears stupid, the plumage rough, the comb pale, and if not properly treated, dies a lingering death.
-treatment.—preventive treatment is the best. feed green food occasionally and warm bran mashes. this prevents constipation. when the bird strains frequently and a discharge is present the following solution should be injected: sugar of lead, two drams; zinc sulphate, one dram. mix with two quarts of water. inject about one ounce with a syringe twice daily until the discharge has ceased.
-cause.—germ (bacilli of fowl cholera) gaining entrance to the body through the bowels, lungs or wounds of the skin. death results from toxic material produced while the germs are multiplying.
-symptoms.—all poultry, cage or wild birds are subject to this disease. the first symptoms are loss of appetite; diarrhoea is present and the discharge is almost white in color and tinged with transparent mucus. the affected bird becomes separated from the flock, seems weak and stupid and appears to be asleep; feathers are rough, the wings droop and the head is drawn in toward the body; crop is generally full, owing to improper digestion. the comb is pale and bloodless, the temperature raised from three to five degrees above normal and the bird loses weight rapidly; it may die with convulsions and cries, or without a sound or struggle.
-treatment.—to grown fowls, give zinc sulphocarbolates in one-half grain doses three times a day in their food or drinking water. to chicks, dissolve thirty grains of zinc sulphocarbolates in two quarts of water. saturate feed, as stale bread, etc., and give three times a day. zinc sulphocarbolates is an antiseptic especially prepared for septic conditions of the intestines, and very useful in treatment of white diarrhoea and fowl cholera. in severe cases of diarrhoea, give bismuth salicylate, one grain, three times daily in feed or make into a pill with dough. when the fowls will eat, feed them clean, nitrogenous food that they can digest easily, as oatmeal mashes. it is also necessary to give them pure water to drink at all times. disinfection of the premises is another essential factor in the treatment of this disease, and undiluted crude carbolic acid is a disinfectant that we can rely upon at all times.
-i cannot recommend vaccination as the serum is very difficult and expensive to produce and different breeds of birds require varying doses, therefore, vaccinating poultry for white diarrhoea or fowl cholera is not attended with any great degree of success.
-cause.—few fowls are entirely free from worms. the soil over which the chicks are permitted to run may be infected, or the food may contain the eggs or embryos of worms.
-symptoms.—the presence of worms in fowls may not be at once detected, since only a close observer would notice them in the droppings. if the birds eat well but remain poor, and the feathers appear rough and the comb and wattles pale, there is reason to suspect the existence of worms.
-treatment.—preventive treatment is the best. sprinkle the runs and coops regularly with crude carbolic acid, undiluted. give two drops of turpentine in twice this quantity of sweet or olive oil. this dose should be repeated in from six to eight days so as to insure the expulsion of the newly hatched worms or those that may have survived the first treatment.
-diseases of the dog
-cause, symptoms and treatment
-location of parts of dog
-in offering this chapter for the consideration of the students as well as to the veterinary profession and others who are interested in the study of diseases of the dog i feel it will suffice to say that i have endeavored to the best of my ability to render the matter contained in the following chapter of as great practical value as possible, to present in the most plain and yet concise manner the nature, causes, symptoms, treatment, and prevention of each disease in the form in which it most frequently occurs.
-i wish to express a hope that this chapter will be favorably received by all students of veterinary science and the veterinary profession.
-abscesses of the ear.
-cause.—irritations or injuries to the ear. washing dogs with irritating soap and not properly drying them causes dogs to have an itchy sensation which they constantly aggravate by scratching the ear with the paw and shaking the head and flopping the ears violently, resulting in this disease.
-symptoms.—the dog will be noticed carrying the head to one side and shaking it frequently in a violent manner. it will also scratch the ear with the paw involuntarily. when the inner surface of the ear is carefully examined it will be found extremely swollen and have an abnormal appearance, will be stiff and extend out from the head. great heat and pain will be evinced when pressure is applied. the puffy swelling inside the ear will contain a serous fluid which is very offensive in odor.
-treatment.—with a clean, sharp knife open the abscess and allow the bloody fluid to escape. then dress the wound twice a day with clean cotton and a solution made from tincture of iodine, one dram, to one-half ounce of water. to prevent the dog from scratching and flopping the ears, which would cause further irritation, bind the ears to the head by means of a bandage or hood. feed clean, wholesome, laxative food and compel him to exercise, as good physical condition and clean surroundings assist materially in healing wounds of the flesh.
-symptoms.—they are very hard to detect, as the dog generally becomes unconscious before any violent symptoms are noticed, but there is generally unsteadiness in the walk, dizziness, deafness, blindness, constipation, etc., preceding an attack, but only a careful observer will notice them.
-treatment.—as this is a very dangerous disease, no time should be lost. the first thing is to relieve the head from the accumulation of blood to prevent further congestion and avoid inflammatory action. to accomplish this place the head well up and apply cold to the head by means of pounded ice in a cloth bag. loosen the collar around the neck and apply hot packs to the feet to induce the flow of blood to the lower extremities. also give a physic consisting of one to two grains of calomel. after the dog recovers from the fit great care will be required to prevent a second attack. the diet should be light and nutritious. always avoid feeding too large a quantity at one time, to prevent overloading of the stomach. also avoid excitement or excessive exercise on a hot day. a cathartic as calomel should be administered when a dog shows any signs of constipation.
-cause.—in some instances i believe it is hereditary, although in others no influence of this nature can be discovered. this affection frequently follows organic diseases of the chest. the spasms of difficult breathing may be directly due to irritants inspired into the lungs, such as smoke, gas, or dust and cold air containing infectious matter. overfeeding frequently produces this condition, as an abnormal distention of the stomach presses against the lungs and causes them to become inactive and spasmodic contraction of the muscular fibers of the bronchial tubes follows. dogs with narrow chest cavities are predisposed to asthma, which condition is hereditary.
-symptoms.—this disease is attended with difficulty of breathing and a sensation of constriction of the chest, giving rise to wheezing, coughing and general nervousness. the animal becomes emaciated, the hair has a rough, faded appearance, although it will continue to eat well. constipation is generally associated with this disease.
-treatment.—place the animal in clean, comfortable surroundings, exercise carefully as violent exercise would tend to aggravate the disease. feed sparingly on nitrogenous food that is easily digested; also administer fowler’s solution of arsenic, four drops, twice daily. this can be placed on the food, as the dog will take it readily. if the bowels are constipated, give one to two tablespoonfuls of castor oil. good care and careful feeding play a very important part in the treatment of asthma.
-cause.—either the extreme of overfeeding and insufficient exercise or of overworking and insufficient supply of food. contraction of the neck of the womb or atrophy of the ovaries may produce barrenness. there are also other conditions that produce failure to breed, such as inflammation or growths in the womb or ovaries, leucorrhea, etc.
-symptoms.—if due to leucorrhea there will be a white, glary discharge from the vagina, which looks like curdled milk. it sometimes accumulates in the uterus and comes away in large quantities and there is a fetid smell. the animal generally becomes debilitated. in other cases, where there is a contraction of the womb or atrophy of the ovaries, no abnormal conditions will be noticed except that the animal fails to conceive when bred.
-cause.—sudden change of temperature, etc., choking, drenching, inhalations of irritating material as certain vapors, dust, etc., containing infectious material; accumulations of gas in the stomach containing particles of food may be regurgitated up into the esophagus frequently producing bronchitis.
-symptoms.—the chief symptoms consist of fever, hurried breathing with a sense of tightness about the chest, but not always acute pain. the cough is severe and dry at first, but later expectoration commences. the discharge that is raised from the bronchial tubes at first is a clear, thin mucus, but afterwards it becomes thicker, more abundant and purulent. it is difficult for persons not accustomed to examining the chest to always distinguish the disease from pneumonia, if the case is one of severity. in mild cases the symptoms need not usually occasion much alarm.
-treatment.—this disease may be prevented frequently by giving five to ten grains of dover’s powder as soon as it is discovered that the dog has taken a cold. it is best given in the evening then placing the dog in a warm bed; also give some warm stimulants to drink as tincture of capsicum, five to fifteen drops in a teaspoonful of luke warm water. in the morning, give one to two grains of calomel. if the above does not cut the disease short, then keep the dog confined to warm quarters and give inhalations of steam from hot water and turpentine. for the cough, which is usually troublesome, give the following mixture: potassium chlorate, one dram; liquor ammonia acetate, three ounces; vini ipecac, two drams; tincture of camph. co., one-half ounce; aqua chloroform, quantity sufficient to make four ounces. give one to two teaspoonfuls three or four times daily. also feed nutritious food that is easily digested and permit the animal to have access to pure cold water.
-burns and scalds
-there is considerable difference in the extent of injury from the burns produced by hot vapors, fluids, etc. in some cases, which are only superficial, there will be slight inflammation or redness produced, while in others the burn may be of severity and cause the death of the skin, followed by sloughing.
-treatment.—for burns and scalds of ordinary severity, i have derived excellent results from equal parts of raw linseed oil and lime water, as it removes the soreness and restores the part to its normal condition. in cases where the skin is sloughed off, in addition to the above recommended, dust with boracic acid, two ounces; corn starch, two ounces; tannic acid, one-half ounce; iodoform, two drams. mix and powder finely. place in sifter top can and apply two or three times daily to the moist, sloughing surface.
-canker of the ear
-cause.—filth and dust, especially in long-eared hunting dogs, as the inner surface of the ear becomes dirty and damp from wading streams and running through tall, wet grass. this condition is not serious at first, but it will irritate the dog so as to cause him to shake his head and scratch the ear with his paw. permit no filth to enter the ear as this will assist to develop a canker, which becomes very painful.
-symptoms.—the dog shakes the head violently and scratches the ears with the paw and even howls from the severe pain produced. the ears will be moist and have a poked-out appearance, due to the swelling. as the disease progresses, there will be a very disagreeable discharge from the ear that can be very easily detected some distance from the animal. ulceration eventually follows, affecting the internal structure of the ear, which condition is very difficult to treat.
-treatment.—remove the cause, if possible. then inject ten to fifteen drops of the following solution: mild chloride of mercury, fifteen grains; lime water, four ounces. shake well and apply to the ear as above mentioned two to three times a day. place a small piece of cotton in the ear after each injection. also place a hood over the ears or bandage them down with a cloth.
-cause.—the most common, perhaps, is exposure, especially after a dog has been used to warm closed quarters. dogs used for hunting purposes, when in a poor condition, with their system weakened, are often victims of catarrh.
-symptoms.—slight dullness. may not take food very well, hair standing to some extent, pulse not much affected, throat becomes sore. after the congestion passes off, exudation takes place, followed by discharge and it may be very profuse, but it need not alarm you. there is generally impaired secretion of urine, but breathing not much affected in most cases. we also have a discharge from the nose in other diseases, such as distemper, bronchitis, pneumonia, etc.
-cause.—due to an irritation of the nervous system. it is especially associated with debility, although it may follow constitutional diseases, such as distemper, etc. it is sometimes caused by a direct injury to the brain or spinal cord.
-symptoms.—a continuous twitching of the muscles which is noticeable even though the animal sleeps. the muscles of the head may be affected, or those of one or both fore limbs or of a hind limb. an animal affected with chorea will show an unsteady gait when walking and usually becomes very poor, although it will have a very good appetite at all times.
-treatment.—in severe cases the dog will not, as a rule, respond to treatment. in milder cases, if taken in hand early, improvement may be brought about, but seldom a complete recovery. many drugs have been tried in the treatment of chorea, but the superiority of one medicine over another has not been practically demonstrated. fowler’s solution of arsenic given in from two to eight drop doses has been tried in a large number of cases and in my experience it has given the best results. the drug should be given at first in small doses and gradually increased as tolerance is established. if the physiological action of the arsenic becomes manifested it should be discontinued for a few days. in severe cases, sedatives are indicated. of these, either bromide of potassi or sodii should be given in ten to twenty grain doses, prepared in gelatin capsules and administered three or four times a day. attention to the digestive organs and to the diet is necessary during the treatment. if the dog is constipated one or two tablespoonfuls of castor oil should be administered. feed nitrogenous food that is easily digested and provide comfortable sleeping quarters.
-cause.—worms, indigestible or decomposed irritating food, compaction or obstruction, calculus, strictures of the intestines or it may be due to liver complication and animals swallowing sharp bones, etc. several forms of poisoning may produce colic.
-symptoms.—the dog evinces severe abdominal pain, usually with constipation and often vomiting. as a rule, there is no fever or quickness of the pulse. the pain, which is spasmodic, is relieved on pressure as the dog prefers to lie on his abdomen in many instances. the dog frequently eats green grass as this causes him to vomit, which is nature’s method of relieving the digestive tract of irritating material.
-treatment.—in cases which are not very severe, the application of hot cloths to the abdomen frequently affords relief. ginger, ten to twenty grains, dissolved in a teaspoonful of water may relieve a mild attack, but when the above treatment fails the following is recommended: fluid extract of cannabis indica, one dram; chloroform, one dram; tincture of capsicum, ten drops; oil of peppermint, ten drops; morphine, three grains; water, quantity sufficient to make one fluid ounce. give ten to fifteen drops every hour, if necessary. a physic is indicated in the majority of cases of colic for the purpose of removing irritants or obstructions from the intestines. calomel, one to two grains, is a very efficient drug, while castor oil is given with great difficulty and it should be administered only where diarrhoea is a complication of colic. rectal injections of warm water is very beneficial in the treatment of intestinal obstructions. it is good practice to give a dog some vermifuge after an attack of colic, as worms frequently produce it.
-cause.—insufficient exercise, overfeeding or feeding decomposed or irritating foods. dogs are predisposed to indigestion as they frequently swallow a large quantity of indigestible food without masticating it. poor care and exposure to cold also frequently produce constipation.
-symptoms.—constipation is often a complication of other diseases, the feces is dry-looking and may be more or less covered with a mucus. a prominent symptom is straining, attempts to defecate, the appetite is greatly impaired, the dog acts dull and stands with the head down or goes off to some quiet place and lies down. protrusion of the rectum or piles may occur, especially if the animal has eaten freely of dry, indigestible food. colicky pains are sometimes manifested. constipation occurring from causes other than a complication of diseases seldom takes on a serious form.
-the above treatment must be persisted in until the constipated condition is relieved.
-diarrhoea and dysentery
-cause.—among the common causes of diarrhoea and dysentery can be mentioned irritating foods, sudden change in feed, decomposed matter, irritation from intestinal worms, imperfect mastication of food and its imperfect preparation for digestion, eating more food than the digestive organs can well digest, debilitated condition and irritation from indigestible food. the immediate cause is perhaps the irritated condition of the mucous membranes lining the intestines and a profuse secretion from the intestinal glands, nature’s own method of removing poisonous or infectious matter from the digestive canal.
-symptoms.—undue amount of liquid feces, the dog weakly and sickly, the coat staring and perhaps a sort of curdled fluid passes with the feces. if the fecal matter is tinged with blood, then it is called dysentery, and this is more serious than common diarrhoea. these conditions are generally associated with other diseases and should be examined very carefully for complications.
-treatment.—treatment consists of keeping the dog as quiet as possible, feed sparingly on clean, easily digested food, as raw eggs, etc. it may be necessary to give a dose of physic, as castor oil in two to four ounce doses which is an excellent remedy for expelling irritants from the bowels without griping. after the cause or irritant from within the intestines is removed administer protan, one-half ounce; gum catechu, one-half ounce; zinc sulphocarbolates, two grains. make into sixteen capsules and give one capsule every four hours. this dose is prepared for a dog weighing forty pounds. to larger dogs or puppies give the same medicine in doses proportionate to their weight.
-cause.—is due to a specific bacteria that is developed spontaneously, although i am of the opinion that insanitary surroundings, as dark, damp, ill-ventilated quarters play a very active part in its causation as well as food that is decomposed, contaminated or deficient in nitrogenous matter, or any condition that has a tendency to weaken the dog’s constitution.
-symptoms.—the first symptom revealed is a bad cold. the dog chills, the eyes become inflamed and a thin watery discharge oozes from them as well as from the nostrils, and, as the disease progresses, this thin watery discharge takes on a pus-like character, becomes thick, yellow, tinged with blood, sticky and very offensive in smell. the dog vomits and has a dry, husky cough, the temperature rises from two to four degrees above normal, the pulse considerably weakened, breathing hurried and labored and the dog walks around in a staggering stupor and may even go into convulsions. there is also a twitching of the muscles in many cases, as in chorea, and this disease generally follows distemper. in other cases, the dog will lie flat on the side, breathe with great difficulty, in a half-unconscious manner. this is a very unfavorable symptom, as lung complications have developed. constipation or diarrhoea and even dysentery that is foul in odor may accompany this disease. the dog grows very poor, weak, the legs, nose and ears grow cold and clammy, and death follows. when the above described symptoms are present, the dog generally dies in from two to four days. if he lives through this stage, chances are that he will develop chorea and be of practically no value.
-treatment.—as this disease runs its course in about eighteen days, good sanitary surroundings are very beneficial. pure, fresh air, light, clean and comfortable place to lie upon are also necessary. feed albuminous food, as raw eggs, milk, etc. beef broth is very beneficial in many cases; also permit the dog to have free access to pure water at all times.
-if vomiting accompanies the disease, the following prescription should be administered: diluted prussic acid, nine drops; morphine hydrochlorate, ten grains; bismuth nitrate, one dram; water, quantity sufficient to make three ounces. give one tablespoonful not oftener than six hours. this should be given a dog weighing forty pounds. smaller or larger dogs should receive the same medicine in doses proportionate to their weight. when constipation is present, give two to four ounces of castor oil. the general medical treatment for dog distemper consists of the following: quinine sulphate, two drams; potassi nitrate, three drams; zinc sulphocarbolates, two drams. mix well and make into twenty-four capsules and give one capsule every two or three hours. this dose should be proportionately increased in dogs weighing over forty pounds, or decreased for dogs weighing less than forty pounds. of course a difference of five pounds should not be considered. bathe the nose and eyes several times daily in a five per cent solution of boracic acid. when complications, as chorea or pneumonia develop, use the treatments as described under their respective headings.
-cause.—derangements of the digestive canal, dogs recovering from distemper, or a bitch after whelping, is predisposed to eczema. dogs exposed to a sudden chilling of the surface of the body, when heated, frequently develop surfeit. sometimes dogs confined to poorly ventilated, damp kennels develop eczema, or surfeit. in fact, any condition that tends to cause a sluggishness of the circulation produces impure blood, and eruptions of the skin naturally follow as a result.
-symptoms.—this disease generally affects the neck, back, inside the thighs, arms and the abdomen. the skin becomes red, painful to the touch, small pimples form and serum oozes from them. this gradually spreads and the skin becomes raw and ulcerated. the dog will continue to scratch and bite himself violently, producing further irritation, if not properly treated.
-treatment.—internal treatment is just as essential as applications to the skin. digestive and blood disorders must be eradicated before the outer surface of the body will yield to a treatment. internally, give fowler’s solution of arsenic, two to eight drops, three times daily in the food. the drug should be given at first in small doses and gradually increased as tolerance is established. if the bowels are sluggish, give one to three grains of calomel. this will relieve any irritant in the alimentary canal. feed food that is easily digested, as vegetables, cod liver oil, etc. beef broth is beneficial, but a heavy meat diet should be discontinued. to the irritated surface of the skin, the following is soothing as well as healing: zinc oxide, one ounce; pisis liquid, one ounce; mercurial ointment, one ounce. mix and apply sparingly once a day. poisons are readily absorbed through the skin, therefore, be very careful when using powerful antiseptics over a large surface of the body.
-cause.—direct or indirect injuries, as a blow from a whip, dust, sand or chaff in the eye, or may be due to extreme cold, or heat, or foul air.
-symptoms.—an inflammation of the superficial structures of the eye, with a partial or complete closure, and a watery discharge due to the overstimulation of the lachrymal glands, the fluid being secreted so abundantly that it is impossible for the tear duct to carry it away, hence there will be a continuous flow of tears running down the side of the dog’s face. the formation of a film or a scum over the eyes need not cause alarm if the eyeball shows no sign of being lacerated or punctured.
-treatment.—examine the eye carefully and remove any foreign body with a clean cloth or feather, and use a solution made from distilled water containing three per cent boric acid, and apply ten or twelve drops to the eye by the use of an ordinary eye-dropper. keep the animal in a clean, dark room, as it hastens recovery and avoids other serious eye complications.
-cause.—usually arises from excessive nervous irritation, induced by disturbances of the stomach and bowels from the presence of worms, indigestible food, etc., or it may arise occasionally from a hereditary predisposition, sexual excess, urine irritation, or from other causes inducing extreme nervousness, irritability, etc. dogs affected with this disease are usually troubled with dyspepsia and constipation.
-symptoms.—the leading symptoms of the disease are sudden loss of consciousness, with spasms of muscles, followed by exhaustion and drowsiness. after a certain length of time has passed, the attack returns. about five or ten per cent of the cases give some warning for a short time before the fits come on, but in most cases the fit comes on suddenly, the dog whines, and at once falls to the ground senseless with convulsions. the eyes are partly open, the eyeballs rolling, and a gnawing of the teeth, foaming at the mouth; the tongue is usually extended out, and many times badly bitten. the nose is usually cold and clammy and breathing laborious. the fit usually lasts from a few minutes to one-half hour, but in some cases continues for longer time.
-treatment.—the dog should be placed on a blanket to prevent inhalations of dust, etc., remove the collar from around the neck, and apply cold applications of ice to the head. the remedy most to be relied upon is bromide of potassium, and should be given to a dog weighing forty pounds in doses of twenty grains three times a day. the dose to larger or smaller dogs should be given in proportion to their weight. if necessary, the dose may be increased one-third for a short time. also give castor oil, one to two ounces. to puppies give in proportion to their weight. pay strict attention to the organs of digestion, and see that the nourishment taken is sufficient to nourish the body well, but be careful not to have an over-amount at one time. also regulate the feed so as to always have five or six hours elapse between feeds. it is advisable to give a vermifuge in all cases of fits, as worms are frequently producers of the malady.
-cause.—there are several different varieties of fractures, but for convenience sake i will divide them into four varieties:
-1. simple fracture is one in which a bone is broken and the muscles and skin are not severely injured.
-2. compound fracture is one in which the sharp ends of the broken bone penetrate and perhaps pass through the skin. this is considered a rather severe fracture.
-3. comminuted fracture is one in which a broken bone is badly shattered.
-4. complicated fracture is one in which important articular joints and large arteries are injured.
-some people imagine that the bones of the dog will not unite as quickly as the bones of man, but i am of the opinion that they will unite quicker if the bones are properly placed and the animal kept quiet. i will admit that fractures are somewhat troublesome to treat in some cases, although i have seen dogs with severe fractures make good recoveries without any assistance other than that of nature. in treating a fracture where the bones penetrate the skin, cut the hair from around the surface and wash with a five per cent solution of carbolic acid. place the broken bones in position, wrap the surface with a thin layer of cotton and retain the bones in position with splints and bandages. keep the animal as quiet as possible and feed on soft laxative good. if bowels become constipated, give two to four ounces of castor oil. if severe swelling follows in a few days, and the dog shows signs of great pain, remove the bandage and wash clean with an antiseptic. then place fresh cotton around the part and bandage the same as before.
-cause.—generally associated with a debilitated condition of a heavy pregnant bitch that is poorly fed, and exposed to various temperatures. the offspring of such a bitch are very often victims of goiter. when the puppies are born the mother’s milk lacks sufficient nitrogenous properties; they are consequently deprived of mineral matter and develop goiter. some writers hold that this is hereditary, because one or more puppies become affected at the same time. i believe that it is due to debility, starvation, and what produces it in one dog will produce it in another. although full-grown dogs are often victims of goiters, it is due to some debilitated condition drawing on their systems. even though the dog looks well, and appears to be in good condition, his food may be deficient in mineral properties.
-symptoms.—enlargement of the thyroid bodies of the ductless gland situated on the under surface of the neck. it may vary from the size of a pigeon’s egg to the size of a man’s two fists. it is very easily detected, and does not often interfere with the animal’s breathing unless it becomes abnormally large and causes pressure on the windpipe, jugular vein and esophagus. a dog affected with goiter does not thrive, his hair looks faded, dusty and rough.
-treatment.—administer adrenolin twice daily in five to ten grain doses half an hour before feeding, and two to five grains of potassium iodide two times daily shortly after feeding. the potassium iodide should be discontinued when the skin scales, or when an abnormal watery discharge from the eyes is present. to the enlargement apply tincture of iodine once a day with a camelhair brush. if the dog has long hair, clip it off from over the enlargement. feed the dog on nitrogenous foods, as raw eggs, cod liver oil, beef broth, and also supply him with soft bones to chew. where the bowels are constipated, give one to two ounces of castor oil. the above medicines prescribed are prescribed for dogs weighing forty pounds, and should be increased when given to larger, or decreased when given to smaller dogs proportionately to their weight. see that the dog has clean, light and well ventilated quarters to sleep in.
-cause.—intestinal worms, indigestible and unnutritious food, foreign bodies in the stomach, eating too large a quantity or, in many cases, eating too fast, torpidity of the liver, derangements of the teeth, as the accumulations of tartar cause the gums to become soft and sore, resulting in the dog not taking sufficient time to chew food properly; excessive or inexcessive exercise, or improper attention to the hygienic surroundings often derange the digestive system.
-symptoms.—the appetite is depraved, the dog eats grass freely, and vomits often; colicky pains, persistent constipation and bloating, causing the dog serious inconvenience. he is irritable, dull and evidently out of sorts; his coat looks faded and feels rough; the temperature and pulse are not much affected; as a rule the breath is foul, the tongue covered with a whitish fur, loss of flesh occurs, and paleness of the skin.
-treatment.—good hygiene, careful feeding of nitrogenous foods and regular exercise plays a very important part in the treatment of indigestion. first, endeavor to clean out the alimentary canal by the careful use of physics, as calomel in one to three grain doses. feed raw eggs, sweet milk, boiled vegetables, fresh raw beef finely chopped. also give one tablespoonful of cod liver oil two or three times a day. i have derived good results in the treatment of indigestion by using the following gastric tonic: pepsin, two ounces; syrup of orange, two ounces; tincture of columbia, five drams; tincture nux vomica, one dram; tincture gentian, one dram; water, quantity sufficient to make six ounces. mix and give one or two teaspoonfuls three times daily before feeding. in cases where there is great difficulty in the dog passing the feces, give rectal injections of soap and warm water.
-cause.—a sluggishness of the liver, or by the bile duct becoming obstructed by a calculi (gall stone). either condition suppresses the flow of bile into the bowels, hence the bile is taken up by the blood and causes the visible mucous membranes of the eyes and mouth to become yellowish in color. the predisposing causes are improper and overfeeding, combined with lack of exercise in house dogs, or excessive exercise in hunting dogs, exposure to damp, ill-ventilated sleeping quarters, producing debility, and liver complications are likely to follow.
-symptoms.—appetite varied, thirst great, vomiting occasionally, the dog shows signs of dullness and sleepiness. then there may be alternate diarrhoea and constipation, the tongue coated and foul in smell, the eyes, mouth, inside of the ears, and the skin inside the thighs and fore legs become very yellow and dry, temperature and pulse not much affected, the dog passes small quantities of dark amber colored urine frequently, due to the bile it contains. in severe cases, the dog loses strength and flesh readily and soon becomes a mere skeleton. jaundice is often a complication of other diseases, as distemper, indigestion, colic, constipation, etc.
-cause.—frequently occurs when dogs are accustomed to warm, comfortable quarters, then exposed to cold, drafty kennels during cold weather. in fact, any sudden chilling of the body is a common cause of lung disorders. giving fat dogs too much exercise when they are not accustomed to it is frequently the cause of engorgement and inflammation of the soft spongy tissue of the lungs. excessive exercise or running during the hot summer months is apt to cause congestion of the lung tissue as well as heat stroke. washing or dipping dogs during cold weather may chill the outer surface of the body and result in congestion of the lungs.
-treatment.—preventive treatment in lung fever must not be overlooked. briefly, it consists in avoiding such conditions as may predispose the dog to the disease, or act in any way as an exciting cause. careful nursing is a very important part of the treatment. the dog should be given a clean, comfortable, well ventilated kennel, and kept as quiet as possible. to keep the bowels from becoming constipated, give one-half to one ounce of castor oil daily. feed raw eggs, pure fresh milk, beef broth, etc. in severe cold weather, the dog must not be permitted to chill or take more cold. cover him with a blanket, or use artificial heat. as one attack predisposes a dog to the second, he should be protected from severe cold, or the other extreme, heat, for a few weeks after making a complete recovery. it is advisable to apply strong stimulating liniments over the lungs, as aqua ammonia fort., one ounce; oil of turpentine, one ounce; sweet oil, two ounces. shake well and apply once daily.
-i have found the following prescription very beneficial in the treatment of lung fever, as it regulates the heart action, lowers the temperature and stimulates the body in general: tincture digitalis, one dram; tincture nux vomica, one dram; nitrous ether, two drams; liq. ammonia acet., four drams; water, quantity sufficient to make four ounces. give one teaspoonful every two or three hours.
-all drugs prescribed in the above treatment are based on a dog weighing forty pounds. larger or smaller dogs should receive the same medicine but in doses proportionate to their weight.
-cause.—inflammation of the udder commonly occurs in heavy milkers, and is caused by all the milk not being removed. sometimes it occurs as the result of the milk accumulating in the udder when the bitch has lost part of her litter. other causes are obstructed teats, injuries to the glandular tissues, and infection from germs. congestion and inflammation of the udder frequently follow difficult birth.
-cause.—this skin eruption is produced by the sarcoptes scabi. there are two other forms of parasites that produce mange, but they are so rarely found that we need not mention them. insanitary conditions favor their production. a dog in a poor condition, with a dirty skin, etc., is more liable to be attacked than dogs in good condition and with clean skins. it may be communicated in various ways, through kennels, brushes, collars, etc.
-symptoms.—are generally very plain. it usually attacks the back, about the root of the tail, and extends to the head and neck, spreading quickly. the scabs do not pile up as they do on other large animals, because the dogs, on account of the intense itching, continually rub and scratch themselves so that only thin scabs can form. the affected skin becomes denude of hair, the dog becomes thin, emaciated, etc. the parasites can be seen with an ordinary magnifying glass, or if the small scabs be scraped off and placed on a dark paper in the warm sun, you can readily see small, white objects moving about. eczema usually attacks the belly, etc., while true sarcoptic mange attacks the back and then spreads.
-treatment.—feed soft, laxative food and give one to two ounces of castor oil; also provide clean, dry sleeping quarters. i have found the following remedy very successful in the treatment of mange: oil of tar, one-half ounce; vinice turpentine, two ounces; sublime sulphur, one pound; crude petrolatum, one quart. apply once a day. a few applications are generally sufficient to effect a cure. great care should be exercised, as this disease is very contagious, and communicated to other dogs.
-cause.—the common cause, perhaps, is a sudden chilling of the body; cold, damp, chilly weather and damp, drafty kennels are favorable conditions to cause chilling of the body and the rheumatic form of pleurisy. germs may also produce it. it is commonly met with in specific diseases, as distemper, etc.
-symptoms.—chilling and high temperature, two to four degrees above normal, the dog generally refuses to eat, and acts dull. pain is a noticeable sign, and when the sides of the chest are pressed with the hand the dog will flinch; this is very noticeable during the early stage of the inflammation, and may cause a dog to act restless. when breathing the ribs are always held rigid. the breathing movements are mostly in the muscles of the flanks, the dog getting his breath in short jerks. later, when fluids collect in the chest cavity, the breathing is more labored, and all of the abdominal muscles are used. on absorption of this fluid, the movements of the lungs may again become jerky in case the inflammation becomes chronic. the character of the pulse beats varies, and in some cases is very weak. in the early stage of the disease, friction sounds, caused by the dry inflamed membranes rubbing against each other, are detected on placing the ear against the chest walls. later, the collection of fluids around the lungs may deaden all lung sounds, especially towards the lower part of the chest. in a mild case of pleurisy, the inflammation is localized to just part of the lungs, or pleura. a lameness in both front limbs and stiffness in moving about are the most noticeable signs in this form of disease. in chronic pleurisy a dog is usually very weak and depressed. he is seen frequently lying on his side, and shows great difficulty in walking. the course of acute pleurisy is from six to eighteen days; the chronic form may run a course of two or three months, or longer. this form is unsatisfactorily treated, and the dog eventually dies.
-treatment.—place the dog in clean, warm, comfortable surroundings; fresh air is very beneficial, but omit any drafts. internally, administer the following: quinine sulphate, two drams; potassium iodide, two drams; carbonate of ammonia, one dram; potassium nitrate, four drams. mix and make into thirty-two capsules. give one capsule every three or four hours. this dose is based on a dog weighing forty pounds; to smaller or larger dogs give the same medicine, but in doses proportionate to their weight. feed the dog raw eggs, pure fresh milk, cooked vegetables, finely chopped beef or beef broth, and in some cases i believe it is very beneficial to give the dog small doses of brandy. over the lungs apply the following liniment: aqua ammonia fort., one ounce; oil of turpentine, one ounce; sweet oil, two ounces. shake well and apply like a shampoo once daily.
-cause.—overfeeding with too stimulating food, deficiency in exercise, constipation, causing straining; consequently, piles frequently follows. this condition sometimes occurs in weak, debilitated dogs, due to a relaxed condition of the intestines.
-symptoms.—in some cases only a portion of the rectal mucous membrane protrudes outside of the anus. in the more severe cases red, bleeding tumors will be present. after being exposed for a time, it becomes enormously swollen and dark in color, and finally dries and cracks on its surface. the protruded part itches intensely, and the dog rubs and injures the intestine trying to relieve the irritation. usually the appetite falls off, and the dog is restless if not relieved.
-treatment.—when the dog is constipated, as is usually the case it should be given a laxative, such as one to three ounces of castor oil, and fed on food that is loosening to the bowels. the protruded rectal mucous membrane should be washed with warm water containing five per cent carbolic acid until clean; then replace. if badly swollen and inflamed, astringent wash should be used, made from water and powdered alum five per cent. the protrusion can be returned by gentle pressure of the fingers. in case the protruded rectum shows signs of sloughing, it should be cut off and the cut edges of the rectum stitched to the edges of the anus.
-cause.—rabies is produced by a specific micro-organism that is known to exist in the brain, spinal cord and the saliva of affected animals. this disease is communicated from one animal to another by inoculation, usually by the bite of a rabied dog, or the saliva entering a wound or abrasion. wild animals, as well as domesticated, no doubt spread the disease by biting, but it is a fact that dogs are inclined to bite, and have a good opportunity to attack people, and hence are considered the principal factor in the spread of the disease.
-dumb rabies.—this form of rabies is accompanied by depression and a tendency to lick objects. paralysis of the muscles that close the mouth causes the jaw to drop or hang down. the dog is unable to bite and, owing to the relaxed conditions of the mouth, he cannot close it. the tongue hangs out, and stringy saliva escapes. the dog may attempt to bite even though the muscles that close the mouth are paralyzed. the duration of the disease is short; paralysis develops early in the attack, and death usually occurs in from two to four days.
-treatment.—prevention. all vagrant dogs should be exterminated, and all dogs that appear in public highways, streets or public places should be muzzled. this precaution has practically eradicated the disease in europe. medical treatment is useless after the first appearance of the symptoms. however, a wound infected by rabies should be immediately cauterized, or even completely cut away, care being taken to cut entirely around the wound in the healthy flesh. for cauterizing the wound, use nitric acid or a hot iron. sometimes a ten per cent solution of zinc chloride is used, and perhaps it is the most successful. to afford absolute protection, this should be done within a few minutes after being bitten. however, treatment even as late as a few hours has been known to suppress the development of the disease. pasteur has originated a virus which is used with great success, and any person bitten by a dog suspected of rabies should be submitted to pasteur’s treatment.
-cause.—this disease is generally attributed to cold, damp, filthy, ill-ventilated kennels, and exposure, but it may occur in dogs that are well cared for. overfeeding is also liable to produce it. the most frequent forms of rheumatism in dogs are lumbago, chest founder, or kennel lameness.
-symptoms.—the symptoms are quite marked. these are severe loss of appetite, lameness and general lack of condition. sometimes large swellings appear in the region of the hock, knee, and joints of the feet. the muscles of the back are held stiff and arched, the muscles are tender and sensitive when pressed, and the dog may be unable to move his hind parts. other cases may show a serious train of symptoms. a bitch that has raised a litter of pups, when in poor flesh, is often affected with this disease. a lameness of one or more of the limbs that shows a tendency to shift about is the only sign noticed in the mild form of the disease. stiffness of the joints is noticed, especially if the quarters are affected, and the dog lies around a good share of the time and refuses to go far for its food. in acute rheumatism, the pain in the affected muscles and joints is intense, and when these parts are handled, or the joints moved, the dog will whine from the pain produced. when lying down, asleep, sudden contractions of the muscles may be noticed. this is due to the pain resulting from the relaxing of the muscles. this disease may pursue a long course; the joints become greatly enlarged, and the dog grows very thin and weak. in such cases, a complete recovery seldom follows.
-treatment.—prevention is very important, such as providing dry, comfortable quarters, and the avoidance of exposure. unless this is practiced, but little can be obtained from medical treatment. a soft laxative diet is also indicated: salicylate soda, three drams; quinine sulphate, one dram. make into twenty capsules and give one capsule every three or four hours. when the bowels are constipated, give two or three ounces of castor oil. the above doses are based on a dog weighing forty pounds. smaller or larger dogs should receive the same medicine but proportionately to their weight. it is advisable, in cases where the limbs are badly swollen, to apply liniments, and i would recommend the following: aqua ammonia fort., two ounces; oil of turpentine, two ounces; sweet oil, four ounces. shake and rub on the affected parts once or twice daily.
-cause.—perhaps the most common cause of this disease is a faulty diet, as food that is deficient in inorganic matter. unless supplemented by milk or other foods containing lime salt, the bones are not supplied with the necessary elements; lack of exercise, ill-ventilated, filthy kennels, etc., help in causing the disease. a tendency towards rickets in pups is no doubt hereditary.
-symptoms.—the dog is usually in good condition at the beginning of the disease. large, well grown pups may suddenly develop symptoms of paralysis of the hind parts. the weakened condition of the thigh bone, not being able to support the dog’s weight, fractures. at other times there is a weakness and bending of bones in the limbs, breaking down of the feet, bending or arching of the back, straddling gait, deformed or disfigured condition of the face or nose.
-treatment.—rickets can be prevented by careful feeding on suitable foods and keeping the dog clean in well ventilated kennels, where he can get plenty of exercise. whenever a litter of several pups show symptoms of the disease, the character of the food should be looked into, and if faulty corrected by adding to it medicines or food containing required elements. it is hardly practical to use medical treatment other than bitter tonics. unless the disease is in an advanced stage, it can usually be controlled by careful feeding of a ration rich in inorganic substances, as bone dust, lime water, and crushed egg shells, with a view of supplying calcareous matter to the system. this can be fed to the bitch nursing the pups or, if the pups are weaned, feed them carefully.
-cause.—dogs may become infected with ringworm by coming in contact with infected dogs, or by being shipped in crates or boxes in which infected dogs have recently been transported, or by using blankets, brushes, collars, etc., which have been recently used by infected dogs.
-symptoms.—small red spots first appear on the skin, gradually enlarging, and are covered with a thin, grayish scale, under which is found a serum. the hair falls out as a result of the infection of the skin by the parasite. the outside of the affected patches is red, while the inner portion takes on a grayish-white color, giving it a ring appearance. this condition is followed by severe itching; the dog rubs and scratches severely.
-treatment.—the most effective drug is tincture of iodine, applied once daily with a brush. great care must be exercised, as this disease may be transmitted to man, and to all domestic animals. sanitary surroundings and good, clean food, that is easily digested, assists materially in eradicating the parasites.
-this worm is commonly seen infesting the intestines of puppies. the body is generally white in color and slightly curved at the head. this worm has a stiff, wiry appearance, and measures from one to three and one-half inches in length.
-symptoms.—puppies are more susceptible to these worms, although we find them in aged dogs. about fifty per cent of the dogs are infested with these worms. they cause irritation of the intestines, irregularity of digestion, diarrhoea, colic, nervousness, constipation, irregular appetite and a rough, dry, unthrifty appearance of the hair and skin, and the dog becomes emaciated. after this worm migrates into the stomach, it causes nausea and vomiting, occasionally the bowels are filled with large masses of these worms, and their passage aids in determining the cause of the dog’s debility.
-treatment.—withhold all food from eighteen to twenty-four hours and administer thymol, one grain; santonin, three grains; calomel, two grains. mix and place in capsule and give in one dose to a dog weighing fifty pounds. smaller or larger dogs should receive the same prescription, but in doses proportionate to their weight.
-cause.—sore throat is frequently complicated by a cold. sometimes it is produced by inhaling irritating gases, or administering irritating medicine. injuries from sharp pointed sticks, eating sharp bones, etc.
-symptoms.—it is more or less severe. the eyes are red and watery, and the dog is dull and lies around most of the time. the appetite is poor and, because of the pain and difficulty in swallowing, the dog may refuse food. the pain in the throat is sometimes severe, and causes the dog to move about in a restless manner. the character of the cough depends on the part inflamed. when the larynx (opening of the windpipe) is involved, the cough is usually hoarse and the breathing noisy and labored, as the opening is more or less closed by the inflammation. at other times it is dry and, when the dog moves about, or the parts are irritated by dust, cold air, etc., coughing spells usually follow. the throat may be swollen so as to be noticeable from the outside. simple sore throat is not a serious affection, and lasts but a short time. the symptoms may be so mild as to escape observation; however, if the conditions are favorable, it may re-occur and assume a severe form or become chronic.
-treatment.—place the dog in clean, warm, well ventilated quarters and feed soft food that is easily digested, as hot milk, boiled rice, etc., and administer the following: potassium chlorate, one dram; liq. ammonia acet., three ounces; vini ipecac, two drams; tincture camph. co., one-half ounce; aqua chloroform, quantity sufficient to make six ounces. give one teaspoonful every four hours. this dose is based on a dog weighing forty pounds. to smaller or larger dogs give doses in proportion to their weight. when the throat becomes badly swollen, apply a liniment made from equal parts of aqua ammonia fort., turpentine and sweet oil. apply over the throat and rub in briskly.
-symptoms.—tapeworms in dogs are numerous. it must be borne in mind that an animal is not free from them until the tapeworm’s head, apparently the most insignificant part, has passed from the intestines. so long as the head remains attached to the wall of the bowels by its hooklets it will develop fresh eggs, producing segments which are passed and prove the means of scattering the parasites. a dog infected with tapeworm, as a rule, is liable to reflex paralysis, coughing and convulsions from the irritation caused by its presence in the bowels, depraved appetite, unthriftiness, a rough, unhealthy condition of the skin, loss of hair, anemia, irregularity of the bowels, and the feces offensive and slimy. there is generally a certain amount of irritation of the anus, which renders the dog fond of licking those parts or dragging them along on the ground. tapeworms frequently cause vomiting, and i have seen portions of tapeworms expelled in this way. in other cases there may be diarrhoea and obstinate indigestion may be traced to the presence of tapeworms.
-cause.—this is a symptom which shows itself in almost any disease to which the dog is subject, so extensive are the reflex influences which follow disease in a dog. this process of vomiting can be brought about in the dog by means of many medicines, and the good effect of emetics is appreciable even to the most casual observer. this class of medicines has been much abused by those caring for sick dogs, emetics being given for any and every disease. they sometimes free the stomach of irritants and poisons which cause disease and poisoning, but their use requires care and judgment.
-symptoms.—the dog shows very marked symptoms of pain, but usually the first signs exhibited are those of a sense of discomfort. the dog moans in his sleep, wakes suddenly, curls himself up and goes to sleep again. this continues until at last the vomiting is too urgent to allow rest. the dog utters sharp, shrill, continuous cries, tries all sorts of positions to get itself at ease, and walks about with the back arched. there may be distention of the abdomen, due to the gases generated in the bowels from the fermentation of their contents. colicky symptoms frequently accompany vomiting, due to the spasmodic contractions of the stomach relieving itself of some irritant.
-a wound is a disruption of the soft parts of the body due to external violence. wounds are of various kinds, as incised, lacerated, punctured, gunshot and poisonous.
-treatment.—if a wound is extensive, and bleeding is present, first arrest it, and the most satisfactory method is as follows: tie the artery from which the blood is escaping, or twist with forceps, cauterize with hot iron, compress by bandaging tightly and apply tincture of chloride of iron. this coagulates the blood, and is very effective. one important factor in treating wounds is to attend to the drainage, as decomposed matter absorbed into the blood produces blood poisoning. dogs lick wounds and keep them clean, therefore it is hardly necessary to apply medicine.
-sewing wounds.—i cannot recommend sewing except in cases of incised or clean-cut wounds. after clipping the hair from around the incision, and washing it thoroughly with a one in one-thousandth solution of bichloride, stitch with cat-gut or absorbent silk suture. in case of deep, punctured or gunshot wounds, with a syringe wash out the wounds, using a one in one-thousandth bichloride solution. for open wounds, use dusting powders, as iodoform, boracic acid, etc.
-to keep flies from annoying a wounded dog, apply the following prescription: oil of origanum, one ounce; oil of turpentine, one ounce; sweet oil, one ounce. apply to and around the wound with a feather. this is also a good healing liniment as well as a fly repellent.
-his eye had been attracted all through the exercises by a tall girl in a white dress with a blue sash--a slim girl with hazel eyes and light-brown hair who in the distance had the profile of a saint cecilia--a saint cecilia with a somewhat broad, honest mouth and good firm teeth.
-"that's an attractive girl," he told his cousin.
-the little cherubic minister, who worried in secret about his cousin's soul, was delighted. he dreamed often of having his cousin matthew reformed by the influence of some sweet woman. a dominican religious brought her forward.
-"miss holt, miss agnes holt." kerrigan was introduced to her. he talked banalities to her for a half-hour, when she shyly took her leave of him, blushing furiously under the glances of her schoolmates. when he was alone kerrigan smiled queerly, with a distant look in his eyes.
-at forty-five there comes always to a man of kerrigan's type, with the first gray hairs, the fear of age. there will be an inevitable day when he will no longer attract women, and when, in the bars and about the clubs, he will be referred to as an old man of another generation, and there arises in his mind the fear of loneliness in the fifties and the sixties, with death hurrying breathlessly toward him day by day. the only thing to do then is to begin anew with a young wife, far away from the swirl of the city.
-"it's the only life," they say pathetically; "a wife and kiddies, a little bit of land somewhere, away from all this stuff." and they wave their hands at the gleaming glasses and the pictures on the bar-room walls. "there's nothing to it," they aver; and they drink up and have another one.
-he met the religious as he was going away.
-"that miss holt," he said, "is a very attractive girl." it was the only adjective he knew to fit her.
-"yes," the nun agreed. "we all like her. she 's been with us nearly all her life. her father died when she was young. he was an inventor; leonard holt was his name."
-"the name is familiar." kerrigan was shocked, but his self-restraint was superb. "died after some business depression, if i remember aright?"
-"he was murdered!" the little religious's eyes flashed magnificently. "murdered! in the way of business!"
-kerrigan had heard that word used of holt's end more than once. but the fourteen years had been full ones, and the matter had not troubled him much--things like that happened so often. and, besides, it was not true. a murder predicates a murderer, and he was no murderer. it was all a business arrangement. and the man could n't stand the gaff. that was all!
-"all rotten foolishness!" he swore. but somehow, this last time, perhaps on account of the dramatic meeting with the daughter, it would not go out of his head.
-and no more would go out of his head the thought and picture of agnes holt in her white dress and blue sash, with her saint cecilia profile. she haunted him night and day. at that period, peculiar in a man as the late thirties are in women, he fell in love, or in what for him would pass for love. in all his selfish business career he had known intimately no woman like her, and her aloof, unrifled virginity struck him like a blinding flash of light.
-"after all," he said, in the manner of his kind, "there is nothing on god's earth like a sweet, pure woman!"
-and for days he thought about her and about love, not as a young man might, in a burning equation with factors of living flame, but in the smoldering symbols of maturity, which are so long in the consuming and so hard to quench. he would go away from broadway--"quit the whole condemned shooting-match," as he weirdly termed it--and take a place in westchester or long island, a good, comfortable house with grounds to it. they would be glad to have him in such a community. he would be one of the village trustees; run for president. and he would fashion a new life there with a young and beautiful bride, whom everybody would envy him. there would be children, too. undoubtedly there would be children.
-"she 'll be glad to get away from the convent," he thought shrewdly. and, after all, perhaps he had treated holt a bit shabbily. he would make up for it in the way he would treat his daughter. she should wear diamonds.
-"i 'm thinking of marrying and settling down, father john," he told the little clergyman one day.
-"i 'm glad to hear of it, cousin matthew," he said, rubbing his plump little hands, his cherub's face beaming benignantly. "i 'm delighted. i am so!" he shook his finger waggishly. "and i think i know the young lady, too."
-"it's the little holt girl we met at the convent that day."
-"you must come over and meet her again," father john planned. "i 'll talk to the mother superior."
-"yes," or "no," or "thank you," was nearly the limit of her conversation, and she had difficulty in not adding "sir." at times she would accompany him, with father john, to a matinée in new york to see a carefully chosen family production, or to have tea at the less-worldly restaurants. occasionally she would burst out with a naïve exclamation.
-"i once rode in a fifth avenue bus with sister mary joseph," was the sort of thing she would vouchsafe.
-"if you were n't to marry her," father john said, "she would enter the convent as a lay sister."
-more and more as he met her kerrigan's mind was taken up by the idea of her father. the contour of her face; a certain look of her eye; a light in her hair when the sun shone on it, would recall the inventor, and immediately within him would rise a measure of uneasiness which he could not get rid of. he once asked her if she remembered him.
-"he died when i was young, very young," she said. "an accident in a ferry-boat. i have spent all my life with the sisters."
-as he went to and from the convent, he often met the religious who had spoken of holt's death as murder. and as often as he met her, so often would his mind revert to that sinister word, and he would find himself arguing about it internally, as though he were defending himself in a court of law. he would try to shake off the mood.
-"of all the blamed foolishness!" he would tell himself angrily.
-but the idea would persist, and, growing morbid about it, he found himself reading carefully the charges of judges in cases of homicide. he went to the public library and conned upon the subject in encyclopedias. he read of the magnificent fair play in trial by jury.
-"i guess that settles it," he told himself. "there 's nothing to it."
-he went on, however, and, reading farther, he came on the ancient custom of trial by ordeal of justice--of the test of a man's innocence by touching the dead body of a murdered man. if the person suspected were guilty, blood would exude from the corpse. a couplet of shakespeare's was quoted--from the play of "richard iii":
-o, gentlemen, see, see! dead henry's wounds open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
-"there 's no sense to that!" he muttered angrily, and little beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. even the innocent would waver under such a test. trial by jury--that was the sensible way.
-and then, one day, in a bleak sitting-room in the convent, he proposed to agnes holt.
-"agnes--" he cleared his throat, and he was honestly husky--"i suppose you have understood that my intentions toward you had a wedding in view. i can make you very happy."
-"i must talk to the mother superior," she said, blushing furiously, her voice low.
-he took her hand, and, opening a case, put a ring on her finger.
-"i have talked to the mother superior, myself," he told her, "and that is all right." he drew her toward him, trembling a little, and on her forehead, with his mustached lips, he kissed her. he was suddenly still, and strangely cold. the touch of that skin reminded him of his last hand-shake with leonard holt.
-"i must put an end to this obsession!" he told himself angrily, that night at his hotel, and he poured himself stiff drinks of bourbon. should he tell father john? no! he decided. he knew father john well for a relative and a friend and a genial companion with lovable peccadillos. but he knew, too, that the little clergyman could thunder with the thunder of sinai. marry the daughter of a man in whose death he was implicated! never would father john consent. the cleric would not understand. what could a priest know of business?
-"it's no use going to him," kerrigan decided.
-he stopped a moment, thinking. and, half-laughing and half-nervous, he remembered a conversation with a friend of his, a great wall street operator, who combined the shrewdness of his kind with his kind's superstition, and had recourse in moments of tension to clairvoyants and tarot cards. he told kerrigan of m. sergius.
-"he's a greek monk--been expelled from mount athos for practising magic. what that man can tell you--"
-"i suppose the next thing you 'll tell me is that he raises spirits."
-"listen! you just ask cabot montgomery how they found that will of van vleet's. just ask him."
-"there's one born every minute," kerrigan laughed, "and some of 'em live."
-"listen, brother," kerrigan was told, "this man does it for nothing. do you get me? for nothing! if it's important enough he 'll do it. if not, outside. this is none of your country-fair crystal-gazers."
-in kerrigan, too, was that strain of superstition that all men laugh at and all men have. and right now as he sat in a mental, spiritual whirlwind, the memory of that conversation came to him as a preserver. after all, if he put things to the test-- of course it was foolish; it was ridiculous, but still-- nothing could come of it, by any manner of means, and yet--
-"what's the harm?" he laughed.
-at his time of life, he smiled, to put himself in the hands of a charlatan, to conjure up a spirit! in this century, with the telephone by his bedside, with the electric light overhead, to patronize a mumming magician! nothing would, could happen.
-but that nothing would be his answer. it would mean that his life was free forever, purged of the foolish innuendos, the lunatic accusations of outsiders; the morbid worries of his own abnormal mind. free to go ahead and be married, and to live happily ever after.
-when the butler had come for him silently, in the big blue limousine, one fine night of stars, he had gone with a little tremor in his veins. what would father john and the gentle nuns and his little betrothed think of this mad excursion? well, he had thrown down a gauntlet to fate, and he would go through with it, regardless of the empty issue. there was a witticism on his lips as he entered the apartment; but the witticism froze.
-silently the butler ushered him into a dim room lighted by tapers. in a corner, silent, were sergius and four young men. in the middle of the floor was a strange geometric design of circles and squares.
-"your butler just came for me--" kerrigan felt the need of saying something, no matter how banal. in a sort of awe kerrigan noted the white garments of the former monk, and of his disciples; the white shoes embroidered in red; the white crowns with the hebrew letters.
-"do you still wish to go ahead with this?" the russian asked him.
-"of course," kerrigan uttered. his own voice seemed strange in his ears.
-"you are to obey me in all things." the ex-monk's voice had a terrible hidden menace in it, "and if you move out of that circle you are worse than a dead man! follow me."
-they moved forward through an opening into the strange geometric design, and behind them on silent feet came the four attendants. kerrigan noticed in a sort of daze the sword they carried, the trumpet, the book, and the lighted taper. about him, outside the circle, were strange paper symbols that seemed to cut him off from the world of sane and living men. the magus lit a circle of censers about the outer square. he closed the circle and lifted one on high. he swung it toward the four corners of the square. an attendant handed him a sword. he stuck it in the ground. another handed him a trumpet. he blew it brazenly.
-"o lord! hear my prayer, and let my cry come unto thee...."
-queer little whorls of smoke mounted through the air from the censers. the attendants had retired to the four points of the compass. the magus raised the bare sword. his voice vibrated like an organ:
-"o ye spirits! ye i conjure by the power, wisdom, and virtue of the spirit of god ... by the holy name of god eheith ... by which adam, having invoked, acquired the knowledge of all created things ... by the invisible name yod, which had abel invoked he would have escaped from the hand of cain, his brother...."
-it seemed to kerrigan, standing there that about this circle was something that was not life, and that it was cut off from the security of things without as an island is cut off by water. about it the incense rose in shadowy vapors. the lights of the candles became dulled to a pale, diaphanous gold. there was something terrible about it all. he had imagined a grisly, morbid thing of quackery. this he could have stood smiling. but cold, stern majesty of ritual made his heart contract, as it might be oppressed in the nave of some great cathedral.
-"... by the two tables of the law; by the seven burning candlesticks; by the holy of holies where only the high priest may go..."
-he wanted to raise his voice, to tell the man to stop this mummery. he wanted to walk to the door and slam it contemptuously, and to walk home through the cool mundane air. that would be an end for him of all this morbidness. but somehow he could not go. it was as though he were held by hypnosis to the spot.
-"... that spirit who was known here as leonard holt, and with whom this man, for a sufficient reason, would converse. i conjure and invoke him in the name of the lord adonai. i conjure him in the name of the god el, strong and powerful...."
-fear arose in kerrigan like a cold marsh vapor. he had come there in a braggadocio test of fate, to something whose being and name he knew not; to face it man to man, and to abide by the result. but he seemed now to be, as it were, in a dock, not to argue but to be judged, by that vagueness against which he had thrown down the gauntlet.
-the magus had fallen to his knees. before him a disciple held an open book and a taper.
-"in the name of him who hath made the heavens and the earth, and who hath measured them in the hollow of his hand, enclosing the earth in three of his fingers..."
-without those circles now, kerrigan imagined, things were hovering with a force as of a great wind. things hurtled themselves against the mystic, powerful symbols like troopers against an impregnable fortalice. no longer was he certain that nothing could happen. if in a minute now, at any instant, the thing that was being called would come, not the vacuous, impractical body, but a terrible being armed with the awful majesty of the dead, standing before him accusingly, with terrible eyes--standing like a flaming weapon between kerrigan and the daughter who was flesh of him, who they said was murdered ... if! if! if! if! his skin contracted in a tense horripilation. his breath came shallow and panting, like that of a strained dog.
-"here be the symbols of secret things--the standards, the banners, the ensigns of god the conqueror; the arms of the almighty one to compel the aerial potencies. i command absolutely--"
-across kerrigan's mind thoughts raced like skipping rabbits; like reels of living pictures. he was being tried! his wrists shook as the blood pulsed through. tried! tried by ordeal of justice! by the terrible thing that made a dead man's wounds open when you touched him. by ordeal of justice! that was it. he felt his face contract into a horrible grimace. by ordeal of justice! there was a weight on his chest of as huge granite blocks, very cold. he could n't breathe. through his heart there ran a pain like a knife....
-"... by their power and virtue that he come near to us, into our presence from whatsoever part of the world he may be in--"
-"master!" an acolyte stepped forward and touched the exorcist's white samite sleeve. he pointed to the crumpled figure in the circle. "master, this man is dead!"
-the charing cross mystery
-j. s. fletcher
-herbert jenkins limited
-a herbert jenkins' book
-sixth printing completing 46,825 copies
-printed in great britain by butler & tanner ltd., frome and london
-the charing cross mystery
-the last train east
-hetherwick had dined that evening with friends who lived in cadogan gardens, and had stayed so late in conversation with his host that midnight had come before he left and set out for his bachelor chambers in the temple; it was, indeed, by the fraction of a second that he caught the last east-bound train at sloane square. the train was almost destitute of passengers; the car which he himself entered, a first-class smoking compartment, was otherwise empty; no one came into it when the train reached victoria. but at st. james's park two men got in, and seated themselves opposite to hetherwick.
-now hetherwick was a young barrister, going in for criminal practice, in whom the observant faculty was deeply implanted; it was natural to him to watch and to speculate on anything he saw. because of this, and perhaps because he had just then nothing else to think about, he sat observing the new-comers; he found interest, amusement, and not a little profit in this sort of thing, and in trying to decide whether a given man was this, that, or something else.
-of the two men thus under inspection, the elder was a big, burly, fresh-coloured man of apparently sixty to sixty-five years of age. his closely cropped silvery hair, his smartly trained grey moustache, his keen blue eyes and generally alert and vivacious appearance, made hetherwick think that he was or had been in some way or other connected with the army; this impression was heightened by an erect carriage, square-set shoulders and something that suggested a long and close acquaintance with the methods of the drill-yard and the parade ground. perhaps, thought hetherwick, he was a retired non-commissioned officer, a regimental sergeant-major, or something of that sort; this idea, again, was strengthened by the fact that the man carried a handsome walking-cane, the head of which, either of gold or of silver-gilt, was fashioned like a crown. there was something military, too, about the cut of his clothes; he was a smartly dressed man, from his silk hat, new and glossy and worn a little rakishly on the right side of his head, to his highly polished boots. a well-preserved, cheery-looking, good-humoured sort of person, this, decided hetherwick, and apparently well satisfied with himself and full of the enjoyment of life, and likely, from all outward sight, to make old bones.
-the other man came into a different category. the difference began with his clothes, which, if not exactly shabby, were semi-shabby, much worn, ill-kept and badly put on: he was evidently a careless man, who scorned a clothes-brush and was also indifferent to the very obvious fact that his linen was frayed and dirty. he was a thin, meagre man, of not one-half the respectable, well-fed bulk of his companion; his sallow-complexioned face was worn, and his beard thin and irregular: altogether he suggested some degree of poor circumstances. yet, in hetherwick's opinion, he was a person of something beyond ordinary mental capacity; his eyes were large and intelligent, his nose was well-shaped, his chin square and determined. and his ungloved hands were finely moulded and delicate of proportion; the fingers were long, thin and tapering. hetherwick noticed two facts about those fingers: the first, that they were restless; the second, that they were much stained, as if the man had recently been mixing dyes or using chemicals. and then he suddenly observed that the big man's hands and fingers were similarly stained--blue and red and yellow, in patches.
-these men were talking when they entered the compartment; they continued to talk as they settled down. hetherwick could not avoid hearing what they said.
-"queerest experience i've ever had in my time!" the big man was saying as he dropped into a corner seat. "tell you, i knew her the instant i clapped eyes on that portrait! after--how many years will it be, now? ten, i think--yes, ten. oh, yes! knew her well enough. when we get to my hotel, i'll show you the portrait--i cut it out and put it aside--and you'll identify it as quick as i did--lay you aught you like on it! no mistaking that!"
-this was said in a broad north country accent, in full keeping, thought hetherwick, with the burly frame of the speaker. but the other man replied in tones that suggested the born londoner.
-"i think i shall be able to recognise it," he said softly. "i've a very clear recollection of the lady, though, to be sure, i only saw her once or twice."
-"aye, well, a fine-looking woman--and a beauty!--like that's not soon forgotten," declared the other. "and nowadays the years don't seem to make much difference to a woman's age. anyway, i knew her!--'that's you, my fine madam,' says i to myself, as soon as ever i unfolded that paper. but, mind you, i kept it to myself! not a word to my granddaughter, though she was sitting opposite to me when i made the discovery. no--not to anybody!--till to-night. not the sort of thing to blab about--that!"
-"just so," said the smaller man. "of course, you'd remember that i was likely to have some recollection of her and of the circumstances. odd!--very. and i suppose the next thing is--what are you going to do about it?"
-"oh, well!" replied the big man. "of course, ten years have elapsed. but as to that, it wouldn't matter, you know, if twenty years had slipped by. still----"
-at that point he sank his voice to the least of a whisper, bending over to his companion, and hetherwick heard no more. but it seemed to him that the little man, although he appeared to be listening intently, was, in reality, doing nothing of the sort. his long, stained fingers became more restless than ever; twice, before the train came to westminster, he pulled out his watch and glanced at it; once, after that, hetherwick caught the nervous hand again shaking towards the waistcoat pocket. and he got an idea that the man was regarding his big, garrulous companion with curiously furtive glances, as if he were waiting for some vague, yet expected thing, and wondering when it would materialise: there was a covert watchfulness about him, and though he nodded his head from time to time as if in assent to what was being whispered to him, hetherwick became convinced that he was either abstracted in thought or taking no interest. if eyes and fingers were to be taken as indications, the man's thoughts were elsewhere.
-the train pulled up at westminster, lingered its half-minute, moved onward again; the big man, still bending down to his companion, went on whispering; now and then, as if he were telling a good story or making a clever point, he chuckled. but suddenly, and without any warning, he paused, coming to a dead, sharp-cut stop in an apparently easy flow of language. he stared wildly around him: hetherwick caught the flash of his eye as it swept the compartment, and never forgot the look of frightened amazement that he saw in it; it was as if the man had been caught, with lightning-like swiftness, face to face with some awful thing. his left hand shut up, clutching at his breast and throat; the other, releasing the gold-headed cane, shot out as if to ward off a blow. it dropped like lead at his side; the other arm relaxed and fell, limp and nerveless, and before hetherwick could move, the big, burly figure sank back in its corner and the eyes closed.
-hetherwick jumped from his seat, shouting to the other man.
-"your friend!" he cried. "look!"
-but the other man was looking. he, too, had got to his feet, and he was bending down and stretching out a hand to the big man's wrist. he muttered something that hetherwick failed to catch.
-"what do you say?" demanded hetherwick impatiently. "good heavens!--we must do something! the man's--what is it? a seizure?"
-"a seizure!" answered the other. "yes--that's it--a seizure! he'd had one--slight giddiness--just before we got in. a--the train's stopping, though. charing cross? i--i know a doctor close by."
-"quick!" he called. "here!--there's a man ill--dying, i think! come here!"
-the conductor came--slowly. but when he saw the man in the corner, he made for the outer door and beckoned to men on the platform. a uniformed official ran up and got in.
-"what is it?" he asked. "gentleman in a fit? who's with him? anybody?"
-hetherwick looked round for the man with the stained fingers. but he was already out of the carriage and on the platform and making for the stairs that led to the exit. he flung back a few words, pointing upward at the same time.
-"doctor!--close by!" he shouted. "back in five minutes!--get him out."
-but already there was a doctor at hand. before the man with the stained fingers had fairly vanished, other men had come in from the adjoining compartments; one pushed his way to the front.
-"i am a medical man," he said curtly. "make way, please."
-the other men stood silently watching while the new-comer made a hasty examination of the still figure. he turned sharply.
-"this man's dead!" he said in quick, matter-of-fact tones. "is anyone with him?"
-the train officials glanced at hetherwick. but hetherwick shook his head.
-"i don't know him," he answered. "there was another man with him--they got in together at st. james's park. you saw the other man," he continued, turning to the conductor. "he jumped out as you came in here, and ran up the stairs, saying that he was going for some doctor, close by."
-"i saw him--heard him, too," assented the conductor. he glanced at the stairs and the exit beyond. "but he ain't come back," he added.
-"you had better get the man out," said the doctor. "bring him in to some place on the platform."
-a station policeman had come up by that time; he and the railwaymen lifted the dead man and carried him across the platform to a waiting-room. hetherwick, feeling that he would be wanted, followed in the rear, the doctor with him. it struck hetherwick with grim irony that as soon as they were off it, the train went on, as if careless and indifferent.
-"good heavens!" he muttered, more to himself than to the man at his side. "that poor fellow was alive, and, as far as i could see, in the very best of health and spirits, five minutes ago!"
-"no doubt!" observed the doctor dryly. "but he's dead now. what happened?"
-hetherwick told him briefly.
-"and the other man's--gone!" remarked the doctor. "um! but i suppose nobody thought of detaining him. now--if he doesn't come back--eh?"
-"you don't suspect foul play?" exclaimed hetherwick.
-"the circumstances are odd," said his companion. "i should say the man just died! died as suddenly as man can die--as if he'd been shot dead or literally blown to fragments. that's from what you tell me, you know. and it may be--a case of poisoning. will that other man come back? if not----"
-by that time hetherwick was beginning to wonder if the other man would come back. he had not come at the end of ten minutes; nor of fifteen; nor of thirty. but other men had come, hurrying into the drab-walled waiting-room and gathering about the table on which the dead man had been laid. they were mostly officials and police, and presently a police surgeon arrived and with him a police inspector, one matherfield, who knew hetherwick. while the two doctors made another examination, this man drew hetherwick aside. hetherwick retold his story; this time with full details. matherfield listened and shook his head.
-"that second man won't come back!" he said. "gone half an hour now. do you think he knew the man was dead before he cleared out?"
-"you can describe him, mr. hetherwick?" suggested the inspector.
-"describe him?--yes. and identify him, too," asserted hetherwick. "he was a man of certain notable features. i should know him again, anywhere."
-"well, we'll have to look for him," said matherfield. "and now we'll have to take this dead man to the mortuary and have a thorough examination and see what he's got on him. you'd better come, mr. hetherwick--in fact, i shall want you."
-hetherwick went--in the tail of a sombre procession, himself and the two medical men walking together. he had to tell his tale again, to the police surgeon; that functionary, like all the rest who had heard the story, shook his head ominously over the disappearance of the sallow-faced man.
-"all an excuse, that," he said. "there's no doctor close by. you didn't get any idea--from their conversation, i mean--of the dead man's identity? any name mentioned?"
-"i heard no name mentioned," answered hetherwick. "they didn't address each other by name. i've no idea who the man is."
-that was what he wanted to know. somewhere, of course, this dead man had friends. he had spoken of his hotel--there, perhaps, somebody was awaiting his coming; somebody to whom the news of his death would come as a great shock, perhaps, and terrible trouble. and he waited with a feeling that was little short of personal anxiety while the police searched the dead man's pockets.
-the various articles which were presently laid out on a side-table were many. there was a purse, well stocked with money; there was loose money in the pockets. there was a handsome gold watch and a heavy chain and locket. there was a pocket-book, stuffed with letters and papers. and there were all the things that a well-provided man carries--a cigar-case, a silver matchbox, a silver pencil-case, a pen-knife, and so on; clearly, the dead man had been in comfortable circumstances. but the articles of value were brushed aside by the inspector; his immediate concern was with the contents of the pocket-book, from which he hastened to take out the letters. a second later he turned to hetherwick and the two doctors, nodding his head sidewise at the still figure on the table.
-"this'll be the name and address," he said, pointing to the envelopes in his hand. "mr. robert hannaford, malter's private hotel, surrey street, strand. several letters, you see, addressed there, and all of recent date. we'll have to go there--there may be his wife and people of his there. wonder who he was?--somebody from the provinces, most likely. well----"
-he laid down the letters and picked up the watch--a fine gold-cased hunter--and released the back. within that was an inscription, engraved in delicate lettering. the inspector let out an exclamation.
-"ah!" he said. "i half suspected that from his appearance. one of ourselves! look at this--'presented to superintendent robert hannaford, on his retirement, by the magistrates of sellithwaite.' sellithwaite, eh?--where's that, now?"
-"yorkshire," replied one of the men standing close by. "south-west riding."
-matherfield closed the watch and laid it by.
-"well," he remarked, "that's evidently who he is--ex-superintendent hannaford, of sellithwaite, yorkshire, stopping at malter's hotel. i'll have to go round there. mr. hetherwick, as you were the last man to see him alive, i wish you'd go with me--it's on your way to the temple."
-something closely corresponding to curiosity, not morbid, but compelling, made hetherwick accede to this request. presently he and matherfield walked along the embankment together, talking of what had just happened and speculating on the cause of hannaford's sudden death.
-"we may know the exact reason by noon," remarked matherfield. "there'll be a post-mortem, of course. but that other man!--we may get to know something about him here. and i wonder whom we shall find here? hope it's not his wife...."
-whose portrait is this?
-malter himself opened the door of his small private hotel; a quiet, reserved man who looked like a retired butler. he was the sort of man who is slow of speech, and he had not replied to matherfield's guarded inquiry about mr. robert hannaford when a door in the little hall opened, and a girl appeared, who, hearing the inspector's question, immediately came forward as if in answer.
-hetherwick recognised this girl. he had seen her only the previous afternoon in fountain court, in company with a man whom he knew slightly--kenthwaite, a fellow-barrister. kenthwaite, evidently, was doing the honours--showing her round the temple; hetherwick, in fact, in passing them, had overheard kenthwaite telling his companion something of the history of the old houses and courts around them. and the girl had attracted him then. she was a pretty girl, tall, slim, graceful, and in addition to her undoubted charm of face and figure, she looked to have more than an average share of character and intelligence, and was listening to her guide with obvious interest and appreciation. hetherwick had set her down as being, perhaps, a country cousin of kenthwaite's, visiting london, maybe, for the first time. anyhow, in merely passing her and kenthwaite he had noticed her so closely that he now recognised her at once; he saw, too, that she recognised him. but there was another matter more pressing than that--and she had gone straight to it.
-"are these gentlemen asking for my grandfather?" she inquired, coming still nearer and glancing from the hotel proprietor to the two callers. "he's not come in----"
-hetherwick was glad to hear that the dead man was the girl's grandfather. certainly it was a close relationship, but, after all, not so close as it might have been. and he was conscious that the inspector was relieved, too.
-"we're asking about mr. robert hannaford," he said. "is he your grandfather--ex-superintendent hannaford, of sellithwaite? just so--well, i'm very sorry to bring bad news about him----"
-he broke off, watching the girl keenly, as if he wanted to make sure that she would take the news quietly. and evidently reassured on that point, he suddenly went on definitely:
-"you'll understand?" he said. "it's--well, the worst news. the fact is----"
-"is my grandfather dead?" interrupted the girl. "if that's it, please say so--i shan't faint, or anything of that sort. but--i want to know!"
-"i'm sorry to say he is dead," replied matherfield. "he died suddenly in the train at charing cross. a seizure, no doubt. was he well when you saw him last?"
-the girl turned to the hotel proprietor, who was standing by, evidently amazed.
-"never saw a gentleman look better or seem better in my life than he did when he went out of that door at half-past six o'clock!" he exclaimed. "best of health and spirits!"
-"my grandfather was quite well," said the girl quietly. "i never remember him being anything else but well--he was a very strong, vigorous man. will you please tell me all about it?"
-matherfield told all about it, turning now and then to hetherwick for corroboration. in the end he put a question.
-"this man that mr. hetherwick saw in your grandfather's company?" he suggested. "do you recognise anyone from that description?"
-"no!--no one," answered the girl. "but my grandfather knew people in london whom i don't know. he has been going about a good deal since we came here, three days ago--looking out for a house."
-"well, we shall have to find that man," remarked matherfield. "of course, if you'd recognised the description as that of somebody known to you----"
-"no," she said again. "i know nobody like that. but now--do you wish me to go with you--to him?"
-"it's not necessary--i wouldn't to-night, if i were you," replied matherfield. "i'll call again in the morning. meanwhile, leave matters to us and the doctors. you've friends in london, i suppose?"
-"yes, we have friends--relations, in fact," said the girl. "i must let them know at once."
-matherfield nodded and turned to the door. but hetherwick lingered. he and the girl were looking at each other. he suddenly spoke.
-"i saw you this afternoon," he said, "in fountain court, with a man whom i know slightly, mr. kenthwaite. is he, by any chance, one of the relations you mentioned just now? because, if so, he lives close by me. i can tell him, if you wish."
-"no," she answered, "not a relative. we know him. you might tell him, if you please, and if it's no trouble."
-"no trouble at all," said hetherwick. "and--if i may--i hope you'll let me call in the morning to hear if there's anything i can do for you?"
-the girl gave him a quick, responsive glance.
-"that's very kind of you," she said. "yes."
-hetherwick and the police inspector left the little hotel and walked up the street. matherfield seemed to be in a brown study. somewhere up in the strand and farther away down fleet street the clocks began striking.
-"seems to me," exclaimed matherfield suddenly, "seems to me, mr. hetherwick, this is--murder!"
-"you mean poison?" said hetherwick.
-"likely! why, yes, of course, it would be poison. we must have that man! you can't add to your description of him?"
-"you've already got everything that i can tell. pretty full and accurate, too. i should say you oughtn't to have much difficulty in laying hands on him--from my description."
-matherfield made a sound that was half a laugh and half a groan.
-"lord bless you!" he said. "it's like seeking a needle in a bundle of hay, searching for a given man in london! i mean, of course, sometimes. more often than not, in fact. here's this chap rushes up the stairs at charing cross, vanishes--where? one man amongst seven millions of men and women! however----"
-"hannaford!--dead!" he exclaimed. "great scott!--why, he was as fit as a fiddle at noon yesterday, hetherwick! he and his granddaughter called on me, and i took 'em to lunch--i come from sellithwaite, you know, so of course i knew them. hannaford had to go as soon as we'd lunched--some appointment--so i showed the girl round a bit. nice girl, that--clever. name of rhona. worth cultivating. and the old man's dead! bless me!"
-"i don't think there's much doubt about foul play," observed hetherwick.
-"looks uncommonly like it," said kenthwaite. he went on with his double task. "well," he added, "sorry, but i can't be of any use to miss hannaford to-day--got to go down to a beastly quarter sessions case, my boy, and precious little time to catch my train. but to-morrow--perhaps you can give 'm a hand this morning?"
-"yes," answered hetherwick. "i'm doing nothing. i'll go round there after a while. i'm interested naturally. it's a queer case."
-"queer! seems so, rather," assented kenthwaite. "well--give miss hannaford my sympathy and all that, and tell her that if there's anything i can do when i get back--you know what to say."
-"she said she'd relations here in london," remarked hetherwick.
-"cousins--aunts--something or other--over tooting way, i think," agreed kenthwaite. "twenty past eight!--hetherwick, i'll have to rush for it!"
-he swallowed the last of his coffee, seized the bag and darted away; hetherwick went back to his own chambers and breakfasted leisurely. and all the time he sat there he was pondering over the event of the previous midnight, and especially upon the sudden disappearance of the man with the stained fingers. to hetherwick that disappearance seemed to argue guilt. he figured it in this way--the man who ran away at charing cross had poisoned this other man in some clever and subtle fashion, by means of something which took a certain time to take effect, and, when that time arrived, did its work with amazing swiftness. hetherwick, in his war service, had seen men die more times than he cared to remember. he had seen some men shot through the brain; he had seen others shot through the heart. but he had never seen any of these men--some of them shot at his very side--die with the extraordinary quickness with which hannaford had died. and he came to a conclusion: if the man with the stained fingers had poisoned hannaford, then he was somebody who had a rare and a profound knowledge of poisons.
-he went round to surrey street at ten o'clock. miss hannaford, said the hotel proprietor, had gone with her aunt, a mrs. keeley, who had come early that morning, to see her grandfather's dead body--some police official had fetched them. but she had left a message for anyone who called--that she would not be long away. and hetherwick waited in the little dingy coffee-room; there were certain questions that he wanted to put to rhona hannaford, also he wanted to give her certain information.
-"very sad case this, sir," observed the hotel proprietor, hovering about his breakfast-tables. "cruel end for a fine healthy gentleman like mr. hannaford!"
-"very sad," agreed hetherwick. "you said last night--or, rather, this morning--that mr. hannaford was in good health and spirits when he went out early in the evening?"
-"the best, sir! he was a cheery, affable gentleman--fond of his joke. joked and laughed with me as i opened the door for him--never thinking, sir, as i should never see him again alive!"
-"you don't know where he was going?"
-"i don't, sir. and his granddaughter--clever young lady, that, sir--she don't know, neither. she went to a theatre, along of her aunt, the lady that came early this morning. we wired the bad news to her first thing, and she came along at once. but him--no, i don't know where he went to spend his evening. been in and out, and mostly out, ever since they were here, three days ago. house-hunting, so i understood."
-rhona hannaford presently returned, in company with a motherly-looking woman whom she introduced as her aunt, mrs. keeley. then hetherwick remembered that he had not introduced himself; rectifying that omission, he found that kenthwaite had told rhona who he was when he passed them the previous afternoon. he delivered kenthwaite's message and in his absence offered his own services.
-"it's very good of you," said rhona. "i don't know that there's anything to do. the police seem to be doing everything--the inspector who was here last night was very kind just now, but, as he said, there's nothing to be done until after the inquest."
-"yes," said hetherwick. "and that is--did he say when?"
-"to-morrow morning. he said i should have to go," replied rhona.
-"so shall i," observed hetherwick. "they'll only want formal evidence from you. i shall have to say more. i wish i could say more than i shall have to say."
-the two women glanced at him inquiringly.
-"i mean," he continued, "that i wish i had stopped the other man from leaving the train. i suppose you have not heard anything from the police about him--that man?"
-"nothing. they had not found him or heard of him up to just now. but you can tell me something that i very much want to know. you saw this man with my grandfather for some little time, didn't you?"
-"from st. james's park to charing cross."
-"did you overhear their conversation, or any of it?"
-"a good deal--at first. afterwards, your grandfather began to whisper, and i heard nothing of that. but one reason i had for calling upon you this morning was that i might tell you what i did overhear, and another that i might ask you some questions arising out of what i heard. mr. hannaford was talking to this man, now missing, about some portrait or photograph. evidently it was of a lady whom he, your grandfather, had known ten years ago; whom the other man had also known. your grandfather said that when they got to his hotel he would show the portrait to the other man who, he asserted, would be sure to recognise it. now, had mr. hannaford said anything to you? do you know anything about his bringing any friend of his to this hotel last night? and do you know anything about any portrait or photograph such as that to which he referred?"
-"about bringing anyone here--no! he never said anything to me about it. but about a photograph, or rather about a print of one--yes. i do know something about that."
-"what?" asked hetherwick eagerly.
-"well, this," she answered. "my grandfather, who, as i dare say you know by this time, was for a good many years superintendent of police at sellithwaite, had a habit of cutting things out of newspapers--paragraphs, accounts of criminal trials, and so on. he had several boxes full of such cuttings. when we were coming to town the other day i saw him cut a photograph out of some illustrated paper he was reading in the train, and put it away in his pocket-book--in a pocket-book, i ought to say, for he had two or three pocket-books. this morning i was looking through various things which he had left lying about on his dressing-table upstairs, and in one of his pocket-books i found the photograph which he cut out in the train. that must be the one you mention--it's of a very handsome, distinguished-looking woman."
-"if i may see it----" suggested hetherwick.
-within a couple of minutes he had the cutting in his hand--a scrap of paper, neatly snipped out of its surrounding letterpress, which was a print of a photograph of a woman of apparently thirty-five to forty years of age, evidently of high position, and certainly, as rhona hannaford had remarked, of handsome and distinguished features. but it was not at the photograph that hetherwick gazed with eyes into which surmise and speculation were beginning to steal; after a mere glance at it, his attention fixed itself on some pencilled words on the margin at its sides:
-"through my hands ten years ago!"
-"is that your grandfather's writing?" he inquired suddenly.
-"yes, that's his," replied rhona. "he had a habit of pencilling notes and comments on his cuttings--all sorts of remarks."
-"he didn't mention this particular cutting to you when he cut it out?"
-"no--he said nothing about it. i saw him cut it out, and heard him chuckle as he put it away, but he said--nothing."
-"you don't know who this lady is?"
-"oh, no! you see, there's no name beneath it. i suppose there was in the paper, but he cut out nothing but the picture and the bit of margin. but from what he's written there, i conclude that this is a portrait of some woman who had been in trouble with the police at some time or other."
-"obvious!" muttered hetherwick. he sat silently inspecting the picture for a minute or two.
-"oh, yes!" replied rhona. "but--you think there has been foul play?--that he didn't die a natural death?--that it wasn't just heart failure or----"
-the door of the little coffee-room was opened and matherfield looked in. seeing hetherwick there, he beckoned him into the hall, closing the door again as the young barrister joined him. hetherwick saw that he was full of news, and instantly thought of the man with the stained fingers.
-"well?" he said eagerly, "laid your hands on that fellow?"
-"oh, him?--no!" answered matherfield. "not a word or sign of him--so far! but the doctors have finished their post-mortem. and there's no doubt about their verdict. poisoned!"
-matherfield sank his voice to a whisper as he spoke the last word. and hetherwick, ready though he was for the news, started when he got it--the definiteness of the announcement seemed like opening a window upon a vista of obscured and misty distances. he glanced at the door behind him.
-"of course, they'll have to be told, in there," said matherfield, interpreting his thoughts. "but the thing's certain. our surgeon suspected it from the first, and he got a home office specialist to help at the autopsy--they say the man was poisoned by some drug or other--i don't understand these things--that had been administered to him two or three hours before he died, and that when it did work, worked with absolutely lightning-like effect."
-"yes," muttered hetherwick thoughtfully. "lightning-like effect--good phrase. i can testify that it did that!"
-matherfield laid a hand on the door.
-"well," he said, "i'd better tell these ladies. then--there are things i want to know from the granddaughter. i've seen her--and her aunt--before this morning. i found out that hannaford brought up and educated this girl, and that she lived with him in sellithwaite since she left school, so she'll know more about him than anybody. and i want to learn all i can. come in with me."
-the potential fortune
-elder and younger woman alike took matherfield's intimation quietly. rhona made no remark. but mrs. keeley spoke impulsively.
-"there never was a more popular man than he was--with everybody!" she exclaimed. "who should want to take his life?"
-"that's just what we've got to find out, ma'am," said matherfield. "and i want to know as much as i can--i dare say miss hannaford can tell me a lot. now, let's see what we do know from what you told me this morning. mr. hannaford had been superintendent of police at sellithwaite for some years. he had recently retired on his pension. he proposed to live in london, and you and he, miss hannaford, came to london to look for a suitable house, arrived three days ago, and put up at this hotel. that's all correct? very good--now then, let me hear all about his movements during the last three days. what did he do? where did he spend his time?"
-"i can't tell you much," answered rhona. "he was out most of the day, and generally by himself. i was only out with him twice--once when we went to do some shopping, another time when we called on mr. kenthwaite at his rooms in the temple. i understood he was looking for a house--seeing house agents and so on. he was out morning, afternoon and evening."
-"did he never tell you anything about where he'd been, or whom he'd seen?"
-"no. he was the sort of man who keeps things to himself. i have no idea where he went nor whom he saw."
-"didn't say anything about where he was going last night?"
-"no. he only said that he was going out and that i should find him here when i got back from the theatre, to which i was going with mrs. keeley. we got back here soon after eleven. but he hadn't come in--as you know."
-"you never heard him speak of having enemies?"
-"i should think he hadn't an enemy in the world! he was a very kind man and very popular, even with the people he had to deal with as a police-superintendent."
-"and i suppose he'd no financial worries--anything of that sort? nor any other troubles--nothing to bother him?"
-"i don't think he'd a care in the world," said rhona confidently. "he was looking forward with real zest to settling down in london. and as to financial worries, he'd none. he was well off."
-"always a saving, careful man," remarked mrs. keeley. "oh, yes, quite well off--apart from his pension."
-matherfield glanced at hetherwick, who had listened carefully to all that was asked and answered. something in the glance seemed to invite him to take a hand.
-"this occurs to me," said hetherwick. he turned to rhona. "apart from this house-hunting, do you know whether your grandfather had any business affair in hand in london? what i'm thinking of is this--from what i saw of him in the train, he appeared to be an active, energetic man, not the sort of man who, because he'd retired, would sit down in absolute idleness. do you know of anything that he thought of undertaking--any business he thought of joining?"
-rhona considered this question for a while.
-"not any business," she replied at last. "but there is something that may have to do with what you suggest. my grandfather had a hobby. he experimented in his spare time."
-"what in?" asked hetherwick. then he suddenly remembered the stained fingers that he had noticed on the hands of both men the night before. "was it chemicals?" he added quickly.
-"yes, in chemicals," she answered with a look of surprise. "how did you know that?"
-"i noticed that his hands and fingers were stained," replied hetherwick. "so were those of the man he was with. well--but this something?"
-"he had a little laboratory in our garden at sellithwaite," she continued. "he spent all his spare time in it--he'd done that for years. lately, i know, he'd been trying to invent or discover something--i don't know what. but just before we left sellithwaite, he told me that he'd solved the problem, and when he was sorting out and packing up his papers he showed me a sealed envelope in which he said were the particulars of his big discovery--he said there was a potential fortune in it and that he should die a rich man. i saw him put that envelope in a pocket-book which he always carried with him."
-"that would be the pocket-book i examined last night," said matherfield. "there was no sealed envelope, nor one of which any seal had been broken, in that. there was nothing but letters, receipts and unimportant papers."
-"it is not in his other pocket-books," declared rhona. "i went through all his things myself very early this morning--through everything that he had here. i know that he had that envelope yesterday--he pulled out some things from his pocket when we were lunching with mr. kenthwaite in a restaurant in fleet street, and i saw the envelope. it was a stout, square envelope, across the front of which he had drawn two thick red lines, and it was heavily sealed with black sealing-wax at the back."
-"that was yesterday, you say?" asked matherfield sharply. "yesterday noon? just so! then as he had it yesterday at noon, and as it wasn't in his pockets last night and is not among his effects in this house, it's very clear that between, say, two o'clock yesterday and midnight he parted with it. now then, to whom? that's a thing we've just got to find out! but you're sure he wasn't joking when he told you that this discovery, or invention, or whatever it was, was worth a potential fortune?"
-"on the contrary, he was very serious," replied rhona. "unusually serious for him. he wouldn't tell me what it was, nor give me any particulars--all he said was that he'd solved a problem and hit on a discovery that he'd worked over for years, and that the secret was in that envelope and worth no end of money. i asked him what he meant by no end of money and he said: 'well, at any rate, a hundred thousand pounds--in time.'"
-"oh!" said matherfield at last. "a secret worth a hundred thousand pounds--in time. this will have to be looked into--narrowly. what do you think, mr. hetherwick?"
-"yes," answered hetherwick. "you've no idea, of course, as to whether your grandfather had done anything about putting this discovery on the market--or made any arrangement about selling it? no! well, can you tell me this: what sort of house did your grandfather want to rent here in london? i mean, do you know what rent he was prepared to pay?"
-"i can answer that," remarked mrs. keeley. "he told me he wanted a good house--a real good one--in a convenient suburb, and he was willing to go up to three hundred a year."
-"three hundred a year," said hetherwick. he exchanged a meaning glance with matherfield. "that," he added, "looks as if he felt assured of a considerable income, and as though he had already realised on his discovery or was very certain of doing so."
-"to be sure," agreed matherfield. "of course, i don't know what his private means were, but i know what his retiring pension would be--and three hundred a year for rent alone means--a good deal! um!--we'll have to endeavour to trace that sealed envelope."
-"it seems to me, matherfield," observed hetherwick, "that the first thing to do is to trace hannaford's movements last night, from the time he left this hotel until his death in the train."
-"we're at that already," replied matherfield. "we've a small army of men at work. but as we want all the help we can get, i'm going to stir up the newspaper men, mr. hetherwick--the press, sir, is always valuable in this sort of thing!--and i want miss hannaford, if she's got one, to give me a recent photograph of her grandfather so that it can appear in the papers. somebody, you know, may recognise it--somebody who saw him last night with somebody else."
-rhona had a new photograph of the dead man, taken in plain clothes just before he left sellithwaite, and she gave matherfield some copies of it. reproductions appeared in the meteor and other evening papers that night, and in some of the dailies next morning. and, as a result, a man came forward at the inquest, a few hours later, who declared with positive assurance that he had seen hannaford early in the evening of the murder. his appearance was the only sensational thing about these necessarily only preliminary proceedings before the coroner; until he stepped forward nothing had transpired with which hetherwick was not already familiar. there had been his own evidence; somewhat to his surprise neither coroner nor police seemed to pay much attention to his account of the conversation about the woman's portrait; they appeared to regard hannaford's observations as a bit of garrulous reminiscence about some criminal or other. there had been rhona's--a repetition of what she had told matherfield and hetherwick at malter's hotel: police and coroner evidently fixed on the missing sealed envelope and its mysterious secret as a highly important factor in the case. then there had been the expert testimony of the two doctors as to the cause of death--that had been confined to positive declarations that hannaford died from the administration of some subtle poison, the exact details being left over until experts could tell more at the adjourned proceedings. and the coroner was about to adjourn for a fortnight when a man, who had entered the court and been in conversation with the officials, was put into the witness-box to tell a story which certainly added information and, at the same time, accentuated mystery.
-this man was a highly-respectable person in appearance, middle-aged, giving the name of martin charles ledbitter, manager of an insurance office in westminster, and residing at sutton, in surrey. it was his habit, he said, to travel every evening from victoria to sutton by the 7.20 train. as a rule he arrived at victoria just before seven and took a cup of tea in the refreshment-room. he did this on the night before last. while he was drinking his tea at the counter, an elderly man came in and stood by him, whom he was sure beyond doubt was the same man whose photograph was reproduced in some of last night's and some of this morning's newspapers. he had no doubt whatever about this. he first noticed the man's stained fingers as he took up the glass of whisky-and-soda which he had ordered; he had, at the time, wondered at the contrast between those fingers and the general spick-and-spanness of the man and his smart attire; also he had noticed his gold-headed walking-cane and that the head was fashioned like a crown. they stood side by side for some minutes, then the man went out. a minute or two later he saw him again--this time at the right-hand side bookstall; he was there obviously looking out for somebody.
-this was the point where the interest really began; everybody in court strained eyes and ears as the coroner put a direct question.
-"looking out for somebody? did you see him meet anybody?"
-"tell me what you saw."
-"i saw this. when i approached the bookstall, to buy some evening papers, the man whom i had seen in the refreshment-room was standing close by. he was looking about him, but chiefly at the entrances to the big space between the offices and the platforms. once or twice he looked at his watch. it was then--by the station clock--about ten minutes past seven. he seemed impatient; he moved restlessly about. i passed him and went to the bookstall. when i turned round again he was standing a few yards away, shaking hands with another man. from the way in which they shook hands, i concluded that they were old friends, who perhaps had not seen each other for some time."
-"their greeting was cordial?"
-"i should call it effusive."
-"can you describe the other man?"
-"i can describe a sort of general impression of both. he was a tall man, taller than hannaford, but not so broadly built. he wore a dark ulster overcoat, with a strap at the back; it was either a very dark blue or a black in colour. he had a silk hat--new and glossy. he gave me the impression of being a smartly-dressed man--smart boots and gloves and that sort of thing--you know the general impression you get at a quick glance. but as to his features, i can't tell you anything."
-"why not?" asked the coroner.
-"because, to begin with, he wore an unusually large pair of blue spectacles, which completely veiled his eyes, and to end with, his throat and chin were swathed in a heavy white muffler, which covered the lower part of his face as well. between the rim of his hat and the collar of his coat it was all muffler and spectacles!"
-the coroner looked disappointed. his interest in the witness seemed to evaporate.
-"did you notice anything else?" he asked.
-"only that the new-comer took hannaford's arm and that they walked away towards the left-hand entrance hall, evidently in earnest conversation. that was the last i saw of them."
-"there's just one question i should like to put to you in conclusion," said the coroner. "you say that you are confident that the photograph in the newspapers is that of the man you saw at victoria. now, have you seen the dead man's body?"
-"i have. the police took me to see it when i volunteered my evidence."
-"and you recognised it as that of the man you saw?"
-"without doubt! there is no question of that in my mind."
-five minutes later the inquest stood adjourned, and those chiefly concerned gathered together in the emptying court to discuss the voluntary witness's evidence. matherfield manifested an almost cheerful optimism.
-"this is better!--much better," he declared, rubbing his hands as if in anticipation of laying them on something. "we know now that hannaford met, at any rate, two men that night. it's easier to find two men than one!"
-rhona, whom hetherwick had escorted to the coroner's court, looked her astonishment. "how can that be?" she asked.
-"mr. hetherwick understands," answered matherfield with a laugh. "he'll tell you."
-but hetherwick said nothing. he was always wondering--always wondering--about the woman whose picture lay in his pocket.
-the diamond necklace
-the conviction that there was more than met the eye in hannaford's cutting out and putting away the handsome and distinguished woman's photograph grew mightily in hetherwick's mind during the next few days. he recalled all that hannaford had said about it in the train in those few short minutes before his sudden death. why had he been so keen about showing it to the other man? was he taking the other man specially to his hotel to show it to him--at that time of night? why did the recollections which his possession of it brought up afford him--obviously--so much interest and, it seemed, amusement? and what, exactly, was meant by the pencilled words in the margin of the cutting?--through my hands ten years ago! under what circumstances had this woman been through hannaford's hands? and who was she? the more he thought of it, the more hetherwick was convinced that there was more importance in this matter than the police attached to it. they had proved utterly indifferent to hetherwick's account of the conversation in the train--that, said matherfield, with official superiority, was nothing but a bit of chat, reminiscence, recollection, on the ex-superintendent's part; old men, he said, were fond of talking about incidents of the past. the only significance matherfield saw in it was that it seemed to argue that whoever the man who had disappeared was, he and hannaford had known each other ten years ago.
-at the end of a week the police had heard nothing of this man. nor had they made any discovery in respect of the other man whom ledbitter swore he had seen with hannaford at victoria. the best scotland yard hands had been hard and continuously at work, and had brought nothing to light. only one person had seen the first man after he darted up the stairs of charing cross calling out that he was going for a doctor; this was a policeman on duty at the front of the underground station. he had seen the man run out; had watched him run at top speed up villiers street, and had thought no more of it than that he was some belated passenger hurrying to catch a last bus in the strand. but with that, all news and trace of him vanished. of the tall man in the big blue spectacles and white muffler there never was any trace, nor any news beyond ledbitter's. yet ledbitter was a thoroughly dependable witness, and there was no doubt that he had seen hannaford in this man's company. so, without question, hannaford, during his last few hours of life, had been with two men--neither of whom could be found. within twenty-four hours of his death several men came forward voluntarily who had had dealings or conversation with hannaford since his arrival in london. but there was a significant fact about the news which any of them could give--not one knew anything of the tall man seen by ledbitter, or of the shabby man seen by hetherwick, or of the secret which hannaford carried in his sealed packet. the story of that sealed packet had been told plentifully in the newspapers--but nobody came forward who knew anything about it. and when a week had elapsed after the ex-superintendent's burial, the whole mystery of his undoubted murder seemed likely to become one of the many which are never solved.
-but hetherwick was becoming absorbed in this affair into which he had been so curiously thrown head-first. he had leisure on his hands; also, he was well off in this world's goods, and much more concerned with the psychology of his profession than with a desire to earn money by its practice. from the moment in which he heard that the doctors had found that hannaford had been poisoned, he felt that here was a murder mystery at the bottom of which he must get--it fascinated him. and all through his speculations and theorisings about it, he was obsessed by the picture in his pocket. who was that woman--and what did the dead man remember about her?
-suddenly, one morning, after a visit from matherfield, who looked in at his chambers casually, to tell him that the police had discovered nothing, hetherwick put on his hat and went round to surrey street. he found rhona hannaford busy in preparing to leave malter's hotel: she was going to live, for a time at any rate, with mrs. keeley. hetherwick went straight to the matter that had brought him.
-"that print of a woman's photograph which your grandfather had in his pocket-book," he said, "and that's now in mine. out of what paper did he cut it?--a newspaper, evidently."
-"yes, but i don't know what paper," answered rhona. "all i know is that it was a paper which he got by post, the morning that he left sellithwaite. we were just leaving for the station when the post came. he put his letters and papers--there were several things--in his overcoat pocket, and opened them in the train. it was somewhere on the way to london that he cut out that picture. he threw the paper away--with others. he had a habit of buying a lot of papers, and used to cut out paragraphs."
-"well--i suppose it can be traced," muttered hetherwick, thinking aloud. he glanced at the evidences of rhona's departure. "so you're going to live with your aunt?" he said.
-"for a time--yes," she answered.
-"i hope you'll let me call?" suggested hetherwick. "i'm awfully interested in this affair, and i may be able to tell you something about it."
-"we'd be pleased," she replied. "i'll give you the address. i don't intend to be idle though--unless you call in the evening, you'll probably find me out."
-"what are you thinking of doing?" he asked.
-"i think of going in for secretarial work," she answered. "as a matter of fact, i had a training for that, in sellithwaite. typewriting, correspondence, accounts, french, german--i'm pretty well equipped."
-"don't think me inquisitive," said hetherwick, suddenly. "i hope your grandfather hasn't forgotten you in his will--i heard he'd left one!"
-"thank you," replied rhona. "he hasn't. he left me everything. i've got about three hundred a year--rather more. but that's no reason why i should sit down, and do nothing, is it?"
-"good!" said hetherwick. "but--if that sealed packet could be found? what was worth a hundred thousand to him, would be worth a hundred thousand to his sole legatee. worth finding!"
-"i wonder if anything will be found?" she answered. "the whole thing's a mystery that i'm not even on the edge of solving."
-"time!" said hetherwick. "and--patience."
-he went away presently, and strolled round to brick court, where kenthwaite had his chambers.
-"doing anything?" he asked, as he walked in.
-"nothing," replied kenthwaite. "go ahead!"
-hetherwick sat down, and lighted his pipe.
-"you know sellithwaite, don't you?" he asked when he had got his tobacco well going. "your town, eh?"
-"born and bred there, and engaged to a girl there," replied kenthwaite. "ought to! what about sellithwaite?"
-"were you there ten years ago?" demanded hetherwick.
-"ten years ago? no--except in the holidays. i was at school ten years ago. why?"
-"do you remember any police case at sellithwaite about that time in which a very handsome woman was concerned--probably as defendant?"
-"no! but i was more interested in cricket than in crime, in those days. are you thinking about the woman hannaford spoke of in the train to the chap they can't come across?"
-"i am! seems to me there's more in that than the police think."
-"shouldn't wonder. let's see: hannaford spoke of that woman as--what?"
-"said she'd been through his hands, ten years ago."
-"well, that's easy! if she was through hannaford's hands, as superintendent of police, ten years ago, that would be at sellithwaite. and there'll be records, particulars, and so on at sellithwaite."
-hetherwick nodded, and smoked in silence for awhile.
-"think i shall go down there," he said at last.
-kenthwaite stared, wonderingly.
-"keen as all that!" he exclaimed.
-"queer business!" said hetherwick. "like to solve it."
-"oh, well, it's only a four hours' run from king's cross," observed kenthwaite. "interesting town, too. old as the hills and modern as they make 'em. excellent hotel--'white bear.' and i'll tell you what, my future's brother is a solicitor there--michael hollis. i'll give you a letter of introduction to him, and he'll show you round and give you any help you need."
-"good man!" said hetherwick. "write it!"
-kenthwaite sat down and wrote, and handed over the result.
-"what do you want to find out, exactly?" he asked, as hetherwick thanked him, and rose to go.
-"all about the woman, and why hannaford cut her picture out of the paper," answered hetherwick. "well--see you when i get back."
-he went off to his own chambers, packed a bag, and drove to king's cross to catch the early afternoon train for the north. at half-past seven that evening he found himself in sellithwaite, a grey, smoke-laden town set in the midst of bleak and rugged hills, where the folk--if the railway officials were anything to go by--spoke a dialect which, to hetherwick's southern ears, sounded like some barbaric language. but the "white bear," in which he was presently installed, yielded all the comforts and luxuries of a first-class hotel: the dining-room, into which hetherwick turned as soon as he had booked his room, seemed to be thronged by a thoroughly cosmopolitan crowd of men; he heard most of the principal european languages being spoken--later, he found that his fellow-guests were principally continental business men, buyers, intent on replenishing exhausted stocks from the great warehouses and manufactories of sellithwaite. all this was interesting, nor was he destined to spend the remainder of his evening in contemplating it from a solitary corner, for he had scarcely eaten his dinner when a hall-porter came to tell him that mr. hollis was asking for mr. hetherwick.
-hetherwick hastened into the lounge, and found a keen-faced, friendly-eyed man of forty or thereabouts stretching out a hand to him.
-"kenthwaite wired me this afternoon that you were coming down, and asked me to look you up here," he said. "i'd have asked you to dine with me, but i've been kept at my office until just now, and again, i live a good many miles out of town. but to-morrow night----"
-"you're awfully good," replied hetherwick. "i'd no idea that kenthwaite was wiring. he gave me a letter of introduction to you, but i suppose he thought i wanted to lose no time. and i don't, and i dare say you can tell me something about the object of my visit--let's find a corner and smoke."
-installed in an alcove in the big smoking-room, hollis read kenthwaite's letter.
-"what is it you're after?" he asked. "kenthwaite mentions that my knowledge of sellithwaite is deeper than his own--naturally, it is, as i'm several years older."
-"well," responded hetherwick. "it's this, briefly. you're aware, of course, of what befell your late police-superintendent in london--his sudden death?"
-"oh, yes--read all the newspapers, anyway," assented hollis. "you're the man who was present in the train on the underground, aren't you?"
-"i am. and that's one reason why i'm keen on solving the mystery. there's no doubt whatever that hannaford was poisoned--that it's a case of deliberate murder. now, there's a feature of the case to which the police don't seem to attach any importance. i do attach great importance to it. it's the matter of the woman to whom hannaford referred when he was talking--in my presence--to the man who so mysteriously disappeared. hannaford spoke of that woman as having been through his hands ten years ago. that would be some experience he had here, in this town. now then, do you know anything about it? does it arouse any recollection?"
-"that's probably the whittingham case," he said. "it was about ten years ago."
-"and what was the whittingham case?" asked hetherwick. "case of a woman?"
-"of a woman--evidently an adventuress--who came to sellithwaite about ten years ago, and stayed here some little time, in this very hotel," replied hollis. "oddly enough, i never saw her! but she was heard of enough--eventually. she came here, to the 'white bear,' alone, with plenty of luggage and evident funds. i understand she was a very handsome woman, twenty-eight or thirty years of age, and she was taken for somebody of consequence. i rather think she described herself as the honourable mrs. whittingham. she paid her bills here with unfailing punctuality every saturday morning. she spent a good deal of money amongst the leading tradesmen in the town, and always paid cash. in short, she established her credit very successfully. and with nobody more so than the principal jeweller here--malladale. she bought a lot of jewellery from malladale--but in his case, she always paid by cheque. and in the end it was through a deal with malladale that she got into trouble."
-"and into hannaford's hands!" suggested hetherwick.
-"into hannaford's hands, certainly," assented hollis. "it was this way. she had, as i said just now, made a lot of purchases from malladale, who, i may tell you, has a first-class trade amongst our rich commercial magnates in this neighbourhood. her transactions with him, however, were never, at first, in amounts exceeding a hundred or two. but they went through all right. she used to pay him by cheque drawn on a manchester bank--manchester, you know, is only thirty-five miles away. as her first cheques were always met, malladale never bothered about making any inquiry about her financial stability; like everybody else he was very much impressed by her. well, in the end, she'd a big deal with malladale, malladale had a very fine diamond necklace in stock. he and she used to discuss her acquisition of it: according to his story they had a fine old battle as to terms. eventually, they struck a bargain--he let her have it for three thousand nine hundred pounds. she gave him a cheque for that amount there and then, and he let her carry off the necklace."
-"oh!" exclaimed hetherwick.
-"just so!" agreed hollis. "but--he did. however, for some reason or other, malladale had that cheque specially cleared. she handed it to him on a monday afternoon; first thing on wednesday morning malladale found that it had been returned with the ominous reference to drawer inscribed on its surface! naturally, he hurried round to the 'white bear.' but the honourable mrs. whittingham had disappeared. she had paid up her account, taken her belongings, and left the hotel, and the town, late on the monday evening, and all that could be discovered at the station was that she had travelled by the last train to leeds, where, of course, there are several big main lines to all parts of england. and she had left no address: she had, indeed, told the people here that she should be back before long, and that if any letters came they were to keep them until her return. so then malladale went to the police, and hannaford got busy."
-"i gather that he traced her?" suggested hetherwick.
-hollis laughed sardonically.
-"hannaford traced her--and he got her," he answered. "but he might well use the expression that you mentioned just now. she was indeed through his hands--just as a particularly slippery eel might have been--she got clear away from him."
-the police return
-hetherwick now began to arrive at something like an understanding of a matter that had puzzled him ever since and also at the time of the conversation between hannaford and his companion in the train. he had noted then that whatever it was that hannaford was telling, he was telling it as a man tells a story against himself; there had been signs of amused chagrin and discomfiture in his manner. now he saw why.
-"ah!" he exclaimed. "she was one too many for him. then?"
-"a good many times too many!" laughed hollis. "she did hannaford completely. he strove hard to find her, and did a great deal of the spade-work himself. and at last he ran her down--in a fashionable hotel in london. he had a scotland yard man with him, and a detective from our own police-office here, a man named gandham, who is still in the force--i'll introduce you to him to-morrow. hannaford, finding that mrs. whittingham had a suite of rooms in this hotel--a big west end place--left his two men downstairs, or outside, and went up to see her alone. according to his own account, she was highly indignant at any suspicions being cast upon her, and still more so, rose to a pitch of most virtuous indignation when he told her that he'd got a warrant for her arrest and that she'd have to go with him. during a brief interchange of remarks she declared that if her bankers at manchester had returned her cheque unpaid it must have been merely because they hadn't realised certain valuable securities which she'd sent to them, and that if malladale had presented his cheque a few days later it would have been all right. now, that was all bosh!--hannaford, of course, had been in communication with the bankers; all they knew of the lady was that she had opened an account with them while staying at some hotel in manchester, and that she had drawn all but a few pounds of her balance the very day on which she had got the necklace from malladale and fled with it from sellithwaite. naturally, hannaford didn't tell her this--he merely reiterated his demand that she should go with him. she assented at once, only stipulating that there should be no fuss--she would walk out of the hotel with him, and he and his satellites could come back and search her belongings at their leisure. then hannaford--who, between you and me, hetherwick, had an eye for a pretty woman!--made his mistake. her bedroom opened out of the sitting-room in which he'd had his interview with her; he was fool enough to let her go into it alone, to get ready to go with him. she went--and that was the very last hannaford ever saw of her!"
-"made a lightning exit, eh?" remarked hetherwick.
-"she must have gone instantly," asserted hollis. "a door opened from the bedroom into a corridor--she must have picked up hat and coat and walked straight away, leaving everything she had there. anyway, when hannaford, tired of waiting, knocked at the door and looked in, his bird was flown. then, of course, there was a hue-and-cry, and a fine revelation. but she'd got clear away, probably by some side door or other exit, and although hannaford, according to his own account, raked london with a comb for her, she was never found. vanished!"
-"and the necklace?" inquired hetherwick.
-"that had vanished too," replied hollis. "they searched her trunks and things, but they found nothing but clothing. whatever she had in the way of money and valuables she'd carried off. and so hannaford came home, considerably down in the mouth, and he had to stand a good deal of chaff. and if he found this woman's picture in a recent paper--well, small wonder that he did cut it out! i should say he was probably going to set scotland yard on her track!--for, of course, there's no time-limit to criminal proceedings."
-"this is the picture he cut out," observed hetherwick, producing it from his pocket-book. "but you say you never saw the woman?"
-"no, i never saw her," assented hollis, examining the print with interested curiosity. "so, of course, i can't recognise this. handsome woman! but you meet me at my office--close by--to-morrow morning, at ten, and i'll take you to our police-station. gandham will know!"
-gandham, an elderly man with a sphinx-like manner and watchful eyes, laughed sardonically when hollis explained hetherwick's business. he laughed again when hetherwick showed him the print.
-"oh, aye, that's the lady!" he exclaimed. "not changed much, neither! egad, she was a smart 'un, that, mr. hollis!--i often laugh when i think how she did hannaford! but you know, hannaford was a soft-hearted man. at these little affairs, he was always for sparing people's feelings. all very well--but he had to pay for trying to spare hers! aye, that's her! we have a portrait of her here, you know."
-"you have, eh?" exclaimed hetherwick. "i should like to see it."
-"you can see it with pleasure, sir," replied the detective. "and look at it as long as you like." he turned to a desk close by and produced a big album, full of portraits with written particulars beneath them. "this is not, strictly speaking, a police photo," he continued. "it's not one that we took ourselves, ye understand--we never had the chance! no!--but when my lady was staying at the 'white bear,' she had her portrait taken by wintring, the photographer, in silver street, and wintring was that suited with it that he put it in his window. so, of course, when her ladyship popped off with malladale's necklace, we got one of those portraits, and added it to our little collection. here it is!--and you'll not notice so much difference between it and that you've got in your hand, sir."
-there was very little difference between the two photographs, and hetherwick said so. and presently he went away from the police-office wondering more than ever about the woman with whose past adventures he was concerning himself.
-"may as well do the thing thoroughly while you're about it," remarked hollis, as they walked off. "come and see malladale--his shop is only round the corner. not that he can tell you much more than i've told you already."
-but malladale proved himself able to tell a great deal more. a grave, elderly man, presiding over an establishment which hetherwick, unaccustomed to the opulence of provincial manufacturing towns, was astonished to find outside london, he ushered his visitor into a private room, and listened to the reasons they gave for calling on him. after a close and careful inspection of the print which hetherwick put before him, he handed it back with a confident nod.
-"there is no doubt whatever--in my mind--that that is a print from a photograph of the woman i knew as the honourable mrs. whittingham," he said. "and if it has been taken recently, she has altered very little during the ten years that have elapsed since she was here in this town."
-"you'd be glad to see her again, mr. malladale--in the flesh?" laughed hollis.
-the jeweller shook his head.
-"i think not," he answered. "no, i think not, mr. hollis. that's an episode which i had put out of my mind--until you recalled it."
-"but--your loss?" suggested hollis. "close on four thousand pounds, wasn't it?"
-mr. malladale raised one of his white hands to his grey beard and coughed. it was a cough that suggested discretion, confidence, secrecy. he smiled behind his moustache, and his spectacled eyes seemed to twinkle.
-"i think i may venture a little disclosure--in the company of two gentlemen learned in the law," he said. "to a solicitor whom i know very well, and to a barrister introduced by him, i think i may reveal a little secret--between ourselves and to go no further. the fact of this matter is, gentlemen--i had no loss!"
-"what?" exclaimed hollis. "no--loss?"
-"eventually," replied the jeweller. "eventually! indeed, to tell you the truth plain, i made my profit, and--er, something over."
-hollis looked his bewilderment.
-"do you mean that--eventually--you were paid?" he asked.
-"precisely! eventually--after a considerable interval--i was paid," replied mr. malladale. "i will tell you the circumstances. it is, i believe, common knowledge that i sold the diamond necklace to mrs. whittingham for three thousand, nine hundred pounds, and that the cheque she gave me was dishonoured, and that she cleared off with the goods and was never heard of after she escaped from hannaford. well, two years ago, that is to say, eight years after her disappearance, i one day received a letter which bore the new york postmark. it contained a sheet of notepaper on which were a few words and a few figures. but i have that now, and i'll show it to you."
-going to a safe in the corner of his parlour, the jeweller, after some searching, produced a paper and laid it before his visitors. hetherwick examined it with curiosity. there was no name, no address, no date; all that appeared was, as malladale had remarked, a few words, a few figures, typewritten:--
-draft £5,460 enclosed herein: kindly acknowledge in london times.
-"enclosed, as is there said, was a draft on a london bank for the specified amount," continued mr. malladale. "£5,460! you may easily believe that at first i could scarcely understand this: i knew of no one in new york who owed me money. but the first figures--£3,900--threw light on the matter--i suddenly remembered mrs. whittingham and my lost necklace. then i saw through the thing--evidently mrs. whittingham had become prosperous, wealthy, and she was honest enough to make amends; there was my principal, and eight years' interest on it. yet, i felt somewhat doubtful about taking it--i didn't know whether i mightn't be compounding a felony? you gentlemen, of course, will appreciate my little difficulty?"
-"um!" remarked hollis in a non-committal tone. "the more interesting matter is--what did you do? though i think we already know," he added with a smile.
-"well, i went to see hannaford, and told him what i had received," answered the jeweller. "and hannaford said precisely what i expected him to say. he said 'put the money in your pocket, malladale, and say nothing about it!' so--i did!"
-"each of you feeling pretty certain that mrs. whittingham was not likely to show her face in sellithwaite again, no doubt!" observed hollis. "very interesting, mr. malladale. but it strikes me that whether she ever comes to sellithwaite again or not, mrs. whittingham, or whatever her name may be nowadays, is in england."
-"you think so?" asked the jeweller.
-"her picture's recently appeared in an english paper, anyway," said hollis.
-"but pictures of famous american ladies appear in english newspapers," suggested mr. malladale. "i have recollections of several. now my notion is that mrs. whittingham, who was a very handsome and very charming woman, eventually went across the atlantic and married an american millionaire! that's how i figured it. and i have often wondered who she is now."
-"that's precisely what i want to find out," said hetherwick. "one thing is certain--hannaford knew! if he'd been alive he could have told us. because in whatever paper it was that this print appeared there would be some letterpress about it, giving the name, and why it appeared at all."
-"you can trace that," remarked hollis.
-"just so," agreed hetherwick, "and i may as well get back to town and begin the job. but i think with mr. hollis," he added, turning to the jeweller, "i believe that the woman is here in england: i think it possible, too, that hannaford knew where. and i don't think it impossible that between the time of his cutting out her picture from the paper and the time of his sudden death he came in touch with her."
-"you think it probable that she, in some way, had something to do with his murder--if it was murder?" asked mr. malladale.
-"i think it possible," replied hetherwick. "there are strange features in the case. one of the strangest is this. why, when hannaford cut out that picture, for his own purposes, evidently with no intention of showing it to anyone else, did he cut it out without the name and letterpress which must have been under and over it?"
-"queer, certainly!" said hollis. "but, you know, you can soon ascertain what that name was. all you've got to do is to get another copy of the paper."
-"unfortunately, hannaford's granddaughter doesn't know what particular paper it was," replied hetherwick. "her sole recollection of it is that it was some local newspaper, sent to hannaford by post, the very morning that he left here for london."
-"still--it can be traced," said hollis. "it was in some paper---and there'll be other copies."
-"i'll show you a man who'll remember mrs. whittingham better than anybody in sellithwaite," he said, with a laugh. "better even than malladale. i told you she stayed at the 'white bear' when she was here? well, since then the entire staff of that eminent hostelry has been changed, from the manager to the boots--i don't think there's a man or woman there who was there ten years ago. but there's a man at the end of this passage who was formerly hall-porter at the 'white bear'--amblet hudson--and who now keeps a rather cosy little saloon-bar down here: we'll drop in on him. he's what we call a bit of a character, and if you can get him to talk, he's usually worth listening to."
-samples of ink
-hollis led the way farther along the alley, between high, black, windowless walls, and suddenly turning into a little court, paused before a door set deep in the side of an old half-timbered house.
-"queer old place, this!" he remarked over his shoulder. "but you'll get a glass of as good port or sherry from this chap as you'd get anywhere in england--he knows his customers! come in."
-he led the way into a place the like of which hetherwick had never seen--a snug, cosy room, panelled and raftered in old oak, with a bright fire burning in an open hearth and the flicker of its flames dancing on the old brass and pewter that ornamented the walls. there was a small bar-counter on one side of it; and behind this, in his shirt-sleeves, and with a cigar protruding from the corner of a pair of clean-shaven, humorous lips, stood a keen-eyed man, busily engaged in polishing wine-glasses.
-"good morning, gentlemen!" he said heartily. "nice morning, mr. hollis, for the time o' year. and what can i do for you and your friend, sir?"
-hollis glanced round the room--empty, save for themselves. he drew a stool to the bar and motioned hetherwick to follow his example.
-"i think we'll try your very excellent dry sherry, hudson," he answered. "that is, if it's as good as it was last time i tasted it."
-"always up to standard, mr. hollis, always up to standard, sir!" replied the bar-keeper. "no inferior qualities, no substitutes, and no trading on past reputation in this establishment, gentlemen! as good a glass of dry sherry here, sir, as you'd get where sherry wine comes from--and you can't say that of most places in england, i think. everything's of the best here, mr. hollis--as you know!"
-hollis responded with a little light chaff; suddenly he bent across the bar.
-"hudson!" he said confidentially. "my friend here has something he'd like to show you. now, then," he continued, as hetherwick, in response to this, had produced the picture, "do you recognise that?"
-the bar-keeper put on a pair of spectacles and turned the picture to the light, examining it closely. his lips tightened; then relaxed in a cynical smile.
-"aye!" he said, half carelessly. "it's the woman that did old malladale out of that diamond necklace. of course!--mistress whittingham!"
-"would you know her again, if you met her--now?" asked hollis.
-the bar-keeper picked up one of his glasses and began a vigorous polishing.
-"aye!" he answered, laconically. "and i should know her by something else than her face!"
-just then two men came in, and hudson broke off to attend to their wants. but presently they carried their glasses away to a snug corner near the fire, and the bar-keeper once more turned to hollis and hetherwick.
-"aye!" he said confidentially. "if need were, i could tell that party by something else than her face, handsome as that is! i used to tell hannaford when he was busy trying to find her that if he'd any difficulty about making certain, i could identify her if nobody else could! you see, i saw a deal of her when she was stopping at the 'white bear.' and i knew something that nobody else knew."
-"what is it?" asked hetherwick.
-hudson leaned closer across the counter and lowered his voice.
-"she was a big, handsome woman, this mrs. whittingham," he continued. "very showy, dressy woman; fond of fine clothes and jewellery, and so on; sort of woman, you know, that would attract attention anywhere. and one of these women, too, that was evidently used to being waited on hand and foot--she took her money's worth out of the 'white bear,' i can tell you! i did a deal for her, one way or another, and i'll say this for her: she was free enough with her money. if it so happened that she wanted things doing for her, she kept you fairly on the go till they were done, but she threw five-shilling pieces and half-crowns about as if they were farthings! she'd send you to take a sixpenny telegram and give you a couple of shillings for taking it. well, now, as i say, i saw a deal of her, one way and another, getting cabs for her, and taking things up to her room, and doing this, that, and t'other. and it was with going up there one day sudden-like, with a telegram that had just come, that i found out something about her--something that, as i say, i could have told her by anywhere, even if she could have changed her face and put a wig on!"
-"aye--and what, now?" asked hollis.
-"this!" answered hudson with a knowing look. "maybe i'm a noticing sort of chap--anyhow, there was a thing i always noticed about mrs. whittingham. wherever she was, and no matter how she was dressed, whether it was in her going-out things or her dinner finery, she always wore a band of black velvet round her right forearm, just above the wrist, where women wear bracelets. in fact, it was a sort of bracelet, a strip, as i say, of black velvet, happen about two inches wide, and on the front a cameo ornament, the size of a shilling, white stone or something of that sort, with one of these heathen figures carved on it. there were other folk about the place noticed that black velvet band, too--i tell you she was never seen without it; the chambermaids said she slept with it on. but on the occasion i'm telling you about, when i went up to her room with a telegram, i caught her without it. she opened her door to see who knocked--she was in a dressing-gown, going to change for dinner, i reckon, and she held out her right hand for what i'd brought her. the black velvet band wasn't on it, and for just a second like i saw what was on her arm!"
-"yes?" said hollis. "something--remarkable?"
-"for a lady--aye!" replied hudson, with a grim laugh. "her arm was tattooed! right round the place where she always wore this black velvet band there was a snake, red and green, and yellow, and blue, with its tail in its mouth!--wonderfully done, too; it had been no novice that had done that bit of work, i can tell you! of course, i just saw it, and no more, but there was a strong electric light close by, and i did see it, and saw it plain and all. and that's a thing that that woman, whoever she may be, and wherever she's got to, can never rub off, nor scrub off!--she'll carry that to the day of her death."
-the two listeners looked at each other.
-"odd!" remarked hollis.
-hetherwick turned to the bar-keeper.
-"did she notice that you saw that her arm was tattooed?" he asked.
-"nay, i don't think she did," replied hudson. "of course, the thing was over in a second. i made no sign that i'd seen aught particular, and she said nought. but--i saw!"
-just then other customers came in, and the bar-keeper turned away to attend to their wants. hollis and hetherwick moved from the counter to one of the snug corners at the farther end of the room.
-"whoever she may be, wherever she may be--as hudson said just now," remarked hollis, "and if this woman really had anything to do with the mysterious circumstances of hannaford's death, she ought not to be difficult to find. a woman who carries an indefaceable mark like that on her arm, and whose picture has recently appeared in a newspaper, should easily be traced."
-"i think i shall get at her through the picture," agreed hetherwick. "the newspaper production seems to have been done from a photograph which, from its clearness and finish, was probably taken by some first-class firm in london. i shall go round such firms as soon as i get back. it may be, of course, that she's nothing whatever to do with hannaford's murder, but still, it's a trail that's got to be followed to the end now that one's started out on it. well! that seems to finish my business here--as far as she's concerned. but there's another matter--i told you that when hannaford came to town he had on him a sealed packet containing the secret of some invention or discovery, and that it's strangely and unaccountably missing. his granddaughter says that he worked this thing out--whatever it is--in a laboratory that he had in his garden. now then, before i go i want to see that laboratory. as he's only recently left the place, i suppose things will still be pretty much as he left them at his old house. where did he live?"
-"he lived on the outskirts of the town," replied hollis. "an old-fashioned house that he bought some years ago--i know it by sight well enough, though i've never been in it. i don't suppose it's let yet, though i know it's being advertised in the local papers. let's get some lunch at the 'white bear,' and then we'll drive up there and see what we can do. you want to get an idea of what it was that hannaford had invented?"
-"just so," assented hetherwick. "if the secret was worth all that he told his granddaughter it was, he may have been murdered by somebody who wanted to get sole possession of it. anyway, it's another trail that's got to be worked on."
-"i never heard of hannaford as an inventor or experimenter," remarked hollis. "but there, i knew little about him, except in his official capacity: he and his granddaughter, and an elderly woman they kept as a working housekeeper, were quiet sort of folk. i knew that he brought up his granddaughter from infancy, and gave her a rattling good education at the girls' high school, but beyond that, i know little of their private affairs. i suppose he amused himself in this laboratory you speak of in his spare time?"
-"dabbled in chemistry, i understand," said hetherwick. "and, if it hasn't been dismantled, we may find something in that laboratory that will give us a clue of some sort."
-hollis seemed to reflect for a minute or two.
-"i've an idea!" he said suddenly. "there's a man who lunches at the 'white bear' every day--a man named collison; he's analytical chemist to a big firm of dyers in the town. i've seen him in conversation with hannaford now and then. perhaps he could tell us something on this point. come on! this is just about his time for lunch."
-a few minutes later, in the coffee-room of the hotel, hollis led hetherwick up to a bearded and spectacled man who had just sat down to lunch, and having introduced him, briefly detailed the object of his visit to sellithwaite. collison nodded and smiled.
-"i understand," he said, as they seated themselves at his table. "hannaford did dabble a bit in chemistry--in quite an amateur way. but as to inventing anything that was worth all that--come! still, he was an ingenious man, for an amateur, and he may have hit on something fairly valuable."
-"you've no idea what he was after?" suggested hetherwick.
-"of late, no! but some time ago he was immensely interested in aniline dyes," replied collison. "he used to talk to me about them. that's a subject of infinite importance in this district. of course, as i dare say you know, the germans have been vastly ahead of us as regards aniline dyes, and we've got most, if not all, of the stuff used, from germany. hannaford used to worry himself as to why we couldn't make our own aniline dyes, and i believe he experimented. but, with his resources, as an amateur, of course, that was hopeless."
-"i've sometimes seen him talking to you," observed hollis. "you've no idea what he was after, of late?"
-"no. he used to ask me technical questions," answered collison. "you know, i just regarded him as a man who had a natural taste for experimenting with things. this was evidently his hobby. i used to chaff him about it. still, he was a purposeful man, and by reading and experiment he'd picked up a lot of knowledge."
-"and, i suppose, it's within the bounds of possibility that he had hit on something of practical value?" suggested hetherwick.
-"oh, quite within such bounds!--and he may have done," agreed collison. "i've known of much greater amateurs suddenly discovering something. the question then is--do they know enough to turn their discovery to any practical purpose and account?"
-"evidently, from what he told his granddaughter, hannaford did think he knew enough," said hetherwick. "what i want to find out from a visit to his old laboratory is--what had he discovered?"
-"and as you're not a chemist, nor even a dabbler," remarked hollis, with a laugh, "that won't be easy! you'd better come with us after lunch, collison."
-"i can give you a couple of hours," assented collison. "i'm already curious--especially if any discovery we can make tends to throw light on the mystery of hannaford's death. pity the police haven't got hold of the man who was with him," he added, glancing at hetherwick. "i suppose you could identify him?"
-"unless he's an absolute adept at disguising himself, yes--positively!" replied hetherwick. "he was a noticeable man."
-an hour later the three men drove up to a house which stood a little way out of the town, on the edge of the moorland that stretched towards the great range of hills on the west. the house, an old-fashioned, solitary place, was empty, save for a caretaker who had been installed in its back rooms to keep it aired and to show it to possible tenants. the laboratory, a stone-walled, timber-roofed shed at the end of the garden, had never been opened, said the caretaker, since mr. hannaford locked it up and left it. but the key was speedily forthcoming, and the three visitors entered and looked round, each with different valuings of what he saw.
-the whole place was a wilderness of litter and untidiness. whatever hannaford had possessed in the way of laboratory plant and appliances had been removed, and now there was little but rubbish--glass, whole and broken, paper, derelict boxes and crates, odds and ends of wreckage--to look at. but the analytical chemist glanced about him with a knowing eye, examining bottles and boxes, picking up a thing here and another there, and before long he turned to his companions with a laugh, pointing at the same time to a table in a corner which was covered with and dust-lined pots.
-"it's very easy to see what hannaford was after!" he said. "he's been trying to evolve a new ink!"
-"ink!" exclaimed hollis incredulously. "aren't there plenty of inks on the market?"
-"no end!" agreed collison with another laugh, and again pointing to the table. "these are specimens of all the better-known ones--british, of course, for no really decent ink is made elsewhere. but even the very best ink, up to now, isn't perfect. hannaford perhaps thought, being an amateur, that he could make a better than the known best. ink!--that's what he's been after. a superior, perfectly-fluid, penetrating, permanent, non-corrosive writing-ink--that's been his notion, a thousand to one! i observe the presence of lots of stuffs that he's used."
-he showed them various things, explaining their properties and adding some remarks on the history of the manufacture of writing-inks during the last hundred years.
-"taking it altogether," he concluded, "and in spite of manufacturers' advertisements and boasting, there isn't a really absolutely perfect writing-fluid on the market--that i know of, anyway. if hannaford thought he could make one, and succeeded, well, i'd be glad to have his formula! money in it!"
-"to the extent of a hundred thousand pounds?" asked hetherwick, remembering what rhona had told him. "all that?"
-"oh, well!" laughed collison, "you must remember that inventors are always very sanguine; always apt to see everything through rose-coloured spectacles; invariably prone to exaggerate the merits of their inventions. but if hannaford, by experiment, really hit on a first-class formula for making a writing-ink superior in all the necessary qualities to its rivals--yes, there'd be a pot of money in it. no doubt of that!"
-"i suppose he'd have to take out a patent for his invention?" suggested hetherwick.
-"oh, to be sure! i should think that was one of his reasons for going to london--to see after it." assented collison. he looked round again, and again laughed. "well," he said, "i think you know now--you may be confident about it from what i've seen here--what hannaford was after! ink--just ink!"
-hetherwick accepted this judgment, and when he left sellithwaite later in the afternoon on his return journey to london, he summed up the results of his visit. they were two. first, he had discovered that the woman of whom hannaford had spoken in the train was a person who ten years before had been known as mrs. whittingham, appeared to be some sort of an adventuress, and, in spite of her restitution to the jeweller whom she had defrauded, was still liable to arrest, conviction, and punishment--if she could be found. second, he had found out that the precious invention of which hannaford had spoken so confidently and enthusiastically to his granddaughter and the particulars of which had mysteriously disappeared, related to the manufacture of a new writing-ink, which might, in truth, prove a very valuable commercial asset. so far, so good; he was finding things out. as he ate his dinner in the restaurant car he considered his next steps. but it needed little consideration to resolve on them. he must find out all about the woman whose picture lay in his pocketbook--what she now called herself; where she was; how her photograph came to be reproduced in a newspaper; and, last, but far from least, if hannaford, after seeing the reproduction, had got into touch with her or given information about her. to the man in the train hannaford had remarked that he had said nothing about her until that evening--yes, but was that man the only man to whom he had spoken? so much for that--and the next thing was to find out somehow what had become of the sealed packet which hannaford undoubtedly had on him when he went out of malter's hotel on the night of his death.
-next morning, and before calling on either kenthwaite or rhona hannaford, hetherwick set out on a tour of the fashionable photographers in the west end of london. after all, there were not so many of them, so many at any rate of the very famous ones. he made a hit and began to work methodically. his first few coverts were drawn blank, but just before noon, and as he was thinking of knocking off for lunch, he started his fox. in a palatial establishment in bond street the person to whom he applied, showing his picture, gave an immediate smile of recognition.
-"you want to know who is the original of this?" he said. "certainly! lady riversreade, of riversreade court, near dorking."
-hetherwick had no deep acquaintance with debrett nor with burke, nor even with the list of peers, baronets and knights given in the ordinary reference books, and to him the name of lady riversreade was absolutely unknown--he had never heard of her. but the man to whom he had shown the print, and who now held it in his hand, seemed to consider that lady riversreade was, or should be, as well known to everybody as she evidently was to him.
-"this print is from one of our photographs of lady riversreade," he said, turning to a side table in the reception-room in which they were standing and picking up a framed portrait. "this one."
-"then you probably know in what newspaper this print appeared?" suggested hetherwick. "that's really what i'm desirous of finding out."
-"oh, it appeared in several," answered the photographer. "recently. it was about the time that lady riversreade opened some home or institute--i forget what. there was an account of it in the papers, and naturally her portrait was reproduced."
-hetherwick made a plausible prearranged excuse for his curiosity, and went away. lady riversreade!--evidently some woman of rank, or means, or position. but was she identical with the mrs. whittingham of ten years ago--the mrs. whittingham who did the sellithwaite jeweller out of a necklace worth nearly four thousand pounds and cleverly escaped arrest at the hands of hannaford? and if so...
-but that led to indefinite vistas; the main thing at present was to find out all that could be found out about lady riversreade, of riversreade court, near dorking. hetherwick could doubtless have obtained considerable information from the fashionable photographer, but he had carefully refrained from showing too much inquisitiveness. moreover, he knew a man, one boxley, a fellow club-member, who was always fully posted up in all the doings of the social and fashionable world and could, if he would, tell him everything about lady riversreade--that was, if there was anything to tell about her. boxley was one of those bachelor men about town who went everywhere, knew everybody, and kept himself fully informed; he invariably lunched at this particular club, the junior megatherium, and thither hetherwick presently proceeded, bent on finding him.
-he was fortunate in running boxley to earth almost as soon as he entered the sacred and exclusive portals. boxley was lunching and there was no one else at his table. hetherwick joined him, and began the usual small talk about nothing in particular. but he soon came to his one point.
-"look here!" he said, at a convenient interval. "i want to ask you something. you know everybody and everything. who is lady riversreade, who's recently opened some home or institution, or hospital or something?"
-"one of the richest women in england!" replied boxley promptly. "worth a couple of millions or so. that's who she is--who she was, i don't know. don't suppose anybody else does, either. in this country, anyhow."
-"what, is she a foreigner, then?" asked hetherwick. "i've seen her portrait in the papers--that's why i asked you who she is. doesn't look foreign, i think."
-"i can tell you all that is known about her," said boxley, "and that's not much. she's the widow of old sir john riversreade, the famous contractor--the man who made a pot of money building railways, and dams across big rivers, and that sort of thing, and got a knighthood for it. he also built himself a magnificent place near dorking, and called it riversreade court--just the type of place a modern millionaire would build. now, old sir john had been a bachelor all his life, until he was over sixty--no time for anything but his contracts, you know. but when he was about sixty-five, which would be some six or seven years ago, he went over to the united states and made a rather lengthy stay there. and when he returned he brought a wife with him--the lady you're inquiring about."
-"american, then?" suggested hetherwick.
-"well, he married her over there, certainly," said boxley. "but i should say she isn't american."
-"you've met her--personally?"
-"just. run across her once or twice at various affairs, and been introduced to her, quite casually. no, i don't think she's american. if i wanted to label her, i should say she was cosmopolitan."
-"woman of the world, eh?"
-"decidedly so. handsome woman--self-possessed--self-assured--smart, clever. i think she'll know how to take care of the money her husband left her."
-"leave her everything?"
-"every penny!--except some inconsiderable legacies to charitable institutions. it was said at the time--it's two years since the old chap died--that she's got over two millions."
-"and this institution, or whatever it is?"
-"oh, that! that was in the papers not so long since."
-"i'm no great reader of newspapers. what about it?"
-"oh, she's started a home for wounded officers near riversreade court. there was some big country house near there empty--couldn't really be sold or let. she bought it, renovated it, fitted it up, stuck a staff of nurses and servants in, and got it blessed by the war office. jolly nice place, i believe, and she pays the piper."
-"doing the benevolent business, eh?"
-"so it appears. easy game, too, when you've got a couple of millions behind you. useful, though."
-boxley went away soon after that, and hetherwick, wondering about what he had learned, and now infinitely inquisitive about the identity of lady riversreade with mrs. whittingham, went into the smoking-room, and more from habit than because he really wanted to see it, picked up a copy of the times. almost the first thing on which his glance lighted was the name that was just then in his thoughts--there it was, in capitals, at the head of an advertisement:
-"lady riversreade's home for wounded officers, surrey.--required at once a resident lady-secretary, fully competent to undertake accounts and correspondence and thoroughly trained in shorthand and typewriting; a knowledge of french and german would be a high recommendation. application should be made personally any day this week between 10.0 and 12.0 and 3.0 and 5.0 to lady riversreade, riversreade court, dorking."
-hetherwick threw the paper aside, left the club, and at the first newsagent's he came to bought another copy. with this in his hand he jumped into a taxi-cab and set off for surrey street, wondering if he would find rhona hannaford still at malter's hotel. he was fortunate in that--she had not yet left--and in a few minutes he was giving her a full and detailed account of his doings since his last interview with her. she listened to his story about sellithwaite and his discoveries of that morning with a slightly puzzled look.
-"why are you taking all this trouble?" she asked suddenly and abruptly. "you're doing more, going into things more, than the police are. matherfield was here this morning to tell me, he said, how they were getting on. they aren't getting on at all!--they haven't made one single discovery; they've heard nothing, found out nothing, about the man in the train or the man at victoria--they're just where they were. but you--you've found out a lot! why are you so energetic about it?"
-"put it down to professional inquisitiveness, if you like," answered hetherwick, smiling. "i'm--interested. tremendously! you see--i, too, was there in the train, like the man they haven't found. well, now--now that i've got to this point i've arrived at, i want you to take a hand."
-"i? in what way?" exclaimed rhona.
-hetherwick pulled out the times and pointed to the advertisement.
-"i want you to go down to dorking to-morrow morning and personally interview lady riversreade in response to that," he said. "you've all the qualifications she specifies, so you've an excellent excuse for calling on her. whether you'd care to take the post is another matter--what i want is that you should see her under conditions that will enable you to observe her closely."
-"why?" asked rhona.
-"i want you to see if she wears such a band as that which hudson told hollis and myself about," replied hetherwick. "sharp eyes like yours will soon see that. and--if she does, then she's mrs. whittingham! in that case, i might ask you to do more--still more."
-"what, for instance?" she inquired.
-"well, to do your best to get this post," he answered. "i think that you, with your qualifications, could get it."
-"and--your object in that?" she asked.
-"i'm to be a sort of spy, eh?" asked rhona.
-"detective, if you like," assented hetherwick. "why not?"
-"you forget this," she remarked. "if this lady riversreade is identical with the mrs. whittingham of ten years ago, she'd remember my name--hannaford! she's not likely to have forgotten superintendent hannaford of sellithwaite!"
-"exactly--but i've thought of that little matter," replied hetherwick. "call yourself by some other name. your mother's, for instance."
-"that was featherstone," said rhona.
-"there you are! go as miss featherstone. as for your address, give your aunt's address at tooting. easy enough, you see," laughed hetherwick. "once you begin it properly."
-"there's another thing, though," she objected. "references! she'll want those."
-"just as easy," answered hetherwick. "give me as one and kenthwaite as the other. i'll speak to him about it. two barristers of the middle temple!--excellent! come!--all you've got to do is to work the scheme out fully and carry it out with assurance, and you don't know what we might discover."
-rhona considered matters awhile, watching him steadily.
-"you think that--somehow--this woman may be at the back of the mystery surrounding my grandfather's murder?" she suddenly asked.
-"i think it's quite within the bounds of probability," he answered.
-"all right," she said abruptly. "i'll go. to-morrow morning, i suppose?"
-"sooner the better," agreed hetherwick. "and, look here, i'll go down with you. we'll go by the 10.10 from victoria, drive to this place, and i'll wait outside while you have your interview. after that we'll get some lunch in dorking--and you can tell me your news."
-next morning found hetherwick pacing the platform at victoria and on the look-out for his fellow-companion. she came to him a little before the train was due to leave, and he noticed at once that she had discarded the mourning garments in which he had found her the previous afternoon; she now appeared in a smart tailor-made coat and skirt, and looked the part he wanted her to assume--that of a capable and self-reliant young business woman.
-"good!" he said approvingly, as they went to find their seats. "nothing like dressing up to it. you're all ready with your lines, eh?--i mean, you've settled on all you're going to say and do?"
-"leave that to me," she answered with a laugh, "i shan't forget the primary object, anyway. but i've been wondering--supposing we come to the conclusion that this lady riversreade is the mrs. whittingham of ten years ago? what are you going to do then?"
-"my ideas are hazy on that point--at present," confessed hetherwick. "the first thing, surely, is to establish identity. don't forget that the main thing to do at riversreade court is to get a good look at lady riversreade's right wrist, and see what's on it!"
-riversreade court proved to be some distance from dorking, in the leith hill district; hetherwick charted a taxi-cab and gave his companion final instructions as they rode out. half an hour's run brought them to the house--a big, pretentious, imitation elizabethan structure, set on the hill-side amongst a grove of firs and pines, and having an ornamental park laid out between its gardens and terraces and the high road. at the lodge gates he stopped the driver and got out.
-"i'll wait here for you," he said to rhona. "you ride up to the house, get your business done, and come back here. be watchful now--of anything."
-rhona nodded reassuringly and went off; hetherwick lighted his pipe and strolled about admiring the scenery. but his thoughts were with rhona; he was wondering what adventures she was having in the big mansion which the late contractor had built amidst the woods. and rhona kept him wondering some time; an hour had elapsed before the cab came back. with a hand on its door, he turned to the driver:
-"go to the 'white horse' now," he said. "we'll lunch there, and afterwards you can take us to the station. well?" he continued, as he got in and seated himself at rhona's side. "what luck?"
-"good, i should say," answered rhona. "she wears a broad black velvet band on her right wrist, and on the outer face is a small cameo. how's that?"
-"precisely!" exclaimed hetherwick. "just what that bar-keeper chap at sellithwaite described. wears it openly--makes no attempt at concealment beneath her sleeve, eh?"
-"none," answered rhona. "she was wearing a smart, fashionable, short-sleeved jumper. she'd a very fine diamond bracelet on the other wrist."
-"and she herself," asked hetherwick. "what sort of woman is she?"
-"that's a very good photograph of her that my grandfather cut out of the paper," replied rhona. "very good, indeed! i knew her at once. she's a tall, fine, handsome, well-preserved woman, perhaps forty, perhaps less. very easy, accustomed manner; a regular woman of the world i should think. quite ready to talk about herself and her doings--she told me the whole history of this home she's started and took me to see it--it's a fine old house, much more attractive than the court, a little way along the hillside. she told me that it was her great hobby, and that she's devoting all her time to it. i should say that she's genuinely interested in its welfare--genuinely!"
-"she impressed you?" suggested hetherwick.
-"i think, from what i saw and heard, that she's a good-natured, probably warm-hearted, woman. she spoke very feelingly of the patients she's got in her home, anyhow."
-"and the post--the secretaryship?"
-"i can have it if i want it--of course, i told her i did. she examined me pretty closely about my qualifications--she herself speaks french and german like a native--and i mentioned you and mr. kenthwaite as references. she's going to write to you both to-day. so--it's for you to decide."
-"i suppose it's really for you!"
-"no!--i'm willing, eager, indeed, to do anything to clear up the mystery about my grandfather's murder. but--i don't think this woman had anything to do with it. in my opinion--and i suppose i've got some feminine intuition--she's honest and straightforward enough."
-"and yet it looks as if she were certainly the mrs. whittingham who did a sellithwaite jeweller to the tune of four thousand pounds!" laughed hetherwick. "that wasn't very honest or straightforward!"
-"i've been thinking about that," said rhona. "perhaps, after all, she really thought the cheque would be met, and anyway, she did send the man his money, even though it was a long time afterwards. and again--an important matter!--lady riversreade may not be mrs. whittingham at all. more women than one wear wristlets of velvet."
-"but--the portrait!" exclaimed hetherwick. "the positive identity!"
-"well," answered rhona, "i'm willing to go there and to try to find out more. but, frankly, i think lady riversreade's all right! first impression, anyhow!"
-the cab drew up at the "white horse," and hetherwick led rhona into the coffee-room. but they had hardly taken their seats when the manager came in.
-"does your name happen to be hetherwick, sir?" he inquired. "just so--thank you. a mr. mapperley has twice rung you up here during the last hour--he's on the phone again now, if you'll speak to him."
-"i'll come," said hetherwick. "that's my clerk," he murmured to rhona as he rose. "i told him to ring me up here between twelve and three if necessary. back in a minute."
-but he was away several minutes, and when he came to her again, his face was grave. "here's a new development!" he said, bending across the table and whispering. "the police have found the man who was with your grandfather in the train! matherfield wants me to identify him. and you'll gather from that that they've found him dead! we must lunch quickly and catch the two-twenty-four."
-hetherwick went to the hotel telephone again before he had finished his lunch, and as a result matherfield was on the platform at victoria when the two-twenty-four ran in. he showed no surprise at seeing hetherwick and rhona together; his manifest concern was to get hetherwick to himself and away from the station. and hetherwick, seeing this, said good-bye to rhona with a whispered word that he would look in at malter's hotel before evening; a few minutes later he and matherfield were in a taxi-cab together, hastening along buckingham palace road.
-"well?" inquired hetherwick. "this man?"
-"i don't think there's any doubt about his being the man you saw with hannaford," replied matherfield. "he answers to your description, anyway. but i'll tell you how we came across his track. last night a man named appleyard came to me--he's a chap who has a chemist's shop in horseferry road, westminster--a middle-aged, quiet sort of man, who prefaced his remarks by telling us that he very rarely had time to read newspapers or he'd have been round to see us before. but yesterday he happened to pick up a copy of one of last sunday's papers, and he read an account of the hannaford affair. then he remembered something that seemed to him to have a possible connection with it. some little time ago he advertised for an assistant--a qualified assistant. he'd two or three applications which weren't exactly satisfactory. then, one evening--he couldn't give any exact date, but from various things he told us i reckoned up that it must have been on the very evening on which hannaford met his death--a man came and made a personal application. appleyard described him--medium-sized, a spare man, sallow-complexioned, thin face and beard, large dark eyes, very intelligent, superior manner, poorly dressed, and evidently in low water----"
-"that's the man, i'll be bound!" exclaimed hetherwick. "did he give this chemist his name?"
-"he did---name and address," answered matherfield. "he said his name was james granett, and his address number 8, fligwood's rents, gray's inn road--holborn end. he told appleyard that he was a qualified chemist, and produced his proofs and some references. he also said that though he'd never had a business of his own he'd been employed, as, indeed, the references showed, by some good provincial firms at one time or another. lately he'd been in the employ of a firm of manufacturing chemists in east ham--for some reason or other their trade had fallen off, and they'd had to reduce their staff, and he'd been thrown out of work, and had had the further bad luck to be seriously ill. this, he said, had exhausted his small means, and he was very anxious to get another job--so anxious that he appeared to come to appleyard on very low terms. appleyard told him he'd inquire into the references and write to him in a day or two. he did inquire, found the references quite satisfactory, and wrote to granett engaging him. but granett never turned up, and appleyard heard no more of him until he read this sunday paper. then he felt sure granett was the man, and came to me."
-"i shouldn't think there's any doubt in the case," remarked hetherwick. "but before we go any further, a question. did appleyard say what time it was when this man came to him that evening?"
-"he did. it was just as he was closing his shop--nine o'clock. granett stopped talking with him about half an hour. indeed, appleyard told me more. after they'd finished their talk, appleyard, who doesn't live at the shop, locked it up, and he then invited granett to step across the street with him and have a drink before going home. they had a drink together in a neighbouring saloon bar, and chatted a bit there; it would be nearly ten o'clock, according to appleyard, when granett left him. and he remembered that granett, on leaving him, went round the corner into victoria street, on his way, no doubt, to the underground."
-"and in victoria street, equally without doubt, he met hannaford," muttered hetherwick. "well, and the rest of it?"
-"well, of course, as soon as i learnt all this, i determined to go myself to fligwood's rents," replied matherfield. "i went, first thing this morning. fligwood's rents is a slum street--only a man who is very low down in the world would ever dream of renting a room there. it's a sort of alley or court on the right-hand side of gray's inn road, going up--some half-dozen squalid houses on each side, let off in tenements. number 8 was a particularly squalid house!--slatternly women and squalling brats about the door and general dirt and shabbiness all round. none of the women about the place knew the name of granett, but after i'd described the man i wanted they argued that it must be the gentleman on the top back; they added the further information that they hadn't seen him for some days. i went up a filthy stair to the room they indicated; the door was locked and i couldn't get any response to my repeated knockings. so then i set out to discover the landlord, and eventually unearthed a beery individual in a neighbouring low-class tavern. i got out of him that he had a lodger named granett, who paid him six shillings a week for this top back room, and he suddenly remembered that granett hadn't paid his last week's rent. that made more impression on him than anything i said, and he went with me to the house. and to cut things short, we forced the door, and found the man dead in his bed!"
-"dead!" exclaimed hetherwick. "dead--then?"
-"dead then--yes, and he'd been dead several days, according to the doctors," replied matherfield grimly. "dead enough! it was a poor room, but clean--you could see from various little things that the man had been used to a better condition. but as regards himself--he'd evidently gone to bed in the usual way. his clothes were all carefully folded and arranged, and by the side of the bed there was a chair on which was a half-burnt candle and an evening newspaper."
-"that would fix the date," suggested hetherwick.
-"yes!--and from what cause, i wonder?" exclaimed hetherwick.
-"precisely the same idea occurred to me, knowing what i did about hannaford," said matherfield. "however, the doctors will tell us more about that. but to wind up--i had a man of mine with me, and i left him in charge while i got further help, and sent for appleyard. appleyard identified the dead man at once as the man who had been to see him. indeed, on opening the door, we found appleyard's letter, engaging him, lying with one or two others, just inside. so that's about all, except that i now want to know if you can positively identify him as the man you saw with hannaford, and that i also want to open a locked box that we found in the room, which may contain something that will give us further information. altogether, it's a step forward."
-"yes," admitted hetherwick. "it's something. but there's spade-work to be done yet, matherfield. i don't think there's any doubt, now, that granett encountered hannaford after he left appleyard--and that indicates that granett and hannaford were old acquaintances. but, supposing they met at, or soon after, ten o'clock--where did they go, where did they spend their time between that and the time they entered my compartment at st. james's park?"
-"that would be--what?" asked matherfield.
-"it was well after midnight--mine was the last train going east, anyway," said hetherwick. "i only just caught it at sloane square. but we can ascertain the exact time, to a minute. still, those two, meeting accidentally, as i conclude they did, must have been together two or three hours. where?--at that time of night. surely there must be some way of finding that out! two men, each rather noticeable--somebody must have seen them together, somewhere! it seems impossible that they shouldn't have been seen."
-"aye, but in my experience, mr. hetherwick, it's the impossible that happens!" rejoined matherfield. "in a bee-hive like this, where every man's intent on his own business, ninety-nine men out of a hundred never observe anything unless it's shoved right under their very eyes. of course, if we could find out if and where hannaford and granett were together that night, and where granett went to after he slipped away at charing cross, it would vastly simplify matters. but how are we going to find out? there's been immense publicity given to this case in the papers, you know, mr. hetherwick--portraits of hannaford, and details about the whole affair, and so on, and yet we've had surprisingly little help and less information. i'll tell you what it is, sir--what we want is that tall, muffled-up chap who met hannaford at victoria! who is he, now?"
-"who, indeed!" assented hetherwick. "vanished!--without a trace."
-"oh, well!" said matherfield cheerfully, "you never know when you might light on a trace. but here we are at this unsavoury fligwood's rents."
-the cab pulled up at the entrance to a dark, high-walled, stone-paved alley, which at that moment appeared to be full of women and children; so, too, did the windows on either side. the whole place was sombre and evil-smelling, and hetherwick felt a sense of pity for the unfortunate man whose luck had been bad enough to bring him there.
-"a murder, a suicide, or a sudden death is as a breath of heaven to these folk!" said matherfield as they made their way through the ragged and frowsy gathering. "it's an event in uneventful lives. here's the place," he added, as they came to a doorway whereat a policeman stood on guard. "and here are the stairs--mind you don't slip on 'em, for the wood's broken and the banisters are smashed."
-hetherwick cautiously followed his guide to the top of the house. there at another door stood a second policeman, engaged when they caught sight of him in looking out through the dirt-obscured window of the landing. his bored countenance brightened when he saw matherfield; stepping back he quietly opened the door at his side. and the two new-comers, silent in view of the task before them, tiptoed into the room beyond.
-it was, as matherfield had remarked, a poor place, but it was clean and orderly, and its occupant had evidently tried to make it as habitable and comfortable as his means would allow. there were one or two good prints on the table; half a dozen books on an old chest of drawers; in a cracked vase on the mantelpiece there were a few flowers, wilted and dead. hetherwick took in all this at a glance; then he turned to matherfield, who silently drew aside a sheet from the head and shoulders of the rigid figure on the bed, and looked inquiringly at his companion. and hetherwick gave the dead man's face one careful inspection and nodded.
-"yes!" he said. "that's the man!"
-"without doubt?" asked matherfield.
-"no doubt at all," affirmed hetherwick. "that is the man who was with hannaford in the train. i knew him instantly."
-matherfield replaced the sheet and turned to a small table which stood in the window. on it was a box, a square, old-fashioned thing, clamped at the corners.
-"this seems to be the only thing he had that's what you may call private," he observed. "it's locked, but i've got a tool here that'll open it. i want to know what's in it--there may be something that'll give us a clue."
-hetherwick stood by while matherfield forced open the lock with an instrument which he produced from his pocket, and began to examine the contents of the box. at first there seemed little that was likely to yield information. there was a complete suit of clothes and an outfit of decent linen; it seemed as if granett had carefully kept these in view of better days. there were more books, all of a technical nature, relating to chemistry; there was a small case containing chemical apparatus, and another in which lay a pair of scales; in a third they found a microscope.
-"he wasn't down to the very end of his resources, or he'd have pawned these things," muttered matherfield. "they all look good stuff, especially the microscope. but here's more what i want--letters!"
-he drew forth two bundles of letters, neatly arranged and tied up with tape. unloosing the fastenings and rapidly spreading the envelopes out on the table, he suddenly put his finger on an address.
-"there you are, mr. hetherwick," he exclaimed. "that's just what i expected to find out--though i certainly didn't think we should discover it so quickly this man has lived at sellithwaite some time or other. look there, at this address--mr. james granett, 7, victoria terrace, sellithwaite, yorkshire. of course!--that's how he came to know and be with hannaford. they were old acquaintances. see, there are several letters."
-hetherwick took two or three of the envelopes in his hand and looked closely at them. he perceived at once what matherfield had not noticed.
-"just so!" he said. "but what's of far more importance is the date. look at this--you see? that shows that granett was living at sellithwaite ten years ago--it was of that time that hannaford was talking to him in the train."
-"oh, we're getting at something!" assented matherfield. "now we'll put everything back, and i'll take this box away and examine it thoroughly at leisure." he replaced the various articles, twisted a cord round the box, knotted it, and turned to the dead man's clothes, lying neatly folded on a chair close by. "i haven't had a look at the pockets of those things yet," he continued. "i'll just take a glance--you never know."
-hetherwick again watched in silence. there was little of interest revealed until matherfield suddenly drew a folded bit of paper from one of the waistcoat pockets. smoothing it out he uttered a sharp exclamation.
-"good!" he said. "see this? a brand new five pound note! now, i'll lay anything he hadn't had that on him long! got it that night, doubtless. and--from whom?"
-"i should say hannaford gave it to him," suggested hetherwick.
-but matherfield shook his head and put the note in his own pocket.
-"that's a definite clue!" he said, with emphasis. "i can trace that!"
-the medicine bottle
-hetherwick went away from the sordid atmosphere of fligwood's rents wondering more than ever at this new development; he continued to wonder and to speculate all the rest of that day and most of the next. that granett's sudden death had followed on hannaford's seemed to him a sure proof that there was more behind this mystery than anybody had so far conceived of. personally, he had not the slightest doubt that whoever poisoned hannaford had also poisoned granett. and he was not at all surprised when, late in the afternoon of the day following upon that of the visit to dorking, matherfield walked into his chambers with a face full of news.
-"i know what you're going to tell me, matherfield," said hetherwick, motioning his visitor to an easy chair. "the doctors have held a post-mortem on granett, and they find that he was poisoned."
-matherfield's face fell; he was robbed of his chance of a dramatic announcement.
-"well, and that's just what i was going to tell you," he answered. "that's what they do say. same doctors that performed the autopsy on hannaford. doesn't surprise you?"
-"not in the least," replied hetherwick. "i expected it. they're sure of it?"
-"dead certain! but, as in hannaford's case, they're not certain of the particular poison used. however--also as in his case--they've submitted the whole case to two big swells in that line, one of 'em the man that's always employed by the home office in these affairs, and the other that famous specialist at st. martha's hospital--i forget his name. they'll get to work; they're at work on the hannaford case now. difficult job, i understand--some very subtle poison, probably little known. however, i believe we've got a clue about it."
-"a clue--about the poison?" exclaimed hetherwick. "what clue?"
-"well, this," answered matherfield. "after you'd gone away from fligwood's rents yesterday afternoon, and while i was making arrangements for the removal of the poor chap's body, i took another careful look round the room. now, if you noticed things as closely as all that, you may have observed that granett's bed was partly in a sort of alcove--the head part. in the corner of that alcove, or recess, just where he could have set them down by reaching his arm out of bed, i found a bottle and a glass tumbler. the bottle was an ordinary medicine bottle--not a very big one. it had the cork in it and about an inch of fluid, which, on taking out the cork, i found to be whisky, and, i should say by the smell, whisky of very good quality. but i noticed that there was the very slightest trace of some sort of sediment at the bottom. there was a trace of similar sediment in the bottom of the tumbler. now, of course, i put these things up most carefully, sealed them, and handed them over to the doctors. for it was very evident to me--reconstructing things, you know--that granett had mixed himself a drink, a nightcap, if you like to call it so, from that bottle on getting into bed, and then had put bottle and glass down by his bed-head, in the corner. and just as i mean to trace that five-pound note, mr. hetherwick, so i mean to trace that bottle!"
-"how?" asked hetherwick, closely interested. "and to what, or whom?"
-"to the chemists where it came from," answered matherfield. "it came from some chemist's, and i'll find which!"
-"there are hundreds of chemists in london," said hetherwick. "it's a stiff proposition."
-"it's going to be done, anyway," asserted matherfield. "and it mayn't be such a stiff job as it at first looks to be. see here! there were labels on that bottle, both of 'em torn and defaced, it's true, but still with enough on them to narrow down the field of inquiry. i've had the face of the bottle photographed--here's a print of the result."
-he brought out a photographic print, roughly finished and mounted on a card, and handed it over to hetherwick, who took it to the light and examined it carefully. it showed the front of the medicine bottle, with a label at the top and another at the bottom. each had been torn, as if to obliterate names and addresses, but a good deal of the lettering was left.
-"that bottom label's the thing, mr. hetherwick," remarked matherfield. "let me get that hiatus filled up with the name and address of the chemist, and i'll soon find out who c. a. blank, esquire, is! the chemist is one in the west central district; he's a member of the pharmaceutical society; he'll have somebody whose initials are c. a. on his books; he'll recognise the number a.1152 of the prescription. it's a decided clue; and even if there are, as there undoubtedly are, scores of chemists in the west central district, i'll run this one down!"
-hetherwick handed back the photograph and began to pace up and down the room. suddenly he turned on his visitor, his mind made up to tell him what he himself had been doing.
-"matherfield," he said, dropping into his chair again and adopting a tone of confidence, "what do you make of this? i mean--what's your theory? is it your opinion that the deaths of these two men are--so to speak--all of a piece?"
-"that is my opinion!" answered matherfield with an emphatic nod. "i've no more doubt about it than i have that i see you, mr. hetherwick. all of a piece, to be sure! whoever poisoned hannaford poisoned granett! i'll tell you how i've figured it out since the doctors told me, only a couple of hours since, what their opinion is about granett. this way: hannaford and granett knew each other at sellithwaite ten years ago. that night when granett left appleyard in horseferry road and turned into victoria street, he met hannaford--accidentally."
-"why accidentally?" asked hetherwick.
-"well, that's what i think," said matherfield. "i've figured in that way. of course, it may have been by appointment. but anyway, they met--we know that. now then, where did they spend their time between then and the time they got into your carriage at st. james's park? we don't know. but here comes in an unknown factor--what about the strange man at victoria, the man muffled to his eyes? two things suggest themselves to me, mr. hetherwick. did hannaford take granett to see that man, or did hannaford and granett meet at that man's? for i think that man, whoever he is, is at the bottom of every thing."
-"why should they meet at that man's?" asked hetherwick.
-"well," answered matherfield, "i think that secret of hannaford's has something to do with it. he had the sealed packet on him when he left malter's hotel; it had disappeared when we searched his clothing after his death. now, the granddaughter says it had to do with chemicals. suppose the tall, muffled man was a chap whose business opinion on this secret hannaford wanted, and that they met at victoria and went to the man's rooms somewhere in that district? suppose granett--another man in the chemistry line--came there, knowing both? supposing the muffled man poisoned both of 'em, to keep the secret to himself? do you see what i'm after? very well! there you are. the thing is to hunt out that man, whoever he is. i wish i knew what hannaford's secret was, though--its precise nature."
-"matherfield," said hetherwick, "i'll tell you! you've been very confidential with me; i'll be equally so with you, on condition that we work together from this. the fact is, i've been at work. i'm immensely interested in this case. ever since i saw hannaford die in that train and in that awfully mysterious fashion it's fascinated me, and i'm going to the very end of it. now i'll tell you all i've been doing, and what i've discovered. listen carefully."
-he went on to tell his visitor the whole details of his visit to sellithwaite, of the results of his investigations there, and of rhona's doings and observations at riversreade court. matherfield listened in absorbed silence.
-"is miss hannaford going to this secretaryship, then?" he demanded abruptly, at the end of hetherwick's story. "is it settled?"
-"practically, yes," replied hetherwick. "i heard from lady riversreade this morning; so did mr. kenthwaite. we gave miss hannaford--to be known to lady riversreade as miss featherstone--very good recommendations for the post, and i expect that as soon as she's had our letters, lady riversreade will telephone to miss hannaford that she's to go at once. then--she'll go."
-"to act as--spy?" suggested matherfield.
-"if you put it that way, yes," assented hetherwick. "though, from what she saw of her yesterday, miss hannaford formed a very favourable opinion of lady riversreade. however, i'm so certain that somehow or other, perhaps innocently, she's connected with this affair, that we mustn't lose any chance."
-"and miss hannaford will report anything likely to you?" asked matherfield.
-"just so! miss hannaford's duties don't include any sunday work; on sunday she'll come to town, and if there's anything to tell, she'll tell it--to me. she's a smart, clever girl, matherfield, and she'll keep her eyes open."
-matherfield nodded, and for a while sat silent, evidently lost in his own thoughts.
-"oh, she's a clever girl, right enough!" he said suddenly. "um! i wonder who this lady riversreade really is, now?"
-"this lady riversreade!" laughed hetherwick. "a multi-millionairess!"
-"aye, just so; but who was she before her marriage? if she is the woman who was known as mrs. whittingham----"
-"can there be any doubt about it after what i found out?"
-"you never know, mr. hetherwick! lord bless you! they talk about the long arm of coincidence. why, in my time i've known of things that make me feel there's nothing wonderful about the most amazing coincidence! but--if lady riversreade used to be mrs. whittingham, then i'd like to know all about mrs. whittingham until she became lady riversreade, and who she was before she was mrs. whittingham, if she ever was mrs. whittingham!"
-"stiff job, matherfield," said hetherwick. "i think we shall have enough to do to keep an eye on lady riversreade."
-"you anticipate something there?" suggested matherfield.
-"i think something may transpire," replied hetherwick.
-matherfield got to his feet.
-"well," he said, "keep me informed, and i'll keep you informed. we've something to go on--lord knows what we shall make out of it!"
-"you're doing your best to trace the tall man?" asked hetherwick.
-"best!" exclaimed matherfield with an air of disgust. "we've done our best and our better than best! i've had special men all round that victoria district; i should think every tall man in that part's been eyed over. and i believe that mr. ledbitter has so got the thing on his brain that he's been spending all his spare time patrolling the neighbourhood and going in and out of restaurants and saloons looking for the man he saw--of course, without result!"
-"all the same," said hetherwick, "that man is--somewhere!"
-matherfield went away, and except at the inquest on granett--whereat nothing transpired which was not already known--hetherwick did not see him again for several days. he himself progressed no further in his investigations during that time. rhona hannaford betook herself to riversreade court, as secretary to its mistress's home, and until the sunday succeeding his departure hetherwick heard nothing of her. then she came up to town on the sunday morning and, in accordance with their previous arrangement, hetherwick met her at victoria, and took her to lunch at a neighbouring hotel.
-"nothing!" answered rhona. "everything exceedingly proper, business-like, and orderly. and lady riversreade appears to me to be a model sort of person--her devotion to that home and its inmates is remarkable! i don't believe anything's going to happen, or that i shall ever have anything to report."
-"well, that'll have its compensations," said hetherwick. "leave us all the more time for ourselves, won't it?"
-he gave her a look to which rhona responded, shyly but unmistakably; she knew, as well as he did, that they were getting fond of each other's society. and they continued to meet on sundays, and three or four went by, and still she had nothing to tell that related to the mystery of hannaford and granett.
-three weeks elapsed before matherfield had anything to tell, either. then he walked into hetherwick's chambers one morning with news in his face.
-"traced it!" he said. "knew i should! that five-pound note--brand new. only a question of time to do that, of course."
-"well?" inquired hetherwick.
-"it was one of twenty fivers paid by the cashier of the london and country bank in piccadilly to the secretary of vivian's," continued matherfield. "date--day before hannaford's death. vivian's, let me tell you, is a swell night club. now then, how did that note get into the hands of granett? that's going to be a stiff 'un!"
-"so stiff that i'm afraid you mustn't ask me to go in at it," agreed hetherwick good-humouredly. "i must stick to my own line--when the chance comes."
-the chance came on the following sunday, when, in pursuance of now established custom, he met rhona. she gave him a significant look as soon as she got out of the train.
-"news--at last!" she said, as they turned up the platform. "something's happened--but what it means i don't know."
-the mysterious visitor
-the head-waiter in the restaurant to which hetherwick and rhona repaired every sunday immediately upon her arrival now knew these two well by sight, and forming his own conclusions about them, always reserved for them a table in a quiet and secluded corner. hither they now proceeded, and had scarcely taken their accustomed seats before rhona plunged into her story.
-"i expect you want to know what it's all about, so i won't keep you waiting," she said. "it was on friday--friday morning--that it happened, and i half thought of writing to you about it that evening. then i thought it best to tell you personally to-day--besides, i should have had to write an awfully long letter. there are things to explain; i'd better explain them first. our arrangements down there at riversreade, for instance. they're like this: lady riversreade and i always breakfast together at the court, about nine o'clock. at ten we go across the grounds to the home. there we have a sort of formal office--two rooms, one of which, the first opening from the hall, i have, the other, opening out of it, is lady riversreade's private sanctum. in the hall itself we have an ex-army man, mitchell, as hall-porter, to attend to the door and so on. all the morning we are busy with letters, accounts, reports of the staff, and that sort of thing. we have lunch at the home, and we're generally busy until four or five o'clock. got all that?"
-"every scrap!" replied hetherwick. "perfectly plain."
-"very well," continued rhona. "one more detail, however. a good many people, chiefly medical men and folk interested in homes and hospitals, call, wanting to look over and to know about the place--which, i may tell you in parenthesis, costs lady riversreade a pretty tidy penny! mitchell's instructions as regards all callers are to bring their cards to me--i interview them first; if i can deal with them, i do; if i think it necessary or desirable, i take them in to lady riversreade. we have to sort them out--some, i am sure, come out of mere idle curiosity; in fact, the only visitors we want to see there are either medical men who have a genuine interest in the place and can do something for it, or people who are connected with its particular inmates. well, on friday morning last, about a quarter to twelve, as i was busy with my letters, i heard a car come up the drive, and presently mitchell came into my room with a card bearing the name dr. cyprian baseverie. instead of being an engraved card as, by all the recognised standards, it should have been, it was a printed card--that was the first thing i noticed."
-"your powers of observation," remarked hetherwick admiringly, "are excellent, and should prove most useful."
-"thank you for the compliment!--but that didn't need much observation," retorted rhona with a laugh. "it was obvious. however, i asked mitchell what dr. baseverie wanted; mitchell replied that the gentleman desired an interview with lady riversreade. now, as i said before, we never refuse doctors, so i told mitchell to bring dr. baseverie to me. a moment later dr. baseverie entered. i want to describe him particularly, and you must listen most attentively. figure, then, to yourself a man of medium height, neither stout nor slender, but comfortably plump, and apparently about forty-five years of age, dressed very correctly and fashionably in a black morning coat and vest, dark striped trousers, immaculate as to linen and neckwear, and furnished with a new silk hat, pearl-grey gloves and a tightly rolled gold-mounted umbrella. incidentally, he wore a thin gold watch-chain, white spats and highly polished shoes. got that?"
-"i see him--his clothes and things, i mean," assented hetherwick. "fashionable medico sort, evidently! but--himself?"
-"now his face," continued rhona. "imagine a man with an almost absolutely bloodless countenance--a face the colour of old ivory--lighted by a pair of peculiarly piercing eyes, black as sloes, and the pallor of the face heightened by a rather heavy black moustache and equally black, slightly crinkled hair, thick enough above the ears but becoming sparse and thin on the crown. imagine, too, a pair of full, red lips above a round but determined chin and a decidedly hooked nose, and you have--the man i'm describing!"
-"um!" said hetherwick reflectingly. "hebraic, i think, from your description."
-"that's just what i thought myself," agreed rhona. "i said to myself at once, 'whatever and whoever else you are, my friend, you're a jew!' but the creature's manner and speech were english enough--very english. he had all the well-accustomed air of the medical practitioner who is also a bit of a man of the world, and i saw at once that anybody who tried to fence with him would usually come off second-best. his explanation of his presence was reasonable and commonplace enough: he was deeply interested in the sort of cases we had in the home, and desired to acquaint himself with our methods and arrangements and so on. he made use of a few technical terms and phrases which were quite beyond my humble powers, and i carried in his card to lady riversreade. lady riversreade is always accessible when there's a doctor in the case, and in two minutes dr. baseverie was closeted with her."
-"that ends the first chapter, i suppose?" said hetherwick. "interesting--very! a good curtain! and the next?"
-"the events of the second chapter," replied rhona, "took place in lady riversreade's room, and i cannot even guess at their nature. i can only tell of things that i know. but there's a good deal in that. to begin with, although dr. baseverie had said to me that he desired to see the home--which, of course, in the ordinary way meant his being either taken round by lady riversreade or by our resident house physician--he was not taken round. he never left that room from the moment he entered it until the moment in which he left it. and he remained in it an entire hour!"
-"with lady riversreade?"
-"with lady riversreade! she never left it, either. nor did i go into it; she hates me to go in if she has anybody with her at any time. no!--there those two were together, from ten minutes to twelve until five minutes to one. yet the man had said that he wanted to look round!"
-"is there any other way by which they could have left that room?" suggested hetherwick. "another door--or a french window?"
-"there is nothing of the sort. the door into my room is the only means of entrance or exit to or from lady riversreade's. no--they were there all the time."
-"did you hear anything?"
-"nothing! the house in which lady riversreade set up this home is an old, solid, well-built one--none of your modern gimcrack work in it!--it's a far better house than the court, grand as that may be. all the doors and windows fit--i never heard a sound from the room."
-"well," asked hetherwick, after due meditation, "and at the end of the hour?"
-"at the end of the hour the door suddenly opened and dr. baseverie appeared, hat, gloves and umbrella in hand. he half turned as he came out and said a few words to lady riversreade. i heard them. he said, 'well, then, next friday morning at the same time?' then he nodded, stepped into my room, closed the door behind him, made me a very polite, smiling bow as he passed my desk, and went out. a moment later he drove off in the car--it had been waiting at the entrance all that time."
-"i suppose that's the end of chapter two," suggested hetherwick. "is there more?"
-"some," responded rhona. "during the hour which dr. baseverie had spent with lady riversreade i had been very busy typing letters. when he had gone i took them into her room, so that she could sign them. i suppose i was a bit curious about what had just happened and may have been more than usually observant--anyway, i felt certain that the visit of this man, whoever he is, had considerably upset lady riversreade. she looked it."
-"precisely how?" inquired hetherwick.
-"well, i couldn't exactly tell you. perhaps a man wouldn't have noticed it. but being a woman, i did. she was perturbed--she'd been annoyed, or distressed, or surprised, or--something. i saw signs which, as a woman, were unmistakable--to a woman. the man's visit had been distasteful--troubling. i'm as certain of that as i am that this is roast mutton."
-"did she say anything?"
-"not one word. she was unusually taciturn--silent, in fact. she took the letters in silence, signed them in silence. no, on reflection, she never spoke a word while i was in the room. i took the letters away and began putting them in their envelopes. soon afterwards lady riversreade came through my room and went out, and i saw her go across the grounds to the court. she didn't turn up at the usual luncheon at the home, and i didn't see her again that afternoon. in fact, i didn't see her again that day, for when i went home to the court at five o'clock, lady riversreade's maid told me that her mistress had gone up to town and wouldn't be home until late that night. i went to bed before she returned."
-"next morning?" suggested hetherwick.
-"next morning she was just as usual, and things went on in the usual way."
-"did she ever mention this man and his visit to you?" asked hetherwick.
-"no--not a word of him. but i found out something about him myself on friday afternoon."
-"what? something relevant?"
-"may be relevant to--something. i was wondering about him--and his printed card. i thought it odd that a medical man, so smartly dressed and all that, should present a card like that--not one well printed, a cheap thing! besides, it had no address. i wondered--mere inquisitiveness, perhaps--where the creature came from. now, we've a jolly good lot of the usual reference-books there at the home--and there's a first-class right up-to-date medical directory amongst them. so i looked up the name of dr. cyprian baseverie. i say, looked it up--but i didn't do that--for it wasn't there! he's neither an english, nor a scottish, nor an irish medical man."
-"foreigner, then," said hetherwick. "french, perhaps, or--american."
-"may be an egyptian, or a persian, or a eurasian, for anything i know," remarked rhona. "what i know is that he's not on the list in that directory, though from his speech and manner you'd think he'd been practising in the west end all his life! anyway, that's the story. is there anything in it?"
-hetherwick picked up his glass of claret by its stem and looked thoughtfully through the contents of the bowl.
-"the particular thing is--the extent and quality of lady riversreade's annoyance, or dismay, or perturbation, occasioned by the man's visit," he said at last. "if she was really very much upset----"
-"if you want my honest opinion as eye-witness and as woman," remarked rhona, "lady riversreade was very much upset. she gave me the impression that she'd just received very bad, disconcerting, unpleasant news. after seeing and watching her as she signed the letters i had no doubt whatever that the man had deliberately lied to me when he said he wanted to see the home and its working--what he really wanted was access to lady riversreade."
-"look here!" exclaimed hetherwick suddenly "were you present when this man went into lady riversreade's room?"
-"present? of course i was! i took him in--myself."
-"you saw them meet?"
-"to be sure!"
-"well, then, you know! were they strangers? did she recognise him? did she show any sign of recognition whatever when she set eyes on him?"
-"no, none! i'm perfectly certain she'd never seen the man before in her life! i could see quite well that he was an absolute stranger to her."
-"and she to him?"
-"oh, that i don't know! he may have seen her a thousand times. but i'm sure she'd never seen him."
-hetherwick laid down his knife and fork with a gesture of finality.
-"i'm going to find out who that chap is," he answered. "got to!"
-"you think his visit may have something to do with this?" asked rhona.
-"how will you do it?"
-"you say he said that he was going there again next friday at the same time? well, the thing to do, then, is to watch and follow him when he goes away."
-"i'm afraid i'm no use for that! he'd know me."
-"nor am i!--i'm too conspicuous," laughed hetherwick. "if i were a head and shoulders shorter, i might be some use. but i've got the very man--my clerk, one mapperley. he's just the sort to follow and dog anybody and yet never be seen himself. as you'll say, when you've the pleasure of seeing him, mapperley's the most ordinary, commonplace chap you ever set eyes on--pass absolutely unnoticed in any cockney crowd. but he's as sharp as they make 'em, veiling a peculiar astuteness under his eminently undistinguished features. and what i shall do is this--i'll give mapperley a full and detailed description of dr. cyprian baseverie: i've memorised yours already; mapperley will memorise mine. now baseverie, whoever he may be, will probably go down to dorking by the 10.10 from here; so will mapperley. and after mapperley has once spotted his man, he'll not lose sight of him."
-"and he'll do--what?" asked rhona.
-"follow him to dorking--watch him--follow him back to london--find out where he goes when he returns--run him to earth, in fact. then he'll report to me--and we shall know more than we do now, and also what to do next."
-"i wonder what it's all going to lead to?" said rhona. "pretty much of a maze, isn't it?"
-"it is," agreed hetherwick. "but if we can only get a firm hold on a thread----"
-"and that might break!" she laughed.
-"well, then, one that won't break," he said. "there are several loose ends lying about already. matherfield's got a hold on one or two."
-he went to see matherfield next morning and told him the story that he had heard from rhona. matherfield grew thoughtful.
-"well, mr. hetherwick," he said, after a pause, "it's as i've said before--if this lady riversreade is mixed up in it, the thing to do is to go back and get as full a history as can possibly be got of her antecedents. we'll have to get on to that--but we'll wait to see what that clerk of yours discovers about this man. there may be something in it--in the meantime i'm hard at work on my own clues."
-"any luck?" asked hetherwick.
-"scarcely that. but, as i say, we're at work. the five-pound note is a difficult matter. given in change, of course, at vivian's night club--but they tell me there that it's no uncommon thing to change ten, twenty, and even fifty-pound notes for their customers--it's a swell lot who forgather there--and of course they've no recollection whatever about that particular note or night. still, the fact remains--that note came through vivian's, and through one of its frequenters, to granett, and i'm in hopes."
-"and the medicine bottle?" suggested hetherwick.
-"ah, there is more chance!" responded matherfield, with a lightening eye. "that's only a question of time! i've got a man going round all the chemists in the west central district--stiff job, for there are more of 'em than i believed. but he's bound to hit on the right one eventually. and then--well, we shall have a pretty good idea, if not positive proof, as to how granett got hold of the stuff that poisoned him."
-"i suppose there's no doubt that there was poison in that bottle?" inquired hetherwick.
-"according to the specialists, none," replied matherfield. "and in the glass too. what sort of poison, i don't know--you know what these experts are--so mysterious about things! but they have told me this--the stuff that settled granett was identical with that which finished off hannaford. that's certain."
-"then it probably came from the same source," said hetherwick.
-"oh, my notion is that the man or men who poisoned one man poisoned the other," exclaimed matherfield. "and at the same time. at least, i think granett got his dose at the same time--probably carried it off in his pocket and drank it when he got home. but--we shall trace that bottle! let me know what you find out about this man baseverie, mr. hetherwick--every little helps."
-hetherwick duly coached mapperley in the part he wanted him to play, and mapperley, with money in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth, lounged off to victoria on the following friday morning. his principal saw nothing and heard nothing of him all that day.
-as hetherwick was breakfasting next morning, mapperley, outwardly commonplace and phlegmatic as ever, walked into his room.
-"brief outline first, mapperley," commanded hetherwick, instinctively scenting news. "details later. well?"
-"spotted him at once at victoria," said mapperley. "followed him down there. he was at riversreade an hour. then went back to dorking--had lunch at 'red lion.' he stopped there till four o'clock, lunching and idling. went back to town by the 4.29, arriving 6.5. i followed him then to the café de paris. he dined there and hung about till past ten. and then he went to vivian's night club."
-hetherwick pricked up his ears at that. vivian's night club!--here, at any rate, seemed to be a link in the chain of which matherfield believed himself to hold at least one end. the five-pound note found on granett had been traced to vivian's night club: now mapperley had tracked lady riversreade's mysterious visitor to the same resort.
-"to vivian's night club, eh, mapperley?" he said. "let's see?--where is that?"
-"entrance is in candlestick passage, off st. martin's lane," replied mapperley with promptitude. "club's on first floor--jolly fine suite of rooms, too!"
-"you've been in it?" suggested hetherwick.
-"twice! not last night, though. you didn't give me any further orders than to see where he went finally, after returning to town. so, when i'd run him to earth at vivian's, i went home. i argued that if he was wanted further, vivian's would find him."
-"all right, mapperley. but before that? you followed him to riversreade court?"
-mapperley grinned widely.
-"no!--i did better than that. i was there before him--much better that, than following. i spotted him quick enough at victoria, and made sure he got into the 10.10. then i got in. as soon as we got to dorking, i jumped out, got outside the station and chartered a taxi and drove off to riversreade court. i made the driver hide his cab up the road: i laid low in the plantation opposite the entrance gates. presently my lord came along and drove up to the house. he was there the best part of an hour; then he drove off again towards dorking. i followed at a good distance: kept him in sight, all the same. he got out of his conveyance in the high street: so did i. he went into the red lion: so did i. he had lunch there: so had i. after that he lounged about in the smoking-room: i kept an eye on him."
-"i suppose he didn't meet anybody?"
-"well, and at the café de paris? did he meet anybody there?"
-"he exchanged a nod and a word here and there with men--and women--that came in and went out. but as to any arranged meeting, i should say not. i should say, too, that he was well known at the café de paris."
-"did he seem to be a man of means? you know what i mean?"
-"he did himself very well at lunch and dinner, anyway," said mapperley, with another grin. "bottle of claret at dorking, and a pint of champagne at the café de paris--big cigars, too. that sort of man, you know."
-hetherwick considered matters a moment.
-"how do you get in to this vivian's night club?" he asked suddenly.
-"pay!" answered mapperley laconically. "at the door. some nonsense about being proposed, but that's all bosh! two of you go--say brown and smith. brown proposes smith and smith proposes brown. all rot! anybody can get in--with money."
-"and what goes on there?"
-"dancing! drinking! devilry! quite respectable, though," replied mapperley. "been no prosecutions, anyway--so far."
-"what time does it open?"
-"nine o'clock," answered mapperley, with a suggestive grin. "in the old days it didn't open till after the theatres. but now--earlier."
-"really not a night-club at all--in the old acceptation of the term," suggested hetherwick. "evening, really?"
-"that's about it," agreed mapperley. "anyhow, it's vivian's."
-for the second time in the course of his investigations, hetherwick's thoughts turned to boxley. boxley's love of intimate acquaintance with all sides of london life had doubtless led him to look in at vivian's: he would ask boxley for some further information. and he looked up boxley at the club.
-boxley knew vivian's well enough--innocent and innocuous now, said boxley, what with all these new regulations and so on: degenerated, indeed--or improved, just whichever way you regarded it--into a supper club and that sort of thing. dancing?--oh yes, there was dancing, and so on--but things had altered--altered.
-"well, i don't want to dance there, nor to go there at all, for that matter, unless i'm obliged to," said hetherwick. "what i want to know is something about a man who, i believe, frequents the place--a somewhat notable man."
-"describe him!" commanded boxley.
-hetherwick retailed rhona's description of baseverie: boxley nodded.
-"i know that man--by sight," he said. "seen him there. i believe he's something to do with the proprietorship: that place is owned by a small syndicate. but i don't know his name. i've seen him outside too--round about leicester square and its purlieus."
-hetherwick went from boxley to matherfield and told him the result of mapperley's work.
-"i know vivian's, of course," said matherfield. "been in there two or three times lately in relation to this five-pound note. don't remember seeing this man, though. but in view of what your clerk says, i'd like to see him. come with me. we'll go to-night."
-"make it monday," suggested hetherwick. "to-morrow, sunday, i shall be meeting miss hannaford again, and before we go to vivian's i'd like to know if she has anything to tell about the last visit of baseverie to riversreade court--the visit that mapperley watched yesterday. she may have."
-"monday night then," agreed matherfield. "i don't know what we can expect, but i'd certainly like to know who this man is and why he goes to lady riversreade."
-"no good, you may be sure!" said hetherwick. "but we'll ferret it out--somehow."
-"odd, that things seem to be centring round vivian's!" mused matherfield. "the fiver--and now this. well--monday evening then?--perhaps miss hannaford can supply a bit of extra news to-morrow."
-hetherwick, meeting rhona at victoria next day, found his arm grasped in rhona's right hand and himself twisted round.
-"if you want to see lady riversreade in the flesh, there she is!" whispered rhona. "came up by the same train--there, going towards the bookstall; a tall man with her!"
-at that moment lady riversreade turned to speak to a porter who was carrying some light luggage for her, and hetherwick had a full and good view of her face and figure. a fine, handsome, capable-looking woman, he said to himself, and one that once seen would not easily be forgotten.
-"who's the man?" he asked, looking from lady riversreade to her companion, a tall, bronzed man of military appearance, and apparently of about her own age.
-"major penteney," replied rhona promptly. "he's a friend of hers, who takes a tremendous interest in the home--in fact, he acts as a sort of representative of it here in town. he's often down at the court--i believe he's in love with her."
-"well-matched couple," observed hetherwick, as the two people under notice moved away towards the exit. "and what's lady riversreade come up for?"
-"oh, i don't know that," replied rhona. "she never tells me anything about her private doings. i heard her say that she was going to town this morning and shouldn't be back until tuesday, but that's all i know."
-"that man, baseverie, came again on friday?" suggested hetherwick. "but i know he did--mapperley watched him. anything happen?"
-"nothing--except that lady riversreade told me that if dr. baseverie called he was to be brought in to her at once," answered rhona. "he came at the same time as before, and was with her an hour."
-"any signs on her part of being further upset?" asked hetherwick.
-"no--on the contrary she seemed quite cool and collected after he'd gone," said rhona. "of course she made no reference to his visit."
-"has she never mentioned him to you?"
-"never! in spite of the fact that his professed object was to see the home and the patients, he's seen neither."
-"which shows that that was all a mere excuse to get speech with her!" muttered hetherwick. "well--we're going to find out who this dr. baseverie is! matherfield and i intend to get in touch with him to-morrow night."
-but when the next night came hetherwick's plans about the visit to vivian's were frustrated by an unexpected happening, and neither he nor matherfield as much as crossed the threshold of the night-club in candlestick passage. they went there at ten o'clock: that, said matherfield, was a likely hour--between then and eleven-thirty the place would be full of its habitual frequenters: the notion was to mingle unobtrusively with whatever crowd chanced to be there and to keep eyes and ears open for whatever happened to transpire.
-candlestick passage, unfamiliar to hetherwick until that evening, proved to be one of the many narrow alleys which open out of st. martin's lane in the neighbourhood of the theatres. it wore a very commonplace, not to say shabby complexion, and there was nothing in its atmosphere to suggest adventure or romance. not was there anything alluring about the entrance to vivian's, which was merely a wide, double doorway, ornamented by two evergreen shrubs set in tubs and revealing swing-doors within, and a carpeted staircase beyond. hetherwick and matherfield, however, never reached swing-doors or staircase: as they approached the outer entrance a tall woman emerged, and without so much as a look right or left turned down the passage towards the street. she paid no attention to the two men as she walked quickly past them--but hetherwick softly seized his companion's arm.
-"lady riversreade, by all that's wonderful!" he exclaimed under his breath. "that woman!"
-matherfield turned sharply, gazing after the retreating figure.
-"that," he said incredulously, "coming out of here? certain?"
-"dead sure!" affirmed hetherwick. "i knew her at once--i'd had a particularly good look at her, yesterday. that's she!"
-"what's she doing at vivian's?" muttered matherfield. "queer, that!"
-"but she's going away from it," said hetherwick. "come on!--let's see where she goes. we can easily come back here. but why not follow her first?"
-"good!" agreed matherfield. "come on then! easily keep her in sight."
-lady riversreade at that moment was turning out of the passage, to her left hand. when the two men emerged from it, she was already several yards ahead, going towards st. martin's church. her tall figure made her good to follow, but matherfield kept hetherwick back; no use, he said, in pressing too closely on your quarry.
-"tall as she is and tall as we are," he whispered, as they threaded in out of the crowds on the pavement, "we can spot her at twenty yards. cautiously, now--she's making for the cab rank!"
-they watched lady riversreade charter and enter a taxi-cab: in another minute it moved away. but it had scarcely moved when matherfield was at the door of the next cab on the rank.
-"you saw that cab go off with a tall woman in it?" he said to the driver. "there!--just rounding the corner, know its driver? right!--follow it carefully. note where it stops, and if the woman gets out. drive slowly past wherever that is, and then pull up a bit farther on. be sharp, now--this is----" he bent towards the man and whispered a word or two: a second later he and hetherwick were in the cab and across the top side of trafalgar square.
-"this is getting a bit thick, mr. hetherwick," remarked matherfield. "your clerk tracks his man to vivian's on friday night, we find lady riversreade coming out of vivian's on monday night. now i shouldn't think lady riversreade, whom we hear of chiefly as a humanitarian, a likely sort of lady to visit vivian's!"
-"she came out of vivian's, anyway!" replied hetherwick.
-"then, of course, she'd been in!" said matherfield. "but why? i should say--to have a meeting with baseverie, or with somebody representing him, or having something to do with the business that took him to riversreade court. what business is it? has it anything to do with our business? however, there's lady riversreade in that cab in front, and we'll just follow her to find out where she goes--no doubt she's bound for some swell west end hotel. and that knowledge will be useful, for i may want to see her in the morning--to ask a question or two."
-"somewhat early for that, isn't it?" suggested hetherwick. "do we know enough?"
-"depends on what you call enough," replied matherfield dryly. "what i know is this: that man granett was poisoned. he had on him a brand new five-pound note. that note i've traced as far as vivian's, where it was certainly paid to some customer in change on the very day before granett and hannaford's deaths: vivian's is accordingly a place of interest. now i hear of a mysterious man visiting lady riversreade--the man is tracked to vivian's--i myself see lady riversreade emerging from vivian's. i think i must ask lady riversreade what she knows about vivian's and a certain dr. baseverie, and, incidentally, if she ever heard of a place called sellithwaite and a police-superintendent named hannaford? eh! but we're leaving the region of the fashionable hotels."
-hetherwick looked out of the window, what he saw seemed unfamiliar.
-"we're going up edgware road," said matherfield. he leaned out of the cab and gave some further instructions to the driver. "i don't want to arouse any suspicion there in front," he remarked, dropping into his seat again. "the probability is that she's going to some private house, and i don't want her to get any idea that she's followed. ah!--now we turn into harrow road."
-the cab went away by paddington green, turned sharply at the town hall, and made up st. mary's terrace. presently it slowed down; proceeded still more slowly; passed the other cab which had come to a standstill in front of a block of high buildings; a few yards farther on it stopped altogether. the driver got down from his seat and came to the door.
-"that tall lady!" he said confidentially. "her as got into the other cab. she's gone into st. mary's mansions--just below."
-"flats, aren't they?" asked matherfield.
-"that's it, sir," answered the driver. he looked down the street. "cab's going off again, sir. porter came out and paid."
-"that looks as if she was going to stay here awhile," remarked matherfield in an undertone. "well, we'll get out, too, and take a look round." he paid and dismissed the driver, and crossing over to the opposite side of the roadway, pointed out to hetherwick the block of flats into which lady riversreade had disappeared. "big place," he muttered. "regular rabbit-warren. however, no other entrance than this--the old burial ground's at the back, no way out there, i do know that! so she can't very well vanish that way."
-"you're going to wait, then?" asked hetherwick.
-"i don't believe in starting out on any game unless i see it through," replied matherfield. "yes, i think we'll wait. but there's no necessity to hang around in the open street. i know this district--used to be at the police station round the corner. you see all these houses on this side, mr. hetherwick? they're all lodging-houses, and i know most of their keepers. wait here a minute, and i'll soon get a room that we can watch from, without being seen ourselves."
-he left hetherwick standing under the shadow of a neighbouring high wall, and went a little way down the street. hetherwick heard him open the gate of one of the little gardens and knock at a door. there some little delay. hetherwick passed the time in staring at the long rows of lighted windows in the flats opposite, wondering to which of them lady riversreade had gone and what she was doing there at all. it was clear to him that this was some adventure connected with the mysterious baseverie and with vivian's night club--but how, and of what nature?
-matherfield came back presently, cheerful and reassuring.
-"come along, mr. hetherwick!" he whispered. "there's a man here--lodging-house keeper--who knows me. we can have his front parlour window to watch from. far better that than patrolling the street. we shall be comfortable there."
-"you're intent on watching, then?" said hetherwick as they moved off.
-"i'm not coming all that way for nothing," replied matherfield. "i'm going to follow her up till she settles for the night. that won't be here; she'll be off to some hotel or other before long."
-but matherfield's prediction proved to be faulty. time dragged slowly by in the stuffy and shabby little room in which he and hetherwick took up a position and from the window of which matherfield kept a constant watch on the entrance of the flats, exactly opposite. midnight came and went, but nothing happened. and at half-past twelve hetherwick suggested that the game wasn't worth the candle, and that he should prefer to depart.
-"you do as you like, mr. hetherwick," said matherfield, stifling a suspicious yawn. "i'm sick enough of it, too. but here i stop till she comes out--whether it's this side of breakfast or the other side!"
-"and what then?" asked hetherwick, half derisively.
-"then we'll see--or i'll see, if you're going--where she goes next! don't believe in half measures!" retorted matherfield.
-"oh, i'll see it out!" said hetherwick. "after all, it'll be daylight soon."
-daylight came over the house-tops at four o'clock. they had seen nothing up to then. but at twenty minutes to five matherfield tugged his companion's arm. lady riversreade, in a big ulster travelling-coat and carrying a small suit-case, was emerging alone from the opposite door.
-alias madame listorelle
-the woman thus observed marched swiftly away down the deserted street in the direction of the town hall at the corner, and matherfield, after one more searching look at her, dropped the slat of the venetian blind through which he had been peeping, and turned on his companion. at the same instant he reached a hand for his overcoat and hat.
-he was out of the room and the house within the next few seconds, and hetherwick, half vexed with himself for having lingered there on a job which matherfield thus unceremoniously took into his own hands, prepared to follow. presently he went out into the shabby hall; the man of the house was just coming downstairs, stifling a big yawn. he smiled knowingly when he saw hetherwick.
-"matherfield gone, sir?" he inquired. "i heard the door close."
-"he's gone," assented hetherwick. "the person he wanted appeared suddenly, and he's gone in pursuit."
-the man, a smug-faced, easy-going sort of person, smiled again.
-"rum doings these police have!" he remarked. "queer job, watching all night through a window. i was just coming down to make you a cup of coffee," he continued. "i'll get you one in a few minutes, if you like. or tea now? perhaps you'd prefer tea?"
-"it's very good of you," said hetherwick. "but to tell you the truth i'd rather get home and to bed. many thanks, all the same."
-then, out of sheer good nature, he slipped a treasury note into the man's hand, and, bidding him good morning, went away. he, too, walked down the street in the direction taken by lady riversreade and her pursuer. but when he came to the bottom and emerged into harrow road he saw nothing of them, either to left or right. the road, however, was not deserted; there were already workmen going to early morning tasks, and close by the corner of the town hall a roadman was busy with his broom. hetherwick went up to him.
-"did you see a lady, and then a gentleman, come down here, from st. mary's terrace, just now?" he asked. "tall people, both of them."
-the man rested on his broom, half turned, and pointed towards paddington bridge.
-"i see 'em, guv'nor," he answered. "tall lady, carrying a little portmantle. gone along over the bridge yonder. paddington station way. and, after her, matherfield."
-"oh, you know him, do you?" exclaimed hetherwick, in surprise.
-the man jerked a thumb in the direction of the adjacent police station.
-"used to be a sergeant here, did matherfield," he replied. "i knows him, right enough! once run me in--me an' a mate o' mine--for bein' a bit festive like. five bob and costs that was. but i don't bear him no grudge, not me! thank 'ee, guv'nor."
-hetherwick left another tip behind him and walked slowly off towards edgware road. the tube trains were just beginning to run, and he caught a south-bound one and went down to charing cross and thence to the temple. and at six o'clock he tumbled into bed, and slept soundly until, four hours later, he heard mapperley moving about in the adjoining room.
-mapperley, whose job at hetherwick's was a good deal of a sinecure, was leisurely reading the news when his master entered. he laid the paper aside, and gave hetherwick a knowing glance.
-"got some more information last night," he said. "about that chap i tracked the other day."
-"how did you get it?" asked hetherwick.
-"put in a bit of time at vivian's," answered mapperley. "there's a fellow there that i know. clerk to the secretary chap, named flowers. that man baseverie has a share in the place--sort of director, i think."
-"what time were you at vivian's?" inquired hetherwick. "late or early?"
-"early--for them," answered mapperley.
-"did you see the man there?"
-"i did. he was there all the time i was. in and about all the time. but at first he was in what seemed to be serious conversation with a tall, handsome woman. they sat talking in an alcove in the lounge there some time. then she went off--alone."
-"oh, you saw that, did you?" said hetherwick. "well, i may as well tell you, since you know what you do, that the woman was lady riversreade!"
-"oh, i guessed that!" remarked mapperley. "i figured in that at once. but that wasn't all. i found out more. that dead man, hannaford--from what i heard from flowers--i've no doubt whatever that hannaford was at vivian's once, if not twice, during the two or three nights before his death. anyway, flowers recognised my description of him--which i'd got, of course, from you and the papers."
-"hannaford. there, eh?" exclaimed hetherwick. "alone?"
-"no--came in with this baseverie. they don't know him as dr. baseverie there, though. plain mister. i'm quite sure it was hannaford who was with him."
-"did you get the exact dates--and times?" asked hetherwick.
-"i didn't. flowers couldn't say that. but he remembered such a man."
-"well, that's something," said hetherwick. he turned into another room and sat down to his breakfast, thinking. "mapperley, come here!" he called presently. "look here," he went on as the clerk came in. "since you know this vivian place, go there again to-night, and try to find out if that friend of yours knows anything of a tall man who corresponds to the description of the man whom hannaford was seen to meet at victoria. you read ledbitter's account of that, given at the inquest?"
-"yes," replied mapperley. "but of what value is it? none--for practical purposes! he couldn't even tell the shape of the man's nose, nor the colour of his eyes! all he could tell was that he saw a man muffled in such a fashion that he saw next to nothing of his face, and that he was tall and smartly dressed. there are a few tens of thousands--scores, perhaps--of tall, smartly-dressed men in london!"
-"never mind--inquire," said hetherwick, "and particularly if such a man has ever been seen in baseverie's company there."
-he finished his breakfast, and then, instead of going down to the central criminal court, after his usual habit, he hung about in his chambers, expecting matherfield. but matherfield did not come, and at noon hetherwick, impelled by a new idea, left a message for him in case he called, and went out. in pursuance of the idea, he journeyed once more to the regions of paddington and knocked at the door of the house wherein he and matherfield had kept watch on the flats opposite.
-the lodging-house keeper opened the door himself and grinned on seeing hetherwick. hetherwick stepped inside and nodded at the door of the room which he had left only a few hours before.
-"i want a word or two with you," he said. "in private."
-"nobody in here, sir," replied the man. "come in."
-he closed the door on himself and his visitor, and offered hetherwick a chair.
-"i expected you'd be back during the day," he said, with a sly smile. "either you or matherfield, or both!"
-"you haven't seen him again?" asked hetherwick.
-"no; he's not been here," replied the man.
-"well, i wanted to ask you a question," continued hetherwick. "perhaps two or three. to begin with, have you lived here long?"
-"been here since before these flats were built--and that's a good many years ago; i can't say exactly how many," said the other, glancing at the big block opposite his window. "twenty-two or three, anyway."
-"then i dare say you know most of the people hereabouts?" suggested hetherwick. "by sight, at any rate."
-the lodging-house keeper smiled and shook his head.
-"that would be a tall order, mister!" he answered. "there's a few thousand of people packed into this bit of london. of course, i do know a good many, close at hand. but if you're a londoner you'll know that londoners keep themselves to themselves. may seem queer, but it's a fact that i don't know the names of my next-door neighbours on either side--though to be sure they've only been here a few years in either case."
-"what i was suggesting," said hetherwick, "was that you probably knew by sight many of the people who live in the flats opposite your house."
-"oh, i know some of 'em by sight," assented the man. "they're a mixed lot over in those flats! a few old gentlemen--retired--two or three old ladies--and a fair lot of actresses--very popular with the stage is those flats. but, of course, it is only by sight--i don't know any of 'em by name. just see them going in and coming out, you know."
-"do you happen to know by sight a tall, handsome woman who has a flat there?" asked hetherwick. "a woman who's likely to be very well dressed?"
-the lodging-house keeper, who was without his coat and had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, scratched his elbows and looked thoughtful.
-"i think i do know the lady you mean," he said at last. "goes out with one o' those pesky little poms--a black 'un--on a lead? that her?"
-"i don't know anything about a dog," replied hetherwick. "the woman i mean is, as i said, tall, handsome, distinguished-looking, fair hair and a fresh complexion, and about forty or so."
-"i dare say that's the one i'm thinking of," said the man. "i have seen such a lady now and then--not of late, though." then he gave hetherwick a shrewd, inquiring glance. "you and matherfield after her?" he asked.
-"not exactly that," answered hetherwick. "what i want to find out--now--is her name. the name she's known by here, anyway."
-"i can soon settle that for you," said the lodging-house keeper with alacrity. "i know the caretaker of those flats well enough--often have a talk with him. he'll tell me anything--between ourselves. now then, let's get it right--a tall, handsome lady, about forty, fair hair, fresh complexion, well dressed. that it, mister?"
-"you've got it," said hetherwick.
-"then you wait here a bit, and i'll slip across," said the man. "all on the strict between ourselves, you know. as i said, the caretaker and me's pals."
-he left the room, and a moment later hetherwick saw him cross the road and descend into the basement of the flats. within a quarter of an hour he was back, and evidently primed with news.
-"soon settled that for you, mister!" he announced triumphantly. "he knew who you meant! the lady's name is madame listorelle. here, i got him to write it down on a bit o' paper, not being used to foreign names. he thinks she's something to do with the stage. she's the tenant of flat twenty-six. but he says that of late she's seldom there--comes for a night or two, then away, maybe for months at a time. he saw her here yesterday, though; she hadn't been there, he says, for a good bit. but there, it don't signify to him whether she's there or away--always punctual with her money, and that's the main thing, ain't it?"
-hetherwick added to his largess of the early morning, and went away. he was now convinced that lady riversreade, for some purpose of her own, kept up a flat in paddington, visited it occasionally, and was known there as madame listorelle. how much was there in that, and what bearing had it on the problem he was endeavouring to solve?
-who was she?
-late that night, when hetherwick was thinking things over, a pounding on his stairs and a knock on his outer door heralded the entrance of matherfield, who, with an expressive look, flung himself into the nearest easy chair.
-"for heaven's sake, mr. hetherwick, give me a drop of that whisky!" he exclaimed. "i'm dead beat--and dead disappointed, too! such a day as i've had after that woman! and what it all means the lord only knows--i don't!"
-hetherwick helped his evidently far-spent visitor to a whisky and soda, and waited until he had taken a hearty pull at it. then he resumed his own seat and took up his pipe.
-"i gather that you haven't had a very successful day, matherfield?" he suggested. "hope it wasn't exactly a wild-goose chase?"
-"that's just about what it comes to, then!" exclaimed matherfield. "anyway, after taking no end of trouble she got clear away, practically under my very nose! but i'll tell you all about it; that's what i dropped in for. when i went out of that house in st. mary's terrace, she was just turning the corner to the right, bishop's road way. of course i followed. she went over the bridge--the big railway bridge--and at the end turned down to paddington station. i concluded then that she was going up by some early morning train. she entered the station by the first-class booking office; i was not so many yards in her rear then. but instead of stopping there and taking a ticket she went right through, crossed the station to the arrival platform and signalled to a taxi-cab. in another minute she was in it, and off. very luckily there was another cab close by. i hailed that and told the driver to keep the first cab in sight and follow it to wherever it went. so off we went again, on another pursuit! and it ended at another terminus--waterloo!"
-"going home, i suppose," remarked hetherwick, as matherfield paused to take up his glass. "you can get to dorking from waterloo."
-"she wasn't going to any dorking!" answered matherfield. "i soon found that out. early as it was, there were a lot of people at waterloo, and when she went to the ticket office i contrived to be close behind her--close enough, at any rate, to overhear anything she said. she asked for a first single to southampton."
-"southampton!" exclaimed hetherwick. "um!"
-"southampton!" repeated matherfield. "first single for southampton. she took the ticket and walked away, looking neither right nor left; she never glanced at me. well, as i said yesterday, i don't believe in starting out on anything unless i go clean through with it. so after a minute's thought i booked for southampton--third. then i went out and looked at the notice board. southampton, 5.40. it was then 5.25. so i went to the telephone office, rang up our head-quarters and told 'em i was after something and they needn't expect to see me all day. then i bought a time-table and a newspaper or two at the bookstall, just opening, and went to the train. there were a lot of people travelling by it. the train hadn't come up to the platform then; when it came down a minute or two later i watched her get in; she was good to spot because of her tall figure. i got into a smoker, a bit lower down, and in due course off we went, me wondering, to tell you the truth, precisely why i was going! but i was going--wherever she went."
-"even out of the country?" asked hetherwick, with a smile.
-"aye, i thought of that!" assented matherfield. "she might be slinging her hook for anything i knew. that made me turn to the steamship news in the paper, and i saw then that the tartaric was due to leave southampton for new york about two o'clock that very afternoon. well, there were more improbable things than that she meant to go by it, for reasons of her own, especially if she really is the mrs. whittingham of the sellithwaite affair ten years ago. you see, i thought it out like this--granting she's mrs. whittingham, that was, she'll be astute enough to know that there's no time-limit to a criminal prosecution in this country, and that she's still liable to arrest, prosecution, and conviction; she'd probably know, too, that this hannaford affair has somehow drawn fresh attention to her little matter, and that she's in danger. again, i'd been working out an idea about her and this man baseverie. how do we know that baseverie wasn't an accomplice of hers in that sellithwaite fraud? in most cases of that sort the woman has an accomplice somewhere in the background--baseverie may have been mixed with her then. and now he may have information that has led him to warn her to make herself scarce, eh?"
-"there's something in that, matherfield," admitted hetherwick. "yes--decidedly something."
-"there may be a good deal," affirmed matherfield. "you see, we've let those newspaper chaps have a lot of information. i'm a believer in making use of the press; it's a valuable aid sometimes, perhaps generally, but there are other times when you can do too much of it: it's a sort of giving valuable aid to the enemy. i don't know whether we haven't let those reporters know too much in this case. we've let 'em know, for instance, about the portrait found in hannaford's pocket-book, and about the sealed packet in which, we believe, was the secret of his patent: all that's been in the papers, though, to be sure, they didn't make much copy out of it. still, there was enough for anybody who followed the case closely. now, supposing that baseverie was mrs. whittingham's accomplice ten years ago, and that he'd read all this and seen the reproduction of the portrait, wouldn't he see that she was in some danger and warn her? i think it likely, and i wish we hadn't been quite so free with our news for those paper chaps. i'm glad, anyhow, that there's one thing i haven't told 'em of--that medicine bottle found at granett's! there's nobody but me, you, and the medical men know of that, so far."
-"you think this woman--lady riversreade as she is, mrs. whittingham as she used to be--was making off to southampton, and possibly farther, on a hint from baseverie?" said hetherwick ruminatively.
-"put it this way," replied matherfield. "of course, you've got to assume a lot, but we can't do without assuming things in this business. lady riversreade was formerly mrs. whittingham. mrs. whittingham did a clever bit of fraud at sellithwaite, and got away with the swag. baseverie was her accomplice. now then, ten years later mrs. whittingham has become my lady riversreade, a very wealthy woman. she's suddenly visited by baseverie at riversreade court, and is obviously upset by his first visit. he comes again. three nights later she's seen to come out of a club which he frequents. she spends most of the night in a flat in a quiet part of london, and next morning slopes off as early as five o'clock to a port--southampton. what inference is to be drawn? that her visit to southampton has certainly something to do with baseverie's visits to her and her visit to vivian's!"
-"i think there's something in that, too," said hetherwick, "but--we're on the way to southampton. go on!"
-"very good train, that," continued matherfield. "we got to southampton just before eight--a minute or two late. i was wanting something to eat and drink by that time, and i was glad to see my lady turn into the refreshment-room as soon as she left her carriage. so did i. i knew she'd never suspect a quiet, ordinary man like me; if she deigned to give me a glance--she's a very haughty-looking woman, i observed--she'd only take me for a commercial traveller. and we were not so far off each other in that room; she sat at a little table, having some tea and so on: i was at the counter. of course, i never showed that i was taking any notice of her--but i got in two or three good, comprehensive inspections. very good-looking, no doubt of it, mr. hetherwick--a woman that's worn well! but of course you've seen that for yourself."
-"you must remember that i've only seen her twice," remarked hetherwick, with a laugh. "once at victoria, when miss hannaford pointed her out; once night before last, when it was by a poorish gaslight. but i'll take your word, matherfield. well, and what happened next?"
-"oh, she took her time over her tea and toast," continued matherfield. "very leisured in all her movements, i assure you. at last she moved off--of course i followed, casually and carelessly. now, as you may be aware, southampton west, where the train set us down, is a bit out of the town, and i expected her to take a cab. but she didn't; she walked away from the station. so did i--twenty or thirty yards in the rear. she took her time; it seemed to me she was purposely loitering. it struck me at last why--she was waiting until the business offices were open. i was right in that: as soon as the town clocks struck nine she quickened her pace and made a beeline for her objective. and what do you think that was?"
-"no idea," said hetherwick.
-"white star offices!" answered matherfield. "went straight there, and walked straight in! of course, i waited outside, where she wouldn't see me when she came out again. she was in there about twenty minutes. when she came out she turned to another part of the town. and near that old gateway, or bar, or whatever it is that stands across the street, i lost her--altogether!"
-"some exceptional reason, i should think, matherfield," remarked hetherwick. "how was it?"
-"what? how?" asked hetherwick.
-"i thought i'd find out what she'd gone to the white star offices for," replied matherfield. "of course, i didn't want to raise any suspicion against her under the circumstances. but i flatter myself i'm a bit of a diplomatist, and i laid my plans. i went in there, got hold of a clerk who was a likely looking chap for secret keeping, told him who i was and showed my credentials, and asked him for the information i wanted. i got it. as luck would have it, my man had attended to her himself and remembered her quite well. of course, little more than an hour and a half had passed since she'd been in there."
-"and--what had she been in for?" asked hetherwick. "what did you hear?"
-matherfield nodded significantly.
-"just what i expected to hear," he answered. "she'd booked a second-class passage for new york in the tartaric, sailing that afternoon, in the name of h. cunningham. as soon as i found that out, i knew i should come across her again--there'd be no need to go raking the town for her. i ascertained that passengers would be allowed to go aboard from two o'clock; the boat would sail between five and six. so, having once more admonished the clerk to secrecy and given him plausible excuses for my inquisitiveness, i went off to relax a bit, and in due time sat down to an early and comfortable lunch--a man must take his ease now and then, you know, mr. hetherwick."
-"exactly, matherfield--i quite agree," said hetherwick. "but i dare say your brain was at work, all the same, while you ate and drank?"
-"it was, sir," assented matherfield. "yes--i made my plans. i wasn't going to new york, of course; that was out of the question. but i was going to have speech with her. i decided that i'd watch for her coming aboard the tartaric--being alone, she'd probably come early. i proposed to get her aside, accosting her, of course, as lady riversreade, tell her who i was and show my papers, and ask her if she would give me any information about a certain dr. cyprian baseverie. i thought i'd see how she took that before asking anything further; if i saw that she was taken aback, confused, and especially if she gave me any prevaricating or elusive answer, i'd ask her straight out if before her marriage to the late sir john riversreade she was the mrs. whittingham who, some ten years ago, stayed for a time at the white hart hotel at sellithwaite. and i practically made up my mind, too, that if she admitted that and i saw good cause for it, i'd detain her."
-"you meant to go as far as that?" exclaimed hetherwick.
-"frightened! why?" asked hetherwick.
-matherfield laughed significantly.
-"there were two or three of our men from scotland yard about," he answered. "i'm not aware of what they were after; i didn't ask 'em. but i did ask them to give me a hand in looking out for a lady whom i fully described--which is why i'm dead certain she never went aboard. now, it may have been that she came down there, knew--you never know!--some of those chaps and--made herself scarce! anyway--i never set eyes on her. never, in fact, saw her again after i lost her in the morning. so--that's where i am!"
-"you came back--defeated?" remarked hetherwick.
-"well, if you like to call it so," admitted matherfield. "yes, i came back by the seven thirty-eight. dog tired! but i'm not through with this yet, mr. hetherwick, and i want you to do something for me. this miss hannaford, now, is down at riversreade court. they'll be on the telephone there, of course. i want you to ring her up early to-morrow morning, and ask her if she can meet you on important private business in dorking town at noon. where shall we say?"
-"'white horse' would do," suggested hetherwick.
-"very well--white horse hotel, at noon," agreed matherfield. "we'll go down--for i'll go with you--by the 10.10 from victoria. now please be very careful about this, mr. hetherwick, when you telephone. don't say anything of any reason for going down to dorking. don't on any account mention lady riversreade, in any way. merely tell miss hannaford that you have urgent reasons for seeing her. and--fix it up!"
-"oh, i can fix it up all right," answered hetherwick. "miss hannaford can easily drive down from riversreade court. but i don't know what you want her for."
-is it blackmail?
-hetherwick was still in ignorance of the reason of matherfield's desire to see rhona when, just before noon next day, matherfield and he walked up from dorking station into the high street, and made for the "white horse." matherfield halted a few yards away from its door.
-"let's wait outside for her," he said. "till i've asked her a question or two. i don't want to even run the risk of being overheard."
-rhona came along in a car a few minutes later, and seeing the two men advanced to meet them. matherfield lost no time in getting to business.
-"miss hannaford," he said, with a cautious look round, and in a low voice, "just tell me--is lady riversreade up there at the court? she is!" he continued, as rhona nodded. "when did she come back, then?"
-"very early yesterday morning," answered rhona promptly. "by the 7.45 from victoria. she was up at the court by 9.30."
-matherfield turned an utterly perplexed face on hetherwick. then he stared at rhona.
-"up at riversreade court at 9.30 yesterday--tuesday--morning!" he exclaimed. "impossible! i saw her at southampton at 9.30 yesterday morning with my own eyes."
-"i'm quite sure you didn't!" replied rhona, with a satirical laugh. "you're under some queer mistaken impression, mr. matherfield. lady riversreade was in her own house, here, with me at 9.30 yesterday morning. that's a fact that i can vouch for!"
-the two men looked at each other. each seemed to be asking the other a silent question. but matherfield suddenly voiced his, in tones full of wonder and of chagrin.
-"then who on earth is that woman that i followed to southampton?"
-matherfield's question went without answer. rhona, who had no idea of what he was talking about, turned a surprised and inquiring look on hetherwick. and hetherwick saw that the time had come for a lot of explanation.
-"look here!" he said. "we've got to do some talking, and we can't keep miss hannaford standing in the street. come into the hotel--we'll get a private room for lunch, and then we can discuss matters all to ourselves. you're a bit puzzled by all this," he continued a few minutes later, turning to rhona when all three were safely closeted together, and lunch had been ordered. "and no wonder! but i'd better tell you what matherfield and i were after on monday night, and what matherfield was doing all yesterday. you see," he concluded, after giving rhona an epitomised account of the recent proceedings, "i was absolutely certain that the woman whom we saw coming out of vivian's on monday night was the woman you pointed out to me on sunday morning at victoria as lady riversreade--she was dressed in just the same things, i'm positive!--in short i'm convinced it was lady riversreade. then, matherfield and i are both equally sure that that was the same woman we saw coming out of st. mary's mansions shortly before five o'clock yesterday morning, and whom matherfield followed to southampton, up to now, we've never had a doubt that it was lady riversreade--not a doubt!"
-"well," said rhona, with an incredulous laugh, "i can't say, of course, that you didn't see lady riversreade come out of vivian's on monday night. lady riversreade was certainly in town from sunday noon to yesterday morning, and she may have gone to vivian's on monday night for purposes of her own. i know nothing about that. but i do know that she was not in southampton yesterday, for, as i told you, she was back home at riversreade court, about half-past nine in the morning, and she's never left the house since. that's plain fact!"
-"it's beyond me, then!" exclaimed matherfield. "and i say again, if that wasn't lady riversreade that i tracked to southampton, who was it? i'll say more--if that really was lady riversreade that we saw coming out of vivian's, and followed to paddington, and if she wasn't the woman who came out of those flats yesterday morning, and that i went after, well, then, lady riversreade has a double--who lives in st. mary's mansions! that's about it!"
-"as regards that," remarked hetherwick. "i didn't tell you last night, matherfield, that i went back yesterday to that house from which we watched, and made some cautious inquiries about the tall, handsome woman who has a flat opposite. i got some information. the woman whom we followed there, and whom you were running after yesterday is known there as a madame listorelle. she's very little at her flat, though punctual with its rent. she's sometimes away altogether for long periods--in fact, she's rarely seen there. and she's believed to be connected with the stage. the caretaker who supplied this information saw her at the flat on monday."
-matherfield smacked one hand on the open palm of the other.
-"it's an alias!" he exclaimed. "bet your stars she's lady riversreade! away from her flat for long periods? of course--because she's down here, at her big house. keeps that flat up for some purpose of her own, and calls herself--what is it?--sounds french."
-"but supposing that's so," remarked hetherwick, with a sly glance at rhona. "it's utterly impossible that lady riversreade could be at riversreade court yesterday, and in southampton at the same time! come, now!"
-"well, i tell you it beats me!" muttered matherfield. "i know what i saw! if there's anything gone wrong, it's your fault, mr. hetherwick! i don't know this lady riversreade! all i know is that you said the woman we saw coming out of that club was lady riversreade. that, sir, is the woman i followed!"
-"the woman i saw coming out of vivian's was the woman pointed out to me by miss hannaford as lady riversreade," affirmed hetherwick quietly. "that's certain! but----"
-he was interrupted at this stage by the arrival of lunch. nothing more was said until all three were seated, and the waiter had been sent away. then rhona looked at her companions and smiled.
-"you both seem to have arrived at a very promising stage!" she said. "at first i thought it a regular impasse, but----"
-"isn't it?" asked hetherwick. "at present i don't see any way through or over it."
-"oh, i think you're getting towards something!" she retorted. "all these things, puzzling as they are, are better than nothing. i've got some news, too--if you're sure there are no eavesdroppers about."
-"oh, we're all right!" said hetherwick. "good stout old doors, these--close-fitting. what next?"
-rhona leaned across the table a little, and lowered her voice.
-"there was a sort of row at the court; at least, at the home, yesterday," she said. "with that man baseverie!"
-"ah!" exclaimed hetherwick. "that's interesting! tell about it."
-"well, i told you that lady riversreade arrived from london yesterday morning about nine-thirty," continued rhona. "major penteney arrived with her."
-"who's major penteney?" demanded matherfield.
-"he's a retired army man who's greatly interested in lady riversreade's home, and looks after its affairs in london," replied hetherwick. "and miss hannaford thinks he's in love with the foundress. i've seen him--saw him with lady riversreade on sunday. yes," he added, turning to rhona, "major penteney came back with her? go on."
-"as soon as they arrived--i saw them come, from my office window--they came across to the home," continued rhona. "it struck me that they both looked unusually grave and serious. they talked to me for a few minutes on business matters: then they went into lady riversreade's private office. they were there for some little time; then lady riversreade came out and went away; i saw her cross to the court. presently major penteney came to me, and told me that he wanted to have a little private talk with me. he said--as near as i can remember--'miss featherstone----'"
-matherfield looked up quickly from his plate.
-"eh?" he said. "miss--featherstone?"
-"that's the name miss hannaford's known by--there," said hetherwick. "her mother's name. i told you before, you know."
-"true, true!" assented matherfield, with a groan. "you did--i remember now. i'm muddled--with yesterday's affair."
-"'miss featherstone,' rhona went on--'i believe you're aware that lady riversreade has lately been visited--twice--by a man who called himself dr. cyprian baseverie?'
-"'yes,' i answered, 'i am, major penteney. i saw dr. baseverie on both occasions.' 'well,' he said--'i don't suppose you were at all impressed by him?' 'not at all impressed, major penteney,' i replied, 'except very unfavourably.' 'didn't like his looks, eh,' he asked with a smile. 'do you?' i inquired. 'i've never seen the fellow,' he answered. 'but i expect to--this very morning. that's what i want to talk to you about. i believe he'll turn up about noon--as, i understand, he did before, wanting, of course, to see lady riversreade. i want you to tell the doorkeeper, mitchell, to bring him straight in when he comes, and mitchell is not to say that lady riversreade is not in--she won't be in--he's to admit him immediately; and you, if you please, are to show him straight into the private office. instead of finding lady riversreade there, he'll find--me. is that clear?' 'perfectly clear, major penteney,' i replied. 'i'll see to it.' 'well, there's something else,' he said. 'after i have had a little plain-spoken talk with this fellow, i shall ring the bell. i want you to come in, and to bring mitchell with you. and--that's all, at present. you understand?' 'i understand, major penteney,' i answered. 'i'll see to it. but as you've never seen this man there's one thing i'd like to say to you--he's the sort of man who looks as if he might be dangerous.' he smiled at that. 'thank you,' he said. 'i'm prepared for that, miss featherstone. you show him right in.'"
-rhona paused for a moment, to attend to the contents of her plate. but hetherwick's knife and fork had become idle; so had matherfield's; each man, it was plain, was becoming absorbed. and matherfield suddenly brightened, and gave hetherwick an unmistakable wink.
-"good!--good!--good!" he muttered, with something like a chuckle. "i'm beginning to see a bit of daylight! excellent!--when you're ready, miss featherstone----"
-matherfield rubbed his hands together.
-"good!--good!" he chuckled. "wish i'd been in that room!"
-"it wasn't long before i was there, mr. matherfield," said rhona. "i was, of course, tremendously curious to know what was going on there, but the door fits closely, and i heard nothing--no angry voices or anything. however, in less than ten minutes the bell rang sharply. i called mitchell--he's a big, strapping, very determined-looking ex-guardsman--and in we went. i took everything in at a glance, major penteney sat at lady riversreade's desk. on the blotting-pad, his right hand close to it, lay a revolver----"
-"hah!" exclaimed matherfield. "to be sure! just so! fine!"
-"opposite the desk stood baseverie, staring first at major penteney, then at us. it's difficult for me to describe how he looked. i think the principal expression on his face was one of intense surprise."
-"surprise?" ejaculated hetherwick.
-"surprise! astonishment! he looked like a man who had just heard something that he has believed it impossible to hear. but there was also such a look of anger and rage--well, if major penteney hadn't had that revolver close to his finger-ends, and if mitchell hadn't been there, i should have screamed and run. however, it was not i who was to do the running. as soon as mitchell and i entered, major penteney spoke--very quietly. he nodded at baseverie. 'miss featherstone and you, mitchell--you see this man? if ever he comes here again, you, mitchell, will deny him entrance, and you, miss featherstone, on hearing from mitchell that he's here, will telephone for the police and, if he hangs about, will give him in charge.' then he turned to baseverie. 'now, my man!' he continued, pointing to the door. 'you get out--quick! go!' of course, i looked at baseverie. he stood staring almost incredulously at major penteney. it seemed to me that he could scarcely believe his ears--he gave me the impression of being unable to credit that he could be so treated. but he was also livid with anger. his fingers worked; his eyes blazed; it was dreadful to see his lips. he got out some words at last----'"
-"give me the exact ones, if you can," interrupted matherfield.
-"i can--i'm not likely to forget them," said rhona. "he said--'what--you defy me, knowing what i know--knowing what i know!'"
-"'knowing what i know!'" muttered matherfield. "knowing what he knew! um!--and then?"
-"then major penteney just pointed to the door. 'get out, i tell you!' he said. 'and look in the papers to-night. be off!'"
-"'look in the papers to-night,' eh?" said matherfield. "um--um! and then, i suppose, he went?"
-"he went without another word then," assented rhona. "mitchell escorted him out and saw him off. major penteney looked at me when he'd gone. 'there, miss featherstone,' he said, 'you've seen one of the biggest scoundrels in london--or in europe. let's hope you'll never see him again, that that's the end of him here. i think he's had his lesson!' i made no answer, but i was jolly glad to see baseverie's car scooting away down the drive!"
-matherfield picked up the tankard of ale at his side and took a hearty pull at its contents. he set the tankard down again with an emphatic bang.
-"i know what this job is!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "blackmail!"
-"just so!" agreed hetherwick. "i've been thinking that for the last ten minutes. baseverie has been endeavouring to blackmail lady riversreade. but that's not our affair, you know. what we're after is the solving of the mystery surrounding hannaford's death. and--does this look likely to fit in anywhere?"
-"i should say it decidedly does look likely!" answered matherfield. "in my opinion it's all of a piece; at least, it's a piece out of a piece, one of many pieces, like a puzzle. the thing is to put these pieces together. and there are two things we can try to do at once. first, find out more about this man baseverie; the other, get hold of more information about the lady in st. mary's mansions."
-"what about approaching lady riversreade for information--or major penteney?" suggested hetherwick.
-"yes--why don't you?" said rhona, almost eagerly. "do! i'm a bit tired of being there as miss featherstone. i want to tell lady riversreade the truth, and all the whys and wherefores of it."
-but matherfield shook his head. the time for that was not yet, he declared; let them wait awhile. and after more conversation he and hetherwick returned to london.
-the late afternoon edition of the evening papers were just out when hetherwick and matherfield reached victoria. matherfield snatched one up; a moment later he thrust it before hetherwick, pointing to some big black capitals.
-"good god!" he exclaimed. "look at that!"
-hetherwick looked, and gasped his astonishment at what he read.
-murder of robert hannaford. five thousand pounds reward.
-hetherwick turned on his companion with a look that was both questioning and surprised.
-"this is probably--no, certainly!--what penteney referred to when he told baseverie to look in the newspapers!" he said. "that was yesterday; it must have been in last night's papers, and this morning's. i saw neither."
-"wait!" said matherfield. he hurried back to the bookstall and returned with an armful of papers, turning the topmost over as he came. "it's here--and here!" he continued. "let's get a quiet corner somewhere and look this thing carefully over!"
-"come into a waiting-room, then," said hetherwick. "odd!" he muttered, as they turned away. "who should offer a reward--like that, too!--who isn't concerned in the case?"
-"how do we know who isn't concerned in the case?" exclaimed matherfield. "somebody evidently is!--somebody who can not only afford to offer five thousand pounds, but isn't afraid to spend no end in advertising. look at that--and that--and that," he went on, turning over his purchases rapidly. "it's in every paper in london!"
-"let's read it carefully," said hetherwick. he spread out one of the newspapers on the waiting-room table and muttered the wording of the advertisement while matherfield looked over his shoulder. "mysterious, very!" he concluded. "what's it mean?"
-but matherfield was re-reading the advertisement.
-whereas robert hannaford, formerly superintendent of police at sellithwaite, yorkshire, died suddenly in an underground railway train, near charing cross (embankment) station about 1.15 a.m. on march 19th last, and expert medical investigation has proved that he was poisoned, and there is evidence to warrant the belief that the poison was administered by some person or persons with intent to cause his death, this is to give notice that the above-mentioned sum of five thousand pounds will be paid to anyone first giving information which will lead to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons concerned in administering the said poison and that such information should be given to the undersigned, who will pay the said reward in accordance with the above-stated conditions.
-penteney, blenkinsop & penteney, solicitors.
-april 22nd, 1920. 853, lincoln's inn fields, london, w.c.
-matherfield pointed to the names of the signatories.
-"penteney," he remarked. "that's the name of the man miss hannaford mentioned as having given baseverie his dismissal."
-"of course--major penteney," said hetherwick. "probably a junior partner in the firm. i know their names, but not much about them."
-"i thought he was a soldier," said matherfield. "major, she called for a time individualism dominated, but education since then has endeavored to afford latitude to the individual without losing sight of the welfare of society.
-but the human spirit could not be forever held in bondage, and, after almost a millennium of repression and uniformity, various factors that had accumulated within the middle ages produced an intellectual awakening that we know as the ‘renaissance.’ its vitality lasted during the fifteenth century in italy and to the close of the sixteenth in the northern countries, but by the dawn of the seventeenth century it had everywhere degenerated into a dry and mechanical study of the classics. this constituted a formalism almost as dense as that it had superseded, except that linguistic and literary studies had replaced dialectic and theology. a little later than the spread of the renaissance, though overlapping it somewhat, came the allied movement of the ‘reformation.’ this grew in part out of the disposition of the northern renaissance to turn to social and moral account the revived intelligence and learning. yet here also the revival failed in its mission, and the tendency to rely upon reason rather than dogma hardened into formalism and a distrust of individualism. again, in the seventeenth century, apparently as an outgrowth of the same forces, intellectual activity took the form of a search for ‘real things.’ the movement that culminated in ‘sense realism’ appeared, but this small and crude beginning of the modern scientific tendency was for some decades yet held within limits. associated with this realistic tendency, on the religious and political sides also appeared a quickening in such forms as ‘puritanism’ and ‘pietism,’ which likewise degenerated eventually into a fanaticism and hypocrisy.
-this is revealed in the works of those who followed rousseau, and especially in the attempts of recent educational philosophers to frame a definition of education that shall recognize the importance of affording latitude to the individual without losing sight of the welfare of the social environment in connection with which his efforts are to function. thus butler, though recognizing the individual factor, especially stresses the social by declaring education to be “the gradual adjustment of the individual to the spiritual possessions of the race.” then he further declares: “when we hear it sometimes said, ‘all education must start from the child,’ we must add, ‘yes, and lead into human civilization;’ and when it is said on the other hand that ‘all education must start from a traditional past,’ we must add, ‘yes, and be adapted to the child.’” and the balance between the two factors of the individual and society is even more explicitly preserved in dewey’s statement “that the psychological and social sides are organically related, and that education cannot be regarded as a compromise between the two, or a superimposition of one upon the other.” in the same way bagley has made ‘social efficiency’ the main aim in educating the individual to-day, and both elements are carefully considered by all modern writers in discussing educational values. thus the central problem in education of the twentieth and succeeding centuries is to be a constant reorganization of the curriculum and methods of teaching, and this reconstruction must be such as to harmonize a due regard for the progressive variations of the individual with the welfare of the conservative institutions of society. it must include a continual effort to hand on the intellectual possessions of the race, but also to stimulate all individuals to add some modification or new element to the product. in this way there may develop unending possibilities for both the individual and society.
-abelard, 70, 76.
-academy, in germany, 158; in england, 159, 177, 410; of franklin, 196; lancasterian, 242; in south, 258; in new york, 260; in massachusetts, 268; in united states, 274, 331, 414.
-adventure schools, 93.
-agassiz, 398, 413.
-agricultural training, 295 ff., 424.
-alcotts, the, 293.
-alcuin, 61 ff.
-alexandria, 29, 30, 46.
-american annals of education, 305.
-american journal of education (russell) 304, (barnard) 316 ff.
-american sunday school union, 238.
-andover theological seminary, 299.
-apostles’ creed, 48.
-apperception, 338, 341.
-aquinas, 71 f.
-aristotle, 19, 24 ff., 27, 45, 58, 70 f., 165, 182.
-athens, 14 ff.
-avicenna, 66, 79.
-bacon, francis, 23, 164 f., 166, 171, 174, 206.
-bacon, roger, 163.
-bagley, w. c., 445.
-barnard, 309, 312 ff.
-basedow, 220, 223 ff., 231.
-bell, andrew, 239 f.
-benedict, st., 55.
-blow, susan e., 366 f.
-board schools, 241, 388 ff., 425.
-boëthius, 57 f.
-bray, thomas, 232.
-british and foreign society, 239 f.
-brooks, charles, 293.
-brothers of sincerity, 66.
-brothers of the christian schools, 140.
-buchanan, james, 245.
-bugenhagen, 128, 145.
-bülow, baroness von, 354.
-burgdorf, 281 f.
-burgher schools, 93 f.
-burrowes, t. h., 323.
-butler, n. m., 444.
-calvin, 130, 193, 197.
-cambridge, 117, 149, 177, 392.
-campe, 225, 228.
-capella, martianus, 57.
-carpenter, mary, 299.
-carter, j. g., 305, 309.
-castes, 5 ff.
-catechetical schools, 46.
-catechumenal schools, 43 f.
-cathedral schools, 46 f., 54, 131.
-chantry schools, 94 f., 132.
-charity schools, 231 ff.
-charlemagne, 61 ff.
-charles viii, 110.
-chavannes, 291, 292.
-chivalry, 83 ff.
-christianity, 29, 42 f.
-cicero, 58, 108, 116, 151.
-circulating schools, 234.
-clement of alexandria, 46.
-clinton, de witt, 260.
-cockerton judgment, 391.
-colburn, warren, 293.
-colet, 93, 117 f.
-college of clermont, 137.
-college of france, 111, 385.
-college of guyenne, 111.
-college of william and mary, 192.
-combe, 403, 405, 410, 416.
-comenius, 167, 168 ff., 224, 353.
-commercial education, 422 f.
-communal collèges, 384.
-concentration, 340, 345 f., 350, 429.
-conduct of the understanding, 180.
-connecticut common school journal, 313.
-continuation school, 298, 374, 377, 383, 420.
-corderius, 111, 130.
-corpus juris civilis, 76, 79.
-correlation, 341, 344, 350.
-council of whitby, 56.
-court schools, 105 ff.
-cousin, 291 f., 408.
-creativeness, 356 ff.
-culture epochs, 341, 344, 346.
-dame schools, 266.
-dana, james d., 412.
-darwin, 398, 413, 437 f.
-decree of gratian, 76, 79.
-defectives, 300, 426 ff.
-de garmo, charles, 348, 351.
-delayed maturing, 221.
-delinquents, 142, 300.
-dewey, john, 364, 429 ff., 444.
-dialectic, 20, 58, 71, 76, 127.
-didascaleum, 14, 18, 21.
-discipline, locke’s, 180 ff.
-districts, 266 f.
-divided schools, 267.
-dock, christopher, 195.
-double translation, 117.
-duns scotus, 71.
-eaton, amos, 412.
-écoles maternelles, 383.
-edward vi, 132.
-edwards, ninian w., 325.
-eisleben, 128, 145.
-eliot, charles w., 403.
-emile, 208 ff.
-encyclopedists, 204 ff.
-épée, abbé de l’, 428.
-epicureans, 28, 46.
-episcopal schools, 46 f.
-erasmus, 113, 117, 125.
-essay concerning the human understanding, 180.
-euclid, 30, 58.
-evening hour of a hermit, 279.
-faculty psychology, 27, 182 ff., 222, 434.
-father’s journal, 278.
-fellenberg, 219, 295 ff.
-feudalism, 83 f., 90.
-fichte, 290, 351.
-field school, 253.
-formal discipline, 23, 182 ff., 404, 434.
-forster, w. e., 388.
-fortbildungsschulen, 298, 377, 420.
-francis i, 110.
-francke, 175 f.
-francke institutions, 346.
-franklin, benjamin, 159, 261.
-frederick barbarossa, 76.
-frederick the great, 373.
-frederick william i, 373.
-frederick william iii, 290, 375.
-frederick ii, 67, 75.
-free school society, 260.
-french revolution, 204.
-froebel, 168, 175, 219, 243, 334, 351 ff., 368, 430 f.
-froebel union, 365.
-galen, 79, 164.
-galloway, s., 325.
-gild schools, 92 f., 132.
-gifts, 354, 359 f.
-gnosticism, 30, 45.
-goddard, h. h., 427.
-grammar schools, rome, 36 f.; cathedral, 47; monastic, 57; charlemagne, 61; chantry, 94; england, 118 f.; america, 120; new amsterdam, 194; massachusetts, 197; virginia, 253; south, 258; united states, 274, 331.
-gratian, 76, 79.
-gravel lane school, 234.
-gray, asa, 413.
-great didactic, 169, 170 ff., 175.
-griscom, 242, 292, 305.
-gymnasium, athens, 15, 17, 21; melanchthon, 114; sturm, 115 f., 128, 157, 176; prussian, 378, 406.
-hall, samuel r., 304.
-harvard, 149, 177, 198.
-harvey, 164 f., 206.
-haüy, abbé, 428.
-hawley, gideon, 259.
-hecker, 176, 373, 378.
-hellenistic philosophy, 29.
-henry viii, 131.
-herbart, 168, 175, 219, 243, 334 ff., 363, 368.
-herbart society, 348, 351.
-hieronymians, 112 ff.
-high school, 242, 269, 306, 311, 331, 414.
-hillegas, m. b., 436.
-hofwyl, 295 ff.
-home and colonial school society, 246.
-hopkins, edward, 120.
-how gertrude teaches her children, 282, 286.
-humanistic education, 102 ff., 164.
-huxley, 220, 399, 402, 404, 416.
-india, 5 ff.
-induction, 165, 173 f.
-industrial education, of gilds, 91 f.; la salle, 141; virginia, 191, 193; massachusetts, 197; philanthropinum, 229; monitorial, 240; charity, 249; pestalozzi, 278 ff.; fellenberg, 295 ff.; europe, 298 ff.; present status, 419 ff.
-infant school society, 246 f.
-infant schools, 243 ff.
-initiatory ceremonies, 5.
-jansenists, 138 ff.
-janua linguarum, 169, 174.
-jefferson, 253, 270.
-jesuits, 133 ff.
-jews, 9 f.
-jullien, general, 291 f.
-justinian, 54, 76.
-kepler, 163, 165.
-kindergarten, 354, 358 ff., 364 ff.
-kitchen school, 267.
-lancaster, joseph, 239 ff.
-lagrange, 398, 408.
-lange, karl, 346.
-laplace, 398, 408.
-la salle, 140.
-latin schools. see grammar schools.
-laws, the, 23.
-leonard and gertrude, 278 f.
-leopold of dessau, 225.
-lewis, s., 325.
-liberal studies, 23, 56 f., 122.
-liebig, 398, 406.
-lily, 113, 118.
-locke, 154 ff., 158, 179, 206, 213, 335.
-louis xii, 110.
-louis xiv, 140.
-louis xv, 207.
-louis philippe, 382.
-loyola, 132 f.
-ludus, 36 f.
-luther, 114, 125 ff.
-lycées, 384, 408.
-mcclure, william, 292.
-mcmurry, c. a., 348.
-mcmurry, f. m., 348, 351.
-mann, 293, 304, 306 ff., 415.
-manual training, in united states, 298 f.; cygnæus, 363; in france, 383.
-many-sided interest, 336 ff.
-marwedel, emma, 366.
-massachusetts common school journal, 307.
-maternal schools, 244.
-maurus, rabanus, 63 f.
-mayo, charles, 246, 291.
-melanchthon, 114, 128, 131, 145.
-merchant taylors’, 92, 120.
-meriam, j. l., 432.
-mills, caleb, 325.
-milton, 152, 155, 157.
-mohammedanism, 27, 65 ff.
-monastic schools, 49, 54 ff., 132.
-monitorial system, 239 ff.
-montaigne, 153 f., 155.
-moore, e. c., 437.
-more, 23, 117.
-morrill act, 413.
-morton, charles, 158.
-mother play and nursery songs, 358 f., 360.
-motor expression, 356.
-moving school, 267.
-mulcaster, 155 f.
-murphy, judge a. d., 257.
-nägeli, 285, 293.
-napoleon, 381, 408.
-national education association, 350.
-national society, 233, 239 f.
-naturalism, 180, 277.
-nature study, 415.
-new atlantis, 23, 166.
-new testament, 48.
-newton, 164 f., 177, 206, 398.
-niccoli, niccolo de’, 105.
-nicene creed, 48.
-normal schools, carter, 305; mann, 307 f.; massachusetts, 320; middle states, 322, 324; zedlitz, 374; france, 382, 408.
-notre dame, 76.
-novum organum, 165.
-oberrealschule, 378 f., 406.
-observation, 276 ff., 280, 286 ff., 337, 343.
-occam, william of, 71.
-occupational work, froebel, 363; europe and united states, 364; dewey, 429 f.
-occupations, 354, 359 f.
-orbis pictus, 170, 174, 224.
-ordinance of 1787, 271.
-origen of alexandria, 46.
-oswego methods, 293 f., 415.
-otherworldliness, 43 ff., 75, 101, 121.
-outlines of educational doctrine, 337.
-owen, 244 f., 387.
-oxford, 117, 149, 177, 392, 409.
-palace school, 61.
-palæstra, 14, 17, 21.
-pansophia, 167, 169, 171 ff.
-parker, colonel f. w., 293, 350, 364, 429.
-parochial schools, 193 f.
-peabody educational fund, 329.
-penn charter school, 195.
-pentathlum, 13 f.
-permissive laws, 256 f., 263 f., 269, 273, 320, 322, 324 f., 328.
-pestalozzi, 156, 168, 175, 219, 243, 277 ff., 363, 368, 415.
-peter the lombard, 71 f., 76, 79.
-petrarch, 103 f.
-philanthropic movement, 229 ff.
-philanthropinum, 223 ff.
-philip augustus, 76.
-philosophical schools, athens, 27 f.
-pickering, timothy, 261 f.
-pietists, 176 f.
-plato, 19 ff., 45, 56 f.
-poor schools, 261.
-port royal, 138 ff.
-primitive peoples, 4 f.
-princes’ schools, 116.
-protagoras, 18 f.
-prussian-pestalozzianism, 289, 293, 308.
-psychological movement, 220 f., 415 f.
-public schools, england, 120, 410.
-public school society, 247, 261, 322.
-pythagoras, 18 f., 23, 45.
-quadrivium, 23, 57, 62.
-quarterly register, 305.
-ratich, 167, 175.
-raymund of toledo, 67.
-realgymnasien, 378, 406.
-realism, 151 ff., 162, 179.
-realschulen, 176, 378 f., 406.
-reformation, 125 ff.
-rein, w., 342, 346.
-renaissance, 70, 95, 101 ff.
-republic, the, 21 ff.
-reuchlin, 112, 114.
-reyher, andreas, 175.
-rhetorical schools, athens, 28, 30; rome, 36, 38 f.
-rhode island school journal, 314.
-ritter, 220, 285 f., 293.
-ritterakademien, 157, 176.
-robinson crusoe, 216, 225, 345.
-rogers, w. b., 413.
-rome, 29 f., 32 ff.
-rousseau, 156, 175, 179, 206 ff., 231, 277, 285 ff., 363, 368, 416, 443.
-rush, b., 261.
-russell, w., 304.
-st. paul’s school, 93, 118, 132.
-st. yon, 141.
-salzmann, 220, 225, 228, 231, 284.
-schlegels, the, 352.
-scholasticism, 69 ff., 76.
-scholemaster, the, 117.
-science of education, 337.
-scientific movement, 152, 163, 166 f., 219 f., 397 ff.
-secondary education, athens, 15, 17; plato, 21; aristotle, 25; rome, 36; gild schools, 92; humanistic, 105 ff.; french, 111; german, 114 ff.; england, 118 f., 132, 158, 390 f., 409; jesuit, 134; port royal, 138 ff.; la salle, 141; reformation, 147 f.; america, 158 ff., 274, 414; comenius, 171; realists, 176; colonial, 191 f., 193 f., 195 f., 196 f.; charity schools, 235; monitorial, 242; virginia, 253 f.; other southern states, 256 f.; new york, 258 f.; massachusetts, 268; carter, 306; mann, 319, 331; herbart, 347; prussia, 373, 378 ff.; france, 384, 408; canada, 394; germany, 406.
-seguin, 426 f., 433.
-self-activity, 356 ff.
-sense realism, 152, 162 ff., 169, 173, 175 f., 179.
-seventh annual report, mann’s, 293, 308.
-sheldon, e. a., 293.
-simultaneous method, 143.
-smith, adam, 387.
-social realism, 153 ff.
-sociological movement, 218, 357, 415 ff.
-socrates, 19 f.
-sophists, 17 ff.
-sparta, 12 ff.
-spencer, 220, 400 ff., 416.
-stanz, 279 ff.
-stevens, thaddeus, 263.
-stoics, 28, 45.
-stowe, david, 305.
-stoy, 345 f.
-strassburg, 115, 128.
-sturm, 115 f., 128, 131.
-sunday schools, 237 f.
-swiss family robinson, 225.
-syllabaries, 281, 283.
-table of fractions, 283.
-table of units, 281, 283, 293.
-technische hochschulen, 380, 406.
-theodore of gaza, 113.
-thorndike, e. l., 435.
-thoughts concerning education, 179 f.
-trinity church school, 235.
-university, athens, 29, 39; alexandria, 28, 39; rhodes, 29, 39; rome, 29, 39; pergamon, 29; mediæval, 74 ff.; paris, 75 ff., 110; bologna, 75 ff.; salerno, 75; erfurt, 111; leipzig, 111; heidelberg, 111; tübingen, 111; ingoldstadt, 111; vienna, 111; wittenberg, 111; marburg, 111; königsberg, 111; jena, 111; after reformation, 148 f.; halle, 177; göttingen, 177; yale, 177; princeton, 177, 196; columbia, 177; pennsylvania, 177; virginia, 254; georgia, 256; michigan, 326; france, 381; cornell, 413; johns hopkins, 413.
-university of the state of new york, 259.
-vaux, robert, 247.
-vestibulum, 169 f.
-vittorino da feltre, 105 ff.
-vocational education, 219, 240, 249.
-volksschulen, 145, 377, 407.
-voltaire, 204 ff., 287.
-voluntary schools, 388 ff., 425.
-wandering students, 78.
-weiss, professor, 352.
-what knowledge is of most worth, 400.
-william of champeaux, 76.
-williams, roger, 120.
-wimpfeling, 112, 125.
-wirt, w. a., 432.
-witmer, l., 427.
-woman’s education, hindu, 7; sparta, 14; athens, 15; aristotle, 25; rome, 34; convent, 56; luther, 127; realists, 156; academies, 160; comenius, 171; charity schools, 278; pestalozzi, 278; fellenberg, 297; mann, 309; france, 385.
-woodbridge, w. c., 305.
-woodhouse, john, 158.
-yocum, a. d., 436.
-york, 56, 61.
-youmans, e. l., 403, 405.
-zedlitz, von, 374.
-ziller, 289, 295, 341 f., 345 f., 347.
-printed in the united states of america
-page 218 line 8, emile changed to read emile for consistency.
-obvious printer errors corrected silently.
-book was produced from images made available by the hathitrust digital library.)
-copyright 1923 covici-mcgee chicago
-dedicated to minna and feyda
---they will meet under different circumstances
-if i yield to the remorseful redundancy of a foreword, with its bedraggled battalions of fiercely insinuating words, it is from no mere desire to invite the ridicule of impatient time, or to rail against that host of vacant insincerities which betrays the animations of life. it may be that i do not look upon words as intimidating a fixed content, or beckoning to an inevitable style. it may be that i regard words as flexible lures seducing the essential emptiness of life, with little, false promises--promises of emotional and mental gain and reward; haloes and bludgeons with which a void may attain the mirage of toiling or dancing importance. and perhaps, in the desperate hope of achieving a proper festival of sound, i have summoned words to a reiteration of defeated antics, without in any way attempting to gain those exhausted futilities known as convictions and explanations. and if, through this foreword, i can revel in a pensive obscurity--a veil that must be carefully removed with the reading of poems that follow--i shall feel that i have furnished the exercise of amusement to certain sterile and over-confident rituals of emotion and mind.
-the poetic situation in america is, indeed, a blustering and verbose invitation to boredom and a slight, reviling headache. when not engaged in scrubbing the window pane ten times over, lest it prove opaque to an astigmatic public, american poets are discovering, with great glee, the perspiring habits and routines of sex, or naively deifying the local mannerisms of a blithely juvenile country--a lurching, colloquial, fist-swinging melee of milkmen depositing bottles on doorsteps and acquiring dignity in the process; chorus-girls and farmhands telling their troubles in a stilted slang; factory-owners falling in love with their female employees, to the tune of delicate and novel symbolism concerning “a longing to enter the house of her being”; ravings over the strength and poignancy of corn-fields and country-roads--“o, the corn, how it aches!” and “what is better than the patient and sturdy road?”--; much roaring about the importance and hard beauty of mills and factories--crudely smoky boxes of avarice faced by little, kneeling poets.... ah, the list, when extended, defies amusement. you must leave the theater unless you desire the thankless experience of vomiting.
-the commercial cacophony of american lusts and greeds has borrowed a clarinet, a flute, and a saxophone from the admiration of american poets and is one-stepping with thousands of words, after the office and factory have closed for the day, “swee-et mama, well your papa’s done gone mad!”--the jerky, leering pandemonium of actual jazz on a polished floor interests me far more than its more proper and adulterated echoes--the glorious american poets of our time.
-there are, again, american poets who have turned their eyes to europe, yes, the fact is apparent--they have turned their eyes to europe, and they can, on occasion, become cynical animals, discovering seven thousand different ways of describing the contortions that lead to sexual intercourse, and displaying breasts and limbs with an infinite amount of abandoned bravado. again, they have heard of the european dadaists, yes, undoubtedly they have heard of the european dadaists, and they have now reduced the pronoun “i” to “i,” commenced their lines with small letters, and exhibited a brave and startling hatred for commas and separate words. in europe, this literary revolution holds a distorted incisiveness and many an original thought, heaved up from the catastrophe of words. in america, certain poets, with great gusto, have torn three buttons from their coats and are standing on their heads. yawning, we turn the page to the greyly psychological school of poets--william james and havelock ellis, viewed with ecstasy behind a magnifying glass, while someone provides a blurred replica of bach’s music.
-that tantalizing obscurity of words, luring the nimbleness of mental regard--subtlety--and those deliberate acrobatics that form an original style--both are waiting for the melodrama, comedy and lecture to subside. alas, what a long waiting is before them--pity these two aristocrats and admire their isolated tenacity. drop the trivial gift of a tear, also, upon a wilted, elaborate figure thrown into cell number thirty-two and trying to remember that his name was once intellect. then deposit the lengthened confession of a sigh upon another drooping form known as delicate fantasy--an elusive liar who ravishes colors without mentioning their names (not the endless blue, green, white, yellow, red, lavender, mauve, pink, brown, cerise, golden, orange, and purple of american imagists). they have kicked him into the cellar, damn them. recognize the importance of his bruises. and also, spy, in the loosely naive tumult, an agile, self-possessed pilgrim known as irony. they have kicked him in the stomach, these symbols of earth triumphant.... and now, you must not look upon these words as a stormy unfolding of conviction and explanation. the american spectacle has aroused a mood; words conceal the essential helplessness; and the lurking emptiness behind life separates into little, curious divisions of sound. the undulations have ended.
-the sardonic arm
-agitated child, listening to the words of clown, charlatan, blackguard, clergyman, and vainly trying to follow their commands simultaneously, with legs and arms swinging like demented jehovahs, the plastic shapelessness of mud waits to receive your castigated fevers. and all the children whose inarticulate hearts smashed together make your body-- the burly, waggish rogue paid to dance in your cabarets; the shoulder-shaking girl who mistakes one shiver for immortality; the roughly earnest gunman whose blundering insurrection clutches a cool device; the man whose eyes are coins encased in viscous white; the fox-like politician leaping on small prizes in the dark; the farmer, lending his different costume to the ox-like patience of earth; the manual laborers with minds as minute and obscure as bricks, and softly prominent hearts; the factory-girls who try to scold the murmur of their souls with one hundred slang phrases-- all of them will lose their imaginary differences in the lenient refuge of mud. but their souls, ridiculously ignorant of national boundary-lines, and amused at the physical promise or ruin that men extract tortuously from life-- their souls will instigate a more conspicuous conflict.
-cry, naked and personal
-conversation in oak trees, better than the talk of men because it ends where they begin futilely. ferns, and invasion of moss, waiting for the conquest of words to dwindle with the years and find, in the doom of green, a mute and sprightly correction. these trees do not proclaim that men are fools or geniuses. their rustling tolerance does not seek to intrude upon the indifference of time, and it is appropriate that their leaves should wait to contain the discarded syllables of human erudition.
-i have seen a man gaze upon an oak tree, as one who hates a patient enemy. sensual desires and mental plots had marked his face not tenderly. combat of envy and pride gained the dilated prize of his eyes as he looked upon the tree. then his voice achieved the solace of admiration. “the leaves are beautiful in autumn. this oak tree has a pleasant sturdiness.” when confronted by a tree, or sunset prowling down the hills, the sensual boast of men trembles with fear and raises the shield of adoration.
-look upon the oak tree without that simulated courage falsely wrung from soothing sound. the oak tree is a living prison where the thoughts and lusts of men dangle to the whims of winds and learn an unexpected tolerance. seek revenge upon the tree; dress it in capricious metaphor; fling your costumes on its frame. or, better still, realize that the oak tree does not demolish the souls of men. i say that all of nature is only the mingled womb and tomb with which an ancient illusion perpetuates the religions that keep it alive. before i leave the oak tree laughter captures my lips. newton, a dry and wavering leaf, has fallen to the earth.
-“geography locates actual mountains, rivers, and valleys, while critics of literature and art draw imaginary maps small as the nail of an infant’s thumb. then nouns and adjectives are purchased and arranged to magnify and defend the size of exquisite differences in altitude, position, and direction. trivially vociferous, your geographical critics display their little maps to men whose eyes are already convinced or turned in another direction.” torban, a scholar from mars, dropped his speech and laughed. his laugh was the sound of a mountain emancipated by humour and cavorting over the plains. the mountain fled, but torban remained, made gigantic by its aftermath. for size does not reside
-hatred of metaphor and simile
-ta-ra-ta-ta! the ancient horn is once more bleating its ephemeral plea to immortality. thus announced, the author of the play, naked, and with a scholar’s face ill-at-ease above the flesh, proclaims the purpose of the play. his speech, long and unadorned, requires this concentrated translation:
-“life is a sensual hunter and only his trophies are real. these protesting animals may sometimes be cleverly scrutinized by six or seven intellects secreted in the noisy audience.”
-ta-ra-ta-ta! the horn resounds, and its echoes are caught by an uproar of sounds-- excited disciples within the theater. “down with fantasy!” “realism and flesh forever!” “no more lies about the soul!” “give us earth and logic!” “murder the mountebanks and butterflies!” “down with metaphor and simile!”
-the play is about to begin when two unfortunate poets are discovered in the audience. morbid, grotesque, and nonchalant, they wear involved, embroidered clothes and smoke emotional cigarettes, flicking the ashes carefully into the rage of faces around them. and one poet recommends a ruffled, satirical vest for the hairy chest of a broad man seated near him. with cries, in which the earthly illusion mounts its strident throne, the audience expels the two poets with ritual of feet and fists. unperturbed, the poets stoop to mend their embroidered sleeves tom by the frantic audience. with this important task completed, they stroll away.
-time, infinity, and eternity, descend upon a black derby hat
-i walk upon a street
-must i see a gutter in which the hurried machination of water carries bits of apple peeling to some profound, obscure intelligence? and if the gutter is to me merely the masterful travel of brown speeding with odds and ends of red, to lend importance to a dream, will this belief decrease my size when death reproves my inefficient limbs?
-i walk upon a street where trite deceptions glide ceaselessly. upon this street the spasmodic revolt of color refuses to join the orderly, substantial lie. scattered anarchists of color, thin and incorrupt, contend against the ponderous devices of lust for flesh and gold. with a spiritual savageness colors bring their lucid treason to ancient, shrouded tyrannies. the knitted green of this girl’s sweater is a badge releasing a cool republic of desire unrelated to earth. her famished opaque face feeds on sleek anticipations-- unconscious incongruity.
-color alone is real, waving perpetually over the graves of thought and emotion. from the vaster shapes of color small and involved broods of thought and emotion are born to scorn their distant mothers. the ruffian dream recedes over a span of twenty thousand years, and color, awake and supreme, waits to be once more divided by another nightmare dream. if men could see this they might kneel upon this sidewalk and observe the importance of apple-peelings testing their spirals of red against the thick, brown stream.
-the incurable mystic answers western ambitions
-western men, your life is a minor rhapsody for flute and violin. with sounds, now shrill, now suave, you steal your hymns and frolics from the surface dirt of realism and the curves of sensuality. your feeble mysticism strains at the task of lifting tables and placing naïve retorts into the mouths of spirits. your erudition is the vain gesture of your repentance grown over-thin and complex. western men, you are beggars devouring bits of guile tossed from a violent mirage. the contours of a rose bribing the quiet madness of evening with cunning promises of red, are more important than your sweating love and the rushing dreads of your market-places. the contours of a rose will still arrange their subtle dream when your clever schemes of mud win the drifting pension of dust. your charts and diagrams are merely a ragamuffin’s initials cut into an ancient gateway that guards the invisible meaning of life.
-tomato soup at four a. m. we seemed to sit upon the floor but, with a feathery discretion, we advised our bodies to make the floor a glistening fundamental flattened by the walk of centuries. continuing the advice, we told our bodies to arrange a variation on the floor and give the floor a living reason for existence. our bodies, with clandestine movements, accepted the advice and became the essences of plato, almost tempting our flesh to renounce its weight. our lifted knees were actors simulating treason to our souls, with their prominence of bone. they were interviewed by elbows that held a light disbelief. our backs against the cushions had disappeared, and we did not move for fear that all of us might rush away through the openings. our heads were fiercely bent down, as though they felt an ecstasy of shame at their crudity ... when we returned to the tomato soup it was an insipid fluid, but we drank it indifferently, and it is also possible that an unearthly laugh peered through the crevices of our eyes, finding no need for sound.
-intellect, you are an electrical conspiracy between the advance guards of soul and mind. thoughts and spiritual instincts, profound and unfanatical, sit plotting against the enmity that seeks to wall them in separate castles... a thought and a spiritual instinct link themselves for an instant upon the face of this stenographer. unknown to her mind and speech a gleam of intellect contradicts her features, and she spies the jest of her relation to the droning man beside her.
-this incredible news will be doubted by poets and scientists.
-musicians and carpenters meet upon your trays of food: aesthetics and the flesh play their little joke upon dogma, urged by the rhythm of your hands. your rouged cheeks slip unnoticed through the sexless turmoil. the rituals are hastened lest they become self-conscious... i stop you and remark: “the sylvan story of your hair is damaged by your rhinestone comb. may i remove it?” then you stare. the fact that you have been greeted by something other than a wink almost causes you to think. you walk away, holding an emotion that skims the lips of many adjectives. confused, uncertain, scornful-- with none of them fused together.
-yellow roses in your black hair hold the significance of stifled mystics defying time. yellow roses in your black hair can become to certain eyes the trivial details of emotion. yellow roses in your black hair often embarrass passing philosophers who suddenly realize that they have been furtively snatching at color and light.
-shop-girl, in the midst of your frolic, take this portrait without surprise. portraits are merely pretexts.
-maudlin, hurt, morose, tender, angry, remote, whimsical, frigid, impatient-- compel these adjectives to become friendly to each other and let them stumble in unison beneath the muscular trouble of life. the careful boss who sends them on holds one eye of bitterness and another of sentimentality, closing each one on different occasions. the careful boss may be your soul, tired manicurist, amazing the fragrant barber-shop with words of valiant prose. ferretti, the mildly dying barber, loves his bald head with one finger and whispers, “she’s crazy, i fire her tomorrow. when customer ask her to eat with him she laugh and tell him she no care to pay too much for indigestion. she’s crazy. i fire her tomorrow.”
-ferretti does not know that souls are not entirely unconcerned with straining for effects.
-seraphic and relaxed, you take your novel with uncertain thumbs, as one who lingers over cake and dreads the thought of final crumbs.
-frown at my precious sorcery and label me an envious elf. if human beings could agree their boredom might revenge itself.
-o youthful housewife, weighing grains of joy upon your empty smile, the total of my bolder gains is but a more impressive guile.
-your serious child wins the alert and limpid art of playing tag, while your emotions rest inert like dried fruit in a paper bag.
-and yet i envy both of you and wish that i could also find the mildness of your fancied view, where feelings dance and thoughts are kind.
-they worship musical sound protecting the breast of emotion. their feelings pose as fortune-tellers and angle for coins from credulous thoughts. shall we abandon this luxury of mild mist and wild raptures? your face refrains from saying yes but your closed eyes roundly reward the luminous sentence. greece and asia have exchanged problems upon your face, and the fine poise of your head tries to catch their conversation. few people care to use thought as a musical instrument that brings its singing restraint to grief and joy, but we, with straight arms, will descend daringly upon this situation. the full-blown confusion of life will detest our intrusion.
-any minor poet can claim that his subject resembles music. (“her steps were notes of music.” “his presence was like a song.”) you are a long-neglected instrument from which the player, with over-confident lips, blows only a jet of dust that falls upon the damp chagrin of his face. moist from the futile effort he asks his listeners to admire imaginary notes. they clap their hands, and he must retire to the slow digesting of his lie. old actor, you have finished reciting hamlet; your pennies are gathered; and you depart.
-from the pensive treachery of my cell i can hear your mournful yell. centuries of pain are pressed into one unconscious jest as your scream disrobes your soul. the silence of your iron hole is hot and stolid, like a guest weary of seeing men undressed. like the silence, i listen because i dread the glisten of a hidden humour that strains under the stumble of all pains. brown and wildly clownish shape thrown into a cell for rape, you contain the tortured laugh of a pilgrim-imbecile whose staff taps against a massive comedy. melodrama burlesques itself with free and stony voice, and wears a row of masks to lure the joviality of tasks. melodrama, you, and i, we are merely tongues that try to ogle a protesting dream into whisper, laugh, and scream.
-short story in sonnet form
-loud chatter in a thousand minor lines was your religion, and your art was pain disguised by phrases of verbose disdain. you married an old man who gave you wines lukewarm and pink, until your tipsy youth, grown weary of evading sensual lies, ran to idiot-pierrot whose cries created that delusion known as truth. the ache of your sincerity betrayed his awkward falseness, and he turned away, grinning until your bullet found his head. then people claimed that you had merely paid insanely for a tritely sordid play. your lyric could not answer--it was dead.
-do you share the present dread of being sentimental? the world has flung its boutonnière into the mud, and steps upon it with elaborate gestures!
-sentimentality is the servant-girl of certain men and the wife of others. she scarcely ever flirts with creative minds, striving also to become graceful and indiscreet.
-sappho and aristotle have wandered through the centuries, dressed in an occasional novelty-- a little twist of outward form. they have always been ashamed to be caught in a friendly talk.
-when emotion and the mind engage in deliberate dialogue, one hundred nightingales and intellectuals find a common ground, and curse the meeting of their slaves!
-the mind must only play with polished relics of emotion, and the heart must never lighten burdens of the mind.
-i desire to be irrelevant and voluble, leaving my terse disgust for a moment. i have met an erudite poet with a northern hardness motionless beneath his youthful robes. he shuns the quivering fluencies of emotion, and shifts his dominoes within a room of tortured angles. but away from this creative room he sells himself to the whims of his wife, a young virago with a calculating nose. beneath the flagrant pose of his double life emotion and the mind look disconsolately at each other.
-lyrical abandon and mental cautiousness must not mingle to a magic glowing, yet deliberate.
-never spill your wine upon a page of mathematics. drink it decently within the usual tavern.
-the sword converses with a philosopher
-the hindoo raises his arms and holds them level with his shoulders till they become still and permanent, like horizons. but i prefer to stumble into abrupt harmonies that must ever be flung aside. with one quick slash i cut lips of death upon an expressionless breast, and a vermilion sincerity pardons the sophistry of flesh. it is better to make and leave the moments of a poem than to erect an ingenious pedestal upon which blindness solemnly squats.
-men’s tongues are slow, and they have made you to avenge their hidden shame at this. you give startling girdles to virgins, red beards to thieves, and writhing necklaces to children, because the tongues of men are slow and revel in your quicker rhythms. an idiot whirls you around his head and persuades himself that he is swift. imagination drenches his eyes and he spreads himself flat on your blade.
-all of your words are concentrated into the glittering censure of my blade!
-life wraps its layer of touch around one, like a haunting blanket smothering the taunting lips of a child. curving their fingers around your hilt men strive to purchase the triumph of an imagined escape. i teach them plaintively to weave schemes of consolation on the broad texture of their lives. you tell them to slash the fabric, reaching into the black space underneath it. you are not a symbol of cruelty. an innocent impatience sharpens the comedy of your blade.
-men have only two choices-- to worship idols or mimic fireflies, and i lend my strength to each choice, teaching them to abandon the harlequin raptures of words.
-you bring them yearning turbulence, and i, a quick-tongued refuge. silence will pardon both of us.
-it is unnecessary to tell that captain simmons was old, with a body like the fading dream of an athlete, and a face made womanly by age.
-more about captain simmons
-captain simmons’ legs were praying after much capering. legs can pray without kneeling when they steal pity from city streets. on captain simmons’ face wrinkled inhibitions were giving moth-eaten lace to that soft tolerance where memory and dying desire sleep without dreams. captain simmons’ black suit fitted him loosely while his mind became him tightly, and the reason flickered in his smile. for all of life he had hidden beneath a loose generosity in order to escape the fact that certain of his thoughts were supplied with tights and slyness, and his smile was a lit candle held for a moment uncertainly over this situation. if one mentioned that captain simmons was possessed by the plight of eyes like pinched chicaneries of fate, above a face of visual penuries, one would only hide his essential parts beneath the futility of explanation.
-captain simmons’ wife
-she moved in a calculating trot, relinquishing hairsbreadths of her life with each step, and gathering atoms of humour and melancholy into one last excuse for existence. it is true that she was playing housewife to her thoughts and emotions. her intangible household had attained a weak and exquisite indirectness, and she fiddled with its meager neatness; protected them as they stooped over the knitting of remorse; fed them platters of minced scandal and mildly censured the relish with which they ate; persuaded them that they could dream best when they were uncomfortable; swept out bedrooms for fear that the talkative candour of her dislikes might falter in the presence of dust; and clinked the silver on side-boards in an effort to convince herself that she was still robustly mercenary.
-again, she scanned the spots on a bridal-gown and planned, as she had done for years to send it to an imaginary cleaner.
-north clark street, chicago
-tame and ghastly coffins display their shamefaced grays and reds against the passive vividness of morning. from the base of these large coffins men and women walk, like briskly servile automata. some repentant toy-maker has given them a cunning pretense of life.
-a waitress hurries to her work. her yellow hair and face stained red blend into a garish mendicant who steals unreal composure from the morning. behind her tramps a bloodless jew. the stench of endless denials has wrenched his youthful face into a prophecy of middle age. he does not see the lamely leaden shop-girl, where despair and apathy, fighting, produce the motion of her limbs. she does not see this elderly laborer upon whose face an artist
-lies smashed and gasping for breath, and he does not regard this thread irresolutely falling from a tapestry of memory: this slender woman in black. the glittering indifference of morning divides their faces.
-afternoon has fallen on this street, like an imbecilic organ-grinder grinning over his discords. dead men and women spin their miracles of motion upon the grayness of this street. in this old jew’s shop a woman bargains over calico. with a ghostly naïveté she reprimands the price of her shroud. in this pawn-shop stands a man parting with his clarinet. he walks away, with dangling arms, like a swindled gabriel. in a lunchroom sits a woman whose face is a tired sin seeking comfort in religion. a young girl near her is an angel puzzled by streaks of mud upon her face and asking questions of her vanity. outside, dead men and women are whipped on by the explosive magic of an old, resistless masquerade. street-cars, wagons, and motor-trucks rattle their parodies on life, and over all the afternoon twists, like an imbecilic organ-grinder snickering over his discords.
-night has thrown his ecstasy of staring, counterfeit eyes over the torrent of this street. men with faces quicker and more furtive than time stand motionless in doorways. women stride down this street. many fingers have pulled their faces to a haggard lack of expression. they join the motionless men in the doorways and disappear. and over them the tame and ghastly coffins display their shamefaced grays and reds against the tangled vividness of night.
-the countless vagaries of maple leaves, elastic humbleness of flowers and weeds, the hill, a placid stoic to all creeds, they use an obvious language that deceives the subtle theories of human ears. their tongue is motion and they scorn the rhyme and meter made by men to soothe their fears.
-beneath the warm strength of each august hour they spurn cohesion and the plans of thought, with quick simplicity that seems confused because it signals mystic whims that tower above the thoughts and loves that men have caught: beyond the futile words that men have used.
-your face is stencilled with a pensiveness. your face contains a minor lyric trapped by dainty ignorance, and tamely capped by hair as trimly lifeless as your dress. you suffer from the drooling praise of old and youthful men, who strive to win a blind and soothing admiration from your mind, and do not try to make your thoughts unfold.
-this comedy would fade into a host if it were not rewarded by the dead but unrelenting poet on your face. your eyes are heavy with his reckless ghost: the trouble of his hands is on your head as you peer out into a clouded space.
-within an office whose exterior resembles an ultra-conservative mind you battle with the avaricious words of a meager, petrified man. your face is brown stagnation sometimes astounded by a thrust of chattering wistfulness. bravery is fear effectively sneering at itself, and you are forever wavering upon the edge of this condition. yet your obscurity is an important atom in the mysterious march of time.
-and if i say that pain is but a circus barker whose loud cries seek to reward a trivial show, will you confess that i am wise?
-“must it be emotional?” you asked, after i had thrown words into a carnival-scope. sobriety and merriment borrowed the sixteenth century within your voice, and sought the identity of sternness-- mental sternness pretending to ignore the confetti thrown by emotion in a carnival unique.
-emotions can be prancing curves fashioned by relaxing thoughts. should i kiss you, questioner, the delicate anti-climax of a mental caper might perish on crimson vapor! tired of frenzies and satiations emotions often wander to poets and ask for more fantastic decisions for fire that glows but does not burn.
-they gave you strait-jackets to bore you. like an unwilling promise your legs were tied together. but people can only violate their own conception of reality, and your actual curves preserved their sculptural liberty. leaving their semblance on your flesh your lines sped inward till they gained the center where emotion changes to a speck of quivering clarity.
-within you phantoms of reality danced with plausibilities of mind, seeking to be consumed by the oblivion which is understanding. you feared that your return to motion would mean a succession of disappointments-- tamely grazing arrows changed to wounds by the desiring heart take my hand and move. only two statues can stride together in a manner invisible save to certain unreasonable adjustments of eyesight and of hearing.
-description and exhortation
-truly, this age will be known as one of minute extremes courting an elderly shape in a violent bar-room scene. an amazon made filthy by centuries, and fuming pygmies, own the stage. thin furies of emotion name every color in the rainbow without its skillful assent, and little mental skeletons stamp with clumsy weirdness on effigies of the heart. the pygmies often sneak to the prancing amazon and the ensuing love-scene produces small memories of walt whitman.
-this age is not metaphysical. followers of dada, weary of electron-soliloquies and fleshly ecstasies with flat feet, sit in the gallery and throw loose malice at the display, evading their motives with an eager creed.
-concentrate your aim, followers of dada.
-the insurrection of a flea compared to driving tusks of elephants, is just as strong. stupidity need not be long.
-the insurrection of a flea attains philosophy and spice. fleas salt their eating with a creed that warms the monotone of greed.
-the insurrection of a flea will leave with tense insistence till the suburbs of eternity. o small fanatic on a spree.
-the flea is poet in a land that does not understand his lunge. he makes his own immaculate laws and awaits forever threatening claws.
-the negroes who turned white
-the souls of negroes, thrown into a shout, roll their hallelujahs out to the flashing blandness of the sky. the sky does not divide their cries into meanings foolish and wise: to the sky all men have but one cry. still, amusement has often thrown separate shades upon the monotone, playing with the sleep of firm beliefs. amused, we give these negroes forms distinct and bounding under storms of sounds that catapult their joys and griefs. a negro with his bald despair seduced by remnants of silver hair, converses with an old king known as god. he longs to have his tortured stare rewarded with a golden chair while other negroes thump the sod with heavy echoes of his request. with a cold, castrated zest he pleads for rest, and he is bold, while scientists and troubadours cling more closely to their floors.
-“how d’yah kno-ow, how d’yah kno-o-ow dat the blood done sign mah na-a-ame? yes it’s so-o-o, yes it’s so-o-o, jesus wrote it down in fla-a-ame.”
-the other negroes sing with gliding fear, and swing the child-like joke of their arms to emotions that surge like an army searching for its eyes. but suddenly a quick surprise tricks each negro’s face with fright-- their skins are gleaming pink and white. white philosophers and scientists strike each other with dubious fists within the negroes’ brains, while poets fight like blistered urchins wrapped in gloom. shrinking underneath the uproar with its bursts of phantom gore, the negroes shriek against their doom. with bending celebration of knees they crush against their leader’s pleas.
-“lord almighty, make us black! this strange noise strikes us on the back! we has had enough of whips! calm this devil with your lips!”
-expressions on a child’s face
-dawn?--no, the hunted transparency of dawn curving from the white throat of a child and shaken in the still cup of his face. then a sudden dispersal of swerving light carrying away the defeated wisdom of a smile.
-thought?--no, the persistent shudder of emotion that is almost thought. the invisible recklessness of perfume enveloping the beginning of a question.
-sadness?--no, the growth of a dim inclination to delve into the rancid importance of flesh: then weeping, to wash away the ritual of disappointment.
-we gaze upon a negro shoveling coal. his muscles fuse into a poem stifled and sinister, censuring the happy rhetoric of morning air. some day he will pitch the stretched simplicity of his tent upon the contented ruins of a civilization, playing with documents and bottles of perfume found in deserted, broken corridors.
-the barbarous comedy lost in profuse confessions and often described as life, lends an attitude of conviction to the mechanical retreat of time.
-do you hear beneath the irregular strut of this city an imperceptible groan? time is turning the jail-house key. they build larger jails for time; he makes larger keys of blood-stained iron. endlessly he emerges from complicated delusions of freedom.
-that desperately grotesque wanton known as imagination can plunge beyond both men and time. imagination slips down upon the last edges of thought and feeling and teaches them to transcend the forlorn bravado of swinging legs and arms.
-we are two psychic clowns brandishing the poverty of words into insolent oddities of sound. come, men are waiting to nail us upon the crucifix of their little logics!
-dear minna, read the newspapers and gloat with me over death’s industry. banker, freudian, socialist, knocked from the shelves and changed to symbols that can lure conjecture. it is well that we are metaphysical. death must not become a mere black frame surrounding the memorized reiterations. death must remain an irresistible beckoning to reckless speculations and continue to offer an amorous arm to the recalcitrant antics of words.
-rabelais and maeterlinck have subsided to one grin upon your sharply cumbersome face. coarseness and a psychic hope dominate your voice as you prattle to women purchasing sugar and salt. then your face and voice alter to a serious fraud eagerly learning the technique of deceptions, as you answer this dryly emasculated grey-beard, discussing the tendencies in hogs.
-when the night replenishes your store of morbid desires, you will try to piece together a cajoling violin from your sweet-heart’s syllables, fumbling with hot hands for the unseen strings.
-regard an american farm. that jaded collaborator, daylight, has just arrived. wavy signal of smoke from the wooden farm-house disappears beneath the bluely ascetic lack of interest. horses, pigs, and cows assemble their discontent. the result is a chinese orchestra devoid of discipline and cohesion, with all of the players intoxicated. the animals do not realize that their voices should portray the farmer in the angular house; the hackneyed prose of his life; the expanding soul of his corn-fields. turn from the absence of human wisdom and see the lights in the farm-house. dimly circumscribed and steady, they symbolize future events. the farm-hand walks to the barn, with an ox-like dragging of feet. black shirt, and overalls whose color has been removed by dirt, obscure the heavy knots of his body. his cork-screw nose ascends to the eyes of an unperturbed pig. love and hate to him are mouthfuls of coarse food hastily gulped during lulls in his muscular slavery. beneath the slanting pungency of the barn he vanishes, and with meaningless sounds he pays his meager tribute to life. then the farmer persuades his age to indulge in an unwilling stumble across the yard. his grey beard is the end of a rope that has gradually throttled his face. within him, avarice is awkwardly practising the rhythms of weak emotions benignly, belatedly preparing for celestial rewards. within the cluttered farm-yard he stands, a figure of niggardly order.
-earth, the men who scrape at your flanks can never stop to examine the thin line of speech that goes adventuring where your brown hills bite the sky.
-american vaudeville show
-this vacuous, clattering spectacle has collected the heart-beats of a nation. greed, like a gorged machiavelli, slumps down in the green plush seat and wonders whether it has not blundered, while a sentimental song, like a kindly infant, interferes with the clink of coins. hatred, juvenile and deformed, earns the smirking oblivion of fat women mangling sound. the wrangling babble of ignorance turns to silence underneath the opium of innuendoes. acrobats appear and seem to be raping phantom lovers no longer beautiful and fresh but mechanically endured. part of the audience is also a battered stoic clasping worn-out mistresses. clog-dancers enervate the thumping martyrs of their feet, and chorus-girls offer the lines of their bodies with whining voices.
-dreams are cheap, and green plush seats appropriately, snugly hold the expensive hallucinations.
-printing service company chicago
-part i.—the story of the great mahatma hoax.
-part ii—answers and theosophistries.
-part iii.—a general rejoinder.
-illustrations and facsimiles.
-tourists at pompeii are shown a temple of isis. the impartial cinders have preserved for us there, not only the temple, but the secret passage which the priests used in the production of what are nowadays called “phenomena.”
-the following pages are designed to show the secret passage in the temple of the theosophic isis, the goddess of madame blavatsky’s “isis unveiled.”
-instead of having to wait on the pleasure of vesuvius, i am enabled to act as cicerone while the temple is still (for the present) a going concern.
-the important difference between the exposure of madame blavatsky’s box of tricks by the society for psychical research, and the present exposure of her successors is, that in this case we have the high-priesthood giving evidence against itself. my own part in the business is merely the humble one of seeing that they shall all satisfactorily “get at” one another. in redacting, out of the mass of various testimony which has fallen into my hands as clear and readable a story as i could present, my main care has been to tone down the mutual insinuations. talk about augur meeting augur with a smile! it is the snarl which these augurs cannot disguise.
-as for myself, i have tried to render a service to truth; but i cannot see, with some good people, that a sense of truth necessarily excludes a sense of humour.
-mrs. besant is a lady whose character i have often defended in the press though i have not always been able to accept the extremer estimates of her intellectual power. she is about the only one of my dramatis personæ in whom the public at large (like myself) feel any personal interest whatever. she is, therefore, the strongest buttress of a fabric which she has now for some time known to be rotten at the base. that is why i have dealt more seriously with her than with these olcotts and judges. the president is too flabby to be worth fighting; the vice-president is already thrown over by all the shrewder and honester members; even mrs. besant herself has now cabled her refusal to accept his latest revelation, and discovered that his mahatma is indeed a fraud—when he “deposes” mrs. besant.
-my pity is saved for those humbler dupes of the rank-and-file who have trusted these others not wisely but too well. from some of them i have seen pathetic letters; and if any gall has got upon my pen, it is the gall of the bitterness of their disillusion. they are more widely spread, and more worth saving from the quagmire of shams than most people suspect.
-i need hardly remark that i was never a theosophist myself. but my theosophical sources of information, referred to in the course of the story, have been growing within the society week by week ever since the exposure began.
-there are no signs at present of any intention on the part of the three theosophic chiefs to return from the various continents to which they departed last july—departed simultaneously with the issue of that “report of an inquiry” (so-called) which is the starting-point of these chapters. mrs. besant has left australia to join colonel olcott in india; mr. judge remains just five days hence at new york. and so, taking a cue from mahomet and the mountain, “isis very much unveiled” will now, in booklet form, go out to them.
-f. edmund garrett.
-isis very much unveiled.
-the story of the great mahatma hoax.
-chapter i. introductory.
-“o my theosophists.... what a pack of fools you are!”—madame blavatsky.
-this will be one of the queerest stories ever unfolded in a newspaper. truth, as worshipped by the theosophists, is indeed stranger than fiction. but it is not here told merely for entertainment. it has also a degree of importance and instructiveness measured by the growing wealth and numbers of the theosophical society, and the personal influence of mrs. besant. to-day the theosophical society numbers some three or four thousand members in europe, india, and america. it supports two or three publishing businesses and several score of magazines in various languages. it boasts offices and house property in london, new york, and adyar. it attracts donations and bequests. it numbers a title or two and some money-bags. it consists almost entirely of educated or semi-educated people, many of whom are intelligent, many sincere; a few both. and it is likely, amid that debauch of sign-seeking and marvel-mongering into which a century rationalistic in its youth has plunged in its dotage, to captivate an increasing number of those who are bored with the old religions and yet agog for a new.
-it is especially to these that i dedicate the singular narrative which these articles are to unfold. it may save them betimes a painful disillusionment, such as it will, i fear, inflict on many who are as yet numbered among the faithful.
-what is the situation at present?
-everybody knows that madame blavatsky, the original founder of the society, supported its pretensions to an occult origin by the production of phenomena which were pronounced by careful investigators to be due to systematic trickery; but which are still believed by the faithful to have been produced at madame’s request, and in support of the theosophic movement, by certain eastern sages possessed of transcendental powers over mind and matter.
-everybody will remember that mrs. besant, on whom the mantle of madame blavatsky has fallen, made a sensational public assertion, some time after her teacher’s death, to the effect that those “powers” were still at work (they were indeed!), and that she was herself now the recipient of similar “communications” from the “mahatmas.”
-this the theosophists, being a docile folk, conscientiously did; and as the accused proceeded with mrs. besant’s sanction to deny, still in general terms, what little assertion of fact mrs. besant herself had appeared to convey, after which there was an affecting reconciliation: it is not surprising that to the outside public the mystery remains exactly where it was.
-even of the theosophists themselves the full facts are only known at present to a few of the inner ring.
-in view of what has gone before, this reticence appears misplaced; and as circumstances have put me in possession of the facts, i propose to give them the same publicity as was enjoyed by mrs. besant’s original statement.
-i propose to show:—
-that mrs. besant has been bamboozled for years by bogus “communications” of the most childish kind, and in so ludicrous a fashion as to deprive of all value any future evidence of hers on any question calling for the smallest exercise of observation and common sense.
-that she would in all probability be firmly believing in the bogus documents in question to this day, but for the growing and at last irresistible protests of some less greedily gullible theosophists.
-that the bamboozling in question has been practised widely and systematically, ever since madame blavatsky’s death, pretty much as it used to be during her lifetime.
-that official acts of the society, as well as those of individual members, have been guided by these bogus messages from mahatmas.
-that the exposure of them leaves the society absolutely destitute of any objective communication with the mahatmas who are alleged to have founded and to watch over it, and of all other evidence of their existence.
-that mrs. besant has taken a leading part in hushing up the facts of this exposure, and so securing the person whom she believes to have written the bogus documents in his tenure of the highest office but one in the society.
-and that therefore mrs. besant herself and all her colleagues are in so far in the position of condoning the hoax, and are benefiting in one sense or another by the popular delusion which they have helped to propagate.
-i shall show, finally, that the only alternative to this set of conclusions is another which would be even more discreditable to the personnel of the society, and even more fatal to its continued existence on its present basis.
-chapter ii. no mahatmas, no members!
-before going any further i wish to emphasise one point. this society, as such, must stand or fall with its “mahatmas.” it should be realised how consistent, in one sense, this miracle-mongering side of the theosophical movement has been throughout the society’s history; what an important part it has played and continues to play in attracting popular interest; and how closely, along one of the versatile thaumaturgist’s many lines, madame blavatsky has been followed by her present-day imitator. i say this in justice to the latter, who, i think, may fairly complain of the unkind criticisms passed on his mahatma-missives by colleagues who still cherish those produced under the auspices of madame blavatsky.
-it is true that the society does not officially vouch for mahatmas. it is careful not to demand belief in them as a condition of membership; and the shrewder members are put into a panic by anything which tends to compromise its boasted “neutrality” on this tender subject. but we shall soon see what this “neutrality” is worth.
-madame blavatsky taught that “the masters” are certain sages, several hundred years old or so, who by steeping themselves in the immemorial lore of the east have attained powers transcending time, space, and the other puny limits of western science. by profound solitary meditation on things in general, these old gentlemen have arrived at a sort of fourth dimension, in which a soul and a saucer come to very much the same thing. their residence was shrouded in a judicious mystery, which madame declared herself under a solemn oath to preserve. she at first located them in the recesses of the himalayas; but one of her most zealous disciples lately stated in the daily chronicle that “the two principal mahatmas now reside in an oasis of the desert of gobi.” at any rate, these “adepts” prefer a sequestered spot, and remain occult in the strictest sense of the word.
-but on some points madame was unequivocal about them. she declared that she had sat at the feet of one of them as his chela (pupil); that the theosophical society was founded under his distinct inspiration; and that he and his brothers continued to intervene in its affairs. the original draft of the society’s constitution, in fact, like a more authentic veda straight from heaven, had been “precipitated” in new york by an exertion of the masters’ psychic force from tibet. hesitating converts and dubious subscribers were determined by the same form of interposition; and somebody or other has taken steps, at all times of the society’s history, to ensure that the more faithful of the “chelas” should be comforted and encouraged as need arose, by missives from their invisible “guru.” (a good, imposing word, “guru.” do you remember the terrible old man by the road in “david copperfield,” who scared david almost out of his wits by running out on him, and shouting “guroo, guroo, guroo”?) mrs. besant herself has admitted that theosophy is to be regarded in the light of a “revelation” from these exalted beings, as well as in that of a science or philosophy which can be arrived at by more ordinary means.
-the published “objects” of the society run thus:—
-it will thus be seen that the “phenomenal” side of the society’s activities has all along had a place, though guardedly, even in its published objects. in point of fact, as i have elsewhere insisted, this third object is the only one in pursuit of which the society has any substantial achievement to point to. as to the first object, my narrative will presently suggest the same sort of remark on the brotherliness of the universal brothers as has sometimes been made by scoffers on the sociability of socialists. as to the second object, it is observed that there are people who study oriental literatures, and there are people who belong to the theosophical society; but they are not the same people. professor max müller has edited the only series of english translations of the sacred books of the east with which i am acquainted, and professor max müller lately published some university lectures under the title of theosophy. but his preface explained that he did so in order to rescue that respectable and ancient philosophical term from the associations of sciolism and miracle-mongering with which the theosophical society have linked it in the public mind. in point of fact, there is no reason to believe that any member of the society in europe could pass an examination in any oriental language whatever. the third object, on the other hand, has led to some real achievements. the society has not, perhaps, done much in the “investigation” line itself; but members of it have certainly supplied the most astonishing “unexplained laws of nature” and “psychical powers” for investigation by other people. it is this which has given it its success, its growth, its world-wide notoriety. it is this which first attracted and convinced its best-known converts, and it is this which has created the successive “booms” (as they would be called in a more purely commercial connexion) which have produced the biggest crops of entrance subscriptions from the wonder-loving public. i lay stress on this because the theosophists have shown a good deal of inconstancy in their treatment of the third object. they have always worked a given marvel for all it was worth until it got somehow blown upon; then they turn round and remark that mere material phenomena are, after all, of no great importance: the thing is the study of those great spiritual ideas which, &c., &c. in fact, they want to have it both ways. mr. sinnett, however, whose “occult world” remains the classic description of madame blavatsky as a wonder-worker, confesses candidly in a memorial sketch of her which appeared in the review of reviews how much stress she herself laid on such things, as long as she could get anyone to believe in them:—
-just so. it is easy to hold your miracles cheap—after they have been found out. madame blavatsky fell back on object two—when object three was discredited. but the taste for such things, even when it is de rigueur to describe them as “occult applications of strictly natural laws,” is apt to grow upon any religious sect which once dabbles in them. mrs. besant, too, in due course fell a victim to the temptation to make capital out of the marvellous; and my readers will now be prepared to put their proper value on the deprecating expressions in this connexion which now, on the inevitable turn of the wheel, once more begin to be heard, and which will be redoubled, no doubt, when this narrative is fully before the public.
-chapter iii. mystification under madame blavatsky.
-“now, dear, let us change the programme.... he is willing to give 10,000 rupees ... if only he saw a little ‘phenomenon’!”—blavatsky-coulomb letters.
-it is no part of my present object to enter at length into the history and character of the late madame blavatsky. but a comparison of the earlier phase of the theosophical society with that of to-day is so indispensable to the right appreciation of both, that a brief résumé (borrowed mainly from previous sketches of my own elsewhere) may be welcome at this point, even to readers already familiar with the subject.
-the theosophical society was born in america of russo-yankee parentage. helena petrovna blavatsky founded it at new york in 1874, with the aid first of colonel olcott, then a kind of journalist, who became, and still is, the president, and soon afterwards of william q. judge, then a lawyer’s clerk in olcott’s brother’s office, who became, and still is, the vice-president.
-the previous career of the foundress had been remarkable enough, if we accept hostile accounts of it—still more remarkable if we accept her own; but with this i am not concerned. from 1874 madame blavatsky’s history and that of the theosophical society are one.
-most of these marvels, as i have hinted, required the mise en scène of the adyar bungalow. here madame and the colonel, and a few favoured chelas, had apartments. “our domestic imbeciles” and “our familiar muffs” the latter are termed in one of the letters attributed to madame. here, too, in the “occult room” adjoining madame’s bed-chamber, hung the famous “shrine,” a sort of cupboard containing a fancy portrait in oils of the condescending koot. this became associated with as many marvels as the image of a mediæval saint. suppose you are an intending theosophist—a hesitating convert, especially a moneyed one, like mr. jacob sassoon. you call at headquarters. you are shown round by damodar, or by m. or madame coulomb, librarian and secretary. with natural curiosity you ask to gaze upon the master’s features. you are told of his indulgent concessions to deserving neophytes seeking for a sign. when the cupboard has been shut again, you are asked if there is anything you particularly desire from the master. you indicate, not unnaturally, a message. it is about even chances whether the said message—reading generally not unlike mr. martin tupper in his more oracular vein—is discovered in the cupboard immediately on reopening the door, or descends from the ceiling on to the top of your head.
-the fame of these things, set out in the driest possible detail in the pages of “the occult world,” aroused a furore of curiosity in this country, where people were just beginning to take a new interest in questions of psychical research. it was about the time when family circles played the “willing game,” and sat in the dark trying to see purple flames coming out of a magnet. quick to seize the psychological moment, madame blavatsky came to england and “starred” london in the season of 1884. in her train came colonel olcott and mohini l. chatterji. mohini, a brahmin graduate of the university of calcutta, shone like damodar with a lustre not all reflected. he, it was whispered, was a chela of some attainments. he was not to be touched. he held his hands politely behind him when being introduced. there was a splendour as of some astral oil about his dusky countenance and thick black locks; while his big, dark eyes were as piercing as those of madame herself. men gazed on mohini with awe, and ladies with enthusiasm. in the background hovered the recording sinnett.
-“either she is a messenger from the mahatmas or else she is a fraud. in either case the theosophical society would have had no existence without her.”—mrs. besant in lucifer, december 15, 1890.
-at the time of the blavatsky season in london and cambridge, the lately-founded psychical research society, which had close connexion with the university town, was spoiling for something to investigate, and it decided to investigate madame blavatsky. madame and her friends were delighted with this testimony to the stir which they had made, and entered into the thing with every hope of converting the researchers. were they not all ready to asseverate that such-and-such things had indeed happened——in india?
-the allegation of the coulombs was that the whole series of miracles had been a matter of vulgar trickery, some of which they had been employed to carry out for madame. during madame’s absence in europe, the people at adyar had quarrelled with them and dismissed the pair, partly for having at various times hinted to outsiders the secrets which they now proceeded to make a clean breast of. the origin of their close relationship with madame blavatsky is obscure. she and madame coulomb had been associated at cairo in the seventies in some “page” which the foundress of theosophy had expressed a wish to have “torn out of the book of my life.” by the foundress’s own account, this torn-out page was such as made it odd that she should pitch on the coulombs when in want of fit guardians for the sacred shrine. mrs. besant once expounded to me a theory that madame did this, with the full foreknowledge that frauds would follow and would discredit her and her masters, partly from a sublime benevolence towards the wicked coulombs, partly because it was necessary that she should herself “have her calvary.” it was the same combined motives, no doubt, which led madame blavatsky to act more than once exactly as if madame coulomb had some secret hold over her. an agitated telegram from paris, however, failed to heal the present rupture; and the result was the giving to the press of a long series of letters in madame’s hand, teeming with veiled instructions to the coulombs which fitted in at every point with their accounts of jugglery at adyar.
-the coulomb story tallied also with equal accuracy with such outside circumstantial evidence as happened to touch it. did madame coulomb allege that a “miracle” was worked by the substitution of one vase for another exactly similar, the shop she named proved to have record of the purchase of just such an exact pair just before the date of the miracle. did she make a similar statement about a “miraculous” shower of roses, the like corroboration would be forthcoming. did her husband describe the famous “shrine” cupboard as a trick-cabinet with three sliding panels in the back, the panels had to be admitted, and explained by madame as “for convenience of packing in case of removal.” it had hung against a hidden recess in the wall—there was the recess, the coincidence had to be deplored as unfortunate. on the other side of that recess, in madame’s bedroom, the sideboard had a false back—that, too, was to be seen, and the theosophists must content themselves with alleging that m. coulomb had made it so after the miracles, and in the nick of time for the inquiry. as for the scribbled instructions and letters in which some of these arrangements were clearly hinted at, madame was driven to the peculiar course of admitting some letters and even parts of letters and denying the rest. this, by the way, was exactly what she had done about a similar incriminating letter on the subject of a trick “missive,” which was planted on mr. c. c. massey, in 1882; the discovery of which led to the resignation of that gentleman and others from the society.
-as for the evidence of madame and her friends about special “phenomena” it had already so melted away under the application of ordinary evidential canons as to leave the field clear for the coulomb theory. the “tests” with which in some cases the mahatmas had insisted on supplementing the credibility of their witnesses were as worthless and disingenuous as all the rest.
-last, what of the mahatma missives?—precipitated from the himalayas, speaking in the persons and signed with the superscriptions of mahatma morya and koot hoomi lal sing. these precious documents, which had been rained among the faithful with a copiousness almost amounting to garrulity, had been a little discredited already. the prosy and sometimes illiterate verbiage of the tibetan sages was a severe trial to the enthusiasm of the more critical theosophists even where it was apparently original. but it was too much of a good thing when a long doctrinal treatise, which koot hoomi had addressed to mr. sinnett, was found to be a gross plagiarism from a lecture by an american gentleman which had been reported in a spiritualist paper a few months before. nor did it mend matters when, after considerable delay, the illustrious koot condescended to the newspaper arena, and wrote—we mean precipitated—an explanation which for its evasiveness and general “thinness” is probably unique even in the records of convicted plagiarists.
-but now came worse. for the same scrutiny which had identified madame blavatsky as the writer of the unblushing letters to madame coulomb now found exactly the same characteristics of expression, turns of phrase, and solecisms in spelling in the compositions of koot hoomi lal sing. as to handwriting, it was shown that the styles of the two august correspondents had been evolved gradually by differentiation from madame’s ordinary hand. the facsimiles in the report deal only with “k.h.” documents; but the case against those of “m.” is just as strong. i showed a mass of “m.” script, which lies before me as i write, belonging to the earliest period, to a theosophist well acquainted with madame’s writing, and in perfect innocence he at once took it for hers. at that time almost the only difference between the two mahatma scripts was that one affected red pencil or ink, and the other blue.
-in a word, it was declared that koot hoomi lal sing and mahatma morya were the same person, and that person madame blavatsky. when a missive from the himalayas floated down into the neophyte’s lap, it was madame’s own hand which had prepared it, though it was the no less useful if humbler function of m. coulomb to jerk it from the ceiling at the critical moment with a string, or deftly pass it through the sliding panel into the closed shrine.
-passing by the committee’s report on madame blavatsky herself, what of her leading disciples? of colonel olcott it was declared proven that in a theosophical connexion he was either unable to describe anything as he really saw it, or else to see anything as it really was. mohini and mr. sinnett were disposed of in much the same way. damodar—the astral damodar—was charged explicitly as a confederate of madame in missive-manufacturing. mohini, the fascinating saint, hurried back to india with a damaged halo. mr. sinnett has since sprung to fame as a director—not of the regeneration of mankind, but of the hansard union. damodar announced that he was off to find his guru in the himalayas, disappeared, and has not been seen since by his friends.
-“i look to possible developments of her theosophic views with the very gravest misgiving.”—charles bradlaugh, national reformer, june, 1889.
-“the lady doth protest too much, methinks.”—hamlet.
-i have said that the psychical research report put a stop to most of the theosophic miracles. but there were obvious reasons why the mahatmas should continue to “precipitate” letters, even when the scoffs of a hard, cold world drove them to restrain their wonder-working propensities in other respects. the business was so beautifully safe and simple. it defied “tests.” the task of proving that a scribble in red chalk on a scrap of paper found in a disciple’s pocket is not the authentic handwriting of an inaccessible teacher, whose devotees have doubtless the best reason for knowing that he can never be produced as a witness—this is a task from which the boldest sceptic might well recoil.
-but what of the actual process of “precipitation”? alas, it appears to be surrounded by disappointingly obscure conditions. it is not given to see the scrap of psychically-manufactured notepaper glimmer into being and become cream-laid out of nothing before one’s eyes, nor to watch the mystic characters form themselves in lines along it like the writing on belshazzar’s wall. it is always the finished result that is discovered ready-made, and this precisely resembles what is produced if you or i write it in the ordinary way. the “precipitation,” in fact, is a deed of darkness, and can only be done concealed from view, just as mediums are wont to declare at a séance that the spirits are prevented from manifesting themselves by the mere presence of a sceptical inquirer with a box of wax vestas. perhaps it is another side of the same retiring instinct which impels the mahatmas to live only in parts of the earth not penetrated to by vulgar explorers. theosophists sometimes speak as if they had seen the actual precipitation; but cross-examine any credible witness, and he will reluctantly admit that he has not. this is a point to note and bear in mind.
-the mahatma missive only becomes a matter of difficulty when it has to be made to drop from the ceiling into the recipient’s hands, or spirited into a cupboard found one moment before to be as empty as mother hubbard’s. those were stirring days for theosophic neophytes when that kind of thing was a common incident. but, ichabod! that glory is departed! its departure precisely synchronised with that of the nimble-fingered coulombs. their graceless avowal that both special plant and skilful confederates were required for this kind of miracle may have been a gross calumny on their employer; but the fact remains that with the removal of the panel-backed shrine at adyar and the dismissal of its custodians, the masters abruptly ceased to resort to these more surprising methods of aërial post.
-occasionally they would make the assurance of the faithful doubly sure by artlessly “precipitating” the message inside a sealed envelope (a species of “test” of which more anon); but for the most part they were content to endorse letters passing through the ordinary post or discovered by the recipient in his blotting-pad under circumstances equally consistent with a commonplace human agency.
-such was the state of things till madame blavatsky’s death.
-but then came the rub. what the psychical research committee held to be proven was that madame had written practically the whole body of these documents with her own hand. what, then, if after her decease in may, 1891, the same missives continued to be received?
-before the controversy which sprang up again over her ashes had well died down, the public was asked to believe that this was indeed the case, on the word of a woman whom it believed incapable of making a statement of the kind without having first proved it to the uttermost and found it true.
-speaking in the hall of science on august 30, 1891, three months after madame blavatsky’s death, mrs. besant said:—
-“you have known me in this hall for sixteen and a half years. you have never known me tell a lie. (‘no, never,’ and loud cheers.) i tell you that since madame blavatsky left i have had letters in the same handwriting as the letters which she received. (sensation.) unless you think dead persons can write, surely that is a remarkable fact. you are surprised; i do not ask you to believe me; but i tell you it is so. all the evidence i had of the existence of madame blavatsky’s teachers of the so-called abnormal powers came through her. it is not so now. unless even sense can at the same time deceive me, unless a person can at the same time be sane and insane, i have exactly the same certainty for the truth of the statements i have made as i know that you are here. i refuse to be false to the knowledge of my intellect and the perceptions of my reasoning faculties.”
-it is no wonder that the reporter had to interpolate the word “sensation.” the audience was one rather of freethinkers than of theosophists; the hall itself was identified with previous rhetorical successes of mrs. besant as the prophetess of materialism. the thing was dramatically done, and was well calculated to impress on the outside public the fact that the personal reputation of mrs. besant for intelligence and honesty was now pledged to the genuineness of theosophical wonder-working. in an interview in the pall mall gazette of september 1, 1891, mrs. besant carried her statement still further, and pledged herself definitely to “precipitation”:—
-“‘these letters are from a mahatma whose pupil you are?’
-“mrs. besant nodded assent.
-“‘did they just come through the post?’ our representative asked.
-“but here he had hit the mystery.
-“‘no, i did not receive the letters through the post,’ the lady replied. ‘they did come in what some would call a miraculous fashion, though to us theosophists it is perfectly natural. the letters i receive from the mahatmas are “precipitated.”’
-“‘how “precipitated”?’ ...
-“mrs. besant was quite ready to explain.
-“‘well,’ she said, ‘you can hear voices by means of the telephone, and receive a telegram which is actually written by the needle, not merely indicated by its ticks. the mahatmas go a step further. with their great knowledge of natural laws they are able to communicate with us without using any apparatus at all.’
-“‘but can you give me any details of the precipitation?’
-“‘no; the mahatmas only communicate with pupils who will not unwisely divulge anything. you can easily imagine the reason why this knowledge should be kept so secret. were it possessed by a criminal it might be put to dreadful purposes.’ ...
-“mrs. besant repeated that she had made her startling statement in the lecture deliberately, adding that there were many persons who knew her and would accept her statements as true, but who might not believe in madame blavatsky, because, mrs. besant was careful to add, they had not enjoyed the advantage of knowing that lady.”
-mrs. besant did not overrate the extent of her public credit. she was implicitly believed by many who would not have troubled their heads at all over an assertion of madame blavatsky’s. a “boom” was the immediate result—the second big boom in the society’s history. mrs. besant had the satisfaction of seeing her statement honoured with a salvo of leading articles. “can it be,” the daily chronicle exclaimed, “that there are things in heaven and earth which philosophy and science have not yet dreamed of?”—(daily chronicle, august 31.) and it opened its columns to a flood of correspondence on theosophy and things occult. day after day a crop of letters attested the public appetite for the marvellous.
-the theosophical society has a sort of press department, the business of which is to get up sham fights in newspapers in order to advertise the society; and whenever the excitement seemed to flag some member or other contributed a screed which revived it. the time was well chosen. it was the “silly season,” and under cover of mrs. besant more cautious papers than the chronicle were glad to let the mahatma divide attention with the sea-serpent and the giant gooseberry. the theosophical society reaped a fine harvest; though some complaints were heard that the new inquirers after truth addressed themselves more to the marvels which had attracted them than to the philosophisings to which mrs. besant had designed the marvels as a bait. however, if their interest was tepid on this side of theosophy, their curiosity on the other side achieved small gratification. in mrs. besant’s words, “the mahatmas only communicate with pupils who will not unduly divulge anything.”
-but, as we have seen, what mrs. besant did divulge was enough to convey to the public certain definite impressions: to wit, that she had received letters in a certain handwriting, which did not come through the post, but “in what some would call a miraculous fashion,” and that these letters were, in fact, “precipitated” by the mahatmas out of thin air. also that she had satisfied herself of the above propositions by evidential processes as certain as the assurance of her own “sense” and “reasoning faculty” that her audience were before her as she spoke.
-and now let us see what were the facts on the strength of which mrs. besant made these astonishing statements. so far, i have been occupied necessarily with putting on record matters of history open to any careful student of the subject. from this point i shall be dealing with a side of isis which up to this moment has been kept closely veiled indeed.
-chapter vi. enter the mahatma.
-“answer the question i’ve put you so oft.... give us a colloquy, something to quote. make the world prick up its ear!”—master hugues, of saxegotha.
-“thus has a master spoken, and ... the word of a guardian of the esoteric philosophy is authoritative.”—“introduction to theosophy,” by annie besant.
-madame blavatsky died may 8, 1891. who was to succeed her as hierophant of the mysteries of tibet? there was none among her disciples who could aspire to fill that rôle with anything resembling the hierophantine proportions of madame herself. but mrs. besant, whose conversion had been much advertised to the public, was undoubtedly more fitted to pass muster as a prophetess than any of the others.
-the brief and late character of her acquaintance with madame was rather in her favour than otherwise, since it had left undisturbed in her ardent mind a loftier conception of madame’s ethical character than had been affected for some time past by some who had known her longer. mrs. besant was even understood to be in some sense designate for the succession.
-officially, however, she was subordinate to colonel olcott, the president, then in india, and to mr. william q. judge, vice-president, and head of the faithful in america.
-it soon appeared that the latter gentleman, at any rate, did not mean his claims to theosophical prominence to be ignored.
-“do nothing till i come.”
-avenue-road was at first inclined to resent this ukase.
-mrs. besant agreed. mr. judge himself wrote the question and closed the envelope, and put it into the cabinet.
-mrs. besant did not stay in the room through the process of incubation. for “he that hath ears to hear, let him hear,” the theosophic scripture reads, “he that hath eyes to see, let him put his head in a bag.”
-after due delay, mr. judge took the letter out again. on his showing it to mrs. besant, judge of that lady’s emotion at the discovery that at the end of the question stood the word
-traced apparently in red chalk; also, a little lower down, the words
-with the impression, in black carbon, of a peculiar seal, representing a cryptograph m. (a simple way to produce this appearance is to hold a seal in candle-smoke and impress with that.)
-what need of further witness that the thing was the result of psychic “precipitation” from madame blavatsky’s “mahatma m,” away in tibet? if that gentleman had not, in his communications to madame, been observed to use a seal, still he certainly used to scribble them in the same sort of red chalk, and he certainly used to sign himself similarly m.
-note one point here. it was not mahatma m, but mahatma k.h., who used to be the more prolix correspondent in madame blavatsky’s time, and whose handwriting appeared accordingly in copious specimens and comparisons with her own, in the published report of the psychical research committee.
-no specimens were there given of the writing which madame called mahatma m’s: there were but a few scraps of it available.
-when, therefore, mr. william q. judge conjured a letter from him (i use “conjure” in its old-fashioned sense, of course), it was not possible for mrs. besant to compare it with any published specimens of the same script (with private specimens i fancy she had never been favoured), even if the extremely scanty and hurried nature of the message, and the temper of mrs. besant’s mind had not in themselves forbidden any such partial measure of verification.
-it is true that a few months later mrs. besant felt able to affirm with the utmost confidence (as we have seen) that the handwriting was “the same as that which madame blavatsky was accused of producing,” and this at first sight appears to refer to the “k.h.” script, which afforded the gravamen of mr. hodgson’s report. in that case what mrs. besant asserted was that the writing was the same as that which was not even supposed to be by the same person.
-next morning, there was a meeting of the “inner group,” at which mr. william q. judge at once took up that position of senior chela to which his services as postman of the mahatmas so well entitled him. there is some oath or other of equality with fellow-members and of obedience to its head which members of this esoteric section have to take: mr. judge pointed out that it was quite unnecessary for him to take this oath.
-to which end he produced not only a letter from madame blavatsky, but one from mahatma m, which he had personally received in america, he said. its contents he did not feel able to communicate to others who could not yet aspire to be on corresponding terms with the great unseen: what he did show was the signature and seal impression (which exactly resembled that “precipitated” in the cabinet overnight). he specially begged those present to take note of the seal; “for,” said mr. judge, “they might have need to recognise it on some future occasion.”
-with eager eyes they all obeyed; each aspiring young chela fluttered with the hope (for mrs. besant had noised the cabinet business about, and it seemed to rain missives) that he too might soon be blest with one.
-mr. judge is a man of some foresight. but that was not precisely what he had in his mind when he bade them note the seal.
-three days after this (may 27) there was a meeting of the esoteric section council, to decide how the section should in future be governed, its head being gone.
-it had been expected that mrs. besant, having assumed the rôle of teacher and expounder in succession to her friend, would succeed her also as official head of the esoteric section council. but william q. judge had drafted a plan under which the council was to dissolve, and its powers be delegated to mrs. besant and himself as joint “outer heads”—the inner heads being, of course, mr. judge’s august correspondents in the himalayas.
-mrs. besant, it seems, was more than content, in view of mr. judge’s newly-developed occult powers, with a position of “high collateral glory.” but it was hardly to be expected that the scheme should not be exposed to some discussion and criticism from other members of the council. at any rate, the mahatma evidently deemed the occasion to be a dignus vindice nodus. for what happened?
-as mrs. besant, who took the chair and expounded the new scheme, was turning over her papers on the table, there fluttered out a little slip of paper, at which she just glanced, and was about to put it by, when william q. judge pointedly asked her what it was?
-the slip of paper bore the words in red pencil—
-“judge’s plan is right.”
-signature and seal as before.
-round it went from hand to hand. none questioned that paper and script alike had just been “precipitated” into their midst by “the master.” thanks to mr. judge’s foresight, as we have just seen, all were in a position to recognise the seal.
-under these circumstances discussion was obviously out of place. william q. judge at once went and took his seat at mrs. besant’s side, and “judge’s plan” was unanimously adopted!
-it will hardly be believed, but it is, nevertheless, a fact, which i challenge mrs. besant to contradict, that when that lady, on a public platform, pledged the evidence of her senses, her sanity, and her reasoning faculties, &c., &c., to having received messages from the mahatmas—messages which, as she assured the subsequent interviewer, came “not through the post” but by “precipitation” “in a way which some people would call miraculous”—these two documents, produced as has been described, and only these, were all the pièces justificatives that she had to go upon.
-but the vice-president’s mahatma had only made a beginning. there was more, much more, to come. it will be my privilege to present the reader, in succeeding chapters, with facsimiles of several of his more interesting compositions.
-chapter vii every man his own mahatma.
-“the t.s. is the agency chosen by the masters ... but they do not directly guide, save where guidance is strenuously sought and eagerly obeyed.”—“introduction to theosophy,” by annie besant.
-it was not surprising that the vice-president, finding the mahatma so complaisant, should hasten to exploit him to the utmost. the resumption of the broken communication could not fail to restore the confidence of doubting disciples both in the society itself and in the favoured chela, who could not only, glendower-like, “call spirits from the vasty deep,” but also, to the satisfaction of theosophic hotspurs, “make them come.” forthwith letters began to be showered about among such persons as it was considered desirable to keep up to the mark, in which the sentiments of william q. judge were endorsed by the mahatma. of those two it might truly be said that “their unanimity was wonderful.”
-one of the first recipients was mr. bertram keightley, a gentleman whose services to theosophy have been of a material kind, and whose zeal has been rewarded more than once by gratifying marks of approbation from tibet. in fact, his experience, like that of countess wachtmeister and some other liberal friends of the society, suggests the formula: “put a donation in the slot and you will receive a revelation.” for the mahatma obligingly honours the bills of the society.
-colonel h. s. olcott.
-under date may 29, 1891, the vice-president wrote to mr. keightley from avenue-road a pauline epistle, in which he says:—
-fear not, bert! masters watch us, and since may 8 have sent word here in writing.
-close beside the signature of “william q. judge” appeared in solemn confirmation the m signature and seal impression—“precipitated,” doubtless, during transit among her majesty’s mails. as the recipient was at adyar, madras, and therefore, some thousands of miles nearer the home of the mahatmas than mr. judge, it will be seen to what roundabout methods the master was compelled in order to maintain his determination to have his messages ushered into the world in some connexion or other with the one favoured disciple.
-another recipient was important for other reasons than mr. keightley. babula, a low-caste hindu, formerly madame blavatsky’s personal servant, was at this time in a position of trust at the theosophic quarters at adyar. since then he has got into trouble with his employers, like others of madame’s former confidants. but in july, 1891, babula was still in authority at adyar, and the vice-president thought it worth while to convince him that he, judge, was his friend. a letter, dated some weeks later than mr. keightley’s, from avenue-road, terminated with the signature,
-your friend, william q. judge.
-under the words “your friend,” the ever-officious mahatma has drawn a line, at the end of which he has solemnly inscribed “yes,” and his signature and seal. the seal is, as usual, impressed in black carbon; the writing is in red pencil; and judge’s signature is in ordinary ink.
-pity that the famous mr. codlin had not a mahatma to back him thus conveniently in his asseverations that “codlin’s the friend, not short.”
-parallel to this corroborative use of the mahatma’s seal, though belonging to a different period of the story, was the case of another letter of mr. judge’s to a brother official, in which, after expressing certain views, mr. judge used these words:—
-i believe the master agrees with me, in which case i will ask him to put his seal here.
-plump on the written word came the seal. inimitable mahatma!
-mrs. besant’s previous “communications,” as we have seen, did not come through the post. but during that july mr. judge seems to have left mrs. besant’s side for the express purpose of enabling his mahatma to give her an exhibition of his powers in this special line of “precipitation” during postal transit.
-july 21, 1891, was the date of one such performance; which included signature and seal complete. i pass over this and some equally commonplace missives, which mrs. besant received at various dates, all equally under mr. judge’s auspices, in order to deal more fully with one particular one in which she was favoured with a “test condition.”
-for lo! on cutting the envelope open in the usual way, along the top edge, mrs. besant observed a line or so of pencilling inside written partly on the upper flap, partly on the under flaps, of the adhesive part of the envelope.
-here was proof indeed of powers occult! for this must obviously have been written or “precipitated” after the envelope was stuck up: and there it was inside! for a mahatma, of course, it was as easy to produce it so as in any other way. he might do it in mere artless absence of mind.
-ingenuous mrs. besant! unfortunately for the test, the feat is equally easy for any commonplace mortal—though in his case it would hardly be done quite artlessly. the trick was first shown me by a student of “occultism”—a theosophist, in fact. but it is a very old affair, and can be found in any book of parlour magic. it might be called “every man his own mahatma.”
-an envelope has four flaps. three of these are stuck together in manufacture, but with a much less adhesive sort of gum than that which is put on the remaining flap to be stuck up by the user.
-it is generally quite easy to insert a penknife behind the bottom flap, as in the accompanying cut, and so make entrance and exit for a slip of paper. on this slip you write the words backwards, as they would appear in a looking-glass, using a black pencil of the “copying” kind. you then pass the slip in, push and shake it into the right position, press till you feel sure the inside flaps have taken the impression, and then out with your slip by the door it came in at. moisten and fix the flap again, and the “precipitation” is complete. a child can do it.
-a mahatma, of course, produces the result by mere psychic effort. but it is a curious coincidence that m on this occasion abandoned his usual red pencil for the black one which you or i would use if we were playing just the trick described.
-no doubt he felt that a more satisfactory test would have been wasted on mrs. besant.
-others, however, were a little more exacting. the story enters here on a less smooth course.
-chapter viii. the adventures of a seal.
-“o that heaven had set a seal upon men, that we might know them, honest from dishonest!”—euripides.
-from the previous record of colonel olcott—described by madame blavatsky herself, in an epigrammatically candid moment, as “a psychologised baby”—he is almost the last person whom one would have expected to lead the way in any sceptical examination of “miracles.”
-and no doubt he might have been content, like mrs. besant, to open his mouth and shut his eyes and take whatever mr. judge should send him, so long as that gentleman’s thaumaturgy was confined to benefiting the common cause. but it was another matter when the vice-president’s mahatma showed a tendency to favour the vice-president, and that at the expense of the president himself. had the oracle said “olcott’s plan is right,” and declared that olcott was the “friend,” “not lancelot nor another”; had it made olcott, and not judge, outer head with mrs. besant—the president’s ears might have been an inch longer, and the course of theosophic history have been changed.
-but there was, from the first, about mr. judge’s mahatma a certain crudity, a lack of tact in dissembling favouritism, which was bound, human nature being what it is, to make enemies.
-but here, too, mr. judge was prepared to “go one better,” as his countrymen say, than the president-legatee. he responded airily that colonel olcott need not trouble himself about it, as “master” had promised him (judge) that the cash should be forthcoming, and also that he would convey a “message” on the subject to olcott himself.
-the colonel waited for his message. none came.
-the colonel jogged mr. judge’s memory. mr. judge said he had no more to tell.
-but that very day, on sitting down at his writing-table, and lifting up a piece of blotting-paper, the colonel found under it a piece of peculiar paper, reading as in the following facsimile (reds and blacks as per former samples):—
-now, colonel olcott thought he recognised that particular quality of paper, and also, so far as it was legible, that seal-impression. the facsimile here necessarily makes it much clearer. in the original the impression was curiously faint and vague, as if the master did not wish, in the colonel’s case, to burst that seal upon him all at once; but preferred the manner of tennyson’s freedom, who “part by part to men revealed the fulness of her face.”
-so brer rabbit continued to say nuffin’, and to lie low.
-presently mr. william q. judge left on the same writing-table the following note (being scribbled on a torn-off scrap of paper, it also has rather a mahatmic look. but that is accidental):—
-“dear olcott” “looked” accordingly; and sure enough, in the ordinary envelope of a letter, previously opened and put by on the table, there was a piece of paper bearing a message with all the proper mahatma-marks about it. and this time the mahatma had taken heart and “precipitated” a decently clear impression of the seal.
-and then the colonel “smiled a sorter sickly smile.” for now he did recognise that seal. and this is its story.
-what did the colonel want the seal for? let him explain himself:—
-back went the colonel to madras, where madame was, and presented the seal to her, with a “jocular remark” (i am again quoting his own account). madame’s keen eye dwelt on it a moment, and then she pointed out that the colonel, in his jocularly playful mood, had made a slight mistake. “the master’s cryptograph was not correctly drawn,” according to the pattern already familiar to recipients of his precious missives. there was a twiddle too much, or a twiddle too little, in it. the colonel himself saw the blunder when it was pointed out, and he now declares that he would know it anywhere.
-for this sufficient reason the “playful present” was not sent on to the himalayas (heaven knows, by the way, by what astral form of parcels-post service the colonel had expected it to be sent); neither did it appear in any of the communications vouched for by madame.
-it went into madame’s despatch-box, along with a lot of other mystical odds and ends, properties of the occult stage; and among these it was remarked, as late as 1888, by the mr. keightley already mentioned, who was then living with her in lansdowne-road.
-this gentleman asked the prophetess what the little brass seal might be? madame blavatsky’s answer—a characteristically racy “fragment of her prophet voice”—was:—
-“oh, it’s only a flap-doodle of olcott’s.”
-in the same year, at a time when william q. judge was staying with madame, mr. judge’s mahatma evidently determined to overlook the inaccuracy in the seal, and to make use of it for the first time to save himself the trouble of a psychic signature.
-he did this, of course, in a letter of mr. william q. judge’s own, and in a sense endorsing mr. william q. judge’s wishes—in fact, the letter was the one recorded in the last chapter, in which the master’s seal came so plump upon the disciple’s prayer for a sign.
-i have not mentioned before, however, that the recipient of this ’88 letter was colonel olcott. he presumably recognised, then as now, his own “playful present,” his own “flap-doodle”; but he appears to have let it pass in silence.
-from this date the seal seems to have disappeared from among madame blavatsky’s belongings. it was, of course, intrinsically valueless.
-but in 1890 it turned up again—in new york, and in close contiguity with mr. judge. madame sent a message through mr. judge to a disciple, then in america, who happened to be the mr. keightley who had remarked the “flap-doodle of olcott’s” at lansdowne-road. the context, which is before me as i write, shows that madame was persuading this disciple to take some course distasteful to him. judge added his persuasions to hers. but what was bound to determine the disciple was the discovery on receiving the missive from mr. judge’s hands, that the mahatma had added his vote in transitu by endorsing the word “right,” in red pencil, with cryptograph and impression of the panjab seal.
-these are, so far as i know, the only two instances in evidence of the use of this peculiar seal in mahatma missives during the lifetime of madame blavatsky, and, as was to be expected from her objection to the seal, neither missive was among those vouched for by her, for the message from herself to new york was telegraphed, and it was the telegraph-form at the new york end that the mahatma endorsed. nevertheless, it is clear that no intimate of madame’s would get hold of the seal and make use of it for bogus mahatma missives under her very nose, unless he were under the impression either that she had it for that purpose herself, or that she might be relied on at least not to “peach” on a chela who used it.
-but why did neither colonel olcott nor mr. keightley speak? the only answer i can suggest is that while madame blavatsky was in the flesh the faithful thought twice before they expressed a doubt about anything or anybody. they were accustomed to take their marvels as they found them, and be thankful.
-otherwise, they might at least have pointed out to mr. judge, in order that he might in turn apprise his mahatma, whose supernal knowledge seems here to have been somewhat at fault, what a fatal blunder he was making in palming off upon the faithful a bogus edition of his own cryptograph, known as such by three of the faithful themselves.
-however, there are the facts; and but for the mahatma’s trop de zéle in pushing his favourite chela’s occult claims immediately on madame blavatsky’s decease, i fear we should never have been vouchsafed this instructive side-light on an earlier period of the theosophical society.
-these adventures of a seal supply the clue to the great game of bluff between the two highest theosophical officials which must be depicted in the next chapter.
-chapter ix. the climax of theosophic brotherhood.
-“to form the nucleus of a universal brotherhood of humanity.”—theosophical society, object i.
-“pestling a poisoned poison behind his crimson lights!”—“maud.”
-we left the president of the theosophical society staring at the impression of his own “flap-doodle” seal on that which purported to be a missive from the mahatma.
-the purport of the missive was precisely what the prescient judge had foretold. colonel olcott was not to sell the blavatsky jewels, as the money would be provided.
-having shown it to a brother member, the colonel replaced it in the envelope, and went off to have a few words with mr. william q. judge.
-he remarked to judge that he had missed a certain brass seal from among madame blavatsky’s relics, and described the panjab seal and the story of its making; not mentioning, however, the name of the exact city where it was made. had judge seen the seal?
-judge answered in the negative. upon which the colonel remarked meaningly (i quote his own account) that he “hoped no scoundrel would get possession of it, and use it to give colour to bogus mahatma messages,” adding that he would at once recognise an impression from the seal.
-he did not mention that he had looked for and found the missive in the envelope.
-after two days he looked into the envelope for that missive again. it was gone!
-some judicious hand had removed it. “judicious,” says the dictionary, “literally: of or pertaining to a judge.” colonel olcott concluded with some assurance that the hand which had removed that missive, the hand which had put it there, and the hand which had written it, were one and the same hand, and that hand william q. judge’s. that is a conclusion which we must leave the two gentlemen to settle between them.
-but note the sequel. the writer of the missive, whoever he was, was as good as his word.
-when the convention in due course was held, it was announced that a donation had been contributed towards the expenses in a peculiar way.
-there had appeared to one of the brethren one afternoon a dark and mysterious oriental figure, who gave no name, but deposited two bank of england £10 notes (from tibet?), which were backed with the familiar red cryptograph, after which he, like mr. lewis carroll’s snark, “softly and silently vanished away.”
-it will not surprise the astute reader to learn that the brother favoured with this substantial spectre was william q. judge.
-well, there was the £20, and the vice-president’s reputation as an occultist stood higher than ever. there was a time, years before, when the society had made much of a similar vision of its president’s, one which, the colonel used to explain, had first assured him of the truth of madame blavatsky’s doctrines. on his asking for a sign, the colonel’s figure, which was, of course, like mr. judge’s, the “astral body” of a mahatma, had materialised its turban, and disappeared into several yards of substantial textile fabric. “and here,” the colonel was wont to conclude the story, “here, you see, is the turban!”—whipping it from his coat-tail pocket. ah! that was in the palmy eighties. but now where was he? what was a chela who conjured up a turban beside one who could conjure up £20 hard cash—“on the table,” as hilda wangel would say?
-in a word, colonel olcott was altogether thrown into the shade by this bold stroke, and had not even the face to suggest that perhaps mr. judge’s story was only a donor’s graceful way of conveying assistance from his own pocket. the colonel pulled rather a sour face, however, over the heavy sum with which the society’s chest was debited when mr. judge’s expenses at the convention came to be paid. for, judge having attended in his official capacity, it was the colonel’s treasury at adyar which had to foot the bill. personally, i consider the miracles cheap at the price.
-this reminds me of the matter of madame blavatsky’s rosicrucian jewel, in which also the mahatma stole an amusing march on the colonel. this was a pendant set with gems, which had the property of changing colour with every change in madame’s health—so she and the faithful olcott used to swear. the colonel had his own ideas about the future of this mystic gewgaw; but what was his disgust on getting to avenue-road to learn that the master had sent a message for it to be given to judge, and that mrs. besant had accordingly handed it over! nor was the colonel’s chagrin lightened by the fact that the forgetful mahatma attempted (through judge, of course) to put him off the track of the jewel by a message to quite another effect—an exceedingly misleading message.
-for all i know, the gift was as valueless intrinsically as the brass seal; but theosophically it was a distinct score for mr. judge and his mahatma thus to amalgamate the two mystic apparatuses in one firm’s hands, so to speak.
-after the passages described above, mr. judge’s mahatma was chary of subjecting any more epistolary efforts to the eye of colonel olcott. and he seems to have become more cautious altogether. in the following september, however, he succumbed to the temptation of intervening again in the administration of the society. a letter with the usual trimmings was enclosed to the inner group, bearing upon its constitution and future changes, in one of mr. judge’s on the same subject and in the same sense (september 14).
-just at this time colonel olcott was visiting america, en route for japan, where he was to teach the buddhists their own religion in a flying visit. he took the opportunity of making some more pointed representations to mr. judge on the vagaries of his master.
-the result was prompt and significant.
-during the very next month mrs. besant, then preparing for her trip to india, received a cablegram from the vice-president in america to this effect:—
-you are desired not to go to india remain where you are grave danger olcott await further particulars by an early mail.
-at avenue-road this mysterious telegram was at first read in the sense, “grave danger to olcott.” the president was just then due at tokyo, and there was a report of an earthquake thereabouts. for a while there was a great flutter over this convincing case of mahatmic prescience. when, however, the “early mail” arrived with mr. judge’s explanatory letter, quite a different complexion was put on the telegram. after reading this letter, and one from the inevitable mahatma which mr. judge enclosed, the conclusion of the inner group was that the “grave danger” against which the master warned mrs. besant was “from olcott.” the tibetan founder of the society, in short, warned mrs. besant against imperilling her safety in the neighbourhood of its president!
-the mahatma had declared war on colonel olcott.
-this was the first shot in the campaign.
-but what could this danger from colonel olcott be? mr. judge and his mahatma left that darkly vague. some of their friends in england dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s for them. it is hardly credible, but the suggestion was nothing less preposterous than that colonel olcott intended to poison mrs. besant!
-i have no great veneration for colonel olcott’s character, and none at all for his intelligence; but i frankly apologise to him for having to mention this astounding nonsense in connexion with his name. i mention it simply in order to explain one of the documents which follow, and to throw a light on the minds of the colleagues who made or believed the charge; and i suppose i need scarcely add that i attach to it no other value whatever. colonel olcott is about as remote as it is possible to conceive from the sort of stuff of which murderers are made. i am sure he never had and never will have any more intention to poison mrs. besant, or anybody else, than the man in the moon. having said so much to make any misunderstanding impossible, i return to the suspicions or pretended suspicions of the colonel’s professed “brothers.”
-positively, the only material which these ladies and gentlemen had to work on was an innocent conversation of the colonel’s with a friend on the subject of poisons, indian and other, which took place at a date when mrs. besant was not yet even a member of the society! the “evidence”—save the mark!—was such as ordinary non-theosophical folk would not give even a dog a bad name on. but mahatmas and their friends are different, and mr. judge’s mahatma was well served. for this trivial episode, buzzed about from mouth to mouth in connexion with the sinister hints of “mahatma m,” sufficed to make this monstrous charge against their president currently believed at avenue-road, for some weeks at least, by the very inmost and governing circle of his colleagues, with mrs. besant at their head!
-a belief once discarded, it is easy to deny that it ever existed. but this particular belief, or half-belief, showed itself in action. mrs. besant deferred her visit to india, and to impatient indian disciples wrote that “master had forbidden her to come,” and “till that order was countermanded” she would not budge.
-now just pause a moment, and enjoy the exquisite irony of this unique situation. the theosophic society was to be “the nucleus of a universal brotherhood of mankind.” at this moment, taking the three chief exponents of this new brotherliness, the president believed the vice-president to be fabricating bogus documents; the vice-president apparently believed the president to have designs to poison the high-priestess; and the high-priestess, having these two beliefs to choose from, coquetted at least, as we have seen, with the more heinous of the two.
-other theosophists appear from their course of action to have accomplished the intellectual feat of believing both.
-chapter x. the mahatma tries threats.
-“be these juggling fiends no more believed, that palter with us in a double sense!”—“macbeth.”
-“masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves.”—“much ado about nothing.”
-while the mahatma was thus stealthily undermining the president, he was also busy strengthening his own outworks. in december one of the doubting ones, the mr. keightley who had been making up his mind whether to believe his own eyes ever since june, 1890, received in india a letter from mr. judge fortifying him against the heterodox influences to which he would be exposed on colonel olcott’s return to that country.
-mr. judge warned his “dear bert” that olcott would try to shake his faith in the genuineness of mr. judge’s mahatma-missives; that he might even have the baseness to suggest that they were fabricated by mr. judge himself. on opening this letter, mr. keightley found a small slip of peculiar paper, which turned out (on a prosaic scrutiny) to be the sort of tissue which is used to separate the sheets of typewriting transfer paper. on this slip appeared in mahatmic script the words:—
-judge leads right. follow him and stick!
-there was, however, no seal impression. the mahatma had grown chary of using that seal. from the material of this missive we gather that the mahatma is not so remote from typewriters as one would expect in the himalayas; from its diction we learn that, whatever the failings of his english, the august being has a racy command of yankee.
-i may remark here that when mahatmas “precipitate” their own notepaper, as well as the writing upon it, it has always been the etiquette that the former should have an indian look about it, however european the latter might be. even tissue, as in this case, is considered more in keeping than commonplace stationery, with, perhaps, the watermark of some english firm upon it. but the “make” preferred, alike now and in the blavatsky days, is a peculiar sort of hand-made rice-paper, which the psychical researchers had some difficulty in tracking to the maker’s. they were not assisted by colonel olcott. but now, the same mystic paper having turned up in the productions of mr. judge’s mahatma (borrowed, perhaps, at the same time as the seal?) the colonel resolves the mystery at once. wishing to suggest that mr. judge got it ready-made from madame blavatsky, he mentions that madame had gone about with a good supply of it, adding that it was originally bought in cashmere. he had bought it himself at jammos, in fact, as long ago as 1883, just as he had also been the purchaser of the brass seal; and just as he explains that the seal was got merely as a “playful present,” so he represents the original purpose of the cashmere stationery as the humble one of “packing books—it being both cheap and strong.” from parcels post to astral notepaper is a distinct rise. but who first promoted it? another side-light unintentionally thrown on the old blavatsky days!
-in october, then, colonel olcott, who was just returning to india, got a letter from a mr. abbott clark, of orange county, california, a gentleman who was under no sort of suspicion of having anything to do with mahatmas. and in this, if you please, there had somehow found its way into the envelope a slip of paper bearing a message in the m script, with signature, but with seal too blurred to distinguish, in facsimile as follows:—
-so much is in the usual red pencil; the part represented by shading above is smudged, as is the red blotch which represents the seal, apparently by being rubbed with the finger. across a margin of the paper is the following postscript, in the black carbon usually devoted to the seal impression:—
-rather cryptic, this missive; but the meaning seems to be this. the mahatma has to explain to the suspicious colonel several things: why the missives habitually come in letters from mr. judge; why, nevertheless, mr. judge knows nothing of them; why he, the master, has used a bogus seal which bungles his own cryptograph; and, above all, why the impressions of that seal have been illegible ever since an exposure of it was threatened. he hints, accordingly, that he “uses” mr. judge to assist in some undefined psychic way in the precipitation process; but judge’s part in this is unconscious—it must be “when he does not know.” also, the thing precipitated “fades out often”—and plump on the word comes an illustration.
-in saying that “judge did not write annie” (i.e., mrs. besant, for this spirit is a familiar one), the master is misinformed, as we have seen. mr. judge had just “written annie,” enclosing the master’s own warning against colonel olcott. lastly, the remark about “facit per alium” (the mahatma can use a tag of lawyers’ latin on occasion) seems to mean that when colonel olcott had the “flap-doodle” seal made he was unconsciously prompted by the master himself, who had now adopted it, overlooking the blunder in engraving. the prescience which foresaw that the “precipitation” would give out in just this letter is no less remarkable than that which provided for an unexpressed doubt by the assurance, “no, it is not pencil.”
-but for colonel olcott the gem of this letter was none of these. it was the reference to the panjab seal as the “lahore brass.” all that mr. judge knew, as we have seen, was that the seal was made at a “certain city in the panjab.” mr. judge’s mahatma assumes that this city was the capital of the province. it was a likely guess—a good shot, if such a phrase may be used of the mental processes of a tibetan sage—and one calculated to end the colonel’s doubts—if correct. but that is just what it was not. the city at which the colonel got the seal was quite another city; so the mahatma, though he hints that he psychically presided over the purchase, does not even know where that purchase took place!
-the result of this unlucky lapse of memory on the part of the master was that the missive made bad worse. despite the distance of california, where mr. clark’s envelope was posted, from new york, and the offices of mr. william q. judge, the colonel suspected mr. judge’s hand in it. he wrote to mr. clark, and discovered that judge had spent two days in orange county at the very date when the master availed himself of mr. clark’s envelope. thereupon the colonel formed his own ideas as to how the master had “used” his favourite chela on that occasion.
-can we wonder that the master was incensed by this incorrigible scepticism—a spirit, as the colonel himself had formerly taught, and as the event was to prove but too surely—fatal to theosophy?
-persuasion failing, the master resorted to threats!
-in january, 1892, the colonel received an amicable letter from mr. judge, reproaching him for not writing. on opening it, he found written along the margin of the first page the following laconic message in mahatma script (signed, but again no seal: much reduced here):—
-“him” presumably means judge. the bearing of the threat will be intelligible to readers of the last chapter. certain rumours from avenue-road made it intelligible also to colonel olcott. the master of wisdom, the unapproachable sage of the himalayas, he-who-must-be-obeyed by mrs. besant and the whole theosophical society, had thrown off the mask of benignity. here he was plainly adopting, as a weapon against his own unlucky president, that impossible accusation which represents the lowest point of ethical squalor yet touched, in this story at any rate, by theosophic “brotherhood”! this was miching mallecho, thought the colonel; it meant mischief with a vengeance. the voice was the voice of the mahatma, but again the colonel thought it the hand of judge. so he wrote with some natural heat to ask that gentleman what he meant by his “base insinuation.”
-only to receive, however, the blandly innocent reply:—
-i have puzzled my head over your reference to “poison,” as if in one of mine; as i never referred to it i cannot catch on, and have given it up in despair.
-after this the colonel seems to have given the mahatma up in despair, too. but the mahatma, on his part, was busily pushing up a column to take the colonel in the flank, and bring this story to a crisis.
-secure in the support of mrs. besant, he was to make the pusillanimous president resign his office, and to enthrone william q. judge in his place!
-chapter xi. mrs. besant’s coup de main.
-coleman answered for him. “be respectful,” he said to mrs. viveash. “this is a great man. he reads no papers, not even those in which our mercaptan so beautifully writes. he does not know what a beaver is. and he lives for nothing but the kidneys.”
-mrs. viveash smiled her smile of agony. “kidneys? but what a memento mori. there are other portions of the anatomy.” she threw back her cloak revealing an arm, a bare shoulder, a slant of pectoral muscle. she was wearing a white dress that, leaving her back and shoulders bare, came up, under either arm, to a point in front and was held there by a golden thread about the neck. “for example,” she said, and twisted her hand several times over and over, making the slender arm turn at the elbow, as though to demonstrate the movement of the articulations and the muscular play.
-“memento vivere,” mr. mercaptan aptly commented. “vivamus, mea lesbia, atque amemus.”
-mrs. viveash dropped her arm and pulled the cloak back into place. she looked at shearwater, who had followed all her movements with conscientious attention, and who now nodded with an expression of interrogation on his face, as though to ask: what next?
-“we all know that you’ve got beautiful arms,” said bruin angrily. “there’s no need for you to make an exhibition of them in the street, at midnight. let’s get out of this.” he laid his hand on her shoulder and made as if to draw her away. “we’d better be going. goodness knows what’s happening behind us.” he indicated with a little movement of the head the loiterers round the coffee-stall. “some disturbance among the canaille.”
-“mayn’t the poor wretches talk?” asked mrs. viveash, turning back to bruin. “i never knew any one who had the lower classes on the brain as much as you have.”
-“i loathe them,” said bruin. “i hate every one poor, or ill, or old. can’t abide them; they make me positively sick.”
-“quelle âme bien-née,” piped mr. mercaptan. “and how well and frankly you express what we all feel and lack the courage to say.”
-lypiatt gave vent to indignant laughter.
-“i remember when i was a little boy,” bruin went on, “my old grandfather used to tell me stories about his childhood. he told me that when he was about five or six, just before the passing of the reform bill of ’thirty-two, there was a song which all right-thinking people used to sing, with a chorus that went like this: ‘rot the people, blast the people, damn the lower classes.’ i wish i knew the rest of the words and the tune. it must have been a good song.”
-coleman was enraptured with the song. he shouldered his walking-stick and began marching round and round the nearest lamp-post chanting the words to a stirring march tune. “rot the people, blast the people....” he marked the rhythm with heavy stamps of his feet.
-“ah, if only they’d invent servants with internal combustion engines,” said bruin, almost pathetically. “however well trained they are, they always betray their humanity occasionally. and that is really intolerable.”
-“how tedious is a guilty conscience!” gumbril murmured the quotation.
-“but mr. shearwater,” said myra, bringing back the conversation to more congenial themes, “hasn’t told us yet what he thinks of arms.”
-“nothing at all,” said shearwater. “i’m occupied with the regulation of the blood at the moment.”
-“but is it true what he says, theodore?” she appealed to gumbril.
-“i should think so.” gumbril’s answer was rather dim and remote. he was straining to hear the talk of bruin’s canaille, and mrs. viveash’s question seemed a little irrelevant.
-“i used to do cartin’ jobs,” the man with the teacup was saying. “’ad a van and a nold pony of me own. and didn’t do so badly neither. the only trouble was me lifting furniture and ’eavy weights about the place. because i ’ad malaria out in india, in the war....”
-“nor even—you compel me to violate the laws of modesty—nor even,” mrs. viveash went on, smiling painfully, speaking huskily, expiringly, “of legs?”
-a spring of blasphemy was touched in coleman’s brain. “neither delighteth he in any man’s legs,” he shouted, and with an extravagant show of affection he embraced zoe, who caught hold of his hand and bit it.
-“it comes back on you when you get tired like, malaria does.” the man’s face was sallow and there was an air of peculiar listlessness and hopelessness about his misery. “it comes back on you, and then you go down with fever and you’re as weak as a child.”
-shearwater shook his head.
-“nor even of the heart?” mrs. viveash lifted her eyebrows. “ah, now the inevitable word has been pronounced, the real subject of every conversation has appeared on the scene. love, mr. shearwater!”
-“but as i says,” recapitulated the man with the teacup, “we didn’t do so badly after all. we ’ad nothing to complain about. ’ad we, florrie?”
-the black bundle made an affirmative movement with its upper extremity.
-“that’s one of the subjects,” said shearwater, “like the great wall of china and the habits of trematodes, i don’t allow myself to be interested in.”
-mrs. viveash laughed, breathed out a little “good god!” of incredulity and astonishment, and asked, “why not?”
-“no time,” he explained. “you people of leisure have nothing else to do or think about. i’m busy and so naturally less interested in the subject than you; and i take care, what’s more, to limit such interest as i have.”
-“i was goin’ up ludgate ’ill one day with a vanload of stuff for a chap in clerkenwell. i was leadin’ jerry up the ’ill—jerry’s the name of our ole pony....”
-“one can’t have everything,” shearwater was explaining, “not all at the same time, in any case. i’ve arranged my life for work now. i’m quietly married, i simmer away domestically.”
-“quelle horreur!” said mr. mercaptan. all the louis quinze abbé in him was shocked and revolted by the thought.
-“but love?” questioned mrs. viveash. “love?”
-“love!” lypiatt echoed. he was looking up at the milky way.
-“all of a sudden out jumps a copper at me. ‘’ow old is that ’orse?’ ’e says. ‘it ain’t fit to drawr a load, it limps in all four feet,’ ’e says. ‘no, it doesn’t,’ i says. ‘none of your answerin’ back,’ ’e says. ‘take it outer the shafts at once.’”
-“but i know all about love already. i know precious little still about kidneys.”
-“but, my good shearwater, how can you know all about love before you’ve made it with all women?”
-“off we goes, me and the cop and the ’orse, up in front of the police court magistrate....”
-“or are you one of those imbeciles,” mrs. viveash went on, “who speak of women with a large w and pretend we’re all the same? poor theodore here might possibly think so in his feebler moments.” gumbril smiled vaguely from a distance. he was following the man with the teacup into the magistrate’s stuffy court. “and mercaptan certainly does, because all the women who ever sat on his dix-huitième sofa certainly were exactly like one another. and perhaps casimir does too; all women look like his absurd ideal. but you, shearwater, you’re intelligent. surely you don’t believe anything so stupid?”
-shearwater shook his head.
-“the cop, ’e gave evidence against me. ‘limping in all four feet,’ ’e says. ‘it wasn’t,’ i says, and the police court vet, ’e bore me out. ‘the ’orse ’as been very well treated,’ ’e says. ‘but ’e’s old, ’e’s very old.’ ‘i know ’e’s old,’ i says. ‘but where am i goin’ to find the price for a young one?’”
-“what indeed!” said coleman. “tics, mere tics. sheep ticks, horse ticks, bed bugs, tape worms, taint worms, guinea worms, liver flukes....”
-“‘the ’orse must be destroyed,” says the beak. “’e’s too old for work.’ ‘but i’m not,’ i says. ‘i can’t get a old age pension at thirty-two, can i? ’ow am i to earn my living if you take away what i earns my living by?’”
-mrs. viveash smiled agonizingly. “here’s a man who thinks personal peculiarities are trivial and unimportant,” she said. “you’re not even interested in people, then?”
-“‘i don’t know what you can do,’ ’e says. ‘i’m only ’ere to administer the law.’ ‘seems a queer sort of law,’ i says. ‘what law is it?’”
-shearwater scratched his head. under his formidable black moustache he smiled at last his ingenuous, childish smile. “no,” he said. “no, i suppose i’m not. it hadn’t occurred to me, until you said it. but i suppose i’m not. no.” he laughed, quite delighted, it seemed, by this discovery about himself.
-“‘what law is it?’ ’e says. ‘the croolty to animals law. that’s what it is,’ ’e says.”
-the smile of mockery and suffering appeared and faded. “one of these days,” said mrs. viveash, “you may find them more absorbing than you do now.”
-“meanwhile,” said shearwater....
-“i couldn’t find a job ’ere, and ’aving been workin’ on my own, my own master like, couldn’t get unemployment pay. so when we ’eard of jobs at portsmouth, we thought we’d try to get one, even if it did mean walkin’ there.”
-“meanwhile, i have my kidneys.”
-“‘’opeless,’ ’e says to me, ‘quite ’opeless. more than two hundred come for three vacancies.’ so there was nothing for it but to walk back again. took us four days it did, this time. she was very bad on the way, very bad. being nearly six months gone. our first it is. things will be ’arder still, when it comes.”
-from the black bundle there issued a sound of quiet sobbing.
-“look here,” said gumbril, making a sudden irruption into the conversation. “this is really too awful.” he was consumed with indignation and pity; he felt like a prophet in nineveh.
-“there are two wretched people here,” and gumbril told them breathlessly, what he had overheard. it was terrible, terrible. “all the way to portsmouth and back again; on foot; without proper food; and the woman’s with child.”
-coleman exploded with delight. “gravid,” he kept repeating, “gravid, gravid. the laws of gravidy, first formulated by newton, now recodified by the immortal einstein. god said, let newstein be, and there was light. and god said, let there be light; and there was darkness o’er the face of the earth.” he roared with laughter.
-between them they raised five pounds. mrs. viveash undertook to give them to the black bundle. the cabmen made way for her as she advanced; there was an uncomfortable silence. the black bundle lifted a face that was old and worn, like the face of a statue in the portal of a cathedral; an old face, but one was aware somehow, that it belonged to a woman still young by the reckoning of years. her hands trembled as she took the notes, and when she opened her mouth to speak her hardly articulate whisper of gratitude, one saw that she had lost several of her teeth.
-the party disintegrated. all went their ways: mr. mercaptan to his rococo boudoir, his sweet barocco bedroom in sloane street; coleman and zoe towards goodness only knew what scenes of intimate life in pimlico; lypiatt to his studio off the tottenham court road, alone, silently brooding and perhaps too consciously bowed with unhappiness. but the unhappiness, poor titan! was real enough, for had he not seen mrs. viveash and the insufferable, the stupid and loutish opps driving off in one taxi? “must finish up with a little dancing,” myra had huskily uttered from that death-bed on which her restless spirit for ever and wearily exerted itself. obediently, bruin had given an address and they had driven off. but after the dancing? oh, was it possible that that odious, bad-blooded young cad was her lover? and that she should like him? it was no wonder that lypiatt should have walked, bent like atlas under the weight of a world. and when, in piccadilly, a belated and still unsuccessful prostitute sidled out of the darkness, as he strode by unseeing in his misery when she squeaked up at him a despairing “cheer up, duckie,” lypiatt suddenly threw up his head and laughed titanically, with the terrible bitterness of a noble soul in pain. even the poor drabs at the street corners were affected by the unhappiness that radiated out from him, wave after throbbing wave, like music, he liked to fancy, into the night. even the wretched drabs. he walked on, more desperately bowed than ever; but met no further adventure on his way.
-gumbril and shearwater both lived in paddington; they set off in company up park lane, walking in silence. gumbril gave a little skip to get himself into step with his companion. to be out of step, when steps so loudly and flat-footedly flapped on empty pavements, was disagreeable, he found, was embarrassing, was somehow dangerous. stepping, like this, out of time, one gave oneself away, so to speak, one made the night aware of two presences, when there might, if steps sounded in unison, be only one, heavier, more formidable, more secure than either of the separate two. in unison, then, they flapped up park lane. a policeman and the three poets, sulking back to back on their fountain, were the only human things besides themselves under the mauve electric moons.
-“it’s appalling, it’s horrible,” said gumbril at last, after a long, long silence, during which he had, indeed, been relishing to the full the horror of it all. life, don’t you know.
-“what’s appalling?” shearwater inquired. he walked with his big head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back and clutching his hat; walked clumsily, with sudden lurches of his whole massive anatomy. wherever he was, shearwater always seemed to take up the space that two or three ordinary people would normally occupy. cool fingers of wind passed refreshingly through his hair. he was thinking of the experiment he meant to try, in the next few days, down at the physiological laboratory. you’d put a man on an ergometer in a heated chamber and set him to work—hours at a time. he’d sweat, of course, prodigiously. you’d make arrangements for collecting the sweat, weighing it, analysing it and so on. the interesting thing would be to see what happened at the end of a few days. the man would have got rid of so much of his salts, that the blood composition might be altered and all sorts of delightful consequences might follow. it ought to be a capital experiment. gumbril’s exclamation disturbed him. “what’s appalling?” he asked rather irritably.
-“those people at the coffee-stall,” gumbril answered. “it’s appalling that human beings should have to live like that. worse than dogs.”
-“dogs have nothing to complain of.” shearwater went off at a tangent. “nor guinea-pigs, nor rats. it’s these blasted anti-vivisection maniacs who make all the fuss.”
-“but think,” cried gumbril, “what these wretched people have had to suffer! walking all the way to portsmouth in search of work; and the woman with child. it’s horrifying. and then, the way people of that class are habitually treated. one has no idea of it until one has actually been treated that way oneself. in the war, for example, when one went to have one’s mitral murmurs listened to by the medical board—they treated one then as though one belonged to the lower orders, like all the rest of the poor wretches. it was a real eye-opener. one felt like a cow being got into a train. and to think that the majority of one’s fellow-beings pass their whole lives being shoved about like maltreated animals!”
-“h’m,” said shearwater. if you went on sweating indefinitely, he supposed, you would end by dying.
-gumbril looked through the railings at the profound darkness of the park. vast it was and melancholy, with a string, here and there, of receding lights. “terrible,” he said, and repeated the word several times. “terrible, terrible.” all the legless soldiers grinding barrel-organs, all the hawkers of toys stamping their leaky boots in the gutters of the strand; at the corner of cursitor street and chancery lane, the old woman with matches, for ever holding to her left eye a handkerchief as yellow and dirty as the winter fog. what was wrong with the eye? he had never dared to look, but hurried past as though she were not there, or sometimes, when the fog was more than ordinarily cold and stifling, paused for an instant with averted eyes to drop a brown coin into her tray of matches. and then there were the murderers hanged at eight o’clock, while one was savouring, almost with voluptuous consciousness, the final dream-haunted doze. there was the phthisical charwoman who used to work at his father’s house, until she got too weak and died. there were the lovers who turned on the gas and the ruined shopkeepers jumping in front of trains. had one a right to be contented and well-fed, had one a right to one’s education and good taste, a right to knowledge and conversation and the leisurely complexities of love?
-he looked once more through the railings at the park’s impenetrable, rustic night, at the lines of beaded lamps. he looked, and remembered another night, years ago, during the war, when there were no lights in the park and the electric moons above the roadway were in almost total eclipse. he had walked up this street alone, full of melancholy emotions which, though the cause of them was different, were in themselves much the same as the melancholy emotions which swelled windily up within him to-night. he had been most horribly in love.
-“what did you think,” he asked abruptly, “of myra viveash?”
-“think?” said shearwater. “i don’t know that i thought very much about her. not a case for ratiocination exactly, is she? she seemed to me entertaining enough, as women go. i said i’d lunch with her on thursday.”
-gumbril felt, all of a sudden, the need to speak confidentially. “there was a time,” he said in a tone that was quite unreally airy, off-hand and disengaged, “years ago, when i totally lost my head about her. totally.” those tear-wet patches on his pillow, cold against his cheek in the darkness; and oh, the horrible pain of weeping, vainly, for something that was nothing, that was everything in the world! “towards the end of the war it was. i remember walking up this dismal street one night, in the pitch darkness, writhing with jealousy.” he was silent. spectrally, like a dim, haunting ghost, he had hung about her; dumbly, dumbly imploring, appealing. “the weak, silent man,” she used to call him. and once for two or three days, out of pity, out of affection, out of a mere desire, perhaps, to lay the tiresome ghost, she had given him what his mournful silence implored—only to take it back, almost as soon as accorded. that other night, when he had walked up this street before, desire had eaten out his vitals and his body seemed empty, sickeningly and achingly void; jealousy was busily reminding him, with an unflagging malice, of her beauty—of her beauty and the hateful, ruffian hands which now caressed, the eyes which looked on it. that was all long ago.
-“she is certainly handsome,” said shearwater, commenting, at one or two removes, on gumbril’s last remark. “i can see that she might make any one who got involved in her decidedly uncomfortable.” after a day or two’s continuous sweating, it suddenly occurred to him, one might perhaps find sea-water more refreshing than fresh water. that would be queer.
-gumbril burst out ferociously laughing. “but there were other times,” he went on jauntily, “when other people were jealous of me.” ah, revenge, revenge. in the better world of the imagination it was possible to get one’s own back. what fiendish vendettas were there carried to successful ends! “i remember once writing her a quatrain in french.” (he had written it years after the whole thing was over, he had never sent it to any one at all; but that was all one.) “how did it go? ah, yes.” and he recited, with suitable gestures:
-“‘puisque nous sommes là, je dois, vous avertir, sans trop de honte, que je n’égale pas le comte casanovesque de sixfois.’
-rather prettily turned, i flatter myself. rather elegantly gross.”
-gumbril’s laughter went hooting past the marble arch. it stopped rather suddenly, however, at the corner of the edgware road. he had suddenly remembered mr. mercaptan, and the thought depressed him.
-it was between whitefield street and the tottenham court road, in a ‘heavenly mews,’ as he liked to call it (for he had a characteristic weakness for philosophical paronomasia), that casimir lypiatt lived and worked. you passed under an archway of bald and sooty brick—and at night, when the green gas-lamp underneath the arch threw livid lights and enormous architectural shadows, you could fancy yourself at the entrance of one of piranesi’s prisons—and you found yourself in a long cul-de-sac, flanked on either side by low buildings, having stabling for horses below and, less commodiously, stabling for human beings in the attics above. an old-fashioned smell of animals mingled with the more progressive stink of burnt oil. the air was a little thicker here, it seemed, than in the streets outside; looking down the mews on even the clearest day, you could see the forms of things dimming and softening, the colours growing richer and deeper with every yard of distance. it was the best place in the world, lypiatt used to say, for studying aerial perspective; that was why he lived there. but you always felt about poor lypiatt that he was facing misfortune with a jest a little too self-consciously.
-mrs. viveash’s taxi drove in under the piranesian arch, drove in slowly and as though with a gingerly reluctance to soil its white wheels on pavements so sordid. the cabman looked round inquiringly.
-“this right?” he asked.
-“never been down ’ere before,” he said, for the sake of making a little conversation, while mrs. viveash fumbled for her money. he looked at her with a polite and slightly ironic curiosity that was frankly mingled with admiration.
-“you’re lucky,” said mrs. viveash. “we poor decayed gentlewomen—you see what we’re reduced to.” and she handed him a florin.
-slowly the taxi-man unbuttoned his coat and put the coin away in an inner pocket. he watched her as she crossed the dirty street, placing her feet with a meticulous precision one after the other in the same straight line, as though she were treading a knife edge between goodness only knew what invisible gulfs. floating she seemed to go, with a little spring at every step and the skirt of her summery dress—white it was, with a florid pattern printed in black all over it—blowing airily out around her swaying march. decayed gentlewomen indeed! the driver started his machine with an unnecessary violence; he felt, for some reason, positively indignant.
-between the broad double-doors through which the horses passed to their fodder and repose were little narrow human doors—for the yahoos, lypiatt used to say in his large allusive way; and when he said it he laughed with the loud and bell-mouthed cynicism of one who sees himself as a misunderstood and embittered prometheus. at one of these little yahoo doors mrs. viveash halted and rapped as loudly as a small and stiff-hinged knocker would permit. patiently she waited; several small and dirty children collected to stare at her. she knocked again and again waited. more children came running up from the farther end of the mews; two young girls of fifteen or sixteen appeared at a neighbouring doorway and immediately gave tongue in whoops of mirthless, hyena-like laughter.
-“have you ever read about the pied piper of hamelin?” mrs. viveash asked the nearest child. terrified, it shrank away. “i thought not,” she said, and knocked again.
-there was a sound, at last, of heavy feet slowly descending steep stairs; the door opened.
-“welcome to the palazzo!” it was lypiatt’s heroic formula of hospitality.
-“welcome at last,” mrs. viveash corrected, and followed him up a narrow, dark staircase that was as steep as a ladder. he was dressed in a velveteen jacket and linen trousers that should have been white, but needed washing. he was dishevelled and his hands were dirty.
-“did you knock more than once?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.
-“more than twenty times,” mrs. viveash justifiably exaggerated.
-“i’m infinitely sorry,” protested lypiatt. “i get so deeply absorbed in my work, you know. did you wait long?”
-“the children enjoyed it, at any rate.” mrs. viveash was irritated by a suspicion, which was probably, after all, quite unjustified, that casimir had been rather consciously absorbed in his work; that he had heard her first knock and plunged the more profoundly into those depths of absorption where the true artist always dwells, or at any rate ought to dwell; to rise at her third appeal with a slow, pained reluctance, cursing, perhaps, at the importunity of a world which thus noisily interrupted the flow of his inspiration. “queer, the way they stare at one,” she went on, with a note in her dying voice of a petulance that the children had not inspired. “does one look such a guy?”
-lypiatt threw open the door at the head of the stairs and stood there on the threshold, waiting for her. “queer?” he repeated. “not a bit.” and as she moved past him into the room, he laid his hand on her shoulder and fell into step with her, leaving the door to slam behind them. “merely an example of the mob’s instinctive dislike of the aristocratic individual. that’s all. ‘oh, why was i born with a different face?’ thank god i was, though. and so were you. but the difference has its disadvantages; the children throw stones.”
-“they didn’t throw stones.” mrs. viveash was too truthful, this time.
-they halted in the middle of the studio. it was not a very large room and there were too many things in it. the easel stood near the centre of the studio; round it lypiatt kept a space permanently cleared. there was a broad fairway leading to the door, and another, narrower and tortuously winding between boxes and piled-up furniture and tumbled books, gave access to his bed. there was a piano and a table permanently set with dirty plates and strewed with the relics of two or three meals. bookshelves stood on either side of the fireplace and lying on the floor were still more books, piles on dusty piles. mrs. viveash stood looking at the picture on the easel (abstract again—she didn’t like it), and lypiatt, who had dropped his hand from her shoulder, had stepped back the better to see her, stood earnestly looking at mrs. viveash.
-“may i kiss you?” he asked after a silence.
-mrs. viveash turned towards him, smiling agonizingly, her eyebrows ironically lifted, her eyes steady and calm and palely, brightly inexpressive. “if it really gives you any pleasure,” she said. “it won’t, i may say, to me.”
-“you make me suffer a great deal,” said lypiatt, and said it so quietly and unaffectedly, that myra was almost startled; she was accustomed, with casimir, to noisier and more magniloquent protestations.
-“i’m very sorry,” she said; and, really, she felt sorry. “but i can’t help it, can i?”
-“i suppose you can’t,” he said. “you can’t,” he repeated and his voice had now become the voice of prometheus in his bitterness. “nor can tigresses.” he had begun to pace up and down the unobstructed fairway between his easel and the door; lypiatt liked pacing while he talked. “you like playing with the victim,” he went on; “he must die slowly.”
-reassured, mrs. viveash faintly smiled. this was the familiar casimir. so long as he could talk like this, could talk like an old-fashioned french novel, it was all right; he couldn’t really be so very unhappy. she sat down on the nearest unencumbered chair. lypiatt continued to walk back and forth, waving his arms as he walked.
-“but perhaps it’s good for one to suffer,” he went on, “perhaps it’s unavoidable and necessary. perhaps i ought to thank you. can an artist do anything if he’s happy? would he ever want to do anything? what is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life?” he halted in front of her, with arms extended in a questioning gesture. mrs. viveash slightly shrugged her shoulders. she really didn’t know; she couldn’t answer. “ah, but that’s all nonsense,” he burst out again, “all rot. i want to be happy and contented and successful; and of course i should work better if i were. and i want, oh, above everything, everything, i want you: to possess you completely and exclusively and jealously and for ever. and the desire is like rust corroding my heart, it’s like moth eating holes in the fabric of my mind. and you merely laugh.” he threw up his hands and let them limply fall again.
-“but i don’t laugh,” said mrs. viveash. on the contrary, she was very sorry for him; and, what was more, he rather bored her. for a few days, once, she had thought she might be in love with him. his impetuosity had seemed a torrent strong enough to carry her away. she had found out her mistake very soon. after that he had rather amused her: and now he rather bored her. no, decidedly, she never laughed. she wondered why she still went on seeing him. simply because one must see some one? or why? “are you going to go on with my portrait?” she asked.
-lypiatt sighed. “yes,” he said, “i suppose i’d better be getting on with my work. work—it’s the only thing. ‘portrait of a tigress.’” the cynical titan spoke again. “or shall i call it, ‘portrait of a woman who has never been in love?’”
-“that would be a very stupid title,” said mrs. viveash.
-“or, ‘portrait of the artist’s heart disease’? that would be good, that would be damned good!” lypiatt laughed very loudly and slapped his thighs. he looked, mrs. viveash thought, peculiarly ugly when he laughed. his face seemed to go all to pieces; not a corner of it but was wrinkled and distorted by the violent grimace of mirth. even the forehead was ruined when he laughed. foreheads are generally the human part of people’s faces. let the nose twitch and the mouth grin and the eyes twinkle as monkeyishly as you like; the forehead can still be calm and serene, the forehead still knows how to be human. but when casimir laughed, his forehead joined in the general disintegrating grimace. and sometimes even when he wasn’t laughing, when he was just vivaciously talking, his forehead seemed to lose its calm and would twitch and wrinkle itself in a dreadful kind of agitation. ‘portrait of the artist’s heart disease’—she didn’t find it so very funny.
-“the critics would think it was a problem picture,” lypiatt went on. “and so it would be, by god, so it would be. you are a problem. you’re the sphinx. i wish i were œdipus and could kill you.”
-all this mythology! mrs. viveash shook her head.
-he made his way through the intervening litter and picked up a canvas that was leaning with averted face against the wall near the window. he held it out at arm’s length and examined it, his head critically cocked on one side. “oh, it’s good,” he said softly. “it’s good. look at it.” and, stepping out once more into the open, he propped it up against the table so that mrs. viveash could see it without moving from her chair.
-it was a stormy vision of her; it was myra seen, so to speak, through a tornado. he had distorted her in the portrait, had made her longer and thinner than she really was, had turned her arms into sleek tubes and put a bright, metallic polish on the curve of her cheek. the figure in the portrait seemed to be leaning backwards a little from the surface of the canvas, leaning sideways too, with the twist of an ivory statuette carved out of the curving tip of a great tusk. only somehow in lypiatt’s portrait the curve seemed to lack grace, it was without point, it had no sense.
-“you’ve made me look,” said mrs. viveash at last, “as though i were being blown out of shape by the wind.” all this show of violence—what was the point of it? she didn’t like it, she didn’t like it at all. but casimir was delighted with her comment. he slapped his thighs and once more laughed his restless, sharp-featured face to pieces.
-“yes, by god,” he shouted, “by god, that’s right! blown out of shape by the wind. that’s it: you’ve said it.” he began stamping up and down the room again, gesticulating. “the wind, the great wind that’s in me.” he struck his forehead. “the wind of life, the wild west wind. i feel it inside me, blowing, blowing. it carries me along with it; for though it’s inside me, it’s more than i am, it’s a force that comes from somewhere else, it’s life itself, it’s god. it blows me along in the teeth of opposing fate, it makes me work on, fight on.” he was like a man who walks along a sinister road at night and sings to keep up his own spirits, to emphasize and magnify his own existence. “and when i paint, when i write or improvise my music, it bends the things i have in my mind, it pushes them in one direction, so that everything i do has the look of a tree that streams north-east with all its branches and all its trunk from the root upwards, as though it were trying to run from before the atlantic gale.”
-lypiatt stretched out his two hands and, with fingers splayed out to the widest and trembling in the excessive tension of the muscles, moved them slowly upwards and sideways, as though he were running his palms up the stem of a little wind-wizened tree on a hilltop above the ocean.
-mrs. viveash continued to look at the unfinished portrait. it was as noisy and easy and immediately effective as a vermouth advertisement in the streets of padua. cinzano, bonomelli, campari—illustrious names. giotto and mantegna mouldered meanwhile in their respective chapels.
-“and look at this,” lypiatt went on. he took down the canvas that was clamped to the easel and held it out for her inspection. it was one of casimir’s abstract paintings: a procession of machine-like forms rushing up diagonally from right to left across the canvas, with as it were a spray of energy blowing back from the crest of the wave towards the top right-hand corner. “in this painting,” he said, “i symbolize the artist’s conquering spirit—rushing on the universe, making it its own.” he began to declaim:
-“look down, conquistador, there on the valley’s broad green floor, there lies the lake, the jewelled cities gleam, chalco and tlacopan awaiting the coming man; look down on mexico, conquistador, land of your golden dream.
-or the same idea in terms of music——” and lypiatt dashed to the piano and evoked a distorted ghost of scriabin. “you see?” he asked feverishly, when the ghost was laid again and the sad cheap jangling had faded again into silence. “you feel? the artist rushes on the world, conquers it, gives it beauty, imposes a moral significance.” he returned to the picture. “this will be fine when it’s finished,” he said. “tremendous. you feel the wind blowing there, too.” and with a pointing finger he followed up the onrush of the forms. “the great southwester driving them on. ‘like leaves from an enchanter fleeing.’ only not chaotically, not in disorder. they’re blown, so to speak, in column of four—by a conscious wind.” he leaned the canvas against the table and was free again to march and brandish his conquering fists.
-“life,” he said, “life—that’s the great, essential thing. you’ve got to get life into your art, otherwise it’s nothing. and life only comes out of life, out of passion and feeling; it can’t come out of theories. that’s the stupidity of all this chatter about art for art’s sake and the æsthetic emotions and purely formal values and all that. it’s only the formal relations that matter; one subject is just as good as another—that’s the theory. you’ve only got to look at the pictures of the people who put it into practice to see that it won’t do. life comes out of life. you must paint with passion and the passion will stimulate your intellect to create the right formal relations. and to paint with passion, you must paint things that passionately interest you, moving things, human things. nobody, except a mystical pantheist, like van gogh, can seriously be as much interested in napkins, apples and bottles as in his lover’s face, or the resurrection, or the destiny of man. could mantegna have devised his splendid compositions if he had painted arrangements of chianti flasks and cheeses instead of crucifixions, martyrs and triumphs of great men? nobody but a fool could believe it. and could i have painted that portrait if i hadn’t loved you, if you weren’t killing me?”
-ah, bonomelli and illustrious cinzano!
-“passionately i paint passion. i draw life out of life. and i wish them joy of their bottles and their canadian apples and their muddy table napkins with the beastly folds in them that look like loops of tripe.” once more lypiatt disintegrated himself with laughter; then was silent.
-mrs. viveash nodded, slowly and reflectively. “i think you’re right,” she said. yes, he was surely right; there must be life, life was the important thing. that was precisely why his paintings were so bad—she saw now; there was no life in them. plenty of noise there was, and gesticulation and a violent galvanized twitching; but no life, only the theatrical show of it. there was a flaw in the conduit; somewhere between the man and his work life leaked out. he protested too much. but it was no good; there was no disguising the deadness. her portrait was a dancing mummy. he bored her now. did she even positively dislike him? behind her unchanging pale eyes mrs. viveash wondered. but in any case, she reflected, one needn’t always like the people with whom one associates. there are music halls as well as confidential boudoirs; some people are admitted to the tea-party and the tête-à-tête, others, on a stage invisible, poor things! to themselves, do their little song-and-dance, roll out their characteristic patter, and having provided you with your entertainment are dismissed with their due share of applause. but then, what if they become boring?
-“well,” said lypiatt at last—he had stood there, motionless, for a long time, biting his nails, “i suppose we’d better begin our sitting.” he picked up the unfinished portrait and adjusted it on the easel. “i’ve wasted a lot of time,” he said, “and there isn’t, after all, so much of it to waste.” he spoke gloomily, and his whole person had become, all of a sudden, curiously shrunken and deflated. “there isn’t so much of it,” he repeated, and sighed. “i still think of myself as a young man, young and promising, don’t you know. casimir lypiatt—it’s a young, promising sort of name, isn’t it? but i’m not young, i’ve passed the age of promise. every now and then i realize it, and it’s painful, it’s depressing.”
-mrs. viveash stepped up on to the model’s dais and took her seat. “is that right?” she asked.
-lypiatt looked first at her, then at his picture. her beauty, his passion—were they only to meet on the canvas? opps was her lover. time was passing; he felt tired. “that’ll do,” he said and began painting. “how young are you?” he asked after a moment.
-“twenty-five, i should imagine,” said mrs. viveash.
-“twenty-five? good lord, it’s nearly fifteen years since i was twenty-five. fifteen years, fighting all the time. god, how i hate people sometimes! everybody. it’s not their malignity i mind; i can give them back as good as they give me. it’s their power of silence and indifference, it’s their capacity for making themselves deaf. here am i with something to say to them, something important and essential. and i’ve been saying it for more than fifteen years, i’ve been shouting it. they pay no attention. i bring them my head and heart on a charger, and they don’t even notice that the things are there. i sometimes wonder how much longer i can manage to go on.” his voice had become very low, and it trembled. “one’s nearly forty, you know....” the voice faded huskily away into silence. languidly and as though the business exhausted him, he began mixing colours on his palette.
-mrs. viveash looked at him. no, he wasn’t young; at the moment, indeed, he seemed to have become much older than he really was. an old man was standing there, peaked and sharp and worn. he had failed, he was unhappy. but the world would have been unjuster, less discriminating if it had given him success.
-“some people believe in you,” she said; there was nothing else for her to say.
-lypiatt looked up at her. “you?” he asked.
-mrs. viveash nodded, deliberately. it was a lie. but was it possible to tell the truth? “and then there is the future,” she reassured him, and her faint death-bed voice seemed to prophesy with a perfect certainty. “you’re not forty yet; you’ve got twenty, thirty years of work in front of you. and there were others, after all, who had to wait—a long time—sometimes till after they were dead. great men; blake, for instance....” she felt positively ashamed; it was like a little talk by doctor frank crane. but she felt still more ashamed, when she saw that casimir had begun to cry and that the tears were rolling, one after another, slowly down his face.
-he put down his palette, he stepped on to the dais, he came and knelt at mrs. viveash’s feet. he took one of her hands between his own and he bent over it, pressing it to his forehead, as though it were a charm against unhappy thoughts, sometimes kissing it; soon it was wet with tears. he wept almost in silence.
-“it’s all right,” mrs. viveash kept repeating, “it’s all right,” and she laid her free hand on his bowed head, she patted it comfortingly as one might pat the head of a large dog that comes and thrusts its muzzle between one’s knees. she felt, even as she made it, how meaningless and unintimate the gesture was. if she had liked him, she would have run her fingers through his hair; but somehow his hair rather disgusted her. “it’s all right, all right.” but, of course, it wasn’t all right; and she was comforting him under false pretences and he was kneeling at the feet of somebody who simply wasn’t there—so utterly detached, so far away she was from all this scene and all his misery.
-“you’re the only person,” he said at last, “who cares or understands.”
-mrs. viveash could almost have laughed.
-he began once more to kiss her hand.
-“beautiful and enchanting myra—you were always that. but now you’re good and dear as well, now i know you’re kind.”
-“poor casimir!” she said. why was it that people always got involved in one’s life? if only one could manage things on the principle of the railways! parallel tracks—that was the thing. for a few miles you’d be running at the same speed. there’d be delightful conversation out of the windows; you’d exchange the omelette in your restaurant car for the vol-au-vent in theirs. and when you’d said all there was to say, you’d put on a little more steam, wave your hand, blow a kiss and away you’d go, forging ahead along the smooth, polished rails. but instead of that, there were these dreadful accidents; the points were wrongly set, the trains came crashing together; or people jumped on as you were passing through the stations and made a nuisance of themselves and wouldn’t allow themselves to be turned off. poor casimir! but he irritated her, he was a horrible bore. she ought to have stopped seeing him.
-“you can’t wholly dislike me, then?”
-“but of course not, my poor casimir!”
-“if you knew how horribly i loved you!” he looked up at her despairingly.
-“but what’s the good?” said mrs. viveash.
-“have you ever known what it’s like to love some one so much that you feel you could die of it? so that it hurts all the time. as though there were a wound. have you ever known that?”
-mrs. viveash smiled her agonizing smile, nodded slowly and said, “perhaps. and one doesn’t die, you know. one doesn’t die.”
-lypiatt was leaning back, staring fixedly up at her. the tears were dry on his face, his cheeks were flushed. “do you know what it is,” he asked, “to love so much, that you begin to long for the anodyne of physical pain to quench the pain in the soul? you don’t know that.” and suddenly, with his clenched fist, he began to bang the wooden dais on which he was kneeling, blow after blow, with all his strength.
-mrs. viveash leant forward and tried to arrest his hand. “you’re mad, casimir,” she said. “you’re mad. don’t do that.” she spoke with anger.
-lypiatt laughed till his face was all broken up with the grimace, and proffered for her inspection his bleeding knuckles. the skin hung in little white tags and tatters, and from below the blood was slowly oozing up to the surface. “look,” he said, and laughed again. then suddenly, with an extraordinary agility, he jumped to his feet, bounded from the dais and began once more to stride up and down the fairway between his easel and the door.
-“by god,” he kept repeating, “by god, by god. i feel it in me. i can face the whole lot of you; the whole damned lot. yes, and i shall get the better of you yet. an artist”—he called up that traditional ghost and it comforted him; he wrapped himself with a protective gesture within the ample folds of its bright mantle—“an artist doesn’t fail under unhappiness. he gets new strength from it. the torture makes him sweat new masterpieces....”
-he began to talk about his books, his poems and pictures; all the great things in his head, the things he had already done. he talked about his exhibition—ah, by god, that would astonish them, that would bowl them over, this time. the blood mounted to his face; there was a flush over the high projecting cheek-bones. he could feel the warm blood behind his eyes. he laughed aloud; he was a laughing lion. he stretched out his arms; he was enormous, his arms reached out like the branches of a cedar. the artist walked across the world and the mangy dogs ran yelping and snapping behind him. the great wind blew and blew, driving him on; it lifted him and he began to fly.
-mrs. viveash listened. it didn’t look as though he would get much further with the portrait.
-it was press day. the critics had begun to arrive; mr. albemarle circulated among them with a ducal amiability. the young assistant hovered vaguely about, straining to hear what the great men had to say and trying to pretend that he wasn’t eavesdropping. lypiatt’s pictures hung on the walls, and lypiatt’s catalogue, thick with its preface and its explanatory notes, was in all hands.
-“very strong,” mr. albemarle kept repeating, “very strong indeed!” it was his password for the day.
-little mr. clew, who represented the daily post, was inclined to be enthusiastic. “how well he writes!” he said to mr. albemarle, looking up from the catalogue. “and how well he paints! what impasto.”
-impasto, impasto—the young assistant sidled off unobtrusively to the desk and made a note of it. he would look the word up in grubb’s dictionary of art and artists later on. he made his way back, circuitously and as though by accident, into mr. clew’s neighbourhood.
-mr. clew was one of those rare people who have a real passion for art. he loved painting, all painting, indiscriminately. in a picture gallery he was like a turk in a harem; he adored them all. he loved memling as much as raphael, he loved grünewald and michelangelo, holman hunt and manet, romney and tintoretto; how happy he could be with all of them! sometimes, it is true, he hated; but that was only when familiarity had not yet bred love. at the first post-impressionist exhibition, for example, in 1911, he had taken a very firm stand. “this is an obscene farce,” he had written then. now, however, there was no more passionate admirer of matisse’s genius. as a connoisseur and kunstforscher, mr. clew was much esteemed. people would bring him dirty old pictures to look at, and he would exclaim at once: why, it’s an el greco, a piazetta, or some other suitable name. asked how he knew, he would shrug his shoulders and say: but it’s signed all over. his certainty and his enthusiasm were infectious. since the coming of el greco into fashion, he had discovered dozens of early works by that great artist. for lord petersfield’s collection alone he had found four early el grecos, all by pupils of bassano. lord petersfield’s confidence in mr. clew was unbounded; not even that affair of the primitives had shaken it. it was a sad affair: lord petersfield’s duccio had shown signs of cracking; the estate carpenter was sent for to take a look at the panel; he had looked. “a worse-seasoned piece of illinois hickory,” he said, “i’ve never seen.” after that he looked at the simone martini; for that, on the contrary, he was full of praise. smooth-grained, well-seasoned—it wouldn’t crack, no, not in a hundred years. “a nicer slice of board never came out of america.” he had a hyperbolical way of speaking. lord petersfield was extremely angry; he dismissed the estate carpenter on the spot. after that he told mr. clew that he wanted a giorgione, and mr. clew went out and found him one which was signed all over.
-“i like this very much,” said mr. clew, pointing to one of the thoughts with which lypiatt had prefaced his catalogue. “‘genius,’” he adjusted his spectacles and began to read aloud, “‘is life. genius is a force of nature. in art, nothing else counts. the modern impotents, who are afraid of genius and who are envious of it, have invented in self-defence the notion of the artist. the artist with his sense of form, his style, his devotion to pure beauty, et cetera, et cetera. but genius includes the artist; every genius has, among very many others, the qualities attributed by the impotents to the artist. the artist without genius is a carver of fountains through which no water flows.’ very true,” said mr. clew, “very true indeed.” he marked the passage with his pencil.
-mr. albemarle produced the password. “very strongly put,” he said.
-“i have always felt that myself,” said mr. clew. “el greco, for example....”
-“good morning, what about el greco?” said a voice, all in one breath. the thin, long, skin-covered skeleton of mr. mallard hung over them like a guilty conscience. mr. mallard wrote every week in the hebdomadal digest. he had an immense knowledge of art, and a sincere dislike of all that was beautiful. the only modern painter whom he really admired was hodler. all others were treated by him with a merciless savagery; he tore them to pieces in his weekly articles with all the holy gusto of a calvinist iconoclast smashing images of the virgin.
-“what about el greco?” he repeated. he had a peculiarly passionate loathing of el greco.
-mr. clew smiled up at him propitiatingly; he was afraid of mr. mallard. his enthusiasms were no match for mr. mallard’s erudite and logical disgusts. “i was merely quoting him as an example,” he said.
-“an example, i hope, of incompetent drawing, baroque composition, disgusting forms, garish colouring and hysterical subject-matter.” mr. mallard showed his old ivory teeth in a menacing smile. “those are the only things which el greco’s work exemplifies.”
-mr. clew gave a nervous little laugh. “what do you think of these?” he asked, pointing to lypiatt’s canvases.
-“they look to me very ordinarily bad,” answered mr. mallard.
-the young assistant listened appalled. in a business like this, how was it possible to make good?
-“all the same,” said mr. clew courageously, “i like that bowl of roses in the window with the landscape behind. number twenty-nine.” he looked in the catalogue. “and there’s a really charming little verse about it:
-‘o beauty of the rose, goodness as well as perfume exhaling! who gazes on these flowers, on this blue hill and ripening field—he knows where duty leads and that the nameless powers in a rose can speak their will.’
-really charming!” mr. clew made another mark with his pencil.
-“but commonplace, commonplace.” mr. mallard shook his head. “and in any case a verse can’t justify a bad picture. what an unsubtle harmony of colour! and how uninteresting the composition is! that receding diagonal—it’s been worked to death.” he too made a mark in his catalogue—a cross and a little circle, arranged like the skull and cross-bones on a pirate’s flag. mr. mallard’s catalogues were always covered with these little marks: they were his symbols of condemnation.
-mr. albemarle, meanwhile, had moved away to greet the new arrivals. to the critic of the daily cinema he had to explain that there were no portraits of celebrities. the reporter from the evening planet had to be told which were the best pictures.
-“mr. lypiatt,” he dictated, “is a poet and philosopher as well as a painter. his catalogue is a—h’m—declaration of faith.”
-the reporter took it down in shorthand. “and very nice too,” he said. “i’m most grateful to you, sir, most grateful.” and he hurried away, to get to the cattle show before the king should arrive. mr. albemarle affably addressed himself to the critic of the morning globe.
-“i always regard this gallery,” said a loud and cheerful voice, full of bulls and canaries in chorus, “as positively a mauvais lieu. such exhibitions!” and mr. mercaptan shrugged his shoulders expressively. he halted to wait for his companion.
-mrs. viveash had lagged behind, reading the catalogue as she slowly walked along. “it’s a complete book,” she said, “full of poems and essays and short stories even, so far as i can see.”
-“oh, the usual cracker mottoes.” mr. mercaptan laughed. “i know the sort of thing. ‘look after the past and the future will look after itself.’ ‘god squared minus man squared equals art-plus-life times art-minus-life.’ ‘the higher the art the fewer the morals’—only that’s too nearly good sense to have been invented by lypiatt. but i know the sort of thing. i could go on like that for ever.” mr. mercaptan was delighted with himself.
-“i’ll read you one of them,” said mrs. viveash. “‘a picture is a chemical combination of plastic form and spiritual significance.’”
-“crikey!” said mr. mercaptan.
-“‘those who think that a picture is a matter of nothing but plastic form are like those who imagine that water is made of nothing but hydrogen.’”
-mr. mercaptan made a grimace. “what writing!” he exclaimed; “le style c’est l’homme. lypiatt hasn’t got a style. argal—inexorable conclusion—lypiatt doesn’t exist. my word, though. look at those horrible great nudes there. like carracis with cubical muscles.”
-“sampson and delilah,” said mrs. viveash. “would you like me to read about them?”
-mrs. viveash did not press the matter. casimir, she thought, must have been thinking of her when he wrote this little poem about poets and women, crossed genius, torments, the sweating of masterpieces. she sighed. “those leopards are rather nice,” she said, and looked at the catalogue again. “‘an animal is a symbol and its form is significant. in the long process of adaptation, evolution has refined and simplified and shaped, till every part of the animal expresses one desire, a single idea. man, who has become what he is, not by specialization, but by generalization, symbolizes with his body no one thing. he is a symbol of everything from the most hideous and ferocious bestiality to godhead.’”
-“dear me,” said mr. mercaptan.
-a canvas of mountains and enormous clouds like nascent sculptures presented itself.
-“‘aerial alps’” mrs. viveash began to read.
-“‘aerial alps of amber and of snow, junonian flesh, and bosomy alabaster carved by the wind’s uncertain hands....’”
-mr. mercaptan stopped his ears. “please, please,” he begged.
-“number seventeen,” said mrs. viveash, “is called ‘woman on a cosmic background,’” a female figure stood leaning against a pillar on a hilltop, and beyond was a blue night with stars. “underneath is written: ‘for one at least, she is more than the starry universe.’” mrs. viveash remembered that lypiatt had once said very much that sort of thing to her. “so many of casimir’s things remind me,” she said, “of those italian vermouth advertisements. you know—cinzano, bonomelli and all these. i wish they didn’t. this woman in white with her head in the great bear....” she shook her head. “poor casimir.”
-mr. mercaptan roared and squealed with laughter. “bonomelli,” he said; “that’s precisely it. what a critic, myra! i take off my hat.” they moved on. “and what’s this grand transformation scene?” he asked.
-mrs. viveash looked at the catalogue. “it’s called ‘the sermon on the mount,’” she said. “and really, do you know, i rather like it. all that crowd of figures slanting up the hill and the single figure on the top—it seems to me very dramatic.”
-“my dear,” protested mr. mercaptan.
-“and in spite of everything,” said mrs. viveash, feeling suddenly and uncomfortably that she had somehow been betraying the man, “he’s really very nice, you know. very nice, indeed.” her expiring voice sounded very decidedly.
-“ah, ces femmes,” exclaimed mr. mercaptan, “ces femmes! they’re all pasiphaes and ledas. they all in their hearts prefer beasts to men, savages to civilized beings. even you, myra, i really believe.” he shook his head.
-mrs. viveash ignored the outburst. “very nice,” she repeated thoughtfully. “only rather a bore....” her voice expired altogether.
-they continued their round of the gallery.
-critically, in the glasses of mr. bojanus’s fitting-room, gumbril examined his profile, his back view. inflated, the patent small-clothes bulged, bulged decidedly, though with a certain gracious opulence that might, in a person of the other sex, have seemed only deliciously natural. in him, however, gumbril had to admit, the opulence seemed a little misplaced and paradoxical. still, if one has to suffer in order to be beautiful, one must also expect to be ugly in order not to suffer. practically, the trousers were a tremendous success. he sat down heavily on the hard wooden bench of the fitting-room and was received as though on a lap of bounding resiliency; the patent small-clothes, there was no doubt, would be proof even against marble. and the coat, he comforted himself, would mask with its skirts the too decided bulge. or if it didn’t, well, there was no help for it. one must resign oneself to bulging, that was all.
-“very nice,” he declared at last.
-mr. bojanus, who had been watching his client in silence and with a polite but also, gumbril could not help feeling, a somewhat ironical smile, coughed. “it depends,” he said, “precisely what you mean by ‘nice.’” he cocked his head on one side, and the fine waxed end of his moustache was like a pointer aimed up at some remote star.
-gumbril said nothing, but catching sight once more of his own side view, nodded a dubious agreement.
-“if by nice,” continued mr. bojanus, “you mean comfortable, well and good. if, however, you mean elegant, then, mr. gumbril, i fear i must disagree.”
-“but elegance,” said gumbril, feebly playing the philosopher, “is only relative, mr. bojanus. there are certain african negroes, among whom it is considered elegant to pierce the lips and distend them with wooden plates, until the mouth looks like a pelican’s beak.”
-mr. bojanus placed his hand in his bosom and slightly bowed. “very possibly, mr. gumbril,” he replied. “but if you’ll pardon my saying so, we are not african negroes.”
-gumbril was crushed, deservedly. he looked at himself again in the mirrors. “do you object,” he asked after a pause, “to all eccentricities in dress, mr. bojanus? would you put us all into your elegant uniform?”
-“certainly not,” replied mr. bojanus. “there are certain walks of life in which eccentricity in appearance is positively a sine qua non, mr. gumbril, and i might almost say de rigueur.”
-“and which walks of life, mr. bojanus, may i ask? you refer, perhaps, to the artistic walks? sombreros and byronic collars and possibly velveteen trousers? though all that sort of thing is surely a little out of date, nowadays.”
-enigmatically mr. bojanus smiled, a playful sphinx. he thrust his right hand deeper into his bosom and with his left twisted to a finer needle the point of his moustache. “not artists, mr. gumbril.” he shook his head. “in practice they may show themselves a little eccentric and negleejay. but they have no need to look unusual on principle. it’s only the politicians who need do it on principle. it’s only de rigueur, as one might say, in the political walks, mr. gumbril.”
-“you surprise me,” said gumbril. “i should have thought that it was to the politician’s interest to look respectable and normal.”
-“but it is still more to his interest as a leader of men to look distinguished,” mr. bojanus replied. “well, not precisely distinguished,” he corrected himself, “because that implies that politicians look distangay, which i regret to say, mr. gumbril, they very often don’t. distinguishable, is more what i mean.”
-“eccentricity is their badge of office?” suggested gumbril. he sat down luxuriously on the patent small-clothes.
-“that’s more like it,” said mr. bojanus, tilting his moustaches. “the leader has got to look different from the other ones. in the good old days they always wore their official badges. the leader ’ad his livery, like every one else, to show who he was. that was sensible, mr. gumbril. nowadays he has no badge—at least not for ordinary occasions—for i don’t count privy councillors’ uniforms and all that sort of once-a-year fancy dress. ’e’s reduced to dressing in some eccentric way or making the most of the peculiarities of ’is personal appearance. a very ’apazard method of doing things, mr. gumbril, very ’apazard.”
-mr. bojanus went on, making small, neat gestures as he spoke. “some of them,” he said, “wear ’uge collars, like mr. gladstone. some wear orchids and eyeglasses, like joe chamberlain. some let their ’air grow, like lloyd george. some wear curious ’ats, like winston churchill. some put on black shirts, like this mussolini, and some put on red ones, like garibaldi. some turn up their moustaches, like the german emperor. some turn them down, like clemenceau. some grow whiskers, like tirpitz. i don’t speak of all the uniforms, orders, ornaments, ’ead-dresses, feathers, crowns, buttons, tattooings, ear-rings, sashes, swords, trains, tiaras, urims, thummims and what not, mr. gumbril, that ’ave been used in the past and in other parts of the world to distinguish the leader. we, ’oo know our ’istory, mr. gumbril, we know all about that.”
-gumbril made a deprecating gesture. “you speak for yourself, mr. bojanus,” he said.
-mr. bojanus bowed.
-“pray continue,” said gumbril.
-mr. bojanus bowed again. “well, mr. gumbril,” he said, “the point of all these things, as i’ve already remarked, is to make the leader look different, so that ’e can be recognized at the first coop d’oil, as you might say, by the ’erd ’e ’appens to be leading. for the ’uman ’erd, mr. gumbril, is an ’erd which can’t do without a leader. sheep, for example: i never noticed that they ’ad a leader; nor rooks. bees, on the other ’and, i take it, ’ave. at least when they’re swarming. correct me, mr. gumbril, if i’m wrong. natural ’istory was never, as you might say, my forty.”
-“nor mine,” protested gumbril.
-“as for elephants and wolves, mr. gumbril, i can’t pretend to speak of them with first-’and knowledge. nor llamas, nor locusts, nor squab pigeons, nor lemmings. but ’uman beings, mr. gumbril, those i can claim to talk of with authority, if i may say so in all modesty, and not as the scribes. i ’ave made a special study of them, mr. gumbril. and my profession ’as brought me into contact with very numerous specimens.”
-gumbril could not help wondering where precisely in mr. bojanus’s museum he himself had his place.
-“the ’uman ’erd,” mr. bojanus went on, “must have a leader. and a leader must have something to distinguish him from the ’erd. it’s important for ’is interests that he should be recognized easily. see a baby reaching out of a bath and you immediately think of pears’ soap; see the white ’air waving out behind and think of lloyd george. that’s the secret. but in my opinion, mr. gumbril, the old system was much more sensible, give them regular uniforms and badges, i say; make cabinet ministers wear feathers in their ’air. then the people will be looking to a real fixed symbol of leadership, not to the peculiarities of the mere individuals. beards and ’air and funny collars change; but a good uniform is always the same. give them feathers, that’s what i say, mr. gumbril. feathers will increase the dignity of the state and lessen the importance of the individual. and that,” concluded mr. bojanus with emphasis, “that, mr. gumbril, will be all to the good.”
-“but you don’t mean to tell me,” said gumbril, “that if i chose to show myself to the multitude in my inflated trousers, i could become a leader—do you?”
-“ah, no,” said mr. bojanus. “you’d ’ave to ’ave the talent for talking and ordering people about, to begin with. feathers wouldn’t give the genius, but they’d magnify the effect of what there was.”
-gumbril got up and began to divest himself of the small-clothes. he unscrewed the valve and the air whistled out, dyingly. he too sighed. “curious,” he said pensively, “that i’ve never felt the need for a leader. i’ve never met any one i felt i could whole-heartedly admire or believe in, never any one i wanted to follow. it must be pleasant, i should think, to hand oneself over to somebody else. it must give you a warm, splendid, comfortable feeling.”
-mr. bojanus smiled and shook his head. “you and i, mr. gumbril,” he said, “we’re not the sort of people to be impressed with feathers or even by talking and ordering about. we may not be leaders ourselves. but at any rate we aren’t the ’erd.”
-“not the main herd, perhaps.”
-“not any ’erd,” mr. bojanus insisted proudly.
-gumbril shook his head dubiously and buttoned up his trousers. he was not sure, now he came to think of it, that he didn’t belong to all the herds—by a sort of honorary membership and temporarily, as occasion offered, as one belongs to the union at the sister university or to the naval and military club while one’s own is having its annual clean-out. shearwater’s herd, lypiatt’s herd, mr. mercaptan’s herd, mrs. viveash’s herd, the architectural herd of his father, the educational herd (but that, thank god! was now bleating on distant pastures), the herd of mr. bojanus—he belonged to them all a little, to none of them completely. nobody belonged to his herd. how could they? no chameleon can live with comfort on a tartan. he put on his coat.
-ah, now he was provisionally a member of coleman’s herd. it was all very depressing.
-fan-shaped, blond, mounted on gauze and guaranteed undetectable, it arrived from the wig-maker, preciously packed in a stout cardboard box six times too large for it and accompanied by a quarter of a pint of the choicest spirit gum. in the privacy of his bedroom gumbril uncoffined it, held it out for his own admiration, caressed its silkiness and finally tried it on, holding it provisionally to his chin, in front of the looking-glass. the effect, he decided immediately, was stunning, was grandiose. from melancholy and all too mild he saw himself transformed on the instant into a sort of jovial henry the eighth, into a massive rabelaisian man, broad and powerful and exuberant with vitality and hair.
-the proportions of his face were startlingly altered. the podium, below the mouth, had been insufficiently massive to carry the stately order of the nose; and the ratiocinative attic of the forehead, noble enough, no doubt, in itself, had been disproportionately high. the beard now supplied the deficiencies in the stylobate, and planted now on a firm basement of will, the order of the senses, the aerial attic of ideas, reared themselves with a more classical harmoniousness of proportion. it only remained for him to order from mr. bojanus an american coat, padded out at the shoulders as squarely and heroically as a doublet of the cinquecento, and he would look the complete rabelaisian man. great eater, deep drinker, stout fighter, prodigious lover; clear thinker, creator of beauty, seeker of truth and prophet of heroic grandeurs. fitted out with coat and beard, he could qualify for the next vacancy among the cœnobites of thelema.
-he removed his beard—“put his beaver up,” as they used to say in the fine old days of chivalry; he would have to remember that little joke for coleman’s benefit. he put his beaver up—ha, ha!—and stared ruefully at the far from rabelaisian figure which now confronted him. the moustache—that was genuine enough—which had looked, in conjunction with the splendid work of art below, so fierce and manly, served by itself, he now perceived, only droopily to emphasize his native mildness and melancholy.
-it was a dismal affair, which might have belonged to maurice barrès in youth; a slanting, flagging, sagging thing, such as could only grow on the lip of an assiduous cultivator of the me, and would become, as one grew older, ludicrously out of place on the visage of a roaring nationalist. if it weren’t that it fitted in so splendidly with the beard, if it weren’t that it became so marvellously different in the new context he had now discovered for it, he would have shaved it off then and there.
-mournful appendage. but now he would transform it, he would add to it its better half. zadig’s quatrain to his mistress, when the tablet on which it was written was broken in two, became a treasonable libel on the king. so this moustache, thought gumbril, as gingerly he applied the spirit gum to his cheeks and chin, this moustache which by itself serves only to betray me, becomes, as soon as it is joined to its missing context, an amorous arm for the conquest of the fair sex.
-a little far-fetched, he decided; a little ponderous. and besides, as so few people had read zadig, not much use in conversation. cautiously and with neat, meticulous finger-tips he adjusted the transformation to his gummed face, pressed it firmly, held it while it stuck fast. the portals of thelema opened before him; he was free of those rich orchards, those halls and courts, those broad staircases winding in noble spirals within the flanks of each of the fair round towers. and it was coleman who had pointed out the way; he felt duly grateful. one last look at the complete man, one final and definitive constatation that the mild and melancholy one was, for the time at least, no more; and he was ready in all confidence to set out. he selected a loose, light great-coat—not that he needed a coat at all, for the day was bright and warm; but until mr. bojanus had done his labour of padding he would have to broaden himself out in this way, even if it did mean that he might be uncomfortably hot. to fall short of complete manhood for fear of a little inconvenience would be absurd. he slipped, therefore, into his light coat—a toga, mr. bojanus called it, a very neat toga in real west country whipcord. he put on his broadest and blackest felt hat, for breadth above everything was what he needed to give him completeness, breadth of stature, breadth of mind, breadth of human sympathy, breadth of smile, breadth of humour, breadth of everything. the final touch was a massive and antique malacca cane belonging to his father. if he had possessed a bulldog, he would have taken it out on a leash. but he did not. he issued into the sunshine, unaccompanied.
-but unaccompanied he did not mean to remain for long. these warm, bright may days were wonderful days for being in love on. and to be alone on such days was like a malady. it was a malady from which the mild and melancholy man suffered all too frequently. and yet there were millions of superfluous women in the country; millions of them. every day, in the streets, one saw thousands of them passing; and some were exquisite, were ravishing, the only possible soul-mates. thousands of unique soul-mates every day. the mild and melancholy one allowed them to pass—for ever. but to-day—to-day he was the complete and rabelaisian man; he was bearded to the teeth; the imbecile game was at its height; there would be opportunities, and the complete man could know how to take them. no, he would not be unaccompanied for long.
-outside in the square the fourteen plane trees glowed in their young, unsullied green. at the end of every street the golden muslin of the haze hung in an unwrinkled curtain that thinned away above the sky’s gauzy horizon to transparent nothing against the intenser blue. the dim, conch-like murmur that in a city is silence seemed hazily to identify itself with the golden mistiness of summer, and against this dim, wide background the yells of the playing children detached themselves, distinct and piercing. “beaver” they shouted, “beaver!” and, “is it cold up there?” full of playful menace, the complete man shook at them his borrowed malacca. he accepted their prompt hail as the most favourable of omens.
-at the first tobacconist’s gumbril bought the longest cigar he could find, and trailing behind him expiring blue wreaths of cuban smoke, he made his way slowly and with an ample swagger towards the park. it was there, under the elms, on the shores of the ornamental waters, that he expected to find his opportunity, that he intended—how confidently behind his gargantuan mask!—to take it.
-the opportunity offered itself sooner than he expected.
-he had just turned into the queen’s road and was sauntering past whiteley’s with the air of one who knows that he has a right to a good place, to two or three good places even, in the sun, when he noticed just in front of him, peering intently at the new season’s models, a young woman whom in his mild and melancholy days he would have only hopelessly admired, but who now, to the complete man, seemed a destined and accessible prey. she was fairly tall, but seemed taller than she actually was, by reason of her remarkable slenderness. not that she looked disagreeably thin, far from it. it was a rounded slenderness. the complete man decided to consider her as tubular—flexible and tubular, like a section of boa constrictor, should one say. she was dressed in clothes that emphasized this serpentine slimness, in a close-fitting grey jacket that buttoned up to the neck and a long, narrow grey skirt that came down to her ankles. on her head was a small, sleek black hat, that looked almost as though it were made of metal. it was trimmed on one side with a bunch of dull golden foliage.
-those golden leaves were the only touch of ornament in all the severe smoothness and unbroken tubularity of her person. as for her face, that was neither strictly beautiful nor strictly ugly, but combined elements of both beauty and ugliness into a whole that was unexpected, that was oddly and somehow unnaturally attractive.
-pretending, he too, to take an interest in the new season’s models, gumbril made, squinting sideways over the burning tip of his cigar, an inventory of her features. the forehead, that was mostly hidden by her hat; it might be pensively and serenely high, it might be of that degree of lowness which in men is villainous, but in women is only another—a rather rustic one perhaps, rather canaille even, but definitely another—attraction. there was no telling. as for her eyes, they were green, and limpid; set wide apart in her head they looked out from under heavy lids and through openings that slanted up towards the outer corners. her nose was slightly aquiline. her mouth was full-lipped, but straight and unexpectedly wide. her chin was small, round and firm. she had a pale skin, a little flushed over the cheek-bones, which were prominent.
-on the left cheek, close under the corner of the slanting eye, she had a brown mole. such hair as gumbril could see beneath her hat was pale and inconspicuously blond. when she had finished looking at the new season’s models she moved slowly on, halting for a moment before the travelling trunks and the fitted picnic baskets; dwelling for a full minute over the corsets, passing the hats, for some reason, rather contemptuously, but pausing, which seemed strange, for a long pensive look at the cigars and wine. as for the tennis rackets and cricket bats, the school outfits and the gentleman’s hosiery—she hadn’t so much as a look for one of them. but how lovingly she lingered before the boots and shoes! her own feet, the complete man noticed with satisfaction, had an elegance of florid curves. and while other folk walked on neat’s leather she was content to be shod with nothing coarser than mottled serpent’s skin.
-slowly they drifted up queen’s road, lingering before every jeweller’s, every antiquarian’s, every milliner’s on the way. the stranger gave him no opportunity, and indeed, gumbril reflected, how should she? for the imbecile game on which he was relying is a travelling piquet for two players, not a game of patience. no sane human being could play it in solitude. he would have to make the opportunity himself.
-all that was mild in him, all that was melancholy, shrank with a sickened reluctance from the task of breaking—with what consequences delicious and perilous in the future or, in the case of the deserved snub, immediately humiliating?—a silence which, by the tenth or twelfth shop window, had become quite unbearably significant. the mild and melancholy one would have drifted to the top of the road, sharing, with that community of tastes which is the basis of every happy union, her enthusiasm for brass candlesticks and toasting-forks, imitation chippendale furniture, gold watch-bracelets and low-waisted summer frocks; would have drifted to the top of the road and watched her, dumbly, disappearing for ever into the green park or along the blank pavements of the bayswater road; would have watched her for ever disappear and then, if the pubs had happened to be open, would have gone and ordered a glass of port, and sitting at the bar would have savoured, still dumbly, among the other drinkers, the muddy grapes of the douro, and his own unique loneliness.
-that was what the mild and melancholy one would have done. but the sight, as he gazed earnestly into an antiquary’s window, of his own powerful bearded face reflected in a sham heppelwhite mirror, reminded him that the mild and melancholy one was temporarily extinct, and that it was the complete man who now dawdled, smoking his long cigar, up the queen’s road towards the abbey of thelema.
-he squared his shoulders; in that loose toga of mr. bojanus’s he looked as copious as françois premier. the time, he decided, had come.
-it was at this moment that the reflection of the stranger’s face joined itself in the little mirror, as she made a little movement away from the old welsh dresser in the corner, to that of his own. she looked at the spurious heppelwhite. their eyes met in the hospitable glass. gumbril smiled. the corners of the stranger’s wide mouth seemed faintly to move; like petals of the magnolia, her eyelids came slowly down over her slanting eyes. gumbril turned from the reflection to the reality.
-“if you want to say beaver,” he said, “you may.”
-the complete man had made his first speech.
-“i want to say nothing,” said the stranger. she spoke with a charming precision and distinctness, lingering with a pretty emphasis on the n of nothing. “n—n—nothing”—it sounded rather final. she turned away, she moved on.
-but the complete man was not one to be put off by a mere ultimatum. “there,” he said, falling into step with her, “now i’ve had it—the deserved snub. honour is saved, prestige duly upheld. now we can get on with our conversation.”
-the mild and melancholy one stood by, gasping with astonished admiration.
-“you are v—very impertinent,” said the stranger, smiling and looking up from under the magnolia petals.
-“it is in my character,” said the complete man. “you mustn’t blame me. one cannot escape from one’s heredity; that’s one’s share of original sin.”
-“there is always grace,” said the stranger.
-gumbril caressed his beard. “true,” he replied.
-“i advise you to pr—ray for it.”
-his prayer, the mild and melancholy one reflected, had already been answered. the original sin in him had been self-corrected.
-“here is another antique shop,” said gumbril. “shall we stop and have a look at it?”
-the stranger glanced at him doubtfully. but he looked quite serious. they stopped.
-“how revolting this sham cottage furniture is,” gumbril remarked. the shop, he noticed, was called ‘ye olde farme house.’
-the stranger, who had been on the point of saying how much she liked those lovely old welsh dressers, gave him her heartiest agreement. “so v—vulgar.”
-“so horribly refined. so refined and artistic.”
-she laughed on a descending chromatic scale. this was excitingly new. poor aunt aggie with her arts and crafts, and her old english furniture. and to think she had taken them so seriously! she saw in a flash the fastidious lady that she now was—with louis whatever-it-was furniture at home, and jewels, and young poets to tea, and real artists. in the past, when she had imagined herself entertaining real artists, it had always been among really artistic furniture. aunt aggie’s furniture. but now—no, oh no. this man was probably an artist. his beard; and that big black hat. but not poor; very well dressed.
-“yes, it’s funny to think that there are people who call that sort of thing artistic. one’s quite s—sorry for them,” she added, with a little hiss.
-“you have a kind heart,” said gumbril. “i’m glad to see that.”
-“not v—very kind, i’m af—fraid.” she looked at him sideways, and significantly as the fastidious lady would have looked at one of the poets.
-“well, kind enough, i hope,” said the complete man. he was delighted with his new acquaintance.
-together they disembogued into the bayswater road. it was here, gumbril reflected, that the mild and melancholy one would dumbly have slunk away to his glass of port and his loneliness among the alien topers at the bar. but the complete man took his new friend by the elbow, and steered her into the traffic. together they crossed the road, together entered the park.
-“i still think you are v—very impertinent,” said the lady. “what induced you to follow me?”
-with a single comprehensive gesture, gumbril indicated the sun, the sky, the green trees airily glittering, the grass, the emerald lights and violet shadows of the rustic distance. “on a day like this,” he said, “how could i help it?”
-“oh,” the complete man modestly shook his head, “i lay no claim to originality in this.”
-the stranger laughed. this was nearly as good as a young poet at the tea-table. she was very glad that she’d decided, after all, to put on her best suit this afternoon, even if it was a little stuffy for the warmth of the day. he, too, she noticed, was wearing a great-coat; which seemed rather odd.
-“is it original,” he went on, “to go and tumble stupidly like an elephant into a pitfall, head over ears, at first sight...?”
-she looked at him sideways, then closed down the magnolia petals, and smiled. this was going to be the real thing—one of those long, those interminable, or, at any rate, indefinitely renewable conversations about love; witty, subtle, penetrating and bold, like the conversations in books, like the conversations across the tea-table between brilliant young poets and ladies of quality, grown fastidious through an excessive experience, fastidious and a little weary, but still, in their subtle way, insatiably curious.
-“suppose we sit down,” suggested gumbril, and he pointed to a couple of green iron chairs, standing isolated in the middle of the grass close together and with their fronts slanting inwards a little towards one another in a position that suggested a confidential intimacy. at the prospect of the conversation that, inevitably, was about to unroll itself, he felt decidedly less elated than did his new friend. if there was anything he disliked it was conversations about love. it bored him, oh, it bored him most horribly, this minute analysis of the passion that young women always seemed to expect one, at some point or other in one’s relation with them, to make. how love alters the character for both good and bad; how physical passion need not be incompatible with the spiritual; how a hateful and tyrannous possessiveness can be allied in love with the most unselfish solicitude for the other party—oh, he knew all this and much more, so well, so well. and whether one can be in love with more than one person at a time, whether love can exist without jealousy, whether pity, affection, desire can in any way replace the full and genuine passion—how often he had had to thrash out these dreary questions!
-and all the philosophic speculations were equally familiar, all the physiological and anthropological and psychological facts. in the theory of the subject he had ceased to take any interest. unhappily, a discussion of the theory always seemed to be an essential preliminary to the practice of it. he sighed a little wearily as he took his seat on the green iron chair. but then, recollecting that he was now the complete man, and that the complete man must do everything with a flourish and a high hand, he leaned forward and, smiling with a charming insolence through his beard, began:
-“tiresias, you may remember, was granted the singular privilege of living both as a man and a woman.”
-ah, this was the genuine young poet. supporting an elbow on the back of her chair and leaning her cheek against her hand, she disposed herself to listen and, where necessary, brilliantly to interpellate; it was through half-closed eyes that she looked at him, and she smiled faintly in a manner which she knew, from experience, to be enigmatic, and though a shade haughty, though a tiny bit mocking and ironical, exceedingly attractive.
-an hour and a half later they were driving towards an address in bloxam gardens, maida vale. the name seemed vaguely familiar to gumbril. bloxam gardens—perhaps one of his aunts had lived there once?
-“it’s a dr—dreadful little maisonnette,” she explained. “full of awful things. we had to take it furnished. it’s so impossible to find anything now.”
-gumbril leaned back in his corner, wondering, as he studied that averted profile, who or what this young woman could be. she seemed to be in the obvious movement, to like the sort of things one would expect people to like; she seemed to be as highly civilized, in mr. mercaptan’s rather technical sense of the term, as free of all prejudices as the great exponent of civilization himself.
-she seemed, from her coolly dropped hints, to possess all the dangerous experience, all the assurance and easy ruthlessness of a great lady whose whole life is occupied in the interminable affairs of the heart, the senses and the head. but, by a strange contradiction she seemed to find her life narrow and uninteresting. she had complained in so many words that her husband misunderstood and neglected her, had complained, by implication, that she knew very few interesting people.
-the maisonnette in bloxam gardens was certainly not very splendid—six rooms on the second and third floors of a peeling stucco house. and the furniture—decidedly hire purchase. and the curtains and cretonnes—brightly ‘modern,’ positively ‘futurist.’
-“what one has to put up with in furnished flats!” the lady made a grimace as she ushered him into the sitting-room. and while she spoke the words, she really managed to persuade herself that the furniture wasn’t theirs, that they had found all this sordid stuff cluttering up the rooms, not chosen it, oh with pains! themselves, not doggedly paid for it, month by month.
-“our own things,” she murmured vaguely, “are stored. in the riviera.” it was there, under the palms, among the gaudy melon flowers and the croupiers that the fastidious lady had last held her salon of young poets. in the riviera—that would explain, now she came to think of it, a lot of things, if explanation ever became necessary.
-the complete man nodded sympathetically. “other people’s tastes,” he held up his hands, they both laughed. “but why do we think of other people?” he added. and coming forward with a conquering impulsiveness he took both her long, fine hands in his and raised them to his bearded mouth.
-she looked at him for a second, then dropped her eyelids, took back her hands. “i must go and make the tea,” she said. “the servants”—the plural was a pardonable exaggeration—“are out.”
-gallantly, the complete man offered to come and help her. these scenes of intimate life had a charm all their own. but she would not allow it. “no, no,” she was very firm, “i simply forbid you. you must stay here. i won’t be a moment,” and she was gone, closing the door carefully behind her.
-left to himself, gumbril sat down and filed his nails.
-as for the young lady, she hurried along to her dingy little kitchen, lit the gas, put the kettle on, set out the teapot and the cups on a tray, and from the biscuit-box, where it was stored, took out the remains of a chocolate cake, which had already seen service at the day-before-yesterday’s tea-party. when all was ready here, she tiptoed across to her bedroom and sitting down at her dressing-table, began with hands that trembled a little with excitement to powder her nose, and heighten the colour of her cheeks. even after the last touch had been given, she still sat there, looking at her image in the glass.
-she opened her jewel box, took out all her rings—there were not many of them, alas!—and put them on. two or three of them, on second thoughts, she took off again; they were a little, she suspected with a sudden qualm, in other people’s taste.
-he was very clever, very artistic—only that seemed to be the wrong word to use; he seemed to know all the new things, all the interesting people. perhaps he would introduce her to some of them. and he was so much at ease behind his knowledge, so well assured. but for her part, she felt pretty certain, she had made no stupid mistakes. she too had been, had looked at any rate—which was the important thing—very much at ease.
-she liked young men with beards. they looked so russian. catherine of russia had been one of the great ladies with caprices. masked in the streets. young poet, come with me. or even, young butcher’s boy. but that, no, that was going too far, too low. still, life, life—it was there to be lived—life—to be enjoyed. and now, and now? she was still wondering what would happen next, when the kettle, which was one of those funny ones which whistle when they come to the boil, began, fitfully, at first, then, under full steam, unflaggingly, to sound its mournful, other-worldly note. she sighed and bestirred herself to attend to it.
-“let me help you.” gumbril jumped up as she came into the room. “what can i do?” he hovered rather ineptly round her.
-the lady put down her tray on the little table. “n—nothing,” she said.
-“n—nothing?” he imitated her with a playful mockery. “am i good for n—nothing at all?” he took one of her hands and kissed it.
-“nothing that’s of the l—least importance.” she sat down and began to pour out the tea.
-the complete man also sat down. “so to adore at first sight,” he asked, “is not of the l—least importance?”
-she shook her head, smiled, raised and lowered her eyelids. one was so well accustomed to this sort of thing; it had no importance. “sugar?” she asked. the young poet was safely there, sparkling across the tea-table. he offered love and she, with the easy heartlessness of one who is so well accustomed to this sort of thing, offered him sugar.
-he nodded. “please. but if it’s of no importance to you,” he went on, “then i’ll go away at once.”
-the lady laughed her section of a descending chromatic scale. “oh no, you won’t,” she said. “you can’t.” and she felt that the grande dame had made a very fine stroke.
-“quite right,” the complete man replied; “i couldn’t.” he stirred his tea. “but who are you,” he looked up at her suddenly, “you devilish female?” he was genuinely anxious to know; and besides, he was paying her a very pretty compliment. “what do you do with your dangerous existence?”
-“i enjoy life,” she said. “i think one ought to enjoy life. don’t you? i think it’s one’s first duty.” she became quite grave. “one ought to enjoy every moment of it,” she said. “oh, passionately, adventurously, newly, excitingly, uniquely.”
-the complete man laughed. “a conscientious hedonist. i see.”
-she felt uncomfortably that the fastidious lady had not quite lived up to her character. she had spoken more like a young woman who finds life too dull and daily, and would like to get on to the cinema. “i am very conscientious,” she said, making significant play with the magnolia petals and smiling her riddling smile. she must retrieve the great catherine’s reputation.
-“i could see that from the first,” mocked the complete man with a triumphant insolence. “conscience doth make cowards of us all.”
-the fastidious lady only contemptuously smiled. “have a little chocolate cake,” she suggested. her heart was beating. she wondered, she wondered.
-there was a long silence. gumbril finished his chocolate cake, gloomily drank his tea and did not speak. he found, all at once, that he had nothing to say. his jovial confidence seemed, for the moment, to have deserted him. he was only the mild and melancholy one foolishly disguised as a complete man; a sheep in beaver’s clothing. he entrenched himself behind his formidable silence and waited; waited, at first, sitting in his chair, then, when this total inactivity became unbearable, striding about the room.
-she looked at him, for all her air of serene composure, with a certain disquiet. what on earth was he up to now? what could he be thinking about? frowning like that, he looked like a young jupiter, bearded and burly (though not, she noticed, quite so burly as he had appeared in his overcoat) making ready to throw a thunderbolt. perhaps he was thinking of her—suspecting her, seeing through the fastidious lady and feeling angry at her attempted deception. or perhaps he was bored with her, perhaps he was wanting to go away. well, let him go; she didn’t mind. or perhaps he was just made like that—a moody young poet; that seemed, on the whole, the most likely explanation; it was also the most pleasing and romantic. she waited. they both waited.
-gumbril looked at her and was put to shame by the spectacle of her quiet serenity. he must do something, he told himself; he must recover the complete man’s lost morale. desperately he came to a halt in front of the one decent picture hanging on the walls. it was an eighteenth-century engraving of raphael’s ‘transfiguration’—better, he always thought, in black and white than in its bleakly-coloured original.
-“that’s a nice engraving,” he said. “very nice.” the mere fact of having uttered at all was a great comfort to him, a real relief.
-“yes,” she said, “that belongs to me. i found it in a second-hand shop, not far from here.”
-“photography,” he pronounced, with that temporary earnestness which made him seem an enthusiast about everything, “is a mixed blessing. it has made it possible to reproduce pictures so easily and cheaply, that all the bad artists who were well occupied in the past, making engravings of good men’s paintings, are now free to do bad original work of their own.” all this was terribly impersonal, he told himself, terribly off the point. he was losing ground. he must do something drastic to win it back. but what?
-she came to his rescue. “i bought another at the same time,” she said. “‘the last communion of st. jerome,’ by—who is it? i forget.”
-“ah, you mean domenichino’s ‘st. jerome’?” the complete man was afloat again. “poussin’s favourite picture. mine too, very nearly. i’d like to see that.”
-“it’s in my room, i’m afraid. but if you don’t mind.”
-he bowed. “if you don’t.”
-“it’s a lovely picture,” gumbril went on, loquaciously now, behind her, as they walked down the dark corridor. “and besides, i have a sentimental attachment to it. there used to be a copy of an engraving of it at home, when i was a child. and i remember wondering and wondering—oh, it went on for years—every time i saw the picture; wondering why on earth that old bishop (for i did know it was a bishop) should be handing the naked old man a five-shilling piece.”
-she opened a door; they were in her very pink room. grave in its solemn and subtly harmonious beauty, the picture hung over the mantelpiece, hung there, among the photographs of the little friends of her own age, like some strange object from another world. from within that chipped gilt frame all the beauty, all the grandeur of religion looked darkly out upon the pink room. the little friends of her own age, all deliciously nubile, sweetly smiled, turned up their eyes, clasped persian cats or stood jauntily, feet apart, hand in the breeches pocket of the land-girl’s uniform; the pink roses on the wallpaper, the pink and white curtains, the pink bed, the strawberry-coloured carpet, filled all the air with the rosy reflections of nakedness and life.
-and utterly remote, absorbed in their grave, solemn ecstasy, the robed and mitred priest held out, the dying saint yearningly received, the body of the son of god. the ministrants looked gravely on, the little angels looped in the air above a gravely triumphant festoon, the lion slept at the saint’s feet, and through the arch beyond, the eye travelled out over a quiet country of dark trees and hills.
-“there it is,” she waved towards the mantelpiece.
-but gumbril had taken it all in long ago. “you see what i mean by the five-shilling piece.” and stepping up to the picture, he pointed to the round bright wafer which the priest holds in his hand and whose averted disk is like the essential sun at the centre of the picture’s harmonious universe. “those were the days of five-shilling pieces,” he went on. “you’re probably too young to remember those large, lovely things. they came my way occasionally, and consecrated wafers didn’t. so you can understand how much the picture puzzled me. a bishop giving a naked old man five shillings in a church, with angels fluttering overhead, and a lion sleeping in the foreground. it was obscure, it was horribly obscure.” he turned away from the picture and confronted his hostess, who was standing a little way behind him smiling enigmatically and invitingly.
-“obscure,” he repeated. “but so is everything. so is life in general. and you,” he stepped towards her, “you in particular.”
-“am i?” she lifted her limpid eyes at him. oh, how her heart was beating, how hard it was to be the fastidious lady, calmly satisfying her caprice. how difficult it was to be accustomed to this sort of thing. what was going to happen next?
-what happened next was that the complete man came still closer, put his arms round her, as though he were inviting her to the fox-trot, and began kissing her with a startling violence. his beard tickled her neck; shivering a little, she brought down the magnolia petals across her eyes. the complete man lifted her up, walked across the room carrying the fastidious lady in his arms and deposited her on the rosy catafalque of the bed. lying there with her eyes shut, she did her best to pretend she was dead.
-gumbril had looked at his wrist watch and found that it was six o’clock. already? he prepared himself to take his departure. wrapped in a pink kimono, she came out into the hall to wish him farewell.
-“when shall i see you again, rosie?” he had learnt that her name was rosie.
-she had recovered her great lady’s equanimity and detachment, and was able to shrug her shoulders and smile. “how should i know?” she asked, implying that she could not foresee what her caprice might be an hour hence.
-“may i write then, and ask one of these days if you do know?”
-she put her head on one side and raised her eyebrows, doubtfully. at last nodded. “yes, you can write,” she permitted.
-“good,” said the complete man, and picked up his wide hat. she held out her hand to him with stateliness, and with a formal gallantry he kissed it. he was just closing the front door behind him, when he remembered something. he turned round. “i say,” he called after the retreating pink kimono. “it’s rather absurd. but how can i write? i don’t know your name. i can’t just address it ‘rosie’”
-the great lady laughed delightedly. this had the real capriccio flavour. “wait,” she said, and she ran into the sitting-room. she was back again in a moment with an oblong of pasteboard. “there,” she said, and dropped it into his great-coat pocket. then blowing a kiss she was gone.
-the complete man closed the door and descended the stairs. well, well, he said to himself; well, well. he put his hand in his coat pocket and took out the card. in the dim light of the staircase he read the name on it with some difficulty. mrs. james—but no, but no. he read again, straining his eyes; there was no question of it. mrs. james shearwater.
-mrs. james shearwater.
-that was why he had vaguely known the name of bloxam gardens.
-mrs. james shear——. step after step he descended, ponderously. “good lord,” he said out loud. “good lord.”
-but why had he never seen her? why did shearwater never produce her? now he came to think of it, he hardly ever spoke of her.
-why had she said the flat wasn’t theirs? it was; he had heard shearwater talk about it.
-did she make a habit of this sort of thing!
-could shearwater be wholly unaware of what she was really like? but, for that matter, what was she really like?
-he was half-way down the last flight, when with a rattle and a squeak of hinges the door of the house, which was only separated by a short lobby from the foot of the stairs, opened, revealing, on the doorstep, shearwater and a friend, eagerly talking.
-“... i take my rabbit,” the friend was saying—he was a young man with dark, protruding eyes, and staring, doggy nostrils; very eager, lively and loud. “i take my rabbit and i inject into it the solution of eyes, pulped eyes of another dead rabbit. you see?”
-gumbril’s first instinct was to rush up the stairs and hide in the first likely-looking corner. but he pulled himself together at once. he was a complete man, and complete men do not hide; moreover, he was sufficiently disguised to be quite unrecognizable. he stood where he was, and listened to the conversation.
-“the rabbit,” continued the young man, and with his bright eyes and staring, sniffing nose, he looked like a poacher’s terrier ready to go barking after the first white tail that passed his way; “the rabbit naturally develops the appropriate resistance, develops a specific anti-eye to protect itself. i then take some of its anti-eye serum and inject it into my female rabbit; i then immediately breed from her.” he paused.
-“well?” asked shearwater, in his slow, ponderous way. he lifted his great round head inquiringly and looked at the doggy young man from under his bushy eyebrows.
-the doggy young man smiled triumphantly. “the young ones,” he said, emphasizing his words by striking his right fist against the extended palm of his left hand, “the young ones are born with defective sight.”
-thoughtfully shearwater pulled at his formidable moustache. “h’m,” he said slowly. “very remarkable.”
-“you realize the full significance of it?” asked the young man. “we seem to be effecting the germ-plasm directly. we have found a way of making acquired characteristics....”
-“pardon me,” said gumbril. he had decided that it was time to be gone. he ran down the stairs and across the tiled hall, he pushed his way firmly but politely between the talkers.
-“... heritable,” continued the young man, imperturbably eager, speaking through and over and round the obstacle.
-“damn!” said shearwater. the complete man had trodden on his toe. “sorry,” he added, absent-mindedly apologizing for the injury he had received.
-gumbril hurried off along the street. “if we really have found out a technique for influencing the germ-plasm directly ...” he heard the doggy young man saying; but he was already too far away to catch the rest of the sentence. there are many ways, he reflected, of spending an afternoon.
-the doggy young man refused to come in, he had to get in his game of tennis before dinner. shearwater climbed the stairs alone. he was taking off his hat in the little hall of his own apartment, when rosie came out of the sitting-room with a trayful of tea-things.
-“well?” he asked, kissing her affectionately on the forehead. “well? people to tea?”
-she glided off, rustling in her pink kimono towards the kitchen.
-“here’s your tea,” she said.
-lying on the sofa, rosie pondered and remembered. had the events of the afternoon, she asked herself, really happened? they seemed very improbable and remote, now, in this studious silence. she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. was it only this? so simple and obvious? she tried to work herself up into a more exalted mood. she even tried to feel guilty; but there she failed completely. she tried to feel rapturous; but without much more success. still, he certainly had been a most extraordinary man. such impudence, and at the same time such delicacy and tact.
-it was a pity she couldn’t afford to change the furniture. she saw now that it wouldn’t do at all. she would go and tell aunt aggie about the dreadful middle-classness of her art and craftiness.
-she ought to have an empire chaise longue. like madame récamier. she could see herself lying there, dispensing tea. “like a delicious pink snake.” he had called her that.
-well, really, now she came to think of it all again, it had been too queer, too queer.
-“what’s a hedonist?” she suddenly asked.
-shearwater looked up from the journal of biochemistry. “what?” he said.
-“a man who holds that the end of life is pleasure.”
-a ‘conscientious hedonist’—ah, that was good.
-“this tea is cold,” shearwater remarked.
-“you should have drunk it before,” she said. the silence renewed and prolonged itself.
-rosie was getting much better, shearwater reflected, as he washed his hands before supper, about not interrupting him when he was busy. this evening she had really not disturbed him at all, or at most only once, and that not seriously. there had been times in the past when the child had really made life almost impossible. there were those months at the beginning of their married life, when she had thought she would like to study physiology herself and be a help to him. he remembered the hours he had spent trying to teach her elementary facts about the chromosomes. it had been a great relief when she abandoned the attempt. he had suggested she should go in for stencilling patterns on government linen. such pretty curtains and things one could make like that. but she hadn’t taken very kindly to the idea. there had followed a long period when she seemed to have nothing to do but prevent him from doing anything. ringing him up at the laboratory, invading his study, sitting on his knee, or throwing her arms round his neck, or pulling his hair, or asking ridiculous questions when he was trying to work.
-shearwater flattered himself that he had been extremely patient. he had never got cross. he had just gone on as though she weren’t there. as though she weren’t there.
-“hurry up,” he heard her calling. “the soup’s getting cold.”
-“coming,” he shouted back, and began to dry his large, blunt hands.
-she seemed to have been improving lately. and to-night, to-night she had been a model of non-existence.
-how pretty she was! he could not resist the temptation, but coming up behind her bent down and kissed her, rather clumsily, on the back of her neck.
-rosie drew away from him. “really, jim,” she said, disapprovingly. “at meal-times!” the fastidious lady had to draw the line at these ill-timed, tumbling familiarities.
-the great lady said nothing, but only smiled—a little contemptuously and with a touch of pity. she pushed away the plate of soup unfinished and planted her elbows on the table. slipping her hands under the sleeves of her kimono, she began, lightly, delicately, with the tips of her fingers, to caress her own arms.
-how smooth they were, how soft and warm and how secret under the sleeves. and all her body was as smooth and warm, was as soft and secret, still more secret beneath the pink folds. like a warm serpent hidden away, secretly, secretly.
-mr. boldero liked the idea of the patent small-clothes. he liked it immensely, he said, immensely.
-“there’s money in it,” he said.
-mr. boldero was a small dark man of about forty-five, active as a bird and with a bird’s brown, beady eyes, a bird’s sharp nose. he was always busy, always had twenty different irons in the fire at once, was always fresh, clearheaded, never tired. he was also always unpunctual, always untidy. he had no sense of time or of order. but he got away with it, as he liked to say. he delivered the goods—or rather the goods, in the convenient form of cash, delivered themselves, almost miraculously it always seemed, to him.
-he was like a bird in appearance. but in mind, gumbril found, after having seen him once or twice, he was like a caterpillar: he ate all that was put before him, he consumed a hundred times his own mental weight every day. other people’s ideas, other people’s knowledge—they were his food. he devoured them and they were at once his own. all that belonged to other people he annexed without a scruple or a second thought, quite naturally, as though it were already his own. and he absorbed it so rapidly and completely, he laid public claim to it so promptly that he sometimes deceived people into believing that he had really anticipated them in their ideas, that he had known for years and years the things they had just been telling him, and which he would at once airily repeat to them with the perfect assurance of one who knows—knows by instinct, as it were, by inheritance.
-at their first luncheon he had asked gumbril to tell him all about modern painting. gumbril had given him a brief lecture; before the savoury had appeared on the table, mr. boldero was talking with perfect familiarity of picasso and derain. he almost made it understood that he had a fine collection of their works in his drawing-room at home. being a trifle deaf, however, he was not very good at names, and gumbril’s all-too-tactful corrections were lost on him. he could not be induced to abandon his bacosso in favour of any other version of the spaniard’s name. bacosso—why, he had known all about bacosso since he was a schoolboy! bacosso was an old master, already.
-mr. boldero was very severe with the waiters and knew so well how things ought to be done at a good restaurant, that gumbril felt sure he must recently have lunched with some meticulous gormandizer of the old school. and when the waiter made as though to serve them with brandy in small glasses, mr. boldero was so passionately indignant that he sent for the manager.
-“do you mean to tell me,” he shouted in a perfect frenzy of righteous anger, “that you don’t yet know how brandy ought to be drunk?”
-perhaps it was only last week that he himself, gumbril reflected, had learned to aerate his cognac in gargantuan beakers.
-meanwhile, of course, the patent small-clothes were not neglected. as soon as he had been told about the things, mr. boldero began speaking of them with a perfect and practised familiarity. they were already his, mentally his. and it was only mr. boldero’s generosity that prevented him from making the small-clothes more effectively his own.
-“if it weren’t for the friendship and respect which i feel for your father, mr. gumbril,” he said, twinkling genially over the brandy, “i’d just annex your small-clothes. bag and baggage. just annex them.”
-“ah, but they’re my patent,” said gumbril. “or at least they’re in process of being patented. the agents are at work.”
-mr. boldero laughed. “do you suppose that would trouble me if i wanted to be unscrupulous? i’d just take the idea and manufacture the article. you’d bring an action. i’d have it defended with all the professional erudition that could be brought. you’d find yourself let in for a case that might cost thousands. and how would you pay for it? you’d be forced to come to an agreement out of court, mr. gumbril. that’s what you’d have to do. and a damned bad agreement it would be for you, i can tell you.” mr. boldero laughed very cheerfully at the thought of the badness of this agreement. “but don’t be alarmed,” he said. “i shan’t do it, you know.”
-gumbril was not wholly reassured. tactfully, he tried to find out what terms mr. boldero was prepared to offer. mr. boldero was nebulously vague.
-it was a relief when mr. boldero stopped talking art and consented to get down to business. gumbril was wearing for the occasion the sample pair of small-clothes which mr. bojanus had made for him. for mr. boldero’s benefit he put them, so to speak, through their paces. he allowed himself to drop with a bump on to the floor—arriving there bruiseless and unjarred. he sat in complete comfort for minutes at a stretch on the edge of the ornamental iron fender. in the intervals he paraded up and down before mr. boldero like a mannequin. “a trifle bulgy,” said mr. boldero. “but still....” he was, taking it all round, favourably impressed. it was time, he said, to begin thinking of details. they would have to begin by making experiments with the bladders to discover a model combining, as mr. boldero put it, ‘maximum efficiency with minimum bulge.’ when they had found the right thing, they would have it made in suitable quantities by any good rubber firm. as for the trousers themselves, they could rely for those on sweated female labour in the east end. “cheap and good,” said mr. boldero.
-“it sounds ideal,” said gumbril.
-“and then,” said mr. boldero, “there’s our advertising campaign. on that i may say,” he went on with a certain solemnity, “will depend the failure or success of our enterprise. i consider it of the first importance.”
-“quite,” said gumbril, nodding importantly and with intelligence.
-“we must set to work,” said mr. boldero, “sci—en—tifically.” gumbril nodded again.
-“we have to appeal,” mr. boldero went on so glibly that gumbril felt sure he must be quoting somebody else’s words, “to the great instincts and feelings of humanity.... they are the sources of action. they spend the money, if i may put it like that.”
-“that’s all very well,” said gumbril. “but how do you propose to appeal to the most important of the instincts? i refer, as you may well imagine, to sex.”
-“i was just going to come to that,” said mr. boldero, raising his hand as though to ask for a patient hearing. “alas! we can’t. i don’t see any way of hanging our small-clothes on the sexual peg.”
-“then we are undone,” said gumbril, too dramatically.
-“no, no.” mr. boldero was reassuring. “you make the error of the viennese. you exaggerate the importance of sex. after all, my dear mr. gumbril, there is also the instinct of self-preservation; there is also,” he leaned forward, wagging his finger, “the social instinct, the instinct of the herd.”
-“both of them as powerful as sex. what are the professor’s famous censors but forbidding suggestions from the herd without, made powerful and entrenched by the social instinct within?”
-gumbril had no answer; mr. boldero continued, smiling:
-“so that we shall be all right if we stick to self-preservation and the herd. rub in the comfort and the utility, the hygienic virtues of our small-clothes; that will catch their self-preservatory feelings. aim at their dread of public opinion, at their ambition to be one better than their fellows and their terror of being different—at all the ludicrous weaknesses a well-developed social instinct exposes them to. we shall get them, if we set to work scientifically.” mr. boldero’s bird-like eyes twinkled very brightly. “we shall get them,” he repeated, and he laughed a happy little laugh, full of such a childlike diabolism, such an innocent gay malignity that it seemed as though a little leprechaun had suddenly taken the financier’s place in gumbril’s best arm-chair.
-gumbril laughed too; for this leprechaunish mirth was infectious. “we shall get them,” he echoed. “oh, i’m sure we shall, if you set about it, mr. boldero.”
-mr. boldero acknowledged the compliment with a smile that expressed no false humility. it was his due, and he knew it.
-“i’ll give you some of my ideas about the advertising campaign,” he said. “just to give you a notion. you can think them over, quietly, and make suggestions.”
-“yes, yes,” said gumbril, nodding.
-mr. boldero cleared his throat. “we shall begin,” he said, “by making the most simple elementary appeal to their instinct of self-preservation: we shall point out that the patent small-clothes are comfortable; that to wear them is to avoid pain. a few striking slogans about comfort—that’s all we want. very simple indeed. it doesn’t take much to persuade a man that it’s pleasanter to sit on air than on wood. but while we’re on the subject of hard seats we shall have to glide off subtly at a tangent to make a flank attack on the social instincts.” and joining the tip of his forefinger to the tip of his thumb, mr. boldero moved his hand delicately sideways, as though he were sliding it along a smooth brass rail. “we shall have to speak about the glories and the trials of sedentary labour. we must exalt its spiritual dignity and at the same time condemn its physical discomforts. ‘the seat of honour,’ don’t you know. we could talk about that. ‘the seats of the mighty.’ ‘the seat that rules the office rocks the world.’ all those lines might be made something of. and then we could have little historical chats about thrones; how dignified, but how uncomfortable they’ve been. we must make the bank clerk and the civil servant feel proud of being what they are and at the same time feel ashamed that, being such splendid people, they should have to submit to the indignity of having blistered hind-quarters. in modern advertising you must flatter your public—not in the oily, abject, tradesmanlike style of the old advertisers, crawling before clients who were their social superiors; that’s all over now. it’s we who are the social superiors—because we’ve got more money than the bank clerks and the civil servants. our modern flattery must be manly, straightforward, sincere, the admiration of equal for equal—all the more flattering as we aren’t equals.” mr. boldero laid a finger to his nose. “they’re dirt and we’re capitalists....” he laughed.
-gumbril laughed too. it was the first time that he had ever thought of himself as a capitalist, and the thought was exhilarating.
-“we flatter them,” went on mr. boldero. “we say that honest work is glorious and ennobling—which it isn’t; it’s merely dull and cretinizing. and then we go on to suggest that it would be finer still, more ennobling, because less uncomfortable, if they wore gumbril’s patent small-clothes. you see the line?”
-gumbril saw the line.
-“after that,” said mr. boldero, “we get on to the medical side of the matter. the medical side, mr. gumbril—that’s most important. nobody feels really well nowadays—at any rate, nobody who lives in a big town and does the kind of loathsome work that the people we’re catering for does. keeping this fact before our eyes, we have to make it clear that only those can expect to be healthy who wear pneumatic trousers.”
-“that will be a little difficult, won’t it?” questioned gumbril.
-“not a bit of it!” mr. boldero laughed with an infectious confidence. “all we have to do is to talk about the great nerve centres of the spine: the shocks they get when you sit down too hard; the wearing exhaustion to which long-protracted sitting on unpadded seats subjects them. we’ll have to talk very scientifically about the great lumbar ganglia—if there are such things, which i really don’t pretend to know. we’ll even talk almost mystically about the ganglia. you know that sort of ganglion philosophy?” mr. boldero went on parenthetically. “very interesting it is, sometimes, i think. we could put in a lot about the dark, powerful sense-life, sex-life, instinct-life which is controlled by the lumbar ganglion. how important it is that that shouldn’t be damaged. that already our modern conditions of civilization tend unduly to develop the intellect and the thoracic ganglia controlling the higher emotions. that we’re wearing out, growing feeble, losing our balance in consequence. and that the only cure—if we are to continue our present mode of civilized life—is to be found in gumbril’s patent small-clothes.” mr. boldero brought his hand with an emphatic smack on to the table as he spoke, as he fairly shouted, these last words.
-“magnificent,” said gumbril, with genuine admiration.
-“this sort of medical and philosophical dope,” mr. boldero went on, “is always very effective, if it’s properly used. the public to whom we are making our appeal is, of course, almost absolutely ignorant on these, or, indeed, on almost all other subjects. it is therefore very much impressed by the unfamiliar words; particularly if they have such a good juicy sound as the word ‘ganglia.’”
-“there was a young man of east anglia, whose loins were a tangle of ganglia,” murmured gumbril, improvisatore.
-“precisely,” said mr. boldero. “precisely. you see how juicy it is? well, as i say, they’re impressed. and they’re also grateful. they’re grateful to us for having given them a piece of abstruse, unlikely information which they can pass on to their wives, or to such friends as they know don’t read the paper in which our advertisement appears—can pass on airily, don’t you know, with easy erudition, as though they’d known all about ganglia from their childhood. and they’ll feel such a flow of superiority as they hand on the metaphysics and the pathology, that they’ll always think of us with affection. they’ll buy our breeks and they’ll get other people to buy. that’s why,” mr. boldero went off again on an instructive tangent, “that’s why the day of secret patent medicines is really over. it’s no good saying you have rediscovered some secret known only, in the past, to the egyptians. people don’t know anything about egyptology; but they have an inkling that such a science exists. and that if it does exist, it’s unlikely that patent medicine makers should have found out facts unknown to the professors at the universities. and it’s much the same even with secrets that don’t come from egypt. people know there’s such a thing as medical science and they again feel it’s improbable that manufacturers should know things ignored by the doctors. the modern democratic advertiser is entirely above-board. he tells you all about it. he explains that the digestive juices acting on bismuth give rise to a disinfectant acid. he points out that lactic ferment gets destroyed before it reaches the large intestine, so that metchnikoff’s cure generally won’t work. and he goes on to explain that the only way of getting the ferment there is to mix it with starch and paraffin: starch to feed the ferment on, paraffin to prevent the starch being digested before it gets to the intestine. and in consequence, he convinces you that a mixture of starch, paraffin and ferment is the only thing that’s any good at all. consequently you buy it; which you would never have done without the explanation. in the same way, mr. gumbril, we mustn’t ask people to take our trousers on trust. we must explain scientifically why these trousers will be good for their health. and by means of the ganglia, as i’ve pointed out, we can even show that the trousers will be good for their souls and the whole human race at large. and as you probably know, mr. gumbril, there’s nothing like a spiritual message to make things go. combine spirituality with practicality and you’ve fairly got them. got them, i may say, on toast. and that’s what we can do with our trousers; we can put a message into them, a big, spiritual message. decidedly,” he concluded, “we shall have to work those ganglia all we can.”
-“i’ll undertake to do that,” said gumbril, who felt very buoyant and self-assured. mr. boldero’s hydrogenous conversation had blown him up like a balloon.
-“and i’m sure you’ll do it well,” said mr. boldero encouragingly. “there is no better training for modern commerce than a literary education. as a practical business man, i always uphold the ancient universities, especially in their teaching of the humanities.”
-gumbril was much flattered. at the moment, it seemed supremely satisfying to be told that he was likely to make a good business man. the business man took on a radiance, began to glow, as it were, with a phosphorescent splendour.
-“then it’s very important,” continued mr. boldero, “to play on their snobbism; to exploit that painful sense of inferiority which the ignorant and ingenuous always feel in the presence of the knowing. we’ve got to make our trousers the thing—socially right as well as merely personally comfortable. we’ve got to imply somehow that it’s bad form not to wear them. we’ve got to make those who don’t wear them feel rather uncomfortable. like that film of charlie chaplin’s, where he’s the absent-minded young man about town who dresses for dinner immaculately, from the waist up—white waistcoat, tail coat, stiff shirt, top-hat—and only discovers, when he gets down into the hall of the hotel, that he’s forgotten to put on his trousers. we’ve got to make them feel like that. that’s always very successful. you know those excellent american advertisements about young ladies whose engagements are broken off because they perspire too freely or have an unpleasant breath? how horribly uncomfortable those make you feel! we’ve got to do something of the same sort for our trousers. or more immediately applicable would be those tailor’s advertisements about correct clothes. ‘good clothes make you feel good.’ you know the sort of line. and then those grave warning sentences in which you’re told that a correctly cut suit may make the difference between an appointment gained and an appointment lost, an interview granted and an interview refused. but the most masterly examples i can think of,” mr. boldero went on with growing enthusiasm, “are those american advertisements of spectacles, in which the manufacturers first assume the existence of a social law about goggles, and then proceed to invoke all the sanctions which fall on the head of the committer of a solecism upon those who break it. it’s masterly. for sport or relaxation, they tell you, as though it was a social axiom, you must wear spectacles of pure tortoiseshell. for business, tortoiseshell rims and nickel ear-pieces lend incisive poise—incisive poise, we must remember that for our ads, mr. gumbril. ‘gumbril’s patent small-clothes lend incisive poise to business men.’ for semi-evening dress, shell rims with gold ear-pieces and gold nose-bridge. and for full dress, gold-mounted rimless pince-nez are refinement itself, and absolutely correct. thus we see, a social law has been created, according to which every self-respecting myope or astigmat must have four distinct pairs of glasses. think if he should wear the all-shell sports model with full dress! revolting solecism! the people who read advertisements like that begin to feel uncomfortable; they have only one pair of glasses, they are afraid of being laughed at, thought low-class and ignorant and suburban. and since there are few who would not rather be taken in adultery than in provincialism, they rush out to buy four new pairs of spectacles. and the manufacturer gets rich, mr. gumbril. now, we must do something of the kind with our trousers. imply somehow that they’re correct, that you’re undressed without, that you’re fiancée would break off the engagement if she saw you sitting down to dinner on anything but air.” mr. boldero shrugged his shoulders, vaguely waved his hand.
-“it may be rather difficult,” said gumbril, shaking his head.
-“it may,” mr. boldero agreed. “but difficulties are made to be overcome. we must pull the string of snobbery and shame: it’s essential. we must find out methods for bringing the weight of public opinion to bear mockingly on those who do not wear our trousers. it is difficult at the moment to see how it can be done. but it will have to be done, it will have to be done,” mr. boldero repeated emphatically. “we might even find a way of invoking patriotism to our aid. ‘english trousers filled with english air, for english men.’ a little far-fetched, perhaps. but there might be something in it.”
-gumbril shook his head doubtfully.
-“quite so,” said gumbril.
-“and then, of course, there’s the economy slogan. ‘one pair of gumbril’s patent small-clothes will outlast six pairs of ordinary trousers.’ that’s easy enough. so easy that it’s really uninteresting.” mr. boldero waved it away.
-“we shall have to have pictures,” said gumbril, parenthetically. he had an idea.
-“oh, of course.”
-“i believe i know of the very man to do them,” gumbril went on. “his name’s lypiatt. a painter. you’ve probably heard of him.”
-“heard of him!” exclaimed mr. boldero. he laughed. “but who hasn’t heard of lydgate.”
-“lypgate, i mean, of course.”
-“i think he’d be the very man,” said gumbril.
-“i’m certain he would,” said mr. boldero, not a whit behind-hand.
-gumbril was pleased with himself. he felt he had done some one a good turn. poor old lypiatt; be glad of the money. gumbril remembered also his own fiver. and remembering his own fiver, he also remembered that mr. boldero had as yet made no concrete suggestion about terms. he nerved himself at last to suggest to mr. boldero that it was time to think of this little matter. ah, how he hated talking about money! he found it so hard to be firm in asserting his rights. he was ashamed of showing himself grasping. he always thought with consideration of the other person’s point of view—poor devil, could he afford to pay? and he was always swindled and always conscious of the fact. lord, how he hated life on these occasions! mr. boldero was still evasive.
-“i’ll write you a letter about it,” he said at last.
-gumbril was delighted. “yes, do,” he said enthusiastically, “do.” he knew how to cope with letters all right. he was a devil with the fountain pen. it was these personal, hand-to-hand combats that he couldn’t manage. he could have been, he always felt, such a ruthless critic and satirist, such a violent, unscrupulous polemical writer. and if ever he committed his autobiography to paper, how breath-takingly intimate, how naked—naked without so much as a healthy sunburn to colour the whiteness—how quiveringly a sensitive jelly it would be! all the things he had never told any one would be in it. confession at long range—if anything, it would be rather agreeable.
-“yes, do write me a letter,” he repeated. “do.”
-mr. boldero’s letter came at last, and the proposals it contained were derisory. a hundred pounds down and five pounds a week when the business should be started. five pounds a week—and for that he was to act as a managing director, writer of advertisements and promoter of foreign sales. gumbril felt thankful that mr. boldero had put the terms in a letter. if they had been offered point-blank across the luncheon table, he would probably have accepted them without a murmur. he wrote a few neat, sharp phrases saying that he could not consider less than five hundred pounds down and a thousand a year. mr. boldero’s reply was amiable; would mr. gumbril come and see him?
-see him? well, of course, it was inevitable. he would have to see him again some time. but he would send the complete man to deal with the fellow. a complete man matched with a leprechaun—there could be no doubt as to the issue.
-“dear mr. boldero,” he wrote back, “i should have come to talk over matters before this. but i have been engaged during the last days in growing a beard and until this has come to maturity, i cannot, as you will easily be able to understand, leave the house. by the day after to-morrow, however, i hope to be completely presentable and shall come to see you at your office at about three o’clock, if that is convenient to you. i hope we shall be able to arrange matters satisfactorily.—believe me, dear mr. boldero, yours very truly,
-theodore gumbril, jr.”
-the day after to-morrow became in due course to-day; splendidly bearded and rabelaisianly broad in his whipcord toga, gumbril presented himself at mr. boldero’s office in queen victoria street.
-“i should hardly have recognized you,” exclaimed mr. boldero as he shook hands. “how it does alter you, to be sure!”
-“does it?” the complete man laughed with a significant joviality.
-“won’t you take off your coat?”
-“no, thanks,” said gumbril. “i’ll keep it on.”
-“well,” said the leprechaun, leaning back in his chair and twinkling, bird-like, across the table.
-“well,” repeated gumbril on a different tone from behind the stooks of his corn-like beard. he smiled, feeling serenely strong and safe.
-“i’m sorry we should have disagreed,” said mr. boldero.
-“so am i,” the complete man replied. “but we shan’t disagree for long,” he added, with significance; and as he spoke the words he brought down his fist with such a bang, that the inkpots on mr. boldero’s very solid mahogany writing-table trembled and the pens danced, while mr. boldero himself started with a genuine alarm. he had not expected them. and now he came to look at him more closely, this young gumbril was a great, hulking, dangerous-looking fellow. he had thought he would be easy to manage. how could he have made such a mistake?
-gumbril left the office with mr. boldero’s cheque for three hundred and fifty pounds in his pocket and an annual income of eight hundred. his bruised right hand was extremely tender to the touch. he was thankful that a single blow had been enough.
-gumbril had spent the afternoon at bloxam gardens. his chin was still sore from the spirit gum with which he had attached to it the symbol of the complete man; he was feeling also a little fatigued. rosie had been delighted to see him; st. jerome had gone on solemnly communicating all the time.
-his father had gone out to dine, and gumbril had eaten his rump steak and drunk his bottle of stout alone. he was sitting now in front of the open french windows which led from his father’s workroom on to the balcony, with a block on his knee and a fountain-pen in his hand, composing advertisements for the patent small-clothes. outside, in the plane trees of the square, the birds had gone through their nightly performance. but gumbril had paid no attention to them. he sat there, smoking, sometimes writing a word or two—sunk in the quagmire of his own drowsy and comfortable body. the flawless weather of the day had darkened into a blue may evening. it was agreeable merely to be alive.
-he sketched out two or three advertisements in the grand idealistic transatlantic style. he imagined one in particular with a picture of nelson at the head of the page and ‘england expects ...’ printed large beneath it. “england ... duty ... these are solemn words.” that was how it would begin. “these are solemn words, and we use them solemnly as men who realize what duty is, and who do all that in them lies to perform it as englishmen should. the manufacturer’s is a sacred trust. the guide and ruler of the modern world, he has, like the monarch of other days, responsibilities towards his people; he has a duty to fulfil. he rules, but he must also serve. we realize our responsibilities, we take them seriously. gumbril’s patent small-clothes have been brought into the world that they may serve. our duty towards you is a duty of service. our proud boast is that we perform it. but besides his duty towards others, every man has a duty towards himself. what is that duty? it is to keep himself in the highest possible state of physical and spiritual fitness. gumbril’s patent small-clothes protect the lumbar ganglia....” after that it would be plain medical and mystical sailing.
-as soon as he got to the ganglia, gumbril stopped writing. he put down the block, sheathed his pen, and abandoned himself to the pleasures of pure idleness. he sat, he smoked his cigar. in the basement, two floors down, the cook and the house-parlourmaid were reading—one the daily mirror, the other the daily sketch. for them, her majesty the queen spoke kindly words to crippled female orphans; the jockeys tumbled at the jumps; cupid was busy in society, and the murderers who had disembowelled their mistresses were at large. above him was the city of models, was a bedroom, a servant’s bedroom, an attic of tanks and ancient dirt, the roof and, after that, two or three hundred light-years away, a star of the fourth magnitude. on the other side of the party-wall on his right, a teeming family of jews led their dark, compact, jewish lives with a prodigious intensity. at this moment they were all passionately quarrelling. beyond the wall on the left lived the young journalist and his wife. to-night it was he who had cooked the supper. the young wife lay on the sofa, feeling horribly sick; she was going to have a baby, there could be no doubt about it now. they had meant not to have one; it was horrible. and, outside, the birds were sleeping in the trees, the invading children from the slum tumbled and squealed. ships meanwhile were walloping across the atlantic freighted with more cigars. rosie at this moment was probably mending shearwater’s socks. gumbril sat and smoked, and the universe arranged itself in a pattern about him, like iron filings round a magnet.
-the door opened, and the house-parlourmaid intruded shearwater upon his lazy felicity, abruptly, in her unceremonious old way, and hurried back to the daily sketch.
-“shearwater! this is very agreeable,” said gumbril. “come and sit down.” he pointed to a chair.
-clumsily, filling the space that two ordinary men would occupy, shearwater came zigzagging and lurching across the room, bumped against the work-table and the sofa as he passed, and finally sat down in the indicated chair.
-it suddenly occurred to gumbril that this was rosie’s husband: he had not thought of that before. could it be in the marital capacity that he presented himself so unexpectedly now? after this afternoon.... he had come home; rosie had confessed all.... ah! but then she didn’t know who he was. he smiled to himself at the thought. what a joke! perhaps shearwater had come to complain to him of the unknown complete man—to him! it was delightful. anon—the author of all those ballads in the oxford book of english verse: the famous italian painter—ignoto. gumbril was quite disappointed when his visitor began to talk of other themes than rosie. sunk in the quagmire of his own comfortable guts, he felt good-humouredly obscene. the dramatic scabrousness of the situation would have charmed him in his present mood. good old shearwater—but what an ox of a man! if he, gumbril, took the trouble to marry a wife, he would at least take some interest in her.
-shearwater had begun to talk in general terms about life. what could he be getting at, gumbril wondered? what particulars were ambushed behind these generalizations? there were silences. shearwater looked, he thought, very gloomy. under his thick moustache the small, pouting, babyish mouth did not smile. the candid eyes had a puzzled, tired expression in them.
-“people are queer,” he said after one of his silences. “very queer. one has no idea how queer they are.”
-gumbril laughed. “but i have a very clear idea of their queerness,” he said. “every one’s queer, and the ordinary, respectable, bourgeois people are the queerest of the lot. how do they manage to live like that? it’s astonishing. when i think of all my aunts and uncles....” he shook his head.
-“perhaps it’s because i’m rather incurious,” said shearwater. “one ought to be curious, i think. i’ve come to feel lately that i’ve not been curious enough about people.” the particulars began to peep, alive and individual, out of the vagueness, like rabbits; gumbril saw them in his fancy, at the fringe of a wood.
-“quite,” he said encouragingly. “quite.”
-“i think too much of my work,” shearwater went on, frowning. “too much physiology. there’s also psychology. people’s minds as well as their bodies.... one shouldn’t be limited. not too much, at any rate. people’s minds....” he was silent for a moment. “i can imagine,” he went on at last, as in the tone of one who puts a very hypothetical case, “i can imagine one’s getting so much absorbed in somebody else’s psychology that one could really think of nothing else.” the rabbits seemed ready to come out into the open.
-“that’s a process,” said gumbril, with middle-aged jocularity, speaking out of his private warm morass, “that’s commonly called falling in love.”
-there was another silence. shearwater broke it to begin talking about mrs. viveash. he had lunched with her three or four days running. he wanted gumbril to tell him what she was really like. “she seems to me a very extraordinary woman,” he said.
-“like everybody else,” said gumbril irritatingly. it amused him to see the rabbits scampering about at last.
-“i’ve never known a woman like that before.”
-gumbril laughed. “you’d say that of any woman you happened to be interested in,” he said. “you’ve never known any women at all.” he knew much more about rosie, already, than shearwater did, or probably ever would.
-shearwater meditated. he thought of mrs. viveash, her cool, pale, critical eyes; her laughter, faint and mocking; her words that pierced into the mind, goading it into thinking unprecedented thoughts.
-“she interests me,” he repeated. “i want you to tell me what she’s really like.” he emphasized the word really, as though there must, in the nature of things, be a vast difference between the apparent and the real mrs. viveash.
-most lovers, gumbril reflected, picture to themselves, in their mistresses, a secret reality, beyond and different from what they see every day. they are in love with somebody else—their own invention. and sometimes there is a secret reality; and sometimes reality and appearance are the same. the discovery, in either case, is likely to cause a shock. “i don’t know,” he said. “how should i know? you must find out for yourself.”
-“but you knew her, you know her well,” said shearwater, almost with anxiety in his voice.
-“not so well as all that.”
-shearwater sighed profoundly, like a whale in the night. he felt restless, incapable of concentrating. his mind was full of a horrible confusion. a violent eruptive bubbling up from below had shaken its calm clarity to pieces. all this absurd business of passion—he had always thought it nonsense, unnecessary. with a little strength of will one could shut it out. women—only for half an hour out of the twenty-four. but she had laughed, and his quiet, his security had vanished. “i can imagine,” he had said to her yesterday, “i can imagine myself giving up everything, work and all, to go running round after you.” “and do you suppose i should enjoy that?” mrs. viveash had asked. “it would be ridiculous,” he said, “it would be almost shameful.” and she had thanked him for the compliment. “and at the same time,” he went on, “i feel that it might be worth it. it might be the only thing.” his mind was confused, full of new thoughts. “it’s difficult,” he said after a pause, “arranging things. very difficult. i thought i had arranged them so well....”
-“i never arrange anything,” said gumbril, very much the practical philosopher. “i take things as they come.” and as he spoke the words, suddenly he became rather disgusted with himself. he shook himself; he climbed up out of his own morass. “it would be better, perhaps, if i arranged things more,” he added.
-“render therefore unto cæsar the things which are cæsar’s,” said shearwater, as though to himself; “and to god, and to sex, and to work.... there must be a working arrangement.” he sighed again. “everything in proportion. in proportion,” he repeated, as though the word were magical and had power. “in proportion.”
-“who’s talking about proportion?” they turned round. in the doorway gumbril senior was standing, smoothing his ruffled hair and tugging at his beard. his eyes twinkled cheerfully behind his spectacles. “poaching on my architectural ground?” he said.
-“this is shearwater,” gumbril junior put in, and explained who he was.
-the old gentleman sat down. “proportion,” he said—“i was just thinking about it, now, as i was walking back. you can’t help thinking about it in these london streets, where it doesn’t exist. you can’t help pining for it. there are some streets ... oh, my god!” and gumbril senior threw up his hands in horror. “it’s like listening to a symphony of cats to walk along them. senseless discords and a horrible disorder all the way. and the one street that was really like a symphony by mozart—how busily and gleefully they’re pulling it down now! another year and there’ll be nothing left of regent street. there’ll only be a jumble of huge, hideous buildings at three-quarters of a million apiece. a concert of brobdingnagian cats. order has been turned into a disgusting chaos. we need no barbarians from outside; they’re on the premises, all the time.”
-the old man paused and pulled his beard meditatively. gumbril junior sat in silence, smoking; and in silence shearwater revolved within the walls of his great round head his agonizing thoughts of mrs. viveash.
-“it has always struck me as very curious,” gumbril senior went on, “that people are so little affected by the vile and discordant architecture around them. suppose, now, that all these brass bands of unemployed ex-soldiers that blow so mournfully at all the street corners were suddenly to play nothing but a series of senseless and devilish discords—why, the first policeman would move them on, and the second would put them under arrest, and the passers-by would try to lynch them on their way to the police station. there would be a real spontaneous outcry of indignation. but when at these same street corners the contractors run up enormous palaces of steel and stone that are every bit as stupid and ignoble and inharmonious as ten brass bandsmen each playing a different tune in a different key, there is no outcry. the police don’t arrest the architect; the passing pedestrians don’t throw stones at the workmen. they don’t notice that anything’s wrong. it’s odd,” said gumbril senior. “it’s very odd.”
-“very odd,” gumbril junior echoed.
-“the fact is, i suppose,” gumbril senior went on, smiling with a certain air of personal triumph, “the fact is that architecture is a more difficult and intellectual art than music. music—that’s just a faculty you’re born with, as you might be born with a snub nose. but the sense of plastic beauty—though that’s, of course, also an inborn faculty—is something that has to be developed and intellectually ripened. it’s an affair of the mind; experience and thought have to draw it out. there are infant prodigies in music; but there are no infant prodigies in architecture.” gumbril senior chuckled with a real satisfaction. “a man can be an excellent musician and a perfect imbecile. but a good architect must also be a man of sense, a man who knows how to think and to profit by experience. now, as almost none of the people who pass along the streets in london, or any other city of the world, do know how to think or to profit by experience, it follows that they cannot appreciate architecture. the innate faculty is strong enough in them to make them dislike discord in music; but they haven’t the wits to develop that other innate faculty—the sense of plastic beauty—which would enable them to see and disapprove of the same barbarism in architecture. come with me,” gumbril senior added, getting up from his chair, “and i’ll show you something that will illustrate what i’ve been saying. something you’ll enjoy, too. nobody’s seen it yet,” he said mysteriously as he led the way upstairs. “it’s only just finished—after months and years. it’ll cause a stir when they see it—when i let them see it, if ever i do, that is. the dirty devils!” gumbril senior added good-humouredly.
-on the landing of the next floor he paused, felt in his pocket, took out a key and unlocked the door of what should have been the second best bedroom. gumbril junior wondered, without very much curiosity, what the new toy would turn out to be. shearwater wondered only how he could possess mrs. viveash.
-“come on,” called gumbril senior from inside the room. he turned on the light. they entered.
-it was a big room; but almost the whole of the floor was covered by an enormous model, twenty feet long by ten or twelve wide, of a complete city traversed from end to end by a winding river and dominated at its central point by a great dome. gumbril junior looked at it with surprise and pleasure. even shearwater was roused from his bitter ruminations of desire to look at the charming city spread out at his feet.
-“it’s exquisite,” said gumbril junior. “what is it? the capital of utopia, or what?”
-delighted, gumbril senior laughed. “don’t you see something rather familiar in the dome?” he asked.
-“well, i had thought ...” gumbril junior hesitated, afraid that he might be going to say something stupid. he bent down to look more closely at the dome. “i had thought it looked rather like st. paul’s—and now i see that it is st. paul’s.”
-“quite right,” said his father. “and this is london.”
-“i wish it were,” gumbril junior laughed.
-“it’s london as it might have been if they’d allowed wren to carry out his plans of rebuilding after the great fire.”
-“and why didn’t they allow him to?” shearwater asked.
-“chiefly,” said gumbril senior, “because, as i’ve said before, they didn’t know how to think or profit by experience. wren offered them open spaces and broad streets; he offered them sunlight and air and cleanliness; he offered them beauty, order and grandeur. he offered to build for the imagination and the ambitious spirit of man, so that even the most bestial, vaguely and remotely, as they walked those streets, might feel that they were of the same race—or very nearly—as michelangelo; that they too might feel themselves, in spirit at least, magnificent, strong and free. he offered them all these things; he drew a plan for them, walking in peril among the still smouldering ruins. but they preferred to re-erect the old intricate squalor; they preferred the mediæval darkness and crookedness and beastly irregular quaintness; they preferred holes and crannies and winding tunnels; they preferred foul smells, sunless, stagnant air, phthisis and rickets; they preferred ugliness and pettiness and dirt; they preferred the wretched human scale, the scale of the sickly body, not of the mind. miserable fools! but i suppose,” the old man continued, shaking his head, “we can’t blame them.” his hair had blown loose from its insecure anchorage; with a gesture of resignation he brushed it back into place. “we can’t blame them. we should have done the same in the circumstances—undoubtedly. people offer us reason and beauty; but we will have none of them, because they don’t happen to square with the notions that were grafted into our souls in youth, that have grown there and become a part of us. experientia docet—nothing falser, so far as most of us are concerned, was ever said. you, no doubt, my dear theodore, have often in the past made a fool of yourself with women....”
-gumbril junior made an embarrassed gesture that half denied, half admitted the soft impeachment. shearwater turned away, painfully reminded of what, for a moment, he had half forgotten. gumbril senior swept on.
-“will that prevent you from making as great a fool of yourself again to-morrow? it will not. it will most assuredly not.” gumbril senior shook his head. “the inconveniences and horrors of the pox are perfectly well known to every one; but still the disease flourishes and spreads. several million people were killed in a recent war and half the world ruined; but we all busily go on in courses that make another event of the same sort inevitable. experientia docet? experientia doesn’t. and that is why we must not be too hard on these honest citizens of london who, fully appreciating the inconveniences of darkness, disorder and dirt, manfully resisted any attempt to alter conditions which they had been taught from childhood onwards to consider as necessary, right and belonging inevitably to the order of things. we must not be too hard. we are doing something even worse ourselves. knowing by a century of experience how beautiful, how graceful, how soothing to the mind is an ordered piece of town-planning, we pull down almost the only specimen of it we possess and put up in its place a chaos of portland stone that is an offence against civilization. but let us forget about these old citizens and the labyrinth of ugliness and inconvenience which we have inherited from them, and which is called london. let us forget the contemporaries who are making it still worse than it was. come for a walk with me through this ideal city. look.”
-and gumbril senior began expounding it to them.
-in the middle, there, of that great elliptical piazza at the eastern end of the new city, stands, four-square, the royal exchange. pierced only with small dark windows, and built of rough ashlars of the silvery portland stone, the ground floor serves as a massy foundation for the huge pilasters that slide up, between base and capital, past three tiers of pedimented windows. upon them rest the cornice, the attic and the balustrade, and on every pier of the balustrade a statue holds up its symbol against the sky. four great portals, rich with allegory, admit to the courtyard with its double tier of coupled columns, its cloister and its gallery. the statue of charles the martyr rides triumphantly in the midst, and within the windows one guesses the great rooms, rich with heavy garlands of plaster, panelled with carved wood.
-ten streets give on to the piazza, and at either end of its ellipse the water of sumptuous fountains ceaselessly blows aloft and falls. commerce, in that to the north of the exchange, holds up her cornucopia, and from the midst of its grapes and apples the master jet leaps up; from the teats of all the ten useful arts, grouped with their symbols about the central figure, there spouts a score of fine subsidiary streams. the dolphins, the sea-horses and the tritons sport in the basin below. to the south, the ten principal cities of the kingdom stand in a family round the mother london, who pours from her urn an inexhaustible thames.
-ranged round the piazza are the goldsmiths’ hall, the office of excise, the mint, the post office. their flanks are curved to the curve of the ellipse. between pilasters, their windows look out on to the exchange, and the sister statues on the balustrades beckon to one another across the intervening space.
-two master roads of ninety feet from wall to wall run westwards from the exchange. new gate ends the more northern vista with an arch of triumph, whose three openings are deep, shadowy and solemn as the entries of caverns. the guildhall and the halls of the twelve city companies in their livery of rose-red brick, with their lacings of white stone at the coigns and round the windows, lend to the street an air of domestic and comfortable splendour. and every two or three hundred paces the line of the houses is broken, and in the indentation of a square recess there rises, conspicuous and insular, the fantastic tower of a parish church. spire out of dome; octagon on octagon diminishing upwards; cylinder on cylinder; round lanterns, lanterns of many sides; towers with airy pinnacles; clusters of pillars linked by incurving cornices, and above them, four more clusters and above once more; square towers pierced with pointed windows; spires uplifted on flying buttresses; spires bulbous at the base—the multitude of them beckons, familiar and friendly, on the sky. from the other shore, or sliding along the quiet river, you see them all, you tell over their names; and the great dome swells up in the midst overtopping them all.
-the dome of st. paul’s.
-the other master street that goes westward from the piazza of the exchange slants down towards it. the houses are of brick, plain-faced and square, arcaded at the base, so that the shops stand back from the street and the pedestrian walks dry-shod under the harmonious succession of the vaultings. and there at the end of the street, at the base of a triangular space formed by the coming together of this with another master street that runs eastwards to tower hill, there stands the cathedral. to the north of it is the deanery and under the arcades are the booksellers’ shops.
-from st. paul’s the main road slopes down under the swaggering italianate arches of ludgate, past the wide lime-planted boulevards that run north and south within and without the city wall, to the edge of the fleet ditch—widened now into a noble canal, on whose paved banks the barges unload their freights of country stuff—leaps it on a single flying arch to climb again to a round circus, a little to the east of temple bar, from which, in a pair of diagonally superimposed crosses, eight roads radiate: three northwards towards holborn, three from the opposite arc towards the river, one eastward to the city, and one past lincoln’s inn fields to the west. the piazza is all of brick and the houses that compose it are continuous above the ground-floor level; for the roads lead out under archways. to one who stands in the centre at the foot of the obelisk that commemorates the victory over the dutch, it seems a smooth well of brickwork pierced by eight arched conduits at the base and diversified above by the three tiers of plain, unornamented windows.
-who shall describe all the fountains in the open places, all the statues and monuments? in the circus north of london bridge, where the four roads come together, stands a pyramid of nymphs and tritons—river goddesses of polyolbion, sea-gods of the island beaches—bathing in a ceaseless tumble of white water. and here the city griffon spouts from its beak, the royal lion from between its jaws. st. george at the foot of the cathedral rides down a dragon whose nostrils spout, not fire, but the clear water of the new river. in front of the india house, four elephants of black marble, endorsed with towers of white, blow through their upturned trunks the copious symbol of eastern wealth. in the gardens of the tower sits charles the second, enthroned among a troop of muses, cardinal virtues, graces and hours. the tower of the customs-house is a pharos. a great water-gate, the symbol of naval triumph, spans the fleet at its junction with the thames. the river is embanked from blackfriars to the tower, and at every twenty paces a grave stone angel looks out from the piers of the balustrade across the water....
-gumbril senior expounded his city with passion. he pointed to the model on the ground, he lifted his arms and turned up his eyes to suggest the size and splendour of his edifices. his hair blew wispily loose and fell into his eyes, and had to be brushed impatiently back again. he pulled at his beard; his spectacles flashed, as though they were living eyes. looking at him, gumbril junior could imagine that he saw before him the passionate and gesticulating silhouette of one of those old shepherds who stand at the base of piranesi’s ruins demonstrating obscurely the prodigious grandeur and the abjection of the human race.
-“you? is it you?” she seemed doubtful.
-gumbril nodded. “it’s me,” he reassured her. “i’ve shaved; that’s all.” he had left his beard in the top right-hand drawer of the chest of drawers, among the ties and the collars.
-emily looked at him judicially. “i like you better without it,” she decided at last. “you look nicer. oh no, i don’t mean to say you weren’t nice before,” she hastened to add. “but—you know—gentler——” she hesitated. “it’s a silly word,” she said, “but there it is: sweeter.”
-that was the unkindest cut of all. “milder and more melancholy?” he suggested.
-“well, if you like to put it like that,” emily agreed.
-he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “i forgive you,” he said.
-he could forgive her anything for the sake of those candid eyes, anything for the grave, serious mouth, anything for the short brown hair that curled—oh, but never seriously, never gravely—with such a hilarious extravagance round her head. he had met her, or rather the complete man, flushed with his commercial triumphs as he returned from his victory over mr. boldero, had met her at the national gallery. “old masters, young mistresses;” coleman had recommended the national gallery. he was walking up the venetian room, feeling as full of swaggering vitality as the largest composition of veronese, when he heard, gigglingly whispered just behind him his open sesame to new adventure, “beaver.” he spun round on his tracks and found himself face to face with two rather startled young women. he frowned ferociously: he demanded satisfaction for the impertinence. they were both, he noticed, of gratifyingly pleasing appearance and both extremely young. one of them, the elder it seemed, and the more charming, as he had decided from the first, of the two, was dreadfully taken aback; blushed to the eyes, stammered apologetically. but the other, who had obviously pronounced the word, only laughed. it was she who made easy the forming of an acquaintance which ripened, half an hour later, over the tea-cups and to the strains of the most classy music on the fifth floor of lyons’s strand corner house.
-their names were emily and molly. emily, it seemed, was married. it was molly who let that out, and the other had been angry with her for what was evidently an indiscretion. the bald fact that emily was married had at once been veiled with mysteries, surrounded and protected by silences; whenever the complete man asked a question about it, emily did not answer and molly only giggled. but if emily was married and the elder of the two, molly was decidedly the more knowledgeable about life; mr. mercaptan would certainly have set her down as the more civilized. emily didn’t live in london; she didn’t seem to live anywhere in particular. at the moment she was staying with molly’s family at kew.
-he had seen them the next day, and the day after, and the day after that; once at lunch, to desert them precipitately for his afternoon with rosie; once at tea in kew gardens; once at dinner, with a theatre to follow and an extravagant taxi back to kew at midnight. the tame decoy allays the fears of the shy wild birds; molly, who was tame, who was frankly a flirting little wanton, had served the complete man as a decoy for the ensnaring of emily. when molly went away to stay with friends in the country, emily was already inured and accustomed to the hunter’s presence; she accepted the playful attitude of gallantry, which the complete man, at the invitation of molly’s rolling eyes and provocative giggle, had adopted from the first, as natural and belonging to the established order of things. with giggling molly to give her a lead, she had gone in three days much further along the path of intimacy than, by herself, she would have advanced in ten times the number of meetings.
-“it seems funny,” she had said the first time they met after molly’s departure, “it seems funny to be seeing you without molly.”
-“it seemed funnier with molly,” said the complete man. “it wasn’t molly i wanted to see.”
-“molly’s a very nice, dear girl,” she declared loyally. “besides, she’s amusing and can talk. and i can’t; i’m not a bit amusing.”
-it wasn’t difficult to retort to that sort of thing; but emily didn’t believe in compliments; oh, quite genuinely not.
-he set out to make the exploration of her; and now that she was inured to him, no longer too frightened to let him approach, now, moreover, that he had abandoned the jocular insolences of the complete man in favour of a more native mildness, which he felt instinctively was more suitable in this particular case, she laid no difficulties in his way. she was lonely, and he seemed to understand everything so well; in the unknown country of her spirit and her history she was soon going eagerly before him as his guide.
-she was an orphan. her mother she hardly remembered. her father had died of influenza when she was fifteen. one of his business friends used to come and see her at school, take her out for treats and give her chocolates. she used to call him uncle stanley. he was a leather merchant, fat and jolly with a rather red face, very white teeth and a bald head that was beautifully shiny. when she was seventeen and a half he asked her to marry him, and she had said yes.
-“but why?” gumbril asked. “why on earth?” he repeated.
-“he said he’d take me round the world; it was just when the war had come to an end. round the world, you know; and i didn’t like school. i didn’t know anything about it and he was very nice to me; he was very pressing. i didn’t know what marriage meant.”
-she shook her head; it was quite true. “but not in the least.”
-and she had been born within the twentieth century. it seemed a case for the text-books of sexual psychology. “mrs. emily x., born in 1901, was found to be in a state of perfect innocence and ignorance at the time of the armistice, 11th november 1918,” etc.
-“and so you married him?”
-she had nodded.
-she had covered her face with her hands, she had shuddered. the amateur uncle, now professionally a husband, had come to claim his rights—drunk. she had fought him, she had eluded him, had run away and locked herself into another room. on the second night of her honeymoon he gave her a bruise on the forehead and a bite on the left breast which had gone on septically festering for weeks. on the fourth, more determined than ever, he seized her so violently by the throat, that a blood-vessel broke and she began coughing bright blood over the bedclothes. the amateur uncle had been reduced to send for a doctor and emily had spent the next few weeks in a nursing home. that was four years ago; her husband had tried to induce her to come back, but emily had refused. she had a little money of her own; she was able to refuse. the amateur uncle had consoled himself with other and more docile nieces.
-“and has nobody tried to make love to you since then?” he asked.
-“oh, lots of them have tried.”
-“and not succeeded?”
-she shook her head. “i don’t like men,” she said. “they’re hateful, most of them. they’re brutes.”
-“what?” she asked, puzzled.
-��am i a brute too?” and behind his beard, suddenly, he felt rather a brute.
-“no,” said emily, after a little hesitation, “you’re different. at least i think you are; though sometimes,” she added candidly, “sometimes you do and say things which make me wonder if you really are different.”
-the complete man laughed.
-“don’t laugh like that,” she said. “it’s rather stupid.”
-“you’re perfectly right,” said gumbril. “it is.”
-and how did she spend her time? he continued the exploration.
-well, she read a lot of books; but most of the novels she got from boots’ seemed to her rather silly.
-“too much about the same thing. always love.”
-the complete man gave a shrug. “such is life.”
-“well, it oughtn’t to be,” said emily.
-and then, when she was in the country—and she was often in the country, taking lodgings here and there in little villages, weeks and months at a time—she went for long walks. molly couldn’t understand why she liked the country; but she did. she was very fond of flowers. she liked them more than people, she thought.
-“i wish i could paint,” she said. “if i could, i’d be happy for ever, just painting flowers. but i can’t paint.” she shook her head. “i’ve tried so often. such dirty, ugly smudges come out on the paper; and it’s all so lovely in my head, so lovely out in the fields.”
-gumbril began talking with erudition about the flora of west surrey: where you could find butterfly orchis and green man and the bee, the wood where there was actually wild columbine growing, the best localities for butcher’s broom, the outcrops of clay where you get wild daffodils. all this odd knowledge came spouting up into his mind from some underground source of memory. flowers—he never thought about flowers nowadays from one year’s end to the other. but his mother had liked flowers. every spring and summer they used to go down to stay at their cottage in the country. all their walks, all their drives in the governess cart had been hunts after flowers. and naturally the child had hunted with all his mother’s ardour. he had kept books of pressed flowers, he had mummified them in hot sand, he had drawn maps of the country and coloured them elaborately with different coloured inks to show where the different flowers grew. how long ago all that was! horribly long ago! many seeds had fallen in the stony places of his spirit, to spring luxuriantly up into stalky plants and wither again because they had no deepness of earth; many had been sown there and had died, since his mother scattered the seeds of the wild flowers.
-“and if you want sundew,” he wound up, “you’ll find it in the punch bowl, under hindhead. or round about frensham. the little pond, you know, not the big.”
-“but you know all about them,” emily exclaimed in delight. “i’m ashamed of my poor little knowledge. and you must really love them as much as i do.”
-gumbril did not deny it; they were linked henceforth by a chain of flowers.
-but what else did she do?
-oh, of course she played the piano a great deal. very badly; but at any rate it gave her pleasure. beethoven: she liked beethoven best. more or less, she knew all the sonatas, though she could never keep up anything like the right speed in the difficult parts.
-and of course she couldn’t, and of course she was glad that he knew all about it and how impossible it was.
-in the cab, as they drove back to kew that evening, the complete man had decided it was time to do something decisive. the parting kiss—more of a playful sonorous buss than a serious embracement—that was already in the protocol, as signed and sealed before her departure by giggling molly. it was time, the complete man considered, that this salute should take on a character less formal and less playful. one, two, three and, decisively, as they passed through hammersmith broadway, he risked the gesture. emily burst into tears. he was not prepared for that, though perhaps he should have been. it was only by imploring, only by almost weeping himself, that gumbril persuaded her to revoke her decision never, never to see him again.
-“i had thought you were different,” she sobbed. “and now, now——”
-“please, please,” he entreated. he was on the point of tearing off his beard and confessing everything there and then. but that, on second thoughts, would probably only make things worse.
-“please, i promise.”
-in the end, she had consented to see him once again, provisionally, in kew gardens, on the following day. they were to meet at the little temple that stands on the hillock above the valley of the heathers.
-and now, duly, they had met. the complete man had been left at home in the top right-hand drawer, along with the ties and collars. she would prefer, he guessed, the mild and melancholy one; he was quite right. she had thought him ‘sweeter’ at a first glimpse.
-“i forgive you,” he said, and kissed her hand. “i forgive you.”
-hand in hand they walked down towards the valley of the heaths.
-“i don’t know why you should be forgiving me,” she said, laughing. “it seems to me that i ought to be doing the forgiving. after yesterday.” she shook her head at him. “you made me so wretched.”
-“ah, but you’ve already done your forgiving.”
-“you seem to take it very much for granted,” said emily. “don’t be too sure.”
-“but i am sure,” said gumbril. “i can see——”
-emily laughed again. “i feel happy,” she declared.
-“so do i.”
-“how green the grass is!”
-green, green—after these long damp months it glowed in the sunlight, as though it were lighted from inside.
-“and the trees!”
-the pale, high, clot-polled trees of the english spring; the dark, symmetrical pine trees, islanded here and there on the lawns, each with its own separate profile against the sky and its own shadow, impenetrably dark or freckled with moving lights, on the grass at its feet.
-they walked on in silence. gumbril took off his hat, breathed the soft air that smelt of the greenness of the garden.
-“there are quiet places also in the mind,” he said meditatively. “but we build bandstands and factories on them. deliberately—to put a stop to the quietness. we don’t like the quietness. all the thoughts, all the preoccupations in my head—round and round, continually.” he made a circular motion with his hand. “and the jazz bands, the music-hall songs, the boys shouting the news. what’s it for? what’s it all for? to put an end to the quiet, to break it up and disperse it, to pretend at any cost it isn’t there. ah, but it is; it is there, in spite of everything, at the back of everything. lying awake at night, sometimes—not restlessly, but serenely, waiting for sleep—the quiet re-establishes itself, piece by piece; all the broken bits, all the fragments of it we’ve been so busily dispersing all day long. it re-establishes itself, an inward quiet, like this outward quiet of grass and trees. it fills one, it grows—a crystal quiet, a growing, expanding crystal. it grows, it becomes more perfect; it is beautiful and terrifying, yes, terrifying as well as beautiful. for one’s alone in the crystal and there’s no support from outside, there’s nothing external and important, nothing external and trivial to pull oneself up by or to stand on, superiorly, contemptuously, so that one can look down. there’s nothing to laugh at or feel enthusiastic about. but the quiet grows and grows. beautifully and unbearably. and at last you are conscious of something approaching; it is almost a faint sound of footsteps. something inexpressibly lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. and, oh, inexpressibly terrifying. for if it were to touch you, if it were to seize and engulf you, you’d die; all the regular, habitual, daily part of you would die. there would be an end of bandstands and whizzing factories, and one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange, unheard-of manner. nearer, nearer come the steps; but one can’t face the advancing thing. one daren’t. it’s too terrifying, it’s too painful to die. quickly, before it is too late, start the factory wheels, bang the drum, blow up the saxophone. think of the women you’d like to sleep with, the schemes for making money, the gossip about your friends, the last outrage of the politicians. anything for a diversion. break the silence, smash the crystal to pieces. there, it lies in bits; it is easily broken, hard to build up and easy to break. and the steps? ah, those have taken themselves off, double quick. double quick, they were gone at the first flawing of the crystal. and by this time the lovely and terrifying thing is three infinities away, at least. and you lie tranquilly on your bed, thinking of what you’d do if you had ten thousand pounds, and of all the fornications you’ll never commit.” he thought of rosie’s pink underclothes.
-“you make things very complicated,” she said, after a silence.
-gumbril spread out his great-coat on a green bank and they sat down. leaning back, his hands under his head, he watched her sitting there beside him. she had taken off her hat; there was a stir of wind in those childish curls, and at the nape, at the temples, where the hair had sleaved out thin and fine, the sunlight made little misty haloes of gold. her hands clasped round her knees, she sat quite still, looking out across the green expanses, at the trees, at the white clouds on the horizon. there was quiet in her mind, he thought. she was native to that crystal world; for her, the steps came comfortingly through the silence and the lovely thing brought with it no terrors. it was all so easy for her and simple.
-ah, so simple, so simple; like the hire purchase system on which rosie had bought her pink bed. and how simple it was, too, to puddle clear waters and unpetal every flower!—every wild flower, by god! one ever passed in a governess cart at the heels of a barrel-bellied pony. how simple to spit on the floors of churches! si prega di non sputare. simple to kick one’s legs and enjoy oneself—dutifully—in pink underclothing. perfectly simple.
-“what’s like that?”
-“everything,” said emily. “to-day, i mean. you and me. these gardens——” and she went on humming.
-gumbril shook his head. “too simple for me,” he said.
-emily laughed. “ah, but then think how impossible it gets a little farther on.” she agitated her fingers wildly, as though she were trying to play the impossible passages. “it begins easily for the sake of poor imbeciles like me; but it goes on, it goes on, more and more fully and subtly and abstrusely and embracingly. but it’s still the same movement.”
-the shadows stretched farther and farther across the lawns, and as the sun declined the level light picked out among the grasses innumerable stipplings of shadow; and in the paths, that had seemed under the more perpendicular rays as level as a table, a thousand little shadowy depressions and sun-touched mountains were now apparent. gumbril looked at his watch.
-“we shall be late.” he wouldn’t tell her for what. “wait and see” was all that emily could get out of him by her questioning. they hurried out of the gardens, and in spite of her protests he insisted on taking a taxi into town. “i have such a lot of unearned increment to get rid of,” he explained. the patent small-clothes seemed at the moment remoter than the farthest stars.
-in spite of the taxi, in spite of the gobbled dinner, they were late. the concert had begun.
-“never mind,” said gumbril. “we shall get in in time for the minuetto. it’s then that the fun really begins.”
-“sour grapes,” said emily, putting her ear to the door. “it sounds to me simply too lovely.”
-they stood outside, like beggars waiting abjectly at the doors of a banqueting-hall—stood and listened to the snatches of music that came out tantalizingly from within. a rattle of clapping announced at last that the first movement was over; the doors were thrown open. hungrily they rushed in. the sclopis quartet and a subsidiary viola were bowing from the platform. there was a chirrup of tuning, then preliminary silence. sclopis nodded and moved his bow. the minuetto of mozart’s g minor quintet broke out, phrase after phrase, short and decisive, with every now and then a violent sforzando chord, startling in its harsh and sudden emphasis.
-minuetto—all civilization, mr. mercaptan would have said, was implied in the delicious word, the delicate, pretty thing. ladies and precious gentlemen, fresh from the wit and gallantry of crebillon-haunted sofas, stepping gracefully to a pattern of airy notes. to this passion of one who cries out, to this obscure and angry argument with fate how would they, gumbril wondered, how would they have tripped it?
-how pure the passion, how unaffected, clear and without clot or pretension the unhappiness of that slow movement which followed! blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see god. pure and unsullied; pure and unmixed, unadulterated. “not passionate, thank god; only sensual and sentimental.” in the name of earwig. amen. pure, pure. worshippers have tried to rape the statues of the gods; the statuaries who made the images were generally to blame. and how deliciously, too, an artist can suffer! and, in the face of the whole albert hall, with what an effective gesture and grimace! but blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see god. the instruments come together and part again. long silver threads hang aerially over a murmur of waters; in the midst of muffled sobbing a cry. the fountains blow their architecture of slender pillars, and from basin to basin the waters fall; from basin to basin, and every fall makes somehow possible a higher leaping of the jet, and at the last fall the mounting column springs up into the sunlight, and from water the music has modulated up into a rainbow. blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see god; they shall make god visible, too, to other eyes.
-blood beats in the ears. beat, beat, beat. a slow drum in the darkness, beating in the ears of one who lies wakeful with fever, with the sickness of too much misery. it beats unceasingly, in the ears, in the mind itself. body and mind are indivisible, and in the spirit blood painfully throbs. sad thoughts droop through the mind. a small, pure light comes swaying down through the darkness, comes to rest, resigning itself to the obscurity of its misfortune. there is resignation, but blood still beats in the ears. blood still painfully beats, though the mind has acquiesced. and then, suddenly, the mind exerts itself, throws off the fever of too much suffering and laughing, commands the body to dance. the introduction to the last movement comes to its suspended, throbbing close. there is an instant of expectation, and then, with a series of mounting trochees and a downward hurrying, step after tiny step, in triple time, the dance begins. irrelevant, irreverent, out of key with all that has gone before. but man’s greatest strength lies in his capacity for irrelevance. in the midst of pestilences, wars and famines, he builds cathedrals; and a slave, he can think the irrelevant and unsuitable thoughts of a free man. the spirit is slave to fever and beating blood, at the mercy of an obscure and tyrannous misfortune. but irrelevantly, it elects to dance in triple measure—a mounting skip, a patter of descending feet.
-the g minor quintet is at an end; the applause rattles out loudly. enthusiasts stand up and cry bravo. and the five men on the platform rise and bow their acknowledgments. great sclopis himself receives his share of the plaudits with a weary condescension; weary are his poached eyes, weary his disillusioned smile. it is only his due, he knows; but he has had so much clapping, so many lovely women. he has a roman nose, a colossal brow and, though the tawny musical mane does much to conceal the fact, no back to his head. garofalo, the second fiddle, is black, beady-eyed and pot-bellied. the convex reflections of the electroliers slide back and forth over his polished bald head, as he bends, again, again, in little military salutes. peperkoek, two metres high, bows with a sinuous politeness. his face, his hair are all of the same greyish buff colour; he does not smile, his appearance is monolithic and grim. not so exuberant knoedler, who sweats and smiles and embraces his ’cello send lays his hand to his heart and bows almost to the ground as though all this hullabaloo were directed only at him. as for poor little mr. jenkins, the subsidiary viola, he has slid away into the background, and feeling that this is really the sclopis’s show and that he, a mere intruder, has no right to any of these demonstrations, he hardly bows at all, but only smiles, vaguely and nervously, and from time to time makes a little spasmodic twitch to show that he isn’t really ungrateful or haughty, as you might think, but that he feels in the circumstances—the position is a little embarrassing—it is hard to explain....
-“strange,” said gumbril, “to think that those ridiculous creatures could have produced what we’ve just been hearing.”
-the poached eye of sclopis lighted on emily, flushed and ardently applauding. he gave her, all to herself, a weary smile. he would have a letter, he guessed, to-morrow morning signed ‘your little admirer in the third row.’ she looked a choice little piece. he smiled again to encourage her. emily, alas! had not even noticed. she was applauding the music.
-“did you enjoy it?” he asked, as they stepped out into a deserted bond street.
-“did i...?” emily laughed expressively. “no, i didn’t enjoy,” she said. “enjoy isn’t the word. you enjoy eating ices. it made me happy. it’s unhappy music, but it made me happy.”
-gumbril hailed a cab and gave the address of his rooms in great russell street. “happy,” he repeated, as they sat there side by side in the darkness. he, too, was happy.
-“where are we going?” she asked.
-“to my rooms,” said gumbril, “we shall be quiet there.” he was afraid she might object to going there—after yesterday. but she made no comment.
-“some people think that it’s only possible to be happy if one makes a noise,” she said, after a pause. “i find it’s too delicate and melancholy for noise. being happy is rather melancholy—like the most beautiful landscape, like those trees and the grass and the clouds and the sunshine to-day.”
-“from the outside,” said gumbril, “it even looks rather dull.” they stumbled up the dark staircase to his rooms. gumbril lit a pair of candles and put the kettle on the gas ring. they sat together on the divan sipping tea. in the rich, soft light of the candles she looked different, more beautiful. the silk of her dress seemed wonderfully rich and glossy, like the petals of a tulip, and on her face, on her bare arms and neck the light seemed to spread an impalpable bright bloom. on the wall behind them, their shadows ran up towards the ceiling, enormous and profoundly black.
-“how unreal it is,” gumbril whispered. “not true. this remote secret room. these lights and shadows out of another time. and you out of nowhere and i, out of a past utterly remote from yours, sitting together here, together—and being happy. that’s the strangest thing of all. being quite senselessly happy. it’s unreal, unreal.”
-“but why,” said emily, “why? it’s here and happening now. it is real.”
-“it all might vanish, at any moment,” he said.
-emily smiled rather sadly. “it’ll vanish in due time,” she said. “quite naturally, not by magic; it’ll vanish the way everything else vanishes and changes. but it’s here now.”
-they gave themselves up to the enchantment. the candles burned, two shining eyes of flame, without a wink, minute after minute. but for them there were no longer any minutes. emily leaned against him, her body held in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. he caressed his cheek against her hair; sometimes, very gently, he kissed her forehead or her closed eyes.
-“if i had known you years ago ...” she sighed. “but i was a silly little idiot then. i shouldn’t have noticed any difference between you and anybody else.”
-“i shall be very jealous,” emily spoke again after another timeless silence. “there must never be anybody else, never the shadow of anybody else.”
-“there never will be anybody else,” said gumbril.
-emily smiled and opened her eyes, looked up at him. “ah, not here,” she said, “not in this real unreal room. not during this eternity. but there will be other rooms just as real as this.”
-“not so real, not so real.” he bent his face towards hers. she closed her eyes again, and the lids fluttered with a sudden tremulous movement at the touch of his light kiss.
-for them there were no more minutes. but time passed, time passed flowing in a dark stream, stanchlessly, as though from some profound mysterious wound in the world’s side, bleeding, bleeding for ever. one of the candles had burned down to the socket and the long, smoky flame wavered unsteadily. the flickering light troubled their eyes; the shadows twitched and stirred uneasily. emily looked up at him.
-“what’s the time?” she said.
-gumbril looked at his watch. it was nearly one o’clock. “too late for you to get back,” he said.
-“you could sleep here,” gumbril answered in a voice that came from a long way away.
-she sat for a long time in silence, looking through half-closed eyes at the expiring candle flame. gumbril watched her in an agony of suspense. was the ice to be broken, the web-work finally and for ever torn? the enchantment could still be prolonged, the eternity renewed. he felt his heart beating in his breast; he held his breath. it would be terrible if she were to go now, it would be a kind of death. the flame of the candle flickered more violently, leaping up in a thin, long, smoky flare, sinking again almost to darkness. emily got up and blew out the candle. the other still burned calmly and steadily.
-“may i stay?” she asked. “will you allow me?”
-he understood the meaning of her question, and nodded. “of course,” he said.
-“of course? is it as much of course as all that?”
-“when i say so.” he smiled at her. the eternity had been renewed, the enchantment prolonged. there was no need to think of anything now but the moment. the past was forgotten, the future abolished. there was only this secret room and the candlelight and the unreal, impossible happiness of being two. now that this peril of a disenchantment had been averted, it would last for ever. he got up from the couch, crossed the room, he took her hands and kissed them.
-“shall we sleep now?” she asked.
-“do you mind if i blow out the light?” and without waiting for his answer, emily turned, gave a puff, and the room was in darkness. he heard the rustling of her undressing. hastily he stripped off his own clothes, pulled back the coverlet from the divan. the bed was made and ready; he opened it and slipped between the sheets. a dim greenish light from the gas lamp in the street below came up between the parted curtains illuminating faintly the farther end of the room. against this tempered darkness he could see her, silhouetted, standing quite still, as if hesitating on some invisible brink.
-“emily,” he whispered.
-“i’m coming,” emily answered. she stood there, unmoving, a few seconds longer, then overstepped the brink. she came silently across the room, and sat down on the edge of the low couch. gumbril lay perfectly still, without speaking, waiting in the enchanted timeless darkness. emily lifted her knees, slid her feet in under the sheet, then stretched herself out beside him, her body, in the narrow bed, touching his. gumbril felt that she was trembling; trembling, a sharp involuntary start, a little shudder, another start.
-“you’re cold,” he said, and slipping one arm beneath her shoulders he drew her, limp and unresisting, towards him. she lay there, pressed against him. gradually the trembling ceased. quite still, quite still in the calm of the enchantment. the past is forgotten, the future abolished; there is only this dark and everlasting moment. a drugged and intoxicated stupor of happiness possessed his spirit; a numbness, warm and delicious, lay upon him. and yet through the stupor he knew with a dreadful anxious certainty that the end would soon be there. like a man on the night before his execution, he looked forward through the endless present; he foresaw the end of his eternity. and after? everything was uncertain and unsafe.
-very gently, he began caressing her shoulder, her long slender arm, drawing his finger-tips lightly and slowly over her smooth skin; slowly from her neck, over her shoulder, lingeringly round the elbow to her hand. again, again; he was learning her arm. the form of it was part of the knowledge, now, of his finger-tips; his fingers knew it as they knew a piece of music, as they knew mozart’s twelfth sonata, for example. and the themes that crowd so quickly one after another at the beginning of the first movement played themselves serially, glitteringly in his mind; they became a part of the enchantment.
-mrs. viveash descended the steps into king street, and standing there on the pavement looked dubiously first to the right and then to the left. little and loud, the taxis rolled by on their white wheels, the long-snouted limousines passed with a sigh. the air smelt of watered dust, tempered in mrs. viveash’s immediate neighbourhood by those memories of italian jasmines which were her perfume. on the opposite pavement, in the shade, two young men, looking very conscious of their grey top-hats, marched gravely along.
-life, mrs. viveash thought, looked a little dim this morning, in spite of the fine weather. she glanced at her watch; it was one o’clock. soon one would have to eat some lunch. but where, and with whom? mrs. viveash had no engagements. all the world was before her, she was absolutely free, all day long. yesterday, when she declined all those pressing invitations, the prospect had seemed delightful. liberty, no complications, no contacts; a pre-adamite empty world to do what she liked in.
-but to-day, when it came to the point, she hated her liberty. to come out like this at one o’clock into a vacuum—it was absurd, it was appalling. the prospect of immeasurable boredom opened before her. steppes after steppes of ennui, horizon beyond horizon, for ever the same. she looked again to the right and again to the left. finally she decided to go to the left. slowly, walking along her private knife-edge between her personal abysses, she walked towards the left. she remembered suddenly one shining day like this in the summer of 1917, when she had walked along this same street, slowly, like this, on the sunny side, with tony lamb. all that day, that night, it had been one long good-bye. he was going back the next morning. less than a week later he was dead. never again, never again: there had been a time when she could make herself cry, simply by saying those two words once or twice, under her breath. never again, never again. she repeated them softly now. but she felt no tears behind her eyes. grief doesn’t kill, love doesn’t kill; but time kills everything, kills desire, kills sorrow, kills in the end the mind that feels them; wrinkles and softens the body while it still lives, rots it like a medlar, kills it too at last. never again, never again. instead of crying, she laughed, laughed aloud. the pigeon-breasted old gentleman who had just passed her, twirling between his finger and thumb the ends of a white military moustache, turned round startled. could she be laughing at him?
-“never again,” murmured mrs. viveash.
-“i beg your pardon?” queried the martial gentleman, in a rich, port-winey, cigary voice.
-mrs. viveash looked at him with such wide-eyed astonishment that the old gentleman was quite taken aback. “a thousand apologies, dear lady. thought you were addressing ... h’m, ah’m.” he replaced his hat, squared his shoulders and went off smartly, left, right, bearing preciously before him his pigeon-breast. poor thing, he thought, poor young thing. talking to herself. must be cracked, must be off her head. or perhaps she took drugs. that was more likely: that was much more likely. most of them did nowadays. vicious young women. lesbians, drug-fiends, nymphomaniacs, dipsos—thoroughly vicious, nowadays, thoroughly vicious. he arrived at his club in an excellent temper.
-never again, never, never again. mrs. viveash would have liked to be able to cry.
-st. james’s square opened before her. romantically under its trees the statue pranced. the trees gave her an idea: she might go down into the country for the afternoon, take a cab and drive out, out, goodness only knew where! to the top of a hill somewhere. box hill, leith hill, holmbury hill, ivinghoe beacon—any hill where one could sit and look out over plains. one might do worse than that with one’s liberty.
-but not much worse, she reflected.
-mrs. viveash had turned up towards the northern side of the square and was almost at its north-western corner when, with a thrill of genuine delight, with a sense of the most profound relief she saw a familiar figure, running down the steps of the london library.
-“theodore!” she hallooed faintly but penetratingly, from her inward death-bed. “gumbril!” she waved her parasol.
-gumbril halted, looked round, came smiling to meet her. “how delightful,” he said, “but how unfortunate.”
-“why unfortunate?” asked mrs. viveash. “am i of evil omen?”
-“unfortunate,” gumbril explained, “because i’ve got to catch a train and can’t profit by this meeting.”
-“ah no, theodore,” said mrs. viveash, “you’re not going to catch a train. you’re going to come and lunch with me. providence has decreed it. you can’t say no to providence.”
-“i must,” gumbril shook his head. “i’ve said yes to somebody else.”
-“ah!” said gumbril, with a coy and saucy mysteriousness.
-“and where are you going in your famous train?”
-“ah again,” gumbril answered.
-“how intolerably tiresome and silly you are!” mrs. viveash declared. “one would think you were a sixteen-year-old schoolboy going out for his first assignation with a shop girl. at your age, gumbril!” she shook her head, smiled agonizingly and with contempt. “who is she? what sordid pick-up?”
-“not sordid in the least,” protested gumbril.
-“merci,” gumbril bowed.
-she tossed the skin back again into the gutter. “in any case,” she said, “the young lady can wait while we have luncheon.”
-gumbril shook his head. “i’ve made the arrangement,” he said. emily’s letter was in his pocket. she had taken the loveliest cottage just out of robertsbridge, in sussex. ah, but the loveliest imaginable. for the whole summer. he could come and see her there. he had telegraphed that he would come to-day, this afternoon, by the two o’clock from charing cross.
-mrs. viveash took him by the elbow. “come along,” she said. “there’s a post office in that passage going from jermyn street to piccadilly. you can wire from there your infinite regrets. these things always improve with a little keeping. there will be raptures when you do go to-morrow.”
-gumbril allowed himself to be led along. “what an insufferable woman you are,” he said, laughing.
-“instead of being grateful to me for asking you to luncheon!”
-“oh, i am grateful,” said gumbril. “and astonished.”
-he looked at her. mrs. viveash smiled and fixed him for a moment with her pale, untroubled eyes.... she said nothing.
-“still,” gumbril went on, “i must be at charing cross by two, you know.”
-“but we’re lunching at verrey’s.”
-gumbril shook his head.
-they were at the corner of jermyn street. mrs. viveash halted and delivered her ultimatum, the more impressive for being spoken in that expiring voice of one who says in articulo the final and supremely important things. “we lunch at verrey’s, theodore, or i shall never, never speak to you again.”
-“but be reasonable, myra,” he implored. if only he’d told her that he had a business appointment.... imbecile, to have dropped those stupid hints—in that tone!
-“i prefer not to be,” said mrs. viveash.
-gumbril made a gesture of despair and was silent. he thought of emily in her native quiet among the flowers; in a cottage altogether too cottagey, with honeysuckles and red ramblers and hollyhocks—though, on second thoughts, none of them would be blooming yet, would they?—happily, in white muslin, extracting from the cottage piano the easier sections of the arietta. a little absurd, perhaps, when you considered her like that; but exquisite, but adorable, but pure of heart and flawless in her bright pellucid integrity, complete as a crystal in its faceted perfection. she would be waiting for him, expecting him; and they would walk through the twiddly lanes—or perhaps there would be a governess cart for hire, with a fat pony like a tub on legs to pull it—they would look for flowers in the woods and perhaps he would still remember what sort of noise a whitethroat makes; or even if he didn’t remember, he could always magisterially say he did. “that’s a whitethroat, emily. do you hear? the one that goes ‘tweedly, weedly, weedledy dee.’”
-“i’m waiting,” said mrs. viveash. “patiently, however.”
-gumbril looked at her and found her smiling like a tragic mask. after all, he reflected, emily would still be there if he went down to-morrow. it would be stupid to quarrel with myra about something that was really, when he came to think of it, not of enormous importance. it was stupid to quarrel with any one about anything; and with myra and about this, particularly so. in this white dress patterned with flowing arabesques of black she looked, he thought, more than ever enchanting. there had been times in the past.... the past leads on to the present.... no; but in any case she was excellent company.
-“well,” he said, sighing decisively, “let’s go and send my wire.”
-mrs. viveash made no comment, and traversing jermyn street they walked up the narrow passage under the lee of wren’s bald barn of st. james’s, to the post office.
-“i shall pretext a catastrophe,” said gumbril, as they entered; and going to the telegraph desk he wrote: “slight accident on way to station not serious at all but a little indisposed come same train to-morrow.” he addressed the form and handed it in.
-“a little what?” asked the young lady behind the bars, as she read it through, prodding each successive word with the tip of her blunt pencil.
-“a little indisposed,” said gumbril, and he felt suddenly very much ashamed of himself. “a little indisposed,”—no, really, that was too much. he’d withdraw the telegram, he’d go after all.
-“ready?” asked mrs. viveash, coming up from the other end of the counter where she had been buying stamps.
-gumbril pushed a florin under the bars.
-“a little indisposed,” he said, hooting with laughter, and he walked towards the door leaning heavily on his stick and limping. “slight accident,” he explained.
-“what is the meaning of this clownery?” mrs. viveash inquired.
-“what indeed?” gumbril had limped up to the door and stood there, holding it open for her. he was taking no responsibility for himself. it was the clown’s doing, and the clown, poor creature, was non compos, not entirely there, and couldn’t be called to account for his actions. he limped after her towards piccadilly.
-“giudicato guarabile in cinque giorni,” mrs. viveash laughed. “how charming that always is in the italian papers. the fickle lady, the jealous lover, the stab, the colpo di rivoltella, the mere anglo-saxon black eye—all judged by the house surgeon at the misericordia curable in five days. and you, my poor gumbril, are you curable in five days?”
-“that depends,” said gumbril. “there may be complications.”
-mrs. viveash waved her parasol; a taxi came swerving to the pavement’s edge in front of them. “meanwhile,” she said, “you can’t be expected to walk.”
-at verrey’s they lunched off lobsters and white wine. “fish suppers,” gumbril quoted jovially from the restoration, “fish suppers will make a man hop like a flea.” through the whole meal he clowned away in the most inimitable style. the ghost of a governess cart rolled along the twiddly lanes of robertsbridge. but one can refuse to accept responsibility; a clown cannot be held accountable. and besides, when the future and the past are abolished, when it is only the present instant, whether enchanted or unenchanted, that counts, when there are no causes or motives, no future consequences to be considered, how can there be responsibility, even for those who are not clowns? he drank a great deal of hock, and when the clock struck two and the train had begun to snort out of charing cross, he could not refrain from proposing the health of viscount lascelles. after that he began telling mrs. viveash about his adventure as a complete man.
-“you should have seen me,” he said, describing his beard.
-“i should have been bowled over.”
-“you shall see me, then,” said gumbril. “ah, what a don giovanni. la ci darem la mano, la mi dirai di si, vieni, non e lontano, partiam, ben mio, da qui. and they came, they came. without hesitation. no ‘vorrei e non vorrei,’ no ‘mi trema un poco il cor.’ straight away.”
-“felice, io so, sarei,” mrs. viveash sang very faintly under her breath, from a remote bed of agony.
-ah, happiness, happiness; a little dull, some one had wisely said, when you looked at it from outside. an affair of duets at the cottage piano, of collecting specimens, hand in hand, for the hortus siccus. a matter of integrity and quietness.
-“ah, but the history of the young woman who was married four years ago,” exclaimed gumbril with clownish rapture, “and remains to this day a virgin—what an episode in my memoirs!” in the enchanted darkness he had learned her young body. he looked at his fingers; her beauty was a part of their knowledge. on the tablecloth he drummed out the first bars of the twelfth sonata of mozart. “and even after singing her duet with the don,” he continued, “she is still virgin. there are chaste pleasures, sublimated sensualities. more thrillingly voluptuous,” with the gesture of a restaurant-keeper who praises the speciality of the house, he blew a treacly kiss, “than any of the grosser deliriums.”
-“what is all this about?” asked mrs. viveash.
-gumbril finished off his glass. “i am talking esoterically,” he said, “for my own pleasure, not yours.”
-“but tell me more about the beard,” mrs. viveash insisted. “i liked the beard so much.”
-“all right,” said gumbril, “let us try to be unworthy with coherence.”
-they sat for a long time over their cigarettes; it was half past three before mrs. viveash suggested they should go.
-“almost time,” she said, looking at her watch, “to have tea. one damned meal after another. and never anything new to eat. and every year one gets bored with another of the old things. lobster, for instance, how i used to adore lobster once! but to-day—well, really, it was only your conversation, theodore, that made it tolerable.”
-gumbril put his hand to his heart and bowed. he felt suddenly extremely depressed.
-“and wine: i used to think orvieto so heavenly. but this spring, when i went to italy, it was just a bad muddy sort of vouvray. and those soft caramels they call fiats; i used to eat those till i was sick. i was at the sick stage before i’d finished one of them, this time in rome.” mrs. viveash shook her head. “disillusion after disillusion.”
-they walked down the dark passage into the street.
-“we’ll go home,” said mrs. viveash. “i really haven’t the spirit to do anything else this afternoon.” to the commissionaire who opened the door of the cab she gave the address of her house in st. james’s.
-“will one ever recapture the old thrills?” she asked rather fatiguedly as they drove slowly through the traffic of regent street.
-“not by chasing after them,” said gumbril, in whom the clown had quite evaporated. “if one sat still enough they might perhaps come back of their own accord....” there would be the faint sound as it were of feet approaching through the quiet.
-“it isn’t only food,” said mrs. viveash, who had closed her eyes and was leaning back in her corner.
-“so i can well believe.”
-“it’s everything. nothing’s the same now. i feel it never will be.”
-“never more,” croaked gumbril.
-“never again,” mrs. viveash echoed. “never again.” there were still no tears behind her eyes. “did you ever know tony lamb?” she asked.
-“no,” gumbril answered from his corner. “what about him?”
-mrs. viveash did not answer. what, indeed, about him? she thought of his very clear blue eyes and the fair, bright hair that had been lighter than his brown face. brown face and neck, red-brown hands; and all the rest of his skin was as white as milk. “i was very fond of him,” she said at last. “that’s all. he was killed in 1917, just about this time of the year. it seems a very long time ago, don’t you think?”
-“does it?” gumbril shrugged his shoulders. “i don’t know. the past is abolished. vivamus, mea lesbia. if i weren’t so horribly depressed, i’d embrace you. that would be some slight compensation for my”—he tapped his foot with the end of his walking-stick—“my accident.”
-“you’re depressed too?”
-“one should never drink at luncheon,” said gumbril. “it wrecks the afternoon. one should also never think of the past and never for one moment consider the future. these are treasures of ancient wisdom. but perhaps after a little tea——” he leaned forward to look at the figures on the taximeter, for the cab had come to a standstill—“after a nip of the tannin stimulant”—he threw open the door—“we may feel rather better.”
-mrs. viveash smiled excruciatingly. “for me,” she said, as she stepped out on to the pavement, “even tannin has lost its virtues now.”
-mrs. viveash’s drawing-room was tastefully in the movement. the furniture was upholstered in fabrics designed by dufy—racehorses and roses, little tennis players clustering in the midst of enormous flowers, printed in grey and ochre on a white ground. there were a couple of lamp-shades by balla. on the pale rose-stippled walls hung three portraits of herself by three different and entirely incongruous painters, a selection of the usual oranges and lemons, and a rather forbidding contemporary nude painted in two tones of green.
-“and how bored i am with this room and all these beastly pictures!” exclaimed mrs. viveash as she entered. she took off her hat and, standing in front of the mirror above the mantelpiece, smoothed her coppery hair.
-“you should take a cottage in the country,” said gumbril, “buy a pony and a governess cart and drive along the twiddly lanes looking for flowers. after tea you open the cottage piano,” and suiting his action to the words, gumbril sat down at the long-tailed blüthner, “and you play, you play.” very slowly and with parodied expressiveness he played the opening theme of the arietta. “you wouldn’t be bored then,” he said, turning round to her, when he had finished.
-“ah, wouldn’t i!” said mrs. viveash. “and with whom do you propose that i should share my cottage?”
-“any one you like,” said gumbril. his fingers hung, as though meditating over the keys.
-“but i don’t like any one,” cried mrs. viveash with a terrible vehemence from her death-bed.... ah, now it had been said, the truth. it sounded like a joke. tony had been dead five years now. those bright blue eyes—ah, never again. all rotted away to nothing.
-“then you should try,” said gumbril, whose hands had begun to creep softly forward into the twelfth sonata. “you should try.”
-“but i do try,” said mrs. viveash. her elbows propped on the mantelpiece, her chin resting on her clasped hands, she was looking fixedly at her own image in the glass. pale eyes looked unwaveringly into pale eyes. the red mouth and its reflection exchanged their smiles of pain. she had tried; it revolted her now to think how often she had tried; she had tried to like some one, any one, as much as tony. she had tried to recapture, to re-evoke, to revivify. and there had never been anything, really, but a disgust. “i haven’t succeeded,” she added, after a pause.
-the music had shifted from f major to d minor; it mounted in leaping anapæsts to a suspended chord, ran down again, mounted once more, modulating to c minor, then, through a passage of trembling notes to a flat major, to the dominant of d flat, to the dominant of c, to c minor, and at last, to a new clear theme in the major.
-“then i’m sorry for you,” said gumbril, allowing his fingers to play on by themselves. he felt sorry, too, for the subjects of mrs. viveash’s desperate experiments. she mightn’t have succeeded in liking them—for their part, poor devils, they in general only too agonizingly liked her.... only too.... he remembered the cold, damp spots on his pillow, in the darkness. those hopeless, angry tears. “you nearly killed me once,” he said.
-“only time kills,” said mrs. viveash, still looking into her own pale eyes. “i have never made any one happy,” she added, after a pause. “never any one,” she thought, except tony, and tony they had killed, shot him through the head. even the bright eyes had rotted, like any other carrion. she too had been happy then. never again.
-a maid came in with the tea-things.
-“ah, the tannin!” exclaimed gumbril with enthusiasm, and broke off his playing. “the one hope of salvation.” he poured out two cups, and picking up one of them he came over to the fireplace and stood behind her, sipping slowly at the pale brewage and looking over her shoulder at their two reflections in the mirror.
-“la ci darem,” he hummed. “if only i had my beard!” he stroked his chin and with the tip of his forefinger brushed up the drooping ends of his moustache. “you’d come trembling like zerlina, in under its golden shadow.”
-mrs. viveash smiled. “i don’t ask for anything better,” she said. “what more delightful part! felice, io so, sarei: batti, batti, o bel mazetto. enviable zerlina!”
-the servant made another silent entry.
-“a gentleman,” she said, “called mr. shearwater would like——”
-“tell him i’m not at home,” said mrs. viveash, without looking round.
-there was a silence. with raised eyebrows gumbril looked over mrs. viveash’s shoulder at her reflection. her eyes were calm and without expression, she did not smile or frown. gumbril still questioningly looked. in the end he began to laugh.
-they were playing that latest novelty from across the water, “what’s he to hecuba?” sweet, sweet and piercing, the saxophone pierced into the very bowels of compassion and tenderness, pierced like a revelation from heaven, pierced like the angel’s treacly dart into the holy teresa’s quivering and ecstasiated flank. more ripely and roundly, with a kindly and less agonizing voluptuousness, the ’cello meditated those mohammedan ecstasies that last, under the green palms of paradise, six hundred inenarrable years apiece. into this charged atmosphere the violin admitted refreshing draughts of fresh air, cool and thin like the breath from a still damp squirt. and the piano hammered and rattled away unmindful of the sensibilities of the other instruments, banged away all the time reminding every one concerned, in a thoroughly business-like way, that this was a cabaret where people came to dance the fox-trot; not a baroque church for female saints to go into ecstasies in, not a mild, happy valley of tumbling houris.
-at each recurrence of the refrain the four negroes of the orchestra, or at least the three of them who played with their hands alone—for the saxophonist always blew at this point with a redoubled sweetness, enriching the passage with a warbling contrapuntal soliloquy that fairly wrung the entrails and transported the pierced heart—broke into melancholy and drawling song:
-“what’s he to hecuba? nothing at all. that’s why there’ll be no wedding on wednesday week, way down in old bengal.”
-“what unspeakable sadness,” said gumbril, as he stepped, stepped through the intricacies of the trot. “eternal passion, eternal pain. les chants désesperés sont les chants les plus beaux, et j’en sais d’immortels qui sont de purs sanglots. rum tiddle-um-tum, pom-pom. amen. what’s he to hecuba? nothing at all. nothing, mark you. nothing, nothing.”
-“nothing,” repeated mrs. viveash. “i know all about that.” she sighed.
-“what’s he to hecuba?” the grinning blackamoors repeated the question, reiterated the answer on a tone of frightful unhappiness. the saxophone warbled on the verge of anguish. the couples revolved, marked time, stepped and stepped with an habitual precision, as though performing some ancient and profoundly significant rite. some were in fancy dress, for this was a gala night at the cabaret. young women disguised as callipygous florentine pages, blue-breeched gondoliers, black-breeched toreadors circulated, moon-like, round the hall, clasped sometimes in the arms of arabs, or white clowns, or more often of untravestied partners. the faces reflected in the mirrors were the sort of faces one feels one ought to know by sight; the cabaret was ‘artistic.’
-“what’s he to hecuba?”
-“ravishing little toreador, that,” said gumbril, who had been following the black-breeched travesty with affectionate interest.
-mrs. viveash opened her eyes. nil was unescapable. “with piers cotton, you mean? your tastes are a little common, my dear theodore.”
-mrs. viveash laughed. “when i was being ‘finished’ in paris,” she said, “mademoiselle always used to urge me to take fencing lessons. c’est un exercice très gracieux. et puis,” mrs. viveash mimicked a passionate earnestness, “et puis, ça dévelope le bassin. your toreador, gumbril, looks as though she must be a champion with the foils. quel bassin!”
-“hush,” said gumbril. they were abreast of the toreador and her partner. piers cotton turned his long greyhound’s nose in their direction.
-“how are you?” he asked across the music.
-they nodded. “and you?”
-“ah, writing such a book,” cried piers cotton, “such a brilliant, brilliant, flashing book.” the dance was carrying them apart. “like a smile of false teeth,” he shouted across the widening gulf, and disappeared in the crowd.
-“what’s he to hecuba?” lachrymosely, the hilarious blackamoors chanted their question, mournfully pregnant with its foreknown reply.
-nil, omnipresent nil, world-soul, spiritual informer of all matter. nil in the shape of a black-breeched moon-basined toreador. nil, the man with the greyhound’s nose. nil, as four blackamoors. nil in the form of a divine tune. nil, the faces, the faces one ought to know by sight, reflected in the mirrors of the hall. nil this gumbril whose arm is round one’s waist, whose feet step in and out among one’s own. nothing at all.
-that’s why there’ll be no wedding. no wedding at st. george’s, hanover square,—oh, desperate experiment!—with nil viveash, that charming boy, that charming nothing at all, engaged at the moment in hunting elephants, hunting fever and carnivores among the tikki-tikki pygmies. that’s why there’ll be no wedding on wednesday week. for lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime. for the light strawy hair (not a lock left), the brown face, the red-brown hands and the smooth boy’s body, milk-white, milk-warm, are nothing at all, nothing, now, at all—nil these five years—and the shining blue eyes as much nil as the rest.
-“always the same people,” complained mrs. viveash, looking round the room. “the old familiar faces. never any one new. where’s the younger generation, gumbril? we’re old, theodore. there are millions younger than we are. where are they?”
-“i’m not responsible for them,” said gumbril. “i’m not even responsible for myself.” he imagined a cottagey room, under the roof, with a window near the floor and a sloping ceiling where you were always bumping your head; and in the candlelight emily’s candid eyes, her grave and happy mouth; in the darkness, the curve, under his fingers, of her firm body.
-“why don’t they come and sing for their supper?” mrs. viveash went on petulantly. “it’s their business to amuse us.”
-“they’re probably thinking of amusing themselves,” gumbril suggested.
-“well, then, they should do it where we can see them.”
-“what’s he to hecuba?”
-“nothing at all,” gumbril clownishly sang. the room, in the cottage, had nothing to do with him. he breathed mrs. viveash’s memories of italian jasmines, laid his cheek for a moment against her smooth hair. “nothing at all.” happy clown!
-way down in old bengal, under the green paradisiac palms, among the ecstatic mystagogues and the saints who scream beneath the divine caresses, the music came to an end. the four negroes wiped their glistening faces. the couples fell apart. gumbril and mrs. viveash sat down and smoked a cigarette.
-the blackamoors had left the platform at the end of the hall. the curtains looped up at either side had slid down, cutting it off from the rest of the room—“making two worlds,” gumbril elegantly and allusively put it, “where only one grew before—and one of them a better world,” he added too philosophically, “because unreal.” there was the theatrical silence, the suspense. the curtains parted again.
-on a narrow bed—on a bier perhaps—the corpse of a woman. the husband kneels beside it. at the foot stands the doctor, putting away his instruments. in a beribboned pink cradle reposes a monstrous baby.
-the husband: margaret! margaret!
-the doctor: she is dead.
-the husband: margaret!
-the doctor: of septicæmia, i tell you.
-the husband: i wish that i too were dead!
-the doctor: but you won’t to-morrow.
-the husband: to-morrow! but i don’t want to live to see to-morrow.
-the doctor: you will to-morrow.
-the husband: margaret! margaret! wait for me there; i shall not fail to meet you in that hollow vale.
-the doctor: you will not be slow to survive her.
-the husband: christ have mercy upon us!
-the doctor: you would do better to think of the child.
-the husband (rising and standing menacingly over the cradle): is that the monster?
-the doctor: no worse than others.
-the husband: begotten in a night of immaculate pleasure, monster, may you live loveless, in dirt and impurity!
-the doctor: conceived in lust and darkness, may your own impurity always seem heavenly, monster, in your own eyes!
-the husband: murderer, slowly die all your life long!
-the doctor: the child must be fed.
-the husband: fed? with what?
-the doctor: with milk.
-the husband: her milk is cold in her breasts.
-the doctor: there are still cows.
-the husband: tubercular shorthorns. (calling.) let short-i’-the-horn be brought!
-voices (off): short-i’-the-horn! short-i’-the-horn! (fadingly) short-i’-the....
-the doctor: in nineteen hundred and twenty-one, twenty-seven thousand nine hundred and thirteen women died in childbirth.
-the husband: but none of them belonged to my harem.
-the doctor: each of them was somebody’s wife.
-the husband: doubtless. but the people we don’t know are only characters in the human comedy. we are the tragedians.
-the doctor: not in the spectator’s eyes.
-the husband: do i think of the spectators? ah, margaret! margaret!...
-the doctor: the twenty-seven thousand nine hundred and fourteenth.
-the husband: the only one!
-the doctor: but here comes the cow.
-the husband: ah, good short-i’-the-horn! (he pats the animal.) she was tested last week, was she not?
-the yokel: ay, sir.
-the husband: and found tubercular. no?
-the yokel: even in the udders, may it please you.
-the husband: excellent! milk me the cow, sir, into this dirty wash-pot.
-the yokel: i will, sir. (he milks the cow.)
-the husband: her milk—her milk is cold already. all the woman in her chilled and curdled within her breasts. ah, jesus! what miraculous galactagogue will make it flow again?
-the yokel: the wash-pot is full, sir.
-the husband: then take the cow away.
-the yokel: come, short-i’-the-horn; come up, good short-i’-the-horn. (he goes out with the cow.)
-the husband (pouring the milk into a long-tubed feeding-bottle): here’s for you, monster, to drink your own health in. (he gives the bottle to the child.)
-“a little ponderous, perhaps,” said gumbril, as the curtain came down.
-“but i liked the cow.” mrs. viveash opened her cigarette-case and found it empty. gumbril offered her one of his. she shook her head. “i don’t want it in the least,” she said.
-“yes, the cow was in the best pantomime tradition,” gumbril agreed. ah! but it was a long time since he had been to a christmas pantomime. not since dan leno’s days. all the little cousins, the uncles and aunts on both sides of the family, dozens and dozens of them—every year they filled the best part of a row in the dress circle at drury lane. and buns were stickily passed from hand to hand, chocolates circulated; the grown-ups drank tea. and the pantomime went on and on, glory after glory, under the shining arch of the stage. hours and hours; and the grown-ups always wanted to go away before the harlequinade. and the children felt sick from eating too much chocolate, or wanted with such extreme urgency to go to the w.c. that they had to be led out, trampling and stumbling over everybody else’s feet—and every stumble making the need more agonizingly great—in the middle of the transformation scene. and there was dan leno, inimitable dan leno, dead now as poor yorick, no more than a mere skull like anybody else’s skull. and his mother, he remembered, used to laugh at him sometimes till the tears ran down her cheeks. she used to enjoy things thoroughly, with a whole heart.
-“i wish they’d hurry up with the second scene,” said mrs. viveash. “if there’s anything that bores me, it’s entr’actes.”
-“most of one’s life is an entr’acte,” said gumbril, whose present mood of hilarious depression seemed favourable to the enunciation of apophthegms.
-“none of your cracker mottoes, please,” protested mrs. viveash. all the same, she reflected, what was she doing now but waiting for the curtain to go up again, waiting, with what unspeakable weariness of spirit, for the curtain that had rung down, ten centuries ago, on those blue eyes, that bright strawy hair and the weathered face?
-“thank god,” she said with an expiring earnestness, “here’s the second scene!”
-the monster (solus): the young girls of sparta, they say, used to wrestle naked with naked spartan boys. the sun caressed their skins till they were brown and transparent like amber or a flask of olive oil. their breasts were hard, their bellies flat. they were pure with the chastity of beautiful animals. their thoughts were clear, their minds cool and untroubled. i spit blood into my handkerchief and sometimes i feel in my mouth something slimy, soft and disgusting, like a slug—and i have coughed up a shred of my lung. the rickets from which i suffered in childhood have bent my bones and made them old and brittle. all my life i have lived in this huge town, whose domes and spires are wrapped in a cloud of stink that hides the sun. the slug-dank tatters of lung that i spit out are black with the soot i have been breathing all these years. i am now come of age. long-expected one-and-twenty has made me a fully privileged citizen of this great realm of which the owners of the daily mirror, the news of the world and the daily express are noble peers. somewhere, i must logically infer, there must be other cities, built by men for men to live in. somewhere, in the past, in the future, a very long way off.... but perhaps the only street improvement schemes that ever really improve the streets are schemes in the minds of those who live in them: schemes of love mostly. ah! here she comes.
-she is like a pear tree in flower. when she smiles, it is as though there were stars. her hair is like the harvest in an eclogue, her cheeks are all the fruits of summer. her arms and thighs are as beautiful as the soul of st. catherine of siena. and her eyes, her eyes are plumbless with thought and limpidly pure like the water of the mountains.
-the young lady: if i wait till the summer sale, the crêpe de chine will be reduced by at least two shillings a yard, and on six camisoles that will mean a lot of money. but the question is: can i go from may till the end of july with the underclothing i have now?
-the monster: if i knew her, i should know the universe!
-the young lady: my present ones are so dreadfully middle-class. and if roger should ... by any chance....
-the monster: or, rather, i should be able to ignore it, having a private universe of my own.
-the young lady: if—if he did—well, it might be rather humiliating with these i have ... like a servant’s almost....
-the monster: love makes you accept the world; it puts an end to criticism.
-the young lady: his hand already....
-the monster: dare i, dare i tell her how beautiful she is?
-the young lady: on the whole, i think i’d better get it now, though it will cost more.
-the monster (desperately advancing to the window as though to assault a battery): beautiful! beautiful!
-the young lady (looking at him): ha, ha, ha!
-the monster: but i love you, flowering pear tree; i love you, golden harvest; i love you, fruitage of summer; i love you, body and limbs, with the shape of a saint’s thought.
-the young lady (redoubles her laughter): ha, ha, ha!
-the monster (taking her hand): you cannot be cruel! (he is seized with a violent paroxysm of coughing which doubles him up, which shakes and torments him. the handkerchief he holds to his mouth is spotted with blood.)
-the young lady: you disgust me! (she draws away her skirts so that they shall not come in contact with him.)
-the monster: but i swear to you, i love—i—— (he is once more interrupted by his cough.)
-the young lady: please go away. (in a different voice) ah, roger! (she advances to meet a snub-nosed lubber with curly hair and a face like a groom’s, who passes along the street at this moment.)
-roger: i’ve got the motor-bike waiting at the corner.
-the young lady: let’s go, then.
-roger (pointing to the monster): what’s that?
-the young lady: oh, it’s nothing in particular.
-“lord!” whispered mrs. viveash, “how this young man bores me!”
-“i confess,” replied gumbril, “i have rather a taste for moralities. there is a pleasant uplifting vagueness about these symbolical generalized figures which pleases me.”
-“you were always charmingly simple-minded,” said mrs. viveash. “but who’s this? as long as the young man isn’t left alone on the stage, i don’t mind.”
-another female figure has appeared in the street beyond the window. it is the prostitute. her face, painted in two tones of red, white, green, blue and black, is the most tasteful of nature-mortes.
-the prostitute: hullo, duckie!
-the monster: hullo!
-the prostitute: are you lonely?
-the monster: yes.
-the prostitute: would you like me to come in to see you?
-the monster: very well.
-the prostitute: shall we say thirty bob?
-the monster: as you like.
-the prostitute: come along then.
-the monster (taking out a cheque-book and a fountain pen): thirty shillings....
-the prostitute: thank you. not a cheque. i don’t want any cheques. how do i know it isn’t a dud one that they’ll refuse payment for at the bank? ready money for me, thanks.
-the monster: but i haven’t got any cash on me at the moment.
-the prostitute: well, i won’t take a cheque. once bitten, twice shy, i can tell you.
-the monster: but i tell you i haven’t got any cash.
-the prostitute: well, all i can say is, here i stay till i get it. and, what’s more, if i don’t get it quick, i’ll make a row.
-the monster: but this is absurd. i offer you a perfectly good cheque....
-the prostitute: and i won’t take it. so there!
-the monster: well then, take my watch. it’s worth more than thirty bob. (he pulls out his gold half-hunter.)
-the prostitute: thank you, and get myself arrested as soon as i take it to the pop-shop! no, i want cash, i tell you.
-the monster: but where the devil do you expect me to get it at this time of night?
-the prostitute: i don’t know. but you’ve got to get it pretty quick.
-the monster: you’re unreasonable.
-the prostitute: aren’t there any servants in this house?
-the monster: yes.
-the prostitute: well, go and borrow it from one of them.
-the monster: but really, that would be too low, too humiliating.
-the monster: you really won’t take my cheque? i swear to you it’s perfectly all right. there’s plenty of money to meet it.
-the prostitute: oh, shut up! no more dilly-dallying. get me my money at once, or i’ll start the row. one, two, three.... (she opens her mouth wide as if to yell.)
-the monster: all right. (he goes out.)
-the prostitute: nice state of things we’re coming to, when young rips try and swindle us poor girls out of our money! mean, stinking skunks! i’d like to slit the throats of some of them.
-the monster (coming back again): here you are. (he hands her money.)
-the prostitute (examining it): thank you, dearie. any other time you’re lonely....
-the monster: no, no!
-the prostitute: where did you get it finally?
-the monster: i woke the cook.
-the prostitute (goes off into a peal of laughter): well, so long, duckie. (she goes out.)
-the monster (solus): somewhere there must be love like music. love harmonious and ordered: two spirits, two bodies moving contrapuntally together. somewhere, the stupid brutish act must be made to make sense, must be enriched, must be made significant. lust, like diabelli’s waltz, a stupid air, turned by a genius into three-and-thirty fabulous variations. somewhere....
-“oh dear!” sighed mrs. viveash.
-“charming!” gumbril protested.
-... love like sheets of silky flame; like landscapes brilliant in the sunlight against a background of purple thunder; like the solution of a cosmic problem; like faith....
-“crikey!” said mrs. viveash.
-... somewhere, somewhere. but in my veins creep the maggots of the pox....
-“really, really!” mrs. viveash shook her head. “too medical!”
-... crawling towards the brain, crawling into the mouth, burrowing into the bones. insatiably.
-the monster threw himself to the ground, and the curtain came down.
-“and about time too!” declared mrs. viveash.
-“charming!” gumbril stuck to his guns. “charming! charming!”
-there was a disturbance near the door. mrs. viveash looked round to see what was happening. “and now on top of it all,” she said, “here comes coleman, raving, with an unknown drunk.”
-“have we missed it?” coleman was shouting. “have we missed all the lovely bloody farce?”
-“lovely bloody!” his companion repeated with drunken raptures, and he went into fits of uncontrollable laughter. he was a very young boy with straight dark hair and a face of hellenic beauty, now distorted with tipsiness.
-coleman greeted his acquaintances in the hall, shouting a jovial obscenity to each. “and bumbril-gumbril,” he exclaimed, catching sight of him at last in the front row. “and hetaira-myra!” he pushed his way through the crowd, followed unsteadily by his young disciple. “so you’re here,” he said, standing over them and looking down with an enigmatic malice in his bright blue eyes. “where’s the physiologue?”
-“am i the physiologue’s keeper?” asked gumbril. “he’s with his glands and his hormones, i suppose. not to mention his wife.” he smiled to himself.
-“where the hormones, there moan i,” said coleman, skidding off sideways along the slippery word. “i hear, by the way, that there’s a lovely prostitute in this play.”
-“you’ve missed her,” said mrs. viveash.
-“what a misfortune,” said coleman. “we’ve missed the delicious trull,” he said, turning to the young man.
-the young man only laughed.
-“let me introduce, by the way,” said coleman. “this is dante,” he pointed to the dark-haired boy; “and i am virgil. we’re making a round tour—or, rather, a descending spiral tour of hell. but we’re only at the first circle so far. these, alighieri, are two damned souls, though not, as you might suppose, paolo and francesca.”
-the boy continued to laugh, happily and uncomprehendingly.
-“another of these interminable entr’actes,” complained mrs. viveash. “i was just saying to theodore here that if there’s one thing i dislike more than another, it’s a long entr’acte.” would hers ever come to an end?
-“and if there’s one thing i dislike more than another,” said the boy, breaking silence for the first time, with an air of the greatest earnestness, “it’s ... it’s one thing more than another.”
-“and you’re perfectly right in doing so,” said coleman. “perfectly right.”
-“i know,” the boy replied modestly.
-when the curtain rose again it was on an aged monster, with a black patch over the left side of his nose, no hair, no teeth, and sitting harmlessly behind the bars of an asylum.
-the monster: asses, apes and dogs! milton called them that; he should have known. somewhere there must be men, however. the variations on diabelli prove it. brunelleschi’s dome is more than the magnification of cléo de mérode’s breast. somewhere there are men with power, living reasonably. like our mythical greeks and romans. living cleanly. the images of the gods are their portraits. they walk under their own protection. (the monster climbs on to a chair and stands in the posture of a statue.) jupiter, father of gods, a man, i bless myself, i throw bolts at my own disobedience, i answer my own prayers, i pronounce oracles to satisfy the questions i myself propound. i abolish all tetters, poxes, blood-spitting, rotting of bones. with love i recreate the world from within. europa puts an end to squalor, leda does away with tyranny, danae tempers stupidity. after establishing these reforms in the social sewer, i climb, i climb, up through the manhole, out of the manhole, beyond humanity. for the manhole, even the manhole, is dark; though not so dingy as the doghole it was before i altered it. up through the manhole, towards the air. up, up! (and the monster, suiting the action to his words, climbs up the runged back of his chair and stands, by a miraculous feat of acrobacy, on the topmost bar.) i begin to see the stars through other eyes than my own. more than dog already, i become more than man. i begin to have inklings of the shape and sense of things. upwards, upwards i strain, i peer, i reach aloft. (the balanced monster reaches, strains and peers.) and i seize, i seize! (as he shouts these words, the monster falls heavily, head foremost, to the floor. he lies there quite still. after a little time the door opens and the doctor of the first scene enters with a warder.)
-the warder: i heard a crash.
-the doctor (who has by this time become immensely old and has a beard like father thames): it looks as though you were right. (he examines the monster.)
-the warder: he was for ever climbing on to his chair.
-the doctor: well, he won’t any more. his neck’s broken.
-the warder: you don’t say so?
-the doctor: i do.
-the warder: well, i never!
-the doctor: have it carried down to the dissecting-room.
-the warder: i’ll send for the porters at once.
-“well,” said mrs. viveash, “i’m glad that’s over.”
-the music struck up again, saxophone and ’cello, with the thin draught of the violin to cool their ecstasies and the thumping piano to remind them of business. gumbril and mrs. viveash slid out into the dancing crowd, revolving as though by force of habit.
-“these substitutes for the genuine copulative article,” said coleman to his disciple, “are beneath the dignity of hell-hounds like you and me.”
-charmed, the young man laughed; he was attentive as though at the feet of socrates. coleman had found him in a night club, where he had gone in search of zoe, found him very drunk in the company of two formidable women fifteen or twenty years his senior, who were looking after him, half maternally out of pure kindness of heart, half professionally; for he seemed to be carrying a good deal of money. he was incapable of looking after himself. coleman had pounced on him at once, claimed an old friendship which the youth was too tipsy to be able to deny, and carried him off. there was something, he always thought, peculiarly interesting about the spectacle of children tobogganing down into the cesspools.
-“i like this place,” said the young man.
-“tastes differ!” coleman shrugged his shoulders. “the german professors have catalogued thousands of people whose whole pleasure consists in eating dung.”
-the young man smiled and nodded, rather vaguely. “is there anything to drink here?” he asked.
-“too respectable,” coleman answered, shaking his head.
-“i think this is a bloody place,” said the young man.
-“ah! but some people like blood. and some like boots. and some like long gloves and corsets. and some like birch-rods. and some like sliding down slopes and can’t look at michelangelo’s ‘night’ on the medici tombs without dying the little death, because the statue seems to be sliding. and some....” passed by, but, as they followed each other at a considerable distance, they were several minutes in doing so. and lupin was thinking:
-“it all depends on that question: has he recognized me? if so, he will probably take advantage of the opportunity. it is a trying situation.”
-when the last horseman had passed, sherlock holmes stepped forth and brushed the dust from his clothes. then, for a moment, he and arsène lupin gazed at each other; and, if a person could have seen them at that moment, it would have been an interesting sight, and memorable as the first meeting of two remarkable men, so strange, so powerfully equipped, both of superior quality, and destined by fate, through their peculiar attributes, to hurl themselves one at the other like two equal forces that nature opposes, one against the other, in the realms of space.
-then the englishman said: “thank you, monsieur.”
-“you are quite welcome,” replied arsène lupin.
-they parted. lupin went toward the railway station, and sherlock holmes continued on his way to the castle.
-the local officers had given up the investigation after several hours of fruitless efforts, and the people at the castle were awaiting the arrival of the english detective with a lively curiosity. at first sight, they were a little disappointed on account of his commonplace appearance, which differed so greatly from the pictures they had formed of him in their own minds. he did not in any way resemble the romantic hero, the mysterious and diabolical personage that the name of sherlock holmes had evoked in their imaginations. however, mon. devanne exclaimed with much gusto:
-“ah! monsieur, you are here! i am delighted to see you. it is a long-deferred pleasure. really, i scarcely regret what has happened, since it affords me the opportunity to meet you. but, how did you come?”
-“by the train.”
-“but i sent my automobile to meet you at the station.”
-“an official reception, eh? with music and fireworks! oh! no, not for me. that is not the way i do business,” grumbled the englishman.
-this speech disconcerted devanne, who replied, with a forced smile:
-“fortunately, the business has been greatly simplified since i wrote to you.”
-“in what way?”
-“the robbery took place last night.”
-“if you had not announced my intended visit, it is probable the robbery would not have been committed last night.”
-“to-morrow, or some other day.”
-“and in that case?”
-“lupin would have been trapped,” said the detective.
-“and my furniture?”
-“would not have been carried away.”
-“ah! but my goods are here. they were brought back at three o’clock.”
-“by two army-wagons.”
-sherlock holmes put on his cap and adjusted his satchel. devanne exclaimed, anxiously:
-“but, monsieur, what are you going to do?”
-“i am going home.”
-“your goods have been returned; arsène lupin is far away--there is nothing for me to do.”
-“yes, there is. i need your assistance. what happened yesterday, may happen again to-morrow, as we do not know how he entered, or how he escaped, or why, a few hours later, he returned the goods.”
-“ah! you don’t know--”
-the idea of a problem to be solved quickened the interest of sherlock holmes.
-“very well, let us make a search--at once--and alone, if possible.”
-devanne understood, and conducted the englishman to the salon. in a dry, crisp voice, in sentences that seemed to have been prepared in advance, holmes asked a number of questions about the events of the preceding evening, and enquired also concerning the guests and the members of the household. then he examined the two volumes of the “chronique,” compared the plans of the subterranean passage, requested a repetition of the sentences discovered by father gélis, and then asked:
-“was yesterday the first time you have spoken those two sentences to any one?”
-“you had never communicated then to horace velmont?”
-“well, order the automobile. i must leave in an hour.”
-“in an hour?”
-“yes; within that time, arsène lupin solved the problem that you placed before him.”
-“i.... placed before him--”
-“yes, arsène lupin or horace velmont--same thing.”
-“i thought so. ah! the scoundrel!”
-“now, let us see,” said holmes, “last night at ten o’clock, you furnished lupin with the information that he lacked, and that he had been seeking for many weeks. during the night, he found time to solve the problem, collect his men, and rob the castle. i shall be quite as expeditious.”
-he walked from end to end of the room, in deep thought, then sat down, crossed his long legs and closed his eyes.
-devanne waited, quite embarrassed. thought he: “is the man asleep? or is he only meditating?” however, he left the room to give some orders, and when he returned he found the detective on his knees scrutinizing the carpet at the foot of the stairs in the gallery.
-“what is it?” he enquired.
-“look.... there.... spots from a candle.”
-“you are right--and quite fresh.”
-“and you will also find them at the top of the stairs, and around the cabinet that arsène lupin broke into, and from which he took the bibelots that he afterward placed in this armchair.”
-“what do you conclude from that?”
-“nothing. these facts would doubtless explain the cause for the restitution, but that is a side issue that i cannot wait to investigate. the main question is the secret passage. first, tell me, is there a chapel some two or three hundred metres from the castle?”
-“yes, a ruined chapel, containing the tomb of duke rollo.”
-“tell your chauffer to wait for us near that chapel.”
-“my chauffer hasn’t returned. if he had, they would have informed me. do you think the secret passage runs to the chapel? what reason have--”
-“i would ask you, monsieur,” interrupted the detective, “to furnish me with a ladder and a lantern.”
-“what! do you require a ladder and a lantern?”
-“certainly, or i shouldn’t have asked for them.”
-devanne, somewhat disconcerted by this crude logic, rang the bell. the two articles were given with the sternness and precision of military commands.
-“place the ladder against the bookcase, to the left of the word thibermesnil.”
-devanne placed the ladder as directed, and the englishman continued:
-“first, turn the letter i one way or the other.”
-“which one? there are two of them.”
-“the first one.”
-devanne took hold of the letter, and exclaimed:
-“ah! yes, it turns toward the right. who told you that?”
-sherlock holmes did not reply to the question, but continued his directions:
-“now, take the letter b. move it back and forth as you would a bolt.”
-devanne did so, and, to his great surprise, it produced a clicking sound.
-“quite right,” said holmes. “now, we will go to the other end of the word thibermesnil, try the letter i, and see if it will open like a wicket.”
-with a certain degree of solemnity, devanne seized the letter. it opened, but devanne fell from the ladder, for the entire section of the bookcase, lying between the first and last letters of the words, turned on a pivot and disclosed the subterranean passage.
-sherlock holmes said, coolly:
-“you are not hurt?”
-“no, no,” said devanne, as he rose to his feet, “not hurt, only bewildered. i can’t understand now.... those letters turn.... the secret passage opens....”
-“certainly. doesn’t that agree exactly with the formula given by sully? turn one eye on the bee that shakes, the other eye will lead to god.”
-“but louis the sixteenth?” asked devanne.
-“louis the sixteenth was a clever locksmith. i have read a book he wrote about combination locks. it was a good idea on the part of the owner of thibermesnil to show his majesty a clever bit of mechanism. as an aid to his memory, the king wrote: 3-4-11, that is to say, the third, fourth and eleventh letters of the word.”
-“exactly. i understand that. it explains how lupin got out of the room, but it does not explain how he entered. and it is certain he came from the outside.”
-sherlock holmes lighted his lantern, and stepped into the passage.
-“look! all the mechanism is exposed here, like the works of a clock, and the reverse side of the letters can be reached. lupin worked the combination from this side--that is all.”
-“what proof is there of that?”
-“proof? why, look at that puddle of oil. lupin foresaw that the wheels would require oiling.”
-“did he know about the other entrance?”
-“as well as i know it,” said holmes. “follow me.”
-“into that dark passage?”
-“are you afraid?”
-“no, but are you sure you can find the way out?”
-“with my eyes closed.”
-“we are passing under the pond,” said devanne, somewhat nervously.
-at last, they came to a stairway of twelve steps, followed by three others of twelve steps each, which they mounted with difficulty, and then found themselves in a small cavity cut in the rock. they could go no further.
-“the deuce!” muttered holmes, “nothing but bare walls. this is provoking.”
-“let us go back,” said devanne. “i have seen enough to satisfy me.”
-but the englishman raised his eye and uttered a sigh of relief. there, he saw the same mechanism and the same word as before. he had merely to work the three letters. he did so, and a block of granite swung out of place. on the other side, this granite block formed the tombstone of duke rollo, and the word “thibermesnil” was engraved on it in relief. now, they were in the little ruined chapel, and the detective said:
-“the other eye leads to god; that means, to the chapel.”
-“it is marvelous!” exclaimed devanne, amazed at the clairvoyance and vivacity of the englishman. “can it be possible that those few words were sufficient for you?”
-“bah!” declared holmes, “they weren’t even necessary. in the chart in the book of the national library, the drawing terminates at the left, as you know, in a circle, and at the right, as you do not know, in a cross. now, that cross must refer to the chapel in which we now stand.”
-poor devanne could not believe his ears. it was all so new, so novel to him. he exclaimed:
-“it is incredible, miraculous, and yet of a childish simplicity! how is it that no one has ever solved the mystery?”
-“because no one has ever united the essential elements, that is to say, the two books and the two sentences. no one, but arsène lupin and myself.”
-“but, father gélis and i knew all about those things, and, likewise--”
-holmes smiled, and said:
-“monsieur devanne, everybody cannot solve riddles.”
-“i have been trying for ten years to accomplish what you did in ten minutes.”
-“bah! i am used to it.”
-they emerged from the chapel, and found an automobile.
-“ah! there’s an auto waiting for us.”
-“yes, it is mine,” said devanne.
-“yours? you said your chauffeur hadn’t returned.”
-they approached the machine, and mon. devanne questioned the chauffer:
-“edouard, who gave you orders to come here?”
-“why, it was monsieur velmont.”
-“mon. velmont? did you meet him?”
-“near the railway station, and he told me to come to the chapel.”
-“to come to the chapel! what for?”
-“to wait for you, monsieur, and your friend.”
-devanne and holmes exchanged looks, and mon. devanne said:
-“he knew the mystery would be a simple one for you. it is a delicate compliment.”
-a smile of satisfaction lighted up the detective’s serious features for a moment. the compliment pleased him. he shook his head, as he said:
-“a clever man! i knew that when i saw him.”
-“have you seen him?”
-“i met him a short time ago--on my way from the station.”
-“and you knew it was horace velmont--i mean, arsène lupin?”
-“that is right. i wonder how it came--”
-“no, but i supposed it was--from a certain ironical speech he made.”
-“and you allowed him to escape?”
-“of course i did. and yet i had everything on my side, such as five gendarmes who passed us.”
-“sacrableu!” cried devanne. “you should have taken advantage of the opportunity.”
-“really, monsieur,” said the englishman, haughtily, “when i encounter an adversary like arsène lupin, i do not take advantage of chance opportunities, i create them.”
-but time pressed, and since lupin had been so kind as to send the automobile, they resolved to profit by it. they seated themselves in the comfortable limousine; edouard took his place at the wheel, and away they went toward the railway station. suddenly, devanne’s eyes fell upon a small package in one of the pockets of the carriage.
-“ah! what is that? a package! whose is it? why, it is for you.”
-“yes, it is addressed: sherlock holmes, from arsène lupin.”
-the englishman took the package, opened it, and found that it contained a watch.
-“ah!” he exclaimed, with an angry gesture.
-“a watch,” said devanne. “how did it come there?”
-the detective did not reply.
-“oh! it is your watch! arsène lupin returns your watch! but, in order to return it, he must have taken it. ah! i see! he took your watch! that is a good one! sherlock holmes’ watch stolen by arsène lupin! mon dieu! that is funny! really.... you must excuse me....i can’t help it.”
-he roared with laughter, unable to control himself. after which, he said, in a tone of earnest conviction:
-“a clever man, indeed!”
-the englishman never moved a muscle. on the way to dieppe, he never spoke a word, but fixed his gaze on the flying landscape. his silence was terrible, unfathomable, more violent than the wildest rage. at the railway station, he spoke calmly, but in a voice that impressed one with the vast energy and will power of that famous man. he said:
-“yes, he is a clever man, but some day i shall have the pleasure of placing on his shoulder the hand i now offer to you, monsieur devanne. and i believe that arsène lupin and sherlock holmes will meet again some day. yes, the world is too small--we will meet--we must meet--and then--”
---the further startling and thrilling adventures of arsène lupin will be found in the book entitled “arsène lupin versus herlock sholmes.”--
-a list of the changes made can be found at the end of the book. formatting and special characters are indicated as follows:
-the art of story-telling
-the art of story-telling
-by marie l. shedlock
-with a preface by professor john adams chair of education, university of london
-all rights reserved
-by professor john adams,
-chair of education, university of london.
-those who do not love schoolmasters tell us that the man who can do something supremely well contents himself with doing it, while the man who cannot do it very well must needs set about showing other people how it should be done. the masters in any craft are prone to magnify their gifts by maintaining that the poet--or the stove-pipe maker--is born, not made. teachers will accordingly be gratified to find in the following pages the work of a lady who is at the same time a brilliant executant and an admirable expositor. miss shedlock stands in the very first rank of story-tellers. no one can claim with greater justice that the gift of scheherazade is hers by birthright. yet she has recognised that even the highest natural gifts may be well or ill manipulated: that in short the poet, not to speak of the stove-pipe maker, must take a little more trouble than to be merely born.
-it is well when the master of a craft begins to take thought and to discover what underlies his method. it does not, of course, happen that every master is able to analyse the processes that secure him success in his art. for after all the expositor has to be born as well as the executant; and it is perhaps one of the main causes of the popularity of the born-not-made theory that so few people are born both good artists and good expositors. miss shedlock has had this rare good fortune, as all those who have both read her book and heard her exemplify her principles on the platform will readily admit.
-the reader will discover that the authoress is first and last an artist. “dramatic joy” is put in the forefront when she is enumerating the aims of the story-teller. but her innate gifts as a teacher will not be suppressed. she objects to “didactic emphasis” and yet cannot say too much in favour of the moral effect that may be produced by the use of the story. she raises here the whole problem of direct versus indirect moral instruction, and decides in no uncertain sound in favour of the indirect form. there is a great deal to be said on the other side, but this is not the place to say it. on the wide question miss shedlock has on her side the great body of public opinion among professional teachers. the orthodox master proclaims that he is, of course, a moral instructor, but adds that in the schoolroom the less said about the matter the better. like the authoress, the orthodox teacher has much greater faith in example than in precept: so much faith indeed that in many schools precept does not get the place it deserves. but in the matter of story-telling the artistic element introduces something that is not necessarily involved in ordinary school work. for better or for worse modern opinion is against the explicitly stated lesson to be drawn from any tale that is told. most people agree with mark twain's condemnation of “the moral that wags its crippled tail at the end of most school-girls' essays.”
-the justification of the old-fashioned “moral” was not artistic but didactic. it embodied the determination of the story-teller to see that his pupils got the full benefit of the lesson involved. if the moral is to be cut out, the story-teller must be sure that the lesson is so clearly conveyed in the text that any further elaboration would be felt as an impertinent addition. whately assures us that men prefer metaphors to similes because in the simile the point is baldly stated, whereas in the metaphor the reader or hearer has to be his own interpreter. all education is in the last resort self-education, and miss shedlock sees to it that her stories compel her hearers to make the application she desires.
-in two other points modern opinion is prepared to give our authoress rein where our forefathers would have been inclined to restrain her. the sense of humour has come to its proper place in our schoolrooms--pupils' humour, be it understood, for there always was scope enough claimed for the humour of the teacher. so with the imagination. the time is past when this “mode of being conscious” was looked at askance in school. parents and teachers no longer speak contemptuously about “the busy faculty,” and quote genesis in its condemnation.
-miss shedlock has been well advised to keep to her legitimate subject instead of wandering afield in a teutonic excursion into the realms of folk-lore. what parents and teachers want is the story as here and now existing and an account of how best to manipulate it. this want the book now before us admirably meets.
-story-telling is almost the oldest art in the world--the first conscious form of literary communication. in the east it still survives, and it is not an uncommon thing to see a crowd at a street-corner held by the simple narration of a story. there are signs in the west of a growing interest in this ancient art, and we may yet live to see the renaissance of the troubadours and the minstrels whose appeal will then rival that of the mob orator or itinerant politician. one of the surest signs of a belief in the educational power of the story is its introduction into the curriculum of the training-college and the classes of the elementary and secondary schools. it is just at the time when the imagination is most keen--the mind being unhampered by accumulation of facts--that stories appeal most vividly and are retained for all time.
-it is to be hoped that some day stories will only be told to school groups by experts who have devoted special time and preparation to the art of telling them. it is a great fallacy to suppose that the systematic study of story-telling destroys the spontaneity of narrative. after a long experience, i find the exact converse to be true, namely, that it is only when one has overcome the mechanical difficulties that one can “let oneself go” in the dramatic interest of the story.
-and as in the case of the two nightingales, so it is with the stilted reciter and the simple narrator: one is busy displaying the machinery, showing “how the tunes go”--the other is anxious to conceal the art. simplicity should be the keynote of story-telling, but (and here the comparison with the nightingale breaks down) it is a simplicity which comes after much training in self-control, and much hard work in overcoming the difficulties which beset the presentation.
-i do not mean that there are not born story-tellers who could hold an audience without preparation, but they are so rare in number that we can afford to neglect them in our general consideration; for this work is dedicated to the average story-tellers anxious to make the best use of their dramatic ability, and it is to them that i present my plea for special study and preparation before telling a story to a group of children--that is, if they wish for the far-reaching effects i shall speak of later on. only the preparation must be of a much less stereotyped nature than that by which the ordinary reciters are trained for their career.
-some years ago, when i was in the states, i was asked to put into the form of lectures my views upon the educational value of telling stories. a sudden inspiration seized me. i began to cherish a dream of long hours to be spent in the british museum, the congressional library in washington and the public library at boston--and this is the only portion of the dream which has been realized. i planned an elaborate scheme of research work which was to result in a magnificent (if musty) philological treatise. i thought of trying to discover by long and patient researches what species of lullaby were crooned by egyptian mothers to their babes, and what were the elementary dramatic poems in vogue among assyrian nursemaids which were the prototypes of “little jack horner,” “dickory, dickory dock,” and other nursery classics. i intended to follow up the study of these ancient documents by making an appendix of modern variants, showing what progress we had made--if any--among modern nations.
-but there came to me suddenly one day the remembrance of a scene from racine's “plaideurs” in which the counsel for the defence, eager to show how fundamental is his knowledge, begins his speech:--
-“before the creation of the world”--and the judge (with a touch of weariness tempered by humour) suggests:--
-“let us pass on to the deluge.”
-and thus i, too, have “passed on to the deluge.” i have abandoned an account of the origin and past of stories which at the best would only have displayed a little recently-acquired book-knowledge. when i thought of the number of scholars who could treat this part of the question so infinitely better than myself, i realized how much wiser it would be--though the task is much more humdrum--to deal with the present possibilities of story-telling for our generation of parents and teachers, and, leaving out the folk-lore side, devote myself to the story itself.
-my objects in urging the use of stories in the education of children are at least five-fold:
-first, to give them dramatic joy, for which they have a natural craving. secondly, to develop a sense of humour, which is really a sense of proportion. thirdly, to correct certain tendencies by showing the consequences in the career of the hero in the story. (of this motive the children must be quite unconscious, and there must be no didactic emphasis.) fourthly, by means of example, not precept, to present such ideals as will sooner or later (i care not which) be translated into action. fifthly, to develop the imagination, which really takes in all the other points.
-so much for the purely educational side of the book. but the art of story-telling, quite apart from the subject, appeals not only to the educational world or to parents as parents, but also to a wider outside public, who may be interested in the purely human point of view.
-in great contrast to the lofty scheme i had originally proposed to myself, i now simply place before all those who are interested in the art of story-telling in any form the practical experience i have had in my travels across the united states and through england; and, because i am confining myself to personal experience which must of necessity be limited, i am very anxious not to appear dogmatic or to give the impression that i wish to lay down the law on the subject. but i hope my readers may profit by my errors, improve on my methods, and thus help to bring about the revival of an almost lost art--one which appeals more directly and more stirringly than any other method to the majority of listeners.
-in sir philip sidney's “defence of poesy” we find these words:
-“forsooth he cometh to you with a tale, which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney-corner, and pretending no more, doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue even as the child is often brought to take most wholesome things by hiding them in such other as have a pleasant taste.”
-marie l. shedlock.
-the difficulties of the story.
-i propose to deal in this chapter with the difficulties or dangers which beset the path of the story-teller, because, until we have overcome these, we cannot hope for the finished and artistic presentation which is to bring out the full value of the story.
-the difficulties are many, and yet they ought not to discourage the would-be narrators, but only show them how all-important is the preparation for the story, if it is to have the desired effect.
-i propose to illustrate by concrete examples, thereby hoping to achieve a two-fold result: one to fix the subject more clearly in the mind of the student--the other to use the art of story-telling to explain itself.
-i have chosen one or two instances from my own personal experience. the grave mistakes made in my own case may serve as a warning to others, who will find, however, that experience is the best teacher. for positive work, in the long run, we generally find out our own method. on the negative side, however, it is useful to have certain pitfalls pointed out to us, in order that we may save time by avoiding them: it is for this reason that i sound a note of warning. these are:--
-i.--the danger of side issues. an inexperienced story-teller is exposed to the temptation of breaking off from the main dramatic interest in a short exciting story, in order to introduce a side issue, which is often interesting and helpful, but should be reserved for a longer and less dramatic story. if the interest turns on some dramatic moment, the action must be quick and uninterrupted, or it will lose half its effect.
-i had been telling a class of young children the story of polyphemus and ulysses, and, just at the most dramatic moment in it, some impulse prompted me to go off on a side issue to describe the personal appearance of ulysses.
-the children were visibly bored, but with polite indifference they listened to my elaborate description of the hero. if i had given them an actual description from homer, i believe that the strength of the language would have appealed to their imagination (all the more strongly because they might not have understood the individual words) and have lessened their disappointment at the dramatic issue being postponed; but i trusted to my own lame verbal efforts, and signally failed. attention flagged, fidgeting began, the atmosphere was rapidly becoming spoiled, in spite of the patience and toleration still shown by the children. at last, however, one little girl in the front row, as spokeswoman for the class, suddenly said: “if you please, before you go any further, do you mind telling us whether, after all, that poly ... (slight pause) that (final attempt) polyanthus died?”
-now, the remembrance of this question has been of extreme use to me in my career as a story-teller. i have realized that in a short dramatic story the mind of the listeners must be set at ease with regard to the ultimate fate of the special “polyanthus” who takes the centre of the stage.
-i remember too the despair of a little boy at a dramatic representation of “little red riding-hood,” when that little person delayed the thrilling catastrophe with the wolf, by singing a pleasant song on her way through the wood. “oh, why,” said the little boy, “does she not get on?” and i quite shared his impatience.
-a small child in the class presented me, as you will see, with the ethical problem from which i had so laboriously protected her. the essay ran:
-now the mistake i made in my presentation was to lay particular stress on the reason for elopement by my careful readjustment, which really called more attention to the episode than was necessary for the age of my audience; and evidently caused confusion in the minds of some of the children who knew the story in its more accurate original form.
-whilst travelling in the states, i was provided with a delightful appendix to this story. i had been telling miss longfellow and her sister the little girl's version of the siege of troy, and mrs. thorpe made the following comment, with the american humour whose dryness adds so much to its value:
-“i never realised before,” she said, “how glad the greeks must have been to sit down even inside a horse, when they had been standing for eleven years.”
-iii.--the danger of introducing unfamiliar words. this is the very opposite danger of the one to which i have just alluded; it is the taking for granted that children are acquainted with the meaning of certain words upon which turns some important point in the story. we must not introduce (without at least a passing explanation) words which, if not rightly understood, would entirely alter the picture we wish to present.
-the next day, whilst walking down the village street, i entered into conversation with a thirteen-year-old girl who had been in my audience the night before, and who began at once to repeat in her own words the indian story in question. when she came to the particular sentence i have just quoted, i was greatly startled to hear her version, which ran thus: “and the priest went on a little further, and he met another old gentleman pushing a wheelbarrow.” i stopped her at once, and not being able to identify the sentence as part of the story i had told, i questioned her a little more closely. i found that the word buffalo had evidently conveyed to her mind an old “buffer” whose name was “lo” (probably taken to be an indian form of appellation, to be treated with tolerance though it might not be irish in sound). then, not knowing of any wheel more familiarly than that attached to a barrow, the young narrator completed the picture in her own mind--which, doubtless, was a vivid one--but one must admit that it had lost something of the indian atmosphere which i had intended to gather about it.
-the scene takes place in a kindergarten--where a bold and fearless visitor has undertaken to tell a story on the spur of the moment to a group of restless children.
-she opens thus: “yesterday, children, as i came out of my yard, what do you think i saw?”
-the elaborately concealed surprise in store was so obvious that marantha rose to the occasion and suggested “an el'phunt.”
-“why, no. why should i see an elephant in my yard? it was not nearly so big as that--it was a little thing.”
-“a fish,” ventured eddy brown, whose eye fell upon the aquarium in the corner. the raconteuse smiled patiently.
-“now, how could a fish, a live fish, get into my front yard?”
-“a dead fish,” says eddy. he had never been known to relinquish voluntarily an idea.
-“no; it was a little kitten,” said the story-teller decidedly. “a little white kitten. she was standing right near a big puddle of water. now, what else do you think i saw?”
-“another kitten,” suggests marantha, conservatively.
-“no; it was a big newfoundland dog. he saw the little kitten near the water. now, cats don't like water, do they? what do they like?”
-“mice,” said joseph zukoffsky abruptly.
-“well, yes, they do; but there were no mice in my yard. i'm sure you know what i mean. if they don't like water, what do they like?”
-“milk,” cried sarah fuller confidently.
-“they like a dry place,” said mrs. r. b. smith. “now, what do you suppose the dog did?”
-it may be that successive failures had disheartened the listeners. it may be that the very range of choice presented to them and the dog alike dazzled their imagination. at all events, they made no answer.
-“nobody knows what the dog did?” repeated the story-teller encouragingly. “what would you do if you saw a little kitten like that?”
-and philip remarked gloomily:
-“i'd pull its tail.”
-“and what do the rest of you think? i hope you are not as cruel as that little boy.”
-a jealous desire to share philip's success prompted the quick response:
-“i'd pull it too.”
-now, the reason of the total failure of this story was the inability to draw any real response from the children, partly because of the hopeless vagueness of the questions, partly because, there being no time for reflection, the children said the first thing that comes into their head without any reference to their real thoughts on the subject.
-i cannot imagine anything less like the enlightened methods of the best kindergarten teaching. had mrs. r. b. smith been a real, and not a fictional, person, it would certainly have been her last appearance as a raconteuse in this educational institution.
-my sympathy was now transferred to the two remaining boys, who sat motionless, and one of them never took his eyes off me during the whole lecture. i feared lest they might be simply cowed by the treatment meted out to their companions, whose joy in their release had been somewhat tempered by the disgrace of ejection. i felt sorry that i could not provide these model boys with a less ignominious retreat, and i cast about in my mind how i could make it up to them. at the end of the lecture, i addressed them personally and, congratulating them on their quiet behaviour, said that, as i feared the main part of the lecture could scarcely have interested them, i should conclude, not with the story i had intended for the adults, but with a special story for them, as a reward for their good behaviour. i then told hans c. andersen's “jack the dullard,” which i have always found to be a great favourite with boys. these particular youths smiled very faintly, and left any expression of enthusiasm to the adult portion of the audience. my hostess, who was eager to know what the boys thought, enquired of them how they liked the lecture. the elder one said guardedly: “i liked it very well, but i was piqued at her underrating my appreciation of hans andersen.”
-i was struck with the entirely erroneous impression i had received of the effect i was producing upon the boys. i was thankful at least that a passing allusion to schopenhauer in my lecture possibly provided some interest for this “young old” child.
-i felt somewhat in the position of a doctor of divinity in canada to whom a small child confided the fact that she had written a parody on “the three fishers,” but that it had dropped into the fire. the doctor made some facetious rejoinder about the impertinence of the flames in consuming her manuscript. the child reproved him in these grave words: “nature, you know, is nature, and her laws are inviolable.”
-i have often suggested to young teachers two experiments in support of this theory. they are not practical experiments, nor could they be repeated often with the same audience, but they are intensely interesting and they serve to show the actual effect of appealing to one sense at a time. the first of these experiments is to take a small group of children and suggest that they should close their eyes whilst you tell them a story. you will then notice how much more attention is given to the intonation and inflection of the voice. the reason is obvious: because there is nothing to distract the attention, it is concentrated on the only thing offered to the listeners (that is, sound), to enable them to seize the dramatic interest of the story.
-we find an example of the dramatic power of the voice in its appeal to the imagination, in one of the tributes brought by an old pupil to thomas edward brown (master at clifton college):
-“my earliest recollection is that his was the most vivid teaching i ever received: great width of view and poetical, almost passionate, power of presentment. we were reading froude's history, and i shall never forget how it was brown's words, brown's voice, not the historian's, that made me feel the great democratic function which the monasteries performed in england: the view became alive in his mouth.”
-and in another passage:
-a second experiment, and a much more subtle and difficult one, is to take the same group of children on another occasion, telling them a story in pantomime form, giving them first the briefest outline of it. in this case this must be of the simplest construction, until the children are able (if you continue the experiment) to look for something more subtle.
-i have never forgotten the marvellous performance of a play given in london, many years ago, entirely in pantomime form. the play was called l'enfant prodigue, and was presented by a company of french artists. it would be almost impossible to exaggerate the strength of that “silent appeal” to the public. one was so unaccustomed to reading meaning and development of character into gesture and facial expression that it was really a revelation to most present--certainly to all anglo-saxons.
-i cannot touch on this subject without admitting the enormous dramatic value connected with the kinematograph. though it can never take the place of an actual performance, whether in story form or on the stage, it has a real educational value in its possibilities of representation which it is difficult to over-estimate, and i believe that its introduction into the school curriculum, under the strictest supervision, will be of extraordinary benefit. the movement, in its present chaotic condition, and in the hands of a commercial management, is more likely to stifle than to awaken or stimulate the imagination, but the educational world is fully alive to the danger, and i am convinced that in the future of the movement good will predominate.
-the real value of the cinematograph in connection with stories is that it provides the background that is wanting to the inner vision of the average child, and does not prevent its imagination from filling in the details later. for instance, it would be quite impossible for the average child to get an idea from mere word-painting of the atmosphere of the polar regions, as represented lately on the film in connection with captain scott's expedition; but any stories told later on about these regions would have an infinitely greater interest.
-there is, however, a real danger in using pictures to illustrate the story--especially if it be one which contains a direct appeal to the imagination of the child (as quite distinct from the stories which deal with facts)--which is that you force the whole audience of children to see the same picture, instead of giving each individual child the chance of making his own mental picture, which is of far greater joy, and of much greater educational value, since by this process the child co-operates with you instead of having all the work done for it.
-surely, if this be true, we are taking from children that rare power of mental visualisation by offering to their outward vision an actual picture.
-i was struck with the following note by a critic of the “outlook,” referring to a japanese play but bearing directly on the subject in hand.
-“first, we should be inclined to put insistence upon appeal by imagination. nothing is built up by lath and canvas; everything has to be created by the poet's speech.”
-he alludes to the decoration of one of the scenes, which consists of three pines, showing what can be conjured up in the mind of the spectator.
-ah, yes. unfolding now before my eyes the views i know: the forest, river, sea and mist--the scenes of ono now expand.
-vii.--the danger of obscuring the point of the story with too many details. this is not peculiar to teachers, nor is it only shown in the narrative form. i have often heard really brilliant after-dinner stories marred by this defect. one remembers the attempt made by sancho panza to tell a story to don quixote, and i have always felt a keen sympathy with the latter in his impatience over the recital.
-“‘in a village of estramadura there was a shepherd--no, i mean a goatherd--which shepherd--or goatherd--as my story says, was called lope ruiz--and this lope ruiz was in love with a shepherdess called torralva, who was daughter to a rich herdsman, and this rich herdsman----’
-‘if this be thy story, sancho,’ said don quixote, ‘thou wilt not have done these two days. tell it concisely like a man of sense, or else say no more.’
-‘i tell it in the manner they tell all stories in my country,’ answered sancho, ‘and i cannot tell it otherwise, nor ought your worship to require me to make new customs.’
-‘tell it as thou wilt, then,’ said don quixote; ‘since it is the will of fate that i should hear it, go on.’
-‘he looked about him until he espied a fisherman with a boat near him, but so small that it could only hold one person and one goat. the fisherman got into the boat and carried over one goat; he returned and carried another; he came back again and carried another. pray, sir, keep an account of the goats which the fisherman is carrying over, for if you lose count of a single one, the story ends, and it will be impossible to tell a word more.... i go on, then.... he returned for another goat, and another, and another and another----’
-‘suppose them all carried over,’ said don quixote, ‘or thou wilt not have finished carrying them this twelve months.’
-‘tell me, how many have passed already?’ said sancho.
-‘how should i know?’ answered don quixote.
-‘see there, now! did i not tell thee to keep an exact account? there is an end of the story. i can go no further.’
-‘how can this be?’ said don quixote. ‘is it so essential to the story to know the exact number of goats that passed over, that if one error be made the story can proceed no further?’
-‘even so,’ said sancho panza.”
-viii.--the danger of over-explanation. again, another danger lurks in the temptation to offer over much explanation of the story, which is common to most story-tellers. this is fatal to the artistic success of any story, but it is even more serious in connection with stories told from an educational point of view, because it hampers the imagination of the listener; and since the development of that faculty is one of our chief aims in telling these stories, we must let it have free play, nor must we test the effect, as i have said before, by the material method of asking questions. my own experience is that the fewer explanations you offer (provided you have been careful with the choice of your material and artistic in the presentation) the more readily the child will supplement by his own thinking power what is necessary for the understanding of the story.
-ix.--one special danger lies in the lowering of the standard of the story in order to cater to the undeveloped taste of the child. i am alluding here only to the story which is presented from the educational point of view. there are moments of relaxation in a child's life, as in that of an adult, when a lighter taste can be gratified. i am alluding now to the standard of story for school purposes.
-there is one development of the subject which seems to have been very little considered either in the united states or in our own country, namely, the telling of stories to old people, and that not only in institutions or in quiet country villages, but in the heart of the busy cities and in the homes of these old people. how often, when the young people are able to enjoy outside amusements, the old people, necessarily confined to the chimney-corner and many unable to read much for themselves, might return to the joy of their childhood by hearing some of the old stories told them in dramatic form. here is a delightful occupation for those of the leisured class who have the gift, and a much more effective way of capturing attention than the more usual form of reading aloud.
-lady gregory, in talking to the workhouse folk in ireland, was moved by the strange contrast between the poverty of the tellers and the splendours of the tale.
-she says: “the stories they love are of quite visionary things; of swans that turn into kings' daughters, and of castles with crowns over the doors, and of lovers' flight on the backs of eagles, and music-loving witches, and journeys to the other world, and sleeps that last for 700 years.”
-i fear it is only the celtic imagination that will glory in such romantic material; but i am sure the men and women of the poorhouse are much more interested than we are apt to think in stories outside the small circle of their lives.
-the essentials of the story.
-it would be a truism to suggest that dramatic instinct and dramatic power of expression are naturally the first essentials for success in the art of story-telling, and that, without these, no story-teller would go very far; but i maintain that, even with these gifts, no high standard of performance will be reached without certain other qualities--among the first of which i place apparent simplicity, which is really the art of concealing the art.
-i am speaking here of the public story-teller, or of the teachers with a group of children--not the spontaneous (and most rare) power of telling stories at the fireside by some gifted village grandmother, such as béranger gives us in his poem, souvenirs du peuple:
-mes enfants, dans ce village, suivi de rois, il passa; voilà bien longtemps de ça; je venais d'entrer en ménage. a pied grimpant le côteau, où pour voir je m'étais mise. il avait petit chapeau avec redingote grise. près de lui je me troublai! il me dit: bonjour, ma chère, bonjour, ma chère. il vous a parlé, grand'mère? il vous a parlé?
-i am sceptical enough to think that it is not the spontaneity of the grandmother but the art of béranger which enhances the effect of the story told in the poem.
-this intimate form of narration, which is delightful in its special surroundings, would fail to reach, much less hold, a large audience, not because of its simplicity but often because of the want of skill in arranging material and of the artistic sense of selection which brings the interest to a focus and arranges the sidelights. in short, the simplicity we need for the ordinary purpose is that which comes from ease and produces a sense of being able to let ourselves go, because we have thought out our effects: it is when we translate our instinct into art that the story becomes finished and complete.
-i find it necessary to emphasise this point because people are apt to confuse simplicity of delivery with carelessness of utterance, loose stringing of sentences of which the only connections seem to be the ever-recurring use of “and” and “so,” and “er ...”--this latter inarticulate sound has done more to ruin a story and distract the audience than many more glaring errors of dramatic form.
-the real simplicity holds the audience because the lack of apparent effort in the artist has the most comforting effect upon the listener. it is like turning from the whirring machinery of process to the finished article, bearing no trace of manufacture except in the harmony and beauty of the whole, from which we realise that the individual parts have received all proper attention.
-and what really brings about this apparent simplicity which ensures the success of the story? it has been admirably expressed in a passage from henry james's lecture on balzac:
-“the fault in the artist which amounts most completely to a failure of dignity is the absence of saturation with his idea. when saturation fails, no other real presence avails, as when, on the other hand, it operates, no failure of method fatally interferes.”
-i now offer two illustrations of the effect of this saturation, one to show that the failure of method does not prevent successful effect, the other to show that when it is combined with the necessary secondary qualities the perfection of art is reached.
-in illustration of the first point, i recall an experience in the north of england when the head mistress of an elementary school asked me to hear a young, inexperienced girl tell a story to a group of very small children.
-when she began, i felt somewhat hopeless, because of the complete failure of method. she seemed to have all the faults most damaging to the success of a speaker. her voice was harsh, her gestures awkward, her manner was restless and melodramatic; but as she went on, i soon began to discount all these faults and, in truth, i soon forgot about them, for so absorbed was she in her story, so saturated with her subject, that she quickly communicated her own interest to her audience, and the children were absolutely spellbound.
-the other illustration is connected with a memorable peep behind the stage, when the late m. coquelin had invited me to see him in the green-room between the first and second acts of “l'abbé constantin,” one of the plays given during his last season in london, the year before his death. the last time i had met m. coquelin was at a dinner-party, where i had been dazzled by the brilliant conversation of this great artist in the rôle of a man of the world. but on this occasion, i met the simple, kindly priest, so absorbed in his rôle that he inspired me with the wish to offer a donation for his poor, and on taking leave to ask for his blessing for myself. whilst talking to him, i had felt puzzled: it was only when i had left him that i realised what had happened--namely, that he was too thoroughly saturated with his subject to be able to drop his rôle during the interval, in order to assume the more ordinary one of host and man of the world.
-now, it is this spirit i would wish to inculcate into the would-be story-tellers. if they would apply themselves in this manner to their work, it would bring about a revolution in the art of presentation, that is, in the art of teaching. the difficulty of the practical application of this theory is the constant plea, on the part of the teachers, that there is not the time to work for such a standard in an art which is so apparently simple that the work expended on it would never be appreciated.
-my answer to this objection is that, though the counsel of perfection would be to devote a great deal of time to the story, so as to prepare the atmosphere quite as much as the mere action of the little drama (just as photographers use time exposure to obtain sky effects, as well as the more definite objects in the picture), yet it is not so much a question of time as concentration on the subject which is one of the chief factors in the preparation of the story.
-therefore i maintain that capacity for work, and even drudgery, is among the essentials of story work. personally i know of nothing more interesting than to watch the story grow gradually from mere outline into a dramatic whole. it is the same pleasure, i imagine, which is felt over the gradual development of a beautiful design on a loom. i do not mean machine-made work, which has to be done under adverse conditions, in a certain time, and is similar to thousands of other pieces of work; but that work upon which we can bestow unlimited time and concentrated thought.
-the special joy in the slowly-prepared story comes in the exciting moment when the persons, or even the inanimate objects, become alive and move as of themselves.
-i remember spending two or three discouraging weeks with andersen's story of the “adventures of a beetle.” i passed through times of great depression, because all the little creatures--beetles, earwigs, frogs, etc.--behaved in such a conventional, stilted way (instead of displaying the strong individuality which andersen had bestowed upon them) that i began to despair of presenting a live company at all.
-but one day the beetle, so to speak, “took the stage,” and at once there was life and animation among the minor characters. then the main work was done, and there remained only the comparatively easy task of guiding the movement of the little drama, suggesting side issues and polishing the details, always keeping a careful eye on the beetle, that he might “gang his ain gait” and preserve to the full his own individuality.
-“on the grave of the prince's father there grew a rose-tree. it only bloomed once in five years, and only bore one rose. but what a rose! its perfume was so exquisite that whoever smelt it forgot at once all his cares and sorrows.”
-lafcadio hearn says: “time weeds out the errors and stupidities of cheap success, and presents the truth. it takes, like the aloe, a long time to flower, but the blossom is all the more precious when it appears.”
-the artifices of story-telling.
-by this term i do not mean anything against the gospel of simplicity which i am so constantly preaching, but, for want of a better term, i use the word “artifice” to express the mechanical devices by which we endeavour to attract and hold the attention of the audience. the art of telling stories is, in truth, much more difficult than acting a part on the stage: first, because the narrator is responsible for the whole drama and the whole atmosphere which surrounds it. he has to live the life of each character and understand the relation which each bears to the whole. secondly, because the stage is a miniature one, gestures and movements must all be so adjusted as not to destroy the sense of proportion. i have often noticed that actors, accustomed to the more roomy public stage, are apt to be too broad in their gestures and movements when they tell a story. the special training for the story-teller should consist not only in the training of the voice and in choice of language, but above all in power of delicate suggestion, which cannot always be used on the stage because this is hampered by the presence of actual things. the story-teller has to present these things to the more delicate organism of the “inward eye.”
-so deeply convinced am i of the miniature character of the story-telling art that i do not believe you can ever get a perfectly artistic presentation of this kind in a very large hall or before a very large audience.
-emphasis is the bane of all story-telling, for it destroys the delicacy, and the whole performance suggests a struggle in conveying the message; the indecision of the victory leaves the audience restless and unsatisfied.
-then, again, as compared with acting on the stage, in telling a story you miss the help of effective entrances and exits, the footlights, the costume, the facial expression of your fellow-actor which interprets so much of what you yourself say without further elaboration on your part; for, in the story, in case of a dialogue which necessitates great subtlety and quickness in facial expression and gesture, you have to be both speaker and listener.
-now, of what artifices can we make use to take the place of all the extraneous help offered to actors on the stage?
-first and foremost, as a means of suddenly pulling up the attention of the audience, is the judicious art of pausing.
-for those who have not actually had experience in the matter, this advice will seem trite and unnecessary, but those who have even a little experience will realise with me the extraordinary efficacy of this very simple means. it is really what coquelin spoke of as a “high light,” where the interest is focussed, as it were, to a point.
-i have tried this simple art of pausing with every kind of audience, and i have very rarely known it to fail. it is very difficult to offer a concrete example of this, unless one is giving a “live” representation; but i shall make an attempt, and at least i shall hope to make myself understood by those who have heard me tell stories.
-i would advise all teachers to revise their stories with a view to introducing the judicious pause, and to vary its use according to the age, the number and, above all, the mood of the audience. experience alone can ensure success in this matter. it has taken me many years to realise the importance of this artifice.
-among other means of holding the attention of the audience and helping to bring out the points of the story is the use of gesture. i consider, however, it must be a sparing use, and not of a broad or definite character. we shall never improve on the advice given by hamlet to the actors on this subject: “see that ye o'erstep not the modesty of nature.”
-and yet, perhaps, it is not necessary to warn story-tellers against abuse of gesture: it is more helpful to encourage them in the use of it, especially in anglo-saxon countries, where we are fearful of expressing ourselves in this way, and, when we do, the gesture often lacks subtlety. the anglo-saxon, when he does move at all, moves in solid blocks--a whole arm, a whole leg, the whole body--but if you watch a frenchman or an italian in conversation, you suddenly realise how varied and subtle are the things which can be suggested by the mere turn of the wrist or the movement of a finger. the power of the hand has been so wonderfully summed up in a passage from quintilian that i am justified in offering it to all those who wish to realise what can be done by gesture:
-one of the most effective artifices in telling stories to young children is the use of mimicry--the imitation of animals' voices and sounds in general is of never-ending joy to the listeners. only, i should wish to introduce a note of grave warning in connection with this subject. this special artifice can only be used by such narrators as have special aptitude and gifts in this direction. there are many people with good imaginative power but wholly lacking in the power of mimicry, whose efforts in this direction, however painstaking, would remain grotesque and therefore ineffective. when listening to such performances (of which children are strangely critical) one is reminded of the french story in which the amateur animal painter is showing her picture to an undiscriminating friend:
-“ah!” says the friend, “this is surely meant for a lion?”
-“no,” says the artist, with some slight show of temper; “it is my little lap-dog.”
-another artifice which is particularly successful with very small children is to ensure their attention by inviting their co-operation before you actually begin the story. the following has proved quite effective as a short introduction to my stories when i was addressing large audiences of children:
-“do you know that last night i had a very strange dream, which i am going to tell you before i begin the stories. i dreamed that i was walking along the streets of---- (here would follow the town in which i happened to be speaking), with a large bundle on my shoulders, and this bundle was full of stories which i had been collecting all over the world in different countries; and i was shouting at the top of my voice: ‘stories! stories! stories! who will listen to my stories?’ and the children came flocking round me in my dream, saying: ‘tell us your stories. we will listen to your stories.’ so i pulled out a story from my big bundle and i began in a most excited way, ‘once upon a time there lived a king and a queen who had no children, and they----’ here a little boy, very much like that little boy i see sitting in the front row, stopped me, saying: ‘oh! i know that old story; it's sleeping beauty.’
-“so i pulled out a second story, and began: ‘once upon a time there was a little girl who was sent by her mother to visit her grandmother----’ then a little girl, so much like the one sitting at the end of the second row, said: 'oh! everybody knows that story! it's----’”
-here i would make a judicious pause, and then the children in the audience would shout in chorus, with joyful superiority: “little red riding-hood!” (before i had time to explain that the children in my dream had done the same).
-this method i repeated two or three times, being careful to choose very well-known stories. by this time the children were all encouraged and stimulated. i usually finished with congratulations on the number of stories they knew, expressing a hope that some of those i was going to tell that afternoon would be new to them.
-i have rarely found this plan fail for establishing a friendly relation between oneself and the juvenile audience.
-it is often a matter of great difficulty, not to win the attention of an audience but to keep it, and one of the most subtle artifices is to let the audience down (without their perceiving it) after a dramatic situation, so that the reaction may prepare them for the interest of the next situation.
-an excellent instance of this is to be found in rudyard kipling's story of “the cat that walked ...” where the repetition of words acts as a sort of sedative until you realise the beginning of a fresh situation.
-the great point is never to let the audience quite down, that is, in stories which depend on dramatic situations. it is just a question of shade and colour in the language. if you are telling a story in sections, and spread over two or three occasions, you should always stop at an exciting moment. it encourages speculation between whiles in the children's minds, which increases their interest when the story is taken up again.
-another very necessary quality in the mere artifice of story-telling is to watch your audience, so as to be able to know whether its mood is for action or reaction, and to alter your story accordingly. the moods of reaction are rarer, and you must use them for presenting a different kind of material. here is your opportunity for introducing a piece of poetic description, given in beautiful language, to which the children cannot listen when they are eager for action and dramatic excitement.
-perhaps one of the greatest artifices is to take a quick hold of your audience by a striking beginning which will enlist their attention from the start; you can then relax somewhat, but you must be careful also of the end, because that is what remains most vivid for the children. if you question them as to which story they like best in a programme, you will constantly find it to be the last one you have told, which has for the moment blurred out the others.
-here are a few specimens of beginnings which seldom fail to arrest the attention of the child:
-“there was once a giant ogre, and he lived in a cave by himself.” --from “the giant and the jackstraws,” starr jordan.
-“there were once twenty-five tin soldiers, who were all brothers, for they had been made out of the same old tin spoon.” --from “the tin soldier,” hans c. andersen.
-“there was once an emperor who had a horse shod with gold.” --from “the beetle,” hans c. andersen.
-“there was once a merchant who was so rich that he could have paved the whole street with gold, and even then he would have had enough for a small alley.” --from “the flying trunk,” hans c. andersen.
-“there was once a shilling which came forth from the mint springing and shouting, 'hurrah! now i am going out into the wide world.'” --from “the silver shilling,” hans c. andersen.
-“in the high and far off times the elephant, o best beloved, had no trunk.” --from “the elephant's child”: just so stories, rudyard kipling.
-“not always was the kangaroo as now we behold him, but a different animal with four short legs.” --from “old man kangaroo”: just so stories, rudyard kipling.
-“whichever way i turn,” said the weather-cock on a high steeple, “no one is satisfied.” --from “fireside fables,” edwin barrow.
-“a set of chessmen, left standing on their board, resolved to alter the rules of the game.” --from the same source.
-“the pink parasol had tender whalebone ribs and a slender stick of cherry-wood.” --from “very short stories,” mrs. w. k. clifford.
-“there was once a poor little donkey on wheels; it had never wagged its tail, or tossed its head, or said ‘hee-haw,’ or tasted a tender thistle.” --from the same source.
-now, some of these beginnings are, of course, for very young children, but they all have the same advantage, that of plunging in medias res, and therefore are able to arrest attention at once, as distinct from the stories which open on a leisurely note of description.
-in the same way we must be careful about the endings of the stories; in some way or other they must impress themselves either in a very dramatic climax to which the whole story has worked up, such as we have in the following:
-“then he goes out to the wet wild woods, or up the wet wild trees, or on the wet wild roofs, waving his wild tail, and walking by his wild lone.” --from “just so stories,” rudyard kipling.
-or by an anti-climax for effect:
-“we have all this straight out of the alderman's newspaper, but it is not to be depended on.” --from “jack the dullard,” hans c. andersen.
-or by evading the point:
-“whoever does not believe this must buy shares in the tanner's yard.” --from “a great grief,” hans c. andersen.
-or by some striking general comment:
-“he has never caught up with the three days he missed at the beginning of the world, and he has never learnt how to behave.” --from “how the camel got his hump”: just so stories, rudyard kipling.
-elements to avoid in selection of material.
-i am confronted, in this portion of my work, with a great difficulty, because i cannot afford to be as catholic as i could wish (this rejection or selection of material being primarily intended for those story-tellers dealing with normal children); but i wish from the outset to distinguish between a story told to an individual child in the home circle or by a personal friend, and a story told to a group of children as part of the school curriculum. and if i seem to reiterate this difference, it is because i wish to show very clearly that the recital of parents and friends may be quite separate in content and manner from that offered by the teaching world. in the former case, almost any subject can be treated, because, knowing the individual temperament of the child, a wise parent or friend knows also what can be presented or not presented to the child; but in dealing with a group of normal children in school, much has to be eliminated that could be given fearlessly to the abnormal child: i mean the child who, by circumstances or temperament, is developed beyond its years.
-i shall now mention some of the elements which experience has shown me to be unsuitable for class stories.
-i.--stories dealing with analysis of motive and feeling.
-this warning is specially necessary to-day, because this is above all an age of introspection and analysis. we have only to glance at the principal novels and plays during the last quarter of a century--most especially during the last ten years--to see how this spirit has crept into our literature and life.
-now, this tendency to analyse is obviously more dangerous for children than for adults, because, from lack of experience and knowledge of psychology, the child's analysis is incomplete. he cannot see all the causes of the action, nor can he make that philosophical allowance for mood which brings the adult to truer conclusions.
-therefore we should discourage children who show a tendency to analyse too closely the motives of their actions, and refrain from presenting in our stories any example which might encourage them to persist in this course.
-i remember, on one occasion, when i went to say good-night to a little girl of my acquaintance, i found her sitting up in bed, very wide awake. her eyes were shining, her cheeks were flushed, and when i asked her what had excited her so much, she said:
-“i know i have done something wrong to-day, but i cannot quite remember what it was.”
-i said: “but phyllis, if you put your hand, which is really quite small, in front of your eyes, you could not see the shape of anything else, however large it might be. now, what you have done to-day appears very large because it is so close, but when it is a little further off, you will be able to see better and know more about it. so let us wait till to-morrow morning.”
-ii.--stories dealing too much with sarcasm and satire. these are weapons which are too sharply polished, and therefore too dangerous, to place in the hands of children. for here again, as in the case of analysis, they can only have a very incomplete conception of the case. they do not know the real cause which produces the apparently ridiculous situation: it is experience and knowledge which lead to the discovery of the pathos and sadness which often underlie the ridiculous appearance, and it is only the abnormally gifted child or grown-up person who discovers this by instinct. it takes a lifetime to arrive at the position described in sterne's words: “i would not have let fallen an unseasonable pleasantry in the venerable presence of misery to be entitled to all the wit which rabelais has ever scattered.”
-i will hasten to add that i should not wish children to have their sympathy too much drawn out, or their emotions kindled too much to pity, because this would be neither healthy nor helpful to themselves or others. i only want to protect the children from the dangerous critical attitude induced by the use of satire: it sacrifices too much of the atmosphere of trust and belief in human beings which ought to be an essential of child-life. if we indulge in satire, the sense of kindness in children tends to become perverted, their sympathy cramped, and they themselves to become old before their time. we have an excellent example of this in hans c. andersen's “snow queen.”
-when kay gets the piece of broken mirror into his eye, he no longer sees the world from the normal child's point of view: he can no longer see anything but the foibles of those about him--a condition usually only reached by a course of pessimistic experience.
-andersen sums up the unnatural point of view in these words:
-“when kay tried to repeat the lord's prayer, he could only remember the multiplication table.” now, without taking these words in any literal sense, we can admit that they represent the development of the head at the expense of the heart.
-an example of this kind of story to avoid is andersen's “story of the butterfly.” the bitterness of the anemones, the sentimentality of the violets, the schoolgirlishness of the snowdrops, the domesticity of the sweet-peas--all this tickles the palate of the adult, but does not belong to the plane of the normal child. again i repeat that the unusual child may take all this in and even preserve its kindly attitude towards the world, but it is a dangerous atmosphere for the ordinary child.
-iii.--stories of a sentimental kind. strange to say, this element of sentimentality often appeals more to the young teachers than to the children themselves. it is difficult to define the difference between sentiment and sentimentality, but the healthy normal boy or girl of--let us say ten or eleven years old seems to feel it unconsciously, though the distinction is not so clear a few years later.
-mrs. elizabeth mckracken contributed an excellent article some years ago to the american outlook on the subject of literature for the young, in which we find a good illustration of this power of discrimination on the part of a child.
-a young teacher was telling her pupils the story of the emotional lady who, to put her lover to the test, bade him pick up the glove which she had thrown down into the arena between the tiger and the lion. the lover does her bidding, in order to vindicate his character as a brave knight. one boy, after hearing the story, at once states his contempt for the knight's acquiescence, which he declares to be unworthy.
-“but,” says the teacher, “you see he really did it to show the lady how foolish she was.” the answer of the boy sums up what i have been trying to show: “there was no sense in his being sillier than she was, to show her she was silly.”
-if the boy had stopped there, we might have concluded that he was lacking in imagination or romance, but his next remark proves what a balanced and discriminating person he was, for he added: “now, if she had fallen in, and he had leapt after her to rescue her, that would have been splendid and of some use.” given the character of the lady, we might, as adults, question the last part of the boy's statement, but this is pure cynicism and fortunately does not enter into the child's calculations.
-in my own personal experience (and i have told this story often in the german ballad form to girls of ten and twelve in the high schools in england) i have never found one girl who sympathised with the lady or who failed to appreciate the poetic justice meted out to her in the end by the dignified renunciation of the knight.
-chesterton defines sentimentality as “a tame, cold, or small and inadequate manner of speaking about certain matters which demand very large and beautiful expression.”
-i would strongly urge upon young teachers to revise, by this definition, some of the stories they have included in their repertory, and see whether they would stand the test or not.
-an affectionate aunt, on one occasion, anxious to curry favour with a four-year-old nephew, was taxing her imagination to find a story suitable for his tender years. she was greatly startled when he suddenly said, in a most imperative tone: “tell me the story of a bear eating a small boy.” this was so remote from her own choice of subject that she hesitated at first, but coming to the conclusion that as the child had chosen the situation he would feel no terror in the working up of its details, she began a most thrilling and blood-curdling story, leading up to the final catastrophe. but just as she had reached the great dramatic moment, the child raised his hands in terror and said: “oh! auntie, don't let the bear really eat the boy!”
-“don't you know,” said an impatient boy who had been listening to a mild adventure story considered suitable to his years, “that i don't take any interest in the story until the decks are dripping with gore?” here we have no opportunity of deciding whether or not the actual description demanded would be more alarming than the listener had realised.
-here is a poem of james stephens, showing a child's taste for sensational things:--
-a man was sitting underneath a tree outside the village, and he asked me what name was upon this place, and said he was never here before. he told a lot of stories to me too. his nose was flat. i asked him how it happened, and he said, the first mate of the “mary ann” done that, with a marling-spike one day, but he was dead, and a jolly job too, but he'd have gone a long way to have killed him. a gold ring in one ear, and the other was bit off by a crocodile, bedad, that's what he said: he taught me how to chew. he was a real nice man. he liked me too.
-the taste that is fed by the sensational contents of the newspapers and the dramatic excitement of street life, and some of the lurid representations of the kinematograph, is so much stimulated that the interest in normal stories is difficult to rouse. i will not here dwell on the deleterious effects of over dramatic stimulation, which has been known to lead to crime, since i am keener to prevent the telling of too many sensational stories than to suggest a cure when the mischief is done. kate douglas wiggin has said:
-“let us be realistic, by all means, but beware, o story-teller, of being too realistic. avoid the shuddering tale of ‘the wicked boy who stoned the birds,’ lest some hearer should be inspired to try the dreadful experiment and see if it really does kill.”
-i must emphasise the fact, however, that it is only the excess of this dramatic element which i deplore. a certain amount of excitement is necessary; but this question belongs to the positive side of the subject, and i shall deal with it later on.
-the element i wish to eliminate is the one which would make children world-wise and old before their time.
-a small american child who had entertained a guest in her mother's absence, when questioned as to whether she had shown all the hospitality the mother would have considered necessary, said: “oh! yes. and i talked to her in the kind of ‘dressy’ tone you use on your ‘at home’ days.”
-oh, that modern writers of fiction would “get back to the golf links” sooner than they do, realising with this little unconscious philosopher that there are some reactions from love-making which show a healthy and balanced constitution.
-experience with children ought to teach us to avoid stories which contain too much allusion to matters of which the hearers are entirely ignorant; but, judging from the written stories of to-day, supposed to be for children, it is still a matter of difficulty to realise that this form of allusion to “foreign” matters, or making a joke the appreciation of which depends solely on a special and “inside” knowledge, is always bewildering and fatal to sustained dramatic interest.
-it is a matter of intense regret that so very few people have sufficiently clear remembrance of their own childhood to help them to understand the taste and point of view of the normal child. there is a passage in the “brownies” (by mrs. ewing) which illustrates the confusion created in the child mind by a facetious allusion in a dramatic moment which needed a more direct treatment.
-when the nursery toys have all gone astray, one little child exclaims joyfully:
-“why, the old rocking-horse's nose has turned up in the oven!”
-“it couldn't” remarks a tiresome, facetious doctor, far more anxious to be funny than to sympathise with the joy of the child; “it was the purest grecian, modelled from the elgin marbles.”
-vi.--stories which appeal to fear or priggishness. this is a class of story to be avoided which scarcely counts to-day and against which the teacher does not need a warning; but i wish to make a passing allusion to it, partly to round off my subject and partly to show that we have made some improvement in choice of subject.
-when i study the evolution of the story from the crude recitals offered to our children within the last hundred years, i feel that, though our progress in intelligent mental catering may be slow, it is real and sure. one has only to take some examples from the chap books of the beginning of last century to realise the difference of appeal. everything offered then was either an appeal to fear or to priggishness, and one wonders how it is that our grandparents and their parents ever recovered from the effects of such stories as were offered to them. but there is the consoling thought that no lasting impression was made upon them, such as i believe may be possible by the right kind of story.
-i offer a few examples of the old type of story:
-here is an encouraging address offered by a certain mr. janeway to children about the year 1828:
-“dare you do anything which your parents forbid you, and neglect to do what they command? dare you to run up and down on the lord's day, or do you keep in to read your book, and learn what your good parents command?”
-such an address would have almost tempted children to envy the lot of orphans, except that the guardians and less close relations might have been equally, if not more, severe.
-from “the curious girl,” published about 1809: “oh! papa, i hope you will have no reason to be dissatisfied with me, for i love my studies very much, and i am never so happy at my play as when i have been assiduous at my lessons all day.”
-“adolphus: how strange it is, papa, you should believe it possible for me to act so like a child, now that i am twelve years old!”
-here is a specimen taken from a chap-book about 1825:
-edward refuses hot bread at breakfast. his hostess asks whether he likes it. “yes, i am extremely fond of it.” “why did you refuse it?” “because i know that my papa does not approve of my eating it. am i to disobey a father and mother i love so well, and forget my duty, because they are a long way off? i would not touch the cake, were i sure nobody could see me. i myself should know it, and that would be sufficient.”
-“nobly replied!” exclaimed mrs. c. “act always thus, and you must be happy, for although the whole world should refuse the praise that is due, you must enjoy the approbation of your conscience, which is beyond anything else.”
-here is a quotation of the same kind from mrs. sherwood:
-“tender-souled little creatures, desolated by a sense of sin, if they did but eat a spoonful of cupboard jam without mamma's express permission.... would a modern lucy, jealous of her sister emily's doll, break out thus easily into tearful apology for her guilt?--‘i know it is wicked in me to be sorry that emily is happy, but i feel that i cannot help it.’ and would a modern mother retort with heartfelt joy?--'my dear child, i am glad you have confessed. now i shall tell you why you feel this wicked sorrow'--proceeding to an account of the depravity of human nature so unredeemed by comfort for a childish mind of common intelligence that one can scarcely imagine the interview ending in anything less tragic than a fit of juvenile hysteria.”
-vii.--stories of exaggerated and coarse fun. in the chapter on the positive side of this subject i shall speak more in detail of the educational value of robust and virile representation of fun and of sheer nonsense, but as a representation to these statements, i should like to strike a note of warning about the element of exaggerated and coarse fun being encouraged in our school stories, partly because of the lack of humour in such presentations--a natural product of stifling imagination--and partly because the train of the abnormal has the same effect as the too frequent use of the melodramatic.
-you have only to read the adventures of buster brown, which for years formed the sunday reading of millions of children in the united states, to realise what would be the effect of coarse fun and entire absence of humour upon the normal child in its everyday experience, an effect all the greater because of the real skill with which the illustrations are drawn. it is only fair to state that this series was not originally prepared or intended for the young, but it is a matter of regret (shared by most educationists in the states) that they should ever have been given to children at all.
-in an article in macmillan's magazine, dec. 1869, miss yonge writes: “a taste for buffoonery is much to be discouraged, an exclusive taste for extravagance most unwholesome and even perverting. it becomes destructive of reverence and soon degenerates into coarseness. it permits nothing poetical or imaginative, nothing sweet or pathetic to exist, and there is a certain self-satisfaction and superiority in making game of what others regard with enthusiasm and sentiment which absolutely bars the way against a higher or softer tone.”
-although these words were written nearly half a century ago, they are so specially applicable to-day that they seem quite “up-to-date”: indeed, i think they will hold equally good fifty years hence.
-in spite of a strong taste on the part of children for what is ugly and brutal, i am sure that we ought to eliminate this element as far as possible from the school stories--especially among poor children. not because i think children should be protected from all knowledge of evil, but because so much of this knowledge comes into their life outside school that we can well afford to ignore it during school hours. at the same time, however, as i shall show by example when i come to the positive side, it would be well to show children by story illustration the difference between brute ugliness without anything to redeem it and surface ugliness, which may be only a veil over the beauty that lies underneath. it might be possible, for instance, to show children the difference between the real ugliness of a brutal story of crime and an illustration of it in the sensational papers, and the apparent ugliness in the priest's face of the “laocoon” group, because of the motive of courage and endurance behind the suffering. many stories in everyday life could be found to illustrate this.
-viii.--stories of infant piety and death-bed scenes. the stories for children forty years ago contained much of this element, and the following examples will illustrate this point:
-notes from poems written by a child between six and eight years of age, by name philip freeman, afterwards archdeacon of exeter:
-poor robin, thou canst fly no more, thy joys and sorrows all are o'er. through life's tempestuous storms thou'st trod, but now art sunk beneath the sod. here lost and gone poor robin lies, he trembles, lingers, falls and dies. he's gone, he's gone, forever lost, no more of him they now can boast. poor robin's dangers all are past, he struggled to the very last. perhaps he spent a happy life, without much struggle and much strife.
-published by john loder, bookseller, woodbridge, in 1829.
-the prolonged gloom of the main theme is somewhat lightened by the speculative optimism of the last verse.
-life, transient life, is but a dream, like sleep which short doth lengthened seem till dawn of day, when the bird's lay doth charm the soul's first peeping gleam.
-then farewell to the parting year, another's come to nature dear. in every place, thy brightening face does welcome winter's snowy drear.
-alas! our time is much mis-spent. then we must haste and now repent. we have a book in which to look, for we on wisdom should be bent.
-should god, the almighty, king of all, before his judgment-seat now call us to that place of joy and grace prepared for us since adam's fall.
-i think there is no doubt that we have made considerable progress in this matter. not only do we refrain from telling these highly moral (sic) stories but we have reached the point of parodying them, in sign of ridicule, as, for instance, in such writing as belloc's “cautionary tales.” these would be a trifle too grim for a timid child, but excellent fun for adults.
-it should be our study to-day to prove to children that the immediate importance to them is not to think of dying and going to heaven, but of living and--shall we say?--going to college, which is a far better preparation for a life to come than the morbid dwelling upon the possibility of an early death.
-in an article signed “muriel harris,” i think, from a copy of the tribune, appeared a delightful article on sunday books, from which i quote the following:
-“all very good little children died young in the story-books, so that unusual goodness must have been the source of considerable anxiety to affectionate parents. i came across a little old book the other day called ‘examples for youth.’ on the yellow fly-leaf was written in childish, carefully sloping hand: ‘presented to mary palmer junior, by her sister, to be read on sundays,’ and was dated 1828. the accounts are taken from a work on piety promoted, and all of them begin with unusual piety in early youth and end with the death-bed of the little paragon, and his or her dying words.”
-ix.--stories containing a mixture of fairy tale and science. by this combination you lose what is essential to each, namely, the fantastic on the one side, and accuracy on the other. the true fairy tale should be unhampered by any compromise of probability even--the scientific representation should be sufficiently marvellous along its own lines to need no supernatural aid. both appeal to the imagination in different ways.
-as an exception to this kind of mixture, i should quote “the honey bee, and other stories,” translated from the danish of evald by c. g. moore smith. there is a certain robustness in these stories dealing with the inexorable laws of nature, though some of them will appear hard to the child; but they will be of interest to all teachers.
-perhaps the worst element in choice of stories is that which insists upon the moral detaching itself and explaining the story. in “alice in wonderland” the duchess says, “‘and the moral of that is: take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves.’ ‘how fond she is of finding morals in things,’ thought alice to herself.” (this gives the point of view of the child.)
-the following is a case in point, found in a rare old print in the british museum:
-“jane s. came home with her clothes soiled and hands badly torn. ‘where have you been?’ asked her mother. ‘i fell down the bank near the mill,’ said jane, ‘and i should have been drowned if mr. m. had not seen me and pulled me out.’ 'why did you go so near the edge of the brink?‘ 'there was a pretty flower there that i wanted, and i only meant to take one step, but i slipped and fell down.’ moral: young people often take but one step in sinful indulgence (poor jane!), but they fall into soul-destroying sins. there is a sinful pleasure which they wish to enjoy. they can do it by a single act of sin (the heinous act of picking a flower!). they do it; but that act leads to another, and they fall into the gulf of perdition, unless god interposes.”
-now, apart from the folly of this story, we must condemn it on moral grounds. could we imagine a lower standard of a deity than that presented here to the child?
-to-day the teacher would commend jane for a laudable interest in botany, but might add a word of caution about choosing inclined planes as a hunting-ground for specimens and a popular, lucid explanation of the inexorable law of gravity.
-here we have an instance of applying a moral when we have finished our story, but there are many stories where nothing is left to chance in this matter, and where there is no means for the child to use ingenuity or imagination in making out the meaning for himself.
-but i think this applies to all stories, and most especially to those by which we do wish to teach something.
-“didactic fiction can never rank high. thou shalt not preach or teach; though shalt pourtray and create, and have ends as universal as nature.... what art demands is that the artist's personal convictions and notions, his likes and dislikes, do not obtrude themselves at all; that good and evil stand judged in his work by the logic of events, as they do in nature, and not by any special pleading on his part. he does not hold a brief for either side; he exemplifies the working of the creative energy.... the great artist works in and through and from moral ideas; his works are indirectly a criticism of life. he is moral without having a moral. the moment a moral obtrudes itself, that moment he begins to fall from grace as an artist.... the great distinction of art is that it aims to see life steadily and to see it whole.... it affords the one point of view whence the world appears harmonious and complete.”
-it would seem, then, from this passage, that it is of moral importance to put things dramatically.
-in froebel's “mother play” he demonstrates the educational value of stories, emphasising that their highest use consists in their ability to enable the child, through suggestion, to form a pure and noble idea of what a man may be or do. the sensitiveness of a child's mind is offended if the moral is forced upon him, but if he absorbs it unconsciously, he has received its influence for all time.
-to me the idea of pointing out the moral of the story has always seemed as futile as tying a flower on to a stalk instead of letting the flower grow out of the stalk, as nature intended. in the first case, the flower, showy and bright for the moment, soon fades away. in the second instance, it develops slowly, coming to perfection in fulness of time because of the life within.
-x.--lastly, the element to avoid is that which rouses emotions which cannot be translated into action.
-these, then, are the main elements to avoid in the selection of material suitable for normal children. much might be added in the way of detail, and the special tendency of the day may make it necessary to avoid one class of story more than another; but this care belongs to another generation of teachers and parents.
-elements to seek in choice of material.
-now, the same statement applies to our stories, and, having busied myself, during the last chapter, with “clearing my small spot” by cutting away a mass of unfruitful growth, i am now going to suggest what would be the best kind of seed to sow in the patch which i have “reclaimed from the jungle.”
-again i repeat that i have no wish to be dogmatic, and that in offering suggestions as to the stories to be told, i am only catering for a group of normal school-children. my list of subjects does not pretend to cover the whole ground of children's needs, and just as i exclude the abnormal or unusual child from the scope of my warning in subjects to avoid, so do i also exclude that child from the limitation in choice of subjects to be sought, because you can offer almost any subject to the unusual child, especially if you stand in close relation to him and know his powers of apprehension. in this matter, age has very little to say: it is a question of the stage of development.
-experience has taught me that for the group of normal children, almost irrespective of age, the first kind of story suitable will contain an appeal to conditions to which they are accustomed. the reason of this is obvious: the child, having limited experience, can only be reached by this experience, until his imagination is awakened and he is enabled to grasp through this faculty what he has not actually passed through. before this awakening has taken place he enters the realm of fiction (represented in the story) by comparison with his personal experience. every story and every point in the story mean more as that experience widens, and the interest varies, of course, with temperament, quickness of perception, power of visualising and of concentration.
-in “the marsh king's daughter,” h. c. andersen says:
-“the storks have a great many stories which they tell their little ones, all about the bogs and marshes. they suit them to their age and capacity. the young ones are quite satisfied with kribble, krabble, or some such nonsense, and find it charming; but the elder ones want something with more meaning.”
-to take a concrete example: let us suppose the story of andersen's tin soldier told to a child of five or six years. at the first recital, the point which will interest the child most will be the setting up of the tin soldiers on the table, because he can understand this by means of his own experience, in his own nursery: it is an appeal to conditions to which he is accustomed and for which no exercise of the imagination is needed, unless we take the effect of memory to be, according to queyrat, retrospective imagination.
-the next incident that appeals is the unfamiliar behaviour of the toys, but still in familiar surroundings; that is to say, the unusual activities are carried on in the safe precincts of the nursery--in the usual atmosphere of the child.
-i quote from the text:
-“late in the evening the other soldiers were put in their box, and the people of the house went to bed. now was the time for the toys to play; they amused themselves with paying visits, fighting battles and giving balls. the tin soldiers rustled about in their box, for they wanted to join the games, but they could not get the lid off. the nut-crackers turned somersaults, and the pencil scribbled nonsense on the slate.”
-now, from this point onwards in the story, the events will be quite outside the personal experience of the child, and there will have to be a real stretch of imagination to appreciate the thrilling and blood-curdling adventures of the little tin soldier, namely, the terrible sailing down the gutter under the bridge, the meeting with the fierce rat who demands the soldier's passport, the horrible sensation in the fish's body, etc. last of all, perhaps, will come the appreciation of the best qualities of the hero: his modesty, his dignity, his reticence, his courage and his constancy: he seems to combine all the qualities of the best soldier with those of the best civilian, without the more obvious qualities which generally attract first. as for the love-story, we must not expect any child to see its tenderness and beauty, though the individual child may intuitively appreciate these qualities, but it is not what we wish for or work for at this period of child-life.
-this method could be applied to various stories. i have chosen the tin soldier because of its dramatic qualities and because it is marked off (probably quite unconsciously on the part of andersen) into periods which correspond to the child's development.
-in eugene field's exquisite little poem of “the dinkey bird” we find the objects familiar to the child in unusual places, so that some imagination is needed to realise that “big red sugar-plums are clinging to the cliffs beside that sea”; but the introduction of the fantastic bird and the soothing sound of the amfalula tree are new and delightful sensations, quite out of the child's personal experience.
-another such instance is to be found in mrs. w. k. clifford's story of master willie. the abnormal behaviour of familiar objects, such as a doll, leads from the ordinary routine to the paths of adventure. this story is to be found in a little book called “very short stories,” a most interesting collection for teachers and children.
-we now come to the second element we should seek in material--namely, the element of the unusual, which we have already anticipated in the story of the tin soldier.
-this element is necessary in response to the demand of the child who expressed the needs of his fellow-playmates when he said: “i want to go to the place where the shadows are real.” this is the true definition of “faerie” lands, and is the first sign of real mental development in the child when he is no longer content with the stories of his own little deeds and experiences, when his ear begins to appreciate sounds different from the words in his own everyday language, and when he begins to separate his own personality from the action of the story.
-it is because of the great value of leading children to something beyond the limited circle of their own lives that i deplore the twaddling boarding-school stories written for girls and the artificially-prepared public school stories for boys. why not give them the dramatic interest of a larger stage? no account of a cricket match, or a football triumph, could present a finer appeal to boys and girls than the description of the peacestead in the “heroes of asgaard”:
-“this was the playground of the æsir, where they practised trials of skill one with another and held tournaments and sham fights. these last were always conducted in the gentlest and most honourable manner; for the strongest law of the peacestead was, that no angry blow should be struck, or spiteful word spoken upon the sacred field.”
-for my part, i would unhesitatingly give to boys and girls an element of strong romance in the stories which are told them even before they are twelve. miss sewell says:
-“the system that keeps girls in the schoolroom reading simple stories, without reading scott and shakespeare and spenser, and then hands them over to the unexplored recesses of the circulating library, has been shown to be the most frivolizing that can be devised.” she sets forward the result of her experience that a good novel, especially a romantic one, read at twelve or fourteen, is really a beneficial thing.
-at present many of the children from the elementary schools get their first idea of love (if one can give it such a name) from vulgar pictures displayed in the shop windows, or jokes on marriage culled from the lowest type of paper, or the proceedings of a divorce-court.
-what an antidote to such representation might be found in the story of
-hector and andromache, siegfreid and brunhild, dido and æneas, orpheus and eurydice, st. francis and st. clare.
-one of the strongest elements we should introduce into our stories for children of all ages is that which calls forth love of beauty. and the beauty should stand out, not necessarily only in delineation of noble qualities in our heroes and heroines, but in beauty and strength of language and form.
-in this latter respect the bible stories are of such inestimable value--all the greater because a child is familiar with the subject, and the stories gain fresh significance from the spoken or winged word as compared with the mere reading. whether we should keep to the actual text is a matter of individual experience. professor r. g. moulton, whose interpretations of the bible stories are so well known both in england and the states, does not always confine himself to the actual text, but draws the dramatic elements together, rejecting what seems to him to break the narrative, but introducing the actual language where it is the most effective. those who have heard him will realise the success of his method.
-there is one bible story which can be told with scarcely any deviation, and that is the story of nebuchadnezzar and the golden image. thus, i think it wise, if the children are to succeed in partially visualizing the story, that they should have some idea of the dimensions of the golden image as it would stand out in a vast plain. it might be well to compare those dimensions with some building with which the child is familiar. in london the matter is easy, as the height will compare, roughly speaking, with that of westminster abbey. the only change in the text i should adopt is to avoid the constant enumeration of the list of rulers and the musical instruments. in doing this, i am aware that i am sacrificing something of beauty in the rhythm,--on the other hand, for narrative purpose, the interest is not broken. the first time the announcement is made, that is, by the herald, it should be in a perfectly loud, clear and toneless voice, such as you would naturally use when shouting through a trumpet to a vast concourse of people scattered over a wide plain; reserving all the dramatic tone of voice for the passage where nebuchadnezzar is making the announcement to the three men by themselves. i can remember professor moulton saying that all the dramatic interest of the story is summed up in the words “but if not....” this suggestion is a very helpful one, for it enables us to work up gradually to this point, and then, as it were, unwind, until we reach the words of nebuchadnezzar's dramatic recantation.
-in this connection, it is a good plan occasionally during the story hour to introduce really good poetry which, delivered in a dramatic manner (far removed, of course, from the melodramatic), might give children their first love of beautiful form in verse. and i do not think it necessary to wait for this. even the normal child of seven (though there is nothing arbitrary in the suggestion of this age) will appreciate the effect--if only on the ear--of beautiful lines well spoken. mahomet has said, in his teaching advice: “teach your children poetry: it opens the mind, lends grace to wisdom and makes heroic virtues hereditary.”
-to begin with the youngest children of all, here is a poem which contains a thread of story, just enough to give a human interest:
-when the cows come home, the milk is coming, honey's made when the bees are humming. duck, drake on the rushy lake, and the deer live safe in the breezy brake, and timid, funny, pert little bunny winks his nose, and sits all sunny. christina rossetti.
-now, in comparing this poem with some of the doggerel verse offered to small children, one is struck with the literary superiority in the choice of words. here, in spite of the simplicity of the poem, there is not the ordinary limited vocabulary, nor the forced rhyme, nor the application of a moral, by which the artist falls from grace.
-again, in eugene field's “hushaby lady,” the language of which is most simple, the child is carried away by the beauty of the sound.
-i remember hearing some poetry repeated by the children in one of the elementary schools in sheffield which made me feel that they had realised romantic possibilities which would prevent their lives from ever becoming quite prosaic again, and i wish that this practice were more usual. there is little difficulty with the children. i can remember, in my own experience as a teacher in london, making the experiment of reading or repeating passages from milton and shakespeare to children from nine to eleven years of age, and the enthusiastic way they responded by learning those passages by heart. i have taken, with several sets of children, such passages from milton as “echo song,” “sabrina,” “by the rushy fringed bank,” “back, shepherds, back,” from comus, “may morning,” “ode to shakespeare,” “samson on his blindness,” etc. i even ventured on several passages from paradise lost, and found “now came still evening on” a particular favourite with the children.
-the method i should recommend in the introduction of both poets occasionally into the story-hour would be threefold.
-first, to choose passages which appeal for beauty of sound or beauty of mental vision called up by those sounds: such as, “tell me where is fancy bred,” titania's lullaby, “how sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.”
-secondly, passages for sheer interest of content, such as the trial scene from “the merchant of venice,” or the forest scene in “as you like it.”
-thirdly, for dramatic and historical interest, such as, “men at some time are masters of their fates,” the whole of mark antony's speech, and the scene with imogen and her foster-brothers in the forest.
-it may not be wholly out of place to add here that the children learned and repeated these passages themselves, and that i offered them the same advice as i do to all story-tellers. i discussed quite openly with them the method i considered best, trying to make them see that simplicity of delivery was not only the most beautiful but the most effective means to use; and, by the end of a few months, when they had been allowed to experiment and express themselves, they began to see that mere ranting was not force, and that a sense of reserve power is infinitely more impressive and inspiring than mere external presentation.
-i encouraged them to criticise each other for the common good, and sometimes i read a few lines with over-emphasis and too much gesture, which they were at liberty to point out, so that they might avoid the same error.
-a very good collection of poems for this purpose of narrative is to be found in:
-and for older children:
-the call of the homeland, anthology. edited by dr. scott and miss katharine wallas, published by blackie and son.
-also in a collection published (i believe) in boston by miss agnes repplier.
-golden numbers. (k. d. wiggin and n. a. smith).
-it will be realised from the scanty number of examples offered in this section that it is only a side issue, a mere suggestion of an occasional alternative for the story-hour, as likely to develop the imagination.
-thus we have the story of cinderella. the cynic might imagine that it was the diminutive size of her foot that ensured her success: the child does not realise any advantage in this, but, though the matter need not be pressed, the story leaves us with the impression that cinderella had been patient and industrious, forbearing with her sisters. we know that she was strictly obedient to her godmother, and in order to be this she makes her dramatic exit from the ball which is the beginning of her triumph. there are many who might say that these qualities do not meet with reward in life and that they end in establishing a habit of drudgery, but, after all, we must have poetic justice in a fairy story, occasionally, at any rate.
-another story of this kind, admirable for children from six years and upwards, is “what the old man does is always right.” here, perhaps, the entire lack of common sense on the part of the hero would serve rather as a warning than a stimulating example, but the conduct of the wife in excusing the errors of her foolish husband is a model of resourcefulness.
-one of the most important elements to seek in our choice of stories is that which tends to develop, eventually, a fine sense of humour in a child. i purposely use the word “eventually,” because i realise first that humour has various stages, and that seldom, if ever, can you expect an appreciation of fine humour from a normal child, that is, from an elemental mind. it seems as if the rough-and-tumble element were almost a necessary stage through which children must pass--a stage, moreover, which is normal and healthy; but up to now we have quite unnecessarily extended the period of elephantine fun, and though we cannot control the manner in which children are catered for along this line in their homes, we can restrict the folly of appealing too strongly or too long to this elemental faculty in our schools. of course, the temptation is strong, because the appeal is so easy. but there is a tacit recognition that horse-play and practical jokes are no longer considered an essential part of a child's education. we note this in the changed attitude in the schools, taken by more advanced educationists, towards bullying, fagging, hazing, etc. as a reaction, then, from more obvious fun, there should be a certain number of stories which make appeal to a more subtle element, and in the chapter on the questions put to me by teachers on various occasions, i speak more in detail about the educational value of a finer humour in our stories.
-at some period there ought to be presented in our stories the superstitions connected with the primitive history of the race, dealing with the fairy (proper), giants, dwarfs, gnomes, nixies, brownies and other elemental beings. andrew lang says: “without our savage ancestors we should have had no poetry. conceive the human race born into the world in its present advanced condition, weighing, analysing, examining everything. such a race would have been destitute of poetry and flattened by common sense. barbarians did the dreaming of the world.”
-but it is a question of much debate among educationists what should be the period of the child's life in which these stories are to be presented. i myself was formerly of opinion that they belonged to the very primitive age of the individual, just as they belong to the primitive age of the race, but experience in telling stories has taught me to compromise.
-some people maintain that little children, who take things with brutal logic, ought not to be allowed the fairy tale in its more limited form of the supernatural; whereas, if presented to older children, this material can be criticised, catalogued and (alas!) rejected as worthless, or retained with flippant toleration.
-now, whilst recognising a certain value in this point of view, i am bound to admit that if we regulate our stories entirely on this basis, we lose the real value of the fairy tale element--it is the one element which causes little children to wonder, simply because no scientific analysis of the story can be presented to them. it is somewhat heartrending to feel that jack and the bean-stalk and stories of that ilk are to be handed over to the critical youth who will condemn the quick growth of the tree as being contrary to the order of nature, and wonder why jack was not playing football in the school team instead of climbing trees in search of imaginary adventures.
-a wonderful plea for the telling of early superstitions to children is to be found in an old indian allegory called “the blazing mansion.”
-“an old man owned a large, rambling mansion--the pillars were rotten, the galleries tumbling down, the thatch dry and combustible, and there was only one door. suddenly, one day, there was a smell of fire: the old man rushed out. to his horror he saw that the thatch was aflame, the rotten pillars were catching fire one by one, and the rafters were burning like tinder. but inside, the children went on amusing themselves quite happily. the distracted father said: ‘i will run in and save my children. i will seize them in my strong arms, i will bear them harmless through the falling rafters and the blazing beams.’ then the sad thought came to him that the children were romping and ignorant. ‘if i say the house is on fire, they will not understand me. if i try to seize them, they will romp about and try to escape. alas! not a moment to be lost!’ suddenly a bright thought flashed across the old man's mind. ‘my children are ignorant,’ he said; ‘they love toys and glittering playthings. i will promise them playthings of unheard-of beauty. then they will listen.’
-so the old man shouted: ‘children, come out of the house and see these beautiful toys! chariots with white oxen, all gold and tinsel. see these exquisite little antelopes. whoever saw such goats as these? children, children, come quickly, or they will all be gone!’
-forth from the blazing ruin the children came in hot haste. the word ‘plaything’ was almost the only word they could understand.
-then the father, rejoiced that his offspring was freed from peril, procured for them one of the most beautiful chariots ever seen: the chariot had a canopy like a pagoda: it had tiny rails and balustrades and rows of jingling bells. milk-white oxen drew the chariot. the children were astonished when they were placed inside.” (from the “thabagata.”)
-perhaps, as a compromise, one might give the gentler superstitions to very small children, and leave such a blood-curdling story as bluebeard to a more robust age.
-there is one modern method which has always seemed to me much to be condemned, and that is the habit of changing the end of a story, for fear of alarming the child. this is quite indefensible. in doing this we are tampering with folk-lore and confusing stages of development.
-now, i know that there are individual children that, at a tender age, might be alarmed at such a story, for instance, as little red riding-hood; in which case, it is better to sacrifice the “wonder stage” and present the story later on.
-i live in dread of finding one day a bowdlerized form of “bluebeard” (prepared for a junior standard), in which, to produce a satisfactory finale, all the wives come to life again, and “live happily for ever after” with bluebeard and each other!
-and from this point it seems an easy transition to the subject of legends of different kinds. some of the old country legends in connection with flowers are very charming for children, and as long as we do not tread on the sacred ground of the nature students, we may indulge in a moderate use of such stories, of which a few will be found in the story lists.
-with regard to the introduction of legends connected with saints into the school curriculum, my chief plea is the element of the unusual which they contain, and an appeal to a sense of mysticism and wonder which is a wise antidote to the prosaic and commercial tendencies of to-day. though many of the actions of the saints may be the result of a morbid strain of self-sacrifice, at least none of them were engaged in the sole occupation of becoming rich: their ideals were often lofty and unselfish; their courage high, and their deeds noble. we must be careful, in the choice of our legends, to show up the virile qualities rather than to dwell on the elements of horror in details of martyrdom, or on the too-constantly recurring miracles, lest we should defeat our own ends. for the children might think lightly of the dangers to which the saints were exposed if they find them too often preserved at the last moment from the punishment they were brave enough to undergo. for one or other of these reasons, i should avoid the detailed history of st. juliana, st. vincent, st. quintin, st. eustace, st. winifred, st. theodore, st. james the more, st. katharine, st. cuthbert, st. alphage, st. peter of milan, st. quirine and juliet, st. alban and others.
-the danger of telling children stories connected with sudden conversions is that they are apt to place too much emphasis on the process, rather than the goal to be reached. we should always insist on the splendid deeds performed after a real conversion--not the details of the conversion itself; as, for instance, the beautiful and poetical work done by st. christopher when he realised what work he could do most effectively.
-having protested against the elephantine joke and the too-frequent use of exaggerated fun, i now endeavour to restore the balance by suggesting the introduction into the school curriculum of a few purely grotesque stories which serve as an antidote to sentimentality or utilitarianism. but they must be presented as nonsense, so that the children may use them for what they are intended, as pure relaxation. such a story is that of “the wolf and the kids.” i have had serious objections offered to this story by several educational people, because of the revenge taken by the goat on the wolf, but i am inclined to think that if the story is to be taken as anything but sheer nonsense, it is surely sentimental to extend our sympathy towards a caller who has devoured six of his hostess' children. with regard to the wolf being cut open, there is not the slightest need to accentuate the physical side. children accept the deed as they accept the cutting off of a giant's head, because they do not associate it with pain, especially if the deed is presented half-humorously. the moment in the story where their sympathy is aroused is the swallowing of the kids, because the children do realise the possibility of being disposed of in the mother's absence. (needless to say, i never point out the moral of the kids' disobedience to the mother in opening the door.) i have always noticed a moment of breathlessness even in a grown-up audience when the wolf swallows the kids, and that the recovery of them “all safe and sound, all huddled together” is quite as much appreciated by the adult audience as by the children, and is worth the tremor caused by the wolf's summary action.
-one might occasionally introduce one of edward lear's “book of nonsense.” for instance:
-there was an old man of cape horn, who wished he had never been born; so he sat in a chair till he died of despair, that dolorous man of cape horn.
-now, except in case of very young children, this could not possibly be taken seriously. the least observant normal boy or girl would recognise the hollowness of the pessimism that prevents a man from at least an attempt to rise from his chair.
-the following i have chosen as repeated with intense appreciation and much dramatic vigour by a little boy just five years old:
-one of the most desirable of all elements to introduce into our stories is that which encourages kinship with animals. with very young children this is easy, because in those early years when the mind is not clogged with knowledge, the sympathetic imagination enables them to enter into the feelings of animals. andersen has an illustration of this point in his “ice maiden”:
-“children who cannot talk yet can understand the language of fowls and ducks quite well, and cats and dogs speak to them quite as plainly as father and mother; but that is only when the children are very small, and then even grandpapa's stick will become a perfect horse to them that can neigh and, in their eyes, is furnished with legs and a tail. with some children this period ends later than with others, and of such we are accustomed to say that they are very backward, and that they have remained children for a long time. people are in the habit of saying strange things.”
-i think that beyond question the finest animal stories are to be found in the indian collections, of which i furnish a list in the appendix.
-with regard to the development of the love of nature through the telling of the stories, we are confronted with a great difficult in the elementary schools, because so many of the children have never been out of the towns, have never seen a daisy, a blade of grass and scarcely a tree, so that in giving, in form of a story, a beautiful description of scenery, you can make no appeal to the retrospective imagination, and only the rarely gifted child will be able to make pictures whilst listening to a style which is beyond his everyday use. nevertheless, once in a way, when the children are in a quiet mood, not eager for action but able to give themselves up to the pure joy of sound, then it is possible to give them a beautiful piece of writing in praise of nature, such as the following, taken from the divine adventure, by fiona macleod:
-“then he remembered the ancient wisdom of the gael and came out of the forest chapel and went into the woods. he put his lip to the earth, and lifted a green leaf to his brow, and held a branch to his ear, and because he was no longer heavy with the sweet clay of mortality, though yet of human clan he heard that which we do not hear, and saw that which we do not see, and knew that which we do not know. all the green life was his. in that new world, he saw the lives of trees, now pale green, now of woodsmoke blue, now of amethyst; the gray lives of stone; breaths of the grass and reed, creatures of the air, delicate and wild as fawns, or swift and fierce and terrible, tigers, of that undiscovered wilderness, with birds almost invisible but for their luminous wings, and opalescent crests.”
-the value of this particular passage is the mystery pervading the whole picture, which forms so beautiful an antidote to the eternal explaining of things. i think it of the highest importance for children to realise that the best and most beautiful things cannot be expressed in everyday language and that they must content themselves with a flash here and there of the beauty which may come later. one does not enhance the beauty of the mountain by pulling to pieces some of the earthy clogs: one does not increase the impression of a vast ocean by analysing the single drops of water. but at a reverent distance one gets a clear impression of the whole, and can afford to leave the details in the shadow.
-in presenting such passages (and it must be done very sparingly) experience has taught me that we should take the children into our confidence by telling them frankly that nothing exciting is going to happen, so that they will be free to listen to the mere words. a very interesting experiment might occasionally be made by asking the children some weeks afterwards to tell you in their own words what pictures were made on their minds. this is a very different thing from allowing the children to reproduce the passage at once, the danger of which proceeding i speak of later in detail. (see chapter on questions.)
-we now come to the question as to what proportion of dramatic excitement we should present in the stories for a normal group of children. personally, i should like, while the child is very young (i mean in mind, not in years) to exclude the element of dramatic excitement, but though this may be possible for the individual child, it is quite utopian to hope we can keep the average child free from what is in the atmosphere. children crave for excitement, and unless we give it to them in legitimate form, they will take it in any riotous form it presents itself, and if from our experience we can control their mental digestion by a moderate supply of what they demand, we may save them from devouring too eagerly the raw material they can so easily find for themselves.
-there is a humorous passage bearing on this question in the story of the small scotch boy, when he asks leave of his parents to present the pious little book--a gift to himself from his aunt--to a little sick friend, hoping probably that the friend's chastened condition will make him more lenient towards this mawkish form of literature. the parents expostulate, pointing out to their son how ungrateful he is, and how ungracious it would be to part with his aunt's gift. then the boy can contain himself no longer. he bursts out, unconsciously expressing the normal attitude of children at a certain stage of development: “it's a daft book ony way; there's naebody gets kilt en't. i like stories about folk getting their heids cut off, or stabbit through and through, wi' swords an' spears. an' there's nae wile beasts. i like stories about black men gettin' ate up, an' white men killin' lions and tigers an' bears an'----”
-then, again, we have the passage from george eliot's “mill on the floss”:
-“oh, dear! i wish they would not fight at your school, tom. didn't it hurt you?”
-“hurt me? no,” said tom, putting up the hooks again, taking out a large pocket-knife, and slowly opening the largest blade, which he looked at meditatively as he rubbed his finger along it. then he added:
-“i gave spooner a black eye--that's what he got for wanting to leather me. i wasn't going to go halves because anybody leathered me.”
-“oh! how brave you are, tom. i think you are like samson. if there came a lion roaring at me, i think you'd fight him, wouldn't you, tom?”
-“how can a lion come roaring at you, you silly thing? there's no lions only in the shows.”
-“no, but if we were in the lion countries--i mean in africa where it's very hot, the lions eat people there. i can show it you in the book where i read it.”
-“well, i should get a gun and shoot him.”
-“but if you hadn't got a gun?--we might have gone out, you know, not thinking, just as we go out fishing, and then a great lion might come towards us roaring, and we could not get away from him. what should you do, tom?”
-tom paused, and at last turned away contemptuously, saying: “but the lion isn't coming. what's the use of talking?”
-this passage illustrates also the difference between the highly-developed imagination of the one and the stodgy prosaical temperament of the other. tom could enter into the elementary question of giving his school-fellow a black eye, but could not possibly enter into the drama of the imaginary arrival of a lion. he was sorely in need of fairy stories.
-it is for this element we have to cater, and we cannot shirk our responsibilities.
-of course the savour of danger and blood is only one of the things to which we should appeal, but i give the whole passage to make the point clearer.
-this is one of the most difficult parts of our selection, namely, how to present enough excitement for the child and yet include enough constructive element which will satisfy him when the thirst for “blugginess” is slaked.
-and in the “njal's burning” from andrew lang's “book of romance” we have the words of the boy thord when his grandmother, bergthora, urges him to go out of the burning house.
-“you promised me when i was little, grandmother, that i never should go from you till i wished it of myself. and i would rather die with you than live after you.”
-here the moral courage is so splendidly shown; none of these heroes feared to die in battle or in open single fight, but to face a death by fire for higher considerations is a point of view worth presenting to the child.
-i would have quite a collection dealing with the thrilling adventures of the life-boat and the fire brigade, of which i hope to present examples in the final story list.
-finally, we ought to include a certain number of stories dealing with death, especially with children who are of an age to realise that it must come to all, and that this is not a calamity but a perfectly natural and simple thing. at present the child in the street invariably connects death with sordid accidents. i think they should have stories of death coming in heroic form, as when a man or woman dies for a great cause, in which he has opportunity of admiring courage, devotion and unselfishness; or of death coming as a result of treachery, such as we find in the death of baldur, of siegfried, and of others, so that children may learn to abhor such deeds; but also a fair proportion of stories dealing with death that comes naturally, when our work is done and our strength gone, which has no more tragedy than the falling of a leaf from the tree. in this way we can give children the first idea that the individual is so much less than the whole.
-quite small children often take death very naturally. a boy of five met two of his older companions at the school door. they said sadly and solemnly: “we have just seen a dead man!” “well,” said the little philosopher, “that's all right. we've all got to die when our work's done.”
-in one of the buddha stories which i reproduce at the end of this book, the little hare (who is, i think, a symbol of nervous individualism) constantly says: “suppose the earth were to fall in, what would become of me?”
-as an antidote to the ordinary attitude towards death, i commend an episode from a german folk-lore story called “unlucky john,” which is included in the list of stories recommended at the end of this book.
-the following sums up in poetic form some of the material necessary for the wants of a child:
-the little new soul has come to earth, he has taken his staff for the pilgrim's way. his sandals are girt on his tender feet, and he carries his scrip for what gifts he may.
-what will you give to him, fate divine? what for his scrip on the winding road? a crown for his head, or a laurel wreath? a sword to wield, or is gold his load?
-what will you give him for weal or woe? what for the journey through day and night? give or withhold from him power and fame, but give to him love of the earth's delight.
-let him be lover of wind and sun and of falling rain; and the friend of trees; with a singing heart for the pride of noon, and a tender heart for what twilight sees.
-let him be lover of you and yours-- the child and mary; but also pan, and the sylvan gods of the woods and hills, and the god that is hid in his fellow-man.
-how to obtain and maintain the effect of the story.
-we are now coming to the most important part of the question of story-telling, to which all the foregoing remarks have been gradually leading, and that is the effects of these stories upon the child, apart from the dramatic joy he experiences in listening to them, which would in itself be quite enough to justify us in the telling. but, since i have urged upon teachers the extreme importance of giving so much time to the manner of telling and of bestowing so much care on the selection of the material, it is right that they should expect some permanent results, or else those who are not satisfied with the mere enjoyment of the children will seek other methods of appeal--and it is to them that i most specially dedicate this chapter.
-i think we are on the threshold of the re-discovery of an old truth, that the dramatic presentation is the quickest and surest, because it is the only one with which memory plays no tricks. if a thing has appeared before us in a vital form, nothing can really destroy it; it is because things are often given in a blurred, faint light that they gradually fade out of our memory. a very keen scientist was deploring to me, on one occasion, the fact that stories were told so much in the schools, to the detriment of science, for which she claimed the same indestructible element that i recognise in the best-told stories. being very much interested in her point of view, i asked her to tell me, looking back on her school days, what she could remember as standing out from other less clear information. after thinking some little time over the matter, she said with some embarrassment, but with a candour that did her much honour:
-“well, now i come to think of it, it was the story of cinderella.”
-now, i am not holding any brief for this story in particular. i think the reason it was remembered was because of the dramatic form in which it was presented to her, which fired her imagination and kept the memory alight. i quite realise that a scientific fact might also have been easily remembered if it was presented in the form of a successful chemical experiment: but this also has something of the dramatic appeal and will be remembered on that account.
-the red queen (in “through the looking-glass”) was more psychological than she knew when she made the memorable statement: “when once you've said a thing that fixes it, and you must take the consequences.”
-in curtin's introduction to “myths and folk tales of the russians,” he says:
-“i remember well the feeling roused in my mind at the mention or sight of the name lucifer during the early years of my life. it stood for me as the name of a being stupendous, dreadful in moral deformity, lurid, hideous and mighty. i remember the surprise which, when i had grown somewhat older and began to study latin, i came upon the name in virgil where it means light-bringer--the herald of the sun.”
-plato has said: “that the end of education should be the training by suitable habits of the instincts of virtue in the child.”
-about two thousand years later, sir philip sidney, in his “defence of poesy,” says: “the final end of learning is to draw and lead us to so high a perfection as our degenerate souls, made worse by their clay lodgings, can be capable of.”
-and yet it is neither the greek philosopher nor the elizabethan poet that makes the every-day application of these principles; but we have a hint of this application from the pueblo tribe of indians, of whom lummis tells us the following:
-“there is no duty to which a pueblo child is trained in which he has to be content with a bare command: do this. for each he learns a fairy-tale designed to explain how children first came to know that it was right to ‘do this,’ and detailing the sad results that befell those who did otherwise. some tribes have regular story-tellers, men who have devoted a great deal of time to learning the myths and stories of their people and who possess, in addition to a good memory, a vivid imagination. the mother sends for one of these, and having prepared a feast for him, she and her little brood, who are curled up near her, await the fairy stories of the dreamer, who after his feast and smoke entertains the company for hours.”
-in modern times, the nurse, who is now receiving such complete training for her duties with the children, should be ready to imitate the “dreamer” of the indian tribe. i rejoice to find that regular instruction in story-telling is being given in many of the institutions where the nurses are trained.
-some years ago there appeared a book by dion calthrop called “king peter,” which illustrates very fully the effect of story-telling. it is the account of the education of a young prince which is carried on at first by means of stories, and later he is taken out into the arena of life to be shown what is happening there--the dramatic appeal being always the means used to awaken his imagination. the fact that only one story a year is told him prevents our seeing the effect from day to day, but the time matters little. we only need faith to believe that the growth, though slow, was very sure.
-there is something of the same idea in the “adventures of telemachus,” written by fénélon for his royal pupil, the young duke of burgundy; but whereas calthrop trusts to the results of indirect teaching by means of dramatic stories, fénélon, on the contrary, makes use of the somewhat heavy, didactic method, so that one would think the attention of the young prince must have wandered at times; and i imagine telemachus was in the same condition when he was addressed at some length by mentor, who, being minerva (though in disguise), should occasionally have displayed that sense of humour which must always temper true wisdom:
-take, for instance, the heavy reproof conveyed in the following passage:
-“death and shipwreck are less dreadful than the pleasures that attack virtue.... youth is full of presumption and arrogance, though nothing in the world is so frail: it fears nothing, and vainly relies on its own strength, believing everything with the utmost levity and without any precaution.”
-and on another occasion, when calypso hospitably provides clothes for the shipwrecked men, and telemachus is handling a tunic of the finest wool and white as snow, with a vest of purple embroidered with gold, and displaying much pleasure in the magnificence of the clothes, mentor addresses him in a severe voice, saying: “are these, o telemachus, the thoughts that ought to occupy the heart of the son of ulysses? a young man who loves to dress vainly, as a woman does, is unworthy of wisdom or glory.”
-i remember, as a schoolgirl of thirteen, having to commit to memory several books of these adventures, so as to become familiar with the style. far from being impressed by the wisdom of mentor, i was simply bored, and wondered why telemachus did not escape from him. the only part in the book that really interested me was calypso's unrequited love for telemachus, but this was always the point where we ceased to learn by heart, which surprised me greatly, for it was here that the real human interest seemed to begin.
-of all the effects which i hope for from the telling of stories in the schools, personally i place first the dramatic joy we bring to the children and to ourselves. but there are many who would consider this result as fantastic, if not frivolous, and not to be classed among the educational values concocted with the introduction of stories into the school curriculum. i therefore propose to speak of other effects of story-telling which may seem of more practical value.
-the first, which is of a purely negative character, is that through means of a dramatic story we can counteract some of the sights and sounds of the streets which appeal to the melodramatic instinct in children. i am sure that all teachers whose work lies in the crowded cities must have realised the effect produced on children by what they see and hear on their way to and from school. if we merely consider the hoardings, with their realistic representations, quite apart from the actual dramatic happenings in the street, we at once perceive that the ordinary school interests pale before such lurid appeals as these. how can we expect the child who has stood open-mouthed before a poster representing a woman chloroformed by a burglar, whilst that hero escapes in safety with her jewels, to display any interest in the arid monotony of the multiplication-table? the illegitimate excitement created by the sight of the depraved burglar can only be counteracted by something equally exciting along the realistic but legitimate side; and this is where the story of the right kind becomes so valuable, and why the teacher who is artistic enough to undertake the task can find the short path to results which theorists seek for so long in vain. it is not even necessary to have an exceedingly exciting story; sometimes one which will bring about pure reaction may be just as suitable.
-i remember in my personal experience an instance of this kind. i had been reading with some children of about ten years old the story from cymbeline, of imogen in the forest scene, when the brothers strew flowers upon her, and sing the funeral dirge,
-“fear no more the heat of the sun.”
-just as we had all taken on this tender, gentle mood, the door opened and one of the prefects announced in a loud voice the news of the relief of mafeking. the children were on their feet at once, cheering lustily, and for the moment the joy over the relief of the brave garrison was the predominant feeling. then, before the jingo spirit had time to assert itself, i took advantage of a momentary reaction and said: “now, children, don't you think we can pay england the tribute of going back to england's greatest poet?” in a few minutes we were back in the heart of the forest, and i can still hear the delightful intonation of those subdued voices repeating:
-golden lads and girls all must like chimney-sweepers come to dust.
-it is interesting to note that the same problem that is exercising us to-day was a source of difficulty to people in remote times. the following is taken from an old chinese document, and has particular interest for us to-day.
-“the philosopher mentius (born 371 b.c.) was left fatherless at a very tender age and brought up by his mother changsi. the care of this prudent and attentive mother has been cited as a model for all virtuous parents. the house she occupied was near that of a butcher: she observed at the first cry of the animals that were being slaughtered, the little mentius ran to be present at the sight, and that, on his return, he sought to imitate what he had seen. fearful lest his heart might become hardened, and accustomed to the sights of blood, she removed to another house which was in the neighbourhood of a cemetery. the relations of those who were buried there came often to weep upon their graves, and make their customary libations. the lad soon took pleasure in their ceremonies and amused himself by imitating them. this was a new subject of uneasiness to his mother: she feared her son might come to consider as a jest what is of all things the most serious, and that he might acquire a habit of performing with levity, and as a matter of routine merely, ceremonies which demand the most exact attention and respect. again therefore she anxiously changed the dwelling, and went to live in the city, opposite to a school, where her son found examples the most worthy of imitation, and began to profit by them. this anecdote has become incorporated by the chinese into a proverb, which they constantly quote: the mother of mentius seeks a neighbourhood.”
-another influence we have to counteract is that of newspaper headings which catch the eye of children in the streets and appeal so powerfully to their imagination.
-shakespeare has said:
-tell me where is fancy bred, or in the heart, or in the head? how begot, how nourished? reply, reply. it is engendered in the eyes with gazing fed: and fancy dies in the cradle where it lies. let us all ring fancy's knell. i'll begin it--ding, dong, bell. “merchant of venice.”
-if this be true, it is of importance to decide what our children shall look upon as far as we can control the vision, so that we can form some idea of the effect upon their imagination.
-having alluded to the dangerous influence of the street, i should hasten to say that this influence is very far from being altogether bad. there are possibilities of romance in street life which may have just the same kind of effect on children as the telling of exciting stories. i am indebted to mrs. arnold glover (hon. sec. of the national organisation of girls' clubs), one of the most widely informed people on this subject, for the two following experiences gathered from the streets which bear indirectly on the subject of story-telling:
-mrs. glover was visiting a sick woman in a very poor neighbourhood, and found, sitting on the doorstep of the house, two children, holding something tightly grasped in their little hands, and gazing with much expectancy towards the top of the street. she longed to know what they were doing, but not being one of those unimaginative and tactless folk who rush headlong into the mysteries of children's doings, she passed them at first in silence. it was only when she found them still in the same silent and expectant posture half-an-hour later that she said tentatively: “i wonder whether you would tell me what you are doing here?” after some hesitation, one of them said, in a shy voice: “we're waitin' for the barrer.” it then transpired that, once a week, a vegetable-and flower-cart was driven through this particular street, on its way to a more prosperous neighbourhood, and on a few red-letter days, a flower, or a sprig, or even a root sometimes fell out of the back of the cart; and those two little children were waiting there in hope, with their hands full of soil, ready to plant anything which might by golden chance fall that way, in their secret garden of oyster-shells.
-this seems to me as charming a fairy-tale as any that our books can supply.
-another time mrs. glover was collecting the pennies for the holiday fund savings bank from the children who came weekly to her house. she noticed on three consecutive mondays that one little lad deliberately helped himself to a new envelope from her table. not wishing to frighten or startle him, she allowed this to continue for some weeks, and then one day, having dismissed the other children, she asked him quite quietly why he was taking the envelopes. at first he was very sulky, and said: “i need them better than you do.” she quite agreed this might be, but reminded him that, after all, they belonged to her. she promised, however, that if he would tell her for what purpose he wanted the envelopes, she would endeavour to help him in the matter. then came the astonishing announcement: “i am building a navy.” after a little more gradual questioning, mrs. glover drew from the boy the information that the borough water carts passed through the side street once a week, flushing the gutter; that then the envelope ships were made to sail on the water and pass under the covered ways which formed bridges for wayfarers and tunnels for the “navy.” great was the excitement when the ships passed out of sight and were recognised as they arrived safely at the other end. of course the expenses in raw material were greatly diminished by the illicit acquisition of mrs. glover's property, and in this way she had unconsciously provided the neighbourhood with a navy and a commander. her first instinct, after becoming acquainted with the whole story, was to present the boy with a real boat, but on second thought she collected and gave him a number of old envelopes with names and addresses upon them, which added greatly to the excitement of the sailing, because they could be more easily identified as they came out of the other side of the tunnel, and had their respective reputations as to speed.
-here is indeed food for romance, and i give both instances to prove that the advantages of street life are to be taken into consideration as well as the disadvantages; though i think we are bound to admit that the latter outweigh the former.
-one of the immediate results of dramatic stories is the escape from the commonplace, to which i have already alluded in quoting mr. goschen's words. the desire for this escape is a healthy one, common to adults and children. when we wish to get away from our own surroundings and interests, we do for ourselves what i maintain we ought to do for children; we step into the land of fiction. it has always been a source of astonishment to me that, in trying to escape from our own every-day surroundings, we do not step more boldly into the land of pure romance, which would form a real contrast to our every-day life, but in nine cases out of ten the fiction which is sought after deals with the subjects of our ordinary existence--namely, frenzied finance, sordid poverty, political corruption, fast society, and religious doubts.
-i do not think it utopian to present to children a fair share of stories which deal with the importance of things “untouched by hand.” they too can learn at an early age that “the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are unseen are spiritual.” to those who wish to try the effect of such stories on children, i present for their encouragement the following lines from whitcomb riley:
-oh, the night was dark and the night was late, when the robbers came to rob him; and they picked the lock of his palace-gate, the robbers who came to rob him-- they picked the lock of the palace-gate, seized his jewels and gems of state his coffers of gold and his priceless plate,-- the robbers that came to rob him.
-but loud laughed he in the morning red!-- for of what had the robbers robbed him? ho! hidden safe, as he slept in bed, when the robbers came to rob him,-- they robbed him not of a golden shred of the childish dreams in his wise old head-- “and they're welcome to all things else,” he said, when the robbers came to rob him.
-after speaking on the subject of fairy stories being eliminated from the school curriculum, the writer adds:
-“this would be lessening the joy of the world and taking from generations yet unborn the capacity for wonder, the power to take a large unselfish interest in the spectacle of things, and putting them forever at the mercy of small private cares.
-a nursery rhyme is the most sane, the most unselfish thing in the world. it calls up some delightful image,--a little nut-tree with a silver walnut and a golden pear; some romantic adventure only for the child's delight and liberation from the bondage of unseeing dulness: it brings before the mind the quintessence of some good thing:
-'the little dog laughed to see such sport'--there is the soul of good humour, of sanity, of health in the laughter of that innocently wicked little dog. it is the laughter of pure frolic without unkindness. to have laughed with the little dog as a child is the best preservative against mirthless laughter in later years--the horse laughter of brutality, the ugly laughter of spite, the acrid laughter of fanaticism. the world of nursery rhymes, the old world of mrs. slipper-slopper, is the world of natural things, of quick, healthy motion, of the joy of living.
-in nursery rhymes the child is entertained with all the pageant of the world. it walks in fairy gardens, and for it the singing birds pass. all the king's horses and all the king's men pass before it in their glorious array. craftsmen of all sorts, bakers, confectioners, silversmiths, blacksmiths are busy for it with all their arts and mysteries, as at the court of an eastern king.”
-in insisting on the value of this escape from the commonplace, i cannot prove the importance of it more clearly than by showing what may happen to a child who is deprived of his birthright by having none of the fairy tale element presented to him. in “father and son,” mr. edmund gosse says:
-“meanwhile, capable as i was of reading, i found my greatest pleasure in the pages of books. the range of these was limited, for story-books of every description were sternly excluded. no fiction of any kind, religious or secular, was admitted into the house. in this it was to my mother, not to my father, that the prohibition was due. she had a remarkable, i confess, to me somewhat unaccountable impression that to ‘tell a story,’ that is, to compose fictitious narrative of any kind, was a sin.... nor would she read the chivalrous tales in the verse of sir walter scott, obstinately alleging that they were not true. she would read nothing but lyrical and subjective poetry.... as a child, however, she had possessed a passion for making up stories, and so considerable a skill in it, that she was constantly being begged to indulge others with its exercise.... ‘when i was a very little child,’ she says, ‘i used to amuse myself and my brothers with inventing stories such as i had read. having, as i suppose, naturally a restless mind and busy imagination, this soon became the chief pleasure of my life. unfortunately, my brothers were always fond of encouraging this propensity, and i found in taylor, my maid, a still greater tempter. i had not known there was any harm in it, until miss shore (a calvinistic governess), finding it out, lectured me severely and told me it was wicked. from that time forth i considered that to invent a story of any kind was a sin.... but the longing to invent stories grew with violence. the simplicity of truth was not enough for me. i must needs embroider imagination upon it, and the folly and wickedness which disgraced my heart are more than i am able to express....’ this (the author, her son, adds) is surely a very painful instance of the repression of an instinct.”
-in contrast to the stifling of the imagination, it is good to recall the story of the great hermits who, having listened to the discussion of the monday sitting at the académie des sciences (institut de france) as to the best way to teach the young how to shoot in the direction of mathematical genius, said: “cultivez l'imagination, messieurs. tout est là. si vous voulez des mathématiciens, donnez à vos enfants à lire--des contes de fées.”
-i have so constantly to deal with the question of confusion between truth and fiction in the mind of children that it might be useful to offer here an example of the way they make the distinction for themselves.
-mrs. ewing says on this subject:
-“if there are young intellects so imperfect as to be incapable of distinguishing between fancy and falsehood, it is most desirable to develop in them the power to do so, but, as a rule, in childhood, we appreciate the distinction with a vivacity which as elders our care-clogged memories fail to recall.”
-“children will act them but not act upon them, and they will not accept the incidents as part of their effectual belief. they will imagine, to be sure, grotesque worlds, full of admirable and interesting personages to whom strange things might have happened. so much the better; this largeness of imagination is one of the possessions that distinguish the better nurtured child from others less fortunate.”
-“when my cousin and i took our porridge of a morning, we had a device to enliven the course of a meal. he ate his with sugar, and explained it to be a country continually buried under snow. i took mine with milk, and explained it to be a country suffering gradual inundation. you can imagine us exchanging bulletins; how here was an island still unsubmerged, here a valley not yet covered with snow; what inventions were made; how his population lived in cabins on perches and travelled on stilts, and how mine was always in boats; how the interest grew furious as the last corner of safe ground was cut off on all sides and grew smaller every moment; and how, in fine, the food was of altogether secondary importance, and might even have been nauseous, so long as we seasoned it with these dreams. but perhaps the most exciting moments i ever had over a meal, were in the case of calves' feet jelly. it was hardly possible not to believe, and you may be quite sure, so far from trying it, i did all i could to favour the illusion--that some part of it was hollow, and that sooner or later my spoon would lay open the secret tabernacle of that golden rock. there, might some red-beard await this hour; there might one find the treasures of the forty thieves. and so i quarried on slowly, with bated breath, savouring the interest. believe me, i had little palate left for the jelly; and though i preferred the taste when i took cream with it, i used often to go without because the cream dimmed the transparent fractures.”
-in his work on imagination, ribot says: “the free initiative of children is always superior to the imitations we pretend to make for them.”
-the passage from robert stevenson becomes more clear from a scientific point of view when taken in connection with one from karl groos' book on the “psychology of animal play”:
-“the child is wholly absorbed in his play, and yet under the ebb and flow of thought and feeling like still water under wind-swept waves, he has the knowledge that it is pretence after all. behind the sham ‘i’ that takes part in the game, stands the unchanged ‘i’ which regards the sham ‘i’ with quiet superiority.”
-queyrat speaks of play as one of the distinct phases of a child's imagination; it is “essentially a metamorphosis of reality, a transformation of places and things.”
-now to return to the point which mrs. ewing makes, namely, that we should develop in normal children the power of distinguishing between truth and falsehood.
-so far we have dealt only with the negative results of stories, but there are more important effects, and i am persuaded that if we are careful in our choice of stories, and artistic in our presentation (so that the truth is framed, so to speak, in the memory), we can unconsciously correct evil tendencies in children which they only recognise in themselves when they have already criticised them in the characters of the story. i have sometimes been misunderstood on this point, therefore i should like to make it quite clear. i do not mean that stories should take the place entirely of moral or direct teaching, but that on many occasions they could supplement and strengthen moral teaching, because the dramatic appeal to the imagination is quicker than the moral appeal to the conscience. a child will often resist the latter lest it should make him uncomfortable or appeal to his personal sense of responsibility: it is often not in his power to resist the former, because it has taken possession of him before he is aware of it.
-as a concrete example, i offer three verses from a poem entitled “a ballad for a boy,” written some twelve years ago by w. cory, an eton master. the whole poem is to be found in a book of poems known as “ionica” (published by george allen and co.).
-the poem describes a fight between two ships, the french ship téméraire and the english ship quebec. the english ship was destroyed by fire. farmer, the captain, was killed, and the officers taken prisoners:
-'twas the sixth day of october, seventeen-hundred-seventy-nine, a year when nations ventured against us to combine, quebec was burned and farmer slain, by us remembered not; but thanks be to the french book wherein they're not forgot.
-and you, if you've to fight the french, my youngster, bear in mind those seamen of king louis so chivalrous and kind; think of the breton gentlemen who took our lads to brest, and treat some rescued breton as a comrade and a guest.”
-now, such a ballad as this, which, being pure narrative, could easily be introduced into the story-hour, would do as much to foster “l'entente cordiale” as any processions or civic demonstrations, or lavish international exchange of hospitality. it has also a great practical application now that we are encouraging visits between english and foreign children. let us hope the entente cordiale will not stop at france. there must be many such instances of magnanimity and generosity displayed to us by other nations, and it might be well to collect them and include them among stories for the school curriculum.
-in a review of ladd's psychology in the “academy,” we find a passage which refers as much to the story as to the novel:
-“the psychological novelist girds up his loins and sets himself to write little essays on each of his characters. if he have the gift of the thing he may analyse motives with a subtlety which is more than their desert, and exhibit simple folk passing through the most dazzling rotations. if he be a novice, he is reduced to mere crude invention--the result in both cases is quite beyond the true purpose of art. art--when all is said and done--is a suggestion, and it refuses to be explained. make it obvious, unfold it in detail, and you reduce it to a dead letter.”
-again there is a sentence by schopenhauer applied to novels which would apply equally well to stories:
-“skill consists in setting the inner life in motion with the smallest possible array of circumstances, for it is this inner life that excites our interest.”
-now, in order to produce an encouraging and lasting effect by means of our stories, we should be careful to introduce a certain number from fiction where virtue is rewarded and vice punished, because to appreciate the fact that “virtue is its own reward” calls for a developed and philosophic mind, or a born saint, of whom there will not, i think, be many among normal children: a comforting fact, on the whole, as the normal teacher is apt to confuse them with prigs.
-a grande dame visiting an elementary school listened to the telling of an exciting story from fiction, and was impressed by the thrill of delight which passed through the children. but when the story was finished, she said: “but oh! what a pity the story was not taken from actual history!”
-now, not only was this comment quite beside the mark, but the lady in question did not realise that pure fiction has one quality which history cannot have. the historian, bound by fact and accuracy, must often let his hero come to grief. the poet (or, in this case, we may call him, in the greek sense, the “maker” of stories) strives to show ideal justice.
-what encouragement to virtue (except for the abnormal child) can be offered by the stories of good men coming to grief, such as we find in miltiades, phocion, socrates, severus, cicero, cato and cæsar?
-sir philip sidney says in his “defence of poesy”:
-“only the poet declining to be held by the limitations of the lawyer, the historian, the grammarian, the rhetorician, the logician, the physician, the metaphysician, if lifted up with the vigour of his own imagination; doth grow in effect into another nature in making things either better than nature bringeth forth or quite anew, as the heroes, demi-gods, cyclops, furies and such like, so as he goeth hand in hand with nature not enclosed in the narrow range of her gifts but freely ranging within the zodiac of his own art--her world is brazen; the poet only delivers a golden one.”
-the effect of the story need not stop at the negative task of correcting evil tendencies. there is the positive effect of translating the abstract ideal of the story into concrete action.
-i was told by lady henry somerset that when the first set of slum children came down for a fortnight's holiday in the country, she was much startled and shocked by the obscenity of the games they played amongst themselves. being a sound psychologist, lady henry wisely refrained from appearing surprised or from attempting any direct method of reproof. “i saw,” she said, “that the ‘goody’ element would have no effect, so i changed the whole atmosphere by reading to them or telling them the most thrilling mediæval tales without any commentary. by the end of the fortnight the activities had all changed. the boys were performing astonishing deeds of prowess, and the girls were allowing themselves to be rescued from burning towers and fetid dungeons.” now, if these deeds of chivalry appear somewhat stilted to us, we can at least realise that, having changed the whole atmosphere of the filthy games, it is easier to translate the deeds into something a little more in accordance with the spirit of the age, and boys will more readily wish later on to save their sisters from dangers more sordid and commonplace than fiery towers and dark dungeons, if they have once performed the deeds in which they had to court danger and self-sacrifice for themselves.
-and now we come to the question as to how these effects are to be maintained. in what has already been stated about the danger of introducing the dogmatic and direct appeal into the story, it is evident that the avoidance of this element is the first means of preserving the story in all its artistic force in the memory of the child, and we must be careful, as i point out in the chapter on questions, not to interfere by comment or question with the atmosphere we have made round the story, or else, in the future, that story will become blurred and overlaid with the remembrance, not of the artistic whole, as presented by the teller of the story, but by some unimportant small side issue raised by an irrelevant question or a superfluous comment.
-many people think that the dramatisation of the story by the children themselves helps to maintain the effect produced. personally, i fear there is the same danger as in the immediate reproduction of the story, namely, that the general dramatic effect may be weakened.
-if, however, there is to be dramatisation (and i do not wish to dogmatise on the subject), i think it should be confined to facts and not fancies, and this is why i realise the futility of the dramatisation of fairy tales.
-horace scudder says on this subject:
-i am bound to confess that the teachers have a case when they plead for this re-producing of the story, and there are three arguments they use whose validity i admit, but which have nevertheless not converted me, because the loss, to my mind, would exceed the gain.
-the first argument they put forward is that the reproduction of the story enables the child to enlarge and improve his vocabulary. now i greatly sympathise with this point of view, only, as i regard the story-hour as a very precious and special one, which i think may have a lasting effect on the character of a child, i do not think it important that, during this hour, a child should be called upon to improve his vocabulary at the expense of the dramatic whole, and at the expense of the literary form in which the story has been presented. it would be like using the bible for parsing or paraphrase or pronunciation. so far, i believe, the line has been drawn here, though there are blasphemers who have laid impious hands on milton or shakespeare for this purpose.
-there are surely other lessons (as i have already said in dealing with the reproduction of the story quite apart from the dramatisation), lessons more utilitarian in character, which can be used for this purpose: the facts of history (i mean the mere facts as compared with the deep truths) and those of geography, above all, the grammar lessons are those in which the vocabulary can be enlarged and improved. but i am anxious to keep the story-hour apart as dedicated to something higher than these excellent but utilitarian considerations.
-the second argument used by the teachers is the joy felt by the children in being allowed to dramatise the stories. this, too, appeals very strongly to me, but there is a means of satisfying their desire and yet protecting the dramatic whole, and that is occasionally to allow children to act out their own dramatic inventions; this, to my mind, has great educational significance: it is original and creative work and, apart from the joy of the immediate performance, there is the interesting process of comparison which can be presented to the children, showing them the difference between their elementary attempts and the finished product of the experienced artist, which they can be led to recognise by their own powers of observation if the teachers are not in too great a hurry to point it out themselves.
-here is a short original story (quoted by the french psychologist, queyrat, in his “jeux de l'enfance”) written by a child of five:
-“one day i went to sea in a life-boat--all at once i saw an enormous whale, and i jumped out of the boat to catch him, but he was so big that i climbed on his back and rode astride, and all the little fishes laughed to see.”
-here is a complete and exciting drama, making a wonderful picture and teeming with adventure. we could scarcely offer anything to so small a child for reproduction that would be a greater stimulus to the imagination.
-here is another, offered by loti, but the age of the child is not given:
-“once upon a time, a little girl out in the colonies cut open a huge melon, and out popped a green beast and stung her, and the little child died.”
-loti adds: “the phrases ‘out in the colonies’ and ‘a huge melon’ were enough to plunge me suddenly into a dream. as by an apparition, i beheld tropical trees, forests alive with marvellous birds. oh! the simple magic of the words 'the colonies'! in my childhood they stood for a multitude of distant sun-scorched countries, with their palm-trees, their enormous flowers, their black natives, their wild beasts, their endless possibilities of adventure.”
-i quote this in full because it shows so clearly the magic force of words to evoke pictures, without any material representation. it is just the opposite effect of the pictures presented to the bodily eye without the splendid educational opportunity for the child to form his own mental image.
-i am more and more convinced that the rare power of visualization is accounted for by the lack of mental practice afforded along these lines.
-the third argument used by the teachers in favour of the dramatisation of the stories is that it is a means of discovering how much the child has really learnt from the story. now this argument makes absolutely no appeal to me.
-my experience, in the first place, has taught me that a child very seldom gives out any account of a deep impression made upon him: it is too sacred and personal. but he very soon learns to know what is expected of him, and he keeps a set of stock sentences which he has found out are acceptable to the teacher. how can we possibly gauge the deep effects of a story in this way, or how can a child, by acting out a story, describe the subtle elements which you have tried to introduce? you might as well try to show with a pint measure how the sun and rain have affected a plant, instead of rejoicing in the beauty of the sure, if slow, growth.
-then, again, why are we in such a hurry to find out what effects have been produced by our stories? does it matter whether we know to-day or to-morrow how much a child has understood? for my part, so sure do i feel of the effect that i am willing to wait indefinitely. only i must make sure that the first presentation is truly dramatic and artistic.
-the teachers of general subjects have a much easier and more simple task. those who teach science, mathematics, even, to a certain extent, history and literature, are able to gauge with a fair amount of accuracy, by means of examination, what their pupils have learnt. the teaching carried on by means of stories can never be gauged in the same manner. we must be content, though we have nothing to place in our “shop window,” content to know of the possessions behind, and make up our mind that we can show the education authorities little or no results from our teaching, but that the real fruit will be seen by the next generation; and we can take courage, for, if our story be “a thing of beauty,” it will never “pass into nothingness.”
-“of this thing be certain: wouldst thou plant for eternity, then plant into the deep infinite faculties of man, his fantasy and heart. wouldst thou plant for year and day, then plant into his shallow superficial faculties, his self-love and arithmetical understanding, what will grow there.”
-if we use this marvellous art of story-telling in the way i have tried to show, then the children who have been confided to our care will one day be able to bring to us the tribute which björnson brought to hans c. andersen:
-wings you give to my imagination, me uplifting to the strange and great; gave my heart the poet's revelation, glorifying things of low estate.
-when my child-soul hungered all-unknowing, with great truths its needs you satisfied: now, a world-worn man, to you is owing that the child in me has never died. (translated from the danish by emilie poulson.)
-“yea, let no craving for forbidden gain bid conquerors yield before the darts of greed.”
-on questions asked by teachers.
-the following questions have been put to me so often by teachers, in my own country and the states, that i have thought it might be useful to give in my book some of the attempts i have made to answer them; and i wish to record here an expression of gratitude to the teachers who have asked these questions at the close of my lectures. it has enabled me to formulate my views on the subject and to clear up, by means of research and thought, the reason for certain things which i had more or less taken for granted. it has also constantly modified my own point of view, and has prevented me from becoming too dogmatic in dealing with other people's methods.
-question i. why do i consider it necessary to spend so many years on the art of story-telling, which takes in, after all, such a restricted portion of literature?
-question ii. what is to be done if a child asks you: is a story true?
-i hope i shall not be considered utopian in my ideas if i say that it is quite easy, even with small children, to teach them that the seeing of truth is a relative matter which depends on the eyes of the seer. if we were not afraid to tell our children that all through life there are grown-up people who do not see things that others see, their own difficulties would be helped.
-in his imagination créatrice, queyrat says: “to get down into the recesses of a child's mind, one would have to become even as he is; we are reduced to interpreting that child in the terms of an adult. the children we observe live and grow in a civilised community, and the result of this is that the development of their imagination is rarely free or complete, for as soon as it rises beyond the average level, the rationalistic education of parents and schoolmasters at once endeavours to curb it. it is restrained in its flight by an antagonistic power which treats it as a kind of incipient madness.”
-it is quite easy to show children that if you keep things where they belong they are true with regard to each other, but that if you drag these things out of the shadowy atmosphere of the “make-believe,” and force them into the land of actual facts, the whole thing is out of gear.
-to take a concrete example: the arrival of the coach made from a pumpkin and driven by mice is entirely in harmony with the cinderella surroundings, and i have never heard one child raise any question of the difficulty of travelling in such a coach or of the uncertainty of mice in drawing it. but suggest to the child that this diminutive vehicle could be driven among the cars of broadway, or amongst the motor omnibuses in the strand, and you would bring confusion at once into his mind.
-having once grasped this, the children will lose the idea that fairy stories are just for them, and not for their elders, and from this they will go on to see that it is the child-like mind of the poet and seer that continues to appreciate these things: that it is the dull, heavy person whose eyes so soon become dim and unable to see any more the visions which were once his own.
-in his essay on poetry and life (glasgow, 1889), professor bradley says:
-“it is the effect of poetry, not only by expressing emotion but in other ways also, to bring life into the dead mass of our experience, and to make the world significant.”
-this applies to children as well as to adults. there may come to the child in the story-hour, by some stirring poem or dramatic narration, a sudden flash of the possibilities of life which he had not hitherto realised in the even course of school experience.
-“poetry,” says professor bradley, “is a way of representing truth; but there is in it, as its detractors have always insisted, a certain untruth or illusion. we need not deny this, so long as we remember that the illusion is conscious, that no one wishes to deceive, and that no one is deceived. but it would be better to say that poetry is false to literal fact for the sake of obtaining a higher truth. first, in order to represent the connection between a more significant part of experience and a less significant, poetry, instead of linking them together by a chain which touches one by one the intermediate objects that connect them, leaps from one to the other. it thus falls at once into conflict with commonsense.”
-now, the whole of this passage bears as much on the question of the truth embodied in a fairy tale as a poem, and it would be interesting to take some of these tales and try to discover where they are false to actual fact for the sake of a higher truth.
-let us take, for instance, the story of cinderella: the coach and pumpkins to which we have alluded, and all the magic part of the story, are false to actual facts as we meet them in our every-day life; but is it not a higher truth that cinderella could escape from her chimney corner by thinking of the brightness outside? in this sense we all travel in pumpkin coaches.
-take the story of psyche, in any one of the many forms it is presented to us in folk-story. the magic transformation of the lover is false to actual fact; but is it not a higher truth that we are often transformed by circumstance, and that love and courage can overcome most difficulties?
-take the story of the three bears. it is not in accordance with established fact that bears should extend hospitality to children who invade their territory. is it not true, in a higher sense, that fearlessness often lessens or averts danger?
-take the story of jack and the bean-stalk. the rapid growth of the bean-stalk and the encounter with the giant are false to literal fact; but is it not a higher truth that the spirit of courage and high adventure leads us straight out of the commonplace and often sordid facts of life?
-now, all these considerations are too subtle for the child, and, if offered in explanation, would destroy the excitement and interest of the story; but they are good for those of us who are presenting such stories: they not only provide an argument against the objection raised by unimaginative people as to the futility, if not immorality, of presenting these primitive tales, but clear up our own doubt and justify us in the use of them, if we need such justification.
-for myself, i am perfectly satisfied that, being part of the history of primitive people, it would be foolish to ignore them from an evolutionary point of view, which constitutes their chief importance; and it is only from the point of view of expediency that i mention the potential truths they contain.
-question iii. what are you to do if a child says he does not like fairy tales?
-this is not an uncommon case. what we have first to determine, under these circumstances, is whether this dislike springs from a stolid, prosaic nature, whether it springs from a real inability to visualize such pictures as the fairy, or marvellous element in the story, presents, or whether (and this is often the real reason) it is from a fear of being asked to believe what his judgment resents as untrue, or whether he thinks it is “grown-up” to reject such pleasure as unworthy of his years.
-in the first case, it is wise to persevere, in hopes of developing the dormant imagination. if the child resents the apparent want of truth, we can teach him how many-sided truth is, as i suggested in my answer to the first question. in the other cases, we must try to make it clear that the delight he may venture to take now will increase, not decrease, with years; that the more you bring to a thing (in the way of experience and knowledge) the more you will draw out of it.
-let us take as a concrete example the question of santa claus. this joy has almost disappeared, for we have torn away the last shred of mystery about that personage by allowing him to be materialised in the christmas shops and bazaars.
-but the original myth need never have disappeared; the link could easily have been kept by gradually telling the child that the santa claus they worshipped as a mysterious and invisible power is nothing but the spirit of charity and kindness that makes us remember others, and that this spirit often takes the form of material gifts. we can also lead them a step higher and show them that this spirit of kindness can do more than provide material things; so that the old nursery tale has laid a beautiful foundation which need never be pulled up: we can build upon it and add to it all through our lives.
-is not one of the reasons that children reject fairy tales because such very poor material is offered them? there is a dreary flatness about all except the very best which revolts the child of literary appreciation and would fail to strike a spark in the more prosaic.
-this would largely depend on the kind of story. if the style is classic or if the interest of the story is closely connected with the style, as in andersen, kipling or stevenson, then it is better to commit it absolutely to memory. but if this process should take too long (i mean for those who cannot afford the time to specialise), or if it produces a stilted effect, then it is wiser to read the story many times over, let it soak in, taking notes of certain passages which would add to the dramatic interest of the story, and not trouble about the word accuracy of the whole.
-for instance, for very young children the story of pandora, as told in the wonder-book, could be shortened so as to leave principally the dramatic dialogue between the two children, which would be easily committed to memory by the narrator and would appeal most directly to the children. again, for older children: in taking a beautiful mediæval story such as “our lady's tumbler,” the original text could hardly be presented so as to hold an audience; but whilst giving up a great deal of the elaborate material, we should try to present many of the characteristic passages which seem to sum up the situation. for instance, before his performance, the tumbler cries: “what am i doing? for there is none here so caitiff but who vies with all the rest in serving god after his trade.” and after his act of devotion: “lady, this is a choice performance. i do it for no other but for you; so aid me god, i do not--for you and for your son. and this i dare avouch and boast, that for me it is no play-work. but i am serving you, and that pays me.”
-on the other hand, there are some very gifted narrators who can only tell the story in their own words. i consider that both methods are necessary to the all-round story-teller.
-now, my test of being ready with such stories is whether i have ceased to look upon such objects as inanimate. let us take some of those quoted from andersen. first, the tin soldier. to me, since i have lived in the story, he is a real live hero, holding his own with some of the bravest fighting heroes in history or fiction. as for his being merely of tin, i entirely forget it, except when i realise against what odds he fights, or when i stop to admire the wonderful way andersen carries out his simile of the old tin spoon--the stiffness of the musket, and the tears of tin.
-take the top and the ball, and, except for the delightful way they discuss the respective merits of cork and mahogany in their ancestors, you would completely forget that they are not real human beings with the live passions and frailties common to youth.
-as for the beetle--who ever thinks of him as a mere entomological specimen? is he not the symbol of the self-satisfied traveller who learns nothing en route but the importance of his own personality? and the darning-needle? it is impossible to divorce human interest from the ambition of this little piece of steel.
-and this same method applied to the preparation of any story shows that you can sometimes rise from the rôle of mere interpreter to that of creator--that is to say, the objects live afresh for you in response to the appeal you make in recognising their possibilities of vitality.
-as a mere practical suggestion, i would advise that, as soon as you have overcome the difficulties of the text (if actually learning by heart, there is nothing but the drudgery of constant repetition), and as you begin to work the story into true dramatic form, always say the words aloud, and many times aloud, before you try them even on one person. more suggestions come to one in the way of effects from hearing the sounds of the words, and more complete mental pictures, in this way than any other ... it is a sort of testing period, the results of which may or may not have to be modified when produced in public.... in case of committing to memory, i advise word perfection first, not trying dramatic effects before this is reached; but, on the other hand, if you are using your own words, you can think out the effects as you go along--i mean, during the preparation. gestures, pauses, facial expression often help to fix the choice of words you decide to use, though here again the public performance will often modify the result. i should strongly advise that all gestures should be studied before the glass, because this most faithfully-recording friend, whose sincerity we dare not question, will prevent glaring errors, and also help by the correction of these to more satisfactory results along positive lines. if your gesture does not satisfy (and practice will make you more and more critical), it is generally because you have not made sufficient allowance for the power of imagination in your audience. emphasis in gesture is just as inartistic--and therefore ineffective--as emphasis in tone or language.
-before deciding, however, either on the facial expression or gesture, we must consider the chief characters in the story, and study how we can best--not present them, but allow them to present themselves, which is a very different thing. the greatest tribute which can be paid to a story-teller, as to an actor, is that his own personality is temporarily forgotten, because he has so completely identified himself with his rôle.
-when we have decided what the chief characters really mean to do, we can let ourselves go in the impersonation....
-we have here the lion and the hare as types--the other animals are less individual and therefore display less salient qualities. the little hare's chief characteristics are nervousness, fussiness and misdirected imagination. we must bear this all in mind when she appears on the stage--fortunately these characteristics lend themselves easily to dramatic representation. the lion is not only large-hearted but broad-minded. it is good to have an opportunity of presenting to the children a lion who has other qualities than physical beauty or extraordinary strength. (here again there will lurk the danger of alarming the nature students!) he is even more interesting than the magnanimous lion whom we have sometimes been privileged to meet in fiction.
-of course we grown-up people know that the lion is the buddha in disguise. children will not be able to realise this, nor is it the least necessary that they should do so; but they will grasp the idea that he is a very unusual lion, not to be met with in paul du chaillu's adventures, still less in the quasi-domestic atmosphere of the zoological gardens. if our presentation is life-like and sincere, we shall convey all we intend to the child. this is part of what i call the atmosphere of the story, which, as in a photograph, can only be obtained by long exposure, that is to say, in case of the preparation we must bestow much reflection and sympathy.
-because these two animals are the chief characters, they must stand out in sharp outline: the other animals must be painted in fainter colours--they should be suggested rather than presented in detail. it might be as well to give a definite gesture to the elephant--say, a characteristic movement with his trunk--a scowl to the tiger, a supercilious and enigmatic smile to the camel (suggested by kipling's wonderful creation). but if a gesture were given to each of the animals, the effect would become monotonous, and the minor characters would crowd the foreground of the picture, impeding the action and leaving little to the imagination of the audience.... i personally have found it effective to repeat the gestures of these animals as they are leaving the stage, less markedly, as it is only a form of reminder.
-now, what is the impression we wish to leave on the mind of the child, apart from the dramatic joy and interest we have endeavoured to provide? surely it is that he may realise the danger of a panic. one method of doing this (alas! a favourite one still) is to say at the end of the story: “now, children, what do we learn from this?” of this method lord morley has said: “it is a commonplace to the wise, and an everlasting puzzle to the foolish, that direct inculcation of morals should invariably prove so powerless an instrument--so futile a method.”
-if this direct method were really effective, we might as well put the little drama aside, and say plainly: “it is foolish to be nervous; it is dangerous to make loose statements. large-minded people understand things better than those who are narrow-minded.”
-now, all these abstract statements would be as true and as tiresome as the multiplication-table. the child might or might not fix them in his mind, but he would not act upon them.
-but, put all the artistic warmth of which you are capable into the presentation of the story, and, without one word of comment from you, the children will feel the dramatic intensity of that vast concourse of animals brought together by the feeble utterance of one irresponsible little hare. let them feel the dignity and calm of the lion, which accounts for his authority; his tender but firm treatment of the foolish little hare; and listen to the glorious finale when all the animals retire convinced of their folly; and you will find that you have adopted the same method as the lion (who must have been an unconscious follower of froebel), and that there is nothing to add to the picture.
-question vi. is it wise to talk over a story with children and to encourage them in the habit of asking questions about it?
-at the time, no! the effect produced is to be by dramatic means, and this would be destroyed by any attempts at analysis by means of questions.
-the medium that has been used in the telling of the story is (or ought to be) a purely artistic one which will reach the child through the medium of the emotions: the appeal to the intellect or the reason is a different method, which must be used at a different time. when you are enjoying the fragrance of a flower or the beauty of its colour, it is not the moment to be reminded of its botanical classification. just as in the botany lesson it would be somewhat irrelevant to talk of the part that flowers play in the happiness of life.
-i remember once making what i considered at the time a most effective appeal to some children who had been listening to the story of the little tin soldier, and, unable to refrain from the cheap method of questioning, of which i have now recognised the futility, i asked: “don't you think it was nice of the little dancer to rush down into the fire to join the brave little soldier?” “well,” said a prosaic little lad of six: “i thought the draught carried her down.”
-question vii. is it wise to call upon children to repeat the story as soon as it has been told?
-my answer here is decidedly in the negative.
-whilst fully appreciating the modern idea of children expressing themselves, i very much deprecate this so-called self-expression taking the form of mere reproduction. i have dealt with this matter in detail in another portion of my book. this is one of the occasions when children should be taking in, not giving out. (even the most fanatic of moderns must agree that there are such moments.)
-i have always maintained that five minutes of complete silence after the story would do more to fix the impression on the mind of the child than any amount of attempts at reproducing it. the general statement made in dr. montessori's wonderful chapter on silence would seem to me of special application to the moments following on the telling of a story.
-question viii. should children be encouraged to illustrate the stories which they have heard?
-as a dramatic interest to the teachers and the children, i think it is a very praiseworthy experiment, if used somewhat sparingly. but i seriously doubt whether these illustrations in any way indicate the impression made on the mind of the child. it is the same question that arises when that child is called upon (or expresses a wish) to reproduce the story in his own words: the unfamiliar medium in both instances makes it almost impossible for the child to convey his meaning, unless he be an artist in the one case or have real literary power of expression in the other.
-my own impression, which has been confirmed by many teachers who have made the experiment, is that a certain amount of disappointment is mixed up with the daring joy in the attempt, simply because the children can get nowhere near the ideal which has presented itself to the “inner eye.”
-i remember a kindergarten mistress saying that on one occasion, when she had told to the class a thrilling story of a knight, one of the children immediately asked for permission to draw a picture of him on the blackboard. so spontaneous a request could not, of course, be refused, and, full of assurance, the would-be artist began to give his impression of the knight's appearance. when the picture was finished, the child stood back for a moment to judge for himself of the result. he put down the chalk and said sadly: “and i thought he was so handsome.”
-nevertheless, except for the drawback of the other children seeing a picture which might be inferior to their own mental vision, i should quite approve of such experiments as long as they are not taken as literal data of what the children have really received. it would, however, be better not to have the picture drawn on a blackboard but at the child's private desk, to be seen by the teacher and not, unless the picture were exceptionally good, to be shown to the other children.
-one of the best effects of such an experiment would be to show a child how difficult it is to give the impression he wishes to record, and which would enable him later on to appreciate the beauty of such work in the hands of a finished artist.
-question ix. in what way can the dramatic method of story-telling be used in ordinary class teaching?
-this is too large a question to answer fully in so general a survey as this work, but i should like to give one or two concrete examples as to how the element of story-telling could be introduced.
-i have always thought that the only way in which we could make either a history or literature lesson live, so that it should take a real hold on the mind of the pupil at any age, would be that, instead of offering lists of events, crowded into the fictitious area of one reign, one should take a single event, say in one lesson out of five, and give it in the most splendid language and in the most dramatic (not to be confused with “melodramatic”) manner.
-to come to a concrete example: supposing that you are talking to the class of greece, either in connection with its history, its geography or its literature, could any mere accumulation of facts give a clearer idea of the life of the people than a dramatically told story from homer, æschylus, sophocles or euripides?
-what in the history of iceland could give a more graphic idea of the whole character of the life and customs of the inhabitants than one of the famous sagas, such as “the burning of njal” or “the death of gunnar”?
-in teaching the history of spain, what could make the pupils understand better the spirit of knight-errantry, its faults and its qualities, than a recital from “don quixote” or from the tale of “the cid”?
-in a word, the stories must appeal so vividly to the imagination that they will light up the whole period of history which we wish them to illustrate, and keep it in the memory for all time.
-but apart from the dramatic presentation of history, there are great possibilities for introducing the short story into the portrait of some great personage: a story which, though it may be insignificant in itself, throws a sudden sidelight on his character, and reveals the mind behind the actual deeds; this is what i mean by using the dramatic method.
-to take a concrete example: supposing, in giving an account of the life of napoleon, after enlarging on his campaigns, his european policy, his indomitable will, you were suddenly to give an idea of his many-sidedness by relating how he actually found time to compile a catechism which was used for some years in the elementary schools in france!
-what sidelights might be thrown in this way on such characters as nero, cæsar, henry viii, luther, goethe!
-to take one example from these: instead of making the whole career of henry viii centre round the fact that he was a much-married man, could we not present his artistic side and speak of his charming contributions to music?....
-so much for the history lessons. but could not the dramatic form and interest be introduced into our geography lessons? think of the romance of the panama canal, the position of constantinople as affecting the history of europe, the shape of greece, england as an island, the position of tibet, the interior of africa--to what wonderful story-telling would these themes lend themselves!
-question x. which should predominate in the story--the dramatic or the poetic element?
-this is a much debated point. from experience, i have come to the conclusion that, though both should be found in the whole range of stories, the dramatic element should prevail from the very nature of the presentation, and also because it reaches the larger number of children (at least of normal children). almost every child is dramatic, in the sense that he loves action (not necessarily an action in which he has to bear a part). it is the exceptional child who is reached by the poetic side, and just as on the stage the action must be quicker and more concentrated than in a poem--even than a dramatic poem--so it must be with the story. children act out in their imagination the dramatic or actable part of the story--the poetical side, which must be painted in more delicate colours or presented in less obvious form, often escapes them. of course the very reason why we must include the poetical element is that it is an unexpressed need of most children. their need of the dramatic is more loudly proclaimed and more easily satisfied.
-question xi. what is the educational value of humour in the stories told to our children?
-my answer to this is that humour means much more than is usually understood by this term. so many people seem to think that to have a sense of humour is merely to be tickled by a funny element in a story. it surely means something much more subtle than this. it is thackeray who says: “if humour only meant laughter ... but the humourist professes to awaken and direct your love, your pity, your kindness, your scorn for untruth and pretention, your tenderness for the weak, the poor, the oppressed, the unhappy.” so that, in our stories, the introduction of humour should not merely depend on the doubtful amusement that follows on a sense of incongruity. it should inculcate a sense of proportion brought about by an effort of imagination: it shows a child its real position in the universe, and prevents an exaggerated idea of his own importance. it develops the logical faculty, and prevents hasty conclusions. it shortens the period of joy in horseplay and practical jokes. it brings about a clearer perception of all situations, enabling the child to get the point of view of another person. it is the first instilling of philosophy into the mind of a child, and prevents much suffering later on when the blows of life fall upon him; for a sense of humour teaches us at an early age not to expect too much; and this philosophy can be developed without cynicism or pessimism, without even destroying the joie de vivre....
-one cannot, however, sufficiently emphasize the fact that these far-reaching results can only be brought about by humour quite distinct from the broader fun and hilarity which have also their use in an educational scheme.
-from my own experience, i have learned that development of humour is with most children extremely slow. it is quite natural and quite right that at first pure fun, obvious situations and elementary jokes should please them, but we can very gradually appeal to something more subtle, and if i were asked what story would educate our children most thoroughly in appreciation of humour, i should say that “alice in wonderland” was the most effective.
-what better object-lesson could be given in humorous form of taking somebody else's point of view than that given to alice by the mock turtle in speaking of the whiting?:
-“‘you know what they're like?’
-‘i believe so,’ said alice. ‘they have their tails in their mouths--and they're all over crumbs.’
-‘you're wrong about the crumbs,’ said the mock turtle. 'crumbs would all wash off in the sea.'”
-or when alice is speaking to the mouse of her cat, and says: “she is such a dear quiet thing--and a capital one for catching mice----” and then suddenly realises the point of view of the mouse, who was “trembling down to the end of its tail.”
-then, as an instance of how a lack of humour leads to illogical conclusions (a condition common to most children), we have the conversation between alice and the pigeon:
-alice: “but little girls eat quite as much as serpents do, you know.”
-pigeon: “i don't believe it. but if they do, why then they're a kind of serpent, that's all i can say.”
-then, as an instance of how a sense of humour would prevent too much self-importance:
-“‘i have a right to think,’ said alice sharply.
-‘just about as much right,’ said the duchess, 'as pigs have to fly.'”
-stories in full.
-the following three stories have for so long formed a part of my repertory that i have been requested to include them in my book, and, in order to associate myself more completely with them, i am presenting a translation of my own from the original danish version.
-you must know that in china the emperor is a chinaman, and all those around him are also chinamen. it is many years since all this happened, and for that very reason it is worth hearing, before it is forgotten.
-there was no palace in the world more beautiful than the emperor's; it was very costly, all of fine porcelain, but it was so delicate and brittle, that it was very difficult to touch, and you had to be very careful in doing so. the most wonderful flowers could be seen in the garden, and silver tinkling bells were tied on to the most beautiful of these, for fear people should pass by without noticing them. how well everything had been thought out in the emperor's garden--which was so big, that even the gardener himself did not know how big. if you walked on and on you came to the most beautiful wood, with tall trees and deep lakes. this wood stretched right down to the sea, which was blue and deep; great ships could pass underneath the branches, and in these branches a nightingale had made its home, and its singing was so entrancing that the poor fisherman, though he had so many other things to do, would lie still and listen when he was out at night drawing in his nets.
-“heavens! how lovely that is!” he said: but then he was forced to think about his own affairs, and the nightingale was forgotten; but the next day, when it sang again, the fisherman said the same thing: “heavens! how lovely that is!”
-travellers from all the countries of the world came to the emperor's town, and expressed their admiration for the palace and the garden, but when they heard the nightingale, they all said in one breath: “that is the best of all!”
-now, when these travellers came home, they told of what they had seen. the scholars wrote many books about the town, the palace and the garden, but nobody left the nightingale out: it was always spoken of as the most wonderful of all they had seen, and those who had the gift of the poet wrote the most delightful poems all about the nightingale in the wood near the deep lake.
-half truth, and that a partisan half truth. one feels that he had no business to attempt a subject of which he knew so little, or for which he cared so little. there is one thing i would like to say to my white fellow countrymen, and especially to those who dabble in ink and affect to discuss the negro; and yet i hesitate because i feel it is a fact which persons of the finer sensibilities and more delicate perceptions must know instinctively: namely, that it is an insult to humanity and a sin against god to publish any such sweeping generalizations of a race on such meager and superficial information. we meet it at every turn—this obtrusive and offensive vulgarity, this gratuitous sizing up of the negro and conclusively writing down his equation, sometimes even among his ardent friends and bravest defenders. were i not afraid of falling myself into the same error that i am condemning, i would say it seems an anglo-saxon characteristic to have such overweening confidence in his own power of induction that there is no equation which he would acknowledge to be indeterminate, however many unknown quantities it may possess.
-here is an extract from dr. mayo, a thoroughly earnest man and sincerely friendly, as i believe, to the colored people.
-“among these women are as many grades of native, intellectual, moral and executive force as among the white people. the plantations of the gulf, the atlantic coast and the mississippi bottoms swarm with negro women who seem hardly lifted above the brutes. i know a group of young colored women, many of them accomplished teachers, who bear themselves as gently and with as varied womanly charms as any score of ladies in the land. the one abyss of perdition to this class is the slough of unchastity in which, as a race they still flounder, half conscious that it is a slough—the double inheritance of savage africa and slavery.”
-now there may be one side of a truth here, yet who but a self-confident anglo-saxon would dare make such a broad unblushing statement about a people as a race? some developments brought to light recently through the scientific christianity and investigating curiosity of dr. parkhurst may lead one to suspect the need of missionary teaching to “elevate” the white race; and yet i have too much respect for the autonomy of races, too much reverence for the collective view of god’s handiwork to speak of any such condition, however general, as characterizing the race. the colored people do not object to the adequate and truthful portrayal of types of their race in whatever degree of the scale of civilization, or of social and moral development, is consonant with actual facts or possibilities. as mr. howells himself says, “a man can be anything along the vast range from angel to devil, and without living either the good thing or the bad thing in which his fancy dramatizes him, he can perceive it”—and i would add, can appreciate and even enjoy its delineation by the artist. the average englishman takes no exception to the humorous caricatures of dickens or to the satires and cynicisms of thackeray. the quilps and the bernsteins are but strongly developed negatives of our universal human nature on the dark side. we recognize them as genre sketches,—and with the agneses and esthers and aunt lamberts as foils and correctives, we can appreciate them accordingly: while we do not believe ourselves to be the original of the portrait, there is enough sympathy and fellow feeling for the character to prevent our human relationship from being outraged and insulted. but were dickens to introduce an average scion of his countrymen to a whole congregation of quilps, at the same time sagely informing him that these represented the best there was of english life and morals, i strongly suspect the charming author would be lifted out on the toe of said average englishman’s boot, in case there shouldn’t happen to be a good horsewhip handy.
-our grievance then is not that we are not painted as angels of light or as goody-goody sunday-school developments; but we do claim that a man whose acquaintanceship is so slight that he cannot even discern diversities of individuality, has no right or authority to hawk “the only true and authentic” pictures of a race of human beings. mr. howells’ point of view is precisely that of a white man who sees colored people at long range or only in certain capacities. his conclusions about the colored man are identical with the impressions that will be received and carried abroad by foreigners from all parts of the globe, who shall attend our columbian exposition for instance, and who, through the impartiality and generosity of our white countrymen, will see colored persons only as bootblacks and hotel waiters, grinning from ear to ear and bowing and courtesying for the extra tips. in the same way mr. howells has met colored persons in hotels or on the commons promenading and sparking, or else acting as menials and lazzaroni. he has not seen, and therefore cannot be convinced that there exists a quiet, self-respecting, dignified class of easy life and manners (save only where it crosses the roughness of their white fellow countrymen’s barbarity) of cultivated tastes and habits, and with no more in common with the class of his acquaintance than the accident of complexion,—beyond a sympathy with their wrongs, or a resentment at being socially and morally classified with them, according as the principle of altruism or of self love is dominant in the individual.
-i respectfully submit that there is hardly a colored church in any considerable city in this country, which could be said in any sense to represent the best colored society, in which rhoda aldgate could not have seen, when she opened her eyes, persons as quietly and as becomingly dressed, as cultivated in tone and as refined in manner, as herself; persons, too, as sensitive to rough contact and as horribly alive as she could be (though they had known it from childhood) to the galling distinctions in this country which insist on levelling down all individuals more or less related to the africans. so far from the cringing deference which mr. howells paints as exhibited to “the young white lady,” in nine cases out of ten the congregation would have supposed intuitively that she was a quadroon, so far from the unusual was her appearance and complexion. in not a few such colored churches would she have found young women of aspiration and intellectual activity with whom she could affiliate without nausea and from whom she could learn a good many lessons—and, sadly i say it, even more outside the churches whom bitterness at racial inconsistency of white christians had soured into a silent disbelief of all religion. in either class she would have found no trouble in reaching a heart which could enter into all the agony of her own trial and bitter grief. nor am i so sure, if she had followed her first gushing impulse to go south and “elevate” the race with whom she had discovered her relationship, that she would have found even them so ready to receive her condescending patronage.
-there are numerous other inadvertent misrepresentations in the book—such as supposing that colored people voluntarily and deliberately prefer to keep to themselves in all public places and that from choice “they have their own neighborhoods, their own churches, their own amusements, their own resorts,”—the intimation that there is a “black voice,” a black character, easy, irresponsible and fond of what is soft and pleasant, a black ideal of art and a black barbaric taste in color, a black affinity—so that in some occult and dreadful way one, only one-sixteenth related and totally foreign by education and environment, can still feel that one-sixteenth race calling her more loudly than the fifteen-sixteenths. i wish to do mr. howells the justice to admit, however, that one feels his blunders to be wholly unintentional and due to the fact that he has studied his subject merely from the outside. with all his matchless powers as a novelist, not even he can yet “think himself imaginatively” into the colored man’s place.
-to my mind the quaintest and truest little bit of portraiture from low-life that i have read in a long time is the little story that appeared last winter in the harpers, of the “widder johnsing and how she caught the preacher.” it is told with naive impersonality and appreciative humor, and is quite equal, i think, both in subject and treatment to the best of mrs. stowe’s new england dialect stories. it is idyllic in its charming simplicity and naturalness, and delightfully fresh in its sparkling wit and delicious humor. we do not resent such pictures as this of our lowly folk—such a homely and honest
-“pomegranate, which, if cut deep down the middle, shows a heart within blood tinctured of a veined humanity,”
-is always sweet to the taste and dear to the heart, however plain and humble the setting.
-a longer and more elaborate work, harold, published anonymously, comes properly in our group second, the didactic novel. it gives the picture of a black englishman cultured and refined, brought in painful contact with american,—or rather un-american, color prejudice. the point of the book seems to be to show that education for the black man is a curse, since it increases his sensitiveness to the indignities he must suffer in consequence of white barbarity. the author makes harold, after a futile struggle against american inequalities, disappear into the jungles of africa, “there to wed a dusky savage,” at the last cursing the day he had ever suspected a broader light or known a higher aspiration; a conclusion which, to my mind, is a most illogical one. if the cultivated black man cannot endure the white man’s barbarity—the cure, it seems to me, would be to cultivate the white man. civilize both, then each will know what is due from man to man, and that reduces at once to a minimum the friction of their contact.
-in the same rank as harold belongs that improbability of improbabilities, doctor huguet, by the arch-sensationalist, ignatius donelly. as its purpose is evidently good, i shall not undertake to review the book. suffice it to say the plot hinges on the exchange of soul between the body of a black chicken thief and that of a cultivated white gentleman, and sets forth the indignities and wrongs to which the cultured soul, with all its past of refinement and learning, has to submit in consequence of its change of cuticle. the book is an able protest against that snobbishness which elevates complexion into a touchstone of aristocracy and makes the pigment cells of a man’s skin his badge of nobility regardless of the foulness or purity of the soul within; the only adverse criticism from the colored man’s point of view being the selection of a chicken thief as his typical black man; but on the principle of antitheses this may have been artistically necessary.
-i shall pass next to what i consider the most significant contribution to this subject for the last ten years—a poem by maurice thompson in the new york independent for january 21, 1892, entitled a voodoo prophecy. from beginning to end it is full of ghoulish imagery and fine poetic madness. here are a few stanzas of it:
-“i am the prophet of the dusky race, the poet of wild africa. behold, the midnight vision brooding in my face! come near me, and hear me, while from my lips the words of fate are told.
-a black and terrible memory masters me, the shadow and the substance of deep wrong; you know the past, hear now what is to be: from the midnight land, over sea and sand, from the green jungle, hear my voodoo-song;
-a tropic heat is in my bubbling veins, quintessence of all savagery is mine, the lust of ages ripens in my reins, and burns and yearns, like venom-sap within a noxious vine.
-was i a heathen? ay, i was—am still a fetich worshipper; but i was free to loiter or to wander at my will, to leap and dance, to hurl my lance, and breathe the air of savage liberty.
-you drew me to a higher life, you say; ah, drove me, with the lash of slavery! am i unmindful? every cursed day of pain and chain roars like a torrent in my memory.
-you make my manhood whole with ‘equal rights!’ poor empty words! dream you i honor them?— i who have stood on freedom’s wildest hights? my africa, i see the day when none dare touch thy garment’s lowest hem.
-you cannot make me love you with your whine of fine repentance. veil your pallid face in presence of the shame that mantles mine; stand at command of the black prophet of the negro race!
-i hate you, and i live to nurse my hate, remembering when you plied the slaver’s trade in my dear land ... how patiently i wait the day, not far away, when all your pride shall shrivel up and fade.
-yea, all your whiteness darken under me! darken and be jaundiced, and your blood take in dread humors from my savagery, until your will lapse into mine and seal my masterhood.
-you, seed of abel, proud of your descent, and arrogant, because your cheeks are fair, within my loins an inky curse is pent, to flood your blood and stain your skin and crisp your golden hair.
-as you have done by me, so will i do by all the generations of your race; your snowy limbs, your blood’s patrician blue shall be tainted by me, and i will set my seal upon your face!
-yea, i will dash my blackness down your veins, and through your nerves my sensuousness i’ll fling; your lips, your eyes, shall bear the musty stains of congo kisses, while shrieks and hisses shall blend into the savage songs i sing!
-your temples will i break, your fountains fill, your cities raze, your fields to deserts turn; my heathen fires shall shine on every hill, and wild beasts roam, where stands your home;— even the wind your hated dust shall spurn.
-i will absorb your very life in me, and mold you to the shape of my desire; back through the cycles of all cruelty i will swing you, and wring you, and roast you in my passions’ hottest fire.
-you, north and south, you, east and west, shall drink the cup your fathers gave to me; my back still burns, i bare my bleeding breast, i set my face, my limbs i brace, to make the long, strong fight for mastery.
-hark for the coming of my countless host, watch for my banner over land and sea. the ancient power of vengeance is not lost! lo! on the sky the fire-clouds fly, and strangely moans the windy, weltering sea.”
-now this would be poetry if it were only truthful. simple and sensuous it surely is, but it lacks the third requisite—truth. the negro is utterly incapable of such vindictiveness. such concentrated venom might be distilled in the cold saxon, writhing and chafing under oppression and repression such as the negro in america has suffered and is suffering. but the black man is in real life only too glad to accept the olive branch of reconciliation. he merely asks to be let alone. to be allowed to pursue his destiny as a free man and an american citizen, to rear and educate his children in peace, to engage in art, science, trades or industries according to his ability,—and to go to the wall if he fail. he is willing, if i understand him, to let bygones be bygones. he does not even demand satisfaction for the centuries of his ancestors’ unpaid labor. he asks neither pension, nor dole nor back salaries; but is willing to start from the bottom, all helpless and unprovided for as he is, with absolutely nothing as his stock in trade, with no capital, in a country developed, enriched, and made to blossom through his father’s “sweat and toil,”—with none of the accumulations of ancestors’ labors, with no education or moral training for the duties and responsibilities of freedom; nay, with every power, mental, moral, and physical, emasculated by a debasing slavery—he is willing, even glad to take his place in the lists alongside his oppressors, who have had every advantage, to be tried with them by their own standards, and to ask no quarter from them or high heaven to palliate or excuse the ignominy of a defeat.
-the voodoo prophecy has no interest then as a picture of the black, but merely as a revelation of the white man. maurice thompson in penning this portrait of the negro, has, unconsciously it may be, laid bare his own soul—its secret dread and horrible fear. and this, it seems to me, is the key to the southern situation, the explanation of the apparent heartlessness and cruelty of some, and the stolid indifference to atrocity on the part of others, before which so many of us have stood paralyzed in dumb dismay. the southerner is not a cold-blooded villain. those of us who have studied the genus in its native habitat can testify that his impulses are generous and kindly, and that while the south presents a solid phalanx of iron resistance to the negro’s advancement, still as individuals to individuals they are warm-hearted and often even tender. and just here is the difference between the southerner and his more philosophical, less sentimental northern brother. the latter in an abstract metaphysical way rather wants you to have all the rights that belong to you. he thinks it better for the country, better for him that justice, universal justice be done. but he doesn’t care to have the blacks, in the concrete, too near him. he doesn’t know them and doesn’t want to know them. he really can’t understand how the southerner could have let those little cubs get so close to him as they did in the old days—nursing from the same bottle and feeding at the same breast.
-to the southerner, on the other hand, race antipathy and color-phobia as such does not exist. personally, there is hardly a man of them but knows, and has known from childhood, some black fellow whom he loves as dearly as if he were white, whom he regards as indispensable to his own pleasures, and for whom he would break every commandment in the decalogue to save him from any general disaster. but our bourbon seems utterly incapable of generalizing his few ideas. he would die for a or b, but suddenly becomes utterly impervious to every principle of logic when you ask for the simple golden rule to be applied to the class of which a or b is one. another fact strikes me as curious. a southern white man’s regard for his black friend varies in inverse ratio to the real distance between them in education and refinement. puck expresses it—“i can get on a great deal better with a nigger than i can with a negro.” and mr. douglass puts it: “let a colored man be out at elbows and toes and half way into the gutter and there is no prejudice against him; but let him respect himself and be a man and southern whites can’t abide to ride in the same car with him.”
-why this anomaly? is it pride? ordinarily, congeniality increases with similarity in taste and manners. is it antipathy to color? it does not exist. the explanation is the white man’s dread dimly shadowed out in this voodoo prophecy of maurice thompson, and fed and inspired by such books as minden armais and a few wild theorizers who have nothing better to do with their time than spend it advocating the fusion of races as a plausible and expedient policy. now i believe there are two ideas which master the southern white man and incense him against the black race. on this point he is a monomaniac. in the face of this feeling he would not admit he was convinced of the axioms of geometry. the one is personal and present, the fear of negro political domination. the other is for his posterity—the future horror of being lost as a race in this virile and vigorous black race. relieve him of this nightmare and he becomes “as gentle as the sucking dove.” with that dread delusion maddening him he would drive his sword to the hilt in the tender breast of his darling child, did he fancy that through her the curse would come.
-now argument is almost supersensible with a monomaniac. what is most needed is a sedative for the excited nerves, and then a mental tonic to stimulate the power of clear perception and truthful cerebration. the southern patient needs to be brought to see, by the careful and cautious injection of cold facts and by the presentation of well selected object lessons that so far as concerns his first named horror of black supremacy politically, the usual safeguards of democracy are in the hands of intelligence and wealth in the south as elsewhere. the weapons of fair argument and persuasion, the precautionary bulwark of education and justice, the unimpeachable supremacy and insuperable advantage of intelligence and discipline over mere numbers—are all in his reach. it is to his interest to help make the black peasant an intelligent and self-respecting citizen. no section can thrive under the incubus of an illiterate, impoverished, cheerless and hopeless peasantry. let the south once address herself in good faith to the improvement of the condition of her laboring classes, let her give but a tithe of the care and attention which are bestowed in the north on its mercurial and inflammable importations, let her show but the disposition in her relative poverty merely to utter the benediction, be ye warmed and fed and educated, even while she herself has not the wherewithal to emulate the pullman villages and the carnegie munificence, let her but give him a fair wage and an honest reckoning and a kindly god-speed,—and she will find herself in possession of the most tractable laborer, the most faithful and reliable henchman, the most invaluable co-operator and friendly vassal of which this or any country can boast.
-so far as regards the really less sane idea that amicable relations subsisting between the races may promote their ultimate blending and loss of identity, it hardly seems necessary to refute it. blending of races in the aggregate is simply an unthinkable thought, and the union of individuals can never fall out by accident or haphazard. there must be the deliberate wish and intention on each side; and the average black man in this country is as anxious to preserve his identity and transmit his type as is the average white man. in any case, hybridity is in no sense dependent on sectional or national amity. oppression and outrage are not the means to chain the affections. cupid, who knows no bolt or bars, is more wont to be stimulated with romantic sympathy towards a forbidden object unjustly persecuted. the sensible course is to remove those silly and unjust barriers which protect nothing and merely call attention to the possibilities of law-breaking, and depend instead on religion and common sense to guide, control and direct in the paths of purity and right reason.
-the froth and foam, the sticks and debris at the water-top may have an uncertain movement, but as deep calleth unto deep the mighty ocean swell is always true to the tides; and whatever the fluctuations along the ragged edge between the races, the home instinct is sufficiently strong with each to hold the great mass true to its attractions. if maurice thompson’s nightmare vision is sincere on his part, then, it has no objective reality; ’tis merely a hideous phantasm bred of his own fevered and jaundiced senses; if he does not believe in it himself, it was most unkind and uncalled for to publish abroad such inflaming and irritating fabrications.
-after this cursory glance at a few contributions which have peculiarly emphasized one phase of our literature during the last decade or two, i am brought to the conclusion that an authentic portrait, at once æsthetic and true to life, presenting the black man as a free american citizen, not the humble slave of uncle tom’s cabin—but the man, divinely struggling and aspiring yet tragically warped and distorted by the adverse winds of circumstance, has not yet been painted. it is my opinion that the canvas awaits the brush of the colored man himself. it is a pathetic—a fearful arraignment of america’s conditions of life, that instead of that enrichment from the years and days, the summers and springs under which, as browning says,
-“the flowers turn double and the leaves turn flowers,”—
-the black man’s native and original flowers have in this country been all hardened and sharpened into thorns and spurs. in literature we have no artists for art’s sake. albery a. whitman in “twasinta’s seminoles” and “not a man and yet a man” is almost the only poet who has attempted a more sustained note than the lyrics of mrs. harper, and even that note is almost a wail.
-the fact is, a sense of freedom in mind as well as in body is necessary to the appreciative and inspiring pursuit of the beautiful. a bird cannot warble out his fullest and most joyous notes while the wires of his cage are pricking and cramping him at every heart beat. his tones become only the shrill and poignant protest of rage and despair. and so the black man’s vexations and chafing environment, even since his physical emancipation has given him speech, has goaded him into the eloquence and fire of oratory rather than the genial warmth and cheery glow of either poetry or romance. and pity ’tis, ’tis true. a race that has produced for america the only folk-lore and folk songs of native growth, a race which has grown the most original and unique assemblage of fable and myth to be found on the continent, a race which has suggested and inspired almost the only distinctive american note which could chain the attention and charm the ear of the outside world—has as yet found no mouthpiece of its own to unify and perpetuate its wondrous whisperings—no painter-poet to distil in the alembic of his own imagination the gorgeous dyes, the luxuriant juices of this rich and tropical vegetation. it was the glory of chaucer that he justified the english language to itself—that he took the homely and hitherto despised saxon elements and ideas, and lovingly wove them into an artistic product which even norman conceit and uppishness might be glad to acknowledge and imitate. the only man who is doing the same for negro folk-lore is one not to the manner born. joel chandler harris has made himself rich and famous by simply standing around among the black railroad hands and cotton pickers of the south and compiling the simple and dramatic dialogues which fall from their lips. what i hope to see before i die is a black man honestly and appreciatively portraying both the negro as he is, and the white man, occasionally, as seen from the negro’s standpoint.
-there is an old proverb “the devil is always painted black—by white painters.” and what is needed, perhaps, to reverse the picture of the lordly man slaying the lion, is for the lion to turn painter.
-then too we need the calm clear judgment of ourselves and of others born of a disenchantment similar to that of a little girl i know in the south, who was once being laboriously held up over the shoulders of a surging throng to catch her first glimpse of a real live president. “why nunny,” she cried half reproachfully, as she strained her little neck to see—“it’s nuffin but a man!”
-when we have been sized up and written down by others, we need not feel that the last word is said and the oracles sealed. “it’s nuffin but a man.” and there are many gifts the giftie may gie us, far better than seeing ourselves as others see us—and one is that of bion’s maxim “know thyself.” keep true to your own ideals. be not ashamed of what is homely and your own. speak out and speak honestly. be true to yourself and to the message god and nature meant you to deliver. the young david cannot fight in saul’s unwieldy armor. let him simply therefore gird his loins, take up his own parable and tell this would-be great american nation “a chile’s amang ye takin’ notes;” and when men act the part of cowards or wild beasts, this great silent but open-eyed constituency has a standard by which they are being tried. know thyself, and know those around at their true weight of solid intrinsic manhood without being dazzled by the fact that littleness of soul is often gilded with wealth, power and intellect. there can be no nobility but that of soul, and no catalogue of adventitious circumstances can wipe out the stain or palliate the meanness of inflicting one ruthless, cruel wrong. ’tis not only safer, but nobler, grander, diviner,
-“to be that which we destroy than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.”
-with this platform to stand on we can with clear eye weigh what is written and estimate what is done and ourselves paint what is true with the calm spirit of those who know their cause is right and who believe there is a god who judgeth the nations.
-what are we worth?
-i once heard henry ward beecher make this remark: “were africa and the africans to sink to-morrow, how much poorer would the world be? a little less gold and ivory, a little less coffee, a considerable ripple, perhaps, where the atlantic and indian oceans would come together—that is all; not a poem, not an invention, not a piece of art would be missed from the world.”
-this is not a flattering statement; but then we do not want flattery if seeing ourselves as others see us is to help us in fulfilling the higher order, “know thyself.” the world is often called cold and hard. i don’t know much about that; but of one thing i am sure, it is intensely practical. waves of sentiment or prejudice may blur its old eyes for a little while but you are sure to have your bill presented first or last with the inexorable “how much owest thou?” what have you produced, what consumed? what is your real value in the world’s economy? what do you give to the world over and above what you have cost? what would be missed had you never lived? what are you worth? what of actual value would go down with you if you were sunk into the ocean or buried by an earthquake to-morrow? show up your cash account and your balance sheet. in the final reckoning do you belong on the debit or the credit side of the account? according to a fair and square, an impartial and practical reckoning. it is by this standard that society estimates individuals; and by this standard finally and inevitably the world will measure and judge nations and races.
-it may not be unprofitable then for us to address ourselves to the task of casting up our account and carefully overhauling our books. it may be well to remember at the outset that the operation is purely a mathematical one and allows no room for sentiment. the good housewife’s pet chicken which she took when first hatched, fed from her own hand and fondled on her bosom as lovingly as if it were a babe, is worth no more (for all the affection and care lavished on it) when sold in the shambles: and that never-to-be-forgotten black hen that stole into the parlor, flew upon the mantel looking for a nest among those handsome curios, smashed the sèvers vases and picked the buds from the lovely tea rose—so exasperatingly that the good woman could never again endure the sight of her—this ill-fated bird is worth no less. there are sections of this country in which the very name of the negro, even in homeopathic doses, stirs up such a storm of feeling that men fairly grow wild and are unfit to discuss the simplest principles of life and conduct where the colored man is concerned; and you would think it necessary for the ethiopian actually to change his skin before there can be any harmonious living or lucid thinking: there are a few nooks and crannies, on the other hand, in another quarter of the same country, in which that name embodies an idealized theory and a benevolent sentiment; and the black man (the blacker the better) is the petted nursling, the haloed idea, the foregone conclusion. in these arcadias, it is as good capital as pushing selfishness and aspiring mediocrity need ask, to be advertised as one of the oppressed race and probably born a slave.
-but after all sentiment, whether adverse or favorable, is ephemeral. ever shifting and unreliable, it can never be counted in estimating values. the sentiments of youth are outgrown in age, and we like to-day what we despised or were indifferent to yesterday. nine-tenths of the mis-called color prejudice or race prejudice in this country is mere sentiment governed by the association of ideas. it is not color prejudice at all. the color of a man’s face per se has no more to do with his worthiness and companionableness than the color of his eyes or the shades of his hair. you admire the one or think the other more beautiful to rest the gaze upon. but every one with brains knows and must admit that he must look deeper than this for the man. mrs. livermore once said in my hearing: “it is not that the negro is black; spaniards, portuguese, east indians, enter our parlors, sup at our tables, and, if they have a sufficiently long bank account, they may marry our daughters: but the negro is weak—and we don’t like weakness.”
-now this dislike it is useless to inveigh against and folly to raile at. we share it ourselves and often carry it to a more unjustifiable extent. for as a rule the narrower the mind and the more circumscribed the experience, the greater will be the exaggeration of accidents over substance, and of circumstance over soul. it does no good to argue with the poor sea-sick wretch who, even on land after the voyage, is nauseated by the sight of clear spring water. in vain you show the unreason of the feeling. this, you explain, is a different time, a different place, a different stage of progress in the circulation of waters. that was salt, this is fresh, and so on. you might as well be presenting syllogisms to ætna. “yes, my dear fellow,” he cries, “you talk admirably; but you don’t know how i feel. you don’t know how sick i was on that nasty ship!” and so your rhetoric cannot annihilate the association of ideas. he feels; you know. but he will outgrow his feeling,—and you are content to wait.
-just as impervious to reason is the man who is dominated by the sentiment of race prejudice. you can only consign him to the fatherly hand of time; and pray that your own mental sight be not thus obscured and your judgment warped in your endeavors to be just and true.
-sentiment and cant, then, both being ruled out, let us try to study our subject as the world finally reckons it—not certain crevices and crannies of the earth, but the cool, practical, business-like world. what are we worth? not in georgia nor in massachusetts; not to our brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts, every one of whom would unhesitatingly declare us worth a great gold-lump; nor to the exasperated neighbor over the way who would be just as ready, perhaps, to write us down a most unmitigated nuisance. but what do we represent to the world? what is our market value. are we a positive and additive quantity or a negative factor in the world’s elements. what have we cost and what do we come to?
-the calculation may be made in the same way and on the same principle that we would estimate the value of any commodity on the market. men are not very unlike watches. we might estimate first the cost of material—is it gold or silver or alloy, solid or plated, jewelled or sham paste. settle the relative value of your raw material, and next you want to calculate how much this value has been enhanced by labor the delicacy and fineness, the honesty and thoroughness of the workmanship; then the utility and beauty of the product and its adaptability to the end and purpose of its manufacture; and lastly is there a demand in the market for such an article. does it meet a want, will it go and go right? is it durable and reliable. how often do you have to wind it before it runs down, how often repair it. does it keep good time and require but little watching and looking after. and there is no radical difference, after all, between the world’s way of estimating men and our usual way of valuing watches. in both the fundamental item is the question of material, and then the refining and enhancement of that material through labor, and so on through the list.
-what then can we say for our raw material?
-again i must preface an apology for anything unpalatable in our menu. i promised, you remember, to leave out the sentiment—you may stir it in afterwards, mixing thoroughly according to taste. we must discuss facts, candidly and bluntly, without rhetoric or cant if we would have a clear light on our problem.
-now whatever notions we may indulge on the theory of evolution and the laws of atavism or heredity, all concede that no individual character receives its raw material newly created and independent of the rock from whence it was hewn. no life is bound up within the period of its conscious existence. no personality dates its origin from its birthday. the elements that are twisted into the cord did not begin their formation when first the tiny thread became visible in the great warp and filling of humanity. when first we saw the light many of the threads undoubtedly were spun and the color and fineness of the weft determined. the materials that go to make the man, the probabilities of his character and activities, the conditions and circumstances of his growth, and his quantum of resistance and mastery are the resultant of forces which have been accumulating and gathering momentum for generations. so that, as one tersely expresses it, in order to reform a man, you must begin with his great grandmother.
-a few years ago a certain social scientist was struck by a remarkable coincidence in the name of a number of convicts in the state prison of new york. there were found thirty-five or forty men, of the same name with but slight modification in the spelling, all convicted of crimes similar in character. looking into the matter, he traced them every one back to one woman of inferior character who had come from england in one of the first colonial ships. and that woman had been a convict and charged with pretty nearly the same crime.
-rightly to estimate our material, then, it is necessary to go back of the twenty or thirty years during which we have been in possession, and find out the nature of the soil in which it has been forming and growing.
-there is or used to be in england a system of entail by which a lot of land was fixed to a family and its posterity forever, passing always on the death of the father to his eldest son. a man may misuse or abuse, he may impoverish, mortgage, sterilize, eliminate every element of value—but he can never sell. he may cut down every tree, burn every fence and house, abstract by careless tillage, or by no tillage, every nutritive element from the soil, encumber it to two or three times its value and destroy forever its beauty and fertility—but he can never rid himself of it. that land with all its encumbrances and liabilities, its barrenness and squalidness, its poverty and its degradation is inexorably, inevitably, inalienably his; and like a shattered and debased personality it haunts him wherever he goes. an heir coming into an estate is thus often poorer than if he had no inheritance. he is chained to a life long possession of debt, toil, responsibility, often disgrace. happier were it for him if he could begin life with nothing—an isolated but free man with no capital but his possibilities, with no past and no pedigree. and so it often is with men. these bodies of ours often come to us mortgaged to their full value by the extravagance, self-indulgence, sensuality of some ancestor. some man, generations back, has encumbered his estate for strong drink, his descendants coming into that estate have the mortgage to pay off, principal and interest. another cut down the fences of character by debauchery and vice,—and these have to ward off attacks of the enemy without bulwarks or embattlements. they have burnt their houses of purity and integrity, have rendered the soil poor and unproductive by extravagance and folly,—and the children have to shiver amid the storms of passion and feed on husks till they can build for themselves a shelter and fertilize their farms. not very valuable estates, you will say. well, no,—nothing to boast of, perhaps. but an energetic heir can often pay off some of the liabilities and leave the estate to his children less involved than when he received it. at least he can arrest the work of destruction and see to it that no further encumbrances are added through his folly and mismanagement.
-in estimating the value of our material, therefore, it is plain that we must look into the deeds of our estates and ferret out their history. the task is an individual one, as likewise its application. certainly the original timber as it came from the african forests was good enough. no race of heathen are more noted for honesty and chastity than are the tribes of africa. for one of their women to violate the laws of purity is a crime punishable with death; and so strictly honest are they, it is said, that they are wont to leave their commodities at the place of exchange and go about their business. the buyer coming up takes what he wishes to purchase and leaves its equivalent in barter or money. a returned missionary tells the story that certain european traders, when at a loss as to the safe keeping of their wares, were told by a native chief, “oh just lay them down there. they are perfectly safe, there are no christians here.”
-whatever may be said of its beauty, then, the black side of the stream with us is pretty pure, and has no cause to blush for its honesty and integrity. from the nature of the case the infusions of white blood that have come in many instances to the black race in this country are not the best that race afforded. and if anything further is needed to account for racial irregularities—the warping and shrinking, the knotting and cracking of the sturdy old timber, the two hundred and fifty years of training here are quite sufficient to explain all. i have often thought, since coming in closer contact with the puritan element in america, what a different planing and shaping this timber might have received under their hands!
-as i compare the puritan’s sound, substantial, sanctified common sense with the feudal froth and foam of the south; the puritan’s liberal, democratic, ethical and at the same time calculating, economical, stick-to-ative and go-ahead-ative spirit,—with the free and easy lavishness, the aristocratic notions of caste and class distinctions, the pliable consciences and unbending social bars amid which i was reared;—i have wished that it might have been ordered that as my race had to serve a term of bondage it might have been under the discipline of the successors of cromwell and milton, rather than under the training and example of the luxurious cavaliers. there is no doubt that the past two hundred and fifty years of working up the material we now inherit, has depreciated rather than enhanced its value. we find in it the foolish ideas of aristocracy founded on anything else than a moral claim; we find the contempt for manual labor and the horror of horny palms, the love of lavish expenditure and costly display, and—alas, that we must own it—the laxness of morals and easy-going consciences inherited and imitated from the old english gentry of the reigns of charles and anne. but to know our faults is one step toward correcting them, and there are, i trust, no flaws in this first element of value, material, which may not be planed and scraped and sand-papered out by diligent and strenuous effort. one thing is certain, the flaws that are simply ingrained in the timber are not our responsibility. a man is to be praised primarily not for having inherited fine tools and faultless materials but for making the most of the stuff he has, and doing his best in spite of disadvantages and poor material. the individual is responsible, not for what he has not, but for what he has; and the vital part for us after all depends on the use we make of our material.
-many a passable article has by diligent workmanship been made even from inferior material. and this brings us to our second item of value—labor.
-this is a most important item. it would seem sometimes that it is labor that creates all value. a gold mine is worth no more than common clay till it is worked. the simple element of labor bestowed on iron, the cheapest and commonest of metals, multiplies its value four hundred thousand times, making it worth sixty-five times its weight in gold, e. g.:
-now it is the same fundamental material in the hair springs valued at $16,000.00 which was sold in the rough at 4 cts. per pound. it is labor that has thus enhanced its value. now let us see if there is a parallel rise of value in the material of which men are made.
-no animal, the scientists tell us, is in infancy so utterly helpless, so completely destitute of the means of independent existence, so entirely worthless in itself as the world estimates values, as is man. the chick just out of the shell can pick up its own food and run away from approaching danger. touch a snapping turtle just a moment after its birth, and it will bite at you. cut off its head and it will still bite. break open the egg of the young and the vivacious little creature will, even in the embryo, try to fight for its rights and maintain its independence. but the human babe can for weeks and months, do nothing but cry and feed and fear. it is a constant drain on the capital of its parents, both physically and mentally. it is to be fed, and worked for, and sheltered and protected. it cannot even defend itself against a draft of wind.
-what is it worth? unsentimentally and honestly,—it is worth just as much as a leak is worth to a ship, or what the mistletoe is worth to the oak. he is a parasite, a thief, a destroyer of values. he thrives at another’s expense, and filches from that other every atom of his own existence. the infatuated mother, it is true, would not sell him, she will tell you, for his weight in gold; but that is sentiment—not business. besides, there is no danger of her having the chance to make such a bargain. no one will ever tempt her with any such offer. the world knows too well what an outlay of time and money and labor must be made before he is worth even his weight in ashes. his present worth no one would accept even as a gift—and it is only the prospect of future development of worth that could induce any one, save that mother, to take up the burden. what an expenditure of toil and care, of heart power and brain power, what planning, what working, what feeding, what enriching, what sowing and sinking of values before one can tell whether the harvest is worth the output. yet, how gladly does the mother pour out her strength and vitality, her energy, her life that the little bankrupt may store up capital for its own use. how anxiously does she hang over the lumpish little organism to catch the first awakening of a soul. and when the chubby little hands begin to swing consciously before the snapping eyes, and the great toe is caught and tugged towards the open mouth, when the little pink fists for the first time linger caressingly on her cheek and breast, and the wide open eyes say distinctly “i know you, i love you,”—how she strains him to her bosom as her whole soul goes out to this newly found intelligence in the impassioned cry of carlyle: “whence—and oh heavens, whither!”
-“how poor, how rich, how abject, how august, how complicate, how wonderful is man!”
-it is labor, development, training, careful, patient, painful, diligent toil that must span the gulf between this vegetating life germ (now worth nothing but toil and care and trouble, and living purely at the expense of another)—and that future consummation in which “the elements are so mixed that nature can stand up and say to all the world, ‘this is a man.’”
-it is a heavy investment, requires a large outlay of money on long time and large risk, no end of labor, skill, pains. education is the word that covers it all—the working up of this raw material and fitting it into the world’s work to supply the world’s need—the manufacture of men and women for the markets of the world. but there is no other labor which so creates value. the value of the well developed man has been enhanced far more by the labor, bestowed than is the iron in the watch springs. the value of the raw material was far below zero to begin with; but this “quintessence of dust” has become, through labor, “the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals,—noble in reason and infinite in faculty!”
-what a piece of work, indeed!
-education, then, is the safest and richest investment possible to man. it pays the largest dividends and gives the grandest possible product to the world—a man. the demand is always greater than the supply—and the world pays well for what it prizes.
-now what sort of workmanship are we putting on our raw material. what are we doing for education? the man-factories among our people make, i think, a fairly good showing. figures are encouraging things to deal with, and too they represent something tangible in casting up our accounts. there are now 25,530 colored schools in the united states with 1,353,352 pupils; the colored people hold in landed property for churches and schools $25,000,000. 2,500,000 colored children have learned to read and most of these to write also. 22,956 colored men and women are teaching in these schools. there are sixty-six academies and high schools and one hundred and fifty schools for advanced education taught by colored teachers, together with seven colleges administered by colored presidents and faculties. there are now one thousand college bred negro ministers in the country, 250 lawyers, 749 physicians; while, according to dr. rankin, there are 247 colored students preparing themselves in the universities of europe.
-the african methodists alone, representing the unassisted effort of the colored people for self-development, have founded thirty-eight institutes and colleges, with landed property valued at $502,650, and 134 teachers supported entirely by the self denying effort of the colored people themselves.
-this looks like an attempt, to say the least, to do the best we can with our material. one feels there has not been much shirking here; the workmanship may be crude sometimes, when measured by more finished standards,—but they have done what they could; in their poverty and inexperience, through self denial and perseverance, they are struggling upward toward the light.
-there is another item to be taken into account in estimating the value of a product, to which we must give just a thought in passing, i. e., the necessary waste of material in the making.
-the sultan of turkey once sent to china to procure a fac simile of some elegant plates he had had, all of which were now broken but one and that, unfortunately, was cracked. he sent this one as a pattern and requested that the set be renewed exactly like the former ones. he was surprised on receiving the plates to note the fabulous sum charged for them,—but the celestial explained that the cost was greatly increased by having to put in the crack,—so many had been lost in the making.
-the anecdote is not my own, but it suggests a thought that may be useful to us and i borrow it for that purpose. they tell us that the waste of material is greater in making colored men and women than in the case of others—that a larger percentage of our children die under twenty-one years of age, especially in large cities, and that a larger number who reach that age and beyond, are to be classed among the world’s invalids and paupers. according to the census of 1880 the average death rate throughout the country was, among the whites 14.74 per 1000; among colored 17.28 per 1000: the highest among whites being in new mexico, 22.04, lowest in arizona, 7.91 per 1000. among colored, the mortality ranges from 35.25 in the district of columbia where it is the highest, to 1.89 in arizona, the lowest.
-for 1889 the relative death-rate of the two races in the district of columbia was: whites, 15.96 per 1000; colored, 30.48, about double. in 1888 they stood 18+ to 30+; in 1886 and ’87, about 17 to 31; in ’85 and ’86, 17 to 32. especially noticeable is the difference in the mortality of children. this is simply alarming. the report for 1889 shows that out of the 5,152 deaths occurring in the district of columbia during that year, 634 were white infants under one year old, while 834, an excess of 200, within the same limits were colored. yet the white population of the district outnumbers the colored two to one. the health commissioner, in his report for that year, says: “this material difference in mortality may be charged to a great extent to the massing of colored people in alleys and unhealthy parts of the city and to their unsanitary surroundings: while there is no doubt that a very large proportion of these children die in consequence of being fed improper and unhealthy food, especially cheap and badly prepared condensed milk, and cow’s milk which has been allowed to stand to the point of acidity after having been kept in vessels badly or unskillfully cleaned.” and he adds, “if the general statistics of infant mortality seem astounding to the public, the cause can most frequently be found in the reprehensible custom of committing little impoverished waifs to hired nurses and foul feeding bottles rather than allow them the food that nature has provided.”
-now all this unquestionably represents a most wanton and flagrant waste of valuable material. by sapping out the possibilities of a healthy and vigorous existence it is deliberately and flagitiously breeding and multiplying paupers, criminals, idiots, drunkards, imbeciles and lunatics to infest and tax the commonwealth. the number spoiled in the making necessarily adds to the cost of those who survive. it is like the sultan’s cracked dinner-plates. it is no use to go into hysterics and explode in ciceronian phillippics against life insurance companies for refusing to insure or charging a higher premium for colored policies. with them it is simply a question of dollars and cents. what are you worth? what are your chances, and what does it cost to take your risks in the aggregate? if thirty-five colored persons out of every thousand are, from any cause whatever, lost in the making, the remaining nine hundred and sixty-five will have to share the loss among them. this is an unavoidable law. no man can dissociate himself from his kind. the colored gentleman who keeps his horses, fares sumptuously, and lives in luxury is made to feel the death gasps of every squalid denizen of the alley and poor-house. it is god’s own precaution to temper our self-seeking by binding our sympathies and interests indissolubly with the helpless and the wretched.
-what our men of means need to do, then, is to devote their money, their enlightened interest, their careful attention to the improvement of sanitation among the poor. let some of those who can command real estate in healthful localities build sweet and clean and wholesome tenements on streets and rent them at reasonable rates to the worthy poor who are at present forced into association with the vileness and foulness of alleys and filthy courts by the unfeeling discrimination of white dealers. let some colored capitalists buy up a few of those immense estates in the south, divide them into single farms with neat, cheery, well-ventilated, healthsome cottages to be rented to the colored tenants who are toiling all these weary years in the one-room log hut, like their own cheerless mules—just to fodder themselves.
-in cities, low priced houses on streets are almost uniformly kept for the white poor. i know of numerous houses in washington the rent of which is no dearer than colored people are paying in alleys—but the advertisement says, “not rented to colored people.” if the presence of a colored tenant in a neighborhood causes property to depreciate, it may be a question of sentiment,—it must be a question of business. the former it is superfluous to inveigh against or even to take cognizance of. it is possibly subject to enlightenment, and probably a sickness not unto death. but the practical reason underlying it is directly our concern and should command our energetic consideration. it is largely a question of what are we worth—and as such, subject to our immediate responsibility and amendment. if improvement is possible, if it is in our power to render ourselves valuable to a community or neighborhood, it should be the work of the earnest and able men and women among us, the moral physicians and reformers, to devise and apply a remedy. sure it is that the burden rests on all till the deliverance comes. the richest and most highly favored cannot afford to be indifferent or to rest quietly complacent.
-in rural districts, the relative mortality of colored people is not so excessive, still the poverty and destitution, the apparent dearth of accumulation notwithstanding ceaseless drudging toil is something phenomenal in labor statistics. i confess i have felt little enthusiasm for the labor riots which seem epidemic at the north. carnegie’s men at homestead, for instance, were among the best paid workmen in the country, receiving many of them $240 per month, living luxuriously, dictating their own terms as to who should work with them, how many hours, and what special labor they will perform. their employers are forced to hire so many and such men—for these laboring despots insist on an exact division of labor, no one must be called on to work outside his specialty. then they must share profits, but be excused from all concern in losses—a patent adjustable sliding scale for wages which slides up beautifully, but never down! if the northern laboring man has not become a tyrant, i would like to know what tyranny is.
-but i wonder how many know that there are throughout the southland able bodied, hard working men, toiling year in and year out, from sunrise to dusk, for fifty cents per day, out of which they must feed and shelter and clothe themselves and their families! that they often have to take their wage in tickets convertible into meat, meal and molasses at the village grocery, owned by the same ubiquitous employer! that there are tenants holding leases on farms who toil sixteen hours to the day and work every chick and child in their possession, not sparing even the drudging wife—to find at the end of the harvesting season and the squaring up of accounts that their accumulations have been like gathering water in a sieve.
-do you ask the cause of their persistent poverty? it is not found in the explanation often vouchsafed by the white landlord—that the negro is indolent, improvident and vicious. taking them man for man and dollar for dollar, i think you will find the negro, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, not a whit behind the anglo-saxon of equal chances. it is a fact which every candid man who rides through the rural districts in the south will admit, that in progressive aspirations and industry the negro is ahead of the white man of his chances. indeed it would not be hard to show that the white man of his chances does not exist. the “crackers” and “poor-whites” were never slaves, were never oppressed or discriminated against. their time, their earnings, their activities have always been at their own disposal; and pauperism in their case can be attributed to nothing but stagnation,—moral, mental, and physical immobility: while in the case of the negro, poverty can at least be partially accounted for by the hard conditions of life and labor,—the past oppression and continued repression which form the vital air in which the negro lives and moves and has his being.
-one often hears in the north an earnest plea from some lecturer for “our working girls” (of course this means white working girls). and recently i listened to one who went into pious agonies at the thought of the future mothers of americans having to stand all day at shop counters; and then advertised with applause a philanthropic firm who were giving their girls a trip to europe for rest and recreation! i am always glad to hear of the establishment of reading rooms and social entertainments to brighten the lot of any women who are toiling for bread—whether they are white women or black women. but how many have ever given a thought to the pinched and down-trodden colored women bending over wash-tubs and ironing boards—with children to feed and house rent to pay, wood to buy, soap and starch to furnish—lugging home weekly great baskets of clothes for families who pay them for a month’s laundrying barely enough to purchase a substantial pair of shoes!
-will you call it narrowness and selfishness, then, that i find it impossible to catch the fire of sympathy and enthusiasm for most of these labor movements at the north?
-i hear these foreigners, who would boycott an employer if he hired a colored workman, complain of wrong and oppression, of low wages and long hours, clamoring for eight-hour systems and insisting on their right to have sixteen of the twenty-four hours for rest and self-culture, for recreation and social intercourse with families and friends—ah, come with me, i feel like saying, i can show you workingmen’s wrong and workingmen’s toil which, could it speak, would send up a wail that might be heard from the potomac to the rio grande; and should it unite and act, would shake this country from carolina to california.
-in the south, on the other hand, where the colored man virtually holds the labor market, he is too uncertain and unorganized to demand anything like a fair share of the products of his toil. and yet the man who thinks, must see that our labor interests lie at the foundation of our material prosperity. the growth of the colored man in this country must for a long time yet be estimated on his value and productiveness as a laborer. in adding up the account the aggregate of the great toiling mass largely overbalances the few who have acquired means and leisure. the nation judges us as workingmen, and poor indeed is that man or race of men who are compelled to toil all the weary years ministering to no higher want than that of bread. to feed is not the chief function of this material that has fallen to our care to be developed and perfected. it is an enormous waste of values to harness the whole man in the narrow furrow, plowing for bread. there are other hungerings in man besides the eternal all-subduing hungering of his despotic stomach. there is the hunger of the eye for beauty, the hunger of the ear for concords, the hungering of the mind for development and growth, of the soul for communion and love, for a higher, richer, fuller living—a more abundant life! and every man owes it to himself to let nothing in him starve for lack of the proper food. “what is man,” says shakespeare, “if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed!” yet such slavery as that is the settled lot of four-fifths the laboring men of the southland. this, i contend, is an enormous, a profligate waste of the richest possibilities and the divinest aptitudes. and we owe it to humanity, we owe it pre-eminently to those of our own household, to enlarge and enrich, so far as in us lies, the opportunity and grasp of every soul we can emancipate. surely there is no greater boon we can bestow on our fellow-man in this life, none that could more truly command his deepest gratitude and love, than to disclose to his soul its possibilities and mend its opportunities,—to place its rootlets in the generous loam, turn its leaves towards the gracious dews and warm sunlight of heaven and let it grow, let it mature in foliage, flower and fruit for god and the race! philanthropy will devise means—an object is not far to seek.
-industrial training has been hitherto neglected or despised among us, due, i think, as i have said elsewhere, to two causes: first, a mistaken estimate of labor arising from its association with slavery and from its having been despised by the only class in the south thought worthy of imitation; and secondly, the fact that the negro’s ability to work had never been called in question, while his ability to learn latin and construe greek syntax needed to be proved to sneering critics. “scale the heights!” was the cry. “go to college, study latin, preach, teach, orate, wear spectacles and a beaver!”
-stung by such imputations as that of calhoun that if a negro could prove his ability to master the greek subjunctive he might vindicate his title to manhood, the newly liberated race first shot forward along this line with an energy and success which astonished its most sanguine friends.
-this may not have been most wise. it certainly was quite natural; and the result is we find ourselves in almost as ludicrous a plight as the african in the story, who, after a sermon from his missionary pleading for the habiliments of civilization, complacently donned a gladstone hat leaving the rest of his body in its primitive simplicity of attire. like him we began at the wrong end. wealth must pave the way for learning. intellect, whether of races or individuals, cannot soar to the consummation of those sublime products which immortalize genius, while the general mind is assaulted and burdened with “what shall we eat, what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we be clothed.” work must first create wealth, and wealth leisure, before the untrammeled intellect of the negro, or any other race, can truly vindicate its capabilities. something has been done intellectually we all know. that one black man has written a greek grammar is enough to answer calhoun’s sneer; but it is leisure, the natural outgrowth of work and wealth, which must furnish room, opportunity, possibility for the highest endeavor and most brilliant achievement. labor must be the solid foundation stone—the sine qua non of our material value; and the only effective preparation for success in this, as it seems to me, lies in the establishment of industrial and technical schools for teaching our colored youth trades. this necessity is obvious for several reasons. first, a colored child, in most cases, can secure a trade in no other way. we had master mechanics while the negro was a chattel, and the ingenuity of brain and hand served to enrich the coffers of his owner. but to-day skilled labor is steadily drifting into the hands of white workmen—mostly foreigners. here it is cornered. the white engineer holds a tight monopoly both of the labor market and of the science of his craft. nothing would induce him to take a colored apprentice or even to work beside a colored workman. unless then trades are to fall among the lost arts for us as a people, they must be engrafted on those benevolent institutions for negro training established throughout the land. the youth must be taught to use his trigonometry in surveying his own and his neighbor’s farm; to employ his geology and chemistry in finding out the nature of the soil, the constituents drafted from it by each year’s crop and the best way to meet the demand by the use of suitable renewers; to apply his mechanics and physics to the construction and handling of machinery—to the intelligent management of iron works and water works and steam works and electric works. one mind in a family or in a town may show a penchant for art, for literature, for the learned professions, or more bookish lore. you will know it when it is there. no need to probe for it. it is a light that cannot be hid under a bushel—and i would try to enable that mind to go the full length of its desires. let it follow its bent and develop its talent as far as possible: and the whole community might well be glad to contribute its labor and money for the sustenance and cultivation of this brain. just as earth gives its raw material, its carbons, hydrogen, and oxygen, for the tree which is to elaborate them into foliage, flower and fruit, so the baser elements, bread and money furnished the true brain worker come back to us with compound interest in the rich thought, the invention, the poem, the painting, the statue. only let us recognize our assignment and not squander our portion in over fond experiments. james russell lowell says, “as we cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, no more can we perform the opposite experiment without having a fine lot of spoiled silk on our hands.”
-with most of us, however, the material, such as it is, has been already delivered. the working of it up is also well under way. the gold, the silver, the wood, the hay, the stubble, whatever there was at hand has all gone in. now can the world use it? is there a demand for it, does it perform the functions for which it was made, and is its usefulness greater than the cost of its production? does it pay expenses and have anything over.
-the world in putting these crucial questions to men and women, or to races and nations, classifies them under two heads—as consumers or producers. the man who consumes as much as he produces is simply nil. it is no matter to the world economically speaking whether he is in it or out of it. he is merely one more to count in taking the census. the man who consumes more than he produces is a destroyer of the world’s wealth and should be estimated precisely as the housekeeper estimates moths and mice. these are the world’s parasites, the shirks, the lazy lubbers who hang around rum shops and enter into mutual relationships with lamp posts to bear each the other’s burdens, moralizing all the while (wondrous moralists and orators they often are!) and insisting that the world owes them a living! to be sure the world owes them nothing of the kind. the world would consider it a happy riddance from bad rubbish if they would pay up their debt and move over to mars. every day they live their unproductive bodies sink and destroy a regular portion of the world’s values. at the very lowest estimate, a boy who has reached the age of twenty, has already burned up between three and four thousand dollars of the world’s possessions. this is on the very closest and most economical count; i charge him nothing for fuel or lights, allowing him to have warmed by fires that would have burned for others and estimating the cost simply of what he has eaten and worn, i. e. the amount which he has actually sunk of the world’s wealth. i put his board at the moderate sum of ten dollars per month, and charge him the phenomenally small amount of thirty dollars a year for clothing and incidentals. this in twenty years gives him a debt of three thousand dollars, which no honest man should be willing to leave the world without settling. the world does not owe them a living then—the world only waits for them to square up and change their residence. it is only they who produce more than they consume, that the world owes, or even acknowledges as having any practical value.
-now to which class do we belong? the question must in the first place be an individual one for every man of whatever race: am i giving to the world an equivalent of what it has given and is giving me? have i a margin on the outside of consumption for surplus production? we owe it to the world to give out at least as much as we have taken in, but if we aim to be accounted a positive value we must leave it a little richer than we found it. the boy who dies at twenty leaving three thousand dollars in bank to help another, has just paid expenses. if he lives longer it increases his debit and should be balanced by a corresponding increase on the credit side. the life that serves to develop another, the mother who toils to educate her boy, the father who invests his stored-up capital in education, giving to the world the energies and usefulness of his children trained into a well disciplined manhood and womanhood has paid his debt in the very richest coin,—a coin which is always legal tender, a priceless gift, the most precious payment we can make for what we have received. and we may be sure, if we can give no more than a symmetric life, an inspiring thought, a spark caught from a noble endeavor, its value will not be lost.
-previous to 1793 america was able to produce unlimited quantities of cotton, but unable to free the fibre from the seeds. eli whitney came to the rescue of the strangled industry and perfected a machine which did the work needed. the deliverance which he wrought was complete. the following year america’s exports of cotton to england were increased from not one pound in previous years to 1,600,000 pounds. he gave dollars.
-just before the battle of quebec wolf repeated and enjoyed gray’s elegy saying he valued that gem more highly than the capture of the city before which he was encamped. the next day the city was taken and wolf was laid to rest. but the world is in debt to both the poet and the soldier—a boundless debt, to the one for an eternal thought-gem, to the other for immortal heroism and devoted patriotism.
-once there lived among men one whom sorrowing millions for centuries since have joyed to call friend—one whose “come unto me ye that are heavy laden” has given solace and comfort to myriads of the human race. he gave a life.
-we must as individuals compare our cost with what we are able to give. the worth of a race or a nation can be but the aggregate worth of its men and women. while we need not indulge in offensive boasting, it may not be out of place in a land where there is some adverse criticism and not a little unreasonable prejudice, quietly to take account of stock and see if we really represent a value in this great american commonwealth. the average american is never too prejudiced, i think, to have a keen appreciation for the utilities; and he is certainly not behind the rest of the world in his clear perception of the purchasing power of a dollar. beginning here, then, i find that, exclusive of the billions of wealth given by them to enrich another race prior to the passage of the thirteenth amendment, the colored people of america to-day hold in their own right $264,000,000 of taxable property; and this is over and above the $50,000,000 which collapsed in the freedman’s savings bank when that gigantic iniquity paralyzed the hope and shocked the faith of an inexperienced and unfinancial people.
-one would like to be able to give reliable statistics of the agricultural and mechanical products of the colored laborer, but so far i have not been able to obtain them. it is a modest estimate, i am sure, to ascribe fully two-thirds of the 6,940,000 bales of cotton produced in 1888 to negro cultivation. the reports give estimates only in bulk as to the products of a state or county. our efficient and capable census enumerators never draw the color line on labor products. you have no trouble in turning to the page that shows exactly what percentage of colored people are illiterate, or just how many have been condemned by the courts; no use taking the trouble to specify whether it was for the larceny of a ginger cake, or for robbing a bank of a cool half million and skipping off to canada: it’s all crime of course, and crime statistics and illiteracy statistics must be accurately detailed—and colored.
-similar commendable handling meets the colored producer from the managers of our big american show at chicago which we are all so nervously anxious shall put the best foot foremost in bowing to the crowned heads and the gracious lords and ladies from over the waters. to allow any invention or mechanism, art or farm product to be accredited a black man would be drawing the color line! and our immaculate american could never be guilty of anything so vile as drawing a color line!!!
-i am unable to say accurately, then, just how many bales of cotton, pounds of tobacco, barrels of molasses and bushels of corn and wheat are given to the world through negro industry. the same difficulty is met in securing authentic information concerning their inventions and patents. the records of the patent office at washington do not show whether a patentee is white or colored. and all inventions and original suggestions made by a colored man before emancipation were necessarily accredited to some white individual, a slave not being able to take the oath administered to the applicant for a patent. prof. wright, however, by simply collecting through personal inquiry the number of colored patentees which could be remembered and identified by examiners and attorneys practicing before the patent office authorities, published upwards of fifty in the a. m. e. review for april, 1886. doubtless this number was far within the truth, and many new patents have been taken out since his count was made. almost daily in my walk i pass an ordinary looking black man, who, i am told, is considering an offer of $30,000 for his patent rights on a corn planter, which, by the way, has been chosen as part of the ohio exhibit for the columbian exposition. he has secured as many as half a dozen patents within a few years and is carrying around a “new machine” in his head every day.
-granville wood, of cincinnati, has given valuable returns to the world as an electrician; and there is no estimating the money in the outright gift of this people through unremunerated toil. the negro does not always show a margin over and above consumption; but this does not necessarily in his case prove that he is not a producer. during the agitations for adverse legislation against the chinese, the charge was alleged that they spent nothing in the country. they hoarded their earnings, lived on nothing, and finally returned to china to live in luxury and to circulate the wealth amassed in this country. a similar complaint can never be lodged against the negro. poor fellow, he generally lives pretty well up to his income. he labors for little and spends it all. he has never yet gained the full consent of his mind to “take his gruel a little thinner” till his little pile has grown a bit. he does not like to seem short. and had he the wage of a thousand a year his bigheartedness would immediately put him under the painful necessity of having it do the entertainment of five thousand. he must eat, and is miserable if he can’t dress; and seems on the whole internally fitted every way to the style and pattern of a millionaire, rather than to the plain, plodding, stingy old path of common sense and economy. this is a flaw in the material of the creature. the grain just naturally runs that way. if our basal question of economics were put to him: “what do you give—are you adding something every year to the world’s stored up capital?” his ingenuous answer would be, as the ghost of a smile flits across his mobile lips—“yea, lord; i give back all. i am even now living on the prospects of next year’s income. i give my labor at accommodation rates, and forthwith reconvert my wages into the general circulation. funds, somehow, don’t seem to stick to me. i have no talents, or smaller coins either, hid in a napkin.” it will be well for him to learn, however, that it is not what we make but what we save that constitutes wealth. the hod-carrier who toils for $1.50 a day, spending the dollar and laying up the half, is richer than the congressman with an annual income of $5000 and annual duns of $8000. what he most urgently needs to learn is systematic saving. he works hard enough generally—but does not seem able to retrench expenses—to cut off the luxuries which people of greater income and larger foresight, seeing to be costly and unnecessary would deny themselves. he wants to set to work vigorously to widen the margin outside the expenditures. he cannot be too deeply impressed with the fact that tobacco and liquors—even leaving out their moral aspects—are too costly to be indulged in by any who are not living on the interest of capital ready in store. a man living on his earnings should eschew luxuries, if he wishes to produce wealth. but when those luxuries deteriorate manhood, they impoverish and destroy the most precious commodity we can offer the world.
-for after all, the highest gifts are not measurable in dollars and cents. beyond and above the class who run an account with the world and merely manage honestly to pay in kind for what they receive, there is a noble army—the shakespeares and miltons, the newtons, galileos and darwins,—watts, morse, howe, lincoln, garrison, john brown—a part of the world’s roll of honor—whose price of board and keep dwindles into nothingness when compared with what the world owes them; men who have taken of the world’s bread and paid for it in immortal thoughts, invaluable inventions, new facilities, heroic deeds of loving self-sacrifice; men who dignify the world for their having lived in it and to whom the world will ever bow in grateful worship as its heroes and benefactors. it may not be ours to stamp our genius in enduring characters—but we can give what we are at its best.
-miss phillis:— ... i thank you most sincerely for your polite notice of me in the elegant lines you enclosed; and however undeserving i may be of such encomium and panegyric, the style and manner exhibit a striking proof of your poetical talents; in honor of which and as a tribute justly due to you, i would have published the poem had i not been apprehensive that, while i only meant to give the world this new instance of your genius, i might have incurred the imputation of vanity. this and nothing else determined me not to give it place in the public prints. if you should ever come to cambridge or near headquarters, i shall be happy to see a person so favored by the muses, and to whom nature has been so liberal and beneficent in her dispensations. i am, with great respect,
-your obedient humble servant, george washington.
-that girl paid her debts in song.
-in south carolina there are two brothers, colored men, who own and conduct one of the most extensive and successful farms in this country for floriculture. their system of irrigating and fertilizing is the most scientific in the state, and by their original and improved methods of grafting and cultivating they have produced a new and rich variety of the rose called loiseaux, from their name. their roses are famous throughout europe and are specially prized by the french for striking and marvellous beauty. the loiseaux brothers send out the incense of their grateful returns to the world in the sweet fragrance of roses.
-some years ago a poor and lowly orphan girl stood with strange emotions before a statue of benjamin franklin in boston. her bosom heaved and her eyes filled as she whispered between her clenched teeth, “oh, how i would like to make a stone man?” wm. lloyd garrison became her providence and enlarged her opportunity; she paid for it in giving to the world the madonna with the christ and adoring angels, now in the collection of the marquis of bute. from her studio in rome edmonia lewis, the colored sculptress, continues to increase the debt of the world to her by her graceful thoughts in the chaste marble.
-“the deeds of heroism,” he continues, “performed by these colored men were such as the proudest white men might emulate. their colors are torn to pieces by shot, and literally bespattered by blood and brains. the color-sergeant of the 1st la. on being mortally wounded, hugged the colors to his breast when a struggle ensued between the two color-corporals on each side of him as to who should bear the sacred standard—and during this generous contention one of the corporals was wounded. one black lieutenant mounted the enemy’s works three or four times, and in one charge the assaulting party came within fifty paces of them. if only ordinarily supported by artillery and reserve, no one can convince us that they would not have opened a passage through the enemy’s works. captain callioux, of the 1st la., a man so black that he prided himself on his blackness, died the death of a hero leading on his men in the thickest of the fight. one poor wounded fellow came along with his arm shattered by a shell, jauntily swinging it with the other, as he said to a friend of mine: ‘massa, guess i can fight no more.’ i was with one of the captains looking after the wounded, when we met one limping along toward the front. being asked where he was going, he said, ‘i been shot in de leg, cap’n, an’ dey wants me to go to de hospital—but i reckon i c’n gib ’em some mo’ yit.’”
-says major-general banks in the report from headquarters of the army of the gulf, before port hudson, may 30, 1863, writing to major-general halleck, general-in-chief at washington: “the position occupied by the negro troops was one of importance and called for the utmost steadiness and bravery in those to whom it was confided. it gives me pleasure to report that they answered every expectation. their conduct was heroic. no troops could be more determined or more daring.”
-“‘charge!’ trump and drum awoke, onward the bondmen broke; bayonet and sabre-stroke vainly opposed their rush. through the wild battle’s crush, with but one thought aflush, driving their lords like chaff, in the guns’ mouths they laugh; or at the slippery brands leaping with open hands, down they bear man and horse, down in their awful course; trampling with bloody heel over the crashing steel, all their eyes forward bent, rushed the black regiment.
-‘freedom!’ their battle-cry— ‘freedom! or leave to die!’ ah! and they meant the word, not as with us ’tis heard, not a mere party-shout: they gave their spirits out. trusted the end to god, and on the gory sod rolled in triumphant blood!”
-and thus they paid their debt. “they gave—their spirits out!”
-in the heart of what is known as the “black belt” of alabama and within easy reach of the great cotton plantations of georgia, mississippi, and florida, a devoted young colored man ten years ago started a school with about thirty negro children assembled in a comical looking shanty at tuskegee. his devotion was contagious and his work grew; an abandoned farm of 100 acres was secured and that gradually grew to 640 acres, largely wood-land, on which a busy and prosperous school is located; and besides a supply farm was added, of heavy rich land, 800 acres, from which grain and sugar cane are main products. since 1881, 2,947 students have been taught here, of whom 102 have graduated, while 200 more have received enough training to fit them to do good work as teachers, intelligent farmers, and mechanics. the latest enrollment shows girls, 247; boys, 264. of the 102 graduates, 70 per cent. are teachers, ministers and farmers. they usually combine teaching and farming. three are printers (learned the trades at school), one is a tinner, one a blacksmith, one a wheel-wright, three are merchants, three are carpenters, others in the professions or filling miscellaneous positions.
-that man is paying his debt by giving to this country living, working, consecrated men and women!
-now each can give something. it may not be a poem, or marble bust, or fragrant flower even; it may not be ours to place our lives on the altar of country as a loving sacrifice, or even to devote our living activities so extensively as b. t. washington to supplying the world’s need for strong and willing helpers. but we can at least give ourselves. each can be one of those strong willing helpers—even though nature has denied him the talent of endlessly multiplying his force. and nothing less can honorably cancel our debt. each is under a most sacred obligation not to squander the material committed to him, not to sap its strength in folly and vice, and to see at the least that he delivers a product worthy the labor and cost which have been expended on him. a sound manhood, a true womanhood is a fruit which the lowliest can grow. and it is a commodity of which the supply never exceeds the demand. there is no danger of the market being glutted. the world will always want men. the worth of one is infinite. to this value all other values are merely relative. our money, our schools, our governments, our free institutions, our systems of religion and forms of creeds are all first and last to be judged by this standard: what sort of men and women do they grow? how are men and women being shaped and molded by this system of training, under this or that form of government, by this or that standard of moral action? you propose a new theory of education; what sort of men does it turn out? does your system make boys and girls superficial and mechanical? is it a producing of average percentages or a rounding out of manhood,—a sound, thorough, and practical development,—or a scramble for standing and marks?
-we have a notion here in america that our political institutions,—the possibilities of a liberal and progressive democracy, founded on universal suffrage and in some hoped-for, providential way compelling universal education and devotion,—our peculiar american attainments are richly worth all they have cost in blood and anguish. but our form of government, divinely ordered as we dream it to be, must be brought to the bar to be tested by this standard. it is nothing worth of itself—independently of whether it furnishes a good atmosphere in which to cultivate men. is it developing a self-respecting freedom, a sound manliness on the part of the individual—or does it put into the power of the wealthy few the opportunity and the temptation to corrupt the many? if our vaunted “rule of the people” does not breed nobler men and women than monarchies have done—it must and will inevitably give place to something better.
-i care not for the theoretical symmetry and impregnable logic of your moral code, i care not for the hoary respectability and traditional mysticisms of your theological institutions, i care not for the beauty and solemnity of your rituals and religious ceremonies, i care not even for the reasonableness and unimpeachable fairness of your social ethics,—if it does not turn out better, nobler, truer men and women,—if it does not add to the world’s stock of valuable souls,—if it does not give us a sounder, healthier, more reliable product from this great factory of men—i will have none of it. i shall not try to test your logic, but weigh your results—and that test is the measure of the stature of the fullness of a man. you need not formulate and establish the credibility and authenticity of christian evidences, when you can demonstrate and prove the present value of christian men. and this test for systems of belief, for schools of thought, and for theories of conduct, is also the ultimate and inevitable test of nations, of races and of individuals. what sort of men do you turn out? how are you supplying the great demands of the world’s market? what is your true value? this, we may be sure, will be the final test by which the colored man in america will one day be judged in the cool, calm, unimpassioned, unprejudiced second thought of the american people.
-let us then quietly commend ourselves to this higher court—this final tribunal. short sighted idiosyncracies are but transient phenomena. it is futile to combat them, and unphilosophical to be depressed by them. to allow such things to overwhelm us, or even to absorb undue thought, is an admission of weakness. as sure as time is—these mists will clear away. and the world—our world, will surely and unerringly see us as we are. our only care need be the intrinsic worth of our contributions. if we represent the ignorance and poverty, the vice and destructiveness, the vagabondism and parasitism in the world’s economy, no amount of philanthropy and benevolent sentiment can win for us esteem: and if we contribute a positive value in those things the world prizes, no amount of negrophobia can ultimately prevent its recognition. and our great “problem” after all is to be solved not by brooding over it, and orating about it, but by living into it.
-the gain from a belief.
-a solitary figure stands in the marketplace, watching as from some lonely tower the busy throng that hurry past him. a strange contrast his cold, intellectual eye to the eager, strained, hungry faces that surge by in their never ending quest of wealth, fame, glory, bread.
-mark his pallid cheek and haggard brow, and the fitful gleam of those restless eyes like two lone camp-fires on a deserted plain.
-why does that smile, half cynical, half sad, flit across his countenance as he contemplates these mighty heart throbs of human passions and woes, human hopes and human fears? is it pity—is it contempt—is it hate for this struggling, working, believing humanity which curls those lips and settles upon that hitherto indifferent brow?
-who is he?
-earth’s skepticism looking on at the protean antics of earth’s enthusiasms. speculative unbelief, curiously and sneeringly watching the humdrum, commonplace, bread-and-butter toil of unspeculative belief. lofty, unimpassioned agnosticism, that thinks—face to face with hobbling, blundering, unscientific faith, that works.
-dare we approach?
-“sir: i perceive you are not drawn into the whirl-pool of hurrying desires that sweep over earth’s restless sons. your philosophy, i presume, lifts you above the toils and anxieties the ambitions and aspirations of the common herd. pardon me, but do you not feel called to devote those superior powers of yours to the uplifting of your less favored brethren? may not you pour the oil of human kindness and love on these troubled waters? may not your wisdom shape and direct the channel of this tortuous stream, building up here, and clearing out there, till this torrent become once more a smiling river, reflecting heaven’s pure love in its silvery bosom, and again this fruitful valley blossom with righteousness and peace? does not your soul burn within you as you look on this seething mass of struggling, starving, sinning souls? are you not inspired to lift up despairing, sinking, grovelling man,—to wipe the grime and tears from his marred countenance, and bid him look aloft and be strong, repent and be saved, trust god and live!”
-ah! the coldness of the look he turned on me! methought ’twould freeze my soul. “poor fool!” it seemed to say; and yet i could not but think i discovered a trace of sadness as he replied:—
-“what is man?—a curiously fashioned clock; a locomotive, capable of sensations;—a perfected brute. man is a plant that grows and thinks; the form and place of his growth and the product of his thought are as little dependent on his will or effort as are the bark, leaves, and fruit of a tree on its choice. food, soil, climate,—these make up the man,—the whole man, his life, his soul (if he have one). man’s so-called moral sense is a mere dance of molecules; his spiritual nature, a pious invention. remorse is a blunder, repentance is vain, self-improvement or reformation an impossibility. the laws of matter determine the laws of intellect, and these shape man’s nature and destiny and are as inevitable and uncontrollable as are the laws of gravitation and chemical affinity. you would-be reformers know not the stupendous nonsense you are talking. man is as little responsible for vice or crime as for fever or an earthquake. those in whom the cerebrum shows a particular formation, will make their holidays in gambling, betting, drinking, horseracing—their more serious pursuits in stealing, ravening, murdering. they are not immoral any more than a tiger is immoral; they are simply unmoral. they need to be restrained, probably, as pests of society, or submitted to treatment as lunatics. their fellows in whom the white and gray matter of the brain cells are a little differently correlated, will in their merry moods sing psalms and make it their habitual activity to reach out after the unknown in various ways, trying to satisfy the vague and restless longings of what they call their souls by punishing themselves and pampering the poor. i have neither blame nor praise. each class simply believe and do as they must. and as for god—science finds him not. if there be a god—he is unknown and unknowable. the finite mind of man cannot conceive the infinite and eternal. and if such a being exists, he cannot be concerned about the miserable wretches of earth. searching after him is vain. man has simply projected his own personality into space and worshipped it as a god—a person—himself. my utmost knowledge is limited to a series of sensations within, aware of itself; and a possibility of sensations without, both governed by unbending laws within the limits of experience and a reasonable distance beyond.”
-“and beyond that beyond” i ask breathlessly—“beyond that beyond?”
-i am sure i detected just then a tremor as of a chill running through that fragile frame; and the eye, at first thoughtful and coldly scornful only, is now unmistakably shaded with sadness. “beyond that beyond?” he repeated slowly,—beyond that beyond, if there be such,—spaces of darkness and eternal silence!
-whether this prolonged throb of consciousness exist after its external possibilities have been dissolved—i cannot tell. that is to me—a horrible plunge—in the dark! i stand at the confluence of two eternities and three immensities. i see, with pascal, only infinities in all directions which envelop me like an atom—like a shadow which endures for a moment and—will never return! all that i know is that i must die, but what i know the very least of is that very death—which i can not avoid! the eternal silence of these infinite paces maddens me!
-sick at heart, i turn away and ask myself what is this system which, in the words of richter, makes the universe an automaton, and man’s future—a coffin! is this the cold region to which thought, as it moves in its orbit, has brought us in the nineteenth century? is this the germ of the “philosophy of the future”—the exponent of our “advanced ideas,” the “new light” of which our age so uproariously boasts? nay rather is not this monstruum horrendum of our day but a renewal of the empiricism and skepticism of the days of voltaire? here was undoubtedly the nucleus of the cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, which went on increasing in bulk and blackness till it seemed destined to enshroud earth and heaven in the gloom of hell.
-and mr. ingersoll, the american exponent of positivism, in his “why i am an agnostic,” winds up a glittering succession of epigrammatic inconsistencies with these words: “let us be honest with ourselves. in the presence of countless mysteries, standing beneath the boundless heaven sown thick with constellations, knowing that each grain of sand, each leaf, each blade of grass, asks of every mind the answerless question; knowing that the simplest thing defies solution; feeling that we deal with the superficial and the relative and that we are forever eluded by the real, the absolute,—let us admit the limitations of our minds, and let us have the courage and the candor to say: we do not know.”
-it is no part of my purpose to enter into argument against the agnostics. had i the wish, i lack the ability. it is enough for me to know that they have been met by foemen worthy their steel and that they are by no means invincible.
-“the average man,” says mr. ingersoll, “does not reason—he feels.” and surely ’twere presumption for an average woman to attempt more. for my part i am content to ‘feel.’ the brave switzer who sees the awful avalanche stealing down the mountain side threatening death and destruction to all he holds dear, hardly needs any very correct ratiocination on the mechanical and chemical properties of ice. he feels there is danger nigh and there is just time for him to sound the tocsin of alarm and shout to his dear ones ‘fly!’
-for me it is enough to know that by this system god and love are shut out; prayer becomes a mummery; the human will but fixed evolutions of law; the precepts and sanctions of morality a lie; the sense of responsibility a disease. the desire for reformation and for propagating conviction is thus a fire consuming its tender. agnosticism has nothing to impart. its sermons are the exhortations of one who convinces you he stands on nothing and urges you to stand there too. if your creed is that nothing is sure, there is certainly no spur to proselytize. as in an icicle the agnostic abides alone. the vital principle is taken out of all endeavor for improving himself or bettering his fellows. all hope in the grand possibilities of life are blasted. the inspiration of beginning now a growth which is to mature in endless development through eternity is removed from our efforts at self-culture. the sublime conception of life as the seed-time of character for the growing of a congenial inner-self to be forever a constant conscious presence is changed into the base alternative conclusion, let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die.
-to my mind the essence of the poison is just here. as far as the metaphysical grounds for skepticism are concerned, they are as harmless to the masses as if they were entombed in greek or hebrew. many of the terms, it is true, are often committed to memory and paraded pretty much in the spirit of the college sophomore who affects gold-bowed spectacles and stooping shoulders—it is scholarly, you know. but the real reasons for and against agnosticism rest on psychological and scientific facts too abstruse for the laity to appreciate. there is much subtle sophistry in the oracular utterances of a popular speaker like mr. ingersoll, which catch the fancy and charm the imagination of the many. his brilliant blasphemies like the winged seed of the thistle are borne on the slightest breath of wind and find lodgment in the shallowest of soils; while the refutation of them, undertaken in a serious and logical vein is often too conclusive to convince: that is, it is too different in kind to reach the same class of minds that have been inoculated with the poison germs.
-my own object, however, is neither to argue nor to refute argument here. i want to utter just this one truth:—the great, the fundamental need of any nation, any race, is for heroism, devotion, sacrifice; and there cannot be heroism, devotion, or sacrifice in a primarily skeptical spirit. a great man said of france, when she was being lacerated with the frantic stripes of her hysterical children,—france needs a religion! and the need of france during her trying revolution is the need of every crisis and conflict in the evolution of nations and races. at such times most of all, do men need to be anchored to what they feel to be eternal verities. and nothing else at any time can propel men into those sublime efforts of altruism which constitute the moral heroes of humanity. the demand for heroism, devotion and sacrifice founded on such a faith is particularly urgent in a race at almost the embryonic stage of character-building. the hour is now;—where is the man? he must believe in the infinite possibilities of devoted self-sacrifice and in the eternal grandeur of a human idea heroically espoused. it is the enthusiasms, the faiths of the world that have heated the crucibles in which were formed its reformations and its impulses toward a higher growth. and i do not mean by faith the holding of correct views and unimpeachable opinions on mooted questions, merely; nor do i understand it to be the ability to forge cast-iron formulas and dub them truth. for while i do not deny that absolute and eternal truth is,—still truth must be infinite, and as incapable as infinite space, of being encompassed and confined by one age or nation, sect or country—much less by one little creature’s finite brain.
-to me, faith means treating the truth as true. jesus believed in the infinite possibilities of an individual soul. his faith was a triumphant realization of the eternal development of the best in man—an optimistic vision of the human aptitude for endless expansion and perfectibility. this truth to him placed a sublime valuation on each individual sentiency—a value magnified infinitely by reason of its immortal destiny. he could not lay hold of this truth and let pass an opportunity to lift men into nobler living and firmer building. he could not lay hold of this truth and allow his own benevolence to be narrowed and distorted by the trickeries of circumstance or the colorings of prejudice.
-life must be something more than dilettante speculation. and religion (ought to be if it isn’t) a great deal more than mere gratification of the instinct for worship linked with the straight-teaching of irreproachable credos. religion must be life made true; and life is action, growth, development—begun now and ending never. and a life made true cannot confine itself—it must reach out and twine around every pulsing interest within reach of its uplifting tendrils. if then you believe that intemperance is a growing vice among a people within touch of your sympathies; if you see that, whereas the “lord had shut them in,” so that from inheritance there are but few cases of alcoholized blood,—yet that there is danger of their becoming under their changed circumstances a generation of inebriates—if you believe this, then this is your truth. take up your parable and in earnestness and faith give it out by precept and by example.
-do you believe that the god of history often chooses the weak things of earth to confound the mighty, and that the negro race in america has a veritable destiny in his eternal purposes,—then don’t spend your time discussing the ‘negro problem’ amid the clouds of your fine havanna, ensconced in your friend’s well-cushioned arm-chair and with your patent leather boot-tips elevated to the opposite mantel. do those poor “cowards in the south” need a leader—then get up and lead them! let go your purse-strings and begin to live your creed. or is it your modicum of truth that god hath made of one blood all nations of the earth; and that all interests which specialize and contract the broad, liberal, cosmopolitan idea of universal brotherhood and equality are narrow and pernicious, then treat that truth as true. don’t inveigh against lines of longitude drawn by others when at the same time you are applying your genius to devising lines of latitude which are neither race lines, nor character lines, nor intelligence lines—but certain social-appearance circlets assorting your “universal brotherhood” by shapes of noses and texture of hair. if you object to imaginary lines—don’t draw them! leave only the real lines of nature and character. and so whatever the vision, the revelation, the idea, vouchsafed you,
-think it truly and thy thoughts shall the soul’s famine feed. speak it truly and each word of thine shall be a fruitful seed; live it truly and thy life shall be a grand and holy creed!
-macaulay has left us in his masterly description of ignatius loyola a vivid picture of the power of a belief and its independence of material surroundings.
-‘on the road from the theatine convent in venice might have been seen once a poor crippled spaniard, wearily but as fast as his injured limbs can carry him making his way toward rome. his face is pinched, his body shrunken, from long fast and vigil. he enters the city of the cæsars without money, without patrons, without influence! but there burns a light in his eye that recks not of despair. in a frequented portion of a busy street he stops and mounts a stone, and from this rude rostrum begins to address the passers by in barbarous latin. lo, there is contagion in the man! he has actually imparted of his spirit to that mottled audience! and now the same fire burns in a hundred eyes, that shone erewhile from his. men become his willing slaves to do his bidding even unto the ends of the earth. with what courage, what zeal, what utter self-abnegation, with what blind devotion to their ends regardless of means do they preach, teach, write, act! behind the thrones of kings, at the bedside of paupers, under every disguise in every land, mid pestilence and famine, in prisons oft, in perils by land and perils by sea, the jesuit, undaunted, pursues his way.’
-do you seek to know the secret charm of ignatius loyola, the hidden spring of the jesuit’s courage and unfaltering purpose? it is these magic words, “i believe.” that is power. that is the stamping attribute in every impressive personality, that is the fire to the engine and the motor force in every battery. that is the live coal from the altar which at once unseals the lips of the dumb—and that alone which makes a man a positive and not a negative quantity in the world’s arithmetic. with this potent talisman man no longer “abideth alone.” he cannot stand apart, a cold spectator of earth’s pulsing struggles. the flame must burst forth. the idea, the doctrine, the device for betterment must be imparted. “i believe,”—this was strength and power to paul, to mohammed, to the saxon monk and the spanish zealot,—and they must be our strength if our lives are to be worth the living. they mean as much to-day as they did in the breast of luther or of loyola. who cheats me of this robs me of both shield and spear. without them i have no inspiration to better myself, no inclination to help another.
-it is small service to humanity, it seems to me, to open men’s eyes to the fact that the world rests on nothing. better the turtle of the myths, than a perhaps. if “fooled they must be, though wisest of the wise,” let us help to make them the fools of virtue. you may have learned that the pole star is twelve degrees from the pole and forbear to direct your course by it—preferring your needle taken from earth and fashioned by man’s device. the slave brother, however, from the land of oppression once saw the celestial beacon and dreamed not that it ever deviated from due north. he believed that somewhere under its beckoning light, lay a far away country where a man’s a man. he sets out with his heavenly guide before his face—would you tell him he is pursuing a wandering light? is he the poorer for his ignorant hope? are you the richer for your enlightened suspicion?
-yes, i believe there is existence beyond our present experience; that that existence is conscious and culturable; and that there is a noble work here and now in helping men to live into it.
-“not in utopia,—subterraneous fields,— or some secreted island, heaven knows where! but in this very world, which is the world of all of us—the place where in the end we find our happiness, or not at all!”
-there are nations still in darkness to whom we owe a light. the world is to be moved one generation forward—whether by us, by blind force, by fate, or by god! if thou believest, all things are possible; and as thou believest, so be it unto thee.
-the tantalus death
-by ross rocklynne
-"give us water, or we perish!" but the conclave of nations denied the red planet's frantic plea. so began the reign of terror ... a martian judgement that plunged the earth into hideous chaos.
-the master conclave of the sectional governors of the world state was in its first day of session. the speaker, about to call for a motion of adjournment, rose, looked about the packed tiers of seats as if searching for someone. relief came to his face--and was replaced by annoyance as the huge, double doors swung open.
-a being, resplendent in colorful uniform, of human shape but twelve feet tall, entered.
-in the resigned silence that followed, the doorman announced,
-"olduk, the martian ambassador!"
-all eyes followed the massive, wrinkled old form as it made its way slowly through the aisles.
-olduk paused and bowed. he said, in his guttural, unnatural tones, "olduk thanks you."
-"you wished to speak before the assembly?"
-"yes, please. the rostrum may i use?"
-"yes," said the speaker, "the rostrum you may use."
-a titter of laughter spread through the tiered seats.
-"why does he keep up with this farce?" one asked. "every year he gets up on the rostrum, and makes a speech, asking, as usual, for water. he's been denied exactly ten times."
-"he'll get it in the neck this time," olduk heard the other say knowingly. "the spanish and japanese sectional governors have had several bills thrown out this session, and they're spoiling for an argument. and whatever they say, they'll be speaking for the world."
-olduk--called jokingly the old duck--wended his way between the aisles toward the rostrum, drawing his cape about him. the cape was not an affectation. he realized that as a martian he possessed several unhuman appendages which human beings did not care to look upon.
-he faced the session, his wrinkled old face expressionless, though his double-lidded eyes conveyed the seriousness with which he faced his problem.
-he set the beaker down. his reddish eyes swept the assembly.
-he said, "i am ever thankful you me to speak allow. think, i will tell you what i wish, fellow delegates.
-"difficult me to talk this language, though here i have lived on earth twenty years, making friends with earthmen. i am not as i was in leaving mars. i am changed with sundry operations, that i may live here well. thus my voice is hard to speak, and harder still to learn difficult language. laughing i will not like, please?"
-he paused. his abnormally receptive ears again picked up the whisperings of the two secretaries.
-"he's said exactly the same thing the past five sessions."
-olduk said in his impersonal voice:
-"before i make my plea for the water my planet needs, let me tell a myth that i read with enjoyment. it is the story of tantalus, fellow delegates. tantalus was placed by the gods in a river of purest water; when he wished to drink, recede the water would. so his thirst for ages tortured him.
-"poor tantalus," said olduk.
-"shall mars be tantalus? or shall earth be tantalus?"
-"mars is tantalus," a whisper floated from the gallery.
-the laughter came again, a little insolently this time.
-the japanese sectional governor rose, and said, sucking in his breath, "why does not the thirsty olduk speak, instead of drinking all the speaker's water?"
-this time the laughter was more open. the speaker rapped with his gavel, and order was restored.
-olduk said, "there is more water on earth than five billion olduks could drink.
-"but i will speak, as i have spoken years in and years over.
-"i shall review the history of things. forty-five years ago great swarms of martians descended on earth and engaged in war. they wished to conquer earth. fortunately succeeded not. there became a hatred between the two peoples. this hatred has endured, without reason."
-"without reason?" said the japanese governor.
-"doubtless," said olduk, "you have neglected to follow history, of own people and of what occurred before martians made war. not until after the war did martians know that earthmen could be peaceful. before the war, earthmen slaughtered great numbers of martians. so martians did not feel bad when they wished to slaughter numbers of earthmen."
-"there was the second war," sarcastically.
-"the second war the war of water, as the first. earth no good for us, see? wished water only. the second war we fought because earth would not sell us water any price at; so we would conquer her and levy water tribute. fortunately did not succeed. try more friendly means, which is why i, olduk and seven of associates, changed by operations from real martians, are here."
-olduk paused. he resumed carefully, cocking his massive head to one side.
-"come to earth, i and seven. give earth scientific secrets. learn earth language and customs. prove friendliness for water."
-the spanish governor rose, cleared his throat. "bribes!" he said loudly.
-"bribes?" said olduk.
-"bribes! gentlemen, olduk has made his plea for ten years, and for ten years, in the best interests of the world state, we have refused him. why? because if you sell the martians water, their population will increase to the point where they are able to conquer earth. remember that it was our numbers and not our science that won out over the martians in the two wars.
-"this question has been an annoyance! from now on, i vote no on the subject, and move to have this question off our hands for good. furthermore, i move that the act which gave the martians the right to sit on the master conclave be stricken out of the world constitution!"
-olduk said, "my people will die--" when every member of the conclave rose and shouted out his agreement with the spanish governor.
-olduk drew his cape tighter around his twelve-foot body.
-he said, "then i have been refused forever. but i have no feelings of enmity. allow me fully to explain situation once more, so that you may possibly feel sorry for my people. we are million in number--ideal, yes? not canned like sardines on earth, yes? million enough, fortunately. but without water, in century, none. see? our birth rate falls.
-"but no, my people do not suffer of thirst. there become less people to drink. but it is cruel of earth to kill a race because they hate. therefore, all read story of tantalus--interesting, see?
-"poor tantalus," in his expressively expressionless voice. "poor tantalus. many persons of earth would not like to be tantalus, thus receive justice reserved for poets."
-olduk walked over to the speaker and said something to him. the speaker frowned, and then resignedly signaled an orderly.
-"a gallon of water for mr. olduk."
-the session erupted with a wave of general laughter.
-the water was brought. olduk placed the beaker to his thin lips, tossed the contents off.
-he swept the assembly with his eyes.
-his left arm--or what appeared to be a left arm, so covered with the cape was it--fumbled at his right wrist.
-he said once more, gutturally, "yes, poor tantalus."
-he stepped down from the rostrum, and with slow dignified step left the conclave room.
-the hundred odd members of the conclave settled back in their seats after olduk had gone. the session was resumed.
-the speaker, listening to the monotonous reading of a bill, reached absently for the water carafe, tilted it. the water did not pour. the speaker tilted the carafe further--and further--suddenly the water made its exit.
-it fell from the carafe, the entire contents, struck against the glass, knocked the glass over, bounced off the table into the air, and thence to the floor.
-there the water, a half-gallon of it, tightly rolled into a neat, compact sphere, bounced up and down several times, and then subsided on the floor as clear and flawless as crystal glass.
-the speaker stared at it.
-the members of the conclave stared at it.
-the speaker turned to the gaping orderly.
-"that's a glass ball," he said harshly, accusingly.
-"no, it isn't," the orderly chattered. "that's water! i filled the carafe with water."
-the speaker looked at it again, and then walked to the sphere, the conclave watching him in fascination.
-the speaker scooped up the ball in two hands. then he tried to drop it. he couldn't. his fingers seemed curled around the ball, crushed close together. his hands couldn't draw apart.
-he tried to shake the sphere away. he tried harder, and then violently, working himself into a sudden frenzy. the sphere of water clung to his hands, and his hands were locked as effectively as if handcuffs had been placed around the wrists. he got control of himself and turned to face the conclave, white-faced.
-"it can't be water," he said hoarsely, "but i think it is!"
-and looking at the glass ball, he was conscious of a sudden thirst; but he knew he couldn't drink, although he held in his hands four times more water than he needed to quench his thirst.
-in the martian legation building, olduk faced his seven associates.
-"it is done," he said, in the martian dialect of his native state. "the earthmen have chosen their hell and will soon experience it. you have your tickets? then go at once."
-the youngest of the attaches said pleadingly, "sir, we can't go and leave you. who knows how long the earthmen will hold out?"
-"all that will happen will happen to olduk. go, before you are refused permission to leave. tell our people they are to be relentless, until the earthmen give in. now go."
-the attaches no longer questioned his commands. olduk was left alone.
-the gong sounded on his television screen; olduk threw the switch. the face of the manager of world broadcasters appeared.
-"you will appear and speak in two minutes," he said. olduk stood before the television screen, waiting until the proper second. he had planned the time of this speech and the "hell" chosen by earth would not begin until he was well into it. the speaker of the conclave had not yet thirsted. the moment came, and olduk was introduced briefly, as his image broadcasted.
-"olduk, the martian ambassador, speaking for his people--"
-olduk said gutturally, "olduk greets you, people of earth, and regrets that he cannot drink with you.
-"all read story of tantalus, people of earth. an old grecian myth it is, come true. interesting, see?
-"olduk is sorry. will you believe olduk? he is sorry. olduk says, please do not touch water. please do not touch water...."
-the diving champion of the world puffed out his chest, feigning complete nonchalance as five thousand admiring people looked up at him where he stood as resplendant as an angel on the diving platform.
-"ladeeeeeees and gentlemannnnnnnn!" the loudspeaker blared. "pedro morestes, the handsomest man in the world, and the most perfect physical specimen by the olivar test, is about to break the world's diving record of all time. four hundred feet lie between him and the glistening surface of this world-famed pool!
-"watch him, hold your breath, ladees and gentleman, there he goooooooosssss--"
-pedro morestes ran with light graceful steps toward the end of the diving board. the board flung him upward, and he seemed to stop for an infinitesimal second, poised like a bird, with the pool far below, and gasping people staring upward.
-one of those people watching had his wrist radio tuned to world broadcasters.
-"please," said olduk's clearly audible radio voice, "do not touch water. if things strange happen to water, do not touch, please?"
-pedro morestes began his dazzling drop downward, twisting, twining, going through all the intricate convolutions that four hundred feet would allow him.
-now! a loop, a twist, straighten out for the last fifty feet, cut the water as clean as an arrow cutting the air.
-pedro morestes eyes popped. a hoarse scream escaped his lips.
-where was the flat surface that should receive him?
-where were the little wavelets that usually betokened the presence of water?
-why did the entire pool bulge up in the middle, and drop at the sides?
-why was it that the whole pool had been replaced by an immense hemisphere of glass?
-pedro morestes screamed, squirmed, twisted, came down with a bone crushing shock on the bulging surface, his posterior foremost.
-he bounced upward for fifty feet, fell again, bounced again, fell, bounced, fell--and was locked, flat on his back, by an invisible vise that not only held him rigid, but threatened to crush him from all sides.
-the crowd stared in pure fright. the pool of water had become--a hemisphere of glass? and pedro morestes, world's diving champion, lay atop that gleaming sphere, ribs and one leg broken, unable to move a muscle....
-"damn that kid," said sam, throwing his newspaper to the floor.
-"i wanna drink," wailed the damned kid, from the bedroom.
-"all right, keep your pants on," growled sam surlily. he went out to the kitchen, leaving the radio on. it had been jabbering for some time, something about olduk.
-"please," said the radio voice of olduk, "do not touch water. tell your friends, my friends, not to touch water...."
-sam got a glass out of the cupboard, held it under the faucet, turned the faucet on.
-the water came out, well enough, but it wasn't water.
-"what the hell," sam said incredulously.
-a big drop was suspended from the faucet, was growing bigger as the faucet fed it.
-sam watched while it became six inches, a foot in diameter.
-the glass fell from his paralyzed fingers. "what the hell!" he yelled hoarsely.
-"i wanna glass of water," the damned kid wailed.
-olduk said, clearly and distinctly, "i am sorry you are not able to drink, see?..."
-"all right, you'll get your water," sam panted excitedly, only vaguely conscious that the radio was going.
-he watched the spheroid grow and grow. still suspended from the faucet, it touched the sink. then the "drop" grew up around the faucet until the faucet was completely enclosed.
-it was three feet in diameter; and another one was growing from the faucet.
-"i wanna drink of water," said the damned kid, waddling into the kitchen, rubbing its eyes.
-those eyes brightened as they saw the gleaming sphere. a grimy hand reached out and touched it. against his will, the whole arm of the kid was drawn against the sphere, and the rest of the body was drawn with it, legs snapped together, one arm locked to its side, the other curled to the breaking point over its head.
-sam roared but he was too late. the bewildered kid's nose touched the sphere, and his whole face was drawn, in, so that all air was cut off.
-sam grabbed hold of him, and pulled frantically, madly, until he was panting. then he let go, screaming, and ran for the cupboard. it was some seconds before he found an ax. by the time he got back, the second drop had fallen, had merged with the first, forming a sphere five feet in diameter, with the kid plastered against it.
-sam swung the ax. the sharp blade hit, actually penetrated the sphere. sam yelled. the ax was literally sucked in. sam refused to let go, and his hands went into the water after the ax. there was a terrible contratcile force on his wrists. then something seemed rushing up his arms. the something enclosed his body with the speed of a striking snake.
-the next thing he knew, water had smothered his nose, his mouth, and he was inside, looking out.
-he was staring into the smothered face of the damned kid.
-shortly after that he drowned. he couldn't get out. another drop fell, another, and another, another, another, adding themselves to the original mass....
-on the high seas, the s.s. wilcox battered through rising, flooding seas.
-the captain stood on the bridge, yelling orders to his men below.
-the first mate flung water from his face, gritted, "we'll never make port."
-a sailor came up the companionway, steadying himself on the handrail.
-"there's water pouring through a hole in a forward section," he gasped hoarsely. "we can't caulk it. she's sinking at the stem."
-the captain watched while sailors donned lifebelts, jumped to boat stations. boats were swung out, and eased down by the rail. passengers, herded by calm officers, came on to the deck. the ship gave another sickening roll. a lifeboat was dashed to matchsticks.
-"it's no use," the quartermaster said hoarsely. he gripped the rail, staring out over the raging sea, where mountainous waves were sending the s.s. wilcox to her doom.
-the captain said slowly, "i wish i were what cadmus wished he was. i wish i could command the waves of the sea to vanish."
-... an astounding thing happened.
-as if a gigantic beer skimmer had been run over the surface of the sea in all directions, the tops of the waves seemed abruptly to round. the troughs filled, the crests dropped. the roar of water against the flanks of the ship ceased. the waves ceased, though the wind still roared, and whined.
-the quartermaster's eyes widened in startled terror, and he looked askance at his captain.
-the captain said blankly, "god or the devil or me!"
-the waves were gone. the s.s. wilcox ceased pitching. a sailor came up and told the captain that although the hole was still there, the water of the open sea visible through it had seemed to turn into a rigid surface that wouldn't let the water in. the ship was no longer sinking.
-as far as the eye could see the atlantic ocean was a calm smooth stretch of water, with the inflexible rigidity of glass....
-the champion of the world was saved by the bell. his excited, panic-stricken manager picked up a pitcher of water, and threw the entire contents in the heavy-weight's face. the entire contents was in the form of a hard sphere of water. the sphere struck the dazed, almost unconscious fighter on the forehead. it was the only case on record of a fighter being knocked out between rounds....
-"i am sorry you are not able to drink, when there is so much water around you. but you must not touch it, see? olduk must not touch it either. tell all your friends. thank you," olduk concluded.
-he bowed and turned away, leaving the station manager to do the rest.
-then he placed his twelve foot body into a specially made chair, and waited. the waiting was not long. a knock came on the door, and the door was thrust open. five men in civilian clothes stood there.
-"you, olduk," said one in an ugly tone. "you're under arrest."
-the five men circled him.
-olduk drew his cape tighter about him. "very well," he complied, and led the way out of the room, thinking wistfully of his native planet.
-he was taken before the chief of the secret service of the world state. the speaker of the master conclave, and the japanese and spanish sectional governors were there. he was forced to a seat.
-olduk's eyes rested on the sphere of the water in the speaker's hands. his eyes flickered briefly. the speaker glared at him wildly.
-"the longer i hold this thing," he whispered, panting, "the thirstier i get. and i can't drink! what will i do?"
-olduk said emotionlessly, "honorable sir, you will have to hold it until there is an agreement to give my people water. now we are all tantaluses."
-the iron-gray individual who was the chief of the secret service, ran his tongue around in his dry mouth.
-"you did this?" he said huskily.
-"yes," said olduk.
-the man took a paper off his desk, unfolded it in front of olduk's eyes.
-olduk read the headline emotionlessly:
-world in turmoil; drinking impossible
-"i did that, yes," said olduk quietly. "many people will die. tantalus, yes? but there is a tantalus on mars, too."
-the iron-gray man struck him harshly across the mouth.
-"how did you do it?" he rasped.
-"a water-tight ship lies buried ten miles beneath the surface of the atlantic ocean. a simple radio signal started the mechanism that eventually released the force."
-"the force that will make it impossible for people of earth to drink, honorable sir."
-"what signal will make the mechanism stop?" again olduk was struck across the face, harshly, brutally. a thin yellow ichor started to run down olduk's impassive face.
-"the signal is known only to my people on mars. thus it was arranged."
-"you're a liar, olduk!"
-the man lit a cigar, and while the speaker turned away, sickened, he brought it closer to olduk, meanwhile talking rapidly.
-"liners are stranded in the ocean, unable to move. their passengers can't drink. the power house at niagara is useless; the water comes over the falls in drops as big as houses. people are beginning to suffer from thirst. i know a martian named olduk who's going to burn alive if he doesn't tell us how to stop the mechanism."
-the cigar contacted, lingered. there was a sulphurous odor.
-tiny muscles on the martian's face began to tense. sweat broke out on his face.
-"you cannot harm me," he said steadily. "can only kill me. if you kill me, mankind die. we of mars have then a planet of water to ourselves. that's my warning. heed me."
-the chief of the secret service said ragingly, "throw him into a cell, the dirty--! we'll work on him later!"
-after olduk was taken away, the iron-gray man looked at the speaker.
-"what do we do now?"
-the speaker looked in horror at the sphere of water in his hand. "we'll have to give in--"
-"damned if we will," the other snarled, pacing up and down. "if we could find out where that ship is, we could send a super-tension ship down and blow it to--" he stopped, his eyes lighting. he wheeled. "didn't olduk say 'ten miles' below the surface? damn! there aren't many places that deep--" he snapped his fingers, and reached for a phone.
-three hours later, a bullet-shaped rocket ship, able to withstand thousands of tons' pressure, and reinforced with an intangible force-field, fled away from the continent, bound for the maracot deep; for such was the first choice, and, as it happened, it was the last.
-high above the ocean, the pilot turned the craft nose-down, and poured full power into his jets.
-the craft plunged for the surface of the hard ocean, at frightful velocity; struck; penetrated; was under, velocity broken almost in three by the terrific impact. the ship bored down, powerful searchlights playing on swarms of startled fishes. down, down. the pilot made an exclamation, grinned his triumph. here, ten miles down, they saw the hulk of the ship that was causing such destruction in the world above.
-the pilot signaled one of his subordinates. the man pulled a lever. the craft's entire load of super-explosives sank downward toward the menace.
-the pilot sent his ship blasting for the surface. seconds later he heard and felt the tremendous vibration that, he knew, heralded the end of the menace. he went toward the surface, and when within fifty feet of it, sent a blast of power into his jets.
-the ship struck something, like a wall, hard, unyielding, and the pilot and his assistants were thrown against the instrument board. they recovered their senses.
-the pilot looked at the other men.
-"ten tons of helio-hydrogen didn't do the trick," he said softly. "what will? you know, i almost forgot. the science of the martians is way ahead of ours. naturally, that ship wouldn't be exactly tender...."
-he knew it was useless. he had no more explosives. he shoved every atom of power he had into his jets, but the ship could not move more than forty miles an hour under water. for a moment it seemed the blunt nose of the ship was going to penetrate the incredibly tough under-surface of that film, but no....
-the pilot said, grinning crookedly, "say your prayers, boys, and here's hoping they give the old duck what he wants--quick."
-two days passed. three billion people stared into the face of eternity. rivers, lakes, oceans were full. there were reservoirs of clear, sparkling water, from which laboring pumps could take water, pumping it to homes, making it accessible, forcing it out of faucets.
-but it was untouchable. the water came out in impenetrable spheres.
-they lay like jewels in the homes of most people. people stood around and stared at them, longingly, yet not daring to touch them. they had heard several stories about people who had touched them.
-within the spheres, the water was clearly visible for what it was; which made it all the harder to resist. the world now knew, by the word of scientists, that nothing but a thin surface of molecules, strengthened by a million times, lay between them and the water their bodies thirsted for. surface tension, acted upon by a strange force, broadcasted from a mechanism ten miles beneath the surface of the atlantic.
-another day passed. the mills of industry, working by steam, and the things that depended on water, came to a halt. power was weak, for it was fed from fast depleting accumulators. the tide machines were useless, for the ocean no longer fell or rose more than a foot in any one place.
-numberless ships were stranded on the oceans, their screws able to turn, but their bows unable to push against the enormous contractile force that the surface of the ocean possessed.
-water was all around them, but they were the children of tantalus.
-newspapers began to demand, in stringent tones, that the situation be remedied. crowds gathered outside the world administration building, shouting for water, and they were fully willing to go to the extreme of meeting the demands of the martians to get it.
-the speaker of the master conclave, and the japanese and spanish sectional governors, stood in a room on the upper floor of the world administration building.
-the room was a kitchen.
-on the floor lay a huge, polished, glistening drop of water.
-"that's what it is, gentlemen," said the speaker. "a drop of water, just what you'd expect if the surface tension of water increased a million times. the surface film acts like a tight skin or jacket surrounding a drop of water, and the jacket contracts down to the least possible area, a sphere. if you put your hands on it--the way i've got my hands on this damned thing--you increase the 'coastline,' and the surface film doesn't like that. it tries to decrease the coastline formed by your fingers, so your fingers are crushed together. if you managed to actually penetrate the film, and get your hands wet, the terrific capillary action of the molecules would cause the surface film to literally envelop you, and you'd be inside, and you couldn't get out.... what are we going to do about it?"
-his face was drawn and haggard and sunken.
-the spanish governor said hoarsely, "we couldn't give in, could we?"
-"no!" the japanese governor lashed out savagely; but in a moment a fleeting smile crossed his face. "send for olduk," he said.
-olduk entered the room, unsteadily, supported by two plain-clothesmen. his face was clean of blood, but the little, horrible marks inflicted on him were all too evident.
-"you wished to see me?" he said in a hoarse whisper. his eyes were bloodshot.
-"yes. what do you want of earth, explicitly?"
-"water, honorable sir. water for my people. as much as we wish, when we wish it, at a reasonable price; and we also desire friendship, so that we may help each other."
-"you do no less to my people, honorable sir. olduk is sorry, see?" he weaved, caught onto a chair to support himself. his leathery, parchment face seemed more wrinkled and bloodless than ever before. his reddish eyes held a deep, pleading hope.
-"we are children of tantalus, all," he whispered. "it is not right that we live in a mythical hades, see, honorable sirs? give my people water--"
-he pitched forward on his face. the speaker started toward him, his eternal sphere of water in his hands, but the japanese stopped him, held him back from the sprawling, twelve-foot figure.
-he said, "have you ever studied martian psychology?"
-"n-no," said the speaker, puzzled.
-"the theory is that they are incapable of dishonesty, and therefore they do not believe it exists. of course, it's only a theory, and nobody believes it, but why couldn't we try it out?"
-the speaker was startled. "you mean we should give them our word, and then back out on it?"
-"yes," the japanese sucked in his breath. he saw the hesitation on the speaker's face, and said with icy, mocking disdain, "are you going to give water to a race whose sole purpose will be to increase their population so they can conquer earth? think, fool! do you want to hold that sphere of water in your hands forever?" he smirked. "in the interval of peace, we can go to the maracot deep, lift that sunken ship out without having to worry about a surface film. we can take it to dry land, and with a little work, cut the ship open, destroy the mechanism. with that destroyed--"
-his contempt, and his reference to the maddening sphere of water the speaker held, wilted the speaker.
-"we'll do it," he said slowly, casting an uneasy look at the sprawled martian.
-thirty minutes later, the three men watched the sphere of water in the speaker's hands. a radiogram had been sent across 126,000,000 miles to mars. mars' answer, if it was affirmative and entirely trusting, would come not in the form of a radiogram but in the immediate return of earth to its natural fluid state.
-they watched the rigid sphere in fascination. even now, the radio signal that would cause the mechanism to cease might be winging its way across space between two planets.
-when the sphere broke, if it did, three billion thirsty human beings would drink with the maddening impatience of tantalus himself, released from his eternal doom.
-... the sphere seemed to quiver. suddenly it sagged, flattened out without a sound, its sphericity gone. the speaker uttered a cry, and dashed his hands to his face, gulping in as much of the precious stuff as he could before it dribbled away from his hands. the japanese and spanish governors turned rapidly to faucets, and the water, clear, sparkling, normal, streamed out....
-for a short time the three of them were like animals. then, gradually, they stopped drinking, and stood back, slightly ashamed.
-the spanish governor said, suggestively, "we'd better get that ship fished out before the martians realize they are not going to get water after all. otherwise--"
-the speaker nodded. he turned away, to go into his study, when he stumbled over the prone body of olduk, the martian. a twinge of guilt assailed him. he stooped and turned olduk over.
-olduk's double-lidded eyes were open. olduk's skin was as dry as his native sands. olduk was either dead or dying.
-the speaker troubledly called a doctor. the doctor made a brief examination, handling the body distastefully. suddenly he stifled an exclamation.
-"i can't believe this!" he said hoarsely. he got to his feet, stared first at the speaker, then at olduk again.
-"do you know what he died from?" he stammered. "do you know, gentlemen!"
-and the speaker knew.
-the master conclave was again assembled, for the fourth and last day, its members well-watered, and well satisfied with themselves.
-the speaker said, standing on the rostrum where olduk had stood four days before, "i want to make a short talk, and call for a standing vote.
-"earth has water again. we acquired it by a simple trick, that of dishonesty. i was fully to blame. men are now at work in the maracot deep, in super-tension ships raising the martian ship to the surface. there is no reason to doubt that a means to destroy the mechanism that caused so much trouble will be found. we won't have to keep our agreement with the martians. i want to know if this action of mine meets with your approval."
-the entire body stood to its feet.
-"we were forced to it," the japanese governor said to the assembly at large.
-the speaker waved them to their seats again. "i did not call for a standing vote, yet. i have more to say before i ask for your filial decision."
-he resumed carefully, giving each word its proper significance.
-"the old duck was a martian--but in body he was not a martian. he told us that. he had been changed with 'sundry operations,' so that he could live in this climate, so different from that of mars. air pressure, oxygen content, moisture, content gravity. to each he was acclimated by surgical operations.
-"yes," continued the speaker, something catching in his voice, "he was changed in such a way that the terrific amount of moisture in the atmosphere of the earth could be taken care of by his body. in order to make that possible, his twelve-foot body was given a capacity for water proportionately three times greater than that of any terrestrial!
-"gentlemen," said the speaker, while an air of startled tenseness grew in the tiered seats, "olduk died of thirst."
-he was silent.
-he said strainedly, "i wanted to know if my action of deceit met with your approval. i require a standing vote."
-the japanese governor rose slowly. he had to. he sent a look at the spanish governor. the spanish governor kept his seat.
-the japanese governor stood alone, like a monument to the thoughtless guilt of the others.
-the speaker sat that night before his desk, drinking a glass of water.
-he said to the shadows, "i drink with you, olduk!"
-he slowly wrote out a treasury requisition, and in the space marked reason for application wrote: "for the free transportation of a gift of ten million gallons of water to the martians, as a gesture of friendship from earth."
-this ebook was produced by david widger <widger@cecomet.net>
-pierre and his people
-tales of the far north
-by gilbert parker
-volume 1. the patrol of the cypress hills god's garrison a hazard of the north
-volume 2. a prairie vagabond she of the triple chevron three outlaws
-volume 3. shon mcgann's tobogan ride pere champagne the scarlet hunter the stone
-volume 4. the tall master the crimson flag the flood in pipi valley
-volume 5. antoine and angelique the cipher a tragedy of nobodies a sanctuary of the plains
-with each volume of this subscription edition (1912) there is a special introduction, setting forth, in so far as seemed possible, the relation of each work to myself, to its companion works, and to the scheme of my literary life. only one or two things, therefore, need be said here, as i wish god-speed to this edition, which, i trust, may help to make old friends warmer friends and new friends more understanding. most of the novels and most of the short stories were suggested by incidents or characters which i had known, had heard of intimately, or, as in the case of the historical novels, had discovered in the works of historians. in no case are the main characters drawn absolutely from life; they are not portraits; and the proof of that is that no one has ever been able to identify, absolutely, any single character in these books. indeed, it would be impossible for me to restrict myself to actual portraiture. it is trite to say that photography is not art, and photography has no charm for the artist, or the humanitarian indeed, in the portrayal of life. at its best it is only an exhibition of outer formal characteristics, idiosyncrasies, and contours. freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind. as will be noticed in the introductions and original notes to several of these volumes, it is stated that they possess anachronisms; that they are not portraits of people living or dead, and that they only assume to be in harmony with the spirit of men and times and things. perhaps in the first few pages of 'the right of way' portraiture is more nearly reached than in any other of these books, but it was only the nucleus, if i may say so, of a larger development which the original charley steele never attained. in the novel he grew to represent infinitely more than the original ever represented in his short life.
-that would not be strange when it is remembered that the germ of the 'right of way' was growing in my mind over a long period of years, and it must necessarily have developed into a larger conception than the original character could have suggested. the same may be said of the chief characters in 'the weavers'. the story of the two brothers--david claridge and lord eglington--in that book was brewing in my mind for quite fifteen years, and the main incidents and characters of other novels in this edition had the same slow growth. my forthcoming novel, called 'the judgment house', had been in my mind for nearly twenty years and only emerged when it was full grown, as it were; when i was so familiar with the characters that they seemed as real in all ways as though they were absolute people and incidents of one's own experience.
-little more need be said. in outward form the publishers have made this edition beautiful. i should be ill-content if there was not also an element of beauty in the work of the author. to my mind truth alone is not sufficient. every work of art, no matter how primitive in conception, how tragic or how painful, or even how grotesque in design --like the gargoyles on notre dame must have, too, the elements of beauty--that which lures and holds, the durable and delightful thing. i have a hope that these books of mine, as faithful to life as i could make them, have also been touched here and there by the staff of beauty. otherwise their day will be short indeed; and i should wish for them a day a little longer at least than my day and span.
-so far as my literary work is concerned 'pierre and his people' may be likened to a new city built upon the ashes of an old one. let me explain. while i was in australia i began a series of short stories and sketches of life in canada which i called 'pike pole sketches on the madawaska'. a very few of them were published in australia, and i brought with me to england in 1889 about twenty of them to make into a volume. i told archibald forbes, the great war correspondent, of my wish for publication, and asked him if he would mind reading the sketches and stories before i approached a publisher. he immediately consented, and one day i brought him the little brown bag containing the tales.
-a few days afterwards there came an invitation to lunch, and i went to clarence gate, regent's park, to learn what archibald forbes thought of my tales. we were quite merry at luncheon, and after luncheon, which for him was a glass of milk and a biscuit, forbes said to me, "those stories, parker--you have the best collection of titles i have ever known." he paused. i understood. to his mind the tales did not live up to their titles. he hastily added, "but i am going to give you a letter of introduction to macmillan. i may be wrong." my reply was: "you need not give me a letter to macmillan unless i write and ask you for it."
-i took my little brown bag and went back to my comfortable rooms in an old-fashioned square. i sat down before the fire on this bleak winter's night with a couple of years' work on my knee. one by one i glanced through the stories and in some cases read them carefully, and one by one i put them in the fire, and watched them burn. i was heavy at heart, but i felt that forbes was right, and my own instinct told me that my ideas were better than my performance--and forbes was right. nothing was left of the tales; not a shred of paper, not a scrap of writing. they had all gone up the chimney in smoke. there was no self-pity. i had a grim kind of feeling regarding the thing, but i had no regrets, and i have never had any regrets since. i have forgotten most of the titles, and indeed all the stories except one. but forbes and i were right; of that i am sure.
-the next day after the arson i walked for hours where london was busiest. the shop windows fascinated me; they always did; but that day i seemed, subconsciously, to be looking for something. at last i found it. it was a second-hand shop in covent garden. in the window there was the uniform of an officer of the time of wellington, and beside it--the leather coat and fur cap of a trapper of the hudson's bay company! at that window i commenced to build again upon the ashes of last night's fire. pretty pierre, the french half-breed, or rather the original of him as i knew him when a child, looked out of the window at me. so i went home, and sitting in front of the fire which had received my manuscript the night before, with a pad upon my knee, i began to write 'the patrol of the cypress hills' which opens 'pierre and his people'.
-the next day was sunday. i went to service at the foundling hospital in bloomsbury, and while listening superficially to the sermon i was also reading the psalms. i came upon these words, "free among the dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, that are out of remembrance," and this text, which i used in the story 'the patrol of the cypress hills', became, in a sense, the text for all the stories which came after. it seemed to suggest the lives and the end of the lives of the workers of the pioneer world.
-so it was that pierre and his people chiefly concerned those who had been wounded by fate, and had suffered the robberies of life and time while they did their work in the wide places. it may be that my readers have found what i tried, instinctively, to convey in the pioneer life i portrayed--"the soul of goodness in things evil." such, on the whole, my observation had found in life, and the original of pierre, with all his mistakes, misdemeanours, and even crimes, was such an one as i would have gone to in trouble or in hour of need, knowing that his face would never be turned from me.
-these stories made their place at once. the 'patrol of the cypress hills' was published first in 'the independent' of new york and in 'macmillan's magazine' in england. mr. bliss carman, then editor of 'the independent', eagerly published several of them--'she of the triple chevron' and others. mr. carman's sympathy and insight were a great help to me in those early days. the then editor of 'macmillan's magazine', mr. mowbray morris, was not, i think, quite so sure of the merits of the pierre stories. he published them, but he was a little credulous regarding them, and he did not pat me on the back by any means. there was one, however, who made the best that is in 'pierre and his people' possible; this was the unforgettable w. e. henley, editor of the 'national observer'. one day at a sitting i wrote a short story called 'antoine and angelique', and sent it to him almost before the ink was dry. the reply came by return of post: "it is almost, or quite, as good as can be. send me another." so forthwith i sent him 'god's garrison', and it was quickly followed by 'the three outlaws', 'the tall master', 'the flood', 'the cipher', 'a prairie vagabond', and several others. at length came 'the stone', which brought a telegram of congratulation, and finally 'the crimson flag'. the acknowledgment of that was a postcard containing these all too-flattering words: "bravo, balzac!" henley would print what no other editor would print; he gave a man his chance to do the boldest thing that was in him, and i can truthfully say that the doors which he threw open gave freedom to an imagination and an individuality of conception, for which i can never be sufficiently grateful.
-these stories and others which appeared in 'the national observer', in 'macmillan's', in 'the english illustrated magazine' and others made many friends; so that when the book at length came out it was received with generous praise, though not without some criticism. it made its place, however, at once, and later appeared another series, called 'an adventurer of the north', or, as it is called in this edition, 'a romany of the snows'. through all the twenty stories of this second volume the character of pierre moved; and by the time the last was written there was scarcely an important magazine in the english-speaking world which had not printed one or more of them. whatever may be thought of the stories themselves, or of the manner in which the life of the far north was portrayed, of one thing i am sure: pierre was true to the life--to his race, to his environment, to the conditions of pioneer life through which he moved. when the book first came out there was some criticism from canada itself, but that criticism has long since died away, and it never was determined.
-plays have been founded on the 'pierre' series, and one in particular, 'pierre of the plains', had a considerable success, with mr. edgar selwyn, the adapter, in the main part. i do not know whether, if i were to begin again, i should have written all the pierre stories in quite the same way. perhaps it is just as well that i am not able to begin again. the stories made their own place in their own way, and that there is still a steady demand for 'pierre and his people' and 'a romany of the snows' seems evidence that the editor of an important magazine in new york who declined to recommend them for publication to his firm (and later published several of the same series) was wrong, when he said that the tales "seemed not to be salient." things that are not "salient" do not endure. it is twenty years since 'pierre and his people' was produced--and it still endures. for this i cannot but be deeply grateful. in any case, what 'pierre' did was to open up a field which had not been opened before, but which other authors have exploited since with success and distinction. 'pierre' was the pioneer of the far north in fiction; that much may be said; and for the rest, time is the test, and time will have its way with me as with the rest.
-it is possible that a note on the country portrayed in these stories may be in keeping. until 1870, the hudson's bay company--first granted its charter by king charles ii--practically ruled that vast region stretching from the fiftieth parallel of latitude to the arctic ocean--a handful of adventurous men entrenched in forts and posts, yet trading with, and mostly peacefully conquering, many savage tribes. once the sole master of the north, the h. b. c. (as it is familiarly called) is reverenced by the indians and half-breeds as much as, if not more than, the government established at ottawa. it has had its forts within the arctic circle; it has successfully exploited a country larger than the united states. the red river valley, the saskatchewan valley, and british columbia, are now belted by a great railway, and given to the plough; but in the far north life is much the same as it was a hundred years ago. there the trapper, clerk, trader, and factor are cast in the mould of another century, though possessing the acuter energies of this. the 'voyageur' and 'courier de bois' still exist, though, generally, under less picturesque names.
-the bare story of the hardy and wonderful career of the adventurers trading in hudson's bay,--of whom prince rupert was once chiefest,--and the life of the prairies, may be found in histories and books of travel; but their romances, the near narratives of individual lives, have waited the telling. in this book i have tried to feel my way towards the heart of that life--worthy of being loved by all british men, for it has given honest graves to gallant fellows of our breeding. imperfectly, of course, i have done it; but there is much more to be told.
-when i started pretty pierre on his travels, i did not know--nor did he --how far or wide his adventurers and experiences would run. they have, however, extended from quebec in the east to british columbia in the west, and from the cypress hills in the south to the coppermine river in the north. with a less adventurous man we had had fewer happenings. his faults were not of his race, that is, french and indian,--nor were his virtues; they belong to all peoples. but the expression of these is affected by the country itself. pierre passes through this series of stories, connecting them, as he himself connects two races, and here and there links the past of the hudson's bay company with more modern life and canadian energy pushing northward. here is something of romance "pure and simple," but also traditions and character, which are the single property of this austere but not cheerless heritage of our race.
-all of the tales have appeared in magazines and journals--namely, 'the national observer', 'macmillan's', 'the national review', and 'the english illustrated'; and 'the independent of new york'. by the courtesy of the proprietors of these i am permitted to republish.
-harpenden, hertfordshire, july, 1892.
-the patrol of the cypress hills god's garrison a hazard of the north
-the patrol of the cypress hills
-"he's too ha'sh," said old alexander windsor, as he shut the creaking door of the store after a vanishing figure, and turned to the big iron stove with outstretched hands; hands that were cold both summer and winter. he was of lean and frigid make.
-"sergeant fones is too ha'sh," he repeated, as he pulled out the damper and cleared away the ashes with the iron poker.
-pretty pierre blew a quick, straight column of cigarette smoke into the air, tilted his chair back, and said: "i do not know what you mean by 'ha'sh,' but he is the devil. eh, well, there was more than one devil made sometime in the north west." he laughed softly.
-"that gives you a chance in history, pretty pierre," said a voice from behind a pile of woollen goods and buffalo skins in the centre of the floor. the owner of the voice then walked to the window. he scratched some frost from the pane and looked out to where the trooper in dog-skin coat, gauntlets and cap, was mounting his broncho. the old man came and stood near the young man,--the owner of the voice,--and said again: "he's too ha'sh."
-"harsh you mean, father," added the other.
-"yes, harsh you mean, old brown windsor,--quite harsh," said pierre.
-alexander windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes called "old brown windsor" and sometimes "old aleck," to distinguish him from his son, who was known as "young aleck."
-as the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands, young aleck continued: "he does his duty, that's all. if he doesn't wear kid gloves while at it, it's his choice. he doesn't go beyond his duty. you can bank on that. it would be hard to exceed that way out here."
-"true, young aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice. that is not good. sometime the glove will be too hard and cold on a man's shoulder, and then!--well, i should like to be there," said pierre, showing his white teeth.
-old aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot.
-the young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was watching sergeant fones as he rode towards the big divide. presently he said: "he's going towards humphrey's place. i--" he stopped, bent his brows, caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth, and did not stir a muscle until the sergeant had passed over the divide.
-old aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive listener. but pierre was only passive outwardly. besides hearkening to the father's complaints he was closely watching the son. pierre was clever, and a good actor. he had learned the power of reserve and outward immobility. the indian in him helped him there. he had heard what young aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers he said: "you keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove, old aleck." to the young man: "and you can drink it so free, eh, young aleck?"
-the half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young man, but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his glances askance were not seen.
-young aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the frost of the pane, over and over again. when pierre spoke to him thus he scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessary force. but in one corner it remained:
-pierre added: "that is what they say at humphrey's ranch."
-"who says that at humphrey's?--pierre, you lie!" was the sharp and threatening reply. the significance of this last statement had been often attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a six- chambered revolver. it was evident that young aleck was in earnest. pierre's eyes glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied:
-"i do not remember quite who said it. well, 'mon ami,' perhaps i lie; perhaps. sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. you call it a lie--'bien!' sergeant fones, he dreams perhaps old aleck sells whisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes to indians and half-breeds--halfbreeds like pretty pierre. that was a dream of sergeant fones; but you see he believes it true. it is good sport, eh? will you not take--what is it?--a silent partner? yes; a silent partner, old aleck. pretty pierre has spare time, a little, to make money for his friends and for himself, eh?"
-when did not pierre have time to spare? he was a gambler. unlike the majority of half-breeds, he had a pronounced french manner, nonchalant and debonair.
-the indian in him gave him coolness and nerve. his cheeks had a tinge of delicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman. that was why he was called pretty pierre. the country had, however, felt a kind of weird menace in the name. it was used to snakes whose rattle gave notice of approach or signal of danger. but pretty pierre was like the death- adder, small and beautiful, silent and deadly. at one time he had made a secret of his trade, or thought he was doing so. in those days he was often to be seen at david humphrey's home, and often in talk with mab humphrey; but it was there one night that the man who was ha'sh gave him his true character, with much candour and no comment.
-afterwards pierre was not seen at humphrey's ranch. men prophesied that he would have revenge some day on sergeant fones; but he did not show anything on which this opinion could be based. he took no umbrage at being called pretty pierre the gambler. but for all that he was possessed of a devil.
-young aleck had inherited some money through his dead mother from his grandfather, a hudson's bay factor. he had been in the east for some years, and when he came back he brought his "little pile" and an impressionable heart with him. the former pretty pierre and his friends set about to win; the latter, mab humphrey won without the trying. yet mab gave young aleck as much as he gave her. more. because her love sprang from a simple, earnest, and uncontaminated life. her purity and affection were being played against pierre's designs and young aleck's weakness. with aleck cards and liquor went together. pierre seldom drank.
-but what of sergeant fones? if the man that knew him best--the commandant--had been asked for his history, the reply would have been: "five years in the service, rigid disciplinarian, best non-commissioned officer on the patrol of the cypress hills." that was all the commandant knew.
-a soldier-policeman's life on the frontier is rough, solitary, and severe. active duty and responsibility are all that make it endurable. to few is it fascinating. a free and thoughtful nature would, however, find much in it, in spite of great hardships, to give interest and even pleasure. the sense of breadth and vastness, and the inspiration of pure air could be a very gospel of strength, beauty, and courage, to such an one--for a time. but was sergeant fones such an one? the commandant's scornful reply to a question of the kind would have been: "he is the best soldier on the patrol."
-and so with hard gallops here and there after the refugees of crime or misfortune, or both, who fled before them like deer among the passes of the hills, and, like deer at bay, often fought like demons to the death; with border watchings, and protection and care and vigilance of the indians; with hurried marches at sunrise, the thermometer at fifty degrees below zero often in winter, and open camps beneath the stars, and no camp at all, as often as not, winter and summer; with rough barrack fun and parade and drill and guard of prisoners; and with chances now and then to pay homage to a woman's face, the mounted force grew full of the spirit of the west and became brown, valiant, and hardy, with wind and weather. perhaps some of them longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children, and to consider more the faces of women,--for hearts are hearts even under a belted coat of red on the fiftieth parallel,--but men of nerve do not blazon their feelings.
-no one would have accused sergeant fones of having a heart. men of keen discernment would have seen in him the little bismarck of the mounted police. his name carried farther on the cypress hills patrol than any other; and yet his officers could never say that he exceeded his duty or enlarged upon the orders he received. he had no sympathy with crime. others of the force might wink at it; but his mind appeared to sit severely upright upon the cold platform of penalty, in beholding breaches of the statutes. he would not have rained upon the unjust as the just if he had had the directing of the heavens. as private gellatly put it: "sergeant fones has the fear o' god in his heart, and the law of the land across his saddle, and the newest breech-loading at that!" he was part of the great machine of order, the servant of justice, the sentinel in the vestibule of martial law. his interpretation of duty worked upward as downward. officers and privates were acted on by the force known as sergeant fones. some people, like old brown windsor, spoke hardly and openly of this force. there were three people who never did--pretty pierre, young aleck, and mab humphrey. pierre hated him; young aleck admired in him a quality lying dormant in himself--decision; mab humphrey spoke unkindly of no one. besides--but no!
-what was sergeant fones's country? no one knew. where had he come from? no one asked him more than once. he could talk french with pierre, --a kind of french that sometimes made the undertone of red in the frenchman's cheeks darker. he had been heard to speak german to a german prisoner, and once, when a gang of italians were making trouble on a line of railway under construction, he arrested the leader, and, in a few swift, sharp words in the language of the rioters, settled the business. he had no accent that betrayed his nationality.
-he had been recommended for a commission. the officer in command had hinted that the sergeant might get a christmas present. the officer had further said: "and if it was something that both you and the patrol would be the better for, you couldn't object, sergeant." but the sergeant only saluted, looking steadily into the eyes of the officer. that was his reply. private gellatly, standing without, heard sergeant fones say, as he passed into the open air, and slowly bared his forehead to the winter sun:
-and private gellatly cried, with revolt in his voice, "divils me own, the word that a't to have been full o' joy was like the clip of a rifle- breech."
-justice in a new country is administered with promptitude and vigour, or else not administered at all. where an officer of the mounted police- soldiery has all the powers of a magistrate, the law's delay and the insolence of office have little space in which to work. one of the commonest slips of virtue in the canadian west was selling whisky contrary to the law of prohibition which prevailed. whisky runners were land smugglers. old brown windsor had, somehow, got the reputation of being connected with the whisky runners; not a very respectable business, and thought to be dangerous. whisky runners were inclined to resent intrusion on their privacy with a touch of that biting inhospitableness which a moonlighter of kentucky uses toward an inquisitive, unsympathetic marshal. on the cypress hills patrol, however, the erring servants of bacchus were having a hard time of it. vigilance never slept there in the days of which these lines bear record. old brown windsor had, in words, freely espoused the cause of the sinful. to the careless spectator it seemed a charitable siding with the suffering; a proof that the old man's heart was not so cold as his hands. sergeant fones thought differently, and his mission had just been to warn the store-keeper that there was menacing evidence gathering against him, and that his friendship with golden feather, the indian chief, had better cease at once. sergeant fones had a way of putting things. old brown windsor endeavoured for a moment to be sarcastic. this was the brief dialogue in the domain of sarcasm:
-"i s'pose you just lit round in a friendly sort of way, hopin' that i'd kenoodle with you later."
-there was an unpleasant click to the word. the old man's hands got colder. he had nothing more to say.
-before leaving, the sergeant said something quietly and quickly to young aleck. pierre observed, but could not hear. young aleck was uneasy; pierre was perplexed. the sergeant turned at the door, and said in french: "what are your chances for a merry christmas at pardon's drive, pretty pierre?" pierre answered nothing. he shrugged his shoulders, and as the door closed, muttered, "il est le diable." and he meant it. what should sergeant fones know of that intended meeting at pardon's drive on christmas day? and if he knew, what then? it was not against the law to play euchre. still it perplexed pierre. before the windsors, father and son, however, he was, as we have seen, playfully cool.
-after quitting old brown windsor's store, sergeant fones urged his stout broncho to a quicker pace than usual. the broncho was, like himself, wasteful of neither action nor affection. the sergeant had caught him wild and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught him obedience. they understood each other; perhaps they loved each other. but about that even private gellatly had views in common with the general sentiment as to the character of sergeant fones. the private remarked once on this point "sarpints alive! the heels of the one and the law of the other is the love of them. they'll weather together like the divil and death."
-the sergeant was brooding; that was not like him. he was hesitating; that was less like him. he turned his broncho round as if to cross the big divide and to go back to windsor's store; but he changed his mind again, and rode on toward david humphrey's ranch. he sat as if he had been born in the saddle. his was a face for the artist, strong and clear, and having a dominant expression of force. the eyes were deepset and watchful. a kind of disdain might be traced in the curve of the short upper lip, to which the moustache was clipped close--a good fit, like his coat. the disdain was more marked this morning.
-the first part of his ride had been seen by young aleck, the second part by mab humphrey. her first thought on seeing him was one of apprehension for young aleck and those of young aleck's name. she knew that people spoke of her lover as a ne'er-do-weel; and that they associated his name freely with that of pretty pierre and his gang. she had a dread of pierre, and, only the night before, she had determined to make one last great effort to save aleck, and if he would not be saved--strange that, thinking it all over again, as she watched the figure on horseback coming nearer, her mind should swerve to what she had heard of sergeant fones's expected promotion. then she fell to wondering if anyone had ever given him a real christmas present; if he had any friends at all; if life meant anything more to him than carrying the law of the land across his saddle. again he suddenly came to her in a new thought, free from apprehension, and as the champion of her cause to defeat the half-breed and his gang, and save aleck from present danger or future perils.
-she was such a woman as prairies nurture; in spirit broad and thoughtful and full of energy; not so deep as the mountain woman, not so imaginative, but with more persistency, more daring. youth to her was a warmth, a glory. she hated excess and lawlessness, but she could understand it. she felt sometimes as if she must go far away into the unpeopled spaces, and shriek out her soul to the stars from the fulness of too much life. she supposed men had feelings of that kind too, but that they fell to playing cards and drinking instead of crying to the stars. still, she preferred her way.
-once, sergeant fones, on leaving the house, said grimly after his fashion: "not mab but ariadne--excuse a soldier's bluntness..... good-bye!" and with a brusque salute he had ridden away. what he meant she did not know and could not ask. the thought instantly came to her mind: not sergeant fones; but who? she wondered if ariadne was born on the prairie. what knew she of the girl who helped theseus, her lover, to slay the minotaur? what guessed she of the slopes of naxos? how old was ariadne? twenty? for that was mab's age. was ariadne beautiful? she ran her fingers loosely through her short brown hair, waving softly about her greek-shaped head, and reasoned that ariadne must have been presentable, or sergeant fones would not have made the comparison. she hoped ariadne could ride well, for she could.
-but how white the world looked this morning, and how proud and brilliant the sky! nothing in the plane of vision but waves of snow stretching to the cypress hills; far to the left a solitary house, with its tin roof flashing back the sun, and to the right the big divide. it was an old- fashioned winter, not one in which bare ground and sharp winds make life outdoors inhospitable. snow is hospitable-clean, impacted snow; restful and silent. but there was one spot in the area of white, on which mab's eyes were fixed now, with something different in them from what had been there. again it was a memory with which sergeant fones was associated. one day in the summer just past she had watched him and his company put away to rest under the cool sod, where many another lay in silent company, a prairie wanderer, some outcast from a better life gone by. afterwards, in her home, she saw the sergeant stand at the window, looking out towards the spot where the waves in the sea of grass were more regular and greener than elsewhere, and were surmounted by a high cross. she said to him--for she of all was never shy of his stern ways:
-"why is the grass always greenest there, sergeant fones?"
-he knew what she meant, and slowly said: "it is the barracks of the free."
-she had no views of life save those of duty and work and natural joy and loving a ne'er-do-weel, and she said: "i do not understand that."
-and the sergeant replied: "'free among the dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, who are out of remembrance.'"
-but mab said again: "i do not understand that either."
-the sergeant did not at once reply. he stepped to the door and gave a short command to some one without, and in a moment his company was mounted in line; handsome, dashing fellows; one the son of an english nobleman, one the brother of an eminent canadian politician, one related to a celebrated english dramatist. he ran his eye along the line, then turned to mab, raised his cap with machine-like precision, and said: "no, i suppose you do not understand that. keep aleck windsor from pretty pierre and his gang. good-bye."
-then he mounted and rode away. every other man in the company looked back to where the girl stood in the doorway; he did not. private gellatly said, with a shake of the head, as she was lost to view: "devils bestir me, what a widdy she'll make!" it was understood that aleck windsor and mab humphrey were to be married on the coming new year's day. what connection was there between the words of sergeant fones and those of private gellatly? none, perhaps.
-mab thought upon that day as she looked out, this december morning, and saw sergeant fones dismounting at the door. david humphrey, who was outside, offered to put up the sergeant's horse; but he said: "no, if you'll hold him just a moment, mr. humphrey, i'll ask for a drink of something warm, and move on. miss humphrey is inside, i suppose?"
-"she'll give you a drink of the best to be had on your patrol, sergeant," was the laughing reply. "thanks for that, but tea or coffee is good enough for me," said the sergeant. entering, the coffee was soon in the hand of the hardy soldier. once he paused in his drinking and scanned mab's face closely. most people would have said the sergeant had an affair of the law in hand, and was searching the face of a criminal; but most people are not good at interpretation. mab was speaking to the chore-girl at the same time and did not see the look. if she could have defined her thoughts when she, in turn, glanced into the sergeant's face, a moment afterwards, she would have said, "austerity fills this man. isolation marks him for its own." in the eyes were only purpose, decision, and command. was that the look that had been fixed upon her face a moment ago? it must have been. his features had not changed a breath. mab began their talk.
-"they say you are to get a christmas present of promotion, sergeant fones."
-"i have not seen it gazetted," he answered enigmatically.
-"you and your friends will be glad of it."
-"i like the service."
-"you will have more freedom with a commission." he made no reply, but rose and walked to the window, and looked out across the snow, drawing on his gauntlets as he did so.
-she saw that he was looking where the grass in summer was the greenest!
-he turned and said:
-"i am going to barracks now. i suppose young aleck will be in quarters here on christmas day, miss mab?"
-"i think so," and she blushed.
-"did he say he would be here?"
-he looked toward the coffee. then: "thank you.....good-bye."
-"will you not come to us on christmas day?"
-his eyelids closed swiftly and opened again. "i shall be on duty."
-"and merry and happy?"--she smiled to herself to think of sergeant fones being merry and happy.
-the word suited him.
-he paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as if to speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again. had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? he had never been seen to take the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible in steel.
-he opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he stepped out, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room and the face of the girl. the door closed.
-mounted, and having said good-bye to mr. humphrey, he turned towards the house, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in the direction of the barracks.
-the girl did not watch him. she was thinking of young aleck, and of christmas day, now near. the sergeant did not look back.
-"ah, i know, 'mon ami;' for the last time! 'eh, bien,' you will spend christmas day with us too--no? you surely will not leave us on the day of good fortune? where better can you take your pleasure for the last time? one day is not enough for farewell. two, three; that is the magic number. you will, eh? no? well, well, you will come to-morrow--and--eh, 'mon ami,' where do you go the next day? oh, 'pardon,' i forgot, you spend the christmas day--i know. and the day of the new year? ah, young aleck, that is what they say--the devil for the devil's luck. so."
-"stop that, pierre." there was fierceness in the tone. "i spend the christmas day where you don't, and as i like, and the rest doesn't concern you. i drink with you, i play with you--'bien!' as you say yourself, 'bien,' isn't that enough?"
-"'pardon!' we will not quarrel. no; we spend not the christmas day after the same fashion, quite. then, to-morrow at pardon's drive! adieu!"
-pretty pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his white teeth, and aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon his gloomy lips. but both maledictions were levelled at the same person. poor aleck.
-"poor aleck!" that is the way we sometimes think of a good nature gone awry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, and against which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. alas, for the ne'er-do-weel!
-that night a stalwart figure passed from david humphrey's door, carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love. the chilly outer air of the world seemed not to touch him, love's curtains were drawn so close. had one stood within "the hunter's room," as it was called, a little while before, one would have seen a man's head bowed before a woman, and her hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow where dissipation had drawn some deep lines. presently the hand raised the head until the eyes of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man.
-"you will not go to pardon's drive again, will you, aleck?"
-"never again after christmas day, mab. but i must go to-morrow. i have given my word."
-"i know. to meet pretty pierre and all the rest, and for what? oh, aleck, isn't the suspicion about your father enough, but you must put this on me as well?"
-"my father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and i for mine."
-there was a moment's silence. he bowed his head again.
-"and i have done wrong to us both. forgive me, mab."
-she leaned over and caressed his hair. "i forgive you, aleck."
-a thousand new thoughts were thrilling through him. yet this man had given his word to do that for which he must ask forgiveness of the woman he loved. but to pretty pierre, forgiven or unforgiven, he would keep his word. she understood it better than most of those who read this brief record can. every sphere has its code of honour and duty peculiar to itself.
-"you will come to me on christmas morning, aleck?"
-"i will come on christmas morning."
-"and no more after that of pretty pierre?"
-"and no more of pretty pierre."
-she trusted him; but neither could reckon with unknown forces.
-sergeant fones, sitting in the barracks in talk with private gellatly, said at that moment in a swift silence, "exactly."
-pretty pierre, at pardon's drive, drinking a glass of brandy at that moment, said to the ceiling:
-"no more of pretty pierre after to-morrow night, monsieur! bien! if it is for the last time, then it is for the last time. so....so."
-he smiled. his teeth were amazingly white.
-the stalwart figure strode on under the stars, the white night a lens for visions of days of rejoicing to come. all evil was far from him. the dolorous tide rolled back in this hour from his life, and he revelled in the light of a new day.
-"when i've played my last card to-morrow night with pretty pierre, i'll begin the world again," he whispered.
-and sergeant fones in the barracks said just then, in response to a further remark of private gellatly,--"exactly."
-young aleck fell to singing:
-"out from your vineland come into the prairies wild; here will we make our home, father, mother, and child; come, my love, to our home, father, mother, and child, father, mother, and--"
-he fell to thinking again--"and child--and child,"--it was in his ears and in his heart.
-but pretty pierre was singing softly to himself in the room at pardon's drive:
-"three good friends with the wine at night vive la compagnie! two good friends when the sun grows bright vive la compagnie! vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! three good friends, two good friends vive la compagnie!"
-what did it mean?
-private gellatly was cousin to idaho jack, and idaho jack disliked pretty pierre, though he had been one of the gang. the cousins had seen each other lately, and private gellatly had had a talk with the man who was ha'sh. it may be that others besides pierre had an idea of what it meant.
-in the house at pardon's drive the next night sat eight men, of whom three were pretty pierre, young aleck, and idaho jack. young aleck's face was flushed with bad liquor and the worse excitement of play. this was one of the unreckoned forces. was this the man that sang the tender song under the stars last night? pretty pierre's face was less pretty than usual; the cheeks were pallid, the eyes were hard and cold. once he looked at his partner as if to say, "not yet." idaho jack saw the look; he glanced at his watch; it was eleven o'clock. at that moment the door opened, and sergeant fones entered. all started to their feet, most with curses on their lips; but sergeant fones never seemed to hear anything that could make a feature of his face alter. pierre's hand was on his hip, as if feeling for something. sergeant fones saw that; but he walked to where aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, laying a hand on his shoulder, said, "come with me."
-"why should i go with you?"--this with a drunken man's bravado.
-"you are my prisoner."
-pierre stepped forward. "what is his crime?" he exclaimed.
-"how does that concern you, pretty pierre?"
-"he is my friend."
-"is he your friend, aleck?"
-what was there in the eyes of sergeant fones that forced the reply,-- "to-night, yes; to-morrow, no."
-"exactly. it is near to-morrow; come."
-aleck was led towards the door. once more pierre's hand went to his hip; but he was looking at the prisoner, not at the sergeant. the sergeant saw, and his fingers were at his belt. he opened the door. aleck passed out. he followed. two horses were tied to a post. with difficulty aleck was mounted. once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but he grew painfully cold. it was a bitter night. how bitter it might have been for the ne'er-do-weel let the words of idaho jack, spoken in a long hour's talk next day with old brown windsor, show. "pretty pierre, after the two were gone, said, with a shiver of curses,--'another hour and it would have been done, and no one to blame. he was ready for trouble. his money was nearly finished. a little quarrel easily made, the door would open, and he would pass out. his horse would be gone, he could not come back; he would walk. the air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the snow is a soft bed. he would sleep well and sound, having seen pretty pierre for the last time. and now--' the rest was french and furtive."
-from that hour idaho jack and pretty pierre parted company.
-riding from pardon's drive, young aleck noticed at last that they were not going towards the barracks. he said: "why do you arrest me?"
-the sergeant replied: "you will know that soon enough. you are now going to your own home. tomorrow you will keep your word and go to david humphrey's place; the next day i will come for you. which do you choose: to ride with me to-night to the barracks and know why you are arrested, or go, unknowing, as i bid you, and keep your word with the girl?"
-through aleck's fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sang before--
-"out from your vineland come into the prairies wild; here will we make our home, father, mother, and child."
-he could have but one answer.
-at the door of his home the sergeant left him with the words, "remember you are on parole."
-christmas day came. people said that the fiercest night, since the blizzard day of 1863, had been passed. but the morning was clear and beautiful. the sun came up like a great flower expanding. first the yellow, then the purple, then the red, and then a mighty shield of roses. the world was a blanket of drift, and down, and glistening silver.
-mab humphrey greeted her lover with such a smile as only springs to a thankful woman's lips. he had given his word and had kept it; and the path of the future seemed surer.
-he was a prisoner on parole; still that did not depress him. plans for coming days were talked of, and the laughter of many voices filled the house. the ne'er-do-weel was clothed and in his right mind. in the hunter's room the noblest trophy was the heart of a repentant prodigal.
-in the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing, with such technical language as is the custom, that sergeant fones was promoted to be a lieutenant in the mounted police force of the north west territory. when the officer in command sent for him he could not be found. but he was found that morning; and when private gellatly, with a warm hand, touching the glove of "iron and ice" that, indeed, now said: "sergeant fones, you are promoted, god help you!" he gave no sign. motionless, stern, erect, he sat there upon his horse, beside a stunted larch tree. the broncho seemed to understand, for he did not stir, and had not done so for hours;--they could tell that. the bridle rein was still in the frigid fingers, and a smile was upon the face.
-a smile upon the face of sergeant fones!
-perhaps he smiled that he was going to the barracks of the free--
-"free among the dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, that are out of remembrance."
-in the wild night he had lost his way, though but a few miles from the barracks.
-he had done his duty rigidly in that sphere of life where he had lived so much alone among his many comrades. had he exceeded his duty once in arresting young aleck?
-when, the next day, sergeant fones lay in the barracks, over him the flag for which he had sworn to do honest service, and his promotion papers in his quiet hand, the two who loved each other stood beside him for many a throbbing minute. and one said to herself, silently: "i felt sometimes" --but no more words did she say even to herself.
-old aleck came in, and walked to where the sergeant slept, wrapped close in that white frosted coverlet which man wears but once. he stood for a moment silent, his fingers numbly clasped.
-private gellatly spoke softly: "angels betide me, it's little we knew the great of him till he wint away; the pride, and the law--and the love of him."
-in the tragedy that faced them this christmas morning one at least had seen "the love of him." perhaps the broncho had known it before.
-old aleck laid a palm upon the hand he had never touched when it had life. "he's--too--ha'sh," he said slowly.
-private gellatly looked up wonderingly. but the old man's eyes were wet.
-twenty years ago there was trouble at fort o' god. "out of this place we get betwixt the suns," said gyng the factor. "no help that falls abaft tomorrow could save us. food dwindles, and ammunition's nearly gone, and they'll have the cold steel in our scalp-locks if we stay. we'll creep along the devil's causeway, then through the red horn woods, and so across the plains to rupert house. whip in the dogs, baptiste, and be ready all of you at midnight."
-"and grah the idiot--what of him?" asked pretty pierre.
-"he'll have to take his chance. if he can travel with us, so much the better for him"; and the factor shrugged his shoulders.
-"if not, so much the worse, eh?" returned pretty pierre.
-"work the sum out to suit yourself. we've got our necks to save. god'll have to help the idiot if we can't."
-"you hear, grah hamon, idiot," said pierre an hour afterwards, "we're going to leave fort o' god and make for rupert house. you've a dragging leg, you're gone in the savvy, you have to balance yourself with your hands as you waddle along, and you slobber when you talk; but you've got to cut away with us quick across the beaver plains, and christ'll have to help you if we can't. that's what the factor says, and that's how the case stands, idiot--'bien?'"
-"grah want pipe--bubble--bubble--wind blow," muttered the daft one.
-pretty pierre bent over and said slowly: "if you stay here, grah, the indian get your scalp; if you go, the snow is deep and the frost is like a badger's tooth, and you can't be carried."
-"oh, oh!--my mother dead--poor annie--by god, grah want pipe--poor grah sleep in snow-bubble, bubble--oh, oh!--the long wind, fly away."
-pretty pierre watched the great head of the idiot as it swung heavily on his shoulders, and then said: "'mais,' like that, so!" and turned away.
-when the party were about to sally forth on their perilous path to safety, gyng stood and cried angrily: "well, why hasn't some one bundled up that moth-eaten caliban? curse it all, must i do everything myself?"
-"but you see," said pierre, "the caliban stays at fort o' god."
-"you've got a christian heart in you, so help me, heaven!" replied the other. "no, sir, we give him a chance,--and his maker too for that matter, to show what he's willing to do for his misfits."
-pretty pierre rejoined, "well, i have thought. the game is all against grah if he go; but there are two who stay at fort o' god."
-and that is how, when the factor and his half-breeds and trappers stole away in silence towards the devil's causeway, pierre and the idiot remained behind. and that is why the flag of the h. b. c. still flew above fort o' god in the new year's sun just twenty years ago to-day.
-the hudson's bay company had never done a worse day's work than when they promoted gyng to be chief factor. he loathed the heathen and he showed his loathing. he had a heart harder than iron, a speech that bruised worse than the hoof of an angry moose. and when at last he drove away a band of wandering sioux, foodless, from the stores, siege and ambush took the place of prayer, and a nasty portion fell to fort o' god. for the indians found a great cache of buffalo meat, and, having sent the women and children south with the old men, gave constant and biting assurances to gyng that the heathen hath his hour, even though he be a dog which is refused those scraps from the white man's table which give life in the hour of need. besides all else, there was in the fort the thing which the gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was rum.
-and the morning after gyng and his men had departed, because it was a day when frost was master of the sun, and men grew wild for action, since to stand still was to face indignant death, they, who camped without, prepared to make a sally upon the wooden gates. pierre saw their intent, and hid in the ground some pemmican and all the scanty rum. then he looked at his powder and shot, and saw that there was little left. if he spent it on the besiegers, how should they fare for beast and fowl in hungry days? and for his rifle he had but a brace of bullets. he rolled these in his hand, looking upon them with a grim smile. and the idiot, seeing, rose and sidled towards him, and said: "poor grah want pipe-- bubble--bubble." then a light of childish cunning came into his eyes, and he touched the bullets blunderingly, and continued: "plenty, plenty b'longs grah--give poor grah pipe--plenty, plenty, give you these."
-and pretty pierre after a moment replied: "so that's it, grah?--you've got bullets stowed away? well, i must have them. it's a one-sided game in which you get the tricks; but here's the pipe, idiot--my only pipe for your dribbling mouth--my last good comrade. now show me the bullets. take me to them, daft one, quick."
-a little later the idiot sat inside the store, wrapped in loose furs, and blowing bubbles; while pretty pierre, with many handfuls of bullets by him, waited for the attack.
-"eh," he said, as he watched from a loophole, "gyng and the others have got safely past the causeway, and the rest is possible. well, it hurts an idiot as much to die, perhaps, as a half-breed or a factor. it is good to stay here. if we fight, and go out swift like grah's bubbles, it is the game. if we starve and sleep as did grah's mother, then it also is the game. it is great to have all the chances against and then to win. we shall see."
-with a sharp relish in his eye he watched the enemy coming slowly forward. yet he talked almost idly to himself: "i have a thought of so long ago. a woman--she was a mother, and it was on the madawaska river, and she said: 'sometimes i think a devil was your father, an angel sometimes. you were begot in an hour between a fighting and a mass: between blood and heaven. and when you were born you made no cry. they said that was a sign of evil. you refused the breast, and drank only of the milk of wild cattle. in baptism you flung your hand before your face that the water might not touch, nor the priest's finger make a cross upon the water. and they said it were better if you had been born an idiot than with an evil spirit; and that your hand would be against the loins that bore you. but pierre, ah pierre, you love your mother, do you not?'" . . . and he standing now, his eye closed with the gate-chink in front of fort o' god, said quietly: "she was of the race that hated these--my mother; and she died of a wound they gave her at the tete blanche hill. well, for that you die now, yellow arm, if this gun has a bullet cold enough."
-a bullet pinged through the sharp air, as the indians swarmed towards the gate, and yellow arm, the chief, fell. the besiegers paused; and then, as if at the command of the fallen man, they drew back, bearing him to the camp, where they sat down and mourned.
-pierre watched them for a time; and, seeing that they made no further move, retired into the store, where the idiot muttered and was happy after his kind. "grah got pipe--blow away--blow away to annie--pretty soon."
-"yes, grah, there's chance enough that you'll blow away to annie pretty soon," remarked the other.
-"grah have white eagles--fly, fly on the wind--oh, oh, bubble, bubble!" and he sent the filmy globes floating from the pipe that a camp of river- drivers had given the half-breed winters before.
-pierre stood and looked at the wandering eyes, behind which were the torturings of an immense and confused intelligence; a life that fell deformed before the weight of too much brain, so that all tottered from the womb into the gutters of foolishness, and the tongue mumbled of chaos when it should have told marvellous things. and the half-breed, the thought of this coming upon him, said: "well, i think the matters of hell have fallen across the things of heaven, and there is storm. if for one moment he could think clear, it would be great."
-he bethought him of a certain chant, taught him by a medicine man in childhood, which, sung to the waving of a torch in a place of darkness, caused evil spirits to pass from those possessed, and good spirits to reign in their stead. and he raised the idiot to his feet, and brought him, maundering, to a room where no light was. he kneeled before him with a lighted torch of bear's fat and the tendons of the deer, and waving it gently to and fro, sang the ancient rune, until the eye of the idiot, following the torch at a tangent as it waved, suddenly became fixed upon the flame, when it ceased to move. and the words of the chant ran through grah's ears, and pierced to the remote parts of his being; and a sickening trouble came upon his face, and the lips ceased to drip, and were caught up in twinges of pain. . . . the chant rolled on: "go forth, go forth upon them, thou, the scarlet hunter! drive them forth into the wilds, drive them crying forth! enter in, o enter in, and lie upon the couch of peace, the couch of peace within my wigwam, thou the wise one! behold, i call to thee!"
-and pierre, looking upon the idiot, saw his face glow, and his eye stream steadily to the light, and he said, "what is it that you see, grah?-- speak!"
-all pitifulness and struggle had gone from the idiot's face, and a strong calm fell upon it, and the voice of a man that god had created spoke slowly: "there is an end of blood. the great chief yellow arm is fallen. he goeth to the plains where his wife will mourn upon his knees, and his children cry, because he that gathered food is gone, and the pots are empty on the fire. and they who follow him shall fight no more. two shall live through bitter days, and when the leaves shall shine in the sun again, there shall good things befal. but one shall go upon a long journey with the singing birds in the path of the white eagle. he shall travel, and not cease until he reach the place where fools, and children, and they into whom a devil entered through the gates of birth, find the mothers who bore them. but the other goeth at a different time--" at this point the light in pretty pierre's hand flickered and went out, and through the darkness there came a voice, the voice of an idiot, that whimpered: "grah want pipe--annie, annie dead."
-the angel of wisdom was gone, and chaos spluttered on the lolling lips again; the idiot sat feeling for the pipe that he had dropped.
-and never again through the days that came and went could pierre, by any conjuring, or any swaying torch, make the fool into a man again. the devils of confusion were returned forever. but there had been one glimpse of the god. and it was as the idiot had said when he saw with the eyes of that god: no more blood was shed. the garrison of this fort held it unmolested. the besiegers knew not that two men only stayed within the walls; and because the chief begged to be taken south to die, they left the place surrounded by its moats of ice and its trenches of famine; and they came not back.
-but other foes more deadly than the angry heathen came, and they were called hunger and loneliness. the one destroyeth the body and the other the brain. but grah was not lonely, nor did he hunger. he blew his bubbles, and muttered of a wind whereon a useless thing--a film of water, a butterfly, or a fool--might ride beyond the reach of spirit, or man, or heathen. his flesh remained the same, and grew not less; but that of pierre wasted, and his eye grew darker with suffering. for man is only man, and hunger is a cruel thing. to give one's food to feed a fool, and to search the silent plains in vain for any living thing to kill, is a matter for angels to do and bear, and not mere mortals. but this man had a strength of his own like to his code of living, which was his own and not another's. and at last, when spring leaped gaily forth from the grey cloak of winter, and men of the h. b. c. came to relieve fort o' god, and entered at its gates, a gaunt man, leaning on his rifle, greeted them standing like a warrior, though his body was like that of one who had lain in the grave. he answered to the name of pierre without pride, but like a man and not as a sick woman. and huddled on the floor beside him was an idiot fondling a pipe, with a shred of pemmican at his lips.
-as if in irony of man's sacrifice, the all hail and the master of things permitted the fool to fulfil his own prophecy, and die of a sudden sickness in the coming-on of summer. but he of god's garrison that remained repented not of his deed. such men have no repentance, neither of good nor evil.
-a hazard of the north
-nobody except gregory thorne and myself knows the history of the man and woman, who lived on the height of land, just where dog ear river falls into marigold lake. this portion of the height of land is a lonely country. the sun marches over it distantly, and the man of the east-- the braggart--calls it outcast; but animals love it; and the shades of the long-gone trapper and 'voyageur' saunter without mourning through its fastnesses. when you are in doubt, trust god's dumb creatures--and the happy dead who whisper pleasant promptings to us, and whose knowledge is mighty. besides, the man and woman lived there, and gregory thorne says that they could recover a lost paradise. but gregory thorne is an insolent youth. the names of these people were john and audrey malbrouck; the man was known to the makers of backwoods history as captain john. gregory says about that--but no, not yet!--let his first meeting with the man and the woman be described in his own words, unusual and flippant as they sometimes are; for though he is a graduate of trinity college, cambridge, and a brother of a right honourable, he has conceived it his duty to emancipate himself in the matter of style in language; and he has succeeded.
-"it was autumn," he said, "all colours; beautiful and nippy on the height of land; wild ducks, the which no man could number, and bear's meat abroad in the world. i was alone. i had hunted all day, leaving my mark now and then as i journeyed, with a cache of slaughter here, and a blazed hickory there. i was hungry as a circus tiger--did you ever eat slippery elm bark?--yes, i was as bad as that. i guessed from what i had been told, that the malbrouck show must be hereaway somewhere. i smelled the lake miles off--oh, you could too if you were half the animal i am; i followed my nose and the slippery-elm between my teeth, and came at a double-quick suddenly on the fair domain. there the two sat in front of the house like turtle-doves, and as silent as a middy after his first kiss. much as i ached to get my tooth into something filling, i wished that i had 'em under my pencil, with that royal sun making a rainbow of the lake, the woods all scarlet and gold, and that mist of purple--eh, you've seen it?--and they sitting there monarchs of it all, like that duffer of a king who had operas played for his solitary benefit. but i hadn't a pencil and i had a hunger, and i said 'how!' like any other injin--insolent, wasn't it? then the man rose, and he said i was welcome, and she smiled an approving but not very immediate smile, and she kept her seat,--she kept her seat, my boy,--and that was the first thing that set me thinking. she didn't seem to be conscious that there was before her one of the latest representatives from belgravia, not she! but when i took an honest look at her face, i understood. i'm glad that i had my hat in my hand, polite as any frenchman on the threshold of a blanchisserie: for i learned very soon that the woman had been in belgravia too, and knew far more than i did about what was what. when she did rise to array the supper table, it struck me that if josephine beauharnais had been like her, she might have kept her hold on napoleon, and saved his fortunes; made europe france; and france the world. i could not understand it. jimmy haldane had said to me when i was asking for malbrouck's place on the compass,--'don't put on any side with them, my greg, or you'll take a day off for penitence.' they were both tall and good to look at, even if he was a bit rugged, with neck all wire and muscle, and had big knuckles. but she had hands like those in a picture of velasquez, with a warm whiteness and educated--that's it, educated hands.
-"she wasn't young, but she seemed so. her eyes looked up and out at you earnestly, yet not inquisitively, and more occupied with something in her mind, than with what was before her. in short, she was a lady; not one by virtue of a visit to the gods that rule o'er buckingham palace, but by the claims of good breeding and long descent. she puzzled me, eluded me --she reminded me of someone; but who? someone i liked, because i felt a thrill of admiration whenever i looked at her--but it was no use, i couldn't remember. i soon found myself talking to her according to st. james--the palace, you know--and at once i entered a bet with my beloved aunt, the dowager--who never refuses to take my offer, though she seldom wins, and she's ten thousand miles away, and has to take my word for it-- that i should find out the history of this man and woman before another christmas morning, which wasn't more than two months off. you know whether or not i won it, my son."
-i had frequently hinted to gregory that i was old enough to be his father, and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; and i repeated it at that moment. he nodded good-humouredly, and continued:
-"i was born insolent, my s--my ancestor. well, after i had cleared a space at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe, i began to talk. . . oh yes, i did give them a chance occasionally; don't interrupt. . . . i gossiped about england, france, the universe. from the brief comments they made i saw they knew all about it, and understood my social argot, all but a few words--is there anything peculiar about any of my words? after having exhausted europe and asia i discussed america; talked about quebec, the folklore of the french canadians, the 'voyageurs' from old maisonneuve down. all the history i knew i rallied, and was suddenly bowled out. for malbrouck followed my trail from the time i began to talk, and in ten minutes he had proved me to be a baby in knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated me from the equation. he first tripped me on the training of naval cadets; then on the crimea; then on the taking of quebec; then on the franco-prussian war; then, with a sudden round-up, on india. i had been trusting to vague outlines of history; i felt when he began to talk that i was dealing with a man who not only knew history, but had lived it. he talked in the fewest but directest words, and waxed eloquent in a blunt and colossal way. but seeing his wife's eyes fixed on him intently, he suddenly pulled up, and no more did i get from him on the subject. he stopped so suddenly that in order to help over the awkwardness, though i'm not really sure there was any, i began to hum a song to myself. now, upon my soul, i didn't think what i was humming; it was some subterranean association of things, i suppose--but that doesn't matter here. i only state it to clear myself of any unnecessary insolence. these were the words i was maundering with this noble voice of mine:
-"'the news i bring, fair lady, will make your tears run down
-put off your rose-red dress so fine and doff your satin gown!
-monsieur malbrouck is dead, alas! and buried, too, for aye;
-i saw four officers who bore his mighty corse away. ............. we saw above the laurels, his soul fly forth amain.
-and each one fell upon his face and then rose up again.
-and so we sang the glories, for which great malbrouck bled; mironton, mironton, mirontaine, great malbrouck, he is dead.'
-"'malbrouck has gone a-fighting, mironton, mironton, mirontaine!'
-"i ended there; because malbrouck's heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, and he said: 'if you please, not that song.'
-"i suspect i acted like an idiot. i stammered out apologies, went down on my litanies, figuratively speaking, and was all the same confident that my excuses were making bad infernally worse. but somehow the old chap had taken a liking to me.--no, of course you couldn't understand that. not that he was so old, you know; but he had the way of retired royalty about him, as if he had lived life up to the hilt, and was all pulse and granite. then he began to talk in his quiet way about hunting and fishing; about stalking in the highlands and tiger-hunting in india; and wound up with some wonderful stuff about moose-hunting, the sport of canada. this made me itch like sin, just to get my fingers on a trigger, with a full moose-yard in view. i can feel it now--the bound in the blood as i caught at malbrouck's arm and said: 'by george, i must kill moose; that's sport for vikings, and i was meant to be a viking--or a gladiator.' malbrouck at once replied that he would give me some moose- hunting in december if i would come up to marigold lake. i couldn't exactly reply on the instant, because, you see, there wasn't much chance for board and lodging thereabouts, unless--but he went on to say that i should make his house my 'public,'perhaps he didn't say it quite in those terms, that he and his wife would be glad to have me. with a couple of indians we could go north-west, where the moose-yards were, and have some sport both exciting and prodigious. well, i'm a muff, i know, but i didn't refuse that. besides, i began to see the safe side of the bet i had made with my aunt, the dowager, and i was more than pleased with what had come to pass so far. lucky for you, too, you yarn-spinner, that the thing did develop so, or you wouldn't be getting fame and shekels out of the results of my story.
-"well, i got one thing out of the night's experience; and it was that the malbroucks were no plebs., that they had had their day where plates are blue and gold and the spoons are solid coin. but what had sent them up here among the moose, the indians, and the conies--whatever they are? how should i get at it? insolence, you say? yes, that. i should come up here in december, and i should mulct my aunt in the price of a new breech-loader. but i found out nothing the next morning, and i left with a paternal benediction from malbrouck, and a smile from his wife that sent my blood tingling as it hadn't tingled since a certain season in london, which began with my tuneful lyre sounding hopeful numbers and ended with it hanging on the willows.
-"when i thought it all over, as i trudged back on yesterday's track, i concluded that i had told them all my history from my youth up until now, and had got nothing from them in return. i had exhausted my family records, bit by bit, like a curate in his first parish; and had gone so far as to testify that one of my ancestors had been banished to australia for political crimes. distinctly they had me at an advantage, though, to be sure, i had betrayed mrs. malbrouck into something more than a suspicion of emotion.
-"when i got back to my old camp, i could find out nothing from the other fellows; but jacques pontiac told me that his old mate, pretty pierre, who in recent days had fallen from grace, knew something of these people that no one else guessed, because he had let them a part of his house in the parish of st. genevieve in quebec, years before. pierre had testified to one fact, that a child--a girl--had been born to mrs. malbrouck in his house, but all further knowledge he had withheld. pretty pierre was off in the rocky mountains practising his profession --chiefly poker--and was not available for information. what did i, gregory thorne, want of the information anyway? that's the point, my son. judging from after-developments i suppose it was what the foolish call occult sympathy. well, where was that girl-child? jacques pontiac didn't know. nobody knew. and i couldn't get rid of mrs. malbrouck's face; it haunted me; the broad brow, deep eyes, and high-bred sweetness --all beautifully animal. don't laugh: i find astonishing likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal. did you never see how beautiful and modest the faces of deer are; how chic and sensitive is the manner of a hound; nor the keen, warm look in the eye of a well-bred mare? why, i'd rather be a good horse of blood and temper than half the fellows i know. you are not an animal lover as i am; yes, even when i shoot them or fight them i admire them, just as i'd admire a swordsman who, in 'quart,' would give me death by the wonderful upper thrust. it's all a battle; all a game of love and slaughter, my son, and both go together.
-"well, as i say, her face followed me. watch how the thing developed. by the prairie-track i went over to fort desire, near the rockies, almost immediately after this, to see about buying a ranch with my old chum at trinity, polly cliffshawe--polydore, you know. whom should i meet in a hut on the ranch but jacques's friend, pretty pierre. this was luck; but he was not like jacques pontiac, he was secretive as a buddhist deity. he had a good many of the characteristics that go to a fashionable diplomatist: clever, wicked, cool, and in speech doing the vanishing trick just when you wanted him. but my star of fortune was with me. one day silverbottle, an indian, being in a murderous humour, put a bullet in pretty pierre's leg, and would have added another, only i stopped it suddenly. while in his bed he told me what he knew of the malbroucks.
-"this is the fashion of it. john and audrey malbrouck had come to quebec in the year 1865, and sojourned in the parish of st. genevieve, in the house of the mother of pretty pierre. of an inquiring turn of mind, the french half-breed desired to know concerning the history of these english people, who, being poor, were yet gentle, and spoke french with a grace and accent which was to the french-canadian patois as shakespeare's english is to that of seven dials. pierre's methods of inquisitiveness were not strictly dishonest. he did not open letters, he did not besiege dispatch-boxes, he did not ask impudent questions; he watched and listened. in his own way he found out that the man had been a soldier in the ranks, and that he had served in india. they were most attached to the child, whose name was marguerite. one day a visitor, a lady, came to them. she seemed to be the cause of much unhappiness to mrs. malbrouck. and pierre was alert enough to discover that this distinguished-looking person desired to take the child away with her. to this the young mother would not consent, and the visitor departed with some chillingly-polite phrases, part english, part french, beyond the exact comprehension of pierre, and leaving the father and mother and little marguerite happy. then, however, these people seemed to become suddenly poorer, and malbrouck began farming in a humble, but not entirely successful way. the energy of the man was prodigious; but his luck was sardonic. floods destroyed his first crops, prices ran low, debt accumulated, foreclosure of mortgage occurred, and malbrouck and the wife and child went west.
-"five years later, pretty pierre saw them again at marigold lake: malbrouck as agent for the hudson's bay company--still poor, but contented. it was at this period that the former visitor again appeared, clothed in purple and fine linen, and, strange as it may seem, succeeded in carrying off the little child, leaving the father and mother broken, but still devoted to each other.
-"pretty pierre closed his narration with these words: ''bien,' that malbrouck, he is great. i have not much love of men, but he--well, if he say,--"see, pierre, i go to the home of the white bear and the winter that never ends; perhaps we come back, perhaps we die; but there will be sport for men--" 'voila!' i would go. to know one strong man in this world is good. perhaps, some time i will go to him--yes, pierre, the gambler, will go to him, and say: it is good for the wild dog that he live near the lion. and the child, she was beautiful; she had a light heart and a sweet way.'"
-it was with this slight knowledge that gregory thorne set out on his journey over the great canadian prairie to marigold lake, for his december moose-hunt.
-gregory has since told me that, as he travelled with jacques pontiac across the height of land to his destination, he had uncomfortable feelings; presentiments, peculiar reflections of the past, and melancholy --a thing far from habitual with him. insolence is all very well, but you cannot apply it to indefinite thoughts; it isn't effective with vague presentiments. and when gregory's insolence was taken away from him, he was very like other mortals; virtue had gone out of him; his brown cheek and frank eye had lost something of their charm. it was these unusual broodings that worried him; he waked up suddenly one night calling, "margaret! margaret!" like any childlike lover. and that did not please him. he believed in things that, as he said himself, "he could get between his fingers;" he had little sympathy with morbid sentimentalities. but there was an english margaret in his life; and he, like many another childlike man, had fallen in love, and with her--very much in love indeed; and a star had crossed his love to a degree that greatly shocked him and pleased the girl's relatives. she was the granddaughter of a certain haughty dame of high degree, who regarded icily this poorest of younger sons, and held her darling aloof. gregory, very like a blunt unreasoning lover, sought to carry the redoubt by wild assault; and was overwhelmingly routed. the young lady, though finding some avowed pleasure in his company, accompanied by brilliant misunderstanding of his advances and full-front speeches, had never given him enough encouragement to warrant his playing young lochinvar in park lane; and his cup became full when, at the close of the season, she was whisked off to the seclusion of a country-seat, whose walls to him were impregnable. his defeat was then, and afterwards, complete. he pluckily replied to the derision of his relatives with multiplied derision, demanded his inheritance, got his traps together, bought a fur coat, and straightway sailed the wintry seas to canada.
-his experiences had not soured his temper. he believed that every dog has his day, and that fate was very malicious; that it brought down the proud, and rewarded the patient; that it took up its abode in marble halls, and was the mocker at the feast. all this had reference, of course, to the time when he should--rich as any nabob--return to london, and be victorious over his enemy in park lane. it was singular that he believed this thing would occur; but he did. he had not yet made his fortune, but he had been successful in the game of buying and selling lands, and luck seemed to dog his path. he was fearless, and he had a keen eye for all the points of every game--every game but love.
-yet he was born to succeed in that game too. for though his theory was, that everything should be treated with impertinence before you could get a proper view of it, he was markedly respectful to people. few could resist him; his impudence of ideas was so pleasantly mixed with delicately suggested admiration of those to whom he talked. it was impossible that john malbrouck and his wife could have received him other than they did; his was the eloquent, conquering spirit.
-by the time he reached lake marigold he had shaken off all those hovering fancies of the woods, which, after all, might only have been the whisperings of those friendly and far-seeing spirits who liked the lad as he journeyed through their lonely pleasure-grounds. john malbrouck greeted him with quiet cordiality, and mrs. malbrouck smiled upon him with a different smile from that with which she had speeded him a month before; there was in it a new light of knowledge, and gregory could not understand it. it struck him as singular that the lady should be dressed in finer garments than she wore when he last saw her; though certainly her purple became her. she wore it as if born to it; and with an air more sedately courteous than he had ever seen, save at one house in park lane. had this rustle of fine trappings been made for him? no; the woman had a mind above such snobbishness, he thought. he suffered for a moment the pang of a cynical idea; but the eyes of mrs. malbrouck were on him and he knew that he was as nothing before her. her eyes--how they were fixed upon him! only two women had looked so truthfully at him before: his dead mother and--margaret. and margaret--why, how strangely now at this instant came the thought that she was like his margaret! wonder sprang to his eyes. at that moment a door opened and a girl entered the room--a girl lissome, sweet-faced, well-bred of manner, who came slowly towards them.
-"my daughter, mr. thorne," the mother briefly remarked. there was no surprise in the girl's face, only an even reserve of pleasure, as she held out her hand and said: "mr. gregory thorne and i are old enemies." gregory thorne's nerve forsook him for an instant. he knew now the reason of his vague presentiments in the woods; he understood why, one night, when he had been more childlike than usual in his memory of the one woman who could make life joyous for him, the voice of a voyageur, not jacques's nor that of any one in camp, sang:
-"my dear love, she waits for me, none other my world is adorning; my true love i come to thee, my dear, the white star of the morning. eagles spread out your wings, behold where the red dawn is breaking! hark, 'tis my darling sings, the flowers, the song-birds awaking; see, where she comes to me, my love, ah, my dear love!"
-and here she was. he raised her hand to his lips, and said: "miss carley, you have your enemy at an advantage."
-"miss carley in park lane, margaret malbrouck here in my old home," she replied.
-there ran swiftly through the young man's brain the brief story that pretty pierre had told him. this, then, was the child who had been carried away, and who, years after, had made captive his heart in london town! well, one thing was clear, the girl's mother here seemed inclined to be kinder to him than was the guardian grandmother--if she was the grandmother--because they had their first talk undisturbed, it may be encouraged; amiable mothers do such deeds at times.
-"as for my being here, it is simply a case of blind fate; as for my friends, the only one i wanted to be sorry for my going was behind earthworks which i could not scale in order to leave my card, or--or anything else of more importance; and being left as it were to the inclemency of a winter world, i fled from--"
-she interrupted him. "what! the conqueror, you, flying from your moscow?"
-he felt rather helpless under her gay raillery; but he said:
-"well, i didn't burn my kremlin behind me."
-"my ships, then: they--they are just the same," he earnestly pleaded. foolish youth, to attempt to take such a heart by surprise and storm!
-"that is very interesting," she said, "but hardly wise. to make fortunes and be happy in new countries, one should forget the old ones. meditation is the enemy of action."
-"there's one meditation could make me conquer the north pole, if i could but grasp it definitely."
-"grasp the north pole? that would be awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies, if one may believe science and history. but, perhaps, you are in earnest after all, poor fellow! for my father tells me you are going over the hills and far away to the moose-yards. how valiant you are, and how quickly you grasp the essentials of fortune- making!"
-"miss malbrouck, i am in earnest, and i've always been in earnest in one thing at least. i came out here to make money, and i've made some, and shall make more; but just now the moose are as brands for the burning, and i have a gun sulky for want of exercise."
-"what an eloquent warrior-temper! and to whom are your deeds of valour to be dedicated? before whom do you intend to lay your trophies of the chase?"
-"before the most provoking but worshipful lady that i know."
-"who is the sylvan maid? what princess of the glade has now the homage of your impressionable heart, mr. thorne?"
-and gregory thorne, his native insolence standing him in no stead, said very humbly:
-"you are that sylvan maid, that princess--ah, is this fair to me, is it fair, i ask you?"
-"you really mean that about the trophies?" she replied. "and shall you return like the mighty khans, with captive tigers and lions, led by stalwart slaves, in your train, or shall they be captive moose or grizzlies?"
-"grizzlies are not possible here," he said, with cheerful seriousness, "but the moose is possible, and more, if you would be kinder--margaret."
-"your supper, see, is ready," she said. "i venture to hope your appetite has not suffered because of long absence from your friends."
-he could only dumbly answer by a protesting motion of the hand, and his smile was not remarkably buoyant.
-the next morning they started on their moose-hunt. gregory thorne was cast down when he crossed the threshold into the winter morning without hand-clasp or god-speed from margaret malbrouck; but mrs. malbrouck was there, and gregory, looking into her eyes, thought how good a thing it would be for him, if some such face looked benignly out on him every morning, before he ventured forth into the deceitful day. but what was the use of wishing! margaret evidently did not care. and though the air was clear and the sun shone brightly, he felt there was a cheerless wind blowing on him; a wind that chilled him; and he hummed to himself bitterly a song of the voyageurs:
-"o, o, the winter wind, the north wind, my snow-bird, where art thou gone? o, o, the wailing wind the night wind, the cold nest; i am alone. o, o, my snow-bird!
-"o, o, the waving sky, the white sky, my snow-bird thou fliest far; o, o, the eagle's cry, the wild cry, my lost love, my lonely star. o, o, my snow-bird!"
-he was about to start briskly forward to join malbrouck and his indians, who were already on their way, when he heard his name called, and, turning, he saw margaret in the doorway, her fingers held to the tips of her ears, as yet unused to the frost. he ran back to where she stood, and held out his hand. "i was afraid," he bluntly said, "that you wouldn't forsake your morning sleep to say good-bye to me."
-"it isn't always the custom, is it," she replied, "for ladies to send the very early hunter away with a tally-ho? but since you have the grace to be afraid of anything, i can excuse myself to myself for fleeing the pleasantest dreams to speed you on your warlike path."
-at this he brightened very much, but she, as if repenting she had given him so much pleasure, added: "i wanted to say good-bye to my father, you know; and--" she paused.
-"and?" he added.
-"and to tell him that you have fond relatives in the old land who would mourn your early taking off; and, therefore, to beg him, for their sakes, to keep you safe from any outrageous moose that mightn't know how the world needed you."
-"but there you are mistaken," he said; "i haven't anyone who would really care, worse luck! except the dowager; and she, perhaps, would be consoled to know that i had died in battle,--even with a moose,--and was clear of the possibility of hanging another lost reputation on the family tree, to say nothing of suspension from any other kind of tree. but, if it should be the other way; if i should see your father in the path of an outrageous moose--what then?"
-"my father is a hunter born," she responded; "he is a great man," she proudly added.
-"of course, of course," he replied. "good-bye. i'll take him your love.--good-bye!" and he turned away.
-"good-bye," she gaily replied; and yet, one looking closely would have seen that this stalwart fellow was pleasant to her eyes, and as she closed the door to his hand waving farewell to her from the pines, she said, reflecting on his words:
-"you'll take him my love, will you? but, master gregory, you carry a freight of which you do not know the measure; and, perhaps, you never shall, though you are very brave and honest, and not so impudent as you used to be,--and i'm not so sure that i like you so much better for that either, monsieur gregory."
-then she went and laid her cheek against her mother's, and said: "they've gone away for big game, mother dear; what shall be our quarry?"
-"my child," the mother replied, "the story of our lives since last you were with me is my only quarry. i want to know from your own lips all that you have been in that life which once was mine also, but far away from me now, even though you come from it, bringing its memories without its messages."
-"dear, do you think that life there was so sweet to me? it meant as little to your daughter as to you. she was always a child of the wild woods. what rustle of pretty gowns is pleasant as the silken shiver of the maple leaves in summer at this door? the happiest time in that life was when we got away to holwood or marchurst, with the balls and calls all over."
-mrs. malbrouck smoothed her daughter's hand gently and smiled approvingly.
-"but that old life of yours, mother; what was it? you said that you would tell me some day. tell me now. grandmother was fond of me--poor grandmother! but she would never tell me anything. how i longed to be back with you!.... sometimes you came to me in my sleep, and called to me to come with you; and then again, when i was gay in the sunshine, you came, and only smiled but never beckoned; though your eyes seemed to me very sad, and i wondered if mine would not also become sad through looking in them so--are they sad, mother?" and she laughed up brightly into her mother's face.
-"no, dear; they are like the stars. you ask me for my part in that life. i will tell you soon, but not now. be patient. do you not tire of this lonely life? are you truly not anxious to return to--"
-"'to the husks that the swine did eat?' no, no, no; for, see: i was born for a free, strong life; the prairie or the wild wood, or else to live in some far castle in welsh mountains, where i should never hear the voice of the social thou must!--oh, what a must! never to be quite free or natural. to be the slave of the code. i was born--i know not how! but so longing for the sky, and space, and endless woods. i think i never saw an animal but i loved it, nor ever lounged the mornings out at holwood but i wished it were a hut on the mountain side, and you and father with me." here she whispered, in a kind of awe: "and yet to think that holwood is now mine, and that i am mistress there, and that i must go back to it--if only you would go back with me.... ah, dear, isn't it your duty to go back with me?" she added, hesitatingly.
-audrey malbrouck drew her daughter hungrily to her bosom, and said: "yes, dear, i will go back, if it chances that you need me; but your father and i have lived the best days of our lives here, and we are content. but, my margaret, there is another to be thought of too, is there not? and in that case is my duty then so clear?"
-the girl's hand closed on her mother's, and she knew her heart had been truly read.
-the hunters pursued their way, swinging grandly along on their snow- shoes, as they made for the wild hawk woods. it would seem as if malbrouck was testing gregory's strength and stride, for the march that day was a long and hard one. he was equal to the test, and even big moccasin, the chief, grunted sound approval. but every day brought out new capacities for endurance and larger resources; so that malbrouck, who had known the clash of civilisation with barbarian battle, and deeds both dour and doughty, and who loved a man of might, regarded this youth with increasing favour. by simple processes he drew from gregory his aims and ambitions, and found the real courage and power behind the front of irony--the language of manhood and culture which was crusted by free and easy idioms. now and then they saw moose-tracks, but they were some days out before they came to a moose-yard--a spot hoof-beaten by the moose; his home, from which he strays, and to which he returns at times like a repentant prodigal. now the sport began. the dog-trains were put out of view, and big moccasin and another indian went off immediately to explore the country round about. a few hours, and word was brought that there was a small herd feeding not far away. together they crept stealthily within range of the cattle. gregory thorne's blood leaped as he saw the noble quarry, with their wide-spread horns, sniffing the air, in which they had detected something unusual. their leader, a colossal beast, stamped with his forefoot, and threw back his head with a snort.
-"the first shot belongs to you, mr. thorne," said malbrouck. "in the shoulder, you know. you have him in good line. i'll take the heifer."
-gregory showed all the coolness of an old hunter, though his lips twitched slightly with excitement. he took a short but steady aim, and fired. the beast plunged forward and then fell on his knees. the others broke away. malbrouck fired and killed a heifer, and then all ran in pursuit as the moose made for the woods.
-gregory, in the pride of his first slaughter, sprang away towards the wounded leader, which, sunk to the earth, was shaking its great horns to and fro. when at close range, he raised his gun to fire again, but the moose rose suddenly, and with a wild bellowing sound rushed at gregory, who knew full well that a straight stroke from those hoofs would end his moose-hunting days. he fired, but to no effect. he could not, like a toreador, jump aside, for those mighty horns would sweep too wide a space. he dropped on his knees swiftly, and as the great antlers almost touched him, and he could feel the roaring breath of the mad creature in his face, he slipped a cartridge in, and fired as he swung round; but at that instant a dark body bore him down. he was aware of grasping those sweeping horns, conscious of a blow which tore the flesh from his chest; and then his knife--how came it in his hand?--with the instinct of the true hunter. he plunged it once, twice, past a foaming mouth, into that firm body, and then both fell together; each having fought valiantly after his kind.
-gregory dragged himself from beneath the still heaving body, and stretched to his feet; but a blindness came, and the next knowledge he had was of brandy being poured slowly between his teeth, and of a voice coming through endless distances: "a fighter, a born fighter," it said. "the pluck of lucifer--good boy!"
-then the voice left those humming spaces of infinity, and said: "tilt him this way a little, big moccasin. there, press firmly, so. now the band steady--together--tighter--now the withes--a little higher up--cut them here." there was a slight pause, and then: "there, that's as good as an army surgeon could do it. he'll be as sound as a bell in two weeks. eh, well, how do you feel now? better? that's right! like to be on your feet, would you? wait. here, a sup of this. there you are. . . . well?"
-"well," said the young man, faintly, "he was a beauty."
-malbrouck looked at him a moment, thoughtfully, and then said: "yes, he was a beauty."
-"i want a dozen more like him, and then i shall be able to drop 'em as neat as, you do."
-"h'm! the order is large. i'm afraid we shall have to fill it at some other time;" and malbrouck smiled a little grimly.
-"what! only one moose to take back to the height of land, to--" something in the eye of the other stopped him.
-"to? yes, to?" and now the eye had a suggestion of humour.
-"to show i'm not a tenderfoot."
-"yes, to show you're not a tenderfoot. i fancy that will be hardly necessary. oh, you will be up, eh? well!"
-"well, i'm a tottering imbecile. what's the matter with my legs?--my prophetic soul, it hurts! oh, i see; that's where the old warrior's hoof caught me sideways. now, i'll tell you what, i'm going to have another moose to take back to marigold lake."
-"yes. i'm going to take back a young, live moose."
-"a significant ambition. for what?--a sacrifice to the gods you have offended in your classic existence?"
-"both. a peace-offering, and a sacrifice to--a goddess."
-"young man," said the other, the light of a smile playing on his lips, "'prosperity be thy page!' big moccasin, what of this young live moose?"
-the indian shook his head doubtfully.
-"but i tell you i shall have that live moose, if i have to stay here to see it grow."
-and malbrouck liked his pluck, and wished him good luck. and the good luck came. they travelled back slowly to the height of land, making a circuit. for a week they saw no more moose; but meanwhile gregory's hurt quickly healed. they had now left only eight days in which to get back to dog ear river and marigold lake. if the young moose was to come it must come soon. it came soon.
-they chanced upon a moose-yard, and while the indians were beating the woods, malbrouck and gregory watched.
-soon a cow and a young moose came swinging down to the embankment. malbrouck whispered: "now if you must have your live moose, here's a lasso. i'll bring down the cow. the young one's horns are not large. remember, no pulling. i'll do that. keep your broken chest and bad arm safe. now!"
-down came the cow with a plunge into the yard-dead. the lasso, too, was over the horns of the calf, and in an instant malbrouck was swinging away with it over the snow. it was making for the trees--exactly what malbrouck desired. he deftly threw the rope round a sapling, but not too taut, lest the moose's horns should be injured. the plucky animal now turned on him. he sprang behind a tree, and at that instant he heard the thud of hoofs behind him. he turned to see a huge bull-moose bounding towards him. he was between two fires, and quite unarmed. those hoofs had murder in them. but at the instant a rifle shot rang out, and he only caught the forward rush of the antlers as the beast fell.
-the young moose now had ceased its struggles, and came forward to the dead bull with that hollow sound of mourning peculiar to its kind. though it afterwards struggled once or twice to be free, it became docile and was easily taught, when its anger and fear were over.
-and gregory thorne had his live moose. he had also, by that splendid shot, achieved with one arm, saved malbrouck from peril, perhaps from death.
-they drew up before the house at marigold lake on the afternoon of the day before christmas, a triumphal procession. the moose was driven, a peaceful captive with a wreath of cedar leaves around its neck--the humourous conception of gregory thorne. malbrouck had announced their coming by a blast from his horn, and margaret was standing in the doorway wrapped in furs, which may have come originally from hudson's bay, but which had been deftly re-manufactured in regent street.
-astonishment, pleasure, beamed in her eyes. she clapped her hands gaily, and cried: "welcome, welcome, merry-men all!" she kissed her father; she called to her mother to come and see; then she said to gregory, with arch raillery, as she held out her hand: "oh, companion of hunters, comest thou like jacques in arden from dropping the trustful tear upon the prey of others, or bringest thou quarry of thine own? art thou a warrior sated with spoil, master of the sports, spectator of the fight, prince, or pistol? answer, what art thou?"
-and he, with a touch of his old insolence, though with something of irony too, for he had hoped for a different fashion of greeting, said:
-"all, lady, all! the olympian all! the player of many parts. i am touchstone, jacques, and yet orlando too."
-"and yet orlando too, my daughter," said malbrouck, gravely. "he saved your father from the hoofs of a moose bent on sacrifice. had your father his eye, his nerve, his power to shoot with one arm a bull moose at long range, so!--he would not refuse to be called a great hunter, but wear the title gladly."
-margaret malbrouck's face became anxious instantly. "he saved you from danger--from injury, father?" she slowly said, and looked earnestly at gregory; "but why to shoot with one arm only?"
-"because in a fight of his own with a moose--a hand-to-hand fight--he had a bad moment with the hoofs of the beast."
-and this young man, who had a reputation for insolence, blushed, so that the paleness which the girl now noticed in his face was banished; and to turn the subject he interposed:
-"here is the live moose that i said i should bring. now say that he's a beauty, please. your father and i--"
-but malbrouck interrupted:
-"he lassoed it with his one arm, margaret. he was determined to do it himself, because, being a superstitious gentleman, as well as a hunter, he had some foolish notion that this capture would propitiate a goddess whom he imagined required offerings of the kind."
-"it is the privilege of the gods to be merciful," she said. "this peace- offering should propitiate the angriest, cruellest goddess in the universe; and for one who was neither angry nor really cruel--well, she should be satisfied.... altogether satisfied," she added, as she put her cheek against the warm fur of the captive's neck, and let it feel her hand with its lips.
-there was silence for a minute, and then with his old gay spirit all returned, and as if to give an air not too serious to the situation, gregory, remembering his euripides, said:
-". . . . . . . .let the steer bleed, and the rich altars, as they pay their vows, breathe incense to the gods: for me, i rise mr. myre read the letter; and, as he read, his face became more like the hue of badly-made paste.
-he was a long time reading it, gaston latour’s sleepy eyes never leaving him.
-he burst into a harsh laugh, and flung the letter into the air:
-“a challenge, eh? ... ha-ha! ho-ho-ho!... tell your cousin, monsieur latour, that the duel is relegated to the limbo of opera-bouffe. ho-ho-ho! we do not do these things in england.”
-he prepared himself for a flight of oratory.
-gaston latour nudged the other youth--they bowed solemnly and withdrew.
-“ho-ho! ha-ha-ha!” laughed quogge myre.
-the following morning mr. quilliam o’flaherty macloughlin myre’s name was posted in every club in paris, and struck from the list of those to which he had belonged; so it came about that he had to live his day at cafés.
-and it was as he stood at a table, giving authoritative utterance with loud yawing voice to a group of youths that sat about him, vowing that he had determined to shake the dust of paris from off his splay feet and to start a great renaissance of the english drama, when a handsome young woman, sister to gaston latour, entered the place, walked straight up to mr. myre, and struck him a sounding buffet on the ear that sent his hat flying from his head.
-quilliam o’flaherty stooping down in confusion to search for the hat, she kicked him violently behind.
-there was a roar of laughter from the students seated round about, and they tapped the handles of their knives upon the tables, singing:
-“opera-bouffe, bouffe, bouffe! opera-bouffe, bouffe, bouffe! hey-hey-hey! bouffe-bouffe-bouffe!”
-then the girl flogged quilliam with a horse-whip, thrice:
-once for france.
-once for womanhood.
-and once because she liked it.
-the whip whistled.
-it was said that he had been seen to strike at her--but she parried the blow with her left, and countered between his eyes with the butt-end of the whip--which was loaded.
-it was homeric.
-it was at this stage, so the scandal went, that he scrambled under a table; but she lugged at his collar to get him out; and as he clung to the leg of the table she gripped him by the moustache so that she pulled off one side of it.
-but she herself owned this to be as inartistic as it was unintentional, stamping her foot with annoyance at the mischance. indeed, she apologized most handsomely; for, said she, pathetically, when she had got it she did not know what to do with it.
-it was an anticlimax.
-she threw down the whip and said he might now go home.
-he now went home.
-there is little reason to doubt that the horsewhipping by gaston latour’s sister hastened mr. myre’s desire to start the great renaissance of the english drama.
-as he stood before the mirror in his rooms at his hotel and shaved off the remains of his drooping moustache by the candle’s light, and soothed the aching bumps that were risen upon his face, he sniffed loudly through a swollen nose--he had very tender places--and decided to go to rouen until the hair grew.
-which has to do with blue blood and a jade-handled cane
-the duel got upon the town.
-rupert greppel, strutting with hidalgic air, was concerned in bringing about several affairs. no one was hurt. there was much braying of asses.
-the lord montagu askew, dainty, foppish, in the mode, and the honourable rupert greppel, hidalgic, head in air, stood before a shop window in the rue de la paix and gazed at their splendid reflections; whilst past them moved on the pavement or whirled by in barouches the great world of paris--hig-lif sunning its butterfly wings, honey-questing, sipping at any dew that the gods left lying abroad.
-montagu askew held his jade-handled cane mincingly, and he glowed with a gentleman-like glow, for his dove-coloured little book of poems tinted all the bookstalls.
-more than one woman of high rank this morning had stopped her carriage to congratulate him on the exquisite lyric wherein the vast firmament at break of dawn was likened to the grey of a woman’s glove--indeed, it became the vogue of the drawing-rooms--people sang it.
-as a fact, montagu askew was acknowledged lord of chamber music. indeed, in his slender careful verse was no rude hint of the full-blooded rabelaisian love of life; it was innocent of the suggestion of a large emotion; he played upon the accepted measures and the well-authenticated rhyme; he startled with no surprises; he sounded no new note--montagu never forgot he was a gentleman. not for him the uncouthness to fling open loud-clanging gates to a new world. he was pretty and serenely mannered before everything, disdainful of them that skipped a foot to the hot jigging blood, or such as showed a strong disdain; nor was he wanting in contempt for the natural emotions. when he condescended to so low an act as to seek nature, he walked through the well-groomed spaces of the world, well-trimmed parks at the outside, where an elaborate etiquette had made the rules even for the trees to grow in seemliness with a most gentlemanly existence. for him were no disturbing peerings into human destiny--he raised no rough alarms by strenuous aims and vigorous thinking. pretty, dandified, he--always. sinning easily enough, but always like a gentleman. never a crudity. as a perfumed fan fluttered by jewelled slender fingers, blowing cool fragrant airs that kiss the painted cheek of some frail beauty, he uttered his lines--obscene often, but by the most gentlemanly of innuendoes. the unmannerly thing was the only sin. the display of a profound emotion was the depth of ill-breeding. so sang he, tunefully always, guiltless of all rough accent of originality; sang of peacocks and green carnations and blue roses, of butterflies and pools and dragonflies and souls, of ivory and silver, and of dawn and dusk and dew, and white shoulders sweet, beauties who moved languidly with rustle of silk--so wafted he to you nothing more vibrant than whisper of women and scent of perfumed chambers and flowers and bowers and rose and amarynth and asphodel and daffodil, of moonlight and music and kiss and gavotte and little tiny things--and always in the most gentlemanly manner. he milked the unicorn. always a would-be suggestion of mysterious deep-hid symbolism that ended where it began, and at most only the dark hint of well-bred tragedy.
-he moved impatiently now, as impatiently as he might, complaining that the shop-window into which he deigned to cast his reflection was tinted with amethyst.
-“come, greppel,” said he--“let us gaze at ourselves in another window--this is an ageing colour.”
-then came the terrible tragedy of a fire at a charity bazaar; a most patrician function with much upper clergy in it was smitten with sudden and awful death. montagu askew was in the business. he was one of the few that came out alive.
-in the rush of the distraught ladies, princesses, duchesses, maids, to the sole outlet of the seething hell, montagu askew got caught near the door--frantic hands of terrified women clutched at him for help--he was almost within reach of the free air--could see the sunlight a few paces before him--a frightened girl clung to his arm in the awful crush, then another--women’s skirts got under foot as they made for the door, and they went down. he tried to shake himself clear of the two girls, he was a little slender man.... the heat was hellish.... one of the girls tripped on her skirt and fell, clinging to him. he beat her down with the jade-handled cane--fought his way blindly through the rush of women for the door--stood at last out in the sunlight.
-some coachmen were dashing into the fiery furnace, lifting up and bringing out fainting women, whose muslin skirts were in flames.
-but monty askew was frightened.
-he smoothed his ruffled dress and went home.
-montagu askew, entering a café with rupert greppel one evening, saluted noll baddlesmere, where he stood amongst a group of students; and a silence fell upon the place.
-“that’s a handsome cane, askew,” said he--“though they tell me the women have a poor opinion of it.”
-askew’s little gloved hands trembled, and he turned white with anger--as pale as montagu askew allowed himself to turn:
-“it has belonged to my forefathers for seven generations,” he said--“and every man of them backed his acts with his sword.”
-noll laughed; shrugged his shoulders:
-“if your acts are hereditary, it is an excuse for you,” he said.
-the following morning, rupert greppel and a french cousin called upon noll; and rupert stiffly asked if he could refer him to two friends.
-“no,” said noll--doome was with him--“no--i do not associate with men who associate with lord montagu askew.”
-rupert greppel paused, dumbfounded:
-“i do not think you understand,” he said. “lord montagu askew challenges you to fight him.”
-“tell lord montagu askew from me,” said noll, “that i only brawl with men. good-morning.”
-the whisperings at the clubs are said to have hit lord montagu askew harder than a pistol-bullet; but lord montagu, from lack of experience, is not an authority on being hit with pistol-bullets. he never takes part in ungentlemanly encounters where people are hit. indeed, he maintains a wondrous silence, except that he challenged noll; and the jade-handled cane has joined the ancestors.
-wherein a man of the world commits the indiscretion of putting his experiences into writing
-“dear noll,” writes horace malahide about this time, “i have a son. he speaks english as yet with a strong foreign accent--but lack of experience may have more than something to do with it. if you come, i’ll let you play with him.
-i live in a whirl of tangled emotions in these days.
-t’other evening i went home, to my father’s marble halls, to seek the old gentleman on an affair of hot urgency. it was in the long hours. i lost some temper--the butler being a sphinx of ducal know-nothingness--so i rang up the housekeeper. yes, she knew where a telegram would find sir pompey if i would leave it with her.
-gods! said i, am i utterly disinherit?
-forthwith the heir of this branch of the malahides demanded the address.
-it lay at st. john’s wood!
-i nodded ‘that will do’ to the twain, and dismissed them; and, they being dismissed, i whistled long.
-naughty old gentleman!...
-the next morning pa did not return. mid-day passed. evening stole on.... the dusk saw me descend at the doors of the address in st. john’s wood from mine hansom cab.
-i must preach the decencies; thus i, strengthening the intention as i rang.
-‘sir pompey malahide is here,’ said i sternly to the smart maid that opened the door.
-‘yes, sir,’ said she.
-‘i desire to see my father,’ said i, and marched boldly towards the furious racket that filled the room near at hand--the paternal roar distinctly discernible, bassoonlike as though he cried small coal.
-i flung open the door--burst upon the riot----
-on the floor lay the byronic bartholomew doome with three children rolling over him--three, no less!--another in his arms--sir pompey malahide, my father, on all fours, pretending to be a she-bear, his coat-tails over his head, shaking a footstool in his teeth, and growling like an ass in pain--and seated on the immaculate waistcoat of the dark mysterious bartholomew the most beautiful young woman i have ever seen. the din infernal--and pa the worst part of the din.
-‘what does this mean, pa?’ cried i.
-they gathered themselves up, shamelessly--laughed--ye gods, twittingly, at me! wholly unabashed, pa, shaking himself into comfort in his clothes, slapped me upon the back:
-‘horace, my son----’
-‘don’t be familiar, sir pompey,’ said i. ‘you are speaking to the heir to a baronetcy.’
-the baronet laughed vulgarly:
-‘mrs. bartholomew doome,’ he said--‘allow me to introduce to you horace, my son--at least, my reputed son.’
-bows, chassées, and greetings.
-‘horace--the misses doome, master horace doome, and master oliver doome----’
-the old gentleman slapped me upon the back again with mighty hand that near drove me down amongst the fire-irons.
-he dug me in the ribs:
-‘the rogue’s been married this seven years,’ cried he; ‘and now he’s signed the deeds as partner in malahide and son, and you’re just in the nick of time, the fool of a lawyer is upstairs--only--look here, horace, you must, like doome, sign a bond not to touch the business arrangements--you and he would wreck the counting-house in six months....’
-doome took an early opportunity to draw me aside and to whisper to me the grave disappointment it must be to all who respected him if they should discover the real don juan, begged me not to expose him, and pointed out the serious loss of prestige he must suffer in the eyes of the british public; so we sat down together on a sofa and pitied him for his decencies.
-luddy, luddy! how the homely virtues will persist!
-the idol of our youth, the dark, mysteriously wicked man--with feet of honest clay and a clean simple heart after all! even prolific, and----
-well, damn romance, say i....
-oh, and more!
-even the gods fall out--drift apart.
-aubrey and the o’myre go different ways--aubrey in pain that o’myre has now discovered that there is no great work of art without a moral purpose--aubrey holding that aubrey himself is sufficient purpose. he, aubrey, avers that he has found himself--nothing matters after that. he must back to paris. there the women have secular lips and voices of brocade and understand being loved. tiens! he will in future give his splendid talents to attack the philistinic brutality of strength and the barbarity of the over-rated glory in mere outdoor delight that to-day holds england in poisonous embrace; in all the pride of effeminacy he withdraws into the palace of his egoism, where he is lord--back to paris--there are mirrors, where he may reflect upon himself, take himself up by the roots and dwell upon his own image!
-i expect he will come back to us occasionally to see what he looks like.
-the egregious o’myre also hath descended on london town--stays, however, but a little while----
-yet a wondrous thing of a man, the o’myre--the most consistent surely of all created things--always wrong. he and the times. he must have been suckled on half-truths, and nurtured on the irish bull; he now browses on false conclusions. but with what an air! nevertheless, he has it all on the most philosophic basis--has for ever been blaming something for his lack of greatness. it now appears the english drama is dead. the o’myre will breathe new life into it.
-meanwhile, he has laid it down, like a minor god with a throaty tenor voice, that scenery destroys the illusion of the drama--therefore it comes about to-day that if you would be in the vogue with the ladies you must go in state not to the play, but to the dress rehearsal--the bare theatre and the dinginess being alone at back, the low tone and the cobwebs and the like giving mystery to the spoken word that requires for enunciation but beautiful lips. god! how the ducks quack!
-thus mews he much monstrous wisdom, sitting like a pale emotional maggot upon the apple of discord that is called the modern drama.”...
-the rest of the letter is a matter of affection and goodwill. a man is always ridiculous about his first-born--exaggerative, egotistical. as though he had invented the business. whereas, like heredity, immortality, and the latest fashion, it is thrust upon us.
-wherein our hero, and another, go home
-the sunlight that had painted the white face of paris with a hundred hues all day had given place to a gentle drizzle as the twilight fell; and the steady downpour had driven noll into a restaurant which he was not in the habit of frequenting; it had kept him there in its bright rooms until he knew every face and every trick of gesture of the people who sat about him.
-the night was well advanced when he sallied out into the light rain; turning up his collar, he strode homewards.
-he paid small heed to the rain; and as he turned out of the well-washed street into the courtyard where he had his lodging, and climbed the stairs to his room, he scarcely noticed that he was wet.
-the rustle of women’s petticoats was in his ears, and when he walked abroad in these days he was aglow with the sense of the warm regard of women’s eyes, that glanced upon him from the dark shadows of rakish hats; the walk and movement of women found a rhythmic echo in his thinking. the warmth of the coming summer was in his blood. his instincts were jigging to the dancing measure of the season.
-as he flung off his wet clothes he was seized with a whim to go to the tavern of the golden sun; and he decided to humour the whim.
-he lit a candle and flipped through a book until it was close on midnight. but he was restless--and he arose eagerly when it was time to go....
-as noll, reaching the bottom step, fumbled at the door that led into the tavern of the golden sun, a young woman in black came languidly down the stairs, and he held the door open for her to pass in.
-the light fell on the delicate features of madelaine. she smiled with pleasure, seeing him.
-they entered and stood together--a song was being sung--and as the last chords were struck, she slipped her hand within his arm; and he left it there. she shared the cordial greeting that noll received from the faded poets and frequenters of the place. she was very beautiful--but her face pathetically pale. noll noticed a dizzy tendency to cling to his arm, as though she feared to fall. he found a table, and made her sit down beside him.
-“madelaine,” said he--“you look as if you wanted food.”
-she sighed sadly:
-“ah, yes--for years,” she said.
-he called for a drink and some biscuits for her; and whilst they were being brought, he asked her:
-“what became of you, madelaine--after the old widow snacheur was killed?”
-she sighed sadly:
-she slipped her hand through his arm, laid her head against his shoulder, and smiled:
-“but do not let us think of these things--it is so warm here.”
-the touch of the affectionate hands, the childlike caress of the girl, the confidence and the clinging of her warm body to him, thrilled him. she was in all the fresh beauty of her young womanhood; and the simple black gown, threadbare and worn as it was, only enhanced the beauty of her skin and pronounced the delicacy of her colour and the richness of her splendid hair.
-the girl increased the restlessness that had possessed the youth all day. she brought to him the sweet whiteness and the subtle grace of betty--filled his senses with the atmosphere of the handsome girl who had filled all his dreams from boyhood. it brought to him the most importunate craving of man, the love of woman.
-noll sat brooding for awhile. yet even in the vigorous lust of life that held his young years, even as he sat there in the thrill of his sweetest memories, he vaguely felt the gentle presence of these simple faded artistic folk about him; and he realized how indelibly the word failure was written across them all. the coats were, if anything, more faded; the shoes more worn; the eyes alone lit up with the wonted glow of delight in art. a little praise was their rich barmecidal feast.
-the greybeards, and the youths, and those between, they were all still hoping to create the masterpiece--there was not, amongst them all, energy enough to create more than the delicate measure of a gust of chamber-music.
-a burst of applause followed the recital of a poem.
-noll roused with a start:
-“come, madelaine,” said he--“this heavy air is making you faint. come with me and we’ll have some supper.”
-she gathered her skirts with wonted grace of gesture and took his arm; and they made their way out of the room almost unnoticed.
-as the doors closed on them, she turned in the dim ill-lit passage, drew down his face to her between her two hands, and kissed him.
-she clung to him:
-“thou must give me a bed too,” she whispered hoarsely; “i have no bed.”
-she was trembling.
-“you are tired, madelaine,” he said.
-“i have had no sleep for three nights.”
-“what have you been doing?” he asked.
-“i walked about the streets,” she answered simply.
-she gathered up her skirts, and slipped her hand through his arm. they climbed up to the courtyard, and so into the street, and out into the night.
-madelaine sat on the side of the bed and undressed.
-it was a sadly simple undressing.
-noll went and looked out of the window, where paris lay below him, blinking her thousand eyes....
-he roused and went to the bed.
-noll went back to the window--it was the window from which horace had gazed down upon the world the night before noll and betty had come to paris.
-and as noll so stood, his brows hard knit upon the problems of his life, the night slowly passed.
-the rustle of a woman’s skirt had been in his ears all day--in his blood. this girl had brought back to him, of a sudden, the fragrance of his marriage.
-and this beautiful winsome girl--what was to be the end?
-the very question sobered him.
-suddenly it was as though he had left the din of the noisy thoroughfare of life and had entered the majestic silence of a mighty cathedral; and from the great mysterious deeps a whisper came to his ears, each syllable roundly phrased, clear, unhesitating, a chapter of this strange book of life that he had so lately read--the book that had fired his blood and aroused his energy. the breath of these pages seemed to give him decision and free air, where before he had been drifting aimlessly, going he knew not whither, caring not overmuch. this book had braced him--it was a call to battle. he had had enough of beds of roses and daffodils and idyllic trances. the phrasing of the masterfolk came to him now:
-“nature has ordered that certain things shall be; and to him who disobeys her ordering she is cruelly merciless. she has decreed that he shall be most dominant, shall breed the fittest race, shall know the fullest life, shall achieve the highest destiny, who abides by the woman he loves. and him who is unclean she flings upon the dunghill--him and his seed for ever. of the love of man for woman, nature has spoken with no uncertain voice; and nature’s judgment is final. he that fears to love a woman sets himself against the supreme law of life; he ends in unnatural vice; he is against the design of life; celibacy nature will none of--for celibacy stultifies life and ends the race. promiscuous love she condemns utterly and punishes heavily with loathsome disease and with foul decay; the races of promiscuous love are become of the scum of the earth, and are dying out. against the love of many women also, once and for all, she has spoken. the peoples of many wives nature is sweeping into the waste corners of the world. nature is her own jury--nature alone her own judge. she hath not said the masterfolk cannot break from her ordering, but that they shall not. on every breach of her vigorous laws nature waits with weaponed hand. at the elbow of every vice stands foul-breathed disease.
-there is no sin in the love of man and woman. the woman has committed no sin in loving--she has but accepted the overwhelming urging of life. it is her chiefest glory. man has committed no sin in loving; his life has ordered it; and the masterfolk obey life. it is his chiefest glory. who so glum a dullard but smiles to see lovers meeting! but he sins foully who is guilty of the repudiation--foully against the woman, criminally against his race, blasphemously against his godhood, and damnably against his manhood. such are not of the masterfolk.
-they of the inferior manhood, lacking in the force of character necessary to the full acceptance of the duties of the masterfolk in love, have not the virile force to abide by a woman of the masterfolk; and these come out when the lamps are lit and there are shadows in the land, and skulk about the by-lanes, and commit mean adulteries with frail women, and have the habit of repudiating debt. such cannot breed the masterfolk. they shall not. for these cower from the strengthening risks that dog a strenuous life; they would have the delight of marriage without the courage....”
-noll opened the window.
-there came from the street below the hoarse cry of a prostitute.
-he went into the room, lit a candle, and sat down at his desk. everything in the place whispered of betty this night.
-he wrote a letter:
-i am called home.
-i leave my rooms and all in them to your care, knowing that they will be in good hands. i leave you also all the money i can spare, to keep you in decency and comfort until i return.
-i shall send, early in the day, for the large leather bag which you will find labelled and ready by the door.
-and when he had sealed this letter he wrote another:
-i hear that you arrived in paris with horace yesterday. by the time you get this letter i shall have left my house in the clouds. last night i found madelaine at the golden sun. she was without home, without means, except the sweating pay of mean industries on which no honest woman can live; she was without a bed. but her blood is dancing with life--not with a desire to cower in sweating-dens. she was drifting. i gave her all these things that i might, last night--and she is now asleep here.
-come to her as soon as you get this, and let her feel that she is not alone. she will babble all her news to you--it will be better for her than babbling it to me.
-tell horace not to go back to the haunts of his youth. the wine is not nearly so good as we thought it. the illusion is the sweet thing. don’t break the butterfly.
-tell him also that both of you have much of my heart.
-noll sealed the letter and wrote a third--to the concierge:
-i am called away to england. mademoiselle madelaine le trouvé has been good enough to take charge of the rooms until madame and myself return. pray give the enclosed to your little ones ‘from the englishman who knows how to laugh.’
-he stole to where madelaine slept, and on the chair by her bed he put her letter and some banknotes.
-he shut up the bag, tied a label upon it, put on his cloak and hat, blew out the candle, and softly let himself out of the room.
-in the darkness noll stood upon the bridge at the end of the boule miche, the pleasant highway of youth. but he now knew no indecisions.
-he realized that his mere intellect had led him into the veriest pedantries--had nearly led him into irretrievable blunders. he saw that man’s highest was rooted in the body, that heaven was no fantastic dream, but here and now for the winning on this healthy brown earth. he had been letting it slip by him, whilst he dreamed of pasteboard nothingnesses.
-he realized that the emotion felt was nearer to the centre of life than all thought. he cast from him the devil of mere intellect, and it went out of him demurely into the darkness, like some poor thin-souled nun, who crushes down into barrenness the splendid emotions of the life within her which are her very godhood, in fantastic hope to win an eternity of vague bliss, she who by the very act shows her inability to enjoy bliss--for, heaven and hell and all the eternities shall yield her no such bliss as the dear human loves may do--the æons of immortality shall never bring her the delight that she might know in an hour of a lover’s embrace or the dear touch of a nestling child at her lean breasts.
-as the awakened youth stood there, the black night passed over the edge of the populous city, and its smoky shadow slowly followed it. the lights of the lamps paled in the dawn; the stars went out; and out of the daffodil east the day came up--and there was light in the world.
-before the day was well begun, noll went home.
-in the still grey dawn, in dripping drizzle, gavroche the anarchist slouched forth from prison-cell to his harsh doom.
-he was dejected.
-he missed the band, the public eye, the shouts of the comrades.
-what, gavroche! this is thy dramatic moment--thou hast the stage all to thy sole swaggering self--and though thou roused at daybreak from thy broodings to lilt a braggart song with all thy best intent to play the reckless swashbuckler, the florid eager pressman can only report that thou didst sing “somewhat palsily.”
-tush, man! is it thus thou goest to thy end? hath thy desire to be ruthless overman brought only this about--that thou art to become no better than manure? where is now thy dream of ruthless overman? nay, what avails at all now thy overmanhood, gavroche? does not thy neck feel rather with unpleasant shiver of discomfort the overlordship of the commonweal? the aristocrat despised it yesterday, and thou to-day. hast thou, even thus late, a glimmering that thy vaunted ruthless brutality is to be snipped by the might of this commonweal, thy unspeakable windpipe slit at a stroke of the ordered shear that falls on the bidding of that overwhelming force which is the public good--the power of that sneered-at race that is to thy silly little individual hand’s strength as the might of the sea to the spite of some flab stinging medusa!
-yet, if the insignificance of thy little petty self irk thy conceit at this moment, what of the scented, gloved, and dandified gentlemen who write the anarchic words that have led thy conceit to seek some shabby fame in flinging a bomb amongst innocent people! what of them whose lyric pens have pointed the way to the uselessness of the old and sick and far-too-many and superfluous ones! what of them that go scot-free--whose philosophies led thee to kill the old miser-woman and to slay the drunken carter to thine own egoism’s enrichment? tsh! thou wert but a tool after all, thou with all thy strange gabble of ruthless overman, putting to the touch of practice what the gloved gentlemen were content to prate of--might being right and the rest.
-well, thou goest to thy dunghill alone--they to their social triumphs. and, when all’s said, the aristocratic ideal has brought rich harvests as well as the shearing of necks to its idolaters--and they have had their emotional moments in intervals of starving the race and filching from the poor and from the widow and the fatherless.
-nay, doth not europe, bereft of protestations, bow, hat in hand, to the almanach de gotha? and the fine gentry therein, weak-knee’d and inbred and ridiculous, do they not claim divine rights and special places reserved in church and the tribute of the formalities all set and square to their comical little greatnesses? and multitude of lackeys!... gods! are they not even envied!
-verily, gavroche, thou hast been lacking in the diplomacies. it is that which has been thy chief offence against thyself. these others bray as loudly--but the accent is more tuneful.
-so, the same dawn, the self-same lamp of day, sees us all going each on our so different way.
-of the blossoming of the tree of life
-which has to do with the binding of books in half-calf and the whimsies of calf love
-when noll had left his baggage in a quiet hotel by the strand, and had refreshed his body with much splashing of himself in water and a change of clothes, he sallied out into the streets of london in a vague wonder and surprise as to how to begin the search for betty, yet firmly determined to start straightway in his quest--the baddlesmere jaw set firm.
-the summer afternoon was closing in, and the strand was gay with people cheerily making their way homewards from work or amusement. but homewards noll did not take his steps; he felt a certain sense of shame about going to his own people without betty at his side--and this, too, not on his own account, but that it seemed disloyal to betty and likely to make her future entrance into the family circle an embarrassment to her--so sudden was the suddenness with which he had stepped into the realm of his manhood!
-the young fellow had been too restless to stay in the dingy mute rooms of the hotel; he could think it out better in the open--striding to his thinking. it was in the blood--he smiled at the restless walk of lord wyntwarde up and down that library, of the strange trick that came out in his mother at times....
-ah, london, thou queen of cities, that filchest for ever the hearts of them that dare to love thee! radiant in thy sunshine, fantastic in thy murk, it is when thou puttest on the habit of thy lilac twilight that thou showest all thy majesty--thy tiring maids, the handsomest women of the world, helping thee to thy wondrous mantle of many hues--pale whitenesses and opal greys, beribboned with purple and ultramarine and the sooty tinge of dusky shadows, adorned with diamonds of a hundred flames and wrought through and through with gold and silvery strands, and thus and so, with smoky art, spinning thyself a mystic robe that it is full fit only the queen of all cities shall wear.
-and what a splendid stage, thy realm, to strut it in! thy large drama knows no curtain, thy magnificence no boundary but man’s narrow sight. thy whisper and the song of thee, and thy strange melodies, no strings of violins nor the resounding hollows of deep orchestral ’cellos can yield. from the music of thy ways, where goes thy multitudinous traffic with roll of many wheels, and lurches the gaudy omnibus with reeking horses twain, and lumbers the thundering dray, and winds in and out the teeming welter the quick black hansom seeking the hackney fare, with jigging of horse-bells that sound a catchy measure to the shuffle of many feet, from out thy swarming hive there comes the breath of vigorous life and thinkingness and the atmosphere of quick wits and alert wills that have the habit of decisive action and of dogged enthusiasms.
-and the faces that pass, with lingering glance out of the dusk, the pale sweet faces of thy beautiful women and the handsome figures of a vigorous race, how much larger vastnesses are in the communion of these eyes than in wide empty spaces of unthinking continents!
-the mystic dusk turns thy many habitations to a thousand shadowy palaces, thy very vulgarities to dulcet musicalities. what comedies are in the making in thy wide hospitable lap to-night! what tragedies! what heroic strivings! what bemeaning indecencies! what crimes!
-thy very mud holds something of dark mysterious lustre--being that which is trod out of thy pageant and thy history.
-he only loves thee best who, being divorced from thee, comes to thee again out of the years. he flips thy mantle with no cockney familiarity, but hears in the hollows of his reverent ears the æolian whisperings of thy large significance....
-the sound of footsteps ceased to rouse the echoes in the empty street, as noll came to a halt before netherby gomme’s doorway. he hesitated for a moment; ran up the steps; and rang the bell.
-the smoky twilight that held the place was passing into sooty darkness, turning the staid street of lodging-houses into a way of fairy habitations, the lemon flames of gas-lamps showing a sweeping curve of light down its long length to the far rumble of the city’s distant traffic.
-a key coughed in its wards as it shot back the bolts of the lock; and the door yawned open.
-noll turned at the sound of its unlatching.
-the mother of netherby gomme stood in the dark hollow of the doorway; and a grim triumph lurked in her eyes.
-noll saluted her, hat in hand; and she returned his greeting with a grave smile of surprise.
-“is netherby at home, mrs. gomme?” he asked.
-the grim triumph slipped back to her eyes, and came lurking into the corners of the old mouth again:
-“he came home from his honeymoon to-day, noll,” she said--“will you go up and see him?”
-noll walked into the house, and the door was shut behind him with a triumphant slam. he followed the grim old lady into the little sitting-room, and as he went the memory of the queenly figure of the little child betty as she walked into the dingy room and kissed the jealousy out of this old woman’s heart, came back to him like the fragrance of her sweetness, so that for a while he could not speak what he would have said.
-“it was only the other day,” she said, “that you were boys together.... to me it is only yesterday that he was a--little one--in my--arms.” her eyes filled with tears. “but it is all gone.... this passing of youth is as strange as death....” and she added after awhile: “i think he--was glad--to come back.”
-something of the light of triumph came stealing back to the old tear-stained face.
-“and julia?” he asked.
-“i’ve sent her out to get tickets for the theatre,” she said drily. “they will want amusing badly to-night--and the tuning of the fiddles would always rouse my netherby.... but you’d better go up and see him, noll--you used to know the way.”
-noll made a pause to take breath at the top of the stairs (how he and betty had raced up those steps!). he pushed open the attic door.
-in the midst of the smudgy dusk that filled the room, his head in his hands, elbows on knees, sat the dim figure of netherby gomme, sobbing pitifully.
-noll shut the door softly, and went up to the bowed man:
-“good god, netherby!” said he--“what’s this?”
-he gripped his hand upon the other’s shoulder, affectionately.
-gomme signed him to a seat:
-noll struck a light, turned on the tap of the wrought-iron gas-jet; and the gas leaped into flame.
-the old attic was gone.
-in its place was a picturesque medieval room of quaint nooks and demure corners, with stiff wooden settles of curving line against the wall, and low bookshelves round the rest of the walls; and above, on a deep coloured frieze under the low ceiling, was a long space of rigid trees from the land of morris, green trees that yielded vasty purple and golden fruits on close-bunched foliage--and in the blue intervals between the stilted trees sailed white-sailed many-coloured galleons and purple triremes--and on the wall beneath the frieze and above the long curves of the low bookshelves was a yellow space splashed with huge orange-coloured dogs, with emerald eyes and scarlet mouths, that leaped along on hind legs to the chasing of each other and an occasional orange stag amidst mighty flowering plants that seemed to whirl in autumn tints with cunning running lines half-flower, half-leaf. and here and there was a knight in armour, and a hawk upon his wrist, and clothes upon his horse, and about him was always written soe sirre gallahydde gotte hyme pryckynge to hys pilgrymmynges; and when the knight was faded blue the writing was russet green; but when the knight was russet green the writing about him was faded blue. and here and there was a lady with hair in plait, and she wove at a loom, and sang with ruddy lips, and the writing about her was chaunted the queene ande weaved hyre tale righte fyttyngelye; and when the queen was orange yellow the writing was white, and when the queen was white the writing was orange yellow. the old bookshelves, with their gay untidiness of many-coloured books, were gone; and in their place in more severe order on dark oaken bookshelves of suave design were ranked books all bound exactly alike in uniform yellow half-calf bindings. the floor was rich-stained and polished, and in the middle of it lay a rug of the yellow of saffron.
-the old attic was now so rich of hue and yet so stiffly chaste that noll almost rubbed his eyes to see if he were awake.
-it was indeed a handsome room; and yet----
-and, be it remembered, for her the doing had been no light ordering--it was a flagellation of her own nakedness with cruel whips; for, as each change obliterated a footprint of the past, the atmosphere in which the boy and man had wrought their career swiftly vanished--the very hint of an early struggle had departed from the place.
-noll felt how the room must have struck netherby in the face as he leaped up the stair and flung open the door to be welcomed to its old genial comradeship after his journey and absence from his beloved things.
-noll’s eyes came back from his thoughts to rest on the bent shoulders of the disconsolate man; and netherby realized that the other had digested the situation.
-he sighed sadly, his head in his hands:
-“poor julia!” he said--“ she must never know. she has done this during our absence--as a surprise. and,” he added grimly: “it was!”
-“but, netherby, my dear old boy; you must not fret. you are famous, man----”
-“oh yes--quite. a duchess has asked me to dinner--without my wife.”
-noll put out the light:
-“let us sit in the dusk for awhile, netherby, as we have sat many a day and settled the affairs of the state. we have laughed at care here; and kicked the world about like a football, and striven to dig up the roots of the universe--the why and the wherefore and the whence and the whither.”
-“ah, noll, the old room is gone. i have to begin all over again. these stiff prude seats compel me to order--tell me harshly that i must not be dreaming overmuch, nor thinking--which is next door to dreaming--but nag me to be up and doing, boiling pots or eggs or hitting something or pushing at things. i don’t seem to fit in anywhere. the medieval rigours warn me to be done with visions and the reading of the visions of others; and their hard oaken seats rise up and assault me where i would sit upon them.... but that is nothing. they have left me not even my books. i am bewildered--bewildered--wholly bewildered.”
-he sighed sadly, and went on:
-“ah, noll, he only knows the whole delight of having possessed a child who has lost it.... books are one’s most intimate friends--they never change--never play us a shabby trick. how they eat into one’s friendship, each dressed in his individual habit! the very ugliness of some a reason for seeking to win their confidence; perhaps a reason for an easy familiarity--we dog-ear them the more--mark them the more--love them the more. put them in handsome ranks uniform, and their individuality is gone--like sisters that are primly arrayed to the same pattern to simper through a tedious garden-party. we begin to find faults where was once only affection; and their outward seeming being now alike, like critics we seek to taste not the delights within, but carp because this has not shakespeare’s wit nor that the thunders and the music of carlyle. these that were once our closest, most garrulous, most intimate friends have gone to join the silent ranks of library editions that no one reads. these stiff and formal backs, these ornamental edges, these dandified and dyed airs, repel me from my ancient friendships. the intimacy of years is broken--frozen. they open no longer eagerly at the old accustomed places, stained with frequent thumbings, where my own hand cut the dear intimate leaves--they are deckle-edged and bedamned and horrible which were wont to be delightfully impertinent. i cannot find my way in the old garden that i loved--the old dog-ears are smoothed out, gone--my pencillings erased, their whisperings mute, they nudge my elbow no more. these, my one-time boon companions snub me; give me but the flabby handshake of necessity. they open their houses to me mincingly, and yawn affected utterance. they no longer tickle me in the ribs, touching me on the sleeve, nor beckon; they do not chuckle familiarly--nor brood with me upon the roll and march of the great significancies. their new clothes are insistent--upon them as upon me. they smell of the oil of respectability like gagged sunday-school children. we know each other no longer--except with formal bow and elaborate etiquette--as when a royal person enters the room of entertainment and puts good-fellowship to the rout.”
-he made a pause, and, passing his gaunt hand over his brow, he added sadly:
-“i have come home to find myself in a strange land.... shining-faced respectability has usurped my chair.... my kingdom has slipped from me.... the flowers in my garden are dead.”
-noll patted him on the back:
-“tut, tut, man--you have come into a new kingdom.”
-he heard julia’s voice upon the stair; and he saw that the other had heard it, for he stood up and forced a smile upon his long sad face.
-noll went close to him hurriedly:
-“one word, netherby--quick, before she comes--do you know where betty is?” he asked hoarsely.
-netherby smiled a sad smile:
-“ah, noll, that you should have to ask me that!”
-noll passed julia at the stair-head and left them together.
-as he stepped across the hall he hesitated, turned, and went into the old lady’s room. she was sitting in the window, looking out; and she turned at his footfall.
-noll bent down and kissed the old face; and he saw that the harsh light had gone out of her eyes:
-“won’t you be a little lonely here to-night?” noll asked her.
-“no,” she said--“she has taken seats for all three of us.”
-wherein it is suspected that, on occasion, the trumpet of fame is not wholly immaculate of the hiccup
-pangbutt’s handsome studio had been cleared for a reception; and the deliberate old butler, throwing open the great folding-doors, walked stiffly into the room and glanced an orderly eye round the brilliantly lighted details in a last complacent survey before the near arrival of the guests.
-he started at a loud peal of the door-bell, and pulled out his watch:
-“i hope they are arriving early enough!” said he. “it comes of arsking these here artists to the house.... they’re always hungry and they’re always noisy, and they’re always thirsty. even if i suffered from these here afflictions i’d have the manners not to show it.” he shrugged his shoulders. “i call it letting ourselves down. they don’t even know how to put on their clothes like christians.”
-he straddled stiffly out of the room, grumbling and mumbling.
-“leastwise not like christians of the established church,” he growled....
-he returned after awhile through the great hollow of the handsome doorway, ushering in four guests.
-when they had entered, he said stiffly:
-“mr. pangbutt, i fear, will not be down for several minutes, gentlemen; he has only just come in to dress.”
-he drew out his watch from his pocket, and glanced at it aggressively.
-robbins laughed gently, and winked to the others:
-“we are a trifle early, dukes, i am afraid,” said he, going up to the dignified old man--“but if mr. rippley will insist on sitting between the reins on the top of the hansom, the cabby drives hard to escape the inquisitive attention of the police--a body of men, dukes, that live feverishly anxious to catch something and are bored with the greyness of the popular virtue.”
-he tapped the old man on the shirt-front.
-the butler bowed stiffly, and withdrew.
-fluffy reubens strode airily into the middle of the room and surveyed it:
-“i say,” said he--“portrait painting seems to pay, eh?”
-“h’m--n’yes,” he grunted; and added tragically: “when you can paint portraits.”
-“get out!” said fluffy, and flung himself into an easy-chair.
-rippley strolled round the room and tested the electric lights; his hands itching to be at any devilment:
-“oho!” said he--“so the curtain is to go up to-night and discover the real anthony bickersteth--the man of mystery--the writer of the book!... i suppose it ain’t pangbutt himself!”
-aubrey at the mantelpiece, gazing at himself in the mirror, said simply:
-“rather a dramatic situation when you come to think of it, eh?” said fluffy reubens, lolling his full length in the easy-chair.
-rippley, his hands in his trousers pockets, considered the situation with reflective eye fixed on the carpet:
-“and a rippin’ dramatic emotion, eh! to feel one’s self being wrangled about from one end of the country to the other----”
-aubrey turned languidly from the mirror:
-“ah!” said he, “and then to listen to it all, robed in the delightful invisible cloak of pseudonymity!”
-rippley laughed drily:
-“no, no, aubrey, old man--that wouldn’t have suited you at all. you wouldn’t have lasted at it for a fortnight.”
-“we need not get into the quarrelsome stage about it yet,” he said in his big deep voice: “we shall be tearing him to pieces in magazine articles to-morrow and flinging him to the dogs of the lower journalism to snarl at before the year is out.... the failures are always suspicious of popularity.”
-aubrey turned to the mirror again, and said “bosh!”
-fluffy reubens winked at the others:
-“i don’t see that this chap anthony bickersteth’s work is a snap better than caroline baddlesmere’s; and he’s prigged a lot of her ideas----”
-aubrey turned round to the room, took up a picturesque literary attitude, elbow on mantel, his cheek leaning on his long fingers, legs crossed, essaying to realize the portraits of the thirties, and, rousing from his adoration of himself, he said petulantly:
-“my dear fluffsome robbins, i have repeatedly told you that caroline baddlesmere lacks breadth of view and a man’s humour--to say nothing of that certain something of subtle atmosphere that is called genius.... you really ought not to give me the trouble of reiterating these simple truths.... you compel me to feel as blatantly insistent as a bookmaker on a race-course----”
-he was interrupted by the entrance of the old butler, ushering in bartholomew doome and andrew blotte--andrew in very much crushed and wrinkled evening dress, and looking unutterably shabby, doome well groomed.
-bartholomew doome laughed:
-“yes,” said he, “yes, yes--i heard what aubrey was saying; but aubrey is a poet, not a critic.”
-lovegood laughed a funny deep nasal laugh.
-but rippley had turned to the strange figure of andrew blotte. he smote him on the shoulder with strong genial hand:
-“cheer up, andrew,” he cried.
-blotte smiled wearily; he roused from his brooding; he was very pale:
-“where’s the bar?” he asked gloomily.
-“vanity fair has not opened her drinking-saloons yet,” he said. “we’re all before our welcome.”
-blotte sighed, and said absently:
-“i have come to tell pangbutt i cannot sup with him to-night.” he smiled a pale sad smile; and, rousing, added moodily: “i came into my irish estates last night--took over the keys of my castle in spain.... last night i slept under the blue quilt, and filled my belly with the north wind. and,” he added hoarsely, “to-night i sup with the gods.”
-rippley shook the moody man by the shoulders, and gripping them in his big kind hands, he said:
-“shut up, blotte; you’ve got to sup with us to-night--gods are a large order, even aubrey is not yet translated.”
-blotte roused; laughed; strode into the middle of the great room. he turned gloomily:
-“no--i go to a mighty banquet, old friend. i go to sup with the gods to-night.”
-“now, now,” said fluffy reubens, sprawling in two chairs. “chuck it, blotte--you make me feel as cold as a dead undertaker.... lor!” he yawned, “this is precious slow.” he yawned again: “paul pangbutt’s a confounded long time, ain’t he? scenting his beard, i suspect!”
-andrew blotte roused from his mood, and he began to pace up and down the room as before: “no more italian waiters for me--with cursèd oily locks,” he cried--“no more grease-spots on dingy grey tablecloths that hide their offences under smiling napkins!... to-night i shall be waited upon by the gods.... never again the boiled potato; never again the homely bun, damn them!... this is the night of life--a night for music and gaiety and minstrelsy.... hunger shall cease, and pain----”
-rippley went up to him and took him by the shoulder, kindly:
-“stop it, blotte. aren’t you well, old man?”
-“well?... psha! i am like a boy. the new genius arrives to-night. and i go off--to sup with the gods.... the world has forgotten andrew blotte.”
-rippley turned, a twinkle in his eye, to the others:
-“i say, boys,” said he--“as it’s to be a unique night, and blotte about to be translated, and may be in the papers in the morning----”
-blotte laughed grimly, where he paced:
-“oh, yes,” he growled--“i shall be in the papers to-morrow. have no fear of it.”
-rippley slapped him on the shoulder:
-“then,” said he, “we ought to give pangbutt’s house an air. there is a lack of the grand manner here. one man-servant is ridiculously inadequate. at least three of us ought to assist to wait on the guests. doome and fluffy and i and--and you, blotte--would make a ripping lot of waiters, and it wouldn’t be half so slow as talking art and rot to people who don’t know.... genius shall serve the mob. this night must never be forgotten. by macready, yes--pangbutt used to play at play-acting! but where are his properties?”
-blotte was striding the room; he laughed:
-“ay, ay--the gala-night of life should be gay and joyous,” cried he--“all the candles lit, as for a bridal.” he came to a halt, scowled at the dark hollow of the great doorway, and strode thither.
-the old butler was lurking suspiciously outside.
-blotte grabbed him by his coat lapel, and drew him into the light:
-“hireling fellow,” said he, “bring more lights. this place is like a damned omnibus.”
-the old butler held out an expostulant palm in dignified remonstrance:
-“gentlemen, gentlemen--the guests will be arriving in a few minutes----”
-rippley went up to him, and gripping his fingers in the old servant’s waistcoat, pulled him into the room.
-“don’t talk like an unfrocked bishop, dukes--it’s most irreligious,” said he. “look here”--he slapped the old man’s chest jocosely--“your master and the amateur aristocracy used to have private theatricals here. where are his wigs and make-up things? where does he keep them? quick!”
-the old butler promptly began to retire backwards upon a handsome cabinet:
-“gentlemen, gentlemen; surely i have no need to remind you that mr. pangbutt’s wigs are his private property,” said the shocked, anxious old man. “i haven’t mr. pangbutt’s permission----”
-rippley followed him up, grimly smiling:
-“get out, you old panjandrum!” said he. “you’ve shown the hiding-place, you naughty old deceiver. go away!”
-he pushed the expostulating old man from the cabinet, and, throwing open the drawers, proceeded to ransack them.
-“hullo!” he cried--“splendid!”
-he struck a match:
-“spirit lamp--everything. ginger! here’s a glorious short beard affair that goes down the middle of the chin and all along the throat.”
-he put it on.
-“by clarkson, makes me look like a ducal butler--i’ll be butler.”
-he flung off his coat, and his deft fingers began to fix the disguise on his chin.
-the butler touched him upon his shirt-sleeve in dignified despair:
-“gentlemen,” said he--“this is not decent. i repeat--it is not honest.”
-“go hon!” said rippley, punching the old man in the ribs with his elbow, and working away at the fixing of his throat-beard. “look here, fluffy,” he called hurriedly--“you and doome must run this pompous old dolt downstairs and shoot him into the cellar--and lock him in. quick! or the people will be arriving.... i hear carriage-wheels.”
-robbins and doome seized the shocked old man and hurried his protesting stiff being out of the room and down the stairs.
-rippley followed them to the top of the stairs, making up his disguise as he went:
-“look here, boys,” he called down in a hoarse whisper--“if the old fool will swear not to move away from the hall door until we release him you needn’t put him in the cellar.... what?... eh?... he says he surrenders? that’s all right then. now back with you--quick! or the guests will be here--or pangbutt himself.”
-there was a loud ring at the door-bell.
-rippley skipped back to the cabinet: and from the cabinet he ran to andrew blotte:
-“blotte, old boy,” said he, pulling a red wig over the gloomy man’s head and combing the lank red hair down the sides of his pale face--“you must look after the cloak-room and change the tickets and mix the hats.... ha-ha!” he laughed mock-tragically. “this night must never be forgotten!”
-“it never will,” said blotte; and laughing grimly he got striding again in the red wig, as fluffy reubens and doome burst into the room.
-“here, fluffy,” said rippley, “quick, man! put on this yellow wig, and comb it well over your eyes. there isn’t a moment to be lost; doome, here’s a black moustache and a greyish wig--this is the way to stick it on--see? splendid! makes you look like a broken-down italian tenor.”
-he searched about in the cabinet and found a stubbly black wig which he pulled over his own hair, and was at once a son of france:
-rippley had scarcely hurried into his coat when there entered and halted in the great doorway a hesitating figure in the white satin dress of a courtier of charles the first, lace frills at his weak knees, white stockings, white shoes, and holding a plumed hat in his hand.
-his eyeglass dropped out of his eye, and he stood there stuttering and aghast.
-there was a titter.
-“sharles ze foorst--risen from ze dead!” announced rippley.
-“i say”--the affected drawl discovered ffolliott. “rippley told me it was a--fancy-dress--affair,” he said plaintively. “and to come early.”
-there was a wild shout of laughter.
-ffolliott looked round nervously at the strange faces, and recognising aubrey at last, by the mirror, he said peevishly:
-“i am exceedingly displeased with rippley--he--he chose my dress.”
-rippley wiped the tears from his eyes:
-“well--don’t you see we are nearly all in disguise? ... except aubrey, who thinks that because he looks like an ass no one will know him.” he turned to the others: “i say, boys,” he added, chuckling, “things are beginning to move at last. this is going to be a unique night.”
-they had all turned to blotte, and a strange silence fell upon the room.
-andrew blotte stood listening, as to some strange sounds. he roused:
-“ay, i sup with the gods to-night.... and i can hear the guests arriving--all the clever fellows that have made the world a delight--and with them come the dear dead companions that worked with us, and sang with us, and drank with us--in paris.... i know them--they talk such damned bad french.”
-rippley went and touched him on the shoulder:
-“blotte, old boy; you’re very queer to-night,” he said. “you make me feel as blue as a newly-clipped hearse-horse.”
-blotte roused, and moved towards the door; halted; turned to them all:
-“i say i sup with the gods to-night--and mix the hats--and set the table in a roar.... i must hasten away.... i hear them call.... god bless you, dear boys! we shall meet in sunshine----”
-rippley stepped to the door:
-as blotte’s pale face took on a deathly smile, rippley bowed, and there stepped into the open doorway the well-groomed figure of their host.
-pangbutt halted, perplexed.
-he gazed in vague consternation at the vandyke travesty in white silks before him--turned to the solemn countenances of the four waiters:
-“may i ask what, in the name of beelzebub, is happening in this house?” he asked.
-rippley clasped his hands together unctuously, bowed, smiled a large italian smile. he advanced a step, and said with a strong foreign accent, picking his words with slow deliberation:
-“sir pangboot--it has arrive to ze domestic bootler that he is indispose sudden-ment. i am he’s friend that he have ask to take he’s place, vis my asseestants.... your house shall have ze much honour in my hands--we have the habit to attend ze best families----”
-there was a loud ringing of the door-bell.
-pangbutt put his hand over his eyes:
-“i must be going mad,” he said.
-“sir pangboot--me and me friends, we speak not very well ze engleesh--but we much understand it well--and----”
-“yes, yes.” pangbutt dismissed them impatiently. “get to your business.... curse it! i wonder what on earth ails dukes.”
-as the four comic-looking foreign waiters left the room, he hesitated, bewildered. and rippley, as they passed out, nearly burst a bloodvessel as the tragic blotte’s moustache fell off. but pangbutt had suddenly remembered that he was host; and advancing into the room he turned to the others:
-“i beg your pardon, i am late i fear.”
-he shook hands with lovegood and aubrey; and, turning to ffolliott, a faint smile flickered over his worried face:
-“ffolliott!... sorry to be late, but there have been domestic difficulties--my butler has gone sick.”
-the guests were arriving fast.
-“mistair maupassant fosse!” bawled rippley at the door.
-the little man glared at the servant, fussed into the room, and tripped across to his host.
-“a nickname they have for me,” he said--“a nickname....”
-rippley watched blotte solemnly tramp down the stairs, his wig on one side; heard him announce to a lady, just arrived, that he was going to sup with the gods; and he was gone.
-groups of guests came swarming up the stairs and passed into the studio.
-rippley, glancing into the studio, saw the white satin dress of ffolliott move uneasily amongst the arriving guests; and he heard his thin, affected drawl as he explained to his host:
-“d’you know--i feel such an ass----”
-pangbutt patted him upon the shoulder:
-“never mind,” said he absently--“it can’t be helped. make the best of it.”
-“oh, but i assure you--they told me it was to be a fancy-dress affair.”
-rippley bawled at the door:
-“sir gilders cinnamon!”
-sir gilders persimmon shuffled into the room; and pangbutt went to meet the old baronet.
-“lady persimmon coming to-night, sir gilders?” he shouted into his ear; the old man shook his head.
-“sorry,” bawled pangbutt into his ear; “sir gilders, allow me to introduce mr. fosse, who, i need not tell you, is the well-known critic. he has written a eulogy of anthony bickersteth that is to appear in a few days--you must win his favour to your poems.”
-the old baronet cackled with senile laughter.
-fosse threw up his head. he glowed. he felt that all eyes were upon him.
-“yes,” he said--“my eulogy appears to-morrow.” he forgot to bawl.
-sir gilders put his hand to his ear: the entrance and stir of the arriving guests and their announcement and greetings perplexed his weak hearing:
-“eh?” said he--“borrow? why borrow?”
-“no, sir gilders,” cried fosse, getting very hot--“i did not say borrow--i said my eulogy appears to-morrow.”
-“why?” asked the old man.
-there was a titter....
-ffolliott, thinking he saw someone he knew, went up to lovegood and slapped the big man on the back:
-“hullo, old chap!” cried he.
-blank consternation came upon him as lovegood slowly turned and solemnly faced him. the weak-knee’d, foolish ffolliott faltered nervously:
-“oh, er--er--i thought you were someone else,” he drawled.
-lovegood nodded gloomily.
-“i am,” he said sepulchrally.
-ffolliott tittered confusedly:
-“ye-yes--indeed,” he said, twisting his fingers and fidgeting. “d’you know, i feel such an awful ass----”
-“but that is no excuse for your being in the other ass’s skin!” he growled.
-“oh, but don’t you see--that’s just it! they told me it was a fancy-dress affair....”
-“eh?” bawled sir gilders persimmon.
-all eyes turned from ffolliott to the perspiring fosse. the little man shifted uneasily under the fire of many amused critical eyes.
-“i was saying,” shrilled the minor critic in his thin jerky voice, “that the man who does not play whist is laying up a sad old age for himself.”
-the old baronet shook his head:
-“the man who what?”
-fosse licked his lips sullenly:
-“the man who doesn’t play whist,” shrieked fosse, reddening miserably.
-“what about him?” asked sir gilders peremptorily.
-“lays up a sad old age for himself,” screamed the miserable little man.
-the old gentleman knit his brows:
-“a reformed rake?” he asked testily....
-but attention was diverted from the fussy little minor critic’s despair by the murmur of admiration which greeted the entrance into the room of a beautiful woman to whom quogge myre was paying aggressively marked court as the announcement of her name called the regard of the assembled guests to her arrival. myre was ever for stealing the lime-light. he was a born filcher of honour. but the beauty’s calm dismissal of him, as she swept towards her host, gave myre a sudden hysteric desire to talk loudly and hide his chagrin; and he turned at the sound of fosse’s voice, raised in argument, as hyena goes to offal. fosse in his despair had turned from sir gilders, and launched into the discussion round about him:
-“in the arts,” he was saying, “woman does not, cannot, shine. she only exists--on sufferance. a woman’s province----”
-myre had strolled towards the voice:
-“i am flattered to find,” said he, “that mr. fosse has been reading me. he is right. a woman’s province is to be beautiful; and if she write at all she may write of the nursery--of the domesticities. a woman has not the experiences of life--she writes only from intuition. she cannot experience the emotions of a man--cannot describe all shades of life--is too careful of her skirts to have been on the heights and in the gutters----”
-“never,” said he, with big deliberate voice--“never shall i again approach a municipal sewer without an ecstatic thrill.”
-quogge myre took no notice of the shaft:
-“a woman,” said he, “cannot be in the thrash and fume of life. she only peeps out fearfully over the window-blind at the doings of the world. she has not physical strength----”
-“tra-la-lee!” said he--“opera--bouffe--bouffe--bouffe.”
-myre went suddenly dumb....
-sir gilders persimmon had shuffled over to fosse, who was wetting his lips, eager to leap into the debate, when myre’s yawing should give opportunity, and, button-holing the fussy little man, the deaf old gentleman asked him:
-“you said, sir, that the reformed rake did what?”
-“no, sir gilders--i said that the man who does not play whist is laying up a sad old age----”
-the old gentleman poked him slyly in the lean ribs:
-“makes the best husband, eh! indeed, yes--very likely--very likely. but it’s dangerous doctrine--it’s----”
-“no, sir gilders,” shrieked the perspiring little man--“i say the man who does not play whist.” he coughed--his voice breaking. “oh, damn this old gentleman!” he added, moving irritably away from him....
-quogge myre turned to pangbutt:
-“now, pangbutt, mind you, i don’t say that this anthony bickersteth is a balzac; but he has the true genius for literature. how can you define these things? it is there, or it is not there!”
-fosse skipped up to the group:
-“what i say--what i say----”
-quogge myre stared at his little disciple with contempt; a sneer played about his puffy lip--became too tense for silence:
-“this man repeats what i say--what i used to say--like flattery,” he said.
-lovegood smiled grimly:
-“oh,” said he--“he stays in paris sometimes now. and there are the french newspapers.”
-myre shrugged his shoulders:
-“i have changed all my ideas on these subjects----”
-but the ridiculous figure of ffolliott strolled nervously up to the group, and interrupting the critical vapourings of quogge myre, he said with affected drawl:
-“d’you know, i feel such an awful ass--and i don’t get used to it.”
-lovegood gazed at him solemnly:
-“young fellow,” said he--“you must not be egotistical--it’s bad for the morals. try and forget yourself in that disguise.”
-“i can’t,” drawled ffolliott miserably--“i am quite angry with rippley--he told me it was a fancy-dress affair--and----”
-fosse turned his back upon him impatiently:
-“i repeat,” said he--“and i have a signed article in the discriminator to prove it--a genius has arrived.”
-“by pegasus?” sneered aubrey, raising ironic eyebrows.
-“no--by omnibus,” said he. “let us all be winged asses to-night. fosse has not secured a government monopoly.”...
-from the great doorway:
-“mistair and mrs. nezzerbie gomme!” announced rippley; and as the pair were greeted by all near them, rippley stepped to the head of the great stairs, and going up to a pompous man as that worthy set foot on the topmost step, he said to him confidentially:
-“i say, mister, would you mind running down the stairs and telling the fellar with the red hair that i want him?”
-sir tankerton wollup swelled slowly:
-“pooh--pooh!” said he, drawing himself up; and he strutted to the door.
-“poof--poof!” said rippley. “giddy old thing!”
-he glanced over the balustrade down to the next landing, and caught doome’s eye:
-“beelzebub!” he growled--“the whole town’s coming to this silly theatrical affair.... i say, we ought to go and see that andrew blotte’s mixing the hats thoroughly. hullo! there’s anthony baddlesmere just arrived. wait, i’ll come down. i want to see him.”
-he made his way down through an ascending stream of newly-arrived guests, with some difficulty, just as ffolliott, seeing sir tankerton wollup hesitate at the door, went up to the great man mincingly, and said affectedly:
-“oh, i say, sir tankerton--d’you know, i feel such an awful ass--but they told me it was a fancy-dress affair.”
-sir tankerton, staring with bloodshot eyes of ruffled dignity at the thing before him, sniffed.
-“go away!” he said testily.
-ffolliott went away.
-as the pompous millionaire stood irresolute at the doorway, an absent-minded snuffy little old gentleman shuffled up to his elbow, followed at a couple of paces by a little faded old lady of withered prehistoric design, and, touching him on the sleeve inquiringly, said:
-“my good man--before you announce our names, will you tell me which is the host? i have never seen my host before--in fact----”
-“poof--poof!” squealed sir tankerton wollup, and strutted into the room.
-“dear me!” the little old gentleman turned to his little old lady; and added in a confidential undertone:
-“a most extraordinary person--a most extraordinary house!... but i have always heard, my dear, that bohemia was a strange country.... in fact, charlotte, it’s rather thrilling, is it not?”
-the little withered lady, all pleased excitement, said: “quite thrilling, james!”
-pangbutt seeing awkwardness at the door, and missing the loud announcement of names, went a few paces closer to it to meet his newly-arrived guests.
-the little old gentleman entered the room vaguely, the dandruff of the philosophic habit upon his coat-collar, and his wig full of reasons--very markedly a professor. he had the air of cataloguing ideas. the little old lady, a couple of paces behind him, followed him.
-pangbutt exchanged greetings with him.
-said the professor:
-“good-evening, sir; my sister’s husband’s brother-in-law, sir gilders persimmon, was good enough to say that you would allow me to meet mr. anthony bickersteth here.... i am writing a work to disprove the insanity of genius.... it is a part of my theory that the human personality cannot be hidden by artifice--that the strong temperament shows itself in the vigorous growth of the hair--and so on.... i am, sir, i may have forgotten to say, professor curtis.... i am an inveterate novel-reader.... my wife keeps a diary.... where are you, charlotte? ah, yes. but, fervently as i admire mr. bickersteth’s prose, i should like to suggest to him that in his next work he might make more of that unworked mine, the folk-lore of the london coster--or greengrocer.... i am most anxious that mr. bickersteth should be a virile person whose moustache springs out strongly from under the nostrils, with a tendency towards ruddiness in the colouring.... but i fear that on this--what i may call his--er,” he tittered--“his unveiling, i am too thrilled.”
-he kept button-holing pangbutt:
-“too thrilled to--er--i am thrilled, sir, thrilled, as indeed is charlotte--oh, ah, yes--charlotte!” he searched about behind him for the little old lady, who moved up to his side. “oh, ah, yes--there you are, charlotte! allow me to introduce mr. pangbutt, our host. may i ask, sir, if mr. anthony bickersteth has yet arrived? no?... how fortunate! how very fortunate!... charlotte, i am becoming quite excited.”
-pangbutt led them to chairs.
-two richly-dressed ladies of an age that discovers as much as is concealed by considerable dressing, hesitated at the door; and one, taking a last amused glance over her shoulder at some incident that passed upon the stairs below, tittered, and, turning, swept the room with keen regard through her raised lorgnettes.
-“how amusin’! how absolutely amusin’!” she crooned. “i like literary and artistic people so much.”
-“yes,” said the other, “they are so different to one’s own class.... and actresses dress so well!”
-she flung back an elaborate head of jewels, and whispered something to the lady of the lorgnettes.
-the lady of the lorgnettes laughed:
-“really?” said she
-“h’m, h’m!--yes. pills.”
-“mr. pangbutt’s father?”
-“h’m, h’m! yes. i assure you.”
-“dear me! and he has such a very distinguished manner!”
-“lady persimmon? indeed?”
-the lady of the lorgnettes nodded mysteriously. the withered eyes expressed shocked surprise. she gave a funny little laugh. the lorgnettes were raised again, and she said, surveying the assembled guests critically through the glasses:
-“i absolutely adore literary people--and artists--and actors--and those sort of persons. it is so strange to think they have all slept in attics. and really, it’s quite the fashion to go on the stage now.... who’s the fright in the post-office red?... oh! is it?... lady margaret’s son has gone on the stage.... gerty, do you know who that dark creature is? with the italian-looking person.... oh, yes; and the young fellow is getting on wonderfully. you see, they like to have a gentleman on the stage--besides, he acts in the most gentlemanly manner--quite unlike a professional actor. and then, of course, his manager is rather exclusive--he called the company together the other day, and told them that he did not expect them to recognise him in the street. it’s so nice for the young fellow to be with such a gentleman.”
-“yes. our gardener’s son has joined a circus too. such an amusin’ boy, he was.”
-“it brings it all so home to one, doesn’t it!”
-“doesn’t it, indeed! but i confess i have always been fascinated by the stage. there’s somethin’ so very romantic about livin’ in green-rooms and paintin’ your face, and--pretendin’ to be someone else.”
-the other whispered in her ear.
-the lorgnettes were flicked open again, and glittered upon sir gilders persimmon.
-“indeed! but he is so very old--and she--but there is such a difference of social rank between a baronet’s wife and a mere painter--surely! still, he is very old. almost permissible sin, gerty.”
-they both tittered.
-“my dear,” said the other, “you are really quite naughty.”
-sir gilders pounced upon fosse, whom he had followed round the room, put up a hand to aid his dull hearing, and said:
-“you were speaking of dotage----”
-fosse winced uneasily:
-“no, sir,” he shrieked--“i was not talking of dotage. i say that the man who does not play whist lays up a sad old age for himself.” and, turning on his heel impatiently, “the devil take the man!” said he, and walked away.
-ffolliott espying the two newly-arrived ladies across the room, made his way to them:
-“do you know, miss foljambe pfinch,” he said--“i feel such an ass; they told me it was a--fancy--dress--affair.”
-the lorgnettes were turned upon him:
-“it’s that ridiculous mr. ffolliott,” said she; and laughed immoderately.
-ffolliott sighed, and turned away:
-“everybody seems to think i am an ass to-night,” he said wearily. “oh, there’s fosse. i don’t like fosse--but i’ll talk to him. no--he’s talking to another man. i think i’ll go home. no, i won’t, i’ll sit down.”
-he sat down.
-“every fellow does something idiotic in his life,” he said.
-he watched fosse button-hole gomme; and he saw gomme’s lips smile amusedly as he gazed at the floor, listening to him.
-he bent all his attention to hear what passed between the two.
-“now, you know, mr. gomme,” said the fussy little man--“in confidence, all these fellows take themselves too seriously to-day. look at rippley! he’s utterly uncultured--he hasn’t an aitch in his composition.”
-“but there isn’t an aitch in composition,” he said demurely.
-“n-no.” fosse stammered, becoming nervous. “but he can’t even pronounce the names of the ancients whose gods he models!”
-“no--but he can model ’em.”
-fosse was puzzled for an answer:
-“n’yes, that’s true perhaps. but there’s aubrey--look at his legs, his knees, his hair, his airs, his ties! he is for ever publishing volumes of poems which no one reads.”
-“yes,” said gomme. “but the publishers must have their luxuries.”
-“then there is blotte. you know he has never produced a complete work yet.”
-“maybe. but supposing one day he writes lines that, like some of his handsome acts, shall never fade!”
-“oh, you think that!” said fosse, licking his lips. “well now, there’s lovegood. you know, he never says a really exquisite thing--he is always ponderous--and rather obvious. he has not made his mark.”
-“supposing he has done acts that will live in the memory of his friends, mr. fosse! and--perhaps--when he has been dead a hundred years----” he shrugged his shoulders.
-“oh--er--you really think so.” the foxy little eyes of mr. fosse were searching the humorist’s features keenly.
-netherby gomme took fosse’s arm:
-“and, mr. fosse, there’s this netherby gomme, the over-rated rogue,” said he, with a whimsical twinkle in the eyes; “you know, he never really says a humorous thing.”
-“but he can write them,” he said.
-gomme laughed, and gripping the little man’s thin shoulder, said he:
-“fosse, you are sometimes inspired.... you are inspired to-night.... i have never known you so inspired.”
-“well, anyway,” he said--and he grew taller as he said it--“i think that to-morrow i shall have convinced many that, to create a masterpiece, requires a man’s powers and a man’s wit and----”
-“mr. anthony bickersteth!”
-the old butler stood at the door and sang out the name, making the announcement in a loud clear voice.
-a sudden hush fell upon the assembled guests. there was a craning towards the great open doors.
-a rustle of silk, and caroline baddlesmere stepped into their sight.
-the silence was broken by a hoarse utterance from fosse:
-“my god!” said he; and was dumb.
-there was a loud shout from the bohemians, who rushed to greet caroline; but the smile that had flickered about her lips went out.
-anthony baddlesmere had entered the room.
-“caroline,” said he--“quick, for god’s sake, where is paul?”
-she signed towards him where he stood near at hand by the door.
-“why?” she asked.
-“kate ormsby has been found--it’s too horrible,” he said.
-he glanced round the room, and hurriedly made for his host:
-“paul,” he said hoarsely--“get rid of these people.”
-pangbutt raised surprised eyes:
-“get rid?” he stammered. “why?”
-anthony baddlesmere made an impatient gesture:
-“tell them they must go. send them down to supper--no, he’s lying on the supper table. let the butler tell them there’s death in the house----”
-“anything, paul--get rid of them.”
-pangbutt’s eyes were a blank bewildered surprise:
-anthony touched his arm:
-“for god’s sake, paul--give the order.”
-pangbutt wet his dogged lips sullenly.
-anthony took hold of his shoulder:
-“andrew blotte has hanged himself in your cellars. i was just too late.”
-pangbutt’s voice was a shadow of a whisper. the floor swung up to strike him--swung away from his feet so that he nearly fell. he reeled a step, and sank into the gilt armchair that was the splendid seat for his painting-throne.
-the whisper spread; and the guests stole quietly from the place.
-wherein andrew blotte draws aside the arras that hangs across the unknown and joins the company at a larger banquet
-they left their host alone with anthony baddlesmere.
-the wretched man, sunk in a dazed huddle in the midst of his splendid home, sat crouched in the gilt chair, bewildered, as one struck down by a sudden blow. slowly his wits came back and traced a miserable picture of bygone fatuities and a black knavery into the elaborate design of the rich carpet at his feet.
-his lips moved with guttural complaint:
-“god! what an awakening! what an awakening!... what strange destiny arranges it all?... the coming of this thing has haunted me for nights.... there seems to come into our lives a day when we awake of a sudden from the aimless inconsequences of years--to the aimlessness. but--god! what an awakening!”
-anthony baddlesmere went to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder:
-“it is something to have awakened, paul.”
-there was a long silence. the miserable man, his face between his hands, thus crouching there, elbows on knees, gazed at the strange things that wove themselves into the pattern at his feet.
-he roused again:
-“there will always be this dead man in my house,” he said hoarsely.
-baddlesmere sighed sadly:
-“i fear it,” said he.
-paul pangbutt was silent for awhile.
-“anthony,” he said at last--“why did the man do this thing?”
-“he put his bed in pawn three days ago--for the little singing woman--kate ormsby. but she has utterly gone under--since--paris.” he hesitated.... “i found her this morning.... he was with her.... she had taken her life with her own hand, at daybreak. you remember how she used to air her pathetic little ambitions about fame and name! well, death has fanned up her little flame of notoriety for nine days at last. her name will be in large letters on all the newspaper bills to-night. and”--he smiled sadly--“she will not see it!”
-“but why did he do this thing, man?” the miserable voice was a dry-throated whisper. “why did he do--this--awful--thing?”
-the other sat brooding for awhile:
-“i might have helped--i did not know.”
-“ah, paul--we could have helped--we ought to have known.”
-pangbutt buried his face in his hands:
-“this is horrible,” he said.
-“paul,” said baddlesmere--“i had better go and see what is being done.”
-the other nodded.
-the old butler hobbled into the room, as baddlesmere went out. he carried a letter on a silver salver:
-“this letter, sir, was found in mr. blotte’s breast-pocket,” he said, standing beside the crouching figure of his master.
-“it is addressed to you, sir,” he said.
-pangbutt did not move.
-the old servant coughed again:
-“and, beg pardon, sir----”
-pangbutt made a gesture of impatience:
-“yes, yes, dukes,” he said wearily, “give me the letter.”
-he put out his hand and took it from the salver, dazedly. he tore open the cover, listlessly. as he unfolded the sheet of paper, a bundle of dingy pawnbrokers’ tickets fell out of a piece of paper that fluttered to the floor. the old butler stooped stiffly, and handed them to him.
-i am claiming your hospitality to-night--indeed, i have nowhere else to go. it is the last night of my winter--the last hour of my insignificance. to-morrow i shall have drifted into fame on the tide of a passing scandal. my last poem will have a fictitious money-value out of all proportion to its intrinsic literary merits. here you have it--my trust to you.
-it is a crude rattle-pot affair enough, but the ink is near done; the rhymes jostle each other, for my last candle is burnt low; and, like school-girls and professors of letters, your editor has the delusion, like them that make laws for our art and decide as to our magnificence, that rhymes are the essentials of the poetic. therefore, so that it may pass for poetry, i have flung you a rhyme or so--literature to come to birth in these days must satisfy the newspaper offices.
-take this, then, to one of these procurers of letters, and offer it for sale. let him bid high, remembering the value of the scandal; and, with the monies, i charge you redeem my pledges and distribute my few personal knick-knacks where they shall cease to be scored with the scratchings of pawnbrokers, amongst my dear old friends--for, god granted me that splendid largess, spite of all my sins.
-there will fall a tear for andrew blotte; but there will be more of shrugging of respectable shoulders.
-to-morrow will whisper that i was mad.
-tush! what is madness? to half the world, madness is but the rejection of the commonplace. the sanest sit in the centre of the whirligig of life, self-satisfied with their sanity and hugging it, but if they wait long enough, even to them old age will bring prattling wits, and the giggle of foolishness. the bee in the bonnet is an affair of a few years. who shall escape the passing delirium, wrap he his grey habit about him ever so closely and sit he ever so still for fear of coming to light-headedness by walking amongst the heights and taking the risks of great adventure? we must needs wear the straws in our hair, even though it be in some corner, furtively, hoping others think us wise--if we but wait long enough. i’m for your summer madness--and to-night i go to make revel with the gods.
-what more mad than to live alone! how worse than mad to have wrought loneliness to others! what more cracked-brained dolt than he who grinds to dust his grubbing years, thinking to find happiness in large figures of gold when his hair is grown grey within the four walls of a counting-house--whilst slip past him, unknown, unfelt, with the clock’s every tick, the little joys that build a splendid experience. they that grub for wealth as an end are like mad hogs that bury their eyes in noisome swill, unsuspecting that life is a glorious pageant, and goes by.
-mad? who so mad as they who rush through their years to vague ends and sordid aims? these flip through the pages of the book of life, missing the sweetness of its wide romance, that they may but know the end of the tale. and whither leads this frantic skipping? to old age, and withering, and decay, and the grave.
-tush! life’s a jest. even unconscious humour grinds the unconscious joke. we make a fuss of all we do, though it end in smoke.... a little skip upon this little earth, maybe in tinsel of the great--the years skip also, and we find ourselves without heaven’s gate, naked of all we had, save the habit of kind things we did and spoke.
-philosophy, with critic eyes, examines our emotions; his sight grows dim, his heart runs dry, in analyzing notions; his brains are sear with brow-knit peer at things that do not matter--of a sudden he learns that acts are life, theories but ink or chatter; he awakes to find life is left behind, his eyes lone age in the mirror meet--the old man with the scythe goes by and sweeps him from his feet.
-why burn the fire of life to questionable idols? or seek the useless things we may not know? religion is not in our solemn goings to church, but in the sweet things that we do between, in these our little wanderings to and fro--the giving of a part of our success, a tithe or so, to help our fellows with a hand unseen. therefore, so let us live that whilst we live we each the other profit, and walk our little moment in nice ways, and talk not of it.
-so falls god’s blot on
-the paper fluttered and fell from pangbutt’s fingers.
-the old man-servant coughed:
-“i ’ope, sir, that i did right; but i gave the two models, that got here first with the good news, a sovereign apiece. mr. rippley he said it was a dead-heat between them----”
-pangbutt’s brows contracted painfully:
-the old man servant started at the hoarse whisper:
-“yes, sir--it’s election night, sir--at the royal academy, sir. and mr. rippley has been elected for sculpture, and yourself for painting.”
-pangbutt burst into a horrible fit of loud laughter, and shook his head, and laughed and laughed again.
-he stopped and looked at the old servant; and again he burst into his horrible laugh.
-“gord!” said the old butler.
-the old man, looking down upon the huddled figure that laughed, saw that his wits had snapped.
-wherein hereditary greatness fails to glitter hidalgic
-in mr. sim crittenden, the music-hall star, the adored comedian of london’s masses, what remained of the old prize-fighting ostler of burford was severely disguised under the pose of the baritone god--the maker of the horse-laugh of the multitude. but to the credit of the tailor, be it said, it was impossible to cover all sign of the huge shoulders, the great chest; and the gloves he wore only exaggerated the weight of the hard-hitting hands.
-mr. sim crittenden, arrayed in an elaborately loud attempt to be strikingly quiet in hue, and aspiring to the latest severity of mode, to catch as it were the careful carelessness of the young blood at the seaside, sat on a bench on hampstead heath beside the light and befrilled figure of miss polly whiffles, temporarily ffolliott; she drew patterns of embarrassment in the gravel whilst he held her in earnest conversation.
-“now, look here, polly,” said sim crittenden--“i’m a rough man.... i know you are a lady and ought to marry a curate, and i’m no account, and all that. but i think i can get it to you if you’ll be patient.... i’m on the music-halls, i’m makin’ eighty gold pieces every week. it’s no good being modest about it, and i’m not--that’s god’s truth put into the naked vernacular. it may sound vulgar, but it’s so.... now, ye know, i don’t know what to do with it--that’s the fact. i could buy fancy rabbits or a talkin’ canary and all that--or i could chuck it about on the turf at race-meetin’s--but unfortunately god did not make me in the image of a jackass, and i’m not going against the works of god. i’m modest.... i could start a girl and a brougham, but i’m tired of prize-fighting.... now, what i say is this: if i had your dainty little person a-sittin’ at the end of my table every day, it might make me look less of a blamey athlete and more of a man of fashion, see! eh?”
-the girl hesitated.
-mr. sim crittenden touched her arm anxiously:
-“besides, whiffles isn’t much of a name; no woman could be called whiffles and remain virtuous.”
-the girl smiled sadly:
-“no, sim--you don’t understand. i’ve sat as a model.”
-“i’m not to be blamed for falling in love with a good figure, am i?” said mr. sim crittenden laconically.
-she smiled away a tear:
-“there’s the boy,” she said--“my ponsonby has no father.”
-mr. sim crittenden pushed his hat back on his head:
-“that’s all tommy nonsense,” said he. “if i ain’t strong enough to be his father, good god, what’s the use of giving me eighty pounds a week, eh?... what?... born out o’ wedlock? blame me, so was i.... now, come--drop this nonsense; let me hug you well--though it is a blamed nervous job with me always--you’re as delicate as a confounded caramel--though i must say i like it when i get there--and----”
-now it so chanced that as the honourable rupert greppel, strolling hidalgic beside his nervous little aristocratic friend, lord monty askew, took a short cut down a dirty side-alley off booksellers’ row--monty complaining the while that they should have allowed the smells of so unusual a proceeding to come between them and their nobility--mr. sim crittenden came down the other end of the same high-smelling by-way, his pretty polly at his side, with intent to get her some dinner at a restaurant he knew of, before the dusk grew to darkness and he had to answer his call “to play the giddy goat for a consideration” at one of those places called music-halls.
-there were but few of its dirty inhabitants in the dirty street, when rupert greppel took the wall of the pretty lady and her escort on the narrow footway and put her out into the dirty gutter of the dirtier street; but when sim crittenden, having dropped behind the girl, following her to let the others pass the more easily, put himself before the great man, and rupert greppel cried “out of the way, fellow!” and sim crittenden mocked him, the street began to fill.
-it was a deadlock.
-mr. sim crittenden took off his hat:
-“sir,” said he--“i am in the illegitimate drama, wherein to bray like an ass is the soul of comedy. i am a student of bad manners. would you mind doing it again?”
-rupert greppel struck him with his cane.
-sim crittenden hit him violently in the mouth, so that rupert fell; and as rupert gathered himself and his dazed wits together, sim crittenden took off his straw hat and his coat and handed them sadly to polly, and, expressing his muttered regret that he was making a beastly scene and was to baptize his betrothal in claret, he squared his huge shoulders for the fray.
-rupert greppel arose and made an ugly rush at him, and after some fencing, to allow of the crowd’s whimsical twitting of the big man, sim crittenden gripped his lips tight and struck out, hitting the hidalgic rupert heavily on the jaw. rupert answered the helm and sat down--violently.
-sim crittenden stooped over him:
-“look here, guv’nor,” said he, “this ain’t no match. it’s a comedy scene for me, but it’s a nasty chunk of tragedy for you. you’d better go home.”
-rupert greppel slowly rose, his face was very pale, and, pulling himself together, he went pell-mell, legs and arms, at the past-master of the craft; and sim crittenden, seeing he was beyond argument, punished him severely, then held him off with a couple of buffets in the face, and struck him over the heart with a blow that would have cracked a door.
-rupert’s heels clattered on the pavement, and he again sat down heavily.
-“take yer seats for westminister abbey,” said a wag; and there was laughter.
-lord montagu askew now complained that mr. crittenden’s acts were illegal and in bad taste.
-sim crittenden walked up to the dandified figure of monty askew and gave him a sounding slap on the side of the head that knocked his silk hat into the gutter.
-monty went and picked up his hat amidst peals of laughter, and, holding out one expostulant gloved hand, he wiped his bleeding nose on a fine cambric handkerchief.
-“you’re a most vulgar fellow,” he said--“a most vulgar fellow.”
-the crowd cooed with merriment.
-crittenden went up to him and slapped his face with great strong hands.
-monty askew sat down on a doorstep and wept bitterly:
-“the injustice of it!” he sobbed--“the injustice of it!”
-thus montagu askew, blaming the high gods. thus, as always, dragging the innocent into his quarrels.
-as sim crittenden walked into the lamp-lit dusk with polly, he said, punching the palm of his left with the great fist of the right:
-“i’m so happy, polly, old girl--i have been dying to hit something all this afternoon.”
-wherein the heir of the ffolliotts falls the victim to a limited badinage
-it was the first-night of an historic shakespeare revival; and the theatre of the lyceum was emptying its fashionable crowd of richly dressed women and men into the garrulous murk of the noisy night. the upturned faces of the gaping crowd, that stood along the great portico in the yellow haze of the street, gazed with serious admiration at the glowing splendour that enveloped the fashionable and the rich--the solemn intentness of their unspoken admiration rippling now and again into a good-natured grin upon some street-wag’s sally at the wrinkles of a lean dowager or the comic aspect of an over-plump matron or plain daughter or inane youth or the dozen and one whimsical aspects of things that catch the rambling humour of the people.
-across their gaze swept out of the bawling tumult of the night sundry wreaths of fog, torn from the mists that rose from the river hard by.
-“damned pretty woman!” he drawled--“i’m off. ta-ta, myre! i suppose you’ll want me to meet you at that other dead-house to-morrow, eh? all right. i’ll be there. good-night.”
-he waved a gay salute, and was gone, disappearing into the bustling throng of the street.
-the girl pretended to hurry, but ffolliott, elbowing his way through the moving crowd, soon overtook her. she was pleased to be seen with a gentleman of fashion. she was also a little frightened at the insistence of his admiration.
-she lifted her skirts above her ankles and picked her way daintily across the strand, through the riot of passing vehicles and bawling cads, walking serenely amidst the roar of the bewildering traffic.
-he kept by her side.
-she reached the pavement, and turned towards charing cross.
-“by jove,” said he--“you are a stunning pretty girl.”
-she laughed airily.
-“that ain’t my fault,” said she.
-“but you are.”
-“well, you know”--she spoke with a marked cockney accent that strangely sullied the handsome red lips--“my looking-glass tells me that--more than once a day.”
-“yes--ha, yes; of course,” he drawled, gazing at her admiringly--“of course it does. how stupid of me--how immaculately stupid! but we had better get into a hansom and have some supper somewhere, eh! rather strenuous idea that--eh!” he haw-hawed.
-she laughed, tossed her head--stopped abruptly. and he, looking at her, saw that her face was deathly white. she grasped his arm suddenly:
-“come down here,” she said hoarsely--“quick!”
-she turned into the foggy blackness of a dingy street that descended to the river, walking hurriedly--and he, expostulant, followed her:
-“by george--a very pretty figure,” said he. “but look here,” he added plaintively, “where are we going?... it’s getting so damned foggy i shall lose you if you hurry so, don’t you know.”
-she came to a halt under a dingy gas-lamp, and faced him; and he saw that she was very beautiful. the colour had left her face. she was white as marble.
-“i saw a man--i was once engaged to him--see?” she said.... “he is a dangerous man. wait here a bit--he’ll miss us in the fog.... my gord!” she added hoarsely, “he has followed us!”
-the great wreaths of mist swept by them and filled the black hollows of the narrow way with yellow smoke; and into the sombre gleam of the lamp-light, from out the black murk, came the pallid faces of three dark figures--rough-looking fellows that strode down upon them.
-one, more genial than the others, cried:
-“chi-hike! that you, em’ly?”
-they halted before the lamp-post.
-the girl stood rigid; and faced the three men with contempt.
-the wag of the party grinned:
-“engaged, em’ly?” he asked.
-he was set aside by an evil-looking ruffian:
-“by god, em’ly; two years has made a lady of you--don’t you make any mistake about it.”
-she, handsome in her sudden dignity, stood facing the men calmly:
-“i ain’t chi-hiked by cab-runners,” she said; “and i ain’t emily--except to my friends.”
-the man laughed roughly. he jerked a thumb at ffolliott:
-“this--one of your friends?” he asked with a sneering raw mouth.
-“yes,” she said--“you leave him alone--or----”
-“yuss?” he jeered, inquiringly.
-“i’ll put my bonnet-pin in your face,” she said calmly.
-“you make your friendship pretty prompt, em’ly,” said he; and added with a mirthless laugh: “i saw your bleery aristocrat follow you from the bleery the-ayter--i saw the whole bleery scandal. yer see, i’ve been sleepin’ out under the blue a night or two, and lookin’ slippy for a light job, so i have my two eyes about me when i fall up against a the-ayter door at closin’ time and the audience is a-gettin’ the chuck-out. see?”
-the girl put her hand before her mouth:
-“excuse me yawnin’,” she said, “but you make me sleepy.”
-“yer ain’t goin’ to sleep too much to-night,” he said, scowling upon her.
-“i don’t see where i come in,” she said, carelessly shrugging her shoulders; and she stooped and gathered up her skirts in her gloved hand as though to be moving again.
-“well, yer see,” said he--“it seems to me as you’re what the poet bloke calls the juliet of a night--and i’m goin’ to be your bloomin’ romeo, see?”... he stepped nearer to her.... “hold up yer bloomin’ mouth, and let’s kiss yer head.”
-ffolliott put out his hand:
-“go away, you vulgar fellow,” said he--“you smell.”
-the girl whimpered, pulled herself together, and fixed her eyes sternly on the scowling fellow before her, his hands thrust in his coat pockets:
-“i saw you do it,” she said.
-“and after that?” he asked with a sneer, his chin thrust out at her.
-“when twelve men talk about these kind of accidents,” she said with biting precision and level voice, “i’ve heard them call it murder; and the judge----”
-she shrugged her shoulders.
-the wag of the party, he whom they called charlie, interfered:
-“look here, henery,” said he--“you’ll be ’ittin’ a bloke harder nor what yer wish for, one evenin’, and meetin’ yer gawd without a cellar-flap to dance your bloomin’ double-shuffle on, see? the girl’s right, see?”
-the scowling fellow stooped down, emptied the money out of the pockets of the fallen man, the gold from one trouser pocket, the silver from the other, and banknotes from the breast-pocket of the coat. he put back a few shillings in silver, and growled at one of the others to let the watch be and keep his dirty hands from messing the toff’s clothes.
-“mates,” said he, “rub your hands clean on the seats of yer trouseys, and help me lift the aristocracy on to the road, so’s the dint in his head fits the curb, see!”
-they lifted him amongst them.
-“steady. now over ’ere a bit. that’s it. the curb just about fits where the bloomin’ lead hit his skull.... what a lovely accident he looks to be sure!... charlie,” he winked at the others, “yer hit him harder than there was need for--he’s got a hole in his thinking-box yer could put a good character into.... steady. that’s it, leave him alone, can’t yer!... now, mates, shall we go and make ourselves conspicuous a-helpin’ the aristocracy to find their cabs--or shall we call the police?... on the whole, i’m for helpin’ the aristocracy. the police might think the lady had led the gent down here--for reasons. good-night, lady.”
-he took off his hat with mock solemnity.
-charlie gave a warning whistle:
-“i hear a friend of mine coming down the road,” he said. “scatter.”
-they strode off into the darkness.
-the girl stooped down and looked at the fallen man.
-“my god!” said she, brushing tears from her eyes--“yes. they might think i had--lured the poor fool--to it!”
-she stepped into the fog and followed the sound of the retreating footsteps up the street to the hurly-burly of the town.
-wherein it is seen that the blood of the oldest families may run to inconsequence and mere vulgar stains
-lord wyntwarde, his face purple with anger and his mouth uttering vile oaths that roused ugly echoes in the ruddy old elizabethan alleys, strode up and down the flagged walk of the ancient cobbled courtyard before his stables; and the family lawyer walked beside him anxiously, with “tut, tut!” and “listen to me--one moment,” and “be reasonable, lord wyntwarde!” whilst the wrathful lord, with much insistence of reiteration, roundly wished him on a far and hot journey, being free from all diffidence in naming the climate.
-the coachman’s small children stood shrinking from the fury of his lordship’s wrath, clinging to each other at the door of their home, peeping coyly over timid little shoulders with large eyes of awe at the cursing tyrant who strode before them. they were dressed for travel--being tied up in large woollen mufflers that seem to be the peculiar badge of the children of cottagers when packed for a journey. their tearful mother kept bringing down hastily-made parcels and placing them about the door. in the minds of the little ones, behind their wondering eyes, was the picture of their father, the old coachman, sitting in the midst of his dismantled home upstairs, crying like a child.
-“lord wyntwarde,” said the lawyer, “you must pull yourself together and----”
-“oh, go to----”
-“hush--you must pull yourself together and listen to me----”
-“oh, go to the devil----”
-“if you will not come indoors, then i must say it here, within earshot of these people.”
-“i tell you i stand over these hounds until they have packed out of the place--do you hear me!” roared the stout old lord of the place. “damn it, overshaw, do you only understand lawyers’ swindling english? god in heaven, is my talk too cursedly effeminate for you that i must supply you with a glossary at the end of it? i have sworn it, by the living god, that these people leave my land before the sun sets--or,” he added hoarsely, “i go to hell for it.... put that into your damned attorney’s gabble if you will--and i’ll sign it.”
-he turned about as he walked and continued his striding. the lawyer turned and walked with him:
-“lord wyntwarde, i will not remind you of a wise old saying that the sun should not go down upon our wrath.”
-“oh, damn your figurative landscapes,” said my lord.
-“i do not ask you to save yourself from an injustice--i am only asking you to save yourself from an indignity--worse--from utter shame----”
-“what have i to do with shame?”
-“what indeed, my lord?”
-the other laughed:
-“by god,” said he--“you’re a wit.”
-“t ask you to give me ten minutes’ close attention----”
-“i will not give it.”
-the old lawyer shrugged his shoulders:
-“that is flat.... then i must say it now and here. your coachman yonder does not even suspect the truth. he has served you loyally through rain and sunshine and cold and heat for twenty and nine years. his loyalty blinds him to all but shame for the master of his house----”
-the master of the house laughed roughly:
-“go on, overshaw, go on--take sides with my grooms--go on. by the splendour of god, a most wondrous coachman!”
-“but he will know it within twenty-four hours after leaving this place. god forgive me, he ought to know it now--from my lips. my loyalty to your house brings me near to compounding a felony.”
-“for god’s sake, talk sense, overshaw! what is the plain english for all this?”
-“listen: your son ponsonby has seduced this man’s daughter--which is bad enough. but the girl is only fifteen--the which is a felony.”
-the old lord burst into a storm of oaths:
-“damn it, overshaw; don’t i tell you i was for ever drumming it into the lad’s ears that there were enough married women of his own class in the county for any sane man’s pleasure--and he has descended to my coachman’s wenches! it’s the filthy vulgarity of the fellow----”
-he stopped--his bloodshot eyes catching the sneer upon the old lawyer’s lips:
-“what d’ye say?” he bawled.
-the lawyer put his hand on the arm of the other:
-“lord wyntwarde, you do not understand--the girl is fifteen--this is a common felony--if the young fellow does not marry the girl, he may have to go to gaol--to the common gaol----”
-“i am not his keeper--curse him!”
-“no,” said the old lawyer drily--“but do you want the criminal law to usurp your duties?... there is a child coming. even if this youth put aside common honour, common justice, as he has done before, it cannot now save him. all depends on how you treat the girl’s father.”
-a groom, on a big bay hunter, came clattering into the courtyard, started at the sight that met him there, leaped off his horse, and walking up to the lawyer, touched his hat and held out a yellow envelope:
-“telegram--for you, sir.”
-the old gentleman’s hands shook as he tore open the cover.
-he read it; and, as he read, his face went deathly pale:
-“good god!” said he.
-he glanced at the striding figure of the lord of this splendid place, who paced up and down the courtyard.
-“that will do, my man,” said he. “there is no answer.... stay! keep that horse saddled--i may want you--and before long.”
-the groom saluted and went and stood by the horse.
-the lawyer gazed under his brows at the striding lord; watched him take a couple of turns; went at last and set himself across his path. the other halted when he came to him.
-“lord wyntwarde,” said the old lawyer hoarsely--“i must go back to town at once. our arguments are at an end--the reason for them is at an end.... your son is beyond the reach of penalty.” the old man took off his hat. “he must plead before a more august judge than his own father.”
-the other, his face scarlet, stared at him with bloodshot eyes of irritable inquiry. he struck his boot with his whip, savagely, once, twice, thrice:
-“well--what’s the cursed melodrama now?”
-“your son has been found, early this morning. he has fallen--it is thought--he was killed in a street brawl--last night--and has lain where he fell till this morning. it is suspected that there has been foul play.” the old lawyer’s chin dropped on his chest: “god forgive the poor boy his many sins and weaknesses!”
-when the old gentleman roused from his mood and put on his hat, the red anger of his lord had slowly turned to black hate; and the lawyer waited in a strange wonder--a wonder as to what could be passing through this harsh old brain at such a moment----
-the black mood found tongue at last:
-“by god,” said lord wyntwarde hoarsely, and struck the air with his clenched hand, “caroline and her cub get the estates after all!” he laughed bitterly. “the devil has cheated me--death plays with loaded dice.... no, by god, i have it”--he laughed loud--“i’ll baulk them yet--i’ll marry this fifteen-year-old she-dog myself. by the splendour of god, my coachman shall give her ladyship away, and yonder groom shall be my best man.”
-he burst into a loud roar of coarse laughter--suddenly gasped--struggled for air--reeled--put out his hands as though blindness had come upon him--uttered a foul curse, lurched forward, and fell upon his face.
-lord wyntewarde’s life had been one long implied boast of blood. indeed, he had never realized that he had had too much. the blood of the family had always gone to the head....
-the grooms being fore-gathered in the harness-room that night plumbed the deeps of the dead man:
-“that was a noisy bulgarian,” said one--“but he had a fine seat on a horse.”
-the vicar of cavil had long owed a grudge against the castle for the evil things that therein were done, or said to be done--indeed, it had caused much sly winking and nodding amongst the bucolic wits. but, for his dignity’s sake and the sake of the soil that had bred him, his sermon left the dead lord severely alone; however, he improved the occasion of the young man’s death to point out the evils that come of the pursuit of art by a youth who should have been devoting himself to a gentleman’s life; and in particular he laid it down that had this youth not been leaving the immoral precincts of a london theatre on the night on which he met his violent death, he would not have met that death.
-which, of a truth, was as it might have been.
-wherein our hero comes into a wide heritage
-the sunny morning was well spent, but noll was pacing restlessly up and down his little bedroom at the hotel. his breakfast, scarce tasted, lay on a tray at the foot of his bed. his design of finding betty before he discovered himself to his own people threatened to be baulked; and defeat fretted his impatient will. so he paced--leopard-like--when there came a tap at his door, and the maid screamed through the panels that a gentleman waited upon him below.
-when noll, descending the stairs, entered the dingy sitting-room of the little hotel, an old gentleman rose to meet him; and noll found himself in the presence of the best and most loyal friend his house knew, or was destined to know--the head of the legal firm of overshaw.
-“you must be oliver baddlesmere,” said the old lawyer--“you are so like your mother;” and the courtesies passed.
-“i am the family lawyer,” said he simply. “your mother told me you were in paris--but in paris i was given your address at mr. netherby gomme’s here in town. i gathered therefore that you had reasons for your family not knowing your address.”
-“yes,” said noll.
-“i trust you have no engagements to-day, mr. noll.”
-“i have a serious business, but it must wait a day if you can show me the reason for urgency,” said noll. “for i am baffled, and have found no clue. i am baffled in a search. i have lost my wife,” he said simply--“and must find her.”
-the old eyes grew serious, then twinkled.
-“that is the first time i have heard a sentiment of duty from a ffolliott--from the head of your house,” he said.... “and i am an old man.”
-noll went and looked out of the window:
-“why drag in the ffolliotts?” he asked wearily.
-“your mother came into the title and estates three days ago,” said the lawyer.
-there was a long pause.
-at last noll said hoarsely:
-“i must find betty.”
-the old lawyer smiled inwardly.
-noll brooded for awhile:
-“i shall suffocate in this dingy place,” said he. “let us go out to st. james’s park--we can talk there in the fresh air--and i love the place.”
-they walked by charing cross and pall mall to st. james’s park, and thus, and amidst the laughter of children, noll heard that he had come near to the great responsibilities of his manhood.
-the grassy place about him teemed with sweet associations of betty; and his mind kept straying away from the recital of his fortune and the duties that had come to him to the rustle of sweet-scented ghostly skirts that swept the grass and the fragrance of a girl’s dainty being. and the old lawyer, shrewd man of the world, suspected it, and was glad of it....
-the old gentleman arose, and put his last questions:
-“oh, another point, before we part--your cousin wronged a young girl--indeed, he wronged several--and deserted them. what do you wish to be done?”
-he looked keenly at the young fellow before him.
-“i, as my mother will do, accept the burdens of my heritage with the honours,” said the young fellow--“the debts with the credit.” he smiled faintly. “i am afraid i am not a man of fashion.”
-“you wish the girl provided for?”
-“it is only in common honour,” he said. “i wish i could wholly blot out the damage. my--wife--would have had it so.”
-the old gentleman put his hand on the young fellow’s shoulder:
-“oliver,” said he--“you are bringing more to your house than it is bringing to you.... good-bye!”
-wherein it is suspected that the garden of eden was well lost
-noll, restless, his brain teeming with the things that had befallen him this day, fretted with the baffling dilemma of finding betty, and alone with his conflicting moods, paced his little room until long after the darkness came into it, when he roused, famished but unhungry, flung out of the hotel, and turned aimlessly northwards, pacing beside the sounding traffic into the darkness of the night, that hung upon the more quiet ways where law students have their dingy habitations.
-he wandered towards the old quarters where he had strolled the pavements gaily, a handsome youth, with a handsome girl by his side--every flagstone was familiar to him--every dingiest street-corner held a wan smile beneath its soot.
-as he turned into the quaint old street where betty had lodged, he was startled to see her figure flitting in front of him.
-he thought for a moment that he must be suffering from faintness--it came to him that he had not broken his fast since morning. but the sound of her well-known step, the light poise of her lithe figure, left no doubt; and he cautiously followed her, hanging back, afraid to startle her.
-she turned of a sudden, with that forthright aimful intent that directed all her acts; ran up some steps; set a key in the lock of the door-latch; and, the door yawning open, she stepped into the blackness and passed out of the night.
-the thud of the slammed door came muffled on the night; and noll, striding out, crossed the street and arrived opposite the house where he had spent many a happy tryst. it was the last place in the world whither he would have expected betty to go into hiding--and he realized, with a whimsical smile, betty’s keen sense of humour and her shrewd capacity, in boldly deciding to hide herself away in her old haunts.
-the house was wholly in darkness. not a soul was astir.
-noll brooded upon it....
-at last came a light into a window.
-betty had mounted to her room.
-suddenly the singing at his heart ceased, noll bent brooding wits on the question as to what grinding toil kept betty’s dainty fingers at work at midnight to the winning of bread.
-he crossed the road, walked up the steps, and rang the bell; and, as he did so, a light came into the fan-shaped window over the door where he stood.
-there was a drawing of bolts, a key grated in the lock, and the door swung open.
-before him, lit by the candle that she held high above her head, stood a pretty little woman, much overdressed above the extreme height of the fashion with the curious picturesque exaggeration that is the pretty habit of london theatrical folk--yet, for all her charming attire, a daughter of the people. she was in her hat still, as though not long come in.
-“victoria may alice!” he exclaimed.
-she nodded pertly:
-“god forgive me, that’s me,” she said.
-she shaded the light from her eyes with one hand, and stared at the youth:
-“well, translate me to uttermost leading parts at the west end theatres if it ain’t mister noll!... you ain’t forgotten victoria may alice, anyhow--there’s no error in that contract.”
-noll stepped into the house, shut the door behind him with his heel, and took her hand:
-“victoria may alice, i could almost kiss you,” said he, wringing her fingers. “i’m so glad to know you are staying here--with her.”
-“stayin’, mr. noll?... i own the whole bloomin’ palace,” said she. “when i’m not at the theatre i am running this show. i go behind the scenes for sordid tragedy; and i listen to lodgers’ complaints for roaring comedy--see? and when you’ve done that often enough, one week with another, you’ve eaten a pretty thick slice of life, i can warn you.... but, you know, you ain’t listenin’ to a word i’m sayin’.”
-he laughed embarrassedly:
-“betty is upstairs,” he said.
-“h’m, h’m--yes,” she said. “you know such a lot you’d almost think you were her husband, mr. noll.”
-he let the thrust pass him.
-“victoria,” said he--“why does she work so late?”
-“yes--there’s a light in her room.”
-victoria may alice looked at him whimsically:
-“lord,” said she, “you men are mostly only fit for comic opera.... well, if you want to know within an acre or two of the truth, call again when the cats are coming home.”
-“what? till daylight?” he gasped.
-“so help me henery irving,” she nodded. “you’d see that light burning still when the cockydoos are crowing in the lemon of the morning.”
-“good god!” said noll hoarsely.
-“that’s right. put it on to god,” she said. “it’s so like a man.”
-she looked at him, and added drily:
-“but, of course, mr. noll, you don’t know.... how should you? you’re her husband.... i think you’d better go up and pull her nut-brown hair about the waste of candles, myself, eh! what’s the good of being married to a woman if you can’t order her about?”
-noll nodded, smiling sadly:
-“yes, i must see her--at once.”
-“come along then,” said she, leading the way upstairs. she put her fingers on her lips as sign for silence, and after that she spoke never a word until she reached the topmost landing, knocked at the attic door, flung it open; and, as noll stepped into the room, shut it again softly, and crept gently down the stairs....
-before the snowy bed stood betty in her white night-gown and in her arms she held a little child, crooning to it a low-voiced lullaby.
-she looked up as the door opened:
-noll strode over to her, dumb with an overwhelming passion for her, his heart leaping with a great surprise, walked as in a dream, knelt down at her feet, put his arms about her limbs and buried his face in the thin fabric of her nightdress.
-“betty,” he said hoarsely--“why did you not tell me this?”
-she laughed sadly:
-“i tried to tell you--so many times, noll--but--you would not listen----”
-“ah me,” said he, holding her close (how he loved the musical voice!)--“i have been such a fool--such--a fool! but i have found you, dear heart, at last--and in finding you i have found all.” and he added: “i have suffered, betty.”
-she laid her slender fingers upon his head.
-he was shaken with a sob.
-she stroked his hair:
-“i have so longed for you, noll--it has been very lonely. the little one----”
-noll was sobbing like a child.
-she bent down with the babe, lifted noll’s face in her hand and kissed him:
-“hush, noll, dear heart,” she said--“you mustn’t do that. this is no time for tears. we have come into our kingdom.” she laughed with tears in the laugh. “and it is so near the stars.”
-“i am glad to be home,” he said. and he added with a sad laugh: “it does not make me giddy being near the stars, sweetheart--i have lived up there before--with you.”
-she stroked his hair:
-she led him to a small bed. she bent over it to turn down the blankets and sheets and tucked the little one away, her red-brown hair falling about the sleeping child.
-he knelt down by the little white cot, a strange singing at his heart, his limbs all a-tremble, and, putting out his hand, touched the tiny hand of the sleeping child, who opened small warm fingers and clasped his thumb.
-his eyes watched the little one hungrily.
-betty sat down sideways on the cot and gazed at them.
-“i wonder what you think of her, noll,” she said.
-“she is very beautiful,” he said.
-betty laughed gently:
-“you wouldn’t think it, noll; but she has her faults,” she said. “it’s no use disguising these things, you are bound to discover them--she is self-willed, tyrannical, unscrupulous--ah, how she tramples one’s heart under her woolly little shoes!--she is greedy, frets under opposition, is ridiculously conceited about her mother, i am afraid will be as arrogant about her father as he is about himself, and altogether displays a lack of modesty and of ladylike reserve that causes me the gravest anxiety about her moral attributes.... you would never be able to disown her, noll--she has all your vices.”
-noll smiled as the tears trickled down his face:
-“i am afraid, betty,” said he--“that a mother’s disparagements are but veiled praise.”
-he held her hand in his.
-they sat so for a long while.
-as he gazed down upon the little one, it came to him that his mother had so looked down upon him, with a mighty hunger at her heart--that his every pain had been a pain to her--his every smile a smile in her heart. and what had he given in return? he felt now the desolation it must have wrought in the silent mother’s heart when he eagerly left the house and sallied forth to his cubhood, unrealizing that his empty place echoed with the sound of a dead child’s laughter and the merriment of the days of his innocence.
-would this little one so discard him--and betty?
-thus, in this cradle was the beginning of that open confidence between him and his mother that lit their love from that time. the grandchild leads the wandering feet home again.
-the tears welled into noll’s eyes, and his lip trembled.
-betty stroked his hand:
-“hush, noll--i have wanted you. that is enough, isn’t it?” he bowed his head.
-“noll,” said betty--“thou wilt be kind to her.... if she lose me she has only you.” and she added after awhile: “the child whose spirit is broken cannot be of the masterfolk.”
-noll lifted her fingers to his lips.
-betty bent forward and kissed him; she laughed happily:
-“noll,” said she--“eve did well when she flung away paradise to know the love of a little child.”
-billing and sons, ltd., printers, guildford
-italicized text is surrounded by underscores: italics.
-obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
-inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
-archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.
-books library project (https://books.google.com) and generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org)
-note: images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/ohenryanaseveno00presgoog
-seven odds and ends poetry and short stories
-copyright, 1920, by doubleday, page & company all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian
-for permission to republish much of the material contained in this volume, the publishers are indebted to cosmopolitan, everybody's magazine, town topics, and the youth's companion.
-table of contents
-the crucible a lunar episode three paragraphs bulger's friend a professional secret the elusive tenderloin the struggle of the outliers
-hard ye may be in the tumult, red to your battle hilts, blow give for blow in the foray, cunningly ride in the tilts; but when the roaring is ended tenderly, unbeguiled, turn to a woman a woman's heart, and a child's to a child.
-test of the man, if his worth be in accord with the ultimate plan, that he be not, to his marring, always and utterly man; that he bring out of the tumult, fitter and undefiled, to a woman the heart of a woman, to children the heart of a child.
-good when the bugles are ranting it is to be iron and fire; good to be oak in the foray, ice to a guilty desire. but when the battle is over (marvel and wonder the while) give to a woman a woman's heart, and a child's to a child.
-a lunar episode
-the scene was one of supernatural weirdness. tall, fantastic mountains reared their seamed peaks over a dreary waste of igneous rock and burned-out lava beds. deep lakes of black water stood motionless as glass under frowning, honeycombed crags, from which ever and anon dropped crumbled masses with a sullen plunge. vegetation there was none. bitter cold reigned and ridges of black and shapeless rocks cut the horizon on all sides. an extinct volcano loomed against a purple sky, black as night and old as the world.
-the firmament was studded with immense stars that shone with a wan and spectral light. orion's belt hung high above.
-aldebaran faintly shone millions of miles away, and the earth gleamed like a new-risen moon with a lurid, blood-like glow.
-on a lofty mountain that hung toppling above an ink-black sea stood a dwelling built of stone. from its solitary window came a bright light that gleamed upon the misshapen rocks. the door opened and two men emerged locked in a deadly struggle.
-they swayed and twisted upon the edge of the precipice, now one gaining the advantage, now the other.
-strong men they were, and stone rolled from their feet into the valley as each strove to overcome the other.
-at length one prevailed. he seized his opponent, and raising him high above his head, hurled him into space.
-the vanquished combatant shot through the air like a stone from a catapult in the direction of the luminous earth.
-"that's three of 'em this week," said the man in the moon as he lit a cigarette and turned back into the house. "those new york interviewers are going to make me tired if they keep this thing up much longer."
-"copy," yelled the small boy at the door. the sick woman lying on the bed began to move her fingers aimlessly upon the worn counterpane. her eyes were bright with fever; her face, once beautiful, was thin and pain drawn. she was dying, but neither she nor the man who held her hand and wrote on a paper tablet knew that the end was so near.
-three paragraphs were lacking to fill the column of humorous matter that the foreman had sent for. the small pay it brought them barely furnished shelter and food. medicine was lacking but the need for that was nearly over.
-the woman's mind was wandering; she spoke quickly and unceasingly, and the man bit his pencil and stared at the pad of paper, holding her slim, hot hand.
-"oh, jack; jack, papa says no, i cannot go with you. not love you! jack, do you want to break my heart? oh, look, look! the fields are like heaven, so filled with flowers. why have you no ice? i had ice when i was at home. can't you give me just a little piece, my throat is burning?"
-the humourist wrote: "when a man puts a piece of ice down a girl's back at a picnic, does he give her the cold shoulder?"
-the woman feverishly put back the loose masses of brown hair from her burning face.
-"jack, jack, i don't want to die! who is that climbing in the window? oh, it's only jack, and here is jack holding my hand, too. how funny! we are going to the river tonight. the quiet, broad, dark, whispering river. hold my hand tight. jack, i can feel the water coming in. it is so cold. how queer it seems to be dead, dead, and see the trees above you."
-the humourist wrote: "on the dead square--a cemetery lot."
-"copy, sir," yelled the small boy again. "forms locked in half an hour."
-the man bit his pencil into splinters. the hand he held was growing cooler; surely her fever must be leaving. she was singing now, a little crooning song she might have learned at her mother's knee, and her fingers had ceased moving.
-"they told me," she said weakly and sadly, "that hardships and suffering would come upon me for disobeying my parents and marrying jack. oh, dear, my head aches so i can't think. no, no, the white dress with the lace sleeves, not that black, dreadful thing! sailing, sailing, sailing, where does this river go? you are not jack, you are too cold and stern. what is that red mark on your brow? come, sister, let's make some daisy chains and then hurry home, there is a great black cloud above us--i'll be better in the morning. jack, if you'll hold my hand tight. jack, i feel as light as a feather--i'm just floating, floating, right into the cloud and i can't feel your hand. oh, i see her now, and there is the old love and tenderness in her face. i must go to her. jack. mother, mother!"
-the man wrote quickly:
-"a woman generally likes her husband's mother-in-law the best of all his relatives."
-then he sprang to the door, dashed the column of copy into the boy's hand, and moved swiftly to the bed.
-he put his arm softly under the brown head that had suffered so much, but it turned heavily aside.
-the fever was gone. the humourist was alone.
-it was rare sport for a certain element in the town when old bulger joined the salvation army. bulger was the town's odd "character," a shiftless, eccentric old man, and a natural foe to social conventions. he lived on the bank of a brook that bisected the town, in a wonderful hut of his own contriving, made of scrap lumber, clapboards, pieces of tin, canvas and corrugated iron.
-the most adventurous boys circled bulger's residence at a respectful distance. he was intolerant of visitors, and repelled the curious with belligerent and gruff inhospitality. in return, the report was current that he was of unsound mind, something of a wizard, and a miser with a vast amount of gold buried in or near his hut. the old man worked at odd jobs, such as weeding gardens and whitewashing; and he collected old bones, scrap metal and bottles from alleys and yards.
-one rainy night when the salvation army was holding a slenderly attended meeting in its hall, bulger had appeared and asked permission to join the ranks. the sergeant in command of the post welcomed the old man with that cheerful lack of prejudice that distinguishes the peaceful militants of his order.
-bulger was at once assigned to the position of bass drummer, to his evident, although grimly expressed, joy. possibly the sergeant, who had the success of his command at heart, perceived that it would be no mean token of successful warfare to have the new recruit thus prominently displayed, representing, as he did, if not a brand from the burning, at least a well-charred and sap-dried chunk.
-so every night, when the army marched from its quarters to the street corner where open-air services were held, bulger stumbled along with his bass drum behind the sergeant and the corporal, who played "sweet by and by" and "only an armor-bearer" in unison upon their cornets. and never before in that town was bass drum so soundly whacked. bulger managed to keep time with the cornets upon his instrument, but his feet were always wo-fully unrhythmic. he shuffled and staggered and rocked from side to side like a bear.
-truly, he was not pleasing to the sight. he was a bent, ungainly old man, with a face screwed to one side and wrinkled like a dry prune. the red shirt, which proclaimed his enlistment into the ranks, was a misfit, being the outer husk of a leviathan corporal who had died some time before. this garment hung upon bulger in folds. his old brown cap was always pulled down over one eye. these and his wabbling gait gave him the appearance of some great simian, captured and imperfectly educated in pedestrian and musical manoeuvres.
-the thoughtless boys and undeveloped men who gathered about the street services of the army badgered bulger incessantly. they called upon him to give oral testimony to his conversion, and criticized the technique and style of his drum performance. but the old man paid no attention whatever to their jeers. he rarely spoke to anyone except when, on coming and going, he gruffly saluted his comrades.
-the sergeant had met many odd characters, and knew how to study them. he allowed the recruit to have his own silent way for a time. every evening bulger appeared at the hall, marched up the street with the squad and back again. then he would place his drum in the comer where it belonged, and sit upon the last bench in the rear until the hall meeting was concluded.
-but one night the sergeant followed the old man outside, and laid his hand upon his shoulder. "comrade," he said, "is it well with you?"
-"not yet, sergeant," said bulger. "i'm only tryin.' i'm glad you come outside. i've been wantin' to ask you: do you believe the lord would take a man in if he come to him late like--kind of a last resort, you know? say a man who'd lost everything--home and property and friends and health. wouldn't it look mean to wait till then and try to come?"
-"bless his name--no!" said the sergeant. "come ye that are heavy laden; that's what he says. the poorer, the more miserable, the more unfortunate--the greater his love and forgiveness."
-"yes, i'm poor," said bulger. "awful poor and miserable. you know when i can think best, sergeant? it's when i'm beating the drum. other times there's a kind of muddled roarin' in my head. the drum seems to kind of soothe and calm it. there's a thing i'm tryin' to study out, but i ain't made it yet."
-"do you pray, comrade?" asked the sergeant.
-"no, i don't," said bulger. "what'd be the use? i know where the hitch is. don't it say somewhere for a man to give up his own family or friends and serve the lord?"
-"if they stand in his way; not otherwise."
-"i've got no family," continued the old man, "nor no friends--but one. and that one is what's driven me to ruin."
-"free yourself!" cried the sergeant. "he is no friend, but an enemy who stands between you and salvation."
-"no," answered bulger, emphatically, "no enemy. the best friend i ever had."
-"but you say he's driven you to ruin!"
-the old man chuckled dryly: "and keeps me in rags and livin' on scraps and sleepin' like a dog in a patched-up kennel. and yet i never had a better friend. you don't understand, sergeant. you lose all your friends but the best one, and then you'll know how to hold on to the last one."
-"do you drink, comrade?" asked the sergeant.
-"not a drop in twenty years," bulger replied. the sergeant was puzzled.
-"if this friend stands between you and your soul's peace, give him up," was all he could find to say.
-"i can't--now," said the old man, dropping into a fretful whine. "but you just let me keep on beating the drum, sergeant, and maybe i will some time. i'm a-tryin'. sometimes i come so near thinkin' it out that a dozen more licks on the drum would settle it. i get mighty nigh to the point, and then i have to quit. you'll give me more time, won't you, sergeant?"
-"all you want, and god bless you, comrade. pound away until you hit the right note."
-afterward the sergeant would often call to bulger: "time, comrade! knocked that friend of yours out yet?" the answer was always unsatisfactory.
-the sergeant wondered what it all meant, and took occasion to question the old man more closely as to the influence that was retarding the peace his soul seemed to crave. but bulger carefully avoided particularizing.
-"it's my own fight," he said. "i've got to think it out myself. nobody else don't understand."
-the winter of 1892 was a memorable one in the south. the cold was almost unprecedented, and snow fell many inches deep where it had rarely whitened the ground before. much suffering resulted among the poor, who had not anticipated the rigorous season. the little squad of salvationists found more distress then they could relieve.
-charity in that town, while swift and liberal, lacked organization. want, in that balmy and productive climate, existed only in sporadic cases, and these were nearly always quietly relieved by generous neighbours. but when some sudden disastrous onslaught of the elements--storm, fire or flood--occurred, the impoverished sufferers were often too slowly aided because system was lacking, and because charity was called upon too seldom to become a habit. at such times the salvation army was very useful. its soldiers went down into alleys and byways to rescue those who, unused to extreme want, had never learned to beg.
-at the end of three weeks of hard freezing a level foot of snow fell. hunger and cold struck the improvident, and a hundred women, children and old men were gathered into the army's quarters to be warmed and fed. each day the blue-uniformed soldiers slipped in and out of the stores and offices of the town, gathering pennies and dimes and quarters to buy food for the starving. and in and out of private houses the salvationists went with baskets of food and clothing, while day by day the mercury still crouched among the tens and twenties.
-alas! business, that scapegoat, was dull. the dimes and quarters came more reluctantly from tills that jingled not when they were opened. yet in the big hall of the army the stove was kept red-hot, and upon the long table, set in the rear, could always be found at least coffee and bread and cheese. the sergeant and the squad fought valiantly. at last the money on hand was all gone, and the daily collections were diminished to a variable sum, inadequate to the needs of the dependents of the army.
-christmas was near at hand. there were fifty children in the hall, and many more outside, to whom that season brought no joy beyond what was brought by the army. none of these little pensioners had thus far lacked necessary comforts, and they had already begun to chatter of the tree--that one bright vision in the sober monotony of the year. never since the army first came had it failed to provide a tree and gifts for the children.
-the sergeant was troubled. he knew that an announcement of "no tree" would grieve the hearts under those thin cotton dresses and ragged jackets more than would stress of storm or scanty diet; and yet there was not money enough to meet the daily demands for food and fuel.
-on the night of december the 20th the sergeant decided to announce that there could be no christmas tree: it seemed unfair to allow the waxing anticipation of the children to reach too great a height.
-the evening was colder, and the still deep snow was made deeper by another heavy fall swept upon the wings of a fierce and shrill-voiced northern gale. the sergeant, with sodden boots and reddened countenance, entered the hall at nightfall, and removed his threadbare overcoat. soon afterward the rest of the faithful squad drifted in, the women heavily shawled, the men stamping their snow-crusted feet loudly upon the steep stairs. after the slender supper of cold meat, beans, bread, and coffee had been finished all joined in a short service of song and prayer, according to their daily habit.
-far back in the shadow sat bulger. for weeks his ears had been deprived of that aid to thought, the booming of the big bass drum. his wrinkled face wore an expression of gloomy perplexity. the army had been too busy for the regular services and parades. the silent drum, the banners, and the cornets were stored in a little room at the top of the stairway.
-bulger came to the hall every night and ate supper with the others. in such weather work of the kind that the old man usually did was not to be had, and he was bidden to share the benefits conferred upon the other unfortunates. he always left early, and it was surmised that he passed the nights in his patchwork hut, that structure being waterproof and weathertight beyond the promise of its outward appearance. of late the sergeant had had no time to bestow upon the old man.
-at seven o'clock the sergeant stood up and rapped upon the table with a lump of coal. when the room became still he began his talk, that rambled off into a halting discourse quite unlike his usual positive and direct speeches. the children had gathered about their friend in a ragged, wriggling, and wide-a-wake circle. most of them had seen that fresh, ruddy countenance of his emerge, at the twelve-stroke of a night of splendour, from the whiskered mask of a magnificent santa claus. they knew now that he was going to speak of the christmas tree.
-they tiptoed and listened, flushed with a hopeful and eager awe. the sergeant saw it, frowned, and swallowed hard. continuing, he planted the sting of disappointment in each expectant little bosom, and watched the light fade from their eyes.
-there was to be no tree. renunciation was no new thing to them; they had been born to it. still a few little ones in whom hope died hard sobbed aloud, and wan, wretched mothers tried to hush and console them. a kind of voiceless wail went among them, scarcely a protest, rather the ghost of a lament for the childhood's pleasures they had never known. the sergeant sat down and figured cheerlessly with the stump of a pencil upon the blank border of a newspaper.
-bulger rose and shuffled out of the room without ceremony, as was his custom. he was heard fumbling in the little room in the hallway, and suddenly a thunderous roar broke out, filling the whole building with its booming din. the sergeant started, and then laughed as if his nerves welcomed the diversion.
-"it's only comrade bulger," he said, "doing a little thinking in his own quiet way."
-the norther rattled the windows and shrieked around the corners. the sergeant heaped more coal into the stove. the increase of that cutting wind bore the cold promise of days, perhaps weeks, of hard times to come. the children were slowly recovering the sad philosophy out of which the deceptive hope of one bright day had enticed them. the women were arranging things for the night; preparing to draw the long curtain across the width of the hall, separating the children's quarters and theirs from those of the men.
-about eight o'clock the sergeant had seen that all was shipshape; and was wrapping his woolen comforter around his neck, ready for his cold journey homeward, when footsteps were heard upon the stairway. the door opened, and bulger came in covered with snow like santa claus, and as red of face, but otherwise much unlike the jolly christmas saint.
-the old man shambled down the hall to where the sergeant stood, drew a wet, earth-soiled bag from under his coat, and laid it upon the table. "open it," he said, and motioned to the sergeant.
-that cheery official obeyed with an indulgent smile. he seized the bottom of the bag, turned it up, and stood, with his smile turned to a gape of amazement, gazing at a heap of gold and silver coin that rolled upon the table.
-"count it," said bulger.
-the jingling of the money and wonder at its source had produced a profound silence in the room. for a time nothing could be heard but the howling of the wind and the chink of the coins as the sergeant slowly laid them in little separate piles.
-"six hundred," said the sergeant, and stopped to clear his throat, "six hundred and twenty-three dollars and eighty-five cents!"
-"eighty," said bulger. "mistake of five cents. i've thought it out at last, sergeant, and i've give up that friend i told you about. that's him--dollars and cents. the boys was right when they said i was a miser. take it, sergeant, and spend it the best way for them that needs it, not forgettin' a tree for the young 'uns, and--"
-"hallelujah!" cried the sergeant.
-"and a new bass drum," concluded bulger.
-and then the sergeant made another speech.
-a professional secret the story of a maid made over
-dr. satterfield prince, physician to the leisure class, looked at his watch. it indicated five minutes to twelve. at the stroke of the hour would expire the morning term set apart for the reception of his patients in his handsome office apartments. and then the young woman attendant ushered in from the waiting-room the last unit of the wealthy and fashionable gathering that had come to patronize his skill.
-dr. prince turned, his watch still in hand, his manner courteous, but seeming to invite promptness and brevity in the interview. the last patient was a middle-aged lady, richly dressed, with an amiable and placid face. when she spoke her voice revealed the drawling, musical slur and intonation of the south. she had come, she leisurely explained, to bespeak the services of dr. prince in the case of her daughter, who was possessed of a most mysterious affliction. and then, femininely, she proceeded to exhaustively diagnose the affliction, informing the physician with a calm certitude of its origin and nature.
-the diagnosis advanced by the lady--mrs. galloway rankin--was one so marvelously strange and singular in its conception that dr. prince, accustomed as he was to the conceits and vagaries of wealthy malingerers, was actually dumfounded. the following is the matter of mrs. rankin's statement, briefly reported:
-she--mrs. rankin--was of an old kentucky family, the bealls. between the bealls and another historic house--the rankins--had been waged for nearly a century one of the fiercest and most sanguinary feuds within the history of the state. each generation had kept alive both the hate and the warfare, until at length it was said that nature began to take cognizance of the sentiment and bealls and rankins were born upon earth as antagonistic toward each other as cats and dogs. so, for four generations the war had waged, and the mountains were dotted with tombstones of both families. at last, for lack of fuel to feed upon, the feud expired with only one direct descendant of the bealls and one of the rankins remaining--evalina beall, aged nineteen, and galloway rankin, aged twenty-five. the last mortal shot in the feud was fired by cupid. the two survivors met, became immediately and mutually enamoured, and a miracle transpired on kentucky soil--a rankin wedded a beall.
-interposed, and irrelevant to the story, was the information that coal mines had been discovered later on the rankin lands, and now the galloway rankins were to be computed among the millionaries.
-all that was long enough ago for there to be now a daughter, twenty years of age--miss annabel rankin--for whose relief the services of dr. prince was petitioned.
-then followed, in mrs. rankin's statement, a description of the mysterious, though by her readily accounted for, affliction.
-it seemed that there was a peculiar difficulty in the young lady's powers of locomotion. in walking, a process requiring a coordination and unanimity of the functions--dr. prince, said mrs. rankin, would understand and admit the nonexistence of a necessity for anatomical specification--there persisted a stubborn opposition, a most contrary and counteracting antagonism. in those successively progressive and generally unconsciously automatic movements necessary to proper locomotion, there was a violent lack of harmony and mutuality. to give an instance cited by mrs. rankin--if miss annabel desired to ascend a stairway, one foot would be easily advanced to the step above, but instead of aiding and abetting its fellow, the other would at once proceed to start downstairs. by a strong physical and mental effort the young lady could walk fairly well for a short distance but suddenly the rebellious entities would become uncontrollable, and she would be compelled to turn undesirable corners, to enter impossible doorways, to dance, shuffle, sidestep and perform other undignified and distressing evolutions.
-after setting forth these lamentable symptoms, mrs. rankin emphatically asserted her belief that the affliction was the result of heredity--of the union between the naturally opposing and contrary beall and rankin elements. she believed that the inherited spirit of the ancient feud had taken on physical manifestations, exhibiting them in the person of the unfortunate outcome of the union of opposites. that in miss annabel rankin was warring the imperishable antipathy of the two families. in other words, that one of miss rankin's--that is to say, that when miss rankin took a step it was a beall step, and the next one was dominated by the bequeathed opposition of the rankins.
-doctor prince received the communication with his usual grave, professional attention, and promised to call the next day at ten to inspect the patient.
-promptly at the hour his electric runabout turned into the line of stylish autos and hansoms that wait along the pavements before the most expensive hostelry on american soil.
-when miss annabel rankin entered the reception parlour of their choice suite of rooms doctor prince gave a little blink of surprise through his brilliantly polished nose glasses. the glow of perfect health and the contour of perfect beauty were visible in the face and form of the young lady. but admiration gave way to sympathy when he saw her walk. she entered at a little run, swayed, stepped off helplessly at a sharp tangent, advanced, marked time, backed off, recovered and sidled with a manoeuvring rush to a couch, where she rested, with a look of serious melancholy upon her handsome face.
-dr. prince proceeded with his interrogatories in the delicate, reassuring gentlemanly manner that had brought him so many patrons who placed a value upon those amenities. miss annabel answered frankly and sensibly, indeed, for one of her years. the feud theory of mrs. rankin was freely discussed. the daughter also believed in it.
-soon the physician departed, promising to call again and administer treatment. then he buzzed down the avenue and four doors on an asphalted side street to the office of dr. grumbleton myers, the great specialist in locomotor ataxia and nerve ailments. the two distinguished physicians shut themselves in a private office, and the great myers dragged forth a decanter of sherry and a box of havanas. when the consultation was over both shook their heads.
-"fact is," summed up myers, "we don't know anything about anything. i'd say treat symptoms now until something turns up; but there are no symptoms."
-"the feud diagnosis, then?" suggested doctor prince, archly, ridding his cigar of its ash.
-"it's an interesting case," said the specialist, noncommittally.
-"i say, prince," called myers, as his caller was leaving. "er--sometimes, you know, children that fight and quarrel are shut in separate rooms. doesn't it seem a pity, now, that bloomers aren't in fashion? by separ--"
-"but they aren't," smiled doctor prince, "and we must be fashionable, at any rate."
-doctor prince burned midnight oil--or its equivalent, a patent, electric, soft-shaded, midnight incandescent, over his case. with such little success did his light shine that he was forced to make a little speech to the rankins full of scientific terms--a thing he conscientiously avoided with his patients--which shows that he was driven to expedient. at last he was reduced to suggest treatment by hypnotism.
-being crowded further, he advised it, and appeared another day with professor adami, the most reputable and non-advertising one he could find among that school of practitioners.
-miss annabel, gentle and melancholy, fell an easy victim--or, i should say, subject--to the professor's influence. previously instructed by doctor prince in the nature of the malady he was about to combat, the dealer in mental drugs proceeded to offer "suggestion" (in the language of his school) to the afflicted and unconscious young lady, impressing her mind with the conviction that her affliction was moonshine and her perambulatory powers without impairment.
-when the spell was removed miss rankin sat up, looking a little bewildered at first, and then rose to her feet, walking straight across the room with the grace, the sureness and the ease of a diana, a leslie-carter, or a vassar basketball champion. miss annabel's sad face was now lit with hope and joy. mrs. rankin of southern susceptibility wept a little, delightedly, upon a minute lace handkerchief. miss annabel continued to walk about firmly and accurately, in absolute control of the machinery necessary for her so to do. doctor prince quietly congratulated professor adami, and then stepped forward, smilingly rubbing his nose glasses with an air. his position enabled him to overshadow the hypnotizer who, contented to occupy the background temporarily, was busy estimating in his mind with how large a bill for services he would dare to embellish the occasion when he should come to the front.
-amid repeated expressions of gratitude, the two professional gentlemen made their adieus, a little elated at the success of the treatment which, with one of them, had been an experiment, with the other an exhibition.
-as the door closed behind them. miss annabel, her usually serious and pensive temper somewhat enlivened by the occasion, sat at the piano and dashed into a stirring march. outside, the two men moving toward the elevator heard a scream of alarm from her and hastened back. they found her on the piano-stool, with one hand still pressing the keys. the other arm was extended rigidly to its full length behind her, its fingers tightly clenched into a pink and pretty little fist. her mother was bending over her, joining in the alarm and surprise. miss rankin rose from the stool, now quiet, but again depressed and sad.
-"i don't know what did it," she said, plaintively; "i began to play and that arm shot back. it wouldn't stay near the piano while the other one was there."
-a ping-pong table stood in the room.
-"a little game, miss rankin," cried professor adami, gayly, trying to feel his way.
-they played. with the racquet in the refractory arm, miss annabel played in fine style. her control of it was perfect. the professor laid down his racquet.
-"ah! a button is loose on my coat," said he. "such is the fate of sorrowful bachelors. a needle and thread, now. miss rankin?"
-a little surprised, but smiling acquiescence, annabel brought the articles from another room.
-"now thread the needle, if you please," said professor adami.
-annabel bit off two feet of the black silk. when she came to thread the needle the secret was out. as the hand presenting the thread approached the other holding the needle that arm was jerked violently away. doctor prince was first to reduce the painful discovery to words.
-"dear miss and mrs. rankin," he said, in his most musical consolation-baritone, "we have been only partially successful. the affliction, miss rankin, has passed from your--that is, the affliction is now in your arms."
-"oh, dear!" sighed annabel, "i've a beall arm and a rankin arm, then. well, i can use one hand at a time, anyway. people won't notice it as they did before. oh, what an annoyance those feuds were, to be sure! it seems to me they should make laws against them."
-doctor prince looked inquiringly at professor adami. that gentleman shook his head. "another day," he said. "i prefer not to establish the condition at a lesser interval than two or three days."
-a week afterward there wafted into doctor prince's office a youth, generously gilded. the hallmarks of society were deeply writ upon him.
-"i'm ashburton," he explained; "t. ripley ashburton, you know. i'm engaged to miss rankin. i understand you've been training her for some breaks in her gaits--" t. ripley ashburton caught himself. "didn't mean that, you know--slipped out--been loafing around stables quite a lot. i say, doctor prince, i want you to tell me. candidly, you know. i'm awful spoons on miss rankin. we're to be married in the fall. you might consider me one of the family, you know. they told me about the treatment you gave her with the--er--medium fellow. that set her up wonderfully, i assure you. she goes freely now, and handles her fore--i mean you know, she's over all that old trouble. but there's something else started up that's making the track pretty heavy; so i called, don't you understand."
-"i had not been advised," said doctor prince, "of any recurrence of miss rankin's indisposition."
-t. ripley ashburton produced a silver cigarette-case and contemplated it tenderly. receiving no encouragement, he replaced it in his pocket with a sigh.
-"not a recurrence," he said, thoughtfully, "but something different. possibly i'm the only one in a position to know. hate to discuss it--reveal cupid's secrets, you know--such a jolly low thing to do--but suppose the occasion justifies it."
-"if you possess any information or have observed anything," said doctor prince, judicially, "through which miss rankin's condition might be benefited, it is your duty, of course, to apply it in her behalf. i need hardly remind you that such disclosures are held as secrets on professional honour."
-"i believe i mentioned," said mr. ashburton, his fingers still hovering around the pocket containing his cigarette case, "that miss rankin and i are ever so sweet upon each other. she's a jolly, swell girl, if she did come from the kentucky mountains. lately she's acted awful queerly. she's awful affectionate one minute, and the next she turns me down like a perfect stranger. last night i called at the hotel, and she met me at the door of their rooms. nobody was in sight, and she gave me an awful nice kiss--er--engaged, you know, doctor prince--and then she fired away and gave me an awful hard slap in the face. 'i hate the sight of you,' she said; 'how dare you take the liberty!'" mr. ashburton drew an envelope from his pocket and extracted from it a sheet of note paper of a delicate heliotrope tint. "you might read this note, you know. can't say if it's a medical case, 'pon my honour, but i'm awfully queered, don't you understand."
-doctor prince read the following lines:
-my dearest ripley:
-do come around this evening--there's a dear boy--and take me out somewhere. mamma has a headache, and says she'll be glad to be rid of both of us for a while. 'twas so sweet of you to send those pond lilies--they're just what i wanted for the east windows. you darling boy--you're so thoughtful and good--i'm sure you're worth all the love of
-your very own annabel.
-very respectfully, annabel rankin.
-being deprived of the aid of his consolation cylinders, t. ripley ashburton sat, gloomy, revolving things in his mind.
-"ah!" exclaimed doctor prince, aloud, but addressing the exclamation to himself; "driven from the arms to the heart!" he perceived that the mysterious hereditary contrariety had, indeed, taken up its lodging in that tender organ of the afflicted maiden.
-the gilded youth was dismissed, with the promise that doctor prince would make a professional call upon miss rankin. he did so soon, in company with professor adami, after they had discussed the strange course taken by this annoying heritage of the bealls and rankins. this time, as the location of the disorder required that the subject be approached with ingenuity, some diplomacy was exercised before the young lady could be induced to submit herself to the professor's art. but evidently she did so, and emerged from the trance as usual without a trace of unpleasant effect.
-with much interest and some anxiety doctor prince passed several days awaiting the report of mr. ashburton, who, indeed, of all others would have to be depended upon to observe improvements, if any had occurred. one morning that youth dropped in, jubilant.
-"it's all right, you know," he declared, cheerfully. "miss rankin's herself again. she's as sweet as cream, and the trouble's all off. never a cross word or look. i'm her ducky, all right. she won't believe what i tell her about the way she used to treat me. intimates i make up the stories. but it's all right now--everything's running on rubber tires. awfully obliged to you and the old boy--er--the medium, you know. and i say, now, doctor prince, there's a wonderful improvement in miss rankin in every way. she used to be rather stiff, don't you understand--sort of superior, in a way--bookish, and a habit of thinking things, you know. well, she's cured all round--she's a topper now of any bunch in the set--swell and stylish and lively! oh, the crowd will fall in to her lead when she becomes mrs. t. ripley. now, i say. doctor prince, you and the--er--medium gentleman come and take supper tonight with mrs. and miss rankin and me. i'd be delighted if you would, now--i would indeed--just for you to see, you know, the improvement in miss rankin."
-it transpired that doctor prince and professor adami accepted mr. ashburton's invitation. they convened at the hotel in the rooms of the rankins. from there they were to proceed to the restaurant honoured by mr. ashburton's patronage.
-when miss rankin swept gracefully into the room the professional gentlemen felt fascination and surprise conflicting in their feelings. she was radiant, bewitching, lively to effervescence. her mother and mr. ashburton hung, enraptured, upon her looks and words. she was most becomingly clothed in pale blue.
-"oh, bother!" she suddenly exclaimed, most vivaciously, "i don't like this dress, after all. you must all wait," she commanded, with a captivating fling of her train, "until i change." half an hour later she returned, magnificent in a stunning costume of black lace.
-"i'll walk with you downstairs, professor adami," she declared, with a charming smile. halfway down she left his side abruptly and joined doctor prince. "you've been such a benefit to me," she said. "it's such a relief to get rid of that horrid feud thing. heavens! ripley, did you forget those bonbons? oh, this horrid black dress! i shouldn't have worn it; it makes me think of funerals. did you get the scent of those lilacs then? it makes me think of the kentucky mountains. how i wish we were back there."
-"aren't you fond of new york, then?" asked doctor prince, regarding her interestedly.
-she started at the sound of his voice and looked up vivaciously.
-"indeed i am," she said, earnestly. "i adore new york. why, i couldn't live without theatres and dances and my daily drives here. oh, ripley," she called, over her shoulder, "don't get that bull pup i wanted; i've changed my mind. i want a pomeranian--now, don't forget."
-they arrived on the pavement.
-"oh, a carriage!" exclaimed miss rankin; "i don't want a carriage, i want an auto. send it away!"
-"all right," said ashburton, cheerily, "i thought you said a carriage."
-in obedience to orders the carriage rolled away and an open auto glided up in its place.
-"stuffy, smelly thing!" cried miss rankin, with a winsome pout. "we'll walk. ripley, you and doctor prince look out for mamma. come on, professor adami." the indulgent victims of the charming beauty obeyed.
-"the dear, dear child!" exclaimed mrs. rankin, happily, to doctor prince. "how full of spirits and life she is getting to be! she's so much improved from her old self."
-"lots," said ashburton, proudly and fatuously. "she's picked up the regular metropolitan gaits. chic and swell don't begin to express her. she's cut out the pensive thought business. up-to-date. why she changes her mind every two minutes. that's annabel."
-at the fashionable restaurant where they were soon seated, doctor prince found his curiosity and interest engaged by miss rankin's behaviour. she was in an agreeably fascinating humour. her actions were such as might be expected from an adored child whose vacillating whims were indulged by groveling relatives. she ordered article after article from the bill of fare, petulantly countermanding nearly everyone when they were set before her. waiters flew and returned, collided, conciliated, apologized, and danced at her bidding. her speech was quick and lively, deliciously inconsistent, abounding in contradictions, conflicting statements, "bulls," discrepancies and nonconformities. in short, she seemed to have acquired within the space of a few days all that inconsequent, illogical frothiness that passes current among certain circles of fashionable life.
-mr. t. ripley ashburton showed a doting appreciation and an addled delight at the new charms of his fiancee--charms that he at once recognized as the legal tender of his set.
-later, when the party had broken up, doctor prince and professor adami stood, for a moment, at a corner, where their ways were to diverge.
-"well," said the professor, who was genially softened by the excellent supper and wine, "this time our young lady seems to be more fortunate. the malady has been eradicated completely from her entity. yes, sir, in good time, our school will be recognized by all."
-doctor prince scrutinized the handsome, refined countenance of the hypnotist. he saw nothing there to indicate that his own diagnosis was even guessed at by that gentleman.
-"as you say," he made answer, "she appears to have recovered, as far as her friends can judge."
-when he could spare the time. doctor prince again invaded the sanctum of the great grumbleton myers, and together they absorbed the poison of nicotine.
-"yes," said the great myers, when the door was opened and doctor prince began to ooze out with the smoke, "i think you have come to the right decision. as long as none of the persons concerned has any suspicion of the truth, and is happy in the present circumstances, i don't think it necessary to inform him that the feuditis beallorum et rankinorum--how's the latin, doctor?--has only been driven to miss rankin's brain."
-the elusive tenderloin
-there is no tenderloin. there never was. that is, none that you could run a tapeline around. the word really implies a condition or a quality--much as you would say "reprehensibility" or "cold feet."
-metes and bounds have been assigned to it. i know. realists have prated of "from fourteenth to forty-second," and "as far west as" etc., but the larger meaning of the word remains with me.
-confirmation of my interpretation of the famous slaughterhouse noun-adjective came to me from bill jeremy, a friend out of the west. bill lives in a town on the edge of the prairie-dog country. at times bill yearns to maintain the tradition that "ginger shall be hot i' the mouth." he brought his last yearning to new york. and it devolved upon me. you know what that means.
-i took bill to see the cavity that has been drilled in the city's tooth, soon to be filled with the new gold subway; and the eden musee, and the flatiron and the crack in the front windowpane of russell sage's house, and the old man that threw the stone that did it when he was a boy--and i asked bill what he thought of new york.
-"you may mean well," said bill, with gentle reproach, "but you've got in a groove. you thought i was underwear buyer for the blue-front dry goods emporium of pine knob, nc, didn't you? or the junior partner of slowcoach & green, of geegeewocomee, state of goobers, come on for the fall stock of jeans, lingerie, and whetstones? don't treat me like a business friend.
-"do you suppose the wild, insensate longing i feel for metropolitan gayety is going to be satisfied by waxworks and razorback architecture? now you get out the old envelope with the itinerary on it, and cross out the brooklyn bridge and the cab that morgan rides home in and the remaining objects of interest, for i am going it alone. the tenderloin, well done, is what i shall admire for to see."
-bill jeremy has a way of doing as he says he will. so i did not urge upon him the bridge, or carnegie hall or the great tomb--wonders that the unselfish new yorker reserves, unseen, for his friends.
-that evening bill descended, unprotected, upon the tenderloin. the next day he came and put his feet upon my desk and told me about it.
-"this tenderloin," said he, "is a cross between a fake sideshow and a footrace. it's a movable feast--somethin' like easter, or tryin' to eat spaghetti with chopsticks.
-"last night i put all my money but nine dollars under a corner of the carpet and started out. i had along a bill-of-fare of this here tenderloin; it said it begins at fourteenth street and runs to forty-second, with fourth avenue and seventh on each side of it. well, i started up from fourteenth so i wouldn't miss any of it. lots of people was travellin' on the streets in a hurry. thinks i, the tenderloin's sizzlin' tonight; if i don't hurry i won't get a seat at the performance.
-"up that way," he says, wavin' his finger-ring.
-"'how'll i know it when i get to it?' i asks.
-"'yah!' says he, like he was sick. 'easy! youse'll see a flax-headed cull stakin' a doll in a 98-cent shirtwaist to a cheese sandwich and sarsaparilla, and five salvation army corporals waitin' round for de change. dere'll be a phonograph playin' and nine cops gettin' ready to raid de joint. dat'll be it.'
-"i asked that fellow where i was then.
-"'two blocks from de pump,' says he.
-"i goes on uptown, and seein' nothin' particular in the line of sinful delight, i strikes 'crosstown to another avenue. that was sixth, i reckon. people was still walkin' up and down, puttin' first one foot in front and then the other in the irreligious and wicked manner that i suppose has given the tenderloin its frivolous reputation. street cars was runnin' past, most impious and unregenerate; and the profligate dagoes was splittin' chestnuts to roast with a wild abandon that reminded me considerably of doings in paris, france. the dissipated bootblacks was sleepin' in their chairs, and the roast peanut whistles sounded gay and devilish among the mad throng that leaned ag'inst the awnin' posts.
-"a fellow with a high hat and brass buttons gets down off the top of his covered sulky, and says to me, 'keb, sir?'
-"'whereabouts is this tenderloin, colonel?' i asks.
-"'you're right in the centre of it, boss,' says he. 'you are standin' right now on the wickedest corner in new york. not ten feet from here a pushcart man had his pocket picked last night; and if you're here for a week i can show you at least two moonlight trolley parties go by on the new amsterdam line.'
-"'look here,' says i, 'i'm out for a razoo. i've got nine iron medallions of liberty wearin' holes in my pocket linin'. i want to split this tenderloin in two if there's anything in it. now put me on to something that's real degraded and boisterous and sizzling with cultured and uproarious sin. something in the way of metropolitan vice that i can be proud of when i go back home. ain't you got any civic pride about you?'
-"this sulky driver scratched the heel of his chin.
-"'just now, boss,' says he, 'everything's layin' low. there's a tip out that jerome's cigarettes ain't agreein' with him. if it was any other time--say,' says he, like an idea struck him, 'how'd you like to take in the all-night restaurants? lots of electric lights, boss, and people and fun. sometimes they laugh right out loud. out-of-town visitors mostly visit our restaurants.'
-"'get away,' says i, 'i'm beginnin' to think your old tenderloin is nothin' but the butcher's article. a little spice and infamy and audible riot is what i am after. if you can't furnish it go back and climb on your demi-barouche. we have restaurants out west' i tells him, 'where we eat grub attended by artificial light and laughter. where is the boasted badness of your unjustly vituperated city?'
-"the fellow rubs his chin again. 'deed if i know, boss,' says he, 'right now. you see jerome'--and then he buds out with another idea. 'tell you what,' says he, 'be the very thing! you jump in my keb and i'll drive you over to brooklyn. my aunt's giving a euchre party tonight,' says he, 'because miles o'reilly is busy, watchin' the natatorium--somebody tipped him off it was a poolroom. can you play euchre? the keb'll be $3.50 an hour. jump right in, boss.'
-"that was the best i could do on the wickedest corner in new york. so i walks over where it's more righteous, hopin' there might be somethin' doin' among the pharisees. everything, so far as i could see, was as free from guile as a hammock at a chautauqua picnic. the people just walked up and down, speakin' of chrysanthemum shows and oratorios, and enjoyin' the misbegotten reputation of bein' the wickedest rakes on the continent."
-"it's too bad. bill." i said, "that you were disappointed in the tenderloin. didn't you have a chance to spend any of your money?"
-"oh, yes," said bill. "i managed to drop one dollar over on the edge of the sinful district. i was goin' along down a boulevard when i hears an awful hollerin' and fussin' that sounded good--it reminded me of a real enjoyable roughhouse out west. some fellow was quarrelin' at the top of his voice, usin' cuss words, and callin' down all kinds of damnation about somethin'.
-"the sounds come out through a big door in a high buildin' and i went in to see the fun. thinks i, i'll get a small slice of this here tenderloin anyhow. well, i went in, and that's where i dropped the dollar. they came around and collected it."
-"what was inside. bill?" i asked.
-"a fellow told me, when we come out," said bill, "it was a church, and one of these preachers that mixes up in politics was denouncin' the evils of the tenderloin."
-the struggle of the outliers
-again today, at a certain street, on the ragged boundaries of the city, lawrence holcombe stopped the trolley car and got off. holcombe was a handsome, prosperous business man of forty; a man of high social standing and connections. his comfortable suburban residence was some five miles farther out on the car line from the street where so often of late he had dropped off the outgoing car. the conductor winked at a regular passenger, and nodded his head archly in the direction of holcombe's hurrying figure.
-"getting to be a regular thing," commented the conductor.
-holcombe picked his way gingerly down a roughly graded side street infested with ragged urchins and impeded by abandoned tinware. he stopped at a small cottage fenced in with a patch of stony ground with a few stunted shade-trees growing about it. a stout, middle-aged woman was washing clothes in a tub at one side of the door. she looked around, and smiled a smile of fat recognition.
-"good avening, mr. holcombe, is it yerself ag'in? ye'll find katie inside, sir."
-"did you speak to her for me?" asked holcombe, in a low voice; "did you try to help me gain her consent as you promised to do?"
-"sure, and i did that. but, sir, ye know gyurls will be gyurls. the more ye coax 'em the wilfuller they gets. 'tis yer own pleadin' that'll get her if anything will. an' i hopes ye may, for i tells her she'll never get a betther offer than yours, sir. 'tis a good girl she is, and a tidy hand for anything from the kitchen to the parlour, and she's never a fault except, maybe, a bit too much likin' for dances and ruffles and ribbons, but that's natural to her age and good looks if i do say it meself, bein' her mither, mr. holcombe. ye can spake ag'in to katie, sir, and maybe this time ye'll have luck unless danny conlan, the wild gossoon, has been at it ag'in overpersuadin' her ag'inst ye."
-holcombe turned slightly pale, and his lips closed tightly for a moment.
-"i've heard of this fellow conlan before. why does he interfere? why does he stand in the way? is there anything between him and katie? does katie care for him?"
-mrs. flynn gave a sigh, like a puff of a locomotive, and a flap upon the washboard with a sodden garment that sent holcombe, well splashed, six feet away.
-"ask me no questions about what's in a gyurl's heart and i'll tell ye no lies. her own mither can't tell any more than yerself, mr. holcombe."
-holcombe stepped inside the cottage. katie flynn, with rolled-up sleeves, was ironing a dress of flounced muslin. criticism of holcombe's deviation from his own sphere to this star of lower orbit must have waned at the sight of the girl. her beauty was of the most solvent and convincing sort. dusky irish eyes, one great braid of jetty, shining hair, a crimson mouth, dimpling and shaping itself to every mood of its owner, a figure strong and graceful, seemingly full of imperishable life and action--katie flynn was one to be sought after and striven for.
-holcombe went and stood by her side as she ironed, and watched the lithe play of muscles rolling beneath the satiny skin of her rounded forearms.
-"katie," he said, his voice concealing a certain anxiety beneath a wooing tenderness, "i have come for my answer. it isn't necessary to repeat what we have talked over so often, but you know how anxious i am to have you. you know my circumstances and position, and that you will have every comfort and every privilege that you could ask for. say 'yes,' katie, and i'll be the luckiest man in this town today."
-kate set her iron down with a metallic click, and leaned her elbows upon the ironing board. her great blue-black eyes went, in their irish way, from sparkling fun to thoughtful melancholy.
-"oh, mr. holcombe, i don't know what to say. i know you'd be kind to me, and give me the best home i could ever expect. i'd like to say 'yes'--indeed i would. i'd about decided to tell you so, but there's danny--he objects so."
-danny again! holcombe strode up and down the room impatiently frowning.
-"who is this fellow conlan, katie?" he asked. "every time i nearly get your consent he comes between us. does he want you to live always in this cottage for the convenience of his mightiness? why do you listen to him?"
-"he wants me," said katie, in the voice of a small, spoiled child.
-"well, i want you too," said holcombe, masterfully. "if i could see this wonderful mr. conlan, of the persuasive tongue, i'd argue the matter with him."
-"he's been the champion middleweight fighter of this town," said katie, a bit mischievously.
-"oh, has he! well, that doesn't frighten me, katie. in fact, i am not sure but what i'd tackle him a few rounds myself, with you for the prize; although i'm somewhat rusty with the gloves."
-"whist! there he comes now," exclaimed katie, her eyes widening a little with apprehension.
-holcombe looked out the door and saw a young man coming up from the gate. he walked with an easy swagger. his face was smooth and truculent, but not bad. he wore a cap pulled down to one eye. he walked inside the house and stopped at the door of the room in which stood his rival and the bone of contention.
-"you're after my girl again, are you?" he grumbled, huskily and ominously. "i don't like it, do you see? i've told her so, and i tell you so. she stays here. for ten cents i'd knock your block off. do you see?"
-"now mr. conlan," began holcombe, striving to avoid the argumentum ad hominem, "listen to reason. it is only fair to let katie choose for herself. is it quite the square thing to try to prevent her from doing what she prefers to do? if it had not been for your interference i would have had her long ago."
-"for five cents," pursued the unmoved mr. conlan, lowering his terms, "i'd knock your block off."
-into holcombe's eye there came the light of desperate resolve. he saw but one way to clear the obstacle from his path.
-"i am told," he said quietly and firmly, "that you are a fighter. your mind seems to dwell upon physical combat as the solution to all questions. now, conlan, i'm no scrapper, but i'll fight you to a finish any time within the next three minutes to see who gets the girl. if i win she goes with me. if you win you have your way, and i'll not trouble her again. are you game?"
-danny conlan's hard, blue eyes looked a sudden admiration.
-katie tried to interfere, but danny silenced her. he led holcombe down the hill to a deep gully that sheltered them from view. night was just closing in upon the twilight. they laid aside their coats and hats. here was a situation in the methodical existence of lawrence holcombe, real estate and bond broker, representative business man of unquestionable habits and social position! fighting with a professional tough in a gully in a squalid settlement for the daughter of an irish washerwoman!
-the combat was a short one. if it had lasted longer, holcombe would have lost, for both his wind and his science had deteriorated from long lack of training. therefore, he forced the fighting from the start. it is difficult to say to what he owed his victory over the once champion middleweight. one thing in his favour was that mr. conlan's nerve and judgment had been somewhat shattered by the effects of a recent spree. another must have been that holcombe was stimulated to supreme exertion by an absorbing incentive to win--a prompting more powerful than the instinct of the gladiator, deeper than all the motives of gallantry, and more important than the vital influence of love itself. a third fortuitous adjunct was, without doubt, a chance blow upon the projecting chin of the middleweight, under which that warrior sank to the gully's grime and remained incapable, while holcombe stood above him and leisurely counted him out.
-danny got shakily to his feet, and proved to be a true sport.
-"you're all right," he said. "but if we'd had it by rounds 'twould have ended different. the girl goes with you, do you see? i'm on the square."
-they climbed back to the cottage.
-"it's settled," announced holcombe. "mr. conlan removes his objections."
-"that's straight," said danny. "he's all right."
-holcombe had only a scratched and slightly reddened chin from a vicious, glancing uppercut from danny's left. danny showed punishment. one eye was nearly closed. his lip was bleeding.
-katie was a true woman. such do not at once crown the victor in the tourney for their favour. pity comes first. the victor must wait for his own. it will come to him. she flew to the vanquished champion and comforted him, ministering to his bruises. holcombe stood, serene and smiling, without jealousy.
-"tomorrow," he said to katie, with head erect and beaming eyes.
-"tomorrow, if you like," answered katie.
-holcombe minced his precarious way up the ragged hill among the obsolete tinware. his car came along aglitter with electric lights and jammed with passengers. he jumped to the rear platform and stood there. at his side he found weatherly, a friend and neighbour, who had also built a house in the suburbs, a few squares from his own.
-"hello, holcombe," yelled weatherly, above the crash of the car. "been looking over some real estate, out here? how're mrs. holcombe and the young h's?"
-"first rate," shouted holcombe, "when i left home this morning. how's the family with you?"
-"only so-so. usual suburban troubles. servants won't stay so far out; tradesmen object to delivering goods in the country; cars break down, etc. what's pleasing you so? made a lucky deal today?"
-holcombe's face wore an ecstatic look. he was fingering a little scratch on his chin with one hand. he leaned his head towards weatherly's ear.
-"say, bob, do you remember that irish girl, katie flynn, that was with the spaffords so long a time?"
-"i've heard of her," said weatherly. "they say she stayed a year with them without a single day off. but i don't believe any fairy story like that."
-"'twas a fact. well, i engaged her today for a cook. she's going out to the house tomorrow."
-"confound you for a lucky dog," shouted weatherly, with envy in his tones and his heart, "and you live four blocks further out than we do!"
-by g. k. chesterton
-london: 48 pall mall
-w. collins sons & co. ltd.
-glasgow melbourne auckland
-two stones in a square
-when i had for the first time crossed st george’s channel, and for the first time stepped out of a dublin hotel on to st stephen’s green, the first of all my impressions was that of a particular statue, or rather portion of a statue. i left many traditional mysteries already in my track, but they did not trouble me as did this random glimpse or vision. i have never understood why the channel is called st george’s channel; it would seem more natural to call it st patrick’s channel since the great missionary did almost certainly cross that unquiet sea and look up at those mysterious mountains. and though i should be enchanted, in an abstract artistic sense, to imagine st george sailing towards the sunset, flying the silver and scarlet colours of his cross, i cannot in fact regard that journey as the most fortunate of the adventures of that flag. nor, for that matter, do i know why the green should be called st stephen’s green, nor why the parliamentary enclosure at westminster is also connected with the first of the martyrs; unless it be because st stephen was killed with stones. the stones, piled together to make modern political buildings, might perhaps be regarded as a cairn, or heap of missiles, marking the place of the murder of a witness to the truth. and while it seems unlikely that st stephen was pelted with statues as well as stones, there are undoubtedly statues that might well kill a christian at sight. among these graven stones, from which the saints suffer, i should certainly include some of those figures in frock coats standing opposite st stephen’s westminster. there are many such statues in dublin also; but the one with which i am concerned was at first partially veiled from me. and the veil was at least as symbolic as the vision.
-i saw what seemed the crooked hind legs of a horse on a pedestal and deduced an equestrian statue, in the somewhat bloated fashion of the early eighteenth century equestrian statues. but the figure, from where i stood, was wholly hidden in the tops of trees growing round it in a ring; masking it with leafy curtains or draping it with leafy banners. but they were green banners, that waved and glittered all about it in the sunlight; and the face they hid was the face of an english king. or rather, to speak more correctly, a german king.
-when laws can stay ... it was impossible that an old rhyme should not run in my head, and words that appealed to the everlasting revolt of the green things of the earth.... ‘and when the leaves in summer time their colour dare not show.’ the rhyme seemed to reach me out of remote times and find arresting fulfilment, like a prophecy; it was impossible not to feel that i had seen an omen. i was conscious vaguely of a vision of green garlands hung on gray stone; and the wreaths were living and growing, and the stone was dead. something in the simple substances and elemental colours, in the white sunlight, and the sombre and even secret image held the mind for a moment in the midst of all the moving city, like a sign given in a dream. i was told that the figure was that of one of the first georges; but indeed i seemed to know already that it was the white horse of hanover that had thus grown gray with irish weather or green with irish foliage. i knew only too well, already, that the george who had really crossed the channel was not the saint. this was one of those german princes whom the english aristocracy used when it made the english domestic polity aristocratic and the english foreign policy german. those englishmen who think the irish are pro-german, or those irishmen who think the irish ought to be pro-german, would presumably expect the dublin populace to have hung the statue of this german deliverer with national flowers and nationalist flags. for some reason, however, i found no traces of irish tributes round the pedestal of the teutonic horsemen. i wondered how many people in the last fifty years have ever cared about it, or even been conscious of their own carelessness. i wonder how many have ever troubled to look at it, or even troubled not to look at it. if it fell down, i wonder whether anybody would put it up again. i do not know; i only know that irish gardeners, or some such irish humorists, had planted trees in a ring round that prancing equestrian figure; trees that had, so to speak, sprung up and choked him, making him more unrecognisable than a jack-in-the-green. jack or george had vanished; but the green remained.
-about a stone’s-throw from this calamity in stone there stood, at the corner of a gorgeously coloured flower-walk, a bust evidently by a modern sculptor, with modern symbolic ornament surmounted by the fine falcon face of the poet mangan, who dreamed and drank and died, a thoughtless and thriftless outcast, in the darkest of the dublin streets around that place. this individual irishman really was what we were told that all irishmen were, hopeless, heedless, irresponsible, impossible, a tragedy of failure. and yet it seemed to be his head that was lifted and not hidden; the gay flowers only showed up this graven image as the green leaves shut out the other; everything around him seemed bright and busy, and told rather of a new time. it was clear that modern men did stop to look at him; indeed modern men had stayed there long enough to make him a monument. it was almost certain that if his monument fell down it really would be put up again. i think it very likely there would be competition among advanced modern artistic schools of admitted crankiness and unimpeachable lunacy; that somebody would want to cut out a cubist mangan in a style less of stone than of bricks; or to set up a vorticist mangan, like a frozen whirlpool, to terrify the children playing in that flowery lane. for when i afterwards went into the dublin art club, or mixed generally in the stimulating society of the intellectuals of the irish capital, i found a multitude of things which moved both my admiration and amusement. perhaps the best thing of all was that it was the one society that i have seen where the intellectuals were intellectual. but nothing pleased me more than the fact that even irish art was taken with a certain irish pugnacity; as if there could be street fights about æsthetics as there once were about theology. i could almost imagine an appeal for pikes to settle a point about art needlework, or a suggestion of dying on the barricades for a difference about bookbinding. and i could still more easily imagine a sort of ultra-civilised civil war round the half-restored bust of poor mangan. but it was in a yet plainer and more popular sense that i felt that bust to be the sign of a new world, where the statue of royal george was only the ruin of an old one. and though i have since seen many much more complex, and many decidedly contradictory things in ireland, the allegory of those two stone images in that public garden has remained in my memory, and has not been reversed. the glorious revolution, the great protestant deliverer, the hanoverian succession, these things were the very pageant and apotheosis of success. the whig aristocrat was not merely victorious; it was as a victor that he asked for victory. the thing was fully expressed in all the florid and insolent statuary of the period, in all those tumid horsemen in roman uniform and rococo periwigs shown as prancing in perpetual motion down shouting streets to their triumphs; only to-day the streets are empty and silent, and the horse stands still. of such a kind was the imperial figure round which the ring of trees had risen, like great green fans to soothe a sultan or great green curtains to guard him. but it was in a sort of mockery that his pavilion was thus painted with the colour of his conquered enemies. for the king was dead behind his curtains, his voice will be heard no more, and no man will even wish to hear it, while the world endures. the dynastic eighteenth century is dead if anything is dead; and these idols at least are only stones. but only a few yards away, the stone that the builders rejected is really the head of a corner, standing at the corner of a new pathway, coloured and crowded with children and with flowers.
-that, i suspect, is the paradox of ireland in the modern world. everything that was thought progressive as a prancing horse has come to a standstill. everything that was thought decadent as a dying drunkard has risen from the dead. all that seemed to have reached a cul de sac has turned the corner, and stands at the opening of a new road. all that thought itself on a pedestal has found itself up a tree. and that is why those two chance stones seem to me to stand like graven images on either side of the gateway by which a man enters ireland. and yet i had not left the same small enclosure till i had seen one other sight which was even more symbolic than the flowers near the foot of the poet’s pedestal. a few yards beyond the mangan bust was a model plot of vegetables, like a kitchen garden with no kitchen or house attached to it, planted out in a patchwork of potatoes, cabbages, and turnips, to prove how much could be done with an acre. and i realised as in a vision that all over the new ireland that patch is repeated like a pattern; and where there is a real kitchen garden there is also a real kitchen; and it is not a communal kitchen. it is more typical even than the poet and the flowers; for these flowers are also food, and this poetry is also property; property which, when properly distributed, is the poetry of the average man. it was only afterwards that i could realise all the realities to which this accident corresponded; but even this little public experiment, at the first glance, had something of the meaning of a public monument. it was this which the earth itself had reared against the monstrous image of the german monarch; and i might have called this chapter cabbages and kings.
-my life is passed in making bad jokes and seeing them turn into true prophecies. in the little town in south bucks, where i live, i remember some talk of appropriate ceremonies in connection with the work of sending vegetables to the fleet. there was a suggestion that some proceedings should end with ‘god save the king,’ an amendment by some one (of a more naval turn of mind) to substitute ‘rule britannia’; and the opposition of one individual, claiming to be of irish extraction, who loudly refused to lend a voice to either. whatever i retain, in such rural scenes, of the frivolity of fleet street led me to suggest that we could all join in singing ‘the wearing of the greens.’ but i have since discovered that this remark, like other typical utterances of the village idiot, was in truth inspired; and was a revelation and a vision from across the sea, a vision of what was really being done, not by the village idiots but by the village wise men. for the whole miracle of modern ireland might well be summed up in the simple change from the word ‘green’ to the word ‘greens.’ nor would it be true to say that the first is poetical and the second practical. for a green tree is quite as poetical as a green flag; and no one in touch with history doubts that the waving of the green flag has been very useful to the growing of the green tree. but i shall have to touch upon all such controversial topics later, for those to whom such statements are still controversial. here i would only begin by recording a first impression as vividly coloured and patchy as a modernist picture; a square of green things growing where they are least expected; the new vision of ireland. the discovery, for most englishmen, will be like touching the trees of a faded tapestry, and finding the forest alive and full of birds. it will be as if, on some dry urn or dreary column, figures which had already begun to crumble magically began to move and dance. for culture as well as mere caddishness assumed the decay of these celtic or catholic things; there were artists sketching the ruins as well as trippers picnicking in them; and it was not the only evidence that a final silence had fallen on the harp of tara, that it did not play ‘tararaboomdeay.’ englishmen believed in irish decay even when they were large-minded enough to lament it. it might be said that those who were most penitent because the thing was murdered, were most convinced that it was killed. the meaning of these green and solid things before me is that it is not a ghost that has risen from the grave. a flower, like a flag, might be little more than a ghost; but a fruit has that sacramental solidity which in all mythologies belongs not to a ghost, but to a god. this sight of things sustaining, and a beauty that nourishes and does not merely charm, was a premonition of practicality in the miracle of modern ireland. it is a miracle more marvellous than the resurrection of the dead. it is the resurrection of the body.
-the root of reality
-the only excuse of literature is to make things new; and the chief misfortune of journalism is that it has to make them old. what is hurried has to be hackneyed. suppose a man has to write on a particular subject, let us say america; if he has a day to do it in, it is possible that, in the last afterglow of sunset, he may have discovered at least one thing which he himself really thinks about america. it is here for it to do. doost think a straight line could come from the crooked line you drew for him?"
-"he is safe--he is well and strong again?" asked the old man painfully. suddenly he reached out a hand for the paper. "let me read," he said, in a voice scarce above a whisper.
-he essayed to take the paper calmly, but it trembled in his hands. he spread it out and fumbled for his glasses, but could not find them, and he gazed helplessly at the page before him. soolsby took the paper from him and read slowly:
-". . . claridge pasha has done good work in egypt, but he is a generation too soon, it may be two or three too soon. we can but regard this fresh enterprise as a temptation to fate to take from our race one of the most promising spirits and vital personalities which this generation has produced. it is a forlorn hope. most englishmen familiar with claridge pasha's life and aims will ask--"
-an exclamation broke from the old man. in the pause which followed he said: "it was none of my doing. he went to egypt against my will."
-"ay, so many a man's said that's not wanted to look his own acts straight in the face. if our man had been started different, if he'd started in the path where god a'mighty dropped him, and not in the path luke claridge chose, would he have been in egypt to-day wearing out his life? he's not making carpets there, he's only beating them."
-the homely illustration drawn from the business in which he had been interested so many years went home to claridge's mind. he shrank back, and sat rigid, his brows drawing over the eyes, till they seemed sunk in caverns of the head. suddenly soolsby's voice rose angrily. luke claridge seemed so remorseless and unyielding, so set in his vanity and self-will! soolsby misread the rigid look in the face, the pale sternness. he did not know that there had suddenly come upon luke claridge the full consciousness of an agonising truth--that all he had done where david was concerned had been a mistake. the hard look, the sternness, were the signals of a soul challenging itself.
-"ay, you've had your own will," cried soolsby mercilessly. "you've said to god a'mighty that he wasn't able to work out to a good end what he'd let happen; and so you'd do his work for him. you kept the lad hid away from the people that belonged to him, you kept him out of his own, and let others take his birthright. you put a shame upon him, hiding who his father and his father's people were, and you put a shame upon her that lies in the graveyard--as sweet a lass, as good, as ever lived on earth. ay, a shame and a scandal! for your eyes were shut always to the sidelong looks, your ears never heard the things people said--'a good- for-nothing ship-captain, a scamp and a ne'er-do-weel, one that had a lass at every port, and, maybe, wives too; one that none knew or ever had seen--a pirate maybe, or a slave-dealer, or a jail-bird, for all they knew! married--oh yes, married right enough, but nothing else--not even a home. just a ring on the finger, and then, beyond and away!' around her life that brought into the world our lad yonder you let a cloud draw down; and you let it draw round his, too, for he didn't even bear his father's name--much less knew who his father was--or live in his father's home, or come by his own in the end. you gave the lad shame and scandal. do you think, he didn't feel it, was it much or little? he wasn't walking in the sun, but--"
-"mercy! mercy!" broke in the old man, his hand before his eyes. he was thinking of mercy, his daughter, of the words she had said to him when she died, "set him in the sun, father, where god can find him," and her name now broke from his lips.
-soolsby misunderstood. "ay, there'll be mercy when right's been done our man, and not till then. i've held my tongue for half a lifetime, but i'll speak now and bring him back. ay, he shall come back and take the place that is his, and all that belongs to him. that lordship yonder-- let him go out into the world and make his place as the egyptian did. he's had his chance to help our man, and he has only hurt, not helped him. we've had enough of his second-best lordship and his ways."
-the old man's face was painful in its stricken stillness now. he had regained control of himself, his brain had recovered greatly from its first suffusion of excitement.
-"how does thee know my lord yonder has hurt and not helped him?" he asked in an even voice, his lips tightening, however. "how does thee know it surely?"
-"from kate heaver, my lady's maid. my lady's illness--what was it? because she would help our man, and, out of his hatred, yonder second son said that to her which no woman can bear that's a true woman; and then, what with a chill and fever, she's been yonder ailing these weeks past. she did what she could for him, and her husband did what he could against him."
-the old man settled back in his chair again. "thee has kept silent all these years? thee has never told any that lives?"
-"i gave my word to her that died--to our egyptian's mother--that i would never speak unless you gave me leave to speak, or if you should die before me. it was but a day before the lad was born. so have i kept my word. but now you shall speak. ay, then, but you shall speak, or i'll break my word to her, to do right by her son. she herself would speak if she was here, and i'll answer her, if ever i see her after purgatory, for speaking now."
-the old man drew himself up in his chair as though in pain, and said very slowly, almost thickly: "i shall answer also for all i did. the spirit moved me. he is of my blood--his mother was dead--in his veins is the blood that runs in mine. his father--aristocrat, spendthrift, adventurer, renegade, who married her in secret, and left her, bidding her return to me, until he came again, and she to bear him a child--was he fit to bring up the boy?"
-he breathed heavily, his face became wan and haggard, as he continued: "restless on land or sea, for ever seeking some new thing, and when he found it, and saw what was therein, he turned away forgetful. god put it into my heart to abjure him and the life around him. the voice made me rescue the child from a life empty and bare and heartless and proud. when he returned, and my child was in her grave, he came to me in secret; he claimed the child of that honest lass whom he had married under a false name. i held my hand lest i should kill him, man of peace as i am. even his father--quaker though he once became--did we not know ere the end that he had no part or lot with us, that he but experimented with his soul, as with all else? experiment--experiment--experiment, until at last an eglington went exploring in my child's heart, and sent her to her grave--the god of israel be her rest and refuge! what should such high- placed folk do stooping out of their sphere to us who walk in plain paths? what have we in common with them? my soul would have none of them--masks of men, the slaves of riches and titles, and tyrants over the poor."
-his voice grew hoarse and high, and his head bent forward. he spoke as though forgetful of soolsby's presence: "as the east is from the west, so were we separate from these lovers of this world, the self-indulgent, the hard-hearted, the proud. i chose for the child that he should stay with me and not go to him, to remain among his own people and his own class. he was a sinister, an evil man. was the child to be trusted with him?"
-"the child was his own child," broke in soolsby. "your daughter was his lady--the countess of eglington! not all the quakers in heaven or earth could alter that. his first-born son is earl of eglington, and has been so these years past; and you, nor his second-best lordship there, nor all the courts in england can alter that. . . . ay, i've kept my peace, but i will speak out now. i was with the earl--james fetherdon he called himself--when he married her that's gone to heaven, if any ever went to heaven; and i can prove all. there's proof aplenty, and 'tis a pity, ay, god's pity! that 'twas not used long ago. well i knew, as the years passed, that the earl's heart was with david, but he had not the courage to face it all, so worn away was the man in him. ah, if the lad had always been with him--who can tell?--he might have been different! whether so or not, it was the lad's right to take his place his mother gave him, let be whatever his father was. 'twas a cruel thing done to him. his own was his own, to run his race as god a'mighty had laid the hurdles, not as luke claridge willed. i'm sick of seeing yonder fellow in our man's place, he that will not give him help, when he may; he that would see him die like a dog in the desert, brother or no brother--"
-"he does not know--lord eglington does not know the truth?" interposed the old man in a heavy whisper. "he does not know, but, if he knew, would it matter to him! so much the more would he see our man die yonder in the sands. i know the breed. i know him yonder, the skim-milk lord. there is no blood of justice, no milk of kindness in him. do you think his father that i friended in this thing--did he ever give me a penny, or aught save that hut on the hill that was not worth a pound a year? did he ever do aught to show that he remembered?--like father like son. i wanted naught. i held my peace, not for him, but for her--for the promise i made her when she smiled at me and said: 'if i shouldn't be seeing thee again, soolsby, remember; and if thee can ever prove a friend to the child that is to be, prove it.' and i will prove it now. he must come back to his own. right's right, and i will have it so. more brains you may have, and wealth you have, but not more common sense than any common man like me. if the spirit moved you to hold your peace, it moves me to make you speak. with all your meek face you've been a hard, stiff- necked man, a tyrant too, and as much an aristocrat to such as me as any lord in the land. but i've drunk the mug of silence to the bottom. i've--" he stopped short, seeing a strange look come over the other's face, then stepped forward quickly as the old man half rose from his chair, murmuring thickly:
-"mercy--david, my lord, come--!" he muttered, and staggered, and fell into soolsby's arms.
-the man of silence was silent indeed now. in the room where paralysis had fallen on him a bed was brought, and he lay nerveless on the verge of a still deeper silence. the hours went by. his eyes opened, he saw and recognised them all, but his look rested only on faith and soolsby; and, as time went on, these were the only faces to which he gave an answering look of understanding. days wore away, but he neither spoke nor moved.
-people came and went softly, and he gave no heed. there was ever a trouble in his eyes when they were open. only when soolsby came did it seem to lessen. faith saw this, and urged soolsby to sit by him. she had questioned much concerning what had happened before the stroke fell, but soolsby said only that the old man had been greatly troubled about david. once lady eglington, frail and gentle and sympathetic, came, but the trouble deepened in his eyes, and the lids closed over them, so that he might not see her face.
-when she had gone, soolsby, who had been present and had interpreted the old man's look according to a knowledge all his own, came over to the bed, leaned down and whispered: "i will speak now."
-then the eyes opened, and a smile faintly flickered at the mouth.
-"i will speak now," soolsby said again into the old man's ear.
-the voice through the door
-that night soolsby tapped at the door of the lighted laboratory of the cloistered house where lord eglington was at work; opened it, peered in, and stepped inside.
-with a glass retort in his hand eglington faced him. "what's this--what do you want?" he demanded.
-"i want to try an experiment," answered soolsby grimly.
-"ah, a scientific turn!" rejoined eglington coolly--looking at him narrowly, however. he was conscious of danger of some kind.
-then for a minute neither spoke. now that soolsby had come to the moment for which he had waited for so many ,years, the situation was not what he had so often prefigured. the words he had chosen long ago were gone from his memory; in his ignorance of what had been a commonplace to soolsby's dark reflection so long, the man he had meant to bring low stood up before him on his own ground, powerful and unabashed.
-eglington wore a blue smock, and over his eyes was a green shade to protect them from the light, but they peered sharply out at the chair- maker, and were boldly alive to the unexpected. he was no physical coward, and, in any case, what reason had he for physical fear in the presence of this man weakened by vice and age? yet ever since he was a boy there had existed between them an antagonism which had shown itself in many ways. there had ever been something sinister in soolsby's attitude to his father and himself.
-eglington vaguely knew that now he was to face some trial of mind and nerve, but with great deliberation he continued dropping liquid from a bottle into the glass retort he carried, his eyes, however, watchful of his visitor, who involuntarily stared around the laboratory.
-it was fifteen years since soolsby had been in this room; and then he had faced this man's father with a challenge on his tongue such as he meant to speak now. the smell of the chemicals, the carboys filled with acids, the queer, tapering glasses with engraved measurements showing against the coloured liquids, the great blue bottles, the mortars and pestles, the microscopic instruments--all brought back the far-off, acrid scene between the late earl and himself. nothing had changed, except that now there were wires which gave out hissing sparks, electrical instruments invented since the earlier day; except that this man, gently dropping acids into the round white bottle upon a crystal which gave off musty fumes, was bolder, stronger, had more at stake than the other.
-slowly eglington moved back to put the retort on a long table against the wall, and soolsby stepped forward till he stood where the electric sparks were gently hissing about him. now eglington leaned against the table, poured some alcohol on his fingers to cleanse the acid from them, and wiped them with a piece of linen, while he looked inquiringly at soolsby. still, soolsby did not speak. eglington lit a cigarette, and took away the shade from his eyes.
-"well, now, what is your experiment?" he asked, "and why bring it here? didn't you know the way to the stables or the scullery?"
-"i knew my way better here," answered soolsby, steadying himself.
-"ah, you've been here often?" asked eglington nonchalantly, yet feeling for the cause of this midnight visit.
-"it is fifteen years since i was here, my lord. then i came to see the earl of eglington."
-"and so history repeats itself every fifteen years! you came to see the earl of eglington then; you come to see the earl of eglington again-- after fifteen years!"
-"i come to speak with him that's called the earl of eglington."
-eglington's eyes half closed, as though the light hurt them. "that sounds communistic, or is it pure quakerism? i believe they used to call my father friend robert till he backslided. but you are not a quaker, soolsby, so why be too familiar? or is it merely the way of the old family friend?"
-"i knew your father before you were born, my lord--he troosted me then."
-"so long? and fifteen years ago--here?" he felt a menace, vague and penetrating. his eyes were hard and cruel.
-"it wasn't a question of troost then; 'twas one of right or wrong--naught else."
-"ah--and who was right, and what was wrong?" at that moment there came a tap at the door leading into the living part of the house, and the butler entered. "the doctor--he has used up all his oxygen, my lord. he begs to know if you can give him some for mr. claridge. mr. claridge is bad to-night."
-a sinister smile passed over eglington's face. "who brings the message, garry?"
-"a servant--miss claridge's, my lord."
-an ironical look came into eglington's eyes; then they softened a little. in a moment he placed a jar of oxygen in the butler's hands.
-"my compliments to miss claridge, and i am happy to find my laboratory of use at last to my neighbours," he said, and the door closed upon the man.
-then he came back thoughtfully. soolsby had not moved.
-"do you know what oxygen's for, soolsby?" he asked quizzically.
-"no, my lord, i've never heerd tell of it."
-"well, if you brought the top of ben lomond to the bottom of a coal-mine --breath to the breathless--that's it.
-"you've been doing that to mr. claridge, my lord?"
-"a little oxygen more or less makes all the difference to a man--it probably will to neighbour claridge, soolsby; and so i've done him a good turn."
-a grim look passed over soolsby's face. "it's the first, i'm thinking, my lord, and none too soon; and it'll be the last, i'm thinking, too. it's many a year since this house was neighbourly to that."
-eglington's eyes almost closed, as he studied the other's face; then he said: "i asked you a little while ago who was right and what was wrong when you came to see my father here fifteen years ago. well?"
-"i'm not so sure of that, my lord. some things would be put right then."
-"h'm, there would be a new under-secretary for foreign affairs, and--"
-"and claridge pasha would come back from egypt, my lord," was the sharp interjection. suddenly soolsby's anger flared up, his hands twitched. "you had your chance to be a friend to him, my lord. you promised her yonder at the red mansion that you would help him--him that never wronged you, him you always wronged, and you haven't lifted hand to help him in his danger. a moment since you asked me who was right and what was wrong. you shall know. if you had treated him right, i'd have held my peace, and kept my word to her that's gone these thirty-odd years. i'll hold it no more, and so i told luke claridge. i've been silent, but not for your father's sake or yours, for he was as cruel as you, with no heart, and a conscience like a pin's head, not big enough for use. . . ay, you shall know. you are no more the earl of eglington than me.
-"the earl of eglington is your elder brother, called david claridge."
-as soolsby's words poured forth passionately, weighty, eglington listened like one in a dream. since this man entered the laboratory fifty reasons for his coming had flashed across his mind; he had prepared himself at many corners for defence, he had rallied every mental resource, he had imagined a dozen dangerous events which his father and luke claridge shared--with the balance against his father; but this thing was beyond all speculation. yet on the instant the words were said he had a conviction of their inevitable truth. even as they were uttered, kaleidoscopic memories rushed in, and david's face, figure, personal characteristics, flashed before him. he saw, he felt, the likeness to his father and himself; a thousand things were explained that could only be explained by this fatal fact launched at him without warning. it was as though, fully armed for his battle of life, he had suddenly been stripped of armour and every weapon, and left naked on the field. but he had the mind of the gamester, and the true gamester's self-control. he had taken chances so often that the tornado of ill-luck left him standing.
-"what proof have you?" he asked quietly. soolsby's explicit answer left no ground for doubt. he had not asked the question with any idea of finding gaps in the evidence, but rather to find if there were a chance for resistance, of escape, anywhere. the marriage certificate existed; identification of james fetherdon with his father could be established by soolsby and luke claridge.
-soolsby and luke claridge! luke claridge--he could not help but smile cynically, for he was composed and calculating now. a few minutes ago he had sent a jar of oxygen to keep luke claridge alive! but for it one enemy to his career, to his future, would be gone. he did not shrink from the thought. born a gentleman, there were in him some degenerate characteristics which heart could not drown or temperament refine. selfishness was inwoven with every fibre of his nature.
-now, as he stood with eyes fixed on soolsby, the world seemed to narrow down to this laboratory. it was a vacuum where sensation was suspended, and the million facts of ordinary existence disappeared into inactivity. there was a fine sense of proportion in it all. only the bare essential things that concerned him remained: david claridge was the earl of eglington, this man before him knew, luke claridge knew; and there was one thing yet to know! when he spoke his voice showed no excitement--the tones were even, colourless.
-"does he know?" in these words he acknowledged that he believed the tale told him.
-soolsby had expected a different attitude; he was not easier in mind because his story had not been challenged. he blindly felt working in the man before him a powerful mind, more powerful because it faced the truth unflinchingly; but he knew that this did not mean calm acceptance of the consequences. he, not eglington, was dazed and embarrassed, was not equal to the situation. he moved uneasily, changed his position.
-"does he know?" eglington questioned again quietly. there was no need for eglington to explain who he was.
-"of course he does not know--i said so. if he knew, do you think he'd be in egypt and you here, my lord?"
-eglington was very quiet. his intellect more than his passions were now at work.
-"i am not sure. you never can tell. this might not mean much to him. he has got his work cut out; he wasn't brought up to this. what he has done is in line with the life he has lived as a pious quaker. what good would it do to bring him back? i have been brought up to it; i am used to it; i have worked things out 'according to the state of life to which i was called.' take what i've always had away from me, and i am crippled; give him what he never had, and it doesn't work into his scheme. it would do him no good and me harm--where's the use? besides, i am still my father's son. don't you see how unreasonable you are? luke claridge was right. he knew that he and his belonged to a different sphere. he didn't speak. why do you speak now after all these years when we are all set in our grooves? it's silly to disturb us, soolsby."
-the voice was low, persuasive, and searching; the mind was working as it had never worked before, to achieve an end by peaceful means, when war seemed against him. and all the time he was fascinated by the fact that soolsby's hand was within a few inches of a live electric wire, which, if he touched, would probably complete "the experiment" he had come to make; and what had been the silence of a generation would continue indefinitely. it was as though fate had deliberately tempted him and arranged the necessary conditions, for soolsby's feet were in a little pool of liquid which had been spilled on the floor--the experiment was exact and real.
-for minutes he had watched soolsby's hand near the wire-had watched as he talked, and his talk was his argument for non-interference against warning the man who had come to destroy him and his career. why had fate placed that hand so near the wire there, and provided the other perfect conditions for tragedy? why should he intervene? it would never have crossed his mind to do soolsby harm, yet here, as the man's arm was stretched out to strike him, fate offered an escape. luke claridge was stricken with paralysis, no doubt would die; soolsby alone stood in his way.
-"you see, soolsby, it has gone on too long," he added, in a low, penetrating tone. "it would be a crime to alter things now. give him the earldom and the estates, and his work in egypt goes to pieces; he will be spoiled for all he wants to do. i've got my faults, but, on the whole, i'm useful, and i play my part here, as i was born to it, as well as most. anyhow, it's no robbery for me to have what has been mine by every right except the accident of being born after him. i think you'll see that you will do a good thing to let it all be. luke claridge, if he was up and well, wouldn't thank you for it--have you got any right to give him trouble, too? besides, i've saved his life to-night, and. . . . and perhaps i might save yours, soolsby, if it was in danger."
-soolsby's hand had moved slightly. it was only an inch from the wire. for an instant the room was terribly still.
-an instant, and it might be too late. an instant, and soolsby would be gone. eglington watched the hand which had been resting on the table turn slowly over to the wire. why should he intervene? was it his business? this thing was not his doing. destiny had laid the train of circumstance and accident, and who was stronger than destiny? in spite of himself his eyes fixed themselves on soolsby's hand. it was but a hair's breadth from the wire. the end would come now. suddenly a voice was heard outside the door. "eglington!" it called.
-soolsby started, his hand drew spasmodically away from the wire, and he stepped back quickly.
-the door opened, and hylda entered.
-"mr. claridge is dead, eglington," she said. destiny had decided.
-"i owe you nothing"
-beside the grave under the willow-tree another grave had been made. it was sprinkled with the fallen leaves of autumn. in the red mansion faith's delicate figure moved forlornly among relics of an austere, beloved figure vanished from the apricot-garden and the primitive simplicity of wealth combined with narrow thought.
-since her father's death, the bereaved girl had been occupied by matters of law and business, by affairs of the estate; but the first pressure was over, long letters had been written to david which might never reach him; and now, when the strain was withdrawn, the gentle mind was lost in a grey mist of quiet suffering. in hamley there were but two in whom she had any real comfort and help--lady eglington and the old chair-maker. of an afternoon or evening one or the other was to be seen in the long high-wainscoted room, where a great fire burned, or in the fruitless garden where the breeze stirred the bare branches.
-almost as deep a quiet brooded in the cloistered house as in the home where mourning enjoined movement in a minor key. hylda had not recovered wholly from the illness which had stricken her down on that day in london when she had sought news of david from eglington, at such cost to her peace and health and happiness. then had come her slow convalescence in hamley, and long days of loneliness, in which eglington seemed to retreat farther and farther from her inner life. inquiries had poured in from friends in town, many had asked to come and see her; flowers came from one or two who loved her benignly, like lord windlehurst; and now and then she had some cheerful friend with her who cared for music or could sing; and then the old home rang; but she was mostly alone, and eglington was kept in town by official business the greater part of each week. she did not gain strength as quickly as she ought to have done, and this was what brought the duchess of snowdon down on a special mission one day of early november.
-ever since the night she had announced luke claridge's death to eglington, had discovered soolsby with him, had seen the look in her husband's face and caught the tension of the moment on which she had broken, she had been haunted by a hovering sense of trouble. what had soolsby been doing in the laboratory at that time of night? what was the cause of this secret meeting? all hamley knew--she had long known--how luke claridge had held the cloistered house in abhorrence, and she knew also that soolsby worshipped david and faith, and, whatever the cause of the family antipathy, championed it. she was conscious of a shadow somewhere, and behind it all was the name of david's father, james fetherdon. that last afternoon when she had talked with him, and he had told her of his life, she had recalled the name as one she had seen or heard, and it had floated into her mind at last that she had seen it among the papers and letters of the late countess of eglington.
-as the look in eglington's face the night she came upon him and soolsby in the laboratory haunted her, so the look in her own face had haunted soolsby. her voice announcing luke claridge's death had suddenly opened up a new situation to him. it stunned him; and afterwards, as he saw hylda with faith in the apricot-garden, or walking in the grounds of the cloistered house hour after hour alone or with her maid, he became vexed by a problem greater than had yet perplexed him. it was one thing to turn eglington out of his lands and home and title; it was another thing to strike this beautiful being, whose smile had won him from the first, whose voice, had he but known, had saved his life. perhaps the truth in some dim way was conveyed to him, for he came to think of her a little as he thought of faith.
-since the moment when he had left the laboratory and made his way to the red mansion, he and eglington had never met face to face; and he avoided a meeting. he was not a blackmailer, he had no personal wrongs to avenge, he had not sprung the bolt of secrecy for evil ends; and when he saw the possible results of his disclosure, he was unnerved. his mind had seen one thing only, the rights of "our man," the wrong that had been done him and his mother; but now he saw how the sword of justice, which he had kept by his hand these many years, would cut both ways. his mind was troubled, too, that he had spoken while yet luke claridge lived, and so broken his word to mercy claridge. if he had but waited till the old man died--but one brief half-hour--his pledge would have been kept. nothing had worked out wholly as he expected. the heavens had not fallen. the "second-best lordship" still came and went, the wheels went round as usual. there was no change; yet, as he sat in his hut and looked down into the grounds of the cloistered house, he kept saying to himself.
-"it had to be told. it's for my lord now. he knows the truth. i'll wait and see. it's for him to do right by our man that's beyond and away."
-the logic and fairness of this position, reached after much thinking, comforted him. he had done his duty so far. if, in the end, the "second-best lordship" failed to do his part, hid the truth from the world, refused to do right by his half-brother, the true earl, then would be time to act again. also he waited for word out of egypt; and he had a superstitious belief that david would return, that any day might see him entering the door of the red mansion.
-eglington himself was haunted by a spectre which touched his elbow by day, and said: "you are not the earl of eglington," and at night laid a clammy finger on his forehead, waking him, and whispering in his ear: "if soolsby had touched the wire, all would now be well!" and as deep as thought and feeling in him lay, he felt that fate had tricked him--fate and hylda. if hylda had not come at that crucial instant, the chairmaker's but on the hill would be empty. why had not soolsby told the world the truth since? was the man waiting to see what course he himself would take? had the old chair-maker perhaps written the truth to the egyptian--to his brother david.
-his brother! the thought irritated every nerve in him. no note of kindness or kinship or blood stirred in him. if, before, he had had innate antagonism and a dark, hovering jealousy, he had a black repugnance now--the antipathy of the lesser to the greater nature, of the man in the wrong to the man in the right.
-and behind it all was the belief that his wife had set david above him-- by how much or in what fashion he did not stop to consider; but it made him desire that death and the desert would swallow up his father's son and leave no trace behind.
-policy? his work in the foreign office now had but one policy so far as egypt was concerned. the active sophistry in him made him advocate non- intervention in egyptian affairs as diplomatic wisdom, though it was but personal purpose; and he almost convinced himself that he was acting from a national stand-point. kaid and claridge pasha pursued their course of civilisation in the soudan, and who could tell what danger might not bring forth? if only soolsby held his peace yet a while!
-did faith know? luke claridge was gone without speaking, but had soolsby told faith? how closely had he watched the faces round him at luke claridge's funeral, to see if they betrayed any knowledge!
-anxious days had followed that night in the laboratory. his boundless egotism had widened the chasm between hylda and himself, which had been made on the day when she fell ill in london, with lacey's letter in her hand. it had not grown less in the weeks that followed. he nursed a grievance which had, so far as he knew, no foundation in fact; he was vaguely jealous of a man--his brother--thousands of miles away; he was not certain how far hylda had pierced the disguise of sincerity which he himself had always worn, or how far she understood him. he thought that she shrank from what she had seen of his real self, much or little, and he was conscious of so many gifts and abilities and attractive personal qualities that he felt a sense of injury. yet what would his position be without her? suppose david should return and take the estates and titles, and suppose that she should close her hand upon her fortune and leave him, where would he be?
-he thought of all this as he sat in his room at the foreign office and looked over st. james's park, his day's work done. he was suddenly seized by a new-born anxiety, for he had been so long used to the open purse and the unchecked stream of gold, had taken it so much as a matter of course, as not to realise the possibility of its being withdrawn. he was conscious of a kind of meanness and ugly sordidness in the suggestion; but the stake--his future, his career, his position in the world--was too high to allow him to be too chivalrous. his sense of the real facts was perverted. he said to himself that he must be practical.
-moved by the new thought, he seized a time-table and looked up the trains. he had been ten days in town, receiving every morning a little note from hylda telling of what she had done each day; a calm, dutiful note, written without pretence, and out of a womanly affection with which she surrounded the man who, it seemed once--such a little while ago--must be all in all to her. she had no element of pretence in her. what she could give she gave freely, and it was just what it appeared to be. he had taken it all as his due, with an underlying belief that, if he chose to make love to her again, he could blind her to all else in the world. hurt vanity and egotism and jealousy had prevented him from luring her back to that fine atmosphere in which he had hypnotised her so few years ago. but suddenly, as he watched the swans swimming in the pond below, a new sense of approaching loss, all that hylda had meant in his march and progress, came upon him; and he hastened to return to hamley.
-getting out of the train at heddington, he made up his mind to walk home by the road that david had taken on his return from egypt, and he left word at the station that he would send for his luggage.
-his first objective was soolsby's hut, and, long before he reached it, darkness had fallen. from a light shining through the crack of the blind he knew that soolsby was at home. he opened the door and entered without knocking. soolsby was seated at a table, a map and a newspaper spread out before him. egypt and david, always david and egypt!
-soolsby got to his feet slowly, his eyes fixed inquiringly on his visitor.
-"i didn't knock," said eglington, taking off his greatcoat and reaching for a chair; then added, as he seated himself: "better sit down, soolsby."
-after a moment he continued: "do you mind my smoking?"
-soolsby did not reply, but sat down again. he watched eglington light a cigar and stretch out his hands to the wood fire with an air of comfort.
-a silence followed. eglington appeared to forget the other's presence, and to occupy himself with thoughts that glimmered in the fire.
-at last soolsby said moodily: "what have you come for, my lord?"
-"i've studied your family tree with care, as you should know, my lord; and a map of egypt"--he tapped the parchment before him--"goes well with it. and see, my lord, egypt concerns you too. lord eglington is there, and 'tis time he was returning-ay, 'tis time."
-there was a baleful look in soolsby's eyes. whatever he might think, whatever considerations might arise at other times, a sinister feeling came upon him when eglington was with him.
-"and, my lord," he went on, "i'd be glad to know that you've sent for him, and told him the truth."
-"have you?" eglington flicked the ash from his cigar, speaking coolly.
-soolsby looked at him with his honest blue eyes aflame, and answered deliberately: "i was not for taking your place, my lord. 'twas my duty to tell you, but the rest was between you and the earl of eglington."
-"that was thoughtful of you, soolsby. and miss claridge?"
-"i told you that night, my lord, that only her father and myself knew; and what was then is now."
-a look of relief stole across eglington's face. "of course--of course. these things need a lot of thought, soolsby. one must act with care-- no haste, no flurry, no mistakes."
-"i would not wait too long, my lord, or be too careful." there was menace in the tone.
-"but if you go at things blind, you're likely to hurt where you don't mean to hurt. when you're mowing in a field by a school-house, you must look out for the children asleep in the grass. sometimes the longest way round is the shortest way home."
-"do you mean to do it or not, my lord? i've left it to you as a gentleman."
-"it's going to upset more than you think, soolsby. suppose he, out there in egypt"--he pointed again to the map--"doesn't thank me for the information. suppose he says no, and--"
-"right's right. give him the chance, my lord. how can you know, unless you tell him the truth?"
-"do you like living, soolsby?"
-"do you want to kill me, my lord?"
-there was a dark look in eglington's face. "but answer me, do you want to live?"
-"i want to live long enough to see the earl of eglington in his own house."
-"well, i've made that possible. the other night when you were telling me your little story, you were near sending yourself into eternity--as near as i am knocking this ash off my cigar." his little finger almost touched the ash. "your hand was as near touching a wire charged with death. i saw it. it would have been better for me if you had gone; but i shut off the electricity. suppose i hadn't, could i have been blamed? it would have been an accident. providence did not intervene; i did. you owe me something, soolsby."
-soolsby stared at him almost blindly for a moment. a mist was before his eyes; but through the mist, though he saw nothing of this scene in which he now was, he saw the laboratory, and himself and eglington, and eglington's face as it peered at him, and, just before the voice called outside, eglington's eyes fastened on his hand. it all flashed upon him now, and he saw himself starting back at the sound of the voice.
-slowly he got up now, went to the door, and opened it. "my lord, it is not true," he said. "you have not spoken like a gentleman. it was my lady's voice that saved me. this is my castle, my lord--you lodge yonder." he pointed down into the darkness where the lights of the village shone. "i owe you nothing. i pay my debts. pay yours, my lord, to him that's beyond and away."
-eglington kept his countenance as he drew on his great-coat and slowly passed from the house.
-"i ought to have let you die, soolsby. y'ou'll think better of this soon. but it's quite right to leave the matter to me. it may take a little time, but everything will come right. justice shall be done. well, good night, soolsby. you live too much alone, and imagination is a bad thing for the lonely. good night-good night."
-going down the hill quickly, he said to himself: "a sort of second sight he had about that wire. but time is on my side, time and the soudan-- and 'the heathen in his blindness. . . .' i will keep what is mine. i will keep it!"
-in her heart of hearts hylda had not greatly welcomed the duchess of snowdon to hamley. there was no one whose friendship she prized more; but she was passing through a phase of her life when she felt that she was better apart, finding her own path by those intuitions and perceptions which belonged to her own personal experience. she vaguely felt, what all realise sooner or later, that we must live our dark hours alone.
-yet the frank downright nature of the once beautiful, now faded, duchess, the humorous glimmer in the pale-blue eyes, the droll irony and dry truth of her speech, appealed to hylda, made her smile a warm greeting when she would rather have been alone. for, a few days before, she had begun a quest which had absorbed her, fascinated her. the miner, finding his way across the gap of a reef to pick up the vein of quartz at some distant and uncertain point, could not have been more lost to the world than was the young wife searching for a family skeleton, indefinitely embodied in her imagination by the name, james fetherdon.
-pile after pile of papers and letters of the late earl and his countess had passed through her hands from chaos to order. as she had read, hour after hour, the diaries of the cold, blue-eyed woman, sybil eglington, who had lived without love of either husband or son, as they, in turn, lived without love of each other, she had been overwhelmed by the revelation of a human heart, whose powers of expression were smothered by a shy and awkward temperament. the late countess's letters were the unclothing of a heart which had never expanded to the eyes of those whose love would have broken up a natural reserve, which became at last a proud coldness, and gave her a reputation for lack of feeling that she carried to her grave.
-in the diaries which hylda unearthed--the countess had died suddenly-- was the muffled cry of a soul tortured through different degrees of misunderstanding; from the vague pain of suffered indifference, of being left out of her husband's calculations, to the blank neglect narrowing her life down to a tiny stream of duty, which was finally lost in the sands. she had died abroad, and alone, save for her faithful maid, who, knowing the chasm that lay between her mistress and her lord, had brought her letters and papers back to the cloistered house, and locked them away with all the other papers and correspondence which the countess had accumulated.
-among these papers was a letter to the late lord eglington written the day before she died. in the haste and confusion ensuing on her death, the maid had not seen it. it had never reached his hands, but lay in a pocket of the dead woman's writing-portfolio, which hylda had explored without discovering. only a few hours, however, before the duchess of snowdon came, hylda had found again an empty envelope on which was written the name, james fetherdon. the writing on the envelope was that of sybil lady eglington.
-when she discovered the envelope, a sense of mystery and premonition possessed her. what was the association between the countess of eglington and james fetherdon, the father of david claridge? in vain she searched among the voluminous letters and papers, for it would seem that the dead woman had saved every letter she received, and kept copies of numberless letters she had written. but she had searched without avail. even the diaries, curiously frank and without reserve, never mentioned the name, so far as she could find, though here and there were strange allusive references, hints of a trouble that weighed her down, phrases of exasperation and defiance. one phrase, or the idea in it, was, however, much repeated in the diaries during the course of years, and towards the last almost feverishly emphasised--"why should i bear it for one who would bear nothing for me, for his sake, who would do nothing for my sake? is it only the mother in me, not the love in me?"
-these words were haunting hylda's brain when the telegram from the duchess of snowdon came. they followed her to heddington, whither she went in the carriage to bring her visitor to hamley, and kept repeating themselves at the back of her mind through the cheerful rallying of the duchess, who spread out the wings of good-humour and motherly freedom over her.
-after all, it was an agreeable thing to be taken possession of, and "put in her proper place," as the duchess said; made to understand that her own affairs were not so important, after all; and that it was far more essential to hear the charming gossip about the new and most popular princess of wales, or the quarrel between dickens and thackeray. yet, after dinner, in the little sitting-room, where the duchess, in a white gown with great pink bows, fitter for a girl fresh from confirmation, and her cheeks with their fixed colour, which changed only at the discretion of her maid, babbled of nothing that mattered, hylda's mind kept turning to the book of life an unhappy woman had left behind her. the sitting- room had been that of the late countess also, and on the wall was an oil- painting of her, stately and distant and not very alluring, though the mouth had a sweetness which seemed unable to break into a smile.
-"what was she really like--that wasn't her quite, was it?" asked hylda, at last, leaning her chin on the hand which held the 'cello she had been playing.
-"oh, yes, it's sybil eglington, my dear, but done in wood; and she wasn't the graven image that makes her out to be. that's as most people saw her; as the fellow that painted her saw her; but she had another side to her. she disapproved of me rather, because i was squeezing the orange dry, and trying to find yesterday's roses in to-morrow's garden. but she didn't shut her door in my face--it's hard to do that to a duchess; which is one of the few advantages of living naked in the street, as it were, with only the strawberry leaves to clothe you. no, sybil eglington was a woman who never had her chance. your husband's forbears were difficult, my dear. they didn't exactly draw you out. she needed drawing out; and her husband drove her back into her corner, where she sulked rather till she died--died alone at wiesbaden, with a german doctor, a stray curate, and a stuttering maid to wish her bon voyage. yet i fancy she went glad enough, for she had no memories, not even an affaire to repent of, and to cherish. la, la! she wasn't so stupid, sybil there, and she was an ornament to her own sex and the despair of the other. his serene highness heinrich of saxe-gunden fancied the task of breaking that ice, and he was an adept and an apollo, but it broke his reputation instead.
-"no doubt she is happy now. i shall probably never see!"
-in spite of the poignant nature of the talk, hylda could not but smile at the last words.
-"don't despair," she rejoined; "one star differeth from another star in glory, but that is no reason why they should not be on visiting terms."
-"my dear, you may laugh--you may laugh, but i am sixty-five, and i am not laughing at the idea of what company i may be obliged to keep presently. in any case i'm sure i shall not be comfortable. if i'm where she is, i shall be dull; if i'm where her husband is, i'll have no reputation; and if there is one thing i want, it is a spotless reputation--sometime."
-hylda laughed--the manner and the voice were so droll--but her face saddened too, and her big eyes with the drooping lashes looked up pensively at the portrait of her husband's mother.
-"was it ever a happy family, or a lucky family?" she asked.
-"it's lucky now, and it ought to be happy now," was the meaning reply.
-hylda made no answer, but caught the strings of the 'cello lightly, and shook her head reprovingly, with a smile meant to be playful. for a moment she played, humming to herself, and then the duchess touched the hand that was drawing the bow softly across the strings. she had behind her garishness a gift for sympathy and a keen intuition, delicacy, and allusiveness. she knew what to say and what to leave unsaid, when her heart was moved.
-"my darling," she said now, "you are not quite happy; but that is because you don't allow yourself to get well. you've never recovered from your attack last summer; and you won't, until you come out into the world again and see people. this autumn you ought to have been at homburg or at aix, where you'd take a little cure of waters and a great deal of cure of people. you were born to bask in friendship and the sun, and to draw from the world as much as you deserve, a little from many, for all you give in return. because, dearest, you are a very agreeable person, with enough wit and humanity to make it worth the world's while to conspire to make you do what will give it most pleasure, and let yourself get most-- and that's why i've come."
-"what a person of importance i am!" answered hylda, with a laugh that was far from mirthful, though she caught the plump, wrinkled little hand of the duchess and pressed it. "but really i'm getting well here fast. i'm very strong again. it is so restful, and one's days go by so quietly."
-"yet, i'm not sure that it's rest you want. i don't think it is. you want tonics--men and women and things. monte carlo would do you a world of good--i'd go with you. eglington gambles here"--she watched hylda closely--"why shouldn't you gamble there?"
-"eglington gambles?" hylda's face took on a frightened look, then it cleared again, and she smiled. "oh, of course, with international affairs, you mean. well, i must stay here and be the croupier."
-"nonsense! eglington is his own croupier. besides, he is so much in london, and you so much here. you sit with the distaff; he throws the dice."
-hylda's lips tightened a little. her own inner life, what eglington was to her or she to eglington, was for the ears of no human being, however friendly. she had seen little of him of late, but in one sense that had been a relief, though she would have done anything to make that feeling impossible. his rather precise courtesy and consideration, when he was with her, emphasised the distance between "the first fine careless rapture" and this grey quiet. and, strange to say, though in the first five years after the cairo days and deeds, egypt seemed an infinite space away, and david a distant, almost legendary figure, now egypt seemed but beyond the door--as though, opening it, she would stand near him who represented the best of all that she might be capable of thinking. yet all the time she longed for eglington to come and say one word, which would be like touching the lever of the sluice-gates of her heart, to let loose the flood. as the space grew between her and eglington, her spirit trembled, she shrank back, because she saw that sea towards which she was drifting.
-as she did not answer the last words of the duchess, the latter said presently: "when do you expect eglington?"
-"not till the week-end; it is a busy week with him," hylda answered; then added hastily, though she had not thought of it till this moment: "i shall probably go up to town with you to-morrow."
-she did not know that eglington was already in the house, and had given orders to the butler that she was not to be informed of his arrival for the present.
-"well, if you get that far, will you come with me to the riviera, or to florence, or sicily--or cairo?" the other asked, adjusting her gold- brown wig with her babyish hands.
-cairo! cairo! a light shot up into hylda's eyes. the duchess had spoken without thought, but, as she spoke, she watched the sudden change in hylda. what did it mean? cairo--why should cairo have waked her so? suddenly she recalled certain vague references of lord windlehurst, and, for the first time, she associated hylda with claridge pasha in a way which might mean much, account for much, in this life she was leading.
-"perhaps! perhaps!" answered hylda abstractedly, after a moment.
-the duchess got to her feet. she had made progress. she would let her medicine work.
-"i'm going to bed, my dear. i'm sixty-five, and i take my sleep when i can get it. think it over, sicily--cairo!"
-she left the room, saying to herself that eglington was a fool, and that danger was ahead. "but i hold a red light--poor darling!" she said aloud, as she went up the staircase. she did not know that eglington, standing in a deep doorway, heard her, and seized upon the words eagerly and suspiciously, and turned them over in his mind.
-below, at the desk where eglington's mother used to write, hylda sat with a bundle of letters before her. for some moments she opened, glanced through them, and put them aside. presently she sat back in her chair, thinking--her mind was invaded by the last words of the duchess; and somehow they kept repeating themselves with the words in the late countess's diary: "is it only the mother in me, not the love in me?" mechanically her hand moved over the portfolio of the late countess, and it involuntarily felt in one of its many pockets. her hand came upon a letter. this had remained when the others had been taken out. it was addressed to the late earl, and was open. she hesitated a moment, then, with a strange premonition and a tightening of her heart-strings, she spread it out and read it.
-at first she could scarcely see because of the mist in her eyes; but presently her sight cleared, and she read quickly, her cheeks burning with excitement, her heart throbbing violently. the letter was the last expression of a disappointed and barren life. the slow, stammering tongue of an almost silent existence had found the fulness of speech. the fountains of the deep had been broken up, and sybil eglington's repressed emotions, undeveloped passions, tortured by mortal sufferings, and refined and vitalised by the atmosphere blown in upon her last hours from the hereafter, were set free, given voice and power at last.
-the letter reviewed the life she had lived with her husband during twenty-odd years, reproved herself for not speaking out and telling him his faults at the beginning, and for drawing in upon herself, when she might have compelled him to a truer understanding; and, when all that was said, called him to such an account as only the dying might make--the irrevocable, disillusionising truth which may not be altered, the poignant record of failure and its causes.
-". . . i could not talk well, i never could, as a girl," the letter ran; "and you could talk like one inspired, and so speciously, so overwhelmingly, that i felt i could say nothing in disagreement, not anything but assent; while all the time i felt how hollow was so much you said--a cloak of words to cover up the real thought behind. before i knew the truth, i felt the shadow of secrecy in your life. when you talked most, i felt you most secretive, and the feeling slowly closed the door upon all frankness and sympathy and open speech between us. i was always shy and self- conscious and self-centred, and thought little of myself; and i needed deep love and confidence and encouragement to give out what was in me. i gave nothing out, nothing to you that you wanted, or sought for, or needed. you were complete, self-contained. harry, my beloved babe harry, helped at first; but, as the years went on, he too began to despise me for my little intellect and slow intelligence, and he grew to be like you in all things--and secretive also, though i tried so hard to be to him what a mother should be. oh, bobby, bobby--i used to call you that in the days before we were married, and i will call you that now when all is over and done--why did you not tell me all? why did you not tell me that my boy, my baby harry, was not your only child, that there had been another wife, and that your eldest son was alive?
-"i know all. i have known all for years. the clergyman who married you to mercy claridge was a distant relative of my mother's, and before he died he told me. when you married her, he knew you only as james fetherdon, but, years afterwards, he saw and recognised you. he held his peace then, but at last he came to me. and i did not speak. i was not strong enough, nor good enough, to face the trouble of it all. i could not endure the scandal, to see my own son take the second place--he is so brilliant and able and unscrupulous, like yourself; but, oh, so sure of winning a great place in the world, surer than yourself ever was, he is so calculating and determined and ambitious! and though he loves me little, as he loves you little, too, yet he is my son, and for what he is we are both responsible, one way or another; and i had not the courage to give him the second place, and the quaker, david claridge, the first place. why luke claridge, his grandfather, chose the course he did, does not concern me, no more than why you chose secrecy, and kept your own firstborn legitimate son, of whom you might well be proud, a stranger to you and his rights all these years. ah, eglington, you never knew what love was, you never had a heart--experiment, subterfuge, secrecy, 'reaping where you had not sowed, and gathering where you had not strawed.' always, experiment, experiment, experiment!
-"i shall be gone in a few hours--i feel it, but before i go i must try to do right, and to warn you. i have had such bad dreams about you and harry--they haunt me--that i am sure you will suffer terribly, will have some awful tragedy, unless you undo what was done long ago, and tell the truth to the world, and give your titles and estates where they truly belong. near to death, seeing how little life is, and how much right is in the end, i am sure that i was wrong in holding my peace; for harry cannot prosper with this black thing behind him, and you cannot die happy if you smother up the truth. night after night i have dreamed of you in your laboratory, a vague, dark, terrifying dream of you in that laboratory which i have hated so. it has always seemed to me the place where some native evil and cruelty in your blood worked out its will. i know i am an ignorant woman, with no brain, but god has given me clear sight at the last, and the things i see are true things, and i must warn you. remember that. . . ."
-the letter ended there. she had been interrupted or seized with illness, and had never finished it, and had died a few hours afterwards; and the letter was now, for the first time, read by her whom it most concerned, into whose heart and soul the words sank with an immitigable pain and agonised amazement. a few moments with this death-document had transformed hylda's life.
-her husband and--and david, were sons of the same father; and the name she bore, the home in which she was living, the estates the title carried, were not her husband's, but another's--david's. she fell back in her chair, white and faint, but, with a great effort, she conquered the swimming weakness which blinded her. sons of the same father! the past flashed before her, the strange likeness she had observed, the trick of the head, the laugh, the swift gesture, the something in the voice. she shuddered as she had done in reading the letter. but they were related only in name, in some distant, irreconcilable way--in a way which did not warrant the sudden scarlet flush that flooded her face. presently she recovered herself. she--what did she suffer, compared with her who wrote this revelation of a lifetime of pain, of bitter and torturing knowledge! she looked up at the picture on the wall, at the still, proud, emotionless face, the conventional, uninspired personality, behind which no one had seen, which had agonised alone till the last. with what tender yet pitiless hand had she laid bare the lives of her husband and her son! how had the neglected mother told the bitter truth of him to whom she had given birth! "so brilliant and able, and unscrupulous, like yourself; but, oh, sure of winning a great place in the world . . . so calculating and determined and ambitious. . . . that laboratory which i have hated so. it has always seemed to me the place where some native evil and cruelty in your blood worked out its will. . . ."
-with a deep-drawn sigh hylda said to herself: "if i were dying to-morrow, would i say that? she loved them so--at first must have loved them so; and yet this at the last! and i--oh, no, no, no!" she looked at a portrait of eglington on the table near, touched it caressingly, and added, with a sob in her voice: "oh, harry, no, it is not true! it is not native evil and cruelty in your blood. it has all been a mistake. you will do right. we will do right, harry. you will suffer, it will hurt, the lesson will be hard--to give up what has meant so much to you; but we will work it out together, you and i, my very dear. oh, say that we shall, that.... " she suddenly grew silent. a tremor ran through her, she became conscious of his presence near her, and turned, as though he were behind her. there was nothing. yet she felt him near, and, as she did so, the soul-deep feeling with which she had spoken to the portrait fled. why was it that, so often, when absent from him, her imagination helped her to make excuses for him, inspired her to press the real truth out of sight, and to make believe that he was worthy of a love which, but through some inner fault of her own, might be his altogether, and all the love of which he was capable might be hers?
-she felt him near her, and the feelings possessing her a moment before slowly chilled and sank away. instinctively her eyes glanced towards the door. she saw the handle turn, and she slipped the letter inside the portfolio again.
-the door opened briskly now, and eglington entered with what his enemies in the newspaper press had called his "professional smile"--a criticism which had angered his wife, chiefly because it was so near the truth. he smiled. smiling was part of his equipment, and was for any one at any time that suited him.
-her eyes met his, and he noted in her something that he had never seen before. something had happened. the duchess of snowdon was in the house; had it anything to do with her? had she made trouble? there was trouble enough without her. he came forward, took hylda's hand and kissed it, then kissed her on the cheek. as he did so, she laid a hand on his arm with a sudden impulse, and pressed it. though his presence had chilled the high emotions of a few moments before, yet she had to break to him a truth which would hurt him, dismay him, rob his life of so much that helped it; and a sudden protective, maternal sense was roused in her, reached out to shelter him as he faced his loss and the call of duty.
-"you have just come?" she said, in a voice that, to herself, seemed far away.
-"i have been here some hours," he answered. secrecy again--always the thing that had chilled the dead woman, and laid a cold hand upon herself --"i felt the shadow of secrecy in your life. when you talked most i felt you most secretive, and the feeling slowly closed the door upon all frankness and sympathy and open speech between us."
-"why did you not see me--dine with me?" she asked. "what can the servants think?" even in such a crisis the little things had place-- habit struck its note in the presence of her tragedy.
-"you had the duchess of snowdon, and we are not precisely congenial; besides, i had much to do in the laboratory. i'm working for that new explosive of which i told you. there's fame and fortune in it, and i'm on the way. i feel it coming"--his eyes sparkled a little. "i made it right with the servants; so don't be apprehensive."
-"i have not seen you for nearly a week. it doesn't seem--friendly."
-"politics and science are stern masters," he answered gaily.
-"they leave little time for your mistress," she rejoined meaningly.
-"who is my mistress?"
-"well, i am not greatly your wife," she replied. "i have the dregs of your life. i help you--i am allowed to help you--so little, to share so little in the things that matter to you."
-"now, that's imagination and misunderstanding," he rejoined. "it has helped immensely your being such a figure in society, and entertaining so much, and being so popular, at any rate until very lately."
-"i do not misunderstand," she answered gravely. "i do not share your real life. i do not help you where your brain works, in the plans and purposes and hopes that lie behind all that you do--oh, yes, i know your ambitions and what positions you are aiming for; but there is something more than that. there is the object of it all, the pulse of it, the machinery down, down deep in your being that drives it all. oh, i am not a child! i have some intellect, and i want--i want that we should work it out together."
-in spite of all that had come and gone, in spite of the dead mother's words and all her own convictions, seeing trouble coming upon him, she wanted to make one last effort for what might save their lives--her life- -from shipwreck in the end. if she failed now, she foresaw a bitter, cynical figure working out his life with a narrowing soul, a hard spirit unrelieved by the softening influence of a great love--even yet the woman in her had a far-off hope that, where the law had made them one by book and scrip, the love which should consecrate such a union, lift it above an almost offensive relation, might be theirs. she did not know how much of her heart, of her being, was wandering over the distant sands of egypt, looking for its oasis. eglington had never needed or wanted more than she had given him--her fortune, her person, her charm, her ability to play an express and definite part in his career. it was this material use to which she was so largely assigned, almost involuntarily but none the less truly, that had destroyed all of the finer, dearer, more delicate intimacy invading his mind sometimes, more or less vaguely, where faith was concerned. so extreme was his egotism that it had never occurred to him, as it had done to the duchess of snowdon and lord windlehurst, that he might lose hylda herself as well as her fortune; that the day might come when her high spirit could bear it no longer. as the duchess of snowdon had said: "it would all depend upon the other man, whoever he might be."
-so he answered her with superficial cheerfulness now; he had not the depth of soul to see that they were at a crisis, and that she could bear no longer the old method of treating her as though she were a child, to be humoured or to be dominated.
-"well, you see all there is," he answered; "you are so imaginative, crying for some moon there never was in any sky."
-in part he had spoken the truth. he had no high objects or ends or purposes. he wanted only success somehow or another, and there was no nobility of mind or aspiration behind it. in her heart of hearts she knew it; but it was the last cry of her soul to him, seeking, though in vain, for what she had never had, could never have.
-"what have you been doing?" he added, looking at the desk where she had sat, glancing round the room. "has the duchess left any rags on the multitude of her acquaintances? i wonder that you can make yourself contented here with nothing to do. you don't look much stronger. i'm sure you ought to have a change. my mother was never well here; though, for the matter of that, she was never very well anywhere. i suppose it's the laboratory that attracts me here, as it did my father, playing with the ancient forces of the world in these arcadian surroundings--arcady without beauty or arcadians." he glanced up at his mother's picture. "no, she never liked it--a very silent woman, secretive almost."
-"she secretive? no, eglington," she rejoined gravely, "she was congealed. she lived in too cold an air. she was not secretive, but yet she kept a secret--another's."
-again eglington had the feeling which possessed him when he entered the room. she had changed. there was something in her tone, a meaning, he had never heard before. he was startled. he recalled the words of the duchess as she went up the staircase.
-what was it all about?
-"whose secrets did she keep?" he asked, calmly enough.
-"your father's, yours, mine," she replied, in a whisper almost.
-"secret? what secret? good lord, such mystery!" he laughed mirthlessly.
-she came close to him. "i am sorry--sorry, harry," she said with difficulty. "it will hurt you, shock you so. it will be a blow to you, but you must bear it."
-she tried to speak further, but her heart was beating so violently that she could not. she turned quickly to the portfolio on the desk, drew forth the fatal letter, and, turning to the page which contained the truth concerning david, handed it to him. "it is there," she said.
-he had great self-control. before looking at the page to which she had directed his attention, he turned the letter over slowly, fingering the pages one by one. "my mother to my father," he remarked.
-instinctively he knew what it contained. "you have been reading my mother's correspondence," he added in cold reproof.
-"do you forget that you asked me to arrange her papers?" she retorted, stung by his suggestion.
-"your imagination is vivid," he exclaimed. then he bethought himself that, after all, he might sorely need all she could give, if things went against him, and that she was the last person he could afford to alienate; "but i do remember that i asked you that," he added--"no doubt foolishly."
-"read what is there," she broke in, "and you will see that it was not foolish, that it was meant to be." he felt a cold dead hand reaching out from the past to strike him; but he nerved himself, and his eyes searched the paper with assumed coolness-even with her he must still be acting. the first words he saw were: "why did you not tell me that my boy, my baby harry, was not your only child, and that your eldest son was alive?"
-so that was it, after all. even his mother knew. master of his nerves as he was, it blinded him for a moment. presently he read on--the whole page--and lingered upon the words, that he might have time to think what he must say to hylda. nothing of the tragedy of his mother touched him, though he was faintly conscious of a revelation of a woman he had never known, whose hungering caresses had made him, as a child, rather peevish, when a fit of affection was not on him. suddenly, as he read the lines touching himself, "brilliant and able and unscrupulous.... and though he loves me little, as he loves you little too," his eye lighted up with anger, his face became pale--yet he had borne the same truths from faith without resentment, in the wood by the mill that other year. for a moment he stood infuriated, then, going to the fireplace, he dropped the letter on the coals, as hylda, in horror, started forward to arrest his hand.
-"oh, eglington--but no--no! it is not honourable. it is proof of all!"
-he turned upon her slowly, his face rigid, a strange, cold light in his eyes. "if there is no more proof than that, you need not vex your mind," he said, commanding his voice to evenness.
-a bitter anger was on him. his mother had read him through and through-- he had not deceived her even; and she had given evidence against him to hylda, who, he had ever thought, believed in him completely. now there was added to the miserable tale, that first marriage, and the rights of david--david, the man who, he was convinced, had captured her imagination. hurt vanity played a disproportionate part in this crisis.
-the effect on him had been different from what hylda had anticipated. she had pictured him stricken and dumfounded by the blow. it had never occurred to her, it did not now, that he had known the truth; for, of course, to know the truth was to speak, to restore to david his own, to step down into the second and unconsidered place. after all, to her mind, there was no disgrace. the late earl had married secretly, but he had been duly married, and he did not marry again until mercy claridge was dead. the only wrong was to david, whose grandfather had been even more to blame than his own father. she had looked to help eglington in this moment, and now there seemed nothing for her to do. he was superior to the situation, though it was apparent in his pale face and rigid manner that he had been struck hard.
-she came near to him, but there was no encouragement to her to play that part which is a woman's deepest right and joy and pain in one--to comfort her man in trouble, sorrow, or evil. always, always, he stood alone, whatever the moment might be, leaving her nothing to do--" playing his own game with his own weapons," as he had once put it. yet there was strength in it too, and this came to her mind now, as though in excuse for whatever else there was in the situation which, against her will, repelled her.
-"i am so sorry for you," she said at last.
-"what do you mean?" he asked.
-"to lose all that has been yours so long."
-this was their great moment. the response to this must be the touchstone of their lives. a--half dozen words might alter all the future, might be the watch word to the end of all things. involuntarily her heart fashioned the response he ought to give--"i shall have you left, hylda."
-the air seemed to grow oppressive, and the instant's silence a torture, and, when he spoke, his words struck a chill to her heart--rough notes of pain. "i have not lost yet," were his words.
-she shrank. "you will not hide it. you will do right by--by him," she said with difficulty.
-"let him establish his claim to the last item of fact," he said with savage hate.
-"luke claridge knew. the proofs are but just across the way, no doubt," she answered, almost coldly, so had his words congealed her heart.
-their great moment had passed. it was as though a cord had snapped that held her to him, and in the recoil she had been thrown far off from him. swift as his mind worked, it had not seen his opportunity to win her to his cause, to asphyxiate her high senses, her quixotic justice, by that old flood of eloquence and compelling persuasion of the emotions with which he had swept her to the altar--an altar of sacrifice. he had not even done what he had left london to do--make sure of her, by an alluring flattery and devotion, no difficult duty with one so beautiful and desirable; though neither love of beauty nor great desire was strong enough in him to divert him from his course for an hour, save by his own initiative. his mother's letter had changed it all. a few hours before he had had a struggle with soolsby, and now another struggle on the same theme was here. fate had dealt illy with him, who had ever been its spoiled child and favourite. he had not learned yet the arts of defence against adversity.
-"luke claridge is dead," he answered sharply. "but you will tell--him, you will write to egypt and tell your brother?" she said, the conviction slowly coming to her that he would not.
-"it is not my duty to displace myself, to furnish evidence against myself--"
-"you have destroyed the evidence," she intervened, a little scornfully.
-"if there were no more than that--" he shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
-"do you know there is more?" she asked searchingly. "in whose interests are you speaking?" he rejoined, with a sneer. a sudden fury possessed him. claridge pasha--she was thinking of him!
-"in yours--your conscience, your honour."
-"there is over thirty years' possession on my side," he rejoined.
-"it is not as if it were going from your family," she argued.
-"family--what is he to me!"
-"what is any one to you?" she returned bitterly.
-"i am not going to unravel a mystery in order to facilitate the cutting of my own throat."
-"it might be worth while to do something once for another's sake than your own--it would break the monotony," she retorted, all her sense tortured by his words, and even more so by his manner.
-long ago faith had said in soolsby's but that he "blandished" all with whom he came in contact; but hylda realised with a lacerated heart that he had ceased to blandish her. possession had altered that. yet how had he vowed to her in those sweet tempestuous days of his courtship when the wind of his passion blew so hard! had one of the vows been kept?
-even as she looked at him now, words she had read some days before flashed through her mind--they had burnt themselves into her brain:
-"broken faith is the crown of evils, broken vows are the knotted thongs set in the hands of laughing devils, to scourge us for deep wrongs.
-"broken hearts, when all is ended, bear the better all after-stings; bruised once, the citadel mended, standeth through all things."
-suddenly he turned upon her with aggrieved petulance. "why are you so eager for proof?"
-"oh, i have," she said, with a sudden flood of tears in her voice, though her eyes were dry--"i have the feeling your mother had, that nothing will be well until you undo the wrong your father did. i know it was not your fault. i feel for you--oh, believe me, i feel as i have never felt, could never feel, for myself. it was brought on you by your father, but you must be the more innocent because he was so guilty. you have had much out of it, it has helped you on your way. it does not mean so much now. by-and-by another--an english-peerage may be yours by your own achievement. let it go. there is so much left, harry. it is a small thing in a world of work. it means nothing to me." once again, even when she had given up all hope, seeing what was the bent of his mind-- once again she made essay to win him out of his selfishness. if he would only say, "i have you left," how she would strive to shut all else out of her life!
-he was exasperated. his usual prescience and prudence forsook him. it angered him that she should press him to an act of sacrifice for the man who had so great an influence upon her. perversity possessed him. lifelong egotism was too strong for wisdom, or discretion.
-suddenly he caught her hands in both of his and said hoarsely: "do you love me--answer me, do you love me with all your heart and soul? the truth now, as though it were your last word on earth."
-always self. she had asked, if not in so many words, for a little love, something for herself to feed on in the darkening days for him, for her, for both; and he was thinking only of himself.
-she shrank, but her hands lay passive in his. "no, not with all my heart and soul--but, oh--!"
-he flung her hands from him. "no, not with all your heart and soul-- i know! you are willing to sacrifice me for him, and you think i do not understand."
-she drew herself up, with burning cheeks and flashing eyes. "you understand nothing--nothing. if you had ever understood me, or any human being, or any human heart, you would not have ruined all that might have given you an undying love, something that would have followed you through fire and flood to the grave. you cannot love. you do not understand love. self--self, always self. oh, you are mad, mad, to have thrown it all away, all that might have given happiness! all that i have, all that i am, has been at your service; everything has been bent and tuned to your pleasure, for your good. all has been done for you, with thought of you and your position and your advancement, and now--now, when you have killed all that might have been yours, you cry out in anger that it is dying, and you insinuate what you should kill another for insinuating. oh, the wicked, cruel folly of it all! you suggest--you dare! i never heard a word from david claridge that might not be written on the hoardings. his honour is deeper than that which might attach to the title of earl of eglington."
-she seemed to tower above him. for an instant she looked him in the eyes with frigid dignity, but a great scorn in her face. then she went to the door--he hastened to open it for her.
-"you will be very sorry for this," he said stubbornly. he was too dumfounded to be discreet, too suddenly embarrassed by the turn affairs had taken. he realised too late that he had made a mistake, that he had lost his hold upon her.
-as she passed through, there suddenly flashed before her mind the scene in the laboratory with the chairmaker. she felt the meaning of it now.
-"you do not intend to tell him--perhaps soolsby has done so," she said keenly, and moved on to the staircase.
-he was thunderstruck at her intuition. "why do you want to rob yourself?" he asked after her vaguely. she turned back. "think of your mother's letter that you destroyed," she rejoined solemnly and quietly. "was it right?"
-he shut the door, and threw himself into a chair. "i will put it straight with her to-morrow," he said helplessly.
-he sat for a half-hour silent, planning his course.
-at last there came a tap at the door, and the butler appeared.
-"some one from the foreign office, my lord," he said. a moment afterwards a young official, his subordinate, entered. "there's the deuce to pay in egypt, sir; i've brought the despatch," he said.
-aiwa----yes. allah hu achbar----god is most great. al'mah----female professional singers, signifying "a learned female." ardab----a measure equivalent to five english bushels.
-backsheesh----tip, douceur. balass----earthen vessel for carrying water. bdsha----pasha. bersim----clover. bismillah----in the name of god. bowdb----a doorkeeper.
-dahabieh----a nile houseboat with large lateen sails. darabukkeh----a drum made of a skin stretched over an earthenware funnel. dourha----maize.
-effendina----most noble. el azhar----the arab university at cairo.
-fedddn----a measure of land representing about an acre. fellah----the egyptian peasant.
-kdnoon----a musical instrument like a dulcimer. kavass----an orderly. kemengeh----a cocoanut fiddle. khamsin----a hot wind of egypt and the soudan.
-kourbash----a whip, often made of rhinoceros hide.
-la ilaha illa-llah----there is no deity but god.
-malaish----no matter. malboos----demented. mastaba----a bench. medjidie----a turkish order. mooshrabieh----lattice window. moufettish----high steward. mudir----the governor of a mudirieh, or province. muezzin----the sheikh of the mosque who calls to prayer.
-narghileh----a persian pipe. nebool----a quarter-staff.
-ramadan----the mahommedan season of fasting.
-saadat-el-bdsha----excellency pasha. sdis----groom. sakkia----the persian water-wheel. salaam----eastern salutation. sheikh-el-beled----head of a village.
-tarboosh----a turkish turban.
-wakf----mahommedan court dealing with succession, etc. welee----a holy man or saint.
-yashmak----a veil for the lower part of the face. yelek----a long vest or smock.
-etext editor's bookmarks:
-a cloak of words to cover up the real thought behind antipathy of the lesser to the greater nature antipathy of the man in the wrong to the man in the right friendship means a giving and a getting he's a barber-shop philosopher monotonously intelligent no virtue in not falling, when you're not tempted of course i've hated, or i wouldn't be worth a button only the supremely wise or the deeply ignorant who never alter passion to forget themselves political virtue goes unrewarded she knew what to say and what to leave unsaid smiling was part of his equipment sometimes the longest way round is the shortest way home soul tortured through different degrees of misunderstanding the vague pain of suffered indifference there's no credit in not doing what you don't want to do tricks played by fact to discredit the imagination we must live our dark hours alone woman's deepest right and joy and pain in one--to comfort
-war prisoner money and medals
-by guido kisch
-i internment camp money
-the guarantee of humane treatment for prisoners of war is an achievement of modern international law. this interesting and important legal problem was discussed at great length at several international conferences at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century. a kind of ethical and legal code resulted consisting of a comprehensive body of rules and regulations, both written and unwritten. the international red cross played an important part in the development and crystallization of those humanitarian ideals as they are embodied today in the provisions of the international law concerning prisoners of war. its rules have been explicitly or tacitly accepted and to a great extent put into practice by most of the civilized nations of the world. their disregard, as in the recently reported case of 115 helpless american military prisoners of war murdered in cold blood by the germans near malmedy, or in the notorious death camps of oswiecim and belsen-bergen, is a relapse into barbarism, characteristic of the hitlerite hordes. as a rule, however, the status of prisoners of war is universally respected and they receive a fair treatment from all nations, in accordance with the rules of international law. they may be employed by their captors for certain labors, but must be accorded fair living conditions.
-considerations of war economy and corresponding military precautions created the necessity of issuing special money for the use of prisoners of war. a shortage in currency is often an unavoidable result of national war conditions. it would be greatly increased, of course, if the actual use of national currency would be permitted also to the rising numbers of captives. the issuance of special currency for the exclusive use of war prisoners is therefore an act of national defense in wartime. the use of this special type of money, for which both paper and metal are employed, is restricted in a twofold way. its circulation is limited to war prisoners, and—even more strictly—to definite internment camps. the prisoners’ specially made money, often easily distinguishable through a round or square hole in the center, is excluded from general monetary circulation. the prisoner is not able to buy articles in the ordinary channels of the national commerce. moreover, he is left without means in case of escape.
-these are the ideas and motives underlying the issuance of separate money for prisoners of war.
-during the first world war such money was produced by the warring nations of europe. in germany, where 635,000 allied prisoners were confined at the end of the war, it was called gefangenenlagergeld; in france, with the greatest number of german war prisoners (400,000), it was known as monnaies des camps de prisonniers. in germany production reached tremendous amounts and resulted in almost unbelievable varieties, far surpassing the needs dictated by war economy and military policy. röttinger’s catalogue of german internment camp money lists about 1360 different places of issue and authorities competent to issue such money. there were thousands of types and varieties. all kinds of material were used and all types of style imaginable were represented. from these facts another motif comes to light which prompted that mass production of war prisoner money. apparently this new type of currency quickly attracted the attention of numismatists, first in the lands of its origin, then in the adjacent neutral countries, and later in the entire world. the interest of collectors and students once awakened was soon exploited by the german government through a mass export of complete sets of prisoner currency to foreign countries. thus a means was provided of obtaining valuable and badly needed foreign exchange for a worthless kind of currency. in fact it was a practically worthless kind of money, worthless even from the numismatic point of view. for the almost innumerable varieties impaired the collector’s interest who could not entertain any hope ever to obtain a complete collection. while germany continued this practice for the duration of the war, in line with her general inflationary policy, austria-hungary seems to have kept the issuance of her war prisoner money within the limits of the actual war needs.
-the hypothesis of the partly inflationary character of the german internment camp money during the first world war and of its doubtful numismatical value, as set forth here, is borne out by several other observations. there were very few complete or almost complete collections of “gefangenenlagergeld” even in germany, the most important ones being that of the reichswirtschaftsmuseum in leipzig, where one specimen of each type of notgeld was officially deposited by the reich as issued, and that of a private collector, doctor arnold keller of berlin, the publisher of dr. arnold kellers notgeldbücher. in holland, there was also a collection outstanding because of its completeness, namely that of mr. paul daub of utrecht, a private collector. the american numismatic society, in due recognition of the given situation, rightfully did not care to acquire complete sets of this money, either during or after the war, but contented itself with a few specimens only. there have been a few private collectors in the united states none of whom seems to have attained great achievements in this field. none the less, the interest is still kept alive to some degree in collectors’ circles through the “international emergency money club” of new york city, the only club of its kind in existence, founded in 1936 in new york city, with an active membership of thirty in 1942.
-beginning as early as january 1917 the well known firm of j. schulman of amsterdam offered complete sets of such money in a series of consecutive catalogues on war money, entitled la guerre européenne 1914-1917. here collectors could obtain almost all sets available which were probably secured from the official authorities of issuance in germany. the international reputation of the firm of schulman in amsterdam is too well established to permit reflection on the ethics of its business transactions. merely for the sake of clarity it should be stated that none is implied here.
-obviously, numismatic interest turned quickly to the items of this previously little known type of war emergency money. in the very beginning, most probably, everyone thought that it would be a quickly passing numismatic phenomenon. no one could at that time realize the dimensions that production of war prisoner money would finally reach. all this notwithstanding, the literature on this special kind of money is scarce, incomplete and widely scattered. the appended select bibliography might therefore be welcome to those interested in this field of collecting which probably will be revived soon after the return of peace. it is needless to state that no claim is being made of completeness in the bibliographical data offered below.
-no doubt, in the present war, too, internment camp money has been issued. scanty news on such money issued in great britain, particularly in the isle of man internment camp for civilian and soldier prisoners of war, has already been brought to the attention of numismatists. a member of the czechoslovak state council in london, mr. ernest frischer, recently informed the present writer that internment camp money is in use in the ill-famed concentration camp of terezin (theresienstadt) in bohemia, where about 50,000 jews are being held by their german “protectors.” according to information received by the war department in washington, on the other hand, “no special type of money is issued for the use of prisoners of war held in this country. however, prisoners of war are issued 'canteen checks,’ a form of script which is given them in lieu of cash. this script is redeemable for merchandise at prison camp post exchanges. this script is not uniform, each of the several service commands procuring it and issuing it to camps within its jurisdiction. no photographs of the canteen checks are available.”
-naturally, more detailed and definite information will be available only after the termination of hostilities and the restoration of unimpeded research channels.
-ii european war-prisoner medals
-with regard to war prisoner medals, the numismatic situation is completely different from that outlined here for internment camp money. true, there may have been also a “mass production” of such medallic items in europe during the war of 1914-1918. but it never could have paralleled that of the emergency money for internment camps.
-two motives, above all, caused the issuance of war prisoner medals: the raising of funds for the support of prisoners of war or the amelioration of their condition; and the creation of the commemorative tokens or medals for presentation to captives after their liberation. it is doubtful and highly improbable, that the “mass production” of such medals ever reached in quantity a volume equal to that of war prisoners money. the number issued may well run into hundreds, at most a few thousands, but certainly not many thousands. for, to the best of this author’s knowledge, no commemorative war medal in the form of an official decoration to be given to all war prisoners in general was issued by any of the states participating in the first world war. nor did any of the european states that remained neutral and held members of the belligerents in internment camps, issue commemorative medals for internees. this suggestion may well deserve the attention of the united nations’ military authorities. after the present war a special commemorative medal of honor should be issued, intended for those who had to endure the great hardships of captivity for their country, often suffering undescribable physical and mental restraint. such a token of gratitude would show to these heroes that they, too, had not been forgotten and that their sacrifice is duly appreciated and will permanently be remembered.
-it seems that in the last european war prisoner medals were issued privately only. the extensive search for such medals carried on by the author in numismatic literature and dealers’ catalogues as well as through interviewing of collectors and dealers, yielded only four items. three are of german origin, only one is french. none of these medals has aroused as yet the attention or curiosity of numismatists in general or of collectors of medals in particular.
-the medal reproduced here as no. 1, another german war prisoner medal, is a silver medal, of 37.67 grams, measuring forty-one millimeters in diameter. the obverse depicts the full figure of a german prisoner of war, dressed in his uniform, on which a sign pg (french: prisonnier de guerre) is visible. standing on the shore of a river, being of course the rhine, he holds his hands stretched out to express his fervent longing for his home country. not only the mountains of the latter are visible on the opposite shore but also the home village with its little church in the foreground. the inscription in the left upper space of the medal, before the soldier’s eyes, reads: sehnsucht (longing). the reverse bears the following inscription in a quadrangular space surrounded by ornaments: volksbund/zum schutze/der deutschen/kriegs u. zivil/gefangenen, meaning, “national society for the protection of german military and civil prisoners of war.” on the rim of the medal name and place of the producing firm are visible: c. poellat, schrobenhausen. the designer’s name does not appear on the medal. no year is given. in accordance with the aims of the issuing society the medal was probably destined to promote interest in and support of the german prisoners of war in enemy land. no records or accounts of the activities of this society were available in this country. nevertheless it is safe to assume the following. sending of food parcels from germany was possible only in the first years of war. but even later, in the period of grave food shortage, funds were still needed and actually raised for clothing, and particularly for books, which were continuously sent to prisoner camps in great quantities. a specimen of this medal is in the collection of dr. bruno kisch, new york city.
-there is a french counterpart to this medal. a small medal, 26 millimeters in diameter, similar to no. 1 in its motives, but apparently more artistically designed, is known to have been struck in france. no specimen is available in this country. according to the brief description in j. schulman’s catalogue lxxiii it was designed by o. yencesse and executed in a silvery white metal. the obverse shows a french soldier seated in an attitude of despondency. the inscription reads: pour nos—prisonniers. that is: “for our prisoners.” on the reverse a dove is visible bearing in its bill an olive branch. below is the date 1916. the motive of the issuance of this medal was patently fund raising.
-no. 2 is a medal made of hard white metal, and struck for the german prisoners of war interned at douglas, isle of man, to commemorate their detention there. its diameter measures 46 millimeters. on the top there is a rectangular vertical loophole. the obverse shows the douglas prison camp, in the foreground its barracks and huts, also an unfolded banner is visible; in the background a fortress at the left of the beholder, and a lighthouse at the right. between the fortress and the lighthouse is the manx triskelion or triquerta, occupying a prominent place in the upper center. the entire picture on the obverse is enclosed by a surrounding wreath of barbed wire. the reverse has a wreath of leaves with a panel in the middle. the inscription reads, in the upper segment: weltkrieg 1914-1915 (“world war 1914-1915”); in the lower: douglas isle of man; in the middle: erinnerung an die kriegshaft (“in commemoration of war detention”). no artist’s name is given. specimens of this medal are found in the museum of the american numismatic society, new york city, and in this writer’s collection. the first mentioned specimen is in an (original) plain wooden case with no ornament. other wooden cases are known, on the cover of which an inlaid design is visible representing an open-jawed snake as the symbol of war. the words weltkrieg 1914/15 are added on the case. this medal was pictured and briefly, though not exactly, described in the new york times of august 26, 1916. in the numismatist of march 1916, a reproduction with a few explanatory lines was also published, the medal having been exhibited at the january meeting of the new york numismatic club.
-douglas, peel and knockaloe had been chosen as sites for the detention camps on the isle of man. here many an alien who for years had followed some profession or trade in great britain was interned in 1914 for the duration of the war. the english and german relief committees with the active cooperation of the american young men’s christian association succeeded in performing what seemed to the new york times correspondent at that time to have been an unheard-of feat under the existing conditions: the establishment of an art school for prisoners of war at camp douglas. beside wooden boxes done in chip carving and in wood intaglio, the commemorative medals for german war prisoners were certainly the most artistic objects produced there. through a strange irony of fate, they were strictly “made in england.” “some day they will be of historic value,” said the new york times correspondent in concluding his article. the art school was established in 1915. from the inscription on the medals “1914-1915” it is clear that they must have been designed and executed in the latter year, three years before the war came to an end.
-no other war prisoners medals dating back to the first world war have come to the attention of the present author. yet, there may be some that eluded him. he therefore would appreciate any additional information that readers should be kind enough to send him (address: 415 west 115th street, new york 25, n. y.)
-iii american war-prison tokens and medals
-1. “historical tokens”
-the study of european money and medals issued for prisoners of war in 1914-1918, aroused—little wonder—the curiosity as to whether similar items came into existence in this country too. no war prisoners money or medal originating in the last war is known to the author. in his collection, however, five related items are found, four small tokens and one large medal, which are deserving the historian’s and medallist’s attention. all of them picture war prisons of ill fame. four pertain to the revolutionary war, the fifth to the civil war. thus it is pertinent to consider them all in this connection.
-nos. 3 a, 3 b, 4 and 5 are copper tokens, each 31 millimeters in diameter. they are not “historical” items in that they have come down to us as immediate witnesses from the period of the revolutionary war. they are rather medallic creations of an outspoken commercial character, but nevertheless “historical” tokens. nos. 3 a and 3 b are identical with no. 1 of a series of fourteen “historical tokens” issued by august b. sage, a well-known new york coin dealer, in 1859. no. 4 in the present numbering is identical with no. 2, and no. 5 with no. 5 of the same series. on the first page of his catalogue of coins, medals and tokens, no. 1, of february 1859, mr. sage announced that “this series will consist of about 25 tokens, each one giving a correct representation of some public building around which there is anything of an historical interest.” no more than fourteen tokens were actually issued of this series. all of them were advertised in mr. sage’s later catalogue of june 1859. they were executed in copper plain edge and in copper and brass with reeded edges. in 1859, the set was offered for sale for $4.00. mules in copper, brass, and tin are known. of no. 1 and no. 6 two dies were made: in both cases the original die showed some mistakes in picture or legend which were corrected in the second die. in chapman’s catalogue of the bushnell collection a specimen of no. 1 in silver is listed as no. 462. it was described as of “weak impression, but very rare.”
-no. 3 a shows on its obverse a three-story building. on top a fourth-story attic is added with four dormer windows. above the roof rises an octagon-shaped tower surrounded by a balustrade and surmounted by a cupola ending in a cross. on the front side of the building at the level of the main floor an empty space is visible. it was probably designated in the draft for a gate or entrance door which is, however, missing. the building is surrounded by a fence. in the lowest part of the obverse, a large asterisk is placed between two smaller ones. the top space contains the inscription: the old provoost, n. y. the reverse has the following legend arranged in five lines a/ british/ brison/ during the/ revolution. the third word reads brison, and not prison. this inscription is placed within the chain of shackles in a wreath-like arrangement. the endings converge but do not meet, in the lower part of the obverse. between the open ends one reads: no. 1, and underneath in smaller letters parallel to the rim: aug. b. sage’s historical tokens.
-both types of the token, 3 a as well as 3 b, have on the obverse below the left corner of the fence, the initial l, representing the name of the engraver, george h. lovett, who is listed in the new york city directory of 1859 as die-sinker at 131 fulton street. he executed all the sage tokens and several very pretty washington medals.
-the medallic picture of the “old provoost” is undoubtedly based on alexander j. davis’s (1803-1892) drawing that was engraved by alexander anderson (1775-1870) and reproduced in the new york mirror of september 10, 1831, in john pintard’s article, “the old jail.”
-the site of this “modern bastille” was city hall park. it was built as the second jail, in succession, in the city of new york in 1757 and completed in 1759. in the revolutionary period it was memorable during the occupation of the city by the british forces, from 1776 to 1783, as a british military prison, known as “provost” and later as “martyr’s prison”, still later as “debtor’s prison”. in 1830 it was reconstructed and fitted to receive public records, henceforth known as “register’s office” or “hall of records”. it was finally demolished in 1903 to make way for the subway. coins, buttons, and human bones were found in the excavation. a tablet, erected in 1907, on a granite monument in the park still marks the site of the “old provost.”
-this british military prison, under the superintendence of the ill-famed captain cunningham, provost-marshall—from whom it took its name—and his deputy, sergeant keefe, was the scene of great brutalities to american, or, in the language of the times, “rebel” prisoners during the revolution. the provost was destined, as john pintard, the meritorious new york historian, tells us, for the more notorious rebels, civil, naval, and military. an admission into this prison was enough to appall the stoutest heart. on the second floor, called derisively “congress hall,” prisoners of note were confined, citizens of distinction and many american officers, among them the famous colonel ethan allen and judge fell, of bergen county, new jersey. could these dumb walls speak, john pintard exclaims, what scenes of anguish, what tales of agonizing woe, might they disclose. in his aforementioned article he gave a vivid account of the “old jail’s” history well known to him from the personal reminiscences of many a distinguished prisoner still living in his day.
-for naval “rebels” a similar function as that of the “old provost” for civil and military “rebels” was fulfilled by “prison-ships.” on board of such vessels seamen were subjected to every possible hardship, to compel them to enter into the british service. as is well known, prison-ships were old vessels-of-war which had been condemned as unseaworthy, and unfit for store or hospital ships, and converted to this, the last use to which they could be applied. one of them has gained medallic interest, the “old jersey prison ship,” which was included as no. 5 in a. b. sage’s series of “historical tokens.” it is no. 4 in the present essay.
-on the obverse the center of the medallic space is occupied by a representation of the jersey as it is found on contemporary engravings. in the upper space one reads: the old jersey. underneath the ship an anchor is pictured between two skulls and bones. the engraver’s initial l is missing on this token. the reverse shows the same arrangement as found in all sage’s prison tokens. the open shackles in half-circle in the upper space together with the half-circular designation aug. b. sage’s historical tokens surround the following legend: a/ british/ prison/ during the/ revolution. the last word stands between two ornamental lines, the lower consisting of three big stars flanked on each side by a group of three small stars. underneath one reads: no. 5.
-2. historical medals
-in contrast to the aforementioned tokens, no. 6 and no. 7 are historical medals in the specific meaning of this term. no description or mention of either of them have come to this writer’s attention.
-the medal no. 6 measures forty-four millimetres in diameter and was struck in silver, bronze, and white metal. the american numismatic society has a specimen of each type in its collection. the obverse shows the “old sugar house, rose street, n. y.,” a large five-story building, of which the front and side are visible. the space between the third and fourth story of the front is occupied by the number 1763, the year of its foundation, as the legend says. the space between the uppermost window on the gable front and the two lower windows has as inscription these letters: brs. all windows are grated. above the representation of the building one reads the following half-circular inscription: old sugar house rose st. n. y. below, there appears this inscription: founded 1763 demolished 1892. on the reverse the half-circular legend, a british prison, is placed above a small representation of the frontside of the gable. the latter shows the uppermost window in the highest corner, and underneath two more grated windows in a row. above the left window the initial i, above the right one the initial s are visible. the lower part of the reverse is occupied by a key in horizontal situation being the ill-famed prison-key, underneath shackles are placed. the ornamental arrangement is in symmetrical correspondence with that in the upper part. in the middle of the space one reads in two lines: during the/ revolution.
-the “old sugar house rose street, n. y.,” which stood on the corner of rose and deane streets in new york city, was erected by henry cuyler, jr., for his heir, barnet rynders cuyler, probably in 1763. this date, which appears on the medal twice, is based on an authority “who had opportunity to observe.” john austin stevens stated from personal recollection “that he saw the date 1769 high upon the brick wall in iron figures.” the good engraving which is reproduced in james g. wilson’s memorial history of the city of new york and may well have been the model for the engraver of the medal, shows the year 1767 on the wall of the building. as disputed as the date of its erection is also its use as prison during the revolution. wilson writes: “the date and the architect’s initials are still to be seen on the side of the building, worked in wrought-iron characters, quaint and old. the rhinelander family has owned the property since 1790, and much of the land around it has been in their possession much longer than that. when first erected the house was used as a sugar-house, but the great interest in the old building is in the memory of the use to which it was put in revolutionary times. the grated windows, the dungeon-like underground cellars, the general air of solidity and impregnability which impress the observer at first sight, bear out the assertion, which has become a creed among the neighbors, that during the revolution the sugar-house was diverted from its legitimate use and turned into a british prison, where many an american patriot suffered not only imprisonment, but cruelties and starvation.” this was written by wilson in 1892 in commemoration of the then recent demolition of the structure. it seems that it was the very same occasion that caused the issuance of the medal, bearing the year of the building’s demolition. nevertheless, the use of the rhinelander sugar-house as a prison during the revolution was “denied by stevens and others, who have presented testimony to disprove it,” as stokes tells us. it seems almost impossible to decide the issue which, in turn, renders the historical justification of the issuance of the medal also doubtful.
-no. 7 is the only medal known to the author referring to a military prison in the civil war. no specimen of it is found in the museum of the american numismatic society. nor do the catalogues, guide-books, and other pamphlets published by the libby prison war museum association in chicago mention this medal that was probably issued by this very association. there is nothing about it in the files of the chicago historical society. the chicago newspapers of 1893 might have some article or note. but as they are not indexed it would take a great deal of time and labor to search through them.
-the very heavy medal measures seventy-one millimetres in diameter. it is made of type metal, coated with a bluish-black lacquer. the obverse shows in its upper part the following legend: libby prison; and in the lower part: war museum/ chicago 1893. the space in the center is occupied by the picture of libby prison as it stood in its original place in richmond, virginia. four prisoners’ tents are visible in the foreground. of course, no barbed wire, and not even a fence are indicated. instead sentries can be seen in front of the main building as well as of the tent-barracks, their number being six in toto. the picture is that well known from contemporary drawings or etchings.
-the reverse of the medal bears an extensive legend in eighteen lines. these are surrounded by a circular panel, showing on top clasped hands, at the bottom crossed sabres. the panel inscription reads: no sectionalism—1861—no north—no south—1865—no animosity. the eighteen-line legend gives an historical account of libby prison and its transformation into the chicago war museum:
-1845 libby prison richmond, va. erected in 1845 by luther libby.
-occupied by libby and son, shipchandlers and grocers. in 1861 taken by the confederated and converted into a prison. from 1861 to 1864, 40,000 union prisoners were confined in it. largest number at one time 1400.
-for officers exclusively in 1864-5. february 9 1864, 109 union officers made their escape by the celebrated tunnel planned by col. thos. e. rose. moved to chicago in 1889, converted into a national war museum owned by the libby prison war museum a’ssn.
-in view of the fact that the medal is dedicated to the libby prison war museum in chicago, the history of the removal of the building from richmond may be of interest. the following quotation is an excerpt from the pertinent introductory chapter in the now rare catalogue and program of the libby prison war museum, first published probably in 1889 and later reprinted in the early eighteen-nineties:
-“the removal of libby prison from richmond, va. to chicago was a project never before equaled in the history of building moving and one that will not be surpassed for years to come. this famous old structure as a confederate prison is too well known to need the repetition of its history, and it is enough to state that it was the palace prison of the south, and during the late war it held more than 40,000 union officers and enlisted men as prisoners. the project of removing libby prison to chicago was thought of by a well-known chicago business man who interested a syndicate of his business associates, and as a result they visited richmond in the latter part of 1888 and took a thorough look over the ground.... mr. louis m. hallowell, a well-known and experienced philadelphia architect, was engaged to work on the spot. he made all of the working plans for taking the structure apart, shipping it to the cars and rebuilding it in chicago. the work commenced in december, 1888, and as the building was taken apart each board, beam, timber and block of stone was numbered and lettered in such a manner that there was not the least trouble about placing these parts correctly together again in rebuilding.... sending to chicago required 132 twenty-ton cars ... the re-erection of libby prison ... was completed early in september. the museum was opened to the public september 21, 1889.... it contains the most complete and valuable collections of confederate relics in existence.”
-the museum was situated on wabash avenue between 14th and 16th streets. the enterprise proved a failure, however. the libby prison war museum was torn down in 1899, according to information received from the chicago historical society. the coliseum was erected on the site. the prison wall on the wabash avenue is now incorporated in the facade of the coliseum, all other material used having been disposed of.
-the officers of the libby prison war museum association whose names appear on the medal, are identifiable from their advertisements on the covers of the catalogue. the president, c. j. gunther, was a confectioner who advertised his candies; the vice president, l. manasse, an optician; and the secretary-treasurer was a member of the law firm, schuyler and kremer, “attorneys at law and proctors in admiralty.”
-one would expect to learn that the medal was struck on some occasion connected with the libby prison war museum, either on the completion of its rebuilding in chicago or on its opening. this was, however, not the case. there is no other indication as to when the medal was executed except the year 1893 appearing on its reverse. it proves that the medal must have been struck in connection with the columbian exposition held in that year in chicago. this is all that could be explored of its history.
-finally a token should be mentioned that refers to civil war prisons, though indirectly only. it is representative of a whole group of similar tokens. in 1864-1865 a special committee of the united states sanitary commission published the gruesome results of an inquiry into the privations and sufferings of united states officers and soldiers during their war imprisonment. it aroused, of course, the public at that time. the united states sanitary commission, established in 1861, to cooperate with the army, arranged a series of great fairs, popularly termed “sanitary fairs,” in order to raise funds for the relief of sickness, the improvement of hospital sanitation, and the promotion of the health conditions among the armed forces in general. the commission distributed during the war supplies to the value of fifteen million dollars, and funds amounting to five million more were received into its treasury, at least two-thirds of which were obtained from the numerous “sanitary fairs.” the first was held at chicago in 1863, and many other cities followed.
-tokens of the kind of that pictured here as no. 8 were given to the “cheerful givers.” the obverse of no. 8 shows washington’s head facing the right, at each side four stars, the legend being: geo. washington / president. the reverse has the following inscription in nine lines, the first three and last one curved: god loveth a cheerful giver / great fair / in aid of the / u. s. / sanitary / commission / nantucket / mass. / august 1864. the size is twenty-four millimeters. specimens were struck in silver, copper, brass, nickel, and tin.
-to be sure, the present essay represents but a very modest contribution to the discipline of medallic history. if through the methodological approach of a specific problem it would aid in stimulating further research in this little cultivated field, the author would consider this a highly gratifying reward.
-prisoners of war in general
-william e. s. flory, prisoners of war: a study in the development of international law. washington, d. c.: american council on public affairs, 1942.
-a good survey of all legal aspects of the subject, with a selected bibliography.
-scholarly juridical treatise on all legal problems concerning prisoners of war.
-the standard german work on international law, with a selected bibliography.
-andré warnod, prisonnier de guerre: notes et croquis rapportés d’allemagne. paris: librairie charpentier et fasquelle, 1915.
-experiences in a german internment camp, with interesting drawings by the author as illustrations.
-about 250 photographs from german prison camps with explanatory comments.
-official accounts of the german government concerning prisoners of war in france and england.
-clemens plassmann, die deutschen kriegsgefangenen in frankreich, 1914-1920. berlin: verlag der reichsvereinigung ehemaliger kriegsgefangener, 1921.
-a systematical discussion of all legal and social problems concerning the german prisoners of war in france, 1914-1920.
-dora coith, kriegsgefangen: erlebnisse einer deutschen in frankreich. leipzig: hesse und becker verlag, 1915.
-description of experiences in a french war prison of a german civil internee.
-robert guerlain, a prisoner in germany. london: macmillan and co. ltd., 1944.
-account of a french soldier who spent more than a year as a prisoner of war in one of the vast prison camps in germany, 1940-1941.
-i. internment camp money
-the most complete check-list of all kinds and varieties of the german internment camp money superseding previously published lists.
-many complete sets listed with very fine numismatic descriptions.
-on internment camp money of freistadt, grodig, and kleinmünchen.
-on austrian war prisoners money “in the war prisoners’ camp at braunau, and struck in nickel-aluminum. all are of the same type and have a small square hole in the center.” also on war prisoners money used in the camps at danzig-troyl, prussia, and kleinmünchen, austria, with reproduction of several sets.
-particularly on the prisoners money of the “k. u. k. offiziersstation für kriegsgefangene mühling,” (1915), with reproductions.
-on internment camp money issued in the present war.
-on present war money issued for civilian internment camps.
-robert guerlain, a prisoner in germany. london: macmillan and co. ltd., 1944.
-ii. european war-prisoner medals
-german capture medal by ludwig gies
-the description reads:
-prisonniers de guerre.
-médaille uniface coulée en bronze par l. g(ies). un soldat allemand amène un soldat français, un russe, un anglais, un belge, un serbe et un indigène. br. mm. 64. médaille très intéressante. fl. 18.
-max bernhart, die münchener medaillenkunst der gegenwart. munich-berlin: r. oldenbourg, 1917.
-a photographic reproduction, 60 millimeters in diameter, is found on plate 15, no. 102.
-the description reads:
-pour nos prisonniers.
-german camp douglas medal
-iii. american war prison tokens and medals
-civil war prisons and prisoners
-richard f. hemmerlein, prisons and prisoners of the civil war. boston: the christopher publishing house, 1934.
-a general survey of the history of the prisons and the treatment of prisoners during the civil war, with select bibliography.
-a. b. sage’s historical prison tokens
-advertisement and description of the series of sage’s “historical tokens,” nos. 1-10.
-a. b. sage, catalogue of coins, medals, and tokens, new york: june, 1859.
-on inner front-cover advertisement and description of the series of sage’s “historical tokens,” nos. 1-14, and of another token series, “odds and ends.” these data, though of general numismatic interest, are not reproduced in l. forrer’s biographical dictionary of medalists. hence they are given here in full.
-“upon receipt of $4.00, we will send a complete set of the above tokens to any place in the united states. the series will be continued from time to time.“
-odds and ends:
-no. 1. crystal palace. no. 2. old sugar house. no. 3. paul morphy.
-“the above series will be continued from time to time. struck in good copper, and sold at the low price of 25 cents each.”
-forrer’s pertinent account on sage’s “historical tokens” must be corrected in accordance with the data given in the present essay.
-“the old provoost” of new york
-with a reproduction of “the old provoost,” drawn by alexander j. davis and engraved by alexander anderson.
-“the old jersey prison ship”
-containing the names of the “prisoners confined on board the british ship jersey.”
-henry r. stiles, letters from the prisons and prison-ships of the revolution. (the wallabout prison-ship series, no. 1). new york: privately printed, 1865.
-includes letters written on the jersey.
-livingston’s sugar house
-henry collins brown, book of old new york. new york: privately printed, 1913.
-libby prison and libby prison war museum
-profusely illustrated. on the cover pictures of libby prison “as it was” and “as it is.”
-frank e. moran, a thrilling history of the famous underground tunnel of libby prison. new york: reprinted from the century magazine, 1889-1893.
-f. f. cavada, libby life: experiences of a prisoner of war in richmond, va., 1863-64. philadelphia: j. b. lippincott and co., 1865.
-most comprehensive description with contemporary illustrations, among them a reproduction of the best contemporary engraving of libby prison in richmond, va.
-description of prison life in libby prison, 1863-1864.
-isaac n. johnston, four months in libby, and the campaign against atlanta. cincinnati: j. n. johnston, 1864.
-a. o. abbott, prison life in the south at richmond, macon, savannah, during the years 1864 and 1865. new york: harper and brothers, 1865.
-memoirs of libby prison and its commanders by a former prisoner of war.
-united states sanitary commission
-united states sanitary commission, narrative of privations and sufferings of united states officers and soldiers while prisoners of war in the hands of the rebel authorities. boston: “little’s living age,” 1865.
-the present bibliography has been completed on april 1, 1945.
-the author wishes gratefully to acknowledge the courtesy of the american numismatic society (mr. sawyer mc. a. mosser, librarian) and of the new york historical society (mr. john t. washburn, chief of the reading room) in permitting him use of their collections, without which this study could never have been completed.
-—silently corrected a few typos.
-—retained publication information from the printed edition: this ebook is public-domain in the country of publication.
-—in the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by underscores.
-text printed in italics has been transcribed between underscores. small capitals have been replaced with all capitals.
-more transcriber’s notes may be found at the end of this text.
-veterinary science association of america
-their actions, uses and dose
-graduate of the ontario veterinary college. graduate from the veterinary department of the university of toronto, canada. member of the science association of the ontario veterinary college. registrar of the veterinary science association of america. ten years of practical experience in veterinary medicine and surgery.
-published by the
-veterinary science association of america
-copyright 1917 by the veterinary science association of america
-there is no scarcity of excellent works on veterinary materia medica and therapeutics.
-many of these will well repay the student for the time spent in mastering them, but none seem to meet the wants of the veterinary practitioner and student for whom this work is primarily intended.
-it has been my endeavor to find, and bring together in available form, some of the facts regarded as of value to those upon whom the stockman must depend, to a great extent, for important services when sickness comes upon our dumb friends--the domestic animals.
-a few publications have been consulted, and in some instances quoted. it has not been practicable to give proper credit for use of ideas and language in each instance, but a general acknowledgment is here made.
-list of publications consulted and in some instances quoted:
-united states dispensatory (by wood).
-veterinary medicines (by dun).
-veterinary materia medica and therapeutics (by winslow).
-veterinary materia medica, therapeutics and toxicology (by quitman).
-summary of veterinary materia medica, therapeutics and toxicology
-materia medica, derived from two latin words signifying medical material, the science which treats with medicine, their source or origin, their derivatives, physical and chemical properties, their method of preparation and administration, their dose, physiological and toxicological effects.
-therapeutics, derived from the greek, therapevo, meaning to serve or attend the sick, is that branch of knowledge which treats of the application of all means--medical or otherwise--to the cure of disease or relief of pain.
-toxicology, derived from the greek toxikon, a poison, is that branch of knowledge which treats of the nature, actions, detection and treatment of poisons.
-a medicine is an agent of animal, vegetable, or mineral origin used for the cure of disease or relief of pain.
-drug, derived from the dutch, droog, meaning dry, is now used synonymously with medicine although originally referring to an herb or dried medical plant.
-general actions of medicines
-alterative.--a medicine that alters the process of nutrition, so as to overcome morbid conditions of the body as arcenous acid, potassium iodide, etc.
-anaesthetic.--medicines used to produce insensibility to pain, and they are divided into local and general anaesthetics.
-general anaesthetics.--are inhaled and carried by the blood to the brain and spinal cord, where they paralyze the nerve centers, cause muscular relaxation and finally produce entire suspension of sensation and power of motion, together with a loss of consciousness, and apparent life, except breathing and the action of the heart. they comprise nitrous oxide gas, ether and chloroform, etc.
-local anaesthetics.--as a rule, are injected hypodermically or applied to open wounds. they cause temporary loss of local or circumscribed sensation by paralyzing the sensory nerves. when applied in the form of liniments they resemble anodynes, but act more promptly and profoundly. they comprise cocaine, eucaine, etc.
-analgesic.--a medicine used to relieve pain, as opium, etc.
-anaphrodisiac.--a medicine used to produce absence or impairment of sexual appetite, as potassium bromide, etc.
-anhidrotic.--a medicine that diminishes the secretion of perspiration as belladonna, etc.
-anodyne.--a medicine that lessens sensibility to pain, by diminishing the excitability of nerve centers, as cannabis indica, chloral hydrate, etc.
-anodynes local.--are drugs that diminish pain by acting locally on sensory nerves, and are applied in the form of a liniment over painful swellings, as belladonna, aconite, opium, hot and cold packs, etc.
-antacid.--a medicine that counteracts or neutralizes acidity of the stomach or intestines as liquor potassium, sodium carbonate and bicarbonate, etc.
-antagonistic.--a medicine which counteracts the action of another medicine in the system, as would potassium bromide and nux vomica or strychnine.
-anthelmintic.--a medicine efficiently destroying or expelling worms or preventing their development, as santonin, arecae nut, etc.
-antidote.--a substance preventing or counteracting the action of a poison. antidotes are distinguished as: chemical, those that change the chemical nature of the poison; mechanical, those that prevent absorption of poison; physiologic, those that counteract the effects of poison by producing other effects.
-antiemetic.--a medicine which prevents or arrests vomiting, as bismuth subnitrate.
-antifebrile.--a medicine that reduces temperature, as acetanilid, etc.
-antiferment.--a medicine which prevents the formation of gases, as sodium bicarbonate, turpentine, etc.
-antigalactic.--a medicine which lessens the secretion of milk, as belladonna, tannin, etc.
-antiparasitic.--an agent which destroys and repels insects, as essential oils, powdered tobacco, sulphur and naphthalin, etc.
-antiperiodic.--a medicine that tends to prevent the periodic recurrence of a disease, as quinine sulphate, arsenous acid, etc.
-antiperistaltic or antiperistalsis.--are medicines that produce compression of peristalsis or the worm-like movement of the intestines by which method the alimentary canal propels its contents, as opium.
-antiphlogistic.--a medicine or agent subduing or reducing inflammation or fever, as in bloodletting, applications of cold packs or the administration of aconite, acetanilide, etc.
-antirheumatic.--a medicine that prevents or cures rheumatism, as sodium salicylates, etc.
-antipyretic.--a medicine which reduces body temperature in fever, as quinine sulphate, salicylic acid, etc.
-antiseptic.--a medicine which arrests putrefaction on or in the body, or hinders septic decomposition by killing the germs that produce it or by checking their development, as carbolic acid, zinc sulphocarbolates, etc.
-antispasmodic.--a medicine which prevents or removes spasmodic contraction of voluntary or involuntary muscles, as belladonna, valerian, chloral hydrate, etc.
-antitoxin.--a counter poison or antidote generated within the body to counteract the toxins of bacteria. antitoxins are frequently injected hypodermically in the treatment of certain infectious diseases and also to immunize against disease, as tetanus antitoxin for the treatment of tetanus or lockjaw, etc.
-antivenene.--a name applied to blood-serum of animals rendered immune against snake-poison owing to its antidotal properties.
-antizymotic.--a medicine preventing fermentation, as salicylic acid, etc.
-aperient.--a medicine possessing a mild laxative or purgative effect, as rochelle salts, etc.
-aphrodisiac.--a medicine which stimulates sexual appetite, as cantharides, nux vomica, phosphorus, alcohol and general tonics, etc.
-aromatic.--a medicine characterized by a fragrant taste or odor, as aromatic spiritus of ammonia, ginger and the essential oils, etc.
-astringent.--a medicine which contracts vessels and arrests discharges, as tannic acid, ergot, etc.
-auxiliary.--a medicine that assists the action of another, as chloral hydrate would assist bromide of potassium in checking excitability.
-bitter.--a medicine with a bitter taste, stimulating the gastro-intestinal secretions without materially affecting the general system, as qussia gentian, etc.
-blennorrhagic.--a medicine which increases the secretions of mucus, as eucalyptus, balsam tulo, etc.
-blister.--an agent which, when applied over the skin, produces vesicles resulting from local inflammatory exudate of serous fluid between the epidermis and true skin, as applications of cantharides, etc.
-bolus.--a large pill or a round mass of food prepared by the mouth for swallowing.
-bouilon.--a nutritive medium for the culture of micro-organisms prepared from finely chopped beef or beef extract.
-cachexia.--a deprived condition of general nutrition, due to serious diseases, as tuberculosis, scrofula, syphilis, cancer, etc.
-calefacient.--a medicine applied externally to produce a sensation of warmth to the part to which it is applied, as turpentine, mustard, capsicum, etc.
-calmant.--a medicine that reduces functional activity, as bromide of potassium, aconite, etc.
-calmative.--a medicine which has a quieting or a sedative effect, as morphine, cannibus indica, etc.
-calorifacient or calorific.--a heat producing substance which has the power of developing heat in the body, as cod liver and olive oil, fats, etc.
-cardiac depressant or sedative.--a medicine which lessens the force and frequency of the heart’s action as aconite, potassium nitrate, etc.
-cardiac stimulant.--a medicine that increases the force and frequency of the heart’s action when in a depressed condition, as alcohol, nux vomica, ether, etc.
-cardiac tonics.--are medicines that do not act as quickly as cardiac stimulants, but they strengthen the heart muscles which regulate pulsation, as digitalis, nux vomica, etc.
-carminative.--a medicine that allays pain by causing the expulsion of gases from the alimentary canal, as aromatic spiritus of ammonia, asafetida, turpentine, etc.
-cataleptic.--a medicine causing animals to lose control of their muscles, as cannibus indica, etc.
-catalytic.--a medicine supposed to break down, destroy or counteract morbid agencies existing in the blood, as calomel, arcenous acid, etc.
-cathartic.--a medicine which hastens the evacuation of the bowels, as aloes, castor oil, etc.
-cathartic cholagogue.--a medicine that stimulates the evacuation of the intestines and the flow of bile at the same time, as podophyllin, etc.
-cathartic drastic.--a medicine which produces violent action of the intestines with griping and pain, as jalap, arecoline, etc.
-cathartic hydragogue.--a medicine that causes abundant watery discharges of feces, as common elaterium, etc.
-cathartic saline.--a medicine which increases intestinal secretions and prevents re-absorption, and mechanically excites peristaltic action, as magnesium sulphate, etc.
-cathartic simple.--a medicine that is more active then a laxative, but is accompanied by some griping; it causes active peristalsis and larger and softer stools than laxatives, as rhubarb, aloes, etc.
-caustic.--a medicine or agent used to destroy living tissue, as caustic potash, silver nitrate, etc.
-cautery.--an agent used to sear or burn living tissue, with a cautery or a caustic, as a hot iron or nitric acid, etc.
-cautery actual.--a metal instrument heated by an electric current or by flame, used to destroy bone or muscular tissue or for producing counter-irritation, much preferred to setons in diseases of the bones especially of their joints, as in bone spavin, ringbone, etc., also valuable in the treatment of sprained tendons. the methods used are either puncture or line firing.
-cautery potential.--a chemical used for destroying or cauterizing flesh, as nitric acid, etc.
-chalybeate.--a medicine containing iron, as tincture chlorid of iron.
-condiment.--a medicine used to improve palatability of food, as fenugreek, aniseed, salt, pepper, etc.
-conservative.--a medicine or substance used for the preservation of other medicines without loss, as alcohol, honey, etc.
-constringent.--a medicine which causes contraction of organic tissues, as tannin, etc.
-convulsant.--a medicine which causes violent and unnatural contractions of muscles (convulsions) as nux vomica or its derivative, etc.
-cordial.--a medicine which increases the strength and raises the vitality when depressed, as aromatic spirits of ammonia, alcohol, etc.
-corrective or correctant.--a substance used to modify or make pleasant the action of a cathartic or other medicines, as acacia, coriander, etc.
-corrosive.--a substance that destroys organic tissue either by direct chemical means or by causing inflammation and suppuration, as mercuric chloride, nitric acid, etc.
-counter irritant.--a substance or medicine which produces superficial inflammation artificially in order to exercise a good effect, by stimulating functional activity of a part, thus promoting repair upon some adjacent or deep-seated morbid process, as blistering or firing, etc.
-cumulative poison.--a medicine which finally acts as a poison after several successive doses have been taken with little or no apparent effect, as arsenic, strychnine, etc.
-debilitant.--a medicine which diminishes the energy of organs, as bromide of potassium, lobelia, etc.
-defervescent.--a medicine that reduces temperature, as quinine sulphate, aconite, etc.
-deliriant or delirifacent.--a medicine which produces delirium, as opium, stramonium, alcohol, etc.
-demulcent.--a mucilaginous or oily, soothing blend to protect irritated skin or mucous membranes, as carron oil, white of an egg, etc.
-deobstruent.--a medicine which removes functional obstructions in the body, as castor oil, magnesium sulphate, aloes, etc.
-deodorant or deodorizer.--a substance to conceal or destroy foul odors, as crude carbolic acid, chloride of lime, etc. noxious odors may also be destroyed and absorbed with freshly burnt charcoal or dry earth.
-depletory.--a medicine which diminishes the quantity of liquid in the body, as iodide or nitrate of potassium, etc.
-depressant.--a medicine which lessens vital power, as opium, aconite, etc.
-depresso-motor.--a medicine that depresses motor activity, as sodium or potassium bromide, etc.
-depurant.--a medicine for cleaning foul wounds and abscesses, as hydrogen peroxide, etc.
-depuratory.--a medicine which purifies the blood, as sulphur, iodide potassium, etc.
-dermatic.--a medicine used in diseases of the skin, as resorcinol, zinc oxide, etc.
-derivative.--a substance used in drawing away blood or liquid exudates from diseased parts by creating an extra demand for them in some other part of the body, as mustard, capsicum, cantharides, etc.
-desiccant.--a medicine used for drying up sores, as tannic acid, boric acid, etc.
-desiccative.--a medicine which dries up secretions, as zinc oxide, camphor, etc.
-desiccatory.--a medicine used externally to dry up moisture or fluids from wounds, as tannic acid, starch, etc.
-desquamation.--a medicine which removes scales from the skin, bones and mucous membranes, as potassium iodide, etc.
-detergent.--a substance for purifying and cleansing wounds, ulcers, as hydrogen peroxide, soap and water, etc.
-diaphoretic.--a medicine which causes an increased amount of perspiration, as pilocarpine, ginger, etc.
-diarrhetic.--a substance or medicine which causes increased frequency and lessened consistency of fecal evacuations, as mandrake.
-dietetic.--a medicine having nutritious properties, as olive or cod liver oil, etc.
-digestant.--a medicine that assists digestion of food, in the mouth, stomach or intestines, as pancreatin, pepsin, etc.
-digestive.--a medicine which promotes the process of digestion, as gentian, qussia, nux vomica, etc.
-diluent.--a medicine that dilutes the secretions of organs, as magnesium sulphate, gamboge, arecoline, etc.
-discutient.--a substance or medicine having the power of causing an exudation to disappear, as iodide of potassium, red iodide of mercury, etc.
-disinfectant.--a medicine which destroys septic poisons of communicable diseases; its special function is to kill or hinder the development of those germs or bacteria which produce diseases, as carbolic acid, chloride of lime, formaldehyde, etc.
-dissolvent.--a medicine that promotes solution of tissues of the body, as potassium iodide, etc.
-diuretic.--a medicine that increases the secretions of the urinary organs, as potassium nitrate, buchu, turpentine, spirits ether nit, etc.
-drastic.--a medicine having a severe purgative or cathartic effect on the bowels, as croton oil, etc.
-ebolic.--a medicine causing contraction of the uterus, and thus producing abortion, as ergot, etc.
-electuary.--a substance used to lessen irritability or increase the palatability of medicines, as sugar, honey, molasses, water, etc.
-eliminative.--a medicine having power of expelling or casting out, especially waste products, as arecoline, magnesium sulphate, etc.
-emetic.--a substance or medicine having the power to induce vomiting, as apomorphine, ipecac, etc.
-emmenagogue.--a medicine which stimulates menstrual flow, as potassium permanganate, etc.
-emollient.--a substance used externally to soften, sooth and relax parts to which they are applied as vegetable poultices, oils, etc.
-epispastic.--a medicine producing a blister, as cantharides, aqua ammonia fort, etc.
-errhine.--a medicine that increases nasal secretions, as formalin, capsicum, etc.
-evacuant.--a medicine which causes the emptying of an organ, especially the bowels, as magnesium sulphate, aloes, etc.
-excitant.--a medicine that arouses functional activity, as nux vomica, alcohol, etc.
-exhilarant.--a medicine which cheers or stimulates the mind, as strychnine, alcohol, etc.
-expectorant.--a medicine that acts upon the pulmonary mucous membranes to increase or alter its secretions, as lobelia, chloride of ammonia, etc.
-febrifuge.--a medicine which lessens bodily temperature, as quinine, acetanilid, aconite, etc.
-fumigation.--is a process of disinfection by exposure to the fumes of a vaporizing disinfectant, as formaldehyde.
-galactagogue.--a medicine or substance which stimulates the secretions of the mammary glands, thereby increasing the flow of milk, as senegaroot, pilocarpine, etc.
-germicide.--a medicine which destroys germs of any kind whether bacilli, spirilli or micrococci, as bichloride mercury, carbolic acid, etc.
-hematinic.--a medicine that increases the proportion of hematin or coloring matter in the blood, as iron, arsenic, etc.
-hemolytic.--a medicine which causes the breaking down of the blood corpuscles, as mineral acids.
-hemostatic.--a medicine which stops bleeding, as tincture chloride of iron, ergot, etc.
-hepatic depressant or sedative.--a medicine that decreases the function of the liver, as plumbi acetate, morphine, etc.
-hepatic stimulant.--a medicine which increases the functions of the liver, as calomel, podophyllin, etc.
-hidrotic or hydrotic.--a medicine that stimulates perspiration (sweat), as pilocarpine, spirits ether nit., etc.
-hydragogue.--a medicine which causes full watery evacuations from the bowels, as arecoline, gamboge, etc.
-hypnotic.--a medicine which produces sleep, as chloral hydrate, morphine, potassium bromide, etc.
-hyposthenic.--a medicine which causes weakness, debility, as lobelia.
-idiosyncrasy.--a peculiarity of constitution that makes one person or animal react differently to medicines or other influences from most persons or animals.
-insecticide.--a substance used to destroy insects, as unrefined carbolic acid, benzine, etc.
-intoxicant.--a drug which excites or stupifies, as alcohol, etc.
-irritant.--a medicine or agent causing heat, pain and tension due to the increased flow of blood to the part, as heat, mustard, etc.
-lactagogue.--a medicine which increases the flow of milk, as extract of malt, jaborandi, etc.
-laxative.--a medicine that loosens the bowels; a mild cathartic or purgative, as potassium nitrate, sulphur, etc.
-lenitive.--a substance having the quality to relieve pain or protecting tissues from the actions of irritants, as fats, oils, etc.
-liquefacient.--a medicine which promotes the liquefying processes of the system, as potassium iodide, etc.
-lithagogue.--a medicine which expels calculi (or stones) from the kidneys or bladder, as benzoic acid, etc.
-litholytic or lithontriptic.--a medicine to dissolve calculi (or stones) as benzoate of ammonia, carbonate of potassium, etc.
-lubricant.--a substance which soothes irritated surfaces of the throat and their fauces, as honey, olive oil, etc.
-medicament.--any medicine used in the treatment of diseases or wounds.
-medicine.--any substance for the cure of disease.
-mydriatic.--an agent which dilates or enlarges the pupil of the eye, whether used internally or externally, as atrophine.
-myotic.--any agent that contracts the pupil of the eye, whether applied to the eye or taken by the mouth, as eserine, arecoline, etc.
-narcotic.--a medicine which produces sleep and relieves pain, but first cause cerebral excitement, as chloroform, ether, belladonna and alcohol, etc.
-nephritic.--a medicine used in diseases of the kidneys, as buchu, uva ursi, etc.
-nervine.--a medicine that calms nervous excitement or acts favorably in nervous diseases, as potassium bromide, chloral hydrate, etc.
-nutrient.--a medicine which builds up the waste tissues of the system, as cod liver oil, general tonics, etc.
-obtundent.--any agent which relieves irritation or reduces sensibility, as opium, poultices, etc.
-odontalgic.--any substance for the relief of toothache, as oil of cloves, morphine, etc.
-odorant.--any substance with a pronounced odor, as naphthaline, asafoetida, etc.
-opiate.--a drug which causes sleep, as chloral hydrate, opium, etc.
-oxytocic.--any agent that produces parturition, as cotton root, ergot, etc.
-panacea.--a medicine curing all diseases; a cure all, as some patent medicines.
-parasiticide.--a substance that destroys various animal and vegetable organisms or parasites which live upon the surface of the body, as mercurial and sulphur ointment, etc.
-parturient or parturifacient.--any agent assisting in the birth of the young, as ergot.
-peristaltic.--a medicine which increases the movements of the longitudinal and transverse muscular fibers of the intestines and assists them in expelling their contents as nux vomica, arecoline, etc.
-placebo.--any medicine or inert substance given for the purpose of satisfying the patient, rather than for its medical effects, as sugar, fenugreek, anise, etc.
-poison.--an agent that when introduced into the body either destroys life or impairs seriously the functions of one or more of its organs, as potassium cyanide, hydrocyanic acid, etc.
-potential.--a medicine which possesses restorative effects, but is delayed in its effects, as potassium iodide, arsenic, etc.
-preservative.--a substance which prevents decomposition of another substance, as acetanilid, boric acid, etc.
-preventive or prophylactic.--a medicine or method that tends to prevent disease, as quinine for the prevention of malaria, vaccine, hygienics, etc.
-protective.--a substance used for protecting the parts to which it is applied, as collodion, etc.
-pungent.--any substance producing a sharp, pinching, penetrating effect, as ammonia.
-purgative.--a medicine causing copious evacuations of the bowels. (see cathartics.)
-pustulant.--a medicine which irritates and gives rise to the formation of pustules, as cantharides, croton oil, etc.
-recuperative.--a medicine which restores health and energy, as extract of malt, cod liver oil, etc.
-refrigerant.--a medicine or agent having cooling properties or the power of lowering internal or external temperature, as potassium nitrate, aconite, cold water, etc.
-relaxant.--a substance which causes relaxation of muscular tissues, as chloroform, chloral, etc.
-reparative.--a substance used to restore debilitated tissues of the body, as general tonics, nitrogenous foods, etc.
-resolvent.--a substance indicated in the treatment or absorption of hard, callous tissue, as iodine and its preparations.
-restorative.--a medicine that aids in restoring the health, as nux vomica, arsenic, etc.
-revulsant or revulsive.--an agent which produces irritation and draws fluids from other parts diseased, as poultices, cantharides, etc.
-rubefacient.--a medicine or agent causing irritation and redness of the skin, as turpentine, mustard, etc.
-sedative.--a medicine which diminishes functional activity, as potassium or ammonium bromide, etc.
-septic.--an agent causing poisoning resulting from the absorption of products of putrefaction, as bacteria.
-sialogogue.--a medicine stimulating the flow of saliva, as pilocarpine, arecoline, ginger, capsicum, etc.
-somnifacient or soporific.--a medicine which produces drowsiness and sleep, as morphine, chloral hydrate, potassium, bromide, etc.
-sorbefacient.--a medicine used to produce abortion, as ergot.
-specific.--a medicine or agent which has a distinct curative influence on an individual disease, as potassium iodide in actinomycosis (lumpy jaw) or oxygen in milk fever, etc.
-stimulant.--a medicine which quickens or increases functional activity, as strychnine, ammonium carbonate, alcohol, etc.
-stomachic.--a medicine which increases functional activity of the stomach, as quassia gentian, etc.
-stomatic.--a medicine used in diseases of the mouth, as boric acid, potassium chlorate, alum, etc.
-superfacient.--a medicine causing unconsciousness from which the patient can be roused, as opium, bromide of potassium, etc.
-styptic.--an agent that checks bleeding by causing contraction of the blood vessels, as tincture chloride of iron, ergot, etc.
-succedaneum.--a medicine which may be substituted for another possessing similar properties, as chloral hydrate for potassium bromide, or aloes for linseed oil, etc.
-sudorific.--a medicine or agent which produces an increased quantity of perspiration (sweat) as ginger, pilocarpine, dover’s powders, etc.
-suppurant.--a medicine or agent promoting pus formation, as poultices, cantharides, croton oil, etc.
-synergist.--a medicine which co-operates or assists the action of another, as chloroform with ether, cantharides with red iodide of mercury, etc.
-taenicide.--a medicine which destroys tape worms, as extract of male fern.
-taenifuge.--a medicine which expels tape worms, as areca nut, pumpkin seed, oil of turpentine, etc.
-tetanic.--a medicine or agent which increases the irritation of the spinal cord or muscles producing spasms, as strychnine, etc.
-tonic.--a medicine promoting nutrition and giving strength to the body, as arsenic, cod liver oil, etc.
-topic or topical.--a substance or agent for external use, applied locally, as a liniment.
-toxic.--a condition produced by a poison, as a result of an over-dose of medicine or the absorption of bacterial products.
-tricophyed.--a medicine promoting the growth of hair, as pilocarpine, cantharides, capsicum, etc.
-uterine.--a medicine acting upon the uterus, as ergot.
-vehicle.--a medicine or agent used as a medium or base for the administration of medicines, as syrups, oils, water, etc.
-vermicide.--a medicine which destroys parasitic worms, as turpentine, iron sulphate, tobacco, creosote, etc.
-vermifuge.--a medicine which expels parasitic worms, as arecoline, aloes, etc.
-vesicant.--a medicine which forms pustules containing white serum, as cantharides.
-virus.--a poison of an infectious disease, especially one found in the system of an animal suffering from an infectious disease, as hog cholera, cowpox or rabies virus, etc.
-vulnerary.--any medicine or compound used in the treatment of wounds, as ointments, liniments, etc.
-administration of medicines
-the following methods of administering medicines in order of their rapidity of absorption, beginning with the method by which absorption is most rapid, and following with those by which absorption is less rapid and finally least rapid: 1. intravenous, by injection into veins. 2. by inhalation (volatile drugs). 3. subcutaneous, by injection into subcutaneous tissue. 4. intratracheal, by injection into the trachea (or wind pipe). 5. oral, by the mouth. 6. rectal, by the rectum. 7. inunction, by the skin. 8. intramammary injections.
-when medicines should be administered
-the curative effects of medicines may be restrained, changed in form or prevented by untimely administration.
-medicines intended to act on the mucous membrane of the stomach should only be given when that organ is empty. if distant parts are to be affected in the most prompt and efficient manner and the medicine is free from distinct irritating qualities, it should be taken on an empty stomach; as when digestion is going on, the contents of the stomach are acid in reaction and if alkalies are given combinations take place and salts are formed. if alkalies are given before digestion begins, diffusion of the acid-forming constituents of the blood takes place, and in this way the acidity of the gastric juice is promoted; likewise acids given before meals increase the diffusion of the alkaline constituents of the blood.
-methods of administering medicines
-drenching, bit, balling gun, capsule gun, bottle, dose syringe and hypodermic syringe.
-anaesthetics administered in feed bags or proper inhaler.
-tables used in prescription writing
-apothecaries or troy weight.
-in prescription writing the pound sign should not be used; always express large quantities by ounces.
-apothecaries’ liquid measure.
-in prescribing liquids the abbreviation for quarts (qts.) is never used. if a quart is desired it is expressed as two pints (oij).
-appropriate equivalents of wine units in domestic measures.
-tables for regulating the doses for young animals
-3 years old and upward, full dose. from 1¹⁄₂ years old to 3 years, ¹⁄₂ dose. from 9 to 18 months old, ¹⁄₄ dose. from 4¹⁄₂ to 9 months old, ¹⁄₈ dose. from 1 to 4¹⁄₂ months old, ¹⁄₁₆ dose.
-2 years old and upward, full dose. from 1 to 2 years old, ¹⁄₂ dose. from ¹⁄₂ to 1 year, ¹⁄₄ dose. from 3 to 6 months, ¹⁄₈ dose. from 1 to 3 months, ¹⁄₁₆ dose.
-2 years old and upward, full dose. from 1 to 2 years old, ¹⁄₂ dose. from ¹⁄₂ to 1 year, ¹⁄₄ dose. from 3 to 6 months, ¹⁄₈ dose. from 1 to 3 months, ¹⁄₁₆ dose.
-1¹⁄₂ years and upward, full dose. from 9 to 18 months old, ¹⁄₂ dose. from 4¹⁄₂ to 9 months, ¹⁄₄ dose. from 2¹⁄₂ to 4¹⁄₄ months, ¹⁄₈ dose. from 1 to 2¹⁄₂ months, ¹⁄₁₆ dose.
-from ¹⁄₂ to 1 year old, full dose. from 3 to 6 months, ¹⁄₂ dose. from 1¹⁄₂ to 3 months, ¹⁄₄ dose. from 20 to 45 days, ¹⁄₈ dose. from 10 to 20 days, ¹⁄₁₆ dose.
-the art of prescribing
-the prescription should be as brief and simple as possible. it should be explicit and clearly written. it may be expressed either in latin or in english. the manner in which the medicine is to be used should be specified. important instructions as to the rule, systematic regulations or diet of the patient are sometimes necessary.
-prescriptions usually contain two or more of the following four representative constituents: (1) the basis or active ingredients. the practice of conjoining several active medicines has wisely been abandoned. occasionally, however, it may be advantageous to give together two medicines producing their effects in somewhat different ways. thus, spasms of the bowels are more often effectually controlled by the conjunction of a stimulant like ether and an anodyne like opium than by either given alone. pain which is not alleviated by either morphine or atropine is sometimes abated by giving them together. (2) the adjuvant is introduced in order to increase, moderate or modify the action of the basis. frequently its chief object is to insure solubility and ready absorption. (3) a corrective is occasionally required to temper the effects of the basis. thus a small dose of opium is prescribed with oil or other laxative in cases of diarrhoea; ginger is generally added to the aloetic mass to prevent its griping. (4) the vehicle generally consists of some comparatively inert substance, added to facilitate administration, such as the treacle, linseed meal or licorice powder used as an excipient for boluses and pills, the benzoated lard or vaseline used for making ointments, and the water given in drenches.
-in the above prescription aloes is the basis; calomel as an adjuvant, ginger as a corrective, molasses as an excipient.
-a prescription is composed of several parts, which may be considered as follows:
-1. heading. 2. names and quantities of drugs. 3. directions to compounder. 4. directions to attendant. 5. signature of writer.
-words, phrases and abbreviations commonly used in prescription writing.
-acidum boricum--boracic acid--boric acid
-derivation.--made by evaporation and crystallization of a solution obtained by passing steam issuing from rocks in volcanic regions of italy, through water; or by the action of hydrochloric or sulphuric acids upon borax. recovered by filtration and recrystallization.
-properties.--transparent colorless scales, of a somewhat pearly luster, six-sided tricline crystals, or a light white, very fine powder, slightly unctuous to the touch; odorless, having a faintly bitterish taste, and permanent in air. soluble in water, alcohol, glycerine, etc.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 2 to 4 drs.; foals and calves, 20 to 30 grs.; sheep and pigs, 30 to 40 grs.; dogs, 5 to 20 grs.
-glyceritum boroglycerini--glycerite of boroglycerin
-composed of boric acid, 310 parts; glycerin to make 1,000; prepared by heat (303° f.).
-actions.--boric acid is a non-volatile, non-irritating antiseptic, deodorant and astringent, it arrests fermentation of minute organisms, free of irritating effects in solution, when applied to wounds; it lessens suppuration, and is as effective as carbolic acid; can be used in any strength from the pure powder or saturated solution to the mildest form.
-uses.--boric acid is indicated for all purposes for which an antiseptic is used; it is used in diarrhoea in foals, calves and dogs, combined with other drugs; it has a slightly astringent action of itself; it is excreted in the urine, consequently would exert its influence on the bladder in cystitis, cystic catarrh; 1 part in 800 prevents the development of anthrax-bacilli; useful in skin diseases, also used in keratitis and catarrhal and purulent conjunctivitis, six to ten grains to the ounce, with atropine or cocaine when very painful. useful in distemper of dogs where the bowels are affected, as an antiseptic. boric acid is preferred to carbolic acid as an antiseptic for dogs. on account of the paralyzing effect of carbolic acid on the nerves, it hinders the healing of wounds to a certain extent, while the boracic acid does not.
-boric acid may be applied pure to wounds and sores or mixed with other suitable drugs as a dusting powder. equal parts of boric acid and zinc oxide make a cheap and effective healing powder; to an itching wound the addition of an equal quantity of acetanilide increases its value. a saturated solution (four per cent) is useful as a vaginal and uterine douche and to flush the bladder in cystitis.
-acidum carbolicum crudum--crude carbolic acid
-derivation.--a liquid consisting of several different constituents of coal tar, particularly creosol and phenol, obtained by fractional distillation.
-properties.--a nearly colorless, or reddish-brown liquid of a strong disagreeable and creosote-like odor, and gradually turning darker on exposure to the air and light. soluble in fifteen parts of water.
-phenol--acidum carbolicum--carbolic acid
-derivation.--obtained from crude carbolic acid by agitation with caustic soda, heating to 338° f., and adding hydrochloric acid. then by agitation with sodium chloride, digestion with calcium chloride, and distillation at a temperature between 336° f. and 374° f. and finally by crystallization.
-properties.--phenol in its pure state is a solid at ordinary temperatures, crystallizing in minute plates or long rhomboidal needles, white or colorless, of a peculiar odor recalling that of creosote, and an acrid burning taste. it is likely to be colored pinkish or brown under the influence of light and air. soluble in about 19.6 parts of water, and very soluble in alcohol, ether, chloroform, glycerin, fixed and volatile oils.
-actions.--phenol in large and undiluted doses is an irritant and narcotic poison; it is used as an antiseptic, parasiticide, antiferment and sometimes used as a local anaesthetic or anodyne in a 2 to 5 per cent solution; also as a caustic, but should not be used as a caustic as a burn from it heals very slowly.
-uses.--internally as a gastric sedative in small doses for vomiting in dogs; is administered in various contagious and infectious diseases with the view of preventing or arresting the development of micro-organisms; it coagulates albumen, is not nearly so active as bichloride of mercury; 1 part to 500 parts of water prevents the growth of anthrax and other bacilli. full doses produce gastro-enteritis, and collapse, which may end fatally; it is a muscular and nerve paralyzer, both internally and externally, it kills by paralyzing the muscles of respiration and the heart. it is chiefly eliminated from the system by the kidneys, giving the urine a brownish color.
-in surgery.--a three to five per cent solution is used for washing out wounds, a two to three per cent for hands, and for itching of the skin, carbolic acid three or four drachms, glycerine two ounces to one pint of water. do not use over large surface on dogs and not at all on cats.
-phenol treatment for tetanus, which has given very good results and i would recommend one drachm in three ounces of water, injected hypodermically in the region of neck and shoulder every two or three hours until twelve injections were given and less frequently thereafter.
-doses.--of the phenol: horses and cattle, 10 to 40 grs.; sheep and pigs, 5 to 10 grs.; dogs, ¹⁄₂ to 1 gr., well diluted.
-toxicology.--dogs and cats are especially susceptible to the action of carbolic acid, therefore great care must be exercised when washing, especially cats, with any preparation containing carbolic acid. disinfecting and deodorizing cat’s quarters with any preparation containing carbolic acid makes them sick.
-antidote.--sulphates of soda or magnesia. atropine sulphate hypodermically is a very valuable antidote. alcohol and vinegar have been used with good results, both internally and externally.
-acidum salicylicum--salicylic acid
-an organic acid, existing naturally in combination in various plants, but largely prepared synthetically from carbolic acid.
-properties.--light, fine, white, needle-shaped crystals, odorless, having a sweetish, afterwards acrid taste; permanent in air. soluble in alcohol, ether and hot water; borax increases its solubility.
-dose.--horses, 2 to 6 drs.; cattle, ¹⁄₂ to 1 oz.; sheep, 1 to 2 drs.; pigs, 30 to 40 grs.; dogs, 5 to 20 grs.; should be given well diluted; large doses are recommended for fevers, but smaller doses more often repeated in rheumatism.
-sodii salicylas--sodium salicylas
-derivation.--made by the action of salicylic acid on sodium carbonate. the solution is filtered and heated to expel carbon dioxide.
-properties.--a white amorphous or crystalline powder or scales; odorless and having a sweetish, saline taste. permanent in air. soluble in water, alcohol and glycerine.
-dose.--same as for salicylic acid.
-phenylis salicylas--phenyl salicylate (salol)
-derivation.--made by heating salicylic and carbolic acids with phosphorous pentachloride.
-properties.--a white crystalline powder; odorless, or having a faintly aromatic odor, and almost tasteless. permanent in air. insoluble in water, soluble in ten parts of alcohol and readily soluble in chloroform.
-dose.--same as for salicylic acid.
-actions.--salicylic acid, sodium salicylate and phenyl salicylate are powerful antiseptic, anti-rheumatic, diaphoretic, cardiac depressant, antiferment and antipyretic. salicylic acid is in addition irritant and astringent, continued in large doses is apt to derange digestion; best to be administered on a full stomach.
-uses.--for acute rheumatism, influenza, strangles and purpura where there is much sloughing; also as a surgical wash, salicylic acid one part, borax one part to thirty or forty parts of water. salicylic acid is a more powerful antiseptic than carbolic acid. salicylic of soda is freely antiseptic. salicylic acid is highly recommended in intestinal flatulence, given in two drachm doses with one ounce of aromatic spirits of ammonia. in gastric-flatulence give two drachms in capsule, repeat in half hour if necessary.
-derivation.--aconite is obtained from the root of aconitum napellus, which grows in northwestern north america, europe and asia in mountainous regions, and cultivated in the united states for its beautiful flowers.
-properties.--the fresh leaves have a faint narcotic odor, most sensible when they are rubbed. their taste is at first bitterish and herbaceous, afterwards burning and acrid, with a feeling of numbness and tingling on the inside of the lips, tongue and fauces, which is very durable, lasting sometimes many hours. when long chewed they inflame the tongue. the dried leaves have a similar taste, but the acrid impression commences later. their sensible properties and medical activity are impaired by long keeping. they should be of a green color, and free from mustiness. the root has a feeble earthy odor. though sweetish at first, it has afterwards the same effect as the leaves upon the mouth and fauces. it shrinks much in drying and becomes darker, but does not lose its acrimony. those parcels, whether of leaves or roots, should always be rejected which are destitute of this property. aconite root is officially described as being “slenderly conical, 4 to 10 cm. long, 10 to 20 mm. thick at the crown; occasionally split; longitudinally wrinkled; dark brown and marked with coarse whitish root-scars; fracture short, horny or mealy; internally whitish or light brown; the cambium zone irregular and 5 to 7-angled; odor very slight; taste sweetish, soon becoming acrid and developing a tingling sensation, followed by numbness.”
-constituents.--the alkaloid representing the action of the drug is aconitine, which is precipitated by ammonia from an aqueous solution of an alcoholic extract of the root of various species. it is a colorless, crystalline or amorphous, gray powder, almost insoluble in water, and soluble in 22 parts of alcohol, in 44 parts of ether and 1 part of chloroform. its salts are soluble in water. aconitine or its solutions, unless very dilute, are too poisonous to be tasted.
-commercial preparations vary in purity and strength, and since it is extremely poisonous its internal administration is undesirable. pseudo-aconitine, aconitine and other alkaloids in combination with aconitic acid have been obtained from aconite, but their identity and chemistry are uncertain.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 3 to 20 grs.; sheep and pigs, 1 to 3 grs.; dogs, ¹⁄₁₀ to ¹⁄₁₁ gr.
-fluidextractum aconiti--fluidextract of aconite
-made by maceration and percolation with alcohol and water and evaporation. assayed so that each 100 c. c. contains 0.4 gm. aconitine.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 5 to 20 m.; sheep and pigs. 2 to 5 m.; dogs, ¹⁄₁₀ to 1 m.
-tinctura aconiti--tincture aconite
-made by maceration and percolation of aconite, 100; with alcohol and water to make 1000.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 20 m. to 1 dr.; sheep and pigs, 10 to 20 m.; dogs, 2 to 10 m.
-fleming’s tincture (non-official) (79 per cent).
-dose.--horses and cattle, 8 to 20 m.; dogs, ¹⁄₂ to 2 m.
-not used to any extent in veterinary practice; is very unreliable and varying in strength. aconitine often contains a considerable proportion of aconite and benzaconine, and so varies in activity, which is a great objection to the use of one of the most powerful drugs known.
-dose.--horses and cattle, ¹⁄₃₀ to ¹⁄₅ gr.; dogs, ¹⁄₂₀₀ to ¹⁄₁₀₀ gr. subcutaneously.
-actions of aconite, its preparations and derivative are anodynes and sedatives, acting specially on the peripheral endings of the sensory nerves, on the heart and on respiration. aconite kills by respiratory arrest.
-its physiological actions as a cardiac and respiratory sedative renders it a febrifuge; it is also diaphoretic and diuretic. it is prescribed in acute febrile conditions, and in the earlier stages of acute local inflammation. it is used topically to relieve pain.
-general actions.--locally applied, in virtue of its action on sensory nerves, aconite produces first irritation, tingling and twitching and subsequently numbness and anesthesia. the tincture of aconite is rapidly absorbed and quickly passed into the tissues, as is shown by the blood of a poisoned dog five minutes after the drug has been administered, being transferred into the veins of another dog without producing the physiological action of the poison.
-toxic effects.--one and one-half drachm of the tincture (equal to about one drachm of aconite root) is given as the minimum fatal dose for the horse, one-half drachm will occasionally cause very serious symptoms and where an idiosyncrasy exists as little as fifteen minims will cause toxic symptoms.
-it causes great muscular weakness, dimness of sight; pupil at first may be dilated or contracted, but as the end approaches remains dilated; shallow irregular and labored respiration, a slow and small pulse, becoming rapid and imperceptible near the end. gulping, frothy saliva, flatulence, belching, retching, nausea, etc. there is often a peculiar clicking sound made from the constant attempts at swallowing.
-coldness of surface, clammy sweat, anxious countenance, extreme weakness of the extremities, lowering of temperature 2 to 3 degrees, abolishment of sensation, reflexes and motility and finally death from paralysis of the heart and respiration, with or without convulsions, consciousness being preserved until near the end, when carbon dioxide narcosis sets in.
-uses.--it antagonizes the fever process, when properly used is a most valuable drug; it is indicated in all affections, characterized by high resisting pulse, dry, hot skin and elevated body temperature; is useful in acute throat affections as laryngitis, pharyngitis and perotiditis, in small doses often repeated. indicated in acute inflammation of the organs of respiration. for pleurisy and perotiditis, at the outset, give aconite with opium. aconite is indicated in simple fevers or in puerperal fever, inflammation of the brain; in acute or inflammatory rheumatism, in acute local inflammation, as arthritis or inflammation resulting from bruises, sprains, etc.
-in lymphangitis, laminitis and enteritis, if called in first stages of enteritis give 20 ms. of aconite and repeat with 10 or 15 ms. every hour and between times gives fluid extract of belladonna 15 to 20 ms. every hour and externally woolen blankets wrung out of hot water and wrapped around the body.
-in mammitis is also useful in large doses, combined with phytolacca; in spasmodic colic brought on by drinking cold water, give 30 to 60 ms. of the tincture of aconite with other colic mixture; in congestion of the bowels or liver, or in congestion of any part, small repeated doses are better than large ones. it is also advantageously used in lung disorders.
-a liquid composed of about 96 per cent, by weight, of absolute ether or ethyl oxide, and about 4 per cent of alcohol containing a little water.
-properties.--a transparent, colorless, mobile liquid, having a characteristic odor and a burning and sweetish taste. ether is highly volatile and inflammable; its vapor, when mixed with air and ignited, explodes violently. miscible in all proportions with alcohol, chloroform, benzine, benzol, fixed and volatile oils. ether is a solvent for fats, oils, alkaloids, resins, gutta percha and guncotton. upon evaporation ether should have no residue. ether vapor is heavier than air and consequently etherization should never be done above a light or fire.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 1 to 2 ozs.; sheep and pigs, 2 to 4 drs.; dogs, 10 ms. to 1 dr.
-as an anaesthetic, horses and cattle require from 4 to 16 ozs. smaller animals from 4 drs. to 4 ozs. chloroform is usually prescribed for large animals and ether for smaller animals. ether never paralyzes a healthy heart, while chloroform sometimes does. for anaesthetic purposes see anesthesia.
-spiritus aetheris--spirit of ether
-composed of ether, 325 parts, alcohol to make 1000.
-dose.--same as ether.
-spiritus aetheris compositus--compound spirit of ether--hoffman’s anodyne
-composed of ether, 325 parts; alcohol, 650 parts; ethereal oil, 25 parts.
-dose.--same as for ether.
-actions.--ether is anodyne, antispasmodic, diaphoretic, anthelmintic; a cardiac, respiratory and cerebral stimulant, an anesthetic and a narcotic poison; one of the best and quickest acting, diffusible, general stimulants, acting on the heart reflexly from the stomach. it is a powerful secretory stimulant, acting especially on the secretions of the stomach, salivary glands and pancreas. on the cerebrum and the motor and sensory nerves, its actions are similar to that of alcohol, but more prompt and less protracted; it is eliminated quickly, chiefly by the lungs.
-when inhaled, it first causes irritation of the fauces, a sense of strangulation and cough, then a stage of excitement in which the visible mucous membranes are flushed and the respiration and pulse quickened; a convulsive stage generally follows, with rigid muscles and respiration stertorous; this subsides and complete insensibility is established, the muscles being relaxed and the reflexes abolished; in fact all of the functions of the body are suspended, except respiration and circulation.
-if the inhalation be continued these too become paralyzed, death usually resulting from slow paralysis of respiration (chloroform paralyzes quickly); the heart pulsating long after breathing has ceased. atropine hypodermically is the best antagonist to the toxic effects of ether, also artificial respiration and injections of brandy.
-uses of ether.--when mixed with alcohol, as the spirit, ether mixes readily with water. it is excellent in indigestion with flatulence; it checks gastric fermentation, expels the gas and overcomes irregular and violent gastro-intestinal movements; hence, is also very good in spasmodic colic. in spasmodic colic, best to combine with cannabis indica or belladonna. when used as a vermifuge it should be followed by a purge. used diluted one to ten to dislodge worms in the rectum. a most reliable remedy for collapse. ether and alcohol are indicated in parturient paresis, ether with aqua ammonia may be used intravenously when the cow is unable to swallow. sulphuric ether and alcohol or whisky are also good in parturient eclampsia of bitches, though aromatic spirit of ammonia is better; for chills, spirit of nitrous ether; also useful in convalescence from debilitating disease. ether is a very good remedy in thumps. ether may be used for local anesthesia, applied as a spray, from an atomizer, about one ounce, usually being enough for the painless opening of abscesses or fistulae, but cocaine is better in our patients. as an anesthetic it should be used in preference to chloroform, for the smaller and young animals, especially dogs, which are easily killed by chloroform. ether is less prompt in action but much safer than chloroform, as it never paralyzes a healthy heart; it should be inhaled in as concentrated a form as possible, very little air being allowed, so it will exert its effects quickly, in the dog; a light or fire of any kind should not be allowed near, as ether is very inflammable and its vapor explosive. always have a bottle of aqua ammonia fort. at hand as a restorer.
-alcohol is derived directly from fruit sugar, and indirectly from starch. the grains, as wheat, rye, corn; and potatoes, supply starch most economically. the starch in these substances is converted into glucose by heating with very dilute sulphuric acid, or by fermentation with malt. glucose is further acted upon by yeast containing the torula cerevisiae, which converts 15 per cent of glucose into alcohol and carbonic dioxide. the weak alcohol resulting is subjected to repeated distillation until sufficiently pure and concentrated. in the natural fermentation of fruit sugar in grape juice, during the formation of wine, the amount of alcohol is self-limited to 15, rarely 20 per cent, since the ferment is killed by a larger amount of alcohol than this.
-derivation.--the official alcohol is derived from rectified spirits, by maceration, first with anhydrous potassium carbonate, then freshly fused calcium chloride, and finally by distillation.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 1 to 3 oz.; sheep and pigs, 2 to 4 dr.; dogs, 1 to 2 dr. diluted four to six times its bulk of water.
-alcohol absolutum--absolute alcohol
-ethyl alcohol, containing not more than one per cent, by weight, of water.
-derivation.--percolation of the purest alcohol through quicklime, out of contact with the air, and redistillation in vacuo.
-properties.--transparent, colorless, mobile and volatile liquid, of a characteristic rather agreeable odor and a burning taste. very hydroscopic. specific gravity not higher than 0.797 at 15.6° c. (60° f.).
-derivation.--an alcoholic liquid obtained by the distillation of the mash of fermented grain (usually of mixtures of corn, wheat and rye) and at least four years old.
-properties.--an amber-colored liquid having a distinctive odor and taste, and a slightly acid reaction. its specific gravity should not be more than 0.945, nor less than 0.924, corresponding, approximately, to an alcoholic strength of 37 to 47.5 per cent, by weight, or 44 to 55 per cent, by volume. contains no more than traces of fusel oil. the alcoholic liquors owe their flavor to bouquet to ethers which are only developed in course of time. the amylic alcohol, or fusel oil, in whisky is therefore converted into ethers, which give the characteristic flavor to whisky.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 2 to 4 oz.; sheep and swine, 1 to 2 oz.; dogs, 1 to 4 dr., diluted three to four times its bulk in water.
-spirits vini gallici--brandy
-derivation.--an alcoholic liquid obtained by the distillation of the fermented unmodified juice of fresh grapes, and at least four years old.
-properties.--a pale amber-colored liquid, having a distinctive odor and taste and a slightly acid reaction. its specific gravity should not be more than 0.941, nor less than 0.925 at 15.6° c. (60° f.), corresponding, approximately, to an alcoholic strength of 39 to 47 per cent, by weight, or 46 to 55 per cent, by volume, of absolute alcohol.
-dose.--same as that for whisky.
-spiritus juniperi compositus--compound spirit of juniper
-derivation.--oil of juniper, 8; oil of caraway, 1; oil of fennel, 1; alcohol, 1,400; water to make 2,000.
-compound spirit of juniper is similar to gin in its therapeutic action. contains about 15 per cent more alcohol. gin is made by distillation of fermented malt and juniper berries. gin differs from the other alcoholic preparations therapeutically in being more diuretic.
-dose.--same as that for whisky.
-rum (not official)
-rum is made from a fermented solution of molasses by distillation. it contains, by weight, from 40 to 50 per cent of absolute alcohol. rum does not differ physiologically from alcohol. there is no authoritative latin name for rum.
-dose.--same as that for whisky.
-vinum album--white wine
-derivation.--an alcoholic liquid made by fermenting the juice of fresh grapes, the fruit of vitis vinifera, free from seeds, stems and skins.
-properties.--a pale amber or straw-colored liquid, having a pleasant odor, free from yeastiness and a fruity, agreeable, slightly spirituous taste, without excessive sweetness or acidity. the pharmacopoeia (1890) directs that the wine should contain from 7 to 12 per cent, by weight, of absolute alcohol. california hock and reisling, ohio catawba, sherry, muscatel, madeira or the stronger wines of the rhine, mediterranean and hungary come within the pharmacopoeial limits. wines containing more than 14 per cent of alcohol are usually fortified, i. e., have alcohol or brandy added to them, and much imported sherry and madeira contain 15 to 20 per cent, by weight, of absolute alcohol.
-dose.--same as that for whisky.
-vinum rubrum--red wine
-derivation.--an alcoholic liquid made by fermenting the juice of fresh colored grapes, the fruit of vitis vinifera, in presence of their skins.
-properties.--a deep red liquid, having a pleasant odor, free from yeastiness, and a fruity moderately astringent, pleasant and slightly acidulous taste, without excessive sweetness or acidity. should contain not less than 7 nor more than 12 per cent, by weight, of alcohol. native claret, burgundy, bordeaux and hungarian wines may be included within the pharmacopoeial limits of vinum rubrum. port (vinum portense) is fortified with brandy during fermentation, and contains 15 to 25 per cent, by weight, of absolute alcohol. port is astringent from tannic acid in the grapes, skin and stalks, or the astringency may be due to logwood. red wines are said to be rough, contain tannic acid and therefore are astringents. dry wines are those which contain little sugar. the wines develop ethers with age and these improve their flavor and action.
-champagne contains about 10 per cent of absolute alcohol and carbonic acid gas, which acts as a local sedative upon the stomach. ale, stout and beers contain from 4 to 8 per cent of alcohol, together with bitters and malt extracts.
-alcohol is the solvent most commonly employed in pharmacy, dissolving alkaloids, resins, volatile oils, balsams, oleo-resins, tannin, sugar, some fats and fixed oils.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 3 to 6 oz.; sheep and pigs, 1 to 3 oz.; dogs, 2 dr. to 1 oz.
-actions.--alcohol is a cerebral excitant and finally becomes a depressant and a narcotic poison.
-it is anesthetic, antiseptic, antiparasitic, rubefacient (if confined), mild astringent, coagulate albumen; a local refrigerant by virtue of its rapid evaporation, unless confined by bandage, oiled silk, etc., when it is absorbed by the tissues and causes a sensation of warmth.
-in medical doses it is a powerful general stimulant; it is very diffusible, and is partly oxidized by the organism, and partly excreted; thus alcohol acts as a food.
-small doses relax the blood vessels, stimulate the gastric glands, promote appetite and digestion; lessen the elimination of waste products, by preventing rapid tissue waste; causes a feeling of warmth, and temporarily, though slightly, raises the body temperature. it stimulates the heart and increases the functional activity of all organs, especially the kidneys and skin.
-large or too long continued doses derange the appetite and digestion, congest or inflame the stomach and liver. eight ounces of alcohol killed a horse. alcohol is poisonous and should be used with caution.
-uses.--are numerous, used principally as a stimulant, either in one large dose, 2 to 3 ounces of alcohol, or better, in small repeated doses, 1 ounce every 1, 2 or 3 hours, can be conjoined with other stimulants such as sulphuric ether, aromatic spirits of ammonia, digitalis, etc.
-it is used in anesthetic mixtures, such as alcohol, ether and chloroform, combined in different proportions; in snake bites it is administered in very large doses.
-in blood poisoning alcohol is a most potent drug, sustaining the heart, lowering the temperature and acting as a germicide. alcohol makes an excellent dressing for wounds; applied locally to threatened bed-sores, frequently prevents their formation. it is useful in colds at their outset, or in a chill to restore the balance of the circulation and prevent or overcome internal congestion by relaxing the blood vessels of the periphery.
-all alcoholic liquors are useful in debilitating diseases, such as influenza, in two or three ounce doses repeated every three or four hours. one-half to one drachm of quinine to one ounce of alcohol, for influenza or febrile diseases in general, excepting brain and spinal disease; useful in convalescence. in colic alcohol can be used with a great degree of success; it will act as a carminative antispasmodic and stimulant, used in collapse and weak heart; in septicaemia and pyaemia it has notable antiseptic and antipyretic effects. useful in carbolic acid poisoning, alcohol, or alcoholic liquors, act as a chemical antidote besides overcoming the shock produced by the acid. it may also be used locally for carbolic acid burns.
-the effects of alcohol are noticed in ten or fifteen minutes after administration and will be shown by a better condition of the pulse, the weak pulse becoming stronger and firmer; the quick pulse slower, the breathing becomes more natural, eyes brighten up and in fact a general improvement is shown.
-externally alcohol is used alone as a strengthening application to weak tendons and muscles; or after a race, is used to rub on the legs, combined with other drugs as a liniment, as alcohol, soap-liniment and witch hazel; can be used in surgery as an antiseptic.
-to toughen the skin of tender or thin skinned horses who gall or chafe easily under the collar and saddle, alcohol will be found a most satisfactory application.
-aloe barbadensis--barbadoes aloes
-the thickened juice of the leaves of aloe vera, linn., aloe chinensis, bak., and probably other species, evaporated to dryness.
-habitat.--the barbadoes island.
-properties.--in hard masses, orange, brown, opaque, translucent on the edges; fracture waxy or resinous; odor saffron-like; taste strongly bitter. almost entirely soluble in alcohol; most used in veterinary medicine.
-constituent.--aloin; a resin; volatile oil; gallic acid.
-dose.--horses, ¹⁄₂ to 1 oz.; cattle, 1 to 2 oz.; sheep, ¹⁄₂ to 1 oz.; pigs, 2 to 4 dr.; 20 gr. to 1 dr.
-aloe socotrina--socotrine aloes
-the juice that flows from the transversely cut leaves of aloe perryi, baker, evaporated to dryness.
-properties.--in hard masses, occasionally soft in the interior; opaque, yellowish-brown, orange-brown or dark ruby-red, fracture resinous. when moistened it emits a fragrant saffron-like odor; taste peculiar, strongly bitter. almost entirely soluble in alcohol and four parts of boiling water. the powdered socotrine aloes is brighter and redder, and the odor less disagreeable than that of barbadoes aloes.
-constituents.--about the same as barbadoes aloes.
-dose.--same as barbadoes aloes.
-a neutral principle obtained from several varieties of aloes, chiefly from barbadoes and socotrine aloes.
-derivation.--obtained by pulverizing and macerating aloes in cold water, and evaporating the resulting solution in vacuo. aloin crystallizes out and is dried between folds of bibulous paper. it is purified by repeated solution in hot water, filtration, recrystallization, and finally by solution in hot alcohol and crystallization.
-properties.--a micro-crystalline powder or minute acicular crystals, lemon yellow or dark yellow in color, possessing a slight odor of aloes and intensely bitter taste. soluble in water and alcohol.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 2 to 3 dr.; sheep, 20 to 60 gr.; pigs, 10 to 40 gr.; dogs, 11 to 20 gr.; combined with other purgatives.
-tinctura aloes et myrrhae--tincture of aloes and myrrh
-made by maceration and percolation of purified aloes, 100 parts; myrrh, 100 parts, and liquorice root, with alcohol and water to make 1000.
-dose.--dogs, ¹⁄₂ to 1 dr.
-action.--aloes is a purgative, acting chiefly on the large intestines; small doses are bitter tonics; it stimulates both peristalsis and secretion, increases secretion of bile; is also diuretic; applied externally it is stimulant and desiccant; the barbadoes is the most active and uniform in its effects.
-aloes should be kept in lumps in tin cans or other good containers, only powdered for immediate use; in melting aloes don’t let the temperature rise above 120 degrees as it impairs the activity by converting the active aloin into inert resin. aloes operate in from 12 to 24 hours after administration; don’t repeat an aloetic purge until 24 hours have elapsed. it also does not cause catharsis. in about 15 hours, the patient should be exercised, but returned to the stall as soon as the desired effect is evident. if it fails to act in 24 hours, linseed oil may be given. aloin appears to contain the active principles of aloes, and is usually as operative, but some manufactures are ineffective.
-uses internal.--in dyspepsia with capricious appetite, irregularity of the bowels, hide-bound horses, worms; is used in colic, both spasmodic and flatulent, for overloaded condition of the bowels; to promote excretion of waste products from the bowels and the blood, and consequently relieve febrile symptoms; rheumatic attacks, skin irritation, swollen limbs and inflamed joints; in lymphangitis to prevent and aid in curing. by attracting the blood to the bowels, it is useful in congestion or inflammation of the brain and spinal cord, full doses being necessary; in paralysis, paraplegia or hemiplegia or reflexed paralysis due to indigestion, give full doses. aloes should not be used in irritation or inflammation of the alimentary canal or piles. it is not advisable to give an aloetic purge when the temperature is above 102° f. nor in hemorrhage from the rectum; in high fevers it is apt to cause superpurgation, also should not be used where there is great debility or weakness. in influenza the bowels are apt to be irritable and oil is preferable to aloes. don’t use during pregnancy; may cause abortion. for young foals or other animals, the gentler purgative, such as linseed or castor oil should be used. the medical value of aloes being large, it is impossible to enumerate all the diseases in which it is useful. externally the tincture of aloes and myrrh is sometimes applied as a stimulant to wounds, and powdered aloes is mixed with plaster of paris in making splints for dogs to prevent these animals from biting and tearing them off. internally aloes should be combined with ginger, nux vomica and given in capsule or bolus.
-derivation.--from alum slate, shale, schist, a native mixture of aluminum silicate and iron sulphide. this is roasted and exposed to the air, when the sulphur is oxidized into sulphuric acid and combined in part with aluminum and iron to form sulphates. the mass is lixiviated with water, and aluminum and iron sulphates together with sulphuric acid are recovered in solution. the solution is concentrated and to it is added potassium chloride. the double sulphate of potassium and aluminum (alum) is formed, which crystallizes out on cooling, while potassium sulphate and ferric chloride remain as by-products. alum is purified by recrystallization.
-properties.--large, colorless, octahedral crystals, sometimes modified by cubes or crystalline fragments; without odor, but having a sweetish and strongly astringent taste. on exposure to the air the crystals are liable to absorb ammonia and acquire a whitish coating. soluble in nine parts of water, insoluble in alcohol.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 2 to 4 dr.; sheep and pigs, 20 gr. to 1 dr.; emetic for dogs, ¹⁄₂ to 1 dr.
-alumen exsiccatum--dried alum
-commonly termed burnt alum, is alum deprived of its water of crystallization by heat.
-properties.--a white granular powder, odorless, having a sweetish astringent taste, soluble in twenty parts of water at 60° f. is a powerful astringent and escharotic.
-alumini hydroxidum--aluminum hydroxide
-derivation.--made from alum, 100 parts; monohydrate sodium carbonate, 43 parts; water, a sufficient quantity. mix hot, boiling solutions of alum and sodium carbonate. precipitate strained, washed and dried.
-properties.--a white, light, amorphous powder; odorless and tasteless; permanent in dry air; insoluble in water or alcohol.
-dose.--same as alum.
-alumini sulphas--aluminum sulphate
-derivation.--aluminum hydroxide is dissolved in diluted sulphuric acid, and the solution is filtered and evaporated to dryness.
-properties.--a white, crystalline powder, without odor, having a sweetish and afterwards astringent taste; permanent in the air; soluble in one part of water; insoluble in alcohol.
-dose.--same as alum.
-actions.--astringent, at first excites flow of saliva, then markedly decreases it; coagulates pepsin, thus it would derange or entirely arrest digestion; it also stops peristalsis and produces constipation, though sometimes it induces diarrhoea by irritation. it arrests secretions in general and in the circulation contracts the capillaries; it is in this way it arrests secretions, especially those of mucous surfaces, and stops capillary hemorrhage. the sulphate of aluminum is mildly caustic, astringent and antiseptic. dried alum is caustic and astringent.
-externally.--dried alum is a caustic, in contact with raw sores, on account of its affinity for water. alum has no action on unbroken skin, but applied to mucous membranes or denuded parts it is antiseptic and astringent; coagulates albumin of discharges; precipitates or coagulates albumin of the tissues; squeeze blood out of the vessels; reduces inflammation and makes the part whiter, brings together and denser. alum is a hemostatic, stopping bleeding by compression of the structures surrounding the vessels and by causing blood to clot.
-uses.--in diarrhoea and dysentery, but other astringents are safer and better, as it may lock the bowels too tight, may be used in weeping sores or weeping skin diseases; in long standing nail wounds by putting one-half to one pound into the soaking tub, also in same way for injured coronets, with raw bulging surfaces that bleed easily, also for sore mouth, sometimes mix a little boric acid; useful in bleeding piles, and in mild solution alum one ounce to water one pint for sore throat; also used internally for bloody urine (haematuria) and for open joints apply the powdered alum to arrest the flow of joint oil (synovia). for catarrhal ophthalmia, after the acute stage, an alum lotion five grains to one ounce of water is very serviceable; for granular lids rub with a crystal of alum. alum should never be used too strong over the eye as it seems to have the power of dissolving the cornea; a solution containing ten grains of alum to the ounce of water may be used in canker of the ear of dogs; also for leucorrhoea and prolapsus of the rectum; dried alum may be used as a caustic whenever a caustic is indicated, but is not recommended for this purpose. for a powerful drying powder, especially useful when excessive granulation exists. it causes sloughing of the dead tissues and is indicated when the use of the knife is inadmissible.
-amylis nitris--amyl nitrite
-a liquid containing about 80 per cent of amyl nitrite, together with variable quantities of undetermined compounds.
-derivation.--obtained through distillation of nitric and amylic alcohol. distillate purified by sodium carbonate.
-properties.--a clear, yellow or pale yellow liquid, oily, very volatile, peculiar and very diffusive ethereal odor and a pungent aromatic taste. insoluble in water, but soluble in all proportions in alcohol, ether and chloroform.
-dose.--horses and cattle, ¹⁄₂ to 1 dr.; sheep and pigs, 5 to 15 ms.; dogs, 2 to 5 ms.; amyl nitrite is very seldom given internally; hypodermically, one-half this dose. by inhalation, same as given internally. it should be fresh as it rapidly deteriorates.
-actions.--it stimulates the heart’s action, greatly dilates the arterioles by paralyzing their muscular coats; causes a sense of fullness in the brain with vertigo, fall of blood pressure due to dilation of the arterioles, lowering of temperature; when the vapor is applied direct to muscular or nerve tissues it suspends or completely arrests its functional activity; it depresses the nervous system and unstriped muscular fiber. overdoses cause death by respiratory failure.
-uses.--epileptic attacks may be warded off by its being inhaled; spasmodic asthma, used either internally, hypodermically or best by inhalation; in strychnine poisoning, angina pectoris in tetanus, and as a heart stimulant. it is useful as an inhalation in bringing about recovery from deep chloroform and anesthesia.
-origin.--the anise plant is a native of egypt and the levant, but has been introduced in various parts of that continent. it is also cultivated occasionally in the gardens of this country. the fruit is abundantly produced in malta and spain; in romagna, in italy, whence it is largely exported through leghorn, and in central and southern russia.
-description.--ovoid, laterally compressed, 4 to 5 m. m. long; carpels usually cohering and attached to a slender pedicel; grayish or greenish-gray to grayish brown; each with a flat face and five light brown filiform ridges and about 16 oil-tubes; odor and taste agreeable and aromatic. the anise berries are dried and ground, this being the form in which it is usually used.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 1 to 2 oz.; sheep and pigs, 2 to 3 dr.; dogs, 10 to 30 gr.
-oleum anisi--oil of anise
-a volatile oil distilled from the fruit of star anise.
-properties.--a colorless or pale yellow, thin and strongly refractive liquid, having the characteristic odor of anise, and a sweetish, mildly aromatic taste. specific gravity about 0.975 to 0.985. soluble in an equal volume of alcohol.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 20 to 30 m.; sheep and pigs, 5 to 10 m.; dogs and cats, 1 to 5 m.
-actions.--anise is an aromatic stimulant, stomachic and carminative. it is used to relieve indigestion and flatulence, to communicate an agreeable flavor to many medicines, and to diminish the griping of purgatives. oil of anise resembles in action other volatile oils.
-uses.--the oil of anise is employed with olive oil or alcohol to kill fleas or lice on dogs, rubbed over the skin; and one drop of the pure oil may be placed on the feathers of fowl to cause destruction of lice. the oil of anise is sometimes prescribed to disguise the odor of drugs, and is ordered in cough mixtures for its expectorant properties.
-the fruit is given all animals (generally powdered) on their food--frequently with sodium bicarbonate and ginger--to relieve mild forms of indigestion and flatulence through its stomachic and carminative effects.
-antimonii et potassii tartars--antimony and potassium tartrate--tartar emetic
-derivation.--make a white paste with cream of tartar, antimony trioxide and water. set aside 24 hours, boil in water 15 minutes and crystallize.
-properties.--colorless, transparent crystals of the rhombic system, becoming opaque and white on exposure to the air, or a white granular powder without odor and having a sweet, afterwards disagreeable, metallic taste. soluble in water, insoluble in alcohol.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 2 to 4 dr.; sheep, 2 to 5 gr.; pigs, ¹⁄₂ to 1 gr.; dogs, ¹⁄₁₀ to ¹⁄₂ gr. as an emetic for pigs, 4 to 10 gr.; dogs, 1 to 2 gr.
-actions.--tartar emetic is a systemic and local emetic, a diaphoretic, cardiac and arterial sedative and a gastro-intestinal irritant. it is a powerful waste producer and stimulates the secretions of the stomach, intestines, salivary glands, liver and pancreas. large doses cause nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea, while toxic doses are followed by vomiting (in animals that can vomit), serious blood purging, great depression of the circulation and respiration weakness, collapse and death. tartar emetic is also a vermifuge.
-uses.--tartar emetic is too mild as an emetic in poison cases. in asthma of dogs it may be used in from ¹⁄₁₀ to ¹⁄₂ grain doses to relax spasm and promote secretion. for horses its most valuable use is to expel the common round worms from the intestines, for which it is very efficacious; given in two drachm doses once or twice daily in the feed for four to six days, or one-half ounce dissolved in water is given on an empty stomach followed by a full dose of linseed oil.
-phenyl-hydrazine is acted upon by aceto-acetic ether, when phenyl-monomethyl-pyrazolon, ethyl alcohol and water results.
-properties.--colorless, odorless, scaly crystals, of a bitterish taste. soluble in water, ether and chloroform.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 3 to 4 drs.; sheep and pigs, ¹⁄₂ to 1 dr.; dogs, 5 to 20 grs.
-actions.--powerful antipyretic, anodyne and local anesthetic, antiseptic, cardiac depressant; it reduces temperature very quickly, usually within half an hour and the effects continue two or more hours. it can be administered by the mouth, hypodermically or intertracheally; as an antiseptic it diminishes oxidation, and promotes heat loss by dilating the cutaneous vessels, but more probably by depressing the activity of the calorifacient centers.
-uses.--used in high fever where the temperature must be reduced quickly, as in sun-stroke, acute rheumatism; in man a solution of antipyrine from four to ten per cent strength up, is sprayed into the nostrils for hay-fever. acetanilide is a better and safer and much cheaper drug for febrile diseases.
-aqua ammoniae fortior--stronger ammonia water
-an aqueous solution of ammonia containing twenty-eight per cent, by weight of the gas.
-derivation.--evolve ammonia gas by heating ammonium chloride with calcium hydrate and pass it into water.
-properties.--a colorless, transparent liquid, having an excessively pungent odor and a caustic alkaline taste.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 2 to 4 drs.; sheep and pigs, ¹⁄₂ to 1 dr.; dogs, 5 to 10 m. should be diluted one drachm to one pint of water.
-aqua ammoniae--ammonia water
-an aqueous solution containing ten per cent by weight of ammonia gas.
-derivation.--same as strong ammonia water.
-properties.--the taste is not so caustic and the odor is less pungent then the stronger water of ammonia.
-dose.--horses and cattle, ¹⁄₂ to 1 oz.; sheep and pigs, 1 to 2 drs.; dogs, 10 to 20 m. should be diluted one drachm to half pint of water.
-spiritus ammoniae--spirit of ammonia
-an alcoholic solution containing ten per cent., by weight of the ammonia gas.
-derivation.--a solution of caustic ammonia in alcohol.
-properties.--a colorless liquid, having a strong odor of ammonia. this preparation of ammonia possesses properties of ammonia and alcohol.
-dose.--horses and cattle, ¹⁄₂ to 1 oz.; sheep and pigs, 1 to 2 drs.; dogs, 10 to 20 m. should be diluted in water.
-spiritus ammoniae aromaticus--aromatic spirit of ammonia
-derivation.--ammonium carbonate 3.4%, aqua ammonia 9%, oil of lemon 1%, oil of lavender flowers 0.1%, oil of nutmeg 0.1%, alcohol 70%, and distilled water to make 100 parts. diluted in water.
-properties.--a nearly colorless liquid when first prepared, but gradually acquires an amber color. it has a pungent ammoniacal odor and taste.
-actions.--these four proportions of ammonia are gastric and general stimulants. they stimulate the cardiac respiratory and spinal systems. they irritate the nose when inhaled, but reflexly they stimulate the circulation and respiration, they are good stimulants as they do not affect the brain. the aromatic spirits of ammonia is also a carminative. externally they are rubefacients, and when confined are vesicants.
-linimentum ammoniae--ammonia liniment
-liquor ammonii acetatis--solution of ammonium acetate
-an aqueous solution of ammonium acetate containing about seven per cent of the salt, together with small amounts of acetic acid and carbon dioxide.
-derivation.--ammonium carbonate is gradually added to cold, dilute acetic acid until the latter is materialized.
-properties.--a clear, colorless liquid, mildly saline and acidulous taste, and an acid reaction.
-incompatible with acids and alkalies.
-dose.--horses and cattle, 2 to 4 oz.; sheep and pigs, ¹⁄₂ to 1 oz.; dogs, 2 to 6 drs.
-actions.--diaphoretic, antipyretic, mild stimulant, mild diuretic, mild expectorant and stomachic.
-uses.--its uses are recommended in febrile and inflammatory attacks, especially in influenza, distemper, etc., combined with other medicines, improves the appetite; can be used externally as a refrigerant over swollen and inflamed tendons.
-ammonii carbonas--ammonium carbonate
-of a dandy, was used to adorn his person. sulzer was made up--it is fair to use this theatrical expression because sulzer was evidently seeking a theatrical effect--made up to portray the part of “a statesman of the people.” his coat was of one pattern, and his vest of another. his baggy trousers were of a third. the gray sombrero which he always affected was rather dingy; his linen just a trifle soiled. familiar as i was with sulzer’s political poses, through our acquaintance, i mentally noted the skill of the morning’s costume in dressing the part of “a friend of the people.”
-sulzer’s career had been of a sort possible only in america. a native of new jersey, the son of a presbyterian minister, a graduate of columbia university, a man of good family, good mind, and good education, he had taken up his residence on the lower east side of new york city, had joined the tammany organization, and had struck out boldly for a great political career in those untoward surroundings. despite his religious heritage, he had been greatly impressed, as a young man, with the prophecy of a clairvoyant who had told him he should be speaker of the new york state assembly, governor of new york, and president of the united states.
-sulzer had, indeed, made considerable progress on this path of political advancement. elected to the state assembly as a young man in his early twenties, he quickly rose to prominence, and at thirty he was chosen speaker--the youngest man, i believe, ever to hold that office. from the state assembly he was sent by tammany to congress, and now, in 1912, had represented his district in washington for seventeen years. he constantly “played up” to the jewish element. the ingratiating manner which he carefully cultivated appealed to a people, proud, sensitive, and accustomed to a lack of consideration from officers of government. in congress he was indefatigable in the interest of his constituents; and, on the whole, his attitude on public questions was satisfactory. from the public viewpoint sulzer was one of the most respectable of the tammany adherents. from the tammany viewpoint he was “safe.”
-the nomination of governor wilson and the assurances of democratic party success in the national campaign gave sulzer his great opportunity. from the tammany leaders came covert intimations to us members of the democratic national committee, that we would be permitted to suggest the democratic candidate for governor of new york. fortunately we realized the implications of this offer and declined it. it meant, in substance, that tammany, by permitting us to name the candidate for governor, thereby became fully affiliated with the national campaign and would be in a position to demand, after election, special consideration in the distribution of federal patronage. we made a reply which did not offend tammany but which, on the other hand, left us entirely free of the tammany entanglement. we said that we were not interested in taking a hand in the state situation; that we endorsed the then widespread public demand for an “open convention” to nominate the governor. we suggested that tammany refrain from dictating the nomination, so that the independents of new york would support the national as well as the state democratic ticket.
-the tammany leaders professed to accept this decision. the state convention, when held, had the air of an open convention. they cast about for a candidate, and settled on sulzer. without inconveniencing tammany, he had been able to make something of a reputation as a political progressive. he had professed a great attachment for social reforms, the kind which roosevelt in washington and wilson in new jersey had made popular. he had built up a reputation as a friend of the common man, and in new york he was still “strong with the east side.” tammany manipulated the “open convention” at syracuse, and sulzer was nominated for governor.
-i had followed sulzer’s career with a good deal of interest. though i did not approve of his capitalizing politically his friendship for a racial element, i felt, nevertheless, that he had been a useful public servant; and he had been successful with me, as he had been with many other political independents, in making me believe that he was sincerely interested in the cause of civic reform. consequently, i greeted him cordially.
-sulzer began the conversation by thanking me for “what i had done in helping him and bringing about his nomination.” this was a polite generality as, of course, i had had no hand in that enterprise, except that i had been a party to the “hands-off” policy of the national committee, and also, that i had shared in the request of the committee to mcadoo not to accept this nomination which some of his friends were trying, with some hope of success, to secure for him. we had felt that it was his duty to stay in the national campaign, as mccombs was still incapacitated by illness.
-sulzer then went on to express the wish that i would be of use to him after he was elected. he spoke in glowing terms of the reputation governor wilson had made by his reforms in new jersey, and expressed an ambition to make a similar record as governor of new york. he confided to me the clairvoyant’s prophecy of his future and declared that he believed that the path to the presidency lay in championing “the cause of the people.”
-he wanted my coöperation, after he should be elected governor, in formulating plans to make his administration a success. as everyone knows who is experienced either in business or politics, there are “subtleties of approach” that suggest a man’s real meaning without his even remotely mentioning the true subject in conversation. sulzer’s remarks were of this nature. i saw plainly that he was directing my thoughts to a point where it would be possible for him without embarrassment to solicit a subscription to his campaign fund. i wanted to save the future governor of new york from soliciting a subscription, and consequently, i forestalled his intention by voluntarily handing him my check for $1,000. his response to this action was in keeping with the amenities of the situation. he said: “i did not expect that from you. i don’t want it, because you are doing so much for the national committee.” but the check disappeared into a pocket of his dingy coat.
-in the meantime, the march of political events led us on to election day and victory. woodrow wilson was triumphantly elected president, with a democratic congress behind him. the political ambitions of some of his managers were gratified. mcadoo became secretary of the treasury; daniels, secretary of the navy; redfield, secretary of commerce; and burleson, postmaster-general. what my friends a few months earlier had called a hopeless cause was now a dazzling success.
-in april, 1913, senator o’gorman telephoned me from washington that he had been requested by the president to offer me the ambassadorship to turkey. i apparently astonished him when i told him please to thank the president for me, but that i would not accept. o’gorman, whom i had known for many years, urged me to come to washington to discuss the matter with him. he said that i had no right to refuse such a tender over the telephone. i complied with his request, and we discussed the matter one evening until well past midnight. o’gorman used all his persuasive powers, and told me that it seemed strange that i, an entire newcomer in politics, without ever having rendered any other political service, should have the temerity to decline to be one of the president’s ten personal representatives, in the capacity of ambassador at one of the important courts of europe. he told me that the president was very much disappointed at my decision; and urged me to see him personally, and explain to him my reasons for declining. he said he knew the president was very anxious to avail himself of my services, and thought it ill advised for me to refuse to obey what amounted to a command from the head of the government. i called on the president, and he said:
-“i want you to take the embassy at constantinople. i am convinced that the two posts that demand the greatest intellectual equipment in our representatives are turkey and china. therefore, i am particularly concerned to have, in these two countries, men upon whom i can absolutely rely for sound judgment and knowledge of human nature. this is the reason i am asking you to take the post at constantinople.”
-mr. wilson’s reply was aggressive in manner and almost angry in tone.
-“i should have hoped,” he said, “that you had a higher opinion of my open-mindedness and freedom from prejudice than this. i certainly draw no such distinctions, and i am sorry that you should have thought so. i think you will agree with me when i give you my further reasons for this choice. in the first place, constantinople is the point at which the interest of the american jews in the welfare of the jews of palestine is focussed, and it is almost indispensable that i have a jew at that post. on the other hand, our interests in china are expressed largely in the form of missionary activities, and it seems quite necessary that our minister there should be a christian, and preferably a man of the evangelical type; and i am sincerely anxious to have you accept turkey.”
-nevertheless, i remained firm in my refusal to accept the offer, and told the president i would have to find some non-political path in which to serve the people.
-as i left the president, he gave me a look which is hardly describable. he was sadly disappointed that he had not been able to dominate my decision. he showed a deep affection for me, and it was evident how much he regretted that his arguments had failed to persuade me. on the other hand, i felt sorry, and probably showed it in my face, that i appeared so ungrateful at not promptly complying with his request, and abiding by his judgment that turkey was the best place in which i could serve the country.
-shortly thereafter, my wife, my daughter ruth, and i embarked for europe, where we intended to spend the summer. while at aix-les-bains, i met ambassador myron t. herrick, and i mentioned to him that i had refused the ambassadorship to turkey. he told me that i had made a grievous mistake, and probably from ignorance; that i did not comprehend what a splendid position that of ambassador was; that not only i, but my children and my children’s children, would be benefited by my having held such a position. he ended by urging me that if i still could obtain the post, i should take steps to secure it.
-my friend, dr. stephen s. wise (of the free synagogue of new york, of which i was president), was then in paris. i wrote him about the matter, and asked whether he could come to aix-les-bains for a consultation. he replied that he had but three days left in europe, but that if i would start to dijon the following morning he would also start from paris, and we should both reach dijon at noon. he would meet me at the station, and we could have four hours together to discuss the matter before our return to our respective bases.
-we met at dijon as arranged, and to my astonishment i found wise tremendously anxious to have me accept the position. he told me that he had just visited palestine, and that amongst the other services that i could render in turkey, would be a great service to the jews in palestine. he reminded me of the happy experience, in the same office, of solomon hirsch, of portland, ore., who had been president of his congregation in that city. i knew the facts of that experience as mr. hirsch was the uncle of judge samson lachman, who had been my partner in the practise of the law for twenty years. dr. wise urged me with all the force of his eloquence to rescind my declination.
-i told dr. wise that i would be back in america in september, and if the position had not yet been filled at that time, i would reconsider it. on the strength of this statement, dr. wise telegraphed the president that i would accept. within three days i received a cable from the president, again tendering me the position, and i accepted it.
-meanwhile, on january 1, 1913, sulzer had been inaugurated as governor of new york. a few weeks before this event, some of the leading social workers of new york city came to me and asked me to secure them an opportunity to have a conference with the president-elect. they wished to put before him the kind of legislation that would be required to carry out the social programme which they had been largely responsible for having embodied in the democratic and progressive platforms. i told them i did not see how the president could do much in this direction. most of their plans called for state legislation, and i pointed out that it would be better and more effective for them to meet governor sulzer. i offered to give a dinner at my house in new york, at which governor sulzer would be the guest of honour, and i told them they might give me a list of the people whom they wished to have meet him. the list they gave me included the best-known social workers, such people as homer folks, owen r. lovejoy, mary e. dreier, lillian d. wald, john a. kingsbury, and edward t. devine.
-sulzer accepted my invitation readily enough. one reason for his acceptance became apparent when i heard that the state printer at the moment was pressing him for the manuscript of his inaugural address, which he had not yet written, though it was already late in december. when the address was delivered some days later it embodied in his own language many of the thoughts and proposals that were put forward that evening by the social workers.
-after the dinner the party adjourned to the library, and there i seated sulzer in a big carved oak chair, facing the others, who sat in a semicircle before him. each of the guests in turn made a presentation to the governor of the situation and needs in the field of social reform in which he or she was an expert. these were really splendid expositions of the improvements required in the health, child-labour, tenement-house, and other laws. when sulzer made his reply to their addresses, i was astonished at the grasp he displayed of the principles involved in these reforms, and at the eagerness with which he embraced their advocacy. it really seemed as if he were going to go heart and soul into making a record of progressive legislation for his administration.
-sulzer’s administration thus started auspiciously. he saw, what every other shrewd observer also saw: the dazzling opportunity which lay before any politician who stood out boldly for the people as against the bosses, and who could embody this independent position in practical measures of reform. the lesson of roosevelt’s career had just been confirmed by wilson’s. but the experiences i am now narrating ultimately convinced me that sulzer did not have the courage which had carried these two men of eminence. he “played politics,” and got no further than an unconvincing imitation of their methods. he continued to assure us independents, on the one hand, that he was whole-heartedly converted, and that he had broken entirely with his past. but later we found out that he was at the same time assuring his friends in tammany that “i am the same old bill.” he tried to imitate roosevelt’s success in another direction, in building up a personal “machine” in new york state by coquetting with the up-state independent democrats, to whom he allotted a share of the patronage which he controlled.
-ultimately, of course, both sides found him out for what he was. when they did, the independents simply dropped him. tammany, however, exacted a swift and terrible vengeance. if discipline were to be maintained within the wigwam, not even the appearance of open revolt could be tolerated, and tammany proceeded to make a spectacular example of sulzer.
-sulzer’s first appearance at albany as governor was not, however, a shock to tammany alone. albany is like washington on a small scale. the governor’s mansion was, traditionally, not only the office of the chief executive of the state, it had been likewise the social centre around which revolved a sort of court of élite society. heretofore every governor of new york had been a very presentable social figure, and they had all maintained at the executive mansion an atmosphere of social distinction. sulzer rudely overturned this tradition. he wished in every possible way to dramatize his rôle of “friend of the people.” consequently, he always referred to the executive mansion as the “people’s house,” and ostentatiously invited all who would to come and call upon him in it. the staid knickerbocker society of albany was aghast at the sight of throngs of what they termed “the rabble” invading the hitherto exclusive chambers of the executive mansion. great was their anger toward governor sulzer. they, too, cherished hopes for vengeance.
-in the meantime, sulzer was having other difficulties in maintaining his rôle of independence. one day he telephoned me to come up at once to his rooms at the waldorf-astoria. he had a matter of great importance to discuss, he said, and we could talk it over at luncheon. when i arrived, i found him in great excitement.
-“the powers,” he exclaimed, meaning tammany, “are trying to force me to appoint a certain man chairman of the public service commission, and i am refusing to do it because i don’t think it a proper appointment. but they are getting very angry about it, and i don’t know what to do.”
-i told him there was only one thing he could do and that was to continue to refuse to appoint him.
-“but,” complained sulzer, “it means my political death if i don’t name him.”
-“well,” i said, “then you are going to political death anyway. because as surely as you yield to them, the public at large will become even bitterer enemies than tammany. on the other hand, if you at least prove to the public that you have the nerve to stand out against the organization, they will come to the rescue and stand firmly behind you.”
-as we talked, a tammany leader was announced. sulzer had him ushered into his bedroom while we continued our talk in the parlour. evidently the tammany leader was waiting for his final decision, for at length sulzer said:
-“very well, i will go in there.”
-he went into the bedroom and was gone for more than an hour. i had to wait so long that i grew impatient and, ringing for a waiter, ordered my luncheon. as i ate, i could hear the voices through the closed door, and though i could not distinguish the conversation, it was violent, for occasionally i could hear an explosion of vocal fireworks in the bedroom. when at length sulzer came out, his manner was one of excited bravado. throwing back the tails of his prince albert coat and assuming the henry clay pose, he exclaimed, “well, i have done it! i have actually defied them!”
-and he added:
-“i did it on your account and by your advice. and now you have got to do me a favour.”
-when i asked what this meant, he replied: “it may come to this: murphy may press me so hard to name somebody else whom i ought not to nominate that i may have to appoint you yourself as chairman of the commission. even murphy would not dare to prevent the confirmation of the appointment of the chairman of the finance committee of the democratic national committee. will you accept the position if that situation arises?”
-this was a critical test of my willingness to serve the cause of good government, as i had every reason to suspect that president wilson would soon offer me a position of a much greater distinction in the national government. but i was so wrapped up in the hope of achieving political regeneration in new york, as we had just achieved it in the nation, that i did not hesitate.
-“if i can keep you from having to obey orders from murphy in making your appointments, i will even do that,” i replied.
-sulzer thanked me warmly and then added:
-“now you must do me one other favour.”
-“what is that?” i inquired.
-“you have got to make a speech at my birthday dinner down at the café boulevard to-morrow night. i want you to show that you are back of me.”
-“governor,” i replied, “i will make that speech; but let me tell you now, bluntly, that i shall say there what i have told you to-day, that i shall continue to back you only so long as you adhere to your promises to us to be independent.”
-“i don’t care what you say,” said sulzer, “if only you will come down and prove that you are behind me.”
-this dinner was quite a dramatic occasion. the old café boulevard was the delmonico of the east side, and it had been the scene of many a tammany festivity. sulzer here was among his own people, and this gave him the feeling of confidence which came from having his friends around him. the dinner was in celebration of his fiftieth birthday. people well known in many walks of life crowded the tables. sulzer was personally still popular, and the feeling of the occasion was one of cordial good wishes. not only were his life-long friends of the east side among those present, but such other democratic friends as senator stone of missouri, frank i. cobb of the new york world, john d. crimmins, and myself; and even representative republicans, such as district attorney (later governor) whitman, judge otto rosalsky, louis marshall, and samuel s. koenig, were among the diners.
-i resolved to take no chances of spoiling my speech, which i had prepared rapidly but with great care the day before. so when i arose, i read it. this address made a local sensation at the moment. it was called by the papers “the wish-bone speech.” as it was very brief and as it had some effect on the political situation at that time, i think it worth quoting.
-“governor,” i said, “you have wished, and have been training all your life to be a leader of the people; you have wished it so long that now it has become true, and we want to see your wish-bone converted into back-bone, for you will need much of it.
-“you are now at the head of a mighty host that is marching onward in the fight for good government. picture to yourself the thousands behind you in a solid phalanx, crowding you on so that you cannot turn back. if you fail them as a leader the march will still proceed, and someone else will be chosen.
-“the combat is to be fought to a finish. the people have discovered how near they were to losing their democracy, how both great parties were in danger of falling into the control of designing self-seekers who were determined to secure control of the government for their own selfish ends. at baltimore it was determined that they could not control the national government. it was you who, as presiding officer of the convention, gave mr. bryan the opportunity to throw the victory to mr. wilson.
-“at syracuse, you were nominated in an open convention to lead the democrats of this state. we look to you to be the governor of the empire state, and not to be the agent of undisclosed principals who hide themselves from the public view. they can no longer govern this country, state or city; and no office-holder needs to be responsible to or afraid of them.
-this address, with its unexpected note of blunt warning, became the key-note of the evening. the other speakers discarded their prepared addresses and spoke in a similar vein. sulzer realized that he had to meet this challenge, and in his reply he pledged himself anew to the cause of the people.
-“long ago,” he said, “i made a vow to the people that in the performance of my duty no influence would control me but the dictates of my conscience and my determination to do the right--as i see the right--day in and day out, regardless of political future or personal consequences. have no fear--i will stick at that.”
-these were brave words. but sulzer proved unequal to their promise. all he did was to go far enough in the surface appearance of independence to rouse the tiger of tammany to a fury of vengeance.
-tammany soon found an occasion to carry out this intention, and they removed sulzer from his office. this act of private vengeance cost tammany four years of control of the city government of new york, for hennessy’s disclosures made the public eager to administer a rebuke to tammany, and this rebuke took the form of electing mitchel as mayor.
-the tiger’s opportunity to impeach sulzer came about in this way: when sulzer filed his sworn statement of campaign expenses, tammany scented some gross discrepancies and did some shrewd detective work. the result was that they discovered that he had not included in his list of contributions the $2,500 he had received from jacob h. schiff, nor the checks of several others, including my own, which amounted in all to many thousands of dollars. by careful investigation they had established the fact that he had not applied these moneys to his campaign expenses, but had deposited them to his personal account and used the money as margin with a wall street broker for stock-market speculation. thereupon, tammany leaders in the state legislature arose in the assembly chamber and impeached william sulzer of high crimes and misdemeanours. they charged him, among other things, with filing a false statement of campaign expenses, with perjury, and with the suppression of testimony; and demanded his dismissal from office. the assembly sustained a motion for his impeachment. when i returned from europe in september, 1913, i found that his trial was in progress, and i was summoned as a witness to testify before the high court of impeachment.
-it would take the pens of a macaulay and a swift to do justice to this modern burlesque of the trial of warren hastings. i use the term “burlesque” in no sense of disrespect toward the court and its setting. the dignity of the proceedings was almost awe-inspiring. but the defendant lent no such exalted interest to the event as did the romantic figure of warren hastings. the offences of hastings had, at least, the dramatic merits of their magnitude. burke’s indictment of him was a recital of crimes worthy of the treatment of a greek tragic poet. hastings’s accusers were distressed queens, pillaged treasures, and suffering peoples. burke’s plea for a verdict was an appeal to the conscience of mankind.
-by this comparison the sulzer impeachment was a travesty, the defendant a petty misdemeanant, and the purpose of the trial a spiteful vengeance on a rebellious henchman. the setting of the court, however, gave the event a fictitious dignity. the senate chamber at albany had been altered for the occasion by the state architect. a lofty seat had been provided for the presiding judge of the high court of impeachment, judge edgar m. cullen, who, as chief judge of the court of appeals, presided ex officio. below him was a long seat for the associate judges. ascending tiers of seats were provided for the forty-four members of the state senate who, with the judges of the court of appeals, constituted the high court of impeachment. behind judge cullen’s chair the entire wall of the room was hung with a dark red velvet curtain in the centre of which was emblazoned the coat of arms of new york in gold embroidery, flanked on either side by national emblems. at one side of the court room, places were provided for the “fourth estate,” the gentlemen of the press, to whom burke had made so eloquent an appeal on the greater historical occasion. the public balcony, which at the hastings trial had been crowded with the sarah siddonses and the haut ton of london, was, here at albany, crowded with the vengeful knickerbocker aristocracy, who had come to gloat in triumph over the final discomfiture of the demagogic desecrator of the executive mansion. the edmund burke of the sulzer impeachment was edgar t. brackett, late of the new york senate. alton b. parker and john b. stanchfield were the chief counsel of the managers for the assembly which had presented the indictment, but brackett was the man who made the oratorical impeachment. sulzer stood upon the prerogative of early precedents and refused to make a personal appearance before the court. in compliance with a judicial ruling he abstained from functioning as governor while the trial was in progress and, instead of facing his accusers, spent his time in a frantic but futile effort to make political combinations that would save him.
-witness after witness testified to sulzer’s solicitation of contributions for which he had made no accounting. my testimony was only confirmatory of a mass of evidence elicited from men of eminence like jacob h. schiff and many others. i appeared before the court on september 24, 1913. replying to questions from the prosecutor, i repeated the conversation i had had with sulzer when i gave him my check for $1,000, and i also testified to the fact that on the day i returned from europe, governor sulzer had telephoned me, “if you are going to testify i hope you will be easy with me”--to which i answered that i would testify to the facts.
-the verdict of the court was “guilty.” sulzer was shorn of his high office. his proud hopes, fostered by the soothsayer’s prophecy, were sadly broken. knickerbocker society had its revenge; the “people’s house” became again the executive mansion. and tammany had its vengeance; it had crushed its rebel henchman and given all other potential malcontents a spectacular object lesson.
-the social side of constantinople
-the senate confirmed my appointment as ambassador to turkey on september 4, 1913. soon afterward i went to washington to familiarize myself with the duties of my office and to receive my instructions. a new ambassador is allowed thirty days for this purpose. usually, he spends them in the state department, taking a sort of course of intensive training. i did not take the full month allowed me. the chief of the division of near eastern affairs took me in hand, and in a series of conversations outlined to me, first, the duties, prerogatives, and privileges of an ambassador; and, second, a general survey of existing relations between turkey and the united states. then several hours were occupied in studying the methods of keeping the accounts of the embassy, and of handling its funds.
-i found this period of preparation intensely interesting. it was to be crowned in october, upon a second visit to washington, by an official call on the secretary of state. i looked forward to this visit with great expectations. alas for the illusions which a day can wreck! william jennings bryan was the secretary of state. he knew no more about our relations with turkey than i did. the long-looked-for instructions were an anti-climax. they were, in full, as follows:
-“ambassador,” he said, “when i made my trip through the holy land, i had great difficulty in finding mount beatitude. i wish you would try to persuade the turkish government to grant a concession to some americans to build a macadam road up to it, so that other pilgrims may not suffer the inconvenience which i did in attempting to find it.”
-fortunately for the success of my mission, i had a most enlightening conference in new york before i left. at the suggestion of mr. alfred e. marling, who was one of the trustees of the presbyterian board of foreign missions, i had an interview at that great centre of missionary activity, 156 fifth avenue, with a large group of earnest and able men, who could speak with authority on the problems i should confront in the east. i learned that five of these men were to cross the atlantic at the same time i should be crossing. these were doctors arthur judson brown, james l. barton, charles roger watson, dr. mackaye, and bishop arthur selden lloyd. these men were the leaders of the foreign mission boards of the presbyterian, congregational, united presbyterian, methodist, and protestant episcopal churches. one of them, doctor barton, had himself been a missionary in turkey, and had also acted as president of the protestant college at harpoot. another, doctor watson, had been a missionary in the turkish protectorate of egypt, and his parents had been missionaries for half a century at cairo.
-the conversations i had with these men on shipboard were a revelation to me. i had hitherto had a hazy notion that missionaries were sort of over-zealous advance agents of sectarian religion, and that their principal activity was the proselyting of believers in other faiths. to my surprise and gratification, these men gave me a very different picture. in the first place, their cordial coöperation with one another was evidence of the disappearance of the old sectarian zeal. they were, to be sure, profoundly concerned in converting as many people as they could to what they sincerely believed to be the true faith. but i found that, along with this ambition, christian missionaries in turkey were carrying forward a magnificent work of social service, education, philanthropy, sanitation, medical healing, and moral uplift. they were, i discovered, in reality advance agents of civilization. as representatives of the denominations which supported them, they were maintaining several hundred american schools in the levant, and several full-fledged colleges, of which three, at least, deserve to rank with the best of the smaller institutions of higher learning in the united states. they maintained, also, several important hospitals. and, as a part of their purely religious function, they were bringing a higher conception of christianity to the millions of submerged christians in the turkish empire, who, but for them, would have been left to practise their religion without the inspiration of the modern thought of the west, which has so vastly widened its spiritual significance.
-as my wife and youngest daughter, ruth, could not accompany me, i took with me my daughter helen, her husband, mr. mortimer j. fox, and their two sons henry and mortimer. we visited london, paris, and vienna on our way to constantinople, and at each of these capitals i paid my respects not only to the american ambassador, but to the resident turkish plenipotentiary as well. in doing this i had in mind two things: first, to accustom myself to the looks of an embassy from within, as i had to that date never been in an embassy building in any country; and second, to secure some hints upon the character of the government to which i was accredited, in advance of my first formal contact with it. at last, on november 27, 1913, we rolled into the railroad station at constantinople.
-my first impression of the famous old capital of asia-in-europe was of a moving sea of silk hats. the station platform seemed populated entirely with frock-coated gentlemen buried under these chimney-like black headpieces. after some confusion, human personalities began to emerge from under them, and to individualize themselves as real people with proper names, and a rational relationship to myself as another human being. the first to greet me was mr. hoffman phillip, who as conseiller and first secretary of the embassy had acted as chargé d’affaires during mr. rockhill’s visit to the united states.
-he introduced me to the others, and after a somewhat bewildering round of handshakings, phillip, the foxes, and i stepped into a carriage and were driven to the pera palace hotel, where phillip gave us a thanksgiving dinner.
-the embassy at constantinople is a handsome, marble, three-story structure, set in a garden surrounded by a high wall, and overlooking the golden horn. often during my first days there i would find myself humming the old refrain, “i dreamt i dwelt in marble halls.” there were, to be sure, no “vassals and serfs by my side”; but i had more useful assistants in my official staff. besides mr. phillip, there were second and third secretaries, and a. k. schmavonian, the turkish legal adviser of the embassy. he was the permanent attaché--the interpreter--and was, besides, the custodian of the embassy’s traditions. he knew every american interest in turkey, had carried on for years the correspondence with the consuls and the missionaries, and hence was an invaluable storehouse of information. he knew, also, all the turkish officials; the ramifications of the turkish governmental departments; the names and characteristics of the leaders of the recent revolution; and, of course, he was versed in the niceties of diplomatic custom.
-soon after my arrival i observed a curious phenomenon concerning the position of an ambassador. the instinctive ambition of the attachés led them to try to keep the ambassador from taking an active hand in the work of the chancery. it was explained to me with great solemnity, that the business office of the embassy was not like other business offices; that its operations were so involved in delicacies of diplomatic usage that none but old hands, trained in all their niceties, were competent to handle the transaction of its intricate affairs. all details, i was informed, should be left to those accustomed to handling them. i made short work of this mysterious nonsense. business is business, and details are the substance of larger concerns. therefore, i promptly acquainted myself with the records of the embassy for several years preceding, and took absolute charge of its functions, as i was in duty bound to do. the mysteries faded instantly. common sense, judgment, and energy are the desiderata of all business relationships, and i found no barrier in these affairs, because of their so-called diplomatic nature.
-other american ambassadors have complained to me that their subordinates usurped their functions in this fashion; and i know of some who have occupied the most exalted posts in europe and never penetrated the mysteries of their chanceries, and, consequently, never really functioned as ambassadors at all.
-as my wife and ruth had not accompanied me, their absence relieved me, for the moment, of social duties, and gave me time for a considered survey of the society in which i would soon be projected as an active member. i realized that much depended upon the first associations i should make in that society, and i needed just such an opportunity to learn by indirection the composition of it, the factions into which it was divided, and the cross currents of personality and interest that disturbed it.
-the “diplomatic set” at constantinople was a little world apart. at most, its members numbered a scant hundred. it comprised the grand vizier, the premier and his cabinet, and the ambassadors and ministers of other governments, with their principal attachés. occasionally, there were added to this intimate circle a few leading international bankers and merchants and distinguished tourists. but chiefly we consorted with ourselves. our intercourse was a continuous succession of luncheons, teas, dinners, and formal state functions. in such a constricted society, thrown into such intense communication, the personal equation was naturally of paramount importance. ere long, i had occasion to use every resource, from social gifts to business experience, to maintain myself in this society of shrewd and cultivated men, all of whom had the advantage of a life-long training in diplomacy and in the intricacies of european statecraft.
-my first concern, therefore, was to appraise their personalities. i recalled a piece of wise advice from james stillman the elder, who was one of the cleverest american financiers. he told me that when a man confronted a new situation, and was not yet sure of his ground, his safest course was to impress his adversaries by mystifying them. i adapted this advice to the present occasion. i realized that the diplomatic corps at constantinople knew much more about me than i knew about any of them, because i was the one stranger to them, and they were many and all strange to me. i resolved to do, as nearly as i could, directly the opposite of what they expected of me. for one thing, they had fallen into the european habit of imagining that all successful americans are men of fabulous wealth, and they credited certain absurd stories about my supposed intention to conduct the embassy on a scale of lavish expenditure, designed to make a great social impression. accordingly, i went to the other extreme and managed the embassy very modestly. for some weeks after my arrival i did not even use an automobile, contenting myself with a carriage and a pair of arabian ponies.
-further to play the rôle of mystifier, i obeyed only the letter of the custom which prescribes that a new ambassador shall call upon the other ambassadors after he has been presented to the sovereign. they are supposed to return this call, and thereafter the newcomer is expected to make the advances to his elders toward a more intimate and workable acquaintance. instead, i remained at the embassy and devoted myself to the business of the chancery and did some watchful waiting.
-these tactics were rewarded by an opportunity to enter the society of the diplomatic corps under circumstances that gave me the advantage. one day the local correspondent of the frankfürter zeitung called upon me at the embassy. this was dr. paul weitz, who had been a resident of turkey for more than twenty-five years, knew all the officials, spoke the language, and understood the subtleties of turkish psychology. he was, in reality, an unofficial attaché of the embassy and a secret agent of the german government. dr. weitz opened the conversation.
-“mr. ambassador,” he said, “i have gotten the impression that you are a man of direct methods. for this reason i, too, shall use the direct method. frankly, i have come as the emissary of the german ambassador and the austrian ambassador, with whom i had luncheon this very day. you were the principal topic of conversation. these gentlemen are puzzled by your attitude and they are curious to learn your true character. they have commissioned me to find out these things for them, and i have preferred to come and ask you bluntly rather than to follow my usual method of finding out by indirection. what is your real attitude? are you by preference a recluse, or are you playing a game?”
-dr. weitz readily agreed to carry this message, and he was so pleased with the frankness of my conversation that he made no concealment of his own position. he went on to tell me that he was a confidential adviser to the german ambassadors, and frequently was commissioned to carry on unofficial negotiations in which, for reasons of delicacy or of policy, it was not advisable either that the ambassador should appear in person, or that he should make use of one of his official family. he explained to me that the reason he was used in this capacity was his intimate acquaintance with turkish life and officials, and he offered to undertake similar commissions for me at any time i might care to make use of him. for obvious reasons, i never availed myself of the offer.
-dr. weitz faithfully repeated my message to the german and austrian ambassadors who afterward told me that they were greatly delighted with it. the very next afternoon, baron wangenheim paid me a call; and the following morning, his austrian colleague, marquis pallavicini, arrived to improve my acquaintance. they both greeted me in the spirit of my message, and we entered at once upon an acquaintanceship which removed the formality of an official relation. both of them were very useful to me during my first weeks in constantinople. the marquis was the doyen of the diplomatic corps. he was a nobleman of ancient family, had grown old in the diplomatic service, and was an authority on every point of diplomatic usage, from the most subtle phrasing of a threat of war to the refinements of precedence in placing guests at table at a diplomatic dinner. in this latter direction, indeed, he was invaluable to me in teaching me the relative rank of the bewildering array of officers and title holders among my visitors.
-baron wangenheim i have described at great length in my earlier volume, “ambassador morgenthau’s story.” unlike pallavicini, who was quiet, formal, conventional, and a typical diplomat of the old school, wangenheim was a perfect representative of prussia. he was not a native of prussia--but his bearing was that of an excitable hindenburg. he was a man of great stature, in the prime of life, overflowing with physical vitality, energetic in person, opinionated and positive in manner, voluble and aggressive in conversation, somewhat flirtatious, proud, overbearing--he was prussia and modern germany embodied.
-after pallavicini and wangenheim had broken the ice, i speedily made the acquaintance of the other members of the diplomatic corps, and their characters emerged in my mind in sharp definition. sir louis mallet, the british ambassador, was a fine type of english gentleman. he exhibited the quiet force and cultivation which one naturally expects from a member of the english upper classes. though a bachelor, his establishment was one of the most magnificent in constantinople. turkey has always been a vital point in british policy, and the british government has spared no pains to make its public appearance there correspond with the splendour and importance of the british empire.
-the french ambassador was m. bompard, the russian was michel de giers. these men also adequately embodied their respective countries, the one in its ideals of polished politeness and clear intellectual grasp, the other in its ideals of imperial pride and the sense of power.
-meeting these men at luncheon; dining with them and their ladies at gorgeous evening functions, where the splendour of the men’s uniforms, the brightness of the women’s costumes, and the gayety of the young couples made a lively scene of light-hearted inconsequentiality; it was hard to realize that they were, in truth, acting the part of expectant legatees of a friendless dying man--sitting at tea in his parlour, and waiting for his last gasp as a signal for a scramble to divide his property among themselves. they frankly told me (though of course not in these words) that this was their position. in their eyes the sick man of europe, so long the diseased invalid among the nations, was now really dying. they had no hesitation in discussing their ambitions regarding his property. giers comported himself already as if russia had actually attained her age-old vision of capturing constantinople--as if he were the governor of russia’s new capital city. sir louis mallet did not conceal the interest which his government had in everything that tended to insure the safety of the suez canal. bompard was deeply concerned to secure more concessions for french capital in turkey. even the greek minister talked with confidence of an approaching hellenic confederation which should embrace smyrna and part of the asian hinterland.
-he was, indeed, merely the figurehead of a government whose substantial ministers were the aggressive, self-made leaders of the committee of union and progress. these were men of native shrewdness, character, and courage. their political leader was talaat bey, a great hulk of a man, who had begun life in the humble capacity of porter in a village railroad station, and who had advanced to the limits of his social prospects when he had achieved the dignity of a telegraph operator in the same station. by sheer force of natural genius, however, he had become a political power, and after the revolutionists had sprung their coup d’état, he soon rose to be their leader. with their success, he had leaped immediately to the dazzling eminence of a cabinet position, and was then the chief of the cabal that was the real ruler of the empire.
-the military head of the young turks was enver bey, a handsome and dashing young officer, who had studied his profession and cultivated the social graces as military attaché of the turkish embassy at berlin. he was now minister of war and in control of the turkish army--a necessary weapon in the hands of talaat to maintain the young turk party in power. some of my foreign colleagues of the diplomatic corps assured me that these two men were the real power in turkey. they had seven associates, all men of great influence, and all members of the committee of union and progress.
-the personalities of these men, and the drama of their conflicting ambitions and intrigues, gradually unfolded themselves before my eyes. it was like sitting at the performance of a fascinating play, only this was more interesting because it was the reality of life. the actors were the representatives of great nations, and upon the issue of this dramatic situation rested the fate of millions of people.
-the experiences of my first few weeks at constantinople and the intensely interesting sensations they aroused in me can best be conveyed to my readers by reproducing a few of the letters which i wrote home to america in the excitement of these moments. the first i shall quote was dated december 23, 1913, and was addressed to my wife and youngest daughter:
-i have been so very busy that i have not written for a few days--so i will tell you briefly what has happened since. on december 20th we had our reception, of which i enclose you an account--it was really splendid--no one can describe the sensations and thrills. i had to be told and made to feel that i was the head and responsible man for the property of those great institutions, managed by such soulful, disinterested, and altruistic people--it makes our small efforts in new york appear insignificant. think of a small determined “band” of americans revolutionizing with educational means the balkan states--the drops of water they kept a-going for forty or more years had the result of wearing away the indifference of the bulgar and roused him. everybody who is well-informed admits that robert college deserves the credit for the education that has spread there.
-at 9:30 mort and i went to the scorpion (the gunboat detailed to guard the embassy) and had a royal reception and inspected the boat. on sunday i then went alone to the college--but i feel as though i wrote you all this so i’ll skip it--if i didn’t write it, i’ll tell you about it when you are here. we had intended to go on the scorpion, but instead we drove to the seven towers of jedi kulet, and walked on top of the ramparts and then for one hour along the old wall--it was a bewitching sight--the sun was shining brightly, the marmora made up the background, and the twenty or thirty towers along the wall in various stages of decay, with the moat alongside, made a never-to-be-forgotten impression on us all. as usual, mortie took a number of pictures and abdullah guarded us most carefully. it takes this kind of absorption of the history of a country to teach one what these people really are. this city is unquestionably the most favoured by nature of any i have ever seen. it excels new york and san francisco.
-on our way home, we stopped to inspect the kahri jeh janisi mosque--the oldest in c.--it was formerly a greek church and the paintings of christ, saint mark, the old bible heroes, and angels, etc., are still here in mosaic--much finer than in the san marco in venice. we were shown through by an old turk who could give half-intelligent descriptions of the mosaics, etc., in english and german. we wended through many narrow little streets, inhabited largely by greeks, and it was a most interesting sight. it was nearly two when we sat down to dinner and none of us complained.
-“the american ambassador”
-was announced. i felt, “is it i or not?” then, “mr. and mrs. fox” were announced. and then, “diner est servi.” i took in madame d’ankerswaerd. escorted her to her seat and then went to the other side of the table where i was seated next to baroness wangenheim, a fine, good looking, typically aristocratic german--a charming conversationalist. she is w.’s second wife--he divorced his first. w. is a great personal friend of the emperor. sir louis mallet, the english ambassador, sat on the other side of baroness w. after dinner we smoked and drank coffee and talked to others than our table companions, while fifty or sixty others gathered for a dance. such a sight! and to think that we are part of it--young princes, barons, sirs, and americans from the embassies, etc., and lots of turks and egyptians, etc. i shall never forget it. helen sat right opposite me--between baron wangenheim, all be-decorated, and colonel djemal (turk) in full uniform. i talked with baroness moncheur--we have struck up a nice friendship--with marquis pallavicini--talaat bey, and miss wangenheim, etc., etc., until about 12, when wangenheim asked me to play bridge with him, a turk, and a greek banker--which i did until 1:30, when the dancing was over and they all went in for supper, etc. (i went home) and then they danced again until 2:30 or so. i thoroughly enjoyed it, i am not overstating when i repeat what i said in a previous letter--i am very glad i came.
-to-day--at 11--a call from the bulgarian minister. in the afternoon i finished my official calls on the cabinet ministers--called on mahmoud pasha of the marine, ibrahim bey--secretary of justice, the dutch minister, and mrs. mccauley (the wife of the commander of the scorpion).
-mesdames pallavicini, bompard, moncheur, wangenheim, and willebois are the popular and fine women here, and they are out of the ordinary--you will like all of them and they will like you. pierre loti is wrong, so far as this winter is concerned--we have had no cold weather. yesterday and to-day were delightful--the thermometer has not been below 45°.
-on the same day as the foregoing, my daughter helen (mrs. fox) also wrote her mother a letter which adds new touches of colour to some of the scenes described in mine. she wrote as follows:
-so much to write about! yesterday afternoon i had mme. de willebois and mme. eliasco to tea, and after they left (mme. de willebois is the dutch minister’s wife), papa sent up word that “his eminence” the chief rabbi and his secretary were here and would like tea. they trotted up, and his eminence is an awfully nice soul, garbed in a flowing black gouri and a fez, be-turbaned in white, something like a combination of a greek priest and a hadja. he is very learned, especially about archæology as related to the jews, and was interesting. in the meantime, woods pasha, sir edwin pears (a marvellously interesting man and english lawyer here), and mr. frew (a scottish minister who was pastor of the english church in constantinople) arrived. i kept thinking how interesting they all were, but would they leave me any time to dress for dinner! i had been to scutari in the morning, sightseeing with some of the college faculty, and had brought them home to luncheon. mr. frew left at 7:30, and i was so busy trying to make myself gorgeous that i completely forgot papa who fell asleep and did not wake up until 8:15. the dinner was at 8:30. of course, we were all blaming each other and not ourselves and tearing around, whistling for coats, servants, etc. we finally tore up to the english embassy at twenty minutes to nine. never in my life have i experienced anything so wonderful. the embassy is very large and imposing. two marvellously uniformed cavasses stood at the door inside, where powdered footmen in knee breeches, about twenty of them, were also stationed. as we came to the stairs, the second secretary received us and assured us we were not late. however, we were the last! we then took off our coats and were ushered into the drawing room, outside of which stood a little coloured page dressed like an egyptian slave. sir louis mallet seems awfully nice. he is a bachelor, rather nice looking, and very shy and diffident, and wears a monocle. so many people came up to greet us. then dinner was announced. i went down with a turkish member of the cabinet, and sat in the next to the place of honour. baron von wangenheim sat on the other side of me. i think he likes to flirt. at any rate we chatted in german and had quite a gay time together. the table had quantities of roses (all from nice) on it. the only light in the whole room was from huge, massive, silver candelabra, standing on mirrors all along the table. we had silver dishes and soup plates. the meal was served in the usual rapid-fire english style. papa sat between lady crawford and baroness wangenheim. everyone goes in according to rank, and consequently, usually husbands and wives sit with each other’s better halves. the turk ate most heartily and told me afterward he didn’t know whether he’d get any dinner the next night or not. at dinner it was funny--on the other side of the turk sat mrs. nicholson (née sackville-west), a beauty, and with the most gorgeous emeralds! she afterward played poker with five turks, as her husband informed me. my partner told me he hated formal dinners, it was so uncomfortable eating in a uniform. after dinner there was dancing, and heaps of people were asked for that. i danced quite a bit, but was so tired from my terribly busy day that we left at twelve o’clock. papa played bridge and didn’t get home until 1:30. the english embassy is lighted entirely by candles and really the effect is wonderfully beautiful.
-next day--this morning mme. elise, the children, and i, accompanied by the ever-present abdullah (the body guard), went to therepia in a motor to find a house for the summer. it is just heavenly. you simply cannot imagine how perfect it is. the houses have the most beautiful gardens and are right down on the bosphorus, which is so blue; and from one’s windows one looks across at asia. papa is going some time to decide finally, as this was just a preliminary survey. we picked violets and a rose, just think of it, on december 22nd! but it is quite cold at times. the gardens are so inviting, and i can just imagine tea parties and all kinds of thrilling things happening in them. this afternoon i had two turkish ladies to tea--halide edi hanum and her mother. they came in their yashmaks and we had mme. elise serve the tea. halide is a graduate of the college and a real beauty. she is tall and dark, with almond-shaped eyes, and has a beautiful complexion; and she is so gentle and soft and charming. she speaks in the sweetest voice, and what do you think she is doing? translating oscar wilde into turkish! her mother is the daughter of the sixth wife of a very great pasha, and her grandmother was a circassian slave girl. the mother cannot speak anything but turkish, and she smoked all the time she was here. i gave her some candy and a box of american cigarettes to take home. halide doesn’t smoke, and anyway, if she went into a ball-room at home she’d create a sensation, she is so charming. you simply cannot imagine how lovely it is here and i just relish and cherish every moment. baron von wangenheim hopes you will take a house right next to him this summer. he wants to ride with ruth. beware, ruth!
-a rather amusing incident occurred late in january, 1914, when upon receiving word that my wife had left vienna for constantinople, i communicated at once with talaat and told him i wished him to facilitate my intention of meeting mrs. morgenthau at the boundary of turkey. i told him i proposed to go to adrianople, the point at which her train would enter turkey, to meet her. talaat’s reply was characteristically turkish:
-“what!” he exclaimed, “going to all that trouble to meet one’s wife! i never heard of such a thing.”
-“i cannot imagine an american,” i replied, “failing to do it. in my country, our wives share all their husbands’ interests, and i should certainly consider myself lacking in both respect and affection if i failed to show my wife this attention.”
-talaat was frankly bewildered.
-“in turkey,” he said, “we let our wives come to us, we do not go to them.”
-as a last resort, he interposed what he intended to be an unanswerable objection.
-“adrianople!” he exclaimed. “it’s out of the question. there is not even a hotel in the whole city.”
-“very well then,” i replied, “i shall find accommodations in a private residence. but to adrianople i am going.”
-with this retort, i left him.
-mr. schmavonian later went to talaat and told him that i was quite serious in my intention. talaat then sent me word that he would arrange with the governor of adrianople to entertain me, and that i could dismiss all thought of other preparations from my mind. i therefore contented myself with arranging to arrive in adrianople in the morning, planning to spend a day there sightseeing, and then joining my wife on the train, which was due to come through the following morning at 3:30 o’clock. imagine my astonishment, therefore, upon arriving at adrianople, to find that the governor, acting on talaat’s orders, had transformed part of the city hall into a hotel for my reception. the office furniture had been removed and a suite of bedrooms for myself, my son henry (who had now joined me), and a member of my staff, had been freshly furnished, with comfortable beds and bedding specially bought for this occasion. one room had been fitted up as a kitchen; another as a dining room. talaat’s attentions had gone so far as even to see that we were provided with pyjamas, bedroom slippers, and toothbrushes.
-when i arrived at adrianople, the governor was at the station to meet me, accompanied by a military guard of honour. he at once took us in his automobile for a sightseeing tour of the city. i found him a man of great intelligence--some months later he became a member of the turkish cabinet at constantinople. he was especially interested in the answers that my son was able to make to his numerous questions about american farm machinery, which he wished to import for use on his large estate.
-at length the express drew into the station, the military guard was mounted, and the governor with great ceremony escorted me to the train platform. i thanked him most heartily for a day unique in my experience. having undertaken with reluctance to facilitate this meeting of my wife, talaat had gone to the other extreme and had given it an almost royal setting. through his kindness i was enabled to escort my wife properly to her new home in constantinople.
-arriving there, she entered at once into the spirit of my mission and became of invaluable assistance to me. she had looked forward to it as a dreary exile from home and friends in a dull and uncivilized community. instead, she soon found, as i had already, that the diplomatic circle was a group of charming people, intellectually stimulating, and engaged in the fascinating game of high politics. she shared as well my intense interest in the work of the missionaries, just as she had shared in new york my interest in the bronx house and other works of social betterment. she enjoyed, besides, a most unusual opportunity that was denied to me, namely, the opportunity to study, under the most favourable circumstances, the strangely interesting life of the oriental woman. this life was not only very different from the life of western women but was also very different from our preconceived ideas of it. mrs. morgenthau found, to be sure, that the exclusion of turkish women from masculine society was a reality, but she was astonished on the other hand to learn the extent to which the more ambitious ones among them had been able to achieve contact with western thought. the plight of these intelligent women was really tragical. they were the pioneers of an epochal social change in turkey, and they were suffering the usual martyrdom of pioneering. they had been allowed to acquire the education and ideas, which have so broadened the mental outlook of western women, but the social barrier of custom still prevented them from enjoying in practice the advantage of its possession. their husbands sought their intellectual companions entirely among other men, and continued to regard their women as playthings of the harem. they were thus denied the stimulation and enjoyment of contact with masculine thought and were cut off of course from all active participation in practical works, where the mind exercises its acquired talents. doubtless in the course of time women in turkey will be freed from these ancient restrictions of custom and will join their western sisters in a full freedom to take an active part in the life of the world, but their position during the transition period is truly pathetic.
-mrs. morgenthau came across many cases of this anomalous condition. one of the most striking was in the home of the persian ambassador. he had married a very cultivated french woman. notwithstanding the liberality of thought which had permitted him to marry a european, he had done so only on the agreement that she should become a mohammedan; and having done so, he insisted that she live the life of a mohammedan woman. she had thus stepped from that stirring french society of which one of the most outstanding characteristics is the almost abnormally important influence exerted by women, both in the intellectual life and in public affairs, into a society where she was debarred entirely from association with men and cut off from all practical relations with outside affairs. when mrs. morgenthau entertained her, or any of the native turkish ladies, at the embassy, even the male servants were kept below stairs and luncheon was served by the house-maids.
-so much for the colour of life at the embassy during the first months after my arrival. on the sober business side, there was much of equal interest. when the young turks succeeded to power they had brought with them great hope of permanent progress for their country. this hope was shared by liberals not only in turkey but everywhere. the christian world without felt that at last there was a prospect that moslem government might succeed in treating a christian population justly. the total failure of this party proved again the impossibility of true reform among the turks. this was evident to careful observers long before my arrival at constantinople, but i was so ardent in my desire to help them that it took me nearly a year to become wholly disillusioned.
-the young turks from their accession to power failed in every serious task they undertook. they made war on the albanians, with whom the sultans had compromised for more than four hundred years. having been trained as professional soldiers they were accustomed to the use of force only. they had not the slightest notion of democratic political methods or of peaceful conciliation, though it was obvious that among the various peoples of turkey peaceful conciliation was the only way of beginning a united national life. the young turks brought the dispute with greece concerning the possession of crete to a crisis. instead of recognizing the accomplished fact in tripoli they insisted upon retaining control of that province, and italy declared war. against the armenians the massacres at adana were conducted with all the horrors of the past. the guilty, instead of being punished by the central government, were exonerated. but the greatest failure of all on the part of the so-called committee of union and progress was in connection with the national legislature. the revolution led the greeks and armenians to think that a democratic government would be established. but the young turks “selected” (not “elected”) the members of the chamber of deputies from among their own adherents.
-the committee of union and progress was, in truth, a desperate set of men confronted by desperate conditions. therefore they were willing to take the most desperate means to retain “turkey for the turks,” and especially turkey for themselves. their subsequent actions were all in keeping with this resolve. i was told by my colleagues that business had to be transacted with the grand vizier. but i found that i could obtain the quickest results through talaat and enver. my somewhat democratic, business-like methods seemed to appeal to them. there were occasions on which i even went so far as to deal directly with lesser officials. some of my experiences would, i am sure, fill a professional diplomat with dismay as regards the future of his calling.
-during the winter of 1913-14, talaat and enver, especially the former, came to me repeatedly for advice. inexperienced as they were, their problems were such as to test the strength of the ablest statesman of any country. the only reason i can give for the fact that they drew close to me in the matter of asking advice was that they felt that america alone of the larger foreign nations had no private axe to grind as regards her relations with turkey. feeling the deepest sympathy for all efforts to forward the welfare of backward peoples, i did all i could to aid them with the best counsel i could offer.
-one opportunity for such assistance presented itself on the occasion of the dinner given by the american chamber of commerce for the levant, on february 22, 1914, at which i was invited to make the principal address of the evening. talaat and some of his colleagues were to be guests of honour. i felt i could point out to them in my address, by indirection, the path along which they might lead turkey to regeneration. to do this, i recapitulated the story of america’s great moral and material advancement, interpreting the events in the way which i thought would be most intelligible to the turkish intelligence, and suggesting that the turkish leaders be guided in their policy by the lessons of our history. as this speech had a considerable effect upon the turkish government, and as it is, i think, not without interest to americans themselves, i take the liberty of quoting the substance of it:
-what an achievement it would be if the young giant of the west, who by strictly attending to his own business has developed into one of the greatest and richest nations of the world, could make others see the advantages and wisdom of following his example. we recognize the difficulty which confronts everyone who tries to prevail upon another to benefit by his experience, but perhaps nations, which are guided by disinterested patriots who have only the good of the people at heart and none of the selfish motives or petty vanities of an individual, may be willing, not only to study the history of a successful nation, but also to profit by its experiences, and thus save the expense and spare the waste caused by experimenting.
-as a diplomat i am “directed by my government especially to refrain from public expressions of opinion upon local political or other questions arising within my jurisdiction.” these are the exact words contained in my instruction book, and i am obliged to follow them conscientiously. but that does not prevent me, however, from telling you what we have done at home to establish and increase our commerce and what we are doing to improve it and the conditions of our people; and it is for this country, the balkan states, and persia to determine how much of it can be adopted by them.
-it is just fifty years ago that our country finished one of the bloodiest and most expensive internecine wars recorded in history, and you all know that the worst strifes are those that are waged between brothers. all the southern states had been completely devastated; a large part of their white male population was killed during the war; millions of slaves had been set free and were unprepared to take care of themselves and would not work; both the north and the south were in a complete state of physical and financial exhaustion. the cost of the war exceeded 1,500 million dollars; our government bonds were selling below par and were mostly owned in foreign countries; we had just been deprived of the wise leadership of the great abraham lincoln who had been foully murdered. we had fought for a principle and had won, but the hatred of the sections for each other survived and the great problem was to reconcile the combatants to the new conditions and again to absorb into our commercial and business activities the hundreds of thousands of members of the disbanded army and to have our communities resume their normal condition and bring about a reconstruction of the southern states. we were confronted by a tremendous problem, and it took wise statesmanship, great grit, patient toil, and unswerving enthusiasm born from an absolute and abiding faith in the future to solve it. we had only 35,000 miles of railroads and many of these traversed the devastated country. i say “only,” because to-day we have more than 250,000 miles of railroad which have brought into easy communication with the large markets of our country all our developed farms and mines, etc., and have given the country four transcontinental routes. we had a population of 34 millions which has now grown to more than 95 millions, of which 19 millions attend our public and two millions our private schools, and 320,000 attend 596 universities and colleges in which there are thirty thousand professors and instructors and which have libraries containing 16 million volumes of books. our imports in 1870 were 436 millions and our exports 393 millions, showing a balance against us of 43 millions; while in 1913, our imports were 1,813 millions and our exports 2,465 millions, so that we had a balance of trade in our favour of 652 millions, and for the last seven years the average annual balance of trade has been more than five hundred million dollars. we have gained by immigration about 30 million people of which the year 1913 brought 1,200,000--practically equal to the population of the city of constantinople. this great army, besides bringing their energy, strength, and capacity to work, also brought with them 30 million dollars in cash! i wonder if these figures give you the faintest idea of this tremendous growth.
-how was this all done?
-we invited, urged, and welcomed help from every source and there was a generous response. we utilized english, french, german, and dutch money to help build our railroads. we opened our portals wide to immigrants who overflowed our shores in a most unprecedented fashion. it first relieved ireland and germany of their surplus population and thereby bettered the condition of those that remained at home; later on italy and russia sent us hundreds of thousands of their people. and it was thus that the native population received the necessary reinforcements to help develop the new districts that were being opened for settlement. as fast as the railroad development pierced the west, villages and cities followed it. the northerners and southerners found a common ground in the great and almost boundless west which was then entirely undeveloped and they worked side by side in this new land of promise and soon forgot their past differences. they started out in log cabins which they erected with their own hands; they slept on pine boughs and were willing to forego all comforts to enable them rapidly to recoup their lost fortunes. gradually they acquired the almost luxurious surroundings in which they live to-day, for there is hardly a farmhouse without an organ or a piano, a sewing machine, a small library and carpets on the floor, and most of them own considerable agricultural machinery and a great many of them their own automobiles.
-we adopted a system of protection so as to foster our then infant industries which are now managed by wonderful corporations that not only can stand alone but compete with the world. we encouraged thrift and habits of saving so that the deposits in the savings banks to-day amount to 4,450 millions and the assets of the life insurance companies to more than 4,400 million dollars.
-what do such accumulated assets mean?
-they mean opportunities realized, steady thrift, thousands of thrills of pleasure at individual progress toward independence and protection against want in old age, provisions for rainy days; the renewed prosperity of the natives of the south, north, east, and west; conversion of millions of stalwart immigrants into prosperous farmers, businessmen, mechanics, etc., who are the owners of these and other assets. i am going to leave to your imagination and poetic temperament to analyze still further what are the component parts when reduced into human endeavours that constitute this monument of prosperity.
-we are not so conceited as to arrogate to ourselves the claim that we are the only country that has accomplished such wonderful results in the last fifty years. in 1865 there was no german empire nor united italy; their creation and phenomenal development have taken place since then. i believe that a description of the industrial and commercial development of those and many other countries would make as fine a story as i have told you about the united states; but they are so near to you that it would lack the enchantment that distance lends to a view. i have shown you results and i now want to tell you that they have not been attained without a great many troubles and tribulations. we have had our severe panics and recessions; our droughts and floods; our pests of grasshoppers and bollweevils; our strikes and labour troubles, some of which have led to bloodshed. it was no easy task to assimilate the many different nationalities that reached our shores. the troubles of most nations are those of struggling against poverty. we have had the unusual experience of having to fight and suppress the excessive prosperity of the privileged classes of our country, because they were about destroying our free government and were depriving our people of their equal opportunities. fortunately we found in our present president, woodrow wilson, a champion for justice and right, and he has, through his infinite skill and wisdom, practically after one year of administration, adjusted the matter.
-if i were in america and wanted to compare our accomplishments to something definite, i would speak of a fifty-story building in contrast to some of the two-or three-story buildings. but being in turkey i want to say that i have shown you the wonderful national rug that we have produced in the united states. it was woven by the millions that inhabit our land, natives and foreigners, whites and blacks, people from the north, south, east, and west, men and women, and from materials produced in our own soil and imported from all countries; and as far as we have finished it, we pride ourselves, notwithstanding some faults and defects, that it makes a fine, harmonious whole. and the sincerest compliments that any country could pay to us would be to adopt and imitate our pattern.
-when i described the success we had attained in our endeavours during the fifty years since the civil war, talaat and some of his colleagues were visibly impressed. shortly after this dinner both talaat and enver urged me to visit various parts of the turkish empire in order to be able to advise them as regards reforms in their administration and other means of public progress. while my instructions from my government, like those of every country to its foreign representatives abroad, forbade my intermeddling with purely domestic affairs, i felt that the situation in turkey was wholly without precedent. so i set myself to study the country and its varied and most intricate problems. with talaat and enver i planned three trips--the first to palestine and syria, the second to the south shore of the black sea, and the third to the interior, as far as the bagdad railway was then constructed. the coming of war prevented the second and third trips. the first i shall describe in the next chapter.
-but, fascinating as were my discoveries in the novel field of diplomacy, and much as i enjoyed the effort to assist the turkish leaders, i felt after all that my true function as american ambassador was far removed from the intrigues of the old world powers and from the momentary struggles of the existing turkish government. on the one hand, america had no ambitions in turkey that called for diplomatic gambling. our interests there were almost wholly altruistic. we had, to be sure, a small commercial interest, and i had no disposition to shirk my responsibility for fostering its improvement. the standard oil company was our most considerable business representative. the singer sewing machine company, served in constantinople by germans from its berlin branch, was second. the third in importance were the american buyers of turkish tobacco and turkish licorice. besides these, we had little commercial representation.
-america’s true mission in turkey, i felt, was to foster the permanent civilizing work of the christian missions, which so gloriously exemplified the american spirit at its best. as i frequently explained to the turkish government officers, we had little need for foreign trade or foreign sources of raw material. our territory was so vast, and our population relatively so small, that we had neither reason nor disposition to covet further territory. i explained to them further that our citizens were accustomed to achieve their own financial independence, and that this characteristic of rising from poverty to affluence had bred in them, as a national characteristic, a sympathy with those not yet arrived at fortune, and a helpful wish to place the means of advancement within the reach of those still struggling upward. this spirit had lavished itself in america upon the advancement of common schools and higher institutions of learning, and upon thousands of other forms of philanthropy and helpfulness. this spirit of good will, i explained further, overflowed our boundaries into other lands, partly because we wished to share our good fortune with others, and chiefly because it was prescribed by the christian faith, which declared that good works should not be limited to those of one’s own family or kindred. america, i told them, is constantly receiving hundreds of thousands of emigrants from the old world, and american generosity has placed among these newly arrived citizens the services of expert advisers, who use every means to make easy the path of the immigrant, and to induct him as rapidly as possible into the full fellowship of american life. the christian missions in turkey, i added, carried this work one step further: it went into other lands and tried to carry to them some of the benefits which our material prosperity made possible among us.
-i think my words were received, at first, with some reserve, not only by the turks themselves, but by my colleagues, the representatives of the european nations. they soon learned, however, to believe them, when they saw that i sought no concessions, that i devoted no more attention to the american commercial enterprises represented in the levant than were necessary for the transaction of their ordinary business, and that i gave my chief attention to encouraging the work of the christian missionaries and spreading the gospel of americanism. i soon found that i could be of the greatest assistance to these people. it was generally believed in turkey that i was unusually close to the president. consequently the attentions which i took pains to shower upon the missionaries added enormously to the importance of their position in the eyes of the turkish government, and placed them upon an entirely new footing in their consideration. when it was observed that dr. gates, the president of robert college, frequently accompanied me on my horseback rides, and that i made an invariable custom of entertaining at dinner at least once a week dr. mary mills patrick and dr. louise b. wallace, the president and the dean, respectively, of the constantinople college for girls, the turkish government conceived an entirely new idea of the importance that america attaches to these institutions; and they gave a corresponding deference to the wishes of their presidents.
-even if i had not conceived these attentions to be one of my prime duties, i should have been drawn to these companionships by a native congeniality of temper. dr. patrick and dr. gates were splendid examples of american womanhood and manhood. both had forsaken the opportunity of success in america to devote their lives unselfishly to the great task of human betterment. their gifts of mind and graces of character would have made them delightful companions in any circumstances. but having, besides, as they did, a profound interest in the kind of work that had so deeply engrossed me in new york, i gravitated toward them in constantinople by a natural attraction. with them i would mention dr. peet, the resident financial representative, in constantinople, of the mission boards of america--a man of great experience and gracious person who had given a quarter of a century of his life to work in this field. further along in this article, i shall describe some of the happy experiences i had in meeting some of the young men and women who were students at the colleges.
-my relationships with the jews of constantinople were equally useful and equally pleasant. i cultivated the acquaintance of the chief rabbi nahoun, a learned and brilliant man in his early forties. i took pains to show him every possible honour in public. i let it be generally known that i frequented the b’nai brith lodge at constantinople, which, to my astonishment and gratification, i discovered to contain in its membership a group of men of higher average quality than are in any american lodge of the same order with which i am acquainted. my public attentions to these representative jews gave to them also a new importance and a new dignity in the view of the turkish government. it was indeed gratifying to me to be able, with scarcely an effort, so greatly to improve the status of my co-religionists in the eyes of a government which controlled the historical birthplace of the hebrew religion and the scene of its one-time temporal grandeur.
-one of my ambitions at constantinople was to make the embassy truly the american headquarters. every american of whatever degree, whether resident or visitor, was welcome within its portals. i endeavoured to have every one of them enjoy even its formal hospitality--an invitation to a luncheon or a dinner. i felt that the embassy was not intended merely to provide an opportunity for exclusive social distinction for the ambassador. on the contrary, it belonged to the american people; and certainly part of my function was to see that it was of service to them. i soon observed how greatly an invitation to the embassy was appreciated; and since my return to this united states i have had innumerable evidences of the enjoyment which the simplest courtesy i extended brought to its recipient. time after time i have had strangers salute me in various parts of this country and remind me with great warmth of the pleasure they had enjoyed in a call at the embassy in turkey.
-but perhaps the most satisfying of all my associations in turkey was the privilege i enjoyed of constantly sharing in the problems and accomplishments of the two principal american colleges. to me their work was an endless source of satisfaction. to see these great evidences of american idealism functioning in this remote and backward land, spreading civilization among people long submerged in ignorance, was a profound reason for pride in my country. as a humanitarian, it was a corresponding delight to see the students themselves--their young minds expanding, their young spirits fired with enthusiasm, in the congenial atmosphere of these institutions which, but for america, would not have existed and for which there was no substitute within their reach.
-the girls’ college especially appealed to my sympathy. here, in a land in which the position of women was the most unfavourable, was an institution which was offering to the future mothers of the near east an entrance into a new world of freedom and opportunity. girls were gathered here from all parts of the turkish empire--turkish girls, armenians, jews, greeks, bulgarians, and albanians. it was a delight to see how they responded to their opportunity. on numerous occasions, dr. patrick invited me to address them, and one such occasion i recall with a special pleasure. i described to them the american profession of social worker, tracing the reasons which gave rise to the movement for social betterment in our country and explaining how this new profession arose out of the need for trained workers in that field. i was astonished to see how deep an impression my description made upon them. it appealed to the universal instinct of women to cherish life and to work for its improvement. so enthusiastic were these young oriental women that afterward dr. patrick told me more than half of them had expressed an ambition to devote their life to social service.
-these girls, touched by the stimulation of the new intellectual world freely opened to them, attempted many imaginative experiments. one of the most interesting that i observed was the product of a debate held in the college, in which one team had maintained the position of the greek stoics against the other group which had defended the philosophy of the epicureans. not satisfied with debating the subject abstractly, the girls had resolved to put the two philosophies to the practical test of experience; and for a week the senior class was divided into two groups, one of which attempted actually to live for that period according to the stoic dogma and the other according to the epicurean. they took the experiment seriously, but of course, with the lightheartedness of youth, they found it an entertainment as well. the essays written on their experiences as stoics and epicureans would make interesting reading. i could not refrain from speculating with hope and enthusiasm upon the numerous influences which this college, through these eager young spirits, would wield in directing the future destiny of the millions of backward people among whom they would be scattered as torch bearers of civilization.
-robert college was an institution for men, founded fifty years ago by christopher r. roberts, a wealthy leather merchant of new york. its early destiny was directed by dr. hamlin and dr. washburn, two far-seeing statesmen of education. they had steered a course for the institution which had gained at least the passive coöperation of the turkish government, while in america it had gained the enthusiastic support of great philanthropists like cleveland h. dodge and john s. kennedy. gradually there had been added to its faculty men of strong character and profound learning, so that by the time i reached constantinople it was an institution worthy of all the care that had been lavished upon it. these earnest men had made a real impression upon the life of the near east. being the only great seat of learning in that whole large territory, it had attracted the ambitious youth from the remotest armenia and all the balkan countries. bulgaria especially had appreciated its opportunity. hundreds of the leaders of bulgarian political and economic life received their training here.
-in dr. gates, the president of robert college, i found a man who was very useful to me. he had lived many years in turkey, knew all the chief figures in its public life, and was a profound student of turkish psychology. in return, i had the pleasure of being useful to him during the trying days after turkey entered the war.
-such was the picture of constantinople as i saw it during the first four months of my embassy. it was a picture full of strange anomalies and apparent contradictions. here was i, a native of europe, representing the greatest republic of america at the court of an oriental sovereign. here was i, a jew, representing the greatest christian nation of the world at the capital of the chief mohammedan nation. here was i, a man without any previous diplomatic experience whatsoever, suddenly projected headlong into one of the most difficult diplomatic posts in the world, as one of the ten personal representatives of the president. here was a nation, ruled in name by a proud descendant of mohammed, and ruled in fact by a group of desperate adventurers whose chieftain was an ex-railroad porter. here was the capital of an ancient and decaying nation, which was soon, because of its strategic position, to become one of the very vital centres of world diplomacy. here was a wornout empire dying, which in its death agony clutched other peoples still with its withered fingers and was soon to reach up and draw within its fatal embrace, in the death grapple of a world war, boys from the cattle ranges of australia, aboriginal indians from the wilds of northwest canada, peasants from farthest russia, cockneys from the east end of london, shepherds from the carpathian mountains--vast aggregations of soldiers as polyglot as the population of constantinople itself--that mongrel city which, sitting at the cross roads of ancient trade routes, had for centuries drawn citizens from every people under heaven. how could i realize, during those peaceful first months of my embassy, that i, the representative of remote and isolated america, should soon be involved in diplomatic complications that should involve the very continuance of american institutions. it was well that i had those few months of peaceful education into that society before the storm of the world war burst upon us. it was well, too, that i had my trip to egypt and asia minor, where i met and learned much from lord kitchener, lord bryce, and the wise americans and jews whom i there encountered. this journey was of so much importance to me that it deserves a separate chapter.
-my trip to the holy land
-all through the winter of 1913-14, though busily engaged in mastering my other duties as ambassador, there were constantly two problems interesting me.
-the first was the american missionary activities, whose ramifications reached into all parts of turkey, and whose many and varied requests, though intelligently interpreted by dr. w. w. peet, i could not fully grasp, owing to the meagreness of my knowledge of the men and women concerned, and of the physical conditions surrounding them in their activities in the interior of turkey. i was at the seat of government of all these missionary activities, and had become well acquainted with the directing forces. doctor peet had shown me his vast records, and had acquainted me with the many branches, and told me of the many representatives that they had scattered throughout turkey. occasionally, visits from some of the interior missionaries had impressed me so favourably both as to their sincerity and sympathy for their flocks, that i became thoroughly aroused with a desire to see the entire mechanism of the missionary activities in turkey. i personally wanted to know the administrative and educational forces, and visit the buildings and surroundings in which they were operating, so that i might be able properly to present their claims to the turkish officials, and finally give an intelligent account to those of my friends in america who had so anxiously impressed upon me the deep interest felt by such a vast number of them in the welfare of the missionaries.
-my second problem was the jewish question, which i will discuss in a separate chapter. naturally i concluded to visit first the holy land and the mediterranean coast of asia, where so many of the important christian missions were located. when i spoke to different people concerning this trip, everyone urged me to go. the turkish authorities felt that it would greatly benefit them if i could, with my own eyes, see the possibilities of an industrial and agricultural revival of turkey, for, thereafter, i might be useful to them in influencing foreign capital to invest in their prospects. the missionaries were enthusiastic. they expected--and i afterward ascertained were justified in this--that a visit to their main stations by the american ambassador would so impress the local authorities both at those places and at constantinople that their standing with, and their treatment by, the turkish officials would be greatly improved. my jewish friends, similarly, felt that such a tangible evidence of american and my personal interest in their condition would greatly benefit them with the authorities. the men in the embassy who now realized how easily an “outsider” could master the knowledge that lay buried in the records of the chancery also encouraged my scheme to delve further into the outside ramifications of american activity in turkey.
-the best and most direct transportation to palestine was supplied by the splendid russian steamship lines that were then plying weekly between odessa and alexandria, and as these boats stopped for a day at smyrna, and another day at piræus, i should thereby be enabled to visit the consul and the american college at smyrna, and to view the interesting sights of athens. i therefore chose this route.
-as the journey was made for the purpose of studying two distinct problems, i think it well to describe in this chapter all the things that are of general interest, reserving for a later chapter the highly specialized jewish question as i saw and studied it in palestine. i shall not weary the reader with a complete record of the journey, but shall select for him some interesting incidents and observations without following too closely their chronological order.
-of these, one of the most interesting (and one that involved several amusing complications) was my visit to the caves of machpelah. when doctor peet heard of my plans to visit palestine, he came to see me and spent a long time in informing me of what i could see, and of the tremendous benefit that it would be to me and to the missionaries to become personally acquainted. this was a helpful service, and i gratefully made notes of his suggestions. when these were finished, i was somewhat puzzled when he launched into a long dissertation upon the unique advantage which i, as an ambassador, enjoyed in being able to secure permission to visit the caves of machpelah. he explained that these caves were the authentic graves of abraham, isaac, and jacob, of sarah, leah, and rebecca. he added the curious information that the moslems regarded these patriarchs as among the holiest of the saints of islam. and so jealous were they in their religious veneration of these tombs that, by an extraordinary paradox, they have for one thousand years prohibited not only the christians, but the blood descendants of abraham, the jews, from visiting these tombs. the moslems had erected a mosque over them, and they were guarded day and night. the only exception to the rule that none but mohammedans might visit them was that the privilege was extended to visiting princes of royal blood, and to ambassadors, who represented, not nations, but the persons of their sovereigns. doctor peet then enlarged again upon the extraordinary opportunity which this privilege gave me of enjoying a unique experience.
-light had now dawned upon me, and i asked doctor peet a question which i intentionally drew out into a long sentence, so as to study the effect upon him. i asked him whether my inference that this great interest which he displayed in my trip and the importance which he attached to the opportunities incident to my travelling not as a private citizen, but as an ambassador, could be construed by me as a hint on his part of a lurking wish that he might accompany me.
-a few days later mr. schmavonian, who had been connected with the embassy for seventeen years as the turkish adviser, and who was the custodian of the tradition of the embassy, awaited me in my office one afternoon after, as i subsequently discovered, he had carefully instructed the doorkeeper not to announce any one for half an hour. he pointed out to me with great detail that american ambassadors had come and gone out of constantinople, “while schmavonian went on forever.” he then said: “now, the benefits of all this knowledge that can be secured on this trip will be lost when you leave constantinople. why not take me along, and perpetuate them?” i laughingly asked him how long he expected to stay in the service of the united states, and he answered that he expected to die in it. i hesitated about taking mr. schmavonian along, and i told him so, as i feared it would interfere with the activities of the embassy. he quickly responded: “you know that nothing important will be done in your absence without your consent, so why not have me with you at your elbow, so that you can have the benefit of my advice in deciding the problems that may come up in performing your duties as ambassador, while you are travelling?” i cabled the state department, and got their consent to take him with me, and he proved of invaluable assistance.
-that same afternoon, a very likely, rather clerical-looking young man came up to me, and said: “chancellor mccormick has told me that he has secured permission to accompany your party to visit the caves of machpelah and i thought that perhaps if you knew who i was, you would take me along also.” i asked: “pray, who are you?” he replied: “my brother married jessie wilson.” so i said: “my dear dr. sayre, you are most cordially invited to join our party.”
-proceeding a few days later from port said to jaffa, i discovered to my great delight that viscount and lady bryce were fellow passengers on that boat. i invited them to join us at our table, and we had a very pleasant talk until late in the evening. i then left the tireless old viscount on the deck with schmavonian, and a little later was just about to retire for the night when schmavonian knocked at the door of my stateroom. he told me that he had, perhaps unguardedly, told the viscount of our intended trip to the caves of machpelah, and that bryce had expressed an ardent desire to accompany us. i discussed the matter with the viscount on the following day, and he said: “you know that i, as a former british ambassador to the united states, could also secure the privilege of visiting the caves.” i promptly told him that i would consider it a great honour if he and his wife would join our party.
-when we finally started our trip to the caves of machpelah, our party like a rolling snowball had grown to twenty-six persons. the caves are near the village of hebron, some twenty-odd miles north of jerusalem. we drove thither in open carriages, and at the end of our journey had an experience which confirmed my apprehensions regarding the susceptibilities of the arab mohammedans. as we drove into hebron, a large crowd had gathered to greet us around an arch of welcome which the jewish communities of hebron had erected for the occasion. just as our carriage drew near to the archway, a little arab child broke loose from his parents, and ran directly in the path of our carriage. at a cry from my wife, the driver reined the horses back to their haunches, but the child was already directly beneath them. by good fortune that was little short of a miracle, their hoofs did not touch him, and he was quickly snatched to safety by his panic-stricken mother. but, i shall not soon forget the black looks of instinctive hatred upon the faces of the arabs in that throng, who looked upon us as infidel intruders. the same looks and deep murmurs of disapproval accompanied us as we entered the sacred portals of their mosque, which covers the caves of machpelah. their prayer hour had been postponed on account of our visit. once inside, the spell of antiquity, and the great traditions, erased all other impressions from our minds. several of the tombs were above ground, and over them were erected stone catafalques, their sides adorned with gorgeously embroidered rugs and broken by grilled doorways through which entrance to the tomb itself was permitted. the other tombs were in caves below the floor of the mosque. they could be seen through holes left in the floor for that purpose. as we examined them from above we observed that two of them, the graves of abraham and jacob, were littered with pieces of paper. inquiry of our moslem guides disclosed the reason. the mohammedans have a belief that the spirits of these patriarchs have a special influence with the deity, and that their intervention in behalf of the faithful can be invoked by written petitions addressed to them and dropped upon their tombs. observing more closely, we noticed that there was a striking preference shown by the petitioners in the greater number of appeals that had been made in this manner to the spirit of the one rather than to the spirit of the other. further inquiry developed a curious moslem tradition to the effect that one patriarch was reputed to be of a benign and accommodating disposition, whereas the other was supposed to be irascible. in consequence, the prudent worshippers had mostly addressed their petitions to the spirit which they felt would be more receptive and not resent their intrusion.
-after inspecting the tombs of abraham, isaac, and jacob, we started to make a similar survey of the tombs of sarah, leah, and rebecca. our moslem guides promptly stopped the men of our party. they explained that the mohammedan rule, that men might not look upon the faces of women, applied to the dead as well as to the living, and that therefore only the ladies of our party might look within the enclosures which protected the tombs of the female saints.
-our inspection of the tombs occupied considerable time, and it was an interesting experience to feel the spell of their antiquity growing upon us. as the moments slipped by, we felt ourselves carried farther and farther back along the aisles of time and into the venerable realities of an august past. from talkative sightseers we were transformed into thoughtful ponderers upon these impressive memorials of history, and finally into silent and reverent worshippers at this shrine of three great religions. as we were about to leave, dr. hoskins suggested that i ask all of our party to devote five minutes to silent prayer. i did so, and there we stood, moslems, christians, and jews--all of us conscious of the fact that we were in the presence of the tombs of our joint forefathers--that no matter in what details we differed, we traced our religion back to the same source, and the ten minutes to which this prayer extended were undoubtedly the most sacred that i have ever spent in my life.
-never have i experienced so solemn and exalted an emotion as that which filled my spirit, standing there in worship at those tombs four thousand years old, around which converged, and met, a sublime religious history, which had altered the life of one half the human race through forty centuries.
-i have carried my narrative away from its chronological sequence in order to tell of our visit to the caves of machpelah as one related incident. returning now to the earlier part of our journey, our brief stops at smyrna and athens were followed by a direct route to alexandria, where we arrived on march 26th. our russian vessel ran up the american flag at the masthead in honour of our presence aboard, and at the dock we were further honoured by a reception committee consisting of olney arnold, the american consular agent at cairo, consul garrels, captain macauley of the scorpion, and mahmoud tahgri bey, the acting governor of alexandria. the last-named was a fine young man of about twenty-eight years of age. he told me that for some time alexandria had been without a governor, but that the khedive in honour of my coming had appointed him to that office, especially to give me a proper reception, and that he had only assumed his office at eight o’clock that very morning. he presented mrs. morgenthau with a bouquet of flowers and my daughter ruth with a box of marrons glacés, with the compliments of the khedive. it was amusing to see what important stress he laid upon this--his first--official act. the khedive had sent his own official private car for our journey. at the railroad station in alexandria the khedivial entrance had been opened for us, and a cordon of soldiers were lined upon either side to secure us an uninterrupted passageway; the khedive had neglected nothing, not even forgetting to provide a delicious luncheon, which was served us in his car, as we proceeded to cairo.
-i resolved arnold’s perplexity and kitchener’s by saying that i had no intention of standing on my rights, and would be glad to pay kitchener an informal call, as i certainly did not wish to leave cairo without seeing him. when kitchener received this message, he promptly invited me to call at ten o’clock the following morning. he was evidently informed of my intention to call on the khedive at eleven o’clock and wished me to call on him (kitchener) first. this call was very brief. after the exchange of the customary formalities, kitchener launched into numerous questions about turkey. he wished to know more about the men who made up the committee of union and progress. he was especially interested in the grand vizier, prince said halim, to whom the young turk government had promised the place of the khedive of egypt--a position which he was qualified to fill on its social side by virtue of his aristocratic lineage and superior education. kitchener asked me to explain, if i could, how a man of said halim’s antecedents had come to be associated with “such uncouth cut-throats” as talaat and enver.
-we had scarcely gotten into an intimate conversation when i realized that i must hurry back to my hotel where the khedive’s carriage was to call for me shortly before eleven o’clock. kitchener said that he wished to continue the conversation, and asked me if i would not bring mrs. morgenthau and my daughter to lunch with him two days later. i accepted the invitation.
-at eleven o’clock the khedive’s carriage arrived to take me to the palace for my official call. policemen were posted at every cross street along the entire route, so as to give us an uninterrupted right of way and to give us proper recognition. i was delighted with my conference with the khedive. he proved to be a thoroughly up-to-date, modern enterprising business man without any frills or assumption of airs. he met me at the door of the reception room, led me to a sofa, sat down next to me, and while sipping the inevitable turkish coffee, talked to me for about half an hour about some of his investments in turkey, and told me of his intention to occupy his summer residence on the bosphorus at yenikeny where i also had taken summer quarters. he then said that he regretted exceedingly that, before he had learned of my impending visit, he had made an appointment which would require him to leave town that afternoon, and he asked, in consequence, if he might not return my visit that same day. i told him that he reminded me of a japanese student who, after paying a two-hour afternoon call on a lady in boston, and receiving from her when he left a polite invitation to call again, walked around the block three times, and paid her a second visit. the khedive laughed heartily, and though i assured him that i would gladly waive the formality which required him to return my visit, he insisted that he wished to continue the conversation, and would call later in the day.
-consequently, that same afternoon, the khedive returned my call at the consular agency, continuing the conversation as though there had been no interruption. he told me of the enormous cotton exports of egypt valued at two hundred million dollars a year, and how his forefathers had developed the cotton industry in egypt. as kitchener had done, he asked numerous questions about the conditions in turkey, and was very solicitous about the activities of the government, and their relation to the diplomatic situation in constantinople. it was a very curious experience to sit with one of the oriental potentates on an absolutely equal footing, and to hear him talk about commercial and political affairs in perfectly good english, and in a business vernacular.
-the day after i exchanged calls with the khedive i had a very interesting visit from his brother, ali mehemmid, who called on me, and we talked for two hours. he proved to be a thoroughly chauvinistic oriental, even assuring me that he had remained single because he wanted absolute freedom in his political moves. he had travelled a great deal, and his pride and patriotism were deeply wounded by the fact that egypt had to submit to british protection. under the pressure of my questions, he admitted that the egyptians had greatly benefited by british rule, but he claimed that these benefits were more than counterbalanced by the evils which the european customs and schools had introduced into his country. he felt that the schools depraved the egyptian children, and that the egyptian women had been much happier before they read european novels and became slaves of the modes. he admitted that the orientals were imitators, and would eventually have to find some way of “orientalizing the occidental progress,” which i thought was a neat way of putting it. he disliked the union and progress party in turkey because its members lacked breeding, and experience in administration. he believed that the arabs and turks living in turkey would not permit the constitutional turks to trade them away in order to save their five vilayets in and near europe. i returned prince mehemmid’s visit the next day, and was greatly surprised to see that he was building an egyptian palace. he had none but egyptian workmen, and was having magnificent wood carvings done right on the premises. he showed me his stables, and told me he had purchased the best specimens of pure arab breed, and was determined, for the sake of egypt, to perpetuate the finest breed of arabian horses.
-during our several days in cairo we had a number of interesting experiences, including various meetings with the jews, which i shall describe in another chapter. after a visit to the oldest coptic church, which was built fourteen hundred years ago on the site of a temple that stood on a spot where the arabs first entered cairo, we went to the famous cairo university. our guide was arif pasha, the representative of the khedive, who had been a schoolmate of mr. schmavonian. he introduced us to the sheikh-ul-islam, who took us to see the pupils. this was a never-to-be-forgotten sight. ten thousand pupils were seated on the floors of the institution, there being no chairs or benches. squatting on the ground, which was covered with stones, all of them were intently listening to readings or explanations by priests and teachers, all of them obviously very poor, and all equally sincere and earnest. the scholars were from many lands and races--from india, all parts of turkey and the provinces, abyssinia, even negroes from somaliland. i have never seen so many people apparently so insatiable for knowledge, and so tremendously absorbed in acquiring it amid such squalid conditions. they seemed perfectly content, and, yet, i was told, they live on next to nothing. each receives at the beginning of the week a certain number of flexible pieces of bread, and they have to divide them up themselves so that they will last for the succeeding seven days. they sleep on miserable cots, four and five in one room.
-at last came our luncheon with lord kitchener. even at this private luncheon i could foresee that the question of precedence was bound to present itself, and i was interested to learn how he was going to circumvent it. when we arrived, i was very much amused at the ingenuity he had displayed in evading it. in his dining room he had had two separate tables set, at one of which he presided with mrs. morgenthau at his right, and at the other of which his sister presided, and i sat at her right. after luncheon, he took us through some of the rooms, and showed us his wonderful collection of russian ikons, describing how he had gathered them, and drawing our attention to those that were especially attractive. then he took me into a small room, closed the door, and we had an intimate lengthy conversation. he had profound reasons for being intensely interested in the personalities and ambitions of the new young turk government in constantinople, and he evidently intended to take full advantage of my freshly acquired knowledge, for he practically put me on the witness stand on this subject, and indulged in a very thorough cross examination.
-with egypt nominally a protectorate of turkey, and in view of great britain’s interest in egypt, it was enormously important for kitchener to get at the actual facts of what was going on at the capital of turkey. he could not understand how said halim, who was the cousin of the khedive and was wedded to an egyptian princess, was permitting these young turks to use him as a figure-head, and allowing them to encroach upon his prerogatives as grand vizier. kitchener told me that he knew all about the sultan, and realized how impotent he was to exert any influence, or to assume any real authority; that he had expected that said halim would be the real power in turkey, but that his present information was that talaat and his committee of union and progress were developing into the real authority. he was especially anxious to know all about enver. he was surprised that a man like enver who had never won a battle and was only a revolutionist, and not a soldier, should be raised from the rank of major to be minister of war, because, in turkey, the minister of war was really the head of the army. kitchener also asked me what the true condition of the turkish army was, and whether his information was correct that turkey was rapidly disintegrating. he thought that these inexperienced men would never be able to master the situation, and re-assert their authority over lost territories. he was anxious to know the attitude of the foreign ambassadors toward the young turks--how they treated them--and whether they mixed with them socially; and he was astonished when i told him that the german ambassador was the only one who had any real contact with, and influence over, the young turks.
-i answered all his questions as fully as i could with propriety, and then, in turn, began to ply him with questions of my own. i asked him whether he was satisfied with england’s progress in egypt. in reply, he went into a very elaborate and interesting explanation of great britain’s colonial policy, and explained his conception of empire building. he pointed out the definite continuity that had existed in great britain’s growth, and how essential it was for her to make secure the avenues of approach for her commerce from england to india. he expressed the opinion that the english--both by reason of their flexible character, their equitable system of administering justice, their willingness to preserve established customs and respect for religious institutions, and their long experience in such enterprises--were the best equipped of all peoples for colonial administration. he told me about some of his experiences in developing the soudan; and in his description of this work, and of the work of the british empire builders in other parts of the world, he talked of the colonies in the same manner, and from much the same viewpoint, as i had been accustomed to hear among business men in new york who were developing some big business combination or trust.
-i left lord kitchener with an impression of a man of sound business and political sense, powerful force of will, and an intense patriotism.
-when we bade farewell to cairo, we passed again through the khedivial entrance, and again entered the khedive’s private car, which sped us part of the way along the suez canal to port said. we spent an hour inspecting the canal at its mouth and the delesseps monument, and then boarded the steamer which was to carry us to jaffa on the coast of palestine. it was on this steamer that we had the good fortune to meet viscount bryce and his wife. this meeting was the beginning of a friendship which i valued most highly. on this trip i first had occasion to observe his method of obtaining information, which doubtless accounts for a part of his remarkable equipment as an historian. he was quite the greatest living questioner that i have ever met. he had developed cross examination to a fine art of picking men’s brains. most other men gather their information from books. it was a joy to be permitted to attend his séances with people who possessed information. he first put them completely at ease by ascertaining what subjects they were thoroughly posted on, and then, with a beneficent suavity, he made them willing contributors to his own unlimited store of knowledge. his thirst for facts was unquenchable. question followed question almost like the report of shots fired from a machine gun. by this process, i have seen him rifle every recess of the minds of men like schmavonian, who was a storehouse of turkish history, custom, and tradition, and of dr. franklin e. hoskins, who is a profound scholar in bible history. his method was physically exhausting to his victims, and in the hands of a less delightful personality would have been intolerable. but lord bryce was as charming as he was inquisitive, and more than that, he gave out of his vast erudition as freely as he received.
-the morning after my first cross examination at his hands we arrived at jaffa and proceeded on our tour through palestine.
-after the customary visits to the shrines of the christians and the jews and the moslems (whose interest and significance were doubled by the eloquence and learning of dr. hoskins and mr. schmavonian), we proceeded northward toward nabulus and damascus. on our way thither we made a side trip westward to witness the samaritan easter sacrifice on mount gerizim. these samaritans are one of the most interesting surviving remnants of antiquity in the world. they have scrupulously refrained from marrying outside their tribe, and have retained unchanged the customs which their lineal ancestors observed in the remotest biblical times, antedating the christian era by many centuries. the total population in march, 1919, was only one hundred and forty-one. during easter week they dwell in about twenty camps, living the life of their ancestors, and worshipping god in accordance with customs nearly four thousand years old. each year at easter-tide they ascend mount gerizim which they claim is the original mount moriah, to perform the ancient sacrifices after the manner, and as they claim, on the spot where abraham performed them at the time when he offered to sacrifice isaac. when we reached their encampment on mount gerizim, we called on the high priest, jacob-ben-aaron who, after we had paid our respects, asked us if we wished to go over the grounds, and have the various things explained to us. he was too old to accompany us, and consequently requested two senior priests to act in his stead. they showed us the ruins of the temple which abraham had erected, the spot where he had suddenly discovered the ram who saved isaac from the sacrifice, and the altar where the ancient sacrifices took place.
-just before sundown, the samaritans gathered and began the services which were to last all through the night. they began with prayer and song, which were kept up for more than an hour until the sun had set. they then killed seven beautiful white lambs, and put them into a great hole in the ground, in which fires had been burning for a week. this was in accordance with the law which prescribes that no flames shall touch the meat of sacrifice. so the fires were removed before the carcasses were placed in the pits and covered with earth, after which the intense heat of the ground accomplished the necessary roasting. the samaritans then resumed their prayers and singing, which by alternating, they kept up unbroken until a quarter to twelve, midnight. in the meantime, we occupied our two tents which had been erected by the american colony at jerusalem for our use--one of the tents for repose, and the other a dining room where we took our evening meal. some of the ladies wrapped themselves in rugs and went to sleep on steamer chairs, and the girls sat about chatting, while doctors bliss and hoskins and i visited the different tents of the samaritans, and had long talks with the high priest and other priests. the high priest explained to us that the material condition of the tribes was very bad. the arabs disliked them and barely tolerated them. he, himself, was supposed to live on a tithe of the income of the tribe, but he said that this amount would not suffice to keep him for more than one month of the twelve, so that although he was more than seventy-four years of age, he used most of his time in copying the pentateuch in samaritan, and selling it whenever he could. upon this hint, i bought a copy.
-one of the tents was reserved for the unclean women. they are not permitted to partake of the holy meat, but in return they are allowed certain liberties. they had an arab servant who was dancing for them while they were beating time with their hands.
-in another tent we visited there was a sick man who was being looked after by a doctor. it was a very queer sight. the moon was shining brightly and you could see the men and women sitting around and visiting one another, all anxiously awaiting the division of the lambs. the high priest excused himself for not having provided one lamb for us, but he had not anticipated that we would remain there until midnight. of course, he said, as we were not samaritans, he could not offer us any of the sacrificial meat.
-about midnight, the lambs were brought out and there were seven groups, and to each group was given a lamb, and they divided it with their hands and ate it with their fingers--no knife, fork, or any other implement being used. a great many of the men took large chunks of the meat to their tents, where the women and children were waiting. they ate it ravenously, as the law prescribes.
-it was indeed a strange and interesting experience. here, on a fine moonlight night, on a lonely mountain in distant palestine, was a little tribe of people carrying out without affectation the customs which their ancestors had observed unbroken for thousands of years, still dressed in the same garb, speaking the same language, and conducting themselves in the same manner as the shepherd folk of the time of abraham.
-a member of our party, mr. richard whiting, took a number of remarkable flash-light photographs of the ceremonies, a complete series of reproductions of which was published in the national geographic magazine some years ago. shortly after midnight our party started homeward. most of them were afraid to trust themselves in the dark on the horses and donkeys, and so they walked. lord bryce and i stuck to our horses, and it was a curious sight to see our little caravan wending its way toward the hotel in the darkness of the middle of the night--i with my samaritan manuscript, and my daughter with one of the knives used for the sacrifice, which had been presented to her by one of the samaritans.
-the headquarters from which we had made our excursion to mount gerizim was the city of nabulus. from this same headquarters we made another excursion to sebastiyeh, the old samaritan capital of the ten tribes of judea. here was the spot where the assyrians besieged the jews for three years, and then, in turn, were driven out by alexander the great. the ruins had jewish foundations and superstructures erected by the romans under herod.
-these two plunges into remote antiquity suggested to my imagination the reply which i made to the governor of nabulus when he called one day in great excitement to say that he had just been notified that talaat had telegraphed from constantinople to ask whether we were satisfied with our progress and receptions. the governor was very anxious to know what he could do for me, and asked whether i preferred a dinner or some other form of entertainment. i replied that i had had so many turkish dinners, and so many formal receptions, and asked if he would not arrange an arabian night. the allusion evidently meant nothing to him, for i had to explain that i wanted to witness exactly how the arabs spent their evenings, and suggested to him that this could be done if he would collect a group of important men of the town at some place where they were accustomed to gather, and permit me and a few of my friends to sit in with them as silent observers. the governor caught the spirit of my request, and arranged for the entertainment. at eight-thirty the following evening he and a number of his officials called for us (lord bryce, doctors bliss and hoskins, messrs. peet, schmavonian, and myself), and led us through the winding darkness of the streets of a real arabian town.
-the chief of police and three of his assistants headed our procession. each was carrying a table lamp instead of the ordinary lantern. then i followed, with the governor of nabulus on one side and viscount bryce on the other, and behind us, the rest of our party, mahmoud tewfik hamid, the recently elected deputy of the district, and other prominent arabs.
-as we walked through the dark, narrow little streets bending in every direction, we saw here and there a shoemaker at his work, and a few fruit shops still tempting the few passers-by with their wares. the air we breathed was laden with a pleasing oriental aroma. at last, we unexpectedly found ourselves in a large square courtyard, in the centre of which was a fountain playing. from this courtyard we were ushered into an illuminated room about thirty feet square and twenty feet high. marble divans ran around the sides of this room, covered with beautiful rugs. in the centre were numerous lamps of various kinds, and the walls were hung with rugs. on the divans sat, cross-legged, twenty-four of the most prominent arabs of the city, smoking, drinking coffee, sipping lemonade, and carrying on an animated conversation. through the guide, a nephew of the governor, i requested them to continue their discussions, and to disregard our presence. the guide, in the meantime, informed us as to the pedigree and identity of the arabs present.
-doctor bliss interpreted for me. the arabs were discussing the expected completion of a railroad line to nabulus, and the effect it would have upon the exports of soap, which was the principal product of the city. they were pleased to know that they could make up larger packages than could be carried by the camels, which were the only means of transport at the moment, and they were figuring out the economy of this innovation. after concluding their discussion, they turned to us and acted as our hosts. they spoke with great pride of their lineage. they looked, indeed, with their intelligent faces and dignified bearing, like men bred of good stock. one of them told me that he had positive evidence at home that his family had lived in nabulus for more than five hundred years, and another one traced his lineage back to the prophet mohammed.
-the scene reminded me of the “thousand and one arabian nights.” two sons and two nephews of ismail agha nimr, the owner of the house, were continually flitting about, serving cigarettes, syrup, tea, and coffee. nothing could have been more gracious or hospitable than their manner toward us.
-our homeward walk was made under the full moon, and was as picturesque as had been the one earlier in the evening. unconsciously, i could not keep from expecting genii to jump out at me from one of the little doors of the native houses.
-from tiberias, our route led us to damascus, where we spent several days exploring this most ancient of cities, and the beautiful surrounding country, and visiting the very attractive ruins at balbek. thence, we went to beirut where the syrian protestant college is located--one of the finest american institutions in the near east. here we visited a very interesting jewish settlement also. we then journeyed to mersine, adena, tarsus, and rhodes, returning to constantinople on may 1st.
-in january, 1916, i applied to the state department for a leave of absence, so that i might pay a visit to the united states, which i had not seen for more than two years. i had begun to feel the effects of the nervous strain of my labours to avert the terrible fate of the armenians and jews. these labours, and my experiences with german diplomatic intrigue in constantinople during the war, have already been described in my earlier book, published in 1918 under the title, “ambassador morgenthau’s story,” to which i must refer any of my readers who are interested to pursue my turkish experiences further.
-i spent the first few days after my return to the united states with my old political friends in washington, and i was shocked at the prevailing political atmosphere. not one of the numerous men high in the administration with whom i talked had the slightest hope that president wilson could be reëlected that fall. they were all convinced that, as the breach in the republican party had been healed, our political opponents were prepared to present a united front and were determined to win; and that, on the other hand, the administration had made so many enemies in the preceding three years that the president’s defeat in november was a foregone conclusion. tammany had received no consideration at his hands, and was very bitter; and hence there was little likelihood of our carrying new york. “organization leaders,” otherwise the bosses, generally, had been ignored, and the party machinery was rusty from disuse, where it was not actually broken down by dissension. william g. mcadoo told me frankly of his intention shortly to resign from the cabinet and return to private business. josephus daniels spoke hopelessly of the political outlook. frank l. polk and franklin d. roosevelt gave me the same picture of party dissension, apathy, and despair. even senator james a. o’gorman of new york, whom i had known for many years as a man of native optimism and irish courage, said to me: “henry, it is sheer insanity to talk of reëlecting president wilson. he hasn’t a ghost of a chance. i am convinced that the democratic party will be buried under a republican landslide this fall.” but after listening to my enthusiastic arguments to prove that the president simply must be reëlected and that we could convince the country of this necessity, he shared my conviction. he said: “henry, if i had had your viewpoint on this matter earlier, i would have modified my attitude. but i have gone too far now: with my record behind me, i cannot make a fight for reëlection as senator.”
-my conversation with these men shocked me, but did not depress me. it aroused my fighting spirit. to my mind, the reëlection of president wilson offered not merely an opportunity for partisan advantage, but i felt profoundly that the condition of international affairs made it a vital necessity to our safety as a nation, and to the cause of humanity the world over, because the rest of the world was looking to mr. wilson to be ultimately the man who should bring about peace. i pointed out to my friends the force of these arguments, and the folly, from our national point of view, of changing administrations at such a critical juncture in our history. if a republican were elected in november, mr. wilson’s hands would practically be tied for the remaining four months of his administration, while the president-elect would be equally impotent to take effective measures to safeguard our interests in international affairs.
-i stressed the need to arouse the party from its lethargy, and to begin at once a powerful and nation-wide campaign to reëlect the president. the cabinet officers at washington responded to the enthusiasm which i poured into this enterprise, and i soon had some members of the national committee awake and actively coöperating. at a conference with mr. burleson, i discovered that the congressional campaign committee had done nothing. he sent for mr. doremus of michigan, whose duty it was to launch this congressional campaign. he painted a gloomy picture of the outlook for the congressional elections. “we have no money to help the boys make their fights for reëlection, and we have no one to whom we can go and get it. many of them are thoroughly discouraged, and see no use in trying to do anything for the party, so they are just waiting for the end and planning to go back into private life.” i asked mr. doremus: “what is the minimum amount necessary to start vigorous work for their reëlection? i don’t want to know how much you want, but how little you can possibly get along with.” he named a modest figure, but declared that even this was impossible to raise. i promptly under-wrote it personally, and he went to work eagerly; and he afterward reported to me that this action greatly changed the attitude of the congressmen when they realized that help was at hand to make a real fight for the election. it practically created several hundred active campaign managers at a stroke.
-i then returned to new york, and on my own responsibility, leased national headquarters at no. 30 east forty-second street, signing the lease in my own name, after i had shown the rooms to colonel house and charles r. crane, who approved my selection. i bought and rented furniture, typewriters, and other supplies, and got everything in shape so that the moment the approaching convention was over, and the new campaign committee named, they would find the tools for their work ready to hand, and could go on the job without the delay we had experienced in 1912.
-in view of the hopelessness which i had found among the party leaders, and in view of the very narrow margin by which mr. hughes was defeated the following november, i take pride in the consciousness that my activities were one of the necessary factors that led to mr. wilson’s reëlection in 1916.
-i shall return later in this article to other dramatic incidents of that campaign, including some of the exciting events of election night that are not generally known.
-meanwhile, in addition to the negative difficulties of apathy and despair, there were numerous positive troubles that needed immediate attention. i shall describe one of these problems in which i was called upon to take a hand personally in straightening it out. it concerned the appointment of a postmaster for new york city. here was a dangerous political situation. the late john purroy mitchel was then mayor of new york city, and was making a splendid record. his presence in that position was of course a standing annoyance to tammany hall, which he had fought all his life. tammany was already irritated enough at the administration, because of president wilson’s unbending opposition. some of the party managers in the administration at washington had thought to placate tammany by a tardy recognition of the “wigwam” in the shape of an appointment of a postmaster agreeable to murphy. postmaster general burleson had manipulated this arrangement, and when i arrived in washington, i found that the appointment of a tammany man to be postmaster had proceeded so far that the commission was on president wilson’s desk for him to sign. the man to be named was joseph johnson, who was an intimate associate of murphy’s, and who had done some very aggressive publicity work for tammany hall. murphy had had him appointed fire commissioner of new york under mayor gaynor, and mayor mitchel had displaced him when he succeeded gaynor. in retaliation, johnson had taken great pleasure in spreading political propaganda adverse to mitchel, so that there was an intense political feud between the two men. i realized that johnson’s appointment as postmaster would deeply offend the better element of the democrats in new york, and would cause such dissension as probably to result in our losing the state and national election. i knew, too (and this was perhaps of even greater importance), that johnson’s appointment would be so repugnant to the new york world that this brilliant champion of president wilson and his policies would be disgusted and would lose the fine enthusiasm that made its support so effective. i therefore went to the white house, and called upon president wilson.
-i presented my arguments against johnson’s selection with all the force of which i was capable, but found that the president took only a languid interest in my attempt to re-open a subject which he considered closed. the nearest approach to rousing him which i achieved, was when i pointed out to the president that johnson’s appointment would alienate john purroy mitchel. he thereupon flashed out with, “mitchel is no help to us anyway.” i then realized the president’s deep irritation at mitchel’s active campaign for military preparedness, which he had pushed so vigorously that it amounted, on the one hand, to a threat that he would leave the party if a preparedness programme were not undertaken, and on the other, to a serious embarrassment of the president’s carefully considered foreign policy. the president finally tried to dismiss the subject by saying that i had come too late, that burleson had arranged the whole matter, and that the commission was on his desk for signature. i then asked him as a personal favour not to sign the commission for a few days, and to this he consented.
-i then made a call upon the postmaster general. mr. burleson evidently misjudged the temper of my resolution. in our association in the campaign of 1912 he had never seen me thoroughly aroused, and did not realize that i was so now. he argued the matter in a soothing manner, and at length made me the astounding proposal, not only that i should assent to the nomination of johnson, but that i should write a letter to the president commending it. i evidently astonished the general with the vigour of my reply. i informed him emphatically that i would not write such a letter, and practically challenged him to see which of us would have the final say regarding the nomination.
-i next sought colonel house to get his advice and coöperation. i got only the advice--and a glimpse into the true nature of his relationship with the president. he told me that it was his custom to present freely to the president his views upon questions of the moment, but that he believed that it was the president’s duty to decide, and that once the president had expressed an opinion, it was not proper for him to argue the matter with him.
-i did not accept colonel house’s advice. i was confident that my judgment of the johnson appointment was sound, and i felt no hesitation in renewing my effort to convince mr. wilson. i returned to the white house, and resumed my argument. i pointed out to the president the danger of losing the enthusiasm of the new york world and the extreme importance of carrying new york in the fall election, and the embarrassment which johnson would cause us in that effort. “do you mean to say,” demanded the president, “that if i appoint johnson postmaster, it will cost us new york in november?”
-i understood the president’s psychology well enough not to answer with a direct affirmative. if i had said “yes,” the scotch-irish in him would have instantly replied, “then, i don’t care if we do lose it.” worse yet, he would have doubted my own loyalty and fighting spirit. i replied, therefore, somewhat less directly. recalling mr. wilson’s enthusiasm for golf, i said: “no, mr. president, i do not mean that. what i do mean is that you will put an enormous bunker in our way and it will require great skill for us to get over it.” this answer pleased him, and we continued the discussion. “whom else could i name?” he asked me. i answered truthfully that i had no candidate; and that i was concerned only to prevent johnson’s selection, and had not the slightest objection to his selecting a good tammanyite for the position. i added that two tammany men occurred to me as being unobjectionable, state senator robert e. wagner, or assemblyman alfred e. smith.
-the president finally agreed not to appoint johnson, and several days later, telegraphed me in new york, asking me to offer the position to senator wagner. i did so, and almost persuaded him to accept it, with his proviso that he should get murphy’s consent. this he failed to obtain, so that for the rest of the year the republican incumbent continued to hold the office. tammany would not have been placated anyway by this one sop thrown to them at the last minute, and, on the other hand, i had the satisfaction of preventing the defection of mitchel and the weakening of the new york world’s support.
-president wilson was re-nominated unanimously at the convention at st. louis in july. the next question was to name the chairman of the campaign committee so that we could proceed at once to vigorous action. i was suggested for the position, and i promptly refused to consider it, pointing out that my antagonism to tammany would certainly cause the organization in new york to resent my appointment. the various state organization leaders were already irritated enough over the lack of consideration that they had received throughout the wilson administration. some of them were determined to revolt unless a chairman should be named from the recognized party workers of the national committee. the president has the right to name the man who shall manage his campaign for reëlection, and his advisers were distinctly worried over the attitude of the organization leaders. i was asked to suggest someone to act as treasurer of the campaign committee, and i mentioned vance mccormick of pennsylvania. this probably suggested a solution of the difficulty, and the president shortly afterward named mccormick chairman of the campaign committee. as mccormick was a regular party leader, and was besides very popular, there could be no objection to this choice. it proved indeed a very happy one. all who know mccormick personally are unanimous in their appreciation of his high character and of his utterly charming personality. he is a most unusual mixture of forcefulness and sweetness of spirit. his selection was an ideal one. the concord which prevailed at democratic headquarters throughout the campaign of 1916 was in pleasing contrast to the fretful bickerings of 1912, and this difference was due chiefly to mccormick’s influence.
-i devoted myself, as i had in 1912, chiefly to the financial side of the campaign. this time i had powerful assistance. thomas l. chadbourne, jr., and bernard m. baruch were particularly valuable allies. i had only to suggest, to one or the other, where i thought they might find some prosperous and as yet untaxed democrat, to have him eagerly exclaim, “i’ll get him,” and neither of them ever failed to make good his boast. some gave cheerfully out of their abundance, as did edward l. doheny, whom i personally solicited and who contributed $50,000, which he later got back, and a quarter of a million more, by taking a sporting chance on a close election and betting heavily on wilson’s success. others gave equally greatly out of meagre resources. of these, the most touching was the gift from the late franklin k. lane, who had saved up a thousand dollars in the preceding six months and gave it out of the fulness of his patriotism and his personal affection for the president.
-perhaps the most amusing episode of our campaign for party finances was our experience with henry ford. one of our plans called for an extensive campaign of newspaper advertising, which would require a large sum of money. someone suggested that mr. ford, in view of his interest in world peace and in president wilson’s peace record, might be willing to supply the funds. after some correspondence, ford agreed to meet vance mccormick in new york, and in august, 1916, they met at luncheon in mccormick’s rooms at the biltmore hotel. the luncheon party consisted of ford, mccormick, thos. a. edison, and josephus daniels. all four men are well known for their temperance proclivities, and doubtless they lived up, on this occasion, to their professions and their usual practices. it must have been either the intoxication of political ideas, or the effervescence of youthful spirits which prompted them after luncheon to dispense temporarily with the serious business in hand, and enter into a lively competition in high kicking in the sitting room of the suite in friendly but vigorous rivalry to see which could first kick the chandelier. none of them reached this goal, but henry ford, who started his business life by repairing bicycles, set a new world’s record by topping the other three several inches in this pedal competition. to make sure that my memory of this event was correct, i wrote to vance mccormick for verification. his reply is worth repeating:
-dear uncle henry:
-your recollection of the ford-edison luncheon was in general correct. the luncheon was held in my sitting-room in the biltmore and the invitation was arranged through secretary daniels who was present at the luncheon with mr. ford and mr. edison. as i remember, john burroughs was also present. i will have to confirm that, however, through the newspaper accounts of the luncheon....
-during the luncheon, as i remember it, the principal topic of discussion was the question of the best diet for an active man to produce the greatest results and extend one’s life to a ripe old age. mr. edison started the discussion by stating that he lived principally on hot milk and bread. this lead to a general discussion, but the principal debaters were mr. edison and mr. ford, each advocating his own diet. finally the debate waxed so warm that a demonstration of athletic ability was proposed and i think it was mr. ford who stated that he could kick higher than mr. edison, whereupon as we left the table a high kicking contest was indulged in and the marks made upon the wall, and my recollection is that mr. ford was the highest kicker although, i believe, the contest was a close one.
-the lunch party was a most enjoyable affair and carried off more in the spirit of schoolboys than that of statesmen and geniuses....
-with kindest regards, i am
-this expansion of movement on ford’s part, however, suffered a severe contraction when the subject of finances was resumed. he interposed objections to every argument that was made for his contribution to the advertising campaign. he objected to giving money for political purposes, because he had heard so much about improper expenditures, and he was afraid that some of his money might go that way. he stood firm in that position even after it was pointed out to him that advertising rates were easily determined, and the expenditures could be checked.
-exhausted by their efforts to pin ford down to a definite proposal, mccormick and daniels brought him over to democratic headquarters, introduced him to me, and, as mccormick expressed it, left him to my tender mercies. i re-argued the points they had covered, and found out ford’s real position. he would contribute, but he wanted terms that would advertise himself and his cars. the advertisements, when published, must be in the form of a statement of ford’s personal views on the campaign, and must bear his signature. in addition, as compensation, we were to guarantee him the privilege of calling upon the president, so that he might lay before him the plan which he contemplated of adding the women in his employ to the men who were already benefitting by the minimum wage of $5 a day. he wanted the president, he said, to get the credit for advising him to make this arrangement. no doubt, he was even more anxious to get the publicity that would come from making the announcement after the visit.
-we accepted ford’s proposition, but he drove a hard bargain, for, after all, his contribution was a small one, and absurdly disproportionate to his means and to his professions of interest in the election.
-one minor incident of the campaign had a significant bearing on the subsequent career of senator carter glass of virginia. president wilson asked me to see mr. glass and persuade him to accept the position of secretary of the democratic national committee. he gave no reason for this request, and i had considerable difficulty with mr. glass, who shied away from the suggestion. i assured him that we did not expect him to perform any routine duties. we wished him to accept the post only so that we might have him at hand to consult upon questions of campaign strategy as they arose. he finally consented. from subsequent developments, it was evident that mr. wilson even then had mr. glass in mind for higher honours, and wished to use this means of bringing him more prominently before the general public, so that he would be more readily accepted by national opinion when the day came for an appointment.
-we realized that the election at best was going to be a very close one. we felt reasonably sure that the disaffection of tammany in new york, and of the roger sullivan organization in illinois, would cost us those two states. we had to make up their expected loss in other directions, and for this reason we concentrated on ohio and the states of the pacific coast. i was very much astonished when mr. elbert h. baker, the proprietor of the cleveland plain dealer, came into headquarters one day and assured us that we would carry ohio by 75,000 votes. i had no such hopes, and regarded mr. baker as a well-meaning enthusiast. some days later, however, in conversation with secretary of war newton d. baker, he assured me that his namesake was not far wrong in his estimate. both were subsequently justified by events, as ohio gave president wilson 90,000 more votes than mr. hughes.
-one of the most useful individual contributions to our ultimate success in the pacific coast states was the vigorous campaign waged in the west by mr. bainbridge colby on his own initiative. mr. colby, it will be recalled, had been a republican, but in 1916 he was attracted by the progressive character of woodrow wilson. he therefore aligned himself as a member of the democratic party, and became one of president wilson’s most ardent supporters. his services were of the greatest value.
-despite our anxieties, we came to election day with hopes so high that they amounted to complete confidence in the result. so sure was i of the outcome, that i invited as many of my political friends as remained in new york (most of the national committeemen had gone to their homes to vote) to join me at a dinner at the biltmore on election night, november 6th. we arranged to receive the returns at the table, and planned that the occasion should be one of progressive jubilation.
-when the dinner began, we were a happy party. mrs. mcadoo’s vivacity was the keynote of an evening full of jest and laughter, and of confident anticipation of victory and four years more of democratic control of national policies. everything went merrily until about nine o’clock, when unfavourable returns began to filter in, and gloom began to settle on the assembly. nervousness gave way to consternation when, about ten o’clock, we received word that the new york times and the new york world had flashed their beacon lights to announce that the republicans had won. mr. mcadoo sank deep in his chair, the picture of dejection. mrs. mcadoo’s vivacity and appetite fled together. they excused themselves comparatively early, and departed. our dinner soon became, what it was afterward aptly called, a “belshazzar’s feast.” the party broke up, and those of us who had been active in the campaign, headed by vance mccormick, hurried back to headquarters on forty-second street. the news from new hampshire, minnesota, and california was especially encouraging. we resolved that, whatever else happened, this should not be another tilden-hayes defeat. we sent for attorney general gregory, and at our request, he telephoned to united states district attorney anderson in boston, ordering him to send deputies at once into new hampshire, to see that no violations of the election laws were permitted, and especially to guard against the reported intimidation of election officials preparing their returns.
-the newspaper reporters were flitting back and forth between our headquarters and the republicans, and we got from them a report that financial men were gathering in the headquarters of the enemy, and were raising an enormous fund to affect the returns from the west. we used the reporters to carry an ultimatum to the republicans. we reminded them that we had control of the federal legal machinery, warned them that we had already put the united states authorities in all doubtful states on the watch, and assured them that if the proposed fund were raised, it could only be for illegal purposes, and that if this effort were not instantly stopped, the whole crowd would find themselves in jail on the following morning. if they seriously contemplated such action, this threat was effective to stop it, and no effort was made by the republicans to use funds improperly.
-we then concentrated our attention upon california. within an hour had secured a through telegraph wire to democratic headquarters in san francisco and arranged that every precaution be taken to secure a fair count throughout the state.
-woodrow wilson was again president of the united states. the nation could count upon an uninterrupted and consistent policy through the critical winter of 1916-1917, and the world was the gainer by the exalted leadership and sustained nobility of policy which marked our reluctant, but high-minded, entrance into the world war, and its progress to a victorious conclusion.
-my meetings with joffre, haig, currie, and pershing
-just one week after the united states entered the war, president wilson invited twenty-four men from all parts of the country to meet in washington on april 21, 1917, to consider means of financing the american red cross. as i was one of the group, i came to washington a day earlier, and a few of us met at dinner. of the guests that i can now recall there were charles d. norton, cornelius n. bliss, jr., cleveland h. dodge, vance mccormick, and eliot wadsworth. we all agreed that the funds should be raised by a nation-wide popular subscription. the impression of all those present, with the exception of myself, was that about five, or at the most ten, millions could be raised for this purpose. i vigorously contested this point of view, and suggested that the minimum sum that we should start out to raise was fifty million dollars. i outlined the terrific needs, not only in this country, but also in europe, for help of this kind. none of them agreed with me that as large a sum as fifty millions could be secured, and they finally said: “if you feel this way about it, you propose it at the full committee meeting to-morrow.”
-the next day, when the committee was in session, i made the proposition and was astonished that none of those present at first grasped the idea that the american people could be induced to subscribe fifty million dollars. i then spoke a second time and told the committee that the american jews alone (of whom there were only three million) were then engaged in raising a fund of ten million dollars for their co-religionists abroad, and pointing to my friend, julius rosenwald, added: “there is one man in this room who individually obligated himself to contribute up to one million dollars to that fund. and i have no doubt there are several other men in this room who could and would subscribe one million dollars to the red cross, to say nothing of the other patriotic americans who would do likewise.”
-this was an inspiring example of those qualities of imagination, vision, and daring, which had made mr. davison, while still a young man, one of the foremost leaders of american finance. his decisive leadership and fiery energy aroused the enthusiasm of his associates, and put the work instantly in full swing.
-i suggested that the best way to get our campaign immediately and dramatically before the public was to obtain a proclamation from the president commending our plan to the nation. “we have a psychological opportunity,” i declared, “to reach the pockets of the people through an appeal to their eager desire to serve. at the most, only a small percentage of the population, and those the young men, can be active combatants. but every citizen wants to feel that he is himself enlisted in the common cause. active membership in the red cross is such an enlistment, because the red cross will be the second line of our army, inspiriting and heartening the boys.”
-they all agreed, but they feared it would take some time to get such a proclamation from the president, because he was so very busy, and it would be hard for him to find time to write it. i thought the proclamation could be secured by the following morning, and told mr. davison that secretary franklin k. lane was the man in washington who could most nearly phrase an idea in the language of the president, and that if we could get him to write the proclamation for us, i had no doubt that the president would sign it without substantial change. we went to lane’s office, and it was a pleasure to me to introduce these two able men of such diverse achievements, and to see how promptly each fell under the spell of the other’s charm of manner. mr. lane readily agreed to draft the proclamation, and promised to have it ready in a day of two. “we want it in twenty minutes!” i exclaimed. “i will give you the ideas we want expressed, and you can write it as well in that time as in as many days.” “all right, go ahead,” he replied, and after a short discussion, he reached for pen and paper, and within a few minutes had written the following message to the american people, that thrilled the country and made easy the path of the red cross campaign.
-throughout the land the spirit of the american people has been aroused and an intense desire to render some service that will give proof of their patriotism is moving every heart. as not more than one million of our citizens can be utilized to serve in the army and navy of the united states and be given the privilege of risking their lives on behalf of our beloved country, it is the duty of all the rest to do something to help those who are at the front. sickness and discomforts can only be prevented by the hearty coöperation of those who remain at home.
-to give every one a chance to share in the defense of our country:
-i, woodrow wilson, president of the united states, and president of the american national red cross, do appoint and proclaim that may 30th, 1917, be dedicated, in addition to our devotion on that day to those who have heretofore sacrificed their lives on the altars of our country, as a red cross day on which all our citizens should give, according to the measure of their ability, their money and their time to the american national red cross for the general purposes of the society, and especially for the comfort of our armed forces, the care of those dependent upon them, and the relief of war sufferers in foreign lands. we must perform this duty generously and not stintingly. no less than fifty million dollars should satisfy american pride.
-in a few minutes, his stenographer supplied us with typewritten copies, and within another hour, mr. tumulty, the president’s secretary, with whom we left the draft, had promised to bring it to mr. wilson’s attention that night. the following morning it was delivered to us, bearing the president’s signature. the confidence in america’s generosity was more than justified, as the red cross drive brought in 110 million dollars.
-in the following month (may, 1917) i had a curious experience with the ineptitude that able men sometimes display in public affairs. in that month a number of gentlemen gathered for the purpose of formulating a plan for a government-backed campaign to inform the american people more fully regarding the european situation, our aims in the war, and our proposed methods of waging the war. this meeting was one of the first steps taken in the direction which ultimately led to the formation of the bureau of public information, which performed the dual function of distributing government war publicity in this country and american war propaganda abroad. this was a non-partisan gathering, and the following gentlemen were present: charles e. hughes, thomas l. chadbourne, jr., john purroy mitchel, hon. william r. willcox, chairman of the republican national committee, william hamlin childs, george w. perkins, frank munsey, willard d. straight, william a. prendergast, robert adamson, and myself. we had a very interesting discussion, and at the close, vance mccormick and i were appointed a committee to submit the results to the president. that evening, frank munsey called me up on the telephone and after a great panegyric of john wanamaker, and enlarging upon his vast experience as an advertiser and publicity man, and as though he were delivering a nominating speech, suggested mr. wanamaker as war publicity director. i curtly answered that he would not do. he then veered over into a similar and extended eulogy of george w. perkins who, he declared, and with some justice, was one of the great experts in the securing of publicity. i was really taken aback that a man of mr. munsey’s acuteness should suggest to me that i propose one of these two men, both of whom had so openly and unflinchingly attacked president wilson during the recent campaign. i reminded him that mr. wanamaker had paid for lavish advertisements to bring about the defeat of president wilson. then my sense of humour overcame my annoyance: the very absurdity of his suggestions was irresistibly funny, and i asked mr. munsey why he did not suggest george harvey as his third choice and so complete the trinity of wilson’s strongest opponents in the publicity line.
-another episode, as felicitous as this one was inept, occurred in this same month. the occasion was the reception which new york city gave to marshal joffre, rené viviani, and arthur j. balfour, who were visiting this country as the heads of the french and british mission sent to express the appreciation of their governments upon our entrance into the war, and to advise with us upon the best means of making our military alliance effective. new york city enthusiastically welcomed both its distinguished guests, and mayor mitchel and his reception committee were happy at the opportunity to give these visitors the freedom of the city. to prevent any possibility of wounded susceptibilities, by seeming preference of one guest over another, separate ceremonies were arranged for each.
-at all these ceremonies, including the reception of the men at the dock, and even at the special dinner given to a select seventy at sherry’s, the lead was always given to that great citizen and grand old man of american private and public life, the late joseph h. choate. there never was any doubt as to who should be selected to match the generations of culture and statecraft so ably represented by balfour, the nephew of salisbury, the vivid french eloquence so charmingly illustrated by viviani, and the french eminence in the art of war which marshal joffre, the hero of the marne, so adequately typified. joseph h. choate was preëminently the man whom we could proudly call upon; who in his own person combined all the requisites of social grace, intellectual power, and international distinction.
-the climax of the entertainments offered our guests was a great dinner at the waldorf-astoria, at which mr. choate presided. as i was also a member of all the committees, and was in addition an ex-ambassador, i was constantly at his side. i know of no one, either in my own experience or in history, who at that advanced age, was his equal in youthful energy, in ebullition of spirits, in consummate geniality, and spontaneity of wit; nor any one who so wonderfully combined the learned lawyer, the able diplomat, and the democratic citizen. he was universally recognized as the “highest type of living american,” and we were proud to match him against the world.
-when he made his speech with joffre, viviani, and balfour at his side, and delivered that famous message to the officials at washington: “for god’s sake, hurry up,” and was greeted with the thunderous applause that followed, he reached the pinnacle of his career. as he stood there looking at that audience, radiating forth one of his beaming smiles, full of human sympathy, of hope and faith in america, it thrilled the audience and gave to the british and french representatives an unmistakable assurance that america was with them, and would stay with them to the finish. it was a glorious and most fitting close to choate’s great career to be permitted to use his last thoughts and energies, in his eighty-fourth year, for the welfare of his country. a few days later, while the effect of his last speech was still penetrating into the farthest corners of the earth, he passed away, mourned by all.
-in june, 1917, the president asked me to go abroad upon a secret diplomatic errand, which i am not even yet at liberty to disclose, further than to say that i learned that what the president hoped for could not be accomplished, and after a few days i proceeded to paris.
-this was one of the great hours of history. general pershing had arrived with his little staff of officers and a few regiments of american regular soldiers. this was america’s first pledge toward the promise of military aid, which was speedily to be redeemed in terms of two millions of american troops in france, and final victory in the war. i dined with ambassador sharp; and in his home i met general pershing, thomas nelson page, our ambassador to italy, and other prominent americans. i renewed old acquaintances in the american colony at paris, and soon learned the immense significance of the appearance of our soldiers in france. it was now the middle of july, and only a little earlier the french people had almost seemed to falter in their struggle. france seemed to have been bled white by three years of devastating war. frenchmen were saying that it was as well to die on their doorsteps as to be led to useless slaughter at the front. the french government was making a final desperate effort to restore the nation’s confidence. joffre in may had pleaded at washington for american troops--“no matter how few you send, only give us the sight of americans in uniform on the streets of paris.”
-i now had the privilege of watching, from the most favourable point of vantage, a critical test of the national psychology which the french government made in july, 1917. with a profound sense of dramatic values, they had arranged that the american troops should be exhibited to the french public on their independence day, july 14th, as units of a great patriotic parade. to make sure that they might accurately gauge the psychological effect, the president’s reviewing stand was placed in vincennes, where the people had suffered greatly from the privations of the war, and where disaffection was rife. i received an invitation to witness the parade from the president’s reviewing stand, and ambassador sharp, general pershing, and i were the only americans so favoured. we were arranged around president poincaré, with monsieur painlevé, minister of war, and others. m. painlevé afterward told me that he and the president of the republic had headed the procession while it was passing through the poorer quarters of the city, to test the attitude of the people before they had tasted the enthusiasm which the sight of troops would naturally arouse, and that they had been encouraged by receiving everywhere a cordial and even a hearty reception. nevertheless, i could plainly see the evidences of nervousness amongst the french officials--a nervousness which grew more intense as the military parade approached. it was somewhat relieved as the french soldiers marched by, and were greeted by the hearty cheers of the people. it disappeared entirely when our splendid americans swung past the reviewing stand. the enthusiasm of the spectators then passed all bounds. to the french officials this approval of the populace meant relief from a heart-breaking anxiety: to us americans who stood with them it was an occasion for patriotic pride. to see the flag of our young nation in this old capital of europe, and behind it those two thousand splendid examples of our young manhood, so erect in carriage, and so lithe in motion--their faces so eager and intelligent--their whole bearing so proudly representative of the millions that were to follow them, and to see how much their presence meant to rulers and people alike--all this made a picture that filled us with happiness. the effect upon the french nation was instantaneous and electrical. from despair, they changed overnight to fresh hope and confidence. though they then only hoped for one third of a million reinforcements within a year, and little dreamed of the marvel which was actually performed of bringing two million men speedily to france, they were nevertheless enthusiastic over the prospect. responsible frenchmen urged me to advise president wilson to assert himself at once as the leader of the whole alliance against germany; and responsible britons soon afterward added that they, as well as the french, would welcome a unified control of the allies’ political policy with president wilson in command. i think it profoundly significant, in view of the later course of events, that the european nations thus early conceded the necessity that americans should lead.
-i was still further informed of the real thoughts of the french officials when a few days later i dined with painlevé, who spoke with deep appreciation of the help which america was beginning now to extend. he spoke quite freely of the recent disaffection that had come among the french people after three years of terrible fighting and heavy losses, and with gratification of the change that had come over public opinion with the arrival of the american troops. he covered at length the dangerous situation on the russian front, the blunder committed at the beginning of the war in the failure of the entente fleet properly to pursue the goeben and the breslau, the capture of which would have kept turkey out of the war and spared them the difficult problem of the balkans. he discussed also the difficulties of the french in governing their colonies and dependencies; and, with special significance, he declared that negotiations for peace with germany could not be commenced before the complete evacuation of all the territory then occupied by the enemy.
-painlevé was especially solicitous regarding our ability to solve the problem of transportation of men and munitions to france. he was concerned over our ability to drill into a real army more than two hundred and fifty thousand men within a year. he asked eagerly about president wilson’s character, especially whether i thought he had the determination which, now that we had entered the war, would cause him to see it through with energy. he feared, from the hesitancy that we had displayed before entering, that we might be planning a lukewarm effort. he was delighted when i assured him of the iron resolution of president wilson, and of the habit of the american people, once aroused, to see a fight through to the finish.
-in the course of that evening (saturday), he asked me whether i had posted myself on the military conditions in france. i told him i had projected a trip to the british front, and was only waiting for the arrangements to be completed. he asked me whether i would not like to see something else in the meantime, and i replied that i should like very much to see the french front, and especially to visit the parts of alsace which the french had at last reunited to france. he was somewhat taken aback when, having asked me when i should like to go, i replied on the following monday. nevertheless, he proved himself possessed of a capacity for prompt action and execution. at ten o’clock on monday morning, there appeared at my hotel a very dapper french officer. he saluted, introduced himself as captain jaubert of general headquarters, and added: “at your command. i am to accompany you on your mission--your visit to the front.” a few moments later, a heavy-set, very intelligent-looking man, in the garb of a chauffeur, presented himself, likewise came to attention, saluted, and informed us that the car was ready. shortly thereafter, we were on our way.
-our party consisted of captain jaubert, my old friend schmavonian of the american embassy at constantinople, professor herbert adams gibbons, and myself. our first objective was gondrecourt, the camp and headquarters of the then tiny american expeditionary force. our route took us through that part of the battlefield of the marne which was nearest to paris, and as we sped along, jaubert explained to us, by means of sketches traced on the window glass with his forefinger, the tactics of that battle.
-arrived at gondrecourt, we saw a splendid sight. here were american boys in american uniform, with american automobiles and other equipment. it gave us a keen sense of home. captain jaubert, whom i had by this time discovered to be not only a captain but a marquis, and a nephew of the duke of montebello, soon located the headquarters of general sibert. we were here invited to dine with general ponydreguin, the commander of the famous “blue devils,” a very charming gentleman. he commanded the french troops in this neighbourhood, as general sibert commanded the americans. after dinner, we adjourned to the camp headquarters, which i found these two gentlemen shared. as neither spoke the other’s language, it was amusing to see them, while using an interpreter to converse with each other, carry through the french politenesses of direct conversation, smiling at each other, and bowing and courtesying, general sibert especially finding it difficult to accommodate his rather formal american manner to the livelier conventions of continental usage.
-after a tour of inspection, on the following morning, of the interesting activities of the camp, we proceeded on our way to domremy, the birthplace of joan of arc, where i wished to visit the church, which is a shrine to her memory. by this time i had discovered not only that my escort was a marquis, but, more surprising, that our chauffeur had been in private life a member of the paris bourse. the car in which we were riding belonged to him, and he had volunteered to do his bit for his country by putting the car at the government’s service, and offering himself as its chauffeur. captain jaubert, in accordance with military traditions of discipline, had treated him, a mere sergeant, as impersonally as if he were another piece of the car’s mechanism. when we drew up at joan of arc’s chapel, and dismounted to enter, i saw by his expression that he was as eager as i to see the interior of this famous shrine. the yearning look on his face, as he stood before the portals, which an absurd military convention forbade him to enter in company with us, who were no better than he, was too much for me to withstand. i asked captain jaubert to relax the rigours of discipline for the moment, and allow him to accompany us. the captain acquiesced with characteristic french politeness, though i suspected he did not especially relish it; but the chauffeur’s appreciation was sufficient recompense for whatever slight damage was done to military tradition. the captain himself had a fair grievance against military fate: he was a graduate of st. cyr and had resigned from the army during the dreyfus episode, with the result that he had had to reënter the army as a captain, while most of his classmates at the military school were at least colonels and many of them generals.
-that night we reached thann. we arrived about nightfall, and were met at the town boundary by the mayor. he invited us to spend the night with him at his suburban home, as it was not safe for us to sleep in the town. i was ushered into the best room in his house, and found that the mirror in the bathroom, as well as the tub, was almost demolished. the mayor explained that this damage had been done during the week, and that he had not had time to repair it. the next day was a great catholic holiday, assumption day, and we were invited to attend the services at the church of st. theobald. this spectacle was intensely interesting, because the parents of these people, though french by origin and sympathy, had been compelled by the germans to rear their children in the german tongue, and consequently, though the first sermon of the celebration was delivered in french by a chaplain of the french army, a second sermon was then delivered in german by an old abbé. the french general explained to me that he saw no reason why he should deprive the inhabitants of the town of their religious comfort simply because they could not understand french.
-at one o’clock we were entertained at the hotel by the two oldest inhabitants and most respected citizens of the town, messieurs weber and groshents. at this luncheon they paid me one of the most touching compliments i have ever received in my life. they were men of about seventy. both had been of age during the franco-prussian war, and both had continued throughout the forty-three years of the german occupation, since that war, to be unconquerably french in their patriotism. during the luncheon, while the conversation was lagging, owing to my insufficient knowledge of french, the two old men whispered to each other for a few minutes, and then one of them, mr. weber, turned to me, and said in german: “we have just released each other from the vows we made in 1871, that we would never again speak german in public. but we want to enjoy your company and we want so much to hear you talk to us, that we think we are justified in suspending our agreement.”
-we then had a most delightful conversation. mr. weber told me how, in 1871, he had taken the french flag which had flown over the city hall until the german occupation, and secreted it in the back of a sofa in his parlour, and how he had taken the flag staff and hidden it in his garret. then, when the french entered the town in 1914, he ripped open the sofa, took out the flag, fastened it back on its staff, and at seventy years of age had proudly presented it to president poincaré in celebration of the return of alsace to france.
-another day of interesting travel took us through the alsatian provinces to belfort, and there we abandoned the automobile, and returned by train to paris.
-a few days later i had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with marshal joffre, which i had first made at the civic receptions in new york. i called upon him at his headquarters at the military school in paris. marshal foch had succeeded him as commander-in-chief of the french armies, and joffre was now engaged chiefly in training staff officers, and in advising the high command when his judgment was needed in council. the marshal gave me, with great frankness, his ideas upon what america should do to make effective our military participation in the war.
-immediately after our interview i had a memorandum prepared by the gentleman who acted as my interpreter, from which i have made the following extracts:
-in the present warfare there is a most vital need for artillery officers and for general staff officers. the american department of war must realize this. it is not enough to have the men, the other officers, and even the equipment. the framework of the army is far from being complete or efficacious before you have a sufficient number of trained artillery and general staff officers. in order to train these officers for active field service, they should be sent to france. they can at once be sent to the front where for a week or two they can see the work done there. the general staff officers can then attend courses in the general staff school, and the artillery officers can be attached to french artillery regiments until they are thoroughly familiarized with the work.
-besides the artillery and general staff officers, the marshal advises to send in turns a certain number out of the two hundred newly promoted american generals to join the french divisions, army corps, or armies where they can obtain very valuable practical information most useful to them when they take over commands in the field.
-the marshal said that he had something very delicate to add. he had come to know that in america there was a certain class of officers whom he would call “the old officers”--those who would like to see all promotions and appointments made solely on the basis of seniority. between these old officers, and the younger officers, the marshal understood, there was or there might be friction. the marshal said that in an emergency like the present the things to be taken into consideration are efficiency and ability. when he took over the command, the same question came up in france. the marshal did not hesitate to drop from the ranks a large number of officers and to appoint in their stead younger and more capable men, without taking into consideration the seniority of the former. without clearly stating it, the marshal very delicately left the impression that in his opinion politics should play no part in military appointments.
-the marshal said that twice he had mr. roosevelt next to him at dinner in america. mr. roosevelt seemed anxious to come to france with some volunteers and fight against the germans, and he (mr. roosevelt) would be satisfied by being only second in command under a general. marshal joffre was not of the opinion that the realization of mr. roosevelt’s plan could be of great service and therefore desired to dissuade him from attempting to carry out his plan. so the marshal told mr. roosevelt, “my colonel, whatever you may be, you cannot be second!”
-in recapitulating, the marshal said, “do not wait until you are entirely ready in america. you should not attempt to act before you are ready, but there are things which you can do at once by degrees, little by little, while you are preparing yourselves. send officers to be instructed for the artillery and general staff services, send some generals, and put them at once in contact with our generals at the front. let a regiment or a battalion go to the trenches. from time to time send some men over.” the marshal’s idea seemed to be that while the main preparation and equipment should be carried out in america, some men and officers should be sent over for instruction in france, and the arrival from time to time of men and officers would create a favourable impression on the minds of the french who would see that america was doing something.
-the marshal spoke very highly of general pershing.
-two days before my conversation with marshal joffre, i had arranged a dinner in honour of general pershing. on the morning of that day, however, i received a letter from his secretary postponing the engagement. it read as follows:
-american expeditionary force office of the commanding general saturday, august 18, 1917.
-my dear mr. morgenthau:
-general pershing has requested me to inform you that much to his regret he will be unable to dine with you and mrs. morgenthau this evening. the general has had an engagement of long standing to take a particular trip with general petain when the latter was able to arrange it. this morning general petain has just sent general pershing word that he has made all arrangements for them to leave this afternoon. so under the circumstances the general hopes you will understand why he is unable to be with you this evening.
-very sincerely, w. c. eustis, secretary.
-when we met at dinner, four days later, the true meaning of this letter was revealed. general pershing explained that “his engagement of long standing to take a particular trip,” when translated, meant that general petain had promised him to let him witness the battle at verdun the first time active operations were resumed there. on the morning of our first appointment, general petain had sent general pershing word to come to verdun at once, and pershing had, of course, cancelled all conflicting engagements, and left for the front. he described to us what he had seen at verdun, and spoke with the eloquence and enthusiasm of a boy who has just seen his first big league game of baseball. pershing gave us a vivid picture of a modern battle. he had accompanied general petain to an observation dugout, where they could see the battle through the telescopes, as well as keep in touch with its multitudinous operations by telephone. the general in command of the division at this point was receiving messages from all parts of the battlefield, and transmitting them to petain. word would come that x had taken another hill, and petain would tell him to hold it or to move on, making his decisions for the various parts of the battlefield in accordance with his general plan of military action.
-general pershing was especially interested in a double coincidence of this visit. the division commander in the dugout was general gouraud. oddly enough, general gouraud had been the french military attaché in tokio when pershing was american attaché at the same point. in the dugout they fell to comparing notes on their experiences together in japan in 1905. general pershing recalled that one of their acquaintances there had been the german attaché, whom they had both detested. “by the way,” he inquired of gouraud, “what has become of that little german, von etzel, that we used to know in tokio?” “come here,” gouraud replied, “and look through this telescope. that is von etzel’s army retreating.”
-which had left its marks upon him, it dawned upon me that this man, colonel c. m. townsend, was the same townsend that had attended the college of the city of new york with me in 1870, and we had not seen each other once in the ensuing forty-seven years! this was one of the most remarkable feats that my memory ever surprised me with.
-when we returned to the château that evening, our genial host, colonel roberts, introduced us to a number of british writers who had arrived that day. lovat fraser, then leading editor of the london times; c. j. beattie, the night editor of the daily mail; l. cope crawford, of the london morning post; h. b. tourtel, of the daily express; sydney low, and a few others. after supper, we sat in the parlour in the old château, with its engravings by wilkie on the walls, and the old furniture, etc., and were reminded that it was right on the battlefield of agincourt. i listened to sydney low’s story of his writing “the conquest of attila,” who was assisted in his war by the ostrogoths (austrians) and opposed by the franks, visigoths, etc., and how attila had said that god would help him to destroy the christians, and he would be a scourge to them and sack their cities, or, as low put it, “just like emperor william, who told his army to act like the huns, and they are doing it.”
-another evening, we had discussions with some of the british labour leaders, who had come over to visit the front under the direction of mr. j. e. baker of the ministry of munitions. they were amazed when i told them that it was ridiculous to think that democracy could be established in a few years. they were really surprised to think that twenty-five years was inadequate to reform the world.
-another evening, colonel roberts asked me whether he could invite major tibbetts who was then in command of tank town, which they called the headquarters of the tank corps in that neighbourhood, as the major was very anxious to meet me. i told him i had never heard of the major, but that i should be very glad to meet him. it turned out that major tibbetts was in command of one of the landing parties at the dardanelles and that he was most desirous to ascertain what took place on the turkish side of the lines at that time. so here we sat in france and completely dovetailed our two stories into each other. he told me of his experiences--how he, with his party, had reached the cliffs, and had to dig themselves in, and the turks were pushing them hard, while the british ships were attacking the turks on the beach, and they were suspended between the two fires, totally ignorant of the actual state of affairs, while we in constantinople were wondering why those two detachments had not coöperated. he explained it, but as his explanation was rather confidential, i do not care to repeat it.
-one day, general charters, who was in charge of the intelligence department, came to see me, and asked me whether i was perfectly satisfied with my programme. i looked at him quizzically and said: “satisfied? yes. perfectly? no.” he said: “what else do you want?” i told him that i had heard so much recently of the activities of sir arthur currie, that i was anxious to meet him. he told me that it was impossible, as general currie was then conducting the attack on lens. i said to him: “look here, general, when i took charge of british affairs in constantinople, and found that the secretaries and clerks were much inclined promptly to say ‘no’ to all requests from british citizens, i promulgated order no. 1, which was, that no one but myself could say ‘no’ to any request from any citizen of any country whose affairs we had taken charge of, and, furthermore, that i would not say ‘no’ unless i had first received a ‘no’ from the grand vizier, or from the state department in washington.”
-general charters said: “i am on, sir,” and left the room. he came back in twenty minutes, and said: “sir arthur currie most cordially invites you to lunch with him to-morrow at one o’clock.” i said: “accepted with great pleasure; but tell me, how did you do it?” he said: “i called up sir douglas haig, and told him your story. he called up sir arthur currie, and the invitation was, as you see, promptly extended.”
-rather than repeat from memory the very interesting interview i had with sir arthur, i shall quote verbatim from the diary which i kept at the time, giving my impressions as they were written fresh at the moment:
-august 25, 1917. received by currie, a fine, tall, well-set, calm, determined man. he was anxious to make sure of our names. even there he showed his thoroughness. we repeated our names and handed him our cards. we were presented to his staff, generals radcliffe and sinclair, prince arthur of connaught, etc., and went straight to lunch, “hot curry,” liver and bacon, rice pudding, salad and fruit, being served. we discussed turkish conditions, the price of land there, etc., currie saying that their expected land grants would hardly be appreciated. we also discussed general affairs of war, radcliffe and connaught joining in the conversations, as they were anxious for facts about the dardanelles and bagdad.
-after luncheon, the general took us into his office from two to three o’clock. we talked of warfare, the battle of lens while it was in progress. he said that he still had in his corps men who were very proud of their victorious record and tried to live up to it. he spoke fairly freely, and explained his method of leap-frog attack, laying great stress upon a full knowledge of the enemy’s position and strength, etc., when about to make an attack. his command had never failed to get their objective and retain it. example of spirit of men: two units who after capturing a height and then a quarry were driven out of latter and he was wondering what to do and studying the situation, when he heard that the men without waiting for orders, of their own initiative, attacked the quarry again, regained it, and are now in possession of it. currie bemoaned an accident to his ankle which he had sprained playing badminton. he disliked going amongst men who were real casualties, while his injury was caused by a game. he favours reserving and using different and fresh troops for repelling counter-attacks and attributes much of his success to this policy. he has strong common sense. his men coöperate. artillery answered s. o. s. call in thirty seconds, and thus helped to relieve infantry promptly. he favours light railways which he has greatly extended in this section. carries two thousand tons a day on them instead of expected one hundred and fifty tons. spirit of victory induces smith, r. r. engineer, if requested by jones chief gunner for more shells to make special trip sans hesitation. canadians originated raiding trenches without capturing them.
-when complimented on calmness amidst storm, etc., as several generals and flyers were waiting outside to report and for conference for further action in battle in progress, he evidently was totally absorbed and enjoying our talk. he said: “the great god has given me this calm nature, which prevents my becoming excited, and i use it to study everything which i think will help to lick the boche.”
-canada is provided with clothing and food by england. it pays them for everything. he recognized that the united states could not have entered earlier, as their people were not favourable. hoped the u. s. would profit by their experience and avoid their mistakes. “the lessons of the war should teach the u. s. how to use their great power to advantage and secure permanent victory and peace.” he said he knew a great deal about the u. s., as he lived in vancouver, and was a national guardsman, colonel of a regiment, then had a brigade, a division, and now a corps.
-when i had started on this trip with sir douglas haig as my chief objective, my wife had begged me to ascertain from sir douglas why he had not captured lens. the reader will recall that, at that time, there were constant reports about the battle of lens, and it was very puzzling to us that, although the british seemed in complete control of the batteries around lens, they hesitated about taking the town. therefore, one of the first questions i put to sir douglas when i met him three days after my meeting with currie, was the one entrusted to me by my wife, and in reply he explained to me that it was more efficacious to use lens as a means of diminishing the germans’ unused reserve than to take possession of it.
-the full record of my meeting with sir douglas haig, quoted from my diary, is as follows:
-thinks germans are beginning to realize their position and possible defeat and great loss of economic position, and will in october or so offer peace terms, which it will be difficult to have french decline. he begs and urges that no early, incomplete peace be made, now being the day or time of reckoning. he thinks the germans are much worse off than is known. he is positive that england will hold out until we can come to assist. he says it is unnecessary expense for us to prepare great airplane units, and that shelling german cities will not end war, or shorten it. it is right here, with artillery and infantry and of course a proper amount of airplanes, that work must be done.
-he believes that the u. s. is destined to play a very important part, but thinks we must admit it is also self-defense that prompts our actions, and not only the altruistic spirit. he said the french were not ready at havre to receive u. s. troops, and it would be much more effective if u. s. troops joined them and received their hints in good english which they understood. he is pleased that u. s. troops believe in same system of warfare as english, offensive and hitting out and not defensive. he explained their method of attacking, their intention only to move far enough each time to secure a height and drive the germans from points of advantage and be prepared for counter attacks and each time absorb some german divisions. lays great stress on gradual diminution of german unused reserve division.
-from our luncheon with sir douglas haig we returned at once to paris. my diary for the next day contains the following:
-wednesday, august 29, 1917: called at headquarters. saw col. harbord, and then general pershing.... harbord told me french put americans south of them and not next to english, because they, themselves, wanted to be defending paris and did not want foreigners to determine destiny of france. it sounds plausible. he again suggested a visit from baker, who could then talk more convincingly to americans and would understand needs. pershing told me that every sinew of his muscles, every artery leading to his heart, and all his energy and hours are devoted to working for success. he again expressed hope of united states fighting to the end. he spoke of needs of dockage for the ships, thinks it will require 30 to 40. feels we need our own locomotives and cars to send men, etc., to front; claims our camps will be so located that we can send men to any part of lines. shipping is needed to bring men over, and then their food and ammunition. he says nothing can be secured here--all must come over. hopes seized german ships will answer; if not we should insist upon allied ships, including japan and italy. it will take fully a year before we can be of much actual assistance.
-a few days later, i sailed for america to make my report to president wilson. it was my intention, upon my arrival in new york, to make this report in the form of a letter, and with this idea in mind, while still aboard ship, i wrote several drafts of it by hand, and in new york dictated a letter in final form to the president under date of september 15, 1917. i finally decided, however, that a verbal report was better, and consequently, i proceeded to washington, and on september 19th, called on the president. i gave him at considerable length the information i had gathered. as our conversation, however, was simply a verbal enlargement of my letter of the 15th, i will quote that letter here. it is, i think, of some historical importance:
-september 15, 1917.
-my dear mr. president:
-after close observations, visiting fronts, conversations with members of the french cabinet, generals and others, both french and british, i have arrived at the following conclusions, which i submit for your consideration, and expect to elaborate upon, when you grant me an interview. among the men i have talked with are generals sir douglas haig, sir arthur currie, joffre, pershing, sibert, biddle, and others, and also messieurs painlevé, ribot, cambon, and steeg of the cabinet.
-no separate peace can be made at present with the turks as they still think that the germans will be victorious, and because many of the members of the union and progress committee are enriching themselves through the continuation of this war.
-the turkish atrocities perpetrated against armenians, syrians, and arabs establish beyond doubt that the turks should no longer be permitted to govern non-moslems and non-turks of any description.
-the british and french successes at verdun, ypres, and lens have reduced the german unused reserve divisions from forty-four in april to five in august, and have demonstrated that the german positions are not, as has long been believed in the united states, impregnable. the british and french are now confident of final victory, depending, however, on the coöperation of the united states army.
-for moral and political effect, they deem it highly desirable that more american troops, though unprepared, be sent immediately.
-the german autocracy with its strong leadership and blind following of its allies will never yield until german military prestige has been destroyed.
-a test of strength will have to take place on the western front.
-victory will be won as much through the steady hand and intrepid determination of the leader that will direct the united allied forces as by the physical resources that will be employed.
-both british and french authorities have separately admitted that in none of the entente countries is there a statesman who would satisfy them all as a leader. they think that your consistent attitude in this great struggle between democracy and autocracy and all your messages and particularly your masterful answer to the pope’s proposition, indicate you as the leader--to take immediate control of the situation. they do not want you to wait until our army, navy, and aircraft are equipped and at the front. they are willing to discount all this, as they need your guiding and universally trusted hand now at the international helm.
-traditional mutual jealousies and ambitions, and their consequent suspicions disqualify any european statesman for that leadership; while the knowledge that america has no political ambitions in any part of the old world, and the esteem which they feel for you personally would secure you the enthusiastic support of all the statesmen of the allied governments and their peoples. all our european co-belligerents are deferential towards us, receptive to american ideas and ready, as far as possible, to meet our wishes. i, therefore, venture to urge upon you to give this matter your very serious thought. the need for a disinterested leader is absolutely imperative.
-in addition to the power you exert through the government at washington, the diplomatic missions in the entente capitals, and the american military missions in europe, you might appoint a special commission to be stationed in europe to represent you in all civil and political matters. it is difficult here to enumerate the various activities which you could entrust to such a commission. this commission should assist, in case of need, the american military authorities in their relations with the french or other european governments and try to avoid and adjust all possible friction between them; it should be in touch with the political parties, the civil authorities, journalists, and all men who have a share in the forming of public opinion; it should collect all possible information, especially of a political nature, and report the same to you; it should, at the same time, through the press, the platform, and other similar means, impart american information and exercise an influence on french public opinion in the direction you may desire. i lay stress on this matter of exercising an influence on french public opinion because french affairs are now subject to petty political differences, schemes, and counter-schemes of those who are in power and men like caillaux, briand, clemenceau, and others of the opposition. such a commission under your guidance should endeavour to exercise such a salutary effect upon french public opinion as to make frenchmen forget at this critical juncture all their petty strifes and induce them to concentrate their entire forces and energy upon the great main aim to destroy the autocracy of germany, which should be declared an “international nuisance” for it is maintained by the hohenzollerns contrary to the wishes of many of its citizens. even prior to the war, more than forty per cent. of the votes were cast by social democrats and others of the opposition. it is certainly a menace to the welfare and rights of self government of surrounding nations. no one feels this more keenly than the germans and their descendants in the united states. they left germany to escape this monster and have enjoyed the privilege of living anew and becoming an indissoluble part of this great liberty-loving nation. alexander ii emancipated the russian serf; lincoln freed the poor negro; and it is your privilege to extricate the germans from their miserable thraldom.
-moreover, our co-belligerents have divergent and conflicting interests, both in regard to the disposition of territories which they hope to liberate from their enemies, and in regard to the general problem of what concessions can be allowed our enemies, when the bargaining begins.
-this commission should study these questions and all others connected with them, so that you will have your own independent up-to-date information upon which to act in dealing with the allies and the enemies during the war and at the peace conference.
-such a commission can greatly assist you in your task to infuse the great american spirit into the allied peoples, and so strengthen them that they will fight for right until it is established and has permanently destroyed the danger of a tyrannic militarism fastening its clutches into the whole world.
-yours most sincerely, henry morgenthau.
-perhaps the most important feature of my conversation with the president was the word i brought him of the universal desire of our european associates, that he should exert the intellectual and moral leadership of the common cause. the president was deeply impressed with the earnestness and solemnity of this message that i had brought him. he seemed for the moment almost overpowered at the thought of the stupendous responsibility that it thrust upon him. we now know how nobly he rose to that responsibility--how adequately he expressed and organized the moral basis of our cause--with what masterful and intellectual grasp and statesman’s firm procedure he rose to be the undisputed leader of a world in righteous arms against the menace of autocracy. but, at the moment, he seemed perplexed, he seemed almost to despair. “they want me to lead them!” he exclaimed. “but where shall i lead them to?”
-john purroy mitchel
-shortly after my return from europe, john purroy mitchel came to my house to seek advice on a matter concerning both the destinies of his city and, as the event proved, the end of his own career. he asked me whether he ought to run again for mayor, or accept a tempting business offer that had just been made him.
-mitchel was always an attractive and frequently an inspiring figure in municipal affairs. a typical american, of fighting stock, the grandson of a man that had battled for free ireland and the nephew of a politician that had made his mark, purroy mitchel, whose face and carriage reflected the latent power of leadership, was one of those young souls at once sensitive and fiery to whom tammany’s abuse of opportunity becomes a personal affront. more than once our paths had curiously approached each other.
-back in 1908, e. h. outerbridge had come to my house and, as chairman of the citizens’ committee in the current campaign, urged me to accept the fusion nomination for president of the borough of manhattan. my answer was:
-“president of the board of aldermen--yes, but no administrative office.”
-“i’m sorry,” said outerbridge, “but the man for that place has already been determined upon. he is john purroy mitchel.”
-had that answer been different, the entire course of my life would have been changed, for the whole fusion ticket was elected, with the exception of the man at the head of it, otto bannard, who was defeated by judge gaynor. mitchel became president of the board of aldermen.
-then again, while in that office, his life touched mine.
-in 1912, he sought me in much such a quandary as that in which he was to find himself in 1917. he had been offered, and wanted to know whether he should accept, the presidency of a struggling mortgage-guarantee company in queens county. he was evidently influenced to come to me because i had been prominently identified with the lawyers’ mortgage co. of new york.
-this was then my advice:
-“it would be a good thing for you to get out of politics for a while and give the next few years to accumulating a competency. after that, you can reënter politics, inspired by business experience and free from money cares, but this mortgage guarantee company is not what you should go into. your talents and special training as commissioner of accounts could be much better utilized in some established industrial enterprise. i think i can arrange to have you made the vice-president of the underwood typewriter company.” i promptly took up the matter and arranged an interview between mitchel and mr. john t. underwood, with the result that the former was offered the vice-presidency i have referred to, with the sole proviso that he must pledge himself to hold the position, and refrain from politics for at least five years. mitchel hesitated and the old maxim came true: “he who hesitates is lost.” his political acumen informed him that the succeeding autumn would offer him the best if not the only chance to become mayor of his native city. devotion to good government and a burning desire to displace tammany were his ruling passions: he disregarded material considerations, declined the underwood offer, and remained in politics.
-but our fates were not yet divorced. in the spring of 1913 ex-president roosevelt held a meeting of some leading progressives at his office to agree on a fusion slate for the next new york municipal election. it was planned to put forward a candidate who would attract all shades of voters but who was opposed to tammany hall. charles s. aronstam, who attended the caucuses representing the progressives of brooklyn, writes me this account of that gathering:
-i have been trying to refresh my recollection as to what transpired at the conference at colonel roosevelt’s office in june, 1913, when your name was suggested as a probable candidate for president of the board of aldermen on the fusion ticket with charles h. whitman for mayor and william a. prendergast for comptroller. there were present besides the colonel, the late lieutenant-governor woodruff, mr. edward w. allen, of brooklyn, and myself.
-you will recall that at that time mr. whitman was on the crest of the wave and he was the unanimous choice for mayor of the republican members of the fusion committee. the only other candidate that was under serious discussion was mr. george a. mcaneny. mr. mitchel having been appointed collector of the port was apparently out of the running. his name was discussed but his candidacy had not yet reached such a stage of development as to make him a probable choice. colonel roosevelt’s choice between the two was mr. whitman, not because of his superior qualifications over mr. mcaneny, but because of his greater availability on account of the tactical position he occupied at that time in the public eye and because he had the unanimous backing of the republican party: the important consideration being the defeat of tammany hall. it was then suggested that with mr. whitman, a republican as a candidate for mayor, and mr. prendergast a progressive as a candidate for comptroller, in order to invite the support of independent democrats, it would be necessary to select for the second place an independent democrat, preferably one closely associated with the wilson administration.
-i do not recall which one of us first suggested your name as a most desirable choice for that place if you could be persuaded to run. i do recall, however, that when your name was suggested, colonel roosevelt banging his fist on the desk in his characteristic manner exclaimed, “just the man! do you think he would consent to run?”
-however, i sailed for europe before they could get in touch with me. but aronstam was himself to take ship within a day or two and colonel roosevelt commissioned him to see me abroad and secure my assent.
-my recollection is that mr. aronstam first called on me in paris and that there was then made a tentative decision, later confirmed by a letter from aix-les-bains. at all events, his mission was like that of mr. outerbridge years before, and what aronstam had to offer me was what i had on that other occasion told outerbridge i would accept.
-my natural question was:
-“who is slated for mayor?”
-“charles s. whitman.”
-“what about purroy mitchel?”
-well, mitchel was collector of the port, and not considered available, whereas whitman, as district attorney, had the centre of the stage, and would appeal to the popular imagination. the only other candidate that had been considered was mr. george mcaneny, and the progressives did not think that he would be a good vote-getter.
-as aronstam was submitting his message from the colonel, my mind went back several years to a statement once made to me by herr barth, a well-known member of the german reichstag. he said that men of the roosevelt type would never be content to remain out of office, and to rest in the rôle of merely philosophic guides for the people: having once exercised power, they must continue to possess it.
-i felt that roosevelt, for his own good and the good of the people, should reënter the public service. here, it seemed to me, was a chance to serve many purposes. roosevelt’s first demonstration of his power had been in municipal politics, when, as police commissioner of new york, he fearlessly enforced the liquor law. i recalled, too, the incident of his unexpectedly accepting an invitation to review, at that time, a parade of german societies, and how, arrived at the reviewing stand, he heard somebody unacquainted with his presence express in german the wonder whether “rosenfelt” would have the nerve to put in an appearance at a time when he stood for a strict enforcement of liquor regulations, to which most of them were opposed. roosevelt’s peculiarly penetrating voice supplied the answer:
-“hier ist der rosenfelt.”
-that was the sort of man new york needed in the present juncture. the chance ought, moreover, to appeal to him, because it seemed to me that his election would be inevitable, and that, as a consequence of it, he would very likely re-occupy the white house in 1916.
-for my part, i had just refused the appointment of ambassador to turkey, which i then considered relatively unimportant. i believed that i could be useful as a member of a possible roosevelt municipal administration and so i said to aronstam:
-“i’ll take the nomination if the colonel himself will run for mayor.”
-mr. aronstam, such is my recollection, cabled home my decision. he received word that whitman’s name was to stand and communicated this to me at aix-les-bains. from there i wrote to him:
-my dear mr. aronstam:
-after very mature deliberation, i have concluded that i would not, if asked, run with whitman. there is no use giving you my reasons in detail. kindly take this as final and so inform timothy woodruff. i don’t want to keep him and his associates under any mistaken impression that your telegram may have created.
-i would run with t. r. he would win and make a great mayor.
-with kindest regards, yours sincerely, henry morgenthau.
-what finally happened is still fresh in the public mind. chosen president of the board of aldermen, mitchel’s admirers had groomed him vigorously for the mayoralty. president wilson’s appointment of mitchel as the collector of the port really stamped him as an independent wilson democrat and placed him in the lime-light. elected mayor, he surrounded himself with men of his own years and temperament. he gave the city one of its best administrations.
-so the circle completed itself. we now come back to september, 1917. here again was this young robert emmett at my house and the first thing he said was a sort of echo of what he had said five years before:
-“morgenthau, do you think i ought to run again for mayor?”
-memory paints him to-day as he stood there then, a hero to a vast number of new yorkers, often erratic, frequently ill-advised, but still a justified hero. his dark brown hair was disordered, his irish grey-blue eyes were bright, but he looked more matured and considerably more care-worn from his many fights and the scars they had left, than the man who had sought my advice in 1912.
-it was an affecting situation. during four years he had done his best for the city, and that best had disappointed the professional office holders through his fixed determination to protect the tax-payers he had alienated the vast army of municipal employees; finally some of his investigations had antagonized the adherents of certain of the catholic charities; and he undoubtedly felt that the chances for his reëlection had been considerably diminished. ought he to endeavour to complete the task that he had set himself or was it useless to make further efforts? my advice was the reverse of what it had been the last time:
-“you have given the public the impression that you would run again. you must not drop out at the last moment; you must not retreat under fire; you will have to be the standard-bearer of good government in this election even if you are conscious of an impending defeat.”
-for any writer of fiction, this episode would complete the chain of coincidences, yet truth forged another link. there was formed a citizens’ committee to conduct a mass meeting in city hall park at which speakers representing the un-bossed element of all parties should urge mitchel to run again for mayor. charles evans hughes was one of these speakers; so was theodore roosevelt. the others were my old friend outerbridge and myself. thus it befell that here was mitchel in office and urged to remain by the men who had previously played at such cross purposes in connection with his career.
-that was an almost unique political event. the young democratic mayor, still flushed from his fight for preparedness, was flanked by two outstanding republicans, a recent presidential candidate, and a popular ex-president; shoulder to shoulder with these stood the head of the new york state chamber of commerce, and myself as a representative of the wilson democrats. one and all, we called upon him to stand again for mayor.
-the lighter touch was not lacking. as, following mr. outerbridge and mr. hughes, my turn to speak arrived, i turned toward colonel roosevelt and, recalling his famous exclamation about throwing his hat into the ring, said:
-“i’ll now throw my hat upon the steps.”
-“no, no,” said the colonel: “let me hold it!”
-he took and guarded it throughout my address. when he was about to speak, it was my part to return the favour.
-“no, thanks,” said roosevelt. “i shall need my hat.”
-why? it was illuminating to observe.
-the audience naturally shaped itself into three separate crowds: those directly in front of the speakers, and those on either side. when the colonel’s effective oratory evoked applause from the people directly in front of him, he would turn first toward the right and then toward the left, shaking his historic soft hat as he did so, and he thus always hauled the two other crowds into the circle of mitchel enthusiasm.
-purroy mitchel was, however, fighting his last fight as a st. george against the tammany dragon: bennett insisted on running as a straight republican and, as such, drew thousands of the dyed-in-the-wool republican votes; the socialist morris hillquit secured the ballots of the pacifists and pro-germans in addition to his own party’s. on the eve of election, a party of us concluded our efforts by joining mitchel in a trip to camp upton and addresses to the soldiers there. coming home, he, dr. arthur b. duel--who had gone along to keep the candidate’s over-taxed vocal-cords in order--commissioner george w. bell, and i had a midnight supper at patchogue.
-that course he consistently pursued. his death in a falling airplane at a texas camp, while qualifying as an army aviator, was mourned by the entire nation.
-a hectic fortnight--and others
-the mitchel campaign was an incident--important and affecting, but only an incident--in the stirring summer and fall of 1917, when we had just entered the war. my trip to europe that summer, on a government mission, fixed a new and broader purpose in my mind. while in turkey in 1914 to 1916 i had seen only the german machinations and listened to the german apologies. now i had observed the devastation wrought in france and heard from french and british lips their version of the war. moreover, my talks with joffre, painlevé, sir douglas haig, sir arthur currie, and others, showed me how fearfully low the spirits of the allies had fallen before we entered the struggle. prussianism had defied and all but conquered the world; its victims were at the very edge of despair; as for america, it was not yet fully cognizant of the sad conditions prevailing in europe, because censorship, guided by political considerations, prevented the full truth from crossing the atlantic.
-when i returned in september, i was impressed not only with the necessity of continuing my activities to alleviate the suffering of the armenians and the jews and of doing all i could to eliminate the cause of that suffering, but i was much more impressed with the bigger thought of also doing all in my power to rouse american sentiment to the fact that this great struggle was dependent upon our activities to replenish the diminishing resources, both physical and moral, of the countries which were immersed in this tremendous conflict. i determined to make use of this special knowledge, which it had been my fortune to acquire, to help defeat the germans.
-this dual determination made the ensuing period one of intense activities, varied, yet not conflicting. things happened pell-mell, but are more coherent if grouped topically rather than chronologically.
-the armenian outrages were constantly in my mind, and i wrote for the red cross magazine an article on the turkish massacres concluding:
-i wonder if four hundred million christians, in full control of all the governments of europe and america, are again going to condone these offenses by the turkish government! will they, like germany, take the bloody hand of the turk, forgive him and decorate him, as kaiser wilhelm has done, with the highest orders? will the outrageous terrorizing--the cruel torturing--the driving of women into the harems--the debauchery of innocent girls--the sale of many of them at eighty cents each--the murdering of hundreds of thousands and the deportation to and starvation in the desert of other hundreds of thousands--the destruction of hundreds of villages and cities--will the wilful execution of this whole devilish scheme to annihilate the armenian, greek, and syrian christians of turkey--will all this go unpunished? will the turks be permitted, aye, even encouraged by our cowardice in not striking back, to continue to treat all christians in their power as “unbelieving dogs”? or will definite steps be promptly taken to rescue permanently the remnants of these fine, old, civilized, christian peoples from the fangs of the turk?
-that was a tragic story, but it had its lighter phase. following a common custom, the editors of the red cross magazine printed on the front cover of their publication my name and the title of the article. the juxtaposition was unfortunate and startling:
-“henry morgenthau--the greatest horror in history!”
-“that’s pretty rough,” wrote the new york sun. “we always realized fully that the former ambassador to turkey was not a handsome man, but the red cross magazine really has gone too far.”
-the jewish question interested me quite as deeply, and on december 12, 1917, i published in the new york times a carefully considered statement.
-this was the fruit of my thirty months’ experience with the problem of the jews in turkey and of my observations at first hand of their status and projects in palestine, and was in line with my purpose to do more than alleviate the present sufferings of the jews. because this statement is important in its bearing upon my chapter on zionism, i am reproducing it here in full. as my present opinion on zionism is the outgrowth of years of sympathetic reflection, continuous observation, and conscientious personal study of the facts, i should like to emphasize the date of this publication, and thus indicate the progress of my views toward their settled conviction regarding zionism:
-to the editor of the new york times:
-the fall of jerusalem, its recapture by christian forces after twelve centuries of almost uninterrupted mohammedan rule, is surely an event of the greatest significance to us all. american christians, and indeed christians everywhere, will rejoice that the holy land, so well known to them through both the old and new testaments, has been restored to the civilized world.
-i, with my co-religionists, rejoice not only as an american but as a cosmopolitan who recognizes the fertile seeds of civilization in all truly religious faith and experience. for the whole civilized world, the 10th of december, 1917, will be remembered as a day of profound historical interest, and, i hope also, of large meaning for the future.
-during my recent visit to palestine, i was greatly impressed by the progress made by the jewish colonies. these colonies had developed under most adverse circumstances, and had demonstrated fully that, when real opportunity is given, the people of the jewish faith can create most creditable self-governing units. with palestine liberated from the curse of turkish misgovernment, this work will go on with ever greater success. all jews, both the zionists and those of us who do not take part in the advocacy of the entire programme of the zionists, rejoice at the prospect which is now open. many jews will wish to settle in palestine. many others, as well as great numbers of christians from all lands, will wish to visit the holy land, and there undertake studies in history and religion. many of us hope that the hebraic language and the elements of the hebraic culture will develop there sufficiently to be again, in a new way, of genuine service to the moral and cultural life of the world.
-but at this point i wish to sound a note of warning to my coreligionists on the one hand, and on the other strongly emphasize to all my american fellow-citizens that certain positive facts should not be overlooked at this time. i believe that the leaders of the zionists have always perceived that it would be impossible to have all the jews return to palestine, and that the others who hold to that utopia will soon be disillusioned. it is almost unnecessary to refer to the fact that it is economically impossible to settle 13,000,000 people upon the narrow and impoverished lands which were the ancient soil of our people. but this is not what i wish to emphasize chiefly. the fact that has vital significance to me, and, i believe, to a majority of those of my faith in america, is that we are 100 per cent. americans, and wish to remain so, irrespective of the fact that some of our blood is jewish and some of our clay is german, russian, or polish. to us and our children america, too, is veritably a holy land.
-it has been a great mission of the jewish people, through their religious faith, to teach the whole western world that there is one god. the great moral and spiritual mission of the american people, in my opinion, is to teach the world that there must be one brotherhood of humanity. i hold that it has been nothing short of providential in the history of the human race to have had america preserved as an undeveloped continent until this later period. we are making it the experimental station for the intergrafting of various peoples. the ideal of america is, through freedom and equal opportunity, to permit the complete physical, intellectual, and spiritual development of all our citizens. the american people are not the descendents of the original english, french, dutch, or spanish settlers. the american people to-day are composed of every inhabitant within our borders who loyally supports the principles which form the roots of our national life and well-being. to me it seems clear that the principles embodied in the declaration of independence, the constitution, the laws and, above all, in the moral attitude of mind which marks the true american, require much of us. above all, they require mutual service, equality as regards the highest as well as the less important goods of life, and, high above all, complete toleration and mutual respect. these are the veritable foundations of human brotherhood. this is america’s fundamental contribution to the world’s civilization. it is not essential in this connection, even if space permitted, for me to indicate and emphasize the part which the hebraic laws, hebraic morals, and the hebraic religion, through the old and new testaments, have had upon the american mind and the american soul. i leave that to the historian. i am here referring to the present and the future, rather than to the past.
-we have now come to a great crisis in the history of the world. the essential thing for us is to fight for universal peace as a basis for a practical world brotherhood. this great result is not only possible, it is necessary if civilization is to endure. let me ask my co-religionists, face to face and heart to heart, how many of you would be willing to forswear the great duty we have here and the great task which history gives us of being true, real, unalloyed american citizens in this time of resplendent ideals and momentous deeds, in order to devote your entire lives to the upbuilding of hebraic institutions in palestine. i, for one, do not see that it is at all necessary to ignore the lesser in order to serve the greater purpose. but let me repeat most emphatically, we jews, in america, are jews in religion and americans in nationality. it is through america and her institutions that we shall work out our part in bringing better ideals and morals and sounder principles of policy to the whole world. likewise the jews of the british empire, that is probably 99 per cent. of them, have not the slightest intention of deserting their british fellow-citizens. the same holds good as to france and italy. if russia maintains, as we all hope and pray that she may maintain, a republican form of government in which the elements of liberty are saved to her people, the jews of russia will very soon come to feel the same fellowship with all their russian neighbours that we now have as regards our fellow-americans.
-and yet zionism is more than a mere dream. its theories, upon which so much emphasis has been placed during the last generation, contain practical elements which are not above realization. i have reflected much upon this matter and i have had the privilege of discussing it with leading jews the world over. i most sincerely trust that those of my religious faith who are now imbued with this idea will not permit impracticable schemes to make impossible the realization of the good that is in zionism. the jewish communities in palestine should be given every opportunity for development. some jews now in america will wish to live there permanently; many others, who have not the slightest intention of surrendering their citizenship in the countries where their children are to live and work, will still wish to have a share in the preservation and development of a free, jewish palestine. but not only jews are interested in palestine; every truly educated and liberal-minded person in the world will wish to see the ancient jewish culture given an opportunity for expression and growth. furthermore--and this is what i beg my jewish fellow religionists not to lose sight of for a moment--all christendom, too, looks upon palestine as the holy land, in which every believing christian has a deep religious interest and a right to share. the thousands of christians who will annually visit palestine will wish to feel that they have a part in all the holy traditions which cluster about the sacred localities and the remaining monuments.
-new york, dec. 11, 1917.
-sunday, march 3, 1918, was the last day for me to function as presiding officer of the free synagogue. dr. wise had asked me to occupy his pulpit on that date, because he had to go to washington on business of the nature of which i was then unaware. the next day, the new york times contained the following statement, telegraphed from washington, march 3rd:
-approval of the plans of the zionist leaders for the creation of a national jewish commonwealth in palestine was given to-night by president wilson to a delegation of representative jewish leaders who spent an hour at the white house in conference with the president over the international status of the jews around the world. the delegation was headed by rabbi stephen s. wise of new york....
-it affected me strangely to think that while i was taking dr. wise’s place in the pulpit, he should be helping to secure the approval of the president of the united states for a plan of which, because of my knowledge of conditions in palestine, i totally disapproved. i telephoned dr. wise that this occurrence determined me to resign the presidency of the free synagogue. he called at my house and tried to dissuade me, but my duty seemed clear.
-in effect, i said to the doctor: “you are entitled to your views, and i to mine, which i propose to express as forcibly as i know how, whenever i think they will do the most good for the welfare of the jews. i still hope it will never fall to my lot to attack zionism in public, but i assure you now that i will not shirk the responsibility if the time ever comes when it seems right that i should handle it without gloves. it would then be a great embarrassment for me to be president of your synagogue.”
-the resignation read thus:
-march 3, 1918.
-executive committee, free synagogue.
-after twelve years of incumbency of the office of president of the free synagogue of new york, i am impelled to resign that office. much as i have enjoyed the honour of filling this position and the happy and inspiring association with its rabbi, dr. wise, i feel that our views of zionism, in the advocacy of which he is one of the leaders, are so divergent and apparently irreconcilable, that it seems necessary for me to withdraw from what may be called the lay leadership of the congregation.
-i would have no question arise as to dr. wise’s freedom or my own freedom regarding zionism.
-with the sincere hope that the friendly and cordial relations which have long obtained between dr. wise and myself will be unaffected by this decision, i am
-yours cordially, henry morgenthau.
-on march 10th, at a dinner given by the executive committee of the isaac m. wise centenary fund, which was attended by about fifty rabbis, i made the following speech, which was published in the next day’s times:
-the greatest fight in history has just been fought between democracy and autocracy. it was so important that we should centre our attention upon it. we should give all the consideration we can to awaken ideals.
-you have that chance now. zionism is going to do you some good. it is going to arouse you from your complacency. you must realize that it will turn you back a thousand years. why surrender all you have gained during that time? reformed judaism must assert itself. if american democracy can annihilate autocracy and anarchy, we jews cannot accept the foolish argument that you must have zionism to keep the jews as jews. we must have something, but it is not zionism. the rabbis and people must spread judaism in america and they must be militant.
-i believe that to-day there is a religious revival in the world. why should our patriotism be doubted if at the same time we are to have a moral awakening? i have been delighted as i have travelled over this country in order to promote various causes, such as the jewish welfare campaign, to find the rabbis honoured in their communities, and that everywhere they held important positions. we can have a jewish revival in this country, which is our zion, and not palestine.
-i have no objection to the founding of a jewish university in palestine. i think it is a fine thing. but when we realize the opportunities that the men who sit at this table have had in this country, it seems a stupid and ridiculous notion not to admit that this is the promised land. let us wake up and, as the christians have done, be a militant religion.
-everywhere i have been, people have told me that they were not for zionism, but that they were afraid to assert themselves. all the zionists want they have gotten. president wilson has assured us that full civil and religious rights would be granted to the jews everywhere. it did not require zionism to get that. they will get it as the result of the conduct of the jews throughout the world. the league of nations would be imperfect if it did not include it.
-you cannot make a good american out of anybody unless he is religious; and as we want a fine morality, we are looking to you ministers of the jewish faith to give it to us.
-to the moral strength of our nation, american judaism must contribute in the greater measure. in times of adversity and prosperity the moral and spiritual courage of the jew has become proverbial. now, in this new era for america and for the world, this strength and courage, the roots of which are imbedded in our religion, must be fostered and made a living force more than ever before. the isaac m. wise centenary gives us the opportunity to establish the institution of american judaism on a firm foundation. this we must do, lest we fail to contribute in the fullest measure our share to the spiritual rebuilding of the world.
-extended trips for the near east and jewish relief committees, and also for the liberty loan and united war work drive, had taken me during these months into almost every part of the country, addressing gatherings in cities as far scattered as lewiston, me., atlanta, ga., and portland, ore. the itinerary included most places of any size in the middle west and frequently demanded speeches for two or three of the causes the same day.
-the meetings were usually preceded by dinners or luncheons or followed by receptions, at which the leading men of the cities gathered. a more inspiring experience it would be hard to imagine than seeing every prejudice and hatred laid aside for labour in a common cause. wherever my way led there were revealed, as national characteristics, an intense moral enthusiasm, warm-hearted response to human suffering, open-handed generosity, and mutual tolerance.
-nevertheless, contact with voters in these drives had intensified my realization that a large number of our citizens were still pacifists and that many of the german-americans and their friends were protesting that the german empire, innocent of having caused the world struggle, was fighting in self-defense. as i had positive information through baron wangenheim and the marquis pallavicini, my german and austrian colleagues at constantinople, that the war was premeditated, i consulted my friend, frank i. cobb, of the new york world, how best to make this fact public. the result was his collaboration and the appearance in that paper on october 14, 1917, of an article in which it was declared:
-this war was no accident. neither did it come through the temporary break-down of european diplomacy. it was carefully planned and deliberately executed in cold blood.... it was undertaken in the furtherance of a definite programme of prussian imperialism.
-proceeding to give my reasons for such a statement, as cause and effect had been revealed to me by von wangenheim himself, the article included the first authoritative confirmation of the rumour that the kaiser had indeed held the now famous potsdam conference, at which the german financiers, as early as the first week of july, 1914, had been instructed to complete the concentration of the empire’s resources for war. the disclosure of these facts, copied in newspapers throughout the country, created a sensation and profoundly influenced american public opinion.
-a number of friends urged me to write a book, giving my evidence more fully and revealing how germany had dominated turkish policy and forced the sublime porte into the war. hesitancy as to the propriety of an ambassador using his information publicly led me to consult president wilson. in doing so i expressed the opinion that the congressional election of 1918 was in grave doubt and that everything should be done to prove that the executive had been right in entering the war. the following letter resolved my doubts and confirmed my inclination:
-the white house 27 november, 1917.
-my dear mr. morgenthau:
-i have just received your letter of yesterday and in reply would say that i think you get impressions about public opinion in new york which by no means apply to the whole country, but nevertheless i think that your plan for a full exposition of some of the principal lines of german intrigue is an excellent one and i hope you will undertake to write and publish the book you speak of.
-i am writing in great haste, but not in hasty judgment you may be sure.
-cordially and sincerely yours, woodrow wilson.
-i then wrote “ambassador morgenthau’s story.”
-on september 30, 1917, i had contributed to the new york times an article headed, “emperor william must go.” then followed the world interview already referred to, and, on october 18th, less than a month before the armistice, i delivered at cooper union an address in which i said:
-there is only one way to chasten germany and that is to defeat her so completely that the memory will not pass out of her mind for many generations. such a defeat is absolutely essential to her reeducation along the lines of civilization and democracy. i will regard her utter defeat in a military sense, and the elimination of her war-lords, as the essential preliminaries to the new german democratic state. these changes are necessary to re-establish that healthy and normal mentality which is the first requirement if she is to emerge from the present war a nation with which the rest of the world can consent to associate as a brother.
-on march 8, 1918, i had a meeting with lord reading, lord chief justice of england, whom lloyd george had sent as special ambassador to this country. in our conversation, he revealed a fact of great historic interest.
-the day before, at a luncheon given him by the merchants’ association of new york, lord reading had used what seemed a singular expression for an official representative of great britain. referring to the gravity of the military situation and the necessity for america to exert her full strength, he described the tremendous sacrifices of his own people and then declared:
-“you must take up the burden. we have done all we can do.”
-recalling this in our talk, i suggested that it must have been a slip of the tongue, and asked: “did you not mean to say, ‘we (great britain) are doing all we can?’”
-“quite the contrary,” lord reading instantly replied. “i said it deliberately, and it is the fact. every englishman that is fit for military service has been called to the colours; we have even combed our civil service. we have no reserve man-power left.”
-nevertheless, public utterance of such a statement at such a time revealed a misconception of our national psychology. i pointed out to lord reading that we americans were not yet far enough advanced in experience of war to react favourably to such a message.
-nor were the women that we met in these war activities less interesting than the men. mrs. emma bailey speer, president of the y. w. c. a., sent a car to take me over to tenafly, n. j., to make the dedicatory address at a new hostess house. in the car was a lady wearing the y. w. c. a. uniform. she said that mrs. speer, being unable to come herself, had sent her as a substitute--and it was splendid to see how this, the daughter of senator aldrich, and the wife of john d. rockefeller, jr., could be just a good private in the y. w. c. a. ranks, taking her position and doing her duties with seriousness and efficiency.
-soon after this, we gave a dinner in honour of dr. henry pratt judson, president of chicago university, who had recently returned from persia on behalf of the near east relief committee. an amusing incident occurred which partly spoiled the evening for mr. schiff, the great financier and much beloved leader of the jews, and recognized as one of the most eminent citizens of america. he sat next to mrs. rockefeller and accidentally caused the spilling of a cup of coffee over her dress. she tactfully said that the dress had been cleaned before and could be cleaned again. nevertheless, it depressed mr. schiff to think that he should have been so awkward as to raise his elbow while the coffee was being passed. a week later he showed me with great satisfaction a letter from mrs. rockefeller, accepting the beautiful lace scarf which he had sent her with the explanation that it was to cover the spot on her dress. the incident again proves that the biggest men devote the required time and thought to straightening out even such little mishaps as that here related.
-mr. wilson was in paris. fearing that this campaign might in some way embarrass him, or conflict with his plans, i consulted several cabinet members: secretaries lane and houston applauded the wisdom of the proposed campaign. secretary baker wrote:
-december 21, 1918.
-my dear mr. morgenthau:
-i return herewith the letter which you enclosed with yours of the twentieth.
-i have not agreed to speak for the league to enforce peace, nor have i any idea of speaking under the auspices of that society; not that i have any objection to it but simply that i doubt very much the wisdom of anybody connected with the administration at this time associating himself with a society which has a particular mode of assuring future peace. so far as i am personally concerned, i am for any way the president can work out. i did say to mr. filene and some other gentlemen who called upon me as representatives of the chamber of commerce of the united states, that i would be very glad to attend a couple of dinners held under the auspices of the chamber of commerce, and incidentally would say something in favour of a league of nations, but with the distinct understanding that i was not speaking for the administration and was not speaking for any plan or programme whatever. since making this promise i have even more doubted the wisdom of doing it, for exactly the reasons you state in your letter. it seems to me entirely possible for us here, with the best of good intentions, deeply to embarrass the president in his very delicate task, and so far as i am concerned, i have no intention of doing it. unless i change my mind, i will beg off from the engagements already made, and i am sure it would be better for all of us to refrain from that kind of discussion just now.
-i was assured that i was expected to speak only in the general terms of an association of nations without outlining any detailed plan therefor. on receipt of this assurance, i decided to go.
-the party comprised ex-president taft, president lowell of harvard; dr. henry van dyke of princeton; dr. elmer r. brown, dean of the yale divinity school; george grafton wilson, professor of international law at harvard; edward a. filene, of boston; and mrs. philip north moore, of st. louis, president of the national council of women. the three weeks, passed in a tour of the country with such able and delightful people, was thoroughly enjoyed.
-“here you have been opposing me politically all these years,” he said, “and now we’re together on the same platform for the good of the whole world. doesn’t public service make strange compartment companions?”
-our trip was filled with hard work, exhausting hours, and not a few discomforts, but it brought us many moments of inspiration and some of amusement. of the latter, one stands clear in my memory. we were standing unobserved at the railroad station of a small town in the dakotas, when president lowell thought we ought to do something “to get our blood in circulation” and challenged me to a foot race on the station platform.
-“i’ll take a handicap--i’ll run backwards.”
-his challenge was accepted, and he won the race. then he confessed that running backwards was one of his accomplishments from undergraduate days.
-the outstanding moments of the trip were those which immediately followed our receipt of the first draft of the league covenant. we were steaming through utah, when it was handed aboard. at once it was given the stenographers for manifolding, and none of us is likely to forget the impatience with which each awaited his copy, the eagerness with which each took it to his own compartment for study.
-that evening president lowell, dr. van dyke, and myself were called to mr. taft’s compartment. he sat there, his face all aglow with satisfaction. he put his hand on his copy of the covenant, which was lying on the table, and said:
-“i am delighted to find it has teeth in it.”
-we had a long discussion, concluding that we ought to prepare a pronouncement for publication. mr. taft asked us three to draw up a statement. we complied and called in professors brown and wilson, who were very useful in condensing it. mr. taft read the result, approved of it, but added the concluding sentence:
-the alternative to a league of nations is the heavy burden and the constant temptation of universal armament.
-that addition made, the signatures were affixed, and the train stopped at a little station to telegraph our statement to the associated press. the local telegrapher doubted his ability to transmit accurately a message that he considered so important as this one, but he notified the operator at the next town to be ready for us, and from there the statement was sent out in the following terms:
-an appeal to our fellow citizens
-the war against military autocracy has been won because the great free nations acted together, and its results will be secured only if they continue to act together. the forces making for autocratic rule on the one hand, and for the violence of bolshevism on the other are still at work.
-in fifty years the small states of prussia so organized central europe as to defy the world. in the present disorganized state of central and eastern europe, that can be done again on a still larger scale and menace all free institutions. the death of millions of men and the destruction and debt in another world war would turn civilization backward for generations. in such a war we shall certainly be involved, and our best young men will be sacrificed as the french and english have been sacrificed in the last four years. such a catastrophe can be prevented only by the reconstruction of the small states now seeking self-government, on the basis of freedom and justice; but this is impossible without a league, for divided its members are not strong enough for the task. should the victorious nations fail to form a league, german imperialists would have a clearer field for their designs.
-by the abundance of its natural resources, by the number, intelligence, and character of its people, the united states has become a world power. it cannot avoid the risks and must assume the responsibilities of its position. it cannot stand aloof, but must face boldly the facts of the day, with confidence in itself and in its future among the great nations of the earth.
-united as never before, our people have fought this war. united and above party we must consider the problems of peace, resolved that so far as in us lies, war shall no more scourge mankind. the covenant reported to the paris conference has come since the last election, and the people have had no chance to pass judgment upon it. in this journey from coast to coast we have looked into the faces of more than 100,000 typical americans, and believe that the great majority of our countrymen desire to take part in such a league as is proposed in that document. we appeal to our fellow citizens, therefore, to study earnestly this question, and express their opinions with a voice so clear and strong that our representatives in congress may know that the people of the united states are determined to assume their part in this crisis of human history. the alternative to a league of nations is the heavy burden and the constant temptation of universal armament.
-february 23, 1919. (signed)
-william h. taft. henry morgenthau. a. lawrence lowell. henry van dyke.
-mr. taft’s endorsement of the covenant as then drawn moved me, at our journey’s end, to telegraph to washington suggesting that he join president wilson in an exposition of the league before a great mass meeting. the reply came back that such a plan was already being put into execution. it was carried out at the gathering on march 4, 1919, in the metropolitan opera house, new york, on the eve of mr. wilson’s return to paris.
-that night, when the democratic president of the united states walked on the stage with the republican ex-president, the audience seemed almost justified in thinking that the covenant had been lifted above partisanship and that the magna charta of the nations was secure.
-this conviction was strengthened by mr. taft’s address. he delivered it without any apparent exertion. he had thoroughly mastered the general subject during his long connection with the league to enforce peace, he had secured the draft of the covenant, locked himself up with it, analyzed and digested it. he had “tried out” the subject in conferences with specialists, and presented it before popular meetings across the continent. now, for one hour and a half, he discussed this historic document in all its national and international phases. his address, given with natural and admirable simplicity, the quintessence of deep thought, was complete, technical, erudite, judicial: the reading of a momentous interpretation by the future chief justice of the supreme court of the united states. the speaker injected some of his native geniality into his delivery; but not for that reason alone did the vast audience listen ninety minutes without a sign of restlessness: the believers, the doubters, and the active opponents were spellbound by his logical and convincing argument.
-during all this time it was more than interesting to watch the fixed attention that the president was giving to the address. we all wondered what was going on in his battling brain. some of us noticed for the first time a nervous twitching in his cheek, undoubtedly a reflex of the tremendous harassment that he had undergone in washington.
-he had come back to america to sign some bills before the expiration of congress on march 4th, and brought with him this covenant. now, before his departure for europe, he listened to the fine approval of his ideal by his predecessor, who, though prominent in his party and highly esteemed by all americans, was not speaking with final authority: the senate had to approve the covenant before it could become binding on the united states.
-so woodrow wilson, whom the peoples of the world were ready to accept as their leader, had to return to paris knowing that the thirty-seven senators who had signed the “round robin” were pledged against him in terms which could have no other purpose than to notify our associates at the peace conference that the senate would not confirm any league of nations projected by him. with this fear in his heart, he was on his way to resume his participation in the greatest diplomatic struggle of modern times. this evening, he saw again unmistakable evidence that if the american people possessed the authority and could express it, they would undoubtedly grant him the necessary power, without restrictions or reservations, to enter into an agreement, which would help to lift the world out of the mire of militarism to a higher plane, where wars would disappear, where international peace and justice would prevail, and where the combined efforts of mankind, purified and energized by its moral elevation, would be diverted from its destructive pursuits and concentrated on the promotion of happiness.
-that evening i brought homer cummings home with me. we were both buoyed up, tingling from the enthusiasm of that great meeting, yet fearing that this league of nations might be shattered by partisan politics.
-as we settled down in my library, i said to cummings:
-“homer, you are really neglecting your duty as national chairman unless you undertake immediately to present to the american people the attitude of the democratic party toward this league of nations, and denounce, in the unmeasured terms that it deserves this violent opposition that has developed against it.” i told him that it required a real philippic, and then related to him my own recent experience with demosthenes, which occurred at a dinner given to some greeks, when dr. talcott williams told an anecdote of hellenic influence on modern life.
-williams said that some twenty-five years ago he had asked a princeton college professor whether there was, in his opinion, any way of affecting current thought except through the pulpit or the press. the professor replied that there was the forum, and that, for his own part, he was fitting himself for the forum by a careful study of demosthenes. years passed, and dr. williams met the professor again and reminded him of his youthful conviction.
-“i haven’t changed my opinion,” said the princetonian, “and only recently i had to brush up my greek to enable me to refresh my recollection of some of the philippics.”
-the princeton professor was woodrow wilson.
-when i told this story to my wife, who was both my kindest and severest critic, she immediately secured and placed on my desk, without any comment, a translation of demosthenes. inspired by its perusal, i dared to face a great audience in buffalo and deliver an opening address for the liberty loans.
-i said to cummings: “now, as president wilson is returning to europe, you, homer, ought to be the demosthenes of the democratic party.”
-cummings took fire. “i believe i can do it,” he cried.
-he was the man for it. physically big, with a commanding presence and a good delivery, his experience as a member of the democratic national committee, his campaigns for mayor of stamford and senator from connecticut, and his successful service as state’s attorney for fairfield county in that state, had qualified him long since for brilliant public speaking, and latterly for public speaking of the denunciatory sort.
-we consulted demosthenes. we analyzed the fourth philippic.
-cummings’s eyes flashed, as he exclaimed:
-“i can do it! i can do it!”
-before the victorious ganymede.
-plato recorded the sad fate of atlantis nearly five hundred years before christ, and solon had recorded the same in a poem two hundred years before. plato says the expedition against egypt took place during the reigns of the athenian kings, cecrops and erechtheus, and according to the “marble of paros,” those kings ruled in 1582 b.c. and 1409 b.c., which is not a great deal more ancient than the siege of troy.
-though this is ancient history, we have as much right to accept plato’s history as homer’s, if it can be established.
-the abbé brasseur de bourbourg claims that mexican chronology dates back two thousand eight hundred and fourteen years. because america was latest discovered, it is the popular opinion that it should have been the latest developed, but there is evidence sufficient that the new world is in every sense the oldest.
-we know that this continent was once covered with glaciers as low down as new jersey and the ohio river. according to dr. croll, glaciation is brought about by the combined effect of the eccentricity of the earth’s orbit and the precession of the equinoxes, which makes the distance of our planet from the sun vary considerably during the year. we are three million miles nearer the sun in winter than in summer, while the reverse is the case in the southern hemisphere. if our winter now were long as our summer, and we were to continue three million miles nearer the sun in the winter, a decided change would occur, and our winters would grow longer and colder, and our summers shorter and hotter. now the precession of the equinoxes and the motion of aphelion actually bring this about every ten thousand five hundred years, and the condition of the two hemispheres is reversed as regards their glaciation, and this reversion has been going on during all geologic time.
-but the eccentricity itself of the earth in its orbit between perihelion and aphelion varies, and since the eccentricity is now at its minimum, three million miles, we infer that our last glacial epoch occurred ten thousand five hundred years ago, and the ice mantle has retreated from 39° in new jersey to 61° in southern greenland, which is now covered by a glacier twelve hundred miles long, four hundred miles wide, and a mile thick, while the ice in the southern hemisphere has increased to several miles in thickness, and to such extent, that the nearest point to the south pole sir ross was able to reach, was still fourteen hundred miles from the pole.
-while the st. lawrence and the area of the great lakes were under these glaciers, of course there could have been no outlet to the atlantic of the waters, which were forced by the alleghenies to flow to the gulf, at the time of the great thaw ten thousand years ago, and the st. lawrence could only have been formed after the ice had retreated beyond the great lake areas. since that period the niagara has been cutting its way from lake ontario through the solid limestone of the upper silurian period, until the falls of niagara are now seven miles from the lake. dana estimates that the river has cut its way at the rate of a foot a year, which would make it thirty-five thousand years cutting its channel. sir charles lyell, as quoted in hugh miller’s “testimony of the rocks,” estimates the rate at fifty yards in forty years, which would make it ten thousand years, which agrees exactly with the time the glacier crossed the great lakes. however long it was, man was here then, for a tooth of a man has been found with that of a mammoth in the drift of the niagara, and dr. abbott has found bones of the mastodon and the wisdom tooth of a man, fourteen feet under the gravel of the delaware, and their rolled and abraded surfaces prove them either pre-glacial or contemporaneous with glaciers.
-while the great glaciers were breaking up at the head-waters of the platte, yellowstone and missouri, the flooded rivers dropped their sediment in the vast inundated lakes, whose rich bottoms formed the loess which so well characterizes the fertile prairie soil of the western states to-day.
-in nebraska, stone arrow-heads and the bones of the ancient elephant were found thirty feet under the loess, and in greene county, illinois, a well was dug seventy-two feet through the loess, when a stone hatchet was found, proving that the hatchet was dropped there when illinois was covered by a lake over which the rude hunter paddled his canoe.
-dr. koch, of st. louis, found the bones of the mastodon in the osage valley in missouri, which was killed while mired down, by fire being built around it, which consumed nearly all the bones of the animal except the legs and toes. the presence of ashes and stones proves conclusively that the huge animal met his death at the hands of man.
-one other instance to prove that man existed on this continent in the pliocene epoch: dr. winslow sent to the natural history society, of boston, a skull of a human being found in a shaft in california one hundred and eighty feet deep, and under five successive layers of volcanic lava and tufa and four layers of auriferous gravel. to quote from foster’s “prehistoric times”: “since the introduction, then, of man on this continent, the physical features as well as the climate have undergone great changes. the volcanic peaks of the sierra nevadas have been lifted up, the glaciers have disappeared, the great cañons themselves have been excavated in the solid rock, and what then were the beds of streams, now form the table mountains.” admitting this skull to be pliocene, we have a human bone in america older than the oldest human relics found on the continent of europe. when we consider that this skull was in situ before the mainland of the sierras was uplifted by volcanic upheavals, accompanied by flaming rivers of molten lava, followed by the glacial night of cold, ice and snow, we no longer believe that the first inhabitants of north america crossed behring’s strait from asia.
-we have argued that the mound-builders both entered and left the mississippi valley by the south, and that the red indian entered by florida from the antilles, as implements found in jamaica correspond with those found in venezuela, and desoto found a higher civilization among the natchez tribes of the south than was found among any others.
-according to the icelandic sagas, lief and bjorn reached labrador about the year 1000 a.d. and found a dwarfish race of men “of short stature,” whom they called skraelings. we know well such terms could not apply to the stately algonquin warriors the europeans found in new england. no; these were esquimaux, whom the warlike indians had compelled to follow the retreat of the glaciers toward the land of the midnight sun. they crossed to the great lakes and compelled the peaceful mound-builders to go southward. they crossed the rocky mountains and drove the inhabitants of the sierras also. they crowded them into the gorges and cañons of colorado, utah and arizona. the frightened refugees were driven to the necessity of building dwellings in the overhanging cliffs of rivers, and these nests of human swallows are now known as the “cliff-dwellers” of the colorado and hili.
-they were not allowed to stay here. driven by their relentless hunters, they moved onward to the plateaus of arizona and cactus plains of new mexico, where, huddled up between the tribes of mexico on the south, and the hunting indians behind them, they built the pueblos and “the seven cities of cibola.” the archæological remains prove to us to-day that new mexico was as thickly settled by these miserable fugitives as pennsylvania or delaware. the mournful spectacle to-day of the adobe pueblos along the pecos and rio grande, is the closing chapter of a history written in blood, and sealed by the life of a nation, with characters forever enigmatical to the civilized world.
-vii. conclusion. ──────
-“and thy request think now fulfilled, that asked how first this world and face of things began, and what before thy memory was done from the beginning.”
-the former existence of atlantis is an hypothesis, it is true, but so is the existence of lemuria, and nearly every scientist of europe believes that a continent once existed in the indian ocean between madagascar and india, and the proof is not wanting.
-on the island of madagascar are found thirty-three species of monkeys, called lemurs, which are not found in africa, nor in any other part of the globe, except ceylon, india, and the malay archipelago. because the lemurs are found only in this region, sclater, the english zoölogist, has called the sunken continent “lemuria.”
-between madagascar and india are a number of submerged banks of less than one thousand fathoms deep, which a slight elevation would make comparative easy stages of communication between madagascar and india for all animals. an elevation of three hundred feet would unite java, sumatra and borneo into one great peninsula of the asiatic continent.
-the island of madagascar is two hundred and fifty miles wide and one thousand miles long, and is separated from africa by the mozambique channel, only two hundred and fifty miles wide. africa has monkeys, apes, and baboons; also lions, leopards, hyenas, zebras, rhinocerii, elephants, buffaloes, giraffes, and many species of deer and antelopes; but strange to say, not one of these animals is found in madagascar, or anything like them. there are in madagascar, according to wallace’s “island life,” and dr. hartlaub’s “birds of madagascar,” one hundred species of land birds, and only four or five have any kindred in africa; but in malaysia and india we find identical species, and on the islands of mauritius, rodriguez, bourbon and the seychelles group we find so many curious birds without wings, with similar kindred in madagascar, that we know these islands have been connected.
-the seychelles group, two hundred by three hundred miles in extent, are seven hundred miles northeast from madagascar, and have fifteen peculiar species of birds, while three of them are found in madagascar, and some have kindred in india.
-there are five species of lizards which are found in mauritius, bourbon, rodriguez and ceylon, and even to the philippine islands.
-the mascarene group contains one thousand and fifty-eight species of plants, of which sixty-six are found in africa but not in asia, and eighty-six are found in asia and not in africa, showing a closer relation to asia than to africa. milne-edwards has even surmised a “mascarene” continent, to include all the outlying islands around madagascar. beccari, in his work on the geographical distribution of palms, after noting the difficulties of the dispersion of the fruits, reaches the conclusion that, when we find two congeneric species of palms on widely separated lands, it is reasonable to infer that these lands have been united. on the mascarene islands, in ceylon, the nicobars, at singapore, on the malaccas, new guinea, in australia and polynesia occur various species of phychosperma, all very difficult of dissemination, and hence could have reached their present habitat only by being connected by intervening lands now in the ocean bed. winchell, in his “pre-adamites,” states among his principles: 1st, the doctrine of pre-adamites is entirely consonant with the fundamental principles of biblical christianity; 2d, a chain of profound relationship runs through the constitution of all races, and they may be regarded as genealogically connected together; 3d, the initial point of the genealogical line may be located in lemuria.
-peschell, in his “races of man,” says: “this continent, which would correspond with the indian ethiopia of claudius ptolemæus, is required by anthropology, for we can then conceive how the inferior populations of australia and india, the papuans of the east india islands, and lastly the negroes, would thus be enabled to reach their present abode by dry land.” the selection of this spot is far more orthodox than it might at the first glance appear, for we here find ourselves in the neighborhood of the four enigmatical rivers of the scriptural eden—in the vicinity of the nile, euphrates, tigris and indus. by the gradual submergence of lemuria, the expulsion from paradise would also be inexorably accomplished. to this he adds the arguments of such ecclesiastical writers as lactantius, the venerable bede, hrabanus maurus, cosmas indicopleustes and the anonymous geographer of ravenna. in the second chapter of genesis we read: “a river went out of eden to water the garden, and from thence it was parted and came into four heads.” whether such a river exists to-day, i know not. dr. mccausland, in his “adam and adamite,” believes that eden was on the west bank of the modern euphrates, near the persian gulf. he says the pison river of genesis, in conjunction with the modern karùn, is the pasitigris of the ancients, which runs through the country of evilat or havillah, and flows into the euphrates before it falls into the persian gulf. the second is the modern karashú, the gyndes of the ancients, which traverses the land of cush. the hiddekel is plainly the tigris, and is designated in daniel x. 4, and runs westward to assyria.
-we know by the remains of sea-shells that the great desert of sahara was once the bottom of the ocean, and its elevation may have been consonant with and the direct cause of the submergence of lemuria.
-alfred wallace says none but the unscientific have revived atlantis since darwin’s “origin of species” and prof. asa grey on “the affinity of north american and asiatic floras.” it is not my desire to pose as unscientific, nor to construct a highway for the polearctic or nearctic fauna and flora, but to prove that the anthropological and ethnological affinities of the nahuatl tribes deserve a newer and better classification; and if the restoration of atlantis will accomplish that end, then let the theory stand or fall on its merits.
-if lemuria can be established by affinity, why not accept as much of such collateral evidence concerning atlantis as is compatible with science.
-the pacific ocean is not stormy. winchell says south america was peopled by mongoloids from the polynesian islands. since no storms prevail there, the theory would indicate a design on the inhabitants to seek new shores, which lay so many hundred miles away, across a sea where storms would never carry them by accident; but in the peopling of central america from the east, the stormy atlantic and unvarying trade winds would carry any unwary voyager who strayed too far from shore. as to the establishing of scientific data in support of atlantis, i have to add that it is probably a short while before the acceptance will be as universal as lemuria.
-in 1873 her majesty’s ship challenger made soundings in the atlantic off the north coast of africa, and in 1874 the german frigate gazelle made further soundings in the same region.
-in 1877 commander gorringe, of the u. s. sloop gettysburg, discovered, about one hundred and fifty miles from the straits of gibraltar, an immense bed of pink coral in thirty-two fathoms of water.
-“these various series of soundings, when located on a map, indicate the existence of an extended bank of comparatively shallow water, in the midst of which the canaries and the madeiras rise to the surface. the location of the newly discovered mountain in the atlantic lies within the fifteen-thousand-fathom line, and here is probably the stump of the ancient atlantis.”
-● transcriber’s notes: ○ missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. ○ typographical errors were silently corrected. ○ inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book. ○ text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (italics).
-cambridge university press
-london: fetter lane, e.c.
-c. f. clay, manager
-all rights reserved
-being lectures on the history of the stoic philosophy with special reference to its development within the roman empire
-by e. vernon arnold, litt.d.
-professor of latin in the university college of north wales and formerly fellow of trinity college, cambridge
-printed by john clay, m.a. at the university press.
-henrico jackson, litt.d.
-this book is the outcome of a course of lectures delivered by me in successive years to latin honours students in accordance with the regulations of the university of wales. it is therefore primarily intended for the assistance of classical students; but it may perhaps appeal in its present form to a somewhat wider circle.
-at the time that the book was begun the best systematic exposition of the stoic philosophy available for english readers was to be found in prof. e. zeller’s stoics epicureans and sceptics, translated by o. j. reichel (longmans, 1892). this work, admirable in detail, is nevertheless somewhat inadequate to the subject, which appeared to its learned author as a mere sequel to the much more important philosophical systems of plato and aristotle. since its first appearance many qualified writers have been inclined to assign a higher rank to stoicism, amongst whom l. stein, a. schmekel, and hans von arnim in the german-speaking countries, and a. c. pearson, g. h. rendall, and r. d. hicks in our own, are perhaps most conspicuous.
-the view taken in this book corresponds generally to that taken by the writers named. shortly expressed, it regards stoicism as the bridge between ancient and modern philosophical thought; a position which appears to be accepted by w. l. davidson writing on behalf of students of modern philosophy. mr hicks and mr davidson have recently published works dealing with the stoic philosophy as a whole; but as neither of these quite covers the ground marked out for this book, i believe that room will be found for a further presentation of the subject.
-to the writers named and to many others, my obligations are great, and their extent is generally indicated in the index. i owe a more intimate debt to mr a. c. pearson and prof. alfred caldecott, who have given me ungrudgingly of their knowledge and counsel during the whole period of the preparation of this book.
-the appearance of h. von arnim’s ‘stoicorum veterum fragmenta’ made available to me a mass of material from greek sources, and has (i hope) made this book less imperfect on the side of greek than it would otherwise have been. for the quotations in the notes from the greek and the less-known latin authors i have generally given references to von arnim’s collections, which will doubtless be more accessible to most of my readers than the original writers. these references include those to the fragments of zeno and cleanthes, for which von arnim is in the main indebted to the earlier work of pearson.
-so general a treatment of the subject as is here presented must necessarily leave room for correction and amplification in its various branches, and i trust that i am pointing out to younger students a field in which a rich harvest may yet be gleaned. to such students the appended bibliography, though necessarily incomplete, may be of use as an introduction to the considerable literature which is available to them.
-the concluding chapter makes its appeal not so much to classical students, as such, as to those who are interested in the problem of christian origins; the further problems of the influence of stoicism on modern literature and philosophy, though at first included in my programme, i have not ventured to enter upon. but i hope that at least i have been able to show that the interest of classical studies, even as regards hellenistic philosophy, does not lie wholly in the past.
-my sincere thanks are due to the council of the university college of north wales for granting me special assistance in my college duties during the spring term of 1910, in order that i might give more time to this book; to the syndics of the cambridge university press for undertaking its publication; and to mr clay and his expert staff for the admirable execution of the printing.
-e. vernon arnold
-corrigenda et notanda
-in the text the accentuation of greek words should be corrected as follows:
-for the quotations in the notes from greek writers, more precise references will usually be found in the sections named of von arnim’s stoicorum veterum fragmenta. in addition the following amplifications or corrections are needed:
-‘we praise the heavenly glory. the mighty, the god-given, the praiseworthy, the life-giving, healing, strengthening, watching high above the other creatures.
-the glory that belongs to the immortal spirits, the rulers, that act by a look alone, the lofty, all-powerful ones, the strong servants of the all-wise, that live for ever, and work justice.
-of these ‘angels’ one was destined to play a considerable part in several of the world-religions; namely that which the persians called the ‘best reason,’ and which the greeks knew as wisdom (σοφία) or the word (λόγος). sometimes an aspect of the deity, sometimes an emanation from him, and then again a distinguishable personality, this figure is again and again presented to our consideration. the personification of abstractions appealed with special force to the romans, for from the earliest periods of their history they had raised temples to faith (fides), concord (concordia), and other deified virtues; and its character can perhaps best be appreciated by reference to the personification of light in christian hymnology, both ancient and modern:
-the first was asked whether he thought the living or the dead to be the more numerous. he answered “the living, for the dead are not.”
-the second was asked, “which breeds the largest animals, the sea or the land?” he answered “the land, for the sea is only a part of it.”
-the third was asked, “which is the cleverest of beasts?” he answered “that which man has not yet discovered.”
-the fourth was asked why he made sabbas rebel. he answered “because i wished him either to live or to die with honour.”
-the fifth was asked, which he thought was first, the day or the night. he answered “the day was first, by one day.” as he saw that the king was surprised by this answer, he added “impossible questions require impossible answers.”
-alexander now asked the sixth how a man could make himself most beloved. he answered “by being very powerful, and yet not feared by his subjects.”
-of the remaining three, the first was asked how a man could become a god. he answered “by doing that which it is impossible for a man to do.”
-the next was asked which was the stronger, life or death. he answered “life, because it endures such terrible suffering.”
-the last, being asked how long it was honourable for a man to live, answered “as long as he thinks it better for him to live than to die.”
-this is the holy truth of sorrow; birth is sorrow, age is sorrow, disease is sorrow, death is sorrow; to be joined with the unloved is sorrow, to be parted from the loved is sorrow; to lose one’s desire is sorrow; shortly, the five-fold clinging to existence is sorrow.
-‘this is the holy truth of the origin of sorrow; it is the thirst to be, leading from birth to birth, finding its pleasure here and there; the thirst for pleasure, the thirst to be, the thirst to be prosperous.
-this is the holy truth of the removing of sorrow; the removal of the thirst by destroying desire, by letting it go, by cutting oneself off from it, separating from it, giving it no place.
-specially characteristic of buddhism is that gentleness of temper, instinctively opposed to all anger and cruelty, which no provocation can turn aside. we read in the dhammapada:
-‘and how is it possible that a man who has nothing, who is naked, houseless, without a hearth, squalid, without a slave, without a city, can pass a life that flows easily? see, god has sent you a man to shew you it is possible. look at me, who am without a city, without a house, without possessions, without a slave; i sleep on the ground; i have no wife, no children, no praetorium, but only the earth and heavens, and one poor cloak. and what do i want? am i not without sorrow? am i not without fear? am i not free? when did any of you see me failing in the object of my desire, or ever falling into that which i would avoid? did i ever blame god or man? did i ever accuse any man? did any of you ever see me with sorrowful countenance?
-except that a simple form of theism has replaced the buddhist atheism, there is hardly a word here that we might not expect from a buddhist monk.
-for verily all men by nature were but vain who had no perception of god, and from the good things that are seen they gained not power to know him that is, neither by giving heed to the works did they recognise the artificer;
-but either fire, or wind, or swift air, or circling stars, or raging water, or the luminaries of heaven, they thought to be gods that rule the world.
-and if it was through delight in their beauty that they took them to be the gods, let them know how much better than these is their sovereign lord: for the first author of beauty created them:
-but if it was through astonishment at their power and influence, let them understand from them how much more powerful is he that formed them:
-for from the greatness of the beauty even of created things in like proportion does man form the image of their first maker.
-but yet for these men there is but small blame, for they too peradventure do but go astray while they are seeking god and desiring to find him.
-wisdom of solomon, xiii 1-6.
-for there is in wisdom a spirit quick of understanding, holy, alone in kind, manifold, subtil, freely moving, clear in utterance, unpolluted, distinct, unharmed, loving what is good, keen, unhindered,
-beneficent, loving toward man, stedfast, sure, free from care. all-powerful, all-surveying, and penetrating through all spirits that are quick of understanding, pure, most subtil:
-for wisdom is more mobile than any motion: yea, she pervadeth and penetrateth all things by reason of her pureness.
-for she is a breath of the power of god, and a clear effluence of the glory of the almighty: therefore can nothing defiled find entrance into her.
-for she is an effulgence from everlasting light, and an unspotted mirror of the working of god, and an image of his goodness.
-and she, being one, hath power to do all things: and remaining in herself, reneweth all things, and from generation to generation passing into holy souls she maketh men friends of god, and prophets;
-for she is fairer than the sun, and above all the constellations of the stars.
-wisdom of solomon, vii 22-29.
-druidism, like stoicism, seems to have prepared its adherents for a specially ready acceptance of christianity.
-heraclitus and socrates.
-but it is in his ethical standards that hesiod is more directly a forerunner of the stoic school: for neither the warlike valour nor the graceful self-control of the hero appeals to him, but the stern sense of justice and the downright hard work of the plain man.
-thus socrates gave an example of a life of activity and self-control (ἰσχὺς καὶ κράτος); and by his character, even more than by his speculation, exercised an influence which extended widely over many centuries.
-most directly this method appeals to the future statesman. of those who seek the society of socrates many intend to become generals or magistrates. let them consider well what these words mean. is not a pilot one who knows how to steer a ship? a cook one who knows how to prepare food? must we not then say that a statesman is one who knows how to guide the state? and how can he know this but by study and training? must we not then say generally that all arts depend on knowledge, and knowledge on study? do we not reach the general truths that ‘virtue is knowledge’ and that ‘virtue can be taught’? we may hesitate as to how to apply these principles to our individual actions, and socrates will accuse none on this point; but for himself he has a divine monitor which never fails to warn him when his mind is turned towards a course which the gods disapprove.
-the academy and the porch.
-the ideal state is modelled on the individual man. to the three parts of the soul correspond three classes of citizens; the rulers, whose virtue is wisdom; the guardians, on whom courage is incumbent; the labourers and tradesmen, who owe the state soberness and obedience. thus the political system to which plato leans is that of an aristocracy; for the middle class in his state has only an executive part in the government, and the lower orders are entirely excluded from it.
-aristotle thus reinstates the credit of the common man; he it is who possesses the substance of truth and gives it habitual expression by speech, even roughly indicating the various kinds of existence by different forms of words. it is now indicated that a study of grammar is required as the foundation of logic.
-aristotle also greatly advanced the study of that kind of reasoning which proceeds from the general to the particular, and which is best expressed in terms of the ‘syllogism’ (συλλογισμός), of which he defined the various forms.
-in politics aristotle can find ground for approving in turn of monarchy, oligarchy, and democracy, according to the circumstances of each state. we cannot however but feel that his sympathies point most towards monarchy, and that his personal association with alexander the great was in full harmony with his inmost convictions. as a means of government he advocates before all things the education of the young.
-‘whereas zeno the son of mnaseas from citium has spent many years in this city in the pursuit of philosophy; and has been throughout a good man in all respects; and has encouraged the young men who resorted to him in virtue and temperance, and has sped them on the right path; and has made his own life an example to all men, for it has been consistent with the teaching he has set forth;
-we have no reason to doubt the sincerity of this tribute. it is true that all the charges brought against socrates hold even more forcibly as against zeno. but the spirit of political and religious independence was now dead, and the advantage of the philosophical schools to the fame and business interests of the city had become clearer; so that nothing prevented any longer the open recognition of zeno’s virtues and eminence. who will may also read in the decree a belated mark of respect to the memory of socrates.
-the preaching of stoicism.
-hymn to zeus.
-translated by w. h. porter.
-in other poems characteristic stoic doctrines are set forth with clearness and emphasis:
-however, are not beasts, though they are apt to become a little too impulsive when egged on--and there is no doubt that they are being periodically egged on--by an ever-increasing horde of professional agitators; also they require a firm and kind hand on the reins at any season. this being so, i am afraid you acted unwisely when you refused to interest yourself in their welfare.”
-“why should i interest myself in their affairs at all?” laurence asked, with surprising disdain. “i see no reason why i should.”
-“perhaps you forget that it is your duty to do so,” was the disconcerting reply. “when you married my brother you did so with your eyes open. he did not conceal from you that the condition of his peasants was very near his heart. i know that he went so far as to disclose to you the various generous plans he has formed for checking the general spirit of unrest fostered by the imported--i advisedly say imported, since most of it comes from germany--revolutionary literature and revolutionary counsels, that will in time cause irreparable harm. so i fear that either you should have accepted the bitter with the sweet and helped him in his self-imposed task, or else refused to share a high position and high ideals you felt yourself unable to attain.”
-“i do not see that at all!” declared laurence.
-“you do not! that is obvious; but the hour has come when you should, however.”
-“do you imagine,” laurence exclaimed, shifting the issue, “that it is agreeable, whenever one shows oneself outside one’s own castle grounds, to hear the contemptuous ‘tfou!’--whatever that means--spat at you, even by the children?”
-“i cannot tell you how it feels, never having been subjected to any insult, great or small.”
-“of course you are of this country. they--the mujiks i mean--belonged to you when they were serfs--so they like and respect you.”
-“which speaks very well for us ex-serf owners, if you will allow me to say so?”
-“possibly. i don’t try to deny it. but i have never been a slave-driver, and lack all knowledge of the ropes.”
-tatiana gave vent to a curt laugh. “slave-driving would not, i think, be quite out of your line, my dear; but let that pass. there’s no need for us to quarrel. in any case, i do not quite understand what you are trying to get at!”
-“plainly spoken, i’m trying to get at this: i want to go away from here, once and for all, and i hope you will not interfere with my doing so.”
-“i shall most certainly do nothing to help you in that respect!” tatiana replied, bending forward to rub her hands at the fire, for, what between driving and cuffing, her fingers were still rather stiff and sore.
-“why not?” questioned laurence, tilting her nose impertinently.
-“because in this benighted land we still believe in the wife’s being subject to her husband, or at least in her awaiting his advice before hazarding some such step as you propose. basil is away, and in his absence and that of our other brothers, i am the head of our family here; therefore i refuse to concur in such an action on your part, should you again attempt to bolt.”
-“then am i to understand that you propose to become my jailer in your brother’s stead?”
-this time tatiana laughed heartily. the idea of basil in the character of his wife’s jailer amused her. “don’t talk nonsense!” she said, still laughing. “you are overwrought, or you would see the absurdity of your contention. i did not come here of my own volition. you sent for me, and leaving my husband and my children at a second’s notice, i literally flew to your rescue. but if you expect me to become your accomplice in a dire piece of folly, you have reckoned without your--guest; that’s all there is about it!”
-she gently beat her hands together to aid the circulation, drew back on her seat, leaned luxuriously among its cushions, and waited for an answer.
-“do you pretend to prevent me from leaving tverna?” laurence demanded, insolently. she was reaching a dangerous point of exasperation, and as she glanced at her sister-in-law her eyes were at once furtive and full of revolt.
-“oh! yes!” the latter replied, unconcernedly. “yes, decidedly, until basil returns. then it will be his affair to deal with the situation.”
-“by what means do you intend to coerce me into remaining here, if i don’t wish to?” laurence inquired, her nose high in the air.
-“by extremely reasonable ones. to begin with, i propose to show you how ill-advised it would be for you to defy basil’s authority.”
-“supposing i don’t obey your orders?” laurence cried, defiantly.
-“don’t let us suppose anything of the sort!” countered tatiana. “besides, i beg you to observe that so far my orders have been mere advice. but wait a minute.” she rose, touched the bell, and sat down again, utterly disregarding laurence’s ferocious gaze.
-“célèste,” the duchess said, quietly, as that gay person answered the summons, “i want to say two words to you.”
-“i am at madame la duchesse’s orders,” the dauntless provençale murmured, dropping a very finished little courtesy.
-“madame la princesse, as you know, has been greatly upset by reports from below there,” and she nodded in the direction of the village, “about some contagious illness or other. she needs quiet and the best of care. this morning’s incident was--er--regrettable, but happily no harm was done, excepting to fidèlka’s silly pate--an accident he richly deserved. moreover, he’ll get over that in a day or two. let me, however, warn you, célèste, that, devoted as you are to your mistress, you must see how wrong it would be of you to get her into any more scrapes. you conducted yourself very well a while ago. you are brave. i like that.”
-“it is madame la duchesse who is brave!” burst forth célèste, who had been quite carried away by tatiana’s masterly entrée-en-scène. “brave as a lion! it was magnificent to witness madame la duchesse’s boxing of their ears!”
-tatiana laughed her spontaneous laugh, willingly overlooking the girl’s lack of deportment. she could see that she too was over-excited, which really was not surprising.
-“i’m glad you liked it!” she said, simply. “they probably didn’t! and for the present please abandon your warlike propensities. everybody is going to behave here now, and in a few days the prince will be back. meanwhile take the greatest possible care of your mistress. you can go!” she added, and the gesture with which she dismissed her made célèste mutter as she went:
-“bravo! there’s one who has no cold in her eyes! sapristi! she’s the genuine article, this duchess, with her boyish ways and her big, laughing eyes. one might love this one pour-tout-de-bon!”
-“you are making yourself at home!” sneered laurence as soon as the door had closed again.
-“that’s precisely what i came for!” replied tatiana. “and so should you--if i may continue to advise--seeing that this is your own hearth and fireside, after being mine for fifteen years--the age at which i had the luck to marry my dear jean-sans-peur.”
-“it’s a long time ago?”
-tatiana got to her feet without any haste. “so it is,” she admitted. “our first-born is twenty already, which makes me exactly thirty-seven. a ripening time; but what matters? we palitzins are said to improve with years, like good wine; which is a mercy, my temper not being always of the sweetest! i trust i have controlled it satisfactorily during this charming hour, my dear, but if perchance i did hurt your feelings i am heartily sorry for it. lie down now and go to sleep for a few hours; it will refresh you immensely; and trust me to attend to everything needful.” with which valediction she left the room, before laurence had a chance to recommence hostilities.
-your secret thought, or foul or fair, thrills in the currents of the air, and oft may breathe in careless play from lips unwitting what they say.
-basil, watching by his godmother’s bedside when not employed in replacing her as owner and personal manager of one of the greatest estates in northern russia, felt a constant presentiment of evil things to come. he could not have explained this sensation had he been asked to do so, but nevertheless it was quite strong enough to oppress him almost continually by day and night.
-vera-nikoláievna, countess lanièvitch, had in her day been a celebrated beauty, but this circumstance had never succeeded in spoiling the remarkably clever and high-minded woman she was. her husband had fallen at the head of his regiment during the russo-japanese war, in the course of which her four sons, two in the cavalry and two in the navy, had also heroically yielded up their lives. left alone and desolate, the great lady had turned all that remained of tenderness in her nature to basil-vassilièvitch palitzin, who she claimed was all that was left in the world for her to care about, and had made little piotr her heir, with that fitness of things which invariably brings more water to an already overflowing river. she had met laurence but twice--once at her own place, where basil had brought his bride to be presented, the second time at petersburg, and the experienced woman of the world had immediately formed the worst possible opinion of her beloved godson’s marriage. nor had laurence done anything to conciliate her husband’s aged relative. stubborn, with that peculiarly impenetrable stubbornness that one can but call pig-headed, having once made up her mind that she would hate--and continue to hate--every single thing or person connected with russia and her new life, she had ignored the kindly advances of countess lanièvitch, remaining from the first strictly polite and no more, which had both surprised and hurt the dowager. her health, always delicate since her great sorrows, had now finally given way, and basil, filled with the greatest apprehensions, at last summoned the court physician all the way from petersburg to look deeper into the case. the great man came, and pronounced a far from reassuring verdict. the patient might or might not linger for another year. that there was no immediate danger he was willing to assert, but this was all, for the countess suffered from heart trouble, and, moreover, complete discouragement--a very grave symptom in a person of her energetic nature--seemed to have overtaken her.
-after his departure basil had a long talk with his godmother, who urged him to go back to his family, for she was the most unselfish of women; but basil could not make up his mind to leave her until she had at least regained some semblance of strength. it was then that tatiana’s message concerning the late events at tverna arrived. she had softened the facts, and put as little responsibility upon laurence as was compatible with truth; but basil, nevertheless, saw clearly that his immediate return was imperative, and, avoiding to alarm his kinswoman by a detailed account of the affair, spoke of trouble with the peasants, and after arranging everything for her comparative comfort and ease of mind left her with much regret.
-he had to spend some hours in petersburg on his way home, and preferring his club to his unprepared palace on the nèwsky, all swathed in silence, cold, and brown holland, he repaired thither on leaving the train.
-it had been quite a time since he had been there, and he was received with genuine enthusiasm by his numerous friends, who talked at once of killing the fatted calf for his benefit. in consequence, he dined that night with half a dozen men who had been his comrades when he was in the gardes-à-cheval, and in spite of his peculiarly unjoyful mood he became, as the feast progressed, much more cheerful than he had been for weeks.
-“where can one be better than in the bosom of one’s patriotic family?” laughed count mourièff, throwing himself back in his chair as the coffee was brought, and blowing volumes of cigar-smoke toward the heavily gilded ceiling. the salon in which the dinner had taken place gave excellent testimony to the entrain of the occasion. in the corners of the big room huge chinese urns were crowned with pyrotechnic bouquets of long-stemmed flowers; along the table windrows of rare fruits and gaily caparisoned bonbons demonstrated once more that in the very deeps of his nature the russian is always more or less of a child, over-fond of sweets and pretty baubles--blossoms and luxuries of all sorts!
-“you don’t miss your patriotic family, palitzin, you lucky beggar!” cried captain zàptine, one of basil’s most intimate friends. “you are too well provided otherwise! gentlemen,” he continued, turning to the others, “this long-legged animal here before you has discovered the secret of eternal youth and happiness. let us envy him with all our hearts. do you remember how he left us one fine evening at the camp of krasnöe-sèloe during the fateful season of nesting and of love--left us, the wretch, without a word of warning concerning his roseate and orange-budded plans?”
-“did he at least bear away a feather in his beak as a token of peace and good will toward woman?” queried a remarkably tall and handsome man still very much on the right side of forty, who was known far and wide as a hardened misogynist, and wore the cross of st. george upon his tunic--in commemoration, his compeers alleged, of his many victories over the dragon as represented by the fair sex.
-“no; but he has come back, doubtless with an olive branch to make us forgive his desertion. ah, my friends, my dear friends!” cried zàptine; “he owed us this apology for neglecting our sisters and cousins in order to annex the most beautiful woman out of russia! let us therefore drink to his ever-increasing felicity, now that he has apologized.”
-“i have done nothing of the sort!” basil tried to assert, but his voice was drowned by laughter, and with a serio-comic gesture he sat down again. and then there followed a general hurrah and loud calls for a “monster” punch to honor the toast, and presently the beverage made its appearance, flaming like all the fires of the lower regions in an immense silver “crater,” embossed with the arms of the club, and flanked by little silver bowls marked in the same fashion. without losing a moment zàptine seized hold of the great ladle and began to make the punch dance--as he termed the operation.
-“ah!” the chevalier-de-st. george declaimed. “now we shall feel quite at home! no ‘wein, weib, und gesang’ for me! punch, and good old comrades to swallow it at command, that’s the only real thing!”
-“pfuhh ... h!” retorted zàptine, assiduously stirring the vesuvius before him. “don’t listen to him, brothers; he is going to talk nonsense!”
-“nonsense! i? you don’t know me! is it nonsense to deprive oneself of the anxieties, the troubles, the imprisonment, and other delights of home rule? i am a sensible man, and intend to remain my own master, for ever and for ever--as in the old song, whatever it’s entitled. petticoats! don’t talk to me of them. it makes me sweat icicles to think of them!”
-“how do you account, then,” put in mourièff, scornfully, “for the charming lesghise, who through some miracle worked by your honor, finally passed from the high rank of a caucasian prisoner of state to that of one of petersburg’s most admired demi-mondaines? eh? answer that if you can?”
-there was a roar of laughter, in which even basil joined as frankly as did the culprit himself.
-“caucasus is caucasus,” he retorted, “and ennui with a capital letter is its overlord. one is not responsible for anything one does there, i assure you.”
-“an agreeable and eminently convenient theory,” basil put in. “but look here; don’t tease him, mourièff; he did his duty gallantly by the lady in freeing her from oppression and bondage, as also by affording her the chance of new fields to conquer.”
-“she has certainly made admirable use of her opportunities! you know that grand-duke....”
-“’shh-sh-sh!” resounded from every side. “hush-a-by baby! no personalities, please, especially about the imperial family.”
-“well,” grunted zàptine, “it’s going to be lovely if we can’t dander the grand dukes between ourselves, especially as in this case it would be quite ancient history. last year, by the way, the illustrious lesghise in question was on the friendliest of terms with a bonny englishman who had more good looks than money--which shows that some women are cruelly misjudged.”
-“yes! of course! but i heard that their friendship was a mere blind, a screen, a laisser-courre, as one might say.”
-“a screen? for whose benefit?”
-“some benighted husband’s, i dare say, who believed in the pure and loyal satisfaction of matrimonial life. i was assured that the british son of mars, who is in the habit of obtaining russian passports at irregular intervals, was not here for the beaux-yeux of the lesghise at all, but merely traveled with her to throw dust in somebody’s eyes.”
-“vier kinder, kein arbeit, und kein geld, der kommt gewiss von lerchenfeldt!” parodied zàptine, singing at the top of his lungs. “and who’s the fortunate mortal who hides behind one fair woman in order to meet a fairer one with more safety? we must naturally suppose that the second one is the fairer, else how would you account for his criminal coldness toward the screen?”
-“i don’t remember his name,” mused mourièff. “something ending with a y, i think. (diable! but that punch is hot! pour a bottle of brandy in to cool it!) i saw him, though--the happy mortal, that is--several times. pleasing chap with square shoulders and many inches, soft, lackadaisical brown eyes, a promising trifle of a mustache, and big, white teeth.”
-“the better to eat you, my child!” cried zàptine. “military, did you say?”
-“of course--could see it at a glance; been drilled, you know. came here as a private individual, but was recognized by-- let me see, who told me? oh, i remember--our colonel, our beloved jewel of a colonel, that cavalier of cavaliers whom we glory in obeying, said the interesting youth was military attaché somewhere, somehow, but mum was the word--he was so visibly here for other purposes than to slyly inspect our frontier defenses. i met him--not the colonel--the don juan--one afternoon leaving the upper galleries of the gostinoï-dvòr--there’s always plenty of solitude there, for that’s merely where the reserve merchandise from below is kept. he didn’t seem pleased to see me--pulled the collar of his coat up to his eyes, and slunk away with black guilt showing in every line of his back. talk of petticoats! lord, it wasn’t the lesghise’s he--”
-basil, who had been listening at first only with one ear and then with absorbed attention, threw his cigar away with sudden violence.
-“you’re becoming indecent!” he said, and managed to say it with deceiving indifference. “i think i will retire; really, your conversation is unfit for my chaste hearing!” and he rose.
-“hear! hear! a just and righteous man in our midst! sit down, palitzin, and preach us a sermon. let’s vote him a speaking-trumpet of honor. go on, basil, give it to us, old boy! we deserve it! we’re a bad lot, we are!”
-but basil was inexorable. he elaborately explained that he was forced to catch his train at an unearthly hour, and that trains carrying him always started on time; so nolens-volens, after giving him a regular ovation, they let him go, accompanying him to the very portals of the club and his waiting sleigh, around which they gathered, uttering loud cheers.
-the night was exceedingly cold. a half-congealed vapor formed a little cloud around the nostrils of the three horses held in rein by his coachman; the sidewalks, quite recently swept and powdered with fine sand, as is done again and again each day in petersburg’s luxurious quarters, showed two lines of pale gold on either side of the broad, brilliantly lighted streets, and rime lavishly broidered with innumerable paillettes every roof and projection sparkling beneath the frigid moon. it was a scene to hearten up any lover of the north; but basil, intrenched behind his high sable collar, was not enjoying it as he should have done. for there was something he did not like slowly taking shape in his mind.
-it was past eleven o’clock, but notwithstanding this fact he gave his yèmshik the order to drive him to the house of a friend who had been his father’s comrade-in-arms, and had until recently held the post of chief of police. “he has got into the habit, while manipulating the third section, of never going to bed. i’ll find him as wide awake as a barrelful of mice,” thought basil, and his previsions were fulfilled. “i must clear up a point or two, otherwise i will never rest easy again,” the prince was saying angrily to himself, as he ascended the stairs; but when he entered the library where the general sat wrapped in a cloud of smoke, like a buddhist image, his face was impassive.
-“so here you are, you rascal!” chuckled the gray-beard, getting up to shake basil warmly by the hand. “we never quite lose our old habits, and i knew that you had arrived this morning, the moment you put your foot on the quay. but here, what do you want of me that you look me up in this way? it must be something important!”
-“pardon me, my dear old friend,” smiled basil, accepting the comfortable seat indicated to him by the general. “i do not always come to see you because i want something.”
-“let’s admit that you do not always come for interested reasons, but your nose is wriggling as if upon some scent or other, and so i conclude that this is one of your ‘on’ days.”
-“you are dangerously perspicacious!” basil remarked. “yes, i did venture to disturb you to-night for some such reason.”
-“i thought so,” laughed the ex-official, who had been dreaded above all his predecessors in office. “and now what is it you wish to find out?”
-basil lighted a cigarette, paused to expel two or three thin threads of smoke, and then spoke:
-“i would like to know who is the english officer in mufti who has visited petersburg on several occasions during--the last year or two, let us say--to meet a woman of the half-world--as a matter of fact, a lesghise; first lançée by--”
-“a dashing officer of the gardes-à-cheval?” interrupted the general.
-general lédòff glanced at his interlocutor from beneath his shaggy eyebrows, then fell to puffing once more at his enormous pipe with extraordinary industry.
-“you,” he said, dryly, “have no longer the least business to occupy yourself with ladies of the merrier sort, my son, and unless you give me a pretty good reason for so doing i will certainly and most virtuously refuse to assist you in so unpardonable an enterprise. what do you want of that species of fallen princess?”
-“nothing of her, i assure you!” basil emphatically declared; “but--one of my friends is interested in the question, and it is for him i speak. surely you have still means at your disposal, my excellent friend, of finding out what i ask.”
-“certainly! it would be fine if an ex-chief of police--who managed to escape the régime of bombs to which all of us are subject--had not retained enough intelligence to accomplish so slight a thing. but why do you bother about other people’s love intrigues? now that you are à l’abris des voitures, as our amiable allies say. it’s a loss of time, and you’ll get no thanks for your pains.”
-“i am not looking for thanks,” basil dryly observed.
-“all the better for you. but you don’t suppose i can give you the information you seek at five seconds’ notice, do you, boiling youth? my head is no longer pigeon-holed like a receptacle for dossiers.”
-“i wish you could, for i am leaving for tverna on the next train, and i do not expect to be in petersburg again for some time.”
-“as pressing as that? had trouble with your peasants, i heard, some time ago. nothing very terrible, eh?”
-“you have preserved your martial curtness, i see. i’m glad it wasn’t serious, since you are so constructed that you can’t bring yourself to shoot a few of them down to cool their blood. ah! you can flatter yourself that your father and you were and are merciful proprietors! but, mark my words, my boy, you will get yourself shaken out of the saddle if you continue to ride without a martingale. the efforts of our worthy agitators will be crowned with success sooner or later; never doubt it; and when you have to call in a sotnia or two of whole-hearted kossàks in order to prevent murder and sudden death, those mujiks of yours will rue the day when you gave them their head so imprudently. here i am, however, galloping my favorite hobby again, instead of thinking of your lesghise. let me see--an english officer, did you say?”
-he raised himself from the downy depths of his great arm-chair, and hobbled--for he had a gouty foot--to a large safe in the corner, draped and concealed beneath a persian silk fabric that had the bloom of a ripe plum upon its soft folds.
-refusing basil’s aid, he opened the ponderous steel door, turned on an electric bulb near by, and after a few moments’ search returned to his seat, holding in his hand a thick-set volume bound in dark-green morocco, and gold-lettered at the back “daily journal.”
-“here,” he laughed, “behold the heart of hearts of a police tyrant, the sacro-sanctum of his labors--a précis of great and minute events that may or may not come to a head and endanger the peace of the empire! nobody, until now, has ever seen even the outside of this spicy little work.”
-basil inclined his head to thank the general for his flattering confidence, and sat immovable while his companion flipped over the pages covered from top to bottom with close, small-writ lines, interspersed here and there with annotations in red ink, as he could clearly discern from where he sat.
-half an hour passed in complete silence, basil lighting one cigarette from the butt of another, the general poring tirelessly over his patient handiwork. on a console a large malachite clock--an imperial gift of gratitude--between two superb vases of the same luscious-looking stone, suddenly rang out an admirable rendition of the bells of st. isaac’s, and basil listened with curious attention and a sort of retrospective enjoyment, as if the harmony belonged to a happy life he liked to have recalled to him; but that had passed away for ever.
-“the last two years or so, did you say?” he asked, turning his piercing eyes full on basil.
-“i think that is what i heard!” hesitated basil, who was no longer quite sure of what he had heard, shifting his cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other. “i am not certain, of course.”
-“because,” the other explained, “my notes record here a sojourn of some duration--wait--a sojourn in petersburg--four years ago of--of two weeks. the young man had previously visited the crimea--or at least he came straight here from there.” the general once more began to thumb his little book. “at that time,” he went on, speaking very slowly, “he had been only for a short while british military attaché in paris. his name is moray--captain neville moray, of the grenadier guards. his arrival was brought instantly to my notice, owing to his connection with the diplomatic service. his passport had been obtained for him under the plea of traveling for pleasure. moreover, he cannot be very rich, for he put up here at a decidedly second-rate hotel, made no calls on anybody, not even his ambassador--which seemed rather queer--and did not once use his official position to obtain a presentation at court or to any of the grand dukes or the military authorities. his acquaintance with the fair lesghise in question may have antedated his first trip here, because she had accompanied a mutual friend of ours--let his name remain unpronounced, for he is a great miscreant and a delightful man--to paris a few months previously, and if our english lovelace is at all lancé in the smart world, he probably met her then. as a matter of fact, it was taken for granted in our secret service that he had come here on purpose to follow her. she is, as you know, a strikingly beautiful woman.”
-basil had risen, and, standing with his face beyond the circle of light cast by the monumental lamp on the table, was studiously selecting yet another fresh cigarette.
-“i never set eyes on her, general,” he replied, “and i am deeply obliged to you far taking all this trouble.” he waved his hand slowly before his face, as though to dissipate the gauzy volutes floating between himself and his old friend. “i don’t know how to thank you,” he added, sincerely.
-“don’t thank me, my boy. it has given me great pleasure to dip into my old trade again. one is like that. the very smell of the harness once worn is pleasing to the nostrils. how it all comes back to me! for instance, look at this: i had utterly forgotten the very existence of this englishman, and now that a corner of the veil was lifted by you a while ago, i can see before me a great many incidents that lay dormant in an odd corner of my old brain, and, in particular, a little tableau that had its charms at the time.”
-“what was that?” asked basil, with a quick turn of the head.
-“oh, a trifle! but since it was connected with our guardsman, i’ll tell it to you in two words. it was about three years ago, if i am correct, on a bitter winter day--thus does the tale begin. ha! ha! i am quite a raconteur in my humble way, i beg you to observe! well, we were at the time keeping our eyes upon a certain servian ‘prince’--the nerve they display, those servians, in affording themselves, while away from home, the luxury of titles which do not exist in their own land, is truly marvelous! but to proceed: we were, as i was saying, having this questionable personage--er--watched, in a discreet fashion--you understand--so when driving out for my airing, the fancy seized me to go to the botanical gardens. i had been informed that the ‘noble’ servian was in the habit of dropping in there--to admire the flowers, and meet--quite by accident, of course--a friend--or perchance two--also naturally quite by accident--do you see? so i told yèfime--you remember my old yèfime--to drive me there. from a good distance the whole mass of the gardens began to gleam against the sky like some gigantic jewel-case open to the sun-rays. we had had a hard frost, which had incased every branch and twig in crystal--i can see it before me now. i stopped the sleigh and passed up the board walk leading to the conservatories beneath those gently clinking branches, and, pursuing my idea, i entered the great glass vestibule, and from there went into the main house. the first whiff of moist, heavily perfumed air after that cruel cold outside--i can really still smell it--was a sort of voluptuous delight, and i followed a broad, pebbled path bordered on each side by hedges of twenty-five-foot camellias in full bloom. you know the place, and what a joy to the eye it is. precious palms and tree-ferns growing free to the very top of the cupola ... orange and lemon adored orchids! ah! what orchids--above regular thickets of gardenias--a paradise! after a while i came to the aerial staircase winding among all those lustrous plants, and reached the top where it communicates with the astounding lacy bridge that spans the whole length of this particular conservatory, and there i paused to lean a moment on the balustrade. just below me on the balcony of the first landing were two people standing close together, a man and a woman; he tall, slimly built, but rather square-shouldered and straight as an arrow. the collar of his long fur coat was raised--in that heat, mind you! she, i could see, was extremely élégante, and heavily veiled. both my natural and my official curiosity were aroused i confess, and, making myself as small as the good god ever permits me to be, i bent cautiously and listened. they were whispering, and so absorbed in one another that they had not heard my feet on the metal steps, and only a few disconnected words reached me. it struck me as peculiar that they were speaking english, for i greatly doubted whether my servian would use that tongue, and, even more, whether he had ever used the botanical gardens for an amorous rendez-vous. his talents had appeared to be entirely political. perhaps i had done him an injustice; at all events, i had decided to leave him to his twitterings, when an interesting thing happened. the uniformed guardian who keeps watch over the collections approached from below, yawning to dislocate his jaws, and the lovers sprang apart in evident dismay.
-“‘good-bye!’ i heard the woman’s muffled voice say, and the echo came at once:
-“‘good-bye, my love--my heart and soul to you--always!’
-“the sun was lighting up the whole place with extraordinary brilliancy, and i distinctly saw a tear splash on his gloved hand that rested on the edge of the balcony, as she fairly ran for the opposite staircase. he--poor devil--remained for a few minutes where he was, his shoulders rising and falling queerly, and he nervously pulled down his fur collar as if he wanted air. the face i saw then, for a glancing second, was that of young moray. and i wondered; because that lesghise assuredly spoke no english, barely a few lately acquired phrases of french, perhaps--if that! next day a grave political complication drove the whole thing out of my head, and i have never thought of it since.”
-“the winter of four years ago!” basil soliloquized, and, recollecting himself, he added with a laugh: “you have a good memory, general. fancy recalling--even with a little extraneous aid--so trifling an incident after four long years!”
-the general, who was not quite proof against compliment, got up and rubbed his hands.
-“eh! eh!” he cried. “it does not always follow that gray hairs must needs dull the brain beneath them. i could still have been of considerable use, i believe, to our imperial master; but, as i happen to know, he was strongly advised to the contrary, and so here i am now, lazing my life away, inactive and growing fat, with my ear split like a reformed french cavalry horse. but must you really go? of course, now that you have wrung me dry, you leave me without a scruple, for such are the ways of the world. but you were always a cajoler, my dear basil, and knew how to gain your ends. i hope that some day in the near future you will honor me with more details concerning this affair of the english captain, for i cannot understand how you can be so interested in him as to waste an hour over it.”
-“waste, general? an hour spent with you is never wasted.”
-“there you are again! flattery, vile flattery! and you are going straight on from here to your beautiful tverna? pray place my homage at madame palitzin’s pretty feet. how is she, by the way? upon my word, i am losing my manners.”
-“she is very well as far as i know,” basil replied. “i am from my aunt lanièvitch’s place; she is gravely ill, and i stayed with her quite a while. but tatiana is with my wife and boy, so i felt quite safe about them.”
-“give tatiana my love--my very dearest love. she is the one woman among women. lord! how she would scold me if she heard! does she still fly into a rage when one calls her a woman? you remember when she was a little thing, no higher than my boot, the way she would behave when i told her she couldn’t enter the corps-des-pages because little girls were never accepted there, for fear they should shock the young gentlemen of that great institution?” and, laughing and talking, the delightful old man accompanied basil all the way down-stairs, indeed, to the very limits of his cathedral-like hall, the walls of which were almost invisible for the collections of arms, brought back from many campaigns on the confines of the grim white empire he had so loyally served.
-basil buried himself in the furs of his sleigh with a sigh of utter weariness, but after a brief moment he squared his shoulders with an effort, and sat up again. his horses were making their hoofs ring on the bridge of the greater neva, and the enchained river was something to take even his brooding gaze. the “catching of the ice” had that year come on early and with a rush, just when the last late autumn gales were driving across the water, so the frost had fallen upon great waves rolling from bank to bank, and solidified them hand over hand, as it were. the aspect of their frozen strife had in it something singularly fierce and forceful, which well expressed the terrifying majesty of winter in the north. like a girdle of multi-colored gems, the electric globes of the quays showed mauve and pale-green and primrose along both sides of the sculptured turmoil of ice, picking out sharply the rigid wave-crests; and beyond, beneath a sky of pellucid sapphire powdered all over with twinkling stars among which winked and flashed the bigger constellations, the swarm of golden church domes--images of faith--looked as though countless fairy palaces were climbing one upon another toward realms of the pure ideal.
-the splendidly illumined cross of st. isaac’s caught basil’s eye as the horses sped on, and he reverently repeated its sign upon his breast. “god have mercy!” he whispered, and sat very still, looking upward.
-rest well assured that now i see nor shall hereafter blinded be.
-“ask madame la princesse if she can receive me for a moment.”
-basil, emerging from his dressing-room where he had removed the stains of travel, spoke in his usual quiet voice, and célèste courtesied to the ground without daring to raise her eyes, for she was terribly afraid of the prince, and her share in the escapade of two weeks ago filled her with extreme alarm; so she passed on ahead of him toward laurence’s apartments with suitable haste, and for once without indulging in any coquettishly tripping steps.
-for a very few moments only basil waited in the entrance-hall, and then célèste threw wide the door of the little salon preceding the bedroom and effaced herself murmuring in a subdued voice:
-“madame la princesse awaits monsieur le prince.”
-inside the air was almost stiflingly hot with that heat which one expects to find only in forcing-houses, and the violent perfume of heady flowers added to the illusion and positively took one by the throat. laurence did not believe in the modest fragrance of violets and roses; to please her blossoms must be tropically sensational in scent and color, erratic of shape if possible, and especially very costly; wherefore the vases all over the suite bristled with a newly hybridized lily, red and yellow in gaudy streaks like a south-american parrot, and pouring forth from their pointed petals torrents of pungent muskiness.
-half sitting, half reclining on the piled-up cushions of her favorite pink velvet lounge, enveloped like a bon-bon-à-surprise in folds upon folds of flesh-tinted gauze forming the most amiable of princely sauts-de-lit, she awaited her husband in apparent calm, although her heart was beating uncomfortably. she knew she was in for a scene of some kind or other, and had prepared for it by repeating to herself over and over again: “i must stand firm; i must stand firm at any cost! men are afraid of scenes, even when they bring them about themselves.” but she had not expected to find basil quite so cool and indifferent upon his return to her after several weeks, nor so unimpressed by the skilful mise-en-scène she had prepared; and when he omitted even the formal hand-kiss of greeting and merely bowed before her, she felt a sudden sinking of her throbbing heart, as if it were going down into her rose-lined slippers--pretty little slippers, which, with the accompanying silken ankles, were, as usual, effectively in evidence.
-“you are not very effusive?” she faltered, her head slightly on one side, her lovely eyes radiating electric currents. “after all those days!” it was a favorite formula of speech with her, evidently, for she was certainly not thinking just now of neville or of the hôtel de plenhöel.
-basil, one elbow on the chimneypiece, gazed down at her, totally unmoved. perchance he, too, had prepared himself carefully for this interview.
-“you might never have seen me again,” she continued, raising herself a little and pouting up at him like a mischievous child who wants caresses. “for it was a miracle that i was saved!”
-again she threw him a little appealing glance full of pathos, but his face was set and hard as flint, and suddenly régis’s words flashed through her mind: “if ever basil learns that you have stepped down from the pedestal upon which he placed you, he will be unmerciful.”
-“why don’t you speak?” she exclaimed, nervously sitting up and letting her feet drop to the carpet.
-“let me impress upon you the advisability of implicit truthfulness on your part, laurence, before we go any further with this,” he said, coldly.
-“are you going to be ugly to me!” she exclaimed, joining her hands together protestingly, “and just because i was afraid of your murderous peasants? are you going to be horrid, basil dear ... to poor little me?”
-basil gulped down something in his throat--possibly the pungence of those flaring lilies--his arm fell limply to his side, and he stared at her in amazement. “you will make a mistake,” he said, slowly, “if you try to go on hoodwinking me. it was well enough in the past, but that sort of thing is done with.”
-“what do you mean?” she asked, flushing crimson. “what do you mean? when have i tried to hoodwink you?”
-“for more than five long persevering years. no, don’t interrupt me; wait till i have pointed out a few things to you.”
-the soft laces about her neck seemed of a sudden to have been transformed into an implacable garotte, and she tore at them with shaking fingers. she was ashy pale now, even to her stiffening lips. he need not have forbidden her to speak, for she could not have done so had she tried.
-“for over five long weary years,” he quietly resumed, “you have made of me a mere purveyor of luxuries, of pleasures, of amusements. i fully admire your cleverness in raising yourself to the position i gave you; but not, however, the self-sufficiency that caused you to neglect the obligations that position entails. you scarcely showed shrewdness in this respect, but i was ready after a few weeks of your company to take much for granted, to pardon much, and to adopt any modus-vivendi which would make it easier for you and me to keep up the farce of what i, at least, in my imbecility had thought to be a love marriage. i saw your failings; i discovered, one by one, faults i had never believed you capable of, but i thought you at least honest, and so i managed to endure the disappointment of finding in you nothing of what i had expected. i never doubted your honesty, mind you--never once. that saved all!”
-he paused, bit his under lip, and went on in the same slow, deliberate way: “i discovered, to my extreme sorrow, that you did not love me as you claimed you did. it was a bitter pill for me to swallow; but even then i found excuses for you. the temptation of great wealth and--permit me to add in simple justice--of a state almost unequaled here or elsewhere. you were young, well-born, and poor. this is not a--taunt, far from it--but a straight and plain statement. your beauty entitled you to the best that this earth can provide, and, meeting me on your road, you intentionally dazzled me, using, perhaps, not the most delicate of means to do so; but i was too blind then to discriminate--my fault entirely! i confess that i was to blame for not having been more keen-sighted, and even to-day i rest that blame upon myself.”
-he turned his gaze away from the wild stare of her eyes, and at once she tottered to her feet. “basil!” she cried. “basil, i love you; you know i love you and have always loved you!” and, so queerly are women constructed, that at that moment when she was being shown in one flash how completely she had lost him, she felt with a keen pang how far above other men he towered, how fine and strong he really was, and what a lover he might have remained, but for her own wilful folly.
-he did not move, he quietly continued bending his grave eyes upon her, scanning from head to foot this beautiful creature offering herself in a flash of awakening passion; her light draperies clinging to her like foam about aphrodite, her glorious eyes wet with tears more genuine than had ever glistened there, her white arms yearningly stretched out to him.
-“what a pity,” he said, simply, “that you should not have thought of all this before!”
-she half fell back as if he had struck her, then, impelled by a swift instinct to do all that she could to save herself, she suddenly flung herself at him, her head upon his breast, her loose-piled hair, shaken from its fastening ribbon by the violence of the action, tumbling like a mantle in lustrous ripples all around her.
-“basil! my basil!” she moaned. “i am yours, only yours!” one part of her brain was working feverishly, for she must try to guess--and that quickly--what he knew, what had changed him so; the other part was inert and dazed. it was a crucial moment.
-firmly he detached her clinging hands from his shoulders, and, holding her by both slender wrists, he pressed her gently toward the lounge; but her hitherto dormant fighting powers were fully aroused now, and she struggled free, to fling herself in utter abasement at his feet, clasping his knees desperately. an expression of indescribable pain contracted his features, but she did not see that; all she knew was that he lifted her up ever so gently, as though she were a mere object to be removed from his path, and placed her in the same impersonal way where she had sat before.
-limitless astonishment mingled now with her terror and confusion. was this the man whom she had led by the proverbial silken thread?
-“don’t you realize,” he was saying, “that you can no longer influence me; that i clearly see through the tricks and shams you have always practised upon me; that my eyes are wide open at last?”
-gripping the edge of the lounge with both hands, she stared at him in utter consternation, helpless, defeated, robbed at one stroke of all her weapons.
-“women,” he pursued in that well-controlled, level tone that gave her such a sense of powerlessness, “hold different views of honor from what we do. i had never quite believed this, because our women are apart from the common herd, but you have convinced me. you are alarmed at the thought--not of losing me, but what i represent to you, and you are at the present minute perfectly willing to surrender unconditionally, even after what i have just told you, were i cowardly enough to accept such a surrender. you think that my anger will pass; but you may as well know that this is not going to be the case, because you have robbed me not only of the present, but of the past--because you have never been faithful to me, even when you first put your hand in mine and swore to be true, and because now i do not believe in you and never will!”
-“but what makes you say these hideous things?” she gasped. “what have i done to deserve such cruelty--such contempt--such injustice?”
-there was still something wanting in his accusation--she felt it instinctively; something she dreaded to hear him tell, and yet must know; something he, a gentleman, hated to say.
-“the knowledge that you have always betrayed me,” he said at last; “you who married me for gain, because your lover was too poor to be a welcome husband!”
-“my lover!” she shrieked. “that is false! i have no lover!”
-“pardon me, madame,” he said, “some time ago i found it was necessary for my honor to learn what i could about your past--and--your present. a little late, no doubt, but what will you? we russians are hard to rouse, but still harder to deceive twice over. long before you knew me neville moray was your lover--he has continued to be so ever since. how far your--affection carried you before our marriage i do not know--but since then you have seen him at regular intervals, secretly, shamefully, and now”--his voice broke suddenly in a horrible way--“now i am forced to doubt the legitimacy of your son.”
-from the long gallery beyond her apartments gay, childish shouts came ringing to their ears.
-“hop! hop, garrassime! kick out your heels, horsey! go faster! go faster!” piotr was calling out at the top of his voice, and in the small, heavily perfumed salon there was silence, tense and terrible, an oppressive lull in a storm. there was a burst of laughter, and the galloping of little feet pursuing garrassime, the merry jingle of the silver bells, of the bridle with which the boy was driving his human steed, and then silence again.
-laurence had fallen forward against the cushions, her face hidden, both hands covering her ears. basil drew a deep breath, and suddenly tears rose to his eyes. slowly he walked to a window, and, his back toward her, gazed unseeingly at the immense steppe rolling out from the rocks far below. the magnificent isolation of the place was almost tragic in its completeness, and from that height the vast wrinklings of the unspotted snow-field seemed wrought from imperishable marble by the craft of some giant sculptor, enamoured of eternity.
-“hear me, basil!” murmured laurence, hoarsely. “what you say is monstrous--false to the core. the boy is yours--yours, do you hear me?” there was the ring of truth in her words now, but the man who listened had ceased to believe once and for all. a bad woman may inspire passion, but not the love that trusts and comprehends.
-“how can i know?” came from the window, in a voice so altered that she did not recognize it, and abruptly started forward to see who had spoken. “how can i know,” went on the lifeless, monotonous accusation, “since you were always untrue? had you, tired of my tenderness, yielded to a sudden impulse and given yourself to another, you might yet have had some shadow of an excuse, perhaps. you would have merely sunk, in so doing, to the level of those women who break faith because it is their whim or their nature to do so. but what of the crime committed by a free agent in accepting another man’s name, his love and trust, when it has become no longer possible to do so without black dishonor? you were talking a while ago of your poltroonery with regard to my peasants--my people here. what is that compared to the atrocious cowardice you were guilty of when you greedily accepted me as your husband--your best friend, your protector--knowing that you were no longer yours to dispose of, for a fortune or otherwise?”
-“you are cruel--unfair, and you know it! there has been nothing, nothing, i tell you, that was serious between me and the--the--young man you named just now. he was a childhood’s friend, nothing more.”
-basil did not turn, he shrugged his shoulders wearily, that was all; and laurence, cowed, daunted by this contemptuous silence, glanced apprehensively at those broad shoulders in a quick, haunted way.
-“oh,” she cried, “won’t you look round? won’t you read the truth in my eyes? take care, basil, of what you are doing! don’t push me too far!” the sentence that had begun in entreaty ended in a snarl of weak rage and menace that made basil pivot on his heels and look at her with new surprise.
-“i believe, god forgive me, that you are attempting to threaten me!” he said, holding back his anger with a strong effort.
-she was hanging her head, but not in shame; her hands were clasped between her knees, upon which the thin material of her dress drew tightly, and she glanced up at him through her eyelashes.
-“if i do anything desperate,” she said, between her teeth, “it will be your fault.” and then in one of those moments of complete mental abandonment--a sudden weakening of over-taxed faculties to which women when cornered are liable--she committed the most fatal error of all. “who,” she asked, furiously--“who told you all this against me? was it régis de plenhöel who talked?”
-basil’s eyes were dark steel. “régis de plenhöel--régis?” he echoed. “what has he to do with all this? surely you did not make him your confidant?”
-too late she saw her terrible mistake. “no! no!” she cried, throwing out protesting arms. “i don’t know what i am talking about. i did not say that!” but the harm was done.
-“so,” basil said, “there are more than three of us to share this abominable secret! well, that alters the case--for the future, that is!” he took a step toward her. “à nous deux, then, madame,” he said, “for the present, at any rate. you are going to tell me exactly in what way that chivalrous fellow régis has been mixed up by you in this shameful business, or else i’ll know the reason why!”
-the poor devil who but an instant ago was inwardly writhing in agony was gone. nothing of him remained in evidence. it was now the judge, calm and inexorable, who stood before her, and that judge was her husband, and--a prince--which will continue to make a difference throughout the ages, especially to natures like hers, in spite of all to the contrary that can be howled to the multitude or printed in the malodorous pamphlets and “up-to-date” novels of a socialistic press.
-and now for the second time it was imperative for her to decide what to say, instantly, in extenuation of her previous words. her tortuous mind flickered under the effort, but she chose her line of defense, and spoke:
-“that chivalrous fellow, plenhöel, as you are pleased to call him, is not quite the pure white knight you think him. he--since you force me to say it--deigned from the first to look with favor upon me--pardon me for adopting the grandiloquent style you use yourself!” the sneer was unmistakable, and in her best manner.
-basil’s features grew a little more rigid. “go on!” he said.
-“when i came to plenhöel, and--met you--he showed me at once that he admired me. i might have married him instead of you had i wished it, and become the stepmother of your adored ‘gamin.’” she gave a wicked crack of laughter, for she saw the swift spasm that contracted his features as she pronounced the nickname of marguerite; but this was gone in a flash, and basil was listening calmly and collectedly again.
-“yes,” she hastily resumed, “i could have been the marquise de plenhöel--not a thing to be despised when one comes to think of it! nor is this quite all, for when i was in paris i had to defend myself against quite a different sort of address from him. oh! you will pretend not to believe that, either; but one night i was forced to run away from the hôtel de plenhöel, after a scene with him. he snatched me up in his arms; he--”
-basil straightened himself mechanically, which made him seem of a sudden absolutely gigantic.
-“do you,” he said, “really expect me to accept this paltry explanation as the truth?” he asked.
-she moved restlessly, but her flaming eyes did not flinch.
-“you will continue to hold him innocent, i suppose,” she said, bitterly. “everybody, it seems, is innocent excepting me!”
-she drooped for a second beneath the taunt, but soon went on, as if only spurred to new effort.
-“yet he is well known, your chivalrous régis, as quite the contrary of a woman-hater--very much the contrary! you said that to me yourself long ago. a don juan, you called him, laughing. well, what is there so strange about his casting his handkerchief in my direction?” she paused, panting a little.
-“you use most befitting expressions,” basil replied, “but you forget that régis and i were boys together, and that i know him to be as incapable of making love--it is my turn to express regret for a somewhat drastic plainness of speech--to a young girl intrusted to his care, as of repeating the offense to my wife. i would refute the testimony of my own eyes where he is in question.”
-“they are, as a matter of fact, pretty gullible sometimes--your own eyes!” she said, insolently, utterly unable to resist the temptation of hitting back; but the dull flush on his face frightened her into silence.
-“my eyes are, as you very justly remark,” he acquiesced, “or, rather, they have been, pretty dull. i think, however, that you have effected a perfect cure, and that as an oculist you stand unrivaled. but do let us understand each other, once, and for all time to come.”
-“i ask no better,” she retorted, deceived by his surface calm.
-“very well, then. listen to me, and listen with all your might, because i shall not repeat what i tell you now. i want no scandal, no stain upon my name. we do not need such things to make it famous. so, although in russia, which you so greatly dislike, divorce and annulment are obtainable under certain circumstances, i will never resort to such humiliating means of separation; remember that. life for us in common has been rendered impossible by you, and i shall provide for you elsewhere than under my own roof. you can have the house in paris and a suitable income as long as you conduct yourself decently; also the villa at beaulieu. should you, however, attempt to amuse yourself by further intrigues, i will know how to stop you. of your--of captain moray it is not worth while to speak, for i am going to challenge and kill him as soon as i have done with you. this being well understood, i will at once make all preparations for your departure from here, on the plea that you are not able to bear the severity of our climate, and you may go to paris or beaulieu (at your choice) immediately. your maid and courier will accompany you; the staff of servants belonging to each of my establishments is there in permanence, as you know.”
-“and do you imagine that you can dispose of me as if i were a parcel to be sent off by post at your pleasure?” she was white as paper, and her obstinate jaw worked curiously as she spoke. “and this,” she continued, rapidly, “because without proofs--tangible proofs--it pleases you to accuse me of things i have never dreamed of doing?”
-for the first time basil’s extraordinary self-restraint showed signs of giving way.
-“you shall do as i say!” he broke in. “as to proofs, tangible or otherwise, they are superabundantly in my hand since a week. do you wish me to tell you when and how and where your meetings with captain moray took place? do you desire to know any particular details concerning those meetings, or your correspondence with him for the past years, before and after you deigned to marry me? in my turn i will warn you not to push me too far. we palitzins are not a particularly patient race. i must be really a remarkable exception to have stood what i have. for a mere stray glance of coquetry lives have been paid in the past, although, happily, until now our princesses have been honest and scrupulously loyal women. believe me, madame, you have nothing to gain by forcing a scandal which will acquaint the world with what you have done, for then you will be a déclassée, and of those there are too many already. all that remains for me now is to ask you when you can be ready to leave tverna.”
-“like a dismissed servant,” she said, in a strangling voice. “and piotr? do you intend to keep him?”
-he passed his left hand quickly across his eyes. “piotr,” he said, with an effort, the blood receding from his face and leaving it almost livid. “piotr is officially at least a prince palitzin. he belongs to us, and shall remain under my care, although not with me. but this need not trouble you. he never was anything to you; the maternal fiber being, i fear, not one of your numerous strong points.”
-“and,” she exclaimed, fiercely, “do you not care a jot about all this? you have loved me passionately. are you forgetting our years together--our wedding-trip--everything?”
-basil looked at her for a moment, as if doubting the evidence of his own ears. her effrontery really astounded him. “had i not mistaken my feelings when i married you, this would have been much worse,” he said, grimly. “as it is, the souvenirs you are so thoughtful as to invoke make little impression on me!”
-with an execration on her lips laurence sprang up and came close to her husband. “ah!” she cried. “you mistook your feelings, did you? and it is you who dare to call me to account for my conduct? you, who have loved marguerite de plenhöel from time immemorial, one might say--and it is you who blame me for what you pretend i have done--you? no doubt she has not waited until now to reciprocate your tender affection. i am--”
-she did not finish, for with lightning-like rapidity his hand closed upon her arm. “we will leave her name out of this, if you please!” he said in a tone of command she had not yet heard from him. “you are not fit to pronounce it. nor have you the right to draw infamous conclusions about her--or me, either--out of your richly furnished stores of malice. you know without a peradventure that you are slandering the purest of god’s creatures, and--a man who has given you every reason to respect him. now, please, no more noise, in the interest of your own future. try, if you can, to act with a little more dignity--before others at least.”
-he released her with a gesture bordering on disgust, and she fell heavily into his arms in one of those short-lived fainting-fits that are the usual resort of overstrained feminine nerves. he lifted her to the lounge, gave a quick touch to her wrist--which would have completely reassured him had he been at all anxious--and, striding to the door, called célèste.
-“your mistress is not well; look to her!” he said; and when laurence opened her eyes she saw that he was gone.
-there always is--you’ll find it true, a dance before a waterloo.
-“one little, two little, three little, four little, five little russian boys!” chanted piotr, counting on his fingers as he stood in the window recess of his aunt tatiana’s boudoir. outside the sun was shining bravely on the tender spring verdure of tsarsköe-seloe, one of the most delicious villegiaturas in the immediate neighborhood of petersburg. behind him towered garrassime, whose thick hair had during the last few months turned from dusky iron to silver, and in whose faithful eyes dwelt an unconquerable pain.
-“i say, garrassime,” cried piotr, interrupting his game, “there’s going to be a review! the soldiers are coming to camp at krétovsky--the tall ones you know--with the big sabers and the long cloaks. won’t that be jolly? cousin andrei-andreitch is a captain there!”
-“of the gardes-à-cheval, my little dove. yes!” replied garrassime, gently stroking the chestnut locks straying across the boy’s forehead; “yes, my lambkin, it will be jolly for you.”
-“and for you, too, garrassime,” the child declared. “i’ve noticed you don’t like this place as well as tverna, or is it because you miss papa? i miss papa. oh, so much!--not mamma, she was always so nasty. don’t you think she was nasty, garrassime?”
-“hush, hush, little highness! you should not say that!” poor garrassime in the bitterness of his heart could have wept aloud.
-“and why not?” questioned the miniature tyrant he worshiped. “it is true. she is never like aunt tatiana, nor aunt nàstia--nor my little darling malou, either. where is my little darling malou, garrassime? do send for her to come and play with me as we did at plenhöel on the pebbles. why can’t you?”
-his straight brows quivered as he raised those brilliant eyes of his to his patient attendant.
-“why can’t he what?” tatiana de salvières asked, entering from the veranda door in her quick, resolute way.
-“send for my little darling malou!” stoutly responded piotr. “i am prince pierre palitzin. why should not people do my bidding?”
-“you are prince dourák palitzin,” laughed the duchess, “when you speak like that. yes, prince ‘donkey’ palitzin, and that adds no grace to the name. do your bidding indeed, illustrious sir! wait until the littlest ones are not able to eat their soup off your head before you assume command of us all.”
-“cousin pavlo is my son, piotr, so i know that he often speaks great nonsense. still, you are tallish for your age, and especially old enough to understand that you can’t always have your own way.”
-“about little darling malou, you mean, aunt tatiana?”
-“about her, if you like, and about many other things, too. she, for instance, is not in russia, so how could she play with you?”
-“make her come to russia, then!” insisted piotr; “or if you can’t i’ll ask uncle jean. he is much nicer than you are, or aunt nàstia, even, aunt tatiana. uncle jean will bring little darling malou.”
-his lower lip was beginning to tremble oddly, and the duchess exchanged a look of apprehension with garrassime.
-“there, there, my pet,” she consoled, quickly kneeling down beside her nephew, who with a sudden howl of distress flung himself violently into her arms.
-for months and months and again months the same unceasing request for “little darling malou” had been droned into the ears of garrassime. while still at tverna he alone had heard it, but lately the sympathetic uncle and aunt and young cousins had been assailed by that monotonous demand. piotr never quite lost sight of it, and the slightest incident served to bring his desire to the surface, for during his sojourn in brittany those two, piotr and the “gamin,” had become fast friends indeed.
-“come,” murmured tatiana, lifting the heavy boy in her arms--“come, don’t cry, piotr dear. get garrassime to put on your coat and we will go and walk in the park. there’s military music at the kiosk to-day.”
-but piotr refused to be comforted. tears as big and round as glass beads kept rolling down his sun-kissed cheeks, and he clung about his aunt so desperately that at last she was forced to sit down and rock him to and fro like a baby.
-“i want papa--i want little darling malou,” the boy sobbed. “why has everybody gone away?” and with a sudden jerk of fury he tore himself loose, jumped to the floor, and, stamping both feet on the carpet, began to yell at the top of his lungs: “i want them now, at once! i’ll kill somebody--if they don’t come--i will--if they don’t come this minute!”
-“what,” she was asking herself, dismally, “will become of this boy, now as good as orphaned, with such a temper?” and just then salvières, drawn there by the noise, hurried in.
-“what’s all this?” he asked, glancing at his wife.
-she raised her shoulders imperceptibly, nodding toward the child. salvières moved to garrassime’s side and firmly took piotr from him, and at his touch the boy suddenly ceased fighting.
-“tell me, piotr,” salvières said, very calmly sitting him down on his knee, “why do you act like this?”
-“i want papa!” gulped piotr, swallowing his tears. “i want little darling malou!”
-“you do! well, there’s no harm in that; but what makes you ask for them in such an unmanly way?”
-piotr drew himself up, and, slipping from his uncle’s knee, stood, still shaking and trembling, before him, his eyes opened to their widest extent.
-“unmanly!” he glumly repeated. “i am not unmanly, uncle jean.”
-“ah, but yes you are, and you who wish to be a soldier, too! don’t you know that it is only women who cry and stamp their feet and go off the handle like this?”
-“thanks!” murmured tatiana, who felt much relieved already.
-“women,” pronounced salvières, dictatorially; “all women, excepting your aunt tatiana, of course!”
-“and little darling malou,” came from the young unregenerate, one thumb in his mouth, and the shadow of a roguish smile dawning through his tears like watery sunshine at the close of a violent rain-storm.
-“allons bon!” grumbled salvières. “you don’t easily give up an idea, do you, piotr? and now be a good boy; go with garrassime to put on your things, and you can come with me to the parade-ground at krasnöe-sèloe.”
-“yes, uncle jean, i’ll put on my things; but i’ll go for a walk with aunt tatiana here in the park. she asked me first, you know, and i’m sorry i frightened her.”
-he wheeled on his flat little heels, honored his uncle with a perfectly executed military salute, and, going to his aunt, raised his rosy mouth to be kissed; then attended by garrassime he ran swiftly up-stairs.
-“my god!” said tatiana, as soon as he was out of hearing, “what shall we do with him?”
-her husband rose, and, taking her hand, kissed it tenderly. “my dear tatiana,” he said, gravely, “we will, as usual, try to do our duty. it is not an easy one, i grant you, but still it must be accomplished somehow or other.”
-“poor little fellow!” she said, rather hopelessly. “oh, jean, isn’t it pitiful to think of basil, who adored him, and now refuses to see him--with that terrible obstinacy and strength of purpose we palitzins are cursed with? what will come of all this? tell me that, if you can?”
-jean de salvières had been asked this question before, but now, as then, he was quite unable to answer it.
-“it is so heartbreaking,” continued tatiana, who evidently did not expect a reply. “that miserable woman who has spoiled all our lives and is now amusing herself at beaulieu on her yacht--for she has a yacht of her own, if you please--and basil practically a fugitive after that fatal duel. tverna closed up and all those splendid plans for the peasants at a standstill. how can she exist with such a remorse? how can she laugh on, trifle with life, think of nothing but her own precious self, and never of her poor little son--of basil?”
-“que voulez-vous, ma chérie?” he said, soothingly. “she’s made that way. i for one never could endure her; but things will come out right in the end. i have thought more than once lately that we might do worse than go to salvières for the summer, and ask régis and marguerite to stay with us for a while.”
-tatiana turned and gazed at him in undisguised admiration.
-“you’ve got it!” she cried. “you’ve got it! you dear, clever, dazzling old boy!” and, throwing her arms about his neck, she gave him a resounding kiss.
-“delicious!” he exclaimed, smacking his lips. “your kisses, tatiana, are like yourself--quite out of the common nice.”
-“not so loud!” she admonished. “think of it, there’s frost on both our heads, and we’ve been lovers for nearly--”
-“’ssh, ’ssh!” he laughed. “never mention figures except when they are slender ones.”
-she was about to riposte, but piotr at this juncture bounded in from the veranda, waving his kossàk cap in his chubby gloved hand, with a “but aren’t you ready, aunt tatiana?” that sent her flying to her dressing-room.
-in the park it was delightful. the trees were covered with a delicate veil of tender green, while flowers newly bedded and glistening with drops from the gardeners’ “lances” breathed the very breath of spring, and the ruffled surface of the lakes gleamed and glinted like pailleted satin, showing soft azure lights through their dancing transparencies.
-the dust raised in the early morning by cavalry hoofs and the marching feet of infantry had settled down after a fashion, but there still remained a sort of golden haze about the whole place which gave it a mysterious charm. the great mess-tent, its front flaps symmetrically looped back, stood in the midst of the officers’ toy isbas like a snowy mother-hen tending her brood; while in the middle distance the gay little summer theater, where youth and middle-age and valor congregate in the evening, to while away the boredom engendered by banishment all of a few versts from petersburg, displayed its gay façade. here and there a general or a colonel, already a trifle heavy on the wing, passed at a canter saluting right and left, and many a “selfish” dròchki rattled by--narrow as a dagger-blade, with some young subaltern holding the reins, and often with one of his comrades perched on the very edge of his knees--so to speak--for lack of space to sit beside him.
-and here, there, and everywhere--like pastilles of peppermint and cherry, as piotr sapiently remarked--the flat, white caps liséréd with red of messieurs les gardes-à-cheval dotted the fresh verdure, for that distinguished corps had just arrived to take up its manœuvering quarters.
-“pavlo,” or, rather, paul, prince de salvières, oldest son and heir of the charming couple of that ilk, had out of adoration for his mother elected to enter the russian army, and more particularly the gardes-à-cheval--a crack corps--nor had his father objected to this. “you are not needed in france, my boy,” he had said to the lad, “at least not as long as what one of the republic’s amiable ministers called ‘draughty names’ (des noms à courants d’air) are systematically discouraged in both the army and navy. should the day of the revanche ever dawn, it will be another affair, but for us, unfortunately, there is nothing to do now in our own beloved land. it is,” he had added, although little given to sentiment, especially when expressed aloud, “the only real sorrow of my life to see that from day to day our rôle, political, diplomatic, or military, is rendered more and more impossible. however, our hour may come sooner than we expect. let us, at any rate, pray that it may be so.”
-to-day there was even the tiniest hint of a swagger in his extraordinarily martial attitude as he met his parents. his handsome young face, his bonny blue eyes and tightly curled short hair--that his mother was wont to call his “copper cap”--were a pleasure to behold, and piotr, with one of his clown-like bounds, rushed into his arms, shouting, “aunt tatiana says you often talk great nonsense, cousin pavlo, but i don’t believe it; you are too great a soldier for that.”
-there was a general laugh--pavlo, red as the liséré of his cap, joining in gaily enough, though with a rapid, circular glance to see if any of his loitering comrades had overheard this singular compliment.
-“piotr’s frankness is sometimes embarrassing!” exclaimed tatiana, leaning on her tall-handled, fluffy parasol. “indeed, he is becoming so very grown-up that your father and i are thinking of giving him the benefit of travel for his further enlightenment.”
-pavlo, the softest-hearted of budding warriors, whose own home life was and had always been so ideal, was full of the greatest pity for his small cousin. he patted piotr’s head en camarade, thinking in spite of himself of the catastrophe that had deprived the child of father and mother at one stroke.
-“travels are famous for people who are growing up as fast as my cousin here,” he gravely acquiesced; “but where is the voyage to lead you, my dear father and mother?”
-“to salvières, where, if it is at all possible, i should like you to join us later, ‘polo.’” tatiana explained. “surely you can get leave of absence easily enough.”
-pavlo straightened his slim form and attempted to twist a mustache--which as yet consisted of some easily counted silken threads too blond to be truly noticeable.
-“my beloved darling dear,” he exclaimed, “i cannot be spared. remember the august reviews; they are of the greatest importance, especially this year, when mobilization is so continually on the tapis.”
-“and of course they cannot take place without you,” smiled salvières. “his majesty would certainly find it difficult to fulfil his imperial duties without your sword and counsel.”
-pavlo flushed again. it was his shame and distress that amusement, pleasure, sorrow, or vexation should invariably have this humiliating result. just now it was merely amusement, for he was accustomed to his father’s teasing and liked it, but yet he could have boxed his own ears for feeling his cheeks get hot.
-“oh, but you mustn’t come and beard me in my den with unseemly jokes, father!” he remonstrated. “here i am quite a personage, i assure you. especially,” he added, gracefully, “because i am mamma’s son and yours. oh yes, i am quite a personage!”
-“god forbid that i should doubt it for a single instant, my boy,” solemnly rejoined salvières. “and, by the way, our stay in normandy will probably stretch over august and perhaps september, so i do not see what will prevent you from spending your autumn leave--after the manœuvers--with us.”
-“that of course alters the case,” pavlo said. “speaking with all moderation, i believe that what you propose is feasible later on; ... at present, however....”
-“the present,” tatiana interposed, dogmatically, “is a thing without breadth or thickness, mon lieutenant, so let us pass it over. also let me tell you as a further inducement to come to normandy as soon as you can, that you will meet there your old friend the ‘gamin,’ for your father and i are going to ask the plenhöels to stay with us for a while.”
-at the name of the “gamin” the blood, which had begun to recede, once more flew its brilliant color to the very roots of pavlo’s bright hair.
-“the ‘gamin,’ really?” he said, as casually as he could. “she must be quite a big girl now.”
-tatiana and salvières were about to speak in chorus; but piotr, who for once in his tender life had been silently listening, gave them no chance to do so. “malou! my little darling malou!” he shrieked, jumping into the air, rubber-ball wise. “are we going to see little darling malou?” he had become three shades redder than pavlo himself, and his eyes were sparkling with joy.
-“dear me!” commented salvières. “if this piotr was a few short years older you could look to your laurels, pavlo; he certainly is a most ardent lover of beauty.” but the ardent one was gambading like an escaped colt, and pavlo hid his confusion by endeavoring to catch him, and as he put it, “to make him behave.”
-“now do your worst!” he cried, capturing the delighted child and pinioning his arms behind him. “here one must be awfully serious, you know, piotr, or one gets put under arrest.”
-“to-morrow? you absurd person! but, come, i’ll betray to you as much of the secrets of a military encampment as is compatible with my duty, since you are, according to mamma, so admirably grown-up; then if she permits it i’ll drive back home with you for dinner.”
-it was getting late when the salvières carriage re-entered the magnificent park of tsarsköe-seloe, where the adolescent foliage of its venerable limes was undershot by the last slant of the setting sun.
-the imperial park has, especially in the early gloaming, a somber grandeur that is very impressive, as though in the twilight its loveliness were on tiptoe to reveal to you something new and startling about the ancient past. eight o’clock was booming when the horses left the palace, emerging from its glorious parterres to their left, and trotted rapidly on beneath the vaulting boughs of the broad allée skirting the lake, which was now shining like molten metal of a vaguely roseate hue. further on a gilt cupola--that of the baths--rising from a promontory biting tooth-like into the glancing water, burned into the fainting pink and lilac of the sky, and, further still, tier upon tier of slowly dusking greens seemed the boundary line of some untrodden forest. they finally emerged through the colossal bronze portal of alexander i., whereon is inscribed in golden letters, russian on one side and french on the other, the words: “to my beloved companions in arms”; and soon drew up before the salvières villa.
-one of tatiana’s chief talents was to give to all her houses the peculiar charm with which she was herself endowed. nothing banal or commonplace was ever inclosed between any walls belonging to her, but this, be it understood, without the slightest effort on her part to create originality. every detail of exterior or interior decoration was obviously spontaneous, utterly natural, and this was what made her various homes so intensely attractive. indeed, to-night, when her husband and her son entered the dining-room, they turned a simultaneous look of gratitude upon the woman who created so delicious an atmosphere for them. the square table strewn with dark violets and feathery little tufts of mimosa, the dazzling crystal and beautiful old silver, the lace-shaded silver hanging-lamp half sunk in a bowl of pale turquoise filled with more violets, and slender branches of green and white ivy that twined about the silver suspension-chains to the very ceiling, were as beautifully restful to the eye as the dove-hued window draperies and wall hangings, whereon a few very choice water-color pictures alternated with carven brackets supporting rare cloisonné vases in the same shade of blue as the lamp bowl--also crowned with delicate flowers. through the open windows the peculiarly aromatic scent of northern poplars and larch mingled with the perfume of résèda and heliotrope rising from the gardens, and as they took their places and unfolded their napkins each of the three indulged in a little sigh of deep satisfaction. hospitable though they were, this was how the salvières really loved to be, “between themselves”; close together as a table just large enough for tatiana’s scheme of decoration in fruit and flowers would permit; with comfortable chairs where one could actually lean back at dessert; satin damask upon which one might even familiarly venture an elbow, and noiseless servants in plain liveries. coffee was, on those occasions, served there, and cigarettes--of which tatiana made a rather immoderate usage, since, as she gayly boasted, it was her only vice--were smoked while chatting in a most agreeable post-prandial manner.
-in her white dress of some crinkly material that was idealized crêpe-de-chine, her pearls wound carelessly about her throat, and a sapphire arrow planted through her heavy torsades, the “field marshal,” as jean often called his wife, looked amazingly young, almost as if she had been pavlo’s elder sister by but a few years, and salvières suddenly laughed.
-“heavens!” he said, helping himself to sterlet with an unstinting hand, “what can be nicer than a nice little home like this? a fig for the petersburg palace, where one dines on an island of carpet in the midst of a parquet the limits of which are lost in dim distances--or the terrifyingly spacious banqueting-hall of palitzinovna, that i dearly love in spite of its colossal proportions. no!” he lyrically declaimed. “give me a tiny room, a crust of bread, a goblet of vin-ordinaire with peace and amity as sauces, and the plenitude of my sybaritism knows no bounds! by the way, what have we got to-night?” he continued, glancing at the little alabaster menu before his plate. “ah! canapés impératrice, consommé froid, sterlet au naturel--but-- bah! these are already things of the past.... and to come...? poularde du mans aux truffes blanches--excellent! salade de crésson à l’orange--yum, yum! gelée d’ananas frais--etc., etc.! that’s just what i was saying, an unobtrusive meal--all green and white and subdued tints against all the rules of gastronomic bienséance--green and white just like the ivy enthroned above our heads. bravo, tatiana! you are a positive genius, and so’s your chef-de-cuisine! poetic i assure you--these demi-teintes, and so fittingly underscored by those harmonious names, chablis and chambertin; the very tinkle of epicurianism with a final exclamation-point of quite enormous vividness. kümmel--one imperceptible glasslet, not before, but after the frugal repast--an innovation of mine own!”
-“my good jean,” tatiana protested in french, “assuredly your exuberance can only mask some terrible revelation or other that you keep for your after-kümmel moment. i am always expecting a slate on the head when you are so gay before the roast.”
-“which only shows how cruelly misunderstood i am by the wife of my bosom,” he mocked. “pavlo, i take you to witness that your angel-mother is casting aspersions upon the immaculate purity of my mood that is to be.”
-pavlo grinned. “well, sir,” he said, “personally i suspect that dark clouds are gathering somewhere with or without your knowledge. myself, i feel in the air an elusive but none the less convincing sense of coming thunder. will it burst north, south, east, or west? of course, not being much of a seer, i cannot tell, but it is there somewhere; pregnant with eventualities--perhaps only of ‘summer lightning,’ but i rather doubt that.”
-“hush!” exclaimed tatiana. “don’t joke about more eventualities. we have had quite enough of them lately; betides, you both know that i am desperately superstitious.”
-“a weakness which is the only flaw in your armor,” observed salvières.
-“nonsense!” she expostulated. “you are superstitious, too, and so is ‘polo.’ now you know you are, ‘polo’ dear, and there was a white moth as long as that”--she extended her rounded arm to its full extent--“bothering about my dressing-room half an hour ago. it nearly committed suicide by falling into the bath i’d just quitted, and after flitting and winging and flopping round the lights, flew away by the crack of the door into piotr’s room. he was asleep already, and i had to adopt the hunting methods of the last of the mohicans to retrieve the ghostly beast, and bear him, struggling like a demon, to the balcony, out in the gloaming. stupid little soul! he wouldn’t depart, although i blew on him and swung my peignoir sleeves in his face. there he hovered defiantly, as if saying, ‘i’ll get at the boy whether you like it or not.’ brrrrrrrr--rrrrr--! it made me feel cold all down my back.”
-“my dear mother,” pavlo exclaimed, raising his nose from his salad, “surely a brave-des-braves like you cannot be scared by a poor, innocent butterfly?”
-“a poor, innocent butterfly!” mocked tatiana. “you make me laugh! vieux grognard though i may be, i don’t like white moths with three or four or five--i didn’t count--but they were there--black bars across their wings. you don’t remember, i suppose, that those are unshriven souls wandering sorrowfully about in hope to find a holy priest to bless them; and truly if i were to hear that something untoward has happened to somebody, i wouldn’t be a bit astonished.”
-salvières stared at his wife. “tatiana,” he chided, half laughingly, “how can you? moreover, i rather fancy your way of blessing unshriven souls. to flap your sleeves in their faces is scarcely courteous under the circumstances.”
-“good lord! jean, please don’t make fun! i feel queer, i tell you; and if you will only hurry with your dessert and coffee--and of course your kümmel--dear me, you are slow feeders!--we can go into the garden and send all evil forebodings to the moon. as she is a cloud-devourer, she can doubtless make shift to swallow them, too.”
-“into the garden?” both men said at once. “it is too cool there for you in your evening gown.”
-“well, then, ‘polo,’ ring for marie to get me a fur-lined pelisse--a long one down to the feet--with straps, if possible, to button beneath my heels, and a hood attached. remember the hood! i had no idea i was so delicate; however, since you both think so-- but wait, marie must be dining; i don’t want you to disturb her.”
-salvières and pavlo were laughing, and the lad was in the act of going to fetch a scarf himself when a footman carrying a telegram entered.
-“for monsieur le duc,” he said. tatiana sat down abruptly on the nearest chair, her face suddenly white. pavlo stopped short, looking at her concernedly, and salvières quickly tore open the message.
-very carefully he refolded the tinted sheet, replaced it in its envelope, and, turning to the man waiting in readiness with pad and pencil, said, “no answer,” in his ordinary matter-of-fact tone; then he offered his arm to his wife.
-“let us go to your little salon,” he calmly remarked. pavlo, without a word or question, followed his parents, looking perturbed, as though he felt that his joking prognostications had come true.
-“and now,” salvières said, after closing the boudoir door behind them, “here comes a very pretty bit of news. don’t take it unnecessarily to heart, tatiana. laurence has run away with preston wynne on her yacht, destination unknown. régis de plenhöel telegraphs me not to allow basil to find this out, since as yet there has been no public scandal.” he paused and glanced first at his wife and then at his son. “well?” he added, after a second.
-pavlo made a helpless little gesture with his hands, as one utterly at a loss to find adequate words; tatiana rose quickly and whirled toward her husband.
-“what did i tell you?” she cried. “misfortune over misfortune around that unfortunate child’s head. the wretched woman! oh, the villain! my poor basil and--that poor mr. wynne, too! what a fool!”
-“you are the only person in the world,” salvières observed, “who could make one feel like laughing at such a catastrophe. what in the name of all common sense induces you to pity wynne?”
-“why,” tatiana rejoined, her eyes sparkling with anger, “because he is such a nice chap; so was that young moray; and, moreover, because i never blame the man in such affairs. it is the woman who is invariably the guilty party, and it is so easy to behave oneself, especially when one has a good and good-looking husband. besides, fancy any man landing that laurence on his back for the rest of his natural existence--without being obliged to do so. a second basil! good lord!”
-salvières took her strong little hand in his and patted it; but she was in no mood for tenderness, and, tearing herself away, she began to pace the floor, speaking as she moved.
-“i have no patience with misconduct--inexcusable misconduct--like this! a cold-blooded coquette ruining life after life, dishonoring everybody concerned with her. how do you suppose that basil will ever accept little piotr as his now, after this new proof of laurence’s incorrigible lightness? and--oh! but it is too atrocious! now basil will kill preston wynne, too! he does not joke about such things, as he has proved.”
-“à qui le dites vous!” muttered salvières, and continued, louder: “as luck will have it, your brother is in china or thereabouts, and it is not likely that he will hear of this for the present. meanwhile, it seems to me that we should hurry our departure. régis and i may be needed at any moment--indispensable, in fact. it stands to reason that that infernal woman will not turn her yacht’s nose toward the north sea or any mediterranean port. if you believe me she’s off to the states or to south america--and i wish it were the devil!” he wrathfully concluded.
-“so do i,” assented pavlo. “between all of them they are worrying my little mother to pieces.”
-“nonsense!” protested tatiana. “but it is true that this woman is really occupying too much room on the stage. can’t she keep quiet? and preston wynne, we all took such a fancy to him when he came with sir robert and lady elizabeth to salvières two years ago. he was so gay, so amusing--by no manner of means the type of man one would expect to sacrifice his whole future for a worthless woman like laurence.”
-“queer! he told me once he didn’t approve of divorce,” put in salvières. “i distinctly remember his saying so, and even denouncing rather vividly the laxity in that respect in his own country. what’s he going to do with her? i wonder if she’ll ask him to marry her--and she by birth a catholic and now an orthodox? d’you think that after embracing so much she’ll end by embracing protestantism as a much-needed ally?”
-“jean! but you are right. there’s no knowing what will happen now. what a pity! le petit wynne was a rarity! he knew how to behave; knew how to move about a drawing-room; knew how to eat and how not to drink too much; knew how to present himself and take leave; knew that one does not wear colored gaiters with a cut-away coat and a top-hat; knew that a boudoir is not a bedroom, but a--boude-heure--a place to go and sulk by the hour--which makes me think i’ve got a fine large one here, and at salvières, too. it will come in useful to me now.”
-“you--useful to you!” exclaimed pavlo. running to his mother and throwing his arm about her slim waist, he kissed her little flushed ear. “you sulk! i’d like to see you just once. it isn’t in your power. you simply can’t!”
-“oh, leave me alone!” she objected, but in a greatly mollified tone. “you are a schmeichler; and what am i going to do without you, ‘polo,’ during all these long months to come?”
-there were tears in her eyes, and she turned almost brutally to conceal them; but her voice betrayed her, and in an instant the lad was humbly pleading for forgiveness.
-“oh, mother darling,” he said, contritely, catching hold of her again, “i was a brute this afternoon. of course i can obtain leave. what do they want with a kid like me? i was only showing off. i’ll come with you and papa if you’ll let me, and glad enough i’ll be, my own pretty mother dear.”
-he was once more to her the baby of yore, caressing and altogether delicious, and her heart gave a great bound.
-“my dear, my dear!” she said, choking a little. “do you think i’d really interfere with your career? who’d you take me for? no, no! you’ll come to us after the great manœuvers, and then enjoy your holidays without any qualms of conscience--a bad thing to take about on such occasions. but remember that i just adore you, my little ‘polo.’ and now, jean, when shall we start?”
-“to-morrow if you can manage it,” he replied, and she instantly acquiesced.
-the pit-like dark, th’ impassioned prayers and saintly for souls abroad, the life-boat barely inned, the desperate sirens laboring far and faintly to pierce the wall of wind.
-salvières was at its very best when its owners arrived there with their little nephew--for even midsummer heat is on the normandy coast entirely bearable--and more so. like plenhöel, it stands on a lofty cliff fronting a magnificent sea view. the castle dates back to the early days of the duchy, and is built in two, and in some parts in three, stories of singularly massive blocks of granite, with cloisters above and below--that is, on the side facing the open country and the vallée de salvières, which alone deserves quite a separate description, so unique and beautiful it is.
-of course it is quite needless to add that the castle and its dependencies are of the purest and most ancient gothic architecture. the salle des chevaliers is a marvelous place at the upper end of which an equestrian silver statue of the illustrious knight jehan de salvières, first of the name, gleams in the prismatic lights of a huge vitraille, whose sunset tints of rich orange, vivid scarlet, lucent blue, and emerald green surround it with a glory of blinding color. the walls of the enceinte crown the whole promontory and inclose the immensity of château, chapel, towers, keep, cour-d’honneur, armory, and place-d’armes--not to mention an inner garden of such extent that its measurements would only court contradiction from those who have not seen it--which, to say the least, is a misfortune not to be atoned for by loudly proclaimed skepticism. at any rate, salvières would be one of the most remarkable show-places of france and navarre, more so than even st.-michel, josselin, chenonceax, or chambord, le château de la reine jeanne, couci, or arthèze de foix, were it not for the fact that neither jean nor tatiana, since their reign there, had cared to have a flock of cook’s tourists clattering over its beautiful floors, or measuring its art treasures by the length of their umbrellas with guttural yelps of amazement and wonder--when not exclamations of incredulity, and sometimes worse than incredulity, where religious pictures or objects of faith are concerned.
-when at palitzinovna the salvières certainly kept great state, but when at salvières they once more entered into the grandeur and splendor that belonged to this ancestral home, and that through the centuries had never yielded one iota to modernism except in what concerned creature comforts. there was an army of servants in attendance, a battalion of gardes-chasses and gardes-forèstiers, an almoner, a seneschal, a squad of halberdiers in antique costume. the stables contained no less than two hundred horses at all times, and the private harbor, in a small bay at the foot of the huge promontory, floated a steam-yacht, several yawls, and a regular fleet of other craft flying the ducal pennant. the village of salvières, strange to state, has never once showed signs of accepting as a fact the republican form of government under which france labors. more stubborn than bretons even--and that is saying the uttermost one can--the canny normans, who according to the most ancient history can never be tricked into expressing an opinion, nodded their cotton-capped heads when addressed on that subject. “it might well be.” “perchance it was so.” “who could tell?” “ah! was that it?” so far they would concede; but, as they guilelessly added, they of salvières knew none but their duke (jean might have been sovereign duke of normandy, to hear them), “their own duke,” whose father and grandfather and great-great-great-great-grandfather had also been their suzerain back to times immemorial; so what did it matter whether in that blackguard paris (cette gueuse de paris) there sat in non-majesty a frock-coated man wearing--on state occasions--a broad scarlet cordon across his shirt-front and, mayhap, a pair of white spats on his plebeian feet? “they of salvières” had naught to do with him, which, as they gave one to understand, was a mercy of the good god. the thriftiness of the normans is as proverbial as their obstinacy and craft. had the republic’s president prevented them from selling their fish, their eggs, their butter or apples to the best advantage, he might have been worth considering, but the duc de salvières was their liege-lord, a splendidly generous one at that, and so they were satisfied that all was well now and hereafter, which praiseworthy feelings were entirely pleasing to themselves and to him also.
-of course, tatiana, ever since her advent there as a bride, had made herself idolized--not so easy a task in the land of the apple-orchards, for the people there do not wear their hearts as a sleeve-ornament. her frank, boyish ways interwoven with crystal-pure high breeding, her complete fearlessness at sea and ashore, her prowess on horseback (they are mighty horse-breeders in normandy) filled them with admiration; and the then mayor of the neighboring little town--who invariably pulled off his tasseled bonnet-de-coton when she met him in the exercise of his functions and apologized for wearing a tri-colored scarf about his vast middle--had once been heard to remark: “that duchess isn’t a foreigner, nor a stranger--not a bit--no, she is a thoroughbred normande, born farther north than we are, that’s all!” this, for a wonder, perfectly straight and outspoken exposé of feeling, had won general and popular approval. tatiana was accepted as a normande from farther north, v’là tout! and so it had remained ever since.
-piotr, delighted to be back on the sea edge, was daily clamoring for his “little darling malou”; and one fine evening salvières, who had spent a few days at plenhöel to confer with régis about that idiotic elopement of laurence, came home with him and the “gamin.” piotr’s explosions of joy at finding her again were so exuberant as to very nearly exhaust even tatiana’s long-suffering stock of patience with him. in her heart she was thinking: “it is not a child’s enthusiasm; it is a real, bona-fide passion. what a pity basil is not and never will be free!”
-marguerite was still wholly unchanged. “a smiling moonglade,” salvières once paraphrased, gazing at her as she stood with her arm about piotr’s neck on the wide balcony of the salle des chevaliers, watching the stars appear one by one in the ultramarine sky above the rocking waters of the channel. slim and extraordinarily girlish in her white frock, she made a lovely silhouette against the blue infinite, and her clear laugh at some remark of the little boy’s held no rift of disappointment or sadness. that she had suffered, and suffered deeply, was no longer a secret to salvières or tatiana, and scarcely so even to régis the optimist, but no allusion from any of them had ever disturbed her quietude and admirable self-control. it goes without saying that she had not been told about laurence’s escapades. the death of captain moray had been discreetly announced as due to an accident, the separation of basil from his wife as a mere temporary convenience, since laurence’s dislike of long travels had prevented her from accompanying her husband to mongolia; but when piotr arrived with his aunt and uncle at salvières, her good sense had told her that there must be something that was purposely being kept from her. indeed, the little chap had at once explained to her that “mamma” had left tverna all of a sudden without “papa,” and that “papa”--but this she at first did not believe--had gone away afterward, “very angry and frowning awfully, without kissing him, piotr.” but when challenged by that precocious infant to ask the faithful garrassime if this was not the exact truth, she had forborne to do so, warned by something in the old man’s attitude that he would not speak to her about the matter, and by her own feelings that it was better for her, in any case, to remain in ignorance of the real state of affairs.
-all this grew to be extremely unreassuring, but the “gamin’s” courage was not of a common order. as a matter of fact it might, without the least exaggeration, have been called spartan, for her smile was never shadowy, her bearing never languid, and soon she was the very soul of the old castle by the sea, as she had always been that of plenhöel.
-so did the days at salvières slip like bright beads from a many-colored necklace; one by one, diversified by excursions, rides, drives to the old abbeys and shrines with which that province of france is dotted, picnics in the forest or on the caverned shore, sails on the amusingly choppy water, and chases after elusive crawfish by lantern-light up the course of the cool little river that flows across the immense estate. piotr seemed to have lost his regrettable propensity for sudden fits of fury, and was the happiest little creature on earth. jean and tatiana, cheered by régis’s unfailing good-temper and rose-colored way of looking at things--especially as they felt certain that basil had so far heard nothing of the latest developments--breathed more easily.
-“the calm before the storm,” garrassime, whom nothing escaped, said to himself. he had no confidence in the future, but he wisely kept his own counsel.
-at the beginning of september a succession of squalls ended by a regular gale of the type which churns the channel into amazing emotions. the north sea and the atlantic, hereditary enemies as they are, never miss an occasion to dash at each other’s throats on what they evidently consider a stretch of neutral water; and when this warring at close range begins, both coasts had best draw in their horns, for there is certain to occur what the bretons and normans call graphically “de la casse.”
-several wrecks had been reported, and the life-saving station at salvières, lavishly endowed and equipped by jean--for there are long stretches of bare shore on either side of the castle where no government bâteau de sauvetage is housed--was, so to speak, day and night on the alert. on the fourth day of the gale (and according to the weather-wise there, if a gale lasts thrice over twenty-four hours, it is a bad business) the entire household was awakened about four in the morning by the appalling noise of a storm such as even in that region is something of a rarity. mountainous waves escaladed the cliff, slavering with rage at their incapacity to scale them entirely; the wind raised so hoarse a voice that one could not hear oneself talk, even in a closed room with walls all of nine feet thick; and the air outside was so dense with spume and flying spindrift that the night had grown old without the faintest hint of dawn.
-assembled in the salle des chevaliers, the family and a number of servants awaited god only knew what! there was an impression of disaster in the all-embracing clangor which none could overlook or disregard, used as they all were to similar manifestations, and as the bell for matins faintly pierced the uproar, all filed laboriously along the cloisters into the chapel where the abbé de kerdren, the duke’s cousin and chaplain, was kneeling on the altar steps.
-he rose as they entered and faced round toward them, his hands still clasped and his finely modeled features looking white and drawn in the yellow light of the blessed candles--a tall and martial figure, whose vestments took upon him the look of knightly coat-armor, for he had begun life as a naval officer, and had only entered holy orders after the death of his bride of two months, killed in a hunting accident.
-“angelus domini nuntiavit mariae,” he began, raising his voice, for here too the roar of sea and wind was deafening.
-jean and marguerite, kneeling side by side on the purple cushions of the last step--tatiana and régis with piotr between them were close to the draped rail--could scarcely hear the prayer, and as she whispered it on her moonstone beads she suddenly thought of one line in a ballad that she loved and often sang:
-father, save those at sea to-night. miserere domine!
-was it profane to have thought of that just now? strenuously she tried to force herself out of that train of thought, but the words of matins, of the morning prayer, oddly eluded her, and instead she found herself repeating mechanically the “recommendation” for a departing soul:
-“kyrie eleison christe eleison sancta-maria, ora pro eo....”
-what ailed her, she wondered, and hastily she implored:
-“pax huic domini et omnibus habitantibus in ea--”
-giving the response in the same breath as the “supplication” in her sudden and unaccountable distress.
-sheets of rain were sluicing against the painted windows of the little church--rain that, caught up by the frantic wind, slanted before it and struck almost horizontally at the glass. again without very explainable reasons marguerite shivered and went on praying fervently until the blast paused, as if to take breath. and then there happened during that sinister lull one of those phenomena that landsmen so seldom see, for a storm-light--snatched from the sun rising somewhere out of view beyond the cloud-roof that still closed down the darkness upon the world--smote the great rose-window behind the high altar with a dull orange jet of flame that for an instant seemed to set it on fire. it sank, flared up once more for the beat of a heart, fell, and was replaced by a flashing zigzag of intensely brilliant green, seen and lost in the same breath while it bisected the gold-and-white fleur-de-lysèd glass of the upper window.
-marguerite felt she must be dreaming, but at her side she saw salvières rise quickly to his feet, and she imitated him. the abbé was just pronouncing the last amen, and with his face turned toward the altar he had also seen, for after a rapid genuflection he joined the others.
-“a wreck somewhere!” he brusquely stated, as he almost ran down the side-steps, his hand at the fastening of his surplice, his sea-blue eyes wide with the passion of his first profession--a sailor from head to foot--in a cassock!
-it did not take them long to wrap themselves in oilskins and don sou’westers: salvières, régis, and the abbé. the great alarm-bell of the castle, already sounding tocsin-wise, succeeded in overtoning the tempest by dismal fits and starts. marguerite ran along the cloisters, snatched up a hooded coat, and, followed breathlessly by garrassime (who had left piotr in the duchess’s care), made at full speed for the chemin de ronde outside the chancel. the men of the house were no longer in sight, and as soon as she turned the corner to the cliff-path she caught the full force of the wind and tried to battle against it; but at first she could not succeed, and was forced to fall back under the lee of a buttress. by then garrassime had caught up with her. “don’t go, illustrious; don’t!” he tried to shout, but a gust swooped down his throat and he stood gasping beside her, wiping the rain from his eyes.
-the wind was whooping louder, whirling in waves of swiftness and sound now close to the ground, now high up aloft--a regular typhoon of a storm--and it was dark as pitch, too, for even the ghastly storm-light had disappeared, swallowed by the tempest. twice marguerite attempted to peer around the angle of the buttress, her hand shielding her eyes, and twice she was flung back; but something impelled her forward again, some premonition she could not understand; and all at once in the chaos beyond, as, clutching the rough granite, she was bending half across its sharp edge, she saw a tear in the blackness, a stripe of pulsating red--to the east of north--a flash of blinding green, and then a tossing ball of whiteness that might be a masthead light.
-a wreck? yes, a wreck, and what could live in such a sea? if there was a sinking boat out there in the darkness, with men clinging desperately to the rigging, they had best not pray for human help--that she knew--and she sent a glance heavenward where no heaven was to be seen. a dreadful fear for her paladin of a father, for jean de salvières, for the sailor-abbé whom she revered and loved with all her heart, shot through her to add to her wretchedness. she was aware that, peril or no peril, they would not hesitate a second to do much more than their duty: and at last, detaching herself from the protection of the huge wall, she battled on, half creeping, leaning against the gusts, fighting every inch of the way to the cliff edge. down the sheer face of the rock to the narrow beach of pebbles below, where in half an hour the breakers would be thundering, ran an iron cable--a short cut on ordinary occasions for sailors and coastguards; but just now a mere vibrating thread stretched downward to the pit. she had stumbled many times and fallen twice, for the path was slippery as ice, and as her hand came in contact with the stanchion she paused to listen; garrassime at her shoulder, braced and rigid like a tree, holding her with both arms for fear she would be carried over the ghastly brink.
-another rocket, then another, and another. a little sob choked marguerite, straining her eyes in the slowly, slowly dragging dawn that now was beginning to make the gloom more visible. she was at home in storms--a child of the tempest, régis often said--and for herself she was not caring; but when gradually she began to discern away down there on the foam-flecked shingle two darker masses, evidently the life-boats and a throng of men fighting forward to the launching, all possible difficulty was wiped out of her mind, and, tearing herself free from garrassime, she started forward.
-“mother of god!” roared the russian, his gray hair fairly bristling on his head. “you are not going to try that!” but marguerite, holding to the cable-head, was peering downward for the first of the unequal footholds cut in the rock, and his voice was lost in those of wind and sea. under her long coat she wore a woolen gown made in a single piece, a handy garment she had hastily put on when she had been roused by the storm, so, merely kicking off her little sodden slippers, and before he could more effectually interpose himself, she was over and already descending, her face to the cliff, her back to the unseen void. garrassime was a strong man, but no sailor; besides, he was so tall and heavy that to follow her would mean sure destruction for both of them; but he suddenly remembered a fissure that slanted down the cliff-side some two hundred yards further on, and, praying with all his might that she might be spared, he ran for it--bent nearly double beneath the terrible weight of the wind, his heart beating with anguish against his ribs--anguish for her whom he had learned to worship, the dear, sweet, daring, foolhardy little lady of plenhöel.
-through wildly tossing clouds the eastern sky was now showing faintly gray, and the “gamin” began to see the notches that she touched one after another with her silk-shod feet. she must be half-way now, and, sparing her breath, clinging hard, flattening her little body to the dripping crag, she doggedly continued to crawl down, hearing dully the clang of the tocsin far, far above her head.
-“ah,” she suddenly cried, aloud, “i am in the water! the tide must be coming fast!”
-she let go the cable from her torn and bleeding palms, turned around, leaning against the base of the rock, and searched the maddened sea--white as a tourmente of snow. no! there was no sign of a ship on the tossing froth, save two black spots appearing and disappearing convulsively in the spouting water--the life-boats she knew--but whether they were coming shoreward or going out toward some invisible point she could not tell. determined to see better, she climbed half a dozen of the wet steps again and gazed fixedly seaward. at last something flecked with white and red, she thought, caught her eye; it was rolling in and out among the breakers, and behind it there were other objects lugubriously bobbing up and down. she jumped, and ran plungingly toward the thing nearest to the beach, finally wading thigh-deep in the broken back-wash of the flooding tide; snatched desperately at the queer bundle, and dragged it ashore, pulling it up after her with all her strength. gasping for breath, she stopped at the shingle-top, and before investigating what she held she set her teeth. a white serge skirt, two narrow stockinged feet, a torrent of drenched hair! she turned it over, trembling violently, and, falling on her knees, saw the beautiful features--unspoiled, unscarred even, and strangely sculptural--of laurence palitzin. on her breast, embroidered across the white jersey, the words wild rose--the name of her yacht--made marguerite cry out with a new horror. for a moment she crouched there, seeking mechanically for the heart, the wrist, of this first victim recovered; but she could find no sign of life; and, tears running down her face mingling with the rain and brine, she asked herself how she could at least save the body before the galloping flood claimed it again. of herself she had no time to think, and at that minute, clambering out of the fissure, garrassime stumbled toward her with reckless haste. before she had either heard or seen him he was at her side, had caught up the body of his lost mistress--which a life-belt still encircled in futile mockery--and, drawing marguerite by the hand, was hastening to the higher beach near the life-station’s weed-grown stairs.
-just then, riding a tremendous wave, the first life-boat--the one that bore tatiana’s name--toppled half-over as it took the shore, and marguerite vaguely saw her father and her uncle jean leap into the whirling water, and receive from the abbé’s arms another limp and apparently lifeless body that somehow seemed all dislocated; but by this time the girl was past all emotion and listlessly looked on as they plunged forward with their burden.
-it was as full daylight by now as it would be that morning, and the dimness that fell from the sky and rose from the sea showed with astonishing precision the helpless form in soaked white flannels, the head thrown back and rolling horribly from side to side. who it was she did not care. she watched the grim procession of sauveteurs carrying more bodies, saw the other life-boat rush up almost atop of its companion, and the abbé turn again to the swirling tide to see if yet more derelicts were floating up with it. then she found herself, somehow or other, in the round room of the “station,” staring at something upon an already dripping truckle-bed, and régis and jean bending over a placid white face with closed, dark-fringed lids, and a relaxed mouth into which some one was attempting to pour brandy.
-it was all so much like a nightmare that once or twice marguerite shook herself as if to waken her palsied faculties. surely she had seen that face before. where? when? ah! at lady seton’s in the meurice apartment a night some few centuries ago....
-malgré les brisants--et l’orage il atteint la côte....
-had she not sung that herself?
-pauvre p’tit gas! pauvre p’tit gas!
-she roused with a shiver. “preston wynne!” she muttered, her teeth chattering. “what is he doing here?”
-the salvières doctor, who had been there all the time, it appeared, had taken possession of preston wynne, and garrassime was pulling her gently away. he was not dead then? “pauvre p’tit gas!”
-the others, for whom there was no hope, were being piled like cord-wood in the other room of the “station,” where the life-savers on duty watched all night; but she passed this new horror with scarce a glance--quite passive now, leaning a little against garrassime as he led her away; while régis and jean, the doctor and the abbé, tirelessly pursued their energetic ministrations.
-at last a faint tinge of color began to underly the lividity of preston’s face, his eyelids moved ever so slightly; in a short while he feebly tried to resist the ordeal of resuscitation he was passing through--the agonies of rebirth--under those skilled fingers. then the young doctor, sweat dripping from his forehead, paused in his exhausting work just long enough to murmur, hoarsely: “he will live, i think, but i fear he is badly hurt.”
-they did not question him--standing ready to help when the medical man should take up his task again. salvières was watching intently the spasmodic changes of expression upon preston’s drawn white features.
-“a little more brandy, please,” the doctor said; and the abbé held out the flask and raised the patient’s head with deft precaution. this time he swallowed a few drops voluntarily, it seemed, and the doctor, bending his ear to the blue lips until it almost touched them, heard the words, “is it you?”
-all at once his eyes opened and he fell to staring at the heavy oaken beams crisscrossing the ceiling. presently they closed again, and he fell to whispering softly in that brainless self-absorption that characterizes the sayings of unconsciousness:
-“i’ll catch you--jump! a fool-- yes! god--i’ve not lived according to the pure food law lately. laurence, where are you? get busy ... there’s no time!”
-the four men around the bed glanced at one another. to two of them, régis and salvières, who had known preston in other days, this persistent and purely mechanical survival of originality in speech verged on the sinister, and they turned about with a simultaneous motion. they felt like running away.
-the abbé had knelt down by the bed and was whispering something that the others could not hear, so they drew back farther yet.
-“you say he will live?” salvières asked of the young doctor.
-“yes--that is, i think so, monsieur le duc,” was the guarded answer. “but i am almost certain that there is some grave injury to the spine; the lower part of the body seems--inert.”
-“struck on a rock or on a bit of wreckage, you think?”
-“very likely. but one can’t tell yet without a more thorough examination. where did you find him, monsieur le marquis?” the young medico asked of régis.
-“caught him on the rebound, as it were,” the latter replied, “from the heart of a wave. i saw an arm dark against the foam by the light of our lanterns, and grabbed at it. it was not so difficult, though the force of the pull nearly wrenched my own arm out of its socket.”
-the doctor nodded. “i dare not move him until i can find out what is really the matter. he must be kept here for the present.”
-he was interrupted by the opening of the door. on the sill stood the captain of the life-savers, one rough hand to the dripping brim of his sou’wester.
-“pardon, monsieur le duc,” he said, “another live un with a broken arm brought ashore. he is here outside. he says he’s the first mate of the wild rose.”
-“ah,” muttered salvières, “perhaps now we can hear how all this came to pass.” and with a quick caution to régis he hurried into the passage.
-the man standing outside the door, one arm hanging limply at his side, was white under his tan and glistening with wet. he was a handsome chap above the middle height, with a trim blond beard cut to a point in naval style, clear gray eyes, and--even in this crisis--a rather proud way of carrying his head.
-salvières looked sharply at him. the horrors of that terrible summer night, the long swim ashore, and the pain of his hurt had left their mark quite unmistakably on the second-in-command of the big steam-yacht that had just foundered; but this did not affect the impassiveness so well in keeping with the square jaw and firm lips of the man.
-“when the doctor has set your arm i wish to have a talk with you,” salvières said. “sit down. i’ll fetch you some brandy”; and he pointed to the stone bench running along the wall.
-“sit down”; he repeated, but there was no answer. through the thick panes of one of the round windows, the mate was staring across the lashed waters at the foot of the promontory whereon the “station” stood, his square chin thrust forward, his resolute lips compressed.
-“keeping the penvan light east-southeast, and having the south bay rock west by north, we should have found the gullet even in such weather,” he said, slowly, without looking again at salvières.
-“yes,” the latter assented. “who was master?” he had sent a message to the doctor to come as soon as he could, and now stood motionless beside the sailor.
-“captain braines--an englishman, who had never made a mistake in seamanship--stainless record.” the tone was monotonous but convincing.
-“yes,” salvières said again, “but don’t speak now; wait till you feel better.” and he handed him the tumbler the captain of the life-station had just brought.
-“i can answer your questions now, sir.”
-“better not till a bit later. ah, here’s the doctor”; and, pulling off his coat, salvières prepared to assist him.
-an hour after, as salvières and his cousin were stepping upon the castle esplanade, a footman--fighting the wind, his powdered head bent to the blast and much the worse for wear--met them at a run, clutching a telegram tightly in his fist.
-“what now!” grumbled salvières, taking refuge in a mullioned doorway and tearing the envelope open with his damp fingers.
-salvières stared for a full minute at the paper trembling in his hand, and then passed it silently to régis.
-his sou’wester pushed back, his blond mustache falling on both sides of his mouth à la vercingetorix, the marquis de plenhöel said nothing at all, very emphatically.
-“right you are!” assented salvières, just as if he had spoken. “come, we have work to do.” as, indeed, they had, and, following the line of least resistance, they finally found themselves engulfed by a side entrance.
-in the central hall they were met by tatiana and marguerite. both were very pale and very collected, and their voices were perfectly calm. piotr, they explained, was asleep, with garrassime on watch. “the--laurence”--here tatiana faltered a little--“has been placed in a chapelle-ardente. she--she is very beautiful; the sea has been merciful.” and now her heroes--she dwelt tenderly upon that word--must change into dry clothes and eat something warm and comforting. she glanced anxiously at her husband, then at régis, and felt, with her marvelous instinct, that there was some new and startling development; but this wise woman asked no questions, and was satisfied to busy herself with what she specified as “first aid to the deserving.” they needed it by this time, of that there could be no doubt, and it was only when completely revived and limbered up by hot bath and cold shower, and steaming coffee with a gracious accompaniment of more substantial viands, followed by a refreshing smoke, that they felt quite equal to assembling the necessarily narrow conseil-de-famille that should decide upon immediate steps. naturally marguerite was excluded, for the questions under discussion were not of the sort one can bring to maidenly ears, but the abbé de kerdren was called in, and those four--tatiana, jean, régis, and the sailor-priest--sat down before a glorious driftwood-fire in the library to attain some conclusion.
-basil was coming back as fast as steam could bring him, his brain afire with wrath and humiliation, determined beyond a doubt to punish the guilty betrayed to him by his faithful and indiscreet agent. the guilty? tatiana thought of the still, white form in the chapel--that sculptured beauty on the silver brocades of her last couch, between the tall candlesticks burning their pale-yellow flames amid sheaves of snowy flowers. the abbé, régis, and jean remembered the quietly delirious man in his strange sick-room at the foot of the cliffs, awaiting unknowingly the verdict of the great physicians telegraphed for to paris--and there was a silence pregnant with pain and wretchedness. ah, surely the punishment had already been dealt by stronger hands than basil’s!
-up-stairs little piotr, ignorant of what new complications fate was weaving around his baby existence, was playing now with garrassime--garrassime moving as in a dream, his honest heart well-nigh broken by so many repeated blows.
-salvières explained that during the second interview he had just had with the wild rose’s first mate in the castle infirmary, he had discovered that after a cruise in the mediterranean, among the ionian islands, and back to gibraltar, princess laurence had crossed the straits to tangier, where she had hired a moorish house inclosed by an impenetrable rampart of cactus, and set upon the flank of a fortress-like hillock beyond the sôk, and outside the city gates, beyond the spot where the east and the west rub shoulders. the wild rose lay at anchor on the still bosom of the bay, at the least conspicuous moorings that could be found--this by the special command of the princess. every evening captain braines or the first mate went up to the house for orders, more often than once walking out of town by the mazàn and the dusky lanes shadowed by sweeping cedars and hedged by prickly-pear. the mate had a natural picturesqueness of expression which salvières faithfully reproduced as he retold the tale. to hear him it was difficult to realize that laurence’s hiding-place was but a few short miles away from europe as the swallow flies across that sunlit strait. the house, it seemed, had been luxurious. the princess, served by her own confidential servants brought with her on the yacht, had never left its seclusion, but spent her time in the queer, fragrant old garden, with its ever-splashing fountains and irregular bosquets of palms and flowering trees, where roses and camellias made a blaze of color in the day, and the big oriental moon cast its triumphant glamour at night. there she had lain in a hammock, apparently wasting her beauty upon the almost awesome solitude of the place, until one evening when the captain, walking up the path of crushed shells between the high thickets, had seen a man rise hastily and disappear behind a clump of ilexes. the bluff englishman had told the mate of this incident on coming aboard, in shocked and very strong language, but, contrary to expectation, the days had passed without further developments. two weeks later, however, the princess had bidden the captain be ready to take to sea again, and twenty-four hours afterward the wild rose had steamed out of tangier, bound for the azores, carrying, besides its former contingent, a very good-looking young man, who was, so it was said, her serene-highness’s newly engaged secretary, an englishman; by name preston harrington.
-throughout the trip the princess, who had evidently taken a sudden turn toward literature, had been closeted in her own suite with “mr. harrington” for many hours a day, dictating, doubtless, the novel to which she freely referred when talking to the captain, whom she daily honored with a visit on the bridge. it was to be--she claimed--the work of her life, a great-lady way of avoiding ennui in this weary, weary existence of plenitude.
-it had leaked out, however, as such things are over-apt to do, that the azores were but a pretext, a port of call on the way to the states; that “mr. harrington” was in reality an american, and that his post of secretary had not been adopted for the sake of obtaining a remunerative position, since his pockets were royally filled, as was testified by the munificence of his tips to every man-jack of the crew and engine-room. he had made himself well liked, too, and had gained the brevet title of a “real gentleman” among them. also he was a splendid sailor, visibly used to a pleasing existence on a yacht of extreme luxuriousness.
-once or twice the mate himself had heard voices raised to the pitch of anger in the saloon, when keeping his midnight watch on deck, and had greatly wondered, but reported nothing of what he had discovered. once, as a matter of fact, he had unwillingly caught a sentence of the princess: “i will not go with you to america! we must find some other place!” and the answer in “harrington’s” lower tones: “i don’t care where we go. you must decide. you know very well that now i am utterly in your hands.”
-a short sojourn at the azores, spent mostly on the yacht, and then orders to steam back again to europe. célèste, her highness’s french maid, had chatted about norway to one of the quartermasters who was a norwegian, and had let fall that her mistress, already sickened of sub-tropical landscapes, would spend the end of the summer in the fjords. there was no longer peace on board, however. laurence scowled savagely during meal-times, as was asserted by the head steward and his under-strappers. “mr. harrington” looked grim and worried by turns, and the admirably trained, carefully selected crew gossiped between themselves, just as if they had been the most ordinary passenger-steamer lot; only their faces remained aristocratically wooden, and their tongues reduced to pianissimo expressions.
-on nearing europe the wild rose had encountered dirty weather of the midsummer kind, the most trying for seafarers to bear, and the princess had signified to her captain that her next point of destination would be trondhjem. then suddenly he had been summoned to her “study” and had received orders not to go by way of the english channel.
-greatly surprised, captain braines had respectfully pointed out to her that any other route would be a roundabout one, if norway was really her highness’s destination; but evidently apprehensive of meeting other yachts in those much-traveled waters, she had objected with her usual stubbornness, and only by protesting the lateness of the season had the captain finally succeeded in gaining his point. beaten by contrary winds, the wild rose had entered the channel, and had attempted to seek shelter from the final tempest in some french port. fog-banks of impenetrable thickness and terrible cross-seas had been her portion, and then--the end! the first mate confessed that the unreasonableness of the princess, her incomprehensible behavior in the teeth of imminent peril, had unmanned the crew and shaken even the captain himself, though “mr. harrington’s” cool courage and resourcefulness in a desperate situation might have still saved her had she but listened to him. the rest of the recital was mere maritime detail--a welter of raging waters, the gnashing teeth of breakers--and of no present interest, so salvières leaned back in his chair and took the cigarette his wife silently handed to him.
-and what could they all do now? that was the grievous point. what would be the dictum of the “princes of science” summoned to salvières? how conceal the true identity of preston wynne, granted that the ducal doctor was correct in his fears of permanent disablement? there was basil, too, to reckon with. perhaps he would hear or read of the disaster to the wild rose before reaching france, whither he was journeying, knowing that the de salvières were in normandy. they looked sadly at one another, these people who a few short months before had all been so happy.
-the afternoon was far advanced, and the weather had sensibly moderated, when the carriage departed to fetch the medical men from the nearest railway station. they were coming on a special train, for no time was to be lost in mercy to preston, who, still wandering in his mind, was in charge of two nursing sisters on the narrow truckle-bed that the life-savers used, turn and turn about, to snatch a wink or so of sleep during their nights on duty.
-marguerite had devoted herself to the amusement of piotr; a difficult piotr to-day, rendered peevish by his disturbed night’s rest, impossible to please, restive as the unbroken colt he was. at last she came down, very pale in her white dinner-dress, and a trifle ghostly as she glided along the inner gallery to the glassed-in terrace where all were waiting. “moonglade?” yes, but a very faint presentment of her usual “crystal and silver” self, to quote tatiana. her father, who had been pacing restlessly up and down between the two arched, creeper-garlanded entrances of this sublimized conservatory, went forward and threw his arm about her shoulders. he said nothing, but suddenly bent his tall form and kissed her above the eyebrow, his eyes full of pity as he noticed the small hands, gloved to the elbow, so as to hide the thin bandages beneath. she had been cruelly torn by that rusty cable in sliding down the cliff, and he was far from reassured.
-everybody spoke to her that night, and for days to follow, in a tender, careful manner, as though afraid to touch upon too sensitive a point, of hurting her in some way; and it was in an almost hesitating tone that tatiana asked her just then whether she felt able to take her place for an hour or so, later on, while she herself went down with the doctors, jean, the abbé, and régis, to be present at their examination of the wounded man.
-“why, of course, ‘aunt’ tatiana!” she replied, smiling nearly as usual. “i’ll be only too glad to be of use.”
-tatiana glanced curiously at her. “of use? what was the ‘gamin’ ever else but useful to all those she loved, and to many others besides?”
-sweet ligia sang, and as i passed i was not fettered to the mast.
-by the blinding light of two hurricane-lamps the eminent surgeons were bending over their patient. deftly, gently, rapidly they turned and touched him here and there, their inscrutable, clean-shaven, clever faces close together, directing by an occasional short word the salvières doctor, who was proudly serving as assistant to these great men. beyond the brilliant circle of light stood tatiana, turning her wedding-ring round and round her finger, her eyes fixed upon it as if her life depended upon the exactness of its fit. jean, régis, and the abbé had retreated to the recess, where the round windows shone back at them like mirrors. the setting down of a stethoscope or of a measuring-tape in its little metal wheel upon the deal table near the bed, made the nerves of every person present thrill. the minutes dragged like weary hours, and the silky sound of the rain falling from the slate roof to the paving of the narrow-walled inclosure about the station was distinctly exasperating.
-“can he hear--understand?” tatiana whispered to her private physician as he crossed before her to get something from a side-shelf.
-“no, madame la duchesse,” answered one of the paris miracle-workers who had heard, stepping to her side. “that will pass, however; it is merely the effect of shock.”
-“and,” she ventured, with great pleading eyes raised to his cold, clear ones, “will the--the injury be hard to heal?”
-the man of science did not reply at once. he was of the opinion that unpleasant news is worse than useless to communicate to the great of this world; a delicate coat of fine gold should, according to him, always mask the bitterness of the pill; but the hardening of her gaze made him attend, and quickly.
-“pas de bêtises, docteur,” she said, harshly. “i want the truth. we are responsible, my husband and i, so pray don’t shilly-shally; speak out.”
-tatiana’s slim foot tapped the granite floor impatiently. “how long will it take you to come to a--courteous understanding?” she demanded, taking a lightning-like distaste for this frigid person who was attempting to overawe her at ten thousand francs an hour.
-fortunately the eminent confrère, more tactful, and a man of the world, had listened with one ear, and now joined them.
-“i think, madame la duchesse,” he said, urbanely, “that a secret consultation is scarcely needed.” the throwing of dust in his client’s eyes, be they ever so erhaben--as the germans call it--was not his habit. he posed, on the contrary, for a docteur tant-mieux--an optimist of the finest orient, scorning the school of the tant-pis medical man; and his critical mind could not but acknowledge that his colleague was exhibiting the bedside manner of a half-frozen frog, so, throwing a considerable amount of warmth into a tone already sympathetic, he resumed:
-“i understand, madame la duchesse, that this gentleman is not related either to yourself or to monsieur le duc?”
-“no,” she snapped.
-“it makes our task easier, of course, in telling you that violent contact with a hard substance has caused a deep-seated injury--to the lumbar vertebræ; in fact, i need not explain that this is extremely serious.”
-“is there any hope of recovery?” she asked, feeling herself get dry-lipped at the horror of this condemnation.
-“none at all!” the cheerful doctor asserted.
-and just then from the bed came the poor, brainless voice.
-the hearers listened in silence. this blague and bagout so essentially parisian were his, doubtless, by some curious trick of ancestry, but it was rather gruesome just then.
-“won’t they laugh at home...!” the sickening drone went on. “i! caught in a double cross like this ... good for crabs and evil tongues.... great scott! isn’t that a treat!” he laughed a ghastly ringing laugh that suddenly choked in his throat, and gave a grimace of pain that brought the doctors back to his side.
-“i thought he could not feel--anything?” tatiana murmured, profoundly shocked. “if one must see him suffer too--”
-“reassure yourself, madame la duchesse. he does not really feel--as yet, and this wandering of the mind is quite natural. it is when he comes to himself that your kindly task will be--er--difficult.” it was docteur tant-mieux who spoke, rubbing the tips of his long surgical fingers together, as if washing his hands of all doubt on the subject.
-“is there,” salvières said, coming forward, “any danger in moving him to more comfortable quarters?”
-the two confrères glanced swiftly at each other. “do you,” inquired the optimist, “see any risk, docteur de partenay, in the patient’s being carried to the château, as monsieur le duc so thoughtfully suggests?”
-“hummmm-m,” the pessimist hesitated. “not a very great deal, provided the transportation is done on a water-mattress and by very careful bearers; but no doubt the infirmary of the castle--about which i have heard so much”--here he bowed first to the duke and then to the duchess--“can be called upon for all appliances necessary.”
-“and,” resumed salvières, “will it be impossible, say in a few days, to put the--patient on a yacht and take him back to his own land? he--he--is an american.”
-“in this season, monsieur le duc, la belle saison,” the great man addressed responded, visibly undeterred by a newly awakened squall that was shrieking its way around and around the “station,” “i should say not; but with your permission my colleague and i will answer your question after a second examination of the patient, when he has been removed from here. you have no doubt considered the necessity of our spending the night at salvières.”
-“certainly,” tatiana and jean exclaimed together. “jean,” she went on, “will you be so good as to give orders to have ‘mr. harrington’ moved to the louis xi. suite on the ground floor of the west wing. the ground floor will be advisable, messieurs, is it not so? besides, it is in the newer portion of the house and very comfortably installed,” and she turned to the doctors.
-to this they agreed, much impressed, in spite of their professional phlegm, by the simplicity with which this duchess referred to a wing dating back five hundred years as the “newer portion” of her castle.
-two hours later the transit had been accomplished and preston wynne was resting in the high-ceiled room where once the king of “many watches” had slept. the doctors’ opinion before their departure the next morning--by means of another special train, their valuable presence being peremptorily required in paris--was to the effect that “mr. harrington” would in all human probability recover consciousness within the next few hours. they would, as promised, despatch a medical student de troisième année to salvières, as also an orderly, to take full charge of the patient and accompany him to america, were the voyage decided upon. money, they were told, was no object, and so they might well believe when thinking of the plethoric cheques folded in their respective pocket-books! hope of complete or even partial recovery, they repeated, there was none--none whatsoever--and it was with a heavy heart that tatiana, after seeing them off, turned her steps to the sick-room.
-her feelings were hardly to be analyzed as she came to the bedside and looked long and intently at the boyish face on the low, hard pillow scarcely elevating it from the smoothly drawn sheet. with his eyes closed, his hair swept back from the forehead, very white, and breathing very softly, preston wynne seemed to have recovered some of childhood’s lines. he was barely twenty-six, but just then he gave the impression of sixteen rather, and tatiana sighed. “what a pity,” she murmured; and quite in spite of herself, for she was a singularly merciful and forgiving woman, she felt a sudden wave of disgust sweep over her as she thought of laurence lying in princely state in the old chapel, and of this her fifth and last victim. basil, piotr, marguerite, neville, and now this poor young stranger who had, according to his own broken and wandering words, tried to resist her fascination. had any one ever heard of such inconceivable ill-fortune, of such persistent mischance, as had befallen those who had loved her? well, she had paid the price; not only of her peculiar reading of the plighted faith, but of that fault, perhaps far more heinous yet--a total lack of heart, of gratitude, and of motherhood. still tatiana could not bring it upon herself to say the “repose in peace” which comes so readily to russian lips whenever they think of those that are no more, and, slipping into an arm-chair at the foot of preston’s bed, she sat, her eyes fixed upon the quiet figure before her. a bunch of sun-rays, clean-washed by the storm, was thrusting its golden points through the lace of the undercurtains, and after a while tatiana turned her eyes toward them, though her thoughts were far away. she did not notice the passing of the hours, and the light was beginning to veil itself when she suddenly became aware that preston was awake and looking straight at her, perfectly calm and reasonable.
-with a nervous start she rose and came closer to him. “how are you now?” she asked in as matter-of-fact a tone as she could summon to her assistance.
-“i am all right, i believe, except that i feel lame all over,” he replied, smiling in that peculiarly winning fashion she had always liked. “we were wrecked--” he continued, puckering his brows in puzzlement. “when you moved, madame, i was just trying to piece the last few hours together.”
-“yes,” she encouraged, “but don’t do it too fast. you have gone through a great deal, mr. wynne, and rest is what you need most. are you thirsty?”
-“i am, thank you,” he said, still quite evenly; and as she took from the table a long glass with something cool in it, he made a motion to raise himself on his elbow, desisted, and glanced inquiringly at her.
-“are my legs broken?” he queried.
-she deftly passed her left arm under his head and put the glass to his lips.
-“no,” she said, her face hidden from him as she bent, “you broke no bones, marvelous to relate.”
-“that was lucky!” he admitted, but now there was not only surprise, but an odd wistfulness in his voice. “still, i cannot move my legs at all. it’s curious!”
-“not in the least; you were properly battered by the waves, my poor child, let me tell you.”
-“i dare say. i remember something about that. but tell me, madame de salvières, how do i come here under your roof?” he hesitated, bit his under lip, and fell silent, battling bravely with his hazy thoughts.
-tatiana, who wished herself a million miles away, replaced the half-empty glass upon the tray, and, stepping across to the nearest window, busied herself with a blind apparently recalcitrant--a strange happening in a dwelling where everything went always as neatly as clockwork.
-behind the stiff brocaded curtains falling straight on each side of his couch preston was vainly trying to pull himself together. how was he here? what had become of laurence after she had been torn from his arms in that hell of waters? why was it the duchess de salvières--prince palitzin’s sister--who nursed him, and, in the name of all wonders, why were her eyes so kind and sympathetic? assuredly he deserved no such treatment from her.
-“madame de salvières,” he said at length, “would you very much mind coming here, since i cannot stir yet, and telling me something?”
-instantly tatiana was at his side, her hand lightly touching his.
-“i feel awfully foolish,” he explained, “as foolish as a man well can feel--and, to be truthful, i don’t know where to begin, but i’d like to know what--what has happened to--to me, for instance?”
-his fine eyes were searching hers imploringly, and, drawing a chair toward her with her foot, she sat down close to him without releasing her hold upon his cold fingers.
-“you were a passenger on the wild rose,” she began. “you remember that?”
-“the yacht was caught in a storm and foundered a few cable-lengths from our rocks.”
-“yes, i remember that, too; and then....”
-“oh! then,” tatiana resumed, “our life-savers did their duty, as they always do, and brought you ashore.”
-“but,” preston rebegan, fine beads of perspiration starting on his forehead, “i--i was not alone.”
-“of course not. there were the captain, the officers, the crew, and my sister-in-law, your hostess.”
-“and now that you know all that is necessary for you to know at present, it will be best for you to go to sleep again, my dear mr. wynne. later, when you are quite recovered, we will, if you wish it, discuss further.”
-she was surprised at the indifference of her tone. she might have been holding forth on the details of some approaching festivity, so natural did it sound.
-“but,” objected preston, “i am not a bit sleepy, madame de salvières, and if it is not asking too much of you, would you--would you tell me--more?”
-“what more can i tell you?” she said, trying desperately to keep on playing her impossible rôle. “wrecks are wrecks, disagreeable moments to be gone through, of course, with casualties sometimes, and unpleasantness in any case. some of the crew were drowned last night, as you may easily imagine, and we heard from the first mate that you conducted yourself with extreme bravery, so all is for the best in this best of worlds.”
-“drowned!” he exclaimed. “drowned! it is not a very nice way to make one’s exit. they were good fellows, those sailors of the wild rose. i am sorry. the captain?” he inquired, with a swift widening of the eyes. “braines, i mean--captain braines--was he saved?”
-“i am afraid not--at least he has not reappeared; but, really, you must listen to me now, and postpone the rest of the inquiry, mr. wynne. i cannot allow you to agitate yourself after the knocking about you had. i cannot, really!”
-“madame de salvières,” he said, resolutely, “you are awfully kind to spare me, but i feel that there are things i ought to know--that, to express myself more clearly, i deserve to know. give me a little more of that cordial and tell me all, please! i am not a child; i feel perfectly normal, i give you my honor, save for that queer numbness i told you of, and i ask you to be truly merciful and not to keep me in suspense.”
-without a word tatiana rose, reached for the restorative, and when this had been obediently swallowed to the last drop made him take a cup of cold, strong bouillon; then she sat down again.
-“it would be absurd,” she said, firmly, “to pretend not to understand you, mr. wynne. i would have preferred to wait a little longer before causing you more--” she stopped to choose an adequate word, and, finding none, hastily put in “pain.” “to cause you more pain than can be helped; but if you persist in wanting the truth, there is nothing left for me to do but to tell it to you brutally.”
-he did not stir even an eyelash; he was gazing at her in the glow of the setting sun, which left him in shadow and bathed her in a sort of glory which did not even make her wink, and he thought: “what a merciful and masterful face! this is indeed a woman to rely upon in time of need.”
-“your affection for laurence palitzin--pardon me, but i cannot avoid alluding to that now--is very profound, i suppose. of course you are a gentleman, and i am perfectly aware that you cannot speak of this feeling to any one, but you must yield one point and answer me this: will it break your heart if the incident of last night and its--consequences oblige you to--part from her? never to see her again, for instance?”
-“you mean,” preston said, a slow flush rising to the roots of his hair, “will it cause me an insufferable sacrifice to give up--having brought this upon myself by my unforgivable imprudence and indiscretion--the friendship which madame palitzin was so kind as to honor me with?”
-tatiana, wondering at his delicacy and pluck, nodded. “yes,” she admitted, “that is precisely what i mean.”
-“then i will answer in the negative, with all the frankness you impose upon me, madame. the affection and respect i feel for madame palitzin command me before all things to avoid--late in the day, alas!--compromising her by the merest hint of any deeper sentiment. may i assure you that from this day i will neither seek to see her, nor to communicate with her by spoken or written word? i have been guilty of unpardonable légèreté in accepting her invitation to cruise with her on the wild rose, but ... friendship alone--” he had become a little breathless, and, shaken with pity, tatiana put her fingers on his lips in an impulsive, irresistible gesture, and drew them as swiftly away again.
-“enough,” she said. “you are a very fine character, mr. wynne, permit me to say so.” she had grown horribly pale, and her lips were twitching.
-“but excuse me,” he pleaded. “one word more. should your brother--prince basil, i mean--consider that his wife’s actions in accepting me as her guest, harmless as were her intentions, are--capable of misinterpretation by--by the public, i hold myself at his disposal, you understand. i am an american, and doubtless you have often heard, madame, that we do not look kindly upon dueling; but i think differently, and i’ll give him satisfaction if he judges this to be his due.”
-tatiana rose brusquely and stepped out of the sun-path piercing the room from end to end like a glittering sword-blade. to hear this poor cripple, this maimed boy, speak so gravely of giving basil satisfaction was more than she could bear, and for the first time in her life the dauntless tatiana felt herself within measurable distance of hysterics.
-“my brother,” she said at last, in a spiritless voice very foreign to her, “is--oh, a man every inch of him, not a brute, thank god!--and he will see as i do, that punishment more than adequate has been meted out. let us say nothing further of all this.”
-she turned with her customary quickness, and he caught sight of her ashy face.
-“madame--madame de salvières!” he cried. “what is it? has worse happened? is she hurt? is sh....?”
-his lips were trembling pitifully, and tatiana rushed forward, threw her arms about him, and pressed his face against her breast as she would have done with pavlo.
-“hush!” she murmured over him. “hush! god knows what he does. it is best for her like this--for you--for all of us.”
-gently she knelt down, still holding him, and there was silence in the room. far down below the cliffs the whistle of some sea-birds winging their way home cut the clear air that blew softly in at the windows, and preston, who had never known a mother’s caress, suddenly burst into a passion of tears.
-“it is not as if you had loved her,” she murmured, “as if it had been all your doing. you have many excuses. we cannot think altogether harshly of her--now, of course, but relationship does not exclude justice; and the blame is not all upon you, be assured of that.”
-he drew slightly away from her and stared at her in amazement.
-“how--how do you know it?” he stammered.
-“that is my secret, and will remain so,” she consoled. “suffice it that i do know, and--absolve you.”
-“i--i wish it were i,” he whispered.
-“don’t!” she implored, drying his eyes with her scrap of a handkerchief. “don’t say things like that.... you have paid enough already.”
-“paid!” he scoffed through set teeth. “paid, with a ducking and a few bruises? you call that paying?”
-just an instant too late she pressed him down with both her strong, tender hands on his shoulders.
-“oh!” he said, faintly, understanding as in the revealing light of a lightning flash. “oh! i have paid back a little, then? tant mieux!” and this time he lay quite still, his struggle over.
-one path there is, one only door of refuge from the blank before, and urge with reasons not a few regret and gratitude thereto.
-the castle of salvières, with its gorgeous “presence flag” fluttering in the salt sea-breeze, basked in the brilliant sun of a hot afternoon. on the south terrace piotr was rushing after a huge pink-and-green ball that marguerite was untiringly throwing for him. below, on the to-day unwrinkled surface of the little harbor, the sarcelle, one of the finest steam-yachts afloat, was being spruced and polished and scraped and rubbed--like a steeple-chaser before a race--for her straight flight across the ocean. even from that height the cheery lilt of a bo’s’n’s silver pipe could be distinctly heard as it blew its shrill commands, and the almond-white decks shone bravely after their last holystoning.
-“where’s she going?” master piotr asked, running up with the gaily painted globe in his arms. “garrassime and i were down there this morning, little darling malou, and the steward said that uncle jean had ordered her to be ready by to-morrow. is she going to england?”
-“i don’t know,” marguerite quite truthfully answered, for ever since the wreck she had asked no questions, dreading to probe into a situation which she realized was quite beyond her.
-“ho, ho!” cried piotr, spying a tall, black-robed figure emerging from the louis xi. wing by a postern-door all overrun with creepers. “where have you been, uncle pierre? you’re always fussing on that side of the quadrangle. have you a surprise hidden there for me?”
-the abbé de kerdren received the flushed, laughing boy full against his long legs without a reproof; then bending, he lifted him to his left arm.
-“you are always so unexpected, piotr,” he remarked. “your rubber ball would be no worse as far as bounce is concerned, but decidedly lighter.”
-“you haven’t answered my question, uncle pierre?” grumbled piotr, snatching at the abbé’s long sash as if it had been a bell-rope. “answer me, please!”
-“indeed, majesty! well, as you have condescended to say ‘please,’ i will confide to you that there is not the least bit of a surprise in store for you, neither in the louis-onze wing nor anywhere else.”
-“tfou!” came from piotr in an admirable imitation of the mujik’s favorite expression of disapproval. “tfou! i don’t think you’re telling the truth, uncle pierre, because i know there’s going to be a surprise pretty soon.”
-“you’re not very polite, my muscovite friend. and, by the way, what makes you think that there will be a surprise, after all? you seem pretty sure about it!”
-marguerite had drawn near and had swung herself to the parapet of the terrace, from which she dangled her little feet half a yard from the ground. she was barely listening, but still she heard, and piotr’s next remark caused her to suddenly catch hold of the stonework on both sides as if in need of steadying herself.
-“papa is the surprise,” piped the boy, glancing triumphantly up in the abbé’s face. “he is coming here--right here--to salvières in a day or two.”
-the priest’s expectant smile was wiped out as with a cloth, and it was in a tone of strangely disproportionate reproof that he replied, “what silly yarn is this, and who told you such a fib, to begin with?”
-piotr, greatly offended, drew up his sturdy little body. “i don’t know,” he replied, in his peculiarly precocious fashion, “why everybody tells me i’m a liar. garrassime is just like you; he said that i wasn’t saying the truth.”
-“garrassime is a man of great sense, then, that’s all,” the abbé said, with some heat, stealing a glance in the direction of marguerite, who, bent forward, her lips a little unclosed, her blue eyes wide, was as motionless as the broad balustrade on which she sat.
-“if your father were coming here, assuredly garrassime would know about it. so you see that you are dreaming, or have been misinformed, my dear child,” the abbé resumed.
-“mis-in-formed!” sulked piotr. “what does that mean? is it that i’ve been lied to?”
-“dear me,” said the exasperated abbé de kerdren, “can’t you remember, piotr, that the words ‘lie’ and ‘liar’ are not parliamentary--no, i don’t express myself right--not polite or well-bred, d’you understand?”
-“oh, i don’t mind that, but if one’s got to be polite now, even during play-hours, it’s beastly!”
-“piotr!” threatened the abbé.
-but piotr was not listening, and, following his own idea, burst out, “i know papa is coming and so does aunt tatiana; so there!”
-“is it aunt tatiana who has told you so?”
-“no, uncle pierre, she did not tell it to me; she was talking to uncle jean after he kissed her.”
-“where? why, behind the ear, just on that little soft, white place one has above the neck.”
-“but, sapristi! i am not asking you where your uncle jean kissed her. i ask where they both were when you heard what you pretend they said.”
-“that’s different,” condescended piotr, with immense dignity. “they were in aunt tatiana’s dressing-room. i was under the dressing-table that’s got petticoats of gauze and an underskirt of pink satin. they say it’s a duchess table, so i think that’s why aunt tatiana’s got one.”
-“but in the name of all the saints of paradise what were you doing under the dressing-table, and what did you hear, or rather mis-hear?”
-“i was hiding a mouse from the stable to frighten marie when she found it.” and, seeing the abbé’s eyes seek heaven in silent protest, piotr continued: “you’re going to say it was not chivalrous like bayard or the old du guesclin little darling malou’s so fond of, but marie’s such a coward and i wanted to hear her cry: ‘oh! m’ame la duchesse--une souris! l’affreuse bête! elle va me mordre!’”
-“now look here, piotr,” the abbé said with enforced resignation, “let marie and the mouse be for a minute, and admit that you did not hear a word of what you think you heard.”
-“but i did hear, uncle pierre, i did! i did! i did! aunt tatiana had been crying--at least i think she must have been, because her eyes looked bright as my blue marbles, and uncle jean said to her in russian, ‘don’t be silly, doushka,’ and then he kissed her; and she rubbed her nose on his coat and said, ‘it’s dreadful, jeannot. if basil arrives now, what shall we do?’ and then uncle jean said, ‘he can’t arrive before forty-eight hours, and by that time the sarcelle will be far out to sea!’ and then he dragged her to the balcony to make her look down at the yacht, and i ran away on all-fours so they couldn’t see me, and i went quick to garrassime, who was awful angry with me for telling him. now give me a ride on your shoulder, uncle pierre, all around the quadrangle, to reward me for telling you.”
-“i’ll be hanged if i do!” was on the abbé’s lips, but piotr was to be conciliated just then, and so he said instead: “i will give you a ride, but on condition that you promise to forget all this nonsense. promise, piotr, solemnly, that you will not say another word about it to any one. you misunderstood the whole thing, i assure you.”
-piotr shook his head twice from side to side. he was beginning to think that perhaps, after all, he had been mistaken, and yet not quite; but a ride on his uncle’s broad shoulder was tempting, so he suddenly held out his square little paw. “tope-là!” he gravely proposed. “i’ll not speak to anybody about papa’s coming, uncle pierre; but i can’t help knowing that he’s coming.”
-“good lord!” murmured the abbé under his breath, “there’s stubbornness for you!” and, picking up the delighted child, he started on his equine course at a brisk amble, his soutane blown by the wind against his splendid form, his sash flying behind him in the gayest way possible, although his heart felt sore indeed.
-marguerite descended from her high perch, not at a jump as she was wont to do, but very wearily. she felt tired--something new to her--and very sad; but her brave eyes were clouded by no tears, and her lips were absolutely steady. her lesson in self-repression had been learned long ago; besides, not one thought of her own future, after the tragedy that had changed everything, had as yet entered her head, which she held just as straight as ever.
-tatiana had marveled at the “gamin’s” tact and courage--this motherless little creature, whose high-bred self-respect and extreme delicacy of feeling were sufficient to make her avoid the slightest faux-pas in speech or look under crushing difficulties. even to tatiana she had not said a word that could betray the least curiosity. she had not alluded to the extraordinary presence of preston wynne on laurence’s yacht, and had indeed hardly alluded to the catastrophe at all. but now, as she walked slowly along the parapet, she wondered within herself whether it was really true that basil was on his way to salvières. something told her that piotr had spoken sooth, and the abbé’s evident desire to nip the story, so to speak, in the bud, gave her much food for reflection, in spite of her ignorance of what had happened before.
-in a few minutes piotr came back to her, leaving the abbé to return to his affairs, and the game of ball was resumed. the boy was dressed in white without any trace of mourning, and (by tatiana’s express advice) so was marguerite herself, for word had been passed that piotr was not to be told about his loss, and the servants at salvières were far too loyal to let a sign escape them that might betray the truth.
-the predicament of tatiana and her husband was really a trying one, for until preston’s departure they dreaded the possible arrival of basil, which might occur at any moment. she had continued to look after preston wynne devotedly, and her unremitting care touched him to the heart.
-“you will be absolutely comfortable on the sarcelle,” she said to him that evening. “jean has had the main saloon arranged so that it will be, at one and the same time, a sleeping and living apartment for you--a library it always is, more or less, well provided with bewilderingly mixed-up literature: funny, serious, instructive, scientific, beatific, and sportive, un peu pour tous les gouts. and, by the way, how do you like your two attendants, the orderly and the carabin?”
-preston, lying motionless upon his bed, turned toward her eyes brimming over with gratitude.
-“your kindness to me, madame de salvières, has been something well-nigh incredible. a lifetime of real long length would hardly be enough to prove to you how profoundly touched i am by it--but,” he murmured beneath his breath, “there will be no long life to do it in.”
-“don’t talk nonsense,” she said, quickly. “it does not look like you to despair.”
-“i know,” he replied, smiling dubiously, “but what i just said is no sign of despair. indeed, to linger for years as a totally useless lump, a burden to everybody, would require much more courage than to take a polite and immediate leave of this world. besides, there is another bitterness added to the rest--i hardly like to speak of that, but you have spoiled me to the extent of making me look upon you as a confessor of all my thoughts.”
-“oh, go on then. what is it?”
-“well,” he hesitated, “i have been turning over facts in my mind pretty assiduously, believe me, during the last few days, and one of them is that i am a cripple unable to repair in any way the harm i have done. no, please don’t say anything! i thoroughly realize that the memory of--of madame palitzin--will be for ever shadowed by the manner of--in short, by what preceded the accident. too many know that i was on board the wild rose; it will leak out sooner or later that ‘mr. harrington,’ the private secretary, was preston wynne, and now that it has become a physical impossibility for me to give satisfaction to prince palitzin, the stain is and will remain indelible.”
-“my dear, good boy,” tatiana recriminated, “this is sheer morbidity. first of all, who are the many who, according to you, know that ‘mr. harrington’ was not ‘mr. harrington’? jean and myself and the abbé de kerdren, régis, old garrassime, and possibly marguerite de plenhöel, although she has not mentioned your name or your presence to a living soul; but, of course, she saw you as you were being carried ashore. none will speak, rest assured; so think no more about it and remember that while there is life there is hope; that you are young, intelligent, gifted, and, moreover, extremely wealthy, since you have inherited during the past four years not only your father’s colossal fortune, but also your grandmother’s. this gives you immense opportunities to do good; to create interests of many sorts for yourself that will occupy your mind. i am not trying to overdose you with rose-colored views of a painful situation, but still--” she paused and finished her discourse by a very convincing little gesture.
-“yes; i dare say you are right,” preston admitted; “but my money without me would do just as much good, provided i managed to pass it on to somebody who would take the trouble off my hands. personally i am not a philanthrope, i am afraid.”
-“neither am i,” she retorted. “organized charities are a horror to me. don’t misunderstand what i say. i certainly admit that money left to hospitals, orphan-asylums, crèches, etc., etc., is well employed; but it has always seemed to me that one gold piece given to the truly deserving, from hand to hand, as by one human bring to another, so to speak, is far better than inscribing one’s name--almost invariably with the hope of its being published abroad--upon a list of so-called philanthropies.”
-“i am entirely of your opinion, excepting that in order to discover the truly deserving it is needful to be up, about, and doing.”
-“not with a fitting and faithful agent.”
-“a faithful and fitting representative? yes ... perhaps!”
-“oh,” he said, immediately catching the spirit of her mood, “let me see--about fifty--that is in dollars, you understand.”
-“two hundred and fifty millions of francs! good lord! that’s a pleasing sum!”
-“it might have been,” he argued. “but now....”
-“i beg your pardon, it’s just exactly now that they’ll come in handy. think of it! first of all, a big steam-yacht, ... they’re not cheap toys. a special private car....”
-“but i have those already,” he mourned. “i became heir to my father’s whole outfit, lock, stock, and barrel. there’s not a thing to look forward to any more!”
-“dear, dear! what it is to be pampered.” she rose and, bending over him, smoothed his hard little apology for a pillow. “i must go and dress for dinner,” she explained. “i wish i didn’t have to leave you here alone.”
-he pressed his lips to her hand as it flitted beside his head. “you have been so good to me, so very, very good,” he said, with emotion, “i hate to think i am leaving you to-morrow, never to see you again.”
-“and why that, pray?” she demanded.
-“because,” he said--“because there seems to me no possibility, even with ‘my big yacht,’ to come once more and darken your doors with the memories i would unavoidably suggest.”
-“i don’t agree with you at all,” she asserted; “but we will come back to this to-morrow morning. now go to sleep as soon as you can, like a good child. buènas noches!”
-“felices sueños!” he murmured, raising his eyes wistfully. “you,” he added, “seem determined to heap coals of scriptural fire upon undeserving heads. do you always return good for evil?”
-“evil!” she mused aloud. “good for evil? granting that this be my habit, it would merely be a selfish one, for if one returns evil for evil and bite for bite, one is cheated. there is nothing more then for almighty god to do; it is much better to remain his creditor.”
-“that’s a new view of the case,” he pondered, and then, in an altered tone, suddenly added: “madame de salvières, you have always done so much for me, will you--will you kiss me good night?”
-“why, yes, of course i will,” she assented, and, bending once more over him, she kissed him on the forehead. “voilà, mon enfant,” she said, pushing back his hair; and he watched her white dress disappear in the penumbra of the immense room.
-left alone, he gave a long, shuddering sigh, and for a moment closed his eyes very tight. when he opened them again he let them wander about the room, with its splendid tapestries, its admirably preserved antique furniture, its deep window embayments filled by transparent shadows, that revealed here the dull gold of a frame, there the bevel of a looking-glass, the pale gleam of ivory, the deeper darkness of bronze, and the groups of flowering plants tatiana had caused to be brought there for the pleasure of his gaze. close beside him on a very low table, which he could easily reach without moving more than his arm, stood a great bunch of violets in a bowl of venetian glass; there was also there a block-note provided with paper and envelopes, a fountain-pen, a silver tray upon which rested a decanter of muscat de frontignan, a box of cigarettes, a match-safe, and a glass, and on the other edge two or three little medicine-bottles and a crystal spoon.
-he could hear the carabin--as the duchess had designated him--walking softly up and down in the adjoining salon, waiting to be summoned, but he did not do this. instead he noiselessly drew paper and pen toward him, and a little awkwardly began to write, holding the pad almost upright before his eyes, for to be quite flat on one’s back is inconvenient for such business. sheet after sheet he covered with shaky but very legible writing, quite aware that twice the medical student, and twice the orderly, had peeped in at the door to see how he was doing. a little smile raised the corners of his lips, but he took no further notice and went on writing quietly. at last he had done, and, folding the scattered pages, he slipped them into an envelope together with a few violets from the fragrant cluster tatiana herself had brought to him an hour or so before; gummed the flap down, wrote the address, “madame la duchesse de salvières, personnelle,” and slid the packet into the breast pocket of his pajama jacket. then he called the budding doctor.
-“mon cher ami,” he said, “before braving again the perils of the sea--which will be to-morrow if all goes well--i wish to make some temporary disposal of my property, or properties, rather, for, alas! they are numerous. i suppose that according to french law a brief document of the kind i am thinking of, witnessed by you and, for instance, your assistant, would be quite valid?”
-“why, yes, monsieur, certainly. it is what they call a holograph will, but i am very sorry to see that you are feeling anxious. there is no danger, i assure you, in crossing the ocean in such a ship as monsieur le duc de salvières’s yacht; and as to your health, why, there is no doubt that you will improve with every day.”
-preston laughed. “i am not in the least anxious, i swear to you,” he said, lightly. “of course my general health will be improved by the sea trip before us--though it will have, as you know, no effect whatever upon the lesion that has--shall we say preoccupied us all?”
-the youthful doctor looked embarrassed and felt himself color, much to his disgust. “oh, that naturally is another question, monsieur. still, you have great strength, great energy; the vital organs are all in wonderful condition.”
-with a tolerant little glance at his patient’s face the young man complied, and accepted a cigarette, which he smoked with exceeding relish while the work was in progress.
-“there we are!” preston said, triumphantly, after a while. “bravo! the magistrature, as you call it here--or is it the barreau?--has lost a great luminary in my humble person. read my chef-d’œuvre, my friend, and tell me what you think of it. you observe that i have made it out both in french and in english. hum! wasn’t that smart of me?”
-“it’s always best to humor patients,” the other reflected, remembering the teachings of more than one grim instructor, and he took the wide-open page, over which he scarcely glanced. what did it matter to him?
-“it seems very legal,” he smiled, good-naturedly. “do you really wish my signature and olivier’s to this?” (olivier was the orderly’s gracious cognomen.)
-“course i do; otherwise why should i have given myself such elaborate pains? the caligraphy may leave a little to be desired, but what will you? à la guerre comme à la guerre!”
-the deed accomplished with no solemnity at all, preston closed the second envelope and joined it to the first in his pocket.
-“if you don’t mind,” he said, pleasantly, “i should like to read for half an hour or so before composing myself to slumber. will you be so good as to hand me that most interesting volume of short stories there on the chair?”
-the interne readily complied. he wanted to write a few words to his mother before retiring, and so he quickly returned to the salon.
-slowly, and with some difficulty, preston drew the upper part of his body inch by inch to the very edge of the bed, made a long arm, and managed noiselessly to reach a bottle adorned with a crimson label. steadily, deliberately, laboriously, he took the tumbler from the tray, half-filled it with wine from the decanter, poured in the whole contents of the medicine-bottle--slanting the glass so as to avoid any sound--replaced everything in order, and swallowed the dose in two deep draughts. then he lay back on his pillow, and, strange to say, this non-catholic made the sign of the cross.
-“madame la duchesse! madame la duchesse!”
-the strangled tones of the medical student made tatiana, who was leaning over the balcony of her room looking at the crescent moon, start with a sudden uncontrollable dread.
-“what is it?” she cried in a shaking voice.
-“come down, come down, quick!”
-her hair already unbound for the night and falling below her knees, her peignoir fluttering like wings behind her, tatiana joined him on the terrace.
-“my god,” she whispered, “you look like a ghost!”
-the young man tried to speak, gulped, tried again, and failed. he was shaking like a leaf as he pointed to the lighted windows of preston’s room.
-she needed now no explanation, and her little feet in their velvet mules covered the ground from one entrance to the other as fast as marguerite’s could have done.
-in the room all was as still and orderly as when she had last left it; on the bed lay preston ... asleep? no! one look was enough, and, rushing forward, she pushed out of her way the salvières doctor, who stood white-faced and helpless between her and the quiet form.
-“have you tried everything?” she asked, tremulously, her hand on the still heart, her lips twitching.
-“yes, everything--so heavy a dose of chloral paralyzes the heart quickly--and when the doctor there called me it was already all over.”
-tatiana swayed a little. “chloral!” she said, dully. “chloral--left near him! and i never thought of that, miserable fool that i am!”
-“who could have thought of it, madame la duchesse, cheerful as he was?”
-“we should have thought!” she stooped over preston and hopelessly put her ear to his heart, her fingers on his pulse. a rustle of paper made her straighten herself abruptly, and then she sat down all of a piece on the edge of the bed close to him and tore open the envelope addressed to her.
-her fingers were shaking so, her eyes were so hazy, that at first she could not see, and with the gesture of a sorrowing child she passed the back of her hand across her face. “i must! i must!” she murmured, and slowly she unfolded the little leaves.
-“another burden yet will i impose upon you,” she read, “that of keeping me near you in consecrated ground--for you will see to that, will you not? since from you i have learned so much.”
-she paused; two large tears glided down her cheeks; then she went on bravely to the end. “i leave all i have to leave to the abbé de kerdren for the poor; all excepting a sum sufficient to make him whom you called my carabin independent for life. he has, i understand, a mother to support. you will approve, i know. also you will think gently of me and pray for me--i do not doubt that. god bless and reward you.”
-the three men in the room, with heads lowered, hardly dared to breathe.
-“olivier,” the duchess said at last, very low, “go and fetch the duke.” and she knelt down beside preston.
-though you may claim with seeming sense that ignorance is not innocence, and that it doth her worth enhance whose innocence is not ignorance; in either case, recall to mind, unstainedness is hard to find, and when the childish kind is rare the other lives not anywhere.
-the harvest had ripened and been cut in the fields, and rich red apples were glowing like ambitious rubies in every orchard of the fair valley of salvières, where the sun brought forth all the beauty of variegated foliage--fawn, and scarlet, and amaranth, and pure gold.
-it was early morning as yet, and tiny pink fleeces of cloud still lingered in the east, infinite and subtle against the deepening blue of the sky. the little river flowed rapidly between its screens of bushes and tall reeds, and the grass in the shadow of hedge and tree, not quite dry of night-dews, held a million liquid gems of iridescent tints that seemed to sparkle the more for the gentle thunder of the water, scurrying over great mossy rocks on its way to the sea.
-thatched roofs nestled beneath the heathery heights inclosing the valley on both sides--heights crowned with serried regiments of firs--and on the castle side lawns of emerald green ran headlong down the steep descent to the limits of the home park and its splendid gates of forged iron. the park was a spot well suited to reveries and day-dreams; a concert-place for nightingales where the grassy alleys were chequered by light and shade in almost equal measure, as a rule, but now the deep-diapered shadows were still heavy. it was a faultless morning, indeed, and so thought the “gamin” as she stood for a moment leaning against the scaly bark of a himalayan cedar, gazing downward to the pearl-and-silver haze that hung gauzily over the river. a flock of sanctimonious rooks circled overhead, cawing their raucous warning, while blackbirds flitting to and fro under the branches sent from their yellow beaks a constant melodious whistle, whose bourdon was furnished by squadrons of bees mumbling all together as they worked from clump to clump of wild autumnal flowers: “we’re working--working--working--we’re working--working against--the winter; we’re working--working--well!”
-the “gamin” did not move, thinking her white thoughts there undisturbed. she wore a soft dress of dove-gray, one half-blown snowy rose with a heart of gold in her belt, and beneath her wide-winged garden hat her crinkled hair was golden, too, but of a paler shade.
-“oh, what--what--will happen next?” the question repeated and repeated itself rhythmically in her mind. she had so often of late proposed it to herself. in her blue eyes prayer, doubt, anxiety, and hope shone together in puzzled complexity. she looked very lovely, and if she seemed several tints less merry than she had been, a thought more pensive than of yore, nobody could like her any the less for that. a true young girl’s inner mind is so graciously mysterious, teeming with so many delicate fancies all its own, and such strange and delicious dreams throng there, that no man worthy the name would be bold enough to so much as try and probe them.
-she took a few steps on the thick moss over-glazed by fragrant cedar needles and fell again to admiring the play of the sunbeams on the velvet slope that dropped away from her little feet. behind her the duskiness of the park, crossed and recrossed by flights of furtive wings, slept undisturbed; and, suddenly attracted by a wondrous-fat beetle of bronzed corselet and lance-like antennæ, she knelt on the elastic brown of the moss to watch his busy, fussy course the closer. soon she discovered that another beetle a trifle more gracile in make, less adult in appearance, more green of armor, and far more brilliant, was scurrying up from the opposite side, horns in rest--as it were--a bellicose glint on the bulging surface of its beady eyes. “they’re going to fight,” she whispered, and glanced swiftly around to find the cause of this warlike humor. ah, yes! there it was, not far away under the shelter of a foxglove-leaf--a beautiful lady-beetle flying the dazzling colors of a cantharide rose-bug all ashimmer with metallic splendor.
-so absorbed was she in the impending combat that she failed to hear a step coming along the sanded path four yards away. it came quickly, determinately, but a few paces from where she still knelt it halted abruptly, and for a breathing-space the melodious silence of the wooded solitude trembled anew in the balance. the beetles were advancing threateningly toward each other; the fun would soon grow fast and furious. the “gamin” bent closer, a smile of amusement parting her lips, and then the tiny crackle of a branch made her turn and look.
-“basil!” she cried. “basil!” there was such surprised delight and at the same time such tender sympathy in the exclamation, that marguerite’s instinct alone could have blended it so well.
-“yes, it’s i,” he said, stating a patent fact in the rather dull way he used at times of embarrassment, without moving an inch toward her; then he came forward, hand outstretched, with a “how are you, marguerite?” that fell cold and over-indifferent on the mellowness of the air.
-her small fingers resting for a second or so in his, she answered, “very well. and you?” in the tone of one meeting a casual acquaintance after a few hours’ separation; but then she could not repress a nervous little laugh, for which she could instantly have beaten herself with rods.
-“how do you come to be out so early?” he said, conversationally, his heart strumming against his side.
-“and how did you enter the park?” she countered in unconscious retaliation.
-“by the village gate. i came from the station in a most egregious cariole drawn by a magnificent anglo-norman, of course, and driven by a blue-bloused, cotton-bonneted native, who charged me one hundred sols-parisis for the job, and whom i dismissed with something additional at the said gate.”
-“but,” she argued, white now as the white rose at her waist--“but why didn’t you telegraph for a carriage--announce your arrival?”
-“i thought of it, but decided that it was more in my line to sneak in like a thief in the morning.... that is misquoted, i believe.”
-“shall we move on?” he asked at length, shaking his shoulders ever so slightly.
-she nodded the big, soft wings of her hat, her face hidden now, and stepped into the path five inches ahead of him. the belligerent beetles, scared by the voices, had prudently subdued their foaming wrath and postponed their jealous combat.
-as they walked off marguerite was mechanically counting the great men whom history has made famous for their inclination toward dullness--the heroes of romance likewise indicated--porthos and athos--and charlemagne--and barbarossa--and ferdinand ii. of austria--and bayard himself, despite all the glamour of his faith, his courage, and his purity. the monk abélard (who--but she did not know that--had his excuses, of course), wilfred of ivanhoe, and many, many others, lovable, admirable, classic--and classified according to their merits. she stole a glance toward the splendid man striding beside her, and wondered why marriage, even unhappy marriage, had wrought such a change in him. he had never been lively even in the past, but since that memorable day when laurence had appeared on the scene at plenhöel he had appeared to be another being, triumphant and frozen, glorified and stupefied in turn; at first too visibly happy to be taken seriously, afterward sliding gradually into a half-tinted mood that lost him all power to show himself as he really was. and now had he really any heart left? she asked herself in amaze. his outward appearance was reassuring. he looked, as a matter of fact, younger than he had when she had last seen him--his forehead quite smooth, his finely cut features a hint more masterful than ever, his eyes dear and direct, and there was just a touch of haughtiness in his bearing she had not yet seen there, as though he were challenging the universe to come and pity him.
-“dilly, dilly, come and be killed!” rang, she fancied, in the very sound of his foot on the gravel. a foot of admirable shape and comparative narrowness, although a bit heroic--ex-pede-herculem!
-everything has an end--nur die wurst hat zwei (as our graceful friends the germans have a knack of putting it)--and that charming long walk round to the castle inclosure, machicolated and betowered and bekeeped, came at last to its conclusion. not another word had been spoken. at the base of the turret where basil had always had his rooms the couple came to a stand. it was a very proud, historic turret, coiffed with a pointed octagonal slate poivrière agreeably topped by a gray vane, and entered by one of those mullioned pointed doorways that are the delight of artists, with their intricate sculpturings, dainty rainceaux and wonderful stone tendrils engarlanding the royal fleur-de-lys.
-“now, please,” said basil--“please don’t awaken any one for me, marguerite. i’d sooner be alone at first, just for a little while at least.”
-“can’t i call garrassime?” she pleaded, prettily, her mouth drooping at the corners in a tiny moue that made him pull himself together with a mental jerk.
-“ah, yes! to be sure, garrassime is here,” he remarked; “but i would rather you didn’t call him. i am used to shifting for myself now whenever it’s necessary; often i prefer it, even.”
-his hand was on the etched and graven latch, the primeval and archaic loquet of the door, that was still thought sufficient to guard the treasures within when the family was there. the banner flapping in the eternal sea-breeze above the keep was guard enough for all purposes then.
-“as you will,” said the “gamin.” “et que dieu vous protége, mon cousin!” and she turned and went her way.
-from the greater portion of the days that followed, and from all the conferences à deux, à trois, et à quatre which took up so many hours, marguerite naturally was absent. she had known it would be thus, and was resigned beforehand to her isolation, but what she had not counted upon was the sudden removal of piotr and garrassime to far-off plenhöel without the boy having seen his father. why they hadn’t sent her off also she could not imagine, for what use was she, excepting at meal-times, when she was expected to fill her place as usual?
-she missed piotr very much. basil she hardly saw. tatiana and jean and her own father had evidently never been so busy in their lives. poor “antinoüs” had said to her: “it’s a bad moment to pass, mon chevalier. keep a stiff upper lip! basil is going to convey his--er--relic to russia. noblesse-oblige you know--and then you and i, my precious, will take flight too and rebegin our good little comfortable life once more.”
-“but what of piotr?” she had asked. “can’t we keep him with us, papa? i cannot imagine why basil appears to push him purposely out of his way. the de salvières have their own cares, their own duties and interests, but we, papa, in our ménage de vieux garçons have nothing but our two selfish selves to think of. can’t we keep him, papa, until basil awakes? can’t we really, please, please!”
-she had put up her hands like good sir hugh calverley of froissart fame, and had looked so much more effective, or rather affecting, than that dauntless knight could ever have done, that régis had inwardly surrendered--he was so sorry for his chevalier--although outwardly he had pooh-poohed the proposal.
-one afternoon she had ridden off immediately after the second breakfast, followed by ireland--who invariably accompanied her as the most important unit of her personal household when she visited anywhere--and was cantering toward the chestnut-woods belonging to salvières. she was on the thoroughbred english horse that was pavlo’s special property, a savage-tempered hunter of tender years who had from the first made up his mind to struggle and resist on any and every pretext, whether reasonable or not. he answered--or refused to answer oftener than often--to the mild and misleading cognomen of “narses”--a name he had no sort of right to, being a fire-eating stallion beautiful beyond compare.
-“narses” was mincing his steps like a dancing-master, his dainty, almost transparent ears erect, but quite demurely so--a trick he had when bent on special mischief--but his rider knew that and was ready for him, which robbed the equine pleasantry of half of its value. at the turning of one broad, shady allée into another “narses” suddenly “swapped ends” with a violence that would have unseated any less supple equestrienne than the “gamin”; then began a series of snorts, not to say grunts, testifying to the utmost terror. marguerite laughed, stretched herself forward, and presented the culprit with a flat-handed box on the side of the neck, which he scarcely felt, excepting in his innermost soul, but he stopped his gruntings; and, strangely enough, suffered himself to be brought face to face with an intimate stable companion mounted by basil. she had a way with horses, had marguerite.
-the rencontre, unpremeditated by her at least, was not unwelcome, and she smiled up at her kinsman in her old merry way.
-“you should not ride that brute!” was his gracious form of greeting, and its masterfulness made her laugh again. “i beg your pardon,” apologized basil, “but really ‘narses’ is not a woman’s hack, and i think régis must be demented if he allows you to do it.”
-“and why, pray?” she asked, curtly. “i ride always whatever i please. besides, ‘narses’ is not wicked; he is merely playful.”
-“playful, eh? well, since you are here we might try and gallop to take his playfulness out of him. ‘the cid’ will steady and chasten him after a fashion, i hope.”
-“all right,” she consented, ranging alongside, and with ireland fifty hoof-beats behind, they proceeded toward the head-waters of the river.
-basil looked more at ease, less absorbed, and altogether more human, as she expressed it to herself. the saddle was his natural place--that was where he was at his best, at any rate; and when they came to the first check in their gallop much ice had fallen to pieces between them.
-“you ride marvelously,” he conceded, with that air of studiously avoiding a compliment which had the gift of making her rear mentally up on end, it was so obviously forced.
-“my grateful thanks to you, good sir,” she said. “i salute you,” and with a quick, roguish gesture she gravely raised her straw hat and suited the action to the words.
-“good lord!” came from basil. “don’t you wear any pins to hold that thing on?”
-“not being, so far, entirely deprived of hair,” she replied, “pins would be a pure nuisance.”
-“deprived of hair!” he could not help exclaiming. “i should think not; but what’s that got to do with it?”
-“everything! can’t you see that when it’s all tightly piled atop of my head, a well-made sailor-hat just fits over it? its crown, filled to the edges, can’t stir; it isn’t like a modern crown, you see, which is a comfort.”
-basil did not laugh outright, but he looked as if he were very near doing so, and this, too, was by way of being a comfort to the rider of “narses.”
-they were now following a narrower path on the summit of a low hill, away inland, and, having slackened speed to let their horses breathe, it was difficult to avoid a chat.
-“i am leaving to-morrow,” began basil, with that startling lack of the most ordinary tact which is displayed by men of his stamp under certain conditions.
-“yes. i did not expect to stay so long, but circumstances--”
-“over which you had no control,” finished the “gamin,” calmly.
-“what did you say?” he asked, turning to look at her with a sudden suspicion that she was laughing at him.
-“i said, circumstances over which you had no control--that’s the accepted formula, isn’t it?” she retorted.
-basil rode in silence for a full two minutes, then began again, stiffly: “as i am leaving normandy to-morrow--”
-“when you discover a subject of conversation you push it to its furthest possibilities,” marguerite interrupted. “well, it is gradually dawning on me that you really intend to leave normandy, salvières, and the be-neighboring regions to-morrow, although wiseacres pretend that to-morrow does not exist.”
-this unwonted flippancy caught basil on the raw, and his teeth closed so grimly that the muscles became vaguely apparent beneath the tan of his lean cheeks; a signal his tyro-tormentor perceived clearly, and was exasperated enough to appreciate profoundly.
-“if you will deign to grant me your attention for a few short moments, i will explain why i make a point of bringing this inconsiderable event to your notice.”
-“imbecile!” flashed through marguerite’s mind amid a flood of remorse for such a desecration. “i grant you my attention,” she, however, persevered, and basil viciously bit one end of his mustache, which he had drawn into his mouth.
-“i will be gone for a wholly indeterminate period of time,” he pursued. “years, probably.”
-with extreme aptness “narses” shied at a rabbit frolicking in the lush grass, and indulged in a series of risky gambades that afforded marguerite an opportunity of strictly attending to his misdeeds.
-“a dangerous horse! didn’t i say so? why, you are quite pale!” scolded basil, with astounding finesse, as for the second time “narses” was forced back to his post. “but you manage him very cleverly,” he added. “as i was saying, i will be absent long.”
-marguerite probably did not judge it worth her while to comment upon this reiteration, and basil, looking straight before him, went on:
-“i want to ask you whether you were serious when you spoke to your father about keeping my--i mean piotr--with you for a while.”
-“i endeavor to be always serious when dealing with family questions, mon cousin,” she replied.
-“of course it is a sacrifice on your part, and it will be a--what shall i say?--an intolerable nuisance for régis; but there’s no accounting for both your generosities.”
-marguerite, flicking a tiny bramble from her habit, shrugged her shoulders.
-“suppose you abandon these eloquent sentences for the time being?” she proposed. “there’s nobody under the furniture--the bushes, i mean--and if it is for me alone that you are going to such oratorical expense, i will excuse plain and unadorned speech.”
-“what ails her?” thought basil. “i’ve never seen her like this!” for he genuinely did not understand. “very well then,” he resumed. “you wish to keep the boy?”
-“yes,” she said, simply.
-“allowing garrassime to stay near him and--forgive me--myself to defray all their joint expenses. it is a matter of pride with me.”
-“of all the ungracious bundles of thorns i have ever encountered--” she commenced, but he would not let her speak.
-“permit me,” he interrupted. “i do not mean to be ungracious-- ungrateful--you must know that! i am so deeply touched, on the contrary, by--” his voice altered all of a sudden, and marguerite felt a lump rise in her throat.
-they had reached what is called there an étoile des bois, otherwise a wide grassy spot where five roads meet in a star-shaped clearing, and basil jerked “the cid” to a stand.
-“if you don’t mind,” he said, still a little hoarsely, “we could dismount and sit down here while ireland waters the beasts.”
-for answer she slipped off “narses” in her customary unexpected way, and stood by his head, stroking him; the rascal allowing her to rub his velvet nose with carefully disguised contentment.
-ireland having trotted up and assumed charge of the horses--it was one of “narses’s” peculiarities that he was sometimes approachable by a dismounted well-wisher, and, moreover, he did not hate ireland a tenth part as much as he did his own grooms and stablemen--basil and marguerite were at liberty to seek a comfortable seat on a fallen tree-trunk.
-“i wanted to say this to you, but lacked the courage to do so,” he shamefacedly admitted, his expression quite changed. “also, something else, if you will only have patience.”
-as years before on the brink of the castle cliff at plenhöel, marguerite sat quite motionless, her mere profile visible, listening to basil with eyes fixed on the most distant point they could discern.
-“you and your father have been kinder to me than any one else in the world since my mother left me--kind and considerate beyond all expression. now you want to go further yet and take off my hands a responsibility--a cruel responsibility--in short, one that is almost greater than i can bear!” he paused, and marguerite, without turning toward him, said, quickly:
-“why do you say a cruel responsibility? you used to be so passionately fond of piotr. don’t you care for him any more?”
-a flush of mortification and misery rose to basil’s face. he had not seen the impasse in which he had engaged himself, and for a few seconds he could not think what to say.
-surprised at his silence, marguerite made a slight motion and glanced at him interrogatively, but what she saw made her instantly resume her former position. “good heavens!” thought she, “what is it?”
-“marguerite,” basil painfully recommenced, “the last few years have not been happy ones to me. mind you, i blame no one but myself. i alone should have been called to account for--the lack of happiness i found in a union i had sought, and desired at the time above all other things.”
-again he paused, wiped the moisture from his forehead mechanically, and this time marguerite did not make use of the pause; but a faint smile of incredulity, which it would have done him good to see had he been in a state to notice it, flitted at the corners of her mouth.
-“be this as it may, the fact remains that i have been wretchedly unhappy, that i am still so now, by contrecoup, perhaps. much has happened that i must endeavor to forget--not for my own welfare alone, mind you--and this i cannot attempt if piotr is with me. i mean that for that reason and some others i am forced to exile myself anew. it is useless to enter into particulars. later you will perhaps understand why; now i cannot tell you. will you trust me without explanation?”
-“yes,” she said, unhesitatingly.
-he gave a deep sigh of relief and thankfulness. “you are very--very much the chevalier your father calls you,” he said, humbly, “and i thank you with all my heart.”
-“but,” she interrupted, with some indignation, “you have not answered my question. have you a grudge against poor little piotr? yes or no.”
-“a grudge?” basil repeated after her--“a grudge against piotr?”
-“that’s what i asked.”
-“no! emphatically no! how could i? but--but he reminds me of his mother, and that can’t be endured.”
-“was that the reason of your leaving him with the de salvières when you went to china?”
-he saw the pit yawning before his feet, and felt too dazed to jump back from the brink.
-“no--that is ... yes! oh, i don’t know, marguerite! don’t ask me!”
-“you are terribly changed, basil,” she said, sadly. “i have long known--by intuition, for i was never told so--that your marriage had been an unhappy one; but for you, a man like you” (the tone was emphatic) “to make your child pay for this, to deprive him of a father’s love and refuse even to see him for an hour, is iniquitous. i am sorry to speak so rudely to you, basil, but i cannot help it.”
-“you are not rude,” he contradicted. “what you say is from your point of view right and fair, but--appearances are against me, whether justly or unjustly, i can’t say. god! do you think that i have not fought against that--feeling which estranges me from piotr? i have sweated blood and water; i have....”
-with sudden alarm marguerite swerved toward him and with one small hand on his sleeve stared blankly at him.
-“are you crazy, basil, to talk like this?” she asked. “estranged from your own flesh and blood, your own little son, the dearest, sweetest little chap that ever was? shame on you, i say, for letting yourself go as you do, for acting in a hysterical way unworthy of even the weakest woman!”
-her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling with excitement, she was a revelation as she drew back from him in downright anger. never had he imagined her to be capable of such a transformation.
-“you make me boil!” she went on, clenching her little fists. “don’t you know that piotr adores you? that he is you, your very image, although his coloring is more like his mother’s? oh, basil, your own little son! how dare you think of making him responsible! why, he is you! you! you!”
-with a smothered oath basil leaped to his feet, white as his sporting-cravat.
-“what makes you act so?” she asked, rising quickly and trying to confront him; but he turned his back upon her and pushed off her detaining hand.
-“have you gone distracted?” she asked, and then stopped appalled, for his shoulders were shaking suspiciously. trembling like a leaf, she stepped back in positive terror. she had never seen a man cry, and it is a sorrowful experience indeed when the man is a man.
-“basil,” she whispered. “basil! please! please don’t! i did not mean to hurt you.... oh, please forgive me, basil!”
-struggling furiously with himself, cursing his fool’s behavior with all the might of his being, he could not at first wrest the mastery, but in a few short moments he turned toward her, and in an almost inaudible voice begged her pardon.
-“my pardon!” she tremulously murmured. “mine? it is i who was in the wrong to torment you as i did. you know best what to do, of course. no doubt you have your reasons--reasons you will not tell me, although i think you should. but i am stupid--i know that--so don’t remember what i said. leave us piotr. we will look after him well, and teach him how to love you more and more every day, so that when you come home at last this strange feeling of yours will be gone.”
-there was something so delicately childlike, so innocent and so crystal-pure in the words, that basil felt tempted to kneel down in worship before her. what call had he to bring so near to her his thoughts of bitterness and revolt, his conviction that the child he was ready enough to confide to her bore the stain of antenatal dishonor? it was nothing short of blasphemy, of desecration, to have done this. and in his heart he thanked heaven that, however imprudent his words had been, she, being what she was, could not guess what they portended.
-the scene had been short, but it had left such traces upon both that when they slowly returned to their horses old ireland almost cried out at the sight of them. he was wise in his generation, though, and the impassiveness with which he regirthed “the cid,” “narses,” and his own mount, would have done credit to an articulated wooden image; but pounding behind them along the sunken forest road, where the twelve hoof-strokes fell hushedly upon the damp turf, he sadly reflected upon a future that seemed somber enough for his beloved young mistress. his shrewd wits had been alive for many a long month to the trouble that--as far as he knew--had begun for mademoiselle “gamin” at the time of that other ride in the woods to the “rock of the seven sages” at plenhöel. he had wondered vastly at prince basil’s obtuseness (saving his presence), marveled over the aberration of taste that had caused this great gentleman to prefer miss seton to marguerite; and ever since, during their now countless excursions over field and moor, forest and valley, he had watched over le chevalier “gamin” as tenderly and pitifully as a mother might have done. and what was there amiss again? surely prince basil was free now, and the legal formalities over, with a decorous interval added thereto, he could lead mademoiselle de plenhöel to the altar? why those tears, then? why the agitation and distress he had not been able to avoid noticing from his post beneath the trees some yards away? was there more misery coming to her? no! that he could not believe. god is just and kind--he was sure of that--and could not but protect this little angel from paradise, so true, so loyal, and so faithful!
-on the morrow it was he, ireland, the old piqueux, who sat beside his serene-highness in a dog-cart--by basil’s own request--to go to the station. the funereal expressage had been seen to, laurence was making her last princely progress to the great white empire she had so absolutely abhorred, and tatiana began to hope that soon, save for the exquisitely tended spot where preston wynne slept, the whole grewsome tragedy would be forgotten.
-as the slate roof of the little railway station became visible through the trees basil suddenly turned to ireland. “i don’t know how long i will be away,” he said, as if talking to an equal and a friend. “you know, ireland, that piotr is going to stay at plenhöel with the marquis and mademoiselle during my absence.”
-“i do, highness.”
-“very well. you will probably be called upon to act as riding-master to him, just as you were years ago to the ‘gamin.’”
-“i hope i will, highness,” said ireland, happily.
-“this being so, you will need to know the time of day to a minute. with a wild youngster like piotr it will be necessary, i am certain.”
-ireland permitted himself a smile; wondering, though, why each time that the prince pronounced his son’s name there occurred so startling a hardening of his voice.
-“now,” continued basil, “this is a reliable timekeeper.” he passed both reins into his right hand, and with the left jerked from his waistcoat pocket his own chronometer by juergeson--a priceless gem of its kind--and held it out, chain and all, to the astounded man beside him.
-“oh, but--but your highness! this is your highness’s own watch--there’s a crown on it!”
-“i know,” basil smiled. “it is not meant to be a tip, ireland; merely a souvenir from one horseman to another.”
-the fast trotter in the shafts was just rounding the angle of the station yard. basil gave the reins to ireland and jumped out. far down the line the shrill whistle of the express was cutting the breeze like an arrow.
-“good-bye, ireland,” basil said, leaning across to shake hands, and suddenly ireland, recovering from his joyful surprise, saw that the prince’s eyes were moist.
-“good-bye ... and take care of her!”
-he was gone inside the little building, all alone like the most ordinary of the mortals. a minute later the piqueux, through the row of oak-trees that stood between, glimpsed his tall figure passing down the platform; then the train breathed itself to a second’s stop at the waving of the flag, basil stepped to the marche-pied of a pullman, and with a last wave to him disappeared.
-moonglade, a pale and forthright splendor, deeping the mountain shadows on the river-flow, across the sullen flood’s resistless creeping-- across the years, the wreckage and the weeping, you stand, so let them go! moonglade, o moonglade, that my heart doth fill, causeway to avalon unchanging still, i know, that pass by thee, the “bowery hollows, crowned with summer sea!”
-a year later the “gamin” and piotr were returning from a delightful prawn-fishing expedition in the deep rock pools that offer at low tide, especially on granite shores such as those of plenhöel, miraculous chances for that kind of sport. haveneaux on shoulder, they stepped briskly along the cliff path, she looking like a little girl in her short striped petticoat and tricot made and worn à la manière des marins, her red béret and rope-soled éspadrilles; he enormously tall and strong for his age, browned by salt water and salt breezes to a very becoming brownness. behind them garrassime--who seemed to have stopped getting old during the past twelve months--and madame hortense, always placid and comely, carried between them a great square basket fragrant of brine and seaweed, that was quite full of big, frisky bouquins.
-���we’ve got a lot!” piotr remarked, gleefully. “and all of them as long as my hand, aren’t they, little darling malou?”
-“oh, every bit,” laughed marguerite. “i’m not going to argue, piotr.”
-“but you don’t seem convinced!”
-“not convinced! you do me an injustice, young man!” remonstrated marguerite.
-“we can eat them for the second breakfast, can’t we?”
-“not can; must!” she corrected, gravely. “they’re good only when fresh off the farm, you know, moussaillon.”
-“i like it when you call me moussaillon, little darling malou,” the boy said, proudly. “don’t you think i am a wonderful sailor already? and as to swimming and fishing!” he smacked his rosy lips ecstatically, glancing up at her for confirmation of these tall words.
-“a wonderful sailor--a swimmer of extraordinary power--and as to a fisherman!” she mimicked, her lovely face crinkling into a grimace that well suited her name of “gamin.”
-“you’re laughing at me! but i handle the avirons almost as well as boustifaille. you know i do.”
-“boustifaille” was piotr’s canot boy, a wide-awake lad of fourteen, who was to ship next may on a “banker,” and marguerite smiled at the boastfulness of master piotr; although, to do him justice, the child was a born seaman, fearless as a porpoise, and inclined to be utterly reckless of any danger.
-for these particular traits she knew herself to be responsible. she had been and was his constant companion and instructor in the arts of natation, rowing, sailing, and fishing, and never tired of encouraging him to display further prowess. the life of piotr at plenhöel was ideal, between “antinoüs,” who had come to love the boy almost as if he were his own, and marguerite, his best and most devoted comrade. in return, nothing could be more touching than piotr’s fealty to his lady. there were times, it is true--during his less and less frequent fits of rage--when even she could not manage him. but usually for a mere touch of her hand, a slightly sterner glance from her blue eyes, he really tried to calm himself--with more or less success, it is true, but still with extraordinary determination for one so young.
-the chief difficulty with him was to conquer his ever-present jealousy. perhaps laurence had only partly assumed the rôle of a jealous woman. probably she was really inclined that way, and had needed only a trifling exaggeration to serve her purpose, for her son was, unfortunately for him and for others, abnormally provided with that sad faculty for making every being dear to one entirely miserable. let marguerite display the least bit of enthusiasm, or flattering appreciation, toward anyone, a puppy-dog even, and piotr would be at once convulsed with fury. he did not sulk; he stormed whole-souledly; he threw himself on the ground and he rolled over and over, shrieking aloud, beating his head on the floor, tearing his hair, actually foaming at the mouth; and so painful were these outbreaks that they were considered at plenhöel as visitations to be avoided by every possible means.
-“if he were mine,” the village doctor, a retired surgeon-major of the navy, often said, “i’d make him acquainted with a rope’s end, and that without delay. is it possible to see a youngster get himself into such states and remain neutral? only mademoiselle is capable of it, but she’s an angel of god. besides, she’d crawl through a knothole to please him.”
-perchance the doctor was right, perhaps he was wrong, in his particular choice of a remedy, but, be it as it may, marguerite would not hear of drastic measures; in which opinion her father bore her out, for, as he sagely remarked, with such an organization it was impossible to know what brute force might produce.
-in spite of these two wretched blemishes, piotr was the most fascinating boy one could imagine, and plenhöel paid him homage as to a beloved dauphin. ireland, monsieur quentin, françois, madame hortense, the coachmen, gardeners, stablemen, chefs, footmen, grooms, the aged housekeeper, the maids, not to mention the farmers, villagers, and salt-workers, were his willing subjects. as to the crews of the yacht and sailing-boats, they raised him to the throne of a little sea-god, pure and simple.
-warm-hearted, hot-headed, plucky as they make ’em, and generous to a fault, this was piotr. also he had the religion of remembrance--a rare gift--and not a day passed without his speaking of his father. he was handsome, too, to a surprising, an alarming degree; with features too classically perfect for a lad of his years, and magnetic eyes, changeful in shape and hue with every new expression.
-“quand il aura vingt ans il faudra enfermer les poulettes, par exemple!” the doctor was quoted as declaring on repeated occasions, and this seemed like prophetic talk.
-basil wrote almost regularly to régis, “from china or india, mars or the moon,” as the marquis was wont to vaguely explain, and marguerite helped piotr pencil a couple of lines to accompany every one of her father’s replies to each of those erratic missives.
-my dear, dear papa. when are you coming back? i am very big now. i love you.
-he had written the evening before the prawn-fishing, but, as he impatiently declared, “i never get a letter from him, little darling malou!”
-marguerite cruelly felt this persistent neglect of piotr. she invented messages with untiring assiduity, but as a matter of fact, “mes remerciements émus à ma cousine marguerite,” was the only allusion ever made by basil to piotr’s existence.
-the de salvières were in russia, looking after both their own estates and basil’s; pavlo was now a first-lieutenant of great promise; the peasants of tverna, trotting easily in firm but light harness, exploded no longer. as tatiana once had told preston wynne, “tout est pour le mieux dans çe meilleur des mondes.”
-it was then that a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand began to float imperceptibly upward toward the coast of brittany from the blunt apex of south africa, where basil had been sojourning for a while, as a letter bore witness:
-your affectionate basil.
-régis had not hesitated an instant. to his practical sense--he had a good deal of that, and very well developed--it appeared only too clearly that, unless something rather drastic was done, basil would gradually let himself drift into positive melancholia, and his warm heart revolted at the thought; so without losing a minute, he had written and cabled to his cousin to come at once; ridiculed his distaste for seeing piotr, whom he described as a most delicious boy and a true palitzin; accused basil squarely and fairly of giving way too much to his morbid feelings; and had, indeed, made such good use of an eloquence he rarely lacked when both his brain and his heart were in accord, that a cable from gibraltar had finally announced to him the arrival of basil in a few days.
-“we will cure him, mon chevalier,” “antinoüs” said to his daughter when announcing the news to her. “these fancies of his are simply absurd--there’s no other word for it.”
-marguerite looked her father suddenly straight in the eyes. she was sitting on the window-sill of his study, while he stood, a cigarette between his teeth, both hands stuck deep in his jacket pockets, looking out at the glancing fountain with its quaint presentations of kneeling monks and curious, unnatural stone birds--a masterpiece from the same chisel as had carved the unique doorway of the castle chapel.
-“papa,” said the “gamin,” gravely, “you don’t believe it, i know, but i am no longer a little girl. don’t you think you could tell me why basil has ceased to care for piotr? there is some reason for it, some very serious reason, for he is the last man on earth one could accuse of caprice--a feminine defect, besides! why can’t you tell me what makes him feel as he does?”
-régis did not answer at once. he had long been in the habit of treating marguerite as a very precious companion and counselor; moreover, she was right in saying that she was no longer a little girl, for in her country and in her world girls not yet married at eighteen, even, are supposed to be determined to remain old maids. still, it was utterly impossible to so much as hint at the truth, and he decided to seek an acceptable alternative.
-“what makes you so sure that basil has really ceased to care for his son?” he asked, throwing away his cigarette end to light a fresh one.
-“what he himself told me,” she replied, unhesitatingly. “also, his impossible attitude toward piotr. now, papa, you and i realize that he is not doing this idly--pour se donner des airs.”
-“no, certainly not!” admitted régis, still looking at the marvelous procession of hooded and unhooded monks mirrored in the limpid water of the fountain. “but you must not forget that basil had a terrible shock, that--”
-marguerite here firmly interrupted him. “if you are going to tergiversate, my dear papa,” she said, quietly, “we may as well drop the subject once and for all. i’d a great deal sooner you’d tell me to mind my own business, or, in other words, that i am poaching on land where i have no right to intrude. at least it would show me a straight road out.”
-“mon chevalier,” régis retorted, “you and i have managed to be far more than father and daughter to each other, as this closest of relationships is generally understood. we have been friends and equals right through. you are--i don’t want to throw bouquets at you--but you really are the most perfect gentleman i have ever had the fortune to encounter, and in all questions of honor there is no one i would rather consult than you. but you are at the same time my beloved little daughter and a pearl of extreme purity; therefore i do tell you, in all amity, not to ask me that question again. as far as i know, moreover, basil’s only reason for the coldness he displays toward piotr--and that undeniably exists--is that the child reminds him of laurence, and of the sorrows laurence brought into his life. he is one of those persons who, owing to a singularly uncompromising nature, are apt to burn fiercely what they once adored, and vice versa. i am convinced, however, that, were the proper influence exerted, he could be won over to saner and fairer sentiments. hadn’t you better try to do that yourself?”
-marguerite flushed, but her eyes did not waver from her father’s.
-“you are the only person who can,” he emphasized.
-“frankly, papa, if you don’t mind my saying it, i have no more influence on basil than garrassime has.”
-“oh, papa, remember!” marguerite pleaded, much distressed.
-“i remember, my dear, never fear! nor am i especially harsh in mentioning the fact that laurence was a very evil woman. god knows she was. basil made a frightful mistake when he married her, and has lived to regret it. he is sore now; embittered; refoulé sur lui même; restive to any interference coming from his people, from me, from his best and most intimate friends. but you are different! i am not speaking from undue pride in you, or because you can always lead me by one thread of your silken hair, so don’t shake your head. you have to a supreme degree the cavata necessary to wield power of the only kind that will work with him--and bear in mind that the warmest corner of his heart has always been yours.”
-marguerite rose. “i don’t believe that!” she said, with utter frankness. “at least i never saw any sign of such a thing, papa.”
-“that again is due to your inexperience. basil is naturally cold, distant, and self-contained--wooden, if you like--and a bit introspective. he is also, funny as it may seem to you, a shy man. believe me, chevalier, i am anxious to see the ice wall that surrounds him--how poetically i do speak!--broken through. he has suffered quite enough already. you, i am absolutely certain, can humanize him again. now will you, or will you not, do your little best? answer me!”
-marguerite had an unbounded confidence in her father. she saw that he was very much in earnest--a rare thing with him, who to all intents and purposes generally toyed with life’s difficulties; and her surrender was quick.
-“you really, genuinely, think that i can do something to help?” she asked. “you really believe that basil is in danger?”
-“i answer yes on both counts, unhesitatingly,” régis declared. “basil is in a bad way, which is a thousand pities, for he is the finest man i know; also i stick by what i said--you alone, my little witch, can make him hear reason. i have spoken!”
-later on, when le chevalier “gamin” was alone in her own apartments that overlooked the ocean on two sides, she sat for a long while by a window staring at the waves. she was firmly convinced that the secret she had so well kept with regard to her personal feelings was still her only own; basil could and would never be anything else to her but a dear and devoted friend. he--she felt certain, too--had given all the love he had in his power to give to laurence. her ingratitude, her hardness of heart, her lack of sympathy with any and every plan of his, had caused him a pain and a disappointment from which he would never recover. she was forced to conclude that on this point he showed himself singularly unforgiving, not to say unjust, since he carried his rancor to the limit of the impossible by his disaffection toward his son and hers. excuses! she found them for him in what her father had told her an hour before, and it was a relief in a way. basil was not himself; he was alone; the shock had been too severe even for his iron organization. well then, why not do what she was asked? why not try, at least? perhaps she would succeed.... who could tell? and if she could bring father and son together again, what unspeakable joy that would be!
-with a little sigh of anticipation, half dread and half hope, she got out of her chair and, opening the window, stepped upon the balcony. the evening was all gray and silver, streaked with rose where the sun had just disappeared. the mews were hurrying home to their rock-nests in the cliff, skimming over the surface of the spangled sea, winging their way athwart the salt-marshes on the right, where the tent-like heaps of salt gleamed whitely, and the shallow waters--cross-barred by thin banks of clay--were now squares of pink crystal, leaded into a broad prostrate window of afterglow. a little sail of surprising whiteness and daintiness punctuated the offing with its swallow-winged silhouette, and on the horizon a clear-cut band of incredible apple-green lay along the sky. it seemed as if it would have been soft to the touch--a length of pure velvet, the color of hope.
-“oh, basil!” marguerite gently called. “you will listen, won’t you?” her white arms outstretched to the immensity opening before her, she suddenly gave a little laugh of triumph. “he will!” she thought. “i know he will now! i mean to try so well!”
-strong in her resolution, marguerite went about her hundred and one duties during the following week with a quaint little conquering air that made régis’s eyes follow her amusedly, and a little wistfully, too. could he ever resign himself to give her up, even partly, even to basil? he had reflected over the matter in the deeps of his heart, and well did he know that this queer little chevalier of his would go bravely through life alone, unwed, yearning assuredly for a home and children of her own, but cheerful always, and uncomplaining. so much beauty and love wasted on him, “antinoüs”--an aging “antinoüs” in spite of his youthful looks--since this very morning he had found one silver thread among the gold above his temple. what an everlasting and beastly pity that would be! basil was only a very little his junior; but since she liked him so--and that he never doubted for an instant. well, parents had to make sacrifices, sometimes much more bitter than this--if it ever came to pass--and heaven knew it would be bitter enough. still, he knew that the “gamin” would always be his, and that she would suffer no permanent separation from him, which was an immense consolation.
-thus devised régis, riding home from a horse-fair in the dim neighborhood--dim in two ways, for in brittany distances over waste places are great, and, moreover, night was falling rapidly.
-indeed, the moon was already shining hazily when he dismounted. marguerite was, as always, standing on the broad shallow perron waiting for him, and he waved his hand to her with a positively lover-like gesture as he gave his horse to the groom. but whose was the tall, dark silhouette towering behind her?
-with a view-halloo of astounding fervor régis sprang up the steps, and in another instant he was pounding basil most heartily on the back.
-“welcome! and welcome! and a thousand welcomes! old fellow!” he cried, beaming with pleasure. “that’s right. when did you come?”
-“half an hour ago, and marguerite has spent every second of it assuring me that i have not aged. what do you think of your daughter’s veracity now?”
-“the highest possible thinks!” régis cried, whirling his cousin around. “let’s look at you here under the luster! why, you’re more bronzed and more soldierly, that’s all i can discover. a fine figure of a man, as quentin once said when i showed him the famous statue of roland i had just brought home from paris.”
-they laughed, all three, quite immoderately at this exuberant joke, and walked into the dining-room arm in arm, the “gamin” in the middle, as befitted her smaller size. the evening that followed was an enchanting one. where was basil’s melancholy? the two others had not even leisure to ask themselves that; and as to him, he had so much to tell about his peregrinations half around the globe and back again, so much to listen to as told by them, that in the excitement of recital he forgot his woes for the first time in months and months.
-midnight had long chimed solemnly from the castle clock when they at last left the library where they had spent the veillée, and marched side by side down the immense second-floor gallery upon which all the bedrooms opened. basil and régis took marguerite to her door, and were about to say good-night, when she suddenly swerved to the right and, noiselessly opening another, beckoned them to follow, one finger on her lips commanding silence. régis understood, and fell back to let basil pass, while he, thinking of some joke to be perpetrated upon him, obeyed, on tiptoe, assuming a portentous mien.
-immediately behind marguerite he entered a room of truly enormous dimensions, high-ceiled, and hung with gay cretonne, upon which, as far as he could see, fairy-like birds disported themselves around dream-flowers. the furniture was all of white lacquer, and the thick carpet underfoot of similar snowiness, with here and there an ice-bear skin flung across its stainless surface. a tall screen of carven wood was curved before the cretonne-curtained windows, and to this recess marguerite led the way, still on the points of her slippers. the rosy globe hanging from the ceiling did not give very much light, but quite sufficient to bring basil suddenly to a stop, for there, on a narrow brass bed, the silken coverings thrown back from his sturdy little form, lay, fast asleep, the handsomest boy it was possible to see. the shapely, strong limbs, the tanned, slightly flushed cheeks, the soft curling hair and thickly fringed eyelids, made a picture vigorous and beautiful, to which marguerite, her fingers on basil’s sleeve, pointed proudly.
-“behold your son!” she murmured, laughingly; and basil suddenly shivered from head to foot.
-“your son!” she repeated, in a fragrant whisper, leaning closer to him. “your son, and your second self. look!”
-above the bed hung a portrait of basil when yet a lad, and given to régis’s mother at the time. the diffused glow from the night-lamp somehow seemed to concentrate upon the lifelike painting before which it was hung, and it would have taken a purposely obtuse eye not to be struck by the amazing resemblance between it and the little sleeper beneath. in her innocent endeavor to reconquer basil’s love for piotr, marguerite could not have designed a more machiavelian plan. “aux innocents les mains pleines,” says the old proverb, and who can call it untrue?
-without a word basil was staring, first at the picture, then at the living, breathing miniature thereof on the pillow; and marguerite, watching him with all the intentness of her blue eyes, saw the rigid features slowly relax, soften, hesitate as it were in their expression of dawning ecstasy.
-“what is it?” she breathed faintly, more to herself than to him.
-big drops of sweat were trickling down basil’s ashen face, and she leaned toward him, her heart literally in her mouth. what had she done? she asked herself in terror. and then a stranger thing yet happened; for piotr, as if touched by some magnetic ray, opened wide his eyes, and with a cry of delight, one agile boyish bound, launched himself like an arrow into his father’s arms.
-marguerite fell back, appalled. would basil repulse that appeal? but no! his arms closed upon the quivering boy, and marguerite, turning, ran to the door and fell upon régis’s shoulder.
-“he loves him still! he loves him still!” she gasped, laughing and crying at the same time.
-and in a little while they were all in the room together, basil with piotr on his knee, régis and marguerite and garrassime--in his long linen kaftán--one tear after another coursing down the middle of his nose in a fashion most comical had it not been so pathetic, everybody speaking at once of the most variegated things, so that nobody could understand a word that was said.
-later--was it an hour, a minute, a year?--none there could have told--piotr was induced to return to his slumbers, and garrassime to his side of the screen, for what little was left of the night. dame luna was sliding down the ultramarine slope of the sky at a rapid rate. on the edge of the shingle left bare by the tide sea-larks were beginning to move restlessly in the clusters of glass thistles and sand-poppies where they adventure their sleep, and from the mysterious east transparent scarfs of faintest nacre heralded the coming of the dawn. the air was so pure, so fresh, so exquisitely briny, that as they passed the open bay of the gallery they could not resist the temptation of breathing it in. they were silent, now, all three, quite silent, and stood facing the sea in a sort of reverence for its beauty that found no expression in words.
-marguerite--a slender white shadow silvered by that unearthly light so few have the fortune to catch--leaned over the balustrade, her heart beating with gentle triumph.
-“moonglade!” murmured régis, indicating the graceful silhouette outlined so tenderly against the still, moonlit water. “you were right!”
-basil turned and looked at his friend and kinsman. “will you give her to me?” he said, very low.
-régis raised both shoulders and eyes to heaven in a gesture of complex, almost amusing resignation.
-“go and ask her!” he said in the same tone, and went inside to wait for them.
-heaven, and hell, and this earthly ball, and jealousy confounds them all.
-“i have always loved you! you only! you alone, ever since you were a little baby no higher than my knee!”
-marguerite laughed. “you are a vile flatterer!” she declared, making an adorable little grimace at her lord and master. “who would have thought that my grim mentor of years ago--oh, so many years ago!--would one day descend to such trickery?”
-they were sitting under the pink-and-white awning of their villa on the “azure coast”--as it is so fittingly called. in front of them a heavy garland of ivy-geraniums, a mass of rose-colored bloom nestling in their white-and-green foliage, seemed the rendez-vous of every butterfly of the littoral. marguerite’s gown was rose-hued, too, and her favorite floppy shape of garden hat was covered with pink acacia; on the love-finger of her left hand glowed the great ruby of her fiançailles, and basil, in a spirit of emulation, wore a pink-and-white carnation in the lapel of his light-gray morning coat.
-the honeymoon was, officially speaking, over, but only officially, for those two would be lovers always; and soon they would sail north again, where régis and piotr awaited their return with what patience they could muster.
-it had been a pretty wedding au-village. the castle chapel filled with flowers, the peasants and sailors and salt-workers in their gala costumes, the bagpipes blowing merrily on the green outside, and a whole ox roasting under the trees for the feast given to all the people, who, had come for miles around to do honor to the chevalier “gamin.” tatiana and jean and pavlo had arrived from russia, other friends and relatives from all corners of france, and also from other lands, and during a week the countryside had been en fête.
-piotr as his father’s best man had made a brave show, wearing proudly a court suit with a little sword at his side; and as to the bride herself, words fail to describe that dream-maiden in her cloud of whiteness, like wreaths of delicate vapor one over the other, caught up here and there by clusters of odorous blossoms from the orangerie; and her long illusion veil, with the diadem of orange-buds that held something mystical in its fragrant purity. at basil’s demand the “moonglade” idea he loved was carried out by a jewel--the only one she wore--which he had himself designed, and combined, and ordered--a crescent moon of palest sapphires embedded in diamonds, and drooping from it fluent chain after fluent chain of the same gems--so exquisitely wrought that one could discover no setting--falling from her heart, over which the crescent was fastened, sideways, to the edge of her skirt in a wavy succession of softly shimmering rays, like those of a very young moon over misty water. tatiana had cried out that fiancées in france wear no gems, and this is true enough, in the real “world” of old principles and aristocratic ways, but basil had pleaded, and marguerite had declared that his word was her law; and so tatiana had yielded, laughing over her own discomfiture.
-when at last the long days of festivity were over, piotr, who, strange to relate, had displayed no jealousy of his father, had been taken to salvières for a time by régis to avoid his moping after his “little darling malou.”
-two months had now elapsed since all these incidents: the vagabondage of the voyage-de-noces was over, and marguerite’s yacht, la mauve (jean de salvières’s marriage-gift to her), was waiting at anchor on the blue mediterranean waters, a few cable-lengths from the villa, to take them back to brittany.
-“will you like it at plenhöel?” marguerite asked, suddenly, a little anxiety in her voice, for the only shadow in her happiness was the thought that perhaps her basil would miss russia and his active life there among his own people.
-“will i like it?” he laughed. “why d’you think i might not?”
-“oh, i don’t know,” she replied. “brittany is not over-cheerful with its wild seas, its storms, its bleak moorlands and rock-girt shores. i adore it, but then i was born there, you know, which makes all the difference.”
-“i find it extremely satisfactory,” she admitted, “still, i wish i were sure that you like it altogether--as much as you do russia?”
-basil threw his half-smoked cigarette far into the bushes near the sea-wall, and rose.
-“i didn’t want to talk about it; indeed, nothing was farther from my mind than to let the very essence of a surprise out of the bag, but you are irresistible, my little siren, and so here goes!”
-“what are you talking about?” asked marguerite, wide-eyed.
-“this: do you remember a certain antique ruin with many beaux-restes like your old friend madame de belbye ... a ruin, say i, perched on a lofty rock, with forests of cork-oaks and other useful vegetables unfurling their evergreen waves against the demantibulated bastions of the above-mentioned fortress, a few leagues only from plenhöel?”
-“la tour du chevalier!” she cried, her eyes dancing with interest--“la tour du chevalier! the old warhold where du guesclin dwelt, and before him dozens of other great knights of brittany, for hundreds and hundreds of years ... the finest, most romantic spot that exists or has ever existed!”
-“the same!” gravely admitted basil.
-“and what of it?” she demanded, breathlessly.
-“what of it? there’s a question to ask! what of it, forsooth? millions of workmen--you know how i despise exaggeration--millions of workmen, therefore, are even now dealing with those mossy ancient stones, those tottering battlements where your hero ... and other heroes--you have such a collection of them, by the way, marguerite--enough to make one horribly jealous--”
-“were not one the chief and dearest of them all?” she interrupted him.
-he bowed, his hand on his heart. “thanks, my lady-love, queen of my soul. those tottering battlements, as i was endeavoring to explain--well, in short, the workmen are cementing their reunion. flocks of decorators under the guidance of the most distinguished viollet-le-duc of our period are at this very instant evoking the past, poring over documentary evidence in black, and red-letter, tearing their hair and rolling their eyes, and laying back their ears in the endeavor to put together again la tour du chevalier as it once reigned over the border--la tour du chevalier, for one chevalier ‘gamin,’ whose home in brittany it is to be.”
-with a cry of delight marguerite jumped up and threw her arms around her husband’s neck.
-“oh! you fairy prince! aladdin of the wonder-lamp! do you mean it? is the tour du chevalier to come back to life for my sake? really? really?”
-with eyes full of joyful tears she nestled against him. the dream of her childhood had come true at the touch of a magician’s wand, as it were; and he, who had not realized quite what boundless pleasure he was giving, held closely the happy little creature he worshiped. nor did he entirely understand until she told him of her rovings to the tour du chevalier from her earliest childhood, her evocations there of merlin and mélusine, and the knights of arthur riding in their splendid armor under the forest boughs. of how she had wandered untiringly in and out of the dismantled halls and roofless galleries, the enormous crackling walls of which seemed held together merely by huge clinging ropes of ivy thick as a man’s leg. ah! la tour du chevalier had been her fairest record of chivalry, her window into that mediæval period where she had lived in thought, and whence she seemed to have emerged aimed cap-à-pié with the virtues of those great ages--their heroism and dauntlessness, their generosity and nobility and faith. and wasn’t basil a proud man that day!
-but she had done it very nicely, and as he handed his master his clothes, colin looked at his shapely shoulders and broad chest.
-“you’d make an awfully good bronze statue, nino,” he said. “you’d look nice in a museum, covered with verdigris, and with an arm and leg missing. how would you like to be an antique?”
-“i like better being young,” said nino.
-colin pulled his shirt over his head.
-“so do i,” he said. “but time’s a thief, nino, and you can’t insure against his burglaries.”
-this was too much for nino’s english, and he raised a puzzled eye.
-“you understand what i mean, though you don’t understand what i say,” observed colin. “do you believe in god, nino?”
-the boy crossed himself.
-“then why are you such a dreadful bad lot?” asked colin. “don’t you know that he will punish you when you’re dead?”
-nino shrugged his brown shoulders.
-“may be,” he said, “but i’m not dead yet.”
-“nor am i,” he said. “but why talk theology before breakfast?”
-“scusi!” said nino. “but who began?”
-colin leaned against him as he stepped into his flannel trousers.
-“i did,” he said. “do you know, you’re extremely like me, nino? i think you must be a stanier. i wonder if the old fellow i’ve been reading about had an italian mistress from whom you’re descended. we both believe in god, and are determined to go to the devil.... there you are talking theology again, and i told you to shut up!”
-“i am dumb as a sheep,” said nino.
-“ba-a-a,” said colin.
-“i wonder what she finds to accuse herself of in the confession,” thought colin: “a want of diligence over her patience, i suppose....” and there, with face suddenly and involuntarily lit up at his entrance, and as suddenly clouded again, was violet.
-“good morning, everybody,” he said. “i’m late, and i’m not dressed, and i’m not sorry because i’ve been enjoying myself. darling aunt hester, why didn’t you come down to bathe? you would make the most seductive water-nymph. and why has nobody got a complexion like yours? give me a kiss, if you don’t mind my being unshaved.”
-“face like a peach,” said hester. “talk of complexions----”
-“aunt hester, we mustn’t flirt with so many relatives present,” said colin. “you’ll shock violet. uncle ronald, you look awfully fit this morning. that’s the effect of good doctor colin coming home and seeing that you took that medicine for your gout. now i’m going to make a nice dog’s dinner for myself, fish and bacon and a poached egg all on one plate. what’s everybody going to do this morning?”
-“sit in my skeleton, like that wag sidney smith,” said aunt hester.
-“well, and what are you going to do?” asked hester.
-“me? studious morning, aunt hester, over my books.”
-“books, indeed!” said aunt hester. “where’s the use of reading books when you’re young? when you’ve got to sit by the chimney-corner and keep your feet warm, then’s the call for books, for they pass the time and make you drop off and have a snooze. i’ve not taken to books yet, thank god.”
-“my dear, you talk about taking to books as if it was like taking to drink,” he said. “doesn’t she, uncle ronald?”
-“eh, what, i beg your pardon, colin,” said he. uncle ronald was not very bright at breakfast, he liked to be left alone to drink several cups of strong tea. after that he could toy with a little toast and marmalade.
-“i was only saying that aunt hester regards reading as a vice in the young, like drink, and hopes i shan’t take to it yet.”
-colin let his laughing eye dwell on ronald long enough to be assured that he took in some of this, and then on violet to see that she had arrived.... then he turned to aunt hester again.
-“one of the books i am going to read this morning is entirely about drink, aunt hester,” he said, “and nobody can guess what it is. there’s nothing but drink in it from beginning to end. guess, aunt hester!”
-“oh, one of those rubbishy novels,” said hester. “seven and sixpence worth of gibberish. don’t ask me!”
-“not a novel at all,” said colin. “every word in it is true. in fact it’s the cellar-book, and i shall see how much gin you’ve drunk, aunt hester, since i’ve been away. and then if i find you’ve drunk it all, so that there’s none left for uncle ronald and me, i shall go down to the lake and drown myself, and haunt you ever afterwards. oh lord, i wish somebody would stop me talking such awful drivel. tell us about your new patience, aunt margaret.”
-mrs. stanier folded up her napkin very neatly. she would do the same with the napkin given her at lunch. she would fold up her napkin when the last trump sounded....
-“i’m afraid i haven’t got a new patience, colin,” she said.
-“ah, the old is better. you must teach me one of your patiences someday. violet and i must learn patience, to occupy the autumn evenings when we’re alone here.”
-colin was half-inclined to reconsider his plan for sending the menagerie on tour. just as the lover is happiest when the object of his affection is with him, so dislike and contempt sun themselves in the presence of their derision, for it supplies them with fuel. it was amusing to plant little stinging darts, to speak of drink to uncle ronald, to flick violet with an allusion to their solitary evenings in the autumn, to make everybody uncomfortable with the threat that he would drown himself in the lake, for that reminded them of raymond. these darts were feathered with his gay inimitable geniality, which charmed and enchanted, with that sunniness that warmed their cold old bones, for so the point stung more smartly. certainly that allusion to the time when he and violet would be alone here gave them all something to think about....
-colin, before settling down to the memoirs again, sent for his butler and the cellar-book, and rather enjoyed the fact that uncle robert had been consuming the 1860 port at a steady average of a bottle and a half a day. he was a sodden old brute, of course, but, as drink was all that he cared about, it shewed sense to annex as much as possible of the very best, for he always, it appeared, asked for that memorable vintage. but, though it was an agreeable diversion to look at his tremulous unsightliness of a morning, it did not counterweigh the heavy burden of his presence, and he had better go.... violet would have to convey that to him, if only for the reason that she had said she would not. colin thought he had a persuasive device about that....
-all this was very trumpery, and, with a sense of turning to something better worth his attention, he took up the memoirs again, and soon found himself delightfully absorbed in them. never was there so sincere and unvarnished an autobiography; the author rejoiced in his presentation of himself. most men when they paint themselves cannot avoid dipping their brush in the medium, if not of conscious falsity, at least in that of self-deception. they view themselves with a kindly eye, they gloss over or tone down, even to the point of omission, their uglier characteristics; they emphasise what is creditable, they find a sympathetic reason for their occasional frailties. all this may be honest enough in intention, for the reason that they have hoodwinked themselves and really see themselves in such and such a light, but here colin found an honesty transcendent and diverting. for this ancestor of his had no desire, conscious or subconscious, to fashion an edifying image of himself; he had no mind to be decorated with virtuous phylacteries, and with plain deft strokes he presented this evil and sincere picture of himself. that picture was mirror as well as portrait, and it took colin’s breath away to see himself so unerringly delineated.
-....so the shepherd-boy waited on the queen next morning, at the manor of brede. he had not dressed himself up in his best, but came in his shepherd’s garb, shirt and breeches and shoes, and he carried with him his crook and a young lamb. the varlets would have driven him from the door, but that he said it was by the queen’s orders that he presented himself, and they, knowing the whims of that fiery dame, sent word to the controller of her household that a lousy lad demanded audience of her grace. “lad indeed i was,” indited the writer, “but no lousy one, for i had washed the muck of my lambing off me, and had bathed myself in the rother, and i was cleaner and sweeter than any of they. so out came the queen’s controller, a pursey fellow, and he too would have shoo’ed me away, but i told him fairly there would be trouble for him, if her grace knew that i had been turned from her door. he went to tell her grace, and presently came back faster than he had gone, and brought me speedily into the queen’s presence, me and my lamb and my crook. there she sat at the end of a great table, where she had been holding a council, and she said never a word, but watched me. so i bent my eyes on the ground, but i lifted up my heart to my lord and benefactor, and prayed that he should guide my doings, and well he counselled me. i put myself in his hands, and thought no more what i should do or say but trusted him, and i walked past the long table towards where she sat, and the rushes on the floor pricked the soles of my feet, for i had left my shoes outside. once only did i look up, and saw her still watching me, out of those sharp eyes, with their high eyebrows. how little was her face, i thought, and how red her hair, and how fine her ruff and how yellow her skin, and this was the queen of england. then i looked down again, and walked until i saw close in front of my bare toes the tip of her shoes set with pearls. and then i knelt down, and bowed myself and said:
-“‘a lamb, madam, which is the first fruits of the spring. my crook which i lay at your grace’s feet, and myself who am not worthy to lie there.’
-“then i raised my eyes and looked at her, gay and bold, as i look at the wenches, for wench she was, though the queen of england. and then once more, as if blinded by her splendour, i abased myself, and she spoke.
-“‘look at me, colin stanier,’ she said.
-“‘madam,’ said i.
-“‘well, what next?’ quoth she impatiently.
-“‘my body and soul, madam,’ said i. and i made my eyes dance at her, and my mouth to be eager.... she bent towards me, and drew her hand down my cheek.
-“‘and is your desire to be my shepherd-boy, colin?’ she asked. ‘you desire to be my page?’
-“‘i am sick with desire,’ said i.
-“‘i appoint you,’ says she. ‘i greet and salute you, colin stanier.’
-“now i had just that pause for consideration as she stroked my cheek and tweaked my chin, but even then, when i was but a downy boy, i never thought long whether i should do this or that, or should forbear, and i knew that a man fares better by taking risks than by shunning them, if he has his way to make. i knew, too, how a wench looks at a lad when she would like to be kissed by him, how her neck goes forward to him, and she turns her chin, and queen or whore they are all alike in that. so my mind was made up, and straight i kissed her cheek, for she had saluted me as her page, and was i not to salute my queen? which when i had done, i abased myself again and kissed her smelly shoe.
-“‘and i should still be the infinite gainer, your majesty,’ said i, and she laughed.
-“that good thought then was the first of the benefits which my lord gave me, and there was no whipping for me, but for the slap she gave me on the ear, and her grace clapped her hands, and in came the controller of her household.
-“‘colin stanier is my page,’ said she, ‘and attached to my person. see to it. and at the feast of easter, i will dine off his lamb. begone, colin stanier, and learn your duties, and see that you serve not the wenches as you have served me!’”
-so there was colin stanier who last night had been among the ewes translated as at the wave of a magician’s wand into the queen’s page. he returned home only to take from its hiding-place the bond he had signed, and within a week he had his fine new clothes and was in waiting on his mistress. never for a moment, such was the conviction that inspired the record of his swift advancement in the favour of the queen, and in the idolatry, no less, of the court, did he doubt to whom he owed his amazing good fortune. swiftly he acquired the art of reading and writing, and by the next easter time he was the queen’s page no longer, but her private and confidential adviser and secretary. the same felicity which had marked his first audacious dealing with her in the character of wench, never failed him, but he had a true appreciation of her fiery magnificence and courage as well as of those aged tendernesses of a childless woman who makes an idol of a boy or a lapdog to quench the thirst of her virginity. no lapdog indeed, was colin, he could stand up to her in her foaming rages with her ministers, when they gave her spiritless advice in her dealings with trouble at home and political crises abroad, and with an oath she would say, “i cannot abide their twittering diplomacy: i shall go my own way, for when all is said and done i am queen of england. eh, colin, am i not in the rights of it?” and she tweaked her secretary’s rosy ear, as he sat at her elbow. very often she was not in the rights of it, and then colin would indicate further arguments, prefacing them by saying, “as your grace has sagaciously told us, there is this too to be considered,” with such deftness that, though she had but so lately affirmed the flat contrary, he would make her believe that she had pointed these things out herself. whoever rose or fell in that fickle favour, colin remained there firmly rooted, and his advocacy with the queen was the surest way to secure the granting of a boon, or the lightening of her displeasure.
-“sheer blackmail,” said colin to himself, as he turned the page. “and he delights in it. that was half the fun. i wonder what my lord of leicester paid him!...”
-while he was yet but five and twenty, the queen created him earl of yardley, decorated him with the most noble order of the garter, and bestowed on him the monastery and lands of tillingham, where soon he built the house of stanier. she often told him that it was time for her colin to take a wife to himself, but in this, with a sure wisdom, he positively refused to obey her, saying that venus herself had no charms for him while gloriana’s light was shed on him; and thus, though he disobeyed the letter of her grace’s command, she did not disapprove of the spirit which prompted his obstinacy. but he sought and copiously found consolations for his celibacy, and he devoted a long section of his memoirs to the account of them and of the diversions of his bachelorhood. he gave a list of the women whose favours he sought and obtained, “but indeed,” he commented, “it was they rather who sought me, though i was nothing loathe, for youth is the time for pleasure,” and enumerated their charms or their defects. as in his dealings with my lord of leicester his favours must be paid for, “though i accomplished some pretty seductions for my own pleasure of which i was speedily weary.” never a hint of love, of devotion, or of affection seemed to have dawned on him; he sought his own pleasure and profit, and what above all made to him the spice of these adventures was their wickedness.... he described at length how the spectacle of the love and devotion between a certain sir james bland and his young wife irritated him, and how, with a view to wrecking it, he first made friends with the husband, thereby to gain an intimate footing in their house, and cover his ulterior purpose, while he made himself cold to his friend’s wife. “she was accustomed to draw the eyes of men after her, though she had no eyes for any but her lord, and it piqued her to see i was indifferent to her. presently, for all wenches are alike in heart, she must needs lay herself out to attract me and i softened towards her, so that there were not three gayer folk in all london than this devoted pair and their attached friend. this way and that i drew her into my net, so that she cooled to her husband, and became weary and restless and discontent. and then my lord and benefactor whispered to me that the time was ripe, and before long nought would restrain her but she cast herself at my feet, and so i gave her her way once or twice, but very soon she was tedious to me. but i was very merry all that month.”
-colin threw back his head and laughed. “i was very merry all that month” ... how well he knew the inward glee that this old kinsman of his must have experienced at the accomplishment of this pleasing design. he had been in harmony with himself all that month: that was what made him merry. and of course when the thing was done, it was done, and who, that was truly alive, cared to dwell on an achievement? he had bitten into the fruit, and swallowed its mellow flesh, and now there was but the rind and the stone, which he spat out. there were plenty more such fruits when he felt thirsty: no need then to mouth the stone and squeeze out the last drop of juice from the rind. naked cruelty and the pleasure of seeing others suffer gave the savour to this and other adventures, and he described how he had gone to see a recusant tortured on the rack, till the joints were wrenched from their sockets.... colin could understand that too.
-he got up out of his chair, stretched himself and strolled to the window which looked out over the terrace and the lake. there was aunt hester sitting in the shade of the yew-hedge looking like some foolish autumnal butterfly, and close at hand on the terrace was dennis in his perambulator. some day colin would read these memoirs with him and explain what he did not understand. there would be some years to wait yet, eleven or twelve perhaps, till dennis had been a term or two at school. that kneaded the dough of a boy’s mind: it was ready then to be moulded: it was soft and pliable and leavened.... then violet came out of the house, she stood close to the window out of which colin looked. she did not see him for her eyes were on her son.
-“take him out of his pram, nurse,” she called, “and see if he can get as far as me. dennis! come to me, dennis.”
-dennis was lifted out paddling in the air and set down on the terrace. again violet called, and he looked this way and that, unable to localize the sound, though recognizing his name. suddenly he saw his mother, and giving a crow of delight staggered towards her.
-colin forgot about the memoirs for a moment. there was violet stooping down with arms outstretched to the boy, her face all radiant with motherhood and love, and, at the sight of her, colin felt that exasperated impatience which love always provoked in him. it was not for anything that dennis could give her, that this beam transfigured her, it was just because he was dennis. from her he looked at the child maintaining that difficult balance, which every moment threatened to topple, and there, too, in that dimpled laughing face, bright with the glory of this heroic adventure, there shone the same. that was even more exasperating to his mind. while a child’s intelligence was as elementary and undeveloped as this, there was this instinct triumphantly asserting itself. love seemed to be as natural as breathing, and far more natural than walking.
-dennis had now got on the high seas: the safe harbour of the nurse with the perambulator was to him hugely remote, and equally remote was the harbour for which he was steering, and though he was progressing bravely across the billows of this perfectly level sea, the awful loneliness of his position suddenly overcame him. he staggered, he put his advancing foot in a most untenable position, collapsed on the ground, and sent up a signal of distress in a piercing yell. before colin knew what he was doing, he had opened the window.
-“not hurt is he, violet?” he called.
-she looked round, her face still all aglow. but her brightness faded as she saw him.
-“oh no, i’m sure he isn’t,” she said. “put him on his feet again, nurse. come, dennis, you’re half way already.”
-colin waited a moment longer, till the adventure outside was happily accomplished, rather astonished at himself for having taken any notice of it. he had felt, he supposed, just a sporting interest to see whether dennis would stay the course: he was sorry when he came to grief. then he went back to his far more congenial occupation.
-he embarked now on the account of the building of stanier, and the collection of its treasures: this, for the next two years, was clearly the great diversion and achievement of his ancestor’s energies. the queen’s death, which occurred when he was thirty, was but casually mentioned, with a shrewd recognition of her greatness, and an impatient gibe for her vanity, and a congratulation for himself for having used her weakness as a quarry for the building of his own wealth and splendour. her last gift to him was the great sapphire, that flawless and unique stone, which the queen had worn every day when her fleet was out to meet the armada. priceless in itself, it was supposed to be a talisman which brought its owner prosperity in all he undertook. after her death there had been an attempt on the part of the crown (renewed again when the hanoverian dynasty came to the throne) to repossess itself of the jewel, on the grounds that it belonged to the regalia, and so could not be bestowed, but both times these efforts had failed, and the winking cornflower splendour still reposed in the jewel-safe at stanier, a queen’s gift worth a king’s ransom. “lucky it was,” said the memoirs’ author, “that so few days before her grace’s death i had so mightily pleased her, for that was her last and noblest gift to me, and that was the finest fruit that i had plucked from my bargain. to my lord and benefactor i owe it, who shewed me how to please her grace so mightily that she gave me the most precious of all her jewels.” equally cursory was the mention of his marriage with the daughter and heiress of sir john reeve, though he gave a detailed list of property which this ill-fated young woman brought to the house. two sons were born to him, and soon after, having secured these great estates, he secured his wife’s divorce, and presently married the only daughter and child of lord middlesex. she gave him no further heirs, but brought considerable addition to his estates. “an unseemly woman,” so ran her husband’s comment, “and of a most unseemly temper, of which i would have none. she was red as a fox, but rich.”
-but these events (apart perhaps from the birth of his two sons) were no more than acts of routine in his career, his passion was the creation of this palace and pleasaunce of stanier. only twelve years had elapsed between the day when he had gone, a bare-footed shepherd boy with his crook and his lamb, to wait upon the queen at brede, and now at her death he retired from court life and came back, earl and knight of the garter, to his estates at tillingham. his father’s farm was close by, where the “drunken old sot” still lived, and colin, coveting it for the completion of his gardens, found a way to dispute the ownership, claiming that it was part of the monastic land devised him by the queen, and turned the old man out. he gave him, however, a decent enough dwelling-place for a man of his station, and adequate maintenance, and further allowed him to draw on his brewery for unlimited ale, making only the provision that the old man should never attempt to see him or obtain access to him: otherwise his maintenance should be withheld. this indulgence in the matter of the brewery may have been kind in intention, for assuredly the old man was fond of beer, but the effect was that he did not long enjoy the bounty. he was oftener drunk than sober, and, before the year was up, he had a stroke of which he died. meantime the great house was rising rapidly, and in two years was complete up to the lettered balustrade, where you might read in latin that, unless the lord built the house, their labour was but lost that built it, and into it lord yardley poured the treasures that he was constantly acquiring: oriental carpets, and french tapestries, chinese porcelain, greek marbles, and italian pictures: all arts and ages were sought by him, for there was kinship in all fine work, and a greek relief of heracles and hylas might be flanked by a crucifixion by tintoret on one side, and a portrait by rembrandt on the other. he made, too, a wonderful collection of occult and magical books, that told the student how he might acquire supernatural powers, and among them was a missal, as colin read “of wondrous blasphemies”.... out of doors the work was pushed forward with the same expedition: the great terraced garden to the south of the house was levelled and stepped and encircled by the yew-hedge: below, the dam was pushed out across the dip of the valley in which had stood the house of his youth, and the lake formed. he planted, too, on the bare upland east of the house the oaks that flourished there now.
-at this point in the type-written manuscript, there came an annotation directing him to a certain page in the original memoirs, and colin turned it up, and found that it referred to a loose sheet in the book dated 1642, which was the year before the author died. on this page was a rough sketch of the house and gardens as designed then, and as they existed now, but with the addition of certain buildings which apparently had never been erected. but while the plan of the house as it stood was only roughly indicated, this addition was drawn with considerable care and detail. it looked therefore, as if, after the completion of the house, this building was contemplated and planned, but never carried out. it consisted of a long passage, leading out of the room where he now sat, which had always been lord yardley’s private room, and communicating with a small house that stood, at the distance of sixty yards, on a knoll just outside the gardens. it was one-storied, and consisted of three rooms en suite labelled ‘parlour,’ ‘bedchamber,’ and ‘dining-room,’ with a kitchen and quarters for a servant. but on the south side of it there was a spacious oblong room, equal in length to the three rooms adjoining, with a descriptive word attached to it. this was only faintly pencilled in, and was difficult to decipher. the initial letter ‘s’ was clear enough: the second might have been ‘o’ or ‘c’: then came a long letter that might have been either ‘t’ or ‘l,’ followed (with room for another letter between) by ‘arium,’ which was distinct and legible. colin puzzled over this, and then a very reasonable solution struck him; the word no doubt was ‘solarium,’ implying an open gallery, facing south on the long side, as this did, and either open to the air or fronted with big windows, a winter-sitting-room, a sunning place.... simultaneously, with a laugh, the significance of this discreet little establishment struck him. no doubt it was intended to be the quarters of the companion for the time being (for he soon wearied of each) with whom lord yardley solaced his leisure. there would be an impropriety perhaps in her being actually housed in the same dwelling as his wife and his sons; convenience and propinquity were alike served by her having her pleasant little establishment (with its solarium) at a short distance from the house and communicating with his own room. the interpretation was reasonable, simple and entertaining, but, to be sure, it did not seem very characteristic of his ancestor’s methods to be so tender of the feelings of his wife, and guard the morals of his sons from loose presences, and though colin was pleased with his explanation and his decipherment of ‘solarium,’ he was not quite satisfied with it, and put a slip of paper in the place, meaning to refer to it again. he turned back to the type-written copy, of which now not many pages remained for his perusal.
-there was a short description of how, on the coming of age of his two sons, they each chose to be associated with the bargain he had made in the shepherd’s hut, and indeed, from the few details given about their characters and their escapades, the choice could not have been a matter of much difficulty to these young gentlemen. the younger, in especial, attached to the court of his majesty king james, seemed to have been as perfect and appalling a young rogue as even his father could have wished. then there followed the entry that to-day was the author’s sixty-ninth birthday, and, thanks to the ever-constant goodness of his lord and benefactor, his health and strength were still unabated, and the pleasures of his youth still his. he blessed the day, now fifty-one years ago, when he had chosen so wisely and well, as the parchment, now preserved in his strong-room, testified, “how would i rejoice,” he wrote, “to build some shrine in honour of my lord, where i would worship him who has wrought so great benefits upon me, some sanctuary, where i might worthily adore him”--and then suddenly in the middle of a sentence the memoirs came to an end.
-colin put down the last sheet of the manuscript, and leaned back in his chair. he felt as if, narcissus-like, he had all the morning been regarding himself as shewn in this elizabethan mirror of his ancestor’s confessions. it was his own spirit so undeviatingly reflected there, and the contemplation of it was an act of self-recognition. all that he had read was a three hundred year old portrait of himself, even as he might have sat for the great picture in the hall, into the frame of which was now inserted the signed parchment of the bargain. whatever was the literal and the material truth about that (his ancestor, clearly, who might be expected to know, confirmed it) there could be none about its spiritual authenticity. no-one who had seen the memoirs could possibly have any doubt about that, and colin knew that he, like most others of his race, eagerly associated himself with the bargain. he knew, too, that his choice was solid and real and no fantastic imagining; there was god on one side, there was satan on the other. he had rejected god, and, not only for the benefits attached, but because he preferred evil to good, he had chosen satan. hate and evil were dear to him, he had no use for love.
-he put the manuscript in a drawer of his table, and with it the original copy of the diary, for he was not satisfied about the plan of that establishment with the ‘solarium.’ it seemed unlikely.... but if the word which designated that building was not ‘solarium,’ what on earth could it be?
-colin went back to his room after the invariable rubber of whist that evening, with the intention of studying this plan more minutely, but, though the others had gone upstairs, he was not surprised to hear his door open, and violet asking if she could speak to him. indeed, he almost expected that interruption, and he smiled to himself when she entered....
-there had been a horrid little scene at the close of dinner, a dovecote-fluttering in the menagerie, arising from colin’s having instructed nino to dispense the wine, and to be lavish in his ministrations to uncle ronald’s glass. the wine in question was dagonet 1880, to which he was incapable of putting up the smallest resistance, and nino did his duty so thoroughly that uncle ronald had got on very quickly, and had told a story which might possibly have passed with a snigger in a smoking-room of broad-minded men. even aunt hester, who was as broad-minded as most people, had said “better hold your tongue, ronald: you’re disgracing yourself,” while that perfect piece of patience, aunt margaret, bridled and folded her napkin, and diligently perused the menu-card which she had so neatly written out, though at that period of dinner its information was obsolete.... and then, when the women had adjourned, uncle ronald, having been told that there was not much 1860 port left, had partaken so freely of what there was, that he had become wonderfully voluble about the old days when he and his father used to sit here together. colin had taken nino’s place as dispenser of wine, and so sedulous was he that uncle ronald presently lost the power of coherent speech altogether, and, when he tried to rise, leaned lamentably against the table, and was assisted upstairs by the butler and nino, which again was quite in accordance with the tradition of the house. colin had joined the ladies alone, and said that his uncle had gone to bed with a nasty cough, such a troublesome cough, which made him feel a little giddy, and clogged the free functioning of the vocal chords.
-all this, of course, was directed against violet, who must be taught that if colin expressed a wish that she should undertake some little mission, like telling her father and mother that they must no longer consider stanier their house, she must be a good wife and obey....
-colin was just unlocking the drawer where he kept the memoirs when she entered, and he hailed her with a smile and a word of welcome.
-“that you, vi?” he said. “have you come for a little talk? that is nice. sit down.”
-she looked at him in silence as he brought the book out, continuing to stand.
-“i thought i told you to sit down,” he said.
-“no, i’ll stand,” she said.
-he glanced at her still smiling.
-“you had better do what i tell you,” he said. “that’s right. how simple, isn’t it? now what have you come about? it’s something tedious, i suppose. about your father, eh? wasn’t he horrid at dinner? he made me blush for his dyed hair. such a story! awful for you and aunt margaret. granny, too, at her age! and the servants.”
-she looked at him again in silence, then dropped her eyes.
-“i suppose it is your plan to make him tipsy every night,” she said, “until i tell him that he and my mother are not to come back here after their visit to aix.”
-colin nodded at her with that sunny smile of his.
-“absolutely correct,” he said. “how well we understand each other, dear! and you’ve come here to tell me you’re going to be good, and do as you’re told. is that it?”
-“yes. i can’t sit by and see my father as i saw him to-night. what do you want me to say to him?”
-“oh, just that. say that you understand that he’ll be settling down in london for the autumn, or for ever and ever.... just a little tact and pleasantness.”
-“colin, it’s awfully hard on him,” she said. “he and mother have practically lived here since their marriage.”
-“yes, darling: a nice long visit, as i said yesterday. he must put his name in the visitors’ book, saturday, 1890, or whenever it was, till monday, 1913. and though i don’t often criticize you, i must remind you that you shouldn’t always think of yourself.”
-“what do you mean by that?” asked she.
-“i’ll explain. you’ve got no real filial feeling for either your father or mother, and that pricks your conscience. so, to mollify that smart, you take their side and want them to have a comfortable home here. that doesn’t cost you anything, and it gives you an atoning feeling inside. it is your cheap manner of making amends to them.”
-there was just that grain of truth in this which made it impossible for violet to deny it completely. she had not consciously thought of that, but, when he pointed it out, she knew it was so. there were plenty of other reasons, kindliness, affection, compassion, which prompted her, but he with his amazing subtlety had put his finger on the smallest and meanest of them all.
-“you are an adept at seeing the worst side of everybody,” she said.
-“would it be rude if i suggested that the reason for that is that the worst side of people is so much more to the front than their best?” asked colin. “we all put our worst foot foremost.... and then think of dennis, vi. would you like him to have among the early recollections of his boyhood the memory of his grandfather telling bawdy stories and reeling up to bed after dinner in a squall of hiccups? and then, last and least, there’s myself. your father bores and disgusts me. i hinted to him that he was not perhaps such a fixture here as he seemed to imagine, and now, please, you’re going to repeat that timid conviction, so that he may see that on this, as on every point, we’re at one. mind, the suggestion has got to come from yourself not from me: otherwise he will think that i have asked you to make it. now we’ve spent too much time and speech already over a trivial matter. you think i’m a brute, but then you often do that. i’m used to that: getting almost callous about it.”
-he held up the sheaf of typed pages which had occupied him all the morning.
-“i’ve had a delicious day,” he said, “for i’ve been reading the memoirs of old colin. i had them type-written, and they’re entrancing. he realized himself so wonderfully. there was neither false shame nor conceit about him. he was neither proud nor the reverse of being such a devil. i thought of letting some learned antiquarian society publish them. odd, isn’t it, how all the puritanical, pure-minded people, chiefly women, who shiver and are shocked at what they call a bad man, and won’t visit him or have him to dinner, and heave any sort of brick at him, greedily devour any indecent memoir, and simply roll in it, like dogs when they’ve found some putrescent muck.... you’d have thought that, if they shudder at wickedness, they wouldn’t care to read about it. but they say it’s the historical interest that makes them devour it, which isn’t true. it’s the insatiable fascination that wickedness has for prudes. however, the memoirs are enchanting: they ring so absolutely true: you feel you are looking at the very man himself. i even found myself believing in the literal truth of the legend. sit down and dip into them, darling; you won’t find a dull page anywhere. meantime i’m puzzling out a curious plan of some projected addition to the house, which he never executed.”
-“i won’t read them to-night,” she said. “it is rather late.”
-“very good. i won’t insist on that as you’ve been a good girl otherwise. but you must read them some day. i want to know if a certain thing strikes you as it struck me.”
-“what is that?” she asked.
-“why, that old colin was a sort of prophet. i felt all the time as if he was writing not about himself but about me. how types repeat themselves: there is another character he mentions which so closely resembles someone we both know. old colin’s father in fact, ronald stanier, whom he describes as a drunken old sot. good night, darling. not a kiss? i suppose i don’t deserve one. you’re punishing me for being such a brute.”
-she paused at the door. there he stood, looking gaily and yet wistfully at her, with his mouth a little open, and the soft fire of his youth burning in his eyes, and she yearned for him. surely it was not only his beauty that she adored, that physical perfection of him. there was somebody, surely, imprisoned there, who called to her through the bars of his nature and its love of evil and its hate of love. as often as she had tried to reach that prisoner it was as if the guardians of his soul, monstrous and terrifying, pushed her panic-stricken away. she hated and feared them, and their ruthless wickedness, but in spite of them she knew that she would never cease from trying to get past them, and rescuing him who lay there in iron bondage.
-she turned back into the room, her eyes troubled and eager, full of love, full of fear. some gust of inspiration came to her.
-“colin, you hate love,” she said, “and i can’t help giving it you. i pity you so, you know; all my heart pours itself out round you in pity. you’ve tried to kill my love, but you can’t. it’s so much stronger than either you or me----”
-he whipped round on her.
-“good lord, you must have misheard me,” he said. “i asked you for a kiss, not a sermon. but i don’t want either. go to bed.”
-the door closed behind her, and he stood there a moment, simmering with anger and contempt at her undesired homily, with its puerile message. he could have laughed at the idea of love being strong: love was the most helpless and defenceless of all the pieces on the savage chessboard. it was vulnerable at every point, you could wound it wherever you thrust at it. any clumsy stroke penetrated and made it bleed. or you could rope it down to the rack, and quite without effort pull the lever that wrenched and distorted it, and made it white with silent agony.... but how strange that just now violet should give vent to gabble like this, when a moment before she had shrunk from him and his brutality in his dealings with her and her father! in her small way she was like the martyrs praising and blessing god, as their limbs writhed with anguish, that they were accounted worthy to suffer for his sake. she was like that comely smoothed-limbed s. sebastian in the gallery, for which nino might have been the model, who seraphically smiled while he was being made a pin-cushion for arrows. certainly colin had tried, as she said, to kill her love, and often he had wounded it, though none of those thrusts, it would seem, had proved mortal.... he shrugged his shoulders; there were plenty more weapons in his armoury. above all, there was one which as yet was not ready for use, for its blade was still soft and unannealed. but he wondered if her love would survive the thrust when dennis was a sword of wickedness in his hand.
-he brought out again the sketch-plan that had puzzled him, and examined it through a magnifying glass. certainly the word which he had conjectured to be ‘solarium’ did not stand this closer scrutiny, and now when he looked again at the plan itself, this oblong room, thus conjecturally labelled, could not be a solarium, for on the south, where you would expect it to be open, or to present a row of big windows to admit the sun, there were but two very narrow apertures marked there. at the east end, however, there was indicated a very big window, which took up nearly the whole length of the wall.
-colin turned his attention to the written word again. ‘solarium’ it certainly was not, for the second letter was a ‘c’ surely, not an ‘o,’ and there was a faint cross-stroke over the ‘l’ which made a ‘t’ of it, and another letter, quite illegible, preceded the final ‘arium.’ “s,c,t,” thought colin ... and suddenly a new solution dawned on him. it must be ‘s’ctuarium,’ abbreviated from ‘sanctuarium,’ a chapel, a shrine. as he scrutinized it, he was more than ever certain that he had hit on the true decipherment, but this only complicated the puzzle instead of solving it. for how was it possible to account for the author of these memoirs planning to build a sanctuary? sanctuary, however, it certainly was, and this identification explained the narrow lancets on the south wall, and the big east window.
-he considered the history of his ancestor’s last year on earth, how, as the time approached for his death, he turned to god, not from love of him but from fear of hell’s damnation. he broke off the chronicle of his iniquities, he built almshouses and indulged in fastings and charities with a view to avert the destiny that he had chosen and rejoiced in. that all fell in with the notion of his building a chapel, which communicated with his own room in the house, so that he could go there by day or night, for cowardly prayer and search for forgiveness of his trespasses. then, too, on this assumption, the little dwelling-place that adjoined it could be explained: no doubt he intended that a priest should reside there, as domestic physician of his soul.
-for the moment this hypothesis seemed to account for the whole project, and colin unwillingly accepted it. it was disappointing: it was just another instance of that collapse and cowardice which came over his ancestor, and made his last year on earth such a pitiful surrender. and yet ... why did he not then put his plan into execution, if this was the design of it? for a whole year after the date recorded on this drawing, he practised his belated pieties, and yet never a sod was cut nor a brick laid in the erection of this chapel. surely he would have hastened on the building of it with the same speed and enthusiasm with which he had built the house for his own glory. clearly, if this solution was correct, and he had intended to build a chapel here with lodging for a priest, he abandoned it. but why, if his soul was set on pieties and repentance?
-colin stood quite still, looking out on to the silent tranquillity, not cudgelling his brain with conjecture any more, but letting it lie open and quiet to the midnight, to see if, from outside or from its own subconscious activity, there did not emerge what he was seeking for. it was curious that a satisfactory solution of this point seemed of such immense importance, but, rightly or wrongly, he believed that it held some great significance.... and certainly there was a power abroad to-night, something that tingled and throbbed in his veins. it was hard to keep still under it, not to let his brain busy itself with ingenious surmise, but he had done that already to the utmost of his power, and now, with this stir of force round him, he must let himself stay passive and receptive....
-suddenly the faint stirring of the night-breeze grew stronger, it ruffled his hair, it blew the cracking, flapping blind out horizontal into the room, and the pages of the manuscript on his table whispered and shivered as if they were talking to themselves and giggling together. and then the mist that had obscured his mind was whisked away, and he knew he had the explanation for which he had been seeking. in a couple of steps he was back at his table, and, open in the manuscript he had been reading all day, there lay before his eyes the final words of it which he had read uncomprehendingly before, but now saw to contain the key he looked for.
-“how i would rejoice,” he said aloud, “to build some shrine in honour of my lord, where i would worship him who has wrought so great benefits upon me; some sanctuary where i might worthily adore him----”
-there was no need to search further: all was clear. it was indeed a sanctuary he had planned, in honour not of god but of him who had given him all that his soul desired. clear, too, at last, was the reason why he had never built it, for just then, when it was freshly planned, fear began to darken round him, and the shadows to stalk, and he turned from his lord and benefactor, and wrote no more in his praise, but prayed and fasted in impious piety.
-one o’clock had already sounded, and colin replaced the memoirs in a drawer and turned the key on them. the gust from outside that seemed literally to have blown the mist from him, so that he saw sharp and distinct across the sundering centuries the purpose of this design and the sure reason for its abandonment, died into stillness again, but the night seemed charged and alive with consciousness. all day he had put himself to soak, so to speak, in the spirit that infused these memoirs with so sympathetic a vitality: now, even when the book was finished, it was friendly round him, stimulating and quickening him, so that reinforced with its vigour the idea of the physical refreshment of sleep seemed ludicrous. to sleep was to abandon your consciousness for the sake of its recuperation: it was the expression of his consciousness that he needed.
-he put his hand on the low window-sill, and vaulted out on to the terrace, where he had watched dennis’s early essays in locomotion. in the stillness, past and present seemed melted into one: the centuries no longer represented the movement of time, they had not been borne away on its stream, but were static as if portrayed in a picture. it might have been on this very night that the original bargain was made, it might have been here and now that his ancestor was devising the sanctuary on the little plateau that lay among the oaks which he had planted. in the moonlight colin could almost visualize the windowed corridor that had been planned to run from the corner of the room which he had just quitted, till it joined among the trees the west wall of the sanctuary. what a symbol would that shrine have been of old colin’s life, what a jubilee of the dedication of himself! there without doubt he intended to celebrate those satanic rites, that worship of evil for evil’s sake in which they, to whom the sacred service of love was a thing abhorred and derided, renewed their allegiance to the enemy of god, and in the blasphemy of the black mass drew near to their lord and benefactor, who strengthened and refreshed their souls. the shallow, the indifferent, who just made as pleasant a pilgrimage as possible out of life, or who, from vague instincts, tried to be good, or merely fell into evil because they were weak or self-indulgent, could have no part in that: it would be savourless as bran to any who had no living belief both in god and in satan; for blasphemy signified nothing to souls who did not hate the sublime majesty of love. they who took part in its dark mysteries were they who believed in god, and who, by their deliberate choice, rejected and hated and defied him. old colin would have been a fit worshipper there, had not that senile panic, hoisting the white flag of his surrender, overtaken him before his bond was due. it was a craven, pitiful end: it was not love of his life-long enemy that drove him to that camp, but fear of him who had so magnificently befriended him.
-colin had wandered in the moonlight past the end of the terrace, and now stood on the plateau, where, according to the plan, the sanctuary was to have been built. round him rose the tranced forest-trees, the grass, drenched with dew, glimmered like a spread sheet of moonstone. then, suddenly springing up again, the wind warm and caressing made the branches of the oaks whisper and sway, and through him ran a great exaltation. he raised his hands, spreading his arms out wide.
-“o lord and benefactor,” he said. “how will i rejoice to build a shrine in honour of thee....”
-colin woke from his dreamless sleep next morning, to find nino’s hand on his bare shoulder, gently stirring him. his clothes were in a heap on the floor by his bedside, for when he came in he had but stripped himself and wrapped a sheet round him in which, cocoon-like, he had lain unstirring. he was conscious of a strong glow of happiness as he was thus recalled, and his lazy strength came soaking into him.
-“oh, nino, what a nuisance you are,” he said. “you spend your beastly life in waking me.”
-“will you sleep again, then?” asked nino.
-“no, the mischief is done now. what’s the morning like? what’s the news?”
-“a telephone message from mrs. hunt,” said nino. “she would know if she may come down to-day for sunday.”
-colin grinned. the moment nino had said “telephone message” he had guessed from whom it came.
-“well then, she mayn’t,” he said. “damned cheek! it would never do, would it, nino?”
-“she will be very happy, she said, if she may come,” observed nino.
-colin raised himself a little, and drew his hand down his arm. the fact that he had decided that pamela hunt should not come, made him see causes for re-consideration.
-“just rub my arm,” he said, “i’ve been sleeping on it, and it isn’t awake. of course, if it would make her happy, that’s a different thing. we ought always to make people happy, nino, except when we’re making them miserable. tell her she can come then. what’s the morning like?”
-“splendore,” said nino.
-“i shall bathe. i wish you’d carry me straight down to the lake and drop me into it.”
-“sicuro,” said nino.
-colin looked at him, yawning.
-“get on then,” he said, wondering what he would do.
-“right about turn,” said colin. “march.”
-nino carried him as far as the door, and was evidently perfectly ready to bear him, with the sheet folded round him, down to the lake. he held him as easily as a child, and his face was all wreathed with merriment.
-“i am your nurse,” he said. “you are my bambino, signor.”
-“oh, but this won’t do,” he said. “put me down, nino. people would think it so odd. there are enough oddities in the house without our adding to them. and go and telephone. don’t keep a lady waiting.”
-“but i was busy attending to my signor,” said nino.
-“i know. you’re a good boy. you shall come off to capri with me before long. follow me down when you’ve telephoned. i know there’s something i want to ask you about, and i shall remember it when the water has awakened me.”
-as colin ran downstairs, he was in two minds again as to whether he should allow pamela hunt to be happy or not. their friendship, quite a recent one, had been founded on laughter and good looks and high spirits, but, since then, he had become aware that she was searching for more from him than that, was digging below those flimsy foundations of liking and laughter for something more profound. he did not really care about her in the least, but she was eminently ornamental, and he liked the bland unscrupulousness with which she pursued her way. her suggestion, indeed, that she should come down to stanier for the sunday, where she knew he was in retreat in the bosom of his family, had a daring innocence about it which was rather attractive. their friendship had already been a matter of extensive public comment in london, and it showed a charming disregard of the usual conventions that she should propose to share his domestic tranquillity. it was no secret from him that she was in love with him, and he was guilty of no fatuous gratification about that. in fact it seemed to him a pity, for he had nothing whatever for her, and beyond doubt she was getting serious and eager. however, she had proposed herself, and he had permitted it, and, after all, there might be some amusement out of it, some chilling disappointment for her, some ludicrous dénouement derived from his own indifference or, possibly, exasperation if she became tedious. he had not given her the smallest encouragement but that of laughter and chatter, and, if she chose to attempt to hunt him down, any consequences were of her own seeking. then, too, how would violet take it, in case some kind friend had whispered warnings to her? it might be an amusing sunday.
-he stepped out on to the terrace, already grilling in the sunshine, but it looked less real now than a few hours ago under the moon. the stage then had been alive with dark forces brewing drama, whereas now, in this sane freshness of day, it was mere paint and pasteboard, like that same stage seen next morning, when the actors had left it, and no drama vivified the splendid setting. but as he walked along the terrace to the yew-hedge it gained reality again. just there would be the windowed corridor, and there close at hand was the plateau among the oaks. yes, it was growing real again.
-and at that he remembered what he had wanted to ask nino. a couple of years ago when he was staying for the night with the very lively little english consul at naples, who had shewn him such curious neapolitan diversions, he remembered his having said something about a cabaret, in a room behind which were held certain satanic rites.... possibly nino might know, nino had much gay native knowledge of an unexpected kind, and had many local stories to tell of the doings of the monstrous emperor tiberius, who took such wonderful holidays from the cares of state in capri. these satanic rites were as old as religion itself: in fact they were the earliest form in which religion, the belief in the supernatural, appeared, for originally the supernatural was an evil power to be propitiated. it was later that mankind had conceived of it as beneficent and loving....
-colin was out of the water when nino came down.
-“well, have you made her happy?” he asked. “what an age you’ve been, nino!”
-nino’s mouth twitched, and broke into a smile.
-“sis-signor,” he said. “she is very happy.”
-“and what are you grinning at?” asked colin.
-“she thought it was you at the telephone,” he said. “she thought i had gone to fetch you.”
-“and what did she say?” asked colin.
-nino schooled his mouth into gravity.
-“she said--scusi--but she said ‘colin, darling, how perfectly sweet of you!’ so i said ‘signora,’ and i think she understood for she--she rang away.”
-“rang off,” said colin, “you’re thinking of ‘ran away.’”
-“she is running away here,” said nino.
-colin lay back on the grass.
-“why do men get in such a fuss about women?” he asked.
-“chi sa? there are plenty for all,” said nino.
-“yes. tell me more tales such as you told me at capri about tiberio.”
-“why does the signor love to hear of tiberio? he was a fat old man.”
-“yes, but full of ideas. he liked wickedness: the sort of man who would worship the devil.”
-“italy’s a very wicked country,” said colin. “i believe they worship the devil still in naples.”
-nino crossed himself.
-“so it is said.”
-“why do you do that?” asked colin. “i don’t believe you really think it protects you. it’s only a habit. tell me about the worship of the devil in naples.”
-“i know little,” said nino, “and though others find it diverting, i would not find diversion in it. why do they want to behave like street boys, and make faces at holy things? and it is not prudent. may not lightning strike them, or madness come on them? there are many things which the priests say offend il padre, which are diverting. but this is not one of them.”
-colin gathered up his knees in his arms, his skin still shining with his bathe. what nonsense, as he often thought, were the english ideas of ‘class.’ here was he, talking to his own valet on terms of perfect equality, and nino accepting that as perfectly natural, though had colin next moment said “get me my shoes,” nino would have jumped to his feet, his most obedient and respectful servant. these southerners had fine breeding in their bones, whereas so many englishmen of his own class had only got it on the skin. his brother raymond, for instance, what a howling cad compared to nino! or uncle ronald last night, telling a smoking-room story, so that one really sickened at his grossness. nino talking about the much more awful deeds of tiberius was not gross at all. he was only gay.
-“nino, why do we talk theology before breakfast?” he said. “we did yesterday, and here we are at it again to-day. i was very theological last night: i suppose that’s it, and this is an overflow.... but don’t you see that it’s diverting to defy il padre, and be rude?”
-“no, that is not diverting,” said nino.
-“well, everyone must go to the devil in his own way. so if i wanted you to do something wicked, which didn’t divert you, i suppose you would refuse?”
-“i shall always wish to please you,” said nino.
-“well, you can please me now. i want to hear about the black mass. i think it might make me happy. have they a book? have they a missal?”
-“yes,” said nino.
-“nino, you’re rather annoying. you’re becoming serious.”
-nino shook his head.
-“i have no use for it,” he said, “and indeed i know little of it. they have a book, there is a priest, but he must be one who has been turned out of his office. but where is the good of it all? it is enough for me to do what is diverting, and wipe my mouth after, till i want to be diverted again.”
-colin reached out for a towel. the mere fact that nino found something revolting in the idea of the black mass was naturally a reason for causing him to interest himself in it, but if he did not feel the fascination of defiance, he could be no true worshipper.... and somehow nino was so perfectly delightful as he was: it might spoil the gaiety of his paganism to tamper with his instincts. he only cared for diversion, there was no devotion about him....
-“nino, we’re wonderfully alike in some ways, as i’ve told you,” he said, “but we’re wonderfully different in this. i don’t believe you like hurting people, for instance. that’s where the difference lies.”
-“not if i am fond of them; only when i hate them,” said nino.
-“oh, you’re no good,” said colin. “give me my shirt.”
-nino scrambled to his feet, and held it up for him.
-“have i displeased you?” he said.
-“no. you’re a nice boy, but i believe you want to go to heaven when you die.”
-“sicuro,” said nino.
-colin mentioned casually at breakfast that pamela hunt was arriving that afternoon.
-“she telephoned this morning,” he said. “so of course i said we should be delighted. i forget if you know her, vi.”
-he, violet and aunt hester were the only three down yet. the latter looked up from her well-furnished plate, for aunt hester always had a fine appetite for breakfast, and couldn’t bear the silly rubbish of those who said they were better without. whether violet knew her or not, it was evident that aunt hester knew something about her....
-“pamela hunt coming here!” she said. “well, i never!”
-colin turned to her with his most radiant smile.
-“what is it that you ‘don’t ever,’ aunt hester?” he said.
-lady hester returned to her plate. she had no desire to make mischief, but really, the way pamela hunt had run after colin, and his perfect readiness to be caught!... they were always together: the whole world noticed it.
-“well, i hope we shall have a fine sunday,” she said.
-colin, shooting a glance at violet, saw that her attention had been aroused. probably it could not fail to be aroused when pamela arrived, but what on earth had that to do with this old victorian creature, whose morals, as everybody knew, had been of the most indulgent order in her own affairs? her old age and her wit had begun to whitewash her now, but it was a little too much that she should wish to change her name to mrs. grundy. it wasn’t nearly such a pretty name as hester brayton, nor did she look the part. however, he would deal with that soon.
-“i hope so, too,” he said. “we’ll go to church together, aunt hester, and sing ‘a few more years shall roll.’ that’s so encouraging, isn’t it? good morning, uncle ronald. your cough’s better, i trust.”
-uncle ronald presented a rueful appearance. people ought not, thought colin, to be allowed to spoil the appearance of a room like this. presently aunt margaret joined them: all the menagerie was here now except grandmamma.... he turned to aunt hester again, with all his sunniest good humour.
-“aunt hester, you’re got up to kill,” he said. “i never saw anything so saucy as your hat. should i look as nice if i wore a hat at breakfast? i think i shall have breakfast in a bowler. have you been out already?”
-aunt hester felt encouraged.... it had been a mistake to make that ejaculation on the subject of pamela hunt, but it had ‘popped out.’ but colin bore her no grudge, bless him: such a good-natured boy, he was, and she felt it would be quite easy to speak to him after breakfast, and beg him to reconsider the propriety of letting that baggage come down here. of course staniers weren’t saints, and she herself wasn’t a prude, thank god, but to bring that wench down here with violet in the house was a ‘bit thick’ as they said nowadays....
-“and now, my dear, i’m going to talk to you like a mother,” she said.
-colin took her arm.
-“ah, do,” he said. “that’ll be lovely.”
-“well, my dear, you’re doing what you shouldn’t,” she said. “all the world and his wife have been talking of the way that pamela of yours is running after you. don’t think i blame her for that, for that’s her business and yours and nobody else’s. but everyone’s been saying that you and she--well, with that snuffy old husband of hers, no wonder she’s wanting to make the most of her youth.”
-they sat down in an encampment of chairs under the trees. colin had wanted an excuse for getting rid of aunt hester, and she was evidently going to give him one.... it was so pleasant of people to dig their own graves. his eyes were soft and gay as he spoke.
-“dear aunt hester!” he said. “go on.”
-“my dear, you’re charming to me. i was afraid you looked vexed for a moment when that silly speech of mine popped out. so there it is--and it ain’t quite decent of you, my dear, to bring her down with violet in the house. i don’t know what your relations with the woman are, though of course you’d tell me there are none, but whether there are or not doesn’t affect it. you oughtn’t to have her down here, for, even if violet knows nothing about it now, there’ll be a host of kind friends to tell her, when they know that pamela’s been to stay at stanier, and it makes a fool of her. don’t you ever make a fool of anybody, my dear, for they’ll heave it back at you sooner or later. that’s my experience.”
-colin felt a sudden inexplicable impulse of affection for this damaged old butterfly, which ought to have been hybernating. she was such a pagan, and she had enjoyed herself so in her time, and she had shrewd wicked little eyes like an elephant. but that softening towards her only made him impatient of himself, and he rallied against this insidious intrusion. just a little more from her first.
-“i suppose you’re right,” he said.
-“yes, my dear, i am, but it’s nice of you to listen like this to an old woman like me. you ring her up, or get that young italian ruffian of yours to ring her up, and say you’ve got the influenza. i’ve not forgotten what it’s like to be young and kick over the traces a bit, but down here you know....”
-colin sighed. he had got rid of the intrusive affection. she was just like an improper little doll.
-“there’s one thing i want to know, aunt hester,” he said.
-she looked at him a moment. really he was the handsomest and most attractive boy she had ever seen. anyone so endowed ought to have carte blanche to do as he pleased.
-“tell me, my dear,” she said.
-“i will, as we’re talking so pleasantly and confidentially. i’ve been wondering what the deuce you’ve got to do with it. i believe i’m master here: i fancy i can invite anyone i choose. perhaps i’m wrong: perhaps i’m only a dummy stuck at the head of the table, and the place is run by a syndicate of aged relatives. certainly it seems to be, for there’s uncle ronald drinking the cellar up, and telling me he couldn’t dream of leaving granny, and there’s aunt margaret, as adhesive here as a postage stamp, and now there’s you dictating to me about my morals and my guests. as for what you tell me the world and his wife say, how can you expect me to be interested in the gabble of a pack of your foul-minded old friends? you always liked gossiping in the gutter.”
-colin jumped up from his chair, and shook off aunt hester’s hand which lay on his arm. cruelty is a whet to itself: it grows sharper with use.
-“do you know, i’m not going to stand it any more,” he said. “i’ve already told violet to get it into uncle ronald’s head that he mustn’t expect to be here all the rest of his life, and now i tell you the same. you’ve got houses of your own and you can all go and live in them. as for telephoning, if there is any telephoning to be done, it’ll be you to telephone to your housekeeper to say you’ve got influenza and are coming home. i don’t want you to do that; i hate rushing things. but if you stop here a day or two longer--i shall be quite pleased if you do--you must first apologize for your damnable interference in things that don’t concern you. really, aunt hester, for you to set yourself up as a guide to the young, is just a shade too grotesque.”
-“i’ll be telling my maid to pack,” she said.
-“just as you please,” said colin.
-“that’s what i please,” said she.
-colin felt a spasm of impotent fury with her. he could not have been more invincibly brutal, but he had not won. she went down with her flag flying, she was sinking unsubdued.
-“goodbye, my dear,” she said, “i was always devoted to you, and i thought you liked me. but you hate me, else you couldn’t have spoken to me like that. i’m sorry i was wrong about you. and i thank you for my visit.”
-“so good of you to have come. aunt hester,” he said.
-violet had come out of the dining-room and was now close to them.
-“i’ve got to go up to town, my dear,” said aunt hester, turning her back on colin. “i must see to my togs.”
-violet cast one glance at colin, who stood there all debonair and smiling.
-“but you’ll be back this evening?” she said.
-“no, my dear, not so soon as that,” said aunt hester, and tripped off to the house.
-violet turned to colin.
-“has anything happened?” she said. “why is aunt hester going?”
-colin followed the retreat of the sprightly little figure for a moment in silence. then with a sigh he looked at violet, shaking his head.
-“it’s all wretched,” he said. “yes, aunt hester’s quarrelled with me. she took it on herself to tell me i had no business to ask pamela here. she said everyone believed i was having an affair with her, and that it was an insult to you to ask her here. now that doesn’t happen to be true. do you believe that, darling?”
-violet looked at him with that direct limpid gaze, so like his own.
-“if you tell me so, of course i do,” she said.
-“i do tell you so,” he said. “even if it wasn’t true, what on earth has it to do with aunt hester? but her talking to me like that--she called it talking like a mother--gave me the opportunity i wanted, so i told her i was tired of being ruled by aged and parasitic relatives. i said i wasn’t in a hurry for her to go, but that, if she wanted to stop a bit longer, she must apologize. so she went to pack. that’s all.”
-“oh, colin, poor old thing!” said violet.
-“me, or aunt hester?” he asked.
-“aunt hester. she didn’t mean to insult you.”
-“i suppose then she did it by accident,” said he. “if so, she ought to have said she was sorry. how about the others, by the way? have you spoken a seasonable word to uncle ronald?”
-“yes. he understands. he and my mother are thinking of going to-day. they would be off on monday anyhow.”
-“golly: the animals are going out three by three,” observed colin. “you and pamela and i will be à trois. a quiet peaceful sunday. i hope it will be fine, as aunt hester said.”
-violet turned towards the house.
-“i must go and see aunt hester,” she said.
-“what for? to commiserate with her for having a brutal nephew?” asked colin.
-“no, colin. to say i am sorry she is going, but that, if she can’t see her way to apologize to you, there’s nothing else to be done. i believe what you tell me, and, that being so, she has wronged you.”
-“and supposing now i told you i was in love with pamela?” he said.
-violet’s eyes wandered away from him a moment, and mused alone.
-“i believe that at the bottom of my heart i should rejoice that you were in love with anybody,” she said.
-colin’s beautiful mouth curled with derision.
-“god! that’s the last word in wifely devotion,” he said.
-“but it’s true,” said she.
-ronald and his wife had decided not to alter their plans, but to stay till monday, and thus pamela’s arrival left the party numerically as they were. but her presence brought into it some sort of emotional intensity; flippant as was her speech, violet divined a certain force behind the flippancy, below her wit there was will. certainly she was extremely good-looking, black of eye and hair, olive in skin, a wonderful contrast to the fairness of staniers. and flippancy and force alike, wit and will, were all shooting at one target....
-“london is getting addled,” she was saying. “it always does half-way through july. the hens, that is the hostesses, sit and sit and sit, but nothing comes out, except a few engagements of their sons and their daughters, or rather of their fathers and their mothers. that would be nearer the truth. there was a summary of the ages of newly-married people in the times the other day. there were six over seventy, three over eighty, and one of ninety-two.”
-“deaths, surely, deaths,” said ronald. pamela had been making him feel young: he was glad he had settled to stop till monday.
-“no, dear mr. stanier, marriages,” she said. “the people who died were much younger, i noticed it particularly. how do you explain that, colin?”
-“that marriage keeps you young is the only explanation,” said he.
-“no, my dear, you don’t grasp it. they were already wonderfully old when they married. being old keeps you young is the only explanation i can think of. we must get old: otherwise we shall die instead of marrying.”
-“and what was the age of the babies who were born on this remarkable day?” asked colin.
-“how can you ask? babies are the oldest things in the world. you can’t compute their age, it is infinite: they are age itself. but by degrees, through experience, they get young. we come into the world all red and wrinkled, and we go out all white and wrinkled. we’ve been bled, that’s all.”
-all the time, violet felt, she was talking at colin. these sprightly trifles, unreal as stage-dialogue, were but the steam that rose over what lay below. whether she addressed ronald or his wife or violet herself, the steam blew always towards colin. she talked impartially to one or another, just as she looked impartially at one or another, so that out of that very impartiality she might look at colin, too. but on him her hovering glance settled for a moment. a woman always did that if she was in love with a man. she talked here and there, she glanced here and there, in order to make it natural that she should glance everywhere. but when she came to the face that she sought, she hovered no longer, but, just for a moment, she settled.
-as certainly violet knew that colin was not in the least in love with her: he had never spoken a truer word than when he had told her that. he was amused with her, he looked long and very openly at her: he did not disguise his admiration. but he had no secret message for her, as she for him.... lady yardley’s voice broke in: she had been perfectly silent throughout dinner.
-“why is hester not here, colin?” she said. “has this lady who has been amusing us all come to live here instead of hester?”
-colin nodded to violet, who rose.
-colin took a delicate pleasure that night in not allowing uncle ronald to drink more than one glass of port. he had told violet that he would make him tipsy every night till she did as she was told and informed her father that he was not to regard stanier as his home any longer; now, since she had been obedient, he would see that uncle ronald was lamentably sober. he could play whist to-night in fact, and violet and her mother must make up the table for old lady yardley. this left him and pamela free, and presently he strolled out with her on the terrace.
-“it was delightful of you to propose yourself,” he said, “though, upon my word, i felt it was very selfish of me to let you come. how can i prevent your having a fearfully dull sunday with nobody here? you’ve missed aunt hester: she adds a little spice sometimes to the plain family pudding.”
-pamela glanced up at the noble façade of the house. “and to the suburban villa,” she said. “no wonder you adore it. be it ever so humble, colin, there’s no place like home.”
-colin had been reflecting what he should do with pamela. he had seen all that violet saw, but his opportunity did not allure him. she was magnificently handsome, but she conveyed nothing to his senses. she was all very well as a unit, in the general crowd; she talked nonsense, she made him laugh, but he had no earthly use for her beyond that. he knew very well what she was after: what she was after walked by her side now, and his own entire indifference to her made that appear an unwarranted liberty. in his summary of her, she wanted--that was so characteristic of some women’s love--she wanted to possess him, by making herself indispensable to him. that was the way a woman worked. she put it that she gave herself to a man, whereas in reality she aimed at just the opposite, for she meant the man to give himself to her. she wanted always to undermine a man’s independence, and subject him to herself. she used her beauty, her wit, her short skirts, her powder-puff all for the same end, to enslave him to his desire for her. that sapped his strength, it sheared him of his manhood, even as delilah cut samson’s mane, so that he was helpless in her hands. a woman’s avowed abandonment of herself, her yielding, her weakness were all fetters of steel with which she cramped and enchained the man: her weakness, indeed, was precisely her strength. and she called this rapacity tenderness! it was the tenderness of a leech which softly fastens itself and softly clings till it is satiated with the blood of its victim. then full-fed it drops off.
-thus at any rate he judged her quality, a quality greedy and common, that called itself self-surrendering. she was out for what she could get, and colin had a certain sympathy with that, for it was sensible and intelligible. it had not, at any rate, anything in common with violet’s love for him, which sought to give and not to get. that was wholly alien to him: its manifestations bored him, its spirit, just because it was so unintelligible to him, he hated and defied.... pamela was not like that, nor again was she light, she did not think of this physical desire, which she called love, as a diversion. had she offered him a part in a comedy, he might have accepted it: comedy was a pleasant pastime. but it was not that which she wanted: she was engaged, so he construed her, on nefarious designs against his liberty: and these must be met with counterplots, which would lead her on to some final debâcle.
-they paused a moment as she looked up at the house. the moon to-night had only just risen, tawny and large on the horizon.
-“yes, i adore it,” he said. “it casts a spell on us all, you know. i would sooner be here than anywhere on this earth, but, as you know now, there are certain drawbacks to it.”
-“drawbacks? shew me some,” she said.
-“ah, you’re too polite. polite pamela.... but imagine what dinner would have been like if it hadn’t been for you! granny, uncle ronald, aunt margaret----”
-“my dear, you’ve left out violet,” she said. “i think she’s too fascinating.”
-colin saw that his counter-plot was positively opened by her. he put his arm through hers.
-“i feel sure you have seen,” he said, “and i’m sure you’re sympathetic. give me a drop of pity, pamela. that’ll be rather healing, and then we’ll be gay again.”
-“but pity? why pity?” said she.
-“violet detests me,” he said. “yes, i know you saw that, and naturally you couldn’t say it. but it’s said now. it’s sad, isn’t it? just a little sad? it’s not her fault: any more than it’s my fault that i love her. and i suppose i shall get used to it. they say one gets used to anything. wounds heal if you give them time. but, oh, how easily they’re torn open again! look, here where we stand in the shadow of the yew-hedge is the very spot where violet first kissed me: it was here she said she would marry me. come away. i bleed.”
-he saw her eyes sparkle and soften. they sparkled first: that was the genuine symptom. then they softened: that was womanly sympathy. her arm just pressed his encircled hand, and that perhaps was both. all this he read so easily, with that adeptness derived from the birthright of his inheritance. no saint of god could find good in people with such dexterity as he could find evil.
-“my dear, i’m so sorry,” she said. “i hadn’t seen, more shame on my blindness. and really it never occurred to me that sorrow could come near you, for you always seem so robed in joy.”
-“i’m glad. i mustn’t lose hold on joy,” said he quickly. “but what atrocious manners i’ve got! there’s nothing so thoroughly rude and middle-class as to tell your friends of your troubles.”
-“there’s no greater compliment that you can pay, than to do just that,” she said. “but i should never have guessed, colin, you’re a wonderful dissembler.”
-“i’m a wonderful grouser,” he said. “grouse too, pamela. be sociable: tell me the secret sorrows of your domestic life.”
-“you know quite well i haven’t any. my husband and i are the greatest friends. whenever we meet, which is about once a year, we have the most delightful talk, and always hope we shall meet again soon. in the intervals we hear of each other occasionally. i hear about his little affairs, and i suppose he would about mine if i had any. but i can’t behave as so many women seem to.”
-colin gave a little shudder.
-“i should hate you if you did,” he said. “don’t make me do that.”
-that certainly was not part of pamela’s plan.
-“i promise that you shan’t for that reason,” she said. “but we won’t talk about me.... oh, colin, i hate your being unhappy. what can be done, my dear? you’ve got so much, too: you’ve got so many people who are devoted to you.”
-he looked at her with eyes brilliant and wistful.
-“have i?” he said. “i don’t feel as if i had. people are friendly, i know, but i am only one in a crowd to them. they come down here in shoals in the autumn--next time you come, you shall really have some more amusing people to meet.”
-she interrupted him.
-“no, don’t do that,” she said. “the shoals of amusing people aren’t anything to me.”
-“ah, that’s nice of you,” said colin.
-they stood there a moment in silence: then he turned quickly to the house.
-“we must go in,” he said. “granny will have finished her whist, and then my uncle likes a chat in the smoking-room. you never knew i was such a domestic character, did you, pamela?”
-“i always knew you were a dear,” she said. “and you do like me a little, don’t you?”
-colin, when he found himself alone--uncle ronald was gloomily consuming whisky to make up for the dearth of port--was as pleased with his terrace-talk as his companion had been. there was the little side-show (gratis) of representing himself as yearning for violet, but that was only an antechamber, so to speak, which he and pamela were passing through, and there she saw him, the gay trappings of his brilliance stripped off him, hungry for love. and already pamela--how well he read her--was at his side. closer and closer must she get till she could not exist without him. all the time she would be posing as the consoling friend, the healer of wounds, and all the time to the truer vision she would be the hunting leopard hungry for the hot blood of its prey. and just as she thought she had got it, it would be the prey somehow that turned on her with derision and mockery. with the exact manner of that furious turning of the tables, colin did not trouble himself: it could not be settled now, for it must depend on developments. before long he would be going out to capri: he might ask her there perhaps, for at capri everything always turned out well. how often had he made plans, lying there on the beach between the bathes, and how surely had their accomplishment justified the design! the fruit was not ripe yet, though the moonshine on the terrace had brought it on towards maturity. to-morrow ought to be a nice growing day, too....
-what a high morality he would then exhibit, and how delightful would be the mockery of it! his plan, thus vaguely outlined to himself, was a derisive parody of morality, in which a decent married man would be seen resisting the improper seductress: what could be nicer? it would be a veritable tract about a messalina and a galahad. and then you looked closer, and saw that hate and the desire to hurt twitched in every gesture of galahad. there was the cream and felicity of it, for it would all be a defiance of love, a campaign of hostility and rebellion.
-colin stood up, stretching himself slowly and luxuriously. he had taken out again from its locked drawer, the plan of that annex which his ancestor had never erected, to study it further, but there was really no need of that. he had sent for his architect to come here on monday morning, who must get to work on this outlined sketch-plan, and devise something in the style of the house, using old brick and weathered stone and timber. that would all be talked out on monday, and the building of it begun at once. for to-morrow’s employment there was church in the morning, where he always read the lessons if he was at home, and after that there were fruits to be ripened, and very soon after that, certainly during this week, he would go off with nino to capri, for a month of basking and bathing and, he made no doubt, a moral interlude, for he meant to ask pamela to visit him there. and researches must be made in underground naples: that red ridiculous consul, mr. cecil, would have to lend his friendly offices. he would get him to come over for a night to the island.
-colin looked round his room. just there the door would be pierced that led into the corridor communicating with the sanctuary.
-colin woke from his siesta very gradually. he had not the slightest idea when the first faint glimmerings of consciousness began to return, where he was. he scarcely knew who he was, and with a deliberate quiescence of mind he tried to prolong this vague sense that what lay here was alive and happy, without orientating it or attaching it to any fixed point. nirvana, he thought, must be like this, mere awareness of existence and content.
-but this nirvana began spontaneously to break up: from outside his window a whisper of wind and a stir of sun-winnowed air spiced with indefinable southern odour flowed across to the bed where he lay in shirt and trousers, and at the end of his bed, very curiously, he saw two bare feet. it was still unconjecturable, to his drowsiness, to whom they belonged and what they were doing there, but now a fly settled on one of them, and he made the great discovery that it was his own foot which twitched to dislodge it. this snapped the chain of his identity round his neck and he knew he was colin. then the hot southern scent and the whisper of wind in the pine outside localized him, for nowhere else, but in that beloved villa on capri, did a pine whisper like that. yes, he was in capri: of course he was, for he had arrived late last night, and had spent the morning in the sea.
-when once the sluices of sleep were raised, memories began to pour through, and he let them flow as they would without direction. he had come here first only two years ago with his father, and instantly his italian blood had initiated him into the magic of the south; the lizards basking on the walls, the grey olives, the stone pines, the steep cobbled ways were as home-like, even when he saw them for the first time, as the thrushes that scudded across the lawn at stanier, and the yew-hedge and the lake. of course his father’s presence, and his father’s devotion to him, had been tedious at times, but he had borne that very indulgently. then he had come here with violet on his honeymoon, and here she had begun to learn something of his real nature, and that cold terror she had of him, which so inexplicably existed side by side with her love, had first laid a finger on her. strange, to think how that hand of ice had never frozen her love, nor squeezed it out of her heart.... and then he had come here a third time, after raymond had been drowned, but had stayed here only one night, for waiting him--welcoming him?--was the telegram to say his father was dead. he had not wanted his father to die exactly: he was quite content to wait a few years yet, but how his heart had leaped to know that already, while he was not yet of age, his great inheritance had come to him. surely capri was a lucky spot for him: yet was there, where he was concerned, such a thing as luck? luck, as it was generally understood, was a fitful visitor, with rare capricious advents, and long absences. but with him it abided always.
-colin yawned, till the whole half-circle of his milk-white teeth was disclosed, with his tongue lying like a curved rose-leaf between them, and when his mouth closed again, it closed into a smile. he slewed himself off his bed, and barefooted stepped across the cool tiled floor to the next room where tea was waiting for him. this siesta through the hot hours of the afternoon, when it was impossible to go out, made two days out of each twenty-four hours; you awoke as to another morning, with body refreshed and brain alert. already the sea breeze was stirring, and the westering sun was off the front of the house, and presently, cup in hand, he strolled across to the window, and pushed back the closed green-slatted shutters, which had kept the room cool during the heat. in came the flooding freshness, spiced with sea, and chasing before it the stagnant air of the house which had been darkened against the tropic blaze of the noon. it heralded the approach of the caressing italian evening and the star-sown night.
-nino entered to clear away the tea-things. the house was entirely run by him and his family in true italian fashion, for his sister was housemaid and his stepmother, the second that his father had provided him with, was cook, and she was abhorred by the boy with a genial intensity, for there would be no patrimony left when his father had finished with this brisk succession of wives, each of whom feathered her own nest before she died.
-“well, nino, and how’s mamma?” said colin.
-nino, who had been audibly exchanging compliments with his stepmother in the kitchen, drew his eyebrows inward and down, and muttered something which with certain prudent expurgations indicated a pious wish about desiccated and barren stoats.
-“well, you wouldn’t like her to be a fruitful stoat,” he observed.
-“scusi, but i would,” said nino, “for surely she would die in childbirth, and there would be one coffin for the two.”
-“i thought i heard you kissing in the kitchen,” observed colin.
-“i would sooner kiss the gridiron,” said nino.
-���well, go and kiss the gridiron then if you prefer it. and take the tea-things away, nino. and when you’ve finished kissing the gridiron come back. i want you.”
-the southern smile broke through. colin could always make nino smile, even when the stepmother was in the picture.
-“sis-signor,” said nino. “i will kiss the stoat and the gridiron.”
-“we shoot stoats in england,” said colin, “and hang their corpses upon trees.”
-“eh, she’d look nice on the pine there,” said nino. “but, dio, the stink, when the scirocco blew!”
-nino departed with the tea-things to kiss his stepmother or the gridiron or anything he chose. that was the true spirit in which to live here; you never bothered your head as to what you were proposing to do; you just did exactly as you liked whenever an amusing opportunity suggested itself. and yet it was a wonderful place in which to make plans, thought colin. you lay on the beach after your bathe, and without effort your brain seethed with ideas. the sun seemed to liquefy the contents of its cells, and the secret juices, scarcely known to yourself, oozed out in the clear broth of thought. and fruitful too, was the night, when the wind whispered in the pine, and the great furry-bodied bats with wings of stretched black parchment wove silent circles in the air....
-there was a power abroad then, colin knew well, and if you were in tune with it, you caught, like some wireless receiver, strange messages from the midnight. not less surely did he know that there was power abroad for those who sought it, whenever above the altar the lamp burned before the tabernacle that held the sacramental food, which is the bread of angels. but unless your heart lay open in faith and loving adoration, the power which in itself was infinite was no more than a fragment of wafer, or a sip of wine: faith set that vast engine of love and redemption at work, and across the sky, from horizon to zenith, the worshipper beheld how christ’s blood ‘streamed in the firmament,’ and adored the divine miracle. so too with the power that whispered in the pine and poured itself out on the midnight: unless you believed in it and by faith laid hold on it, there was for you nothing there but the night wind and the wheeling bats.
-there was the truth of the legend, a truth eternal and irrevocable, a matter of choice, not for him alone but for the whole world. he could not so passionately have loved evil, if he had not known there was a definite choice to be made. he might have drifted into any sort of sin and self-indulgence from the mere fact that they were pleasant, but the only thing that could have given him his furious zest for evil in itself, was the terrible conviction of the existence of god. if evil had been the dominant power in the world, he would, without the sense of choice, have lain and soaked indolently in it, but he chose it because he loved it, and because in its service he defied love.
-colin made no pretence of doubting the existence of good and evil and the original living causes of them. they were principles perhaps, but since they certainly lived, and daily and hourly manifested themselves, he could not conceive of them otherwise than as persons. with the same faith that he believed in the power that inspired evil, he believed in the power that inspired good, which had once been incarnate in man, and in some mysterious way suffered for the redemption of those who desired it. for those who believed (and colin was among them), he was love, infinite in power, but choice was given to every man, and his sacrament of love, to those who abhorred love, became the sacrament of hate and the adoration of evil. those who had chosen thus could receive it in mockery of love, and to them their derision was an act of faith, through which they dedicated their powers and their will to the service of evil, and drew therefrom the strength that inspired them.
-these thoughts were no more than the steam which ascended from the bubbling liquor of his mind, and he did no more than just watch, for this idle moment as he waited for nino’s return, the familiar wreath. and here was nino’s step on the stairs, and it was time to put these general principles into practical shape. he had come to capri, no doubt, primarily, for a month of that basking amphibious life, which always put him into harmony with himself, but there were other projects as well which now, in strict accordance with these principles, presented themselves for execution, projects no less dedicatory than diverting.
-“nino, we’re going to have two visitors here,” he said, “and we must arrange about them. mr. cecil is coming from naples to-morrow for two nights and next week there comes the pretty lady, who’ll bring a maid. let’s go round and inspect.”
-the villa was deficient in accommodation for more than a very small number of persons, for colin, during this last year, intending it to be no more than his own hermitage, had thrown rooms together, and had converted a spare bedroom into a bathroom. downstairs, therefore, nowadays there was only the kitchen, and the long vaulted dining-room, originally two rooms. upstairs there was a large studio running the length of the house, the bathroom, nino’s bedroom, with colin’s next door, and, en suite, the sitting-room with the balcony where colin had been having tea, and a slip of a room beyond, opening out of the sitting-room. this latter would do for pamela’s maid, but where was pamela to go? nino’s stepmother and sister always went home in the evening after dinner, returning again early next morning.
-“i’m afraid you’ll have to turn out, nino,” said colin, “while pretty lady is here, and go home in the evening with your dear gridiron. then you can make love to her on the way.”
-“grazie,” said nino.
-“or scrag her in the dark,” said colin. “no, you mustn’t do that, or how should we get breakfast next day? but what room can pretty lady have except yours? i’d sooner have you in the house, though.”
-the fell prospect of walking home every evening and coming back every morning with his stepmother sharpened nino’s wits.
-“the signor does not really want that sitting-room next his bedroom as well as the studio,” said he. “could not that be the signora’s bedroom while she is here? then she will have her maid next door.”
-“good boy,” said colin. “we’ll do that. there’ll be the maid at the end of the passage, then pretty lady’s bedroom, then me, then you. and you won’t be able to flirt with the maid without passing through the signora’s room. very good for your morals, nino.”
-“if it is the maid the signora brought to stanier, she is like a broomstick,” he said.
-“then don’t fly away on the broomstick,” said colin. “well, that’s settled. but when you’re married, nino, i shan’t turn out of my sitting-room for your wife....”
-colin was always charming to those who were in a position to serve him, and mr. cecil found a most cordial welcome when he arrived next day. he was a convivial little cad (so colin would have described him), gratified that lord yardley should have asked him to spend a week-end at his villa, and delighted to get out of that frying-pan of a town for a couple of days. in person he was a round red bachelor, with a taste for wine and obscenity. colin supplied the one, and mr. cecil had as his contribution a considerable fund of local lore not quite suitable for children. usually dinner was served under the pergola in the garden, but to-night the weather was uneasy with hot puffs of scirocco, and instead they ate indoors. in this heat it was impossible to shut the windows, but the venetian shutters were closed and little blasts of hot moist air, entering through the slats, hovered and fluttered bat-like about the room.
-“yes, yes,” said mr. cecil, mopping his flushed forehead after the relation of one of these curious episodes, “a bad piece of work. but picturesque, undeniably picturesque. my belief is that the girl was possessed. that sounds a queer thing to say in the twentieth century, when physiologists have proved that every disorder of mind or body alike is due to some microbe, but what microbe covers the facts, eh? shew me the microbe, that’s all, and let it produce that effect again on a guinea-pig.”
-colin pushed the decanter towards his guest.
-“awfully curious,” he said. “and it would be even more curious to see a guinea-pig behave like that girl. lord! wouldn’t it look funny? besides, aren’t there diseases and disorders of the spirit, as well as those of the mind and body?”
-“of course there are. what makes one fellow a saint and another a devil? is that a microbe?”
-“the microbe that makes a man a saint is a devilish rare beast,” he said. “i never saw a case of sanctified possession, did you? but possession, yes. the devil was in the girl: give the devil his due. anyhow, they believe in him in italy, don’t they? evil eye, all that sort of thing.”
-colin spoke in the lightest possible manner, flicking the ash off the end of his cigar.
-“yes, and it goes much deeper than that,” said mr. cecil.
-“how interesting! you mean they take the devil really seriously, as a force to be reckoned with, to be fought, or sided with?”
-“quite, quite,” said mr. cecil. “fought, of course, in general: the church has a very strong hold.”
-“and, by exception, sided with,” said colin. “the direct worship of satan really goes on still, doesn’t it, in--in holes and corners?”
-mr. cecil evidently did not like the subject more than nino. by now the puffing wind had increased into a roar, which rattled the shutters, and screamed round the corners of the house.
-“one does hear of such things,” he said.
-the hot wind strangely exhilarated colin: he felt it tingling in him; he vibrated to its friendly violence. on nino, who entered the room now to see if the signori were not disposed to quit the table, so that he might clear away, it seemed to have an opposite effect. like all natives he detested scirocco, and looked jaded and washed-out.
-“black mass, for instance,” said colin to mr. cecil.
-nino, at colin’s elbow, clicked his tongue against his teeth. colin turned round.
-“oh, don’t hang about, nino,” he said. “go to bed: you look cross and tired. you can leave the things here till the morning. good night.”
-nino had no answer for him, but sullenly withdrew.
-“your servant doesn’t seem to like the subject,” remarked mr. cecil. “he looked as stuffy as a thundercloud when you mentioned the black mass.”
-“i know. nino twitters with superstition. he’s a son of the church: he fears the devil without believing in him. the black mass now. do tell me what you know about it. i don’t believe there’s anything you don’t know about these wonderful southerners.”
-mr. cecil certainly prided himself with reason on his extensive knowledge of subterranean italian life, and it was hard to resist justifying his conviction.
-“well, as a matter of fact i have some little knowledge of it,” he said. “indeed i possess a copy of the missal. an extremely rare book.”
-“ah, that’s interesting,” said colin. “what language? latin? italian?”
-“no, strangely enough it is in english. in fact the book is probably unique. it was printed in london in the early seventeenth century. how it got into a bookstall in the via maurizio i haven’t any idea, but there i found it.”
-colin leaned forward over the table, his face all alight with eagerness. such exactly might have been the missal in use in that sanctuarium at stanier, had not his ancestor turned his back on his lord and benefactor, and striven by craven acts of loveless piety to shuffle out of his contract before it became due.... now, three centuries later, it looked as if it was given to him to atone for that lamentable surrender, and here was an opportunity for the furnishing of the chapel that was already being built. sitting there, with his face vivid and eager, in the matchless charm of his youth and beauty, he looked, in contrast with the flushed little silenus opposite him, like some young god in whom was incarnate the spirit of physical perfection. surely no such gracious creature had ever been fashioned in the image of god.
-“mr. cecil, you’re the most wonderful person,” he said. “you know everything. take some whisky: what’s that damned boy of mine done with it? ah, there it is.”
-colin got up to fetch the bottle. as he rose the catch of the shutters gave way under the press of the wind; they swung wide, and with a triumphant whoop the scirocco burst into the room, like some vivid invisible presence. colin laughed aloud with exultation, and ran to the window, where he wrestled with the shutters. then, just as suddenly, there came a complete lull, and he fastened them back into place and closed the windows.
-“the wind has been wanting to come in all evening to join us,” he said. “now it has had its way, and it will be content. there’s your whisky: now tell me all about the missal. you will have to let me see it, too.”
-mr. cecil helped himself.
-“well, certainly it’s a curious book,” he said, “and i take an antiquarian’s interest in it. but naturally that’s all. to you and me, of course, it appears a mere farrago of ridiculous blasphemy, because, though we’re delighted to amuse ourselves, eh? and perhaps are not always as moral and monkish as we might be, we don’t want to be wicked for the sake of wickedness.”
-“just so,” said colin.
-“in order to appreciate what the missal and the mass mean to the worshippers,” continued mr. cecil, “we must try to imagine ourselves--if it were possible--delighting in evil for its own sake. we must realize that to such ruffians as these, evil is the mecca of their every thought and deed. they worship it, and, in consequence, detest and mock at all that you and i hold sacred, though we may not live up to our beliefs. still we hold them.”
-colin was bubbling with amusement and impatience. he wanted mr. cecil to get on, but, on the other hand, it was wonderfully diverting to hear him talk like this. he took a hand in it.
-“i think i can see what you mean,” he said. “these ruffians, as you so rightly call them, are fanatics in the cause of evil. but do such people really exist?”
-colin liked knowing that his theories of yesterday were so wonderfully confirmed, but it was all stale stuff to him: mr. cecil was instructing a master in the rudiments of his art.
-“and now for the contents of the missal,” he said.
-“as i say, it will seem to you only a farrago of blasphemy,” repeated mr. cecil, “but interesting as a human, or rather a devilish, document. it follows the english use, it is a parody in fact of the english use. the exhortation, i remember, begins, ‘ye that do truly and earnestly delight you in your sins, and intend to lead a vile life’ and so forth. then follows the confession, addressed, of course, to satan ‘we acknowledge and bewail’ so it runs ‘our manifold good deeds and loving actions, which we from time to time have most grievously committed against thy divine majesty, provoking, most justly, thy wrath and indignation against us. we do earnestly repent’ ... it follows the words of the confession in our prayer-books.”
-“but what of the priest?” asked colin. “is he really a priest?”
-“certainly; he must, as is stated in the preface, be a duly-ordained priest, on whom the church has bestowed the power of absolution and of consecration. if the celebrant was not a real priest, the blasphemy of the black mass would be meaningless.”
-“i see,” said colin. “horrible....”
-“then follows the absolution, and a satanistic rendering of the sanctus. and then we come to what the romans call the canon of the mass, and the consecration. and that really is so shocking that i can’t tell you about it. but the point is this, that when the priest has consecrated the elements, he desecrates them in a manner laid down in the rubric. that is the crowning and awful infamy. i don’t say i’m a very religious man myself, but when i came to that, i really felt the sweat come out on me.”
-all the time that colin’s eager face had been raised to his, the brightness and beauty of it was something amazing. never had he felt himself so truly in harmony with the spirit that inspired his life. here, under the symbolism of this rite, was his own spirit revealed to him, his hatred of love, his love of hate. here was the strengthening and refreshing of his soul: the renewal, mystically, of the bargain made in elizabethan days....
-he recalled himself from that flash of perception: there was mr. cecil, looking really shocked, and he lowered his dancing eyes.
-“how absolutely awful,” he said, “you make me shudder, mr. cecil. and how well and vividly you are telling it. but, horrible as it all is, i think you must let me see that missal. i’ve got gruesome tastes, you know. i like to be horrified. when will you let me see it?”
-“you shall see it whenever you like. you will be passing through naples on your way home, and i should be delighted to shew it you. we could have another bachelor evening together, as we had before. dear me, i quite forgot that you were married now, lord yardley: i should never have said that. but if you will persist in looking like a boy of eighteen----”
-colin was on fire with impatience to see this missal, but he did not in the least want to spend another evening, such as he had done before, with this sprightly elderly sensualist in the cafés of naples. passionately evil though he was, there was not a grain of coarseness in him: he had no objection to others wallowing in mere animalism, poking and giggling and prying, but he had no mind for it himself: that was not his brand. what was imperative was that he should get hold of this wonderful book without delay: literally he thirsted for it, and his thirst must be assuaged. he would want to make a copy of it, unless, as he determined to try to do, he could secure the original. he could not wait....
-“ah, yes, bachelor-evenings are not for me any more,” he said gaily. “i’m a father, a heavy father, mr. cecil, and i read the lessons in church on sunday mornings. imagine if some respectable neighbour from stanier saw me razzle-dazzling in shady places in neapolitan slums! i should be thought such a hypocrite. but this missal: couldn’t i send nino across to naples to-morrow, with a note from you to your housekeeper, telling her to look on a certain shelf, and let him have a certain book?”
-mr. cecil gave a complacent little giggle.
-“i’m afraid that would hardly do,” he said. “that book is locked away in a cupboard, and there are some other things there i should hardly like my housekeeper to see. one or two of those terra-cottas from pompeii; not quite in my housekeeper’s style. you remember her? comes from aberdeen; aberdeen granite i call her.”
-colin had to continue propitiating this dreadful little man till he had got what he wanted.
-“excellent!” he said. “what a knack you have of hitting a person off, mr. cecil. i remember her perfectly. aberdeen granite! awfully good!... but i’ve got to go to naples soon. would it bore you too much if i came across with you on monday?”
-“by all means do that, and i’ll shew you the missal. but it’s queer to me that you are so anxious to see it. what was my phrase for it just now? a mere farrago of blasphemy. that’s all it is.”
-“somehow, you’ve interested me in it,” said colin. “well, what do you say about bed? i’ve got no amusing little night-haunts to shew you in capri. we’re innocent arcadians here, mr. cecil, who eat lotuses and go to bed at ten.”
-colin shewed his guest to his room, and went to his own. the scirocco, which an hour ago had been raging, had quite died down, and he threw open his closed shutters, and looked out on to the ‘darkness thick and hot.’ that furious wind which had clamoured round the house, until it had burst open the venetian shutters, and then, as if its purpose had been fulfilled, had ceased altogether, seemed to have charged the night with power; it tingled round him in bubbling eddies.... he could hear the sea, maddened by that fierce tempest, buffeting along the rocky coast to the south, and surely not far away the wind still yelled. but just here there was calm as at the centre of some cyclone....
-colin accompanied mr. cecil to naples on monday morning, and they went straight to his house. presently the cupboard containing the objects which were not fit for the stony eyes of aberdeen granite was open, and mr. cecil drew out a very thin quarto volume, finely bound in tooled morocco, but much worn.
-“there’s your book for you,” he said. “it’s quite a long time since i set eyes on it: a fine binding, and i see, what i had forgotten, that there’s a coronet and a coat of arms on the back.”
-colin, before opening it, looked at the cover. there was an earl’s coronet, and below---- he jumped out of his chair, his eyes wide with wonder.
-“but, mr. cecil!” he cried. “this is the most amazing thing, the thing’s a miracle. those are my arms. and there’s the date, 1640, the book must have belonged to the founder of the family; the elizabethan colin, who made the bargain with satan.... no one could have put the coronet and his arms on a book in 1640, except him. he died in 1643.”
-then, in a flash, the whole history of the book dawned on him; the theory was as incontestable as a mathematical proof.
-“i’ve got it!” he cried. “as you know, he built stanier, he collected pictures and bronzes, and, as i read the other day only, in the memoirs he himself wrote, he collected a quantity of magical and occult books, and mentions among them a missal of ‘wondrous blasphemies.’ they don’t exist at stanier nowadays: probably he disposed of them.”
-“dear me, dear me!” said mr. cecil, reaching out his hand for the book. “your arms, are they? and the date, and the coronet.... yes, i see. go on, please, my dear fellow.”
-mr. cecil looked at the device on the cover.
-“well, upon my word, that does seem a very sound hypothesis,” he said. “really, if i had known----”
-“you needn’t finish that sentence,” he said. “what is in your head is that you would never have shewn it me, if you had known that it came from stanier.”
-he sat down again, and, laying his hand on mr. cecil’s arm, summoned all the charm and persuasion of which he was master.
-“i must have that book you know,” he said. “i should have tried to get you to let me buy it from you, anyhow, but now, i really have the right to acquire it, haven’t i?”
-now this reconstruction, so ably sketched by colin, had considerably increased the pride of possession in mr. cecil. it gave an immense interest to the missal to know that it had once belonged to so historical a faust as the first earl of yardley.
-“i don’t see that there’s any question of right about it,” he said.
-colin bridled his impatience. once the book was in his possession, he wanted no more of mr. cecil, who, for all he cared, could burrow in underground naples to his heart’s content, until somebody knifed him.
-“perhaps ‘right’ is too strong a word,” he said. “let’s say suitability. surely it’s very suitable that the book should go back to stanier. as for price, if you’ll tell me what you paid for it, i’ll give you five times what it cost you.”
-mr. cecil laughed.
-“i fancy i bought it for five liras, say four shillings,” he said. “i don’t know that twenty-five liras would tempt me very irresistibly.”
-“five liras!” said colin. “my goodness, i wish i had been shopping with you that day! of course, that makes my offer ludicrous. but how about getting it valued by quaritch or somebody who knows? i would then be delighted to pay you twice its estimated value.”
-mr. cecil shook his head.
-“i don’t really want to part with it,” he said. “charmed to let you read it----”
-“but i want to own it,” said colin quietly. “in fact i must. after all, it is only a question of terms. please name your terms.”
-mr. cecil, for answer, merely put the book in the cupboard from which he had taken it, and turned the key on it. colin’s insistence had increased his determination to keep the book; as a strong sub-current in his mind there was the notion that here was this enormously wealthy young man, who, for some reason of his own, intensely wanted the book. there was no harm in running up the price....
-“ah, my dear boy, you don’t understand the collector’s spirit,” he said. “he is as obstinate as a mule when he has got hold of something he values. the book is not for sale.”
-colin felt one spasm of furious rage. it was for the honour of his lord and benefactor that he was engaged, and at that moment he would have stuck at nothing to get his desire. from the depth of his heart he let some voiceless intense petition issue.
-as that silent prayer welled out of his inmost soul, his anger fell off him like dead autumn leaves, and through him there spread the clear consciousness of the presence of the power which two nights ago had infused the riot of the wind, and brooded in the calm that followed. what had made him angry was the sense of his own impotence to get what he wanted; what gave him now this sense of perfect confidence, was the knowledge that an all-encompassing power possessed him. he spoke as it was given him to speak, without thought or reflection, but with the irresponsibility of inspiration. his smile came back to his lips, and to his eyes that boyish charm and brightness.
-“ah, we mustn’t quarrel, mr. cecil,” he said. “surely you are wise enough to see that. people who quarrel with me have no luck ever afterwards, and, believe me, i should hate to be the cause, the unwitting cause, i may say, for it is none of my doing, of what might befall you. don’t force me to break you to atoms--yes, you may stare, but i mean just that, and at the bottom of your heart you know i mean it, and you’re afraid already. well you may be, for you are beginning to guess what stands by me.”
-indeed, mr. cecil was staring at him, and indeed he knew that he was afraid. as he looked, some nameless inexplicable terror began to stir in him.
-colin paused: the power that gripped him grew in intensity as he yielded himself to it, and it now completely possessed him, so that he had no volition of his own, and no consciousness of himself apart from it. once more he spoke, and though with his outward ears he could hear the words he uttered, he did not grasp their import. he was a mouthpiece only of the power that used his lips. he had no idea what he was saying: all he knew was that his voice uttered the syllables, which, as they were spoken, he heard, but which, once said, passed from his mind altogether. but as he spoke he saw mr. cecil’s face change, the ruddiness of it blanched to a deadly glistening whiteness, and suddenly, with a cry, he started to his feet, and fumbled for his keys, and opened the cupboard door.
-“stop, stop! that’s enough,” he said. “for god’s sake, for god’s sake!... here; here’s the accursed thing. take it and begone.”
-the power that possessed colin ebbed and sank, and he felt his own individuality restored to him. he did not know what he had been saying; but, whatever it was, it had been sufficient, for this gross little man was as white as paper, and, shaking, he thrust the missal into his hand.
-“that’s delightful of you, mr. cecil,” he said. “i thought, i was sure, in fact, that when i put the case to you, quite simply like that, you would agree with me. now i will take this to quaritch’s, or wherever you choose, and send you their estimate of what it would fetch at a good auction, and with that i will send you a cheque for double the amount. its value to me, as perhaps i told you, is quite inestimable.”
-mr. cecil mopped his face.
-“i will not receive a penny for it,” he said hoarsely. “it is for me to thank you for taking it off my hands.”
-“oh, i can’t accept such generosity,” said colin.
-“i must ask you to. and in your turn you can do me a favour.”
-“willingly: it is yours,” said colin.
-“then never let me set eyes on you again,” said mr. cecil.
-colin rose and picked up his hat.
-“delighted,” he said. “why on earth should i want to see you again? you didn’t think i liked you, did you?”
-he found a letter from pamela waiting for him on his return to the villa with his treasure that evening, in which she announced her arrival in a couple of days. this letter, to his mind, was thoroughly typical of her type, reeking with sub-conscious falsity, cloaking the obvious with the transparent, and pretending that it did not shew through. was it worth while, for instance, to ask whether violet was with him, when she knew so well that her visit was based on the fact of violet’s absence? and was it worth while to say that she wondered whether she had not better stay at an hotel? she knew perfectly well that she had not the smallest intention of staying at an hotel, she would not have come to capri for that. colin could imagine the blankness of her face if, when he met her, he told her that he had taken a nice room for her at the bella vista, or that violet was with him at the villa.... or should he telegraph and put her off altogether?
-he carried this question still undecided down with him to the beach next morning, and, as he swam, turned it coolly over in his mind, and, as he basked on the hot shingle, let his decision liquefy and declare itself. for himself, he did not in the least want her here, neither as comrade nor as lover had he any use for her. her beauty made no spell for his senses, and the very fact that it was his for the asking discounted it to a zero. if she had been difficult of access, he might have found pleasure in the chase; as it was, it was only himself who was being chased.... on the other hand, as he had already sketched it out, the prospect of some ludicrous and humiliating dénouement for her attracted him: it would be amusing also to play the part of the outraged moralist, the unsuspecting and devoted husband. how his face would pass from amazement to indignation, when she made her meaning clear! or perhaps some intolerable humiliation....
-he turned over on to his back, and threw an arm across his eyes, to shield them from this resplendent glare of the noonday, and let his body and limbs drink in the light and the heat. these were the allurements of the south: the hot basking and the plunge into that liquid crystal, the mouldering fragments of roman masonry, with lizards basking on them, and tufts of fragile campanula springing from the crevices, dusty roads with walled-in paths leading through the ripening vineyards, stories of tiberio, wine decanted from perettas into bottles stoppered with green folded leaves, ripe figs, and the warm dusk of evening, saunterings on the piazza among dark-eyed boys and smiling girls, gay and friendly ... all these made up the italian spell of exquisite conditions and effortless existence. to his loveless nature mere physical passion was an affair of kisses and laughter and light caresses, to be enjoyed and forgotten and renewed. if you adored a woman’s personality, you would need her, body, soul and spirit, but without love to inspire passion she provided no more than a pastime. and love was his enemy; whether it was such love as violet’s or such as pamela’s, its only office was to give quarry for his sport. he liked laying traps and ambushes for it, he liked hurting and humiliating it.... sometimes, of course, the claims of the body were insistent, you desired satisfaction, if only to rid you of its unease. just so, if you had a corn, you would go to a corn-cutter, who would make you comfortable....
-“yes, pamela shall come,” he said to himself, “and god knows in what plight pamela shall go.” that would all be settled for him, he thought, some inspiration would come, not out of his own contrivance and ingenuity, but, like those words which he had spoken to mr. cecil yesterday, out of a subtler wisdom than his. never had he been able to recollect them: they were spoken in some ecstasy, and how well they had done their work! he had seen how the man’s face changed to damp ash as he listened; would pamela’s suffer some such change?
-he raised himself on his elbow: the air over the hot white beach was tremulous with the heat; a few yards away the sea, still as a lake, sent no tiniest ripple to its liquid rims. within it, like the fire in some precious stone, a network of light played over the pebbles that lay below, and, more than ever this morning, colin was conscious of the fire within himself, which, like that radiance within the sea, made a dancing light deep in his soul. he had read and re-read that missal of wondrous blasphemies, and like faust it fed his soul. in the devotion of worship was the true expression of the spirit, and with what knowledge of its needs had the compiler framed the ritual of mockery and defiance! the vestments of the priest and his acolyte, the gestures and genuflexions with which he accompanied his acts, the atrocious symbolism ordained for the decking of the altar, all stirred the imagination to the lust of evil. those impious orisons! how they prepared the soul for the culminating act described in the rubric the very reading of which had made mr. cecil sweat with horror! to colin it had given a gasp and spasm of delight: it expressed in visible symbol the core and spirit of his being.... here was the fire and the dancing radiance that worked within him: presently, when the building which his ancestor had planned at stanier was erected, it would blaze up, a beacon of self-dedication.
-well, it was time for a final swim, for he was roasted through and through, and already nino with the boat that should take him back to the marina was approaching, and, running over the hot pebbles, he fell forward into the sea, and lay floating with arms and legs spread wide, and face submerged. his own shadow hovered below him on the bottom with flickering outline, and the water clear as air seemed to hold the sunshine in solution. for the moment the cool tingling touch made him forget the missal and the traps to be laid for love; the sheer exquisitness of bodily sensation contented all his needs. if only that sensation could be preserved in all its first sharpness, he could imagine himself happy, without his burning love of hate and his hate of love, in this nirvana of liquidness and sun.
-colin was lying full length in the shadow of the ruined walls and tumbled masonries that crowned the cliff at the east end of the island. a few yards away was the wind-bitten edge from which the huge rock plunged sheer into the sea. pamela sat by him leaning on her elbow: at the moment her hand was foraging in his breast-pocket for his cigarette-case. she would find it for herself, she said; he need not disturb himself. his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and the raising of his left arm, to make a pillow for his head, delved a cupped hollow of suntanned skin above his collar bone.
-he had just told her that this ruin of walls was one of the palaces of tiberius.
-“he had seven palaces on the island,” said colin lazily. “wasn’t that imperial? one for each day of the week, perhaps--oh, they didn’t have weeks, but it doesn’t matter--and this was the sunday one!”
-her fingers found the cigarette-case: it lay against his chest, and as she withdrew it her finger-tips perceived the steady beat of his heart. presently, when she put it back, they would dwell there again for a moment.
-“why his sunday palace?” she asked.
-“oh, just the best and biggest, the one he enjoyed most. the better the day the better the palace. he was awfully tiberian here: nino told me all about it: such goings-on! it was a sort of sunday school. he used to send for some samples of nice young things to stay with him from saturday till monday, and if he got tired of the girl he chose, he had her brought out and chucked over the edge. just as you throw away a paper bag when you’ve eaten your sponge-cake.”
-“colin, what a horrible story,” she said. “i think i had better move further from the edge, in case you feel you’re tired of me.”
-“now that’s unkind of you,” said he. “i’ve been doing my best as host, not only to amuse you but to enjoy myself, which is the first duty of a host----”
-“i wonder if you have enjoyed my being here,” she said in interruption.
-“don’t stop me in the middle of a sentence,” said he. “as i was saying, i’ve been trying to do my duty as a host, and the impression i’ve left on my guest appears to be that i am tired of her!”
-she put the cigarette-case back. even if his pocket had been full of red-hot pebbles she could not have prevented her fingers from lingering there to feel that slow steady pulsation below. but it did not quicken under her touch, and how she longed for that!
-“no, i don’t believe you’re really tired of me,” she said. “i was fishing for a compliment. but i don’t seem to have used the right bait.”
-“but, my dear, why should you fish for compliments from me?” he asked. “great friends, like us, don’t pay compliments to each other.”
-“sometimes i wonder if we are great friends,” said she.... colin waited for this train of thought to develop itself: if he took no notice of what she had said, it was certain that she would carry it a step farther, or at any rate repeat it....
-she had been here a couple of days, during which she had never let go of herself at all. she had been quite cool and comrade-like. violet might have listened to all that they had to say to each other. but to-day there had been signs that her self-control was becoming difficult to her. she had sulked--no less--at luncheon, and that was a sure sign: it always meant that a woman wanted to be asked, ever so delicately and affectionately, what was the matter. he knew quite well what was the matter, and so had not asked, but remained good-natured and maddeningly unconscious of her mood till she gave that up, and apologized for being so silent. then to make amends (as if he cared!) she had been effusive with protestations of how much she was enjoying herself, of how good it was of him to ask her here.... and now again this wondering if they were great friends indicated a certain perturbation....
-“tell me, are we great friends?” she asked.
-he knew she would ask that again: women are such damned fools, and he leaned lazily towards her.
-“and tell me!” he said. “don’t you know it?”
-his face must have reassured her, for she let her eyes dwell on it, and broke into a smile.
-“i suppose i do,” she said. “you wouldn’t have asked me to stay with you otherwise. what a bore we women must be! we always want to be reassured about the things a man takes for granted!”
-colin turned over on to his side.
-“i never take anything for granted,” he said. “it’s really much wiser not to expect anything, and not to count on anything till it’s given you.”
-he knew she would attach a certain meaning to that. she did.
-“colin, what nonsense!” she said. “why, you’re the one person in the world who always gets what he wants.”
-he sat up, plucked two long stems of grass, and threaded them together, with that rapt intentness which must mean to her that he was thinking of something else than this task of his fingers.
-“not a bit,” he said. “i have so often expected to get what doesn’t come to me, and then what comes instead is a disappointment. moral: never ask, never expect! take what is given you and be thankful, and if nothing is given you, do without it. but, my dear, i didn’t bring you up here to bore you with mild philosophical homilies.”
-he threw away his threaded grass stems, and appeared to throw away with them his unspoken preoccupation.
-“to get back to our topic,” he said, “i was telling you that tiberius pitched the favourite of the night over the edge of the cliff. i always make pictures in my mind of nino’s stories of tiberius: he tells them so vividly. it was just here it happened at dawn, when the rising sun came over the top of the hills there above sorrento so that it shone on this palace on the peak, but below it was still clear dusk. and tiberius came out of the palace, rather bored and rather sleepy, followed by two black slaves who dragged his--his discard along. then he made a sign to them, and they picked her up by the wrists and ankles and swung her once or twice and then let go. out she went, a glimmer of white limbs, like a starfish, clutching at the empty air, and turning slowly over as she fell. she passed out of the sunlight into the shadow below, and then there was a little splash, just a little white feather on the sea, and that was all. or, perhaps, if they did not swing her far enough, she would fall on the beach, and there would be no splash. tiberius peered over the edge, and then went in to have his early morning tea, or whatever they took then, and probably dozed for a little. perhaps the chill of the dawn had made him sneeze.... i shall write a picturesque guide-book to capri some day, and send you a copy from the author.”
-pamela hastened to fit herself to his mood. he did not want to talk about the only thing that interested her, which was their personal relations to each other, and she was wise enough not to bore him by an insistent return to them. men were like that; even if they were tremendously in love with a woman, they did not want to discuss it all day. they kept their other interests alive and intact: they played golf just the same, or talked politics, or ate their dinner. whereas a woman when she was in love thought about nothing whatever else. but she did not make a man any fonder of her by limiting her conversation to that. and if he was not in love with her, she ruined her chance if she irritated him by bleating. she had to be sympathetic and interested in what occupied him, if she was to get her way with him. but how increasingly hard it was to be intelligent and companionable when only one thing mattered, and it was the part of wisdom not to mention that.
-“do write a guide-book to capri,” she said. “you’re quite horrible about tiberius and his sunday palace, but you make it tremendously picturesque. you’re frightfully pitiless, you know. you haven’t a grain of sympathy for that poor white starfish. what had she done to be chucked over the edge?”
-“why, she had bored him!” said colin lucidly. “after all, what more horrible outrage can we commit on each other?”
-pamela’s mind switched back to personal matters. she mustn’t bore colin....
-“well, it was his own fault for having chosen her,” she said. “he ought to have seen she would have bored him!”
-“quite so. of course he became more savage just because it was his fault.”
-what a nuisance she was, he thought. whatever he said to pamela, she wanted to be bright and discuss it, and argue and interest him.... it was his fault also that he had allowed her to come here, and that had the same effect on him as on tiberius.
-“yes, that’s quite true. we always are angry with others when we’ve been mistaken in them or have injured them,” she said.
-colin suddenly registered the fact that he hated her. the knowledge seemed to spring from no particular source; it was blown to him perhaps on this evening breeze. in consequence he exerted himself to charm and attract her, for that was the path that led to the completest outrage and humiliation for her. he hated her passion for him, and therefore inflamed it, so that she would pay the more for it.
-“i don’t believe you ever wanted to injure anybody,” he said. “you’ve got the most adorable nature, do you know?”
-“my dear, how about compliments?” she asked. “great friends don’t pay each other compliments, you told me.”
-“well, i wanted to let you know that i had noticed it. leave it at that.... ah, look; the loveliest light of all is beginning. just before sunset sea and sky and land all get inside an opal. the hard wearisome brilliance of the afternoon fades, and you have ten minutes of pure fairyland. everything is unreal and exquisite: you can hardly believe in the beauty of it. i could almost jump over the cliff myself for the sheer joy of falling, free and unfettered, through the air. one is too much anchored when one is on land. swimming you get some feeling of being unattached to anything, but think if one was falling, falling through the air. and what does it matter if there’s death at the end? one would have had a perfect moment. fancy being happy, though only for a few seconds!”
-he sat with knees drawn up to his chin, looking outwards over the bright gulf of air, below which the sea lay blue and unflecked, and he heard her take a quick breath as she looked at him. then, turning, he saw the fire in her eyes so nearly breaking into flame.
-“fairyland!” he said. “and you look a real native of it, pamela.... my dear, ‘real native’! it sounds as if i were calling you a whitstable oyster. and then, as one fairyland fades--look, it’s going quickly--another, the fairyland of night, begins. i could sit here, at least so i believe this moment, all night with you, watching the stars wheel, and fancying i could hear the rustle of the world as it span through space, until it came out of the tunnel of the night into morning again. but you would have to be close by me. i couldn’t do it alone; i should get self-conscious, and that’s the ruin of magic. my dear, how bored you would get before sunrise.”
-he saw the fire begin to leap in her eyes, and he did not want it to burst out yet. there must be some greater abasement for her than his mere solitary derision, if he let her now say what was trembling on her lips, or if under the impulse she could barely resist she clasped and clung to him. that fire must be damped down for the present: the core of it would only grow the hotter for that.... he laughed and went on without pause.
-“what dreadful positions i put you in,” he said. “you are almost bound to say that you would be delighted to stay here all night with me, and your tongue would be blistered for that thumping lie. how bored you would be before morning! i shall get nino to come instead: poor nino, he would have to do as he was told, and i shouldn’t care how bored he was. or your maid, perhaps she would come, or nino’s stepmother. but a companion would be necessary: just somebody, just anybody.”
-she got up, stung to the quick, but colin was quite undismayed. the fire burned all right, that blast of cold air only made the core of it turn white-hot, as the surface of it for the moment ceased to glow. perhaps she was going to sulk again.... but apparently she had not found that of any use: instead, after that one moment of averted face, she laughed.
-“you’re a savage,” she said. “i wouldn’t trust myself up here for a night with you. you would get tired of me, and push me over the edge.”
-he sprang up: this was how to treat her, with romance and sweetness one moment, and the next with this callous indifference, and then with gay affection again and encouragement and nonsense till she was dizzy with desire and bewilderment and pique.
-he could play on her like a lute, which presently he would dash down and trample on. the manner of that was beginning to form itself in his mind. it would serve her right for coming to capri in this compromising way.
-“ah, you’re really unkind,” he said. “that’s the second time you’ve told me you were afraid i should commit a murderous assault on you. i’m a savage: there it is. how you bully me! but i forgive you. you’re one of those blessed people who will always be forgiven whatever they do. sunbeams of life: you melt whatever you shine on! blessed ray from that celestial luminary!...”
-colin’s sudden pomposity was irresistibly funny. he spoke with a throaty pious intonation.
-“oh, what nonsense you talk,” she said. “are you ever the same for two minutes together? just now you were in fairyland, and then you snubbed me, and now you’re a dreadful sort of parson. when are you colin?”
-colin continued to be the dreadful parson.
-“dear friends,” he said, “let us ask ourselves in all humility of heart how often we are our own true selves. i would fain we were our true selves oftener. what is it that the swan of avon says, ‘to thine own self be true, and then you will be true to everybody else.’ truth and lies! how wholly unlike they are, the one to the other. let us sing the hymn ‘the sun is sinking fast’.... golly, so it is, pamela and the antiquarian lecture i meant to give you hasn’t been begun yet. let’s go home. and my hair is full of grass-seeds with lying down.”
-“stand still, and i’ll pick them out,” she said. she perceived in his sun-warmed hair the faint fragrance of the sea, and longed to bury her face in it.
-“no, it doesn’t matter. perhaps they’ll sprout. i should like to have a hay-field on my head. i would sit in the hay.... then, to skip a few centuries, when the christians came to the island, they built a little shrine up here, and erected that bloated statue of the virgin. i suppose they thought her image would disinfect the place from its tiberian memories. but it doesn’t; it’s pagan in spite of all their statues. you’re a pagan, too, pamela. that’s why you fit in so well up here.”
-“yes, i’ve never believed in anything,” said she. “how can one believe in anything one doesn’t know of? i believe in what i see, and hear, and touch and feel. i know of nothing else but these things. i’m a flame that throws a little light round itself, so that it perceives. and then it’s blown out. all the more reason for making the most of it, while it’s alight.”
-they had begun the downward descent of the steep path, too narrow for two to walk abreast. colin, just behind her, found his muscles twitching with intolerance of her shallowness.
-“then you don’t fear death?” he asked.
-“of course not. as long as things are pleasant, and i don’t have toothache or cancer, i don’t want to die. but if i was fearfully unhappy i shouldn’t think twice about dying. or if----”
-she paused a moment: the path had broadened out, and there was room for them both.
-“or if----” said he, stepping to her side.
-“or if i was terribly happy,” she said softly. “it would be dull to go back to ordinary pleasantness after that. to flare up, and go out. not a bad fate, colin. who wants to gutter away into old age?”
-“then all your friends must keep you gently simmering,” he said. “you mustn’t be allowed to be terribly happy or terribly unhappy. or you’d blow yourself out like a candle. but i don’t agree at all: i shall like being old; i shan’t then have desires and expectations which i fear to put to the test. i shall be a gentle old man with a beard, and a bath-chair, and some grandchildren, and some gout, and no memory, and no desires. but, enough of that. let’s observe the features of the landscape. there’s the town beginning to twinkle with lights, and there’s the marina with the evening boat just coming in. and there’s that wonderful monte solaro, where we’ll go to-morrow if you like a long walk. at the top you can see fifty thousand miles in every direction, and there are tawny lilies in the grass, also quantities of insects with quantities of legs. and here’s the villa. blessed place but rather sad. yet i have been awfully happy here sometimes. you know i spent my honeymoon here with violet.”
-that was designed to prick her, and excellently well it did so, for pamela had not forgotten that little tragedy of violet’s dislike of him, which he had talked of on the terrace at stanier. and now he clearly conveyed to her that violet’s coldness had infused the villa with the bitterness of sweet memories. as they entered together in the cool dusk, there was lying on the table just inside the door a letter for him, and she heard him mutter to himself rather than say to her, “ah, that’s from violet,” and, opening it, he instantly became absorbed in it. to pamela that was the definite challenge: it was as if violet’s glove had been thrown on the floor between them, and all aflame she went on up the stairs, and into her room, which stood at the head of them.
-so it was violet for whom he still ached and thirsted, and the knowledge was a spur to her passion. the cause of his cool friendliness to herself, vague and indefinite before, was firmly outlined now; she knew what stood in her way, and what must be demolished. after all, he had asked her here alone; that argued strongly in favour of her success, and it was up to her to make good the footing he had given her. it was still the thought of violet which occupied him.... now that she knew that, she could act on her knowledge: she must use her utmost seduction, not alone for her own enhancement but to point the contrast between violet’s lovelessness and herself. and without doubt she held an advantage: he and she were alone together in this spell-struck island with all the setting for passion; they were both young, and she was a beautiful woman.... his preoccupation with violet had blinded him: he had not seen with what intensity she wanted him. he had said that he never counted on anything until it was given him: what could that mean except that he was not certain about her? there should be no further doubt about that....
-colin read his letter through twice. as a matter of fact it was not from violet at all, but how well he played on that poor lute with his muttered information! he knew just what effect his absorption in a letter from violet would have on his companion. but there was nothing false about his absorption in his letter, for it was from his architect, and told him of the progress of what was in building at stanier. the walls were rising apace: he had plenty of old weathered bricks for the facing of it, and assuredly the addition would be quite in keeping with the south front of the house.
-so that was good, and in the meantime there was plenty to occupy him. he went up to his room, where nino was waiting for him to come and dress, and his tactics for the evening were all settled now, though he had scarcely given a conscious thought to them. the plan, whatever its success might be, had ripened of its own accord like a fruit hanging on a sunny wall, and he longed to set his teeth in it. surely his project would be successful: what came to him like this always succeeded.
-as he dressed he looked round the room. the door from the passage was opposite the window; in the wall to the right was the door into pamela’s room, converted from its usual habit of sitting-room; in the wall to the left the door that led to nino’s room. there was but little furniture; there would be plenty of space for nino’s bed along the wall of pamela’s room. his own was on the other side, in the corner by the window, head to the wall. beside it were two switches that turned on the light above his bed and that in the middle of the room, suspended by a cord from the arch of the vaulted ceiling. that would do nicely....
-“well, nino,” he said, “i haven’t seen you all day. i don’t have so much time to bully you now i’ve got a visitor to attend to. don’t you hope she’ll stop till we go back to england?”
-nino grinned. he did not want any visitors: he much preferred being bullied by colin to not seeing him, and it had entered his curly head that his master was just as happy alone with him as with his guest.
-“i can do without visitors,” he said.
-“well, i expect you will very soon have to,” said colin. he pulled his shirt over his head, and went softly to the door into pamela’s room. it was shut.
-“nino, you don’t say your prayers before you get into bed, do you?” he asked, “or snore when you’re asleep, or have any monkey tricks of that kind?”
-“no, neither prayers nor snoring,” said nino. “you have never heard me pray or snore.”
-“i don’t think i have, and don’t let me.”
-he came close to the boy.
-“if you wish me to,” said nino.
-“i do. and when i’ve got into bed and put out the light, i want you to lie quite still whatever happens. i don’t suppose it will be for long. and if by chance afterwards i turn on the light again, i want you to sit up in bed and look cheerfully round, and laugh or do anything you like. do you understand?”
-“i understand what the signor says, but i do not understand what he means,” said nino.
-colin finished dressing and, when nino returned, tapped on the door that communicated with pamela’s room.
-“dinner’s ready,” he called out, “and if you are, come in here a minute. you’ve never seen my room, have you?”
-pamela entered. for the last two evenings she had only put on a tea-gown for their garden-dinner, but to-night she was resplendent in a blue silver-shot magnificence, cut very low and clinging close to her beautiful girlish figure. over her arm she carried a cloak of pale pink feathers.
-colin stood open-mouthed.
-“you perfectly glorious vision!” he said. “you’re superb: you’re dazzling!”
-“do you like it?” she said. “i was tired of being so dowdy.”
-“like it? i adore it,” said he. “it’s really almost worthy of you.”
-she looked round the room.
-“oh, colin, what a nice room!” she said. “just a rug and a bed and a washing-stand and a couple of chairs. tremendously like you, somehow.”
-“i’m a penny, plain,” said he, “and you’re quite twopence, coloured. i bet you that gown didn’t cost less than twopence. come to dinner. i shall walk backwards in front of you and stare at you.”
-“you won’t. you’ll give me your arm.”
-the table was set at the end of the pergola, lit by electric lights half screened in the vine-leaves, among which the bunches were beginning to ripen. curtains of brown sailcloth were hung between the pillars, and nino had drawn all these but one, so that their table was screened from the house, and the road below. this one square opening looked westwards where the last crimson of sunset was fading, and across it rose the black stem of the stone pine, and, though the night was windless here, some murmur as of the distant sea stirred drowsily in its branches. nino, serving them, slipped noiselessly to and fro, and presently he brought them their coffee.
-“shall i draw the other curtain, signor?” he asked.
-colin glanced at pamela, and there was no need to ask her what she preferred.
-“yes, nino,” he said. “and clear away now. just leave the cloth.”
-all through dinner they had been gay on trivial topics, and again and again she had known that battery of swift glances like signals that he had cast on her, as if unable to take his eyes off her for long. now she pushed back the cloak that she had thrown over her shoulders.
-“ah, that’s right,” he said, more to himself than her.
-though he laughed at himself for doing so, he often listened to the sound of the breeze, as if to a wordless and friendly counsellor.
-“what a delightful evening you’re giving me, pamela,” he said. “you wean me from myself with your splendour and your gaiety. i declare that since you came into my room before dinner i haven’t once thought of that letter i found waiting for me.”
-“from violet?” she said.
-his eyebrows contracted as if with a twinge of pain.
-“yes. oh, no bad news. excellent news: she’s getting on wonderfully well without me. hopes i am enjoying myself very much----”
-“i join her in that wish,” said pamela.
-“i know you do, bless you, and it would be black and ungrateful of me if i didn’t recognize that. my dear, you’ve been such a godsend, coming here to sit on the perch with the moping owl.”
-“you mustn’t mope,” she said. “you’re an owl for moping, colin.”
-“i don’t mope except with you,” said he. “it’s shocking bad manners, i know, and yet it’s one of those involuntary compliments. ooh, the relief of getting somebody who understands.”
-his eyes left her face, dwelt hovering over her breast, and came back again.
-“help me, pamela,” he said.
-she leaned forward over the table. she loved this weakness and this appeal.
-“violet has used you abominably,” she said.
-“no, no: you mustn’t say that,” he interrupted.
-“but i must say that. i want to help you, my dear, and ah, how lovely it is that you ask me to try--and you must lay hold on that. she gets on wonderfully well without you, you told me. let that rouse your pride. don’t let your happiness suffer shipwreck over that. heavens, if i found that anyone i was fond of got on wonderfully well without me, that would make me determined to get on just as well without him. i saw how charming and gentle you were with her at stanier, and she gives you a stone----”
-“she gives me nothing,” said he, in a voice suddenly harsh and bitter.
-she put her hand on his as it lay on the table, and he felt her pulses leap at the contact.
-“i like to hear you say that,” she said. “say it again and again till the truth of it stings you. realize it, make it part of yourself instead of looking at it from outside and mourning over it. oh, my dear, have some pride! you aren’t going to let all your power of love and of happiness pour itself away into the sand of a desert! you’ve got enough power of happiness to light up the midnight. don’t waste it.”
-“i know you’re right,” he said.
-he raised his eyes to hers.
-“of course i’m right,” said she. “oh, youth passes so quickly, and with it all power of real happiness, though you may tell me that you will like to be old.... ah, what nonsense!... colin, you’re so different to what i thought you at first. when first we met and made friends, you were all laughter and enjoyment. who could have guessed that you knew sorrow or unrequited love?”
-she paused a moment: in that gaze of his there was a light she had never seen there yet. so suffocatingly sweet to her was it, that she panted for breath.
-“don’t fence yourself in,” she said, “and mourn over ruins. build with them: use ... use the stones you spoke of, to make a pleasure-house. laugh to see them serve your end.”
-he looked at her in amazement. there was enchantment and force in her, and her beauty was enough to make a man’s senses reel. was this the strength of which violet had spoken which was more potent than all else in the world?
-pamela leaned back her head, pushing the heavy black hair from her forehead.
-“open the curtains, colin,” she said. “let’s have some air; i’m stifling.”
-was she going to faint, he thought, or adopt some mean feminine device of her weakness to escape from the situation that was closing round her, and which she had done her best to provoke? that would be tragic.... he pulled back the curtain with a rattle of rings, and the still tide of the night swept in.
-“ah, that’s delicious!” she said.
-“not faint?” he asked. “not overtired?”
-“not a bit. it was just a breath of air i wanted: our lovely little tent was concentrated, overcharged....”
-“are you sure?” he said. “hadn’t you better go quietly to bed? it would be wretched if in return for the help and strength you bring me--ah, such help, such strength....”
-if all the kingdoms of the world had been his, he would have staked them against a penny-piece on her answer. it was her hour, she was winning, so she thought, all down the line. this was not the moment for the victor to ask for a truce.
-she rose from her chair and stood by him. the flame burst out from her, enveloping her in fire.
-“it’s all yours,” she whispered. “all ... all.”
-she swayed towards him, and he caught her close; her face was against his, and she sought his lips. no word, no whisper even came from her: dumbly she clung to him, and, exultant, he betrayed her with a kiss. the best and the worst of her, love, trust, and all that was merely sensual as well, were his.
-for one second he wavered, and reconsidered. partly it was the mere beauty and physical intensity of her that gave him pause, partly also something akin to what he had felt when he saw dennis staggering on the terrace at stanier. then back, stronger than ever from the gathered force of that check, came his hatred of love.
-“we must go in,” he said.... “pamela, you adorable thing. your pity first, and then your love.”
-they paused at the head of the stairs. not a word had passed since they left the table.
-“but your maid next door ...?” he queried, and her smile told him she understood.
-colin went softly into his room. there was nino’s bed along the wall, and nino there already, awake and silent, and eager for any adventure of colin’s contriving. he tore off his clothes, and, as he undressed, once or twice his eyes caught nino’s, and he had to check himself from laughing aloud. he slid into bed, and clicked off the light.
-there was no long waiting: there came a faint rattle from the door into pamela’s room, but in the darkness nothing was visible there, and colin heard the door close again, and the key turned. he could just hear her feet on the bare tiles of the floor, and then from close at hand a little bubbling laugh and his name softly called. the sheer happiness of love sounded in that whisper: it might have been violet’s voice speaking to him on one of the nights of their honeymoon here, and he hated the inimitable thrill of it....
-he reached his hand to the switches and turned them both on.
-she was standing in the middle of the room just under the light from the ceiling. in that strong illumination the thin silk nightdress, which was all that covered her, was transparent as a veil of sun-pierced mist; her figure crowned by that bright flame of her face was clearly visible, and her apparelled magnificence was pale beside this luminous revealed perfection. colin almost regretted that he had prepared this hellish surprise for her to-night. to-morrow would have done as well ... and yet, what thrill of physical love could rival this gorgeous humiliation? how superbly moral it was! the woman had tempted him, coming to him at solitary midnight in the blaze of her beauty, and for once the man, master of his soul, derided her seduction. but the infamy of the brothels of sodom was nearer salvation than his chastity.
-she heard a stir behind her and half-turned. there was nino sitting upright in bed. simultaneously colin spoke.
-“hullo, here’s a pretty lady!” he said. “has she come to visit you or me, nino? i’ll pretend to be asleep, if you like.”
-she turned back towards colin as he spoke, and there came over her face just such a blanching, just such a stark terror as had struck the colour from mr. cecil’s. colin’s laughing mouth, his dancing blue eyes, were close to her; in his hurry to be ready for her he had not put on his nightclothes, and over his slim suntanned body, as he sat up in bed, the skin-sheathed muscles rippled as he breathed, and at the sight, as if the horror of the gorgon’s head had been shewn her, she turned to stone. her arms made one stiff movement, as if drawing a cloak round her to hide her, and she went back to the door through which she had come. a violent trembling seized her; she could scarcely grasp the key in her fingers.
-“the lock’s a little stiff,” said colin. “ah, that’s right. what a short visit! good night, dear pamela.”
-colin jumped out of bed the moment she had gone, and briskly turned the key.
-“we’ll have no more visitors to-night, nino,” he said. “the bold slut! there’s a lesson for her. what’s the matter, nino?”
-“ah, the poor lady!” he said. “you were terrible to her, signor.”
-some ecstasy of wickedness possessed colin. naked as a young greek god, and as fair, he capered round the room in an abandonment of glee.
-“oh, the poor pretty lady!” he cried. “what a pleasant hour she had planned, and what a disappointment! but how naughty of her! she shocked me. what will she plan next, do you think? i would bet on a slight headache in the morning, and breakfast in her room. or will she make an effort and catch the early boat? chi sa? good night, nino.”
-he jumped into bed; nino could hear it shaking under the gusts of his smothered laughter.
-colin, according to his wont, slept dreamlessly, and woke to find nino’s hand on his shoulder, rousing him.
-“wake, signor,” he said.
-colin yawned and stretched himself.
-“i’ll raise your wages, nino, if you’ll go away,” he said.
-“the signora----” began nino.
-colin broke off his yawn and began to laugh.
-“good lord, yes,” he said. “well, what about the signora? i hope she had as good a night as i.”
-“she did not sleep in her bed,” said nino, “and she is not in the house.”
-“well, what then? she’s gone by the early boat; i thought she very likely would. so cool in the early morning. probably she has left a note for her maid to say so. look and find it. i’ll have breakfast out of doors.”
-he got out of bed, and while he dressed basked in the wonderful memories of the night before. just here had she stood for that short moment ... and then with that odd gesture of folding something round her had turned.... what a horrid humiliated night she must have passed, too badly stung to sleep, and only eager for the morning, and the boat that left at six o’clock, which would carry her away from the island. he wondered whether, if he had received a slap like that, he would have turned tail. certainly it would have been an embarrassing breakfast next morning; they would have had to talk with great perseverance and animation. he rather thought that he would have stopped and brazened it out to show he didn’t care....
-nino entered again.
-“i’ve found a note, signor,” he said, “but it is addressed to you not to her maid. it was on the breakfast table in the pergola.”
-colin held out his hand for it and opened it. it was quite short.
-“i was terribly happy here,” it ran, “and i have been terribly unhappy. so it is good-bye, colin.”
-he knitted his brows. surely he had heard something very like this only a few hours before.... then he remembered.
-“no-one knows of this but you, nino?” he asked.
-“no, signor, i found it and brought it to you.”
-colin stood crumpling the note in his hand. a contingency had presented itself with the reading of that note, which he wished to be prepared for. if the implication there hinted at was true, he did not want to stew in that ebullition of scandal and gossip which would boil up if last night’s adventure were known. three people knew of it, possibly only two now, himself and nino.... for a few seconds he thought intently, then his face cleared.
-“now, listen to me, nino,” he said. “you have found no note for me, you have brought me no note. the last you saw of the signora was when you brought us coffee last night after dinner in the garden. that’s all you know.... ah, wait a moment: your bed. move it back to your room, where of course you slept last night as usual. i’ll help you. now----”
-colin laid his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked him in the face.
-“when did you see the signora last?” he said.
-nino’s eyes were wide with some unspoken terror.
-“last night,” he said, “when i brought your coffee after dinner.”
-“and you found nothing on the table when you went to lay my breakfast this morning?”
-“good boy. now be quick with my coffee. i long to be in the sea this morning.”
-colin swam and basked and swam again, spending the whole morning on the beach. he was convinced that when pamela wrote that note to him she had intended, at any rate, to take her own life, for the wording of it reproduced too closely for any explanation of fortuitous resemblance what she had said to him the evening before as they came home. very likely she had not done so, for there was a big gulf between such an intention and its execution. it was one thing to feel that you were terribly unhappy, and quite another to put an end to your unhappiness. most people preferred any amount of unhappiness to forcing an entry through the door that led no man knew whither. even if it led into nothingness, anything that could happen to you was better than nothingness.
-colin came up out of the water, and, after brushing the wetness off him, sat down on the hot shingle. supposing pamela had done what her melodramatic little note implied, what would he think of her, or what (which concerned him more) would he think of himself?
-of course he had never dreamed of such a possibility, but if she had done it what a swift and surprising drama? yet how abominably stupid, and how, if you looked at it clearly how self-conscious! there was revenge in it, too: she meant, at fatal cost to herself, to overwhelm him with remorse at this great final gesture. was it a sign of love, to do that which might be calculated however mistakenly to bring misery on the adored? yet, after all, it was not love of him that might have driven her to the desperate act, it was no more than self-love and self-pity for that unexpected exposure. he remembered just how she had looked when he turned up the light, and she heard nino stir. if he had supplied a determining motive at all, it was fear.
-misery ... remorse.... what had he done to be miserable or remorseful for? the woman was a slut and she had come to stay with a respectable married man, who had assured her that his heart’s devotion was consecrated to his wife, and, knowing that, she had deliberately tried to seduce him, coming into his room at midnight and offering herself. there was a fine story to tell the world, if so he chose, and nino, with a wink from him, would testify to the veracity of the crucial episode. and the stern morality of his own attitude, his scorn of her intrusion! that was the cream of it! the missal of wonderful blasphemies itself contained no mockery so distilled.
-and then supposing she had done nothing desperate at all, but simply gone for a nice walk to think things over and console her wounded vanity? it was easy to realize what he would feel then. mockery, sheer mockery and contempt at the fiasco. she had written that note to indicate what she meant to do, and when it came to the doing of it she had squealed and shied off at the idea of going out alone into the dark of nothingness or whatever she imagined was the next scene. probably she thought that nothingness came next: that was the usual conclusion of such shallow folk. he knew better than that....
-the dense stupidity, the blindness of those who did not believe in the hereafter of heaven and hell! he knew his hereafter well enough, the eternal hate, or, if love was too strong, the eternal spectacle of love, and to have no share in it, to sit in a cave of ice, and in an everlasting numbness of cold to behold the sun.... but the very thought of that, the certainty that in the end god would somehow beat him, gave the spice to defiance. safe in the protection of evil, as long as life lasted he would enjoy and deride without remorse or fear. he chose evil because he loved it, and because he hated love, even when it was such love as pamela had tried to enchain him with, for it partook in its narrow greedy sphere of the true essence, in that she wanted somebody not herself, and if she longed to get, she also longed to give.
-through the windless calm there came the sound of some rhythmical movement, and sitting up he saw a boat approaching with swiftly-dipping oars. the sun was bright on the water, and it was only a vague black speck, but soon he saw who was rowing in such a hurry.... he had said he would come back for lunch, so why had nino come down to the bathing-place? news of some kind, perhaps.
-nino beached the boat, and jumped out.
-“the signora,” he said.
-“so she’s come back,” said colin. “i knew she would.”
-nino looked at him with wide eyes of horror.
-“they brought her back,” he said. “two fishermen found her in the water below the high cliff where tiberio’s palace is, the palace you call the sunday palace....”
-colin got out of his motor when it stopped at the lodge-gates at stanier, and struck into the woods through which a short cut led to the house. he had been in london for the last month, and had driven down after lunch on this april afternoon through glints of sunshine and scuds of windy rain. but now with the fall of day the sky had cleared, and, after the pavements and fogs of the town, he longed to immerse himself in the sense of stanier and spring woods and bird-song.
-all round him were the melodies and the enchantments of the spring. the turf underneath the foot was elastic with the thick growth of the young grass, and vivid with little round cushions of greenest moss, and the smell of the damp earth was fresh and fragrant. neither oak nor ash were yet more than budding, but the great hawthorns that studded the slopes up from the lodge to the high ground were covered with the varnished clusters of young leaf, the hazels and alders by the stream that ran into the lake were gay with pendulous catkins and mole-skin buttons, and the copses of birch and hornbeam were full-fledged. clumps of primroses and sheets of anemonies were in flower in plantations where the young trees had been felled last year, and outside on the turf the wild daffodils bloomed among the curled heads of the young bracken. once and again a copper-coloured cock pheasant scurried away from beside the path with head low and stealthy stride; in the covers thrushes were vocal with evensong, and in some remote tree-top the chiff-chaff was metallically chirping. from the firs pigeons started out with clapping wings, and a heron, disturbed at his fishing, flapped ponderously away.
-the path rose steeply, and presently he came to the top of the ridge, and passed through the deer-fence into the old park. here the trees, planted by elizabeth’s colin, on what was once bare down, were of statelier growth, and more widely spaced, so that between their trunks broad stretches of the reclaimed marsh-land below could be seen, and beyond, the faint melted rim of the sea. a warm spring air out of the south-west flowed up from the plain, seasoned with saltness, and he drew in long breaths of its refreshment. ten minutes more brisk walking along the height brought him to the end of the ridge, and below, he saw the roof of stanier and its red walls smouldering in the clear dusk. the thrill of home vibrated in him; he could never look on stanier, after an absence, without a smile of pleasure and welcome on his lips.
-there came into his mind, vaguely and distantly, the memory of someone looking at stanier with him, and ironically saying to him “be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home.” that had happened on the terrace one night in an after-dinner stroll, and almost immediately he recalled the incident wondering at the tenacity of the memory. it was pamela hunt who had said that, when she came down here, at her own suggestion, for a domestic sunday in the country. how infinitely remote and meaningless was the recollection of pamela! he did not suppose he had thought of her half-a-dozen times in the last half-dozen years. after all there was no reason why he should have thought of her, for it must be close on twelve years since he had seen her. yes, when august came it would be twelve years since she had paid him that visit in capri.... that had been an affair of ludicrous tragedy: long ago it had lost all personal connection with him, and had become no more than a sensational episode, which, though no doubt it had happened to him, might equally well have been something he had been told or something he had read in a book of short stories, a book of sketches and episodes....
-he sat down on a fallen tree-trunk--several of old colin’s oaks had blown down in the fierce gales of march--and as his eyes wandered over the wide plain and distant sea below, his mind dwelt idly on that remote month in capri. what had affected him far more intimately than pamela’s death was the sequel that nino had refused to stay in his service. nino had been utterly devoted to him, but something strange had come over the fellow from the hour that he learned of pamela’s melodramatic suicide. he had simply frozen up: his gaiety and devotion had been replaced by some sort of abject terror of colin; he had become like one of those women on whom the frost and blight of stanier had fallen. he started and stammered if he was spoken to: he looked at him with eyes behind which lurked some deadly fear.... he had no answer to give when he was asked what ailed him: he said “nieute, signor,” and quaked. finally, within a week, he had said he could stop with him no longer. colin had used his utmost persuasions, but without avail, and from persuasion he passed to warning and to threats, reminding him that it did not go well with those who crossed him, as nino had seen not so long ago. but there was no keeping him, and colin naturally resented nino’s desertion, for his companionship, his gay paganism thoroughly suited him. yet he seemed to himself to have done no more than let this resentment flow where it willed without conscious direction. certainly he did not concentrate and aim it at nino: he but shrugged his shoulders, and said to himself “well, it’s nino’s fault if anything happens”. and sure enough nino sickened of that ill-defined fever which was rife in the island and in naples that summer, and not long afterwards colin had to give his cook and his housemaid a half-day’s holiday to attend his funeral....
-it had served nino right, thought colin; for if he had remained up at the villa he would not have gone back to live in that insanitary hovel by the marina, where the fever was so prevalent, and he wondered whether, in a sense, it had served him right too, for there was no denying that he had been really fond of him, and that was an offence to his lord and benefactor. to-day the memory of nino was far more vivid than that of pamela, who was a tiresome woman, greedy and graceless, and often even now, when he lazily awoke in the morning, he found himself sleepily imagining that it was nino who was moving about the room.... it had been very stupid of him to behave like that: colin had always been kind to him: he need never have feared for himself. it was nino’s fear that had driven him into danger: if he had only stopped where he was, and remained gay and companionable, he would have run no risks. but his fright, his mad attempt at escape, had been his undoing; he had run underneath the very wheels like a startled fowl on the high-road.
-that month, in fact, had been full of incidents, tragic for others, but strangely prosperous for himself: episodes had taken place then far-reaching in consequence, that fitted into each other with more than casual coincidence. at stanier, before he left, for instance, there had been the discovery and certain solution of that pencil plan in his ancestor’s diary, followed, when he got to capri, by the finding of what beyond doubt was old colin’s book of wondrous blasphemies, of which he had so easily possessed himself. and the chain of odd occurrences had not been broken there, for within a week of his having obtained that he saw for the first time hugh douglas, now librarian at stanier.
-the memory of that was very vivid, and had none of the episodic insignificance of his recollections about pamela or indeed about nino.... he had gone down to the marina one evening to meet violet, from whom he had received a telegram immediately after the catastrophe saying that she was starting at once for capri. that had been both wise and kind of her; she had not previously known that pamela was there, and had seen one day in the daily press the notice of pamela’s death when staying with lord yardley at his villa at capri. with quite admirable wisdom, she had thereupon sent notices to half a dozen papers that she was returning from capri in a fortnight’s time, and had instantly started. colin had no taste for the foolish scandal of wagging tongues, and violet’s prompt action, making it appear for the benefit of the world at large that she had been with him all the time, was a most effectual silencer. even those who knew that she had not been there when the catastrophe occurred would look on it with quite different eyes when they knew that she had gone there at once, and colin had unreservedly applauded her intuition. no doubt, by now, any scandal that might then have arisen would have been as episodic and obsolete as the cause of it, but colin in this lazy retrospect of that marvellous month permitted himself to stand aside a moment and say “well done, violet.”
-he took up the thread of the far more significant happenings and let his mind dwell on each, recalling details, fingering them like a rosary.... he had gone down, as he had recalled, to meet her, and waited on the quay for the disembarkation in small boats of the passengers from the steamer. there she was, and as she stepped out of the boat, at the quay side, he saw a young man put out to her an assisting hand. she did not avail herself of it, and colin’s eye met that of the man who would have helped her. instantly he knew that the glance had some significance for him. the face he saw was alert and clean-shaven, and it had stamped on it that unmistakable quality of a priest’s face, a quality impossible to define and impossible to miss. he was not in clerical dress, but that detracted nothing from the certainty. if the man had worn spangles and pink tights, he would have been a priest....
-day by day, as colin had seen him, always alone, at the café, or lounging in the piazza, or at the bathing-place, the conviction of his calling and of his significance (whatever that should prove to be) in his own life, grew stronger. he entered into casual conversation with him, introducing himself, and saw at once there was reserve and suspicion to be overcome. but the young man gave him his name, hugh douglas; he was out for a holiday, he said, and expected to be here some weeks. as they idly talked, sitting at a café in the street, it so happened that a priest came by. at the sight of him douglas rose to his feet and deliberately spat on the ground, and in his eyes was a smoking blaze of hatred.
-“so you are a priest,” thought colin, “with no love for priesthood.”
-then colin asked him up to dine one evening after violet’s departure, and set a wonderful example of frankness and unreserve. he told him about the legend, and saw his interest kindle: he felt he was somehow on the right track, though still he did not guess where it led.
-“but the old fellow was craven at the last,” he said, “and tried to escape from his lord and benefactor. he abandoned the building of the shrine he had planned, where, beyond doubt, he meant to celebrate some satanic rite----”
-he paused a moment with intention. the other turned quickly to him.
-“that is most interesting, lord yardley,” he said. “you have no notion, i suppose, of what he contemplated?”
-“indeed i have,” he said. “in fact there has lately come into my hands a book, which beyond doubt was actually his, for it bears his coronet and arms of the correct date, and i feel sure he intended to use it in his chapel. a missal in fact, though following the english use. he refers to it in his memoirs.”
-douglas’s face was alight with eagerness.
-“indeed!” he said. “have you it here? i should enormously like to see it.”
-colin leaned forward to him across the table.
-“yes, i have it here,” he said, “and perhaps i’ll show it you, for i feel that i’m meant to show it you. but first, doesn’t it strike you that i’m telling you a good deal, and that you’re telling me nothing?”
-instantly the man shrank back into himself.
-“there is nothing that could interest you,” he said. “i have no profession----”
-colin felt on absolutely sure ground.
-“yes, you’re a priest,” he said quietly.
-“i am nothing of the kind,” said douglas.
-“oh, once a priest, always a priest,” said colin. “no man nor any body of men can take from you the power that has been given you of doing the great miracle at the altar.... you were a priest, mr. douglas: and you know that perfectly well. i’m not the least inquisitive, and i don’t want to hear why you no longer wear priest’s dress, unless you care to tell me. you hate the priesthood now, i saw that for myself the other day, and perhaps you hate that which makes a priest a priest....”
-colin summoned all that gave him his charm, and all that gave him his force.
-“aren’t you wrong not to trust me?” he said. “hasn’t our meeting, and what i hope will be our friendship been wonderfully contrived for us?... how can i make you trust me? i am building, i may tell you, what my ancestor left undone.”
-at that he saw the man’s soul leap in fire to his face, and not only without shame, but with pride, as to one who would appreciate, he told his story. ever since he was a boy, he had been conscious of his secret love of evil just for its own sake. his own profanities horrified him, and yet below his horror there was love. under the whip of his horror he had striven to mortify that lust for evil within his soul, and yet all the time that he tried to suppress it he looked on himself not as a sinner but as a martyr. he had taken orders in the catholic church, had joined an english community with vows of obedience and chastity, and the joy of sins, secret and abominable, became all the sweeter because, in the name of all that was holy, he had renounced them. he found himself like a spy in the camp of the enemy, talking their language, practising their manœuvres, and making war on the powers to which his heart’s allegiance was given. only a few weeks ago, exposure had come, and he left england for fear of a criminal prosecution....
-“i see we shall be friends,” he said. “i will show you the book i spoke to you of....”
-all these things were welded together like links in a chain, the discovery of the plan of the sanctuarium, and then of the missal, and then of the priest. each linked on to the next. indeed it would be an imbecile who saw in these events a mere grouping of fortuitous circumstances. and there was more, too, a chiselling and chasing of these links, decorative detail you might say....
-nino, in spite of persuasions and threats, had gone, so soon to sicken of the fever, and colin had let it be known that he wanted a servant to take his place. there were many applicants, for it had been seen how nino, just a barefooted boatman’s son, had become almost a signor himself with fine clothes to wear and money to spend, and the friend and companion as much as the servant of the marvellous youth rich and noble and beautiful as a god, for the sake of whom, capri made no doubt, the english lady had popped herself over the high cliff. among them was a young neapolitan, employed during the summer season as waiter at one of the hotels, shrewd and monkey-like in face, some incarnation of pure animalism. hugh douglas was with colin when he came up to be interviewed, and the boy made his obeisance as to a priest.
-“why do you do that?” asked colin. “why do you behave as if this gentleman was a priest?”
-the fellow looked at him once more and smiled. when he smiled his ears moved, and colin noticed how pointed they were.
-“but i am not wrong, am i?” he said. “when i was a boy, i was an acolyte.”
-“i’ll leave you,” he said, and he nodded at colin as he went out.
-the boy had spoken in perfect english, and when the door had closed colin came up to him, put his hands on his shoulders and smiled into his eyes. what he was going to say was derived from no process of reasoning in his own mind, scarcely even from observation....
-“let me see, your name’s vincenzo, isn’t it?” he said. “well, vincenzo, i like your face: it’s the face of a devil. did no-one ever tell you that? you must have been a queer sort of acolyte. did they choose you for your sanctified face? and when you crossed yourself did you cross yourself like this?”
-colin made the sign backwards.
-“like that was it?” he said. “i have never been to a mass where they did like that.... i should like to see you serve mass, for i shall have a chapel at my house in england, and maybe i shall wish you to serve again. and you were right about that gentleman. he is a priest; so go to him now and tell him i have sent you to say you will serve him....”
-how vivid it all was to him still, and most vivid of all that which took place that very evening.... he had been hitherto like someone receiving instruction merely, now he was received into the church of his religion. the room where pamela had slept, and to which her body had been brought, was decked as a chapel, and in symbols and desecrated rites he set the seal on his faith. he had bought not long before in naples a cope of fifteenth century needlework, in which the celebrant was vested, and douglas read from the missal of wondrous blasphemies. he threw his cope wide when vincenzo censed him.... as the supreme moment approached some ecstasy stirred in the very centre and shrine of colin’s being, and from there spread to his mind and his physical frame. would god permit the approaching defiance and blasphemy? he did not doubt that he could by some swift judgment assert the infinity and the omnipotence of love, and it was just that belief which spiced the defiance. or was love itself powerless against this supreme act of hate and mockery?
-colin rose from his seat on the fallen oak, and began the descent of the long smooth slope towards the house. never before that evening at capri or ever since had he attained to so clear a realization of the spirit of evil: his initiation had also contained the ultimate revelation. often in the years that followed he had, here at stanier, attended the black mass, but, his allegiance once definitely and symbolically made, the repetition of it had progressively failed in fervour. it was not so with those whose souls worshipped love: the more they mystically joined themselves, in acts of faith and worship, to their lord, the more closely, if you judged from the chronicles of the saints, were they knit to him. had love, then, some quality which hate lacked? hate had often seemed to him as infinite as love, but now he wondered if you could attain to the absolute in hate, to the realization of pitch darkness than which nothing could be darker, whereas you could never attain to absolute light; for some fresh sun from all the millions which love lit and moved would add its spark to the illumination. or was there, on the other hand, no such thing as absolute darkness of the spirit, just as scientists assured you that there was no such thing as absolute physical darkness? did some ray always penetrate it? was there no place utterly devoid of god? in either case you arrived at the utmost possible in hate, and could go no further.
-colin let the question go unanswered; the abstract never much concerned him compared with the concrete and the practical.... how purely episodic his life had been, and how full of prosperous conclusions. episodes of his boyhood, episodes in capri, episodes here and in london, strung like beads on the thread of his own personality, but each distinct from the other, accounted for the whole of it. he desired nothing for long; he got it, whatever it was, so quickly, sucked it dry and threw the rind away. all that wealth and position could bring him, all that health could bestow were his; no desire of his went unfulfilled: all he had to do was to find something he wanted, and if it was the gift of his lord and benefactor--and wide was his bounty--it was his as soon as he cared to put out a firm hand to take it. and yet in spite of this perfect freedom, which he had used to the uttermost to do exactly what his desire or fancy prompted, to eat any fruit on the tree of evil without fear of scruples interfering, like a seed or a stone, with its lusciousness, he knew that this liberty was somehow built on the foundation of a slavery which enchained him. he was in pawn and in bondage to evil, and these episodes were links of his fetters.... as fast as one was hammered and welded, there would be another one, an appetite gratified, or perhaps an account revengefully squared, as in the case of raymond his brother, and of pamela. often, as in the case of raymond, the catastrophe fell without his active intervention at all: it just followed on his wish: or again the victim might bring it on himself, as that wretched nino had done.... episodes, just episodes. to find things to wish for, to find experiences and expressions that excited and absorbed him! he had already begun to recognize that this was not so easy as it had been. life was full of amusements, his vigour, now that he was in his thirty-fifth year, still retained all the elasticity of youth, but it was hard to find for it experiences that were not staled by custom. he had to find those, it appeared, for himself. his lord and benefactor did no more (as if that was not enough!) than give him what he wanted. well, there were a dozen people coming to-morrow, and for the easter vacation the house would be crammed from cellar to garret with a huge party and diversions would spring up like mushrooms.... and then he remembered that dennis was at home for his holidays, now his fourteenth in year and at school at eton.
-colin had come to the east end of the building which he had erected in execution of the plan he had found in his ancestor’s memoirs. he had stopped long in capri the year that was built, and when he came back the fabric was complete. before he left he had shewn the plan to violet, telling her that this was an addition to the house, planned in elizabethan times, and never executed. there was a little apartment, he said, for a priest, and a sanctuary adjoining. it was this which was now to be built....
-“a sanctuary?” she had said.
-“yes, darling, a little chapel. old colin was a very fervent sort of man. it was for his private devotions, no doubt, that he planned it.”
-he thought she had understood, and this impression had been born out by the fact that never had she alluded to the ‘little chapel’ again. she knew that it was approached by a corridor from his room; she knew that this librarian, mr. douglas, whom he had brought back with him from capri, lived in the apartment there, but she had never asked colin anything about it, nor had he volunteered any information. but that she guessed the general purpose of it, he had no doubt: ‘old colin’s private devotions’ was sufficiently explicit, and she had understood.
-“violet takes no interest in what means so much to me,” he thought now. “shall i try to make her a little more sympathetic?” she had had a very easy time lately, with him away so much, and perhaps it would be a good thing to wake her up to her wifehood.
-as he passed he saw that the chapel was lit within. the east window was of plain ruby-coloured glass, frosted on the outside so that none could see in, and he lingered there a moment, and thought he caught the sound of a voice within. douglas, his chaplain and librarian, was there, and perhaps vincenzo, who had driven down from london with his master, was there also in his more ecclesiastical capacity. the shrewd, monkey-faced boy of twelve years ago, had grown into a dark-faced silent man, wonderfully efficient as a servant. but as a server.... colin had never seen anything so like possession: the ape-like gestures twitching and vehement, the rapt surrender, the tearing animal passion of devotion. and when the rite was over, he lay sometimes on the altar step, panting with gleaming eyes of a surfeited ecstasy. then the mask of humanity covered him again, and he became the impassive watchful valet, anticipating colin’s wants almost before he was conscious of them himself. but these seizures (for they were really nothing less than that) were terrible. colin wondered sometimes if he himself would ever know such physical frenzy, such mingling apparently of torture and exaltation.
-he passed on round the corner of the yew-hedge: he was late for whatever was going on, and indeed he had no particular mind to be present. but he felt as if some force like that of a great engine that beat in pulsations momently increasing in power was at work there. then the bell in the turret sounded three strokes, and, in the pause that followed before those strokes were repeated, he felt himself thrilled and charged with the mysterious dynamic energy that spread through the still air in invisible waves of inspiration, and into his mind there came the vision of himself kneeling there at some such moment as this with dennis by him. that, of course, would not be yet: the boy was at present far too young to understand even the nature of the moral choice on which the rites were based. not yet did he know the force of love and hate; he only liked and disliked. he had to feel the power of love, before he could loathe it or comprehend the infinite seduction of evil. the essential qualities of love had to be apprehended before they could be rejected and mocked at. he must know them first, he must know too what hate meant, before he could realize the presence of its inspirer. that, and the things which some day dennis would see with his father in the chapel there, would be inexplicable and indeed meaningless to him until in his blood there was developed the perception that gave them life. certain of these rites would seem to him merely grotesque or disgusting till he was hot with the passions of which they were a symbol. he would be puzzled: he might even be amused at these grimaces and contortions of vincenzo. he would want explanations, and even then would not understand....
-all this was not so much a train of thought in colin’s mind, as a flash of perception that vibrated through it at the sound of the bell in the turret of the chapel, and, dismissing principles, he let himself into the door on the garden front that opened into the long gallery. principles would take care of themselves provided your practice was in accordance with them, and, with the thrill of home-coming to this beloved stanier, he stepped out of the glimmering dusk into the lit house.
-he got one comprehensive glance at the two who were there before his entrance was perceived. violet was sitting in a low chair by the fireplace at the far end of the gallery, her face all alight with love, and on the floor, full length in front of the fire, was dennis lying. his head was bent back and he looked up into his mother’s face, as he told her something in his boyish voice, high treble one moment, and suddenly cracking into a man’s tones. whatever it was that he said, it made her suddenly burst into laughter, and she threw herself back in her chair.
-“oh, dennis, how wicked of you,” she said. “go on, darling. what did the master do?”
-colin stood very still. was it really violet who could laugh like that, with that pure abandonment to amusement? was it she who shone with that serene and radiant love?...
-she sat up again after that burst of laughter, and saw him. in an instant her face changed to the face he knew. it changed from the face of a mother, girlish still, though that big boy sprawled there, to the frozen beauty which she presented to the world. no faintest glint of laughter lingered on her mouth or in her eyes. and yet, amazingly, they were still alight with love. something that had beamed there for dennis still beamed there for him, though it was shrouded, like a gleam of fire through smoke, by the blight and the frost.
-“ah, colin,” she said. “there you are! get up, dennis: here’s your father.”
-for a moment, sharp as a stabbed nerve, and coming from some ice-bound cave of consciousness, a pang of regret shot through colin that it was not in his nature, nor in theirs, that he could join the group of mother and son, and partake of their mood, their laughter and their ease, and all that it implied. they looked so jolly, and his hunger for pleasure always envied those who were enjoying themselves, for all enjoyment ought to belong to him. but the instantaneousness with which violet’s care-free laughter had withered from her face, shewed that she instinctively recognized the inconceivableness of that. it was not to be wondered at, after all: she always froze in his presence.
-and then he looked at the boy who had jumped to his feet, and pride at having begotten anyone so beautiful supplanted for the moment every other consideration. he was very tall for his age, already his head was nearly on a level with his mother’s, and, bred as he was on both sides from stanier blood, he seemed the very flower of his race. loose-limbed and lithe he stood there, with shoulders low and broad, and neck rising square from them, and there was the small head, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, the straight short nose, and the mouth as perfect as violet’s own. colin had not seen him since the christmas holidays, in the interval he had greatly grown, and his boyhood had emerged from the sheath of its childish sexlessness: now the father saw in his son his own magnificent youth carried to a stage finer yet; physical perfection could go no further.... and, on the heels of that exultant pride in his son’s beauty, there came the vision again of going with dennis up the corridor from his room and into the chapel. what a peerless offering to bring his lord and benefactor!
-the boy had always been much fonder of his mother than of him, and here at once was a thing to be taken in hand. dennis must learn to be at ease with him, to open his heart to him, and eagerly to receive what was good for him to learn. that was the first requisite: hitherto dennis had been rather shy with him, and apt to be on his good behaviour. he must be charmed out of that and learn to be comfortable with him and lie on the floor and tell him stories about school.
-he put his arm round dennis’s neck and kissed him.
-“why, you dear boy,” he said. “this is nice. dennis, you’ve grown in a perfectly indecent manner. stand up there with your back to your mother----”
-suddenly he remembered that he had not yet said a word to violet. violet had dennis’s heart at present, therefore dennis must see how dear she was to his father, for that would predispose him favourably.
-“violet darling,” he said, kissing her. “how are you? i needn’t ask, though. you’re always well, thank god. and such shrieks of laughter, as i heard, when i came in! what was it all about? dennis, i believe you’ve been telling your mother something quite unfit for a parent’s ears. so you must tell me too, and let me judge. my word, it is nice to be home again!”
-“have you had tea, colin?” she asked.
-“now have i, or have i not? i don’t believe i have, but i don’t want any. i shall sit on the floor, if dennis can make room for me. lie down again, dennis, exactly as you were before, and we’ll all be fearfully comfortable. now what’s the story?”
-“oh, it’s only a rotten yarn, father,” he said. “the master i’m up to doesn’t like mice. so--so someone bought a clockwork mouse and wound it up, and set it running in small circles--you know how they go--just under his chair. you never saw anything so funny. he thought it was real till he heard it buzz.”
-dennis had sat down again on the floor: colin, with a shout of laughter, put his fingers in the back of his collar, and pulled him down across his knees.
-“i think i’ve got hold of that ‘someone’ by the short hairs,” he said. “what brutes you boys are! what shall we do with this brute? how long are the holidays, dennis?”
-“three weeks and a bit.”
-“and where do you want to spend them?”
-“oh here, of course.”
-“you’re just like me. i never want to go away from here, unless it’s to capri. now let’s talk in a whisper, so that your mother can’t hear. she doesn’t like capri, dennis. she’s not been there for twelve years. that summer, don’t you remember, when you were one year old?”
-“of course i don’t remember,” said dennis.
-“that’s because you didn’t attend. you must be more attentive next time you’re one year old. but there it is: she’ll never come with me--we’re still talking in a whisper--so next summer, if you’ll promise not to put mice in my bed, perhaps i’ll take you.”
-“oh, i say, how ripping!” said dennis. “you bathe all day, mr. douglas told me.”
-“except when you’re basking in the sun. how is mr. douglas, by the way? i haven’t seen him. may i ask him to dine to-night, vi? i know you don’t like him, darling, but he has a pretty lonely time when we’re away. i think we ought to have him in as often as we can when we’re here. he shall sit next granny; he shan’t sit by you. and how is granny?”
-dennis was finding a father that he had never known before, and he felt himself expanding to him. colin had released his hand from the boy’s collar, but dennis’s head still lay contentedly on his knees.
-“granny’s dotty, i think,” he observed. “i mean your granny, father.”
-“dennis, dear!” said violet.
-she turned to colin.
-“granny’s been expecting you all day,” she said. “she always knows when you’re coming. she was out on the terrace this afternoon in her bath-chair, and when she saw dennis, she thought it was you----”
-“yes, mother, that’s what i mean by dotty. it is dotty,” said dennis.
-colin tucked his hand under the boy’s head.
-“you shouldn’t call your aged relatives dotty, dennis,” he said. “your mother’s quite right. when i’m as old as your great-grandmamma, which will be in a week or two for time goes so fast, i shall be exceedingly vexed with you if you say i’m dotty. so there, old boy. she probably thought you were dotty when you told her you weren’t me----”
-“and then she thought i was uncle raymond,” continued dennis. “that just shews----”
-“it just shews that you’re an ugly little devil,” observed colin. “when you come down to dinner to-night----”
-“but i don’t,” said dennis. “i have supper upstairs----”
-“well, i ask you to come and have dinner with me to-night. don’t drink too much port like your grandfathers and great-grandfathers.... what was i going to say? oh, i know. nip round, like a good boy, to mr. douglas’s rooms, and ask him to come to dinner to-night. say it’s to have the honour of meeting you.”
-“he’s probably in the library, isn’t he?” asked dennis.
-“no, he’s probably not. and then come back here, and i’ll have a game of billiards with you.”
-colin waited till dennis had gone, then turned to violet.
-“how the boy is growing up!” he said. “was i as big as that at fourteen, darling? he’s a splendid fellow, we ought to congratulate ourselves. he’ll develop swiftly now. how interesting to watch that, eh, dear violet, and to train and influence him?... you’ve kept him all to yourself hitherto. it’s time that a father’s care----”
-she had long feared this moment, and, now that it had come, it roused in her not her womanly motherhood alone but something of the tigress-motherhood that will fight for its young, with any who threatens them, even if he is her own mate.... but it was the woman who spoke first.
-“oh, colin, leave me dennis,” she said.
-colin shifted his position, and leaned his back against the chair in which violet was sitting.
-“i feel awfully remiss,” he said. “i feel as if i had neglected dennis shamefully. but surely he’s grown suddenly, not in inches only, but in sex and temperament. i seemed to feel that. he’s entrancing: my heart goes out to him. but he must be moulded and educated, mustn’t he? what a wonderful fruit of our love, vi! what joy for us to see it ripen! and physically, what a young apollo. you and i were rather a pretty pair at his age, but dennis beats us hollow.”
-he leaned his head back to see violet’s face. well he knew what he would find there, for he had felt his words go home. but he was not prepared for the fierceness of it.
-“you shan’t have him,” she said. “and you know what i mean when i say that. he’s a manly, sweet-hearted boy. oh, as naughty as you please, but he’s a good boy. that’s the part you shall never have.”
-she got up, stepping sideways away from him.
-“colin, we’ve been strangers for many years now,” she said. “you’ve frozen me with horror at what you are. but you’ve never frozen my power of love. it’s there, and it’s always melting the ice. and by that i know that you won’t get dennis, for it’s stronger than you.”
-colin raised his eyebrows.
-“well then there’s no more to be said about it,” he remarked. “i hate arguing, anyhow. if one wants to prove a thing, the simplest plan is to go and do it, and then it proves itself without any palaver. ah, there was something else i wanted to talk to you about, but here’s dennis back again.... well, dennis, will mr. douglas have the honour of meeting you?”
-dennis was looking excited.
-“oh, yes, that’s all right,” he said. “and vincenzo was there. he was lying on mr. douglas’s sofa, looking--looking like nothing at all. looking awfully queer. but mr. douglas said he would be all right soon.”
-“i expect he knows,” said colin. “vincenzo’s devoted to mr. douglas.... dennis, i’ve been catching it hot since you left me. your mother’s been scolding me. whose side do you take? hers or mine?”
-dennis looked from one to the other. but he moved towards violet.
-“i don’t know,” he said. “but aren’t we going to have a game of billiards?”
-the dowager’s wing at stanier, of which colin had made so summary a clearance twelve years before, had never become repopulated again. aunt hester was still alive, very much alive, indeed, but never, since the morning when she had ‘interfered’ about pamela, had she set foot in stanier. “colin behaved like a devil to me, my dear,” she had said to violet of that occasion. “he meant to turn me out and made that his excuse. well, you don’t catch me going where i’m not wanted. i hope i’ve got too much spirit for that.” violet, however, often took dennis to see her when they were in town, and he had lunched with her and been handsomely tipped by her to-day on his way from eton. aunt hester adored dennis; she saw in him the colin she had loved, and dennis, for his part, thought her one of the most enterprizing old ladies he had ever come across. why she did not come to see them at stanier, he did not know, and she was remarkably brisk at changing the subject when it came up, but he meant to ask his father about it.
-of the others, ronald stanier and his wife, though deprived of their permanent domicile, had been occasional guests here, till when, a year or two ago, on one of their visits, he had had a stroke one night, as he sat over his wine after dinner, quite in the traditional stanier style, and had gone down with the decanter flying. his widow, strongly reacting, had gone to live at winchester where she drove out daily in a brougham, gave small sad little dinner-parties, from which everyone went away at half-past ten, and was similarly entertained by her elderly guests. once or twice a year she came to stanier for a few nights, and played patience, and put some flowers on her husband’s grave, but she had no real existence. stanier, as it had so often done to those who married into the house, had frozen her or perhaps rather burned up all such inflammable material as she had once possessed, and she lay now, so to speak, in the fender, clinking a little from time to time as she cooled, and disintegrating into ash....
-but the fourth occupant of the dowager’s wing was still there, and still every night old lady yardley was wheeled down to the long gallery five minutes before dinner-time, and sat by the fireplace near the dining-room till the others had assembled, and then with the aid of her two sticks went in to dinner, and afterwards played her phantom game of whist. she was now over ninety years of age, she ate and she slept, she had her sight and her hearing, but she lived in some withdrawn twilight, peopled it would seem by shadowy figures of her century of memories. certain rays could still illuminate that crepuscular kingdom: colin’s presence was a sure lamp there, and dennis was beginning to be another, perhaps from his likeness to colin twenty years ago, perhaps because she realized that in him lay the perpetuation of the house, for the dim archives of her mind contained only the records that concerned stanier.... strangely enough, hugh douglas was the third who could lighten that black darkness; probably she did not know his name, and he belonged to the later years of which she had normally no memory, but it was clear that she regarded him as somehow significant, and often, if he dined with them, she would sit looking at him with that unwinking gaze that saw no-one knew what, and begin speaking of days of fifty and sixty and seventy years ago. others, her nurses, for instance, and violet, made no reaction on her mind: she was no more directly conscious of them than she was of the chair where she sat, or the carpet she walked on, and they cast no shining glimmer on the memories that reached back and back, to years when not only were none of those present born, but not even her own children of the generation before, colin’s father, and violet’s, and aunt hester, and when she herself was newly come as a bride to stanier. physically, by some miracle of vitality, she was upright still: and her skin, instead of hanging in parchment-like laps and folds over her face, was one with it: she looked as if she was made of bloodless, imperishable alabaster. when she sat motionless and without speech she seemed scarcely alive, and then her wrinkled eyelids would lift and she spoke in that quiet uninflected voice of those who had been dead sixty years and more, as if they were still here. to her, they probably were.
-colin felt a sort of fascinated pride in her--“she’s clearly immortal,” he said, “in fact she’s a sort of totem--isn’t that what they call it?--a tribal god. she belongs to myth and legend, especially legend. i wonder if she signed a bond too....”
-to-night she was in her place when violet came in. as usual she took no notice of her, and violet sat down with the evening paper and did not see douglas’s entrance, till suddenly old lady yardley began to talk.
-“my grandson colin came home from school to-day,” she said. “he has grown----”
-“ah, good evening, mr. douglas,” she said. “colin and dennis have been playing billiards, but they’ll be here in a moment. you saw dennis, i think?”
-douglas shook hands with her. more markedly than ever was his face that of a priest. he knew very well that violet disliked him: dislike perhaps was too superficial a word. he had seen just that same horror in her eyes when she looked at her husband. he wondered sometimes what she knew....
-“yes, dennis came up to my flat,” he said. “how he has grown. developed, too, i thought, as well.”
-dennis and colin came in together.
-“dennis’s fault that we’re late,” he said. “he took so long to beat his poor old father. well, granny, how are you? i believe you grow younger every day. dennis and i are going to take you in to dinner, one on each side.”
-she got out of her chair, and stood erect.
-“ah, i knew colin was coming,” she said. “i told them colin was coming. now all will be well at stanier.”
-she pointed at douglas.
-“i want him,” she said. “he must sit by me, because he and colin know, and i know. those who know must sit close and talk in whispers.”
-“so we will, granny,” he said. “dennis dear, you take in your mother; granny’s got no use for you.”
-dennis put violet’s arm within his own.
-“lord, what pomp!” he said. “shall i always come down to dinner now, mother? oh, and i beat father at billiards!”
-“well, don’t trample on me, now i’m down,” said colin. “you’ve no feeling of chivalry for the aged, dennis.”
-old lady yardley looked from one to the other. they dined at a small round table; colin and douglas were on each side of her, dennis and violet between them. her eyes travelled past violet as if there was no one there, but at dennis she looked long. to-night the stimulus of these three was strong; and she began to say things she had never said before.
-“the boy there,” she said. “that’s my colin before he grew to be a man. he’s come back to us as a boy. he doesn’t know the legend yet.”
-“oh, but i do, granny,” said dennis. “it was when the devil----”
-“no, dear, you don’t know it yet,” said she. “you’ve only heard it, that’s a very different thing. my son philip never knew: he only heard----”
-“now, granny, eat your soup,” he said, “or we shall never get through dinner. tell us about it afterwards.”
-he looked up at dennis, just one passing glance, and saw that the boy’s attention was violently arrested.
-“and does mr. douglas know?” asked dennis, “is that what you wanted to whisper about? father, what is it that you know and i’ve only heard?”
-it was odd how the atmosphere was suddenly charged with impalpable tension. lady yardley alone, whatever she said, could not have produced it; it required dennis and his innocent boyish inquisitiveness at the other end.
-violet interrupted. dennis mustn’t ask, dennis mustn’t know.
-“dennis dear, you saw aunt hester to-day, didn’t you?” she said. “didn’t she send any message to me?”
-dennis’s whole mind was fixed on this other puzzling matter. but at his mother’s voice he seemed to detach himself.
-“yes: her love,” he said. “and i’m going to write to her to-morrow--so’s father: two letters, and a motor’s going up to london to take them to her. and it’ll bring her down here, we think.”
-colin turned to violet.
-“darling, you’ll be nice to her, won’t you?” he said. “it’s so long ago, all that misunderstanding.... and she loves stanier. i was going to tell you, of course.”
-violet felt there was no need for explanation; she knew colin. he had represented to dennis evidently that aunt hester never came to stanier, because of some bygone quarrel between herself and her. dennis had asked why she never came--it must be like that--and that had been the answer. then colin had concocted just such a plot as a boy loves, to ask her in spite of it and bring mother and her together.... colin was the peacemaker, she was the person to be propitiated....
-the wonderful falsity of it all! there was nothing too small nor too great for colin in the accomplishment of his ends. here there was no question of what his ends were: they were the wooing of dennis by him, the detachment of dennis from herself.
-she could not sit down under this.
-“but it was you who turned her out, colin,” she said. “you quarrelled with her; you sent her away. what have you been telling dennis?”
-colin was seated next her. he laid his hand on hers.
-“darling, before the servants....” he said gently. “besides, it’s all over, years ago.”
-old lady yardley was looking fixedly at dennis again.
-“he’s growing up,” she said. “soon he must make his choice. staniers will never fail as long as they choose wisely and well. i am an autumn leaf now on the old tree, but the sap hasn’t left me yet, and though the leaves fall, fresh leaves come. this is a beautiful young leaf: it is spring-time with the tree again, and the birds are singing in its branches. it will always be spring at stanier, if they take care of the young leaves.”
-colin turned from violet to her.
-“granny dear, the spirit of prophecy is upon you, but you really mustn’t prophesy at dinner. everyone finds it so disconcerting, darling. now there are some friends of mine coming to-morrow, and you must promise me not to prophesy at dinner. otherwise you shall have dinner upstairs and no whist at all.”
-for once she paid no attention to him.
-“i watched them building twelve years ago,” she said. “they made a chapel for the prosperity of stanier. aha! that makes the legend thrive----”
-colin saw dennis’s wide-eyed gaze, fascinated and puzzled. he had settled that he did not want the boy to know anything about that at present.... and yet surely you sowed in winter the seed that did not germinate till the spring. how marvellously dramatic, too, that dennis, still hardly free from the soft enveloping sheath of childhood, should learn the beginning of wisdom from this aged sibyl. it was like taking a child to learn about druids from stonehenge.... but dennis was too young yet: it would never do to initiate him into the final revelation, till he had learned the rudiments and the alphabet of the creed. simultaneously violet spoke to him.
-“oh, colin, stop her,” she whispered. “she mustn’t go on. she mustn’t tell him about the chapel.”
-....so violet knew: he always guessed she had known. he turned to old lady yardley again.
-“granny, you’re being very naughty,” he said. “i promise you you shan’t come down to dinner again unless you’re quiet. i won’t have it: do you understand? now go away with violet. if you say a word more, you shan’t have any whist at all. take her away. violet.”
-“come along, granny,” she said. “and you too, dennis.”
-“nothing of the sort,” said colin sharply. “dennis is going to stay with us.”
-he waited till violet and the old lady had gone.
-“dennis, old boy,” he said. “you were quite right when you said your great-grandmother was dotty. she was talking gibberish. there wasn’t a word of sense in what she was saying.”
-dennis looked unconvinced.
-“but she must have meant something, father,” he said. “did she mean the chapel by mr. douglas’s rooms?”
-colin was always swift in invention.
-dennis gave that delicious half-treble croak of laughter.
-“good lord, i shouldn’t like to be like grandfather ronald,” he said. “he was a rum ’un.... father, did he know about the legend, in the way granny meant?”
-“no, dennis, i should say he didn’t. but we’ve finished with the legend for to-night. someday i’ll tell you more about it.”
-“when i think that you will be able to understand it. mr. douglas and i will set you an examination paper.”
-“oh, not in the holidays,” said the boy.
-“you won’t know it’s being set you,” said his father.
-“that’s an improvement on the eton plan,” remarked dennis.
-dennis was sent up to bed when old lady yardley had had her two rubbers of whist, and presently mr. douglas went too.
-“and now we’re alone, vi,” said colin, “and i haven’t seen you for a month. mayn’t we have a little talk? in fact, i’ve got several things to say. about aunt hester now.”
-“yes, i think you owe me an explanation of that,” said she.
-“darling, don’t talk about ‘owing explanations,’ in that way. you speak as if i had run up a bill with you, and wouldn’t pay it. probably that’s just what you do think.”
-colin moved across to the fire where the traditional log smouldered.
-“i hate explaining,” he said, “and really you can understand for yourself. but if you insist on it, it’s this. dennis asked me point-blank why aunt hester never came to stanier. well, i couldn’t tell him about her impertinence with regard to poor pamela, her imagining that i had an intrigue with her.... good lord, didn’t the sequel exculpate me? an edifying incident, wasn’t it?”
-“you know what i think about that,” said she.
-“yes: i remember your saying you wished i was in love with pamela. and i kept telling pamela that i was in love with you. but she rushed on disaster. odd--i was thinking only this afternoon how long it was since i had given a thought to pamela, and now she comes up in connection with aunt hester. well, i couldn’t tell dennis about that. you would have been very much shocked with me if i had. i couldn’t tell him that the woman was in love with me, and his mother wished i was in love with her. such a dreadful thing to tell a young boy at the most impressionable age! you agree?”
-“you distort it all,” she said. “but i agree.”
-“oh, distortion!” he said. “everyone else’s point of view is distorted when viewed from one’s own. we all have our own individual perspective, which shews everybody else’s out of drawing. but, as you agree, i had to give some other reason. i gave one that naturally occurred to me, namely, that you resented and found unforgivable something poor aunt hester had done. i was pleased when i thought of that.”
-“you always think of everything,” she said.
-“yes, darling, i am pretty thorough. and you see why i was pleased, don’t you?”
-“perfectly well. you wanted to give dennis a new impression of me, as being hard and unforgiving, and of yourself as kind.”
-colin softly clapped his hands.
-“ah! i knew you really understood,” he said. “i knew you didn’t need any explanations. but why not have said so at first? you shewed you knew at dinner.”
-she moved the screen that stood by her. that might have been to shut out of her eyes the flame that had broken out from the smouldering log, or it might have been to shut out his face....
-“i didn’t mean that when i asked for explanations,” she said. “the explanation i wanted, if there was one, was any justification for what you did.”
-colin stretched out his hand to the blaze; the shapely smooth fingers looked redly luminous as the fire shone through them.
-“the justification is that it was part of my policy,” he said. “dennis is devoted to you at present. i must detach him. he must be devoted to me: he must love what i love, and hate what i hate. no man can serve two masters.”
-she slid from her chair on to her knees, holding up her hands to him. the face of the future, now that it was coming close, was terrible.
-“ah, colin, no, no!” she cried. “your soul’s your own, and you’ve chosen for yourself. but dennis’s soul is his: his and god’s. you daren’t tamper with it.”
-“oh, but you’re inconsistent,” he said. “you’ve told me that love is stronger than me, and that i’m powerless. now you seem to be afraid that there is something pretty powerful to back me. have faith, darling.”
-“i know you’ve got something powerful to back you,” she said. “you’ve got the power of hell to back you. no one who believes in god dares despise that; he hates and fears it.”
-“very wise,” he said. “now another thing. it’s clear to me that you know about the sanctuary. clever of you, darling, because i’ve only once mentioned it to you, when i settled to build it, telling you old colin had planned it for his private devotions. did you guess then i wonder? did you imagine for what purpose he had planned it, and for what purpose i carried out his plans?”
-“it wasn’t a guess,” she said. “i knew. in whose honour must he have planned it, and in whose honour must you have executed it?”
-“that’s logical, certainly,” he said. “but how about grandmamma? i never said a word to her, and i don’t suppose you have. but yet she knows. has she got some sort of second sight, do you imagine? is she a sort of incarnated genius of stanier, so that by instinct she knows all that concerns the welfare of the house? sometimes i scarcely believe that she’s human at all. will she go on living for hundreds of years, a sort of priestess? my word, we’re an amazing institution, you know.”
-colin turned round away from the fire, and yet it seemed to her that his face glowed.
-“i wish my family were more with me in my convictions,” he said. “dennis doesn’t know, and you don’t sympathize. supposing dennis was to die before he had come to the full knowledge? once he had chosen, he would be protected----”
-violet felt her mouth go dry.
-“colin, you’re not meaning to take dennis there, are you?” she whispered.
-“aha, now we come to the root of it,” he said. “of course i mean to take dennis there as soon as he’s learnt, well, the rudiments of the faith. i see he’s not fit for it yet, but he soon will be. he’s got high spirits, and the lust of life is beginning to bubble in him. that just has to be directed. then the moment he is ripe, and a boy like that ripens quickly----”
-violet’s face whitened and hardened.
-“you daren’t,” she said. “that would be the sin for which there’s no pardon. don’t you understand?”
-marvellously colin’s eyes glittered. it was as if they were faceted and caught a hundred points of light.
-“and don’t you understand,” he said, “that that’s the very reason for my doing it? i pine for unpardonable sin!”
-from outside there came the sudden stir of wind. it rattled at the window, and then blew with a great gust. he paused, holding up his hand and listening, and within him, swift as inspiration, the fire kindled.
-“just so it used to blow in the stone-pine in the garden at capri,” he said. “it was there i heard it first. that’s no common wind. violet! it’s a message: it’s a herald. the power is abroad and i hail it. listen, isn’t that, even to your ears, something more than the common wind! you know it is. fear it and loathe it, or worship it and adore it. but don’t deny it. ah, the thrill of it! the splendid pentecost.”
-never had she seen him like this, and whether it was that his exaltation communicated itself to her, or whether there was something present there inherent in that sonorous sudden gale, she felt her very spirit shudder and flicker like the blown flame of a candle.
-he sprang to his feet, and took hold of her arm.
-“come with me now to the chapel,” he said. “we’ll get father douglas. yes, of course you know he’s father douglas. join with me, violet, throw scruple and struggle away. who has the best time after all, you with your agonizings and fears, or i, who don’t know what pain of soul or body means, whose every whim is gratified? come and see: see if i haven’t chosen well, see if you don’t exult and glory in the power that i serve and that serves me! a midnight mass: you’ll see me as an acolyte--i make a damned handsome one--and the book father douglas will use is the very book, the missal of wondrous blasphemies, that old colin speaks of in his memoirs. i’ve got tepid about worship, but with you there it will be new again to me. it’s in your blood, you’re a stanier just as i am. it will boil up in your blood.”
-she stood quite still, letting his hand still rest on her arm but sundering from herself the distraction of all the flood of desires and yearnings, of fears and of terrors, that had been streaming from her. she did not articulately pray, she did not implore and agonize for protection, she simply spread out her soul with an act of unreserved surrender to the spirit of god, and, in this turmoil within and without, let the peace that passed understanding seek her of its own accord and encompassingly hold her. her only effort was to make no effort, to make herself utterly helpless....
-the timeless moment passed, and she knew that the stress of some spiritual crisis was over. the wind outside, which seemed to have been raging round the very fortress of her soul, died down and ceased.
-colin spoke again. but the ecstasy of direct inspiration had died out of his voice. for a little while he had been like one possessed; now he was himself again, terrible indeed but not terror itself, satanic but not satan.
-“violet, if you don’t come,” he said, “i shall go and get dennis. i said i would go up and say good night to him, and he shall dress and come with me to the chapel. rather like abraham taking isaac to sacrifice him: rather biblical. it’s you or he. i mean precisely what i say. he will obey me.”
-violet’s choice made itself without any question. but it was made under the compulsion of love, and under love’s protection.
-“then of course i will come,” she said. “you’ve given me my choice and there it is. but you won’t like it if i come, colin. i should only despise and scoff at what you believe in. and the power on which you lean is failing, and you know it. where’s the ecstasy that filled you just now? it has all evaporated: it has leaked away.”
-rage and rebel as he might, he knew the truth of what she said, reading it in her quiet eyes, and her pitiful mouth. definitely, and for the first time to his full consciousness, he had failed. something stronger than the wind of the powers of the air had interposed between him and its inspiration.
-he looked at her with quiet hellish eyes.
-“i think you will be sorry for this, vi,” he said.
-some inner plane on which this scene had been transacted seemed to her to slide away again. she had been on it: it had sustained her. now she was back again on normal levels, conscious only of a supreme fatigue. but the memory of that uplifting still held her. one power had englobed her, another him, and somehow, inscrutably, the two had come into direct contact, and at the touch his had been shattered like a film of glass.
-“i do not think so,” she said. “i think i shall be glad of it, thankful for it, as long as i live.”
-he turned on her, but his eyes were no longer bright with that quality with which he had heard the wind rise and roar.
-“do you suppose you’ve beaten me?” he said. “are you really such a fool as that?”
-she moved a step nearer to him, and pointed to the curtained door out on to the terrace.
-“colin,” she said, “do you remember coming in at that door this evening and finding dennis and me talking by the fire? you were jealous of him then and jealous of me, because you knew why we were so happy together. you wanted, in spite of yourself, to have a share in it.”
-colin had suffered a defeat. he knew it, and he understood why, and learned a larger wisdom from it. he had been altogether too abrupt: excited and possessed himself, he had expected violet to leap at once, in surrender and panic, over that huge gulf that separated them, when he asked her to come to the chapel with him. he should have known better, he told himself: it was demanding the impossible. the effect had been that, in her vital recoil, she had accomplished a supreme feat in the completion of her self-abandonment to the power of love. she had made no reservation; she had cast herself on the spread arms of its sustaining force. it was quite consistent, too, that, the moment afterwards, when he had told her that, if she refused to come, he would take dennis with him, she had said she would come. love still upheld her and chose for her, and its force, he knew, had drained him of his, so that he no longer cared at that moment whether she came or not, or whether it was worth while even to fetch dennis.... he could have done that, but it would have been a mere repetition of his original mistake. dennis would no more leap to the sacrament of evil than violet. the worship of evil demanded a dedication of the soul....
-dennis must be wooed like some shy maiden.... his boyish heart was affianced to his mother, and its clinging tentacles, vigorous as young shoots of ivy, must be ever so gently detached, so that the boy would scarcely know that any detachment was going on, and laid, full of the sap of spring, round his father’s encircling arm. until that was done, dennis would turn but a puzzled and incurious ear to anything of ultimate significance. colin must abound in wholesome school-boy topics and interests, until the ivy clung close to him, and leaned on him for the support of its growth. then, but not till then, could the education and enlistment of his instincts begin. it would be rather a bore, colin thought: he would have to play golf with him, and go out to shoot the silly pigeons, and take him up to london perhaps to see the public-schools competition in racquets. dennis evidently adored one of the boys who was playing for eton, his senior by some four years. colin wondered what sort of a fellow he was....
-a dozen guests or so came down next afternoon to spend a week, and before that week was over their numbers were redoubled; they settled on stanier like a flock of gay and chattering birds. they were at liberty all day to amuse themselves as they liked, tennis and fishing and golf were diversions enough for them all: violet, admirable hostess as she was, saw that they were occupied, and devoted herself to the dowagery element among them, which liked motoring to points of interest or going to see friends in country-houses in the neighbourhood. there was breakfast and lunch at elastic hours and no full or formal assembly met until dinner-time. then there was the immemorial ritual of the house reassembling itself: old lady yardley in alabaster silence and immobility was the first to arrive in the long gallery, and the guests collected, and when all were there the major-domo opened the door into colin’s room, and he joined them. just that one old-fashioned pompous moment was preserved: it was the stanier use, like grace before meat. as he entered everyone stood up: it was only colin of course, who next moment would be chattering like the rest of them or shouting with laughter, but just then he was lord yardley.
-but most of the day, colin would have had dennis with him, and often the boy dressed early and spent this last half-hour before dinner with his father. very likely the two would be playing some game together when the summons of the opening door came, but on the moment colin would jump up, leaving whatever fascinating pursuit was in progress, and become somebody quite different.
-“now, behave yourself, dennis, just for a minute,” he would say.... “we’ll go back to our game afterwards, if we can. my move....” that was part of dennis’s education; just for that minute it was a solemn business to be lord yardley, the master of this magnificent inheritance, with its regal splendours. there was no other house in england like it, nor had there been for three centuries past, and it was his father’s now, and would one day be his, and plenteousness would be in its palaces so long as he into whose hands it was given remembered to whom he owed it, and rendered affiance and allegiance.
-so grace was said, and the diversions of the evening began. dennis must not be pompous, but at the back of his mind the knowledge of his potential magnificence must consolidate itself. at dinner there was a place for him by his father, for that was colin’s order, and dennis could see the charm that had been poured out on him in their employments together during the day now weave itself for these dazzling ladies. his mother, he knew, had not wanted him to come down to dinner when the house was full, but colin had begged her, so it conveyed itself to his mind, to allow him, and dennis secretly felt it to have been rather unkind of her to have tried to make him miss these wonderful hours. of course there was a threat, veiled and not understood by him, behind this ‘begging,’ something about dennis having nothing to do, while they were in at dinner, except say his prayers with mr. douglas and go to bed. dennis had not understood that, for he never said his prayers with mr. douglas, but his mother consented to his coming down after that.
-it was immensely amusing at dinner; there was his father, to begin, with, whose gaiety was irresistible; dennis had not known how fascinating he could be over nothing at all. whether he asked a silly riddle, or told an absurd story, or just joined in the general chatter, he cast the magic of mirth over everyone. and all the time old lady yardley, silent and aware, would be watching him. perhaps her neighbours would attempt conversation with her, but they were swiftly defeated. her business was to look at colin. now and then he caught her eye and shouted something encouraging to her, and he would say to her neighbour, “darling old granny: i hope she isn’t a nuisance. but she would break her heart if she didn’t come down to dinner. look, we’re four generations. she and aunt hester and violet and i and dennis.”
-after dinner there were all sorts of amusements: one night there was nothing but cards, with bridge-tables for those who cared about those sedate joys, and old lady yardley’s whist-table in the corner by the fire, which was its immemorial situation. violet, mr. douglas and aunt hester were immolated there, and for the rest there was a delightful round game called poker. once again his mother had suggested bed-time for dennis, but again had colin ‘begged’ for him.
-“give him half an hour, darling,” he had said. “he’ll get bored with it and won’t touch a card for the rest of his life. nothing like early associations.... dennis, your mother says you may sit up for half an hour, so you and i will be partners, and you shall have a small salary, as long as i win.”
-“but if you lose. father?” suggested the cautious dennis.
-“then i shall sell your new dress-clothes, which i haven’t pinched you for yet, and buy a hurdy-gurdy, and collect coppers in st. james’s square, till a copper collects me for obstructing your mother’s motor-car on the way to church. you shall be the monkey on the top of it, and go to prison with me.”
-“rather. i say, will you tell me how it goes?”
-“you’ll soon see. where are the counters? who wants money and how much? oh, i think unlimited, don’t you, blanche? we’re all so prudent, and we’re all so poor that we shan’t lose our heads. let’s all have a hundred pounds. that gives a false air of opulence.”
-lady blanche frampton counted her portion with avaricious fingers.
-“i haven’t seen so much money for years,” she said. “colin, you’ve given me ten shillings short.”
-“no, i haven’t, dear. add it up again. let’s have six at this table and six at the other. dennis doesn’t count. he’s going to bed in half an hour, if he doesn’t sit up longer.”
-“but i want dennis,” said lady blanche. “i’ll give you a pound for dennis. he’d be a mascot, because you haven’t played before, have you, dennis? or is poker part of a modern boy’s education?”
-“yes, of course it is,” said colin. “the head holds poker-classes for the sixth form twice a week, and the house master for those under fourteen. dennis, attend to me, ‘ich deal’ as the prince of wales said. now, there are pairs and two pairs, dennis, and a flush, and a straight.... who’s in? everybody? then who’s shy, and has not put his mite into the pool? oh, i believe it’s the dealer.”
-an hour later, dennis, instead of being in bed, had been started by colin on his own, with a capital of ten pounds. luck favoured him, and presently it had doubled itself. then luck went against him, and he lost every farthing of his capital. twenty pounds ... he was crœsus, and next moment penniless. the tragedy was quite appalling.
-“hullo, dennis, cleaned out?” said colin, observing this. “poker’s not so entertaining after all.”
-dennis stiffened his rather drooping neck.
-“i’ve enjoyed it tremendously,” he said. “rare good run for my money.”
-he gave that boyish cackle.
-“and it was yours all the time,” he said. “sorry, father, for losing it.”
-colin had watched the tragedy and inwardly applauded. the boy was really plucky about it, and colin respected pluck. it might be a virtue, but it was not connected with love.... how handsome he looked, with his flushed face and eager eyes, and chin slightly in the air, to show he cared nothing about the loss of that millionaire capital.
-“never mind,” he said. “now, dennis, would you rather go to bed with a sovereign in your pocket, or shall i start you again? but if you lose it this time, you won’t get a penny.”
-“oh lord! i’ll go on,” said dennis. “ripping of you, father.”
-another night there was a theatrical performance given by three actors of a play that would certainly never see the london footlights, and once again dennis sat between his father and blanche frampton. the surface of the first act scintillated with cynical witty nonsense, light as foam, and the boy bubbled with laughter. but presently his laughter was not so frequent. something began to shew through the surface, and a soft perpendicular wrinkle engraved itself between dennis’s eyebrows, and he puzzled out what seemed so clear and vastly entertaining to the rest of the audience.... yes, soon he thought he had got it, and his brow cleared, but he didn’t laugh: it just did not happen to amuse him.
-colin’s attention had been about equally divided between the stage and the boy. the play was to his mind: it drew with deft distinctness the passion that exists only as a pastime and is a foe rather than a friend of love. the author had expended inimitable wit in its delineation, but before the act was over colin was recognizing rather than appreciating the corrupt and subtle handling, and his conscious attention was more engaged with the effect it had on dennis than with the entertainment he himself derived from it. during these last few days he had grown very proud of dennis. there were his extraordinarily good looks to begin with; and he enjoyed himself enormously, but never boisterously. everyone tried to spoil him, but no one succeeded: he was ever so friendly and well at ease, and without a trace of self-consciousness. his manners were excellent: there was no impression that he was behaving himself, he was perfectly natural with a winning boyish simplicity. withal he was not grown-up and green-housed for his years, he was on the contrary extremely young.
-colin put his arm round him as the act closed with a frank emergence of polished indecency.
-“well, old boy, enjoying it?” he asked.
-dennis made one of those confiding boyish movements, fitting his shoulder close under his father’s arm.
-“i liked the beginning,” he said. “but--but they’re rather playing the ass, aren’t they?”
-clearly he wasn’t enjoying it. colin had distinctly hoped he would: that was why he had let him come. it was disappointing, but it was no use boring the boy with these intriguing animals: the last thing he wanted to do was to bore him.
-“go away then,” he said, “if you don’t care about it. i thought it would amuse you.”
-“i expect i’m awfully thick,” said dennis.
-“you are, my dear: you’re thick and fat with that enormous dinner you ate. did you like your champagne?”
-“rather. i should think i did. may i have some to-morrow?”
-“you must ask your mother.”
-“i’d much sooner ask you,” he said.
-“you’re a wine-bibber. you’ll get gout and delirium tremens, and your mother will say it’s my fault.... well, what about this next act? are you going to stop or not?”
-“i think i won’t,” said dennis. “and will you come and say good night?”
-“i shall keep awake, if you’re coming.”
-“all right. say good night to your mother, and tell her i’ve sent you to bed.”
-“but you haven’t,” said dennis.
-“no, but that’ll make her pleased with me.”
-dennis stole out, and blanche gave a sigh of relief. the song came clearer now--a haunting, taunting melody in a tongue the earthman did not know. the singer's voice held an alien lilt, a thread of silvery tone.
-it came from behind another door, and this one was open a crack.
-again shane paused and listened. but there was no sound save the singing.
-the earthman stepped to the door's hinge side; threw a quick glance up and down the hall. it was still empty. staying back of the jamb, out of sight from the room, he pressed his left hand against the door ever so gently and pushed it open--slowly, as if it were moving with a draft.
-still there was no sound but kyrsis' voice. but after a moment it swelled a fraction, and the whisper of her footsteps crept through.
-then, of a sudden, her profile was framed between half-open door and jamb.
-in two swift steps, shane was inside--pushing her back, heeling shut the door.
-the silver woman's great violet eyes went wide. she opened her mouth to scream. but before the sound could come, shane's arm was about her. his hand clamped over her open mouth.
-for an instant her body writhed against him. her fists beat at his chest, her feet at his ankles.
-he said: "if i break you, kyrsis, the choice will be yours, not mine."
-for a long moment her eyes probed his, her body still rigid, straining against him. then, slowly, she relaxed.
-shane let her go.
-her pale, beautiful face held no expression now. with one last enigmatic glance, she turned from him and moved with perfect poise to a mirror that hung upon another door across the room. her slender fingers smoothed her hair, rearranged her rumpled gown.
-after a moment shane followed her, stood close behind her, so that their eyes met in the mirror. gently, he gripped her shoulders. "i came for a reason, kyrsis," he said.
-"a reason, shane--?" she said it almost absently, her fingers still busy with her hair. "what reason?"
-shane's jaw was hard. "perhaps you've heard that the federation cast me out."
-"of course. it was expected." the rich purple lips curved in the faintest of mocking smiles. "why else do you think i came to horla with you, except to lay the ground?"
-the lines in shane's face deepened. "i don't know. that's why i took this chance to see you now."
-"what, shane--? i do not understand...."
-"once, on our way here, you asked me to try to understand you and your people. you said our paths might run together if i were to take the slavers' road."
-"shane--!" of a sudden her body again was rigid. she twisted, stared up into shane's eyes. "you mean--you would give up the chonya way? you would raid for slaves as quos reggar raids?"
-the earthman's lips twisted. "i'd raid--on my own terms," he answered.
-"on your terms--?"
-"you might not care to meet them, kyrsis."
-"at least, tell me what they are."
-"when the chonya chieftains called me in, i took their way for mine. if i raid now, it will be because their ships are with me."
-shane laughed harshly. "the federation has turned us out, with the slaver brand upon us. if we must wear it, we'll earn it. why should we stand by, helpless and hopeless, while both reggar and the federation fleet bleed us white? better that we raid ourselves. at least, then, we'll get booty." his blue eyes gleamed. "we'll bring slaves to your people, kyrsis--smug, fat slaves from the planets of the federation. we'll drag them out by the thousands!"
-a strange excitement seemed to seize the silver woman. "yes, shane, yes! we'll take your chonyas--"
-"there's more," shane said.
-"if you take us, you let quos reggar go."
-she stared at him. "are you mad, shane?"
-"no, kyrsis; far from mad." he clenched his fist, and his face grew dark with anger. "reggar is the dog who took away my belt. if he had his way, he'd see me with my brain rotted out with theol. so he is part of my price--the part that counts the most--"
-"--the part that proves you are not so different from other men after all, gar shane." kyrsis laughed softly. the things that showed in the violet eyes were very old. "for awhile i almost saw you as separate from the rest--a man apart, so hard and strong that nothing could sway you from what you saw as duty. but now ..."--she shrugged--"you seek to save your chonyas, yes. but reggar hurt your pride when he took your belt, so now, above all, you seek for vengeance."
-"and if i do?" shane clipped. "does it matter to you? i bring you the chonyas--born raiders, a race that has carved its name in blood across the void. beside them, what is reggar?--a mongrel, a cross-bred chitza served by the scum of the spaceways." he broke off. "but you are the one who must decide. what is your answer?"
-the smile left the silver woman's face. turning, she walked thoughtfully across the room, not speaking.
-after a moment, shane followed.
-again kyrsis turned, looked up at him. her expression was unfathomable. "you are a bold and clever man, shane," she said. "it is a pity you can never hope to be quite clever enough."
-"she means you've failed again, you chitza!" cut in a harsh familiar voice from the mirrored door behind shane.
-the earthman spun about.
-his great carcass draped in a fala cloak, quos reggar stood in the doorway, light-gun in hand.
-shane froze. his mouth took on a bitter twist. "i should have known you'd follow her here. but the fala cape--"
-"it fooled you?" reggar laughed harshly. "i thought it would. and kyrsis did well, too, leading you over to my door, where i was sure to hear you."
-shane said nothing.
-"there's someone else here for you to see," leered reggar. he raised his voice, "talu!"
-"here, sha reggar."
-shane caught his breath at the sound of her voice. but that was all, for then she was coming through the doorway, slim and graceful, her waist-long blue-black hair aripple in the light, her dark malya face as proudly lovely as before.
-and as before, she bore a tray in her hand.
-"sha shane...." her voice, her face, told nothing; nor could shane interpret the message that flickered, just for an instant, in her eyes.
-reggar said: "once before i sent talu to you with an injector, earthman, and you nearly broke her arm. this time, it will be different."
-shane made no attempt to answer.
-"the injector, talu--"
-face wooden, the malyalara stripped back the cloth and picked up the hypodermic from the tray. "it is ready, sha reggar."
-"theol was in that other injector, starbo, and this one holds theol now. it will be your second dose. madness is just one more away."
-shane stood very still. he looked from kyrsis, with her pale ethereal beauty and silver hair and translucent skin, to talu, the slave girl--dark, tempestuous, all malya; then back to reggar again. instinctively, his muscles tensed.
-the mongrel said: "you'll take the dose, earthman--because if you so much as move a hair, i'll burn your arms off!" the light-gun in his webbed hand was rock-steady.
-"yes, sha reggar." quickly, efficiently, she stepped to the earthman's side. "twist your neck, sha shane."
-"twist it!" echoed reggar. his huge lobed eyes were flecked with red.
-teeth clenched, eyes hot with hate, shane obeyed.
-the malyalara pressed the plunger.
-reggar let out a breath, stepped back. "tomorrow, great gar, you get the last," he gloated. "then, after that, you'll serve with my fleet ... serve gladly, happy to help us in every way, just for the sake of another shot of theol." he chuckled ghoulishly. "it will be a fitting fate--the more so after the way you've tried so many schemes to split shi kyrsis from me, so that you could dispose of each of us alone. in fact--"
-somewhere, some living creature screamed. there was horror in the sound--a hideous note, as if soul were being torn from body.
-reggar froze. "what--?"
-from the hallway came the faintest whisper of footsteps.
-the mongrel's light-gun prodded shane. "you, chitza--open the door!"
-wordless, shane crossed the room. he gripped the handle, pulled back the door. outside, the hall had gone black, lights out.
-instantly, before he could so much as draw a breath, dark hands came out of nowhere; seized him, jerked him half into the hall. a knife-point pricked his belly.
-"move and die, earthman!" a voice breathed in his ear--a man's voice, cold, and hard, and heavy with a malya accent.
-shane stood as if carved from stone.
-from the room behind him, now, came another fierce malya voice: "the light-gun, reggar!"
-for an instant silence echoed. then reggar cursed, and there was the thud of the pistol hitting the floor.
-now the malyas holding shane shoved him back into the room. there, another malya--a hard-bitten, swaggering little man--already had reggar pressed back against the wall, penned there by a knife like the one digging into shane's belly. other dark, cold-eyed fighting men stood by the mirrored door to the huge hybrid's quarters.
-talu was with them, her face aglow with fierce joy. "malyas, malyas--!"
-the silver woman, kyrsis, stood silent and apart. but shadows of strain showed in the lines and hollows of her face.
-"we have done our work well," the leader of the dark men said. "we have the earthman, shane. we have reggar, the mongrel. we have the silver woman. there'll be joy and feasting at amara when we ramp our ships."
-"you are of amara, malya?" shane asked.
-the other's dark eyes gleamed. "we are of amara, earthman--and before you die, you'll wish you'd never heard of us or our asteroid! other races may let the slavers raid and not strike back. but we claim blood for blood--"
-shane said: "i am gar of the chonyas, not a slaver. ask talu, the slave girl. she is of your people--"
-"who takes the word of a captive woman?" the malya laughed thinly. "we malyas have raided for slaves ourselves, in our day. a woman's heart goes with her man, not her race."
-"check with others, then--"
-"we have checked already. the word is out: you raid with reggar. you came to horla with the woman, kyrsis. it is enough!" fierce lights gleamed in the malya's eyes. he grinned--a savage, death's-head grimace. "we've tracked you down across the void, you three, and now we'll see you pay for the malya blood you've spilt--battling the zanths for your lives in amara's great arena!"
-this was amara's great arena. the oval pit was full twenty feet deep and floored with sand ... sand that here and there was churned and trodden, stained dark brown with men's life blood.
-above the pit, seats rose into the star-flecked night in steep-banked tiers.
-those seats were full, now--packed from pit to rim with the savage, dark-faced malya breed, a blood-lusting horde whose cries for slaughter rose in great, swelling waves like the screams of primeval beasts.
-in the forefront, ringing the rim of the pit, sat the malya chieftain and his court--the old raiders, the men of power, the warriors and their women.
-and there, too, sat another woman, a slim, lovely malyalara, placed close beside the chief himself.
-slave girl no longer, she now wore a gown of richest kalor. jeweled clips held the rippling, blue-black hair, and a jewel-studded harness accented her shoulders' softness, her throat's clean curve, the bare breasts' proud, firm swell.
-ankle-deep in the sand of the pit, shane surveyed them, one and all.
-now the malya chief leaned forward across the rim, a long fighting knife in his hand. his deep-set eyes gleamed anticipation. "you are the first, earthman ... you and this knife against a zanth!"
-boldly, shane met the chieftain's stare. "and if i win--?"
-for the fraction of a second a sort of dull, throbbing silence seemed to fall over the crowd. then it broke in a gale of wild, tumultuous laughter, echoing and re-echoing upward to the stars.
-"if you win--?" the malya chieftain choked. "have you stayed too long in the sun of mercury, chitza? no man has ever come out of the pit over a zanth."
-"what holds for other men is not for me. i asked: what if i win?"
-admiration showed in the malya's dark face. "if you fight as boldly as you talk--small wonder that the chonyas made you gar!" and then: "if you win, you'll live--but here, on amara, forever a slave."
-"i ask no more," shane came back coldly. again his blue eyes swept the crowd, the sparkling night of a thousand stars. for a moment his gaze lingered on talu, catching the fever in her eyes, the tension carved in every line. the noise of the shouting horde above beat down upon him. the fetid stench of the zanth came to his nostrils from the tunnel-chute.
-"your weapon, earthman!" cried the malya chief, and threw it down. "keeper, prepare to loose the zanth!"
-in one swift motion, shane swept up the knife. then, quickly, he moved to the shadows along the wall of the pit, out of the smoky torches' flickering glare.
-in the tunnel, the zanth roared thunderously. shane caught a glimpse of the panic on kyrsis' pale face, where she sat in the prisoners' cage; of the fear that crawled in quos reggar's great lobed eyes.
-overhead, the malya chieftain cried, "turn loose the zanth!"
-shane sucked in air. this zanth was big, bigger than any he had ever seen ... well over twenty feet. the murderous, serrated tail alone measured at least seven, and the great jaws were of a size to snap a man in two in a single bite. its scales were big as dinner plates, and as thick, horny with age. spurs and claws gleamed in the torchlight like curved knives.
-then the great, ringed nostrils flared as the creature scented shane. the spiked diamond head came round, twisting and turning on the monstrous, snake-like neck; darting and probing to the full five feet of its length. the stink of its breath swept over the earthman in a nauseous wave.
-shane stood very still.
-but already the zanth was turning. the bulging eyes gleamed redly, searching for him.
-the knife-haft was slippery in shane's hand. a rill of sweat crept down his spine.
-the zanth paused now, the spiked head moving sinuously to and fro. the tail flicked the blood-stained sand. its powerful, armor-scaled body seemed to draw together.
-shane forgot to breathe.
-the zanth lunged.
-shane dived as the great spiked head lanced forward. the jaws snapped shut where he had been with a clacking like the sound of monstrous castanets.
-after that, there was no time for anything but action.
-for even before the earthman hit the ground, the thing was whirling. the claws of its eight feet sprayed the sand like a windstorm. again, it lunged.
-desperately, shane rolled out of the way.
-but now the serrated, seven-foot tail lashed out at him, with a force that would have smashed through a solid brick wall.
-again shane rolled--in, towards the zanth's body.
-one of the feet clawed for him. a six-inch talon raked a bloody path along his side.
-panting, the earthman scrambled away--back to the shadows, the wall of the pit.
-the zanth whirled; charged.
-taut-muscled, shane waited till the diamond head hammered forward. then, in the last instant, he leaped aside.
-the zanth's head smashed against the wall of the pit. savagely, shane stabbed for the crevice where the jaw-plates met, trying for the creature's tiny brain.
-but the tough cartilage turned away the blade. with a roar, the zanth struck at him.
-shane leaped high into the air, and the awful head passed beneath him. twisting, he landed on the writhing, tree-thick neck; balanced there for a precarious moment.
-the zanth reared back, clawing for him, and shane sprang clear. again he took up his stand against the wall.
-this time, the zanth broke off its charge to flail at him with its tail. barely in time, the earthman got out of the way. he was breathing hard, now--his whole body shaking under the strain.
-the zanth lunged.
-desperately, shane snatched up a handful of sand, hurled it straight into the oncoming monster's glaring eyes.
-the creature came up short, shaking its head.
-shane moved like a striking quirst. again he snatched sand, hurled it.
-the zanth raised its head high, to the full length of the five-foot neck. clawing, it leaped at the earthman. the awful talons shredded his clothes, tore at his flesh.
-shane threw himself sideways.
-the head lanced towards him.
-he slashed at the eyes with his knife, felt the steel bite in.
-a wild roar burst from the creature's throat. it threw itself at shane in a frenzy, clawing and snapping and threshing.
-once more, shane sprang aside--then darted back before the creature could make the double turn. leaping to its neck, he threw himself flat upon it, clinging to it with legs and one arm as to a writhing log, while with the other hand, the knife hand, he stabbed again and again at the bulging eyes.
-the zanth roared its agony. twisting and jerking, it struggled to unseat the earthman. one clawed foot reached his leg; laid it open. but still shane clung to his place, slashing and stabbing.
-blindly, the monster crashed against the pit's wall. it reared, then surged forward, clawing its way up the sheer face. the great spiked head rocked and swayed; beat against the stonework in a spasm of pain, less than three feet below the rim.
-a fierce light flamed in shane's eyes. clutching the base of the spike, he suddenly let go the zanth's neck with his legs. his toes dug into the overlap between the scales, and all at once he was running upward--up the snake-neck, onto the diamond head itself.
-and then, before the malyas realized what was happening, he leaped from the head to the rim of the pit. the fighting knife flashed in a savage arc. a warrior's shout choked off in a rush of blood. the others about him scrambled back from the slashing blade.
-behind shane, back in the pit, the zanth screamed and hurled itself upward. its head came over the rim. with a mighty, surging leap, its forefeet followed. a terrible roar burst from its throat as it caught the scent of the malya warrior's blood, and it clawed its way onward, upward, out of the pit and into the rising tiers of seats.
-it was a nightmare, a world gone mad. wildly, the screaming malyas fled. but the zanth's great tail lashed out and a score of them fell, crushed or smashed into the pit. the knife-claws tore; the great jaws ran ruby-red with blood.
-forgotten, shane followed the panicked mob.
-only then, somehow, a voice slashed through to him through the tumult: "shane--shane!"
-talu was running towards him, across the seats. "this way!"
-for an instant he hesitated, then changed his course to meet hers.
-she caught his hand. "this way!"
-together, they raced back towards the chief's box at the rim of the pit, and now shane saw that a trap door in the floor had been lifted.
-"hurry!" cried the malyalara. "in a moment the warriors will bring in a proton cannon to kill the zanth, and someone will think of you, too. you must be gone before then!"
-shane shot one look at the pitch-black shaft. "where does it go?"
-"to a passage below the arena that leads to the chief's castle and the ramps. we can steal a flyer there. but hurry!"
-shane shot one quick look back.
-the zanth still raged and ravened through the crowd, but already the warriors had rallied to hem it in.
-tightly, he said to talu: "you first, then."
-"do you think i'd let you get behind me?" he clipped bitterly. "fool that i am, i'll go with you, because i have no choice. but my knife will be in your back every step of the way, ready for your next betrayal."
-"'betrayal'?" she repeated, and now the heat of anger was in her voice, her eyes. "did you say betrayal, earthman?"
-"what would you call it?" he made no effort to keep the fury from his tone. "who tripped me when i would have stabbed quos reggar? who shot a second dose of theol into my veins?"
-knife still in hand, shane followed. the effort made him shake, and under the strain of climbing, the claw-wound in his side began to bleed again.
-then, at last, they were in the murky passageway below, and talu was leading him swiftly through the darkness. once shane staggered and would have fallen, had not the malyalara caught him; and once he dropped the knife. but she picked it up again, and her groping hand strayed into the blood as she sought to return the weapon. so she made him sit down while she tore up some garment and bandaged his wounds, and her fingers were very gentle.
-they went on again, then, for what seemed endless miles, till at last they came to a huge, dim-lighted ramping-spot where dull black malya flyers stood in ordered rows, their bubbles pointed up into the starlit sky. and finally they even found one with its lower hatches open, and the girl helped shane to climb aboard. she strapped him in the pilot's seat, and herself in the other seat beside him.
-for a long time, it seemed, he worked at the controls with clumsy fingers, till at last, somehow, they were blasting off, roaring up and up and up into the gaudy heavens. and talu talked to him, and braced him, and helped him hold the jet-globe steady, while seconds, or maybe hours, ticked by.
-only then, suddenly, the sky about them was full of ships, great black-hulled ships that were built for ranging clear across the void. they came in hundreds--thousands, maybe--blazing in thunderous silence through the blackness of spatial night. and one of the ships swerved and came alongside the little malya flyer, and a great hatch opened in its side and sucked them in.
-then the hatch slid closed again, and the darkness about them was complete. even their jets were blacked out, killed by the great ship's pickup neutralizers.
-and still shane sat in silence, staring stupidly straight ahead.
-but the body of the girl, talu, came warm against him in the ebon murk, her voice a fierce, husky whisper in his ear: "you must believe me, shane! i did not betray you--not ever! the things i did, i had to do, in order to live to pay back the blood debt of my people. you could never have killed quos reggar with one thrust, no matter where, for he is a cross-bred mongrel, and his body does not work as ours do."
-shane forced out words: "why tell me now? why care about it?"
-"why? why?" the girl's voice held a tremor now, a fear not even the black could hide. "i tell you so that you will know, and not die hating me to your last breath. that i could not stand! for die we will, and soon--because this ship is one of reggar's slavers!"
-"here is life!" the vendor cried. "fresh life from new planets! young slaves, with the hot blood surging through their veins! and all yours--yours for the asking, going for the price you set yourselves!" he struck a note on a silver gong. "look at this next wench--a warm and vibrant thing, my friends, throbbing with life and spirit! what am i offered for her?"
-the woman on the block was venusian, a weary, fading creature with the sucking tube and ear-stalks of the transmi. her eyes were veined with weeping, her sagging face shadowed with fear and fatigue.
-"come! make the first bid!" cried the vendor. "who'll start it? do i hear five hundred?"
-"fifty," called a voice from the rear of the crowd.
-"fifty! do you seek to insult me? she's worth five hundred if she is a xi--"
-"you mean, you insult us, vendor," the bidder retorted caustically. "a fool can see that the life runs low within her. she would not last the night."
-"fifty!" cried the vendor. "i'm offered fifty, friends. who'll raise it to sixty?"
-no one spoke. after a moment, the vendor struck the silver gong again. "sold to callan at fifty!" he pushed the venusian down the steps. "get on with you, woman...."
-an attendant pushed shane forward, heavy with irons. "an earthman, vendor--"
-the vendor struck the gong. "an earthman, my friends; a fighting man--powerful, surging with life in spite of his wounds. who'll start it--?"
-coldly, shane swept the auction room with his glance.
-here, in front, on one side, were the slaves--a motley assortment, dragged to this final degradation from a dozen far-flung planets. one by one, they were thrust upon the block, exposed to the ghoulish appraisal of the crowd that filled the room.
-the crowd. a crowd of silver men and women, with gleaming hair and violet eyes and pale, translucent skins. a hundred hungry-eyed, avid brothers and sisters of shi kyrsis.
-even the room itself was strange. the materials resembled nothing known anywhere in all the void. the lush decor followed an alien theme.
-"this man is good for long-time use!" exhorted the vendor. "see the strength of him--the fire and vigor! you cannot pass him by...."
-a door to shane's right opened. a woman came in, a silver woman.
-an old man close to the block called eagerly, "i'll give a hundred, vendor!" in a thin, cracking voice.
-"a hundred i'm offered! now who'll make it a hundred and fifty? no one can afford to let this strong man go at a mere hundred--"
-"hundred and ten!" someone shouted.
-kyrsis turned. for the first time, her eyes met shane's, and she stopped suddenly, staring as if paralyzed.
-"do i hear a hundred forty? surely no fine, strapping fighting man can go for less--"
-"two hundred," kyrsis said.
-"two hundred! the lady kyrsis bids two hundred--"
-"two fifty, vendor!" cried the old man by the block.
-"three hundred," came back kyrsis.
-"do i hear three fifty--?"
-"with his wounds, he is worth no more than three," the old man mumbled.
-"three twenty-five then! do i hear three twenty-five?"
-"three fifty," echoed kyrsis.
-the vendor paused and looked about. "three fifty is bid...." he struck the gong. "sold to the lady kyrsis for three fifty."
-shane left the block, strode to the silver woman's side; and for a moment they stood there in vibrant silence, alone in the crowd, duelling with their eyes.
-then kyrsis asked: "what dark fate brought you here, gar shane? when i last saw you, you were hewing a path through the malya horde at the arena...."
-"and you were in the prisoners' cage." the earthman ignored the strange tremor in the silver woman's voice. his words were clipped. "talu and i escaped and fled amara in a flyer. but one of quos reggar's slavers sucked us in and brought us here."
-"the slavers came to rescue reggar," kyrsis said. "they swept amara clean." she looked down, breathing deep as if to still some inner tension. and then: "talu was with you? they brought her here--?"
-"--and put here aside. her hair was cropped, so they knew she already had a master." shane laughed harshly. "me--i'd worn no yoke, so they sent me to the block."
-"then ... let us go. i have already done my other buying." the tremor in kyrsis' voice was stronger, now--a sort of undercurrent of strange excitement.
-"your 'other buying'--?"
-"a few young slaves to ... to train for household use." the silver woman's fingers trembled, cold as ice, upon shane's arm. "come! let us go now--quickly--"
-she led shane out, through other rooms, where other vendors hawked their wares, and other slaves stood shamed or sobbing, bared to the eager, weirdly-lusting eyes of the silver people.
-then they reached a sort of transit station, and an attendant brought a car of a type shane had never seen before, and they got in.
-three frightened children, a malya boy of perhaps twelve and two chonya girls even younger, huddled at the back, their dark eyes big with panic.
-"your slaves, lady kyrsis?" shane asked coldly. the barb in his voice would have slashed through the scales of a zanth.
-the silver woman kept her eyes on the controls. the car hurtled off through a tube-like passage. she did not answer.
-then the car halted. they got out--shane, kyrsis, children--and entered rooms, rooms luxuriously furnished in the alien style of the silver people.
-"and now?" shane inquired thinly.
-kyrsis' breathing was fast and shallow, her face even more pale than before. she spoke too rapidly, in a ragged, uneven voice. "you are weary, shane, so weary. you must rest now. here--let me take off your shackles. there is a room here you will like--a quiet room...."
-she unlocked the cuffs on his wrists and tossed them aside, then led him swiftly to an adjoining sleep chamber. foam-soft cushioning a foot thick blanketed a dais along one wall, big enough for a dozen men. a lingering perfume filled the air. soft lights cast a silvery glow. from somewhere came faint strains of elfin music.
-"rest here, earthman," the silver woman said softly. "rest until i call you...."
-for a moment her icy fingers touched his cheek. then she left the room, closing the door behind her.
-shane stared after her, a frown furrowing his brow. after a moment, he stepped to the door, tried the handle.
-it was locked.
-shane's frown deepened. he rubbed a grimy hand across his cheek where the cold of kyrsis' fingers still lingered; finally turned to a more thorough inspection of his quarters.
-as he pivoted, light glinted on the glass-like surface of the wall that flanked the door--caught a vague flicker of movement.
-shane moved on across the chamber with no sign that he had seen it.
-an alcove held a radiation bath. the earthman stepped into the cubicle and flipped the switch, luxuriating under the warm tingle of the molecular bombardment. slowly, the sweat and dirt and grime faded from his body, the dried blood washed away. the worst of the weariness left his muscles. his bones almost stopped aching.
-refreshed, he snapped off the radiation and, leaving the cubicle, drank greedily from a crystal bubbler set beside it.
-now he went back to the sleeping chamber. his eyes flickered over the spot in the wall beside the door.
-the surface showed blank and dead as the rest.
-shane grinned sourly to himself; crossed the room and tried the door once more.
-it was still locked.
-the earthman hesitated. then, grimly, he braced one foot on the casing beside the lock, gripped the handle, and threw his full weight on it.
-inside the lock, something snapped. the handle twisted askew.
-again shane tugged, his muscles swelling with the strain.
-the broken handle pulled from its socket. inserting a forefinger in the hole, shane manipulated the lock, pulled back the bolt.
-the door swung open.
-shane stepped outside. he glanced at the wall behind the spot where he had seen the movement.
-a picture hung there. lifting aside, he found a small, hinged panel. opening it, he discovered that a lens set behind the shiny coating of the inner wall enabled him to survey the entire sleep chamber.
-again, the sour grin twisted shane's lips. swiftly, he strode through the silence, checking the other rooms. he found them empty, all but one. its door was locked.
-the earthman drew back a moment.
-a picture hung a few feet to one side of the locked door.
-shane stepped over to it and lifted it from the wall.
-it concealed another peep hole. shading his eyes, the earthman peered through the lens.
-kyrsis was within ... kyrsis and one of the captive chonya girls.
-yet under it all, somehow, hung a weird, unholy note--grotesque, obscene.
-some of the fear had left the child's eyes now. she smiled wanly ... nestled, not quite so tense, in the silver woman's arms.
-kyrsis' eyes closed. her lips parted, and shane knew that she was singing as she rocked the child.
-the child's lips drooped. trustingly, the small arms half-embraced the silver woman. the tired head rested on kyrsis' breast.
-the child slept.
-now new emotions came to kyrsis' lovely face ... strange passion--a horrid anticipatory glow. her nostrils flared. her violet eyes grew large, gleamed with fires older than time itself. she cradled the child. ever so tenderly, yet with a terrible air of strain, her parted lips sought the girl's.
-the child moved languidly in kyrsis' arms--restless, not struggling, and for a moment the silver woman straightened, sucked in air. then, again, she pressed her lips against the girl's.
-shane cursed beneath his breath and turned towards the door.
-but even as he did so, kyrsis rose, the child still in her arms. the silver woman's face was serene now, ethereally beautiful, unmarred by any trace of strain. gently, she laid down the still form of the child. then, coming erect again, she moved towards the door.
-shane slid the picture back into place and stepped out of sight in the adjoining room.
-the door to the room in which kyrsis had been, opened and closed. the silver woman passed down the hall, out of sight.
-tense, silent, shane made for the room from which she'd come.
-the door was unlocked now. swiftly, he slipped inside and stepped to the couch where the chonya child still lay, so very still. he touched the soft hand. lifted it with trembling fingers.
-behind him, the door-latch clicked.
-kyrsis stood watching him. "you come unannounced, earthman," she murmured coolly.
-"i came in as you left," shane said, and of a sudden his hands, his voice, his whole body, were shaking uncontrollably, gripped in a paroxysm of surging fury. "i saw you here, with the child! do you hear me? i saw you--!"
-"so...?" kyrsis' face was still calm, the violet eyes unfathomable.
-the veins at shane's temples stood out, throbbing. with a tremendous effort, he brought his voice under a semblance of control.
-he said: "this child is dead!"
-they stood there thus for a long, taut, echoing moment.
-then kyrsis said: "you leave me no choice, earthman. i see i must tell you gadar's secret."
-her lips twitched. "yes, earthman. gadar, the dark star--the star hurled into your solar system from across the void: cold, bleak, barren, uninhabited gadar."
-"you mean that you--your people--are of gadar?"
-the silver woman nodded. "yes. when our star cooled, in the course of that endless voyage across the void, we had no choice but to burrow deeper and deeper, like animals--cutting ourselves away from the awful cold of outer space, hunting desperately for the last dim vestiges of warmth at our planet's core. then, when at last we had come into the family of your sun, we saw no reason to let it be known that we existed. for we knew the thing we had to do if we were still to live, and we knew that if you knew it, gadar would be doomed."
-"then--this is gadar? we are inside it now--deep down below the surface?"
-"so deep that even the echographs of your federation's exploration parties did not find us. here, for a million years, we have built our civilization." a new glint came to the woman's violet eyes, a note of excitement to her voice. "the things we have done, shane! the incredible things! you will never believe them until you see them. we have conquered time and space and matter--"
-"and the child is dead," shane said.
-"the child--" kyrsis broke off, and a shadow crossed her face. "yes, the child is dead."
-unspeaking, the earthman waited. his temple veins no longer throbbed, but his jaw was hewn of granite.
-kyrsis said: "there are so many things your childish science knows that are not true--and one of them is the nature of life."
-shane studied her, narrow-eyed. "so? in what way?"
-"you think that life comes into being when certain conditions are correct. but we know otherwise."
-"i hear only words, not meaning," shane clipped coldly.
-"of course. because the whole pattern of your thinking is based on false assumptions." the silver woman groped for words. "the thing i seek to say, too simply, is that life is not a creature of conditions. it is an entity, a basic element, a product of the whole great cosmic process of creation. either it exists in a place, or it does not." she shrugged. "your solar system has it."
-shane stared at her. "so you bought slaves--"
-"of course we bought slaves!" a note of hysteria crept into the silver woman's laugh. "power, you talked about. why would anyone buy slaves in a universe where power is free? what we sought was life--life in a form we could drink up, before our bodies finally died!" she came close to shane, her pale face smooth and glowing, the violet eyes afire. "look at me, earthman! look closely! how old would you guess me? how many of your earth years?"
-shane did not speak.
-"a hundred years, earthman? a thousand? ten thousand? a hundred thousand?" again she laughed--wildly, up and down the scale. and then, steady once more: "shane, i first drew breath a million years ago! our science has kept me as i am--young in body and mind and heart. but without new life--without the living slaves we buy--i would wither and die in months. this child,"--and she gestured to the limp, dead body of the chonya girl--"what did she know of life? what did she care? i played with her, and comforted her, and she was happy; and then i sucked the life out of her body, and you hate me for it. but was it so wicked, really? was it not better that i should live, i who have learned to love life through a million endless year, than she, who would have wasted that life and thrown it away in some dull corner of the asteroid belt?"
-shane shifted; stared down at the dead child for a long, long moment, then back at the woman again.
-"you are thinking, 'is there no other way?'" kyrsis whispered. her pale hand touched the earthman's arm. "i tell you, shane: there is none. how many years have our scientists sought it? how many eons of spatial time? but always, the answer is no. we must have life itself--humanoid life, like that of this girl here. no other can be transmuted to our bodies."
-"if life is an element, as you say, a thing that wells up with creation, out of the birth of a planet, then you could have moved to another planet," shane said in a dull, flat voice. "if life is gone from gadar, then you could have migrated, picked a new home."
-"it sounds so easy, does it not?" the silver woman taunted. "but where life exists, there life forms evolve. we could have taken such a planet only by conquest. would your worlds have liked that, shane? would they have been willing to see us come in and seize their homelands? you fought out of pride, for the belt the chonya chieftains gave you. would the worlds of your system do less if we tried to invade them?"
-shane stood mute.
-kyrsis' arm slipped about him. the rich purple lips came close to his. "come with us, shane! join us!" she whispered. "for a million aching years i have sought a man like you. do not leave me, now that i've found you...."
-a weakness crept through shane's body.
-with a tremendous, savage effort, he hurled the silver woman from him.
-"you'd steal my life as quos reggar stole my belt!" he shouted. stark murder was in his eyes.
-"no, shane--! no!"
-"words!" the earthman lashed fiercely. "words, to lull me as you lulled that chonya child!" he caught kyrsis' arm, dragged her up from the place where she had fallen. "you talk of life as if you, your people, were the only ones who knew the way to live it. but life belongs to each man, alone--his precious own, to waste or hoard as he sees fit--"
-the woman asked: "and what will you do, now that you have decided?"
-the look she threw him was a study in contempt. "i can see it in your eyes, earthman. for a moment you hung, unsure, caught up by the vision of the wealth and power that might be yours; of me at your side, and endless years for us together. but then it dawned upon you of a sudden that i might suck your life out, as we suck those of the other slaves we take, though such was not my plan. the thought brought fear, and in the same instant you became the great gar shane, who would strike down gadar and save your solar system." she laughed, and the sound was chill as outer space. "you are as much a child as that dead lump there beside you. do you think to pit yourself against my people--scientists who could plot your every thought ten million years before your birth? you are but a fool, and you will die as all the others have died, and quos reggar will wear your belt and serve us!"
-"there comes a time for every man to die," shane said. "if this is mine, i'll face it." he picked a heavy, club-like, metal ornament from a table, and his face had the rugged lines of carven stone. "we go now, kyrsis. and if i can die--remember, so can you!"
-shane bared his teeth in a death's-head grin. "to your ramps, shi kyrsis. even slavers carry a fleet alarm."
-"a fleet alarm--?"
-"when a space ship wallows through the void, out of control, a crewman throws the switch on the fleet alarm box. it sends out a distress call on a federation beam--a call so strong that it can reach to the farthest star."
-"indeed?" the woman mocked. "so your federation's fleet will come. what can they do to us, burrowed here deep within the solid rock of gadar? and we have weapons, earthman--weapons the like of which you've never seen."
-"then roll them out," shane said. "this will be your chance to use them." he pushed her through the doorway; on past the other rooms and out into the car.
-she asked, "what can you do if i will not aid you?"
-shane shrugged. "i'd have no choice but to go my way alone, i suppose ..."--and then, sinking in the barb with a savage twist--"after i'd beaten your brains out, killed you so dead that not even your people's science could ever put you back together!"
-they traveled through endless miles of tube-like passage, after that, but always climbing ever upward--the silver woman sitting at the controls, shane watching, hawk-like, alert in every nerve and fiber, the heavy club gripped ready in his hand.
-then, finally, they reached a place where great volcanic pipes led upward, and slaver space ships towered base-down, ramped and ready.
-there was a guard, a silver guard, who said, "it is forbidden to go farther."
-"of course," shane said--and smiled and struck him down.
-"must i go further?" kyrsis asked. panic was in her voice.
-"much further," shane replied. again he threw her the death's-head grin. "life is a sacred thing, you've said, and i am a fool--fool enough, at least, to think it should be true for my chonyas, as well as your people. so drive on--out along the ramp to where quos reggar's own great ship is waiting!"
-"not reggar's own ship--!" the silver woman's lips were trembling. "earthman, he may be on board now. he brought me back to gadar with him, and--"
-"--and if he's here, so much the better!" the recklessness was back in shane's stance now. the blue eyes gleamed a chill excitement. "why do you think i seek his ship, except to find him? he is the key to this bath of blood; were it not for him and his kind, your people might have been hard-put to implement their plans for slaughter. fool that i am, lacking your skill and science, i've a feeling that if i can cut quos reggar's throat, i'll have traveled far towards choking off this madness!" he lifted his club. "drive on, shi kyrsis! quickly, before the vision of that dead chonya child again seeps through me!"
-trembling, the silver woman worked at the controls. the car went racing down the ramp to where quos reggar's ship stood waiting.
-"inside!" shane said. "keep close before me!"
-they clambered aboard the slaver, tight with tension. but there was no sign of life. reggar's own quarters lay deserted.
-"the control room, then," the earthman said tightly.
-in silence, they climbed the long steel ladder.
-a lone pervod sat in the control room, rewiring a panel. he looked up, saw kyrsis already in the doorway. lust touched his sly reptilian face. "ho, woman--!"
-shane smashed his skull.
-and there was the black metal cube that was the fleet alarm box.
-"you spoke of weapons, kyrsis?" shane said bleakly. "now is the time, then. roll them out!"
-he threw the switch.
-they were coming now--a horde of great silver ships that lanced through the void like streaks of light, hurtling down on gadar. the slim, sleek chonya craft were with them, too ... the dull black malya flyers; and shane knew that his other calls had gotten through--that the worlds and the asteroids were uniting against slavery and death and chaos.
-a siren blasted shrill alarm. quos reggar's renegades swarmed onto the ramp, racing for their ships to take up the challenge.
-the light of battle shone in shane's blue eyes. the reckless laugh rose in his throat. with a jerk, he levered the slaver flagship's great hatches shut. his thumb rammed home the contact button for the interlacing belts of proton cannon that girded the craft.
-the exploding flame of pronic blasts erupted across the short-range visiscreen's whole viewer--searing the outlaws from the ramp, smashing the slaver ships off their bases, turning the great volcanic pits to a holocaust of flaming ruin.
-and shane the earthman, gar of the chonyas, high lord of the asteroids, laughed his wild, bold, reckless laugh and jammed the contact button home again ... again ... again....
-but now a voice came through the amplifier--quos reggar's voice, shaking with rage and hate and fury: "though it costs me my own ship, i'll blast you, chitza! you'll sear as my men have seared--"
-shane flicked the switch. "blast, then, reggar! blast--but you'll blast the lady kyrsis with me!"
-beside him, kyrsis screamed, "no reggar! not that--not that! the meteors--"
-shane snapped the switch. "the meteors--?"
-the silver woman's poise was gone. she shook her fist, and the glittering metallic hair came tumbling down about her shoulders. "you'll see, earthman! you'll see! we have weapons such as you've never dreamed of--"
-shane's eyes flicked back to the long-range visiscreen--to the silver fleet that raced towards gadar. it was closer now ... so close he could see the fore-jets opening for the landing.
-only then, abruptly, the fleet was swerving--swinging wide in wild, irregular maneuver.
-and then the meteors came--bright balls of flame in swirling clouds and clusters, with cores of stone and molten iron; flashing across the screen in the path of the federation fleet ... hurtling through space in a murderous barrage.
-and one ship swerved too late, and a great orange-and-purple monster crashed into it with a burst of fire and sparking shards.
-"you talk of power, earthman?" kyrsis raged shrilly. "you brag of your federation's broadcast system? then look at this, and know what power really means! we have tapped a source of energy so great it makes all others puny--a source your science left untouched, though it lies within your solar system! but we have harnessed that force. we have concentrated it into great controlled magnetic fields that we can shift at will, so strong they pull the very meteors from their courses and hurl them to the place that we desire them!"
-shane rocked, and shock was suddenly written on his lean, hard face. wordless, he stared into the screen.
-"and there is more, gar shane--much more!" the woman cried. swiftly, she stepped to the screen and twirled the dials. "there was a plan we drew for such a time as this--a plan to smash barbarian worlds to dust and ashes. we'll hurl the meteor swarms down on their cities, clouds of them so huge they'll cut through any atmospheric layer." she whirled. "here, see your homeland, earth! it will be the first to go! already, the field is concentrating, forming--drawing in the meteor clouds out of the void--"
-the viewer on the long-range screen was clearing. and there was earth, shane's native planet, a great, green-glowing arc in the lower corner. a lone space ship was rising in the foreground, speeding out into the void. but already, about it, were meteor clusters ... gathering swarms that grew with every passing minute.
-"you see, gar shane? the people of your earth are doomed!" the silver woman jeered in paranoiac frenzy. "there is no hope, no way to save them! the other planets, too, will go, till at last there is no one left but we of gadar. then we shall migrate out of this dark star, into your worlds, where life is not yet spent and faded. my people's strength will rise anew--"
-bleakly, shane stared into the screen, through a moment that lasted all eternity.
-then, in one explosive motion, he snatched the space-phones from their rack. his voice crackled out into the void: "chonyas ... chonyas ... shane, your gar, is calling--"
-and taut-drawn chonya words came back: "we stand by for your orders--"
-"i want a ship," shane answered tightly, "a single fast chonya ship, equipped with abaquist repellers, to try to break through the meteor swarm and come down to gadar to me on the fleet alarm beam."
-"we come, gar shane--"
-even with the words, a slim, sleek craft was breaking from the milling fleet, swerving through the sky in a monstrous arc.
-then it was coming round again--striking its course, plunging down on gadar. straight into the blazing meteor swarm it sped, and even on the screen shane could see it tossing--careening, staggering, lurching with shock.
-and then it was through the swarm and out again. its hull was ripped, its hatches battered, but still it plummeted down towards gadar.
-kyrsis cried: "now i know you are truly mad, not just a fool, if you think you can fight both my people and quos reggar here on gadar with the crew of a single ship!"
-shane said: "we're leaving now," and levered back the hatches. again he fired a burst from the proton cannon to clear the way ... saw the shaft's walls vibrate with its violence.
-before she could read his thoughts, shane snatched up kyrsis bodily and raced through the smouldering pronic rubble to the chonya craft.
-"blast!" he shouted, and swung aboard; and almost before the hatches were shut, the ship was in the air again, lancing up into the sky.
-the commander said: "where now, gar shane? what are your orders?"
-the earthman laughed harshly. "send out the word to break the federation fleet into squadrons, each to stay far from the others, and all to strike at gadar. we'll see how many meteor swarms our friends down there can muster!"
-"and the rest of us--the malyas, chonyas--?"
-"you'll follow me," shane said. he took the jet-globe. "i'll set the course."
-kyrsis' eyes were like great violet flames. "pay him no heed, chonya!" she cried hoarsely. "kill him! lock him away! he is of earth, and he has gone mad with fear for his homeland! he takes you there to try to battle another, greater meteor swarm! it will be the death of all of you!"
-the chonya glanced curiously at her in her disarray, then looked into the visiscreen, the jet-globe. "a chonya holds no fear of death, silver one," he observed, iron-steady. "besides, our course is set for jupiter, not earth."
-"jupiter--!" the woman cried, and now a new note of panic was in her voice. she clutched shane's arm. "why jupiter, earthman? why?"
-"not jupiter, kyrsis, but one of jupiter's moons," shane answered thinly. "you see? there it lies in the visiscreen."
-"jupiter v--!" the silver woman whispered. "no, shane! no--!"
-"yes, kyrsis!" the earthman came back coldly. "jupiter v, the place where reggar held me prisoner. and the satellite closest to the planet, a satellite heaped twelve levels deep with power converters."
-relentlessly, shane hammered on: "who was it wanted all that power? who built that great paulsini unit? not any slaver, surely! no, that took skill and science and years of work. and when it was done, your people had more power than the world had ever known--power drawn from the endless seas of energy of jupiter's great red spot, the heat of oceans of flaming hydrogen, the force that lies congealed in gases held under such pressures that they turn to solids, all turned somehow to your use by those new converters that i saw there."
-the silver woman looked at him. a little of the wildness left her eyes, replaced by something that might have been cunning. her voice came down to its former liquid murmur. "and what will you do when you get to this moon, earthman? will it bring back the cities of your native planet?"
-"say what you mean," shane came back tightly.
-"perhaps earth could be spared--for your aid against the other worlds of the federation."
-shane's eyes blazed. "you do think me a fool, shi kyrsis! after all that has gone, can you believe i would trust you?"
-"it is a chance you must take, if you would save earth's cities."
-strain showed in shane's voice, his face. but his jaw stayed hard, his blue eyes steady. "if earth must go, then go it will, shi kyrsis. for all i know, the meteors may this moment be hurtling down. but even if they are, and though it costs me my life and my homeland, i'll still take the chance in order to break your life-sucking people's power."
-"but you cannot destroy that power--"
-the chonya commander broke in: "more meteors, gar! they gather between us and the satellite!"
-and kyrsis jeered. "you see, earthman? you have lost already!"
-shane said to the chonya: "we're going through."
-"through the swarm?" the commander's face lost a little of its color, but his voice stayed firm. he picked up his space-phones. "i shall give the order."
-"we're going through," shane repeated grimly, "and some of us--those who have repellers--may get there. there will not be many, but only a handful of workers can be on that moon, with reggar's crew withdrawn, so even a few ships will be enough."
-"yes, gar," the chonya nodded coolly. he spoke into the space-phones, gave the order.
-the ship lanced into the swarm.
-and still they drove on through the tempest, tossed and jostled, beaten, butchered.
-an alarm bell clanged fiercely.
-"a rip in the hull, upper port," the chonya reported grimly.
-jupiter v was very large in the screens now. it loomed like a monstrous metal ball, glistening with the hood of structure that encased it.
-"the swarm is following us now," the commander said. "it moves with us, traveling even faster than are we." his lips twisted wryly. "their control is getting better all the time."
-shane stared into the visiscreen. it was as if the satellite were hurtling up to meet them. the exploding speed of it made the screen seem almost to whirl.
-and still the meteors swarmed and blazed around them.
-jupiter v now extended past the edges of the screen. they could see but a segment of it--a segment that raced ever upward, ever towards them, dividing into a thousand and finer details every second.
-"twenty seconds," the chonya reported.
-the meteor swarm seemed to close in about them--tighter, tighter.
-the meteors' light was stunning, blinding.
-shane's teeth were clenched, his lips parted, his eyes glued tight to the viewer of the visiscreen. the muscles stood out along his neck. the tension about him was a living thing.
-a sort of paralysis seemed to grip the earthman. he stood frozen, still staring like one in a trance.
-the ribs in the satellite's casing stood out, now--the ports, the vents.
-the meteors seemed to have grown to blazing suns.
-shane's paralysis broke. he snatched the phones, and of a sudden his eyes were blazing like the nightmare scene beyond their hull. "veer!" he shouted. "don't land! veer--!"
-the ship swung out in a wild gyration. reeling, slashing crazily across the moon's perimeter, it hurtled off through space.
-behind them, the other ships, too, were peeling clear.
-"they'll crash--!" the chonya cried, and jubilation was in his voice. "they did not know we were so close! now it's too late to turn them!"
-the explosive flash of the meteors bursting through the satellite's casing came like an exclamation point. great cracks appeared--monstrous fissures, spewing flame.
-and still more meteors hurtled down--the whole, vast, captive swarm. the planetoid's casing glowed red-hot, then white, till the moon was a fiery, radiant sphere.
-then suddenly, it seemed to shiver. a gigantic explosion ripped one side, sent the planetoid spinning over. a huge, wedge-shaped chunk tore loose and blasted off through space; then another ... another.
-shane threw him a grim, tight grin and said: "there's still work, back on gadar."
-the chonya spun the jet-globe; focussed the visicreen on the dark star.
-even as the image drew sharp and clear, a ship shot out of one of the great volcanic pipes that served as the planet's ramping spots.
-and then, beside him, kyrsis said, "oh, no--!"
-shane turned at the sheer, stark panic in her voice.
-her face showed even more.
-the earthman looked back to the visiscreen again; and this time he, too, rocked under the impact of the thing that was happening.
-gadar was moving from its orbit!
-faster it went, and faster, slashing a course towards outer space. the ships of the federation fleet raced madly from its path.
-"no--!" shi kyrsis cried again. "no, they must not leave me!" her face was working now, contorted. the silvery tones seemed duller, more like lead.
-in an awe-struck voice shane said: "this is the way they must have come! it was no cosmic accident! they hurled their own planet across the void--"
-"no, no!" the silver woman shrieked, and the wild hysteria in her tones was giving way to madness. "they can't, they can't! i must go with them--!" her twitching face was no longer human.
-then, before anyone could stop her, she turned and ran--out of the door, away from the control room.
-but outside the room there was no place to run ... only an echoing, well-like shaft that dropped away a hundred feet through the vitals of the ship, its depths linked only by a steel-runged ladder.
-unseeing, unheeding, the silver woman plunged over the brink and plummeted downward. her scream rose and fell in the banshee wail of a soul in torment.
-it ended with a sound like the bursting of an air-filled paper bag a room or two away.
-the chonya sucked in air. he let it out with a sound that might have been pity.
-white-lipped, shane said: "there was a chonya child, a little girl...." abruptly, he turned away and spun the jet-globe.
-the ship's commander frowned. "i do not understand, gar shane."
-the earthman's eyes stayed on the visiscreen. he said: "my road still lies before me. it leads to quos reggar, and my great iron belt, and talu, the malyalara."
-they picked up the trail in the asteroid belt, in the wreckage of a gutted town. it led to horla, then, and from there to the burning sands of mercury's barren wastes, and then back out to the moons of saturn. but always reggar was a jump ahead, and always there was blood and death and pillage.
-once, on juno, shane thought he had him. but reggar blasted off as the earthman ramped in, and they lost the trail in the outer asteroids.
-and then, one night, shane came to titan.
-as always, there was desolation. as always, the great slaveship was gone. and a weeping bartok woman shook her fist at shane and cried, "so now you come! but they have killed my man. my children starve, and i am left to care for reggar's cursed, dying malyalara--"
-shane turned on her, "a malyalara--? quos reggar's malyalara?"
-an emotion that might have been fear flickered in the woman's eyes, and she would have fled had shane not caught her arm. "please, earthman--!" she pleaded piteously. "my man is still warm in his grave. i say strange things--senseless, without meaning. please let me go--" and when shane released her, she scurried off through the rubble like a frightened mouse and disappeared in the ruins of a broken building.
-but shane followed her--cautious, cat-footed; through alleys and shadows and tumbled wreckage; till finally she went into one of the ancient, conical, loaf-like hovels in the oldest part of the native city.
-for ten long minutes the earthman watched and waited. then, half-angrily, he rose from the place where he lay hidden, and slapped the gun slung at his hip, and strode to the door through which the woman had gone. his knock echoed.
-after a moment the woman opened the door a crack. when she saw who it was, her eyes went wide, and she tried to force the door back shut.
-but shane put his weight against it and held it open, and said, "i want to see your house, bartok."
-"no, no--!" the woman panted.
-"i must," shane said. as gently as he could, he pushed her aside, and stepped into the room.
-and there was quos reggar.
-the giant mongrel stood in the corner, behind the door through which shane had entered. a light-pistol gleamed in one webbed hand, and the great lobed eyes were hot with hate.
-and about the creature's waist still was drawn the iron-linked belt--shane's chonya belt, the belt of the asteroids.
-"welcome, earthman!" the mongrel rasped, just as on the other night that now seemed so far away, so long ago. "welcome to death!"
-shane froze in his tracks--statue-like, taut-muscled. his eyes alone moved ... gauging quos reggar, measuring the distance, weighing the light-gun against his own draw.
-and the mongrel saw the things in the cold blue eyes--the death, the decision; and he snapped sharply, "no, chitza! wait--!"
-"why?" clipped the earthman. "why put it off?" and there was recklessness in his voice; a fierce exaltation.
-"because it may be you need not die!" the mongrel came back swiftly. "because there are things you do not know--things that still may save your life and make it worth living."
-shane still stood taut, motionless, waiting. he did not answer.
-"i thought you would come to talu's name," the hybrid told him, and now the creature's tone held a gloating note. "i planned it well--and you, fool that you are, came to the trap as on wings of fire."
-"get on with it!" shane slashed harshly. "we both know what is between us. why waste this time?"
-"the time is not wasted," reggar answered. "your coming here as you did proves something ... a fine point on which much may hang, for you as well as me."
-shane bared his teeth. his left hand moved in a savage, contemptuous gesture. "get on with it!" he slashed again. "what is it you seek to say?"
-a sly smile of sorts came to reggar's lips. he called: "talu--"
-"here, sha reggar." she stepped through the doorway, lithely graceful as always, garbed in a ban-dong of scarlet and gold. a gold clip held the midnight hair, and a gleaming fire-ruby of neptune hung by a golden chain in the hollow of her throat.
-her eyes met the earthman's, poised and calm. "sha shane...."
-a touch of color came to shane's lean face. quickly, he looked away, back to quos reggar.
-but a ghoulish grin twisted the mongrel's lips. "why stare at me, earthman? look at her, look at her! is she not lovely?"
-shane's eyes did not waver. "i'm listening, reggar," he answered tightly.
-the hybrid chuckled. "you came quickly, earthman ... so quickly, when you heard mention of this woman. you threw caution to the winds and came alone, in spite of all sense and judgment."
-"so i knew there is a feeling between you and this malyalara--a thing without logic, beyond your judgment, perhaps what you humanoids call love."
-the color heightened in the earthman's face. "you're mad as a ban, reggar!" he challenged angrily.
-"i think not," leered the mongrel. "and it is good. because you shall have the woman--untouched, too, earthman, for i am not as your race, and she could never catch my fancy, save as a pretty toy."
-"and the price, reggar?" shane queried tightly. "what must i do to earn such favor?"
-the creature before him shrugged. "i need not feign you have not hurt me. for you have. you and your chonyas have harried me through the void, and up and down among the planets. you've tracked me down as the zanth tracks down its prey. but now, i tire of being hunted. my crew is weary and sick, and the hull of my ship is worn to cracking. so i have stayed behind this time to strike a bargain with you, if i can."
-"a bargain?" the earthman laughed harshly. "when was your word ever worth a xi, that i should take it now?" his eyes narrowed, and he studied the other. "besides, what bargain could i make? the federation hunts you also."
-"the federation?" reggar sneered. "loot will always buy someone in the federation. but you--you fight from hate; and that is different."
-"then why haggle with me? why not kill me now, if indeed you fear me?"
-"why does anyone bargain?" again the mongrel shrugged. "because you have something i want and need--something i cannot get without your aid."
-"well? what is it?"
-thoughtfully, the great lobed eyes surveyed the earthman. the rasping voice sank lower. "it is sanctuary, gar shane. that is what i seek ... a place in the asteroids to hide, away from the eyes of the federation. as for you, you need not even call off your war against me. not openly; you will merely manage never quite to find me."
-the earthman frowned. he looked away--to talu, still standing in the open doorway; to the woman who'd lured him here, mousy and frightened in the farthest corner; to the tawdry room and its tawdrier trimmings.
-then, at last, his eyes moved back to reggar. in a tone of wonderment, he asked, "did you really think that i might do it?--that i might break the oath i swore; betray the trust the chonyas gave me with their great iron belt?"
-almost silkily, reggar murmured: "before you refuse, there are things you should consider."
-the cloak of control fell away from shane. his blue eyes blazed. his jaw was hard. "i swore my oath on the star-stone of hiaroloch, reggar," he slashed harshly. "there's nothing in this world or any other that will make me break it." and then, with savage force: "get on with your killing, butcher--and make sure your first beam hits me true, for it will be your last!"
-the mottlings stood out on reggar's scaly face. the light-gun thrust forward, and muscles stood out along the webbed hand's bones. "perhaps there is a thing you have forgotten, chitza!" he snarled. "perhaps you do not recall--the theol!"
-"the theol--?" and though the words came out as a question, already the color was draining from the earthman's face.
-"yes, the theol, starbo--and you know what i mean, for the fear is crawling through your eyes like the worms of thora! two doses you've had. a third will make you my slave forever!"
-the muscles in shane's neck knotted. his head came forward just a fraction. "wrong, reggar!" he clipped. "to make me stand and take the theol, the fear of death must be in me even stronger. and that dread i do not have. i'll fight--here, now! so the choice is yours, not mine! you must kill me, or die yourself--"
-"wait, shane--!" cried the mongrel. "there is more! there is the woman--the malyalara!"
-shane went rigid.
-"i can kill you," rasped reggar. "have no doubt about it. my gun is out, and yours is still holstered. but let me tell you this: if i do, talu is the one who shall suffer! i'll sell her in the brothels of uranus! the great, hairy beasts there shall have this woman of yours--and she will be a long time dying...."
-shane's lips drained white. his face grew grey. of a sudden his hands were shaking.
-"is it not a pretty picture, shane?" the creature before him gloated. "you dead--the malyalara sold for the sport of the beasts there on uranus--and all because you would not stretch your oath even a little--?"
-"damn you, reggar!" the earthman whispered. "damn you, damn you, damn you--"
-"then it is agreed?" the mongrel cried, in a voice alive with hideous glee. "you will promise me sanctuary, somewhere in the asteroids? you'll pledge your sworn word to hide me and shield me and give me aid?"
-"reggar--" the veins were throbbing in the earthman's temples.
-only then talu cried out, "no, shane! no--!" she rushed forward, hurled her lithe body straight at quos reggar. "i would rather die than see you yield! you know the things this monster has done to the malyas, the chonyas! kill him, kill him--!"
-a roar of rage burst from the mongrel. his clubbed light-gun slashed down at the woman's bare breasts, trying to drive her off.
-shane leaped like a tiger. he clawed at the hybrid's pistol; wrenched it back--away from talu's supple body, hard against his own.
-twisting and snarling, reggar crushed down the exciter.
-a faint, misty spray spurted from the muzzle, straight into shane's throat.
-but now shane's own gun was out. purple light slashed like a sword at the mongrel's belly.
-reggar reeled back. he smashed a wild blow to shane's head, sent the earthman crashing to the floor. again shane fired.
-reggar's mottled face went black under the beam. an awful scream rose in his throat. he tottered ... lurched ... fell.
-talu was with shane, then--clutching him to her, the dark face all anguish. "shane, shane...."
-dazedly, the earthman muttered, "the light-gun ... what happened to his light-gun? he triggered it straight into my throat--"
-with an effort, he rolled to the weapon; broke it open.
-the ray mechanism was gone. a hypodermic injector had been inserted in its place.
-shane's hand clutched his throat.
-there was still a trace of moisture there ... clear, colorless moisture.
-talu whispered: "shane, let me hold you--"
-shaking, he forced her away. his voice quaked: "no, malyalara. no! get away from me--now, while you have the chance--"
-"shane, what is it--?"
-numbly, he showed her the gun. "an injector--with theol. it makes three doses. in the end, reggar wins. the madness will come upon me--"
-"no, shane--" she would have embraced him.
-"get away!" he shouted fiercely. "don't you understand? this was the third dose--the dose that brings madness. and there is no cure--"
-his face was a mask--all despair, and all fury.
-she laughed, gently, then--warm, comprehending. there was no panic in her face, her voice. "no, shane," she told him. "there will be no madness."
-he stared at her blankly. "it is theol--"
-"yes, it is theol. but not the third dose."
-"not the third--?" his tongue stumbled.
-"no, shane. because before the third, there must be a second, and i gave you what reggar thought was the second that night back at horla. but he left me alone for a moment with the injector, and i replaced the theol with another solution--without color, but harmless."
-a choking sound rose in the earthman's throat. his trembling hands touched her--smoothed her hair, brushed her shoulder.
-she came to him--smiling, lips warm with welcome. and suddenly their bodies were together, tight-welded, and he was whispering feverishly, "talu ... talu...."
-and when at last they parted, she said, "i am yours, earthman ... yours now and forever. but you still have a role to play, your oath to uphold. you are gar of the chonyas."
-"and you will rule with me!" he answered her fiercely.
-"your belt, earthman...."
-"my belt ... the belt of the asteroids." bending, he stripped the iron links from the corpse of quos reggar and girded it tight about his own waist once more. his eyes met talu's. "come, malyalara...."
-together, they crossed the threshold, into the night and the stars.
-boy scouts in california or the flag on the cliff
-by g. harvey ralphson
-chicago m. a. donohue & co.
-copyright 1913 by m. a. donohue & co. chicago made in u. s. a.
-boy scouts in california or the flag on the cliff
-chapter i a thief in the night
-“black bear steak!”
-“grizzly bear, black bear, or cinnamon bear?”
-“this is cinnamon bear! you don’t suppose members of the black bear patrol, boy scouts of america, would do a cannibal stunt by eating black bear, do you? that wouldn’t be right.”
-jimmie mcgraw of the wolf patrol, city of new york, and frank shaw, of the black bear patrol, also of new york city, were broiling bear steak over a glowing bed of embers just below the timber line on the eastern slope of the sierra nevada mountains. it was early morning in september, and the sunshine lay like a mist of gold over the broken country.
-away to the north rose the peaks of the matterhorn, approximately 13,000 feet above sea level. still nearer, twin peaks lifted their white heads 12,000 feet in the air. to the east lay mono lake, salt and brackish to the taste, partaking of the desert, but bright and glistening now under the rays of the early sun.
-to the south warren peak stood guard over the head waters of the tuolumne river. westward the tumbling waters of rancheria creek dropped down from crag to crag on their winding way to the pacific, nearly three hundred miles distant. here and there granite peaks lifted white foreheads above the green of the pines.
-it was a glorious scene, and the boy scouts were thoroughly in harmony with it. the smoke of their campfire lifted in a straight line to the blue of the sky, and the fragrance of their steak and coffee permeated the sweet air.
-the boys shivered a trifle as they gathered closer about the embers, but they knew that before many hours the chill of the night would be swept away. while the boys tended the steak and coffee, a voice came from a cave at the rear. they both turned in that direction.
-“does this hotel serve meals to guests in their rooms?” the voice asked.
-“sure we do!” jimmie mcgraw replied. “we serve grizzly bear steak on toast, and on the hoof at that; we’re aiming to send you in a whole animal in about ten minutes. we feed folks right at this hotel!”
-jack bosworth yawned sleepily and came out of the cavern to stand by the fire, warming his hands and turning round and round in order to take full advantage of the generous heat.
-“where are ned and harry?” he asked in a moment.
-“they’ve gone out to get another bear for breakfast,” jimmie replied. “you see,” he went on, “we’re getting up such appetites, here in the mountains, that it takes two hunters to keep the provision chest full.”
-“after i eat,” jack said with a grin, “i’m going out and bring in a deer. i’m getting tired of bear steak.”
-“go to it!” laughed jimmie. “you needn’t have any of this bear steak for breakfast, if you’re getting sick of it.”
-jimmie and frank each seized a huge slice of smoking steak and made for the cave, leaving jack to broil his own breakfast in punishment for having found fault with the menu.
-the cave in which the boys found themselves in a moment was not far from twenty feet in size each way, with the ceiling at least ten feet above the smooth floor. perhaps thousands of years before that day erosion or volcanic action had honeycombed many of the granite ridges looking to the east. these openings in the ledge lay just at the timber line, as if nature halted her vegetation there, angry at the interference of contrary forces.
-as the boy scouts had occupied the cave for several days, it was comparatively well furnished with crudely made tables, chairs, bunks, and also with cooking utensils brought up from san francisco. taken altogether it was an ideal place in which to camp, being dry and sightly.
-those who have read the previous volumes of this series will not need introduction to the five boys above mentioned. ned nestor and jimmie mcgraw, of the wolf patrol, new york, and jack bosworth, frank shaw and harry stevens, of the black bear patrol, new york, had recently reached san francisco after an exciting experience with train robbers farther to the north. the modern automobile which they had used on that trip had been shipped from seattle to san francisco by boat, the boys not caring to make their way by motor down to the golden gate.
-a few days in san francisco sufficed, for the boys were out on their annual summer vacation, and did not care to spend their time on city pavements or in city apartments. so, leaving their automobile in storage, they had departed for the mountains in the vicinity of twin peaks.
-it is needless to say that they had enjoyed every minute of the time since leaving san francisco. they had hunted deer, bear and smaller game, and had fished in the clear waters of the rapid streams which have their rise in the sierra nevadas and finally empty the offerings of the summits into san francisco bay.
-“now, frank,” jimmie observed as the two boys placed their still steaming steaks on paper plates set out on a table made of slender mountain poles, “you take a bucket and go after coffee and i’ll bring out the bread and butter and beans. we ought to have french fried potatoes with these steaks, but i guess we can get along with this feed for a few hours. tell jack to come on in and eat.”
-frank shaw took a tin pail from a shelf at one side of the cave and started away toward the campfire, while jimmie made his way to a corner of the cave which was shut off from the main room by a heavy canvas curtain. taking a small electric flashlight from a pocket, he drew the curtain aside and turned a finger of flame upon a row of shelves arranged on the face of the rock. this was known as the “refrigerator.”
-jimmie whistled as he looked over the shelves and reached out a hand, almost automatically, for the things he needed for the table. then his puckered lips opened in wonder and he glanced sharply about the cavern.
-“well!” he exclaimed. “now i wonder what they did that for!”
-“did what?” demanded frank shaw, returning with the pail of fragrant coffee. “who did what?” repeated the newcomer.
-“i believe you did it!” insisted jimmie with a grin.
-“anything wrong with your gearing this morning?” asked frank.
-“well,” jimmie went on, “some of you boys went and took the last three loaves of bread we had in the refrigerator, and all the butter there was in sight, and all that was left of the roast haunch we had such trouble with yesterday. i’ll bet you did it!”
-“aw, you did it yourself!” exclaimed frank. “i heard you moving around in the night, and wondered then what it was you were eating.”
-“up in the night?” repeated jimmie. “not me!”
-“someone was out of bed in the night!” insisted frank. “i heard someone walking around the cave and stirring up the fire. it must have been about midnight, or a little after.”
-“it wasn’t me!” jimmie declared, continuing his search in the cupboard for more eatables. “it sure wasn’t me up in the night!”
-after continuing his examination of the refrigerator for a moment, he handed the search light to frank and sat down on a corner of the table.
-“look here, frank,” he said, “take this search light and see if you can find anything at all in that refrigerator. i left canned beans in there, and condensed milk, and a tomato can full of sugar, and about a dozen eggs! now you just take this light and see if you can find anything like that on the shelves. i’m flabbergasted!”
-frank’s face showed only amusement as he took the flashlight and threw its rays over the rude shelves. when he saw that jimmie had not been joking over the disappearance of the food, but had told the exact truth, he, too, sat down on a corner of the table and looked about the cavern suspiciously. when the boy’s eyes met, they grinned sheepishly.
-“go and ask jack,” frank finally suggested.
-leaving their cooling breakfast on the table, both boys finally dashed out of the cave and ran around a sharp corner or rock to where jack bosworth was broiling bear steak.
-“did you do it, jack?” frank shouted as they came up to him.
-“you bet i did!” jack replied, turning a very red face to his chums, and drawing his now thoroughly cooked steak from the fire. “you bet i did do it. what is it?”
-“how did you ever manage it?” asked jimmie with a wrinkling of his freckled nose.
-“how did i ever manage it?” repeated jack. “what’s the answer?”
-jimmie took his chum by the arm and headed for the cave.
-“bring your breakfast along with you,” he said, “and hold onto it tight. clutch it with the grip of destiny! i’ll show you what i’m talking about, and then you can tell me who’s got the appetite.”
-directly the three boys stood before the roughly built cupboard and then frank drew aside the canvas curtain. the shelves were entirely bare except for knives, forks, spoons, a sack of salt, and an empty plate.
-“there!” jimmie cried. “did you go and eat all our perfectly good provender last night?”
-“i wasn’t out of bed last night!” insisted jack.
-“then it must have been ned or harry!” frank declared.
-jack looked from one to the other with amazement showing in his face.
-“did some one clean out the refrigerator in the night?” he asked.
-“you’re just right, some one cleaned out the refrigerator!” jimmie answered, “and we’ve got to go and make baking powder biscuit, or corn pones, or something like that for breakfast, or go hungry!”
-“i guess this bear steak will be all right for me,” jack replied. “i always did like bear steak and coffee.”
-“i’m not going to make any biscuit, or cook any corn pones!” frank exclaimed. “let the kids that robbed the refrigerator do the cooking!”
-“ned or harry got busy in the night all right enough!” jack insisted.
-at that moment ned nestor and harry stevens, the other members of the party, entered the cavern, dressed in neat khaki uniform, as were, in fact, all the boys, and approached the table where the bear steaks lay exposed. harry seized a knife and fork and laughingly prepared to attack jack’s breakfast. jack seized the meat and darted out into the sunlight.
-“that’s a nice way to serve a guest you’ve invited to breakfast!” harry exclaimed. “where do i get my eatings this morning?”
-“you and ned got yours last night!” jimmie grinned.
-“oh, we did?” queried harry. “perhaps ned got his last night, but if i got mine i don’t know it. what are you talking about?”
-“go and look in the refrigerator,” suggested jimmie.
-both ned and harry walked to the corner and drew aside the curtain. they stood in front of the empty shelves for a moment, and then walked back to the table, their faces showing only amusement.
-“what did you do with it?” asked ned, presently, as jimmie and frank attacked their fast-cooling steaks vigorously.
-“what did you do with it?”
-frank answered the question by asking one.
-ned nestor’s face became serious in a moment. he glanced from one chum to the other, and then went to the shelves and looked them over thoroughly. there was a puzzled line between his eyebrows as he walked back and seated himself beside jimmie and frank.
-“honest, now, boys,” he asked, “what does this all mean?”
-“didn’t you get the eatings?” asked jimmie seriously.
-“i certainly did not!” replied nestor, seriously.
-“now about you, harry?” jimmie questioned. “where did you find a market for all that good provender?”
-“never touched it!” harry insisted. “i went to bed at nine o’clock, as you all know, and when i awoke the sun was just showing his nose over the foothills.”
-“and you were good and hungry, too, just about that time!” jimmie scoffed. “you must have been hungry to eat all that!���
-“wait a minute, boys,” ned replied. “there’s something mysterious about this! no wild animal ever entered the cave last night. some creature on two legs stripped the refrigerator while we slept!”
-“je-rusalem!” exclaimed jimmie. “it’s a wonder he didn’t do something more than steal our grub.”
-“i didn’t suppose,” frank cut in, “that there was a human being anywhere in this district except ourselves.”
-“well,” ned replied, “there’s some one prowling about, and the thing for us to do is to find out who it is.”
-“it’s the mystery of the thing that gets me!” declared frank.
-chapter ii a voice in the thicket
-“that’s just what it is—a mystery!” jimmie mcgraw exclaimed.
-“how could anyone get in here and lug away a load of provisions like that without our waking up? they just couldn’t do it!”
-this from jack, who had now returned with his half-eaten steak.
-“i heard some one moving around in the night,” frank declared.
-“then, why didn’t you get up and see about it?” asked ned.
-“oh, i thought i dreamed it!” grinned frank.
-“i’d give a good deal to know who it was that had the nerve to pay us a visit in the night-time,” ned said, presently. “i don’t like the idea of keeping open house during the dark hours. the person who came here last night may come again, and may make more trouble the next time.”
-“and that means,” jimmie complained, “that we’ve got to set a guard every night, and watch our property, just like we were on third avenue in new york. it makes me sick to think of it!”
-“and just think of all the fun we’ve been having here, playing that we were scores of miles away from anybody! look here, boys,” he went on, “we’ve been under the sea and over the sea. we’ve had adventures in panama and in china, and i don’t think we ever had anyone walk over our sleeping forms and steal provisions before.”
-“that’s right!” frank answered. “we must be getting careless in our old age. now the next thing is to find out who did this.”
-“some poor tramp, probably,” suggested ned. “we’ll make a business of watching for him during the next few hours, and probably we’ll catch him. i’m sure i hope it was a tramp, for i don’t want to get mixed up with any hostile element up here.”
-as ned ceased speaking he went to the rough cupboard again and began a second inspection of the shelves. newspapers had been neatly arranged on the boards, and these did not appear to have been disturbed. after going over everything in sight thoroughly, the boy took the sack of salt out to the open sunlight and examined it critically.
-“now, mr. sherlock holmes, what do you find there?” demanded frank. “i’ll tell you what,” he went on, “we have seemed to forget that dad owns one of the leading newspapers in new york city! i will sit down right now and write a long article and call it ‘the magic breakfast; or, who stole the beans!’ i think that title would make a hit on the bowery, eh?”
-“it’s about time you began sending in correspondence,” jimmie grinned. “you know you promised to send in a full account of our ruction with the train robbers, but you never did. the first thing you know, your father will be cutting off your supply of ready cash.”
-“oh, well, then,” frank laughed, “i’ll retain jack’s father, who is a rich corporation lawyer, and sue dad for a breach of promise, or something like that. but look at ned,” the boy went on, “he’s surely found something on that salt sack!”
-“is that right, sherlocko, you sleuth?” asked jimmie.
-ned turned to his chums with amusement showing in his eyes.
-“let me read you the story told by the salt sack,” he said whimsically. “and remember,” he went on, as the boys laughed and nudged each other, “this story will not be reprinted in book form, so you’ll have to catch it as i tell it. it will not even be told again!”
-“go on with your blessed old dope,” laughed frank.
-“well,” ned began, holding the sack up for inspection, “the person who stole our provisions took salt from this sack in order to season his meal. he took quite a lot, too, judging from the way the salt lowered during the night. probably thought he’d take enough while the taking was good, for which we can’t blame him.”
-“we knew all that before!” jimmie declared.
-“now listen,” ned went on, “here comes the magic part of the case! the person who took the salt from this sack was fifteen years of age. he was tall and slender, and had gone without food for three days. he did not come down from the divide, but crept up from the valley. he was lightly clad, and wore a ragged coat and broken shoes. he stood outside the cave for a long time before gaining courage to enter.”
-the boys gathered around ned with laughing faces and pretended to inspect the salt bag with reverential interest.
-“go on, now,” jimmie demanded. “go on and give us the answer to all this! tell us how you know so much about a person you have never seen.”
-“look here,” ned explained, “i know the person was a boy because the finger marks on the sack show a small, slender hand. slender fingers represent a slender body, you know, and that’s why i say the person was young and slim.”
-“that’s good deduction!” frank declared. “now tell us how you know that he hadn’t had anything to eat for three days.”
-“look at the shelves and you’ll discover how i know for yourselves,” ned said, marching the boys into the back end of the cave.
-“you will notice,” he went on, “that the shelf where the bread lay is covered with crumbs. that shows that he began to eat the minute his hands touched the loaf. he must have been perfectly ravenous to begin his meal while in such imminent danger of discovery. of course, he might have dined in less than three days, but i think he’d have to be pretty hungry in order to eat with five boys likely to wake up at any moment lying around him. you see that, don’t you?”
-“that’s good, too!” jack exclaimed. “now, how do you know whether he came down the slope to the timber line or up the slope from the valley?”
-“if you notice the floor directly in front of the shelves,” ned explained pointing, “you will see numerous pine leaves scattered about. now, there are no pines above the cavern, so the boy crawled through the thickets below. is that clear?”
-“clear as mud!” shouted frank, “and suppose you have got a photograph of him so that you know that he was ragged and wore broken shoes!”
-“look at the nail sticking out of the shelf,” ned went on, “and you’ll see several shreds of cloth hanging to it. jack thought he was making a pretty good job on that cupboard but he left a nail sticking up, just the same. the nail tells the story of a ragged sleeve.”
-“correct!” laughed jimmie. “now, how are you going to make good on the broken shoes?” he continued.
-“that’s the easiest part of it all,” ned answered. “when he stood in the cool ashes close to the embers, he left imprints of wornout soles.”
-the boys broke into shouts of laughter and frank declared that he would immortalize ned as a detective in his father’s newspaper.
-“yes, but hold on!” jack interposed. “did you hold a stop watch on him while he stood outside the cave, ned?”
-“he held a stop watch on himself,” the boy answered. “you can see where he walked about, taking many steps and stirring up the wash from the rocks at the mouth of the cave. now do you understand?”
-“now, then,” jimmie questioned, “perhaps you can tell us where this boy is, and why he didn’t make himself known to us if he was as hungry as you say he was. go on, now, and tell!”
-“and while you’re about it,” jack suggested, “you might as well tell us whether the boy who stole our grub is white or black or mixed.”
-“there are limits to the ability of even a sherlock holmes,” laughed ned, “but,” he continued, more seriously, “there is little doubt that the person who stole our provisions is just about as i have described him.”
-the boys now gathered about the fire again, and ned and harry proceeded to broil steaks for their breakfast. after a time jimmie and frank wandered down into the pines in the hope of securing the material for a squirrel stew for a dinner.
-it was still and dim in the thicket except for the ceaseless murmur of the trees. the sun’s rays could not penetrate the heavy foliage. here and there great rocks, evidently shunted down from the summits in some convulsion of nature, lay scattered about.
-“talk about your weird places,” jimmie exclaimed, “this beats any graveyard i ever saw!”
-“that’s no dream!” frank answered. “i’ve been hearing ghostly voices for the last ten minutes. listen, and you will hear them, too!”
-before the words were well out of the boy’s mouth, jimmie caught him by the arm and drew him to the shelter of a great tree.
-“what did you say about ghostly voices?” he asked.
-“aw, that was just a joke!” frank replied.
-“but i did actually hear some one speak!” jimmie insisted.
-“if you heard anything at all it was a bear, or a deer, or a squirrel or something like that!” frank declared. “just you wait a minute and see if you don’t hear some bear ordering us off his premises.”
-while the boys stood close to the bole of a pine, listening, a shrill, excited voice came to them from some undiscoverable quarter.
-at first they could not distinguish the words which were spoken. jimmie turned to his chum with a half frightened grin on his face.
-“does that sound like bear-talk?” he asked.
-“not a bit of it!” frank admitted, “but it may be one of the boys playing a joke on us. they are full of such tricks.”
-then the voice came to their ears again, lifted just above the sighing of the pines—sharp, imperative.
-“beat it! beat it!”
-the two boys gazed into each other’s faces with wonder in their eyes.
-“can you beat that?” jimmie asked. “was that a bear?”
-again the words of warning came to the ears of the amazed boys:
-“beat it while the going is good!”
-“that sounds like second avenue!” jimmie ventured.
-frank turned in the direction from whence the sound had seemed to proceed and called out:
-“what’s your motto?”
-“be prepared!” was the answer that came back.
-“be prepared for what?” demanded jimmie.
-“to help a friend!” was the answer.
-“look here!” jimmie shouted. “if you’re a boy scout, why don’t you come out and show yourself? i never knew a boy scout who was ashamed to show his face.”
-“what patrol?” came the voice from the thicket.
-“black bear and wolf, new york,” frank answered.
-there was a short silence, and then just a whisper came from a point near to where the boys were standing.
-“didn’t i tell you boy scouts to beat it?” were the words spoken.
-“what’s the difficulty?” asked jimmie. “are you trying to make monkeys of us? why don’t you come out and tell us all about it?”
-“it wouldn’t do any good if i did,” answered the mysterious voice. “i tell you to beat it, and that’s the last word you’ll get from me.”
-they heard a rustle in the thicket, and, though they listened for a long time, they heard no more words spoken. the boys darted away into the undergrowth in search of the person who had given them so mysterious a warning, but no trace of him could be discovered.
-“now, what did he mean by ‘beat it’?” demanded jimmie in a moment as the boys met at the tree again.
-“if he thinks we’re going to break camp on any bum old steer like that,” jimmie grumbled, “he’s got several more thinks coming.”
-“anyway,” laughed frank, “we wouldn’t feel just right unless we got into some kind of a mysterious situation. we’ve never been out on a trip that we didn’t butt into something desperate and uncanny.”
-“where’s ned?” jack finally asked.
-“why, we left him here,” both boys replied in a breath.
-“of course,” harry returned, “but you sent a line asking him to come to where you were. what did you go and do that for if you were coming right back to camp? was that a joke?”
-“joke nothing!” jimmie answered. “we never sent any such word!”
-“then who sent that strange note?” jack asked. “i’ll bet we’re up against something mighty serious right now!”
-chapter iii the law of club and fang
-“where’s the note?” asked frank.
-“it isn’t here,” harry answered, “so i guess ned must have taken it with him. he had it the last time i saw it.”
-“what kind of a note was it?”
-“just a short note written on letter paper in pencil.”
-“well, what did it say?”
-“of course, we never sent it!” replied jimmie scornfully. “we don’t carry paper and pencil with us every time we leave camp!”
-“who brought it?” frank cut in.
-“why, a dark-skinned little chap who said he had left you in a gulch not far away.”
-“did he look like the boy ned described this morning?” asked jimmie.
-“come to think of it, i guess he did!” answered jack. “anyway, he was a ragged little chap and looked hungry.”
-“hungry after eating three or four loaves of bread and a lot of canned beans!” grinned frank. “did ned go away with him?”
-“of course, he went away with him.”
-“then there’s some deviltry afloat,” frank declared. “some one out there in the thicket told us to ‘beat it while the beating was good,’ and then ducked away. i’ll bet it was the same person.”
-in answer to numerous questions, jimmie and frank related their experience in the pines.
-“now, what are we going to do about it?” asked harry with a troubled look on his face. “there certainly is mischief afoot.”
-“the first thing to do,” jack replied, “is to scatter and see if we can find ned. he’s been lured away, and may be in trouble.”
-“we’re the original trouble-getters!” harry grumbled. “i believe we’d get into a mixup of some kind if we went to a sunday school picnic.”
-“and the strangest part of it all is,” frank went on, “that the boy who told us to ‘beat it’ proved to be a boy scout!”
-“anyway,” jimmie declared, “he answered our challenge correctly.”
-while the boys consulted together, anxious for the safety of their chum, a shout came from the summit above.
-“there’s something new,” jimmie grinned. “i wonder whether that fellow wants bread and beans, or whether he wants to coax one of us away into the woods? tell him this is our busy day!”
-“are you there, boys?” came the voice from above.
-“hello yourself!” jimmie called back.
-“all right, now,” the voice went on. “all i needed was something to enable me to locate you. i’ll be down there in a minute.”
-“that’ll be nice!” jimmie answered. “if you’ve got a trunk full of trouble, just bring that along with you. we’re in the market for trouble.”
-although the boys made light of the approach of another visitor, they were very anxious. they were certain that ned had been lured away for some sinister purpose, and were consequently fearful that this new arrival might be connected in some way with future complications.
-in a few moments rolling stones and exclamations of impatience announced the near approach of the man who had hailed them. directly he turned around an angle of rock and came into full view.
-he was a short, fat, heavily built man of perhaps thirty, with the pale face and assertive manner of a city dweller. at all events it was plainly evident that he was not familiar with mountain work, for he stumbled about as he advanced down the declivity, and more than once fell to his knee and caught hold of projecting boulders with a pair of hands not at all familiar with such service.
-jack eyed the fellow critically for a moment, and then advanced to meet him with a shout of welcome.
-“gilroy!” he cried. “what the old harry are you doing away out in california? boys,” he continued, turning to his chums, “this is gilroy, one of dad’s confidential clerks. nothing wrong at home, i hope,” he continued addressing the newcomer.
-“all were well and happy when i left new york,” gilroy returned, puffing with his long struggle with the mountain side.
-“did dad give you a vacation?” asked jack.
-“vacation nothing!” gilroy answered. “he sent me flying over the continent on a special train, and told me to get to you in seven days. this is the tenth day i’ve been on the road.”
-“whew!” whistled jack. “dad won’t like that.”
-“i’m sorry, but i can’t help it,” gilroy returned. “your father measured surface distances only. he didn’t figure how many thousands of miles i’d have to go up in the air in order to find you!”
-“it is some climb,” jack admitted, “but what’s the rush?”
-“if you’ve got a place here where we can talk without being in danger of being overheard,” gilroy suggested, “i’ll tell you all about it.”
-“oh you can say whatever you have to say in the presence of my chums,” jack answered. “they won’t leak.”
-“that isn’t the idea,” gilroy stated. “your father even instructed me to report to your chums if you were not to be found. i know the boys are all right, but the fact is that he is afraid of rank outsiders.”
-“rank outsiders!” repeated jack with a laugh. “who is there up here on the mountain to listen to private conversation? eavesdroppers couldn’t get within sound of our voices without being seen if they tried.”
-“they couldn’t, eh?” harry cut in. “they couldn’t get close enough to steal our beans, or to tell you boys to beat it while the beatin’ was good, or to send a fake note in order to get hold of ned!”
-“what’s that you say?” asked gilroy. “has ned nestor already been lured away?”
-“he certainly has!” answered jimmie. “while frank and i were away a strange boy brought a note and ned fell for it.”
-“and some one stole your provisions, too?” the fat clerk asked.
-“stole everything last night that wasn’t locked up in the provisions boxes,” answered harry.
-“and appeared to us in the bushes and told us to beat it,” put in jimmie. “i wonder if he did that before he brought that lying note to ned? oh, we seem to be keeping busy all right!”
-“why,” frank suggested, “he must have seen us before he brought the note, for he went away with ned.”
-gilroy looked very much puzzled for a moment and then said:
-“i’m afraid that this is a scheme to get nestor out of the way. if i could only have reached you on schedule time, this would never have happened. still, i did the best i could under the circumstances.”
-“i hope you also didn’t come out here to tell us to ‘beat it,’” laughed frank. “we’ve just got to enjoying ourselves.”
-“i came out to deliver a message from mr. bosworth,” gilroy answered. “he has some work he wants you boys to do.”
-“work is right in our line!” harry answered with a laugh.
-“well, hurry up and tell us all about it,” jack suggested calmly, “because, you know, we ought to be out looking for ned.”
-“it’s just this way,” gilroy began, “jack’s father is acting as attorney for a large mining corporation. his employers have always believed their title to certain lands in this vicinity absolutely flawless. some of these lands are valuable for timber, some for minerals, and some for agricultural purposes. as i said before, some of these lands lie in this vicinity, and a railroad the employers own will soon build a spur in here to market the minerals and the lumber.
-“now,” the confidential clerk went on, “it has been discovered that there are other claimants to these lands. it is asserted that they were given to the descendants of franciscan monks who were here at the time so many missions were scattered over california. at any rate, people who came over with the franciscans, if not franciscans themselves, left progeny who now claim these lands.
-“the mexican government recognized the titles, but the united states government never did. the claimants have no standing whatever in the courts, but they propose to keep possession under the old law of club and fang. of course, they can’t keep possession long, but they can put the corporation to a great deal of trouble.”
-“it looks to me,” jack interrupted with a grin, “that father should have sent a regiment of united states troops instead of one confidential clerk. now, just what is it he wants us to do?”
-“he wants you boys to scout about and find out exactly who is at the bottom of all this trouble. he believes that the alleged heirs are ignorant pawns in the hands of a corporation with which his own companies are at sword’s points.
-“his first thought was to send a company of detectives in here, but he concluded later on that a vacation crowd of boy scouts would attract less attention, and might not be suspected at all. in accordance with this reasoning he sent me out to tell you to learn everything possible regarding present complications.”
-“does he think this corporation he is fighting has already sent mercenaries out here to make trouble?” asked jack.
-“he is quite positive that such is the case,” answered gilroy. “at any rate, he wants you to find out what kind of people they have leading this outlaw gang.”
-“i knew it would come,” jack laughed. “every time we go out for a vacation, we get mixed up in a scrap of some kind.”
-“well,” frank suggested, “we have all the more fun because of the trouble we get into. i like to be doing things.”
-“but how are we going to get a line on these people?” asked jack.
-“it seems to me that they’ve got in the first blow,” harry declared. “if we only had ned here, he could tell us exactly what to do.”
-“we’ll have him here before night!” jimmie answered.
-“you ask how you are to get a line on the people you are to watch,” gilroy said, “and i think i can tell you what you ought to do first. it is said that somewhere out in the hills, perhaps within a few miles of this very spot, there are the ruins of an old franciscan mission. it is said to stand high up on a mountain, facing east. our information is that the walls of the original mission have been leveled to the ground, but that the subterranean rooms and passages reaching under the mountain are still fairly intact. you must find this mission.”
-“and after we find it, what then?” jack asked.
-“it is said to be the headquarters of the outlaw claimants who are making us all this trouble,” replied gilroy. “if you find the ruined mission, you will also find, without doubt, the agents of the corporation we are fighting. they are undoubtedly there.”
-“and after we find them, what then?” frank questioned.
-“what mr. bosworth wants,” the confidential clerk continued, “is to connect this hostile corporation, through its agents, with what is going on here. once in the possession of positive information that the corporation is instigating this revolt against law and order, and he will know exactly what to do. he expects you boys to bring in the proof.”
-“are you going to remain and help us?” asked jack in a moment.
-“remain and help you?” repeated the fat little confidential clerk in dismay. “i should say not! in fact, mr. bosworth was thoughtful enough to intimate to me that i would better get out of the mountains as soon as possible after delivering my message. personally, i wouldn’t stay in these hills for a thousand dollars a day!”
-“if you’ll wait until we find this romantic old mission,” jack grinned, “we’ll make you a suite of rooms that will beat anything in new york.”
-“say, boys,” gilroy answered with a grim smile, “i’d rather be blind and be tied to a lamp post in new york than to own all the country west of the mississippi river.”
-“well, then,” jack said, “run back to dad with your little old story about ned’s being abducted the day you reached us!”
-“if you do,” jimmie called out, “we’ll murder you when we get back to new york! ned will be with us before you get down to the foot-hills.”
-“i certainly hope so,” gilroy answered.
-“because,” jimmie declared, “we’re going out right now to find that romantic old mission and dig him out of a ruined chamber!”
-chapter iv jimmie builds two fires
-“i am really alarmed about the disappearance of mr. nestor,” gilroy said, as the boys began frying ham and eggs and making fresh coffee for him. “there is no doubt at all in my mind that he was induced to leave the camp by the agents of the hostile corporation.”
-“no doubt about that,” jimmie put in.
-“and that means,” gilroy went on, “that they really suspect what you are here for. that is the worst part of it.”
-“but why should they suspect us?” demanded jimmie. “we never knew a thing about the complications until you came in here half an hour ago!”
-“i’ll tell you why they’re suspicious of us,” jack exclaimed. “they know that i am the son of the lawyer who is putting up the fight against them. now you see how the case stands! we’ve been given a mission to execute on the theory that we could work without being suspected, when, as a matter of fact, we were suspected before we were given the work to do.”
-“that’s funny!” jimmie laughed.
-“it might be humorous if it wasn’t so serious,” the confidential clerk explained, pompously, “and i’m going to give you boys a little advice, which may not meet with the approval of jack’s father.”
-“go to it!” laughed jack.
-“this hostile corporation,” gilroy continued, “will, in my opinion, stop at nothing in order to accomplish their ends. now that the unexpected has happened—now that their agents suspect that you are here to watch and, if possible, frustrate their designs—my advice is that you get out of the country as quickly as possible.”
-“and leave ned here?” demanded jimmie scornfully.
-“if you boys break camp and leave the mountains at once,” gilroy advised, “the agents of the corporation will not hold nestor for any great length of time. nestor, as you boys well know, has an international reputation for clever work in the detective line. still, it is well known, that he works with boy scouts invariably, and the people who have abducted him will understand that he would be likely to abandon any case not shared with his old chums. am i right in that?”
-“you’ve got it sized up right!” declared jimmie.
-“i wonder why they didn’t trap me?” jack asked.
-“i rather wonder at that, too,” gilroy answered.
-“huh,” laughed frank. “they wanted the detective, and not the son of his father. to capture jack would be to admit that their efforts were directed against the corporations under the control of mr. bosworth.”
-“well,” the confidential clerk insisted, “i am certain that, under the circumstances, mr. bosworth would object to your remaining here on any errand of his. for my own part, i advise you to get out of the mountains as soon as possible.”
-“and miss all this fun?” demanded jimmie with a grin.
-“but i insist that you boys are in deadly peril here!” gilroy went on. “urged on by the agents of this hostile corporation, there is no knowing what desperate measures these outlaw claimants may resort to. but if you insist on remaining here against my advice, and against the advice your father would give if he understood the circumstances, you ought to move your camp to some place not in the knowledge of the outlaws. you can at least do that.”
-“what’s the use?” asked jack. “don’t you suppose they’ve got people watching us now? from this time on, we can’t make a move without their knowing it. we may as well stay here and barricade this cave.”
-“that’s a good idea!” jimmie exclaimed. “all we’ve got to do is to roll a few large boulders down the slope and line them up at the entrance of the cavern. we’ll be as snug as bugs in a rug in behind them, and we have provisions enough to last us for a month.”
-“yes,” harry submitted, “and we can lay behind the boulders and shoot outlaws and railroad mercenaries to our hearts’ content!”
-“it’s dangerous, boys, it’s dangerous!” insisted gilroy.
-“huh, we’re just beginning to enjoy ourselves, now that we have some object in life!” jimmie insisted.
-the boys set to work with a vim rolling boulders down the slope and placing them in front of the cave. it was the work of only a few minutes to barricade the entire entrance to within a foot of the top, leaving only a narrow place to pass in and out. thus protected, the cave was quite dark but the electric flashlights carried by the boys would, they considered, supply sufficient illumination.
-“and now,” jimmie said, regarding the work critically, “we can give our whole attention to learning what has become of ned.”
-“if you don’t mind, boys,” gilroy interrupted, “i wish you’d give a little attention to the ham and eggs and coffee you are preparing for my breakfast! this mountain air creates an appetite.”
-“sure thing!” harry shouted. “we forgot all about your breakfast, and there’s the ham burning and the coffee bubbling over. but just you wait a minute,” he went on, “and we’ll soon have a meal better than any you could get at the waldorf-astoria!”
-while the breakfast was being cooked and eaten, gilroy continued to urge the boys to go out with him and wait at the nearest transportation point for ned to follow them. the boys only laughed at the idea, however, and ended by urging him to remain with them until ned should be brought back.
-“i’ll tell you what i’ll do, boys,” the confidential clerk finally stated, “if you’ll give me a big roll of blankets and leave someone on watch, i’ll go back in the cave and sleep for about three days. do you think you can find your detective friend in that time?”
-“in three days?” laughed jack. “we’ll be able to send you back to father in less time with a full report as to what is doing in the mountains.”
-“i hope you’re right,” gilroy said.
-he turned toward the barricaded cave but halted at the very entrance.
-“what was it you said,” he asked, “about the boy who warned you in the thicket being a boy scout?”
-“he answered the challenge all right,” replied frank.
-“if he really is a boy scout,” asked gilroy tentatively, “he ought to be loyal to his comrades, don’t you think?”
-“yes, he ought to be,” jack answered, “but then, you know, there are renegades in all grades and ranks of society. still, this boy may have been acting under compulsion.”
-“i have read a great deal about boy scouts being loyal to each other,” gilroy continued, “and i can’t help thinking that this one will in time do something to make amends for his seemingly hostile act in delivering a fraudulent note. i have faith in the boy scout league!”
-“and so have we all of us!” declared jack. “we have found boy scouts in all parts of the world, and we have always found them loyal and trustworthy. this lad may yet prove to be so.”
-“why,” jimmie interrupted, “he did show that he was made of the right kind of stuff when he took the pains to follow us into the forest and advise us to get out of the country.”
-“yes,” jack laughed, “but he returned from that excursion and delivered a lying note to ned. still,” the boy went on more mildly, “we don’t know anything about the circumstances surrounding the matter, so we’ll give him the benefit of every doubt.”
-“i only made the suggestion,” gilroy advised, “in order that you boys might be looking for some indication of friendliness on the part of this seeming enemy. the boy may be of great use to you yet.”
-“it’s a mystery to me how they ever got a true boy scout mixed up in a dirty game!” harry declared. “this boy is no easy mark. the language he used said ‘new york’ just as plain as anything, so they must have brought him clear from the big city for some purpose of their own.”
-“well,” gilroy said in a moment, “i’ve given you the best advice i have at my command, and made what i regard as a valuable suggestion,” he continued with a laugh, “and now i’ll go to bed and dream that i’m back in new york sleeping on top of the singer building.”
-“the singer building ain’t nothing to this,” harry grinned, sweeping his hand over the great stretch of country to the east. “from the top of the singer building you can’t see the back yard of half a dozen states.”
-gilroy passed through the narrow opening and the four boys gathered about the fire to lay plans for the future.
-“now, whatever we do,” frank suggested, “we must never leave this cave unprotected. just as long as we have a bullet proof place to hide away in, and plenty of provisions, they can’t drive us out of the mountains with anything less than a piece of artillery. they know exactly where to find us, so we won’t have to go chasing through the woods looking for them!” he added with a grin.
-“that’ll help some!” harry laughed, “especially when we want to sleep and have to set up to dodge bullets.”
-“there ain’t going to be no bullets!” laughed jack.
-“and now,” jimmie suggested, “i’m going to take a little stroll for my health. i’m afraid i’m not getting sufficient exercise.”
-“before we turn him loose in the mountains,” jack laughed, “we ought to tie a bell on him. jimmie has a way of getting lost that approaches the artistic. i believe he’d get lost in a hall bedroom.”
-“perhaps i’d better go with him,” harry ventured.
-“no you won’t!” jimmie said. “i’m going out alone, and i’m going to c-r-e-e-p and c-r-e-e-p and c-r-e-e-p through the bushes like one of j. fennimore cooper’s foresters.”
-“robin hood would have been stuck on you!” grinned frank.
-“you bet he would!” jimmie insisted gravely. “me and robin hood would have had some great times together in lincoln forest.”
-“go on, then, you little runt!” jack exclaimed. “go on and get back as soon as possible, for we’re all anxious to get on the hunt for ned.”
-jimmie laughed and disappeared in the pines lower down on the slope. he walked steadily to the east and north for, perhaps, half an hour and then began a series of operations which even his friends might not have understood at the beginning.
-stopping at the foot of a granite finger which thrust a broad surface half way up to the tops of the pines, he began gathering dry boughs. after a great heap had been secured, he carried them with great exertion to the top of the elevation. it was necessary for him to make several trips up and down the steep side of the rock but at last two great heaps of perfectly dry boughs lay on the hard surface of the cliff.
-one more trip to the bottom he made, to return with a great back load of green pine boughs. then he sat down, panting, and regarded his work with no little satisfaction.
-“i don’t know,” he mused, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, “but i ought to climb one of these trees. i’d do it, too, only i’m afraid i couldn’t get the fires into line on the boughs.”
-he heaped the dry boughs into neat, compact array and then covered them heavily with the green branches. this done, he set fire to each of the two piles and sat down to await results.
-the flames ate fast into the dry faggots and the green boughs above made such a white smudge as had rarely been seen in that vicinity.
-“there,” the boy mused, “there’s two towering columns of smoke! in indian talk, they mean ‘i want some one to come and help me out of a mess,’ and that is what the two smudges say in boy scout language, too. now i wonder if anyone save the lads at the camp will see and understand. i hope the kids at the cave will recognize this as an invitation to the bearer of the note alone, and not directed to themselves.”
-the two columns of smoke ascended straight into the sky for perhaps ten minutes and then died down. jimmie sat at the top of the rock and waited. the forest around him seemed alive with creeping and flying things, and sunshine filtered softly through the branches of the great pines. after a time he climbed to the top of a great tree and looked over the landscape.
-to the south and west he saw the faint column of smoke lifting from the campfire. to the north and west mountain peaks lifted above the range, many of them white with snow.
-“now,” the boy mused, “unless the messenger is shut up, or tied up, or rendered motionless by the muzzle of a gun, i ought to know before very long whether he is a good boy scout or a renegade.”
-chapter v the call of the pack
-from his high perch in the tree jimmie could see far above the timber line and clearly distinguish slopes, ledges and precipitous canyons invisible as a whole to one walking on the surface, or even one looking down from a high cliff on the mountains themselves. to the north a snow-covered summit glistened in the sun, the great white cloak unbroken at the top but showing bare spaces farther down.
-looking in wonder and awe at this magnificent manifestation of nature, jimmie began to realize, dimly, that the lines of snow on the lower stretches of the mountain seemed to lie at one point parallel with each other. it was as if trenches had been dug in the form of a parallelogram and the excavations filled in with snow.
-the outline was so distinct that the boy regarded it curiously for a long time. it seemed to him that the hand of the snow king had sketched on the mountainside a plan for a structure which had never been built.
-just above the spot where this remarkable pattern lay was a precipice fifty or more feet in height. this wall seemed to the boy to be absolutely vertical. there was a shelf of rock below the strange snow-line, and beneath that the heavy slope of the range.
-turning his eyes at last from the snow-covered summits, the boy gazed eagerly over the forest to left and right, studying the landscape for some indication of a signal. directly he saw the column of smoke arising from the campfire strengthening into a black mass, and knew that the boys were answering his call not knowing by whom it had been sent forth. he smiled whimsically as he turned his eyes away.
-“that tells me where the camp is, anyway!” he laughed.
-five minutes later, just as the boy was about to descend from his tree, he caught sight of the signal for which he had been waiting. two columns of smoke arose from a point on the timber line near strange snow formation which he had been considering.
-“there’s our boy scout!” he declared, scrambling quickly to the ground.
-once out of the tree, the boy made no haste in approaching the spot from which the signal had come. instead of proceeding in a direct line he turned down the slope and walked swiftly to the north.
-half an hour’s steady traveling brought him to a point almost directly east of the columns of smoke. he could not see the smoke at all now, but knew of its location by the snow-capped cliff almost in front of which it had lifted. after reaching this point he walked directly west.
-it was no easy matter, climbing the rugged side of the mountain, but the boy persisted in his work until at last he came to a shelf of rock which seemed to be not far away from where the signals had been shown. stopping to rest, he looked toward the camp for some indication of further activity in the way of signals there but none came.
-the campfire itself, and the face of rock into which the cave had long ago been cut, were not in sight from the point where he stood, the timber line creeping up in the form of an inverted “v” and shutting out all that portion of the lower level to the south.
-just as the boy was about to proceed, the long, snarling, vicious call of a wolf came from a thicket not far away. the boy involuntarily drew his automatic revolver and stepped behind the bole of a giant pine.
-in a moment the call came again and again.
-there was a note in it which seemed to the boy to speak of human lips. while he listened another call—louder, longer, more insistent—came—the call of the pack! jimmie almost danced in his excitement.
-“the wolf patrol!” he shouted. “the good old wolf patrol!”
-throwing back his head he produced an excellent imitation of the challenge he had heard. it echoed through the forest singly for a moment and was then joined by the call which had attracted his attention.
-“mother of moses!” the boy cried. “the people will think there’s a whole pack of timber wolves in the country.”
-advancing now through the thicket, the boy soon saw a motion in the underbrush not far away. he stood still and waited.
-“hello, wolf!” he shouted in a moment.
-“hello, wolf!” came the answer.
-“show your colors!” jimmie called.
-in a moment a slender, dusky boy advanced out of the thicket and approached jimmie, his right hand extended palm out, thumb and little finger crossed—the full sign of the boy scout.
-jimmie sat flat down on the ground his back against a tree trunk and regarded the lad quizzically.
-“you the kid that brought that note?” he asked.
-the other nodded, and jimmie went on with a mock air of censure.
-“what’d you do it for?” he demanded.
-“aw, what’s all this?” said the other scornfully.
-“the third degree,” jimmie grinned. “what’d you bring that note for? now you’ve gone and got ned nestor into trouble. what’s your name?” he continued as the boy bent his face to the ground.
-“norman,” was the reply, “wolf patrol, new york.”
-“you’re a new one on me!” asserted jimmie. “i belong to the wolf patrol, new york. never saw you before!”
-“you’re jimmie mcgraw?” norman asked.
-“how do you know that?”
-“on account of your nerve!” norman answered.
-“what’re you going to do about it?” asked jimmie belligerently.
-“i’ve been ordered,” norman went on with a smile, “to break you in two if i came across you in the mountains.”
-“do it, then!” shouted jimmie. “you’ve gone and got ned into a mess, and i’d just like to have you try something on me now!”
-instead of showing temper, norman sat down on the ground and laughed until he felt obliged to hold his sides.
-“how’d you ever get away out here in the mountains?” jimmie asked. “ain’t you afraid you’ll get lost?”
-“i haven’t got lost yet!” was the scornful reply.
-“come now,” jimmie said, in a more conciliating tone of voice, “put me wise to the game you’re playing with nestor.”
-“all i know about it is that i delivered the note.”
-“where is nestor?”
-“i left him talking with a very fine gentleman who seemed to be offering to do the square thing with him,” was the reply.
-“bribing him, was he?”
-“i don’t know about that. he was offering him money.”
-“when will nestor return to camp?” asked jimmie.
-norman shook his head gravely.
-“do you mean that they won’t let him go?” demanded the boy.
-“i don’t know anything about it,” norman answered.
-“who told you to rope ned into such a mess?”
-“the man i work for.”
-“what’s his name?” asked jimmie then.
-“how many are there in the party?” was jimmie’s next question.
-“only two, toombs and a black looking heathen named huga. i guess he’s an indian. anyway, he’s a mighty evil-looking fellow.”
-“well,” jimmie announced accusingly, “those fellows are not out here on a hunting trip at all! they’re out here to make trouble for ned nestor and his friends. i think you’ve done a mighty cute trick in helping them along with their work!”
-“say,” norman answered, with a touch of irony in his voice, “you go away in some quiet spot and count yourself. when you get done you’ll find you aren’t so many. you needn’t think you’re the only boy that can get a job in the mountains.”
-“has toombs captured any game yet?” asked jimmie.
-“i haven’t seen him do any hunting,” was the answer. “he and huga just sit around in camp all day and send half-breed messengers scurrying around from place to place.”
-“so there are half-breed messengers, are there?” demanded jimmie. “you said there were only two—toombs and huga.”
-“i left new york with toombs and huga,” answered norman, “and they’re the only ones i have anything to do with. the half-breeds we found here.”
-“all right,” jimmie said with a smile, “we’ve got toombs’ number right now. if he butts in on us again, we’ll roll him down to the foothills. what does he want of ned, anyway?”
-“how should i know?” demanded norman. “i’m not his confidential secretary! say, i’d like to go and live with you boys.”
-“well,” jimmie promised, “you go to toombs and stay with him until you get ned out of the mess you got him into, and you can come and live with us, all right.”
-the boys sat together under a scraggly pine for a long time, talking about new york and the wolf patrol. norman had joined the wolves during jimmie’s absence, and so they had not chanced to meet.
-“where is the camp?” asked jimmie.
-“it’s on a shelf not far off,” was the reply. “i’m not to tell anybody where it is, but you can find it for yourself if you care to.”
-“if i care to?” repeated jimmie. “don’t you suppose i’m going there and help ned out of the trouble you got him into?”
-“go as far as you like,” norman replied, “only i advise you to keep away from there. those men are dangerous.”
-“then will you help ned away?”
-“i’ll do what i can,” answered norman gravely. “i can’t tell you, just now, all about the situation i’m in, but you’ll probably know sometime that i didn’t play crooked.”
-“i’m going to tag along when you go back to camp!” warned jimmie.
-“then keep a long ways behind,” norman replied. “when i get to the top of that little elevation over there,” he went on, “i’ll make the wolf call again and you come along. only,” he continued, “don’t try to get into the camp alone. there’s a whole regiment of half-breeds sneaking around. perhaps some of them have followed me here.”
-norman disappeared in the undergrowth, and jimmie sat waiting for the signal agreed upon. he waited a long time but no signal came.
-“now i wonder,” he thought, “if that boy scout was acting on the level. i wonder if he won’t give me away to that man toombs and his bunch of half-breeds. i believe he’s crooked after all! think i’ll sneak.”
-“oh, you, norman,” he said under his breath, “if i just had that scrawny neck of yours in my hands now!”
-the boy’s rage against the one who had apparently betrayed him was so overpowering that for a moment he paid little attention to the two half-breeds bent over him. then he saw that the vine over which he had fallen had been purposely held in front of his feet.
-his captors were dusky fellows, with straight black, greasy hair and narrow, treacherous black eyes. they seemed to the boy to be crosses between mexican and california indians. directly jimmie was hustled to his feet by a muscular hand at his collar and his automatic revolver, searchlight and even his pocket knife taken from him.
-“say,” jimmie said, “if i had one of you fellows on the bowery, somewhere down near stanton street, i wouldn’t do a thing to him.”
-“you bright boy!” grunted one of the half-breeds as the two started away with their prisoner. “you ver’ bright boy!”
-they did not take the precaution to bind the boy in any way, but they gave no chance of escape, for every step of the way muscular hands clung to him. the way was rough, for it led directly up the slope, and this mode of surveillance was rather helpful than otherwise in the steep climb.
-“say,” jimmie demanded after a long walk, “did that kid who talked with me tell you to follow him and get me?”
-“you one fool boy!” declared one of his captors. “you have your eyes in the wool!”
-chapter vi a bribe of half a million
-preceded by the boy who had brought the note, ned walked swiftly along the side of the mountain for a mile or more, taking a northerly course. it is needless to say that the boy was more than suspicious regarding the authenticity of the message he had received.
-there was a chance, however, that either jimmie or frank had written the message at a moment of peril or during great excitement. there was a bare chance, too, that one of them had discovered a sheet of writing paper in his pocket.
-the appeal for help, suspicious as it was, was by no means to be disregarded, so ned trudged along behind his guide, feeling that whatever took place he was doing his full duty.
-and there was another feature of the case which ned considered fully. should the sending of the message prove to be a trick on the part of some designing person, it was quite important that he should know who that person was. his decision to follow the boy, therefore, was brought about by these two reasons.
-it will be remembered that up to the time of ned’s departure from camp, no suspicion of any hostile presence in the mountains had been entertained. gilroy, the fat, confidential clerk, it will be remembered, arrived shortly after ned’s departure in response to the message.
-realizing that the messenger might be leading him into a trap, ned took occasion to blaze his trail by marks on trees, carelessly made, by signs in twigs and by signs in stones. all these, he knew, would be readily understood by anyone of his chums, or, in fact, by any boy scout.
-once or twice ned thought he caught in the eye of his guide a significant look as these signs were left in the path. however, the boy made no objections to ned’s frequent pauses, and gave no indications of displeasure at the marking of the trail.
-after a long walk along the slope of the mountain toward the north, the boy suddenly turned straight west and made his way up toward the snow line. here the walking was very difficult, as the boys were obliged to wind around jutting crags and climb into and out of narrow canyons at the bottoms of which trickles of water made their way eastward.
-up to this time very little conversation had been indulged in, but now during the frequent necessary halts, ned began questioning his strange companion. the boy answered in a manner which at first seemed entirely frank.
-“how did you like the bread and beans?” ned asked at one resting place with a smile. “why didn’t you wake us up?”
-��what are you talking about bread and beans?” asked the boy, though the sly look in his face told ned that he understood.
-“the next time you come to our camp in the night,” ned went on, “just wake us up and we’ll give you a night lunch worth while.”
-“what about last night?” asked the boy.
-“last night,” ned answered, “you would have had broiled bear steak and hot coffee. steak beats cold beans, doesn’t it?”
-“say, you are a good fellow!” exclaimed the guide.
-ned laughingly extended his right hand, giving the full boy scout salute. the guide returned the sign and asked:
-“how did you know?”
-“the button under the lapel of your coat shows when you are climbing,” ned replied. “why do you try to hide it?”
-“i put it there so it wouldn’t get lost,” was the hesitating answer.
-“what time did you reach our camp last night?” was ned’s next question.
-“a little after twelve,” was the reply. “it’s a wonder you fellows wouldn’t keep some one on watch. the bears’ll eat you up some night!”
-“why did you come to the camp at all?”
-“well, i was wandering over the mountains when you boys came in late yesterday afternoon, and i thought i would go over and have a visit with you. after i got to your camp i thought perhaps you wouldn’t like to be routed out of bed, so i just helped myself to a lunch and came away. say, but i was good and hungry!”
-“what are you doing in the mountains?” asked ned.
-“i came in with hunters from new york,” was the answer.
-“so you live in new york city, do you?”
-“yes,” was the slow reply.
-“and belong to the wolf patrol, your button says!”
-“yes, i belong to the wolf patrol.”
-“why, to the place where the boys are,” was the reply.
-at that moment ned understood that the guide was not telling the truth. there was a look in the fellow’s eyes which betrayed the fact. however, he decided to continue the journey and discover if possible why the fraudulent message had been sent.
-“who gave you this message?” he finally asked.
-“the man who saw the boys,” was the answer.
-“then you did not see the boys?”
-“yes,” was the slow reply, “i saw the boys.”
-“did you speak with them?”
-“yes, i spoke with them,” replied the guide.
-“did they give you this note? if so, tell me under what circumstances it was written. it says that they are in need of assistance. tell me the exact situation of affairs.”
-instead of replying to the direct question, the guide darted away, passing around a corner of rock, and was soon lost to view. ned hesitated, not knowing whether he ought to follow him or not.
-while he stood considering the matter, four as evil-looking half-breeds as he had ever seen swarmed down upon him, and in a moment he was bound hand and foot and placed on a rude stretcher.
-the attack had come so suddenly that the boy had offered little resistance. he now lay upon the stretcher of bark and boughs and looked into the faces of his captors with curiosity as well as astonishment.
-“what did you do that for?” he asked.
-the individual who seemed to be the leader of the party mumbled out some sullen reply and motioned to the others to take up the litter.
-“anyway,” the boy said grimly, “i seem to be going in state.”
-“you are a slippery cuss!” the leader declared and the little procession moved on up the slope.
-all four of the men seemed to be half-breeds, dirty and roughly clad. ned felt a feeling of repulsion which would have been expressed by blows had his feet and hands been at liberty.
-the climb up the mountain was a slow one, and one not at all pleasant to the boy as they insisted on carrying him feet foremost. at last, however, they came to a level shelf of fair size whereon a tent had been pitched.
-there was a fire in front of the tent, and a large, fleshy, well-dressed man sat on a packing box industriously whittling a pine stick. not far away, and bent over a mass of dirty dishes, was a man who seemed to be older and a great deal taller than the man on the box.
-this latter individual’s face was thin and dark and lighted by a pair of eyes which seemed almost lidless, like those of a snake. both men were very neatly dressed in tailor-made garments although the articles of clothing showed the effects of mountain climbing.
-the litter was set down in front of the tent and ned lost no time in taking a sitting position. the fat man looked him over benevolently.
-“well, son,” he said in a moment, “you made no effort to make my acquaintance, and so i sent the boys to ask you over.”
-“they did it all right!” ned answered.
-the fat man now motioned to the half-breeds, who proceeded to search the boy for weapons and then cut his bonds.
-“now,” said the fat man, “we may as well introduce ourselves. you are ned nestor, i take it? well, my name is richard toombs, recently of the city of new york.”
-“how did you happen to escape?” asked ned scornfully.
-“now don’t make the mistake of becoming sarcastic!” toombs warned. “i had you brought here because i can do you a service and you can do me one. we’ll get along all right together if you exercise the good sense you are generally given credit for possessing.”
-“if you wanted to see me,” ned demanded angrily, “why didn’t you come over to the camp? why did you send your cut-throats over to tie me up like a pig for roasting?”
-“because,” toombs answered, “you have the reputation in new york of being a very obstinate as well as a very clever lad. because, again,” he went on, “i have no time to waste in preliminaries. i wanted you to understand from the word ‘go’ just exactly what the situation is.”
-“well, what is it?” asked ned.
-“you came into the mountains with young jack bosworth?”
-“jack is a member of my party,” ned answered.
-“and you came on a mission for jack’s father?”
-“nothing of the kind!” answered ned. “we came in on a vacation.”
-“you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” demanded toombs.
-“it is the truth,” answered ned.
-“it is remarkable,” smiled toombs, “that jack bosworth’s son and you, a juvenile detective of pronounced ability, should just happen into this country at this particular time!”
-“what do you think we came in for?” asked ned.
-“young man,” toombs answered, “a good many million dollars depend upon the finding of certain records. i, representing various claimants, am informed that jack bosworth, senior, the scheming corporation lawyer, has definite information concerning the whereabouts of those papers. it is my belief that you came here to seize and destroy them.”
-“well,” ned said with a smile, “if you believe that, you certainly have acted unwisely. it strikes me that the correct thing for you to have done was to have waited until i secured the papers before you declared yourself my enemy. can’t you see that?”
-“no, i can’t!” was the reply. “the papers would not last five minutes after coming into your hands.”
-“i tell you,” ned replied lightly, “i don’t know anything about the papers of which you speak. we came here on a vacation, and that is all there is to it. you have made a mistake, and my advice to you is to rectify it at the earliest possible moment.”
-“well,” toombs said, “if you insist on sticking to a lie like that, i can’t help it. i’ll give you fair warning, however, that you must consider yourself my guest until i get an entirely different answer from you. i hope we’ll get along well together. you’ll be well treated.”
-ned turned his eyes away from the broad, fat, smooth face of toombs to catch a glimpse of the boy messenger standing at a corner of the tent. it seemed to ned for an instant that the boy was about to communicate with him by sign or word. then his face changed into one of sullen defiance and he passed from view.
-“who is that boy?” asked ned. “the messenger who brought the note, i mean? did he write the note himself?”
-“no,” answered toombs, “i wrote the note. we were together—the boy and i—on the slope below your camp, and he caught sight of two of your chums. then it occurred to me to send for you in the name of the boys. he only delivered the note—i wrote it.”
-“it’s a wonder you didn’t send your half-breeds out after the boys, too,” ned said. “you might have lugged them away easily enough, i presume.”
-“now, see here,” toombs went on, “i don’t want any trouble with your friends or with you. i’ll make you a fair business proposition. tell me the plans of this tricky corporation lawyer you are serving; tell me where to find the papers you came here in trace of, and i’ll give you half a million dollars. now,” the fat man went on, “perhaps you will understand why i did not molest any of your chums and why no harm came to any of you when my men were at your camp at midnight.”
-“and if i refuse to accept this monstrous bribe?” ned asked.
-“then no one will ever know that the offer was made or refused,” declared toombs with an evil gleam in his eyes.
-chapter vii the franciscan mission
-“now, i wonder,” jimmie mused as he was forced along by the two half-breeds, “whether i won’t get a chance before long to show these ginks how fast i can run. i sure could do something of a stunt on my feet if i had an opportunity right now.”
-during one of the brief breathing spells, when the half-breeds paused for an instant on a level ledge of rock, the boy turned to the east and faced the pines in the vicinity of which he had been captured. in the distance he could see the granite finger sticking up like a mile-post in the green of the trees.
-“judging from the course we have taken, and the distance we have traveled,” the boy mused, “we ought to be somewhere in the vicinity of the parallelogram i saw in the snow. only,” he added ruefully, “it’s quite a climb up to that point yet.”
-he was thinking of the story gilroy had told of the ruined mission; of the walls in ruins, and the subterranean rooms and passages farther back in the heart of the hill.
-“it would just be my luck,” he mused grimly, “to discover that ruined mission, and lead the way into the basement of that old peak. if i get a chance to break away from these half-breeds, i’ll make a run in that direction anyway.”
-from that time on the boy pretended great fatigue. he insisted on frequent rests, and always lay down panting whenever his captors halted in their clumsy ascent of the slope. the half-breeds regarded the boy with scornful glances at such times, as if expressing contempt for one unable to endure an ordinary journey up a mountainside.
-the boy was perfectly willing that they should believe him to be exhausted by his efforts. when, after a few short rests, they dropped their hands away from his arms, he experienced a thrill of hope.
-at last his opportunity came. the half-breeds became less watchful as time passed on. they even turned their snaky eyes away from him at times, looking over the valley below and conversing together in a language he could not understand.
-watching his opportunity, when their eyes were directed in another direction, the boy sprang away and ran as nimbly as a mountain goat up the acclivity. the half-breeds were so astonished at the sudden action of the boy; so utterly bewildered by the speed he made, that for a moment they made no effort to stop him.
-when at last they sprang after him, threatening to shoot if he did not halt instantly, it was too late. jimmie passed around a ledge of rock and was soon out of their sight.
-the remainder of that race for freedom always came back to the boy’s mind as a bit of nightmare. he ran swiftly along ledges, bounded over boulders, dipped breathlessly into gulches, and clung to precipitous sides with his bare fingers until it seemed that he must drop from sheer exhaustion. at last he came to a canyon wider and deeper than any which he had yet encountered.
-he scrambled down the slope, always pursued by fragments of rocks from above, and presently landed a hundred feet below on a shelf which seemed to promise temporary safety. panting and trembling from the exertion, came in every limb, he listened for sounds of pursuit but none came to his ears.
-sitting on the narrow ledge, his back against an almost vertical wall, he realized that he had climbed to a great distance, for he shivered in his warm clothing and the sharp sting of frosty air was in his nostrils. without knowing it, he had actually entered the region of snow.
-after a time composure came back with his breath, and he began looking around in the hope of finding some way out which did not lead in the direction his pursuers were probably taking. then his attention was attracted to the shelf upon which he sat.
-it seemed to him that at some time in the distant past crude steps had been cut in the ledge and along the wall leading into the gorge below. melting snows and the storms of many winters had, in a measure, obliterated the sharp outlines of the treads, but still the boy saw the work of man in the arrangement.
-after a time he arose lamely to his feet and walked along in the direction pointed out by the crude stairway. directly he came to an opening in the wall of the precipice.
-for all he knew it might be intersected by passages worn away by subterranean streams. presently he remembered that a good supply of matches which he had acquired that morning had not been taken away from him. lighting one, he saw that the floor of the passage was remarkably smooth and free from obstructions. the walls were also smooth, and held, here and there, shallow openings which seemed to have been artificially produced. as he proceeded through the tunnel-like place he became aware of a damp chill wind blowing directly upon him.
-as the passage narrowed, the current of air became stronger, and before long the boy found it impossible to use matches without wasting them. presently he found that by extending his arms he could touch the walls on either side. the stones were, of course, damp and loathsome to the touch.
-only for a remarkable discovery made through the medium of his fingers, he might then have abandoned further investigation of the grewsome place. his discovery was this:
-the passage through which he was moving was of artificial construction!
-the walls showed traces of rude chisel work!
-after a time the walls drew back so that he was unable to reach them even by taking a few steps to right and left. it seemed, too, that he had passed out of the current of air.
-“it’s dollars to rotten apples,” mused the boy, exultant though anxious, “that i have blundered into some old-time robber den, or into the subterranean rooms of the old franciscan mission.”
-the thought was exhilarating, and the boy notwithstanding the peril in which he believed himself to be, danced gaily about for a moment. as he did so, one foot slipped over the edge of a declivity and he went rolling down, down, in the darkness to a lower level.
-“whoever built this idiotic contraption,” the boy declared, feeling of his arms and legs to see if they were still whole, “neglected to put in elevators, but i found a way to get down stairs, all the same!”
-while the boy sat on the rocky floor rubbing the bruised knee upon which he had fallen, a ray of light shone upon a wall directly in front of him. he turned quickly about and saw the round eye of a searchlight fixed upon the ceiling.
-he crouched closer to the floor and waited. it seemed to him that the person in charge of the light must have seen him. still he hoped that such was not the case. the light advanced nearer to where he sat and so he crawled stealthily away.
-“i am a child of fortune, sure enough!” chuckled the boy after the immediate danger of discovery had passed. “first thing i know, i’ll find a banquet room in here with a table loaded down with haunches of venison and great tankards of nut-brown ale.”
-while the boy crouched in the corner the light passed him and turned into a passage leading to the east. then he heard the sound of voices—low, fierce voices, speaking in english.
-“and you let him escape!” one said.
-“i tell you he rose up in the air and flew like a bird!” another voice exclaimed. “no living person ever saw such an exhibition before!”
-“but still, you let him escape!” the first speaker repeated.
-“he only got away!” was the answer. “he is somewhere in this vicinity and we’ll get him before nightfall.”
-“as well look for a diamond in the bottom of the atlantic!” snarled the other. “i have sent the men out in the search, but have no hope of their getting hold of him.”
-“that’s me!” mused jimmie. “that’s me they’re talking about trying to get hold of.”
-“well, we may as well go back to camp,” said the first speaker. “there is no profit in arguing here.”
-jimmie crept forward toward the light and saw a large, fat, smooth-faced man and a tall man with a thin face standing in a narrow chamber which seemed to have been fairly well furnished once, but which now held only decaying tables, chairs and couches. it was the tall, dark man who held the light. as jimmie looked, he laid it down on a tottering table to make and light a cigarette.
-his mind busy with a daring thought, jimmie crept into the chamber and watched for the opportunity he sought. the men were talking together in lower tones now, and seemed to be very much interested in the subject under discussion. as they spoke, they both walked excitedly up and down the little chamber, brushing against the decaying articles of furniture whenever they by chance left the pathway shown by the light.
-jimmie advanced toward the table and finally succeeded in crawling under it. then, waiting until they were at the farther end of their promenade, at the extreme distance from the lamp, he reached cautiously out and switched off the light.
-in the darkness which followed he gave the table a slight push and sent it clattering to the floor and, with the light in his possession, darted out in the direction of the passage by which he had entered.
-“now, we’ll have a job finding that electric!” one of the men said angrily. “light a match, will you?”
-“i have just used my last match,” was the discouraging reply.
-“well, i never carry matches,” the first speaker said, “but we ought to be able to find the electric easily enough in the darkness.”
-“strange what made it go out,” one said.
-“didn’t you hear the table fall?” demanded the other.
-“i remember now,” was the answer. “the lamp is probably broken, so we may as well find our way out without looking for it.”
-“you have my permission to do that,” chuckled jimmie from his now secure hiding place.
-the two men stumbled about in the darkness for a minute, and the boy knew that they were feeling their way to some entrance other than the one by which he had found his way into the cave. before long their footsteps and their voices died away, and then he advanced into the little chamber where they had stood.
-“the old mission, all right!” he thought.
-while he looked around other footsteps were heard, followed by the sound of a struggle.
-“hold fast!” some one shouted.
-“hold fast yourself!” was the smothered reply. “what do you mean by letting go of the fellow in that way?”
-“i didn’t let go. i’ve got hold of him yet!”
-“oh, you fool!” shouted the other. “that’s my arm you’ve got hold of! where’s your light?”
-“i dropped it in the fight,” was the answer. “go on away and get one. he’s somewhere in the cave, and it’s a sure thing he can’t get out. tell the boys to guard all the entrances. that fool of a toombs did a smart thing when he told us we needn’t keep him tied!”
-jimmie heard running footsteps for an instant and then came silence.
-“now i wonder,” he thought, “if they’ve gone and captured some of the boys and brought them here. they may have the whole bunch by this time for all i know. i wonder if i dare turn on this light.”
-instead of doing so, however, he sat perfectly still and listened to a soft tread approaching the spot where he stood. whoever the visitor was, he was short of breath for he came along panting as if winded by a long struggle.
-“i’ll take a chance on the light,” he mused.
-and the next instant the room was illuminated.
-chapter viii a queer hiding place
-when jimmie turned on the searchlight in the cavern, he half expected to see the hostile face of one of the half-breeds. instead, the light revealed ned, standing in an attitude of defense, a stone of good size balanced in each hand. the light went out instantly.
-the situation was now doubly alarming, it being well-known to the outlaws that ned was at liberty somewhere within the cavern. it was certain that they would soon enter the place in full force, with plenty of light, in which case it seemed that both boys would surely be discovered.
-still, so great was the joy of the boys at the unexpected meeting, that, in spite of the general peril of the situation, they seized each other like baby bears and danced madly about.
-“where did you come from, jimmie?” demanded ned, still breathless.
-“oh, i was invited to this part of the country,” the boy replied, “and came in here by accident. and so, then,” he continued, “that message was a fake one after all!”
-“yes, it was a fake message, of course, because you boys never sent it,” laughed ned, “but we mustn’t stop here to explain matters,” he continued. “those fellows will be in here thicker than bees around honey in a short time, and we must find some way of eluding them.”
-“i know the way out!” jimmie answered. “there’s a long passage leading to a gorge on the side of the mountain, and if we can get up to that, we can slip away without any one knowing anything about it.”
-“i’m afraid the outlaws know and are guarding all the entrances,” ned answered.
-“well, if they know this one, they don’t use it,” jimmie insisted, “because the elevator isn’t working, and there isn’t any staircase, and i came near breaking my neck tumbling down a chute from the passage into the next room. i believe we can make a sneak that way!”
-“we may as well try,” ned agreed, “for we can gain nothing by remaining inactive. turn on your light, and we’ll make a break for the place where you got your tumble.”
-“is it safe to turn on the light?” asked jimmie.
-“it is safer now than it will be in a few minutes,” ned answered.
-“what’s the answer to that?” demanded jimmie.
-“why, the outlaws are doubtless collecting their forces now, and in a very short time they’ll be rummaging every nook and corner of this hole in the ground. we certainly can’t show a light after they get in here.”
-“i should have known that!” jimmie exclaimed. “i think i’m getting pretty dense, anyhow. say, ned,” the boy went on, “is it absolutely necessary for us to get captured, and tied up, and imprisoned, and shut up in some old hole, every time we go out on a vacation trip?”
-“you can’t go out looking for adventures and have things come your way all the time,” suggested ned. “now, turn on your light,” he continued, “and we’ll make a quick break for the passage by which you entered. the minute you see the passage, turn out your light and we’ll find our way in the dark.”
-“i’m afraid we’ll need wings to get up into the passage,” jimmie suggested. “it seems to me that i fell far enough to hit the pavement from the top of madison square garden.”
-“well, get to going!” urged ned. “get a move on! for all we know they may be lurking around here now.”
-jimmie switched on the light, whirled it over the dilapidated and rotting furniture for an instant, then shot into the next chamber, and from that into a by-passage by way of which he had entered. the floor of this by-passage stood at an angle of about fifty degrees, and the boys were preparing to undertake the climb when shouts came from the rear, and a great light filled the room they had just left.
-“we can never get up there now!” ned whispered. “we’ve got to take a run for it!”
-“huh!” returned jimmie, “we can run only around in a circle, and there’s enough of them to wear us out in a few minutes. what we’ve got to do right now is to find a hiding place!”
-at great risk of discovery, ned seized the flashlight and pressed the spring. the illumination showed a moldy chamber with water dripping from the walls in places.
-at some distant day the chamber had evidently been occupied by human beings, for a great fire-place was cut in the rock at one end, and there were niches in the wall which had doubtless been used for storage. the floor was smooth, showing the work of human hands.
-“get onto the fire-place!” whispered jimmie. “where do you suppose the smoke goes? there’s no chimney on the mountain.”
-“probably it escapes through some opening in the rock,” ned answered.
-“do you suppose,” jimmie asked, “that the smoke vent is large enough for us to hide in?”
-before the words were out of the boy’s mouth, ned was making toward the fireplace. the light was out now, but jimmie had no difficulty in following the boy in the darkness.
-“ned!” he called softly in a moment.
-“come on up!” whispered ned.
-“turn on the light, then,” jimmie advised.
-ned switched on the electric, but kept it inside the chimney into which he had climbed. only a faint radiance reached the opening below.
-“give me your hand,” whispered ned, “and i’ll give you a lift.”
-the sound of voices and footsteps now echoed loudly through the cavern. lights were flashing here and there, and when jimmie at last found himself inside the chimney, he knew that the very room he had recently left was being occupied by the outlaws.
-the electric light was out again, and the boy groped with his hands in the darkness. much to his surprise they failed to locate his chum.
-“ned!” he called softly. “where are you hiding?”
-jimmie heard a chuckle in the darkness and felt a hand on his shoulder. then ned whispered in his ear:
-“i guess i’ve stumbled on one of the hidden cells of the mission!” he said. “anyway there’s a hole leading out of this chimney that’s big enough to keep house in.”
-it was thought safe, now, to turn on the electric light. the rays showed a room perhaps twelve feet in size with furniture and furnishings of the description of those in the chamber below. although the apartment seemed to be somewhere near the center of a lofty finger of rock which lifted from the eastern slope of the mountain, the air was remarkably fresh and pure.
-“there’s an opening somewhere,” ned suggested. “a shut-in room like this would asphyxiate one if there were no ventilation.”
-“then i think we’d better be finding it!” jimmie advised. “just listen to those fellows chewing the rag in the room we recently left!”
-the boys remained perfectly silent, then, and listened. there seemed to be several men in the chamber below, and two were talking in angry tones. there were plenty of torches below, too, for the red flare and the stink of them came into the boys’ hiding place by way of the fire-niche below. this is what the boys heard:
-“you can see for yourself, huga,” a voice which ned recognized as that of toombs, was saying, “that the boy is not here.”
-“but i am certain i heard footsteps running in this direction when i stood in the darkness before you men came in!” huga answered. “he must be in this chamber somewhere.”
-“look for yourself!” toombs advised crossly.
-“isn’t there some hiding place in the walls?” asked huga.
-ned nudged jimmie as they heard this, and both moved farther back in the hiding place. it will be understood how intently they listened for the next sentence.
-“you ought to know that,” toombs answered; “you are supposed to know all about this old mission, while i am fresh from wall street.”
-“i have never heard of any secret passage or room in this part of the excavation,” the half-breed replied.
-“then stop arguing that the boy is here!” roared toombs.
-huga made no reply, but the boys heard him poking about in the fireplace. presently a light flashed into the chimney.
-“he’s after us now all right!” whispered jimmie.
-“keep still, you little dunce!” ned said.
-“if he sticks his head up here, soak him!” advised jimmie.
-“don’t you think i won’t,” ned returned.
-but huga did not enter the huge old fireplace at all. when he flashed his light into the chimney he saw only straight up, and the vertical passage from the fire-flue was too small for even a small cat to negotiate.
-the chamber into which the boys had found their way was directly at the back of the flue, and might have been seen by a more careful man. the boys chuckled as the half-breed turned away.
-in a few minutes the sounds of pursuit ceased entirely. lights no longer flashed about the room, creating a faint mist in the fireplace below. still the boys were not certain that the outlaws had abandoned the hunt.
-“say, ned,” jimmie whispered, directly, poking ned in the ribs, “you didn’t bring one of those bear steaks with you, did you?”
-“why, jimmie,” ned said in pretended amazement, “you’re not getting hungry, are you? i’m astonished at that!”
-“hungry!” repeated the boy. “i feel as if i could eat my way through this rock like a mouse eats through cheese! and i could drink a barrel of water. there never was such a thirst.”
-“well,” ned suggested, “we’d better wait here a little while, until things get quieted down, and then make a break for the passage.”
-“all right,” jimmie said with an air of resignation, “i’ll crawl back here in the corner and try to imagine that i’m in charge of a pie wagon on third avenue. perhaps i can dream a pie or two!”
-the boy leaned back in an angle of the chamber and prepared to continue the discussion regarding the different kinds of pies sold at the old williams street corner. as he did so, the support of his back gave way, his heels flew up in the air, and he tumbled all of a heap into a passage which seemed to begin at that corner of the room.
-hearing the fall and the exclamation of impatience which came from the boy’s lips, ned turned on the electric and saw jimmie lying on his back in a tunnel probably a yard in size each way. there were plenty of indications that the tunnel had been cut through solid rock.
-as far as ned could see; that is, as far as the eye of the electric carried; there were no breaks in it. directly a chill breeze blew in from the opening, and the boy knew that the passage touched the surface of the mountain not far away.
-“je-rusalem!” shouted jimmie, “hold up the light and let me see if i’m all here. that’s the second tumble i’ve got in this consarned old hole today.”
-“if every tumble you get in life brings such results as this,” ned declared, “you ought to go around the world looking for tumbles!”
-“they hurt, just the same!” jimmie declared, rubbing the back of his head. “i got an awful bump on my coco!”
-“well, crowd along!” advised ned.
-“crowd along?” repeated jimmie. “what for?”
-“use your nose,” advised ned.
-jimmie sniffed elaborately and hit ned a resounding whack on the back. then he sat down on the bottom of the passage.
-“say, ned, look here!” he said. “when we got into this scrape, we didn’t look for any old franciscan monks to help us out, did we? two or three hundred years ago, when they dug this passage through the rock, they hadn’t any idea they were digging it for us, had they?”
-“this is a mysterious world,” ned answered. “it seems to be unnecessary for us to plan any mode of escape. the wise old chap who formed the franciscan order in europe, hundreds of years ago, prepared the way of escape for us!”
-“that’s what he did!” answered jimmie. “and i wish he had gone a little farther and prepared a good fat meat pie for us.”
-“jimmie,” ned chuckled, “some day you’ll get into a corner where you won’t get anything to eat for a week. i never knew a boy who thought so much of his stomach as you do!”
-“may the day be long delayed!” laughed jimmie.
-“well, crawl along!” ned advised, “and i’ll see if i can get this slab of stone you pushed out back in its place.”
-it was by no means a difficult task to replace the stone, as it was thin and had been nicely fitted into the opening. in a short time the boys, proceeding mostly on their hands and knees, came to the end of the tunnel and looked out over a valley tucked in between two great summits.
-the snow-line was not far away and the air was cold, notwithstanding the direct rays of the sun.
-there was no one in sight, no moving object anywhere, as the boys paused at the mouth of the passage and gazed about. judging from the location of the sun, they were looking straight west.
-“yes,” jimmie answered, “i have a pious notion that our brownstone front is carved into the face of a continuation of that ridge on the other side of the little valley.”
-“perhaps we’ll find the boy scout messenger at the camp,” ned suggested.
-“if we do,” jimmie declared, “i’ll change his face for him!”
-“i can’t understand the fellow,” ned admitted.
-“gee!” cried jimmie, “he came out into the woods and told frank and i to beat it, then went up into the camp and led you into the clutches of these outlaws. if i had his head in chancery right now, i’d ‘beat it’, all right! he ought to get a thousand years!”
-“i hope the boys are all safe,” said ned.
-“the outlaws were discussing the advisability of taking all the boys into their care,” ned said, as they hustled along, “so i’m afraid they’ve been there and taken the lads by surprise.”
-chapter ix in quest of information
-“what do you think jimmie had in his mind when he went away alone?” asked harry. “he merely had some plan to carry out.”
-“oh, he’s always going off alone,” jack answered.
-“some day he’ll go away alone and won’t be able to get back!” frank put in. “he won’t always be able to get out of his scrapes.”
-“pretty foxy boy, that!” jack declared.
-“what strikes me as being singular,” frank suggested, “is that jack’s father never said a word to him about this land business.”
-“father never talks his business over with any one,” jack broke in.
-“if we had only known about the outlaws being here in the hills,” harry suggested, “we might have kept out of sight of them for a long time. but, you see, they found us first.”
-“and they used a nice, crooked little spy to do it with!” frank exclaimed. “this little alleged boy scout who stole our provisions last night, and crept into the woods to tell jimmie and i to beat it, and then brought a note to ned to get him away from the camp, must be playing a leading part for the sneaks.”
-“he’s doing all of that!” jack agreed. “i don’t believe he’s a boy scout at all. he’s just picked up a word or two and a sign.”
-“perhaps we’ll run across him again,” frank said. “if we do, i’ll find out whether he’s a boy scout or not!”
-“well,” jack exclaimed, springing to his feet, “are we going to sit here all day and let jimmie do all the hunting? we ought to get out in the mountains and help find ned.”
-“look here, boys!” harry cried, “do you see anything to the east there that looks at all familiar?”
-“do you mean the smoke coming up over the tops of the trees?” asked frank. “i noticed that several minutes ago.”
-“well, just keep your eye on it,” harry advised, “and see if it brings anything to your mind.”
-“sure it does!” shouted frank, all excitement now. “there are two columns of smoke close together, and you ought to know what that means.”
-“indian sign! boy scout sign! means ‘help is wanted’!” exclaimed harry. “we’ve got to go and see what it is.”
-“it may be jimmie,” jack suggested.
-“it’s either jimmie or that messenger boy,” frank said. “if it’s jimmie, he’s really in trouble, and if it’s the messenger boy, he’s doing it to get more of us into his clutches.”
-“then we’d better go well armed and ready for any kind of a reception,” jack advised. “no knowing what we’ll find.”
-“what’ll we do with gilroy?” asked frank.
-“aw, let him sleep,” advised harry.
-“sure, let him sleep,” jack put in. “he’ll be all right ’till we get back. no one will molest the camp in daytime.”
-“seems to me that we ought to leave someone here,” frank said.
-“all right, you can stay if you want to!” jack declared. “harry and i are going down there to see what the trouble is about.”
-“aw, come on, frank!” harry urged. “there won’t anything happen to gilroy! he may have a bad dream, but that’s about all.”
-“how far do you suppose that signal is from here?” asked frank.
-“not more than half a mile,” harry explained.
-“then i’ll go,” frank decided. “i don’t like the idea of sitting around the camp and letting you boys have all the fun. besides,” he continued, “if it is the messenger who is making the signals, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
-“come running, then!” advised jack, starting down the slope.
-as the reader will remember, the signal observed by the boys had been built by jimmie in the hope of attracting the attention of ned, or of norman, the boy who had made himself so conspicuous that morning. in building the fires and creating the columns of dense white smoke by heaping on green boughs, the boy had not given serious thought to the effect his action might have on his chums.
-he might have known what the effect would be, but, though he did stop to consider for a moment, he did not take in the whole situation. jimmie usually acted on impulse, and so the signal lifted to the sky without any explanation having been made to the boy scouts who were certain to see it.
-it will be remembered that when jimmie descended from the elevation where the fires had been built he did so in order to hasten in the direction of a smoke signal which he saw to the north. the result of this was that he was out of the vicinity of the fires long before the boys reached that point.
-“these fires were made to constitute a signal, all right!” jack declared, poking at the now dying embers.
-“sure!” answered frank. “you see, no cooking was done here, and there is no camp in sight.”
-“besides, the position of the blazes on this high rock shows that the fires were built so that the columns of smoke might be seen,” suggested harry. “it was indian talk, all right!”
-“that’s the thing to do,” frank urged. “to tell the truth, i don’t feel exactly right about leaving gilroy there alone.”
-“aw, we’ll hear him sleeping before we get within a rod of the cave,” laughed jack. “gilroy is a good old chap, and father thinks a lot of him, but he doesn’t know much about this kind of a life. i’ll bet that right now he’s dreaming about grizzly bears, and lions, and crocodiles, and panthers.”
-after a short walk, jack beckoned the boys to his side and suggested that they take a route to the camp different from that which they had followed on leaving it.
-“i’m beginning to think it was,” frank announced. “either to get us away from the camp for the purpose of capturing us, or for the purpose of raiding our provisions.”
-“well,” jack went on, “if we duck away to the south and return to the camp by a new course, anyone watching for us might watch in vain.”
-“that’s the idea!” harry answered.
-“then here we go the south,” frank suggested, starting away at as swift a gait as was possible in the thicket.
-they had proceeded but a short distance when every tree bole of good size immediately in front of them seemed to their astonished eyes to yield a scowling, dirty half-breed. the boys drew their guns.
-“no use, lads!” a voice said, speaking in good english. “the men in the bushes have you covered. anyway, there’s no harm intended.”
-“why the holdup?” demanded jack.
-the man who had spoken now advanced to jack and looked him keenly in the face. although carrying the general appearance of the gang of half-breeds at his back, the boys could see by the fellow’s face and manner that he was different from the others.
-“you are jack bosworth?” he asked.
-“that’s my name,” replied the boy.
-“you are here on a mission for your father?”
-“with business on the side, eh?”
-“no business at all,” replied jack.
-“we know better than that!” the stranger answered.
-“what do you want of us?” asked jack.
-“we want information now in your possession,” answered the fellow, looking jack sharply in the eyes.
-“what kind of information?”
-“we want to know where certain documents are.”
-“you’ll have to ask some one else, then.”
-“we are certain that you have the information we require.”
-“if i had,” jack answered, “you never would get it from me.”
-“so that was a lying message you sent nestor, was it?”
-“there’s no use in discussing the matter at length,” the other stated. “i think i’d better take you boys into camp and let the boss talk with you. and let me warn you now, before anything more is said, not to attempt resistance. if you do, there’ll be shooting done, and it won’t be my men who will get hurt! now, face about to the north and march away to camp, like good little boys. we don’t want to hurt you, but we insist on having our way in the matter of this information. perhaps nestor may be able to convince you that you ought not to be so obstinate.”
-“i don’t think nestor will attempt anything of the kind,” replied jack, “and i think that you are a great big bluff!”
-chapter x gilroy and the bear
-when, at last, ned and jimmie, still watching about for hostile forces, came to the barricaded camp, the fire had burned down and no one was in sight. ned regarded the wall of rock with a smile.
-“isn’t that great?” jimmie asked.
-“i’m afraid it wouldn’t do much good in case of an attack,” ned suggested. “we’d soon get hungry and thirsty and have to surrender.”
-“anyway, it’s an all right thing to shoot from!” jimmie announced. “if you’d seen the way we sweat rolling those rocks, you’d think it was all right, anyway. i wonder where the boys are.”
-“i was thinking more about the boys than about the barricade,” ned admitted. “were they all here when you left?”
-“all sitting in front of the entrance,” jimmie replied, “except gilroy, and he was asleep on a pile of blankets in the cave.”
-“he may be there yet,” suggested ned. “suppose we go and see.”
-jimmie made his way through the narrow entrance, found a searchlight, and turned a round circle of flame on a great heap of blankets in a back corner. there was no one in the cave at all save only himself.
-before returning to report to ned, the hungry boy seized a plate of corn pones and a can of tinned beans from the provision chest.
-“look here, ned,” he said in a moment, appearing before his chum with his mouth full of beans, “the appetite of our midnight visitor seems to be for confidential clerks as well as for bread. someone has stolen gilroy! anyway, he’s not in the cave!”
-“he may have gone away with the boys,” suggested ned.
-“he wasn’t thinking of going away with the boys when i left,” jimmie answered. “he was telling how much he liked new york, and how he’d like to pound his ear for about three days and nights.”
-“anyway,” ned decided, “we’ll wait here a little while and see if they don’t return. in the meantime, you can get yourself something to eat.”
-“don’t you call this something to eat?” asked jimmie.
-“one poor little can of beans and one poor little plate of corn pones won’t make much of an impression on your appetite,” ned laughed. “what you need is one of those neat little bear steaks, about as large as a warming pan. you’ll have plenty of time in which to cook it.”
-“and that means that i can cook one for you, too?” asked jimmie.
-“why, of course you can!” returned ned.
-“i’d like to cook one for the boy scout who got us both into such trouble,” jimmie declared. “i’d put poison on it!”
-“now, don’t you be too severe on that boy scout,” ned advised. “according to your own story, he warned you and frank in the thicket, and i know very well that he wanted to tell me something, but didn’t dare do it.”
-“well, here’s another thing,” jimmie explained. “when i went out to look for you, i gave the ‘help’ smoke signal from the top of a granite rock in the pines. in five minutes after the columns of smoke became large enough to be seen at a distance, the signal was answered from the north, it seemed to me from the vicinity of the old mission. now, of course, you didn’t send out that signal.”
-“i rather think not,” smiled ned.
-“don’t be too sure of that,” warned ned. “there’s something about that boy i rather like. besides, he really is a member of the wolf patrol, new york.”
-“my own patrol?” exclaimed jimmie. “i never saw him at the club room. he told me that he belonged to the wolf patrol, but i didn’t believe it. i think he’s a fake.”
-“time alone will tell,” answered ned. “i’m going to believe in the boy until i get some positive proof that he really is crooked.”
-jimmie was about to continue the argument when a succession of shrieks and calls for help came from the forest on the slope below.
-“now, what’s that?” demanded jimmie. “that isn’t any of our boys!”
-“help! help! help!” cried the voice.
-“no,” ned agreed, “our boys don’t make a racket like that.”
-“say!” jimmie shouted, springing to his feet. “i bet you the next dollar i don’t find that that’s the fat clerk, gilroy!”
-“the voice sounds like that of a fat man,” ned laughed.
-“gilroy’s fat all right!” jimmie exclaimed. “he’s got one of those pink baby faces that make you hungry to look at. he makes me think of a roast of veal, and he’s got a cute little round bald spot on the top of his head. and he wants to be dignified and speaks his words impressively. say, ned,” the boy continued, “i wouldn’t mind having that fellow get into some kind of a mixup out here!”
-“oh lord! oh lord! oh lord!” cried the voice from the forest.
-“that’s gilroy, all right enough!” ned declared. “why don’t you go down and see what he wants, jimmie?” he added.
-“aw, he ain’t talking to me!” cried the boy.
-“then i presume i’ll have to go,” ned said, rising from his seat in front of the barrier. “perhaps he’s been stung by a bee.”
-“he didn’t get crippled in his shrieker,” jimmie suggested.
-ned stepped into the cave and secured an automatic revolver to replace the one taken from him at the old mission, and also passed one to jimmie. then the two hastened into the forest in the direction of the sounds.
-the call for help continued to come, although the voice of the man came hoarser at every call. when the boys finally came close enough to distinguish words spoken in low tones, they heard a warning.
-“shoot!” he cried. “there’s a lot of bears under this tree!”
-although convulsed with laughter, the boys moved more cautiously after this. at last they came to the pine from which the voice proceeded. there was a rustle in the thicket as they advanced, and they saw a black object shambling away.
-“there’s gilroy’s flock of bears!” jimmie shouted.
-“and a little bit of a black bear at that,” ned laughed. “if gilroy had made an ugly face at him, he’d have run away!”
-the tree into which the fat confidential clerk had climbed was not a large one. in fact, it was swaying dangerously under his weight. as he moved his position at sight of the black back of the bear, the slender upshoot to which he clung gave way and he came clattering down through the few lower branches.
-“oh my! oh my! oh my!” he shouted. “i never should have come into this blasted country! i shall be eaten alive!”
-instead of rushing to gilroy’s assistance, his rescuers, boy-like, sat down on the mat of pine needles which strewed the ground and roared with laughter. gilroy eyed them angrily without attempting to rise to his feet. his rage only made the scene more amusing.
-“why didn’t you shoot him?” he demanded at length.
-“shoot him?” repeated jimmie. “that bear is a great deal more frightened than you are. at the rate of speed he’s now going, he’ll strike the arctic circle at exactly four-fifteen tomorrow morning!”
-“he chased me up the tree,” whined gilroy. “he nipped at my heels as i left the ground, and i heard his teeth grinding together in the most frightful manner. i’ll never get over this!”
-“i guess he would have climbed the tree after you in about another minute,” jimmie declared, with a sly wink at ned. “you see, it’s just this way, mr. gilroy,” he went on, “the bears out here are hungry for fat clerks from wall street. i’ve heard they make stews of ’em,” he concluded.
-gilroy now arose to his feet and stood gazing into the thicket in the direction of the bear’s disappearance. jimmie’s assertion that bruin would hit the arctic circle early the next morning seemed to give him great comfort. as the distance between the bear and himself increased, he grew braver and began throwing out his chest.
-“what a chance that was for me to kill a bear!” he began, boastfully, “if i’d only had a gun with me, i might have had a fine rug made out of his hide! it would have been fine to show my friends.”
-“sure it would!” declared jimmie. “i’m glad you didn’t remember that you had a gun in your pocket. the bears out here are pretty sensitive about being shot at. if you’d blazed away at that cub, and hadn’t shot him dead in his tracks the first time, he would have eaten you.”
-gilroy put his hand to his pistol pocket and a look of pretended amazement came over his fat face.
-“upon my word!” he said, “i thought i left my gun in the bunk!”
-“after this,” ned advised, “always keep your gun in sight when you go into the forest. suppose there had been no tree to climb, what then?”
-“i should have grappled with him, sir!” exclaimed gilroy. “i certainly should have grappled with him.”
-“you would have had to catch him first,” jimmie grinned.
-“how long since you left the camp?” ned asked, after jimmie had introduced the two.
-“perhaps half an hour ago,” was the answer. “when i went to sleep, the boys were sitting by the fire, but when i woke there was no one in sight. i came out to look for them.”
-“i understand you came on a mission for jack bosworth’s father?” asked ned after a pause.
-“yes,” was the reply, “at the request of my employer i came on this most dangerous mission. i shall be glad to see new york again.”
-ned hesitated a moment and then asked:
-“did mr. bosworth ever say anything to you about a set of documents he wished us to bring to light?”
-“he did not,” was the answer.
-“his purpose in sending you, then, was to secure, by means of our help, proof connecting a corporation he is fighting with unlawful acts which have been or may be committed in this section?”
-“that is exactly the idea!” answered gilroy.
-before gilroy would move out of the forest he insisted on pinning up certain rents in his clothing and combing out his mussed up hair with his fingers. there were also numerous scratches on his face, caused by contact with the rough branches of the tree, and these he thought necessary to nurse carefully with his handkerchief.
-“oh my!” laughed jimmie, as the fat confidential clerk struggled under difficulties to make himself more presentable. “if you think you’re in a muss, just look at this beautiful new khaki uniform i put on only a day or two ago! it’s a peach, ain’t it?”
-“it certainly is in a mess,” admitted gilroy.
-“of course,” grinned jimmie. “i fell down a chute, and rolled into the basement of a mountain, and climbed up a smutty chimney, and fell into a secret passage and had all kinds of sport! ned and i have had a glorious morning. you should have been with us.”
-the confidential clerk frowned slightly, but made no reply.
-when the boys reached the camp, after giving a great deal of mental and physical assistance to the clerk, they found it just as they had left it. the boys had not returned.
-“now, what kind of blockheads do you think they are to go away and leave the camp like this?” jimmie asked.
-the boy did not know, of course, that his own signal, shown from the granite rock, had led to their departure, and also to their subsequent encounter with the half-breeds.
-“we don’t know why they left,” ned answered, “but we must suppose that they had some good reason for doing so.”
-“do i understand,” gilroy asked, “that something has happened to your companions?”
-“all we know about it is that they’re not here,” replied jimmie.
-“there are altogether too many bears in this forest,” suggested gilroy. “the lads may have encountered some of them.”
-“that’s a fact!” laughed jimmie. “perhaps we’d better go out and see if we can find a group of pine trees bearing a mess of boy scouts.”
-“this is a serious matter,” ned interrupted. “judging from our own experiences, the boys may be having a bad time of it.”
-“the outlaws are none too good to commit murder!” jimmie asserted.
-chapter xi the devil’s punch bowl
-“see here, boys,” frank shaw suggested, as the three boys moved on through the forest, almost entirely surrounded by repulsive half-breeds, “this will be a fine story for dad’s newspaper. ‘captured by bold, bad men; or, why little frankie didn’t get home to his beans’! that would be a fine title for the story, and i’ll ask dad to print a picture of three boys wandering through a jungle surrounded by a bunch of cheap skates that no decent dog would bark at.”
-“keep still!” whispered harry. “what’s the use of stirring these people up? we’re in no shape to scrap with them!”
-“and then,” frank went on, “dad might take a notion to send an expedition out here to round up these dirty greasers. if he does, i’m coming out just on purpose to see them hanged.”
-“cut it out!” advised jack.
-“of all the rotten, unwashed specimens of humanity i ever came across,” frank continued, speaking in a still louder tone, “this escort of ours takes the bun. they’re imitation bad-men all right.”
-“a little of that goes a long way, young man,” the leader of the party said. “it makes no difference to me what you say, but several of these men understand the english language and can speak it fluently.”
-“i presume so,” returned frank. “i’ve seen just such a collection as that in jail in new york. say, honest, captain,” he went on, “if a bunch like this should run up against the strong-arm squad in new york, they’d get their heads beaten off just because of their ugly mugs.”
-“aw, what’s the use!” demanded harry.
-by this time several of the guards were casting ugly glances at frank, who seemed to regard their disfavor with great joy.
-“you’d better come on ahead and walk with me, young fellow,” the leader said, taking frank roughly by the arm and jerking him to a position in front. “if you get back there where those ugly ones are, they’ll put a couple of bullets into your back and swear that you were trying to escape.”
-on his way to the front of the party, frank passed jack and paused for a second only to whisper in his ear:
-“now, these ginks will be watching me every minute, waiting for a chance to shoot. you may catch them off their guard directly and when you do, cut and run!”
-“so that’s what you did all the talking for?” queried jack.
-“you bet!” answered frank. “and while you’re running, i’ll do a little sprinting myself.”
-“here, you!” shouted the leader, almost lifting frank’s feet from the ground as he dragged him away.
-“what were you whispering to that boy?” demanded one of the others.
-“i was telling him,” frank answered, making an insulting face, “that i used to have a dog that looked exactly like you.”
-the fellow thus insulted sprang for the boy with upraised fist. the leader blocked his rush by imposing his own burly form, and the two went down together. the half-breeds sprang forward, too, the intention evidently being to assist their companion as against the leader.
-frank let out a yell which might have been heard half a mile away, and the three boys darted down the mountainside, followed by harmless shots from the guns of the half-breeds.
-the incident had taken place on a rocky level flanked by steep slopes on each side. the place, in fact, was almost like a shelf of rock cut into a long fifty percent grade.
-the ledge was narrow, and as the bunch clung together where the leader and his opponent still struggled, one of them slipped over the edge of the declivity and started downward. naturally he caught hold of the first object within his reach, and this happened to be the shoe of the outlaw nearest to him. this man, in turn, caught another, and two more tried to pull up the falling ones, with the result that in about half a minute five of the half-breeds were rolling and tumbling heels over head down the rocky slope.
-the boys were not far out of their path, but they managed to elude the downrushing bodies as they swung by. notwithstanding the gravity of the situation, the boys shrieked with laughter as the clumsy fellows went tumbling down, uttering vicious curses at the boys, at the mountain and at each other.
-“i wish i had a gun now!” shouted frank.
-as he spoke a formidable weapon which seemed to be half revolver and half sawed-off shotgun, flew out of the hands of one of the involuntary acrobats and landed against frank’s side with a great thud.
-frank seized the weapon and backed away. by this time the leader was on his feet shouting wrathful commands for the boys to return.
-“easy, now,” frank shouted, moving away to the south. “if any of you ginks lift a finger until we get into the timber line, i’ll empty this load of slugs into the thick of you.”
-the leader, more daring than the others, sprang down the slope, his great boots scattering fragments of rock and sending them hurtling down upon the heads of the half-breeds below. frank was about to fire when the man lost his balance and joined the procession of those making for the bottom a la log.
-“here we go!” shouted frank.
-the boys raced along the slope until they came to a point of timber which, following a more fertile spot, thrust itself up the ascent. here they disappeared, considering themselves reasonably safe in the seclusion of the forest. frank examined his gun and found it empty.
-“good thing that dub didn’t know it was empty!” he laughed.
-“don’t stop now to throw bouquets at yourself!” grinned harry.
-“don’t you ever think those half-breeds will give up the chase here,” frank suggested. “do you know what they’ll do?” he asked, “they’ll circle around and get between us and the camp! that’s what they’ll do.”
-“i sometimes think,” harry snorted, turning to jack, “that frank is getting so intelligent that he may have the gift of speech conferred upon him. he certainly has that proposition right.”
-“well, if we can’t go back to camp,” jack asked, “where can we go?”
-“if they’ve got a detachment of half-breeds guarding every squad of boy scouts that have strayed away from the camp today,” jack laughed, “they must have an army in here. ned was coaxed away by a fake note; jimmie went to find ned and got lost himself, and we go out to answer a call for help and get mixed up with a lot of half-breeds. i guess we’ll have to take a company of state troops with us next time we go camping.”
-“well, let’s be moving,” urged frank. “those fellows’ heads will be just sore enough when they quit rolling to shoot at anything in sight. they’d string us up if they caught us now.”
-in accordance with this reasoning, the boys turned south in the thicket then shifted to the east, then whirled back in a northerly direction. at one time they heard the shouts of the half-breeds on the slope far away to the south.
-“they think we kept right on south,” laughed jack. “now,” he went on, “we’ll walk north a long ways, climb the slope to the snow line, and come out on the camp from above. how’s that strike you boys?”
-“it listens good to me,” frank answered. “do you suppose ned is back there yet?” he continued.
-“it struck me,” jack replied, “that the half-breeds we encountered were out looking for ned or jimmie.”
-“you’ll have to guess again,” harry put in. “the ginks we encountered were stationed there to catch any boy scout who came in answer to that signal. that’s some more of the work of that crooked messenger.”
-“well, i hope the bears won’t devour gilroy while we’re gone,” frank suggested. “it’s likely to be night before we get back.”
-the boys walked for a long distance, and it was three o’clock by their watches when they turned up the slope. they would have felt less comfortable during the latter part of their journey if they had known that they were passing within a few hundred yards of the headquarters of the outlaws at the old mission.
-after a time they came to what looked like a wrinkle in the face of the grand old mountain. they proceeded up this with no little caution, not knowing but enemies might be watching there. it was just such a place as outlaws lurking for prey or cowering from officers would be apt to seek. the wrinkle, or gully, led almost to the snow line and finally ended in a little dip which lay between two summits rising side by side, like jagged rows of teeth.
-“i’m half starved and half frozen!” harry declared, as he rested for a time in the depth of what had once been a mountain lake, but which had been drained by the gully. “if i ever get back in little old new york again, i’m going to get dad to make me a gasoline buggy with a snout nine feet long, and i’m going to push traffic aside on broadway for the next thousand years.”
-“how often have you said that?” laughed jack.
-“let’s see,” frank put in, “this is the twelfth trip we boys have taken, either in the interests of the secret service or on vacations, so this makes twelve times that harry has promised never to leave new york again once he gets back there.”
-“that’s all right!” harry grinned. “you fellows ain’t half so hungry as i am or you wouldn’t feel so gay over it.”
-“now, how far are we from camp?” asked jack.
-“about two miles on the level,” frank suggested, “and about four hundred miles the way the surface of the ground runs.”
-“we’ll get used to this in a month or two,” harry said, sitting plump down on a boulder.
-frank followed the boy’s example, except that he stretched himself at full length, while jack pushed on a few steps and stood peering over a rim of rock which lay directly in their way.
-“look here, boys!” jack finally called. “you remember the place in mexico called the devil’s cauldron? well, this is it!”
-“what have you found now?” demanded frank sleepily.
-“here’s a round hole in the mountain,” jack answered back, “that you might hide a city block in. it’s deep and the sides are almost smooth. looks like the pit kipling gets one of his characters in, only there’s rock instead of sand.”
-the boys rose to their feet and looked over the ledge.
-“and right there in the bottom,” harry exclaimed, “is a pool of water so clear that it looks like a diamond!”
-“running water, too,” added frank. “now, where do you think that water comes from, and where does it go to?”
-“runs through a pass, foolish!” answered jack.
-“but there’s no break in the formation,” frank insisted.
-“then it runs through a tunnel manufactured by itself!” jack explained. “anyway, it gets out somehow.”
-“what a dandy place to catch mountain trout!” shouted harry. fourteen hours at a stretch. they must be swift as lightning in their movements, and possessed of judgment, ability, and nerve.
-it was impossible, of course, for bob to pick out an ideal rear crew from merely having seen the men in action for a scant few minutes. he did not try. he simply used his very excellent judgment, reserving mentally the right to change his mind whenever he felt like it, and juggle the men around as he chose.
-the principal necessity was to start things moving. when he had done so, bainbridge returned to camp with the twofold object of giving the cook his orders, and having a final settlement with schaeffer. the latter was not particularly pleasant, but it was important. the man must quit the crew at once. bob had made up his mind not to let the fellow spend even the night where he would have a chance to talk with and perhaps influence the others. with this determination uppermost, he passed by the mess tent to the other where the men slept, pulled aside the flap, and stepped inside.
-the place was a mess of blankets and half-dried clothes, but to bob’s surprise it was vacant of anything in the nature of a man. evidently schaeffer had recovered and vamoosed. thoughtfully he sought the cook, and put the question.
-“came in here an’ got some grub a full hour ago,” that servitor explained briefly. “when he’d eat it he went off agin.”
-“didn’t he say where he was going?” bainbridge asked.
-the cook shook his head. “nary word.”
-“and you didn’t happen to see what direction he took?”
-“nary a sight,” was the reply. “i was busy inside.”
-bob frowned for a second, and then shrugged his shoulders. after all, what did it matter where the fellow had gone, so long as he had taken himself away? it was very natural for him to avoid the man who had so humiliated him, though it was rather puzzling to have him slip away without apparently encountering any one.
-bob proceeded to give his orders to the cook, explaining that he would have to pull up stakes at once and start down the river.
-“the boys will be a long way from here by nightfall,” he said, “so you’ll have to hustle. i’ve saved out a couple of men to help you and the cookee, who’ll be under your orders till you pitch camp to-night.”
-outside the mess tent he hesitated an instant. then he entered the other tent. this time he did not pause by the door, but crossed hastily to the farther corner, where there was a small space crudely partitioned off from the main portion. this would be schaeffer’s sanctum, of course, and bob entered it curiously--only to stop with an exclamation of mingled surprise, anger, and chagrin.
-the place was in the utmost disorder. blankets were rolled up in a ball and flung into the corner. articles of wearing apparel were scattered about, while over everything were sifted scraps of white paper in seemingly endless quantity. it was these torn scraps that roused bob’s indignation. he seemed to know intuitively, without the evidence of the limp, empty book covers here and there, that the foreman had taken time to tear into shreds every record and paper connected with the drive which he possessed. time books, scalers’ measurements--everything--had been destroyed practically beyond the possibility of reconstruction. there would be no accurate way now by which the firm could figure their profits or costs or labor charges. the very paying of the drive crew would be a matter of guesswork.
-“jove!” exclaimed bainbridge through his clenched teeth. “i didn’t know a man could be so rotten!”
-“thirty-eight caliber,” he murmured, staring at the freshly opened pasteboard box which had contained fifty cartridges. “hum!”
-presently he let it drop again. he did not move for a space, but stood staring at the ground with that same odd, thoughtful pucker in his forehead.
-there was nothing surprising in the fact of schaeffer’s being armed, neither was it strange for a man in the riverman’s position to carry off his ammunition loose instead of in the box. that was not the point. it was simply the train of thought aroused which struck bainbridge unpleasantly. he felt schaeffer to be capable of almost any villainy provided it could be accomplished with safety to himself. the humiliation of that fight, too, had added a powerful incentive to the one already offered by crane and the lumber trust for the eclipse of bob bainbridge. and a total eclipse would be so easy! just a single shot fired from the bushes at a moment when there was no one else about to see or hear. in this wild country the chances of escaping were infinite. the man might not even be suspected.
-bob suddenly moved his shoulders impatiently, frowned, and turned away. a moment later his eyes twinkled mirthfully.
-“another minute and i’d have the undertaker picked out,” he chuckled. “the scoundrel hasn’t the common courage to do murder. all the same,” he added, with a decisive squaring of the shoulders, “i’ll put a crimp in his little game about those records. i’ll have cookee scrape ’em all up, and ship the whole bunch down to john. that clerk, wiggins, can put ’em together, i’ll bet! patience is his middle name--patience and picture puzzles. we’ll have the laugh on pete, after all--hanged if we won’t!”
-chapter ix. in the swift current
-the clumsy, slow-moving scow loaded with the cook’s outfit and a supply of bedding followed the drive downstream, and, that night, fastened up to the bank close to the inlet of deer pond, the middle one of three small bodies of water strung along the length of the megantic. it was a full day’s work, much better than bainbridge had hoped for, and, as he approached the big drying fire flaming up at one side of the camp made by charlie hanley, the cook, bob shook his own hand in silent, grinning self-congratulation. he knew that they were far from being out of the woods yet, but a good beginning always means a lot, and he had no word to say against this start-off.
-presently the various driving crews appeared, wet to the skin from the waist down, and ravenously hungry. the drying racks were swiftly steaming with the soggy garments, and the men fell to upon their supper without a second’s delay. there was little conversation--they were too busy for that; but bainbridge noticed with satisfaction that a certain element of good-tempered raillery seemed to prevail. evidently the crowd as a whole bore no grudge against the man who had given them such a tongue-lashing that morning. in fact, if one could judge from their manner toward their boss, they thought a lot more of him for having done so.
-next day all hands did even better, and nightfall found them at the inlet of loon lake, with the drive before them. bob could not understand it. all day he had been expecting some disagreeable happening of a nature to retard their progress which could be laid at the door of the trust. when it did not come he was almost disappointed. it was impossible to believe that crane had given up so easily; he was not that sort. he would explode a bombshell of some sort soon, and the longer he delayed the more deadly was likely to be the nature of his attack.
-however, there was nothing to be gained in discounting the future, nor time to spare for fretting over the unknown. bob was far too busy during the daylight hours even to think of crane or his satellites. it was a ticklish job to get the drive across even so small a body of water as the so-called lake, and it took one entire day and the better part of another. it was done without mishap, however, and bainbridge was just congratulating himself on having got safely over one of the most disagreeable bits of the entire distance when jerry calker approached him as he stood watching the last few logs bob slowly out of the lake into the swifter current of the stream.
-“jack wants to know can you spare him a few minutes, sir,” he explained. “there’s a bit of trouble down below.”
-“what kind of trouble?” bob asked swiftly, turning downstream without an instant’s delay; and walking by the side of the dynamite man.
-calker scratched his head slowly. “i ain’t quite certain sure, mr. bainbridge,” he drawled, “but i got a idea there’s a fellow with a mill who’s run out a sortin’ boom that’s goin’ to hang up our drive if we ain’t mighty keerful.”
-“a mill!” exclaimed bob incredulously. “why, there isn’t such a thing within twenty miles--at least, there wasn’t three months ago.”
-calker grinned. “thought it looked kinda new. i couldn’t rightly say that it’s finished, but there ain’t no manner of a doubt about the boom. the jam had started before i come away, an’ i left jack havin’ it hot an’ heavy with a red-headed son of a gun who sure looked as if scrap was his middle name.”
-bainbridge frowned, but asked no further questions. he scarcely spoke, in fact, during all of the four miles, but it was evident to his observing companion that he was doing a lot of thinking.
-long before reaching the point of obstruction it became evident that another jam had formed. the current grew more and more sluggish, and the progress of the logs downstream became slower and slower, until at length the entire surface of the water was covered with floating timber. these in turn crowded upon one another with a rapidity which threatened to equal that first jam unless something was swiftly done.
-hurrying on, bob presently caught up with a throng of his own men, who had apparently just landed from the dangerous, constantly shifting surface of the river. they looked at him with a frank curiosity, as if wondering what he meant to do in this emergency. on the faces of a few were expressions of grim, anticipatory amusement, but bainbridge heeded these no more than he had the others. without pausing even glancing to right or left, he strode on, and reached the scene of action.
-on the same bank, a little way back from the water, stood a small building, so hastily thrown together that the roof was not yet completed. one or two men were standing near it, staring interestedly at the crowd gathered about something at the water’s edge which bob at once saw to be one end of a massive, well-constructed log boom. the other end, out beyond the middle of the river, was supported by some stout spiles, and the whole affair took up so much of the stream’s width that bainbridge’s drive had jammed against it hard and fast.
-all this bob took in without slackening his pace. reaching the outer edge of the circle, he pushed through to where jack peters, his jam boss, stood facing a compact group of six or eight strangers, gathered closely about the end of the boom, jack was florid with rage, and choking with impotent fury. the strangers composing the little group instantly struck bob as being singularly strong and rugged. they looked as if they had been picked for their physical efficiency. each one was armed with rifle or pistol, while their leader, a competent-looking person with red hair and whiskers, held in one hand a snub-nosed, businesslike automatic.
-“well, jack,” bainbridge said curtly, as he reached the foreman’s side, “what’s the trouble?”
-before peters could reply the red-haired man took a single step forward and faced bob.
-“i can tell you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” he snapped viciously. “this river hog o’ yours thinks he kin play the devil with my boom, but he’s got another guess comin’. i own this land an’ that sawmill. i got a right to run my booms out in the river same as anybody else. i ain’t lookin’ for trouble, but the first man as tries any monkey business wants to look out, that’s all.”
-bainbridge raised his eyebrows, and let his gaze wander leisurely from the man’s head to his heels with an expression which brought an added touch of color to the already flushed cheeks.
-“indeed!” he drawled. “who are you?”
-“who be i?” retorted the other angrily. “humph! i don’t see that it makes no difference, but my name’s joyce--john joyce. an’ i ain’t the kind as backs down an’ takes water, believe me!”
-a singularly irritating smile curved the corners of bob’s lips. his unruffled composure served, as he hoped it might, to increase the rage of mr. joyce.
-“do you realize that you’re obstructing navigation?” he inquired suavely.
-“i don’t admit it,” snapped joyce. “there’s plenty of room for your drive to git past if you had a gang that knew their business, instead of a lot o’ greenhorns.”
-“i dare say you could give us all points,” bainbridge murmured smoothly, with just the right inflection of sarcasm to sting. it had suddenly occurred to him that the fellow’s object was to make him lose his temper, and thus precipitate a clash, during which almost anything might be accomplished. not only did he refuse to let go his grip, but he did his very best to goad joyce himself into flaming out, and possibly betraying a few secrets.
-“that’s hardly the question, though,” he went on swiftly. “strikes me you’ve been rather premature in running out the boom. your mill isn’t operating, and i have yet to see a single log coming downstream except our own.”
-“never you mind that,” retorted joyce hotly. “do you think a man’s going to wait till his timber comes in sight afore makin’ arrangements to take care of it? you can’t come over me with no soft talk like that. the boom’s there, an’ there it stays. half the river’s clear for you to use, an’ that’s all you gets.”
-“hum! that’s your last word, is it?” inquired bainbridge quietly. “you even refuse to let us swing the boom around so we can break our jam?”
-“i do!” replied the red-haired individual emphatically. “the first man that tries to monkey with my property will wish he hadn’t, that’s all i got to say.”
-he raised his automatic significantly, but bob was not even looking at him. the young man’s gaze had swept out to the face of the jam, and in an incredibly short space an accurate picture of its appearance had been photographed on his brain. still without giving joyce the satisfaction of a glance, he turned away, motioning peters to accompany him.
-“a put-up job, of course,” he said tersely, when they were through the circle of his own men. “same gang who bought schaeffer.”
-the jam boss nodded in a troubled way. “i’m afraid they’ve got us bad, too. it’s goin’ to take one long time pickin’ that jam apart, but i can’t see anythin’ else to do. i spose i’d better start ’em at it right away, sir.”
-“not at all,” retorted bob swiftly. “do nothing of the kind. let ’em stay just where they are, jerry!”
-when they finally appeared, bainbridge held by his side a shapeless package of considerable size. had not peters and calker walked so close beside him as he bent his way leisurely toward the crowd about the jam, it would probably have been noticed that this package was made up of a dozen or more sticks of giant powder fastened securely together, and depending from a sling of stout manila rope.
-the line of rivermen had turned, and were watching his approach with interested curiosity, but joyce and his gang could see nothing. reaching the men, bob paused, struck a match, and carefully lighted the end of a protruding fuse. as it sputtered up he gave a short, sharp word of command, the line of men opened instantly to let him through, and a second later he stood not a dozen paces from joyce, deliberately swinging the deadly package round and round his head.
-for a second there was a breathless hush. then the red-haired man leaped forward.
-“stop!” he roared. “you young whelp, if you----”
-he broke off with a gurgling sound, and the color left his face. with a final swing, bob loosened his hold on the bundle, which curved in a perfect arc over the rear of the jam, over the jagged crest, and dropped swiftly out of sight amid the massive timbers upended in confusion along the face and close to the spot where protruded the freshly driven spiles which had caused all the trouble.
-an instant later the whole throng of men hustled frantically for cover.
-chapter x. the power behind it all
-in less than sixty seconds--so close had been bob’s calculations--came a detonation which shook the earth, making several of the running men stagger and lose their stride. up spurted a great mass of water, carrying with it massive logs leaping like agonized things alive. they fell back again, followed by a shower of débris mingled with fine spray, which the wind sifted down on the heads of the ducking, dodging men.
-from his place behind a stump bainbridge rose swiftly, shielding his face with one crooked arm from the rain of chips and splinters and bits of bark, and stared eagerly toward the jam. it took but a moment to see that the spiles had disappeared, and the boom was shattered. moreover, the key logs of the jam were so loosened that the whole drive was again on its way downstream. bob turned to peters with a gesture of satisfaction.
-“she’s off, jack,” he said. “get a wiggle on, now, and rush her along. the water’s dropping every minute, and we’ve got a mean stretch to cover before we strike the penobscot. i’ll go back and hustle the rear along----”
-he stopped abruptly, and whirled around as a voice, shrill and trembling with passion, was raised behind him.
-“you’ll pay for that, you meddlin’ pup! i’ll teach you to go blowin’ up folks’ property, an’ mighty near committin’ murder! i’ll show you you can’t play tricks on john joyce an’ get away with it. that game might work with some, but it won’t----”
-things happened so swiftly after that that even the men standing around were quite unable to understand exactly what was doing, and which of the two was really the one who started the trouble.
-the instant bob turned he saw that joyce was either beside himself with rage, or giving a most astonishingly good imitation of that condition. his face was purple, with veins standing out on his forehead like cords. his eyes glared with that combination of rage and hate which a badly frightened man almost invariably feels for the cause of his mental disturbance. the automatic was leveled in his hand, and one finger trembled on the trigger.
-for a single instant bainbridge stood rigid, every muscle suddenly tensing. perhaps he read a hint of joyce’s purpose in the fellow’s eye; perhaps it was simply intuition which made him guess what was coming. at all events, suddenly, and without warning, he launched his lithe body through the air exactly as in the manner of the old forbidden flying tackle.
-his shoulder struck joyce’s knees, and the wicked, snapping shot of the revolver rang out at precisely the same moment. there was a yell of fury, followed by a crash. then almost oppressive silence.
-bob was on his feet like a cat, fingers gripping the automatic he had snatched from the owner’s nerveless hand. his jaw was hard, and there was a glint of more than anger in the eyes he bent upon joyce’s supporters hurrying up to the aid of their chief.
-“hands up!” he cried out harshly, “quick!”
-he did not have to speak twice. there was something in his voice, coupled with an emphatic gesture with the automatic, which made those six men, big and powerful as they were, obey him with remarkable unanimity.
-“take their guns, jack,” continued bainbridge, in that same commanding voice.
-peters stepped forward to obey. the first man drew back instinctively, and started to pull down the hand which held a revolver. without an instant’s hesitation bob fired. the bullet struck the upraised weapon on its blued-steel barrel, wringing a cry of surprise and pain from the fellow’s lips as he dropped the gun.
-there was no more trouble after that, peters collected four revolvers and two remingtons. then he glanced questioningly at bainbridge.
-“throw ’em in the river,” the latter commander curtly. “’way out in the middle, where they can’t be recovered.”
-the riverman walked a few steps toward the bank; then, pausing, he glanced back at the straight young figure standing behind him.
-“they’re mighty good guns,” he said hesitatingly. “seems a shame to throw ’em away like this.”
-bainbridge returned briefly: “i’m simply pulling the stings of this gang.”
-he watched his man fling the weapons, one after another, into the stream, and then, sending the automatic splashing after the others, he turned suddenly back to the six humiliated individuals before him.
-“go!” he commanded, with a momentary flare of passion. “beat it, and don’t let me set eyes on you again--understand? i won’t be so easy on you the next time. here, take that scum with you. he’s only stunned.”
-he waited, staring from under lowered lids, until the gang had disappeared in the bushes, half dragging, half carrying their stunned leader with them. then, with a long sigh, he turned slowly and smiled at peters.
-“all right, jack,” he said quietly. “i don’t think we’ll have any more trouble here. just hustle all you can to make up for this delay.”
-peters grinned, and snapped out some orders to the men which sent them flying along the bank and even out on the stream over the tumbling logs. but as they went they cast glances of open, unadulterated admiration at the young man coolly brushing a bit of mud from one shoulder, and their comments to each other left no trace of doubt of their thorough approval of everything he had said and done.
-bob heard some of them, and when the men had gone on he smiled a bit. to get that drive down successfully he knew he must have the men with him. he knew also that deliberate planning could not have accomplished that result half so well as this encounter with the tools of the lumber trust. the whole affair had proved a great piece of luck for him, thought the young lumberman. his meditation was broken in upon by the sound of a strange voice.
-“i had no idea lumbering was such a strenuous occupation.”
-a moment later bainbridge was looking into a pair of pleasant, friendly eyes set in the handsome face of a man of about fifty. he was roughly dressed in well-worn, but finely made fishing clothes, and carried a good trout rod in one hand. there was, too, about the stranger an air of forceful capability which attracted the younger man.
-“it’s not usually quite so full of incident,” said bob; “but i don’t believe you’d ever find it exactly tame.”
-the stranger smiled, and made a comprehensive gesture with his hands. “and this is your idea of incident,” he murmured whimsically. “i should call it something decidedly stronger.”
-he hesitated for an instant, then moved closer to bob.
-“you’re going downstream, aren’t you? do you mind if i walk along with you? my camp’s down that way.”
-bainbridge acquiesced readily. there was something very taking about the stranger, and within ten minutes he found himself chatting as if to an old friend. his companion turned out to be wolcott sears, of boston, on a two weeks’ trip in the maine woods. the name was only vaguely familiar, but bob felt sure from his manner that he was a man of affairs. he was tremendously interested in hearing all about the peculiar conditions of this particular drive, and before bainbridge realized it he had given a brief narrative of his fight with the lumber trust and the events which had grown out of it.
-bob shrugged his shoulders and smiled a little. “you sadly underestimate the power of the trust, mr. sears. i shan’t be beyond the chance of interference until the drive is safe in our mill booms at lancaster, and even then it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d try to work some dirty trick.”
-sears frowned indignantly; then his face brightened.
-“in spite of everything i think i should bet on you.” he chuckled. “there’s a certain vigor in your method of dealing with these people which makes for success. i really believe you’ll win, mr. bainbridge, and i surely hope so. it has been a great pleasure to meet you, and i trust one to be repeated. i shall be hereabouts for some time yet, and may run across you before i leave.”
-bob warmly reciprocated his feeling, and, after a hearty handshake, turned south along the river, while sears disappeared in the undergrowth to the westward.
-“fine man,” commented the younger man aloud. “hope i do run into him again. meanwhile, however, the rear isn’t coming along half quick enough, and i haven’t seen a darn thing all afternoon of the wangan. i hope nothing’s happened to it and the grub. that would be one awful blow!”
-it was one that was spared him. within half an hour the clumsy scow hove in sight. it tied up to the bank a little later, and before dark preparations for supper were going on merrily.
-bob did not get in till later. assured that all was well with the cook and his staff, he went on downstream to see how peters and his gang were progressing. on his return he discovered a stranger warming himself by the drying fire. he looked like an old-time woodsman, and the instant bainbridge appeared he was on his feet, extracting an envelope from the interior of his hat.
-“from mr. tweedy, sir.”
-the young lumberman ripped it open without a premonition of the blow in store for him. it was natural for tweedy to write. he would be reporting his success in the matter of credit, of course, and probably gloating over the amount of manufactured lumber he had sold in so short a time. bainbridge noted that it had been written in the bangor office the night before. then, settling himself by the fire, he proceeded to read:
-dear bobby: it’s all up with us, boy. we’re done, and we may as well admit it first as last and make what terms we can with the gang. i can’t get credit anywhere. crane’s been ahead of me and spilled the beans each time. what’s more, gastich absolutely refuses to renew that note. says he must have the cash for some stocks he’s carrying, and all that; but you know what it means. it’s due in less than a week, and i can’t for the life of me see an earthly way of scraping the money together. last of all--and worst of all--i haven’t been able to make a single sale of lumber for the simple reason that the trust has cut prices below cost and has taken every customer from us. if i cut to meet them they go lower. you can see that. they’ve got the stock and the resources. crane’s set out to ruin us at any cost, and he’s succeeded. it hurts like sin to say it, boy, but there’s nothing left to do but give in and make the best terms we can. let me hear from you at once. yours ever, john tweedy.
-chapter xi. no quitter
-the letter dropped into bob’s lap, and for a long minute he sat staring into the yellow, dancing flames. his face was blank, and just a little white, for the blow had been a heavy one, and totally unexpected. he could not seem to understand it. it was unbelievable that he and tweedy, who had been fair and square in every one of their business dealings, could be forced to the wall by such a monster of corruption as elihu crane.
-there must be some mistake. tweedy must have been thrown into one of his unjustifiable panics. that was it, of course.
-bob picked up the letter to read it carefully again.
-he perused it to the last word, and then leaned back against the sapling, his face drawn and somber. it really did not sound like a mistake. it was all clear and logical, and singularly cohesive. it was the sort of thing crane would delight in planning and putting into execution--the cutting of prices on a competitor. tweedy had written that if they attempted to cut under the trust’s present rates, there would be a further reduction. that was quite true. bob knew, because he had had a vast deal of experience with the trust’s method of doing business. they would ruin him, no matter how great the cost, because he was dangerous to their continued well-being. with bainbridge in the ring, and fighting vigorously against the graft and wholesale theft of timberlands, those juicy melon cuttings which had been so pleasing to the stockholders would cease--therefore bainbridge must go.
-presently bob’s eyes fell again to the letter, and somehow that single sentence seemed to stand out as if written in capitals: “it hurts like sin to say it, boy, but there’s nothing left to do but give in and make the best terms we can.”
-for a second bob stared, the blood rushing into his face, a crimson flood. make terms with crane? go on his knees to that scoundrel, who had long ago parted with the last shred of decency and self-respect? not much!
-they must have resources enough to meet that note, at least. the trust could not keep the price of lumber down indefinitely. they must weather the storm in some way. and when this drive was safe at the mills, ready to be cut into lumber, they would have the laugh on elihu crane.
-oblivious to the men about him, even to the fact that the cook had some time ago announced supper, bainbridge began to search his mind for means of staving off the evil day. most of the stocks and bonds constituting his private fortune had been already pledged as collateral for loans to the firm. he still had a few thousand dollars’ worth of steel preferred which could be sold; and there was pinecrest, the beautiful and costly home on the outskirts of bangor, which had been left him by his father. it should not be difficult to raise a mortgage of ten thousand, at least, on the place.
-“the note’s for ten thousand, so that’s all straightened out,” bainbridge murmured, with a snap of his fingers. “the money from the stock can go for current expenses. i’ll fix it up this very night.”
-he did. fortunately tweedy held his power of attorney with the right to sign checks and execute papers of any sort, so it was possible for him to put through these deals without his returning to bangor. that another note for nearly as much as the first fell due in little more than a fortnight bainbridge knew quite well. by that time, however, he fully intended to have the drive down as far as their mill at lancaster, fifty miles or so above bangor. and it is always possible to raise money on timber, even in the rough.
-of course, if the trust continued their campaign of cutting prices bob’s plans would be materially affected. he could not believe, however, that they would do such a thing for any great length of time. a dollar meant as much to them as to any one, and even the pleasure of ruining a competitor would scarcely compensate for the loss of so much money.
-a long letter of instruction and explanation was written to tweedy that night, and despatched the first thing in the morning by the trusty hand of joe moose, the indian. that off his mind, bob returned to his drive with renewed vigor, for the necessity for haste was now even greater than before. it was a question of getting the logs down in double-quick time or being dragged into the bankruptcy court; and that sort of notoriety did not appeal in the least to the young man.
-it was this feeling of necessity which got bob up next morning before the blackness of the night was more than faintly tinged by streaks of pale gray in the east. he wanted to be off and doing; even necessary inaction chafed. it seemed an eternity before the men had finished breakfast, and were ready for the day’s work. as a matter of fact, they took less time than usual, for something of bainbridge’s intense eagerness for speed seemed to have made itself felt.
-all morning bob worked like a trojan getting the drive out into the katahdin river. he did not storm and swear at his men, as many bosses do. instead he had a way of jollying them along in a manner which might sound superficially like fun, but which held more than an undercurrent of seriousness. he treated them as human beings, not as if they were slaves from whom every last atom of work was to be extracted. and yet, when the need arose, he could hand out a rebuke, the caustic sting of which was enough to make a man’s hair stand on end. the result was that the crew soon admired him, and when they found how urgent was the need for haste they fell to with a will, and gave the best that was in them.
-bainbridge was not long in perceiving their attitude, and it gratified him intensely. he had never actually had charge of a drive before. he knew the theory, of course, but that is very different from the practical operation; and the discovery that he could handle a rough-and-ready crowd like this in a manner so totally different from that generally practiced by bosses of crews gave him no small satisfaction.
-by dint of constant labor, at which bob spared neither himself nor his men, the drive was successfully swung into the slightly larger river by two o’clock. there was no real respite even then. the stream was almost as difficult as the megantic, and constant watchfulness was necessary to prevent fresh jams at a number of points. consequently the men snatched a hurried dinner in relays and hustled back to work again.
-it was about three, and bob had just left the spot where only the most strenuous personal labor on the part of himself and four river jacks had kept the drive from jamming. he was hot and sweaty, and generally weary as he continued his way downstream, and his wrath was naturally instant when, on suddenly rounding a bend, he came upon curly kollock, cool, calm, and unruffled, sitting comfortably on a rock, enjoying a cigarette.
-as the latter saw bainbridge, he flushed slightly, and half rose from the bowlder. then, with a stubborn twist of his lips, he sank back again, pulling hard on the cigarette, and doing his best to look unconcerned.
-bob walked straight up to him, and stopped.
-“well,” he said bitingly, “i’m sorry you’ve lost the use of your feet and hands. is it paralysis?”
-kollock’s flush deepened, and he mumbled something inane about taking a smoke. he found that he had arisen, apparently without volition, and was standing before the other man, who stared at him a long half minute.
-“this is no rest cure,” said bob at length. “you’re paid for helping the drive along. i don’t want any loafers in this gang. understand? now, get down to the head of the drive--and do something!”
-kollock’s face was flaming, and his eyes gleamed angrily. “i don’t take that line of talk from anybody!” he growled, clenching his fists threateningly. “i’ll----”
-“you’ll do what i said, and do it quick!” bainbridge’s voice was not raised above a conversational pitch, but there was a ring in it which seemed to take the fight and bluster out of the big riverman with the effectiveness of a keen knife thrust into an inflated bladder. for a second he stood in awkward silence, swallowing hard in his embarrassment. then he raised his head again.
-“i don’t need your job,” he said, in a poor imitation of devil-may-care defiance. “i’ll get my time, and----”
-bainbridge cut him short. “you’ll get down to the drive and work. beat it now--quick!”
-without another protesting word, kollock turned meekly and obeyed.
-chapter xii. the test
-before he had taken a dozen steps, kollock was furious with himself, and by the time bainbridge was out of sight the wrath of the riverman had risen to a white heat.
-from the first he had tried to dislike bainbridge. pete schaeffer had been his friend, and after he had been whipped curly made up his mind that there could be no getting along in a crew bossed by the victor. then came that brief but pointed interview with bob which affected him so oddly. he had never before had anybody tell him that he was to be trusted; most bosses had been emphatic in saying the opposite thing. or, if they kept silent, they showed in a dozen obvious ways that they considered him in the same class with his notorious brother.
-then there was the incident of the day before. curly could not help admiring the manner in which bainbridge had handled the crowd that was trying to hold up the drive. it was exactly the sort of thing he would like to have done himself, and his heart warmed toward the man with the courage and ability to act in that fashion. moreover, jack joyce was an old enemy of his, and the sight of the fellow’s humiliation had inclined the riverman even more strongly toward the man who had brought it about.
-but that was over now, he told himself furiously as he stamped along the stream, hands clenched and face set in a black scowl. he hated bainbridge! the man had no right to jump on him that way. how did he know what had been the cause of kollock’s behavior? he had asked no questions, given curly no chance to explain even had the latter been inclined to lower himself to that extent. he had taken it for granted that the river jack was loafing in spite of the fact that record as a worker was equal to that of the best.
-this was where the sting lay. kollock was aggrieved and disgruntled because of what was, to him, a very good reason. there had been a definite object in his pause by that stone. the night before he had received a brief note from bill, in which he was urged to “make use of any chance you git to do--you know what.”
-curly did know “what” very well. it meant that he was to thwart and delay the progress of the drive by any means in his power. any means! the simplest, of course, was to cause some to happen to bainbridge himself. bill had not hesitated to suggest several ways by which this happy end could be reached. none of them appealed particularly to curly. he was not overscrupulous, but he disliked doing up a man in cold blood without giving him even a ghost of a show. still, bill had done him good turns more than once when he was out of work; and, last but not least, there was the financial side of the affair. curly had never been told who or what was back of these attacks on the independent lumber company, but he knew there was plenty of money in it.
-all this he had been thinking over as he sat smoking that cigarette. in the end he decided to have nothing to do with it. bainbridge had trusted him and played square. for that reason he would be equally square and aboveboard, and let this dirty work alone.
-that was what he had decided, but now----
-a log, plunging over the falls, upended. another was thrust under it. a third and fourth, coming down together, caught on the obstruction, all being held by some stones rising midstream. before the current could tear them loose several more timbers were forced against the mass which was piling up so swiftly, bridging to the opposite shore.
-to carry out that angry resolve of a minute or two ago, curly should have rolled himself another cigarette, and watched the growing damage with a sardonic smile. he did nothing of the sort. for a flash he had forgotten his grievance, and was a “river hog,” pure and simple. the stoppage must be broken before it reached the proportions of a real jam. there was no one else to do it, and so he leaped to the task without a second’s pause for thought.
-upstream he ran a few feet, his eyes fixed on the surface of the river above the falls. then he saw what he wanted. an instant later, using his peavey much as a pole vaulter does his pole, he leaped straight out over the water, landed squarely on a big log, and was carried down to the falls--and over them.
-he took the drop easily, riding the log with that perfect balance which is second nature to the seasoned riverman. when the timber bumped against the rapidly forming jam, curly leaped again, thrusting the log down as he did so, and landed on the solid barrier. scrambling lightly over to the face of this, he thrust deftly with his peavey into the mass, and began to work desperately to loosen the key log--that first upended stick of pine which had started the whole trouble, and which must be started before the rest of the barrier would give.
-he got a good hold on it, but the thing defied his efforts to tear it loose. it was wedged too tightly for even his great strength, and, though he seemed to feel it move slightly, he strained his muscles to the utmost in vain to accomplish anything further. presently he realized, with a thrill, that the jam was piling up behind him faster and faster. he ceased his efforts, and clamping the peavey on timber above the key log, pried it free, and sent it bobbing downstream. another followed, and another still. sweat poured in streams from him, trickling blindingly into his eyes, but he did not stop to wipe it away. there was no time. he must go on doing his best till help came, or else----
-a faint jar shook the jam. a second later curly felt a hand lightly touch his shoulder. a familiar voice sounded in his ear:
-“good work, son! where’s that trouble maker? oh, i see. let me drop down to that ledge, where i can get a good hold. that’s the idea. now grip her above me. fine! ready, now? yank away!”
-it was bainbridge--swift, agile, incredibly fresh considering what he had accomplished that day. for a moment or two curly did not realize that this was the man he hated. he simply felt an overwhelming thankfulness that some one had come at last, and obeyed orders mechanically and without question.
-but as his peavey gripped the end of that troublesome log, there suddenly flamed into curly’s mind--temptation. bainbridge stood below him, perched perilously on the very face of the jam. a little thrust--the tiniest movement of the riverman’s arm--would send him plunging into the stream, while another movement would suffice to drop one of the looser logs upon him. there were no witnesses; the whole affair would pass as an unfortunate accident. a chance like this, so easy, so absolutely safe, would never come again.
-“now!” broke in the crisp voice of the lumberman. “hard over, boy. toward me--all you know how!”
-curly’s muscles strained as he threw every ounce of strength into the pull. the key log creaked and groaned as if agony but was thrust gradually forward. curly felt it moving faster and faster, and instinctively he prepared for that backward leap which would carry him out of reach of the treacherous avalanche of falling logs.
-a second later his peavey was torn from his hands by the sudden collapse of half the face of the jam. the logs at his side vanished in the unexpected rush, but that on which he stood remained firm for a precious moment. below him he saw bainbridge whirl like a cat and grasp for something solid. instantly he bent over, reaching out both callous, muscular hands, and as swiftly bob gripped them. there was a heave, an upward scramble, another crash as the remainder of the jam disappeared into the foaming water. but the two men had leaped in time, and a moment later they were standing together on the bank.
-“thank you--curly,” bainbridge said in a level voice. “that was touch-and-go for a minute.”
-that was all, but somehow curly knew that what he had done was understood and appreciated. in the stress of the peril which the two had shared shoulder to shoulder like common brother river hogs, kollock’s anger and hate had vanished utterly. he no longer desired revenge. his attitude of a scant half hour before seemed small and mean and petty. he had saved the life of the man his brother wanted out of the way, and, given the opportunity, he would do it as promptly again.
-chapter xiii. the limit
-curly kollock’s interest and liking for his boss grew stronger day after day. there was something about bob bainbridge which stirred the finer qualities in his nature, and brought twinges of shame to the young riverman whenever he thought how near he had come to throwing his lot with his brother. if bill ever showed up he resolved to tell him just what he thought of him, too. but in the meantime, not being much of a penman, he made no effort to answer the letter. it was sufficient that he considered himself cut loose from the whole miserable bunch. if they were expecting aid from him in their plotting they were doomed to disappointment.
-more and more often as they descended the katahdin river, the boy was stirred to anger at the constant succession of moves made by that gang of crooks against the man who fought them practically alone and singlehanded.
-after that bainbridge placed guards at the various dams with instructions to shoot any one who attempted to interfere with them. this resulted in a terrific outcry on the part of crane’s underlings, an appeal to the law, injunctions, and all that sort of thing. to which bainbridge paid no attention whatever. he went on his way calmly, knowing well that they could not stop him in this manner, and willing to put up with the inconvenience that would follow when it was all over and he had returned to civilization.
-mr. wolcott sears continued his fishing trip along the route the lumbermen were following, and began frequently to appear in camp for an evening pipe with bainbridge. one evening they had a private conference, which lasted until the small hours, and the boston capitalist finally departed, leaving bainbridge apparently much gratified.
-the crew was with bob to a man. by this time they had gathered an inkling of the plot against the firm, and of the stakes involved. men had strayed into camp telling of the extraordinary reductions made by the trust in the price of manufactured lumber. large sales had resulted to various parties, report said, thus preventing bainbridge & tweedy, as well as several other small independents, from disposing of a single plank.
-the lumberjacks were not slow in putting two and two together. they remembered rumors current in the big woods for many months of the fight which had started between the trust and this man who was their boss. it was a fight to the finish, people said, in which one side or the other must go under, from all appearances it looked to these earnest, simple-minded woodsmen as if bainbridge would be vanquished unless he could get that drive safely into the mill booms; and to that end they strained every nerve. they toiled from dawn to dark, staggering into camp each night so utterly weary that they sometimes fell asleep with their supper half eaten before them; only to be up before daybreak to do it all over again.
-it was a period of stress and strain, but it ended at last when the drive was ushered into the penobscot, to be seized by the strong current and urged on toward the mills at lancaster, that goal which had seemed a little while ago so unattainable, yet which was now so near.
-that very afternoon was perpetrated the crowning outrage. bainbridge was shot at from the bushes--shot at deliberately with an intent to kill which was defeated only by the miracle of chance which made him bend over to tighten a shoe lace at the precise moment of firing.
-wild with fury, the men who were present dashed in pursuit of the would-be assassins, but to no purpose. they were in the land of civilization now, where there were motor cars. by the time the crowd of rivermen had surged up the bank and plunged through the undergrowth, the rascally tools of the trust were well away, leaving their pursuers to rage impotently that there was not a gun in the party with which the tires could be punctured and the car stopped.
-the most angry of them all was curly kollock. he had double cause for wrath, having received that morning a letter from the very town of lancaster toward which they were striving so hard to push the drive. brief it was, and to the point. he had played the traitor, bill wrote scathingly. there was only one way by which he could rid himself of the stigma, and return to the good graces of the gang. he must come at once to a certain house on the outskirts of the town, prepared to place himself absolutely in his brother’s hands.
-disagreeable, even serious, as all those other persecutions had been, not one of them held the weight of this last culminating effort to put bob bainbridge out of the running. that bill was mixed up in it curly had no doubt, and the realization frightened him. he had always looked up to his older brother with admiration and a little awe, and he could not bear now to think of him mixed up in anything so contemptible. there was the danger involved, too, and altogether the youngster felt as if he must see bill at once and try to make him cut the gang and get away. his efforts might have no effect, but there was at least a chance.
-that night--or rather early in the morning, while it was still pitch black--he slipped quietly out of camp without a word to any one. he reached lancaster at four in the afternoon, having made most of the journey in a scow doing about six miles an hour. going at once to the address given in the letter, he found that his brother had gone out not fifteen minutes before.
-“mebbe if you step in an’ wait he’ll be back soon,” suggested the slatternly woman who kept the house.
-curly was shown to a room on the second floor back, where he recognized a number of bill’s belongings scattered about in the usual disorder. perhaps it was the sight of them which aroused in the young fellow an increasing doubt of his ability to do what he came for. would this man, who had never been in the habit of taking any one’s advice, listen to him? he wondered, and then, unable to remain still, arose and paced the floor anxiously.
-presently he dropped in a chair before a rough deal table, on top of which was tacked a large sheet of blotting paper. a corner of white paper protruded from beneath it, but curly scarcely noticed this save as something to pluck at nervously with thumb and forefinger. finally he lighted the lamp, walked back and forth some more, then relapsed into the chair again, resuming his absent plucking of the paper beneath the blotter.
-ultimately, of course, he drew it gradually forth, and, catching a word or two of writing, he did not hesitate to read the entire page.
-it was a portion of a letter, both superscription and first page. neither was it signed. but there was enough in those few lines to make the riverman leap to his feet with a startled cry of dismay.
-“great guns!” he gasped. “burn the mill--our mill? well, i guess not!”
-he carried the paper over to the light thinking that he might have made a mistake. but it was plain enough.
-having received orders from me by wire in the manner above specified, you will at once fire the mill in the manner discussed by us and decided upon by me at our last meeting. there must be no delay in action. neither should you step before i order. this is of the greatest possible importance. kindly advise me you thoroughly understand these instructions.
-for a minute or two curly stood staring at this extraordinary fragment. then his gray eyes gleamed.
-“gee!” he muttered. “i sure wish i could find the rest o’ this letter. it sounds like it might be from that old skunk crane that bill’s so thick with, but o’ course you never kin tell. it would certain be worth somethin’ to know for sure.”
-without hesitation he yanked up the blotter, tacks and all. there was nothing underneath, so he next jerked forth the single drawer of the table, and dumped out its contents. a search through these revealed nothing of interest and he was about to replace the drawer when it occurred to him to thrust an inquiring hand into the space back of it. his fingers encountered paper, and a moment later his eyes gleamed with satisfaction as they rested on two envelopes addressed to his brother in that same erect black writing which had characterized the single sheet.
-“got you this time, i reckon,” he muttered, in a tone of intense satisfaction. “if bainbridge ain’t interested in this----”
-he paused abruptly, and raised his head with a jerk, his eyes narrowing, and his grip tightening unconsciously on the letters. from outside came a queer, vibrating clang. for an instant he listened tensely as the sound rose and fell on the night air, muffled a little by closed doors and windows, but still clear and unmistakable--the primitive village fire alarm. with a gasp of dismay, he leaped toward the door.
-“cripes!” he cried, gripping the knob. “it’s to-night--to-night! an’ i never guessed!”
-curly found himself, hatless, and with two letters and a scrap of paper clasped in one hand, running swiftly toward that portion of the riverbank where stood the bainbridge mill. what he could accomplish alone and unaided was a question which troubled him vaguely. he meant, at least, to give the best that was in him toward fighting a calamity he might have prevented if only he had kept his wits about him.
-presently he slackened his pace a little, and a puzzled wrinkle came into his forehead. there was not the slightest glare to be seen in the direction of the mill. it seemed odd that a fire in such a place should not show itself sooner. he hurried on a little farther, but still there was no sign of fire--no noise or scurrying of people. at length, reaching the fence which surrounded mill and lumber yards, he paused, wondering in which direction lay the nearest gate. a second later, half turning, he saw the glow and sparks from a burning building rising above the leafless trees at least a mile away.
-“gee!” he muttered, in a tone of relief. “i’m sure glad i was fooled. for a bit i thought it was all up, but now mebbe i kin put a crimp in their game.”
-he stood silent for a minute or two, turning the matter over in his mind. there were difficulties which had not occurred to him at first. if he went to bainbridge or to the authorities with his discovery, bill would be sure to pay the penalty. he was not anxious for this. he did not want to mix his brother up in the affair if it were possible to keep his name out of it. if he could only see bill he felt sure he could make him cut it all and get out of the country. but that was the trouble--to find him and do it quickly. where had he gone this night of all others? what was keeping him away so long? was it possible, after all, that the burning had been planned for to-night, but planned to take place later?
-the interior of the inclosure seemed very quiet and peaceful, yet curly felt a fresh stab of apprehension when presently he discovered the big gate unlocked and ajar. after a momentary hesitation he pushed the gate still farther open, and, slipping through, closed it behind him, and crept, ghostlike, along in the shadow of the fence.
-ahead loomed the mill buildings, velvet-black shadows against a blue-black sky. to his left lay great stacks of manufactured lumber worth many thousand dollars. he could not see them now, but he knew their location, and the thought of all that property going up in smoke made him scowl fiercely, and clench his fists in the darkness.
-presently he stopped abruptly as the blackness was pierced by a single gleam of light from the corner of the shadowy building. the next instant he gave a relieved chuckle. it came from the watchman’s shanty, of course. that was where it stood, close by the corner of the main building.
-everything was so quiet and peaceful that it seemed futile to go any farther, yet somehow the man wanted to make sure. finally he decided to gain this end by giving the watchman a tip about the gate.
-crossing the open space, he stepped to the window, and peered through the dingy glass. the shack seemed empty; the lighted lantern stood on a rough table from which a straight deal chair was pushed back. yet, in spite of this, curly could not be quite certain, so he reached for the latch and thrust the door open.
-it was not empty. some one--something was there, a huddled mass lying face down in the corner. with a quick gasp of horror and alarm, curly straightened and whirled round.
-too late! something heavy struck his head and pitched him, dazed, against the wall of the shanty. he threw out both hands toward the shadows he could barely see, and from his lips came a hoarse cry of mingled pain and fury. a second blow beat through his guard, and stretched him senseless on the ground.
-the coming around seemed to curly merely a matter of seconds; really it must have been much longer. when he recovered enough of his senses to make mental notes he discovered that he was lying flat on the sawdust-covered floor near a big circular saw that gleamed like burnished silver. he was bound round and round with ropes, unable to move hand or foot. a lighted lantern made a bright spot in the intense gloom, dimly revealing above him the heavy beams and rafters of the mill. after a little he saw, sitting on the other side of the lantern, a man who gazed steadily at him, and whose face, even in the shadows, seemed familiar. a moment later he realized that the man was john joyce.
-the discovery was not a pleasant one. joyce and he had been enemies for a considerable time, owing mainly to the fact that both were paying attentions to a certain young woman who showed decided partiality for kollock. in a moment of passion joyce had sworn to “get” curly, and the latter had jeered at him. he did not jeer now. the best he could do was to summon a forced smile.
-“you’ll grin out o’ the other side of your mouth afore i git done with you, you spyin’ scum,” observed the red-haired individual acrimoniously. “what are you doin’ here?”
-“none o’ your business!” retorted kollock promptly. “where’s bill?”
-“better keep a civil tongue in your head,” snarled joyce. “how come you sneakin’ around this mill to-night? who put you wise to what’s goin’ on?”
-possessed of only a small fund of diplomacy, curly saw a chance to make his enemy writhe, and at once took it, regardless of all other considerations.
-“never you mind who put me wise,” he retorted. “i’m on, all right. i know you’re goin’ to set fire to the mill to-night, an’, what’s more, i know who put you up to it--see? git that through your dome? i’ve got evidence stowed away--in a safe place, too--that’ll send somebody to thomaston prison for a nice little bit. get me?”
-all of this was not strictly true, but the young riverman could not pass up the chance to make joyce shiver. a moment later he more than regretted the impulse.
-“little johnny-on-the-spot, ain’t you?” snarled the red-headed man, when he had partially recovered from the shock. “you made a nice bull, though, exposin’ your cards before the show-down.”
-his jaws came together with a snap, and, rising suddenly to his feet, he dropped on one knee beside curly. in another second he had thrust a lump of waste between the helpless riverman’s jaws, and tied it down with a dirty strip of cloth. then he resumed his seat.
-“jest a little precaution against noise,” he said unpleasantly. “my pals are out in the yard, an’ i ain’t anxious for ’em to know i brung you in here. they think you’re a second watchman--see? i got sight o’ your face first an’ covered it up so nobody would know you was here. bill’s down to lynchburg, soused, an’ likely won’t show up till mornin’. this was to be the night for our little shindy, only, not havin’ no word yet, i was goin’ to give it up--till you come along. now i think i’ll let things go ahead, word or no word. get me, steve?”
-he arose, leering hideously, and curly felt the perspiration begin to burst out all over his body. his wide-open eyes--the only part of him which could move--sought joyce’s, but the fellow’s gaze, shifting continually, thwarted the attempt. kollock noticed--just why he did not know--that the other’s face was deathly pale, and that his low forehead was covered with little beads of sweat. a second later joyce picked up the lantern and moved lightly toward the door.
-“jest tell ’em that you saw me, an’ give ’em my regards,” he sneered over his shoulder, but his voice cracked on the last word, and, stumbling over a loose board in the floor, he disappeared.
-for perhaps half a minute curly lay absolutely still. then the horror of what that human fiend meant to do struck him with full force, turning him cold and then hot as fire. he rolled over on his face, and, bracing both feet against the foundation of the saw, strained the splendid muscles of back and arm and shoulder as he had never strained them before. the ropes cracked a little, but held fast, biting deep into his flesh. he paid no heed to the pain. again he strove with all his might to break those bonds. again he failed. joyce had done his work well.
-he was still straining, twisting, and flinging himself about till every inch of his body seemed sore to the touch, when of a sudden the faint, light tang of something new in the air made him stop like a person paralyzed.
-for a second he did not dare to breathe. slowly, fearfully, he drew in the air. then a smothered, inarticulate sound, half scream, half groan, echoed through the dark mill. it was smoke! the coward had kept his word and fired the building. no one would ever know. the flames were coming fast--fast. presently they would reach him----
-in a panic of horror he again cast himself here and there over the board floor, the sawdust sometimes muffling the thudding sound of his body. there was not one chance in a thousand that one would hear him. he stopped and listened, but detected no sound. a fresh puff of smoke made him gag. it was coming faster and faster, thicker and thicker.
-gasping for breath, he flung himself about again in a mad paroxysm of fear. above the thudding noise of his own making he could hear the horrible, ominous crackling of flames. crevices here and there began to be outlined in dull, glowing, changing red. he thought he heard the clanging of the primitive alarm, but he could not be sure.
-hither and thither he rolled, keeping up the motion without conscious volition, scraping, scratching, bumping against obstacles, but always blindly to get farther away from the consuming element beyond the partition.
-at one time the lapping, gurgling sound of water struck on his dazed senses with the shock of the incredible. then he realized that it came from beneath him, and knew that he must be in the portion of the mill built out over the river. a few inches of flooring was all that separated him from the cool, soothing touch of that water. the bitter irony of it ate into his soul like caustic, and brought a sudden rush of scalding tears to the stinging, smoke-blinded eyes.
-the glow brightened, grew more vivid. a single tongue of flame slid through a crack, and began licking up the wall. the sight seemed to arouse curly to fresh exertions. he flung himself furiously to one side, and by a strange chance he struck glancingly against the teeth of the circular saw, which cut his face cruelly and tore away the gag.
-it took him a second or two to realize what had happened. then from between his swollen lips a fierce, wild cry of desperate appeal rang out. it rose shrilly, piercingly, ended in a choke. he tried to cry again, but the smoke rushed into his lungs and turned the shout into a gruesome groan.
-that smoke was pouring into the room in clouds now. the single tongue of flame had bred a score, casting a lurid light over the place, and driving black despair into the half-conscious brain of the hopeless victim.
-bob bainbridge came down to lancaster that same evening. he had made arrangements with tweedy to be there at a certain hour to receive the wire his partner planned to send regarding a loan necessary to cover that second note. arriving in town about a quarter to bob went straight to the telegraph office. the operator, a dapper youth of almost tender years, promptly handed him an envelope.
-“came in just in time, mr. bainbridge,” he announced. “we close at six, you know.”
-bob nodded absently without speaking, and departed at once for the hotel he usually patronized. there would be plenty of time in the morning to send his partner an answer, and he was anxious to have a chance to think the matter over quietly.
-reaching the hotel, he registered, and went at once to the room assigned him. here he opened the message, and read it through with a perfectly blank expression:
-have cover removed on tank house. can’t use other timber.
-“well, i’ll be hanged!” bainbridge exclaimed aloud. “what the deuce does that mean? ‘have cover removed on tank house. can’t use other timber.’ blamed if i think it means anything. sounds like gibberish to me.”
-puzzled, and decidedly ill-tempered, he sat down and scanned the message closely. he could not believe it had been sent him as a joke. tweedy was not the sort to perpetrate that kind of a pleasantry, especially at present. but what else could it be?
-for twenty minutes or more he sat staring at the sheet before he made a curious discovery. the telegram was not addressed to him at all, but to one william kollock.
-“the genial bill,” he muttered, his eyes sparkling with a new interest. “jove! the plot thickens!”
-a glance at the envelope showed his own name written plainly thereon. evidently the boy had carelessly transposed the messages, giving bainbridge the one intended for the tool of his bitterest enemy. to bob the annoyance of realizing that, in all probability, kollock was in possession of tweedy’s wire about the loan was swallowed up in the interest of those ten words before him.
-that they were written in a secret code bainbridge had not a doubt. there was a superficial coherency about them, but when one studied the message, the impossibility of a careless operator being responsible for those errors became plain. just what that code might be bob did not know, but he meant to find out if such a thing were possible. a cryptogram addressed to bill kollock must, almost certainly, be of vital importance to himself.
-the reading of the ciper--if such it could be called--proved ever simpler than he had expected. taking the first letters of each word from left to right made no sense at all. reversing the process, however, produced this cryptic phrase:
-“about as dotty as the other.” grumbled bob, crumpling the message into a pocket. “i’m hanged if i’ll bother with the thing any longer.”
-he could not help thinking about it, however, and after a futile walk to the telegraph office, and equally futile attempt to locate the operator, he went back to the hotel and turned in.
-but even here his mind refused to respond to the urgings of his tired body. though he did best to forget those two tantalizing words, he found it impossible. what did they mean? what could they mean? perhaps, after all, they meant nothing in themselves, but were simply a cryptic sort of signal which the recipient alone would understand.
-“touch torch,” he murmured drowsily, as he stretched his weary body luxuriously on the first real bed he had known in months. “what the deuce! touch torch----great guns! the mill!”
-with a single bound he cleared the space between bed and bureau. in a second the lamp was lighted, and he was flinging on his clothes in mad haste. what a thick-headed fool he had been! that was it, of course! thwarted in those other cowardly attacks, it was the most natural thing in the world for elihu crane to make use of this means of crippling his competitor. he who had not hesitated at attempted assassination was not likely to stop at arson.
-within five minutes bainbridge had left the hotel, and was tearing down the road in the direction of his property. the sky was still dark and placid, and for a little while he thought he would be in time. but as he reached the fence surrounding the mill, and ran along it toward the nearest gates, a sudden reddish glow flashed up through the blackness beyond the high board structure, followed by a little shower of sparks like a feathery rocket.
-without pausing an instant in his rush, bainbridge drew his revolver and fired twice in the air. then he broke the stillness with a cry of fire from his powerful lungs--a cry which might almost have raised the dead.
-the gates were wide open, and, as he raced through into the inclosure, he almost collided with a shadowy figure, bent over, and running with long, agile strides. the pistol was still in bob’s hand, and, without a moment of hesitation, he sent it crashing square in the middle of the unknown’s forehead, dropping the fellow like a log.
-“one good thing done, anyhow,” muttered bainbridge, with a fierce kind of satisfaction.
-he hesitated an instant, wondering whether to pause and make the fellow secure, or hurry on toward the burning building. brief as had been the space since it first showed, the fire was beginning to break forth, illumining the sky, and making the mill seem almost like a flaming furnace within. there was little chance of accomplishing any good there, while it would be a pity if one of the undoubted criminals escaped.
-he had made up his mind, and was searching through his pockets for something to bind the fellow with, when a scream rang out, so wild and full of agonized appeal that it chilled his blood. it came from the burning building, and in an instant bob was running toward it with all his might.
-he raced around a corner, peering through windows as he ran. the front half of the building was one glare of flaming crimson, in which no human being could live a minute. the man--it was the watchman, of course--must be in the rear.
-he kept on around. reaching another window, he smashed it with a piece of “edging” caught up from the ground, letting out a volume of smoke. with a bound he was inside, facing the glare which came from the billowing mass of fire.
-“tom!” he cried, shielding his face with one crooked arm. “tom! where are you?”
-there was no answer. crouching low and holding his breath, he hurried toward a portion of the mill which overlooked the river. behind him the flames closed in with chuckling crackles like sentient things of murderous intent bent on cutting off his retreat.
-“tom!” he cried again. “where are----”
-the words died in his throat. sprawled across the log carrier near one of the huge circular saws was the inert body of a man. the fire had almost reached it, but bainbridge plunged forward without faltering. through heat that singed hair and eyebrows, and seemed to sear his lungs with the breath of death he plunged. stooping, he grasped the unconscious man by the shoulders, and dragged him across the floor. he could not retreat as he had come. he did not try. he was making for the opening to the runway or chute over which logs were yanked up from the river. this was rather steep and slippery, and he was forced to change his grip on the man. an instant later he gave a cry of amazement as he recognized the blackened, bloody features of his own riverman.
-but there was not a second to lose in speculation as to what curly was doing here. the glare of the burning building lit up the whole river, and already from the other side came cries of arriving villagers. he could see them running; doubtless many of them saw him as he paused in the fire-lit arch of the chute with the unconscious youth in his arms.
-“it’s a swim for it,” he muttered, glancing at kollock. “not much of a one, but mighty cold. reckon we’ll be on our way.”
-hoisting kollock over his shoulder, he stepped into the log-polished trough. for a fraction of a second he seemed to stand motionless, straight as a dart, a striking figure against that background of lurid crimson. then, still remaining upright, he shot downward at an angle like a person sliding on ice, to plunge with a great splash into the icy water.
-chapter xvi. the verge of ruin
-stepping hastily from his car, john tweedy hurried across the sidewalk, and entered the lobby of the bangor house. his plump face had an oddly sunken, pasty look. the jowls were pendulous, and there were dark rings under the eyes. his whole manner, in fact, was that of a man on the verge of a nervous collapse, holding himself together by sheer determination of will.
-inside the door he paused a moment, staring almost furtively to right and left, as if the ruin he knew to be so imminent was already a matter of public knowledge and comment. the fairly well-filled lobby held a number of familiar faces, whose owners either did not or would not see the stout man. tweedy made sure that the slight was intentional, and a nervous tremor quivered on his lips.
-“bah!” he muttered, hastening on toward the desk, “they’re beginning to cut me. after the fire last night they think i’m out for more credit. it’s the beginning of the end.”
-to his supersensitive mind the very desk clerk, who had so often laughed obsequiously at the lumber magnate’s jokes and pocketed with effusive thanks his expensive cigars, delayed purposely in attending him. it was the subtle impertinence of an inferior which seems to cut so much more deeply than any other kind, and it stung tweedy into a momentary flash of his old spirit.
-“griggs!” he snapped, in a voice which brought the clerk instantly forward. “i have an appointment to meet mr. bainbridge here at twelve,” he went on, transfixing the young man with an icy stare. “has he left any word for me?”
-before the flushed, embarrassed youth could answer, a hand dropped lightly on tweedy’s shoulder, and a cheery, familiar voice sounded in his ear:
-“well, john, you’re certainly on the dot. put it there, old man! i’m mighty glad to see you.”
-it was bob, clean, fresh, and well groomed. his eyes sparkled, the glow of health was in his cheeks. there was an air of vigor and physical fitness about him which made tweedy stare in bewilderment, wondering whether his partner was made of iron.
-“i’m certainly glad to see you, bobby,” he echoed, gripping the strong, brown fingers. “i don’t know how you can stand the pace, though. i’m about all in sitting up most of the night trying to figure out our losses from the incomplete----”
-“just one second, john,” interrupted bainbridge, and only then was his partner aware of the pleasant-faced, rather distinguished-appearing, gray-haired man who stood just behind the young lumberman. “i want you to meet mr. wolcott sears, of boston. he’s been up in the woods fishing, and we got acquainted up there.”
-tweedy acknowledged the introduction with the best grace he could summon, in view of the fact that he was burning to get bob by himself, and find out something of where the firm stood. he knew sears by reputation as an influential and powerful capitalist, and it was his policy always to be agreeable to moneyed men. but even that, combined with the boston man’s undoubted charm of manner, did not prevent tweedy from being a trifle austere. he only thawed completely when sears presently announced that he would have to tear himself away at once, or else miss the boston train.
-“i was afraid he’d stick around for hours,” tweedy said, as bob returned from seeing sears to the door. “let’s go over here where there’s less crowd.”
-“couldn’t have a better man,” said bob, falling into step with his partner. “he’s one of the best ever, john, and has been a good friend to me.”
-“of course, of course!” returned tweedy, with a nervous sort of pettishness. “that’s all very well, but we don’t want anybody else around just now. tell me about the mill. complete loss, i suppose?”
-bainbridge nodded. “just about. saved a few hundred thousand feet of pine stacked at the upper end of the yard. everything else went.”
-a facial muscle quivered, as if the confirmation of what tweedy had feared, yet hoped desperately against, had touched a raw nerve. he dropped down in one of the row of leather-covered chairs facing main street, and took out his handkerchief.
-“my country!” he groaned, staring in bewilderment at his companion. “i don’t see how you can take it all so easy. you know as well as i do that there’s not a cent of insurance on the stock. you must realize that lancaster was the only mill we had capable of taking care of a big drive.”
-bainbridge sat on the arm of the adjoining chair, one leg lightly swinging back and forth.
-“that’s true enough,” he nodded, feeling for his cigarette case. “i’ve always contended, though, that with proper equipment, the mill at colport could turn out a third more cut lumber than the lancaster mill.”
-tweedy groaned, and cast up his eyes. “what if it could?” he demanded. “how in creation are we going to find out? we’re broke--busted--cleaned out!” even in the stress of his emotion he remembered to lower his voice cautiously. “we’ve hardly an asset left except the drive. we’ve no credit. one of our notes for eight thousand dollars is due in less than twenty-four hours--due to the very scoundrel who’s brought us where we are, and whose plotting won’t stop there.”
-at last he seemed to find a shaft capable of penetrating the armor of bob’s self-possession. with a start, the young man dropped the match, and stared fixedly at tweedy, the fresh-lighted cigarette dangling unheeded between the fingers of his other hand.
-“crane?” he exclaimed sharply. “you mean to say he’s bought up that note?”
-“huh!” bainbridge lifted the cigarette, and took a thoughtful puff or two. “that must be why he sent the message i found here a little while ago. said if i was quite ready to crawl he’d be in his office till two this afternoon.”
-he hesitated a second longer, and then stood up with a sudden, determined squaring of his wide shoulders.
-“how about it, john?” he asked, a curious gleam in the dark eyes. “what do you say to making a call on the genial elihu?”
-he finished with an eloquent gesture of resignation which brought a sudden softness into the young man’s eyes.
-“by jove, but you’re a sport!” he exclaimed, with a touch of his hand on the other’s shoulder, which was almost a caress. “don’t you care, though, old man. it won’t take long, and i’ll attend to the talk. all you’ll have to do will be to furnish me with the moral support of your presence.”
-chapter xvii. the visit to elihu
-for so many years elihu crane had preserved his impassive demeanor in public that he gradually ceased to let down the bars at all. even in his own office--that inner sanctum which he had made as difficult of access as the specie vault of the bank of england--he retained his pose. at this particular moment, even, holding in his hand that slip of paper which was the strongest thread in the web he had been weaving so long and patiently about his hated competitors, his face revealed nothing of the fierce joy which filled his soul.
-that paper was the note which fell due upon the morrow. bainbridge & tweedy could not meet it, he was certain. their funds were exhausted; their credit gone. barring a miracle, he held them in his power at last. he meant to exercise that power ruthlessly and without mercy.
-there was one little carping doubt in his mind--though that, too, was hidden behind the impenetrable mask. was he to be deprived, after all, of the keen pleasure he had planned for himself--the pleasure of being the one imparting to young bainbridge by word of mouth the exact status of his affairs, and a gloating account of what the future held in store?
-his letter had been placed in bainbridge’s hands hours before. bob was not obliged to come, but crane had written with a perfect knowledge of the young man’s nature, coupled with all the diabolical cunning he possessed. it would be strange if the combination did not serve to goad the high-spirited youngster into doing what his former partner desired, and yet the minute hand of the clock was climbing swiftly upward from half past one, and there had come no word.
-frowning the least bit, crane at length stretched out a lean, wrinkled hand toward one of a row of pearl-topped buttons set in the surface of the flat mahogany desk. almost as he did so one of the telephones at his left tinkled lightly, and he lifted it swiftly. a brief conversation took place which smoothed miraculously the forehead of the lumber trust official.
-“show them in at once, banning,” he finished.
-setting down the instrument, he leaned back, eyes fixed on the door with a touch almost of pleasurable anticipation in them. when presently it swung open to admit bob bainbridge, followed closely by tweedy, crane’s mouth tightened cruelly, and the sandy-fringed lids drooped a trifle.
-“and so,” he said at length, his lips curling, “you’ve come to crawl.”
-bainbridge did not answer for a moment. he was busy settling down in the chair which had not been offered him, and in seeing that tweedy did the same. then he drew out a cigar case and, with elaborate courtesy, extended it to crane.
-“no?” he murmured, as the latter declined with a brief gesture. “given up smoking? here, john.”
-when tweedy had accepted, and his own weed was lighted, bainbridge leaned comfortably back in his chair.
-“to crawl?” he repeated slowly, “well, i don’t know about that. a fellow never likes to crawl if there’s another way out of a difficulty.”
-crane’s eyes glinted. “rest assured there isn’t,” he retorted crisply. “you’re in a hole. you haven’t a single resource left. your credit’s no good.”
-“oh, i don’t admit that,” put in bob hastily.
-“whether you admit it or not, it’s true,” retorted crane, a note of cold, calculating triumph creeping into his voice. “you can’t bluff me. i’ve had a man looking up your affairs for some time, and i know what i’m talking about. tweedy, here, has been breaking his neck all last week trying to borrow enough to meet your note of eight thousand which is due at noon to-morrow. that note”--he bent forward, and raised for an instant the oblong sheet of paper from his desk--“is here.”
-if he expected signs of surprise or consternation from bainbridge he was disappointed. bob simply crossed one leg over the other, and nodded.
-“so i understand,” he drawled.
-there was a briefest sort of pause, during which his dark eyes held the older man’s in thrall. suddenly he arose.
-“you may as well hand it over now,” he said coolly, moving toward the desk.
-in a twinkling crane had acted. with amazing agility he bent forward over the desk. a buzzer sounded. a drawer popped open. a second later he had snatched from it a revolver, which he leveled swiftly at bob. last of all, doors at either end of the office opened noiselessly to admit a pair of stalwart attendants.
-bainbridge, pausing in the middle of the floor, surveyed these maneuvers with interest and frank amusement.
-“very clever and effective,” he murmured slowly, exhaling a whiff of smoke. “plainly no one’s ever going to catch you napping. it happens, though, that i had no idea of playing the holdup game. i wished merely to hand you a check for the amount of that note and interest, and cancel it. would you mind turning that barrel just a trifle to one side? accidents will happen, you know, and your staff here seems quite able to cope with the situation alone.”
-a single momentary flash of incredulous anger ripped across crane’s impassive countenance. then the mask fell again, and, lowering the revolver, he bent forward.
-“you certainly don’t expect me to accept a personal check of yours for that amount, do you?” he inquired coldly.
-“not quite,” smiled bainbridge. “knowing your skeptical nature, i took the trouble to have it certified.”
-he drew out his bill case, and, taking from it a narrow slip of paper, laid it before crane. silence followed--tense, vibrating with something of the sense of that bitter, baffled fury which was rending the older man as he stared at the scrap of paper that was depriving him of his revenge. it was the equivalent of currency. he could not refuse to take it. the amount was correct to the last cent. the whole transaction was one in which even his cunning could find no flaw.
-but where had the money come from? he could not believe that any one in bangor had supplied it. it was impossible that his subordinates could have been so deceived.
-with swiftly growing fury crane made a brief note of payment on the back of the paper. his hand trembled. by the time the signature was written his lips were quivering--his face dark.
-“there!” he rasped harshly, thrusting the note at bainbridge. “where you got it i don’t know, but it’ll do you no good. your best mill’s a total loss. you haven’t sold a foot of lumber in weeks, and you won’t for months to come. everybody’s bought what they want from us at easy rates. you may think this is a mighty smart move, but i’ll get you in the end!”
-“i think not!”
-bob’s voice had taken on a sudden quality of hardness. his face lost the half-bantering expression of a moment before, and grew coldly stern. it was as if he had all at once wearied of the little drama he had been staging, and was determined to ring down the curtain without delay.
-“i think not,” he repeated curtly. “who did you make those biggest sales of cut-rate lumber to, crane?”
-there was an underlying significance in his tone which made crane glance sharply at him from under penthouse brows, and then dismiss the two silent attendants with a gesture.
-“what business is that of yours?” he demanded.
-bainbridge laughed harshly, triumphantly, “what business is it of mine? i’ll tell you.”
-he bent suddenly forward, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands. his face was slightly flushed; his eyes, fixed intently on crane, held in their depths a gleam of singularly disconcerting triumph.
-“i’ll tell you,” he said rapidly. “j. g. brown, of portland, had two million feet, didn’t he? creighton, of rockland, bought half as much. there was cox, of portsmouth--blanchard--manning--lafitte. you see, i know!”
-there was a ring in his voice which made tweedy begin to tingle and sit forward, suddenly erect, in thrilling anticipation of the bombshell he felt sure was coming.
-“why don’t you ask the questions you’re dying to? how? why? you’re wild to know; i can see it in your eyes.” bob laughed again, and crane winced at the sound. “i’ll tell you. i know because they’re only my agents--buying--for--me!”
-“it’s a lie!” burst from crane’s white lips. “they paid cash! you haven’t a cent.”
-“i have something better--unlimited credit. shall i tell you who’s backing me because he hates the trust, and has faith in my ability to fight you? wolcott sears, of boston. now do you understand? instead of ruining us by cutting rates, you’ve played straight into our hands. timber values can’t go down. we’ll sell at market prices what we bought from you and clean up a cool half million on the deal.”
-with an inarticulate cry of fury, crane leaped to his feet, and stood glaring at bainbridge with flaming, maddened eyes. the mask of inscrutability had vanished from his face. one saw the real man now, stripped of the veneer of temperament and civilization.
-“it’s a plot!” he raved, shaking a skinny fist in bob’s face. “it’s a vile conspiracy. i’ll take the case to court. i’ll have you jailed for----”
-bainbridge’s tone was not loud, but there was a compelling quality about it which stopped the boiling torrent of fury with amazing suddenness. crane gulped hard, caught his trembling lips between his teeth--and finally subsided into his chair.
-“you talk of plots--you!” the young man’s voice was hard, cold, full of unutterable contempt. “do you happen to know the penalty for conspiracy to commit arson--and worse?”
-“i don’t know--what you mean,” faltered crane, avoiding the dark eyes bent so keenly on his face.
-“oh, yes, you do. look at these.”
-with a swift, dramatic motion bainbridge suddenly jerked from his pocket some sheets of paper covered closely with erect, spitefully black writing, and held them before crane.
-“your own hand,” he accused. “instructions to your henchman, bill kollock? i think the jury at your trial will consider them proof enough.”
-crane’s jaw dropped. his white face had turned a sickly green.
-“you--wouldn’t--dare!” he gasped.
-“wouldn’t i? just let me show you.”
-without waiting a reply, bob leaned over, and, picking up one of the telephones, stood erect.
-“headquarters,” he said briefly. then, after a momentary pause: “that you, chief? this is bainbridge. will you send up those two plain-clothes men we arranged about? yes, the arrest can be made any time. that’s all. thank you!”
-the receiver clicked into place again, and bainbridge returned the instrument to the desk. crane sat hunched in his chair, his face a mixture of hate and fear and baffled fury. tweedy looked as if a mammoth weight had been suddenly lifted from his shoulders. bob’s expression was inscrutable.
-the room was very still.
-transcriber’s note: italic text is indicated by underscores.
-a merchant fleet at war
-a merchant fleet at war
-by archibald hurd
-author of “the british fleet in the great war,” “command of the sea,” “sea-power,” etc. etc.
-all rights reserved
-over the warring waters, beneath the wandering skies, the heart of britain roameth, the chivalry of the sea, where spring never bringeth a flower, nor bird singeth in a tree, far, afar, o beloved, beyond the sight of our eyes, over the warring waters, beneath the stormy skies.
-during a war, which was at last to draw into its vortex practically the whole human race--the issue depending, first and foremost, on sea power--there was little time or opportunity or, indeed, inclination on the part of british seamen to keep a record of their varied activities. the very nature of many of the incidents recorded in the following pages precluded the preparation of detailed reports at the time. nor can we forget that many of the officers and men, to whose resource, courage, and devotion this volume bears testimony, have joined the great silent army of the dead to whose exploits the freedom of conscience of every man and woman in the british empire, as well as their state of material comfort, bear witness.
-this book has been written under not a few difficulties, and it owes whatever merit it possesses to many individuals--captains, officers, engineers, pursers and other ministers to british sea-power--who have assisted in its preparation, whether by recounting incidents in which they took part, by placing written records at my disposal, or by lending photographs from which the illustrations have been prepared. i would especially emphasise that the illustrations have been made from photographs of all sorts and shapes, taken by all kinds of cameras, though for the most part of pocket size. many of the pictures were snapped under dull and forbidding skies, and some were secured in the very presence of the enemy in mad pursuit of his piratical policy. some of these pictures were soaked with sea water, and other were recovered from destruction at the last moment. the value of the illustrations lies not so much in their perfection as in the knowledge that they were taken “on active service.”
-finally a word should be said, perhaps, of another difficulty which confronts any one who endeavours to tell the story of what merchant sailors did during the great war. these men dislike publicity and their modesty disarms the inquisitor. like their comrades of the royal navy, they are content if they can feel that they have done their duty. they would leave it at that. but were silence to be maintained, later generations would be robbed, for the progress of humanity depends, in no small measure, on the manner in which the memory of great deeds is preserved, and handed down from age to age. no man can live unto himself.
-the story of the contribution which british seamen have made to the happiness and well being of the world can never be half told, and these pages form merely a footnote to one of the most glorious epics in human annals. they go forth in the hope that they may help to perpetuate those sterling virtues which find increasing expression in the british race throughout the world. james anthony froude once declared that all that this country has achieved in the course of three centuries has been due to her predominance as an ocean power. “take away her merchant fleets; take away the navy that guards them; her empire will come to an end; her colonies will fall off like leaves from a withered tree; and britain will become once more an insignificant island in the north sea.” so i hope this book may be regarded not merely as a footnote to history, but may remind all and sundry of the priceless heritage which our seamen of all classes and degrees have left in our keeping.
-there was never a time in our history when the value of the mercantile marine to our national life was as apparent as it is to-day. after passing through the crucible of war, we are what we are, mainly, because we are the possessors of ships.
-when the great war came, we possessed only a small, though highly trained, army, and the guns of our navy extended little further than high-water mark. how could we, a community of islanders, in partnership with other islanders living in dominions thousands of miles away, hope to make our strength felt on the battlefields of the continent of europe, where the military powers were mobilising conscript armies counted not by thousands, but by millions? the original expeditionary force, as finely tempered a fighting instrument as ever existed, was at once thrown across the channel in merchant ships and it held in check the victorious army of germany, saving by a miracle, the channel ports; then, having mobilised on the eve of the declaration of war, the royal navy, the great protective force of the british peoples, we mobilised also the merchant navy, their essential sustaining force, bridged the oceans of the world, and concentrated on the conflict the enormous and varied powers of the 400,000,000 inhabitants of the commonwealth. in belgium and france as in the pacific, in gallipoli as in eastern africa, in salonica as in mesopotamia, and in italy as in palestine, british troops were soon confronting the forces of the central alliance; every ocean was dominated by british men-of-war. the enemies had the advantage of interior military lines, but by the aid of ships--carrying troops, munitions, and stores--we gradually forged a hoop of steel round them and slowly but irresistibly drew it tighter and tighter until, their economic power having been strangled by sea power, their naval and military power was weakened and they were compelled to sue for peace. if it had not been for our ships--ships of commerce drawing strength from the seas, and ships of war, efficiently policing those seas--the allies could not by any possibility have won the great war and germans would to-day be the dominant race, not only in europe, but in both hemispheres.
-it is a common error to think of sea power in terms only of battleships, cruisers, destroyers and submarines. the secret of the spread of anglo-saxon civilisation, with its ideals of fair play, tolerance and personal liberty, its hatred of tyranny and love of justice, is not to be found as much in these emblems of organised violence as in merchant ships. out of our island state the merchant fleet, a purely individualistic institution, developed by the compulsion of geographical necessities; the british people could not exist without ships even in days when their numbers were small and the standard of living was relatively low. the population has trebled in the last hundred years and the level of comfort of all classes has risen, and to-day the very existence of the 45,000,000 people of the british isles, as well as their commercial and social relations with the other sections of the empire, depends on the sufficiency and efficiency of the mercantile marine.
-we possessed a trading navy, with fine traditions of peace and war, long before we had a fighting navy. the owners of merchant ships for many centuries defended this country from raids and invasions, just as it was the early merchant-adventurers who laid the foundations of the empire. thus as far back as the reign of athelstan, we find this saxon king granting a thaneship--or, as one might say, a knighthood--to every merchant who had been three voyages of length in his own trading vessel. it was largely with the ships of merchant owners that in 1212 the english, by raiding france, prevented a french invasion, and that in 1340 one of the greatest british naval victories was won over vastly superior forces at the battle of sluys. and though, by the time of the armada, merchant ships were but as it were the core of the fleets that fought and destroyed the threatened world domination of spain, they played an exceedingly important part in that epoch-making struggle, which marked the emergence of this island as a world power. similarly the indian empire, the early american colonies, and many other british possessions all over the world, were founded by merchant shipping enterprise alone. from time immemorial, the british merchantman has carried the flag to the outermost parts of the world and thus helped to maintain its prestige.
-the mercantile marine and navy have always been so closely knit that it is often difficult to separate their histories. the mercantile marine was in reality, as has been said, the parent of the latter. as the state grew, and civilisation became more complex, a process of separation between the ships of commerce and the ships of war was inevitable, and the navy became more and more a distinct royal service. the increasing difficulties of the problems of defence, armament, and so on, led to a process of specialisation, and could only be adequately studied and the empire’s growing needs supplied by a state department. on the other hand, the mercantile marine remained, and still remains, individualistic, each merchant ship-owner, or company of ship-owners, building the sort of vessel best adapted to the particular enterprise in hand. thus we have sailing from our ports, ships of all descriptions, ocean-going liners carrying passengers, cargoes and mails, as well as tramps, colliers, cold-storage vessels, and an infinity of other types.
-but while this process of separation, or specialisation, has been both inevitable and fruitful, the mercantile marine has, in every war, been called upon by the navy to provide transports, auxiliary cruisers, hospital and munition ships, and, in the recent great war, minesweepers, submarine chasers, ‘q’ ships, and many other equally vital subsidiaries. similarly, in the personnel of the mercantile marine, the navy has always had a powerful reserve, not only of experienced sailors, but of actual navally-trained officers and men. without these, it is safe to say that the navy could never have undertaken, or accomplished, those vast and world-wide, and many of them unforeseeable, tasks, so magnificently and successfully carried out; and it is equally true that but for the mercantile marine, the armies of the whole alliance would have been paralysed.
-in no history, however long and laboriously compiled, would it be possible to do full justice to the war-work of the british mercantile marine, but the present volume supplies, at any rate, an index to the scope and value of what it performed. in the re-action of one unit, of one old, honourable, and successful merchant shipping company to the demands of the world war, it is perhaps possible to realise more clearly than by making a wider sweep of research, the amazing accomplishments of the whole; and where all rose, with magnificent unity, to heights of service never surpassed in our annals, none excelled either in the prescience or organizing ability of its directors, in the courage and resource of its captains and crews, or in the loyalty and ingenuity of its skilled and unskilled employees, the record of the cunard steamship company.
-a merchant fleet at war
-oh hear! oh hear! across the sullen tide, across the echoing dome horizon-wide, what pulse of fear beats with tremendous boom? what call of instant doom, with thunder-stroke of terror and of pride, with urgency that may not be denied, reverberates upon the heart’s own drum come! ... come! ... for thou must come!
-in order to obtain the truest conception of what the cunard company stood for in 1914, it will be well not only to consider very briefly its first origin and steady growth, but to refresh our memories by recalling one or two of the tidemarks of ocean-going navigation. thus it was in 1802, in the year, that is to say, following nelson’s great victory at copenhagen, in the year of the peace of amiens, and three years before the battle of trafalgar, that the first successful, practical steamer was launched. this was the charlotte dundas, built by william symington on the forth and clyde canal, and fitted with an engine constructed by watt, which drove a stern wheel. this vessel proved to be an inspiration to robert fulton, who in 1807 built the clermont at new york, a wooden steamer 133 feet long, engined by bolton and watt. in the autumn of that year, this vessel made a trip from new york to albany, a distance of 130 miles in 32 hours, returning in 30 hours, and thenceforward maintained the first continuous long distance service performed by any steam vessel. five years later bell’s famous steamer, the comet, began the earliest, regular steamer passenger service in europe.
-in 1814 the marjory, the first steamer to run regularly on the river thames, began her career; but it was not until 1819 that the savannah, a wooden sailing ship of american construction, but fitted with engines and a set of paddles amidships, crossed the atlantic, arriving at liverpool after 29½ days. in the following year the condé de palmella was the first engined ship to sail across the atlantic from east to west, namely from liverpool to the brazils.
-these were but tentative experiments, however, and the transatlantic steamship service, as we see it to-day, did not really begin till the year 1838, when the steamers sirius and great western sailed within a few days of each other from london and bristol respectively. both ships crossed without mishap, the sirius in 17 days, and the great western in 15. in the same year, the royal william and the liverpool crossed from liverpool to new york in 19 days and 16½ days respectively.
-it was now clear that a new era in transatlantic navigation had dawned, and the admiralty, who were then responsible for the arrangement of overseas postal contracts, and had hitherto been satisfied to entrust the carrying of mails to sailing vessels, invited tenders for the future conveyance of letters to america by steam vessels. one of their advertisements, as it happened, came into the hands of mr. samuel cunard; he was the son of an american citizen of philadelphia, who had settled in halifax, nova scotia, in which city he had been born in 1787. for some time the idea of developing a regular service of steamers between america and england had been simmering in mr. cunard’s brain. he was already in his 50th year, a successful merchant and ship owner; and he now resolved to visit england with the intention, if possible, of raising sufficient capital to put his ideas into practice. armed with an introduction to mr. robert napier, a well-known clyde shipbuilder and engineer, he went to glasgow, after having received but little sympathy in london. through mr. napier he became acquainted with mr. george burns, a fellow scotsman of great ability and long practical experience as a ship-owner, and through him with mr. david mciver, also a scotsman of sagacity and enterprise, then living at liverpool. between the three of them the necessary capital was obtained, and mr. cunard was able to submit to the admiralty a tender for the conveyance of mails once a fortnight between liverpool, halifax, and boston, u.s.a. his tender was considered so much better than that offered by the owners of the great western that it was accepted, and a contract for seven years was concluded between the government and the newly formed british and north american royal mail steam packet company, as it was then called.
-such was the beginning of the cunard company in the shape of four wooden paddle-wheel steam vessels, built on the clyde, the britannia, acadia, caledonia, and columbia; and its history from then until 1914 was one of steady and enterprising, cautious and daring, development. this is not the place to linger in detail over the technical strides made since 1840 by the cunard company’s directors, but one or two of the more important milestones should perhaps be noted. in the year 1804, john stevens in america had successfully experimented with the screw-propeller, and in 1820, at the horsley iron works, at tipton in staffordshire, mr. aaron manby had designed and built the first iron steamer. it had always been the policy of the cunard company to keep in touch with every new marine experiment, but at the same time it had been their wise habit, both from the commercial point of view and that of the safety of their passengers and crews, to move circumspectly in the adoption of new devices. it was not, therefore, until 1852 that the first four iron screw steamships were added to their fleet, namely the australian, sydney, andes, and alps, four vessels that were also the first belonging to the company to be fitted with accommodation for emigrants. for the next ten years, however, it was found that passengers still preferred the old paddle-wheel system, and side by side with their iron screw steamers, the company continued to build these until, in 1862, the scotia proved to be the last of a dying type. meanwhile, in 1854, the government was to realise another side of the value to the nation of the cunard company. during the crimean war, in response to a strong government appeal, the company immediately placed at the admiralty’s disposal, six of their best steamers, the cambria, niagara, europa, arabia, andes, and alps; later adding to these their two most recent acquisitions, the jura and etna. throughout the campaign these eight vessels were continuously employed upon various important missions, supplying the needs of the military forces.
-perhaps the next most important era began with the invention in 1869 of compound engines, and in 1870 the batavia and parthia were fitted with these, and proved extremely successful, maintaining good speeds, with a reduced consumption of fuel. the company was now sailing one vessel under contract with the general post office every week from liverpool to new york, calling at queenstown, and from new york to liverpool, also calling at the south irish port, and receiving a certain subsidy for so doing. they were also maintaining services between liverpool and the principal ports in the mediterranean, adriatic, levant, bosphorus, and black sea, and between liverpool and havre. in 1881 the first steel vessel, the servia, was built for the cunard company. this was the most powerful as well as the largest ship, with the exception of the famous great eastern, that the world had then seen. she was followed in 1884 by the etruria and umbria, the former of which in august, 1885, set up the record for speed from queenstown to new york, the journey being accomplished in 6 days 6 hours and 36 minutes. in the meantime, research work, in the construction of marine engines had been continued, and dr. price had invented the triple expansion engine, which effected further considerable economies in the consumption of fuel; and these were fitted by the cunard company into the two great twin-screw vessels, the campania and lucania, built in 1893. with the campania we shall deal again, as she performed valuable services in the late war, and it is interesting to note that it was on board the lucania in 1901 that mr. marconi carried out certain important experiments in wireless telegraphy, this vessel being the first, under the cunard management, to be fitted with a wireless installation.
-through all these years the cunard company had of course been submitted to very great competition in the transatlantic trade, not only by british lines, but by american and continental shipping companies also; and in the year 1900 with the deutschland and in 1902 with the kaiser wilhelm ii, what has been called the “blue ribbon” of the atlantic passed to germany, these vessels having an average speed of 23½ knots. it was then decided that the supremacy in this respect, should, if possible, be regained by great britain, and, with government help, and in return for certain definite prospective services if required, the cunard company laid down the lusitania and the mauretania. in 1907, these vessels making use of sir charles parsons’ turbine engines, were put into service and soon afterwards attained a speed of over 26 knots, and the mastery, in respect of speed, of the atlantic.
-enormous as were the proportions, however, of these huge vessels, they were yet to be eclipsed by the cunard company’s later and most recent giant, the aquitania, a vessel that might more fitly be described as a floating city of palaces, libraries, art galleries, and swimming baths, than the steamship child of the little britannia of 1840. let us for a moment compare them, remembering that only the ordinary span of a human life-time intervened between them. the britannia was 200 feet long, a wooden paddle-wheel steamer of 1,154 tons, 740 horse-power, and a speed of 8½ knots. the aquitania is 902 feet long, of 46,000 tons, with quadruple screws driven by turbine engines of a designed shaft of 60,000 horse-power, maintaining a speed of 24 knots. with her louis xvith staircase, her garden lounge, her adams drawing-room, her frescoes, her palladian lounge, her carolean smoking-room, and her pompeian swimming bath, she can carry in the comfort of a first-class hotel more than 3,200 passengers, together with a crew of over 1,000.
-such then has been what one may best call, perhaps, the technical advance of the cunard company, and in 1914, at the commencement of hostilities, it had in commission 26 vessels, apart from tugs, lighters, and other subsidiaries. of these, since we shall presently deal with their individual adventures, the following list may be found convenient:
-from this it will be seen that the total tonnage possessed by the cunard company in 1914 was considerably over 300,000, and the company was operating services not only between the united kingdom and the united states of america and canada, but also between the united states of america and the mediterranean, as well as from liverpool and other british ports to the mediterranean and france.
-sleep on, o drake, sleep well, in days not wholly dire! grenville, whom nought could quell, unquenched is still thy fire. and thou that hadst no peer, nelson, thou needst not fear! thy sons and heirs are here, and shall not shame their sire.
-with the war now over, and after five years, during which the public mind has been accustomed to emergency arrangements of all sorts, nothing is more difficult than to reconstruct the enormous and unprecedented activities that were called so suddenly into being in the first war weeks of 1914; and in these the cunard company had a typical and vitally important part to play. of the number of navigating officers in their employment, namely 163, no fewer than 139 were in the royal naval reserve, and as such were immediately mobilised, being instructed to report themselves for naval duty upon their arrival in a british port; and by the end of the year 131 of these officers had actually done so. nor was this the least of the problems that the company had to face, in that, at a time when not only every reliable officer and man was worth his weight in gold to them, so large a proportion of their best and most highly trained servants had thus to be yielded up to the senior service.
-in the latest agreement arrived at with the government in 1903, the whole of the cunard fleet was, in time of war, to be placed at its disposal, and there was considerable uncertainty at first as to the various purposes to which the ships might be allocated. in the present chapter we shall confine ourselves to dealing with those of the cunard vessels that were commandeered by the admiralty for strictly combatant purposes, of which the more important were the aquitania, caronia, laconia, campania, and carmania; and since the campania had only just passed from cunard control, it may be well, perhaps, in view of her distinguished and lengthy service under the company’s flag to deal with her first. she became a seaplane carrier; after having at first however, taken a large share in repatriating americans stranded in the british isles owing to the exigencies of war. her after funnel was removed and a smaller one put abreast of the forward funnel; and this alteration, together with the dazzle paint with which she was at a later date covered, rendered her almost unrecognisable even to the old cunarders who had been familiar with her for many years. throughout the war she was fortunate in escaping injury both from enemy gunfire and submarine attack, and her honourable career only came to an end at the conclusion of the armistice, when she was accidentally sunk in collision with h.m.s. revenge in the firth of forth.
-turning now to the other vessels, the aquitania and caronia, these were fully dismantled and fitted out as armed cruisers in the first days of august, 1915. this, of course, meant the ruthless stripping out of all their luxurious fittings and those splendid appointments to which reference has been made in the last chapter; and for all these articles storage had to be found on shore at the shortest notice. some idea of the work involved in this conversion can best be gathered perhaps, by realising that no less than 5,000 men were employed upon this herculean task, and that more than 2,000 waggon loads of fittings were taken ashore from these two liners. while these two ships were thus being fitted, yet a third, the carmania, arrived in port to be similarly transformed; and a brief account of what took place on board this famous vessel may be taken, perhaps, as typical of what occurred in all three.
-arriving at liverpool landing stage at 8 o’clock in the morning of august 7th, 1914, she was almost immediately boarded by captain noel grant, r.n. and lieutenant-commander e. lockyer, r.n., who were to be respectively her captain and first lieutenant under the new conditions. at that moment she looked about as unlike a man-of-war as she could well have done. from half a dozen gangways, baggage was being landed at express speed, while first and second class passengers were also going ashore from the overhead gantries. owing to the fact that there were known to be germans amongst the passengers on board, a considerable number of police and custom officials were present upon the vessel; and this necessitated the detention of a large number of third-class passengers, who had to be carefully scrutinised and sorted out.
-while all this was going on arrangements for the new equipment and personnel of the vessel were already being discussed, and the proportions of cunarders and naval ratings for the carmania’s future war service being determined. it was decided that the engine staff was to be cunard, the men being specially enrolled for a period of six months in the royal naval reserve, while the commander of the ship, captain j. c. barr, was to remain on board as navigator and adviser to captain grant, with the temporary rank of commander r.n.r. the chief officer, lieutenant murchie, with certain other officers, also remained on board, lieutenant murchie, owing to his special knowledge of the ship, ranking next to lieutenant-commander lockyer for general working purposes. the ship’s surgeon, her chief steward and about 50 of the cunard ratings for cooks, waiters, and officers’ servants, were also retained, as well as the carpenter, who was kept on board as chief petty officer and given six mates, the cooper, blacksmith, plumber, and painter, being also retained with the same rank.
-leaving the stage about noon, the carmania was immediately docked at sandon, where after some further delay the third-class passengers were landed. owing to the fact that the caronia was already in the carmania’s proper berth, being fitted out as an armed cruiser, and that both she and the aquitania were already well on the way to completion for their new task, the carmania could for the moment neither discharge her cargo nor bunker owing to the shortage of labour. as many painters, however, as could be assembled began at once to alter her hull and funnels, blackening out her well-known red and black tops, while a gang of shipwrights started to cut out the bulwarks fore and aft on the ‘b’ deck, in order to allow of the training to suitable angles of the guns that were to be placed in position there. other cunard stewards and joiners also concentrated at once upon the task of clearing out passenger accommodation from the vessel. during saturday and sunday the carmania remained in the basin, and it was on this day that her future midshipmen turned up, and had to be provided with accommodation in the midst of the existing confusion. on monday she was able to get an empty berth, where she began at once to discharge her cargo, and to bunker at express speed. armoured plates were now being put in position upon all her most vulnerable parts, and these were also being re-inforced with coal and bags of sand by way of extra protection. all the woodwork in the passengers’ quarters was being taken away; two of her holds were being fitted with platforms and magazines were being built on them; while means for flooding were also being installed, speaking-tubes fitted in the aft steering gear room, control telephones being run up, and her eight guns placed in position.
-these were all of 4.7 inch calibre and with a range of about 9,300 yards. in addition a 6 ft. barr and stroud range-finder was being fitted, together with two semaphores. two searchlights were being mounted on slightly raised platforms on the bridge ends, while two ordinary lifeboats and eighteen maclean collapsible boats were retained for war purposes. by wednesday all the coal was in, all the bunkers being full, and the protection coal was in place. at 5 o’clock the next morning, the naval ratings in charge of lieutenant-commander o’neil, r.n.r., arrived from portsmouth, most of them being r.n.r. men, but a good many belonging to the royal fleet reserve, while the marines on board were drawn in equal proportions from the royal marine artillery, and the royal marine light infantry. the able seamen were for the most part scotch fishermen of the finest type.
-on the same day messing, watch, and sleeping arrangements were made, ammunition was taken aboard and stored in the magazines, together with a limited number of small arms, in addition to the marines’ rifles: and so unremitting had been the work of all engaged, and so efficient the organisation evoked by the crisis, that the carmania was actually at sea as a fully equipped armed cruiser by friday, august 14th, only a week after she had entered port as an ordinary first-class atlantic liner. with her later adventures we shall deal in a moment, but before doing so let us follow the adventures of the other three vessels that were converted into armed cruisers.
-the aquitania, fitted with 6-inch guns, sailed on august 8th, but unfortunately was damaged in collision and on returning to port was dismantled at the end of september. from may to august, 1915, she was employed in carrying troops, when she was fitted out as a hospital ship, in which capacity she continued to work until april of the following year. she was again requisitioned as a hospital ship in september, 1916, plying between england and the mediterranean until christmas. she was then laid up by the government for the whole of 1917, and in march, 1918, was again put into commission by the admiralty as a transport, and played an important part in bringing american troops to europe at that critical time.
-the caronia had a somewhat longer career as an armed cruiser. she was commissioned on 8th august, 1914, by captain shirley-litchfield, r.n., with captain c. a. smith, cunard line, as navigator. she sailed from liverpool on august 10th, for patrol duties in the north atlantic, being attached to the north american and west indies station, under the command of rear-admiral phipps-hornby, with halifax (n.s.) as base.
-she was employed on the usual patrol duties, stopping, boarding and examining shipping. in the very early days of the war, she captured at sea and towed into berehaven the four-masted barque odessa, and, some little time after, she took over from a warship and towed to halifax a six thousand ton oil tanker.
-eight 4.7-in. quick-firing guns were originally mounted in the caronia, but, on her return to england for refit in may, 1915, they were replaced by a similar number of six-inch.
-she was at sea again in july, 1915, for another commission on the same station, with captain reginald a. norton, r.n., in command, and captain henry mcconkey, cunard line, as navigator. she remained away until august, 1916, when she returned to this country to pay off.
-the caronia was then employed in trooping between south and east africa and india until her return to the company’s service.
-during the whole of this time, she was manned chiefly by mercantile marine ratings, enrolled for temporary service in the r.n.r. for the duration of hostilities.
-the laconia, for the first two years of the war was also used as an armed cruiser, seeing special service on the german east african coast, and taking part in the operations which ended in the destruction of the german cruiser konigsberg in the rufigi river. she was then taken out of commission, and returned to the company’s transatlantic service. she was finally sunk by a german submarine on the 25th february, 1917, american lives being lost aboard her. there is no doubt that this was the “overt act” that helped to confirm the decision of america to enter the war on the side of the allies.
-it is safe to say that all these vessels maintained in their new naval roles, not only the best traditions of the cunard company itself, but those of the mercantile marine of which they had once been so distinguished a part, and the british navy of which they became not the least useful and honourable units. to the carmania, indeed, fell the singular honour of being the only british armed auxiliary cruiser to sink a german war vessel in single armed combat; and the five years war at sea produced few more kindling and romantic stories than that of her duel with the cap trafalgar in september, 1914, near trinidad island in the south atlantic.
-leaving the mersey, as we have seen, on saturday, august 15th, she first went up the irish channel examining merchant vessels, on her way to the halifax trade route; where she was to carry out her first patrol duties. having kept this track, however, for twenty-four hours without adventure, she received orders to sail for bermuda, and on her way there seized the opportunity of dropping a target and carrying out some practice, firing which not only proved that her gun-layers were exceptionally skilful, but which gave all on board considerably greater confidence in the ship as a fighting unit. on the evening of august 22nd, she sighted the searchlights off st. george, bermuda, and early next morning performed the difficult task of navigating a channel that no vessel of anything like her great size had ever before been through. here for the next five days she coaled, while officers and men were able to obtain certain articles in the way of tropical clothing, that they had not had time to procure at liverpool.
-on august 29th she left the bermudas, and on september 2nd passed through the bocas del dragos, at the mouth of the gulf of paria. here, amidst scenery new and entrancing to many on board, she approached the port of spain, whence after a couple of days’ coaling, she left to join admiral cradock’s ill-fated squadron, which was then searching the coast of venezuela, and the mouths of its rivers, for the german cruisers dresden and karlsruhe. to this squadron she became attached about a week later, and soon received orders to investigate trinidad island in the south atlantic. on september 11th, however, while on her way there, she received orders to try and intercept, in conjunction with the cruiser cornwall, the german collier patagonia, which was supposed to be leaving pernambuco that night; but she was not found, and, as a matter of fact, did not sail for another three days, when she succeeded, in the absence of the cornwall, in getting away. before this, however, the carmania had received orders to continue on her original mission, namely the examination of trinidad island, and she accordingly headed down for it. this is a small and lonely piece of land, about 500 miles distant from the south american coast, rising to a height of some 2,000 feet, and being only some 3 miles long by 1½ miles broad, but with a good anchorage on its south-west side. though often sighted by sailing vessels homeward bound from cape horn, this island was well out of reach of any ordinary steamer, and was thus an extremely likely place for an enemy vessel desiring to coal in a convenient and unobserved position. moreover, although both great britain and brazil had at various times attempted to form small settlements there for the purpose of cultivating the castor oil plant indigenous to the island, these attempts had never been successful, and the island was uninhabited.
-it was at nine in the morning of monday, september 14th that the carmania sighted the island ahead; and soon after 11 a.m. a large vessel was made out, lying on the island’s westward side. it was a bright clear day, with a gentle north-easterly breeze blowing, and the mast of the unknown vessel showed distinctly above the horizon, two funnels becoming visible a little while later. it was at once concluded that she must be an enemy, since it was known that there were no british war vessels in the neighbourhood, and that no british merchant vessel was at all likely to be here. her exact identity, however, remained a problem that was not to be solved, as it happened, until several days afterwards. the only enemy vessels that might possibly be in the neighbourhood according to the knowledge of those on board the carmania, were the karlsruhe, with four funnels, the dresden with three funnels, the kron prinz wilhelm with four funnels, and the konig wilhelm, an armed merchant cruiser which had one funnel. even had the funnels been altered it could not have been any of these, since the outlines of all these vessels were known to one and another of the experienced and widely travelled observers on board the carmania, and this uncertainty added to the excitement of a peculiarly thrilling occasion. the sudden pouring out of smoke from the strange vessel’s funnels showed at once that the carmania had been sighted and that the enemy was getting up steam, while the position of the island added further to the thrilling possibilities of the situation.
-this left them up to the present only the one big vessel as an opponent, a vessel of some 18,500 tons, and an armed cruiser like the carmania. it promised, therefore, as regards numbers at least, to be an equal fight, and in preparation for it dinner was ordered for all hands that could be excused duty, for the hour of 11.30, in accordance with the old naval principle--food before fighting. meanwhile every endeavour was being made to identify the mysterious enemy, and the conclusion arrived at was that she must be the berlin, a german vessel of 17 knots. she was, as a matter of fact, although those on the carmania were not to learn this for several days, the cap trafalgar, the latest and finest ship of the hamburg south american line--a vessel of 18 knots that had as yet only made one voyage. she had been built with three funnels, one of them being a dummy one used only for ventilation, and this had been done away with, reducing the number to two. she had been in buenos aires when war broke out, and had left that port, as it chanced on the very day that the carmania had sailed from liverpool, her destination being unknown and her cargo one of coal.
-the carmania had by this time gone to “general quarters,” and all on board were ready for the encounter. the largest ensigns floated both from the flagstaff aft and the mastheads, and the cap trafalgar now ran up the white flag with the black cross of the german navy. it was still, however, not quite certain that the enemy was armed, and it was therefore necessary that the usual formalities should be attended to. well within range, captain grant ordered lieutenant murchie to fire a shot across her bow, and the shell, very skilfully aimed, dropped about 50 yards ahead of this. the reply was immediate, the enemy firing two shells which only just cleared the carmania’s bridge, and dropped into the water about 50 yards upon her starboard side.
-the fight had now begun in earnest, and the firing on both sides was of a high order, although the first round or two from the carmania fell short, while those of the cap trafalgar erred a little in the opposite direction. quite soon, however, hits were being made by both sides, and soon one of the carmania’s gun layers lay dead, his no. 2 dying, and almost the whole of the gun’s crew wounded.
-for the first few minutes of the duel, only three of the carmania’s guns could be brought to bear, but soon by porting a little she was able to bring another gun into action, and some very successful salvoes at once followed. the british gun-layers, firing as coolly as if they had been at practice, were now hitting with nearly every shot, and the vessels were closing one another rapidly, when at about 5,500 yards the new and sinister sound of machine-gun firing began to thread the din of the bursting shells. by this time a well placed enemy shell had carried away the carmania’s control, so that it was no longer possible for ranges to be given from the bridge to the guns by telephone, and it was evidently the cap trafalgar’s intention to disable the bridge entirely, shell after shell hitting its neighbourhood, or only just missing it. it was at once clear to those on board that if the enemy’s machine-gun could now get the range, the guns and ammunition parties on the unprotected decks of the carmania would be inevitably mown down. the order was therefore given to port, and the carmania wore away in order to increase the range. this brought the enemy astern and another of the carmania’s guns into action, and for a brief moment she had five guns bearing upon the cap trafalgar. still porting, however, the guns on that side ceased to fire, and the turn came for the starboard gunners to take their hand. the enemy now also ported, and as she did so, it became clear that she was visibly listing to starboard; she had already been set on fire foreward, but this fire seemed to have been extinguished.
-the carmania’s gunners, on the soundest principles, were steadily aiming at the cap trafalgar’s water line, and there was no doubt that as a result of this policy she was already beginning rapidly to make water. it was by no means, however, the case of the honours resting with one side entirely, and the enemy was constantly registering hits on the carmania’s masts, ventilators, boats, and derricks, and it is an amazing fact, considering that at one time the range was not more than 1½ miles, that her casualties should have been so few. the carmania’s gunners were now firing so fast that the paint was blistering off the guns, and at the same time she herself was on fire to an extent that might have proved very serious. the main pipes having been shot away, no water could be got through the hose pipes and brought to play upon this fire, and reliance had therefore to be placed upon water buckets handled under the most difficult conditions of smoke and heat.
-it was now evident that the carmania’s bridge would in a very short time be untenable, and her captain therefore ordered the control to be changed to the aft steering position, and this was accordingly done, the enemy being kept at about the same bearing. the bridge was now well alight, and the flames were licking upward with increasing ferocity. the port side of the main rigging was hanging in festoons from the only remaining shroud. the wireless gear had been shot away in the first moment of the action. many of the ventilator cowls were in ribbons, and a large hole yawned in the port side of the aft deck.
-battered as she was, however, it was now clear that the cap trafalgar was in a far worse case. she was listing heavily, and her firing, though still rapid, was becoming wild. she was badly on fire, and almost wholly wrapped in smoke. suddenly she turned abruptly to port and headed back for the island, leaning right over with silent guns, and already beginning to get her boats out.
-upon this all the carmania’s hands, except the gun layers, were employed in trying to extinguish the fire. bucket gangs were formed, and at last a lead of water was arranged from the ship’s own fire main once more. it was, of course, hopeless now to attempt to save the bridge and the boat deck cabins, but there was still a hope of preventing the fire from spreading, and in order to stop the draught the engines were slowed down. it was a fierce task, and one that demanded every energy on the part of all on board, but it was one in which they were encouraged, as they toiled and sweated, by the sight of their heeling enemy, from whose sides half a dozen boats had already cleared, pulling towards one of her smaller colliers who was standing about 3 miles away.
-more and more the big liner fell over until at last her funnels lay upon the water, and then, after a moment’s apparent hesitation, with her bow submerged, she heaved herself upright and sank bodily. it had been a good fight and she had fought honourably to the end and gone down with her ensign flying, and when, as she vanished, the men of the carmania raised a cheer, it was hardly less for their own victory than as a tribute to the enemy.
-by now, thanks to their unremitting exertions, the crew of the carmania had overcome the fire, but a new danger was already reported and necessitated prompt action on the part of her commander. smoke had been reported on the northern horizon, and soon afterwards four funnels appeared, the new comer being undoubtedly another enemy, probably summoned by wireless by the cap trafalgar. crippled as she was, and with nearly a quarter of her guns’ crews and ammunition supply parties either killed or injured, it would have been the sheerest madness for the carmania to risk another action at that moment, and she accordingly increased her speed, shaping a course to the south-west, and steering by sun and wind, until she could assemble what was left of her shattered navigating gear. afterwards it was learned that the enemy sighted was the kron prinz wilhelm, who, on learning by wireless of the cap trafalgar’s fate, decided that discretion was the better part of valour and did not approach any nearer.
-she arrived at pernambuco on the same afternoon, leaving there captain grant’s despatches for the admiralty, and reached gibraltar nine days later. her re-fitting took several months, but she remained as an armed cruiser until may, 1916, when she was again restored to the cunard company’s service. her casualties in this brilliant action amounted to nine killed or dying of wounds, and four severely and twenty-two slightly wounded. there were no cunarders among the casualties. besides other honours conferred upon participants in this fight, his majesty the king decorated captain barr with the well deserved companionship of the bath, in recognition of his splendid services in what was to prove a unique action of the war at sea.
-twelve months later, on september 15th, 1919, there was an interesting sequel on board the carmania, which had then returned to the cunard company’s service. a piece of plate which belonged to lord nelson, and was with him at trafalgar, was presented to the ship in commemoration of her very gallant fight. twenty-four of these pieces of plate came into the possession of the navy league who asked the admiralty to allocate them to various ships. the carmania was the only merchant vessel to receive this honour. in notifying the company of the presentation, the general secretary of the navy league stated that “the navy league realises that while every unit of the fleet has rendered service in accordance with the best traditions of the royal navy, h.m.s. carmania has been able to render herself conspicuous amongst her gallant comrades, and in accepting this souvenir, the navy league trusts that you will recognise it as an expression of gratitude to the glorious fleet of which that ship was so distinguished a representative.”
-the veteran admiral, the hon. e. r. fremantle who was present, stated that there never was a single ship action which reflected greater credit, both on the r.n. and on the mercantile marine, and more especially on the r.n.r. it had very aptly been compared with the fight of the shannon and the chesapeake.
-captain grant was unfortunately unable to be present, but in a letter read at the function he claimed that “this action was the only one throughout the war in which an equal, or as a matter of fact, a slightly inferior vessel annihilated the superior force.... i shall always feel proud of the fact that it was my great good fortune to command a ship in action in which the glorious traditions of the british navy were upheld by every soul on board.”
-captain barr, who retired from the company’s service in 1917, said that the captain of the cap trafalgar put up a very gallant fight. “i do not know his name,” he said, “but he is the only german i would care to meet.”
-the lofty liners in their pride stem every current, every tide: at anchor in all ports they ride.
-the menace of the berg and floe, the blindness of the fog and snow. all these the english seamen know.
-and still they calmly jog along by bay and cape, an endless throng. as endless as some dog-watch song.
-the franconia and alaunia were also employed in carrying troops from september, 1914, onwards until both of them were sunk, curiously enough within a few days of one another in october, 1916. during this period they carried troops not only from canada to england, but made several voyages to india and various parts of the mediterranean. it was while she was on her way from alexandria to salonica, though fortunately after she had disembarked 2,700 soldiers, that the franconia (captain d. s. miller), was torpedoed, about 200 miles n.e. of malta. twelve of her crew were killed by the explosion. the ship sank fifty minutes after she was hit, the survivors being picked up by h.m. hospital ship dover castle, whose r.a.m.c. surgeon, dr. j. d. doherty chanced himself to be one of the cunard company’s medical officers. the alaunia, again, as it happened, having landed her passengers and mails at falmouth, after a voyage from new york, was torpedoed on her way to london, about two miles south of the royal sovereign light vessel. captain h. m. benison, in command, hoped to beach the ship, but unfortunately the water gained too rapidly, and the necessary tugs did not arrive in time. two members of the crew were found to be missing, probably as the result of the explosion, the rest being saved by patrol boats and destroyers and the alaunia’s own lifeboats.
-the andania, ascania, ivernia, and saxonia, were all for several months used as prison ships in 1915, each of them providing accommodation for nearly 2,000 german prisoners. they were afterwards employed as transports, both to india and the mediterranean, the ivernia, ascania and andania, in the end, all being sunk by enemy submarines. these losses represented a heavy sacrifice by the company, particularly in view of the post-war needs of navigation.
-on the morning of the 28th december, 1916, the ivernia left marseilles with a crew of 213, 94 officers and 1,950 troops. shortly after her departure from marseilles captain turner received orders to proceed 11 miles south of damietta (malta), but prior to altering course he received further orders to proceed north of gozo island (malta), where the ivernia’s escort, h.m.s. camelia (destroyer), was relieved by h.m.s. rifleman (destroyer). on approaching the adriatic, captain turner was instructed not to pass through the danger zone in daylight. as the ivernia was proceeding she received a signal from the escort that permission had been requested and granted from the admiralty at malta to proceed through the danger zone at daybreak.
-there was a fresh breeze which accounted for a heavy swell, the morning sun was shining brightly on the starboard side, when captain turner observed the wake of a torpedo approaching his vessel, too late to enable him to do anything to avoid it. the torpedo struck the ivernia on the starboard side, abreast the funnel, and consequently rendered the engines out of commission, owing to the bursting of the steam pipe, by the explosion. this explosion accounted for the loss of 13 stewards and 9 firemen.
-fortunately, at the time, all troops were mustered on deck and were standing by boat stations. the boats were immediately lowered clear of the water.
-the destroyer rifleman immediately manœuvred for the purpose of locating the submarine, by which time several of the ivernia’s boats were in the water. at this juncture an unfortunate incident occurred. the destroyer dashed by the port quarter at full speed without having an opportunity of avoiding a collision with the ship’s lifeboat, containing chief engineer wilson and dr. parker, among other members of the crew, the boat sinking immediately. dr. parker was picked up but died almost immediately from injuries received. chief engineer wilson was not seen.
-two steam trawlers came alongside the ivernia, after the destroyer had left with 600 survivors on board, which took the remainder of the military and crew, which apparently left only captain turner and second officer leggett remaining on board. the second officer, however, went round the decks and discovered a soldier on the after deck who had sustained a broken thigh. two soldiers were immediately ordered aboard for the purpose of assisting in strapping a board to the man’s damaged thigh, he being eventually lowered on to one of the trawlers by means of a bowline, where he was placed in charge of the r.a.m.c.
-the second officer then went aboard the trawler, later followed by captain turner, who first of all made sure that the vessel was sinking.
-the trawlers then cruised around among the boats and wreckage picking up survivors.
-one of the trawlers unfortunately became disabled owing to the ropes fouling her propellers, which necessitated her being towed by the other.
-half an hour after the vessel was torpedoed, a periscope was sighted on the port bow, and an enemy submarine came to the surface and fired about 40 shells at the ship, some of these dropping within fifty yards of the boats. after the ausonia had sunk, the submarine approached the boats, and captain capper, who was at the oars was ordered to come alongside. upon the submarine’s deck several of her crew were lounging, laughing and jeering at the shipwrecked survivors. after enquiring as to the ausonia’s cargo, the submarine commander ordered the boats to steer in a north-easterly direction; in callous disregard of the peril which confronted the ausonia’s crew the submarine herself then made off northwards.
-captain capper gave orders to the officers in charge of the boats that they were to keep together, and endeavour to get into the track of convoys, the weather being fine at the time. until midnight the boats were successful in remaining in each other’s company, but the wind, having risen in the night, two boats, one of them in charge of the first officer, and the other in charge of the boatswain were, on the following morning, not to be seen. captain capper had assembled the survivors in seven boats, and he now gave orders to the remaining five that they should make themselves fast together. in this formation, they continued throughout the following day and night, when the ropes began to part. they were also retarding progress and were therefore cast off, the boats, however, still continuing to remain pretty well together.
-on sunday, january 2nd, to add to the misery of their occupants, the weather became bad, heavy rain falling and soaking them all to the skin. on monday and tuesday, conditions improved a little, but on wednesday a storm broke, and by mid-day a heavy sea was running, and a gale blowing from the north-west. the boats were now running before this, with great seas breaking over them and saturating everybody on board. these conditions continued until friday the 7th, when land was at last sighted, turning out to be bull rock. a wise and strict rationing had been enforced, only two biscuits a day and one ounce of water having been allowed for the first two days, and one biscuit and a half and four tablespoons of water the subsequent ration. the crew were approaching the extremities of exhaustion when hope of deliverance was awakened in them. fortunately, on sighting land, the wind fell a little, but it was another fifteen hours before the unhappy survivors were picked up by h.m.s. zennia, an american destroyer also assisting. captain capper’s boat had only 25 biscuits left together with half a bucketful of water--but one day’s meagre supply when the terrible ordeal ended. the little boats, it was calculated, had covered 900 miles since the ausonia disappeared before their eyes. under these conditions the conduct of the cunarder’s crew was of the highest order, that of the stewardess, mrs. edgar, of orrell park, aintree, the only woman on board the vessel, being particularly courageous.
-special mention must also be made of the butcher’s boy, robinson. at the moment of the explosion, together with the pantry boy, lister, he was in one of the cooling chambers, and the explosion made it impossible for the two boys to get out. robinson had several wounds on his hips and thighs, and his left arm was lacerated. both boys, in addition, had both legs broken above the ankle. robinson, however, managed to crawl out on both his hands and knees and secure a board and place it across the gaping hole in the deck, thus enabling lister also to reach a place of comparative safety. the two boys then crawled on hands and knees up two sets of ladders to the boat deck, and were placed in the boats. the doctor attended to the boy robinson’s injuries, as far as was possible, but it was not for 30 hours that captain capper was able to transfer him to the boat in which lister was lying, so that he also might receive medical aid. in spite of their experiences and injuries, both boys remained calm and cheerful, and indeed in high spirits, but it is sad to record that robinson subsequently succumbed in hospital, as the result of his injuries.
-more, however, to captain capper than to any one man, was the salvation of the five boat loads due, and it was in recognition of his dogged determination and splendid seamanship that his majesty the king afterwards bestowed upon him the distinguished service cross.
-meanwhile, with their ordinary carrying power thus depleted, the cunard management had been looking about for reinforcements, and had entered into negotiations with certain other lines for additional vessels. thus they took over from the canadian northern steamship company (the royal line and the uranium steamship company), the royal george, and three other vessels, which they re-christened respectively the folia, feltria, and flavia. they also purchased five additional vessels which they re-christened the vinovia, valeria, volodia, valacia, and vandalia.
-now during the years 1915 and 1916, merchant shipping, apart from those ships especially chartered by the government, continued under the direction of its various owners. in 1917, however, the liner requisitioning scheme, came into being, and a shipping controller was appointed.
-under this scheme all british shipping came under the control of the government, the object being, in view of the shortage of tonnage caused by the depredations of the submarines, to confine steamers to those trades necessary for providing the allies with the essential foodstuffs and munitions of war. the greatest percentage of these had, of course, to be obtained from america, and in consequence many steamers which had been trading to other parts of the world, were diverted to the north atlantic, and placed under the management of the companies already established on these particular routes. the owners of these transferred steamers were given permission to allot their ships to any of the lines so established, and it came about that the cunard company, in addition to their own ships, had the management of a large number of vessels thus diverted. it is estimated, in fact, that the number of additional steamers so handled by the company, amounted to more than 400. in addition to this, the company managed several prize steamers captured from the enemy and neutral steamers that had been placed at the disposal of the allies, and it thus happened that the cunard management found itself in charge of vessels from the indian, china, south african, and australian trades, assembled from the ends of the earth in this vital emergency.
-some idea of the magnitude of the work thus carried upon the shoulders of the cunard management may be gathered from the facts that in one year alone not less than 200 sailings were made from american and canadian ports, and that over 10,000 tons of cargo were often carried in one steamer.
-with the entrance of america into the war, the carrying problem became at once more complicated and greater in bulk; and in its solution the cunard company may once more justly be said to have played a major part. let us consider first its work in the carriage of troops. the cunard organisation was responsible for the transport during the war of over 900,000 officers and men. this excludes the big total repatriated after the armistice was signed. when it is remembered that this aggregate is greater than the total population of either liverpool, manchester or birmingham; that 900,000 men, marching in column of route in sections of fours would take, without halting, nearly six days to pass a single point, it becomes possible to visualise the immensity of the task represented by these bald figures. when it is further remembered that the total british expeditionary force first thrown across the english channel in august, 1914, was only 80,000; that this was less than one-tenth of the number carried during the war by the cunard company; and that the number so carried was equal to not less than one-eighth of the whole british army at its greatest strength, the nation’s debt to this great company can be estimated.
-nor was the mere provisioning of these troops while en route a negligible feat of transport. taking an average voyage as ten days, the food required to feed this number of men amounted to no less than 9,750,000 pounds of meat, 11,250,000 pounds of potatoes, 4,500,000 pounds of vegetables, 9,575,000 loaves of bread, 1,275,000 pounds of jam, 900,000 pounds of tea and coffee, and among other things 900,000 pounds of oatmeal, 600,000 pounds of butter and 127,000 gallons of milk.
-vast as these figures are, however, they are dwarfed when we begin to consider what was accomplished during the five years of war in the way of cargo carrying--in the humdrum performance of an unadvertised and often little appreciated service, upon which, fundamentally, our whole war structure rested. between august, 1914, and november, 1918, 7,314,000 tons of foodstuffs, munitions of war, and general cargo were carried from america and canada to the british isles; over 340,000 tons from the british isles to italy and the adriatic; over 500,000 tons from the british isles to other mediterranean ports; nearly 320,000 tons from this country to france; and nearly 60,000 tons from france to this country. in addition to this, huge quantities were also carried westwards from this country, amounting to a total, in the same period, of more than 1,000,000 tons.
-not the least important service rendered in this way was connected with the supply of oil fuel, of which the stocks in this country were seriously depleted--so seriously that at one time they were insufficient to supply the needs of the navy for more than a few weeks ahead. in this predicament the admiralty, realizing the danger, approached sir alfred booth, chairman of the cunard company, and asked him to put the matter before other leading ship-owners. he readily consented to do so, and all owners running ships in the north atlantic, at once agreed to take the necessary steps to allow of oil being carried in the double bottoms of their ships, the cunard company themselves adapting for this purpose the double bottoms of the andania, carmania, carpathia, pannonia, saxonia, valacia, vandalia, valeria, and vinovia, each of which brought on each voyage to this country, about 2,000 tons of oil. the cunard company alone, in a little over a year, thus brought over 100,000 tons of oil across the atlantic.
-the ordeal of the lusitania
-oh, have you ever seen a foundered horse, his great heart broken by a task too great for his endurance, but unbroken yet his spirit--striving to complete his course, failing at last, eyes glazed and nostril wide, and have not ached with pity? pity now a brave ship shattered by a coward blow that once had spurned the waters in her pride.
-n. n. f. corbett.
-with the subsequent progress in infamy of germany’s submarine campaign it was natural that the sensibilities of the civilised world, so shocked by the ruthless sinking of the lusitania, should have become somewhat dulled. but it is clear, in retrospect, that this tragic event marked an epoch in the slow gathering of the non-combatant world’s condemnation. upon the general events preceding the loss of this world-famous vessel, this is not, perhaps, the place to dwell. it will be remembered however, that from february 18th, 1915, the german government announced that it proposed to consider the waters round great britain and ireland and the entire english channel as what they described as a “war zone,” stating that they would “endeavour to destroy every merchant ship found in this area of war, without its always being possible to avert the peril that thus threatens persons and cargoes.”
-to this the british government issued a reply on the following march 1st, that the german announcement was in fact a claim to torpedo at sight, regardless of the safety both of the crew or passengers, any merchant vessel under any flag. the british government proceeded to remind germany and the world, that by all the accepted traditions of the sea, and under the terms of international law, it was the duty of an enemy vessel to bring a captured ship to a prize court, where all the circumstances of the case could be impartially investigated, and where neutrals might recover their cargoes. the sinking of prizes was therefore, as the british government pointed out, always a questionable proceeding, and could only be justified in exceptional circumstances, and after full provision had been made for crews and passengers. the legal responsibility of verifying the status of any vessel always rested with the attacking ship, while the obligations of humanity required adequate provision to be made for the safety of all crews and passengers of merchant vessels, whether enemy or neutral.
-it is now both common and tragic knowledge that these protests, as well as all the canons, so long established, of sea chivalry, were entirely ignored by the german government, and it was on may 7th, 1915, that this became finally and startlingly clear to every intelligent observer in the civilised world. that the german government possessed any special spite towards the lusitania may not perhaps have been the case, but, as we have seen, it was by means of the lusitania and her sister ship the mauretania that the “blue ribbon” of the atlantic, in the matter of speed, had been wrested from german hands.
-her length all over was 785 feet. she was 88 feet in breadth, and nearly 60 feet in depth, with a gross tonnage of over 30,000 tons, and a load draft of 36 feet. including the hold she had nine decks, with accommodation for 523 first class, 295 second class, and 1,300 third class passengers, together with a crew of about 800. she had turbine engines of 63,220 horse power, four for ahead and two for astern motion, and her speed in 1914 was from 24½ to 25 knots. her four great funnels rose to a height of 154 feet above the keel, and the diameter of each being not less than 24 feet. her masts were 210 feet high, while the navigating bridge stood 110 feet above the keel. at a moderate estimate, the cost of running her to new york and back, including wages, victualling and fuel, was in 1914 about £30,000, and she was operated, under the terms of the agreement with the admiralty, by a crew of which at least three-quarters had to be british subjects.
-she was provided with boat accommodation for 2,605 persons, the number of persons on board during her last voyage being 1,959. she carried 48 lifeboats, 22 of which were ordinary boats hanging from davits, with a total carrying capacity of 1,323. the remaining 26 were collapsible boats, with a total carrying capacity of 1,282. in addition, the ship was provided with 2,325 life jackets and 35 lifebuoys, all of these being conveniently distributed on board.
-now at the beginning of the war it had been a very difficult question for the directors of the cunard company to decide as to whether the transatlantic traffic, under the new and unprecedented conditions, would be sufficient to justify the continued running of two such large and costly vessels as the lusitania and the mauretania. it was decided, however, after much consideration, that the lusitania could be run once a month, providing that her boiler power was reduced by one-fourth. the consequent saving in coal and labour of this would, the directors considered, enable them to run the vessel without loss, although with no hopes of making a profit. six of the lusitania��s boilers were accordingly closed, and the ship began to run in these conditions in november, 1914, the effect of the closing of the six boilers being to reduce her maximum speed to 21 knots. it is to be noted, however, that this reduction still left the lusitania very considerably faster than any other transatlantic steamer.
-nor had she lacked in exciting experiences before the fatal 1st of may, 1915, on which she left new york for the last time. on the very day that war was declared in 1914, she had started from new york for liverpool, under the command of captain daniel dow, one of the best-known and most respected figures in the cunard company’s service, who retired after 43 years’ service in 1919. within a few hours of leaving new york, an enemy warship was sighted on the horizon, and observed to change her course immediately, with the presumed object of intercepting the lusitania. without a moment’s hesitation, captain dow set his course for a fog bank to the south, where he was soon lost to sight by the enemy. as soon as he was out of view, captain dow swung the lusitania round again and steamed northwards at his highest speed. having thus out-manoeuvred the hostile commander, he resumed his eastward course again, navigating his great ship by night without lights, and safely reaching liverpool.
-again in february, 1915, while captain dow was still in command of her, the lusitania, on an eastward voyage, received a wireless message to the effect that enemy submarines were cruising in the irish sea. he received instructions to fly a neutral flag--a perfectly legitimate ruse--and having on board some 400 americans, together with the united states mails, he decided to hoist the american flag. having done so, he crossed the irish sea at full speed, without stopping to take up a pilot; steered straight for the mersey, and once more brought his vessel home in safety. soon after this, captain dow, upon whom the strain of responsibility had been very great, was retained ashore by the directors for a brief and much needed rest, and captain w. t. turner, one of the cunard company’s most trusted commanders took his place, with an assistant captain, captain anderson, also on board.
-that an attempt was to be made upon the lusitania had for some days been current rumour in new york, and on saturday, may 1st, 1915, her advertised sailing date, the following advertisement appeared in the new york times, new york tribune, new york sun, new york herald, and the new york world. “travellers,” it stated, “intending to embark on the atlantic voyage are reminded that a state of war exists between germany and her allies, and great britain and her allies, that the zone of war includes the waters adjacent to the british isles, that in accordance with formal notice given by the imperial german government, vessels flying the flag of great britain, or of any of her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters, that travellers travelling in the war zone in ships of great britain or her allies do so at their own risk. april 22nd, 1915, the imperial german embassy, washington, d.c.” it is safe to say, however, that but small attention was paid to this notice, very few people contemplating that such a diabolical threat as was implied in this notice would be seriously carried out by any civilised christian power. on the 1st may, therefore, the vessel sailed in fine weather, and with a calm sea. the voyage till may 7th was marked by no untoward event. as the danger zone was approached, captain turner took all the necessary precautions. all the lifeboats under davits were swung out; all bulkhead doors, except such as were required to be kept open in order to work the ship, were closed, the portholes being also closed; the look-outs on the ship were doubled--two men being sent to the crow’s nest, and two to the eyes of the ship; two officers were always on the bridge, and a quartermaster was stationed on either side with instructions to look out for submarines.
-up to 8 o’clock on the morning of may 7th the vessel’s speed had been maintained at 21 knots, but at 8 o’clock this was somewhat reduced, the object being to ensure that the lusitania should arrive outside the bar at the mouth of the mersey at such an hour on the morning of the 8th as would enable her to make immediate use of the tide, thus avoiding loitering in a vicinity where captain turner had reason to suppose enemy submarines might be watching for him. soon after this reduction of speed the weather became thick, and the fog into which she had run necessitated a further reduction to 15 knots. just before 12 o’clock, however, the fog lifted, and the vessel’s speed was increased again to 18 knots--a speed that was maintained until she was struck by the enemy torpedo.
-at the same time orders were sent to the engine-room to keep the steam-pressure as high as possible, so that in case of emergency the lusitania might be able to put on all possible speed, should this be ordered from the bridge. land was now in sight, about two points abaft the beam, and captain turner took this to be brow head. owing to the recent fog, however, he was not able to identify it with sufficient certainty to enable him to fix the lusitania upon the chart. he, therefore, kept her upon her course, which was s.87.e and parallel with the land, until twenty minutes to one, when, in order to make a better landing, he altered the course to n.67.e.
-this brought him nearer to the irish coast, and he shortly afterwards sighted the old head of kinsale. having identified this, at twenty minutes to two, he altered his course back to s.87.e. and, having steadied her on that course, began ten minutes later to have a four point bearing taken, and this was being carried out when the ship was torpedoed.
-this occurred at a quarter past two, when the lusitania was steaming some ten miles off the old head of kinsale, the atmosphere having then cleared and the sea being smooth. a seaman, leslie n. morton, seems to have been the first person on board actually to have seen the wake of the torpedo, and he reported it at once to the second officer, who in turn reported it to captain turner, then on the port side of the lower bridge. captain turner looking to starboard saw a streak of foam travelling towards the ship, and immediately afterwards the lusitania was struck full on the starboard side, between the third and fourth funnels, the explosion breaking to splinters one of the lifeboats. almost simultaneously a second torpedo also struck her on the starboard side, the two having been fired apparently from a distance of from two to five hundred yards. no warning of any kind had been given. immediately on being struck the lusitania listed heavily to starboard, and in less than twenty minutes she had sunk in deep water, carrying to their graves no less than 1,198 men, women and children.
-“we had been in sight of land for some time, and the head of the ship, which had already begun to settle, was turned towards the old head of kinsale. we must have been from twelve to fifteen miles from land at the time the ship was struck. all the boats on the ship had been swung out the day previous, and the work of launching them was at once commenced. the attempt in the case of the first boat was a tragic failure. the women and children were taken first and the boat was practically filled with them, there being only a few men. the boat was lowered until within its own length of the water, when the forward tackle jammed, and the whole of its occupants, with the exception of three, were thrown into the water. the lusitania was then on an even keel. on the decks of the doomed vessel absolute coolness prevailed. there was no rushing about, and nothing remotely resembling panic. in just a few isolated cases there were signs of hysteria on the part of the women, but that was all.
-“meanwhile the ship had taken a decided list, and was sinking rapidly by the head. the efforts made to lower the boats had apparently not met with much success. those on the port side had swung inboard and could not be used, while the collapsible boats which were lashed beneath them could not be got at. the ladies were standing quite coolly, waiting on board to enter the boats when they could be released by the men from the davits. the davits by this time were themselves touching the water, the ship having sunk so low that the bridge deck was only four feet or so from the surface of the sea. losing no time, the men passed the women rapidly into the boats, and places had been found by now for all the people about the midships section. i stepped into one of the lifeboats and attempted to assist in getting it clear. i saw the list was so great that the davits pinched the gear, rendering it improbable that they could be got away when the ship went down, so i stepped on to the gunwale and dived into the water. i had no lifebelt and am not a good swimmer, but i decided to take the risk. i had been wetted right through when the explosion occurred, and i believe that had i gone in dry i should have swallowed so much water that i should not have lasted long.
-“i swam as hard as i could away from the vessel, and noticed with feelings of apprehension the menacing bulk of the huge funnels as they loomed up over my head. i expected them momentarily to fall on me and crush me as i swam, but at last i judged myself to be clear, and i turned round and trod the water in order to watch the great hull heel over. the monster took a sudden plunge, and, noting the crowd still on her decks and the heavily laden boats filling with helpless women and children glued to her side, i sickened with horror at the sight. the liner’s stern rose high out of the water; there was a thunderous roar as of the collapse of a great building during a fire, and then she disappeared, dragging hundreds of fellow-creatures into the vortex. many never rose again to the surface, but the sea rapidly grew black with the figures of struggling men, women, and children. the wireless installation came over with a crash into the sea. it struck my uplifted arm as it fell, and i felt it pass over my body as it sank, almost dragging me under.
-“the rush of water over the steamer’s decks swept away a collapsible boat, and i swam towards it. another man reached it shortly after, and after we were rescued i found him to be mr. james lauriat, jun., of boston. two seamen also managed to swim to the boat and to climb on to it. one had a knife, and the other asked me for mine, and together they set about cutting away the canvas cover of the boat. when they had finished, i climbed inside, and the three of them followed me. we started to rescue the unfortunate people in the water, or at least those of them who were still living. we quickly had about 30 of them in the little craft. around us in the water were scores of boats. there were no oars in our boats. we managed to raise the sides of the boat as they should be raised when the boat is in use, and we collected five oars from the mass of floating timber in the water. then we started to row towards the lighthouse, which we could see in the distance. at the time the liner was torpedoed there was absolutely no ship of any kind in sight, with the exception of a trawler--the peel 12, of glasgow; she was close inshore under the lighthouse, and, owing to the lightness of the wind, she was of no use so far as the rescue of persons actually in the sea was concerned. she came along as fast as she could, however, and was able to pick up about one hundred and ten persons from lifeboats and life-rafts. her limited capacity was pushed to the utmost, and i even had to sit with one leg hanging over the sides because there was no room to put it on the inside. we took in tow a lifeboat and a raft, which were also filled to the gunwale, and when the occupants were able to be taken out they were cast off. the auxiliary boat indian prince had by that time arrived from queenstown. the peel 12 was the first boat on the scene, and she was followed by a tramp greek steamer, which came up from the west, and was able to pick up several lifeboats which had got away.”
-such was the experience of mr. brooks, and in his moving narrative we can not only divine something of a tragedy beyond the scope of any human pen, but gather also an impression of heroism, of unquestioning devotion to duty, at which every member of the cunard company may well thrill with pride.
-particularly noticeable perhaps, was the conduct and sound judgment of the young sailor, leslie n. morton, to whom we have already referred, and he was especially commended by lord mersey, the commissioner in charge of the formal investigation afterwards held into the loss of the lusitania. this boy, for he was only 18, had been stationed as extra look-out on the forecastle head, starboard side, during the fatal watch; and it was, as we have said, he who was the first to perceive the approach of the torpedo. this began, as he described it, with a “big burst of foam about 500 yards away.” this was followed by a “thin streak of foam, making for the ship at a rapid speed, followed by another going parallel with the first one, and a little behind it.” having immediately reported this through a megaphone to the bridge, morton made for the forecastle to go down below to call his brother who was asleep, and on the way there he saw what he took to be the conning-tower of a submarine just submerging.
-having called his brother, he went along the starboard side of the main deck and up on to the starboard side of the bridge deck, where he found the starboard boats useless owing to the vessel’s heavy list. he then went to his own boat no. 13, and assisted in filling it with passengers. giving up his own seat, he then went to no. 11 boat, and assisted in filling that one also; and it was in this one that he eventually took his place. unfortunately, owing it appears to the unskillful action of some of the passengers, this lifeboat was unable to push away from the ship, and it was eventually sunk. morton then swam for it and succeeded in reaching an empty collapsible boat, into which he climbed, succeeding with the help of another young sailor, joseph parry, in ripping off the cover and rescuing from the water some 50 people. he then made for a fishing kedge about five miles away, and having reached it transferred his passengers to it, and returned for some more, subsequently rescuing about 30 people from a sinking lifeboat--the little collapsible boat being subsequently rescued by a mine-sweeper. these two boys were thus instrumental in saving nearly 100 lives; and in recognition of their bravery they were awarded decorations by the board of trade, morton receiving the silver medal for gallantry, and parry the bronze medal for gallantry.
-equally heroic was the conduct of the first officer, mr. arthur rowland jones, who was in the luncheon saloon when the torpedo struck the vessel. he immediately went to his boat station on the starboard side and began to fill his boat with passengers--a matter of extreme difficulty, owing to the ever increasing angle which the ship was presenting to the sea, which caused the boat to swing away from the tilted surface of the deck. after great efforts, however, he succeeded in getting about 80 passengers aboard before she was lowered into the water, entered her himself when the boat deck was level with the surface of the sea, and only some 15 seconds before the lusitania sank. it was fortunate for the passengers that he succeeded in doing so, since it was only by his skill and coolness, combined with that of two or three members of the crew who had also clambered on board, that the little lifeboat was able to survive the suction and disturbance caused by the disappearing liner.
-she did so however, and afterwards transferred some of her passengers into another empty boat, the two boats then putting back in order to attempt further rescues. this they succeeded in doing, and the first officer again filled his boat up, thereupon pulling off to a little fishing smack, the bluebell, then about five miles distant. having disembarked his passengers, mr. jones once more went back to the scene of the disaster, and after pulling some two and a half miles, fell in with a broken collapsible boat in a bad condition with about 35 people inside it. some of these were lying exhausted in the bottom of the boat and others were injured, so mr. jones took them all on board, afterwards transferring them to a trawler. he then pulled off once more and saved yet another 10 people, whom he took to the flying fox, a queenstown tender. by this time it was 8 o’clock in the evening, and his crew were at the last point of exhaustion, having been working hard without food and water. there was too, by this time, a large number of destroyers and patrol boats on the scene, so mr. jones and his weary helpers themselves boarded the flying fox.
-mention must also be made of the conduct of alfred arthur bestwick, the junior third officer, who was responsible for the working of five boats on the port side of the ship, and courageously remained there endeavouring to launch them under practically impossible conditions, until the lusitania went under. he was dragged down with her, but fortunately came to the surface, and succeeded in reaching a collapsible boat, into which, with the help of a companion, he dragged several people from the water. these he transferred to a second and more navigable empty boat that they afterwards came across; and he then returned and saved three more people whom he had previously noticed supporting themselves by means of a bread tank, besides taking on board several others who were keeping themselves afloat by means of lifebelts.
-all this time on every hand deeds of self-sacrifice, recorded and unrecorded, were being performed. a typical one was that of one of the able seamen of the watch, who had been sucked down by the sinking vessel and coming to the surface again had managed to sustain himself by means of a floating piece of wood. clutching this he then found himself drifting towards a woman struggling unaided in the water, whereupon he pushed towards her his piece of wood, which could only support one person, and swam away himself on the chance of finding some other means of escape. presently he found a collapsible boat containing one of the ship’s officers, and a few other persons, but this unfortunately proved to be extremely unseaworthy. capsizing again and again, it was only righted by the determination and skill of this seaman and his comrades, and on each occasion, alas, lives were lost until but a few survivors remained to be picked up by another of the ship’s boats.
-such is the story of the greatest maritime crime in history and, now that the war is over, it is well that it should not be forgotten, with its record of heroism and self-sacrifice, of competent seamanship and resourceful initiative, of suffering and death. lord mersey’s report on the disaster, after he had heard a mass of evidence from officers and men, as well as from surviving passengers, is a document which after generations will read with pride. it contains not the personal opinion merely of a former president of the probate, divorce and admiralty division of the high court of justice, but is a considered judgment in which admiral sir f. s. inglefield and lieutenant commander hearn, both officers of the royal navy, and captain d. davies and captain j. spedding, of the merchant service, acting as the four assessors, concurred. the report contained a short, but consolatory statement of the competency with which the sudden emergency was confronted when the ship was attacked. “the captain was on the bridge at the time his ship was struck,” lord mersey recorded, “and he remained there giving orders until the ship foundered. his first order was to lower all the boats to the rail. this order was obeyed as far as it possibly could be. he then called out ‘women and children first.’ the order was then given to hard-a-starboard the helm with a view to heading towards the land, and orders were telegraphed to the engine-room. the orders given to the engine-room are difficult to follow and there is obvious confusion about them. it is not, however, important to consider them, for the engines were put out of commission almost at once by the inrush of water and ceased working, and the lights in the engine-room were blown out. leith, the marconi operator, immediately sent out an s.o.s. signal, and, later on, another message, ‘come at once, big list, 10 miles south head old kinsale.’ these messages were repeated continually and were acknowledged. at first, the messages were sent out by the power supplied from the ship’s dynamo; but in three or four minutes this power gave out and the messages were sent out by means of the emergency apparatus in the wireless cabin.”
-was the lusitania well found? did she comply with the requirements of the merchant shipping acts? was she armed? did she carry war material? was the conduct of the captains, officers and men consistent with the high traditions of the merchant service? to all these questions the report furnished satisfactory answers. the ship was well provided with boats, which were in good order at the moment of the explosion, and “the launching was carried out as well as the short time, the moving ship, and the serious list would allow.” lord mersey added that he found that the conduct of the masters--for as already stated there were two--the officers and the crew was satisfactory. “they did their best in difficult and perilous circumstances, and their best was good.”
-and what of captain turner, upon whom the chief responsibility for the safety of the ship and the lives of passengers and crew mainly rested? he remained upon the bridge until the very last. he went down with the unhappy vessel and was only rescued by chance after having been in the water for three long hours. the wreck commissioner and the assessors examined his every act from the moment when the lusitania entered the so-called “war zone” until this devoted officer found himself in the water confronted with death. in the opinion of lord mersey, captain turner “exercised his judgment for the best,” and the report added that “it was the judgment of a skilled and experienced man.” captain anderson, whose duty it was to assist in the care and navigation of the ship was, unfortunately, one of the victims of this german crime, but in lord mersey’s own words, “the two captains and the officers were competent men and they did their duty”--and higher praise than that there could not be.
-“the whole blame for the cruel destruction of life in this catastrophe must rest solely with those who plotted and with those who committed the crime.” the disaster was regarded in all civilised countries with horror. as mr. roosevelt said at the time, it represented “not merely piracy, but piracy on a vaster scale of murder than any old-time pirate ever practised,” and a danish paper, in recording this terrible incident in the war, declared that “whenever in future the germans venture to speak of their culture the answer will be ‘it does not exist: it committed suicide on may 7th, 1915.’” a norwegian paper in denouncing the crime remarked that “the whole world looks with horror and detestation on the event.” in fact, throughout the whole civilised world the sinking of the lusitania with merciless disregard for the lives of those on board, was condemned as an act of wholesale murder which, as the new york american added “violates all laws of common humanity.”
-in defiance of the judgment of civilisation, this dastardly act was hailed in germany as a proud triumph. the kolnische volkszeitung of may 10th, 1915, stated “the sinking of the lusitania is a success for our submarines which must be placed beside the greatest achievements in this naval war.... the sinking of the great british steamer is a success, the moral significance of which is still greater than the material success. with joyful pride we contemplate this latest deed of our navy, and it will not be the last.” in the cologne gazette, of five days later, it was stated that “the news will be received by the german people with unanimous satisfaction, since it proves to england and the whole world that germany is quite in earnest with regard to her submarine warfare.” in the neue freie presse of the same date it was remarked, “we rejoice over this new success of the german navy.” the city of magdeburg immediately proposed to honour the officers and men who had slaughtered so many hundreds of defenceless men, helpless women, and innocent children and brought the anguish of bereavement on so many hundreds of homes on both sides of the atlantic. and to crown this achievement, which stands in isolation in the annals of the human race, a medal was struck in munich commemorating this exploit of the german fleet, which was afterwards to be surrendered and, then, to be scuttled by its own officers in scapa flow.
-the toll of the submarines
-but some came not with break of light, nor looked upon the saffron dawn; they keep the watch of endless night, on the soft breast of ocean borne. o waking england, rise and pray for sons who guard thee night and day!
-we have dealt at length in the previous chapter with the loss of the lusitania not only because, as we have said, her torpedoing marked an epoch in the history of crime at sea, and was perhaps the determining factor in the entrance of america into the war, but because the cunard company was thus identified with this world-tragedy, and its servants exemplified then, as always, the noblest traditions of the british mercantile marine. unhappily the lusitania, although the circumstances of her loss brought her, from so many points of view, into the limelight of publicity was, as we have already seen, by no means the only one of the cunard vessels to be lost at sea in the service of this country, and in the present chapter it is proposed to deal briefly with some other of the cunard company’s vessels that fell victims, many of them after the bravest resistance, to the submarine menace. it will, perhaps, be the more convenient, for purposes of after reference, to deal with these alphabetically, rather than chronologically.
-the dwinsk, one of the steamers being operated by the cunard company for the government, and in command of captain h. nelson, was torpedoed on june 18th of the same summer, at about 9.20 a.m., while some 650 miles east of new york, the torpedo striking her on the port side in the region of no. 4 hold. seven lifeboats were immediately lowered and all the crew successfully embarked. the submarine then came to the surface, and with a heavy calibre gun fired 19 shells into the torpedoed vessel, sinking her about two hours afterwards. a passing steamer then came in sight and firing five shots in the direction of the submarine, passed on her course, the submarine submerging. when the unknown steamer had disappeared, the submarine again came to the surface, and overtaking the boats in which the crew had taken refuge, hailed the one in charge of the chief officer, and after interrogating him, moved off in an easterly direction. meanwhile, during the night, the little group of lifeboats became separated, meeting with various adventures but all except one ultimately reaching safety, their crews being landed as far apart as new york, bermuda, newport, and nova scotia. as in the case of the ausonia’s boats described in chapter iii, they underwent the severest hardships. the first officer’s boat, for instance, after sailing all that day and through the night, sighted a steamer, but, though she showed signals of distress, received no reply. toiling on, a barque, and another steamer, were sighted in the evening, but again the little boat was unsuccessful in attracting attention.
-fortunately, the weather up to then had remained favourable, and continued to do so through the next day, on which another ship was seen, but again failed to perceive the lifeboat’s dejected crew. early on the following morning an empty boat was sighted, and found to be one of the dwinsk’s boats from which the crew had evidently been rescued. on this day the wind began to increase and by the evening a furious gale was raging. at six o’clock a great sea washed over the little boat, carrying one of its occupants overboard, and almost filling the boat with water. on the day after, a sunday, the wind dropped again, and remained variable until the evening of the following wednesday, when it again increased to such an extent that by midnight a fierce gale was once more blowing. on thursday morning this died down, but it was not until half-past nine on friday that a steamer which proved to be the u.s.s. arondo sighted the now almost famished crew and took them on board, clothed them, and provided them with medical attention. they had then been drifting about in every condition of the weather for no less than ten days, the highest ration allowed being one biscuit and a half glass of water per man per day, for the first six days, reduced on the ninth day to half a biscuit and a quarter of a glass of water. to the invincible optimism and seamanship of the first officer, who himself steered the boat for the whole of the ten days, the crew unanimously announced afterwards that they considered the saving of their lives to be due.
-of the other boats, one was at sea for eight days, three for three days, and one for a day and a half; one of them was never accounted for, probably having foundered in the storm, with the loss of 22 lives.
-it is pleasant to record that the first officer mr. pritchard, as well as the boatswain’s mate, who was in charge of another boat, were specially commended in the london gazette for their great services.
-it was three years earlier and in a far distant sea that the caria was sunk, while proceeding in ballast from alexandria to naples in charge of captain j. a. wolfe. in this case she was not torpedoed; the ‘u’ boat after signalling to the caria to stop and abandon ship, fired some 10 shots at her, several of which struck her about the bows and the bridge. the caria was unarmed, and captain wolfe and his crew had accordingly no alternative than to abandon ship, having first destroyed all confidential papers. this was fortunate, since the submarine, hailing captain wolfe’s boat, ordered him alongside, and demanded the ship’s papers, which were given him. after 12 hours the crew of the caria were picked up by the s.s. frankenfels, ironically enough a german prize vessel in the employ of the india office, and landed at malta. there were happily no casualties among the caria’s crew.
-in this respect the carpathia, which was sunk on july 17th, 1918, was not so fortunate. travelling in convoy, and at the time of the attack, some 120 miles west of the fastnet, the escort had left some 3½ hours previously. two torpedoes struck the carpathia within 30 seconds, one on the port side between no. 4 hold, and the stoke-hold, and the second, half a minute later, in the engine-room. after satisfying himself that there was no possibility of saving the ship, her commander, captain w. prothero, ordered everyone to the boats, and saw them safely embarked, a third torpedo striking the ship just after this was accomplished. three trimmers and two firemen were unfortunately killed by the explosion, but the remaining 218 members of the crew, together with 57 passengers, were picked up by h.m.s. snowdrop, and safely brought to liverpool. a letter was afterwards received from the admiralty in which the lords commissioners stated that in their opinion the discipline and organisation on board the carpathia had been of a very high order, and that captain prothero was to be publicly commended in the london gazette in recognition of his conduct in the crisis.
-the flavia was the more fortunate in that the whole of her crew was saved, when early on the morning of august 24th, 1918, she was sunk off the irish coast while on a voyage from montreal to bristol. her commander, captain e. t. c. fear, had been below resting at the time, but the officer in charge had kept the situation well in hand, and h.m.s. convolvulus, standing by, picked up the survivors from the boats, landing them safely in ardrossan.
-the next loss to be recorded is that of the folia, captain francis inch, which was sunk on sunday, march 11th, 1917, at a quarter past seven in the morning, off the irish coast, while on a voyage from new york to bristol. the periscope of the attacking submarine was first sighted by the third officer some 500 feet away and nearly abeam. immediately afterwards, he saw a torpedo approaching the ship, two of her boats being smashed in the explosion which followed, and the folia herself beginning rapidly to settle. seven of the crew, including the second engineer, were killed by the explosion, but the rest of the officers and men were safely embarked in the four boats which were lowered.
-while the lifeboats were still in the neighbourhood, the submarine came to the surface, steamed round the ship and fired four shots into her, following this up with a second torpedo. the captain then got his boats together and instructed the officers in charge to steer n.w. by compass, three of them making fast by painters so as not to get adrift from each other. about 11 a.m., the captain, under the fog that had crept up, sighted breakers ahead, and told the other boats to follow in line behind him. creeping along the edge of the breakers, they at last sighted smooth water at the base of some cliffs, and, pulling into shore, noticed the outline of a house high above them, with people standing in front of it. shouting in unison, the crew succeeded in attracting attention and learned that the place was ardmore, youghal, co. cork, and from there they proceeded to dungarvan, where they arrived at 8 o’clock in the evening, the inhabitants of both places treating the shipwrecked officers and crew with the greatest hospitality.
-in all these cases the vessels attacked were either unarmed or so taken by surprise that no resistance was possible. but in the case of the lycia, captain t. a. chesters, which was sunk on february 11th, 1917, a most plucky action against odds was fought. it was nearly half-past eight in the morning, and about 20 miles north-west of the south bishop’s light, that the submarine was sighted, and by the time captain chesters had picked her up on the starboard beam, his vessel had already been struck by a shot from her. captain chesters immediately altered the lycia’s course so as to place the submarine astern, and himself opened fire at about 3,000 yards. his gun, which was of russian make and of a very light type, was one of the first supplied to merchant ships under the admiralty scheme, when there was a great shortage of armaments owing to the needs of the army and navy, and it misfired several times; the third officer, third engineer, and steersman had been already wounded by the fire of the submarine.
-in the unequal duel that now ensued, the lycia’s funnel, starboard boats, forward cabin, chart room, officers’ and engineers’ quarters and bridge were all wrecked, and being unable to steer the ship under the growing force and accuracy of the enemy’s shells, captain chesters at last had no alternative but to abandon his vessel. he, therefore, gave orders to cease firing and stop the engines. as soon as the ship had sufficiently lost way, the crew was safely embarked in the port boat, with the exception of the captain, chief officer, third engineer, the gunner, and one of the boys, who succeeded in scrambling into the starboard boat which was dragging alongside.
-when the lifeboats cleared the ship, the submarine herself ceased firing, submerged, and re-appeared alongside captain chesters’ boat. the submarine commander then ordered captain chesters to go on board, which he did, and where, by what, alas, proved to be a rare exception, he was very courteously treated. the commander of the submarine then put three of his crew into the boat together with eight bombs, sent her back to the lycia, and there the germans hung the bombs on each side of the rigging, and in the engine-room. the ship’s papers, the breech plug of her gun, her telescopes and three cartridges, were lowered into the boat, after which the bomb safety pins were removed, and the bombs placed below the water-line. the boat was then ordered back to the submarine. meanwhile, captain chesters had been asked by the ‘u’ boat’s commander why he had fired his gun without flying his ensign. captain chesters pointed out to him that before he could fire the gun, he had to remove the flagstaff; and he was then allowed to return to his boat, the bombs, a few minutes afterwards beginning to explode. the submarine then went in chase of another vessel that had appeared on the horizon, and shortly afterwards the lycia sank, stern first. her boats were picked up the same evening by two mine-sweepers, and the s.s. ireland moor, the crew being treated with the utmost hospitality and safely landed at holyhead. their conduct had been worthy in captain chesters’ words “of all the traditions of british seamen.”
-in connexion with this incident, the following resolution was passed by the directors of the cunard company at a meeting of the board in april, 1916. “that the company place on record their high appreciation of the gallant and successful efforts made by the captain, officers, and crew of the phrygia to save their vessel, and of the efficient preparations made beforehand by captain manley to deal with such an emergency, which contributed towards this result, and finally extend their heartiest congratulations to all concerned upon the splendid gunnery and seamanship which put the enemy submarine out of action.” captain manley and the phrygia’s crew also received recognition from the admiralty for their achievement.
-it was on march 27th, 1917, at 8 o’clock in the evening, that the thracia, captain r. nicholas, while on a voyage with ore from bilbao to ardrossan, was sunk at sight and without warning, leaving only one survivor. disappearing in one minute, those on board were left with no possible chance of saving their lives, and it was only by a miracle that cadet douglas duff, a boy of 16 years of age, was left to tell the tale. he succeeded in saving his life by clinging for sixteen hours to the keel of a capsized boat, during the early part of which time, he was seen and jeered at by the crew of the submarine. one of them indeed raised a rifle and aimed at him, whereupon he shouted, perhaps characteristically of the service to which he belonged “shoot and be damned to you.” he was ultimately rescued by a french destroyer and landed at la palais, belle-ile-en-mer. the body of the chief officer was also recovered, and it is touching to reflect that, as a mark of their respect and honour to the personnel of the british mercantile marine, a public funeral was accorded to him by the inhabitants of this little french seaport town.
-before her loss, however, the thracia had performed, like all the vessels mentioned, most arduous and important duties, and one of her voyages, since it throws a sidelight upon the multifarious activities of the company during the war, deserves special mention. she was then under the command of captain michael doyle, and it was on the 27th of december 1914, that she left liverpool for archangel with stores for the russian government. all the way to the north cape, she steamed in the teeth of heavy gales, and under stormy skies, and at this point, at this season of the year, entered a region where there was but one hour’s so-called daylight in the twenty-four. entering the white sea, on the night of the 7th of january, she ran the next day into an icefield, reaching out ahead of her as far as the eye could see. in the hope of breaking through to clear water, captain doyle, however, kept her going until, the ice becoming thicker and closer packed, it became impossible for the thracia’s engines to drive her through.
-after prolonged and arduous exertions, the thracia was at last extracted from her dangerous position in the ice and brought back to the open water harbour at alexandrovsk. from this port, accompanied by an ice-breaker, she again made an attempt to reach archangel on january 24th, 1915. heavy field-ice was once more encountered as soon as the white sea had been entered, causing the utmost difficulty in steering, and reducing progress to the slowest limits. after covering, with much perseverance, a certain distance, huge floes of ice finally stopped the thracia’s progress; the ice-breaker was also in difficulties, and therefore unable to render any assistance. for a considerable time the thracia remained wedged in the drifting ice, and meanwhile a heavy north-east gale had packed the entrance to the white sea. the action of this wind, however, presently opened the ice in the immediate neighbourhood of the vessel, and a certain amount of further progress towards the south became possible. here, however, the ice was found to be once more heavily packed, while the north-east gale was choking the entrance with ever more and more drifting floes.
-the thracia’s propeller had by this time become badly damaged, and the ice-breaker herself was finding it all she could do to secure her own safety. it was now clear that to remain in the drifting ice would be bound in the long run to prove fatal, and thereupon captain doyle made an effort to drive his vessel close to the land ice, where some degree of shelter might be found from the gales which were constantly driving enormous floes up and down with the ebb and flow of the tides through the narrow neck of the white sea.
-after many days and nights of the heaviest and most unremitting toil, the thracia was finally brought close to land, and a net-work of cables and ropes thrown out to secure her position there. for seven weeks, until the 18th of march, she was held here, during the whole of which time she was being submitted to the severest pressure owing to the alternating flow and ebb of the tides driving the packed ice against her side, under her bottom, and piling it up round her counter to a height of as much as 20 ft. serious damage was done to her hull, and for three months her pumps had to be kept going constantly in order to keep her afloat, while the greatest skill and ingenuity had to be exercised in order to protect her rudder from the ice pressure under her counter.
-so matters went on until the night of the 18th of march, when, owing to heavy off-shore gales, the thracia broke adrift, her anchors, cables, and ropes being lost and her windlass broken. fortunately, a few days later, the ice began to open here and there, and with the courageous assistance of another vessel, and under her own steam, she succeeded at last in reaching a position inside the bar of the archangel river on april 9th, when her cargo was landed in good condition on the stationary river ice and conveyed by sleighs to archangel.
-her troubles, however, were not yet over, for within less than three weeks, the river ice itself began to break, and the outgoing stream, carrying this broken ice to sea, drove the thracia on to the bar. her propeller blades were now reduced to the merest stumps, but in spite of this, she succeeded, at high water, in working herself free again by her own exertions. obtaining ground tackle from another ship, which had come down from archangel at the first break-up of the ice, the thracia was enabled to come to anchorage in the gulf, and here she remained for about a week until the dwina river was finally cleared of ice. she then proceeded slowly up river to the town itself, where she arrived on may 9th. so great had been the damage sustained by her, that she was then dry-docked for the necessary repairs to enable her to return to england; and when she at last arrived home, about the middle of august, 1915, it was not until her voyage had lasted some seven and a half months.
-the hole in the ship’s side caused by the explosion of the torpedo was no less than 25 feet long by 20 feet deep, and the greatest credit is due to captain simpson for his splendid judgment and seamanship in bringing the vessel safely into port, and saving her both for the country and the company.
-to the valeria, under the command of captain w. stewart, fell the good fortune to destroy a german submarine on june 20th, 1917, while nearing the end of a voyage from new york. it was at 3 o’clock in the afternoon that both captain stewart, who was on the port side of the bridge, and the second officer who was on the starboard side, felt the ship quiver as if she had struck something. the captain immediately crossed the bridge and saw that the object hit was an enemy submarine, the working of her motors being distinctly audible. for a moment the valeria’s gun crew were taken aback at this most unexpected appearance at such close quarters to the vessel. captain stewart, however, gave prompt orders to fire and the gunners depressing the gun as far as possible, immediately obeyed.
-a volume of vapour was then seen to rise up from the ‘u’ boat, together with fountain-like spouts of water. a second shot was fired, falling short, but the third struck the submarine fair and square, at the base of her conning tower, and caused her to sink. it is believed that the valeria, when she first came into contact with the submarine, probably broke her periscope. captain stewart’s first impulse was to turn back in order to pick up any survivors, but in view of the fact that german submarines were at this time usually hunting in couples he thought it wiser to continue his voyage, and brought his ship safely back into liverpool. for this successful action, both captain stewart and the crew received special awards from the admiralty, the cunard company, and other associations, the destruction of the german submarine being later verified by admiralty trawlers.
-it was perhaps not an unexpected fact, but it was one, nevertheless, of which the whole nation may well be proud, that the rescued officers and crews of these torpedoed vessels, never for a moment hesitated, and indeed were anxious, as soon as possible, to render further service in other vessels. an example of this occurred when the vandalia was torpedoed on june 9th, 1918, her commander, captain j. a. wolfe, having already, as has been seen, had a previous vessel, the caria, torpedoed beneath him in the mediterranean. the vandalia was in a convoy accompanied by six american destroyers, and though she settled down rapidly and was lost within less than two hours, no lives were lost.
-on recovering he made his way to the bridge and put on a life-jacket. here he remained until, at eight o’clock, five miles from land and in pitch darkness, the vinovia sank under his feet, and he was thrown into the water. he succeeded however, in supporting himself on some wreckage, to which as it happened the ship’s bell was attached; and it was this little fact that in the end proved his salvation. attracted by the ringing of the bell, a small patrol boat the next morning decided to investigate the wreckage, and there captain gronow was found lying unconscious. unhappily his vessel, with her valuable cargo, of 9,000 tons was lost, but in endeavouring to save the vinovia, captain gronow had provided yet another illustrious example for his successors at sea, and happily survived to receive from the cunard directors a handsome inscribed silver vase, together with a certificate, a silver medal and a monetary gift from lloyds.
-twice it has been our duty to record the torpedoing of vessels under the command of the gallant captain j. a. wolfe, but he underwent this ordeal three times. he was in command of the volodia on the 21st of august, 1917, when, at half-past seven in the morning she was torpedoed and sunk some 300 miles from land. as was usual, there had been no warning, and the volodia was struck amidships, several of her engine-room crew, mostly chinamen, being killed by the explosion. in addition, before she sank, the volodia was also shelled by the attacking submarine. captain wolfe, with the survivors of the crew, had, however, succeeded before this in getting away in three boats, in charge respectively of captain wolfe himself, the chief officer, and the second officer, and these boats were chased by the submarine. on catching up with the second officer’s boat, the submarine commander enquired for the captain. he was told by the second officer that his last sight of captain wolfe was on the bridge of the torpedoed vessel. the second officer was then taken on board the submarine and questioned, but was subsequently allowed to return to his boat.
-thus ends a record, perhaps equalled, but certainly not excelled, by any other of the great mercantile marine companies, upon whose unsung exertions our success both on land and sea was primarily founded. the list which appears on the next page, in tabular form, summarises in brief the losses sustained by the cunard company during this, the severest ordeal, that any maritime nation has ever undergone.
-from this it will be seen that vessels amounting to over 205,000 gross tonnage were lost by the company, and this does not include the campania, which had just passed from the company’s service, or two further losses, that of the ascania and the valeria, which were wrecked by stranding during 1918, and which added to the total another 14,985 tons. in all, more than 56 per cent. of the company’s gross tonnage was sacrificed in the performance of services of the highest importance to the nation in the hour of its greatest jeopardy.
-shore work for the services
-here stand we; naught else can we do! take us, all that we have, all we are! we bide by the issue with you, and this is our war!
-enough, perhaps, has already been written to show how intimately the cunard company was bound up with every phase, not only of our mercantile, but our naval effort at sea; how its long experience of maritime organisation, placed unreservedly at the country’s disposal, became an asset in the hands of the government of almost incalculable importance, and how, in the course of its everyday unadvertised duties, it lost more than half its tonnage. it was not only at sea, however, and not wholly in connection with the problems of transport that the cunard company rendered such yeoman service.
-the possessors of highly efficient repairing shops, engine works, furnishing departments, and laundries, these also were at once mobilised at the outbreak of war, and put to the most various and vital purposes.
-some of these, of course, were congruous with its useful efforts as a marine concern. thus, amongst much other work of a similar nature, we find, for instance, that h.s. sloops buttercup and gladiolus were refitted, their engines over-hauled, and their hull and deck plating repaired, while they were also provided with hydraulic release triggers in order to enable depth charges to be released from the bridge.
-h.m. ships riviera and empress were fitted out as sea-plane carriers by the company at liverpool. the after-decks of both vessels were stripped and hangars, capable of accommodating about six sea-planes, were built on them. a mechanics’ repair shop was also installed and special cranes, for lifting sea-planes out of the water, were fitted.
-the campania, converted as we have seen into a sea-plane carrier, was refitted in 1916, a thorough overhaul being carried out, including the fitting of a new crank shaft, and the examination of, and repairs to, her hull and engines. in 1917, h.m.s. scotia, the well-known holyhead mail boat of the london and north western railway, was reconditioned, after having been in admiralty employment, and all necessary repairs carried out in respect of her hull and engines. h.m.s. berwick was also partially refitted in the same year. no less than 3,200 plunger control valve keys and retarding rams for 12-pound and naval guns were made at the company’s works; and a large amount of work was also undertaken in connection with the fitting of submarines and mines.
-this included, as regarded submarines, the provision of 520 oilers for exhaust valve boxes, 40 tail-end shafts, 20 complete thrust blocks, and the machining and complete fitting of four tail-end intermediate shafts. at the same time 456 save-alls for oil fuel were designed and provided--the pattern of these save-alls being afterwards adopted as the standard pattern for the navy. nineteen thousand, eight hundred manganese bronze spindles for mines were turned out, as well as 1,000 mine mechanism plates. when the admiralty decided to fit naval and merchant ships with the paravane contrivance, as a protection against mines, the cunard company manufactured for them 5,728 sets of wires for this gear. all this work was, of course, carried out in addition to the ordinary routine of overhauling the company’s own fleet.
-in the critical month of march, 1918, when the allied armies were retreating on the western front, and it was clear that the crucial point of the war was imminent, the ministry of munitions sent out urgent appeals to all munition works. during the great retreat, although many of the actual guns were saved, there was no time to attempt to bring away the gun beds, and in consequence many of the larger calibre weapons were thus rendered useless. the cunard company was then asked to undertake to supply one hundred sets in as short a time as possible. realising the urgency of the position, the company succeeded in engaging the assistance of several outside firms, who carried out part of the work under cunard supervision, with the amazing result that no less than 146 sets were finished and delivered complete within a fortnight.
-but for the unremitting attention of the company’s officials and the high degree of organisation that had been attained, such a result would, of course, have been wholly impossible. the separate items manufactured by outside firms were all received and distributed from the company’s gun department a special chart of progress being kept for the purpose. for this great achievement the company received a special letter of congratulation from the ministry of munitions, which in their turn they passed on to their men, who had so magnificently responded to the calls of their country in the crisis, and also to the firms who had rendered such able assistance.
-another very large contract, carried out by the cunard company, was the manufacture of artillery wheels. this work was distributed between the company’s various establishments, the metal work being done by the cunard’s engine works, and the wood work at the furnishing departments in liverpool and london; in order to provide the necessary material, the company’s timber experts had to make enormous purchases, not only having to buy complete cargoes, but in many instances, having to buy the timber before the trees were felled, and it cannot be denied that the government was extremely fortunate in having the advantage of their great experience and wise advice. the metal parts provided consisted of pipe boxes, nots and naves, all of these being made of manganese bronze as required by the war office, and the tyres--the wooden parts of the wheels being the spokes and felloes. eleven hundred complete artillery wheels were thus made, as well as 1,400 sand tyres--a sand tyre being a contrivance fitted to the rim of the gun wheel in order to prevent it sinking into mud or sand. the reconstruction of damaged wheels was undertaken for the war office by the cunard company’s london works and more than 8,000 wheels were dealt with in this manner.
-it is impossible to give a detailed account of the whole of the work of this nature carried out by the cunard company, but a general idea can be obtained from the following list of some of the most important contracts carried out at liverpool.
-60 loading trays for 6 in. shells. these are the trays which guide the shell into the breech of the gun.
-1,200 dial sight adaptors--to render sights adaptable for guns of different calibres.
-5,340 actuating nuts and screws for brake gear for 13 and 18 pounder field guns.
-250 sets of cables for electing firing gear. this is the gear attached to 6 in. and 92 in. guns, to enable them to be fired by electricity.
-24 battery boxes in connection with above.
-500 sets rings and discs protecting obturator. this is a contrivance in the breech of a gun to prevent the escape of the gases generated in firing.
-35 steel crankshafts for the motor boats which were used for chasing submarines.
-36 magazine barrows for transporting heavy shells from magazine to guns on board h.m. ships.
-160 breech rings for 18 pounder guns.
-100 clamp bearings.
-14,912 shell nose adaptors for correcting the thread in end of shell.
-20,300 dummy shells for 18 pounder guns. these were used in training new troops to handle guns and shells. to complete this contract in 1915 the cunard company bought all the mangle rollers that could be obtained and converted them into dummy shells.
-the company’s laundry, which before the war dealt with all the linen, etc., from the company’s steamers, was able during the last few years to assist many of the military hospitals and other institutions in the district by undertaking their laundry work; at the same time, of course, they did whatever work was required for the company’s ships and those under their management, whether acting as troop ships or hospital ships.
-nor did these activities exhaust the long list of the cunard company’s manifold contributions to the nation’s improvised war industries. in 1916, realising the urgent need for aeroplanes, the company’s directors made certain suggestions to the government, and placed their services at the government’s disposal in this connexion. after some months consideration a definite scheme was formulated in july, 1917, providing for the erection of a factory at the government’s expense, to be under the supervision of the cunard company, who would act as managers under the direction of the ministry of munitions. a site was selected near the race course at aintree, the first sod was removed on the 4th october, 1917, and within less than nine months the factory was completed, many of the shops having been working at full pressure very much earlier than this. although the cunard company had had no experience of aircraft work, and could not, of course, spare sufficient staff to man the factory, the arrangement of the various shops, and the selection of the machinery to be installed rested in their hands, and a certain number of the company’s own officials were subsequently employed there.
-even under normal conditions, the construction and fitting out of this the largest aeroplane factory in the country would have been a herculean task, but in war time, with the resultant difficulties to be encountered in obtaining the necessary material, the undertaking might well have baffled even the most enterprising brains. that it was accomplished at all is, perhaps, the best proof of the enormous reserve of initiative and capability that had been accumulated by the company during the long years of its previous expansion; and some idea of what was achieved can perhaps be more easily obtained when it is remembered that the largest shop measured not less than 700 by 500 feet, and that there were several other shops each of which were about half this size; that for the necessary electrical power a cable had to be laid for a distance of six miles from the lister drive generating station; that, the local water and gas supply being totally inadequate, a supply well had to be sunk to a depth of 370 feet, thus providing the factory’s own water supply; that a special gas main had to be laid for a considerable distance; that a new siding from the lancashire and yorkshire railway had to be constructed, the line running right into the factory’s grounds; that the machinery and equipment had to be assembled not only from every part of the united kingdom, but from the united states of america; that several of the most essential machines, which had been specially made, were lost in transit owing to the action of enemy submarines, so that new machines had to be made in their place; and that a canteen had to be provided, fully equipped with the latest cooking utensils and labour saving devices, which would accommodate at two sittings no less than 5,000 people.
-in spite of all this, however, the first complete aeroplane was turned out on june 7th, 1918, just eight months after the commencement, while within four or five months after this, the factory was in a position to turn out no less than 100 aeroplanes a month. before this, however, the ministry of munitions had appointed a controller of national aircraft factories, so that on the 17th of october, 1918, the factory was handed over to the government in full working order, another concrete instance of the organising skill and versatility of this great mercantile marine company.
-long before this the cunard company had embarked upon yet another subsidiary enterprise in the establishment of a factory for the manufacture of shells. this factory, which came to be known as the cunard national shell factory, was established at bootle, the building having before been used as a store for the fittings and furniture taken from such of the cunard company’s vessels as had been used as armed cruisers and in various other capacities. a new floor was built and the roof trusses were strengthened in order to carry shafting. most of the lathes and other machine tools installed in the factory were of the type suitable for marine work, and therefore, special fittings were necessary in order to convert them into lathes suitable for the production of 4 in., 5 in., 6 in. and 8 in. shells; and these special fittings were designed and made by the cunard’s staff engineers. the boring bars used for the 8 in. shells were made from the piston rods thirty years away from england?
-“look here, i am going to do the only thing i can do. i am going to leave my daughter in your charge, though it is rough on you, and as you deal with her, so may heaven deal with you! i understand that there was some ceremony of marriage between you down yonder. i don’t know how you take that, either of you, or how far the matter will go when i am dead. but if it goes any way at all, i trust to your honour, as an english gentleman, to repeat that ceremony the first time you come to a civilised country. if you do not care for each other, however, then juanna must shift, as other women have to do, poor things. she can look after herself, and i suppose that her face will help her to a husband some time. there is one thing: though she hasn’t a pound, she is the best girl that ever stepped, and of as good blood as you can be. there is no older family than the rodds in lincolnshire, and she is the last of them that i know of; also, her mother was well-born, although she was a portugee.
-“and now, do you accept the trust?”
-“i would gladly,” answered leonard, “but how can i? i propose to go after these rubies. would it not be better that father francisco here should take your daughter to the coast? i have a little money which is at her disposal.”
-leonard thought for a moment, while the dying man watched his face anxiously.
-“it is a heavy responsibility,” he said, “and the circumstances make it an awkward one. but i accept it. i will take care of her as though she were my wife, or—my daughter.”
-“thank you for that,” answered rodd. “i believe you, and as to the relationship, you will settle that for yourselves. and now good-bye. i like you. i wish that we had known one another before i got into trouble at home, became a zambesi trader, and—a drunkard.”
-leonard took the hand which mr. rodd lifted with a visible effort, and when he released it, it fell heavily, like the hand of a dead man. then, as he turned to go, he glanced at juanna’s face, but could make nothing of it, for it was as the face of a sphinx.
-there the girl sat, her back resting against the wall, her dying father’s head pillowed upon her knee, motionless as if carved in stone. she was staring straight before her with eyes wide open and curved lips set apart, as though she were about to speak and suddenly had been stricken to silence. so still was she that leonard could scarcely note any movement of her breast. even her eyelids had ceased to quiver, and the very pallor of her face seemed fixed like that of a waxen image. he wondered what she was thinking of; but even had she been willing to bare her thoughts to him, it is doubtful whether she could have made them intelligible. her mind was confused, but two things struggled one against the other within it, the sense of loss and the sense of shame.
-the father whom, notwithstanding his faults, she loved dearly, who indeed had been her companion, her teacher, her playmate and her friend, the dearest she had known, lay dying before her eyes, and with his last breath he consigned her to the care of the man whom she loved, and from whom, as she believed, she was for ever separated. would there, then, be no end to the obligations under which she laboured at the hands of this stranger, who had suddenly taken possession of her life? and what fate was on her that she should thus be forced into false positions, whence there was no escape?
-did she wish to escape even? juanna knew not; but as she sat there with a sphinx-like face, trouble and doubt, and many another fear and feeling, took so firm a hold of her that at length her mind, bewildered with its own tumult, lost its grip of present realities, and sought refuge in dreams which he could not disentangle. no wonder, then, that leonard failed to guess her thoughts, as she watched him go from the death-bed.
-mr. rodd died peacefully that evening, and on the following afternoon they buried him, francisco performing the service. three more days passed before leonard had any conversation with juanna, who moved about the place, pale, self-contained, and silent. nor would he have spoken to her then had she not taken the initiative.
-“mr. outram,” she said, “when do you propose to start upon this journey?”
-“really, i do not know. i am not sure that i shall start at all. it depends upon you. you see i am responsible for you now, and i can scarcely reconcile it with my conscience to take on you such a wild-goose chase.”
-“please do not talk like that,” she answered. “if it will simplify matters i may as well tell you at once that i have made up my mind to go.”
-“you cannot unless i go too,” he answered smiling.
-“you are wrong there,” juanna replied defiantly. “i can, and what is more, i will, and soa shall guide me. it is you who cannot go without me—that is, if soa tells the truth.
-“for good or evil we are yoked together in this matter, mr. outram, so it is useless for us to try to pull different ways. before he died, my dear father told you his views plainly, and even if there were no other considerations involved, such as that of the agreement—for, whatever you may think to the contrary, woman have some sense of honour, mr. outram—i would not disregard his wishes. besides, what else are we to do? we are both adventurers now, and both penniless, or pretty nearly so. perhaps if we succeed in finding this treasure, and it is sufficiently large, you will be generous and give me a share of it, say five per cent., on which to support my declining years,” and she turned and left him.
-“beginning to show temper again,” said leonard to himself. “i will ask francisco what he thinks of it.”
-of late, things had gone a little better between leonard and the priest. not that the former had as yet any complete confidence in the latter. still, he understood now that francisco was a man of honest mind and gentle instincts, and naturally in this dilemma he turned to seek for counsel to his only white companion. francisco listened to the story quietly; indeed, for the most part it was already known to him.
-“well,” he said, when leonard had finished, “i suppose that you must go. the senora juanna is not a young lady to change her mind when once she has made it up, and if you were to refuse to start, mark my words, she would make the expedition by herself, or try to do so. as to this story of treasure, and the possibility of winning it, i can only say that it seems strange enough to be true, and that the undertaking is so impracticable that it will probably be successfully accomplished.”
-“hum!” said leonard, “sounds a little paradoxical, but after that slave camp business, like you i am inclined to believe in paradoxes. and now, father, what do you propose to do?”
-“i? to accompany you, of course, if you will allow me. i am a priest and will play the part of chaperon, if i can do nothing else,” he added with a smile.
-leonard whistled and asked, “why on earth do you mix yourself up in such a doubtful business? you have all your life before you; you are able, and may make a career for yourself in religion; there is nothing for you to gain by this journey; on the contrary, it may bring you death—or,” he added with meaning, “sorrow which cannot be forgotten.”
-the eyes of the two men met, and they understood each other.
-“why don’t you go away and try to forget her?” said leonard.
-the speech was blunt, but francisco did not resent it.
-“i do not go,” he answered, “because it would be useless. so far as i am concerned the mischief is done; for her there is none to fear. while i stay it is possible that i may be able to do her some service, feeble as i am. i have sinned a great sin, but she does not know, and will never know it while i live, for you are a man of honour and will tell her nothing, and she has no eyes to see. what am i to her? i am a priest—no man. i am like a woman friend, and as such she is fond of me. no, i have sinned against heaven, against myself, and her, and you. alas! who could help it? she was like an angel in that inferno, so kind, so sweet, so lovely, and the heart is evil.”
-“why do you say that you sinned against me, francisco? as to the rules of your church, i have my own opinion of them. still, there they are, and perhaps they prick your conscience. but what harm have you done to me?”
-“i told you,” he answered, “on the second night after the slave camp was burnt, that i believed you to be man and wife. i believe it yet, and have i not sinned doubly therefore in worshipping a woman who is wedded? still, i pray that as you are one before heaven and the church, so you may become one in heart and deed. and when this is so, as i think that it will be, cherish her, outram, for there is no such woman in the world, and for you she will turn the earth to heaven.”
-“she might turn it to the other place; such things have happened,” said leonard moodily. then he stretched out his arm and grasped the priest’s delicate hand. “you are a true gentleman,” he added, “and i am a fool. i saw something of all this and i suspected you. as for the marriage, there is none, and the lady cares nothing for me; if anything, she dislikes me, and i do not wonder at it: most women would under the circumstances. but whatever befalls, i honour you and always shall honour you. i must go this journey, it is laid on me that i should, and she insists upon going also, more from perversity than for any other reason, i fancy. so you are coming too: well, we will do our best to protect her, both of us, and the future must look to itself.”
-“thank you for your words,” francisco answered gently, and turned away, understanding that leonard thought himself his companion in misfortune.
-when the father had gone, leonard stood for a while musing upon the curiously tangled web in which he found himself involved. here he was, committed to a strange and desperate enterprise. nor was this all, for about him were other complications, totally different from those which might be expected in connection with such a mediaeval adventure, complications which, though they are frequent enough in the civilised life of men, were scarcely to be looked for in the wilds of africa, and amidst savages. among his companions were his ward, who chanced also to be the lady whom he loved and desired to make his wife, but who, as he thought, cared nothing for him; and a priest who was enamoured platonically of the same lady, and yet wished, with rare self-sacrifice, to bring about her union with another man. here were materials enough for a romance, leaving the journey and the fabled treasure out of it; only then the scene should be laid elsewhere.
-leonard laughed aloud as he thought of these things; it was so curious that all this should be heaped upon him at once, so inartistic and yet so like life, in which the great events are frequently crowded together without sense of distance or proportion.
-but even as he laughed, he remembered that this was no joking matter for anybody concerned, unless it were juanna. alas! already she was more to him than any treasure, and, as he thought, less attainable. well, there it was, he accepted it as it stood. she had entered into his life, whether for good or for evil remained to be seen. he had no desire to repeat the experiment of his youth—to wear out his heart and exhaust himself in efforts to attain happiness, which might after all turn to wormwood on his lips. this time things should take their chance. the business of life remained to him, and he would follow it, for that is the mission of man. its happiness must look to itself, for that is the gift of heaven, after which it is useless to seek and to strive.
-meantime he could find time to pity francisco, the priest with so noble a heart.
-chapter xviii. soa shows her teeth
-three months had passed since that day, when juanna declared her unalterable determination to accompany leonard upon his search for the treasures of the people of the mist.
-it was evening, and a party of travellers were encamped on the side of a river that ran through a great and desolate plain. they were a small party, three white people, namely, leonard, francisco, and juanna, fifteen of the settlement men under the leadership of peter—that same headman who had been rescued from the slave camp—the dwarf, otter, and juanna’s old nurse, soa.
-for twelve weeks they had travelled almost without intermission with soa for their guide, steering continually northward and westward. first they followed the course of the river in canoes for ten days or more; then, leaving the main stream, they paddled for three weeks up that of a tributary called mavuae, which ran for many miles along the foot of a great range of mountains named mang-anja. here they made but slow progress because of the frequent rapids, which necessitated the porterage of the canoes over broken ground, and for considerable distances. at length they came to a rapid which was so long and so continuous that regretfully enough they were obliged to abandon the canoes altogether and proceed on foot.
-the dangers of their water journey had been many, but they were nothing compared with those that now environed them, and in addition to bodily perils, they must face the daily and terrible fatigue of long marches through an unknown country, cumbered as they were with arms and other absolutely necessary baggage. the country through which they were now passing was named marengi, a land uninhabited by man, the home of herds of countless game.
-on they went northward and upward through a measureless waste; plain succeeded plain in endless monotony, distance gave place to distance, and ever there were more beyond.
-gradually the climate grew colder: they were traversing a portion of the unexplored plateau that separates southern from central africa. its loneliness was awful, and the bearers began to murmur, saying that they had reached the end of the world, and were walking over its edge. indeed they had only two comforts in this part of their undertaking; the land lay so high that none of them were stricken by fever, and they could not well miss the road, which, if soa was to be believed, ran along the banks of the river that had its source in the territories of the people of the mist.
-the adventures that befell them were endless, but it is not proposed to describe them in detail. once they starved for three days, being unable to find game. on another occasion they fell in with a tribe of bushmen who harassed them with poisoned arrows, killing two of their best men, and were only prevented from annihilating them through the terror inspired by their firearms, which they took for magical instruments.
-now at length they halted on the boundary of the land of the people of the mist. there before them, not more than a mile away, towered a huge cliff or wall of rock, stretching across the plain like a giant step, far as the eye could reach, and varying from seven hundred to a thousand feet in height. down the surface of this cliff the river flowed in a series of beautiful cascades.
-before they had finished their evening meal of buck’s flesh the moon was up, and by its light the three white people stared hopelessly at this frowning natural fortification, wondering if they could climb it, and wondering also what terrors awaited them upon its further side. they were silent that night, for a great weariness had overcome them, and if the truth must be known, all three of them regretted that they had ever undertaken this mad adventure.
-leonard glanced to the right, where, some fifty paces away, the settlement men were crouched round the fire. they also were silent, and it was easy to see that the heart was out of them.
-“won’t somebody say something?” said juanna at last with a rather pathetic attempt at playfulness. how could she be cheerful, poor girl, when her feet were sore and her head was aching, and she wished that she were dead, almost?
-“yes,” answered leonard, “i will say that i admire your pluck. i should not have thought it possible for any young lady to have gone through the last two months, and ‘come out smiling’ at the end of them.”
-“oh, i am quite happy. don’t trouble about me,” she said, laughing as merrily as though there were no such things as sore feet and headaches in the world.
-“are you?” said leonard, “then i envy you, that is all. here comes old soa, and otter after her. i wonder what is the matter now. something disagreeable, i suppose.”
-soa arrived and squatted down in front of them, her tall spare form and somewhat sullen face looking more formidable than usual in the moonlight. otter was beside her, and though he stood and she sat, their heads were almost on a level.
-“what is it, soa?” said leonard carelessly.
-“deliverer,” she answered, for all the natives knew him now by this name, “some months ago, when you were digging for gold yonder, in the place of graves, i made a bargain with you, and we set the bargain down on paper. in that paper i promised that if you rescued my mistress i would lead you to the land were precious stones were to be won, and i gave you one of those stones in earnest. you saved my mistress, mavoom her father died, and the time came when i must fulfil my promise. for my own part i would not have fulfilled it, for i only made it that promise hoping to deceive you. but my mistress yonder refused to listen to me.
-“‘no,’ she said, ‘that which you have sworn on my behalf and your own must be carried out. if you will not carry it out, go away, soa, for i have done with you.’
-“then, deliverer, rather than part with her whom i loved, and whom i had nursed from a babe, i yielded. and now you stand upon the borders of the country of my people. say, are you minded to cross them, deliverer?”
-“what else did i come for, soa?” he asked.
-“nay, i know not. you came out of the folly of your heart, to satisfy the desire of your heart. listen, that tale i told you is true, and yet i did not tell you all the truth. beyond that cliff live a people of great stature, and very fierce; a people whose custom it is to offer up strangers to their gods. enter there, and they will kill you thus.”
-“what do you mean, woman?” asked leonard.
-“i mean that if you hold your life dear, or her life,” and she pointed to juanna, “you will turn with the first light and go back whence you came. it is true that the stones are there, but death shall be the reward of him who strives to steal them.”
-“i must say this is cheerful,” replied leonard. “what did you mean, then, by all that story you told me about a plan that you had to win the treasures of this people? are you a liar, soa?”
-“i have said that all i told you was true,” she answered sullenly.
-“very well, then, i have come a good many hundred miles to put it to the proof, nor am i going to turn back now. you can leave me one and all if you like, but i shall go on. i will not be made a fool of in this way.”
-“none of us have any wish to be made fools of, mr. outram,” said juanna gently; “and, speaking for myself, i would far rather die at once than attempt a return journey just at present. so now, soa, perhaps you will stop croaking and tell us definitely what we must do to conciliate these charming countrymen of yours, whom we have come so far to spoil. remember,” she added with a flash of her grey eyes, “i am not to be played with by you, soa. in this matter the deliverer’s interests are my interests, and his ends my ends. together we stand or fall, together we live or die, and that shall be an unhappy hour for you, soa, when you attempt to desert or betray us.”
-“it is well, shepherdess,” she answered, “your will is my will, for i love you alone in the world, and all the rest i hate,” and she glared at leonard and otter. “you are my father, and my mother, and my child, and where you are, in death or in life, there is my home. let us go then among this people of mine, there to perish miserably, so that the deliverer may seek to glut himself with wealth.
-“listen; this is the law of my people, or this was their law when i left them forty years ago: that every stranger who passes through their gates should be offered as a sacrifice to aca the mother if the time of his coming should be in summer, and to jâl the son if the time of his coming be in winter, for the mist-dwellers do not love strangers. but there is a prophecy among my people which tells, when many generations have gone by, that aca the mother, and jâl the son, shall return to the land which once they ruled, clothed in the flesh of men. and the shape of aca shall be such a shape as yours, shepherdess, and the shape of jâl shall be as is the shape of this black dog of a dwarf, whom when first i saw him in my folly i deemed immortal and divine. then the mother and the son shall rule in the land, and its kings shall cease from kingship, and the priests of the snake shall be their servants, and with them shall come peace and prosperity that do not pass away.
-“shepherdess, you know the tongue of the people of the mist, for when you were little i taught it to you, because to me it is the most beautiful of tongues. you know the song also, the holy song of re-arising, that shall be on the lips of aca when she comes again, and which i, being the daughter of the high-priest, learned, with many another secret, before i was doomed to be a bride to the snake and fled, fearing my doom. now come apart with me, shepherdess, and you, black one, come also, that i may teach you your lesson of what you shall do when we meet the squadrons of the people of the mist.”
-juanna rose to obey her, followed by otter, grumbling, for he hated the old woman as much as she hated him, and, moreover, he did not take kindly to this notion of masquerading as a god, or, indeed, to the prospect of a lengthened sojourn amongst his adoring, but from all accounts somewhat truculent, worshippers. before they went, however, leonard spoke.
-“i have heard you, soa,” he said, “and i do not like your words, for they show me that your heart is fierce and evil. yes, though you love the shepherdess, your heart is evil. now hear me. should you dare to play us false, whatever may befall us, be sure of this, that moment you die. go!”
-“spare your threats, deliverer,” answered soa haughtily. “i shall not betray you, because to do so would be to betray the shepherdess. but are you then a fool that you think i should fear death at your hands, who to-morrow with a word could give you all to torment? pray, deliverer, that the hour may not be near when you shall rejoice to die by the bullet with which you threaten me, so that you may escape worse things.” and she turned and went.
-“i am not nervous,” said leonard to francisco, “but that she-devil frightens me. if it were not for juanna, she would cause us to be murdered on the first possible opportunity, and if only she can secure her safety, i believe that she will do it yet.”
-“and i believe that she is a witch, outram,” answered the priest with fervour, “a servant of the evil one, such as are written of in the scriptures. last night i saw her praying to her gods; she did not know that i was near, for the place was lonely, but i saw her and i never wish to see anything so horrible again. i will tell you why she hates us all so much, outram. she is jealous, because the senora—does not hate us. that woman’s heart is wicked, wickedness was born in her, yet, as none are altogether evil, she has one virtue, her love of the senora. she is husbandless and childless, for even among the black people, as i have learnt from the settlement men, all have feared her and shrunk from her notwithstanding her good looks. therefore, everything that is best in her has gone to nourish this love for the woman whom she nursed from a babe. it was because of her fierceness that the senor rodd, who is dead, chose her for his daughter’s nurse, when he found that her heart was hungry with love for the child, for he knew that she would die before she suffered harm to come to her.”
-“he showed good judgment there,” said leonard. “had it not been for soa, juanna would have been a slave-girl now, or dead.”
-“that is so, outram, but whether we showed good judgment in trusting our lives to her tender mercies is quite another matter. say, friend, do you think it well to go on with this business?”
-“oh, confound it all!” said leonard with irritation, “how can we turn back now? just think of the journey and how foolish we should look. besides, we have none of us got anything to live upon; it took most of the gold that i had to bribe peter and his men to accompany us. i dare say that we shall all be killed, that seems very probable, but for my part i really shan’t be sorry. i am tired of life, francisco; it is nothing but a struggle and a wretchedness, and i begin to feel that peace is all i can hope to win. i have done my best here according to my lights, so i don’t know why i should be afraid of the future, especially as it has been taken out of me pretty well in the present, though of course i am afraid for all that, every man is. the only thing that troubles me is a doubt whether we ought to take juanna into such a place. but really i do not know but what it would be as dangerous to go back as to proceed: those gentlemen with the poisoned arrows may have recovered from their fear of firearms by now.”
-next morning, shortly before dawn, leonard was awakened by a hubbub among the natives, and creeping out of his blankets, he found that some of them, who had been to the river to draw water, had captured two bushmen belonging to a nomadic tribe that lived by spearing fish. these wretched creatures, who notwithstanding the cold only wore a piece of bark tied round their shoulders, were screaming with fright, and it was not until they had been pacified by gifts of beads and empty brass cartridges that anything could be got out of them.
-when confidence had at length been restored, otter questioned them closely as to the country that lay beyond the wall of rock and the people who dwelt in it, through one of the settlement men, who spoke a language sufficiently like their own to make himself understood. they replied that they had never been in that country themselves, because they dared not go there, but they had heard of it from others.
-the land was very cold and foggy, they said, so foggy that sometimes people could not see each other for whole days, and in it dwelt a race of great men covered with hair, who sacrificed strangers to a snake which they worshipped, and married all their fairest maidens to a god. that was all they knew of the country and of the great men, for few who visited there ever returned to tell tidings. it was certainly a haunted land.
-finding that there was no more to be learnt from the bushmen, leonard suffered them to depart, which they did at considerable speed, and ordered the settlement men to make ready to march. but now a fresh difficulty arose. the interpreter had repeated all the bushmen’s story to his companions, among whom, it is needless to say, it produced no small effect. therefore when the bearers received their orders, instead of striking the little tent in which juanna slept, and preparing their loads as usual, after a brief consultation they advanced upon leonard in a body.
-“what is it, peter?” he asked of the headman.
-“this, deliverer: we have travelled with you and the shepherdess for three full moons, enduring much hardship and passing many dangers. now we learn that there lies before us a land of cold and darkness, inhabited by devils who worship a devil. deliverer, we have been good servants to you, and we are not cowards, as you know, but it is true that we fear to enter this land.”
-“what do you wish to do then, peter?” asked leonard.
-“we wish to return whence we came, deliverer. already we have nearly earned the money that you gave to us before we started, and we will take no more pay if we must win it by crossing yonder wall.”
-“the way back is far, peter,” answered leonard, “and you know its perils. how many, think you, will reach their homes alive if i am not there to guide them? for know, peter, i will not turn back now. desert me, if you wish, all of you, and still i will enter this country alone, or with otter only. alone we took the slave camp and alone we will visit the people of the mist.”
-“your words are true, deliverer,” said peter, “the homeward way is far and its perils are many; mayhap but very few of us will live to see their huts again, for this is an ill-fated journey. but if we pass yonder,” and he pointed to the wall of rock, “then we shall all of us certainly die, and be offered to a devil by devils.”
-leonard pulled his beard thoughtfully and said: “it seems there is nothing else to say, peter, except good-bye.”
-the headman saluted and was turning away with an abashed countenance when juanna stopped him. together with otter and the others she had been listening to the colloquy in silence, and now spoke for the first time.
-“peter,” she said gently, “when you and your companions were in the hands of the yellow devil and about to be sold as slaves, who was it that rescued you?”
-“the deliverer, shepherdess.”
-“yes. and now do my ears betray me, or do i hear you say that you and your brethren, who with many another were saved from shame and toil by the deliverer, are about to leave him in his hour of danger?”
-“you have heard aright, shepherdess,” the man answered sadly.
-“it is well, peter. go, children of mavoom, my father, who can desert me in my need. for learn, peter, that where you fear to tread, there i, a white woman, will pass alone with the deliverer. go, children of my father, and may peace go with you. yet, as you know, i, who foretold the doom of the yellow devil, am a true prophetess, and i tell you this, that but a very few of you shall live to see your kraal again, and you will not be of their number, peter. as for those who come home safely, their names shall be a mockery, the little children shall call them coward, and traitor and jackal, and one by one they shall eat out their hearts and die, because they deserted him who saved them from the slave-ship and the scourge. farewell, children of my father: may peace go with you, and may his ghost not come to haunt you on your path,” and with one indignant glance she turned scornfully away.
-“brethren,” said peter after a moment’s pause, “is it to be borne that the shepherdess should mock us thus and tie such ropes of shame about our necks?”
-“no,” they answered, “we cannot bear it.”
-then for a while they consulted together again, and presently peter stood forward and said: “deliverer, we will accompany you and the shepherdess into the country of devils, nor need you fear that we shall desert or betray you. we know well that we go to our death, every one of us; still it is better to die than to live bearing the burden of such bitter words as hide within the shepherdess’s lips.”
-“very well,” answered leonard. “get your loads and let us start.”
-“ay! it is well indeed,” put in otter with a snort of indignation. “i tell you this, peter, that before you left this place the words of the shepherdess had come true for you and one or two others, for i should have fought you till i was killed, and though i have little wisdom yet i know how to fight.”
-leonard smiled at the dwarf’s rage, but his heart was heavy within him. he knew that these men had reason on their side, and he feared greatly lest their evil forebodings should come true and the lives of all of them pay forfeit for his rashness.
-but it was too late to turn back now: things must befall as they were fated.
-chapter xix. the end of the journey
-in default of a better road they followed the course of the river, which thundered down the face of the precipice in four great waterfalls, connected by as many sullen pools, whose cavities had been hollowed out in the course of centuries from the rock. the second of these ledges proved so insurmountable that at one time leonard thought that they would be obliged to abandon their attempt, and follow the foot of the cliff till they found some easier route. but at last otter, who could climb like a cat, succeeded in passing the most dangerous part at the risk of his life, bearing a rope with him by means of which the rest of the party and the loads of goods were hauled up one by one. it was evening before the height was scaled, and they proceeded to encamp upon its summit, making a scanty meal of some meat which they had brought with them.
-that night they passed in great discomfort, for it was mid-winter and here the climate proved to be very cold. bitter winds swept across the vast plain before them and searched them through, all the clothing and blankets they had scarcely sufficing to keep them warm; indeed, the settlement men and francisco, who had been bred in a southern clime, suffered severely. nor were matters improved when, on the breaking of the light, they woke from a troubled sleep to find the plain hidden in a dense mist. however, they rose, made a fire with reeds and dead wood which they gathered on the banks of the river, and ate, waiting for the fog to vanish.
-but it did not vanish, so about nine o’clock they continued their journey under soa’s guidance, following the east bank of the river northwards. the ground proved easy to travel over, for, with the exception of isolated water-worn boulders of granite, the plain was perfectly smooth and covered with turf as fine as any that grows in northern lands.
-all that day they marched on, wandering like ghosts through the mist, and guided in their path by the murmuring sound of the river. they met no man, but once or twice great herds of hairy creatures thundered past them. leonard fired into one of these herds with an express rifle, for they wanted meat, and a prodigious snorting and bellowing told him that his shot had taken effect. running to the spot whence the sounds came, he found a huge white bull kicking in its death struggle. the animal was covered with long white hair like that of the british breed of wild cattle, and measured at least seventeen hands in height. round it stood others snorting with fear and wonder, that, when they saw leonard, put down their heads threateningly, tearing up the turf with their great horns. he shouted aloud and fired another shot, whereon they turned and disappeared into the mist.
-this happened towards nightfall, so they determined to camp upon the spot; but while they were engaged in skinning the bull an incident occurred that did not tend to raise their spirits. at sunset the sky cleared a little—at least the sinking sun showed red through the mist as it does in a london fog of the third density. against this red ball of the sun, and some dozen yards away, suddenly there appeared the gigantic figure of a man, for, unless the fog deceived them, he must have been between six and seven feet high and broad in proportion. of his face they could see nothing, but he was clad in goat-skins, and armed with a great spear and a bow slung upon his back.
-juanna was the first to see and point him out to leonard with a start of fear, as he stood watching them in solemn silence. obeying the impulse of the moment, leonard stepped forward towards the vision holding his rifle ready, but before he reached the spot where it had stood the figure vanished.
-then he walked back again to juanna. “i think we have heard so much of giants that we begin to believe we see them,” he said laughing.
-as he spoke something clove the air between them and stuck in the earth beyond. they went to it. it was a large arrow having a barbed point and flighted with red feathers.
-“this is a very tangible fancy at any rate,” juanna answered, drawing the shaft out of the ground. “we have had a narrow escape.”
-leonard did not speak, but raising his rifle he fired it at a venture in the direction whence the arrow had sped. then he ran to put their little band in a position of defence, juanna following him. but, as it chanced, he might have spared himself the trouble, for nothing further happened; indeed, the net outward and visible result of this mysterious apparition was that they spent a miserable night, waiting in the fog and wet—for it had come on to rain, or rather drizzle—for an enemy who, to their intense relief, never appeared.
-but the inward and spiritual consequences were much greater, for now they knew that soa spoke truth and that the legend of the bushmen as to “great men covered with hair” was no mere savage invention.
-at length the morning came. it was damp and wretched, and they were all half starved with cold and oppressed by fears. indeed some of the settlement men were so terrified that they openly lamented having suffered their sense of shame and loyalty to overcome their determination to retreat. now they could not do so, for the malcontents among them did not dare to retrace their steps alone; moreover, leonard spoke plainly on the matter, telling them that he would drive away the first man who attempted any insubordination.
-soaked through, shivering, and miserable, they pursued their march across the unknown plain, soa, who seemed to grow hourly grimmer now that she was in her own country, stalking ahead of them as guide. it was warmer walking than sitting still, and in one respect their lot was bettered, for a little wind stirring the mist from time to time revealed gleams of the watery sun. all that day they journeyed on, seeing no more of the man who had shot the arrow, or his fellows, till at length darkness drew near again.
-then they halted, and leonard and otter walked to and fro searching for a suitable place to make the camp and pitch their solitary tent. presently otter shouted aloud. leonard ran towards him, and found him staring into the mist at something that loomed largely about a hundred yards away.
-“look, baas,” he said, “there is a house, a house of stone with grass growing on the roof.”
-“nonsense,” said leonard, “it must be some more boulders. however, we can soon find out.”
-they crept cautiously towards the object, that, as soon became evident, was a house or a very good apology for one, built of huge undressed boulders, bedded in turf by way of mortar, and roofed with the trunks of small trees and a thick thatch of sods whereon the grass grew green. this building may have measured forty feet in length by twenty in depth, and seventeen from the ground-line to the wall-plate. also it had a doorway of remarkable height and two window-places, but all these openings were unclosed, except by curtains of hide which hung before them. leonard called soa and asked her what the place was.
-“doubtless the house of a herdsman,” she answered, “who is set here to watch the cattle of the king, or of the priests. it may chance that this is the dwelling of that man who shot the arrow yesterday.”
-having assured themselves that here was a human habitation, it remained to be ascertained whether it was tenanted. after waiting awhile to see if anyone passed in or out, otter undertook this task. going down on his hands and knees he crept up to the wall, then along it to the doorway, and after listening there awhile he lifted a corner of the hide curtain and peeped into the interior. presently he rose, saying:
-“all right, baas, the place is empty.”
-then they both entered and examined the dwelling with curiosity. it was rude enough. the walls were unplastered, and the damp streamed down them; the floor was of trodden mud, and a hole in the roof served as a chimney; but, by way of compensation, the internal space was divided into two apartments, one of them a living room, and the other a sleeping chamber. it was evident that the place had not been long deserted, for fire still smouldered on the hearth, round which stood various earthen cooking dishes, and in the sleeping-room was a rough bedstead of wood whereon lay wrappings made from the hides of cattle and goats. when they had seen everything there was to be seen, they hurried back to the others to report their discovery, and just then the rain set in more heavily than before.
-“a house!” said juanna; “then for goodness’ sake let us get into it. we are all half dead with the cold and wet.”
-“yes,” answered leonard, “i think we had better take possession, though it may be a little awkward if the rightful owners come back.”
-the best that can be said for the night which they spent in this stone shanty, undisturbed by any visit from its lawful tenant, is that it passed a shade more comfortably than it would have done outside. they were dry, though the place was damp, and they had a fire. still, until you are used to it, it is trying to sit in the company of a score of black people and of many thousand fleas, enveloped with a cloud of pungent smoke, according to the custom of our norse ancestors.
-soon juanna gave up the attempt and retired to the great bed in the inner chamber, wondering much who had occupied it last. a herdsman, she judged, as soa had suggested, for in a corner of the room stood an ox-goad hugely fashioned. but it was a bed, and she slept as soundly in it as its numerous insect occupants would allow. the others were not so fortunate: they had the insects indeed, but no bed.
-again the morning came, wet, miserable, and misty, and through the mist and rain they pursued their course, whither they knew not. all day they wandered on by the banks of the river till night fell and they camped, this time without shelter. now they had reached the extreme of wretchedness, for they had little or no food left, and could not find fuel to make a fire. leonard took soa aside and questioned her, for he saw clearly that a couple more days of this suffering would put an end to all of them.
-“you say these people of yours have a city, soa?”
-“they have a city, deliverer,” she answered, “but whether they will allow you to enter it, except as a victim for sacrifice, is another matter.”
-“none of us will enter it unless we find shelter soon,” he answered. “how far is the place away?”
-“it should be a day’s journey, deliverer. were the mist gone you could see it now. the city is built at the foot of great mountains, there are none higher, but the fog hides everything. to-morrow, if it lifts, you will see that i speak truth.”
-“are there any houses near where we can shelter?” he asked again.
-“how can i tell?” she answered. “it is forty years since i passed this road, and here, where the land is barren, none dwell except the herdsmen. perhaps there is a house at hand, or perhaps there is none for many miles. who can say?”
-“while my heart is warm i am warm,” he said cheerfully, when leonard asked him how he fared. as for leonard himself, he sat silent listening to the moans of the settlement men, and reflecting that twenty-four hours more of this misery would bring the troubles of most of them to an end. without food or shelter it was very certain that few of those alive to-night would live to see a second dawn.
-at last the light came and to their wonder and exceeding joy they found that the rain had ceased and the mist was melting.
-once more they beheld the face of the sun, and rejoiced in its warmth as only those can rejoice who for days and nights have lived in semi-darkness, wet to the skin and frozen to the marrow.
-the worst of the mist was gone indeed, but it was not until they had breakfasted off a buck which otter shot in the reeds by the river, that the lingering veils of vapour withdrew themselves from the more distant landscape. at last they had vanished, and for the first time the wanderers saw the land through which they were travelling. they stood upon a vast plain that sloped upwards gradually till it ended at the foot of a mighty range of snow-capped mountains named, as they learned in after-days, the bina mountains.
-this range was shaped like a half-moon, or a bent bow, and the nearest point of the curve, formed by a soaring snowy peak, was exactly opposite to them, and to all appearance not more than five-and-twenty miles away. on either side of this peak the unbroken line of mountains receded with a vast and majestic sweep till the eye could follow them no more. the plain about them was barren and everywhere strewn with granite boulders, between which wandered herds of wild cattle, mixed with groups of antelopes; but the lower slopes of the mountains were clothed with dense juniper forests, and among them were clearings, presumably of cultivated land. otter searched the scene with his eyes, that were as those of a hawk; then said quietly:
-“look yonder, baas; the old hag has not lied to us. there is the city of the people of the mist.”
-following the line of the dwarf’s outstretched hand, leonard saw what had at first escaped him, that standing back in a wide bend at the foot of the great mountain in front of them were a multitude of houses, built of grey stone and roofed with green turf. indeed, had not his attention been called to it, the town might well have missed observation until he was quite close to its walls, for the materials of which it was constructed resembled those of the boulders that lay about them in thousands, and the vivid green of its roofs gave it the appearance of a distant space of grassy land.
-“yes, there is the kraal of the great people,” said otter again, “and it is a strong kraal. see, baas, they know how to defend themselves. the mountain is behind them that none can climb, and all around their walls the river runs, joining itself together again on the plain beyond. it would go ill with the ‘impi’ which tried to take that kraal.”
-for a while they all stood still and stared amazed. it seemed strange that they should have reached this fabled city; and now that they were there, how would they be received within its walls? this was the question which each one of them was asking of himself. there was but one way to find out—they must go and see; no retreat was now possible. even the settlement people felt this. “better to die at the hands of the great men,” said one of them aloud, “than to perish miserably in the mist and cold.”
-“be of good cheer,” leonard answered; “you are not yet dead. the sun shines once more. it is a happy omen.”
-when they had rested and dried their clothes they marched on with a certain sense of relief. there before them was the goal they had travelled so far to win; soon they would know the worst that could befall, and anything was better than this long suspense.
-by midday they had covered about fifteen miles of ground, and could now see the city clearly. it was a great town, surrounded by a cyclopean wall of boulders, about which the river ran on every side, forming a natural moat. the buildings within the wall seemed to be arranged in streets, and to be build on a plan similar to that of the house in which they had slept two nights before, the vast conglomeration of grass-covered roofs giving the city the appearance of a broken field of turf hillocks supported upon walls of stone.
-for the rest the place was laid out upon a slope, and at its head, immediately beneath the sheer steps of the mountain side stood two edifices very much larger in size than any of those below. one of these resembled the other houses in construction, and was surrounded by a separate enclosure; but the second, which was placed on higher ground, so far as they could judge at that distance, was roofless, and had all the characteristics of a roman amphitheatre. at the far end of this amphitheatre stood a huge mass of polished rock, bearing a grotesque resemblance to the figure of a man.
-“what are those buildings, soa?” asked leonard.
-“the lower one is the house of the king, white man, and that above is the temple of deep waters, where the river rises from the bowels of the mountain.”
-“and what is the black stone beyond the temple?”
-“that, white man, is the statue of the god who sits there for ever, watching over the city of his people.”
-“he must be a great god,” said leonard, alluding to the size of the statue.
-“he is great,” she answered, “and my heart is afraid at the sight of him.”
-after resting for two hours they marched on again, and soon it became apparent that their movements were watched. the roadway which they were following—if a track beaten flat by the feet of men and cattle could be called a road—wound to and fro between boulders of rock, and here and there standing upon the boulders were men clad in goat-skins, each of them carrying a spear, a bow and a horn. so soon as their party came within five or six hundred yards of one of these men, he would shoot an arrow in their direction, which, when picked up, proved to be barbed with iron, and flighted with red feathers like the first that they had seen. then the sentry would blow his horn, either as a signal or in token of defiance, bound from the rock, and vanish. this did not look encouraging, but there was worse to come. presently, as they drew near to the city, they descried large bodies of armed men crossing the river that surrounded it in boats and on rafts, and mustering on the hither side. at length all of them were across, and the regiment, which appeared to number more than a thousand men, formed up in a hollow square and advanced upon them at the double.
-the crisis was at hand.
-chapter xx. the coming of aca
-leonard turned and looked at his companions with something like dismay written on his face.
-“what is to be done now?” he said.
-“we must wait for them until they come near,” answered juanna, “then otter and i are to meet them alone, and i will sing the song which soa has taught me. do not be afraid, i have learned my lesson, and, if things go right, they will think that we are their lost gods; or, at least, so soa says.”
-“yes, if things go right. but if they don’t?”
-“then good-bye,” answered juanna, with a shrug of her shoulders. “at any rate, i must get ready for the experiment. come, soa, bring the bundle to those rocks over there—quick! stop a minute—i forgot, mr. outram, you must lend me that ruby. i have to make use of it.”
-leonard handed over the ruby, reflecting that he would probably never see it again, since it seemed almost certain that one of the great people would steal it. however, at the moment he was thinking of that which was far above rubies, namely, of what chance they had of escaping with their lives.
-so soon as she had possession of the stone, juanna ran to a little ring of boulders that were scattered on the plain about fifty paces from them, followed by soa, who carried a bundle in her hand.
-ten minutes passed, and soa appeared from behind the shelter of the stones and beckoned to them. advancing in obedience to her summons, they saw a curious sight. standing in the ring of rocks was juanna, but juanna transformed. she wore a white robe cut low upon the neck and shoulders; indeed, it was the arab dress in which she had escaped from the slave camp, that soa had brought with them in preparation for this moment of trial. nor was this all; for juanna had loosened her dark hair—which was of great length and unusual beauty—so that it hung about her almost to her knees, and upon her forehead, gleaming like a red eye, was set the great ruby, ingeniously fastened thereto by soa in a band of linen pierced in its centre to the size of the stone.
-“behold the goddess and do homage,” said juanna with mock solemnity, although leonard could see that she was trembling with excitement.
-“i do not quite understand what you are going to do, but you look the part well,” he answered shortly. and, indeed, until that moment he had never known how beautiful she was.
-juanna blushed a little at the evident admiration in his eyes; then, turning to the dwarf, she said:
-“now, otter, you must make ready too. and remember what soa told you. whatever you see or hear, you are not to open your mouth. walk side by side with me and do as i do, that is all.”
-otter grunted in assent, and proceeded to “make ready.” the process was simple, consisting only in the shedding of his coat and trousers—an old pair of leonard’s, very much cut down—which left him naked, except for a moocha that he wore beneath them in accordance with native custom.
-“what does all this mean?” asked the headman peter, who, like his companions, was trembling with fear.
-“it means,” said juanna, “that otter and i are impersonating the gods of this people, peter. if they receive us as gods, it is well; if not, we are doomed. be careful, should we be so received, lest any of you betray the trick. be wise and silent, i say, and do what we shall tell you from time to time, if you would live to look upon the sun.”
-peter fell back astonished, while leonard and francisco turned their attention to the approaching soldiers of the people of the mist.
-they advanced slowly and in silence, but their measured tread shook the earth. at last they halted about a hundred and fifty yards away, presenting a truly terrifying spectacle to the little band among the rocks. so far as leonard could see, there was not a man among them who stood less than six feet in height, and they were broad in proportion—hugely made. in appearance they were neither handsome nor repulsive, but solemn-looking, large-eyed, thick-haired—between black and yellow in hue—and wearing an expression of dreadful calm, like the calm of an archaic statue. for the rest they seemed to be well disciplined, each company being under the command of a captain, who, in addition to his arms, carried a trumpet fashioned from a wild bull’s horn.
-the regiment stood silent, gazing at the group of strangers, or, rather, at the boulders behind which they were concealed. in the centre of their hollow square was a knot of men, one of them young, and huge even in comparison with his companions. this man leonard took to be a chief or king. behind were orderlies and counsellors, and before him three aged persons of stately appearance and a cruel cast of countenance. these men were naked to the waist and unarmed, except for a knife or hanger fixed at the girdle. on their broad breasts, covering more than half the skin-surface, the head of a huge snake was tattooed in vivid blue. evidently they were medicine-men or priests.
-while the adventurers watched and wondered, the king or chief issued an order to his attendants, who ran to the corners of the square and called it aloud. then he raised his great spear, and every captain blew upon his horn, making a deafening sound.
-now the enemy stood still for a while, staring towards the stones, and the three medicine-men drew near to the chief in the centre of the square and talked with him, as though debating what should be done.
-“this is our chance,” said juanna excitedly. “if once they attack us it will be all over; a single volley of arrows would kill every one of us. come, otter.”
-“no, no!” said leonard. “i am afraid of your venturing yourself among those savages. the danger is too great.”
-“danger! can the danger be more than it is here? in a minute we may all be dead. nonsense! i will go! i know what to do and have made up my mind to it. do not fear for me. remember that, if the worst comes to the worst, i have the means to protect myself. you are not afraid to come, are you, otter?”
-“no, shepherdess,” said the dwarf. “here all roads are alike.”
-leonard thought awhile. bitterly did he reproach himself in that he had been the cause of leading his ward into such a position. but now there was no help for it—she must go. and after all it could make no difference if she were killed or captured five minutes hence or half an hour later. but francisco, who could not take such a philosophical view of the situation, implored her not to venture herself alone among those horrible savages.
-“go if you like, juanna,” said leonard, not heeding the priest’s importunities. “if anything happens i will try to avenge you before i follow. go, but forgive me.”
-“what have i to forgive?” she said, looking at him with shining eyes. “did you not once dare a greater danger for me?”
-“yes, go, shepherdess,” said soa, who till now had been staring with all her eyes at the three aged men in the centre of the square; “there is little to fear, if this fool of a dwarf will but keep his tongue silent. i know my people, and i tell you that if you sing that song, and say the words which i have taught you, you and the black one here shall be proclaimed gods of the land. but be swift, for the soldiers are about to shoot.”
-as soa spoke, leonard saw that the conference in the square had come to an end. the messengers were calling commands to the captains, which the captains repeated to the soldiers, and then followed a mighty rattling of quivers. another instant and the light shone upon many hundreds of arrow-heads, every one of which was pointed towards them.
-juanna saw also, and springing forward on to a rock, stood there for a moment in the full glare of the sun. instantly a murmur went up from the host; a great voice called a command; the barbs of steel flickered like innumerable stars, and sank downwards.
-now otter, naked except for his moocha, sprang on to the rock by juanna’s side, and the murmur of the soldiers of the great people grew into a hoarse roar of astonishment and dismay. wonder had turned to fear, though why this multitude of warriors should fear a lovely white girl and a black dwarf was not apparent.
-for a moment the ill-assorted pair stood together on the rock; then juanna leapt to the plain, otter following her. for twenty yards or so she walked in silence, holding the dwarf by the hand; then suddenly she burst into singing wild and sweet. this was the refrain of the sacred song which she sang in the ancient language of the people of the mist, the tongue that soa had taught her as a child:
-thus she sang, ever more sweetly and louder, till her voice rang through the still air like the song of a bird in winter. hushed were the companies of the great men as she drew towards them with slow gliding steps—hushed with fear and wonder, as though her presence awoke a memory or fulfilled a promise.
-now she was in front of their foremost rank, and, halting there, was silent for a moment. then she changed her song.
-“will ye not greet me, children of my children? have ye forgotten the promise of the dead? shall i return to the dream-land whence i wander? will ye refuse me, the mother of the snake?”
-the soldiers looked upon one another and murmured each to each. now she saw that they understood her words and were terror-stricken by them. for another moment there was silence, then suddenly the three priests or medicine-men, who had drawn near together, passed through the ranks and stood before her, accompanied by the warrior-chief.
-then one of them, the most aged, a man who must have numbered ninety years, spoke in the midst of an intense silence. to juanna’s joy, as they had understood her, so she understood him, for his language was the same that soa taught her many years before, and in which, for the sake of practice, they had always conversed together for the last two months.
-“art thou woman, or spirit?” asked the ancient priest.
-“i am both woman and spirit,” she answered.
-“and he with thee, he whom we know of”—went on the priest, pointing tremblingly to otter—“is he god or man?”
-“he is both god and man,” she answered.
-“and those yonder; who are they?”
-“they are our ministers and servants, white for the white, and black for the black, the companions of our wanderings, men and not spirits.”
-the three priests consulted together, while the chief looked on juanna’s beauty with wondering eyes. then the oldest of them spoke again:
-“thou tellest us in our own tongue of things that have long been hidden, though perchance they are remembered. either, o beautiful, thou hast learned these things and liest to us, and then food are ye all for the snake against whom thou dost blaspheme, or ye are gods indeed, and as gods ye shall be worshipped. tell us now thy name, and the name of yonder dwarf, of whom we know.”
-“i am named the shepherdess of heaven among men. he is named otter, dweller in the waters, among men. once we had other names.”
-“tell us the other names, o shepherdess.”
-“once in the far past i was named brightness, i was named dawn, i was named daylight. once in the far past he was named silence, he was named terror, he was named darkness. yet at the beginning we had other names. perchance ye know them, ministers of the snake.”
-“perchance we know them, o thou who art named shepherdess of heaven, o thou who wert named brightness, and dawn, and daylight; o thou who art named dweller in the waters, and wert named silence, and terror, and darkness! perchance we know them, although they be known to few, and are never spoken, save in utter gloom and with hidden head. but do ye know them, those names of the beginning? for if ye know them not, o beautiful, ye lie and ye blaspheme, and ye are food for the snake.”
-“seldom through all the years have those holy names been spoken save in utter darkness and with covered heads,” juanna answered boldly; “but now is the new hour, the hour of the coming, and now they shall be called aloud in the light of day from open lips and with uplifted eyes. hearken, children of the snake, these are the names by which we were known in the beginning: aca is my name, the mother of the snake. jâl is he named, who is the snake. say, do ye know us now?”
-as these words rang on her lips a groan of terror burst from every man who heard them. then the aged priest cried aloud: “down upon your faces, ye children of the snake; worship, all ye people of the spear, dwellers in the mist! aca, the queen immortal, has come home again: jâl, the god, has put on the flesh of men. olfan, lay down thy kingship, it is his: ye priests, throw wide the temples, they are theirs. worship the mother, do honour to the god!”
-the multitude heard and prostrated themselves like a single man, every one of them crying in a shout of thunder:
-“aca, the queen of life, has come; jâl, the doom-god, has put on flesh. worship the mother, do honour to the god!”
-it was as though the army had suddenly been smitten with death, and of the hundreds there, juanna and otter alone were left standing. there was one exception, however, and that was olfan, the warrior chief, who remained upon his feet, not seeming to relish the command to abdicate his authority thus brusquely in favour of a dwarf, were he god or man.
-otter, who was utterly bewildered, not comprehending a word of what had been said, and being unable to fathom the meaning of these strange antics, pointed at the chief with his spear by way of calling juanna’s attention to the fact that he was still standing. but the great man interpreted the action otherwise; evidently he thought that the newly arrived god was invoking destruction on him. his pride yielded to his superstition, and he sank to his knees also.
-when the sound of the worshipping had passed away juanna spoke again, addressing the old priest.
-“rise, my child,” she said—he might well have been her great-grandfather—“and rise all ye, soldiers of the spear and servants of the snake, and hear my words. ye know me now, ye know me by the holy name, ye know me by the fashion of my face, and by the red stone that gleams upon my brow. in the beginning my blood fell yonder and was frozen into such gems as these, which to-day ye offer yearly to him who is my child, and slew me. now the fate is accomplished and his reign is finished. i come with him indeed, and he is still a god, but he loves me as a son again, and bows the knee to me in service.
-“enough, ye know the ancient tale that is fulfilled this day. now we pass on towards our city, there to sojourn with you awhile and to proclaim the law of the ending, and we pass alone. there, in our city, let a place be made ready for us, a place apart, but nigh to the temple; and let food be brought to the place, that my servants may eat. at the gates of the city also let men be waiting to bear us to that dwelling. let none spy upon us, lest an evil fate attend you all; and let none be disobedient, lest we pass from you back to the land of death and dreams. perchance we shall not tarry here for long, perchance we come to bring a blessing and to depart again. therefore hasten to do our bidding, and do it all. for this time farewell, my servants.”
-having spoken thus with much dignity, accompanied by otter, whose hand she held as before, juanna withdrew herself, stepping backwards very slowly towards the circle of rocks, and singing as she went.
-chapter xxi. the folly of otter
-juanna and otter gained the circle of rocks where the little band lay watching and wonder-struck; that is, all except soa, who sat apart brooding, her arms clasped upon her breast. things had befallen as she expected, as they must befall indeed, provided that juanna did not forget her lesson or show fear, and that the dwarf did nothing foolish. but soa knew well enough that this was but the beginning of the struggle, and that, though it might be comparatively easy for juanna and otter to enter the city, and impose themselves upon its superstition-haunted people as the incarnations of their fabled gods, the maintenance of the imposture was a very different matter. moreover, she knew, should they be discovered, that escape would be impossible, or at the best, that it must be most difficult. therefore she sat apart and brooded, for, notwithstanding their present triumph, her heart foreboded evil.
-but with the others it was different: they had heard the singing, they had seen the regiment of great men prostrate themselves, and the sound of worshipping had come to their ears like thunder; but of the why and wherefore of it all they could only guess.
-“what has happened?” said leonard eagerly; “your initiation seems to have come off well.”
-“bid the men fall back and i will tell you,” juanna answered.
-leonard did so, but instead of speaking she broke into hysterical laughter. her nerves had been over-strained, and now they sought relief thus.
-“you must all be very respectful to otter and myself,” she said at length, “for we really are gods—don’t look shocked, francisco, i begin to believe in it myself. we have only just found it out, but i assure you it is a fact; they accepted us fully, and that after not more than five minutes’ cross-examination. listen!” and she told them all that had passed.
-while she was speaking the regiment began to move, no longer in a square, but in a formation of companies. company by company it rushed past them, shaking the earth with its footsteps, and as each section went by it tossed its spears into the air as a salute, crying: “glory to the mother! glory to the snake!” and fled on towards the city.
-at length the story was done and the regiment was gone.
-“well,” said leonard, “so far so good. juanna, you are the bravest and cleverest girl in the whole world. most young women would have forgotten everything and gone into hysterics at the critical point.”
-“i kept them till afterwards,” she answered demurely. “and as for being brave and clever, i only repeated what soa taught me like a parrot; you see i knew that i should be killed if i made any mistake, and such knowledge sharpens the memory. all i have to say is, if the snake they talk so much about is anything like those which are tattooed upon the old priests’ breasts, i have no wish to make a nearer acquaintance with it. i hate snakes. there, don’t say any more”—for both leonard and francisco were breaking out into fresh protestations of gratitude and admiration; “if you want to thank anybody, thank soa!”
-“and so i do,” said leonard heartily, for his spirits had risen in a most wonderful manner. “soa, you have told us the truth, and you have managed well and i thank you.”
-“did you then take me for a liar?” the woman answered, fixing her gloomy eyes upon leonard’s face. “i told you the truth, deliverer, when i said that my people would accept the shepherdess and this black dog of yours as their gods. but did i not tell you also that the death of the rest of us lies in the matter? if not, i say so now. you have not been named a god, deliverer, nor has yonder bald-pate”—the natives called francisco thus because of his tonsure—“and your black dog will betray you by his yapping. when you look down the jaws of the snake, remember then that soa told you the truth, deliverer. perchance you shall find the red stones you seek hidden in his belly, white man.”
-“be silent,” said juanna indignantly, and soa slunk back like a whipped hound.
-“confound the old woman!” put in leonard with a shiver. “she is a black jonah, and if i have to go inside this snake i hope that it will be a case of ladies first, that is all.”
-“i am sure i don’t know what has happened to soa,” said juanna. “her native air has a very bad effect upon her temper.”
-“well, the future must look after itself,” answered leonard, “snake or no snake. at present we must follow our luck. otter, listen to me. do you understand that you are a god, the god of this people?”
-“the god, baas? what is a god?”
-“have i not told you, thickhead? you are not a man any more, you are a spirit. once, so it seems, you ruled this people in the past, and now you will rule them again. you and the shepherdess are both gods. she is your mother and you are her child.”
-“yes, baas, no doubt; but once i had another mother, a much uglier one.”
-“otter, cease to talk folly, else when you are no more a god i will beat you. now you are a god, and we are all your servants, except the shepherdess. when you speak to us you must speak roughly, like a great chief to the lowest of his people, calling us dogs and slaves. if you name me ‘baas’ in public, i will beat you privately when you are no more a god. you will do best to speak little or not at all, so that none can take hold of your words, which are always foolish.”
-“if you say that i am a god, baas, it is enough, for doubtless you have met the gods and know their ways, though it is strange that none have told me this before. they must be an ugly people, the gods! but how will it be with the settlement men when they hear that i am a great spirit? they will say: ‘does a spirit wait upon a man and call him chief? does a spirit clean the guns and cook the food of a man?’ they will ask many such things, and the great people will hear them. and will they think then that i am a god? no, they will know me for a liar, and will kill me and all of us.”
-“that is true,” said leonard. then he summoned peter and the settlement men and addressed them. he told them that the plot had succeeded, and that otter and the shepherdess were accepted as the gods of the people of the mist. because of this they were left alive and held in honour, who, but for it, would now be dead, riddled through with the arrows of the great people. he explained to them for the second time that it was necessary to the safety of all that this delusion as to the divinity of otter and the shepherdess should be maintained, since, if the slightest suspicion of the fraud crossed the minds of the great people, without doubt they would all be sacrificed as impostors.
-this was the tale that they must tell:—they should say that all of them were hunting game in a far country with himself, soa, and francisco, when one night they heard a singing, and by the light of the moon they saw the shepherdess and the dwarf otter coming towards them. then the shepherdess and otter commanded them to be their servants and travel with them to a new land, and they obeyed them, black and white together, for they saw that they were not mortals.—this was the tale that they must tell; moreover, they must act up to their words if they would continue to look upon the sun.
-but their first surprise was past, the settlement men, who were quick-witted people, entered into the spirit of the plot readily enough; indeed, peter caused them to repeat the story to him, so that he might be sure that they had its details by heart.
-then they continued their march towards the city on the hill. the two white men went first, next came juanna and otter followed by soa, and last of all walked the settlement men. an hour’s journey brought them to the bank of the river, which, dividing above it, engirdled the town, to reunite near the roadway that they followed. here canoes were ready to take them across to the island, or rather the peninsula, on which the city was built. on the other side of the river they found priests waiting in the great gateway with two litters that had been prepared for juanna and otter respectively. this, the further bank, was lined with some thousands of spectators, who, when the divine pair set their feet upon its shores, prostrated themselves, men, women, and children, and burst into a shout of welcome.
-juanna and otter took no heed. with such dignity as they could command, and in the dwarf’s case it was not much, they entered the litters, drew the hide curtains, and were borne forward swiftly. after them came leonard, francisco, and the others, while the population followed in silence.
-now the sun was sinking, but enough of daylight was left to show how strange were the place and the people among which they found themselves. the city, indeed, was rudely built of like materials and in similar fashion to the house in the plain that has been described already. but the streets were roughly paved; each habitation stood apart from the other in its own garden, and the gates were of wood, fastened together with primitive iron bolts. there were drinking-shops, or rather booths, and a large market-place, which they crossed as they ascended the hill, and where, as they afterwards discovered, this people carried on their trade, if trade it could be called, for they had no money, and conducted all transactions like other savages, upon a principle of barter.
-as they went leonard took note of these things, which, to his mind, showed clearly that the inhabitants of this city were the degenerate inheritors of some ancient and forgotten civilisation. their fortifications, stone-built houses, drinking-shops, and markets indicated this, just as their rude system of theology, with its divinities of light and darkness, or of death and life, each springing from the other, engaged in an eternal struggle, and yet one, was probably the survival of some elaborate nature-myth of the early world.
-but nothing struck him so much as the appearance of the people. in size they were almost giants, a peculiarity which was shared by the women, some of whom measured six feet in height. in common with other uncivilised races most of these women were little except a girdle and a goat-skin cloak that hung loosely upon their shoulders, displaying their magnificent proportions somewhat freely. they were much handsomer than the men, having splendid solemn eyes, very white teeth, and a remarkable dignity of gait. their faces, however, wore the same sombre look as those of their husbands and brothers, and they did not chatter after the manner of their sex, but contented themselves with pointing out the peculiarities of the strangers in a few brief words to their children or to one another.
-after crossing the market-place the party came to a long and gentle ascent, which terminated at a wall surrounding the lower of the two great buildings that they had seen from the plain. passing its gates they halted at the doors of the first of these edifices. here priests stood with torches—at least, they judged them to be priests from the symbol of the snake’s head tattooed upon their naked breasts—ready to conduct them to their lodging, for now the night was closing in rapidly. soon they found themselves within the walls of a great house, built in the usual way with rough boulders, but on three sides of a square, and enclosing a courtyard in which a fountain bubbled. the furniture of the house was rude but grotesquely carved, and in the courtyard stood a throne, sheltered by a roof of turf, and fashioned of black wood and ivory, with feet shaped like those of a human being. indeed, as they afterwards discovered, this was the palace of the king, olfan, who had been summarily ejected by the priests to make room for the newcomers.
-here in this strange dwelling the attendant priests assigned them all quarters, the settlement men in one wing, leonard, francisco and soa in the other, and juanna and otter in two separate apartments in the body of the building. this arrangement involved the separation of the party, but it was difficult to offer objections, so they were forced to acquiesce in it. presently women entered bearing food, boiled corn, milk in bowls, and roasted flesh in plenty, of which leonard and francisco ate with thankfulness.
-before they went to sleep leonard looked into the courtyard, and was somewhat alarmed to find that guards were stationed at every door, while in front of those leading to the apartments of juanna and otter stood a body of priests with torches in their hands. he made an effort to pass through these guards in order to visit juanna, but without a word they lifted their great spears and stopped him, and for that time he abandoned the attempt.
-“why do the priests stand before the door of the shepherdess, soa?” asked leonard.
-“they guard the place of the gods,” she answered. “unless the gods will it, none may enter there.”
-“say, soa,” leonard asked again, “are you not afraid of being here in your own land?”
-on the following morning at dawn leonard rose and, accompanied by francisco, walked into the courtyard. this time the soldiers did not try to stop them, but the priests were still standing in front of juanna’s door, looking like spectres in the grey mist. they went to them and signified by signs that they would worship the queen, but were sternly refused admission in words which they could not understand, but that soa, who was listening, afterwards translated to them.
-“the mother had come to her home,” said the spokesman, “and might be profaned no more by the eyes of the vulgar. the snake also was in his home, and none should look upon him.”
-when arguments failed leonard tried to force his way through, and was met by a huge spear pointed at his throat. how things would have ended it is difficult to say had not juanna herself appeared at this juncture, standing between the curtains of the doorway. at the sight of her the priests and soldiers fell upon their faces, and leonard had sufficient presence of mind to follow their example, dragging francisco down beside him.
-“what is this tumult?” she asked the guards in their own tongue.
-“i tell you what it is, juanna,” said leonard, rubbing his head upon the ground and speaking in english. “if you do not come to an understanding with these scoundrels, you will soon be cut of from all communication with us, and what is more, we shall be cut off too in another way. will you be so good as to issue an order that we are to be admitted when we like?”
-juanna turned towards the priest and spoke angrily:
-“who has dared to forbid my servants to come before me and worship me? my will is my own, and i only make it known. it is my will that these white men and yonder black woman pass in before me at their pleasure.”
-“your will is our will, mother,��� said the priests humbly.
-so they went in, and the curtains were closed behind them.
-“i am so thankful to see you,” said juanna. “you don’t know how dreadfully lonely it has been in this great room all night, and i am afraid of those solemn-eyed priests who stand round the doors. the women who brought me food last evening crawled about the place on all fours like dogs; it was horrible!”
-“i am sorry that you have been left alone,” said leonard, “but you must try to make better arrangements. soa might sleep with you, at any rate. where is otter? let us pay him a visit; i want to see how the god is getting on.”
-juanna went to the door and addressed the priests, saying that she desired to be led before the snake, and her servants with her. they demurred a little, then gave way, and all four of them were conducted, first into the courtyard, in which no human being was to be seen, and thence to an adjoining chamber, where a curious sight awaited them. in a huge chair set upon a dais sat otter, looking furious and by no means at ease; while stretched upon the ground in front of him lay four priests, who muttered prayers unceasingly.
-“welcome, baas!” he cried in rapture at the sight of leonard. “welcome, shepherdess!”
-“you idiot!” answered leonard in dutch, but speaking in the most humble voice, and sinking to his knees. “if you will not remember that you are a god, i will pay you out so soon as we are alone. bid these fellows begone; the shepherdess will translate for you.”
-“go, dogs!” said otter, taking the hint; “go, and bring me food. i would speak with my servant, who is named baas, and with my mother.”
-“these are the words of the snake that he speaks in the holy tongue,” said juanna, and she translated them.
-the four priests rose, and bowing to the earth, crept backwards from the room. so soon as they were gone, otter leaped from his throne with an exclamation of rage that caused the others to burst out laughing.
-“laugh, baas, laugh if you will!” said the dwarf, “for you have never been a god, and don’t know what it is. what think you, baas?—all night long i have sat upon that great stool, while those accursed dogs burnt stinking stuff beneath my nostrils and muttered nonsense. one hour more and i should have fallen on them and killed them, for i have had no meat, and hunger makes me mad.”
-“hush!” said leonard, “i hear footsteps! on to your throne, otter! quick, juanna! stand by his side; we will kneel!”
-they had barely time to obey when the curtains were drawn, and a priest entered, holding a vessel of wood covered with a cloth. slowly he crept towards the throne, with his head bent almost to his knees; then, straightening himself suddenly, he lifted up the wooden vessel and cried aloud:
-“we bring you food, o snake. eat and be satisfied.”
-otter took the dish, and, lifting the cloth, gazed upon its contents hungrily, but with an ever-growing dissatisfaction.
-“son of a dog!” he cried in his own tongue, “is this food to set before a man?” and he held the platter downwards, exposing its contents.
-they were simple, consisting of various sorts of vegetables and watercress—poor in quality, for the season was winter, and all of them uncooked. in the centre of this fodder—whether placed there in obedience to some religious tradition or by way of ornament, or perhaps to assist the digestive process of the god, as a tenpenny nail is said to assist that of an ostrich—was a fine ruby stone; not so big, indeed, as that which soa had given to leonard, but still of considerable size and value. leonard saw it with delight, but not so the dwarf, the selfish promptings of whose stomach caused him to forget that his master had journeyed far to seek such gems as this. in the fury of his disappointed appetite he stood upon the footstool of the throne, and, seizing the ruby, he hurled it at the priest, hitting him fair between the eyes.
-“am i an eel?” he roared, “that i should live on water-grass, and red gravel?”
-then the priest, terrified at the behaviour of this strange divinity, picked up the offending gem—to the presence of which he attributed his anger—and fled, never looking behind him.
-juanna and francisco were seized with uncontrollable laughter, while even soa deigned to smile. but leonard did not smile.
-“oh, you last descendant of generations of asses!” he said bitterly. “you ass with four ears and a tenfold bray! what have you done? you have hurled the precious stone at the head of him who brought it, and now he will bring no more. had it not been for you, doubtless with every meal such stones would have been offered to you, and though you grew thin we should all of us have become rich, and that without trouble, tricks, or violence.”
-“forgive me, baas,” lamented otter, “but my rage took away my reason, and i forgot. see now what it is to be a god. it is to be fed upon stuff such as would gripe an ox. oh, baas, i would that these wild men had made you a god and left me your servant!” and again he gazed with disgust upon the watercress and rows of leathery vegetables resembling turnips.
-“you had better eat them, otter,” said juanna, who was still choking with laughter. “if you don’t you may get nothing more for days. evidently you are supposed to have a small appetite.”
-then, driven to it by his ravening hunger, the wretched otter fell upon the turnips and munched them sullenly, leonard rating him all the while for his unequalled stupidity.
-scarcely had he finished his meal when there was a stir without, and once again priests entered, headed on this occasion by that same aged man who had acted as a spokesman when juanna declared herself on the previous day, and who, as they had discovered, was named nam. in fact he had many other and much longer names, but as this was the shortest and most convenient of them, they adopted it.
-it chanced that leonard was standing by soa, and when this priest entered, whom she now saw face to face for the first time, he noticed that she started, trembled, and then drew back into the shadow of the throne.
-“some friend of the old lady’s youth,” thought leonard to himself. “i hope he won’t recognise her, that is all.”
-nam bent himself in adoration before the gods, then began an address, the substance of which juanna translated from time to time. bitterly did he grieve, he said, that such an insult had been offered to the snake as the presenting to him among his food of the red stone, known as the blood of aca. that man who had done this folly was doomed to die, if, indeed, he were not already dead. well could they understand that, the mother and snake having become reconciled, the proffering to jâl of that which reminded him of the sin of long ago was a wickedness that might bring a curse upon the land. let the snake be appeased. command had been given that all such stones should be hidden in a secret place by him who had wrought the crime, and, as he had said, if the man returned alive from that place he should be slain. but he would not return alive, for to go thither was death, as it should be death henceforth even to mention that stone, of which but one should now be seen in the land, that which the mother wore in memory of the past.
-“o otter, my friend,” murmured leonard to himself, “if i don’t make you pay for this, my name is not outram!”
-but enough of the stones, went on nam; he had come upon a more important matter. that night an assembly of all the tribe would be held in the great temple an hour before moonrise, that the mother and the snake might take up their royalty in the presence of the people. thither they would come to lead them and their servants at the appointed time. was this pleasing to the gods?
-juanna bent her head in assent, and the priest turned to go with many obeisances; but before he went he spoke again, asking if all things were as the gods desired.
-“not altogether, my servant,” answered juanna. “it is our will that these, our other servants, should have free access to us at all times and without question. also, it is our will that their food should be brought to them with our food. moreover, it is the desire of the snake that no more grass should be given to him to eat; for now, in these latter days, having put on the flesh of men, he needs that which will support the flesh. one thing more, my servant; the snake forgives the affront that was offered him, and i command that some of the greatest of the holy stones should be brought to me, that i may look on the blood which i shed so long ago.”
-“alas! it may not be, mother,” answered the priest in tones of sorrow. “all the stones, both red and blue, have been placed in bags of hide and cast into that place whence they can be brought no more, together with him who offended. nor can others be gathered at this season of the year, seeing that deep snow covers the place where they lie buried. in the summer, when the sun has melted the snow, more can be found, if your eyes still desire the sight of them.”
-juanna made no reply, and the priest went.
-“here is a pretty business,” said leonard. “that idiot otter has upset everything. we might have become millionaires for the asking, and now we must wait for months before we so much as get sight of a ruby or a sapphire.”
-nobody answered. indeed, the whole party were plunged into consternation at the fatal effects of this accident. as for otter himself, when he understood fully what he had done, he almost wept for grief.
-“who could have known, baas?” he groaned. “it was the sight of the green food that bewitched me, who have always hated the taste of grass. and now my folly has undone all, and it seems that i must be a god for many months, if, indeed, they do not find me out.”
-“never mind, otter,” said leonard, moved to pity by the dwarf’s genuine grief. “you have lost the stones and you will have to find them again somehow. by the way, soa, why did you start so when the old priest came in?”
-“because he is my father, deliverer,” she answered.
-leonard whistled; here was a new complication. what if nam should recognise her?
-chapter xxii. the temple of jâl
-in considerable agitation of mind leonard bid good-bye to juanna, promising to return soon, and went to visit the settlement men, whom he had not seen since the previous evening.
-he found them in good case enough, so far as their material comfort was concerned, for they were well supplied with food and warmly lodged. so much could not be said, however, of their mental state, for they were terrified by the multitude of solemn priests and warriors who watched them as cats watch mice. crouching round him dejectedly they implored leonard not to leave them, saying that they expected to be murdered every minute. he pacified them as well as he could and left them with the assurance that he would return presently, having first reminded them that the lives of all depended upon the maintenance of the delusion as to the divinity of otter and the shepherdess.
-the remainder of that day passed heavily enough. after the first excitement of their strange position had gone by a reaction set in, and everybody was much depressed. as the hours drew on, the mist, which had lifted a little about ten o’clock, closed in very densely, throwing the ill-lighted chamber where they sat into a deep gloom. in such an atmosphere conversation languished; indeed, at times it died altogether, and the only sound to be heard was that of the monotonous voices of the priests without the curtains, as they muttered prayers unceasingly. at length leonard could bear it no longer, but rose, declaring that he was going out to see whatever might be seen. juanna tried faintly to dissuade him, and otter wished to come too, which was impossible. the end of it was that he went alone.
-first he revisited the settlement men and tried to cheer them, and sadly did they need cheering. then he passed to the great gates of the palace yard and looked through them. the mist had lifted a little, and about a hundred paces away he could perceive the doors of the temple, on either side of which rose cyclopean walls fifty feet or more in height. it was obvious that here preparations for some ceremony were in progress, and on a large scale, for immense crowds of people were gathered about the doors, through which bodies of priests and armed men passed continually. more he could not learn, for the gates of the palace yard were barred and guarded, and the soldiers would not let him through. he stood by them watching till sunset, then returning to the others, he told them what he had seen.
-another hour passed, and suddenly the curtains were drawn aside and a body of priests entered, twelve in number, bearing large candles of fat in their hands, and headed by their chief, nam. prostrating themselves before juanna and otter they remained plunged in silence.
-“speak on,” said juanna at length.
-“we come, o mother, and o snake,” said the priest nam, “to lead you to the temple that the people may look upon their gods.”
-“it is well; lead on,” juanna answered.
-“first you must be robed, mother,” said nam, “for without the temple none may look upon your divinity, save your priests alone.”
-rising as he spoke, he produced a black dress from a grass bag, which was carried by an attendant. this dress was very curious. it fastened in front with buttons of horn, and either was, or seemed to be, woven in a single piece from the softest hair of black-fleeced goats. moreover, it had sleeves just long enough to leave the hands of the wearer visible, and beneath its peaked cap was a sort of mask with three slits, two for the eyes and one for the mouth.
-juanna retired to put on this hideous garment over her white robe, and reappeared presently, looking like the black ghost of a mediaeval monk. then the priests gave her two flowers, a red lily and a white, to be held in either hand, and it appeared that her equipment was complete. next they came to otter and bound a scarlet fringe of hair about his forehead in such fashion that the fringe hid his eyes, at the same time placing in his hand a sceptre of ivory, apparently of very ancient workmanship, and fashioned in the shape of a snake standing on its tail.
-“all is prepared,” said nam.
-“lead on,” answered juanna again. “but let our servants come with us, both those here and those without, save the woman only, who stays to make ready for our return.”
-juanna spoke thus because soa had announced her wish to be left behind when they went to the temple. juanna had consulted leonard on the subject, who gave it as his opinion that soa had good reasons of her own for making this request. also he pointed out that in case of disturbance she could scarcely help them, and might possibly prove an encumbrance.
-“they wait,” answered nam; “all is prepared for them also”: and as he spoke a sardonic smile flickered on his withered countenance that made leonard feel very uncomfortable. what was prepared, he wondered?
-they passed through the curtains into the courtyard, where soldiers, clad in goat-skin cloaks, waited with two litters. here also were the settlement men, armed, but in an extremity of fear, for they were guarded by about fifty of the great people, also armed.
-juanna and otter entered the litters, behind which leonard formed up his little band, going in front of it himself with francisco, both of them having rifles in their hands and revolvers at their girdles, of which no attempt was made to deprive them, for none knew their use.
-then they started, surrounded by the bare-breasted priests, who chanted and waved torches as they walked, and preceded and followed by the grim files of tall soldiers, on whose spears the torch-light flashed ominously. as they came the gates of the palace yard were opened. they passed them and across the space beyond until they reached the doors of the temple, which were thrown wide before them.
-here otter and juanna descended from the litters, and all the torches were extinguished, leaving them in darkness.
-leonard felt his hand seized and was led along, he knew not where, for the misty gloom was intense. he could scarcely see the face even of the priest who conducted them, but from the sounds he gathered that all their party were being guided in a similar fashion. once or twice also he heard the voice of a settlement man speaking in accents of fear or complaint, but such demonstrations were followed quickly by the sound of a heavy blow, dealt, no doubt, by the priest or soldier in charge of that individual. evidently it was expected that all should be silent. presently leonard became aware that they had left the open space across which they were walking, for the air grew close and their footsteps rang hollow on the rocky floor.
-“i believe that we are in a tunnel,” whispered francisco.
-“silence, dog,” hissed a priest in his ear. “silence, this place is holy.”
-they did not understand the meaning of the words at the moment, but the tone in which they were spoken made their purport sufficiently clear. leonard took the hint, and at the same time clutched his rifle more tightly. he began to be afraid for their safety. whither were they being led—to a dungeon? well, they would soon know, and at the worst it was not probable that these barbarians would harm juanna. they followed the tunnel or passage for about a hundred and fifty paces; at first it sloped downwards, then the floor became level till at length they began to ascend a stair. there were sixty-one stone steps in this stairway, for leonard counted them, each about ten inches high, and when all were climbed they advanced eleven paces along a tunnel that echoed strangely to their steps, and was so low that they must bend their heads to pass it. emerging from this tunnel through a narrow opening, they stood upon a platform also of stone, and once more the chill night air fanned their brows.
-so dense was the gloom that leonard could tell nothing of the place where they might be, but from far beneath them rose a hissing sound as of seething water, and combined with it another sound of faint murmuring, as though thousands of people whispered each to each. also from time to time he heard a rustling like that of a forest when a gentle wind stirs its leaves, or the rustling of the robes of innumerable women.
-this sense of the presence of hidden waters and of an unseen multitude was strange and terrifying in the extreme. it was as though, without perceiving them, their human faculties suddenly became aware of the spirits of the unnumbered dead, thronging, watching, following—there, but intangible; speaking without words, touching without hands.
-leonard was tempted to cry aloud, so great was the strain upon his nerves, which usually were strong enough; nor was he alone in this desire. presently a sound arose from below him, as of some person in hysterics, and he heard a priest command silence in a fierce voice. the sobbing and laughter went on till it culminated in a shrill scream. after the scream came the thud of a blow, a heavy fall, a groan, and once again the invisible multitudes whispered and rustled.
-“someone has been killed,” muttered francisco in leonard’s ear; “who is it, i wonder?”
-leonard shuddered, but made no answer, for a great hand was placed upon his mouth in warning.
-at length the portentous silence was broken and a voice spoke, the voice of nam the priest. in the silence all that he uttered could be heard plainly, but his words came from far away, and the sound of them was still and small. this was what he said, as juanna told it to them after the ceremony.
-“hear me, ye children of the snake, ye ancient people of the mist! hearken to me, nam, the priest of the snake! many a generation gone in the beginning of time, so runs the legend, the mother goddess whom we worship from of old, descended from heaven and came hither to us, and with her came the snake, her child. while she tarried in the land the crime of crimes was wrought, the darkness slew the daylight, and she passed hence, we know not how, or where; and from that hour the land has been a land of mist, and its people have wandered in the mist, for he whose name is darkness has ruled over them, answering their prayers with death. but this doom was on the snake, that because of his wickedness he must put off the flesh of men and descend into the holy place of waters, where, as we and our fathers have known, his symbol dwells eternally, taking tribute of the lives of men.
-“yet ere that crime was wrought the mother gave a word of promise to her people. ‘now i am about to die at the hands of him i bore, for so it is fated,’ she said. ‘but not for ever do i leave you, and not for ever shall the snake be punished by putting off the flesh of men. many generations shall go by and we will return again and rule over you, and the veil of mist shall be lifted from your land, and ye shall be great in the earth. till then, choose you kings and let them govern you; moreover, forget not my worship, and see to it that throughout the ages the altar of the snake is wet with blood, and that he lacks not the food he loves. and i will give you a sign by which we shall be known when at length the fate is accomplished, and the hour of forgiveness is at hand.
-“‘as a fair maid will i come again, a maid lovely and white, but because of his sin the snake shall appear in the shape of that which sits within your temple, and his hue shall be black and his face hideous. out of the earth will we arise, and we will call to you and ye shall know us, and we will tell you our holy names that shall not be spoken aloud from this hour to that hour of our coming. but beware lest ye be deceived and false gods set themselves up among you, for then shall the last evil fall upon you and the sun shall hide his face.’
-“thus, children of the mist, did the mother speak to him who was her chief priest in the long ago, and he graved her words with iron on the stone of that whereon i stand, but none can read that writing, for its secret is lost to us, although the prophecy remains. and now the time is full, and it has been given to me, his successor, in my old age, to see the fulfilment of the saying.
-“the time is full, and this night the promise of the past is accomplished, for, people of the mist, the immortal gods, whose names are holy, have appeared to rule their children. yesterday they came, ye saw them, and in your ears they called aloud the sacred names. as a maiden fair and white, and as a dwarf black and hideous, have they come, and aca is the name of the maiden, and jâl is the name of the dwarf.”
-he ceased, and his voice died away in the echoes of the great place. once again there was silence, broken only by the seething sound of waters and the indefinable murmur of an unseen throng beneath.
-leonard stood awhile, then edged himself gently forward with the design of discovering where and upon what they were standing. his curiosity soon met with a violent check, for before he had gone a yard he felt that his right foot was dangling in space, and it was only by a strong effort that he prevented himself from falling, whither he knew not.
-recovering his balance, he shuffled himself back again to the side of francisco, and whispered a warning to him not to move if he valued his life. as leonard spoke, he noticed that the blackness of the night was turning grey with the light of the unrisen moon. already her rays, striking upwards, brightened the sky above and the mountains behind, and from them fell a pale reflection, which grew gradually stronger and clearer.
-now he could discover that close upon him to the left a black mass towered high into the air, and that far beneath him gleamed something like the foam on broken water. for a time he watched this water, or whatever it might be, until a smothered exclamation from francisco caused him to look up again. as he looked, the edge of the moon rose above the temple wall, and by slow degrees a wonderful sight was revealed to him. not till the moon was fully visible did he see everything, and to describe all as he discovered it, piecemeal, would be difficult. this was what leonard saw at length.
-before him and underneath him lay a vast and roofless building, open to the east, covering some two acres of ground, and surrounded by titanic walls, fifty feet or more in height. this building was shaped like a roman amphitheatre, but, with the exception of the space immediately below him, its area was filled with stone seats, and round its wide circumference stone seats rose tier on tier. these were all occupied by men and women in hundreds, and, except at the further end, scarcely a place was empty. at the western extremity of the temple a huge statue towered seventy or eighty feet into the air, hewn, to all appearance, from a mass of living rock. behind this colossus, and not more than a hundred paces from it, the sheer mountain rose, precipice upon precipice, to the foot of a white peak clad in eternal snow. it was the peak that they had seen from the plain when the mist lifted, and the statue was the dark mass beneath it which had excited their curiosity.
-this fearful colossus was fashioned to the shape of a huge dwarf of hideous countenance, seated with bent arms outstretched in a forward direction, and palms turned upwards as though to bear the weight of the sky. the statue stood, or rather sat, upon a platform of rock; and not more than four paces from its base, so that the outstretched hands and slightly bowed head overhung it indeed, was a circular gulf measuring, perhaps, thirty yards across, in which seething waters raged and boiled. whence they came and whither they went it was impossible to see, but leonard discovered afterwards that here was the source of the river which they had followed for so many days. escaping from the gulf by underground passages that it had hollowed for itself through the solid rock, the two branches of the torrent passed round the walls of the town, to unite again in the plain below. how the pool itself was supplied leonard was destined to learn in after days.
-between the steep polished sides of the rock basin and the feet of the statue was placed an altar, or sacrificial stone. here on this ledge, which covered an area no greater than that of a small room, and in front of the altar, stood a man bound, in whom leonard recognised olfan, the king, while on either side of him were priests, naked to the waist, and armed with knives. behind them again stood the little band of settlement men, trembling with terror. nor were their fears groundless, for there among them lay one of their number, dead. this was the man whose nerve had broken down, who shrieked aloud in the darkness, and in reward had been smitten into everlasting silence.
-all this leonard saw by degrees, but the first thing that he saw has not yet been told. long before the brilliant rays of the moon lit the amphitheatre they struck upon the huge head of the dwarf idol, and there, on this giddy perch, some seventy feet from the ground, and nearly a hundred above the level of the pool of seething water, sat juanna herself, enthroned in an ivory chair. she had been divested of her black cloak, and was clad in the robe of snowy linen cut low upon her breast, and fastened round her waist with a girdle. her dark hair flowed about her shoulders; in either hand she held the lilies, red and white, and upon her forehead glowed the ruby like a blood-red star. she sat quite still, her eyes set wide in horror; and first the moonlight gleamed upon the gem bound to her forehead, next it showed the pale and lovely face beneath, then her snowy arms and breast, the whiteness of her robes, and the hideous demon head whereon her throne was fixed.
-no spirit could have seemed more beautiful than this woman set thus on high in that dark place of blood and fear. indeed, in the unearthly light she looked like a spirit, the spirit of beauty triumphing over the hideousness of hell, the angel of light trampling the devil and his works.
-it was not wonderful that this fierce and barbarous people sighed like reeds before the wind when her loveliness dawned upon them, made ethereal by the moon, or that thenceforth leonard could never think of her quite as he thought of any other woman. under such conditions most well-favoured women would have appeared beautiful; juanna did more, she seemed divine.
-as the light grew downward and the shadows thinned before it, leonard followed with his eyes, and presently he discovered otter. the dwarf, naked except for his girdle and the fringe upon his head, was also enthroned, holding the ivory sceptre in his hand, but in a seat of ebony placed upon the knees of the colossus, nearly forty feet below juanna.
-then leonard turned to consider francisco’s position and his own, and found it terrible enough. indeed, the moment that he discovered it was nigh to being his last. in company with two priests of the snake, they were standing on the palm of the right hand of the idol, that formed a little platform some six feet square, which they had won in the darkness through a tunnel hewn in the arm of stone. there they stood unprotected by any railing or support, and before them and on either side of them was a sheer drop of some ninety feet to the water beneath or of fifty to the rock of the platform.
-leonard saw, and for a moment turned faint and dizzy, then, setting the butt of his rifle on to the stone, he leaned upon the barrel till his brain cleared. it was well for him that he had not known what lay beneath when, but now, he thrust his foot into vacancy, for then his senses might have failed him.
-suddenly he remembered francisco, and opened his eyes, which he had closed to shut out the sight of the yawning gulf beneath. it was not too soon. the priest had seen also, and consciousness was deserting him; even as leonard turned his knees gave way, and he sank forward and downward.
-quick as thought leonard stretched out his right hand and caught francisco by the robe he wore, then, resting his weight upon the rifle, he strained at the priest’s falling body with all his force in such a manner that its direction was turned, and it fell sideways upon the platform, not downwards into space. leonard dragged at him again, and thrust him into the mouth of the little tunnel through which they had reached this dreadful eminence, where he lay quiet and safe, lost in blessed insensibility.
-all this took place in a few seconds. the two priests of the snake, who stood by them as calmly as though their feet were still on the solid earth, saw, but made no movement. only leonard thought that they smiled grimly, and a horrible fear struck his heart like a breath of ice. what if they waited a signal to cast him down? it might well be so. already he had seen enough of their rites to enable him to guess that theirs was a religion of blood and human sacrifice.
-he shivered, and again turned faint, so faint indeed that he did not dare to keep his feet, but sank into a sitting posture, resting his back against the stone of the idol’s thumb.
-chapter xxiii. how juanna conquered nam
-still the silence endured, and still the moonlight grew, creeping lower and lower till it shone upon the face of the seething waters, and, except in the immediate shadow of the walls, all the amphitheatre was full of it.
-then the voice of nam spoke again from far away, and leonard looked to see whence he spoke. now he saw. nam, attended by three priests, was perched like an eagle on the left palm of the colossus, and from this dizzy platform he addressed the multitude. looking across the breast of the statue, leonard could just see the outstretched arm and the fierce face of the high priest as he glared down upon the people.
-“hearken, ye dwellers in the mist, children of the snake! ye have seen your ancient gods, your father and your mother, come back to rule you and to lead you on through war to peace, to wealth, to power, and to glory. ye see them now by that light and in that place wherein only it is lawful that ye should look upon them. say, do ye believe and do ye accept them? answer, every one of you, answer with your voice!”
-then a mighty roar of sound went up from the gathered thousands, a roar that shaped itself into the words:
-“we believe and we accept.”
-“it is well,” said nam when the tumult had died away. “hearken, ye high gods! o aca! and o jâl! bend down your ears and deign to hearken to your priest and servant, speaking in the name of your children, the people of the mist. be ye kings to reign over us! accept the power and the sacrifice, and sit in the place of kings. we give you rule through all the land; the life of every dweller in the land is yours; yours are their cattle and their goats, their city and their armies. for you the altars shall run red, the cry of the victim shall be music in your ears. ye shall look upon him whom long ago ye set to guard the secret awful place, and he shall crawl beneath your feet. as ye ruled our fathers so ye shall rule us, according to the customs which ye laid down for ever. glory be to you, o aca, and to you, o jâl! immortal kings for evermore!”
-and in a shout that rent the skies the great audience echoed: “glory be to you, o aca, and to you, o jâl, immortal kings for evermore!”
-then nam spoke again, saying: “bring forth the virgin, that fair maid who is destined to the snake, that he may look upon her and accept her as his wife. bring her forth also who, twelve months gone, was vowed in marriage to the shape of stone, that she may bid her lord farewell.”
-as he spoke there was a stir behind the idol, and presently from each side of it a woman was led forward by two priests on to the little space of rock between its feet and the edge of the gulf, and placed one to the right of the altar, and one to the left. both these women were tall and lovely with the dark and somewhat terrifying beauty of the people of the mist, but there the resemblance between them ended. she to the right was naked except for a girdle of snake-skin and the covering of her abundant hair, which was crowned with a wreath of red lilies similar to the flower that the priests had given to juanna. she to the left, on the contrary, was clothed in a black robe round which was broidered the shape of a blood-red snake, whose head rested upon her breast. leonard noticed that the appearance of this woman was that of extreme terror, for she shrank and trembled, whereas that of the flower-crowned bride was jubilant and even haughty.
-for a moment the two women stood still while the people gazed upon them. then, at a signal from nam, she who was crowned with flowers was led before the altar, and thrice she bowed the knee to the idol, or rather to otter who sat upon it. now all eyes were fixed on the dwarf, who stared at the girl but made no sign, which was not wonderful, seeing that he had no inkling of the meaning of the ceremony. as it chanced, he could not have acted more wisely, at least in the interests of the bride, for here, as elsewhere, silence was held to give consent.
-“behold, the god accepts,” cried nam, “the beauty of the maid is pleasing in his eyes. stand aside, saga, the blessed, that the people may look upon you and know you. hail to you, wife of the snake!”
-smiling triumphantly the girl moved back to her place by the altar, and turned her proud face to the people. then the multitude shouted:
-“hail to you, bride of the snake! hail to you, the blessed, chosen of the god!”
-while the tumult still lasted, the woman who was clad in the black robe was led forward, and when it had died away she also made her obeisance before the idol.
-“away with her that she may seek her lord in his own place,” cried nam.
-“away with her, her day is done,” echoed the multitude. then, before juanna could interfere, before she could even speak, for, be it remembered, she alone understood all that was said, the two priests who guarded the doomed woman rent the robe from her and with one swing of their strong arms hurled her backwards far into the pool of seething waters.
-she fell with a shriek and lay floating on their surface, flung this way and that by the eddy of the whirlpool just where the moonlight beat most brightly. all who could of the multitude bent forward to see her end, and overcome by a fearful fascination, leonard threw himself on his face, and, craning his head over the stone of the idol’s hand, watched also, for the girl’s struggling shape was almost immediately beneath him. another minute and he would have foregone the hope of winning the treasure which he had come so far to seek, not to have yielded to the impulse.
-hearing the disturbance in the water, the reptile had emerged from the cave where it dwelt beneath the feet of the idol, to seek its accustomed food, which consisted of the human victims that were cast to it at certain intervals. it reared its hideous head and glared round, then of a sudden the monster and the victim vanished together into the depths.
-sick with horror leonard drew himself back into a sitting posture, and glanced up at juanna. she was crouched in her ivory chair overcome, and her eyes were closed, either through faintness or to shut out the sight of dread. then he looked down at otter. the dwarf, staring fixedly at the water, sat still as the stone effigy that supported him. evidently in all his varied experience he had seen no such thing as this.
-thus he cried while leonard felt his blood turn cold and his hair rise upon his head, for though he could not understand the words, he guessed their purport and his instinct told him that a great danger threatened them. he looked at the two priests who stood by, and they glared hungrily on him in answer. then his courage came back to him; at least he had his rifle and would fight for his life. it must go hard if he could not put a bullet through one or both of them before they got a hold of him.
-meanwhile the priests below had seized the king olfan, whose giant form they were dragging towards the stone of sacrifice. but of a sudden, for the first time juanna spoke, and a deep silence fell upon the temple and all within it.
-“hearken, people of the mist,” she said; and her voice falling from that great height seemed small and far away, although so clear that every word was audible in the stillness of the night.
-“hear me, people of the mist, and ye, priests of the snake. aca is come again and jâl is come again, and ye have given them back their rule after many generations, and in their hands lies the life of every one of you. as the old tradition told of them so they are, the mother and the child, and the one is clothed with beauty, the symbol of life and of the fruitful earth; and the other is black and hideous, the symbol of death and the evil that walks upon the earth. and ye would do sacrifice to jâl that he may be appeased according to the ancient law, and listen to the pleading of the mother that fruitfulness may fill the land. not so shall jâl be appeased, and not because of the sacrifice of men shall aca plead with him that prosperity may reign in the land.
-“behold, the old law is done away, and we give you a new law. now is the hour of reconciliation, now life and death walk hand in hand, and the hearts of aca and jâl have grown gentle through the ages, and they no longer crave the blood of men as an offering to their majesty. henceforth ye shall bring them fruits and flowers, and not the lives of men. see, in my hand i hold winter lilies, red and white, blood-red they are and white as snow. now the red flower, token of sacrifice and slaughter, i crush and cast away, but the white bloom of love and peace i set upon my breast. it is done, gone is the old law; see, it falls into the place of the snake, its home; but the new law blossoms above my heart and in it. shall it not be so, my children, people of the mist? will ye not accept my mercy and my love?”
-the multitude watched the red blooms as, bruised and broken, through the light and through the shadow, they fell slowly to the seething surface of the pool; then it looked up like one man and saw the white lily set upon juanna’s whiter breast. they saw, and, moved by a common impulse, they rose with a sound like the rush of the wind and shouted:
-“gone is the day of blood and sacrifice, come is the day of peace! we thank you, mother, and we take your mercy and your love.”
-then they were silent, and again there was a sound like that of the wind, as all their thousands sank back to the seats of stone.
-now nam spoke again in a voice of fury that rang through the still air like a clarion.
-the priests below heard, and seizing the struggling king they cast him with difficulty down upon the stone.
-“leonard, leonard,” cried juanna in english, addressing him for the first time by his christian name, as even then he noticed, but looking straight before her that none might guess to whom she spoke. “these priests are going to kill you and all of us, except otter and myself. if you can, when you see me point with my hand, shoot that man who is about to sacrifice the king. make no answer.”
-leonard heard and understood all. resting his back firmly against the thumb of the statue, he shifted his position a little so that the group below him came within his line of sight, and waited, watching juanna, who now was speaking again in the language of the people of the mist.
-“this i promise you, ministers of blood,” she said, “if ye obey me not ye shall indeed die the dreadful death, the death unknown. hearken, my servant, who are named deliverer,” and she looked down upon leonard, “and do my bidding. if one of these shall dare to lift his hand against yonder man, slay him swiftly as you know how.”
-“smite on,” screamed nam, “smite on and fear not.”
-most of the priests drew back affrighted; but one ruffian lifted his knife, and at that moment juanna pointed with her hand. then leonard, stepping forward, covered the priest’s great breast with his rifle as surely as the uncertain light would allow. unconscious of his danger, the executioner muttered an invocation. now the knife was about to fall upon the throat of olfan, when fire and smoke sprang out far above him, the rifle rang, and, shot through the heart, the priest leaped high into the air and fell dead. terror seized the witnesses of this unaccustomed and, to them, most awful sight.
-“the gods speak with flame and thunder,” one cried, “and death is in the flame.”
-“silence, dogs!” screamed nam, “ye are bewitched. ho! you that stand on high, cast down the wizard who is named deliverer, and let us see who will deliver him from death upon the stone.”
-then one of the guards who stood by him made a movement to grasp leonard and throw him down, but the other was terrified and could not stir. the first man stretched out his arm, but before it so much as touched its aim he himself was dead, for, seeing his purpose, leonard had lifted the rifle, and once more its report rang through the temple. suddenly the priest threw his arms wide, then fell backwards, and with a mighty rush dived into sheer space to crash lifeless on the stone floor below, where he lay, his head and hands hanging over the edge of the pool.
-now for the first time otter’s emotions overcame him. he stood up on the knees of the dwarf, and shaking the sceptre in his hand, he pointed with it to the dead men on the paving below, at the same time crying in stentorian tones:
-“well done, baas, well done! now tumble the old one yonder off his perch, for i weary of his howlings.”
-taking advantage of the pause, again juanna cried aloud: “ye see, people of the mist, i make no idle threats. where are they now, the disobedient ones? the tongue of flame has licked them and they are dead, and as they have perished, so shall all perish who dare to gainsay my word, or the word of jâl. ye know us for gods and ye have crowned us kings, and gods and kings we are indeed. yet fear not, for on the rebellious only shall our anger fall. answer you, nam. will you do our bidding? or will you die also as your servants died?”
-nam glanced round desperately. he looked down on the multitude and found no help there. long had they cowered beneath him; now hope was born in their breasts, and in the presence of a power greater than his, if only for a little while, they broke his yoke and the yoke of their red superstitions. he looked at the company of priests; their heart was out of them, they were huddled together like knots of frightened sheep, staring at the corpses of their two companions. then he bethought him of otter. surely there was refuge in the god of blood and evil; and he cried to him:
-“the mother has spoken, but the mother is not the child. say, o jâl, what is your command?”
-otter made no answer, because he did not understand; but juanna replied swiftly:
-“i am the mouth of jâl, as jâl is my hand. when i speak i speak the words of jâl. do his bidding and mine, or die, you disobedient servant.”
-this was the end of it. nam was beaten; for the first time in his life he must own a master, and that master the gods whom he had himself discovered and proclaimed.
-“so be it,” he said suddenly. “the old order passes, and the new order comes. so be it! let your will be done, o aca and o jâl. i have striven for your glory, i have fed your altars, and ye threaten me with death and put away my gift. priests, set free that man who was king. people, have your way, forget your ancient paths, pluck the white flower of peace—and perish! i have said.”
-so he spoke from on high, shaking his clenched fists above his hoary head, and was gone. then the executioners unbound the limbs of the ex-king, and he rose from the stone of death.
-“olfan,” cried juanna from on high, “you that were the king, we, who have taken your kingship, give you life, and liberty, and honour; see that in reward you serve us well, lest again you should lie upon that bed of stone. do you swear fealty to us?”
-“for ever and for ever. i swear it by your holy heads,” answered olfan.
-“it is well. now under us once more we give you command of the armies of this people, our children. summon your captains and your soldiers. bid those that brought us hither lead us back whence we came, and there set guards about us, so that none trouble us. for you, our people, for this time fare you well. go in peace to dwell in peace beneath the shadow of our strength.”
-it was at this juncture that francisco recovered his senses. “oh!” he gasped, opening his eyes and sitting up, “is it done, and am i dead?”
-“no, no, you are alive and safe,” answered leonard. “stay where you are and don’t look over the edge, or you will faint again. here, take my hand. now, you brute,” and he made energetic motions to the surviving priest, indicating that he must lead them back along the path by which they had come, at the same time tapping his rifle significantly.
-the man understood and started down the darksome tunnel as though he were glad to go, leonard holding his robe with one hand, while with the other he pressed the muzzle of the loaded rifle against the back of his neck. francisco followed, leaning on leonard’s shoulder, for he could not walk alone.
-as they had come so they returned. they passed down the steps of stone which were hollowed in the body of the colossus; they traversed the long underground tunnel, and at length, to their intense relief, once more they stood upon the solid ground and in the open air. now that the moon was up, and the mist which had darkened the night had melted, they could see their whereabouts. they had emerged upon a platform of rock within a bowshot of the great gates of the palace, from whence the secret subterranean passage used by the priests was gained, its opening being hidden cunningly among the stone-work of the temple.
-“i wonder where the others are,” asked leonard anxiously of francisco.
-as he spoke, juanna, wrapped in her dark cloak, appeared, apparently out of the stones of the wall, and with her otter, the settlement men bearing their dead companion, and a considerable company of priests, among whom, however, nam was not to be seen.
-“oh, is that you, leonard?” said juanna in english, and in a voice broken with fear. “thank heaven that you are safe!”
-“thank heaven that we are all safe,” he answered. “come, let us get on. no, we can walk, thank you,” and he waved away the priests, who produced the litters from where they had hidden them under the wall.
-the men fell back and they walked on. at the gate of the palace a welcome sight met their eyes, for here stood olfan, and with him at least a hundred captains and soldiers, who lifted their spears in salute as they advanced.
-“olfan, hear our bidding,” said juanna. “suffer no priest of the snake to enter the palace gates. we give you command over them, even to death. set guards at every doorway and come with us.”
-the ex-king bowed and issued some orders, in obedience to which the sullen priests fell back murmuring. then they all passed the gates, crossed the courtyard, and presently stood in the torch-lit throne-room, where juanna had slept on the previous night. here food had been prepared for them by soa, who looked at them curiously, especially at leonard and francisco, as though, indeed, she had never expected to see them again.
-“hearken, olfan,” said juanna, “we have saved your life to-night and you have sworn fealty to us; is it not so?”
-“it is so, queen,” the warrior answered. “and i will be faithful to my oath. this heart, that but for you had now been cold, beats for you alone. the life you gave back to me is yours, and for you i live and die.”
-as he spoke he glanced at her with an expression in which, as it seemed to juanna, human feeling was mixed with supernatural awe. was it possible, she wondered with a thrill of fear, that this savage king was mingling his worship of the goddess with admiration of the woman? and did he begin to suspect that she was no goddess after all? time would show, but at least the look in his eyes alarmed her.
-“fear not,” he went on; “a thousand men shall guard you night and day. the power of nam is broken for a while, and now all this company may sleep in peace.”
-“it is well, olfan. to-morrow morning, after we have eaten, we will talk with you again, for we have much to say. till then, watch!”
-the great man bowed and went, and at last they were alone.
-“let us eat,” said leonard. “what is this? spirit, or a very good imitation of it. well, i never wanted a glass of brandy more in my life.”
-when they had finished their meal, at the request of leonard juanna translated all that had been said in the temple, and among her listeners there was none more interested than soa.
-“say, soa,” said leonard, when she had finished, “you did not expect to see us come back alive, did you? is that why you stayed away?”
-“no, deliverer,” she answered. “i thought that you would be killed, every one of you. and so it must have come about, had it not been for the shepherdess. also, i stayed away because those who have looked upon the snake once do not desire to see him again. many years ago i was bride to the snake, deliverer, and, had i not fled, my fate would have been the fate of her who died this night.”
-“well, i do not wonder that you chose to go,” said leonard.
-“oh, baas,” broke in otter, “why did you not shoot that old medicine-man as i told you? it would have been easy when you were about it, baas, and now he would have been broken like an eggshell thrown from a house-top, and not alive and full of the meat of malice. he is mad with rage and wickedness, and i say that he will kill us all if he can.”
-“i rather wish i had,” said leonard, pulling his beard. “i thought of it, but could not do everything; and on future occasions, otter, will you remember that your name is silence? luckily, these people do not understand you: if they did you would ruin us all. what is the matter, soa?”
-“nothing, deliverer,” she answered; “only i was thinking that nam is my father, and i am glad that you did not shoot him, as this black dog, who is named a god, suggests.”
-“of gods i know nothing, you old cow,” answered otter angrily; “they are a far-off people, though it seems that i am one of them, at any rate among these fools, your kinsmen. but of dogs i can tell you something, and it is that they bite.”
-“yes, and cows toss dogs,” said soa, showing her teeth.
-“here is another complication,” thought leonard to himself; “one day this woman will make friends with her venerable parent and betray us, and then where shall we be? well, among so many dangers an extra one does not matter.”
-“i must go to bed,” said juanna faintly; “my head is swimming. i cannot forget those horrors and that giddy place. when first i saw where i was, i nearly fainted and fell, but after a while i grew more used to it. indeed, while i was speaking to the people i quite forgot my fear, and the height seemed to exhilarate me. what a sight it was! when all is said and done, it is a grand thing to have lived through such an experience. i wonder if anyone has ever seen its like.”
-“you are a marvellous woman, juanna,” said leonard, with admiration. “we owe our lives to your wit and courage.”
-“you see i was right in insisting on coming with you,” she answered somewhat aggressively.
-“for our sakes, yes; for your own i am not so sure. to tell you the truth, i think that we should have done better never to have started on this mad expedition. however, things look a little more promising now, though nam and his company have still to be reckoned with, and we don’t seem much nearer the rubies, which are our main object.”
-“no,” said juanna, “they are gone, and we shall be lucky if we do not follow them into the home of that hideous snake. good night.”
-“francisco,” said leonard, as he rolled himself up in his blanket, “you had a narrow escape to-night. if i had missed my hold!”
-“yes, outram, it was lucky for me that your arm is strong and your mind quick. ah, i am a dreadful coward, and i can see the place now;” and he shuddered. “always from a child i have believed that i shall die by a fall from some height, and to-night i thought that my hour had come. at first i did not understand, for i was watching the senora’s face in the moonlight, and to me she looked like an angel. then i saw, and my senses left me. it was as though hands were stretched up from the blackness to drag me down—yes, i saw the hands. but you saved me, outram, though that will not help me, for i shall perish in some such way at last. so be it. it is best that i should die, who cannot conquer the evil of my heart.”
-“nonsense, my friend,” said leonard; “don’t talk like that about dying. we can none of us afford to die just at present—that is, unless we are obliged to do so. your nerves are upset, and no wonder! as for ‘the evil of your heart,’ i wish that most men had as little—the world would be better. come, go to sleep; you will feel very differently to-morrow.”
-francisco smiled sadly and shook his head, then he knelt and began to say his prayers. the last thing that leonard saw before his eyes closed in sleep was the rapt girlish face of the priest, round which the light of the taper fell like an aureole, as he knelt muttering prayer after prayer with his pale lips.
-it was nine o’clock before leonard awoke next morning—for they had not slept till nearly four—to find francisco already up, dressed, and, as usual, praying. when leonard was ready they adjourned to juanna’s room, where breakfast was prepared for them. here they found otter, looking somewhat disturbed.
-“baas, baas,” he said, “they have come and will not go away!”
-“who?” asked leonard.
-“the woman, baas: she who was given to me to wife, and many other women—her servants—with her. there are more than twenty of them outside, baas, and all of them very big. now, what shall i do with her, baas? i came here to serve you and to seek the red stones that you desire, and not a woman tall enough to be my grandmother.”
-“i really don’t know and don’t care,” answered leonard. “if you will be a god you must take the consequences. only beware, otter: lock up your tongue, for this woman will teach you to speak her language, and she may be a spy.”
-“yes, baas, i will see to that. is not my name silence, and shall women make me talk—me, who have always hated them? but—the baas would not like to marry her himself? i am a god, as you say, though it was you who made me one, baas, not i, and my heart is large; i will give her to you, baas.”
-“certainly not,” answered leonard decidedly. “see if the breakfast is ready. no, i forgot, you are a god, so climb up into the throne and look the part, if you can.”
-as he spoke, juanna came from her room, looking a little pale, and they sat down to breakfast. before they had finished their meal, soa announced that olfan was waiting without. juanna ordered him to be admitted, and presently he entered.
-“is all well, olfan?” asked juanna.
-“all is well, queen,” he answered. “nam and three hundred of his following held council at dawn in the house of the priests yonder. there is much stir and talk in the city, but the hearts of the people are light because their ancient gods have come back to us, bringing peace with them.”
-“good,” said juanna. then she began to question him artfully on many things, and by degrees they learnt more of the people of the mist.
-it seemed, as leonard had already guessed, that they were a very ancient race, having existed for countless generations on the same misty upland plains. they were not, however, altogether isolated, for occasionally they made war with other savage tribes. but they never intermarried with these tribes, all the captives taken in their wars being offered in sacrifice at the religious festivals. the real governing power in the community was the society of the priests of the snake, who held their office by hereditary tenure, outsiders being admitted to their body only under very exceptional circumtances. the council of this society chose the kings, and when they were weary of one of them, they sacrificed him and chose another, either from among his issue or elsewhere. this being the custom, as may be imagined, the relations between church and state were much strained, but hitherto, as olfan explained with suppressed rage, the church had been supreme.
-indeed, the king for the time being was only its mouthpiece, or executive officer. he led the armies, but the superstitions of the people, and even of the soldiers themselves, prevented him from wielding any real power; and, unless he chanced to die naturally, his end was nearly always the same: to be sacrificed when the seasons were bad or “jâl was angry.”
-the country was large but sparsely populated, the fighting men numbered not more than four thousand, of whom about half lived in the great city, the rest occupying villages here and there on the mountain slopes. as a rule the people were monogamous, except the priests. it was the custom of sacrifice which kept down the population to its low level, made the power of the priests absolute, and their wealth greater than that of all the other inhabitants of the country put together, for they chose the victims that had offended against jâl or against the mother-goddess, and confiscated their possessions to “the service of the temple.” thus the great herds of half-wild cattle which the travellers had seen on the plains belonged to the priests, and the priests took a fourth of the produce of every man’s field and garden—that is, when they did not take it all, and his life with it.
-twice in every year great festivals were held in the temple of jâl, at the beginning of the spring season and in the autumn after the ingathering of the crops. at each of these festivals many victims were offered in sacrifice, some upon the stone and some by being hurled into the boiling pool beneath the statue, there to be consumed by the snake or swept down the secret course of the underground river. the feast celebrated in the spring was sacred to jâl, and that in the autumn to the mother-goddess. but there was this difference between them—that at the spring ceremony female victims only were sacrificed to jâl to propitiate him and to avert his evil influence, while at the autumn celebration males alone were offered up to the mother-goddess in gratitude for her gifts of plenty. also criminals were occasionally thrown to the snake that his hunger might be satisfied. the priests had other rites, olfan added, and these they would have an opportunity of witnessing if the spring festival, which should be celebrated on the second day from that date, were held according to custom.
-“it shall not be celebrated,” said juanna, almost fiercely.
-then leonard, who had hitherto listened in silence, asked a question through juanna. “how is it,” he said, “that nam and his fellows, being already in absolute power, were so willing to accept the gods jâl and aca when they appeared in person, seeing that henceforth they must obey, not rule?”
-“for two reasons, lord,” olfan answered; “first, because the gods are gods, and their servants know them; and secondly, because nam has of late stood in danger of losing his authority. of all the chief priests that have been told of, nam is the most cruel and the most greedy. for three years he has doubled the tale of sacrifices, and though the people love these sights of death, they murmur, for none know upon whom the knife shall fall. therefore he was glad to greet the gods come back, since he thought that they would confirm his power, and set him higher than he sat before. now he is astonished because they proclaim peace and will have none of the sacrifice of men, for nam does not love such gentle gods.”
-“yet he shall obey them,” said otter, speaking for the first time by the mouth of juanna, who all this while was acting as interpreter, “or drink his own medicine, for i myself will sacrifice him to myself.”
-when juanna had translated the dwarf’s bloodthirsty threat, olfan bowed his head meekly and smiled; clearly the prospect of nam’s removal did not cause him unmixed grief. it was curious to see this stately warrior chief humbling his pride before the misshapen, knob-nosed kaffir.
-“say, olfan,” asked leonard, “who cut from the rock the great statue on which we sat last night, and what is that reptile we saw when the woman was thrown into the pool of troubled waters?”
-“ask the water-dweller of the water-dweller, the snake of the snake, and the dwarf of his image,” answered olfan, nodding towards otter. “how can i, who am but a man, tell of such things, lord? i only know that the statue was fashioned in the far past, when we, who are now but a remnant, were a great people; and as for the snake, he has always lived there in his holy place. our grandfather’s grandfathers knew him, and since that day he has not changed.”
-“interesting fact in natural history,” said leonard; “i wish i could get him home alive to the zoological gardens.”
-then he asked another question. “tell me, olfan, what became of the red stones yesterday, and of him who offended in offering them to the god yonder?”
-“the most of them were cast into the pit of waters, lord, there to be hidden for ever. there were three hide sacks full.”
-“oh, heavens!” groaned leonard when juanna had translated this. “otter, you have something to answer for!”
-“but the choicest,” went on olfan, “were put in a smaller bag, and tied about the neck of the man who had sinned. there were not many, but among them were the largest stones, that until yesterday shone in the eyes of the idol, stones blue and red together. also, there was that stone, shaped like a human heart, which hitherto has been worn by the high priest on the days of sacrifice, and with it the image of the dwarf fashioned from a single gem, and that of the water-dweller cut from the great blue stone, and other smaller ones chosen because of their beauty and also because they have been known for long in the land. for although many of these pebbles are found where the priests dig for them, but few are large and perfect, and the art of shaping them is lost.”
-“and what became of the man?” leonard asked, speaking as quietly as he could, for his excitement was great.
-“nay, i do not know,” answered olfan. “i only know that he was let down with ropes into the home of the snake, and that he gained that holy place, for it was told to me that he dragged rope after him, perhaps as he fled before the snake.
-“now it was promised to the man that when he had laid the bag of stones in the place of the snake, for the snake to guard for ever, his sins would be purged, and, if it pleased the water-dweller to spare him, that he should be drawn up again. thus nam swore to him, but he did not keep his oath, for when the man had entered the cave he bade those who held the ropes to cast them loose, and i know not what happened to him, but doubtless he is food for the snake. none who look upon that holy place may live to see the sun again.”
-“i only hope that the brute did not swallow the rubies as well as their bearer,” said leonard to juanna; “not that there is much chance of our getting them, anyway.”
-then olfan went, nor did he return till the afternoon, when he announced that nam and his two principal priests waited without to speak with them. juanna ordered that they should be admitted, and presently they came in. their air was humble, and their heads were bowed; but leonard saw fury gleaming in their sombre eyes, and was not deceived by this mask of humility.
-“we come, o ye gods,” said nam, addressing juanna and otter, who sat side by side on the throne-like chairs: “we come to ask your will, for ye have laid down a new law which we do not understand. on the third day from now is the feast of jâl, and fifty women are made ready to be offered to jâl that his wrath may be appeased with their blood, and that he may number their spirits among his servants, and withhold his anger from the people of the mist, giving them a good season. this has been the custom of the land for many a generation, and whenever that custom was broken then the sun has not shone, nor the corn grown, nor have the cattle and the goats multiplied after their kind. but now, o ye gods, ye have proclaimed a new law, and i, who am yet your servant, come hither to ask your will. how shall the feast go, and what sacrifice shall be offered unto you?”
-“the feast shall go thus,” answered juanna. “ye shall offer us a sacrifice indeed; to each of us shall ye offer an ox and a goat, and the ox and the goat shall be given to the snake to feed him, but not the flesh of men; moreover, the feast shall be held at noon and not in the night-time.”
-“an ox and a goat—to each an ox and a goat!” said nam humbly, but in a voice of bitterest sarcasm. “as ye will so let it be, o ye gentle-hearted gods. and the festival shall be held at noon, and not in the night season as of old. as ye will, o ye kind gods. your word is my law, o aca, and o jâl;” and bowing to the ground the aged man withdrew himself, followed by his satellites.
-“that devilish priest makes my flesh creep,” said juanna, when she had translated his words.
-“oh! baas, baas,” echoed otter, “why did you not shoot him while you might? now he will surely live to throw us to the snake.”
-as he spoke soa advanced from behind the thrones where she had taken refuge when nam entered.
-“it is not well for a dog who gives himself out as a god to threaten the life of one whom he has tricked,” said she meaningly. “perchance the hour shall come when the true god will avenge himself on the false, and by the hand of his faithful servant, whom you would do to death, you base-born dwarf.” and before anyone could answer she left the chamber, casting a malevolent look at otter as she went.
-“that servant of yours makes my flesh creep, juanna,” said leonard. “one thing is clear enough, we must not allow her to overhear any more of our plans; she knows a great deal too much already.”
-“i cannot understand what has happened to soa,” said juanna; “she seems so changed.”
-“you made that remark before, juanna; but for my part i don’t think she is changed. the sight of her amiable parent has developed her hidden virtues, that is all.”
-the third day came, the day of sacrifice after the new order. nothing particular had happened in the interval: leonard and francisco took some walks through the city, guarded by peter and the settlement men; that was all.
-they did not see much there, except the exteriors of the houses built of stone and roofed with turves, and the cold stare of curiosity with which they were followed by hundreds of eyes gave them a sense of unrest that effectually checked their efforts at closer examination. once indeed they halted in the market-place, which was thronged; whereon all business ceased, and seller, buyer, herdsmen, and presiding priests flocked around staring at them, half in fear and half in curiosity, for they had never seen white men before. this they could not bear, so they returned to the palace.
-of course otter and juanna, being divine, were not allowed to indulge in such recreations. they were gods and must live up to their reputation. for one day otter endured it; on the second, in spite of leonard’s warnings, he sought refuge in the society of the bride saga. this was the beginning of evil, for if no man is a hero to his valet de chambre, much less can he remain a god for long in the eyes of a curious woman. here, as in other matters, familiarity breeds contempt.
-leonard saw these dangers and spoke seriously to the dwarf on the subject. still he could not conceal from himself that, putting aside the question of his ennui, which made his conduct natural, at any rate in a savage, otter’s position was a difficult one. so leonard shrugged his shoulders and consoled himself as best he could with the reflection that, at least, his wife would teach the dwarf something of her language, which, by the way, he himself was practising assiduously under the tuition of juanna and soa.
-at noon the party adjourned to the temple, escorted by a bevy of priests and soldiers, for in obedience to juanna’s commands the feast was to be celebrated in the daytime and not at night. as before, the vast amphitheatre was crowded with thousands of human beings, but there was a difference in the arrangements.
-juanna and otter had declined to occupy their lofty thrones, and sat in chairs at the feet of the huge and hideous stone idol, almost on the edge of the pool, nam alone standing before them, while leonard, francisco, and the settlement men ranged themselves on either side. the day was cold and miserable, and snow fell from time to time in large flakes from an ashen sky.
-presently nam addressed the multitude.
-“people of the mist,” he cried, “ye are gathered here to celebrate the feast of jâl, according to ancient custom, but the gods have come back to you, as ye know, and the gods in their wisdom have changed the custom. fifty women were prepared for the sacrifice; this morning they rose rejoicing, deeming that they were destined to the snake, but now their joy is turned to sorrow, since the gods will not accept them, having chosen a new offering for themselves. let it be brought forward.”
-at his word lads appeared from behind the idol, driving two lean bulls, and with them a pair of he-goats.
-whether by accident or design, they drove them so unskilfully that the animals blundered hither and thither over the rocky platform till they were finally despatched with blows from clubs and axes—that is, except one goat, which, escaping its pursuers, rushed down the amphitheatre and scrambled from seat to seat among the audience, uttering a succession of terrified “baa’s.” indeed the scene was so comic that even that sombre and silent people began to laugh, accustomed as they were on these occasions to the hideous and impressive ceremonial of the midnight sacrifice of so many human beings.
-the ancient feast was a fiasco; this was a fact which could not be concealed.
-“begone, ye people of the mist,” said nam presently, pointing to the dead animals. “the sacrifice is sacrificed, the festival of jâl is done. may the mother plead with the snake that the sun may shine and fruitfulness bless the land!”
-now scarcely ten minutes had elapsed since the beginning of the ceremony, which in the ordinary course of events lasted through the greater part of the night, for it was the custom to slaughter each victim singly and with appropriate solemnities. a murmur of disapprobation arose from the far end of the amphitheatre, that swelled gradually to a roar. the people had been thankful to accept juanna’s message of peace, but, brutalised as they were by the continual sight of bloodshed, they were not willing to dispense with their carnivals of human sacrifice. a roman audience gathered to witness a gladiatorial show, to find themselves treated instead to a donkey-race and a cock-fight, could scarcely have shown more fury.
-“bring out the women! let the victims be offered up to jâl as of old,” the multitude yelled in their rage, and ten minutes or more elapsed before they could be quieted.
-then nam addressed them cunningly.
-“people of the mist,” he said, “the gods have given us a new law, a law of the sacrifice of oxen and goats in the place of men and maids, and ye yourselves have welcomed that law. no longer shall the blood of victims flow to jâl beneath the white rays of the moon while the chant of his servants goes up to heaven. nay, henceforth this holy place must be a shambles for the kine. so be it, my children; in my old age i hear the gods speaking in an altered voice and i obey them. it is nothing to me who am about to die, yet i tell you that rather would i myself be stretched upon the ancient stone than see the worship of our forefathers thus turned into a mockery. the sacrifice is sacrificed: now may the maid intercede with the snake that plenty may bless the land.” and he smiled satirically and turned away.
-those of the audience who were near enough to hear his words cried them out to the ranks behind them, and when all understood there followed a scene of most indescribable tumult.
-“blood, give us blood!” roared the populace, their fierce faces alight with rage. “shall we be mocked with the sacrifice of goats? offer up the servants of the false gods. give us blood! lead forth the victims!”
-in the midst of this uproar juanna, clad in her white robes and with the red stone bound upon her brow, rose from her seat to speak.
-“silence!” cried nam, “hear the voice of aca;” and by degrees the shouting died away, and she spoke.
-“do ye dare thus to offer outrages to the gods?” she cried. “be warned lest we bring death and famine upon you all. men shall be offered up to us no more. i have spoken.”
-for a while there was silence, then the clamour broke out with redoubled violence, and a portion of the multitude made a rush round the edge of the pool towards the rock platform, which was repelled by the soldiers in a very half-hearted way.
-“now,” said olfan, “i think that these will do well to be going,” and he pointed to leonard, francisco, and the settlement men. “doubtless the gods can defend themselves, but if the others do not fly this is sure, that presently they will be torn to pieces.”
-“let us all go,” said juanna, whose nerve began to fail her; and suiting the action to the word she led the way towards the rock tunnel, followed by the others.
-they were not allowed to reach it unmolested, however, for a number of the crowd, headed, as leonard noticed, by two priests, forced their way through the cordon of guards and became mixed with the rear of their little party, the members of which they threatened and struck at savagely. this happened just as they were entering the mouth of the tunnel, behind the statue where the gloom was great.
-this tunnel was protected by a door, which, so soon as they thought that all had passed, olfan and leonard made haste to close, leaving the mob howling without. then they pressed on to the palace, which they reached in safety, olfan remaining behind, however, to watch the movements of the mob.
-“oh! why would not you suffer them to sacrifice according to their wicked custom, shepherdess?” said otter. “what does it matter if they kill each other? so shall there be fewer of them. now the end of it must be that the devils will find us out and murder us.”
-“no, no,” said francisco, “the senora was right. let us trust in providence and keep ourselves clean from such iniquity.”
-as he spoke the roars of wrath in the distance changed to a shout of triumph followed by silence.
-“what is that?” said juanna faintly. at this moment olfan pushed the curtains aside and entered, and his face was heavy.
-“speak, olfan,” she said.
-“the people sacrifice as of old, queen,” he answered. “all of us did not pass the gate; two of your black servants were mixed up with the crowd and left, and now they offer them to jâl, and others with them.”
-leonard ran to the yard and counted the settlement men, who were huddled together in their fear, staring towards the temple through the bars of the gate. two were missing.
-as he returned he met olfan coming out.
-“where is he going?” he asked of juanna.
-“to guard the gates. he says that he cannot be sure of the soldiers. is it true about the settlement men?”
-“alas! yes. two are gone.”
-she hid her face in her hands and shuddered.
-“poor creatures!” she said presently in a hoarse voice. “why did we ever bring them here? oh! leonard, is there no escape from this land of demons?”
-“i hope so,” he answered; then added, “come, juanna, do not give way. things look so bad that they are sure to mend.”
-“there is need of it,” she sobbed.
-all that evening and night they watched, hourly expecting to be attacked and dragged forth to sacrifice, but no attack was made. indeed, on the morrow they learnt from olfan that the people had dispersed after sacrificing about a score of human beings, and that quiet reigned in the city.
-now began the most dreadful of their trials, and the longest, for it endured five whole weeks. as has been said, the climate of these vast upland plains, backed by snow-clad mountains, that are the dwelling-place of the people of the mist, is cold during the winter months to the verge of severity. but at a certain period of a year, almost invariably within a day or two of the celebration of the feast of jâl, the mists and frost vanish and warm weather sets in with bright sunshine.
-this is the season of the sowing of crops, and upon the climatic conditions of the few following weeks depends the yield of the harvest. should the spring be delayed even a week or two, a short crop would certainly result, but if its arrival is postponed for a month, it means something like a famine during the following winter. for although this people dwell on high lands they cultivate the same sorts of grain which are common in these latitudes, namely maize and sundry varieties of kaffir corn, having no knowledge of wheat and the other hardy cereals. therefore, it is all important to them that the corn should have a fair start, for if the autumn frosts catch it before it is fit to harvest the great proportion of the crop turns black and is rendered useless.
-these agricultural details had no small bearing upon the fate of our adventurers. the feast of jâl was celebrated in order to secure a good seed-bed and springing time for the grain. juanna and otter had abolished the hideous ceremonies of that feast, and the people of the mist watched for the results with a gloomy and superstitious eye. if the season proved more than ordinarily good, all might go well, but if it chanced to be bad——!
-and, as was to be expected, seeing how much depended upon it, this spring proved the very worst which any living man could remember in that country. day after day the face of the sun was hidden with mists that only yielded to the bitter winds which blew from the mountains at night, so that when the spring should have been a month old, the temperature was still that of mid-winter and the corn would not start at all.
-leonard and juanna soon discovered what this meant for them, and never was the aspect of weather more anxiously scanned than by these two from day to day. in vain; every morning the blanket of cold mist fell like a cloud, blotting out the background of the mountains, and every night the biting wind swept down upon them from the fields of snow, chilling them to the marrow.
-this state of things—wretched enough in itself—was only one of many miseries which afflicted them. otter and juanna were still treated as gods indeed, and considerable respect was shown to leonard and francisco, that is, within the walls of the palace. but if, wearied with the monotony of their life, they went out, which they did twice only during these five dreadful weeks, matters were different. then they found themselves followed by a mob of men, women, and children, who glared at them ferociously and cursed them aloud, asking what they and their gods had done with the sunshine.
-on the second occasion indeed they were forced to fly for their lives, and after this they gave up making the attempt to walk abroad, and sat in the palace with juanna and otter, who of course never dared to leave it.
-it was a terrible life; there was nothing to do, nothing to read, and only anxieties to think on. the greater part of the day leonard and juanna occupied in talking, for practice, in the language of the people of the mist. when their conversation was exhausted they told each other tales of their adventures in past years, or even invented stories like children and prisoners; indeed they were prisoners—prisoners, as they feared, under sentence of death.
-they grew to know each other very well during those five weeks, so well indeed that each could almost guess the other’s thoughts. but no tender word ever passed their lips. on this subject, whatever their hearts might feel, their tongues were sealed, and in their curious perversity the chief object of each was to disguise the truth from the other. moreover, leonard never for one moment forgot that juanna was his ward, a fact that in itself would have sufficed to cause him to conceal any tender emotions he might have felt towards her.
-so they lived side by side, lovers at heart, yet talking and acting as brother and sister might, and through it all were still happy after a fashion because they were together.
-but soa was not happy. she felt that her mistress no longer trusted her, and was at no loss to guess the cause. day by day she stood behind them like a mummy at an egyptian feast, and watched leonard with ever-growing jealousy.
-francisco for his part did not attempt to conceal his fears. he was certain that they were about to perish and sought consolation in the constant practice of religion, which was edifying but scarcely improved him as a companion. as for otter, he also believed that the hour of death was nigh, but being a fatalist this did not trouble him much. on the contrary, in spite of leonard’s remonstrances he began to live hard, betaking himself freely to the beer-pot. when leonard remonstrated with him he turned somewhat sulky.
-“to-day i am a god, baas,” he answered, “to-morrow i may be carrion. while i am a god, let me drink and be merry. all my days also women have cursed me because i am ugly, but now my wife holds me great and beautiful. what is the good of thinking and looking sad? the end will come soon enough. already nam sharpens the knife for our hearts. come and be merry with me, baas, if the shepherdess will let you.”
-“do you take me for a pig like yourself?” said leonard angrily. “well, go your own way, foolish that you are, but beware of the beer and the spirits. now you are beginning to know this language, and when you are drunk you talk, and do you think that there are no spies here? that girl, saga, is great-niece to nam, and you are besotted with her. be careful lest you bring us all to death.”
-“thither we shall come any way, so let us laugh before we weep, baas,” otter replied sullenly. “must i then sit here and do nothing till i die?”
-leonard shrugged his shoulders and went. he could not blame the dwarf, who after all was a savage and looked at things as a savage would, notwithstanding francisco’s earnest efforts to convert him. he sometimes wished, so deep was his depression, that he also was a savage and could do likewise.
-but the worst of their trials is still to be told. for the first week the settlement men stayed in the palace, their fears and the rumours that had reached them of the terrible fate of their two lost companions keeping them quiet. by degrees, however, this dread wore off, and one afternoon, wearied with the sameness of their life, they yielded to the solicitations of some men who spoke to them through the bars of the great gate, and went out in a body without obtaining leonard’s permission. that night they returned drunk—at least ten of them dead; the other two were missing. when they were sober again, leonard questioned them as to the whereabouts of their companions, but they could give him no satisfactory information. they had been into various houses in the city, they said, where the people had plied them with beer, and they remembered nothing more.
-these two men never reappeared, but the rest of them, now thoroughly frightened, obeyed leonard’s orders and stayed in the palace, although the decoy men still came frequently to the gates and called them. they passed the days in wandering about and drinking to drown their fears, and the nights huddled together for protection from an unseen foe, more terrible and craftier than the leopard of their native rocks. but these precautions were all in vain.
-one morning, hearing a tumult among them, leonard went to see what was the matter. three more of the settlement men were missing; they had vanished in the night, none could say how, vanished though the doors were barred and guarded. there where they had slept lay their guns and little possessions, but the men were gone, leaving no trace. when he was consulted olfan looked very grave, but could throw no light upon the mystery beyond suggesting that there were many secret passages in the palace, of which the openings were known only to the priests, and that possibly the men had been let down them—terrible information enough for people in their position.
-chapter xxvi. the last of the settlement men
-on that day of the vanishing of the three settlement men, nam paid his weekly visit to “do honour to the gods,” and leonard, who by this time could make himself understood in the tongue of the people of the mist, attacked him as to the whereabouts of their lost servants.
-when he had finished, the priest answered with a cruel smile that he knew nothing of the matter. “doubtless,” he said, “the gods had information as to the fate of their own servants—it was not for him to seek those whom the gods had chosen to put away.”
-then turning the subject, he went on to ask when it would please the mother to intercede with the snake that he might cause the sun to shine and the corn to spring, for the people murmured, fearing a famine in the land.
-of course juanna was able to give no satisfactory answer to the priest’s questions, and after this the quarters of the settlement men were changed, and for a few days the survivors slept in safety. on the third night, however, two more of them were taken in the same mysterious manner, and one of those who remained swore that, hearing something stir, he woke and saw the floor open and a vision of great arms dragging his sleeping companions through the hole in it, which closed again instantly. leonard hurried to the spot and made a thorough examination of the stone blocks of the pavement, but could find no crack in them. and yet, if the man had dreamed, how was the mystery to be explained?
-after this, with the exception of otter, who, sure of the fate that awaited them, took little heed of how or when it might fall, none of the party could even sleep because of their terror of the unseen foe who struck in silence and in darkness, dragging the victim to some unknown awful end. leonard and francisco took it in turns to watch each other’s slumbers, laying themselves to rest outside the curtain of juanna’s room. as for the survivors of the settlement men, their state can scarcely be described. they followed leonard about, upbraiding him bitterly for leading them into this evil land and cursing the hour when first they had seen his face. it would have been better, they said, that he should have left them to their fate in the slave camp than have brought them here to die thus; the yellow devil was at least a man, but these people were sorcerers and lost spirits in human shape.
-nor did the horror stop here, for at last the headman peter, a man whom they all liked and respected, went mad with fear and ran to and fro in the palace yard while the guards and women watched him with curious eyes as he shrieked out curses upon juanna and leonard. this shocking scene continued for some hours, for his companions would not interfere with him, vowing that he was possessed by a spirit, till at length he put a period to it by suddenly committing suicide. in vain did leonard caution the survivors to keep their heads and watch at night. they flew to the beer which was supplied to them in plenty, and drank till they were insensible. and still one by one they vanished mysteriously, till at length all were gone.
-never might leonard forget his feelings when one day at dawn, in the fifth week of their incarceration, he hurried as usual to the chamber where the last two of the unfortunate men were accustomed to sleep, and found them not. there were their blankets, there was the place where they had been, and on it, laid carefully in the form of a st. andrew’s cross by some unknown hand, shone two huge sacrificial knives such as the priests wore at their girdles.
-sick and faint with fear he staggered back to the throne-room.
-“oh! what is it now?” said juanna, who, early as it was, had risen already, looking at him with terrified eyes and trembling lips.
-“only this,” he answered hoarsely; “the last two have been taken, and here is what was left in the place of them,” and he cast down the knives on to the pavement.
-then at last juanna gave way. “oh! leonard, leonard,” she said, weeping bitterly, “they were my father’s servants whom i have known since i was a child, and i have brought them to this cruel end. cannot you think of any way of getting out of this place? if not, i shall die of fear. i can sleep no more. i feel that i am watched at night, though i cannot tell by whom. last night i thought that i heard some one moving near the curtain where you and francisco lie, though soa declares that it is fancy.”
-“it is impossible,” said leonard; “francisco was on guard. ah! here he comes.”
-as he spoke francisco entered the room with consternation written on his face.
-“outram,” he gasped, “some one must have been in the throne chamber where we slept last night. all the rifles have gone, ours and those of the settlement men also.”
-“great heavens!” said leonard, “but you were watching.”
-“i suppose that i must have dozed for a few moments,” answered the priest; “it is awful, awful; they are gone and we are weaponless.”
-“oh! can we not escape?” moaned juanna.
-“there is no hope of it,” answered leonard gloomily. “we are friendless here except for olfan, and he has little real power, for the priests have tampered with the captains and the soldiers who fear them. how can we get out of this city? and if we got out what would become of us, unarmed and alone? all that we can do is to keep heart and hope for the best. certainly they are right who declare that no good comes of seeking after treasure; though i believe that we shall live to win it yet,” he added.
-“what! deliverer,” said a satirical voice behind him, “do you still desire the red stones, you whose heart’s blood shall soon redden a certain stone yonder? truly the greed of the white man is great.”
-leonard looked round. it was soa who spoke, soa who had been listening to their talk, and she was glaring at him with an expression of intense hate in her sullen eyes. a thought came into his mind. “was it not possible that this woman had something to do with their misfortunes? how came it about that the others were taken while she was left?”
-“who gave you leave, soa,” he said, looking her fixedly in the face, “to hearken to our words and thrust yourself into our talk?”
-“you have been glad enough of my counsels hitherto, white man,” she answered furiously. “who told you the tale of this people? and who led you to their land? was it i or another?”
-“you, i regret to say,” said leonard coolly.
-“yes, white man, i led you here that you might steal the treasure of my people like a thief. i did it because the shepherdess my mistress forced me to the deed, and in those days her will was my law. for her and you i came here to my death, and what has been my reward? i am put away from her, she has no kind word for me now; you are about her always, you hold her counsel, but to me her mind is as a shut door that i can no longer open. ay! you have poisoned her against me, you and that black swine whom they call a god.
-“moreover, because she has learned to love you, white thief, wanderer without a kraal as you are, at your bidding she has also learned to hate me. beware, white man, i am of this people, and you know their temper, it is not gentle; when they hate they find a means to be revenged,” and she ceased, gasping with rage.
-indeed, at that moment soa would have made no bad model for a statue of one of the furies of greek mythology.
-then juanna attempted to interfere, but leonard waved her back.
-“so,” he said, “as i thought, you are at the bottom of all this business. perhaps you will not mind telling us what has become of your friends, the settlement men, or, if you feel a delicacy on that point, how it is that you have escaped while they have vanished.”
-“i know nothing of the settlement men,” answered the fury, “except that they have been taken and sacrificed as was their meed, and as yet i have lifted no hand and said no word against you, though a breath from me would have swept you all to doom. hitherto i have been spared for the same reason that you and bald-pate yonder have been spared—because we are the body-servants of the false gods, and are reserved to perish with them when the lie is discovered; or perhaps to live awhile, set in cages in the market-place, to be mocked by the passers-by and to serve as a warning to any whose monkey hearts should dare to plot sacrilege against the divinity of aca and jâl.
-“now, shepherdess, take your choice. as you know well, i have loved you from a babe and i love you yet, though you have scorned me for this man’s sake. take your choice, i say; cling to me and trust me, giving the deliverer to the priests, and i will save you. cling to him, and i will bring shame and death upon you all, for my love shall turn to hate.”
-at this juncture leonard quietly drew his revolver, though at the time nobody noticed it except francisco. indeed by now juanna was almost as angry as soa herself.
-“how dare you speak to me thus?” she said, stamping her foot, “you whom from a child i have thought good and have trusted. what do you say? that i must give him who saved me from death over to death, in order that i may buy back your love and protect myself. you evil woman, i tell you that first i will die as i would have died yonder in the slave camp,” and she ceased, for her indignation was too great to allow her to say more.
-“so be it, shepherdess,” said soa solemnly, “i hear you. it was to be expected that you would prefer him whom you love to her who loves you. yet, shepherdess, was it not i after all who saved you yonder in the slave camp? doubtless i dream, but it seems to me that when those men who are dead deserted you, running this way and that in their fear—and, shepherdess, it is for this that i am glad they are dead, and lifted no hand to save them—i followed you alone. it seems to me that, having followed you far till i could walk no more for hunger and weariness, i used my wit and bribed a certain white man, of the sort who would sell their sisters and blaspheme their mothers for a reward, to attempt your rescue.
-“i bribed him with a gem of great price—had there been ten of them, that gem would have bought them all—and with the gem i told him the secret of the treasure which is here. he took the bribe, and being brave and desperate, he drew you out of the clutches of the yellow devil, though in that matter also i had some part; and then you loved him. ah! could i have foreseen it, shepherdess, i had left you to die in the slave camp, for then you had died loving me who now hate me and cast me off for the sake of this white thief.”
-leonard could bear it no longer, and in the interests of their common safety he came to a desperate resolve. with an exclamation, he lifted the pistol and covered soa. both francisco and juanna saw the act and sprang to him, the latter exclaiming, “oh! what are you going to do?”
-“i propose to kill this woman before she kills us, that is all,” he answered coldly.
-“no! no!” cried juanna, “she has been faithful to me for many years. i cannot see her shot.”
-“let the butcher do his work,” mocked soa; “it shall avail him little. doubtless he is angry because i have spoken the truth about him,” and she folded her arms upon her breast, awaiting the bullet.
-“what is to be done?” said leonard desperately. “if i do not shoot her, she will certainly betray us.”
-“then let her betray,” said francisco; “it is written that you shall do no murder.”
-“if you fear to shoot a woman, send for your black dog, white man,” mocked soa. “he would have killed my father, and doubtless this task also will be to his liking.”
-“i can’t do it. get a rope and tie her up, francisco,” said leonard. “we must watch her day and night; it will be a pleasant addition to our occupations. after all it is only one more risk, which is no great matter among so many. i fancy the game is about played out, anyhow.”
-francisco went for the rope and presently returned accompanied by otter. a month of furious dissipation had left its mark even on the dwarf’s iron frame. his bright black eyes were bloodshot and unsteady, his hand shook, and he did not walk altogether straight.
-“you have been drinking again, you sot,” said leonard. “go back to your drink; we are in sorrow here and want no drunkards in our company. now then, francisco, give me that rope.”
-“yes, baas, i have been drinking,” answered the dwarf humbly; “it is well to drink before one dies, since we may not drink afterwards and i think that the hour of death is at hand. oh! shepherdess of the heavens, they said down yonder at the settlement that you were a great rain-maker: now if you can make the rain to fall, can you not make the sun to shine? wind and water are all very well, but we have too much of them here.”
-“hearken,” said leonard, “while you revelled, the last of mavoom’s men vanished, and these are left in their place,” and he pointed to the knives.
-“is it so, baas?” answered otter with a hiccough. “well, they were a poor lot, and we shall not miss them. and yet i wish i were a man again and had my hands on the throat of that wizard nam. wow! but i would squeeze it.”
-“it is your throat that will be squeezed soon, otter,” said leonard. “look here, god or no god, get you sober or i will beat you.”
-“i am sober, baas, i am indeed. last night i was drunk, to-day nothing is left but a pain here,” and he tapped his great head. “why are you tying up that old cow soa, baas?”
-“because she threatens to use her horns, otter. she says that she will betray us all.”
-“indeed, baas! well, it is in my mind that she has betrayed us already. why do you not kill her and have done?”
-“because the shepherdess here will have none of it,” answered leonard; “also i do not like the task.”
-“i will kill her if you wish, baas,” said otter with another hiccough. “she is wicked, let her die.”
-“i have told you that the shepherdess will have none of it. listen: we must watch this woman; we will guard her to-day and you must take your turn to-night—it will keep you from your drink.”
-“yes, baas, i will watch, though it would be better to kill her at once, for thus we should be spared trouble.���
-the day passed uneventfully. olfan visited them as usual, and told them that the excitement grew in the city. indeed the unprecedented prolongation of the cold weather was driving the people into a state of superstitious fury that must soon express itself in violence of one form or another, and the priests were doing everything in their power to foment the trouble. no immediate danger was to be apprehended, however.
-after sundown leonard and francisco went out into the courtyard to inspect the weather according to their custom. there was no sign of a change; the wind blew as bitterly as ever from the mountains, the sky was ashen, and the stars seemed far off and cold.
-“will it never break?” said leonard with a sigh, and re-entered the palace, followed by francisco.
-then, having solemnly cautioned otter to keep a strict guard over soa, they wrapped themselves up in their blankets in order to get some rest, which both of them needed sadly. juanna had retired already, laying herself to sleep immediately on the other side of the curtain, for she feared to be alone; indeed they could see the tips of her fingers appearing beneath the bottom of the curtain.
-very soon they were asleep, for even terror must yield at last to the necessities of rest, and a dense silence reigned over the palace, broken only by the tramp of the sentries without.
-once leonard opened his eyes, hearing something move, and instantly stretched out his hand to assure himself of juanna’s safety. she was there, for in her sleep her fingers closed instinctively upon his own. then he turned round and saw what had disturbed him. in the doorway of the chamber stood the bride of the snake, saga, a lighted torch in one hand and a gourd in the other, and very picturesque that handsome young woman looked with her noble figure illumined by the glare of the torchlight.
-“what is the matter?” said leonard.
-“it is all right, baas,” answered otter; “the old woman here is as safe as a stone statue yonder and quite as quiet. saga brings me some water, that is all. i bade her do so because of the fire that rages inside me and the pain in my head. fear not, baas, i do not drink beer when i am on guard.”
-“beer or water, i wish you would keep your wife at a distance,” answered leonard; “come, tell her to be off.”
-then he looked at his watch, the hands of which he could just distinguish by the distant glare of the torch, and went to sleep again. this took place at ten minutes past eleven. when he awoke again dawn was breaking and otter was calling to him in a loud, hoarse voice.
-“baas,” he said, “come here, baas.”
-leonard jumped up and ran to him, to find the dwarf on his feet and staring vacantly at the wall against which soa had been sitting. she was gone, but there on the floor lay the ropes with which she had been tied.
-leonard sprang at otter and seized him by the shoulders.
-“wretched man!” he cried, “you have been sleeping, and now she has escaped and we are lost.”
-“yes, baas, i have been sleeping. kill me if you wish, for i deserve it. and yet, baas, never was i more wide-awake in my life until i drank that water. i am not wont to sleep on guard, baas.”
-“otter,” said leonard, “that wife of yours has drugged you.”
-“it may be so, baas. at least the woman has gone, and, say, whither has she gone?”
-“to nam, her father,” answered leonard.
-chapter xxvii. father and daughter
-while leonard and otter spoke thus in their amazement, had they but known it, a still more interesting conversation was being carried on some three hundred yards away. its scene was a secret chamber hollowed in the thickness of the temple wall, and the dramatis personae consisted of nam, the high priest, soa, juanna’s servant, and saga, wife of the snake.
-nam was an early riser, perhaps because his conscience would not allow him to sleep, or because on this occasion he had business of importance to attend to. at any rate, on the morning in question, long before the break of dawn, he was seated in his little room alone, musing; and indeed his thoughts gave him much food for reflection. as has been said, he was a very aged man, and whatever may have been his faults, at least he was earnestly desirous of carrying on the worship of the gods according to the strict letter of the customs which had descended to him from his forefathers, and which he himself had followed all his life. in truth, from long consideration of them, their attributes, and the traditions concerning them, nam had come to believe in the actual existence of these gods, although the belief was a qualified one and somewhat half-hearted. or, to put it less strongly, he had never allowed his mind to entertain active doubt of the spiritual beings whose earthly worship was so powerful a factor in his own material rule and prosperity, and in that of his class. in its issues this half-faith of his had been sufficiently real to induce him to accept otter and juanna when they arrived mysteriously in the land.
-it had been prophesied that they should arrive thus—that was a fact; and their outward appearance exactly fitted every detail of the prophecy—that was another fact; and these two facts together seemed to point to a conclusion so irresistible that, shrewd and experienced as he was, nam was unable to set it down to mere coincidence. therefore in the first rush of his religious enthusiasm he had accorded a hearty welcome to the incarnations of the divinities whom for some eighty years he had worshipped as powers spiritual.
-but though pious zeal had much to do with this action, as olfan informed juanna, it was not devoid of worldly motives. he desired the glory of being the discoverer of the gods, he desired also the consolidation of the rule which his cruelties had shaken, that must result from their advent.
-all this was well enough, but he had never even dreamed that the first step of these new-born divinities would be to discard the ancient ceremonial without which his office would become a sinecure and his power a myth, and even to declare an active hostility against himself.
-were they or were they not gods? this was the question that exercised his mind. if there was truth in prophesies they should be gods. on the other hand he could discover nothing particularly divine about their persons, characters, or attributes—that is to say, nothing sufficiently divine to deceive nam himself, whatever impression they produced upon the vulgar. thus juanna might be no more than a very beautiful woman white in colour, and otter only what he knew him to be through his spies, a somewhat dissolute dwarf.
-that they had no great power was also evident, seeing that he, nam, without incurring the heavenly vengeance, had been able to abstract, and afterwards to sacrifice comfortably, the greater number of their servants. another thing which pleaded against their celestial origin was that so far, instead of peace and prosperity blessing the land as it should have done immediately on their arrival, the present season was proving itself the worst on record, and the country was face to face with a prospect of famine in the ensuing winter.
-and yet, if they were not gods, who were they? would any human beings in their senses venture among such people as the children of the mist, merely to play off a huge practical joke of which the finale was likely to be so serious to themselves? the idea was preposterous, since they had nothing to gain by so doing, for nam, it may be observed, was ignorant of the value of rubies, which to him were only emblems employed in their symbolical ceremonies. think as he would, he could come to no definite conclusion. one thing was clear, however, that it was now very much to his interest to demonstrate their non-celestial origin, though to do so would be to stultify himself and to prove that his judgment was not infallible. otherwise, did the “gods” succeed in establishing their power, he and his authority seemed likely to come to a sudden end in the jaws of that monster, which his order had fostered for so many generations.
-thus reflected nam in perplexity of soul, wishing to himself the while that he had retired from his office before he was called upon to face questions so difficult and so dangerous.
-“i must be patient,” he muttered to himself at last; “time will show the truth, or, if the weather does not change, the people will settle the matter for me.”
-as it chanced he had not long to wait, for just then there was a knock upon his door.
-“enter,” he said, arranging his goat-skin robe about his broad shoulders.
-a priest came in bearing a torch, for there was no window to the chamber, and after him two women.
-“who is this?” said nam, pointing to the second of the women.
-“this is she who is servant to aca, father,” answered the priest.
-“how comes she here?” said nam again. “i gave no orders that she should be taken.”
-“she comes of her own free will, father, having somewhat to say to you.”
-“fool, how can she speak to me when she does not know our tongue? but of her presently; take her aside and watch her. now, saga, your report. first, what of the weather?”
-“it is grey and pitiless, father. the mist is dense and no sun can be seen.”
-“i thought it, because of the cold,” and he drew his robe closer round him. “a few more days of this——” and he stopped, then went on. “tell me of jâl, your lord.”
-“jâl is as jâl was, merry and somewhat drunken. he speaks our language very ill, yet when he was last in liquor he sang a song which told of deeds that he, and he whom they name the deliverer, had wrought together down in the south, rescuing the goddess aca from some who had taken her captive. at least, so i understood that song.”
-“perhaps you understood it wrong,” answered nam. “say, niece, do you still worship this god?”
-“i worship the god jâl, but the man, dweller in the waters, i hate,” she said fiercely.
-“why, how is this? but two days gone you told me that you loved him, and that there was no such god as this man, and no such man as this god.”
-“that was so, father, but since then he has thrust me aside, saying that i weary him, and courts a handmaid of mine own, and therefore i demand the life of that handmaiden.”
-nam smiled grimly. “perchance you demand the life of the god also?”
-“yes,” she replied without hesitation, “i would see him dead if it can be brought about.”
-again nam smiled. “truly, niece, your temper is that of my sister, your grandmother, who brought three men to sacrifice because she grew jealous of them. well, well, these are strange times, and you may live to see your desire satisfied by the death of the god. now, what of that woman? how comes she to be with you?”
-“she was bound by the order of aca, father, and jâl was set to watch her; but i drugged jâl, and loosing her bonds i led her down the secret way, for she desires to speak to you.”
-“how can that be, niece? can i then understand her language?”
-“nay, father, but she understands ours. had she been bred in the land she could not speak it better.”
-nam looked astonished, and going to the door he called to the priest without to lead in the stranger.
-“you have words to say to me,” he said.
-“yes, lord, but not before these. that which i have to say is secret.”
-“have no fear, lord,” said soa, reading his thoughts. “see, i am unarmed.”
-then he commanded the others to go, and when the door had closed behind them, he looked at her inquiringly.
-“tell me, lord, who am i?” asked soa, throwing the wrapping from her head and turning her face to the glare of the torchlight.
-“how can i know who you are, wanderer? yet, had i met you by chance, i should have said that you were of our blood.”
-“that is so, lord, i am of your blood. cast your mind back and think if you can remember a certain daughter whom you loved many years ago, but who through the workings of your foes was chosen to be a bride to the snake,” and she paused.
-“speak on,” said nam in a low voice.
-“perchance you can recall, lord, that, moved to it by love and pity, on the night of the sacrifice you helped that daughter to escape the fangs of the snake.”
-“i remember something of it,” he replied cautiously; “but tidings were brought to me that this woman of whom you speak was overtaken by the vengeance of the god, and died on her journey.”
-“that is not so, lord. i am your daughter, and you are none other than my father. i knew you when i first saw your face, though you did not know me.”
-“prove it, and beware how you lie,” he said. “show me the secret sign, and whisper the hidden word into my ear.”
-then, glancing suspiciously behind her, soa came to him, and made some movements with her hands in the shadow of the table. next bending forward, she whispered awhile into his ear. when she had finished, her father looked up, and there were tears in his aged eyes.
-“welcome, daughter,” he said. “i thought that i was alone, and that none of my issue lived anywhere upon the earth. welcome! your life is forfeit to the snake, but, forgetting my vows, i will protect you, ay, even at the cost of my own.”
-then the two embraced each other with every sign of tenderness, a spectacle that would have struck anyone acquainted with their characters as both curious and interesting.
-presently nam left the chamber, and having dismissed the attendant priest and his great-niece, saga, who were waiting outside, he returned and prayed his daughter to explain the reason of her presence in the train of aca.
-“first, you shall swear an oath to me, my father,” said soa, “and if you swear it not, i will tell you no word of my story. you shall swear by the blood of aca that you will do nothing against the life of that queen with whom i journeyed hither. for the others, you may work your will upon them, but her you shall not harm.”
-“why should i swear this, daughter?” he asked.
-“you shall swear it because i, whom you love, love her, and also because so you shall gain the greater honour.”
-“who am i that i should lift my hand against the gods, daughter? i swear it by the blood of aca, and if i break my oath, then may jâl deal with me as once he dealt with aca.”
-then soa went on freely, for she knew that this was a vow that could not be broken. beginning at its commencement, she told him all the story of her life since, forty years ago, she had fled from among the people of the mist, passing on rapidly, however, to that part of it which had to do with the capture and rescue of juanna from the slave-traders, and with the promise that she had made to leonard as the price of his assistance. this promise, she was careful to explain, she had not intended to fulfil until she was forced to do so by juanna herself. then she gave him a minute history of the object and details of their expedition, down to her final quarrel with leonard and her mistress on the previous day.
-to say that the old priest was thunderstruck at these extraordinary revelations would be too little; he was overwhelmed—so overwhelmed that for a while he could scarcely speak.
-“it is fortunate for this jade of a mistress of yours, who dares to make a mockery of our goddess that she may steal her wealth, that i have sworn to save her from harm, daughter,” he gasped at length, “else she had died, and swiftly. at least, the others remain to me,” and he sprang to his feet.
-“stay awhile, father,” said soa, catching his cloak, “what is your plan?”
-“my plan? to drag them to the temple and denounce them. what else is there to do?”
-“and thereby denounce yourself also, who proclaimed them gods. i think i have a better.”
-“tell it then, daughter.”
-“it is this. do you pass in before the gods this day, speak humbly to the gods, praying them to change the face of the heavens that the sun may shine; telling them also that strange talk has come to your ears by the mouth of saga and the other women, of words that have been spoken by the god jâl, which would seem to show that he is no god, but that of this you believe nothing as yet. then say to them that if the face of the heavens remains grey on the morrow, you will know that this talk is true, and that they will be brought to the temple, there to be judged and dealt with according to the finding of the people, who have heard these things also.”
-“and what if the weather should change, daughter?”
-“it will not change yet awhile; but if that should chance, we must make another plan.”
-“just now i swore to you that i would not harm her whom you love, and yet, daughter, if she is proved to be a false goddess in the face of all the multitude, how shall she escape harm, for then her end must be quick and terrible?”
-“she shall escape because she will not be there, father. you have seen the white man with her—not the deliverer, the other. were that man dressed in the robes of aca, and sat on high upon the head of the statue when the light is low, who should say that he was not aca?”
-“then you would give all the others to death, daughter?”
-“nay, i would save the deliverer alive, for a while at least.”
-“and wherefore? you are too subtle for me.”
-“for this reason, father; he loves her who is named aca, and trusts to marry her, to marry her fully according to the custom of his people: therefore i would that he should see her given to another.”
-“to another! to whom then?”
-“to olfan the king, who also loves her.”
-now nam held up his hands in perplexity, saying:
-“oh! my daughter, be plain, i pray of you, for i cannot understand your counsels. were it not better to give to these people the red stones which they desire, and send them secretly from the land, saying that they had vanished into the earth again, for so it seems to me we should be rid of much shame and trouble?”
-“listen, my father, and i will tell you. were she whom i love to leave this land, i should see her face no more, and this madness has come upon me that i cannot live without the sight of her. also, how can these people escape the dangers of the road? but four of them are left alive, and even were they without our borders, they must journey for three months before they come to any place where white men live, passing through swamps and deserts and tribes of wild men. this they could hardly do with arms such as those whereby the deliverer slew the priests, and now their arms are gone, you alone know where, my father.”
-“the instruments of which you speak lie in the deep waters of the temple pool, daughter, for there i caused them to be cast.”
-“their arms are gone,” said soa, “they are alone, here they must live or die. three of them i will give to death, and the fourth i would make the wife of the king, seeing that nothing better can be done for her. let her be hidden awhile, and then let olfan take her. as for the tale that we shall tell of the matter to the ears of the people, doubtless time will show it. i say that olfan loves her and will buy her with a great price, and the price which you must ask shall be that henceforth he obeys you in everything.”
-“the scheme is good, daughter; at the least, bearing my oath in mind, i have none better, though were it not for my oath, either i should kill them all or set them free. yet who can say that it shall succeed? it is in the hands of fate, let it go as fate wills. and now follow me, that i may place you where you shall dwell in comfort, then after we have eaten i will speak with these gods whom you have let loose upon us.”
-that morning passed heavily enough to the four wretched prisoners in the palace. for some hours they sat together in the throne-room almost silent, for they were crushed by misfortune and fear; the toils were closing on them, and they knew it, nor could they lift a finger to save themselves.
-francisco knelt and prayed, leonard and juanna sat hand in hand listening to him, while otter wandered to and fro like an unquiet spirit, cursing soa, saga, and all women in many languages and with a resource and vigour that struck his hearers as unparalleled. at length he vanished through the curtains, to get drunk probably, leonard reflected.
-however, the dwarf sought not drink, but vengeance. a few minutes later, hearing screams in the courtyard, leonard ran out to find himself witness to a curious scene. there on the ground, surrounded by a group of other women, her companions, who were laughing at her discomfiture, lay the stately saga, bride of the snake. over her stood her lord and master, the god jâl, his left hand twisted in her long hair, while with his right, in which he grasped a leather thong, despite her screams and entreaties, he administered to her one of the soundest and, be it added, best deserved thrashings that ever fell to the lot of erring woman.
-“what are you doing?” said leonard.
-“i am teaching this wife of mine that it is not well to drug a god, baas,” gasped otter; then added with a final and most ferocious cut, “there, get you gone, witch, and let me see your ugly face no more.”
-the woman rose and went, cursing and weeping, while the dwarf followed leonard back into the throne-room.
-“you have done it now, otter,” said leonard. “well, it does not much matter. i fancy she is gone for good, any way.”
-“yes, baas, she has gone, and she has gone sore,” replied otter with a faint grin.
-at that moment a messenger arrived announcing that nam was without waiting for an audience.
-“let him be admitted,” said juanna with a sigh, and seated herself on one of the thrones, otter clambering into the other.
-they had scarcely taken their places when the curtains were thrown back and the ancient priest entered, attended by about a score of his fellows. he bowed himself humbly before juanna and the dwarf and then spoke.
-“oh! ye gods,” he said, “i come in the name of the people of the mist to take counsel with you. why it is we do not know, but things have gone amiss in the land: the sun does not shine as in past years before you came to bless us, neither does the grain spring. therefore your people are threatened with a famine, and they pray that you may comfort them out of the store of your wisdom.”
-“and if we have no comfort to give, nam?”
-“then, queen, the people ask that you will be pleased to meet them to-morrow in the temple at the moon-rise, when the night is one hour old, that they may talk with you there through the mouth of me, your servant.”
-“and if we weary of your temple and will not come, nam?” asked juanna.
-“then this is the command of the people, o aca: that we bring you thither, and it is a command that may not be disobeyed,” answered the high priest slowly.
-“beware, nam,” replied juanna; “strange things happen here that call for vengeance. our servants pass away like shadows, and in their place we find such weapons as you carry,” and she pointed to the priests’ knives. “we will come to-morrow night at the rising of the moon, but again i say to you, beware, for now our mercy is but as a frayed rope, and it were well for you all that the cord should not break.”
-“ye know best whither your servants have wandered, o aca,” said the priest, stretching out his hands in deprecation, and speaking in a tone of which the humility did not veil the insolence, “for true gods such as ye are can guard their servants. we thank you for your words, o ye gods, and we pray you to be merciful to us, for the threats of true gods are very terrible. and now one little word. i ask justice of you, o ye gods. she who was given to be bride of the snake, my niece who is named saga, has been cruelly beaten by some evil-doer here in the palace, as i know, for but now i met her bruised and weeping. i ask of you then that ye search out this evil-doer and punish him with death or stripes. farewell, o ye high gods.”
-leonard looked at the priest as he bowed humbly before the thrones, and a desire to take otter’s advice and kill him entered his heart, for he knew that he had come to drag them to their trial and perhaps to doom. he still had his revolver, and it would have been easy to shoot him, for nam’s broad breast was a target that few could miss. and yet, what could it help them to shed his blood? there were many to fill his place if he died, and violence would certainly be answered with violence. no, he would let him be, and they must bide their fate.
-chapter xxviii. juanna prevaricates
-the morrow drew towards its evening. like those that had gone before it, this day had been misty and miserable, only distinguished from its predecessors by the fall of some sharp showers of sleet. now, as the afternoon waned, the sky began to clear in its accustomed fashion; but the bitter wind sweeping down the mountains, though it drove away the fog, gave no promise of any break in the weather. at sunset leonard went to the palace gates and looked towards the temple, about the walls of which a number of people were already gathering, as though in anticipation of some great event. they caught sight of him, and drew as near to the gates of the palace as they dared, howling curses and shaking their fists.
-“this is a foretaste of what we must expect to-night, i suppose,” said leonard to francisco, who had followed him, as they retreated across the courtyard. “we are in trouble now, friend. i do not so much care for my own sake, but it breaks my heart to think of juanna. what will be the end of it, i wonder?”
-“for me, outram, the end will be death, of that i am sure; well, i have long expected it, and i am ready to die. what your fate will be i cannot say; but as to the senora, comfort yourself; for many weeks i have had a presentiment that she will escape safely.”
-“in that case i am ready enough to go,” answered leonard. “life is as dear to me as to other men; but i tell you, francisco, that i would pay mine down gladly to-night as the price of her deliverance.”
-“i know it, outram; we are both of one mind there, and perhaps before many hours are over we shall be called upon to practise what we preach.”
-by now they had reached the throne-room, where otter, who for the last twenty hours had been quite sober, was squatted on the floor at the foot of his throne, a picture of repentant misery, while juanna walked swiftly up and down the long room, lost in reflection.
-“any news, leonard?” she said as they came in.
-“none, except that there are great preparations going on yonder,” and he nodded towards the temple; “also a mob is howling at the gates.”
-“oh!” groaned otter, addressing juanna, “cannot you, who are named shepherdess of the heavens, prophesy to these people that the weather will break, and so save us from the snake?”
-“i can prophesy,” she answered; “but it will not change to-night, nor, i think, to-morrow. however, i will try.”
-then came a silence: nobody seemed to have anything to say. it was broken by the entrance of olfan, whose face showed the disturbance of his mind.
-“what passes, olfan?” asked juanna.
-“queen,” he answered sadly, “there is great trouble at hand. the people rave for the blood of you, their gods. nam told you that ye are summoned this night to confer with the people. alas! i must tell you otherwise. this night ye will be put upon your trial before the council of the elders.”
-“that we guessed, olfan, and if the verdict goes against us, what then?”
-“alas that i must say it! then, queen, you will be hurled, all of you, into the pool of the snake, to be food for the snake.”
-“cannot you protect us, olfan?”
-“i cannot, o queen, except with my own life. the soldiers are under my command indeed; but in this matter they will not obey me, for the priests have whispered in their ears, and if the sun does not shine they too must starve next winter. pardon me, queen, but if you are gods, how is it that you need help from me who am but a man? cannot the gods then protect themselves and be avenged upon their enemies?”
-juanna looked despairingly at leonard, who sat by her side pulling at his beard, as was his fashion when perplexed.
-“i think that you had better tell him,” he said in english. “our situation is desperate. probably in a few hours he will know us to be impostors; indeed, he guesses it already. it is better that he should learn the truth from our own lips. the man is honest; moreover, he owes his life to us, though it is true that were it not for us he would never have been in danger of his life. now we must trust him and take our chance; if we make a mistake, it does not greatly matter—we have made so many already.”
-juanna bowed her head and thought awhile, then she lifted it and spoke.
-“olfan,” she said, “are we alone? that which i have to say must be overheard by none.”
-“we are alone, queen,” he answered, glancing round, “but these walls have ears.”
-“olfan, draw near.”
-he obeyed, and leaning forward she spoke to him almost in a whisper, while the others clustered round to hear her words.
-“you must call me queen no more,” she said in a voice broken with humiliation. “i am no goddess, i am but a mortal woman, and this man,” and she pointed to otter, “is no god, he is only a black dwarf.”
-she paused, watching the effect of her words. an expression of astonishment swept across the king’s face, but it was her boldness rather than the purport of her speech that caused it. then he smiled.
-“perhaps i have guessed as much,” he answered. “and yet i must still call you by that name, seeing that you are the queen of all women, for say, where is there another so lovely, so brave, or so great? here at least there are none,” and he bowed before her with a stately courtesy that would have become any european gentleman.
-now it was leonard’s turn to look astonished. there was nothing in the king’s words to which he could take objection, and yet he did not like their tone; it was too full of admiration. moreover it seemed to him that olfan was not in the least disappointed to discover as a fact that juanna was only a woman—a supposition which was fully established by his next speech.
-“i am glad to learn from your own lips, queen, that you are no goddess, but a mortal lady, seeing that goddesses are far away and we men must worship them from afar, whereas women—we may love,” and again he bowed.
-“my word!” said leonard to himself, “this king is setting himself up as my rival. i almost wish i had put things on a more satisfactory footing; but of course it is absurd. poor juanna!”
-as for juanna herself, she started and blushed; here was a new trouble, but however disagreeable it might prove to be, now was no time to show displeasure.
-“your pardon, queen,” said olfan bluntly, “but i would ask you one question before you tell me the end of your tale. what is this white man to you?”
-now juanna was “in a cleft stick”; if she said that leonard was nothing to her, it might possibly be better for him, though it was doubtful whether olfan would believe her. if, on the other hand, she said that he was her husband, it might be better for herself, and protect her from the advances of this dignified savage; but against this course her pride revolted. had she not always indignantly repudiated the validity of that hateful marriage, and though she loved him, were not she and leonard in a sense at daggers drawn? still she must decide, and quickly; her common-sense told her that under the circumstances it was her pride which must give way.
-“he is my husband,” she said boldly.
-olfan’s face fell; then a look of doubt came into it, for juanna’s mode of life, every detail of which was known to him, seemed to contradict her statement.
-seeing that he did not believe her, juanna plunged still deeper into the mire.
-“he is my husband,” she said again. “this man,” and she pointed to francisco, “who is a priest among us, married us according to our customs some six moons since, and otter yonder was witness to the marriage.”
-“is this so?” asked olfan.
-“it is so, king,” replied francisco. “i married them, and they are man and wife.”
-“yes, yes, it is so,” put in otter, “for i saw it done, and we celebrated a great sacrifice in honour of that wedding feast. i would that we could have such another here to-night.”
-“fear not, dwarf,” answered olfan with a touch of irritation, “you will see enough of sacrifices before all is ended.”
-then a new thought struck him, and he added, “you say that the deliverer is your husband, queen, and these men bear witness to it, all except your lord himself! now tell me one thing more: do you love him and would you be sorry if he died?”
-juanna’s brow burnt red as the ruby stone upon it, for with the exception of her black robe she was prepared to proceed to the temple. but there was no help for it now; she must speak clearly, however much it shamed her to do so, lest olfan might take her silence as a hint, and the “husband” for whom she disavowed affection should be removed from her life for ever.
-“you have little right to put such a question to me, king, yet i will answer it. i love him, and if he died i should die also.”
-leonard suppressed an exclamation with difficulty, for here was juanna appearing in a new light indeed.
-“i am answered, queen,” said olfan in tones of deep depression. “now, if it pleases you, will you end your tale?”
-“there is not much to tell,” replied juanna, heaving a sigh of relief, for this cross-examination as to her exact relations with leonard had been somewhat trying. “the woman soa, my servant, is of your people; indeed, she is a daughter to nam the priest, and fled the land forty years ago because she was destined to the snake.”
-“where is she now?” interrupted olfan, looking round.
-“we do not know; last night she vanished as our other servants have vanished.”
-“perhaps nam knows, and if so you may see her again soon. proceed, queen.”
-“after the deliverer and i were married, soa, who had been my nurse for many years, told us of the great people her brethren, among whom she wished to die.”
-“may her desire be gratified!” put in otter.
-“and said that if we would escort her thither we could buy many such stones as that upon my brow, which she had brought with her from this country and given to me. then it was that i, desiring the playthings, tormented my husband till he consented to lead me hither, though his own heart spoke against it. so we came, and the journey was long and terrible, but at last we reached the cliff yonder which borders the land of mist, and it was then for the first time, when it was too late to go back, that soa told us the tale of the gods of your people, and showed us that either we must do sacrilege and feign to be those gods come back, as the prophecy promised, or perish miserably. indeed this was her plot, to set up false gods over you, having first told the secret to the priests that she might gain honour with them and save herself alive.
-“and now, olfan, that is all the tale. we have played the game and we have lost, or so it seems—that is, unless you help us;” and she clasped her hands and looked upon him pleadingly.
-the king dropped his eyes as though he were not willing to contemplate the loveliness which, as he now learned, belonged to the white stranger at juanna’s side.
-“have i not said that my power is little, queen?” he answered somewhat sullenly. “also, why should i help those who came to this land to trick us, and who have brought the anger of the gods upon its children?”
-“because we saved your life, olfan, and you swore to be loyal to us.”
-“had it not been for you, queen, my life would not have been in danger; moreover, i swore fealty to gods, and now the gods are mortals, upon whom the true gods will be avenged. why then should i help you?”
-“because we have been friends, olfan. you shall help us for my sake.”
-“for your sake, queen,” he said bitterly, “for your sake, who tell me that you are this man’s wife and that you love him to the death. nay, this is much to ask. had it been otherwise, had you been unwed and willing to look upon me, the king of this land, with favour, then doubtless i had died for your sake if there were need. but now—! have you then no better reasons to show why i should risk my life for you and for these men?”
-“i have two more reasons, king, and if they are not enough, then leave us to our fate, and let us, who must prepare to die, waste no more breath in words. the first is that we are your friends and have trusted you, saving your life at the danger of our own and telling you this tale of our own free will. therefore in the name of friendship, which you should hold sacred, who are no common man but a king, we demand your help, we who have put our lives in the hollow of your hand, knowing that you are of noble mind and will not betray us.
-“the second is that our interest is your interest: we strive against nam and the priests, and so do you. if nam conquers us to-day, to-morrow it will be your turn, and the snake, whose fangs we must feel, shall in days to come feed upon you also. now is the hour of destiny for you and your descendants: cling to us and break the yoke of nam and the priests, or desert us and bind that yoke upon your shoulders to your doom. i have spoken—choose.”
-olfan thought awhile and answered:
-“truly your mind is great, queen, and sees far into the darkness of things such as our women have no knowledge of. you should have ruled this country and not i, for then by now nam, who is my master, would have begged his daily bread at the gates of your palace, and the priests his servants had become the hewers of your wood and the drawers of your water. but i will not talk to you of policy, for time is short. nay, i will deal with your first reason and that alone.
-“you have conjured me in the name of friendship and of my oath, and by the memory of service done, and not in vain. i am a man different from that race of men of whom you are, a wild chief of a wild tribe, having little wisdom; yet i have learned these things—never to break a promise, never to desert a friend, and never to forget a service. therefore, because i swore fealty to you, because you are my friend, and because you saved my life, i will protect you to the last, though it may well chance that i can do nothing except die for you. for, queen, although you can be nought to me while yonder man lives, still i am ready to give my life for you. as for the others i will say this only, that i will not harm them or betray them.
-“now i go to speak with certain of the great men who are friends to me and hate the priest, so that when this matter comes on for judgment they may lift up their voices in your favour, for nothing can be done except by policy—that is, not now. shortly i will return to lead you to the temple. till then, farewell,” and he bowed and was gone.
-when the curtain had swung to behind olfan, juanna sank back in her chair and sighed, but leonard sprang up and said:
-“juanna, that savage is right, you should have been a queen. i know what it must have cost you to say what you did.”
-“pray, to what do you refer, leonard?” she said, interrupting him coldly.
-“i mean about our being married and the rest.”
-“oh! yes. well, you see it is sometimes necessary to tell white lies, and i think that after to-night i am entitled to a prize for general proficiency in this respect. of course,” she added, dropping her sarcastic tone, “you will not misinterpret anything that i was forced to say to olfan with reference to yourself, because you know that those statements were the biggest fibs of all. just then, had it been needful, i should have been prepared to swear that i was married to otter and deeply attached to him, or even to the king himself, who, by the way, strikes me as the most satisfactory savage that i have ever come across—in short, as a gentleman.”
-leonard turned pale with anger.
-“really, juanna,” he said, “i think that you might wait until i seek to take some advantage of our friendship and accidental relations before you rebuke me as you think fit to do. it is little short of an insult, and were we in any civilised country i would never speak to you again.”
-“don’t get angry, leonard,” she said appealingly, for juanna seemed to have every mood at her command and ready to be assumed at a moment’s notice. perhaps this gift was one of the secrets of her charm, since monotony is a thing to be avoided by women who seek to rule, even the monotony of sweetness. “it is very unkind of you,” she went on, “to speak crossly to me when i am so tired with talking to that savage and we may all be dead and buried in a few hours,” and she looked as though she were going to cry.
-leonard collapsed instantly, for juanna’s plaintive mood was the one that he could resist the least of any.
-“you would make me angry if i were on my death-bed,” he said, “that is, when you talk like that. but there it is, i cannot change you, so let us change the subject. have you any of that poison to spare? if so, you might serve us out a little; we may want it before the evening is over.”
-juanna put her hand to her hair and after some manipulation produced a tiny skin bag, from which she extracted a brown ball of about the size of a rifle bullet.
-“i can afford to be generous,” she said with a little laugh; “there is enough here to kill twenty of us.”
-then leonard took a knife and chipped off three fragments from the ball, taking one himself and presenting the other two to francisco and otter. the priest received it doubtfully, but the dwarf would have none of it.
-“keep it for yourself, baas,” he said, “keep it for yourself. whatever way i die it shall not be thus. i do not love a medicine that causes men to tie themselves into knots and then turns them green. no, no; first i will face the jaws of the snake.”
-so leonard took that piece also.
-chapter xxix. the trial of the gods
-juanna had scarcely restored the remainder of her deadly medicine to its hiding-place, when the curtains were drawn and nam entered. after his customary salutations, which on this occasion were more copious than usual, he remarked blandly that the moon had risen in a clear sky.
-“which means, i suppose, that it is time for us to start,” said leonard gruffly.
-then they set out, juanna in her monk-like robe, and otter in his red fringe and a goat-skin cape which he insisted upon wearing.
-“i may as well die warm as cold, baas,” he explained, “for of cold i shall know enough when i am dead.”
-at the palace gate olfan and a guard were waiting, but they found no opportunity of speaking with him. here also were gathered a great number of priests, who preceded and followed them.
-the procession being formed, they were led solemnly to a different gate of the temple from that by which they had entered it on their previous visits. on this occasion the secret passages were avoided, and they passed up a broad avenue though the centre of the amphitheatre, to seats that had been prepared for them on that side of the pool which was furthest from the colossal idol. as before, the temple was crowded with human beings, and their advance through it was very impressive, for the priests chanted as they walked, while the multitude preserved an ominous silence.
-at first leonard was at a loss to know why they were placed on the hither side of the pool, but presently he saw the reason. in front of the chairs to be occupied by juanna and otter, an open space of rock was left, semicircular in shape, on which were set other seats to the number of thirty or more. these seats were allotted to elders of the people, who, as leonard guessed rightly, had been chosen to act as their judges. the position was selected for the convenience of these elders, and in order that the words they spoke might be heard by a larger proportion of their vast audience.
-when juanna and otter were seated, and leonard and francisco had taken their places behind them, nam came forward to address the council and the multitude beyond.
-“elders of the people of the mist,” he said, “i have conveyed your wishes to the holy gods, who but lately have deigned to put on the flesh of men to visit us their people; namely, that they should meet you here and talk with you of the trouble which has come upon the land. and now the gracious gods have assented to your wish, and behold, they are face to face with you and with this great company of their children. be pleased therefore to make known what you desire to the gods, that they may answer you, either with their own mouths or by the voice of me, their servant.”
-he ceased, and after a pause, during which the people murmured angrily, an elder rose and said:
-“we would know of you how it is, o aca and o jâl, that the summer has deserted the land. now our strait is very sorry, for famine will come upon us with the winter snows. a while ago, o aca and o jâl, you changed the worship of this people, forbidding the victims who had been prepared to be offered up at the spring festival, and lo! there has been no spring. therefore we ask a word of you on this matter, for the people have consulted together, and say by our voice that they will have no gods who kill the spring. speak, o ye gods, and you, nam, speak also, for we would learn the reason of these evils; and from you, o nam, we would learn how it comes that you have proclaimed gods in the land whose breath has destroyed the sunshine.”
-“ye ask me, o people of the mist,” answered juanna, “why it is that the winter stretches out his hand over the slumber of the spring, forbidding her to awake, and i will answer you in few words and short. it is because of your disobedience and the hardness of your hearts, o ye rebellious children. did ye not do sacrifice when we forbade you to take the blood of men? ay, and have not our servants been stolen secretly away and put to death to satisfy your lust for slaughter? it is for this reason, because of your disobedience, that the heavens have grown hard as your own hearts and will not bless you with their sunshine and their gentle rain. i have answered you.”
-then again the spokesman of the elders rose and said:
-“we have heard your words, o aca, and they are words of little comfort, for to sacrifice is the custom of the land, and hitherto no evil has befallen us because of that ancient custom. yet if there has been offence, it is not we who have offended, but rather the priests in whose hands these matters lie; and as for your servants, we know nothing of them, or of their fate. now, nam, make answer to the charges of the gods, and to the questions of the people, for you are the chief of their servants and you have proclaimed them to be true gods and set them over us to rule us.”
-thus adjured, nam stood forward, and his mien was humble and anxious, for he saw well that his accusers were not to be trifled with, and that his life, or at least his power, was at stake, together with those of the gods.
-“children of the mist,” he began, “your words are sharp, yet i do not complain of them, for, as ye shall learn, my fault has been grievous. truly, i am the chief of the servants of the gods, and i am also the servant of the people, and now it would seem that i have betrayed both gods and people, though not of my own will.
-“listen: ye know the legend that has come down to us, that aca and jâl should reappear in the land, wearing the shapes of a fair white maiden and of a black dwarf. ye know also how they came as had been promised, and how i showed them to you here in this temple, and ye accepted them. ye remember that then they put away the ancient law and forbade the sacrifices, and by the hand of their servant who is named deliverer, they destroyed two of the priests, my brethren, in a strange and terrible fashion.
-“then i murmured, though they threatened me with death, but ye overruled my words and accepted the new law, and from that hour all things have gone ill. now i took counsel with my heart, for it seemed wonderful to me that the gods should discard their ancient worship, and i said to my heart: can these be true gods, or have i perchance been duped? thenceforward i held my peace, and set myself to watch, and now after much watching—alas! i must say it to my shame—i have discovered that they are no true gods, but wicked liars who have sought to usurp the places of the gods.”
-he paused, and a roar of rage and astonishment went up from the assembled thousands.
-“it has come at last,” whispered leonard into juanna’s ear.
-“yes, it has come,” she answered. “well, i expected it, and now we must face it out.”
-when the tumult had subsided, the spokesman of the elders addressed nam, saying:
-“these are heavy words, o nam, and having uttered them you must prove them, for until they are proved we will not believe readily that there are human beings so wicked that they dare to name themselves as gods. when you proclaimed these strangers to be aca and jâl, we accepted them, perhaps too easily and after too short a search. now you denounce them as liars, but we will not disclaim them whom we have once received till we are sure that there is no room for error. it may chance, nam, that it would please you well to cast aside those gods who have threatened you with death and do not love you.”
-“i should be bold indeed,” answered nam, “if i dared to speak as i have spoken lacking testimony to establish a charge so dreadful as that which i bring against these wanderers. nor should i seek to publish my own shame and folly were i not forced thereto by knowledge that, did i conceal it, would make me a partner of their crime. listen, this is the tale of those whom we have worshipped: the fair woman, as she herself told us, is named shepherdess of the heavens, and she is the wife of the white man who is named deliverer, and the dwarf dweller in the waters is their servant, together with the second white man and the others.
-“dwelling in a far country, these men and women chanced to learn the story of our people—how, i shall show you presently—and also that we find in the earth and use in the ceremonies of our temple certain red and blue stones which among the white people are of priceless value. these they determined to steal, being adventurers who seek after wealth. to this end the shepherdess learned our language, also she learned how to play the part of aca, while the dwarf, dog that he is, dared to take the holy name of jâl. i will be short: they accomplished their journey, and the rest you know. but, as it happened, none of the stones they covet have come into their hands, except that gem which the shepherdess wears upon her forehead, and this she brought with her.
-“now, people of the mist, when doubts of these gods had entered into me i made a plan: i set spies to watch them in the palace yonder, those spies being the wife who was given to the dwarf and her handmaidens. also, i caused their black servants to be seized and thrown to the snake, one or two of them at a time, for of this i was sure, that if they had the power they would protect their servants. but, as the snake knows, those men were not protected. meanwhile reports came to me from the women, and more especially from saga, the granddaughter of my brother, who was given as a bride to jâl. and this was their report: that the dwarf behaved himself like a cur of low birth, and that when he was in liquor, which was often, he babbled of his doings with the deliverer in other lands, though all that he said they could not tell me because even now he has little knowledge of our tongue.
-“when these tales came to my ears, you may guess, o people of the mist, that if i had doubted before, now my heart was shaken, and yet i had no proof. in my darkness i prayed to the gods for light, and lo! light came. among the followers of these wanderers was a woman, and but yesterday this woman visited me and confessed all. forty years ago she had fled from among our people—i know not why, but she took with her a knowledge of our secrets. it was she who told them of the gods and the story of the gods, and she instructed them how they should deceive us and win the red stones which they desired. but now her heart repents her of the evil, and i will summon her before you, that ye may judge between me and these liars who have brought me to this shame. bring forth the woman.”
-there was a silence, and so intense was the interest that no sound came from the audience, which watched for the appearance of the witness. presently soa advanced from the shadows at the foot of the colossus, and escorted by two priests took her stand in the centre of the semicircle of judges.
-“speak, woman,” said nam.
-then soa spoke. “i am of the people of the mist,” she said, “as ye may know by looking on me and hearing me. i was the daughter of a priest, and forty years ago, when i was young and fair, i fled this land for my own reasons, and travelled south for three months’ journey, till i came to a village on a mighty river, where i dwelt for twenty years earning a livelihood as a doctoress of medicine. then there came into that village a white man, whose wife gave birth to a daughter and died. i became the nurse of that daughter; she is the woman who sits before you, and her name is shepherdess.
-“twenty years more went by, and i desired to return to my own land that i might die among my people. i told the tale of my land and of its wealth to the shepherdess and to her husband the deliverer, for i dared not travel alone. therefore in my wickedness i showed them how they might feign to be the gods of the people of the mist, come back according to the legend, for i saw that the dwarf, the deliverer’s servant, was shaped like to the shape of the statue of jâl, who sits in stone above you. being greedy, they fell into the plan, for above all things they desired to win the precious stones. but when we were come hither the true gods visited me in a dream so that my heart was troubled because of the evil which i had done, and yesterday i escaped to nam and told him all the tale which you have heard. that is the story, people of the mist, and now i pray your mercy and your pardon.”
-soa ceased, and leonard, who had been watching the multitude, whispered to juanna:
-“speak quickly if you can think of anything to say. they are silent now because of their astonishment, but in another minute they will break out, and then——”
-“people of the mist,” cried juanna, taking the hint, “you have heard the words of nam and the words of her who was my servant. they dare to tell you that we are no gods. so be it: on this matter we will not reason with you, for can the gods descend to prove their godhead? we will not reason, but i will say this in warning: put us away if you wish,—and it may well chance that we shall suffer ourselves to be put away, since the gods do not desire to rule over those who reject them, but would choose rather to return to their own place.
-“yet for you it shall be a sad and an unlucky day when ye lift a hand against our majesty, for in going we will leave you that by which we shall be remembered. ay, we will bequeath to you three things: famine and pestilence and civil war, which shall rage among you and destroy you till ye are no more a people. ye have suffered our servants to be murdered, and disobeyed our commands, and it is for this reason, as i have told you, that the sun shines no more and the summer will not come. complete your wickedness if ye will, and let the gods follow by the path that their servants trod. then, people of the mist, ye shall reap as ye have sown, and death and desolation shall be your harvest.
-“now for that base slave who has borne false witness against us. among the many things she has told you, one thing she has left untold: that she is daughter to nam the priest; that she fled the land because she was chosen bride to the snake, and is therefore an apostate worthy of death. one word also as to nam, her father; if his tale be true, then he himself is condemned by it, for doubtless he knew all at the beginning, from the lips of his daughter soa.
-“yes, knowing the truth he dared to set up gods in the land whom he believed to be false, trusting thereby to increase his own power and glory, and when these failed him because of his wickedness, then he did not scruple to cry aloud his shame. i have spoken, people of the mist. now judge between us and let fate follow judgment, for we renounce you.”
-she ended, her face alight with anger and her eyes flashing with excitement, and so great was the power of her eloquence and beauty that it seemed to throw a spell of silence over the hearts of her fierce and turbulent audience, while soa slunk back into the shadow and nam cowered visibly.
-“it is false, o people,” he cried in a voice that trembled with rage and fear. “my daughter told me the tale for the first time at dawn to-day.”
-his words awoke the audience as it were, and instantly there arose a babel of sounds that rent the very skies. “his daughter! he says that she is his daughter! nam owns his crimes!” yelled some.
-“away with the false gods!” shouted others.
-“touch them not, they are true gods and will bring a curse upon us!” answered a third party, among whom leonard recognised the voice of olfan.
-and so the clamour went on. for full ten minutes it raged, till the exhaustion of those that made it brought it to its end, and juanna, who all this while sat silent as some lovely marble statue, became aware that the spokesman of the elders was once more addressing the multitude.
-“people of the mist,” he said, “hold your peace, and hearken to me. we have been chosen judges of this matter, and now, having consulted together, we will give judgment, and you shall be bound by it. as to whether these strangers who are named aca and jâl are true gods or false, we say no word. but if they are false gods, then surely nam is guilty with them.”
-here a shout of assent burst from the audience, and leonard watching the high priest saw him tremble.
-“yet,” he went on, “they have told us by the mouth of her who sits before you, that it is because of our offences that the sun has ceased to shine at their command. therefore at their command it can be made to shine. then let them give us a sign or let them die, if indeed they are mortal, for if they are not mortal we cannot kill them. and this shall be the sign which they must give: if to-morrow at the dawn the mists have vanished and the sun shines red and clear on the snows of yonder mountain, then it is well and we will worship them. but if the morning is cold and mist-laden, then, true gods or false, we will hurl them from the head of the statue into the pit of the snake, there to be dealt with by the snake, or to deal with him as it may chance. that is our judgment, people of the mist, and nam shall carry it out if need be, for he shall keep his power and his place until all these wonders are made clear, and then himself he shall be judged according to their issue.”
-now the great mass of the people cried aloud that this was a wise and just saying, but others were silent, for though they did not agree with it they dared not dispute the sentence. then juanna rose and said:
-“we have heard your words and we will withdraw to consider them, and by dawn ye shall see us seated on the black one yonder. but whether we will cause the sun to shine or choose to pass to our own place by the path of boiling waters, we do not know, though it seems to me that the last thing is better than the first, for we weary of your company, people of the mist, and it is not fitting that we should bless you longer with our presence. nevertheless, should we choose that path, those evils which i have foretold shall fall upon you. olfan, lead us hence.”
-the king stepped forward with his guards and the procession passed back towards the palace solemnly and in silence, for none attempted to bar their way. they reached it safely at exactly ten o’clock by leonard’s watch.
-“now let us eat and drink,” said leonard when they stood alone in the throne-room, “for we shall need all our strength to-night.”
-“yes,” answered juanna with a sad smile, “let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.”
-chapter xxx. francisco’s expiation
-when they had finished their meal, which was about as sad an entertainment as can well be conceived, they began to talk.
-“do you see any hope?” asked juanna of the other three.
-leonard shook his head and answered:
-“unless the sun shines at dawn to-morrow, we are dead men.���
-“then there is little chance of that, baas,” groaned otter, “for the night is as the nights have been for these five weeks. no wonder that this people are fierce and wicked who live in such a climate.”
-juanna hid her face in her hands for a while, then spoke:
-“they did not say that any harm was to come to you, leonard, or to francisco, so perhaps you will escape.”
-“i doubt it,” he answered; “besides, to be perfectly frank, if you are going to die, i would rather die with you.”
-“thank you, leonard,” she said gently, “but that will not help either of us much, will it? what will they do with us? throw us from the head of the statue?” and she shuddered.
-“that seems to be their amiable intention, but at any rate we need none of us go through with it alive. how long does your medicine take to work, juanna?”
-“half a minute at the outside, i fancy, and sometimes less. are you sure that you will take none, otter? think; the other end is dreadful.”
-“no, shepherdess,” said the dwarf, who now in the presence of imminent danger was as he had been before he sought comfort in the beer-pot, brave, ready, and collected, “it is not my plan to suffer myself to be hurled into the pit. nay, when the time comes i shall spring there of my own free will, and if i am not killed—and an otter knows how to leap into a pool—then if i cannot avoid him i will make a fight for it with that great dweller in the water. yes, and i go to make ready that with which i will fight,” and he rose and departed to his sleeping-place.
-just then francisco followed his example, seeking a quiet place in which to pursue his devotions, and thus leonard and juanna were left alone.
-for some minutes he watched her as she sat beside him in her white temple dress, her beautiful face looking stern and sad against the dusky background of the torchlight, and a great shame and pity filled his heart. the blood of this girl was on his hands, and he could do nothing to help her. his selfishness had dragged her into this miserable enterprise, and now its inevitable end was at hand and he was her murderer, the murderer of the woman who was all the world to him, and who had been entrusted to his care with her father’s dying breath.
-“forgive me,” he said at length with something like a sob, and laying his hand upon hers.
-“what have i to forgive, leonard?” she replied gently. “now that it is all finished and i look back upon the past few months, it seems to me that it is you who should forgive, for i have often behaved badly to you.”
-“nonsense, juanna, it was my wicked folly that led you into this, and now you are about to be cut off in the beginning of your youth and in the flower of your beauty. i am your murderer, juanna,” and dropping his voice he hesitated, then added: “it may as well out now, for time is short, though i have often sworn that nothing should make me say it: i love you.”
-she did not start or even stir at his words, but sat staring as before into the darkness: only a pink flush grew upon the pallor of her neck and cheek as she answered:
-“you love me, leonard? you forget—jane beach!”
-“it is perfectly true, juanna, that i was once attached to jane beach, and it is true that i still think of her with affection, but i have not seen her for many years, and i am certain that she has thrown me over and married another man. most men pass through several affairs of the heart in their early days; i have had but one, and it is done with.
-“when first i saw you in the slave camp i loved you, juanna, and i have gone on loving you ever since, even after i became aware from your words and conduct that you did not entertain any such affection for myself. i know that your mind has not changed upon the matter, for had it done so, you would scarcely have spoken to me as you did to-day after olfan left us. indeed, i do not altogether understand why i have told you this, since it will not interest you very much and may possibly annoy you in your last hours. i suppose it was because i wished to make a clean breast of it before i pass to where we lose all our loves and hopes.”
-“or find them,” said juanna, still looking before her.
-then there was silence for a minute or more, till leonard, believing that he had got his answer, began to think that he would do well to leave her for a while. just as he was about to rise juanna made a gentle movement; slowly, very slowly, she turned herself, slowly she stretched out her arms towards him, and laid her head upon his breast.
-for a moment leonard was astounded; he could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. then recovering himself, he kissed her tenderly.
-presently juanna slipped from his embrace and said, “listen to me, coyotes, but at the moment it was as silent as if not another force but himself existed in all the world. he knew that he had wakened at the moment when a great hand seemed to have gripped a thousand wild throats to silence. a hundred times before he had heard the same uncanny burst of silence. but now----
-on his elbow he rested, scarcely breathing.
-outside--in the house--even down in the corrals where several restless bronchos always hitherto in these startling moments of peace had spoken audibly of life, was a breathlessness as strained as his own. the world was waiting--waiting.
-suddenly into the hush burst a solitary howl, a shattering roar that seemed to mass all the wild things of the prairie behind one tremendous throat.
-he knew that cry. it was the night-baying of huge dogs gone wild on the trail, of such dogs as he had never seen. shivering before the window, he listened. they were running swiftly across the prairie above the house, drawing nearer and nearer, their clamour shutting everything else from stamford's mind. what were they doing there? where were they making for?
-a commotion in the bunk-house brought his eyes in that direction. a pair of figures, trailing saddles, flashed out and ran to the corrals. and even in their haste their movements were furtive. as they galloped madly up the slope toward the oncoming dogs, stamford heard dakota fraley curse under his breath. the hoofs of the horses struck the prairie at first with only the hiss of dead grass, and then the thud-thud of distant galloping.
-the dogs were coming fast from the upper side of the house. stamford braced his trembling legs, climbed through the window, and ran to the back of the house where he could see the slope upward to the prairie. yard by yard he could follow their advance. almost as vividly he pictured the rushing of dakota and his companion to meet them. half the world then for hobbles beneath him!
-across the broken howls cut dakota's bellow, and silence fell like a blow. a few seconds later came two sharp yelps of pain, and then nothing more.
-stamford still stood in the cold night air, one hand pressed against the wall of the house. it was that hand warned him of movement within the house. with a vivid memory of cockney's warning only an hour before, he darted back for his window.
-as he turned the corner a flicker of movement passed between him and the lighted prairie beyond; but it was too quick to place. dragging his fingers along the wall as he ran, his hand struck something that gave before him. without stopping, he glanced upward.
-a rope ladder was hanging from professor bulkeley's window.
-a crunch on the gravel walk before the house sent stamford on, scarcely pausing to think. throwing himself over the window-sill, he straightened up within his room and waited in panting excitement.
-fear crowded him in--threatened to stifle him. someone was out there before the house--his ears told him that. but a more thrilling sense warned him that someone was in his room--that if he but reached out his hand he would touch a living body.
-"sh-sh!" the low hiss from beside him dissipated every element of personal fear. "it's bulkeley!"
-stamford gasped. most prominent in the medley of feelings gripping him was a desire to laugh hysterically. it was so like the big innocent fellow to present himself like that, as if they were meeting in a game of hide-and-seek--nothing more.
-"i'm f-frightened," came the stammering whisper again, as the professor's huge hand fell on stamford's arm.
-the steps before the house moved lightly round to the window.
-"are you awake, mr. stamford?"
-close to the house, just beyond range of the window, mary aikens was standing, terrified, pleading for companionship and comfort. the professor's grip tightened so convulsively that stamford almost cried out.
-she must have heard the movement.
-"what is it, mr. stamford, oh, what is it?"
-stamford wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her like a big brother.
-"it's only dogs, mrs. aikens--somebody's dogs on a coyote or antelope trail."
-he was trying to reassure her with his tone even more than with his words.
-"but it was so terrible--so threatening!"
-"it's the way of dogs at night. they're apt to revert to type at an hour like this." the professor's grip relaxed. "to tell the truth, i'm far more thrilled than i sound. it reminds me of sheep-hunting dogs back east."
-a low sob broke from her. at the same instant the professor hissed a warning.
-"but there are no dogs on the red deer," she sobbed, "none like that."
-"the night magnifies them. but where's your husband?"
-"he went out--long ago----"
-"mary, when you've finished your midnight conversation with a man through his bedroom window, we'll go to bed."
-"oh, jim! i was frightened. i couldn't stay in there alone." a double terror was in her voice now.
-stamford ground his teeth in his impotence. cockney's big bulk loomed before the window.
-"go to bed," he ordered. "i've something to say to this fellow--right now."
-she moved quickly before the moonlit square of the window and threw her arms about the big man. cockney made no resistance.
-"don't, jim, please. come to bed. can't you see that i----"
-the professor's lips were close to stamford's ear.
-"for god's sake get him away; he'll murder us."
-stamford stepped to the window.
-"cockney," he said, "whatever you think of me is no reason for forgetting yourself. i'll be here in the morning."
-the big rancher turned his head to look down on the small figure of his pleading wife, took her arm without a word, and started away. stamford stood listening as they crossed the sitting-room and closed their bedroom door behind them.
-he was fumbling about the dresser for the matches.
-"no, no, please!" pleaded the professor. "there might be others around. i'll go back to my room in the dark."
-"first of all you'll explain why you're here."
-in the darkness his five-feet-four was not dwarfed by the extra foot or so of the professor, and the smaller man was in his own room and had himself under better control.
-"i'm afraid you'll--you'll laugh at me, mr. stamford. i have my--ah--little fancies. we all have. i suppose i'm more sensitive to ridicule."
-"there's a good deal more of you to be sensitive," stamford sneered.
-"perhaps that's it. would it be--ah--too much to beg of you not to insist? you don't suspect me of intentions on your purse, i suppose. as a matter of fact"--he giggled in a silly way--"i was on my way to the furthest corner under your bed when you came in."
-"considering the fact that i found you in my room in the dark when you are supposed to be in bed," persisted stamford, "you'll agree that not insisting is little likely to dismiss the affair."
-the professor cleared his throat gently.
-"i throw myself on your mercy, mr. stamford. i don't believe you'll betray me. when a lad of eight my home was burnt down. my little dog, tony, and a pet kitten went with it. it was terrible to me. the fear of fire has clung to me ever since. at home i always sleep downstairs. when i travel i carry a rope ladder. if you look you will see it dangling now from my window."
-"yes," said stamford drily, "i did notice it."
-"i know it's disgustingly foolish, but--ah--i was practising on it. i've done it once or twice before since we came. and then those awful dogs--or were they wolves?--completely unnerved me. i must have lost my head. you see, i've always with me such valuable papers on my work, the destruction of which would be a loss to the whole nation----"
-"it doesn't happen to be my nation," stamford broke in coldly.
-"mr. stamford, can i trust you?"
-"i was going to crave that you'd take the responsibility of looking after my notes--in this room." he laughed apologetically, "in case of fire they could be saved here."
-stamford had a sudden idea.
-"and your sister--does she share your fears and--and practise on the rope ladder?"
-"never, never! fear is a matter of mind, and to isabel is not that peculiar delicacy of mind that----"
-a slight scraping sound against the side of the house stopped him. there was a dull thud on the ground, and isabel bulkeley came swiftly before the window.
-"mr. stamford, i can't find my brother." she was almost as agitated as mary aikens had been a few minutes before. "he's not in his room----"
-"here i am, isabel."
-the professor stepped quickly to the window and touched her on the arm. she laughed, with a tinge of hysteria none would have connected with her. then the chaperone came uppermost.
-"amos bulkeley, you come right to bed! don't you know you never could stand the night air? you'll catch your death of cold. is it any wonder, mr. stamford, that i lose patience with him sometimes? no, not a word, amos! you march!"
-and amos marched as he was told, his long, awkward legs struggling through the window with ludicrous contortions. stamford, watching with a smile in which was amusement and contempt, saw him carefully place his feet in the ladder rungs, test the ropes, and begin to climb ponderously upward.
-he could not resist the opportunity. isabel was holding the ladder for her brother to ascend.
-"thank you," she whispered back. "i'll remember."
-"isabel, isabel!" the professor was leaning through his window. "come right along now. i'll hold the ladder. don't be a bit afraid, dear. nothing can happen. just close your eyes and climb."
-stamford snarled up at the cooing voice.
-a catch of more than fish
-long before the guests appeared at the breakfast table next morning cockney was away on pink eye; so that there was nothing to fear from him. a singular and confusing reticence was on them. several times the professor cleared his throat as if he would speak of the things they were avoiding, but he thought better of it each time and continued his meal in silence.
-imp was there, slinking close to mary's skirts wherever she went, cowering, every bit of his chirpy impudence gone. his mistress reached down and rubbed his ears.
-"he leaped through my window this morning and ran under the bed. he would scarcely come out. if you'll tell me how i can keep you, little fellow, i'm willing to try. it's home in a storm, isn't it? dakota doesn't wear, does he?"
-imp waggled a lifeless tail and relapsed into obscurity.
-a heavy knock startled them, and dakota walked in.
-"mr. aikens here?"
-"he went away early, dakota--perhaps across to the double bar-o. i know he was intending to see mr. gerard soon on business."
-"scared o' the wolves, little shaver, eh? i don't wonder. we don't hear 'em often up here."
-"were they wolves?" asked stamford, eager to believe mere dogs had not so shattered his nerves.
-"come down from the north, i guess," explained dakota.
-"but how could they cross the river?" queried the professor. "they must have a better ford than i use."
-"hm-m! perhaps they drifted up from the cypress hills, or across from the west. maybe they smelt the little shaver here. if they ever got after him they'd shore peel the bark offen him. i'll be warning the boys to keep a look-out on the calves. i wouldn't like to meet the beggars on the prairie without a horse, no, not even with an arsenal on me. they're dangerous devils."
-"isabel!" the professor was looking anxiously at his sister. "i guess we'd better hasten our task. this isn't safe for you. wolves! gr-r-r! it sounds uncivilised."
-dakota shook his head gravely and left. imp tagged humbly at his heels.
-"of course," the professor grinned, "if there are only the two we heard last night, i might be able to satisfy them myself. a couple of hundred pounds ought to hold them for one meal. at any rate, i'd make a point of lying so heavy on their innards that you'd have a chance to escape, isabel."
-he looked out through the window to the ranch buildings. dakota had picked up imp and was hurrying along with the little terrier tucked under his arm.
-"i think, isabel, we'll try this side of the river to-day. that monodonious skull can wait another day. it's managed to stick it long enough to forgive another twenty-four hours, don't you think? i'll get the horses."
-he lumbered off along the path to the stables, calling as he passed the cook-house for a good samaritan to lend him a hand in deciding which end of the harness went first on gee-gee. bean slade beat the dude and general to it, while the professor watched proceedings as if it were a new experience.
-"some day," he declared, "i'm going to invent a harness that can be grafted on a horse for a few generations until it's handed down as part of his natural equipment, like teeth and eyes. i've a warm spot for tenderfeet--even tenderfeet of ten centuries hence. if i lived that long i'd never forget my troubles with gee-gee.... hello, dakota! teaching imp to ride?"
-dakota was in the saddle, with imp still under his arm.
-"naw! i'm taking him for his morning constitooshunal. he's changed his doctor, and this one prescribes lots of exercise. what imp needs is muscle; he's got gall enough for a great dane."
-the cowboys grinned, and dakota chirruped to his horse and moved away.
-"why don't you train him to hunt wolves?" suggested the professor.
-dakota threw him a quick glance over his shoulder.
-"if you'd wait a few minutes," said the professor, all excitement, "i'd like to join you. to be able to tell my colleagues at the institute that i, the old-bone man, had hunted wolves--that would be pride, indeed."
-dakota merely waved a refusal and trotted away.
-but the professor picked up his sister at the ranch-house and bumped away to the south-west over the prairie in the direction dakota had taken, isabel hanging to the low arm of the seat with both hands.
-far out they descried dakota and alkali riding in circles. imp was running about with his nose to the ground. the professor shouted and stood up in the buckboard to wave his arms. but long before he was close enough to speak, imp yelped and struck off to the north-west as fast as his little legs would carry him, dakota and alkali spurring behind.
-the professor waved in vain for them to wait, then turned the horses' heads to the north-east and his day's work.
-meanwhile stamford, left to his own resources for the day, collected his fishing tackle and made for the river. he was not a fisherman, but such fishing as the red deer afforded gave him excuse for getting away where he could tell himself without restraint what a fool he had been to undertake his hopeless task.
-in the shadow of a low cliff he baited his hook and tossed it into the water. a gold-eye took it at once, and for a time he played with it absent-mindedly, finally drawing it out, removing it from the hook, and tossing it back. several more he treated in the same way, and at last cast in his hook without troubling to bait it. the sun crept higher and beat unmercifully on the bare rock, and he rolled a stone on the end of the pole and stretched himself in the shade.
-"don't seem ter be enj'yin' the fishin'," gibed a high-pitched voice from the rocks above, "or else yer too blame cosy."
-stamford raised his head lazily and surveyed bean slade's unkempt figure perched on a ledge over his head.
-"any fish that takes that hook's a born fool," he sighed. "i don't want 'em any more than they want me. come on down, bean. it's far more fun to lie about and talk."
-bean climbed down and picked up the rod.
-"yu don't know no more about fishin', boss, then yu do about--about lots o' things yu'd like to know. gi' me that bait. see that smooth spot out there? that's deep water. watch yer uncle ned."
-he whirled the rod back and forward, and the hook shot out to the centre of the deeper water. almost immediately the line tugged, jerked, loosened, and went taut again. stamford leaped to his feet and grabbed the pole.
-"hang to it, bean! there, we'll get it! whoop! gee, ain't he a fighter?"
-bean yielded up the rod with twinkling eyes.
-"fer a tenderfoot who don't fish, yu can work up what looks mighty like a taste fer it."
-he hung precariously over the water and scooped unsuccessfully at a shining back that showed for a moment.
-"let 'er run, dang yu! let 'er run. yu got to get 'er to shallow water."
-after a struggle, in which stamford objected to assistance, but was unable to complete the catch himself, bean stepped into shallow water and clutched the sturgeon. stamford looked down on it with blazing eyes.
-"mister stamford," grinned bean, "if yu wasn't born a fisherman, yer shure goin' ter die one."
-"bean," said stamford, "i'll crave your kind assistance to the extent of baiting that hook again. then--no more. i'll bring the next fellow in myself or die in the attempt."
-stamford went back to the hole. nothing happened. he waited several minutes, yawned, frowned, and leaned back against the rock.
-"that one," he declared, pointing to the still wriggling fish, "had this whole darn river to itself. my line says so." he yawned again. "bean," suddenly, "you're my friend, aren't you?"
-the cowboy studied him curiously. "i reckon i ain't got no spite again yu--none of us chaps at the cook-house have."
-"not including dakota, of course."
-bean ruminated over that. "mebbe yer right."
-"i don't believe, bean slade, that you're happy with that gang."
-bean got up and started away.
-"ta-ta!" he called. "this ain't my pumpin' day."
-stamford cursed his impetuosity.
-"all right," he laughed. "you've a brain of your own--and i've seen no evidences of a loose tongue in you. i was going to tell you something--perhaps--that was all."
-bean kicked over some loose stones and wandered back. plainly he did not want to go.
-and just then a fish took the bait. stamford jumped forward, missed his footing, and tumbled helplessly into the rushing current.
-bean bounded to an overhanging rock, braced his feet in a crevice and leaned far over. stamford came up almost beneath his hand, gasping, already half drowned, surrendering to the icy torrent that started in distant glaciers. he could not swim a stroke. bean's bony fingers closed over his hair, stayed his progress, and the other hand moved down to his arm.
-"here, yu noodle!" he shouted. "yu got to help yerself, or i'll let yu go. this ain't no time to faint. grab my shoulders. now work yer way up my body. yu'll find bones thar to catch hold of. now--all together!"
-stamford lay panting on the rock. bean, perspiration bursting from every pore, leaned weakly on his elbow beside him.
-"whew!" he puffed.
-that was all, but his limbs were shaking, and the perspiration trickled down his neck and dampened his loose neckerchief. a great gush of affection passed between the two men, though neither spoke. stamford extended his hand and laid it on bean's, and the cowboy looked away and drew a coloured bandana with his free hand and rubbed it round his neck.
-presently he sat up and stared up the river.
-"huh!" he grunted. "yu shure don't take a bath of'en, do yu?"
-"not that way--never again!" replied stamford fervently.
-"'cos there's such a funny noise when yu strike the water."
-stamford flushed. "did i scream?"
-"if 'twas you," grinned bean, "yu shure can throw yer voice high and far."
-stamford followed his eyes up the river cliff, and flushed again, this time for a different reason.
-"pshaw, bean! you were excited."
-"then there was two of us, i reckon."
-"i'm sure i must have screamed," said stamford. "i was never so scared in my life." but his heart sang with the knowledge that isabel bulkeley, somewhere in the cliffs above, had feared for him.
-"all right, have it yer own way. only if i was you i wouldn't believe myself." he drew several long breaths and looked shyly at the man he had rescued. "god, if i hadn't been here!"
-"bean, i----" the surge of stamford's gratitude was choking him.
-"billy windover saved me once like--like that," said bean, his eyes fixed on the foaming water.
-"billy windover? wasn't that the cowboy who was shot down near the cypress hills a couple of months ago?"
-bean nodded. "billy an' me was chums--the best chums in the world, i guess, pretty near. me and him was raised together--down in indiany. our farms was close together, an' billy an' me played injun an' pirate an' stage robber together when we was knee high to a grasshopper.... we grew up together.... we loved the same gal.... he licked me and won. we fought it out on the banks of a deep stream that cut through both farms--in the woods--an' the licked one was to drown himself.... he pulled me out...."
-he lifted himself higher and drew one hand angrily across his eyes.
-"the gal she turned out bad ... and billy went a bit wild.... i went with billy. we broke out in montany. billy was a reckless cuss, an' he got in bad with the sheriffs and flitted over here. i came as soon's i got the chance.... and--and now he's--he's pulled out an' left me--alone."
-"he was murdered, i understand," said stamford.
-bean's face darkened, and his sunken eyes glared.
-"damned sight wuss 'n that! shot down without a chance in the dark. dirty cuss who did it's goin' to settle with me."
-"if you ever find who it was."
-"why----" bean's eyes peered out furtively beneath his shaggy brows, and he said no more.
-stamford led off on another tack; he had learned all that interested him there.
-"there's kid loveridge, too. someone shot him, and he was one of this very outfit."
-"huh!" growled bean. "the kid got what was comin' to him."
-stamford held himself under careful control.
-"then there's corporal faircloth."
-bean's lips closed, his face was inscrutable.
-presently he spoke.
-"yu thought a lot o' the corporal?"
-"he was my first and best friend in the west."
-"an' yer mighty consarned to find out who shot him?"
-stamford did not reply immediately. he had a thought of throwing himself frankly on bean's affection. it was certain that bean could tell him what he wished to know--much more certain than that he would. but the three fruitless weeks of search on the h-lazy z called for desperate measures. he was debating it when bean spoke again in an ominous tone.
-"'cos what yer doin' 's a mighty dangerous game."
-"dangerous? do you know what i'm trying to do?"
-"i'm just givin' yu a warnin', boss, that's all. it's like to end at the business end of a gun."
-stamford made a decision.
-"the h-lazy z is crammed with mysteries. if you----"
-"an' the less yu understand them the better fer yer skin. an' it shore ain't no business o' yours."
-"it is my business that my best friend was murdered."
-"best leave that to the police."
-"but they're doing nothing."
-"i guess ya don't know the police," said bean, rolling a cigarette.
-stamford sat thinking. "bean," he said suddenly, "i'm going to tell you something. the night we returned from medicine hat i got hobbles out--never mind how--and rode back to where we'd seen dakota."
-he waited in vain for a burst of surprise. bean merely nodded.
-"they were branding or something. they almost caught me."
-"yer dead right there," agreed bean.
-in a flash stamford understood. "but it couldn't have been you pushed me from hobbles."
-"huh!" grunted bean, taking a long draw at his cigarette.
-"you were back at the bunk-house. i saw you there an hour or so later, when dakota came in."
-"uh-huh! an' yu purty near gave the show away--if dakota's ears was as good as mine.... also hobbles couldn't 'a' been out at the branding neither, 'cos she was there in the stable then, too, eh?"
-he chuckled, and coughed with the smoke.
-"but i heard you tell dakota no one had gone out--also i saw you start off right after your supper to join dakota; you promised him to as we were driving in."
-"dear me! did yu think yu wasn't intended to see an' hear all that? ha! ha!"
-"but i don't understand."
-"shure yu don't! if yu did yu'd be back in town now.... an' i'm not goin' to tell yu, neither."
-he got up, stretched, expectorated into the river, and sauntered away.
-"ta-ta!" he called back. "take care o' yerself."
-stamford folded his fishing-rod, threw his lunch strap over his shoulder, and started back for the house, forgetting the big sturgeon lying in the sun. his clothes were almost dry already with the warm rocks and sun. he had his first useful clue, and it reassured him. his guiding thought now was that bean slade knew the murderer he was after--and if bean slade, then the rest of the h-lazy z outfit. but how much or how little was cockney aikens involved?
-he was surprised to find the bulkeleys already returned to the ranch-house, though dinner was a couple of hours away. it delighted him--and also blotted from his mind the success of his afternoon's work. what he recalled was the scream bean claimed to have heard. he wanted to verify or disprove that. with a refreshed pride in himself he determined that he would. he proposed a walk; the brilliance of the out-of-doors provided perpetual excuse in the west. isabel's immediate reply was an anxious look at her brother and mary.
-"i'm not asking your brother," he said boldly.
-"amos and i have to work on his notes," she objected. "that's why we came in early."
-"tut, tut!" protested her brother recklessly. "i've changed my mind. the inspiration is lacking. it's not my day for work. i don't care a hang if the entire carcass of a crested saurolophus is lost to the world by an afternoon's indolence. i'm--going--to be indolent! there! whoopee! hear the cry of independence."
-he lifted a foot and kicked the top of the doorway with surprising ease.
-"it sounds to me like revolution," said his sister with mock severity, yet with more than a little anxiety.
-he picked her up and deposited her outside the door.
-"trot along now, or mr. stamford may never ask you again."
-he made a face at her from the doorway and turned his back.
-that her annoyance was not assumed stamford discovered to his embarrassment before they had gone six paces. once she turned about, to see the laughing faces of the professor and mary aikens regarding them from the doorway. for some minutes their progress was wordless. stamford was puzzled by her reluctance to leave the ranch-house, for he was convinced that she wanted to come. he knew the wisdom of leaving her to break the silence, of assuming humility, whether he felt it or not.
-but he was not prepared for what she did say.
-"we shouldn't, mr. stamford, we shouldn't."
-he heard only the implied partnership, and threw his shoulders back recklessly as he tramped on.
-"i don't care what we shouldn't do. if it's naughty it's nice. that's how reckless i am."
-her smile was wan; some anxiety too deep to respond to his banter was there.
-"i don't like you serious," she said, "but--but you must be now." there was such innocent candour in it that he knew he wanted only to help her. always when he was feeling most strongly the thrill of her presence, she disarmed him by throwing herself on his mercy.
-"i'm going to be serious with you some time, miss bulkeley," he said soberly.
-she ignored the warning.
-"it's about amos."
-"if amos isn't big enough to leave alone, he never will be. anyway, mrs. aikens will look after him till we've had our walk. now i've got you to myself, i'm going to keep you till dinner-time."
-she was laughing a little, but shaking her head, as if to reprove him for trying to turn her away from her troubles.
-"we mustn't be selfish," she said slowly. "amos is big ... but he's not big enough, i fear, to resist the--the most powerful thing in life."
-the alarm with which he searched her face for a moment changed quickly to annoyance.
-"it isn't possible to misunderstand you, miss bulkeley, but----"
-she laid one hand on his arm, turning to him her troubled eyes. he stood still for fear she would remove it.
-"haven't you seen--haven't you suspected?"
-"miss bulkeley, i can answer for our hostess. if you can say the same for your brother----"
-"i can, i can," she murmured brokenly. "but love, you know----"
-"i know that, love or no love, there never was a finer little woman than mary aikens. has your brother betrayed to you that he is less of a gentleman?"
-"i could trust amos anywhere," she replied simply.
-"then why not here?"
-her hands were clasping and unclasping as they walked.
-"this is so different. i know what love can do--how it can change things." she was stumbling over it, flushing as she spoke, but continuing brave!
-"i hope you do," he breathed.
-but the tears brimming in her eyes made him feel the brute for intruding his petty affairs just then.
-"would your brother stay if he knew he was exposing himself to a temptation he could not resist?" he demanded.
-she considered the reply for a long time before she made it.
-"we can't leave, mr. stamford. we have our work to do--it's not mere personal pleasure or satisfaction that forces amos to continue until he's completed his investigations. it's his duty to stay to the end--he can't help himself."
-he frowned. "please don't make me believe you think digging up old bones a duty that ignores--what you fear. i hope you're not that kind of a girl--i won't believe it."
-she turned her face squarely to his, and for several seconds they stood looking into each other's eyes. her head was thrown back a little proudly and reprovingly, and every barrier of reserve was down. once more the utter confidence in his manliness forced him to control himself.
-"i knew it," he said humbly. "only i don't understand.... there's this to say for your brother, that the husband of the woman you fear your brother is learning to love doesn't seem to be trying to hold her love. i don't understand cockney aikens. i believe he's white, but--but here we treat women differently."
-"that's what started it, i think," she said sadly. "amos pitied her--as you and i did.... and there are other things.... i can't tell you all--everything that worries me."
-"then it's your duty----" he was about to tell her that she should take her brother away, but he was not unselfish enough for that.
-"i can't," she replied, as if he had finished the sentence. "he wouldn't come--he couldn't."
-they had turned back and were approaching the ranch-house.
-"may i--talk things over a little like this with you when i'm worried, mr. stamford?"
-even as his heart leaped, he recognised the subtle way she had armed herself against him by the petition. never was he to permit himself to take advantage of her confidence. when he would say to her the thing which he now knew he would some day say, he must make his own opening.
-"i understand," he murmured. "you may say anything you like. if i can help you--that will be enough for me--now."
-mary aikens and professor bulkeley, left to themselves, with cookie in the kitchen fussing over the dinner, looked out to the sunlit silences where the other two had gone, and responded to their appeal. they saw the two lovers sauntering down toward the river, and they chose the trail up the slope. slowly they climbed the grade, saying nothing. from the cook-house door imp thrust his nose, sniffed with half-shut eyes into the drooping sun, and decided that one of his half-formed barks befitted the occasion. then, satisfied that he had done all that could be expected of him, he trotted back and lay on one of dakota's feet.
-the foreman was sneering through the doorway.
-"the big boob! he's shore on the wrong trail there, and some sweet day the boss'll lay hands on him and--piff!" he made a movement of tossing something away.
-"an' the biggest boob on earth wouldn't have no chance to earn it," growled bean. "not with the missus." when dakota laughed in his nasty way, bean fired angrily: "an' that little editor'll piff you"--he imitated dakota's gesture of a moment before--"if you go gettin' funny with the other gal. anyone can see where your eyes is."
-he laughed and strolled outside to avoid the explosion.
-up the trail, over the crest of the slope, the two passed out of sight. she plucked a handful of grass from the centre ridge of the trail between them and began thoughtfully to tear it to pieces. he moved at her side, his great hands gripped behind him, his eyes on the rut at his feet.
-"don't you think they're getting fond of each other?" he said after a long time.
-a smile of loving sympathy made her face so beautiful that he looked sharply away and pointed to the vivid colourings of the sunset. she followed his pointing finger absent-mindedly.
-"it would be one of the few flawless matches," she said, in a low voice.
-"they are all flawless--at first," he returned. "only some last a shorter time. that's part of life's misery, the legacy of original sin--perhaps the worst.... some pause to weigh to the merest trifles--and lose their chance. some ... some don't pause enough. the secret of happy marriage, i'm convinced, mrs. aikens, is a complete knowledge of the essentials of each other's lives before the ceremony."
-one handful of grass had been pulled to pieces, and she seized another nervously.
-"few of us pause for that," she murmured.
-"the agony of it!" his hands were clasping and unclasping behind his back, almost as were his sister's on the other trail. "and ordinarily there is no way out. divorce doesn't settle it. the most righteous divorce laws cannot supplant conscience--and conscience speaks only in the one book of all the world.... but this isn't becoming to such a night," he broke in, with sudden eagerness. "look at that sunset. only in the west do you find that unbroken spectacle, such clearness of air, such a wonderful sweep of colour. what is it about the western air that makes a man----"
-he paused abruptly, breathing heavily. she looked at him in quick fear.
-"--that makes a man feel ten years younger," he went on, with an absurd change of tone. "i think i could grow frisky out here."
-across her face passed a grateful smile of relief and understanding that she did not know she made so plain.
-"it's the essence of the west. it makes or mars a man. it does the same, only more swiftly, with the consumptives they send to us from the east. some it cures--some it kills.... some it kills when it seems most certainly to be curing them.... that's the west; it does that with everyone--one never knows."
-he broke in on her dreamy reflections in a lighter vein:
-"just the same it's the young man's country, don't you think?"
-"it's a great blessing--or a great curse.... what was jim before he came here?"
-it startled him; he had no reply ready.
-"i fear jim and i do not fulfil your estimate of the foundation for a happy married life. i never knew his past--i don't now. i never knew his people--he never speaks of them. i took jim--for himself--a handsome, manly, honest, good-natured----"
-the man at her side coughed, and she turned to him with a wan smile.
-"i know," she said wearily. "you think i shouldn't talk of my husband to others ... but in all our married life i've never before had anyone to talk anything with.... jim and i--jim and i----"
-"what i'm thinking, mrs. aikens," he interrupted gravely, "is that i'm the last one to whom you should speak of him."
-she kept her eyes ahead of them on the dim line of the sand buttes, and they walked on in silence.
-suddenly a cry burst from her lips.
-"i must speak, i must. my very heart is eating away with the strain of silence. i'll go crazy with the worry of it. it's about him--jim. he's different--these days. at first---- don't think there's any chance of jim and me not--not sticking to each other. i've fought that out with myself already. he's changed, but i know what he can be--what he was once ... what he won't let himself be now. why? i don't know. something--something is crowding between us--crowding harder and harder every day, i see him so little now, and----"
-the big man squared his shoulders and lifted his head.
-"mary aikens, i'd do anything--pretty nearly anything to help you. you know that. but i can't help you in this. please, please, don't ask me--don't say another word about him--not to me. it doesn't seem heartless, does it? it's as far from that as--as black from white. you've a heavier burden to carry than anyone i know ... and i don't know yet how it can be relieved. but it will be, it will be. i've that much faith in providence. i shouldn't have said--that about marriage. had you known--did you know all about him, you would at least bear one less trouble than you do, i'm sure of that. if i were you i wouldn't bother about that--not now. you're his wife. you should know whether he loved you once or not. and"--he ran his hand across his forehead--"as an onlooker with eyes, i can tell you that he loves you more than he ever did. is that enough.... i believe--at this moment--he loves you better--better than you do him."
-she gasped, and her hands tightened convulsively over the grass she carried.
-"i still love him," she said deliberately.... "i think i do. what my love lacks is thrust there by--by the wall he is slowly building between us. i think he loved me, yes, but--it probably sounds foolish--i don't feel that he wants me to love him--not too much. he--sometimes seems to toss me aside--you've seen it. and jim's not naturally brutal."
-the professor spoke with careless deliberation:
-"his past is much easier to unravel than his present. you're most anxious about the latter. i can see it--i see it every day. you've undertaken a lonesome task--it's the way a wife has to, but it's as apt to mislead as enlighten. i don't believe that--that the wall is unscalable--or at least the mortar's thin....
-they had been retracing their steps for some time, at his wordless guiding, and were close to the ridge before the drop to the valley.
-"never," he told her, "no, never, speak to me again of your husband. it won't lighten your burden and it only increases mine. jim aikens may be maligned by circumstances beyond his control, and we from the fringes are so apt to misunderstand. when i can help you i'll give the signal. till then--but there he is now--down in front of the house--waiting for us."
-it was a grateful relief to an oppressive dinner when dakota presented himself at the door. a fire was burning in the sitting-room stove, for the evenings were sometimes frosty now, and the cowboy sank modestly into a chair in the corner beside it. isabel, in an effort to break the embarrassing silence, seated herself near him.
-"i hope you're finding all you came for," said dakota pleasantly.
-"thank you, dakota. my brother considers the summer well spent indeed. he still has hopes of a more complete skeleton, but we can't remain much longer, can we?"
-"there ain't likely to be snow before november. sometimes we have a storm in september--mostly, i guess--but it goes as quick as it comes. we're often out riding with the herds into november. it ain't just the weather you'd want to be handling rock in, but you should oughta see october here. it's got creation beat a mile. don't you go till october. besides," he added naïvely, "we got some hard work for the next few weeks, and we can't be home much."
-"what indefatigable people you cowboys are!" exclaimed the professor. "sometimes there seems nothing to do, and then it's night and day for weeks."
-"you're right there, professor," dakota agreed in a loud voice. "to make a ranch pay like the h-lazy z is real hard work--though mr. aikens there don't seem to think so. and there ain't many pays like the h-lazy z, i tell you."
-"what's that you said, dakota?" asked cockney, coming out of his silence. "going away for a few weeks?"
-"i'm bowing for mr. stamford, too," he chuckled. "i can do it bigger than he can. we appreciate, mr. fraley, the many courtesies we have received from our fellow-countrymen. but, no, that couldn't include the little editor; he's only a local product. he doesn't know what it is to thrill to the stripes of old glory. we'll always remember you. we hope you'll have equal cause to remember us."
-"that's all right, professor," dakota replied, with an expansive sweep of his hand. "we're shore pleased punchers."
-and having delivered himself with credit to himself and his friends, he backed out, bowing, his angora chaps ruffling in the wind as he opened the door.
-his companions greeted him at the bunk-house with eager grins.
-"did she give yer a scented hanky to wear nex' yore heart, ole hoss?" enquired general confidentially.
-"or a kiss on the forehead an' promise to be a sister to yo?" put in alkali sympathetically.
-"oh, you fellers ain't familiar with the symptoms," said muck. "dakota's planned ter 'lope, an' he ain't got his checks cashed."
-"g--! i wish i had," muttered dakota, with sudden fervour. "i'll shore be devilish glad when we get this bunch offen our hands and the equiv in our jeans. i got a spooky feeling about the whole biz. it's a big bunch to get down across the railway and over fifty miles more to the border. and it'll be a deuced sight bigger when the next lot's run in.... but we got to do it. that s-bar-i outfit'll give us a run for our money. but that's all to the hunky. got your shooting irons o.k., boys?"
-he shifted his eyes slowly to bean slade's thin body outstretched on a bunk, his hands beneath his head.
-"bean's funking," he sneered.
-bean lifted an angry head. "bean slade's got himself in this thing with both feet, you son-of-a-gun, an' he'll stick.... just the same, the old h-lazy-z outfit's goin' to bust up this winter. this li'l boy's strikin' back fer civilisation--whatever that means."
-imp, resting against dakota's foot, raised his sharp ears and grunted. in a couple of bounds dakota had the door open. professor bulkeley stood outside, blinking and smiling through his spectacles.
-"i'm so glad you haven't retired, friends," he chattered. "i couldn't let you go without a record of the pleasant associations with my estimable and cheery countrymen of the h-lazy z. will you do me the honour of inscribing your names in this little book? my sister and i will look at it for many a year in remembrance of you when we're far away."
-he stumbled over the step, a notebook in one hand, fountain pen in the other. dakota laughed harshly.
-"here, trot up, you low-born yanks, and scrawl your nom-de's for the everlasting records of the li'l country god made without desecrating it with mounted police. let's make it our second papers o' repatriation. hurrah for old glory--and professor bulkeley and his charming and beautiful sister!"
-the professor pompously cleared his throat.
-"on behalf of myself and my sister, on behalf of the country we love and respect, i thank you. ever enthroned in our hearts will be----"
-"ya-as," yawned alkali, "so they say. le's take the rest for granted. sounds like decoration day--an' sort o' makes me lonesome. an' i don't cry pretty."
-"don't mind alkali," apologised bean slade. "he allus did get maudlin easy. there's my scribble--albert shaw, better--or worse--known as bean slade ... so my mother won't rekernise me when i get mine in the way i'm shure to get it. fust time i've wrote it fer eight years.... last fer the rest o' my nacherl days, so help me!"
-he tossed the book across the table. the professor picked it up with a beaming smile and bowed himself out.
-"ta-ta!" bean called after him.
-"the sneaking old geezer!" growled dakota, when the heavy steps had faded into the darkness. "if it ud been anyone else there'd 'a' been shooting, i tell you--that stamford peanut, for instance. i don't like the look of his ratty eyes. he's just the kind o' unlikely chap ud be working for the police--if he had a foot more on him. now turn in, boys. to-morrow's the last round-up for the big vamoose to god's country--and then gold enough to drown ourselves. bean, hang on for another year or two, and i'll be damnified if i don't flit with you. it's a bit too creepy for me off here at the edge of nowhere."
-the secret valley
-morton stamford may not have been a sick man when he arrived at the h-lazy z ranch; he was at least a stronger man at the end of his month's stay. his riding he continued only as practice, always with the thought that he might require it. but he walked more, diving out of sight daily into the chaos of the river banks, there to piece together his clues and plan new attacks on the problem he was working into shape for presentation to the mounted police.
-also he now and then caught sight of isabel bulkeley on the other cliff, and that in itself was reward enough.
-as the days passed he felt a new thrill in his veins, a virility that clamoured for physical exertion, and his walks extended further and further along the river, a lunch strapped over his shoulders.
-eastward the south bank often fell to an uninteresting flatness, lined still by the grass-covered trails of the buffalo herds of comparatively recent years. westward it was different. there the prairie level dropped to the river in one great leap, confining the current sometimes between high cliffs, sometimes with steep rocky wall on one side and an almost inaccessible valley on the other to the foot of the opposite cliff. it was a canyon of varying tightness, but always a canyon, the water dashing down here and there with frothy roar, everywhere with a force and depth that defied fording. the glamour of its fury appealed more and more as he tramped further up-stream.
-hundreds of miles still to the west, in the foothills of the rockies, the main branch was a glacier torrent that rolled onward through uninhabited wilds until it cut the calgary-edmonton line of homesteaders at the village of red deer. thereafter it dived once more into the unknown, never once touching the haunts of men until it reached the h-lazy z.
-stamford used to sit overlooking the torrent, picturing that long trail in the wilderness, where thousands of years ago great animals had been covered by the earth's convulsions. his uncontrolled imagination knit fantastic stories about them, and the fettered life of the little man longed to break into the heart of it and listen to its tale before soulless man tamed it.
-one day he found himself far above any point he had reached before. he had clung to the top of the cliff, stopping only here and there to peer over the precipice to the water's edge, and his progress had been faster than he realised. amid scenes new and vastly interesting he munched his lunch. below him the face of the cliff was rent by huge fissures and lined with ledges, and the river valley spread and narrowed in infinite variety. across the river the hitherto unbroken height showed signs of relenting, and great dips almost approached the nature of valleys.
-he began to creep toward them, the condition of the cliffs favouring him. gradually he sank lower and lower toward the river. he did not dare look out. with an instinctive anxiety he did not stop to analyse, he felt that other eyes were there; also he dreaded some unthrilling explanation for the thing that was thrilling him.
-when at last the clamour told him that he had come far enough, he raised his head to an opening in the rocks and looked.
-across from him, partially hidden by a line of slender crags at the river edge, was a beautiful valley, a low-lying patch of verdant meadow as different from the dead wastes above as a garden from a wilderness. almost half a mile long by four hundred yards deep, it was backed by a straight wall of cliff, broken only by two ledges. several tiny waterfalls tumbled from the face of the cliff, splashing to the upper ledge, where they joined and widened for the plunge to the meadow below.
-in that deserted country the red deer had scooped out for its own amusement a veritable oasis, and enclosed it with unscalable walls.
-that was stamford's fleeting idea. but several flaws chased the romantic thought away. the valley was neither reserved for the amusement of the river, nor was it inaccessible.
-a herd of cattle was browsing in the succulent grass. to the east the cliff sloped away behind the obtruding crags. there undoubtedly was the entrance. and with his field-glasses stamford picked out on the lower ledge a rude shack that, to the bare eye, merged in the general greyness of the background.
-nothing else of life could he find, though the valley was only a few hundred yards from him. then where were the dogs? and where were dogs must be humans.
-suddenly the barking broke out afresh, and two great dogs burst from behind a concealing rock, their noses pointing upward to the slope at the eastern end of the valley. stamford swept his glasses all about, but for a time saw nothing to focus the clamour.
-then, climbing along the higher levels beyond the reach of the dogs, came into view the big form of cockney aikens.
-in and out among the rocks cockney moved, now visible, now hidden from view, examining every rock, every foothold; climbing downward, the dogs seeming to tear themselves to pieces to get at him. he lifted himself to the top of a rock and stood looking across the valley at the cattle, ignoring the canine protest. then, as if startled, he leaped out of sight and did not reappear. the barks rumbled away to grunts and growls, and presently the dogs returned to the lower level.
-stamford was still watching with fascination their slinking muscular movements, when one of them raised his head to the top of the cliff and growled, and in a moment both were filling the valley with their disturbing din.
-the field-glasses were turned on the top of the cliff. a man's head came slowly in sight and peered over. then a long rope dropped away, and, hand over hand, the man descended rapidly to the upper ledge--sixty feet of descent without a pause.
-so absorbed was the watcher in the remarkable grace and muscle of the descent, that he did not at first recognise this second visitor to the valley. when he did he rubbed his eyes, directed his glasses again, and gasped.
-the big man walked fearlessly along the narrow ledge, a hundred feet above the valley, disappeared from stamford's sight, and after a time came into view again on the lower ledge. the dogs bounded up rude steps cut in the rock before the shack, welcoming him with waving tails and whimpering barks. he stooped to rub their ears, then at a word they quieted and fell in at his heels as he dropped to the valley. a second command sent them to their stomachs, while the professor advanced slowly toward the cattle. the nearer ones raised their heads from the long grass and examined him suspiciously, but he stood still, and they returned to their feeding. slowly the professor moved round the herd, eyeing them from every angle. after a time he came down to the water's edge and looked up and down the river, intently examining the opposite cliff.
-stamford lay motionless, only his eyes showing.
-whistling to the dogs, the professor went off to the eastern side of the valley and began to pick his way upward, peering about him as cockney had done. on the very rock where cockney had stood he paused a long time, looking across the valley and all about at his back. below, the dogs watched him with clumsily wagging tails. when next he came into sight it was on the ledge beside the shack. this he skirted back and forward but did not enter. then, with a farewell pat to the dogs, he disappeared the way he had come and came out on the upper ledge.
-hand over hand he went up the rope almost as rapidly as he had descended a half-hour before, and a few seconds later two lolling dogs and a herd of feeding cattle were the only life in the valley.
-stamford lay where he was for a long time. he had no hope of seeing more that day, but he did not wish to be seen. the dogs lay on the lower edge, their heads outstretched on their paws. below them contented steers sank their noses into such grass as they had never before eaten, and drank from sparkling streams that were nectar to their alkali-parched throats. a heavy-footed farmer might have issued from the unsightly shack and whistled lazily to the dogs to fetch the cows for milking.
-stamford smiled at the fancy.
-thoughtfully he retraced his steps under cover of the jagged cliff for almost a mile, where he emerged on the prairie and made swiftly for home.
-he was late for dinner, but they were holding it for him. cockney had not returned.
-"deep down in my innards," protested the professor, with mock displeasure, "i've an irresistible impulse to be nasty. i'd like to think it righteous indignation--but it may be only hunger. at any rate, here goes: anyone who can delay a meal in this boarding-house should have his rates raised. he insults the fare--as well as the f-a-i-r." he bowed to their hostess.
-"i nearly lost myself," apologised stamford. "deep down in my innards is only hunger; and i'm not going to make it an excuse for mushy compliments. i'll leave contrition until i've satisfied my hunger."
-"indigestion is the most likely result," laughed the professor.
-"were you really lost?" asked isabel anxiously. "you know how dangerous----"
-"isabel bulkeley"--the professor was shaking a stern finger at her--"i refuse to share your anxiety with mr. stamford."
-"having made such a failure of mothering you," she retorted, flushing, "i'm inclined to transfer my anxiety."
-"i wasn't really lost," stamford assured her, "for i stuck to the river-bank. but i've been further than i ever was before--many miles to the west."
-he regarded the professor significantly as he said it.
-"i, too, went far afield," returned the professor mysteriously. "and i found promising signs. but before i say more i want to be certain; it's disappointing to hope too much. it's very interesting up there, isn't it?"
-"it is--very," stamford replied into his soup-spoon.
-all evening the professor was plainly trying to get a word alone with him, but stamford had no wish to be questioned, and he gave no opportunity.
-the raft in the canyon
-next morning stamford started off the instant breakfast was over, but he did not go further than the cook-house. he found it deserted, the outfit having departed the day before on what promised to be a three or four days' expedition. stamford poked about the cook-house and bunk-house with a vague idea of coming on clues left carelessly exposed. in the midst of it the professor walked in on him.
-"oh, i thought you were gone for the day," said the professor, "and i hoped our friends of the funny names might be back."
-"i'm going now," stamford returned shortly, and walked away, though the professor called to him.
-from among the rocks on the river-bank he saw the buckboard pass around the corrals and make for the ford. he followed.
-somewhere that herd of cattle in the little valley had crossed the river, and he was determined to discover where. he had rather definite ideas about them that led him to expect no information from the ford.
-in that he quickly proved himself right. he had seen, even from where he lay on the opposite cliff, that most of the cattle had been in the valley a long time; that was evident from their plumpness and undisturbed feeding. the more recent arrivals were betrayed by their rougher coats and leaner bodies, and by a wilder fling of the head when the professor approached them. there had been no rain on the red deer in two months; their tracks, were there any, would show plainly enough in the mud approaches to the ford.
-but there was nothing there save the hoof-marks of the professor's team and a few dim old hollows that must have been there from the spring.
-he considered the possibility of a ford further east, but one near enough to be of use to the valley he would have heard of.
-carefully examining the shore as he went, he turned back to the west. now and then he stopped to scrutinise the face of the opposite cliff for marks of a slope on that side.
-not far from the end of the lowest corral he raised himself on a rounded rock to look about him. across the river was unbroken wall. on this side was a stretch of tumbled erosions that cut off his view from the ground. as he let himself down again his foot slipped and he fell, feet first, between two rocks. he was surprised to hear the crunch of leather, and, looking where his feet had gone, he saw a saddle carefully hidden, and beneath it a bridle. more surprising, it was not a stock saddle but an english pattern of the softest, lightest kind, ridiculously small and compact--so small that a man's coat would almost hide it.
-he thrust it back and went hastily on. his eyes flitted instinctively to the ranch-house, and just then the cook came from the kitchen and emptied a pot. stamford ducked, though a score of heads would pass unnoticed in that jumble of rock at such a distance.
-keeping to the river-bed, he moved up-stream and presently the cliffs beside him rose to the level of their mates on the other side. but there was always room for him to advance. at places the walls narrowed, the current rushing between with indescribable fury, and widening below in eddying sullenness that was almost as terrifying. that it did not always chafe its barriers in vain was shown by the tumbled confusion everywhere.
-in a few places deep crevices ran down from the prairie, and these stamford examined carefully. but there was no sign of a ford. equally alive was he to movement on the opposite cliff. by lunch-time his clothes were showing marks of his tireless clambering.
-below him--during the last half-hour he had been rising on the face of the cliff--a comfortable ledge invited, and he climbed down and unslung his lunch. as he ate he realised how easy had been his descent. out before him extended a level floor of rock up-stream; behind, a steep incline ran upward, disappearing around a bulge in the rocky face. stamford knew cattle would not follow such a steep ledge at such a height. below, the water ran smooth, but tiny whirlpools covered its surface; the current beneath was swift and treacherous.
-he ate absent-mindedly, puzzled by the clear ledge ahead, while elsewhere was such a chaos of fallen boulders. with the last mouthful he retraced his steps, searching for some branching path to the prairie above. he found it in a draw that left at right angles the one he had followed down--an easy, grass-floored ascent. tangling and twisting, he reached the prairie.
-in its depths were unmistakable evidences of cattle.
-he returned to the lower level and followed it to its end. gently it fell to the level of the river; abruptly it ended in a wide platform of rock that extended in under the cliff for fifty feet or more. on all sides but the way he had come was towering rock only a bird could pass.
-nonplussed, irritated by the dashing of his hopes, he poked about. the bare rock all round could conceal nothing, and ten yards ahead was the certain end. yet at his feet were the marks of cattle. he moved nearer the end of the platform and leaned against a pinnacle that projected from the water. as he turned helplessly to the opposite side of the river, the solution lay before his eyes, the one thing he had never suspected.
-a heavy raft lay tight against the pinnacle on which he leaned, protected from the rush of water above by another jutting rock.
-he approached it with incredulity. quiet as the stream looked superficially just there, he knew no motive power applicable at such a place would breast that current. and clearly it was too deep and swift to pole. in vain he examined the overhanging cliffs for wire.
-at the very end of the ledge he caught sight of an end of cable wound round a rock. through his field-glasses he traced its exit across the river. but still the method of passage was obscure, for the cable stretched beneath the torrent, as did the wire that connected it with the raft. studying then the angle of the raft to the current, he realised that the same principle prevailed here as propelled the ferry across the south saskatchewan at medicine hat.
-it was surprisingly simple, yet he had nowhere else seen it in practice. a wire extended from either end of the raft to the cross-river cable, the shortening of the front one of which, together with the extension of the rear one, forced the current itself, urging against the angled side of the raft, to be the propelling power.
-a burden lifted from stamford's mind. here was the crossing of the herds to the hidden valley.... here, too, was the means by which the dogs--somehow unknown to dakota and his comrades--were brought from the valley and turned loose on the prairie on that memorable night.
-he caught himself whistling, until he realised that no part of his discovery assisted him to the solution of his own problem.
-a feeling of discomfort had been increasing for some time, and he decided that he was under observation. clambering nonchalantly to his feet, he retired to the cover of the pinnacle that concealed the raft from below, and seated himself behind it. after a time his curiosity overcame him. turning on his knees he slowly advanced his head to look across the river.
-as his eyes came over the edge of the bank he saw an end of wire protruding from a small pile of rock close to the water's edge. it extended out into the river and disappeared. he knew by its position that it was intended to be concealed even from those who commonly used the raft. the action of the current had worked the end from its covering of stones. he drew back without touching it.
-at the end of an hour he decided to brave the eyes he knew were still on the watch.
-again he was late for dinner, but from a distance he saw the professor and his sister drive rapidly up to the ranch-house. they, too, were late.
-"really," the professor chided, trying to induce a frown to gather on his placid forehead, "your continued indignity in the matter of eats is a subject for solemn consideration."
-"i am at a disadvantage," returned stamford. "i have no team to hustle me and my discoveries home at night. with gee-gee and his fellow a good driver could, i am sure, cover from five miles up the other side of the river, and cross the ford, in the time it would take me to walk it on this side. with an exceptional driver i'd lose miserably."
-"some day," proposed the professor genially, "we'll try it. i'm growing quite conceited over my mastery of the incorrigible gee-gee. i won't always be so busy as i am now."
-"if that day delays, you'll never be able to get to town the mountain of button material collecting at the back door."
-"always," returned the professor gravely, "i'm looking for something bigger. that discovery i hinted at last night---- you wait, you cold-blooded editor. we palæontologists may be denied some thrills, but at least when we make mistakes there's no libel action. if i could be assured that in the wonderful national museum for which i have the honour to collect there would stand through the ages a monument to the memory of one, amos bulkeley---- it doesn't mould readily to latin, does it?"
-stamford sighed wearily.
-the professor stooped to look beneath the blind.
-"your husband!" he announced across the table.
-presently cockney jerked pink eye to his haunches before the door.
-"anything left to eat?" he called. "i'm starving."
-"when mr. stamford has his fourth helping there won't be," replied the professor. "he's a past master at keeping others talking while he eats."
-"stamford, take pink eye to the corral," ordered cockney. "the bottom corral, you know. he's too tired to be breezy."
-"here! let me tackle him." the professor was advancing in a circle on pink eye, as if with a vague idea of securing a strangle hold before the broncho could put up a defence. "if i could end the summer with the thought that i'd handled a real devil of a broncho, my pride would sustain me for a whole winter. even gee-gee seems to have lost all ambition."
-"don't you bother," cockney growled. "i'll take him myself."
-stamford came forward valiantly.
-the professor watched stamford gingerly lead the jaded horse away.
-"i haven't the heart to let him go alone," he decided, and set off running. "if we don't come back," he shouted over his shoulder, "you'll find me gathering up what's left of mr. stamford."
-stamford, turning at sound of the professor's heavy feet, saw cockney standing before the ranch-house, watching them in that speculative way of his.
-pink eye was honoured with a corral all to himself, an unusually strong one of six-foot fences, with a network of wire stapled about it. the gate, a clumsy affair of cotton-wood logs, hinged to the post by heavy loops of iron, was fastened at its other side by a chain passing through a huge staple in the gate and padlocked around the fence post. this post was sunk in the ground close to the main post of the fence, apparently added to fill an over-wide breach left by a makeshift gate.
-the professor took the key and pulled the gate open for pink eye to scamper through.
-"humph!" he growled. "the key seems a bit superfluous, with that contraption to move before pink eye could get out."
-he closed the padlock and started back for the ranch-house.
-"you're sure you locked it?"
-stamford, remembering cockney's last words, turned back. to his surprise the loop had not caught, though the professor had turned the key in the lock. the latter, apologetic, returned and corrected the mistake.
-"they'd have thought we were too frightened to do the job right," he remarked, with a sheepish grin. "just the same, it's a tiresome rite to go through for one lone broncho that wouldn't go far if he got away."
-"oh," cockney exclaimed, several minutes after they were back in the sitting-room, "the key!"
-the professor fumbled through his pocket and produced it.
-"pink eye must look on his corral," he observed, "as the equine equivalent of a jail. is he in the habit of spending his evenings at the corner saloon, or----"
-"it's a habit i have of wishing to reserve my own things for myself," said cockney shortly.
-"there are worse foibles," was the professor's sweet reply. he gave the embarrassed laugh that usually preceded a confession. "one of mine is ever so much less respectable. i'm simply scared to a panic at thought of fire--fire anywhere--here at the ranch-house--wherever i spend the night. i know how foolish it is, but my instincts are stronger than my intelligence. i must have been a wolf a few lives back. at home i always sleep downstairs on that account."
-"unless both stamford and ourselves give up our downstairs rooms i don't see how we can satisfy you at the h-lazy z," said cockney.
-"of course i'd have to be near him," put in isabel hastily. "so it's quite impossible. please don't think of indulging his foolishness any more."
-"at any rate," said stamford stubbornly, thinking of the limitations imposed on his uncertain night investigations by an upper room, "i'm not going to give up my room until my host orders it."
-"your host," said cockney emphatically "is going to do no such thing."
-pink eye and the english saddle
-stamford tossed about when he should have been sleeping, worried by a thousand questions, a thousand disturbing suspicions. and through them all ran the thread of his love for isabel bulkeley. he could hear her moving about her room, and long after they should have been asleep, the voices of brother and sister came to him in gentle murmur. added to this was the evidence of a similar wakefulness in the aikens' bedroom.
-he was wakened again by imp leaping to the floor to sniff beneath the door. out in the sitting-room someone was moving, but there was nothing furtive about it.
-then stamford became conscious of a strange rumble like distant thunder. but it was no noise of the elements.
-mary and cockney were whispering outside his door in excited tones. someone rapped.
-"don't be alarmed, stamford." cockney pushed open the door, speaking in a low voice. "it's cattle on the run--a stampede.... but it's a small bunch. they'll get them under control. the boys are riding now ... like mad! ... listen! ... ah! they have them bunched! ... they'll stop by getting in each other's way! not badly frightened, i guess.... i wonder where they broke from."
-a moment longer he stood listening to the waning sound.
-"if you'd throw something on and come out to the sitting-room i'd be grateful. i'm going out. mary's frightened.... i hope--i hope we're not making our guests too uncomfortable."
-"i'll be there in three minutes," stamford promised, groping for his clothes. "we'd better tell the bulkeleys; they'll wonder what it is."
-"never mind the bulkeleys," returned cockney sharply.
-stamford could hear him pounding off to the stables. in what seemed seconds he was galloping back below the house, making for the west.
-opposite stamford's window the horse dropped suddenly back on its haunches. stamford peered out. somewhere to the west came the swift gallop of approaching horses.
-but cockney's eyes were fixed on the side of the house. stamford saw them rise to the professor's window and drop again, while the broncho pawed impatiently. with a bend of the hand cockney turned the horse to the house, where it drew up for a brief moment, then, under digging spur, dashed to meet the oncoming riders.
-stamford leaned out and saw the rope ladder dangling from the professor's window.
-before cockney had gone a dozen paces the ladder began to move rapidly upward. in the dim light stamford imagined a small hand reached out and drew it over the sill.
-thirty yards away stamford and the approaching horses met.
-"who's had pink eye out?" demanded dakota's angry voice.
-there was a perceptible pause.
-"i don't like your tone, dakota," said cockney icily. "when you want information, there's only one way to get it."
-"i found him out there on the prairie," dakota blustered.
-cockney rode round the horse dakota was leading.
-"i didn't know he was out. but first you'd better answer my questions. where did the cattle stampede from, and how did they happen to be away off there?"
-"what difference does that make? but if you want to know"--dakota was plainly sparring for time--"it was a bit of the lost dog coulee bunch. they ran a long way before we got 'em stopped. just a small bunch. what's more serious is pink eye out there."
-"who's saddle's this?" cockney was leaning over pink eye's back.
-dakota laughed in a nasty way. "thought maybe you'd know. it's an english saddle. ever see it before?"
-"by gad! that's curious! it's a racing saddle of the lightest kind."
-"i found the cinch unbuckled," said dakota. "we were a bit too quick for the fellow that had him. but we couldn't find him." he cursed..
-cockney rode up to stamford's window.
-"you there, stamford? did you lock pink eye in the corral last night?"
-"certain of it. both the professor and i tried the padlock afterwards."
-dakota spoke impatiently:
-"anyone out of the house now?"
-"one moment, dakota," snapped cockney. "i'll do the questioning. i can answer that one myself. everyone is in.... i think i'd like to take a look at that corral," he said suspiciously. "come along, stamford; you can tell us if things are as you left them. tell mary it's all right, will you?"
-stamford spoke to mary aikens on his way out. she was sitting in the dark sitting-room, and he imagined she was sobbing. he ran after cockney and dakota, and arrived at the corral in time to hear dakota exclaim:
-stamford ran forward.
-the gate was wide open, but the padlock was still locked. the ponderous mass of logs must have been lifted until the chain would pass over the top of the post to which it was fastened.
-"holy cripes!" dakota exploded again, when he had examined padlock and post.
-he stooped and put his muscle to the heavy gate, but he could scarcely lift its weight from the loops that acted as hinges.
-cockney smiled in a superior way and pushed him away. with a great heave he managed to raise the gate from the ground, but he dared not remove a hand to throw the chain over the post. with a muffled oath he let it drop, and the upper loop snapped, letting the gate sag on the lower hinge.
-"that's two men's work," dakota exclaimed.
-"three--at least," corrected cockney thoughtfully, "two to lift the gate, the third to remove the chain."
-dakota looked fearfully about in the dim moonlight.
-"then--then there's a gang about!" he whispered.
-"come back to the house," said cockney. "it's worth looking into."
-beneath professor bulkeley's window he stopped and called his name. mary aikens came timidly from the house, a lonely little figure bathed in the moonlight.
-"what is it, jim?"
-he turned on her roughly.
-"go inside. this at least is no concern of yours."
-she obeyed without a murmur, her feet dragging forlornly over the frosty grass.
-"professor! professor!" cockney's voice grew louder and more peremptory with each call.
-isabel bulkeley's head appeared in her window.
-"did you want my brother, mr. aikens?"
-"i'm not calling him at this hour of the night for vocal exercise," replied cockney.
-"he's such a sound sleeper----"
-"then you'd better waken him."
-"is anything the matter? i'll go and call him."
-they heard her bedroom door open, then a knock on her brother's, and the turning of the knob.
-"amos! amos! don't be frightened. it's only isabel."
-the bed creaked with sudden violence.
-"uh! what--what's the matter?" sputtered the terrified voice of the professor. "is it fire?"
-his great feet pounded to the floor and across the room to his bureau.
-"here--here! isabel! take these--and these--and these. i'll--oh, where's that--that----"
-"amos! amos, dear!" she was laughing a little now. "it's not--fire. listen! it's--not--fire."
-"not--fire? not---- then what's the reason----"
-"mr. aikens wants to speak to you--out the window. put your slippers on first--and this gown."
-"eh--mr. aikens? why--why, what's the matter?"
-the window opened wider and a night-capped head was thrust out, only to be withdrawn immediately.
-"isabel--isabel!" he whispered, in a tone that carried as far as if he had shouted it. "where's the ladder? i'm sure i left it out as usual. it's--gone."
-she spoke from dose beside him at the window, laughing:
-"i drew it in, you silly! i didn't want the whole world to see how foolish you are." she put her head from the window and called laughingly down: "we always have trouble with him like this, wakening him out of his usual hours. he'll be sane in a moment."
-"say, is this a serenade? on behalf of myself and my sister, and the great republic we represent---- oh, that you, mr. stamford? where's your banjo? isabel's window is the one over yours. fancy you making a mistake like that!"
-even dakota was laughing. stamford failed to see the joke.
-"it's all right, professor," cockney assured him. "we only wanted to make certain no one was alarmed. there was a slight disturbance in a herd of cattle. you can go back to bed."
-"thank you, mr. aikens. i won't leave that ladder out again. i wouldn't put it past those new york museum people to have spies on my track. they haven't in their whole collection such a----"
-he sneezed, repeated it, doubled in volume and noise. the men beneath the window laughed openly.
-"if you don't mind, mr. aikens, will you come round to my door. i never could stand the night air. could i, isabel?"
-preparations to flit
-the next morning stamford was again disappointed: the cowpunchers had not returned. he walked on from the cook-house to pink eye's corral, to see by daylight what had seemed so incredible in the light of the moon. on the way back he saw the bulkeleys driving to the north-west; they were not crossing the river that day.
-carrying a lunch, he set off for the river skirting far out on the prairie that he might reach the canyon unseen far above where the professor was working. arrived at last in the cover of the upper cliffs, he hurried on.
-the hidden valley interested him. there he knew, lay the solution of some of the ranch mysteries. the stampede of the night before was significant, for the h-lazy z herds never ranged there. the cattle, he decided, were on their way to the raft and the hidden valley.
-as he approached the valley he could hear the dogs barking continuously but without excitement. he discovered that the valley was lively with cowboys, the members he knew best of the h-lazy z outfit. they were moving about the fringes of the herd, carefully avoiding a bunch that kept to itself in a far corner of the valley. from its ragged and wild appearance stamford took it to be the addition of the night before. the others the cowboys drove on foot to the eastern end of the valley, where a temporary barricade crossed from cliff to cliff, forming a corral at the base of the only exit. then three of them disappeared, coming into view again on their horses from behind concealing crags. at a word from dakota the two dogs that had been all the time slinking close to his heels bounded up to the ledge beside the shack and lay down, their eyes still fixed on dakota. the mounted cowboys gradually worked the new bunch toward the corral.
-evidently the cattle were being collected at the exit for immediate removal.
-about the shack bean slade was acting as temporary cook. the others, when all the cattle were in the corral, grouped together, rolling cigarettes. dakota seated himself on a rock and whistled to the dogs, which came madly bounding down the steps.
-there was no suggestion of furtiveness. stamford began to think he had come on one of the ordinary feeding grounds of the ranch herds.
-to get a better view behind the crags, he crept farther up the stream and lower on the cliff--crept into the muzzle of a revolver. behind the muzzle was cockney aikens' determined eye.
-"so it's you, stamford?" he sneered. "that investigative mind of yours is bound to get you into trouble sooner or later. i wonder it wasn't sooner. it strikes me you're acting strangely about the h-lazy z for a guest."
-stamford flushed, partly because he knew the charge to be true, though not in the way cockney imagined. almost as much for cockney's sake as for his own had he undertaken to clear up the mystery of corporal faircloth's death; more for cockney's sake had he chosen the h-lazy z for his investigations. he bristled with indignation.
-"if you're not as guilty as you make yourself appear----"
-"a guest with a sense of decency would at least have consulted his host."
-"and if you're guilty," stamford continued, "i don't care a damn whether you resent it or not."
-cockney examined him with puzzled but admiring eyes.
-"i wonder if you'd be so foolhardy if dakota was at this end of the gun. i'm not going to shoot. i'm still your host."
-"no, you're not, cockney aikens. from this moment i'm no longer your guest." he unstrapped the lunch and tossed it at cockney's feet. "i suppose you'll let me get my suit-case?"
-cockney thoughtfully returned the gun to his belt.
-"if you'll take the advice of one who knows at last all you don't understand, you'll keep so strictly out of this that you'll forget all you've heard and seen. you don't carry a gun--you wouldn't be dangerous if you did. yet there's going to be shooting before this is cleared up ... and when there's shooting among men who handle guns like we do, there's apt to be blood.... this is the second time i've found it necessary to warn you. next time will be too late."
-he crept away to a lower level and left stamford wondering what it was all about.
-across in the valley dakota had gathered his companions about him, except bean, who was still working about the shack. evidently they were engrossed in a discussion of the utmost importance, for several were gesticulating, and dakota was listening judicially. now and then their eyes went furtively to the shack where bean was. through the open door stamford could dimly see bean watching them stealthily through the window. after a time dakota broke from the group and climbed the steps to the shack.
-in a few minutes he and bean reappeared on the ledge, dakota arguing violently, bean sullen. dakota started angrily down the steps, but bean stood a moment on the ledge, looking thoughtfully across the river at the very spot where stamford was lying. then he, too, dropped to the valley.
-dakota was striding down toward the river. as he crossed one of the little streams that bubbled from the falls in the cliff he stopped abruptly and bent over the ground. an excited gesticulation brought his companions on the run, and together they stooped over dakota's discovery. the professor had crossed the streams there, stamford remembered, and the ground would be soft. hastily scattering, the cowboys searched the valley.
-it was long before alkali, poking about close to the river, came on a second track, and they clustered about it, gesticulating, excited, voluble. stamford leaned far from his hiding-place in his excitement, and muck norsley, wheeling suddenly, examined the cliff all about him. but the distance was too great, the muddle of broken rock too confusing; and stamford scarcely breathed during the scrutiny. when it was over he sank to cover, and perspiration broke out over him.
-dakota and his friends continued their search up the eastern slope from the valley, pausing now and then as if over further disturbing evidence. they climbed upward to the great rock on which cockney and the professor had stood, mounting from below by means of a rope. for a time they worked about its base, then it rolled back and the upward path was clear.
-as the horses toiled up the steep ascent, stamford noticed that a rifle hung from every saddle. when they had passed, the rock rolled back again, shutting in the valley, and only the cattle in the corral and the dogs remained.
-stamford commenced his rough trail back down the river, always keeping to cover. only two definite ideas were in his mind: to escape notice, and to reach the bulkeleys to borrow their team for the journey to the double bar-o. his work at the h-lazy z was ended--and it was a failure. almost he could find it in him to regret that he had lost his temper with cockney.
-the fight in the ranch-house
-mary aikens, alone at the ranch-house, went about her morning work with fumbling hands and tired brain. the shadow of impending crisis was over her though she recognised only the thickening of a cloud of doubt, suspicion, and fear that had been closing in on her for more than a year. to her it was conviction enough of jim's share in the mysteries she was struggling single handed to unravel, that he refused to take her into his confidence.
-the last act of her morning duties was always a visit to the bulkeleys' rooms. isabel had refused to leave to her any of the care of their rooms, but mary aikens, as hostess, never omitted that morning visit to see that nothing was lacking for their comfort--perhaps, too, to dream a little over the wonderful thing that had happened that summer to the h-lazy z, the lonely ranch where never before in her time had another woman set foot. in isabel's kindly eyes and sympathetic silences she read what one woman can tell another without the perils of speech. the professor? there she always stopped short. the only indulgence she permitted her thoughts was that the professor needed most a strong and understanding wife, indulgent--a little--but very firm at times. he was a spoiled child she longed to mother.
-softly she closed the stair door behind her and dropped on the seat before the piano. in the kitchen the cook was doing his morning cleaning with his usual noiselessness, only the patter of his slippered feet and the subdued rattle of dishes betraying his presence. in all the great north country were only the dim sounds from the kitchen, and her absent-minded fingers on the keyboard.
-the great north country--the lonely ranch she had had so long to herself, where for months at a time she was cut off from every other human being save the cowboys, and a husband who was wilfully forcing her from his inner life--the silent stretches had that year taken on a different note. even those forbidding cliffs, with their long, uneven lines, had become the hunting ground of scientists--very human scientists--a cemetery of bygone ages with an absorbing story to tell. professor bulkeley, big, childlike in his simplicity, frank in his likes and fears, with an instinctive strain of gallantry so pleasing to one accustomed to the stifled gentleness of the west and the proprietary affection of her english husband--would he ever come again? would there be enough in that isolated land to lure him back another year?
-she hummed as she played, her eyes staring vacantly at the wall before her.
-when he uttered her name softly from the open door she did not hear him. but when he repeated it, stepping into the room, her face reddened hotly. she tried to drop her eyes from his but they refused her will; something strange about his appearance held there in spite of her. he was without his spectacles. never before had she seen him thus. it was as if he had disrobed before her, so naked did he appear, for the depths of simplicity and dependence had gone with the horn rims. even his shoulders seemed to have straightened.
-he must have noticed the flush on her face. his lips moved as if he were speaking to himself. then, fumblingly, he put on the spectacles.
-"that's funny," he said lightly, but his face was pale. "i didn't know you had that bit of chopin among your music. so many of the old masters suffer from the emotionless piano. taming the ivory keys is an art so many dabble at that almost none of them know when they have mastered them--or care. in all of us our hearts are nearer our throats than our fingers. please hum it again for me, will you?"
-he was speaking rapidly, nervously, and she had time to force herself to a rational reply.
-"to-night--maybe. i--i didn't know what i was playing; i didn't know i was humming at all. in reality i was only dreaming."
-the recollection of her dreams revived the flush in her face, and she rose abruptly from the piano to hide her confusion. he took one quick step forward, but stopped himself with a sudden breath.
-"is your husband in? i'd like to see him."
-"he hasn't returned yet."
-he frowned with sudden impatience.
-"i hoped--i thought he would surely be back this morning. i couldn't wait. i wanted to see him right away."
-she came nearer to him and peered up into his face.
-"why do you want to see him? tell me--please." her little hands were gripped over her bosom. "oh, don't tell me you, too, are mixed up in all these things. i hoped there was someone--someone i might talk to if things went worse. you stopped me once----"
-"i'm afraid i can be of no use to you, mrs. aikens," he replied formally.
-she shuddered and put her hands before her face, and he turned away quickly.
-"i don't think you need worry," he told her in a low, lifeless voice. "your husband is his own worst enemy. i believe god intended him to be a model in more than body ... but something went wrong--only temporarily, i believe. the jealous gods--the old very human greek gods may have been less a myth than an allegory--touched his mind when it was most sensitive."
-she moved over to the side-table and began to readjust the pile of papers. she was strangely moved by his defence of her husband.
-"may i thank you, professor bulkeley, for jim's sake?"
-"i--i'd like you to," he stammered eagerly. "it's an instinct to do one's best for jim aikens--especially for me."
-she realised then how near the danger line they had been, and how firmly he had steered them to safety. it seemed to give her the chance to place their relationship on the old innocent level, when compliments were no deeper than their wording.
-"and what of jim's wife--is she worthy of such a paragon, or----"
-"jim's wife," he repeated vaguely.
-"perhaps she's the evil influence you call a god."
-he turned on her with dilated eyes.
-"you knew--you--knew? my god! she knew!"
-her knees were trembling with a sudden overwhelming fear, but she stumbled over to the table beside him and stared into his reluctant eyes.
-with a burst the outer door opened and cockney entered. at sight of the two standing there so close, the man's eyes falling before hers, his great shoulders shook and his chin went out.
-"ah!" it was a breath rather than a word. "so this is what you do when i'm away? this is what guest number two does to requite our hospitality? is this the way of palæontologists, or of americans, or"--his voice went hard as steel--"of a sneaking cur who represents nothing but the vicious things that make beasts of men?"
-a flame sprang to the professor's eyes, but the horror in mary's quelled it, and he only shrugged his shoulders.
-"you do not answer," cockney hissed. "you have at least the common sense to make no denial. there have been terrible things happen in lonely places out here, but nothing so bad as this, you dirty cad."
-he faced his wife, his chest heaving and falling.
-"go to your room. i don't want witnesses."
-but mary aikens had reached the limit of her subservience. she stood before him unfalteringly and glared back into his furious eyes.
-"very well!" he laughed recklessly. "perhaps it's better so. perhaps it'll do you good to see me twist the rotten life from him--with these fingers--these fingers."
-he held before him his great hands, the fingers crooked like claws. his eyes seemed to protrude, and his teeth were bare like a beast's.
-"she'll hear the screams from that big soft throat of yours, you hound, and your dying gasps. and i'll laugh--i'll laugh!"
-he crouched, the crooked fingers thrust before him.
-professor bulkeley had not moved since cockney entered. slowly now he removed his spectacles and laid them on the table.
-"you'd better leave the room, mrs. aikens," he ordered quietly.
-"she's not going for you if she wouldn't for me!" cockney thundered. "if she does, i swear to god i'll kill her without mercy when i'm through with you."
-there were to be no blows in the struggle, the professor knew. he was to be choked to death with those claw-like fingers; the whistling of his tightening throat was to be the triumph of his mad foe. so be it; neither would he strike until he must.
-as cockney leaped the professor neither struck nor retired. his body twisted far side ways and his right arm wound round cockney's waist. and the big rancher, who had never yet met his equal, was lifted clear of the floor and flung back almost to the wall.
-mary aikens gasped. she had thought of but one outcome to the uneven struggle. but the professor was standing there as if nothing had happened, while cockney, stumbling over a chair, saved himself from falling only by thrusting a long arm against the wall.
-"will you let me explain, mr. aikens? it would be better for both of us--for you as well as for me."
-but cockney was past reason. a flash of diabolical anticipation lit his face, making it only the more terrible.
-"ah! so you have muscle under those flabby clothes! so much the better. when i've killed you there'll be no remorse. it's man to man, muscle to muscle. we'll see who's the stronger."
-he advanced with the deliberation of unflinchable purpose--slowly--slowly.
-mary aikens stifled a scream to a moan.
-slowly cockney's left hand bent behind his back. he began to struggle with his whole body, wrenching, fighting. he read the professor's purpose. it was body to body now. the professor's left hand was having its way with cockney's right. cockney saw defeat, horrible defeat, staring him in the face. he let his left yield and concentrated on his right. and inch by inch the professor's left fell back before it. another inch and his grip would be broken.
-mary aikens gasped.
-the professor heard it. his teeth bared like cockney's, the lips drawn thin and bloodless. he, too, became the beast fighting for his life. his shoulders heaved a little, as if new vigour had entered them--and his left began to win back what it had lost. up and up it moved, and straight above their shoulders the arms halted.
-to mary aikens they seemed to stand thus for hours, neither yielding an inch. it was endurance as well as strength now, and surely there the hardened rancher would win. but almost imperceptibly over cockney's back the arms began to move. cockney stiffened his body against it, and with failure his back bent. with the fury of insanity he writhed, but the hold on him now was more relentless than ever.
-with a groan that was as much shriek he sank suddenly to his knees, blank incredulity distorting his crimson face.
-instantly the professor's hands fell from him. perspiration dripped from both swollen faces. cockney leaped back, dropped his head, and charged with a bellow. foam was dripping from his mouth.
-the professor met the lowered head with his knee, stooped over cockney's back and encircled his waist, and tossed him in a somersault over his head. the high riding heels crashed into the ceiling as they went over, bringing down a shower of plaster and dust, but the falling man landed on his feet against the stove. it fell with a clatter, and the pipes went with it.
-the professor's teeth were still bared. he saw nothing now but the enemy before him, the death that waited for either one of them. with a heave he sent the table slithering into the wall. crouching, circling, glaring, he moved on cockney. it was to the death now.
-mary aikens could stand it no longer.
-"don't, don't!" she cried. "oh, professor! don't kill him, for my sake!"
-professor bulkeley shivered, stopped where he crouched, and with a long, quivering breath straightened and moved backward.
-on cockney the effect was different. a moment ago his resources seemed to be exhausted--baffled by this man he had ridiculed. but the appeal of his wife--to the professor--for him--drove the blood to his eyes.
-"i'll kill you!" he frothed. "i'll kill you!"
-he mouthed it like a madman, his great head rolling loosely, his fingers closing and opening.
-"and you, too, you jezebel!"
-through panting lips the professor spoke:
-"it wouldn't be the first time you'd done a deed like that to a woman, would it--jim cathers?"
-cockney staggered back, his hand fumbling at his lips.
-"jim--cathers!" he faltered. "you know--that!"
-mary aikens' eyes dilated. she came swiftly to the professor.
-"jim cathers? what do you mean?"
-the professor shifted his eyes to hers--and cockney sprang forward. the professor threw up his arms but missed, and cockney's right hand wound round his neck and hooked beneath his shoulder. the shock and strain almost dislocated the professor's neck, and his eyes closed, his legs shook. he braced against the wave of dizziness, but he was powerless against such a hold of such a powerful maniac. there was nothing now but submission or a broken neck. either meant death. burning waves of agony and dull insensibility chased each other through his head.
-cockney shouted derisively.
-the professor's arms fell limply away, his knees bent. a burst of agony parted his swollen lips.
-mary aikens saw only certain death to one of them--and the other a murderer--if she did not act quickly. she seized a chinese vase from the piano beside her and, closing her eyes, brought it down with all her might on her husband's head. dimly she heard staggering feet, the thud of a body, and then she fell unconscious.
-"you'll be all right now," he said coldly, and left her.
-it was so cruel. she wanted to cry out against him. but across the room she could see him and the cook bending over the prostrate form of her husband. a vague sense of the emotions that must be controlling the professor closed her lips. the cook retreated to the kitchen, and they heard him close the back door and pass rapidly away toward the ranch buildings.
-"wait, jim cathers! there are things you should know."
-he drew from an inside pocket a newspaper clipping carefully folded in a piece of stiff paper, and held it out to cockney.
-"you'll know by that that i'm not the man to insult any man's wife. perhaps you'll realise how i've held myself these many weeks."
-he thrust the clipping into cockney's nerveless hand.
-"i believe i can trust it to you now--as well as the next move. you're a free man. it's an open race between us now.... but you've the inside track--and i'll leave you there till the decision's made. i think i know cockney aikens, if i didn't jim cathers."
-without looking at mary he went out, though she hungered for his eyes. cockney staggered to his feet and sank into a chair, staring at the clipping. once or twice as he read, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead, and at the end he closed his eyes. mary aikens stood leaning on the piano, scarcely breathing.
-presently he looked at her.
-"sit down, mary." his voice was like the old courting days. "i have a--a story to tell you."
-she sank to the piano seat, her arms outstretched over the keyboard.
-"it's a story that suffers from being withheld from you so long. you should have known it--mary merrill--before you--you consented to come here--no, you should never have heard it, for it should never have been necessary to tell you.... i thought the only one who knew it was myself--it was my story--the story of a broken, degraded life. it is better--and worse than i thought....
-"you are not my wife."
-she was conscious of a numbing chaos or emotions that clouded her brain--but there was joy there with the bewilderment; joy--and shame.
-he drew a broken breath.
-"you are not my wife--unless--unless ... i was born in england--in surrey--you need know nothing more definite than that. my name is jim cathers--you heard it. my people had money--too much of it for my good. there are many in england like that.... i was spoilt--spoilt as a baby, as a boy, as a youth.... it was in my youth it began to twist my life. my money--everyone knew of it. that was part of my parents' creed. the girls about knew that jim cathers was the catch of the country-side--they thought of nothing but my money.... money--and position--count so much more in love over there--because all men are not equal. love is more impersonal, i suppose....
-"there was one--dorothy swaine. she was a--a publican's daughter. i have only this excuse--a miserable one--that the publican over there is rated differently from where you were raised. i met her on one of my orgies. she was pretty; i was a fool. she wanted my money and name. i--i wanted ... mary merrill. i loved her as much as my shallow nature in those days knew how.... i married her."
-he swallowed hard, and crushed the bit of paper in his nervous hand, but smoothed it out again carefully on his knees.
-"we scarcely lived together. father and mother were disgusted--insulted--disgraced. in our family had been an actress or two of no great reputation, it is true, morally or artistically, and one of my uncles had married a maid. but always something was done to gloss it over--money and position are called on so often to do that--and the upper lips of the cathers remained stiff....
-"father brought me back from france--where we had gone on our brief honeymoon--when the money was spent.... dorothy ... she was handed a sum of money.... she took it hanging round my neck with the wails of a broken heart. i didn't suspect--about the money, and i swore i'd return when i could keep her.... you see, i had been trained to no profession. i'd been to a public school, an expensive and exclusive one ... and they--that kind--do nothing to correct a foolish lad's sense of proportion. i was one of a vast body over there whose only profession is to uphold the family traditions and to spend. that meant the army--or the church....
-"the longer i was kept from her, the more madly i thought i loved her.... yes--the more i loved her. i want to be square: i did love her. one night i could stand it no longer. i stole away from the house.... i remember how i thrilled at the sight of the lights of her father's inn. i pictured her joy at sight of me. i swore to myself never to leave her again. there would be some way of making a home for the rest of our lives. you see, i didn't know then she had taken the money. i crept up to the inn through the darkness, partly to surprise her, partly that inquisitive eyes might not carry back the story to my father. nine out of ten of the neighbourhood would have leaped at the opportunity of winning father's favour...
-"i found her almost as i had pictured her--leaning on the gate ... almost ... almost ... she was not alone...."
-mary aikens was listening with drumming ears. "you are not my wife--you are not my wife!" it kept ringing down everything else, so that she heard him only as against a strong wind that steals words and phrases.
-"there was a man with her.... i heard what they were saying.... i followed them...."
-his voice trailed off to a whisper; his unseeing eyes stared far through the paper spread on his knee.
-"when he was gone i--i took her by the throat--i was a big, strong fellow even then--and i squeezed--squeezed--squeezed. i could feel her breath bubbling through my fingers ... and then it ceased.... i flung her on the ground and ran. i told father. he crammed all the money he had in my pocket and started me off for liverpool.... i turned up here in canada as jim aikens....
-"there isn't much more. father kept me supplied with money through a firm of winnipeg lawyers. there has been no stinting--the name of cathers must never be sullied again--so long as i stayed away.
-"for years i thought i had killed her--my wife. not a word in all that time have i heard directly from home. i dared not write for fear my letters would be traced, and neither father nor mother have written me--ever told me dorothy did not die. until a year after i married you i thought i was free to marry."
-her hands fell from her face, a gasp of relief broke from her. he understood.
-"oh, mary! i never was brute enough to marry you, knowing--my wife to be alive. you are innocent--as i am--of that.... more than a year ago i saw her picture in a new york paper. she was on the stage--she'd come to america--perhaps to look for me.... for some reason she had clung to her own name--perhaps she expected me to recognise her, for she was well known then. i knew her cruel smile, her smirking innocence, her shameless invitation. and i--i was a bigamist.... you were not my wife.... after that i went to the dogs. it was bad enough to have murdered her, even for the cause i had; it was worse to realise what i had done to you.... i married you too hastily, mary. i wanted to stifle that gurgling breath that was always ringing in my ears, to feel that i was bound at last--everlastingly--to a woman i could safely cherish.... i didn't love you for yourself in those days, mary, as i have learned to since. and by the time i knew you were not my wife i loved you too much to let you love me until--until somehow i was purged, i didn't figure how. if separation must come to us, i didn't want you to suffer as i would. i wouldn't let you love me."
-he bowed his head in his hands, and his great shoulders shook.
-he was reading the clipping again.
-"what have you there?" she asked, and her voice was dead, hopeless.
-"dorothy swaine is dead. and i am free--free!"
-he rose to his feet. a radiant light was in his eyes, and his arms stretched out to her.
-"mary, do you understand? i am free. we can look the world in the face----"
-but in mary merrill's face was no answering light.
-"jim! jim!" she wailed. "why--oh, why didn't you trust me? why didn't you tell me a year ago?"
-he pulled up, swaying, and his hands fell slowly to his side.
-it was the moan of despair, of freshly-lit fires for ever extinguished.
-mary merrill rose from the piano seat, her hands tight against her cheeks, and tottered to her room. for a full minute he stared unbelievingly at the locked door, then he lifted his stetson slowly from the floor and stumbled out.
-the chase among the cliffs
-cockney plunged through the long grass to the height west of the ranch valley and dropped limply into the first ragged peaks, where he lay on his back, staring with unseeing eyes into the cloudless sky. his head was paining him, and the bandage had slipped, but he thought it all a part of his mental suffering. dimly his mind went back to the beginning--to his fight with professor bulkeley. but defeat did not trouble him now; the struggle was nothing more to him than a series of pictures of mary's emotions. a groan--a gasp--a cry--the swinging of that small arm that settled the issue. that was what blinded his eyes with tears and shook his body with sobs. there lay the verdict he had sought so rashly to alter with his story. love--he knew it now--was not a thing of many lives. one could not kill it and hope ever again to breathe life into its nostrils. love--real love--came but once. it lived but once. like a leaf that withers before an icy wind, love died for ever at the hand of cruelty.
-for the past year--ever since he knew he had no right to marry mary--he had suffered trebly, the ignominy of a bigamist, the horror of the injury he had done her, and the tearing agony of his grim fight to destroy her love before it learned the truth. and he only knew how well he had succeeded in that when he would have given his life to change it. ever since he had laid foul hands on a woman's throat he had been an insult to her sex.
-big cockney aikens covered his face and shuddered. if a lifetime of repentance---- but there was to be no chance for repentance--there could be none without mary. he must go on and on, living his life alone--no mary, no pardon of god or himself without mary to keep him straight. the years ahead were a long road of blank despair leading--where? without mary, without friends, without hope, without ambition or plans or pride--the end could only be that to which he had been tending this past year of reckless memory.
-he rolled over on his face in his anguish. below him the cliff dropped away for more than a hundred feet to a jumble of rock. a few yards of eroded eminences, and then the rushing torrent of the river. there lay peace--forgetfulness--an end of the struggle. he lay peering down into it with misty eyes--wondering.
-but cockney aikens' self-condemnation was too deep for that. his sin was too great for such a simple ending. his destiny--his punishment--was to live until god cried quits and gave him happy release. only addled cowards thought thus to escape the penalty of their misdeeds.
-he clambered hastily to his feet and moved to where a wide ledge lay beneath him, cutting him off from the sheer drop to the river bottom. he was too weak just then to fight temptation, and he fled from it.
-then he saw isabel bulkeley. she was seated on the ledge, screened, except from above, by the fallen rubble. hammer and chisel and whisk lay at her feet. her hand supported her chin, and her eyes were fixed on the river below. she, too, was sad. cockney, sensitive to the suffering of mankind, felt it in every line of her figure.
-presently he saw her start and raise her head as if listening. the next instant she had seized her chisel and was hammering at the rock at her feet.
-around the face of the cliff only a few yards away came dakota fraley, winchester strapped over his shoulder.
-stamford wound his way slowly from before the hidden valley, along the rocky lip of the red deer canyon. his arms and legs ached, and his mind was wearier still, but he crept carefully along like a conspirator. he knew that somewhere farther down the river he would find the bulkeleys; he was thankful that that day they had chosen the south side for their explorations.
-with the thought came another: his days with isabel bulkeley were over--he might never see her again. slow as was his progress in the roughness of the way and the care of his advance, he was in no hurry. so long as he was away by nightfall he would be satisfied--the longer it was delayed, the better. he settled himself in the comfortable hollow of a rock.
-a man burst from the prairies above, far ahead of him, leaped to the cover of the upper rocks, and in one swift glance swept the cliff below. with scarcely an instant's pause he dropped into a crevice, and stamford could see him working a perilous but rapid descent with back and hands and knees. reaching a ledge, he began to leap downward from rock to rock like a goat, swinging himself by his arms, unhesitating, sure-footed.
-stamford blinked as the huge figure of professor bulkeley threw itself down the last height and landed on the water's edge.
-there he paused only long enough to cast one quick glance upward at the height behind him, another on either side into the torrent, then he leaped far out into the water. stamford gasped. it was nothing short of suicide. human flesh or human muscle could not master the rush of that foaming current.
-there the sullen eddies told of a fierce pull beneath--and out beyond was the bubbling foam of rocks crowding the surface.
-the professor disappeared. but the big head came up farther down, shook itself like a spaniel, and started for the other shore. stamford swept the lashing water with his glasses, but there was nothing now to be seen save the roaring torrent.
-he climbed warily upward. something out there on the prairie--something of dire peril--had driven the professor to such a risk.
-peering over the edge, he saw a circle of mounted cowboys closing in on the place where the professor had disappeared. they were in no hurry. dakota and his companions knew that cliff--they knew the hopelessness of escape from their pursuing vengeance. dakota laughed wildly and waved his rifle; alkali drew his hand expressively across his mouth, and general took a last look at his rifle. fifty yards from the cliff edge they dismounted and came on, crouching, creeping in on their prey. when no shot greeted them, they moved faster, tightening the arch of the circle.
-"it's a shame to take the money, boys," jeered dakota. "the old fossil thought he could make it here. he don't know these rocks. anyway there won't be no funeral service; the grave's just yawning for him down there."
-a mocking laugh drifted to them above the rattle of the waters. across the river, three hundred yards below them, the professor was standing, waving his hand. bean slade threw forward his rifle and fired, and a chip of rock broke into the air several yards above the mocking foe. the professor waved again and disappeared.
-dakota, his face livid, climbed up to the prairie.
-"get back to the ranch. take my horse with you. i'll attend to this little affair myself. one of us isn't going to sleep in no bed this night.... besides, i got a little personal matter to settle, and this seems a mighty good chance. you fellers wouldn't be interested."
-he jerked his winchester back over his shoulder and started down-stream.
-the others rode away, laughing significantly. stamford slunk from his hiding-place on dakota's trail. he had no idea what was in dakota's mind, but in that mood he was dangerous, and it was someone's business to keep an eye on him.
-presently, far down the river on the other shore, something moved among the rocks. dakota was invisible in a bend in the cliff, and stamford fixed his glasses on the spot and watched. the professor was there, straining at something, jerking forward as if for a fresh hold, and pulling back slowly again. to stamford's amazement the raft came foot by foot into view from this side of the river and moved out toward the straining figure. and on it was gee-gee. the jerking of the craft made the horse rear once or twice, and his legs were braced in terror. stamford noticed then that the raft was turned for the opposite passage, the higher end toward the shore it was leaving.
-against the pressure of that current, with gee-gee aboard, professor bulkeley was pulling the raft by sheer force of muscle and the weight of his body.
-by the time dakota came into view again gee-gee and the professor had passed into the rocks on the other side. in time the cowboy arrived at the mooring platform. he saw the raft across the river and sat down under cover to think. in a minute he lifted a huge stone and approached the end of the cable. a few heavy blows severed it, and the wire, with a spitting of fume, sank into the stream. the raft, freed, floated down the current, bumped against hidden rocks, splintered, split apart, one section swinging to destruction lower down.
-dakota lifted his head and laughed into the opposite cliffs.
-the battle on the cliffs
-stamford came to the raft-landing on the river's edge, tired and perturbed, and seated himself to rest. he was very weary and hungry. dakota had gone on faster and faster. suddenly stamford remembered that somewhere ahead, down that cliff, isabel bulkeley would be waiting for her brother. he picked himself up in a fever of anxiety and plunged recklessly on.
-he was still far away when he saw them--isabel and dakota. the cowboy was sitting boldly on a rock close to her, one foot swinging. his stetson was pushed to the back of his head, and now and then he threw back his head to laugh. isabel did not laugh. stamford saw her withdraw suddenly and turn, and dakota reached swiftly for her, seizing her arm. she struggled but did not scream. dakota laughed and drew her to him.
-at that moment cockney aikens hurled himself from above and landed on all-fours close to dakota. the cowboy recoiled, leaped farther back, and his hand went to his belt. cockney raised himself, lunged, and dakota flashed his gun and fired. cockney halted for but the fraction of a second, then his great fist landed on dakota's face, and the cowboy tumbled back among the rocks.
-cockney seemed to go limp then; he sank to his side. but he turned to isabel and pointed, and she dropped behind a rock. the wounded man rolled himself slowly to cover. dakota was nowhere to be seen. cockney threw his left arm over the rock to ease his position, and a spot of smoke broke from the place where dakota was hiding, and the arm slid off and cockney fell back in a contorted position. another burst of smoke, and isabel ducked. dakota was keeping them both to cover.
-stamford dropped to cover in the upper rocks behind isabel to consider the situation. then he advanced stealthily to the edge of the open, drew a long breath, and dashed out on the ledge where the revolver lay. he scooped it up and tossed it to cockney. as he turned dakota fired. a hot needle pierced his left shoulder. a second bullet missed him altogether, though it fanned his hair.
-"gosh!" he exclaimed, as he sank beside isabel. "gosh!"
-it was so boyishly inadequate that isabel smiled through the fear that had come into her eyes.
-"bah!" he jeered. "i thought those cowpunchers were dead shots."
-"i bet on cockney," he said.
-"but he's wounded, terribly wounded."
-he raised himself to look over. cockney was lying on his stomach far out from cover. his left arm was horribly unnatural, but his right held the gun pointed at the rock behind which dakota lay.
-a flash of movement brought an immediate report from cockney's revolver, and dakota's gun rattled out on the open ledge. a second shot sent it far out of reach.
-cockney's plan was evident: dakota was not to be allowed to take aim. the cowboy was a two-gun man, cockney knew. a stetson showed above the rock, but cockney ignored it; bits of rock jerked up in the air but failed to draw fire. suddenly dakota exposed his second gun and fired, cockney returning it instantly. both seemed to have missed. the chance shot was repeated from the other side of the rock, and cockney failed to reply.
-for a minute or two the battle waned. dakota tried a third shot. both guns spoke together. stamford, his eyes held by the recklessness of the wounded rancher lying there in the open, saw one of his feet jerk. at the same moment dakota's second gun jangled among the rocks, though it did not come into view. they waited for its reappearance, but evidently the shot had damaged it.
-"he has a rifle, cockney," stamford shouted.
-cockney nodded without turning his head.
-after a long time the rifle snapped, but it did not show. twice it was repeated. dakota was summoning his friends.
-an answering volley burst out down the river, followed by the shouts of the cowboys. dakota jeered.
-"and now, cockney aikens, comes the end o' the chapter. i knew you been tracking us all summer. you've drawn your little share of the rustling manys a year without knowing it--but there'll not be a damn cent for you of the big bunch we're taking out to-night. then we'll scoop all that's left--including dear little mary and the girl there."
-stamford took a chance. he looked out to the east. the cowboys were coming on the run, darting from cover to cover. at the end of the ledge they separated, some slinking over the edge to work up behind.
-"i knew you killed kid loveridge at dunmore junction that day," dakota went on, "just 'cause he shot a slinking policeman who'd 'a' got us shore if he hadn't. i've always held one bullet for you ever since. if you'd told the police you'd 'a' got it sooner. you didn't know i fired the other bullet that got the corporal. i only wish i'd been nearer to help the kid. you was too quick on the draw for him."
-cockney was stiffly trying to drag himself to cover, his eyes darting about for a place to make a last stand.
-"stamford," he called, "can you get her to one of those fissures--the one my right foot's pointing at? i can protect you from here, i think."
-stamford examined the crevice.
-"it's too far," he said. "we're not badly off here."
-cockney's revolver spat, and muck norsley flopped from the edge of the cliff and lay half in the open. two others bolted across and sank out of sight. cockney fired again but missed. two of their enemies were now at their backs.
-stamford moved round isabel and watched behind. a rifle barrel came slowly into sight and dropped until it almost covered them--then the peak of a stetson. he raised himself to protect the girl at his side.
-"isabel," he whispered, "it looks as if it's about time to say something--to tell you that--i love you. if you can say anything that'll make me go with a smile--quick!"
-his eye was on the rifle. he hated the thought of being shot in the back. but the rifle lifted unexpectedly to the sky, and bean slade reared his bony shoulders into view.
-"it's only a woman, boys!" he shouted, with a scornful laugh. "a woman!"
-"bean," growled stamford, "it may seem ungrateful, but why didn't you wait a second?"
-"shoot, you blasted idiot!" shrieked dakota. "they're all in it. get the boss and that editor-fellow anyway."
-stamford grinned sheepishly at bean's lanky figure leaning over the rock, and turned to isabel.
-"i guess it's up to me to postpone the tale. i'm a bit too thin-skinned for this kind of a game."
-"you don't need to postpone it--morton," isabel whispered.
-"yes, shoot, and do it quick!" muttered stamford. "before i waken. do you know," he said, with a whimsical smile, "i've a feeling we're going to pull through."
-ten yards from bean slade rose the ruddy countenance of general jones. deliberately he raised his rifle.
-like a flash bean fired, and with the report general crumpled out of sight.
-"that's for billy windover," cried bean, expectorating.
-with the shot cockney turned his head weakly. dakota heard general's single cry and stood out in the open to fire. without a groan bean slid from the rock.
-"and that's for general," hissed dakota, dropping to cover.
-bean lifted his head and looked into stamford's eyes. a slow smile passed across his lean features.
-"ta-ta!" he murmured, and dropped back lifeless.
-stamford's eyes were blinded with tears. for the first time an overpowering fury rose within him. he reached to his pocket and drew a small automatic.
-"damn!" he exploded. "i forgot all about it." he fumbled the little weapon in unaccustomed hand. "but what does the beastly thing do? i never fired one in my life."
-"i'll just toddle over and get bean's rifle," stamford announced. "i seem to be useful only as an ammunition wagon in this fracas. never fired a gun in my life, but i'll close my eyes and--darn the consequences! it may scare them almost as much as me. if i could only hit that rock in front of dakota----"
-he had risen to his feet, but she seized his arm.
-"i'm going with you," she said.
-he blinked into her eyes.
-"it's dangerous; you're not going without me."
-a shot broke from behind them and struck the rock above their heads.
-"i think," smiled stamford, "the second instalment of that serial is about due. i love you, isabel."
-for answer she reached up and pulled his lips to hers. at the kiss he paled.
-"life without this," he sighed, "could never equal death with it."
-"but why not life with it?" she smiled.
-"that," he said, "is worth any risk."
-he looked at her, but she was watching the rocks behind with raised revolver.
-alkali sam shouted:
-"d'ye want the gal, dakota?"
-"you're shore right i do, old hoss!"
-"cudn't yo hang the li'l editor-chap t' yer watch chain? he don't seem wuth powder."
-"keep one bullet," he ordered isabel. then he smiled. "they don't seem to like me."
-alkali was shouting a ribald song as he climbed upward for a better shot.
-"i think," said stamford, "things are going to happen."
-what happened was a new sound from across the river--the pound of a running herd. silence fell suddenly over the tragedy on the ledge; every eye was turned to the opposite cliffs.
-swiftly along the edge of the cliff galloped a bunch of steers, their tails held high. and driving them on was professor bulkeley, mounted on gee-gee, two huge dogs bounding before him.
-stamford peered over the rock at cockney--he could not help it. but cockney was almost past surprise. dakota and his comrades were shouting to each other excitedly. isabel was laughing at stamford from the corner of her eye. she nodded to his unspoken query.
-but between them and the help in sight an impassable canyon ran.
-the professor, with the roar of the cattle and the river in his ears, had heard nothing. he would pass them by without a suspicion that within rifle range his sister and friends were in direst peril. stamford and isabel shouted, but no noise they could make would carry against the clamour closing the professor in. isabel fired into the air until the automatic was empty. it was useless.
-stamford darted to bean's lifeless body. leaning the rifle on the rock he took as careful aim as he knew how at the running cattle, but missed. he repeated the failure. then, reckless of exposure, he carried the rifle to cockney. lifting the heavy man to his side, he thrust the rifle before him and held it against the rock. cockney's face twisted in pain, but he placed his eye to the stock, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.
-a steer leaped, stumbled, and those behind trod over it. a second time a steer fell. cockney sank back. he could stand it no longer.
-as the first steer went down, the professor pulled up sharply. he had not heard the shot, but he recognised the results. the next shot he heard. and then a third snapped from the rock where dakota lay, and gee-gee sank to his side.
-dakota sent a piercing whistle over the river, and the two great dogs came slinking to the edge of the cliff and lay looking over.
-dakota jeered aloud.
-"them was two fine pups the inspector got for us, alkali. i'll borrow dogs like them any time they come to the west. i need 'em in my biz."
-"hurrah for dakota fraley an' his glad eye!" shouted alkali. "dakota, boy, you're a devil with dogs an' skirts."
-a rifle-shot broke from across the river. dakota fraley raised himself with a spasmodic jerk, a look of shocked incredulity on his swarthy face, and fell full length out on the ledge. his limbs scarcely twitched as he lay. cockney smiled weakly.
-alkali and dude could be heard seeking cover from the newer peril. again and again the rifle-shots came from the unseen marksman. bits of rock flew about the two cowboys. stamford rose in his excitement and waved his hat. he could see bullet after bullet flash a white sideways mark on the face of the cliff, and the chips rise lower down where the bullet had bent its course. at the fifth shot alkali cried out. richochet shooting was an art even he, notorious gunman as he was, had never learned.
-the firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun. the dude remained. suddenly above them a stern command rasped down. two mounted policemen leaned over the edge of the cliff, their rifles covering dude.
-stamford and isabel ran to cockney. he was lying at full length, his left arm crumpled under him. the bandage on his head had slipped. he looked up in stamford's face and smiled.
-"my guest--to the last--anyway, stamford. i'm going to--beat you--away--from the h-lazy z."
-isabel whispered to one of the mounted police, who dashed up to his horse and rode away.
-"no--don't touch me. let me lie--awhile. where's the professor?"
-an exclamation from sergeant prior drew their eyes to the opposite shore. the professor had jumped into the river--he could not wait to go round by the ford. they watched, stamford satisfied that what the powerful fellow had done once he could repeat, isabel alarmed, sergeant prior frankly sceptical.
-they did their best for cockney where he lay, but there was so little to be done. when they attempted to lift him, he swooned, and they left him at last and waited--waited.
-the dripping professor bounded up the rocks, scrambling from foothold to foothold.
-"you're safe, dear?" he panted, when isabel ran to him.
-for one terrible moment stamford stared at them. she read his fear and touched his arm.
-"morton, morton! he is only a brother. i've been helping him in this case--i do sometimes."
-"heavens, prior!" cried the professor. "i feared you'd be too late. i stampeded the cattle. i had to. they were taking them away to-night." then he saw cockney. "my god, aikens! what have they done to you?" he sank beside the wounded man.
-"this is--my bad day," murmured cockney, with a twisted smile. "first you thrashed me--now i'm--on the way, professor."
-"not professor, cockney--amos barnes, of the mounted police."
-cockney smiled. "i suspected.... i helped you--what i could. but i hated--the police so. your english saddle.... pink eye yours now without--breaking into the corral--at nights."
-mary aikens ran along the ledge and sank by his side. she was out on matana when the policeman found her.
-he pressed her feebly back with his right hand.
-"no sentiment--mary.... i--haven't time. you're--in good hands. this is the best way--out." his breath was coming in gasps. "now--now, mary merrill--just one kiss--to help me on my way ... in memory of ... what might have been. if--amos--doesn't mind."
-she touched his lips tenderly with her own, and the tears rained on his face. he opened his eyes, and the sweet smile of big, kindly, light-hearted cockney aikens relieved the end.
-amos barnes gently raised the weeping woman to her feet.
-"he died as you would have him die, mary," he whispered. "in his death you loved him as never in his life. and that's how jim would have it. you're going home now--to your mother. we'll look after the ranch. i'll come to you when you send for me.... poor jim! the whole country loved him---but he'll rest best out here on the cliffs of the h-lazy z, where he found himself."
-a tale of modern smugglers
-e. r. spencer
-author of "a young sea rover," etc.
-cassell and company, ltd
-london, toronto, melbourne and sydney
-printed in great britain
-and his contemporaries
-1. on board the "glenbow"
-2. first blood to the smugglers
-3. ben has a brain-wave
-4. at st. pierre
-5. on the trail
-6. dare's story
-7. in the night
-8. the secret harbour
-10. the escape
-11. captain stanley acts
-12. the closing of the "oven"
-a tale of modern smugglers
-on board the "glenbow"
-the mail packet s.s. glenbow, ploughing her way up the south-west coast of newfoundland in a beam sea and half a gale of wind, rolled rail in rail out as she neared st. lawrence.
-dare stanley, who had been lying down in his berth, felt the necessity of fresh air, and slipping on an oilskin coat he made his way on deck. the air was fresh enough there in all conscience! he found all but the bridge deserted; the heavy sea made a stay on deck undesirable. yet he did not wish to return to his cabin, having a desire for company of some sort, so, watching his chance, he fought his way aft to where the smoke-room was situated.
-short as was the trip, he was drenched and had the breath half knocked out of him before he could gain sanctuary. once he reached the smoke-room he had to exert all his strength to open the door, which was pressed to as with a vice by the weight of the wind. he managed to get it open enough to slip inside, when the door closed precipitately behind him and knocked him half-way across the room.
-he was helped to his feet by the chief engineer, who was seated at a card-table with the captain and two passengers. three other passengers completed the company.
-"hello, young stanley!" shouted the captain, who was a friend of dare's father. "bit rough outside, is it?"
-dare showed his teeth in a grin for answer, and stripped himself of his oilskins, while the company returned to consideration of the game his entry had interrupted. it was soon finished. the captain, who was partnered with one of the passengers, showed great good humour as he drew in his share of the winnings. not so the chief, who had lost.
-"there ye are," said that disgruntled individual as he paid out. "man, dear, did ye ever see sich cards in all your born days! if my luck keeps bad i'll have to follow the lead of the fo'c'sle crew and play for tobacco."
-this humorous sally was greeted by an appreciative guffaw.
-"speaking of tobacco," said one of the passengers during the conversational lull which followed, "i'm a living witness that the only way you can get rid of it on this coast is to give it away."
-"that's so," agreed his companion. they were both, it seemed, representatives of tobacco firms. "and of all the places on the coast saltern bay is the worst."
-"it's a crying shame!"
-this topic in lieu of a better was seized upon as likely to yield something of interest.
-"how's that, mr. parsons?" said the captain insinuatingly.
-"smuggling," answered mr. parsons tersely, and all the company, including dare, pricked up their ears. for although this was a perennial subject of discussion, it never failed to rouse interest, for the simple reason that it touched nearly everyone's feelings or pockets, or both, in one way or another.
-"smuggling, sir," repeated mr. parsons. "saltern bay is a hotbed of smugglers. mind you, i don't mind a man bringing in a little brandy or tobacco on the quiet free of duty, but when you get a gang of men organizing a regular supply of the stuff and thus undermining the legitimate trade of the country, then i say it's time to stop it."
-"you're right," asserted his colleague. "if i had my way i'd blow st. pierre colony sky-high out of water. why we were ever fools enough to give it back to the french when once we'd won it, i don't know. it's been nothing but a thorn in the side of the tobacco business ever since."
-"oh come, mr. bayley," protested the captain good-humouredly; "you wouldn't go so far as that surely. st. pierre is all right. a jolly little town in its way."
-"and as for giving it back to the french," put in the chief, "man, there were reasons for that, diplomatic reasons which take no account of individual likes or dislikes. the english had to smooth down the french a little at the time, and the cheapest way of doing it was to cede them st. pierre and the rights of fishing on the so-called french coast, an injustice to the islanders if there ever was one."
-"i'm with you there," put in a passenger who had hitherto remained silent, a merchant from bay de verde.
-"well, i'm not worrying about the fishing rights," said mr. parsons egoistically; "it's the tobacco rights i'm interested in."
-"of course," said the captain dryly.
-"it's come to the time when the government has got to take action or be for ever disgraced in the eyes of its electors," declared mr. parson's colleague somewhat grandiosely.
-"bad as that, is it?" said the captain, intent on drawing both men out.
-"worse," interpolated mr. parsons pessimistically. "do you know the extent of my order for the district between point day and barmitage bay, captain? a measly five hundred dollars, on a route that ought to yield a three thousand dollar order every month."
-"umph!" the sympathetic articulation came from the chief, who had a just appreciation of figures as such. "man, dear, the smugglers must be doing a roaring trade," he added, "for there's not a man on the coast that doesna' smoke or chew the weed."
-"a true word," said mr. parsons sadly. "but what would you? five out of ten of them do their own smuggling, and the rest are supplied by the smuggling gang. it's impossible to compete with their cutthroat prices."
-"a gang, is there?" inquired the captain, who had been up and down the coast for twenty years and probably knew more about mr. parsons' subject of grievance than that worthy himself did.
-"of course there's a gang, captain. there must be. there's a regular underground trade."
-"what are the revenue people doing?" put in the merchant from bay de verde.
-"bah!" mr. parsons expectorated in disgust, then attacked the service in earnest.
-"what do they ever do," he declared, "but send a dinky little gunboat up and down the coast?--a boat that every smuggler recognizes twenty miles away and avoids accordingly. what they need to do is to place men on land, not ten miles off it. saltern bay is honeycombed with coves and beaches where the smugglers can land and no one the wiser. have a few men spying up and down the land. let them keep their eyes open and find out the smugglers' cache--then make a raid. a few raids and smuggling wouldn't be so brisk, for smugglers can no more afford to lose their goods than other people."
-mr. parsons' colleague nodded in agreement.
-"i seem to remember hearing that the customs at saltern attempted something of that kind," hazarded the captain.
-"bah!" said mr. parsons. "old man johnson, sixty if he's a day, made a daylight trip to 'madam's notch' and found half a case of brandy and a few pounds of tobacco. there's those who believe the smugglers placed it there on purpose. i'm one of them. there's others who say that johnson will never be a poor man if he lives to be a hundred and that the smugglers have made his inactivity worth while. he ought to be kicked out."
-"he has been." dare could not resist the opportunity of being the conveyor of new and interesting information.
-mr. parsons and his colleague turned surprised looks on their informant.
-"what's that!" ejaculated mr. parsons incredulously.
-"didn't you know?" said the captain easily, saving dare the trouble of repeating his statement. "johnson resigned about three weeks ago. captain stanley, this young man's father, has been appointed in his place."
-"news to me," confessed mr. parsons.
-"we've been on the northern route this past month," informed mr. bay ley in explanation.
-"seems to me," said mr. parsons after an appropriate silence and a hard scrutiny of dare's countenance that caused the latter to change colour, "seems to me that i've heard of captain stanley before."
-"well, you ought to have done," the chief declared, "for there's not a man on the island has done more to rid the revenue service of graft and sheer inefficiency."
-"oh, that's the man, is it? there was a question asked in the house about him, i remember. well, good luck to him if he's bound on cleaning up saltern bay. all i can say is that he's got his work cut out, for there's not a cleverer or rougher lot ever swindled the government out of revenue."
-this point seemed to be mutually recognized as bringing an end to the conversation. the subject for the time being was dropped. soon after, the captain withdrew to visit the bridge, and the chief, grumbling about cheap engines, went to see how those that were serving the glenbow so well were progressing.
-dare was left with the four other passengers, who were soon drawn irresistibly to the card table. but he paid little attention to his fellow-voyagers. his mind had been stimulated by the recent conversation and was busy formulating guesses as to the real situation in saltern, and the likelihood of there being some excitement to relieve the monotony he must otherwise endure in a small village where he knew no one.
-as the captain of the glenbow had stated, captain stanley was dare's father, and, more than that, he was something in the nature of a hero to his son. bred to the merchant service, captain stanley had, after twenty-five years of the western ocean trade, retired from the sea and accepted from the government a position as a special inspector in the revenue service.
-that was five years ago, and they had been busy years, full of incident and sometimes yielding adventure. in the past year or two dare had been taken a little into his father's confidence, and on one occasion had proved very useful in the solving of a particularly stiff problem centring upon illicit trading. when, therefore, his father had been appointed temporary customs officer at saltern, the real reason for the appointment being the elimination of the smuggling rife in the saltern bay district, he naturally hoped to be allowed to take a hand in the affair.
-captain stanley had gone to saltern two days after his appointment, but dare and the captain's old retainer, ben saleby, had been left behind, dare to finish his term at bishop field's college, and ben to attend to the details involved in closing the captain's town house.
-now, however, both were on their way to join the captain.
-the blowing of the siren and the sudden realization that the ship was in smooth water roused him from his pleasant meditations. the ship was making harbour. a glimpse through the port-hole showed him a low point of land. he quickly donned his oilskin coat and went on deck. the ship was now in calm water sheltered by the land. he went forward and watched the town slowly come into view. while he was eyeing it someone nudged his elbow. he turned round to face ben.
-"hello, ben!" he shouted, pleased. "well, we're getting there."
-"and about time too," ben grumbled. "i've seen a windjammer work the coast quicker'n this one."
-"what place is this? st. lawrence?"
-"aye. weren't you sure? but i fergot; you ain't been this way before."
-"that's so. i say, ben, there was a chap in the smoke-room spouting a lot of stuff about the smugglers in saltern bay. he said they were a tough lot. looks as if there's warm work ahead."
-"reckon the cap'n kin be tough, too," said ben with an odd touch of pride.
-"you ought to know," laughed dare.
-ben had sailed with captain stanley for years and had left the sea at the same time, though it must be admitted it had been with reluctance. only his loyalty to the captain enabled him to make the break, for the change from bos'n of a ship to major-domo of a town house did not appeal to his deep-water tastes. the monotony of town life was relieved now and then, however, by the captain's revenue service activities, for when there was work of a more than usually difficult character ahead, ben's services were always impressed, to his great content.
-"it's only an eight-hour run from here," said dare.
-"ten on a day like this," declared ben.
-"i hope we'll be able to land," said dare anxiously. "it's pretty rough."
-"we'll lose this sea when we rounds into the bay," ben told him. "there's smooth water off saltern. never fear, we'll land all right."
-"i hope so!" ejaculated dare.
-"i say, ben," he added, a little later, "do you suppose it's true what that chap was saying about those saltern fellows being the hardest lot going?"
-"i don't disbelieve it," said the old sailor. he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a black-bowled clay pipe of incredible age, and began to fill it dotingly. dare remained silent while the rite was being performed, gazing the while on the grizzled veteran.
-ben was also "sixty if he was a day," but hard as nails yet. his face, tanned the colour of a barked sail, was battered and ugly, but good nature lit it and made it human and friendly. his short stature, long arms, bowed legs, and slightly leaning-forward posture gave him the appearance of a gorilla; but there the resemblance ended, for under his hardened exterior he had the tender heart of a child.
-"there's one of 'em in the steerage," he said when his pipe was drawing well.
-"one of what?" asked dare.
-"one of them fellers from saltern bay."
-"a smuggler?" exclaimed dare, excited at the possibility.
-"that's as may be. he hails from tarnish. he told me a lot about the smugglin' game."
-"aye, he knows a thing or two, he do. know what he said?"
-"he laughed when i asked if there warn't no way of stoppin' the smugglin', and said, 'not while there's a oven in saltern bay,' said he.
-"'and what eggsactly do you mean by that?" i asked him.
-"'oh,' he said, 'that's a riddle.'
-"'but what might ovens which is meant for cookin' have to do with it, anyhow?' i asks again.
-"he laughed a great laugh and he said, 'that's fer you to find out.'"
-"well?" demanded dare eagerly, as ben stopped. "what then?"
-"nothing," replied ben. "that's all."
-"it sounds meaningless to me," said dare. "do you suppose he was pulling your leg?"
-"he might have been and yet he might not."
-"you didn't tell him the business we're on?"
-"trust me," assured ben dryly.
-"well, we can do little but guess about things yet. i expect father will have a few things to tell us when we see him."
-"not a doubt of it."
-"let's see. what time ought we to get there? eight hours' run. it's two o'clock now. allow an hour for delay here. we ought to do it by eleven o'clock."
-"aye, around midnight," said ben.
-first blood to the smugglers
-a raucous blast of the ship's siren woke echoes between the surrounding hills, but did not seemingly awake the people who lay sleeping between them. dare, leaning eagerly over the rail with his gaze fixed shorewards, thought ruefully that such a sleepy town was not likely to yield much in the shape of adventure. he had not much time to dwell on that, however. soon ben, who had been collecting the luggage and seeing it safely stowed in the boat, which had just been lowered, came up, and they both went to the ship's ladder. a few minutes later they were being rowed ashore.
-as the boat shot between the quays jutting out from the harbour, dare searched the blackness in vain for the gleam of a friendly light.
-"doesn't look as if father has come to meet us," he said to ben. that worthy merely grunted.
-the boat was rowed towards some steps at the foot of the quay on the town side, and they disembarked without further speech. their luggage was taken out of the boat and placed on the quay by the boat's crew, which then went swinging off into the darkness, leaving ben and dare to make their way through the town as best they could.
-"here's a to-do," then grumbled ben. "no one to meet us and it pitch dark and we not knowin' the road or the house."
-"the best thing we can do is to follow the boat's crew," suggested dare. "it's likely the post office is not far from the customs."
-they were, in fact, housed in the same building. ben agreed, and picking their way as well as they could, they set off to follow the crew, with only the sound of the others' heavy tread to guide them.
-they managed well enough until they came to a turning, and by that time the crew were so far ahead that neither ben nor dare could determine which way they had taken. in this somewhat absurd predicament they hesitated, ben making use of the occasion as an opportunity to air his vocabulary. they were about to go straight ahead, when they saw a light approaching from the turning, and decided to accost whoever carried it. as the bearer of the light approached, they saw that it was a woman. ben, taking the initiative, went to speak to her.
-"beggin' your pardon, ma'am----" he began.
-"i'm sure it's the first time you ever done it, ben saleby," came the tart interpolation.
-"why, it's martha!" exclaimed dare joyfully. ben grunted.
-martha, the family servant for twenty years, and housekeeper since the death of mrs. stanley ten years before, had in the course of her duties married ben, to that individual's never-ending surprise and astonishment. they got along very well together, however, having both the same interests--that is, the welfare of the stanleys, and although martha, by virtue of her superior position and her longer length of service, was inclined to be tart with ben now and then, ben did not seem to mind it. he had been well disciplined on the quarterdeck, and it is to be supposed that he found something reminiscent of his sailing days in martha's summary treatment of him at times.
-"yes, it's me, mr. derek," answered martha. dare's real name was derek, but a tendency during early childhood to dare his acquaintances to dare him to attempt incredible exploits had earned him his nickname, which had in time ousted his real name from use by all except martha, who was exceedingly rigid as regards the impropriety of misnaming those she served.
-"and what might you be doing, ben saleby, talking to a female like this?"
-"i was goin' to ask the way. we've lost our bearings," explained ben. martha sniffed.
-"and how might you be, martha?" ben asked appeasingly.
-"well enough," said martha shortly.
-ben nudged dare's arm and said sotto voce, "in a temper."
-"what's that?" demanded martha, who was sharp of hearing.
-"i was saying i hoped the cap'n was well and hearty," stated ben mendaciously.
-"well, you can keep on hoping," returned martha. "your father is kept to the house, mr. derek," she explained. "he hurt his leg the other day, and can't use it very well yet. that's why he's not come to meet you."
-dare was concerned to hear this and said so.
-"it's nothing serious," martha hastened to assure him, and turned on ben.
-"now then, ben saleby, pick up the baggage and don't keep us waiting here all night. this way, mr. derek," she directed, and the trio took the turning leading to the customs house, where captain stanley was lodged.
-"i might as well tell you both," she said brusquely, "that the captain got his bad leg from the smugglers."
-ben and dare took this surprising information in different ways. dare was speechless, but ben, ever ready to fill such a breach, voiced several full-blooded oaths. martha turned on him like a virago.
-"less of that, ben saleby, or i'll lay this lantern about your head. yes, mr. derek, it's so. they set upon him two days ago when he was gallivanting goodness knows where. he's got a arm broke, too," she admitted.
-dare found speech at this. he knew martha would make light of the affair, and he felt certain that his father was much worse than she had revealed. he turned on her impatiently, demanding to be admitted to the house and shown to his father's room; and martha, lifting the lantern high, straightway led him up the stairs to the captain's apartments.
-captain stanley was in bed, but awake, to receive them. to dare's relief there was little sign of serious illness to be seen in his father's face.
-"what's this about being beaten up by the smugglers?" dare demanded affectionately when the first few embarrassed moments of their greeting were over.
-as he lay in bed, all that could be seen of the captain was his head, but that was clear enough evidence of his character and former profession. the head was round, and the hair on it close cut; the face full and red, the eyes blue and twinkling, the mouth firm but able to relax in mellow moments, the chin square and dogged. a man whom you would like and trust on sight, one in whom you would readily confide, and to whom you would not hesitate to give responsibility.
-he smiled at dare as the latter lightly asked his question so as to hide his real feelings.
-"so martha told you," said the captain. "yes, dare, first blood to the smugglers, my boy."
-"hurt much?" asked dare shyly. he had never witnessed his father helpless before.
-"no, no," the captain was quick to say. "my arm's broken below the elbow, and my ankle's sprained a bit, but i'll be as well as ever in two weeks. in fact, i'm going to get up to-morrow, but i won't be able to move about, confound it. but sit down, sit down. and you there, ben--come in."
-ben had been hanging about outside the door, and at the order he came rolling into the bedroom. he stopped at the foot of the bed and raised his hand in salute.
-"howdy-do, cap'n? bad news, cap'n. in dock for repairs, i hears."
-the captain nodded, still retaining his smile.
-"leakin' bad, cap'n?" queried ben.
-"oh no," said the captain, and repeated the information he had given dare concerning the extent of his injuries.
-"it might be worse," said ben, and added truculently, "i'd like to have a go at them fellers."
-"and i too!" put in dare, indignant at the treatment to which his father had been subjected. "how did it happen?"
-"that's a long story," said the captain, "but i know you won't go to bed till you hear it, so make yourselves comfortable. ben, sit down and take it easy while martha makes you both something hot."
-they obeyed, and captain stanley wrinkled his forehead in the effort of concentration as he prepared to accede to their wishes.
-"in the first place, this is a much more difficult business than i expected," he began.
-"ah!" said ben, leaning forward with eager interest.
-"yes. these chaps here are a crafty lot, and hard--hard as nails. it's my belief they won't stop at anything short of murder to prevent anyone spoiling their trade. and close! i've never met such closeness. i've been here nearly three weeks now, and i haven't found out a fact that's of real importance, though i've discovered a few things that bear upon the case and reveal the extent of the difficulty we're up against.
-"but i'd better begin at the beginning. the day after i landed i took over the office here. the tide-waiter was helpful but not very enthusiastic about my coming. in fact, the majority of the people seem to resent it. the merchants are the only men who are downright glad to see me. there's some resentment naturally at johnson's being fired. he's lived here a long time and has his home here still. the truth of it is, of course, the majority of the people benefit by the smuggling, for it's not only liquor and tobacco that's smuggled, but commodities like sugar, luxuries (though in a smaller way) such as perfume, and much more extensive than that, the smuggling of gear. but the tobacco and liquor trade is the heaviest.
-"this attitude of the townspeople--the place, by the way, is little more than a village--made things difficult for me from the start. naturally i'd expected to extract a good deal of information from the people, but they won't talk. as for my predecessor in office, i couldn't very well, in the nature of things, expect to learn much from him. he turned over the office to me and left me to work out my own salvation.
-"the news of my coming travelled fast, of course, and no doubt the smugglers knew it before anyone else. i received a letter hinting at bribery before i'd been here a week, and when i didn't answer it i received another, threatening me and advising me to go back to st. john's, as saltern wasn't a healthy place for busybodies. i didn't take any notice, of course. i've been threatened before. i kept on with my work.
-"the smugglers and the villagers probably realized this as much as i did, and in the first ten days i was here i became the most unpopular man in the district. they'd all found out by that time that i wasn't to be bribed or frightened off by threatening letters. so they changed their tactics and commenced an offensive. i found myself being deliberately hindered in my work. my boat's gear was stolen and when afterwards i kept the new gear locked up, they sunk the boat at her moorings. the windows of the house here were broken late one night--pure hooliganism, that--and the man who was helping me work the boat gave up the job. and i found i couldn't get another, though i offered big money. those who would have liked to take the money were afraid. the gang here really dominates the district. they're not outlaws, but they're very nearly becoming so. of course, there's no police force. a sleepy fat old constable keeps the peace, but he's practically useless except to settle domestic quarrels and to fine people for keeping dogs without a licence.
-"i had to deal with the hooliganism alone, but all i could do was to lodge a complaint and guard against similar trouble in future. for a while i was successful. then i was caught, not off my guard, but in a defenceless position, without a weapon except a heavy walking-stick, for i don't believe in carrying a revolver."
-a knock at the door interrupted the narrative at this point, and martha came in bearing three steaming bowls of chocolate and a plate of sandwiches. she refused to leave the room until the chocolate had been drunk and the sandwiches eaten.
-when martha, satisfied, finally left the room the captain took up the thread of his story.
-"by one thing and another i had my attention turned from the coast to what is known as the spaleen road. this is a cross-country road linking saltern to spaleen, and running beyond saltern to shagtown, tarnish, etc., farther round the bay. it seemed to me there was a great deal of traffic on this road between spaleen and saltern. i knew, of course, that the people used it a great deal for the purpose of farming small patches of land in the district, and to cart fire-wood from the hills. but that did not seem to me to account for the large amount of traffic.
-"of course, that was a very slight exchange, and i might easily have been mistaken in the articles passed, but i didn't think so then, and later something occurred which proved, or at least made me feel certain, that i was right.
-"i began to puzzle out where the traffic had its head. spaleen, i thought, was too far away to be considered practicable, seeing that the smugglers could have their cache so much nearer saltern and the centre of saltern bay. i decided to examine a road map before i made any further investigations, and returned to town.
-"that same day i located a road map in the office and discovered what i might have expected, that the spaleen road was a devious one, and at two points it approached to within a few miles of the coast between spaleen and saltern.
-"one of the points was near spaleen, the other in the neighbourhood of saltern. i fixed upon the latter as being relative to my suspicions. i suspected the smugglers of having a cache somewhere on the coast near saltern and that the back-door of this cache gave upon the spaleen road, which could be made to serve admirably the needs of distribution, as there was a great deal of traffic on it daily and movement of any kind would not be liable to excite the curiosity and suspicion of those who, either by nature of their profession or their sympathies, were antipathetic to the trade.
-"the thing i had to do was to prove my suspicion well founded. but the trouble was, how? it's harder to escape observation on a country road than in a city street. i couldn't very well go in the daytime without my every movement being watched. and it was little use looking for a track to the coast on a dark night--and the nights have been particularly dark lately. the only thing to do was to compromise, and set out at dawn, when there were few people stirring. and that's what i did.
-"well, to cut a long story short, i was about four miles from the town and passing a wood when a gang sprang up from nowhere, and jumping on me from behind had me at their mercy before i could strike a blow or even turn upon them.
-"they didn't trouble to tie me up but hit out with their boots, and one of them lay about him with a heavy stick. i thought they were going to finish me, but just before i lost my senses i heard one of them shout: 'don't kill him; payter said only make him wish he was dead!'"
-both dare and ben broke out into indignant speech at healing this, then allowed the captain to finish.
-"they dumped me in a bush a gunshot from the road. that's where i was when i came to. i would have been pretty badly situated, for i couldn't walk, if a passing countryman hadn't heard my shouts for help and taken me to saltern in his cart.
-"i sent for the doctor, feeling pretty bad. apart from my arm, and a twisted ankle, a great number of bruises and two cuts on the head, i was in excellent condition, he told me ironically, and sent me to bed. and here i am."
-dare and ben, who had hitherto restrained their feelings, now broke into excited comment.
-"of all the dirty, underhand, mean ways of fighting!" exclaimed dare.
-"did you know any of them, cap'n?" asked ben, who had for a few minutes relapsed into the language of the fo'c'sle without rebuke.
-"no," replied the captain, "i didn't recognize their voices and i didn't see their faces. as i've said, they came on me from behind. and when i did glimpse their faces i was too dazed and stunned to see them clearly. all i discovered was that payter didn't want me killed, though who payter is i don't know. i've never heard the name mentioned here."
-"he might be the leader of the gang," suggested dare.
-"i've thought so myself," said his father.
-"there was no doubtin' but that 'twas the smugglers who bate you, cap'n?" asked ben.
-"who else would it be?" returned the captain.
-"aye, who?" agreed ben.
-further discussion that night, or rather that morning, was then resolutely forbidden by captain stanley.
-"it's time you both turned in," he declared. "we'll talk again later in the day. now, away with you!"
-obeying orders, they both left the room and retired for a much-needed rest.
-ben has a brain-wave
-"what are you going to do about it, father?"
-it was ten o'clock the same day. the captain had carried out his threat to get up and was reclining in an easy chair with his lame leg resting on a footstool. dare was squatting on the floor beside him, and ben, whom martha had driven out of the kitchen, was hanging about in the background in the manner of a faithful watchdog. at dare's question he pricked up his ears and waited for the captain's answer.
-"i suppose you mean, what am i going to do about this assault?" the captain counter-questioned.
-"well," said his father, "as a matter of fact i'm not going to do anything--not at present. i could call in reserves, but i'm not going to. i'm going to work this thing out myself. and, mind you, although i'm not a boasting man, i'm going to make someone pay heavily for that licking i got."
-"that's the talk," approved dare. "and as to reserves, why, you've got ben and myself."
-"and very good reserves too," said the captain, his eyes twinkling, "but i don't think i can use them at present."
-"you'll be givin' us a rayson, cap'n, no doubt," said ben, while dare checked his disappointment as it was about to find expression.
-"but why can't ben and i go on with the work where you dropped it?" protested dare. "i'm a good wood scout if i do say it myself, and ben can smell a whiskey bottle a mile away, as you know."
-"agreed," said the captain. "but i'm not going to have you two get a dose of the medicine they gave me. and that's all that would happen if you attempted to play my game at present. it's useless, as i've said. you wouldn't be a mile along the spaleen road before every smuggler in the district would know you were coming. i could, as i've said, call up enough reserves to search the woods and the cliff-head adequately. but i don't want to do that. the time for reserves is when we've discovered the cache ourselves, and can plan a coup that will catch the beggars red-handed.
-"no, the thing to do is to play at patience. i've got two weeks or more of enforced leisure in which to think out a plan, and i promise you that at the end of that time things will begin to happen."
-"two weeks!" exclaimed dare ruefully.
-"it may seem a long time to wait for action, but it will soon pass," consoled the captain.
-"cap'n," said ben, who had been making heavy work at thinking, "there's more than one place to find out things."
-"what exactly do you mean, ben?"
-"well, now, ain't it a fact that all the liquor and things comes from st. pierre?"
-"well, cap'n, if you was to ask me i'd say the st. pierre end was a good place to pick up a little smuggling news on the quiet."
-captain stanley considered the idea.
-"ben," he said at last, "you're right. there's something in that."
-"aye," said ben, greatly gratified. "men will talk, cap'n, especially when havin' taken drink, and where would they be as free in their ways and speech as in a place that's outside the laws of the country they're robbin'?"
-dare, who knew when to listen, did so now.
-"certainly something might come of that," said captain stanley, now frankly interested in the action ben had suggested. "of course, i shall have to send someone not known to the saltern people or the smugglers. now who is there i can give the job to?"
-"there's me, cap'n," said ben modestly.
-"there's no one i'd rather send, ben, but all saltern will know who you are as soon as you put your head out of doors."
-"and what if i don't put it out?" asked ben.
-the captain did not answer.
-"did you meet anyone when you came ashore last night?" he asked instead.
-"nary a one," declared ben, "except martha."
-"and i've said nothing to anyone about your coming. there's no one in my confidence here. who came ashore with you?"
-"no one but the boat's crew with the mail-bags."
-"they may have talked."
-"who to, cap'n?"
-"well, the postmistress."
-"send martha to find out, cap'n. if there's news of that kind ready to the post-mistress's tongue she's not likely to hide it."
-"i'll do it. ask martha to come here."
-ben left the room and a few moments later returned, preceded by the housekeeper. the captain explained clearly what he wanted her to do.
-"not me, sir. there's no one here i'd want to talk to about your affairs--or my own."
-"good woman. well, we want to keep their presence here a secret if it's not already known."
-martha left on her errand, and ben, enthused at the prospect of action, paced up and down the room as though he were on watch at sea once again.
-"if there's no one the wiser for my being here, you'll send me, cap'n?"
-"and what about me, father?" demanded dare excitedly, breaking into speech at last.
-"it's not a job i care for you to go on, dare."
-"oh come, now, is that fair? i don't want to blow my own horn, but didn't i come in handy on that last job?"
-"yes, you did."
-"well, sir, why not give me the benefit of the doubt in this case?"
-"i'm not suggesting you wouldn't be useful, my boy, but i'm afraid of your running too many risks. st. pierre can be a rough spot at times."
-"but ben would be there."
-"ben would be there, certainly, but you know yourself that you're not likely to be restrained much by ben's presence."
-"that's not saying much for my discretion," said dare ruefully.
-"well, to be frank, dare, you are inclined to be over-impulsive, you know. it's a good fault--on the right side. but it might lead to serious consequences on a spying-out-the-land job like this."
-dare jumped to his feet.
-"look here, sir," he said, "i swear if you'll only let me go that i'll take my orders from ben like i would from you. i won't do a thing that he forbids me to do. word of honour, sir."
-"well, you seem very keen, dare, and i'm sure you mean what you say, but even so i can't promise."
-"but it's not dangerous work, sir!"
-"not if the men sent know their business. i can trust ben to be in character--he's never anything else. no one would ever suspect him of being an amateur detective. but if you went with him, you with your soft hands, your educated speech, how would you explain your relation to him? ben has to pretend he's a fisherman. but that will make your presence seem an incongruity, for you don't look like a fisherman and i don't think you ever will."
-"beggin' your pardon, cap'n, but i think that's easier nor what you make out," said ben, who was obviously on dare's side.
-"he could go as my nevvy, the only child of my niece who married a clerk in st. john's, who give the boy a good eddication afore he died, and who, leavin' him without a penny, his mother bein' already dead, he was forced to come to me to earn his living, he bein' without friends or pull of any kind, and me bein' glad to have him."
-the captain's face twisted amusedly at the construction and the content of ben's unusually long speech.
-"i didn't know you had so much imagination, ben. it's sound enough, of course, what you say, and as i've said already, there's very little danger in the job if you go about it rightly, as i've no doubt you will."
-"then you'll let me go, father?" demanded dare eagerly.
-"perhaps. we'll see what martha says first."
-martha came back with the information that so far as she could discover no one in saltern excepting themselves knew of dare and ben's presence.
-"then that settles it," declared the captain. "you'll continue to keep under cover, ben, and you also, dare. if you give me your word not to rush your fences, as the hunting men say, you can go with ben."
-"i'll promise that quick enough," said dare, overjoyed. "it's awfully good of you, father."
-"well, that's arranged then. i'm not sure you'll accomplish much, but certainly nothing can be lost by trying. now, as to plans----
-"there's one thing certain; you can't start from here. people would be too curious. besides, you've got to keep out of their sight. you must go to shagtown--stay here to-day and to-night, and early to-morrow morning slip out of the house before people are stirring. it's a four-mile jaunt to shagtown, but you won't mind that, especially as you're travelling light.
-"at shagtown, which is somewhat larger than saltern, you'll not attract much notice. you can tell them you're baymen come to buy a boat. and that, in fact, will be the truth, for that's the first thing you must do. i advise you to buy a stout, decked boat. ben knows the type i mean. they're much used by the fishermen here. commission her and leave shagtown the next day. i don't want you to make the trip to st. pierre at night, though it is only a matter of twenty-five miles. ben can find his way there easily enough. we've harboured often at st. pierre in the old days.
-"don't run up too many expenses, even though the government is footing the bill. and you're to telegraph me every four or five days 'o.k.,' so that i'll know you're all right. don't sign it. i give you two weeks. at the end of that time i'll expect you to return whether you've been successful or not."
-dare and ben listened closely to every word that fell from the captain's lips, nodding repeatedly in agreement and understanding.
-"have martha pack two of ben's old dunnage bags, one for each of you. and you, dare, get out your very oldest and roughest clothes, roughen up your hands a bit and don't wash your face too often. by the time you get to st. pierre you'll be more in character, though as ben's 'eddicated' nephew there's not much for you to assume in that way.
-"when you get to st. pierre, ben, you can talk a bit about your own smuggling propensities. but there, i leave that part of your programme to you. no doubt it will be dictated by what you find happening on the spot."
-the rest of that day and the early night was given up to considering ways and means. both ben and dare entered into the adventure in optimistic spirit. the captain, while not so sanguine of their success, was inclined to be enthusiastic about the project. martha was the only one to disapprove of it. but captain stanley won her over with a few phrases, repeatedly assuring her that there was no danger and that the outing could be looked upon in the nature of a holiday.
-at three o'clock the next morning, dare and ben slipped unnoticed out of the house, the captain's guarded "good luck!" sounding in their ears.
-they took to the shagtown road with a will, striking into a walk that would bring them to the town in an hour or so. they reached it without having met a single person, and made at once for the quay. they had in a knapsack a plentiful supply of food, and on reaching the quay they chose a snug corner and prepared to eat while waiting for the town to awake.
-there was a good deal of shipping in the harbour, from imposing three-masted ships to fishermen's boats such as they themselves intended to acquire. one of the latter lay by the quay near them, and, at the sight of smoke issuing from the small fo'c'sle, ben suggested asking the owner for something hot to drink, as the morning was a raw and chilly one.
-dare agreeing, they gave the boat a hail, and in response a shutter was pulled back and a bearded, good-natured face appeared.
-"good mornin' to you," said ben.
-"and to you," said the man, eyeing them in a friendly manner.
-"we was wonderin' if you was boilin' the kettle and if we could get a drap of tay. we've the money to pay."
-"as to your money," said the man, "i want none of it. but you're welcome to take a drap of tay. come aboard."
-they proceeded quickly to accept the invitation, and leaving their bags on deck were soon sitting down in the cramped but otherwise comfortable fo'c'sle. in return for the tea they shared their food, which martha had put up with a liberal hand. when all three had partaken freely, the two older men exchanged tobacco pouches and prepared to gossip, while dare, to whom the unusual environment was keenly stimulating, stretched himself out and prepared to listen.
-"you're up early on the go," said the boat's master.
-"no sun to-day," said the fisherman with a glance up through the companion-way at the grey sky, across which swift clouds were moving. "the wind's from the east."
-"so 'tis," agreed ben, who was very pleased with his surroundings.
-"you'll not be saltern men, i reckon," said the fisherman.
-"no," replied ben warily, "we comes from beyant spaleen. name of wheeler. this here boy is me nevvy. we come to shagtown to buy a boat."
-"and wouldn't you be finding one in saltern, then?"
-"the saltern boats is not to our likin'. we heard tell that shagtown is a good place fer boats barmitage bay built."
-"so 'tis," admitted their host. "this boat of mine is one of 'em."
-"i knowed as much from her lines," said ben. "a good boat, i reckon."
-"aye, good enough," returned the other, then added with some pride: "she can do eight knots in a breeze and you don't have to take in sail until it's too bad weather for any christian to be out. but she's a little small for my needs."
-"say you so? 'tis one like her we're lookin' for. she's not too big an' she's got the speed. if you can put us next to one we'd be obleeged."
-"ah, that's easier said nor done," declared the fisherman. he eyed ben with more interest than hitherto. "you was goin' to pay cash, i doubt?" he said.
-"we was," stated ben; and, his attention caught by something calculating in the other's look, he added: "it'd be the great luck to find a one like this. you wouldn't be sellin' her for a penny, i bet."
-"no," replied the man, "but i'm not sure i wouldn't be sellin' her for the right price."
-"she's worth seventy-five dollars the way she stands now."
-"a nice price," said ben. "we was goin' to give sixty, weren't we, nevvy?"
-"sixty," agreed dare solemnly.
-the fisherman seemed to lose all interest in the conversation. he was silent for some minutes, then as though it were no matter of great concern, he said:
-"you'd want her fer fishin', i s'pose?"
-"well, in a way," admitted ben. then, as though revealing something of importance, he added: "we was thinkin' of runnin' to st. pierre now and then."
-the fisherman nodded sagely in a manner that showed he understood.
-"was you, now? tobaccy is a big price, 'tis true."
-"and so is sugar and whiskey and gear," said ben.
-quite satisfied now of the character of his guests, the other said: "but they're cheaper in st. pierre."
-ben nodded. "that's so."
-"eighty dollars, was it, i said i'd take for her?"
-"seventy-five. but we mentioned we was going to give sixty for one if we found her."
-"ah, was it so? 'tis a pity, but no doubt you'll find one to suit you."
-"aye, no doubt. there's a man i knows here who is well knowledged in boats."
-"i'm not sayin' i wouldn't take seventy, mind you," said the fisherman.
-"would you, now? sixty-five is our limit, ain't it, nevvy?"
-"we wouldn't go above sixty-five," agreed dare.
-"cash, i think you said?" put in the fisherman.
-"cash," repeated ben and dare in chorus.
-"then if you're agreeable, we'll make a bargain."
-delighted more than he could say by this opportune offer, ben stated his willingness and the two immediately put their heads together.
-"you can take her over right now," said the fisherman, "if you likes to pay a extry five dollars fer the cookin' gear and stove. the dory, of course, goes with her."
-ben was agreeable. by taking over the boat practically ready for sea, they would save time and money. he suggested that they should go ashore when the bank opened, and sign the necessary papers in the presence of witnesses. and this they did, leaving dare in charge.
-by ten o'clock ben was the owner of the boat and was in possession. and by noon they had provisioned her and made her ready for sea. before taking leave of them the fisherman wished them good luck, and advised them when they went to st. pierre to trade at giraud's. "you can't do better," he told them.
-at this time the wind was blowing a good steady breeze from the east, which meant a fair wind for st. pierre, and ben, who had examined the sky closely, was inclined to put to sea immediately.
-"we've done the business of buyin' a boat much quicker'n the cap'n expected," he said to dare. "if we can work out of the harbour, and i think we can, though the wind's blowin' in a bit, we could make the run to st. pierre in three hours. the weather's clear and there's no sign of worse to come. what do you say, mr. dare?"
-"the quicker the better," replied dare; "to-morrow the weather may not be so good."
-"then get ready, and put on your oilskins, for it'll be wet outside."
-dare obeyed and in half an hour the boat, named the nancy, cast off.
-at st. pierre
-they had difficulty in working the boat out of the harbour, but under reduced sail and ben's expert handling they eventually managed it.
-once they were far enough off the land to clear shagtown cape they had straight sailing, and shaking out the reef in the big foresail they settled down to the short voyage. they passed saltern a mile from the land, which was skirted by the white foam of breaking seas.
-the boat gave an admirable exhibition of her qualities and proved her late owner's boast correct, for with a fair wind and a following sea she did her eight knots in grand style.
-dare and ben had an opportunity to observe the saltern coast, and found it wild and rugged. cliffs ranging from two hundred to four hundred feet in height rose uncompromisingly upright from the sea, but were broken at points by intersecting small sandy beaches which gave upon less precipitous backgrounds.
-except for a solitary merchantman beating her way towards shagtown, they had the sea to themselves, for the weather was too rough for the local fishermen to go to their trawls and nets.
-ben gave dare the tiller of the nancy and turned a pair of binoculars on the saltern cliffs, subjecting them to a long, close scrutiny. except for a few sheep and goats, and a fisherman's cottage or so in lonely, desolate-looking spots, there was no sign of life or human habitation. a rugged, solitary coast it certainly was.
-further from saltern, however, the coast became more pleasing to the eye, and sloped down more gradually to the sea. ben, at this point, took the tiller again and changed the course a little. miquelon, the companion island of st. pierre, could be plainly seen, as could green island, and setting his course by the latter ben turned the boat's head definitely from the land. this necessitated taking in some sheet and subjected the boat to a rough beam sea. she was, fortunately, in good ballast, and had little to fear from the press of wind bearing her down heavily as she sank into the hollows. dare, who was with ben in the cockpit, the deck at a level with their waists, welcomed the rough water. the sting of the spray, the roar of the wind, stimulated him to a high degree, and enjoyment swallowed up any concern there might have been as to their safety.
-ben, chewing with gusto a plug of tobacco, was in his natural element. he had not enjoyed himself so much for years. now and then he gave a grunt of approval as the boat rose gallantly from under a breaking sea, but for the most part he was stoically inexpressive, his gaze fixed ever ahead, his capable hand hard set on the tiller.
-at four o'clock they brought open the roadstead of st. pierre harbour, and half an hour later, in half a gale of wind and a blinding rainstorm, they made the inner harbour.
-considerably elated at their successful run, they headed the boat towards the public quay next treloar's wharf, and in calm water tied her up and made her shipshape for the night.
-"four hours an' a half from one quay to t'other," said ben in high good humour. "now we'll go below and put the kettle on and have a cup o' tea."
-it was snug and cosy in the little fo'c'sle and dare, stripped of his oilskins, listened with growing pleasure in his environment to the wail of the wind, the beat of the rain, and the uneasy chafing of the boat and the shipping in her vicinity as the wind streamed through their rigging.
-now and then there sounded a long warning note from a siren, a dog would bark, and a solitary cart rattle by on the cobble-stoned quay.
-a stormy night, ben prophesied, but as they were snug in harbour they could ignore the weather. ben, like the seasoned campaigner he was, went about the business of boiling the kettle, and in a short time he had fashioned a delectable meal consisting of a roasted piece of cod fish, cold ham, pickles, bread, butter, jam, and tea, all tasting a little of smoke and the tang of salt water.
-"we won't telegraph the cap'n till to-morrer," ben said at last. "he won't be expectin' us to get here before then. as it's a dirty night and'll be dark early, we won't go ashore now but take our comfort here."
-dare, lying on his back, his head supported by his clasped hands, nodded contentedly. st. pierre was lying waiting for him. he could afford to be patient. there would be all the joy of discovery in watching the town awake next morning.
-"ah, these is good times, mr. dare," said ben after another silence. "it does my heart good to be lyin' here like this. many's the time i've laid me down to sleep to the sound of wind and water, and woke to hear the cry of the watch, and the sound of the waves striking like a steel hammer on the deck overhead. and other nights there was when i took me blankets on deck and laid me down under the stars, with the sea that smooth you could frame it like a picture with the horizon, and the air that warm an' soft you would be thinkin' you was in the tropics, instead of in the western ocean not two days sail from the azores."
-dare nodded dreamily, ben's voice like distant music in his ears. what boy has not had his imagination sent rioting by thinking of such things? a fine life, a clean life, a brave life, that of the sailor, with strange ports always lying ahead, and the sea, the vast sea always about one, bringing calm and storm, monotony and drama and adventure.
-he slept that night the sleep of eager youth and dreamed rosy dreams of the things he should do some fine day when he came into his kingdom--that delectable world which lies before youth when it attains the age of manhood and emancipation, that bright, that chivalrous age of twenty-one.
-early the next morning he was roused by ben's shout of "show a leg!" he tumbled out eagerly. ben had already kindled a fire. he shoved his head above deck and saw the town wrapt in a morning mist, and on the waters of the harbour the dimly seen hulls of the ships.
-there was a nip in the air that drove sleep and dreams from him and made him keen to launch forth into action and adventure. he went on deck, and drawing up a bucket of water plunged his head deep into it. his toilet was soon made. he grinned as he remembered that for the first time in his life he had an adequate excuse for not scrubbing his face. when he had finished he went to the fo'c'sle head and called down to ben.
-while he was doing this the mist rolled away and the sun appeared as if by magic, gilding the town and the shipping with early morning beauty.
-the boat was too far below the quay for him to see anything but the upper stories of the buildings facing the harbour, so he had to content himself with gazing upon the latter and the variegated shipping that filled it. steam trawlers, coal tramps, american deep-water fishermen, newfoundland bank fishermen, cargo boats, sailing and steam yachts, steam tugs and a host of smaller craft filled the basin.
-he gazed on this scene as he had so often gazed on st. john's harbour as seen from the college windows, admiring the beautiful lines of some of the vessels, the ugliness of others, indeed their endless variety.
-he was torn from this pleasant exercise by the call to breakfast. after the meal was over they loosened the sails and shook them out to dry, then prepared to go ashore. by this time the town was well awake. at a neighbouring quay one vessel was discharging coal and another produce, both of which commodities were being loaded on to antiquated ox-carts drawn by even more antiquated oxen. numerous dogs were barking and pretending to be fiercely excited by pieces of stick floating in the water, and one after another were diving off the quay, encouraged by errant bakers' boys and other seemingly unattached youths.
-the sound of strange speech struck the ear, a french that dare could hardly believe was the same language he was taught at school.
-in time they prepared to enter this strange world. ben locked up the fo'c'sle, asked the crew of a nearby boat to keep an eye on the nancy, then, followed by dare, climbed up the side of the quay and stood erect on dry land.
-the town of st. pierre has been formed by the needs of the visiting sailors and fishermen of france, america, and newfoundland. old as age goes in the americas, the remains of the english fortifications can still be seen, but now by the treaty of utrecht, no garrisoning or fortification of the island is permitted. its architecture is such as one finds in the seaports of brittany and sea towns such as marseilles. there has been a rich trade done there in its day, but its importance has declined with the importance of st. pierre et miquelon as a colony, the only french colony in the atlantic, and little more in reality than a station for her bank fishermen.
-but enough remains of the colony's importance to ensure a brisk trade in the summer months when the population is greatly augmented by the visiting fleets.
-the principal street is known as the waterfront. it runs parallel to the quays and is flanked by numerous cafés, shops, and marine stores.
-breaking it about half-way is a large square with a decrepit fountain and an uneven, cobble-stoned pavement. it was into this square that ben and dare stepped on their first visit ashore.
-ben, faced by several routes, stopped to consider his movements.
-"we can't do better than walk a little way along the waterfront, and drop in on madame roquierre," he said. "it's a little early for the cafés, but madame is always on hand night and day."
-dare, to whom even the name of madame roquierre was unfamiliar, nodded agreement, and they sauntered on their way. the waterfront presented a very animated scene. scores of sailors strolled up and down, proprietors of magasins and cafés stood outside their premises exchanging salutations with the passers-by and not omitting to call attention to the exclusive benefits patronage of themselves would bring, teams of oxen plodded slowly by, and gendarmes strolled on their rounds, keeping a vigilant eye on one and all.
-ben had little eyes for so familiar a scene, but to dare every detail was foreign to anything in his previous experience and therefore worthy of interest and attention.
-they eventually reached madame roquierre's café, a large square box of a building with a prevailing atmosphere of sour wine inside and out. the bar was empty except for an old manservant busy raising a cloud of dust. in response to ben's inquiries after madame, he answered, "elle est sortie."
-dare recognized the phrase and translated it for ben's benefit.
-"out, is she?" said ben. "well, it's no matter; we can come back again." they returned to the waterfront.
-"the madame," explained ben, "is a wise old bird. she knows everyone and everything in st. pierre. she's kept that there grogshop of hers for forty years and more. although it's ten years since i've been here, i'm willin' to bet she can remember me. aye, that's so. you might think i wouldn't want to be remembered as a bos'n of the cap'n's. but you'd be wrong. madame ain't the one to blab, and when i tells her that i'm named wheeler an' that i wants everybody who knows me to forget they've seen me before, she'll catch on as quick as anything. nothin' can't surprise her. she's seen too much in her time. i'm countin' to hear a bit from her about this end of the smuggling game. and maybe she'll be able to give us a few names. we'll go to her fer our dinner and supper--she keeps a good kitchen, as i knows of old. it ain't convenient to eat aboard all the time."
-dare welcomed this plan and said so, it being likely to offer them diversion as well as benefit their mission.
-they spent the morning sauntering from quay to quay in the manner of others of their kind. now and then they were drawn into conversation, and on such occasions responded genially and with that seeming openness most likely to inspire confidences. at noon they went to the telegraph office and cabled the captain. they then returned to the quay and had a look at the boat. then they wended their way once more towards madame roquierre's.
-all was changed now. the bar was fairly crowded, and through the swing door leading to the kitchen came a delectable odour, and a burst of sound comparable to that attendant upon the feeding of a battalion.
-ben pushed through the crowd at the bar, dare in his wake, and went into the kitchen. there, presiding over the distribution of an enormous tureen of soup, was madame roquierre. she was stout, possessed a heavy moustache, and very white teeth which were often revealed in an excess of geniality. she found time, amidst her other duties, to greet everyone who entered, and dare and ben were no exceptions. ben called out a "bonjoor, madame," while dare silently gave an imitation of a bow.
-they took seats at a long table already well filled, and as soon as they were seated immense bowls of soup were placed before them. the soup seemed to dare to contain nearly every known vegetable, but decidedly it was good. ben attacked it with gusto, and before long dare was following his example.
-"never anything else here in the kitchen but soup," said ben. "if you want other things they're special. but after a bowl or two of this you don't want much. i come here because it would look funny our askin' fer a private room. we're not of that sort now. but later i'll have a talk with madame and we can have what we like here in the kitchen."
-after the soup they ordered coffee, and sat so long over it that the room was practically empty when they rose to go. before they could reach the door, madame confronted them.
-"bon jour, messieurs," she said genially. "ah, i have seen you before, my fren'," she said to ben, and wrinkled her forehead in an effort to remember. "so! it was with the capitaine----"
-"no names, madame, if you please," interrupted ben. "i'd take it as a favour if you'd fergit you've seen me before."
-"hein? ah, so, i see! eh bien, it is as you say. you stay long?"
-"two weeks, perhaps. perhaps less."
-"so! it is well. you shall come to see me again, is it not?"
-"we was thinkin' of takin' dinner and supper here, madame."
-"good," declared madame. "but stay, you will drink a brandy?"
-ben, who looked upon the offer of hospitality as most favourable to his intentions, accepted.
-"and you, m'sieu?" said madame, turning to dare.
-"nothing, thank you," replied dare.
-they seated themselves again at a table and madame, who was inclined to gossip, joined them.
-"it is long, i think, since you came last," she said to ben.
-"aye, madame, ten years."
-"ma foi! how the time it goes! and you sail no more with the capitaine who shall not be named?"
-"that's so. i got a boat of me own, madame. me and me nevvy here, we intends to run between st. pierre and the mainland. tobaccy is dear on the mainland. savvy?"
-madame smiled wisely.
-"there is light," she answered. "so, you also, hein? well, and why not? the poor should not have to pay taxes."
-"you said it, madame."
-"tobacco, you have said. and wine, yes?"
-"so you are wise. now i---- well, my fren', i have a large cellar. vous comprenez? and you shall do as well by me as at that ol' thief giraud's, who boasts he has all the trade of such as yourself."
-"i've heard of giraud," said ben cautiously.
-"a thief, my fren'. i have said it. and it is not true that he has all the trade, for, mark you, i, roquierre, say it--pierre has taken from me no less than one mille of the three-cross brandy since two years."
-"and who might pierre be, madame?" ben made the mistake of inquiring.
-madame's expression changed the slightest bit. a curtain of reserve slowly descended.
-"you know not pierre?" she asked, a little surprised.
-"never heard of him," admitted ben. "a smuggler, is he?"
-madame rose to her feet, smiling enigmatically.
-"a smuggler?" she said. "but what is that? here we name not such things. if one wishes to take a bottle or two quietly, ma foi, is he then to be called a smuggler?"
-"what else, madame?"
-"it makes nothing," madame quietly answered. "we talk of other things, n'est-ce pas?"
-"but this pierre feller?" insisted ben stupidly.
-madame eyed him for a moment, then leaned forward impressively.
-"understand, m'sieu, one does not talk lightly of pierre to those who know him not. so, enough. i have already said too much. au'voir, messieurs. you are welcome always, and forget not what i have said of giraud."
-she gave them a guarded smile and left the room. ben watched her go without a word, then, beckoning to dare to follow, made for the street.
-"well, we didn't get much forrarder there," he exclaimed ruefully, as he stood in the street outside.
-"you went about it in the wrong way," said dare impatiently. "if you hadn't asked her who pierre was, she would have been telling you all about him in a few minutes."
-"aye, i reckon that's so," agreed ben, abashed. "what a dunderhead i be! why didn't you stop me, mr. dare?"
-"i didn't have a chance. madame, as you've said, is a wise old lady," he added. "she thought it was queer your not knowing pierre if you were a smuggler. pierre, who took no less than a thousand cases of brandy from her in two years!"
-"aye, i reckon it seemed funny," said ben humbly. "but anyhow, we got somethin' to go by, we can keep a look-out for that feller pierre."
-"that's so, of course. he must be a smuggler in a pretty big way, don't you think?"
-"there's no tellin', but it seems so. a thousand of brandy from one cellar in two years is not bad work, not to mention what he might have had from giraud."
-"of course, he may be running cargoes down the coast, and not in saltern bay at all."
-"that's what we've got to find out. one of the first things we got to do is see giraud."
-"we might go up there later in the afternoon."
-"aye. and to-night i'll try and get on the right side of madame again. i don't believe she thinks i'm not what i give myself out to be."
-"no," agreed dare. "but you'll have to go carefully there. it's my belief it's no use trying to pump her now. she'll be on her guard. still, it won't hurt to quieten down her suspicions if she has any."
-"you said it."
-in a few minutes they had reached the quay. the nancy was lying almost level with it on a flood tide.
-"what shall we do now?" asked dare.
-"i was thinkin' of takin' a nap," confessed ben. "there's no use tryin' to see that feller giraud till three o'clock."
-they parted on that understanding.
-on the trail
-ben overslept. that is to put it mildly. he woke with a start to discover that it was five o'clock. after magnifying his conduct in appropriate language he hurried on deck to look for dare. but there was no sign of dare either on board or ashore on the quay.
-ben, frankly, did not quite know what to do then. he thought it queer that dare should not have roused him at the hour they had arranged to meet. perhaps dare had not come back at all. or could it be that he had returned and, finding him, ben, asleep, had gone ashore again? ben was more inclined to think the former. and from thinking thus he began to wonder why dare had not returned. had he been prevented? was he hurt? ben turned cold at the thought of harm coming to the "cap'n's boy" while the latter was, in a way, under his care.
-the barber, an exquisite to his finger-tips, scented, hair curled, beard drawn silkily to a point, smiled professionally as ben entered, but lost some of his interest when he discovered that ben was there merely to ask questions. he could, as it happened, speak english, and he began to do so with those flourishes most latins find necessary in their attempts at self-expression.
-a youth? english? but no. but yes! it is to say, a young man, blond, sans barbe, with the air pleasing, and muscular, oh yes, muscular, most decidedly. the young man had come to his shop at two of the clock, but what he had come for it was not to be known, for to the most astonishment this young man after a reading of the journal short and inadequate, considering that it was the most admirable "journal of the débats," that young man had thrown down the journal with force and had run, yes decidedly, run from the shop with a manner excitable, l'air excité.
-ben listened with impatience, following the long rambling sentence with difficulty, due to the accent of the speaker.
-after our long spell of over twenty-two hours’ climbing, we had now to devote ourselves to a journey of ten or eleven miles down the hooker glacier and the valley at its termination to the hermitage. there was some little trouble amongst the enormous crevasses and séracs, which, even in the moonlight, were a magnificent sight. we got through the first crevasses by candle-light, and then plodded on down the glacier by the light of the moon. twice we got blocked, and had to retrace our steps to find a route through the maze of crevasses and broken ice. the sunrise was splendid. the silver of the moon gave place to the grey of dawn, and then the higher snows were flushed with rose and gold, the ice-cap of mount stokes being the first to catch the glow. the great ice-paved valley, loath to reveal the secrets of its grandeur, waited yet awhile in the sombre shade. but presently the sun searched the dimmest recesses of the lower crags, blazed upon the gleaming snows, and all the world was filled with light.
-but it will be as well to draw a veil over the details of that long, dreary walk—the zigzagging to find a way down through the broken ice; the jumping of many crevasses; the uncertain steps along the crumbling live moraine; and the mechanical, sleepy trudge along the final pathway. our throats were parched, and, early in the morning, the roar of a waterfall on the range across the valley mocked our thirst; but on the final slopes of the clear ice of the glacier we broke the frozen surface of some pools with our ice-axes and drank mighty draughts.
-hour by hour we plodded on down the valley, lifting our feet almost mechanically, halting at every stream, and falling asleep at every resting-place, till some resolute member of the party would prod the sleepy ones into mechanical action once more. never, in all my life, have i travelled such long, weary miles. towards the end of the journey, the one impression fixed indelibly on the brain seemed to be “the hermitage.” once across the hooker river, it was “the bar,” which loomed large in our minds with a capital b. we pulled ourselves together for the last hundred yards; but i am afraid it was with a rather faltering stride that we reached the winning-post after our long struggle of thirty-six hours from the bivouac rock many miles away on the other side of the great range. turner, for sartorial reasons, had to make a bee-line for his bedroom; but the three new zealanders went boldly into the kitchen of the hermitage and discussed a bottle of wine amidst the congratulations of friend macdonald and his worthy family. fyfe and graham followed this up with ham and eggs and copious draughts of milk. i had a jug of hot milk, a hot bath, and bed. we had not had a wash nor taken off our clothes for several days, and were now in a position to fully appreciate the luxuries of civilization. i slept till the dinner-gong woke me in the evening, and as there was not time to dress i had dinner in bed. later on, fyfe, graham, and clark came into my room, and we climbed the mountain over again.
-on the way down the hooker i had sworn to myself that i would never climb another peak; but so strange an animal is man, and so fascinating is his most glorious sport, that no sooner had we recovered from our exertions than we now immediately began to discuss plans for the ascent of mount sefton! but next day, through the glasses, we could plainly see great icicles hanging from the rocks on the main arête. the ridge was plastered with ice, and we had no immediate desire to repeat the performance we had just gone through.
-accident to wagonette, 56; to mr. low, 166; to turner, 305.
-ada, lake, 232.
-adamson, 58, 91.
-age glacier, 240.
-alpha, mount, 124.
-alpine club, tribute to, 21. ex-president, 21.
-amery, l. m. s., 12.
-annan, 30, 41.
-aorangi conquered, 115.
-architect’s creek, 212.
-arthur valley, 224. river, 232.
-aspiring, mount, 10, 19.
-austria, emperor of, 3, 5.
-avalanche shoot, an, 187.
-avalanches, 78, 80, 95, 110, 130, 182, 290, 291.
-ball glacier, 40, 69. hut, 14, 68, 160.
-balloon, mount, 223, 224.
-beech trees, 120.
-beret, mount, 269.
-“billy barlow,” 208.
-birch hill station, 14, 55.
-bivouac rock, de la bêche, 134, 143, 166. at malte brun, 181. in tasman valley, 35. mount cook, 15, 18, 61, 77, 87, 89, 102; view from, 62, 286. on mueller, 131. on plateau, 79, 87, 92, 93. on tutoko, 254.
-bivouacs on the wataroa, 193, 199.
-blue lake, the, 32, 34.
-boss, emil, 14.
-botanical paradise, a, 124.
-bowen falls, 233, 235.
-broderick, mr. t. n., 20.
-brown, professor mainwaring, 216, 263.
-buller, mr. percy, 270. sir walter, 123.
-burke’s pass, 54.
-camp concert, 258. cookery, 37, 70, 220, 228, 279. in a storm, 101. life, 159. meditations, 42. on tasman moraine, 58.
-carrier pigeons, 71, 91.
-celmesia flat, 34.
-chamois, acclimatization of, 3.
-clark, jack, 17, 19, 109, 110, 168, 266.
-cleddau river, 236.
-clinton river, 261.
-coach journey, 27.
-conway, mount, 19. sir w. m., 280, 288.
-cook, mount, 10, 18, 19, 20, 22, 26, 268. (bivouac), 15, 18, 61, 62, 77, 87, 89, 102, 286. descent of, 297. eastern arête, 82. final ice-cap, 98. first crossing of, 264. first traverse of, 18. green’s attempts, 14. hooker route, 105. hut, 34. ice-cap, view from, 99. middle peak, ascent of, 106. north-west arête, 112. ridge, cairn on, 113. summit reached, 113. summit of, 295. sunset on, 305.
-cook-hector couloir, 111, 114.
-copland river, 212.
-couch, quiller-, 147.
-cox, dr. norman, 129, 134, 135, 143.
-crow, orange-wattle, 242.
-dadelszen, miss von, 270.
-dampier, mount, 20.
-darwin, mount, 17, 271.
-dawn on mount cook, 81.
-de la bêche, 17, 36, 99, 165. and the minarets, 165. bivouac, 134, 143, 166.
-dixon, m., 17, 53, 57, 61, 81, 86, 100, 103.
-dobson, g., 17.
-donne, t. e., 3.
-douglas, mount, 19.
-du faur, miss, 20.
-dundas, mount, 124.
-earle, l. m., 19.
-earnslaw, mount, 121.
-edelweiss, 124, 218.
-elie de beaumont, 19, 99, 267, 272.
-elliot, mount, 224.
-empress glacier, 107.
-fairlie creek, 25.
-fiddian, dick, 210, 211.
-fitchett, dr., 270.
-fitzgerald, e. a., 18, 53, 160.
-fitzgerald’s pass, 208, 213.
-footstool, the, 17, 19.
-forrest ross glacier, 41, 145.
-fox glacier, 154.
-freshfield, douglas, 119. glacier, 40.
-frying-pan flat, 8.
-fyfe, t. c., 17, 18, 49, 53, 69, 81, 83, 88, 89, 96, 98, 100, 103, 105, 106, 129, 179, 236, 261, 264, 298, 302. in wataroa river, 202. leg injured, 194, 195, 199.
-gillespie’s beach, 207, 208, 209, 210.
-glacier peak, 19. action, 217. dome, 78, 92, 100, 289.
-glaciers, ancient, 54.
-glentanner station, 55, 75.
-glissading, 84, 108.
-godley glacier, 54, 178.
-graham, alexander, 18, 19, 20. george, 17, 69, 95, 103, 105, 109, 113. peter, 19, 20, 168, 290, 298, 299, 302, 304. grampus, chased by, 235.
-grand plateau, 78. camp on, 79, 87, 92, 94, 100.
-great bear, the, 252.
-grebe, crested, 242.
-green’s fifth camp, 31, 47, 52. rocks, 85, 95, 100. route, attempts by, 65, 105. saddle, 105, 111, 112, 113.
-grey warbler, the, 123.
-gunn, alexander, 206.
-haast, dr. von, 17. glacier, 40. mount, 19, 99, 290, 293.
-haidinger, mount, 18. ascent of, 144, 154.
-hall’s arm, 263.
-hart, mount, 223.
-head, captain, 19.
-hector-cook couloir, 111, 114.
-hector, mount, southern arête, 112.
-hermitage, the, 29, 53, 90.
-hickson, miss, 270.
-highland hills, 118.
-hochstetter, 6. dome, 189. glacier, 39, 46, 79, 94, 102. ice fall, 40.
-höhnel, rear-admiral ritter von, 3, 5.
-holdsworth, mount, 118, 120.
-homer’s pass, 263.
-hooker cage, 30, 33, 48, 57. bergschrund, 109, 111, 114, 308. glacier, 106, 110. camp on, 106. river, 30, 74, 266, 284. route, 105.
-hot springs, 196.
-howitt, mr., 17.
-huddleston, mr., 48.
-ice-axe lost, 96, 113. -cap, descent from, 99. falling, 85.
-islington, lord, 21.
-jervois glacier, 224.
-johnson, dr., 118, 119.
-jukes, mount, 99.
-kaka, the, 122, 242.
-kakapos, 227, 238, 241.
-kaufmann, ulrich, 14.
-keas, 3, 4, 32, 47, 137, 142, 162, 267, 279.
-kinsey, j. j., 150.
-kiwi land, in, 215.
-kron prinz rudolf glacier, 169.
-kronecker, dr. franz, 17, 181.
-lamb, charles, 163.
-lendenfeld, frau von, 25. dr. von, 31, 32, 36. mount, 19, 293. saddle, 276.
-liebig range, 37.
-linda glacier, 15, 80, 81, 85, 87, 94, 100.
-lindon, mr., 276, 277, 282. mrs., 20, 276, 277, 282.
-longton, mr. and mrs., 270.
-low, r. s., 18, 165, 166.
-mackenzie, hon. thos., 216. plains, 26, 99.
-mackinnon, quintin, 222, 262, 263.
-malte brun bivouac, 181. mount, 17, 19, 294. range, 37, 40, 70, 81, 99, 135.
-mannering, g. e., 17, 52.
-marchant glacier, 212.
-mark twain, 211.
-matheson, 69, 70, 73, 74.
-maungaterera river, 120.
-m‘donald, claude, 19.
-m‘intosh, w., 270.
-milford sound, 10, 222, 233.
-minarets, the, 18, 165, 175.
-mintaro, lake, 222, 224, 258.
-mitre, the, 124. peak, 235.
-moa, the, 243.
-mountain duck, 242.
-mueller glacier, 130, 131. bivouac, 131.
-mummery, 20, 281.
-murchison glacier, 37, 267. river, 267, 268.
-ngapukaturua, mount, 125.
-ngatimamoe tribe, 217.
-ngauruhoe, 6, 8, 9.
-north island, fauna and flora, 121.
-nor’-wester, the, 54.
-notornis mantelli, 242.
-nun’s veil, 267.
-omega, mount, 124.
-pacific breakers, 155. ocean, 99.
-paradise ducks, 36, 75.
-parker, gilbert, 156.
-penguin rocks, 145.
-photography under difficulties, 96.
-pigeons, wood, 122.
-pioneers, the, 17.
-plateau bivouac, 79, 87, 92, 93.
-precipices on mount cook, 300.
-pukaki, lake, 26, 99. river, 27, 75.
-quill, william, 238, 263.
-ramsay, professor, 118.
-ranunculus insignis, 123, 190. lyallii, 132.
-raoulia rubra, 124.
-red admiral butterfly, 121. crater, 8.
-rimutaka railway, 116.
-roaring creek, 225.
-roberts, g. j., 178.
-rock avalanche, 113, 114, 131.
-ross, d. m., 9. john, 261. kenneth, 53, 61, 78, 100, 101, 103, 226, 236, 250, 260, 261. mrs. malcolm, 33, 37, 41, 119, 129, 131, 137, 228, 233, 261. —, station manager, 75.
-rothschild, lord, 243.
-rubber shoes, 153.
-schönbrunn, 3, 4.
-scott, captain, 63.
-scott’s homestead, 211.
-sealy, mount, 19. pass, 178. range, 48, 132.
-seddon, hon. mr., 206.
-sefton, mount, 18, 19, 130, 132.
-shackleton, sir e., 63.
-sillem, h., 19.
-sinclair, dr., 17.
-ski, 57, 86, 94.
-southern alps, 9, 209. cross, the, 252. stars, 252.
-spencer, professor baldwin, 276, 282.
-st. david’s dome, 19. camp near, 109, 110, 114.
-stevenson, robert louis, 161, 252.
-stokes, mount, 110, 309.
-stones, falling, 113, 114.
-storm on glacier dome, 100. at mount cook bivouac, 65. at hut, 73.
-stott, l., 276.
-sugar as a food, 288.
-sun-bonnet brigade, 159.
-sunset on mount cook, 305.
-sutherland, mount, 224. mr. and mrs., 238, 284.
-swagging in the alps, 135.
-swags in couloir, 68, 78, 89, 103.
-sydney bulletin, 172.
-takitimo range, 217.
-tararua forest, 120. range, 116.
-tarawera eruption, 7.
-tasman glacier, 18, 99, 294. moraine, 31, 36. mount, 15, 18, 20, 40, 99, 293, 295. river, 54, 55. spur, 92.
-taupo, lake, 6.
-te anau, lake, 262. navigation, 218.
-te heuheu, 6.
-te mari, 8.
-teichelman, dr., 18, 19, 165.
-tekapo, lake, 26, 99.
-terraces, pink and white, 7.
-the times, 11.
-“the times” glacier, 272.
-thompson, hughie, 209.
-thomson, d., 20.
-thrush, the new zealand, 242.
-torris peak, 19.
-totara berries, 44.
-tourist department, 3.
-turner, samuel, 74, 264, 274, 275, 299, 302, 304, 305.
-tutoko, mount, 240, 251, 254.
-tyndall, professor, 296.
-valleys, in the, 128.
-vegetable sheep, 123.
-victoria glacier, 155.
-volcanic mountains, 5.
-waimangu geyser, 7.
-waingawa fever, 120.
-wairarapa plain, 117.
-wakatipu, 10. lake, 218.
-walter, mount, 271, 272.
-warbrick, joe, death of, 7.
-ward, sir joseph, 3.
-wataroa river, 178, 191, 202, 203.
-weka, the, 241.
-west coasters, the, 211.
-white island, 6.
-whymper glacier, 183, 189, 190.
-wild cattle, 204.
-williams, the misses, 158.
-wood pigeon, 242.
-wrens, alpine, 36.
-ziele, c., 226, 261.
-zurbriggen arête, 290. mattias, 18, 22, 53, 160, 295.
-zurbriggen’s axe, 150.
-printed by morrison & gibb limited, edinburgh
-telegrams: “scholarly, reg. london.” 41 and 43 maddox street, bond street, london, w. february, 1914.
-telephone: no. 1883 mayfair.
-mr. edward arnold’s spring announcements, 1914.
-it has been said that no one can ever hope to know more than a few corners of the himalaya. yet an exception must surely be made in favour of colonel bruce. outside nepal there is no considerable section of the range, from sikkim to chitral and hunza, with which he has not some personal acquaintance, while of nepal itself he knows as much as is possible for a european. this has been shown in his valuable earlier work, “twenty years in the himalaya,” in which he describes his varied experiences as a mountaineer and an officer of the gurkhas, including ascents in the company of conway, mummery, longstaff, and other well-known climbers.
-in his latest expedition colonel bruce filled up his most considerable outstanding gap by a thorough exploration of the mountains of kulu and lahoul, which have hitherto been neglected by climbers. the country visited lies nearly due north of simla, in the centre of the group of small states which intervene between garhwal and kashmir, and a very large amount of most interesting ground was covered in the six months spent there. the record is not a mere tale of mountaineering achievement, for the author treats his subject lightly, and at the same times brings his wide knowledge of native life into play in describing the history and folklore of the two districts. mrs. bruce contributes a chapter on “a lady’s point of view.”
-london: edward arnold, 41 & 43 maddox street, w.
-a climber in new zealand.
-by malcolm ross, a.c., f.r.g.s.
-with numerous beautiful illustrations. demy 8vo.
-a work dealing with climbs and exploration in the new zealand alps. as one of the founders and vice-president of the new zealand alpine club, and editor of its journal, the author is well qualified to write on the subject of climbing and mountain exploration in his native land.
-the charm and adventures attendant upon exploration in the alps of a new country are most graphically described. indeed, there is not a dull page in the whole book, while some of the adventures were of quite a thrilling nature. the book is something more than a mere record of ascents. from beginning to end it has quite a literary flavour, and there is, also, running through its pages a quaint vein of humour and philosophy. such chapters as “above the plains” and “an interlude” will appeal to a wide circle of readers. mrs. malcolm ross, a well-known new zealand authoress, comes into the book a good deal, and her amusing descriptions of camp cookery and of the kea, or mountain parrot, add to the interest of the work of her daring and talented husband. the author has illustrated his book with some very excellent and artistic pictures from his own photographs.
-hannibal once more.
-by douglas w. freshfield, m.a.,
-vice-president of the royal geographical society; treasurer of the hellenic and roman societies; formerly president of the alpine club; author of “the exploration of the caucasus,” “round kinchinjunga,” etc.
-in this little volume mr. freshfield has put into final shape the results of his study of the famous and still-debated question: “by which pass did hannibal cross the alps?” the literature which has grown up round this intricate subject is surprisingly extensive, and various solutions have been propounded and upheld, with remarkable warmth and tenacity, by a host of scholars, historians, geographers, military men, and mountaineers. mr. freshfield has a solution of his own, which, however, he puts forward in no dogmatic spirit, but in such a fashion that his book is practically a lucid review of the whole matter in each of its many aspects. to an extensive acquaintance with ancient and modern geographical literature he unites a wide and varied experience as an alpine climber and a traveller, and a minute topographical knowledge of the regions under discussion; and these qualifications—in which many of his predecessors in the same field of inquiry have been conspicuously lacking—enable him to throw much new light on a perennially fascinating problem.
-the life of
-admiral sir harry rawson, g.c.b., g.c.m.g.
-by lieut. geoffrey rawson, r.i.m.
-this book, which has been written by a relative of the late admiral sir harry rawson, gives a deeply interesting account of the admiral’s long and varied career in china, the near east, africa and australia.
-entering the navy as long ago as 1857, when the sailing ship still held the seas, sir harry, as a young cadet, thirteen years of age, took part in the china war of 1858-60, being present in the calcutta’s launch at the capture of the taku forts.
-in 1863, when only nineteen years of age, he held ning-po for three months against the rebels, with 1,300 chinese troops under his command. he served for two commissions as commander of the battleship hercules, and acted as flag-captain in both the channel and mediterranean squadrons.
-during the egyptian campaign of 1882, he acted as principal transport officer, and after his promotion to flag rank, was appointed commander-in-chief on the cape station, 1895-98. whilst holding this important position, he landed the naval brigade which captured mweli, the stronghold of a rebel arab chief; part of his squadron bombarded the palace at zanzibar; and, in 1897, he commanded the famous expedition for the capture of benin, which was successfully accomplished.
-for more than two years he commanded the channel squadron, and the work contains a chapter devoted to the naval manœuvres of 1900.
-the book terminates with a well-told account of sir harry’s governorship of new south wales, and a chapter on his short-lived but no less famous brother, commander wyatt rawson, who led the historic night march over the desert to tel-el-kebir.
-richard corfield of somaliland.
-by h. f. prevost-battersby,
-war correspondent of the “morning post” in south africa and somaliland.
-illustrated. demy 8vo.
-it was the news of his death that made the world acquainted with corfield’s name, but everyone who had served with him knew him as a man of extraordinary charm, with some secret source of power which had an amazing influence over savage peoples, and regarded a notable future as assured to him.
-he had gone as a mere boy to the south african war, serving afterwards in the south african constabulary. he had just returned home on leave from his five years’ service when he was appointed to the new tribal militia being raised in somaliland. he remained there till the country was evacuated, and the militia disbanded, in 1910, acquiring a remarkable reputation for handling the most “difficult” natives in africa.
-he was at once transferred to northern nigeria, and after a year’s work, signalized by striking successes with the pagan tribes, was specially requisitioned to raise and command a force of camelry, to which the governance of somaliland was to be entrusted. in nine months he performed miracles in a country literally reeking with blood, 100,000 of the inhabitants having been massacred since the country was evacuated, and restored in that short time the confidence of the natives in the honour of the british government.
-he lost his life in a gallant attempt to check a dervish raid, which was spreading fresh ruin over the country; but those who read his life will discover that his action touched a much deeper issue than the succour of a starving people. he died for england’s old ways of honour—for the keeping of faith to unfortunate dependents, for his country’s good name.
-teaching for lads.
-rector of st. philip’s, salford, and canon of manchester; author of “how to deal with lads,” “how to deal with men.”
-this book is intended primarily for the use of those who have to give instruction to boys in sunday schools, church lads’ brigades’ bible classes, and similar institutions, and has been written in response to many and constant inquiries from people desirous of help in such teaching. the course of teaching outlined is based upon what the author has himself used with his own classes. canon green has the exceptional faculty of combining a knowledge of philosophy with a wide experience in actual practice. he is a theorist who has really put his theories to the test. in his two previous works there has been found a freshness about his whole treatment of the subject that is most stimulating, and it may be confidently asserted that readers of the new volume will derive equal pleasure and profit from its perusal.
-the origin of attic comedy.
-by f. m. cornford,
-fellow and lecturer of trinity college, cambridge; author of “from religion to philosophy,” “thucydides mythistoricus,” etc.
-this book tries to show that the peculiar structure and features of aristophanic comedy can be explained by an hypothesis like that by which professor gilbert murray explains the form of greek tragedy. a detailed examination of the extant plays brings to light, under all their variety, a plot-formula composed of a regular sequence of incidents: agon, sacrifice, feast, marriage, kômos. the theory is that this canonical sequence presents the stereotyped action of a folk-drama (like the english mummer’s play), which itself preserves the outline of a well-known seasonal ritual. this ritual turns out to be substantially identical with that which, according to professor murray, lies behind tragedy. the stock masks in the old comedy are shown to be the essential characters in the supposed folk-drama. on this view, various features of aristophanic comedy, such as the agon and parabasis, about which widely different views are now held, can be satisfactorily explained. it follows also that aristophanic comedy is not a patchwork of heterogeneous elements, but a coherent whole, and in all probability a native growth of attic soil. athenian comedy and tragedy have a common source in ritual of the same fundamental type. the causes of their differentiation—a problem of great interest in the history of drama—are treated in the last chapter.
-the book is intended, not only for classical scholars, but for all readers interested in the origin and growth of the drama. greek has been confined to the footnotes, and a synopsis of the plots of aristophanes’ plays has been added, to enable the ordinary reader to follow the argument.
-the revival of the religious life.
-by father paul bull, of the house of the resurrection, mirfield.
-the purpose of the author of this volume is to give an outline sketch of the ideals of the religious life, and the attempts to realize that life in history, and to trace the various manifestations and interpretations of the ascetic and mystic spirit of the gospel. father bull has spent twenty-two years of his life in trying to realize these ideals, and feels that both the infinite joy of the attempts and also his consciousness of abysmal failure may have qualified him to offer an opinion on the glory and the perils of the religious life—the word “religious” being here used in its original technical sense for a corporate life under rule. in urging the need for a fuller revival of the religious life for men in the english church, the author deprecates mere imitation of what has been done in past times and in other lands, and considers it important to accumulate as soon as possible a body of experience, to discuss principles and see what adaptations of these principles are necessary to meet modern conditions. the book should prove of great interest and utility to all who are concerned with the religious tendencies of our times.
-essays on faith and immortality.
-by george tyrrell.
-arranged, with introduction, by m. d. petre, his biographer.
-this volume comprises, for the most part, matter hitherto unpublished which existed in the form of notes and essays amongst the mss. which father tyrrell left behind him. to this have been added a few articles already published, either in england or abroad, in various periodicals, but which are not now easily obtainable, and which possess a certain importance. one of these latter essays, in particular, has attained considerable celebrity, and is yet almost unprocurable—namely, the one entitled “a perverted devotion,” which played so large a part in the drama of its author’s life.
-the essays have been divided into two parts, of which the first may be said roughly to deal with problems of faith, the second with the ever-recurring problem and mystery of personal immortality. this second part is specially characteristic of george tyrrell’s mind, with its spiritual tact and delicate power of intuition. some of the many to whom this question is the question of all questions will find in these essays, not a scientific answer to their difficulties, but illuminating hints and suggestions to help them in their own search. the essays, in fact, as a whole, are not definite treatises, but the musings and gropings of a deeply spiritual mind in its quest of truth.
-by emily jenkinson,
-author of “silverwool,” “the soul of unrest,” etc.
-in “barbara lynn” the author returns to the english lake district—the scene of her novel “silverwool”; and from the first page, where the reader is taken to the “lonely steading in the dale,” right on to the end, he is not only surrounded by the mighty hills and vast solitudes of nature, but made to feel the pulse of romance and tragedy. “barbara lynn” shows a distinct advance in the work of this gifted young writer. the style, as in her earlier books, is powerful, individual, lucid. there is the same love of wild and majestic scenery, and power to convey impressions of it to others; the same knowledge of human character and of sympathy with country folk, and capacity to enter into their lives and experiences. but with these gifts, which have already given distinction to miss emily jenkinson’s work, we hear a deeper chord struck in “barbara lynn.” it comes out especially in the presentation of the character of the girl whose name gives the title to the story. barbara lynn is a splendid creature; and the picture of her spiritual victory, her mysticism and self-sacrifice, is something unique in current works of fiction. in our judgment this is a book, not merely to delight readers for a season, but to remain a notable contribution to our literature for a long time to come.
-important books recently issued.
-lord lyons: a record of british diplomacy.
-“a great biography, a classical record of the career of one of the greatest of british ambassadors.”—saturday review.
-life and letters of george villiers, fourth earl of clarendon.
-“not since lord morley’s ‘life of gladstone’ was published have we had so useful a contribution as this book to the history of the victorian era.”—daily chronicle.
-primate alexander: archbishop of armagh.
-“a book that is most likeable, besides having a great charm that the reader will certainly appreciate, even when he cannot exactly define its quality.”—spectator.
-william augustus, duke of cumberland: his early life and times, 1721-1748.
-“mr. charteris has the gift of making his characters live; he is at once vivid and impartial. his analysis of cumberland’s military campaigns are especially lucid.”—daily mail.
-a civil servant in burma.
-“it contains some of the best descriptions of burma and the burmese people we have ever met.”—outlook.
-“we should imagine that few, even among well-read men and women, could read this volume without learning something they did not know before.”—times.
-thirty years in kashmir.
-“another of the splendid contributions to geographical and ethnological science, by which alone missionary endeavour would be more than justified.”—outlook.
-new and revised edition.
-painting in the far east.
-london: edward arnold, 41 & 43 maddox street, w.
-the lanchester tradition
-by the same author
-5s. net each.
-dick: a story without a plot. also 2s. net.
-‘for this i had borne him.’
-the lanchester tradition.
-when every tree was green.
-the awakening of bittlesham.
-the great days of versailles, 10s. 6d. net.
-reaping the whirlwind, and other poems. 3s. 6d. net.
-the lanchester tradition
-by g. f. bradby
-author of ‘dick,’ ‘when every tree was green,’ ‘the awakening of bittlesham,’ etc.
-this is a school story; but chiltern school has yet to be founded and the masters and boys who figure in the following pages have never existed outside the author’s brain. it is necessary to say so much, partly because most stories of this kind have admittedly dealt with particular schools, and partly because many readers have very little idea of the workings of the imaginative faculty. at all events, when a professional man ventures to write fiction, they insist on seeing history or caricature, and proceed to affix labels; for there is a general assumption that professional men, and schoolmasters in particular, are necessarily devoid of imagination.
-once more then, chiltern is not a real school and its masters are not real masters. but, though not real, they are not impossible--at least, so the author believes. for men, like boys, are unconsciously moulded by their environment and tend to conform to types; and, given a school like chiltern, there would probably be masters like the chiltern masters.
-g. f. b.
-the lanchester tradition
-chiltern school lies just outside the sleepy little town of the same name. its motto is “providendo nec timendo,” and its colours--a happy combination of cerise, orange, and green--are a familiar sight in all parts of the empire. but the school itself, though second to none in the opinion of chilternians, who should be the best judges, is not seen so often by the general public as its colours, because it can only be reached by a branch line and the time-table is a difficulty. it owes its inaccessibility to the foresight of its governors who, at the time when railways were invented, succeeded in keeping the main line at a distance; so when the present chairman comes down for speech-day he generally travels in a motor-car.
-its stone walls are grey with age or green with creepers. later generations have relieved the monotony by adding blocks of buildings in variegated brick, and nowhere can the genius of sir george honeymead, the famous mid-victorian architect, be studied to greater advantage. but of recent years taste has swung back in favour of uniformity, and whenever a famous old chilternian dies--and there are many famous old chilternians--an attempt is made to perpetuate his memory by converting the brick into stone. the sick-house, the gymnasium, the workshops, and the lodge have already been transformed; and it is generally understood that, when a certain aged statesman is taken to his rest, the great hall will undergo a similar change--unless, indeed, a new chemical laboratory is considered to have prior claims.
-the school owes its existence to the generosity of one john buss, a local farrier, who migrated to london in the early years of the seventeenth century, prospered in his business, and bequeathed a school and a hospital to his native place. antiquarians have been at pains to prove that what john buss really did was to endow an ancient but struggling institution that had existed on the same site ever since benedictine days, and that the history of chiltern stretches back into the dark ages before even william of wykeham was born. but the long gap between the suppression of the monasteries and the seventeenth century is hard to bridge satisfactorily, and john buss is still regarded, officially, as the creator of the famous school. the property which he bequeathed in east london has of late years greatly deteriorated in value, and, when the prior claims of the hospital have been met, the school only nets £92 3s. 11d. per annum out of the endowments. the liberal papers, however, have not yet discovered this fact, and, when politics are dull, they demand that the revenues of chiltern shall be restored to the nation and a university for working men built and endowed with the same. this contention helps to keep the memory of john buss green outside the walls of chiltern, and there are some who see in him a pioneer of democracy and a prophet of the university extension movement. be that as it may, chiltern at the present moment is rich because rich men are content to pay large fees in order that their sons may have the privilege of being educated, exclusively, with the sons of other rich men. the junior masters are of opinion that these large fees should be made still larger, and the salaries of the junior masters raised in proportion; but the senior masters scout this proposal as mercenary. the senior masters at chiltern are popularly supposed to be better paid than the senior masters at any other school. whether this is so or not, it is impossible to say for certain; for the senior masters at chiltern only talk of their salaries to the surveyor of taxes, and, even then, they do so reluctantly.
-the town of chiltern lives to a great extent upon the school, and the authorised tradesmen, who enjoy a practical monopoly, have a lively faith in the value of the goods supplied by them to “the young gentlemen”; which faith is convincingly reflected in the prices they charge. in the unauthorised trades, that is to say amongst tobacconists and dealers in motor-cycles, air-guns, and translations of the classics, competition tends to keep prices down. nevertheless, these illicit traders are always supposed to have done remarkably well in the palmy days of dr. gussy.
-notwithstanding this bond of union, there is a traditional feeling of hostility on the part of the town towards the school. this is due, in part, to the fact that the school people are supposed to look down upon the town people, but, still more, to a widely prevalent belief that, somehow or other, the school has defrauded the town of the farrier’s benefactions. as this belief is entirely without foundation, it is likely to be lasting.
-the country round chiltern is pretty if not exciting. there is a round hill (called by the masters “soracte,” and by the natives “the sow’s back”) at a convenient distance from the school, which commands a view over four counties and enables such of the staff as are inclined to obesity to retain a semblance of their youthful shape. in spring the landscape is white with cherry and pear blossom, and in autumn the apples make a cheerful show. there are quiet lanes, peaceful farms, and irritable farmers, who make unreasonable complaints when “the young gentlemen” break down their hedges, tread down their young wheat, or pillage their orchards.
-the climate is of the kind that is commonly called salubrious; for anæmic boys it is generally considered bracing, but it is also recommended as temperate for those who are afflicted with delicate chests. like all schools in england, public or private, chiltern stands on gravel, and the drains are of the most approved and up-to-date pattern. both the gravel and the up-to-dateness of the drains are vouched for by the school porter. the school-rooms are for the most part dark, but of great historic interest, and possessed of an indefinable charm. this charm, and the sense of continuity with a remote past, are generally regarded as an adequate substitute for ventilation. indeed, many of the senior masters at chiltern are strongly opposed to ventilation in any form, and prefer their air with a “bouquet.”
-the playing fields, locally known as colonus, are amongst the noblest in england, and are said to have been the scene of a sanguinary battle between the danes and the saxons. the school antiquarian society occasionally indulges in feverish bouts of digging, in the hope of unearthing bones or some other memorial of the fray; but, hitherto, they have failed to discover anything but stones and the bowl of a clay pipe. a stream, which flows at the far end of the grounds, provides the school with a unique swimming-bath (vide prospectus). under dr. gussy’s thoughtful régime the banks of this stream were planted thickly with rhododendrons and other flowering shrubs, which afford a reasonably secure retreat, on sundays, for such of the scholars as wish to enjoy a quiet pipe without the fatigue of pedestrian exercise. but etiquette requires that boys who have not yet reached their fourth term shall smoke elsewhere.
-in spite, however, of its ancient school-rooms, noble grounds, and salubrious climate, chiltern would probably never have become one of the public schools of england if it had not been for dr. lanchester. when abraham lanchester became headmaster, at the end of the eighteenth century, he found the place little more than a county grammar school; he left it an institution of national, almost imperial, importance.
-chiltern has lived ever since on the memory of dr. lanchester. it is natural, therefore, that he should be worshipped as the second and greater founder of the community. john buss is honoured for his picturesque figure and his priceless gift of antiquity, but lanchester is the presiding deity. his statue stands in the centre of the great quadrangle, his portrait looks down from the walls of the great hall; the library, the workshops, and other lesser buildings, or additions to buildings, are called after his name; and every foreign preacher in the school chapel, whether he is pleading for peace or war, for christian unity or church defence, for social service or imperial expansion, closes his peroration with an appeal to the memory of abraham lanchester. the lanchester tradition permeates the place like an atmosphere, invisible but stimulating. it is difficult to analyse, for, like all great truths, it states itself in different terms to different minds and has a special message for each. to the general public it stands for the classics and faith in the educational value of latin verse. to the masters it means a firm belief in the efficacy of the methods, or absence of method, to which they have become attached through long habit. to the old chilternians it embodies the social ideas and customs with which they grew up; and to the boys themselves, if it means anything more than a name, it represents a certain immutability and fixity of things, an as-it-was-in-the-beginning-is-now-and-ever-shall-be attitude towards life that appeals to their best conservative instincts. any change in the hour of a lesson or the colour of a ribbon is regarded as an outrage on the lanchester tradition, and is popularly supposed to make the dead hero turn in his grave.
-in connection with the school tradition it should, perhaps, be mentioned that there is a life of the great man by a friend and contemporary, and that there is nothing in it to suggest that dr. lanchester was so acutely sensitive to change. he seems, indeed, to have impressed his biographer as a restless spirit, with new and rather daring ideas about education. bound in the school colours and stamped with the school crest, this volume is frequently given as a prize, and figures on many a chiltern bookshelf. but it is seldom read, except by germans and nonconformist ministers; for it is ponderously written, and chiltern is more concerned with the memory than with the life of its great headmaster. in fact, the tradition is an oral rather than a written tradition, and it is perpetually renewed. chiltern claims to receive a continuous stream of inspiration from its second founder; and the current of the stream runs strongly against change.
-but a moment came in the history of the school, when the lanchester tradition and all that it stands for was threatened with a violent overhauling, if not a complete extinction. after a reign of four-and-twenty years, to all outward appearance peaceful and prosperous, dr. gussy suddenly discovered that he had had enough of it and accepted a vacant deanery. and then the governing body, or council as it is properly called, in one of those fits of absent-mindedness to which governing bodies are liable, elected as his successor a comparatively young man of unorthodox views and no practical experience.
-however, when the council met at grandborough, the county town, to come to a decision, it was found that the bishop had canvassed strongly and that lay and clerical forces were exactly evenly divided. the chairman of the council, a man of moderate views, disliked clerical domination but was also averse from the appointment of an old chilternian; so he declined to give a casting vote in favour of either candidate. neither side would budge an inch, and the contention grew sharp between them. twice mr. guthridge and dr. lawrence were called separately from the dingy room in which, together with mr. flaggon, they were awaiting their fate, and submitted to a lengthy cross-examination, in the hope that one or other of them would say something to turn the evenly balanced scales. but neither succeeded in detaching the necessary vote.
-at length the chairman, who had a train to catch and a dinner depending on the train, looked at his watch and hinted at an alternative solution. had the council sufficiently considered the claims of the third candidate, a man of great promise with very influential backing?
-compromise is an essential feature of the english character, and long hours of enervating discussion, in a stuffy room on a july afternoon, are favourable to its rapid growth. the council was exhausted, and mr. flaggon had some striking testimonials. his orders were a sop to the bishop, and his reputed unorthodoxy appealed to the lay party. so, at the eleventh hour, mr. flaggon was called into the council chamber. his appearance was satisfactory, and his answers to a few questions that were put to him by the chairman and the bishop gave no offence. he seemed a providential way out of an impossible situation, and withdrew, at the end of the interview, amidst encouraging smiles. five minutes later, to the chagrin of his rivals and his own surprise, he was invited once more into the council chamber and informed that he was headmaster elect of chiltern. after which the chairman left hurriedly to catch his train.
-at chiltern the triumph of guthridge was awaited with quiet confidence. nobody, except dr. gussy, believed that the council would dare to disregard the explicit wishes of the masters and the personal claims of the only old chilternian who was standing--the one man, in fact, who was qualified to carry on, intact, the great lanchester tradition. so, when the astonishing news came through that flaggon, and not guthridge, was the man, it was received at first with blank incredulity, followed immediately afterwards by a burst of passionate resentment. who was flaggon, what was flaggon, who had ever heard or dreamed of flaggon? the masters were seen talking and gesticulating in excited groups in the great quadrangle.
-“it’s an insult,” cried mr. pounderly, shaking his clenched fist, “a deliberate insult, aimed at the whole staff. i say a deliberate insult!”
-“on the contrary,” said mr. bent the cynic (every staff possesses a cynic), “it’s merely another instance of the ironic humour for which the council is famous.” mr. cox, the nestor of chiltern, shook his head sadly from side to side with a far-away look in his eyes; mr. black, the senior mathematician, was for petitioning the council, at once, to revoke its decision; and when mr. chase, the moderate man (every staff possesses at least one moderate who reads the spectator), expressed a timid hope that the newcomer would be given a fair chance, he was within an ace of being lynched. even the school porter, a man of solemn demeanour and grave reticence, expressed the opinion that the choice was “hominous.”
-as for dr. gussy, who, without committing himself publicly, had worked hard for dr. lawrence in private, he was completely prostrated by the blow. scarcely could he bring himself to make the official announcement to the school in the great hall; and, when he did so, it was with the voice and gestures of the roman prætor announcing after thrasymene, “we have lost a great battle.” for several days he affected to regard himself as superseded, set aside, and sulked like achilles in his tent.
-mr. flaggon pays a visit
-the election of mr. flaggon was followed immediately by the resignation of mr. cox. mr. cox was in the habit of resigning whenever his proposals were voted down or his advice neglected. dr. gussy had, at various times, received twelve such communications from him and, on each occasion, had found no difficulty in persuading mr. cox to reconsider his decision. there is every reason to suppose that mr. cox expected a similar issue to his thirteenth act of protest. but he had chosen his time badly. dr. gussy merely said, “i no longer count,” and forwarded the letter to the headmaster elect. and the headmaster elect, unfamiliar with mr. cox’s idiosyncrasies and much impressed by his age, which was seventy-five, accepted the resignation in a courteous and gracious spirit.
-mr. cox had so long regarded himself as an integral and necessary part of chiltern and the lanchester tradition that he was mortified to find how calmly his departure was taken. his colleagues, indeed, were most sympathetic, and said that his going would be a terrible break with the past, and that they would miss him increasingly. but they added that they thought he had acted very wisely in choosing this particular moment to leave them; and this was not the sort of consolation that mr. cox expected or desired. it is said that he still regards himself as the first and most notable victim of the new régime, and speaks contemptuously of “poor old gussy, who couldn’t play a winning hand even when he held all the trumps.” how exactly the hand should have been played is not clear; but the implication is that mr. cox’s resignation was the ace of trumps, and that, rightly used, it would have brought the council to its senses and prevented untold calamities.
-but, if mr. cox’s resignation was taken calmly, mr. flaggon’s appointment continued to stir chiltern to its lowest depths. articles were disinterred from the back numbers of magazines, educational or otherwise, in which mr. flaggon had spoken slightingly of the public schools and public school methods; and the press was deplorable. the liberal dailies hailed the appointment as the beginning of a new era and the death-blow to an antiquated tradition. even a leading conservative journal, which should have known better, described the election as a daring but interesting experiment, and proceeded to sketch an ideal curriculum, for the benefit of the new headmaster, in which greek was abolished and its place taken by compulsory military drill. the council blushed uneasily at finding itself suddenly in the van of progress, and began to say harsh things about its chairman; and its chairman was only partially comforted by an assurance from the distinguished person behind the scenes that they had chosen the best man in, “a man who will think before he acts and who will go far.” for to the chairman the ideal headmaster was rather a man who would mark time decorously than an explorer of untrodden ways.
-to the masters the suggestion that chiltern needed reforming--“turning inside out,” they called it--was, to say the least, unpalatable. as practical men they despised the theorist; and, of all forms of theorist, the one that they most disliked was the educational enthusiast--the innovator, the impostor. mr. pounderly went about with a scared face and mysterious air, whispering “lamentable, lamentable” to his colleagues; and mr. woburn, the scientist, who affected metaphors and frequently mixed them, declared that, though the classics were undoubtedly overdone at chiltern, he hated the idea of a man who would always be trying experiments and pulling them up by the roots to see how they were shaping.
-the idea of petitioning the council against the appointment had been abandoned, partly on the advice of the moderates, but chiefly for lack of support from the juniors. for, on second thoughts, the juniors discovered that they did not want the new headmaster to be a nominee and creature of the veterans. the senior masters at chiltern were famous for their longevity and for the tenacious way in which they clung to the posts of vantage; and, if change meant only a gradual shifting of the senior masters, there was something to be said in favour of change. but it was clearly understood that, if mr. flaggon attempted to drive his staff along new and unfamiliar ways, he would find them a most awkward and intractable team to handle.
-amid the babel of tongues there was one man who maintained what was, for him, an attitude of unusual reserve. this was mr. chowdler, the strong man of chiltern. mr. chowdler owed his reputation for strength, not to any breadth of view or depth of sympathetic insight, but to a sublime unconsciousness of his own limitations. narrow but concentrated, with an aggressive will and a brusque intolerance of all who differed from him, he was a fighter who loved fighting for its own sake and who triumphed through the sheer exhaustion of his enemies; and a term in which he did not engage in at least one mortal combat was to him a blank term. a tall man, with broad shoulders, round head, thin sandy hair, and full lips, he caught the eye in whatever company he might be, and his resonant voice arrested attention. at golfing centres, in the holidays, he was not always a very popular figure. but his confident manner impressed parents, and his was considered the house at chiltern. people often wondered why he had never stood for headmasterships or sought a wider scope for the exercise of power. in reality he had never felt the need. he had so completely identified himself with chiltern that it never even occurred to him to leave it; and his had for many years been the master mind that shaped the destinies of the school.
-in saying this we are not forgetting the existence of dr. gussy. but dr. gussy, though he had been the titular chief for nearly a quarter of a century, had long ceased to be the ruling spirit. in vulgar phrase, he had allowed mr. chowdler to “run him,” and it was generally supposed to be weariness of bondage rather than of power which had induced him to resign before the completion of his twenty-fifth year of office. in appearance he was a complete contrast to his formidable lieutenant. small and rather fragile, with silver-white hair and a refined, delicately moulded face that suggested dresden china, he was the type of the old-fashioned scholar. though there was nothing commanding in his personality it was none the less distinguished, and the thinness of a high-pitched, and sometimes almost squeaky, voice was atoned for by the perfection of his articulation. in his younger days he had taken a prominent place among the champions of the oxford movement, and, if he had not become a headmaster, he might have been notorious as a theologian; indeed, his commentary on the epistle of st. clement is admitted by all to be a remarkable work. fathers of chiltern boys loved to hear him read the lessons, and mothers frequently remarked, “what a lovely face!” but he was by nature too refined and sensitive to cope successfully with the robust methods of mr. chowdler, and, after struggling fitfully for some years, he had purchased comparative peace by an irritable submission. mrs. chowdler, an obtuse little woman who worshipped her husband and imagined that everybody at chiltern shared her admiration, used to say that “harry” was the headmaster’s better self. she had herself always been ready and willing to be a sister to mrs. gussy; but after a long series of pointed rebuffs she had abandoned the attempt, and the relations between the two families were official rather than cordial.
-it was not likely that mr. chowdler would approve of the new appointment; indeed, he seldom approved of any arrangement that was not of his own making. but his attitude was one of amused banter rather than of fierce hostility, and he spoke with a good-natured smile of the “empty flaggon.” “wait and see” was his advice. “you will find that the place and its traditions are too strong for the empty one. he may froth and he may fume, but he can’t hurt us. we are strong enough to assimilate a whole cellarful of flaggons.”
-these and similar remarks made it clear to the initiated that mr. chowdler proposed to run the new headmaster, as he had run his predecessor.
-in the middle of july mr. flaggon paid his first visit to chiltern. the position of a headmaster elect is a delicate one, and he wisely declined to be introduced formally to the school. if omens count for anything, the circumstances of this visit were inauspicious; for it coincided with a period of four-and-twenty hours of continuous rain. mr. flaggon carried away a general impression of gloom and dripping umbrellas; but one incident, trivial in itself, left a permanent record on his memory. during one of the brief pauses in the downpour, he was walking with dr. gussy across colonus towards the lanchester workshops, and, on the way, met three of the bigger boys who were sauntering slowly in the opposite direction. there was something about their gait and manner which, if not exactly insolent, at least suggested a complete absence of anything like awe in the presence of their headmaster. they gave a perfunctory salute; and, before they passed out of earshot, a voice, which made no attempt to lower itself, remarked:
-“is that the new gus?”
-“looks like it,” replied a second voice, in the same devil-take-me-if-i-care tone, “unless it’s his shuvver.”
-mr. flaggon, who with the principles of a democrat combined all the instincts of a despot, lifted his eyebrows in surprise and his fingers tightened unconsciously round the handle of his umbrella. but dr. gussy appeared to be quite unconcerned and made no comment.
-under the depressing climatic conditions the hours passed rather slowly. dr. gussy was courtesy itself, but he found it impossible to be cordial or communicative to a man who was the last person he would have chosen as his successor; and mr. flaggon felt it a relief when mrs. gussy carried him off to inspect the house and talk fixtures. dr. gussy had wisely left all the business arrangements in the hands of his wife, a capable woman with all the capable woman’s contempt for the supposed ignorance of a young man and a bachelor; and it soon became evident that mrs. gussy intended to take full advantage of her superior knowledge. with a happy mixture of adroitness and authority she forced upon the incoming tenant the oldest carpets and the least successful bits of furniture; and, with equal skill, she secured a tacit permission to carry off some of the more desirable fixtures.
-“we are taking the tiles with us to the deanery,” she would say, pointing to a fireplace; “but, of course, we shall leave you the linoleum and that very useful deal cupboard. they were both made for the room.”
-mr. flaggon had no desire to haggle, but he had the northerner’s dislike of being done; and, before the round was over, he found himself in revolt. mrs. gussy described him afterwards as “close”; and mr. flaggon, in relating his experiences to his mother, said that if mrs. gussy had been a little less autocratic, she would have made an excellent saleswoman. the youngest miss gussy, a girl of seventeen and the only other member of the family who was at home, did not put in an appearance. she could not bring herself to shake hands with the supplanter of her father, the “horrid man” who was going to live in their house and enjoy their garden. if mr. flaggon had been an angel from heaven, she would have hated him with equal fervour. so she withdrew for the day to the pounderlys’ and contented herself with a glimpse of “the man” from a window; which glimpse confirmed her in her worst forebodings. mrs. chowdler, who had a talent for saying the wrong thing, remarked that it would be “a very happy coincidence” if mr. flaggon and miss gussy took a fancy to each other, as it would give a continuity to life at chiltern and make the impending change “so much less felt.” with the object of promoting such a match she spoke warmly to the youngest miss gussy of the new headmaster’s personal appearance, and was dismayed at the violent outburst which her eulogy provoked.
-in the evening, after dinner, mr. chowdler called by arrangement and carried off his new chief, nominally to introduce him over a quiet pipe to a few colleagues, but really to take his measure and begin the training of which he was supposed to be in need.
-mr. flaggon did not smoke, neither did he drink; but he was placed in the easiest of the study chairs, next to the fireplace, and the colleagues lit their pipes and arranged themselves in a semicircle round the empty grate. there is always something singularly dispiriting about an empty grate on a wet summer evening, and a semicircular formation round it emphasises its forlornness. the colleagues were conscious of a feeling of constraint. after all that they had been saying and thinking about him in the past week, they were shy of being over-cordial to their new chief, and some of them felt a little as if they were taking part in a conspiracy, engineered by chowdler, to exploit the inexperience of the new man.
-mr. flaggon, for his part, did not possess the easy manner and command of small talk which put strangers at their ease. though anxious to be friendly, he was by nature reticent, one of those who, in new surroundings, are more disposed to receive impressions than to create them. so, after a little desultory talk about the golf links, and several ineffective openings that led into blind alleys, the conversation suddenly expired, and the colleagues found themselves gazing desperately at three iron bars and some unhealthy-looking green and yellow paper behind them.
-this was the psychological moment for mr. chowdler. hitherto he had been busy pouring out whisky-and-sodas and struggling with a refractory pipe; but he now sat down opposite the guest of the evening and opened the main attack.
-“i suppose,” he began, “that you have been hearing a good deal to-day about our great headmaster dr. lanchester. have you ever studied his life?”
-“i have indeed,” replied mr. flaggon; “in fact, it was one of the first books that excited my interest in public school education. it might, no doubt, have been better written; but it is, in its way, i think, one of the most suggestive books in the english language.”
-“oh, i’m so glad to hear you say that!” cried mr. chowdler. “i’m so glad to hear you say that; because you know, we cling very, very faithfully here to our past and our great conservative tradition.”
-“aren’t you forgetting,” said mr. flaggon quickly, “that dr. lanchester was always considered a radical?”
-mr. chowdler had forgotten; all chiltern was in the habit of forgetting this unpleasant fact. but he would not own to any lapse of memory, and his voice took on a note of challenge as he replied:
-“oh, a name doesn’t frighten me; there’s nothing in a name; names are only the coinage of the foolish. lanchester was a man of very conservative instincts. he was not one of those who love change for change’s sake. he was a restorer, not a destroyer.”
-“it must be difficult to be the one without the other,” remarked mr. flaggon quietly; “and i have always heard that dr. lanchester was both.”
-antipathies are often physical as well as moral, and the two men suddenly became conscious of a kind of physical distaste for one another. in chowdler’s fleshy limbs, broad shoulders, bullet head, and aggressive manner, mr. flaggon saw for the moment the personification of that narrow but confident prejudice which blocks progress and strangles reform; while mr. chowdler realised acutely that “the man flaggon” would easily get on his nerves. there was an awkward pause which mr. beadle filled by remarking:
-“you must have found it very interesting work tutoring a foreign prince.”
-but mr. chowdler, though momentarily disconcerted, was not to be diverted from his main purpose; and, before mr. flaggon could frame a reply, he interposed again with:
-“talking of princes reminds me of something that happened to me a little while ago.”
-mr. chowdler had a large stock of anecdotes with which his colleagues were painfully familiar, for he was never afraid of repeating himself. in theory mr. chowdler scorned sentimentality and even sentiment, but in practice his stories were nearly all of the sentimental order and related how small boys had looked up at him wistfully, or old boys had grasped his hand with manly tears in their eyes. and both wistful small boys and manly old boys had nearly always contrived to say something illuminating about the lanchester tradition.
-when once mr. chowdler was started, he passed from one story to another without a halt. mr. flaggon was conscious that the anecdotes were being related not to him but at him. however, he smiled when a smile seemed to be expected, and looked impressed where it was obviously the right thing to look impressed. but, when his host concluded the fifteenth story with the remark, “and i think it’s such a splendid idea that the old traditions are being planted, with the old flag, far away over the water, in saskatchewan,” he could not help saying:
-“don’t you think it would be better, perhaps, if the colonies were allowed to create their own traditions and their own ideals? if there is to be development, there must be new forms; and i always hope that the colonies will have something new to teach us some day.”
-mr. chowdler did not agree, and he said so in words which produced another awkward pause; and mr. beadle once more came to the rescue by remarking:
-“i suppose that they are very keen about education in wales?” which showed that mr. beadle had been making a study of the new headmaster’s previous history.
-when the marble clock on the mantelpiece pointed to eleven, mr. flaggon rose to go. a day with dr. gussy, and an evening spent in the company of mr. chowdler, had induced an unusual feeling of weariness. he and his host shook hands at parting with every outward appearance of friendliness; but, as he walked home under the dripping trees to the prætorium, as dr. gussy’s house was called, he was conscious that, amongst the many problems that he would have to face at chiltern, mr. chowdler would almost certainly be one of the most difficult.
-exit dr. gussy
-the last fortnight of the term was largely devoted to saying good-bye to dr. gussy. it was traditional at chiltern for a headmaster to be received with curses and dismissed with blessings; and an unwritten law required that, as his last term drew to a close, words of ill-omen should become few and fewer. during the last fortnight, even mr. chowdler gave up speaking of “silly old fussy” and substituted “poor old gussy,” or, more rarely, “dear old gussy.”
-dr. gussy had never identified himself very closely with the life of the school, nor allowed himself to become absorbed in its daily happenings; his youngest daughter probably knew far more about the inner life of chiltern than he did, and could address by their nicknames boys of whom her father had some difficulty in recalling the surname. outside interests had taken him frequently from chiltern, and the branch line (like all branch lines) made it easier to leave chiltern than to get back to it. he had often missed important matches, his place had frequently been empty at sunday chapels, and he had been known to confuse the identity of important people. a current story, of which there were many variations, made him address the senior fag of mr. cox’s house as the junior master on the staff. but his rule was mild and his nature unsuspicious; so he had always enjoyed a fair measure of popularity, and, during his last fortnight, he was positively worshipped.
-dr. gussy himself was quite unconscious of any sins of omission. he was fond of boasting that chiltern was a school that “ran itself”; and, as a proof of its good discipline and high moral tone, he would say, proudly, “for the last seven years i haven’t had to expel a single boy--not a single boy.”
-this record greatly impressed anxious parents, and had attracted to the school several sons of the titled plutocracy, whose sensitive natures required considerate and tactful handling rather than the rough and ready methods in vogue elsewhere. dr. gussy was proud of the distinguished names that figured on his school lists, and never had chiltern been more popular or more prosperous than during the last seven years of his reign.
-needless to say, the doctor received an incredible number of presents. it was like a second wedding. each division of the school gave its separate gift, and, at the earnest request of mrs. gussy, who valued spontaneity above all things, the boys were left to make their own choice without prompting from their elders. the lower school gave a tantalus, big enough to blast the reputation of the most saintly dean; the removes, a telescope of immense power, because, in dr. gussy’s sermons, there were frequent allusions to the stars; the fifths, an invalid’s chair of elaborate mechanical cunning, and the prefects a complete set of engravings of chiltern from its earliest days, of which dr. gussy already had duplicates in a portifollo. only the old boys, instead of giving anything to dr. gussy personally, presented his picture to the library (none might hang in the great hall save dr. lanchester only), and, by a happy thought, entrusted the painting of it to an old chilternian whom nature had intended for a caricaturist, but who had elected to win fame as a portrait-painter.
-and to each division separately dr. gussy made one of the felicitous little speeches for which he was famous. to the lower school he said that, whenever he saw that splendid tantalus on his sideboard, for he should give it the place of honour on his sideboard (those who knew mrs. gussy best thought otherwise), he should remember the kind thought of the givers and be with them again in the spirit. (cheers, but no laughter, the lower school being in too solemn a mood to anticipate a jest.) to the removes he said that he would now be able, from his peaceful deanery, to watch the removes, through his telescope, studying their lessons with the zeal and enthusiasm for which they had always been famous. (laughter and applause.) to the fifths he said that, whenever he reclined in that luxurious chair--and he hoped that he would have time and leisure at last to recline, occasionally, in an easy-chair (suppressed amusement)--he should always think of the happy, strenuous days which he had lived amongst them and for them; for they had always been, and always would be, very near to his heart. (emotion, and a murmur at the back of “good old gussy.”) to the prefects he said that, whenever he looked at those beautiful and interesting prints--and he should look at them daily, for they would be hanging on his walls (cheers)--he would see the dear old place repeopled again with the faces that he had now before him, and take courage in the thought of the simple, manly, unostentatious, but whole-hearted devotion to duty which had always been characteristic of the prefects at chiltern, and which had given its high moral tone to the school that they loved so well. (prolonged sensation.)
-but it is unnecessary to quote further. it is enough to say that there was a general atmosphere of mutual good-will and esteem, in which impositions were daily remitted (except by mr. black, who lacked imagination), and everybody felt that he was an integral part of a great institution, bound by ties of personal devotion to the headmaster, and doing yeoman’s work.
-one of the most successful functions of this epoch was the farewell dinner, given by the junior masters in common room to their chief. though the masters at chiltern lived in lodgings or in private houses of their own, it was part of the lanchester tradition that the bachelors amongst them should dine together once a week in common room. a spinster lady, distantly connected with the school, had bequeathed funds for this purpose; and, though the cooking was not recherché nor the conversation of much general interest, the weekly dinner was valued as a picturesque ceremony in keeping with the atmosphere of the place, and was hedged in with a rigorous etiquette. thus, when any member of the community succumbed to matrimony, he was expelled with a quaint and time-honoured ritual. some awkwardness had arisen when mr. flyte, after being formally “inhibited” from “bread, beef, and trencher,” was thrown over by his fiancée at the eleventh hour; for the inhibition had always been regarded as final and irrevocable, and there was no precedent to serve as a guide. mr. flyte, however, solved the difficulty with great tact, by never applying for readmission as a bachelor and allowing himself to be reckoned, for dining purposes, as an honorary widower.
-but, though the etiquette was formal and the common room dinner sacred to bachelors, it was decided, unanimously, that a point might be stretched in favour of a departing chief. dr. gussy was invited, and dr. gussy accepted.
-the preparations were on an unusual scale and were in the hands of mr. rankin, who was good at that kind of thing and proud of his savoir faire. an ice-pudding was ordered from smith’s, the school confectioner; the library attendant and the under ground-man, who waited, were put into dress clothes for the occasion; and mr. grady’s sister kindly arranged the flowers. mr. chase, the senior member and president, provided a special brand of champagne from his private cellars, and there were three savouries and no less than six liqueurs. dr. gussy was placed at the head of the table, with mr. chase on his right and the newest appointment to the school on his left. dr. gussy was but little known personally to the younger members of his staff, and his conduct had not always escaped criticism; for, when he had been suffering much at the hands of mr. chowdler, he was in the habit, to use a vulgar phrase, of “taking it out of” the juniors whom he did not fear. but, on this occasion, he was not only courteous but anecdotal and intimate. for the first time, dr. gussy and his junior masters discovered each other; and the discovery only added to the pain of separation. the party broke up at a late hour and everybody went home murmuring “dear old gussy”; except, of course, dear old gussy himself, who had been plied generously with the ice-pudding and the six liqueurs, and who, after a restless night, woke up next morning with something of a liver.
-a remnant of sanity kept the headmaster from appearing in person, but his wife and the youngest miss gussy, who were not insensible to such attentions, showed themselves at the open windows of the drawing-room and were acclaimed uproariously--especially the youngest miss gussy.
-it was felt, however, amongst the staff, that things were going a little farther than was wise. loyalty is all very well, but loyalty should be tempered by discretion; and the housemasters came in for some criticism on account of their supposed connivance. even mr. plummer, the most confirmed of optimists, had misgivings, and observed next day in common room:
-“it really does look as if some of the housemasters had been a little slack; unless, of course, the whole thing has been very much exaggerated.”
-“it has, as you say,” replied mr. bent, “been very much exaggerated. there were, in reality, no boys, no music, no song, no miss gussy. the whole thing was a phantasm of the living, an allegory, an unsubstantial pageant that fades and leaves not a wrack behind. i know it for a fact.”
-“what do you mean?” asked mr. plummer.
-“i have questioned each of the housemasters separately,” replied mr. bent, “and each has assured me, in tones of the deepest conviction, that his own prefects can be trusted absolutely, and that it is, moreover, physically and structurally impossible for any boy to leave that particular house after dark without the knowledge of his housemaster. each has further informed me that, if only the other housemasters would take the same simple and common-sense precautions, such scenes as the one we are deploring to-day would be impossible. now, what do you say to that, plummer? you are surely not such a cynic as to doubt the word of a housemaster?”
-mr. chowdler treated the matter in a more serious spirit. he had watched the unexpected apotheosis of dr. gussy without enthusiasm--“sentiment run mad” he called it--and the official countenance given to the serenade by mrs. and miss gussy filled him with indignation. he felt that it was high time for somebody to speak to the “silly old man.” when duty called, mr. chowdler was not the man to shirk an unpleasant task, and his sense of duty was sharpened by a strong personal dislike of mrs. and the youngest miss gussy. he therefore appeared in the headmaster’s study after lunch, wearing the particular expression which dr. gussy had learned to associate with some of the unpleasanter moments of his own life.
-now, dr. gussy had been as much surprised as anybody at the sudden blaze of popularity of which he had been the centre; but, being naïve and not addicted to self-analysis, he had thoroughly enjoyed it. moreover, the days of his bondage were almost accomplished, and he no longer felt afraid of any man. so he did what he had not done for many a long day, namely, snapped his fingers in mr. chowdler’s face, and even told him not to be an old woman--at least, so mrs. gussy told her friends, and a dean’s wife must be supposed to speak the truth.
-mr. chowdler gave a somewhat different version of the encounter, in which the honours were made to rest with himself rather than with his chief. but even he could not conceal the fact that he had received a diplomatic rebuff. he relieved his feelings by calling together his house prefects and giving them one of his straight manly talks. “things,” he said, “are shaky--you would probably call them ‘dicky’; but i shall call them shaky--and with anxious times ahead of us next term, we can’t afford to be playing ducks and drakes with our best traditions; and, what with weakness at the top and giddy heads at the bottom, that’s just what some folks are beginning to do. you know what i am referring to--that ridiculous scene last night. i know what you think about it. you and i understand each other, and we know where the blame lies. we needn’t dot the i’s, but there are certain houses, not a hundred miles from here, which would be better for a taste of our friend archie’s strong arm.” here “our friend archie,” who was head of the eleven, fidgeted uncomfortably. “now, i want you to remember,” continued mr. chowdler impressively, “that your influence ought not to end with the house. i want you to talk sense to giddy heads and to strengthen feeble knees. i want you to set your candles on a hill where the whole school can see them. i want you, when everybody else is failing, to be the pillars and the props of our grand old lanchester tradition.”
-the prefects in mr. chowdler’s house were genuinely afraid of mr. chowdler, though they had long learnt how to manage him. they now looked portentously solemn, confessed that they had heard rumours of the impending “rag” beforehand, but had not taken them seriously, and admitted that mr. cox’s house was not as good as it had once been. but they were much too tactful and considerate to let out that, as holders of the cricket trophy, they had themselves headed the procession in a body.
-the upshot of it all was that people were just a little anxious as to what might happen at the school concert on the last night of term. even dr. gussy confessed privately that he would be glad when the concert was over. for a great many old chilternians were expected for the occasion, and, when old boys get together and become excited, they are sometimes--not rowdy, of course, but, perhaps, a little boisterous; and then the school catches the excitement and loses its sense of proportion. still, the boys at chiltern were all gentlemen; and, if you treat gentlemen as gentlemen, they may be trusted to behave as gentlemen. everybody at chiltern believed that, except, perhaps, mr. bent, who was a cynic and believed nothing, and mr. grady, the science master, whose face always had a hunted expression and who sometimes came out of school with mice in his pockets and his hair full of flour.
-however, in spite of forebodings, the concert was not much more noisy than concerts usually were at chiltern. dr. gussy was cheered to the echo, and, though he had taken his official farewell of the school only half an hour before, he was obliged to come on to the platform and make another speech. mrs. gussy smiled her acknowledgments from her place, and the youngest miss gussy was in tears. as for the school song, it went with a roar that nearly lifted the roof off the great hall. the song of chiltern is not essentially different from other school songs. without ever lapsing into poetry, it maintains, throughout, a fair rhythm and a high level of imbecility. its opening verse has served as a model to many imitations:
-john buss was a farrier bold, and he turned his sweat into drops of gold; he fought hard battles, and when he died he left a school for his country’s pride, the best of schools, that has won renown from chiltern chimes to the frontier town.
-chorus: john buss, john of us, played good cricket and made no fuss.
-to realise the full possibilities of the song, you must go to chiltern and hear it sung: especially the chorus, where, after the trebles have piped “john buss,” the whole school joins in with “john of us.” the effect is electrical and intensely moving.
-when the concert was over, the old chilternians played a game of football in colonus by moonlight, and afterwards paraded the town, arm in arm, singing school songs. there were more than a hundred of them, and they sang in different keys; so that the townspeople did not have a very tranquil night.
-and in the second week of the holidays, when everybody had gone away and the whole place was in confusion, mr. flaggon came down unexpectedly and insisted on making a more detailed inspection of the school than had been possible during his first visit; much to the annoyance of the porter, whose mind was not as clear on that day as he could have wished, though his face was more solemn than ever. amongst the buildings visited was mr. cox’s old house, which was undergoing extensive repairs for its new proprietor, mr. chase; and there, on certain walls, mr. flaggon found writing which, though he did not fully understand it, made him glad that he had accepted mr. cox’s resignation.
-the first skirmish
-mr. flaggon had come to chiltern with a determination to do great things for education. he himself had had a hard struggle to win to knowledge, and the phases of the struggle had left their mark deeply imprinted on his character. born with a thirst for knowledge, he had had to force his way, step by step, to the fountain head; and the narrow circumstances of a cumberland vicarage had strewn the path with difficulties. old and musty books spelled out by candlelight in his father’s study, then a scholarship at a decaying provincial grammar school, and finally a classical exhibition at a small oxford college--such had been the stages by which he had made his way up the stream. and, when he reviewed the past, he could not but remember how brackish and unsatisfying the water had often been in the channels where he had been compelled to seek it. if his thirst had been less insatiable, his own experiences might well have cured him of the desire to drink.
-to a childhood spent among the cumbrian fells he owed a robust constitution and a toughness of fibre that defied fatigue; perhaps, too, a certain gravity and reticence which seem to come naturally to those who are bred among mountains. rather below middle height, with a clear-cut face and an intellectual forehead, his most striking feature was his eyes--fearless, grey, receptive eyes, which looked out upon the world with a quiet but penetrating interest. a friend, who knew him intimately, described them as seeing, rather than speaking, eyes.
-of public schools he knew nothing from the inside, and he had few opportunities of studying public school men at his own small college. in such as he came across he had noted a certain self-sufficiency and polite lack of interest in things intellectual, which he put down to the narrowness of their training. the circumstances of his own upbringing had thrown him almost entirely among boys and men who had to make their own way in the world, and who were desperately intent on turning even half a talent to profitable use. their aims might be low and their ambitions sordid, but there was no trifling with opportunity, no deliberate rejection of golden chances. he had had no practical experience of that large and wealthy class of people who have been well off for two generations and whose children are born with an assured future--the people, in fact, who send their boys to the richer public schools; and he had yet to learn how paralysing to the intellectual life an assured future may be. in a word, he did not yet understand the psychology of the horse who refuses to drink when taken to the water; and, noticing that public school men were, as a class, unintellectual, he assumed that their minds had been starved, and that their teachers set no store by intellect.
-the idea of standing for a headmastership had first been suggested to him by an acquaintance whom chance had thrown in his way. after securing his fellowship, mr. flaggon had accepted a post as tutor to a foreign prince, partly because the work was light and he needed a holiday, and partly because the tutorship was a travelling one and he was eager to see something of the world. ten days of continuous rain and snow on the riffel alp had thrown him much into the society of the great man behind the scenes to whom allusion has already been made. the great man was both an enthusiast for education and a firm believer in ability; he even had the hardihood to maintain that ability is of greater value than experience, and experiment more fruitful of results than the accepted method of playing for safety. being a shrewd judge of men, he soon discerned, beneath the tutor’s quiet and unsensational exterior, signs of exceptional power; and he did not lose sight of him. the welsh appointment was largely his doing, and, when the headmastership of chiltern fell vacant, it was he who wrote and suggested that mr. flaggon should stand.
-mr. flaggon himself had hardly regarded his candidature even as a forlorn hope. it was intended rather as a ballon d’essai, a notice to the scholastic world that he considered himself a possible headmaster, and an opportunity of gauging how that world would regard his claims. chiltern, as we have seen, had no hesitation in branding his pretensions as presumptuous; and mr. flaggon was quite aware that the success of his audacious move, which had come as a surprise to himself, had been more than a disappointment to his future colleagues.
-but he was not dismayed by the difficulty of the task that lay before him. his whole life had been spent in overcoming difficulties, and he had the quiet confidence of a man who is sure of his own temper and accustomed to succeed. as has been stated before, he brought with him to his new work a great zeal for the cause of education; but he had no cut-and-dried theories of reform, no patent nostrum of his own. he knew what education ought to be, what it had been to himself--an individual renaissance, a quickening of the highest faculties of mind and spirit; and he knew that that was precisely what public school education was not. he was determined to study the problem on the spot and to proceed tentatively. the machinery, as he saw it, was antiquated, the bill of fare obsolete, the valley full of dry bones. but the dry bones were only waiting for a revivifying spirit to become clothed with flesh and to start into life again. in his mind’s eye he saw the boys as hungry sheep who looked up and were not fed. he had not yet become acquainted with that particular breed of sheep that is born without an appetite.
-but ever since his first flying visit to the school, mr. flaggon had begun to realise that there were other problems behind the educational one which would claim the attention of a headmaster. he had always taken on trust the virtues that are considered inherent in the public school system--loyalty, discipline, gentlemanly behaviour, and a subordination of the individual will to the interests of the community. in his undergraduate days he had often experienced an absurd sensation of being considered morally, as well as socially, inferior to the more fortunate alumni of the great public schools. old boys had talked to him with flashing eyes and genuine conviction of the exceptional merits of their own schools, and of the enhanced value which they gave to life; and he had believed them. and what he believed of other schools he had been taught to believe as pre-eminently true of chiltern. chiltern was the only institution of its kind about which nobody had as yet written a schoolboy story; but it ranked amongst the aristocracy of public schools, and, in the eyes of chilternians, even higher. and it had special characteristics of its own. somebody had said that chiltern turned out gentlemen rather than scholars; and somebody else, probably an old chilternian, had added that you could always tell a chiltern boy from the way he behaved in a drawing-room. wealthy manufacturers sent their sons to chiltern to acquire the easy manners and social polish which seemed natural to the place; and to be an old chilternian was an “open sesame” to any club that was not primarily intellectual.
-mr. flaggon had expected, therefore, to find a somewhat low level of mental attainments but a high standard of good breeding. but, ever since his first visit, his mind had been haunted by the picture of three vapid youths strolling past their headmaster with insolent unconcern and the blasé voices saying:
-“is that the new gus?”
-“looks like it--unless it’s his shuvver.”
-and then there was the writing on certain walls in mr. cox’s house.
-this unfavourable impression was confirmed as he watched the boys in chapel on the first sunday of the term. there was an air of insolence and swagger about the way in which the bigger boys strolled in last and lounged, instead of kneeling, during the prayers. signs of intelligence were frequent between block and block; and, even among the smaller boys, there was often a kind of self-consciousness and pose, which, though he could not quite analyse the cause, affected mr. flaggon unpleasantly. he had often heard of the impressiveness of a school-chapel service. there was certainly nothing impressive about the service at chiltern on the first sunday of the term, except, perhaps, the singing of the hymns--and that was much more noisy than reverent.
-mr. flaggon belonged to no definite party in the church. a dislike of labels and definitions, coupled with a strong desire to make the church inclusive rather than exclusive, had won him the easy hatred of the dogmatists and the reputation of being unorthodox. his own religious views had been deeply coloured by the life and example of his father, a man of great but unrecognised power, who had cheerfully sacrificed all personal ambition to work in an obscure cumbrian parish. at one period of his youth, his father’s attitude to life and cheerful acceptance of a lot so far below his merits, had puzzled him; and he had allowed himself to wonder whether such complete self-abnegation was commendable or even right. but the extraordinary manifestations of grief which that father’s death provoked in the whole neighbourhood had taught him to judge the value of work by a different standard, and to realise that the things of the spirit can never be adequately measured in terms of the flesh. henceforward, the life of duty, and faith in the individual conscience, which had been the secret of the father’s influence, became the ideals of the son, and, if he was attracted into the field of education, it was largely because, to him, education in its truest sense meant a lifting of the veil from the spirit. but as he mounted the chiltern pulpit to deliver his first sermon from the text “the letter killeth, but the spirit maketh alive,” he felt conscious, instinctively and with something of a chill, that the note he was going to sound was not a note that would find an echo in the hearts of his congregation. here were no hungry sheep looking up to be fed, but indifference, inertia, and an unknown something that was probably worse than either and possibly the cause of both.
-mr. flaggon was an interesting and a distinguished preacher; his worst enemies admitted that. he had the gift of saying what he meant, the happy phrase, and the inevitable word. but, if his manner could not but create a favourable impression, his matter caused serious alarm amongst the staff, and there was much shaking of heads afterwards in the great quadrangle under the shadow of dr. lanchester’s statue.
-“it’s not so much the sermon,” said mr. pounderly in his most confidential tones; “it’s the text that frightens me. there were some points in the sermon, but the text was full of innuendo.”
-“surely,” exclaimed mr. bent, “you are not going to hang a dog for his collar?”
-“pardon me!” said mr. pounderly, “i hang no man. but, unless my judgment is strangely at fault, that text, considering the time and the place, spells upheaval.”
-“and the manner!” chimed in mr. beadle, “the assured, precocious manner! the air of confidence and authority! i agree with pounderly that we are marked down for slaughter; it is the death-knell of the classics!”
-and the two men walked off together shaking their heads.
-mr. chowdler did not content himself with shaking his head afterwards in the great quadrangle. he shook it frequently and emphatically during the sermon, in order that everybody might know that he was in complete disagreement with the preacher. and on him fell the unpleasant duty, as he phrased it, of making a reply and restating the lanchester position, on the third sunday of the term.
-for, needless to say, mr. chowdler was in orders. no mere laymen could have combined such a capacity for quarrelling with so profound a conviction of his own reasonableness and humility. in mr. chowdler’s hands religion became a weapon to smite with. for choice, he smote lies, cant, humbug, and bible critics; but, occasionally, quite innocent and respectable things found themselves floored by mr. chowdler’s massive fist and trampled under his double-welted heel. for, when mr. chowdler mounted the pulpit, necessity was laid upon him to smite something or somebody. there were men, like mr. plummer, who doubted whether there would be much scope in heaven for mr. chowdler’s type of religion; but, if they did not regard it as the highest form of christianity, they had to admit that it was manly, and therefore good for the boys.
-but, on this third sunday of the term, mr. chowdler was no ordinary smiter; he was the incarnation of the lanchester spirit repelling a german invasion. and his text, “hold fast to that which is good,” was not delivered like an ordinary text; it was fired like a six-inch shell full at the stall in which the headmaster was sitting. mr. bent said, afterwards, that he fully expected to see chowdler follow up the discharge of the text by leaving the cover of the pulpit and attacking with the bayonet. however, the preacher spoke daggers but used none. change? yes, change was necessary, growth was necessary; but not change in essentials and axioms, not change in the foundations. hold fast to the foundations, hold fast to that which is good! there was a tendency in a restless, riotous age to imagine that, because a thing lasted, because it was old and venerable, it was therefore obsolete. a fool’s mistake! why, granite lasts, gold lasts. hold fast to the granite, hold fast to the gold, hold fast to that which is good. again, there was a tendency in an age of feverish and futile activity to assail whatever is venerable, whatever has withstood the destructiveness of man and the storms of time. you tear up the mighty oak, and replace it by what? tares? yes, too often by tares, or at best by some finnikin exotic treelet, such as you may see in gaudy eastern pots in decadent drawing-rooms. once more, hold fast to the mighty oak, hold fast to that which is good! fortunately, and god be praised for it, they had in that place a great example by which to guide their endeavours--abraham lanchester, their great headmaster, restorer not destroyer, whose clear, sane intellect and genius, conservative in the best and noblest meaning of the word, had left them an imperishable birthright and a priceless heritage. hold fast to a priceless heritage, hold fast to a great tradition, hold fast to that which is good! and so on for five-and-twenty minutes.
-mr. flaggon was conscious that he was being preached at, and he knew that the boys knew it; for they kept turning round continually to see how he was taking it. mrs. chowdler, who watched him narrowly, maintained that he had been profoundly impressed and “looked as if a new light had suddenly dawned on him”; but the general opinion among the boys was that he hadn’t “turned a hair” and that it was impossible to be sure whether he had really understood what “old jowler” was driving at.
-it is reasonable to suppose that the sermon gave mr. flaggon food for reflection; he certainly sat for some time afterwards in his study, looking into the fire and apparently thinking. but, whatever his thoughts may have been, he kept them to himself and said nothing.
-mr. chowdler’s effort was much appreciated on the staff, even by some who were more prone to criticise than to praise. mr. pounderly pronounced it statesmanlike, and mr. black went so far as to say that it was inspired. mr. bent’s was the only voice that called it “bosh,” and he received a grave and well-deserved rebuke from mr. plummer for his lack of reverence. it was confidently assumed by many that mr. chowdler’s serious note of warning, voicing, as it did, the general feeling of the staff, would give mr. flaggon pause and force him to recognise facts. but their optimism was of short duration; for, within a few days, a notice asking every master to send in a copy of his weekly routine, made it clear to the most sanguine that the era of change and experiment had begun.
-it must be admitted that mr. flaggon was not uniformly lucky in his early experiments. this was notably the case in his first appointment to the staff. it has been already stated that he knew nothing of public schools from the inside, and, in selecting a successor to mr. cox, he may have been too exclusively influenced by the claims of intellect and have taken too little account of other necessary qualifications. anyhow, he thought that the intellectual side of the staff needed reinforcing, and having a choice between a double first and a double blue, he appointed the double first.
-mr. tipham brought with him from cleopas college, cambridge, two more or less fixed ideas; first, that art consists in depicting disagreeable things in a disagreeable way, and, secondly, that life in the twentieth century is governed by two conflicting forces--convention, which is always wrong, and nature, which is always right. this theory had carried him not only safely but brilliantly through his university career. he had secured a first in both parts of the tripos; he had played a prominent part in the life of his own college and been quoted outside it; he had worn strange clothes, founded a literary society in which thought was made to perform queer antics in shackles of its own imposing, and he had invented a new savoury. his slightly tilted nose and full cheeks gave him an air of confidence which unfriendly critics described as conceit, while the long brown hair, drawn back over the temples and plastered down with fragrant oils, the orange tie and loose green jacket, proclaimed that he was one of those for whom art is not merely a hobby but an integral part of life. one glance at his face would have informed any ordinarily shrewd observer that, in approaching new problems and unfamiliar ground, mr. tipham would not suffer from diffidence. the late victorians might have called him untidy and even unwashed; but at no period in english history would he have been branded as modest.
-it was inevitable that mr. tipham should fall foul of the lanchester tradition. he would have fallen foul of any tradition. but he chose to defy it in most unnecessary and offensive ways. he smoked as he walked down to school from his lodgings, he refused even a perfunctory homage to the claims of age and seniority, and the scarf that he wore almost permanently round his throat (for mr. tipham was an indoor man and sensitive to cold and damp) was a combination of colours--the colours of the brainstorm club--that shocked the moral sense of chiltern by its unblushing æstheticism. mr. chowdler took a violent dislike to him at their first meeting, and missed no opportunity of trying to put him down by heavy sarcasm. but mr. tipham was an unsatisfactory butt; and when attacked he had a way of raising his eyebrows and inquiring “how so?” in a bored and superior tone, which goaded mr. chowdler to frenzy.
-it was, indeed, soon evident that, if the serious purpose of mr. tipham’s life was to teach the boys, his recreation consisted in shocking the masters. to all the things that they held sacred, the very things that ought to have impressed him most, he applied the same disparaging term, “mid-victorian” or “bourgeois.” even the weekly dinner in common room, with its quaint ceremonial and unique endowment, did not escape the damning epithet. before a fortnight had elapsed, everybody went about saying that that fellow tipham was impossible.
-mr. plummer, whose ideal (never, alas! to be realised in this world) was a united staff, and who was also the last man to abandon any sinner as irreclaimable, made a final and unsuccessful effort to bring about a better understanding. he gave a bachelor dinner-party, to which he invited a few of his own friends and the erring mr. tipham: for mr. plummer had a touching belief that, if you can only bring mutually antagonistic people together over a glass of wine, they will learn to know and like each other.
-mr. plummer occupied comfortable rooms in an old georgian house that fronted the high street. bit by bit, and with a rare tact that spared natural susceptibilities, he had weeded out the furniture and pictures of his landlady and replaced them with his own. his taste was eclectic and eminently characteristic of pedagogic culture, and the inevitable photographs of the hermes of olympia and the acropolis found a place of honour amongst the equally inevitable arundels. his rooms were considered the best rooms in chiltern, and he was not infrequently consulted by his colleagues on questions of art.
-mr. tipham, for whose benefit messrs. bent, rankin, grady, and chase had been brought together in the georgian house, began the evening badly by arriving ten minutes late and in clothes which protested with unnecessary vehemence against the narrowness of convention. at chiltern it was the custom, even at bachelor parties, for the guests to wear dress clothes; but mr. tipham scorned custom. a flannel shirt of that neutral tint which suggests either dirt or extreme age, a norfolk jacket which might well have belonged to a tramp, and a pair of grey flannel trousers which the same tramp might conceivably have rejected, completed his festive attire, the only note of colour being provided by the bright orange tie which flamed beneath an unshaven chin. as mr. rankin said afterwards, he suggested a man who has snatched up some clothes hurriedly to run to the bathroom, rather than a guest at a dinner-party.
-but mr. tipham was quite unconscious of the sudden drop in the temperature which followed his entry. he shot a rapid and critical glance round the room, and, walking straight up to a small pastel drawing of a youth’s head that hung on one of the walls, he tapped the glass lightly with his forefinger and inquired:
-“where did you get that?”
-“that?” replied mr. plummer; “oh, i picked that up at chartres for a few francs; but i don’t know that i care very much for it.”
-“it’s the best thing in the room,” said mr. tipham quietly; “looks as if it might possibly be an early creusot.”
-nobody but mr. tipham had ever beard of creusot; so the remark was not taken up, and the party moved into the dining-room in depressed silence. at dinner it soon became apparent that mr. tipham was out to give instruction on other matters than art. the conversation had drifted, as conversation often did at chiltern, on to the subject of boys. mr. grady had complained of their carelessness in handling chemicals, which resulted in frequent explosions, and their incapacity for anything like patient or systematic research; and mr. chase had pointed out the superiority of the classics in this respect, in that they compelled a boy to think and left no room for experiment. “you’re both right and both wrong,” said mr. tipham with easy assurance. “chemistry can be made very interesting and the classics very dull, and vice versâ. the truth is that, if you want to keep boys interested, you must make things lively. i always chip in for part of the time with something quite off the lesson. to-day i gave them a little lecture on green chartreuse.”
-mr. plummer, who had long been struggling with a desire to snub tempered by a sense of his duties as a host, now cleared his throat and said, not without an effort:
-“i suppose you had a good deal of experience before you came here?”
-“no,” replied mr. tipham tartly; “but i happen to have been a boy myself.”
-and again the temperature fell by several degrees.
-mr. bent had so far held himself in reserve, profoundly annoyed yet watching with a certain cynical enjoyment the growing irritation of his colleagues and their inability to clothe it in appropriate words. but when, shortly afterwards, mr. tipham laid it down as an axiom that “dorian grey” was the greatest work of art that the human intellect has ever produced, he saw his opportunity and began in his best ironic vein.
-“its refreshing to hear you say that; so few people ever venture, nowadays, to express old-fashioned opinions; and the victorians seldom get justice done to them by the rising generation. i don’t know that i agree with you on this particular point, but i am delighted to claim you as a victorian.”
-if there was one thing which mr. tipham disliked more than another it was to be identified in any way with the victorians; so he raised his eyebrows and said coldly, “how so?”
-if mr. bent had been wise he would have left well alone; as it was, he went on to embroider the theme a little recklessly. “if one wants to be in the swim nowadays,” he said, “one has to go into ecstasies over de barsac or roger filkison. you read roger filkison, of course?”
-mr. tipham admitted, with some reluctance, that he did not.
-“oh, he’s the man, you know,” continued mr. bent, “who writes the testimonials for the liver and kidney pills--the neo-realism they call it; very clever and morbid. i don’t like it myself, but i know several cambridge men who think it the most poignant literature since verlaine.”
-as messrs. rankin and grady were both cambridge men, the pleasantry fell flat, and there was an awkward silence, till mr. tipham, lifting his eyebrows again, said in his most condescending manner:
-“ought one to be amused?”
-and, though mr. bent tried to look unconcerned, everybody realised that he had been rapped rather smartly over the knuckles. after this unfortunate incident there was a general feeling of constraint, which lasted through the rest of dinner. but when mr. chase had withdrawn to read prayers to his house, and cigars had been lit in the sitting-room, mr. tipham unbent once more and became enthusiastic over the merits of the post-impressionists--the dazzling designs of van googlen, the superb greens of le beaupère, and the masterly way in which grummer painted flesh with one stroke of a glue-brush.
-“i don’t count him amongst the greatest masters,” said mr. bent, who had recovered his equanimity, “because he can’t paint pimples.”
-“perhaps,” replied mr. tipham loftily, “you have never seen his ‘lepers bathing.’”
-“no, i haven’t,” said mr. bent warmly, “and i can’t say that i want to.”
-“but, in that case,” remarked mr. tipham, “you are hardly in a position to judge, are you?”
-soon after ten, messrs. bent, rankin, and grady rose to go. their host escorted them to the door with rather a wan look, for mr. tipham, instead of following their example, had just lit a fresh cigarette and dropped into the easy-chair vacated by mr. bent.
-“conceited idiot!” said mr. bent, when the three men were in the street.
-“he has a lot to learn about boys,” added mr. grady, with a shake of his head.
-“wants a good scrubbing with soap and water, inside and out,” growled mr. rankin. “but,” he added, afterwards, privately to mr. grady, “old bent didn’t get much change out of him.”
-as for mr. tipham, he continued to smoke cigarettes and instruct his host in the first principles of art till well after midnight.
-among the boys mr. tipham was generally regarded as a freak, and his nickname, “the super-tramp,” could hardly be regarded as flattering. but he had his disciples. mind at chiltern was held in little esteem, and, where it existed, uncongenial surroundings were apt to turn it sour. there were generally a few boys in the highest forms (for the most part boys of inferior physique and precocious interests) who were always in a state of latent revolt against a system which left them out of account. they repaid contempt with scorn, and the scorn was all the bitterer because it seldom dared to express itself in words and had to ferment inwardly.
-to such boys mr. tipham appealed as a breath from a wider world and a champion of intellectual liberty. at the little dinners in his lodgings, at which a wine, which had the alluring title of a petit vin blanc, was followed by liqueurs, tongues were unloosed, and thought, if it was not always particularly clear, was at least delightfully audacious; and the crudest speculation passed for philosophy. acting on a suggestion from their master, three of the disciples determined to found a school magazine in which truth should at last find a voice. it must be admitted that the first and only number of “veritas” which saw the light, though not deficient in schoolboy humour, was unnecessarily personal and occasionally lacking in good taste. it contained obvious allusions to the headmaster, mr. grady, and many other members of the staff; but the most regrettable item of all was an imaginary interview, in which, under the transparent pseudonym of “howler,” mr. chowdler was held up to ridicule and contempt.
-“veritas” achieved a sensational but all too brief success. it sold like hot potatoes; but, within six hours of its publication, mr. chowdler appeared in the headmaster’s study with thunder on his brow and a copy of the offensive journal in his hand. the venture had been anonymous; but the secret, like most school secrets, had been badly kept, and both the names of the editors and the complicity of mr. tipham were matters of common knowledge. mr. chowdler demanded that the editors should be made to apologise publicly before the whole school. as for what happened to mr. tipham, he did not care, for mr. tipham was beneath contempt; but the obvious course was probably the right one. in pressing his demand mr. chowdler was careful to explain that he was actuated by no desire for personal revenge; he was thinking only of discipline. at all costs discipline and the decencies of life must be preserved.
-mr. flaggon was much annoyed by the whole occurrence. he had himself suggested to mr. tipham, when appointing him, the idea of stimulating the boys to literary activity; but, needless to say, he had not intended the literary activity to take the form of a lampoon on mr. chowdler. however, he deprecated extreme measures and endeavoured to soothe the victim’s ruffled feelings. the unsold copies of “veritas” were confiscated, and its further publication suppressed. mr. tipham, to borrow an expressive french phrase, “had his head washed,” and the editors offered a full but private apology to mr. chowdler. but mr. chowdler was not satisfied. he maintained that “the empty one” had behaved weakly to the boys and disloyally to himself. “a paltry revenge,” he said, “for my sermon.” opinion on the staff was divided. mr. chase and the moderates thought that, on the whole, justice had been done. mr. pounderly and the irreconcilables considered that “poor chowdler” had been sacrificed. nearly everybody was agreed that the headmaster was largely to blame; for he and he alone was responsible for appointing a man like tipham--“the flaggonette,” as he was facetiously called. mrs. chowdler was quite bewildered.
-“i cannot understand,” she said, “how anyone can be so wicked and spiteful as to write such things about harry, for everybody knows that my husband has gone out of his way to be kind and helpful to mr. tipham, as indeed he always does to all the new masters. and surely the headmaster must see that, by not supporting harry and properly punishing the offenders, he will weaken his own position and make himself very unpopular; for the boys worship harry.”
-the cloven hoof
-as mr. flaggon passed, one october afternoon, through the green door at the end of his garden, which led into colonus, the air was full of voices that rose alternately to a frenzied shriek or dropped to a kind of monotonous chant. for the first round of house-matches was in progress and reputations were being lost and won.
-chiltern prided itself on being different from other schools, and chiltern had a game of football peculiar to itself. it was a more manly game than any other code, and developed higher moral qualities in those who played it. as mr. chowdler said, no shirker, no humbug, could hope to win laurels at the chiltern game.
-when mr. chowdler’s house was competing for laurels, mr. chowdler himself walked excitedly up and down the touch-line with a flushed face and protruding eyes, shouting, in a voice that dominated all others, instructions to his boys, such as, “pass, percy, pass! feet, feet, gerald! shoot, basil, shoot, can’t you! stick to it! good lads all! well played, harry! well played, sir!” for mr. chowdler always spoke to, and of, his boys by their christian names. as a sort of tribal god, inspiring his children to deeds of valour, mr. chowdler was invaluable; but as a coach he had his limitations. for he had been brought up on the rugby game and was never accepted as an authority on chiltern football. consequently his instructions were invariably ignored by the players. but he continued to shout them in perfect good faith, and they were regarded as an inevitable, if irrelevant, feature of the game.
-mr. chowdler was in a good temper, for his house was winning easily, and mr. chowdler liked to win easily. an enthusiast for all forms of manly sport, he belonged to that particular brand of good sportsmen who find it easier to be chivalrous to a vanquished foe than fair to a victorious one. accordingly, on the comparatively rare occasions on which his house was beaten, mr. chowdler always suspected the referee of partiality and his opponents of rough play; and, being an outspoken man, he did not keep his suspicions to himself. his own boys, less sensitive perhaps on the point of honour than their housemaster, sometimes regretted these outbursts, which did not add to the popularity of the house.
-but on the present occasion all was going well and mr. chowdler’s temper was unruffled. the chaseites (late coxites) were only serving as a “sullen ground” to show off the “bright metal” of their adversaries. so when he caught sight of mr. flaggon approaching, he left his post of observation on the touch-line and went to meet him.
-he was, indeed, feeling unusually well-disposed towards the new headmaster, for there had been a momentary rapprochement between the two men. two days before, mr. chowdler had detected a boy in his form cribbing--an offence about which he felt very strongly--and, acting on his advice, mr. flaggon had flogged the culprit; thus reverting to an old tradition which in the last seven years of dr. gussy’s reign had become obsolete. with a clear lead of two goals his “lads” could safely be left to their own devices for a few minutes, and it would be good for the new man to see the chiltern game played in the true chiltern spirit and interpreted by one who was able to explain its ethical value. for, after all, there might be possibilities in the “empty one,” and, rightly handled, he seemed not incapable of being taught.
-mr. chase apparently thought so too. he was watching the defeat of his house with gloomy stoicism from the opposite side of the ground--a chivalrous chowdler was always a little overwhelming--and, catching sight of the two men in earnest conversation, he nudged mr. bent, who was standing beside him, and whispered:
-“see that? chowdler’s taking him in hand; same as poor old gussy. shouldn’t wonder if some of our friends haven’t been frightened with false fire after all.”
-“h’m,” replied mr. bent. “appearances are often deceptive. wait and see. flaggon’s a dark horse, and there’ll be surprises yet.”
-and the first of the surprises came about a week later at a housemasters’ meeting. the meeting had been convened, nominally, for the purpose of discussing the scale of tradesmen’s charges, which mr. flaggon thought excessive; but, at the close of it, he said in the most matter-of-fact way:
-“as we are here, i should like to say a few words on another subject. i intend, in the more or less near future, to introduce certain changes into our curriculum with a view to making our teaching more effective. i don’t know exactly yet what form those changes will take; but i have two things in my mind. in the first place, i find that our standard of scholarship is surprisingly low. i notice that last year we did not get a single scholarship of any importance at either university.”
-“we have always discouraged pot-hunting here,” interrupted mr. pounderly. “we have aimed at knowledge--not prizes.”
-“i know,” said mr. flaggon; “but it is the level of knowledge that i find so low here; much lower, for example, than it is in several other schools at which i have examined. and, in the second place, i am convinced that the average boy here (i am not speaking of the scholar) is not getting quite the kind of education which is best suited to his requirements.”
-mr. flaggon paused, and if a pin had fallen it would have been distinctly audible, so tense was the silence. the challenge had been thrown down, but everybody waited for a moment to feel the edge of his weapon before rushing into the fray.
-“i intend to do nothing rashly,” continued mr. flaggon. “i wish the whole subject to be discussed thoroughly before we decide on anything final, so that every point of view may find its expression. and for that reason i think it would be interesting, and perhaps helpful, if we could obtain the views of at least some of our parents on the subject.”
-there was a gasp; and mr. beadle, the authority on plautus, rapped out:
-“the parents have already expressed their views by sending their sons to chiltern.”
-“not exactly,” said the headmaster. “it all depends on what alternatives they had.”
-“surely,” pleaded mr. pounderly, “surely, to call in the parents would be like calling in the patient to advise the specialist.”
-“i don’t think so,” said mr. flaggon. “the truer analogy would be to say that we are like the specialist who consults the patient’s relatives about the patient’s symptoms. and the relatives are often able to give very helpful information to the specialist.”
-“do i understand you to propose,” said mr. chowdler in a voice of concentrated irony, “that we should call in their uncles and cousins and aunts and make a regular symposium of it?”
-mr. flaggon winced, but he kept his temper.
-“i don’t think,” he said, “that in this case there would be any practical advantage in going beyond the parents. what i wanted to say was, that i shall be very grateful if housemasters will let me have the names and addresses of any representative parents who are likely to be interested in such a proposal. i thought perhaps that we might arrange to meet them, quite informally, some time in november or at the beginning of december.”
-“what exactly do you mean by a representative parent?” asked mr. flyte, with the air of a man who is putting a poser.
-“i must really leave that to the discretion of housemasters,” replied mr. flaggon, with a smile.
-news of the impending parents’ committee ran through the staff like fire through gorse, and soon all chiltern was ablaze. some called it the thin edge of the wedge; others, the cloven hoof. the liberals (for there were a few liberals even at chiltern) said that flaggon was setting up a second chamber to override the decisions of masters’ meetings; the conservatives, that he was appealing to demos. all agreed that the innovation was a blow to the prestige of the masters and an infringement of their ancient rights. even mr. plummer felt and spoke strongly, and he imparted his fears to mr. bent, as they were taking the hill walk, commonly known as the “ushers’ grind,” one sunny autumn afternoon.
-the friendship of mr. bent and mr. plummer was founded on a complete dissimilarity of tastes. it is true that they shared a dislike of golf and motors, but in all other respects they were in hearty disagreement. mr. plummer’s faith in man goaded mr. bent almost into violence, and mr. bent’s distrust of human nature in general, and middle-class human nature in particular, filled mr. plummer with righteous indignation. at the end of every walk the nerves of each were raw and tingling; but they never failed to walk together twice or even thrice in the course of every week. the particular form of quarrelling in which they indulged had grown upon them like a drug habit, and neither could do without it for long.
-a stranger who knew them by reputation but not by sight would inevitably have mistaken each for the other. mr. plummer, tall and thin, with a hooked nose, hollow cheeks, and sallow complexion, looked the embodiment of pessimism; while mr. bent, short, stout, with round eyes and a florid face, ought to have been a born optimist. mr. rankin used to say that providence had designed the character of the one for the person of the other, that a malicious fairy had negotiated an exchange, and that they sought each others company because, apart, they were both conscious of being incomplete.
-but on this occasion, as we have said, mr. plummer was inclined to be pessimistic.
-“i don’t like this idea,” he said, “of calling in an outside opinion. if the parents once get it into their heads that they are able to dictate, there will be an end of systematic teaching.”
-“my good plummer,” replied mr. bent, “there cannot possibly be an end, because there has never been a beginning. systematic teaching indeed! why, a boy told me the other day that he had been doing the same french book ever since he came to the school two years ago; and it is notorious that cox set one and the same latin prose every term to his form, and never looked it over.”
-“i was not thinking of organisation,” said mr. plummer, “i was speaking of principles; and i repeat, if the parents are allowed to dictate the lines on which education is to proceed, there will be an end of systematic teaching.”
-“they will not dictate,” said mr. bent; “they have no manuscript to dictate from. their theories on education are purely negative--i say, steady up the hill! the only thing they insist on is that their offspring should not be taught to think or know. thought and knowledge are dangerous to the existing social order and must be smothered young, like the princes in the tower. provided that they are smothered, the parents don’t care a rap what sort of pillow is used.”
-“thought,” said mr. plummer, “hardly exists outside the middle classes.”
-“knowledge,” retorted mr. bent, “only begins where middle-classdom ends. the art of being middle class consists in shutting yourself up in a detached house and only recognising the people who come in at the front door. knowledge leads to the back door and the streets, and is therefore fatal to the art; and knowledge is the goal of education.”
-“if parents didn’t believe in education,” said mr. plummer, “they wouldn’t send their boys here.”
-“the english middle classes,” said mr. bent, “never have believed in education. the scotch did once, till they discovered the superior merits of football; but the english never. and they send their sons here to be inoculated against it--i say, do go a bit slower. for choice they put them with chowdler, who returns them, in a few years, finished specimens of philistinism, with orthodox views on bible criticism and the off-theory, and a complete lack of interest in anything that really matters.”
-“i don’t at all agree with you,” said mr. plummer; “but, if the parents are such hopeless idiots as you describe them, why do you want to consult them?”
-“i don’t,” replied mr. bent. “but, if they are such angels of light as you imagine them, why do you object to asking for their advice?”
-“you are paradoxical,” snapped mr. plummer.
-“and you are illogical,” panted mr. bent.
-the affair of le willow
-while mr. chowdler was lamenting that discipline was going to the dogs, the boys were beginning to complain that liberty was being destroyed. some of them went so far as to maintain that chiltern was becoming a regular preparatory school. for not only were motor-bicycles forbidden (they had always been that), but it was becoming positively dangerous to ride them. moreover, detection entailed consequences. in the palmy days of dr. gussy it had been the ambition of every boy, caught in a misdemeanour, to be reported to the headmaster; and the appeal from summary justice to cæsar had been one of the most cherished privileges of chiltern whilst dr. gussy was cæsar. for dr. gussy believed in talking--earnest, practical, confidential talking. as the boys said, “gus treated you like a gentleman”; whereas flaggon--there was no pleasure, nothing morally bracing, about an interview with flaggon.
-and other offences besides motor-biking were being detected with alarming frequency. masters, who had hitherto been regarded as quite inoffensive, seemed to take a pleasure in appearing where they were least expected. the truth is that, having less belief in dr. gussy’s talks than dr. gussy himself, they had got into the habit of purposely avoiding knowledge which they knew would lead to no result; but, finding that mr. flaggon was prepared to act as well as talk, they resumed their normal activities.
-no inconsiderable factor in the growing absence of security was the disappearance of “whisky toddler,” the college porter. when he paid his surprise visit to chiltern in the holidays, mr. flaggon had been conscious of a subtle aroma about the place, which ceased suddenly when he took leave of the porter; and the suddenness of the change had set him wondering whether the extreme solemnity of mr. todd was due solely to wisdom or was partly induced by alcohol. the wonder did not diminish on closer acquaintance, and an unexpected visit to the lodge, one evening, settled all doubts. mr. todd was found in a state of hilarious incoherence. it was, of course, an accident--a toothache, and an old-fashioned remedy, recommended by a friend, which had produced unforeseen results in one unused to spirituous liquors. mr. todd refused with quiet dignity to purchase the chance of reinstatement by taking the pledge and spending a month in a home for inebriates. he preferred to retire, at once, on a quarter’s salary and a small pension.
-the boys, of course, had always known that “whisky toddler” drank like a fish; but opinion on the staff was acutely divided. there is no question that has so many sides to it as drink, nor one about which it is so hard to arrive at any convincing conclusion. the very fact that mr. todd’s nose was red and his eyes were watery was, to some, a proof of his innocence. for people are sure to say that a man with a red nose and watery eyes drinks; whereas anyone may have a red nose and weak eyes without drinking, and it is horribly unfair that a man should be treated as a moral leper because of some physical infirmity. there were many, therefore, besides mr. plummer who believed, and still believe, that poor todd was “hardly treated”; and poor todd said nothing to discourage their belief.
-his place was taken by a man of unprepossessing manners and abrupt activity--pigeon was his name. there was a certain mystery about his past. some said that he had once been a spy in the pay of the russian police; others, that he had been a proctor’s bulldog at oxford; others, that he had been a scotland yard detective. at all events, there could be no doubt that it was as a detective that he was brought by the “new gus” to chiltern. a porter is assumed to possess tact; but pigeon had none--no gift of shutting his eyes on occasions when eyes are better shut. and so it came to pass that he discovered mr. chowdler’s prætor smoking among the rhododendrons in colonus, and reported him to the headmaster.
-at chiltern the captain of every house was called its “prætor” and wielded vast authority. in a post for which character was the prime consideration, position in the school was only of secondary importance. hence it happened that, though le willow had with difficulty fought his way into the senior fifth, he was prætor of mr. chowdler’s house. but, though not distinguished intellectually, he was captain designate of the eleven for the succeeding year, a very fair change bowler, and a bat with a most taking style. he enjoyed the entire confidence of his housemaster and the respect of his fellows. it was regrettable, therefore, from every point of view, that he should have been smoking behind the rhododendrons in colonus; and still more regrettable that, having been smoking, he should have been discovered.
-enough has been said already of mr. chowdler to make it clear that he was adamantine on the question of discipline. but it was a matter of common observation amongst his colleagues that his attitude towards offences underwent a considerable change when the offender was one of his own boys. this is a species of infirmity to which parents and housemasters are peculiarly liable. in mr. chowdler’s case it took the form of a conviction that, though “his lads” might be technically in the wrong, they were morally quite sound; and he always held that punishment ought to take account of the character of the offender. he was really pained by le willow’s “thoughtlessness”; but there were extenuating circumstances. the boy was encouraged to smoke at home, and he had one of those muddled old heads that find it so difficult to draw the distinction between home and school; especially when the home is a good one. the poor old fellow had admitted to him (chowdler), with a shake of his poor old head and a look in his poor old eyes which was really pathetic, that he knew he was a “blighted ass.” he was, in fact, just the kind of boy for whom justice should be tempered with mercy.
-all this, and more, mr. chowdler said to the headmaster on behalf of his prætor, and he was profoundly shocked when mr. flaggon, after listening attentively to the counsel for the defence, announced that he was going to deprive le willow of his prætorship and prefectship, not merely temporarily, but for the term of his natural life. “i fail to see where the mercy comes in,” growled mr. chowdler.
-“perhaps in my not flogging him into the bargain,” replied mr. flaggon. “but, really, i don’t consider this a case for mercy. the boy is in a position of trust. five days ago i called the prefects together and spoke to them about their duties, especially the duty of setting a good example: and i mentioned smoking by name. all the circumstances aggravate the offence. i have no right to be merciful.”
-“but probably he didn’t understand,” pleaded mr. chowdler. “you don’t know what a business it is to drive any idea into that poor, thick old head of his. the boy’s as honest as the daylight, but terribly obtuse.”
-“if he can’t understand a plain speech and a plain duty,” replied mr. flaggon, “he is certainly not fit to exercise power.”
-“you can’t prevent a boy with such athletic gifts and such a sunny nature from exercising power by any official ukase,” said mr. chowdler, with increasing warmth. “if you destroy his self-respect by a punishment which he feels to be unjust, you take away from him all motives for doing right; you drive him into evil courses.”
-“i intend my prefects to govern,” replied mr. flaggon; “and you can never get men or boys to act responsibly unless you visit grave breaches of duty on them heavily. i am sorry for le willow, if he is all that you describe him; but i cannot alter my decision.”
-“you admit then,” snapped out mr. chowdler, “that you are sacrificing the boy to an abstract theory.”
-“i admit nothing of the kind,” said mr. flaggon.
-“i don’t call that kind of thing discipline,” he said; “i call it panic. a strong man doesn’t hit about wildly without caring where the blow falls. with all his faults, dear old gussy was never unjust. le willow’s too good an old fellow at bottom to be soured for long or lose his sunny nature. but that’s how criminals are made.”
-mr. chowdler’s views received a striking corroboration, at least in his own eyes, when, three weeks later, le willow was caught cribbing. it is true that mr. bent, his form master, had suspected him for the greater part of two terms; but, as mr. plummer said, suspicion proves nothing. in the midst of his grief mr. chowdler was almost triumphant.
-“what did i tell you?” he exclaimed. “you can see now for yourselves. that’s how boys are driven into evil courses.”
-but the headmaster, instead of recognising the folly of his ways and apologising to mr. chowdler and his ex-prætor, decided that, after this second offence, the boy could not remain in the school and must leave at the end of the term.
-dismiss the captain of next year’s eleven, a bat with the most taking style that had been seen at chiltern since the days of goring who played for england, and a very fair change bowler into the bargain! all chiltern was aghast, and even mr. chase, who usually had something to say on behalf of the headmaster, admitted that it was an act of doubtful wisdom.
-to mr. chowdler it was not merely an act of doubtful wisdom, it was a travesty of justice, an outrage, a scandal--in fact almost any strong word that you can think of. when a man thinks as strongly as mr. chowdler thought about some gross miscarriage of justice, it is impossible for him to keep his feelings to himself; he would rather be guilty of indiscretion than of a criminal silence; and soon boys, masters, and the parents and relatives of the victim, were in full possession of mr. chowdler’s opinions on the subject.
-le willow was well connected; in fact, as mrs. chowdler put it, he had a grandfather; and the grandfather wrote a letter to the chairman of the council which caused that gentleman much concern. he wanted to know why the dickens they had appointed to chiltern a headmaster who didn’t know the abc of his profession. expel from school a promising lad for a boyish offence of which they had all been guilty, probably, in their day! the thing was absurd. boys and masters alike were in a state of mutiny; and he called upon the chairman to intervene.
-the chairman was perplexed; for the grandfather was no ordinary grandfather but a man with a commanding name and a great social position. after some hesitation he wrote to the headmaster, disclaiming any idea of interfering, but asking for information. he wished, he said, to be in a position to contradict certain reports, unfounded no doubt, which were being circulated in the london clubs and which might damage the school.
-thus appealed to, mr. flaggon wrote a detailed account of the affair and of the principles which had guided his own action. he added that the tone and discipline of chiltern were very different from what he had been led to expect, and that le willow, besides being somewhat old for his place in the school, was not a desirable asset.
-the chairman shook his head dubiously over this communication and murmured something about “new brooms” and “excess of zeal”; but he informed the grandfather with much tact that, though the council felt great sympathy with him, they were unable to interfere in a matter that directly concerned the discipline of the school, and that any appeal for mercy must be made to the headmaster in person. as for le willow, he was sure that the boy had a brilliant future in front of him, and he wished him every success.
-and there the matter ended, except that the le willow parents cursed mr. flaggon by all the le willow gods and threatened to bring an action; which threat they were wise enough not to carry into effect. also that lord chalvey withdrew his son who was entered for mr. chowdler’s house in the following term. this was a contingency which mr. chowdler had not foreseen when he started on his campaign, and it did not help to reconcile him to the headmaster.
-and, while the chairman was actually penning his reply to the duke, one wet november afternoon, mr. plummer and mr. bent were once more pacing the “ushers’ grind” in mackintoshes. a steady drizzle had damped their fighting spirit, and taunts that usually kindled flames had only produced a perfunctory fizzle. at last mr. plummer said:
-“i’m afraid the boys haven’t a great respect for flaggon.”
-“i shouldn’t take chowdler too seriously,” said mr. bent.
-“i didn’t say chowdler,” replied his companion; “i said the boys.”
-“i know you did,” said mr. bent. “and i said chowdler, because i bet that he has been telling you his story of the week--we have all heard it--to wit, how little simpkin looked up at him with a wistful smile and said, ‘sir, do you think the new headmaster understands anything about boys?’”
-“suppose he did!” said mr. plummer defiantly. “what then?”
-“only,” replied mr. bent, “that it isn’t a very likely thing for a boy to say, on his own. i know little simpkin; he’s in my form. all chowdler’s pets are in my form. a nasty, greasy, oily little beast. he tried ‘the wistful’ on with me once, but never again.”
-“the fact that you think him oily and greasy,” retorted mr. plummer, “is no proof that he didn’t say it.”
-“i never said it was,” cried mr. bent, raising his voice, “and i don’t doubt that little simpkin did say it and will say it again till he gets another cue. what does amaze me is that, with all his experience, chowdler has never learned that boys encourage us in our illusions by quoting at us our own pet ideas and phrases. it isn’t conscious hypocrisy--merely an instinct of self-preservation, or an amiable desire to please. they approach us, as we should approach some beast of uncertain temper, with the sounds that experience has shown to be most soothing.”
-“so you have said before,” snorted mr. plummer. “but, anyhow, you admit that chowdler has experience; and flaggon has none.”
-“pooh! experience indeed!” cried mr. bent contemptuously. “what’s experience? a snare and a delusion, unless you can bring an unbiassed mind to bear on it; which schoolmasters never can. the man who looks at this view, for the first time, with the naked eye, sees far more of it than the man who looks at it for the hundredth time through smoked glasses. experience is the smoke on the glasses; it’s the curse of our profession. we are all much more efficient when we’re young than we ever are afterwards. give me the young and inexperienced man.”
-“tipham, for example,” said mr. plummer drily.
-“oh, tipham’s an exception,” replied mr. bent airily. “tipham never was young. he was born with a greased head, grey flannel trousers, and a terror of being thought sane. but i can tell you, chowdler was ten times more efficient as a master fifteen years ago, when you and i first came to the school, than he is now. we all become progressively greater idiots as we grow ripe in experience.”
-“bosh!” said mr. plummer.
-the parents’ committee
-on the last day of november the much-talked-of parents’ committee met. mr. flaggon’s attention had been so fully occupied by other and more pressing affairs that he had not had time to prepare for the event as carefully as he could have wished. indeed, the purely educational problem had lately taken a less prominent place in his mind. but some dozen parents had shown themselves sufficiently interested in the proposal to promise their personal support; and, of these, seven actually put in an appearance on the appointed day. they included lady bellingham, a recognised authority on women’s education, and sir philip whaley, senior partner in a great commercial house, director of several flourishing companies, and a person of considerable importance in the city. a successful stockbroker, who happened to be visiting his boy at chiltern on the day, was pressed, reluctantly, into the service at the eleventh hour and made the numbers even. the meeting was held in the library, a handsome room that opened out of the great hall, and was intended to be quite informal. the masters had all been invited to attend, but, as attendance was optional, a great many of them marked their disapproval by staying away. a sense of duty, however, brought mr. plummer and about a dozen others to this new kind of parliament, and mr. bent was present, as he expressed it, for the sheer fun of the thing.
-the headmaster stated in a few words the object of the gathering, and lady bellingham opened the debate. lady bellingham was the star of the occasion, and she had come provided with a typewritten paper which she proceeded to read with evident gusto. it was rather a lengthy paper, and before it was over sir philip whaley and the stockbroker were seen to yawn surreptitiously. the gist of it was that children should be brought up among beautiful things in order that what is beautiful in them may be fostered and developed. nature is always beautiful, and in educating the young we must trust more to nature and less to artificial restrictions. we must not interfere with a beneficent purpose, and nature’s purposes are always beneficent. “nursed on the great bosom of nature” beautiful children will grow up into beautiful men and women.
-when lady bellingham had finished, mr. bent, assuming his most impressive and deferential manner, asked if he might put a question.
-“certainly,” replied lady bellingham affably.
-“i do not press,” said mr. bent, “for any definition of what you call ‘beautiful things,’ because that might introduce the personal element. but, when you urge that we should impose no restrictions on nature, i foresee difficulties. measles, for example, are a form of nature, and of course you would not wish us to impose no restrictions on measles.”
-“of course not,” said lady bellingham, with amused pity.
-“then might i ask,” said mr. bent, “what exactly we are to understand by nature?”
-“nature,” replied lady bellingham, “is impossible to define. it is too vast, too varied. but, roughly speaking, whatever is beautiful is natural, and whatever is ugly is unnatural.”
-“i see,” said mr. bent.
-then sir philip whaley, who had long been chafing under an enforced silence, took up his parable and spoke. sir philip possessed, in an unusual degree, the charm of english oratory--the gift, that is, of emphasising and repeating the obvious and connecting his rounded phrases with ornamental “ums” and “ers.”
-“you must look at education,” he began, “from what i venture to call the business point of view. you schoolmasters are too inclined, if you will forgive me for saying so, to ignore, to leave out of account, the--um--er--the business point of view. but, if you are going to think imperially, if, that is, you are going to think in terms of empire, in terms, i say, of empire, you cannot leave the business point of view out of account--um--er--you must take it into your calculations. for, behind the imperial problem, lies the business problem. we city men are familiar with this truth; it is a matter of common knowledge amongst us; but it is one of the things that you schoolmasters, if you will pardon me for saying so, are inclined to leave out of account.”
-“you are forgetting nature,” interrupted lady bellingham.
-“pardon me, madam,” replied sir philip, “i am not forgetting nature, but i am looking at it from the practical point of view--from what i have ventured to call the business point of view. let me give you a concrete instance of what i mean.” here sir philip dropped his voice to a confidential tone. “when i have a post in my office to fill--i am speaking, mind you, of a post with prospects attached to it, a real chance for a young fellow--um--er--well, what kind of a man do i want to fill it? a scholar? no. a man who can read homer and write latin verses? no. i am saying nothing against homer as homer, mark you, but i am considering the thing from the practical point of view. what i want is a man who has learned shorthand and can write commercial french--um--er--and i don’t find him--that’s the point--i don’t find him in the public schools or the universities; as often as not i am obliged in the end to bring in a foreigner--a german. that’s where the germans are ahead of us. well, there you have it in a nutshell. the public schools of england are not seriously training their boys to take their proper place in the business life of the empire; and the germans are. that,” he concluded, bringing his fist down on the table in front of him, “that is what i mean by saying that you ought to look at education from the business point of view. i hope i have made myself clear.”
-sir philip wiped his brow and looked around with a complacent smile. the headmaster, whose face while the city oracle was speaking had been a study, made no comment; but mr. bent leaned forward with knitted brows and began:
-“i have been much interested in what sir philip whaley has been telling us, but i am not sure whether i interpret him correctly. do i understand him to say that he wishes shorthand and commercial french to form a necessary part of the school curriculum?”
-“i do,” said sir philip, “most certainly i do.”
-“i realise,” continued mr. bent, “that for anybody who is aspiring to a post in sir philip whaley’s office, shorthand and commercial french are a necessary branch of culture. but what about the boys who are going in for the learned or other professions--the church, for example? might not commercial french be, to a future bishop, what homer is to sir philip himself, an ornamental but irrelevant accomplishment? and we must not ignore the bishops.”
-“you must specialise,” said sir philip grandly. “you must be prepared to fit every boy with the special knowledge that he--um--er--will require in the profession of his choice. you schoolmasters, if you will forgive me for saying so, do not sufficiently realise the importance of specialising.”
-“the difficulty of specialising beyond a certain point,” said mr. flaggon, “lies in the additional expense: and public school education is costly enough already. our problem is to find a common basis of education for all.”
-sir philip was not accustomed to have his judgment disputed, and he met the objection by repeating his previous remarks with amplifications. when he had finished for the second time, a mrs. sparrow, who had been making chirruping little noises to herself all the while, seized the opportunity to say that, for want of somebody better, she had come to represent the mothers’ point of view; and what mothers cared most about were just the little things that men so often didn’t notice. she was sure that the food was all that could be wished for or desired, and she wasn’t for a moment complaining about that. but she did think that the boys weren’t given enough time to eat it in. she was horrified at the way her own boy had learned to gobble his food in the holidays, and all doctors were agreed about the importance of eating slowly and biting properly. that was one thing. and, then, she did think that, for a big school, the sick-house was rather a dreary place--such bare unfurnished rooms and floors. when her boy was ill last easter term and she came down to see him, she went away feeling quite depressed. of course everybody was most kind, and she knew that the school doctor was a very clever man; but she did think that the sick-house might be made a little more cheerful. that was the mothers’ point of view, and she hoped that mr. flaggon would not mind her putting it; for, after all a mother did know more about her own children than anybody else did.
-mr. flaggon said that he was always delighted to hear what the mothers had to say, and he would give due weight to mrs. sparrow’s suggestions; but he thought that they were perhaps straying a little beyond the scope of the meeting, and he invited the other parents to give their view on the main subject under discussion, namely, education.
-the other parents, thus appealed to, explained that they had come to listen and not to talk; but the stockbroker, who had from the first exhibited symptoms of acute boredom, remarked that, as he was there, he might as well say what he knew that most people thought, though apparently they were afraid to say so. “if you ask me,” he said, leaning back in his chair and thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, “if you ask me, i don’t think it matters a rap what you teach ’em. when i was at school, i never did a stroke of work--had a jolly good time, and i can’t say that i’m sorry for it. and i’m worth now” (here mr. flaggon winced visibly)--“well, it doesn’t matter what i’m worth; but i know that i could buy up half the swots--that’s what we used to call them in my days--half the swots who worked ’emselves silly over their latin and greek and all that sort of gibberish. and when i sent my youngster here, i said to him: ‘you may work if you like; you can please yourself about that, and it’s a point you’ll have to settle with your masters; but, if you want to please your dad, remember that i’d a da--jolly sight sooner see you head of your eleven than head of the school.’ that’s what i said; and i don’t believe, mr. headmaster, that you’ve got a finer little sportsman in your school than my youngster.”
-long before the discussion was over mr. flaggon realised that it had been a mistake and would only give the enemy cause to blaspheme. and he was not mistaken. lady bellingham was the joy of common room for weeks afterwards, and it was humorously assumed that she had made a convert of the headmaster. when a new chimney appeared on the lodge, everybody said, “flaggon is surrounding us with beautiful things”; when the rhododendrons at the far end of colonus were thinned out, it was, “flaggon is uncovering the great bosom of nature.” and again, when a notice came round about the wearing of great-coats, somebody remarked that flaggon was looking at education from the mothers’ point of view. mr. chowdler, who had not been present at the meeting, picked up all the best things and added them to his repertory. in fact there was a regular carnival of wit, and the wags had the time of their lives.
-only mr. bent affected to be agreeably surprised. “they were,” he said, “an unusually intelligent set of parents--quite unusually intelligent. lady bellingham, of course, talked an amazing lot of drivel; you would expect that from a woman. still, she knows a great deal more than chowdler does; for, though she can’t express herself rationally, she does realise in a vague way that beauty is a form of truth, and that education ought to mean something more than balbus-built-a-wall and the off-theory. even mr.--i can’t remember his name--the stockbroker, has grasped what education is not; which is more than chowdler ever has. they offered him an inferior substitute at the school where he spent his dazzling youth, and, with the intuition of genius, he divined that it was not worth his acceptance. and probably it wasn’t. and, then, the silent ones! how seldom you find four people in any given room who are wise enough to keep silence about a subject of which they know nothing. whaley was the only really hopeless failure. yes, they certainly were an unusually intelligent set of parents.”
-“that’s all very well,” protested mr. plummer, “but if i had said so, you would have cursed me for my unreasoning optimism and made out that i was blinded by my infatuation for the middle classes.”
-“perhaps,” replied mr. bent airily, “perhaps. and very likely i should have been right.”
-“god’s in his heaven”
-“i always wonder, bent,” said mr. rankin, as the two men met in colonus on their way to the ground where the cock-house match was about to begin--“i always wonder why you, who pour such scorn on athleticism, never by any chance miss a house match.”
-“there are many things in this world to wonder at,” replied mr. bent; “for instance, why the sea is boiling hot and why radicals are the most inveterate tories in private life. but, as a matter of fact, it is not the football that attracts me on these occasions so much as the psychology of the competing housemasters.”
-“translate with brief notes,” said his companion.
-“to an observer of human nature,” mr. bent explained, “nothing is so illuminating as the behaviour of a housemaster when his house is playing a match. chowdler, of course, is elemental, and offers few points of interest; he has the naked simplicity of the savage or the sportsman--blatant in victory, ungenerous in defeat. but trimble is more complex, and, therefore, more worthy of study. if i join him, he will affect an air of complete detachment and ask me for my views on welsh disestablishment or woman suffrage; but he will interrupt himself at intervals to murmur ‘fools! asses! idiots! they deserve to be beaten!’ of course they will be beaten?”
-“don’t be too sure of that!” said mr. rankin. “two of chowdler’s best men are crocked, and trimble’s have come on a lot lately.”
-“chowdler being beaten,” said mr. bent, “is a much more amusing spectacle than chowdler winning. but i don’t regard it as possible. he always keeps a reserve force--a kind of territorial army--of lean and hungry veterans with christian names, who have grown old in the service of their country. i am credibly informed, that his senior fag, whom i see on the field, is a widower and maintains a family of four at brighton. they all belong to the class which chowdler designates as ‘poor old’ or ‘good old’; and against this combination of age, godliness, and thrift, no ordinary house eleven stands a chance.”
-“don’t talk rot,” said mr. rankin, “i back trimble’s. they’ll take a lot of beating to-day.”
-the whole school and most of the masters were out to watch the game. mr. tipham was conspicuous in his post-impressionist scarf, shouting ostentatiously for trimble’s. mr. grady hovered uneasily on the outskirts, with the hunted look on his face; perhaps the noise reminded him of his more uproarious classes. mrs. chowdler and mrs. trimble were seated in a reserved enclosure, exchanging feline amenities. their better halves wandered about on opposite sides of the ground--mr. chowdler on the touch-line, mr. trimble a little in the rear of the spectators, in a state of internal agitation which would have made sitting impossible. for the game was of a most thrilling description. in the first half trimble’s did most of the attacking and crossed over with a lead of one goal to nothing.
-it looked as if mr. trimble’s gloomy prophecy were going to be fulfilled; for the game had hardly been restarted when a foolish misunderstanding among the trimbleite backs enabled chowdler’s to equalise; and, before their opponents had recovered from the shock and consequent demoralisation, le willow sent in a lucky shot which put his side ahead. a yell of triumph went up from the chowdlerites and their supporters, and mr. chowdler himself, in spite of a heavy fur coat, leapt into the air on the touch-line and beat his gloved hands one against the other.
-“well played, harry!” he roared. “well played all! good lads! stick to it, stick to it!”
-“given away with a pound of tea!” said mr. trimble with a short mirthless laugh. “that settles the game; and i must say that we thoroughly deserve to lose. did you ever see such football!”
-mr. trimble, though he was one of the best housemasters at chiltern, was a man of rather insignificant appearance. the youngest miss gussy had once said of him that he always looked as if he were wearing somebody else’s cast-off clothes. on this particular afternoon he had on an ulster of antique design and faded yellow colour, which contrasted unfavourably with the smart coat of his rival and seemed to brand him as of inferior rank.
-“the moral effect of that last goal,” said mr. bent, whose sympathies were with the ulster, “may be disastrous; but the game is not over yet. i must confess that i am beginning to be horribly excited. i have not got your philosophic detachment, trimble; and the sight of chowdler on the touch-line, clapping his great woollen gloves together, always arouses most unchristian feelings in me. i want to see him, not merely beaten, but crushed, disgraced, annihilated. well played! oh, well played!”
-for the trimbleites, stung by disaster, had roused themselves to superhuman efforts and were once more attacking fiercely. there was a confused mêlée in front of chowdler’s goal. suddenly the referee blew his whistle, and when the players separated it was seen that a chowdlerite was lying disabled on the ground.
-“did you see that?” cried mr. chowdler, rushing up to mr. black, whom he spied in his neighbourhood.
-mr. black was a cautious man and shy of committing himself to excitable colleagues, so he replied:
-“i was just looking the other way, so i didn’t see what happened; but i fear somebody is injured.”
-“it is one of the most deliberate and foulest bits of play,” said mr. chowdler in a voice for all to hear, “that i have ever witnessed. shameful, shameful! from this moment i take no further interest in the game. good god!” he added suddenly, throwing up his hands in a gesture of despair, “it’s le willow!” and he hurried off to assist the victim.
-le willow had sprained an ankle and had to be helped off the field. when he had been removed and the players had resumed their places, it became evident that the referee had awarded a free kick. “all very well!” muttered mr. chowdler to mr. rankin, as he hurried back to his post on the touch-line, “but what’s the use of a free kick when it has cost you your best man!”
-it was indeed a poor consolation--merely a black mark against an unscrupulous foe who cared nothing for black marks. but imagine mr. chowdler’s horror, indignation, and dismay, when he suddenly realised that the free kick had been awarded, not for, but against his house.
-“monstrous!” he cried aloud, as if appealing to the silent gods. “monstrous! i saw the foul, i saw it myself. a perfectly monstrous decision!”
-but, monstrous or not, such was the decision and there was no appeal from it. there was a moment of intense silence, and then a moan went up from the trimbleites and a roar of triumph from the chowdlerites as the shot which should have equalised, passed just over, instead of under, the bar. for the next twenty minutes the chowdlerite goal was literally bombarded. excitement, it is true, made the shooting rather erratic; but, time after time, it looked as if the citadel must fall. and it would have fallen, but for cheeny. when le willow received his mortal wound, cheeny had stepped into his place as leader; and he was everywhere. it is the right thing in the chiltern game for the leader to be everywhere; that is one of the features that has made of the chiltern game the great moral training that it is. so cheeny did his best to be ubiquitous, and played such a game as had not been played in colonus within the memory of that generation--falling, rising, charging and being charged, stopping rushes, intercepting passes and spoiling shots. and, after each unsuccessful attack on the chowdlerite goal, mr. trimble said calmly, “that settles it! silly asses! they deserve to be beaten!”
-as for mr. chowdler, the perspiration stood on his brow and there was a note of almost despairing appeal in his familiar rallying cry, “good lads! good lads all! stick to it, stick to it!” but slowly, at the back of his mind, a purpose was shaping itself--a resolve that, if the impossible did happen and cheeny kept the goal intact, then cheeny should be his prefect. for a lad with such nerve and courage had proved himself fit to govern, even though he were rather low in the school.
-meanwhile, as the minutes slipped away, the excitement grew and grew, and there was one continuous roar of chowdlers! jowlers! trimbulls! in all keys and every degree of hoarseness. people leapt into the air, slapped each other on the back, threw their caps on the ground and trampled on them, and performed all manner of strange and inconsequent antics. ten--eight--six--four minutes more! and then, just at the end, amid howls of delight from their supporters, the defence, with cheeny at their head, broke away; and, when the whistle blew, the ball was in mid-field and chowdler’s were left victorious by two goals to one.
-mr. chowdler was swept away by a wave of intense, almost religious, emotion. foul play, monstrous decisions, past and present wrongs were all forgotten for the moment. if the headmaster had come up and grasped him by the hand, he would have fallen upon the headmaster’s neck--he would have fallen upon anybody’s neck. never since the relief of ladysmith, where his own son was beleaguered, had he experienced such a sense of thankfulness, joy, and exultation. perhaps it was an unconscious association of ideas which made him say to mr. tipham as he passed him:
-“thank god! we have kept the flag flying!”
-“where?” asked mr. tipham icily.
-but already mr. chowdler was far away. he had caught sight of mr. trimble’s retreating figure, and was hurrying after him with the chivalrous intention of pouring balm into smarting wounds. mr. trimble was, indeed, making off as fast as he could, in the hope of avoiding an application of this particular balm, which he had sampled on previous occasions and which had always disagreed with him. his nerves were tingling, and he was conscious of a feeling of suppressed irritation which, he knew, would give him a broken night and spoil life for several days. suddenly, a heavy woollen glove descended on to his shoulder and a manly voice panted in his ear:
-“condolences, poor old boy, condolences! my turn to-day, yours, perhaps, to-morrow!”
-“hullo!” said mr. trimble, turning round and shuddering slightly under the caress. “is that you, chowdler? i was looking for you; congratulations.”
-“ta,” said mr. chowdler, without removing his hand. “ta. we were a bit too good for you, but you put up a tip-top fight. i’m afraid your lot are a bit done up; it always tells hardest on the beaten side. i expect my own lads have had very nearly as much as they wanted. but what a game!”
-it is much easier to congratulate a successful rival warmly than to receive his condolences gratefully; and mr. trimble’s vexation pierced through his reply.
-“it was indeed,” he replied; “the worst exhibition i’ve ever seen in a cock-house match! on to-day’s form any ordinarily respectable side ought to have whopped you, but my lot were simply beneath contempt: they didn’t deserve to win. plenty of spirit, of course: one expects that; but the very worst football i’ve ever seen in colonus.”
-mr. chowdler withdrew his hand and the balm with it. as he said afterwards to his wife, poor old trimble never could take a beating.
-to mr. chowdler the victory did not mean merely that his boys, by superior luck or skill, had scored one goal more than the boys of another house. it meant, somehow, that the lanchester tradition had been vindicated; that all that was best and noblest in the place, all that made the past glorious and the present fruitful, had, in the face of tremendous odds, asserted itself in a supreme and convincing manner. he was glad that his house had taken the field with two of their best players away, glad that le willow had sprained his ankle and that the referee had been flagrantly unfair. all things had worked together for good, and misfortunes which looked like irretrievable disasters had only served to enhance the moral sublimity of the victory. “god’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world.”
-something of all this mr. chowdler certainly said to his house in the speech that he made to them at prayers that evening; and when, on the following day, little simpkin looked up at him with a wistful smile and said, “sir, don’t you think that the lanchester tradition comes out at football?” he felt that the boys had the root of the matter in them, too. and he related the story to all his colleagues in turn--and to some of them twice.
-the lanchester letters
-the term did not end without further unpleasantness. the treatment of le willow had created a feeling of deep resentment in the school, and this feeling was intensified when old chilternians came down and said that the place was becoming a regular sunday school, and that the new man deserved to be shot. it was known, too, that some of the masters shared the opinion of the old chilternians, and “the jowler” was generally recognised as the champion who was foremost in defending the old flag against attacks. mr. chowdler himself was quite unconscious that he had revealed his inner mind to the boys or fanned the flame of disloyalty. but there was no doubt that he talked with great freedom to parents and old boys; and neither parents nor old boys are invariably discreet.
-the upshot of it all was that, at the school concert on the last night but one of the term, both mr. chowdler and le willow received a great ovation which contrasted forcibly with the very faint cheering that greeted the entrance of the headmaster. it was said that there had even been hissing; but, while some maintained that it had proceeded from a group of old boys, and some ascribed it to isolated members of mr. chowdler’s house, others asserted that there had been nothing of the kind at all. anyhow, it was not very marked, and mr. flaggon ignored it. he had a disconcerting way of concealing his feelings, an air of impenetrability which suggested, somehow, that he might have a trump card up his sleeve. the boys did not like him the better for this. boys feel more at home with a man who plays with all his cards on the table.
-but the school got a glimpse into the working of their headmaster’s mind when they were summoned into the great hall, just before the last chapel, to hear some remarks which mr. flaggon thought it his duty to address to them. the term, he said, had been an unsatisfactory term. he dwelt on the prevalence of cribbing, on the general slackness of discipline and the apparent absence of any healthy public opinion on matters that were vital to the school. he spoke sternly, but in measured language and without exaggeration of bitterness, and he ended with an appeal to the best traditions of the school and the better instincts of the better boys. there were no threats; but everybody realised that the speech was intended as a grave warning.
-many of the masters were considerably impressed upon it. a few of the older ones, however, headed by mr. chowdler, chose to regard it as an unwarranted attack on themselves. the boys listened, as boys will always listen to easy and effective speaking, with every appearance of being moved; and the singing in chapel, immediately afterwards, was unusually subdued. but, as soon as the first effect had worn off and the tongues of the scoffers were unloosed, the discontented spirit reasserted itself again, and the opinion most commonly expressed in the houses that night was that they had been treated like preparatory schoolboys. a few there were, chiefly boys in the highest forms, who felt dimly that they had been brought face to face with a real man and a nobler conception of life than they had hitherto realised; but, as yet, they were only few and they held their peace, leaving the talking to the malcontents.
-on the first morning of the holidays, the headmaster had a long interview with mr. chase. mr. chase was not altogether happy about his house; no more was mr. flaggon. indeed, he was not very happy about any of the houses. in his dealings with offenders who had been reported to him in the course of the term, he had been painfully struck by a kind of moral hardness in them, an apparent imperviousness to the influences that make life a noble thing. it stamped itself on their faces in a particular look which was half defiant, half bored, and a sort of easy insolence which seemed to mistake itself for good breeding. and it was something new in his experience. with the thoughtless, daredevil, and impetuous temperament his own school days had made him familiar; but this was a new type, which seemed incapable of repentance and met punishment and appeal alike with the same callous indifference.
-and, as he watched the boys’ faces day by day and week by week from his place in chapel, he was conscious of a gradual deterioration in many of them. bigger boys, who at the beginning of the term had suggested, with all their uncouthness, something of the frankness and spontaneity of healthy-minded youth, were growing old and veiled and blasé. even among the new boys there were some who had exchanged the frank and grubby light-heartedness, natural to their years, for a look of self-conscious pertness that was decidedly unpleasing. it seemed as if there were a blight upon the place, some secret impalpable influence that was poisoning the springs of life. mr. flaggon had diagnosed it at first as a lack of discipline, and he had set himself to fight the evil with heroic remedies. cost what it might, he would have discipline. but he was beginning to suspect that indiscipline was only a symptom and that he had not yet penetrated to the root of the mischief.
-by his advice mr. chase, who was conscientious if unimaginative, was getting rid of some of the older boys in his house, who had been vegetating for a long time in the lower forms. he now suggested that the housemaster should try to establish confidential relations with some of the parents of his new boys, and find out from them, if possible, whether all was really well. mr. chase looked dubious. “i don’t quite like it,” he said. “it seems a little underhand--rather like going behind people’s backs; because i have been talking a good deal lately to my prætor and to some of the old boys, and they all assure me that, though there is a prejudice in the school against my house, it is really quite right and as good as any. besides, i don’t want to alarm parents unnecessarily.”
-mr. flaggon concealed a slight feeling of impatience. “we mustn’t,” he said, “allow ourselves to be bound by a more than spanish etiquette. we have got to do the very best we can for the boys who are under us, and, if we don’t use whatever help the parents can give us, we are surely guilty of a grave breach of duty. and as for frightening them--no sensible parent would be alarmed at being asked to co-operate with us in the interests of his child. only, you must choose the right parents; for i’m really afraid there are some who don’t mind what happens to their sons, provided they do well at their games and have a good time.”
-mr. chase yielded to persuasion, and, when he had gone, mr. flaggon sat down to a still harder task. he had decided that he must write to mr. chowdler. ordinarily, in handling a delicate situation, he preferred the spoken to the written word. but in this case he felt that he could write more calmly and sympathetically than he could speak; for he was conscious that mr. chowdler’s voice and personality jarred upon him, and he feared that, in an interview, this latent irritation might betray itself in a tone or a gesture which would embitter rather than end the quarrel. anyhow, something had to be done, for the situation was rapidly becoming impossible. mr. flaggon was aware of mr. chowdler’s indiscretions. the knowledge had come to him through various channels; and, once or twice lately, mr. chowdler’s tone and language to himself had been of a kind which it is difficult for a headmaster to ignore with dignity.
-the letter was a difficult one to compose, and mr. flaggon weighed his words very carefully. he tried to recall mr. chowdler to a sense of elementary loyalty. he had, he said, every respect for differences of opinion, and he did not expect his own views or actions to pass uncriticised. but there were limits to the manner in which such criticisms could be expressed without doing harm to the school, and he was bound to say that, on several occasions, mr. chowdler had--quite unconsciously, no doubt--gone beyond those limits. he disclaimed any personal animus, and ended with a generous tribute to mr. chowdler’s many services to chiltern.
-when he had read and re-read the letter and marked it “private,” he dispatched it by a messenger and anxiously awaited the reply.
-the headmaster sighed as he read this answer to his appeal, but he felt that nothing would be gained by continuing the correspondence or dotting the “i’s.” he hoped against hope that, though mr. chowdler was incapable of admitting himself to be in the wrong, he would lay the admonition to heart and be more cautious in the future.
-mr. flaggon spent the greater part of the holidays at chiltern, working a rough draft of a new curriculum and mastering a great mass of detail. it was rumoured that his mother and sister were coming to live with him in the summer; but at present they were wintering abroad, and mr. flaggon was alone. in the course of the holidays he became more closely acquainted with mr. bent. the two men, each out for a solitary walk, had come from opposite footpaths into the same lane. neither was in search of company, but, as both were obviously bound in the same direction, escape was impossible.
-“hullo!” said mr. flaggon. “i didn’t know you were here still, bent. i thought you were sure to be in switzerland.”
-“no,” said mr. bent; “i have shed my youthful indiscretions. i still can’t stand chiltern in the easter or summer holidays, but i have at last realised, with infinite relief, that at christmas no place is so attractive as one’s own fireside. it saves me a world of anxious thought and planning. i just run up to town for the last week-end, and that gives me the feeling, necessary to the pedagogue, of having been away and seen things.”
-mr. flaggon had not had time or opportunity to become at all intimate with any of his staff. he was, as we have said, by nature rather shy and reticent, and the consciousness of much latent hostility had made advances unusually difficult. there had, of course, been formal calls and dinner-parties; but neither calls nor dinner-parties lend themselves to the formation of friendships.
-mr. bent had been a puzzle to him. the flippancy of his tone and manner at masters’ meetings had often been annoying; but he had sometimes said things which suggested ideals and a breadth of view at variance with his apparent cynicism. when, therefore, as they were passing his house, mr. bent said, “won’t you come in and have a cup of tea?” mr. flaggon accepted the invitation. that walk and tea led to other walks and other teas. mr. bent recognised in the headmaster a man of great mental alertness and wide interests; and mr. flaggon discovered an unexpectedly serious vein in his companion, veiled, as it often was, under an ironic humour. as conversation became more intimate, mr. bent ventured one day to express his inner feelings about chiltern and the lanchester tradition.
-“we are haunted here,” he said, “as you have doubtless observed, by the ghost of greatness; and it won’t let us speak, or think, or do. nothing is so paralysing (the preachers call it inspiring) as the memory of a great man. if i want a new latin prose book, i can’t have it because dr. lanchester taught out of the old one; and if i want a window that will open, it is impossible because lanchester didn’t believe in ventilation. this, of course, is fearful heresy, and men have died on the scaffold for less.”
-“i’m sorry,” said mr. flaggon with a laugh, “that you are so prejudiced against lanchester, because i had a proposal to make to you. i’ve just come into possession of some papers of his, and i am going to ask you to look through them for me and see if they contain anything of real interest. i simply haven’t got time myself.”
-“oh, of course, i wasn’t crabbing the real lanchester,” said mr. bent; “it’s only his ghost that annoys me. the man was an educational reformer, but the ghost is only a glorified cricket ‘pro.’ what are the papers?”
-“they have been sent me,” replied the headmaster, “by a mrs. core, whose grandfather wrote the life of dr. lanchester. probably the best things are in the book already, but there may be a gem here and there that has been passed over. would you care to do a little sifting?”
-“i should love it,” said mr. bent. “you see, we have done what the descendants of prophet-slayers always do. we have hidden away our prophet under a showy tomb, built out of the very stones that slew him. i should vastly enjoy digging for his bones.”
-“there’s matter enough here to blow up chiltern and half the county into the bargain. some of the letters are splendid and quite new, but it would never do to publish them. people would say they were an impudent forgery. lanchester was a much finer fellow than i realised, and intensely modern. by the way, i understood he had had difficulties, but i never knew that he had to begin by sacking a third of the school and two of the senior----” but a look on mr. flaggon’s face pulled him up abruptly. “that’s the worst of headmasters,” he said to himself afterwards. “the moment you begin to be natural with them, you tumble up against the official.”
-but mr. flaggon was not offended. he had merely remembered, suddenly and with a twinge of pain, the difficult problems that confronted him, and what sharp remedies he might be forced to employ before they were finally solved.
-mr. chowdler wins a battle and meets with a rebuff
-when term began again towards the end of january, mr. tipham and his many-coloured scarf were no longer a feature of chiltern. he had transferred himself to cambridge and tutorial work, feeling possibly that cleopas college and the undergraduate were in closer touch with nature than chiltern and the public schoolboy. anyhow he was gone, and his place had been taken by a young man of less pronounced views, who wore spectacles and listened deferentially to mr. chowdler.
-mr. chowdler himself had returned in splendid fighting form. he had spent the greater part of the holidays at sauersprudel, and he had employed the time in wrestling and prevailing. long before “all the vulgar people that harry hates so” (we are quoting from mrs. chowdler) flocked out to switzerland at christmas, mr. chowdler had discovered sauersprudel in the spitzenthal and planted the british flag there. it is true that all the english families who have visited the place in mr. chowdler’s wake speak of themselves as having discovered it too. but that does not alter the fact that mr. chowdler was the real christopher columbus of sauersprudel and the father of the adler hotel--at least as a winter resort.
-in the early days of the british occupation the settlers were not numerous, but they came regularly every winter. there were, besides mr. and mrs. chowdler, the hon. fitzroy plashy and party, canon and mrs. dubbin, dr. cushat and family, mr. weatherbury, k.c., and a few others who had suddenly realised that sunshine and frost are not peculiar to the engadine, and that sauersprudel is much nearer to london than st. moritz is. these pioneers lived together on fairly amicable terms, enjoying equal rights, but possessing no written laws, no organised constitution.
-but, as the tide of cheap immigration brought strange faces to the adlerhof in ever-increasing numbers, the old patriarchal life was bound to come to an end in favour of some system more congenial to the british temperament--one, that is to say, which would classify the guests and admit of a distinction between governors and governed. accordingly, mr. chowdler and the original families took up the white man’s burden, formed themselves into a permanent committee, and set themselves to organise life on the principles which have made sport the thing it is. they created a skating club, a tobogganing club, a ski-ing club, and a curling club, each with rules and tests and an etiquette of its own; they appointed competitions, and decided in what particular form of dissipation the guests were to indulge of an evening. in a word, they gave the adlerhof the blessings of a firm and orderly government. with a prescriptive right to the best rooms and the chief place at feasts, they were the aristocracy of the hotel, governing, as befits an aristocracy, in the interests of the many, but holding discreetly aloof.
-unfortunately, amongst britons, one of the first results of a firm government is a factious and discontented opposition; and the adlerhof was no exception to the rule. no sooner had mr. chowdler and his friends assumed the cares of office than murmurs of complaint began to be heard, feeble at first but gathering strength with each successive season. wild young men and women, athirst for bandy and bunny-hugs, for impossible ski-jumps and noisy races along the corridors, protested that they had not come out to be drilled like schoolboys but to enjoy themselves; and they began to question the authority of the self-appointed committee. profoundly ignorant of the past history of the place and of all that it owed to its aristocracy, they felt no reverence for mr. chowdler and the hon. fitzroy plashy circling sedately round an orange, and only wondered why the best part of the rink was reserved for these old fogeys and their friends. at last a moment came when, conscious of their strength, they passed from murmurs to action. when the committee arranged a toboggan race, the opposition organised a ski-ing competition; when the committee decreed a gymkhana, the opposition engineered a dance; and the hotel was divided into hostile camps.
-things were in this critical state when, on december 28, mr. chowdler arrived in sauersprudel to lend his powerful support to the cause of law and order. his annual appearance had always been treated as an event of importance in the life of the hotel--obsequious smiles from mine host and a flutter among the servants. you would have thought him a governor returning to his colony, or a chieftain to his clan. but, on this occasion, mr. chowdler, who had left his wife at home, was met in the hall by the landlord with a face of woe. the room on the first floor with the south aspect, the room that he had selected as his own in 1896 and which had been specially reserved for him ever since, had been forcibly annexed and occupied, a fortnight previously, by a young english herr who refused to turn out for all the chowdlers in creation. would mr. chowdler mind going into a room on the other side of the passage for a few days--a larger and a better room, though facing north? the young herr talked of leaving very shortly.
-“his name?” asked mr. chowdler curtly.
-“mr. maurice veal of london.”
-“bring him to me,” said mr. chowdler.
-impossible; the young man had gone out ski-ing for the day, taking his lunch with him.
-“then send my boxes up to my room,” said mr. chowdler. “my own room mind. i will arrange matters.”
-the landlord hesitated between fear of mr. chowdler and the danger of losing a wealthy customer who drank champagne every night and paid exactly twice as much for the room as mr. chowdler did. but fear of mr. chowdler prevailed; and, when young mr. veal returned from his day’s sport at five in the afternoon, he found his own effects in the passage and mr. chowdler, in shirt sleeves, busily engaged in installing himself in the disputed apartment.
-mr. veal, though not deficient in bounce, was not remarkable for his physical proportions. perhaps a long and fatiguing day in the snow, in the course of which he had taken many severe falls, had damped his spirits; or, perhaps the sight of mr. chowdler in shirt sleeves, with his broad shoulders, bullet head, red face, and determined jaw, was more formidable than anything he had anticipated. at all events he lost his nerve, and, after a little bluster and some futile threats, he withdrew to abuse the landlord, leaving mr. chowdler in possession.
-“i engaged this room in 1896,” mr. chowdler shouted after him, “and i intend to keep it.”
-and he kept it.
-however, the victory of the bedroom did not end the campaign against the committee; it only spurred the enemy to greater exertions. and young veal, panting for revenge, became the recognised leader of a guerilla campaign. no step that the committee took was allowed to pass unchallenged; no rule was made but it was straightway broken, no notice was posted without provoking a counter-notice or a parody. half the hotel was on terms of active hostility with the other half. the older men and their wives stood by the committee, the younger ones rallied round the banner of veal. and a climax seemed to have been reached one afternoon, when veal and a friend dashed across the sacred enclosure, where messrs. chowdler, plashy and weatherbury were cutting figures, kicked away the orange which formed the centre of their evolutions, and spilled mr. chowdler--accidentally, as they maintained; of set purpose and malice aforethought, as others asserted. after this anything was possible. but the situation was saved by the timely arrival of lord budleigh of salterton and his brother the admiral. by a masterly stroke of policy they were co-opted on to the committee before they had been five minutes in the hotel; and the opposition collapsed. for even in moments of the wildest aberration, a hotelful of english folk knows the value of a lord. moreover, lord budleigh was a man of courteous and conciliatory manners, far less exclusive in his behaviour than either mr. chowdler or the hon. fitzroy plashy, and tolerant of the vagaries of youth; while his brother the admiral, who was out to enjoy himself and sublimely unconscious of anything amiss, fraternised with everybody in the most natural and friendly way. within eight-and-forty hours, mr. veal found himself without followers and left the hotel. the committee had triumphed, and, with the committee, mr. chowdler.
-“there had been a little unpleasantness before i arrived,” he said afterwards, in describing the events, “but i soon settled all that.”
-it will be readily understood, therefore, that mr. chowdler was in no mood to tolerate rebuffs when he returned to chiltern. and yet, as ill-luck would have it, a rebuff of the most unexpected kind awaited him. on the eve of his departure for switzerland he had written to the headmaster to intimate that he wished to have cheeny as a house prefect in the following term, and it would therefore be convenient if the boy were made a school prefect at the same time. in all his past experience a wish of this kind had been equivalent to a command, and had only needed the official endorsement of the headmaster. however, this time, on his return from sauersprudel, he found, not the official endorsement he expected, but a note, requesting him to come and see mr. flaggon on the matter at his earliest convenience. the interview was more surprising even than the note. mr. flaggon, it appeared, intended, when appointing prefects, to take much less account in future of mere athletic distinction and much more of mental ability; “because,” he said, “although i know that there are often striking exceptions, brain power and character are closely allied, and the boy who has brains is more likely to understand and appreciate high ideals than the boy who has none. i have gone into cheeny’s claims very carefully; and, except for your high opinion of him, which of course weighs with me, i can find no reason for promoting him to such a responsible post. he is quite low in the school and----”
-“then you can’t have seen him in the cock-house match last term,” interrupted mr. chowdler angrily.
-“i did,” replied mr. flaggon. “i admired his spirit and i envied him his agility. but that kind of spirit alone doesn’t make a prefect; and i notice that all his masters say of him that he collapses before any difficulty in his work and is inclined to sulk.”
-mr. chowdler was too indignant to speak; but worse was in store; for mr. flaggon continued implacably:
-“but there is another boy in your house whom i am very glad to make a prefect. i mean dennison. he has earned the honour by his place in the school alone, and, so far as i can judge--and i have been studying him rather closely--he has qualities which justify me in feeling very hopeful about him.”
-dennison! mr. chowdler nearly had a fit. dennison! one of those morbid, cantankerous, precocious boys, who have none of the good-fellowship, none of the joy of life, that are the crown of youth. a boy with a jealous, sour, carping disposition, unpopular with his fellows and unresponsive to his housemaster; a boy without influence and eaten up by an unhealthy egotism.
-“you misjudge him,” said mr. flaggon. “the boy is reserved, rather sensitive, and shy of expressing himself; but he has character and a conscience. with guidance and a little sympathy he will make a very useful prefect.”
-“will make!” mr. chowdler protested vehemently. he knew the boy as only a housemaster could know a boy, whereas the headmaster was only judging superficially. at no price would he accept dennison as a prefect in his house.
-“i am sorry,” said mr. flaggon stiffly, “to be obliged to force on you as prefect a boy with whom you are clearly so much out of sympathy. but i have quite made up my mind to make dennison a school prefect; and, of course, if he is a school prefect, he must be a house prefect too.”
-“in that case,” said mr. chowdler, scarlet with passion, “i decline to be responsible for anything that may happen in my house.”
-“those are serious words for a housemaster to use,” said mr. flaggon gravely.
-“they were not spoken in jest,” retorted mr. chowdler, as he left the study; and, though the headmaster made no reply, he realised that things could not go on much longer on this unsatisfactory footing.
-from that moment mr. chowdler became a man with an obsession. the mere mention of the name flaggon temporarily upset his mental balance. in all the petty annoyances of life he saw the hand of flaggon, and anybody who was not ready to curse flaggon by all his gods became at once suspect.
-at chiltern, as in all intellectual societies, the personal doings and idiosyncrasies of its individual members formed the staple of daily conversation; and, before the term was two days old, mr. chowdler knew that bent and flaggon had walked together in the holidays, taken tea together, and, no doubt, conspired together. he never had liked bent--a cynical egotist (all the people whom mr. chowdler disliked were egotists) with dangerous principles. he shouldn’t wonder if bent had been poisoning the “empty one’s” mind against cheeny. bent always had a grudge against his boys.
-accordingly, coming across bent one morning in the masters’ reading-room, which adjoined the common room, he could not resist the impulse to attack.
-“well, bent,” he said, in tones of forced geniality through which the sarcasm pierced like a needle, “i’m told i ought to congratulate you on your promotion. i hear that you have been privileged to drink deep draughts out of the flaggon in the holidays. i hope you found the beverage stimulating.”
-mr. bent had returned from his week-end in town with a chill on the liver which made him disagreeable to his friends and offensive to his foes. he flushed with anger, but forced himself to reply with affected airiness.
-“very, thank you. and i suppose you have been rapping tables and communicating with the spook of old lanchester. did he tell you, by the way, that i have been reading some unpublished letters of his, which are rather sensational and upset most of your pet theories about the tradition?”
-it came as a perpetual surprise to mr. chowdler, whenever they had words, that bent did not know how to behave like a gentleman or answer a civil question civilly. but this went beyond all bounds. so he drew himself up and replied with dignity:
-“i am not in the habit of answering flippant and offensive questions.”
-“in that case,” said mr. bent, suddenly losing his self-control, “i should advise you not to make offensive and impertinent remarks about matters which don’t concern you.”
-which reply left mr. chowdler justly indignant, and confirmed him in the belief that bent had had something to do with the rejection of cheeny.
-other people than mr. chowdler were dissatisfied with the state of affairs, though none expressed disapproval with quite such acrimony. for the first time for many years the numbers in the school were down. this was in part due to the deliberate action of the headmaster. veterans in the lower forms of the school had been invited to “move on”; and the veterans were numerous. but there was another reason for the shrinkage and one on which mr. chowdler and his friends were more inclined to lay stress; namely, that several names had been withdrawn at the eleventh hour from the january entrance list. from the nature of its clientèle, chiltern was affected, more than most schools, by the gossip of the london clubs; and, in the london clubs, opinion was not favourable to the new régime. the case of le willow had created a most unfortunate impression. “i’m not going to send my boy to a school where they sack for cribbing,” said one parent to another. “cribbed myself when i was a boy, and so did all my pals.”
-“the new man’s no sportsman,” added a second, “and the boys simply can’t stick him.”
-“no more can the masters,” interjected a third. “i met one of them in switzerland, and, from what he said, i should say the place was simply going to pot as fast as it can.”
-in mr. chowdler’s eyes the place undoubtedly was “going to pot.” in season and out of season he called everybody’s attention to this lamentable truth, and the fact that he was unable to prevent it preyed upon his mind. it preyed to such an extent that a moment came when he committed an act which brought on the inevitable crisis.
-in the third week of term the headmaster convened a special masters’ meeting to discuss certain matters which he considered urgent. not only did he convene it for the particular time at which mr. chowdler was accustomed to play a round of golf, but the first item on the programme was the question of sunday hours.
-now the sunday arrangements at chiltern were perhaps unusual, but they were hallowed by tradition and shared, in a way, the sacred character of the day. briefly, they left a clear break, interrupted only by tea, between lunch at 1.30 and chapel at eight. exact contemporaries of mr. chowdler might have recalled that, in his early days, he himself had viewed this long interval with disfavour. but it is no reproach to a man to change his mind, and, with a riper experience, mr. chowdler had learned to love and value the chiltern sunday. to himself it meant a long country walk and a most refreshing snooze afterwards; but that was not the reason why he valued it. he valued it because it was so good for the boys; because it gave them, what no other school gives its boys, time to know themselves, time for thought, and especially home thoughts; and because it made of sunday what sunday ought to be, “a morally recuperative day.” “we must put our foot down,” he said to his colleagues; “there must be no tampering with sunday.”
-masters’ meetings at chiltern were held in the library. the headmaster and the ten housemasters sat round an oak table; and others occupied chairs wherever chairs happened to be. this disposition of forces created a rather invidious distinction between the juniors and the ten who often abused their position to make important remarks in tones which were inaudible to the rest of the meeting. but the invidiousness was felt more keenly by the juniors than by the ten. mr. flaggon disliked the arrangement for other reasons. seated at the head of the table, primus inter pares, he felt uncomfortably close to the housemasters and inconveniently removed from the rest of the staff; and, if he wished to be heard by all, he had to raise his voice and speak through, or over, his immediate neighbours in a way that was unpleasant for both. he sighed for a dais and a more elevated seat, and, accordingly, he had suggested tentatively to some of the senior men the advisability of holding the meetings elsewhere. but the suggestion had given genuine pain. it was unthinkable that chiltern masters should meet anywhere but under the portrait of dr. lanchester; and the only other portrait of dr. lanchester was in the great hall, an obviously impossible place. so, wishing to avoid unnecessary friction, mr. flaggon had resigned himself to the library for the present. perhaps, as he sat with his back to the portrait, he was less conscious of inspiration than his colleagues.
-it was therefore from the traditional place, at the head of the oak table, that mr. flaggon made the remarks which provoked a scene memorable in the annals of chiltern. it had been borne in upon him, he said, by events in the preceding term, that the long interval between dinner and chapel was fraught with considerable danger. the danger was obviously greater in the summer term than in any other, when lock-up was later; and, some time in march, he proposed to consider a complete rearrangement of the time-table for the day. but, for the present, he wished to make as little change as possible. he was therefore going to ask housemasters to arrange for a preparation in their houses at half-past four on sundays. tea would be at 5.30 and chapel at the usual time.
-mr. chowdler had come to the meeting in the worst of tempers. apart from the fact that he was deeply attached to the status quo, he had been deprived of his golf, and, being a man full of habit of body, he could not afford to miss his exercise. and so, the headmaster had scarcely finished speaking, when he broke in with no attempt to conceal his anger.
-“it has always been customary,” he said, “to consult housemasters on matters of this kind before raising them at a general meeting.”
-mr. flaggon lifted his eyebrows slightly, but replied quite calmly: “i shall be glad to consider any difficulties that may be put to me in private; but, in a matter of this kind, on which i feel very strongly, i must decide for myself and in accordance with my own judgment.”
-“do i understand,” cried mr. chowdler, raising his voice and glaring at his chief, “that we are to have this ill-considered ukase thrust down our throats without discussion? because, if so, let me say that that is an indignity to which we are not accustomed.”
-“i think i have made it clear,” said mr. flaggon, “that i do not propose to take a vote on this question, and i have stated my reasons: i wish to see the experiment tried.”
-“in that case,” said mr. chowdler, turning half round in his chair so as to face his colleagues, “i, for one, shall decline to obey.”
-“i have noted your refusal with extreme regret,” replied mr. flaggon, so quietly that the words would hardly have been heard in the more distant parts of the room, if it had not been for the intense silence that prevailed. and then, before anybody had recovered from the surprise and shock, he passed on to the second item on the programme.
-the rest of the business was dispatched rapidly and without any of the irrelevant comment which was usually a feature of masters’ meetings. everybody was anxious to get away, to breathe the fresh air, and to take stock of his own and other people’s impressions.
-“chowdler’s downed him,” whispered mr. rankin, as the masters trooped into the great quadrangle with grave and anxious faces.
-“i don’t know,” replied the younger man thus addressed. “it can’t end there. and,” he added, “it ought not to end there.”
-whether mr. chowdler felt any secret misgivings, it is impossible to say. probably not. by dint of always speaking of “the empty one” he had persuaded himself that mr. flaggon was essentially a weak, unmeritable man who was aping the despot. besides, mr. chowdler was not an adept at self-criticism, and was quite incapable of looking at himself from the outside. presumably, therefore, he regarded his display of temper as an outburst of passionate but righteousness indignation, a kind of prophetic “thus saith the lord.” and, as the day ended without further incident, he may have thought, with mr. rankin, that the man flaggon was “downed.”
-but, on the morrow, two things happened which brought him face to face with some very unpleasant facts. at first lesson a notice came round to say that in future, on sunday afternoons, there would be preparation in houses at 4.30 o’clock; and, later on in the morning, he received a letter from the headmaster couched in the following terms:
-dear mr. chowdler,
-i have put off writing till to-day in the hope that some word from you would enable me to take a course different from the one which the events of yesterday and your subsequent silence compel me to pursue. i hope that i shall never fear honest and outspoken criticism. but there are decencies to be observed without which a headmaster’s position becomes impossible; and your behaviour to myself yesterday leaves me no alternative but to assume that you intended deliberately to challenge my authority as headmaster. it is with a grave sense of responsibility and in no vindictive spirit that i feel obliged to request you to send in your resignation, to take effect at the end of the present term.
-yours faithfully, s. e. flaggon.
-the first effect of this letter on mr. chowdler was to make him feel as if the solid ground were crumbling away beneath him; but, the next moment, his combative spirit reasserted itself, and, dashing to his writing-table, he scribbled off what he afterwards described as “a calm and dignified reply.”
-yours, etc., h. chowdler.
-mr. flaggon verified the reference and found that, by an old and unrepealed regulation, mr. chowdler had indeed the right of appeal to the council against dismissal. he therefore sent the following note:
-dear mr. chowdler,
-i am informing the chairman of the council of my decision and of the reasons which have dictated it, by to-morrow evening’s post at latest. you must take whatever steps you think right.
-yours faithfully, s. e. flaggon.
-the fat, as at least half-a-dozen people said spontaneously, was in the fire, and chiltern could think and talk of nothing else. there was a general agreement that chowdler’s behaviour at the meeting had passed the limits of decorum; but, while the seniors maintained that the headmaster should have ignored the offence in a man whose services to the school were so notorious and of such long standing, many of the juniors held that, if flaggon didn’t give old chowdler the boot, he was done for. there was an equal difference of opinion as to the probable issue of the appeal. the moderates thought that there was still room for compromise. chowdler could withdraw his offensive remarks and then flaggon could withdraw his notice of dismissal. others, who knew chowdler’s love of battle, were sure that he would fight it out to the end and win. others, again, did not see how the council could possibly throw over a headmaster whom they had so recently appointed.
-to mr. plummer the whole episode was painful in the extreme, and the ideal of a united staff seemed farther off than ever. he was torn between two conflicting loyalties--loyalty to an official chief, and loyalty to a senior colleague. he expressed his inner feelings to mr. bent on one of their frequent walks, more from force of habit than because he expected to find a sympathetic listener.
-“of course,” he said, “one can’t defend the way chowdler does things; and nothing could possibly have been worse than his behaviour the other day. still, one must remember that he has had great provocation--great provocation.”
-“that’s just like you!” replied mr. bent. “chowdler is for trailing his coat across the green, and when he succeeds in tripping somebody, you say that he has had great provocation. what provocation, pray! name!”
-“well,” said mr. plummer, “there was the le willow business to begin with.”
-“a matter of principle,” said mr. bent. “a headmaster who sacrificed his principles to a chowdler, at the first summons, wouldn’t be fit to be a crossing-sweeper!”
-“and then there was his refusal to make cheeny prefect,” said mr. plummer doggedly.
-“again a question of principle!” cried his companion. “and you’re talking as if chowdler were the captain of the ship and flaggon his second mate.”
-“no, i’m not,” said mr. plummer. “but, after gussy, chowdler’s position under a new man was bound to be difficult, and flaggon ought to have made allowances; he ought to have been more tactful.”
-“tact on chowdler,” said mr. bent, “is like a feather on a hippopotamus. chowdler doesn’t ask for tact; he demands unconditional surrender.”
-“anyhow,” persisted mr. plummer, “though he does it badly, chowdler represents what many, if not most, of us feel. you know i’m not one of the people who go shouting their criticisms on the house-tops: but, candidly, i don’t approve of the new régime.”
-“what don’t you approve of, pray?” asked mr. bent scornfully. “the weeding out of the old and incompetent? the attempt to restore discipline? the----”
-“i’m not going to particularise,” said mr. plummer, “but i distrust flaggon’s whole attitude; especially in a man who has no experience. the boys are discontented, the staff is divided, the numbers are down, and we’re all wondering where it’s going to end.”
-“‘ye fools and uncircumcised in heart and mind,’” burst out mr. bent, “‘ye do always resist the holy ghost: as your fathers did, so do ye.’”
-“that’s blasphemous,” cried mr. plummer.
-“i believe that’s what they said of stephen,” replied mr. bent, recovering his composure. “but, as a matter of fact, i was quoting from an unpublished letter of lanchester’s; and he happened to be speaking of an eighteenth-century chowdler.”
-in dark places
-it was obviously to the interest of all parties that the appeal should be settled as soon as possible. but the council showed no haste in coming to a decision. the delay was ominous, for it seemed to indicate that they regarded the question as an open one.
-this being so, mr. pounderly and several of his senior colleagues were anxious that the staff should take combined action. there was no doubt in mr. pounderly’s mind as to what form the combined action should take. “if,” he said, “the policy of cutting off the heads of the tallest lilies receives official sanction, it will not stop with chowdler. the lives and fortunes of all of us are at stake. it is most important that at this crisis the staff should show a united front.”
-it took many hours of patient argument to persuade mr. pounderly that the front of the staff was not, and could not be, united; and, when the unpalatable truth was at last forced in upon him, he went about his daily duties once more wringing his hands and whispering, “lamentable, lamentable.”
-however, he was to have an opportunity of expressing his own views fully and in an influential quarter. mr. benison-benison, a local magnate and a member of the council, had determined to get to the bottom of things for himself. mr. benison-benison was one of those honest and incapable men whom the british public delights to honour, and his idea of getting to the bottom of things was to give an impartial hearing to one side only. it was the method he had always adopted in forming his opinions on political or theological questions; and he prided himself on his freedom from prejudice. “i always make a point of studying any controversial topic,” he would say, “before i make up my mind about it.” consequently, when he set to work to master the chiltern problem, he could think of no better way of doing so than by interviewing personally mr. chowdler and his friends. at much physical inconvenience to himself, for he was crippled at the moment by rheumatism, he drove over to chiltern, had a long talk with mr. chowdler, and, at that gentleman’s suggestion, had separate interviews also with mr. pounderly, mr. black, mr. beadle, and some others of the faction. and, as a result of it all, he carried away “a very strong impression” that mr. chowdler stood for the best interests of the school, that mr. flaggon was the wrong man in the wrong place, and that the masters, as a body, would be very glad to see the last of him. and this impression received a striking corroboration from an entirely unprejudiced quarter. mr. benison-benison had occasion to call, on his return journey, at thrale’s, the local motor and motor-cycle shop; and, in answer to some discreet feelers, mr. thrale became voluble and stated confidently that mr. flaggon was letting down the school “terrible” and ruining the town, and that the citizens looked confidently to the council to set matters straight over “this here appeal that they talk of.”
-but, while the issue was still in doubt and chiltern was humming with excited gossip, events occurred which turned all thoughts for the moment into other channels.
-mr. chase, acting on the advice of the headmaster, had written in december to the parents of three of his new boys, asking them to find out, in the course of the holidays, whether the moral tone of the house was in a healthy condition; and, if anything was wrong, to communicate confidentially with him. in each case he had received a formal acknowledgment of his letter, and, as nothing further had come of it, his mind was at ease. and then, suddenly, a bolt fell from the blue. mr. chase received one morning an eight-page letter, marked private and confidential, which made him turn very pale and entirely took away his appetite for breakfast. the writer of this letter related that he had, during the holidays, put certain questions to his son, and, after some pressing, had extracted from him a story which showed that, from the moral point of view, the school generally and mr. chase’s house in particular were in a very bad state. the boy, however, had implored him not to say anything to the authorities, as the two worst offenders had left at christmas and things were certain to be much better next term. he had, however, by that morning’s post, received a letter from his boy, which revived all his anxieties. the boy wrote that he was very unhappy and wanted to be taken away. “under these circumstances,” the father concluded, “i feel bound, in the interests of the school as well as of my own child, to take you into my confidence; and i have written you a full account of all that i know. i only beg that, in whatever steps you take, you will manage to keep my boy’s name out of it. dislike of being an informer, and fear of the possible consequences to himself, naturally weigh very heavily on him. but, clearly, something must be done, and done at once; and, if you wish it, i am quite prepared to come to chiltern myself and see you about the matter.”
-mr. chase read the letter several times with a strong sensation of physical nausea, and sat for a while afterwards in his study trying to think. when the first shock had passed off, he began to cherish a hope that the boy might perhaps have exaggerated. now that he came to think of it, it struck him that the boy was rather an excitable boy and, very likely, inclined to be hysterical. but he was an honourable man; and, though the facts, as related, were a reflection on his own competence, he carried the letter straight to the headmaster.
-mr. flaggon guessed what must be passing in his colleague’s mind, and his manner was both sympathetic and cordial. he thanked mr. chase warmly for having taken him at once into his confidence; and, together, the two men discussed what ought to be done. should the father be invited to come to chiltern and procure further and yet more detailed information, or should they act at once? mr. flaggon thought that there was danger in delay. the boy might become frightened and retract, or, possibly, give a hint of what was brewing to a friend. “our best chance,” he said, “of getting at the whole truth is to strike at once while the offenders are off their guard; and, if the facts are as they have been stated, we have enough to go upon. besides, if the father comes down and sees his son, everybody will guess the source of our information; and we are bound in honour to keep the boy’s secret.” mr. chase agreed; and, accordingly, that evening after locking up, the headmaster went to mr. chase’s house and held a searching inquiry. before it was over, he knew a great many things that he had not known before, and realised how very vile, under its deceptive light-heartedness, life can be in a bad house in a bad school.
-next morning, at first lesson, a rumour spread through a startled school that three of the most prominent chaseites had been summarily expelled, and that others were to leave at the end of the term: and mr. chase, who looked as though all joy had gone out of life, confirmed the news to his colleagues. mr. flaggon had determined to address the school that evening after chapel; but, before he could do so, fresh developments occurred which decided him to wait a little longer. for, in the course of the day, dennison, the newly appointed prefect, appeared in his study with a pale face and twitching hands, and asked if he might speak confidentially. the permission was readily granted, and dennison proceeded to unburden his soul. everybody, he said, had known for a long time that chase’s house was “rotten,��� but he was afraid his own house was not much better. since he had been prefect, he thought there had been an improvement; but, a week ago, he heard of something which had made him very miserable. he didn’t dare to tell mr. chowdler; and, though he had been within an ace, more than once, of asking the headmaster for advice, he had never quite made up his mind to do so. it was impossible to get the prefects to act together, because a prefect was himself involved, and the others wouldn’t give him away. he had spent sleepless nights worrying over the business; but now he felt that he must make a clean breast of the whole matter. he wanted to do his duty; but he funked--there was no other word for it--the deadly unpopularity which was certain to be the result.
-mr. flaggon first talked the boy into a calmer mood and then showed him, quietly and sympathetically, what his duty was. he must remove the seal of confidence and endure the unpopularity. the moral welfare of countless boys, present and to come, was at stake. and so, before he left the study, dennison had braced himself to the most difficult act of courage that a boy can be called on to perform--namely, to defy a traditional code of honour and to face social ostracism.
-an inquiry into mr. chowdler’s house was necessarily a much more difficult business than an inquiry into mr. chase’s. it was obviously impossible for the headmaster to take mr. chowdler into his confidence; so, boys had to be sent for separately and interviewed in his own study. there was much coming and going, much leakage of knowledge and consequent reticence or denial. mr. flaggon felt that he had never sifted things quite to the bottom. but dennison stuck to his guns; and, in the end, two boys, one of whom was a prefect, were expelled at once, and four others were told that they must leave at the end of the term.
-in the prefect, mr. flaggon had long ago recognised one of the three youths who had impressed him so unfavourably on his first visit to chiltern. in spite of the clearest evidence, this boy persisted in asserting his innocence, and on hearing his sentence he attempted a piece of insolent bluff.
-“i shall appeal to mr. chowdler,” he said, “and, if he keeps me, i shall stay.”
-and before he had readjusted the receiver, the boy, with a white face, blurted out, “all right, sir, don’t do that. i’ll go at once.” and he left the study with his tail between his legs.
-and on the following morning the school were summoned into the great hall at the end of first lesson and heard some words which nobody ever forgot. anybody but mr. chowdler would have been overwhelmed by the sudden discovery of his own blindness; for, in the two boys who had to leave so abruptly and for such hideous offences, he had always seen the true chiltern type, the best product of the lanchester tradition. but mr. chowdler was not an ordinary man. for a short time indeed he did feel as if the solid ground were crumbling again under his feet; but, within a few days, he had persuaded himself, first, that if there had been mischief in his house it was because “the man flaggon” had taken the control of it out of the proper hands; secondly, that boys had been bullied into confessing to crimes that they had never committed; and, thirdly, that there had been a great deal of hysteria and exaggeration about the whole business.
-on this occasion, however, mr. chowdler found but few disciples. mr. flaggon’s prompt and fearless handling of the affair, the words which he had spoken to the school, his genuine hatred of the evil thing and, with it all, his buoyant faith in the ultimate triumph of good influences, had made a deep impression on the masters. they realised that, in spite of youth and inexperience, the new headmaster was a man; and not a few of them felt that they had themselves been culpably blind.
-“it’s no good,” said one of the younger men, who taught a low form in the school, “it’s no good saying that we didn’t see and couldn’t be expected to see. we ought to have seen; the evidence was all around us. why, there are three kids in my form--new last term--who are different men since this came out; different in their work and their manner and everything. it’s like people waking up from a nightmare.”
-“and there’s one in my form,” said mr. rankin, “who goes about looking as if he were going to be hanged. i guess he’s got something pretty heavy on his conscience, and he’s mortally afraid of being swept into the net.”
-but there was one point on which opinion was not so unanimous. what would be the effect on the reputation of the school of all these drastic expulsions? would not intending parents take fright? with numbers already down, was this root-and-branch method altogether wise--and was it really necessary?
-mr. plummer shared these doubts; and he expressed them to mr. bent as they stood, one bleak afternoon in march, on the sow’s back, looking over a grey and cheerless landscape.
-“of course,” he said, “i recognise that flaggon has come out of all this extraordinarily well, and has taught us all a great deal. nothing, i’m sure, could have been more impressive than the way he spoke to the school, and i shall remember it as long as i live. but, i must say, i don’t quite like this relentless pruning. five boys on the spot, and ten more at the end of the term! it looks as if we were forgetting that it’s our duty to save as well as to punish.”
-“what sequel?” asked mr. plummer.
-“don’t you know,” replied mr. bent, “that a month afterwards the lost sheep, having acquired a taste for adventures, trotted off into the wilderness again, taking with him this time the rest of the flock, twenty-five per cent. of whom got eaten by wolves and never were heard of more? no, my dear plummer, it’s too risky.”
-“but one must take risks,” insisted mr. plummer, “if one is to do anything that is worth doing: and, to refuse to take risks when there’s a chance of saving anybody seems to me sheer cowardice.”
-“ah yes,” said mr. bent, “true enough, if the risk were our risk--a danger to you and me. but it isn’t. the danger is to the other boys--the boys who are here and the boys who are coming. if you want to make a public school a reformatory, you ought to be honest with the parents; you ought to say to them frankly, ‘i am keeping such and such boys, whom i know to be dangerous, because i think that the companionship of your son may possibly do them good.’ what d’you suppose the parents would say to that? what d’you imagine any of our married colleagues would say, if you proposed to plant a reformatory lad in the middle of their young families, because you felt sure it would be good for him and you weren’t going to be scared by the risks? answer me that!”
-“there are reformatories and reformatories,” replied mr. plummer sententiously. “anyhow,” he added, as the dust-laden wind swept down the road, “the prospect is gloomy--and i shouldn’t wonder if we had some snow.”
-the day of decision
-one evening, a week after this conversation, mr. bent received a summons to see the headmaster in his study after dinner; so, putting on his great-coat, for the wind was still blowing keenly from the north-east, he repaired to the prætorium. mr. flaggon was seated at his table, writing letters, but he waved his guest into an armchair and wheeled his own chair round to face the fire.
-“i have to make arrangements for next term,” he began, with an abruptness that was characteristic. “i am assuming that i shall be here and that chowdler will have gone. in that case i want you to take his house.”
-mr. bent was not altogether unprepared for his offer, though he had never allowed his thoughts to dwell much on the subject. he paused for a few moments before replying:
-“it won’t be a bed of roses--at least at first; but a year ago i should not have hesitated for a moment. to-day i know my limitations better, and i am not sure whether i have the necessary qualities.”
-mr. flaggon eyed him keenly for a moment, and then said:
-“i think you are more fitted for the post than anyone else here--if you will follow your better nature.”
-“then i will do my best,” said mr. bent, “and trust that my better nature will pull me through.”
-there was a pause before mr. flaggon began again, somewhat hesitatingly:
-“i think, perhaps, that it would be better if this matter were kept private between us two--for the present at all events. i am thinking chiefly of your own position.”
-“you mean,” said mr. bent, “that, if certain things happen, i shall cut a better figure if i am found seated on the top of the fence than if i have come down definitely on the wrong side.”
-mr. flaggon smiled. “i suppose i meant something of the kind,” he said, “though i didn’t put it to myself quite in that way. the truth is that i am not at all sure about the future. i have every right to assume that the council will support me against chowdler; but, strictly between ourselves, they seem to be hesitating, and i have been approached lately with suggestions of a compromise. i can accept no compromise. its not a question of my own dignity--though a public man has to consider that too: but, if i am not to be headmaster de facto as well as de jure, i can serve no useful purpose by remaining here; and i shall go.”
-“in that case,” said mr. bent, “there is no need for secrecy; for, if you go, i shall go too.”
-the headmaster coloured slightly. ever since he had been at chiltern, and especially in the last few weeks, he had felt his isolation and aloofness as no inconsiderable part of the burden. the sudden sense of fellowship sent a warm glow through his veins; but he repressed his emotion and replied gravely:
-“i hope you won’t do that; you mustn’t do that. it is quite unnecessary, and it would damage the school.”
-mr. bent got up from his chair, and, all unconsciously, began to pace about the room. his feelings were such that he could not express them adequately in a sitting posture.
-“i’m not speaking on the spur of the moment,” he began. “my mind was made up long before i came into this study and received your offer. for fifteen years i’ve lived in an atmosphere of bunkum and make-believe that have no relation to facts. that kind of thing is bound to make a man either a humbug or a cynic. it has very nearly made me a cynic; and, though it’s very amusing to be a cynic, it isn’t good for one’s immortal soul. if one’s to be a live man, one must have something definite to do--something that one can believe in and work for. i can appreciate and work for your ideals--decency, order, and an education that--that is educational. i know that i shan’t approve of all your methods--i’m oxford, and much too critical for that--and you won’t expect it of me. but i cannot endure to sink back again into unreality. i have enough to live on; not much but enough; and i can always get work--tutoring or anything. but i will not face another fifteen years of the off-theory and chowdler’s version of the lanchester tradition. i say,” he added suddenly, “i must apologise. in my excitement i’ve been forgetting my manners.”
-the two men shook hands warmly at parting, and mr. flaggon was betrayed into something that very closely resembled a confidence.
-“of course,” he said, “the long delay is rather trying.”
-but the long delay was coming to an end, and the day of decision was fixed at last. mr. flaggon learnt it from the chairman of the council; mr. chowdler and the masters were informed “privately and confidentially” by mr. benison-benison, and the boys heard of it from the masters’ wives.
-on the morning of the fateful day, mr. flaggon looked down the long rows of bowed heads in chapel with peculiar feelings. he was something of a fatalist, believing, as he did, that there is special providence in the fall of a sparrow, and that a man is false to his duty, however hazardous that duty may be, if he allows himself to dwell on the possibility of failure. but he could not help wondering, that morning, whether he would ever sit in his place again and feel that his life’s work lay there before him, and that he had the power to do it. in the last few weeks chiltern had become to him something much more concrete than it had been before, something that stirred his affections and appealed to his sympathy. while searching in dark places for the roots of the parasite that was strangling the life of the place, he had discovered the germs of much that was healthy and even noble--individual heroisms, boys ready, at a moment’s call, to do a man’s work, knees which in the face of fierce temptation had never bowed to baal; and, with all its capacity for evil, he had realised the immense possibilities for good in schoolboy nature. he was conscious, too, of a change of attitude on the part of the staff. rather shyly, rather awkwardly, many, especially the younger men, had made it clear to him by voice and manner and gesture that they were with him. there
-old mother bun said, “in far-away japan, a stream runs down a hill where motherwort grows, and the story goes that people who drink water from that stream are always young. the japanese hold a festival called ‘the motherwort festival,’ and they have a drink made from this plant.”
-by and by the rain was over and the bunnies went off to look for the rainbow end, for they wanted to find the pot of gold.
-old father bun sat comfortably in his arm-chair and his head went nid-nid nodding as he said over and over,
-“old mother bun has happy hours, with new and old-fashioned flowers.”
-old mother bun went out into her garden.
-all the flowers were happy because of the shower.
-suddenly she heard little elf laughter singing,
-“the pot of gold at the rainbow end may be found near home, my friend.”
-old mother bun looked down at the end of the garden, and there, sure enough, she thought she saw the rainbow end. she began to dig and dig, and she did strike something bright and shining. she found a wee pot of gold, and whether it belonged to the rainbow end, or the elves, she did not stop to ask.
-she peeped inside and said, “i will tell no one yet what i have found; i will tell no one yet what is inside.”
-healthy bunny and pretty bunny came home tired.
-old father bun said,
-“did you find the pot of gold? though you are tired, please do not scold.”
-old mother bun said,
-“i’ll show you the pot of gold in a minute, but please do not ask me what is in it.”
-the bunnies begged old mother bun to tell her secret.
-leaves and a flower alphabet
-trees in mother bun’s garden grow with many kinds of leaves, you know; but the little pine tree here is evergreen throughout the year.
-“a picnic, a picnic,” cried old mother bun. let us go on a picnic just for fun.”
-old father bun winked his eyes and twitched his long ears to and fro and said,
-“would you leave your garden for an hour? you might miss a bud, a leaf or flower.”
-he liked to tease mother bun about her flowers.
-pretty bunny cried, “do let me go and get homeless bunny and happy bunny, and happy-go-lucky bunny and invite them all to go with us to a picnic.”
-healthy bunny said, “i will pack our lunch pail.”
-just then a wee little voice cried,
-“ha, ha, ha, i’ll help you myself, i came from the tulip, the impish elf.”
-the impish elf came in and jumped into the butter dish and left the tracks of his little feet all over the oil cloth.
-old mother bun said,
-“don’t play tricks on any one; don’t play tricks while i am gone.”
-“can’t i play a trick on the tree-toad or dragon fly or on the little white butterflies?” asked the impish elf.
-just then pretty bunny saw little white butterflies sailing over the poppies and sang to the tune of “twinkle little star,”
-“butterflies, how do you do? butterflies sail two and two, oh, you are a pretty sight, butterflies so pure and white.”
-the bunnies went to the woods for their picnic and after they had lunch
-old father bun told about some dryads that lived in the trees.
-“hark! what is that?” cried healthy bunny.
-click, click, click, like a key, sounded near them in a tree.
-the tree-trunk opened and there stood a woodland fairy. she smiled and said, “i will tell you a story about a nymph who once lived in an oak tree. she belonged to ceres, a goddess of long ago. one day a man ordered the oak, in which she lived, to be cut down, though every one begged that it be saved. as the woodmen would not cut it down, the lord who owned the place seized the ax and cut it down himself. then the nymph pronounced this magic upon him, ‘he can eat and eat but will always be hungry.’” as she finished her story the nymph disappeared in the tree.
-the bunnies tapped on many tree-trunks to see if another nymph would come out. they heard a voice call,
-“ha, ha, ha, let me out, all day long i sing and shout.”
-the voice came from another oak tree, and looking below it, the bunnies found a key and unlocked a door in the tree and out came a dryad with another story to tell.
-“a statue of the virgin, long ago, was placed once in an oak, you know. a shepherd before it his flute would play; from a church the statue he’d taken away. he was sentenced to prison for theft, you see, and the statue taken out of the tree. that night the statue walked out, they say, and let the imprisoned shepherd away. i hope you’ll remember this tale of mine, because the image became a shrine.”
-back into the tree went the dryad and the bunnies said, “what wonderful stories we learn in the woods to-day.”
-just then a call “help, help,” was heard.
-happy-go-lucky had fallen into the stream and homeless bunny was trying to get him out.
-they all ran as fast as they could and by and by rescued him; then old father bun built a fire so they could all warm their paws and whiskers.
-picking up a branch from the linden tree old mother bun said,
-“the blade, foot-stalk and stipules see, the parts of the leaf upon the tree.”
-the bunnies drew near her to see the branch she was looking at.
-old father bun said,
-“here is something that i’ve found. leaves are simple, or compound, simple, when in one piece, ’tis said, compound, when more pieces in the blade.”
-the bunnies gathered leaves about them. they saw that some were parallel-veined and some were feather-veined. some of the veins in the leaves ran side by side, and some of them branched out. they saw some wild grape vine leaves that were still different; they had three main ribs and veins extending out from them. they were called radiate-veined.
-old mother bun said,
-“we would be here ’till set of sun, if we studied leaf-shapes every one.”
-old father bun’s eyes twinkled and he said,
-“leaves have different margins too; some of them i’ll introduce to you.”
-then the first surprising thing happened!
-the wind blew a great blast and down fell many leaves. they made a gay carpet.
-the little bunnies cried, “what fun! it is almost as though autumn had come.”
-then the second surprising thing happened! for they were in a fairy woodland. every leaf began to talk, and by placing it to the ear each bunny could hear what it wanted to say.
-one leaf said,
-“my shape is linear, longer than wide; i could tell you other things beside.”
-another voice cried,
-“i am lance-shaped, to a point i taper; the wind plays with me many a caper.”
-another voice cried,
-“i am not nearly as broad as long; tell it in verse, i am called oblong.”
-the oval leaf spoke, and the ovate-leaf, the heart-shaped leaf, and the kidney-shaped leaf, the arrow-shaped leaf and the ear-shaped leaf, and then the third surprising thing happened!
-the breeze sang merrily,
-“so many times before we have met, let us have a flower alphabet.”
-in trooped flower fairies wearing dresses like real flowers. they formed a circle, dancing and singing,
-“amaryllis is my name, bouncing bet, i’m glad i came, here are the canterbury bells, daisies blossom in the dells, everlasting flowers in the spring, four o’clock, hear the wee bells ring, geraniums grow in the garden bed, hollyhocks hold high each head, iris is a jolly fellow, jack-in-the-pulpit is black and yellow, knotweed is a pretty pink, so the tiger lilies think, marigold, marigold, nasturtium loves her, so i’m told, oxalis or wood-sorrel, with peony had a quarrel, quaint, indeed, is prince’s father, red-hot pokers grow together, shepherd’s purse with fairy money, tobacco plant, thinks quite funny, uvularia perfoliate is the lily, verbena says hard names are silly, water-cress says to yellow-eyed grass xyris flexuosa is a hard name, alas! yarrow, that common roadside flower, zinnia says will bloom many an hour.”
-the merriest flower of all was the daisy and she sang,
-“perhaps some one will explain, when you make a daisy-chain, why you can count for hours and hours, in my centre tiny flowers!”
-just then the fourth surprising thing happened!
-each hollyhock raised a stately head, but not a single word they said; growing by the garden wall, they did not seem surprised at all.
-when the bunnies got inside, the table was neatly set for supper, and a wee voice cried,
-“i’ve come to live with you--it’s funny, but my name is stay-at-home-bunny.”
-old mother bun said,
-“i know that we will love you, honey; i’m glad to see you, stay-at-home-bunny.”
-old father bun said,
-“stay-at-home-bunny, i beg pardon, have you looked at old mother bun’s garden?”
-the stay-at-home bunny winked her eyes and nodded her head. she whispered to old father bun,
-“for hours and hours we’ll have to make a very wonderful birthday cake, or else at the store we’ll have to try a wonderful birthday cake to buy; so, come early and enjoy the fun at the birthday party of old mother bun.”
-old father bun looked wise and said,
-“no wonder i look old and wise, next week we’ll have a fine surprise.”
-a birthday party
-a birthday party is lots of fun, so come and see old mother bun. to her party then let’s repair; we all will have a good time there.
-when old mother bun’s birthday came old father bun said,
-“i must pat you, so i am told, as many years as you’re years old.”
-old mother bun went and hid in the closet.
-pretty bunny said,
-“i’ve a present for you, mother bun; come out now and enjoy the fun.”
-old mother bun peeped out of the closet and saw that pretty bunny had brought her a new table cloth.
-old father bun said, “i declare, here’s a new rocking chair.”
-old mother bun was so pleased with her presents that she did not hear the bell go “tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.”
-by and by a voice cried,
-“old mother bun, we beg your pardon, but here is a party in your garden.”
-into the garden trooped the flower families.
-there was the pink family, and the geranium family, and the mint family, the sunflower family, and the primrose family. the nettle family even peeped boldly over the fence!!
-old mother bun said, “i made a mistake; i never thought of a birthday cake.”
-then all the bunnies shouted and out came old father bun with a birthday cake with many candles upon it.
-all the visitors did not arrive on time.
-the butterflies came in handsome dresses and brought old mother bun a new mirror.
-the birds came bringing her a new song book.
-by and by an old peddler came singing,
-“i am a peddler with a heavy pack; of birthday presents i have no lack: to stay at home i have no knack; i am a peddler with a heavy pack.”
-the flower families crowded around the peddler and each bought a present for old mother bun.
-the peddler had many interesting stories to tell, and the pretty elf told stories, and the marigold family told stories, too. the pool-flower had a word to say; the water-dragon and mary bud said, “let us relate our own story, please.” they were all members of the marigold family.
-one of the members of the marigold family said, “once caltha fell in love with the sun-god and looked up at him day after day. all night she waited for the first rosy hint of the sun’s coming. she became a spirit reflecting the sun, and she turned into a marigold.”
-as it grew late, one member of the marigold family cried,
-“the witches are coming, the witches are coming; we had all better hide; the witches are coming, the witches are coming; they soon will take a ride.”
-one and all the flower families went home, and echo bunny who had come at the last minute called, speaking of the witches, “a ride, a ride, a ride.”
-old mother bun said,
-“the ragweed is out, without a doubt, the witches soon will all come out.”
-sure enough, five and twenty witches came in the twilight and pulled up five and twenty stalks of ragweed and rode away singing,
-“we search in the highways and the ditches; we are very little witches; on ragweed, we say, we’ll ride away, a year and a day, a year and a day.”
-the pretty elf said a magic charm, and so the witches did no harm.
-old father bun said,
-“the party is over, but let me say, i wish you happy returns of the day.”
-old mother bun said,
-“let’s gather some leaves; from what i hear; we are very near the fall of the year.”
-they gathered leaves and went inside and warmed their paws by the fire.
-the little bunnies noticed that the leaves did not all look alike. they were different in size, form and color.
-the pretty elf sang,
-“each leaf a fairy is, in pretty gown; each leaf a fairy is, come to town. so close your eyes, if you are wise, and i will give you a surprise.”
-the bunnies did as they were told, and when they opened their eyes each of the leaves they had gathered held a fairy.
-maple and oak leaves, yellow and brown, gay little play leaves, dancing down, down.
-one leaf with a smooth edge said,
-“to talk in verse is very fine; my margin is an even line.”
-another leaf, with a fairy in it, cried,
-“i am jagged beyond belief; i am called a saw-toothed leaf.”
-“i am wavy in margin, as wavy can be, there are many kinds of leaf like me.”
-still another leaf called,
-“let me tell you before we start, my blade is cut up into parts; so that my verse may not be one-sided, let me say we are lobed, cleft, parted, divided.”
-each little fairy from the leaf danced to old mother bun and left a present.
-just as the bunnies were wondering if it were bed time, a “rap-a-tap” was heard and in came the peddler singing,
-“i have traveled again hours and hours to see mother bunny and her flowers.”
-old mother bun gave the peddler a fine supper and asked him to stay for the night. he said, after supper,
-“i have in my pack a little book; bunnies, peep in and take a look.”
-pretty bunny and healthy bunny thought it great fun to peep into the peddler’s pack, and by and by they drew out a wonderful book all about flowers.
-it had one chapter called, “uses of plants.”
-the bunnies read aloud,
-“plants are useful, we declare; they help purify the air. food for animals they yield in the meadow and the field; from seed and fibres, we believe, clothing is made, and from mulberry leaves; they help make fuel, which makes light, you’ll learn when these lines you recite; don’t forget, before we’re done, to mention their use for medicine.”
-old father bun said,
-“i take off my hat to old mother bun; i am serious, not in fun: mother bun’s flowers so useful appear, i hope they will grow year after year.”
-the pretty elf danced to and fro,
-“their perfume is a delight to me, to every butterfly and bee; that plants are useful is a surprise; i thought they were to delight the eyes.”
-healthy bunny said,
-“old mother bun, i love flowers, too; i will help weed the garden for you.”
-pretty bunny said,
-“old mother bun, i’m a faithful daughter; i will help the flowers to water.”
-they invited the peddler to stay with them and he almost consented. he said at any rate he would give them the book about flowers.
-when the bunnies were falling asleep, they heard a gentle “pitter, patter.”
-said old mother bun, “what can be the matter?”
-the peddler traveled down the stairs, saying, “i hope nobody cares; i never had place for my abode; i travel off to the song of the road.”
-“we invite you--this is the reason, to view plants in and out of season, so hoppety-skip away you’ll go, with mother bun to the flower show.”
-old mother bun said next day,
-“we’re happy as happy can be, you know; we’re off and away to the flower show.”
-the flower show
-“’tis very jolly fun, you know, to travel to a flower show, so come and join us, every one; we’re off and away with old mother bun.”
-one fall day old mother bun said,
-“off and away we soon will go to the city flower show.”
-old father bun said,
-“wait until my scarecrow is made; the crows are in the corn, i’m afraid.”
-he went out to make a scarecrow.
-old mother bun called anxiously,
-“you’ll bring on yourself some disaster, if you step on my bed of asters!”
-old father bun put up two sticks in the garden and nailed a board across. he put a hat and suit of clothes on his scarecrow. the scarecrow looked very life-like when he was finished.
-one bunny thought he could hear him walk; “i’m a scarecrow and i must learn to walk, if not wise when you sleep or rise, some day i may take you by surprise.”
-at this very instant old mother bun called,
-“father bun, did you hear what i said? don’t tumble into my aster bed.”
-she was so afraid father bun would not notice where he was going and disturb some of her flowers.
-old mother bun loved her fall flowers, so she called again,
-“of my petunias have a care; father bun, don’t step there.”
-healthy bunny and pretty bunny went out and gathered golden-rod and brought it home, and set it in great jars by the front door. the golden-rod said,
-“by the road i grow, but this i know, i sing it over, hour by hour, i sing it over hour by hour i am your chosen national flower.”
-even as the golden-rod talked, the song-finch and song sparrow came to see if there were any seeds ready for them.
-happy-go-lucky bunny came in sight with a surprise for old mother bun. he had a basket full of the little plant she wanted for her wild flower garden called, “butter-and-eggs.”
-these little plants trembled all over when they were transplanted into mother bun’s garden.
-the butter-and-eggs said,
-“we are curious as you know, we came from europe long ago; we’ll tell some secrets by and by; our flowers are often used for dye.”
-happy bunny came hoppety-skip along shouting,
-“who will go, who will go to the pretty flower show?”
-they could not see echo bunny but a voice called, “flower show.”
-homeless bunny and shadow bunny came with their baskets and cried,
-“the time is creeping on, you know; let’s all start to the flower show.”
-the stay-at-home bunny said, “i beg pardon, but i will weed a while in mother bun’s garden.”
-the bunnies all took rakes and hoes and began to weed the garden. they sang to the tune of “lightly row,” as they worked.
-“rake and hoe, rake and hoe, weed the flowers and help them grow; rake and hoe, rake and hoe, jolly fun you know. by and by come pleasant showers, all to help the thirsty flowers; rake and hoe, rake and hoe, help the flowers grow.”
-soon everything seemed ready and they started off to the flower show, when old mother bun turned her ankle and feared she could not walk another step, so they set up a wail,
-“another step she cannot go, alas! alas! for the flower show.”
-old father bun got a wheelbarrow and they took turns wheeling her.
-when they came to the flower show they saw rooms and rooms filled with cactus and many curious flowers.
-the pitcher plant had each little pitcher partly filled with water. it said,
-“i tell you i like boggy ground; i am glad you came around; insects get in and laugh and shout, but i seldom let them out.”
-pretty bunny peeped into the pitcher plant and saw something sticky on the inside and hairs pointing downward which made it hard to get out.
-old mother bun was much interested in the cactus, and reaching out its thorns, it cried,
-“in the desert go look for me; i can store up water, you see. of our 600 species i shout aloud; i can draw around me quite a crowd. many things this plant affords, among them fodder, fruit, and cords.”
-all the flowers were beautiful and each one had a story to tell.
-old father bun bought a great basket of chrysanthemums to take home. one very large flower said,
-“old father bun, do you hear me sigh? there are no chrysanthemums in himaji.”
-this flower said that chrysanthemums grew all over china except in this one place, because it was not thought lucky to raise them there.
-the story goes that a great man once had a servant who took care of his gold plates, and one day one gold plate was missing. the servant was so afraid that she threw herself in a well, and her ghost comes every night at the stroke of nine to count the gold plates.
-all about the flower show were quaint figures, some of them made entirely of chrysanthemums.
-on their way home the bunnies met mistress mary and she was so contrary she would not tell how her flowers were growing. she only said,
-“the rose is red, the violet blue, the gillyflower sweet--and so are you.”
-she looked at old mother bun, for everyone loved her.
-the bunnies were so tired old mother bun began to tell them a story, as some of them rode in the wheelbarrow and some of them trudged along.
-“there once was a wooden rocking horse, and i can tell you the story, of course.”
-she continued: “every night he went to sleepy town and one night he saw father bun so sleepy that he said,
-“on the rocking horse you can go, trot, trot, trot to dreamland, you know.”
-soon they met shy squirrel and sleepy sparrow and they all flew on the back of the rocking horse.
-all night long, all night long, the rocking horse sang his good night song.
-at this very minute in the telling of the story there appeared a rocking horse in the road, and the bunnies got on his back and left the old wheelbarrow in the road.
-said the rocking horse, “i beg your pardon, but i want to rock into mother bun’s garden.”
-soon they all arrived and the rocking horse rocked all about the garden and though they begged him to stay for the night he went off singing,
-“on the rocking horse you can go, trot, trot, trot, to dreamland you know.”
-next day old father bun was so busy outside that old mother bun inquired, “what are you doing in the garden?”
-old father bun said, “since you ask it, i am making an in-door basket.”
-he planned to put rich earth and slips in it and hang it up in the window.
-“autumn is coming in this world of ours; jack frost will freeze and tease the flowers.”
-already the bunnies had gathered flower seeds.
-already they had gathered vegetables and put them in the cellar.
-many plants wanted to be potted and taken in-doors.
-“don’t forget me,” called each flower-pot; “i’ll hold a flower, as like as not.” the window-box cried: “your next trip, come and place in me another slip;” the bulbs said to the bunnies, son and daughter: “plant us in earth or plant us in water.”
-they planted some bulbs in water and watched the long white roots grow downward day after day, while the green stalks shot upward.
-that night old mother bun was sitting up late when she heard a voice call,
-“old mother bun, old mother bun, look at your scarecrow, just for fun.”
-she looked out and saw the scarecrow dancing to and fro and a wee elf peeping out of each pocket.
-she put on a shawl and went into the garden.
-old mother bun went to her pansy bed, “we grow the more you pick us,” they said.
-old mother bun picked a basket full of pansies to send to a sick neighbor the next day.
-she said, “some pansies i’ll give away; i will send some to sick folks every day.”
-“every day,” called echo bunny.
-the pansies must have heard what old mother bun and echo bunny said, for next day the bed was full of bloom.
-the green house bunny
-“mother bunny, if you please, tell us of your flowering trees, and we’ll join in laughter funny when we meet the green house bunny.”
-one afternoon old mother bun had worked so hard in her garden that she fell asleep, and she thought instead of autumn it was springtime, and that she heard all her flowering trees talking together.
-the redbud tree said,
-“my flowers are pretty, every one believes, and i put out my pink flowers before my leaves.”
-the silver bell tree laughed and its laughter sounded like a bell going “tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.”
-the catalpa tree sang,
-“the wind shakes my branches, hours and hours; down they fall, my big white flowers.”
-the witch hazel tree said,
-“i love to bloom in this garden of yours; see my flower-parts, in fours.”
-the hawthorn tree said,
-“spring time’s a happy time, every one believes; i put my flowers out, after my green leaves.”
-a voice sang,
-“ha, ha, ha, now we see flowers on the nutmeg tree.”
-the nutmeg flowers grow on an evergreen tree.
-the voice continued,
-“if spices are among your needs, i’ll tell you that we grow from seeds; after we sprout as like as not, you’d better put us in a pot; transplanted then with care, you see, we’ll grow into a sturdy tree; soon we’ll be growing safe and sound, and bear fruit all the year around.”
-old mother bun was wakened from her dream by hearing a voice call,
-“wake up, wake up, at any cost, we must haste before jack frost.”
-old father bun had many flower-pots in a row, and the little bunnies were helping him pot geraniums.
-“dig up the roots with much dirt around; they will hardly know they have left the ground.”
-old mother bun said, “i had such a wonderful dream! i thought it was springtime.”
-that evening as they sat by the fire, they heard some one call,
-they opened the door and the cutest little fellow stood, hat in hand, saying,
-“ha, ha, you may think it funny, but i’m called the green house bunny.”
-he told old father bun there were plenty of bricks in the back yard to start in building the green house, and there were some old window-lights that would do for the hot beds.
-next day they all set to work in real earnest and began to build.
-old mother bun began to think of selling her flowers.
-she wrote cute little cards saying,
-“come and see what i have new; chrysanthemums i introduce to you.”
-many of the potted plants fairly trembled in their pots as they thought of having a nice warm place to spend the winter in and a real green house.
-the little bunnies were planning one corner for their bulbs. they were planning to plant slips in a bed of sand.
-the green house bunny sang to the tune of “yankee doodle,”
-“if you will plant a slip each day, i’ll tell you what we’ll do, sir. if you will plant a slip each day, we’ll soon have something new, sir!”
-“if you’ll learn to name them all, there’s no way of knowing, in the springtime or the fall, pretty flowers are growing.”
-the green house bunny remarked,
-“before i go on my vacation, i want to talk about propagation.”
-old mother bun said,
-“green house bunny, before you go, will you tell us how plants grow?”
-the green house bunny answered,
-“i like plants better far than weeds; they multiply by buds and seeds.”
-he took the bunnies out into the garden and bent a branch down to the ground. he cut a notch in it, and covered it with earth. he said it would root by and by and could be cut off then from the main branch.
-he said we could also make plants grow from slips, seeds, and bulbs.
-as they went back into the green-house, the green house bunny showed them a picture of a water-lily, saying, “a water-nymph hides in the shape of a water-lily, and becomes a beautiful maiden when she chooses and,
-“a naughty little water-sprite lives under the leaves from morn till night.”
-the little water-sprite tries to play tricks on any one who gathers the water-lilies.”
-old mother bun said,
-“we bunnies will have capital fun, for now our green house is nearly done.”
-old father bun said,
-“off and away to the woods i’ll go; i’ll bring back treasures, as you know.”
-healthy bunny and pretty bunny went with him, and my! what treasures they did find to bring back!
-they brought gay autumn leaves, and milk-weed pods, and wild grapes, and nuts, and they sang,
-“autumn time, autumn time, merry hours in every clime, autumn days, autumn days, see the bonfire’s purple haze.”
-all went merrily with the bunnies until pretty bunny grew ill. she was sleepy all the time and nothing seemed to interest her.
-the sunshine said, “i will wake her.”
-the raindrops said,
-“i’ll tinkle, tinkle on the window pane; i will make pretty bunny laugh again.”
-pretty bunny did not laugh at the raindrops.
-what next happened do you suppose? there crept on a vine a little late rose.
-it crept up, up, up, and peeped in at pretty bunny and inside the rose was curled up little tickle toes, the merry elf.
-he tickled her toes and tickled her nose, and made her happy, as you would suppose.
-soon pretty bunny was well and helped old mother bun protect her roses, and cover the fern bed and soon snow fell on old mother bun’s garden, but the flowers in the green house were blooming merrily, and many customers came to buy.
-“tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,” went the green house bell, how many times a day i cannot tell.
-nearly every house in bunnyville had a blooming plant in the window.
-“i have been working hours and hours to try to make some paper flowers.”
-he took a tulip petal, and traced around it on card board and used this as a pattern. he cut many petals from red crepe paper for his tulips. he placed wire between two paper petals and glued them together, then he wired all the petals together and put a little yellow round on the end of his stem, which he wrapped with green paper.
-while he was doing this, old mother bun had some fun of her own. she cut out some birds and butterflies of paste-board and painted them gayly. she fastened them on twigs and set them around in the flower pots.
-when old father bun came out with his paper tulips everything looked very gay.
-late that night, when the rest of the bunnies were sleeping, old mother bun looked out into her garden covered with snow. she sighed for her flowers but a fairy voice called,
-“don’t let me ever find you weeping, for your flowers are only sleeping, safe in mother nature’s keeping.”
-the moon peeped out from a cloud and said,
-“on your garden i am streaming, airy, fairy moonlight gleaming, while your little flowers are dreaming.”
-a little star twinkled and hummed,
-“i twinkle, twinkle in the blue, and a watch i keep for you, because i love the flowers too.”
-the sun-dial showed the days were getting shorter and shorter.
-“after winter comes the spring; in every season let us sing, and just be glad of everything.”
-pretty bunny and healthy bunny dreamed that night that they were sailing away, away, in milk-weed cradles.
-a flower play for any day.
-old mother bun went to her garden bed; “pansies are really blooming,” she said. “mid sun and shower, in half an hour, we’ll see many a dainty flower.”
-the winter had been hard and long.
-old mother bun had patched and mended the bunnies’ clothes, and old father bun had mended and patched the furniture, and, except for visitors to the green house, they had seen little of the outside world.
-one morning the pansies lifted their heads and the crocuses began to grow. said old mother bun, “i sing and sing, for all these flowers are signs of spring.”
-old father bun heard the birds singing and he said,
-“all the birds are on the wing, their songs are truly signs of spring.”
-it was at this very minute that healthy bunny said,
-“hear that noisy clitter-clatter, what, indeed, can be the matter?”
-the march hare came bounding in the window.
-he upset the cups and saucers and spilled the cream from the pitcher.
-“i run here, and there, and everywhere; i am the jolly mad march hare.”
-he was so noisy it was some time before old father bun’s voice could be heard. he said by and by,
-“can you suggest anything to help celebrate the spring?”
-the march hare turned two somersaults and said,
-“i may be here, i may be away, but why not give a flower play?”
-“hurrah, hurrah,” cried pretty bunny.
-“hurrah, hurrah,” cried happy-go-lucky bunny.
-shadow bunny said, “i hope you will give the play on a sunny day, so i can be there.”
-the friendly tree toad chirped,
-“you will have to buy costumes for your play; really bunnies, i see no other way.”
-the bunnies sat down in a circle and put on their thinking caps, for they had no dimes or pennies with which to buy costumes for the flower play.
-suddenly, without any warning whatever, old father bun began to laugh and old mother bun began to laugh, and healthy bunny said,
-“old mother bun, you never told what you found in the pot of gold.”
-old mother bun got the pot of gold she had found at the rainbow end, and took off the cover. out rolled more gold pieces than you have ever dreamed of!
-she had forgotten all about the pot of gold.
-now, they could buy costumes for the flower play.
-they began to think about the play.
-the march hare said he would be the clown, and the tree toad said he would be ticket-seller.
-they built a real little stage in old mother bun’s garden, and they studied their parts until one bright may day when the sun shone warm and bright, the march hare gave the prologue and the play began on the day set for it:
-“we do not need to beg your pardon for giving a play in mother bun’s garden; the sun is bright, the scenery right, and so our neighbors we invite; the flowers we introduce to you, in their costumes bright and new; we are a little nervous; this is the reason, frost comes sometimes out of season; we’ve just begun to have much fun in the garden of old mother bun.”
-the play then began.
-pansies. “see, we are the pansies with happy faces and kind thoughts. we do not fear jack frost. we do not fear a little snow. we will dance for you and sing for you.”
-1st pansy. “are any of our enemies about?”
-2nd pansy. “are there any insects and bugs to worry us?”
-3rd pansy. “there is no sign of our enemy, hail.”
-4th pansy. “oh, we must hide; here come real enemies, the careless children! some of them will step on us, some of them will pick us with such short stems we will be useless.”
-“we are careless children, oh me, oh my; to be careful we never try. we do not mind what any one’s said; ha, ha, let’s go to the pansy bed.”
-“ho, ho, ho, don’t you dare; i’m the bad little, sad little mad march hare!”
-“we beg your pardon, we beg your pardon; we see we are in mother bun’s garden!”
-“we love the birds and love the bees; we have few enemies, is you please.”
-song, tune “lightly row.”
-hollyhocks, hollyhocks, growing by the garden walks, hollyhocks, hollyhocks hear their merry talks, red and yellow, pink and white, standing in the bright sunlight, hollyhocks, hollyhocks, growing by the walks.
-insects (humming behind scenes)
-“we are insects, if you please, we destroy flowers and trees.”
-“no, no, no, i beg your pardon; you’ll not destroy them in mother bun’s garden. i am a tree toad, with work to do; i will call useful sparrows too.”
-“we’ll drive the insects all away, mother bun, for you; we’ll drive the insects all away, and this is what we’ll do; we’ll sing and play as well we may, and enjoy our holiday.”
-daisies (dancing in pairs).
-“we’re daisies who dance, we lightly advance, and skip in two’s, if you please; we’re daisies who dance, and lightly advance, we love the birds and bees.”
-“i’m old king hail, i seldom fail to give some one a fright; my hail stones come, a tum, ti, tum, at morning, noon, or night.”
-“i’ll put you to rout, without a doubt; you’re just a rough old roustabout.”
-little elves rise from tulips at the back of the stage singing to the tune of “twinkle little star.”
-“flowers are blooming everywhere, sweet bird songs are in the air, see their colors gay unfurled, spring has come o’er all the world.”
-“i cut up some capers, i do declare, i am the comical mad march hare, if you like our play, we say, call on us another day.”
-the little play was over and all the visitors went home.
-old father bun said,
-“i’ll sit down now in my arm chair, and smoke away with never a care.”
-“will you?” said the scarecrow in the garden.
-“will you?” cried the sun dial.
-old mother bun said,
-“i’ll sit down and knit a heel or toe; i’ll sit down and knit an hour or so.”
-“will you?” they all cried.
-suddenly such a rapping and tapping was heard, such a stamping of feet that all the bunnies went to the door to see what was the matter.
-there was a surprise party for mother bun!
-all the bunnies came trooping in, and old father bun did not have his quiet smoke, and old mother bun did not knit her heel and toe, but they had a merry time, and the most delightful thing was still to happen!
-after they had brought in hampers of good things, a great wagon drove up, and in it was a wonderful garden seat.
-the bunnies set up a shout.
-“good bye, good bye, ’till next we meet; old mother bun, here is a garden seat. we wish you many happy hours, in the garden with your flowers.”
-all the bunnies went homeward.
-said old mother bun, “good bye, good bye; to be happy i always try.”
-she looked at old father bun who took a puff at his pipe, saying,
-“good night, but i give all fair warning, we’ll meet in the garden to-morrow morning.”
-mother bun nodded her wise old head and dreamed of elves in the tulip bed; she said, “the story is done, my dear, but i’ll plant a new garden every year.”
-education and living
-author of “youth and life,” “the gary schools”
-copyright, 1917, by the century co.
-copyright, 1915, 1916, 1917, by the republic publishing co.
-these papers, reprinted with slight additions from the pages of the “new republic,” through the courtesy of the editors, do not pretend to be anything more than glimpses and paraphrases of new tendencies in the american school and college. the public school is the most interesting and the most hopeful of our american social enterprises during these days of sluggishness for us and dreary horror for the rest of the world. it is becoming one of the few rational and one of the few democratic things we have, and science and hope are laying a foundation upon which a really self-conscious society could build almost anything it chose. the school fascinates me because there is almost no sociological, administrative or psychological truth that cannot be drawn out of its manifold life. it is the laboratory for human nature, and the only one that is simple enough to study with any prospect of quick enlightenment. experiment in education has come to stay, and this means that we have it in our hands to approach ever more closely our ideal of education as living. we can make the school ever more and more nearly that child-community life towards which our best endeavor points.
-the point-of-view of these papers will be recognized as the product of an enthusiasm for the educational philosophy of john dewey. but what is a good philosophy for except to paraphrase? the discovery of truisms means merely that my enthusiasms are being communicated to an unappreciative reader. certainly the most recent educational sensation indicates that there are still crowds of professional educators and parents to whom such ideas are not truisms. to see education, not as a preparation for life or as a process segregated from other activities, but as identical with living, takes more imagination than most teachers have yet acquired. if the school is a place where children live intensively and expressively, it will be a place where they will learn. the ideal educational system would continue with the adult all through his or her active life, sharpening skill, interpreting experience, providing intellectual tools with which to express and enjoy. just as education and play should be scarcely separable for the little child, so education and work should be scarcely separable for the adult. by closing off the school and boxing up learning we have really smothered education. we are only just beginning to revive. we have first to make over the school into a real child-community, filled with activities which stimulate the child and focus his interest towards some constructive work, and then we have to teach the teacher how to expose the child to the various activities and guide his interest so that it will be purposeful. the school can thus become a sifter where children unconsciously as they live along from day to day are choosing the ways in which they can best serve both themselves and their community as workers and citizens in the great scheme.
-the papers on the gary schools are reprinted not because i wish to exploit the system or its superintendent, but because of the usefulness of a concrete example to hang wandering theory to. the schools of mr. wirt’s conception, in spite of many inadequacies of realization, still seem to me the happiest framework i have yet found in the american public school for the fulfillment of the new educational ideals. no one can deny that in the actual schools much of the old unconsciousness and regimentation still stick their unwelcome head through, but my somewhat naïve impressions do reflect, i am sure, a spirit which is there, and a possibility that is very near for the american community to catch. to praise one thing, however, is not to damn everything else, and it would be false to pretend that almost every city in our country has not latent within its system the embryo of the modern school. some are simply more conscious than others. some actually envisage education as living.
-education and living
-education and living
-what is the current broadening of the public school--the bringing in of gymnasiums and pools, shops and gardens, dramatics and organized play--but a new effort to realize the school as more a life and less an institution? are we not getting a little restless over the resemblance of our schools to penitentiaries, reformatories, orphan asylums, rather than to free and joyous communities? a school system whose object was little more than to abolish illiteracy and prepare the more fortunate for college was bound to fall an easy prey to the mechanical organizer. education in this country has been one-sidedly professionalized. the machinery was developed before the moving ideals were worked out. professional educators have worked too much for a logical system rather than for an experimental adjustment to the life needs of individual children. we have achieved a democratic education in the sense that common schooling is practically within the reach of every one. but a democratic education in the sense of giving equal opportunities to each child of finding in the school that life and training which he peculiarly needs, has still to be generally worked for. the problem of american education is now to transform an institution into a life.
-let us not deny the value of that emphasis on administration. the slow progress from the diffuse district school to the well organized state system represents the welding of a powerful instrument for a future democracy to use. centralized and efficient administration is indispensable for insuring educational benefits to all. but there is a danger that we shall create capable administrators faster than we create imaginative educators. it is so easy to forget that this tightening of the machinery is only in order that the product may be finer and richer. unless it does so result in more creative life it will be a detriment rather than a good. for it is too easy to make the running of the machine, the juggling with schedules and promotions and curricula and courses and credits, the end. to institutionalize a social function is always the line of least resistance.
-we are becoming used to the impressive schoolhouses that tower over the unkempt and fragile houses of our american towns. the school already overshadows the church. if this means that the school is the most important place in the community, then it is a hopeful sign. but if its slightly forbidding bulk means simply that there is another institution to put people through a uniform process, or indeed through any kind of process, then we are no further along. the educators of the last generation, whether from false ideas of democracy or from administrative convenience or necessity, imposed deadly uniformities of subject matter and method on the children in the schools. they assumed that a uniform process would give uniform results. but children are infinitely varied in temperament and capacity and interests. so the uniform process gave the most wildly heterogeneous results. and the present unrest arises from our amazed dissatisfaction that so admirable and long-continued a public-school education should have left the masses of children so little stimulated and trained.
-the pseudo-science of education under which most of us were brought up assumed that children were empty vessels to be filled by knowledge. teachers and parents still feel that to cut down an arithmetic hour to forty-five minutes is to deprive the child of a fourth of his education. but children are not empty vessels, nor are they automatic machines which can be wound up and set running on a track by the teacher. they are pushing wills and desires and curiosities. they are living, growing things, and they need nothing so much as a place where they can grow. they live as wholes far more than older people do, and they cannot be made to become minds and minds alone for four or five hours a day--that is, without stultification. the school forgets that we are only accidentally intellectual, that our other impulses are far more imperious. because a teacher can secure outward order, it does not mean that she has harmonized the child’s personality. she has not the least clue to the riot or apathy or delusion that may be going on inside him. she may easily become a drill-sergeant, but she must not think that she has thereby become an educational scientist.
-to become that she will have to think of the school as a place where children spend their time living not as artificially segregated minds but as human things. she would have to judge their activities in terms of an interesting life. and that involves good health, play, sport, constructive work, talk, questioning, exercise, friendship, personal expression, as well as reading and learning. a place where children really lived would be a place that gave opportunities for all these activities to just the extent that children were individually capable of expressing themselves. children want to be busy together, they want to try their hand at tools and materials, they want to find out what older people do and watch them at it. they have to flounder about and have all sorts of experiences before they touch their spring of interest and face their real direction. all their education is really acquired in the same random way that the baby learns to control his movements and respond to his environment. no matter how the school tries to organize their learning, and feed it to them in graduated doses, this way of trial and error is really the one by which they will learn. you have no way of guaranteeing that they will learn what you think you are teaching them. what you can do is to put them in a controlled environment where they will most frequently strike the electric contact of curiosity and response, and get experiences that thrill with meaning for them.
-life in its lowest terms is a matter of passing the time. it would be well if educators would more often remember this. if they did, would they not examine more carefully the life which they provide for growing youth? college and high school life is reasonably antiseptic, it is not oppressive, it is not particularly arbitrary or shabby. but compared abstractly with what might be a good life, given the interests and outlook and needed training of youth, would it not seem a little sorry? is it not a travesty, except for the few, on a really stimulating and creative way of spending time? suppose educators seriously measured their schools by this standard of the good life. suppose we really tried to carry out the principle that the secret of life is to pass time worthily.
-most of this current educational interest is another stab at the age-long problem of making education synonymous with living. we are rediscovering the fact that we learn only as we desire, as we seek to understand or as we are busy. we are trying to make the school a place where children cannot escape doing these things. we see now that education has grown up in this country in a separate institutional compartment, jealously apart from the rest of the community life. it has developed its own technique, its own professional spirit. its outlines are cold and logical. it is far the best ordered of our institutions. its morale is the nearest thing we have to compulsory military service. there is something remote and antiseptic about even our best schools. they contrast strangely with the color and confusion of the rest of our american life. the bare class-rooms, the stiff seats, the austere absence of beauty, suggest a hospital where painful if necessary intellectual operations are going on. additions of gymnasiums and shops and studios to such a school will do little to set the current of life flowing again. the whole school must be loosened up, the stiff forms made flexible, children thought of as individuals and not as “classes.” thus new activities must be woven into a genuine child-community life. these things must be the contacts with experience that waken and focus children’s interests. they must be opportunities for spontaneous living.
-the school constantly encroaches on the home. it provides play and work opportunities that even well-to-do homes cannot provide. it must take over too the free and comradely atmosphere of the homes and the streets where children play. let teachers face the fact that they cannot teach masses of children anything with the assurance that they will really assimilate it. what they can do is to fill the school with all kinds of typical experiences, and see that children are exposed to them. they can see that children have a chance to dabble in them, touch tools and growing things, read books, draw, swim, play and sing. let the teacher cleverly supervise and coördinate, see that the children’s interests are drawn out, and that what they do contributes toward their growth. in the last analysis, each child will have to educate himself up to his capacity. he can only educate himself by living. the school will be the place where he lives most worthily.
-our best american public schools are already in sight of such an ideal. americans need more than anything to learn how to live. this is the first business of education.
-the self-conscious school
-in the educational excitement of to-day we scarcely realize how far the modern school is passing out of that era when the program for work and study was carefully constructed with a view to the child’s “preparation for life.” educators saw the world as divided into two radically different classes, adults and school-children. the adults were functioning in a definite sphere, using a certain self-contained and common body of knowledge to do their work and make their way in the world. the children, on the other hand, were waiting like the little unborn souls in “the blue bird,” to take their places in that active world. if their parents were using knowledge as a current intellectual coin with which experience could be bought and social exchange effected, the child who had any chance of succeeding as an adult would have to be put in possession of as much of this current coin as he could hold, quite regardless of his own enthusiasm for it or his own consciousness of what it was all about.
-the free public school, therefore, became the place where children took into themselves such automatically usable knowledge as would be important for them in the remote future of their active adulthood. since book-knowledge had acquired honorific distinction as the badge of a leisure class--and did not every democratic parent wish his child to “rise in the world”?--and since it was of all knowledge the most easily negotiable in the form of simple processes and facts, this type of knowledge became the stock of the school. then at some time a not unintelligent attempt was supposedly made to compare this current stock of intellectual paper money with the specie circulating outside in the community at large, to see whether the school reserve was accurate and sufficient. this attention lapsed, however, and the curriculum became a closed system, handed down to the uncritical and unconscious child with the authority of prestige and the sanctions of school discipline.
-in this unconscious school, knowledge was presented to us not as acquaintance with things but with “subjects.” text-books were given us holding the golden lore, and education became the slow nibbling away at their facts for six to twelve years. we came to think of ourselves as cupboards in which were laboriously stored bundles of knowledge. we knew dimly the shape of the articles and the distinction of the materials within. but we never expected to see the contents until we were grown, when we would joyfully open our packages and use them to the infinite glory of our worldly success and happiness. but it was a slow child who did not begin to suspect, long before his shelves were full, that most of his adult friends had lost no time, when their schooldays were over, in locking their cupboards and leaving their bundles to the dust and worms.
-the fine technique of the unconscious school as worked out by educators in normal schools and teachers’ colleges in the last forty years can be read in any current school survey. here the coincidence of work and study with the child’s interests is accidental. indeed, many parents and teachers are still opposed to making too large a part of the curriculum appeal to the child’s ephemeral interests. discipline is still thought of not as willed skill, which it is, but as the ability to do painful things. a world where children do joyfully and well what interests them, instead of what is “good” for them (because unpleasant), still excites the envious mistrust of an older generation.
-yet the transformation from the unconscious school to the self-conscious school is the very kernel of the present educational excitement. the new schools which arouse enthusiasm are those in which the child is learning what has meaning to him as a child. he no longer does things because it is the “teacher’s way.” that old perverted honor of the teacher never to admit that she is wrong lest the child’s confidence be disturbed and he become conscious and critical of the methods and materials of his education, is breaking down. we are learning that in the unconscious school the prizes go to the docile and unquestioning, not to those of initiative and skill. the school that keeps children in ignorance of what they are doing trains them for an uncritical life in society.
-the discovery is not new that all the skill necessary to live an effective life in america to-day is not contained in a few readers, arithmetics, abridged histories and geographies, an elementary algebra and plane geometry, a latin, greek, or german grammar, with cullings from the works of cæsar, virgil, xenophon, cicero and homer. when educators found that adult life overflowed these narrow limits, they introduced manual training, gymnastics, drawing and music; but the child became no more self-conscious, for these were merely additional “subjects.” the radical discovery of to-day is that the adult world is not primarily engaged in turning information into power. the adult rarely has a historical or a geographical or an arithmetical thought unconnected with experience. what he does is to work very concretely at a myriad of occupations, intellectual and mechanical, concerned with making a living, bringing up a family, dealing with people, casting a vote, reading newspapers. he has a great diversity of horizons, and the most effective people are those who react most intelligently to their experience as a whole. power and information increase together, not one at a time. the effective adult is a self-conscious personality. the only school which can be a genuine preparation for life is a self-conscious school. the child must learn to live in the same kind of world that his elders live in. the school must be the community in which his child-life develops. his play and work must be, first of all, interesting activity.
-fortunately the modern movement to make the school self-conscious has begun at the bottom. the four earlier years of the public school as taught by recently trained teachers are now generally filled, even in conservative city systems, with this new vivid consciousness. dramatization, the learning of reading and writing and arithmetic through play, group-games and folk-dancing, gardening, constructive wood-working--all this is a sign of the growing self-consciousness of the school. in the more advanced schools, shop and science work, community excursions, illustrative drawing and design, fertilize the life of the older children. the most complete self-consciousness is realized in a school of the wirt type, where all the varied activities are arranged to contribute to the upkeep or enrichment of the school plant and the school community. for the older children the expanding community becomes an extension of the school, and they learn the operation of the adult world by going out to see the institutions of their community and asking questions about them. in the self-conscious school the child’s own curiosity sets the cue, and the school’s work is to provide manifold opportunities for the satisfaction of that curiosity.
-as this self-consciousness spreads up through the school system, we should get a new type of intelligence. children will get a sense of means used for ends, and this sense is the most imperative discipline that we need. a revolutionary reorganization of the curriculum will be effected. already unapplied mathematics and unrelated classics are passing. yet those years which should most closely approximate in function and appreciation and in intellectual attitude the adult world remain unregenerated. little seems to have been done to alter the old high school, still regarded principally as the gateway to the largely unconscious college. as a community of adolescent life, meeting sex-interests, new idealisms and new assertions, it is a failure. but as the older pedagogy fades out, and the younger children trained in the self-conscious school advance, we may expect a new orientation for the older years. meanwhile our most valuable criterion for any school, public or private, city or rural, is, “how far towards self-consciousness, as expressed in the individual child and in the school community as a whole, has the school progressed?”
-the wasted years
-only one child out of fourteen in our school system ever reaches the high school; whatever education ninety per cent. of american children are to have they must acquire before they are fourteen years old. so elementary a fact as this, it would seem, should be at the background of every discussion and criticism of the public schools. yet the most cursory inspection of the average city public school shows that its significance has only recently and very dimly been realized.
-indeed, as the average city public school is at present organized, there is every reason to believe that most of the children get practically all their education before their tenth year. limited as this schooling is, they do not by any means get the full advantage of what is supposed to be given them. one can hardly come from a study of the everyday classroom work of the average city school without a conviction that there is disastrous intellectual leakage which has been strangely ignored by educators.
-this leakage is not in the primary school and the high school. for the teaching of “the three r’s” american normal schools and training colleges in recent years have worked out many admirable techniques, which seem to have been generally adopted. the younger generation of teachers is doing efficiently its work of giving the child a mastery of these essentials of civilized intercourse. the present primary school on its intellectual side is an efficient institution.
-similarly the high school has had a large amount of attention and skill lavished upon it. its administrative peculiar problems have been studied and met. the best high schools have been made to approximate elementary colleges, with well-rounded courses of languages and sciences, of artistic, manual and physical work. for the highly selected group which reaches the high school it provides an excellent purely intellectual curriculum, both for higher study and for social orientation.
-between the primary school and the high school, however, there lies a desert waste of four years, the significance and possibilities of which seem to have been scarcely considered. they are the most urgent years of all, for in them the educator must give compensation to the children who are forced to leave school for the opportunities they are to miss. yet these middle years of what used to be called the “grammar school” are now left not only unmotivated, but without any genuine educational function. instead of being prophetic of the future they merely drag along the relics of the past. some schools, it is true, have timidly brought down the beginning of high school studies into the lower grades, but in general the “grammar school” merely continues the interests of the primary school on substantially the same lines.
-fifteen years ago, when i went to school, there may have been some excuse for this system. teachers may have been correct in their belief that it took the average child eight years to learn arithmetic, reading, writing, spelling, and a smattering of history and geography. to-day such an assumption is ridiculous. i have seen children in large classes in an ordinary city school system learn all the elements of “the three r’s” in less than six months. the clear writing and accurate reading of little children in the first grade who have only been going to school for a few months is astonishing. it suggests that mme. montessori could scarcely have known of the excellence of elementary methods in this country when she urged her ideas as revolutionary. for these small children, as for the montessori child, the competitive number-work, the writing from dictation, the oral reading, the spelling, seemed not drudgery but interesting activity. astonishing, too, was the uniform excellence of the results.
-now it is little more than a truism to say that “the three r’s” have not really been learned until they have become automatic, that reading, writing and arithmetic are not ends in themselves but merely the tools for work. to give command of the tools is the peculiar task of the primary school, and of the primary school only. if children can be given an acquaintance with “the three r’s” in six months, it does not seem too much to expect them to acquire this automatic command in two or three years. it is incredible that the child should have to study eight years for this. yet our elementary schools continue to assume that every child is thus mentally backward. in the higher grades we find the same subjects, formal reading lessons, formal penmanship lessons, formal arithmetic and spelling. but something has happened to these children. they are distinctly less interested, less interesting, and even less capable than the smaller children. it is depressing to realize that the elementary school has existed only to turn first-grade children into seventh-grade children, and to realize that most of the latter are nearing the end of their schooldays and will pass out into the world with that intellectual listlessness and lack of command.
-let me suggest what has happened to these children. formal work, the learning of any technique, is apt to be pleasurable as long as we can feel ourselves gradually acquiring a command over our instrument. but after we have acquired the technique and can rely upon our skill, there is no gain in continuing formal exercises. there is only gain in using our skill in real work, the work for which we have studied. if we have studied a language, we do not keep mulling over rules of grammar and vocabularies, but we try as soon as possible to read. the means now gives way to the end.
-we can understand one cause for that situation of which employers complain when children come to them from the public schools unprepared in the very elements of education. in the bad memories, flimsy information, inability to write or spell or figure accurately, is found the very common indictment of the public school. the criticism is usually that the groundwork has been poor, that the children have not been trained in the fundamentals. if my thesis is correct, the groundwork has not been poor. of recent years, it has, on the contrary, been unusually excellent and thorough. the leakage has come in the middle years, which have simply disintegrated the foundations. the school has sharpened the mind, and then, by providing only a repetition of formal work instead of practical opportunity for use of the acquired technique, has proceeded to dull it. grammar has been studied, literature in a curiously desiccated fashion, political history, esoteric branches of arithmetic. subjects like these have filled the time that might have been given to copious individual reading, to writing about what is read or experienced, to practical number-work in simple statistics or accounting. time which might have been given, through use of pictures and newspapers, to the cultivation of an imaginative historical and geographical background, has gone into aimless memorizing, or into a glib use of words and phrases.
-this situation is all the more preposterous because both the high school and college are full of studies that could be begun by the intelligent child as soon as a technical proficiency in “the three r’s” was once obtained. what psychological law declares that before fourteen a human being is incapable of learning languages, the sciences, or even the sociological studies, but that after fourteen he is capable of learning all these things? as a matter of fact, most of these “higher” studies could be much more easily assimilated by the quick and curious mind of the younger child than by the older. and for the worker in any field, acquaintance with elementary science and the organization of society is so emphatically important that we cannot afford to let the vast majority of our citizens remain all their lives ignorant of their very terms. in the four years of the “grammar school” an intelligent interest could be awakened in these fields, and the main outlines grasped. this would not mean the addition of many new subjects to an already crowded curriculum. it would merely mean the dropping of “the three r’s” back into their rightful place in the primary school. it would lighten rather than overburden the school. we should then have a fair division of labor and function between the schools, to the profit of both.
-if there is one criticism of the public school system on its intellectual side that can justly be made general, it is this of the wasted years. the school has found itself in this paradoxical situation, that the more excellent became its primary methods the poorer became the product at the end of the system. this paradox is explained. educators have simply failed to recognize that the sharper they made the elementary tools and the better the facilities of obtaining skill in their use, the more varied and immediate should be the work upon which the tools are to be exercised. they have failed to provide this work. they have left a leakage in public education which has almost defeated its own ends.
-how righteously indignant did our teachers use to be if we ever precociously objected to learning our mathematics and grammar in school on the ground that if we were going to be doctors or policemen we should never have any use when we grew up for that kind of knowledge! were we not entirely too young to know at all what kind of knowledge we should need when we did grow up? did not our teachers impress upon us that in some mysterious way all was grist that came to our intellectual mill? did we wish to know merely what we could use in the daily grubbing of bread and butter? was not the fine flower of education knowledge learned for its own sake? we could thus be assured, as we cubed our roots or diagrammed our sentences, that all this work was “training the mind,” so that we could almost feel our mental muscles growing in strength and elasticity. we were too young to see it then, but some day we should be heartily grateful to our painstaking teachers. some day, when we were successful men, we should come to appreciate the superior wisdom of this educational system against which our rational little wills so smolderingly rebelled.
-in those days, would we not have given our young chances of promotion to see ranged up before the teacher a group of great grown men, the successful ones of the earth, to be put through the paces at which we kicked? would it not have tickled us to see a class consisting of a state senator, a former lieutenant-governor, a manufacturer, a city official, a banker, a physician, a merchant, a lawyer, an editor, an engineer and a clergyman, trying to spell daguerreotype and paradigm, reconnaissance and erysipelas, guessing at the distance in degrees from portugal to the ural mountains, locating the desert of atacama and the pamir plateau, expressing 150° cent. in terms of fahrenheit, and finding the area of the base of a cylindrical 1 gal. can, 10 ins. high? if it was true that we should all find this knowledge useful some day, then it would be preëminently these men who were finding it useful now.
-let the news go forth to all the children of the land who are questioning the why and wherefore of what they are learning, that this thing has actually been done. the eleven men have been assembled in springfield, ill., and have had put to them these questions and others, all taken from the prescribed work of the local public schools. the class constituted one of those inquiries conducted with the deadly accuracy of a laboratory experiment by the russell sage foundation. the results, it need hardly be said, were a complete demonstration of the intuition of our childish precocity. not one of these eleven successful and intelligent gentlemen made so much as a passing mark in any subject. in the spelling-match the best record was six words out of ten, while one man, probably the editor, failed in every word. only one of the pupils knew the capital of montenegro, while neither he nor any of the others had the faintest reaction to atacama or the pamir plateau, much less to the length of south america or the distance in degrees from portugal to the ural mountains. only one of the eleven could do the thermometer problem--he must have been in paris once in january--and not one knew the specific gravity of alcohol when 2 liters weigh 1.58 kgms. as for the ten historical dates selected from ninety-one, the only date that as many as ten men knew was the attack on sumter. only one identified the date of the mexican war, only one the surrender of cornwallis.
-it must have seemed very curious to the eleven to be presented with these questions, and then have the answers labeled “knowledge.” how many of them drew the conclusion that our public schools were little more in the higher reaches than a glorified puzzle-party, where recitation is often more like a guessing of riddles, or trying to discover the answer from the teacher’s tone, or the putting together of a puzzle-picture? look at the average school text-book, with its neat and logical divisions, and see if you can’t hear the dry crackle of the author’s wit as he has worked out his ingenious riddles, pieced his cunning examples together, hunted the dictionary for words to spell, dissected his history, carved up a continent. the intellect feeds on syllogisms. syllogisms are so much easier than appreciations. and really it is far easier to reason than to interpret. in the first you have merely to follow the beaten track, in the other you must break new paths and put the thing in your own new language. yet this whirling around of the mental engine with the belting off is represented to us as a process of “training the mind.” you might as well say that an athlete could best train his legs by standing on his head and waving them.
-some people might find in this inquiry not so much an evidence of the inefficiency of our public schools as of how little intellectual baggage one needs to become successful and eminent in these united states. but this is in reality only to make a heavier indictment. it is still primarily the schools that have failed to make the intellectual baggage important to the minds of their pupils, that have left uncultivated their tastes and horizons. it is for this reason that our american intellectual background is so relatively thin.
-learning out of school
-a recent correspondent of the “new republic” columns declares that the real puzzle in education is as to content. she asks us to outline the facts we have found of value, so that she may be sure, as she confesses she is not now sure, what children should know when they leave school.
-i search the memory of my nine years in the public schools, and wonder what i really learned there. i must have learned to read and write and spell and work sums, for i can do all those things now; but i came out with no connected sense of my country’s history or that of any other, and if i had any geographical grasp, it came only from a certain abnormal delight i took in poring over maps by myself. algebra, geometry and physics i recall to have passed before my attention. i was a very dutiful child, and it was my moral rather than my intellectual sense which enabled me to get “marks” in these subjects. i cannot say that they were “learned,” in the sense of being woven into experience in any way. latin rather appealed to me, chiefly because of its elegance of form, which i remember to have been curiously reinforced by the æsthetic format of the collar and daniell’s text-book we used. certain english classics appeared like dim ghosts on my horizon. at no time could i have given an intelligent account of the plot or argument of any of the books we read in latin, greek or german. the french and italian which i picked up later i can read more easily than the german upon which i spent three school years. imagined geographical wanderings, the disentangling of some verses of vergil, certain neat algebraic solutions, are all of my “learning” that excited my interest or enthusiasm. nine years seems an unconscionable time to spend learning these simple things.
-my real education, as i look back on it, consisted in making some sort of order out of this journalistic chaos. i got some help in the debates on current events which a radical superintendent introduced into our high school. i remember pulverizing, at the age of thirteen, my opponents in debate, with proofs that a ruthless dictatorship was the only form of government possible in the primitive state of santo domingo. our household, however, was innocent of current discussion. the public library had not been born. i had to plot out this larger world by myself. indeed, the grown-up people whom i sought seemed on the whole less familiar than i with the bearings of my curiosity. i cannot say that there was anything subtle or complicated or critical in my acceptance of the newspaper. it was all i could do to get the world mapped out, and become familiar with the names that i read. i remember following the greco-turkish war with a great deal of satisfaction, though the issues involved and the real military operations never meant anything at all. i got only the pleasant familiarity with this wider social world that one would get in meeting the same faces constantly in the street, without knowing the names of the people or speaking to them.
-whatever familiarity with the trend of events and the wider interests of men and women i had when i left school was obtained in this way. the school had been practically valueless in giving me the background of the intellectual world in which i was henceforth to live. my framework was bony enough and the content flimsy, but the outlines of my interests were there, and curiosity enough to keep me ceaselessly at filling in that content. nothing has occurred since that time to show me, through various vicissitudes, that it was not the most useful i could have. that its foundations had to be laid outside the school seems to me a sheer waste of educational energy on the school’s part.
-boldly then, and in true egocentric fashion, i say that the child when he leaves school ought to have the foundations of interest in the events and issues in which people generally are interested. these practically all come within the attention of the metropolitan newspaper. the child should be equipped to get some kind of intelligent reaction to what he reads there about political and sociological events and issues, personalities, art and literature. no one could accuse a curriculum based on the newspaper of being aristocratic, esoteric, or ultra-cultural. the newspaper is the one common intellectual food of all classes and types in the community. many persons, it is true, may react only to certain specialized departments, and yet even into the most rudimentary journals filter most of these larger issues and events. to use this stock as clues and work out the historical, geographical, and cultural ramifications in the school curriculum would provide this broad familiarity with the world the child is to live in which i suggest. i would not make the horrifying proposal that the newspaper be used as a school text-book. i am too well aware of that cardinal tenet of current educational morality which banishes the newspaper entirely from the school. there is something rather symbolic about that tenet, by the way. but to use a sort of generalized newspaper as the nucleus and basis of a curriculum would be a different matter. it would be using the actual current life of society as the guiding thread of what the child is to know. as far as the purely intellectual content of the school is concerned, it would do what so many educators desire, connect the school with life.
-this ideal may be incredible, but it is not necessarily impossible. take the child at its lowest terms, as a troublesome little person whom its parents send to school to get it out of the way of the crowded home until it is old enough to go to work. then take the present curriculum, a medley of equally emphasized cultural, scientific and manual studies. now the child certainly should have a command of the three r’s before he is ten years old. suppose then we transfer the mathematical and scientific studies to a place subsidiary to the vocational and manual work that is being so rapidly developed. they would be taken up, that is, only as the theoretical basis for this practical work. this would leave four or five years for the study of the history, geography, literature, language, and civics, before the minimum age at which the child in the more advanced states is allowed to leave school. there seems to be no inherent reason why a great deal could not be done in that time to prepare this imaginative background for the world we live in.
-if “cultivating the imagination” means anything it means ensuring that what one experiences in daily life will call up interesting and significant images and ideas. the public school sometimes attempts to cultivate a sort of literary and mythological imagination, but as for ensuring that those references to places, persons, books, political institutions, ideas, which occur in the papers and weekly journals, shall call up to the mind prompt, accurate, and stimulating images and meanings, it has been a dead failure. an exploration of the current imagination of the average person would be a curious and profitable enterprise for a psychologist to undertake. for the cultivation of this imagery, we are all left, as the child is left, to the chance provision of the contemporary news-provider, the illustrated paper and “sunday magazine.” here is where we get our notions of things as they look and act.
-beyond all else the child should leave school with a wide and reliable imagination--not with facts or theories so much as pictures, sympathies, apprehensions, what we call “the feeling for the thing.” thus equipped, his curiosity will provide him with all the facts and theories he needs. the custom of teaching by subjects is as artificial and absurd as could be imagined. we do not think in terms of history or geography or language. if i read a foreign newspaper, all these are merged into one imaginative impression. we think in terms of situations, which have settings in time and place, and all sorts of fringes and implications. unless the child is taught in this spirit, the isolated subjects will have no meaning. without the imaginative background that fuses and vitalizes his studies, he will go out from school untaught and unknowing.
-in a schoolroom
-the other day i amused myself by slipping into a recitation at the suburban high school where i had once studied as a boy. the teacher let me sit, like one of the pupils, at an empty desk in the back of the room, and for an hour i had before my eyes the interesting drama of the american school as it unfolds itself day after day in how many thousands of classrooms throughout the land. i had gone primarily to study the teacher, but i soon found that the pupils, after they had forgotten my presence, demanded most of my attention.
-their attitude towards the teacher, a young man just out of college and amazingly conscientious and persevering, was that good-humored tolerance which has to take the place of enthusiastic interest in many of our american schools. they seemed to like the teacher and recognize fully his good intentions, but their attitude was a delightful one of all making the best of a bad bargain, and coöperating loyally with him in slowly putting the hour out of its agony. this good-natured acceptance of the inevitable, this perfunctory going through by its devotees of the ritual of education, was my first striking impression, and the key to the reflections that i began to weave.
-as i sank down to my seat i felt all that queer sense of depression, still familiar after ten years, that sensation, in coming into the schoolroom, of suddenly passing into a helpless, impersonal world, where expression could be achieved and curiosity asserted only in the most formal and difficult way. and the class began immediately to divide itself for me, as i looked around it, into the artificially depressed like myself, commonly called the “good” children, and the artificially stimulated, commonly known as the “bad,” and the envy and despair of every “good” child. for to these “bad” children, who are, of course, simply those with more self-assertion and initiative than the rest, all the careful network of discipline and order is simply a direct and irresistible challenge. i remembered the fearful awe with which i used to watch the exhaustless ingenuity of the “bad” boys of my class to disrupt the peacefully dragging recitation; and behold, i found myself watching intently, along with all the children in my immediate neighborhood, the patient activity of a boy who spent his entire hour in so completely sharpening a lead-pencil that there was nothing left at the end but the lead. now what normal boy would do so silly a thing or who would look at him in real life? but here, in this artificial atmosphere, his action had a sort of symbolic quality; it was assertion against a stupid authority, a sort of blind resistance against the attempt of the schoolroom to impersonalize him. the most trivial incident assumed importance; the chiming of the town-clock, the passing automobile, a slip of the tongue, a passing footstep in the hall, would polarize the wandering attention of the entire class like an electric shock. indeed, a large part of the teacher’s business seemed to be to demagnetize, by some little ingenious touch, his little flock into their original inert and static elements.
-for the whole machinery of the classroom was dependent evidently upon this segregation. here were these thirty children, all more or less acquainted, and so congenial and sympathetic that the slightest touch threw them all together into a solid mass of attention and feeling. yet they were forced, in accordance with some principle of order, to sit at these stiff little desks, equidistantly apart, and prevented under penalty from communicating with each other. all the lines between them were supposed to be broken. each existed for the teacher alone. in this incorrigibly social atmosphere, with all the personal influences playing around, they were supposed to be, not a network or a group, but a collection of things, in relation only with the teacher.
-these children were spending the sunniest hours of their whole lives, five days a week, in preparing themselves, i assume by the acquisition of knowledge, to take their places in a modern world of industry, ideas and business. what institution, i asked myself, in this grown-up world bore resemblance to this so carefully segregated classroom? i smiled, indeed, when it occurred to me that the only possible thing i could think of was a state legislature. was not the teacher a sort of speaker putting through the business of the session, enforcing a sublimated parliamentary order, forcing his members to address only the chair and avoid any but a formal recognition of their colleagues? how amused, i thought, would socrates have been to come upon these thousands of little training-schools for incipient legislators! he might have recognized what admirably experienced and docile congressmen such a discipline as this would make, if there were the least chance of any of these pupils ever reaching the house, but he might have wondered what earthly connection it had with the atmosphere and business of workshop and factory and office and store and home into which all these children would so obviously be going. he might almost have convinced himself that the business of adult american life was actually run according to the rules of parliamentary order, instead of on the plane of personal intercourse, of quick interchange of ideas, the understanding and the grasping of concrete social situations.
-it is the merest platitude, of course, that those people succeed who can best manipulate personal intercourse, who can best express themselves, whose minds are most flexible and most responsive to others, and that those people would deserve to succeed in any form of society. but has there ever been devised a more ingenious enemy of personal intercourse than the modern classroom, catching, as it does, the child in his most impressionable years? the two great enemies of intercourse are bumptiousness and diffidence, and the classroom is perhaps the most successful instrument yet devised for cultivating both of them.
-as i sat and watched these interesting children struggling with these enemies, i reflected that even with the best of people, thinking cannot be done without talking. for thinking is primarily a social faculty; it requires the stimulus of other minds to excite curiosity, to arouse some emotion. even private thinking is only a conversation with one’s self. yet in the classroom the child is evidently expected to think without being able to talk. in such a rigid and silent atmosphere, how could any thinking be done, where there is no stimulus, no personal expression?
-while these reflections were running through my head, the hour dragged to its close. as the bell rang for dismissal, a sort of thrill of rejuvenation ran through the building. the “good” children straightened up, threw off their depression and took back their self-respect, the “bad” sobered up, threw off their swollen egotism, and prepared to leave behind them their mischievousness in the room that had created it. everything suddenly became human again. the brakes were off, and life, with all its fascinations of intrigue and amusement, was flowing once more. the school streamed away in personal and intensely interested little groups. the real world of business and stimulations and rebounds was thick again here.
-if i had been a teacher and watched my children going away, arms around each other, all aglow with talk, i should have been very wistful for the injection of a little of that animation into the dull and halting lessons of the classroom. was i a horrible “intellectual,” to feel sorry that all this animation and verve of life should be perpetually poured out upon the ephemeral, while thinking is made as difficult as possible, and the expressive and intellectual child made to seem a sort of monstrous pariah?
-the cult of the best
-a valuable inventory of our american ideals of taste and culture should result from the request of the american federation of arts that the carnegie foundation undertake an investigation of the teaching of art in this country. we have devoted much attention to importing æsthetic values and works of art from europe, and to providing museums, libraries and art courses for the public. but we have scarcely asked ourselves what is to come of it all. a survey of what is being done “in the schools and colleges and universities as well as in the professional art schools of the country to promote the knowledge, appreciation and production of art in america” will be of little value, however, if it is to concern itself merely with discovering how many art schools and how many students there are; how many courses on art are given in the colleges, and the credits which each course counts towards the degree. what we need to know is the direction of the studies. we must not feel relieved in spirit if we find there is “enough,” and correspondingly depressed if we find there is “not enough” being done for art in america. we must clear up our ideas as to what a genuine art education would be for the layman, and then ask whether the present emphases are the ones to produce it.
-artistic appreciation in this country has been understood chiefly as the acquiring of a familiarity with “good works of art,” and with the historical fields of the different arts, rather than as the cultivating of spontaneous taste. the millionaire with his magnificent collections has only been doing objectively what the anxious college student is doing who takes courses in the history and appreciation of art, music or literature, or the women’s clubs that follow standard manuals of criticism and patronize bureaus of university travel. everywhere the emphasis is on acquisition. a great machinery for the extension of culture has grown up around us in the last generation, devoted to the collection, objectively or imaginatively, of masterpieces. the zealous friends of art in and out of the schools have been engaged in bringing before an ever-widening public a roster of the “best.” art education has been almost entirely a learning about what is “good.” “culture” has come to mean the jacking-up of one’s appreciations a notch at a time until they have reached a certain standard level. to be cultured has meant to like masterpieces.
-art education has, in other words, become almost a branch of moral education. we are scarcely out of that period when it was a moral obligation upon every child to learn to play the piano. there is still a thoughtful striving after righteousness in our attendance at the opera. and this moral obligation is supported by quasi-ecclesiastical sanctions. each art, as taught in our schools and colleges, has its truly formidable canon of the “best,” and its insistent discrimination between the sanctified and the apocryphal scriptures. the teaching of english literature in the colleges is a pure example of this orthodoxy. criticism and expression are neglected in favor of absorption and reverence of the classics. the student enters college on a ritual of examination in them. he remains only through his susceptibility to their influence. examine what passes for cultural education in other fields, and you will find that it is historical, lexicographical, encyclopædic, and neither utilitarian nor æsthetic. it is prompted by the scholarly ideal rather than by an ideal of taste. the prize goes to those who can acquire the most of these goods. no one is challenged to spontaneous taste any more than the monk is asked to create his own dogmas.
-to me this conception of culture is unpleasantly undemocratic. i am not denying the superlative beauty of what has come to be officially labeled “the best that has been thought and done in the world.” but i do object to its being made the universal norm. for if you educate people in this way, you only really educate those whose tastes run to the classics. you leave the rest of the world floundering in a fog of cant, largely unconscious perhaps, trying sincerely to squeeze their appreciations through the needle’s eye. you get as a result hypocrites or “lowbrows,” with culture reserved only for a few. all the rest of us are left without guides, without encouragement, and tainted with original sin.
-an education in art appreciation will be valueless if it does not devote itself to clarifying and integrating natural taste. the emphasis must be always on what you do like, not on what you ought to like. we have never had a real test of whether bad taste is positive or merely a lack of consciousness. we have never tried to discover strong spontaneous lines of diversified taste. to the tyranny of the “best” which arnold’s persuasive power imposed upon this most inquisitive, eager and rich american generation, can be laid, i think, our failure to develop the distinctive styles and indigenous art spirit which the soil should have brought forth abundantly. for as long as you humbly follow the best, you have no eyes for the vital. if you are using your energy to cajole your appreciations, you have none left for unforced æsthetic emotion. if your training has been to learn and appreciate the best that has been thought and done in the world, it has not been to discriminate between the significant and the irrelevant that the experience of every day is flinging up in your face. civilized life is really one æsthetic challenge after another, and no training in appreciation of art is worth anything unless one has become able to react to forms and settings. the mere callousness with which we confront our ragbag city streets is evidence enough of the futility of the arnold ideal. to have learned to appreciate a mantegna and a japanese print, and dante and debussy, and not to have learned nausea at main street, means an art education which is not merely worthless but destructive.
-i know that such complaints are met by the plea that the fight has been so hard in this country to get any art education at all that it is idle to talk of cultivating public taste until this battle is won. mr. edward dickinson still pleads in a recent book the cause of music to the stony educationists of the land. let us get a foothold in the colleges with our music courses, these defenders seem to say, and your taste will evolve from them. but the way to reach a goal is not to start off in the opposite direction, and my thesis is that education in the appreciation of art has been moving exactly in this wrong direction. widespread artistic taste would have had a better chance to develop in this country if we had not been so much concerned with knowing what we ought to know and liking what we ought to like. the movement has caught those whose taste happened to coincide with the canons. it has perverted a much larger host who have tried to pretend that their taste coincided. and it has left untouched the joyous masses who might easily, as in other countries, have evolved a folk-culture if they had not been outlawed by this ideal.
-this effort to follow the best, which even our revolutionists engage in, has the effect of either closing the appreciation to new styles or leaving it open to passing winds of fashion. that we are fashion-ridden is the direct result of an education which has made acquisition and not discrimination the motive. the cult of the best is harmless only if it has been superimposed on the broadest basis of personal discrimination, begun in earliest years. let us admit that the appreciations of the brahmins marvelously coincide with what matthew arnold has stamped as right. but perhaps for most of us there has not been the environment to produce that happy coincidence. our education has forced us all to be self-made men in artistic appreciation. our tastes suffer from hiatuses and crotchinesses and color-blindnesses because no effort has been made to integrate our sincere likes and dislikes and focus and sharpen our reactions. until the present ideal is overthrown, we have no chance of getting a sincere and general public taste. we can have only the mechanics of art education. i do not mean that america has been unique in this. we have only been a little worse than other countries because we have been more conscientious.
-education in taste
-there is a naïvely systematic way of teaching artistic appreciation to the students of many of our city schools. to each class is allotted a famous painter. the class is then taken en masse to the art museum, and, under the guidance of one of the official show-women, confronted with the masterpieces of its proprietary genius. the children hear the dates of the painter’s life, details of his career, the significance of his pictures, the particular beauties of his styles, and any other loose fragments of knowledge that may appeal to their guide. after they have been exposed long enough to the pictures to give confidence that appreciation has taken place in them, they are allowed to exchange painters with another class, and in rigid platoon proceed to appreciate their new idol in the same way. presumably their appreciation finally flows over the entire museum, and they take their places among the cultivated of the land.
-the other day in a new jersey school i was shown some wall-paper designs that had just been made in a class of the youngest children. a simple figure had been given them with which to cover a sheet of paper in any pattern they chose. the thirty papers presented the most astonishing variety. they ranged from mere blotches to orderly and regular patterns. some children had merely reproduced the figure in parallel lines across the paper. others had alternated their lines and made a more pleasing scheme. here was a living demonstration of the variety of artistic skill, but i was more interested in the appreciation. the teacher told me that she had pinned all the designs on the wall, and without any suggestion to the children had asked them to choose which they liked best. there had been a large consensus of liking for the alternate lines, the pattern which was obviously the most regular and the most pleasing.
-in that museum system of class-painters who were to be duly “appreciated” i had a perfect example of the old unregenerate cult of the best. but my new jersey school convinced me that these vestal virgins of the museums were guarding a decaying fane. the young teacher in the classroom had the beginnings of what would be a genuine education in taste. if that same critical and discriminating spirit could be carried forward with these littlest children all through their schooling, most of them would get a robust sense of values that would be spontaneous, that would never have to be cajoled, and that could not be threatened. might not this process of refining taste be woven into our elementary education? already we have its embryo in these kindergartens and lower grades. it is a question of emphasis, of making the teachers see that the constant challenge to taste is one of the most important functions of the school. types of school such as the play-school make expression and selection the basis of their life. the most valuable feature of the montessori school is the training of the senses, the quickening of response to sounds and colors and forms. suppose a child were brought up from his earliest years in everyday contact with forms and colors, without its ever being hinted to him that some were “good” and others “bad.” suppose the child were urged to choose and to express his likes and dislikes, not giving his reasons but merely telling as he could what he saw or heard. suppose this attempt were made through the course of his school life to clarify his appeals and repugnances, not by rationalizing them but by synthesizing them. would not something like taste evolve out of it all?
-emphasis on what the pupil likes instead of what he ought to like would change the tone of school or college. the average mediocre student under our present regime gets an almost uncanny desire to do things “right.” since success in school depends on doing what the teacher thinks is right, education becomes on the child’s part a technique of accurate guessing. anyone who has spent much time in high schools knows how eagerly children will pounce on any official judgment concerning a book or person or picture or idea. the study of english classics in most schools becomes a festering bed of hypocrisy. and it is often the intrinsically amenable who are the most conscientious and who therefore most hopelessly overlay their own reactions with other people’s judgments. the modern school recitation has degenerated into a skilful guessing on the part of the child of what the teacher “wants” him to say. and this is a symbol of the general attitude, in school and out, towards cultural things.
-a laudable attempt has been made in the colleges to teach the student to think, but i wonder sometimes whether it has proceeded very far beyond encouraging him to find reasons for ideas and attitudes which he is persuaded he ought to have. for most college students it is already too late. expression and discrimination are the last things which the primary and secondary schools have been emphasizing. the boy and girl come to college with no background of taste or selection, and the old docility, the old unconscious hypocrisy, must dog them all through their course. i would make a larger part of the process of thinking in school and college the discovery of what one likes and wants, the control and direction of desire. almost the whole object of education should be to know what one truly and wholeheartedly likes and wants.
-yet the modern school is just the place where this critical, discriminating attitude has a chance of being cultivated. the secret of all the current tendencies towards the “school of to-morrow” is the increasing participation of the children in the work of their own school. the wirt plan, where the children help the mechanics decorate the rooms, and dramatize their school-life in auditorium exercises, perhaps carries this coöperation farthest, but in numberless schools that have shopwork, gardens, dramatizations, etc., the same evolution is apparent. now every touch of dramatic, artistic and literary expression made by the children in the school affords material for education in taste. expression and criticism play into each other’s hands. any expression which passes without a reaction from some part of this little school public is expression wasted. if the child does not learn in the school to observe and reflect upon and react to the expressive life that flows around him in the school, he will never react intelligently to anything outside the school. his childish criticism will of course be as elementary as the expression is elementary. but the emphasis of teachers should be there. taste must flow naturally and spontaneously out of the experiences of everyday life.
-such an effort in the education of taste has a much better chance of success than has our traditional guidance. to impose canons on a younger generation, to make students appreciate the best in the arts, we need hosts of teachers who are finely tuned to these appreciations themselves, teachers whose tastes naturally coincide with what has been consecrated by time, and who can communicate their admirations. experience has proved that we shall never have those hosts of teachers. we should never have enough matthew arnolds to go round. what art education suffers from in this country is teachers who have only the mechanics of appreciation without the inner glow. and it is futile to expect that we shall ever have enough with the classic inner glow. in this new direction, however, the teacher need not be mentor, but guide and provocative. never being called upon to impart judgments or appreciations to the student, what he requires most is not judgments and appreciations of his own but curiosity as to the student’s reactions. he need only be saying constantly to the student, what do you like and how does it compare with something else that you like? he need provide only the paraphernalia of art, the materials and processes, for the student to do his own work. if the teacher is of sound original taste, he can give the student criticism and aid him in his analysis and comparison. if he is not, he is at least prevented from making the student’s taste hypocritical.
-if this attitude became general in our æsthetic education, it would not be long before results became noticeable. we should get a variety of tastes--some of them traditional, some of them strange and new, but most of them at least spontaneous, indigenous. at present we have no way of knowing whether any particular manifestation of public taste is conventional, fashion-induced, imitative, or sincerely felt. much spontaneous taste might turn out to be traditional. the majority of children trained in discrimination might prove to be incipient brahmins. on the other hand we might get strange and vigorous expressions like the contemporary architecture and sculpture of germany. i am assuming that taste and creation will fertilize each other. for this fertilization we must have a liberation of taste from the sterile control of the “best.” this does not mean that every person would become endowed with original taste, but that we should have a chance to find original taste out. we should have done all within human power to create public taste, as our present ideal does everything to prevent it. as a result we should have a chance of some kind of integrated culture. in each art we might find several very strongly marked directions of style and taste which should appeal to different people. it would then be the task of criticism not to choose between them but to discover their sincerity and significance. style is a matter of right relations. things have style when their parts make each other and the whole significant. indigenous style is the only art that really means anything. out of an education in taste will grow creative art as a flower from rich soil.
-universal service and education
-the current agitation for preparedness has set hosts of americans to thinking out for the first time what a real national strength and readiness would mean. we suddenly realize that if we are to defeat that militaristic trend which we loathe we shall have to offer some kind of action more stirring and more creative. the call now upon every citizen is to be not nebulously patriotic, but clear and lucid as to america’s aims, so that our natural energy shall not be squandered and misused. there looms up as a crucial need that “moral equivalent for war” with which william james first roused our imaginations. it seems no longer so academic a proposal. confronted with the crisis, we see that he analyzed the situation with consummate accuracy.
-all around us we see a very genuine craving for unity of sentiment, for service, for some new national lift and broadening which shall keep us out of the uneasy pettiness into which the american conscience has threatened to fall. in our hearts we know that to crystallize this desire into a meaningless sentiment, or into a piling-up of armaments or a proscribing of alien cultures, would not satisfy us. we want action, but we do not want military action. even the wildest patriots know that america would have to go through the most pernicious and revolutionary changes to accept the universal military service which they advocate. we wish to advance from where we stand. we begin to suspect that military service, flag-reverence, patriotic swagger, are too much the weary old deep-dug channels into which national feeling always runs and is lost. the flooding river fills again its archaic and forsaken paths. our present confusion expresses the dilemma we find ourselves in, when our instincts impel us into courses that our intelligence tells us we ought not to follow.
-our american danger is not so much that we become militarists as that we grope along, fretting and harrying each other into a unity which is delusive, and expressing our “americanism” in activities that are not creative. the best will in america at the present time seems to crave some kind of national service but it veers off from military service. until we satisfy that craving, we shall run at half-power, and suffer all the dissatisfaction and self-despising that comes from repressed energy. the question which all are asking, in the varied and disguised forms, is: how can we all together serve america by really enhancing her life?
-james’s proposal sounded utopian because it would require an entirely new and colossal national organization to put it into action. universal military service in this country would certainly mean such a task. but if our national service is to be educational, we already have the organization in existence. the rapidly consolidating public school systems in the states provide the machinery for such an organization. as the public schools become better places for children to spend their time in, we are growing less tolerant of the forms of schooling outside of the public system. the tendency is towards the inclusion of all children in the public school. and the progressive states are requiring schooling up to the full age of sixteen years. we are rapidly creating a public school system, effectively administered by the states, which gives us the one universally national compulsory service which we possess or are ever likely to consent to.
-education is the only form of “conscription” to which americans have ever given consent. compulsory military service would require decades of napoleonic political evangelism to introduce. compulsory education is universally accepted. for a national service which shall be educational you would have to convert nobody. the field is sown. no one denies the right of the state to conscript the child for education. but coupled with this assent is the insistence that the education shall be the freest, fullest and most stimulating that we know how to give. the current educational interest arises largely from the indignant demand that a state which takes all the children must meet the needs of every child. the very recent enthusiasm for “vocational education” means that we want a schooling that shall issue in capacity for fruitful occupation. a national educational service could give training for work at the same time that it gave opportunity for service.
-it is only a national service of this kind that would really be universal. military service is a sham universality. it omits the feminine half of the nation’s youth. and of the masculine half it uses only the physically best. france is the only country where the actual levy on men for military service has approximated the number liable. but worst of all, military service irons out all differences of talent and ability. it does not even tap the resources it enlists. it makes out of an infinitely varied group a mere machine of uniform, obeying units. the personal qualities, the individual powers of the youth it trains, are of no relevance whatever. men are valuable exactly to the degree that they crush out these differences.
-a national service for education would not be a sham. it would actually enlist the coöperation of every youth and girl. it would aim at stimulation, not obedience. it would call out capacity and not submerge it. it would organize varied tasks adapted to the capacities and strengths of its young citizenry. it would be universal, but it would be compulsory only in the sense that it called every one to the service. the tasks would not be enforced drudgery, but work that enlisted the will and toned up the aspirations.
-such a national service would be the logical outgrowth of our public school system. suppose the state said: all children shall remain in school till the age of sixteen years. between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one they shall spend two years in national service. this service shall be organized and administered by the state educational administrations, but supervised and subsidized by the national government. the service would be performed as national service, but its work would be constructive and communal in its purposes and not military. special military training could be given as a branch of this service to those who were best fitted for it. but defense would be but an incident in our constructive life, and not the sinew of our effort.
-the tasks for such a national service would evidently be different from those contemplated by james. he thought of turning his army of youth into the drudgery of the world, where they might win in heroic toil and self-sacrifice the moral rewards which war had formerly given. but if our service is to be universal, it cannot be mere unskilled labor in mines and farms and forests. a large proportion of our youth would be disqualified. furthermore, a service which made such frontal attack on industry would be bitterly resisted by those with whom its work competed. we are not prepared for a service which clashes too suddenly and harshly with the industrial system. what we need is a service which shall not so much do the old work of the world as create new demands and satisfy them. this national service could do the things which need to be done, but which are not now being done. it could have for its aim the improvement of the quality of our living. our appalling slovenliness, the ignorance of great masses in city and country as to the elementary technique of daily life--this should be the enemy of the army of youth. i have a picture of a host of eager young missionaries swarming over the land, spreading the health knowledge, the knowledge of domestic science, of gardening, of tastefulness, that they have learned in school.
-such a service would provide apprentices for communal services in town and country, as many schools and colleges are already actually providing. food inspection, factory inspection, organized relief, the care of dependents, playground service, nursing in hospitals--all this would be a field for such an educational service. on a larger scale, tree-planting, the care and repair of roads, work on conservation projects, the care of model farms, would be tasks for this army. as i was burning caterpillars’ nests the other day in new jersey and saw the trees sinister with gray webs, i thought of the destroying army of youth that should be invading the land clearing it of all insect pests. we might even come to the forcible rebuilding of the slovenly fences and outhouses which strew our landscape, and to an imposition of cleanness upon our american countryside. with an army of youth we could perform all those services of neatness and mercy and intelligence which our communities now know how to perform and mean to perform, but have not the weapons to wield.
-the army could be organized in flying squadrons, so that its youth could travel widely and see and serve all kinds of men and communities. for its direction we would need that new type of teacher-engineer-community-worker that our best school systems are already producing. scientific schools, schools of philanthropy, are turning out men and women who could step into their places as non-commissioned officers for such an army. the service could be entirely flexible. boys and girls could learn the rudiments of their trade or profession in actual service with the army. book studies could be carried on, and college learning could come to its own as the intellectual fertilizer of a wholesome and stimulating life. athletics and sports would be an integral part of the two years’ service. there would be long periods of camping in the national parks or upon ocean beaches. the boy scouts and camp-fire girls already give the clue to such an enterprise.
-if objection is made that this national educational service would fail to bring out the sterner qualities of heroism and self-sacrifice, and would not be a genuine moral equivalent for war, the answer is that the best kind of a moral equivalent is a moral sublimation. we want to turn the energies of youth away from their squandering in mere defense or mere drudgery. our need is to learn how to live rather than die; to be teachers and creators, not engines of destruction; to be inventors and pioneers, not mere defenders. our cities and isolated farms alike are mute witnesses that americans have never learned how to live. suppose we had a national service which was making a determined assault for the enhancement of living. would its standards and discipline be less rigorous? rather would the ingenuity and imagination have to be of the finest.
-some such conception of national service is the only one which will give us that thrill of unity and vigor which we seek. an educational service built on the public school system puts the opportunity in our hands. the raw material in attitudes and desires is here. every task that an army of youth might perform is already being done in some school or college or communal service. all we need to do is to coördinate and make universal what is now haphazard and isolated. an army of youth which focused school work would provide just that purpose that educators seek. the advocates of “preparedness” are willing to spend billions on a universal military service which is neither universal nor educational nor productive. cannot we begin to organize a true national service which will let all serve creatively towards the toning up of american life?
-the schools from the outside
-to persons directing any complicated organization, criticism from outsiders always seems either futile or irrelevant. conscious of the difficulty that has been met in creating the existing machinery, they resent the debonair and nonchalant proposals tossed in upon them by people who have only an amateurish or philosophical interest in their work. there are very few able administrators in any work who do not honestly believe they are doing their best with the material that is given them.
-to this resentment the educational world seems particularly prone. the teacher finds it intolerable that the classroom should be judged from any vantage-point but the teacher’s desk; the superintendent is annoyed if you arraign his system in the light of the product turned out. a public service which enlists so much conscientiousness as does our public school system is naturally sensitive to public criticism. its very sensitiveness makes it difficult for it to distinguish between criticism of motives and criticism of policies and philosophies.
-this resentment to amateur criticism is offset by an almost pathetic trust in expert overhauling. letters from school principals to those in charge of recent investigations into city school systems imply that the expert has some kind of magical power not possessed by the ordinary teacher or administrator. when we learn, however, that the defects discovered are usually of so elementary and obvious a character that few interested laymen could have ignored them, we suspect that the magic is not so much a matter of the expert as it is of the outsider. the thing is to get a new point-of-view, a new interpretation, which shall not be so obsessed with the inside workings of the machinery that the drift of policy and the value of the human product is ignored.
-educators, it is true, “welcome fair criticism,” and they have a fond belief that they get it from one another in the educational press. but in this mass of books and journals, crowded with exposition and discussion of current educational conceptions and technical methods, the whole setting, language, philosophy, are professional. the very bases and premises which the lay critic wishes to criticize are taken for granted. educators decry “destructive” criticism, but in a sense all criticism is destructive, for it is essentially an examination. it requires a stripping away of the wrappings of routine and jargon, the turning of the idea about on all sides, the placing of it in a light where it may be clearly observed. there is another reason why amateur criticism is likely to be pertinent in education. the whole business of teaching and learning is a matter of personal psychology, and, in spite of current cant, there is no science so elusive and so unformulated as psychology. if the scientists will no longer deal with the problems of the personal, conscious life, it is left for the amateur philosophers to examine the psychological backgrounds of the teaching world, and attempt newer and more personal interpretations.
-much of the public criticism of the school is no doubt unintelligent, but what are we to say of that blanket defense we hear so often from the educator, that the niggardliness of the public prevents his providing the best schools and the best teachers? now a country that attempts almost universally to provide free secondary school education--something provided in no european country--is certainly not thus guilty. the prestige of education in america is extraordinarily high. it is quite too late in the day to pretend that anyone still regards public schools as a charity, or that ridicule of teaching methods would only serve to discredit the schools and reduce the already small appropriations. there is no more fear--though some of our educators would have us believe it--that free criticism of the school will leave us school-less than there is that denunciation of the new york police resulted in leaving that city without police protection. the public schools in this country have the standing of all other public services.
-it is not a question of more money, but of more intelligent use of present resources. the inexpert public cannot be expected to spend its money wisely. it has an incorrigible itch for objective results. it likes to see its money go into handsome buildings with expensive equipments. large sums are spent in emulative waste. if one town boasts a seventy-five thousand dollar high school, its neighbor must have a hundred thousand dollar one. it is obvious that money which goes into costly ventilating systems and the adoption of uncriticized fads, does not go into teachers’ salaries. but it is the function of the educators to offset this public childishness with their own wisdom, and see that the public money is profitably spent. if they believe that we could have better teachers if we paid more for them, they should see that the money goes to the teachers and not into fussy mechanical details.
-the trend of educational activity has been to encourage this objective standard. more of the intellectual energy of the educational world has gone into technique and organization than into psychology. it has been more interested in seeing that the american child had enough cubic feet of air, a hygienic desk, and a fire-proof building, than that he acquired an alert and curious outlook on the modern world, and an expressive personality. france, with public school buildings, even in paris, that you would scarcely perhaps stable your horse in, somehow, by making expression the insistent motive of education, turns out intellectual products strikingly superior to our own.
-european experience tends, too, to challenge the common assumption of american educators that quality of teaching is proportional to salaries paid. american salaries are certainly as high as those paid in european countries. there is no violent contrast, moreover, between the intellectual and educational background of a primary teacher with seven hundred a year and a principal with twenty-five hundred. they would both subscribe to the same philosophy of life; they might easily have come from the same training-school. the difference would be one of age or executive capacity, or of “experience,” which generally means nothing more than greater expertness with routine and a longer setting of the intellectual cement.
-it is this background, spirit, philosophy, behind the educational mind that the critical public is becoming more and more restless about. it does not challenge details of mechanical and administrative organization. these have been worked out with an ingenuity and a completeness all too thorough. the public is demanding now a similar attention to the conscious and spiritual side of learning and teaching. the ideal of the school as an embryonic community life, of the child as a growing personality to whom the activity of the school must have intense reality, of education as the training of expression, creation--this has hardly begun to be generally felt. the faults discovered by the springfield and portland school surveys arose largely from a careless and mechanical philosophy of life, an educational philosophy that had not sufficiently emphasized these ideals. the investigators were able, for instance, to tell on the moment whether a teacher had come from a certain training-school by her method and attitudes.
-the responsibility cannot be dodged by the professional educators. they are responsible for primitive and mechanical attitudes which make so much of the orthodox public school teaching a mere marking of time rather than an education. millions of the public’s money would not effect this change in the background of the teaching world. that background could be changed without its costing the public a cent. the difficulty, huge, it is true, like any other attempt to change the obscure and uncriticized assumptions that lie at the bottom of any theory or practice, is psychological, not mechanical. it involves only the substitution, for certain undemocratic, ultra-logical ideas, of ideas more congenial to the time and social situation in which we live.
-the portland school survey
-if we are to have better schools in our cities we must know what kind of schools we have now. in an attempt to tell us, the school survey has in the last few years been developed with an admirable technique, and the passion for being surveyed has spread to cities large and small. no more illuminating document has come out of this effort than the recently published study of the school system of portland, oregon. it stirs enthusiasm because it shows the progress that has been made in clarifying the current problems and the ideals which must be realized if the public school is to prepare the child of to-day for intelligent participation in the society of which he will form a part. compared with the investigations in new york city and springfield, illinois, this portland survey, under the direction of professor cubberley of stanford university, represents a new achievement in educational thinking. those surveys contented themselves with a criticism of details, or, at best, with a vague groping for constructive plan. the portland survey represents a definite break with the tradition. it is characterized by a clear idea not only of how the system fails to meet the modern demands, but of how these demands can be met.
-the investigators cannot, of course, explain how it is that one of the wealthiest and most comfortable of american cities, a city at once entirely modern and homogeneously american, should have the most mechanical and formalistic school system these educators had ever seen. one gets the sense of how without leadership the school may become a little backwater in a community. in portland, a city of 250,000 people, commercial and residential center for the great northwest, these investigators found the “maintenance unchanged of a rigidly prescribed mechanical system poorly adapted to the needs either of children or community.” “universal practice,” they say, “is enlisted in the maintenance of a rigid, minutely and mechanically prescribed system of instruction, organization, administration, supervision, examination and inspection. any change in this elaborate mechanism meets with resistance, positive as well as negative. so far as this system is adapted at any point to the actual needs of the individual children and youth that come under it, so far as it is adapted to the needs of the communities for adequately trained recruits to serve the community, the adaptation is accidental, not the result of intelligence now operative at that point.”
-this is a criticism of an american institution, and portland might be any large american city which has not had an educational awakening. the survey is significant because it shows the machinery and motives of public school education in this country for the last generation not only in portland but in a city like new york, whose militaristic, mechanical system is now being thrown into convulsions by the sudden challenge of the new type of school embodied in the gary plan. indeed this portland survey is a much better survey of new york school conditions than the elaborate hanus inquiry which was made a few years ago.
-the viciousnesses which the investigators found in the portland system are those which are familiar to all who feel the defects of their own schooling, or have set about to examine the reasons for the poor quality of the school output. on the administrative side there are all the evils that come from retaining a scheme of amateur control in a system which has of necessity become professionalized. a board which is directing a village school must keep all school matters under its supervision. but when that village has become a vast city, a school board which keeps the strings in its own hands is simply manufacturing wastefulness and inefficiency. a lay board which employs highly paid and highly trained principals, supervisors, etc., and then insists on directing all business--from the engaging of janitors and the personal selection of teachers to the suspension of by-laws whereby a schoolroom may be leased for an evening lecture or a teacher excused to attend the funeral of her grandmother--labels itself as archaic and unfit. it is one of the cardinal principles of modern political and industrial organization that it is a waste of money to pay salaries large enough to buy judgment, discretion and expert skill and then not permit them to be used.
-this refusal to delegate responsibility, the investigators found, paralyzed initiative all through the school system. nothing could be done without reference to an untrained body of laymen who, however conscientious they might be, must usually decide spasmodically and without any definite educational policy. indeed their conscientiousness is often a positive vice. shiftlessness on their part would have permitted initiative on the parts of principals and teachers. under present conditions the distinction between good teachers and bad fades out. the concern of every one becomes to keep the machinery going, not to criticize the work and keep it adapted to the individual aptitudes of the children.
-this administrative lifelessness has its counterpart in a pedagogical routine the focus of which is the “course of study.” the curriculum is uniform for all children. it is “vivisected into fifty-four dead pieces,” laid down in pages in certain adopted textbooks. “the only thought devoted to the formulation of the course of study,” say the investigators, “was the simple mathematical thought necessary to parcel out the pages of the books.” the teacher’s duty is to haul the pupil through the course of study. this is done by means of the formal recitation, where “pupils answer hollow word-questions with memorized hollow word-statements.” term examinations discover how many of these word-statements are left in the pupils’ minds. an elaborate system of inspection and supervision exists to check up and grade both teachers and principals and ensure that the hallowed “course of study” is fully being carried out. many of the teachers are trained in the local schools and turned back into the system to perpetuate these methods. a state tenure-of-office act keeps all teachers in their places.
-the effect upon the children is logical. the school becomes an automatic process of elimination. those who can be hauled through the course of study are hauled. those whose talents do not lie in the capacity to memorize printed pages pass out of the school or become hopelessly mired in the lower grades. “if the sixteen-year-old child has not yet transferred to his memory parts 37 to 54, inclusive, of the dead and comminuted curriculum, the chief constituents of which are abstract arithmetic and technical grammar, then he must begin with part 37 and appropriate that and each of the succeeding 17 parts in order, before he can even be associated with youth of approximately his own age, and before he can engage in study suited to his age and condition--study and exercises that will be of immediate and practical value to him in the effort he must shortly make to serve society for the sake of his own livelihood.” and this system, formulated and approved twenty years ago by high educational authorities, the survey stigmatizes as valuable only in its “cheapness and facility of administration, and the relief that it affords educational officers and teachers from all responsibility of knowing and of meeting the individual needs of their pupils.”
-this type of public school, so bald and grotesque in the sober pages of the portland survey that it seems more like the ritual of some primitive tribe than the deliberate educational activity of an enlightened american community, is yet the type that still prevails in the majority of our cities. this is the fact that we must face. yet a community that asks to be surveyed is a community dissatisfied with itself. other communities are likely to stir uneasily, and ask themselves why, if los angeles and indianapolis and gary can have modern and fruitful public school systems, other cities should not. we may even hope that it is the last of the old system and the promise of the school of to-morrow.
-what is experimental education?
-at a time when more people are thinking intelligently about american education than ever before, it is unfortunate that there should be any confusion between the widely diverse trails that experimentation is opening up to the modern school. it is becoming increasingly evident that the “experimental” in education does not at all mean the same thing to educational administrators as it does to educational idealists. “experimental education” has not yet been pitted in competition against the “experimental school,” but it is not unlikely that the different techniques which they suggest may come to seem hostile to each other, and so the real values of both be lost. at present the two seem to be developing in a fairly complete disregard of each other. it would be dangerous for american education to tangle itself in the dilemma of choosing between them. on the other hand, it would be even more disastrous to confuse them. if we attempt to apply the quantitative standards of the new “experimental education” to the life of the “experimental school,” or to infuse the qualitative ideals of the “experimental school” into the technique of “experimental education,” we run the risk of spoiling that modern and socially-adjusted school towards which we are all feeling our way.
-when the inventive school superintendent or professor of education speaks of “experimental education,” he is thinking, not of the “model school,” but of the new standard tests in the fundamental subjects by which the work of large masses of public school children is being regularly measured and compared. the city school survey has elaborated a technique of intellectual measurements which is giving us very rapidly a genuine quantitative science of education. a report like professor judd’s in the “cleveland survey”--“measuring the work of the public schools”--is a storehouse of suggestiveness for all who like to see how mathematics can be fruitfully applied to living. these statistical studies measure accurately the performance of children in the different grades and at different ages in the specific literate skills which everybody needs even to start fairly in the race of opportunity. the standard tests have been worked out experimentally with great numbers of school-children so that average norms of accomplishment can be set for any class or any individual. rates of speed and quality of handwriting, and their relation to each other; ability to spell common words; rate and capacity of accurate figuring; rate and quality of silent and oral reading;--these are the aptitudes that are rigidly measured by the tests. the children are treated as segregated arithmetical minds, reading minds, spelling minds, as units of intellectual behavior. the tests are not “examinations,” for they do not aim to show any absolute attainment of “knowledge.” their value is in the comparison they afford of individual skill, and of deviations from a norm of effectiveness. in the mass of scores you have an intellectual relief map of your class, your school, your city system.
-now nothing could apparently be more deadly and mechanical than this treating of living children as if they were narrowly isolated minds. in this “experimental education” we are evidently in another world from the “experimental school.” yet out of these tests emerge the most important implications for modern education. out of this “experimental education” we at last get a scientific basis for the “modern school.” for we have irrefutable proof of the enormous diversity of minds and aptitudes. we have a demonstration of the utter foolishness of subjecting children to a uniform educational process. we have accurate proof of the fallacy of the “average” in education. these tests are added proof of the unscientific character of the typical public school on that very technical and administrative side which has been most carefully developed. the graded school was a brilliant invention for its time, but the bases of classification are shown by these new tests to be absurd. children are now classified, for purposes of education, largely by age and average standing. the tests show that neither category has the slightest relevance for effective learning. we classify things for the purpose of doing something to them. any classification which does not assist manipulation is worse than useless. but mere numerical age is no clue whatsoever to mental or even physiological age, and minds with the same average may plot out very differently for every individual one of the various skills and interests that elementary training involves. our educational grading has been as sentimental and sterile as the ancient philosophers’ classification of matter into earth, water, fire, air. such a conception of the world was interesting, but there was nothing you could do with it. all the school has done with its classifying has been to get the children into groups where they could be dosed with an orderly sequence of lessons. there has been no handle by which their heterogeneous minds and wills could be taken hold of and directed. the rule of the classroom is necessarily military, because such diverse people could only be unified in the most objective and external and coercive way. no internal control would be possible. so the teacher must devote a large part of her educational energy to the mere business of policing. when she actually “taught,” it was only the average child that she could really address--the fairly bright mediocrity. the other pupils wasted their time almost in direct proportion to their deviation above or below that average. children passed up through their educational life on the basis of an “average mark,” which represented nothing whatever but a number. the standard tests have shown repeatedly that ability is so unevenly distributed that the brightest fourth-year children overlap the poorest eighth-year children. however children may average, scarcely two children in the same class will ever be found to have the identical capacity in the different subjects. the tests reveal not only that children differ, but just how curiously and widely they do differ.
-the traditional classification is enough to wreck any educational system, even without the deadness of the curriculum. with the progressive congestion of the public schools, teaching has become more and more impossible. the traditional system of grading has successfully resisted most improvement in teaching, and vitiated the newer values that have been brought into the school. if children, clearly not defective, cannot learn arithmetic, read slowly and unintelligently, spell chaotically and write a slovenly hand, question the grading system. never have there been such admirable techniques for teaching these fundamental things. but the classification defies them. the “class” gives the teacher no leverage for improving the children’s skill. an unscientific grading is as much a barrier to altering minds as it is to changing materials.
-these truths seem elementary and obvious, yet we had to wait for this “experimental education” to shake complacency in the “graded school.” now if we accept these tests we have to conclude that it is useless to grade children for education unless those “grades” correspond accurately and specifically to the capacities of the children. work must be done in each specific subject with--and only with--those who have approximately the same capacity. the “average” is totally unknown in that “real life” which we are constantly forced to set up in antithesis to the school. in no function of life is any one going to be judged by a composite ability to read, write, spell, figure. one succeeds not through any average skill or average information, but through the ability to throw all one’s skill and all one’s intelligence where it is demanded. a measurement of intelligence by averages will always produce just that ineffectiveness and vagueness for which the products of the public school are censured at present.
-the fallacy of the educational “average” involves another fallacy, equally obvious but equally prevalent. this is the fallacy of the “partially perfect.” the school ranks the seventy per cent. child equal to the hundred per cent. child. children pass to more difficult work on an admitted basis of imperfect accomplishment. but for any real effectiveness in the world it is not enough to be habitually only seventy per cent. right. whenever you need to be literate, the world demands that you be actually literate. if you have information, you are either useless or dangerous unless your information is accurate. it is better not to know arithmetic at all than persistently to make only seven hits out of ten. for all practical purposes your child is as much a failure at seventy per cent. as he is at zero per cent. it will avail him little to be able to read and write and figure at a rate and an excellence only seventy per cent. of the standard. in any situation which requires these elementary skills he will be almost as much handicapped as if he were entirely illiterate. it is time that the school faced the bitter truth that life demands an approximate perfection in whatever one tries to do. education must shape all its technique towards this approximate perfection. it is not necessary that all should do the same thing. but it is necessary that what one pretends to do one should succeed gradually in doing. the individual who is allowed to persist continuously on a level of imperfect accomplishment is not being educated. for him education is a failure. he should either drop his technique, or ways should be found to improve him towards mastery. what children are learning at any one time they should be learning with a sense of control. the more difficult should not be confronted till the less difficult has been absorbed. and this controlled progress will be possible only in a school where children work with their equals. classification in education should be based only on specific proficiency.
-the new “experimental education” is engaged in making dramatic in the schools these truths. it is a force even more revolutionary than the idealism of the “experimental school.” the situation suggested by the “curve of distribution” is one of the most momentous facts to be reckoned with by us of to-day. it is making over our theories of democracy, social reform and social progress. to work out its manifold implications in the school is to touch the very nerve of our democratic future.
-the organic school
-the fairhope summer school, which has just closed its season (sept., 1915), at greenwich, connecticut, has given to northern people an opportunity to see at work mrs. marietta johnson’s widely known ideal of “organic education.” just as the gary plan has shown how the city school may give a varied training to great masses of children with a freedom and flexibility never believed possible, so mrs. johnson has demonstrated how the small community, or even household, by using the natural environment and the natural needs as laboratory and workshop, may adjust the child to life far more accurately than any formal school. no school carries out more carefully professor dewey’s dictum that the child can only be educated by concerning himself with what has meaning to him as a child, and not what is to have meaning to him later as an adult.
-in the organic school, children grow up naturally and healthfully, playing out-of-doors, following their curiosities, learning as their life makes demands upon them. the teacher is there to answer their questions, to sharpen their wits, to name for them and analyze the flowers and soil and trees, to show how to plant vegetables and build little coops or houses. in their winter school at the single-tax colony of fairhope, alabama, on the shores of mobile bay, the children can be out in the open air almost every day. the land is a complete geological, botanical, and physical laboratory, and the household a natural classroom where they learn to live. the school grew, in fact, quite naturally out of the household, and the necessity for some sort of school in a community where there was none. mrs. johnson, with her teacher’s genius, simply sharpened and arranged her intercourse with the children around her, and presently had a school which has become one of the most interesting in the country.
-its very informality is its charm and success. the hundred or more children are not classified in grades, but in “life-classes,” which correspond roughly to those three periods in child life--the first seven years of growth, the years to adolescence, and early adolescence. the first class is really an outgrowth of the nursery. in the cool rooms of the fairhope summer school one comes upon little farmhouses and villages and doll-houses of building-blocks, which form the basis for getting acquainted with the village the children lived in. the next group is characterized by a tough practicality, a capacity for drill and persistence, and this “life-class” was found in the wood-working shop and garden. literary studies are taken up very late by the third class, whose recitations are rather informal discussions in an outdoor cluster around the teacher. only when a broad background of acquaintance with real things is obtained, practical powers of observation acquired, and an actual need felt for learning what books can tell, are the conventional school studies begun. in the organic school there is thus some chance left to the children for getting real meanings and not mere words and phrases which they may glibly repeat. reading and writing are not taught by drill, but are picked up by the child from the teacher or the other children, in the rousseauan fashion, whenever he finds that he is missing something very important and interesting in not having this skill.
-learning in this kind of school becomes as natural as eating. one learns when one is hungry to understand what is going on in the world. such schools, it will be said, are all very well as an ideal, but where can teachers be found to direct them? certainly many of mrs. johnson’s children could teach others in the way they have learned themselves. the way to get teachers for this free organic education in the “schools of to-morrow” is clearly to teach more children in the same way.
-communities for children
-mr. wirt’s schools at gary are genuine public schools, in the sense that they provide for every kind of child in the community and draw into themselves the main aspects of the community life. they are not artificial training-schools for vocations or for life; they are a life itself. “the public school is still merely the old private school publicly supported,” he says. the change of support has not really made it a different kind of a school. it has not really grown up to urban demands. school-boards usually act as if they were handling private property. they gravely discuss “wider use of the school plant” as if this were some gracious extension of privilege. the public does not yet feel that the schools are its own. organization, administration, instruction, are highly authoritative, doctrinaire. the ideal has been uniformity in methods and product. the educational system has become as autocratic and military as the industrial. as for content, the curriculum is the old medieval one, not transformed, but patched up, in the good old anglo-saxon way, as interests which had been the concern of the few were gradually demanded by the many. art study, nature study, physical education, science, organized play, manual training, have been added to the public school work. but these new interests and activities have become simply additional “subjects,” taught in much the same spirit as the old. the problem of the educator has been, not how may the new activity vitalize and transform the others, but how can it be introduced with the least disturbance to what is already there. the present discussion of professional educators about vocational training shows the same mechanical effort to introduce an alien activity into the traditional curriculum in such manner that the latter may remain intact.
-mr. wirt’s own school is not a tinkering-up of the present school system. he is not an “educational reformer” making something over. he has plowed up the educational ground. he actually has a new kind of a school. it is not a “school of unspecialized vocational training,” or “a school founded on play,” or an “efficiency school,” or any of the other terms with which it has been designated. it is hard to describe because it defies classification in the old terms. nothing is more delightful about the gary schools than the absence of cant. most of the current educational problems, the books and ideas on pedagogy, educational psychology, supervision, administration, teaching-methods, classroom management, discipline, etc., which fill the attention of the current educational world are here as if they were not. it is a school built up outside the influence of the professors of education, the teachers’ colleges, and the normal school of the land. it is true that there is probably not a single idea operative that is original with mr. wirt. probably there is not a single idea that is not being applied in some school in the country. the novelty is the synthesis, and the democratic spirit that motivates it.
-i am unable otherwise to account for their streaming back in such numbers to the voluntary saturday schools, voluntary for the teachers, too, who are paid extra for their work. saturday is a glorified pay-day, where one may do anything one likes, from making swords in the wood-shop to studying back work in the classroom. i spent a fascinating hour watching the thronged wood-shop where little boys were fussing with the scraps left from the regular work of the week. it occurred to me then how little real difference there was between the well-to-do home and the very poorest in the way of interesting activities for children. how many homes of the comfortably enlightened classes were fit places to bring up a child? how many even pretend to supply the books and the wood-work and tools and plants and music with which these wonderful buildings were running over? without interesting activities for children, city homes, both rich and poor, can provide only schools for loafing. as between the street, to which the less well-to-do child emerges for interest, and the vaudeville, the “movie” and the current fads to which the well-to-do child escapes, i think the street is probably the less demoralizing.
-this saturday workshop was a little study in spontaneous discipline. although the children were unwatched, they worked on their own little jobs as indefatigably as if they were under a drill-master. if any little boy became weary and was moved to interfere with another little boy, he was apt to be brushed off as though he were an irritating fly. could it be that mischievousness, supposed to be an integral part of child-nature, was simply a product of repression or idleness? could it be that school discipline was largely an attempt to solve problems which artificial rules were directly manufacturing? visiting superintendents, appalled at the freedom in the gary schools, tip-toe about looking for signs of depredation. they do not seem to report any. i decided that these schools had actually acquired the “public” sense. it seemed really true that children, unless they were challenged to inventive wickedness by teachers’ rules and precepts, were no more likely to spoil their school than a lawyer is likely to deface the panels in the library of his club. this children’s community seemed to be enjoying its busy life in the same spirit that the wider public uses its streets and libraries and museums and railroad trains.
-this supremely democratic public sense is the motive of mr. wirt’s genius. all this richness of opportunity--the playgrounds, gymnasia, swimming-pools, gardens, science laboratories, work-shops, libraries, conservatories--which this school provides so lavishly, is possible to the public of a small and relatively poor city like gary, exactly because the schools are managed like any other public service. the modern educational ideal, “to provide a desk and seat for every child,” is as absurd as would be one to provide a seat in the park for every inhabitant. no public service is used by more than a fraction of the people at any one time. mr. wirt provides the coveted “desk and seat” for about one-quarter of the children. while they are studying the traditional three r’s, etc., the rest of the school is distributed in shop and playgrounds, gymnasium and studio, or at home. by an ingenious redistribution of the groups throughout the course of an eight-hour day, mr. wirt is able not only to give every child the opportunity of the varied facilities every day, but he is able to accommodate in one school building twice the ordinary number of children. the insoluble “part-time” problems of city schools disappear. the gary school has two complete schools, each with its set of teachers, functioning together in the same building all day long. in the lower grades the child spends two hours daily in the classroom, an hour in laboratory or shop, half-an-hour in studio, and half-an-hour in gymnasium, an hour in auditorium, and the rest of the day in study, play or outside activity. the older child has three hours for formal instruction, and two hours for more intensive shop or studio work. children are passing back and forth constantly between home and school, each with his or her own scheme of work, and all the school is being used all the time.
-the amount of money thus saved in school buildings alone is so large that even a town like gary, with relatively meager school revenues, can afford not only the varied equipment, but also luxuries like special school physicians and nurses, and special teachers for special subjects. mr. wirt has been accused of “business efficiency,” but this is scarcely the term for so artistically elegant a scheme of economy. when you reflect that it is just because the traditional classrooms are provided for only a proportion of the children that all of them have the varied daily opportunities of many-sided work and play, you are likely to call this “economy,” in the old golden greek sense of the wise management of household resources, so that every member may share alike in the activity and the wealth. such economy is creative; it enriches, not impoverishes. i have said that mr. wirt thought in terms of the rural community, but it is of the rural community and its creative economy, expanded to fill and reorganize the life of the modern city. the school trains the child by letting him do the things the city does. his education is an acclimatization to the wider social life.
-a truly public school would let nothing communal remain alien to itself. in the chemistry class at the emerson school i actually found the children helping in the necessary chemical work for the city. the class was simply an extension of the municipal laboratory. gary, of course, has the good fortune or the good sense to have as chemistry teacher the municipal chemist. the older children act as his assistants. with him the class tests the city water, the various milk supplies of the town. under the inspector, they visit dairies, workshops, bakeries and food-stores. last year they published a milk bulletin containing general information and reports of their tests. i could not see that it was essentially inferior in quality to one that an agricultural school might have issued. when i came upon this class it was testing sugars and candies, from the different shops of the town, for purity and for use of coloring matter. another class was experimenting with soft drinks, studying questions of solution, suspension and crystallization, with ramifications, i was told, towards the physiological effect of certain products. the children were practically deputy food inspectors, and made reports on the official blanks. the chemist assured me that he had not lost a case in prosecuting for violation of the pure food laws. in east chicago, where school-children were ostensibly not trained as a vigilance committee in scientific investigations, the chemist could not get a single conviction.
-the children also test the materials supplied to the school, the coal, cement, etc., to see whether they come up to specifications. i saw a group trying to make soap for the use of the school. the chemist assured me--college-trained ignoramus that i was amidst this youthful expertness--that there was scarcely a principle of the science, theoretical or practical, that he could not develop from this work, all so directly motivated by the daily life around the children. i wish i could convey the fine caliber of this young chemist as he stood in his laboratory with the children working around him, his clear poise between the theoretical and the practical making him for me the ideal symbol of science working ceaselessly at the world around to make it cleaner and healthier and more livable.
-that chemistry class in gary has a high and momentous significance to me. it was distinctly not play, as all other laboratory work in school or college that i have seen has been play. i was surprised to find how completely the doing of real work banished the amateur atmosphere and at the same time made the work infinitely more interesting. mr. wirt says the child is a natural scientist, indefatigably curious and resourceful, quick and accurate. the little children actually seem to achieve less breakage than the older. what kind of a community we are going to have when any large proportion of the children grow up to observe and test the physical conditions under which they live--when they get the scientific-deputy-inspector habit, so to say--and what would happen to some forms of political jugglery if a younger generation got used to thinking in terms of qualitative and quantitative tests, i leave to the imagination. but it seemed to me that that chemistry class was one of the most important activities in the united states to-day.
-really public schools
-characteristic of the “public sense” of the gary schools is the class in history and geography, which i found at work getting an imaginative background of the larger social world. to the news-board in the hall they brought clippings that seemed important. the history room was smothered in maps and charts, most of them made by the children themselves. there was a great red indiana ballot, a chart of the state senate, a diagram of state administration, a table showing the evolution of american political parties, war-maps and pictures. the place was a workshop, with broad tables for map drawings, and a fine spread of magazines and papers. “laboratory” work in history, tried so timorously in some of our most daring colleges, was in full swing in a gary high school class.
-when i visited the room the class was concerning itself with reports on “the city as a healthful place to live in,” with special emphasis on parks, because the town had been waging its campaign for the new water-front park. little outlines on greek and roman cities, medieval and modern cities, had been worked up in the school library--bountifully equipped as a branch of the city public library. i had walked into a true course on town-planning, at once the most fascinating and significant of current social interests and the study that packs into itself more historical, sociological and geographical stimulation than almost any i know. a class that had gone through those reports would have the materials for exactly the social background that our current imaginations need; and, moreover, all those materials would be firmly placed in the community setting.
-there is a charming communal self-consciousness about gary, and this sort of history is the thing that feeds it. one class had been working on a comparison of athenian and spartan education with gary education. this struck me as peculiarly delightful. such social introspection we rather badly lack in america, yet it is the only soil in which intellectual virtue can ever grow. the ancient history class has for its purpose: “to improve its members as american citizens by a study of the experiences of the ancient peoples.” this class, after some classroom turbulence, formed a voluntary society which is duly opened and conducted by the president, while the instructor lingers in a leisurely fashion outside. i know of no more admirable reason for historical study than this phrase, the natural expression of the gary child who wrote the constitution for this class.
-they do not seem to know whether they are studying “civics” or not. they are too busy soaking in from real events a familiarity with history as it is lived and the community as it works. i throw in here an advertisement for the “literary digest” and the “independent,” which the pupils regularly read. they study history backward, so that it explains what is happening to-day. they repeatedly dramatize remote times. they are talking of coöperating with the state historical pageant. it seemed to me that these children were actually learning their social world in the spontaneous natural way that the intelligent child learns it from newspapers and books and from the slow, unconscious widening of horizon for which he must usually look quite outside the school.
-if other community institutions have anything educational to offer outside the school, or if parents and children think they have, mr. wirt’s school lets the children go to these out of their auditorium or play hour. the churches may have them for religious instruction--there is no bible-reading or prayer in the gary schools--and thus avoid the imagined necessity for a special kind of church day-school. already a polish parochial school in gary has lost its reason for being and vanished. y. m. c. a.’s, neighborhood houses, special music-teachers, etc., may also act as extensions of the school. it will be interesting to see how successfully some of these institutions which purport to form the child’s morals and care for his soul’s destiny prove their supplementary value, and how far they are not simply having joyfully extended to them a long rope by which they may hang themselves.
-to mr. wirt the school is not more a community than the community is a school. he believes that parks and playgrounds should follow the schools, and in gary he demands twenty acres for every school plant. he does not rely upon public playgrounds, to which, as experience shows, only a proportion of children can be enticed from the streets, but his playground is a part of the school on equal terms with the other activities. otherwise these very expensive grounds which cities are providing are apt to be futile. mr. wirt’s policy is to make it as easy as possible for the community to use the schools. he does not force people to the opportunities, but he puts them where the people cannot easily evade them. he does not drive children to the public library, but he has a branch put in each school. the gary schools are open night and day, practically every day in the year. the indiana law--protector from tyranny--forbids more than ten months of school a year, but allows vacation schools. sunday sees popular lectures. the gary schools seem almost as public as the streets.
-if the school is to be not only a community embryonic of current society but also a school-community of itself, it must have some forum or theater where everything that is peculiarly interesting in any part of the school may be brought dramatically to the attention of the rest of the school. this mr. wirt provides in the auditorium hour, so drearily used in the ordinary school for religious exercises, “speaking pieces,” and moral homilies. in gary every child goes to “auditorium” for an hour each day, but he listens there to talks by the special teachers about their work, lantern-lectures and dramatic dialogues written by the children themselves from their history or literature work. there may be moving-pictures, instrumental music, gymnastic exhibitions. the initiative and responsibility are left to the teachers. there seems to be no limit to the interest and the possibility of what may go on in this free little secular theater except what the imagination of teachers and children can suggest. there is always singing, and of a most excellent tone. “auditorium” is one of mr. wirt’s novel ideas. it seems to make unreal the old categories of “entertainment” and “edification,” just as the rest of the school seems to damage the conceptions of “work” and “play.” there was a pleasant informality about things, with the girls sewing at the back of the theater, and the young audience breaking into whistling as they marched out to the music of the piano. “auditorium” ought to be quite as important as mr. wirt thinks it is. what school-work might become, lived always in the possible light of its intelligent presentation to the school audience in dramatic form, we do not know, because educators have never been dramatists. the gary schools have special teachers for expression, but the american spirit is in many ways so inexpressive that the idea can thus far be only a frank and delightful experiment.
-i liked particularly in the “auditoriums” i visited the intermingling of children of all ages. this is one of the many ways by which the gary school breaks down the snobbery of age which causes so much unhappiness in childhood, and fixes the adult mind with so many delusions. i came across a significant editorial in the emerson school paper which showed me how useful this intermingling was in smashing caste lines that were already forming. the editor acknowledged that the expected objectionableness of the “youngsters” had not asserted itself. one got a real sense of a new sympathy breaking upon these already sophisticating minds of high-school children.
-i mention this because it is typical of mr. wirt’s genius to obliterate artificial lines and avoid mechanical groupings. his ideal school is one like the emerson in gary, a complete school, from kindergarten to college, in the same building, with all the varied facilities used by all classes. the grading is of the utmost flexibility. the traditional twelve grades are followed, but classes work in “rapid,” “average,” or “slow” groups, according as the various children give promise of completing the state-prescribed curriculum in ten, twelve or fourteen years. the child may pass from group to group or from grade to grade at any time on the examination of the supervisor of instruction. the child himself has no sense of being “graded” or even “marked.” report-cards are rather a concession to parents’ weaknesses. if the child needs additional help, there is the parallel school, so that he may have a double lesson the same day. and the saturday school offers another opportunity.
-now a program like this, and all this free election and flexibility, would seem wilful and anarchical were it not for the fact that in the gary school these schedules are the result of a natural and very careful process of selection, made by the child. what the child shall study, outside of the regular classroom work, is neither forced upon it nor aimlessly selected. take the emerson school, a beautiful building with laboratories and studios, gymnasia and shops, and put your child into its kindergarten or first grade. he runs about the halls. the shops and studies and laboratories are not segregated, but distributed over the building so as to convey the impression that they are equally significant, and to give every child an opportunity of becoming familiar with them. all the rooms have big glass doors or windows. the child’s own unaided curiosity makes him look in and wonder about what the older children are doing there. one could see children of all ages peering into the foundry or machine-shop or printery.
-when the child has reached the third or fourth grade he has a certain idea of what activity interests him, and he is allowed to go into shop or laboratory as observer or helper to the older child. he watches and asks questions, and the older boy learns by teaching him. if the child finds that the work does not actually interest him he still has the chance to change. when he takes up the work in the higher grades he has served his apprenticeship and is already familiar with the apparatus and the technique. the teacher does not have to break in a new class each year. it is almost a self-perpetuating and self-instructing class. the child has been assimilated to the work as new members in any profession or trade in society are assimilated. when the child is exposed from his earliest years to the various vocational activities, is allowed to come into them just as his curiosity ripens, you have as perfect a “choice of a vocation” as could be imagined. only this sort of opportunity can really be called “vocational training.” the usual vocation school work takes the child too late, when his curiosity is likely to be dulled; it puts him into the work without any previous familiarity. it can scarcely be anything but drudgery. if “capacities are to be developed,” mr. wirt’s scheme gives the surest means of developing them. it solves the grave problems of “vocational” and “pre-vocational” training, which are so sorely vexing the professional educational world, a large part of whose business in life seems to be to create and have problems.
-apprentices to the school
-vocational training in the schools of gary means that whatever work is necessary in the way of repairing, conserving, beautifying or enhancing the facilities, is done by the school itself. these large, lavishly equipped modern school-buildings require a force of mechanics to keep them in repair. their shops are the industrial and manual shops for the school. the children work in them with skilled union workmen, who are employed not primarily as “manual training” teachers, but as assistants to the building superintendent. the mechanics teach by allowing the children to help them as apprentices. they earn their salaries by repair and construction work, while the children who desire it get an incomparable vocational training at practically no cost to the town. where the ordinary trade-school must have large classes to make the enterprise pay, the gary vocational work may be done with the smallest groups, for the shops are paying for themselves anyway.
-manual training takes on quite a new meaning as you move about, watching the boys in the carpenter-shop making desks or tables, or cabinets for the botany collections, or book-racks for the library, sending them on to the paint-shop when they have finished; boys in the sheet-metal shop hammering zinc for the roof; young electricians repairing bells; a couple of plumbers tinkering with pipes; little groups of serious and absorbedly interested boys in foundry and forge and pattern-making shop, all coöperating like the parts of a well-ordered factory. there was obviously enough real work to keep busy for his hour a day every child who desired training in a trade. where school and workshop are thus fused, the need for “continuation” and “coöperative” courses--where the boy alternates between shop or factory and school--disappears. the child has the advantages of both.
-the ordinary school, and even the specialized vocational school, is rarely doing more in its industrial, manual, or domestic science work than playing a rather dreary game with toys. there could scarcely be a greater contrast between the real shops of the gary schools and those ordinary “shops” and kitchens with their dozens of little machines at which at a given time the entire class does its little stereotyped “stunt.” in gary the domestic science room is a real kitchen in which the daily luncheon is prepared and served at cost to the teachers and pupils who desire it. the cook is a real cook, and the girls come in as observers, helpers or workers, just as the boys go into the shops. the nearest approach to a luxury is the pottery shop, but this is itself perhaps the best symbol of that fusion of the artistic and the practical that is the wirt genius. what are you to say when you walk into the art studio and find a dozen girls and boys high on a scaffolding painting a frieze which they have themselves designed, while others are at work on stained-glass designs to go in varnished paper on the panels of the door?
-there is a genial, joyous quality about all the work that gives every room a charm--the foundry with its deep shadows, the smooth gray pottery shop with its turning wheels and bright glazed jugs, the botany room with its mass of greenery. even the history room at emerson school had the atmosphere which comes from concentrated interest and the slow accretion of significant material. emerson itself is a spacious and dignified building with innumerable little touches of taste that one usually associates only with the high schools of exceptionally wealthy and cultivated suburban communities. it is a delightful paradox that so beautiful a life should appear to be lived where every activity seems to be motivated by direct utilitarian application. i said that you have to plow your mind up to understand this kind of a school. certainly i have never seen a place which more nearly permitted to seem real that old ideal of the joy of work which we imagine must have existed back in guild days. it may be left to the imagination what children trained in such a school are likely to have to say to the industrial society in which we live.
-the botany class was responsible for the beautiful and elaborate conservatory at the entrance of the emerson school, and for the window hothouse in the botany room, where practical experiments are made. the botanists also have charge of the shrubs and trees on the grounds, and the vegetable gardens which they work communistically all through the summer. their study of food and textile products ramified into the domestic science work, just as the zoology study was fused with physiology. this latter class had a playground zoo, with foxes and coyotes, raccoons and prairie-dogs, about whose habits and adventures they were preparing a brochure, which was already in press at the printery. when i stepped into the zoology laboratory itself, i found that i was in an even more animated zoo. crows, chickens and pigeons in cages at the back of the room were lusty with vociferous greeting. the imperturbability of the children amidst this racket showed me how well aware they were that this was the way a zoology room ought to behave.
-such a school, where the child works almost unconsciously into a vocation which appeals to him as neither play nor drudgery, is far more “vocational” than even the specialized school. the child, beginning so young in shop or laboratory, and assimilating the work very gradually, is able to lay deep foundations of interest and skill. the gary school is distinctly unspecialized. in a sense it gives a completely “liberal education.” the child emerges a skilful amateur. the industrial and scientific work no more “train” him to take a definite place in the industrial world than the cultural work trains him to be a college professor. but he should leave school well equipped to cope with a dynamic, rapidly changing industrial society which demands above all things versatility, and which scraps methods and machines as ruthlessly as it does men. only the man of rounded training and resourcefulness who can turn his hand quickly to a variety of occupations has much chance of success. our public school, in spite of its fancied “liberal” curriculum, has really been turning out only very low-grade specialists. it has made no effort to produce the type of mind most needed to-day--the versatile machinist, the practical engineer, the mind that adapts and masters mechanism. this is probably the best intellectual type our society produces. this exactness, resourcefulness, inventiveness, pragmatic judgment of a mechanism by its product, the sense of machinery as a means, not an end, are exactly the qualities that society demands in every profession or trade.
-the gary school is the first i have seen that promises to cultivate this kind of intelligence. it frankly accepts the machine not in the usual sense of the vocational schools, as an exacting master that the child is to learn docilely to obey, but as the basis of our modern life, by whose means we must make whatever progress we may will. the machine seems to be a thing to which society is irrevocably pledged. it is time the school recognized it. in gary it is with the child from his earliest years. it is the motive of his scientific study. the physics teacher at the emerson school told me that he thought the fascinating and irresponsible automobile had done more to educate the younger generation than most of the public schools. tinkering with an automobile was a whole scientific training.
-i dropped into his physics class, and found a dozen twelve-year-old girls and their nine-year-old “helpers” studying the motor-cycle. with that fine disregard for boundaries which characterizes gary education, the hour began with a spelling lesson of the names of the parts and processes of the machine. after the words were learned, the mechanism was explained to them as they pored over it, and their memory of vaporization, evaporation, etc., called into play. the motor-cycle was set going, the girls described its action, and the lesson was over, as perfect a piece of teaching as i have ever heard. the intense animation of that little group was all the more piquant for having as a background the astounded disapprobation of three grave school superintendents from the east.
-to these physics classes the ventilating, heating and electric systems in the schools are all text-books. the climate is studied. the shops provide many physics problems. there was a class of boys having explained to them the physical principles of various types of machines. the impetuous rush of those little boys as they were sent into the machine-shop to take apart a lawn-mower, a bicycle, and a cream-separator, and the look of elation on their faces, would alone make gary unforgettable to me. it was evident that this was indeed a different kind of school.
-the natural school
-a surprisingly small amount of administrative machinery for so varied a system is required by the schools of gary. mr. wirt is the city superintendent of schools. under him each of the five school buildings has an executive principal. two supervisors of instruction look after the pedagogical work of the system. the director of industrial work has charge of building repair, and supervises the shops where the children work under the mechanic-teachers. there is no attempt to segregate the vocational work. manual, physical, artistic and academic activities are administered on an equal footing.
-for the teacher the gary school should be almost as liberating as it is to the pupil. in the details of courses much initiative is left to the teacher. it is really an inductive school where courses are worked out by supervisors consulting together on the basis of classroom experience. teachers are encouraged to experiment and develop their own ideas. here is the first public school i have ever seen that resolutely sets itself against uniformity of method or product, that recognizes differences of individuality.
-the working-day of the teacher may be longer, but she is relieved of the burdensome home-work. the nervous strain is lessened also by the freer method of discipline. there cannot be unruly children unless children are ruled, and in the gary school there is apparently no artificial repression. one found in the classroom as much talking as there would be in a concert audience, with the same natural motives, freed of “rules of order,” for quiet. the frequent change of room and activity in the gary school prevents, too, that nervous restiveness which must inevitably come to the child kept long at his desk. the point is that only in a free and varied school like this can one talk of effective discipline. when school activities are as attractive as they are here, deprivation becomes punishment. there is at hand an instrument for inculcating reason into refractoriness which is as powerful as the stoutest disciplinarian could wish. the ordinary school tries to keep up a military system of control, without any means, now that corporal punishment is generally abolished, of punishing infractions. in a gary school “being sent home” for misbehavior usually means being sent to a place infinitely less interesting. but there is little talk about “mischievous and unruly boys.” those children who, in spite of everything, “are not adapted to our kind of school,” may go to the school farm in the country to work. but this farm is not in any sense a “reform” school. delicate children may also be sent there, and other classes go for a holiday. as to the personal manners prevailing in such a free school as this, with its absence of moral homily, and effort to “train character” through obedience and discipline, i can only repeat the words of an italian boy who had recently come from orthodox schools elsewhere: “but they’re so polite!”
-i was glad to see that there was no nonsense at gary about schemes of “self-government,” which can be little more than a humiliating pretension in any school. a kindly judge did once institute “boyville” in a gary school, with a parody of municipal functions, but its unreality soon relegated it to limbo. spontaneous organization there is, but it grows out of real work. the boys’ ninth grade english class, for instance, has organized itself as the emerson improvement association, and its work revolves around the speaking and writing necessary in conducting the affairs of the organization. there seem to be no “extra-curricular” activities, which create so many problems elsewhere. athletic teams and sports are connected with the gymnasium work. other societies spring up naturally out of the school interests. problems of “fraternities” and the control of athletics which confront so many high schools are thus naturally avoided.
-the gary school not only lightens this strain of discipline for the teacher and cultivates her initiative, but serves as a kind of training-school for the teachers themselves. the new-coming teacher learns by acting as helper or “apprentice” to the older teacher, just as the children in shop or laboratory learn from one another. the result is an uncommon and appealing equality between teachers and children, without imposed authority on one side or subservience on the other. beside mr. wirt mme. montessori seems almost a beginner, so daringly has he carried the principles of self-instruction up through the higher grades. even visiting teachers and superintendents who wish to learn the theory and practice of the gary school must learn in the same way. mr. wirt does not lecture to them. he allows them also to come into the school for a few months as helpers to teacher or principal. everybody who has anything to do with a gary school must evidently learn by doing the real work itself. nothing shows more clearly the whole-knit fiber of mr. wirt’s philosophy than this new kind of “normal” school for visiting teachers.
-i was pleased with the absence of self-display. advertising has come from the outside. the teachers seem innocent of the great number of things they are doing which a large part of the orthodox educational world believes to be impossible. you are talked with frankly and genially, but nothing is done to impress you. you are left to interpret it all for yourself. those who miss the spirit will find weaknesses. professional educators hold up hands of horror at the “looseness” of the teaching. they miss the dramatic effect of the “well-conducted recitation”--the drawing-out of the pupil’s memory, or the appeals to glib guesses at what the teacher wants. they judge by the old-fashioned standard of how the teacher is teaching rather than the new one of what the child is learning. my complaint would be rather that there was still too much teaching that is conventional, particularly in the lower grades. and i have an animus against the deadly desks and seats which are still in use in too many of the classrooms. but the significant thing is that this kind of a school is not static or completed, but a constantly growing organism. the only limit to which it may grow lies in the imagination and initiative of teachers and pupils. and the school cannot be judged in cross-section. even when it starts with so admirable an equipment, its life has just begun. for the mechanical and artistic, manual work and intellectual study, are all directed towards enriching the physical body and the spiritual life and atmosphere of the school. this intensive cultivation of resources produces that “embryonic community life” which is professor dewey’s ideal, where in actual work the child senses the occupations and interests of the larger society into which he is to enter.
-mr. wirt’s schools would be unworthy of discussion were they not capable of imitation generally in american towns and cities. already a number of communities have copied the essential features, and mr. wirt is at present occupied in remodeling a few of the new york city schools, successfully, too, in spite of the fact that new york, on account of its rapid growth, its great alien population, and its political cross-currents, presents perhaps the most formidable school problems in the country. the only substantial difficulty in remodeling schools according to the gary scheme is the matter of playgrounds. even this is surmountable, for most cities have parks or usable vacant lots within reach of the school. mr. wirt’s great triumph in gary is the old jefferson school which he found when he came to the town. this was an orthodox ten-room building built by the city fathers to accommodate gary children for many generations. by turning the spacious attic into a gymnasium, transforming five of the classrooms into music and art studios and nature-study laboratories, by building a jack-of-all-trades workshop around the engine-room in the cellar, a domestic-science kitchen in an unused corner, and by appropriating a nearby park space, he transformed a perfectly ordinary school building, whose prototype may be found in every town in the land, into a full-fledged, varied and smoothly-functioning wirt school. through the “rotation of crops” system, this school, built for three hundred and sixty children, actually accommodates over eight hundred, and gives them every facility, if less elaborately, of the specially designed new schools.
-perhaps i may here recapitulate. the mere prosaic business economy of the wirt scheme is enough to recommend it. no school board can afford to neglect a plan which not only saves money to the taxpayers, but provides better facilities, more varied equipment and better educational opportunities than even well-to-do communities can at present afford. the wirt school solves the vexing “part-time” problem. gary is the only city i know that has room (march, 1915) in its present buildings for at least one-third more children than there now are to go to school.
-in the second place, the plan solves most of the problems of vocational and industrial training which now confront the public school. it catches the child’s curiosity and skill on the upstroke. it makes no separation of manual from intellectual work, and avoids that sinister caste-feeling which seems to be creeping into the vocational movement. and from the point of view of economy again, the scheme of devoting industrial work to actual care of the school-plant enables the school to provide a great variety of occupations almost without additional cost to the community.
-in the third place, the plan provides a large measure of individual instruction. it is a school for every kind of a child. the flexibility of schedules, the coöperation of outside agencies like the churches, the varied activities, give opportunity for the fullest development of differing interests and capacities.
-in the fourth place, the plan carries out throughout the school life the educational truth that learning can only come through doing. the habits and attitudes of careful scientific observation, or purposeful interesting activity which is neither work nor play, the social, democratic, and coöperative background which such a school cultivates, are exactly the qualities we need for our younger generation in american society.
-such a school carries out the best ideals of american democracy, as i see them, in an extremely effective way. its philosophy is american, its democratic organization is american. it is one of the institutions that our american culture should be proudest of. perhaps professional educators, accustomed to other concepts and military methods and administrative illusions, will not welcome this kind of school. but teachers hampered by drill and routine will want it, and so will parents and children.
-the democratic school
-a recent article in the “new york times” (oct. 17, 1915) by dr. thomas s. baker, headmaster of the tome school, contains an able pedagogical criticism of the gary school which is typical of the general attitude towards the gary idea on the part of conservative schoolmen. nothing could bring out more clearly the difference in educational values between this professional teaching opinion and the broad social vision of superintendent wirt. dr. baker admits the impressive social effectiveness of the plan. it is “the last development in socializing the schools.” mr. wirt is “not only an educator, but also a social reformer, a city worker.” but dr. baker’s argument is really the specialized pedagogical one against the social. where mr. wirt sees the school as a community center, a children’s world, dr. baker sees it as an educational factory. “the social value of the gary schools,” he says, “is beyond question. its pedagogic excellence has still to be determined.” from his point of view, a school is not so much a place to train effective citizens as to make “thorough scholars.” he questions whether “these side issues in the scheme of child-training”--the gymnasia, shops, laboratories, which the gary school contains--“are really essential in mental development.” he is afraid that the young citizens of gary learn more from their industrial shops and science laboratories than from their books.
-dr. baker’s guarded argument is really a glorification of “intellectual discipline” as against an intelligent capacity to lead an organic life in a modern society which needs above all things resourceful adaptation and social appreciations. it is a question of ideals, and no more important issue was ever put to a people than this one of how we want our next generation trained. the school is not only the one institution which assimilates all the people, but it is the most easily modifiable. it is not only the easiest lever of social progress but the most effective, for it deals with relatively plastic human material. to decide what kind of a school we want is almost to decide what kind of a society we want.
-if we only want that kind of a school which would “make hard-working and accurate scholars and produce thoughtful men,” we must resign ourselves to a progressive softening of the fiber and capacity of the mass of our people. the average educator acts as if he thought of his child-world as a level plain of capacities. there is the mass of unskilled, unawakened minds; here is the level of scholarship, knowledge, civic virtue, appreciations. education is to him the process of lifting up the mass from their primitive level to the higher one. the public school is the elevator into which all are to be shoveled and transported to the upper story. and the american public school in the last fifty years has been faithfully following this ideal.
-the truth is, of course, that mental aptitude is not any such level desert, but rather a series of inclined planes. when we try to educate all the children of all the people, we are not dealing with a homogeneous mass, but with sliding scales of capacity. a mental test of the school-children of a state would reveal an incline extending in orderly gradation from the genius down to the imbecile. a physical test would give us a different slant, a test for artistic or mechanical capacity another. stand at the center of divine average and try to lever any of these slopes into a horizontal position and you find half of your society squatting heavily at the lower end. you may ascribe it to race capacity, personal heredity, social environment, malnutrition, defective nervous organization or anything you please, but the fact remains that the greater part of the human raw material will be permanently resistive to or only dully appreciative of any attempts to elevate them to a level. this is true of any capacity you may choose. the outstanding truth of society seems to be the heterogeneous distribution of capacities. and the irony of it is that after artistic capacity true intellectual capacity is probably the rarest. for the public school to try to make intellectualists of all its children is a sheer defiance of sociological reality.
-some educators, while they recognize this diversity, yet insist on uniform standards, uniform curricula, uniform discipline, on the ground that social order in a democracy is imperiled unless the highest degree of like-mindedness prevails. such a democracy would be the stagnant democracy of china. the result of these attempts at standardization have been the automatic centrifugal flinging off into space of the children whose interests were not intellectual, who were no more capable of being made into “accurate scholars” than they were into artists and poets. and from those who did not get quite flung off, but clung on with their teeth, we get most of our prevailing pseudo-culture. to keep on trying to “develop the mind” and produce “thorough scholarship” in those whom we force to submit to educational processes, means simply to go on creating a nerveless and semi-helpless mass of boys and girls who will never take their effective and interested place in the world because they have no mental tools which they can wield. such a course is coming to be generally recognized as a kind of slow national suicide, a slow suffocation of industrial and social progress.
-the schools do change, but the schoolmen yield grudgingly. nothing could be more naïve than the test which dr. baker proposes for evaluating the gary plan. submit, he says, the highest class in the gary schools to an examination by the college examining board. if the students pass, the gary system will be justified of its children. was ever a more patent assertion of the professional bias? let the children drop out of the lower grades untrained except in the rudiments, but if the small minority in the highest class passes its vergil and algebra and english literature and german with marks as high as the graduates of the tome school, then the gary system will cease to be considered a “mere experiment.” if this is what the critics of the gary plan mean when they plead for an “evaluation of this novel experiment,” we may well hope that it will escape the peril.
-such a conception of educational values cannot become too speedily obsolete. a public school is a mockery unless it educates the public. it cannot make the rarefied and strained product at the top the test of its effectiveness. and the public is not ideally educated unless its individuals--all of them--are intelligent, informed, skilled, resourceful, up to the limit of their respective capacities. life itself can no longer be trusted to provide this education; the school must substitute. the gary school deliberately sets such an ideal. democracy does not mean uniformity, but it does mean equality of opportunity. a democratic school would be one where every child had the chance to discover and develop aptitude. the gary school, with its harmonious activities of intellectual, manual, artistic and scientific work, physical education and play, gives just this chance. democratic education does not mean the provision of separate schools for different kinds of children, or even separate courses in the same school, as the movement for industrial education is now threatening to bring. this is to create at once invidious distinctions, and fasten class education upon us. to say that children are different does not mean that some are fitted to be scholars and others to be manual workers, some to be artists and some to be scientists. the differences are differences of focus and not of quality.
-to most children will appear in the course of school life some dominant interest, and it is upon the cultivation of that interest that the child’s chance of being more than a nerveless mediocrity will depend. it is upon that training that his chance of being absorbed out of the school into the social and industrial world will depend. at the same time, without a common background with his fellows he will be alien and adrift in the world. interest and skill in one’s work, whether it be making automobiles or teaching greek, an acquaintance with the contemporary world, an alert intelligence which is always seeking to diminish the area of things human that are alien to one--a man or woman with this would be truly educated in any society. but both focus and background are supremely necessary. the present educational system does not really set itself to provide either. only in a school organized on some such plan as the gary plan will such education be possible.
-this does not mean that every child is to marvelously blossom into ideally alert and skilled intelligence. but we can be sure that a school which gives opportunity for the development of the most varied aptitudes in the free play of a child-community life will have done all that it could. no one pretends that the gary education is the intrinsically ideal education for all time. but we can say that, given the best social demands of america to-day, this school will make for the most robust, effective, intelligent citizenship of which we are at present capable.
-the trained mind
-how much longer are we to expect the headmasters of our private secondary schools to view with anything but alarm the current radical tendencies in education? in the november “atlantic,” dr. alfred e. stearns of phillips-andover is stirred to wrath against the fallacies of the modern school as expounded by mr. flexner and others. the paper contributes little new to the well-worn theory of mental discipline upon which upper-class education has so long been based. but it is highly significant as a pattern of the “trained” mind as it works in the exposure of fallacies. dr. stearns is presumably an immensely successful product of the old idealistic and linguistic education, gained by strenuous effort and vigorous thinking. it is worth while to examine how such a mind argues, what it considers as clinching evidence, how it hopes to convince the alert intellectual of to-day.
-the “fallacies” in modern education which dr. stearns is exposing are the materialistic and utilitarian ideal, the belief in the non-transferability of mental power from one field to another, the cultivation of interest rather than discipline, of play rather than drudgery, the scientific rather than the cultural emphasis. he wishes to persuade the reader that all these tendencies make for the perversion of the child’s character, the weakening of his mental grasp, the materializing of his soul. one waits eagerly for proofs of such very serious menaces. the student of education to-day is rapidly acquiring a belief in objective evidence, in statistical or at least analytic experiment, in scientific formulation. the kind of evidence that appeals to the alert student to-day is the kind that comes out of the psychological laboratory of clark university, or columbia or chicago, out of the great city school surveys, like portland or cleveland or new york, out of the experimental schools in different parts of the country. these are the arenas where educational problems will, he believes, ultimately be solved. and to him the so-called “fallacies” in modern education are not “dogmas” or “assumptions” at all, but rather hopeful hypotheses which are now being tested in dozens of american schools.
-is this the sort of evidence to which dr. stearns’ trained mind appeals when he wishes to discredit the “new” education? not at all. he does not even so much as show that he is acquainted with the existence of the great mass of literature which would throw light on the success or failure of the radical theories which he deplores. educational journals, school surveys, reports of intelligence tests, descriptions of play schools,--none of these seem to have come into contact with his training. for the benefit of the philosophically-minded, he does not even refer to the writings of dewey or hall, or the other radical writers on education. all this writing and doing which represents the new education at work, he lumps into “the pedagogical expert,” upon whom he lavishes his anxious scorn. the only concrete data he offers is the record of the college examination board, which dr. flexner, whom he is criticizing, had cited in his “modern school.” dr. flexner had argued against latin and mathematics in the secondary school on the ground that the majority of even the picked students failed in them. dr. stearns succeeds in showing that a majority of college candidates fail not only in latin and algebra but in all other subjects as well. the normal mind, untrained by the old dispensation, would consider these statistics very damaging to dr. stearns’ cause. the inexorable conclusion would be not that latin and algebra should be retained in the secondary school curriculum, but that the entire curriculum should undergo a radical reorganization in teaching methods and educational philosophy.
-dr. stearns, like most of the critics of the “new” education, makes the fundamental error of confusing the narrow business man, who sees no “use” for his son’s taking latin or algebra in school, with the “new” educator who would give these subjects a new orientation in the curriculum. the “practical” business man is as much anathema to the “modern school” as he is to the cultural school. the “modern school” would not refuse any subject to minds that fed upon it and fused it into vital experience. but it would not force it on minds that could not digest it. and dr. stearns’ own figures show how generally indigestible, with all the drudgery and mental discipline in the world, is the entire conventional secondary school curriculum. the pseudo-modern high school where science and manual arts have been added, only to be taught in the same unilluminated way, is as objectionable to the “new” educator as it is to dr. stearns.
-since the latter’s only use of objective evidence proves a boomerang, what considerations does he think will be persuasive in his attack on the “new” education? it is easy to see. his reliance is entirely on authority, upon personal belief. several very successful business men of his acquaintance attribute their success to the training of the old education. the majority of schoolmasters are not yet ready to abandon the doctrine of mental discipline. the sons of mr. hill go to college to get something which their father, for all his success, recognizes that he missed. it is a serious question in the minds of many observers whether dr. eliot’s advocacy of “observational” training is sound. always the reference to personal authority, to prestige, to anything but objective standards on which both sides may agree! always the naïve appeal to schoolmasters and successful business men, the pillars of his world! dr. stearns deplores the materialistic trend of the age, but he does not consider how powerfully his own innocent use of the verdict of successful business men as scientific evidence is likely to glorify material success in the minds of his students.
-dr. stearns’ logic is as unconvincing as his evidence. a doctrine is monstrous. therefore, he implies, it is untrue. intelligent children are usually bright in all their school subjects. therefore, if you force a child to learn through drudgery, you automatically endow him with general intelligence. the interest of boys in wireless telegraphy and automobiles, he thinks, is the best argument for keeping all these things out of a school where one must learn to work. at the same time, dr. stearns objects to scientific schools because students so soon lose interest in their work. but, according to the gospel of drudgery, why would not this make science the ideal “mental discipline”?
-such a paper as this shows the technique of a thoroughly obsolete mind. such “mental discipline” as this old education gave is evidently of little use in handling a world of facts, of experiment, of recorded tests. criticism does not make such thinkers critical. it only makes them belligerent. they do not analyze, they repel. they are more interested in a moral justification for the structure of their craft and their practices than in the truth. dr. stearns’ paper is the best evidence of how little relevant is the old linguistic and idealistic education to the intellectual demands of to-day. the critical, analytic, impersonal, experimental approach is wholly lacking in his paper. his evidence is personal authority, his logic is special pleading. parents with sons in private schools might well view with grave concern the kind of “trained mind” which is likely to be developed under such masters of the old education. they might ask how likely a boy, taught to use his mind the way dr. stearns uses his, is to analyze and grasp the complex facts of the world into which he will come.
-class and school
-the proposed experimental school which the general education board is to found in conjunction with teachers’ college in new york has sent a shiver through the conservative schoolmen of america. it is assumed that the policy of the new school will follow dr. flexner’s manifesto of the “modern school,” that adroit and uncompromising crystallization of the radical philosophy of our new american education. dr. flexner has proved himself to be an admirable agitator, for he has succeeded, with doctrines that public-school educators have been discussing for ten years and which experimental schools all through the country have been testing out, in rousing the slumberous camp of private secondary schoolmasters to a sense of what is going on in the educational world. the private secondary school is the last stronghold of educational conservatism. enlightenment has to proceed upward through thick layers of prejudice and smugness. dr. flexner’s voice seems to have broken in the walls and gotten a hearing for the new education even in the walls of the traditional new england academy. it is for these people that the “modern school” was written, for only those will find its proposals “revolutionary and dangerous” who have never read a line of dewey or g. stanley hall, never read a copy of an educational journal, never visited an experimental school, or even the newer plants of the best public schools in american cities. there is irony in the location of the new school at teachers’ college. for the latter has been one of the most persistently experimental educational centers in the country. if its “model” schools have felt in the course of time the blighting touch of conventionality, at least in the speyer course of industrial arts there has been developed a method of permanent value. there is no more accurate application of dr. flexner’s demand that “children should begin by getting acquainted with objects,” “follow the life-cycles of plants and animals,” “the observation and execution of industrial and commercial processes,” and so forth. in this industrial arts course the children are concerned from the beginning with food-products and clothing and building and the way different peoples make their living. out of this handling of homely things grow the geography and science and history and mathematics. it seems only a question of time before there will be scarcely an elementary school untouched by this practical approach to knowledge through objects and projects and concrete facts.
-dr. flexner’s tilting is not against our rapidly improving public elementary school so much as it is against the private secondary school, with its sub-college, classical, formal curriculum, and its obsolete educational theory of formal discipline and salvation through drudgery. it is as an object-lesson for this branch of american education that the new school will have permanent value. it will be the heaviest assault which has yet had to be met by that vested educational interest which we know as the private secondary school. the private school has made it its function to prepare the sons and daughters of the well-to-do for college, and so keep up the tradition of leisured and cultured wealth. this is the ideal at the bottom of the hearts of the conservative schoolmen. a knowledge which is useless, like the formal classics and mathematics, is only a sharpened tool of exclusiveness, for only the younger generation of a ruling class can afford to give its time to it. in a growing industrial society such an education becomes ever more and more a dividing line between classes. that the public high school has been largely controlled by the same ideals does not mean at all that this kind of education has been democratized, but merely that the unthinking and clambering middle classes have been hypnotized by vague aspirations of “culture” and “intellectual training” into imitation of the traditional ruling-class education. some of the strongest opposition to vocational education in the public schools comes even from the ranks of the ambitious wage-earners who “want their children to have the educational advantages they were denied.” they resent what they misinterpret as an attempt to keep their younger generation in a subordinate labor class. what they do not see is that the traditional education which they admire is no real education for the modern world. we find the industrious proletarian and the exclusive tory joining hands in opposing the new democratic education which is meant to have the effects of freeing both classes and making them fit together to administer a free society. the tory wants to keep for his children his privileged status; the wage-earner wants to obtain for his children this privileged status. “book” education, innocent of practicality and use, is still an accepted mark of this geniality. neither class has any real sense yet of a democratic attitude that finds both the “utilitarian” and the “cultural” irrelevant terms, and demands only effective activity and imaginative understanding from every citizen up to the limit of his capacity.
-the “old” education then is a class-education, and therefore has no place in a society which is trying to become democratic. how much class-feeling is behind the current allegiance to the education of discipline and drudgery is shown in a paper by miss edith hamilton of the bryn mawr school in the “new republic” for february 10, 1917. she pleads for the “old” education in behalf of her girls. but when she says “school” she has in the back of her mind an institution for the training of the well-to-do classes. her argument against a change in education seems to be based on the idea that change would be prejudicial to the life which she accepts as worthiest for those fortunate classes with which she is best acquainted. her argument is that life will make no stern demands upon the sheltered, economically endowed leisure which most of her girls will enjoy. without external standards their fiber must deteriorate unless they have learned the joy of work by the doing of things because they are hard. without impersonal intellectual interests, their personal energy, she says, will waste away in futility or in a meddlesome control of their own daughters. the boy is harnessed into some kind of self-discipline by the exigencies of business life. but for the girl, the substitution in the “modern school” of domestic science for “elegant accomplishments” is only an illusory discipline. not only are these arts of housekeeping too easy to provide discipline, but they will never be demanded from the upper-class girl. only the traditional curriculum, therefore, impersonal, cultural, laborious, will give her the needed stimulus to play her leisured rôle worthily.
-at first sight nothing could be more ironic than this gospel of strenuous effort preached in the name of a sheltered class. why should a girl be disciplined, trained to do things “because they are hard,” for a life which becomes “easier and easier,” unless her teachers wish to provide her with some kind of moral and intellectual justification for her social rôle? the “old” education combines uselessness and effort, and it is just this combination which would maintain leisure-class functions and yet leave the individuals morally justified. the uselessness makes you exclusive and the effort satisfies your moral sense. it is a little curious to find miss hamilton using the “utilitarian” argument against domestic science, that is, that it will never be used by her girls. yet she wishes them to acquire “impersonal intellectual interests,” which they can never use except in not very real “cultural” dabblings and social work.
-miss hamilton’s argument for tradition is the orthodox one that is now being repeated by all those who oppose the new rockefeller school. “the old education is superior to any training which makes interest not discipline, efficiency not knowledge, the standard.” now this point at issue between interest and discipline has been so thoroughly discussed by john dewey in his “interest as related to will” and other writings, that one is surprised at this late day to find responsible educators who are willing to give the impression that they are unacquainted with dewey’s arguments. even if disciples like dr. flexner and myself in our enthusiasm unconsciously caricature him, the philosophy is there in its classic form in dewey for all to read. the curious notion of the “old” educator that interest makes work “easy,” instead of intensifying the effort, is only possible, of course, to minds soaked in a puritan tradition. dewey shows that interest and discipline are not antagonistic to efficiency and knowledge, but that knowledge is merely information effectively used and manipulated, and discipline is willed and focused interest. each has an element of the other. it is meaningless to talk of interest vs. discipline when all real interest has an organizing effect on one’s activity, and any real discipline is built up on a foundation of interest. indeed in one of my articles to which miss hamilton takes exception, i define discipline as “willed skill,” which is as far from any conception of “making things easy,” of “smattering and superficiality,” as could well be imagined. it is a superstition, of course, as miss hamilton says, to suppose that all children burn with a hard gem-like flame of curiosity to know, but it is equally a superstition to suppose that with all children strenuous drudgery flowers into the immense joy of work and creation, or that effort taken consistently against the grain of interest can suddenly be transmuted into spontaneous activity. a certain habit, a mechanical routine spirit, may be evolved by drudgery, but not imaginative skill. all true discipline comes from overcoming obstacles beyond which one is conscious of a goal in itself worth while. it is only a feeble spirit which can be drugged by effort in and for itself. in those admired cases where facility comes after conscientious but uninteresting effort, let the old-fashioned educator ask herself whether the child gained the satisfaction of accomplishment because he went through the discipline, or whether it was not only because he liked the satisfaction of accomplishment that he was willing to go through the drudgery. if you admit the latter, then you have admitted the case for the new education. temperaments, impulses, interests--or, if you like, the lack of interests--will insist on dominating, on determining the way each child takes his experience. all education can ever do is to provide the experience, and stimulate, guide, organize interests. anything else may produce, at its best, a trained animal. it will not be education, and it will not produce men and women.
-the task of the democratic school is to provide just this general experience and stimulation. miss hamilton’s paper shows that such a school would be a challenge to the kind of institution she has in mind when she speaks of education. when leisure-class functions and leisure-class education clasp in a perfect circle, a new sociological and industrial emphasis, such as the “modern school” suggests, might make the leisure-class pupils uneasy, restless, questioning. if you began emphasizing interest instead of drudgery, you might find yourself calling into question the sincerity of those “impersonal intellectual interests.” if you emphasized efficiency instead of knowledge, you might make uncomfortably evident the unreality of much of what passes for culture in society to-day. you would be making insecure the moral and intellectual justifications of caste. but that is exactly the critical and undermining work which a democratic education is designed to stimulate.
-these new educators are seeking a type of school which shall provide for children as human beings and not as members of any one social class. they want a school which creates a common sympathy, a common intimacy with the various activities and expressions of the modern well-rounded personality, just so far as each individual is capable, with his endowments and intelligence, of acquiring such an intimacy. the “modern school” would turn the child’s attention to the projects, objects, processes, facts, of the active world about him, not because they are good in themselves, but because they are the common stock of all classes. the development of communal functions and services forces every family more or less into touch with the active world out of which the “modern school’s” curriculum grows. it is in the study of these “real things,” rather than in the logical systems of text-books, the predigested ideals of literature or a leisured class, the technical manipulation of dead languages and official science, that common interest and the sense of common possession will arise. the expectation is that interpretations and ideals which grow out of such a study will be more vital and sound because they will have come out of the child’s own experience, and not have been merely shoveled into his memory. it is expected that the “strenuous effort” of the past, which was so much an effort of memory and routine, will become, in a curriculum harnessed to occupational life, an effort of interest and intelligent enthusiasm. out of such a spirit and such a school should issue the self-sustained discipline by which all good work is done in the world.
-a policy in vocational education
-now that the passage of the smith-hughes bill is assured, interest moves to the distribution of this federal subsidy for vocational continuation and part-time schools. for the actual sums appropriated, even the maximum which will be available in nine years, are too small to be of constructive significance. indeed there is something grotesque about the solemn and arduous study which went into the passage of this timid educational bill by a congress which could appropriate a full third of a billion for armaments. the smith-hughes bill has all the aspect of a pious wish rather than the beginning of a thorough national policy in education. there was nothing revolutionary in this principle of federal aid. the principle was established by the morrill act of 1862 and recently confirmed by the smith-lever bill for agricultural education. the halting character of this new legislation must be explained partly by the novelty of vocational training in america and by the extremely confused condition of mind about it.
-we scarcely know yet how to institute a vocational education that will make out of our youth effective workers and at the same time free and initiating citizens. the hopeless lack of coördination between industry and our educational system blocks and bewilders our efforts. in working towards a solution we meet two very real perils. when we attempt a coördination we run the risk of turning the public school into a mere preparatory school for factory, store and workshop, producing helpless workers riveted by their very training to a rigid and arbitrary industrial life. the better trained they are, or at least the more intense their specialization, the greater will be their subjection. organized labor fears, and not unjustly, that a public vocational education might be the means of over-crowding the labor market and thereby “furnishing strike-breakers to industry.” this is always the danger when we attempt to adjust our training too tightly to existing industrial conditions. on the other hand, if we try to evade this danger and make the young worker’s training more general, so that a number of fields of industrial opportunity will be open to him, we may leave him more helpless than ever, for he has no assurance of being fit for the very concrete demands of skill that paying industry will make upon him.
-this is the dilemma. if the organization of vocational training is left in charge of the representatives of the employers, educators fear, and fear rightly, that the first result will ensue. if it is left exclusively in the hands of educators, the employers fear the other danger. vocational education in this country has, therefore, run its uncertain course through experiments in continuation schools, “pre-vocational” courses in the regular schools, trade courses, “coöperative” courses, until a certain skepticism has been aroused in the minds of professional educators and the interested public whether we can institute a workable system at all in our present public school. skepticism has meant hesitation. in spite of the propaganda and survey work of an influential society of educators, employers and labor men--the national society for the promotion of industrial education--progress has been very slow. only eight states have provided for the encouragement of vocational education and in only one is continuation schooling compulsory. the whole movement has needed some very definite concentrated stimulus and some new, clear focusing of the issues.
-this is the real value of the new federal bill. if it is negligible in its actual power for aid, its indirect effects should be of great importance in the way of stimulus. it will undoubtedly suggest to the majority of states the immediate establishment of a comprehensive system of continuation schools. the grants will be just large enough to make it seem possible. they are not nearly large enough to exempt the states from local appropriations. according to the federal bill these must duplicate the federal grants. the latter will therefore mean actual additional resources, an increment to local and state appropriations. if the states are wise, and appropriate this increment to the payment and training of teachers, then these small sums may be made to mean just the difference between the present hardly attained mediocrity of vocational teaching and a new and effective type of artisan-instructors.
-the bill puts the distribution of the funds in the hands of such state boards as the legislatures shall designate. the latter may designate the regular state board of education, or a special board of industrial education working under the direction of the regular board, or it may create a new and independent board to handle these funds. no state is likely to trifle with this now thoroughly discredited “dual” system originally sponsored in illinois under the form of separate boards controlled wholly by employing interests. the practical choice will lie between the purely “educational” control and the mixed educational, industrial and labor control, such as exists in wisconsin. the objection to the former grows persistently on the ground that the new vocational methods and work tend infallibly in the hands of the professional educator to drift back to the academic. educators have too often shown a willingness either to divorce the “pre-vocational” work entirely from the regular school, or else to emasculate it of its realistic potency. instead of seeing the new practical emphasis infusing and reinvigorating the regular primary and secondary school, the enthusiast for the “new” education has too often had to watch merely the slow reduction of the vocational work to the old unimaginative level of “manual training.” the question of control, therefore, which the new bill puts indirectly to the states is of the greatest moment, both to the traditional type of school and to the new activities. the board that distributes the funds will in the last analysis control the policy. certainly the conservatism of the professional educator is far less to be feared than the narrowness and self-interest of employers’ associations. in following the provisions of the federal bill that the aided schools shall be below college grade, for children over fourteen, the state board will control the standards of the individual schools. whichever form of control is adopted, the trend towards state centralization of the school system is likely to be greatly strengthened.
-in this development the states will be influenced largely by the experience of wisconsin and massachusetts, where the continuation schools, part-time schools, apprentice classes, which the bill encourages, have been longest in operation. the wisconsin experience will be found particularly instructive. the state subsidizes its vocational schools by duplicating the funds raised by the community under an obligatory half-mill tax. the local schools are under the control of a special board of industrial education appointed by the local board of education, and consisting of the superintendent of schools with two labor representatives and two employers. the distribution of the state funds is in the hands of the regular state educational administration. there is an advisory industrial board of similar composition to the local boards. at present the situation is much confused owing to the reluctance of this state board of industrial education to remain merely advisory. a “developer” has been appointed as its secretary, an expert in the field, but without administrative power over the schools. his attempts at acceleration have produced their inevitable and intense resentment among the regular school officials. obviously such a system, with two boards contending for mastery, creates an impossible situation. with the exception of this--and the actual effect of this very largely personal and political feud upon the local development seems to have been negligible--the wisconsin system seems to be based on sound principles. the local industrial boards have worked with effectiveness and responsibility. in milwaukee a remarkable system of continuation schools has been built up, which provides for no less than eight thousand children between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, children whom the public and parochial schools have sloughed off into “blind-alley” work, and at whose education and guidance the city makes a last stab in the four-hour-a-week continuation school. one definite principle these milwaukee schools seem to have established--that education must not be “preparatory” to work, that there is no real place for the merely “pre-vocational,” but that education should accompany work and do that just as long as there is anything to learn. the ideal vocational education will be a liberal “part-time” education, in which the school furnishes the background and the constant opening of new suggestions and possibilities, and the shop or trade or office provides the arena for acting skilfully on what is learned.
-the wisconsin system is particularly suggestive. for the local boards constitute one of our first american attempts at representation by interest instead of political parties or arbitrary geographical divisions. their success is largely ascribed in wisconsin to this fact, that they do accurately represent just the three classes most concerned in this form of education--organized labor, the employers, and the professional schoolman. the labor representatives are on the board to see that the policy does not swing over to narrow employing interests, the employers are on the board to see that the school is kept in touch with the practical demands of industry. the professional educator holds the balance of power between these two interests. with this administrative development to build on, with the improvement in teaching caliber that the new federal grants should bring, with the state centralization of the school system to which the new bill will give impetus, the future is good for a national system of education for work and with work, a free and democratic vocational training.
-an issue in vocational education
-nothing is more significant of the new spirit in public education than our use of the term “vocational training.” it strikes out at a blow the old antithesis between the cultural and the utilitarian. for a genuine vocation implies neither a life devoted to thought, nor a dull mechanical job to which personal and artistic and intellectual interests are mere trimmings--recreations which can be easily omitted by those who cannot afford to pay for them. a vocation is rather a nucleus of any kind of interesting activity by which one earns one’s living, and around which whatever else comes to one’s experience clusters to enhance its value and interest. it is not fantastic to hope that the very demands of modern industrial technique will make of most trades just such nuclei. when we justify trade-schools and industrial courses by the existence of law and medical and engineering schools, we are implying that the skilled worker in modern industry can and should lead a life as genuinely “professional” as the lawyer and doctor and engineer.
-new york city has at the present time (june, 1915) a unique opportunity to meet these important issues. in no other city has the question been so squarely presented. new york has to choose between what is called the ettinger plan, put into operation by a local superintendent to solve “part-time” and vocational training problems, and the gary plan, as worked out by william wirt and now on trial under his personal direction in several of the new york schools. in that choice may be indicated the tendencies and purposes of industrial education in this country.
-the ettinger plan emphasizes in the sharpest way the difference between “cultural” and “industrial” work. the child chooses between them in his sixth or seventh year of school. if economic pressure is going to force him into manual work, he is allowed to try a number of different trades in the school industrial shops in order to discover what he is best fitted for. this hasty experimentation has received the schoolman’s label of “prevocational.” having chosen his trade, the young worker specializes in the shop, under conditions as nearly as possible like the trade, continuing in trade-school or technical high school, or in the industry under a coöperative scheme, as in the german schools. his academic studies, as far as they are continued, are of a severely practical character, theory and science being used merely to explain the industrial processes which he is learning. the ideal is a specialized school, gradually breaking off from the traditional one and developing radically different methods and interests. the object of the industrial course is to turn out a competent workman who has escaped the blind occupations of those who leave school at the minimum age.
-the school under this plan may give the child an elementary industrial training, with an intellectual orientation better than he could get under any system of apprenticeship, but it can scarcely be said to give a vocational training. the ettinger plan treats the child solely as a potential workman who is to be absorbed as a permanent subordinate in one specialized trade of a rigidly organized industrial system. it makes of the school a mere downward extension of the staple trades and machine industries, a sort of kindergarten where the employer gets his workmen trained, free of cost to himself. it quite ignores any other rôles the young worker may be called upon to play in society--as citizen or as member of an economic class. it makes an undemocratic class-division in the public school, and by divorcing the academic from the industrial work gives to both the wrong setting.
-the gary plan, on the other hand, prepares for a genuinely vocational life. it views the world outside the school not as a collection of trades but as a community, a network of occupations and interests, of interweaving services, intellectual, administrative, manual. it sees the individual as a citizen who contributes his share to the community and pays for the things he enjoys. the school itself is organized as a community, self-supporting industrially and as varied in its work, study and play as is the larger community. the industrial work is made an indispensable part of the maintenance and enhancement of this school community life. the gary child begins in his third or fourth school year as helper in a shop or laboratory that interests him. if he is to work at a trade after he leaves school, he gets a long and thorough training under real workmen in the school shops engaged in the repair and maintenance of the school-plant. he is at no time called upon to choose between the “academic” and the “industrial.” his work is a focusing of all the interests of the school, and the attitudes developed in the school are bound to be carried into productive life and to give a new setting to the business of making a livelihood. science, apart from the light it throws upon the artisan’s trade, is bound to mean something to him, for in the gary school it has answered his questions about the physical world around him. history and geography and sociology and economics are likely to mean something because they have answered questions about the social institutions and the relations of men. art and music will continue to interest him because they have been an integral part of the school life. the gary plan would tend to produce not only a skilled workman but a critical citizen, ready, like the energetic professional man, to affect the standards and endeavors of his profession and the community life.
-the ettinger plan is as economically unsound as it is pedagogically unsound. it requires special teachers, and expensive shops which are unproductive. without state or federal subsidies, the cost of any extensive or even adequate industrial training in trade-school or elementary school will continue to be prohibitive. the gary plan, which connects the school shops directly with the repair and maintenance of the school-plant, demands and can afford a much greater variety of shops than the ordinary school. and since the workmen-teachers earn their salaries by their work, the children get their industrial training practically without cost to the community. by the gary plan the vocational training features are only practicable if all the other liberally varied “cultural” features are put into operation at the same time. this effectually prevents that “exploitation” of the children which its opponents fear because the young workers get their training as “apprentices” in the school shops.
-many who admit the superior social aims of the gary plan are inclined to feel that the practical results of the two plans will not be radically different. but the gary plan and the ettinger plan are not merely two different ways of reaching the same end. they not only involve different conceptions of the school and of industrial society, but they are bound to turn out different kinds of people.
-the ettinger plan is dangerous because it is typical of most schemes now being put forward by the advocates of industrial education. these plans are concerned neither with genuine educational interests nor with genuine industrial interests, but only with the interest of the employer. no person who feels that the public schools should train critical citizens who will have something to say to the industrial system into which they go, and not mere docile workers, counting socially no more than their tools, will fail to realize the vast importance that the gary plan should prevail over all these schemes.
-organized labor on education
-at a recent labor conference in new york city, may, 1916, called to present a program for the local public schools, mr. gompers expressed himself as open-minded towards the gary plan which is about to be extended to thirty-five more new york schools. this open-mindedness of mr. gompers is in welcome and significant contrast to the attitude taken by some of the smaller leaders in the city, who have apparently tried to line up organized labor with a personal political machine and with reactionary schoolmen in obstructing the reorganization of the elementary schools. but organized labor has better business than opposing educational reform, and mr. gompers’s remarks, made with full responsibility and in direct opposition to the thinly-veiled partisan spirit of the conference, suggest that the responsible leaders of labor are willing to take a more enlightened stand in this important movement.
-organized labor has repeatedly gone on record in favor of a public school system which will train a labor citizenry so versatile and intelligent as to be able to protect itself from exploitation and the hazards of our social shiftlessness. it has demanded that vocational teaching be kept intimately related to life, so that children come out from the school neither helpless unskilled workers nor narrow machine-tenders, but potential citizens acquainted with the backgrounds of their crafts, with the significance of the labor movement and the institutions and movements of the world about them. labor above all classes has a vital interest in an education for all children which acknowledges the full intellectual and social meanings of industrial processes and occupations. the education that labor desires is one which will give, particularly to those who engage in industrial callings, the desire and ability to share in social control, and to become masters of their industrial fate.
-now organized labor must be rapidly coming to see that this demand will never be satisfied by the conventional type of city public school. a traditional school founded on the bookish education of a leisure class can never be made into a pre-vocational school that will give power and dignity to labor, without a fundamental transformation of the present spirit, subject matter and teaching methods. an elementary school which gives its children no more than narrow drill in the three r’s plus a little remote and unreal text-book information in history and geography, with what little half-hearted music and drawing and nature-study can be squeezed in, will never provide the foundation that the trained worker will need. no system of trade-training or vocational education superimposed upon such an elementary school will remedy the evils. children who have been listlessly and ineffectively drilled in book-work will have acquired attitudes that are likely to be carried over into vocational work. except for the few, industrial training will seem sheer drudgery, for it will have its roots in no interests and powers developed in earlier years. pre-vocational education must mean something more than a mere sop to the motor-minded boys and girls who are restless with their books and are on the verge of leaving school for work. such training, if it is to mean anything, must be woven in as an organic part of the school course. the entire elementary school could be a general, free, spontaneous, amateur pre-vocational school, where in direct contact with machines and industrial processes as well as books, with gardens and gymnasiums as well as laboratories and kitchens, with tools and print and pottery shops and drawing and music studios, children might have their imaginations stirred, try out their busy hands on things, and gradually sift out of the variety the interests that they can lay hold on with some promise of creative use. the school might be a place where play passed insensibly into work, and aimless experiment into purposeful construction.
-most of the current criticism of the public schools arises from the rapidly growing conviction that only in such a school will the modern city child have a chance to be educated in any way which will meet the demands in industrial or commercial life that will be made upon him. there is danger in current educational experiments that we become too easily satisfied with the mere addition of desirable courses, without at the same time transforming the school so that the new work is organically assimilated. labor cannot be content with the school reform which many cities are adopting in the introduction of vocational courses merely in the upper grades. such a postponement means an invidious class-distinction in those grades between the children who are going on to academic work and those who are going on to industrial work. it broadens the gulf between labor and leisure rather than diminishes it. labor should be the first to protest against these “pre-vocational courses,” “junior high school plans,” as they are variously called. a school which consists merely of six years of bookish schooling with trade-learning and athletics tacked on at the top would merely intensify the evils under which labor now suffers. it would produce mechanical drudges. it would almost guarantee that industrially exploitable horde of young workers the creation of which organized labor so much fears.
-in advocating such a system the lesser labor chiefs in new york have been very badly advised. the program of “immediate demands,” put forth under mr. gompers’s nose with a great flourish of the rights of labor, is not only unprogressive but actually reactionary. it is exactly the kind of specious program that the narrow-minded employer might demand who wished a docile but intelligent labor force trained at the public expense. in whose interest does labor demand the “immediate elimination from the course of study of any activity which takes away from the essentials and fundamentals of education in the elementary schools?” to eliminate organized play, auditorium dramatics, shopwork, gardening, dancing, etc., is surely the best way to drive children out of school, or to train them into mere appendages to machines. what labor needs is the most varied kind of work-study-and-play school, where imagination and interest are awakened. yet here we find a conference on organized labor and education demanding simply more of the old kind of traditional schools! what good will it do to have more school buildings, more teachers, more pay for teachers, even more night-schools and playgrounds, if the schools merely pursue the old limited grind? labor needs a school enriched in opportunity and vitalized with the modern spirit of “learning by doing,” yet all it can think of to demand is “a seat for every child”! and to ram home to the public a sense of its straitened vision, this conference records its “emphatic protest against any further extension of the gary plan.”
-now opposition to the gary plan may be a useful attitude for the lesser labor leaders who are playing for political stakes, but we cannot believe that this is the attitude of the intelligent elements in the labor movement. for what the gary plan does is exactly to make possible for the first time on a large public scale this greatly enriched elementary school which labor needs for the realization of its own expressed educational ideals. the broad curriculum, the flexibility which adapts the school to the needs of every child, the interweaving work, study and play, transform the traditional school into a kind of child-community, where children throughout the course are laying the rudiments of their vocations. they have a chance from the early years, by trial and error, by experiment and realization, to find out what they can do and what they cannot do. to quote superintendent wirt, the gary school is educating them just as the home, shop and school teacher educated the children of earlier american days. no formal pre-vocational course begun in the seventh or eighth year can do what this simple intimate contact with things and processes does. in a sense, industrial education may begin in the gary school as soon as the small child is interested in going into the school-shops or laboratories as helper or observer. all the activities may be tested in the same way. the school is thoroughly democratic because the opportunities, bookish, manual, artistic, are open on equal terms to all the children. for labor to oppose the gary plan means that labor is suicidally opposing the very kind of school that holds out the most opportunity for an enriched education for its children.
-mr. gompers and the other responsible leaders of organized labor could do nothing more important than make an immediate and thorough study of the educational promise of the gary school. if organized labor were to put itself enthusiastically behind the gary plan, it would have at once an enlightened policy on elementary education which would effectively prevent any insidious exploitation of the movement. it would be well if the responsible leaders would repudiate these lesser labor chiefs who manipulate education for political purposes. the time has come for a bold and progressive stand.
-education for work
-the urgency of vocational education in this country has been immensely reinforced during the past few years by the rapidly growing social solicitude for child welfare. child-labor laws, compulsory education, minimum wage, children’s courts, welfare bureaus, devised primarily as mere protective agencies for the weaker and less self-defensible members of the community, are now suddenly seen to involve a host of positive social responsibilities. we are recognizing that the state has a duty not only to save the younger generation from exploitation, premature labor and demoralizing environments, but also to give it every possible opportunity to be trained for an effective vocation. in particular, the recent raising of the age limit for child labor in many of the states, by keeping in school thousands of children who would otherwise have passed out to work, has put a great strain upon the public school. the challenge so far has done little else than make evident an alarming inadequacy of the present type of school to train children for the work which they will shortly be called upon to do. the school systems of the large northern cities are having thrust upon them great numbers of children for whose education, in this new sense of the word, they are unprepared. and the burden and urgency is one that will increase rather than diminish.
-this is one of the lessons of a document like the recent admirable report of the minneapolis survey for vocational education, made last year under the auspices of the national society for the promotion of industrial education. it would be difficult to advise reading more important for educator, employer and employee than this cross-section of the skilled-labor life of a great american city, looked at with a view to vocational guidance. in minneapolis all the conditions were at their best for such a social laboratory experiment. the rapid growth of manufacturing and the unusually high proportion of skilled industries make the demand for the training of workers paramount. the stringent state laws require attendance at the school until the age of sixteen or the completion of the entire elementary course. the city has a school system of high traditional excellence. clearly all the factors that would stimulate a campaign for vocational education are here in their most exacting form.
-the analysis here given of the training which the manufacturing and mechanical industries require for their various skilled positions, the training which public schools and special schools are purporting to give, the increase in resources which school and shop will have to make to meet the social demands made upon them--all this will be found typical in greater or less degree throughout the country. the most general impression one gets from the survey is of industrial unpreparedness. the public school is seen not with its usual fault as an institution of general education which has ignored pre-vocational needs, but as a pre-vocational school of narrow and exclusive type, for the vocational training of the classes in the community whose actual need was least. for above the earlier years of rudimentary schooling there has been superimposed a bookish school which is really a pre-vocational school for the professions or for domestic leisure. the boys and girls whose futures were to be professional and domestic had the benefit of the public school. the vast majority, the motor-minded and those whose aptitudes were not intellectual, very properly and automatically left this bookish school as soon as they had obtained their rudimentary general education. when the state suddenly refuses to allow these children to leave the school until they have finished the elementary course, the school system is faced with the necessity of broadening itself from a narrow pre-vocational school for the professions into a pre-vocational school for all the industries and arts of the modern community. the smatterings of wood-working and domestic science which the city schools have introduced are shown not to have broadened the school in the least. even the technical courses in the high schools have quite failed to meet the problem. of the recent graduates from these courses in the minneapolis schools it is shown that one-half went directly to college, only one-tenth passing into occupations for which the course could in any way be regarded as preparatory. most of these students, moreover, went into drafting rooms. it may be said therefore that to the training of the great artisan class of such a modern and progressive city the public schools have contributed practically nothing. a typically american progressive school system with all its technical and manual accessories is shown functioning at its very highest limit as a pre-vocational school, not for skilled labor, but for the professions and what the survey suggestively calls the “commissioned officers of industry.”
-the elementary school should, in other words, be a general pre-vocational school, where the boy or girl could get a bearing towards every type of vocation. the survey strikingly confirms the far-sighted vision of william wirt and his unspecialized and varied gary school in which the children from their earliest years are testing out their powers in shop and foundry and laboratory and studio and classroom. “what is needed,” it says, “is not a course in special woodworking--the extent of manual work in most elementary schools of the present time--but rather organized training in practical arts which will include a variety of experiences fundamental to the life of the community. woodwork, metal work, printing and bookbinding, clay modeling, concrete and electrical work, are some of the industries which give an opportunity for experience in certain fundamental processes which are most valuable to boys without respect to the occupation in which they may later engage.”
-on some such constructive lines as are suggested in this minneapolis survey will the problems of vocational education be worked out. in its discussion of such topics as home gardening, office work, art education, domestic service, the survey suggests the breadth of the field to be covered. an ideal system of vocational training would not only give every boy and girl in the school an opportunity to find an aptitude and cultivate some skill but it would make possible the training of “non-commissioned officers” in the industrial army. the education of such leaders will really be the goal of organized vocational education. as the industries, trades and occupations become more technical and more scientifically managed, the demand for administrative, supervisory, directive and planning officers taken from the ranks is constantly widening. efficient management is becoming recognized as almost the most important factor in production, and management will be the reward for intelligence and skill. until we have an educational system which in coöperation with shop and factory gives fullest opportunities for each child in the schools to work towards qualifying as such a “non-commissioned officer” in some occupation of the social army, we shall not have our democratic school or our framework for the future democratization of industry. nor shall we be able to attack those mountainous problems of unskilled labor which no system of vocational training can touch.
-the movement for vocational education has done nothing more valuable than to show us how far we are still from realizing the public school as a child-community, first of all as a quickening life and only secondarily as an educational institution. the rapidly extending “continuation school” is perhaps the most obvious symptom of this failure. the term itself is unfortunate, for it drags along with it the old separation of education from living. it suggests something in the way of a surplus, of extension schooling beyond an allotted time, as if its pupils were getting an educational largess out of some great social bounty. actually the “continuation school” represents educational deficit; the necessity for it registers our failure to provide an earlier school-community life for children which would have kept them out of industry. also it registers our failure to provide child-labor laws which would have protected them.
-the continuation school is officially a “school for employed minors fourteen to sixteen years of age,” and is intended to hold, by the tenuous thread of four to six hours a week school attendance, those boys and girls who have gotten their employment certificates at the earliest legal age and are floundering about in low-paid occupations, mostly unskilled. new york city alone has 58,000 such children, fourteen and fifteen years of age, two-thirds of whom have never completed the elementary school. stores, offices, shops, domestic service, messenger service absorb these boys and girls, untrained and unfocused, and the truly formidable burden is placed upon them of making their skilful way in the world. popular tradition tries to make us glow with the belief that this world is a ladder up which virtue and industry will automatically ascend. but unfortunately the ladder of opportunity rarely reaches down so far. the lowest rung is beyond their reach. the gap between it and the ground is often too great even for initiative and character to bridge. the “employed minors fourteen to sixteen years of age” become the nucleus for that partly employed, sodden and anemic mass of drifters which drags down labor everywhere and clogs social progress.
-the education which these children have had has in most cases barely fitted them to remain upright on the ground, not to speak of reaching for the ladder. the acquirement of literacy, a more or less uncertain skill in figuring, the exposure to some miscellaneous historical and geographical information--this has been the real substance of their five or six years’ schooling. to most of these children it is probable that the world of printed symbols will never mean very much. a real school would have striven to awaken their concrete and constructive intelligence, given play to all the non-intellectual impulses. it is just the tedium and artificiality of the old school which has sentenced them now to stand at the bottom of the occupational scale. without class-prestige, economic advantages, manners, extraordinary initiative or intelligence, most of these children are handicapped from the start. literate, they are perhaps fitted to compete on equal terms with each other for work. but for the passing into better-paid, more interesting, more responsible and skilful activity, their schooling, though it came at the most plastic and active time of childhood, has done nothing whatever.
-we try, therefore, through the “continuation school” to make up bravely to these children what they have lost. we try to lift them so that they can clutch at the lowest rung of the ladder. we find it easier to make stabs at repairing the damage than to reorganize the elementary school so as to prevent it. in wisconsin cities a boy or girl leaving school at fourteen to go to work is required to attend day continuation school four or five hours a week for three years. in boston the children must attend for four hours a week for two years. in pennsylvania cities they must attend eight hours a week for two years. continuation schools for 20,000 children are in process of formation by the new york city board of education. wisconsin’s forty-five industrial and continuation schools are compulsory, while in the other states which have permissive laws the schools may be made locally compulsory. employers are required to dismiss their child employees on working days and within working hours, the school time being reckoned as part of the time that minors are permitted by law to work.
-such laws obviously follow the line of least resistance. they add to the school system without revitalizing it. at the same time, a scheme like the massachusetts plan suggests that the continuation school may be developed into a real stimulus of incentive. this plan provides for three kinds of classes. for those “employed minors” who are already in semi-skilled work, it provides some training and background for the trade or occupation chosen. there are also trade preparatory classes for pupils who have definitely chosen the trade for which they wish training, but have not yet found placement in the trade. then there are “pre-vocational” classes for those who are ambitious to make some intelligent choice of an occupation. these pupils are given varied shopwork, visits to shops and factories, and personal consultation with teachers and employers. classes are small, and intensive work can be done. the other pupils, employed in unskilled labor and without definite vocational leanings, go into “general improvement courses,” where half the time is spent in regular school subjects continuing the elementary school work; a quarter of the time is devoted to “the discovery and development of dominant interests and powers,” and the rest of the time to what is quaintly called “civics, hygiene, recreation and culture.” in this latter activity one-quarter of the time of the “pre-vocational” and trade courses is similarly spent. pupils may transfer from one class to another when they are ready. if the purpose of the continuation school is to bridge that gap between the ground and the level where opportunity can at all begin to mean anything, this massachusetts plan would seem to do it in an easily graduated and flexible way. the untrained and unfocused worker has at least a chance to have his imagination stimulated and to learn the rudiments of some better work.
-the sanguine advocates of the continuation school, however, are apt to assume that this chance is equivalent to an effective vocational training. they forget that of the 10,000 or more children whom wisconsin provides with compulsory continuation schooling a majority must necessarily remain in the general improvement classes or else get only a rudimentary training. and five hours a week for education against fifty for routine labor is not likely to make over the boys and girls who are pulled into the school for a brief respite from the department stores, messenger and domestic service, mills and factories, millinery and dressmaking shops. even in the stimulating massachusetts atmosphere one hour a week for “civics, hygiene, recreation and culture” seems hardly availing. in the light of the kind of school-community life which every progressive state now knows enough to provide and could afford to provide, the continuation school seems a pathetic if necessary palliative for our educational sins. already loud complaints are heard against “allowing the public school to pass on its failures for some one else to bury.” the first lesson of the continuation school is that it should not be needed. even employers repeatedly declare that to industry children under sixteen are of no real value as workers. the states are one after another jacking up their child-labor limit to sixteen years. we are rapidly coming to the public conviction that the school should care for all children’s activity up to that age. what the continuation school does now for four hours a week, we are insisting that the regular school shall do for thirty or even forty hours a week.
-but this means that we shall have to have a reinvigorated school. it must not be a prison where children are kept when they long for the freedom of outside work. it must be a place where full opportunity for expression is provided for each child in a varied life of study and work and play. it must be an organic life and not an institution. no system of industrial and continuation schools piled on at the top will effect this. the evening school has largely failed because it demanded an impossible concentration and perseverance from the over-fatigued and excitement-craving worker. the continuation school, dealing with restless and unintegrated children, will be ineffective for the same reason. the vocational movement goes blundering on in amazing disregard of the psychology of the worker. even the docile german child, it is said, must be coerced into his admirable continuation school where he gets a thorough orientation in his relations to his work, the community and his comrades. what are admirable trades and studies going to mean to boys and girls who are doing the most rudimentary work, their impulses undirected, their minds filled with sex-fantasy, personal mirages, and all the cheap and feeble excitements of the city streets? the groping and desiring spirit of youth is going indomitably to resist your most thoughtful schemes until you have a school which from the earliest years, by its freedom, its expressive life, its broad communal and personal excitements, its contact with real things, provides a child-life which meets these inner needs. our best american public schools already begin to show that such a child-community life is not at all impossible. until we achieve it generally, our continuation school will be one of the stop-gaps, and a lusty warning of what we have failed to achieve.
-who owns the universities
-the marked and immediate reaction of the thinking public to the scott nearing case shows a growing conviction that all is not well within the conventional forms of university control. it implies a sense that universities, whether supported by the state or privately, are becoming too vitally institutions of public service to be much longer directed on the plan of a private corporation. university trustees are generally men of affairs, and as men of affairs they naturally tend to hold the same attitude towards the university that they do to the other institutions--the churches and railroads and corporations--they may direct. the university officers whom they appoint seem to have exactly the same duties of upholding the credit of the institution, of securing funds to meet its pressing needs, of organizing the administrative machinery, which their corporation officers would have. professors are engaged by contract as any highly-skilled superintendent would be engaged in a factory. if a well-paid subordinate of a mining corporation could not get along with his colleagues and his men, or if he consorted with the i. w. w. or made revolutionary speeches in the streets, his services would be dispensed with as readily as the pennsylvania trustees rid themselves of the unpleasantness of professor nearing. trustees may respect a professor more than they do intrinsically a fourth vice-president. they may tend to err, as chancellor day has suggested, on the side of “merciful consideration.” but they cannot see that the amenities of the case materially alter the professor’s status.
-this would be the case of university trustees stated in its rawest terms. that they tend so often to act as if they were a mere board of directors of a private corporation gives rise to endless suspicion that they consult their own interests and the interests of the donors of the vested wealth they represent as trustees of the university, just as they would protect, as faithful corporation directors, the interests of the shareholders of the company. it is just this attitude which the thinking public is no longer inclined to tolerate. we are acquiring a new view of the place of the university in the community. when the american college was no more than an advanced boys’ academy, there may have been some excuse for this form of control by self-perpetuating and irresponsible boards of trustees. but many things have changed since harvard and yale, princeton, pennsylvania and columbia, were founded.
-now this determined autocracy may not have worked so badly when most of the trustees and practically all of the instructors were ministers of the gospel, although even in those days faculties sometimes complained that their careful plans were overridden by men ignorant of collegiate business and little interested in educational policy. the demand that trustees’ functions should be limited to the management of funds, leaving the faculties to regulate administration and control appointments is a hoary one. but with the passing of control from the ghostly to the moneyed element, the gulf between trustee and professor has become extreme. professors have fallen into a more and more subordinate place, and the president, who used to be their representative, has now become almost entirely the executive agent of the trustees, far removed in power and purse and public distinction from the professor. the university president in this country has become a convenient symbol for autocratic power, but even when he has become a “mayor of the palace” and professors may not approach their governors except through him, the real autocracy still lies in the external board behind him.
-this absentee and amateur form of university control is being constantly ratified by our american notions of democracy, and that folkway, which runs so omnipresently through our institutional life, of giving the plain ultimate citizen control, in order that we may be protected from the tyranny of the bureaucrat. the newer state universities are controlled in exactly the same spirit. regents, elected by legislatures, have shown themselves quite as capable as the most private trustees of representing vested political interests. nor has democracy been achieved by the cautious admission, in recent years, of alumni trustees, as in the case of columbia, or, as in the case of harvard and yale, by the substitution of alumni for the former state officials. self-perpetuating boards will always propagate their own kind, and even if alumni trustees were ever inclined to be anything but docile, their minority representation would always be ineffective for democracy.
-the issues of the modern university are not those of private property but of public welfare. irresponsible control by a board of amateur notables is no longer adequate for the effective scientific and sociological laboratories for the community that the universities are becoming. the protests in the most recent case imply a growing realization that a professor who has a dynamic and not a purely academic interest in social movements is an asset for the whole community. the latest controversy between trustee and professors seems to have been very definitely an issue between interested policy and accurate, technical fact. it seems to have been clearly a case of old tradition against new science, the prejudiced guesses of corporation officials against the data of a scientific student of economics. any form of university control which gives the prejudiced guess the power over the scientific research is thus a direct blow at our own social knowledge and effectiveness. the public simply cannot afford to run this risk of having the steady forging ahead of social and economic research curtailed and hampered. we cannot afford to depend wholly on the tempering of trustees by the fear of the clamor of public opinion. it is wholly undesirable that trustees should be detained only by “merciful consideration” from discharging professors whom they find uncongenial or who they feel are spreading unsound doctrine. make university trustees directors of a private corporation and you give them the traditional right of terminating contracts with their employees without giving reasons or any form of trial. but if the university is not to be a mere degree-manufactory, or a pre-vocational school representing the narrow interests of a specialized economic class, but is to be that public intellectual and scientific service that we all want it to be, the governance must be different from that of a mining company, and the status of the professor different from that of a railroad employee. professors should have some security of office.
-an interested public which feels this way will demand that the faculties be represented strongly in the determination of all university policy and in the selection and dismissal of the instructors. it may even demand that the community itself be represented. trustees who really envisage the modern university as a public service, as a body of scientific and sociological experts, will gladly share their power. if they do not, they will demonstrate how radically their own conception of a university differs from the general one, and it will be the duty of professors to assert their rights by all those forms of collective organization whereby controlled classes from the beginning of time have made their desires effective.
-in these days of academic self-analysis, the intellectual caliber of the american undergraduate finds few admirers or defenders. professors speak resignedly of the poverty of his background and imagination. even the undergraduate himself in college editorials confesses that the student soul vibrates reluctantly to the larger intellectual and social issues of the day. the absorption in petty gossip, sports, class politics, fraternity life, suggests that too many undergraduates regard their college in the light of a glorified preparatory school where the activities of their boyhood may be worked out on a grandiose scale. they do not act as if they thought of the college as a new intellectual society in which one acquired certain rather definite scientific and professional attitudes, and learned new interpretations which threw experience and information into new terms and new lights. the average undergraduate tends to meet studies like philosophy, psychology, economics, general history, with a frankly puzzled wonder. a whole new world seems to dawn upon him, in its setting and vocabulary alien to anything in his previous life. every teacher knows this baffling resistance of the undergraduate mind.
-it is not so much that the student resists facts and details. he will absorb trusts and labor unions, municipal government and direct primaries, the poems of matthew arnold, and james’s theory of the emotions. there is no unkindliness of his mind towards fairly concrete material. what he is more or less impervious to is points-of-view, interpretations. he seems to lack philosophy. the college has to let too many undergraduates pass out into professional and business life, not only without the germ of a philosophy, but without any desire for an interpretative clue through the maze. in this respect the american undergraduate presents a distinct contrast to the european. for the latter does seem to get a certain intellectual setting for his ideas which makes him intelligible, and gives journalism and the ordinary expression of life a certain tang which we lack here. few of our undergraduates get from the college any such intellectual impress.
-the explanation is probably not that the student has no philosophy, but that he comes to college with an unconscious philosophy so tenacious that the four years of the college in its present technique can do little to disintegrate it. the cultural background of the well-to-do american home with its “nice” people, its sentimental fiction and popular music, its amiable religiosity and vague moral optimism, is far more alien to the stern secular realism of modern university teaching than most people are willing to admit. the college world would find itself less frustrated by the undergraduate’s secret hostility if it would more frankly recognize what a challenge its own attitudes are to our homely american ways of thinking and feeling. since the college has not felt this dramatic contrast, or at least has not felt a holy mission to assail our american mushiness of thought through the undergraduate, it has rather let the latter run away with the college.
-it is a trite complaint that the undergraduate takes his extra-curricular activities more seriously than his studies. but he does this because his homely latent philosophy is essentially a sporting philosophy, the good old anglo-saxon conviction that life is essentially a game whose significance lies in terms of winning or losing. the passion of the american undergraduate for intercollegiate athletics is merely a symbol of a general interpretation for all the activities that come to his attention. if he is interested in politics, it is in election campaigns, in the contests of parties and personalities. his parades and cheerings are the encouragement of a racer for the goal. after election, his enthusiasm collapses. his spiritual energy goes into class politics, fraternity and club emulation, athletics, every activity which is translatable into terms of winning and losing. in continental universities this energy would go rather into a turbulence for causes and ideas, a militant radicalism or even a more militant conservatism that would send paris students out into the streets with a “cail-laux as-sas-sin!” or tie up an italian town for the sake of italia irredenta. even the war, though it has called out a fund of anti-militarist sentiment in the american colleges, still tends to be spoken of in terms of an international sporting event. “who will win?” is the question here.
-now this sporting philosophy by which the american undergraduate lives, and which he seems to bring with him from his home, may be a very good philosophy for an american. it is of the same stuff with our good-humored contempt for introspection, our dread of the “morbid,” our dislike of conflicting issues and insoluble problems. the sporting attitude is a grateful and easy one. issues are decided cleanly. no irritating fringes are left over. the game is won or lost. analysis and speculation seem superfluous. the point is that such a philosophy is as different as possible from that which motivates the intellectual world of the modern college, with its searchings, its hypotheses and interpretations and revisions, its flexibility and openness of mind. in the scientific world of the instructor, things are not won or lost. his attitude is not a sporting one.
-yet the college has allowed some of these sporting attitudes to be imposed upon it. the undergraduates’ gladiatorial contests proceed under faculty supervision and patronage. alumni contribute their support to screwing up athletic competition to the highest semi-professional pitch. they lend their hallowing patronage to fraternity life and other college institutions which tend to emphasize social distinction. and the college administration, in contrast to the european scheme, has turned the college course into a sort of race with a prize at the goal. the degree has become a sort of honorific badge for all classes of society, and the colleges have been forced to give it this quasi-athletic setting and fix the elaborate rules of the game by which it may be won--rules which shall be easy enough to get all classes competing for it, and hard enough to make it a sufficient prize to keep them all in the race. an intricate system of points and courses and examinations sets the student working for marks and the completion of schedules rather than for a new orientation in important fields of human interest.
-the undergraduate can scarcely be blamed for responding to a system which so strongly resembles his sports, or for bending his energies to playing the game right, rather than assimilating the intellectual background of his teachers. so strongly has this sporting technique been acquired by the college that even when the undergraduate lacks the sporting instinct and does become interested in ideas, he is apt to find that he has only drawn attention to his own precocity and won amused notice rather than respect. in spite of the desire of instructors to get themselves over to their students, in spite of a real effort to break down the “class-consciousness” of teacher and student, the gulf between their attitudes is too fundamental to be easily bridged. unless it is bridged, however, the undergraduate is left in a sort of peter pan condition, looking back to his schoolboy life and carrying along his schoolboy interests with him, instead of anticipating his graduate or professional study or his active life. what should be an introduction to professional or business life in a world of urgent political and social issues, and the acquiring of intellectual tools with which to meet their demands, becomes a sort of sequestered retreat out of which to jump from boyhood into a badly-prepared middle age.
-the college will not really get the undergraduate until it becomes more conscious of the contrast of its own philosophy with his sporting philosophy, and tackles his boyish americanisms less mercifully, or until it makes college life less like that of an undergraduate country club, and more of an intellectual workshop where men and women in the fire of their youth, with conflicts and idealisms, questions and ambitions and desire for expression, come to serve an apprenticeship under the masters of the time.
-medievalism in the colleges
-if the american college is to have a part in that new educational movement which is beginning to make the school not merely a preparation for life but life itself, interested in what has meaning to the student at his particular age and situation, it will have to recast some of its most cherished practices and ideals. the large university to-day represents all stages in the adjustment of intellectual activity to social demands, from the intensely practical schools of engineering, correlating with the technical progress of industry, back to the departments of literary scholarship--perhaps as pure an anachronism as we have in the intellectual world to-day. the demands for technical knowledge have pulled the university along, as it were, by the nose, and strung it through the ages, so that a “professor” to-day may be an electrical expert fresh from westinghouse, or an archaic delver into forgotten poetry.
-the technical departments of the universities have kept bravely up with the work of “learning by doing.” laboratory and shopwork, practical coöperation with industry, contact with technical experts, have made the newer departments what they should be--energetic workshops where theory and practice constantly fertilize each other, and where the student comes out a competent technician in his craft. but the place of the college in this scheme becomes more and more anomalous. devoted to the traditional studies--the literatures, mathematics, philosophy, history--it is still strangely reminiscent of old musty folkways of the schoolman and theologian. every professor knows the desire of the average student to finish his college course and grapple with his professional studies. every professor is aware of the sharp quickening of interest which comes on entrance to the professional schools. though part of this feeling may be due to impatience to get out into the world, much of it certainly arises from a realization that at last one has come into a sphere where thinking means action. the college, with its light and unexacting labor, is cheerfully exchanged for the grind of the professional school, because the latter touches a real world.
-whereas the higher schools give the student active work to do, almost all the methods of the college teaching conspire to force him into an attitude of passivity. the lecture system is the most impressive example of this attitude, and the lecture system seems actually to get a tightening grip upon the modern college. as standard forms have become worked out, it is customary now actually to measure the student’s course by the number of hours he exposes himself to lectures. for the college course to be organized on a basis of lectures suggests that nothing has happened since abelard spoke in paris to twelfth-century bookless men. it is as if the magic word had still to be communicated by word of mouth, like the poems of homer of old. the emphasis is continually upon the oral presentation of material which the professor has often himself written in a text-book, or which could be conveyed with much greater exactness and fullness from books. these books the student knows only as “collateral reading.” nothing is left undone to impress him with the idea that the books and reviews and atlases are mere subsidiaries to the thin but precious trickle of the professor’s voice.
-now there may be some excuse for the lecture in a continental university, where the professor is a personality, is not compelled to lecture, and may make of his delivery a kind of intellectual ceremony. but american professors are not only likely to be atrocious lecturers, but to hate such compulsory talking as the sheerest drudgery. too often their own palpable derision at the artificiality of it makes the lecture an effective barrier between the student’s curiosity and its satisfaction. this is not to deny that the lecture might be made into a broad interpretative survey, which would give the student the clues he needs through the maze of books. this is exactly what the best college courses tend to become. but for this the college will need interpreters, and not the humdrum recorders and collators that it has a weakness for.
-we are learning that this can only be done by putting ideas to work, by treating the matter taught in the college as indispensable for any understanding or improvement of our modern world. in the technical schools, ideas and processes become immediately effective, but nothing in the college is really “used”; ideas are not put to work. professors anxiously desire to “teach students to think,” but they do not give them opportunities for that hard exercise which alone can produce trained thought. the college organs of expression, the debating clubs, literary magazines, newspapers, speaking contests, dramatic societies, etc., are usually amateurish, spasmodic, unreal. the flimsy background of the undergraduate is not to be wondered at where undergraduate expression in any channel is left by the college authorities unorganized and childish. and his low state must inevitably continue until ideas are not merely collected, with some vague idea of gilding the interior of his soul, but resolutely put to work. one reason for the overmastering devotion to athletics in the modern college is exactly its activity. in that field the student can do something. here, thank god, he says, is a place where one can act!
-to make intellectual expression and not receptivity the keynote of the college does not mean to turn it into an intellectual engineering school or to make it severely utilitarian. it should remain unspecialized, the field for working out a background for the contemporary social world. the paradox is that only by this practical exercise can any real cultural or scholarly power be attained. as long as the student can speak of “taking courses” the receptive and slightly medicinal character of college learning will be emphasized. moreover, as the schools both above and below the college adjust themselves to the new conceptions of learning, the archaic forms of college will cause it to lag in the race. the reason for their persistence is, of course, that whereas the technical demands of industry and the keen emulation in the professions have sharpened the higher schools and forced a revision of ideals and methods, the practical application of the cultural studies of the college has not seemed so urgent. the turning of these cultural studies into power is to be the exact measure of our growing conviction that ideas and knowledge about social relations and human institutions are to count as urgently in our struggle with the future as any mathematical or mechanical formulas did in the development of our present.
-page 48: “cottom looms” changed to “cotton looms”
-page 92: “profesor judd’s” changed to “professor judd’s”
-page 99: “imperfect acomplishment” changed to “imperfect accomplishment”
-page 164: “classics and mathemathics” changed to “classics and mathematics”
-page 190: “particualarly to those” changed to “particularly to those”
-page 230: “the large university to-day represent” changed to “the large university to-day represents”
-by henry leverage
-author of “the iron dollar.”
-when ivan with the long surname walked down the beach at novgorod he found three men. these men were sitting on their haunches staring out over the japan sea. ivan spoke to them in english.
-“i have a ship,” he said.
-the first man glanced at the second; the second stared at the third. they rose from their haunches and wrapped their rags around gaunt limbs.
-“a ship in this accursed port?” asked one.
-“a bloody lie!” exclaimed a second castaway.
-“ah hae me doots,” rasped a third derelict.
-“it is a fact, gentlemen,” said ivan with the long surname. “the ship is loading between here and vladivostok. she wants but a master, a mate and an engineer.”
-the three men grew sad. they had been broken on the rack of peace. they had come ashore at novgorod in a leaking sampan. the government of japan was at that moment interested in their whereabouts.
-“our papers were lost in a great storm at sea,” said the leader of the trio, whom men called “micky” mcmasters. “you mind the vast simoom?”
-ivan, the russian, spread out his hands. his great spade-shaped beard fluttered in the warm japanese breeze. he thumped a be-medaled chest.
-“come with me!” he said. “papers or no papers--it is you three who shall take the shongpong out across the sea.”
-“he talks like a poet writes,” whispered “red” landyard, a yankee mate, to mike monkey, the scotch engineer.
-“ah hae noo doot he’s read a wee bit. how otherwise would he know we were on the beach at novgorod? there is a price on our heads.”
-micky mcmasters edged the big russian away from his whispering companions.
-“this ship,” asked the little skipper, “this boat you ’ave loading between ’ere and vladivostok--what flag does she fly?”
-“her home flag is chinese. her crew are loyal russians. her cargo, now going aboard, is caravan tea. this tea must be taken to america where victoria on the island of vancouver is. do you know the route?”
-micky felt his heart thump like a mallet inside a cask. he had sweated and toiled and starved on the mud flats of novgorod. he sensed the coming of a bitter winter. and here was a hard-eyed russian offering him and his mates a ship for the pacific broadside, where white men walked and roses bloomed and shirts could be worn.
-“i’ve steamed and sailed, man and boy,” he explained, “going on thirty years. i’m ’umber born--at great grimsby on the north sea. my mate, the tall man with the red face, is an american out of new bedford. my first engineer came from tyneside--where they build good ships. we take no back-slack from nobody. show me your ship, says i, and i’ll work ’er across the japan sea and east by the line to victoria.”
-“that is settled,” said ivan alexandrovski. “you may come with me.”
-micky mcmasters gathered the tattered collar of his dungaree coat around his unshaven neck.
-“one more question before it becomes a contract,” he said suspiciously. “are you loyal russian or are you bolshevik?”
-ivan with the long surname smiled blandly. he stroked his straggling beard. he stared down at the little castaway.
-“loyal russian,” he said. “i have a home in vladivostok--where allied troops are guarding.”
-micky turned, jerked his head toward his mates who stood shivering in their rags, and shouted:
-“the contract’s signed! a fair thing for all of us. we work the shongpong across the western pacific.”
-“ye arranged about terms?” asked mike monkey, siding up to the skipper and glancing at the russian.
-“bonuses and wages?”
-“we’ll leave that to our noble friend.”
-mike gulped and spat to the mud flat.
-“last time ah left that,” he said, “ah had nothing coming to me when ah went ashore.”
-the russian drew himself erect.
-“the scale of wages,” he declared, “shall be, for you three officers, one thousand rubles a week--paid at victoria.”
-“how much is a ruble?” asked mike.
-“two shillin’,” hissed the cockney skipper.
-“twa shillin’? that make a hundred pun a week! ah hae noo doot it’ll be well earned before the end of the passage.”
-“where’s the ship?” asked red landyard. “show me the shongpong!”
-the russian led the way up the beach. two hours stiff walking brought the castaways to a cove in which lay a rusty tramp flying the chinese flag and swarming with coolies--like ants on a cockroach.
-“tay!” he spat. “aya, it may be tay and it may be something else. them ain’t chinese marks on the sides.”
-micky mcmasters jabbed the engineer in the ribs as they trailed up a shaky gangplank and sprang from the shongpong’s unpolished rail at the waist.
-“be careful!” he warned. “don’t ask no bloomin’ questions. wait till we cross the sea o’ japan!”
-“a rum hooker,” he told red landyard. “she’s had her name painted out about five times. she’s no more’n eight hundred tons, if she’s that. she’s a broodin’ menace ov some kind. ah wash my hands of this voyage.”
-“you’re ’ands need washin’!” snapped micky mcmasters. “drop below and look over the engines. see hif there’s any coal or supplies aboard. report to me on the bridge.”
-“d’ye call that a bridge?” mike pointed forward of the tipsy funnel, which was painted light blue.
-“hit’s a better bridge than the mud flats of novgorod!” micky said. “get below and report. i’m skipper ’ere!”
-mike’s report, delivered between champs upon a chew of chinese tobacco borrowed from a coolie, was tense and bitter.
-“ye hae no conception of the state of things below,” he told micky mcmasters. “there’s only one double-door boiler. it was made in canton--china. the engines are cross-compound of the vintage of isaac watt and robert fulton. the coal is japanese--twa bunkers of it. the stokehold leaks and the shaft-alley is full of bilge muck. ah saw the stuffin’-boxes jettin’ water myself. the last engineer of this packet wrote wot he thought of it on the ditty-box door. he said enough. his name was macfarland.”
-“what’s that got to do with hus?”
-“wot’s it got to do with us?” he repeated. “it’s got a lot. ah doot if we make japan--let alone victoria.”
-“we’ll try,” said micky sadly. “the russian says we can clear at nightfall. ’e and ’is crew are coming aboard then. i tested the steering-gear. it works. who got steam up?”
-“three coolies who are sittin’ in the engine-room waiting to go ashore. ah borrowed some cut-plug from them--enough to last the voyage--if it lasts. they can’t talk anything but pidgin english. their clothes are not worth taking--or i’d of taken them.”
-micky mcmasters rubbed a bristly chin reflectively. he stared at mike monkey’s faded outfit. he swung his gaze to where red landyard stood on the forecastle deck, directing a gang of coolies who were clearing away wreckage which had fallen about the capstan.
-“this russian,” he said with an anxious glance at the dark outlines of the shore, “this man who hired us at a thousand rubles a week is some kind of a big labor captain or prince. the coolies salute him. the two tatars standing guard at that shed ashore bowed when he spoke to them. there’s a whackin’ mystery ’ere!”
-“ah thought ye would get yer foot in it when ah saw ye chinnin’ with that russian on the mud flat. he is a smuggler!”
-“no! ’e don’t look like one.”
-“’e ’as nobody to navigate the ship, and the tea ’as got to be taken hover the western pacific.”
-“tay? ye are daft? d’ye call that tay?”
-mike monkey pointed a scornful finger at the boxes piled around the fore-hatch. he spat to the bridge-deck.
-“that ain’t tay! that’s opium or hashish or fireworks of some sort. ah never saw tay boxes with russian letters on them.”
-“there is good tea grown in some parts of russia.”
-“it’s grown! aye, it’s grown! wot’s to prove this cargo growed there. it may have been brought to this cove in a sampan--it may have been brought in a chinese junk--it may have----”
-“’vast with your ‘may-have’s!’ get below to the boiler! ’ere comes a caravan or a funeral. they’re russians of the province of the don. see their beards and their robes. there’s the big fellow who hired us. ’e’s a bloomin’ juke, that’s wot ’e is! kow-tow when ’e comes aboard.”
-“ye told me to go below.”
-“’urry hup! never mind the kowtowin’. you walk straight and take my orders until we get on the ’igh seas.”
-the first engineer fluttered a pair of pale lashes in the general direction of the squad of russians who were winding around the shore shed. he climbed down the rusty bridge-ladder and glided for the engine-room companion. he went through the single grating and thrust his hands into the broken pockets of his dungaree trousers as he eyed the three coolies sitting on the crank-shaft of the cross-compound engine.
-“on deck!” he roared at the chinamen. “ye all get on deck, and don’t show yer miserable faces here again. ye’re discharged! ye built my fires in oriental fashion--upside down with all the japanese coal on the grates. ye left me nothing but clinkers and salt water in the boiler and leaking gaskets and----”
-the last yellow man stared down through the grating on his way to the deck and departure.
-“plenty much you learn by and by,” he said softly--too softly. “plenty much----”
-mike picked up a rusty spanner. he had drawn this back when there sounded the raucous clang of an ancient gong in the engine-room. micky mcmasters, wasting no time, had rung for quarter-speed forward before the russian crew were well aboard.
-two men came down the engine-room ladder in awkward fashion. they blinked at mike. they stared at the engine as if it were an idol in a temple. they stroked their whiskers.
-“are ye coal-passers?” asked mike.
-“we are passengers.”
-“ah asked ye if ye are coal-passers?”
-mike monkey pointed toward the low door through the bulkhead which separated the engine-room from the stoke hold.
-“get forrard!” he rasped. “d’ye know the skipper rang for a turn on the engines? d’ye know there’s only thirty pounds ov steam?”
-the russians moved toward the stokehold door. mike picked up his spanner and followed them. he spent the next lurid hour breaking in two green firemen whose manners were sullen and morose.
-it was after sundown when the shongpong clamped from her anchorage in the cove and started eastward over the polished waters of the japan sea.
-a tan-colored moon hung in the sky. a soft breeze swung out from manchuria. the powdered stars spangled the velvet dome of heaven.
-red landyard, micky masters and mike monkey came together on the decrepit bridge of the freighter like three men making a common report.
-ivan with the long surname and most of his following were in the lighted cabin where rose the quarter-deck of the freighter. a lone lookout stood on the forecastle head. he was smoking a long-stemmed pipe. the ashes from the bowl of this pipe made tinder of his whiskers. now and then he pressed out the sparks and swore in russian.
-a second and sinister figure squatted on the fore-hatch. he had a rifle across his knees. the end of this rifle was tipped with a polished bayonet.
-“standin’ guard,” said micky mcmasters. “the grand juke put ’im there to watch the tea.”
-“tay!” said mike monkey. “ye still insist it is tay?”
-micky squared his jaw. “i know nothing,” he said, “save that we are ’oldin’ a course for ’akodate and the inland sea, which we should reach this time day after tomorrow--if the steam don’t die out altogether.”
-red landyard stared at the russian on the fore-hatch. he eyed the bright point of the steel bayonet.
-“they’re quiet now,” he drawled, “but we’re hardly out of sight of land. i expect i’ll have to chain a man or two before long. the forecastle is a volcano. hear them talking? they’re arguing some point in russian.”
-micky swung and eyed the break of the quarter-deck, which showed four lighted port-holes within the smudge of smoke that draped from the tipsy funnel.
-“wot good would that do?” asked mike monkey. “they wouldn’t reveal their secret plans to us. wot did they bring the rifle aboard for? wot’s to prove we ain’t shipmates with a howlin’ bunch of anarchists? they’re quiet now. them twa in the stokehold only look at me and chew on their beards when ah give orders. they’re waitin’ for somethin’!”
-micky strode across the bridge. he gazed sadly at the ripples that curved from the shongpong’s straight bow. he estimated the speed of the ship to be not more than seven knots an hour. there was no bridge-rail log.
-he came back to mike monkey and red landyard.
-“briefly stated,” ye said, “we’re in the ’ands of providence. anything is likely to ’appen with all that talking fore and aft. the course the grand juke gave me is to the pacific--by the nearest strait. i’m ’olding that course. that’s all i know. i ’ave a wife and children at ’ome. i was thinkin’ of them when i took the contract to work this ship to victoria.”
-mike studied the little skipper’s dungaree jacket and unshaven face.
-“how many russians are there aboard?” he asked.
-“sixty or seventy.”
-“then ah resign if it comes to blows. ah am weak from starving on the beach of novgorod. all ah have been able to find to eat on this hooker is caviar and salt fish. ah would as soon eat clinkers.”
-a door slid open aft. a rolling voice struck forward. ivan appeared, followed by two russians. they were wrapped to the beards in great coats trimmed with fur. they climbed the bridge-ladder and stared at the binnacle.
-“east she is,” said micky. “east, a quarter point north.”
-ivan swept the sea with a long glance. he nodded and pointed over the freighter’s stumpy jib-boom.
-“japan lays there?” he questioned micky.
-“yes. habout four ’undred miles.”
-“have you sighted any ships?”
-“if you do call me on deck. answer no signals. keep the chinese flag flying.”
-“the union jack would look better!”
-ivan stroked his beard.
-“you take my orders,” he said icily. “avoid any suggestions. keep away from smoke, sails and particularly gunboats of foreign powers. i’ll double the thousand rubles which i have agreed to give you three officers. i’ll increase it to two thousand rubles a week.”
-mike gulped and drew his scrawny neck deep into his collar. he waited until ivan and the russians had descended the bridge-ladder and walked slowly aft to where the light streamed from the open cabin door.
-“ye heard that!” grated the engineer with scorn. “ah thought it was possible to get a thousand rubles a week. ah expect nothing now. it’s too good to be true. ah minds the likes o’ that russian! it was in guatemala where i was paid three thousand pesos a month. the pesos were worth sixpence on the pound.”
-micky mcmasters shook his head.
-“anyway,” he said, “we’re on the first leg ’ome to blighty. we’re gettin’ a free passage. that’s something!”
-mike monkey went below to the clanking engines. red landyard stared forward and aft. he entered the chart-house and turned in across the single seaweed mattress it contained.
-micky stood the watch until midnight. he woke the yankee mate, gave the course and dropped down into the engine-room. he sat with mike until two bells. the scotch-irish engineer was bitter against the russians. he rose now and then and peered through the stokehold door, where a lurid light glowed.
-“twa stokers,” he said, “and no fire to speak of.”
-micky glanced around in caution as the engineer came back for the third time.
-“they’ve talked enough for a revolution.”
-the little skipper paused on the first round of the engine-room grating.
-“get forrard when you can,” he whispered. “open one of those boxes.”
-mike gulped and nodded. he drowsed out the morning hours and climbed to the deck at the first crack of dawn. he waited all the day for a chance to creep through the stokehold without being detected by the two russian stokers. a second night came and after night the twinkling lights of the inland sea. no chance afforded itself in the passage between the japanese islands.
-it was morning of the third day when ivan with the long surname dashed thoughts of a discovery in the forehold by summoning all hands to the waist of the shongpong.
-a wild seascape greeted mike’s eyes as he hurried up the engine-room ladder and braced his spindle legs athwart the planks.
-the dusky outlines of the japanese coast were fast fading in the west. the wind swung out of a biting north. the sea had been stirred by the tail of a storm. the dingy freighter, with her tipsy funnel and standing rigging, rolled and tossed. she threatened to have the two masts out of her at any moment.
-micky mcmasters stood the bridge with red landyard. ivan and all of the russians, including the crowd from the forecastle, were gathered beneath the shelter of the quarter-deck’s lift. they glanced at mike monkey and started chattering in russian. his eyes lifted over their heads. he gulped and moved his adam’s apple up and down his scrawny throat. he spat to the deck.
-the chinese flag which had been flying from the jack staff had been replaced by a red oblong. it showed baleful in the rays of the sun.
-mike turned his chin. he looked at micky. the little skipper’s jaw was square set. his shoulders were thrown back. there was a fighting fire in his eyes.
-“wot happened?” asked mike shrilly.
-“our friends are in charge of the ship,” said micky over the bridge-rail. “come up ’ere! they’re going to take a vote for captain, mate and engineer. they say all things in their government should be settled by a vote. they’re going to elect a citizen captain.”
-“wot is their government?”
-micky gripped the rail.
-“bolshevik!” he snapped.
-mike steadied himself on the wet planks. he spat to the deck for a second time. his glance ranged from the little skipper to ivan’s broad face.
-“ah thought so!” he rasped. “we’re deluded men!”
-ivan strode from the press of russians beneath the break of the quarter-deck. he mounted the main-hatch. his voice rose and fell with the whine of the north wind. he spoke in gusty torrents. he pointed to the red flag aft. he turned and leveled an accusing finger at the bridge where red landyard and micky stood with folded arms.
-mike squinted at the half-circle of russians. they were being worked up to a storm by their leader. a fur cap was passed. into this was dropped slips of paper upon which were scrawled names. a rifle’s bayonet lifted above the heads of the bolsheviki. a club swung.
-mike leaped for the bridge-ladder and climbed to the bridge like a frightened ape. he worked his lashless brows up and down. he spat through yellow teeth:
-“wot’s the answer? wot happened?”
-micky mcmasters sighed. he thrust his hands in his pockets resignedly.
-“hit’s hall hup!” he declared. “they’re electing a citizen captain to take my place. they’re voting for an engineer and mate. they say there should be equality on the sea as well as on the land. ’ere comes hour substitutes!”
-mike glared at three russians who had detached themselves from the others. one was a former coal-passer. another had come aft from the forecastle. ivan made the third.
-the russian stood beneath the rocking bridge and said sternly:
-“you mutineers get below to the stokehold. we will guide the shongpong out across the pacific. we will make our own report without your aid. we need you on deck no longer.”
-red landyard snatched up a belaying pin from the lee rail.
-“---- you!” he shouted. “i signed on as mate--and i’ll be mate!”
-“and i’m captain!” shrieked micky.
-the fight which followed was all one-sided. a hoarse command from ivan was answered by a determined rush forward. the bolshevik horde swarmed over the bridge of the wallowing freighter. micky and red landyard fought them tooth and nail. they swung belaying-pins and a chart-case. they finished their end of the struggle upon their knees--to which position they were beaten by the press of numbers.
-mike, considering discretion the better part of valor, managed to creep along the weather rail and spring for the engine-room companion. he sprawled down the ladder head foremost. he rebounded at the grating. he snatched up a spanner and glared upward. he braced a foot in the pit, out of which flashed the slow-moving cranks of the cross-compound engines.
-his chin described a quarter-circle. the companion-way was darkened by the form of a man. micky, still fighting, dropped down and struck the grating. red landyard was hurled after the little skipper. both seamen had been shorn of most of their clothes. their faces were bleeding. welts showed upon their shoulders.
-“gorblyme!” cried micky. “gorblyme--give me a hose! give me hot water! give me steam!”
-“go easy,” drawled the yankee mate, squinting at the whiskered faces which blocked the entire companion. “there’s a few of them left. we didn’t kill them all.”
-“we ought to!” spat micky. “bolsheviki? they’re red-’anded murderers--that’s wot they are!”
-“that’s my opinion,” said mike monkey.
-“you? you!” sputtered micky. “where were you when the fight started?”
-“ah came down here for a pinch bar. ah was just going up when ye joined me--precipitously.”
-micky rubbed his bleeding knuckles. he turned a cold shoulder upon the engineer, then stared upward. he made faces at the bolsheviki and shook his broken right fist.
-“i’ll ’ave you know there’s a law on the seas!” he snapped. “i’ll report this outrage to the next british consul.”
-ivan pushed away the men about the companion. he descended two rungs of the iron ladder, turned and sneered into the gloom of the engine-room.
-“you are to remain below,” he said coldly. “get steam up and give us full speed. you will be thrown overboard if you do not obey my orders. the citizen captain so directs me.”
-“where’s me twa thousand rubles?” shouted mike monkey. “coom down here --ye scum of the steepies! coom down!”
-ivan started descending. he thought better of the action when mike snatched up an iron bar and brandished it with agility.
-“coom down, ye bolshevik dog! coom down if ye dare!”
-ivan called in russian. a ferocious face appeared over the edge of the companion. the sharp point of a bayonet extended into plain view. the muzzle of the rifle deflected until it was directly aimed at mike. he dropped the iron bar to the grating.
-he held up his hands.
-“that let’s me out!” he cried through chattering teeth. “don’t shoot!”
-“go forward,” ivan ordered. “you and the american go forward and put coal on the fires. you, mcmasters, attend to the engines. none of you three men will be allowed on deck. you will all be shot if you do not keep the ship moving at full speed. those are the orders of the citizen captain.”
-micky picked up an oil can. he squirted a stream at the nearest crank.
-“steam on the engine!” he said to mike and red.
-the two castaways went through the stokehold doorway. the shovels grated on the iron apron before the double fire-boxes. a biting scotch oath rolled into the engine-room. micky eyed the steam-gage on the main steam pipe. it was climbing. he glanced upward. the ferocious russian was standing guard with the rifle. ivan had disappeared.
-days passed in unending drudgery. food was lowered down at the end of a line. the sentry was changed each watch. ivan kept away from the companion, though his voice was heard in loud argument concerning the position of the freighter. micky, stripped to his sweating waist and smarting from the blows he had received, grinned through the knuckle-thick bristle on his lips.
-he kept the engines oiled. he saw to it that the throttle-wheel was wide open. once he relieved mike at passing coal. the ship made progress of a kind. it was evident that the citizen captain had headed for the center of the north pacific. there was little danger of a lee shore.
-“and may he wander like the flyin’ dutchman!” said mike monkey on the sixteenth day. “ah hope he’s lost.”
-“no,” said red landyard, “he’s heading somewhere. the course is always east. i can tell by the sun. he hasn’t changed a quarter point.”
-micky mcmasters glared at his two mates. they resembled stokers of hades. their skin was blistered. the callouses on their hands had become small cushions. the fighting fire in their eyes alone remained to remind the little cockney skipper what manner of men they were and had been.
-“the plot,” said micky, “is thick and ’ard to fathom. for why are they ’eadin’ to the states or canada? no one wants them over there. they’ll run their bloody ’eads hinto a noose.”
-mike monkey cocked a grease-lined ear. he blinked.
-“ye hear them chatterin’?” he asked. “they’re sea lawyers! ah hae hopes they start to massacre themselves.”
-micky rubbed the bristles on his chin.
-“we’ll reach land in a day or two,” he said. “then we’ll find out the answer for the boxes of tea and the voyage and the other questions.”
-“tay!” exclaimed mike. “ye always said it was tay. this looks like a tay party. it--it----”
-“mcmasters!” called ivan. “come here, mcmasters!”
-micky folded his arms across his hairy breast and stared at the russian.
-“what d’you want?” he asked.
-ivan peered through the engine-room gloom.
-“we have decided,” he said heavily, “that you can join us as a brother. we have voted on it. we will make you rich. you can be one of us.”
-“i’d rather be a dirty stoker than one of your breed!” replied micky.
-“we are going to give you a chance. you can help us navigate to our port of call. the citizen captain is not sure of his exact position. assist us to obtain a reading and we will honor you by admission to the benevolent order of reds. we intend to raise one billion dollars in canada and the united states. we shall give you a share in it.”
-“to ---- with you and your billion!”
-micky screamed, brandishing a broken fist. “get hout of the gangway!”
-“ye did right,” whispered mike as ivan climbed hurriedly through the engine-room companion and disappeared on deck. “ye were not to be bribed by the scum o’ russia. wot’s the answer to the billion dollars?”
-micky stared at the point of the bayonet which crossed the sky over his head. he glanced at the flashing cranks of the cross-compound engines. he raised his voice above the noise of their wallowing passage.
-“the answer is this!” he snapped. “they’re going to victoria and canada to raise a revolution. there are a lot of bolsheviki in ’iding--from victoria to the atlantic seaboard. this is a plot to start somethin’ against law and order. i’ll smash that big grand juke with a ’ammer the next time ’e talks to me. ‘e’s insulted a british seaman--’e ’as!”
-mike shot a crafty glance at the stokehold door. he scratched his greasy neck.
-“a plot?” he said. “ah hae noo doot we can nip it in the bud. all we got to do is to open the bilge-cocks and drown the rats.”
-“and we go down with them?”
-micky shook his head.
-“we’re not martyrs,” he suggested cuttingly. “there may be a better way to get rid of the scum of siberia.”
-“set the hooker on fire?”
-“we’ll roast with it!”
-“ah’ll think it over, then.”
-mike monkey disappeared through the bulkhead door. micky watched the engines for a long minute. he raised his eyes and saw a shadow cross the companion opening. a second bayonet joined the first. ivan had posted two guards to watch the three men between decks. the big russian also signaled for more speed. he was answered by oaths from mike monkey and red landyard.
-a long, hot day passed. the heat of the stokehold and engine-room was a thing to remember.
-the three castaways sweated beneath the menace of the two bayonets and ivan’s brutal oaths. the sounds from the deck were those of a madhouse. it was evident that the citizen captain did not know his position on the ocean. once the shongpong headed due south. her course was changed to northeast. she steadied and clamped onward, holding an uncertain path.
-midnight and eight bells brought diversion. running feet sounded on the ship’s planks. a muffled cannon-shot echoed from the distance. a shell burst over the freighter’s rigging.
-clanging bells for more speed drove micky from the engine-room into the stokehold.
-“a gunboat!” he exclaimed. “we’re being chased!”
-“ah thought we would be!” rasped mike monkey. “shall ah draw the fires?”
-the engineer’s question was answered by a curdling oath from ivan. the leader of the bolsheviki descended to the stokehold door. he peered through the gloom.
-“you heard the bells!” he snarled through his beard. “you all die if you don’t keep up steam. we’re going to escape from the cutter. fortunately it is an old one.”
-micky mcmasters shook his head toward his two mates. he followed the russian into the engine-room and picked up an oil can as ivan motioned for the sentries to get on deck. a silence fell upon the brooding ocean.
-red landyard appeared between the stokehold and the engine-room. he braced his legs and toyed with a short iron bar. now and then he stared forward to where the crimson light glowed from the fire doors. the steam mounted in the gages. mike monkey worked alone. the scotch-irish engineer had evolved an idea out of the situation. he had sent red to the stokehold door in order to stand guard.
-“what is ’e doing?” asked micky in a whisper.
-“sist!” said the yankee. “pretend to oil the engines and keep busy. don’t let the sentries suspect anything. watch the steam. it’s going up to the bursting point.”
-micky watched the gage on the main steam leader. it started climbing from one hundred and seventy to one hundred and ninety. it went over the two hundred mark. it dropped and mounted again.
-the little cockney skipper heard the fire doors clanging. a baleful light streamed past red landyard. a roar sounded in the single funnel. it was as if the ship were equipped with a double-fan forced draft. the cross-compound engine spun like a turbine.
-“what’s ’e putting on the fires?” questioned micky.
-“the boxes of tea in the forehold,” husked red. “we broke through and looked the bolshevik cargo over. it’s combustible all right.”
-“nope! look out! that sentry is cocking his gun. duck aft. don’t let him see you talking with me.”
-micky crawled down the narrow shaft-alley. he sat on the thrust block and searched his heated brain for an answer to mike’s energy. hours later he heard the scraping of rocks and shale under the shongpong’s keel. the ship heeled and plunged on. her bow crashed upon a shelving beach. the bolsheviki cursed. a mast went by the board. it splintered the deck. the funnel fell with its load of soot. the engine-room filled with choking smoke.
-mike monkey burst through this pall. he started mounting the ladder to the companion. red and micky followed the engineer. they stood on deck and ranged their smarting eyes over a desperate scene.
-his followers swarmed around him on the tottering bridge. a red light showed through the tall stems of fir-trees. this fight moved as a signal. a score of furtive shadows flitted in the underbrush at the head of the cove. russian faces stared out over the shoal waters of the rendezvous. a shout of brotherhood passed between ship and shore.
-“loom on,” whispered mike monkey to micky and the yankee seaman. “loom aft. they’re too busy forrard to notice us. we’ll lower the dingey and escape.”
-the cockney skipper climbed over the deserted quarter-deck and loosened the falls. he dropped the bow of the small boat into the waves that curled astern of the grounded freighter. red landyard lowered the after part of the dingey. the three castaways found oars. they rowed for a dark cape that struck out into the cove. they gained the beach of this point and staggered ashore. they turned and stared at the canted freighter.
-“see,” said mike monkey. “they’re opening the forehold. ah wish them luck in wot they find beneath the hatch.”
-micky squinted through the gloom. he discerned dancing figures on the deck of the shongpong. a bloodthirsty yell of baffled rage rose to the western stars. it was echoed by the conspirators ashore.
-“ah hae noo doot,” mike monkey rasped, “they found ah had burned all the tay. didn’t old whiskers ask us to keep the fires burning hot and nice? ah kept them burning--at a price. ah put all of the tay boxes through the fire doors. there’s none left.”
-“what was in them?” asked micky.
-mike closed a lashless eyelid. he drew a greasy handful of papers from beneath his shirt. he offered them to the little skipper.
-“rubles!” he said. “bolshevik bonds and rubles! they were bringing them to canada and the states. ah hae an idea they were going to sell them to the reds in both countries. all ah know to be sure is--there ain’t no rubles left. ah found them better to burn than the miserable slag called japanese coal.”
-micky saw a light. he squareset his unshaven chin and pointed south along the coast.
-“we’ll walk the beach,” he said, “until we come to a coast guard. no doubt the cutter that chased the bolsheviki is nosin’ around. we’ll show it where to go.”
-mike thrust his ruble notes back within his shirt.
-“ah’ll keep these!” he declared. “they ain’t worth a ha’penny, but they’re what we can expect to get for wages if the reds start runnin’ the governments.”
-the promotion of the admiral
-and other sea comedies
-author of "the colossus," "the fugitives," etc.
-copyright, 1902, 1903 by the curtis publishing company
-copyright, 1903 by l. c. page & company (incorporated)
-all rights reserved
-the works of morley roberts
-the idlers lady penelope rachel marr the promotion of the admiral
-l. c. page company new england building boston, mass.
-i. the promotion of the admiral
-ii. the settlement with shanghai smith
-iii. the policy of the potluck
-vi. three in a game
-vii. the man from abo
-viii. the scuttling of the pandora
-the promotion of the admiral.
-mr. smith, who ran a sailors' boarding-house in that part of san francisco known as the barbary coast, was absolutely sui generis. if any drunken scallawag of a scholar, who had drifted ashore on his boarding-house mud-flats, had ventured in a moment of alcoholic reminiscence to say so in the classic tongue, shanghai smith would have "laid him out cold" with anything handy, from a stone-ware match-box to an empty bottle. but if that same son of culture had used his mother tongue, as altered for popular use in the west, and had murmured: "jerusalem but mr. smith's the daisy of all!" smith would have thrown out his chest and blown through his teeth a windy oath and guessed he was just so.
-"say it and mean it, that's me," said smith. "i'm all right. but call me hog and i am hog; don't you forget it!"
-apparently all the world called him "hog." for that he was no better than one, whether he walked, or ate, or drank, or slept, was obvious to any sailor with an open eye. but he was hard and rough and tough, and had the bull-headed courage of a mad steer combined with the wicked cunning of a monkey.
-"don't never play upon me," he said often. "for 'get even' is my motter. there ain't many walkin' this earth that can say they bested me, not from the time i left bristol in the old dart till now, when i'm known the wide world over."
-so far as ships and sailormen were concerned he certainly spoke the truth. he was talked of with curses in the pacific from the prybiloffs to the horn, from san francisco to zanzibar. it was long odds at any given time in any longitude that some seaman was engaged in blaspheming shanghai smith for sending him on board drunk and without a chest, and with nothing better to propitiate his new shipmates with than a bottle of vinegar and water that looked like rum till it was tasted. every breeze that blew, trade wind or monsoon, had heard of his iniquities. he got the best of every one.
-"all but one," said smith in a moment of weakness, when a dozen men, who owed so much money that they crawled to him as a chinaman does to a joss, were hanging upon his lips--"all but one."
-"oh, we don't take that in," said one of the most indebted; "we can 'ardly believe that, mr. smith."
-sometimes this unsubtle flattery would have ended in the flatterer being thrown out. but smith was now gently reminiscent.
-"yes, i was done brown and never got the best of one swine," said the boarding-house keeper. "i don't ask you to believe it, for i own it don't sound likely, me being what i am. but there was one swab as give me a hidin', and he give it me good, so he did."
-he looked them over malignantly.
-he breathed fierce defiance and invited any man alive to tell him he was lying.
-"and you never got even?" asked the bar-tender, seeing that no one took up the challenge.
-"never set eyes on him from that day to this," said his boss regretfully.
-"and if you did?"
-smith paused, took a drink.
-"so help me, i'd shanghai him if he was king of england!"
-and one of the crowd, who had put down the san francisco chronicle in order to hear this yarn, picked it up again.
-"s'elp me," he said, in a breathless excitement, "'ere's a bally cohincidence. 'ere's a telegram from 'squimault, saying as how the flagship triumphant, hadmiral sir richard dunn, k.c.b., is comin' down to san francisco!"
-"holy moses, let's look!" said shanghai smith.
-he read, and a heavenly smile overspread his hard countenance. he almost looked good, such joy was his.
-"tom," he said to the bar-tender, "set up the drinks for the crowd. this is my man, for sure. and him an admiral, too! holy sailor, ain't this luck?"
-he went out into the street and walked to and fro rubbing his hands, while the men inside took their drink, and looked through the uncleaned windows at the boss.
-"holy mackinaw," said billy, who had drifted west from michigan, "i reckon never to hev seen mr. smith so pleased since he shipped a crowd in the harvester, and got 'em away that night and shipped 'em in the silas k. jones."
-"he's struck a streak o' luck in his mind," said one of the seamen; "and it's this 'ere hadmiral. now mark me, mates, i wouldn't be that 'ere hadmiral for the worth of california. mr. sir blooming hadmiral, k.c.b., et setterer, is going to 'ave a time."
-he shook his head over the melancholy fate of a british admiral.
-"rot!" said one of the younger men; "'tain't possible to do nothin' to the likes of an admiral. now, if 'twas a lieutenant or even a captain, i'm not sayin' as mr. smith mightn't do somethin'. but an admiral----"
-"you mark me," said the older man, "i'd rather be as green as grass and ship as an able-bodied seaman with billy yates of the wanderer, than be in that hadmiral's shoes. what do you say, tom?"
-tom filled himself up a drink and considered.
-"wa'al," he answered after a long pause, "it's my belief that it won't necessary be all pie to be an admiral if the boss is half the man he used to be. for you see 'tis quite evident he has a special kind of respect for this admiral, and when mr. smith has been done by any one that he respects, he don't ever forget. why, you know yourselves that if one of you was to do him, he'd forgive you right off after he'd kicked the stuffing out of you."
-"was there ever such luck--was there ever such luck?" murmured mr. shanghai smith. "to think of him turnin' up, all of his own accord, on my partic'lar stampin' ground! and i'll lay odds he's clean forgot me. i'll brighten up his memr'y with sand and canvas and souji-mouji, so i will! holy sailor, was there ever such luck?"
-the morning of the following day h.m.s. triumphant lay at her anchors off saucelito in san francisco bay, and was glad to be there. for this was in the times when the whole british fleet was not absolutely according to cocker. she leaked not a little and she rolled a great deal, and she would not mind her helm except upon those occasions when the officer in charge of the deck laid his money and his reputation on her going to starboard when, according to all rules, she should have altered her course to port. but though she was a wet ship with a playful habit of trying to scoop the pacific ocean dry, and though her tricks would have broken the heart of the chief naval constructor had he seen her at them, she was the flagship in spite of her conduct, because at that time she was half the whole pacific squadron. the other half was lying outside esquimault dry dock waiting for it to be finished. and when the chronicle said that "dicky dunn" was the admiral, it had not lied. if any of that paper's reporters had known "dicky" as his men knew him, he would have spread himself in a column on the admiral's character and personal appearance.
-"he's the dead-spit of a boson's mate, to be sure," said the crew of the triumphant when they received him at esquimault. "an 'ard nut he looks!"
-and a "hard nut" he certainly was. though he stood five feet nine in height, he looked two inches less, for he was as broad as a door and as sturdy as the fore-bitts. his complexion was the colour of the sun when it sets in a fog for fine weather: the skin on his hands shone and was as scaly as a lizard's hide. his teeth were white and his eyes piercing. he could roar like a fog-horn, and sing, as the crew said, "like any hangel." there wasn't the match of "dicky" on any of the seas the wide world over. the only trouble was that he looked so much like the traditional sailor and buccaneer that no one could believe he was anything higher than a warrant officer at the most when he had none of his official gear about him.
-though the admiral did not know it, one of the very first to greet him when he set his foot on dry land at the bottom of market street was the man he had licked so thoroughly fifteen years before in melbourne.
-"oh, it's the same," said smith to his chief runner, who was about the "hardest case" in california. "he ain't changed none. just so old he was when he set about me. why, the galoot might be immortal. mark him, now; will you know him anywhere?"
-"it don't pay me ever to forget," replied the runner. he had to remember the men who owed him grudges.
-"then don't forget this one," said smith. "do you find me a considerate boss?"
-"oh, well----" said the runner ungraciously.
-"you've got to do a job for me, billy."
-"i'm goin' to have this hyer admiral shipped before the stick on the toughest ship that's about ready to go to sea," replied smith.
-"sir, it's the penitentiary!"
-"i don't care if it's lynchin'," said smith. "help--or get. i'm bossin' this job. which is it?"
-"and," he said to himself, "if we get nailed i'll split. calls himself a 'considerate boss.' well, shanghai smith has a gall!"
-"which do you reckon is the worst ship inside the gate now?" asked smith, after he had savoured his cunning revenge for a few minutes.
-"the harvester ain't due for a month, sir."
-smith looked melancholy.
-"no, she ain't, that's a fact. it's a solid pity. sant would have suited this dunn first class." he was the most notorious blackguard of a shipmaster yet unhung, and the fact that smith and he were bitter enemies never blinded shanghai to the surpassing merits of his brutality.
-"there's the cyrus g. hake."
-smith shook his head contemptuously.
-"d'ye think i want to board this admiral at the palace hotel? why, johnson hasn't hurt a man serious for two trips."
-"oh, well, i thought as he'd sure break out soon," said bill; "but there's the president. they do say that her new mate is a holy terror."
-"i won't go on hearsay," said smith decidedly. "i want a good man you and i know--one that'll handle this dicky dunn from the start. now, what's in the harbour with officers that can lick me?"
-"well, i always allowed (as you know, mr. smith) that simpson of the california was your match."
-smith's face softened.
-"well, mebbe he is."
-at any other time he would never have admitted it.
-"and the california will sail in three days."
-"righto," said smith. "simpson is a good tough man and so is old blaker. bill, the california will do. but it's an almighty pity the harvester ain't here. i never knew a more unlucky thing. but we must put up with the next best."
-"but how'll you corral the admiral, sir?" asked bill.
-"you leave that to me," replied his boss. "i've got a very fruitful notion as will fetch him if he's half the man he was."
-next evening smith found occasion to run across a couple of the triumphant's crew, and he got them to come into his house for a drink.
-"are these galoots to be dosed and put away?" asked the bar-tender.
-"certainly not," said smith. "fill 'em up with good honest liquor at my expense."
-the bar-tender hardly knew where good honest liquor was to be found in that house, but he gave the two men-o'-war's men the slowest poison he had, and they were soon merry.
-"is the admiral as dead keen on fightin' with his fists as he was?" asked smith.
-"rather," said the first man.
-"oh no, he's tired," said the second. "'e allows 'e can't find no one to lick 'im. 'e never could."
-"oh, that's his complaint, is it?" said smith. "and is he as good as he was?"
-"i heerd him tell the first luff on'y the other day as 'e reckoned to be a better man now than he was twenty years ago. and i believes 'im. 'ard? oh my! i do believe if 'e ran agin a lamp-post he'd fight through it."
-it was enough for smith to know that the admiral was still keen on fighting. to draw a man like that would not be so difficult. when he had turned the two naval seamen into the street, he called for the runner.
-"have you found out what i told you?"
-"yes," replied bill. "he mostly comes down and goes off at eleven."
-"is he alone?"
-"mostly he has a young chap with him. i reckon they calls him the flag-lieutenant: a kind of young partner he seems to be. but that's the only one so far. and the california sails day after ter-morrer, bright and early."
-"couldn't be better," said smith. "after waitin' all these years i can't afford to lose no time. thishyer racket comes off to-night. look out, mr. bully admiral! i'm on your track."
-and the trouble did begin that night.
-mr. 'say-it-and-mean-it' smith laid for admiral sir richard dunn, k.c.b., etc., etc., from ten o'clock till half-past eleven, and he was the only man in the crowd that did not hope the victim would come down with too many friends to be tackled.
-"it's a penitentiary job, so it is," said bill. and yet when the time arrived his natural instincts got the better of him.
-the admiral came at last: it was about a quarter to twelve, and the whole water-front was remarkably quiet. the two policemen at the entrance to the ferries had by some good luck, or better management, found it advisable to take a drink at johnson's, just opposite. and the admiral was only accompanied by his flag-lieutenant.
-"that's him," said smith. "i'd know the beggar anywhere. now keep together and sing!"
-he broke into "down on the suwannee river," and advanced with bill and bill's two mates right across the admiral's path. they pretended to be drunk, and as far as three were concerned, there was not so much pretence about it after all. but smith had no intention of being the first to run athwart the admiral's hawse. when he came close enough, he shoved the youngest man right into his arms. the admiral jumped back, and landed that unfortunate individual a round-arm blow that nearly unshipped his jaw. the next moment every one was on the ground, for bill sandbagged the admiral just as he was knocked down by the lieutenant. as sir richard fell, he reached out and caught smith by the ankle. the boarding-house master got the lieutenant by the coat and brought him down too. and as luck would have it, the youngster's head hit the admiral's with such a crack that both lay unconscious.
-"do we want the young 'un too?" asked bill when he rose to his feet, swinging his sand-bag savagely. and smith for once lost his head.
-"leave the swine, and puckarow the admiral," he said. and indeed it was all they could do to carry sir richard without exciting any more attention than four semi-intoxicated men would as they took home a mate who was quite incapacitated.
-but they did get him home to the house in the barbary coast. when he showed signs of coming to, he was promptly dosed and his clothes were taken off him. as he slept the sleep of the drugged, they put on a complete suit of rough serge toggery and he became "tom deane, a.b."
-"they do say that he is the roughest, toughest, hardest nut on earth," said bill; "so we'll sec what like he shapes in the california. i dessay he's one of that lot that lets on how sailormen have an easy time. it's my notion the california will cure him of that."
-by four o'clock in the morning, tom deane, who was, as his new shipmates allowed, a hard-looking man who could, and would, pull his weight, lay fast asleep in a forward bunk of the california's foc'sle as she was being towed through the golden gate. and his flag-lieutenant was inquiring in hospital what had become of the admiral, and nobody could tell him more than he himself knew. so much he told the reporters of the chronicle and the morning call, and flaring headlines announced the disappearance of a british admiral, and the wires and cables fairly hummed to england and the world generally. at the same time the san francisco police laid every waterfront rat and tough by the heels on the chance that something might be got out of one of them.
-"what did i tell you?" asked bill in great alarm, as he saw several intimate friends of his being escorted to gaol.
-"are you weakenin' on it?" said smith savagely. "if i thought you was, i'd murder you. give me away, and when i get out, i'll chase you three times round the world and knife you, my son."
-and though bill was so much of a "terror," he could not face smith's eyes.
-"well, i ain't in it, anyhow," he swore.
-but certainly "tom deane, a.b." was in it, and was having a holy time.
-when the admiral woke, which he did after half an hour's shaking administered in turns by three of the california's crew, who were anxious to know where he had stowed his bottle of rum, he was still confused with the "dope" given him ashore. so he lay pretty still and said:
-"send mr. selwyn to me."
-but selwyn was his flag-lieutenant, and was just then the centre of interest to many reporters.
-"send hell; rouse out, old son, and turn to," said one of his new mates. and the admiral rose and rested on his elbow.
-"where am i?"
-"on board the california, to be sure."
-"i'm dreaming," said the admiral, "that's what it is. to be sure, i'm dreaming."
-there was something in his accent as he made this statement that roused curiosity in the others.
-"no, you ain't--not much," said the first man who had spoken; "and even if you was, i guess simpson will wake you. rouse up before he comes along again. he was in here an hour back inquiring for the trumpet of the day of judgment to rouse you. come along, deane! now then!"
-"my name's dunn," said the admiral, with contracted brows.
-"devil doubt it," said his friend; "and who done you? was it shanghai smith?"
-the admiral sat up suddenly, and by so doing brought his head into violent contact with the deck above him. this woke him thoroughly, just in time to receive mr. simpson, mate of the california, who came in like a cyclone to inquire after his health.
-"did you ship as a dead man?" asked mr. simpson, "for if you did, i'll undeceive you."
-and with that he yanked the admiral from his bunk, and dragged him by the collar out upon the deck at a run. mr. simpson was "bucko" to his finger-tips, and had never been licked upon the high seas. but for that matter vice-admiral sir richard dunn, k.c.b., had never hauled down his flag either to any man. it surprised him, as it would have surprised any of his crew, to find that he took this handling almost meekly. but then no one knows what he would do if the sky fell; and as far as the admiral was concerned, the entire world was an absurd and ridiculous nightmare. he rose at the end of his undignified progress and stared at the mate.
-"who--who are you?" he said.
-mr. simpson gasped.
-"who am i--oh, who am i? well, i'll oblige you by statin' once for all that i'm mate of this ship, and you're my dog."
-but the "dog" shook his head.
-"nothing of the sort," he said, as he staggered with the remains of the opiate. "i'm a british admiral, and my name's sir richard dunn. where's my ship?"
-any ordinary kind of back-answer or insubordination received only one kind of treatment on board the california, and when a man had been beaten to a jelly, he rarely recovered enough spirit to inquire why he had been hammered. but this was a new departure in back-talk.
-"oh, you're an admiral--an admiral, heh?" said simpson.
-"of course," said sir richard, and a sudden gust of rage blew the last opium out of him. "why, damn it, sir, what the devil do you mean by laying your filthy paws on me? where's your captain, sir? by all that's holy, i'll smash you if you so much as look at me again."
-now it is a remarkable fact that the utterly and entirely unexpected will sometimes shake the courage of the stoutest heart. it is possible that a tiger would itself turn tail if a lamb rushed at him with open mouth. and though mr. simpson would have tackled a prize-fighter, knowing he was a prize-fighter, the fact that one of the kind of men whom he was accustomed to wipe his boots on now turned upon him with entirely strange language and a still stranger air of authority, for a moment daunted him utterly. he stood still and gasped, while the admiral strode aft and went up the poop ladder. he was met there by the captain, who had been the terror of the seas as a mate. a narrow escape of a conviction for murder had partially reformed him. he had also become religious, and usually went below when simpson or the second "greaser" was hammering any one into oblivion and obedience.
-"what is this?" asked captain blaker mildly, yet with a savage eye. "mr. simpson, what do you mean by allowing your authority (and mine delegated to you) to be disregarded?"
-"sir," said mr. simpson, and then the admiral turned on him.
-"hold your infernal tongue, sir," he roared. "and, sir, if you are the master of this vessel, as i suppose, i require you to put about for san francisco. i am a british admiral, sir; my name is sir richard dunn."
-"oh, you're an admiral and you 'require'?" said blaker. "wa'al, i do admire! you look like an admiral: the water-front is full of such. take that, sir."
-and the resurgent old adam in blaker struck the admiral with such unexpected force that dunn went heels over head off the poop and landed on simpson. the mate improved the opportunity by kicking him violently in the ribs. when he was tired, he spoke to the admiral again.
-"now, you lunatic, take this here ball of twine and go and overhaul the gear on the main. and if you open your mouth to say another word i'll murder you."
-"i--i must be mad," said the admiral.
-"now then, look alive there, you dead crawling cat," said mr. simpson, "or i'll come up and boot you off the yard. do you hear me?"
-"yes, sir," said the admiral quickly, and as he put a new mousing on the clip-hooks of the mizzen-topmast-staysail-tripping-line block, he murmured: "i suppose i never was an admiral after all. i don't seem to know what i am." and the hardest nut among the admirals of the active list wiped away a tear with the sleeve of his coat as he listened to the sacred commination service with all its blessings, intoned in a down-east twang by the eminent mr. simpson.
-"he's crazy," said simpson to the second greaser. "says he's an admiral. i've had the apostle peter on board, and a cook who said he was st. paul, but this is the first time i've run against an admiral before the mast."
-"does he look like it, sir?" asked wiggins, laughing.
-and the knight commander of the bath came down as he was bid, and having cast a perplexed eye over simpson and wiggins, who sniggered at him with amused and savage contempt, he went forward in a hurry.
-"this is a nightmare," he said; "i'm dreaming. damme, perhaps i'm dead!"
-when he had overhauled the gear at the fore--and being a real seaman, he did it well--wiggins called him down to work on deck, and he found himself among his new mates. by now they were all aware that he believed he was an admiral, and that he had spoken to simpson in a way that no man had ever done. that was so much to his credit, but since he was mad he was a fit object of jeers. they jeered him accordingly, and when they were at breakfast the trouble began.
-"say, are you an admiral?" asked knight, the biggest tough on board except simpson and wiggins.
-and the admiral did not answer. he looked at knight with a gloomy, introspective eye.
-"mind your own business," he said, when the question was repeated.
-and knight hove a full pannikin of tea at him. this compliment was received very quietly, and the admiral rose and went on deck.
-"takes water at once," said knight; "he ain't got the pluck of a mouse."
-but the admiral went aft and interviewed mr. simpson.
-"may i have the honour of speaking to you, sir?" he said, and simpson gasped a little, but said he might have that honour.
-"well, sir," said sir richard dunn, "i don't know how i got here, but here i am, and i'm willing to waive the question of my being a british admiral, as i can't prove it."
-"that's right," said simpson. "ah, i'll have you sane enough by-and-by, my man."
-the admiral nodded.
-"but i wish to have your permission to knock the head off a man called knight for'ard. it was always my custom, sir, to allow fights on board my own ship when i considered them necessary. but i always insisted on my permission being asked. have i yours, sir?"
-simpson looked the admiral up and down.
-"your ship, eh? you're still crazy, i'm afraid. but knight can kill you, my man."
-"i'm willing to let him try, sir," said the admiral. "he hove a pannikin of tea over me just now, and i think a thrashing would do him good and conduce to the peace and order of the foc'sle."
-"oh, you think so," said simpson. "very well, you have my permission to introduce peace there."
-"i thank you, sir," said the admiral.
-he touched his hat and went forward. he put his head inside the foc'sle and addressed knight:
-"come outside, you bully, and let me knock your head off. mr. simpson has been kind enough to overlook the breach of discipline involved."
-and knight, nothing loth, came out on deck, while simpson and wiggins stood a little way off to enjoy the battle.
-"i'd like to back the admiral," said wiggins.
-"done with you," said wiggins.
-and in five minutes the second mate was richer by five dollars, as his mates carried knight into the foc'sle.
-"i don't know when i enjoyed myself more," said simpson, with a sigh--"even if i do lose money on it. while it lasted it was real good. did you see that most be-ewtiful upper cut? and the right-handed cross counter that finished it was jest superb. but i'll hev to speak to the victor, so i will."
-and he addressed the admiral in suitable language.
-"don't you think, because you've licked him, that you can fly any flag when i'm around. you done it neat and complete, and i overlook it, but half a look and the fust letter of a word of soss and i'll massacre you myself. do you savvy?"
-and the admiral said:
-he touched his cap and went forward to the foc'sle to enter into his kingdom. for knight had been "topside joss" there for three voyages, being the only man who had ever succeeded in getting even one pay-day out of the california. the principle on which she was run was to make things so hot for her crew that they skipped out at new york instead of returning to san francisco, and the fresh crew shipped in new york did the same when they got inside the golden gate.
-"i understand," said the admiral, as he stood in the middle of the foc'sle, "that the gentleman i've just had the pleasure of knocking into the middle of next week was the head bully here. now i want it thoroughly understood in future that if any bullying is to be done, i'm going to do it."
-all the once obedient slaves of the deposed knight hastened to make their peace with the new power. they fairly crawled to the admiral.
-"you kin fight," said one.
-"i knew it jest so soon as you opened yer mouth," said another. "the tone of yer voice argued you could."
-"it's my belief that he could knock the stuffin' out o' mr. simpson," said the third.
-"'twould be the best kind of fun," said another admirer of the powers that be, "for blaker would kick simpson in here, and give the admiral his job right off. he's got religion, has blaker, but he was an old packet rat himself, and real 'bucko' he was, and believes in the best men bein' aft."
-and though the admiral said nothing to this, he remembered it, and took occasion to inquire into its truth. he found that what he knew of the sea and its customs was by no means perfect. he learnt something every day, and not least from knight, who proved by no means a bad sort of man when he had once met his match.
-"is it true," asked the admiral, "what they say about captain blaker giving any one the mate's job if he can thrash him?"
-"it used to be the custom in the western ocean," said knight, "and blaker was brought up there. he's a real sport, for all his bein' sort of religious. yes, i'll bet it's true." he turned to the admiral suddenly. "say, you wasn't thinkin' of takin' simpson on, was you?"
-"if what's you say's true, i was," said the admiral. "it don't suit me being here."
-"say now, partner," put in knight, "what's this guff about your being an admiral? what put it into your head?"
-and sir richard dunn laughed. as he began to feel his feet, and find that he was as good a man in new surroundings as in the old ones, he recovered his courage and his command of himself.
-"after all, this will be the deuce of a joke when it's over," he thought, "and i don't see why i shouldn't get a discharge out of her as mate. talk about advertisement!"
-he knew how much it meant.
-"look here, knight," he said aloud, "i am an admiral. i can't prove it, but my ship was the triumphant. i don't want to force it down your throat, but if you'd say you believe it, i should be obliged to you."
-knight put out his hand.
-"i believes it, sonny," he said, "for i own freely that there's suthin' about you different from us; a way of talk, and a look in the eye that ain't formiliar in no foc'sle as i ever sailed in. and if you was lyin', how come you to lie so ready, bein' so drunk when simpson hauled you out o' yer bunk? no, i believe you're speakin' the trewth."
-and sir richard dunn, k.c.b., shook hands with charles knight, a.b.
-"i won't forget this," he said huskily. he felt like mahomet with his first disciple. "and now, in confidence," said the admiral, "i tell you i mean to have simpson's job by the time we're off the horn."
-"i don't forget," said sir richard--"i don't forget, by any means."
-yet he did his duty like a man. though many things were strange to him, he tumbled to them rapidly. one of his fads had been doing ornamental work even when he was an admiral, and he put fresh "pointing" on the poop ladder rails for blaker in a way that brought every one to look at it. there was no one on board who could come within sight of him at any fancy work, and this so pleased simpson that the admiral never had a cross word till they were south of the horn. then by chance the mate and the captain had a few words which ended in simpson getting much the worst of the talk. as luck would have it, the admiral was the handiest to vent his spite on, and simpson caught him a smack on the side of his head that made him see stars.
-"don't stand listenin' there to what don't concern you, you damned lazy hound," he said. and when the admiral picked himself off the deck, simpson made a rush for him. the admiral dodged him and shot up the poop ladder. he took off his cap to the captain, while simpson foamed on the main-deck and called him in vain. at any other time blaker would have gone for the seaman who dared to escape a thrashing for the moment by desecrating the poop, but now he was willing to annoy simpson.
-"well, what do you want?" he roared.
-the admiral made a really elegant bow.
-"well, sir, i wanted to know whether western ocean custom goes here. i've been told that if i can thrash your mate, i shall have his job. they say forward that that's your rule, and if so, sir, i should like your permission to send mr. simpson forward and take his place."
-there was something so open and ingenuous in the admiral that captain blaker, for the first time on record, burst into a shout of laughter. he went to the break of the poop and addressed the mate.
-"do you hear, mr. simpson?" he inquired genially.
-"send him down, sir," said simpson.
-"are you sure you can pound him?"
-simpson gritted his teeth and foamed at the mouth.
-"kick him off the poop, sir."
-the admiral spoke anxiously.
-"i'm a first-class navigator, sir. is it a bargain?"
-and blaker, who had never liked simpson, laughed till he cried.
-"are you willing to stake everything on your fightin' abilities, mr. simpson?"
-and when simpson said "aye" through his teeth, the admiral jumped down on the main-deck.
-now, according to all precedents, the fight should have been long and arduous, with varying fortunes. but the admiral never regarded precedents, and inside of ten seconds mr. simpson was lying totally insensible under the spare topmast. to encounter the admiral's right was to escape death by a hair's-breadth, and it took charles simpson, able seaman (vice mr. simpson, chief officer), two hours and a quarter to come to.
-"and i thot he could fight," said the disgusted skipper. "come right up, mr. what's-your-name; you're the man for me. there ain't no reason for you to trouble about my second mate, for simpson could lay him out easy. all i ask of you is to work the whole crowd up good. and i don't care if you are an admiral, you are the right sort all the same. i guess that simpson must have reckoned he struck a cyclone."
-and blaker rubbed his hands. like simpson at the fight between the admiral and knight, he did not know when he had enjoyed himself more. he improved the occasion by going below and getting far too much to drink, as was his custom. and the promoted admiral took charge of the deck.
-he had quite come to himself and was beginning to enjoy himself. his natural and acquired authority blossomed wonderfully when he took on the new job, and as blaker never swore, the admiral's gift of language was a great vicarious satisfaction to him. wiggins accepted the situation without a murmur. even simpson himself bore no malice when his supplanter not only showed none, but after knocking the boson's head against a bollard, gave his place to the former mate. though he kept the men working and got the last ounce out of them, none of them were down on him.
-"i tell you he's an admiral, sure," they said.
-"he's got all the ways of one, i own," said bill, an old man-o'-war's man. "i spoke to an admiral myself once, or rather he spoke to me."
-"what did he say?" asked the rest of his watch.
-"he said," replied bill proudly--"he upped and said, 'you cross-eyed son of a dog, if you don't jump i'll bash the ugly head off of you.' and you bet i jumped. oh, he's all the ways of some admirals, he has."
-"well, admiral or none," said the rest of the crowd, "things goes on pleasanter than they done when you was mate, simpson."
-and simpson grunted.
-"and he gets more work out of us than you done either, simpson, for all your hammerin' of us."
-nothing of great interest happened till they were well east of the horn and hauled up for the northward run. and then blaker took to religion (or what he called religion) and rum in equally undiluted doses.
-"i'm a miserable sinner, i am," he said to the admiral, "but all the same, i'll do my duty to the crowd."
-he called them aft and preached to them for two hours. and when one man yawned, he laid him out with a well-directed belaying pin. the next day, when it breezed up heavily and they were shortening sail, he called all hands down from aloft on the ground that their souls were of more importance than the work in hand.
-"come down on deck, you miserable sinners," said blaker through a speaking trumpet. his voice rose triumphantly above the roar of the gale. "come down on deck and listen to me. for though i'm a miserable sinner too, there's some hopes for me, and for you there's none unless you mend your ways, in accordance with what i'm telling you."
-even with the speaking trumpet he could hardly make himself heard over the roar of the increasing gale and the thunderous slatting of the topsails in the spilling-lines.
-"don't you think, sir, that they'd better make the topsails fast before you speak to them?" said the admiral.
-"no, i don't," replied blaker--"not much i don't, not by a jugful. for if one of 'em went overboard, i'd be responsible before the throne. and don't you forget it."
-"damme, he's mad," said sir richard--"mad as a march hare. she'll be shaking the sticks out of her soon."
-he leant over the break of the poop, and called up wiggins.
-"mr. wiggins, one word with you."
-wiggins came up, as blaker roared his text through the trumpet.
-"will you stand by me, mr. wiggins, if i knock him down and take command?"
-"i will; but mind his gun," said wiggins. "when he's very bad, he'll shoot."
-it was not any fear of blaker's six-shooter that made the admiral hesitate. to take the command, even from a madman, at sea is a ticklish task and may land a man in gaol, for all his being a shanghaied admiral.
-"i tell you, mr. wiggins, that simpson is a good man. i'll bring him aft again."
-and wiggins made no objection when simpson was called up by the admiral.
-"mr. simpson," said the mate, "this is getting past a joke. have you any objection to taking on your old job if i secure this preaching madman and take command?"
-simpson was "full up" of the foc'sle, and as he had a very wholesome admiration for the admiral, he was by no means loth to return to his old quarters.
-"i'm with you, sir. in another quarter of an hour we shall have the sticks out of her."
-and still blaker bellowed scripture down the wind. he was still bellowing, though what he bellowed wasn't scripture, when simpson and wiggins took him down below after five minutes of a row in which the deposed captain showed something of his ancient form as the terror of the western ocean. as they went, the admiral, now promoted to being captain of a cape horner, picked up the battered speaking trumpet and wiped some blood from his face, which had been in collision.
-"up aloft with you and make those topsails fast," he roared. "look alive, men, look alive!"
-and they did look alive, for "dicky" dunn never needed a speaking trumpet in any wind that ever blew. when things were snugged down and the california was walking north at an easy but tremendous gait, he felt like a man again. he turned to simpson and wiggins with a happy smile.
-"now we're comfortable, and things are as they should be, mr. simpson, let the men have a tot of grog. and how's mr. blaker?"
-"wa'al," said simpson cheerfully, "when we left him he warn't exactly what you would call religious nor resigned."
-but if blaker was not happy, the admiral was thoroughly delighted.
-"now you see what i said was true," he declared at dinner that night; "if i hadn't been an admiral and a man born to rise, how could i have been shipped on board this ship as a foremast hand and come to be captain in six weeks? i'll be bound you never heard of a similar case, mr. simpson."
-and simpson never had.
-"was it shanghai smith, do you think, as put you here?" he asked.
-the admiral had heard of shanghai smith in the foc'sle.
-"when i get back i'll find out," he said. "and if it was, i'll not trouble the law, mr. simpson. i never allow any man to handle me without getting more than even."
-"you don't," said simpson. if his manner was dry, it was sincere.
-"but i don't bear malice afterwards. your health, mr. simpson. this kind of trade breeds good seamen, after all. but you are all a trifle rough."
-simpson explained that they had to be.
-"when the owners' scheme is to have one man do three men's work, they have to get men who will make 'em do it. and when the owners get a bad name and their ships a worse, then men like shanghai smith have to find us crews. if you could get back to san francisco and hammer an owner, some of us would be obliged to you, sir."
-"ah, when i get back!" said the admiral. "this will be a remarkable yarn for me to tell, mr. simpson. i still feel in a kind of dream. would you oblige me by going to mr. blaker and telling him that if he continues to hammer at that door i'll have the hose turned on him."
-and when simpson went to convey this message, the admiral put his feet on the table and indulged in a reverie.
-"i'll make a note about shanghai smith, and settle with him in full. but i shall rise higher yet. i know it's in me. steward!"
-"yes, sir," said the steward.
-"i think i'll have some grog."
-he drank to the future of admiral sir richard dunn, master of the california.
-the settlement with shanghai smith.
-it is easy to understand that there was something more than a flutter in shipping circles in san francisco, to say nothing of the sailors' boarding-houses, when a telegram reached that city from new york which was expanded as follows:--
-"the lost admiral.
-"admiral sir richard dunn, whose mysterious disappearance in san francisco three months ago caused such great excitement, has arrived at new york in command of the ship california. he was, it appears, assaulted, and drugged, and put on board that vessel, and owing to a series of exciting incidents during the passage, finally took charge of her. the admiral is in good health. he states that he has no idea who was responsible for the outrage."
-the bar-tender at shanghai smith's house was the first to spot this cable. he put his hand on the bar and vaulted it.
-"say, billy, see this."
-he shook up the runner who was taking a caulk on a hard bench, having been engaged between four and six in getting three drunken men on board the wanderer. it is often easier to get a dozen amenable to reason than three, just as it is easier to handle many sheep than few. he was very tired and sulky.
-"well, wo'd's up now?" he grunted.
-"hell is up, and flamin'," said tom. "you ain't forgot the admiral by any chance, now?"
-billy woke as suddenly as if he had been sleeping on the look-out and had been found hard and fast by the mate.
-"eh, what, has the california turned up?"
-"you bet she has," said tom. and he burst into laughter. "what d'ye reckon he was on board of her when she came to n' york?"
-"no, captain, captain! think of that. and he says he don't know who laid him out and put him aboard of her."
-"here, gimme the paper. you're drunk."
-he read the telegram with protruding eyes.
-"by the holy frost, but he must be a dandy, say, smith must know this."
-he marched to smith's bedroom and induced his boss to sit up and hear the news, after smith had used more bad language with his eyes shut than most men in san francisco could lay their tongues to when wide awake.
-"don't i tell you it's about the admiral," expostulated billy; "it's about dunn, as you shoved on the california."
-but now shanghai was wide awake. he looked at billy with wicked eyes.
-"as i shoved in the california, eh? say that again and i'll get up and knock the corners off of you. you miserable tarhead, if i hear you whisper that i had the last joint of the little finger of my left hand in the game, i'll murder you."
-billy fell back from the bed in alarm. though he looked big enough to have eaten shanghai smith, he lacked the "devil" which had made his boss what he was--the terror of the "coast" and of sailormen, and a political power in his quarter of the city.
-"oh, very well then, mr. smith, but who done it?"
-"understand that no one knows who done it, you dog," said smith, reaching for what he called his "pants," "but if any one done it, it was you. and don't you forget it. i hire you to do the work, and i'll see you does it. don't get me mad, or you'll be runnin' to the penitentiary howlin' for ten years to get away from me."
-and billy went back to tom.
-"he's fair luny, that's what he is. but if he reckons i'm goin' to the calaboose for him, he'll run up agin a snag."
-and presently smith came out to breakfast with a face as black as a near cyclone. billy and tom jumped when he spoke, and all those men in his house who were in a lee shore, as regards dollars, got away from him and adorned a neighbouring fence.
-"what's wrong wiv shang'ai?" asked a londoner; "'es a black 'un, but i never seed 'im so rorty as this!"
-and no one answered him. they were a sick crowd at any time, and now, when their slave-owner roared, their hearts were in their boots.
-but smith was only trying to keep up his own courage. not once, but many times since he had got even with the man who had given him a thrashing, he had regretted his method of revenge.
-"i'd best have bashed him and left him laying on the front," said smith, "and here's tom and bill know the whole racket. i've half a mind to have them put out of the way. in such a place as this, who can a man trust? bah, it sickens me, it does. it fair sickens me."
-he was virtuously indignant with an ungrateful world. even his revenge had been a failure. how in the name of all that was holy and unholy had the admiral managed to rise from the foc'sle to the command of the california?
-"and i thought blaker and simpson was both men!" said smith with disgust. "there ain't any trustin' to appearances, nor to reputation neither. but how could the swine have done it?"
-an early evening paper had the whole story, and as shanghai was still up town, all his crowd of crimps and slaves roared over the yarn.
-he spoke with bated breath.
-"who'd it be but smith?" asked the speaker's mate sulkily. "he's a devil, a notorious devil, as we know. he'd shanghai his father for a quarter, if he was dry. and a month back my own brother that shipped in the cyrus j. brown told me as shanghai had a down on this very man."
-"then i wouldn't be smith for all 'is money. this'll be a government business."
-it would have been if the admiral had been any other kind of man. but admiral sir richard dunn was one of those, and they get rarer every day, who prefer handling their own affairs. he had a gift of humour, too, and was mightily pleased with himself.
-"whoever it was that laid for me, he never meant to make me master of the california," he said, as he came west on the cars. "and whoever he was, i will fix him. the mate was pretty certain it was this shanghai smith. if it was----"
-if it was, it seemed a healthy thing for mr. smith to leave san francisco and hide somewhere in the islands. but all his interests kept him where he was, even when h.m.s. triumphant came down again from esquimault and lay waiting for the admiral off goat island.
-the crew of the triumphant, being very proud of their own special admiral, were in so furious a rage against any one connected with crimping in the city, that no "liberty" was granted to any one of them.
-"it's hall very fine," said the triumphants unanimously, "but these 'ere americans are too smart by 'alf. them and hus'll part brass-rags one of these fine days. but ain't it fine to think that dicky went to sea as a man before the stick, and come out right on top?"
-they chortled with exceeding pleasure,--with pleasure founded on his achievements and on the unexpected experiences he had had of sea-life.
-"to think of dicky bunking it among a crowd of merchant jacks," said the crew. "we'd give a lot to 'ave seen him shinning up aloft for dear life."
-but all the same, they loved him dearly, and when he came alongside five days later, not all their sense of discipline prevented their breaking into a storm of cheers that rang out across the bay and was almost heard at oakland. hard as dicky dunn was, he went to his cabin rather in a hurry. for once in his life he could hardly trust himself to speak. but he received the congratulations of the captain and officers, including young selwyn, who had been with him when he had been kidnapped, with the greatest calm.
-"yes, i've had some experience," he said, "and i don't know that it has done me any harm. i know more of the conditions on board merchant vessels than i did before."
-"and what do you propose to do, sir richard?" asked selwyn an hour later. "the authorities and the police seemed very anxious to do what they could."
-the admiral lighted one of his own cigars, and found it more to his taste than the ship's tobacco of the california.
-"i don't propose to trouble the police," he said, "nor need there be any international correspondence so far as i'm concerned. i'll play my own game. i think, selwyn, that i know who laid for us that night. and from what i learnt in the california (i learnt a lot, by the way) i've a notion that ordinary justice would never get hold of the man, at least not in san francisco, not even if i paid for it."
-but dicky dunn interrupted him.
-"i've a notion," he said significantly.
-and that afternoon he sent selwyn ashore with a very polite note to the chief of the san francisco police, saying that rear-admiral sir richard dunn would be very glad to see that gentleman on board the triumphant late that evening, if he could make it convenient to come.
-"let the band begin to play!" said mr. peter cartwright; "it looks as if i'd better face the music. i wonder if he has any kinkle as to the man who did it? it's more than i have, unless it was smith, or sullivan."
-as he drew his five thousand dollars a year and pickings partly through the grace of both the notorious boarding-house keepers that he mentioned, he did not relish running against them. nevertheless, it was better to do that than run against a mightier snag. he looked, with a groan, at the pile of correspondence which had accumulated since the admiral's disappearance.
-"and here's the british consul wants to see me to-morrow!" he cried. "they'll cinch me if they can get no one else."
-and he went on board the triumphant feeling as if he was out of a job.
-the admiral received him courteously, and was alone.
-"this has been a bad business, admiral, sir," said mr. cartwright, "and as chief of police of this city i feel it as a personal slur. your request to see me anticipated me by no more than twelve hours. i proposed to seek an interview with you to-morrow morning."
-"i am obliged to you," said the admiral. "will you have anything to drink?"
-"it was rather cold on the water," replied cartwright.
-"i've sent for you, mr. cartwright," he began, "to tell you that i don't want any proceedings taken about this matter."
-cartwright opened his mouth and stared at the admiral in surprise. then he began to imagine he understood. sir richard dunn had evidently been somewhere on the night of his disappearance which would not suit him to have known.
-"ah, i see," said cartwright, with a subtle smile.
-"i've my own notions as to the brand of justice dispensed in this state, mr. cartwright. it is considerably milder than the native liquors. i want your assistance in doing without the law, and in administering justice myself. have you any notion of the gentleman who shipped me in the california?"
-"it was probably a boarding-house master," said cartwright.
-"it might have been sullivan, or the sheeny, or williams, or smith."
-"is that the scoundrel they know here as shanghai smith?" asked the admiral.
-and cartwright nodded.
-"the crew of the california put it down to him at once."
-"i don't know that it was necessary him," said cartwright pensively; "though he has the worst name, he's no worse than the others. for my own part, i reckon the sheeny--he's a jew boy, of course--is a deal tougher than smith."
-and just then selwyn, who knew the chief of police was on board, put his head into the admiral's cabin.
-"could i speak to you a moment, sir richard?"
-and dicky dunn went outside.
-"i thought as you had this cartwright with you, sir," said selwyn, "that i ought to tell you a queer yarn that has just been brought me by one of the quartermasters. it seems that one of the men has a story that you once had a fight with shanghai smith and hurt him badly. it was in australia i believe--in melbourne."
-"stay a minute," said the admiral; "let me think. yes, by jove, i did have a row on sandridge pier years ago, and i broke the man up so that he had to go to a hospital. and his name--yes, it was smith. thanks, selwyn, i'll see if this man ever was in australia."
-he went back to cartwright
-"now as to the sheeny, admiral," said cartwright, who was beginning to feel comfortable.
-"never mind the sheeny, mr. cartwright," said his host; "do you know smith's record? where did he come from?"
-"he came from melbourne," replied the chief.
-and the admiral slapped his leg.
-"that's the man, i believe."
-"never mind why," said dunn. "but supposing it was, could we prove it against him?"
-"i doubt it," said cartwright cheerfully. "probably no one would know it but his runner. and bill haines would perjure himself as easy as drink lager."
-"but if we did prove it?"
-"there'd be an appeal, and so on," said the chief.
-he indicated large and generous delay on the part of the merciful american law by a wave of his hand.
-"you see we couldn't prove, anyhow, that he knew you was you," said cartwright, "and if i know my own business, it would come down to a matter of assault and so many dollars."
-"that's what i imagined," said the admiral. "so i propose to take the matter in hand myself and relieve you of it. for though smith, or the real man, might come off easily, if i choose to have it made an international business some one will have to pay who is not guilty."
-"that's likely enough," said cartwright uneasily. "on the whole, admiral, i'd rather you took the job on yourself, provided it was put through quietly. what do you propose?"
-dunn put his hands in his pockets, and "quarter-decked" his cabin.
-"i want to be sure it's smith--morally sure. how can i be made sure? i'll tell you now what i know about him."
-he repeated what selwyn had said, and told him the story of his having fought a man on sandridge pier at melbourne fifteen years before.
-"his name was smith."
-"it fits as neat as a pair of handcuffs," said the chief of police. "i'll think over it and let you know. stay, sirree, i've got it now. look here, admiral, now you mark me. this is a scheme. it'll work, or my name's dennis. i'll have it put about in the right quarter that though there ain't evidence to touch the real man who worked the racket on you, it is known who actually corralled you and shoved you on the california. i'll get the proper man to give it away that a warrant is being made out. and next day i'll have all the runners of all the chief boarding-houses arrested. do you see?"
-"no, i don't," said the admiral.
-"oh, come," cried cartwright. "the man we don't arrest will be the man who done it."
-"well," said cartwright, "i understood you didn't particularly hanker to catch the under-strapper."
-"ah," said the admiral, "of course i see. you mean----"
-"i mean the boarding-house boss will shove the runner that did it out of sight. and then you'll know him by reason of the very means he takes not to be given away. for of course he'd reckon that the runner on being held would squeal."
-"it's a good plan," said the admiral. "and when i know, what kind of punishment would mr. smith like least of all?"
-"provided you remember he's an american citizen, i don't care what you do," replied the chief. "but if you asked me, i should get him served the way he's served you. shanghai smith among a crowd of sailormen in an american ship, such as the harvester (and the skipper of the harvester hates him like poison)--and she sails in three days--would have a picnic to recollect all his life. for you see, they know him."
-"i'll think it over," said the admiral. "your plan is excellent.
-"so it is," said cartwright, as he was rowed ashore, "for smith ain't no favourite of mine, and at the same time it will look as if i gave him the straight racket, anyhow."
-he sent an agent down to the water front that very night. the man dropped casual hints at the boarding-houses, and he dropped them on barren ground everywhere but at shanghai smith's.
-"jehoshaphat," said smith, "so that's the game!"
-peter cartwright had, in his own language, "reckoned him up to rights"; for the very first move that smith played was to make a break for billy's room. as the runner had been up most of the night before enticing sailormen off a liverpool ship just to keep his hand in, he was as fast asleep as a bear on christmas day, and he was mighty sulky when smith shook him out of sleep by the simple process of yanking his pillow from under his head.
-"ain't a man to get no sleep that works for you?" he demanded. "what's up now?"
-"hell is up, and fizzling," replied smith. "i've had word from peter cartwright that you'll be arrested in the mornin' if you don't skin out. it's the admiral. i wish i'd never set eyes on him. come, dress and skip: 'twon't do for you to be gaoled; mebbe they'd hold you on some charge till you forgot all you owe to me. there ain't no such thing as real gratitude left on earth."
-billy rose and shuffled into his clothes sullenly enough.
-"and where am i to skip to?"
-"to portland," said smith; "the mendocino leaves in the mornin' for crescent city and astoria, don't she? well, then, go with her and lie up with grant or sullivan in portland till i let you know the coast is clear. and here's twenty dollars: go easy with it."
-he sighed to part with the money.
-"i'd sooner go down to los angeles," grunted billy.
-but smith explained to him with urgent and explosive blasphemy that he was to get into another state in order to complicate legal matters.
-"you've the brains of a flathead indian, you have," said smith, as he turned billy into the street on his way to find the mendocino. "what's the use of havin' law if you don't use it?"
-and in the morning, when smith heard that ten runners at least had been urgently invited to interview mr. peter cartwright, he was glad to be able to declare that billy was not on hand.
-"he's gone east to see his old man," he said drily. "and as his father is a millionaire and lives in the fifth avenue, n' york, he couldn't afford to disregard his dyin' desire to see him."
-"you are a daisy, smith," said the police officer who had come for billy. "between you and me, what have you done with him?"
-smith shook his head.
-"i shot him last night and cut him up and pickled him in a cask," he said with a wink. "and i've shipped him to the british ambassador at washington, c.o.d."
-"you're as close as a clam, ain't you, smith? but i tell you peter is havin' a picnic. this admiral's game was playin' it low down on peter, whoever did it. there are times when a man can't help his friends."
-smith lied freely.
-"you can tell peter i had nothin' to do with it."
-"yes, i can tell him!" said the police officer. and he did tell him. as a result the chief of police wrote to the admiral:--
-"i have interrogated all the runners but one belonging to the chief boarding-houses, and have succeeded in obtaining no clue. the one man missing was runner to mr. william smith, commonly known as 'shanghai' smith. under the circumstances, and considering what you said to me, i am inclined to wait developments. if you will inform me what you wish me to do, i shall be glad to accommodate you in any way."
-"yours truly, "peter cartwright.
-but both the postscripts were written on separate pieces of paper. mr. cartwright was not chief of police in a land of justice for nothing. he knew his way about.
-dicky dunn, on receiving peter's letter, called in his flag-lieutenant.
-"when they shanghaied me, they knocked you about rather badly, didn't they, selwyn?"
-selwyn instinctively put his hand to the back of his head.
-"yes, sir richard. they sand-bagged me, as they call it, and kicked me too."
-"i'm pretty sure i know who did it," said the admiral, "and i'm proposing to get even with the man myself. it seems that it will be a difficult thing to prove. besides, i'm not built that way. i don't want to prove it and send the man to gaol. i like getting even in my own fashion. what would you do if i could tell you who it was that laid the plot against us that night?"
-selwyn was a clean-skinned, bright-eyed, close-shaven young fellow, as typical an anglo-saxon salted in the seas as one could meet. his eyes sparkled now.
-"i--i'd punch his head, sir."
-the admiral nodded.
-he unfolded it to selwyn, and the young lieutenant chuckled.
-"he used to be a seaman," said the admiral, "but for twelve years he's been living comfortably on shore, sucking the blood of sailors. and if i know anything about american ships--and i do--he'll find three months in the fo'castle of this harvester worse than three years in a gaol. now we're going to invade the united states quite unofficially, with the connivance of the police!"
-he lay back and laughed.
-"oh, i tell you," said the admiral, "he ran against something not laid down in his chart when he fell in with me. you can come ashore with me now and we'll see this cartwright. american ways suit me, after all."
-"then i understand, mr. cartwright," said the admiral, an hour later, "that there won't be a policeman anywhere within hail of this smith's house to-morrow night?"
-"i've got other business for them," said peter.
-"and i can see mr. sant here this afternoon?"
-"i'll undertake to have him here if you call along at three."
-he spent the interval at lunch with the british consul.
-"i tell you what, stanley," said the admiral, "i don't care what they did to me, for it's done me no harm. but after this you should be able to make them enforce the laws. if they would only do that, the pacific coast wouldn't stink so in the nostrils of shipmasters and shipowners."
-the consul explained the local system of politics. it appeared that every one with any business on the borders of crime insured against the results of accidents by being in politics.
-"and if the thieving politicians appoint the man to control them, what's the result?"
-"the result is--shanghai smith," said the admiral. "well, i'll see you later. i've an appointment with mr. sant, of the harvester."
-the consul stared.
-"what, with sant? why, he got eighteen months' hard labour for killing a man six months ago."
-"but he's not in prison?"
-"of course not," said the consul. "he was pardoned by the governor."
-"he's just the man i wish to see," cried dicky dunn.
-he found sant waiting at cartwright's office. he was a hard-bitted, weather-beaten gentleman, and half his face was jaw. that jaw had hold of a long cigar with his back teeth. he continued smoking and chewing, and did both savagely. what peter had said to him did not come out, but by agreement the admiral was introduced as mr. dunn.
-"you have reason not to like shanghai smith?" said peter.
-"that's so," nodded sant.
-"mr. dunn does not like him either. could you make any use of him on board the harvester?"
-"i could," said sant, grinning; "he'd be a useful man."
-"if you imagined you missed a man to-morrow morning just as you were getting up your anchor, and some one hailed you and said they had picked one up, you would take him aboard?"
-"wet or dry," said sant.
-"i'll undertake he shall be wet," said the admiral. "eh?" and he turned to selwyn.
-"yes, sir," replied the lieutenant, "that could be arranged."
-"very well, mr. sant," said the admiral.
-"and it's understood, of course," said peter, "that you gentlemen never saw each other and don't know each other when you meet, it being a matter of mutual obligation."
-"i agree," said sant. and the admiral shook hands with a gentleman who had been pardoned by an amiable governor.
-"and of course," cartwright added as he escorted the admiral and selwyn into the passage, "if there should be a shindy at smith's and any of your men are in it, we shall all explain that it was owing to your having been put away. and two wrongs then will make it right. i guess the newspapers will call it square."
-"exactly so," said the admiral.
-and when he reached the triumphant he had very nearly worked out the plan by which the row at shanghai smith's was to occur.
-"i'll just go over it with you, selwyn," he said, when he reached his cabin again. "now you must remember i rely on your discretion. a wrong step may land us in trouble with the authorities and the admiralty. there never was a government department yet which wouldn't resent losing a fine chance of a paper row, and if they catch me settling this matter out of hand, my name is dennis, as the americans say. and i don't want your name to be dennis either."
-"well, what do you propose, sir richard?" asked selwyn.
-"they have no monopoly of that," said selwyn.
-"is there any one of them you could drop a hint to, that you could trust?"
-"of course," said selwyn; "there's benson, whose father works for mine as gardener. we used to fight in the toolhouse at home, and now he would jump overboard if i asked him."
-"do you mean benson, my coxs'n?"
-"he's the very man. you might let him know that if he should get into any trouble, he will be paid for it. i leave the rest to you. you can go ashore now, with this note to stanley. that will give you a chance to take benson with you and speak to him on the quiet. i don't know that i care particularly to hear any more about it till the day after to-morrow, unless i have to. ultimately all the responsibility is mine, of course."
-and by that selwyn understood rightly enough that dicky dunn, for all his cunning, had no intention of shirking trouble if trouble came. he went ashore and took benson up town with him.
-"do the men think it was shanghai smith that laid for us, and put the admiral away, benson?" he asked as they went up market street.
-"there ain't the shadder of a doubt 'e done it, sir," said benson.
-"and they don't like it?"
-"lord bless you, sir. it's very 'ard 'avin' all liberty stopped, but between you and me it was wise to stop it. they would 'ave rooted 'is 'ouse up and shied the wreckage into the bay."
-"it's a pity that you and about twenty more couldn't do it," said selwyn. "and if one could only catch hold of the man himself and put him on board an outward-bound ship, it would do him good."
-benson slapped his leg.
-"oh, sir, there ain't a man on board the triumphant that wouldn't do six months with pleasure to 'ave the 'andlin' of 'im."
-"for sure, sir."
-"i was lying awake last night thinking of it," said selwyn; "at least, i believe i was awake--perhaps i was dreaming. but i seemed to think that a couple of boats' crews were ashore, and that you went to shanghai's place for a drink."
-"i've done that same, sir," said benson, "and the liquor was cruel bad."
-"and i dreamed--yes, i suppose it was a dream--that you started a row and made hay of his bar and collared him, and took him in the cutter and rowed him round the bay till about four in the morning."
-"you always was very imaginary and dreamy as a boy, sir, begging your pardon, sir," said benson.
-"and i dreamed you came to the harvester----"
-"her that's lying in the bay--the ship with the bad name among sailormen?"
-benson looked at him quickly.
-"but he wouldn't be wet, sir."
-"oh yes, he would, benson. you could easily duck him over-board."
-benson stared very hard at the lieutenant.
-"of course. i could very easy duck him--and love to do it, too. and did the captain of the harvester own to him, sir?"
-"he would, benson--i mean he did, of course."
-"i suppose," asked benson, with his eyes on the pavement, "that it had been arranged so?"
-"in the dream, yes," said the lieutenant.
-"was it for to-morrow evening, sir?"
-"i thought so," said selwyn. "and the curious thing about it was that the whole thing was done as quietly as possible. all you men went to work in silence without as much as a hurrah. and one of the boats brought me ashore and the other brought the admiral. and it was only after you had put the man on board the harvester that you came back for the admiral at five in the morning, benson."
-"and what about the boat as brought you, sir?"
-"was there anything else, sir?"
-"nothing," said selwyn, "only that i forget whether it came out. if it did, the men said it was a game all of their own. and i think--no, i'm sure--that if any one got into trouble it paid him well, after all."
-"of course it would, sir," said benson warmly. "i wish it could really come off. you never know your luck, sir."
-"i think mr. smith doesn't," said selwyn.
-and when benson went on board again and had a long confabulation with two boats' crews, there was a unanimous opinion among them that mr. smith had piled his ship up with a vengeance when he ran against a british admiral.
-"there ain't to be no weepons," said benson--"nothin' worse nor more cuttin' than a stay-sail 'ank as a knuckle-duster, and even that i don't recommend. an odd stretcher or two and the bottles there will do the job. and the word is silence, now and then."
-"mum's the word," said the men. and like the children that they were, they wrought the whole ship's company into a frenzy of excitement, by dropping hints about as heavy as a half-hundredweight on every one who was not in the game. had there been much longer to wait than twenty-four hours, they must have told, or burst. and if they had not burst, the others would have finally reached the truth by the process of exhaustion.
-it was nine o'clock on the following evening that the admiral went on shore to dine with the british consul. he told benson that he might be later than eleven. and as benson touched his cap he took the liberty of believing he might be as late as five in the morning. and just about eleven selwyn came ashore in another boat with papers which had to go to the admiral. that is what he said to the first lieutenant. captain hamilton was sleeping the night at the house of a cousin of his in san francisco.
-"i shall be back in an hour, thomas," said selwyn. and the two coxs'ns were left in command of the cutting-out expedition. the whole business was nearly wrecked at the outset by the settlement of the question as to who was to be left in charge of the boats. finally thomas and benson ordered two men to stay, and the defrauded men sat back and growled most horribly as the rest moved off towards shanghai smith's in loose order.
-"look 'ere," said billings to graves as they were left alone, "it's hobvious one must stay with the boats; but one's enough, and on an hexpedition like this, horders ain't worth a damn. i'll howe you a quid, a whole quid, and my grog for a month if you'll be the man to stay."
-"no, i'll toss you, the same terms both sides."
-and the spin of coin sent billings running after the rest. he was received by benson with curses, but he stuck to the party all the same.
-"very well, you report me! you know you can't," he said defiantly. "and i've give graves a thick 'un and my grog for a month to be let come."
-this awful sacrifice appealed even to benson.
-"all right," he said. "but if i can't report you for this, i can the next time."
-"next time be damned," cried billings; "'oo cares about next time, now?"
-and they hove in sight of shanghai smith's.
-it was the first time a bluejacket had been near the place since a day or two before the admiral's disappearance. and at first when shanghai saw them come in he regretted that billy, his best fighting man, was by now well on his way to portland. but for at least ten minutes the triumphants behaved very well. benson had a good head and had arranged matters very neatly.
-"you look 'ere," he had said; "the thing to look out for is the barman. he keeps a gun, as they calls it 'ere, on a shelf under the bar. smith, 'e'll 'ave one in his pocket. so when i says, 'this rum would poison a dog,' don't wait for no back answer, but lay the bar-keeper out quick, with a stone matchbox or anything 'andy. and the nearest to smith does the same to 'im. he'll likely not be be'ind, but if 'e is, bottle 'im too, and not a word of jaw about it first or last."
-they stood up to the bar, and benson ordered drinks for himself and three particular pals of his.
-"ain't this mr. smith's?" he asked.
-"i'm smith," said shanghai.
-"'ere's to you. i've often heard of you," said benson. and three or four merchant seamen sitting about the room sniggered and passed a few sneering remarks among themselves about "liberty jack."
-smith, who had taken enough that night to make him rash, referred to the admiral.
-"so your admiral has come back, has he?"
-"he has," said the triumphants. "and dicky dunn is lookin' for the man that played that dirty game on him."
-and smith shrugged his shoulders as he half turned away.
-"'tain't half so dirty as this rum," said benson; "it would poison a dog."
-and as the words left his mouth the ball opened with a sudden and tremendous crash. two heavy matchboxes went for tom behind the bar: one laid him out as quietly as if he had been hocussed; the other smashed a bottle which held a liquor known on the barbary coast as brandy, and starred the mirror behind the shelves. thomas at the same moment stooped and caught shanghai smith by the ankles and pitched him on his head. he never had time to reach for his "gun." the merchant seamen jumped to their feet and made for the door.
-"stop them!" said benson, and half a dozen bluejackets hustled them back again. "no you don't, johnnies; you can stay and 'ave free drinks, and look after the man behind the bar. drag out that smith and get 'im in the open air." and thomas dragged smith into the darkness by his collar.
-"there's to be no drinkin' for us," said benson. "smash what you like, and taste nothin'." and in less than a minute shanghai's place was a lamentable and ghastly spectacle.
-"sarves him right," said one of the merchant seamen, as he salved a bottle of poison. "oh, ain't he a sailor-robbing swine?"
-"fetch him in and let him look at it," said benson, with a wink.
-thomas had been primed.
-"he's come to and run like billy-oh!" he cried.
-but smith was incapable of running. he was being carried by two bluejackets.
-"after 'im, after 'im," said benson; and in another moment the whole house was dear.
-when tom came to, he found the place a wreck, and four boarders too far gone in free liquor to offer any useful explanation of what had occurred since the rum had been pronounced fit to poison a dog.
-"all i know is," said the soberest, "that he fit and we fit and fit and fit, and then 'e run."
-and when tom sought for the police, it was very odd that there was not one to be found in the quarter of san francisco which most needs clubbing to keep it in order. there was not even one to bear witness that a crowd of bluejackets and an american citizen had come along the water front at midnight. but five minutes after midnight a british lieutenant could have taken his oath that both crews were in their boats and at least moderately sober.
-"i've seen the admiral, benson," said selwyn, as he stepped into his boat and sat down, "and he may be later than he said."
-"very well, sir," replied benson.
-and as soon as selwyn had disappeared into the darkness, the boat with mr. shanghai smith in followed suit. and the bay of san francisco is not so well policed that they had any one inquiring what they were doing as they pulled across to saucelito, and laid up quietly till three o'clock.
-"he ain't dead, we hopes," said the crew of the boat.
-"not 'e," said benson; "'is 'eart beats all to rights, and 'is head is perfectly sound, bar a lump the size of a 'en's egg. that up-endin' dodge of thomas's is very fatal in a row--oh, it's very fatal."
-it was nearly two o'clock before shanghai made any motion. but when he did begin to get conscious, he found his mind and his tongue with surprising rapidity.
-"that 'ead of yourn must be made of five-eighths boiler-plate, mr. smith," said benson, as smith sat up suddenly.
-"what am i doin' here?" asked smith.
-"'ow do we know?" asked the delighted crew. "you would come. it warn't no good excusin' of ourselves."
-smith put his hand to his head.
-"who hit me?" he demanded savagely.
-"no one," said the crew unanimously; "you tried to stand on your 'ead."
-"put me ashore," said smith. "what are you goin' to do?"
-"we're waitin' to see the 'arvester yonder 'eave 'er anchor up," replied benson. "we're in the sailor-supplyin' line, we are, same as you was."
-"he don't like to hear that," said billings; "we're cutting him out of a job. and this time we ain't supplyin' admirals."
-"no, we ain't. yah, you man-buyin', sailor-robbin' swine! and 'twas you dared touch our admiral. oh, you dog, you!"
-they all took a turn at him, and smith saw he was in the tightest corner he had ever occupied. this was satisfactorily expressed for him.
-"say, shanghai, did you ever hear of barney's bull?"
-and when smith refused to answer, they answered for him.
-"he was jammed in a clinch, and so are you. you're goin' to 'ave the finest time of all your life. did you ever 'ear of sant of the 'arvester?"
-and smith, for all his brutal courage, shook in his boots.
-"i'll give you chaps a hundred dollars to put me ashore," he cried. "i never touched sir richard dunn."
-"dry up," said benson, "and don't lie. we wouldn't part with you, my jewel, not for a thousand. what made you desert from the 'arvester, a comfortable ship like that, with sich a duck of a skipper?"
-"i'll give you a thousand," said smith desperately.
-"at four o'clock you're goin' on the 'arvester--and 'tis nigh on three now. sant wouldn't miss a man like you, so smart and 'andy, for all the gold in californy. own up as you shanghaied the admiral?"
-smith grasped at any chance of avoiding the harvester. for sant had a dreadful name, and both his mates were terrors.
-"if i own i put him away, will you take me ashore and hand me over to the police?"
-he was almost in a state of collapse.
-benson looked at the man, and in the faint light of far-off day still below the horizon the boat's crew saw him wink.
-"aye, we'll vote," said the men. "say, did you do it?"
-but smith saw how the voting would go, and refused to speak. they heard six bells come across the water from many ships. and then they heard seven. there was a grey glint in the east. the sand-dunes on the verge of the ocean park whitened as they pulled for the harvester. they heard the clank of her windlass brakes and the bull voice of her mate, as he encouraged his men to do their best by threatening them with three months of hell afloat.
-smith offered benson two thousand dollars.
-"i wouldn't part with you except to sant for all you ever robbed men of," said benson--"and what that is, on'y you knows. pull, boys; her cable's up and down. no, hold on a moment; he must be wet, of course."
-in spite of his struggles they put him over the side and soused him thoroughly. when they pulled him on board again, he sat cursing.
-"now, boys, bend your backs."
-and when he came up alongside the harvester she was just moving under the draught of her loosed topsails.
-"harvester, ahoy!" cried benson.
-"hallo!" said sant. "what is it?"
-"you don't happen to have lost one of your crew, tryin' to desert by swimmin', sir?"
-"have you picked him up? what's his name, does he say?"
-"it's smith, sir."
-"that's the man," said sant. "i want him badly."
-but smith cried out:
-"this is kidnappin', mr. sant. i refuse to go."
-"oh, smith," said sant, "i'll take all the chances of it's bein' anythin' you like. throw them a rope."
-and the triumphants towed alongside.
-"up you go," said benson.
-"i won't," said smith.
-"won't you?" asked benson. "we'll see about that. hook on there, billings."
-and the next moment smith was jammed in a running bowline round his waist.
-"sway him up," said benson; and the crew of the harvester hoisted the notorious robber with about the only feelings of pleasure they were likely to know till they reached new york. and the triumphants pushed off as they heard the mate address mr. smith in language which did his reputation and the reputation of the ship most ample justice.
-"there's talk and there's a fore-topsail-yard-ahoy voice for you," said benson. "oh, mr. smith will be looked after, he will. now, chaps, pull for it, or the admiral will be waitin', and if that 'appens, 'twill be 'stand from under.'"
-the policy of the potluck.
-concerning the permanent and immutable characteristics of ships, the unhappy man who has never had his limited range of vision broadened by a trip in a sailing ship must of necessity know little. he probably falls into the fallacy, common even among those who follow the sea, that a partial or entire clearance of her "crowd" will quite alter her nature; whereas sailors being sailors--that is, people of certain fairly definite attributes--any given environment makes them much the same as those who preceded them.
-but entire changes in the personnel of a vessel rarely take place. the officers change, but the crew remains: the crew goes, but officers stay. or more frequently some few men are favourites of one or two of the officers, and they mingle with the new crew like yeast, till the ancient fermentation is visible once more.
-ships (to speak thus of their companies) talk of the same subjects over a million miles of changing seas: they have a permanent stock of subjects. these include all which are perennially of interest to seafaring men, such as homes versus boarding-houses, but they include also something more individual, something more intimately connected with the essence of that particular vessel. and the one unending topic of interest on board the potluck was foreign politics.
-how this came about no one knew, though many theories were set afloat and sunk again every sunday afternoon. some said that the first captain of the potluck was called palmerstone, and that he introduced the subject of england versus the world as soon as he came on board. others swore that they had been told by a clerk in the employ of the firm that there had been a discussion over her very keel concerning the introduction into her frame of foreign oaks.
-the crowd listened in silence.
-"if you knew as much about arguin' as you know (seemin'ly) about timbers as no man ever heerd of, your argument might stand," said mackenzie, a withered old foc'sle man. "but it ain't to reason as the natur' of the woods in a ship should make us talk this way or that. if so be a ship was built o' teak, d'ye think we'd talk the 'jildy jow,' you black 'son of a gun' lingo?"
-hart shook his head.
-"no ship ain't never built all of teak as i ever heerd of, and so your eye's out, mac. but a man with 'arf an eye could see the knowledge of her bein' so built might lead right hup to talk about the stren'ths of the countries as well of the vally of their timbers."
-"so they might," said the almost convinced crowd. "now jack hart 'as the gift, so to speak, of seein' through things."
-"and once started, who'd stop it?" asked jack triumphantly. "i knowed a ship as 'ad fresh crowd after fresh crowd in her, but she for ever 'ad a black cat aboard. and they talked 'cat' to make you sick. and i knowed another as 'ad from launch to her hultimate pilin' up in the bermudas the fashion of calling the skipper the 'guffin.' and hevery skipper was the 'guffin,' new and old, go or stay. but when we broke hoff to hargue, why, we was talkin' about them french jossers and whether sallis-bury was a-goin' to let 'em chip into our game and straddle the nile."
-"that's so," said the crowd, and the house was rough.
-meanwhile, the skipper, or "old man" (who henceforward, by the way, was called the "guffin"), and his two mates were discussing the latest aspect of world politics, as they drank whiskey and water.
-"what's wrong with salisbury," said the guffin, who was as stout as a barrel and as sturdy, "is, that he ain't got a backbone. he just lets 'em blow him about like so much paper. what he wants is stiffenin': he's like a sprung spar. that's what he's like."
-the mate, a tough-looking dog with hair like anæmic tussac grass in patches on his face, shook his head.
-"i've a greater opinion of him, captain, than you have. all his double shuffle is cunning. it's getting back so's to lead them french on. mark me, he'll play them yet a fair knock-out."
-the guffin sneered.
-"he may have cunnin', lampert, but he ain't no real tact. now, diplomatic tact, i take it, is not givin' way into the gutter, but just showin' as you're a nice pleasant-spoken chap as don't mean to be put on. it's my good opinion as these foreigners don't yearn to fight us. and men like you and me, lampert, gets to learn the way of handlin' foreigners. who has so much experience with 'em as them in command of english ships?"
-"that's so," said the second mate, who had been listening. "now last v'y'ge in the battleaxe, there was a dago in my watch as come from the betwixt and between land where spain jines france. and he was the dagoest dago i ever sailed with. but i knew the breed, and the first time he opens his garlicky mouth i hauled off and hit him. and then i took his knife away and snapped the point off. and i says to him, 'now, you black beggar, every time at muster you'll show me that knife, and there'll be peace in the land.' and he done so, and there was peace."
-the captain (or "guffin") smote his thigh.
-"you're right, simcox, you're right, and if salisbury was to take a leaf out of your log-book in respects of handlin' dagoes, 'twould be better for all concerned. but no, not him. he goes on seein' them french make a fleet and he lets 'em! he actually sees 'em with their fleet sharpenin' on the grindstone and never says from the poop, 'chuck that overboard, you swine, or i'll come and 'andle you so's you'll be glad to die.'"
-the second mate was much gratified, as was obvious by his standing first on one foot and then on another. but lampert was not so pleased.
-"why, you talk--you, captain and you, simcox--as if they had a fleet. why, it's my opinion--and experts say 'ditto' to me there--that a string o' band-boxes with crackers in 'em, and all on a mud-flat, would do as much harm as the french fleet--unless they blows up when we takes 'em."
-the guffin shook his head.
-"well, you know, lampert, as i never 'ad no opinion of their fleet. but that ain't the question. salisbury may have 'is reasons for not takin' it away, though i fails to see 'em; but the real question is, why we don't have a man with guts and go in command. it's my firm belief as there's many a merchant captain as could work the diplomatic game to better hadvantage. look at the experience we has, dealing with owners contrary as hell, and with consignees and with 'arbour-masters and pilots. where salisbury is wrong, is in his not goin' about and freshin' up his mind. and he works by rule o' thumb and dead reckoning. it ain't no wonder we can see where's his eye's out."
-"it ain't," said the compliant simcox.
-"well," sighed lampert, "i owns freely as i don't feel that sure i'd like to run his show."
-the guffin laughed.
-"but you ain't 'ad my experience yet, lampert. now, i'd hundertake to come right down into the harena, and make them french and germans sit up like monkeys on a horgan while i played the tune."
-"i believe you," said simcox, rubbing his hard hands.
-"look at the difficulties we 'as to contend with," said the skipper, with a rapidly thickening utterance and an increasing loss of aspirates--"look at the vig'lance we 'as to use. rocks and shoals and hother ships. it's 'igh education to be a master-mariner, and the board of trade knows it--knows it well. this 'ere crowd's all english except that one dutchman, but if so be we'd english and dagoes, and dutchmen and calashees, i'd 'ave showed you and salisbury 'ow to 'andle mixed sweets. vig'lance, difficulties, bright look-out, and the rule o' the road. and look at the chart! that's me!"
-and very shortly afterwards the triple conversation ceased, for the captain lay snoring in his cabin.
-the potluck was a barque of eleven hundred tons' register, and was bound for adelaide, with a general cargo of all mixed things under heaven and on earth. now she was engaged in running down her easting, and, as her skipper believed, was somewhere about lat. 44° 30' s., long. 50° e., and not far off the crozets. the westerly winds were blowing hard, but had the worst chill of winter off, for the month was september. nevertheless, as old jones, the skipper, was on a composite track, with a maximum latitude of 45° s., and was bound farther south still it might have been to the advantage of all concerned if he had drunk less, talked little, and minded his own business instead of arguing foreign politics.
-but to each man fate often gives his chance of proving what he boasts to be his particular skill in the universe.
-when lampert relieved simcox at midnight, the weather was thick, and neither man's temper was of the sweetest, so they had a bit of a breeze.
-"what kind of a relief d'ye call this?' growled simcox.
-"i call it a very good relief," replied lampert, "and a darned sight better one than you deserve. you owe me ten minutes even now."
-he looked down the scuttle at the clock.
-"why, you owe me twenty."
-simcox flew out with pretended politeness.
-"oh, make it half an hour! don't let's haggle about such a trifle. what's it matter if i stand here waiting? can't i keep the whole bloomin' watch for you?"
-"go to hell," said lampert sulkily.
-and simcox went below.
-"to be a sailor is to be a natural born fool," said lampert, addressing the bitter and unkindly elements at large, "and to be on board a ship with such a windy gassing crowd, from the old man down to the cook, is very trying. it's very trying."
-the wind took off a little later, but the weather was still thickish.
-"it's like lookin' through a haystack," grunted lampert, "but there, bar an island or so there's nothing to speak of in our way. and if the skipper will crack on, and it a week since we saw the sun, it's the owners' look out, not mine."
-he spoke with a certain bitterness, as though he would really enjoy being wrecked, in the trust that the potluck was not insured, and that old jones would get his certificate cancelled, or at least suspended.
-"'twould give the old ass time to study foreign politics," sneered lampert, as it breezed up again.
-and five minutes' later, while lampert was lighting his pipe half-way down the cabin stairs, he heard a bellow forward which made him drop thoughts of tobacco.
-the watch came out on deck and ran aft; and were followed by the watch below in various articles of attire, not calculated to keep them very warm.
-the potluck had been running with the wind nearly dead aft.
-"starboard, starboard!" roared lampert. "oh, steady; hold her there!"
-the vessel ran off to port at a sharp angle to her wake.
-"up here some," yelled the mate, "and set the spanker! stand by the---- my god!"
-"you man-drowning, slop-built caricature of a sailorman, what 'ave you bin and done with my ship?" he bellowed. "oh, lord, i'm a ruined man; by gosh, i'll murder you!"
-he tumbled down on the main deck and made for lampert, who easily dodged him.
-"shut up, you old idiot!" said the mate contemptuously. "who but me told you that if you drove her in thick weather, and no sun seen for a week, you'd pile her up?"
-simcox caught jones and held him.
-"good lord, sir," said the second greaser, "it's no time to fight."
-"no, it ain't," said jack hart boldly.
-that a foremast hand should dare to shove his oar in, almost cowed the poor old guffin. it was something out of nature.
-"it ain't no time for jawbation," insisted hart, about whom the others had gathered. "it's time for thinkin' out the politics of the situation, and if i'm not mistaken we shall be able to walk ashore by the morning, and there won't be no ship for any one to command--so what's the use of jaw? i say get up stores, eh, mackenzie?"
-"don't ask me," said old mac. "i was thinkin' that mighty soon we'd be able to settle that question about the buildin' of the potluck."
-and as by this time jones was calming down and was rather inclined to cry, lampert came up to the restive crowd.
-"you dry up, hart," he said roughly. "until the ship's broken up, you're on the articles. say another word and i'll break your jaw."
-"yes, sir," said hart respectfully.
-until dawn they loafed about the deck and in the cabin and foc'sle, discussing whether they were on one of the crozets or what, and whether they would stay long there, and if so what, and so on.
-"the bloomin' hisland's in'abited," cried a foremast hand, and every one rushed forward to interview the gesticulating stranger.
-"wod's the bloke say?" asked the crowd. "oh, say it again!" and the stranger said it again.
-but the crowd shook a unanimous head.
-"i believe the silly galoot don't talk english," cried hart; "'ere, where's dutchy?"
-they shoved their one "dutchman" forward, and after some interchange of utter un-intelligibilities, listened to by every one with bated breath, hermann turned round.
-"i not versteh, captain. i denk him ein french."
-the frenchman was joined by two or three more, and then by a dozen.
-"why, they're all french," said the disgusted crowd. "what's frenchmen doin' on any island of ours?"
-and until the sea went down, which it did sufficiently to allow them to get ashore at about ten o'clock, they discussed the question as to whether the crozets were english or not. it was settled by old mackenzie.
-"all islands as don't belong to any one belongs to us," he said; "it was arranged so by disraeli."
-they got ashore with some risk, and were greeted by the frenchman in the most amiable way.
-"poor beggars!" said the crew; "it must be 'ard on a soft lot of things like them to be on a des'late hisland. ain't it a wonder froggies ever goes to sea? but does they belong 'ere, or was they piled hup same's hus?"
-hart found himself alongside a frenchman with a long red liberty cap on, and a big pair of ear-rings in his ears.
-"goddam," said the frenchman.
-"that's what we say," cried hart. "here, you chaps, he speaks english."
-"hurrah!" said the crowd.
-"i spike engelish," nodded the stranger.
-"how'd you come 'ere?" asked the eager chorus.
-the frenchman nodded.
-"goddam!" he said, smiling. "ship! por'smout'--london! i spick en'lish."
-"well, then," said hart desperately, "just dry up with your mixed hogwash, and spit it all out free as to 'ow you came 'ere, and wot the name o' this bally rock is, and who's its in'abitants. now, give it lip!"
-"hart's a nateral born speaker, and 'as a clear 'ead," said the crowd. "'e puts it in a nutshell, and don't run to waste in words."
-but the frenchman looked puzzled.
-"comb wiz," he said; "spik en'lish besser," and he pointed over the low rise.
-"steady!" said hart; "boys, i'm not clear as to whether we hain't bein' led hinto a hambush. it hain't nateral for shipwrecked englishmen to find frenchies shipwrecked too!"
-"it ain't," said the crew suspiciously.
-they squatted down on rocks and on the lumps of tussac grass till the captain and the two mates came along with the rest of the frenchmen. hart communicated his suspicions to the skipper, who was decidedly under the influence of alcohol.
-"that's all right," said the guffin thickly. "we can manage frenchmen. they ain't goin' to make no french shore question on no more of our islands. one newfoundland's enough for me. i'll show you n'gotiations--'gotiashuns is my forte!" and he led the way over the hill. below them they saw the wreck of a french barquantine.
-"blimy," said the crowd, with a frown, "if they 'aven't got the best part of our hisland!"
-it was not to be endured by any lot of englishmen under the sun, that the best part of this rock should be occupied by their natural foes, and soon there was evidence that in any attempt to turn the frenchmen out the british leader would have a united nation at his back.
-the guffin and the two mates argued it, and lampert was the opposition.
-"w'y, wot's this you're sayin'?" asked the disgusted skipper; "did i think to 'ave shipped a verning 'arcourt among my lot? you're a little englander, and nothin' but it, lampert."
-"they was here first," said lampert obstinately.
-"but the hisland is british ground," urged simcox, "and where our flag flies no frenchman can have the best. we gives 'em liberty to trade, and they can take what's left. what for have we always beat 'em if we're to give in now?"
-"continuosity of foreign politics is my motter," said the skipper. "with continuosity and joodishus firmness, and a polite 'hout o' this,' you'll see 'em listen to reason, and evacuate. i shall send hin my hultimatum this very afternoon. and you, simcox, shall be hambassador."
-simcox looked anxious.
-"well, captain, i was thinking it would be judicious policy to send in the dutchman. it will remind them that europe is more or less agin them, and to have a dutchman here will make 'em think twice afore they elects for war."
-the skipper shook his head.
-"no, simcox, it looks judicious on the surface, but takin' deeper thought it ain't. it would aggerawate them, and that ain't policy. we fights if we must, but don't start it by doin' anythin' unpleasin' more'n askin' for our rights. and in n'gotiashuns it ain't policy to remind 'em deliberate of the time the prooshians beat 'em. and moreover it's accordin' to no tradition i've heard of to send a furriner as hambassador. no, simcox, you shall go. i'll draw up the hultimatum at once."
-he returned on board the wreck of the potluck, and in company with a bottle of brandy strove with the situation, while the crowd and their spokesman, hart, argued like a house of commons.
-"it ain't any good talkin'," said jack, "and hevery one knows that give a frenchman the chance of hargument he'll talk a government mule's 'ind leg off. 'hout of this,' is the on'y hargument a frenchman hunderstands."
-"but they seems to be a good many more of 'em than us," suggested the crowd.
-"come to that," said hart, "it's the on'y just ground we 'as to go for 'em. for if they was on'y ekal numbers, it'd be cowardly to whack 'em, and i for one would be on the side of just goin' down there and shovin' them out peaceful. i'm for the hultimatum right off. i wonder 'ow the guffin will put it. say, boys, 'ere 'e comes!"
-the "old man" staggered up with a sheet of paper in his hand.
-"have you done it, sir?" asked simcox. "let's hear it."
-"yes, read it out," said lampert, with half a sneer, which the skipper did not notice.
-the crowd gathered round as the captain squatted on a rock.
-"on board the british barque potluck, belonging to the british port liverpool; owners, mcwattie & co.; captain abednego jones.
-"eh, what?" said the astounded simcox.
-"it's addressed to you, simcox," said the skipper blandly.
-"why?" asked simcox.
-the skipper shook his head impatiently.
-"i thought you'd 'ave knowed, simcox. you're the hambassador, and you've to communicate this to 'em."
-"oh, go on, sir," said the crowd.
-the skipper resumed:
-"mr. simcox,--sir, you'll be so good as to be so kind as to communicate the contents of this 'ere letter to them french of the wreck we don't know the name of, and tell them to clear. for there ain't no reasonable grounds for supposin' this ain't a british hisland (seeing that mostly all hislands is) and they've by comin' 'ere first got and taken possession of the best bit of it, which can't be allowed, as it's contrary to law in such case made and purvided. so you'll inform 'em it ain't goin' to be put up with, and they must evacuate immejit and resume the statues quo----"
-"what's that?" asked simcox.
-"it's latin, you unutterable ass," said the skipper, with a look of withering contempt.
-"i don't know latin," said the poor second mate.
-"and who expected it of you?" asked the skipper. "it means that things are to go on as they was afore they come:
-"----resume the statues quo, and don't stand no hargument. you are to tell 'em it will be considered an unfriendly hact, and that we 'as cleared for haction in consequence of not believing them such cowards as to quit. but quit they must, and no mistake, or we resort without delay to the arbitrage and general haverage of war. given this day on board the british barque potluck by me,
-"captain abednego jones."
-"first rate!" said the crew. "that'll give 'em the jumps."
-"and how am i to translate it?" asked the miserable simcox.
-"hart, come along with me," said simcox.
-and as the "old man" was engaged in keeping his balance, he made no objection.
-"i think this is a herror of judgment, sir," said hart; "my hidea of a hultimatum was jumpin' on 'em unexpected, and givin' 'em toko afore they know'd where they was. my notion of fightin' (and it pays hevery time) is to haggravate your man till he's ready to 'it, but to 'it 'im fust. an' if i thinks a cove will 'it me in five minutes, i lets no time go by in hanticipatin' 'im. but this will warn 'em."
-"but they have no one who really knows english, hart," groaned simcox; "and i don't know the first word of french."
-"never mind, sir," said hart encouragingly. "i've 'ad many a row with a frenchy, and i never knowed my 'avin' not the least notion of what 'e meant ever stopped the fight from comin' off. if so be i see you get stuck, i'll come in, sir."
-and they were met by the french sailor who thought he spoke english.
-"i spik en'lish, goddam," said the frenchman. "leaverpool, por'smout'; mais le capitaine spik besser."
-"good-mornin'," said simcox meekly to the french captain, a long unhappy looking man, who might have been the skipper of a chasse-marée for all the style he put on.
-"mais, oui----" said the captain.
-"this 'ere paper is for you," said simcox, "and by the powers i hope you can't read it."
-he handed the ultimatum to the frenchman, who studied it while his crew came round.
-"je ne peux pas le lire, monsieur," he said at length.
-simcox turned to hart.
-"there, now what the blazes am i to do when he talks that way?"
-"just hexplain it," said hart, as he helped himself to a chew. "say, 'hout o' this!'"
-"it means you've got to go," said simcox; "you can't be allowed to stay in the best part of our island."
-"goddam," cried the frenchman, with his hand in his hair. "i spik english, two, tree word: pilote, feesh, shannel, owaryo!"
-"owaryo?" asked simcox.
-"that's his way o' sayin' 'how are you?'" interjected hart, who was contemptuously sizing up the french sailors.
-"ah, how are you?" said simcox.
-"owaryo," replied the french captain, smiling.
-"very well, thanks," said simcox; "but i'm the ambassador."
-"ma foi, ambassadeur! you spik français?"
-"and you've just got to get," added simcox.
-"march!" cried hart.
-the frenchmen "jabbered" a bit among themselves.
-"quoi donc? marcher?" asked their skipper.
-"we, old son," said hart; "marshay if you like. just pack up and quit. we gives you an hour to gather up your dunnage. now do you understand?"
-whether the frenchmen understood or not it was tolerably obvious they did not like the tone with which hart spoke, or the looks of evident disfavour he cast at them. the captain turned away.
-"stop!" said hart, and he went in for a dumb pantomime, in which he vaguely suggested that over yonder hill was an army of englishmen.
-"and we mean 'avin' our rights," he ended with. and just then old jones appeared in sight.
-"are they jossers goin' to evacuate or not?" he bellowed. "what's their captain say to the statues quo? don't they know the first thing about diplomatics? tell 'em that to prepare for peace we makes war."
-"war it is," said hart, and he launched himself at a crowd of frenchmen, as his mates came tumbling down the hill.
-"'ere's a pretty kettle o' fish," said he at last; "a pretty lot i 'as to my back to let a few frenchies lick 'em this way. what's the good o' diplomatics if my men 'asn't the guts to support me? where's that simcox?"
-"here, sir," said the ambassador.
-"who told you to start a row?" demanded the skipper. "don't you know your duty? you was to give 'em the hultimatum and retire dignified. do you call it retirin' dignified to run and beller like a bull-calf?"
-simcox looked sulky and injured.
-"how was i to look dignified with six of 'em after me--and two with knives and one with a meat-chopper?" he asked. "and as for startin' a rough house, 'twas hart as done it."
-"where's hart?" yelled the guffin.
-"'ere, 'art, where are you?" said the crowd.
-"i believe he's a prisoner," said lampert.
-"oh, lord," said the crowd, "but jack never 'ad no discretion."
-"we must 'ave him liberated," said the skipper firmly. "no man of mine must be in the 'ands of them mutilatin' french. simcox, you'll 'ave to go to 'em again and open n'gotiashuns!"
-"no, sir," said simcox, "if you'll excuse me, i'll do nothin' of the sort. i've had my fill up of bein' ambassador."
-"this is mut'ny," said the skipper; "but under the painful national circumstances i shan't do nothin' but order you to your cabin, where you'll consider yourself in custody."
-simcox looked greatly relieved, and went without delay.
-"mr. lampert, you'll be hambassador," said the old man, after a drink of brandy.
-the mate looked the skipper up and down.
-"i'll see you further first," he cried. "'twas you that started the row and the trouble, and you can get out of it as you like."
-"this is rank mut'ny," said the skipper, "and you could be 'ung for refusin' duty. but under the painful nash'nal circumstances you can retire to your cabin and be your own bloomin' policeman till peace is restored, when i'll try you and sentence you, you run and scuttle swine you."
-"oh, that's all right," said the mate contemptuously.
-"now, men," said the skipper thickly, "what i wants is 'earty support. who'll volunteer for to be hambassador?"
-the crew looked at each other and shook their heads. they scuffled with uneasy feet on the lopsided deck.
-"they're standin' upon the 'ill as thick as pea-sticks," said one of the boys.
-"speak hup," roared the skipper.
-the crew shoved old mac in front.
-"we've revolved the notion up and over," said mac, "and we've come to the conclusion, sir, there ain't nothin' to be got by sendin' ignorant men like we on such errands."
-the skipper hiccupped angrily.
-"who asted you to think? but i ain't the man to press unwilling lubbers into goin' aloft, i can lead the way. go into the fo'castle, you dogs, and consider yourselves under arrest. go!"
-"blimy," said the crowd, "but we're all in our own custody, so we are. now what's the old man goin' to do?"
-"i'll be my own hambassador," said jones. "i'll show 'em 'ow to work things with dignity; i'll show that ass lampert what's o'clock. what you wants in such cases made and provided is tact, and go, and innerds. innerds is the chief need. why fight if palaver'll do? where i was wrong was to send a galoot like simcox. but what could i do but work the best with the tools i 'ad? if i'd gone myself, we'd 'ave made peace afore there was a row."
-he came staggering out of the cabin with a case of brandy and laid it on the after capstan.
-"i guess i'll have a boy," said jones. "'ere, you scum, send me billy." and billy came aft.
-"i releases you temp'ry without bail," said the skipper fiercely, "so puckalow that case and foller me. no, you wait till i gets a tablecloth as a signal i'm willin' to 'ave peace."
-when he came out with a cloth he went ashore and stumbled up the hill, followed by the boy billy, bearing the case of brandy. he found the crew of the frenchmen lining the crest, and heard them talk.
-"say, johnny french," said old jones, "if you wants war, prepare for peace. who's the captain?"
-"sapristi!" said the french captain.
-"give it up, old son. it warn't my fault, if relyin' on the discretion of ambassadors ain't a fault: and maybe you can swaller the hultimatum with some real good brandy throwed in. and is your name sapristi?"
-"nom de dieu----" began the frenchman, but jones waved his hand with dignity.
-"call yourself what you like, but 'ave you got anythin' in the way of a marlinspike or a splice bar as'll open this yer case?"
-the foreigners, perceiving that the englishman was on an errand of peace, gathered about the case, and soon discovered from the stencilled inscription that it at any rate pretended to come from cognac.
-"goddam," said the little red-capped frenchman who had first discovered them. "cognac! i spik english--brandee, por'smout', lon-don!"
-jones made signs that he presented the case to them.
-"i ain't above makin' a concession or two," he remarked confidentially to the french captain; "but if i'd listened to my lot on board, it would 'ave been blood up to the neck."
-the frenchman shook his head.
-"you bet it would 'ave bin," said jones earnestly, "but what d'ye say to 'avin' a drink? billy, gimme your knife."
-and with it he started opening the case, while the frenchmen's eyes gleamed in pleasing anticipation. they had not had a drink for weeks. and as they carried the case down to the ship with jones and their own captain in the rear, they concluded that the english were not such bad chaps after all.
-"'ere i be," cried hart, who was lashed hard and fast to a round rock. "lord, captain, but i've 'ad a time. can't you cut me adrift, sir?"
-jones shook his head.
-"you interferin' galoot, it serves you right. and as for that, the 'ole crew's under arrest, where i put 'em for mut'ny, and i don't see as i should so pick and choose among 'em as to use my hinfluence to 'ave you let go. at any rate, bide a bit, and i'll see."
-for it was obvious that the drinking was going to begin. the french captain served the liquor out in a small glass to every one, and presently some of his melancholy disappeared. he gave an order to one of his men who brought two more glasses, one for the english captain, and one for himself.
-"i looks towards you," said jones.
-"à votre santé," cried the frenchman. "monsieur, vous êtes un homme de coeur quand mêne."
-"i don't savvy, but i dessay you means well," said the captain. "now, if i'd thought to bring along the signal book we might 'ave 'ad quite a talk. but time enough; i dessay afore we're took off i shall patter your lingo like blazes. shall i cut my man loose there?"
-he pointed to hart, and though two of the frenchmen, who had black eyes, remonstrated against the deed of mercy, hart was unlashed and given a drink.
-"here's to you, old cocklywax," said hart, with a scrape of his leg. "i bears no grudge, not me."
-and very soon the french and english skippers were talking to each other at the rate of knots, while hart sat in a crowd of frenchmen and told them all about everything.
-it was close on sundown when jones returned to the potluck. he had to be helped up the side by some of the crew.
-"ain't we under arrest?" they asked. "does we dare come out?"
-when he put his foot on the deck, he mustered all hands aft.
-"and you, lampert, and you, simcox!"
-the two mates came out of their cabins.
-"and where's hart?"
-"if you please, sir, he's drunk," said billy.
-"arrest 'im," said the skipper; "what's 'e mean by it? now, look 'ere, you bally lot, what does you think of yourselves?"
-the crew appeared uneasy.
-"i went all by my lone," said the skipper, hanging on to the poop ladder, "all by my lone i went, and i brings back peace! do you 'ear? but when i sent you, what use was you? i released 'art, who's repaid me by bein' unable to see an 'ole in a ladder; and i've concluded a treaty of peace and friendship with the french. next time (if so be a german ship comes ashore) i'll go out as my own hambassador. no, simcox, never more! no, lampert, never, never more! i just speaks to that french crowd, and they are civil and drink fair. they recognised they'd met their match. their skipper says, says he, 'captain jones, i owns fair and square i'm not your ekal at diplomatics.' he adds, moreover, 'captain jones, damn me if i believe your match is to be found.' and i says, with dignity (with dignity, simcox), 'right you are!' that's what i says. and as for you, you ratty galoots, you'll treat 'em when you meets 'em just the same as if they wasn't french. do you 'ear me? that's my hultimatum. now you can go. that'll do the watch."
-he turned to the mates.
-"i thought better of you two, so i did," he remarked sadly. "but there, you 'aven't 'ad my experience, and when i gets 'ome i shall see as them that is in power at the furrin office 'ears 'ow i done it. salisbury ain't my stiffness of backbone, and 'e ain't my tact. if so be as 'e was to invite them frenchmen to dinner, it would be different. they knows (as the french captain owned to me; fair and square 'e owned it) they don't 'ave no nat'ral right to hislands and col'nies. make the frenchmen's 'omes 'appy and they'll stay at 'ome. think it hout; you'll see 'ow it could be done. there now, that'll do you. i disarrest you!"
-and the "old man" rolled cheerfully for his cabin.
-"by my lone i done it!" said the guffin.
-the crew of the kamma funder.
-the stars of european science, who had been shining in a wonderful constellation over quebec, were just about to leave canada in that well-known comfortable liner, the nipigon, when a most annoying thing happened. the cattle-ship abbitibbe, never famous at any time for minding her helm, got her steam steering gear jammed as she was passing the nipigon, and took a wide sheer to port when she should have altered her course to starboard. the peaceful preparations of the passenger boat were broken up, and her crew received the wild charge of the abbitibbe with curses, which, though effectual in heating the atmosphere, were no use as a fender. the nipigon was cut down to the water's edge, and the scientific lights of europe were much put out. they hurried ashore in the most irregular and unscientific manner, and, having sent others for their baggage, began to make preparations for going to new york, as no other good passenger boat was leaving the st. lawrence for a week.
-but nature, possibly out of revenge for the unseemly curiosity evinced by all men of science, was beforehand with them. misfortunes, as was once observed by an intelligent, if pessimistic, anthropoid ape, never come singly. it was the twelfth of november, and a sudden blizzard, bringing all the snow it could carry, broke up communication with the south. if the men of science were to keep their appointments with their universities, it was necessary to sail from canada at once. they shipped themselves under protest upon the nemagosenda, of 2,900 tons register, which was little better than a tramp, and was commanded by captain joseph prowse.
-"immortal jehoshaphat!" said captain prowse; "here's a go! what, we with passengers? oh, get out!"
-"you've got to take 'em," said the agent philosophically; "maybe they'll teach you something, and it'll be a good advertisement."
-"gah'n!" said prowse; "carryin' scientific jossers won't bring better freight next season. i wish you'd get me chock up with cattle. i can't stand scientists; my sister married one that was an 'erbalist in the old kent road--and since he went to chokey i've lost conceit with science. however, if it must be--why, send 'em along!"
-flow. pl. afr.
-j. fleischmann del.
-viburnum rugosum pers.
-flow. pl. afr.
-j. fleischmann del.
-valeriana capensis vahl
-family 220. caprifoliaceae
-leaves opposite. flowers hermaphrodite. sepals 5, united below. petals 5, united below. stamens 5, inserted on the corolla. ovary inferior. ovules axile, pendulous. fruit a berry or a drupe. seeds with a straight embryo and fleshy albumen.--genera 4, species 15. north and east africa. (plate 145.)
-family 221. valerianaceae
-herbs or undershrubs. leaves opposite or all radical, without stipules. inflorescence cymose. calyx not distinctly developed at the time of flowering. petals 5, united below. stamens 1-3, attached to the corolla-tube. anthers turned inwards. ovary inferior, with 3 cells, two of which are empty and sometimes rudimentary. ovule 1, pendulous, inverted. style simple; stigma entire or 3-parted. seed exalbuminous; embryo straight.--genera 4, species 35. (plate 146.)
-family 222. dipsacaceae
-herbs or undershrubs. leaves opposite, without stipules. flowers in heads; each flower with an epicalyx embracing the ovary. petals 4-5, united below. stamens 2-4. anthers turned inwards. ovary inferior, 1-celled. ovule 1, pendulous, inverted. style simple; stigma entire or 2-parted. fruit enclosed by the epicalyx, dry, indehiscent. seed albuminous; embryo straight.--genera 7, species 50. (plate 147.)
-flow. pl. afr.
-j. fleischmann del.
-cephalaria rigida (spreng.) schrad.
-flow. pl. afr.
-j. fleischmann del.
-momordica charantia l.
-family 223. cucurbitaceae
-nearly always prostrate or climbing and tendril-bearing plants. leaves broad, usually with pedate nervation. flowers unisexual or polygamous, regular or nearly so, 5-merous. calyx of united sepals. stamens 4-5, four of them united in pairs, rarely all united or all free. anthers usually opening outwards. ovary inferior. ovules inverted. style undivided or cleft. fruit berry-like, but sometimes dehiscent, more rarely dry and indehiscent. seeds with a leathery or woody testa and a straight embryo, without albumen.--genera 42, species 270. (plate 148.)
-family 224. campanulaceae
-leaves entire toothed or lobed, without stipules. petals usually united below. stamens as many as the petals. anthers turned inwards. ovary inferior or half-inferior, rarely (lightfootia) superior, 2-10-celled, rarely (merciera) 1-celled. ovules inverted, numerous and axile, rarely few and apical or basal. style simple. fruit a capsule, rarely a nut or (canarina) a berry. seeds with fleshy albumen; embryo straight.--genera 26, species 400. (including lobeliaceae and sphenocleaceae.) (plate 149.)
-family 225. goodeniaceae
-family 226. compositae
-leaves simple and exstipulate, but sometimes dissected or provided with stipule-like auricles. flowers seated upon a dilated or elevated receptacle and arranged in sometimes spike-like or one-flowered heads which are surrounded by an involucre. heads either containing only hermaphrodite flowers, several of which are sometimes sterile (male), or consisting of hermaphrodite or male central (disc-) flowers and female or neuter marginal (ray-) flowers, more rarely heads unisexual or reduced to a single flower. calyx-limb (pappus) formed of sometimes connate scales or hairs, fully developed only in fruit, or wanting. corolla of united petals, in the hermaphrodite and male flowers 3-5-lobed with valvate aestivation, regular (tube-, funnel-, or bell-shaped) or 2-lipped or 1-lipped (strap-shaped), in the female flowers sometimes wanting. stamens as many as the corolla-lobes and alternate with them, inserted in the corolla-tube. anthers connate, rarely free, opening inwards by
-flow. pl. afr.
-j. fleischmann del.
-lightfootia subulata l’hér.
-flow. pl. afr.
-j. fleischmann del.
-vernonia baumii o. hoffm.
-64. involucral bracts ending in hooked awns. heads in racemes. leaves undivided, unarmed. herbs.--species 1. north africa. yields oil and medicaments. “burdock.” (lappa juss.) arctium l.
-showing the number of genera and species and the geographical distribution of each family.
-glossary of botanical terms
-abortive (abortivus). imperfectly developed.
-accrescent (accrescens). increasing in size with age.
-accumbent (accumbens). placed along the edge, especially of the cotyledons.
-acuminate (acuminatus). narrowed at the top and drawn out into a point.
-acute (acutus). sharply pointed, but not drawn out.
-adherent (adhaerens). slightly united to an organ of another kind, usually to a part of another whorl.
-adnate (adnatus). closely united with an organ of another kind, usually with a part of another whorl. adnate anthers have their halves attached through their whole length to the filament.
-aërial (aëreus). growing above the surface of the earth or water.
-aestivation (aestivatio). praefloration, i.e., the arrangement of the perianth-leaves in the bud.
-albumen (albumen). the nutritive tissue (endosperm or perisperm) in which the embryo is more or less immersed.
-alternate (alternus). placed between two parts; or inserted one on each node.
-androgynous (androgynus). containing both male and female flowers.
-androphore (androphorum). an elongation of the receptacle below the stamens.
-annual (annuus). terminating its whole cycle of life within one year.
-annular (annularis). ring-shaped.
-anterior (anticus). placed in front; or turned away from the axis upon which the organ is inserted.
-anther (anthera). the thickened upper part of the stamen, which encloses the pollen. it usually consists of two halves (cells) containing two pollen-sacs each and opening by a common slit or pore.
-appressed (appressus). pressed close.
-areole (areola). a space marked out on a surface.
-aril (arillus). an expansion of the funicle or the adjoining part of the testa, more or less enveloping the seed.
-ascending (ascendens). directed upwards. an ascending stem is more or less prostrate at the base, then erect; an ascending ovule is attached somewhat above the base.
-asymmetrical (asymmetricus). which cannot be divided into two or more similar parts.
-auricle (auriculus). an earlet, i.e., a small roundish lateral appendage of a leaf or leaf-like organ.
-awn (arista). a strong bristle-like appendage.
-axil (axilla). the upper angle between a leaf and the stem from which it springs.
-axile (axilis). placed in the axis.
-axillary (axillaris). placed in the axil of a leaf.
-axis (axis). the line round which an organ is developed; or the part of the plant on which other parts are attached, especially the stem.
-baccate (baccatus). berry-like.
-barbed (glochidiatus). beset with hairs or spines directed backwards.
-basifixed (basifixus). attached by the bottom.
-biennial (biennis). fruiting the second year and then perishing.
-blade (lamina). the upper expanded part of a leaf or leaf-like organ.
-bract (bractea). a modified leaf, usually reduced in size, intermediate between the foliage leaves and the flowers, especially those in the axil of which a flower or branch of inflorescence arises.
-bracteole (bracteola). a bract arising immediately below a flower or on the pedicel.
-bulb (bulbus). a usually underground part of the stem of certain plants, which is surrounded by numerous fleshy scales.
-caducous (caducus). falling off very early.
-calyx (calyx). the outer floral envelope, usually smaller and firmer than the inner and of green colour.
-campanulate (campanulatus). bell-shaped.
-capitate (capitatus). head-like.
-capsule (capsula). a dry dehiscent fruit, especially if formed of several carpels.
-carpel (carpellum). a modified leaf bearing the female reproductive organs (ovules).
-caruncle (caruncula). an outgrowth near the hilum of certain seeds.
-catkin (amentum). a deciduous spike with a thin rachis and inconspicuous unisexual flowers.
-cauline (caulinus). arising along the stem.
-cell (cellula). one of the sack-like bodies of which the tissue of the plants is composed.
-cell (loculus). one of the cavities into which the ovary, the fruit, and the anthers are usually divided. the number of anther-cells refers to the time after their dehiscence, 2-celled anthers being 4-celled when young.
-centrifugal (centrifugus). developing from the centre outwards or from the apex towards the base.
-centripetal (centripetus). developing from without towards the centre or from the base towards the apex.
-circinnate (circinnatus). coiled from the apex downwards.
-circumsciss (circumscissus). split circularly around.
-claw (unguis). the narrow base of perianth-leaves, especially petals.
-cleft (fissus,-fidus). divided half-way down.
-coherent (cohaerens). slightly united to an organ of the same kind.
-collateral (collateralis). placed side by side.
-compound leaf (folium compositum). a leaf formed of leaflets jointed with the rachis and usually falling off separately.
-conduplicate (conduplicatus). doubled along the midrib.
-cone (conus). a spike-like inflorescence flower or fruit with large bracts or scales usually becoming woody at maturity.
-confluent (confluens). blended into one.
-connate (connatus). united with an organ of the same kind by confluence of the margins or by elongation of the common base.
-connective (connectivum). the part of the stamen which connects the anther-halves.
-connivent (connivens). converging.
-contorted (contortus). imbricate in bud, all segments overlapping on the same side (to the right or the left from the spectator).
-convolute (convolutus). rolled up from one margin.
-cordate (cordatus). heart-shaped, i.e., with two rounded basal lobes.
-corm (cormus). the thickened base of certain stems, enveloped by some large scales and usually underground.
-corolla (corolla). the inner floral envelope, usually larger than the outer, of soft texture, and bright coloured.
-corona (corona). a crown formed by scale-or thread-like appendages of the perianth or the stamens.
-corymb (corymbus). a more or less flat-topped, raceme-like or compound inflorescence.
-cottony (tomentosus). covered with short matted hairs.
-cotyledon (cotyledo). seed-leaf, i.e., one of the first leaves of the embryo, which differ from the following.
-crenate (crenatus). with rounded teeth at the margin.
-crustaceous (crustaceus). crusty, i.e., thin and brittle.
-cyme (cyma). an inflorescence of the centrifugal (cymose) type, especially when loose and equally-branched.
-cymose (cymosus). consisting of a main axis, which ends in a flower, and several stronger lateral axes.
-cystolith (cystolithus). cell-stone, i.e., a hard outgrowth of the cell-wall, appearing as a point or short line on the surface of the leaves of certain plants.
-deciduous (deciduus). falling off after flowering or at the end of the season.
-decumbent (decumbens). reclining.
-decurrent (decurrens). prolonged below the insertion.
-dehiscent (dehiscens). opening spontaneously when ripe to discharge the contents (seeds or pollen).
-dentate (dentatus). toothed, i.e., provided with small incisions and projections on the margin.
-descending (descendens). tending downwards; or attached somewhat below the apex.
-dichotomous (dichotomus). repeatedly divided in pairs, each branch dividing into two subequal branches.
-didymous (didymus). bi-globose, i.e., divided into two roundish lobes.
-didynamous (didynamus). in two pairs of unequal length.
-digitate (digitatus). palmately compound.
-dioecious (dioicus). unisexual and the male and female flowers on different plants.
-disc (discus). a usually ring-, cushion-, or cup-shaped expansion of the receptacle.
-dissected (dissectus). divided to the base, but not jointed with the rachis.
-dissepiment (septum). a partition of the interior of the ovary, usually formed by the margins of the carpels. a partition not having that origin is called a false or spurious dissepiment.
-divaricate (divaricatus). diverging at an angle approaching 180°.
-dorsal (dorsalis). situated on the back, especially on the midrib of a folded leaf or leaf-like organ; or turned away from the axis to which the organ in question is attached.
-dorsifixed (dorsifixus). attached by the back.
-elliptical (ellipticus). about twice as long as broad and narrowed towards both ends.
-emarginate (emarginatus). with a small, usually apical notch.
-embryo (embryo). the rudimentary plant formed in the seed.
-entire (integerrimus). without toothing or division.
-epicalyx (epicalyx). a whorl of bracts closely surrounding a flower and resembling an outer calyx.
-epigynous (epigynus). inserted at the upper edge of a concave receptacle which is united with the ovary.
-epiphyte (epiphyticus). growing upon other plants without deriving nourishment from them.
-exserted (exsertus). projecting beyond the tube of the perianth or corolla.
-extrorse (extrorsus). turned outwards.
-falcate (falcatus). sickle-shaped.
-fascicle (fasciculus). a cluster, especially a short and dense cymose inflorescence of distinctly stalked or conspicuous flowers.
-female flower (flos foemineus). a flower containing fertile (ovule-bearing) carpels, but no fertile (pollen-producing) stamens.
-fertile (fertilis). capable of producing progeny, especially bearing pollen or ovules which develop into seeds.
-filament (filamentum). the lower narrow part (the stalk) of the stamen.
-filiform (filiformis). thread-shaped, i.e., cylindrical and very slender.
-flexuous (flexuosus). bent alternately in opposite directions.
-foliaceous (foliaceus). leaf-like, i.e., having the shape and texture of a foliage-leaf.
-foliole (foliolum). leaflet, i.e., one of the leaf-like parts of a compound leaf, which are jointed to the rachis.
-follicle (folliculus). a one-celled fruit opening lengthwise (at the ventral suture).
-forked (furcatus). divided into two subequal branches.
-free (liber). not united, not even at the base.
-funicle (funiculus). the stalk of the ovule.
-glabrous (glaber). without hairs.
-gland (glans). a thick, usually roundish outgrowth, generally secreting a liquid.
-glandular (glandulosus). bearing a gland or glands.
-glomerule (glomerulis). a short and dense cymose inflorescence of subsessile inconspicuous flowers.
-glume (gluma). a chaffy bract, especially in the inflorescence of grasses.
-gynophore (gynophorum). an elongation of the receptacle below the carpels.
-hastate (hastatus). halbard-shaped, i.e., with two acute basal lobes turned outwards.
-head (capitulum). a centripetal inflorescence with a short and usually thick axis and sessile or nearly sessile flowers.
-hermaphrodite (hermaphroditus). bisexual, i.e., containing both kinds of sexual organs (stamens and carpels) in complete development.
-hilum (hilus). the point where the ovule or the seed is attached to the funicle or the placenta.
-hirsute (hirsutus). densely covered with erect, rather short and stiff hairs.
-hispid (hispidus). beset with long stiff hairs.
-hyaline (hyalinus). membranous and translucid.
-hypogynous (hypogynus). inserted at the base of the ovary or below it, upon a small and flat or an elevated receptacle.
-imbricate (imbricatus). overlapping at the edges, as the tiles of a roof, especially in the bud.
-imparipinnate (imparipinnatus). unequally pinnate, i.e., pinnate with a terminal leaflet.
-included (inclusus). concealed within the tube of the perianth or corolla.
-incumbent (incumbens). placed upon the back, especially of the cotyledons.
-indehiscent (indehiscens). remaining closed at maturity.
-induplicate (induplicatus). doubled along the midrib, with the margins turned inwards.
-inferior ovary (ovarium inferum). an ovary adnate to a concave receptacle or to the tube of the perianth or calyx.
-inflorescence (inflorescentia). the flowering part of a branch and the arrangement of the flowers upon it. the flower-clusters constituting together a compound inflorescence are termed partial inflorescences.
-introrse (introrsus). turned inwards.
-inverted ovule (ovulum anatropum). an ovule with the micropyle next to the hilum.
-involucel (involucellum). the involucre of a partial inflorescence.
-involucre (involucrum). a group of bracts surrounding an inflorescence.
-involute (involutus). rolled inward from the margins towards the midrib.
-irregular flower (flos irregularis). a flower with unequally shaped or disposed perianth-leaves.
-jointed (articulatus). divided into portions which subsequently separate; or separating at the point of attachment.
-laciniate (laciniatus). lacerated, i.e., slit into narrow and irregular segments.
-lanceolate (lanceolatus). about 3-6 times as long as broad and ending in an angle or point.
-legume (legumen). a one-celled fruit opening by two valves.
-ligulate (ligulatus). strap-shaped, i.e., produced on one side into a long and narrow limb.
-ligule (ligula). a strap-shaped body, especially the scale-like appendage on the inner side of certain leaves, usually between the sheath and the blade.
-limb (limbus). the upper, more or less expanded part of a perianth.
-linear (linearis). very narrow (many times as long as broad) with almost parallel edges.
-lip (labium). a part of a perianth formed of several united segments or of one large segment which is separated from the rest.
-lobe (lobus). division of a leaf or a perianth, especially when short.
-lobed (lobatus). shortly divided, the incisions not reaching to the middle.
-loculicidal (loculicidus). opening along the median line of the outer wall of the ovary-or fruit-cells (along the dorsal suture of the carpels).
-lyrate (lyratus). lyre-shaped, i.e., pinnately divided with a large and rounded terminal lobe and small lateral ones.
-male flower (flos masculus). a flower containing fertile (pollen-producing) stamens, but no fertile carpels.
-median (medianus). placed in the middle-line of a bilateral organ.
-mericarp (mericarpium). partial fruit, i.e., one of the parts into which a schizocarp separates.
-micropyle (micropyle). the aperture in the coats of the ovule.
-monoecious (monoicus). unisexual and the flowers of both sexes on the same plant.
-mucronate (mucronatus). ending in a short bristle-like point (mucro).
-muticous (muticus). without awns or spines.
-naked (nudus). not enveloped by a perianth or by carpels.
-nerve (nervus). a vascular bundle in a leaf or leaf-like organ, usually appearing as a dark or translucent line or a ridge projecting on the under surface.
-net-veined (reticulatim venosus). with the lateral nerves irregularly connected by a network of small veins.
-neuter (neuter). without perfect sexual organs.
-node (nodus). the usually knot-like part of the stem, where a leaf or a whorl of leaves are inserted.
-nut (nux). a dry and indehiscent fruit, especially one with a thick and hard rind.
-obtuse (obtusus). blunt, i.e., narrowed, but not pointed at the apex.
-open aestivation (aestivatio aperta). a form of aestivation in which the margins of the perianth-leaves do not touch one another.
-opposite (oppositus). set against in pairs at the same level; or placed one before another.
-ovary (ovarium). the lower part of the pistil, which encloses the ovules.
-ovoid (ovoideus). egg-shaped.
-ovule (ovulum). the grain-like body which contains the female reproductive cells and developes into the seed after fertilization.
-palmate (palmatus). with the divisions or branches springing from one point.
-panicle (panicula). a repeatedly branched inflorescence of more or less pyramidal or ovoid form.
-papilla (papilla). a soft superficial protuberance.
-parallelnerved (parallelinervius). with the principal nerves nearly parallel and connected almost at right angles by equally subparallel side-nerves.
-parasite (planta parasitica). a plant growing upon an other plant and feeding from it.
-parietal (parietalis). attached to the wall of the ovary, usually at the sutures of the carpels.
-paripinnate (paripinnatus). equally or abruptly pinnate, i.e., pinnate without a terminal leaflet.
-parted (partitus). divided nearly to the base.
-pedate (pedatus). with the larger branches or divisions springing from the lowest lateral ones.
-pedicel (pedicellus). the stalk of a flower.
-peduncle (pedunculus). the stalk of an inflorescence.
-peltate (peltalus). shield-shaped, i.e., roundish and attached by the middle of the under surface.
-penicillate (penicillatus). shaped like a tuft of hairs or a painter’s brush.
-penninerved (penninervius). with pinnate nervation.
-perennial (perennis). not perishing after maturity, the underground part of the stem at least remaining alive.
-perianth (perianthium). floral envelope, i.e., the aggregate of the modified leaves surrounding the stamens and carpels and forming part of the flower.
-pericarp (pericarpium). the wall of the fruit enclosing the seeds.
-perigynous (perigynus). inserted upon the margin of a more or less concave receptacle which is free from the ovary, at some distance from and usually higher than the ovary.
-persistent (persistens). remaining on the plant at the time of maturity.
-petal (petalum). one of the inner perianth-leaves, usually differing from the outer in the larger size, the softer texture, and the bright colour.
-petaloid (petaloideus). petal-or corolla-like.
-petiole (petiolus). the foot-stalk of a leaf.
-phyllode (phyllodium). a broadened, leaf-like branch.
-pinna (pinna). one of the lateral branches or divisions of a pinnate organ.
-pinnate (pinnatus). with the divisions, leaflets, or branches arranged along each side of the midrib or rachis. unequally pinnate leaves have a terminal leaflet, equally (abruptly) pinnate ones have none.
-pistil (pistillum). the aggregate of the carpels of a flower.
-placenta (placenta). the part of the ovary or fruit which bears the ovules or seeds.
-plicate (plicatus). folded along the ribs.
-plumule (plumula). the upper part of the embryo (above the cotyledons).
-pollen (pollen). the fertilizing cells produced in the anthers.
-polygamous (polygamus). partly hermaphrodite and partly unisexual.
-posterior (posticus). directed towards the axis upon which the organ in question is inserted.
-praefloration (praeflovatio). the arrangement of the perianth-leaves in the bud.
-praefoliation (praefoliatio). the mode in which a foliage-leaf is disposed before its expansion.
-procumbent (procumbens). spreading along the ground.
-quincuncial (quincuncialis). imbricate in bud, so that one perianth-leaf is overlapped on one side only, the others on either or neither side.
-raceme (racemus). a centripetal (racemose) inflorescence with an elongated axis and distinctly stalked flowers.
-racemose (racemosus, botryosus). consisting of a main axis not ending in a number of weaker lateral axes.
-rachis (rhachis). the main axis of an inflorescence or of a compound leaf.
-radiating (radians). spreading all round; or bearing larger flowers or larger perianth-leaves at the circumference than in the centre.
-radical (radicalis). arising from the base of the stem, apparently from the root.
-radicle (radicula). the lower part of the embryo (below the cotyledons).
-raphe (raphe). a cord of tissue forming a prolongation of the funicle along the coats of the ovule.
-receptacle (receptaculum). the extremity of the flower-stalk bearing the floral envelopes and the sexual organs; or the enlarged end of a branch upon which the flowers are seated.
-reduplicate (reduplicatus). doubled along the midrib with the margins turned outwards.
-reflexed (reflexus). bent back.
-regular (regularis). with all parts of the same kind, especially all perianth leaves, equal in shape and arrangement.
-reniform (reniformis). kidney-shaped.
-revolute (revolutus). rolled backwards from the margins.
-rib (costa). a strong, more or less projecting nerve.
-root-stock (rhizoma). the root-like, underground or prostrate lowest part of the stem of certain plants.
-rotate (rotatus). wheel-shaped, i.e., with a very short tube and a spreading limb.
-rudimentary (rudimentarius). very imperfectly developed.
-ruminate (ruminatus). marked with irregular fissures.
-runcinate (runcinatus). pinnately cleft with pointed recurved lobes.
-saccate (saccatus). provided with a pouch-shaped appendage.
-sagittate (sagittatus). arrow-shaped, i.e., with two acute basal lobes directed downwards.
-salver-shaped (hypocraterimorphus). with a long and narrow tube and a spreading limb.
-saprophyte (saprophytum). a plant living upon decaying organic matter.
-scale (squama). a reduced leaf usually destitute of green colour, or a similar outgrowth of the skin of a plant.
-scape (scapus). a leafless stalk of an inflorescence rising from the ground.
-scarious (scariosus). dry and membranous.
-schizocarp (schizocarpium, fructus in coccos secedens). a fruit separating into several usually nut-like mericarps.
-segment (segmentum). a division of a deeply divided leaf, or a division of the perianth, especially when the latter is deeply divided.
-sepal (sepalum). an outer perianth-leaf, usually small, green, and of a firm texture.
-sepaloid (sepaloideus). sepal-or calyx-like.
-septate (septatus). chambered, i.e., divided into cells by dissepiments.
-septicidal (septicidus). opening at the dissepiments or placentas.
-septifragal (septifragus). opening so that the valves of the fruit break away from the dissepiments.
-serrate (serratus). cut at the margin into sharp teeth direct towards the apex.
-sessile (sessilis). without a stalk.
-sheath (vagina). the dilated base of certain leaves.
-simple (simplex). without branches; or without segments jointed to the rachis.
-smooth (laevis). with an even surface (without protuberances).
-spadix (spadix). a spike with a thick axis and inconspicuous flowers, usually enveloped by a spathe.
-spathe (spatha). a large bract more or less enveloping a flower or inflorescence.
-spatulate (spathulatus). more or less rounded above and tapering towards the base.
-spike (spica). a centripetal (racemose) inflorescence with an elongated axis and sessile or nearly sessile flowers.
-spikelet (spicula). a spike-like partial inflorescence.
-stamen (stamen). a modified leaf bearing the male reproductive cells (the pollen).
-staminode (staminodium). a barren stamen (without anthers or with incompletely developed anthers).
-sterile (sterilis). barren, i.e., without well developed ovules or pollen.
-stigma (stigma). the uppermost, papillose part of the pistil, which receives the pollen.
-stipel (stipella). a stipule at the base of a leaflet of a compound leaf.
-stipule (stipula). a leaf-or scale-like appendage of the leaf-base.
-striate (striatus). marked with longitudinal lines.
-strophiole (strophiolus). caruncle, i.e., an outgrowth near the hilum of certain seeds.
-style (stylus). the narrowed part of the pistil, intermediate between the ovary and the stigma.
-subtend (subtendere). extend under; especially: bear in its axil.
-subulate (subulatus). awl-shaped, i.e., very narrow and pointed.
-suffruticose (suffruticosus). woody at the base, herbaceous above.
-superior ovary (ovarium superum). an ovary free from the receptacle and the perianth.
-suture (sutura). line of union, especially of the margins of carpels.
-symmetrical (symmetricus). divisible by one or several planes into two or more similar parts.
-sympetalous (sympetalus, gamopetalus). with the petals more or less united.
-terete (teres). cylindrical and circular in transverse section.
-ternate (ternatus). in threes; especially with 3 leaflets or divisions.
-testa (testa). the outer coat of the seed.
-throat (faux). the mouth of the perianth-tube.
-tomentose (tomentosus). cottony, i.e., covered with short, soft, matted hairs.
-toothed (dentatus). provided with short marginal incisions, especially when they are sharp and turned outwards.
-triquetrous (triqueter). three-edged (with 3 salient angles).
-truncate (truncatus). terminating abruptly as though cut off at the end.
-tube (tubus). a hollow, more or less elongated body, especially the lower undivided and more or less narrowed part of the perianth, or a concave receptacle bearing the perianth at the margin.
-tuber (tuber). a short and thick, more or less fleshy underground part of a stem, not surrounded by scales, or a similar root.
-tubercle (tuberculum). a wart-like swelling on the surface of an organ.
-umbel (umbella). a centripetal (racemose) inflorescence with a very short axis and stalked flowers arising apparently all from the same point.
-umbonate (umbonatus). bearing a boss in the centre of the surface.
-unarmed (inermis). without spines or bristles.
-unifoliolate (unfoliolatus). with a single leaflet, which is jointed to the leaf-stalk.
-unisexual (unisexualis). having only the organs of one sex completely developed; or containing the flowers of one sex only.
-urceolate (urceolatus). urn-or pitcher-shaped, i.e., with an inflated tube contracted at the mouth.
-utricle (utriculus). a bladder-shaped indehiscent or irregularly bursting fruit.
-valvate (valvatus). with the margins meeting in the bud without overlapping.
-vascular bundles (fasciae vasculares). fibre-like bundles of vessels (confluent cells).
-vein (vena). a faint nerve.
-ventral (ventralis). placed at or directed towards the inner side of the carpel.
-ventricose (ventricosus). swelling on one side.
-vernation (vernatio). praefoliation, i.e., the disposition of a leaf in the bud.
-versatile (versatilis). attached by a point and turning freely on its support.
-winged (alatus). with a much projecting, thin and flat appendage.
-whorl (verticillus). a group of similar organs arranged in a circle round an axis.
-whorled (verticillatus). arranged in whorls of 3 or more parts.
-abbreviations of authors’ names
-adans. adanson afz. afzelius ait. aiton all. allioni anders. anderson andrz. andrzeiowski ant. antoine arn. arnott aubl. aublet
-eckl. ecklon ehrenb. ehrenberg ehrh. ehrhart endl. endlicher engelm. engelmann engl. engler
-jacks. jackson jacq. jacquin jaub. jaubert jum. jumelle juss. jussieu
-kam. kamienski kit. kitaibel koel. koeler koen. koenig koern. koernicke korth. korthals kraenzl. kraenzlin ktze. kuntze
-labill. labillardière lag. lagasca lam. lamarck ledeb. ledebour lehm. lehmann leschen. leschenault less. lessing l’hér. l’héritier licht. lichtenstein lindb. lindberg lindl. lindley l. linné loefl. loefling lopr. lopriore loud. loudon lour. loureiro
-marcgr. marcgraf m. bieb. marschall von bieberstein marsh. marshal mart. martius mast. masters med. medikus meissn. meissner mey. meyer mich. micheli michx. michaux mill. miller miq. miquel moehr. moehring moq. moquin-tandon moris. morison muell. mueller muell. arg. mueller argovensis
-naud. naudin neck. necker nied. niedenzu nor. noronha nutt. nuttall
-radlk. radlkofer raf. rafinesque ram. ramond reichb. reichenbach rich. richard ridl. ridley roehl. roehling roem. roemer rohrb. rohrbach rottb. rottboell roxb. roxburgh ruhl. ruhland rumph. rumphius rupr. ruprecht
-taub. taubert targ. tozz. targioni-tozzetti tausch. tauscher ten. tenore thonn. thonning thou. du petit-thouars thunb. thunberg thwait. thwaites torr. torrey tourn. tournefort trin. trinius tul. tulasne turcz. turczaninow
-vaill. vaillant vand. vandelli van tiegh. van tieghem vell. velley vent. ventenat vill. villars vis. visiani vog. vogel volk. volkens
-wahlenb. wahlenberg waldst. waldstein wall. wallich walt. walter warb. warburg warm. warming wedd. weddell welw. welwitsch wendl. wendland wettst. wettstein wikst. wikstroem willd. willdenow willk. willkomm winckl. winckler wuert. wuertemberg
-zeyh. zeyher zucc. zuccarini
-list of popular names
-of african plants and their products
-african ammoniacum--ferula. african mahogany--khaya. african sandal-wood--osyris. african teak--oldfieldia. african tulip-tree--spathodea. akee--blighia. alder--alnus. alkanet--anchusa. allseed--radiola. allspice--pimenta. almond--prunus. ambatch--aeschynomene. anise--pimpinella. apple--pirus. apricot--prunus. arnatto--bixa. arrow-root--maranta, tacca. artichoke--cynara. ash--fraxinus. avens--geum. avocado-pear--persea.
-balata--mimusops. balm--melissa. balsam--impatiens. bamboo--bambusa (and allies), raphia. banana--musa. baobab--adansonia. barley--hordeum. basil--ocimum. bead-tree--melia. bean--phaseolus, vicia. beef-wood--casuarina, mimusops. bent-grass--agrostis. betel-palm--areca. bindweed--convolvulus. bird’s-foot--ornithopus. bitter cress--cardamine. black mustard--brassica. bladderwort--utricularia. blood-plum--haematostaphis. borage--borrago. bottle-gourd--lagenaria. box--buxus. bowstring-hemp--sansevieria. bramble--rubus. breadfruit--artocarpus. broomrape--orobanche. buckthorn--rhamnus. buckwheat--fagopyrum. bugle--ajuga. bugloss--echium. burdock--arctium. bur-reed--sparganium.
-cabbage--brassica. calabar-bean--physostigma. calla--zantedeschia. calumba-root--iatrorrhiza. camellia--thea. camomile--anthemis, matricaria. camphor--blumea, cinnamomum. cam-wood--baphia. canary-seed--phalaris. candlenut--aleurites. candytuft--iberis. cane--calamus (and allies). caper--capparis. caraway--carum. cardamom--elettaria. carob--ceratonia. carrot--daucus. cashew--anacardium. cassava--manihot. castor-oil--ricinus. cayenne-pepper--capsicum. ceara-rubber--manihot. cedar--cedrus. celandine--chelidonium. celery--apium. cherry--prunus. chervil--anthriscus. chestnut--castanea. chick-pea--cicer. chicory--cichorium. chillies--capsicum. chinese grasscloth-plant--boehmeria clover--trifolium. cloves--jambosa. cock’s foot--dactylis. cocoa-plum--chrysobalanus. coconut--cocos. colt’s foot--tussilago. columbine--aquilegia. comfrey--symphytum. copal--copaifera, cynometra, trachylobium. coracan--eleusine. cork--quercus. corn-cockle--agrostemma. corn-salad--valerianella. cotton--gossypium. cotton-grass--eriophorum. coutch-grass--agropyrum. crab’s eye--abrus. cranes’s bill--geranium. crawberry--empetrum. cucumber--cucumis. cudweed--gnaphalium. custard-apple--anona. cypress--cupressus.
-daisy--bellis. dandelion--taraxacum. darnel--lolium. date-palm--phoenix. date-plum--diospyros. dattock--detarium. day-lily--hemerocallis dead-nettle--lamium. dika--irvingia. dill--anethum. dinde--colocasia. dock--rumex. dodder--cuscuta. dog’s tail--cynosurus. dog’s tooth--cynodon. double coconut--lodoicea. dragons blood--dracaena. duchn--pennisetum. duckweed--lemna. dum-palm--hyphaene. dwale--atropa. dwarf-palm--chamaerops.
-ebony--dalbergia, diospyros, euclea. egg-plant--solanum. elder--sambucus. elemi--canarium. elm--ulmus. esparto-grass--ampelodesmos, lygeum, stipa. evening-primrose--oenothera. everlasting--helichrysum. eyebright--euphrasia.
-false bamboo--raphia. feathergrass--stipa. fennel--foeniculum. fescue--festuca. fig--ficus. fir--abies. flame-tree--poinciana. flax--linum. flowering rush--butomus. fool’s parsley--aethusa. forget-me-not--myosotis, omphalodes. foxglove--digitalis. foxtail--alopecurus. frankincense--boswellia. frogbit--hydrocharis. fumitory--fumaria. fundi--paspalum. furze--ulex.
-gambodge--garcinia. garden-cress--lepidium. garlic--allium. germander--teucrium. ginger--zingiber. globe-thistle--echinops. goldenrod--solidago. gooseberry--ribes. goosefoot--chenopodium. grains of paradise--aframomum. grape-vine--vitis. grasscloth-plant--boehmeria. grasses--gramineae. grasswrack--zostera. gromwell--lithospermum. groundnut--arachis. guava--psidium. guelder-rose--viburnum. guinea-corn--andropogon. guinea-pepper--xylopia. gum-lac--aleurites, anona, croton, ficus, zizyphus. guttapercha--palaquium, payena.
-hare’s tail--lagurus. hawkweed--hieracium. hawthorn--mespilus. hazel--corylus. heartseed--cardiospermum. heath--erica. hemlock--conium. hemp--cannabis. henbane--hyoscyamus. henna--lawsonia. holly--ilex. holygrass--hierochloe. honeysuckle--lonicera. hop--humulus. horehound--marrubium. horseradish-tree--moringa. hound’s tongue--cynoglossum. houseleek--sempervivum.
-indian corn--zea. indian cress--tropaeolum. indian plum--flacourtia. indian shot--canna. indigo--indigofera. ireh--funtumia. iron-wood--acacia, argania, casuarina, sideroxylon, stadmannia. ivy--hedera.
-jerusalem-artichoke--helianthus. jessamine--jasminum. job’s tears--coix. jujube--zizyphus. jute--corchorus.
-ladanum--cistus. lady’s mantle--alchimilla. lagos-rubber--funtumia. larkspur--delphinium. lattice-leaf--aponogeton. laurustinus--viburnum. lavender--lavandula. leek--allium. lemongrass--andropogon. lentil--lens. lettuce--lactuca. ling--calluna. liquorice--glycyrrhiza. logwood--haematoxylon. longan--euphoria. loquat--eriobotrya. lousewort--pedicularis. lucern--medicago. lymegrass--elymus.
-mace--myristica. madder--rubia. mahogany--khaya. maize--zea. mallow--malva. mandioc--manihot. mandrake--mandragora. mango--mangifera. mangrove--rhizophora. manila-hemp--musa. manna--alhagi, astragalus, cassia. maple--acer. maram--ammophila. marigold--calendula. marjoram--majorana. mastic--pistacia. matgrass--nardus. medlar--mespilus. melon--cucumis. mignonette--reseda. milkwort--polygala. millet--panicum. mint--mentha. mistletoe--viscum. mousetail--myosurus. mulberry--morus. mullein--verbascum. mustard--brassica, sinapis. myrrh--commiphora.
-nettle--urtica. nettle-tree--celtis. new zealand flax--phormium. new zealand spinach--tetragonia. nitgrass--gastridium. nitrebush--nitraria. nutmeg--myristica.
-oak--quercus. oat--avena. oil-palm--elaeis. oleander--nerium. oleaster--elaeagnus. olive--olea. onion--allium. opium--papaver. orange--citrus. orris-root--iris. ovala--pentaclethra.
-palmiet--prionium. palmyra-palm--borassus. panama-rubber--castilloa. pansy--viola. papaw-tree--carica. paper-mulberry--broussonetia. para-rubber--hevea. parsley--petroselinum. parsnip--pastinaca. passion-flower--passiflora. pea--pisum. peach--prunus. pear--pirus. pearlwort--sagina. pellitory--parietaria. pennycress--thlaspi. pepper--capsicum, piper. periwinkle--vinca. persian lilac--melia. persian manna--alhagi. piassava--borassus, dictyosperma, raphia. pigeon-pea--cajanus. pimpernel--anagallis. pine-apple--ananas. pink--dianthus. pistachio-nut--pistacia. pitcher-plant--nepenthes. plane--platanus. plantain--musa, plantago. plum--prunus. poke--phytolacca. pomegranate--punica. pondweed--potamogeton. poplar--populus. poppy--papaver. potato--ipomoea, solanum. prickly pear--opuntia. primrose--primula. privet--ligustrum. pumpkin--cucurbita. purslane--portulaca.
-quaking-grass--briza. quince--cydonia. quinine--cinchona. quitch-grass--agropyrum.
-radish--rhaphanus. rambutan--nephelium. ramie--boehmeria. ramtil-oil--guizotia. rapeseed--brassica. rattan-palm--calamus. ray-grass--lolium. reed--arundo, phragmites. reedmace--typha. rice--oryza. rock-cress--arabis. rock-rose--cistus, helianthemum. rose of jericho--anastatica, odontospermum. rose-wood--calophyllum, pterocarpus, thespesia. rosemary--rosmarinus. rubber--various apocynaceae and asclepiadaceae, ficus, manihot. rue--ruta. rush--juncus. rye--secale.
-safflower--carthamus. saffron--crocus. safu--pachylobus. sage--salvia. sago--cycas. sainfoin--onobrychis. salep--orchis (and allies). salsify--tragopogon. saltwort--salsola. samphire--crithmum. sandal-wood--pterocarpus, osyris. sandarac--callitris. sandbox-tree--hura. sandwort--arenaria. sapodilla-plum--achras. sassy-tree--erythrophloeum. savory--satureia. sawwort--serratula. screw-pine--pandanus. scull-cap--scutellaria. sedges--cyperaceae. senegal-ebony--dalbergia. senna-leaves--cassia. shea-butter--butyrospermum. shellac--anona, croton, ficus, zizyphus. shepherd’s purse--capsella. silver-fir--abies. silver-tree--leucadendron. snake-gourd--trichosanthes. snapdragon--antirrhinum. sneeze-wood--pteroxylon. soapberry--sapindus. soapwort--saponaria. sorghum--andropogon. soursop--anona. sow-thistle--sonchus. soy-bean--glycine. spanish broom--spartium. speedwell--veronica. spinach--spinacia, tetragonia. spindle-tree--evonymus. spurge--euphorbia. spurry--spergula. squill--scilla. squirting cucumber--ecballium. stitchwort--stellaria. stock--matthiola. stork’s bill--erodium. strawberry--fragaria. strawberry-tree--arbutus. sugar-cane--saccharum. sumac--rhus. sundew--drosera. sunflower--helianthus. sweet basil--ocimum. sweet flag--acorus. sweet potato--ipomoea.
-tallow-tree--pentadesma. tapioca--manihot. taro--colocasia. tea--thea. teak--oldfieldia, tectona. teasel--dipsacus. tef--eragrostis. teosinte--euchlaena. thorn-apple--datura. thrift--armeria. thimothy-grass--phleum. toad-flax--linaria. tobacco--nicotiana. tomato--solanum. tragacanth--astragalus. traveller’s tree--ravenala. tulip-tree--spathodea. turmeric--curcuma. turnip--brassica. turnsole--chrozophora. turpentine--abies, pinus, pistacia.
-vegetable silk--various asclepiadaceae, strophantus. venus’ looking-glass--specularia. verek--acacia. vernal grass--anthoxanthum. vervain--verbena. vetch--vicia. vetiver-root--andropogon. violet--viola.
-wallflower--cheiranthus. walnut--juglans. water-chestnut--trapa. water-cress--nasturtium. water-lily--nymphaea. water-melon--citrullus. water-plantain--alisma. water-tree--tetracera. wheat--triticum. white mustard--sinapis. willow--salix. willow-herb--epilobium. winter-cherry--physalis. winter-cress--barbarea. woad--isatis. woodruff--asperula. woodrush--luzula. wormwood--artemisia.
-yams--dioscorea. yew--taxus. ylang-ylang--cananga.
-additions and corrections
-page vii., after line 21, insert: r. muschler, a manual flora of egypt (berlin, 1912).
-“ viii., after line 13, insert: e. de wildeman, etudes sur la flore des districts des bangala et de l’ubangi (bruxelles, 1910).
-“ 20, no. 213, omit lines 1 and 2.
-“ 35, no. 388, omit lines 1 and 2.
-“ 79, line 3, read: genus 1, species 4. west africa, madagascar, and seychelles.
-after that mr. bixby fell out of the conversation altogether, only raising his eyes from his plate to glance from time to time at julie as she came and went with her waffles. in her neat sprigged dress she looked soft and gentle. her face was a little flushed; one dark strand of hair fell over her forehead, and when she turned to go back to the kitchen, he could see that there were two little ringlets that made curls at the nape of her neck.
-waffle-making was an art with julie. in the practice of it she even forgot her usual feeling of constraint and breathlessness toward elizabeth, and served her as eagerly as the rest. in her unconscious delight in doing a thing she loved to do and could do well, she created a content and serenity that drew mr. bixby’s eyes continually toward her, and also made the reverend mr. seabrook, who appeared to harbor no malice for that brief episode in the church, rather absent to elizabeth’s stream of talk. elizabeth had come to the party intent on making an impression, but much as her elaborate talk and dashing costume thrust her into the foreground, she felt herself constantly in danger of being swept away into the background every time that julie entered with fresh waffles.
-it was the summer of 1918, and naturally most of the fitful conversation turned upon the war, although elizabeth said flatly that she was just sick to death of the hateful business; and aunt sadie answered brother seabrook’s scraps of war news with, “yes, yes--have some preserves?” the reverend gentleman, however, was patriotic, and would not be deflected from the subject.
-“well,” elizabeth said, at last, making the best of it, “my husband’s liable to get his draft call most any time now. it’ll be right hard on me, but if the country needs him, i’ll have to give him, i reckon. everybody’s got to do their bit.”
-she patted her hair and sighed, basking in her own nobility.
-though aunt sadie tolerated elizabeth, she was apt to flash out at her every now and again.
-“you give him?” she snorted. “humph! that sounds mighty grand, but believe me if uncle sam wants him, he’ll take him all right, without any giving on your part.”
-elizabeth’s eyes glittered angrily. she did not quite dare to cross swords with the older woman, so she turned upon her husband.
-“well, he’ll make a great soldier, won’t he!” she jeered.
-“why, i wouldn’t hardly think he was up to the standard height,” brother seabrook said, running his eye appraisingly over mr. bixby.
-“oh, it ain’t always the biggest men makes the best soldiers,” mrs. johnson protested.
-they all fixed their scrutinizing eyes upon the little man, but none of them spoke directly to him, unconsciously following the impersonal attitude that elizabeth had adopted.
-julie was standing in the background, having just returned from the kitchen. she had paused involuntarily when she heard elizabeth’s remark about mr. bixby’s being drafted, and her eyes went quickly to his face. she saw his lips give that faint nervous twitch, and his face stiffen. then when they all turned their impersonal scrutiny upon him, as though they were inspecting some curious specimen, she saw the unhappy crimson flush up to his eyes.
-“what’s the matter with us?” julie thought violently, unconsciously classing herself with him. “why can’t folks see us? we’re there just like anybody else, but they always act like they didn’t see us. someway we stand outside of people’s minds, an’ have to wait for them to open an’ let us in. and they never do.”
-it was all perfectly simple and natural, and yet the slight emphasis she laid upon the personal pronoun seemed to open the door for him that he might emerge into the life of a real human being, set free from the negative limbo to which the others had driven him.
-he looked up quickly and gladly into her face, with that look of release and freedom, and the breaking of a constricting cord which she had read in his expression before.
-“i thank you, i thank you, miss julie,” he said gratefully. it was the first time he had dared the intimacy of her christian name. he helped himself, and, fortified by her creative touch, held the waffle suspended upon his fork for a moment’s approving contemplation.
-“my!” he said, with the air of a connoisseur, “that’s about the finest thing in the way of waffle-flesh i ever did see. i’d recommend you to try one of this batch, brother seabrook,” he urged.
-“well, i thought i was about done, but if you advise it, brother bixby--” brother seabrook hesitated.
-“i don’t just advise you to take one, i prescribe it for your health,” mr. bixby returned; at which every one laughed except elizabeth, who was furious over his being allowed any personality.
-but for the other two julie had opened the door and let him in, so that he emerged into their consciousness as some one to be taken into account. brother seabrook fell into talk with him about the war, and as to the possibility of his draft call, ignoring elizabeth’s ruffled attempts to draw the conversation back to herself. the supper came to an end presently, and to elizabeth’s chagrin, mrs. johnson accepted her perfunctory offer to help with the dishes.
-“yes,” she said, “you stay with me, mis’ bixby, an’ we’ll let julie go out to the porch an’ entertain the men-folks for a spell. she needs a rest an’ cool-off ’fore we go to the show.”
-“well, you picked a poor hand to help you,” elizabeth said tartly. “if there’s one thing i do despise, it’s dirty dishes. here, tim!” she cried to her husband; and then, realizing that if she called him back that would leave brother seabrook in a tête-à-tête with julie, she said, “oh, well, go on then”; for she suspected in the minister an interest in julie which she resented. her manœuvres were all so obvious and usually so futile, that julie, informed by that wider understanding, felt a sudden pity for her.
-“i’ll stay and help you with the dishes,” she offered.
-but this aunt sadie would not allow. “no, you go on now, julie; you’ve done your bit. you go out on the porch an’ cool off,” she ordered.
-while the table was being cleared, julie and the two men sat together in the dusk of the side porch. julie did not talk much. she did not want to. she was slightly tired, and was content to listen to the other two. she liked to hear mr. bixby. it was amazing how much he found to say when the stifling incubus of elizabeth was withdrawn. for a time the talk was still about the war, but presently it drifted away to other topics, and as that was left behind, julie was conscious that there appeared in his voice a note of relief and picking up of interest. he talked more quickly and easily, describing the matter of printing. his father, it appeared, had been a printer before him. he had learned the trade from him. he said, “i like it.” he said that over frequently in variations. “somehow i like it. i like a good bit of printing,” and “i liked it from the first, when i was just a kid.” he made what he said interesting: so much so that brother seabrook was glad to listen and said, “well, well, is that so?” frequently. neither of the men spoke especially to julie, yet she knew that they were both aware of her presence, and stimulated by it.
-she liked sitting there in the dusk, making the background for their conversation. she had a curious sense that something out of herself flowed forth and made a successful medium for their talk. she knew that if she had not been there mr. bixby could never have spoken so well and so easily about his trade. without the touch of her sympathy, together with the mantle of the dusk, he could never have let so much of himself appear; he would not have been interesting, and brother seabrook would have seized the conversation and borne it away in his own large declamatory tones.
-it was not long, however, before this little friendly interim was broken. the other two reappeared, and aunt sadie hurried them all off to the moving-picture theatre. there elizabeth managed to secure the seat next to brother seabrook, a manœuvre which aunt sadie was not quick enough to frustrate. she would not, however, permit her guest of honor to be snatched completely from her, and so squeezed herself down firmly beside them, leaving julie and mr. bixby to find seats together elsewhere.
-the entertainment was preceded by a patriotic rally on behalf of one of the liberty loans, and as judge dean--the main speaker of the evening, who had come from red river to address the hart’s run people--was just beginning his speech, they hastily obliterated themselves in back seats. they listened dutifully through the speech, and to the subscribing for bonds which followed, although they took no part in it, as julie had already bought two bonds, and mr. bixby whispered that he too was carrying about all he could manage.
-after the drive for the loan was over, the lights were lowered, and the moving pictures began; and as always in those summer days of 1918, soldiers went marching by upon the screen. soldiers drilling at camp lee; running up the flag--for a moment old glory waved and rippled in the wind before them, and the crowd went wild with applause; soldiers on a transport; american soldiers marching through paris. at the sight of them and at the sound of the continuous applause, julie felt the man beside her stiffen. “i’m liable to get my call any time now,” he whispered suddenly in the dimness.
-it was only what his wife had said at supper, but now it was different. then it had been an almost impersonal statement. now his low voice made it alive and real, an approaching event upon which a human being’s whole life was hung.
-“you heard ’em speak of it at table?” he questioned.
-“yes,” she nodded faintly.
-the light from the screen glimmered upon his face, and he looked and looked at the men slipping by before him. suddenly for julie there seemed to be nothing in the house save those marching figures, and his white face watching them. she fixed her eyes upon them also and a twist of horror shot through her. “look at those men,” she thought. “look at all of them--those are all real men--they aren’t just pictures, they’re real. every soldier there is--or was--a real person. oh, my lord!” she thought suddenly, “i wonder what they’re up against now.”
-at last the war pictures flashed out and a play began. mr. bixby drew a deep breath and julie felt him relax. he turned to her. “i--i was mightily obliged to you,” he ventured, speaking softly.
-julie knew what he meant, but she wondered if he was aware of what she had done.
-“what for?” she questioned.
-“why, you know.” he seemed surprised that she should ask. “at supper, for helping me out. i mean for sort of bringing me into things. after what you did, they saw i was there. but--you know,” he broke off.
-“yes, i know,” she answered.
-“you’ve known right from the first,” he said, daring to speak in the half obscuring dark. “when you’re there, i always know you understand. she--i mean--” he cut himself off; “some people seem to sort of strangle me. i don’t know how it is, but someway, i just can’t get to the surface with them.”
-“can’t get to the surface?” she asked quickly.
-“yes. i mean, to get into the world at all. it was like i wasn’t all in; they seem to slam a door in my face, an’ squeeze me out. i’m only half alive with them. they go right along as though i wasn’t there. i don’t know what it is.” he paused uncertainly, as though trying to blaze a pathway of words through a maze of difficult and heretofore unexpressed thoughts. “i reckon it’s my fault someway--i don’t know--or maybe it’s because i’m insignificant-looking an’ small--though i’m really only a little bit below average height--but folks go along an’ don’t even seem to see me.”
-“i know: i understand,” she breathed.
-“yes,” he whispered sharply, “you do know. that’s just it. you’ve understood right from the first! there was never anybody else who ever did.”
-“it’s--it’s the same with me,” she confessed, a thrill of emotion in her voice. “that’s why i understand. some folks just choke me--an’ i--someway, i don’t know how to stand up against them.”
-“ain’t that funny?” he spoke wonderingly. “ain’t it funny? i thought i was the only one in the world that way.”
-“i know. i thought that, too.”
-they spoke slowly, little pauses between each sentence, as they felt their way on this dim pathway out toward each other.
-when suddenly the play came to an end, the theatre lights flashed up, and they heard elizabeth’s loud confident laugh, they were startled and astray, as though they had come back into a strange world.
-that was a strained summer in hart’s run, an uneasy, nervous war-summer, throwing the village people out of all their accustomed ways, as they gave themselves to the business of war. speakers were sent to them for the various “drives,” from red river and even occasionally from washington as well. judge dean spoke to them in his soft slow voice--oratory strangely different and much more impressive than the flamboyant outbursts of the ordinary campaign-days. “strictly speaking,” he said softly, “your country has no business at the present time but the business of killing huns; and strictly speaking, you have no business but the business of killing huns.”
-what an amazing business for hart’s run! what had hart’s run, up to 1914, ever known about huns? the nervous, high-strung days went by with red cross work, patriotic rallies, the conservation of food, and the tense reading of headlines. long troop-trains went through hart’s run by night and by day, and every now and again a little handful of village men, and men from the surrounding country, left for camp lee.
-the business of killing huns--an amazing business indeed for julie rose! what did she know about huns? she subscribed to the liberty loans, she worked for the red cross, she saved food conscientiously, and she listened to what others read out of the papers; but in truth the war did not touch her very acutely. she did all her duty, and more. she felt some of the horror of the war; but for the most part she looked on as an outsider. so it always was with her. she had always been an outsider--not quite in touch with the rest of the world. people were constantly crowding her shy sensitive nature to one side. as a child she had never been “in it” in the games at school, and now as a grown person she was not in it with her country in this terrible game. perhaps because of this aloofness, which her timid nature had thrust upon her, she did not now feel much of the intense patriotism that ran through the country. that great uplifting thrill of close interest and contact with other human beings that came to many at that time was denied to julie. she did all that was required of her; but she was untouched by any rewarding flame of consecration.
-“it certainly is awful,” she said from time to time. but the awfulness of the war had been going on since 1914, and the first edge of it was gone. yet sometimes the horror stuck its head out abruptly in their very midst. it did for julie on the day that she read in the hart’s run news of the death of john webster in france. “one of our stag county young men,” the news announced, “whose parents, mr. and mrs. otley webster, are prominent citizens of red river.” why, yes; julie knew the websters. she had met them once at henr’etta’s, and henr’etta was always talking about effie webster--about her clothes, her car, how stylish she was, and about her set of new china. henr’etta had told julie about that china the last time she was in red river. and now effie webster’s boy was dead in france. julie shivered, and thought what awful deaths men had to die. she was rather accustomed to violent death in the lumber camps, in the mining-fields west of hart’s run, and on the railroads. hadn’t her own father been killed by a falling tree? julie recalled his death with a quiver--that stretched look of suffering, which had so widened and whitened his face. she was thinking of these things a week or so after the supper party, sitting under the light in her back room, knitting on a sweater, when aunt sadie came in to her from the other side of the house.
-“come on, julie, let’s go to the picture show this evening,” she suggested.
-“i can’t,” julie returned. “i’ve got to get on with this red cross sweater.”
-“well,” the other sighed, “i reckon i oughtn’t to tempt you away from your duty, with our men givin’ their lives over there. ain’t it awful about that mrs. webster’s boy!”
-“awful,” julie assented.
-“it’s the third one of our stag county young men to go. that boy from whifen that was killed early in the war, an’ that young feller that was in the marines, and now mrs. webster’s son. they said when they got the word his mother just fell right over on the floor, an’ was dead for five hours. he was her only boy, and the baby child; an’ now him dead ’way off there--one of our men dead over in france--ain’t it awful?”
-“yes, awful,” julie repeated, hurrying nervously on with her knitting.
-“well--and did you hear about the chapin boy?” aunt sadie continued.
-“no. what about him? what chapin boy?” julie asked, startled.
-“why, you know those chapins that live out on the easter road, ’bout five miles from town? it’s a little log-house, sits back from the road in a right pretty yard.”
-“oh, yes, i know. what about the boy?” julie questioned.
-“cried all the time?”
-“um--’m.” mrs. johnson firmed her lips to a straight line, and nodded her head up and down heavily. “yes, they couldn’t do one thing with him.”
-“but--but what was the matter with him?” julie persisted.
-“i don’t know. he just cried all the time. lost his nerve, i reckon. they sent him back home. they said he wasn’t no good to them. his father feels terrible; says he always was a nervous kind of a boy, an’ his mother humored him along till she just ruined him.”
-“oh, the poor boy!” julie cried.
-“well my lord, julie! just s’pose all our men were like that; what would uncle sam do?”
-“oh, of course, i know. only--how awful it was for him!”
-“well, i’m mighty glad he ain’t my son,” aunt sadie retorted. “it’ll be a thing people’ll throw up against him all his life. folks won’t forget it in a hurry. well,”--she dragged her large figure up out of the plush rocker,--“if you won’t go with me to the picture show, i reckon i’ll just have to go ask mis’ bixby; she’s better’n no company.”
-she went, and after a little julie heard her and elizabeth bixby setting forth. julie sat on alone, knitting under the light, her mind filled with distressful thoughts about the chapin boy, who found camp so awful and the prospect of death in france so overpowering, that he could do nothing but cry. “how dreadful!” julie thought. “what was the matter with him? what made him go to pieces like that? other men stood up against it; what was the matter with the chapin boy? oh, the poor boy! the poor thing! how frightful to give way like that, with all the camp to see!”
-as far as she could remember, she had never talked to the chapin boy and had not seen him very often. she recalled him as a thin gangling youth, with a prominent adam’s apple and shallow, frightened blue eyes. and now he was at home again with a disgrace like that. “oh, the poor boy!” she thought again, horrified at the spiritual collapse that would make one’s pride and reserve go down and leave one exposed before the whole world. “it’s just what i might do if i were a man--just the way i might have acted. oh, i’m glad i’m not a man!” she told herself.
-suddenly in the stillness she heard a sharp sound in the hall. it startled her so that her hands on the knitting-needles jumped together. “oh, what is that?” she thought. she listened rigidly a minute, and heard a creaking on the stairway. with an effort, she wrenched herself up, and stepping to the door pressed the electric button. as the light flashed up in the hall, she saw mr. bixby’s white face looking down at her from the stairway.
-“oh, i scared you,” he said confusedly. “don’t be scared; it’s just me. i didn’t go to frighten you.”
-julie looked up at him. “you?” she cried uncertainly. “oh, it’s you!”
-they stared at each other a moment, and then she turned back into her sitting-room. “well,” she said, relieved, “i’m glad it’s you. i was scared. i didn’t know what to think.”
-he came down the stairs, still apologizing. “i’m sorry. i didn’t go to frighten you. i was upstairs all alone--my wife’s gone to the show with mis’ johnson--and i got to wondering where that door went to, an’ then, just out of curiosity, i hunted round till i found a closet-key that fitted it. but i’m mighty sorry i give you a start.”
-he had come into the little sitting-room now and was leaning over the back of the red-plush rocker, looking down at her. she had returned to her knitting under the light. “oh, it’s all right; it isn’t anything. i just get scared so easy,” she told him, still with a little tremor in her voice.
-“yes,” he said, “i know. some of us do.”
-he still lingered, leaning on his arms over the back of the chair and watching her knit.
-“making a sweater?” he asked.
-“yes, for the red cross.” she spread it out for him to see.
-“well, the feller that gets it’ll be lucky,” he said. still he did not go; and in a moment he spoke again, feeling his way uncertainly. “speaking about being scared--i mean, you said you got scared easy?”
-“yes, i know. and i was thinking how it was with that boy.”
-“what boy?” she asked.
-he waited, looking down at her.
-suddenly julie comprehended a strained anxiety in his tone, and her heart began to beat quickly.
-“yes, i heard,” she said, and kept her eyes down on her knitting now, not to look too closely at him.
-“i know; i heard.” julie knit faster.
-“they said everybody’d laugh at him from now on,” he continued.
-julie raised her eyes and looked straight up at him. “i never will,” she promised.
-he drew a free breath. he seemed to have been waiting for her to say this. “i didn’t b’lieve you would,” he said.
-“i never will,” she answered faithfully again, as though making a solemn compact with him.
-she saw his hands that clutched the back of the chair tremble slightly, and a faint hot moisture broke out upon his forehead. then he stooped closer to her, daring all.
-“you wouldn’t,” she cried sharply. “you wouldn’t! i know you wouldn’t.”
-“but--but i might,” he faltered, moistening his lips. “it’s--it’s just what i might do.”
-“you would not!” julie repeated violently, clutching her knitting so tight that one of the bone needles snapped in two.
-“she said i would,” he persisted. “and then she went off to the show. i was all alone. i got to studyin’ about it. i thought--i thought--”
-“i know,” she interjected quickly. “i know, i understand how it is.”
-he moistened his lips once more, and tried again. “and--and i thought maybe she was right,” he got out at last.
-“she is not right. she isn’t!”
-“and everybody’s laughin’ at the chapin boy--”
-“i’ll never laugh at him.”
-“an’ i thought--” he swallowed again. “i thought, ‘maybe it’ll be you they’ll all be laughin’ at next week.’” he paused a moment. “and--and now you know it all,” he ended.
-“i understand.” julie’s eyes were suddenly full of tears, so that his strained face, gazing hungrily down at her, was blurred through them. “i know. i was sitting here thinking that, too. i was thinking, if i was a man maybe that was just what i’d do. maybe i wouldn’t stand up against things any better than that chapin boy.”
-“you? you thought that?”
-“yes,” she nodded back at him.
-“then you know,” he said, with a breath of relief. “i didn’t want any one to laugh at him,” he went on. “don’t laugh,” he pleaded, as though now he were defending the chapin boy to that cold outside world that had laughed. “maybe he just couldn’t help it, the poor feller! life’s mighty big for some folks--too big--bigger than a lot of us knows how to stand up against. you don’t know how hard he tried; folks don’t know how hard a person tries; but you understand, miss rose?” he suddenly broke off, his eyes coming back to her face. “you understand, miss julie?”
-“yes, i understand,” she answered faithfully. “an’ i know about life being so big.”
-“it’s too big for some folks,” he said. “well, i must go.” he drew himself erect, and started toward the door; then he turned back. “miss rose--miss julie,” he said, “i want to tell you--i didn’t tell you the truth--i don’t have to tell you anything but what’s the truth. i opened that door and found you on purpose. of course i knew where it went. i was sitting there all alone after what she said. and then someway i had to see if you were laughin’ like all the rest. now you know--i don’t have to tell you anything but what’s the truth.” he went then. and presently julie heard the door at the top of the steps shut and locked, and the key withdrawn from the inside.
-not long afterward elizabeth bixby and aunt sadie returned, and presently upstairs julie heard elizabeth’s high voice taunting her husband. the walls were thin, and certain words came vividly down to her. “oh, yes you would, too! you’d be just like him!”
-“that woman’s a devil. she’s just a devil!” julie whispered to herself.
-that was the first time mr. bixby unlocked the door and came down the stairway to julie, but it was not the last. almost every evening elizabeth and aunt sadie went out to the moving pictures, and there was no one in the house except mr. bixby upstairs and julie in her sitting-room below. two or three nights after his first appearance he came again. this time he offered a small excuse. “could i trouble you to lend me a pair of big shears?” he asked awkwardly. but after she found a pair and put them in his hands, he stood and looked at them uncertainly as though he did not know what to do with them, then suddenly he flushed and laid the scissors back on the centre table.
-“i wasn’t tellin’ you the truth,” he confessed abruptly. “i don’t need your scissors. that wasn’t anything but just an excuse. but, someway i can’t lie to you.”
-julie looked straight up at him. “you don’t have to,” she said simply. “you don’t ever have to tell me anything but what’s the truth.”
-with the words she came as it were into a place of peace. all the whirling haste and nervous anxiety of her existence, all its terrors and subterfuges, fell away, and left her still and secure.
-she saw the tension of his face relax also.
-“that’s so,” he said with quick relief. “that certainly is so, miss julie. you’re one person i don’t have to try to fool.”
-he seated himself in the plush rocker easily and naturally. “all my life,” he went on, “i’ve been pretendin’ things. puttin’ up a front an’ tryin’ to fool people into thinkin’ i’m something i ain’t.”
-“i know. i always do it, too,” she answered. “i reckon it’s mighty foolish of us.” she looked at him out of her wide gray eyes which were kindled now with the light of discovery.
-his face broke all at once into laughter. it was a whimsical trick of his nature to experience a certain rueful mirth over his own futilities. “yes,” he assented, “it is foolish! but anyhow we don’t have to do it with one another, do we,” he said, restating the fact. “i’m kind of lonesome to-night, that was why i come down--i didn’t really want the shears.”
-“i know. i understand,” she answered again.
-“my wife likes the movies. she goes to ’em ’most every night, but i don’t care nothin’ about ’em. i don’t see what people finds in them.”
-“i don’t either,” she confessed.
-thereafter they fell into easy and simple conversation. indeed, why should he not sit and talk a little while to her? he told her of the small happenings of his day at the news office and of the big and terrible news of the world. he did not hasten to cover up any silence with the clatter of talk. he spoke when he felt like it, sitting in the plush rocker and watching her sew, and she replied--or was silent--as she pleased. he stayed for a half-hour or so and then he rose.
-“well, i reckon it’s time for me to tell you good-night,” he said, and slipped away up the stairs without further comment.
-after that he came again and again. the house would be still,--as it never was when elizabeth’s noisy personality was at home,--julie would be sewing by her light, when she would hear the key turn in the lock and his foot upon the stair. once or twice he said, “i was kind of lonesome; maybe you’ll let me sit here a spell,” but later he came without even that preamble, simply saying, “well, miss julie, here i am,” and dropping into the plush rocker as though it were his place that was waiting for him. at first his talk was only general news of the day, but as their intimacy deepened they began to unfold themselves to each other more and more. with all the rest of humanity they continually had to pretend, dressing themselves in a garment of life that was altogether too big for them. with others they were always on the defensive, always erecting hasty barriers of reserve and shyness behind which their sensitive personalities might retreat, but with each other they were free; there they could be spontaneous and completely true. their real selves came forth and played about naturally and easily in this intercourse of friendly comprehension. the key words of their intimacy came to be, “i know, i understand,” spoken by her, or “yes, that’s the way it’s always been with me, too,” spoken by him. if there fell a momentary constraint or embarrassment between them, these words were all that were necessary to set them free again. and in the finding of one another’s understanding they found themselves, and a whole new world as well. this world emerged from under all the difficulties and timidities of life as she had known it; from under the strangled inhibitions from which he suffered. it was for them a world that was large and beneficent, where they were big people who were unafraid. it was difficult to put into words what they experienced, but sometimes they groped about to find expression for it.
-“ain’t it strange?” he said. “when i open that door and come down the steps, it’s more than just a door opening. it’s--it’s something in myself. i open the door, and i see you sitting there under the light, and--someway--i find myself when i find you. it’s like when i was a kid and used to be scared in the dark. we lived in the country then, and sometimes they’d send me down to the stable on errands after nightfall. coming back, the dark’ud all close in on me. i’d be so scared, i’d seem to be getting smaller and smaller an’ bein’ smothered. i’d run an’ stumble over things. an’ then all at once, i’d see the light from the kitchen, and folks moving about inside, and everything’d be all right. the dark would kind of draw off. i’d open all up inside, like i’d been set free. an’ that’s the way it is when i come down the steps an’ see you sitting here. it’s like i’d come home. i’m a bigger person down here in this sitting-room than i am anywhere else. i mean to say,” he hesitated, turning the thought over, “there’s more of me here than anywhere else.”
-“but it’s there all the time: i mean, what you really are is there, no matter where you are,” she interrupted.
-“maybe so, but it don’t come out other places. you’ve got the key, miss julie. i’ve got the key to the door, but you’ve got the key to what i am.”
-but for the most part they did not attempt to phrase it, accepting it simply and easily. they had been cramped and terrified, constricted into their smaller selves, by other people and by their own constrained natures, and now this wider existence trembled into view: an existence set free from fear, where they might be themselves and be happy; and they seized upon it with avidity.
-they almost never spoke of elizabeth. julie never did, and he but rarely. “my wife’s gone out with mrs. johnson. she’s crazy about the movies,” he sometimes said. once he said, “i offered to go with her, but she said i wasn’t good enough company. she’d rather have anybody’s company but mine.”
-“well, if she leaves him every night like that, of course he’s lonesome,” julie thought sharply to herself.
-they did not meet thus a great number of times--not more than six or seven, all told. they wondered over the miracle of their friendship and they rejoiced in the new life that it brought to them, yet they spoke no word of love to each other. but there fell at last an evening when the summer night had come down over hart’s run; when children in pretty, clean frocks called to one another through the dusk; when lovers would have walked the street, if it had not been a war year, with most of the young men gone; when the whole village was relaxed and at ease; and when julie, sitting sewing by her light, heard the key scrape in the lock, the creak of footsteps on the stairs, and in a moment looking up saw mr. bixby before her, but with a face so strange and pinched that she cried out, “what is it? what’s happened?”
-he sat down in the rocker and looked at her for a dumb moment. then he spoke.
-“it’s come; my draft call’s come. i got to go.”
-“you got to go?” she whispered.
-“i just got it from the post office. i got to go in the mornin’. she’s out--my wife’s out. i ain’t told her yet. i came to you, miss julie.”
-“you--you got to go in the morning,” she repeated blankly. her work had fallen in her lap, and the delicate folds were crumpled between her clutched hands.
-he nodded. “i got to go. they drafted me.”
-neither of them spoke for a moment. julie swallowed spasmodically once or twice, looking around the little room where their imprisoned personalities had come together in the last weeks. where they had found one another, and in that finding had discovered their hidden selves. where their souls had ventured forth and found a whole new world impinging marvelously upon their constricted everyday existence, and where the timid and reserved room had taken on life from their life.
-“you’re going away?” she faltered again, knowing that this world was falling to pieces. she felt herself beginning to tremble all over.
-“i got to go, honey,” he said, and stretched out his hand open to her across the table. it was the first time he had used a term of endearment--the first time he had stretched his hand to her. she put her own swiftly into his. the two hands, small and thin, locked together there upon the table. she did not look at him, she looked down at their clasped hands in the light--hands that had miraculously found each other out of all the tumult and terrors of life. through the tears that were beginning to burn into her eyes the hands looked dim and uncertain. the trembling of her body ran down her arm into her fingers, and communicated itself to his. a tremor shivered through their hands as they clung together.
-“i--i got to go, ain’t i, little honey?”
-there was a question in his tone now, and she looked up swiftly into his face, the tears arrested and hanging upon her lashes. in his eyes looking hungrily at her she read hesitation and dread. she forgot herself in the realization of what was before him.
-“you’re afraid,” she said abruptly.
-his face flared darkly red, and he put his disengaged hand up before his eyes. but in a moment he took it down and looked straight at her.
-“yes, i am,” he said. “look at me, honey, i don’t mind your knowin’ it. i want for you to know. i want you to know just all i am. you’re the only person in all the world i could ever speak about it to, but i want you to know just the onery little feller i am. you’re my mother, an’ my sister--you’re what i am. i can’t keep nothing back from you. i want to lay my heart right out for you to see.”
-“i know--i understand,” she whispered. she accepted his fear simply and uncritically.
-his hand tightened upon hers desperately. “i’m just a coward, honey, just yeller. i’m afraid of the other fellers; they’ll guy the life out of me. i’ll be everybody’s goat, i know it. she said i would, an’ it’s so. maybe--maybe i can’t stand up to it any better than that chapin boy. an’ i’m afraid of goin’ over an’ of gettin’ killed. i want for you to know it all--all i am! but--but it ain’t the first time i’ve stood up and made myself do things i was scared of. i’ve got to go. oh, lord! maybe i’ll pull through all right!”
-“why do you have to go?” julie cried suddenly, violently. then like the breaking of a dam her words gushed out, tossing aside the mincing phraseology of her mother’s training, and reverting to the tongue of her mountain people. “what’s the world ever give you that you got to stand up now an’ maybe be killed for it? what’s folks ever done for you or for me that we got to please ’em now? did they ever do anything for you? they never done one thing for me! my mother an’ my father was good to me--but they’re dead. an’ what’s other folks ever done for us? ain’t they always crowded us out into the cold an’ slammed the door in our faces? they never let us in to life. they never even knowed we was there. or if they took notice of us, it was just to knock us out er the road, er maybe stamp on us, or wrench us ’round the way they wanted us to go.”
-“that’s god’s truth,” he said slowly.
-“ain’t it always been so?” she rushed on. “did they ever let you be a real person? wasn’t they always slappin’ you out into the cold? even when you was a child, did the other children ever let you in, an’ play with you like they did one another? they never did me.”
-“they never did me either,” he answered. “i was the outsider. they always picked on me.”
-“they tore my paper doll to pieces when i wasn’t doin’ one thing to anybody, an’ all of ’em tramped it into the snow! oh my god! it’s been that way with both of us, always. all our lives we was pinched an’ strangled, an’ thrown aside. they didn’t let us do any more’n just cling to the edges of life. an’ then we found one another.” she was crying now, and her words were cut in two by her gasping breath. “we found one another--we found one another, an’ then we found life! but now they open the door and say, ‘come on in.’ now they got a use for you. now they’ll let you stand up an’ git killed for ’em. they never opened the door to let you into life, but they’ve opened it up wide for you for death! no,” she cried wildly, “you don’t owe folks nothin’! they never give us life--we’ve found life for ourselves together! an’ now, just as we found it, they’d snatch hit away! you don’t have to go!
-“you don’t have to go, do you?” she repeated.
-he looked at her, dazzled by the flaming passion of her face. “we--we could go away an’ hide somewheres together,” he ventured, uncertainly.
-she stared back at him.
-“what would they do to you if they caught you?” she demanded.
-“i dunno.” he shook his head. “but--if we went--it would--you know it would break your life all to pieces. if anything was to happen to me, you couldn’t come back here.”
-“i never had no life to break, ’til you came into it,” she cried. “i never knew what life was. you’ve set me free! you’ve made me all i am. we’ve made each other! our life together--our love--it’s just all there is! oh god! oh god!” she cried, “ain’t we got a right to it?”
-he bowed his head down upon their hands on the table.
-“my honey! my love! my little honey!” he cried.
-the next morning timothy bixby left on the early train going east.
-aunt sadie came in and told julie about it.
-“he’s not really so small,” julie returned sharply. “he’s up to standard height.”
-“i know he is, but someway a person always thinks of him as sort of undersized. but i came in, julie, to tell you something else. i’m goin’ over to stay with betty this afternoon.”
-betty was mrs. johnson’s daughter, who was married and living some twenty miles away in the country.
-“she’s sick, an’ the baby’s ailin’, an’ she can’t get any help over there. i got a card in the morning’s mail asking me please to come, so i’m going over there this evenin’. i wouldn’t be s’prised if i was away for a couple of months. an’ mis’ bixby’s leavin’--”
-“when does she go?” julie demanded.
-“she’s leavin’ on the night train. she’s going back to her home in lynchburg for a spell, and later maybe she’ll go to be near camp lee. she says she’ll not go ’til they kind of get mr. bixby licked into shape. she says she’ll be so ashamed of him at first. i think she’s layin’ off to have a right good time. ain’t that just like the woman? but you’re goin’ to be all alone ’til i come back, julie. you better see to gettin’ somebody to stay with you.”
-“oh, i’ll be all right,” julie evaded.
-so the life that had informed julie’s small establishment for the last few weeks fell suddenly all to pieces. mr. bixby had gone. aunt sadie left with her son-in-law in the afternoon, and elizabeth took the night train. she came in before she went to say good-bye to julie. she was dressed elaborately for her journey, and was in high spirits.
-“my! but i’m glad to be out of this rotten little town,” she announced. “there ain’t anything i can do for tim,” she went on, “so i might just as well fly ’round an’ enjoy myself.”
-here the car came which she had ordered to take her to the station, and in the expansiveness of leave-taking she attempted to kiss julie, but julie started back involuntarily.
-“what’s the matter? did you think i was goin’ to bite you?” elizabeth demanded.
-“oh, all right. goodness knows i don’t want to kiss a person that don’t want to kiss me. well, i’m gone.”
-she went; and the next day julie went also. she went in the early morning when most of the people of the village were still asleep--when lacy mists hung over the mountains, and all the flowers in her little garden were drenched with summer dew. she went out of her side door, locking it after her. in her garden she lingered a moment to pluck a little nosegay of sweet peas and to touch the wet faces of the other flowers with a caressing finger; then she went swiftly. she went with no compunctions. “ain’t i got a right to life?” she asked herself fiercely. “goodness knows we don’t owe folks anything. they never did anything for us!” but though she went unhesitatingly she could not bring herself to turn for a last look at the garden with its row of sweet peas and nasturtiums, nor at the shop staring into the street with its blank shuttered windows. not for anything would she have looked back at that side door. somehow, as she went up the street to the station, she visualized her mother’s figure standing there following her with her eyes, as she had stood so often in life. julie knew she was not there; she knew she just imagined this vision; yet not for worlds would she have turned to glance back. with her eyes set steadily forward up the street, the picture of her mother standing there in the doorway looking after her hung persistently in the back of her mind. her mother had worn very neat white aprons; they used to stand out distinctly against the black of her dress when she stood in the doorway, and sometimes the wind would flutter them a little. she had a way of putting her hand up to shade her eyes as she looked and looked after julie. there was one point in the street where julie had been in the habit of turning to wave to her mother, and her mother used to wave the hand that had been shading her eyes, and with that final gesture turn back into the house. but julie did not pause or turn at this point to-day. whispering defiantly, “ain’t i got a right to my life?” she went steadily on.
-so the remembered vision of her mother did not turn away, but continued to stand there in the door, watching her go, with the hand still shading the eyes.
-at the hart’s run station julie bought a ticket to washington, but when the train reached gordonsville she slipped out of it unnoticed and, buying another ticket, crossed the tracks and boarded the richmond train which was waiting there. at the station in richmond, timothy bixby met her.
-thus, as easily almost as changing from one garment to another, julie rose slipped out of all her established life. with that sudden violent outcry, “what’s folks ever done for you or for me, that we got to please ’em now!” she had burst open a door, through which she and timothy passed defiantly, finding themselves in a world where life turned round and looked at them with apparent beneficence. in the happiness of their companionship they drew long breaths of freedom; and, relaxing into the recreating power of their love, they found themselves and a confidence they had never known, so that for the first time they faced their fellow beings without fear.
-his concern was all for her. when he met her that first afternoon at the richmond station, he insisted that she was tired and must have supper at once before he took her to their rooms. accordingly, they had their first meal together in the station restaurant, a meal that in spite of the city heat and the coming and going of hurried people, was to julie the most wonderful she had ever eaten. afterward they boarded a westbound street-car.
-“i’m afraid you’re going to find the city mighty hot after the mountains,” he said anxiously.
-she did not answer, but she turned and looked at him, and words were not necessary. what did heat or material discomfort matter to her then?
-the city was hot, tired, and flat after long weeks of summer; disheveled and overgrown with extra population also, as were most cities near any of the big training-camps, in that war year of 1918.
-“the rooms ain’t much, honey,” he apologized, as the car ground its way west with jerks of stops and starts. “an’ they ain’t in a swell part of town; but they’re the best i could do, an’--an’ i got something to show you.”
-the rooms were in a part of the city made up almost entirely of blocks of small frame houses, sheltering richmond’s poorer inhabitants, who spilled out of their front doors on to the little porches and into the streets: the men in shirt sleeves, the women sometimes tidied for the afternoons, sometimes still in the depression of wrappers that had been worn through all the heat of the day.
-“you see it ain’t much--pretty hot, an’ cheap out this way,” he apologized again as they got off the car and started along the street.
-she looked up at him as she had looked before. “oh, tim!” she cried; and suddenly she laughed--a ripple of shy wild ecstasy. “oh, tim, honey! how could anything like that matter now?”
-looking at her, he caught the flaming happiness of her face, and laughed too. “i know, i know,” he whispered. “an’ anyhow, i have got something fine to show you,” he added.
-though the streets were for the most part lined with small wooden houses, there was an occasional more pretentious one of brick, and sometimes a larger frame dwelling. it was in one of these last, a double, three-storied house which accommodated several families and one or two single lodgers, that mr. bixby had found an abode for them--a sitting-room, a kitchen, and at the back a bedroom. the rooms were close and the furniture was cheap and ugly, but what did that matter? the porch outside was clothed with a cottage vine, a strip of zinnias and cosmos marched in the tiny front-yard, and at the back was another attempt at a flower bed.
-“oh, tim! oh, tim!” she cried. she stood in the middle of the small domain and turned slowly about. “oh, tim! it’s ours!” the rooms ceased thereat to be mere rooms; with that rush of emotion her heart opened to them, they entered, and the place became her home.
-but he would not let her linger there now. depositing her bags, he urged her out again. “come on,” he cried. “i got to show you ’fore it’s too late.”
-he turned into a street running south, which after a few minutes’ walk came to an end in a small bit of parkway where were a row of benches and a stone balustrade. “there now! look!” he cried. it was his triumph.
-all the cheap sordidness of the city ended abruptly here. beyond was space--a deep drop to the stretches of the james river below. overhead was the infinite breadth and height of the sky, and far across the river, whose tawny waters were tufted by little islands, were green stretches of open country.
-he drew her down to a bench. “this is the jumping-off place,” he told her. “i thought you could come here an’ kind of stretch and breathe when things got too close on you back there in the streets.”
-it was amazing. the mean streets reached almost to them, fenced off by just that little edge of open ground, yet all one had to do was to turn the back upon them to enter another world, a place of space and freedom, of green islands, clean air, the smell of the water, and the yellow flow of it. here, too, they found the secret places of their own souls. the twilight and then the dark came slowly down. they sat together upon the bench, their eyes rested by the open stretches before them, their hands close clasped, their bodies touching, and their soft, half-whispered words feeling out toward one another, as they brought to light all the past tragedies of their lives, all their sorrowful timidities. here was one at last to whom everything might be told, who would listen, who would perfectly understand. they paused often to say in whispered wonder, “why, i never told that to anyone before!”
-he told her there in halting phrases about his marriage. his disjointed words only touched upon the high places, like a child skipping across a brook on the stepping-stones. all the difficult everyday intercourse with his wife that had followed their union was a dark flood he did not dip into. what he did tell was enough for her to understand.
-“we lived in the same town together,” he said. “i’d known her always, off an’ on. she was mighty handsome--big and full of life. everybody thought she was going to marry warwick preston. but i reckon they quarreled or something. anyhow, him and ethel dow ran off and got married. she--elizabeth--lived a few doors down the street from me. we met one evening--she was mighty fine an’ big-lookin’. she asked me to come an’ see her, an’ i went several evenin’s. one night she cried, an’ said how lonesome she was. i was lonesome, too--”
-“i understand,” julie cried hastily, and he went no further with his explanation. they turned away from the unhappy past to the miracle of the present.
-“we’re free! we’re free!” she exulted. “none of the little old fears can hold us any more. we’ve found ourselves, honey! we’ve found one another.”
-“it was you unlocked the door an’ set me free,” he burst out. “you’re my sister an’ my mother! you’re all i am. oh, my little honey! my love!”
-“i’m your sister an’ your mother--i’m the one that would die for you!” she cried in answer.
-after that they needed no more words. silence fell, and the dusk that had faded now into dark, wrapped them close about. they sat thus for a long time, but at last it was late, and rising they made their way hand in hand like happy children back to the three little rooms that were now their home.
-in the lodging-house in their new life together julie and mr. bixby passed as mr. and mrs. freeman. it was julie who named them.
-“an’ that’s the truth; we are free. it isn’t any lie,” she pleaded.
-“it’s god’s truth,” he affirmed solemnly.
-they kept their own first names, for they both clung tenaciously to the truth whenever it was possible. indeed, they did not practise many subterfuges nor make any very great effort at concealment. in this big strange life of a city where neither of them had ever been before, it did not seem likely that he would be traced, or that a country so grimly occupied with war and great undertakings would pause long enough in all the mad confusion to note that one inconspicuous man had failed to appear at the place assigned to him. they were not worried either about finances. they each had a small stock of ready money, and julie had a couple of liberty bonds which could be sold in case he found any trouble in getting work. they had agreed that he must leave his bonds for elizabeth, although, as she had a small income of her own, she was independent of his support. he found a position almost at once in a printing establishment where war had left them short of men, and where they welcomed his expert services. julie planned to seek work also later on, but for the present he entreated her not to.
-“no, take time just to be alive a while,” he begged. “why, we’re almost as new as adam an’ eve; all i want you to do is just to help me name the animals.”
-“name the animals!” she laughed, as no human being had ever laughed before at his small whimsicalities.
-they were both released into a gayety and laughter of life that heretofore had passed them by. youth flowed back into julie’s face, and with it her lost prettiness--or perhaps a fresh prettiness which even her youth had never known. ordinarily the strangeness of their new surroundings, with the inevitable publicity of the lodging-house, would have terrified them both. but not now. as certain animals put their young in the centre of the flock, and then in companionship face the enemy boldly, so together they pooled their confessed weaknesses and fears, and thus were able to turn an assured front to the rest of the world. their passion had released them. heretofore they seemed to themselves to be clinging merely to the edges of life, but now they were at its flaming centre. nay more, they were life itself; and from the heart of it they looked forth at the rest of the world with a fearless joy. like children who make a tent out of a couple of chairs roofed by an old shawl and, creeping under it, find an enchanted world of their own, no matter what tragedies may be facing the grown-up people around them, so under the grim roof of a world’s war these two discovered a miraculous existence. after their long years of repression, in this sudden release they were intoxicated with the rapture of existence. for julie the days flowed by in ecstasy, from early morning when she arose and prepared his breakfast, on through all the happy day as she attended to her small home tasks, and so to the fall of evening which brought him home again--every moment was a golden joy keyed to a hidden rhythm. other people also became a delight to her. with that one defiant and releasing cry of hers, she had defied people, and found freedom; but now that she was free, she no longer held any grudge against them. indeed, one of the keenest delights in her new existence was a fearless and easy intercourse with the rest of the world. her happiness and vividness of life was such that it could not be contained within their own two personalities, but must flow forth in a warm friendliness to all the people with whom she came in contact--to the children in the street, the clerks in the shops and at market, and to the other lodgers in the house. with these last she found herself on friendly terms almost at once.
-they were ordinary enough people, but to julie they seemed different from any she had ever known. there was mrs. watkins, who had the rooms across the hall from julie on the first floor. she was a frail and tired little woman, wilted by the heat, and burdened with the care of four small children. she generally managed to get herself into a tidy dress late in the afternoon, but most of the day she went about in a wrapper, her hair in curl-papers, and her constant complaint, “my lord, ain’t it hot!” to help her with her sewing for the children was a delight to julie. she did it so eagerly and so well, that even mrs. watkins’ fretful discouragement was pierced by gratitude.
-“my, but you’re kind! why, you couldn’t be kinder to me if you was my own sister,” she burst out one day, as julie held up a completed dress with pretty summer ruffles. “i never did think i’d get that dress finished for poor little nell. looks like the heat always drags me down so--but you! why, you ain’t been at it no time, an’ now it’s all done. nell!” she called out of the window into the hot street, “nelly! run here a second; momma’s got something to show you, dearie.”
-the little girl entered the cluttered bed-sitting-room, a languid and pale little creature of eight years, but when julie held up the little frock before her, her eyes lighted with joy.
-“oh, momma!” she breathed, turning to her mother. “oh, it’s done, ain’t it!”
-she seized the dress, and holding it up under her chin, danced away to look at herself in the faded mirror.
-“oh, momma! let me wear it this evening,” she pleaded, turning about from side to side, preening before the glass.
-“you better take time to thank mis’ freeman, ’stead er primpin’ like that,” her mother admonished her. “she’s the one finished it for you, she’s your friend.”
-“thank you, thank you, marm,” the child said, turning toward julie. the words were constrained and inadequate, spoken in obedience to her mother’s command; but as she stood there with the pink folds of the frock caught close to her and her pinched face flushed with happiness, she was a little point of color and joy that lighted up the discouraged room and made her mother’s eyes linger upon her fondly a moment, then turn for sympathetic understanding to julie.
-“look what else i got,” julie said, and took a small package from her workbasket. the child unwrapped it shyly and a bright pink ribbon shimmered into view.
-“for my hair--to match the dress,” she breathed, and fell dumb with happiness.
-“my, but you’re kind!” mrs. watkins exclaimed again.
-“oh, it ain’t anything,” julie deprecated. “i love to see children in pretty clothes, an’ i like to sew. i used to do dressmaking up in the country where i lived.” with the words, suddenly the sight of her little shop in hart’s run staring with blank shuttered windows out upon the street, with its nasturtiums and sweet peas in the side yard, rose up in her mind and hung there a moment before it dissolved. it gave julie a sharp stab of unexpected wistfulness.
-“i had a little shop once--a millinery shop, where i did sewing, too,” she confided. somehow she felt she must speak of her home. it had come to her as a shy child comes to its mother’s knee, and she must give it some touch of recognition. “it was a shop in the front, and i had my living rooms in behind, and a little garden on the side with sweet peas and nasturtiums in it,” she went on, offering the inner vision propitiation.
-“my! that must’ve been nice,” the other said. “you’d like that. my lord! ain’t it hot! i wish’t i was in the country right this minute.” she mopped her face with a dingy handkerchief. “what was the name of the place?”
-“oh, it’s just a little town up in the mountains,” julie evaded. “you wouldn’t ever have heard of it.”
-“what’s its name?” mrs. watkins persisted. “maybe i have. i had a brother used to be in the lumber business up in the western part of the state.”
-“its name--its name--” julie hesitated. she found it extraordinarily difficult to lie, and yet to speak the truth would be utter recklessness. all the time the little shop which had been her home seemed to hang there in her mind expectant, waiting to see whether she would own or deny it.
-“its name’s red river,” she said at last, with an effort. instantly the picture of the shop broke and swirled away. “oh, no, it isn’t! no, it isn’t!” she corrected herself breathlessly, and completely reckless now. “it’s hart’s run. red river’s the county town. but it’s hart’s run--hart’s run,” she cried, “where my home was.”
-then, terrified by what she had done, her heart began to flutter violently up and down and she looked wildly about for some means of changing the conversation. as she did so she caught sight through the window of a strange old woman going down the porch steps, and passing uncertainly out into the street.
-“oh, mrs. watkins,” julie whispered, “look quick. who is that old woman?”
-mrs. watkins peeped out. “that? oh, that’s the poor old soul lives all by herself up on the third floor. she’s mighty peculiar. it’s miss fogg.”
-“i’ve seen her several times, an’ meant to ask about her. what’s the matter with her? she looks--she looks dreadful,” julie cried, glad to elaborate the subject, and hoping that the name she had spoken would be overlooked.
-“well, she’s mighty peculiar,” mrs. watkins repeated. “i reckon she must be cracked.”
-“but she looks so strange, so--so awful,” julie persisted.
-“but don’t people go in to see her, to see what’s the trouble?”
-“oh, she don’t thank you to: she’s mighty peculiar, i tell you. an’ proud--who-ee! it’s enough to kill you with laughing, but that old rag-bag that looks like she hadn’t washed herself for a week--she thinks herself better’n anybody in this house. wouldn’t that kill you? that’s because she used to go out sewing for some of the grand people here in town. that’s her trade--dressmaking.”
-“oh, well, then she and i ought to get along,” julie cried eagerly. “i’ll go to see her. i hate to have any one look so awful.”
-“she won’t thank you an’ she won’t see you; she’ll just slam the door in your face. she seems like she’s mighty suspicious of every one. she won’t have a thing to do with anybody, i tell you.”
-“i’m going to see her just the same,” julie persisted. “it’s awful--the look in her face, i mean. it’s like she hadn’t a friend in the world.”
-“she won’t let anybody be friends with her, she’s so proud an’ touchy, an’ so peculiar.” mrs. watkins hastened to defend the neighborliness of the house. “people ain’t going to put up with it. some of the ladies she sewed for used to come to see her and bring her things, but she’s so stand-offish even with them that they’ve about quit comin’.”
-“what does she live on?” julie inquired.
-“oh, she ain’t poor. she’s got some private means of her own. no, ma’am, she ain’t poor.”
-“there’s something dreadful the matter with her,” julie said distressfully. “i met her one day on the porch and looked straight into her eyes, and i never saw anything so--so awful looking.”
-“well, there was a doctor once came to see her; one of the ladies she used to sew for had him to come; an’ he said she was mighty bad off; said she had some sort of melancholia, an’ it wasn’t really safe to have her goin’ ’round loose; said she was liable to do something terrible.”
-“what? what would she do?” julie’s eyes widened with apprehension.
-“i dunno.” the other shook her head. “maybe kill herself, or something.”
-“how awful!” julie gasped, appalled. “the poor, poor thing!”
-that night after supper, as they sat in the little park overhanging the river, julie confessed to tim that she had told mrs. watkins she came from hart’s run.
-“i don’t know how i ever came to do such a thing,” she said in a frightened voice; “i didn’t mean to speak of it; i tried not to. i tried my best to lie. an’ first i said ‘red river,’ but right away i changed it to ‘hart’s run.’ i had to. it seemed like i’d almost slapped my home an’ all the days that were gone right in the face when i said ‘red river.’ i oughtn’t to have said ‘hart’s run’--i know i oughtn’t to. oh, do you reckon it’s done any harm? do you think we ought to move away some place else?”
-“no--no. it’s all right. i don’t expect she even noticed,” he comforted her. “it’s all right.”
-she was leaning against him, and he felt a tremor of fear shiver through her.
-“my little honey, it’s all right,” he whispered, his arm tightening round her. “it’s all right. i’m glad you said ‘hart’s run.’ i wouldn’t have had you not to. don’t get scared.”
-they were all alone on the lower terrace of the park. at their back rose a steep bank. in front was the sheer drop to the river, overhung by the wide soft spaces of the misty air. their hands met in a tight clasp, and for a moment they were silent in the ecstasy of their complete trust in each other. but after a moment she spoke diffidently.
-“tim, i got a notion about our--our happiness.” they never spoke of it as love. “i want to tell you about it.” she had fallen into a little trick of saying eagerly, “i want to tell you,” or “i want to tell you all about it.” and always he answered, “tell me, my little honey.”
-since her mother’s death there had never been any one who had really wanted to hear what she had to say, and even her mother had not wanted it, had not understood, in the complete way that he did. now, because of his understanding, her thoughts poured themselves out in a manner that astonished her. his creative sympathy made ideals and fancies, which heretofore had been too deep or too elusive to be expressed, come forth fleshed in words.
-“tell me, my honey,” he said now.
-“well, our happiness, tim--it’s so--so alive, that it seems like it was a real thing running through us, like the way sap runs up the trees in spring. oh, honey, ’til you came i was as dead as a winter branch, an’ now it seems like i couldn’t hold all the happiness, all the life that’s mine. i got to pour it out for other folks.”
-“what’s folks ever done for you, or for me, that you got to please ’em now?” he said unexpectedly.
-she was startled, frightened by his quotation of her own words. “oh, i don’t feel that way now,” she cried. “i don’t feel it now that we got each other, do you? do you, tim?” she questioned anxiously, trying to read his face in the dusk.
-“no, i don’t now--now that we’re free,” he answered. “i know something,” he announced suddenly.
-“what? what do you know?”
-“oh, honey! it wa’n’t really the other folks kep’ us down. it was our own selves, our scary selves that we couldn’t break free of.”
-she stared out into the wide dusk in amazement. “that’s the truth,” she said at length, with deep conviction. “it’s just the truth. nobody to blame but our own little selves,” she repeated. “nobody to blame, not--why, tim, not even elizabeth!”
-“no, not even her,” he nodded back.
-they were neither of them bitter people; and with this revelation all their resentment towards the rest of the world melted away, leaving their hearts clean-swept and trembling with reverence toward the great happiness and emancipation that was theirs.
-“oh, tim, i got to try an’ help people,” she whispered, presently. “i’m so happy i got to pour some of it out for somebody. that’s why i got to try an’ help that poor old miss fogg.”
-“who’s miss fogg?” he questioned.
-“she’s that poor thing lives up on the third floor all to herself,” she told him. “sometimes she shuts herself in for days and days and won’t see a soul, mrs. watkins was telling me. she’s awful to look at, just awful. she’s--she’s--oh, tim, she scares me! she’s what i might have grown into if you hadn’t come. i’ve got to help her! it seems like i owe it to our happiness to try an’ make her happy, to pour life back into her! oh, honey, you don’t care if i take some of our happiness and give it away, do you?” she cried suddenly, twisting off whimsically.
-“take all you want of it.” he made a gay, large gesture of bestowal. “there’ll always be a plenty to go round.”
-they broke into happy laughter together in the dusk.
-so hand in hand, laughing softly together, they wandered away along the summer street.
-there was just one incident that momentarily disturbed for julie the sheer felicity of that evening. as they approached broad street they realized that the lifeless air, which was redolent of tobacco from the factories farther down-town, and permeated as well with the smell of the hot pavement, of fruit stands and grocery shops, or enlivened with occasional whiffs of perfumery from a passing woman, was being lifted and woven into rhythm by a band. at the sound children broke their play and began to run, and grown people also stepped off their porches and hastened toward the music. julie and tim ran with the rest of the crowd, reaching the corner just as a detachment of marching men swung by in rippling khaki lines. the crackle of clapping hands from the small crowd which had assembled followed the strains of the band and the stamp of the men’s feet, and, as the flag came swaying past, the people cheered and cheered. tim did not applaud. he stood very drawn and still, his eyes fixed upon the marching men; and suddenly, as the cheers broke out for the flag, he gripped julie’s hand so violently that a ring her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday cut sharply into her finger. she did not let herself wince, but she fixed her eyes upon his face. once she twitched his hand, but he did not stir or turn from the soldiers. the detachment passed, the crowd began to disperse, and the band grew faint in the distance, but still he stood upon the curb, staring fixedly down the street. julie gave his hand another little frightened pull, but he only tightened his grip so that the ring bit deeper into her flesh.
-“oh, tim!” she gasped involuntarily at the pain. “oh, honey!”
-he started then and looked down at her as though coming back from far away. “my honey,” he muttered absently.
-“let’s go get our ice cream,” she pleaded.
-“ice cream?” he paused. “why, yes--sure.”
-he was awake now. the soldiers had disappeared down the street. his spirit was back once more with hers, and the terror that had swooped upon her lifted and blew away.
-the rest of the evening was unalloyed happiness. his gayety overflowed almost boisterously. they had their ice cream, and then they went to a moving picture that made them laugh immoderately. after that, in sheer exuberance of life and joy they had more ice cream, and then at last, replete with happiness, they wandered home through the silent streets.
-it was not, however, an easy matter to make friends with old miss fogg, as julie discovered, in spite of her ardent longing to do so. the next morning, full of friendly desire, she went up the stairs to the bare third floor where the old woman had her room, and knocked upon her door. there was no answer. the empty hall was deserted and still save for the complaint of a few flies upon the dim unwashed window at one end, which gave what little light there was. behind the closed door that faced her there was no sound. julie waited there, the bearer of a cup of life that was brimful and eager to pour itself out in self-donation. a second time she knocked and waited, and finally a third time. then at last she heard a noise within the room. the bed creaked, and footsteps came toward the door. the handle was turned and old miss fogg looked forth. in spite of herself julie fell back a step or two. the old face staring out at her was so startling, so haggard, so defiant, and so horrible with despair, that she was speechless before it. for an instant the head was thrust out at her, its gray unbrushed hair, its withered neck set in torn nightgown-ruffles, looking like some grotesque despairing jack-in-the-box. then before julie could muster a word, the face was withdrawn, the door banged shut, and the key twisted in the lock.
-julie turned and fled down to her own room, her heart pounding, and her knees rather weak beneath her. “but i will get in to her yet. i will, i will!” she told herself.
-later in the day she confessed her failure to mrs. watkins.
-“well, didn’t i tell you that was just the way it would be?” the other said, taking a gloomy satisfaction in the coming true of her prediction.
-“but i will get in to help her yet,” julie persisted. “she scares me; but i won’t let her shut herself up and suffer like that all alone. i can’t bear to think of it: it hurts me all through.”
-“well, she’s not the only one suffering these days,” mrs. watkins returned sombrely. “look at the awful things happening in europe: young men being killed, an’ children starving, an’ old folks driven out of their homes.” mrs. watkins was holding her youngest child, a little boy of two, in her arms and rocking as she spoke.
-“i know,” julie assented, “but that’s ’way off there across the ocean; miss fogg’s right here, right up over my head, suffering. the things that are happenin’ over there don’t seem so close.”
-“don’t it seem close when it’s our own men, our own boys, fightin’?” mrs. watkins challenged. “my lord! my youngest brother’s over there right this minute! it don’t seem far away to me--nor to my mother.”
-“i know, i know,” julie answered hastily, breathlessly. “i know; but--”
-“you’re lucky that your man don’t have to go. why was it you said they turned him down?”
-“it was--it was flat foot,” julie said. she cleared her throat after she had said it, swallowing nervously, her eyes fixed upon her sewing.
-“well, if i was you, i’d be glad he had it,” mrs. watkins went on, rocking her child in her arms. “i seen you in the crowd last night watching the soldiers. you didn’t see me, but i was noticing mr. freeman, an’ the way he looked after them men made me think he wished he was with ’em.”
-“oh, no, he doesn’t!” julie protested sharply.
-“well, he looked like he did, an’ if i was you i’d be glad he had that flat foot.”
-“you’re lucky, an’ i’m lucky that my old man don’t have to go,” mrs. watkins continued. “but look at my little sister-in-law. there’s my brother had to leave her, an’ she lookin’ for her first baby any day, an’ no more’n a child herself. no, i’m sorry for miss fogg. she is a poor old derelict all right, but i don’t think of her first these days.”
-“i’m going to see her again to-morrow,” julie said. “i’m going to get in to see her yet. she’s got to let me in to help her.”
-the next morning julie went to market early, and purchased a little nosegay of summer flowers. she lingered some time in the cool shadow of the arcade where the flower stalls were. it was pleasant to come out of the dazzle of the street into the relief under the arches, where the colored women sold herbs and simple flowers, gathered from the fields or from their own small gardens outside the city. it was a place of lovely color, refreshing the eye and enlightening the heart. here were pot marigolds, orange and yellow and straw color, all in a great basin together, with an old black woman in a blue checked apron bending her dark wrinkled face over them. there was a drift of white marguerites, and again crimson and pink zinnias in stiff bunches. beyond them a big bunch of althea, goldenrod in yellow masses, and still farther on, with a streak of sunlight falling over them, a tub of cosmos, the pink and white blossoms feathered with the green of their foliage. the flowers were up on stalls or down upon the floor in tubs and buckets in long rainbows of color, with the dark faces of the negro women beside them, and every now and then some added flash of pink or blue from the bright summer frock or parasol of a purchaser.
-julie wished that tim were there to share the delight with her. she would have liked to stand and look across the flower stalls with him beside her. it was hard to know what to buy, but at last she chose a little bunch of blue nigella, “love-in-a-mist,” and made her way home.
-later in the morning she ventured upstairs again and, holding the flowers, which she had put into a glass of water, in one hand, she knocked upon miss fogg’s door with the other and waited as before, standing in the empty uncarpeted hall with her heart fluttering.
-there was no response to her knock; yet julie could hear the sound of some one stirring in the room. again she knocked and again there was no answer; yet julie was sure that miss fogg was within. she waited a moment more, and then turned the handle tentatively. to her surprise the door was unlocked, and greatly daring, she pushed it open and walked in. her first impression was of the ill-smelling and wretchedly untidy room; the next of old miss fogg standing by the side of her bed, glaring at her with furious, sunken eyes. she had on a soiled and torn nightgown, her gray hair fell wildly upon her neck, and her feet were bare on the floor.
-“oh--oh please excuse me,” julie faltered.
-“an’ who might you be?” the old woman demanded in a cold fury.
-“i’m--i’m julie--julie freeman,” julie said hastily, getting her words out as fast as possible before the storm broke. “i’m living here in the house. i brought you some flowers. i thought--”
-“you thought!” the other screamed. “you thought nothin’! you wanted to come pushin’ an’ pryin’ in here, sticking your nose where you got no business, an’ nobody wants you, just so’s you could run out in the street an’ tell everybody how old miss fogg lives!”
-“i didn’t, i didn’t!” julie cried. “of course i wouldn’t do such a thing.”
-but in truth she was so painfully aware of the whole dreadful state of the room that she dropped her eyes perforce before the faded glare of the other’s, and found herself staring down at the bare old feet.
-“yes,” the old woman cried shrilly. “look at my feet! look at ’em good! look at ’em, i tell you! an’ then run out an’ tell the world how you found old miss fogg in her dirty nightgown an’ her bare feet! yes, look at ’em! look at ’em, i tell you!”
-the distracted old creature began a sudden fantastic dance of rage and mortification, standing first upon one foot, and then on the other, while the free leg kicked defiantly out at julie, the nightgown falling back from the withered shin. “yes, look at ’em,” she screamed. “yes, they’re dirty. oh, my lord! go on, tell everybody what you seen!”
-“oh, my dear, my dear,” julie cried pitifully, “you know i didn’t come for that! i--i just wanted to bring you these flowers. i’m so sorry.” her heart was jumping violently up and down; she wanted to turn and flee; but she forced herself to stay. “she’s crazy,” she thought. “she must be crazy. oh, poor thing, poor thing! it was awful of me to push in like this, but now i am in, i’ve got to stay an’ help her.”
-“look, i brought you some flowers,” she repeated. “i came to make friends.”
-“friends!” the old woman shrieked at her. “friends! oh, my god!” but her rage and her wild dance had exhausted her, and she sank down now upon the edge of the tumbled, unmade bed, trembling and shaken. “oh,” she moaned, “ain’t it a cruel thing that a person can’t be left alone--not one minute--sick an’ miserable like i am! but strangers got to come pushin’ an’ crowdin’ their way in here to stare at my dirt an’ my rags! take your eyes off my feet!” she broke out violently, beginning once more to dance her feet up and down upon the floor, as though shaking something off. “take ’em off, i tell you--i feel ’em--i feel ’em lookin’, burnin’ holes in my feet!”
-with shaking hands she dragged at her nightgown, endeavoring to pull it down and cover her naked feet. but the material was old and rotten. it gave way under the violence of her hands, and a long tear was wrenched in it. for a moment old miss fogg stared at it, clutching the torn stuff and peering stupidly at her bare old knees exposed by the rent. then she burst into impotent tears. “look,” she wept. “now just look what i done to my gown!” all the rage and defiance were gone. she was a despairing, helpless old woman weeping upon the edge of her bed, incapable any more of coping with the difficulties of life.
-“oh, lord! oh, lord!” she wept, her shoulders shaking convulsively beneath her straggling hair.
-the tears leaped into julie’s eyes. she came quickly and laid a tender hand on her shoulder.
-“never mind, never mind about your gown,” she comforted. “i’ll mend it for you.”
-“it ain’t my gown,” the other wept. “it ain’t just my gown! it’s--o god almighty! it’s everything!”
-“i know! i know!” julie cried poignantly. “you’re sick. i understand.”
-“i’m crazy. i’m all in a kind of a daze.” the old woman wept convulsively. “o god, what’s the matter with me? i can’t seem to find myself.”
-she looked up at julie, her mouth tremulous and her old eyes filmed with despairing tears.
-“i can’t find myself, i--i b’lieve i’m crazy,” she repeated desperately. “i can’t fix up no more. i ain’t got no heart left for nothing.” she turned her head dumbly from side to side. “i know everything’s dirty: it’s all in a mess. but i can’t fix up no more.”
-“tired! i’m so tired i wish’t i was dead,” the other cried.
-“i know; i understand,” julie’s tender hand still caressed her. “but i’ve come to help you. i’m your friend. i’ll fix everything up for you, an’ then you won’t feel so bad. look at the flowers i brought you.”
-she held the gay, alluring little nosegay out. the old woman took her clinched hands down from her face, and stared dimly at it. her cheeks were smudged with tears, and she swallowed convulsively, like a child when its storm of grief is past.
-“see,” julie went on, her compassionate voice soothing her. “see, honey, i got them in market for you this morning. look how nice an’ fresh they are.”
-the flowers with their blue blossoms peeping through the netted greenery, like faces looking through latticed windows, seemed a lodestone to draw the old creature’s attention away from her despair. she put out one trembling finger and touched them uncertainly, and although she did not speak, she let her gaze linger upon them.
-“where shall i set them?” julie questioned, now for the first time daring to raise her eyes and look about the unhappy room. the whole place was in disorder. dust lay everywhere; clothes were upon the floor and tumbled on chairs; the window was dim and smudged with dirt; a sick canary bird drooped in its cage, and a geranium plant was withered and dead in the window. the life had gone out of every small attempt at homemaking. the curtains, which had once been clean and festive, were soiled and torn now, and the white covers upon the bureau were crumpled. the spirit in the old woman which should have informed her dwelling place with life and cheer was as withered at its roots as the geranium in the window. there was just one thing which caught julie’s eye amid all the squalor. that was the photograph of a young girl on the mantel shelf. unlike the rest, it was dusted and cared for. the frame was bright and the glass clean. it appeared to stand as the last pinnacle of hope, over which the despair that had engulfed the rest of the room had not as yet surged.
-“where shall i put the flowers?” julie questioned again, and the old woman raised her eyes and pointed to the picture. “there,” she commanded.
-julie stepped across and placed the nosegay before the picture. it was that of a young girl, dressed in a fashion of some fifteen years ago.
-“what a pretty little girl,” she said. “who is she?”
-old miss fogg stared at the picture through dim eyes. “my little baby child--all i got in the world,” she muttered at length and broke into fresh tears. “she’s all the kin i got in the world, but she’s married an’ gone, and i ain’t seen her for ten years,” she wept. “oh, my baby, my honey! why don’t you come see your old tannie no more? o sweetness, i want to see you so bad!”
-“you haven’t seen her for ten years!” julie exclaimed. instantly she saw the thin old shoulders stiffen, and felt an unseen veil drawn. miss fogg looked up in quick defiance, a crafty challenge in her eyes.
-“who said she ain’t been to see me for ten years?” she demanded.
-“why you said--” julie faltered.
-“i ain’t said nothing!” the other stormed. “folks tells lies. i don’t know what’s got into people. they ain’t got no idea about the truth no more. what business they got telling tales about my little honey, saying she ain’t coming to see me no more? they don’t know,” she spoke mysteriously, “but i’m expecting her most any day now. she’ll come to me soon, my baby’ll come soon to her old tannie.” her tone changed, she looked up at julie, and spoke with a pathetic dignity, “i’m looking for a visit from my little niece,” she said. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she was to come to-day.”
-she made the statement defiantly, yet there lurked in her eyes an anguish of entreaty that implored julie to confirm her.
-“why, yes, indeed!” julie answered eagerly. “why, yes, she’s liable to come almost any day now.”
-“but she don’t come! she don’t come! oh, my baby! my honey! i want to see you so bad!” once more the old woman began to rock herself to and fro hopelessly.
-“but she will come! she’ll come soon now,” julie promised.
-old miss fogg gazed up into her face, her mouth hanging open and tremulous with eagerness, as she gathered encouragement from julie’s assurance. then her eyes wandered away over the room.
-“but look!” she cried. “if she was to come, how’m i going to see her in this pigsty? i ought to fix up; but i ain’t got the heart--i ain’t even got the heart to wash my face,” she confessed looking at julie piteously, the slow impotent tears gathering in her eyes.
-“never mind, never mind,” julie comforted her quickly. “you don’t have to worry. i’ll fix it all up for you. you lie down now,” she coaxed. “lie down and rest a while, an’ i’ll get things straight.”
-to her surprise the old woman yielded, and let herself be helped back into bed, where exhausted by all her storms of emotion, she fell asleep almost immediately.
-that was the beginning of julie rose’s friendship with old miss fogg. thereafter, as the days went by, tenderly, persistently, baffled sometimes by the old woman’s outbreaks of rage and suspicion, or worse still by the terrible inertia of depression which constantly settled over her, julie gradually won her way further and further with the other, and by the sheer indomitable persistency of her compassion managed to drag her back occasionally almost to the shore of normal life. at least her room and her person were clean and in order, and julie saw to it that she had regular meals--dainty little lunches cooked by herself. sometimes she was rewarded by an outburst of gratitude, that usually ended in tears. “you’re good!” the old woman would cry seizing julie’s hand convulsively. “i don’t know what you want to be so good to a poor old wreck like me for.”
-“why, of course i got handsome clothes,” miss fogg retorted with a proud jerk of her head. “why, who do you take me for? i don’t belong with all the common trash that lives in this house. i’ve sewed for all the best people in town. i ain’t used to common people; i’m used to quality. but these folks here--they’re as common as pig-tracks. you don’t s’pose i’d run with them, do you? an’ i’ve always been used to keeping myself nice an’ elegant. i wasn’t one to lay around in wrappers all day. but now--oh my lord!”
-“look,” julie hastily interposed, forestalling the rising tears. “just see how nice you look with your hair fixed like i’ve done it to-day.”
-she held a mirror up, and miss fogg peered blindly at herself for a moment in silence. but as she looked a dim satisfaction grew in her face.
-“why that looks real nice, don’t it?” she said, turning her head to one side with self-conscious shyness.
-indeed, with her indomitable persistency julie had won out of this human ruin some of the mellowed grace of a more fortunate old age. with the creative power of her devotion she had gone forth into the dark waters engulfing the old woman, had struggled there, and dragged her back into life; and having won a precarious hold upon her affection, she poured forth the overflowing joy of her heart in her service.
-miss fogg continued to stare at her reflection, her lip trembling slightly. it seemed as though the vision of her past self was given faintly back to her out of the mirror. she bent over and looked still closer. “why,” she said slowly, “that’s me--that’s the way i used to be ’fore i lost my ambition.” she raised her eyes to julie with a faltering surprise. “why,” she cried, “why you’ve give me back to myself.”
-she patted the ruffles at her neck, and smoothed her hair with a fleeting return of vanity.
-“i was always a great hand to keep myself fixed up nice,” she boasted. “an’ now you’ve put new life into me.”
-julie looked at her suddenly, her eyes wide and shining.
-“that was what i came for,” she said solemnly. she took the old withered hand and pressed it against her own breast that was so warm and full of living happiness. “i came to bring you life,” she repeated. “i have so much--i’m so happy, so alive! i want you to share it.” she still pressed the withered hand against her breast with her warm and eager ones. “it’s all here in my heart, all the happiness and the life that any one in the world could need. it’s here for you. don’t you feel it running out to you?”
-it seemed to julie in that moment of intense donation as though indeed something out of her very heart rushed forth for the other’s re-creation. her eyes burning with an almost unearthly light, she gazed down at the old woman and wrung a flickering response even out of that half dead personality, so that she leaned her head against julie’s breast. “if anybody could put life into my old carcass, it would be you,” she said. “you couldn’t be any sweeter to me if i was your own mother.”
-“you are my mother!” julie cried passionately. “my mother, an’ my sister, an’ my child!” with the words, something seemed to open within her and she was conscious of so tremendous an inrush of life and insight that she was half frightened and made giddy by the swirl of it.
-“i know,” he returned, with the same awe. “i understand. i saw it, too.”
-“you saw it, too?”
-he nodded, looking at her strangely. “yes, that time the soldiers went by, an’ i stood on the side of the street an’ let them pass; an’ another time too, when we were at the pictures, an’ there were american boys goin’ up to the front. there was one--”
-but she would not let him finish. his look frightened her. it was aloof and far away as it had been when he watched the line of marching men go by. she caught his hand and began to talk very fast.
-“oh, tim,” she begged, “think of miss fogg! she’s getting better: i know she is. she kissed my hand to-day an’ said i’d given her back life.”
-“julie--” he began again, but again she cut him short.
-“think what our love’s done,” she persisted. “it’s given life to her: it’s our love that’s done it.”
-his expression was still aloof, and he struggled once more to speak. “julie,” he began, but she would not have it.
-“oh, tim--honey! don’t!” she begged; and with a little sob she buried her face against his breast. he stooped and kissed her then, and said no more.
-as the days drifted by, it seemed indeed as though julie’s passion of loving service had worked a miracle in old miss fogg--that broken vessel which life had cast upon the midden of the world. her canary bird, restored to life, sang in the window. the geranium was dead; but julie bought another, so the effect of the room was gay, with white curtains blowing in the wind, the bird’s song, and the flower in the sunshine.
-the room’s vigor and cleanliness inspired miss fogg to attempt mending her clothes and putting them in order.
-“it would be a right funny thing,” she said, “if i couldn’t put my own old duds to rights, me that always did the fine sewin’ for all the swellest brides in town.”
-her fits of depression and indifference persisted but, sustained by julie, she was more alive between the attacks, more able to look after herself.
-one morning when julie went up to her, she found the old woman, a fantastic gingham cap upon her head, busy turning out all her drawers, with a spasmodic energy.
-“i got to get everything straight--all nice and clean,” she announced. “wait,” she added. she tiptoed across to the door and closed it. “sh-sh!” she whispered. “there ain’t a soul in this house a person can trust. they spy on me all the time. they peep at me over the transom an’ spy in at the keyhole. ain’t it just awful what some folks will do?”
-she stood close to julie and spoke into her ear mysteriously. “sh-sh! there’s one of ’em at the keyhole now.”
-julie went quickly over and threw wide the door. the hall was completely empty.
-“there’s nobody there,” she said. “you just thought you heard somebody.”
-“hm!” the old woman retorted scornfully but still whispering. “so you think; but they don’t fool me. they’re quick enough to jump away when you open the door. i’ve quit doin’ that. i’m up to their tricks, an’ i got a way to fool ’em all right.”
-catching up an old spotted handkerchief, she hung it stealthily on the handle of the door. “there, that’ll fix ’em!” she triumphed. “if they want to peep, let ’em peep into that handkerchief. they’ll see all them red spots, an’ then they’ll run out in the street an’ say, ‘old miss fogg’s done killed herself, an’ her blood’s all over the floor.’ that’d be funny, wouldn’t it?” she gave a sudden crazy laugh. “i kin kill myself all right, but it won’t be none er their business if i do. it won’t be their brains on the floor.”
-a shiver ran through julie.
-the old woman sank down upon the edge of her bed and stared at the floor. “that’s what comes of livin’ with common people,” she moaned. “i ain’t used to common folks an’ i ain’t a-goin’ to start runnin’ with ’em now, me that’s sewed for all the best folks in town. i wouldn’t mix with this common lot, not to save their souls i wouldn’t; an’ my little baby child wouldn’t neither; she wouldn’t turn her hand over for er one of ’em.”
-“maybe your little niece will come soon,” julie said catching at that one bright hope.
-“sh-sh!” the other commanded. rising, she tiptoed over to the door again and, raising the handkerchief, bent her old back and peeped out through the keyhole. then dropping it, she came back to julie. “that was what i wanted to tell you,” she whispered. “i wouldn’t be surprised if she was to come soon now--real soon. i had a dream last night--i’m mighty apt to have dreams when anything’s goin’ to happen--an’ the dream said she was comin’ soon. that’s why i got to get everything straight for her.”
-“i’ll help you!” julie cried eagerly. “we’ll get everything all nice before she comes.”
-julie fell to work at once. the old woman attempted a fitful assistance, but her burst of energy gave out before it had carried her far, and soon she retired to the easy chair by the window, watching julie with dull eyes, or staring down at her lap and moaning, “oh my lord, oh my lord!” from time to time.
-julie was amazingly happy. so happy that she broke into little snatches of song as she moved about the room, dusting and cleaning it, and straightening the wild heap of garments in miss fogg’s drawers. so happy that the moaning old woman crumpled up in her chair did not seem repulsive to her, but rather, as always now, an outlet for the abounding joy that surged through her.
-there was only one little rift the whole morning through. that was when julie essayed to open a small drawer in miss fogg’s bureau. she had turned out and straightened all the others, but when she came to this one it refused to open. thinking it merely stuck, she tugged upon the handles, but was stopped by a sudden cry, almost a scream, from the old woman. “leave that drawer alone, leave it alone, i tell you!” she cried. julie jumped round, startled.
-miss fogg had sprung to her feet, and was glaring at her.
-“oh my lord!” she cried, “can’t you leave nothing be?”
-“i’m sorry; i didn’t know it was locked,” julie apologized hastily.
-“my lord! can’t i have no place to myself no more?” the other stormed, sinking down again and running her trembling hands wildly through her hair.
-“i’m so sorry,” julie pleaded again. “see, i’m not touching it. i won’t touch it again.”
-but it took her some time to soothe miss fogg and to win her confidence once more; and always afterward julie was conscious of a certain uneasiness on the old woman’s part whenever she came near that especial drawer.
-but on the whole it was a happy and beautiful morning for julie, and even for miss fogg it held a faint return to life.
-julie tried again that night to tell tim what miss fogg meant to her. it was a mystery that she could not quite explain to herself. she was constantly drawn back to interpret it to him.
-“it’s like she was my child,” she said. “i’m giving her life. she’s mine. everybody’s forgotten her. life’s forgot her, an’ gone on by; but now i’ve come along, an’ brought some of it back to her. it’s like all the sufferings of the world had got a-hold of my heart, an i had to go down into hell to drag folks out. it isn’t just that poor old soul. she stands for all the rest: all of ’em that’s suffering. it’s something bigger almost than i can feel, but it’s got a-hold of me, an’ it’ll never let me go. oh, my honey! my love!” she burst out, holding the lapels of his coat and staring up into his face. “you know what it is! it’s our love gone beyond itself--beyond just us, an’ out into all the world.” for a moment her eyes blazed up into his and her face was a white flame, then he put his hand over the wide gaze and turned her face against his breast pressing it there with both hands.
-“little honey, don’t!” he cried. “you’re mine. don’t slip away to all the world.”
-it made julie happy when anyone in the house commented upon miss fogg’s improved condition. she was pleased when mrs. watkins said, “well, you certainly are the miracle-worker! who ever would have thought you could get that old soul to look so spruced up an’ reasonable. why, she looks almost like real folks now.”
-mrs. watkins was rocking back and forth in a chair which creaked regularly as it struck a certain board in the floor, the while she fanned herself and the baby in her arms with a frayed palm-leaf fan, which she used also to emphasize her remarks.
-“she is better, isn’t she?” julie said, eager for more praise of her creation.
-“she is that,” mrs. watkins assented cordially. “but it’s you that’s done it.” she pointed the fan at julie. “you mark what i say, it’s you that’s put life into the old graveyard-deserter. she hasn’t got any real life of her own: she’s just what you’ve made of her. you’ve put life into her like a kid blowing up a toy balloon; but if you was to quit blowing at her she’d go flat again, or maybe bust.”
-“i know,” julie admitted uneasily. “that’s the reason i wish her niece would come to her.”
-“niece?” mrs. watkins swept a fly off the sleeping baby’s face and paused, staring at julie. “niece?” she snorted. “i’m mighty doubtful about any niece, myself.”
-“why, she’s got a photograph on her mantel of a girl that she says is her niece,” julie cried.
-“well, maybe she is. i don’t know for certain,” mrs. watkins returned, still doubtfully. “i know the picture. miss fogg used to let me into her room sometimes before she got so cranky an’ suspicious. an’ i know she says it’s her niece, but if it is, believe me, she certainly don’t care one thing about her old aunt. miss fogg’s been in this house for all the eight years i’ve been here--for all she thinks we’re so common, she keeps a stayin’ with us--an’ i’ve never seen any niece in all that time; an’ she don’t ever seem to have no letters, or word of any kind from the niece--not even at christmas--that i know of. my, ain’t it hot!” she interpolated, putting up one languid hand and plucking a wisp of hair back from her forehead. “i just b’lieve that photograph’s a picture of some girl she used to sew for, and she likes to b’lieve it’s kin to her, poor soul.”
-“oh! it must be her niece,” julie cried, distressfully. “it would be awful if it weren’t. why, she’s all poor old miss fogg has in the world--the last straw of life that she clings to. it would be awful if she didn’t have her!”
-“well, i hope in my heart she has got a niece,” mrs. watkins returned.
-“she ought to be here,” julie persisted. “she ought to come to miss fogg, in case i have to leave.”
-“why, you thinkin’ of goin’ away?”
-“no--oh, no. not really,” julie evaded hastily, with that little breathless catch in her voice which was characteristic of her under any stress. “no. but i might.”
-“well, it would be a sad day for everybody in this house if you was to leave,” mrs. watkins said heartily. “you’ve got something about you most people ain’t got. you’re so--so good.”
-julie looked up, her eyes wide and horrified.
-“oh--oh, no! i’m not. don’t say that,” she faltered blindly.
-it was after her talk with mrs. watkins that julie made a fresh attempt to get miss fogg to write to her niece. the old woman would never give her either the niece’s name or her address. that and the locked drawer in her bureau were the only things over which she evinced the secretive suspicion toward julie that she showed toward every one else. when julie tried again that afternoon to persuade her, she firmed her lips obstinately.
-“i’ll write if i want, an’ i’ll not if i don’t,” she announced.
-“look,” julie coaxed. “see, i’ve brought you in ink and paper and everything. see what nice paper this is.”
-miss fogg took the paper and inspected it critically. “that’s right nice,” she admitted. “i wouldn’t write to her on any but the best paper; she thinks a heap of having things stylish.”
-julie drew up a table and spread the writing materials invitingly upon it.
-“there now, just write her a few lines,” she begged.
-the old woman looked at all the preparation dimly, but presently she really did pick up the pen, and squaring herself at the table made a few trembling strokes. “my baby child,” she scrawled, the line running slantingly down the paper. “my little baby,” she attempted again and then, staring at the words, she broke down in tears. “i can’t do it,” she wept. “i can’t. i can’t get beyond ‘my baby child.’ i just think of her like that. she don’t seem to me like a grown person, an’ it’s all i can think to say.”
-“that’s plenty: that’s all she’ll need,” julie comforted her. “i’ll write her a letter and tell her all about everything, and put in what you’ve written.”
-“well,” the old woman consented shakingly, “well, tell her--oh, tell her please to come! tell her not to be mad at me.” and then all at once the secret of the old woman’s heart burst forth. “she’s mad at me about something. she won’t come. i’ve written and written--of course i have. but she don’t even answer. she don’t send a word. she’s gone back on me.” she looked up at julie, her old face all distorted and twitching. “don’t tell--don’t you tell any of these onery folks--but she’s gone back on me. she don’t ever write nor nothin’. not even christmas time. i ain’t told on her. i’ve kep’ it all to myself, here in my breast--but it’s erbout killed me. all i’ve got in the world! all--” the words fell into sobs.
-“but she will come now!” julie promised with poignant sympathy. “she just doesn’t understand. but i’ll write so she’ll see she must come.”
-“well--you write,” the other agreed with a pathetic confidence in julie. “maybe she’ll come for you. tell her--oh, tell her her old tannie is sick an’ wants her. ‘tannie,’ that was what she always called me: it was as near as she could come to saying ‘aunt annie’ when she was little.”
-julie did write. she did not know the niece’s name, and was afraid to ask, dreading a return of that sly suspicious look that was always brought out on miss fogg’s face when she questioned her too closely about anything. so she began the letter “madam,” and when she came to the signing of her own name, she hesitated. she had never yet brought herself to write, “julie freeman.” she had always managed in some way to avoid doing so. for all that she had said that the name was no lie, she could not make herself write it. but her own name she dared not put. so in the end she signed it, “from a friend.”
-she wrote urgently, and enclosed the sheet on which miss fogg’s trembling words, “my baby child,” went slanting down the paper. then she sealed the envelope and stamped it.
-“now then,” she said with an assumption of confidence that she did not feel, “what’s her address?”
-to her despair she was met by the old crafty look in miss fogg’s eyes.
-“that’s all right--that’s all right,” the old woman said with dignity. “just lay it there, an’ i’ll back it when i git ready.”
-julie was blank with disappointment, but it was useless to insist, so she left the letter sealed and stamped and ready for the address. she did not know it, but that night when all the house was quiet, old miss fogg slipped out and, going secretly down a side street, posted the letter which she had managed to address, after looking all about and up and down to be sure that no one was spying at her.
-the summer days slipped by. the intense city heat of mid-august burned itself up toward september.
-old miss fogg waited and waited, but there came no answer to the letter. julie fought against the old woman’s despairing disappointment, buoying her up with the power of her own spirit. she had often the feeling that wide wings spread themselves, out of the sheer force of her devotion, and bore that broken and defeated bit of old age up into a sunny atmosphere. then she would be rewarded for all her pains. a faint flush would run into the old cheeks, she would look at julie out of clear eyes from which all the crafty despair was momentarily gone, and which were almost as serene as the eyes of a happy child. it was that look which was a reward for all julie’s efforts. she was thinking of it, hoping for it one day as she came along the street late in the afternoon. she was to have a little party for miss fogg that evening. the old woman was coming down to have supper with julie and tim and perhaps, if they could coax her into it, to go to a moving picture afterward. for the occasion julie had done up one of miss fogg’s white muslin waists for her, earlier in the afternoon. she had done it with especial care, and was proud of her handiwork. she took it upstairs, holding it daintily on a coat-hanger so as not to wrinkle its perishable freshness, and displayed it to the old woman. miss fogg had looked really pleased, and had promised to put it on.
-julie was bringing home now a number of small packages for the supper party. all the preparations filled her with an intensity of happiness. so much so that merely doing them was not enough; she must sit down a moment and think them all over. accordingly, when she came to monroe park on her homeward way, she sat down for a moment on one of its benches. the park was shady, with the slanting green-gold light of late afternoon sifting through the trees. silver showers from the fountain sprayed up and caught the sunlight, and groups of very small children, looking almost unearthly in that glamour of green and gold effulgence, ran and played upon the grass, or up and down the paths, their laughter a whimsical undercurrent beneath the grown-up noises of the city.
-julie let her eyes rest happily upon them, while through her mind there drifted one pleasant picture after another: miss fogg’s crisp shirt-waist, the pleased look on her old face when julie had brought it to her; the purchasing of the materials for the party, all of which lay now in her market basket beside her; the little basket itself, which had been a gift from tim, so neat and pretty with a gay pink pattern woven into it. then going forward she visualized the supper-table spread with clean linen and set forth with her rosebud china, which also had been a gift from tim. julie was an artist in homemaking, and these small and happy things were the material of her art. out of them she was to weave a little supper which was for her almost as much a creative act as is the composition of a symphony for a musician. in the ardent contemplation of her small creation, she overflowed with joy.
-“oh lord, i’m so happy--so happy! i got to make a gift out of the happiness!”
-she rose then and made her way home. arrived there, she put her bundles carefully away in their little makeshift ice-box, which tim had devised and which was really very successful, and then passed through into the front room to look forth and see if he might by any chance be coming. the shutters were drawn together to exclude the heat. stooping, she peeped through them and, in the bright sunlight without, saw a figure coming up the walk, the sight of which made her suddenly fall down upon her knees beneath the window sill, crouching close against the wall.
-it was elizabeth bixby; and she was entering the house now.
-she came so close upon julie’s entrance that it was impossible not to suppose she had seen her and was following. julie crouched helplessly beneath the window. she wanted to run to the door and lock it fast, but she felt powerless to move. she cowered in a heap upon the floor, waiting for elizabeth to enter and find her.
-if she could only have slipped across and locked the door, that would have given her an instant’s pause to gather herself together before elizabeth’s entrance; but she could not move to do it.
-at last she heard a door upstairs open--she was not sure which one it was--and then the steps that she knew were elizabeth bixby’s came down the stairs and down the hall. they would be at her door in an instant. the two little personalities in her lap, that were made of her hands, jumped desperately tight together. but again the feet did not pause, but pattered definitely past and out into the street. julie leaped up and peered through the blinds. perhaps she was mistaken: perhaps it was not elizabeth after all. but it was. she saw her face distinctly as she went down the steps--and saw something else as well. elizabeth had been crying--was still wiping her eyes rather blindly. how strange that was! what could have moved her to tears? the surprise of this stayed for a space the leap of relief over her departure; but in a moment it came, and julie relaxed all over as though a warm beneficent tide flowed through her. perhaps they were safe after all. safe--
-at this point there came an imperative knock and, when julie forced herself to go over and open the door, she found mrs. watkins there eager with news.
-“well, you was right after all!” she announced. “the miracle’s happened. miss fogg’s niece’s been to see her--that was her just went down the steps.”
-“that?” stammered julie. “that--that lady that just went down the steps--miss fogg’s niece?”
-mrs. watkins nodded. “m--h’m, that’s the wonderful niece. she asked me did miss fogg live here, and when she went away she told me she was her niece. she’s been upstairs with the old soul a right smart spell, an’ i heard her tell her when she left she’d be back to see her again in a couple of days. she said she was going to camp lee for a day or so. when she left i seen she’d been cryin’.”
-“yes,” julie said, “i saw that, too.”
-“i reckon it must of upset her to find the old lady so bad off. soon as she’d gone i flew upstairs to see how the old soul was takin’ it. but she’s got her door locked, an’ wouldn’t answer or let on she was there when i called her name. oh, i reckon i’m too common to hear about the grand niece! but you go up, dearie, an’ hear the news. she’s your baby--she’ll talk for you.”
-“i--i can’t!” julie gasped and put her hand to her head. “i feel so--oh, i feel so bad,” she faltered.
-“why, you do look real white!” mrs. watkins exclaimed with concern. “what’s the matter? how do you feel bad?”
-julie sat weakly down in a chair. “i--feel--shaky,” she got out slowly, speaking with difficulty.
-“you lie right down, an’ don’t do a thing for a spell. i’ll bet it’s the heat--you ain’t used to this city heat--an’ you seem to have a kind of a nervous chill, too.”
-“i’m--i’m all right,” julie got out, struggling to keep her teeth from chattering. “i reckon it is the heat. i--oh don’t--don’t bother. i’ll just lie--down a little bit.”
-she went unsteadily over, mrs. watkins piloting her, and lay down upon the sagging plush sofa, a sofa that had adjusted its spring to accommodate the weight, and probably the sorrows also, of many human beings before her.
-“yes--now, that’s right,” mrs. watkins said, giving her a pat as she settled a cushion for her. “what you want is to keep right still. don’t stir now. just lay still an’ think about nice things. think about miss fogg’s niece bein’ here at last. ain’t that a wonder? it ought to please you, after you worked so hard to get her here.”
-looking up at her from the sofa, julie suddenly brought her hands tight together, and burst into a high startling scream of laughter.
-“why, so it was! it was all my doing!” she gasped, shaken by one shuddering gust of laughter after another.
-“what on earth ails you? that ain’t as funny as all that,” mrs. watkins cried. “hush, hush now! hold on to yourself, mis’ freeman. quit that! you’ll be in hysterics d’rectly.”
-“no, no! it isn’t funny. i won’t laugh. i promise not to laugh,” julie gasped, biting her lips hard together between sentences, and fighting to choke back the wild paroxysms. “i won’t laugh. and she was crying! i saw her crying! oh--” the tension broke and she collapsed into a flood of tears.
-“there now, that’s better.” mrs. watkins patted her shoulder. “now you’ll be all right in a little bit.”
-“i--i am all right,” julie affirmed presently, pressing her hand against her shaking mouth. “don’t mind me--don’t. i--i just get this way sometimes.”
-“we all do, us poor women--specially in this heat,” the other answered. “you’ll be all right now the storm’s broke. just lay right still. i’ll be back in a little bit, an’ see if the clouds ain’t all gone, an’ the rainbow come: maybe you’ll have found the pot of gold at the end of it by then.”
-mrs. watkins went off, shutting the door after her, and julie was alone. she did not cry or laugh any more. she was very tired--completely spent--and a little confused also, so that as she lay there with closed eyes, what mrs. watkins had said as she went out kept repeating itself through her mind. “the end of the rainbow! the end of the rainbow!”
-tim found julie still limp upon the sofa when he came home. she opened her eyes and stared up at him. he knew at once that something was the matter, and came quickly and knelt down beside her, laying his hands on hers.
-“what is it? what’s happened?”
-“elizabeth’s been here,” she answered, still lying helplessly on the sofa and looking at him.
-she told him then all about it. “i fell down under the window--i couldn’t seem to stand up--but i would have stood up if she’d come in--i would have, tim--but she didn’t come.”
-“she didn’t come? then she didn’t see you--she doesn’t know we’re here?”
-“no: it wasn’t for us she came. she’s miss fogg’s niece--the one she’s always talked about. oh, tim, did you know? did you know elizabeth had an old aunt?”
-he stared away out of the window a moment, searching his mind. “yes, she did speak once or twice of an aunt--but not often. she hadn’t seen her for years. i never heard her right name. she called her by a baby name.”
-“she called her ‘tannie,’” julie said. “it was short for ‘aunt annie.’”
-“yes, that was it,” he nodded.
-they were silent, their eyes fixed upon each other’s face.
-“oh, tim, i did it!” julie broke out. “i brought her right here. it was me made miss fogg send the letter. i never rested ’til i got her to. i worked and worked at her ’til i got it sent. i did it.”
-“never mind, never mind, honey. you couldn’t know. how could you? it was my fault, not recollecting. but she didn’t see you?”
-“no, she didn’t see me.”
-“then it’s all right. we’ll leave here right away.”
-“leave here?” julie looked around the little room blankly.
-“why, yes, honey. we got to leave. she’ll be coming back again.”
-“she won’t be back for a little bit,” julie said.
-“how’s that? how do you know she won’t be back?”
-“mrs. watkins heard her say she was going away for a day or so.”
-“going away? where’s she going? did she hear where she was going?”
-she was silent, looking at him.
-“did she hear where she was going?” he persisted.
-“camp lee,” she answered at length.
-he turned his head away, a sudden spasm constricting his mouth.
-“oh, my honey!” she broke out with a little sob, “i know--i understand how you feel.”
-but this time he silenced her, turning her head against his shoulder and pressing it there. “there! it’s all right. it’s all right. there now.” he held her fast. and after a moment he said, “we’ll see about moving right away.”
-“oh, tim, our home! our little rooms where we’ve been so happy!”
-“i know--i know! but we’ll find another place,” he comforted her.
-she raised her head presently, and held him off. “but tim, think of her being miss fogg’s niece! oh, i hate that! miss fogg’s mine: she’s my child. i made her. elizabeth’s never done one thing for the poor old woman; but i worked over her with all my heart. it’s true what mrs. watkins said about my blowing the breath of life into her. that’s what god did in the bible for adam. oh, i oughtn’t to think such things--but that’s the way i felt--something right out of myself went into that old soul an’ gave her life. and all the time--all the time, she was her aunt!” she paused, but in a moment she spoke abruptly. “tim, she was crying when she went down the steps. what could have made her cry?”
-he shook his head. “i don’t know.”
-again they were silent, looking into one another’s faces questioningly. they were suddenly at sea in the wine-dark waters of life, swept from all their moorings, confused and uncertain, and they looked at each other in search of some fresh anchorage. the shadows were gathering in the room now; it was almost dark; and at length he rose and lighted the gas.
-“there! now what about a little bite to eat?”
-it was an inspiration on his part. it brought her back to the reality of the moment, comforting and restoring her as nothing else could have done. in the simple preparations for the meal, their familiar happy life flowed back upon them as though, after all, it was to continue. they both clutched at it eagerly. it had seemed to be broken and gone; but now in the laying of the table, the setting forth of the knives and forks and dishes, here it was again, come back more alive, more poignant than ever, as though some worker in the ground who thought his mine exhausted had stumbled unexpectedly upon a vein of metal more pure than all the rest. it was soul-restoring for them both. he helped her, and she laughed a little with a shaken tender mirth at his way of doing things. together they placed julie’s best cups upon the table, the cups that he had given her, that had pink rosebuds flecked all over them, and which meant more to her and to him than any other cups could ever mean. the food, the daintily spread table, the knives and forks, the little cups particularly, seemed all to embody and make real their companionship, as though what was in their hearts, that vivid and beautiful essence of their life together, had poured itself forth materialized before their eyes in these familiar creatures, small and endearing. but when the meal was all prepared, and the table spread, julie and tim stood, hesitating.
-“i can’t go up and get her: i can’t go now,” julie faltered. he knew she meant miss fogg, for whom the party had been planned.
-“oh, well, maybe she’ll come down of herself,” he answered.
-she brightened. “that’s so. maybe she will. let’s wait a little bit and see.”
-they stood for a time with their hands on the backs of their chairs, and surveyed the dainty repast. but nothing happened.
-“no, she won’t come by herself,” julie said forlornly, at length. “i know she won’t.”
-he caught the falling note in her voice, and his love hurried toward her with words of protective tenderness.
-“well, she’d come quick enough if she could just see how nice you’ve got everything fixed for her,” he cried. “just give a person one look at this table, an’ i’ll bet you couldn’t drive ’em away from it with a stick.”
-she looked up quickly and gratefully, a little laugh trembling on her lips, and about to reply, when a sudden faint noise at the door arrested her. her nerves were on edge, and any noise now was startling.
-“oh, tim!” she breathed faintly, and wavered toward him. he was beside her in a moment, his arm fast about her. so they faced the door and waited. the sound came again, and with a little catch of breath julie whispered, “look!” and pointed. a bit of white paper was creeping in under the door-sill. they stood and watched it with fixed eyes. it came in slowly, uncertainly, making a little scratching sound as it came. a long black hairpin was being used to push it in: they saw the sharp wire line of it dark against the white of the paper. slowly, thoroughly it came creeping under the door. then with a final poke the hairpin was withdrawn, and the paper lay there white upon the floor. a faint pause followed, and then footsteps creaked away down the hall.
-“what is it?” julie faltered. some words were scrawled on the outside. it took a little time to puzzle them out. “don’t read till i say when,” they deciphered finally.
-“oh, it’s miss fogg!” julie cried with an unsteady laugh of relief. “but what does she mean? how are we to know when she says ‘when’?”
-as the question died on her lips she was answered by the sudden explosion of a pistol-shot. an instant of caught silence followed, and then doors were banged open and people began to run through the house. “miss fogg!” julie screamed. she and tim ran also, down the hall and up the stairs. when they reached the place, the room was crowded full of people. the locked drawer in her bureau was pulled open, and old miss fogg lay on the floor, a pistol beside her, slipped out of her dead hand.
-the people were talking disjointedly, crowding in, and one was stooping down touching her. their words came in confused ejaculation. “she’s dead--just as dead as a nit!” “my lord! what a sight!” “she done it with that pistol.” “don’t touch her. don’t touch her, i say! she’s dead, all right.” “but she wa’n’t dead when i got here; she give a kind of a flop or two just as i got to the door.” “well, she’s dead now. the poor crazy old soul!” “she’s killed herself all right!” “don’t touch her, i say! don’t! you got to let her lay like she is till the coroner comes.” “mind! you’re gettin’ your hands all into it.” “my lord! what a sight!”
-julie took one look at the figure on the floor, at the old face, at the gray hair that she had sometimes brushed, at the muslin waist she had pressed so carefully, all streaked now--and something crashed within her. she reeled against tim. “take me away--downstairs,” she panted.
-he supported her down the narrow steps, and back into their own rooms. she sank on a chair.
-“read her letter,” she commanded.
-he took the twist of paper and, unfolding it, puzzled over it for a time in silence. “it’s mighty hard to read; it’s written so funny; she’s left out a lot of words, and written some twice over, an’ all running down on the paper,” he hesitated.
-“read it, read it!” she cried. she was sitting bowed over, her elbows on her knees, her face hidden in her hands.
-he read, picking the words out with difficulty.
-“it commences, ‘dear’--just that: she forgot to put the rest, i reckon. ‘dear, i can’t stand no more. my niece, my baby--baby,’ (she’s got that twice over) ‘to see me to-day.’ (she’s left out something here) ‘trouble. she’s in awful trouble. her husband’s left an’ gone with another woman. she’s all broke up by it. my baby she cried and cried.’”
-“don’t leave out anything: read it all--all,” she breathed from behind her hands.
-he went on again: “‘an’ now the law’s lookin’ for him. my poor little baby child! all i had. i can’t stand up against this trouble--disgrace. people talk, always peeking and spying at you, an’ talk. i ain’t got no more to live for now, an’ i don’t want to live--’”
-“all, tim, all!” she cried out again.
-“‘don’t want to live if there’s bad people in the world like what took my baby’s husband. she was all i had to set my heart on. you understand. you been good--good to me.’ (she’s got ‘good’ written twice over, julie.) ‘i take my pen in hand--these few lines. don’t let any one be blamed. nobody to blame but that woman. you been good to me. i thank you, an’ so no more at present from your poor old friend, eliza annie fogg.’”
-he dropped the paper, and turned to her. “julie! honey!” he cried. “julie, don’t take it so hard! she was just a crazy old woman: anything would have made her do it!”
-julie raised her ghastly face, staring at him. “she was my child,” she said, “and i’ve killed her. oh, you don’t know; but she was like my own child. she was in the dark, an’ sufferin’. i had so much happiness--i thought it would give her life. instead--”
-“julie, she was crazy!” he pleaded.
-her eyes, though she still stared at him, were remote, fixed upon an inward picture.
-“tim,” she said. “it was all over the clean waist i pressed for her--all over it. i’ve killed her. and--and elizabeth too, she was crying.”
-“elizabeth! her tears--” he broke in violently, but she silenced him.
-“no, don’t speak now; don’t. let me alone. i’ve got to be by myself and think it all out alone. i’ve got to think.” she rose unsteadily.
-she stood looking at him one moment more, dumbly, uncertainly, groping perhaps to find something for his consolation, but she found nothing, and in the end she evaded his outstretched arms, murmured blindly, “i got to be alone--i got to think it all out,” and passed from the kitchen and through to the dark of the sitting-room, where she shut the door fast behind her.
-he sank down in a chair and sat on all alone in the room, where the lights were bright and the supper still waited upon the table in festive expectancy. every now and then his eyes traveled around the room with its air of frozen gayety, but always they returned to the floor, and so he remained, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands driven into his pockets, and his head bowed.
-“i reckon i better eat something; it’s gettin’ late,” he whispered to himself. he turned to the table and helped himself to some food tentatively, but as he did so he caught sight of julie’s apron where it had fallen to the floor from its accustomed hook.
-“honey, your apron’s on the floor,” he said. he rose stiffly and going over picked up the checked gingham, but when he thought it was secure on the hook it fell down in soft folds against him, and he clutched it suddenly to his breast. “honey! julie! don’t take it so hard!” he cried. after the apron was once more restored, he came back and looked at the table and knew that it was impossible to eat.
-“i reckon i better clear things away,” he thought drearily.
-he began moving very quietly and carefully about the room, doing everything as nearly as julie would have done it as he could. he put all the food away in the ice-box, folded up the linen, and set the china in its place. but his hands were not very steady, and as he picked up one of the rosebud cups, a sudden noise upstairs made him start, and it fell out of his hands and crashed to the floor. “aw--oh! i’ve broken your cup,” he cried in dismay. he stooped, and gathering up all the pieces tried ineffectively to fit them together. “one of your best cups, honey, you thought so much of: i’ve broke it,” he confessed. suddenly the edges he was trying to fit together blurred in a dazzled line and the tears rushed into his eyes. he laid the shattered pieces in a desolate pile on the table, and stumbling into a chair, buried his head in his arms beside them.
-later on, there was a knock at the door and the coroner came in to ask for evidence. tim gave him the note miss fogg had written julie, and the coroner, a rather sombre dark man with a sallow face and outstanding ears set wide as though to catch every note of horror that the world held, read it, holding it beneath the gas jet that made shining lights on his hair, pausing every now and again to say, “what do you make of that word?”
-“well,” he said when he had puzzled it all out, “it’s suicide all right, no question about that. everybody in the house says the old soul was more’n half cracked, anyhow. i reckon she’s had that pistol loaded an’ handy for some time.”
-“she had it in that drawer she always kep’ locked,” tim told him. “julie said there was one drawer she was always mighty oneasy about.”
-“is that so?” said the other.
-“yes, julie said so.”
-“who’s she? is that your wife?” the coroner demanded.
-tim hesitated. it seemed impossible even to say the little word, “yes.” but the coroner, busy folding up miss fogg’s note, labeling it and tucking it away in his wallet, where no doubt it found itself in company with many another pitiful disaster, appeared not to notice his silence.
-“i’ve heard ’bout your wife,” he said. “everybody says she was mighty good to the old woman--seemed to put new life into her. can i speak to her?”
-“she’s feeling bad,” tim hesitated. “she’s mightily upset. she ran upstairs with everybody, and saw the poor old soul layin’ on the floor.”
-“yes,” the coroner nodded, “right much of a mess, wa’n’t it? liable to upset anybody not used to viewin’ all kinds of remains, like i am.”
-“it was all over her clean waist,” tim explained earnestly. “julie just ironed that waist for her--just a little bit before.”
-“i see,” said the coroner. “perfectly natural she’s upset. well, no need to disturb her if she’s feeling bad. this note gives plenty of evidence.”
-he turned to go, but tim detained him with an eager hand upon his arm.
-“a crazy old woman like--like she was, would be mighty apt to commit suicide, wouldn’t she? it would take less to make her do it than it would for a person in good health?” he begged. “she’d do it easier than most folks, wouldn’t she?”
-“oh, yes, any little thing’d be liable to tip her over,” the other assented. “this trouble now, what she speaks of here in the letter--that other woman goin’ off with the niece’s husband--that was all she needed: that did the trick for her, poor old soul. well,” he turned again to go, “no need to trouble your wife if she’s feelin’ bad. tell her she ought to feel good to think she was able to do so much for the old lady.”
-with that he went, and tim turned and saw julie standing in the open door with the dark of the sitting-room behind her, and knew that she had heard what the coroner said.
-“julie!” he cried.
-but she put up her hands, motioning him away as before, and without a word turned back into the dark room, shutting the door between them.
-tim sat on alone in the kitchen. as the hours passed slowly away, he went on tiptoe several times to listen at the sitting-room door, and at last, late in the night, as there was no sound, he turned the handle and pushed the door open cautiously. but instantly she cried out in the dark, “no, tim, no!”
-so he shut the door again as softly as he had opened it, and after a moment’s hesitation, stretched himself out upon the floor in front of it. but after all, if she opened the door suddenly to come out, there was danger that she might stumble over him and get a fall; so he rose and at last went lonesomely into the bedroom and slipping off his shoes, flung himself, all dressed as he was, upon the bed.
-in the early morning following that long night julie came softly into the bedroom and found tim lying there asleep, all dressed as he had flung himself upon the bed. he opened his eyes as she entered.
-“i--i broke one of your little cups last night, honey,” he said confusedly, “one of your best ones. i certainly am sorry.” he sat up in bed, staring at her in all the bleak tragedy of the gray dawn.
-“i broke your little best cup, an’ i reckon i’ve broke your heart, too,” he said.
-she put out her hands swiftly and drew his head passionately close against her breast, bowing her face down to it.
-“my love, my love!” she cried, stumbling and sobbing through the words. “you made all my heart--all my life--it was yours to break or do with like you pleased.”
-for a time they clung together in tears. but at last he raised his head and, putting one of his hands on each of her arms, looked curiously into her eyes. the storm of her emotion was passed, and she was calm now. she seemed changed also from the small woman of the day before. her spirit had withdrawn from the surface, and was gazing forth from deeper levels of life. the expression of her eyes was wiser, steadier; she even appeared physically larger, a stronger woman, than she had been before. what encounters of the spirit had she faced alone through all the dark of the night?
-in the long gaze that passed between them they were confronted by a tremendous question. each asked it silently of the other. julie was the first to answer.
-“yes,” she nodded. “it’s come to an end, my honey. we got to part now--’fore i kill somebody else.”
-“julie, she was crazy!” he cried as before.
-but she brushed his words aside. “all night i’ve seen the blood on her waist,” she said. “it mocked me. the two were right together: the clean waist i was so proud with myself for fixin’ for her, an’ the spots of her blood. they were like mouths laughing at me with the awfulest laughter--red words hollerin’ out across the world, ‘look! look! look at the way julie rose gives life to folks!’ tim, last night i went down deep--i was shoved down into the deepest places--i see it all different now--i’ve got to stand square with folks now.”
-he nodded. “yes, it’s come to that with both of us--julie,” he burst out, “i ain’t where i ought to be! when the soldiers went by in the street, an’ that night when they showed the doughboys in france on the screen, you didn’t notice, i reckon--”
-“i did. i did!” she broke in. “i’ve known all along how it was with you, but i wouldn’t let you speak. god forgive me! i kept you from it. i was scared.”
-“well,” he went on. “that night when they showed our boys goin’ up to the front, there was one little feller on the screen--a runty kind of a little feller like me--an’ as he went by he turned so’s you saw his full face. julie, he looked straight at me; an’ something jumped in me an’ sez, ‘that’s your brother. why ain’t you with him?’”
-“i know, i know,” she cried poignantly. “your brother! my sister! we thought when we found ourselves we was all, but now we’ve caught a sight of the other folks.”
-“so i got to go now,” he ended. “i’ll give myself up--”
-“oh, honey! what will they do to you?”
-“i dunno. but i can stand up to it. i can stand it now. you’ve made a man of me at last.”
-“oh, my god!” she cried. “i didn’t. i tempted you away. i don’t know what i’ve done to you. without me you wouldn’t be in all this trouble.”
-he faced her steadily. “without you i’d never have found myself, an’ that’s god’s truth,” he said solemnly. “i’m your man, honey. you made me. i was afraid of every one, picked on by every one, an’ then you came along an’ set me free!”
-“our love!” she cried. “it was that set us both free so’s we found ourselves. but that ain’t all. last night, tim, i understood more. it seemed like i was shoved right down into the heart of life. i had a kind of a vision--maybe it was only a dream: i’d been asleep, i know. i stayed awake ’til real late, just sitting there in the dark an’ knowin’ what i’d done to her. it seemed like i’d go crazy; i couldn’t cry; i thought my mind was about to split. an’ then at last i did: i cried, an’ cried, though it didn’t do her no good. i kep’ thinkin’, ‘this don’t do her no good. my tears can’t help her any now.’ but they helped me. my head stopped feelin’ so tight after that. the awful splashes on her waist quit hollerin’ out, ‘look! look!,’ an’ at last i dropped off into a doze; an’ when i waked up things was different. it seemed like i’d shifted in deeper than i ever was before.”
-she brushed a dark strand of hair back from her brow, then she dropped her hand to his and he held it fast, staring up into her face, whose look of wider apprehension seemed reflected on his own as well.
-“it was like i’d been stretched,” she went on slowly, feeling for words, “stretched into knowing bigger things, an’ shoved deep down where you ain’t yourself alone, but where all the rest of the folks is, too, all kind of bound together--all brothers an’ sisters--an’ where nobody lives to theirselves, or dies to theirselves. an’--an’ now i got to stand straight with the world.”
-he nodded, “i know. i understand.” it was the old familiar phrase which had linked them so close together. they were silent for a long moment, drinking understanding and courage from one another’s eyes in the communion of their spirits.
-he spoke at last. “i’ll go ’round to the police this mornin’ an’ turn myself in. or maybe it would be better to go straight to camp lee.”
-her clasp upon his hand tightened, but she spoke steadily. “i’ll go home to hart’s run.”
-he started at that. “oh, no, honey,” he protested, “you can’t do that. you can’t go back there now. you know how it is--how they’ll treat you. you can’t live there now.”
-“i can live anywhere now,” she answered. “i’ve found myself now. all my life i’ve been scared of folks. you know how it was. but not now: i’m free of ’em all at last. i got to go back there. it’s my home. it’s where i belong, where i can be square with the world. oh,” she cried, “what does it matter to me where i live, when you--when you--oh, honey,” she broke down, “what will they do to you?”
-“never mind! never mind! it’s all right now. i can stand it now,” he consoled her. “but how will you live at hart’s run? will they--will folks buy from you now?”
-she laughed a little at that. “oh, they’ll buy, all right,” she reassured him. “maybe they’ll put me out of the church; but i trim hats too well, an’ know too much about fixing clothes for ’em not to come to the store.”
-they began after that to consider their plans, bravely and calmly making arrangements for a speedy departure. it was still very early, and together they fell to work packing up all their small belongings. there was not much to pack: only a few clothes, the rosebud cups, and some extra housekeeping utensils that they had had to buy. these all went easily into her suit-case and his trunk, which she was to take with her. when the packing was finished he went out, arranged to have the trunk sent for later, saw their landlord and settled for the rent, explaining his sudden departure by saying he had to answer his draft call.
-when he returned, breakfast was ready. julie had even made waffles for their last meal together.
-he sat down and forced himself to eat to please her, but she could scarcely touch anything.
-“you better try to eat a little bit,” he urged. “there now, have some of this plateful of waffles. i can’t eat ’em all, honey.”
-she looked at him a moment, her face quivering. “i--i got something in my throat--seems like i can’t swaller past it,” she got out, snatching at that wisp of whimsicality to cover the nakedness of their tragedy.
-but on the whole the breakfast was a brave, almost a gay, meal. they were both setting forth upon desperate paths of life and, knowing this, they were keyed up and excited by the adventure of it, and in themselves they knew as well a steady self-confidence that had never been theirs before.
-they had agreed that for tim to go to camp lee and give himself up there would be the best plan; but after all, they were too late. as they finished breakfast, they were startled by a sudden loud bang upon their door. their hands flew together and clutched fast for one moment across the table, then he rose and threw the door wide.
-two men in plain clothes burst in.
-“here, what’s your name?” the foremost demanded, a big swaggering man with the face of a bully.
-“timothy bixby,” tim answered steadily.
-“oh, it is, is it?” the man cried, a trifle taken aback. “this is your mornin’ for tellin’ the truth, ain’t it? well, mr. timothy bixby, i arrest you in the name of the law. see this?” he turned back his coat lapel, and displayed a sheriff’s badge. “we’re the dog catchers, an’ we’ve come for you--you damned yeller cur!”
-“i was just fixin’ to go to camp lee an’ give up,” tim said.
-“oh yes, you were,” the other jeered. “a hell of a lot you were!”
-“but he was! it’s the truth, he was!” julie broke in. “he was just gettin’ ready to go right this mornin’.”
-“oh, yes, he was, i know mighty well he was!” the other repeated. “an’ i know all about you, too!”
-“but it’s true. honest it is! honest!” julie pleaded desperately, turning helplessly to the other man, her eyes wide and sincere.
-“never mind, never mind!” tim cut in under his breath to her. “it don’t matter, so long as you know.”
-“oh, well now, sam, maybe he was,” the second man interposed pacifically.
-“maybe nuthin’!” the sheriff cut him off. “he’s had a whole two months to git from hart’s run to camp lee, an’ you know traffic ain’t blocked as bad as all that. an’ if it hadn’t of been for his wife catchin’ a sight of him, he’d be hidin’ here still in this damned love-nest.”
-so elizabeth had seen, after all! their eyes turned swiftly to one another at that.
-“now then, be in a hurry,” the sheriff commanded. “i ain’t got time to waste over you. here--where’s your hat?”
-julie went quickly and brought tim’s hat, pressing it into his hands. “my honey! my honey!” she breathed.
-but the sheriff cut in between them. “here, none er that,” he cried, jerking tim away.
-“take me! take me, too!” julie cried. “it was all my doing!”
-but she was brushed aside.
-“git out of the way! we ain’t got nuthin’ to do with you,” the sheriff said, pushing tim toward the door. on the threshold, tim paused and twisted around to cry back, “it’s all right, julie, it’s all right.”
-then his captor thrust him savagely forth.
-the other man, glancing back at julie, paused an instant, caught by the anguish of her face. “here, quick,” he whispered awkwardly, “ain’t you got a token--a keepsake for him? maybe i’ll git a chanst to slip it to him.”
-she looked wildly about the room. what should she send him? she started to take up the pieces of the broken cup, but her heart cried out, “no, no, not that!”
-“quick! quick!” he urged her. “your handkerchief?”
-but her handkerchief was all sodden with the tears they had shed together. she shook her head dumbly. hurried and confused, her mind was blank. her gaze fell to the breakfast table. there was a pile of waffles still fresh and warm. to her dazed thought at that moment they were not food, they were symbols of her heart. with a hand that shook she caught up one and held it out mutely to the man.
-“no, no,” he whispered sharply, “think what you’re doing, woman. a keepsake--a keepsake! here--what about this?”
-he picked up a picture postcard from the mantelpiece. it was a photograph of herself and tim taken together.
-“yes, yes,” she nodded gratefully.
-“i’ll slip it to him if i git the chanst,” he promised again.
-“what will they do to him?” julie breathed.
-he shook his head. “i don’t know--i don’t know how bad he’s in.”
-“will i know what happens?” she questioned.
-“you--you ain’t his wife, are you?” he asked uncertainly.
-“no,” she answered, her wide eyes looking at him unfalteringly.
-“the government only notifies the wife or next of kin,” he mumbled, as though repeating a formula.
-“i’m goin’ back to hart’s run,” she told him simply. “if the law wants me, too, i’ll be there. my name’s julie rose.”
-“here, jack, where in the hell are you?” the sheriff bawled from outside.
-“coming!” the lingerer cried, and went, slipping the postcard into his pocket.
-julie stumbled to the window and peered out. tim was walking between the two men. as they came to the corner where he had always turned to wave a farewell to her, he paused now and half turning raised his hand, but the sheriff struck it angrily down and thrust him on around the corner out of sight.
-julie stood a long time, her head pressed hard against the window frame, her eyes fixed blankly on the street; but she knew that she must face it sometime, and at last she jerked herself round, and, straining back against the sill, let the empty desolation of the room rush over her.
-julie awoke the next morning in the dim and early light and sat up in her berth. she had slept so profoundly, swept down to such depths of unconsciousness, that for a moment on awakening she appeared to have drifted beyond all the moorings of her accustomed self, so that it took her a few moments of uncertain staring at the swaying green curtains of the berth and at the flickering light across the bedclothes, to realize that she was on the train. “i’m going home,” she told herself at last.
-yesterday, with all its complete shattering of her life in richmond, its agony of parting in the morning, and its long hot sufferings of the ensuing day, was gone into the past, and this was to-morrow.
-the man had come for her trunk soon after tim had been arrested, and julie had managed to slip away out of the house without having to face a parting and explanation with any of her friends there. she had spent most of the long, oppressive, and tragic day in the railway station, chiefly because she did not know where else to go. it was a strained and terrible time of waiting in heat, and confusion, and the weary sordid smells of humanity traveling in hot weather. every now and again waves of hysteria swept over her, so that it was only by gripping her hands very tight, and by staring resolutely at the moving people before her, that she succeeded in keeping herself from breaking down altogether there in the public waiting-room. but finally the afternoon came, then twilight and supper; and then at last her train was made up, and she could get on and go to bed in the sleeping-car where she had been fortunate enough to secure a berth. she was so completely worn out by the sleeplessness of the night before and by all she had suffered, that--as soon as the train got under way and the intense city heat had lessened as it took the cool open stretches of the country night--the swaying of her berth, and the monotonous gray roar of the wheels, broken only by an occasional hollow moment running through the pattern of the gray roar as the train swept over a culvert, relaxed her all over, lulling her down and down through hazy thoughts, dreams, and at last into sleep and profound unconsciousness.
-“we’ve struck the mountains, i’ve come home!” she breathed. she clasped her arms tight around her knees, and the long swell of a deep emotion laid hold upon her. somewhere in the profound sleep of the night the tension of life had snapped, releasing her into something sure and steadfast. big things--pity, truth, love, mountains, god, the sky, came shouldering boldly up through all the trivialities of life, and gathered her into an enormous peace. “i’ve broke through, i’ve broke through,” she whispered, “through into the big things. an’ he’s broke through, too! he’s safe, they can’t tetch him now--they can’t lay the weight of a finger on him now. he’s out in the deep channel. he’s safe in the lord.”
-all her prim acquired english fell from her, and she turned back to the phraseology of her mountain people. her thoughts ran out in a medley of confused, disjointed sentences, such as she had been accustomed to hear in shouting revivals in her church: ejaculations, snatches of hymns, remembered terms of the lumber camps--an overflowing of the spirit that clothed itself in any words that came.
-“we’ve broke through, we’ve broke through,” she whispered that, over and over. “o my lord! we’ve broke through! freedom--freedom! there ain’t nothin’ big enough to hold it. ‘shout, you mourners, you shall be free’--free in the lord! the deep channel! the deep channel! he’s safe now, like i am! we ain’t hung up in the shallers no more--the jam’s broke an’ we’re out in the deep channel of the river, traveling free in the peace of the lord.”
-an ecstasy of depths of peace and stillness engulfed her, a vision of the enormousness and profundity of life which was god, so that the tears ran down over her illumined face.
-“o my lord!” she whispered, over and over, “o my lord, you’ve fetched us home! you’ve give us sight. we ain’t just ourselves no more. you’ve showed us a vision of the other folks--my sister, my brother! an’ now we’re free. there’s freedom in the world for the little scary folks if they go down deep enough. we are free!” she cried. “my love, my honey, my dear love, we’re safe at last! we’re traveling free in the vision of the lord!”
-she stared out of the window at the long stretches of mountains and valleys, with the sky above, and knew a deep kinship with them, as well. “freedom,” she thought. “nothin’ can’t hold it all. nothin’ kin hold me. i kin stretch out all acrost the mountains, an’ lay down in the sky, an’ i’m deep-rooted in the everlastin’ hills. o my lord, o my lord!” the breathless ejaculations flowed away into complete silence, where only the tears running from her closed eyes could express the ecstasy of adoration that held her.
-she still inhabited the same small and meagre body, but the spirit that flowed through her now was free of all the world, and with it came an enormous outstretching compassion, understanding, and tenderness for all suffering.
-an hour later she stepped off the train at hart’s run. it was a morning in late september. an intense sparkling light fell over the world, driving the mists away from the parti-colored hills, and disclosing the immense dome of the blue sky.
-gathering up her hand luggage, julie walked lightly along the familiar platform, her footsteps answering the rhythm of the words, “i’ve come home, i’ve come home.”
-the first person to see her was edward black. he was pushing a truckload of trunks, and when he caught sight of her he stopped dead and half sat down upon the truck handles to gaze in stupefaction.
-“julie rose! you back?” he cried.
-she met his eyes steadily, gazing forth at him from that deep centre of herself. “yes, ed, i’m back. i’ve come home,” she answered.
-his first astonishment gave place then to a mean and taunting look. he leered as she passed and said softly, “well, i reckon you an’ mis’ bixby’s husband had a high old time together.”
-but she went by untouched, the insult blowing past her as lightly as a summer wind. the great experience through which she had passed had been out in the deep channel of the spirit. how could ed black know anything about it? how could any words of his even touch it, much less hurt her? she looked full at him as she passed, and in that instant of detached scrutiny she was conscious of a sudden stab of pity. for a moment she knew the man for what he was--a poor mean nature, destined always to inhabit the murky backwaters of life, incapable of ever striking out into the clear depths of any great emotion--a crippled bit of humanity never again to be afraid of or bullied by, only to be sorry for. “poor ed,” she thought, as she went down the platform and turned along the main street. the morning air touched her face refreshingly, there were drifts of great white clouds in the sky, and the mountains--the mountains that she had been born and brought up in! “i’ve come home, i’ve come home!” she whispered again.
-coming up the street a little in advance of her, she presently perceived brother seabrook. he was pacing along abstractedly, his head bent over his newspaper, which he had just secured from the post office and which bore tall excited headlines about the war. a little distance away, conscious that some one was approaching, he glanced up, saw her, and stopped for one paralyzed instant. his hand went mechanically toward his hat, but he checked it and, thrusting it into his breast pocket, pretended to feel for something; then he faced abruptly round and hastened in the opposite direction, as though suddenly reminded of important business elsewhere.
-a little farther on julie saw mrs. silas randolph’s colored girl come out in the street to cross to the meat market. suddenly she also saw julie, and stopped in her tracks as had the others. she, however, attempted no subterfuge for her astonishment, but stood frankly still in the middle of the street, staring with her mouth open. julie spoke to her as she passed, but the girl did not respond; after one more thorough stare, she turned and ran back across the street, stumbling under the excitement and haste of her news, turning her head back every now and again over her shoulder to be sure of what she had seen.
-julie knew that she had raced back to tell her mistress of the return. she knew that the latter would not believe her, but would run to the window to peer out herself, and that, then catching unmistakable sight of julie, she would go to the phone and ring up different intimates to impart the news to them, using cryptic sentences supposed to baffle any eavesdropper on the wire. julie knew that even now mrs. randolph’s incredulous eyes were fixed upon her back as she continued along the street. she knew her village, she knew what she had done and what she would have to face, yet it could not break that high serenity in which she moved. there was, too, a great peace in the thought that here all was known. it was a part of her standing square with the world. there would not be here any sudden pistol-shot, or the vision of an old woman on the floor, brought to that end by what she had done.
-as she went along the street, she heard a little frightened mewing, and looking down perceived a gray kitten backed against the palings of one of the garden fences. it was very small and helpless, and in its wide kitten-eyes was a passion of terror. it had been chased by dogs and boys and rolled in the dust, and one little paw was bleeding. its agony, its baby helplessness, and soft hurt paw stabbed julie with an infinite compassion.
-she dropped her bag and stooped quickly down.
-“mother! i’ve come home, i’ve come home,” she whispered breathlessly.
-the side gate to her garden was broken and hanging upon one hinge. a cow had squeezed its way through, defiling the little cement walk, and trampling over and ravishing her flower beds, so that there were only a few broken chrysanthemums left. the house was completely deserted. evidently aunt sadie was still away with her daughter.
-julie went up the walk and up the steps and, taking the key from her bag, unlocked the door and threw it open. the cold musty smell of the closed house rushed out to meet her, but she entered unhesitatingly. in the kitchen she set down her bag and the little kitten, and went about opening the windows and throwing shutters wide so that the sun and fresh air flooded in. as she looked out from the front window of her shop, she saw a woman walking down the middle of the street with a white mask over her mouth. julie stared at her for a moment. “so the flu’s reached hart’s run,” she thought, and wondered how bad it was.
-she had not had any breakfast, and she went out and bought some supplies at the grocery. a new clerk was there who did not know her.
-“where’s picket forster?” she asked.
-“over in france,” the new clerk returned briefly.
-julie went back with her purchases and got herself some breakfast, and was feeding the famished kitten, when the back door darkened and mrs. dolly anderson’s large figure towered above her.
-“well,” she cried, her eyes snapping, “i never b’lieved ’em when they said you was back.”
-“yes, i’m back,” julie returned simply.
-the other continued to stand and stare. “where you been all this time?” she demanded at length.
-“in richmond,” julie answered.
-“in richmond? well, there’s been a heap of talk goin’ the rounds about you, julie.”
-“i suppose there has,” julie assented. she sat down and, taking the kitten which was fed and comforted now, upon her knee, began to stroke it softly. “won’t you sit down?” she said politely.
-“no, i’ll not sit down,” mrs. anderson returned heavily, and remained upon her feet.
-“julie,” she said at length, “did you--did you--” she hesitated.
-“did i go off with mr. bixby, you mean,” julie answered steadily. “yes, i did. we’ve been together in richmond for the last two months.”
-the other woman’s mouth dropped open. “an’ you dare to come back here to hart’s run an’ tell a tale like that?” she cried furiously.
-“i don’t dare not to. i want folks to know the truth.”
-“you want ’em to know?”
-“yes, i want to stand straight with the world.”
-“you want ’em to know?” the other reiterated violently. “well, upon my soul! i don’t believe you’ve got one shred of decency left.”
-she glared at julie, who made no retort but went on gently stroking the kitten, which was curled on her knee, comforted now, and blowing an occasional silver bubble as it purred.
-“quit foolin’ with that nasty little cat, an’ listen to me!” mrs. anderson stormed. “what i want to know is how you ever come to do such a thing--raised like you’ve been?”
-julie looked at her out of still eyes. how had she come to do it? how could she ever explain to mrs. anderson how it had happened? how could she explain the long repression of soul that had led her and timothy bixby to blow the lid off so violently at last? there were too many fine shades of meaning in it for her ever to make the other understand. in truth, she could hardly understand it herself. what had happened was down so deep in the elemental things of life that she could not put it into words.
-“i don’t think i could possibly tell you why we did it,” she answered at length. “we cared for each other, but--but we parted as soon as we saw it was wrong--that what we did was hurting other folks.”
-“you parted as soon as you knew it was wrong? you mean to say you didn’t know right from the first that it was wrong to go off with another woman’s husband--an’ him a draft dodger, too? oh, you needn’t come back to hart’s run an’ tell a tale like that, an’ expect decent folks to go right along an’ treat you like nothing had happened. they won’t do it, i tell you!”
-“i don’t expect them to,” julie said.
-“well, it’s lucky you don’t. folks won’t stand for any such carryings on. you’ll be put out of the church. brother seabrook’ll put you right out--i know he will. i don’t see to save me how you dared to come back.”
-“why, i had to come back here,” julie cried. “it’s my home--it’s where i belong. why, i’m rooted here.”
-“well, folks ain’t goin’ to have one thing to do with you, i tell you! i don’t know in my soul what i’m doin’ here right this minute! and other folks ain’t goin’ to have nothing to do with you.”
-“no, i reckon not,” julie answered, “but here’s where i belong just the same.” she looked away out of the window and rested her eyes on the sweep of autumn hills surrounding the village--she who had been for weeks in the city, and a flat country. “maybe you’re right, an’ folks won’t have anything more to do with me--but--but--the mountains are here, an’ the sun’ll rise an’ set, an’ the snow come in the winter, an’ the sap run in spring. it’s where i belong.”
-“julie rose! upon my word i just b’lieve you’ve lost your mind!” the other broke in.
-“i’ve found my soul,” julie interposed beneath her breath.
-“there you set, nursing that nasty cat, an’ not carin’ one thing what people think.”
-“i care what god thinks.”
-“well--you better be thinking about your sin then,” mrs. anderson retorted.
-“my sin,” julie repeated, and suddenly she saw an inward picture of old miss fogg’s gray head upon the floor. “but--but god forgives sins!” she cried poignantly. “he does forgive them. ‘a broken and a contrite heart he will not despise’--the bible says so!”
-“that’s all right about the bible,” mrs. anderson cried savagely. “but you ain’t livin’ in the bible; you’re livin’ right here in hart’s run. an’ i tell you hart’s run folks ain’t goin’ to stand for this: they’ll put you out of the church--you see if they don’t.”
-“will they put the bible out, too?” a voice spoke suddenly behind them.
-turning, they saw that doctor franklin had come in through the front shop and was standing looking at them. he was a country doctor, loose-limbed, gaunt, and gray, and old--a man born in hart’s run, who had ridden all the roads about it from the old horseback days down to ford-car times--a man who knew intimately all the physical ills and many of the mental and spiritual ones as well, in a radius of thirty miles--old doc’ franklin--old doc’ franklin. when people were born he was there, and when they died he was there, gaunt and quiet and natural, very deeply rooted, patient, and unshaken, whether he watched at the gates of birth or at the gates of death.
-they did not know how long he had been standing there.
-“well, but look a-here, doctor,” mrs. anderson protested. “here’s julie rose settin’ there foolin’ over that nasty little cat, an’ not caring one thing what folks thinks of her!”
-the doctor put out one long finger, and gently rubbed the kitten’s little mouse-colored head. fed and reassured, it looked up at him now out of the blue loveliness of kitten-eyes, purring happily back and forth, blowing out that occasional, impudent, and care-free bubble.
-“well, that’s sort of like me,” he said. “other folks have time to calculate who can stay in the church, an’ who’s got to be put out--it’s all too mixed up for me to know. all i know is i’ve got some mighty sick patients up the easter road, an’ i’ve got to dust out there an’ see ’em.”
-julie looked up into the weather-beaten old face above her. “look at the kitten’s paw,” she begged. “is it broken?”
-he ran a thumb and forefinger lightly down the furry leg. “no, just a bruise,” he said. “no, little cat, you’re all right,” he added for the small patient’s benefit, giving another little tap on its head. “julie, have you got any fly-netting? that’s what i stopped for when i saw your shop was open.”
-“how’s the flu, doctor?” mrs. anderson interposed. “any fresh cases?”
-“half a dozen, an’ not near enough people to nurse the sick ones,” he answered. “the chapin family’s the worst. the father died last night and mrs. chapin and the boy are just as bad off as they can be--nobody in the house to help, an’ the neighbors not doin’ as much as they might on account of the boy’s record. maybe i could get you to go out there and lend a hand for a day or so,” he said, looking at mrs. anderson.
-he looked at her. “it’s hard work, julie,” he said. “you’ve never been very stout, you know. do you reckon you can stand it?”
-“i can stand anything now,” she told him.
-“things are in right much of a mess out there,” he hesitated.
-“then that’s where i belong,” she answered.
-the doctor took julie in his old ford car, along the easter road out to the chapins.
-the easter road, white and dusty, led away in front of them, with the mountains towering up on either side and above, the endless sky bridging it over.
-there was still that wide sense of immensity and peace upon julie, of freedom, and of return, and the knowledge, also, that tim had come into the same deep serenity.
-“i’ve come home, i’ve come home”--the words went on saying themselves over in her mind.
-once, unconsciously, she spoke them half out-loud. “i’ve come home.”
-the old doctor looked down at her. he did not seem surprised. “home’s a good place to be,” he said.
-“it’s where i belong,” she replied.
-he nodded, “yes,” again, his old brown hands on the wheel, turning it deftly to avoid a sudden hump, his eyes upon the road ahead. old doc’ franklin, riding the roads of stag county from horseback and saddlebag days down to gasolene and ford cars. old doc’ franklin, riding the roads of life down at the heart of the world; present in the great moments of existence, in the agony of birth, in the hour of death; sent for in haste and terror in the catastrophe of pain; forgotten in the times of health. old doc’ franklin--you don’t fool him and you don’t shock him. tolerant, elemental, undeceived, and faithful; familiar alike with the ravings of delirium tremens and with the prayers of dying saints; as uncritical of both as life itself, or the showers of god--old doc’ franklin. he hadn’t made the world--not he. why should he judge or condemn? he helped people into life if they wished to come, and he helped them out again when they had to go; but how they behaved while here was none of his business. his job was to meet each need that the day presented, patient, forbearing, pitiful, mending where he could. old doc’ franklin--gnarled, and weathered, and lined, like an apple tree on a bleak hillside; but sound and deep-rooted still.
-sitting beside him in his mud-splashed car, with the mountains on either side, the sky above, and the road before them, julie was almost as simple, direct, and deep-rooted now as he was himself. ahead, along the easter road, the chapin man was dead, the mother and the son desperately ill. sorrow and disaster awaited them: suffering people and a distracted house. here was something that they might do, work for them down at the heart of the world, work for them that was natural, sincere, and pitiful.
-the doctor glanced down from time to time at julie, looking at her clear quiet profile. once he asked, “what became of little bixby?”
-she turned her still eyes upon him and answered simply, “they arrested him for not answering his draft call. he was just fixing to give himself up; they came before he could; but he’s all right.”
-“all right?” he asked.
-“yes,” she nodded. “things can’t get at him now like they used to. they can’t touch him now--he’s safe, he’s found himself, he’s out in the deep channel like i am.”
-a little later, the doctor brought his car to a standstill before the chapins’ dooryard. the log-house, small and weathered, looked peaceful enough on the outside, with the september sun flowing over it, a white chicken or two walking its grass, and little borders of late flowers running down to the gate; but inside human beings were at grips with death.
-old doc’ franklin, long and awkward and loose-jointed, a little tired-looking about the eyes, but still going, picked up his worn bag and swung himself out.
-“come on, julie,” he said, “here’s our job.”
-was it the old doctor, or was it life itself, holding out a hand to julie rose, there at the end of the easter road?
-printed by mcgrath-sherrill press, boston bound by boston bookbinding co., cambridge
-italicized text is surrounded by underscores: italics.
-obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
-inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
-this book contains some very large tables. a wide screen is necessary to view these.
-the elizabethan stage
-oxford university press
-the elizabethan stage
-by e. k. chambers. vol. iv
-oxford: at the clarendon press
-printed in england
-list of illustrations
-i have found it convenient, especially in appendix a, to use the symbol < following a date, to indicate an uncertain date not earlier than that named, and the symbol > followed by a date, to indicate an uncertain date not later than that named. thus 1903 < > 23 would indicate the composition date of any part of this book. i have sometimes placed the date of a play in italics, where it was desirable to indicate the date of production rather than publication.
-the documents from j. r. dasent, acts of the privy council (1890–1907), are reprinted by permission of the controller of his majesty’s stationery office.
-s. r. 1600, may 27. ‘allarum to london’ is included in a memorandum of ‘my lord chamberlens menns plaies entred’ and noted as entered on this day to j. roberts (arber, iii. 37).
-1600, may 29. ‘the allarum to london, provided that yt be not printed without further aucthoritie.’ john roberts (arber, iii. 161).
-editions by r. simpson (1872), j. s. farmer (1912, t.f.t.), and w. w. greg (1913, m.s.r.).
-our famous marloe had in this a hand,
-which bullen calls ‘a very ridiculous piece of forgery’.
-s. r. 1565–6. ‘a play intituled a merye playe bothe pytthy and pleasaunt of albyon knyghte.’ thomas colwell (arber, i. 295).
-fragment in devonshire collection.
-collier suggests that this was the play disliked at court on 31 dec. 1559, but, as fleay, 66, points out, that would hardly have been licensed for printing. dodds thinks it motived by the pilgrimage of grace (1536–7) and written shortly after.
-alice and alexis
-s. r. 1653, sept. 9. ‘a play called alphonso, emperor of germany, by john poole.’ h. moseley (eyre, i. 428).
-alphonsus may reasonably be identified with the alfonso given before the queen and the elector palatine at the blackfriars on 5 may 1636 (cunningham, xxiv). the ascription on the title-page to chapman is repeated therefrom by langbaine who rejects that of kirkman in 1661 and 1671 (greg, masques, xlviii) to peele, but the intimate knowledge of german shown in the dialogue has led elze and ward, ii. 428, to give chapman a german collaborator, conceivably one rudolf weckerlin of würtemberg, who after a preliminary visit before 1614 settled permanently in england about 1624 and obtained political employment, which he varied with literary exercises. later critics are inclined to reject chapman’s authorship altogether, and the case against it has been effectively put by e. koeppel, quellen-studien zu den dramen chapman’s, 78, and parrott. the ascription to peele has been revived by robertson, t. a. 123, and though parrott does not accept the full argument, he agrees in regarding the play as originally of peele’s date, possibly by him, with or without a collaborator, and drastically revised at a later period, perhaps by weckerlin in 1636. fleay, ii. 156, 311, also accepts peele and identifies the play with harry of cornwall, revived by strange’s for henslowe on 25 feb. 1592, but, as greg (henslowe, ii. 151) points out, the character in alphonsus is not henry, but richard of cornwall. it must be observed that no critic has noticed the s. r. ascription to john poole, which may quite well be the origin of kirkman’s ‘peele’. who john poole was, i do not know.
-s. r. 1567–8. ‘a tragedy of apius and virgine.’ richard jones (arber, i. 357).
-editions in dodsley^{3, 4} (1825–76), and by j. s. farmer (1908, t. f. t.) and r. b. mckerrow (1911, m. s. r.).
-1599. j. roberts for edward white.
-1633. eliz. allde.
-the birth of hercules. 1597 <
-editions by m. w. wallace (1903) and r. w. bond (1911, m. s. r.).
-this is pretty clearly a university play, and any connexion with the hercules of the admiral’s men in 1595 is highly improbable. as george peele died in 1596, it seems difficult to identify him with the peleus of the ms. bond thinks that ‘the styles of composition and writing agree in placing a date before 1600 out of the question’.
-s. r. 1606, june 5. ‘a booke called julius caesars reuenge.’ j. wright and n. fosbrook, licensed by dr. covell and the wardens (arber, iii. 323).
-n.d. the tragedie of caesar and pompey or caesars reuenge. g. e. for iohn wright.
-there is no traceable connexion between this and any other of the several plays on caesar, extant and lost, which are upon record. c. crawford (m. s. c. i. 290) indicates some parallels which suggest a date of authorship between 1592 and 1596.
-s. r. 1607, april 10 (buck). ‘a booke called the tragicall life and death of claudius tiberius nero.’ francis burton (arber, iii. 346).
-edition by j. s. farmer (s. f. t.).
-the play, which is on tiberius, not nero, is to be distinguished from nero (1624). the epistle, not apparently by the author, says that the play’s ‘father was an academician’.
-editions by w. w. greg (1913, m. s. r.) and j. s. farmer (s. f. t.), and in collections of peele.
-subtle shift ‘the vice’, providence, and rumour are among the characters.
-editions in brandl, 597 (1898), and by j. s. farmer (1908, five anonymous plays) from q{2}, and by tucker brooke (1915, yale elizabethan club reprints, i) from q{1}.
-the prologue refers to the audience ‘that sit in place’ and the ‘actours’ that ‘redy stand’. fleay, ii. 296, suggests the authorship of richard bower, on grounds of style.
-editions by j. o. halliwell (1843, sh. soc.), wright and clark (1863–6, 1893, cambridge shakespeare), w. c. hazlitt (1875, sh. libr. v, vi), f. j. furnivall and t. tyler (1886, 1889, 1891, sh. q), and j. s. farmer (s. f. t.).--dissertations: e. malone, on the three parts of hen. 6 (1821, variorum, xviii. 553); r. grant white, on the authorship of hen. 6 (works of sh. 1859–65, vii); j. lee, on the authorship of 2, 3 hen. vi and their originals (n. s. s. trans. 1875–6, 219); c. f. t. brooke, the authorship of 2, 3 hen. 6 (1912, trans. of connecticut academy, xvii. 141).
-the various claims of marlowe, kyd, greene, peele, lodge, and shakespeare himself to the contention can only be discussed in relation to shakespeare’s revision of them as 2, 3 henry vi, which probably belongs approximately to the date of 1 henry vi, produced by strange’s on 3 march 1592.
-s. r. 1602, aug. 11 (jackson). ‘a booke called the lyfe and deathe of the lord cromwell, as yt was lately acted by the lord chamberleyn his servantes.’ william cotton (arber, iii. 214).
-1602. the true chronicle historie of the whole life and death of thomas lord cromwell. as it hath beene sundrie times publikely acted by the right honorable the lord chamberlaine his seruants. written by w. s. for william jones.
-s. r. 1611, dec. 16. transfer from william jones to john browne of a ‘booke called the lyfe and death of the lord cromwell, by w: s.’ (arber, iii. 474).
-1613.... as it hath been sundry times publikely acted by the kings maiesties seruants. written by w. s. thomas snodham.
-editions printed by r. walker (1734) and by t. e. jacob (1889, old english dramas), j. s. farmer (1911, t. f. t.), and in sh. apocrypha.--dissertation: w. streit, the l. and d. of t. l. c. (1904, jena diss.).
-the w. s. of the title-page was interpreted as william shakespeare in archer’s play-list of 1656 (greg, masques, lx). no modern critic accepts the attribution, except hopkinson, who thinks that the original author was greene, and that shakespeare revised his work. heywood was suggested by r. farmer, and drayton by fleay, shakespeare, 298; b.c. i. 152, 160. the guesses at wentworth smith and william sly rest merely on their initials.
-s. r. 1565–6. ‘a playe intituled of the story of kyng daryous beyinge taken oute of the iij^{de} and iiij^{th} chapeter of the iij^{de} boke of esdras &c.’. thomas colwell (arber, i. 298).
-editions by j. o. halliwell (1860), a. brandl (1898), 359, j. s. farmer (1907, 1909, t. f. t.).
-the characters, other than darius and zorobabell, are mainly abstract, and include iniquitie, ‘the vyce’. there is a prolocutor.
-the text is given by steevens, variorum (1803), iii. 414; boswell, variorum (1821), iii. 356; greg, henslowe papers, 133; and a facsimile by halliwell, the theatre plats of three old english dramas (1860).
-the names of actors who took part in the play point to a performance by the admiral’s, about 1590–1 (cf. ch. xiii).
-s. r. 1595, dec. 1. ‘a book intitled edward the third and the blacke prince their warres with kinge john of fraunce.’ burby (arber, iii. 55).
-1596. the raigne of king edward the third: as it hath bin sundrie times plaied about the citie of london. for cuthbert burby.
-1599. simon stafford for cuthbert burby.
-the authorship was first ascribed to shakespeare (with that of edw. iv and edw. ii!) in rogers and ley’s play-list of 1656 (greg, masques, lxiv). the theory was advocated by capell, and has received much support, largely owing to the assent of tennyson, against whose authority, however, may be set that of swinburne. in its latest and not altogether unplausible form, shakespeare is regarded as the author, not of the whole play, but of i. 2 and ii, which deal with the episode of the wooing of lady salisbury by the king, and are possibly, although by no means certainly, due to another hand than that of the chronicle narrative, to which they are only slightly linked. the style of these scenes is not demonstrably un-shakespearian, and they, and in less degree the play as a whole, contain many parallels with hen. v and other works of the ‘nineties, of which the repetition in ii. i. 451 and in sonnet xciv of the line
-lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds
-s. r. 1599, aug. 28. ‘twoo playes beinge the ffirst and second parte of edward the iiij^{th} and the tanner of tamworth with the history of the life and deathe of master shore and jane shore his wyfe as yt was lately acted by the right honorable the erle of derbye his seruantes.’ john oxonbridge and john burby (arber, iii. 147).
-1600, feb. 23. transfer of busby’s interest to humphrey lownes (arber, iii. 156).
-1600. the first and second parts of king edward the fourth. containing his mery pastime with the tanner of tamworth, as also his loue to faire mistrisse shoare, her great promotion, fall and miserie and lastly the lamentable death of both her and her husband. likewise the besieging of london, by the bastard falconbridge, and the valiant defence of the same by the lord maior and the citizens. as it hath diuers times beene publikely played by the right honorable the earle of derbie his seruants. f. k. for humfrey lownes and john oxenbridge.
-1605; 1613; 1619; 1626.
-edition by b. field (1842, sh. soc.).--dissertation: a. sander, t. heywood’s historien von könig edward iv und ihre quellen (1907, jena diss.).
-every woman in her humour. 1607–8?
-n.d. for t. n. and i. w.
-1631. a pleasant comedie of faire em, the millers daughter of manchester. with the loue of william the conqueror. as it was sundry times publiquely acted in the honourable citie of london, by the right honourable the lord strange his seruants. for john wright.
-s. r. 1605, feb. 8. ‘a commedy called “the fayre mayd of bristoe” played at hampton court by his maiesties players.’ thomas pavier (arber, iii. 283).
-1605. the faire maide of bristow. as it was plaide at hampton, before the king and queenes most excellent maiesties. for thomas pavier.
-the court performance must have been during the christmas of 1603–4, which was at hampton court. bullen, works of day, 10, rejects the theory of collier that this was day’s bristol tragedy, written for the admiral’s in may 1602, on the grounds that it is not a tragedy and does not resemble the known work of day. moreover, the king’s men are not likely to have acquired an admiral’s play.
-s. r. 1607, april 24 (buck). ‘a booke called the faire mayde of the exchaunge.’ henry rocket (arber, iii. 347).
-1525. i. l.
-1637. a. g.
-1585. fedele and fortunio. the deceites in loue: excellently discoursed in a very pleasaunt and fine conceited comoedie, of two italian gentlemen. translated out of italian, and set downe according as it hath beene presented before the queenes moste excellent maiestie. for thomas hacket.
-the text is given by greg, henslowe papers, 143. the actors named show that it belonged to the admiral’s, and greg suggests that it may be dekker’s ‘fortewn tenes’ of sept. 1600. is it not more likely to have been a sequel to that, possibly munday’s set at tennis of dec. 1602?
-the text is given by steevens, variorum (1803), iii. 414; boswell, variorum (1821), iii. 356; greg, henslowe papers, 135; and a facsimile by halliwell, the theatre plats of three old english dramas (1860).
-the play was produced by the admiral’s on 3 june 1597, and the actors named represent that company at that date (cf. ch. xiii).
-s. r. 1595, april 1. ‘an enterlude called the pynder of wakefeilde.’ cuthbert burby (arber, ii. 295).
-1599. a pleasant conceyted comedie of george a greene, the pinner of wakefield. as it was sundry times acted by the seruants of the right honourable the earle of sussex. simon stafford for cuthbert burby.
-editions in dodsley^{1–3} (1744–1825), by w. scott (1810, a. b. d. i), f. w. clarke (1911, m. s. r.), and j. s. farmer (s. f. t.), and in collections of greene.--dissertation: o. mertins, robert greene and the play of g. a g. (1885, breslau diss.).
-s. r. 1606, jan. 10. (wilson). ‘an comedie called sir gyles goosecap provided that yt be printed accordinge to the copie wherevnto master wilson’s hand ys at.’ edward blount (arber, iii. 309).
-1606. sir gyles goosecappe. knight. a comedie presented by the chil: of the chappell. john windet for edward blount.
-s. r. 1594, may 14. ‘a booke intituled, the famous victories of henrye the fyft, conteyninge the honorable battell of agincourt.’ thomas creede (arber, ii. 648).
-1598. the famous victories of henry the fifth: containing the honourable battell of agincourt: as it was plaide by the queenes maiesties players. thomas creede.
-s. r. 1610, oct. 31 (buck). ‘a booke called, histriomastix or the player whipte.’ thomas thorpe (arber, iii. 447).
-editions by r. simpson (1878, s. of s. ii. 1) and j. s. farmer (1912, t. f. t.).--dissertation: f. hoppe, histriomastix-studien (1906, breslau diss.).
-come cressida, my cresset light, thy face doth shine both day and night; behold behold thy garter blue thy knight his valiant elbow wears, that when he shakes his furious speare the foe in shivering fearful sort may lay him down in death to snort.
-i am not convinced with small that this belongs to the revision, even though it seems discontinuous with the following fragment of a prodigal child play. but in any case the hit at shakespeare, if there really is one, remains unexplained. there is nothing else which points to so early a date as 1599 for his troilus and cressida. i note the following parallel from s. rowlands, the letting of humors blood in the head-veine (1600), sat. iv:
-be thou the lady cressit-light to mee, sir trollelolle i will proue to thee.
-edition by j. s. farmer (1914, s. f.).
-1602. a pleasant conceited comedie, wherein is shewed how a man may chuse a good wife from a bad. as it hath bene sundry times acted by the earle of worcesters seruants. for mathew law.
-1605; 1608; 1614; 1621; 1630; 1634.
-impatient poverty (?)
-s. r. 1560, june 10. ‘ ... nyce wanton; impaciens poverte ...’ john king (arber, i. 128).
-s. r. 1582, jan. 15. transfer from sampson awdeley to john charlwood (arber, ii. 405).
-editions by j. s. farmer (1907, t. f. t.) and r. b. mckerrow (1911, materialien, xxxiii).
-the play has come to light since the issue of the mediaeval stage, and i therefore include it here, although it is pre-elizabethan. the characters are peace, envy, impatient poverty (afterwards prosperity), conscience, abundance, misrule, ‘collhasarde’, and a summoner. the drama is a moral, non-controversial, and not even necessarily protestant in tone. it sets out the mutability of the world and the defects of poverty and prosperity. the scene is a ‘place’, and there are allusions to newgate and tyburn. if the t. r. of the title-page is the same whose name is at the end of nice wanton, the play is probably not later than the reign of edward vi; but the summoner and allusions to penance and courts spiritual suggest an even earlier date. the final address to the ‘soueraynes’ contains the following stanza:
-let vs pray al to that lorde of great magnificence to send amonge vs peace rest and vnyte and jesu preserue our soueraigne quene of preclare preeminence with al her noble consanguynyte and to sende them grace so the yssue to obtayne after them to rule this most chrysten realme.
-s. r. 1600, sept. 8. ‘a booke called jack drum’s enterteynmente. a commedy as yt bathe ben diuerse tymes acted by the children of paules.’ felix norton (arber, iii. 172).
-1600, oct. 23. transfer from norton to richard oliff (arber, iii. 175).
-1616.... newly corrected. w. stansby for philip knight.
-1618.... the actors 12 men, and 4 women. for nathaniel fosbrooke.
-editions by r. simpson (1878, s. of s. ii. 125) and j. s. farmer (1912, t. f. t.).
-all critics have recognized the style as marston’s and some of the vocabulary is vomited in poetaster; cf. small, 93. the date is fixed to 1600 by allusions to hopes of ‘peace with spaine’, ‘kemps morice’, and ‘womens yeare’ (i. 37, 45, 166). there is little doubt that the critical brabant senior is jonson, and that the play is that in which he told drummond that marston staged him. the cuckolding of brabant senior is based upon a story narrated by jonson to drummond (laing, 21) as one in which he had played the active, not the passive, part. if he had imparted the same story to marston, he not unnaturally resented the use made of it. the minor identifications suggested by fleay, ii. 74, have nothing to commend them, except possibly that of sir edward fortune with edward alleyn, who was building the fortune in 1600. were not this a paul’s play, one might infer from the closing line,
-our fortune laughes, and all content abounds,
-s. r. 1593, oct. 23. ‘an enterlude of the lyfe and deathe of jack strawe.’ john danter (arber, ii. 639).
-1604. for thomas pavier.
-editions in dodsley^4 (1874, v), and by h. schütt (1901) and j. s. farmer (1911, t. f. t.).
-they made a conditional bargain: if, at the end of six months, christophe could not manage to pay, his work should become hecht's absolute property. it was perfectly obvious that christophe would not be able to collect a quarter of the sum requisite.
-however, he stuck to it, said good-by to the rooms which were so full of memories for him, and took a less expensive flat,--selling a number of things, none of which, to his great surprise, were of any value,--getting into debt, and appealing to mooch's good nature, who, unfortunately, was at that time very badly off and ill, being confined to the house with rheumatism,--trying to find another publisher, and everywhere finding conditions as grasping as hecht's, and in some cases a point-blank refusal.
-it was just at the time when the attack on him in the musical press was at its height. one of the leading parisian papers was especially implacable: he was like a red rag to a bull to one of the staff who did not sign his name; not a week passed but there appeared in the column headed échos a spiteful paragraph ridiculing him. the musical critic completed the work of his anonymous colleague: the very smallest pretext served him as an opportunity of expressing his animosity. but that was only the preliminary skirmishing: he promised to return to the subject and deal with it at leisure, and to proceed in due course to execution. they were in no hurry, knowing that a definite accusation has nothing like the same effect on the public as a succession of insinuations repeated persistently. they played with christophe like a cat with a mouse. the articles were all sent to christophe, and he despised them, though they made him suffer for all that. however, he said nothing: and, instead of replying--(could he have done so, even if he had wanted to?)--he persisted in the futile and unequal fight with his publisher, provoked by his own vanity. he wasted his time, his strength, his money, and his only weapons, since in the lightness of his heart he was rash enough to deprive himself of the publicity which his music gained through hecht.
-suddenly there was a complete change. the article announced in the paper never appeared. the insinuations against him were dropped. the campaign stopped short. more than that: a few weeks later, the critic of the paper published incidentally a few eulogistic remarks which seemed to indicate that peace was made. a great publisher at leipzig wrote to christophe offering to publish his work, and the contract was signed on terms very advantageous to him. a flattering letter, bearing the seal of the austrian embassy, informed christophe that it was desired to place certain of his compositions on the programs of the galas given at the embassy. philomela, whom christophe was pushing forward, was asked to sing at one of the galas: and, immediately afterwards, she was in great demand in the best houses of the german and italian colonies in paris. christophe himself, who could not get out of going to one of the concerts, was very well received by the ambassador. however, a very short conversation showed him that his host, who knew very little about music, was absolutely ignorant of his work. how, then, did this sudden interest come about? an invisible hand seemed to be protecting him, removing obstacles, and making the way smooth for him. christophe made inquiries. the ambassador alluded to friends of christophe--count and countess berény, who were very fond of him. christophe did not even know their name: and on the night of his visit to the embassy he had no opportunity of being introduced to them. he did not make any effort to meet them. he was passing through a period of disgust with men, in which he set as little store by his friends as by his enemies: friends and enemies were equally uncertain: they changed with the wind: he would have to learn how to do without them, and say, like the old fellow of the seventeenth century:
-"god gave me friends: he took them from me. they have left me. i will leave them and say no more about it."
-since the day when he left olivier's house, olivier had given no sign of life: all seemed over between them. christophe had no mind to form new friendships. he imagined count and countess berény to be like the rest of the snobs who called themselves his friends: and he made no attempt to meet them. he was more inclined to avoid them. he longed to be able to escape from paris. he felt an urgent desire to take refuge for a few weeks in soothing solitude. if only he could have a few days, only a few days, to refresh himself in his native country! little by little that idea became a morbid obsession. he wanted once more to see his dear river, his own native sky, the land of his dead kinsfolk. he felt that he must see them. he could not without endangering his freedom: he was still subject to the warrant of arrest issued against him at the time of his flight from germany. but he felt that he was prepared to go to any lengths if he could return, though it were only for one day.
-as good luck would have it, he spoke of his longing to one of his new patrons. a young attaché of the german embassy, whom he met at an at home where he was playing, happened to say to him that his country was proud of so fine a musician as himself, to which christophe replied bitterly:
-"our country is so proud of me that she lets me die on her doorstep rather than open to me."
-the young diplomatist asked him to explain the situation, and, a few days later, he came to see christophe, and said:
-"people in high places are interested in you. a very great personage who alone has the power to suspend the consequence of the sentence which is the cause of your wretchedness has been informed of your position: and he deigns to be touched by it. i don't know how it is that your music can have given him any pleasure: for--(between ourselves)--his taste is not very good: but he is intelligent, and he has a generous heart. though he cannot, for the moment, remove the sentence passed upon you, the police are willing to shut their eyes, if you care to spend forty-eight hours in your native town to see your family once more. here is a passport. you must have it endorsed when you arrive and when you leave. be wary, and do not attract attention to yourself."
-once more christophe saw his native land. he spent the two days which had been granted him in communion with the earth and those who were beneath it. he visited his mother's grave. the grass was growing over it: but flowers had lately been laid on it. his father and grandfather slept side by side. he sat at their feet. their grave lay beneath the wall of the cemetery. it was shaded by a chestnut-tree growing in the sunken road on the other side of the low wall, over which he could see the golden crops, softly waving in the warm wind: the sun was shining in his majesty over the drowsy earth: he could hear the cry of the quails in the corn, and the soft murmuring of the cypress-trees above the graves. christophe was alone with his dreams. his heart was at peace. he sat there with his hands clasping his knees, and his back against the wall, gazing up at the sky. he closed his eyes for a moment. how simple everything was! he felt at home here with his own people. he stayed there near them, as it were hand in hand. the hours slipped by. towards evening he heard footsteps scrunching on the gravel paths. the custodian passed by and looked at christophe sitting there. christophe asked him who had laid the flowers on the grave. the man answered that the farmer's wife from buir came once or twice a year.
-"lorchen?" said christophe.
-they began to talk.
-"you are her son?" said the man.
-"she had three," said christophe.
-"i mean the one at hamburg. the other two turned out badly."
-christophe sat still with his head thrown back a little, and said nothing. the sun was setting.
-"i'm going to lock up," said the custodian.
-christophe got up and walked slowly round the cemetery with him. the custodian did the honors of the place. christophe stopped every now and then to read the names carved on the gravestones. how many of those he knew were of that company! old euler,--his son-in-law,--and farther off, the comrades of his childhood, little girls with whom he had played, --and there, a name which stirred his heart: ada.... peace be with all of them....
-the fiery rays of the setting sun put a girdle round the calm horizon. christophe left the cemetery. he went for a long walk through the fields. the stars were peeping....
-next day he came again, and once more spent the afternoon at his vigil. but the fair silent calm of the day before was broken and thrilling with life. his heart sang a careless, happy hymn. he sat on the curb of the grave, and set down the song he heard in pencil in a notebook resting on his knees. so the day passed. it seemed to him that he was working in his old little room, and that his mother was there on the other side of the partition. when he had finished and was ready to go--he had moved a little away from the grave,--he changed his mind and returned, and buried the notebook in the grass under the ivy. a few drops of rain were beginning to fall. christophe thought:
-"it will soon be blotted out. so much the better!... for you alone. for nobody else."
-and he went to see the river once more, and the familiar streets where so many things were changed. by the gates of the town along the promenade of the old fortifications a little wood of acacia-trees which he had seen planted had overrun the place, and they were stifling the old trees. as he passed along the wall surrounding the von kerichs' garden, he recognized the post on which he used to climb when he was a little boy, to look over into the grounds: and he was surprised to see how small the tree, the wall, and the garden had become.
-he stopped for a moment before the front gateway. he was going on when a carriage passed him. mechanically he raised his eyes: and they met those of a young lady, fresh, plump, happy-looking, who stared at him with a puzzled expression. she gave an exclamation of surprise. she ordered the carriage to stop, and said:
-she said laughingly:
-she was with a tall, stout, bald gentleman, with mustachios brushed up belligerently, whom she introduced as "herr reichsgerichtsrat von brombach"--her husband. she wanted christophe to go home with her. he tried to excuse himself. but minna exclaimed:
-"no, no. you must come; come and dine with us."
-she spoke very loud and very quickly, and, without waiting to be asked, began to tell him her whole life. christophe was stupefied by her volubility and the noise she made, and only heard half what she said, and stood looking at her. so that was his little minna. she looked blooming, healthy, well-fed: she had a pretty skin and pink complexion, but her features were rather coarse, and her nose in particular was thick and heavy. her gestures, manners, pretty little ways, were just the same; but her size was greatly altered.
-however, she never stopped talking: she told christophe all the stories of her past; her whole private history, and how she had come to love her husband and her husband her. christophe was embarrassed. she was an uncritical optimist, who found everything belonging to herself perfect and superior to other people's possessions--(at least, when she was with other people)--her town, her house, her family, her husband, her cooking, her four children, and herself. she said of her husband in his presence that he was "the most splendid man she had even seen," and that there was in him "a superhuman force." "the most splendid man" pinched minna's cheeks laughingly, and assured christophe that she "was a very remarkable woman."
-it seemed that herr reichsgerichtsrat was informed of christophe's position, and did not exactly know whether he ought to treat him with or without respect, having regard on the one hand to the warrant out against him, and on the other to the august protection which shielded him: he solved the difficulty by affecting a compromise between the two manners. as for minna, she went on talking. when she had talked her fill about herself to christophe, she began to talk about him: she battered him with questions as intimate as her answers had been to the supposititious questions which he had never asked. she was delighted to see christophe again: she knew nothing about his music: but she knew that he was famous: it flattered her to think that she had loved him,--(and that she had rejected him).--she reminded him of it jokingly without much delicacy. she asked him for his autograph for her album. she pestered him with questions about paris. she showed a mixture of curiosity and contempt for that city. she pretended that she knew it, having been to the folies-bergère, the opéra, montmartre, and saint-cloud. according to her, the women of paris were all cocottes, bad mothers, who had as few children as possible, and did not look after them, and left them at home while they went to the theater or the haunts of pleasant vice. she did not suffer contradiction. in the course of the evening she asked christophe to play the piano. she thought it charming. but at bottom she admired her husband's playing just as much, for she thought him as superior all round as she was herself.
-christophe had the pleasure of meeting minna's mother once more, frau von kerich. he still had a secret tenderness for her because she had been kind to him. she had not lost any of her old kindness, and she was more natural than minna: but she still treated christophe with that ironical affection which used to irritate him in the old days. she had stayed very much where he had left her: she liked the same things; and it did not seem possible for her to admit that any one could do better or differently: she set the jean-christophe of the old days against the new jean-christophe, and preferred the former.
-of those about her no one had changed in mind save christophe. the rigidity of the little town, and its narrowness of outlook, were painful to him. his hosts spent part of the evening in talking scandal about people he did not know. they picked out the ridiculous points of their neighbors, and they decreed everything ridiculous which was different from themselves or their own way of doing things. their malicious curiosity, which was perpetually occupied with trifles, at last made christophe feel quite sick. he tried to talk about his life abroad. but at once he became conscious of the impossibility of making them understand french civilization which had made him suffer, and now became dear to him when he stood for it in his own country--the free latin spirit, whose first law is understanding: to understand as much as possible of life and mind, at the risk of cheapening moral codes. in his hosts, especially in minna, he found once more the arrogant spirit with which he had come into such violent contact in the old days, though he had almost forgotten it since,--the arrogance of weakness as much as of virtue,--honesty without charity, pluming itself on its virtue, and despising the weaknesses which it could not understand, a worship of the conventional, and a shocked disdain of "irregular" higher things. minna was calmly and sententiously confident that she was always right. there were no degrees in her judgment of others. for the rest, she never made any attempt to understand them, and was only occupied with herself. her egoism was thinly coated with a blurred metaphysical tinge. she was always talking of her "ego" and the development of her "ego." she may have been a good woman, one capable of loving. but she loved herself too much. and, above all, her respect for herself was too great. she seemed to be perpetually saying a paternoster and an ave to her "ego." one felt that she would have absolutely and forever ceased to love the man she might have loved the best, if for a single instant he had failed--(even though he were to regret it a thousand times when it was done)--to show a due and proper respect for the dignity of her "ego."... hang your "ego"! think a little of the second person singular!...
-however, christophe did not regard her severely. he who was ordinarily so irritable listened to her chatter with the patience of an archangel. he would not judge her. he surrounded her, as with a halo, with the religious memory of his childish love, and he kept on trying to find in her the image of his little minna. it was not impossible to find her in certain of her gestures: the quality of her voice had certain notes which awoke echoes that moved him. he was absorbed in them, and said nothing, and did not listen to what she was saying, though he seemed to listen and always treated her with tender gentle respect. but he found it hard to concentrate his thoughts: she made too much noise, and prevented his hearing minna. at last he got up, and thought a little wearily:
-"poor little minna! they would like me to think that you are there, in that comely, stout woman, shouting at the top of her voice, and boring me to death. but i know that it is not so. come away, minna. what have we to do with these people?"
-"life has taught me nothing. all my knowledge is vain.... all my knowledge is vain.... i have still the same old illusions."
-how good it is to love and to believe unfailingly! everything that is touched by love is saved from death.
-"minna, you are with me,--with me, not with the other,--minna, you will never grow old!..."
-the veiled moon darted from her clouds, and made the silver scales on the river's back gleam in her light. christophe had a vague feeling that the river never used to pass near the knoll where he was sitting. he went near it. yes. beyond the pear-tree there used to be a tongue of sand, a little grassy slope, where he had often played. the river had swept them away: the river was encroaching, lapping at the roots of the pear-tree. christophe felt a pang at his heart: he went back towards the station. in that direction a new colony--mean houses, sheds half-built, tall factory chimneys--was in course of construction. christophe thought of the acacia-wood he had seen in the afternoon, and he thought:
-"there, too, the river is encroaching...."
-the old town, lying asleep in the darkness, with all that it contained of the living and the dead, became even more dear to him: for he felt that a menace hung over it....
-hostis habet muros....
-quick, let us save our women and children! death is lying in wait for all that we love. let us hasten to carve the passing face upon eternal bronze. let us snatch the treasure of our motherland before the flames devour the palace of priam.
-christophe scrambled into the train as it was going, like a man fleeing before a flood. but, like those men who saved the gods of their city from the wreck, christophe bore away within his soul the spark of life which had flown upwards from his native land, and the sacred spirit of the past.
-jacqueline and olivier had come together again for a time. jacqueline had lost her father, and his death had moved her deeply. in the presence of real misfortune she had felt the wretched folly of her other sorrows: and the tenderness which olivier showed towards her had revived her affection for him. she was taken back several years to the sad days which had followed on the death of her aunt marthe--days which had been followed by the blessed days of love. she told herself that she was ungrateful to life, and that she ought to be thankful that the little it had given her was not taken from her. she hugged that little to herself now that its worth had been revealed to her. a short absence from paris, ordered by her doctor to distract her in her grief, travel with olivier, a sort of pilgrimage to the places where they had loved each other during the first year of her marriage, softened her and filled her with tenderness. in the sadness of seeing once more at the turn of the road the dear face of the love which they thought was gone forever, of seeing it pass and knowing that it would vanish once more,--for how long? perhaps forever?--they clutched at it passionately and desperately....
-"stay, stay with us!"
-but they knew that they must lose it....
-when jacqueline returned to paris she felt a little new life, kindled by love, thrilling in her veins. but love had gone already. the burden which lay so heavy upon her did not bring her into sympathy with olivier again. she did not feel the joy she expected. she probed herself uneasily. often when she had been so tormented before she had thought that the coming of a child might be her salvation. the child had come, but it brought no salvation. she felt the human plant rooted in her flesh growing, and sucking up her blood and her life. she would stay for days together lost in thought, listening with vacant eyes, all her being exhausted by the unknown creature that had taken possession of her. she was conscious of a vague buzzing, sweet, lulling, agonizing. she would start suddenly from her torpor--dripping with sweat, shivering, with a spasm of revolt. she fought against the meshes in which nature had entrapped her. she wished to live, to live freely, and it seemed to her that nature had tricked her. then she was ashamed of such thoughts, and seemed monstrous in her own eyes, and asked herself if she were more wicked than, or made differently from, other women. and little by little she would grow calm again, browsing like a tree over the sap, and the dream of the living fruit ripening in her womb. what was it? what was it going to be?...
-when she heard its first cry to the light, when she saw its pitiable touching little body, her heart melted. in one dazzling moment she knew the glorious joy of motherhood, the mightiest in all the world: in her suffering to have created of her own flesh a living being, a man. and the great wave of love which moves the universe, caught her whole body, dashed her down, rushed over her, and lifted her up to the heavens.... o god, the woman who creates is thy equal: and thou knowest no joy like unto hers: for thou hast not suffered....
-then the wave rolled back, and her soul dropped back into the depths. olivier, trembling with emotion, stooped over the child: and, smiling at jacqueline, he tried to understand what bond of mysterious life there was between themselves and the wretched little creature that was as yet hardly human. tenderly, with a little feeling of disgust, he just touched its little yellow wrinkled face with his lips. jacqueline watched him: jealously she pushed him away: she took the child and hugged it to her breast, and covered it with kisses. the child cried and she gave it back, and, with her face turned to the wall, she wept. olivier came to her and kissed her, and drank her tears: she kissed him too, and forced herself to smile: then she asked to be left alone to rest with the child by her side.... alas! what is to be done when love is dead? the man who gives more than half of himself up to intelligence never loses a strong feeling without preserving a trace, an idea, of it in his brain. he cannot love any more, but he cannot forget that he has loved. but the woman who has loved wholly and without reason, and without reason ceases wholly to love, what can she do? will? take refuge in illusions? and what if she be too weak to will, too true to take refuge in illusions?...
-jacqueline, lying on her side with her head propped up by her hand, looked down at the child with tender pity. what was he? whatever he was, he was not entirely hers. he was also something of "the other." and she no longer loved "the other." poor child! dear child! she was exasperated with the little creature who was there to bind her to the dead past: and she bent over him and kissed and kissed him....
-it is the great misfortune of the women of to-day that they are too free without being free enough. if they were more free, they would seek to form ties, and would find charm and security in them. if they were less free, they would resign themselves to ties which they would not know how to break: and they would suffer less. but the worst state of all is to have ties which do not bind, and duties from which it is possible to break free.
-if jacqueline had believed that her little house was to be her lot for the whole of her life, she would not have found it so inconvenient and cramped, and she would have devised ways of making it comfortable: she would have ended as she began, by loving it. but she knew that it was possible to leave, it, and it stifled her. it was possible for her to revolt, and at last she came to think it her duty to do so.
-the present-day moralists are strange creatures. all their qualities have atrophied to the profit of their faculties of observation. they have given up trying to see life, hardly attempt to understand it, and never by any chance will it. when they have observed and noted down the facts of human nature, they seem to think their task is at an end, and say:
-"that is a fact."
-they make no attempt to change it. in their eyes, apparently, the mere fact of existence is a moral virtue. every sort of weakness seems to have been inserted with a sort of divine right. the world is growing democratic. formerly only the king was irresponsible. nowadays all men, preferably the basest, have that privilege. admirable counselors! with infinite pains and scrupulous care they set themselves to prove to the weak exactly how weak they are, and that it has been decreed that they should be so and not otherwise from all eternity. what can the weak do but fold their arms? we may think ourselves lucky if they do not admire themselves! by dint of hearing it said over and over again that she is a sick child, a woman soon takes a pride in being so. it is encouraging cowardice, and making it spread. if a man were to amuse himself by telling children complacently that there is an age in adolescence when the soul, not yet having found its balance, is capable of crimes, and suicide, and the worst sort of physical and moral depravity, and were to excuse these things--at once these offenses would spring into being. and even with men it is quite enough to go on telling them that they are not free to make them cease to be so and descend to the level of the beasts. tell a woman that she is a responsible being, and mistress of her body and her will, and she will be so. but you moralists are cowards, and take good care not to tell her so: for you have an interest in keeping such knowledge from her!...
-the unhappy surroundings in which jacqueline found herself led her astray. since she had broken with olivier she had returned to that section of society which she despised when she was a girl. about her and her friends, among married women, there gathered a little group of wealthy young men and women, smart, idle, intelligent, and licentious. they enjoyed absolute liberty of thought and speech, tempered only by the seasoning of wit. they might well have taken for their motto the device of the rabelaisian abbey:
-"do what thou wilt."
-but they bragged a little: for they did not will anything much: they were like the enervated people of thelema. they would complacently profess the freedom of their instincts: but their instincts were faded and faint; and their profligacy was chiefly cerebral. they delighted in feeling themselves sink into the great piscina of civilization, that warm mud-bath in which human energy, the primeval and vital forces, primitive animalism, and its blossom of faith, will, duties, and passions, are liquefied. jacqueline's pretty body was steeped in that bath of gelatinous thought. olivier could do nothing to keep her from it. besides, he too was touched by the disease of the time: he thought he had no right to tamper with the liberty of another human being: he would not ask anything of the woman he loved that he could not gain through love. and jacqueline did not in the least resent his non-interference, because she regarded her liberty as her right.
-the worst of it was that she went into that amphibious section of society with a wholeness of heart which made anything equivocal repulsive to her: when she believed she gave herself: in the generous ardor of her soul, even in her egoism, she always burned her boats; and, as a result of living with olivier, she had preserved a moral inability to compromise, which she was apt to apply even in immorality.
-her new friends were too cautious to let others see them as they were. in theory they paraded absolute liberty with regard to the prejudices of morality and society, though in practice they so contrived their affairs as not to fall out with any one whose acquaintance might be useful to them: they used morality and society, while they betrayed them like unfaithful servants, robbing their masters. they even robbed each other for want of anything better to do, and as a matter of habit. there was more than one of the men who knew that his wife had lovers. the wives were not ignorant of the fact that their husbands had mistresses. they both put up with it. scandal only begins when one makes a noise about these things. these charming marriages rested on a tacit understanding between partners--between accomplices. but jacqueline was more frank, and played to win or lose. the first thing was to be sincere. again, to be sincere. again and always, to be sincere. sincerity was also one of the virtues extolled by the ideas of that time. but herein it is proved once again that everything is sound for the sound in heart, while everything is corrupt for the corrupt. how hideous it is sometimes to be sincere! it is a sin for mediocre people to try to look into the depths of themselves. they see their mediocrity: and their vanity always finds something to feed on.
-jacqueline spent her time in looking at herself in her mirror: she saw things in it which it were better she had never seen: for when she saw them she could not take her eyes off them: and instead of struggling against them she watched them grow: they became enormous and in the end captured her eyes and her mind.
-the child was not enough to fill her life. she had not been able to nurse it: the baby pined with her. she had to procure a wet nurse. it was a great grief to her at first.... soon it became a solace. the child became splendidly healthy: he grew lustily, and became a fine little fellow, gave no trouble, spent his time in sleeping, and hardly cried at all at night. the nurse--a strapping nivernaise who had fostered many children, and always had a jealous and embarrassing animal affection for each of them in turn--was like the real mother. whenever jacqueline expressed an opinion, the woman went her own way: and if jacqueline tried to argue, in the end she always found that she knew nothing at all about it. she had never really recovered from the birth of the child: a slight attack of phlebitis had dragged her down, and as she had to lie still for several weeks she worried and worried: she was feverish, and her mind went on and on indefinitely beating out the same monotonous deluded complaint:
-"i have not lived, i have not lived: and now my life is finished...."
-for her imagination was fired: she thought herself crippled for life: and there rose in her a dumb, harsh, and bitter rancor, which she did not confess to herself, against the innocent cause of her illness, the child. the feeling is not so rare as is generally believed: but a veil is drawn over it: and even those who feel it are ashamed to submit to it in their inmost hearts. jacqueline condemned herself: there was a sharp conflict between her egoism and her mother's love. when she saw the child sleeping so happily, she was filled with tenderness: but a moment later she would think bitterly:
-"he has killed me."
-and she could not suppress a feeling of irritation and revolt against the untroubled sleep of the creature whose happiness she had bought at the price of her suffering. even after she had recovered, when the child was bigger, the feeling of hostility persisted dimly and obscurely. as she was ashamed of it, she transferred it to olivier. she went on fancying herself ill: and her perpetual care of her health, her anxieties, which were bolstered up by the doctors, who encouraged the idleness which was the prime cause of it all,--(separation from the child, forced inactivity, absolute isolation, weeks of emptiness spent in lying in bed and being stuffed with food, like a beast being fatted for slaughter),--had ended by concentrating all her thoughts upon, herself. the modern way of curing neurasthenia is very strange, being neither more nor less than the substitution of hypertrophy of the ego for a disease of the ego! why not bleed their egoism, or restore the circulation of the blood from head to heart, if they do not have too much, by some violent, moral reagent!
-jacqueline came out of it physically stronger, plumper, and rejuvenated,--but morally she was more ill than ever. her months of isolation had broken the last ties of thought which bound her to olivier. while she lived with him she was still under the ascendancy of his idealism, for, in spite of all his failings, he remained constant to his faith: she struggled in vain against the bondage in which she was held by a mind more steadfast than her own, against the look which pierced to her very soul, and forced her sometimes to condemn herself, however loath she might be to do so. but as soon as chance had separated her from her husband--as soon as she ceased to feel the weight of his all-seeing love--as soon as she was free--the trusting friendship that used to exist between them was supplanted by a feeling of anger at having broken free, a sort of hatred born of the idea that she had for so long lived beneath the yoke of an affection which she no longer felt.--who can tell the hidden, implacable, bitter feelings that seethe and ferment in the heart of a creature he loves, by whom he believes that he is loved? between one day and the next, all is changed. she loved the day before, she seemed to love, she thought she loved. she loves no longer. the man she loved is struck out from her thoughts. she sees suddenly that he is nothing to her: and he does not understand: he has seen nothing of the long travail through which she has passed: he has had no suspicion of the secret hostility towards himself that has been gathering in her: he does not wish to know the reasons for her vengeful hatred. reasons often remote, complex, and obscure,--some hidden deep in the mysteries of their inmost life,--others arising from injured vanity, secrets of the heart surprised and judged,--others.... what does she know of them herself? it is some hidden offense committed against her unwittingly, an offense which she will never forgive. it is impossible to find out, and she herself is not very sure what it is: but the offense is marked deep in her flesh: her flesh will never forget it.
-to fight against such an appalling stream of disaffection called for a very different type of man from olivier--one nearer nature, a simpler man and a more supple one not hampered with sentimental scruples, a man of strong instincts, capable, if need be, of actions which his reason would disavow. he lost the fight before ever it began, for he had lost heart: his perception was too clear, and he had long since recognized in jacqueline a form of heredity which was stronger than her will, her mother's soul reappearing in her: he saw her falling like a stone down to the depths of the stock from which she sprang: and his weak and clumsy efforts to stay her only accelerated her downfall. he forced himself to be calm. she, from an unconsciously selfish motive, tried to break down his defenses and make him say violent, brutal, boorish things to her so as to have a reason for despising him. if he gave way to anger, she despised him. if at once he were ashamed and became apologetic, she despised him even more. and if he did not, would not, give way to anger--then she hated him. and worst of all was the silence which for days together would rise like a wall between them. a suffocating, crushing, maddening silence which brings even the gentlest creatures to fury and exasperation, and makes them have moments when they feel a savage desire to hurt, to cry out, or make the other cry out. the black silence in which love reaches its final stage of disintegration, and the man and the woman, like the worlds, each following its own orbit, pass onward into the night.... they had reached a point at which everything they did, even an attempt to come together again, drove them farther and farther apart. their life became intolerable. events were precipitated by an accident.
-during the past year cécile fleury had often been to the jeannins'. olivier had met her at christophe's: then jacqueline had invited her to the house; and cécile went on seeing them even after christophe had broken with them. jacqueline had been kind to her: although she was hardly at all musical and thought cécile a little common, she felt the charm of her singing and her soothing influence. olivier liked playing with her, and gradually she became a friend of the family. she inspired confidence: when she came into the jeannins' drawing-room with her honest eyes and her air of health and high spirits, and her rather loud laugh which it was good to hear, it was like a ray of sunlight piercing the mist. she brought a feeling of inexpressible relief and solace to olivier and jacqueline. when she was leaving they longed to say to her:
-"no. stay, stay a little while longer, for i am cold!"
-during jacqueline's absence olivier saw cécile more often: he could not help letting her see something of his troubles. he did it quite unthinkingly, with the heedlessness of a weak and tender creature who is stifling and has need of some one to confide in, with an absolute surrender. cécile was touched by it: she soothed him with motherly words of comfort. she pitied both of them, and urged olivier not to lose heart. but whether it was that she was more embarrassed than he by his confidences, or that there was some other reason, she found excuses for going less often to the house. no doubt it seemed to her that she was not acting loyally towards jacqueline, for she had no right to know her secrets. at least, that was how olivier interpreted her estrangement: and he agreed with her, for he was sorry that he had spoken. but the estrangement made him feel what cécile had become to him. he had grown used to sharing his ideas with her, and she was the only creature who could deliver him from the pain he was suffering. he was too much skilled in reading his own feelings to have any doubt as to the name of what he felt for her. he would never have said anything to cécile. but he could not resist the imperative desire to write down what he felt. for some little time past he had returned to the dangerous habit of communing with his thoughts on paper. he had cured himself of it during the years of love: but now that he found himself alone once more, his inherited mania took possession of him: it was a relief from his sufferings, and it was the artist's need of self-analysis. so he described himself, and set his troubles down in writing, as though he were telling them to cécile--more freely indeed; since she was never to read it. and as luck would have it the manuscript came into jacqueline's hands. it happened one day when she was feeling nearer olivier than she had been for years. as she was clearing out her cupboard she read once more the old love-letters he had sent her: she had been moved to tears by them. sitting in the shadow of the cupboard, unable to go on with her tidying, she lived through the past once more: and then was filled with sorrow and remorse to think that she had destroyed it. she thought of the grief it must be to olivier; she had never been able to face the idea of it calmly: she could forget it: but she could not bear to think that he had suffered through her. her heart ached. she longed to throw herself into his arms and say:
-"oh! olivier, olivier, what have we done? we are mad, we are mad! don't let us ever again hurt each other!"
-if only he had come in at that moment!
-and it was exactly at that moment that she found his letters to cécile.... it was the end.--did she think that olivier had really deceived her? perhaps. but what does it signify? to her the betrayal was not so much in the act as in the thought and intention. she would have found it easier to forgive the man she loved for taking a mistress than for secretly giving his heart to another woman. and she was right.
-"a pretty state of things!" some will say....--(they are poor creatures who only suffer from the betrayal of love when it is consummated!... when the heart remains faithful, the sordid offenses of the body are of small account. when the heart turns traitor, all the rest is nothing.)...
-jacqueline did not for a moment think of regaining olivier's love. it was too late! she no longer cared for him enough. or perhaps she cared for him too much. all her trust in him crumbled away, all that was left in her secret heart of her faith and hope in him. she did not tell herself that she had scorned him, and had discouraged him, and driven him to his new love, or that his love was innocent: and that after all we are not masters of ourselves sufficiently to choose whether we will love or not. it never occurred to her to compare his sentimental impulse with her flirtation with christophe: she did not love christophe, and so he did not count! in her passionate exaggeration she thought that olivier was lying to her, and that she was nothing to him. her last stay had failed her at the moment when she reached out her hand to grasp it.... it was the end.
-olivier never knew what she had suffered that day. but when he next saw her he too felt that it was the end.
-from that moment on they never spoke to each other except in the presence of strangers. they watched each other like trapped beasts fearfully on their guard. jeremias gotthelf somewhere describes, with pitiless simplicity, the grim situation of a husband and a wife who no longer love each other and watch each other, each carefully marking the other's health, looking for symptoms of illness, neither actually thinking of hastening or even wishing the death of the other, but drifting along in the hope of some sudden accident: and each of them living in the flattering thought of being the healthier of the two. there were moments when both jacqueline and olivier almost fancied that such thoughts were in the other's mind. and they were in the mind of neither: but it was bad enough that they should attribute them to each other, as jacqueline did at night when she would lie feverishly awake and tell herself that her husband was the stronger, and that he was wearing her down gradually, and would soon triumph over her.... the monstrous delirium of a crazy heart and brain!--and to think that in their heart of hearts, with all that was best in them, they loved each other!...
-olivier bent beneath the weight of it, and made no attempt to fight against it; he held aloof and dropped the rudder of jacqueline's soul. left to herself with no pilot to steer her, her freedom turned her dizzy: she needed a master against whom to revolt: if she had no master she had to make one. then she was the prey of a fixed idea. till then, in spite of her suffering, she had never dreamed of leaving olivier. from that time on she thought herself absolved from every tie. she wished to love, before it was too late:--(for, young as she was, she thought herself an old woman).--she loved, she indulged in those imaginary devouring passions, which fasten on the first object they meet, a face seen in a crowd, a reputation, sometimes merely a name, and, having laid hold of it cannot let go, telling the heart that it cannot live without the object of its choice, laying it waste, and completely emptying it of all the memories of the past that filled it; other affections, moral ideas, memories, pride of self, and respect for others. and when the fixed idea dies in its time for want of anything to feed it, after it has consumed everything, who can tell what the new nature may be that will spring from the ruins, a nature often without kindness, without pity, without youth, without illusions, thinking of nothing but devouring life as grass smothers and devours the ruins of monuments!
-in this case, as usual, the fixed idea fastened on a creature of the type that most easily tricks the heart. poor jacqueline fell in love with a philanderer, a parisian writer, who was neither young nor handsome, a man who was heavy, red-faced, dissipated, with bad teeth, absolutely and terribly heartless, whose chief merit was that he was a man of the world and had made a great many women unhappy. she had not even the excuse that she did not know how selfish he was: for he paraded it in his art. he knew perfectly what he was doing: egoism enshrined in art is like a mirror to larks, like a candle to moths. more than one woman in jacqueline's circle had been caught: quite recently one of her friends, a young, newly-married woman, whom he had had no great difficulty in seducing, had been deserted by him. their hearts were not broken by it, though they found it hard to conceal their discomfiture from the delight of the gossips. even those who were most cruelly hurt were much too careful of their interests and their social interests not to keep their perturbation within the bounds of common sense. they made no scandal. whether they deceived their husbands or their lovers, or whether they were themselves deceived and suffered, it was all done in silence. they were the heroines of scandalous rumors.
-but jacqueline was mad: she was capable not only of doing what she said, but also of saying what she did. she brought into her folly an absolute lack of selfish motive, and an utter disinterestedness. she had the dangerous merit of always being frank with herself and of never shirking the consequences of her own actions. she was a better creature than the people she lived with: and for that reason she did worse. when she loved, when she conceived the idea of adultery, she flung herself into it headlong with desperate frankness.
-madame arnaud was alone in her room, knitting with the feverish tranquillity with which penelope must have woven her famous web. like penelope, she was waiting for her husband's return. m. arnaud used to spend whole days away from home. he had classes in the morning and evening. as a rule he came back to lunch. although he was a slow walker and his school was at the other end of paris, he forced himself to take the long walk home, not so much from affection, as from habit, and for the sake of economy. but sometimes he was detained by lectures, or he would take advantage of being in the neighborhood of a library to go and work there. lucile arnaud would be left alone in the empty flat. except for the charwoman who came from eight to ten to do the cleaning, and the tradesmen who came to fetch and bring orders, no one ever rang the bell. she knew nobody in the house now. christophe had removed, and there were newcomers in the lilac garden. céline chabran had married andré elsberger. élie elsberger had gone away with his family to spain, where he had been appointed manager of a mine. old weil had lost his wife and hardly ever lived in his flat in paris. only christophe and his friend cécile had kept up their relations with lucile arnaud: but they lived far away, and they were busy and hard at work all day long, so that they often did not come to see her for weeks together. she had nothing outside herself.
-she was not bored. she needed very little to keep her interest in things alive: the very smallest daily task was enough, or a tiny plant, whose delicate foliage she would clean with motherly care every morning. she had her quiet gray cat, who had lost something of his manners, as is apt to happen with domestic animals who are loved by their masters: he used to spend the day, like herself, sitting by the fire, or on the table near the lamp watching her fingers as she sewed, and sometimes gazing at her with his strange eyes, which watched her for a moment and then closed again. even the furniture was company to her. every piece was like a familiar face. she took a childlike pleasure in looking after them, in gently wiping off the dust which settled on their sides, and in carefully replacing them in their usual corners. she would hold silent conversations with them. she would smile at the fine louis xvi. round-topped bureau, which was the only piece of old furniture she had. every day she would feel the same joy in seeing it. she was always absorbed in going over her linen, and she would spend hours standing on a chair, with her hands and arms deep in the great country cupboard, looking and arranging, while the cat, whose curiosity was roused, would spend hours watching her.
-but her real happiness came when, after her work was done and she had lunched alone, god knows how--(she never had much of an appetite)--and had gone the necessary errands, and her day was at an end, she would come in about four and sit by the window or the fire with her work and her cat. sometimes she would find some excuse for not going out at all; she was glad when she could stay indoors, especially in the winter when it was snowing. she had a horror of the cold, and the wind, and the mud, and the rain, for she was something of a cat herself, very clean, fastidious, and soft. she would rather not eat than go and procure her lunch when the tradespeople forgot to bring it. in that case she would munch a piece of chocolate or some fruit from the sideboard. she was very careful not to let arnaud know. these were her escapades. then during the days when the light was dim, and also sometimes on lovely sunny days,--(outside the blue sky would shine, and the noise of the street would buzz round the dark silent rooms; like a sort of mirage enshrouding the soul),--she would sit in her favorite corner, with her feet on her hassock, her knitting in her hands, and go off into day-dreams while her fingers plied the needles. she would have one of her favorite books by her side: as a rule one of those humble, red-backed volumes, a translation of an english novel. she would read very little, hardly more than a chapter a day; and the book would lie on her knees open at the same page for a long time together, or sometimes she would not even open it: she knew it already, and the story of it would be in her dreams. so the long novels of dickens and thackeray would be drawn out over weeks, and in her dreams they would become years. they wrapped her about with their tenderness. the people of the present day, who read quickly and carelessly, do not know the marvelous vigor irradiated by those fine books which must be taken in slowly. madame arnaud had no doubt that the lives of the characters in the novels were not as real as her own. there were some for whom she would have laid down her life: the tender jealous creature, lady castlewood, the woman who loved in silence with her motherly virginal heart, was a sister to her: little dombey was her own dear little boy: she was dora, the child-wife, who was dying: she would hold out her arms to all those childlike souls which pass through the world with the honest eyes of purity: and around her there would pass a procession of friendly beggars and harmless eccentrics, all in pursuit of their touchingly preposterous cranks and whims,--and at their head the fond genius of dear dickens, laughing and crying together at his own dreams. at such times, when she looked out of the window, she would recognize among the passers-by the beloved or dreaded figure of this or that personage in that imaginary world. she would fancy similar lives, the same lives, being lived behind the walls of the houses. her dislike for going out came from her dread of that world with its moving mysteries. she saw around her hidden dramas and comedies being played. it was not always an illusion. in her isolation she had come by the gift of mystical intuition which in the eyes of the passers-by can perceive the secrets of their lives of yesterday and to-morrow, which are often unknown to themselves. she mixed up what she actually saw with what she remembered of the novels and distorted it. she felt that she must drown in that immense universe. and she would have to go home to regain her footing.
-but what need had she to read or to look at others? she had but to gaze in upon herself. her pale, dim existence--seeming so when seen from without--was gloriously lit up within. there was abundance and fullness of life in it. there were memories, and treasures, the existence of which lay unsuspected.... had they ever had any reality?--no doubt they were real, since they were real to her.... oh! the wonder of such lowly lives transfigured by the magic wand of dreams!
-madame arnaud would go back through the years to her childhood: each of the little frail flowers of her vanished hopes sprang silently into life again.... her first childish love for a girl, whose charm had fascinated her at first sight: she loved her with the love which is only possible to those who are infinitely pure: she used to think she would die at the touch of her: she used to long to kiss her feet, to be her little girl, to marry her: the girl had married, had not been happy, had had a child which died, and then she too had died.... another love, when she was about twelve years old, for a little girl of her own age, who tyrannized over her: a fair-haired mad-cap, gay and imperious, who used to amuse herself by making her cry, and then would devour her with kisses: she laid a thousand romantic plans for their future together: then, suddenly, the girl became a carmelite nun, without anybody knowing why: she was said to be happy.... then there had been a great passion for a man much older than herself. no one had ever known anything about it, not even the object of it. she had given to it a great and ardent devotion and untold wealth of tenderness.... then another passion: this time she was loved. but from a strange timidity, and mistrust of herself, she had not dared to believe that she was loved, or to let the man see that she loved him. and happiness passed without her grasping it.... then.... but what is the use of telling others what only has a meaning for oneself? so many trivial facts which had assumed a profound significance: a little attention at the hands of a friend: a kind word from olivier, spoken without his attaching any importance to it: christophe's kindly visits, and the enchanted world evoked by his music: a glance from a stranger: yes, and even in that excellent woman, so virtuous and pure, certain involuntary infidelities in thought, which made her uneasy and feel ashamed, while she would feebly thrust them aside, though all the same--being so innocent--they brought a little sunshine into her heart.... she loved her husband truly, although he was not altogether the husband of her dreams. but he was kind, and one day when he said to her: "my darling wife, you do not know all you are to me; you are my whole life," her heart melted: and that day she felt that she was one with him, wholly and forever, without any possibility of going back on it. each year brought them closer to each other, and tightened the bond between them. they had shared lovely dreams: of work, traveling, children. what had become of them?... alas!... madame arnaud was still dreaming them. there was a little boy of whom she had so often and so profoundly dreamed, that she knew him almost as well as though he really existed. she had slowly begotten him through the years, always adorning him with all the most beautiful things she saw, and the things she loved most dearly.... silence!...
-that was all. it meant worlds to her. there are so many tragedies unknown, even the most intimate, in the depths of the most tranquil and seemingly most ordinary lives! and the greatest tragedy of all perhaps is:--that nothing happens in such lives of hope crying for what is their right, their just due promised, and refused, by nature--wasting away in passionate anguish--showing nothing of it all to the outside world! madame arnaud, happily for herself, was not only occupied with herself. her own life filled only a part of her dreams. she lived also in the lives of those she knew, or had known, and put herself in their place: she thought much of christophe and his friend cécile. she was thinking of them now. the two women had grown fond of one another. the strange thing was that of the two it was the sturdy cécile who felt most need to lean on the frail madame arnaud. in reality the healthy, high-spirited young woman was not so strong as she seemed to be. she was passing through a crisis. even the most tranquil hearts are not immune from being taken by surprise. unknown to herself, a feeling of tenderness had crept into her heart: she refused to admit it at first: but it had grown so that she was forced to see it:--she loved olivier. his sweet and affectionate disposition, the rather feminine charm of his personality, his weakness and inability to defend himself, had attracted her at once:--(a motherly nature is attracted by the nature which has need of her).--what she had learned subsequently of his marital troubles had inspired her with a dangerous pity for olivier. no doubt these reasons would not have been enough. who can say why one human being falls in love with another? neither counts for anything in the matter, but often it merely happens that a heart which is for the moment of its guard is taken by surprise, and is delivered up to the first affection it may meet on the road,--as soon as she had no room left for doubt as to her state of mind, cécile bravely struggled to pluck out the barb of a love which she thought wicked and absurd: she suffered for a long time and did not recover. no one would have suspected what was happening to her: she strove valiantly to appear happy. only madame arnaud knew what it must have cost her. not that cécile had told her her secret. but she would sometimes come and lay her head on madame arnaud's bosom. she would weep a little, without a word, kiss her, and then go away laughing. she adored this friend of hers, in whom, though she seemed so fragile, she felt a moral energy and faith superior to her own. she did not confide in her. but madame arnaud could guess volumes on a hint. the world seemed to her to be a sad misunderstanding. it is impossible to dissolve it. one can only love, have pity, and dream.
-and when the swarm of her dreams buzzed too loudly, when her thoughts stopped, she would go to her piano and let her hands fall lightly on the keys, at random, and play softly to wreathe the mirage of life about with the subdued light of music....
-but the good little creature would not forget to perform her everyday duties: and when arnaud came home he would find the lamp lit, the supper ready, and his wife's pale, smiling face waiting for him. and he would have no idea of the universe in which she had been living.
-madame arnaud was alone in her room.... it was near evening.
-the door-bell rang. madame arnaud, roused from her reverie before the usual time, started and trembled. she carefully arranged her work and went to open the door. christophe came in. he was in a great state of emotion. she took his hands affectionately.
-"what is it, my dear?" she asked.
-"ah!" he said. "olivier has come back."
-"he came this morning and said: 'christophe, help me!' i embraced him. he wept. he told me: i have nothing but you now. she has gone."
-madame arnaud gasped, and clasped her hands and said:
-"she has gone," said christophe. "gone with her lover."
-"and her child?" asked madame arnaud.
-"husband, child--she has left everything."
-"poor thing!" said madame arnaud again.
-"he loved her," said christophe. "he loved her, and her alone. he will never recover from the blow. he keeps on saying: 'christophe, she has betrayed me.... my dearest friend has betrayed me.' it is no good my saying to him, 'since she has betrayed you, she cannot have been your friend. she is your enemy. forget her or kill her!'"
-"oh! christophe, what are you saying! it is too horrible!"
-"the murderers of the soul are the worst of all: but one crime is no excuse for another. you know that."
-"i know it. yes. you are right. i did not think what i was saying.... who knows? i should do it, perhaps."
-"no. you are unfair to yourself. you are so kind."
-"if i am roused to passion, i am as cruel as the rest. you see how i had lost control of myself!... but when you see a friend brought to tears, how can you not hate the person who has caused them? and how can one be too hard on a woman who leaves her child to run after her lover?"
-"don't talk like that, christophe. you don't know."
-"what! you defend her?"
-"i pity her, too."
-"i pity those who suffer. not those who cause suffering."
-"well! do you think she hasn't suffered too? do you think she has left her child and wrecked her life out of lightness of heart? for her life is wrecked too. i hardly know her, christophe. i have only seen her a few times, and that only in passing: she never said a friendly word to me, she was not in sympathy with me. and yet i know her better than you. i am sure she is not a bad woman. poor child! i can guess what she has had to go through...."
-"you.... you whose life is so worthy and so right and sensible!..."
-"yes, christophe, i. you do not know. you are kind, but you are a man and, like all men, you are hard, in spite of your kindness--a man hard and set against everything which is not in and of yourself. you have no real knowledge of the women who live with you. you love them, after your fashion; but you never take the trouble to understand them. you are so easily satisfied with yourselves! you are quite sure that you know us.... alas! if you knew how we suffer sometimes when we see, not that you do not love us, but how you love us, and that that is all we are to those we love the best! there are moments, christophe, when we clench our fists so that the nails dig into our hands to keep ourselves from crying to you: 'oh! do not love us, do not love us! anything rather than love us like that!'... do you know the saying of a poet: 'even in her home, among her children, surrounded with sham honors, a woman endures a scorn a thousand times harder to bear than the most utter misery'? think of that, christophe. they are terrible words."
-"what you say has upset me. i don't rightly understand. but i am beginning to see.... then, you yourself...."
-"i have been through all these torments."
-"is it possible?... but, even so, you will never make me believe that you would have done the same as that woman."
-"i have no child, christophe. i do not know what i should have done in her place."
-"no. that is impossible. i believe in you. i respect you too much. i swear that you could not."
-"swear nothing! i have been very near doing what she has done.... it hurts me to destroy the good idea you had of me. but you must learn to know us a little if you do not want to be unjust. yes, i have been within an ace of just such an act of folly. and you yourself had something to do with my not going on with it. it was two years ago. i was going through a period of terrible depression, that seemed to be eating my life away. i kept on telling myself that i was no use in the world, that nobody needed me, that even my husband could do without me, that i had lived for nothing.... i was on the very point of running away, to do heaven knows what! i went up to your room.... do you remember?... you did not understand why i came. i came to say good-bye to you.... and then, i don't know what happened, i can't remember exactly ... but i know that something you said ... (though you had no idea of it....) ... was like a flash of light to me.... perhaps it was not what you said.... perhaps it was only a matter of opportunity; at that moment the least thing was enough to make or mar me.... when i left you i went back to my own room, locked myself in, and wept the whole day through.... i was better after that: the crisis had passed."
-"and now," asked christophe, "you are sorry?"
-"now?" she said. "ah! if i had been so mad as to do it i should have been at the bottom of the seine long ago. i could not have borne the shame of it, and the injury i should have done to my poor husband."
-"then you are happy?"
-"yes. as happy as one can be in this life. it is so rare for two people to understand each other, and respect each other, and know that they are sure of each other, not merely with a simple lover's belief, which is often an illusion, but as the result of years passed together, gray, dull, commonplace years even--especially with the memory of the dangers through which they have passed together. and as they grow older their trust grows greater and finer."
-she stopped and blushed suddenly.
-"oh, heavens! how could i tell you that?... what have i done?... forget it, christophe, i beg of you. no one must know."
-"you need not be afraid," said christophe, pressing her hand warmly. "it shall be sacred to me."
-madame arnaud was unhappy at what she had said, and turned away for a moment.
-then she went on:
-"i ought not to have told you.... but, you see, i wanted to show you that even in the closest and best marriages, even for the women ... whom you respect, christophe ... there are times, not only of aberration, as you say, but of real, intolerable suffering, which may drive them to madness, and wreck at least one life, if not two. you must not be too hard. men and women make each other suffer terribly even when they love each other dearly."
-"must they, then, live alone and apart?"
-"that is even worse for us. the life of a woman who has to live alone, and fight like men (and often against men), is a terrible thing in a society which is not ready for the idea of it, and is, in a great measure, hostile to it...."
-she stopped again, leaning forward a little, with her eyes fixed on the fire in the grate; then she went on softly, in a rather hushed tone, hesitating every now and then, stopping, and then going on:
-"and yet it is not our fault when a woman lives like that, she does not do so from caprice, but because she is forced to do so; she has to earn her living and learn how to do without a man, since men will have nothing to do with her if she is poor. she is condemned to solitude without having any of its advantages, for in france she cannot, like a man, enjoy her independence, even in the most innocent way, without provoking scandal: everything is forbidden her. i have a friend who is a school-mistress in the provinces. if she were shut up in an airless prison she could not be more lonely and more stifled. the middle-classes close their doors to women who struggle to earn their living by their work; they are suspected and contemned; their smallest actions are spied upon and turned to evil. the masters at the boys' school shun them, either because they are afraid of the tittle-tattle of the town, or from a secret hostility, or from shyness, and because they are in the habit of frequenting cafés and consorting with low women, or because they are too tired after the day's work and have a dislike, as a result of their work, for intellectual women. and the women themselves cannot bear each other, especially if they are compelled to live together in the school. the head-mistress is often a woman absolutely incapable of understanding young creatures with a need of affection, who lose heart during the first few years of such a barren trade and such inhuman solitude; she leaves them with their secret agony and makes no attempt to help them; she is inclined to think that they are only vain and haughty. there is no one to take an interest in them. having neither fortune nor influence, they cannot marry. their hours of work are so many as to leave them no time in which to create an intellectual life which might bind them together and give them some comfort. when such an existence is not supported by an exceptional religious or moral feeling,--(i might say abnormal and morbid; for such absolute self-sacrifice is not natural),--it is a living death....--in default of intellectual work, what resources does charity offer to women? what great disappointments it holds out for those women who are too sincere to be satisfied with official or polite charity, philanthropic twaddle, the odious mixture of frivolity, beneficence, and bureaucracy, the trick of dabbling in poverty in the intervals of flirtation! and if one of them in disgust has the incredible audacity to venture out alone among the poor or the wretched, whose life she only knows by hearsay, think of what she will see! sights almost beyond bearing! it is a very hell. what can she do to help them? she is lost, drowned in such a sea of misfortune. however, she struggles on, she tries hard to save a few of the poor wretches, she wears herself out for them, and drowns with them. she is lucky if she succeeds in saving one or two of them! but who is there to rescue her? who ever dreams of going to her aid? for she, too, suffers, both with her own and the suffering of others: the more faith she gives, the less she has for herself; all these poor wretches cling desperately to her, and she has nothing with which to stay herself. no one holds out a hand to her. and sometimes she is stoned.... you knew, christophe, the splendid woman who gave herself to the humblest and most meritorious charitable work; she took pity on the street prostitutes who had just been brought to child-bed, the wretched women with whom the public aid would have nothing to do, or who were afraid of the public aid; she tried to cure them physically and morally, to look after them and their children, to wake in them the mother-feeling, to give them new homes and a life of honest work. she taxed her strength to the utmost in her grim labors, so full of disappointment and bitterness--(so few are saved, so few wish to be saved! and think of all the babies who die! poor innocent little babies, condemned in the very hour of their birth!...)--that woman who had taken upon herself the sorrows of others, the blameless creature who of her own free will expiated the crimes of human selfishness--how do you think she was judged, christophe? the evil-minded public accused her of making money out of her work, and even of making money out of the poor women she protected. she had to leave the neighborhood, and go away, utterly downhearted....--you cannot conceive the cruelty of the struggles which independent women have to maintain against the society of to-day, a conservative, heartless society, which is dying and expends what little energy it has left in preventing others from living."
-"my dear creature, it is not only the lot of women. we all know these struggles. and i know the refuge."
-"what is it?"
-"all very well for you, but not for us. and even among men, how many are there who can take advantage of it?"
-"look at your friend cécile. she is happy."
-"how do you know? ah! you have jumped to conclusions! because she puts a brave face on it, because she does not stop to think of things that make her sad, because she conceals them from others, you say that she is happy! yes. she is happy to be well and strong, and to be able to fight. but you know nothing of her struggles. do you think she was made for that deceptive life of art? art! just think of the poor women who long for the glory of being able to write or play or sing as the very summit of happiness! their lives must be bare indeed, and they must be so hard pressed that they can find no affection to which to turn! art! what have we to do with art, if we have all the rest with it? there is only one thing in the world which can make a woman forget everything else, everything else: and that is the child." "and when she has a child, you see, even that is not enough."
-"yes. not always.... women are not very happy. it is difficult to be a woman. much more difficult than to be a man. you men never realize that enough. you can be absorbed in an intellectual passion or some outside activity. you mutilate yourselves, but you are the happier for it. a healthy woman cannot do that without suffering for it. it is inhuman to stifle a part of yourself. when we women are happy in one way, we regret that we are not happy in another. we have several souls. you men have but one, a more vigorous soul, which is often brutal and even monstrous. i admire you. but do not be too selfish. you are very selfish without knowing it. you hurt us often, without knowing it."
-"what are we to do? it is not our fault."
-"no, it is not your fault, my dear christophe. it is not your fault, nor is it ours. the truth is, you know, that life is not a simple thing. they say that there we only need to live naturally. but which of us is natural?"
-"true. nothing is natural in our way of living. celibacy is not natural. nor is marriage. and free love delivers the weak up to the rapaciousness of the strong. even our society is not a natural thing: we have manufactured it. it is said that man is a sociable animal. what nonsense! he was forced to be so to live. he has made himself sociable for the purposes of utility, and self-defence, and pleasure, and the rise to greatness. his necessity has led him to subscribe to certain compacts. nature kicks against the constraint and avenges herself. nature was not made for us. we try to quell her. it is a struggle, and it is not surprising that we are often beaten. how are we to win through it? by being strong."
-"by being kind."
-"heavens! to be kind, to pluck off one's armor of selfishness, to breathe, to love life, light, one's humble work, the little corner of the earth in which one's roots are spread. and if one cannot have breadth to try to make up for it in height and depth, like a tree in a cramped space growing upward to the sun."
-"yes. and first of all to love one another. if a man would feel more that he is the brother of a woman, and not only her prey, or that she must be his! if both would shed their vanity and each think a little less of themselves, and a little more of the other!... we are weak: help us. let us not say to those who have fallen: 'i do not know you.' but: 'courage, friend. we'll pull through.'"
-they sat there in silence by the hearth, with the cat between them, all three still, lost in thought, gazing at the fire it was nearly out; but a little flame flickered up, and with its wing lightly touched madame arnaud's delicate face, which was suffused with the rosy light of an inward exaltation which was strange to her. she was amazed at herself for having been so open. she had never said so much before, and she would never say so much again.
-she laid her hand on christophe's and said:
-"what will you do with the child?"
-she had been thinking of that from the outset. she talked and talked and became another woman, excited and exalted. but she was thinking of that and that only. with christophe's first words she had woven a romance in her heart. she thought of the child left by its mother, of the happiness of bringing it up, and weaving about its little soul the web of her dreams and her love. and she thought:
-"no. it is wicked of me: i ought not to rejoice in the misfortunes of others."
-but the idea was too strong for her. she went on talking and talking, and her silent heart was flooded with hope.
-"yes, of course we have thought it over. poor child! both olivier and i are incapable of rearing it. it needs a woman's care. i thought perhaps one of our friends would like to help us...."
-madame arnaud could hardly breathe.
-"i wanted to talk to you about it. and then cécile came in just as we were talking about it. when she heard of our difficulty, when she saw the child, she was so moved, she seemed so delighted, she said: 'christophe....'"
-madame arnaud's heart stopped; she did not hear what else he said: there was a mist in front of her eyes. she was fain to cry out:
-"no, no. give him to me...."
-christophe went on speaking. she did not hear what he was saying. but she controlled herself. she thought of what cécile had told her, and she thought:
-"her need is greater than mine. i have my dear arnaud ... and ... and everything ... and besides, i am older...."
-and she smiled and said:
-"it is well."
-but the flame in the dying fire had flickered out: so too had the rosy light in her face. and her dear tired face wore only its usual expression of kindness and resignation.
-"my wife has betrayed me."
-olivier was crushed by the weight of that idea. in vain did christophe try affectionately to shake him out of his torpor.
-"what would you?" he said. "the treachery of a friend is an everyday evil like illness, or poverty, or fighting the fools. we have to be armed against it. it is a poor sort of man that cannot bear up against it."
-"that's just what i am. i'm not proud of it ... a poor sort of man: yes: a man who needs tenderness, and dies if it is taken from him."
-"your life is not finished: there are other people to love."
-"i can't believe in any one. there are none who can be friends."
-"i beg your pardon. i don't doubt you, although there are moments when i doubt everybody--myself included.... but you are strong: you don't need anybody: you can do without me."
-"so can she--even better."
-"you are cruel, christophe."
-"my dear fellow. i'm being brutal to you just to make you lash out. good lord! it is perfectly shameful of you to sacrifice those who love you, and your life, to a woman who doesn't care for you."
-"what do i care for those who love me? i love her."
-"work. your old interests...."
-"sleep, then, old fellow. i'll sit by you."
-but sleep was the last thing that olivier could have. ah! if only a sufferer could sleep for months until his sorrow is no more and has no part in his new self; if only he could sleep until he became a new man! but that gift can never be his: and he would not wish to have it. the worst suffering of all were to be deprived of suffering. olivier was like a man in a fever, feeding on his fever: a real fever which came in regular waves, being at its height in the evening when the light began to fade. and the rest of the day it left him shattered, intoxicated by love, devoured by memory, turning the same thought over and over like an idiot chewing the same mouthful again and again without being able to swallow it, with all the forces of his brain paralyzed, grinding slowly on with the one fixed idea.
-he could not, like christophe, resort to cursing his injuries and honestly blackguarding the woman who had dealt them. he was more clear-sighted and just, and he knew that he had his share of the responsibility, and that he was not the only one to suffer: jacqueline also was a victim:--she was his victim. she had trusted herself to him: how had he dealt with his trust? if he was not strong enough to make her happy, why had he bound her to himself? she was within her rights in breaking the ties which chafed her.
-"it is not her fault," he thought. "it is mine. i have not loved her well. and yet i loved her truly. but i did not know how to love since i did not know how to win her love."
-so he blamed himself: and perhaps he was right. but it is not much use to hold an inquest on the past: if it were all to do again, it would be just the same, inquiry or no inquiry: and such probing stands in the way of life. the strong man is he who forgets the injury that has been done him--and also, alas! that which he has done himself, as soon as he is sure that he cannot make it good. but no man is strong from reason, but from passion. love and passion are like distant relations: they rarely go together. olivier loved: he was only strong against himself. in the passive state into which he had fallen he was an easy prey to every kind of illness. influenza, bronchitis, pneumonia, pounced on him. he was ill for part of the summer. with madame arnaud's assistance, christophe nursed him devotedly: and they succeeded in checking his illness. but against his moral illness they could do nothing: and little by little they were overcome by the depression and utter weariness of his perpetual melancholy, and were forced to run away from it.
-illness plunges a man into a strange solitude. men have an instinctive horror of it. it is as though they were afraid lest it should be contagious: and at the very least it is boring, and they run away from it. how few people there are who can forgive the sufferings of others! it is always the old story of the friends of job. eliphaz the temanite accuses job of impatience. bildad the shuhite declares that job's afflictions are the punishment of his sins. sophar of naamath charges him with presumption. "then was kindled the wrath of elihu, the son of barachel the buzite, of the kindred of ram: against job was his wrath kindled, because he justifieth himself, rather than god."--few men are really sorrowful. many are called, but few are chosen. olivier was one of these. as a misanthrope once observed: "he seemed to like being maltreated. there is nothing to be gained by playing the part of the unhappy man. you only make yourself detested."
-olivier could not tell even his most intimate friends what he felt. he saw that it bored them. even his friend christophe lost patience with such tenacious and importunate grief. he knew that he was clumsy and awkward in remedying it. if the truth must be told, christophe, whose heart was generous, christophe who had gone through much suffering on his own account, could not feel the suffering of his friend. such is the infirmity of human nature. you may be kind, full of pity, understanding, and you may have suffered a thousand deaths, but you cannot feel the pain of your friend if he has but a toothache. if illness goes on for a long time, there is a temptation to think that the sufferer is exaggerating his complaint. how much more, then, must this be so when the illness is invisible and seated in the very depths of the soul! a man who is outside it all cannot help being irritated by seeing his friend moaning and groaning about a feeling which does not concern him in the very least. and in the end he says: by way of appeasing his conscience:
-"what can i do? he won't listen to reason, whatever i say."
-to reason: true. one can only help by loving the sufferer, by loving him unreasoningly, without trying to convince him, without trying to cure him, but just by loving and pitying him. love is the only balm for the wounds of love. but love is not inexhaustible even with those who love the best: they have only a limited store of it. when the sick man's friends have once written all the words of affection they can find, when they have done what they consider their duty, they withdraw prudently, and avoid him like a criminal. and as they feel a certain secret shame that they can help him so little, they help him less and less: they try to let him forget them and to forget themselves. and if the sick man persists in his misfortune and, indiscreetly, an echo of it penetrates to their ears, then they judge harshly his want of courage and inability to bear up against his trials. and if he succumbs, it is very certain that lurking beneath their really genuine pity lies this disdainful under-thought:
-"poor devil! i had a better opinion of him."
-amid such universal selfishness what a marvelous amount of good can be done by a simple word of tenderness, a delicate attention, a look of pity and love! then the sick man feels the worth of kindness. and how poor is all the rest compared with that!... kindness brought olivier nearer to madame arnaud than anybody else, even his friend christophe. however, christophe most meritoriously forced himself to be patient, and in his affection for him, concealed what he really thought of him. but olivier, with his natural keenness of perception sharpened by suffering, saw the conflict in his friend, and what a burden he was upon him with his unending sorrow. it was enough, to make him turn from christophe, and fill him with a desire to cry:
-"go away. go."
-so unhappiness often divides loving hearts. as the winnower sorts the grain, so sorrow sets on one side those who have the will to live, and on the other those who wish to die. it is the terrible law of life, which is stronger than love! the mother who sees her son dying, the friend who sees his friend drowning,--if they cannot save them, they do not cease their efforts to save themselves: they do not die with them. and yet, they love them a thousand times better than their lives....
-in spite of his great love, there were moments when christophe had to leave olivier. he was too strong, too healthy, to be able to live and breathe in such airless sorrow. he was mightily ashamed of himself! he would feel cold and dead at heart to think that he could do nothing for his friend: and as he needed to avenge himself on some one, he visited his wrath upon jacqueline. in spite of madame arnaud's words of understanding and sympathy, he still judged her harshly, as a young, ardent, and whole-hearted man must, until he has learned enough of life to have pity on its weaknesses.
-he would go and see cécile and the child who had been entrusted to her. that refreshed his soul. cécile was transfigured by her borrowed motherhood: she seemed to be young again, and happy, more refined and tender. jacqueline's departure had not given her any unavowed hope of happiness. she knew that the memory of jacqueline must leave her farther away from olivier than her presence. besides, the little puff of wind that had set her longing had passed: it had been a moment of crisis, which the sight of poor jacqueline's frenzied mistake had helped to dissipate: she had returned to her normal tranquillity, and she could not rightly understand what it was that had dragged her out of it. all that was best in her need of love was satisfied by her love for the child. with the marvelous power of illusion--of intuition--of women, she found the man she loved in the little child: in that way she could have him, weak and utterly dependent, utterly her own: he belonged to her: and she could love him, love him passionately, with a love as pure as the heart of the innocent child, and his dear blue eyes, like little drops of light.... true, there was mingled with her tenderness a regretful melancholy. ah! it could never be the same thing as a child of her own blood!... but it was good, all the same.
-christophe now regarded cécile with very different eyes. he remembered an ironic saying of françoise oudon:
-"how is it that you and philomela, who would do so well as husband and wife, are not in love with each other?"
-but françoise knew the reason better than christophe: it is very rarely that a man like christophe loves those who can do him good: rather he is apt to love those who can do him harm. opposites meet: his nature seeks its own destruction, and goes to the burning and intense life rather than to the cautious life which is sparing of itself. and a man like christophe is quite right, for his law is not to live as long as possible, but as mightily as possible.
-however, christophe, having less penetration than françoise, said to himself that love is a blind, inhuman force, throwing those together who cannot bear with each other. love joins those together who are like each other. and what love inspires is very small compared with what it destroys. if it be happy it dissolves the will. if unhappy it breaks hearts. what good does it ever do?
-and as he thus maligned love he saw its ironic, tender smile saying to him:
-christophe had been unable to get out of going to one of the at homes given at the austrian embassy. philomela was to sing lieder by schumann, hugo wolf, and christophe. she was glad of her success and that of her friend, who was now made much of by a certain set. christophe's name was gaining ground from day to day, even with the great public: it had become impossible for the lévy-coeurs to ignore him any longer. his works were played at concerts: and he had had an opera accepted by the opéra comique. the sympathies of some person unknown were enlisted on his behalf. the mysterious friend, who had more than once helped him, was still forwarding his claims. more than once christophe had been conscious of that fondly helping hand in everything he did: some one was watching over him and jealously concealing his or her identity. christophe had tried to discover it: but it seemed as though his friend were piqued by his not having attempted sooner to find out who he was, and he remained unapproachable. besides, christophe was absorbed by other preoccupations: he was thinking of olivier, he was thinking of françoise: that very morning he had just read in the paper that she was lying seriously ill at san francisco: he imagined her alone in a strange city, in a hotel bedroom, refusing to see anybody, or to write to her friends, clenching her teeth, and waiting, alone, for death.
-he was obsessed by these ideas and avoided the company present: and he withdrew into a little room apart: he stood leaning against the wall in a recess that was half in darkness, behind a curtain of evergreens and flowers, listening to philomela's lovely voice, with its elegiac warmth, singing the lime-tree of schubert: and the pure music called up sad memories. facing him on the wall was a large mirror which reflected the lights and the life of the next room. he did not see it: he was gazing in upon himself: and the mist of tears swam before his eyes.... suddenly, like schubert's rustling tree, he began to tremble for no reason. he stood so for a few seconds, very pale, unable to move. then the veil fell from before his eyes, and he saw in the mirror in front of him his "friend," gazing at him.... his "friend"? who was she? he knew nothing save that she was his friend and that he knew her: and he stood leaning against the wall, his eyes meeting hers, and he trembled. she smiled. he could not see the lines of her face or her body, nor the expression in her eyes, nor whether she was tall or short, nor how she was dressed. only one thing he saw: the divine goodness of her smile of compassion.
-and suddenly her smile conjured up in christophe an old forgotten memory of his early childhood.... he was six or seven, at school, unhappy: he had just been humiliated and bullied by some older, stronger boys, and they were all jeering at him, and the master had punished him unjustly: he was crouching in a corner, utterly forlorn, while the others were playing: and he wept softly. there was a sad-faced little girl who was not playing with the others,--(he could see her now, though he had never thought of her since then; she was short, and had a big head, fair, almost white hair and eyebrows, very pale blue eyes, broad white cheeks, thick lips, a rather puffy face, and small red hands),--and she came close up to him, then stopped, with her thumb in her mouth and stood watching him cry: then she laid her little hand on christophe's head and said hurriedly and shyly, with just the same smile of compassion:
-"don't cry! don't cry!"
-then christophe could not control himself any longer, and he burst into sobs, and buried his face in the little girl's pinafore, while, in a quavering, tender voice, she went on saying:
-she died soon afterwards, a few weeks perhaps: the hand of death must have been upon her at the time of that little scene.... why should he think of her now? there was no connection between the child who was dead and forgotten, the humble daughter of the people in a distant german town, and the aristocratic young lady who was gazing at him now. but there is only one soul for all: and although millions of human beings seem to be all different one from another, different as the worlds moving in the heavens, it is the same flash of thought or love which lights up the hearts of men and women though centuries divide them. christophe had just seen once more the light that he had seen shining upon the pale lips of the little comforter....
-it was all over in a second. a throng of people filled the door and shut out christophe's view of the other room. he stepped back quickly into the shade, out of sight of the mirror: he was afraid lest his emotion should be noticed. but when he was calm again he wanted to see her once more. he was afraid she would be gone. he went into the room and he found her at once in the crowd, although she did not look in the least like what he had seen in the mirror. now he saw her in profile sitting in a group of finely dressed ladies: her elbow was resting on the arm of her chair, she was leaning forward a little, with her head in her hand, and listening to what they were saying with an intelligent absent smile: she had the expression and features of the young st. john, listening and looking through half-closed eyes, and smiling at his own thoughts, of the dispute of raphael.... then she raised her eyes, saw him, and showed no surprise. and he saw that her smile was for himself. he was much moved, and bowed, and went up to her.
-"you don't recognize me?" she said.
-he knew her again that very moment.
-at the same moment the ambassador's wife passed by, and smiled with pleasure to see that the long-sought meeting had at last come about: and she introduced christophe to "countess berény." but christophe was so moved that he did not even hear her, and he did not notice, the new name. she was still his little grazia to him.
-grazia was twenty-two. she had been married for a year to a young attaché of the austrian embassy, a nobleman, a member of a great family, related to one of the emperor's chief ministers, a snob, a man of the world, smart, prematurely worn out; with whom she had been genuinely in love, while she still loved him, though she judged him. her old father was dead. her husband had been appointed to the embassy in paris. through count berény's influence, and her own charm and intelligence, the timid little girl, whom the smallest thing used to set in a flutter, had become one of the best-known women in parisian society, though she did nothing to procure that distinction, which embarrassed her not at all. it is a great thing to be young and pretty, and to give pleasure, and to know it. and it is a thing no less great to have a tranquil heart, sound and serene, which can find happiness in the harmonious coincidence of its desires and its fate. the lonely flower of her life had unfolded its petals: but she had lost some of the calm music of her latin soul, fed by the light and the mighty peace of italy. quite naturally she had acquired a certain influence in parisian society: it did not surprise her, and she was discreet and adroit in using it to further the artistic or charitable movements which turned to her for aid: she left the official patronage of these movements to others: for although she could well maintain her rank, she had preserved a secret independence from the days of her rather wild childish days in the lonely villa in the midst of the fields, and society wearied while it amused her, though she always disguised her boredom by the amiable smile of a courteous and kind heart.
-she had not forgotten her great friend christophe. no doubt there was nothing left of the child in whom an innocent love had burned in silence. this new grazia was a very sensible woman, not at all given to romance. she regarded the exaggerations of her childish tenderness with a gentle irony. and yet she was always moved by the memory of it. the thought of christophe was associated with the purest hours of her life. she could not hear his name spoken without feeling pleasure: and each of his successes delighted her as though she had shared in it herself: for she had felt that they must come to him. as soon as she arrived in paris she tried to meet him again. she had invited him to her house, and had appended her maiden name to her letter. christophe had paid no attention to it, and had flung the invitation into the waste-paper basket unanswered. she was not offended. she had gone on following his doings and, to a certain extent, his life, without his knowing it. it was she whose helping hand had come to his aid in the recent campaign against him in the papers. grazia was in all things correct and had hardly any connection with the world of the press: but when it came to doing a friend a service, she was capable of a malicious cunning in wheedling the people whom she most disliked. she invited the editor of the paper which was leading the snarling pack, to her house: and in less than no time she turned his head: she skilfully flattered his vanity: and she gained such an ascendancy over him, while she overawed him, that it needed only a few careless words of contemptuous astonishment at the attacks on christophe for the campaign to be stopped short. the editor suppressed the insulting article which was to appear next day: and when the writer asked why it was suppressed he rated him soundly. he did more: he gave orders to one of his factotums to turn out an enthusiastic article about christophe within a fortnight: the article was turned out to order; it was enthusiastic and stupid. it was grazia, too, who thought of organizing performances of her friend's music at the embassy, and, knowing that he was interested in cécile, helped her to make her name. and finally, through her influence among the german diplomatists, she began gently, quietly, and adroitly to awaken the interest of the powers that be in christophe, who was banished from germany: and little by little she did create a current of opinion directed towards obtaining from the emperor a decree reopening the gates of his country to a great artist who was an honor to it. and though it was too soon to expect such an act of grace, she did at least succeed in procuring an undertaking that the government would close its eyes to his two days' visit to his native town.
-and christophe, who was conscious of the presence of his invisible friend hovering about him without being able to find out who she was, at last recognized her in the young st. john whose eyes smiled at him in the mirror.
-they talked of the past. christophe hardly knew what they said. a man hears the woman he loves just as little as he sees her. he loves her. and when a man really loves he never even thinks whether he is loved or no. christophe never doubted it. she was there: that was enough. all the rest had ceased to exist....
-grazia stopped speaking. a very tall young man, quite handsome, well-dressed, clean-shaven, partly bald, with a bored, contemptuous manner, stood appraising christophe through his eye-glass, and then bowed with haughty politeness.
-"my husband," said she.
-the clatter and chatter of the room rushed back to his ears. the inward light died down. christophe was frozen, said nothing, bowed, and withdrew at once.
-how ridiculous and consuming are the unreasonable demands of the souls of artists and the childish laws which govern their passionate lives! hardly had he once more found the friend whom he had neglected in the old days when she loved him, while he had not thought of her for years, than it seemed to him that she was his, his very own, and that if another man had taken her he had stolen her from him: and she herself had no right to give herself to another. christophe did not know clearly what was happening to him. but his creative daimon knew it perfectly, and in those days begat some of his loveliest songs of sorrowful love.
-some time passed before he saw her again. he was obsessed by thoughts of olivier's troubles and his health. at last one day he came upon the address she had given him and he made up his mind to call on her.
-as he went up the steps he heard the sound of workmen hammering. the anteroom was in disorder and littered with boxes and trunks. the footman replied that the countess was not at home. but as christophe was disappointedly going away after leaving his card, the servant ran after him and asked him to come in and begged his pardon. christophe was shown into a little room in which the carpets had been rolled up and taken away. grazia came towards him with her bright smile and her hand held out impulsively and gladly. all his foolish rancor vanished. he took her hand with the same happy impulsiveness and kissed it.
-"ah!" she said, "i am glad you came! i was so afraid i should have to go away without seeing you again!"
-"go away? you are going away!"
-once more darkness descended upon him.
-"you see...." she said, pointing to the litter in the room. "we are leaving paris at the end of the week."
-he tried to speak. but his throat was dry.
-"where are you going?"
-"to the united states. my husband has been appointed first secretary to the embassy."
-"and so, and so...." he said ... (his lips trembled) ... "it is all over?"
-"my dear friend!" she said, touched by his tone.... "no: it is not all over."
-"i have found you again only to lose you?"
-there were tears in her eyes.
-"my dear friend," she said again.
-he held his hand over his eyes and turned away to hide his emotion.
-"do not be so sad," she said, laying her hand on his.
-once more, just then, he thought of the little girl in germany. they were silent.
-"why did you come so late?" she asked at last, "i tried to find you. you never replied."
-"i did not know. i did not know," he said.... "tell me, was it you who came to my aid so many times without my guessing who it was?... do i owe it to you that i was able to go back to germany? were you my good angel, watching over me?"
-"i was glad to be able to do something for you. i owe you so much!"
-"what do you owe?" he asked. "i have done nothing for you."
-"you do not know," she said, "what you have been to me."
-she spoke of the days when she was a little girl and met him at the house of her uncle, stevens, and he had given her through his music the revelation of all that is beautiful in the world. and little by little, with growing animation she told him with brief allusions, that were both veiled and transparent, of her childish feeling for him, and the way in which she had shared christophe's troubles, and the concert at which he had been hissed, and she had wept, and the letter she had written and he had never answered: for he had not received it. and as christophe listened to her, in all good faith, he projected his actual emotion and the tenderness he felt for the tender face so near his own into the past.
-they talked innocently, fondly, and joyously. and, as he talked, christophe took grazia's hand. and suddenly they both stopped: for grazia saw that christophe loved her. and christophe saw it too....
-for some time grazia had loved christophe without christophe knowing or caring. now christophe loved grazia: and grazia had nothing for him but calm friendship: she loved another man. as so often happens, one of the two clocks of their lives was a little faster than the other, and it was enough to have changed the course of both their lives....
-grazia withdrew her hand, and christophe did not stay her. and they sat there for a moment, mum, without a word.
-and grazia said:
-christophe said plaintively once more:
-"and it is all over?"
-"no doubt it is better that it should be so."
-"we shall not meet again before you go."
-"no," she said.
-"when shall we meet again?"
-she made a sad little gesture of doubt.
-"then," said christophe, "what's the good, what's the good of our having met again?"
-her eyes reproached him, and he said quickly:
-"no. forgive me. i am unjust."
-"i shall always think of you," said she.
-"alas!" he replied, "i cannot even think of you. i know nothing of your life."
-very quietly she described her ordinary life in a few words and told him how her days were spent. she spoke of herself and of her husband with her lovely affectionate smile.
-"ah!" he said jealously. "you love him?"
-she got up too. then only he saw that she was with child. and in his heart there was an inexpressible feeling of disgust, and tenderness, and jealousy, and passionate pity. she walked with him to the door of the little room. there he turned, bent over her hands, and kissed them fervently. she stood there with her eyes half closed and did not stir. at last he drew himself up, turned, and hurried away without looking at her.
-... e chi allora m'avesse domandalo di cosa alcuna, la mia risponsione sarebbe stata solamente amore, con viso vestito d'umiltà....
-all saints' day. outside, a gray light and a cold wind. christophe was with cécile, who was sitting near the cradle, and madame arnaud was bending over it. she had dropped in. christophe was dreaming. he was feeling that he had missed happiness: but he never thought of complaining: he knew that happiness existed.... oh! sun, i have no need to see thee to love thee! through the long winter days, when i shiver in the darkness, my heart is full of thee: my love keeps me warm: i know that thou art there....
-and cécile was dreaming too. she was pondering the child, and she had come to believe that it was indeed her own. oh, blessed power of dreams, the creative imagination of life! life.... what is life? it is not as cold reason and our eyes tell us that it is. life is what we dream, and the measure of life is love.
-christophe gazed at cécile, whose peasant face with its wide-set eyes shone with the splendor of the maternal instinct,--she was more a mother than the real mother. and he looked at the tender weary face of madame arnaud. in it, as in books that moved him, he read the hidden sweetness and suffering of the life of a married woman which, though none ever suspects it, is sometimes as rich in sorrow and joy as the love of juliet or ysolde: though it touches a greater height of religious feeling ....
-socia rei humanæ atque divinæ....
-and he thought that children or the lack of children has as much to do with the happiness or unhappiness of those who marry and those who do not marry as faith and the lack of faith. happiness is the perfume of the soul, the harmony that dwells, singing, in the depths of the heart. and the most beautiful of all the music of the soul is kindness.
-olivier came in. he was quite calm and reposeful in his movements: a new serenity shone in him. he smiled at the child, shook hands with cécile and madame arnaud, and began to talk quietly. he watched them with a sort of surprised affection. he was no longer the same. in the isolation in which he had shut himself up with his grief, like a caterpillar in the nest of its own spinning, he had succeeded after a hard struggle in throwing off his sorrow like an empty shell. some day we shall tell how he thought he had found a fine cause to which to devote his life, in which he had no interest save that of sacrifice: and, as it is ordered, on the very day when in his heart he had come to a definite renunciation of life, it was kindled once more. his friends looked at him. they did not know what had happened, and dared not ask him: but they felt that he was free once more, and that there was in him neither regret nor bitterness for anything or against anybody in the whole wide world.
-christophe got up and went to the piano, and said to olivier:
-"would you like me to sing you a melody of brahms?"
-"brahms?" said olivier. "do you play your old enemy's music nowadays?"
-"it is all saints' day," said christophe. "the day when all are forgiven."
-softly, so as not to wake the child, he sang a few bars of the old schwabian folk-song:
-"... für die zeit, wo du g'liebt mi hast, da dank' i dir schön, und i wünsch', dass dir's anders wo besser mag geh'n...."
-"... for the time when thou did'st love me, i do thank thee well; and i hope that elsewhere thou may'st better fare...."
-"christophe!" said olivier.
-christophe hugged him close.
-"come, old fellow," he said. "we have fared well."
-the four of them sat near the sleeping child. they did not speak. and if they had been asked what they were thinking,--with the countenance of humility, they would have replied only:
-the burning bush
-came calmness to his heart. no wind stirred. the air was still....
-christophe was at rest: peace was his. he was in a certain measure proud of having conquered it: but secretly, in his heart of hearts, he was sorry for it. he was amazed at the silence. his passions were slumbering: in all good faith he thought that they would never wake again.
-"if," said ibsen, "a man is to persevere in his art; he must have something else, something more than his native genius: passions, sorrows, which shall fill his life and give it a direction. otherwise he will not create, he will write books."
-christophe was writing books. he was not used to it. his books were beautiful. he would have rather had them less beautiful and more alive. he was like an athlete resting, not knowing to what use to turn his muscles, and, yawning in boredom like a caged wild beast, he sat looking ahead at the years and years of peaceful work that awaited him. and as, with his old german capacity for optimism, he had no difficulty in persuading himself that everything was for the best, he thought that such a future was no doubt the appointed inevitable end: he flattered himself that he had issued from his time of trial and tribulation and had become master of himself. that was not saying much.... oh, well! a man is sovereign over that which is his, he is what he is capable of being.... he thought that he had reached his haven.
-the two friends were not living together. after jacqueline's flight, christophe had thought that olivier would come back and take up his old quarters with him. but olivier could not. although he felt keenly the need of intimacy with christophe, yet he was conscious of the impossibility of resuming their old existence together. after the years lived with jacqueline, it would have seemed intolerable and even sacrilegious to admit another human being to his most intimate life,--even though he loved and were loved by that other a thousand times more than jacqueline.--there was no room for argument.
-christophe had found it hard to understand. he returned again and again to the charge, he was surprised, saddened, hurt, and angry. then his instinct, which was finer and quicker than his intelligence, bade him take heed. suddenly he ceased, and admitted that olivier was right.
-but they saw each other every day: and they had never been so closely united even when they were living under the same roof. perhaps they did not exchange their most intimate thoughts when they talked. they did not need to do so. the exchange was made naturally, without need of words, by grace of the love that was in their hearts.
-they talked very little, for each was absorbed: one in his art, the other in his memories. olivier's sorrow was growing less: but he did nothing to mitigate it, rather almost taking a pleasure in it: for a long time it had been his only reason for living. he loved his child: but his child--a puling baby--could occupy no great room in his life. there are men who are more lovers than fathers, and it is useless to cry out against them. nature is not uniform, and it would be absurd to try to impose identical laws upon the hearts of all men. no man has the right to sacrifice his duty to his heart. at least the heart must be granted the right to be unhappy where a man does his duty. what olivier perhaps most loved in his child was the woman of whose body it was made.
-until quite recently he had paid little attention to the sufferings of others. he was an intellectual living too much shut up in himself. it was not egoism so much as a morbid habit of dreaming. jacqueline had increased the void about him: her love had traced a magic circle about olivier to cut him off from other men, and the circle endured after love had ceased to be. in addition he was a little aristocratic by temper. from his childhood on, in spite of his soft heart, he had held aloof from the mob for reasons rooted in the delicacy of his body and his soul. the smell of the people and their thoughts were repulsive to him.
-but everything had changed as the result of a commonplace tragedy which he had lately witnessed.
-he had taken a very modest lodging at the top of the mont-rouge quarter, not far from christophe and cécile. the district was rather common, and the house in which he lived was occupied by little gentlepeople, clerks, and a few working-class families. at any other time he would have suffered from such surroundings in which he moved as a stranger: but now it mattered very little to him where he was: he felt that he was a stranger everywhere. he hardly knew and did not want to know who his neighbors were. when he returned from his work--(he had gone into a publishing-house)--he withdrew into his memories, and would only go out to see his child and christophe. his lodging was not home to him: it was the dark room in which the images of the past took shape and dwelling: the darker it was the more clearly did the inward images emerge. he scarcely noticed the faces of those he passed on the stairs. and yet unconsciously he was aware of certain faces that were impressed upon his mind. there is a certain order of mind which only really sees things after they have passed. but then, nothing escapes them, the smallest details are graven on the plate. olivier's was such a mind: he bore within himself multitudes of the shadowy shapes of the living. with any emotional shock they would come mounting up in crowds: and olivier would be amazed to recognize those whom he had never known, and sometimes he would hold out his hands to grasp them.... too late.
-one day as he came out of his rooms he saw a little crowd collected in front of the house-door round the housekeeper, who was making a harangue. he was so little interested that he was for going his way without troubling to find out what was the matter: but the housekeeper, anxious to gain another listener, stopped him, and asked him if he knew what had happened to the poor roussels. olivier did not even know who "the poor roussels" were, and he listened with polite indifference. when he heard that a working-class family, father, mother, and five children, had committed suicide to escape from poverty in the house in which he lived, he stopped, like the rest, and looked up at the walls of the building, and listened to the woman's story, which she was nothing loth to begin again from the beginning. as she went on talking, old memories awoke in him, and he realized that he had seen the wretched family: he asked a few questions.... yes, he remembered them: the man--(he used to hear him breathing noisily on the stairs)--a journeyman baker, with a pale face, all the blood drawn out of it by the heat of the oven, hollow cheeks always ill shaven: he had had pneumonia at the beginning of the winter: he had gone back to work only half cured: he had had a relapse: for the last three weeks he had had no work and no strength. the woman had dragged from childbirth to childbirth: crippled with rheumatism, she had worn herself out in trying to make both ends meet, and had spent her days running hither and thither trying to obtain from the public charity a meager sum which was not readily forthcoming. meanwhile the children came, and went on coming: eleven, seven, three--not to mention two others who had died in between:--and, to crown all, twins who had chosen the very dire moment to make their appearance: they had been born only the month before.
---on the day of their birth, a neighbor said, the eldest of the five, a little girl of eleven, justine--poor little mite!--had begun to cry and asked how ever she could manage to carry both of them.
-olivier at once remembered the little girl,--a large forehead, with colorless hair pulled back, and sorrowful, gray bulging eyes. he was always meeting her, carrying provisions or her little sister: or she would be holding her seven-year-old brother by the hand, a little pinch-faced, cringing boy he was, with one blind eye. when they met on the stairs olivier used to say, with his absent courteous manner:
-but she never said anything: she used to go stiffly by, hardly moving aside: but his illusory courtesy used to give her a secret pleasure. only the evening before, at six o'clock, as he was going downstairs, he had met her for the last time: she was carrying up a bucket of charcoal. he had not noticed it, except that he did remark that the burden seemed to be very heavy. but that is merely in the order of things for the children of the people. olivier had bowed, as usual, without looking at her. a few steps lower down he had mechanically looked up to see her leaning over the balustrade of the landing, with her little pinched face, watching him go down. she turned away at once, and resumed her climb upstairs. did she know whither she was climbing?--olivier had no doubt that she did, and he was obsessed by the thought of the child bearing death in the load that was too heavy for her, death the deliverer--the wretched children for whom to cease to be meant an end of suffering! he was unable to continue his walk. he went back to his room. but there he was conscious of the proximity of the dead.... only a few thin walls between him and them.... to think that he had lived so near to such misery!
-he went to see christophe. he was sick at heart: he told himself that it was monstrous for him to have been so absorbed as he had been in vain regrets for love while there were so many creatures suffering misfortunes a thousand times more cruel, and it was possible to help and save them. his emotion was profound: there was no difficulty in communicating it. christophe was easily impressionable, and he in his turn was moved. when he heard olivier's story he tore up the page of music he had just been writing, and called himself a selfish brute to be amusing himself with childish games. but, directly after, he picked up the pieces. he was too much under the spell of his music. and his instinct told him that a work of art the less would not make one happy man the more. the tragedy of want was no new thing to him: from his childhood on he had been used to treading on the edge of such abysmal depths, and contriving not to topple over. but he was apt to judge suicide harshly, being conscious as he was of such a fullness of force, and unable to understand how a man, under the pressure of any suffering whatsoever, could give up the struggle. suffering, struggling, is there anything more normal? these things are the backbone of the universe.
-olivier also had passed through much the same sort of experience: but he had never been able to resign himself to it, either on his own account or for others. he had a horror of the poverty in which the life of his beloved antoinette had been consumed. after his marriage with jacqueline, when he had suffered the softening influence of riches and love, he had made haste to thrust back the memory of the sorrowful years when he and his sister had worn themselves out each day in the struggle to gain the right to live through the next, never knowing whether they would succeed or no. the memories of those days would come to him now that he no longer had his youthful egoism to preserve. instead of flying before the face of suffering he set out to look for it. he did not need to go far to find it. in the state of mind in which he was he was prone to find it everywhere. the world was full of it, the world, that hospital.... oh, the agony, the sorrow! pains of the wounded body, quivering flesh, rotting away in life. the silent torture of hearts under gnawing grief. children whom no one loves, poor hopeless girls, women seduced or betrayed, men deceived in their friends, their loves, their faith, the pitiable herd of the unfortunates whom life has broken and forgotten!... not poverty and sickness were the most frightful things to see, but the cruelty of men one to another. hardly had olivier raised the cover of the hell of humanity than there rose to his ears the plaint of all the oppressed, the exploited poor, the persecuted peoples, massacred armenians, finland crushed and stifled, poland rent in pieces, russia martyred, africa flung to the rapacious pack of europe, all the wretched creatures of the human race. it stifled him: he heard it everywhere, he could no longer close his ears to it, he could no longer conceive the possibility of there being people with any other thought. he was for ever talking about it to christophe. christophe grew anxious, and said:
-"be quiet! let me work."
-and as he found it hard to recover his balance he would lose his temper and swear.
-"damnation! my day is wasted! and you're a deal the better for it, aren't you?"
-olivier would beg his pardon.
-"my dear fellow," said christophe, "it's no good always looking down into the pit. it stops your living."
-"one must lend a hand to those who are in the pit."
-"no doubt. but how? by flinging ourselves down as well? for that is what you want. you've got a propensity for seeing nothing but the sad side of life. god bless you! your pessimism is charitable, i grant you, but it is very depressing. do you want to create happiness? very well, then, be happy."
-"happy! how can one have the heart to be happy when one sees so much suffering? there can only be happiness in trying to lessen it and fighting the evil."
-"very good. but i don't help the unfortunate much by lashing out blindly in all directions. it means only one bad soldier the more. but i can bring comfort by my art and spread force and joy. have you any idea how many wretched beings have been sustained in their suffering by the beauty of an idea, by a winged song? every man to his own trade! you french people, like the generous scatterbrains that you are, are always the first to protest against the injustice of, say, spain or russia, without knowing what it is all about. i love you for it. but do you think you are helping things along? you rush at it and bungle it and the result is nil,--if not worse.... and, look you, your art has never been more weak and emaciated than now, when your artists claim to be taking part in the activities of the world. it is the strangest thing to see so many little writers and artists, all dilettante and rather dishonest, daring to set themselves up as apostles! they would do much better if they were to give the people wine to drink that was not so adulterated.--my first duty is to do whatever i am doing well, and to give you healthy music which shall set new blood coursing in your veins and let the sun shine in upon you."
-if a man is to shed the light of the sun upon other men, he must first of all have it within himself. olivier had none of it. like the best man of to-day, he was not strong enough to radiate force by himself. but in unison with others he might have been able to do so. but with whom could he unite? he was free in mind and at heart religious, and he was rejected by every party political and religious. they were all intolerant and narrow and were continually at rivalry. whenever they came into power they abused it. only the weak and the oppressed attracted olivier. in this at least he agreed with christophe's opinion, that before setting out to combat injustice in distant lands, it were as well to fight injustice close at hand, injustice everywhere about, injustice for which each and every man is more or less responsible. there are only too many people who are quite satisfied with protesting against the evil wrought by others, without ever thinking of the evil that they do themselves.
-he began to study the problem of social poverty. there was no lack of guides to point the way. in those days the social question had become a society question. it was discussed in drawing-rooms, in the theater, in novels. everybody claimed some knowledge of it. some of the young men were expending the best part of their powers upon it.
-every new generation needs to have some splendid mania or other. even the most selfish of young people are endowed with a superfluity of life, a capital sum of energy which has been advanced to them and cannot be left idle and unproductive: they are for ever seeking to expend it on a course of action, or--(more prudently)--on a theory. aviation or revolution, a muscular or intellectual exercise. when a man is young he needs to be under the illusion that he is sharing in some great movement of humanity and is renewing the life of the world. it is a lovely thing when the senses thrill in answer to every puff of the winds of the universe! then a man is so free, so light! not yet is he laden with the ballast of a family, he has nothing, risks next to nothing. a man is very generous when he can renounce what is not yet his. besides, it is so good to love and to hate, and to believe that one is transforming the earth with dreams and shouting! young people are like watch-dogs: they are for ever howling and barking at the wind. an act of injustice committed at the other end of the world will send them off their heads.
-dogs barking through the night. from one farm to another in the heart of the forest they were yelping to one another, never ceasing. the night was stormy. it was not easy to sleep in those days. the wind bore through the air the echoes of so many acts of injustice!... the tale of injustice is unnumbered: in remedying one there is danger of causing others. what is injustice?--to one man it means a shameful peace, the fatherland dismembered. to another it signifies war. to another it means the destruction of the past, the banishment of princes: to another, the spoliation of the church: to yet another the stifling of the future to the peril of liberty. for the people, injustice lies in inequality: for the upper ten, in equality. there are so many different kinds of injustice that each age chooses its own,--the injustice that it fights against, and the injustice that it countenances.
-at the present time the mightiest efforts of the world were directed against social injustice,--and unconsciously were tending to the production of fresh injustice.
-and, in truth, such injustice had waxed great and plain to see since the working-classes, growing in numbers and power, had become part of the essential machinery of the state. but in spite of the declamations of the tribunes and bards of the people, their condition was not worse, but rather better than it had ever been in the past: and the change had come about not because they suffered more, but because they had grown stronger. stronger by reason of the very power of the hostile ranks of capital, by the fatality of economic and industrial development which had banded the workers together in armies ready for the fight, and, by the use of machinery, had given weapons into their hands, and had turned every foreman into a master with power over light, lightning, movement, all the energy of the world. from this enormous mass of elementary forces, which only a short time ago the leaders of men were trying to organize, there was given out a white heat, electric waves gradually permeating the whole body of human society.
-it was not by reason of its justice, or its novelty, or the force of the ideas bound up in it that the cause of the people was stirring the minds of the intelligent middle-class, although they were fain to think so. its appeal lay in its vitality.
-its justice? justice was everywhere and every day violated thousands of times without the world ever giving a thought to it. its ideas? scraps of truth, picked up here and there and adjusted to the interests and requirements of one class at the expense of the other classes. its creed was as absurd as every other creed,--the divine right of kings, the infallibility of the popes, universal suffrage, the equality of man,--all equally absurd if one only considers them by their rational value and not in the light of the force by which they are animated. what did their mediocrity matter? ideas have never conquered the world as ideas, but only by the force they represent. they do not grip men by their intellectual contents, but by the radiant vitality which is given off from them at certain periods in history. they give off as it were a rich scent which overpowers even the dullest sense of smell. the loftiest and most sublime idea remains ineffective until the day when it becomes contagious, not by its own merits, but by the merits of the groups of men in whom it becomes incarnate by the transfusion of their blood. then the withered plant, the rose of jericho, comes suddenly to flower, grows to its full height, and fills all the air with its powerful aroma.--some of the ideas which were now the flaming standard under which the working-classes were marching on to the assault upon the capitalistic citadel, emanated from the brains of dreamers of the comfortable classes. while they had been left in their comfortable books, they had lain dead: items in a museum, mummies packed away in glass cases with no one to look at them. but as soon as the people laid hands on them, they had become part and parcel of the people, they had been given their feverish reality, which deformed them while it gave them life, breathing into such abstract reason, their hallucinations, and their hopes, like a burning wind of hegira. they were quickly spread from man to man. men succumbed to them without knowing from whom they came or how they had been brought. they were no respecters of persons. the moral epidemic spread and spread: and it was quite possible for limited creatures to communicate it to superior men. every man was unwittingly an agent in the transmission.
-such phenomena of intellectual contagion are to be observed in all times and in all countries: they make themselves felt even in aristocratic states where there is the endeavor to maintain castes hermetically sealed one against the other. but nowhere are they more electric than in democracies which preserve no sanitary barrier between the elect and the mob. the elect are contaminated at once whatever they do to fight against it. in spite of their pride and intelligence they cannot resist the contagion; for the elect are much weaker than they think. intelligence is a little island fretted by the tides of humanity, crumbling away and at last engulfed. it only emerges again on the ebb of the tide.--one wonders at the self-denial of the french privileged classes when on the night of august 4 they abdicated their rights. most wonderful of all, no doubt, is the fact that they could not do otherwise. i fancy a good many of them when they returned home must have said to themselves: "what have i done? i must have been drunk...." a splendid drunkenness! blessed be wine and the vine that gives it forth! it was not the privileged classes of old france who planted the vine whose blood brought them to drunkenness. the wine was extracted, they had only to drink it. he who drank must lose his wits. even those who did not drink turned dizzy only from the smell of the vat that caught them as they passed. the vintages of the revolution!... hidden away in the family vaults there are left only a few empty bottles of the wine of '89: but our grandchildren's children will remember that their great-grandfathers had their heads turned by it.
-it was a sourer wine but a wine no less strong that was mounting to the heads of the comfortable young people of olivier's generation. they were offering up their class as a sacrifice to the new god, deo ignoto:--the people.
-to tell the truth, they were not all equally sincere. many of them were only able to see in the movement an opportunity of rising above their class by affecting to despise it. for the majority it was an intellectual pastime, an oratorical enthusiasm which they never took altogether seriously. there is a certain pleasure in believing that you believe in a cause, that you are fighting, or will fight, for it,--or at least could fight. there is a by no means negligible satisfaction in the thought that you are risking something. theatrical emotions.
-they are quite innocent so long as you surrender to them simply without any admixture of interested motive.--but there were men of a more worldly type who only played the game of set purpose: the popular movement was to them only a road to success. like the norse pirates, they made use of the rising tide to carry their ships up into the land: they aimed at reaching the innermost point of the great estuaries so as to be left snugly ensconced in the conquered cities when the sea fell back once more. the channel was narrow and the tide was capricious: great skill was needed. but two or three generations of demagogy have created a race of corsairs who know every trick and secret of the trade. they rushed boldly in with never even so much as a glance back at those who foundered on the way.
-this piratical rabble is made up of all parties: thank heaven, no party is responsible for it. but the disgust with which such adventurers had inspired the sincere and all men of conviction had led some of them to despair of their class. olivier came in contact with rich young men of culture who felt very strongly that the comfortable classes were moribund and that they themselves were useless. he was only too much inclined to sympathize with them. they had begun by believing in the reformation of the people by the elect, they had founded popular universities, and taken no account of the time and money spent upon them, and now they were forced to admit the futility of their efforts: their hopes had been pitched too high, their discouragement sank too low. the people had either not responded to their appeal or had run away from it. when the people did come, they understood everything all wrong, and only assimilated the vices and absurdities of the culture of the superior classes. and in the end more than one scurvy knave had stolen into the ranks of the burgess apostles, and discredited them by exploiting both people and apostles at the same time. then it seemed to honest men that the middle-class was doomed, that it could only infect the people who, at all costs, must break free and go their way alone. so they were left cut off from all possibility of action, save to predict and foresee a movement which would be made without and against themselves. some of them found in this the joy of renunciation, the joy of deep disinterested human sympathy feeding upon itself and the sacrifice of itself. to love, to give self! youth is so richly endowed that it can afford to do without repayment: youth has no fear of being left despoiled. and it can do without everything save the art of loving.--others again found in it a pleasurable rational satisfaction, a sort of imperious logic: they sacrificed themselves not to men so much as to ideas. these were the bolder spirits. they took a proud delight in deducing the fated end of their class from their reasoned arguments. it would have hurt them more to see their predictions falsified than to be crushed beneath the weight of circumstance. in their intellectual intoxication they cried aloud to those outside: "harder! strike harder! let there be nothing left of us!"--they had become the theorists of violence.
-of the violence of others. for, as usual, these apostles of brute force were almost always refined and weakly people. many of them were officials of the state which they talked of destroying, industrious, conscientious, and orderly officials.
-their theoretical violence was the throwback from their weakness, their bitterness, and the suppression of their vitality. but above all it was an indication of the storms brewing all around them. theorists are like meteorologists: they state in scientific terms not what the weather will be, but what the weather is. they are weathercocks pointing to the quarter whence the wind blows. when they turn they are never far from believing that they are turning the wind.
-the wind had turned.
-ideas are quickly used up in a democracy, and the more quickly they are propagated, the more quickly are they worn out. there are any number of republicans in france who in less than fifty years have grown disgusted with the republic, with universal suffrage, with all the manifestations of liberty won with such blind intoxication! after the fetish worship of numbers, after the gaping optimism which had believed in the sanctity of the majority and had looked to it for the progress of humanity, there came the wind of brute force: the inability of the majority to govern themselves, their venality, their corruption, their base and fearful hatred of all superiority, their oppressive cowardice, raised the spirit of revolt: the minorities of energy--every kind of minority--appealed from the majority to force. a queer, yet inevitable alliance was brought about between the royalists of the action française and the syndicalists of the c. g. t. balzac speaks somewhere of the men of his time who "though aristocrats by inclination, yet became republicans in spite, of themselves, only to find many inferiors among their equals."--a scant sort of pleasure. those who are inferior must be made to accept themselves as such: and to bring that about there is nothing to be done but to create an authority which shall impose the supremacy of the elect--of either class, working or burgess--upon the oppressive majority. our young intellectuals, being proud and of the better class, became royalists or revolutionaries out of injured vanity and hatred of democratic equality. and the disinterested theorists, the philosophers of brute force, like good little weathercocks, reared their heads above them and were the oriflammes of the storm.
-last of all there was the herd of literary men in search of inspiration--men who could write and yet knew not what to write: like the greeks at aulis, they were becalmed and could make no progress, and sat impatiently waiting for a kindly wind from any quarter to come and belly out their sails.--there were famous men among them, men who had been wrenched away from their stylistic labors and plunged into public meetings by the dreyfus affair. an example which had found only too many followers for the liking of those who had set it. there was now a mob of writing men all engrossed in politics, and claiming to control the affairs of the state. on the slightest excuse they would form societies, issue manifestoes, save the capitol. after the intellectuals of the advance guard came the intellectuals of the rear: they were much of a muchness. each of the two parties regarded the other as intellectual and themselves as intelligent. those who had the luck to have in their veins a few drops of the blood of the people bragged about it: they dipped their pens into it, wrote with it.--they were all malcontents of the burgess class, and were striving to recapture the authority which that class had irreparably lost through its selfishness. only in rare instances were these apostles known to keep up their apostolic zeal for any length of time. in the beginning the cause meant a certain amount of success to them, success which in all probability was in no wise due to their oratorical gifts. it gave them a delicious flattery for their vanity. thereafter they went on with less success and a certain secret fear of being rather ridiculous. in the long-run the last feeling was apt to dominate the rest, being increased by the fatigue of playing a difficult part for men of their distinguished tastes and innate skepticism. but they waited upon the favor of the wind and of their escort before they could withdraw. for they were held captive both by wind and escort. these latter-day voltaires and joseph de maistres, beneath their boldness in speech and writing, concealed a dread uncertainty, feeling the ground, being fearful of compromising themselves with the young men, and striving hard to please them and to be younger than the young. they were revolutionaries or counter-revolutionaries merely as a matter of literature, and in the end they resigned themselves to following the literary fashion which they themselves had helped to create.
-the oddest of all the types with which olivier came in contact in the small burgess advance guard of the revolution was the revolutionary who was so from timidity.
-the specimen presented for his immediate observation was named pierre canet. he was brought up in a rich, middle-class, and conservative family, hermetically sealed against any new idea: they were magistrates and officials who had distinguished themselves by crabbing authority or being dismissed: thick-witted citizens of the marais who flirted with the church and thought little, but thought that little well. he had married, for want of anything better to do, a woman with an aristocratic name, who had no great capacity for thought, but did her thinking no less well than he. the bigoted, narrow, and retrograde society in which he lived, a society which was perpetually chewing the cud of its own conceit and bitterness, had finally exasperated him,--the more so as his wife was ugly and a bore. he was fairly intelligent and open-minded, and liberal in aspiration, without knowing at all clearly in what liberalism consisted: there was no likelihood of his discovering the meaning of liberty in his immediate surroundings. the only thing he knew for certain was that liberty did not exist there: and he fancied that he had only to leave to find it. on his first move outwards he was lucky enough to fall in with certain old college friends, some of whom had been smitten with syndicalistic ideas. he was even more at sea in their company than in the society which he had just quitted: but he would not admit it: he had to live somewhere: and he was unable to find people of his own cast of thought (that is to say, people of no cast of thought whatever), though, god knows, the species is by no means rare in france! but they are ashamed of themselves: they hide themselves, or they take on the hue of one of the fashionable political colors, if not of several, all at once. besides, he was under the influence of his friends.
-as always happens, he had particularly attached himself to the very man who was most different from himself. this frenchman, french, burgess and provincial to his very soul, had become the fidus achates of a young jewish doctor named manousse heimann, a russian refugee, who, like so many of his fellow-countrymen, had the twofold gift of settling at once among strangers and making himself at home, and of being so much at his ease in any sort of revolution as to rouse wonder as to what it was that most interested him in it: the game or the cause. his experiences and the experiences of others were a source of entertainment to him. he was a sincere revolutionary, and his scientific habit of mind made him regard the revolutionaries and himself as a kind of madmen. his excited dilettantism and his extreme instability of mind made him seek the company of men the most opposite. he had acquaintances among those in authority and even among the police: he was perpetually prying and spying with that morbid and dangerous curiosity which makes so many russian revolutionaries seem to be playing a double game, and sometimes reduces the appearance to reality. it is not treachery so much as versatility, and it is thoroughly disinterested. there are so many men of action to whom action is a theater into which they bring their talents as comedians, quite honestly prepared at any moment to change their part! manousse was as faithful to the revolutionary part as it was possible for him to be: it was the character which was most in accord with his natural anarchy, and his delight in demolishing the laws of the countries through which he passed. but yet, in spite of everything, it was only a part. it was always impossible to know how much was true and how much invented in what he said, and even he himself was never very sure. he was intelligent and skeptical, endowed with the psychological subtlety of his twofold nationality, could discern quite marvelously the weaknesses of others, and his own, and was extremely skilful in playing upon them, so that he had no difficulty in gaining an ascendancy over canet. it amused him to drag this sancho panza into quixotic pranks. he made no scruple about using him, disposing of his will, his time, his money,--not for his own benefit, (he needed none, though no one knew how or in what way he lived),--but in the most compromising demonstrations of the cause. canet submitted to it all: he tried to persuade himself that he thought like manousse. he knew perfectly well that this was not the case: such ideas scared him: they were shocking to his common sense. and he had no love for the people. and, in addition, he had no courage. this big, bulky, corpulent young man, with his clean-shaven pinkish face, his short breathing, his pleasant, pompous, and rather childish way of speaking, with a chest like the farnese hercules, (he was a fair hand at boxing and singlestick), was the most timid of men. if he took a certain pride in being taken for a man of a subversive temper by his own people, in his heart of hearts he used to tremble at the boldness of his friends. no doubt the little thrill they gave him was by no means disagreeable as long as it was only in fun. but their fun was becoming dangerous. his fervent friends were growing aggressive, their hardy pretensions were increasing: they alarmed canet's fundamental egoism, his deeply rooted sense of propriety, his middle-class pusillanimity. he dared not ask: "where are you taking me to?" but, under his breath, he fretted and fumed at the recklessness of these young men who seemed to love nothing so much as breaking their necks, and never to give a thought as to whether they were not at the same time running a risk of breaking other people's.--what was it impelled him to follow them? was he not free to break with them? he had not the courage. he was afraid of being left alone, like a child who gets left behind and begins to whimper. he was like so many men: they have no opinions, except in so far as they disapprove of all enthusiastic opinion: but if a man is to be independent he must stand alone, and how many men are there who are capable of that? how many men are there, even amongst the most clear sighted, who will dare to break free of the bondage of certain prejudices, certain postulates which cramp and fetter all the men of the same generation? that would mean setting up a wall between themselves and others. on the one hand, freedom in the wilderness, on the other, mankind. they do not hesitate: they choose mankind, the herd. the herd is evil smelling, but it gives warmth. then those who have chosen pretend to think what they do not in fact think. it is not very difficult for them: they know so little what they think!... "know thyself!"... how could they, these men who have hardly a me to know? in every collective belief, religious or social, very rare are the men who believe, because very rare are the men who are men. faith is an heroic force: its fire has kindled but a very few human torches, and even these have often flickered. the apostles, the prophets, even jesus have doubted. the rest are only reflections,--save at certain hours when their souls are dry and a few sparks falling from a great torch set light to all the surface of the plain: then the fire dies down, and nothing gleams but the glowing embers beneath the ashes. not more than a few hundred christians really believe in christ. the rest believe that they believe, or else they only try to believe.
-many of these revolutionaries were like that. our friend canet tried hard to believe that he was a revolutionary: he did believe it. and he was scared at his own boldness.
-all these comfortable people invoked divers principles: some followed the bidding of their hearts, others that of their reason, others again only their interests: some associated their way of thinking with the gospel, others with m. bergson, others, again, with karl marx, with proudhon, with joseph de maistre. with nietzsche, or with m. sorel. there were men who were revolutionaries to be in the fashion, some who were so out of snobbishness, and some from shyness: some from hatred, others from love: some from a need of active, hot-headed heroism: and some in sheer slavishness, from the sheeplike quality of their minds. but all, without knowing it, were at the mercy of the wind. all were no more than those whirling clouds of dust which are to be seen like smoke in the far distance on the white roads in the country, clouds of dust foretelling the coming of the storm.
-olivier and christophe watched the wind coming. both of them had strong eyes. but they used them in different ways. olivier, whose clear gaze, in spite of himself, pierced to the very inmost thoughts of men, was saddened by their mediocrity: but he saw the hidden force that sustained them: he was most struck by the tragic aspect of things. christophe was more sensible of their comic aspect. men interested him, ideas not at all. he affected a contemptuous indifference towards them. he laughed at socialistic utopias. in a spirit of contradiction and out of instinctive reaction against the morbid humanitarianism which was the order of the day, he appeared to be more selfish than he was: he was a self-made man, a sturdy upstart, proud of his strength of body and will, and he was a little too apt to regard all those who had not his force as shirkers. in poverty and alone he had been able to win through: let others do the same! why all this talk of a social question? what question? poverty?
-"i know all about that," he would say. "my father, my mother, i myself, we have been through it. it's only a matter of getting out of it."
-"not everybody can," olivier would reply. "what about the sick and the unlucky?"
-"one must help them, that's all. but that is a very different thing from setting them on a pinnacle, as people are doing nowadays. only a short while ago people were asserting the odious doctrine of the rights of the strongest man. upon my word, i'm inclined to think that the rights of the weakest are even more detestable: they're sapping the thought of to-day, the weakest man is tyrannizing over the strong, and exploiting them. it really looks as though it has become a merit to be diseased, poor, unintelligent, broken,--and a vice to be strong, upstanding, happy in fighting, and an aristocrat in brains and blood. and what is most absurd of all is this, that the strong are the first to believe it.... it's a fine subject for a comedy, my dear olivier!"
-"good boy!" said christophe. "but, good lord, who ever said anything to the contrary? when i see a hunchback, my back aches for him.... we're playing the comedy, we won't write it."
-he did not suffer himself to be bitten by the prevalent dreams of social justice. his vulgar common sense told him and he believed that what had been would be.
-"but if anybody said that to you about art you'd be up in arms against him."
-"may be. anyhow, i don't know about anything except art. nor do you. i've no faith in people who talk about things without knowing anything about them."
-olivier's faith in such people was no greater. both of them were inclined to push their distrust a little too far: they had always held aloof from politics. olivier confessed, not without shame, that he could not remember ever having used his rights as an elector: for the last ten years he had not even entered his name at the mairie.
-"why," he asked, "should i take part in a comedy which i know to be futile? vote? for whom should i vote? i don't see any reason for choosing between two candidates, both of whom are unknown to me, while i have only too much reason to expect that, directly the election is over, they will both be false to all their professions of faith. keep an eye on them? remind them of their duty? it would take up the whole of my life, with no result. i have neither time, nor strength, nor the rhetorical weapons, nor sufficient lack of scruple, nor is my heart steeled against all the disgust that action brings. much better to keep clear of it all. i am quite ready to submit to the evil. but at least i won't subscribe to it."
-but, in spite of his excessive clear-sightedness, olivier, to whom the ordinary routine of politics was repulsive, yet preserved a chimerical hope in a revolution. he knew that it was chimerical: but he did not discard it. it was a sort of racial mysticism in him. not for nothing does a man belong to the greatest destructive and constructive people of the western world, the people who destroy to construct and construct to destroy,--the people who play with ideas and life, and are for ever making a clean sweep so as to make a new and better beginning, and shed their blood in pledge.
-christophe was endowed with no such hereditary messianism. he was too german to relish much the idea of a revolution. he thought that there was no changing the world. why all these theories, all these words, all this futile uproar?
-"i have no need," he would say, "to make a revolution--or long speeches about revolution--in order to prove to my own satisfaction that i am strong. i have no need, like these young men of yours, to overthrow the state in order to restore a king or a committee of public safety to defend me. that's a queer way of proving your strength! i can defend myself. i am not an anarchist: i love all necessary order and i revere the laws which govern the universe. but i don't want an intermediary between them and myself. my will knows how to command, and it knows also how to submit. you've got the classics on the tip of your tongue. why don't you remember your corneille: 'myself alone, and that is enough.' your desire for a master is only a cloak for your weakness. force is like the light: only the blind can deny it. be strong, calmly, without all your theories, without any act of violence, and then, as plants turn to the sun, so the souls of the weak will turn to you."
-but even while he protested that he had no time to waste on political discussions, he was much less detached from it all than he wished to appear. he was suffering, as an artist, from the social unrest. in his momentary dearth of strong passion he would sometimes pause to look around and wonder for what people he was writing. then he would see the melancholy patrons of contemporary art, the weary creatures of the upper-classes, the dilettante men and women of the burgess-class, and he would think:
-"what profits it to work for such people as these?" in truth there was no lack of men of refinement and culture, men sensitive to skill and craft, men even who were not incapable of appreciating the novelty or--(it is all the same)--the archaism of fine feeling. but they were bored, too intellectual, not sufficiently alive to believe in the reality of art: they were only interested in tricks,--tricks of sound, or juggling with ideas; most of them were distraught by other worldly interests, accustomed to scattering their attention over their multifarious occupations, none of which was "necessary." it was almost impossible for them to pierce the outer covering of art, to feel its heart deep down: art was not flesh and blood to them; it was literature. their critics built up their impotence to issue from dilettantism into a theory, an intolerant theory. when it happened that a few here and there were vibrant enough to respond to the voice of art, they were not strong enough to bear it, and were left disgruntled and nerve-ridden for life. they were sick men or dead. what could art do in such a hospital?--and yet in modern society he was unable to do without these cripples: for they had money, and they ruled the press: they only could assure an artist the means of living. so then he must submit to such humiliation: an intimate and sorrowful art, music in which is told the secret of the artist's inmost life, offered up as an amusement--or rather as a palliative of boredom, or as another sort of boredom--in the theaters or in fashionable drawing-rooms, to an audience of snobs and worn-out intellectuals.
-christophe was seeking the real public, the public which believes in the emotions of art as in those of life, and feels them with a virgin soul. and he was vaguely attracted by the new promised world--the people. the memories of his childhood, gottfried and the poor, who had revealed to him the living depths of art, or had shared with him the sacred bread of music, made him inclined to believe that his real friends were to be found among such people. like many another young man of a generous heart and simple faith, he cherished great plans for a popular art, concerts, and a theater for the people, which he would have been hard put to it to define. he thought that a revolution might make it possible to bring about a great artistic renascence, and he pretended that he had no other interest in the social movement. but he was hoodwinking himself: he was much too alive not to be attracted and drawn onward by the sight of the most living activity of the time.
-in all that he saw he was least of all interested in the middle-class theorists. the fruit borne by such trees is too often sapless: all the juices of life are wasted in ideas. christophe did not distinguish between one idea and another. he had no preference even for ideas which were his own when he came upon them congealed in systems. with good-humored contempt he held aloof from the theorists of force as from the theorists of weakness. in every comedy the one ungrateful part is that of the raisonneur. the public prefers not only the sympathetic characters to him, but the unsympathetic characters also. christophe was like the public in that. the raisonneurs of the social question seemed tiresome to him. but he amused himself by watching the rest, the simple, the men of conviction, those who believed and those who wanted to believe, those who were tricked and those who wanted to be tricked, not to mention the buccaneers who plied their predatory trade, and the sheep who were made to be fleeced. his sympathy was indulgent towards the pathetically absurd little people like fat canet. their mediocrity was not offensive to him as it was to olivier. he watched them all with affectionate and mocking interest: he believed that he was outside the piece they were playing: and he did not see that little by little he was being drawn into it. he thought only of being a spectator watching the wind rush by. but already the wind had caught him, and was dragging him along into its whirling cloud of dust.
-the social drama was twofold. the piece played by the intellectuals was a comedy within a comedy; the people hardly heeded it. the real drama was that of the people. it was not easy to follow it: the people themselves did not always know where they were in it. it was all unexpected, unforeseen.
-it was not only that there was much more talk in it than action. every frenchman, be he burgess or of the people, is as great an eater of speeches as he is of bread. but all men do not eat the same sort of bread. there is the speech of luxury for delicate palates, and the more nourishing sort of speech for hungry gullets. if the words are the same, they are not kneaded into the same shape: taste, smell, meaning, all are different.
-the first time olivier attended a popular meeting and tasted of the fare he lost his appetite: his gorge rose at it, and he could not swallow. he was disgusted by the platitudinous quality of thought, the drab and uncouth clumsiness of expression, the vague generalizations, the childish logic, the ill-mixed mayonnaise of abstractions and disconnected facts. the impropriety and looseness of the language were not compensated by the raciness and vigor of the vulgar tongue. the whole thing was compounded of a newspaper vocabulary, stale tags picked up from the reach-me-downs of middle-class rhetoric. olivier was particularly amazed at the lack of simplicity. he forgot that literary simplicity is not natural, but acquired: it is a thing achieved by the people of the elect. dwellers in towns cannot be simple: they are rather always on the lookout for far-fetched expressions.
-olivier did not understand the effect such turgid phrases might have on their audience. he had not the key to their meaning. we call foreign the languages of other races, and it never occurs to us that there are almost as many languages in our nation as there are social grades. it is only for a limited few that words retain their traditional and age-old meaning: for the rest they represent nothing more than their own experience and that of the group to which they belong. many of such words, which are dead for the select few and despised by them, are like an empty house, wherein, as soon as the few are gone, new energy and quivering passion take up their abode. if you wish to know the master of the house, go into it.
-that christophe did.
-he had been brought into touch with the working-classes by a neighbor of his who was employed on the state railways. he was a little man of forty-five, prematurely old, with a pathetically bald head, deep-sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, a prominent nose, fleshy and aquiline, a clever mouth, and malformed ears with twisted lobes: the marks of degeneracy. his name was alcide gautier. he was not of the people, but of the lower middle-class.
-christophe was much more democratic than he--the more so as nothing forced him to be so--and enjoyed the meetings. the speeches amused him. he did not share olivier's feeling of repulsion: he was hardly at all sensible of the absurdities of the language. in his eyes a windbag was as good as any other man. he affected a sort of contempt for eloquence in general. but though he took no particular pains to understand their rhetoric, he did feel the music which came through the man who was speaking and the men who were listening. the power of the speaker was raised to the hundredth degree by the echo thrown back from hie hearers. at first christophe only took stock of the speakers, and he was interested enough to make the acquaintance of some of them.
-the man who had the most influence on the crowd was casimir joussier,--a little, pale, dark man, between thirty and thirty-five, with a mongolian cast of countenance, thin, puny, with cold burning eyes, scant hair, and a pointed beard. his power lay not so much in his gesture, which was poor, stilted, and rarely in harmony with the, words,--not so much in his speech, which was raucous and sibilant, with marked pauses for breathing,--as in his personality and the emphatic assurance and force of will which emanated from it. he never seemed to admit the possibility of any one thinking differently from himself: and as what he thought was what his audience wanted to think they had no difficulty in understanding one another. he would go on saying thrice, four times, ten times, the things they expected him to say: he never stopped hammering the same nail with a tenacious fury: and his audience, following his example, would hammer, hammer, hammer, until the nail was buried deep in the flesh.--added to this personal ascendancy was the confidence inspired by his past life, the prestige of many terms in prison, largely deserved by his violent writings. he breathed out an indomitable energy: but for the seeing eye there was revealed beneath it all an accumulated fund of weariness, disgust with so much continual effort, anger against fate. he was one of those men who every day spend more than their income of vitality. from his childhood on he had been ground down by work and poverty. he had plied all sorts of trades: journeyman glass-blower, plumber, printer: his health was ruined: he was a prey to consumption, which plunged him into fits of bitter discouragement and dumb despair of the cause and of himself: at other times it would raise him up to a pitch of excitement. he was a mixture of calculated and morbid violence, of policy and recklessness. he was educated up to a certain point: he had a good knowledge of many things, science, sociology, and his various trades: he had a very poor knowledge of many others: and he was just as cocksure with both: he had utopian notions, just ideas, ignorance in many directions, a practical mind, many prejudices, experience, and suspicion and hatred of burgess society. that did not prevent his welcoming christophe. his pride was tickled by being sought out by a well-known artist. he was of the race of leaders, and, whatever he did, he was brusque with ordinary workmen. although in all good faith he desired perfect equality, he found it easier to realize with those above than with those beneath him.
-christophe came across other leaders of the working-class movement. there was no great sympathy between them. if the common fight--with difficulty--produced unity of action, it was very far from creating unity of feeling. it was easy to see the external and purely transitory reality to which the distinction between the classes corresponded. the old antagonisms were only postponed and marked: but they continued to exist. in the movement were to be found men of the north and men of the south with their fundamental scorn of each other. the trades were jealous of each other's wages, and watched each other with an undisguised feeling of superiority to all others in each. but the great difference lay--and always will lie--in temperament. foxes and wolves and horned beasts, beasts with sharp teeth, and beasts with four stomachs, beasts that are made to eat, and beasts that are made to be eaten, all sniffed at each other as they passed in the herd that had been drawn together by the accident of class and common interest: and they recognized each other: and they bristled.
-christophe sometimes had his meals at a little creamery and restaurant kept by a former colleague of gautier's, one simon, a railway clerk who had been dismissed for taking part in a strike. the shop was frequented by syndicalists. there were five or six of them who used to sit in a room at the back, looking on to an inclosed courtyard, narrow and ill-lit, from which there arose the never-ceasing desperate song of two caged canaries straining after the light. joussier used to come with his mistress, the fair berthe, a large coquettish young woman, with a pale face, and a purple cap, and merry, wandering eyes. she had under her thumb a good-looking boy, léopold graillot, a journeyman mechanic, who was clever and rather a poseur: he was the esthete of the company. although he called himself an anarchist, and was one of the most violent opponents of the burgess-class, his soul was typical of that class at its very worst. every morning for years he had drunk in the erotic and decadent news of the halfpenny literary papers. his reading had given him a strongly addled brain. his mental subtlety in imagining the pleasures of the senses was allied in him with an absolute lack of physical delicacy, indifference to cleanliness, and the comparative coarseness of his life. he had acquired a taste for an occasional glass of such adulterated wine--the intellectual alcohol of luxury, the unwholesome stimulants of unhealthy rich men. being unable to take these pleasures in the flesh, he inoculated his brain with them. that means a bad tongue in the morning and weakness in the knees. but it puts you on an equality with the rich. and you hate them.
-christophe could not bear him. he was more in sympathy with sebastien coquard, an electrician, who, with joussier, was the speaker with the greatest following. he did not overburden himself with theories. he did not always know where he was going. but he did go straight ahead. he was very french. he was heavily built, about forty, with a big red face, a round head, red hair, a flowing beard, a bull neck, and a bellowing voice. like joussier, he was an excellent workman, but he loved drinking and laughter. the sickly joussier regarded his superabundant health with the eyes of envy: and, though they were friends, there was always a simmering secret hostility between them.
-amélie, the manageress of the creamery, a kind creature of forty-five, who must have been pretty once, and still was, in spite of the wear of time, used to sit with them, with some sewing in her hands, listening to their talk with a jolly smile, moving her lips in time to their words: every now and then she would drop a remark into the discussion, and she would emphasize her words with a nod of her head as she worked. she had a married daughter and two children of seven and ten--a little girl and a boy--who used to do their home lessons at the corner of a sticky table, putting out their tongues, and picking up scraps of conversations which were not meant for their ears.
-on more than one occasion olivier tried to go with christophe. but he could not feel at ease with these people. when these working-men were not tied down by strict factory hours or the insistent scream of a hooter, they seemed to have an incredible amount of time to waste, either after work, or between jobs, in loafing or idleness. christophe, being in one of those periods when the mind has completed one piece of work and is waiting until a new piece of work presents itself, was in no greater hurry than they were: and he liked sitting there with his elbows on the table, smoking, drinking, and talking. but olivier's respectable burgess instincts were shocked, and so were his traditional habits of mental discipline, and regular work, and scrupulous economy of time: and he did not relish such a waste of so many precious hours. besides that, he was not good at talking or drinking. above all there was his physical distaste for it all, the secret antipathy which raises a physical barrier between the different types of men, the hostility of the senses, which stands in the way of the communion of their souls, the revolt of the flesh against the heart. when olivier was alone with christophe he would talk most feelingly about the duty of fraternizing with the people: but when he found himself face to face with the people, he was impotent to do anything, in spite of his good will. christophe, on the other hand, who laughed at his ideas, could, without the least effort, meet any workman he chanced to come across in brotherhood. it really hurt olivier to find himself so cut off from these men. he tried to be like them, to think like them, to speak like them. he could not do it. his voice was dull, husky, had not the ring that was in theirs. when he tried to catch some of their expressions the words would stick in his throat or sound queer and strange. he watched himself; he was embarrassed, and embarrassed them. he knew it. he knew that to them he was a stranger and suspect, that none of them was in sympathy with him, and then, when he was gone, everybody would sigh with relief: "ouf!" as he passed among them he would notice hard, icy glances, such hostile glances as the working-classes, embittered by poverty, cast at any comfortable burgess. perhaps christophe came in for some of it too: but he never noticed it.
-of all the people in that place the only ones who showed any inclination to be friendly with olivier were amélie's children. they were much more attracted by their superior in station than disposed to hate him. the little boy was fascinated by the burgess mode of thought: he was clever enough to love it, though not clever enough to understand it: the little girl, who was very pretty, had once been taken by olivier to see madame arnaud, and she was hypnotized by the comfort and ease of it all: she was silently delighted to sit in the fine armchairs, and to feel the beautiful clothes, and to be with lovely ladies: like the little simpleton she was, she longed to escape from the people and soar upwards to the paradise of riches and solid comfort. olivier had no desire or taste for the cultivation of these inclinations in her: and the simple homage she paid to his class by no means consoled him for the silent antipathy of her companions. their ill-disposition towards him pained him. he had such a burning desire to understand them! and in truth he did understand them, too well, perhaps: he watched them too closely, and he irritated them. it was not that he was indiscreet in his curiosity, but that he brought to bear on it his habit of analyzing the souls of men and his need of love.
-it was not long before he perceived the secret drama of joussier's life: the disease which was undermining his constitution, and the cruelty of his mistress. she loved him, she was proud of him: but she had too much vitality: he knew that she was slipping away from him, would slip away from him: and he was aflame with jealousy. she found his jealousy diverting: she was for ever exciting the men about her, bombarding them with her eyes, flinging around them her sensual provocative atmosphere: she loved to play with him like a cat. perhaps she deceived him with graillot. perhaps it pleased her to let him think so. in any case if she were not actually doing so, she very probably would. joussier dared not forbid her to love whomsoever she pleased: did he not profess the woman's right to liberty equally with the man's? she reminded him of that slyly and insolently one day when he was upbraiding her. he was delivered up to a terrible struggle within himself between his theories of liberty and his violent instincts. at heart he was still a man like the men of old, despotic and jealous: by reason he was a man of the future, a utopian. she was neither more nor less than the woman of yesterday, to-morrow, and all time.--and olivier, looking on at their secret duel, the savagery of which was known to him by his own experience, was full of pity for joussier when he realized his weakness. but joussier guessed that olivier was reading him: and he was very far from liking him for it.
-there was another interested witness, an indulgent spectator of this game of love and hate. this was the manageress, amélie. she saw everything without seeming to do so. she knew life. she was an honest, healthy, tranquil, easy-going woman, and in her youth had been free enough. she had been in a florist's shop: she had had a lover of the class above her own: she had had other lovers. then she had married a working-man. she had become a good wife and mother. but she understood everything, all the foolish ways of the heart, joussier's jealousy, as well as the young woman's desire for amusement. she tried to help them to understand each other with a few affectionate words:
-"you must make allowances: it is not worth while creating bad blood between you for such a trifle...."
-she was not at all surprised when her words produced no result....
-"that's the way of the world. we must always be torturing ourselves...."
-she had that splendid carelessness of the people, from which misfortune of every sort seems harmlessly to glide. she had had her share of unhappiness. three months ago she had lost a boy of fifteen whom she dearly loved: it had been a great grief to her: but now she was once more busy and laughing. she used to say:
-"if one were to think of these things one could not live."
-so she ceased to think of it. it was not selfishness. she could not do otherwise: her vitality was too strong: she was absorbed by the present: it was impossible for her to linger over the past. she adapted herself to things as they were, and would adapt herself to whatever happened. if the revolution were to come and turn everything topsy-turvy she would soon manage to be standing firmly on her feet, and do everything that was there to do; she would be in her place wherever she might be set down. at heart she had only a modified belief in the revolution. she had hardly any real faith in anything whatever. it is hardly necessary to add that she used to consult the cards in her moments of perplexity, and that she never failed to make the sign of the cross when she met a funeral. she was very open-minded and very tolerant, and she had the skepticism of the people of paris, that healthy skepticism which doubts, as a man breathes, joyously. though she was the wife of a revolutionary, nevertheless she took up a motherly and ironical attitude towards her husband's ideas and those of his party--and those of the other parties,--the sort of attitude she had towards the follies of youth--and of maturity. she was never much moved by anything. but she was interested in everything. and she was equally prepared for good and bad luck. in fine, she was an optimist.
-"it's no good getting angry.... everything settles itself so long as your health is good...."
-that was clearly to christophe's way of thinking. they did not need much conversation to discover that they belonged to the same family. every now and then they would exchange a good-humored smile, while the others were haranguing and shouting. but, more often, she would laugh to herself as she looked at christophe, and saw him being caught up by the argument to which he would at once bring more passion than all the rest put together.
-christophe did not observe olivier's isolation and embarrassment. he made no attempt to probe down to the inner workings of his companions. but he used to eat and drink with them, and laugh and lose his temper. they were never distrustful of him, although they used to argue heatedly enough. he did not mince his words with them. at bottom he would have found it very hard to say whether he was with or against them. he never stopped to think about it. no doubt if the choice had been forced upon him he would have been a syndicalist as against socialism and all the doctrines of the state--that monstrous entity, that factory of officials, human machines. his reason approved of the mighty effort of the cooperative groups, the two-edged ax of which strikes at the same time at the dead abstractions of the socialistic state, and at the sterility of individualism, that corrosion of energy, that dispersion of collective force in individual frailties,--the great source of modern wretchedness for which the french revolution is in part responsible.
-but nature is stronger than reason. when christophe came in touch with the syndicates--those formidable coalitions of the weak--his vigorous individuality drew back. he could not help despising those men who needed to be linked together before they could march on--to the fight; and if he admitted that it was right for them to submit to such a law, he declared that such a law was not for him. besides, if the weak and the oppressed are sympathetic, they cease altogether to be so when they in their turn become oppressors. christophe, who had only recently been shouting out to the honest men living in isolation: "unite! unite!" had a most unpleasant sensation when for the first time he found himself in the midst of such unions of honest men, all mixed up with other men who were less honest, and yet were endowed with their force, their rights, and only too ready to abuse them. the best people, those whom christophe loved, the friends whom he had met in the house, on every floor, drew no sort of profit from these fighting combinations. they were too sensitive at heart and too timid not to be scared: they were fated to be the first to be crushed out of existence by them. face to face with the working-class movement they were in the same position as olivier and the most warmly generous of the young men of the middle-class. their sympathies were with the workers organizing themselves. but they had been brought up in the cult of liberty: now liberty was exactly what the revolutionaries cared for least of all. besides, who is there nowadays that cares for liberty? a select few who have no sort of influence over the world. liberty is passing through dark days. the popes of rome proscribe the light of reason. the popes of paris put out the light of the heavens. and m. pataud puts out the lights of the streets. everywhere imperialism is triumphant: the theocratic imperialism of the church of rome: the military imperialism of the mercantile and mystic monarchies: the bureaucratic imperialism of the republics of freemasonry and covetousness: the dictatorial imperialism of the revolutionary committees. poor liberty, thou art not in this world!... the abuse of power preached and practised by the revolutionaries revolted christophe and olivier. they had little regard for the blacklegs who refuse to suffer for the common cause. but it seemed abominable to them that the others should claim the right to use force against them.--and yet it is necessary to take sides. nowadays the choice in fact lies not between imperialism and liberty, but between one imperialism and another. olivier said:
-"neither. i am for the oppressed."
-christophe hated the tyranny of the oppressors no less. but he was dragged into the wake of force in the track of the army of the working-classes in revolt.
-he was hardly aware that it was so. he would tell his companions in the restaurant that he was not with them.
-they regarded him as a maker of phrases, and said that, if he were talking of compasses, it was very clear that he had lost his: and they gave themselves the pleasure of indulging in a little friendly contempt at his expense. in their eyes an artist was a shirker who contrived to work as little and as agreeably as possible.
-he replied that he worked as hard as they did, harder even, and that he was not nearly so afraid of work. nothing disgusted him so much as sabotage, the deliberate bungling of work, and skulking raised to the level of a principle.
-"all these wretched people," he would say, "afraid for their own skins!... good lord! i've never stopped working since i was eight. you people don't love your work; at heart you're just common men.... if only you were capable of destroying the old world! but you can't do it. you don't even want to. no, you don't even want to. it is all very well for you to go about shrieking menace and pretending you're going to exterminate the human race. you have only one thought: to get the upper hand and lie snugly in the warm beds of the middle-classes. except for a few hundred poor devils, navvies, who are always ready to break their bones or other people's bones for no particular reason,--just for fun--or for the pain, the age-old pain with which they are simply bursting, the whole lot of you think of nothing but deserting the camp and going over to the ranks of the middle-classes on the first opportunity. you become socialists, journalists, lecturers, men of letters, deputies, ministers.... bah! bah! don't you go howling about so-and-so! you're no better. you say he is a traitor?... good. whose turn next? you'll all come to it. there is not one of you who can resist the bait. how could you? there is not one of you who believes in the immortality of the soul. you are just so many bellies, i tell you. empty bellies thinking of nothing but being filled."
-thereupon they would all lose their tempers and all talk at once. and in the heat of the argument it would often happen that christophe, whirled away by his passion, would become more revolutionary than the others. in vain did he fight against it: his intellectual pride, his complacent conception of a purely esthetic world, made for the joy of the spirit, would sink deep into the ground at the sight of injustice. esthetic, a world in which eight men out of ten live in nakedness and want, in physical and moral wretchedness? oh! come! a man must be an impudent creature of privilege who would dare to claim as much. an artist like christophe, in his inmost conscience, could not but be on the side of the working-classes. what man more than the spiritual worker has to suffer from the immorality of social conditions, from the scandalously unequal partition of wealth among men? the artist dies of hunger or becomes a millionaire for no other reason than the caprice of fashion and of those who speculate on fashion. a society which suffers its best men to die or gives them extravagant rewards is a monstrous society: it must be swept and put in order. every man, whether he works or no, has a right to a living minimum.
-every kind of work, good or mediocre, should be rewarded, not according to its real value--(who can be the infallible judge of that?)--but according to the normal legitimate needs of the worker. society can and should assure the artist, the scientist, and the inventor an income sufficient to guarantee that they have the means and the time yet further to grace and honor it. nothing more. the gioconda is not worth a million. there is no relation between a sum of money and a work of art: a work of art is neither above nor below money: it is outside it. it is not a question of payment: it is a question of allowing the artist to live. give him enough to feed him, and allow him to work in peace. it is absurd and horrible to try to make him a robber of another's property. this thing must be put bluntly: every man who has more than is necessary for his livelihood and that of his family, and for the normal development of his intelligence, is a thief and a robber. if he has too much, it means that others have too little. how often have we smiled sadly to hear tell of the inexhaustible wealth of france, and the number of great fortunes, we workers, and toilers, and intellectuals, and men and women who from our very birth have been given up to the wearying task of keeping ourselves from dying of hunger, often struggling in vain, often seeing the very best of us succumbing to the pain of it all,--we who are the moral and intellectual treasure of the nation! you who have more than your share of the wealth of the world are rich at the cost of our suffering and our poverty. that troubles you not at all: you have sophistries and to spare to reassure you: the sacred rights of property, the fair struggle for life, the supreme interests of that moloch, the state and progress, that fabulous monster, that problematical better to which men sacrifice the good,--the good of other men.--but for all that, the fact remains, and all your sophistries will never manage to deny it: "you have too much to live on. we have not enough. and we are as good as you. and some of us are better than the whole lot of you put together."
-so christophe was affected by the intoxication of the passions with which he was surrounded. then he was astonished at his own bursts of eloquence. but he did not attach any importance to them. he was amused by such easily roused excitement, which he attributed to the bottle. his only regret was that the wine was not better, and he would belaud the wines of the rhine. he still thought that he was detached from revolutionary ideas. but there arose the singular phenomenon that christophe brought into the discussion, if not the upholding of them, a steadily increasing passion, while that of his companions seemed in comparison to diminish.
-as a matter of fact, they had fewer illusions than he. even the most violent leaders, the men who were most feared by the middle-classes, were at heart uncertain and horribly middle-class. coquard, with his laugh like a stallion's neigh, shouted at the top of his voice and made terrifying gestures: but he only half believed what he was saying: it was all for the pleasure of talking, giving orders, being active: he was a braggart of violence. he knew the cowardice of the middle-classes through and through, and he loved terrorizing them by showing that he was stronger than they: he was quite ready to admit as much to christophe, and to laugh over it. graillot criticized everything, and everything anybody tried to do: he made every plan come to nothing. joussier was for ever affirming, for he was unwilling ever to be in the wrong. he would be perfectly aware of the inherent weakness of his line of argument, but that would make him only the more obstinate in sticking to it: he would have sacrificed the victory of his cause to his pride of principle. but he would rush from extremes of bullet-headed faith to extremes of ironical pessimism, when he would bitterly condemn the lie of all systems of ideas and the futility of all efforts.
-the majority of the working-classes were just the same. they would suddenly relapse from the intoxication of words into the depths of discouragement. they had immense illusions: but they were based upon nothing: they had not won them in pain or forged them for themselves: they had received them ready-made, by that law of the smallest effort which led them for their amusements to the slaughter-house and the blatant show. they suffered from an incurable indolence of mind for which there were only too many excuses: they were like weary beasts asking only to be suffered to lie down and in peace to ruminate over their end and their dreams. but once they had slept off their dreams there was nothing left but an even greater weariness and the doleful dumps. they were for ever flaring up to a new leader: and very soon they became suspicious of him and spurned him. the sad part of it all was that they were never wrong: one after another their leaders were dazzled by the bait of wealth, success, or vanity: for one joussier, who was kept from temptation by the consumption under which he was wasting away, a brave crumbling to death, how many leaders were there who betrayed the people or grew weary of the fight! they were victims of the secret sore which was devouring the politicians of every party in those days: demoralization through women and money, women and money,--(the two scourges are one and the same).--in the government as in the ministry there were men of first-rate talent, men who had in them the stuff of which great statesmen are made--(they, might have been great statesmen in the days of richelieu, perhaps);--but they lacked faith and character: the need, the habit, the weariness of pleasure, had sapped them: when they were engaged upon vast schemes they fumbled into incoherent action, or they would suddenly fling up the whole thing, while important business was in progress, desert their country or their cause for rest and pleasure. they were brave enough to meet death in battle: but very few of the leaders were capable of dying in harness, at their posts, never budging, with their hands upon the rudder and their eyes unswervingly fixed upon the invisible goal.
-the revolution was hamstrung by the consciousness of the fundamental weakness. the leaders of the working-classes spent part of their time in blaming each other. their strikes always failed as a result of the perpetual dissensions between the leaders and the trades-unions, between the reformers and the revolutionaries--and of the profound timidity that underlay their blustering threats--and of the inherited sheepishness that made the rebels creep once more beneath the yoke upon the first legal sentence,--and of the cowardly egoism and the baseness of those who profited by the revolt of others to creep a little nearer the masters, to curry favor and win a rich reward for their disinterested devotion. not to speak of the disorder inherent in all crowds, the anarchy of the people. they tried hard to create corporate strikes which should assume a revolutionary character: but they were not willing to be treated as revolutionaries. they had no liking for bayonets. they fancied that it was possible to make an omelette without eggs. in any case, they preferred the eggs to be broken by other people.
-olivier watched, observed, and was not surprised. from the very outset he had recognized the great inferiority of these men to the work which they were supposed to be accomplishing: but he had also recognized the inevitable force that swept them on: and he saw that christophe, unknown to himself, was being carried on by the stream. but the current would have nothing to do with himself, who would have asked nothing better than to let himself be carried away.
-it was a strong current: it was sweeping along an enormous mass of passions, interest, and faith, all jostling, pushing, merging into each other, boiling and frothing and eddying this way and that. the leaders were in the van; they were the least free of all, for they were pushed forward, and perhaps they had the least faith of all: there had been a time when they believed: they were like the priests against whom they had so loudly railed, imprisoned by their vows, by the faith they once had had, and were forced to profess to the bitter end. behind them the common herd was brutal, vacillating, and short-sighted. the great majority had a sort of random faith, because the current had now set in the direction of utopia: but a little while, and they would cease to believe because the current had changed. many believed from a need of action, a desire for adventure, from romantic folly. others believed from a sort of impertinent logic, which was stripped of all common sense. some believed from goodness of heart. the self-seeking only made use of ideas as weapons for the fight: their eye was for the main chance: they were fighting for a definite sum as wages for a definite number of hours' work. the worst of all were nursing a secret hope of wreaking a brutal revenge for the wretched lives they had led.
-but the current which bore them all along was wiser than they: it knew where it was going. what did it matter that at any moment it might dash up against the dyke of the old world! olivier foresaw that a social revolution in these days would be squashed. but he knew also that revolution would achieve its end through defeat as well as through victory: for the oppressors only accede to the demands of the oppressed when the oppressed inspire them with fear. and so the violence of the revolutionaries was of no less service to their cause than the justice of that cause. both violence and justice were part and parcel of the plan of that blind and certain force which moves the herd of human kind....
-"for consider what you are, you whom the master has summoned. if the body be considered there are not many among you who are wise, or strong, or noble. but he has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and he has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the strong: and he has chosen the vile things of the world and the despised things, and the things that are not, to the destruction of those things that are...."
-and yet, whatever may be the master who orders all things,--(reason or unreason),--and although the social organization prepared by syndicalism might constitute a certain comparative stage in progress for the future, olivier did not think it worth while for christophe and himself to scatter the whole of their power of illusion and sacrifice in this earthy combat which would open no new world. his mystic hopes of the revolution were dashed to the ground. the people seemed to him no better and hardly any more sincere than the other classes: there was not enough difference between them and others. in the midst of the torrent of interests and muddy passions, olivier's gaze and heart were attracted by the little islands of independent spirits, the little groups of true believers who emerged here and there like flowers on the face of the waters. in vain do the elect seek to mingle with the mob: the elect always come together,--the elect of all classes and all parties,--the bearers of the fire of the world. and it is their sacred duty to see to it that the fire in their hands shall never die down.
-olivier had already made his choice.
-a few houses away from that in which he lived was a cobbler's booth, standing a little below the level of the street,--a few planks nailed together, with dirty windows and panes of paper. it was entered by three steps down, and you had to stoop to stand up in it. there was just room for a shelf of old shoes, and two stools. all day long, in accordance with the classic tradition of cobbling, the master of the place could be heard singing. he used to whistle, drum on the soles of the boots, and in a husky voice roar out coarse ditties and revolutionary songs, or chaff the women of the neighborhood as they passed by. a magpie with a broken wing, which was always hopping about on the pavement, used to come from a porter's lodge and pay him a visit. it would stand on the first step at the entrance to the booth and look at the cobbler. he would stop for a moment to crack a dirty joke with the bird in a piping voice, or he would insist on whistling the internationale. the bird would stand with its beak in the air, listening gravely: every now and then it would bob with its beak down by way of salutation, and it would awkwardly flap its wings in order to regain its balance: then it would suddenly turn round, leaving the cobbler in the middle of a sentence, and fly away with its wing and a bit on to the back of a bench, from whence it would hurl defiance at the dogs of the quarter. then the cobbler would return to his leather, and the flight of his auditor would by no means restrain him from going through with his harangue.
-he was fifty-six, with a jovial wayward manner, little merry eyes under enormous eyebrows, with a bald top to his head rising like an egg out of the nest of his hair, hairy ears, a black gap-toothed mouth that gaped like a well when he roared with laughter, a very thick dirty beard, at which he used to pluck in handfuls with his long nails that were always filthy with wax. he was known in the district as daddy feuillet, or feuillette, or daddy la feuillette--and to tease him they used to call him la fayette: for politically the old fellow was one of the reds: as a young man he had been mixed up in the commune, sentenced to death, and finally deported: he was proud of his memories, and was always rancorously inclined to lump together badinguet, galliffet, and foutriquet. he was a regular attendant at the revolutionary meetings, and an ardent admirer of coquard and the vengeful idea that he was always prophesying with much beard-wagging and a voice of thunder. he never missed one of his speeches, drank in his words, laughed at his jokes with head thrown back and gaping mouth, foamed at his invective, and rejoiced in the fight and the promised paradise. next day, in his booth, he would read over the newspaper report of the speeches: he would read them aloud to himself and his apprentice: and to taste their full sweetness he would have them read aloud to him, and used to box his apprentice's ears if he skipped a line. as a consequence he was not always very punctual in the delivery of his work when he had promised it: on the other hand, his work was always sound: it might wear out the user's feet, but there was no wearing out his leather....
-the old fellow had in his shop a grandson of thirteen, a hunchback, a sickly, rickety boy, who used to run his errands, and was a sort of apprentice. the boy's mother had left her family when she was seventeen to elope with a worthless fellow who had sunk into hooliganism, and before very long had been caught, sentenced, and so disappeared from the scene. she was left alone with the child, deserted by her family, and devoted herself to the upbringing of the boy emmanuel. she had transferred to him all the love and hatred she had had for her lover. she was a woman of a violent and jealous character, morbid to a degree. she loved her child to distraction, brutally ill-treated him, and, when he was ill, was crazed with despair. when she was in a bad temper she would send him to bed without any dinner, without so much as a piece of bread. when she was dragging him along through the streets, if he grew tired and would not go on and slipped down to the ground, she would kick him on to his feet again. she was amazingly incoherent in her use of words, and she used to pass swiftly from tears to a hysterical mood of gaiety. she died. the cobbler took the boy, who was then six years old. he loved him dearly: but he had his own way of showing it, which consisted in bullying the boy, battering him with a large assortment of insulting names, pulling his ears, and clouting him over the head from morning to night by way of teaching him his job: and at the same time he grounded him thoroughly in his own social and anti-clerical catechism.
-emmanuel knew that his grandfather was not a bad man: but he was always prepared to raise his arm to ward off his blows: the old fellow used to frighten him, especially on the evenings when he got drunk. for daddy la feuillette had not come by his nickname for nothing: he used to get tipsy twice or thrice a month: then he used to talk all over the place, and laugh, and act the swell, and always in the end he used to give the boy a good thrashing. his bark was worse than his bite. but the boy was terrified: his ill-health made him more sensitive than other children: he was precociously intelligent, and he had inherited a fierce and unbalanced capacity for feeling from his mother. he was overwhelmed by his grandfather's brutality, and also by his revolutionary harangues,--(for the two things went together: it was particularly when the old man was drunk that he was inclined to hold forth).--his whole being quivered in response to outside impressions, just as the booth shook with the passing of the heavy omnibuses. in his crazy imagination there were mingled, like the humming vibrations of a belfry, his day-to-day sensations, the wretchedness of his childhood, his deplorable memories of premature experience, stories of the commune, scraps of evening lectures and newspaper feuilletons, speeches at meetings, and the vague, uneasy, and violent sexual instincts which his parents had transmitted to him. all these things together formed a monstrous grim dream-world, from the dense night, the chaos and miasma of which there darted dazzling rays of hope.
-it was a great day for him when olivier came into daddy feuillette's shop to leave an order. when the work was done emmanuel took it to olivier's rooms; he had watched for him to come home so as to be sure of finding him in. olivier was lost in thought, hardly noticed him, paid the bill, and said nothing: the boy seemed to wait, looked from right to left, and began reluctantly to move away. olivier, in his kindness, guessed what was happening inside the boy: he smiled and tried to talk to him in spite of the awkwardness he always felt in talking to any of the people. but now he was able to find words simple and direct. an intuitive perception of suffering made him see in the boy--(rather too simply)--a little bird wounded by life, like himself, seeking consolation with his head under his wing, sadly huddled up on his perch, dreaming of wild flights into the light. a feeling that was something akin to instinctive confidence brought the boy closer to him: he felt the attraction of the silent soul, which made no moan and used no harsh words, a soul wherein he could take shelter from the brutality of the streets; and the room, thronged with books, filled with bookcases wherein there slumbered the dreams of the ages, filled him with an almost religious awe. he made no attempt to evade olivier's questions: he replied readily, with sudden gasps and starts of shyness and pride: but he had no power of expression. carefully, patiently, olivier unswathed his obscure stammering soul: little by little he was able to read his hopes and his absurdly touching faith in the new birth of the world. he had no desire to laugh, though he knew that the dream was impossible, and would never change human nature. the christians also have dreamed of impossible things, and they have not changed human nature. from the time of pericles to the time of m. fallières when has there been any moral progress?... but all faith is beautiful: and when the light of an old faith dies down it is meet to salute the kindling of the new: there will never be too many. with a curious tenderness olivier saw the uncertain light gleaming in the boy's mind. what a strange mind it was!... olivier was not altogether able to follow the movement of his thoughts, which were incapable of any sustained effort of reason, progressing in hops and jerks, and lagging behind in conversation, unable to follow, clutching in some strange way at an image called up by a word spoken some time before, then suddenly catching up, rushing ahead, weaving a commonplace thought or an ordinary cautious phrase into an enchanted world, a crazy and heroic creed. the boy's soul, slumbering and waking by fits and starts, had a puerile and mighty need of optimism: to every idea in art or science thrown out to it, it would add some complacently melodramatic tag, which would link it up with and satisfy its own chimerical dreams.
-as an experiment olivier tried reading aloud to the boy on sundays. he thought that he was most likely to be interested by realistic and familiar stories: he read him tolstoy's memories of childhood. they made no impression on the boy: he said:
-"that's quite all right. things are like that. one knows that."
-and he could not understand why anybody should take so much trouble to write about real things....
-"he's just a boy," he would say disdainfully, "just an ordinary little boy."
-he was no more responsive to the interest of history: and science bored him: it was to him no more than a tiresome introduction to a fairy-tale: the invisible forces brought into the service of man were like terrible genii laid low. what was the use of so much explanation? when a man finds something it is no good his telling how he found it, he need only tell what it is that he has found. the analysis of thought is a luxury of the upper-classes. the souls of the people demand synthesis, ideas ready-made, well or ill, or rather ill-made than well, but all tending to action, and composed of the gross realities of life, and charged with electricity. of all the literature open to emmanuel that which most nearly touched him was the epic pathos of certain passages in hugo and the fuliginous rhetoric of the revolutionary orators, whom he did not rightly understand, characters who no more understood themselves than hugo did. to him as to them the world was not an incoherent collection of reasons or facts, but an infinite space, steeped in darkness and quivering with light, while through the night there passed the beating of mighty wings all bathed in the sunlight. olivier tried in vain to make him grasp his cultivated logic. the boy's rebellious and weary soul slipped through his fingers: and it sank back with a sigh of comfort and relief into the indeterminate haze and the chafing of its own sensation and hallucinations, like a woman in love giving herself with eyes closed to her lover.
-olivier was at once attracted and disconcerted by the qualities in the child so much akin to his own:--loneliness, proud weakness, idealistic ardor,--and so very different,--the unbalanced mind, the blind and unbridled desires, the savage sensuality which had no idea of good and evil, as they are defined in ordinary morality. he had only a partial glimpse of that sensuality which would have terrified him had he known its full extent. he never dreamed of the existence of the world of uneasy passions stirring and seething in the heart and mind of his little friend. our bourgeois atavism has given us too much wisdom. we dare not even look within ourselves. if we were to tell a hundredth part of the dreams that come to an ordinary honest man, or of the desires which come into being in the body of a chaste woman, there would be a scandal and an outcry. silence such monsters! bolt and bar their cage! but let us admit that they exist, and that in the souls of the young they are insecurely fettered.--the boy had all the erotic desires and dreams which we agree among ourselves to regard as perverse: they would suddenly rise up unawares and take him by the throat: they would come in gusts and squalls: and they only gained in intensity and heat through the irritation set up by the isolation to which his ugliness condemned him. olivier knew nothing of all this. emmanuel was ashamed in his presence. he felt the contagion of such peace and purity. the example of such a life was a taming influence upon him. the boy felt a passionate love for olivier. and his suppressed passions rushed headlong into tumultuous dreams of human happiness, social brotherhood, fantastic aviation, wild barbaric poetry--a whole heroic, erotic, childish, splendid, vulgar world in which his intelligence and his will were tossed hither and thither in mental loafing and fever.
-he did not have much time for indulging himself in this way, especially in his grandfather's booth, for the old man was never silent for a minute on end, but was always whistling, hammering, and talking from morning to night; but there is always room for dreams. how many voyages of the mind one can make standing up with wide-open eyes in the space of a second!--manual labor is fairly well suited to intermittent thought. the working-man's mind would be hard put to it without an effort of the will to follow a closely reasoned chain of argument: if he does manage to do so he is always certain to miss a link here and there: but in the intervals of rhythmic movement ideas crop up and mental images come floating to the surface: the regular movements of the body send them flying upwards like sparks under the smith's bellows. the thought of the people! it is just smoke and fire, a shower of glittering sparks fading away, glowing, then fading away once more! but sometimes a spark will be carried away by the wind to set fire to the dried forests and the fat ricks of the upper-classes....
-olivier procured emmanuel a place in a printing house. it was the boy's wish, and his grandfather did not oppose it; he was glad to see his grandson better educated than himself, and he had a great respect for printer's ink. in his new trade the boy found his work more exhausting than in the old: but he felt more free to think among the throng of workers than in the little shop where he used to sit alone with his grandfather.
-the best time of day was the dinner hour. he would escape and get right away from the horde of artisans crowding round the little tables on the pavement and into the wineshops of the district, and limp along to the square hard by: and there he would sit astride a bench under a spreading chestnut-tree, near a bronze dancing faun with grapes in his hands, and untie his brown-paper parcel of bread and meat, and munch it slowly, surrounded by a little crowd of sparrows. over the green turf little fountains spread the trickling web of their soft rain. round-eyed, slate-blue pigeons cooed in a sunlit tree. and all about him was the perpetual hum of paris, the roar of the carriages, the surging sea of footsteps, the familiar street-cries, the gay distant whistle of a china-mender, a navvy's hammer ringing out on the cobblestones, the noble music of a fountain--all the fevered golden trappings of the parisian dream.--and the little hunchback, sitting astride his bench, with his mouth full, never troubling to swallow, would drowse off into a delicious torpor, in which he lost all consciousness of his twisted spine and his craven soul, and was all steeped in an indeterminate intoxicating happiness.
-"... soft warm light, sun of justice that art to shine for us to-morrow, art thou not shining now? it is all so good, so beautiful! we are rich, we are strong, we are hale, we love ... i love, i love all men, all men love me.... ah! how splendid it all is! how splendid it will be to-morrow!..."
-the factory hooters would sound: the boy would come to his senses, swallow down his mouthful, take a long drink at the wallace fountain near by, slip back into his hunchbacked shell, and go limping and hobbling back to his place in the printing works in front of the cases of magic letters which would one day write the mene, mene, tekel, upharsin, of the revolution.
-daddy feuillet had a crony, trouillot, the stationer on the other side of the street. he kept a stationery and haberdashery shop, in the windows of which were displayed pink and green bonbons in green bottles, and pasteboard dolls without arms or legs. prom either side of the street, one standing on his doorstep, the other in his shop, the two old men used to exchange winks and nods and a whole elaborate code of pantomimic gesture. at intervals, when the cobbler was tired of hammering, and had, as he used to say, the cramp in his buttocks, they would hail each other, la feuillette in his shrill treble, trouillot with a muffled roar, like a husky calf; and they would go off together and take a nip at a neighboring bar. they were never in any hurry to return. they were both infernally loquacious. they had known each other for half a century. the stationer also had played a little walking-on part in the great melodrama of 1871. to see the fat placid creature with his black cap on his head and his white blouse, and his gray, heavy-dragoon mustache, and his dull light-blue bloodshot eyes with heavy pouches under the lids, and his flabby shining cheeks, always in a perspiration, slow-footed, gouty, out of breath, heavy of speech, no one would ever have thought it. but he had lost none of the illusions of the old days. he had spent some years as a refugee in switzerland, where he had met comrades of all nations, notably many russians, who had initiated him in the beauties of anarchic brotherhood. on that point he disagreed with la feuillette, who was a proper frenchman, an adherent of the strong line and of absolutism in freedom. for the rest, they were equally firm in their belief in the social revolution and the working-class salente of the future. each was devoted to a leader in whose person he saw incarnate the ideal man that each would have liked to be. trouillot was for joussier, la feuillette for coquard. they used to engage in interminable arguments about the points on which they were divided, being quite confident that the thoughts upon which they agreed were definitely decided;--(and they were so sure of their common ground that they were never very far from believing, in their cups, that it was a matter of hard fact).--the cobbler was the more argumentative of the two. he believed as a matter of reason: or at least he flattered himself that he did, for, heaven knows, his reason was of a very peculiar kind, and could have fitted the foot of no other man. however, though he was less skilled in argument than in cobbling, he was always insisting that other minds should be shod to his own measure. the stationer was more indolent and less combative, and never worried about proving his faith. a man only tries to prove what he doubts himself. he had no doubt. his unfailing optimism always made him see things as he wanted to see them, and not see things or forget them immediately when they were otherwise. whether he did so wilfully or from apathy he saved himself from trouble of any sort: experience to the contrary slipped off his hide without leaving a mark.--the two of them were romantic babies with no sense of reality, and the revolution, the mere sound of the name of which was enough to make them drunk, was only a jolly story they told themselves, and never knew whether it would ever happen, or whether it had actually happened. and the two of them firmly believed in the god of humanity merely by the transposition of the habits they had inherited from their forbears, who for centuries had bowed before the son of man.--it goes without saying that both men were anti-clerical.
-the amusing part of it was that the honest stationer lived with a very pious niece who did just what she liked with him. she was a very dark little woman, plump, with sharp eyes and a gift of volubility spiced with a strong marseilles accent, and she was the widow of a clerk in the department of commerce. when she was left alone with no money, with a little girl, and received a home with her uncle, the common little creature gave herself airs, and was more than a little inclined to think that she was doing her shop-keeping relation a great favor by serving in his shop: she reigned there with the airs of a fallen queen, though, fortunately for her uncle's business and his customers, her arrogance was tempered by her natural exuberance and her need of talking. as befitted a person of her distinction, madame alexandrine was royalist and clerical, and she used to parade her feelings with a zeal that was all the more indiscreet as she took a malicious delight in teasing the old miscreant in whose house she had taken up her abode. she had set herself up as mistress of the house, and regarded herself as responsible for the conscience of the whole household: if she was unable to convert her uncle--(she had vowed to capture him in extremis),--she busied herself to her heart's content with sprinkling the devil with holy water. she fixed pictures of our lady of lourdes and saint anthony of padua on the walls: she decorated the mantelpiece with little painted images in glass cases: and in the proper season she made a little chapel of the months of mary with little blue candles in her daughter's bedroom. it was impossible to tell which was the predominant factor in her aggressive piety, real affection for the uncle she desired to convert or a wicked joy in worrying the old man.
-he put up with it apathetically and sleepily: he preferred not to run the risk of rousing the tempestuous ire of his terrible niece: it was impossible to fight against such a wagging tongue: he desired peace above all things. only once did he lose his temper, and that was when a little saint joseph made a surreptitious attempt to creep into his room and take up his stand above his bed: on this point he gained the day: for he came very near to having an apoplectic fit, and his niece was frightened: she did not try the experiment again. for the rest he gave in, and pretended not to see: the odor of sanctity made him feel very uncomfortable: but he tried not to think of it. on the other hand they were at one in pampering the girl, little reine, or rainette.
-she was twelve or thirteen, and was always ill. for some months past she had been on her back with hip disease, with the whole of one side of her body done up in plaster of paris like a little daphne in her shell. she had eyes like a hurt dog's, and her skin was pallid and pale like a plant grown out of the sun: her head was too big for her body, and her fair hair, which was very soft and very tightly drawn back, made it appear even bigger: but she had an expressive and sweet face, a sharp little nose, and a childlike expression. the mother's piety had assumed in the child, in her sickness and lack of interest, a fervid character. she used to spend hours in telling her beads, a string of corals, blessed by the pope: and she would break off in her prayers to kiss it passionately. she did next to nothing all day long: needlework made her tired: madame alexandrine had not given her a taste for it. she did little more than read a few insipid tracts, or a stupid miraculous story, the pretentious and bald style of which seemed to her the very flower of poetry,--or the criminal reports illustrated in color in the sunday papers which her stupid mother used to give her. she would perhaps do a little crochet-work, moving her lips, and paying less attention to her needle than to the conversation she would hold with some favorite saint or even with god himself. for it is useless to pretend that it is necessary to be joan of are to have such visitations: every one of us has had them. only, as a rule, our celestial visitors leave the talking to us as we sit by the fireside: and they say never a word. rainette never dreamed of taking exception to it: silence gives consent. besides, she had so much to tell them that she hardly gave them time to reply: she used to answer for them. she was a silent chatterer: she had inherited her mother's volubility: but her fluency was drawn off in inward speeches like a stream disappearing underground.--of course she was a party to the conspiracy against her uncle with the object of procuring his conversion: she rejoiced over every inch of the house wrested by the spirit of light from the spirit of darkness: and on more than one occasion she had sewn a holy medallion on to the inside of the lining of the old man's coat or had slipped into one of his pockets the bead of a rosary, which her uncle, in order to please her, had pretended not to notice.--this seizure by the two pious women of the bitter foe of the priests was a source of indignation and joy to the cobbler. he had an inexhaustible store of coarse pleasantries on the subject of women who wear breeches: and he used to jeer at his friend for letting himself be under their thumb. as a matter of fact he had no right to scoff: for he had himself been afflicted for twenty years with a shrewish cross-grained wife, who had always regarded him as an old scamp and had taken him down a peg or two. but he was always careful not to mention her. the stationer was a little ashamed, and used to defend himself feebly, and in a mealy voice profess a kropotkinesque gospel of tolerance.
-rainette and emmanuel were friends. they had seen each other every day ever since they were children. to be quite accurate, emmanuel only rarely ventured to enter the house. madame alexandrine used to regard him with an unfavorable eye as the grandson of an unbeliever and a horrid little dwarf. but rainette used to spend the day on a sofa near the window on the ground floor. emmanuel used to tap at the window as he passed, and, flattening his nose against the panes, he would make a face by way of greeting. in summer, when the window was left open, he would stop and lean his arms on the windowsill, which was a little high for him;--(he fancied that this attitude was flattering to himself and that, his shoulders being shrugged up in such a pose of intimacy, it might serve to disguise his actual deformity);--and they would talk. rainette did not have too many visitors, and she never noticed that emmanuel was hunchbacked. emmanuel, who was afraid and mortified in the presence of girls, made an exception in favor of rainette. the little invalid, who was half petrified, was to him something intangible and far removed, something almost outside existence. only on the evening when the fair berthe kissed him on the lips, and the next day too, he avoided rainette with an instinctive feeling of repulsion: he passed the house without stopping and hung his head: and he prowled about far away, fearfully and suspiciously, like a pariah dog. then he returned. there was so little woman in her! as he was passing on his way home from the works, trying to make himself as small as possible among the bookbinders in their long working-blouses like nightgowns--busy merry young women whose hungry eyes stripped him as he passed,--how eagerly he would scamper away to rainette's window! he was grateful for his little friend's infirmity: with her he could give himself airs of superiority and even be a little patronizing. with a little swagger he would tell her about the things that happened in the street and always put himself in the foreground. sometimes in gallant mood he would bring rainette a little present, roast chestnuts in winter, a handful of cherries in summer. and she used to give him some of the multi-colored sweets that filled the two glass jars in the shop-window: and they would pore over picture postcards together. those were happy moments: they could both forget the pitiful bodies in which their childish souls were held captive.
-but sometimes they would begin to talk, like their elders, of politics and religion. then they would become as stupid as their elders. it put an end to their sympathy and understanding. she would talk of miracles and the nine days' devotion, or of pious images tricked out with paper lace, and of days of indulgence. he used to tell her that it was all folly and mummery, as he had heard his grandfather say. but when he in turn tried to tell her about the public meetings to which the old man had taken him, and the speeches he had heard, she would stop him contemptuously and tell him that all such folk were drunken sots. bitterness would creep into their talk. they would get talking about their relations: they would recount the insulting things that her mother and his grandfather had said of each other respectively. then they would talk about themselves. they tried to say disagreeable things to each other. they managed that without much difficulty. they indulged in coarse gibes. but she was always the more malicious of the two. then he would go away: and when he returned he would tell her that he had been with other girls, and how pretty they were, and how they had joked and laughed, and how they were going to meet again next sunday. she would say nothing to that: she used to pretend to despise what he said: and then, suddenly, she would grow angry, and throw her crochet-work at his head, and shout at him to go, and declare that she loathed him: and she would hide her face in her hands. he would leave her on that, not at all proud of his victory. he longed to pull her thin little hands away from her face and to tell her that it was not true. but his pride would not suffer him to return.
-one day rainette had her revenge.--he was with some of the other boys at the works. they did not like him because he used to hold as much aloof from them as possible and never spoke, or talked too well, in a naïvely pretentious way, like a book, or rather like a newspaper article--(he was stuffed with newspaper articles).--that day they had begun to talk of the revolution and the days to come. he waxed enthusiastic and made a fool of himself. one of his comrades brought him up sharp with these brutal words:
-"to begin with, you won't be wanted, you're too ugly. in the society of the future, there won't be any hunchbacks. they'll be drowned at birth."
-that brought him toppling down from his lofty eloquence. he stopped short, dumfounded. the others roared with laughter. all that afternoon he went about with clenched teeth. in the evening he was going home, hurrying back to hide away in a corner alone with his suffering. olivier met him: he was struck by his downcast expression: he guessed that he was suffering.
-"you are hurt. why?"
-emmanuel refused to answer. olivier pressed him kindly. the boy persisted in his silence: but his jaw trembled as though he were on the point of weeping. olivier took his arm and led him back to his rooms. although he too had the cruel and instinctive feeling of repulsion from ugliness and disease that is in all who are not born with the souls of sisters of charity, he did not let it appear.
-"some one has hurt you?"
-"what did they do?"
-the boy laid bare his heart. he said that he was ugly. he said that his comrades had told him that their revolution was not for him.
-"it is not for them, either, my boy, nor for us. it is not a single day's affair. it is all for those who will come after us."
-the boy was taken aback by the thought that it would be so long deferred.
-"don't you like to think that people are working to give happiness to thousands of boys like yourself, to millions of human beings?"
-emmanuel sighed and said:
-"but it would be good to have a little happiness oneself."
-"my dear boy, you mustn't be ungrateful. you live in the most beautiful city, in an age that is most rich in marvels; you are not a fool, and you have eyes to see. think of all the things there are to be seen and loved all around you."
-he pointed out a few things.
-the boy listened, nodded his head, and said:
-"yes, but i've got to face the fact that i shall always have to live in this body of mine!"
-"not at all. you will quit it."
-"and that will be the end."
-"how do you know that?"
-the boy was aghast. materialism was part and parcel of his grandfather's creed: he thought that it was only the priest-ridden prigs who believed in an eternal life. he knew that his friend was not such a one: and he wondered if olivier could be speaking seriously. but olivier held his hand and expounded at length his idealistic faith, and the unity of boundless life, that has neither beginning nor end, in which all the millions of creatures and all the million million moments of time are but rays of the sun, the sole source of it all. but he did not put it to him in such an abstract form. instinctively, when he talked to the boy, he adapted himself to his mode of thought;--ancient legends, the material and profound fancies of old cosmogonies were called to mind: half in fun, half in earnest, he spoke of metempsychosis and the succession of countless forms through which the soul passes and flows, like a spring passing from pool to pool. all this was interspersed with reminiscences of christianity and images taken from the summer evening, the light of which was cast upon them both. he was sitting by the open window, and the boy was standing by his side, and their hands were clasped. it was a saturday evening. the bells were ringing. the earliest swallows, only just returned, were skimming the walls of the houses. the dim sky was smiling above the city, which was wrapped in shadow. the boy held his breath and listened to the fairy-tale his man friend was telling him. and olivier, warmed by the eagerness of his young hearer, was caught up by the interest of his own stories.
-there are decisive moments in life when, just as the electric lights suddenly flash out in the darkness of a great city, so the eternal fires flare up in the darkness of the soul. a spark darting from another soul is enough to transmit the promethean fire to the waiting soul. on that spring evening olivier's calm words kindled the light that never dies in the mind hidden in the boy's deformed body, as in a battered lantern. he understood none of olivier's arguments: he hardly heard them. but the legends and images which were only beautiful stories and parables to olivier, took living shape and form in his mind, and were most real. the fairy-tale lived, moved, and breathed all around him. and the view framed in the window of the room, the people passing in the street, rich and poor, the swallows skimming the walls, the jaded horses dragging their loads along, the stones of the houses drinking in the cool shadow of the twilight, and the pale heavens where the light was dying--all the outside world was softly imprinted on his mind, softly as a kiss. it was but the flash of a moment. then the light died down. he thought of rainette, and said;
-"but the people who go to mass, the people who believe in god, are all cracked, aren't they?"
-"they believe," he said, "as we do. we all believe the same thing. only their belief is less than ours. they are people who have to shut all the shutters and light the lamp before they can see the light. they see god in the shape of a man. we have keener eyes. but the light that we love is the same."
-the boy went home through the dark streets in which the gas-lamps were not yet lit. olivier's words were ringing in his head. he thought that it was as cruel to laugh at people because they had weak eyes as because they were hunchbacked. and he thought that rainette had very pretty eyes: and he thought that he had brought tears into them. he could not bear that. he turned and went across to the stationer's. the window was still a little open: and he thrust his head inside and called in a whisper:
-she did not reply.
-"rainette. i beg your pardon."
-from the darkness came rainette's voice, saying:
-"beast! i hate you."
-"i'm sorry," he said.
-he stopped. then, on a sudden impulse, he said in an even softer whisper, uneasily, rather shamefacedly:
-"you know, rainette, i believe in god just as you do."
-he said it only out of generosity. but, as soon as he had said it, he began to believe it.
-they stayed still and did not speak. they could not see each other. outside the night was so fair, so sweet!... the little cripple murmured:
-"how good it will be when one is dead!"
-he could hear rainette's soft breathing.
-"good-night, little one."
-tenderly came rainette's voice:
-he went away comforted. he was glad that rainette had forgiven him. and, in his inmost soul, the little sufferer was not sorry to think that he had been the cause of suffering to the girl.
-olivier had gone into retirement once more. it was not long before christophe rejoined him. it was very certain that their place was not with the syndicalist movement: olivier could not throw in his lot with such people. and christophe would not. olivier flung away from them in the name of the weak and the oppressed; christophe in the name of the strong and the independent. but though they had withdrawn, one to the bows, the other to the stern, they were still traveling in the vessel which was carrying the army of the working-classes and the whole of society. free and self-confident, christophe watched with tingling interest the coalition of the proletarians: he needed every now and then to plunge into the vat of the people: it relaxed him: he always issued from it fresher and jollier. he kept up his relation with coquard, and he went on taking his meals from time to time at amélie's. when he was there he lost all self-control, and would whole-heartedly indulge his fantastic humor: he was not afraid of paradox: and he took a malicious delight in pushing his companions to the extreme consequences of their absurd and wild principles. they never knew whether he was speaking in jest or in earnest: for he always grew warm as he talked, and always in the end lost sight of the paradoxical point of view with which he had begun. the artist in him was carried away by the intoxication of the rest. in one such moment of esthetic emotion in amélie's back-shop, he improvised a revolutionary song, which was at once tried, repeated, and on the very next day spread to every group of the working-classes. he compromised himself. he was marked by the police. manousse, who was in touch with the innermost chambers of authority, was warned by one of his friends, xavier bernard, a young official in the police department, who dabbled in literature and expressed a violent admiration for christophe's music:--(for dilettantism and the spirit of anarchy had spread even to the watchdogs of the third republic).
-"that krafft of yours is making himself a nuisance," said bernard to manousse. "he's playing the braggart. we know what it means: but i tell you that those in high places would be not at all sorry to catch a foreigner--what's more, a german--in a revolutionary plot: it is the regular method of discrediting the party and casting suspicion upon its doings. if the idiot doesn't look out we shall be obliged to arrest him. it's a bore. you'd better warn him."
-manousse did warn christophe: olivier begged him to be careful. christophe did not take their advice seriously.
-olivier, whose lungs were not so exacting, was quite at his ease in his small rooms with the tranquil society of his two women friends, though one of them, madame arnaud, had flung herself into charitable work, and the other, cécile, was entirely taken up with looking after the baby, to such an extent that she could talk of nothing else and to nobody else, in that twittering, beatific tone which is an attempt to emulate the note of a little bird, and to mold its formless song into human speech.
-his excursion into working-class circles had left him with two acquaintances. two men of independent views, like himself. one of them, guérin, was an upholsterer. he worked when he felt so disposed, capriciously, though he was very skilful. he loved his trade. he had a natural taste for artistic things, and had developed it by observation, work, and visits to museums. olivier had commissioned him to repair an old piece of furniture: it was a difficult job, and the upholsterer had done it with great skill: he had taken a lot of time and trouble over it: he sent in a very modest bill to olivier because he was so delighted with his success. olivier became interested in him, questioned him about his life, and tried to find out what he thought of the working-class movement. guérin had no thought about it: he never worried about it. at bottom he did not belong to the working-class, or to any class. he read very little. all his intellectual development had come about through his senses, eyes, hands, and the taste innate in the true parisian. he was a happy man. the type is by no means rare among the working people of the lower middle-class, who are one of the most intelligent classes in the nation: for they realize a fine balance between manual labor and healthy mental activity.
-"ha! ha!" he said. "you have the classics...."
-"i collect books on history. especially books about burgundy."
-"you are a burgundian?" asked olivier.
-"bourguignon salé, l'épée au côté, la barbe au menton, sante bourguignon,"
-replied the postman with a laugh. "i come from the avallon country. i have family papers going back to 1200 and something...."
-olivier was intrigued, and tried to find out more about him. hurteloup asked nothing better than to be allowed to talk. he belonged, in fact, to one of the oldest families in burgundy. one of his ancestors had been on crusade with philippe auguste: another had been secretary of state under henri ii. the family had begun to decay in the seventeenth century. at the time of the revolution, ruined and despairing, they had taken the plunge into the ocean of the people. now they were coming to the surface again as the result of honest work and the physical and moral vigor of hurteloup the postman, and his fidelity to his race. his greatest hobby had been collecting historical and genealogical documents relating to his family and their native country. in off hours he used to go to the archives and copy out old papers. whenever he did not understand them he would go and ask one of the people on his beat, a chartist or a student at the sorbonne, to explain. his illustrious ancestry did not turn his head: he would speak of it laughingly, with never a shade of embarrassment or of indignation at the hardness of fate. his careless sturdy gaiety was a delightful thing to see. and when olivier looked at him he thought of the mysterious ebb and flow of the life of human families, which for centuries flows burningly, for centuries disappears under the ground, and then comes bubbling forth again, having gathered fresh energy from the depths of the earth. and the people seemed to him to be an immense reservoir into which the rivers of the past plunge, while the rivers of the future spring forth again, and, though they bear a new name, are sometimes the same as those of old.
-he was in sympathy with both guérin and hurteloup: but it is obvious that they could not be company for him: between him and them there was no great possibility of conversation. the boy emmanuel took up more of his time: he came now almost every evening. since their magical talk together a revolution had taken place in the boy. he had plunged into reading with a fierce desire for knowledge. he would come back from his books bewildered and stupefied. sometimes he seemed even less intelligent than before: he would hardly speak: olivier could only get him to answer in monosyllables: the boy would make fatuous replies to his questions. olivier would lose heart: he would try not to let it be seen: but he thought he had made a mistake, and that the boy was thoroughly stupid. he could not see the frightful fevered travail in incubation that was going on in the inner depths of the boy's soul. besides, he was a bad teacher, and was more fitted to sow the good seed at random in the fields than to weed the soil and plow the furrows. christophe's presence only served to increase the difficulty. olivier felt a certain awkwardness in showing his young protégé to his friend: he was ashamed of emmanuel's stupidity, which was raised to alarming proportions when jean-christophe was in the room. then the boy would withdraw into bashful sullenness. he hated christophe because olivier loved him: he could not bear any one else to have a place in his master's heart. neither christophe nor olivier had any idea of the love and jealousy tugging at the boy's heart. and yet christophe had been through it himself in old days. but he was unable to see himself in the boy who was fashioned of such different metal from that of which he himself was made. in the strange obscure combination of inherited taints, everything, love, hate, and latent genius, gave out an entirely different sound.
-the first of may was approaching. a sinister rumor ran through paris. the blustering leaders of the c.g.t. were doing their best to spread it. their papers were announcing the coming of the great day, mobilizing the forces of the working-classes, and directing the word of terror upon the point in which the comfortable classes were mostly sensitive--namely, upon the stomach.... feri ventrem.... they were threatening them with a general strike. the scared parisians were leaving for the country or laying in provisions as against a siege. christophe had met canet, in his motor, carrying two hams and a sack of potatoes: he was beside himself: he did not in the least know to which party he belonged: he was in turn an old republican, a royalist, and a revolutionary. his cult of violence was like a compass gone wrong, with the needle darting from north to south and from south to north. in public he still played the part of chorus to the wild speeches of his friends: but he would have taken in petto the first dictator who came along and swept away the red spectre.
-christophe was tickled to death by such universal cowardice. he was convinced that nothing would come of it all. olivier was not so sure. his birth into the burgess-class had given him something of the inevitable and everlasting tremulation which the comfortable classes always feel upon the recollection or the expectation of revolution.
-"that's all right!" said christophe. "you can sleep in peace. your revolution isn't going to happen to-morrow. you're all afraid. afraid of being hurt. that sort of fear is everywhere. in the upper-classes, in the people, in every nation, in all the nations of the west. there's not enough blood in the whole lot of them: they're afraid of spilling a little. for the last forty years all the fighting has been done in words, in newspaper articles. just look at your old dreyfus affair. you shouted loud enough: 'death! blood! slaughter!'... oh! you gascons! spittle and ink! but how many drops of blood?"
-"don't you be so sure," said olivier. "the fear of blood is a secret instinctive feeling that on the first shedding of it the beast in man will see red, and the brute will appear again under the crust of civilization: and god knows how it will ever be muzzled! everybody hesitates to declare war: but when the war does come it will be a frightful thing."
-christophe shrugged his shoulders and said that it was not for nothing that the heroes of the age were lying heroes, cyrano the braggart and the swaggering cock, chantecler.
-olivier nodded. he knew that in france bragging is the beginning of action. however, he had no more faith than christophe in an immediate movement: it had been too loudly proclaimed, and the government was on its guard. there was reason to believe that the syndicalist strategists would postpone the fight for a more favorable opportunity.
-during the latter half of april olivier had an attack of influenza: he used to get it every winter about the same time, and it always used to develop into his old enemy, bronchitis. christophe stayed with him for a few days. the attack was only a slight one, and soon passed. but, as usual, it left olivier morally and physically worn out, and he was in this condition for some time after the fever had subsided. he stayed in bed, lying still for hours without any desire to get up or even to move: he lay there watching christophe, who was sitting at his desk, working, with his back towards him.
-christophe was absorbed in his work. sometimes, when he was tired of writing, he would suddenly get up and walk over to the piano: he would play, not what he had written, but just whatever came into his mind. then there came to pass a very strange thing. while the music he had written was conceived in a style which recalled that of his earlier work, what he played was like that of another man. it was music of a world raucous and uncontrolled. there were in it a disorder and a violence, and incoherence which had no resemblance at all to the powerful order and logic which were everywhere present in his other music. these unconsidered improvizations, escaping the scrutiny of his artistic conscience, sprang, like the cry of an animal, from the flesh rather than from the mind; and seemed to reveal a disturbance of the balance of his soul, a storm brewing in the depths of the future. christophe was quite unconscious of it: but olivier would listen, look at christophe, and feel vaguely uneasy. in his weak condition he had a singular power of penetration, a far-seeing eye: he saw things that no other man could perceive.
-christophe thumped out a final chord and stopped all in a sweat, and looking rather haggard: he looked at olivier, and there was still a troubled expression in his eyes; then he began to laugh, and went back to his desk. olivier asked him:
-"what was that, christophe?"
-"nothing," replied christophe. "i'm stirring the water to attract my fish."
-"are you going to write that?"
-"that? what do you mean?"
-"what you've just said."
-"what did i say? i don't remember." "what were you thinking of?"
-"i don't know," said christophe, drawing his hand across his forehead.
-he went on writing. silence once mere filled the room. olivier went on looking at christophe. christophe felt that he was looking, and turned. olivier's eyes were upon him with such a hunger of affection!
-"lazy brute!" he said gaily.
-"what's the matter?" asked christophe.
-"oh! christophe! to think there are so many things in you, sitting there, close at hand, treasures that you will give to others, and i shall never be able to share!..."
-"are you mad? what's come to you?"
-"i wonder what your life will be. i wonder what peril and sorrow you have still to go through.... i would like to follow you. i would like to be with you.... but i shan't see anything of it all. i shall be left stuck stupidly by the wayside."
-"stupid? you are that. do you think that i would leave you behind even if you wanted to be left?"
-"you will forget me," said olivier.
-christophe got up and went and sat on the bed by olivier's side: he took his wrists, which were wet with a clammy sweat of weakness. his nightshirt was open at the neck, showing his weak chest, his too transparent skin, which was stretched and thin like a sail blown out by a puff of wind to rending point. christophe's strong fingers fumbled as he buttoned the neckband of olivier's nightshirt. olivier suffered him.
-"dear christophe!" he said tenderly. "yet i have had one great happiness in my life!"
-"oh! what on earth are you thinking of?" said christophe. "you're as well as i am."
-"yes," said olivier.
-"then why talk nonsense?"
-"i was wrong," said olivier, ashamed and smiling. "influenza is so depressing."
-"not now. later on."
-in the evening the little hunchback would come in. olivier was so full of stories that he told him one, smiling, eager and engrossed in the tale. often he would go on talking to himself, with the boy breathing never a word. in the end he would altogether forget his presence.... christophe arrived in the middle of the story, and was struck by its beauty, and asked olivier to begin all over again. olivier refused:
-"i am in the same position as yourself," he said. "i don't know anything about it."
-"that is not true," said christophe. "you're a regular frenchman, and you always know exactly what you are doing and saying. you never forget anything."
-"alas!" said olivier.
-"begin again, then."
-"i'm too tired. what's the good?"
-christophe was annoyed.
-"that's all wrong," he said. "what's the good of your having ideas? you throw away what you have. it's an utter waste." "nothing is ever lost," said olivier.
-the little hunchback started from the stillness he had maintained during olivier's story--sitting with his face towards the window, with eyes blankly staring, and a frown on his face and a fierce expression so that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. he got up and said:
-"it will be fine to-morrow."
-"i bet," said christophe to olivier, "that he didn't even listen."
-"that is his story," said olivier. "you shall tell it me tomorrow." "nonsense!" said christophe.
-next day christophe called for olivier to take him for a walk in paris. olivier was better: but he still had the same strange feeling of exhaustion: he did not want to go out, he had a vague fear, he did not like mixing with the crowd. his heart and mind were brave: but the flesh was weak. he was afraid of a crush, an affray, brutality of all sorts: he knew only too well that he was fated to be a victim, that he could not, even would not, defend himself: for he had as great a horror of giving pain as of suffering it himself. men who are sick in body shudder away from physical suffering more readily than others, because they are more familiar with it, because they have less power to resist, and because it is presented more immediately and more poignantly to their heated imagination. olivier was ashamed of this physical cowardice of his which was in entire contradiction to the stoicism of his will: and he tried hard to fight it down. but this morning the thought of human contact of any sort was painful to him, and he would gladly have remained indoors all day long. christophe scolded him, rallied him, absolutely insisted on his going out and throwing off his stupor: for quite ten days he had not had a breath of air. olivier pretended not to pay any attention. christophe said:
-he went out. olivier caught him up on the stairs. he would not leave christophe to go alone.
-"to-morrow," said olivier, "i shall see the sun."
-they were quite near the house where cécile lived. they thought of going in and giving the baby a hug.
-"no. we can do it when we come back."
-on the other side of the river they began to fall in with more people. just ordinary peaceful people taking a walk, wearing their sunday clothes and faces; poor people with their babies: workmen loafing. a few here and there wore the red eglantine in their buttonholes: they looked quite inoffensive: they were revolutionaries by dint of self-persuasion: they were obviously quite benevolent and optimistic at heart, well satisfied with the smallest opportunities for happiness: whether it were fine or merely passable for their holiday, they were grateful for it ... they did not know exactly to whom ... to everything and everybody about them. they walked along without any hurry, expansively admiring the new leaves of the trees and the pretty dresses of the little girls who went by: they said proudly:
-"only in paris can you see children so well dressed as that."
-christophe made fun of the famous upheaval that had been predicted.... such nice people!... he was quite fond of them, although a little contemptuous.
-christophe forced his way through the dense throng with elbows and knees, like a wedge. olivier followed him. the living mass parted for a moment to let them pass and closed again at once behind them. christophe was in fine fettle. he had entirely forgotten that only five minutes ago he had denied the possibility of an upheaval of the people. hardly had he set foot inside the stream than he was swept along: though he was a foreigner in this crowd of frenchmen and a stranger to their demands, yet he was suddenly engulfed by them: little he cared what they wanted: he wanted it too: little he cared whither they were going: he was going too, drinking in the breath of their madness.
-olivier was dragged along after him, but it was no joy to him; he saw clearly, he never lost his self-consciousness, and was a thousand times more a stranger to the passions of these people who were his people than christophe, and yet he was carried away by them like a piece of wreckage. his illness, which had weakened him, had also relaxed everything that bound him to life. how far removed he felt from these people!... being free from the delirium that was in them and having all his wits at liberty, his mind took in the minutest details. it gave him pleasure to gaze at the bust of a girl standing in front of him and at her pretty, white neck. and at the same time he was disgusted by the sickly, thick smell that was given off from the close-packed heap of bodies.
-"christophe!" he begged.
-christophe did not hear him.
-"let's go home."
-"you're afraid?" said christophe.
-he pushed on. olivier followed him with a sad smile.
-a few rows in front of them, in the danger zone where the people were so huddled together as to form a solid barricade, he saw his friend the little hunchback perched on the roof of a newspaper kiosk. he was clinging with both hands, and crouching in a most uncomfortable position, and laughing as he looked over the wall of soldiers: and then he would turn again and look back at the crowd with an air of triumph. he saw olivier and beamed at him: then once more he began to peer across the soldiers, over the square, with his eyes wide staring in hope and expectation ... of what?--of the thing which was to come to pass.... he was not alone. there were many, many others all around him waiting for the miracle! and olivier, looking at christophe, saw that he too was expecting it.
-he called to the boy and shouted to him to come down. emmanuel pretended not to hear and looked away. he had seen christophe. he was glad to be in a position of peril in the turmoil, partly to show his courage to olivier, partly to punish him for being with christophe.
-meanwhile they had come across some of their friends in the crowd,--coquard, with his golden beard, who expected nothing more than a little jostling and crushing, and with the eye of an expert was watching for the moment when the vessel would overflow. farther on they met the fair berthe, who was slanging the people about her and getting roughly mauled. she had succeeded in wriggling through to the front row, and she was hurling insults at the police. coquard came up to christophe. when christophe saw him he began to chaff him:
-"what did i tell you? nothing is going to happen."
-"that remains to be seen!" said coquard. "don't you be too sure. it won't be long before the fun begins."
-"rot!" said christophe.
-at that very moment the cuirassiers, getting tired of having stones flung at them, marched forward to clear the entrances to the square: the central body came forward at a double. immediately the stampede began. as the gospel has it, the first were last. but they took good care not to be last for long. by way of covering their confusion the runaways yelled at the soldiers following them and screamed: "assassins!" long before a single blow had been struck. berthe wriggled through the crowd like an eel, shrieking at the top of her voice. she rejoined her friends; and taking shelter behind coquard's broad back, she recovered her breath, pressed close up against christophe, gripped his arm, in fear or for some other reason, ogled olivier, and shook her fist at the enemy, and screeched. coquard took christophe's arm and said:
-"let's go to amélie's,"
-they had very little way to go. berthe had preceded them with graillot and a few workmen. christophe was on the point of entering followed by olivier. the street had a shelving ridge. the pavement, by the creamery, was five or six steps higher than the roadway. olivier stopped to take a long breath after his escape from the crowd. he disliked the idea of being in the poisoned air of the restaurant and the clamorous voices of these fanatics. he said to christopher:
-"i'm going home."
-"very well, then, old fellow," said christophe. "i'll rejoin you in an hour from now."
-"don't run any risks, christophe!"
-"coward!" said christophe, laughing.
-he turned into the creamery.
-"my waltz, i think."
-"what a good thing! i thought it was léopold."
-but now she was full of pity.. and she kissed olivier and held his head on the pillow. with her usual calmness amélie had undone his clothes and dressed his wound. manousse heimann was there, fortunately, with his inseparable canet. like christophe they had come out of curiosity to see the demonstration: they had been present at the affray and seen olivier fall. canet was blubbering like a child: and at the same time he was thinking:
-"what on earth am i doing here?"
-manousse examined olivier: at once he saw that it was all over. he had a great feeling for olivier: but he was not a man to worry about what can't be helped: and he turned his thoughts to christophe. he admired christophe though he regarded him as a pathological case. he knew his ideas about the revolution: and he wanted to deliver him from the idiotic danger he was running in a cause that was not his own. the risk of a broken head in the scuffle was not the only one: if christophe were taken, everything pointed to his being used as an example and getting more than he bargained for. manousse had long ago been warned that the police had their eye on christophe: they would saddle him not only with his own follies but with those of others. xavier bernard, whom manousse had just encountered, prowling through the crowd, for his own amusement as well as in pursuit of duty, had nodded to him as he passed and said:
-"that krafft of yours is an idiot. would you believe that he's putting himself up as a mark on the barricade! we shan't miss him this time. you'd better get him out of harm's way."
-that was easier said than done. if christophe were to find out that olivier was dying he would become a raging madman, he would go out to kill, he would be killed. manousse said to bernard:
-"if he doesn't go at once, he's done for. i'll try and take him away."
-"in canet's motor. it's over there at the corner of the street."
-"please, please...." gulped canet.
-"you must take him to laroche," manousse went on. "you will get there in time to catch the pontarlier express. you must pack him off to switzerland."
-"he won't go."
-"he will. i'll tell him that jeannin will follow him, or has already gone."
-without paying any attention to canet's objections manousse set out to find christophe on the barricade. he was not very courageous, he started every time he heard a shot: and he counted the cobble-stones over which he stepped--(odd or even), to make out his chances of being killed. he did not stop, but went through with it. when he reached the barricade he found christophe, perched on a wheel of the overturned omnibus, amusing himself by firing pistol-shots into the air. round the barricade the riff-raff of paris, spewed up from the gutters, had swollen up like the dirty water from a sewer after heavy rain. the original combatants were drowned by it. manousse shouted to christophe, whose back was turned to him. christophe did not hear him. manousse climbed up to him and plucked at his sleeve. christophe pushed him away and almost knocked him down. manousse stuck to it, climbed up again, and shouted:
-in the uproar the rest of the sentence was lost. christophe stopped short, dropped his revolver, and, slipping down from his scaffolding, he should have been the principal thing, the figure only indicated, a suggestion in the middle distance. she had carried it too far; it fought with its surroundings; the picture had no unity, no repose. oh, for some advice! how could one pull such a thing through without help? in three minutes taranne would tell her what was wrong.
-in twenty-four hours more she had fretted herself ill. the picture was there in the corner, turned to the wall; he could only just prevent her from driving her palette-knife through it. and she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, silent, a book on her knee, her hands hanging beside her, and her feverish eyes wandering--wandering round the room, if only they might escape from david, might avoid seeing him--or so he believed. horrible! it was borne in upon him that in this moment of despair he was little more to her than the witness, the occasion, of her discomfiture.
-oh! his heart was sore. but he could do nothing. caresses, encouragements, reproaches, were alike useless. for some time she would make no further attempts at drawing; nor would she be wooed and comforted. she held him passively at arm's length, and he could make nothing of her. it was the middle of their third week; still almost the half left of this month she had promised him. and already it was clear to him that he and love had lost their first hold, and that she was consumed with the unspoken wish to go back to paris, and the atelier. ah, no!--no! with a fierce yet dumb tenacity he held her to her bargain. those weeks were his; they represented his only hope for the future; she should not have them back.
-but he, too, fell into melancholy and silence, and on the afternoon when this change in him first showed itself she was, for a time, touched, ashamed. a few pale smiles returned for him, and in the evening, as he was sitting by the open window, a newspaper on his knee, staring into vacancy, she came up to him, knelt beside him, and drew his half-reluctant arm about her. neither said anything, but gradually her presence there, on his breast, thrilled through all his veins, filled his heart to bursting. the paper slid away; he put both arms about her, and bowed his head on hers. she put up her small hand, and felt the tears on his cheek. then a still stronger repentance woke up in her.
-'pauvre enfant!' she said, pushing herself away from him, and tremulously drying his eyes. 'poor monsieur david--i make you very unhappy! but i warned you--oh, i warned you! what evil star made you fall in love with me?'
-in answer he found such plaintive and passionate things to say to her that she was fairly melted, and in the end there was an effusion on both sides, which seemed to bring back their golden hours. but at bottom, david's sensitive instinct, do what he would to silence it, told him, in truth, that all was changed. he was no longer the happy and triumphant lover. he was the beggar, living upon her alms.
-next morning david went across to the village shop to buy some daily necessaries, and found a few newspapers lying on the counter. he bought a debats, seeing that there was a long critique of the salon in it, and hurried home with it to elise. she tore it open and rushed through the article, putting him aside that he might not look over her. her face blanched as she read, and at the end she flung the paper from her, and tottering to a chair sat there motionless, staring straight before her. david, beside himself with alarm, and finding caresses of no avail, took up the paper from the floor.
-'let it alone!' she said to him with a sudden imperious gesture. 'there is a whole paragraph about breal--her fortune is made. la voilà lancée--arrivée! and of me, not a line, not a mention! three or four pupils of taranne--all beginners--but my name--nowhere! ah, but no--it is too much!'
-her little foot beat the ground, a hurricane was rising within her.
-david tried to laugh the matter off. 'the man who wrote the wretched thing had been hurried--was an idiot, clearly, and what did one man's opinion matter, even if it were paid for at so much a column?'
-'mais, tais-toi, donc!' she cried at last, turning upon him in a fury. 'can't you see that everything for an artist--especially a woman--depends on the protections she gets at the beginning? how can a girl--helpless--without friends--make her way by herself? some one must hold out a hand, and for me it seems there is no one--no one!'
-the outburst seemed to his common sense to imply the most grotesque oblivion of her success in the salon, of taranne's kindness--the most grotesque sensitiveness to a few casual lines of print. but it wrung his heart to see her agitation, her pale face, the handkerchief she was twisting to shreds in her restless hands. he came to plead with her--his passion lending him eloquence. let her but trust herself and her gift. she had the praise of those she revered to go upon. how should the carelessness of a single critic affect her? imbéciles!--they would be all with her, at her feet, some day. let her despise them then and now! but his extravagances only made her impatient.
-'nonsense!' she said, drawing her hand away from him; 'i am not made of such superfine stuff--i never pretended to be! do you think i should be content to be an unknown genius? never!--i must have my fame counted out to me in good current coin, that all the world may hear and see. it may be vulgar--i don't care! it is so. ah, mon dieu!' and she began to pace the room with wild steps, 'and it is my fault--my fault! if i were there on the spot, i should be remembered--they would have to reckon with me--i could keep my claim in sight. but i have thrown away everything--wasted everything--everything!'
-he stood with his back to the window, motionless, his hand on the table, stooping a little forward, looking at her with a passion of reproach and misery; it only angered her; she lost all self-control, and in one mad moment she avenged on his poor heart all the wounds and vexations of her vanity. why had he ever persuaded her? why had he brought her away and hung a fresh burden on her life which she could never bear? why had he done her this irreparable injury--taken all simplicity and directness of aim from her--weakened her energies at their source? her only milieu was art, and he had made her desert it; her only power was the painter's power, and it was crippled, the fresh spring of it was gone. it was because she felt on her the weight of a responsibility, and a claim she was not made for. she was not made for love--for love at least as he understood it. and he had her word, and would hold her to it. it was madness for both of them. it was stifling--killing her!
-then she sank on a chair, in a passion of desperate tears. suddenly, as she sat there, she heard a movement, and looking up she saw david at the door. he turned upon her for an instant, with a dignity so tragic, so true, and yet so young, that she was perforce touched, arrested. she held out a trembling hand, made a little cry. but he closed the door softly, and was gone. she half raised herself, then fell back again.
-'if he had beaten me,' she said to herself with a strange smile, 'i could have loved him. mais!'
-she was all day alone. when he came back it was already evening; the stars shone in the june sky, but the sunset light was still in the street and on the upper windows of the little house. as he opened the garden gate and shut it behind him, he saw the gleam of a lamp behind the acacia, and a light figure beside it. he stood a moment wrestling with himself, for he was wearied out, and felt as if he could bear no more. then he moved slowly on.
-in moving nearer, he brushed against the shrubs, and she heard him. she turned her head, smiling. in the mingled light she looked like a little white ghost, she was so pale and her eyes so heavy. when she saw him, she raised her finger with a childish, aggrieved air, and put it to her lips, rubbing it softly against them.
-'it does prick so!' she said plaintively.
-he came to sit beside her, his chest heaving.
-'why do you do that--for me?'
-she shrugged her shoulders and worked on without speaking. presently she laid down her needle and surveyed him.
-'where have you been all day? have you eaten nothing, poor friend?'
-he tried to remember.
-'i think not; i have been in the forest.'
-a little quiver ran over her face; she pulled at her needle violently and broke the thread.
-he shook his head, smiling sadly.
-'i tell you, you are hungry, you shall be hungry!' she cried, suddenly flinging her arm round his neck, and nestling her fair head against his shoulder. her voice was half a sob.
-'oh, so i am!--so i am!' he said, with a wild emphasis, and would have caught her to him. but she slipped away and ran before him to the house, turning at the window with the sweetest, frankest gesture to bid him follow.
-they passed the evening close together, she on a stool leaning against his knee, he reading aloud alfred de musset's nuit de mai. at one moment she was all absorbed in the verse, carried away by it; great battle-cry that it is! calling the artist from the miseries of his own petty fate to the lordship of life and nature as a whole; the next she had snatched the book out of his hands and was correcting his accent, bidding him speak after her, put his lips so. never had she been so charming. it was the coaxing charm of the softened child that cannot show its penitence enough. every now and then she fell to pouting because she could not move him to gaiety. but in reality his sad and passive gentleness, the mask of feelings which would otherwise have been altogether beyond his control, served him with her better than any gaiety could have done.
-gaiety! it seemed to him his heart was broken.
-at night, after a troubled sleep, he suddenly woke, and sprang up in an agony. gone! was she gone already? for that was what her sweet ways meant. ah, he had known it all along!
-where was she? his wild eyes for a second or two saw nothing but the landscape of his desolate dream. then gradually the familiar forms of the room emerged from the gloom, and there--against the further wall--she lay, so still, so white, so gracious! her childish arm, bare to the elbow, was thrown round her head, her soft waves of hair made a confusion on the pillow. after her long day of emotion she was sleeping profoundly. whatever cruel secret her heart might hold, she was there still, his yet, for a few hours and days. he was persuaded in his own mind that her penitence had been the mere fruit of a compromise with herself, their month had still eight days to run, then--adieu! art and liberty should reclaim their own. meanwhile why torment the poor boy, who must any way take it hardly?
-he lay there for long, raised upon his arm, his haggard look fixed on the sleeping form which by-and-by the dawn illuminated. his life was concentrated in that form, that light breath. he thought with repulsion and loathing of all that had befallen him before he saw her--with anguish and terror of those days and nights to come when he should have lost her. for in the deep stillness of the rising day there fell on him the strangest certainty of this loss. that gift of tragic prescience which was in his blood had stirred in him--he knew his fate. perhaps the gift itself was but the fruit of a rare power of self-vision, self-appraisement. he saw and cursed his own timid and ignorant youth. how could he ever have hoped to hold a creature of such complex needs and passions? in the pale dawn he sounded the very depths of self-contempt.
-but when the day was up and elise was chattering and flitting about the house as usual without a word of discord or parting, how was it possible to avoid reaction, the re-birth of hope? she talked of painting again, and that alone, after these long days of sullen alienation from her art, was enough to bring the brightness back to their little menage and to dull that strange second sight of david's. he helped her to set her palette, to choose a new canvas; he packed her charcoals, he beguiled some cold meat and bread out of madame, and then before the heat they set out together for the bas breau.
-just as they started he searched his pockets for a knife of hers which was missing, and thrusting his hand into a breast pocket which he seldom used, he brought out some papers at which he stared in bewilderment.
-then a shock went through him; for there was mr. gurney's letter, the letter in which the cheque for 600 pounds had been enclosed, and there was also that faded scrap of sandy's writing which contained the father's last injunction to his son. as he held the papers he remembered--what he had forgotten for weeks--that on the morning of his leaving manchester he had put them carefully into this breast pocket, not liking to leave things so interesting to him behind him, out of his reach. never had he given a thought to them since! he looked down at them, half ashamed, and his eye caught the words:--'i lay it on him now i'm dying to look after her. she's not like other children; she'll want it. let him see her married to a decent man, and give her what's honestly hers. i trust it to him. that little lad--' and then came the fold of the sheet.
-'i have found the knife,' cried elise from the gate. 'be quick!'
-he pushed the papers back and joined her. the day was already hot, and they hurried along the burning street into the shade of the forest. once in the bas breau elise was not long in finding a subject, fell upon a promising one indeed almost at once, and was soon at work. this time there were to be no figures, unless indeed it might be a dim pair of woodcutters in the middle distance, and the whole picture was to be an impressionist dream of early summer, finished entirely out of doors, as rapidly and cleanly as possible. david lay on the ground under the blasted oak and watched her, as she sat on her camp-stool, bending forward, looking now up, now down, using her charcoal in bold energetic strokes, her lip compressed, her brow knit over some point of composition. the little figure in its pink cotton was so daintily pretty, so full of interest and wilful charm, it might well have filled a lover's eye and chained his thoughts. but david was restless and at times absent.
-'tell me what you know of that man montjoie?' he asked her at last, abruptly. 'i know you disliked him.'
-she paused, astonished.
-'why do you ask? dislike--i detest and despise him. i told you so.'
-'but what do you know of him?' he persisted.
-'no good!' she said quickly, going back to her work. then a light broke upon her, and she turned on her stool, her two hands on her knees.
-'tiens!--you are thinking of your sister. you have had news of her?'
-a conscious half-remorseful look rose into her face.
-'no, i have had no news. i ought to have had a letter. i wrote, you remember, that first day here. perhaps louie has gone home already,' he said, with constraint. 'tell me anyway what you know.'
-'oh, he!--well, there is only one word for him--he is a brute i' said elise, drawing vigorously, her colour rising. 'any woman will tell you that. oh, he has plenty of talent,--he might be anything. carpeaux took him up at one time, got him commissions. five or six years ago there was quite a noise about him for two or three salons. then people began to drop him. i believe he was the most mean, ungrateful animal towards those who had been kind to him. he drinks besides--he is over head and ears in debt, always wanting money, borrowing here and there, then locking his door for weeks, making believe to be out of town--only going out at night. as for his ways with women'--she shrugged her shoulders--'was your sister still sitting to him when we left, or was it at an end? hasn't your sister been sitting to him for his statue?'
-she paused again and studied him with her shrewd, bright eyes.
-he coloured angrily.
-'i believe so--i tried to stop it--it was no use.'
-she laughed out.
-'no--i imagine she does what she wants to do. well, we all do, mon ami! after all'--and she shrugged her shoulders again-- 'i suppose she can do what i did?'
-''what you did!'
-she went on drawing in sharp deliberate strokes; her breath came fast.
-'he met me on the stairs one night--it was just after i had taken the atelier. i knew no one in the house--i was quite defenceless there. he insulted me--i had a little walking-stick in my hand, my cousin had given me--i struck him with it across the face twice, three times--if you look close you will see the mark. you may imagine he tells fine stories of me when he gets the chance. oh! je m'en fiche!'
-the scorn of the last gesture was unmeasured.
-'canaille!' said david, between his teeth. 'if you had told me this!'
-her expression changed and softened.
-'you asked me no questions after that quarrel we had in the louvre,' she said, excusing herself. 'you will understand it is not a reminiscence one is exactly proud of; i did speak to madame cervin once--'
-david said nothing, but sat staring before him into the far vistas of the wood. it seemed strange that so great a smart and fear as had possessed him since yesterday, should allow of any lesser smart within or near it. yet that scrap of tremulous writing weighed heavy. where was louie; why had she not written? so far he had turned impatiently away from the thought of her, reiterating that he had done his best, that she had chosen her own path. now in this fragrant quiet of the forest the quick vision of some irretrievable wreck presented itself to him; he thought of mr. ancrum--of john--and a cold shudder ran through him. in it spoke the conscience of a lifetime.
-elise meanwhile laid aside her charcoal, began to dash in some paint, drew back presently to look at it from a distance, and then, glancing aside, suddenly threw down her brushes, and ran up to david.
-she sat down beside him, and with a coaxing, childish gesture, drew his arm about her.
-'tu me fais pitie, mon ami!' she said, looking up into his face. 'is it your sister? go and find her--i will wait for you.'
-he turned upon her, his black eyes all passion, his lips struggling with speech.
-'my place is here,' he said. 'my life is here!'
-then, as she was silent, not knowing in her agitation what to say, he broke out:
-'what was in your mind yesterday, elise? what is there to-day? there is something--something i will know.'
-he flung her hand away from him with an impatient gesture.
-'there was more than that!' he said violently; 'will you be like all the rest--betray me without a sign?'
-she bit her lip proudly. then the tears welled up into her grey eyes, and she looked round at him--hesitated--began and stopped again--then broke into irrevocable confession.
-'david!--monsieur david!--how can it go on? voyons--i said to myself yesterday--i am torturing him and myself--i cannot make him happy--it is not in me--not in my destiny. it must end--it must,--it must, for both our sakes. but then first,--first--'
-'be quiet!' he said, laying an iron hand on her arm. 'i knew it all.'
-and he turned away from her, covering his face.
-this time she made no attempt to caress him. she clasped her hands round her knees and remained quite still, gazing--yet seeing nothing--into the green depths which five minutes before had been to her a torturing ecstasy of colour and light. the tears which had been gathering fell, the delicate lip quivered.
-struck by her silence at last, he looked up--watched her a moment--then he dragged himself up to her and knelt beside her.
-'have i made you so miserable?' he said, under his breath.
-'it is--it is--the irreparableness of it all,' she answered, half sobbing. 'no undoing it ever, and how a woman glides into it, how lightly, knowing so little!--thinking herself so wise! and if she has deceived herself, if she is not made for love, if she has given herself for so little--for an illusion--for a dream that breaks and must break--how dare the man reproach her, after all?'
-she raised her burning eyes to him. the resentment in them seemed to be more than individual, it was the resentment of the woman, of her sex.
-she stabbed him to the heart by what she said--by what she left unsaid. he took her little cold hand, put it to his lips--tried to speak.
-'don't,' she said, drawing it away and hiding her face on her knees. 'don't say anything. it is not you, it is god and nature that i accuse.'
-strange, bitter word!--word of revolt! he lay on his face beside her for many minutes afterwards, tasting the bitterness of it, revolving those other words she had said--'an illusion--a dream that breaks--must break.' then he made a last effort. he came close to her, laid his arm timidly round her shoulders, bent his cheek to hers.
-'elise, listen to me a little. you say the debt is on my side--that is true--true--a thousand times true! i only ask you, implore you, to let me pay it. let it be as you please--on what terms you please--servant or lover. all i pray for is to pay that debt, with my life, my heart.'
-she shook her head softly, her face still hidden.
-'when i am with you,' she said, as though the words were wrung out of her, 'i must be a woman. you agitate me, you divide my mind, and my force goes. there are both capacities in me, and one destroys the other. and i want--i want my art!'
-she threw back her head with a superb gesture. but he did not flinch.
-'you shall have it,' he said passionately, 'have it abundantly. do you think i want to keep you for ever loitering here? do you think i don't know what ambition and will mean? that i am only fit for kissing?'
-he stopped almost with a smile, thinking of that harsh struggle to know and to have, in which his youth had been so far consumed night and day. then words rushed upon him again, and he went on with a growing power and freedom.
-'i never looked at a woman till i saw you!--never had a whim, a caprice. i have eaten my heart out with the struggle first for bread, then for knowledge. but when you came across me, then the world was all made new, and i became a new creature, your creature.'
-he touched her face with a quick, tender hand, laid it against his breast, and spoke so, bending piteously down to her, within reach of her quivering mouth, her moist eyes:--
-'tell me this, elise--answer me this! how can there be great art, great knowledge, only from the brain,--without passion, without experience? you and i have been living what musset, what hugo, what shakespeare wrote,' and he struck the little volume of musset beside him. 'is not that worth a summer month? not worth the artist's while? but it is nearly gone. you can't wonder that i count the moments of it like a miser! i have had a hard life, and this has transfigured it. whatever happens now in time or eternity, this month is to the good--for me and for you, elise!--yes, for you, too! but when it is over,--see if i hold you back! we will work together--climb--wrestle, together. and on what terms you please,--mind that,--only dictate them. i deny your "illusion," your "dream that breaks." you have been happy! i dare to tell you so. but part now,--shirk our common destiny,--and you will indeed have given all for nothing, while i--'
-his voice sank. she shook her head again, but as she drew herself gently away she was stabbed by the haggardness of the countenance, the pleading pathos of the eyes. his gust of speech had shaken her too--revealed new points in him. she bent forward quickly and laid her soft lips to his, for one light swift moment.
-'poor boy!' she murmured, 'poor poet!'
-'ah, that was enough!' he said, the colour flooding his cheeks.' that healed--that made all good. will you hide nothing from me, elise--will you promise?'
-'anything,' she said with a curious accent, 'anything--if you will but let me paint.'
-he sprang up, and put her things in order for her. they stood looking at the sketch, neither seeing much of it.
-'i must have some more cobalt,' she said wearily, 'look, my tube is nearly done.'
-yes, that was certain. he must get some more for her. where could it be got? no nearer than fontainebleau, alas! where there was a shop which provided all the artists of the neighbourhood. he was eagerly ready to go--it would take him no time.
-he stood gazing down upon her, his face all tender lingering and remorse. how white she was, how fragile, how shaken by this storm of feeling he had forced upon her! how could he leave her?
-but she waved him away impatiently, and he went at last, going first back to the village to fetch his purse which was not in his pocket.
-as he came out of their little garden gate, turning again towards the forest which he must cross in order to get to fontainebleau, he became aware of a group of men standing in front of the inn. two of them were the landscape artists already slightly known to him, who saluted him as he came near. the other was a tall fine-looking man, with longish grizzled hair, a dark commanding eye, the rosette of the legion of honour at his buttonhole, and a general look of irritable power. he wore a wide straw hat and holland overcoat, and beside him on the bench lay some artist's paraphernalia.
-all three eyed david as he passed, and he was no sooner a few yards away than they were looking after him and talking, the new-comer asking questions, the others replying.
-'oh, it is she!' said the stranger impatiently, throwing away his cigar. 'auguste's description leaves me no doubt of it, and the woman at the house in the rue chantal where i had the caprice to inquire one day, when she had been three weeks away, told me they were here. it is annoying. something might have been made of her. now it is finished. a handsome lad all the same!--of a rare type. non!--je me suis trompé--en devenant femme, elle n'a pas cesse d'être artiste!'
-the others laughed. then they all took up their various equipments, and strolled off smoking to the forest. the man from paris was engaged upon a large historical canvas representing an incident in the life of diane de poitiers. the incident had diane's forest for a setting, but his trees did not satisfy him, he had come down to make a few fresh studies on the spot.
-david walked his four miles to fontainebleau, bought his cobalt, and set his face homewards about three o'clock. when he was halfway home, he turned aside into a tangle of young beech wood, parted the branches, and found a shady corner where he could rest and think. the sun was very hot, the high road was scorched by it. but it was not heat or fatigue that had made him pause.
-so far he had walked in a tumult of conflicting ideas, emotions, terrors, torn now by this memory, now by that--his mind traversed by one project after another. but now that he was so near to meeting her again, though he pined for her, he suddenly and pitifully felt the need for some greater firmness of mind and will. let him pause and think! where was he with her?--what were his real, tangible hopes and fears? life and death depended for him on these days--these few vanishing days. and he was like one of the last year's leaves before him, whirled helpless and will-less in the dust-storm of the road!
-about a mile from barbizon, the path to the bas breau diverges to the right. he sped along it, leaping the brambles in his path. soon he was on the edge of the great avenue itself, looking across it for that spot of colour among the green made by her light dress.
-but there was no dress, and as he came up to the tree where he had left her, he saw to his stupefaction that there was no one there--nothing, no sign of her but the bracken and brambles he had beaten down for her some three hours before, and the trodden grass where her easel had been. something showed on the ground. he stooped and noticed the empty cobalt-tube of the morning.
-of course she had grown tired of waiting and had gone home. but a great terror seized him. he turned and ran along the path they had traversed in the morning making for the road; past the inn which seemed to have been struck to sleep by the sun, past millet's studio on the left, to the little overgrown door in the brick wall.
-no one in the garden, no one in the little salon, no one upstairs; madame pyat was away for the day, nursing a daughter-in-law. in all the house and garden there was not a sound or sign of life but the cat asleep on the stone step of the kitchen, and the bees humming in the acacias.
-'elise!' he called, inside and out, knowing already, poor fellow, in his wild despair that there could be no answer--that all was over.
-but there was an answer. elise was no untaught heroine. she played her part through. there was her letter, propped up against the gilt clock on the sham marble cheminee.
-he found it and tore it open.
-'you will curse me, but after a time you will forgive. i could not go on. taranne found me in the forest, just half an hour after you left me. i looked up and saw him coming across the grass. he did not see me at first, he was looking about for a subject. i would have escaped, but there was no way. then at last he saw me. he did not attack me, he did not persuade me, he only took for granted it was all over,--my art! i must know best, of course; but he was sorry, for i had a gift. had i seen the notice of my portrait in the "temps," or the little mention in the "figaro"? oh, yes, breal had been very successful, and deserved to be. it was a brave soul, devoted to art, and art had rewarded her.
-'then i showed him my sketch, trembling--to stop his talk--every word he said stabbed me. and he shrugged his shoulders quickly; then, as though recollecting himself, he put on a civil face all in a moment, and paid me compliments. to an amateur he is always civil. i was all white and shaking by this time. he turned to go away, and then i broke down. i burst into tears--i said i was coming back to the atelier--what did he mean by taking such a cruel, such an insolent tone with me? he would not be moved from his polite manner. he said he was glad to hear it; mademoiselle would be welcome; but just as though we were complete strangers. he who has befriended me, and taught me, and scolded me since i was fourteen! i could not bear it. i caught him by the arm. i told him he should tell me all he thought. had i really talent?--a future?
-'then he broke out in a torrent--he made me afraid of him--yet i adored him! he said i had more talent than any other pupil he had ever had; that i had been his hope and interest for six years; that he had taught me for nothing--befriended me--worked for me, behind the scenes, at the salon; and all because he knew that i must rise, must win myself a name, that when i had got the necessary technique i should make one of the poetical impressionist painters, who are in the movement, who sway the public taste. but i must give all myself--my days and nights--my thoughts, and brain, and nerves. other people might have adventures and paint the better. not i,--i was too highly strung--for me it was ruin. "c'est un maitre sevire--l'art," he said, looking like a god. "avec celui-là on ne transige pas. ah! dieu, je le connais, moi!" i don't know what he meant; but there has been a tragedy in his life; all the world knows that.
-'then suddenly he took another tone, called me pauvre enfant, and apologised. why should i be disturbed? i had chosen for my own happiness, no doubt. what was fame or the high steeps of art compared even with an amour de jeunesse? he had seen you, he said,--une tête superbe--des epaules de lion! i was a woman; a young handsome lover was worth more to me, naturally, than the drudgeries of art. a few years hence, when the pulse was calmer, it might have been all very well. well! i must forgive him; he was my old friend. then he wrung my hand, and left me.
-'oh, david, david, i must go! i must. my life is imprisoned here with you--it beats its bars. why did i ever let you persuade me--move me? and i should let you do it again. when you are there i am weak. i am no cruel adventuress, i can't look at you and torture you. but what i feel for you is not love--no, no, it is not, poor boy! who was it said "a love which can be tamed is no love"? but in three days--a week--mine had grown tame--it had no fears left. i am older than you, not in years, mais dans l'âme--there is what parts us.
-'oh! i must go--and you must not try to find me. i shall be quite safe, but with people you know nothing about. i shall write to madame pyat for my things. you need have no trouble.
-'very likely i shall pass you on the way, for if i hurry i can catch the diligence. but you will not see me. oh, david, i put my arms round you! i press my face against you. i ask you to forgive me, to forget me, to work out your own life as i work out mine. it will soon be a dream--this little house--these summer days! i have kissed the chair you sat in last night, the book you read to me. c'est déjà fini! adieu! adieu!'
-he sat for long in a sort of stupor. then that maddening thought seized him, stung him into life, that she had actually passed him, that he had seen her, not knowing. that little indistinct figure in the interieur, that was she.
-he sprang up, in a blind anguish. pursuit! the diligence was slow, the trains doubtful, he might overtake her yet. he dashed into the street, and into the fontainebleau road. after he had run nearly a mile, he plunged into a path which he believed was a short cut. it led through a young and dense oak wood. he rushed on, seeing nothing, bruising himself and stumbling. at last a projecting branch struck him violently on the temple. he staggered, put up a feeble hand, sank on the grass against a trunk, and fainted.
-it was between five and six o'clock in the morning. in the tuileries gardens flowers, grass, and trees were drenched in dew, the great shadow of the palace spread grey and cool over terraces and slopes, while beyond the young sun had already shaken off all cumbering mists, and was pouring from a cloudless sky over the river with its barges and swimming-baths, over the bridges and the quays, and the vast courts and facades of the louvre. yet among the trees the air was still exquisitely fresh, the sun still a friend to be welcomed. the light morning wind swept the open, deserted spaces of the gardens, playing merrily with the dust, the leaves, the fountains. meanwhile on all sides the stir of the city was beginning, mounting slowly and steadily like a swelling tone.
-he was dreaming, letting fall here and there a troubled and disconnected word. in his dream he was far from paris--walking after his sheep among the heathery slopes of the scout, climbing towards the grey smithy among the old mill-stones, watching the red brook slide by over its long, shallow steps of orange grit, and the downfall oozing and trickling among its tumbled blocks. who was that hanging so high above the ravine on that treacherous stone that rocked with the least touch? louie--mad girl!--come back. ah! too late--the stone rocks, falls; he leaps from block to block, only to see the light dress disappear into the stony gulf below. he cries--struggles--wakes.
-he sat up, wrestling with himself, trying to clear his torpid brain. where was he? his dream-self was still roaming the scout; his outer eye was bewildered by these alleys, these orange-trees, these statues--that distant arch.
-then the hideous, undefined cloud that was on him took shape. elise had left him. and louie, too, was gone--he knew not where, save that it was to ruin. when he had arrived the night before at the house in the rue chantal, madame merichat could tell him nothing of mademoiselle delaunay, who had not been heard of. then he asked, his voice dying in his throat before the woman's hard and cynical stare--the stare of one who found the chief savour of life in the misfortunes of her kind--he asked for his sister and the cervins. the cervins were staying at sevres with relations, and were expected home again in a day or two; mademoiselle louie?--well, mademoiselle louie was not with them. had she gone back to england? mais non! a trunk of hers was still in the cervins' vestibule. did madame merichat know anything about her? the lad asked, forcing himself to it, his blanched face turned away. then the woman shrugged her shoulders and spoke out.
-if he really must know, she thought there was no doubt at all that where monsieur montjoie was, mademoiselle louie was too. monsieur montjoie had paid the arrears of his rent to the proprietaire, somehow or other, and had then made a midnight flitting of it so as to escape other creditors who were tired of waiting for his statue to be finished. he had got a furniture van there at night, and he and the driver and her husband between them had packed most of the things from the studio, and m. montjoie had gone off in the van about one o'clock in the morning. but of course she did not know his address! she said so half-a-dozen times a day to the persons who called, and it was as true as gospel. why, indeed, should m. montjoie let her or anyone else know, that he could help? he had gone into hiding to keep honest people out of their money--that was what it meant.
-well, and the same evening mademoiselle louie also disappeared. madame cervin had been in a great way, but she and mademoiselle had already quarrelled violently, and madame declared that she had no fault in the matter and that no one could be held responsible for the doings of such a minx. she believed that madame had written to monsieur. monsieur had never received it? ah, well, that was not surprising! no one could ever read madame's writing, though it made her temper very bad to tell her so.
-could he have madame cervin's address? certainly. she wrote it out for him. as to his old room?--no, he could not go back to it.
-monsieur dubois had lately come back, with some money apparently, for he had paid his loyer just as the landlord was going to turn him out. but he was not at home.
-then she looked her questioner up and down, with a cool, inhuman curiosity working in her small eyes. so m'selle elise had thrown him over already? that was sharp work! as for the rest of her news, her pessimism was interested in observing his demeanour under it. certainly he did not seem to take it gaily; but what else did he expect with his sister?--'je vous demande!'
-the young man dropped his head and went out, shrinking together into the darkness. she called her husband to the door, and the two peered after him into the lamp-lit street, dissecting him, his mistress, and his sister with knifelike tongues.
-david went away and walked up and down the streets, the quays, the bridges, hour after hour, feeling no fatigue, till suddenly, just as the dawn was coming on, he sank heavily on to the seat in the champs-elysées. the slip with madame cervin's address on it dropped unheeded from his relaxing hand. his nervous strength was gone, and he had to sit and bear his anguish without the relief of frenzied motion.
-now, after his hour's sleep, he was somewhat revived, ready to start again--to search again; but where? whither? somewhere in this vast, sun-wrapped paris was elise, waking, perhaps, at this moment and thinking of him with a smile and a tear. he would find her, come what would; he could not live without her!
-then into his wild passion of loss and desire there slipped again that cold, creeping thought of louie--ruined, body and soul--ruined in this base and dangerous paris, while he still carried in his breast that little scrap of scrawled paper! and why? because he had flung her to the wolves without a thought, that he and elise might travel to their goal unchecked. 'my god!'
-the girl gave a quick, coarse laugh. she had been hurrying across the avenue towards the nearest bridge when she saw him; now she came up to him with a hideous jest. david saw her face full, caught the ghastly suggestions of it--its vice, its look of mortal illness wrecking and blurring the cheap prettiness it had once possessed, and beneath all else the fierceness of the hunted creature. his whole being rose in repulsion; he waved her away, and she went, still laughing. but his guilty mind went with her, making of her infamy the prophecy and foretaste of another's.
-he hurried on again, and again had to rest for faintness' sake, while the furies returned upon him. it seemed as though every passer-by were there only to scourge and torture him; or, rather, out of the moving spectacle of human life which began to flow past him with constantly increasing fulness, that strange selective poet-sense of his chose out the figures and incidents which bore upon his own story and worked into his own drama, passing by the rest. a group of persons presently attracted him who had just come apparently from the rive gauche, and were making for the rue royale. they consisted of a man, a woman, and a child. the child was a tiny creature in a preposterous feathered hat as large as itself. it had just been put down to walk by its father, and was dragging contentedly at its mother's hand, sucking a crust. the man had a bag of tools on his shoulder and was clearly an artisan going to work. his wife's face was turned to him and they were talking fast, lingering a little in the sunshine like people who had a few minutes to spare and were enjoying them. the man had the blanched, unwholesome look of the city workman who lives a sedentary life in foul air, and was, moreover, undersized and noways attractive, save perhaps for the keen amused eyes with which he was listening to his wife's chatter. the great bell of notre-dame chimed in the distance. the man straightened himself at once, adjusted his bag of tools, and hurried off, nodding to his wife.
-she looked after him a minute, then turned and came slowly along the alley towards the bench where david sat, idly watching her. the heat was growing steadily, the child was heavy on her hand, and she was again clearly on the way to motherhood. the seat invited her, and she came up to it.
-she sat down, panting, and eyed her neighbour askance, detecting at once how handsome he was, and how unshorn and haggard. before he knew where he was, or how it had begun, they were talking. she had no shyness of any sort, and, as it seemed to him, a motherly, half-contemptuous indulgence for his sex, as such, which fitted oddly with her young looks. very soon she was asking him the most direct questions, which he had to parry as best he could. she made out at once that he was a foreigner and in the book trade, and then she let him know by a passing expression or two that naturally she understood why he was lounging there in that plight at that hour in the morning. he had been keeping gay company, of course, and had but just emerged from some nocturnal orgie or other. and then she shrugged her strong shoulders with a light, pitiful air, as though marvelling once more for the thousandth time over the stupidity of men who would commit these idiocies, would waste their money and health in them, say what women would.
-presently he discovered that she was giving him advice of different kinds, counselling him above all to find a good wife who would work and save his wages for him. a decent marriage was in truth an economy, though young men would never believe it.
-david could only stare at her in return for her counsels. the difference between his place at that moment in the human comedy and hers was too great to be explained; it called only for silence or a stammering commonplace or two. yet for a few moments the neighbourhood of her and her child was pleasant to him. she had a good comely head, which was bare under the sun, a little shawl crossed upon her ample bust, and a market-basket on her arm. the child was playing in the fine gravel at her feet, pausing every now and then to study her mother's eye with a furtive gravity, while the hat fell back and made a still more fantastic combination than before with the pensive little face.
-presently, tired of her play, she came to stand by her mother's knee, laying her head against it.
-'mon petit ange! que tu es gentille!' said the mother in a low, rapid voice, pressing her hand on the child's cheek. then, turning back to david, she chattered on about the profit and loss of married life. all that she said was steeped in prose--in the prose especially of sous and francs; she talked of rents, of the price of food, of the state of wages in her husband's trade. yet every here and there came an exquisite word, a flash. it seemed that she had been very ill with her first child. she did not mince matters much even with this young man, and david gathered that she had not only been near dying, but that her illness had made a moral epoch in her life. she was laid by for three months; work was slack for her husband; her own earnings, for she was a skilled embroideress working for a great linen-shop in the rue vivienne, were no longer forthcoming. would her husband put up with it, with the worries of the baby, and the menage, and the sick wife, and that sharp pinch of want into the bargain, from which during two years she had completely protected him?
-'i cried one day,' she said simply; 'i said to him, "you're just sick of it, ain't you? well, i'm going to die. go and shift for yourself, and take the baby to the enfants trouves. alors--"'
-she paused, her homely face gently lit up from within. 'he is not a man of words--jules. he told me to be quiet, called me petite sotte. "haven't you slaved for two years?" he said. "well, then, lie still, can't you?--faut bien que chacun prenne son tour!"'
-she broke off, smiling and shaking her head. then glancing round upon her companion again, she resumed her motherly sermon. that was the good of being married; that there was some one to share the bad times with, as well as the good.
-'but perhaps,' she inquired briskly, 'you don't believe in being married? you are for l'union libre?'
-she spoke like one touching on a long familiar question--as much a question indeed of daily life and of her class as those other matters of wages and food she had been discussing.
-a slow and painful red mounted into the englishman's cheek.
-'i don't know,' he said stupidly. 'and you?'
-'no, no!' she said emphatically, twice, nodding her head. 'oh, i was brought up that way. my father was a red--an anarchist--a great man among them; he died last year. he said that liberty was everything. it made him mad when any of his friends accepted l'union légale--for him it was a treason. he never married my mother, though he was faithful to her all his life. but for me--' she paused, shaking her head slowly. 'well, i had an elder sister--that says everything. faut pas en parler; it makes melancholy, and one must keep up one's spirits when one is like this. it is three years since she died; she was my father's favourite. when they buried her--she died in the hospital--i sat down and thought a little. it was abominable what she had suffered, and i said to myself, "why?"'
-the child swayed backward against her knee, so absorbed was it in its thumb and the sky, and would have fallen but that she caught it with her housewife's hand, being throughout mindful of its slightest movement.
-'"why?" i said. she was a good creature--a bit foolish perhaps, but she would have worked the shoes off her feet to please anybody. and they had treated her--but like a dog! it bursts one's heart to think of it, and i said to myself,--le mariage c'est la justice! it is nothing but that. it is not what the priests say--oh! not at all. but it strikes me like that--c'est la justice; it is nothing but that!'
-and she looked at him with the bright fixed eyes of one whose thoughts are beyond their own expressing. he interrupted her, wondering at the harsh rapidity of his own voice. 'but if it is the woman who will be free?--who will have no bond?'
-her expression changed, became shrewd, inquisitive, personal.
-'well, then!' she said with a shrug, and paused. 'it is because one is ignorant, you see, or one is bad--on peut toujours être une coquine! and one forgets--one thinks one can be always young, and love is all pleasure--and it is not true! one get old--and there is the child--and one may die of it.'
-she spoke with the utmost simplicity, yet with a certain intensity. evidently she had a natural pride in her philosophy of life, as though in a possession of one's own earning and elaborating. she had probably expressed it often before in much the same terms, and with the same verbal hitches and gaps.
-the young fellow beside her rose hastily, and bade her good morning. she looked mildly surprised at such an abrupt departure, but she was not offended.
-'good day, citizen,' she said, nodding to him. 'i disturb you?'
-he muttered something and strode away.
-how much time had that wasted of his irrevocable day that was to set him on elise's track once more! the first post had been delivered by this time. elise must either return to her studio or remove her possessions; anyhow, sooner or later the merichats must have information. and if they were forbidden to speak, well, then they must be bribed.
-that made him think of money, and in a sudden panic he turned aside into a small street and examined his pockets. nearly four napoleons left, after allowing for his debt to madame pyat, which must be payed that day. even in his sick, stunned state of the evening before, when he was at last staggering on again, after his fall, to the fontainebleau station, he had remembered to stop a barbizon man whom he came across and give him a pencilled message for the deserted madame. he had sent her the tue chantal address, there would be a letter from her this morning. and he must put her on the watch, too--elise could not escape him long.
-but he must have more money. he looked out for a stationer's shop, went in and wrote a letter to john, which he posted at the next post-office.
-it was an incoherent scrawl, telling the lad to change the cheque he enclosed in bank of england notes and send them to the rue chantal, care of madame merichat. he was not to expect him back just yet, and was to say to any friend who might inquire that he was still detained.
-that letter, with the momentary contact it involved with his manchester life, brought down upon him again the thought of louie. but this time he flung it from him with a fierce impatience. his brain, indeed, was incapable of dealing with it. remorse? rescue? there would be time enough for that by-and-by. meanwhile--to find elise!
-and for a week he spent the energies of every thought and every moment on this mad pursuit. of these days of nightmare he could afterwards remember but a few detached incidents here and there. he recollected patrols up and down the rue chantal; talks with madame merichat; the gleam in her eyes as he slipped his profitless bribes into her hand; visits to taranne's atelier, where the concierge at last grew suspicious and reported the matter within; and finally an interview with the artist himself, from which the english youth emerged no nearer to his end than before, and crushed under the humiliation of the great man's advice. he could vaguely recall the long pacings of the louvre; the fixed scrutiny of face after face; vain chases; ignominious retreats; and all the wretched stages of that slow descent into a bottomless despair! at last there was a letter--the long-expected letter to madame merichat, directing the removal of mademoiselle delaunay's possessions from the rue chantal. it was written by a certain m. pimodan, who did not give his address, but who declared himself authorised by mademoiselle delaunay to remove her effects, and named a day when he would himself superintend the process and produce his credentials. david passed the time after the arrival of this letter in a state of excitement which left him hardly master of his actions. he had a room at the top of a wretched little hotel close to the nord station, but he hardly ate or slept. the noises of paris were agony to him night and day; he lived in a perpetual nausea of mind and body, hardly able at times to distinguish between the images of the brain and the impressions coming from without.
-before the day came, a note was brought to him from the rue chantal. it was from m. pimodan, and requested an interview.
-'i should be glad to see you on mademoiselle delaunay's behalf. will you meet me in the garden of the luxembourg in front of the central pavilion, at three o'clock to-morrow?
-before the hour came david was already pacing up and down the blazing gravel in front of the palace. when m. pimodan came the englishman in an instant recognised the cousin--the lanky fellow with the spectacles, who had injured his eyes by reading.
-as soon as he had established this identification--and the two men had hardly exchanged half-a-dozen sentences before the flashing inward argument was complete--a feeling of enmity arose in his mind, so intense that he could hardly keep himself still, could hardly bring his attention to bear on what he or his companion was saying. he had been brought so low that, with anyone else, he must have broken into appeals and entreaties. with this man--no!
-as for m. pimodan, the first sight of the young englishman had apparently wrought in him also some degree of nervous shock; for the hand which held his cane fidgeted as he walked. he had the air of a person, too, who had lately gone through mental struggle; the red rims of the eyes under their large spectacles might be due either to chronic weakness or to recent sleeplessness.
-but however these things might be, he took a perfectly mild tone, in which david's sick and irritable sense instantly detected the note of various offensive superiorities--the superiority of class and the superiority of age to begin with. he said in the first place that he was mademoiselle delaunay's relative, and that she had commissioned him to act for her in this very delicate matter. she was well aware--had been aware from the first day--that she was watched, and that m. grieve was moving heaven and earth to discover her whereabouts. she did not, however, intend to be discovered; let him take that for granted. in her view all was over--their relation was irrevocably at an end. she wished now to devote herself wholly and entirely to her art, without disturbance or distraction from any other quarter whatever. might he, under these circumstances, give m. grieve the advice of a man of the world, and counsel him to regard the matter in the same light?
-david walked blindly on, playing with his watch-chain. in the name of god whom and what was this fellow talking about? at the end of ten minutes' discourse on m. pimodan's part, and of a few rare monosyllables on his own, he said, straightening his young figure with a nervous tremor:
-'what you say is perfectly useless--i shall find her.'
-then a sudden angry light leapt into the cousin's eyes.
-'you will not find her!' he said, drawing a sharp breath. 'it shows how little you know her, after all--compared with--those who--no matter! oh, you can persecute and annoy her! no one doubts that. you can stand between her and all that she now cares to live for--her art. but you can do nothing else; and you will not be allowed to do that long, for she is not alone, as you seem to think. she will be protected. there are resources, and we shall employ them!'
-the cousin had gone beyond his commission. david guessed as much. he did not believe that elise had set this man on to threaten him. what a fool! but he merely said with a sarcastic dryness, endeavouring the while to steady his parched lips and his eyelids swollen with weariness.
-'a la bonne heure!--employ them. well, sir, you know, i believe, where mademoiselle delaunay is. i wish to know. you will not inform me. i therefore pursue my own way, and it is useless for me to detain you any longer.'
-'know where she is!' cried the other, a triumphant flash passing across his sallow student's face; 'i have but just parted from her.'
-but he stopped. as a physician, he was accustomed to notice the changes of physiognomy. instinctively he put some feet of distance between himself and his companion. was it agony or rage he saw?
-but david recovered himself by a strong effort.
-'go and tell her, then, that i shall find her,' he said with a shaking voice. 'i have many things to say to her yet.'
-'absurd!' cried the other angrily. 'very well, sir, we know what to expect. it only remains for us to take measures accordingly.'
-and drawing himself up he walked quickly away, looking back every now and then to see whether he were followed or no.
-'supposing i did track him,' thought david vaguely, 'what would he do? summon one of the various gardiens in sight?'
-he had, however, no such intention. what could it have ended in but a street scuffle? patience! and he would find elise for himself in spite of that prater.
-meanwhile he descended the terrace, and threw himself, worn out, upon the first seat, to collect his thoughts again.
-oh, this summer beauty:--this festal moment of the great city! palace and garden lay under the full june sun. the clipped trees on the terraces, statues, alleys, and groves slept in the luminous dancing air. all the normal stir and movement of the garden seemed to have passed to-day into the leaping and intermingling curves of the fountains; the few figures passing and repassing hardly disturbed the general impression of heat and solitude.
-for hours david sat there, head down, his eyes on the gravel, his hands tightly clasped between his knees. when he rose at last it was to hurry down the rue de seine and take the nearest bridge and street northwards to the quartier montmartre. he had been dreaming too long! and yet so great by now was his confusion of mind that he was no nearer a fresh plan of operations than when the cousin left him.
-when he arrived at madame merichat's loge it was to find that no new development had occurred. elise's possessions were still untouched; neither she nor m. pimodan had given any further sign. the concierge, however, gave him a letter which had just arrived for him. seeing that it bore the manchester postmark, he thrust it into his pocket unread.
-when he entered the evil-smelling passage of his hotel, a garcon emerged from the restaurant, dived into the salle de lecture, and came out with an envelope, which he gave to the englishman. it had been left by a messenger five minutes before monsieur arrived. david took it, a singing in his ears; mounted to the first landing, where the gas burnt at midday, and read it.
-'gustave tells me you would not listen to him. do you want to make me curse our meeting? be a man and leave me to myself! while i know that you are on the watch i shall keep away from paris--voilà, tout. i shall eat my heart out,--i shall begin to hate you,--you will have chosen it so. only understand this: i will never see you again, for both our sakes, if i can help it. believe what i say--believe that what parts us is a fate stronger than either of us, and go! oh! you men talk of love--and at bottom you are all selfish and cruel. do you want to break me more than i am already broken? set me free!--will you kill both my youth and my art together?'
-he carefully refolded the letter and put it into its envelope. then he turned and went downstairs again towards the street. but the same frowsy waiter who had given him his letter was on the watch for him. in the morning monsieur had commanded some dinner. would he take it now?
-the man's tone was sulky. david understood that he was not considered a profitable customer of the hotel--that, considering his queer ways, late hours, and small spendings, they would probably be glad to be rid of him. with a curious submission and shrinking he followed the man into the stifling restaurant and sat down at one of the tables.
-here some food was brought to him, which he tried to eat. but in the midst of it he was seized with so great a loathing, that he suddenly rose, so violently as to upset a plate of bread beside him, and make a waiter spring forward to save the table itself. he pushed his way to the glass-door into the street, totally unconscious of the stir his behaviour was causing among the stout women in bonnets and the red-faced men with napkins tucked under their chins who were dining near, fumbled at the handle, and tottered out.
-'quel animal!' said the enraged dame du comptoir, who had noticed the incident. 'marie!'--this to the sickly girl who sat near with the books in front of her, 'enter that plate, and charge it high. to-morrow i shall raise the price of his room. one must really finish with him. c'est un fou!'
-he stood a minute before the other picture, the portrait--a study from one of her comrades in the atelier--and then he wound his way again through the thronged and suffocating rooms, and out into the evening.
-the excessive heat of the last few days was about to end in storm. a wide tempestuous heaven lay beyond the arc de triomphe; the red light struck down the great avenue and into the faces of those stepping westwards. the deep shade under the full-leafed trees--how thinly green they were still against the sky that day when she vanished from him beside the arch and their love began!--was full of loungers and of playing children; the carriages passed and repassed in the light. so it had been, the enchanting never-ending drama, before this spectator entered--so it would be when he had departed.
-he turned southwards and found himself presently on the quai de la conference, hanging over the river in a quiet spot where few people passed.
-his frenzy of will was gone, and his last hope with it. elise had conquered. her letter had brought him face to face with those realities which, during this week of madness, he had simply refused to see. he could pit himself against her no longer. when it came to the point he had not the nerve to enter upon a degrading and ignoble conflict, in which all that was to be won was her hatred or her fear. that, indeed, would be the last and worst ruin, for it would be the ruin, not of happiness or of hope, but of love itself, and memory.
-he took out her letter and re-read it. then he searched for some of the writing materials he had bought when he had written his last letter to manchester, and, spreading a sheet on the parapet of the river wall, he wrote:
-'be content. i think now--i am sure--that we shall never meet again. from this moment you will be troubled with me no more. only i tell you for the last time that you have done ill--irrevocably ill. for what you have slain in yourself and me is not love or happiness, but life itself--the life of life!'
-foolish, incoherent words, as they seemed to him, but he could find no better. confusedly and darkly they expressed the cry, the inmost conviction of his being. he could come no nearer at any rate to that desolation at the heart of him.
-but now what next? manchester?--the resumption and expansion of his bookseller's life--the renewal of his old friendships--the pursuit of money and of knowledge?
-no. that is all done. the paralysis of will is complete. he cannot drive himself home, back to the old paths. the disgust with life has sunk too deep--the physical and moral collapse of which he is conscious has gone too far.
-'wretched man that i am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?'
-there, deep in the fibre of memory lie these words, and others like them--the typical words of a religion which is still in some sense the ineradicable warp of his nature, as it had been for generations of his forefathers. his individual resources of speech, as it were, have been overpassed; he falls back upon the inherited, the traditional resources of his race.
-'who shall deliver me?' 'deliver thyself!' one instant, and the intolerable pressure on this shrinking point of consciousness can be lightened, this hunger for sleep appeased! nothing else is possible--no future is even conceivable. his life in flowering has exhausted and undone itself, so spendthrift has been the process.
-so he took his resolve. then, already calmed, he hung over the river, thinking, reviewing the past.
-six weeks--six weeks only!--yet nothing in his life before matters or counts by comparison. for this mood of deadly fatigue the remembrance of all the intellectual joys and conquests of the last few years has no savour whatever. strange that the development of one relation of life--the relation of passion--should have been able so to absorb and squander the power of living! his fighting, enduring capacity, compared with that of other men, must be small indeed. he thinks of himself as a coward and a weakling. but neither the facts of the present nor the face of the future are altered thereby.
-the relation of sex--in its different phases--as he sees the world at this moment, there is no other reality. the vile and hideous phase of it has been present to him from the first moment of his arrival in these paris streets. he thinks of the pictures and songs at the 'trois rats' from which in the first delicacy and flush of passion he had shrunk with so deep a loathing; of the photographs and engravings in the shops and the books on the stalls; of some of those pictures he had passed, a few minutes before, in the salon; of that girl's face in the tuileries gardens. the animal, the beast in human nature, never has it been so present to him before; for he has understood and realised it while loathing it, has been admitted by his own passion to those regions of human feeling where all that is most foul and all that is most beautiful are generated alike from the elemental forces of life. and because he had loved elise so finely and yet so humanly, with a boy's freshness and a man's energy, this animalism of the great city had been to him a perpetual nightmare and horror. his whole heart had gone into regnault's cry--into regnault's protest. for his own enchanted island had seemed to him often in the days of his wooing to be but floating on the surface of a ghastly sea, whence emerged all conceivable shapes of ruin, mockery, terror, and disease. it was because of the tremulous adoration which filled him from the beginning that the vice of paris had struck him in this tragical way. at another time it might have been indifferent to him, might even have engulfed him.
-but he!--he had known the best of passion! he laid his head down on the wall, and lived barbizon over again--day after day, night after night. now for the first time there is a pause in the urging madness of his despair. all the pulses of his being slacken; he draws back as it were from his own fate, surveys it as a whole, separates himself from it. the various scenes of it succeed each other in memory, set always--incomparably set--in the spring green of the forest, or under a charmed moonlight, or amid the flowery detail of a closed garden. her little figure flashes before him--he sees her gesture, her smile; he hears his own voice and hers; recalls the struggle to express, the poverty of words, the thrill of silence, and that perpetual and exquisite recurrence to the interpreting images of poetry and art. but no poet had imagined better, had divined more than they in those earliest hours had lived! so he had told her, so he insisted now with a desperate faith.
-but, poor soul! even as he insists, the agony within rises, breaks up, overwhelms the picture. he lives again through the jars and frets of those few burning days, the growing mistrust of them, the sense of jealous terror and insecurity--and then through the anguish of desertion and loss. he writhes again under the wrenching apart of their half-fused lives--under this intolerable ache of his own wound.
-this the best of passion! why his whole soul is still athirst and ahungered. not a single craving of it has been satisfied. what is killing him is the sense of a thwarted gift, a baffled faculty--the faculty of self-spending, self-surrender. this, the best?
-then the mind fell into a whirlwind of half-articulate debate, from the darkness of which emerged two scenes--fragments--set clear in a passing light of memory.
-that workman and his wife standing together before the day's toil--the woman's contented smile as her look clung to the mean departing figure.
-and far, far back in his boyish life--margaret sitting beside 'lias in the damp autumn dawn, spending on his dying weakness that exquisite, ineffable passion of tenderness, of pity.
-ah! from the very beginning he had been in love with loving. he drew the labouring breath of one who has staked his all for some long-coveted gain, and lost.
-well!--mr. ancrum may be right--the english puritan may be right--'sin' and 'law' may have after all some of those mysterious meanings his young analysis had impetuously denied them--he and elise may have been only dashing themselves against the hard facts of the world's order, while they seemed to be transcending the common lot and spurning the common ways. what matter now! a certain impatient defiance rises in his stricken soul. he has made shipwreck of this one poor opportunity of life--confessed! now let the god behind it punish, if god there be. 'the rest is silence. ' with elise in his arms, he had grasped at immortality. now a stubborn, everlasting 'nay' possesses him. there is nothing beyond.
-he gathered up his letter, folded it, and put it into the breast--pocket of his coat. but in doing so his fingers touched once more the ragged edges of a bit of frayed paper.
-through all these half-sane days and nights he had never once thought of his sister. she had passed out of his life--she had played no part even in the nightmares of his dreams.
-but now!--while that intense denial of any reality in the universe beyond and behind this masque of life and things was still vibrating through his deepest being, it was as though a hand gently drew aside a curtain, and there grew clear before him, slowly effacing from his eyes the whole grandiose spectacle of buildings, sky, and river, that scene of the past which had worked so potently both in his childish sense and in reuben's maturer conscience--the bare room, the iron bed, the dying man, one child within his arm, the other a frightened baby beside him.
-it was frightfully clear, clearer than it had ever been in any normal state of brain, and as his mind lingered on it, unconsciously shaping, deepening its own creation, the weird impression grew that the helpless figure amid the bedclothes rose on its elbow, opened its cavernous eyes, and looked at him face to face, at the son whose childish heart had beat against his father's to the last. the boy's tortured soul quailed afresh before the curse his own remorse called into those eyes.
-he hung over the water pleading with the phantom--defending himself. every now and then he found that he was speaking aloud; then he would look round with a quick, piteous terror to see whether he had been heard or no, the parched lips beginning to move again almost before his fear was soothed.
-all his past returned upon him, with its obligations, its fetters of conscience and kinship, so slowly forged, so often resisted and forgotten, and yet so strong. the moment marked the first passing away of the philtre, but it brought no recovery with it.
-'my god! my god! i tried, father--i tried. but she is lost, lost--as i am!'
-then a thought found entrance and developed. he walked up and down the quay, wrestling it out, returning slowly and with enormous difficulty, because of his physical state, to some of the normal estimates and relations of life.
-at last he dragged himself off towards his hotel. he must have some sleep, or how could these hours that yet remained be lived through--his scheme carried out?
-two days afterwards david stood at the door of a house in the outskirts of the auteuil district of paris. the street had a half-finished, miscellaneous air; new buildings of the villa type were mixed up with old and dingy houses standing in gardens, which had been evidently overtaken by the advancing stream of paris, having once enjoyed a considerable amount of country air and space.
-it was at the garden gate of one of these older houses that david rang, looking about him the while at the mean irregular street and the ill-kept side-walks with their heaps of cinders and refuse.
-a powerfully built woman appeared, scowling, in answer to the bell. at first she flatly refused the new-comer admission. but david was prepared. he set to work to convince her that he was not a paris creditor, and, further, that he was well aware m. montjoie was not at home, since he had passed him on the other side of the road, apparently hurrying to the railway station, only a few minutes before. he desired simply to see madame. at this the woman's expression changed somewhat. she showed, however, no immediate signs of letting him in, being clearly chosen and paid to be a watch-dog. then david brusquely put his hand in his pocket. somehow he must get this harridan out of the way at once! the same terror was upon him that had been upon him now for many days and nights--of losing command of himself, of being no more able to do what he had to do.
-the creature studied him, put out a greedy palm, developed a smile still more repellent than her brutality, and let him in.
-he found himself in a small, neglected garden; in front of him, to the right, a wretched, weather-stained house, bearing every mark of poverty and dilapidation, while to the left there stretched out from the house a long glass structure, also in miserable condition--a sculptor's studio, as he guessed.
-his guide led him to the studio-door. madame was there a few minutes ago. as they approached, david stopped.
-'i will knock. you may go back to the house. i am madame's brother.'
-she looked at him once more, reluctant. then, in the clearer light of the garden, the likeness of the face to one she already knew struck her with amazement; she turned and went off, muttering.
-david knocked at the door; there was a movement within, and it was cautiously opened.
-'monsieur est sorti.--you!'
-the brother and sister were face to face.
-david closed the door behind him, and louie retreated slowly, her hands behind her, her tall figure drawing itself up, her face setting into a frowning scorn.
-'you!--what are you here for? we have done with each other!'
-for answer david went up to a stove which was feebly burning in the damp, cheerless place, put down his hat and stick, and bent over it, stretching out his hands to the warmth. a chair was beside it, and on the chair some scattered bits of silk and velvet, out of which louie was apparently fashioning a hat.
-she stood still, observing him. she was in a loose dress of some silky oriental material, and on her black hair she wore a red close-fitting cap with a fringe of golden coins dropping lightly and richly round her superb head and face.
-'what is the matter with you?' she asked him grimly, after a minute's silence.' she has left you--that's plain!'
-the young man involuntarily threw back his head as though he had been struck, and a vivid colour rushed into his cheek. but he answered quickly:
-'we need not discuss my affairs. i did not come here to speak of them. they are beyond mending. i came to see--before i go--whether there is anything i can do to help you.'
-'much obliged to you!' she cried, flinging herself down on the edge of a rough board platform, whereon stood a fresh and vigorous clay-study, for which she had just been posing, to judge from her dress. beyond was the maenad. and in the distance loomed a great block of marble, upon which masons had been working that afternoon.
-'i am greatly obliged to you!' she repeated mockingly, taking the crouching attitude of an animal ready to attack. 'you are a pattern brother.'
-her glowing looks expressed the enmity and contempt she was at the moment too excited to put into words.
-david drew his hand across his eyes with a long breath. how was he to get through it, this task of his, with this swollen, aching brain and these trembling limbs? louie must let him speak; he bitterly felt his physical impotence to wrestle with her.
-he went up to her slowly and sat down beside her. she drew away from him with a violent movement. but he laid his hand upon her knee--a shaking hand which his impatient will tried in vain to steady.
-'louie, look at me!' he commanded.
-she did so unwillingly, but the proud repulsion of her lip did not relax.
-'well, i dare say you look pretty bad. whose fault is it? everybody else but you knew what the creature was worth. ask anybody!'
-the lad's frame straightened and steadied. he took his hand from her knee.
-'say that kind of thing again,' he said calmly, 'and i walk straight out of that door, and you set eyes on me for the last time. that would be what you want, i dare say. all i wish to point out is, that you would be a great fool. i have not come here to-day to waste words, but to propose something to your advantage--your money-advantage,' he repeated deliberately, looking round the dismal building with its ill-mended gaps and rents, and its complete lack of the properties and appliances to which the humblest modern artist pretends. 'to judge from what i heard in paris, and what i see, money is scarce here.'
-his piteous sudden wish to soften her, to win a kind word from her, from anyone, had passed away. he was beginning to take command of her as in the old days.
-'well, maybe we are hard up,' she admitted slowly. 'people are such brutes and won't wait, and a sculptor has to pay out for a lot of things before he can make anything at all. but that statue will put it all right,' and she pointed behind her to the maenad. 'it's me--it's the one you tried to put a stopper on.'
-she looked at him darkly defiant. she was leaning back on one arm, her foot beating with the trick familiar to her. for reckless and evil splendour the figure was unsurpassable.
-'when he sells that,' she went on, seeing that he did not answer, 'and he will sell it in a jiffy--it is the best he's ever done--there'll be heaps of money.'
-'for a week perhaps. then, if i understand this business aright--i have been doing my best, you perceive, to get information, and m. montjoie seems to be better known than one supposed to half paris--the game will begin again.'
-'never you mind,' she broke in, breathing quickly. 'give me my money--the money that belongs to me--and let me alone.'
-'on one condition,' he said quietly. 'that money, as you remember, is in my hands and at my disposal.'
-'ah! i supposed you would try to grab it!' she cried.
-even he was astonished at her violence--her insolence. the demon in her had never been so plain, the woman never so effaced. his heart dropped within him like lead, and his whole being shrank from her.
-'listen to me!' he said, seizing her strongly by the hand, while a light of wrath leapt into his changed and bloodshot eyes. 'this man will desert you; in a year's time he will have tired of you; what'll you do then?'
-'manage for myself, thank you! without any canting interference from you. i have had enough of that.'
-'and fall again,' he said, releasing her, and speaking with a deliberate intensity; 'fall again--from infamy to infamy!'
-'mind yourself!' she cried.
-miserable moment! as he looked at her he felt that that weapon of his old influence with her which, poor as it was, he had relied on in the last resort all his life, had broken in his hand. his own act had robbed it of all virtue. that pang of 'irreparableness' which had smitten elise smote him now. all was undone--all was done!
-he buried his face in his hands an instant. when he lifted it again, she was standing with her arms folded across her chest, leaning against an iron shaft which supported part of the roof.
-'you had better go!' she said, still in a white heat. 'why you ever came i don't know. if you won't give me that money, i shall get it somehow.'
-suddenly, as she spoke, everything--the situation, the subject of their talk, the past--seemed to be wiped out of david's brain. he stared round him helplessly. why were they there--what had happened?
-this blankness lasted a certain number of seconds. then it passed away, and he painfully recovered his identity. but the experience was not new to him--it would recur--let him be quick.
-this time a happier instinct served him. he, too, rose and went up to her.
-'we are a pair of fools,' he said to her, half bitterly, half gently; 'we reproach and revile each other, and all the time i am come to give you not only what is yours, but all--all i have--that it may stand between you and--and worse ruin.'
-'ruin!' she said, throwing back her head and catching at the word; 'speak for yourself! if i am montjoie's mistress, elise delaunay was yours. don't preach. it won't go down.'
-'i have no intention of preaching--don't alarm yourself,' he replied quietly, this time controlling himself without difficulty.'
-'i have only this to say. on the day when you become montjoie's wife, all our father's money--all the six hundred pounds mr. gurney paid over to me in january, shall be paid to you.'
-she started, caught her breath, tried to brazen it out.
-'what is this idiocy for?' she asked coldly. 'what does marrying matter to you?'
-he sank down again on the chair by the stove, being, indeed, unable to stand.
-'perhaps i can't tell you,' he said, after a pause, shading his face from her with his hand; 'perhaps i could not make plain to myself what i feel. but this i know--that this man with whom you are living here is a man for whom nobody has a good word. i want to give you a hold over him. but first--stop a moment, '--he dropped his hand and looked up eagerly, 'will you leave him--leave him at once? i could arrange that.'
-'make your mind easy,' she said shortly; 'he suits me--i stay. i went with him, well, because i was dull--and because i wanted to make you smart for it, if you're keen to know!--but if you think i am anxious to go home, to be cried over by dora and lectured by you, you're vastly mistaken. i can manage him! i have my hold on him--he knows very well what i am worth to him.'
-she threw her head back superbly against the iron shaft, putting one arm round it and resting her hot cheek against it as though for coolness.
-'why should we argue?' he said sharply--after a wretched silence. 'i didn't come for that. if you won't leave him i have only this to say. on the day he marries you, if the evidence of the marriage is satisfactory to an english lawyer i have discovered in paris and whose address i will give you, six hundred pounds will be paid over to you. it is there now, in the lawyer's hands. if not, i go home, and the law does not compel me to hand you over one farthing.'
-she was silent, and began to pace up and down.
-'montjoie despises marriage,' she said presently.
-'try whether he despises money too,' said david, and could not for the life of him keep the sarcastic note out of his voice.
-'and when, if it is done, must this precious thing be settled?'
-'if your marriage does not take place within a month, mr. o'kelly--i will leave you his address,' he put his hand into his pocket--'has orders to return the money--'
-'to whom?' she inquired, struck by his sudden break.
-'to me, of course,' he said slowly. 'is it perfectly plain? do you understand? now, then, listen. i have inquired what the law is--you will have to be married both at the mairie and by the chaplain at the british embassy.'
-she stopped suddenly in her walk and confronted him.
-'if i am married at all,' she said abruptly, 'i shall be married as a catholic.'
-'a catholic!' david stared at her. she enjoyed his astonishment.
-'oh, i have had that in my mind for a long time,' she said scornfully. 'there is a priest at that church with the steps, you know, near that cemetery place on the hill, who is very much interested in me indeed. he speaks english. i used to go to confession. madame cervin told me all about it, and how to do it; i did it exact! oh, if i am to be married, that will make it plain sailing enough. it was awkward--while--'
-she broke off and sat down again beside him, pondering and smiling as he had seen her do in manchester, when she had the prospect of a new dress or some amusement that excited her.
-'how have you been able to think about such things?' he asked her, marvelling.
-'think about them! what was the good of that? it's the churches i like, and the priests. now there is something to see in the paris churches, like the madeleine--worth a dozen st. damian's,--you may tell dora that. the flowers and the dresses and the music--they are something like. and the priests--'
-she smiled again, little meditative smiles, as though she were recalling her experiences.
-'well, i don't know that there's much about them,' she said at last; 'they're queer, and they're awfully clever, and they want to manage you, of course.'
-she stopped, quite unable to express herself any more fully. but it was evident that the traditional relation of the catholic priest to his penitent had been to her a subject of curiosity and excitement--that she would gladly know more of it.
-david could hardly believe his ears. he sat lost at first in the pure surprise of it, in the sense of louie's unlikeness to any other human creature he had ever seen. then a gleam of satisfaction arose. he had heard of the hold on women possessed by the catholic church, and maintained by her marvellous, and on the whole admirable, system of direction. for himself, he would have no priests of whatever church. but his mind harboured none of the common protestant rules and shibboleths. in god's name, let the priests get hold of this sister of his:--if they could--when he--
-'marry this man, then!' he said to her at last, breaking the silence abruptly,' and square it with the church, if you want to.'
-'oh, indeed!' she said mockingly. 'so you have nothing to say against my turning catholic? i should like to see uncle reuben's face.'
-her voice had the exultant mischief of a child. it was evident that her spirits were rising, that her mood towards her brother was becoming more amiable.
-'nothing,' he said dryly, replying to her question.
-then he got up and looked for his hat. she watched him askance. 'what are you going for? i could get you some tea. he won't be in for hours.'
-'i have said what i had to say. these'--taking a paper from his pocket and laying it down, 'are all the directions, legal and other, that concern you, as to the marriage. i drew them up this morning, with mr. o'kelly. i have given you his address. you can communicate with him at any time.'
-'i can write to you, i suppose?'
-'better write to him,' he said quietly, 'he has instructions. he seemed to me a good sort.'
-'where are you going?'
-'back to paris, and then--home.'
-she placed herself in his way, so that the sunny light of the late afternoon, coming mostly from behind her, left her face in shadow.
-'what'll you do without that money?' she asked abruptly.
-he paused, getting together his answer with difficulty.
-'i have the stock, and there is something left of the sixty pounds uncle reuben brought. i shall do.'
-'he'll muddle it all,' she said roughly. 'what's the good?'
-and she folded her arms across her with the recklessness of one quite ready and eager, if need be, to fight her own battle, with her own weapons, in her own way.
-'get mr. o'kelly to keep it, if you can persuade him, and draw it by degrees. i'd have made a trust of it, if it had been enough; but it isn't. twenty-four pounds a year: that's all you'd get, if we tied up the capital.'
-she laughed. evidently her acquaintance with montjoie had enlarged her notions of money, which were precise and acute enough before.
-'he spends that in a supper when he's in cash. i'll be curious to see whether, all in a lump, it'll be enough to make him marry me. still, he is precious hard up: he don't stir out till dark, he's so afraid of meeting people.'
-'that's my hope,' said david heavily, hardly knowing what he said. 'good-bye.'
-'hope!' she re-echoed bitterly. 'what d'you want to tie me to him for, for good and all?'
-and, turning away from him, she stared, frowning, through the dingy glass door in to the darkening garden. in her mind there was once more that strange uprising swell of reaction--of hatred of herself and life.
-why, indeed? david could not have answered her question. he only knew that there was a blind instinct in him driving him to this, as the best that remained open--the only ainde possible for what had been so vilely done by himself, by her, and by the man who had worked out her fall for a mere vicious whim. there was no word in any mouth, it seemed to him, of his being in love with her.
-there were all sorts of whirling thoughts in his mind--fragments cast up by the waves of desolate experience he had been passing through--inarticulate cries of warning, judgment, pain. but he could put nothing into words.
-she turned and stood looking at him.
-'what made you get ill?' she inquired, eyeing him.
-his thirsty heart drank in the change of tone.
-'i don't sleep,' he said hurriedly. 'it's the noise. the nord station is never quiet. well, mind you've got to bring that off. keep the papers safe. good-bye, for a long time'.
-'i can come over when i want?' she said half sullenly.
-'yes,' he assented, 'but you won't want.'
-he drew her by the hand with a solemn tremulous feeling, and kissed her on the cheek. he would have liked to give her their father's dying letter. it was there, in his coat-pocket. but he shrank from the emotion of it. no, he must go. he had done all he could.
-she opened the door for him, and took him to the garden-gate in silence.
-'when i'm married,' she said shortly, 'if ever i am--lord knows!--you can tell uncle reuben and dora?'
-the gate closed behind him. he went away, hurrying towards the auteuil station.
-when he landed again in the paris streets, he stood irresolute.
-'one more look,' he said to himself, 'one more.'
-and he turned down the rue chantal. there was the familiar archway, and the light shining behind the porter's door. was her room already stripped and bare, or was the broken glass--poor dumb prophet!--still there, against the wall?
-he wandered on through the lamp-lit city and the crowded pavements. elise--the wraith of her--went with him, hand in hand, ghost with ghost, amid this multitude of men. sometimes, breaking from this dream-companionship, he would wake with terror to the perception of his true, his utter loneliness. he was not made to be alone, and the thought that nowhere in this great paris was there a single human being to whose friendly eye or hand he might turn him in his need, swept across him from time to time, contracting the heart. dora--mr. ancrum--if they knew, they would be sorry.
-then again indifference and blankness came upon him, and he could only move feebly on, seeing everything in a blur and mist. after these long days and nights of sleeplessness, semi-starvation, and terrible excitement, every nerve was sick, every organ out of gear. the lights of the tuileries, the stately pile of the louvre, under a gray driving sky.--there would be rain soon--ah, there it came! the great drops hissing along the pavement. he pushed on to the river, careless of the storm, soothed, indeed, by the cool dashes of rain in his face and eyes.
-the place de la concorde seemed to him as day, so brilliant was the glare of its lamps. to the right, the fairyland of the champs-elysées, the trees tossing under the sudden blast; in front, the black trench of the river. on, on--let him see it all--gather it all into his accusing heart and brain, and then at a stroke blot out the inward and the outward vision, and 'cease upon the midnight with no pain'!
-he walked till he could walk no more; then he sank on a dark seat on the quai saint-michel, cursing himself. had he no nerve left for the last act--was that what this delay, this fooling meant? coward!
-but not here! not in these streets--this publicity! back--to this little noisome room. there lock the door, and make an end!
-on the way northward, at the command of a sudden caprice, he sat outside a blazing cafe on the boulevard and ordered absinthe, which he had never tasted. while he waited he looked round on the painted women, on the men escorting them, on the loungers with their newspapers and cigars, the shouting, supercilious waiters. but all the little odious details of the scene escaped him; he felt only the touchingness of his human comradeship, the yearning of a common life, bruised and wounded but still alive within him.
-then he drank the stuff they gave him, loathed it, paid and staggered on. when he reached his hotel he crept upstairs, dreading to meet any of the harsh-faced people who frowned as he passed them. he had done abject things these last three days to conciliate them--tipped the waiter, ordered food, not that he might eat it but that he might pay for it, bowed to the landlady--all to save the shrinking of his sore and quivering nerves. in vain! it seemed to him that since that last look from elise as she nestled into the fern, there had been no kindness for him in human eyes--save, perhaps, from that woman with the child.
-as he dragged himself up to his fourth floor, the stimulant he had taken began to work upon his starved senses. the key was in his door, he turned it and fell into his room, while the door, with the key still in it, swung to behind him. guiding himself by the furniture, he reached the only chair the room possessed--an arm-chair of the commonest and cheapest hotel sort, which, because of the uncertainty of its legs, the femme de chambre had propped up against the bed. he sat down in it and his head fell back on the counterpane. there was much to do. he had to write to john about the sale of his stock and the payment of his debts. he had to put his father's letter into an envelope for louie, to send all the papers and letters he had on him and a last message to mr. ancrum, and then to post these letters, so that nothing private might fall into the hands of the french police, who would, of course, open his bag.
-while these thoughts were rising in him, a cloud came over the brain, bringing with it, as it seemed, the first moment of ease which had been his during this awful fortnight. before he yielded himself to it he thrust his hand into his coat-pocket with a sudden vague anxiety to feel what was there. but even as he withdrew his fingers they relaxed; a black object came with them, and fell unheeded, first on his knee, then on to a coat lying on the floor between him and the window.
-a quarter of an hour afterwards there was a stir and voices on the landing outside. some one knocked at the door of no. 139. no answer. 'the key is in the door. ouvrez donc!' cried the waiter, as he ran downstairs again to the restaurant, which was still crowded. the visitor opened the door and peeped in. some quick words broke from him. he rushed in and up to the bed. but directly the heavy feverish breathing of the figure in the chair caught his ear his look of sudden horror relaxed, and he fell back, looking at the sleeping youth.
-it was a piteous sight he saw! exhaustion, helplessness, sorrow, physical injury, and moral defeat, were written in every line of the poor drawn face and shrunken form. the brow was furrowed, the breathing hard, the mouth dry and bloodless. upon the mind of the new-comer, possessed as it was with the image of what david grieve had been two short months before, the effect of the spectacle was presently overwhelming.
-then he laid his arm round the lad's neck.
-the young man woke directly and sat up, shaking with terror and excitement. he pushed his visitor from him, looking at him with defiance. then he slipped his hand inside his coat and sprang up with a cry.
-'david!--dear boy--dear fellow!'
-the voice penetrated the lad's ear. he caught his visitor and dragged him forward to the light. it fell on the twisted face and wet eyes of mr. ancrum. so startling was the vision, so poignant were the associations which it set vibrating, that david stood staring and trembling, struck dumb.
-'oh, my poor lad! my poor lad! john wanted me to come yesterday, and i delayed. i was a selfish wretch. now i will take you home.'
-david fell again upon his chair, too feeble to speak, too feeble even to weep, the little remaining colour ebbing from his cheeks. the minister used all his strength, and laid him on the bed. then he rang and made even the callous and haughty madame, who was presently summoned, listen to and obey him while he sent for brandy and a doctor, and let the air of the night into the stifling room.
-in two or three days the english doctor who was attending david strongly advised mr. ancrum to get his charge home. the fierce strain his youth had sustained acting through the nervous system had disordered almost every bodily function, and the collapse which followed mr. ancrum's appearance was severe. he would lie in his bed motionless and speechless, volunteered no confidence, and showed hardly any rallying power.
-'get him out of this furnace and that doghole of a room,' said the doctor. 'he has come to grief here somehow--that's plain. you won't make anything of him till you move him.'
-when the lad was at last stretched on the deck of a channel steamer speeding to the english coast, and the sea breeze had brought a faint touch of returning colour to his cheek, he asked the question he had never yet had the physical energy to ask.
-'why did you come, and how did you find me?'
-then it appeared that the old cashier at heywood's bank, who had taken a friendly interest in the young bookseller since the opening of his account, had dropped a private word to john in the course of conversation, which had alarmed that youth not a little. his own last scrawl from david had puzzled and disquieted him, and he straightway marched off to mr. ancrum to consult. whereupon the minister wrote cautiously and affectionately to david asking for some prompt and full explanation of things for his friends' sake. the letter was, as we know, never opened, and therefore never answered. whereupon john's jealous misery on louie's account and mr. ancrum's love for david had so worked that the minister had broken in upon his scanty savings and started for paris at a few hours' notice. once in the rue chantal he had come easily on david's track.
-naturally he had inquired after louie as soon as david was in a condition to be questioned at all. the young man hesitated a moment, then he said resolutely, 'she is married,' and would say no more. mr. ancrum pressed the matter a little, but his patient merely shook his head, and the sight of him as he lay there on the pillow was soon enough to silence the minister.
-on the evening before they left paris he called for a telegraph form, wrote a message and paid the reply, but mr. ancrum saw nothing of either. when the reply arrived david crushed it in his hand with a strange look, half bitterness, half relief, and flung it behind a piece of furniture standing near.
-now, on the cool, wind-swept deck, he seemed more inclined to talk than he had been yet. he asked questions about john and the lomaxes--he even inquired after lucy, as to whom the minister who had lately improved an acquaintance with dora and her father, begun through david, could only answer vaguely that he believed she was still in the south. but he volunteered nothing about his own affairs or the cause of the state in which mr. ancrum had found him.
-every now and then, indeed, as they stood together at the side of the vessel, david leaning heavily against it, his words would fail him altogether, and he would be left staring stupidly, the great black eyes widening, the lower lip falling--over the shifting brilliance of the sea.
-ancrum was almost sure too that in the darkness of their last night in paris there had been, hour after hour, a sound of hard and stifled weeping, mingled with the noises from the street and from the station; and to-day the youth in the face was more quenched than ever, in spite of the signs of reviving health. there had been a woman in the case, of course: louie might have misbehaved herself; but after all the world is so made that no sister can make a brother suffer as david had evidently suffered--and then there was the revolver! about this last, after one or two restless movements of search, which mr. ancrum interpreted, david had never asked, and the minister, timid man of peace that he was, had resold it before leaving.
-well, it was a problem, and it must be left to time. meanwhile mr. ancrum was certainly astonished that any love affair should have had such a destructive volcanic power with the lad. for it was no mere raw and sensuous nature, no idle and morbid brain. one would have thought that so many different aptitudes and capacities would have kept each other in check.
-as they neared manchester, david grew plainly restless and ill at ease. he looked out sharply for the name of each succeeding town, half turning afterwards, as though to speak to his companion; but it was not till they were within ten minutes of the central station that he said--
-'john will want to know about louie. she is married,--as i told you,--to a french sculptor. i have handed over to her all my father's money--that is why i drew it out.'
-mr. ancrum edged up closer to him--all ears--waiting for more. but there was nothing more.
-'and you are satisfied?' he said at last.
-david nodded and looked out of window intently.
-'what is the man's name?'
-david either did not or would not hear, and mr. ancrum let him alone. but the news was startling. so the boy had stripped himself, and must begin the world again as before! what had that minx been after?
-manchester again. david looked out eagerly from the cab, his hand trembling on his knee, beads of perspiration on his face.
-they turned up the narrow street, and there in the distance to the right was the stall and the shop, and a figure on the steps. mr. ancrum had sent a card before them, and john was on the watch.
-the instant the cab stopped, and before the driver could dismount, john had opened the door. putting his head in he peered at the pair inside, and at the opposite seat, with his small short-sighted eyes.
-'where is she?' he said hoarsely, barring the way.
-mr. ancrum looked at his companion. david had shrunk back into the corner, with a white hangdog look, and said nothing. the minister interposed.
-'david will tell you all,' he said gently. 'first help me in with him, and the bags. he is a sick man.'
-with a huge effort john controlled himself, and they got inside. then he shut the shop door and put his back against it.
-'tell me where she is,' he repeated shortly.
-'she is married,' david said in a low voice, but looking up from the chair on which he had sunk.' by now--she is married. i heard by telegram last night that all was arranged for to-day.'
-the lad opposite made a sharp, inarticulate sound which startled the minister's ear. then clutching the handle of the door, he resumed sharply--
-'who has she married?'
-the assumption of the right to question was arrogance itself--strange in the dumb, retiring creature whom the minister had hitherto known only as david's slave and shadow!
-'a french sculptor,' said david steadily, but propping his head and hand against the counter, so as to avoid john's stare--'a man called montjoie. i was a brute--i neglected her. she got into his hands. then i sent for all my money to bribe him to marry her. and he has.'
-'you--you blackguard!' cried john.
-david straightened instinctively under the blow, and his eyes met john's for one fierce moment. then mr. ancrum thought he would have fainted. the minister took rough hold of john by the shoulders.
-the little lame creature spoke like one who meant to have his way. john took the coin, hesitated, and stumbled out.
-meanwhile david dragged himself from his bed to the shop and set to work to pick up dropped threads. the customers, who had been formerly interested in him, discovered his return, and came in to inquire why he had been so long away, or, in the case of one or two, whether he had executed certain commissions in paris. the explanation of illness, however, circulated from the first moment by mr. ancrum, and perforce adopted--though with an inward rage and rebellion--by david himself, was amply sufficient to cover his omissions and inattentions, and to ease his resumption of his old place. his appearance indeed was still ghastly. the skin of the face had the tightened, transparent look of weakness; the eyes, reddened and sunk, showed but little of their old splendour between the blue circles beneath and the heavy brows above; even the hair seemed to have lost its boyish curl, and fell in harsh, troublesome waves over the forehead, whence its owner was perpetually and impatiently thrusting it back. all the bony structure of the face had been emphasised at the expense of its young grace and bloom, and the new indications of moustache and beard did but add to its striking and painful black and white. and the whole impression of change was completed by the melancholy aloofness, the shrinking distrust with which eyes once overflowing with the frankness and eagerness of one of the most accessible of human souls now looked out upon the world.
-'was it fever?' said a young owens college professor who had taken a lively interest from the beginning in the clever lad's venture. 'upon my word! you do look pulled down. paris may be the first city in the world--it is an insanitary hole all the same. so you never found time to inquire after those moliere editions for me?'
-david racked his brains. what was it he had been asked to do? he remembered half an hour's talk on one of those early days with a bookseller on the quai voltaire--was it about this commission? he could not recall.
-'no, sir,' he said, stammering and flushing. 'i believe i did ask somewhere, but i can't remember.'
-'it's very natural, very natural,' said the professor kindly. 'never mind. i'll send you the particulars again, and you can keep your eyes open for me. and, look here, take your business easy for a while. you'll get on--you're sure to get on--if you only recover your health.'
-david opened the door for him in silence.
-the reawakening of his old life in him was strange and slow. when he first found himself back among his books and catalogues, his ledgers and business memoranda, he was bewildered and impatient. what did these elaborate notes, with their cabalistic signs and abbreviations--whether as to the needs of customers, or the whereabouts of books, or the history of prices--mean or matter? he was like a man who has lost a sense. then the pressure of certain debts which should have been met out of the money in the bank first put some life into him. he looked into his financial situation and found it grave, though not desperate. all hope of a large and easy expansion of business was, of course, gone. the loss of his capital had reduced him to the daily shifts and small laborious accumulations with which he had begun. but this factor in his state was morally of more profit to him at the moment than any other. with such homely medicines nature and life can often do most for us.
-such was ancrum's belief, and in consequence he showed a very remarkable wisdom during these early days of david's return.
-'as far as i can judge, there has been a bad shake to the heart in more senses than one,' had been the dry remark of the paris doctor; 'and as for nervous system, it's a mercy he's got any left. take care of him, but for heaven's sake don't make an invalid of him--that would be the finish.'
-so that ancrum offered no fussy opposition to the resumption of the young man's daily work, though at first it produced a constant battle with exhaustion and depression. but never day or night did the minister forget his charge. he saw that he ate and drank; he enforced a few common sense remedies for the nervous ills which the moral convulsion had left behind it, ills which the lad in his irritable humiliation would fain have hidden even from him; above all he knew how to say a word which kept dora and daddy and other friends away for a time, and how to stand between david and that choked and miserable john.
-he had the strength of mind also to press for no confidence and to expect no thanks. he had little fear of any further attempts at suicide, though he would have found it difficult perhaps to explain why. but instinctively he felt that for all practical purposes david had been mad when he found him, and that he was mad no longer. he was wretched, and only a fraction of his mind was in manchester and in his business--that was plain. but, in however imperfect a way, he was again master of himself; and the minister bided his time, putting his ultimate trust in one of the finest mental and physical constitutions he had ever known.
-in about ten days david took up his hat one afternoon and, for the first time, ventured into the streets. on his return he was walking down potter street in a storm of wind and rain, when he ran against some one who was holding an umbrella right in front of her and battling with the weather. in his recoil he saw that it was dora.
-dora too looked up, a sudden radiant pleasure in her face overflowing her soft eyes and lips.
-'oh, mr. grieve! and are you really better?'
-'yes,' he said briefly. 'may i walk with you a bit?'
-'oh no!--i don't believe you ought to be out in such weather. i'll just come the length of the street with you.'
-and she turned and walked with him, chattering fast, and of course, from the point of view of an omniscience which could not have been hers, foolishly. had he liked paris?--what he saw of it at least before he had been ill?--and how long had he been ill? why had he not let mr. ancrum or some one know sooner? and would he tell her more about louie? she heard that she was married, but there was so much she, dora, wanted to hear.
-to his first scanty answers she paid in truth but small heed, for the joy of seeing him again was soon effaced by the painful impression of his altered aspect. the more she looked at him, the more her heart went out to him; her whole being became an effusion of pity and tenderness, and her simplest words, maidenly and self-restrained as she was, were in fact charged with something electric, ineffable. his suffering, his neighbourhood, her own sympathy--she was taken up, overwhelmed by these general impressions. inferences, details escaped her.
-but as she touched on the matter of louie, and they were now at his own steps, he said to her hurriedly--
-'walk a little further, and i'll tell you. john's in there.'
-she opened her eyes, not understanding, and then demurred a little on the ground of his health and the rain.
-'oh, i'm all right,' he said impatiently. 'look here, will you walk to chetham's library? there'll be a quiet place there, in the reading room--sure to be--where we can talk.'
-she assented, and very soon they were mounting the black oak stairs leading to this old corner of manchester. at the top of the stairs they saw in the distance, at the end of the passage on to which open the readers' studies, each with its lining of folios and its oaken lattice, a librarian, who nodded to david, and took a look at dora. further on they stumbled over a small boy from the charity school who wished to lionise them over the whole building. but when he had been routed, they found the beautiful panelled and painted reading-room quite empty, and took possession of it in peace. david led the way to an oriel window he had become familiar with in the off-times of his first years at manchester, and they seated themselves there with a low sloping desk between them, looking out on the wide rain-swept yard outside, the buildings of the grammar-school, and the black mass of the cathedral.
-manchester had never been more truly manchester than on this dark july afternoon, with its low shapeless clouds, its darkness, wind, and pelting rain. david, staring out through the lozenge panes at the familiar gloom beyond, was suddenly carried by repulsion into the midst of a vision which was an agony--of a spring forest cut by threadlike paths; of a shadeless sun; of a white city steeped in charm, in gaiety.
-dora watched him timidly, new perceptions and alarms dawning in her.
-'you were going to tell me about louie,' she said.
-he returned to himself, and abruptly turned with his back to the window, so that he saw the outer world no more.
-'you heard that she was married?'
-'she has married a brute. it was partly my fault. i wanted to be rid of her; she got in my way. this man was in the same house; i left her to herself, and partly, i believe, to spite me, she went off with him. then at the last when she wouldn't leave him i made her marry him. i bribed him to marry her. and he did. i had just enough money to make it worth his while. but he will ill-treat her; and she won't stay with him. she will go from bad to worse.'
-dora drew back, with her hand on the desk, staring at him with incredulous horror.
-'but you were ill?' she stammered.
-he shook his head.
-'never mind my being ill. i wanted you to know, because you were good to her, and i'm not going to be a hypocrite to you. nobody else need know anything but that she's married, which is true. if i'd looked after her it mightn't have happened--perhaps. but i didn't look after her--i couldn't.'
-his face, propped in his hands, was hidden from her. she was in a whirl of excitement and tragic impression--understanding something, divining more.
-'louie was always so self-willed,' she said trembling.
-'aye. that don't make it any better. you remember all i told you about her before? you know we didn't get on; she wasn't nice to me, and i didn't suit her, i suppose. but all this year, i don't know why, she's been on my mind from morning till night; i've always felt sure, somehow, that she would come to harm; and the worrying oneself about her--well! it has seemed to grow into one's very bones. '--he threw out the last words after a pause, in which he had seemed to search for some phrase wherewith to fit the energy of his feeling. 'i took her to paris to keep her out of mischief. i had much rather have gone alone; but she would not ask you to take her in, and i couldn't leave her with john. well, then, she got in my way--i told you--and i let her go to the dogs. there--it's done--done!'
-he turned on his seat, one hand drumming the desk, while his eyes fixed themselves apparently on the portrait of sir humphry chetham over the carved mantelpiece. his manner was hard and rapid; neither voice nor expression had any of the simplicity or directness of remorse.
-dora remained silent looking at him; her slender hands were pressed tight against either cheek; the tears rose slowly till they filled her grey eyes.
-'it is very sad,' she said in a low voice.
-there was a pause.
-'yes--it's sad. so are most things in this world, perhaps. all natural wants seem just to lead us to misery sooner or later. and who gave them to us--who put us here--with no choice but just to go on blundering from one muddle into another?'
-their eyes met. it was as though he had remembered her religion, and could not, in his bitterness, refrain from an indirect fling at it.
-as for her, what he said was strange and repellent to her. but her forlorn passion, so long trampled on, cried within her; her pure heart was one prayer, one exquisite throb of pain and pity.
-'did some one deceive you?' she asked, so low that the words seemed just breathed into the air.
-'no,--i deceived myself.'
-then as he looked at her an impulse of confession crossed his mind. sympathy, sincerity, womanly sweetness, these things he had always associated with dora lomax. instinctively he had chosen her for a friend long ago as soon as their first foolish spars were over.
-but the impulse passed away. he thought of her severity, her religion, her middle-class canons and judgments, which perhaps were all the stricter because of daddy's laxities. what common ground between her and his passion, between her and elise? no! if he must speak--if, in the end, he proved too weak to forbear wholly from speech--let it be to ears more practised, and more human!
-so he choked back his words, and dora felt instinctively that he would tell her no more. her consciousness of this was a mingled humiliation and relief; it wounded her to feel that she had so little command of him; yet she dreaded what he might say. paris was a wicked place--so the world reported. her imagination, sensitive, christianised, ascetic, shrank from what he might have done. perhaps the woman shrank too. instead, she threw herself upon the thought, the bliss, that he was there again beside her, restored, rescued from the gulf, if gulf there had been.
-he went back to the subject of louie, and told her as much as a girl of dora's kind could be told of what he himself knew of louie's husband. in the course of his two days' search for them, which had included an interview with madame cervin, he had become tolerably well acquainted with montjoie's public character and career. incidentally parts of the story of louie's behaviour came in, and for one who knew her as dora did, her madness and wilfulness emerged, could be guessed at, little as the brother intended to excuse himself thereby. how, indeed, should he excuse himself? louie's character was a fixed quantity to be reckoned on by all who had dealings with her. one might as well excuse oneself for letting a lunatic escape by the pretext of his lunacy. dora perfectly understood his tone. yet in her heart of hearts she forgave him--for she knew not what!--became his champion. there was a dry sharpness of self-judgment, a settled conviction of coming ill in all he said which wrung her heart. and how blanched he was by that unknown misery! how should she not pity, not forgive? it was the impotence of her own feeling to express itself that swelled her throat. and poor lucy, too--ah! poor lucy.
-suddenly, as he was speaking, he noticed his companion more closely, the shabbiness of the little black hat and jacket, the new lines round the eyes and mouth.
-'you have not been well,' he said abruptly.' how has your father been going on?'
-she started and tried to answer quietly. but her nerves had been shaken by their talk, and by that inward play of emotion which had gone on out of his sight. quite unexpectedly she broke down, and covering her eyes with one hand, began to sob gently.
-'i can't do anything with him now, poor father,' she said, when she could control herself. 'he won't listen to me at all. the debts are beginning to be dreadful, and the business is going down fast. i don't know what we shall do. and it all makes him worse--drives him to drink.'
-david thought a minute, lifted out of himself for the first time.
-'shall i come to-night to see him?'
-'oh do!' she said eagerly; 'come about nine o'clock. i will tell him--perhaps that will keep him in.'
-then she went into more details than she had yet done; named the creditors who were pressing; told how her church-work, though she worked herself blind night and day, could do but little for them; how both the restaurant and the reading-room were emptying, and she could now get no servants to stay, but sarah, because of her father's temper.
-it seemed to him as he listened that the story, with its sickened hope and on-coming fate, was all in some strange way familiar; it or something like it was to have been expected; for him the strange and jarring thing now would have been to find a happy person. he was in that young morbid state when the mind hangs its own cloud over the universe.
-but dora got up to go, tying on her veil with shaking hands. she was so humbly grateful to him that he was sorry for her--that he could spare a thought from his own griefs for her.
-as they went down the dark stairs together, he asked after lucy. she was now staying with some relations at wakely, a cotton town in the valley of the irwell, dora said; but she would probably go back to hastings for the winter. it was now settled that she and her father could not get on; and the stepmother that was to be--purcell, however, was taking his time--as determined not to be bothered with her.
-david listened with a certain discomfort. 'it was what she did for me,' he thought, 'that set him against her for good and all. old brute!'
-aloud he said: 'i wrote to her, you know, and sent her that book. she did write me a queer letter back--it was all dashes and splashes--about the street-preachings on the beach, and a blind man who sang hymns. i can't remember why she hated him so particularly!'
-she answered his faint smile. lucy was a child for both of them. then he took her to the door of the parlour, noticing, as he parted from her, how dingy and neglected the place looked.
-afterwards--directly he had left her--the weight of his pain which had been lightened for an hour descended upon him again, shutting the doors of the senses, leaving him alone within, face to face with the little figure which haunted him day and night. during the days since his return from paris the faculty of projective imagination, which had endowed his childhood with a second world, and peopled it with the incidents and creatures of his books, had grown to an abnormal strength. behind the stage on which he was now painfully gathering together the fragments of his old life, it created for him another, where, amid scenes richly set and lit with perpetual summer, he lived with elise, walked with her, watched her, lay at her feet, quarrelled with her, forgave her. his drama did not depend on memory alone, or rather it was memory passing into creation. within its bounds he was himself and not himself; his part was loftier than any he had ever played in reality; his eloquence was no longer tongue-tied--it flowed and penetrated. his love might be cruel, but he was on her level, nay, her master; he could reproach, wrestle with, command her; and at the end evoke the pardoning flight into each other's arms--confession--rapture.
-till suddenly, poor fool! a little bolt shot from the bow of memory--the image of a diligence rattling along a white road--or of black rain-beaten quays, with their lines of wavering lamps--or of a hideous upper room with blue rep furniture where one could neither move nor breathe--would strike his dream to fragments, and as it fell to ruins within him, his whole being would become one tumult of inarticulate cries--delirium--anguish--with which the self at the heart of all seemed to be wrestling for life.
-it was so to-day after he left dora. first the vision, the enchantment--then the agony, the sob of desolation which could hardly be kept down. he saw nothing in the streets. he walked on past the exchange, where an unusual crowd was gathered, elbowing his way through it mechanically, but not in truth knowing that it was there.
-when he reached the shop he ran past john, who was reading a newspaper, up to his room and locked the door.
-about an hour afterwards mr. ancrum came in, all excitement, a batch of papers under his arm.
-'it is going to be war, john! war--i tell you! and such a war. they'll be beaten, those braggarts, if there's justice in heaven. the streets are all full; i could hardly get here; everybody talking of how it will affect manchester. time enough to think about that! what a set of selfish beasts we all are! where's david?'
-'come in an hour ago!' said john sullenly; 'he went upstairs.'
-'ah, he will have heard--the placards are all over the place.'
-the minister went upstairs and knocked at david's door.
-'all right,' said a voice from inside.
-'david, what do you think of the news?'
-'what news?' after a pause.
-'why, the war, man! haven't you seen the evening paper?'
-no answer. the minister stood listening at the door. then a tender look dawned in his odd grey face.
-'david, look here, i'll push you the paper under the door. you're tired, i suppose--done yourself up with your walk?'
-'i'll be down to supper,' said the voice from inside, shortly. 'will you push in the paper?'
-the minister descended, and sat by himself in the kitchen thinking. he was a wiser man now than when he had gone out, and not only as to that reply of the king of prussia to the french ultimatum on the subject of the hohenzollern candidature.
-for he had met barbier in the street. how to keep the voluble frenchman from bombarding david in his shattered state had been one of mr. ancrum's most anxious occupations since his return. it had been done, but it had been difficult. for to whom did david owe his first reports of paris if not to the old comrade who had sent him there, found him a lodging, and taught him to speak french so as not to disgrace himself and his country? however, ancrum had found means to intercept barbier's first visit, and had checkmated his attempts ever since. as a natural result, barbier was extremely irritable. illness--stuff! the lad had been getting into scrapes--that he would swear.
-on this occasion, when ancrum stumbled across him, he found barbier, at first bubbling over with the war news; torn different ways; now abusing the emperor for a cochon and a fou, prophesying unlimited disaster for france, and sneering at the ranting crowds on the boulevards; the next moment spouting the same anti-prussian madness with which his whole unfortunate country was at the moment infected. in the midst of his gallop of talk, however, the old man suddenly stopped, took off his hat, and running one excited hand through his bristling tufts of grey hair pointed to ancrum with the other.
-'halte là!' he said, 'i know what your young rascal has been after. i know, and i'll be bound you don't. trust a lover for hoodwinking a priest. come along here.'
-and putting his arm through ancrum's, he swept him away, repeating, as they walked, the substance of a letter from his precious nephew, in which the barbizon episode as it appeared to the inhabitants of no. 7 rue chantal and to the students of taranne's atelier de femmes was related, with every embellishment of witticism and blague that the imagination of a french rapin could suggest. mademoiselle delaunay was not yet restored, according to the writer, to the atelier which she adorned. 'on criait au scandale,' mainly because she was such a clever little animal, and the others envied and hated her. she had removed to a studio near the luxembourg, and taranne was said to be teaching her privately. meanwhile dubois requested his dear uncle to supply him with information as to l'autre; it would be gratefully received by an appreciative circle. as for la soeur de l'autre, the dear uncle no doubt knew that she had migrated to the studio of monsieur montjoie, an artist whose little affairs in the genre had already, before her advent, attained a high degree of interest and variety. on a review of all the circumstances, the dear uncle would perhaps pardon the writer if he were less disposed than before to accept those estimable views of the superiority of the english morale to the french, which had been so ably impressed upon him during his visit to manchester.
-for after a very short stay at brussels the nephew had boldly and suddenly pushed over to england, and had spent a fortnight in barbier's lodgings reconnoitering his uncle. as to the uncle, xavier had struck him, on closer inspection, as one of the most dissolute young reprobates he had ever beheld. he had preached to him like a father, holding up to him the image of his own absent favourite, david grieve, as a brilliant illustration of what could be achieved even in this wicked world by morals and capacity. and in the intervals he had supplied the creature with money and amused himself with his gaminerie from morning till night. on their parting the uncle had with great frankness confessed to the nephew the general opinion he had formed of his character; all the same they were now embarked on a tolerably frequent correspondence; and dubois' ultimate chance of obtaining his uncle's savings, on the chasse of which he had come to england, would have seemed to the cool observer by no means small.
-'but now, look here,' said barbier, taking off his spectacles to wipe away the 'merry tear' which dimmed them, after the recapitulation of xavier's last letter, 'no more nonsense! i come and have it out with that young man. i sent him to paris, and i'll know what he did there. he's not made of burnt sugar. of course he's broken his heart--we all do. serve him right.'
-'it's easy to laugh,' said ancrum dryly, 'only these young fellows have sometimes an uncomfortable way of vindicating their dignity by shooting themselves.'
-barbier started and looked interrogative.
-'now suppose you listen to me,' said the minister.
-and the two men resumed their patrol of albert square while ancrum described his rescue of david. the story was simply told but impressive. barbier whistled, stared, and surrendered. nay, he went to the other extreme. he loved the absurd, but he loved the romantic more. an hour before, david's adventures had been to him a subject of comic opera. as ancrum talked, they took on 'the grand style,' and at the end he could no more have taken liberties with his old pupil than with the hero of the nuit de mai. he became excited, sympathetic, declamatory, tore open old sores, and mr. ancrum had great difficulty in getting rid of him.
-so now the minister was sitting at home meditating. through the atmosphere of mockery with which dubois had invested the story he saw the outlines of it with some clearness.
-in the midst of his meditations, however, the minister did not forget to send john out for david's supper, and when david appeared, white, haggard, and exhausted, it was to find himself thought for with a care like a woman's. the lad, being sick and irritable, showed more resentment than gratitude; pushed away his food, looking sombrely the while at the dry bread and tea which formed the minister's invariable evening meal as though to ask when he was to be allowed his rational freedom again to eat or fast as he pleased. he scarcely answered ancrum's remarks about the war, and finally he got up heavily, saying he was going out.
-'you ought to be in your bed,' said ancrum, protesting almost for the first time, 'and it's there you will be--tied by the leg--if you don't take a decent care of yourself.'
-david took no notice and went. he dragged himself to the german athenaeum, of which he had become a member in the first flush of his inheritance. there were the telegrams from paris, and an eager crowd reading and discussing them. as he pushed his way in at last and read, the whole scene rose before him as though he were there--the summer boulevards with their trees and kiosks, the moving crowds, the shouts, the 'marseillaise'--the blind infectious madness of it all. and one short fortnight ago, what man in europe could have guessed that such a day was already on the knees of the gods?
-afterwards, on the way to the parlour, he talked to elise about it,--placing her on the boulevards with the rest, and himself beside her to guard her from the throng. hour by hour, this morbid gift of his, though it tortured him, provided an outlet for passion, saved him from numbness and despair.
-when he got to dora's sitting-room he found daddy sitting there, smoking sombrely over the empty grate. he had expected a flood of questions, and had steeled himself to meet them. nothing of the sort. the old man took very little notice of him and his travels. considering the petulant advice with which daddy had sent him off, david was astonished and, in the end, piqued. he recovered the tongue which he had lost for ancrum, and was presently discussing the war like anybody else. reminiscences of the talk amid which he had lived during those paris weeks came back to them; and he repeated some of them which bore on the present action of napoleon iii and his ministry, with a touch of returning fluency. he was, in fact, playing for daddy's attention.
-daddy watched him silently with a wild and furtive eye. at last, looking round to see whether dora was there, and finding that she had gone out, he laid a lean long hand on david's knee.
-'that'll do, davy. davy, why were you all that time away?'
-the young man drew himself up suddenly, brought back to realities from this first brief moment of something like forgetfulness. he tried for his common excuse of illness; but it stuck in his throat.
-'i can't tell you, daddy,' he said at last, slowly. 'i might tell you lies, but i won't. it concerns myself alone.'
-daddy still bent forward, his peaked wizard's face peering at his companion.
-'you've been in trouble, davy?'
-'yes, daddy. but if you ask me questions i shall go.'
-he spoke with a sudden fierce resolution.
-daddy paid no attention. he threw himself back in his chair with a long breath.
-'bedad, and i knew it, davy! but sorrow a bit o' pity will you get out o' me, my boy--sorrow a bit!'
-he lay staring at his companion with a glittering hostile look.
-'by the powers!' he said presently, 'to be a gossoon of twenty again and throubled about a woman!'
-'well, daddy, i'll bid you good night! i wanted to hear something about your own affairs, which don't seem to be flourishing. but i'll wait till miss dora's at home.'
-'sit down, sit down again!' cried lomax angrily, catching him by the arm. 'i'll not meddle with you. yes, we're in a bad way, a deuced bad way, if you listen to dora. if it weren't for her i'd have walked myself off long ago and let the devil take the creditors.'
-david sat down and tried to get at the truth. but daddy turned restive, and now invited the traveller's talk he had before repelled. he fell into his own recollections of the paris streets in '48, and his vanity enjoyed showing this slip of a fellow that old lomax was well acquainted with france and french politics before he was born.
-presently dora came in, saw that her father had been beguiled into foregoing his usual nocturnal amusements, and looked soft gratitude at david. but as for him, he had never realised so vividly the queer aloofness and slipperiness of daddy's nature, nor the miserable insecurity of dora's life. such men were not meant to have women depending on them.
-nor did he forget his purpose. the very next morning he got hold of the young man in question. out came the french book, which contained the record of a famous frenchman's experiments, and the two hung over it together in david's little back room, till the doctor's views of booksellers and their probable minds were somewhat enlarged, and david felt something of the old intellectual glow which these scientific problems of mind and matter had awakened in him during the winter. then he walked his physician off to daddy during the dinner hour and boldly introduced him as a friend. the young doctor, having been forewarned, treated the situation admirably, took up a jaunty and jesting tone, and, finally, putting morals entirely aside, invited daddy to consider himself as a scientific case, and deal with himself as such for the benefit of knowledge.
-daddy was feeling ill and depressed; david struck him as an 'impudent varmint,' and the doctor as little better; but the lad's solicitude nevertheless flattered the old featherbrain, and in the end he fell into a burst of grandiloquent and self-excusing confidence. the doctor played him; prescribed; and when he and david left together it really seemed as though the old man from sheer curiosity about and interest in his own symptoms would probably make an attempt to follow the advice given him.
-dora came in while the three were still joking and discussing. her face clouded as she listened, and when david and the doctor left she gave them a cool and shrinking good bye which puzzled david.
-daddy, however, after a little while, mended considerably, developed an enthusiasm for his self-appointed doctor, and, what was still better, a strong excitement about his own affairs. when it came to the stage of a loan for the meeting of the more pressing liabilities, of fresh and ingenious efforts to attract customers, and of a certain gleam of returning prosperity, david's concern for his old friend very much dropped again. his former vivid interest in the human scene and the actors in it, as such, was not yet recovered; in these weeks weariness and lassitude overtook each reviving impulse and faculty in turn.
-he was becoming more and more absorbed, too, by the news from france. its first effect upon him was one of irritable repulsion. barbier and hugo had taught him to loathe the empire; and had not he and she read les chatiments together, and mocked the emperor's carriage as it passed them in the streets? the french telegrams in the english papers, with their accounts of the vapouring populace, the wild rhetoric in the chamber, and the general outburst of fanfaronnade, seemed to make the french nation one with the empire in its worst aspects, and, as we can all remember, set english teeth on edge. david devoured the papers day by day, and his antagonism grew, partly because, in spite of that strong gravitation of his mind towards things expansive, emotional, and rhetorical, the essential paste of him was not french but english--but mostly because of other and stronger reasons of which he was hardly conscious. during that fortnight of his agony in paris all that sympathetic bond between the great city and himself which had been the source of so much pleasure and excitement to him during his early days with elise had broken down. the glamour of happiness torn away, he had seen, beneath the paris of his dream, a greedy brutal paris from which his sick senses shrank in fear and loathing. the grace, the spell, was gone--he was alone and miserable!--and amid the gaiety, the materialism, the selfish vice of the place he had moved for days, an alien and an enemy, the love within him turning to hate.
-so now his mortal pain revenged itself. they would be beaten--this depraved and enervated people!--and his feverish heart rejoiced. but elise? his lips quivered. what did the war matter to her except so far as its inconveniences were concerned? what had la patrie any more than l'amour to do with art? he put the question to her in his wild evening walks. it angered him that as the weeks swept on, and the great thunderbolts began to fall--wissembourg, forbach, worth--his imagination would sometimes show her to him agitated and in tears. no pity for him! why this sorrow for france? absurd! let her go paint while the world loved and fought. in '48, while monarchy and republic were wrestling it out in the streets of paris, was not the landscape painter chintreuil quietly sketching all the time just outside one of the gates of the city? there was the artist for you.
-meanwhile the growing excitement of the war, heightened and poisoned by this reaction of his personality, combined with his painful efforts to recover his business to make him for a time more pale and gaunt than ever. ancrum remonstrated in vain. he would go his way.
-one evening--it was the day after worth--he was striding blindly up the oxford road when he ran against a man at the corner of a side street. it was barbier, coming out for the last news.
-barbier started, swore, caught him by the arm, then fell back in amazement.
-'c'est toi? bon dieu!'
-david, who had hitherto avoided his old companion with the utmost ingenuity, began hurriedly to inquire whether he was going to look at the evening's telegram.
-'yes--no--what matter? you can tell me. david, my lad, ancrum told me you had been ill, but--'
-the old man slipped his arm through that of the youth and looked at him fixedly. his own face was all furrowed and drawn, the eyes red.
-'oui; tu es change,' he said at last with a sudden quivering breath, almost a sob, 'like everything,--like the world!'
-and hanging down his head he drew the lad on, down the little street, towards his lodging.
-'come in! i'll ask no questions. oh, come in! i have the french papers; for three hours i have been reading them alone. come in or i shall go mad!'
-and they discussed the war, the political prospect, and barbier's french letters till nearly midnight. all the exile's nationality had revived, and so lost was he in weeping over france he had scarcely breath left wherewith to curse the empire. in the presence of a grief so true, so poignant, wherein all the man's little tricks and absurdities had for the moment melted out of sight, david's own seared and bitter feeling could find no voice. he said not a word that could jar on his old friend. and barbier, like a child, took his sympathy for granted and abused the 'heartless hypocritical' english press to him with a will.
-the days rushed on. david read the english papers in town, then walked up late to barbier's lodgings to read a french batch and talk. gravelotte was over, the siege was approaching. in that strange inner life of his, david with elise beside him looked on at the crashing trees in the bois de boulogne, at the long lines of carts laden with household stuff and fugitives from the zone militaire flocking into paris, at the soldiers and horses camping in the tuileries gardens, at the distant smoke-clouds amid the woods of issy and meudon, as village after village flamed to ruins.
-one night--it was a day or two after sedan--in a corner of the constitutionnel, he found a little paragraph:--
-'m. henri regnault and m. clairin, leaving their studio at tangiers to the care of the french consul, have returned to paris to offer themselves for military service, from which, as holder of the prix de rome, m. regnault is legally exempt. to praise such an act would be to insult its authors. france--our bleeding france!--does but take stern note that her sons are faithful.'
-david threw the paper down, made an excuse to barbier, and went out. he could not talk to barbier, to whom everything must be explained from the beginning, and his heart was full. he wandered out towards fallowfield under a moon which gave beauty and magic even to these low, begrimed streets, these jarring, incongruous buildings, thinking of regnault and that unforgotten night beside the seine. the young artist's passage through the louvre, the towering of his great head above the crowd in the 'trois rats,' and that outburst under the moonlight--everything, every tone, every detail, returned upon him.
-'the great france--the undying france--'
-and now for france--ah!--david divined the eagerness, the passion, with which it had been done. he was nearer to the artist than he had been two months before--nearer to all great and tragic things. his recognition of the fact had in it the start of a strange joy.
-so moved was he, and in such complex ways, that as he thought of regnault with that realising imagination which was his gift, the whole set of his feeling towards france and the war wavered and changed. the animosity, the drop of personal gall in his heart, disappeared, conjured by regnault's look, by regnault's act. the one heroic figure he had seen in france began now to stand to him for the nation. he walked home doing penance in his heart, passionately renewing the old love, the old homage, in this awful presence of a stricken people at bay.
-and elise came to him, in the moonlight, leaning upon him, with soft, approving eyes--
-ah! where was she--where--in this whirlwind of the national fate? where was her frail life hidden? was she still in this paris, so soon to be 'begirt with armies'?
-four days later barbier sent a note to ancrum: 'come and see me this afternoon at six o'clock. say nothing to grieve.'
-a couple of hours afterwards ancrum came slowly home to birmingham street, where he was still lodging. david had just put up the shop-shutters, john had departed, and his employer was about to retire to supper and his books in the back kitchen.
-ancrum went in and stood with his back to the fire which john had just made for the kettle and the minister's tea, when david came in with an armful of books and shut the door behind him. ancrum let him put down his cargo, and then walked up to him.
-'david,' he said, laying his hand with a timid gesture on the other's shoulder, 'barbier has had some letters from paris to-day--the last he will get probably--and among them a letter from his nephew.'
-david started, turned sharp round, shaking off the hand.
-'it contains some news which barbier thinks you ought to know. mademoiselle elise delaunay has married suddenly--married her cousin, mr. pimodan, a young doctor.'
-the shock blanched every atom of colour from david's face. he tried wildly to control himself, to brave it out with a desperate 'why not?' but speech failed him. he walked over to the mantelpiece and leant against it. the room swam with him, and the only impression of which for a moment or two he was conscious was that of the cheerful singing of the kettle.
-'she would not leave paris,' said ancrum in a low voice, standing beside him. 'people tried to persuade her--nothing would induce her. then this young man, who is said to have been in love with her for years, urged her to marry him--to accept his protection really, in view of all that might come. dubois thinks she refused several times, but anyway two days ago they were married, civilly, with only the legal witnesses.'
-david moved about the various things on the mantelpiece with restless fingers. then he straightened himself.
-'is that all?' he asked, looking at the minister.
-'all,' said ancrum, who had, of course, no intention of repeating any of dubois' playful embroideries on the facts. 'you will be glad, won't you, that she should have some one to protect her in such a strait?'--he added, after a minute's pause, his eyes on the fire.
-'yes,' said the other after a moment. 'thank you. won't you have your tea?'
-mr. ancrum swallowed his emotion, and they sat down to table in silence. david played with some food, took one thing up after another, laid it down, and at last sprang up and seized his hat.
-'going out again?' asked the minister, trembling, he knew not why.
-the lad muttered something. instinctively the little lame fellow, who was closest to the door, rushed to it and threw himself against it.
-'david, don't--don't go out alone--let me go with you!'
-'i want to go out alone,' said david, his lips shaking. 'why do you interfere with me?'
-'because--' and the short figure drew itself up, the minister's voice took a stern deep note, 'because when a man has once contemplated the sin of self-murder, those about him have no right to behave as though he were still like other innocent and happy people!'
-david stood silent a moment, every limb trembling. then his mouth set, and he made a step forward, one arm raised.
-'oh, yes!' cried ancrum, 'you may fling me out of the way. my weakness and deformity are no match for you. do, if you have the heart! do you think i don't know that i rescued you from despair--that i drew you out of the very jaws of death? do you think i don't guess that the news i have just given you wither the heart in your breast? you imagine, i suppose, that because i am deformed and a sunday-school teacher, because i think something of religion, and can't read your french books, i cannot enter into what a man is and feels. try me! when you were a little boy in my class, my life was already crushed in me--my tragedy was over. i have come close to passion and to sin; i'm not afraid of yours! you are alive here to-night, david grieve, because i went to look for you on the mountains--lost sheep that you were--and found you, by god's mercy. you never thanked me--i knew you couldn't. instead of your thanks i demand your confidence, here--now. break down this silence between us. tell me what you have done to bring your life to this pass. you have no father--i speak in his place and i deserve that you should trust and listen to me!'
-david looked at him with amazement--at the worn misshapen head thrown haughtily back--at the arms folded across the chest. then his pride gave way, and that intolerable smart within could no longer hide itself. his soul melted within him; tears began to rain over his cheeks. he tottered to the fire and sat down, instinctively spreading his hands to the blaze, that word 'father' echoing in his ears; and by midnight mr. ancrum knew all the story, or as much of it as man could to tell to man.
-from this night of confession and of storm there emerged at least one result--the beginnings of a true and profitable bond between david and ancrum. hitherto there had been expenditure of interest and affection on the minister's side, and a certain responsiveness and friendly susceptibility on david's; but no true understanding and contact, mind with mind. but in these agitated hours of such talk as belongs only to the rare crises of life, not only did ancrum gain an insight into david's inmost nature, with all its rich, unripe store of feelings and powers, deeper than any he had possessed before, but david, breaking through the crusts of association, getting beyond and beneath the sunday-school teacher and minister, came for the first time upon the real man in his friend, apart from trappings--cast off the old sense of pupilage, and found a brother instead of a monitor.
-there came a moment when ancrum, laying his hand on david's knee, told his own story in a few bare sentences, each of them, as it were, lightning on a dark background, revealing some few things with a ghastly plainness, only to let silence and mystery close again upon the whole. and there came another moment when the little minister, carried out of himself, fell into incoherent sentences, full of obscurity, yet often full of beauty, in which for the first time david came near to the living voice of religion speaking in its purest, intensest note. christ was the burden of it all; the religion of pain, sacrifice, immortality; the religion of chastity and self-repression.
-'but you don't admit the sin? a man has a right to the satisfaction of his own instincts. you asked a free consent and got it. what is law but a convention for miserable people who don't know how to love? who was injured?
-'david, that's the question of a fool. were you and she the first man and woman in the world that ever loved? that's always the way; each man imagines the matter is still for his deciding, and he can no more decide it than he can tamper with the fact that fire burns or water drowns. all these centuries the human animal has fought with the human soul. and step by step the soul has registered her victories. she has won them only by feeling for the law and finding it--uncovering, bringing into light, the firm rocks beneath her feet. and on these rocks she rears her landmarks--marriage, the family, the state, the church. neglect them, and you sink into the quagmire from which the soul of the race has been for generations struggling to save you. dispute them! overthrow them--yes, if you can! you have about as much chance with them as you have with the other facts and laws amid which you live--physical or chemical or biological.
-'i speak after the manner of men. if i were to speak after the manner of a christian, i should say other things. i should ask how a man dare pluck from the lord's hand, for his own wild and reckless use, a soul and body for which he died; how he, the lord's bondsman, dare steal his joy, carrying it off by himself into the wilderness, like an animal his prey, instead of asking it at the hands, and under the blessing, of his master; how he dare--a man under orders, and member of the lord's body--forget the whole in his greed for the one--eternity in his thirst for the present.'
-'but no matter. christ is nothing to you, nor scripture, nor the church--'
-the minister broke off abruptly, his lined face working with emotion and prayer. david said nothing. in this stage of the conversation--the stage, as it were, of judgment and estimate--he could take no part. the time for it with him had not yet come. he had exhausted all his force in the attempt to explain himself--an attempt which began in fragmentary question and answer, and ended on his part in the rush of a confidence, an 'apologia,' representing, in truth, that first reflex action of the mind upon experience, whence healing and spiritual growth were ultimately to issue. but for the moment he could carry the process no farther. he sat crouched over the flickering fire, saying nothing, letting ancrum soliloquise as he pleased. his mind surged to and fro, indeed, as ancrum talked between the poles of repulsion and response. his nature was not as ancrum's, and every now and then the quick critical intellect flashed through his misery, detecting an assumption, probing an hypothesis. but in general his feeling gave way more and more. that moral sensitiveness in him which in its special nature was a special inheritance, the outcome of a long individualist development under the conditions of english protestantism, made him from the first the natural prey of ancrum's spiritual passion. as soon as a true contact between them was set up, david began to feel the religious temper and life in ancrum draw him like a magnet. not the forms of the thing, but the thing itself. in it, or something like it, as he listened, his heart suspected, for the first time, the only possible refuge from the agony of passion, the only possible escape from this fever of desire, jealousy, and love, in which he was consumed.
-from that waking david rose and went about his work another man. as he moved about in the shop or in the streets, he was conscious of a gulf between his present self and his self of yesterday, which he could hardly explain. simply the whole atmosphere and temperature of the soul was other, was different. he could have almost supposed that some process had gone on within him during the unconsciousness of sleep, of which he was now feeling the results; which had carried him on, without his knowing it, to a point in the highroad of life, far removed from that point where he had stood when his talk with ancrum began. that world of enervating illusion, that 'kind of ghastly dreaminess, 'as john sterling called it, in which since his return he had lived with elise, was gone, he knew not how--swept away like a cloud from the brain, a mist from the eyes. the sense of catastrophe, of things irrevocable and irreparable, the premature ageing of the whole man, remained-only the fever and the restlessness were past. memory, indeed, was not affected. in some sort the scenes of his french experience would be throughout his life a permanent element in consciousness; but the persons concerned in them were dead-creatures of the past. he himself had been painfully re-born, and pimodan's wife had no present personal existence for him. he turned himself deliberately to his old life, and took up the interests of it again one by one, but, as he soon discovered, with an insight, a power, a comprehension which had never yet been his. a moral and spiritual life destined to a rich development practically began for him with this winter--this awful winter of the agony of france.
-his thoughts were often occupied now with louie, but in a saner way. he could no longer, without morbidness, take on himself the whole responsibility of her miserable marriage. human beings after all are what they make themselves. but the sense of his own share in it, and the perception of what her future life was likely to be, made him steadily accept beforehand the claims upon him which she was sure to press.
-he had written to her early in september, when the siege was imminent, offering her money to bring her to england, and the protection of his roof during the rest of the war. and by a still later post than that which brought the news of elise's marriage arrived a scrawl from louie, written from a country town near toulouse, whither she and montjoie had retreated--apparently the sculptor's native place.
-the letter was full of complaints--complaints of the war, which was being mismanaged by a set of rogues and fools who deserved stringing to the nearest tree; complaints of her husband, who was a good-for-nothing brute; and complaints of her own health. she was expecting her confinement in the spring; if she got through it--which was not likely, considering the way in which she was treated--she should please herself about staying with such a man. he should not keep her for a day if she wanted to go. meanwhile david might send her any money he could spare. there was not much of the six hundred left--that she could tell him; and she could not even screw enough for baby-clothes out of her husband. very likely there would not be enough to pay for a nurse when her time came. well, then she would be out of it--and a good job too.
-she wished to be remembered to dora; and dora was especially to be told again that she needn't suppose st. damian's was a patch on the real catholic churches, because it wasn't. she--louie--had been at the midnight mass in toulouse cathedral on christmas eve. that was something like. and down in the crypt they had a 'bethlehem'--the sweetest thing you ever saw. there were the shepherds, and the wise men, and the angels--dolls, of course, but their dresses were splendid, and the little jesus was dressed in white satin, embroidered with gold--old embroidery, tell dora.
-to this david had replied at once, sending money he could ill spare, and telling her to keep him informed of her whereabouts.
-but the months passed on, and no more news arrived. he wrote again via bordeaux, but with no result, and could only wait patiently till that eagle's grip, in which all french life was stifled, should be loosened.
-meanwhile his relation to another human being, whose life had been affected by the french episode, passed into a fresh phase. two days after the news of elise's marriage had reached him, he and john had just shut up the shop, and the young master was hanging over the counter under the gas, heavily conning a not very satisfactory business account.
-john came in, took his hat and stick from a corner, and threw david a gruff 'good night.'
-something in the tone struck david's sore nerves like a blow. he turned abruptly--
-'look here, john! i can't stand this kind of thing much longer. hadn't we better part? you've learnt a lot here, and i'll see you get a good place. you--you rub it in too long!'
-john stood still, his big rough hands beginning to shake, his pink cheeks turning a painful crimson.
-'you--you never said a word to me!' he flung out at last, incoherently, resentfully.
-'said a word to you? what do you mean? i told you the truth, and i would have told you more, if you hadn't turned against me as though i had been the devil himself. do you suppose you are the only person who came to grief because of that french time? good god!'
-the last words came out with a low exasperation. the young man leant against the counter, looking at his assistant with bitter, indignant eyes.
-john first shrank from them, then his own were drawn to meet them. even his slow perceptions, thus challenged, realised something of the truth. he gave way--as david might have made him give way long before, if his own misery had not made him painfully avoid any fresh shock of speech.
-'well!' said john, slowly, with a mighty effort; 'i'll not lay it agen you any more. i'll say that. but if you want to get rid of me, you can. only you'll be put to 't wi' t' printing.'
-the two young fellows surveyed each other. then suddenly david said, pushing him to the door:
-'you're a great ass, john--get out, and good night to you.'
-but next day the atmosphere was cleared, and, with inexpressible relief on both sides, the two fell back into the old brotherly relation. poor john! he kept an old photograph of louie in a drawer at his lodging, and, when he came home to bed, would alternately weep over and denounce it. but, all the same, his interest in david's printing ventures was growing keener and keener, and whenever business had been particularly exciting during the day, the performance with the photograph was curtailed or omitted at night. let no scorn, however, be thought, on that account, of the true passion!--which had thriven on unkindness, and did but yield to the slow mastery of time.
-the war thundered on. to manchester, and to the cotton and silk industries of lancashire generally, the tragedy of france meant on the whole a vast boom in trade. so many french rivals crippled--so much ground set free for english enterprise to capture--and, meanwhile, high profits for a certain number at least of manchester and macclesfield merchants, and brisk wages for the lancashire operatives, especially for the silk-weavers. this, with of course certain drawbacks and exceptions, was the aspect under which the war mainly presented itself to lancashire. meanwhile, amid these teeming manchester streets with their clattering lurries and overflowing warehouses, there was at least one englishman who took the war hardly, in whom the spectacle of its wreck and struggle roused a feeling which was all moral, human, disinterested.
-what was regnault doing? david kept a watch on the newspapers, of which the free library offered him an ample store; but there was no mention of him in the english press that he could discover, and barbier, of course, got nothing now from paris.
-christmas was over. the last month of the siege, that hideous january of frost and fire, rushed past, with its alternations of famine within and futile battle without--europe looking on appalled at this starved and shivering paris, into which the shells were raining. at last--the 27th!--the capitulation! all was over; the german was master in europe, and france lay at the feet of her conqueror.
-out to all parts streamed the letters which had been so long delayed. barbier and david, walking together one bitter evening towards barbier's lodgings, silent, with hanging heads, met the postman on barbier's steps, who held out a packet. the frenchman took it with a cry; the two rushed upstairs and fell upon the letters and papers it contained.
-there--while barbier sat beside him, groaning over the conditions of peace, over the enthronement of the emperor-king at versailles, within sight of the statue of louis quatorze, now cursing 'ces imbéciles du gouvernement!' and now wiping the tears from his old cheeks with a trembling hand--david read the news of the fight of buzenval, and the death of regnault.
-it seemed to him that he had always foreseen it--that from the very beginning regnault's image in his thought had been haloed with a light of tragedy and storm--a light of death. his eyes devoured the long memorial article in which a friend of regnault's had given the details of his last months of life. barbier, absorbed in his own grief, heard not a sound from the corner where his companion sat crouched beneath the gas.
-everything--the death and the manner of it--was to him, as it were, in the natural order--fitting, right, such as might have been expected. his heart swelled to bursting as he read, but his eyes were dry.
-this, briefly, was the story which he read.
-in november he painted his last three water-colours--visions of the east, painted for her, and as flower-bright as possible, 'because flowers were scarce' in the doomed city.
-december came. regnault spent christmas night at the advanced post of colombes. his captain wished to make him an officer. 'thanks, my captain,' said the young fellow of twenty-three; 'but if you have a good soldier in me, why exchange him for an indifferent officer? my example will be of more use to you than my commission.' meanwhile the days and nights were passed in arctic cold. men were frozen to death round about him; his painter's hand was frostbitten. 'oh! i can speak with authority on cold!' he wrote to his fiancee; 'this morning at least i know what it is to spend the night on the hard earth exposed to a glacial wind. enough! je me rechaufferai a votre foyer. i love you--i love my country--that sustains. adieu!'
-on the 17th, after a few days in paris spent with her and some old friends, he was again ordered to the front. on thursday the fight at buzenval began with a brilliant success; in the middle of the day his fiancee still had news of him, brought by a servant. night fell. the battle was hottest in a wood adjoining the park of buzenval. regnault and his painter-comrade clairin were side by side. suddenly the retreat was sounded, and the same instant clairin missed his friend. he sought him with frenzy amid the trees in the darkening wood, called to him, peered into the faces of the dying--no answer! ah! he must have been swept backwards by the rush of the retreat--clairin will find him again.
-three days later the lost was found--one among two hundred corpses of national guards carted into pere lachaise. clairin, mad with grief, held his friend in his arms--held, kissed the beautiful head, now bruised and stained past even her knowing, with its bullet-wound in the temple.
-on his breast was found a medal with a silver tear hanging from it. she who had long worn it as a symbol of bereavement, in memory of dear ones lost to her, had given it to him in her first joy. 'i will reclaim it,' she had said, smiling, 'the first time you make me weep!' it was all that was brought back to her--all except a scrawled paper found in his pocket, containing some hurried and almost illegible words, written perhaps beside his outpost fire.
-'we have lost many men--we must remake them--better--stronger. the lesson should profit us. no more lingering amid facile pleasures! who dare now live for himself alone? it has been for too long the custom with us to believe in nothing but enjoyment and all bad passions. we have prided ourselves on despising everything good and worthy. no more of such contempt!'
-then--so the story ended--four days later, on the very day of the capitulation of paris, regnault was carried to his last rest. a figure in widow's dress walked behind. and to many standing by, amid the muffled roll of the drums and the wailing of the music, it was as though france herself went down to burial with her son.
-david got up gently and went across to barbier, who was sitting with his letters and papers before him, staring and stupefied, the lower jaw falling, in a trance of grief.
-the young man put down the newspaper he had been reading in front of the old man.
-'read that some time; it will give you something to be proud of. i told you i knew him--he was kind to me.'
-barbier nodded, not understanding, and sought for his spectacles with shaking fingers. david quietly went out.
-he walked home in a state of exaltation like a man still environed with the emotion of great poetry or great music. he said very little about regnault in the days that followed to ancrum or barbier, even to dora, with whom every week his friendship was deepening. but the memory of the dead man, as it slowly shaped itself in his brooding mind, became with him a permanent and fruitful element of thought. very likely the regnault whom he revered, whose name was henceforth a sacred thing to him, was only part as it were of the real regnault. he saw the french artist with an englishman's eyes--interpreted him in english ways--the ways, moreover, of a consciousness self-taught and provincial, however gifted and flexible. only one or two aspects, no doubt, of that rich, self-tormented nature, reared amid the most complex movements of european intelligence, were really plain to him. and those aspects were specially brought home to him by his own mental condition. no matter. broadly, essentially, he understood.
-but thenceforward, just as elise delaunay had stood to him in the beginning for french art and life, and that ferment in himself which answered to them, so now in her place stood regnault with those stern words upon his young and dying lips--'we have lost many men--we must remake them--better! henceforward let no one dare live unto himself.' the englishman took them into his heart, that ethical fibre in him, which was at last roused and dominant, vibrating, responding. and as the poignant images of death and battle faded he saw his hero always as he had seen him last--young, radiant, vigorous, pointing to the dawn behind notre-dame.
-all life looked differently to david this winter. he saw the manchester streets and those who lived in them with other perceptions. his old political debating interests, indeed, were comparatively slack; but persons--men and women, and their stories--for these he was instinctively on the watch. his eye noticed the faces he passed as it had never yet done--divined in them suffering, or vice, or sickness. all that he saw at this moment he saw tragically. the doors set open about him were still, as keats, himself hurried to his end by an experience of passion, once expressed it, 'all dark,' and leading to darkness. there were times when dora's faith and ancrum's mysticism drew him irresistibly; other times when they were almost as repulsive to him as they had ever been, because they sounded to him like the formula of people setting out to explain the world 'with a light heart,' as ollivier had gone to war.
-but whether or no it could be explained, this world, he could not now help putting out his hand to meddle with and mend it; his mind fed on its incidents and conditions. the mill-girls standing on the ancoats pavements; the drunken lurryman tottering out from the public-house to his lurry under the biting sleet of february; the ragged barefoot boys and girls swarming and festering in the slums; the young men struggling all about him for subsistence and success--these for the first time became realities to him, entered into that pondering of 'whence and whither' to which he had been always destined, and whereon he was now consciously started.
-and as the months went on, his attention was once more painfully caught and held by dora's troubles and daddy's infirmities. for daddy's improvement was short-lived. a bad relapse came in november; things again went downhill fast; the loan contracted in the summer had to be met, and under the pressure of it daddy only became more helpless and disreputable week by week. and now, when doctor mildmay went to see him, daddy, crouching over the fire, pretended to be deaf, and 'soft' besides. nothing could be got out of him except certain grim hints that his house was his own till he was turned out of it. 'looks pretty bad this time,' said the doctor to david once as he came out discomfited. 'after all, there's not much hope when the craving returns on a man of his age, especially after some years' interval.'
-daddy would sometimes talk frankly enough to david. at such times his language took an exasperating shakespearean turn. he was abominably fond of posing as lear or jaques--as a man much buffeted, and acquainted with all the ugly secrets of life. purcell stood generally for 'the enemy;' and to purcell his half-mad fancy attributed most of his misfortunes. it was purcell who had undermined his business, taken away his character, and driven him back to drink. david did not believe much of it, and told him so. then, roused to wrath, the young man would speak his mind plainly as to dora's sufferings and dora's future. but to very little purpose.
-'aye, you're right--you're right enough,' said the old man to him on one of these occasions, with a wild, sinister look. 'cordelia'll hang for 't. if you want to do her any good, you must turn old lear out--send him packing, back to the desert where he was before. there's elbow-room there!'
-david looked up startled. the thin bronzed face had a restless flutter in it. before he could reply daddy had laid a hand on his shoulder.
-'davy, why don't you drink?'
-'what do you mean?' said the young man, flushing.
-'davy, you've been as close as wax; but daddy can see a thing or two when he chooses. ah, you should drink, my lad. let people prate--why shouldn't a man please himself? it's not the beastly liquor--that's the worst part of it--it's the dreams, my lad, "the dreams that come." they say ether does the business cheapest. a teaspoonful--and you can be alternately in paradise and the gutter four times a day. but the fools here don't know how to mix it.'
-as he spoke the door opened, and there stood dora on the threshold. she had just come back from a lenten service; her little worn prayer-book was in her hand. she stood trembling, looking at them both--at david's tight, indignant lips--at her father's excitement.
-daddy's eye fell on her prayer-book, and david, looking up, saw a quick cloud of distaste, aversion, pass over his weird face.
-she put out some supper, and pressed david to stay. he did so in the vain hope of keeping daddy at home. but the old vagrant was too clever for both of them. when david at last got up to go, daddy accompanied him downstairs, and stood in the doorway looking up market place till david had disappeared in the darkness. then with a soft and cunning hand he drew the door to behind him, and stood a moment lifting his face to the rack of moonlit cloud scudding across the top of the houses opposite. as he did so, he drew a long breath, with the gesture of one to whom the wild airs of that upper sky, the rush of its driving wind, were stimulus and delight. then he put down his head and stole off to the right, towards the old white inn in hanging ditch, while dora was still listening in misery for his return step upon the stairs.
-a week later dora, not knowing how the restaurant could be kept going any longer, and foreseeing utter bankruptcy and ruin as soon as the shutters should be up, took her courage in both hands, swallowed all pride, and walked up to half street to beg help of purcell. after all he was her mother's brother. in spite of that long feud between him and daddy, he would surely, for his own credit's sake, help them to escape a public scandal. for all his rodomontade, daddy had never done him any real harm that she could remember.
-so she opened the shop door in half street, quaking at the sound of the bell she set in motion, and went in.
-twenty minutes afterwards she came out again, looking from side to side like a hunted creature, her veil drawn close over her face. she fled on through market place, across market street and st. ann's square, and through the tall dark warehouse streets beyond--drawn blindly towards potter street and her only friend.
-there she leant against the mantelpiece, shaking from head to foot, and wiping away her tears. he soon gathered that she had been to purcell, and that purcell had dismissed her appeal with every circumstance of cold and brutal insult. the sooner her father was in the workhouse or the lunatic asylum, and she in some nunnery or other, the sooner each would be in their right place. he was a vagabond, and she a papist--let them go where they belonged. he was not going to spend a farthing of his hard-earned money to help either of them to impose any further on the world. and then he let fall a word or two which showed her that he had probably been at the bottom of some merciless pressure lately applied to them by one or two of their chief creditors. the bookseller's hour was come, and he was looking on at the hewing of his agag with the joy of the righteous. so might the lord avenge him of all his enemies.
-dora could hardly give an account of it. the naked revelation of purcell's hate, of so hard and vindictive a soul, had worked upon her like some physical horror. she had often suspected the truth, but now that it was past doubting, the moral shock was terrible to this tender mystical creature, whose heart by day and night lived a hidden life with the crucified and with his saints. oh, how could he, how could anyone, be so cruel? her father getting an old man! and she, who had never quarrelled with him--who had nursed lucy! so she wailed, gradually recovering her poor shaken soul--calming it, indeed, all the while out of sight, with quick piteous words of prayer and submission.
-david stood by, pale with rage and sympathy. but what could he do? he was himself in the midst of a hard struggle, and had neither money nor credit available. they parted at last, with the understanding that he was to go and consult ancrum, and that she was to go to her friends at st. damian's.
-till now poor dora had carefully refrained from bringing her private woes into relation with her life in and through st. damian's. within that enchanted circle, she was another being with another existence. there she had never asked anything for herself, except the pardon and help of god, before his altar, and through his priests. rather she had given--given all that she had--her time, such as she could spare from daddy and her work, to the sunday-school and the sick; her hard-won savings on her clothes, and on the extra work, for which she would often sit up night after night when daddy believed her asleep, to the poor and to the services of the church. there she had a position, almost an authority of her own--the authority which comes of self-spending. but now this innocent pride must be humbled. for the sake of her father, and of those to whom they owed money they could not pay, she must go and ask--beg instead of giving. all she wanted was time. her embroidery work was now better paid than ever. if the restaurant were closed she could do more of it. in the end she believed she could pay everybody. but she must have time. yes, she would go to father vernon that night! he would understand, even if he could not help her.
-alas! next morning david was just going out to dinner, when a message was brought him from market place. he started off thither at a run, and found a white and gasping dora wandering restlessly up and down the upper room; while sarah, the old lancashire cook, very red and very tearful, followed her about trying to administer consolation. daddy had disappeared. after coming in about eleven the night before and going noisily to his room--no doubt for the purpose of deluding dora--he must have stolen down again and made off without being either seen or heard by anybody. even the policeman on duty in market place had noticed nothing. he had taken what was practically the only money left them in the world--about twenty pounds--from dora's cashbox, and some clothes, packing these last in a knapsack which still remained to him from the foreign tramps of years before.
-the efforts made by dora, david, and ancrum, whom david called in to help, to track the fugitive, were quite useless. daddy had probably disguised himself, for he had all the tricks of the adventurer, and could 'make up' in former days so as to deceive even his own wife.
-strange outbreak of a secret ineradicable instinct! he had been dora's for twenty years. but life with her at leicester, and during their first years at manchester, had thriven too evenly, and in the end the old wanderer had felt his blood prick within him, and the mania of his youth revive. his business had grown hateful to him; it was probably the comparative monotony of success which had first reawakened the travel-hunger--then restlessness, conflict, leading to drink, and, finally, escape.
-'he will come back, you know,' said dora one night, sharply, to david. 'he served my mother so many times. but he always came back.'
-they were sitting together in the shuttered and dismantled restaurant. there was to be a sale on the premises on the morrow, and the lower room had that day been filled with all the 'plant' of the restaurant, and all or almost all the poor household stuff from upstairs. it was an odd, ramshackle collection; and poor dora, who had been walking round looking at the auction tickets, was realising with a sinking heart how much debt the sale would still leave unprovided for. but she had found friends. father vernon had met the creditors for her. there had been a composition, and she had insisted upon working off to the best of her power whatever sum might remain after the possession and goodwill had been sold. she could live on a crust, and she was sure of continuous work both for the great church-furniture shop in manchester which had hitherto employed her and also for the newly established school of art needlework at kensington. as an embroideress there were few more delicately trained eyes and defter hands than hers in england.
-when she spoke of her father's coming back, david was seized with pity. she could not sit down in these days when her work was out of her hands. perpetual movement seemed her only relief. the face, that seemed so featureless but was so expressive, had lost its sweet, shining look; the mouth had the pucker of pain; and she had piteous startled ways quite unlike her usual soft serenity.
-'oh, yes, he will come back--some time,' he said, to comfort her.
-'i don't doubt that--never. but i wonder how he could go like that--how he had the heart! i did think he cared for me. i wasn't ever nasty to him--at least, i don't remember. perhaps he thought i was. but only we two--and always together--since mother died!'
-she began to tidy some of the lots, to tie some of the bundles of odds and ends together more securely--talking all the while in a broken way. she was evidently bewildered and at sea. if she could have remembered any misconduct of her own, it seemed to david, it would have been a relief to her. her faith taught her that love was all-powerful--but it had availed her nothing!
-the sale came; and the goodwill of the parlour was sold to a man who was to make a solid success of what with daddy had been a half-crazy experiment.
-dora went to live in ancoats, that teeming, squalid quarter which lies but a stone's-throw from the principal thoroughfares and buildings of manchester, and in its varieties of manufacturing life and population presents types which are all its own. here are the cotton operatives who work the small proportion of mills still remaining within the bounds of manchester--the spinners, minders, reelers, reed-makers, and the rest; here are the calico-printers and dyers, the warehousemen and lurrymen; and here too are the sellers of 'fents,' and all the other thousand and one small trades and occupations which live on and by the poor. the quarter has one broad thoroughfare or lung, which on a sunny day is gay, sightly, and alive; then to north and south diverge the innumerable low red-brick streets where the poor live and work; which have none, however, of the trim uniformity which belongs to the workers' quarters of the factory towns pure and simple. manchester in its worst streets is more squalid, more haphazard, more nakedly poor even than london. yet, for all that, manchester is a city with a common life, which london is not. the native lancashire element, lost as it is beneath many supervening strata, is still there and powerful; and there are strong well-defined characteristic interests and occupations which bind the whole together.
-here dora settled with a st. damian's girl friend, a shirt-maker. they lived over a sweetshop, in two tiny rooms, in a street even more miscellaneous and half-baked than its neighbours. outside was ugliness; inside, unremitting labour. but dora soon made herself almost happy. by various tender shifts she had saved out of the wreck in market place daddy's bits of engravings and foreign curiosities, his swiss carvings and shells, his skins and stuffed birds; very moth-eaten and melancholy these last, but still safe. there, too, was his chair; it stood beside the fire; he had but to come back to it. many a time in the week did she suddenly rise that she might go to the door and listen; or crane her head out of window, agitated by a figure, a sound, as her mother had done before her.
-then her religious life was free to expand as it had never been yet. very soon, in passion week, she and her friend had gathered a prayer-meeting of girls, hands from the mill at the end of the street. they came for twenty minutes in the dinner-hour, delicate-faced comely creatures many of them, with their shawls over their heads: dora prayed and sang with them, a soft tremulous passion in every word and gesture. they thought her a saint--began to tell her their woes and their sins. in the evenings and on sunday she lived in the coloured and scented church, with its plaintive music, its luminous altar, its suggestions both of a great encompassing church order of undefined antiquity and infinite future, and of a practical system full of support for individual weakness and guidance for the individual will. the beauty of the ceremonial appealed to those instincts in her which found other expression in her glowing embroideries; and towards the church order, with its symbols, observances, mysteries, the now solitary girl felt a more passionate adoration, a more profound humility, than ever before. nothing too much could be asked of her. during lent, but for the counsels of father russell himself, a shrewd man, well aware that st. damian's represented the one anglican oasis in an incorrigibly moderate manchester, even her serviceable and elastic strength would have given way, so hard she was to that poor 'sister the body,' which so many patient ages have gone to perfect and adjust.
-half of the romance, the poetry of her life, lay here; the other half in her constant expectation of her father, and in the visits of david grieve. once a week at least david mounted to the little room where the two girls sat working; sometimes now, oh joy! he went to church with her; sometimes he made her come out to eccles, or cheadle, or the irwell valley for a walk. she used various maidenly arts and self-restraints to prevent scandal. at home she never saw him alone, and she now never went to potter street. still, out of doors they were often alone. there was no concealment, and the persons who took notice assumed that they were keeping company and going to be married. when such things were said to dora she met them with a sweet and quiet denial, at first blushing, then with no change at all of look or manner.
-yet the girl who lived with her knew that the first sound of david's rap on the door below sent a tremor through the figure beside her, that the slight hand would go up instinctively to the coiled hair, straightening and pinning, and that the smiling, listening, sometimes disputing dora who talked with david grieve was quite different from the dreamy and ascetic dora who sat beside her all day.
-why did david go? as a matter of fact, with every month of this winter and spring, dora's friendship became more necessary to him. all the brotherly feeling he would once so willingly have spent on louie, he now spent on dora. she became in truth a sister to him. he talked to her as he would have done to louie had she been like dora. no other relationship ever entered his mind; and he believed that he was perfectly understood and met in the same way.
-both often spoke of lucy, towards whom david in this new and graver temper felt both kindly and gratefully. she, poor child, wrote to dora from time to time letters full of complaints of her father and of his tyranny in keeping her away from manchester. he indeed seemed to have taken a morbid dislike to his daughter, and what company he wanted he got from the widow, whom yet he had never made up his mind to marry. lucy chafed and rebelled against the perpetual obstacles he placed in the way of her returning home, but he threatened to make her earn her own living if she disobeyed him, and in the end she always submitted. she poured herself out bitterly, however, to dora, and dora was helplessly sorry for her, feeling that her idle wandering life with the various aunts and cousins she boarded with was excessively bad for her--seeing that lucy was not of the stuff to fashion new duties or charities for herself out of new relations--and that the small, vain, and yet affectionate nature ran an evil chance of ultimate barrenness and sourness.
-but what could she do? in every letter there was some mention of david grieve or request for news about him. about the visit to paris dora had written discreetly, telling only what she knew, and nothing of what she guessed. in reality, as the winter passed on, dora watched him more and more closely, waiting for the time when that french mystery, whatever it was, should have ceased to overshadow him, and she might once more scheme for lucy. he must marry--that she knew!--whatever he might think. anyone could see that, with the returning spring, in spite of her friendship and ancrum's, he felt his loneliness almost intolerable. it was clear, too, as his manhood advanced, that he was naturally drawn to women, naturally dependent on them. in spite of his great intelligence, to her so formidable and mysterious, dora had soon recognised, as elise had done, the eager, clinging, confiding temper of his youth. and beneath the transformation of passion and grief it was still there--to be felt moving often like a wounded thing.
-it was a showery april evening. but as it was also a saturday, manchester took no heed at all of the weather. the streets were thronged. all the markets were ablaze with light, and full of buyers. in market place, dora's old home, the covered glass booths beside the pavement brought the magic of the spring into the very heart of the black and swarming town, for they were a fragrant show of daffodils, hyacinths, primroses, and palms. their lights shone out into the rainy mist of the air, on the glistening pavements, and on the faces of the cheerful chattering crowd, to which the shawled heads so common among the women gave the characteristic lancashire touch. above rose the dark tower of the exchange; on one side was the parlour, still dedicated to the kindly diet of corn--and fruit-eating men, but repainted, and launched on a fresh career of success by daddy's successor; on the other, the gabled and bulging mass of the old fishing-tackle house, with a lively fish and oyster traffic surging in the little alleys on either side of it.
-market street, too, was thronged. in the great cheap shop at the head of it, aflame with lights from top to base, you could see the buyers story after story, swarming like bees in a glass hive. farther on in the wide space of the infirmary square, the omnibuses gathered, and a detachment of redcoats just returned from rifle-practice on the moors crowded the pavement outside the hospital, amid an admiring escort of the youth of manchester, while their band played lustily.
-but especially in peter street, the street of the great public halls and principal theatres, was manchester alive and busy. nilsson was singing at the 'royal,' and the rich folk were setting down there in their broughams and landaus. but in the great free trade hall there was a performance of 'judas maccabeus' given by the manchester philharmonic society, and the vast place, filled from end to end with shilling and two-shilling seats, was crowded with the 'people.' it was a purely local scene, unlike anything of the same kind in london, or any other capital. the performers on the platform were well known to manchester, unknown elsewhere; manchester took them at once critically and affectionately, remembering their past, looking forward to their future; the society was one of which the town was proud; the conductor was a character, and popular; and half the audience at least was composed of the relations and friends of the chorus. most people had a 'susan,' an 'alice,' or a 'william' making signs to them at intervals from the orchestra; and when anything went particularly well, and the applause was loud, the friends of susan or alice beamed with a proprietary pride.
-looking down upon this friendly cheerful throng sat david grieve, high up in the balcony. it had been his wont of late to frequent these cheap concerts, where as a rule, owing to the greater musical sensitiveness of the english north as compared with the south, the music is singularly good. during the past winter, indeed, music might almost be said to have become part of his life. he had no true musical gift, but in the paralysis of many of his natural modes of expression which had overtaken him music supplied a need. in it he at least, and at this moment, found a voice and an emotion not too personal or poignant. he lost himself in it, and was soothed.
-towards the beginning of the last part he suddenly with a start recognised lucy purcell in the body of the hall. she was sitting with friends whom he did not know, staring straight before her. he bent forward and looked at her carefully. in a minute or two he decided that she was looking tired, cross, and unhappy, and that she was not attending to the music at all.
-so at last her father had let her come home. as to her looks, to be daughter to purcell was to be sure of disagreeable living; and perhaps her future stepmother had been helping purcell to annoy her.
-poor little thing! david felt a strong wish to speak to her after the performance. meanwhile he tried to attract her attention, but in vain. it seemed to him that she looked right along the bench on which he sat; but there was no flash in her face; it remained as tired and frowning as before.
-he ran downstairs before the end of the last chorus, and placed himself near the door by which he felt sure she would come out. he was just in time. she and her party also came out early before the rush. there was a sudden crowd of people in the doorway, and then he heard a little cry. lucy stood before him, flushed, pulling at her glove, and saying something incoherent. but before he could understand she had turned back to the two women who accompanied her and spoken to them quickly; the elder replied, with a sour look at david; the younger laughed behind her muff. lucy turned away wilfully, and at that instant the crowd from within, surging outwards, swept them away from her, and she and david found themselves together.
-'come down those steps there to the right,' she said peremptorily. 'they are going the other way.'
-by this time david himself was red. she hurried him into the street, however, and then he saw that she was breathing hard, and that her hands were clasped together as though she were trying to restrain herself.
-'oh, i am so unhappy!' she burst out, 'so unhappy! and it was all, you know, to begin with, because of you, mr. grieve! but oh! i forgot you'd been ill--you look so different!'
-she paused suddenly, while over her face there passed an expression half startled, half shrinking, as of one who speaks familiarly, as he supposes, to an old friend and finds a stranger. she could not take her eyes off him. what was this new dignity, this indefinable change of manner?
-'i am not different,' he said hastily, 'not in the least. so your father has never forgiven you the kindness you did me? i don't know what to say, miss lucy. i'm both sorry and ashamed.'
-'forgiven it!--no, nor ever will,' she said shortly, walking on, and forgetting everything but her woes. 'oh, do listen! come up oxford street. i must tell some one, or i shall die! i must see dora. father's forbidden me to go, and i haven't had a moment to myself yet. she hasn't written to me since she left the parlour, and no one'll tell me where she is. and that odious woman! oh, she is an abominable wretch! she wants to claim all my things--all the bits of things that were mother's, and i have always counted mine. she won't let me take any of them away. and she's stolen a necklace of mine--yes, mr. grieve, stolen it. i don't care that about it--not in itself; but to have your things taken out of your drawers without "with your leave" or "by your leave"!--she's made father worse than ever. i thought he had found her out, but he is actually going to marry her in july, and they won't let me live at home unless i make a solemn promise to "perform my religious duties" and behave properly to the chapel people. and i never will, not if i starve for it--nasty, canting, crawling, backbiting things! then father says i can live away, and he'll make me an allowance. and what do you think he'll allow me?'
-she faced round upon him with curving lip and eyes aflame. david averred truly that he could not guess.
-'thirty--pounds--a--year!' she said with vicious emphasis. 'there--would you believe it? if you put a dirty little chit of a nurse-girl on board wages, it would come to more than that. and he just bought three houses in millgate, and as rich as anything! oh, it's shameful, i call it, shameful!'
-she put her handkerchief to her eyes. then she quickly withdrew it again and turned to him, remembering how his first aspect had surprised her. in the glare of some shops they were passing david could see her perfectly, and she him. certainly, in the year which had elapsed since they had met she had ripened, or rather softened, into a prettier girl. whether it was the milder southern climate in which she had been living, or the result of physical weakness left by her attack of illness in the preceding spring, at any rate her bloom was more delicate, the lines of her small, pronounced face more finished and melting. as for her, now that she had paused a moment in her flow of complaint, she was busy puzzling out the change in him. david became vaguely conscious of it, and tried to set her off again.
-'but you'd rather live away,' he said, 'when they treat you like that? you'd rather be independent, i should think? i would!'
-'oh, catch me living with that woman!' she cried passionately.' she's no better than a thief, a common thief. i don't care who hears me. and made up! oh, its shocking! it seems to me there's nothing i can talk about at home now--whether it's getting old--or teeth--or hair--i'm always supposed to be "passing remarks." and i wouldn't mind if it was my hastings cousins i had to live with. but they can't have me any more, and now i'm at wakely with the astons.'
-'the aston's?' david echoed. like most people of small training and intelligence, lucy instinctively supposed that whatever was familiar to her was familiar to other people.
-'oh, don't you know? it's father's sister who married a mill-overseer at wakely. and they're very kind to me. only they're dreadfully pious too--not like father--i don't mean that. and, you see--it's robert!'
-'who's robert?' asked david amused by her blush, and admiring the trim lightness of her figure and walk.
-'robert's the eldest son. he's a reedmaker. he's got enough to marry on--at least he thinks so.'
-'and he wants to marry you?'
-she nodded. then she looked at him, laughing, her naturally bright eyes sparkling through the tears still wet in them.
-'father's a baptist, you know--that's bad enough--but robert's a particular baptist. i asked him what it meant once when he was pestering me to marry him. "well, you see," he said, "a man must show that his heart's changed--we don't take in everybody like--we want to be sure they're real converted." i don't believe it does mean that--father says it doesn't. anyway i asked him whether if i married him he'd want me to be a particular baptist too. and he said, very slow and solemn, that of course he should look for religious fellowship in his wife, but that he didn't want to hurry me. i laughed till i cried at the thought of me going to that hideous chapel of his, dressed like his married sister. but sometimes, i declare, i think he'll make me do what he wants--he's got a way with him. he sticks to a thing as tight as wax, and i don't care what becomes of me sometimes.'
-she pouted despondently, but her quick eye stole to her companion's face.
-'oh, no, you won't marry robert, miss lucy,' said david cheerfully. 'you've had a will of your own ever since i've known you. but what are you at home for now?'
-'why, i told you--to pack up my things. but i can't find half of them; she--she's walked off with them. oh, i'm going off again as soon as possible--i can't stand it. but i must see dora. father says i shan't visit papists. but i'll watch my chance. i'll get there to-morrow--see if i don't! tell me what she's doing, mr. grieve.'
-david told her all he knew. lucy's comments were very characteristic. she was equally hard on daddy's ill-behaviour and dora's religion, with a little self-satisfied hardness that would have provoked david but for its childish naivete. many of the things that she said of dora, however, showed real feeling, real affection.
-'she is good,' she wound up at last with a long sigh.
-'yes, she's the best woman i ever saw,' said david slowly; 'she's beautiful, she's a saint.'
-lucy looked up quickly--her dismayed eyes fastened on him--then they fell again, and her expression became suddenly piteous and humble.
-'you're still getting on well, aren't you?' she said timidly. 'you were glad not to be turned out, weren't you?'
-somehow, for the life of her, she could not at that moment help reminding him of her claim upon him. he admitted it very readily, told her broadly how he was doing and what new connections he was making. it was pleasant to tell her, pleasant to speak to this changing rose-leaf face with its eager curiosity and attention.
-'and you were ill when you were abroad?--so dora said. father, of course, made unkind remarks--you may be sure of that!--he'll set stories about when he doesn't like anybody. i didn't believe a word.'
-'it don't matter,' said david hotly, but he flushed. his desire to wring purcell's neck was getting inconveniently strong.
-'no, not a bit,' she declared. then she suddenly broke into laughter. 'oh, mr. grieve, how many assistants do you think father's had since you left?'
-'oh, dear, i must go home,' she said at last regretfully, startled by a striking clock. 'father'll be just mad. of course, he'll hear all about my meeting you--i don't care. i'm not going to be parted from all my friends to please him, particularly now he's turned me out for good--from dora and--'
-'from you,' she would have said, but she became suddenly conscious and her voice failed.
-'no, indeed! and your friends won't forget you, miss lucy. you'll go and see dora to-morrow?'
-'yes, if i can give them the slip at home.'
-there was a pause, and then he said--
-'and will you allow me to visit you at wakely some sunday? i know those moors well.'
-she reddened all over with delight. there was something in the little stiffness of the request which gave it importance.
-'i wish you would; it's not far,' she stammered. 'aunt miriam would be glad to see you.'
-they walked back rapidly along mosley street and into market place. there she stopped and shyly asked him to leave her. almost all the saturday-night crowd had disappeared from the streets. it was really late, and she became suddenly conscious that this walk of hers might reasonably be regarded at home as a somewhat bold proceeding.
-'i wish you'd let me see you right home,' he said, detaining her hand in his.
-'oh, no, no--i shall catch it enough as it is. oh, they'll let me in! will it be next sunday, mr. grieve?'
-'no, the sunday after. can i do anything for you?'
-he came closer to her, seeming to envelope her in his tall, protecting presence. it was impossible for him to ignore her girlish flutter, her evident joy in having seen and talked to him again, in spite of her dread of her father. nor did he wish to ignore them. they were unexpectedly sweet to him, and he surprised himself.
-'oh no, nothing,--but it's very good of you to say so,' she said impulsively; 'very. good night again.'
-and instinctively she put out another small hand, which also he took, so holding her prisoner a moment.
-'look here,' he said, 'i'll just slip down that side of the close and wait till i see you get safe in. good night; i am glad i saw you!'
-she ran away in a blind whirl of happiness up the steps into the passage of half street. he slipped down to the left and waited, looking through the railings across the corner of the close, his eyes fixed on that upper window, where he had so often sat, parleying alternately with the cathedral and voltaire.
-lucy rang, the door opened, there were loud sounds within, but she was admitted; it closed behind her.
-david was soon in his back room, kindling a lamp and a bit of fire to read by. but when it was done he sat bent forward over the blaze, till the cathedral clock chimed the small hours, thinking.
-she was so unformed and childish, that poor little thing!--surely a man could make what he would of her. she would give him affection and duty; the core of the nature was sound, and her little humours would bring life into a house.
-he had but to put out his hand--that was plain enough. and why not? was any humbler draught to be for ever put aside, because the best wine had been poured to waste?
-then the rebellions of an unquenched romance, an untamed heart, beset him. surging waves of bitterness and pain, the after-swell of that tempest in which his youth had so nearly foundered, seemed to bear him away to seas of desolation.
-after all that had happened, the greed for personal joy he every now and then detected in himself surprised and angered him by its strength. the truth was that in whole tracts of his nature he was still a boy, still young beyond his years, and it was the conflict in him between youth's hot immaturity and a man's baffling experience which made the pain of his life.
-he meant to go to wakely on the next sunday but one--that he was certain of--but as to what he was to do and say when he got there he was perhaps culpably uncertain. but in his weakness and sehnsucht he dwelt upon the thought of lucy more and more.
-then dora--foolish saint!--came upon the scene.
-lucy found her way to the street in ancoats where dora lived, the morning after her talk with david, and the two cousins spent an agitated hour together. lucy could hardly find time to ask dora about her sorrows, so occupied was she in recounting all her own adventures. she was to go back to wakely that very afternoon. purcell had been absolutely unapproachable since the cousin who had escorted lucy to the free trade hall the night before had in her own defence revealed the secret of that young lady's behaviour. pack and go she should! he wouldn't have such a hussy another night under his roof. let them do with her as could.
-'i thought he would have beaten me this morning,' lucy candidly confessed. there was a red spot on each cheek, and she was evidently glorying in martyrdom. 'he looked like a devil--a real devil. why can't he be fond of me, and let me alone, like other girls' fathers? i believe he is fond of me somehow, but he wants to break my spirit--'
-she tossed her head significantly.
-'lucy, you know you ought to give in when you can,' said the perplexed dora, with rebuke in her voice.
-'oh, nonsense!' said lucy. 'you can't--it's ridiculous. well, he'll quarrel with that woman some day--i'm sure she's his match--and then maybe he'll want me back. but perhaps he won't get me.'
-dora looked up with a curious expression, half smiling, half wistful. she had already heard all the story of the walk.
-'o dora!' cried the child, laying down her head on the table beneath her cousin's eyes, 'dora, i do believe he's beginning to care. you see he asked to come to wakely. i didn't ask him. oh, if it all comes to nothing again, i shall break my heart!'
-dora smoothed the fine brown hair, and said affectionate things, but vaguely, as if she was not quite certain what to say.
-'he does look quite different, somehow,' continued lucy. 'why do you think he was so long away over there, dora? father says nasty things about it--says he fell into bad company and lost his money.'
-'i don't know how uncle purcell can know,' said dora indignantly. 'he's always thinking the worst of people. he was ill, for mr. ancrum told me, and he's the only person that does know. and anyone can see he isn't strong yet.'
-'oh, and he is so handsome!' sighed lucy, 'handsomer than ever. there isn't a man in manchester to touch him.'
-dora laughed out and called her a 'little silly.' but, as privately in her heart of hearts she was of the same opinion, her reproof had not much force.
-when lucy left, dora put away her work, and, lifting a flushed face, walked to the window and stood there looking out. a pale april sun was shining on the brewery opposite, and touched the dark waters of the canal under the bridge to the left. the roofs of the squalid houses abutting on the brewery were wet with rain. through a gap she could see a laundress's back-yard mainly filled with drying clothes, but boasting besides a couple of pink flowering currants just out, and holding their own for a few brief days against the smuts of manchester. here and there a man out of work lounged, pipe in mouth, at his open door, silently absorbing the sunshine and the cheerfulness of the moist blue over the house-tops. there was a new sweetness and tenderness in the spring air--or were they in dora's soul?
-she leant her head against the window, and remained there with her hands clasped before her for some little time--for her, a most unusual idleness.
-yes, lucy was very obstinate. dora had never thought she would have the courage to fight her father in this way. and selfish, too. she had spoken only once of daddy, and that in a way to make the daughter wince. but she was so young--such a child!--and would be ruined if she were left to this casual life, and people who didn't understand her. a husband to take care of her, and children--they would be the making of her.
-and he! dora's eyes filled with tears. all this winter the change in him, the silent evidences of a shock all the more tragic to her because of its mystery, had given him a kind of sacredness in her eyes. she fell thinking, besides, of the times lately he had been to church with her. ah, she was glad he had heard that sermon, that beautiful sermon of canon welby's in passion week! he had said nothing about it, but she knew it had been meant for clever, educated men--men like him. the church, indeed, had been full of men--her neighbours had told her that several of the gentlemen from owens college had been there.
-that evening david knocked at the door below about half-past eight. dora got up quickly and went across to her room-fellow, a dark-faced stooping girl, who took her shirt-maker's slavery without a murmur, and loved dora.
-'would you mind, mary?' she said timidly. 'i want to speak to mr. grieve.'
-the girl looked up, understood, stopped her machine, and, hastily gathering some pieces together that wanted buttonholes, went off into the little inner room and shut the door.
-dora knelt and with restless hands put the bit of fire together. she had just thrown a handkerchief over her canaries. on the frame a piece of her work, a fine altar-cloth gleaming with golds, purples, and pale pinks, stood uncovered. the deal table, the white walls on which hung daddy's old prints, the bare floor with its strip of carpet, were all spotlessly clean. the tea had been put away. daddy's vacant chair stood in its place.
-when david came in he found her sitting pensively on a little wooden stool by the fire. generally he gossipped while the two girls worked busily away--sometimes he read to them. to-night as he sat down he felt something impending.
-dora talked of lucy's visit. they agreed as to the folly and brutality of purcell's treatment of her, and laughed together over the marauding stepmother.
-then there was a pause. dora broke it. she was sitting upright on the stool, looking straight into his face.
-'will you not be cross if i say something?' she asked, catching her breath. 'it's not my business.'
-'say it, please.' but he reddened instantly.
-'lucy's--lucy's--got a fancy for you,' she said tremulously, shrinking from her own words. 'perhaps it's a shame to say it--oh, it may be! you haven't told me anything, and she's given me no leave. but she's had it a long time.'
-'i don't know why you say so,' he replied half sombrely.
-his flush had died away, but his hand shook on his knee.
-'oh, yes, you do,' she cried; 'you must know. lucy can't keep even her own secrets. but she's got such a warm heart! i'm sure she has. if a man would take her and be kind to her, she'd make him happy.'
-she stopped, looking at him intently.
-then suddenly she burst out, laying her hand on the arm of his chair--daddy's chair:
-'don't be angry; you've been like a brother to me.'
-he took her hand and pressed it, reassuring her.
-'but how can i make her happy?' he said, with his head on his hand. 'i don't want to be a fool and deny what you say, for the sake of denying it. but--'
-his voice sank into silence. then, as she did not speak, he looked up at her. she was sitting, since he had released her, with her arms locked behind her, frowning in her intensity of thought, her last energy of sacrifice.
-'you would make her happy,' she said slowly, 'and she'd be a loving wife. she's flighty is lucy, but there's nothing bad in her.'
-both were silent for another minute, then, by a natural reaction, both looked at each other and laughed.
-'i'm making rather free with you, i'm bound to admit that,' she said, with a merry shamefaced expression, which brought out the youth in her face.
-'well, give me time, miss dora. if--if anything did come of it, i should have to let purcell know, and there'd be flat war. you've thought of that?'
-certainly, dora had thought of it. they might have to wait, and purcell would probably refuse to give or leave lucy any money. all the better, according to david. nothing would ever induce him to take a farthing of his ex-master's hoards.
-but here, by a common instinct, they stopped planning, and david resolutely turned the conversation. when they parted, however, dora was secretly eager and hopeful. it was curious how little the father's rights weighed with so scrupulous a soul. whether it was his behaviour to her father which had roused an unconscious hardness even in her gentle nature, or whether it was the subtle influence of his dissent, as compared with the nascent dispositions she seemed to see in david--anyway, dora's conscience was silent; she was entirely absorbed in her own act, and in the prospects of the other two.
-when david reached home that night he found a french letter awaiting him. it was from louie, still dated from the country town near toulouse, and announced the birth of her child--a daughter. the letter was scrawled apparently from her bed, and contained some passionate, abusive remarks about her husband, half finished, and hardly intelligible. she peremptorily called on david to send her some money at once. her husband was a sot, and unfaithful to her. even now with his first child, he had taken advantage of her being laid up to make love to other women. all the town cried shame on him. the priest visited her frequently, and was all on her side.
-then at the end she wrote a hasty description of the child. its eyes were like his, david's, but it would have much handsomer eyelashes. it was by far the best-looking child in the place, and because everybody remarked on its likeness to her, she believed montjoie had taken a dislike to it. she didn't care, but it made him look ridiculous. why didn't he do some work, instead of letting her and her child live like pigs? he could get some, if his dirty pride would let him. it wasn't to be supposed, with this disgusting commune going on in paris, and everybody nearly ruined, that anyone would want statues--they had never even sold the maenad--but somebody had wanted him to do a monument, cheap, the other day for a brother who had been killed in the war; and he wouldn't. he was too fine. that was like him all over.
-it was as though he could hear her flinging out the reckless sentences. but he thought there were signs that she was pleased with the baby--and he suddenly remembered her tyrannous passion for the mason child.
-as to the money, he looked carefully into his accounts. for the last six months he had been gathering every possible saving together with a view to the history of manchester, which he and john had planned to begin printing in the coming autumn. it went against him sorely to take from such a hoard for the purpose of helping jules montjoie to an idler and easier existence. the fate of his six hundred pounds burnt deep into a mind which at bottom was well furnished with all the old yorkshire and scotch frugality.
-however, he sent his sister money, and he gave up in thought that fortnight's walking tour in the lakes he had planned for his holiday. he must just stay at home and see to business.
-then next morning, as it happened, he woke up with a sudden hunger for the country--a vision before his eyes of the wide bosom of the scout, of fresh airs and hurrying waters, of the sheep among the heather. his night had been restless; the whole of life seemed to be again in debate--lucy's figure, dora's talk, chased and tormented him. away to the april moorland! he sprang out of bed determined to take the first train to clough end. he had not been out of manchester for months, and it was luckily a saturday. here was this letter of louie's too--he owed the news to uncle reuben. since reuben's visit to manchester, a year before, there had been no communication between him and them. six years! how would the farm--how would aunt hannah look? there was a drawing in him this morning towards the past, towards even the harsh forms and memories of it, such as often marks a time of emotion and crisis, the moment before a man takes a half-reluctant step towards a doubtful future.
-but as he journeyed towards the derbyshire border, he was not in truth thinking of dora's counsels or of lucy purcell at all. every now and then he lost himself in the mere intoxication of the spring, in the charm of the factory valleys, just flushing into green, through which the train was speeding. but in general his attention was held by the book in his hand. his time for reading had been much curtailed of late by the toils of his business. he caught covetously at every spare hour.
-the book was bishop berkeley's 'dialogues.'
-with what a medley of thoughts and interests had he been concerned during the last four or five months! his old tastes and passions had revived as we have seen, but unequally, with morbid gaps and exceptions. in these days he had hardly opened a poet or a novelist. his whole being shrank from them, as though it had been one wound, and the books which had been to him the passionate friends of his most golden hours, which had moulded in him, as it were, the soul wherewith he had loved elise, looked to him now like enemies as he passed them quickly by upon the shelves.
-'you like your book, davy?'
-'yes,' said the other slowly, staring out of the twilight window at the gloom which passes for sky in manchester. then with another long breath,--'it makes you a new heaven and a new earth!'
-a similar impression, only even richer and more detailed, had been left upon him by a volume of huxley's 'lay sermons.' the world of natural fact in its overpowering wealth and mystery was thus given back to him, as it were, under another aspect than that torturing intoxicating aspect of art--one that fortified and calmed. all his scientific curiosities which had been so long laid to sleep revived. his first returning joy came from a sense of the inexhaustibleness and infinity of nature.
-but very soon this renewed interest in science began to have the bearing and to issue in the mental activities which, all unknown to himself, had been from the beginning in his destiny. he could not now read it for itself alone. that new ethical and spiritual susceptibility, into which agony and loss had become slowly transformed, dominated and absorbed all else. for some time, beside his scientific books, there lay others from a class not hitherto very congenial to him, that which contains the great examples in our day, outside the poets, of the poetical or imaginative treatment of ethics--emerson, carlyle, ruskin. at an age when most young minds of intelligence amongst us are first seized by these english masters, he had been wandering in french paths. 'sartor resartus,' emerson's 'essays,' 'the seven lamps,' came to him now with an indescribable freshness and force. nay, a too great force! we enjoy the great prophets of literature most when we have not yet lived enough to realise all they tell us. when david, wandering at night with teufels-drockh through heaven and hell, felt at last the hard sobs rising in his throat, he suddenly put the book and others akin to it away from him. as with the poets so here. he must turn to something less eloquent--to paths of thought where truth shone with a drier and a calmer light.
-but still the same problems! since his eden gates had closed upon him, he had been in the outer desert where man has wandered from the beginning, threatened with all the familiar phantoms, illusions, mist-voices of human thought. what was consciousness--knowledge--law? was there any law--any knowledge--any i?
-naturally he had long ceased to find any final sustenance or pleasure in the secularist literature, which had once convinced him so easily. secularism up to a certain point, it began to seem to him, was a commonplace; beyond that point, a contradiction. if the race should ever take the counsel of the secularists, or of that larger positivist thought, of which english secularism is the popular reflection, the human intellect would be a poorer instrument with a narrower swing. so much was plain to him. for nothing can be more certain than that some of the finest powers and noblest work of the human mind have been developed by the struggle to know what the secularist declares is neither knowable nor worth knowing.
-yet the histories of philosophy which he began to turn over were in truth no more fruitful to him than the talk of the reasoner. they stimulated his powers of apprehension and analysis; and the great march of human debate from century to century touched his imagination. but in these summaries of the philosophical field his inmost life appropriated nothing. once by a sort of reaction he fell upon hume again, pining for the old intellectual clearness of impression, though it were a clearness of limit and negation. but he had hardly begun the 'treatise' or the 'essays' before his soul rose against them, crying for he knew not what, only that it was for nothing they could give.
-then by chance a little life of berkeley, and upon it an old edition of the works, fell into his hands. as he was turning over the leaves, the 'alciphron' so struck him that he turned to the first page of the first volume, and evening after evening read the whole through with a devouring energy that never flagged. when it was over he was a different being. the mind had crystallised afresh.
-it was his first serious grapple with the fundamental problems of knowledge. and, to a nature which had been so tossed and bruised in the great unregarding tide of things, which had felt itself the mere chattel of a callous universe, of no account or dignity either to gods or men, what strange exaltation there was in the general suggestion of berkeley's thought! the mind, the source of all that is; the impressions on the senses, merely the speech of the eternal mind to ours, a visual language, whereof man's understanding is perpetually advancing, which has been indeed contrived for his education; man, naturally immortal, king of himself and of the senses, inalienably one--if he would but open his eyes and see--with all that is divine, true, eternal: the soul that had been crushed by grief and self-contempt revived at the mere touch of these vast possibilities like a trampled plant. not that it absorbed them yet, made them its own; but they made a healing stimulating atmosphere in which it seemed once more possible for it to grow into a true manhood. the spiritual hypothesis of things was for the first time presented in such a way as to take imaginative hold without exciting or harrowing the feelings; he saw the world reversed, in a pure light of thought, as berkeley saw it, and all the horizon of things fell back.
-now--on this april afternoon--as the neighbourhood of manchester was left behind, as the long woodclad valleys and unpolluted streams began to prophesy of derbyshire and the peak, david, his face pressed against the window, fell into a dream with berkeley and with nature. oh for knowledge! for verification! he began dimly and passionately to see before him a life devoted to thought--a life in which science after science should become the docile instrument of a mind still pressing on and on into the shadowy realm, till, in berkeley's language, the darkness part, and it 'recover the lost region of light'!
-but in the very midst of this overwhelming vision he said suddenly to himself:
-'there is another way--another answer--dora's way and ancrum's.'
-aye, the way of faith, which asks for no length of years in which to win the goal, which is there at once--in the beat of a wing--safe on the breast of god! he thought of it as he had seen it illustrated in his friend and in dora, with the mixture of attraction and repulsion which, in this connection, was now more or less habitual to him. the more he saw of dora, the more he wondered--at her goodness and her ignorance. her positive dislike to, and alienation from knowledge was amazing. at the first indication of certain currents of thought he could see her soul shrivelling and shrinking like a green leaf near flame. as he had gradually realised, she had with some difficulty forgiven him the attempt to cure daddy's drinking through a doctor; that anyone should think sin could be reached by medicine--it was in effect to throw doubt on the necessity of god's grace! and she could not bear that he should give her information from the books he read about the bible or early christianity. his detached, though never hostile, tone was clearly intolerable to her. she could not and would not suffer it, would take any means of escaping it.
-then that passion-week sermon she had taken him to hear; which had so moved her, with which she had so sweetly and persistently assumed his sympathy! the preacher had been a high church canon with a considerable reputation for eloquence. the one o'clock service had been crowded with business and professional men. david had never witnessed a more tempting opportunity. but how hollow and empty the whole result! what foolish sentimental emphasis, what unreality, what contempt for knowledge, yet what a show of it!--an elegant worthless jumble of gibbon, horace, st. augustine, wesley, newman and mill, mixed with the cheap picturesque--with moonlight on the campagna, and sunset on niagara--and leading, by the loosest rhetoric, to the most confident conclusions. he had the taste of it in his mouth still. fresh from the wrestle of mind into which berkeley had led him, he fell into a new and young indignation with sermon and preacher.
-yet, all the same, if you asked how man could best live, apart from thinking, how the soul could put its foot on the brute--where would dora stand then? what if the true key to life lay not in knowledge, but in will? what if knowledge in the true sense was ultimately impossible to man, and if christianity not only offered, but could give him the one thing truly needful--his own will, regenerate?
-but with the first sight of the clough end streets these high debates were shaken from the mind.
-he ran up the kinder road, with its villanous paving of cobbles and coal dust, its mills to the right, down below in the hollow, skirting the course of the river, and its rows of workmen's homes to the left, climbing the hill--in a tremor of excitement. six years! would anyone recognize him? ah! there was jerry's 'public,' an evil-looking weather-stained hole; but another name swung on the sign; poor jerry!--was he, too, gone the way of orthodox and sceptic alike? and here was the foundry--david could hardly prevent himself from marching into the yard littered with mysterious odds and ends of old iron which had been the treasure house of his childhood. but no tom--and no familiar face anywhere.
-yes!--there was the shoemaker's cottage, where the prayer-meeting had been, and there, on the threshold, looking at the approaching figure, stood the shoemaker's wife, the strange woman with the mystical eyes. david greeted her as he came near. she stared at him from under a bony hand put up against the sun, but did not apparently recognise him; he, seized with sudden shyness, quickened his pace, and was soon out of her sight.
-in a minute or two he was at the dye-works, which mark the limit of the town, and the opening of the valley road. every breath now was delight. the steep wooded hills to the left, the red-brown shoulder of the scout in front, were still wrapt in torn and floating shreds of mist. but the sun was everywhere--above in the slowly triumphing blue, in the mist itself, and below, on the river and the fields. the great wood climbing to his left was all embroidered on the brown with palms and catkins, or broken with patches of greening larch, which had a faintly luminous relief amid the rest. and the dash of the river--and the scents of the fields! he leapt the wall of the lane, and ran down to the water's edge, watching a dipper among the stones in a passion of pleasure which had no words.
-then up and on again, through the rough uneven lane, higher and higher into the breast of the scout. what if he met jim wigson on the way? what if aunt hannah, still unreconciled, turned him from the door? no matter! rancour and grief have no hold on mortals walking in such an april world--in such an exquisite and sunlit beauty. on! let thought and nature be enough! why complicate and cumber life with relations that do but give a foothold to pain, and offer less than they threaten?
-there is smoke rising from wigson's, and figures moving in the yard. caution!--keep close under the wall. and here at last is needham farm, at the top of its own steep pitch, with the sycamore trees in the lane beside it, the red brook sweeping round it to the right, the rough gate below, the purple scout mist-wreathed behind. there are cows lowing in the yard, a horse grazes in the front field; through the little garden gate a gleam of sun strikes on the struggling crocuses and daffodils which come up year after year, no man heeding them; there is a clucking of hens, a hurry of water, a flood of song from a lark poised above the field. the blue smoke rises into the misty air; the sun and the spring caress the rugged lonely place.
-with a beating heart david opened the gate into the field, walked round the little garden, let himself into the yard, and with a hasty glance at the windows mounted the steps and knocked.
-no answer. he knocked again. surely aunt hannah must be about somewhere. eleven o'clock; how quiet the house was!
-this time there was a clatter of a chair on a flagged floor inside, and a person with a slow laboured step came and opened.
-it was reuben. he adjusted his spectacles with difficulty, and stared at the intruder.
-'uncle reuben!--i thought it was such a fine day, i'd just run over and see the old place, and bring you some news,' said david, smiling and holding out his hand.
-reuben took it, stupefied. 'davy,' he said, trembling. then with a sudden movement he whipped the door to behind him, and shut it close.
-'is aunt hannah ill?' asked david, astonished.
-reuben leant against the wall of the shed, and took off his spectacles, as though to wipe them with his old and shaking hands. then david saw a sort of convulsion pass across his ungainly face.
-'aye,' he said, looking down, 'aye, she's broken is hannah. yo didna knaw?'
-'i've heard nothing.'
-reuben recounted the facts. since her stroke of last spring, and the partial recovery which had followed upon it, there had been little apparent change, except perhaps in the direction of slowly increasing weakness. she was a wreck, and likely to remain so. hardly anybody but reuben could understand her now, and she rarely let him out of her sight. he could not get time to attend to the farm, was obliged to leave things to the hired man, and was in trouble often about his affairs.
-'bit yo see, she hasna t' reet use of her speach,' he said, excusing himself humbly to this handsome city nephew. 'an' she conno gie ower snipin aw at onst. 'twudna be human natur'. an't' gell's worritin' an' i mun tell her what t' missis says.'
-david asked if he might see her, or should he just turn back to the town? reuben protested, his hospitality and family feeling aroused, his poor mind torn with conflicting motives.
-'i believe she'd fratch if she didna see tha,' he said at last. 'a'll just goo ben, and ask.'
-he went in, and david remained in the wood-shed, staring out at the familiar scene, at louie's window, at the steps where he and she had fed the fowls together. checked its movement by laying his hand on the bridle.
-“alas!” he said, “it happens to be our mixing day, and the factories are hermetically closed while the process goes forward. any other day, madame, that your fancy brings you over the dunes, i should be delighted--but not to-day. i tell you frankly there is danger. you surely would not run into it.” he looked up at her with his searching gaze.
-“ah! you think it is easy to frighten me, herr von holzen,” she cried, with a little laugh.
-“no; but i would not for the world that you should unwittingly run any risks in this place.”
-as he spoke, he led the horse quietly to the gate, and mrs. vansittart, seeing her helplessness, submitted with a good grace.
-roden made no comment, and followed, not ill pleased, perhaps, at this simple solution of his difficulty.
-von holzen did not refer to the incident until late in the evening, when roden was leaving the works.
-“this is too serious a time,” he said, “to let women, or vanity, interfere in our plans. you know that the deaths are on the increase. anything in the nature of an inquiry at this time would mean ruin, and--perhaps worse. be careful of that woman. i sometimes think that she is fooling you.--but i think,” he added to himself, when the gate was closed behind roden, “that i can fool her.”
-“a tous maux, il y a deux remèdes--le temps et le silence.”
-“they call me uncle ben--comprenny?” one man explained very slowly to another for the sixth time across a small iron table set out upon the pavement.
-“yes,” continued the unchallenged speaker, in a voice which may be heard issuing from the door of any tavern in england on almost any evening of the week--the typical voice of the tavern-talker--“yes, they've always called me uncle ben. seems as if they're sort o' fond of me. me has seen many hundreds of 'em come and go. but nothing like this. lord save us!”
-his hand fell heavily on the iron table, and he looked round him in semi-intoxicated stupefaction. he was in a confidential humour, and when a man is in this humour, drunk or sober, he is in a parlous state. it was certainly rather unfortunate that uncle ben should have in this expansive moment no more sympathetic companion than an ancient, intoxicated frenchman, who spoke no word of english.
-“what i want to know, frenchy,” continued the englishman, in a thick, aggrieved voice, “is how long you've been at this trade, and how much you know about it--you and the other frenchy. but there's none of us speaks the other's lingo. it is a regular tower of babble we are!” and uncle ben added to his mental confusion a further alcoholic fog. “that's why i showed yer the way out of the works over the iron fence by the empty casks, and brought yer by the beach to this 'ere house of entertainment, and stood yer a bottle of brandy between two of us--which is handsome, not bein' my own money, seeing as how the others deputed me to do it--me knowing a bit of french, comprenny?” benjamin, like most of his countrymen, considering that if one speaks english in a loud, clear voice, and adds “comprenny” rather severely, as indicating the intention of standing no nonsense, the previous remarks will translate themselves miraculously in the hearer's mind. “you comprenny--eh? yes. oui.” “oui,” replied the frenchman, holding out his glass; and uncle ben's was that pride which goes with a gift of tongues.
-he struck a match to light his pipe--one of the wooden, sulphur-headed matches supplied by the café--and the guest at the next table turned in his chair. the match flared up and showed two faces, which he studied keenly. both faces were alike unwashed and deeply furrowed. white, straggling beards and whiskers accentuated the redness of the eyelids, the dull yellow of the skin. they were hopeless and debased faces, with that disquieting resemblance which is perceptible in the faces of men of dissimilar features and no kinship, who have for a number of years followed a common calling, or suffered a common pain.
-these two men were both half blind; they had equally unsteady hands. the clothing of both alike, and even their breath, was scented by a not unpleasant odour of sealing-wax.
-it was quite obvious that not only were they at present half intoxicated, but in their soberest moments they could hardly be of a high intelligence.
-the reveller at the next table, who happened to be tony cornish, now drew his chair nearer.
-“englishman?” he inquired.
-“that's me,” answered uncle ben, with commendable pride, “from the top of my head to me boots. not that i've anything to say against foreigners.”
-“nor i; but it's pleasant to meet a countryman in a foreign land.” cornish deliberately brought his chair forward. “your bottle is empty,” he added; “i'll order another. friend's a frenchman, eh?”
-“that he is--and doesn't understand his own language either,” answered uncle ben, in a voice indicating that that lack of comprehension rather intensified his friend's frenchness than otherwise.
-the proprietor of the café de l'europe now came out in answer to cornish's rap on the iron table, and presently brought a small bottle of brandy.
-“yes,” said cornish, pouring out the spirit, which his companions drank in its undiluted state from small tumblers--“yes, i'm glad to meet an englishman. i suppose you are in the works--the malgamite?”
-“i am. and what do you know about malgamite, mister?”
-“well, not much, i am glad to say.”
-“there is precious few that knows anything,” said the man, darkly, and his eye for a moment sobered into cunning.
-“i have heard that it is a very dangerous trade, and if you want to get out of it i'm connected with an association in london to provide situations for elderly men who are no longer up to their work,” said cornish, carelessly.
-“thank ye, mister; not for me. i'm making my five-pound note a week, i am, and each cove that dies off makes the survivors one richer, so to speak--survival of the fittest, they call it. so we don't talk much, and just pockets the pay.”
-“ah, that is the arrangement, is it?” said cornish, indifferently. “yes. we've got a clever financier, as they call it, i can tell yer. we're a good-goin' concern, we are. some of us are goin' pretty quick, too.”
-“are there many deaths, then?”
-“ah! there you're asking a question,” returned the man, who came of a class which has no false shame in refusing a reply.
-cornish looked at the man beneath the dim light of the unsuccessful lamp--a piteous specimen of humanity, depraved, besotted, without outward sign of a redeeming virtue, although a certain courage must have been there--this and such as this stood between him and dorothy roden. uncle ben had known starvation at one time, for starvation writes certain lines which even turtle soup may never wipe out--lines which any may read and none may forget. tony cornish had seen them before--on the face of an old dandy coming down the steps of a st. james's street club. the malgamiter had likewise known drink long and intimately, and it is no exaggeration to say that he had stood cheek by jowl with death nearly all his life.
-such a man was plainly not to be drawn away from five pounds a week.
-cornish turned to the frenchman--a little, cunning, bullet-headed lyonnais, who would not speak of his craft at all, though he expressed every desire to be agreeable to monsieur.
-“when one is en fête,” he cried, “it is good to drink one's glass or two and think no more of work.”
-“i knew one or two of your men once,” said cornish, returning to the genial uncle ben. “william martins, i remember, was a decent fellow, and had seen a bit of the world. i will come to the works and look him up some day.”
-“you can look him up, mister, but you won't find him.”
-“ah, has he gone home?”
-“he's gone to his long home, that's where he's gone.”
-“and his brother, tom martins, both london men, like myself?” inquired cornish, without asking that question which uncle ben considered such exceedingly bad form.
-“tom's dead, too.”
-“and there were two americans, i recollect--i came across from harwich in the same boat with them--hewlish they were called.”
-the men stood up and bade cornish good night, each after his own manner, and went away steadily enough. it was only their heads that were intoxicated, and perhaps the brandy of the café de l'europe had nothing to do with this.
-cornish followed them, and, in the keize straat, he called a cab, telling the man to drive to the house at the corner of oranje straat and park straat, occupied by mrs. vansittart. that lady, the servant said, in reply to his careful inquiry, was at home and alone, and, moreover, did not expect visitors. the man was not at all sure that madame would receive.
-“i will try,” said cornish, writing two words in german on the corner of his visiting-card. “you see,” he continued, noticing a well-trained glance, “that i am not dressed, so if other visitors arrive, i would rather not be discovered in madame's salon, you understand?”
-mrs. vansittart shook hands with cornish in silence, her quick eyes noted the change in him which the shrewd butler had noticed in the entrance-hall. the cornish of a year earlier would have gone back to the hotel to dress.
-“i was just going out to the witte society concert,” said mrs. vansittart. “i thought the open air and the wood would be pleasant this evening. shall we go or shall we remain?” she stood with her hand on the bell looking at him.
-“let us remain here,” he answered.
-she rang the bell and countermanded the carriage. then she sat slowly down, moving as under a sort of oppression, as if she foresaw what the next few minutes contained, and felt herself on the threshold of one of the surprises that fate springs upon us at odd times, tearing aside the veils behind which human hearts have slept through many years. for indifference is not the death, but only the sleep of the heart.
-“you have just arrived?”
-“no; i have been here a week.”
-“at the hague?”
-“no,” answered cornish, with a grave smile; “at a little inn in scheveningen, where no questions are asked.”
-mrs. vansittart nodded her head slowly. “then, mon ami,” she said, “the time has come for plain speaking?”
-“i suppose so.”
-“it is always the woman who wants to get to the plain speaking,” she said, with a smile, “and who speaks the plainest when one gets there. you men are afraid of so many words; you think them, but you dare not make use of them. and how are women to know that you are thinking them?” she spoke with a sort of tolerant bitterness, as if all these questions no longer interested her personally. she sat forward, with one hand on the arm of her chair. “come,” she said, with a little laugh that shook and trembled on the brink of a whole sea of unshed tears, “i will speak the first word. when my husband died, my heart broke--and it was otto von holzen who killed him.” her eyes flashed suddenly, and she threw herself back in the chair. her hands were trembling.
-cornish made a quick gesture of the hand--a trick he had learnt somewhere on the continent, more eloquent than a hundred words--which told of his sympathy and his comprehension of all that she had left unsaid. for truly she had told him her whole history in a dozen words.
-“i have followed him and watched him ever since,” she went on at length, in a quiet voice; “but a woman is so helpless. i suppose if any of us were watched and followed as he has been our lives would appear a strange mixture of a little good and much bad, mixed with a mass of neutral idleness. but surely his life is worse than the rest--not that it matters. whatever his life had been, if he had been a living saint, tony, he would have had to pay--for what he has done to me.”
-she looked steadily into the keen face that was watching hers. she was not in the least melodramatic, and what was stranger, perhaps, she was not ashamed. according to her lights, she was a good woman, who went to church regularly, and did a little conventional good with her superfluous wealth. she obeyed the unwritten laws of society, and busied herself little in her neighbours' affairs. she was kind to her servants, and did not hate her neighbours more than is necessary in a crowded world. she led a blameless, unoccupied, and apparently purposeless life. and now she quietly told tony cornish that her life was not purposeless, but had for its aim the desire of an eye for an eye and a life for a life.
-“you remember my husband,” continued mrs. vansittart, after a pause. “he was always absorbed in his researches. he made a great discovery, and confided in otto von holzen, who thought that he could make a fortune out of it. but von holzen cheated and was caught. there was a great trial, and von holzen succeeded in incriminating my husband, who was innocent, instead of himself. the company, of course, failed, which meant ruin and dishonour. in a fit of despair my husband shot himself. and afterwards it transpired that by shooting himself at that time he saved my money. one cannot take proceedings against a dead man, it appears. so i was left a rich woman, after all, and my husband had frustrated otto von holzen. the world did not believe that my husband had done it on purpose; but i knew better. it is one of those beliefs that one keeps to one's self, and is indifferent whether the world believes or not. so there remain but two things for me to do--the one is to enjoy the money, and to let my husband see that i spend it as he would have wished me to spend it--upon myself; the other is to make otto von holzen pay--when the time comes. who knows? the malgamite is perhaps the time; you are perhaps the man.” she gave her disquieting little laugh again, and sat looking at him.
-“i understand,” he said at length. “before, i was puzzled. there seemed no reason why you should take any interest in the scheme.”
-“my interest in the malgamite scheme narrows down to an interest in one person,” answered mrs. vansittart, “which is what really happens to all human interests, my friend.”
-“la plus grande punition infligée à l'homme, c'est faire souffrir ce qu'il aime, en voulant frapper ce qu'il hait.”
-cornish had, as he told mrs. vansittart, been living a week at scheveningen in one of the quiet little inns in the fishing-town, where a couple of apples are displayed before lace curtains in the window of the restaurant as a modest promise of entertainment within. knowing no dutch, he was saved the necessity of satisfying the curiosity of a garrulous landlady, who, after many futile questions which he understood perfectly, came to the conclusion that cornish was in hiding, and might at any moment fall into the hands of the police.
-there are, it appears, few human actions that attract more curiosity for a short time than the act of colonization. but no change is in the long run so apathetically accepted as the presence of a colony of aliens. cornish soon learnt that the malgamite works were already accepted at scheveningen as a fact of small local importance. one or two fish-sellers took their wares there instead of going direct to the hague. a few of the malgamite workers were seen at times, when they could get leave, on the digue, or outside the smaller cafés. inoffensive, stricken men these appeared to be, and the big-limbed, hardy fishermen looked on them with mingled contempt and pity. no one knew what the works were, and no one cared. some thought that fireworks were manufactured within the high fence; others imagined it to be a gunpowder factory. all were content with the knowledge that the establishment belonged to an english company employing no outside labour.
-cornish spent his days unobtrusively walking on the dunes or writing letters in his modest rooms. his evenings he usually passed at the café de l'europe, where an occasional truant malgamite worker would indulge in a mild carouse. from these grim revelers cornish elicited a good deal of information. he was not actually, as his landlady suspected, in hiding, but desired to withhold as long as possible from von holzen and roden the fact that he was in holland. none of the malgamite workers recognized him; indeed, he saw none of those whom he had brought across to the hague, and he did not care to ask too many questions. at length, as we have seen, he arrived at the conclusion that von holzen's schemes had been too deeply laid to allow of attack by subtler means, and as a preliminary to further action called on mrs. vansittart.
-the following morning he happened to take his walk within sight of the villa des dunes, although far enough away to avoid risk of recognition, and saw percy roden leave the house shortly after nine to proceed towards the works. then tony cornish lighted a cigarette, and sat down to wait. he knew that dorothy usually walked to the hague before the heat of the day to do her shopping there and household business. he had not long to wait. dorothy quitted the little house half an hour after her brother. but she did not go towards the hague, turning to the right instead, across the open dunes towards the sea. it was a cool morning after many hot days, and a fresh, invigorating breeze swept over the sand hills from the sea. it was to be presumed that dorothy, having leisure, was going to the edge of the sea for a breath of the brisk air there.
-cornish rose and followed her. he was essentially a practical man--among the leaders of a practical generation. the day, moreover, was conducive to practical thoughts and not to dreams, for it was grey and yet of a light air which came bowling in from a grey sea whose shores have assuredly been trodden by the most energetic of the races of the world. for all around the north sea and on its bosom have risen races of men to conquer the universe again and again.
-he followed dorothy, who walked briskly over the sand hills, upright, trim, and strong. she carried a stick, which she planted firmly enough in the sand as she walked. as he approached, he could see her lifting her head to look for the sea; for the highest hills are on the shore here, and stand in the form of a great barrier between the waves and the low-lying plains. she swung along at the pace which mrs. vansittart had envied her, without exertion, with that ease which only comes from perfect proportions and strength.
-cornish was quite close to her before she heard his step, and turned sharply. she recognized him at once, and he saw the colour slowly rise to her face. she gave no cry of surprise, however, was in no foolish feminine flutter, but came towards him quietly.
-“i did not know you were in holland,” she said.
-he shook hands without answering. all that he had prepared in his mind had suddenly vanished, leaving not a blank, but a hundred other things which he had not intended to say, and which now, at the sight of her face, seemed inevitable.
-“yes,” he said, looking into her steady grey eyes, “i am in holland--because i cannot stay away--because i cannot live without you. i have pretended to myself and to everybody else that i come to the hague because of the malgamite; but it is not that. it is because you are here. wherever you are i must be; wherever you go i must follow you. the world is not big enough for you to get away from me. it is so big that i feel i must always be near you--for fear something should happen to you--to watch over you and take care of you. you know what my life has been....”
-she turned away with a little shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the head. for a woman may read a man's life in his face--in the twinkling of an eye--as in an open book.
-“all the world knows that....” he continued, with a sceptical laugh. “is it not written ... in the society papers? but it has always been aboveboard--and harmless enough....”
-dorothy smiled as she looked out across the grey sea. he was, it appeared, telling her nothing that she did not know. for she was wise and shrewd--of that pure leaven of womankind which leaveneth all the rest. and she knew that a man must not be judged by his life--not even by outward appearance, upon which the world pins so much faith--but by that occasional glimpse of the soul of him, which may live on, pure through all impurity, or may be foul beneath the whitest covering.
-“of course,” he continued, “i have wasted my time horribly--i have never done any good in the world. but--great is the extenuating circumstance! i never knew what life was until i saw it ... in your eyes.”
-still she stood with her back half turned towards him, looking out across the sea. the sun had mastered the clouds and all the surface of the water glittered. a few boats on the horizon seemed to dream and sleep there. beneath the dunes, the sand stretched away north and south in an unbroken plain. the wind whispered through the waving grass, and, far across the sands, the sea sang its eternal song. dorothy and cornish seemed to be alone in this world of sea and sand. so far as the eye could see, there were no signs of human life but the boats dreaming on the horizon.
-“are you quite sure?” said dorothy, without turning her head.
-“of what you say.”
-“yes; i am quite sure.”
-“because,” she said, with a little laugh that suddenly opened the gates of paradise and bade one more poor human-being enter in--“because it is a serious matter ... for me.”
-then, because he was a practical man and knew that happiness, like all else in this life, must be dealt with practically if aught is to be made of it, he told her why he had come. for happiness must not be rushed at and seized with wild eyes and grasping hands, but must be quickly taken when the chance offers, and delicately handled so that it be not ruined by over haste or too much confidence. it is a gift that is rarely offered, and it is only fair to say that the majority of men and women are quite unfit to have it. even a little prosperity (which is usually mistaken for happiness) often proves too much for the mental equilibrium, and one trembles to think what the recipient would do with real happiness.
-“i did not come here intending to tell you that,” said cornish, after a pause.
-they were seated now on the dry and driven sand, among the inequalities of the tufted grass.
-dorothy glanced at him gravely, for his voice had been grave.
-“i think i knew,” she answered, with a sort of quiet exultation. happiness is the quietest of human states.
-cornish turned to look at her, and after a moment she met his eyes--for an instant only.
-“i came to tell you a very different story,” he said, “and one which at the moment seems to present insuperable difficulties. i can only show you that i care for you by bringing trouble into your life--which is not even original.”
-he broke off with a little, puzzled laugh. for he did not know how best to tell her that her brother was a scoundrel. he sat making idle holes in the sand with his stick.
-“i am in a difficulty,” he said at length--“so great a difficulty that there seems to be only one way out of it. you must forget what i have told you to-day, for i never meant to tell you until afterwards, if ever. forget it for some months until the malgamite works have ceased to exist, and then, if i have the good fortune to be given an opportunity, i will”--he paused--“i will mention myself again,” he concluded steadily.
-dorothy's lips quivered, but she said nothing. it seemed that she was content to accept his judgment without comment as superior to her own. for the wisest woman is she who suspects that men are wiser.
-“it is quite clear,” said cornish, “that the malgamite scheme is a fraud. it is worse than that; it is a murderous fraud. for von holzen's new system of making malgamite is not new at all, but an old system revived, which was set aside many years ago as too deadly. if it is not this identical system, it is a variation of it. they are producing the stuff for almost nothing at the cost of men's lives. in plain english, it is murder, and it must be stopped at any cost. you understand?”
-“i must stop it whatever it may cost me.”
-“yes,” she answered again.
-“i am going to the works to-night to have it out with von holzen and your brother. it is impossible to say how matters really stand--how much your brother knows, i mean--for von holzen is clever. he is a cold, calculating man, who rules all who come near him. your brother has only to do with the money part of it. they are making a great fortune. i am told that financially it is splendidly managed. i am a duffer at such things, but i understand better now how it has all been done, and i see how clever it is. they produce the stuff for almost nothing, they sell it at a great price, and they have a monopoly. and the world thinks it is a charity. it is not; it is murder.”
-he spoke quietly, tapping the ground with his stick, and emphasizing his words with a deeper thrust into the sand. the habit of touching life lightly had become second nature with him, and even now he did not seem quite serious. he was, at all events, free from that deadly earnestness which blinds the eye to all save one side of a question. the very soil that he tapped could have risen up to speak in favour of such as he; for william the silent, it is said, loved a jest, and never seemed to be quite serious during the long years of the greatest struggle the modern world has seen.
-“it seems probable,” went on cornish, “that your brother has been gradually drawn into it; that he did not know when he first joined von holzen what the thing really was--the system of manufacture, i mean. as for the financial side of it, i am afraid he must have known of that all along; but the older one gets the less desirous one is of judging one's neighbour. in financial matters so much seems to depend, in the formation of a judgment, whether one is a loser or a gainer by the transaction. there is a great fortune in malgamite, and a fortune is a temptation to be avoided. others besides your brother have been tempted. i should probably have succumbed myself if it had not been--for you.”
-she smiled again in a sort of derision; as if she could have told him more about himself than he could tell her. he saw the smile, and it brought a flash of light to his eyes. deeper than fear of damnation, higher than the creeds, stronger than any motive in a man's life, is the absolute confidence placed in him by a woman.
-“i went into the thing thoughtlessly,” he continued, “because it was the fashion at the time to be concerned in some large charity. and i am not sorry. it was the luckiest move i ever made. and now the thing will have to be gone through with, and there will be trouble.”
-but he laughed as he spoke; for there was no trouble in their hearts, neither could anything appall them.
-“beware equally of a sudden friend and a slow enemy.”
-roden and von holzen were at work in the little office of the malgamite works. the sun had just set, and the soft pearly twilight was creeping over the sand hills. the day's work was over, and the factories were all locked up for the night. in the stillness that seems to settle over earth and sea at sunset, the sound of the little waves could be heard--a distant, constant babbling from the west. the workers had gone to their huts. they were not a noisy body of men. it was their custom to creep quietly home when their work was done, and to sit in their doorways if the evening was warm, or with closed doors if the north wind was astir, and silently, steadily assuage their deadly thirst. those who sought to harvest their days, who fondly imagined they were going to make a fight for it, drank milk according to advice handed down to them from their sickly forefathers. the others, more reckless, or wiser, perhaps, in their brief generation, took stronger drink to make glad their hearts and for their many infirmities.
-they had merely to ask, and that which they asked for was given to them without comment.
-“yes,” said uncle ben to the new-comers, “you has a slap-up time--while it lasts.”
-for uncle ben was a strong man, and waxed garrulous in his cups. he had made malgamite all his life and nothing would kill him, not even drink. von holzen watched uncle ben, and did not like him. it was uncle ben who played the concertina at the door of his hut in the evening. he sprang from the class whose soul takes delight in the music of a concertina, and rises on bank holidays to that height of gaiety which can only be expressed by an interchange of hats. he came from the slums of london, where they breed a race of men, small, ill-formed, disease-stricken, hard to kill.
-the north wind was blowing this evening, and the huts were all closed. the sound of uncle ben's concertina could be dimly heard in what purported to be a popular air--a sort of nightmare of a tune such as a barrel-organist must suffer after bad beer. otherwise, there was nothing stirring within the enclosure. there was, indeed, a hush over the whole place, such as nature sometimes lays over certain spots like a quiet veil, as one might lay a cloth over the result of an accident, and say, “there is something wrong here; go away.”
-cornish, having tried the main entrance gate, found it locked, and no bell with which to summon those within. he went round to the northern end of the enclosure, where the sand had drifted against the high corrugated iron fencing, and where there were empty barrels on the inner side, as uncle ben had told him.
-“after all, i am a managing director of this concern,” said cornish to himself, with a grim laugh, as he clambered over the fence.
-he walked down the row of huts very slowly. some of them were empty. the door of one stood ajar, and a sudden smell of disinfectant made him stop and look in. there was something lying on a bed covered by a grimy sheet.
-“um--m,” muttered cornish, and walked on.
-there had been another visitor to the malgamite works that day. then cornish paused for a moment near uncle ben's hut, and listened to “ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay.” he bit his lips, restraining a sudden desire to laugh without any mirth in his heart, and went towards von holzen's office, where a light gleamed through the ill-closed curtains. for these men were working night and day now--making their fortunes. he caught, as he passed the window, a glimpse of roden bending over a great ledger which lay open before him on the table, while von holzen, at another desk, was writing letters in his neat german hand.
-then cornish went to the door, opened it, and passing in, closed it behind him.
-“good evening,” he said, with just a slight exaggeration of his usual suave politeness.
-“halloa!” exclaimed roden, with a startled look, and instinctively closing his ledger.
-he looked hastily towards von holzen, who turned, pen in hand. von holzen bowed rather coldly.
-“good evening,” he answered, without looking at roden. indeed, he crossed the room, and placed himself in front of his companion.
-“just come across?” inquired roden, putting together his papers with his usual leisureliness.
-“no; i have been here some time.”
-cornish turned and met von holzen's eyes with a ready audacity. he was not afraid of this silent scientist, and had been trained in a social world where nerve and daring are highly cultivated. von holzen looked at him with a measuring eye, and remembered some warning words spoken by roden months before. this was a cleverer man than they had thought him. this was the one mistake they had made in their careful scheme.
-“i have been looking into things,” said cornish, in a final voice. he took off his hat and laid it aside.
-von holzen went slowly back to his desk, which was a high one. he stood there close by roden, leaning his elbow on the letters that he had been writing. the two men were thus together facing cornish, who stood at the other side of the table.
-roden, whose face was quite colourless, shrugged his shoulders with a sneering smile. von holzen slowly moistened his lips, and cornish, meeting his glance, felt his heart leap upward to his throat. his way had been the way of peace. he had never seen that look in a man's eyes before, but there was no mistaking it. there are two things that none can mistake--an earthquake, and murder shining in a man's eyes. but there was good blood in cornish's veins, and good blood never fails. his muscles tightened, and he smiled in von holzen's face.
-“when you were over in london a fortnight ago,” he said, “you saw my uncle, and squared him. but i am not lord ferriby, and i am not to be squared. as to the financial part of this business”--he paused, and glanced at the ledgers--“that seems to be of secondary importance at the moment. besides, i do not understand finance.”
-roden's tired eyes flickered at the way in which the word was spoken.
-“i propose to deal with the more vital questions,” cornish continued, looking straight at von holzen. “i want details of the new process--the prescription, in fact.”
-“then you want much,” answered von holzen, with his slight accent.
-“oh, i want more than that,” was the retort; “i want a list of your deaths--not necessarily for publication. if the public were to hear of it, they would pull the place down about your ears, and probably hang you on your own water-tower.”
-von holzen laughed. “ah, my fine gentleman, if there is any hanging up to be done, you are in it, too,” he said. then he broke into a good-humoured laugh, and waved the question aside with his hand. “but why should we quarrel? it is mere foolishness. we are not schoolboys, but men of the world, who are reasonable, i hope. i cannot give you the prescription because it is a trade secret. you would not understand it without expert assistance, and the expert would turn his knowledge to account. we chemists, you see, do not trust each other. no; but i can make malgamite here before your eyes--to show you that it is harmless--what?” he spoke easily, with a certain fascination of manner, as a man to whom speech was easy enough--who was perhaps silent with a set purpose--because silence is safe. “but it is a long process,” he added, holding up one finger, “i warn you. it will take me two hours. and you, who have perhaps not dined, and this roden, who is tired out--”
-“roden can go home--if he is tired,” said cornish.
-“well,” answered von holzen, with outspread hands, “it is as you like. will you have it now and here?”
-“yes--now and here.”
-roden was slowly folding away his papers and closing his books. he glanced curiously at von holzen, as if he were displaying a hitherto unknown side to his character. von holzen, too, was collecting the papers scattered on his desk, with a patient air and a half-suppressed sigh of weariness, as if he were entering upon a work of supererogation.
-“as to the deaths,” he said, “i can demonstrate that as we go along. you will see where the dangers lie, and how criminally neglectful these people are. it is a curious thing, that carelessness of life. i am told the russian soldiers have it.”
-it seemed that in his way herr von holzen was a philosopher, having in his mind a store of odd human items. he certainly had the power of arousing curiosity and making his hearers wish him to continue speaking, which is rare. most men are uninteresting because they talk too much.
-“then i think i will go,” said roden, rising. he looked from one to the other, and received no answer. “good night,” he added, and walked to the door with dragging feet.
-“good night,” said cornish. and he was left alone for the first time in his life with von holzen, who was clearing the table and making his preparations with a silent deftness of touch acquired by the handling of delicate instruments, the mixing of dangerous drugs.
-“then our good friend lord ferriby does not know that you are here?” he inquired, without much interest, as if acknowledging the necessity of conversation of some sort.
-“no,” answered cornish.
-he had already assumed an air of unconscious command, which was probably habitual with him, as if there were no question between them as to who was the stronger man. cornish sat, pleasantly silent and acquiescent, but he felt in no way dominated. it is one thing to assume authority, and another to possess it.
-and he went out, leaving cornish alone. there was only one door to the room, leading straight out into the open. the office, it appeared, was built in the form of an annex to one of the storehouses, which stood detached from all other buildings.
-in a few minutes von holzen returned, laden with bottles and jars. one large wicker-covered bottle with a screw top he set carefully on the table.
-“i had to find them in the dark,” he explained absent-mindedly, as if his thoughts were all absorbed by the work in hand. “and one must be careful not to jar or break any of these. please do not touch them in my absence.” as he spoke, he again examined the stoppers to see that all was secure. “i come again,” he said, making sure that the large basket-covered bottle was safe. then he walked quickly out of the room and closed the door behind him.
-almost immediately cornish was conscious of a bitter taste in his mouth, though he could smell nothing. the lamp suddenly burnt blue and instantly went out.
-cornish stood up, groping in the dark, his head swimming, a deadly numbness dragging at his limbs. he had no pain, only a strange sensation of being drawn upwards. then his head bumped against the door, and the remaining glimmer of consciousness shaped itself into the knowledge that this was death. he seemed to swing backwards and forwards between life and death--between sleep and consciousness. then he felt a cooler air on his lips. he had fallen against the door, which did not fit against the threshold, and a draught of fresh air whistled through upon his face. “carbonic acid gas,” he muttered, with shaking lips. “carbonic acid gas.” he repeated the words over and over again, as a man in delirium repeats that which has fixed itself in his wandering brain. then, with a great effort, he brought himself to understand the meaning of the words that one portion of his brain kept repeating to the other portion which could not comprehend them. he tried to recollect all that he knew of carbonic acid gas, which was, in fact, not much. he vaguely remembered that it is not an active gas that mingles with the air and spreads, but rather it lurks in corners--an invisible form of death--and will so lurk for years unless disturbed by a current of air.
-cornish knew that in falling he had fallen out of the radius of the escaping gas, which probably filled the upper part of the room. if he raised himself, he would raise himself into the gas, which was slowly descending upon him, and that would mean instant death. he had already inhaled enough--perhaps too much. he lay quite still, breathing the draught between the door and the threshold, and raising his left hand, felt for the handle of the door. he found it and turned it. the door was locked. he lay still, and his brain began to wander, but with an effort he kept a hold upon his thoughts. he was a strong man, who had never had a bad illness--a cool head and an intrepid heart. stretching out his legs, he found some object close to him. it was von holzen's desk, which stood on four strong legs against the wall. cornish, who was quick and observant, remembered now how the room was shaped and furnished. he gathered himself together, drew in his legs, and doubled himself, with his feet against the desk, his shoulder against the door. he was long and lithe, of a steely strength which he had never tried. he now slowly straightened himself, and tore the screws out of the solid wood of the door, which remained hanging by the upper hinge. his head and shoulders were now out in the open air. he lay for a moment or two to regain his breath, and recover from the deadly nausea that follows gas poisoning. then he rose to his feet, and stood swaying like a drunken man. von holzen's cottage was a few yards away. a light was burning there, and gleamed through the cracks of the curtains.
-from the past.
-“one and one with a shadowy third.”
-“you have the air, mon ami, of a malgamiter,” said mrs. vansittart, looking into cornish's face--“lurking here in your little inn in a back street! why do you not go to one of the larger hotels in scheveningen, since you have abandoned the hague?”
-“because the larger hotels are not open yet,” replied cornish, bringing forward a chair.
-“that is true, now that i think of it. but i did not ask the question wanting an answer. you, who have been in the world, should know women better than to think that. i asked in idleness--a woman's trick. yes; you have been or you are ill. there is a white look in your face.”
-she sat looking at him. she had walked all the way from park straat in the shade of the trees--quite a pedestrian feat for one who confessed to belonging to a carriage generation. she had boldly entered the restaurant of the little hotel, and had told the waiter to take her to mr. cornish's apartment.
-“it hardly matters what a very young waiter, at the beginning of his career, may think of us. but downstairs they are rather scandalized, i warn you,” she said.
-“oh, i ceased explaining many years ago,” replied cornish, “even in english. more suspicion is aroused by explanation than by silence. for this wise world will not believe that one is telling the truth.”
-“when one is not,” suggested mrs. vansittart.
-“when one is not,” admitted cornish, in rather a tired voice, which, to so keen an ear as that of his hearer, was as good as asking her why she had come.
-she laughed. “yes,” she said, “you are not inclined to sit and talk nonsense at this time in the morning. no more am i. i did not walk from park straat and take your defences by storm, and subject myself to the insult of a raised eyebrow on the countenance of a foolish young waiter, to talk nonsense even with you, who are cleverer with your non-committing platitudes than any man i know.” she laughed rather harshly, as many do when they find themselves suddenly within hail, as it were, of that weakness which is called feeling. “no, i came here on--let us say--business. i hold a good card, and i am going to play it. i want you to hold your hand in the mean time; give me to-day, you understand. i have taken great care to strengthen my hand. this is no sudden impulse, but a set purpose to which i have led up for some weeks. it is not scrupulous; it is not even honest. it is, in a word, essentially feminine, and not an affair to which you as a man could lend a moment's approval. therefore, i tell you nothing. i merely ask you to leave me an open field to-day. our end is the same, though our methods and our purpose differ as much as--well, as much as our minds. you want to break this malgamite corner. i want to break otto von holzen. you understand?”
-cornish had known her long enough to permit himself to nod and say nothing.
-“if i succeed, tant mieux. if i fail, it is no concern of yours, and it will in no way affect you or your plans. ah, you disapprove, i see. what a complicated world this would be if we could all wear masks! your face used to be a safer one than it is now. can it be that you are becoming serious--un jeune homme sérieux? heaven save you from that!”
-“no; i have a headache; that is all,” laughed cornish.
-mrs. vansittart was slowly unbuttoning and rebuttoning her glove, deep in thought. for some women can think deeply and talk superficially at the same moment.
-“do you know,” she said, with a sudden change of voice and manner, “i have a conviction that you know something to-day of which you were ignorant yesterday? all knowledge, i suppose, leaves its mark. something about otto von holzen, i suspect. ah, tony, if you know something, tell it to me. if you hold a strong card, let me play it. you do not know how i have longed and waited--what a miserable little hand i hold against this strong man.”
-she was serious enough now. her voice had a ring of hopelessness in it, as if she knew that limit against which a woman is fated to throw herself when she tries to injure a man who has no love for her. if the love be there, then is she strong, indeed; but without it, what can she do? it is the little more that is so much, and the little less that is such worlds away.
-cornish did not deny the knowledge which she ascribed to him, but merely shook his head, and mrs. vansittart suddenly changed her manner again. she was quick and clever enough to know that whatever account stood open between cornish and von holzen the reckoning must be between them alone, without the help of any woman.
-“then you will remain indoors,” she said, rising, “and recover from your ... strange headache--and not go near the malgamite works, nor see percy roden or otto von holzen--and let me have my little try--that is all i ask.”
-“yes,” answered cornish, reluctantly; “but i think you would be wiser to leave von holzen to me.”
-“ah!” said mrs. vansittart, with one of her quick glances. “you think that.”
-she paused on the threshold, then shrugged her shoulders and passed out. she hurried home, and there wrote a note to percy roden.
-“dear mr. roden,
-“it seems a long time since i saw you last, though perhaps it only seems so to me. i shall be at home at five o'clock this evening, if you care to take pity on a lonely countrywoman. if i should be out riding when you come, please await my return.
-“yours very truly,
-she closed the letter with a little cruel smile, and despatched it by the hand of a servant. quite early in the afternoon she put on her habit, but did not go straight downstairs, although her horse was at the door. she went to the library instead--a small, large-windowed room, looking on to oranje straat. from a drawer in her writing-table she took a key, and examined it closely before slipping it into her pocket. it was a new key with the file-marks still upon it.
-“a clumsy expedient,” she said. “but the end is so desirable that the means must not be too scrupulously considered.”
-she rode down kazerne straat and through the wood by the leyden road. by turning to the left, she soon made her way to the east dunes, and thus describing a circle, rode slowly back towards scheveningen. she knew her way, it appeared, to the malgamite works. leaving her horse in the care of the groom, she walked to the gate of the works, which was opened to her by the doorkeeper, after some hesitation. the man was a german, and therefore, perhaps, more amenable to mrs. vansittart's imperious arguments.
-“i must see herr von holzen without delay,” she said. “show me his office.”
-the man pointed out the building. “but the herr professor is in the factory,” he said. “it is mixing-day to-day. i will, however, fetch him.”
-mrs. vansittart walked slowly towards the office where roden had told her that the safe stood wherein the prescription and other papers were secured. she knew it was mixing-day and that von holzen would be in the factory. she had sent roden on a fool's errand to park straat to await her return there. was she going to succeed? would she be left alone for a few moments in that little office with the safe? she fingered the key in her pocket--a duplicate obtained at some risk, with infinite difficulty, by the simple stratagem of borrowing roden's keys to open an old and disused desk one evening in park straat. she had conceived the plan herself, had carried it out herself, as all must who wish to succeed in a human design. she was quite aware that the plan was crude and almost childish, but the gain was great, and it is often the simplest means that succeed. the secret of the manufacture of malgamite--written in black and white--might prove to be von holzen's death-warrant. mrs. vansittart had to fight in her own way or not fight at all. she could not understand the slower, surer methods of mr. wade and cornish, who appeared to be waiting and wasting time.
-the german doorkeeper accompanied her to the office, and opened the door after knocking and receiving no answer.
-“will the high-born take a seat?” he said; “i shall not be long.”
-“there is no need to hurry,” said mrs. vansittart to herself.
-and before the door was quite closed she was on her feet again. the office was bare and orderly. even the waste-paper baskets were empty. the books were locked away and the desks were clear. but the small green safe stood in the corner. mrs. vansittart went towards it, key in hand. the key was the right one. it had only been selected by guesswork among a number on roden's bunch. it slipped into the lock and turned smoothly, but the door would not move. she tugged and wrenched at the handle, then turned it accidentally, and the heavy door swung open. there were two drawers at the bottom of the safe which were not locked, and contained neatly folded papers. her fingers were among these in a moment. the papers were folded and tied together. many of the bundles were labelled. a long narrow envelope lay at the bottom of the drawer. she seized it quickly and turned it over. it bore no address nor any superscription. “ah!” she said breathlessly, and slipped her finger within the flap of the envelope. then she hesitated for a moment, and turned on her heel. von holzen was standing in the doorway looking at her.
-they stared at each other for a moment in silence. mrs. vansittart's lips were drawn back, showing her even, white teeth. von holzen's quiet eyes were wide open, so that the white showed all around the dark pupil. then he sprang at her without a word. she was a lithe, strong woman, taller than he, or else she would have fallen. instead, she stood her ground, and he, failing to get a grasp at her wrist, stumbled sideways against the table. in a moment she had run round it, and again they stared at each other, without a word, across the table where percy roden kept the books of the malgamite works.
-“you are the wife of karl vansittart,” he said in german.
-“i am his widow,” she replied; and her breath caught, for she was still shaken by the physical and moral realization of her absolute helplessness in his hands, and she saw in a flash of thought the question in his mind as to whether he could afford to let her leave the room alive.
-“give me the key with which you opened the safe,” he said coldly.
-she had replaced the key in her pocket, and now sought it with a shaking hand. she gave it to him without a word. morally she would not acknowledge herself beaten, and the bitterness of that moment was the self-contempt with which she realized a physical cowardice which she had hitherto deemed quite impossible. for the flesh is always surprised by its own weakness.
-“i hope i did not hurt you,” he said quietly, thereby putting in a dim and far-off claim to greatness, for it is hard not to triumph in absolute victory.
-“yes,” she cried, with a sort of break in her voice that made it strident--“yes. i am karl vansittart's wife, and i--cared for him. do you know what that means? but you can't. all that side of life is a closed book to such as you. it means that if you had been a hundred times in the right and he always in the wrong, i should still have believed in him and distrusted you--should still have cared for him and hated you. but he was not guilty. he was in the right and you were wrong--a thief and a murderer, no doubt. and to screen your paltry name, you sacrificed karl and the happiness of two people who had just begun to be happy. it means that i shall not rest until i have made you pay for what you have done. i have never lost sight of you--and never shall--”
-she paused, and looked at his impassive face with a strange, dull curiosity as she spoke of the future, as if wondering whether she had a future or had reached the end of her life--here, at this moment, in the little plank-walled office of the malgamite works. but her courage rose steadily. it is only afar off that death is terrible. when we actually stand in his presence, we usually hold up our heads and face him quietly enough.
-“you may have other enemies,” she continued. “i know you have--men, too--but none of them will last so long as i shall, none of them is to be feared as i am--”
-she stopped again in a fury, for he was obviously waiting for her to pause for mere want of breath, as if her words could be of no weight.
-“if you fear anything on earth,” she said, acknowledging is one merit despite herself.
-“i fear you so little,” he answered, going to the door and unlocking it, “that you may go.”
-her whip lay on the table. he picked it up and handed it to her, gravely, without a bow, without a shade of triumph or the smallest suspicion of sarcasm. there was perhaps the nucleus of a great man in otto von holzen, after all, for there was no smallness in his mind. he opened the door, and stood aside for her to pass out.
-“it is not because you do not fear me--that you let me go,” said mrs. vansittart. “but--because you are afraid of tony cornish.”
-and she went out, wondering whether the shot had told or missed.
-a combined force.
-“hear, but be faithful to your interest still. secure your heart, then fool with whom you will.”
-mrs. vansittart walked to the gate of the malgamite works, thinking that von holzen was following her on the noiseless sand. at the gate, which the porter threw open on seeing her approach, she turned and found that she was alone. von holzen was walking quietly back towards the factory. he was so busy making his fortune that he could not give mrs. vansittart more than a few minutes. she bit her lip as she went towards her horse. neglect is no balm to the wounds of the defeated.
-she mounted her horse and looked at her watch. it was nearly five o'clock, and percy roden was doubtless waiting for her in park straat. it is a woman's business to know what is expected of her. mrs. vansittart recalled in a very matter-of-fact way the wording of her letter to roden. she brushed some dust from her habit, and made sure that her hair was tidy. then she fell into deep thought, and set her mind in a like order for the work that lay before her. a man's deepest schemes in love are child's play beside the woman's schemes that meet or frustrate his own. mrs. vansittart rode rapidly home to park straat.
-mr. roden, the servant told her, was awaiting her return in the drawing-room. she walked slowly upstairs. some victories are only to be won with arms that hurt the bearer. mrs. vansittart's mind was warped, or she must have known that she was going to pay too dearly for her revenge. she was sacrificing invaluable memories to a paltry hatred.
-“ah!” she said to roden, whose manner betrayed the recollection of her invitation to him, “so i have kept you waiting--a minute, perhaps, for each day that you have stayed away from park straat.”
-roden laughed, with a shade of embarrassment, which she was quick to detect.
-“is it your sister,” she asked, “who has induced you to stay away?”
-“dorothy has nothing but good to say of you,” he answered.
-“then it is herr von holzen,” said mrs. vansittart, laying aside her gloves and turning towards the tea-table. she spoke quietly and rather indifferently, as one does of persons who are removed by a social grade. “i have never told you, i believe, that i happen to know something of your--what is he?--your foreman. he has probably warned you against me. my husband once employed this von holzen, and was, i believe, robbed by him. we never knew the man socially, and i have always suspected that he bore us some ill feeling on that account. you remember--in this room, when you brought him to call soon after your works were built--that he referred to having met my husband. doubtless with a view to finding out how much i knew, or if i was in reality the wife of charles vansittart. but i did not choose to enlighten him.”
-she had poured out tea while she spoke. her hands were unsteady still, and she drew down the sleeve of her habit to hide the discoloration of her wrist. she turned rather suddenly, and saw on roden's face the confession that it had been due to von holzen's influence that he had absented himself from her drawing-room.
-“however,” she said, with a little laugh, and in a final voice, as if dismissing a subject of small importance--“however, i suppose herr von holzen is rising in the world, and has the sensitive vanity of persons in that trying condition.”
-she sat down slowly, remembering her pretty figure in its smart habit. roden's slow eyes noted the pretty figure also, which she observed, one may be sure.
-“tell me your news,” she said. “you look tired and ill. it is hard work making one's fortune. be sure that you know what you want to buy before you make it, or afterwards you may find that it has not been worth while to have worked so hard.”
-“perhaps what i want is not to be bought,” he said, with his eyes on the carpet. for he was an awkward player at this light game.
-“ah!” she exclaimed. “then it must be either worthless or priceless.”
-he looked at her, but he did not speak, and those who are quick to detect the fleeting shade of pathos might have seen it in the glance of the tired eyes. for percy roden was only clever as a financier, and women have no use for such cleverness, only for the results of it. roden was conscious of making no progress with mrs. vansittart, who handled him as a cat handles a disabled mouse while watching another hole.
-“you have been busier than ever, i suppose,” she said, “since you have had no time to remember your friends.”
-“yes,” answered roden, brightening. he was so absorbed in the most absorbing and lasting employment of which the human understanding is capable that he could talk of little else, even to mrs. vansittart. “yes, we have been very busy, and are turning out nearly ten tons a day now. and we have had trouble from a quarter in which we did not expect it. von holzen has been much worried, i know, though he never says anything. he may not be a gentleman, mrs. vansittart, but he is a wonderful man.”
-“ah,” said mrs. vansittart, indifferently; and something in her manner made him all the more desirous of explaining his reasons for associating himself with a person who, as she had subtly and flatteringly hinted more than once, was far beneath him from a social point of view. this desire rendered him less guarded than it was perhaps wise to be under the circumstances.
-“yes, he is a very clever man--a genius, i think. he rises to each difficulty without any effort, and every day shows me new evidence of his foresight. he has done more than you think in the malgamite works. his share of the work has been greater than anybody knows. i am only the financier, you understand. i know about bookkeeping and about--money--how it should be handled--that is all.”
-“you are too modest, i think,” said mrs. vansittart, gravely. “you forget that the scheme was yours; you forget all that you did in london.”
-“yes,” said mrs. vansittart, softly.
-“but i should like von holzen to have his due,” said roden, rather grandly. “he has done wonders, and no one quite realizes that except perhaps cornish.”
-“indeed! does mr. cornish give herr von holzen his due, then?”
-“cornish does his best to upset von holzen's plans at every turn. he does not understand business at all. when that sort of man goes into business he invariably gets into trouble. he has what i suppose he calls scruples. it comes, i imagine, from not having been brought up to it.” roden spoke rather hotly. he was of a jealous disposition, and disliked mrs. vansittart's attitude towards cornish. “but he is no match for von holzen,” he continued, “as he will find to his cost. von holzen is not the sort of man to stand any kind of interference.”
-“ah?” said mrs. vansittart again, in the slightly questioning and indifferent manner with which she received all defence of otto von holzen, and which had the effect of urging roden to further explanation.
-“he is not a man i should care to cross myself,” he said, determined to secure mrs. vansittart's full attention. “he has the whole of the malgamiters at his beck and call, and is pretty powerful, i can tell you. they are a desperate set of fellows; men engaged in a dangerous industry do not wear kid gloves.”
-mrs. vansittart was watching him across the low tea-table; for roden rarely looked at his interlocutor. he had more of her attention than he perhaps suspected.
-“ah,” she said, rather more indifferently than before, “i think you exaggerate herr von holzen's importance in the world.”
-“i do not exaggerate the danger into which cornish will run if he is not careful,” retorted roden, half sullenly.
-there was a ring of anxiety in his voice. mrs. vansittart glanced sharply at him. it was borne in upon her that roden himself was afraid of von holzen. this was more serious than it had at first appeared. there are periods in every man's history when human affairs suddenly appear to become unmanageable and the course of events gets beyond any sort of control--when the hand at the helm falters, and even the managing female of the family hesitates to act. roden seemed to have reached such a crisis now, and mrs. vansittart; charm she never so wisely, could not brush the frown of anxiety from his brow. he was in no mood for love-making, and men cannot call up this fleeting humour, as a woman can, when it is wanted. so they sat and talked of many things, both glancing at the clock with a surreptitious eye. they were not the first man and woman to go hunting cupid with the best will in the world--only to draw a blank.
-“i must go back to the works,” he said. “we work late to-night.”
-“then do not tell herr von holzen where you have been,” replied mrs. vansittart, with a warning smile. then, on the threshold, with a gravity and a glance that sent him away happy, she added, “i do not want you to discuss me with otto von holzen, you understand!”
-she stood with her hand on the bell, looking at the clock, while he went downstairs. the moment she heard the street door closed behind him she rang sharply.
-“the brougham,” she said to the servant, “at once.”
-ten minutes later she was rattling down maurits kade towards the villa des dunes. a deep bank of clouds had risen from the west, completely obscuring the sun, so that it seemed already to be twilight. indeed, nature itself appeared to be deceived, and as the carriage left the town behind and emerged into the sandy quiet of the suburbs, the countless sparrows in the lime-trees were preparing for the night. the trees themselves were shedding an evening odour, while, from canal and dyke and ditch, there arose that subtle smell of damp weed and grass which hangs over the whole of holland all night.
-“the place smells of calamity,” said mrs. vansittart to herself, as she quitted the carriage and walked quickly along the sandy path to the villa des dunes.
-dorothy was in the garden, and, seeing her, came to the gate. mrs. vansittart had changed her riding-habit for one of the dark silks she usually wore, but she had forgotten to put on any gloves.
-“come,” she said rapidly, taking dorothy's hand, and holding it--“come to the seat at the end of the garden where we sat one evening when we dined alone together. i do not want to go indoors. i am nervous, i suppose. i have allowed myself to give way to panic like a child in the dark. i felt lonely in park straat, with a house full of servants, so i came to you.”
-“i think there is going to be a thunderstorm,” said dorothy.
-and mrs. vansittart broke into a sudden laugh. “i knew you would say that. because you are modern and practical--or, at all events, you show a practical face to the world, which is better. yes, one may say that much for the modern girl, at all events--she keeps her head. as to her heart--well, perhaps she has not got one.”
-“perhaps not,” admitted dorothy.
-they had reached the seat now, and sat down beneath the branches of a weeping-willow, trimly trained in the accurate dutch fashion. mrs. vansittart glanced at her companion, and gave a little, low, wise laugh.
-“i did well to come to you,” she said, “for you have not many words. you have a sense of humour--that saving sense which so few people possess--and i suspect you to be a person of action. i came in a panic, which is still there, but in a modified degree. one is always more nervous for one's friends than for one's self. is it not so? it is for tony cornish that i fear.”
-dorothy looked steadily straight in front of her, and there was a short silence.
-“i do not know why he stays in holland, and i wish he would go home,” continued mrs. vansittart. “it is unreasoning, i know, and foolish, but i am convinced that he is running into danger.” she stopped suddenly, and laid her hand upon dorothy's; for she had caught many foreign ways and gestures. “listen,” she said, in a lower tone. “it is useless for you and me to mince matters. the malgamite scheme is a terrible crime, and tony cornish means to stop it. surely you and i have long suspected that. i know otto von holzen. he killed my husband. he is a most dangerous man. he is attempting to frighten tony cornish away from here, and he does not understand the sort of person he is dealing with. one does not frighten persons of the stamp of tony cornish, whether man or woman. i have made tony promise not to leave his room to-day. for to-morrow i cannot answer. you understand?”
-“yes,” answered dorothy, with a sudden light in her eyes, “i understand.”
-“your brother must take care of himself. i care nothing for lord ferriby, or any others concerned in this, but only for tony cornish, for whom i have an affection, for he was part of my past life--when i was happy. as for the malgamiters, they and their works may--go hang!” and mrs. vansittart snapped her fingers. “do you know major white?” she asked suddenly.
-“yes; i have seen him once.”
-“so have i--only once. but for a woman once is often enough--is it not so?--to enable one to judge. i wish we had him here.”
-“he is coming,” answered dorothy. “i think he is coming to-morrow. when i saw mr. cornish yesterday, he told me that he expected him. i believe he wrote for him to come. he also wrote to mr. wade, the banker, asking him to come.”
-“then he found things worse than he expected. he has, in a sense, sent for reinforcements. when does major white arrive--in the morning?”
-“no; not till the evening.”
-“then he comes by flushing,” said mrs. vansittart, practically. “you are thinking of something. what is it?”
-“i was wondering how i could see some of the malgamite workers to-morrow. i know some of them, and it is from them that the danger may be expected. they are easily led, and herr von holzen would not scruple to make use of them.”
-“ah!” said mrs. vansittart, “you have guessed that, too. i have more than guessed it--i know it. you must see these men to-morrow.”
-“i will,” answered dorothy, simply.
-mrs. vansittart rose and held out her hand. “yes,” she said, “i came to the right person. you are calm, and keep your head; as to the other, perhaps that is in safe-keeping too. good night and come to lunch with me to-morrow.”
-“on se guérit de la bienfaisance par la connaissance de ceux qu'on oblige.”
-“can you tell me if there is a moon to-night?” mrs. vansittart asked a porter in the railway station at the hague.
-the man stared at her for a moment, then realized that the question was a serious one.
-it was past nine o'clock, and mrs. vansittart had been waiting nearly half an hour for the flushing train. her carriage was walking slowly up and down beneath the glass roof of the entrance to the railway station. she had taken a ticket in order to gain access to the platform, and was almost alone there with the porters. her glance travelled backwards and forwards between the clock and the western sky, visible beneath the great arch of the station. the evening was a clear one, for the month of june still lingered, but the twilight was at hand. the flushing train was late to-night of all nights; and mrs. vansittart stamped her foot with impatience. what was worse was dorothy roden's lateness. dorothy and mrs. vansittart, like two generals on the eve of a battle, had been exchanging hurried notes all day; and dorothy had promised to meet mrs. vansittart at the station on the arrival of the train.
-“the moon is rising now, my lady--a half-moon,” said the porter approaching with that leisureliness which characterizes railway porters between trains.
-“why does your stupid train not come?” asked mrs. vansittart, with unreasoning anger.
-“it has been signalled, my lady; a few minutes now.”
-mrs. vansittart gave a quick sigh of relief, and turned on her heel. she had long been unable to remain quietly in one place. she saw dorothy coming up the slope to the platform. at last matters were taking a turn for the better--except, indeed, dorothy's face, which was set and white.
-“i have found out something,” she said at once, and speaking quickly but steadily. “it is for to-night, between half-past nine and ten.”
-she had her watch in her hand, and compared it quickly with the station clock as she spoke.
-“i have secured uncle ben,” she said--all the ridicule of the name seemed to have vanished long ago. “he is drunk, and therefore cunning. it is only when he is sober that he is stupid. i have him in a cab downstairs, and have told your man to watch him. i have been to mr. cornish's rooms again, and he has not come in. he has not been in since morning, and they do not know where he is. no one knows where he is.”
-dorothy's lip quivered for a moment, and she held it with her teeth. mrs. vansittart touched her arm lightly with her gloved fingers--a strange, quick, woman's gesture.
-“i went upstairs to his rooms,” continued dorothy. “it is no good thinking of etiquette now or pretending----”
-“no,” said mrs. vansittart, hurriedly, so that the sentence was never finished.
-“i found nothing except two torn envelopes in the waste-paper basket. one in an uneducated hand--perhaps feigned. the other was otto von holzen's writing.”
-“ah! in otto von holzen's writing--addressed to tony at the zwaan at scheveningen?”
-“then otto von holzen knows where tony is staying, at all events. we have learnt something. you have kept the envelopes?”
-they both turned at the rumble of the train outside the station. the great engine came clanking in over the points, its lamp glaring like the eye of some monster.
-“provided major white is in the train,” muttered mrs. vansittart, tapping on the pavement with her foot. “if he is not in the train, dorothy?”
-“then we must go alone.”
-mrs. vansittart turned and looked her slowly up and down.
-“you are a brave woman,” she said thoughtfully.
-but major white was in the train, being a man of his word in small things as well as in great. they saw him pushing his way patiently through the crowd of hotel porters and others who had advice or their services to offer him. then he saw mrs. vansittart and dorothy, and recognized them.
-“give your luggage ticket to the hotel porter and let him take it straight to the hotel. you are wanted elsewhere.”
-still major white was only in his normal condition of mild and patient surprise. he had only met mrs. vansittart once, and dorothy as often. he did exactly as he was told without asking one of those hundred questions which would inevitably have been asked by many men and more women under such circumstances, and followed the ladies out of the crowd.
-“we must talk here,” said mrs. vansittart. “one cannot do so in a carriage in the streets of the hague.”
-major white bowed gravely, and looked from one to the other. he was rather travel-worn, and seemed to be feeling the heat.
-“tony cornish has probably written to you about his discoveries as to the malgamite works. we have no time to go into that question, however,” said mrs. vansittart, who was already beginning to be impatient with this placid man. “he has earned the enmity of otto von holzen--a man who will stop at nothing--and the malgamiters are being raised against him by von holzen. our information is very vague, but we are almost certain that an attempt is to be made on tony's life to-night between half-past nine and ten. you understand?” mrs. vansittart almost stamped her foot.
-“oh yes,” answered white, looking at the station clock. “twenty minutes' time.”
-“we have the information from one of the malgamiters themselves, who knows the time and the place, but he is tipsy. he is in a carriage outside the station.”
-“how tipsy?” asked major white; and both his hearers shrugged their shoulders.
-“how can we tell you that?” snapped mrs. vansittart; and major white dropped his glass from his eye.
-“where is your brother?” he said, turning to dorothy. he was evidently rather afraid of mrs. vansittart, as a quick-spoken person not likely to have patience with a slow man.
-white looked at dorothy thoughtfully, and something in his gaze made her change colour.
-“let me see this man,” he said, moving towards the exit.
-“he is in that carriage,” said dorothy, when they had reached a quiet corner of the station yard. “you must be quick. we have only a quarter of an hour now. he is an englishman.”
-white got into the cab with uncle ben, who appeared to be sleeping, and closed the door after him. in a few moments he emerged again.
-“tell the man to drive to a chemist's,” he said to mrs. vansittart. “the fellow is not so bad. i have got something out of him, and will get more. follow in your carriage--you and miss roden.”
-it was major white's turn now to take the lead, and mrs. vansittart meekly obeyed, though white's movements were so leisurely as to madden her.
-at the chemist's shop, white descended from the carriage and appeared to have some language in common with the druggist, for he presently returned to the carriage, carrying a tumbler. after a moment he went to the window of mrs. vansittart's neat brougham.
-“i must bring him in here,” he said. “you have a pair of horses which look as if they could go. tell your man to drive to the pumping-station on the dunes, wherever that may be.”
-then he went and fetched uncle ben, whom he brought by one arm, in a dislocated condition, trotting feebly to keep pace with the major's long stride.
-at length the carriage stopped on the narrow road, paved with the little bricks they make at gouda, that leads from scheveningen to the pumping-station on the dunes. major white was the first to quit it, dragging uncle ben unceremoniously after him. then, with his disengaged hand, he helped the ladies. he screwed his glass tightly into his eye, and looked round him with a measuring glance.
-“this place will be as light as day,” he said, “when the moon rises from behind those trees.”
-“will you tell your man,” he said to mrs. vansittart, “to drive back to the junction of the two roads and wait there under the trees?” he paused, looking dubiously from one to the other. “and you and miss roden had better go back with him and stay in the carriage.”
-“no,” said dorothy, quietly.
-“oh no!” added mrs. vansittart.
-and major white moistened his lips with an air of patient toleration for the ways of a sex which had ever been far beyond his comprehension.
-“it seems,” he said, when the carriage had rolled away over the noisy stones, “that we are in good time. they do not expect him until nearly ten. he has been attempting for some time to get the men to refuse to work, and these same men have written to ask him to meet them at the works at ten o'clock, when roden is at utrecht, and von holzen is out. there is no question of reaching the works at all. they are going to lie in ambush in a hollow of the dunes, and knock him on the head about half a mile from here north-east.” and major white paused in this great conversational effort to consult a small gold compass attached to his watch-chain.
-the two women waited patiently.
-“fine place, these dunes,” said the major, after a pause. “could conceal three thousand men between here and scheveningen.”
-“but it is not a question of hiding soldiers,” said mrs. vansittart, sharply, with a movement of the head indicative of supreme contempt.
-“no,” admitted white. “better hide ourselves, perhaps. no good standing here where everybody can see us. i'll fetch our friend. think he'll sleep if we let him. chemist gave him enough to kill a horse.”
-“but haven't you any plans?” asked mrs. vansittart, in despair. “what are you going to do? you are not going to let these brutes kill tony cornish? surely you, as a soldier, must know how to meet this crisis.”
-“oh yes. not much of a soldier, you know,” answered white, soothingly, as he moved away towards uncle ben. “but i think i know how this business ought to be managed. come along--hide ourselves.”
-he led the way across the dunes, dragging uncle ben by one arm, and keeping in the hollows. the two women followed in silence on the silent sand.
-once major white paused and looked back. “don't talk,” he said, holding up a large fat hand in a ridiculous gesture of warning, which he must have learnt in the nursery. he looked like a large baby listening for a bogey in the chimney.
-once or twice he consulted uncle ben, and as often glanced at his compass. there was a certain skill in his attitude and demeanour, as if he knew exactly what he was about. mrs. vansittart had a hundred questions to ask him, but they died on her lips. the moon rose suddenly over the distant trees and flooded all the sand-hills with light. major white halted his little party in a deep hollow, and consulted uncle ben in whispers. then bidding him sit down, he left the three alone in their hiding-place, and went away by himself. he climbed almost to the summit of a neighbouring mound, and stopped suddenly, with his face uplifted, as if smelling something. like many short-sighted persons, he had a keen scent. in a few minutes he came back again.
-“i have found them,” he whispered to mrs. vansittart and dorothy. “smelt 'em--like sealing-wax. eleven of them--waiting there for cornish.” and he smiled with a sort of boyish glee.
-“what are you going to do?” whispered mrs. vansittart.
-“thump them,” he answered, and presently went back to his post of observation.
-uncle ben had fallen asleep, and the two women stood side by side waiting in the moonlight. it was chilly, and a keen wind swept in from the sea. dorothy shivered. they could hear certain notes of certain instruments in the band of the scheveningen kurhaus, nearly two miles away. it was strange to be within sound of such evidences of civilization, and yet in such a lonely spot--strange to reflect that eleven men were waiting within a few yards of them to murder one. and yet they could safely have carried out their intention, and have scraped a hole in the sand to hide his body, in the certainty that it would never be found; for these dunes are a miniature desert of sahara, where nothing bids men leave the beaten paths, where certain hollows have probably never been trodden by the foot of man, and where the ever-drifting sand slowly accumulates--a very abomination of desolation.
-at length white rose to his feet agilely enough, and crept to the brow of the dune. the men were evidently moving. mrs. vansittart and dorothy ascended the bank to the spot just vacated by white.
-only a few dozen yards away they could see the black forms of the malgamiters grouped together under the covert of a low hillock. hidden from their sight, major white was slowly stalking them.
-dorothy touched mrs. vansittart's arm, and pointed silently in the direction of scheveningen. a man was approaching, alone, across the silvery sand-hills. it was tony cornish, walking into the trap laid for him.
-major white saw him also, and thinking himself unobserved, or from mere habit acquired among his men, he moistened the tips of his fingers at his lips.
-the malgamiters moved forward, and white followed them. they took up a position in a hollow a few yards away from the foot-path by which cornish must pass. one of their number remained behind, crouching on a mound, and evidently reporting progress to his companions below. when cornish was within a hundred yards of the ambush, white suddenly ran up the bank, and lifting this man bodily, threw him down among his comrades. he followed this vigorous attack by charging down into the confused mass. in a few moments the malgamiters streamed away across the sand-hills like a pack of hounds, though pursued and not pursuing. they left some of their number on the sand behind them, for white was a hard hitter.
-“give it to them, tony!” white cried, with a ring of exultation in his voice. “knock 'em down as they come!”
-for there was only one path, and the malgamiters had to run the gauntlet of tony cornish, who knocked some of them over neatly enough as they passed, selecting the big ones, and letting the others go free. he knew them by the smell of their clothes, and guessed their intention readily enough.
-it was a strange scene, and one that left the two women, watching it, breathless and eager.
-“oh, i wish i were a man!” exclaimed mrs. vansittart, with clenched fists.
-they hurried toward cornish and white, who were now alone on the path. white had rolled up his sleeve, and was tying his handkerchief round his arm with his other hand and his teeth.
-“it is nothing,” he said. “one of the devils had a knife. must get my sleeve mended to-morrow.”
-“prends moy telle que je suy.”
-marguerite came forward and shook hands gravely. major white's left eyebrow quivered for a moment in indication of his usual mild surprise at life and its changing surface.
-“feeling pretty--bobbish?” inquired marguerite, earnestly.
-white's eyebrow went right up and his glass fell.
-“fairly bobbish, thank you,” he answered, looking at her with stupendous gravity.
-“you look all right, you know.”
-“you should never judge by appearances,” said white, with a fatherly severity.
-marguerite pursed up her lips, and looked his stalwart frame up and down in silence. then she suddenly lapsed into her most confidential manner, like a schoolgirl telling her bosom friend, for the moment, all the truth and more than the truth.
-“you are surprised to see me here; thought you would be, you know. i knew you were in the hotel; saw your boots outside your door last night; knew they must be yours. you went to bed very early.”
-“i have two pairs of boots,” replied the major, darkly.
-“well, to tell you the truth, i have brought papa across. tony wrote for him to come, and i knew papa would be no use by himself, so i came. i told you long ago that the malgamite scheme was up a gum-tree, and that seems to be precisely where you are.”
-“and so i have come over, and papa and i are going to put things straight.”
-“i shouldn't if i were you.”
-“shouldn't what?” inquired marguerite.
-“shouldn't put other people's affairs straight. it does not pay, especially if other people happen to be up a gum-tree--make yourself all sticky, you know.”
-marguerite looked at him doubtfully. “ah!” she said. “that's what--is it?”
-“that's what,” admitted major white.
-“that is the difference, i suppose, between a man and a woman,” said marguerite, sitting down at a small table where breakfast had been laid for two. “a man looks on at things going--well, to the dogs--and smokes and thinks it isn't his business. a woman thinks the whole world is her business.”
-“so it is, in a sense--it is her doing, at all events.”
-marguerite had turned to beckon to the waiter, and she paused to look back over her shoulder with shrewd, clear eyes.
-“ah!” she said mystically.
-then she addressed herself to the waiter, calling him “kellner,” and speaking to him in german, in the full assurance that it would be his native tongue.
-“i have told him,” she explained to white, “to bring your little coffee-pot and your little milk-jug and your little pat of butter to this table.”
-“so i understood.”
-“ah! then you know german?” inquired marguerite, with another doubtful glance.
-“i get two pence a day extra pay for knowing german.”
-marguerite paused in her selection, of a breakfast roll from a silver basket containing that continental choice of breads which look so different and taste so much alike.
-“seems to me,” she said confidentially, “that you know more than you appear to know.”
-“not such a fool as i look, in fact.”
-“that is about the size of it,” admitted marguerite, gravely. “tony always says that the world sees more than any one suspect. perhaps he is right.”
-and both happening to look up at this moment, their glances met across the little table.
-“tony often is right,” said major white.
-there was a pause, during which marguerite attended to the two small coffee-pots for which she had such a youthful and outspoken contempt. the privileges of her sex were still new enough to her to afford a certain pleasure in pouring out beverages for other people to drink.
-major white looked stolidly out of the open window for a few minutes before answering.
-“two questions don't make an answer.”
-“not these two questions?” asked marguerite, with a sudden laugh.
-“no; mrs. vansittart is a widow, young, and what they usually call 'charming,' i believe. she is clever, yes, very clever, and she was, i suppose, fond of vansittart; and that is the whole story, i take it.”
-“not exactly a cheery story.”
-“no true stories are,” returned the major, gravely.
-but marguerite shook her head. in her wisdom--that huge wisdom of life as seen from the threshold--she did not believe mrs. vansittart's story.
-“yes, but novelists and people take a true story and patch it up at the end. perhaps most people do that with their lives, you know; perhaps mrs. vansittart--”
-“won't do that,” said the major, staring in a stupid way out of the window with vacant, short-sighted eyes. “not even if tony suggested it--which he won't do.”
-“you mean that tony is not a patch upon the late mr. vansittart--that is what you mean,” said marguerite, condescendingly. “then why does he stay in the hague?”
-major white shrugged his shoulders and lapsed into a stolid silence, broken only by a demand made presently by marguerite to the waiter for more bread and more butter. she looked at her companion once or twice, and it is perhaps not astonishing that she again concluded that he must be as dense as he looked. it is a mistake that many of her sex have made regarding men.
-“do you know miss roden?” she asked suddenly. “i have heard a good deal about her from joan.”
-“is she pretty?”
-“very pretty?” persisted marguerite.
-“yes,” replied the major.
-and they continued their breakfast in silence.
-marguerite appeared to have something to think about. major white was in the habit of stating that he never thought, and certainly appearances bore him out.
-“your father is late,” he said at length.
-“yes,” answered marguerite, with a gay laugh. “because he was afraid to ring the bell for hot water. papa has a rooted british conviction that continental chambermaids always burst into your room if you ring the bell, whether the door is locked or not. he is nothing if not respectable, poor old dear--would give points to any bishop in the land.”
-as she spoke her father came into the room, looking, as his daughter had stated eminently british and respectable. he shook hands with major white, and seemed pleased to see him. the major was, in truth, a man after his own heart, and one whom he looked upon as solid. for mr. wade belonged to a solid generation that liked the andante of life to be played in good heavy chords, and looked with suspicious eyes upon brilliancy of execution or lightness of touch.
-“i have had a note from cornish,” he said, “who suggests a meeting at this hotel this afternoon to discuss our future action. the other side has, it appears, written to lord ferriby to come over to the hague.” there had in mr. wade's life usually been that “other side,” which he had treated with a good, honest respect so long as they proved themselves worthy of it; but which he crushed the moment they forgot themselves. for there was in this british banker a vast spirit of honest, open antagonism by which he and his likes have built up a scattered empire on this planet. “at three o'clock,” he concluded, lifting the cover of a silver dish which marguerite had sent back to the kitchen awaiting her father's arrival. “and what will you do, my dear?” he said, turning to her.
-“i?” replied marguerite, who always knew her own mind. “i shall take a carriage and drive down to the villa des dunes to see dorothy roden. i have a note for her from joan.”
-and mr. wade turned to his breakfast with an appetite in no way diminished by the knowledge that the “other side” were about to take action.
-at three o'clock the carriage was awaiting marguerite at the door of the hotel, but for some reason marguerite lingered in the porch, asking questions and absolutely refusing to drive all the way to scheveningen by the side of the “queen's canal.” when at length she turned to get in, tony cornish was coming across the toornoifeld under the trees; for the hague is the shadiest city in the world, with forest trees growing amid its great houses.
-“the spree,” replied cornish, with his light laugh, “has already begun.”
-marguerite drove away towards the hague wood, and disappeared among the transparent green shadows of that wonderful forest. the man had been instructed to take her to the villa des dunes by way of the leyden road, making a round in the woods. it was at a point near the farthest outskirts of the forest that marguerite suddenly turned at the sight of a man sitting upon a bench at the roadside reading a sheet of paper.
-“that,” she said to herself, “is the herr professor--but i cannot remember his name.”
-marguerite was naturally a sociable person. indeed, a woman usually stops an old and half-forgotten acquaintance, while men are accustomed to let such bygones go. she told the driver to turn round and drive back again. the man upon the bench had scarce looked up as she passed. he had the air of a german, which suggestion was accentuated by the solitude of his position and the poetic surroundings which he had selected. a german, be it recorded to his credit, has a keen sense of the beauties of nature, and would rather drink his beer before a fine outlook than in a comfortable chair indoors. when marguerite returned, this man looked up again with the absorbed air of one repeating something in his mind. when he perceived that she was undoubtedly coming towards himself, he stood up and took off his hat. he was a small, square-built man, with upright hair turning to grey, and a quiet, thoughtful, clean-shaven face. his attitude, and indeed his person, dimly suggested some pictures that have been painted of the great napoleon. his measuring glance--as if the eyes were weighing the face it looked upon--distinctly suggested his great prototype.
-“you do not remember me, herr professor,” said marguerite, holding out her hand with a frank laugh. “you have forgotten dresden and the chemistry classes at fräulein weber's?”
-“no, fräulein; i remember those classes,” the professor answered, with a grave bow.
-“and you remember the girl who dropped the sulphuric acid into the something of potassium? i nearly made a great discovery then, mein herr.”
-“you nearly made the greatest discovery of all, fräulein. yes, i remember now--fräulein wade.”
-“yes, i am marguerite wade,” she answered, looking at him with a little frown, “but i can't remember your name. you were always herr professor. and we never called anything by its right name in the chemistry classes, you know; that was part of the--er--trick. we called water h2 or something like that. we called you j.h.u, herr professor.”
-“what does that mean, fräulein?”
-“jolly hard up,” returned marguerite, with a laugh which suddenly gave place, with a bewildering rapidity, to a confidential gravity. “you were poor then, mein herr.”
-“i have always been poor, fräulein, until now.”
-but marguerite's mind had already flown to other things. she was looking at him again with a frown of concentration.
-“i am beginning to remember your name,” she said.
-“is it not strange how a name comes back with a face? and i had quite forgotten both your face and your name, herr ... herr ... von holz”--she broke off, and stepped back from him--“von holzen,” she said slowly. “then you are the malgamite man?”
-“yes, fräulein,” he answered, with his grave smile; “i am the malgamite man.”
-marguerite looked at him with a sort of wonder, for she knew enough of the malgamite scheme to realize that this was a man who ruled all that came near him, against whom her own father and tony cornish and major white and mrs. vansittart had been able to do nothing--who in face of all opposition continued calmly to make malgamite, and sell it daily to the world at a preposterous profit, and at the cost only of men's lives.
-“and you, fräulein, are the daughter of mr. wade, the banker?”
-“yes,” she answered, feeling suddenly that she was a schoolgirl again, standing before her master.
-“and why are you in the hague?”
-“oh,” replied marguerite, hesitating for perhaps the first time in her life, “to enlarge our minds, mein herr.” she was looking at the paper he held in his hand, and he saw the direction of her glance. in response, he laughed quietly, and held it out towards her.
-“yes,” he said, “you have guessed right. it is the vorschrift, the prescription for the manufacture of malgamite.”
-she took the paper and turned it over curiously. then, with her usual audacity, she opened it and began to read.
-“ah,” she said, “it is in hebrew.”
-von holzen nodded his head, and held out his hand for the paper, which she gave to him. she was not afraid of the man--but she was very near to fear.
-“and i am sitting here, quietly under the trees, fräulein,” he said, “learning it by heart.”
-a bright and shining light.
-“un homme sérieux est celui qui se croit regardé.”
-when lord ferriby decided to accede to roden's earnest desire that he should go to the hague, he was conscious of conferring a distinct favour upon the low countries.
-“it is not a place one would choose to go to at this time of year,” he said to a friend at the club. “in the winter, it is different; for the season there is in the winter, as in many continental capitals.”
-one of the numerous advantages attached to an hereditary title is the certainty that a hearer of some sort or another will always be forthcoming. a commoner finds himself snubbed or quietly abandoned so soon as his reputation for the utterance of egoisms and platitudes is sufficiently established, but there are always plenty of people ready and willing to be bored by a lord. a high-class club is, moreover, a very mushroom-bed of bores, where elderly gentlemen who have traveled quite a distance down the road of life, without finding out that it is bordered on either side by a series of small events not worth commenting upon, meet to discuss trivialities.
-“truth is,” said his lordship to one of these persons, “this malgamite scheme is one of the largest charities that i have conducted, and carries with it certain responsibilities--yes, certain responsibilities.”
-and he assumed a grave air of importance almost amounting to worry. for lord ferriby did not know that a worried look is an almost certain indication of a small mind. nor had he observed that those who bear the greatest responsibilities, and have proved themselves worthy of the burden, are precisely they who show the serenest face to the world.
-it must not, however, be imagined that lord ferriby was in reality at all uneasy respecting the malgamite scheme. here again he enjoyed one of the advantages of having been preceded by a grandfather able and willing to serve his party without too minute a scruple. for if the king can do no wrong, the nobility may surely claim a certain immunity from criticism, and those who have allowance made to them must inevitably learn to make allowance for themselves. lord ferriby was, in a word, too self-satisfied to harbour any doubts respecting his own conduct. self-satisfaction is, of course, indolence in disguise.
-“anthony cornish,” said lord ferriby, pulling down his waistcoat, “like many men who have had neither training nor experience, does not quite understand the ethics of commerce.”
-his lordship, like others, seemed to understand these to mean that a man may take anything that his neighbour is fool enough to part with.
-joan was willing enough to accompany her father, because, in the great march of social progress, she had passed on from charity to sanitation, and was convinced that the mortality among the malgamiters, which had been more than hinted at in the ferriby family circle, was entirely due to the negligence of the victims in not using an old disinfectant served up in artistic flagons under a new name. permanganate of potash under another name will not only smell as sweet, but will perform greater sanitary wonders, because the world places faith in a new name, and faith is still the greatest healer of human ills.
-joan, therefore, proposed to carry to the hague the glad tidings of the sanitary millennium, fully convinced that this had come to a suffering world under the name of “nuxine,” in small bottles, at the price of one shilling and a penny halfpenny. the penny halfpenny, no doubt, represented the cost of bottle and drug and the small blue ribbon securing the stopper, while the shilling went very properly into the manufacturer's pocket. it was at this time the fashion in joan's world to smell of “nuxine,” which could also be had in the sweetest little blue tabloids, to place in the wardrobe and among one's clean clothes. joan had given major white a box of these tabloids, which gift had been accepted with becoming gravity. indeed, the major seemed never to tire of hearing joan's exordiums, or of watching her pretty, earnest face as she urged him to use “nuxine” in its various forms, and it was only when he heard that cigar-holders made of “nuxine” absorbed all the deleterious properties of tobacco that his stout heart failed him.
-“yes,” he pleaded, “but a fellow must draw the line at a sky-blue cigar-holder, you know.”
-and joan had to content herself with the promise that he would use none other than “nuxine” dentifrice.
-lord ferriby and joan, therefore, set out to the hague, his lordship in the full conviction (enjoyed by so many useless persons) that his presence was in itself of beneficial effect upon the course of events, and joan with her “nuxine” and, in a minor degree now, her “malgamiters” and her “haberdashers' assistants.” lady ferriby preferred to remain at cambridge terrace, chiefly because it was cheaper, and also because the cook required a holiday, and, with a kitchen-maid only, she could indulge in her greatest pleasure--a useless economy. the cook refused to starve her fellow-servants, while the kitchen-maid, mindful of a written character in the future, did as her ladyship bade her--hashing and mincing in a manner quite irreconcilable with forty pounds a year and beer money.
-major white met the travellers at the hague station, and joan, who had had some trouble with her father during the simple journey, was conscious for the first time of a sense of orderliness and rest in the presence of the stout soldier, who seemed to walk heavily over difficulties when they arose.
-“eh--er,” began his lordship, as they walked down the platform, “have you seen anything of roden?”
-for lord ferriby was too self-centred a man to b keenly observant, and had as yet failed to detect von holzen behind and overshadowing his partner in the malgamite scheme.
-“no--cannot say i have,” replied the major.
-he had never discussed the malgamite affairs with lord ferriby. discussion was, indeed, a pastime in which the major never indulged. his position in the matter was clearly enough defined, but he had no intention of explaining why it was that he ranged himself stolidly on cornish's side in the differences that had arisen.
-lord ferriby was dimly conscious of a smouldering antagonism, but knew the major sufficiently well not to fear an outbreak of hostilities. men who will face opposition may be divided into two classes--the one taking its stand upon a conscious rectitude, the other half-hiding with the cheap and transparent cunning of the ostrich. many men, also, are in the fortunate condition of believing themselves to be invariably right unless they are told quite plainly that they are wrong. and there was nobody to tell lord ferriby this. cornish, with a sort of respect for the head of the family--a regard for the office irrespective of its holder--was so far from wishing to convince his uncle of error that he voluntarily relinquished certain strong points in his position rather than strike a blow that would inevitably reach lord ferriby, though directed towards roden or von holzen.
-lord ferriby heard, however, with some uneasiness, that the wades were in the hague.
-“a worthy man--a very worthy man,” he said abstractedly; for he looked upon the banker with that dim suspicion which is aroused in certain minds by uncompromising honesty.
-the travellers proceeded to the hotel, where rooms had been prepared for them. there were flowers in joan's room, which her maid said she had rearranged, so awkwardly had they been placed in the vase. the wades, it appeared, were out, and had announced their intention of not returning to lunch. they were, the hotel porter thought, to take that meal at mrs. vansittart's.
-“i think,” said lord ferriby, “that i shall go down to the works.”
-“yes, do,” answered white, with an expressionless countenance.
-“perhaps you will accompany me?” suggested joan's father.
-“no--think not. can't hit it off with roden. perhaps joan would like to see the palace in the wood.”
-joan thought that it was her duty to go to the malgamite works, and murmured the word “nuxine,” without, however, much enthusiasm; but white happened to remember that it was mixing-day. so lord ferriby went off alone in a hired carriage, as had been his intention from the first; for white knew even less about the ethics of commerce than did cornish.
-the account of affairs that awaited his lordship at the works was, no doubt, satisfactory enough, for the manufacture of malgamite had been proceeding at high pressure night and day. von holzen had, as he told marguerite, been poor all his life, and poverty is a hard task-master. he was not going to be poor again. the grey carts had been passing up and down park straat more often than ever, taking their loads to one or other of the railway stations, and bringing, as they passed her house, a gleam of anger to mrs. vansittart's eyes.
-“the scoundrels!” she muttered. “the scoundrels! why does not tony act?”
-but tony cornish, who alone knew the full extent of von holzen's determination not to be frustrated, could not act--for dorothy's sake.
-a string of the quiet grey carts passed up park straat when the party assembled there had risen from the luncheon-table. mrs. vansittart and mr. wade were standing together at the window, which was large even in this city of large and spotless windows. dorothy and cornish were talking together at the other end of the room, and marguerite was supposed to be looking at a book of photographs.
-“there goes a consignment of men's lives,” said mrs. vansittart to her companion.
-“a human life, madam,” answered the banker, “like all else on earth, varies much in value.” for mr. wade belonged to that class of englishmen which has a horror of all sentiment, and takes care to cloak its good actions by the assumption of an unworthy motive. and who shall say that this man of business was wrong in his statement? which of us has not a few friends and relations who can only have been created as a solemn warning?
-as mrs. vansittart and mr. wade stood at the window, marguerite joined them, slipping her hand within her father's arm with that air of protection which she usually assumed towards him. she was gay and lively, as she ever was, and mrs. vansittart glanced at her more than once with a sort of envy. mrs. vansittart did not, in truth, always understand marguerite or her english, which was essentially modern.
-they were standing and laughing at the window, when marguerite suddenly drew them back.
-“what is it?” asked mrs. vansittart.
-“it is lord ferriby,” replied marguerite.
-and looking cautiously between the lace curtains, they saw the great man drive past in his hired carriage. “he has recently bought park straat,” commented marguerite.
-and his lordship's condescending air certainly seemed to suggest that the street, if not the whole city, belonged to him.
-mr. wade pointed with his thick thumb in the direction in which lord ferriby was driving.
-“where is he going?” he asked bluntly.
-“to the malgamite works,” replied mrs. vansittart, with significance. and mr. wade made no comment. mrs. vansittart spoke first.
-“i asked major white,” she said, “to lunch with us to-day, but he was pledged, it appeared, to meet lord ferriby and his daughter, and see them installed at their hotel.”
-“ah!” said mr. wade.
-mrs. vansittart, who in truth seemed to find the banker rather heavy, allowed some moments to elapse before she again spoke.
-“major white,” she then observed, “does not accompany lord ferriby to the malgamite works.”
-“major white,” replied marguerite, demurely, “has other fish to fry.”
-clearing the air
-“it is as difficult to be entirely bad as it is to be entirely good.”
-percy roden, who had been to utrecht and antwerp, arrived home on the evening of the day that saw lord ferriby's advent to the hague. though the day had been fine enough, the weather broke up at sunset, and great clouds chased the sun towards the west. then the rain came suddenly and swept across the plains in a slanting fury. a cold wind from the south-east followed hard upon the heavy clouds, and night came in a chaos of squall and beating rain. roden was drenched in his passage from the carriage to the villa des dunes, which, being a summer residence, had not been provided with a carriage-drive across the dunes from the road. he looked at his sister with tired eyes when she met him in the entrance-hall. he was worn and thinner than she had seen him in the days of his adversity, for percy roden, like his partner, had made several false starts upon the road to fortune before he got well away. like many--like, indeed, nearly all--who have to try again, he had lightened himself of a scruple or so each time he turned back. prosperity, however, seems to kill as many as adversity. abundant wealth is a vexation of spirit to-day as surely as it was in the time of that wise man who, having tried it, said that a stranger eateth it, and it is vanity.
-“beastly night,” said roden, and that was all. he had been to antwerp on banking business, and had that sleepless look which brings a glitter to the eyes. this was a man handling great sums of money. “von holzen been here to-day?” he asked, when he had changed his clothes, and they were seated at the dinner-table.
-“no,” answered dorothy, with her eyes on his plate.
-he was eating little, and drank only mineral water from a stone bottle. he was like an athlete in training, though the strain he sought to meet was mental and not physical. he shivered more than once, and glanced sharply at the door when the maid happened to leave it open.
-when dorothy went to the drawing-room she lighted the fire, which was ready laid, and of wood. although it was nearly midsummer, the air was chilly, and the rain beat against the thin walls of the house.
-“i think it probable,” roden had said, before she left the dining-room, “that von holzen will come in this evening.”
-she sat down before the fire, which burnt briskly, and looked into it with thoughtful, clever grey eyes. percy thought it probable that von holzen would come to the villa des dunes this evening. would he come? for percy knew nothing of the organized attempt on cornish's life which she herself had frustrated. he seemed to know nothing of the grim and silent antagonism that existed between the two men, shutting his eyes to their movements, which were like the movements of chess-players that the onlooker sees but does not understand. dorothy knew that von holzen was infinitely cleverer than her brother. she knew, indeed, that he was cleverer than most men. with the quickness of her sex, she had long ago divined the source and basis of his strength. he was indifferent to women--who formed no part of his life, who entered in no way into his plans or ambitions. being a woman, she should, theoretically, have disliked and despised him for this. as a matter of fact, the characteristic commanded her respect.
-she knew that her brother was not in von holzen's confidence. it was probable that no man on earth had ever come within measurable distance of that. he would, in all likelihood, hear nothing of the attempt to kill cornish, and cornish himself would be the last to mention it. for she knew that her lover was a match for von holzen, and more than a match. she had never doubted that. it was a part of her creed. a woman never really loves a man until she has made him the object of a creed. and it is only the man himself who can--and in the long run usually does--make it impossible for her to adhere to her belief.
-she was still sitting and thinking over the fire when her brother came into the room.
-“ah!” he said at the sight of the fire, and came forward, holding out his hands to the blaze. he looked down at his sister with glittering and unsteady eyes. he was in a dangerous humour--a humour for explanations and admissions--to which weak natures sometimes give way. and, looking at the matter practically and calmly, explanations and admissions are better left--to the hereafter. but von holzen saved him by ringing the front-door bell at that moment.
-the professor came into the room a minute later. he stood in the doorway, and bowed in the stiff german way to dorothy. with roden he exchanged a curt nod. his hair was glued to his temples by the rain, which gleamed on his face.
-“it is an abominable night,” he said, coming forward. “ach, fräulein, please do not leave us--and the fire,” he added; for dorothy had risen. “i merely came to make sure that he had arrived safely home.” he took the chair offered to him by roden, and sat on it without bringing it forward. he had but little of that self-assurance which is so highly cultivated to-day as to be almost offensive. “there are, of course, matters of business,” he said, “which can wait till to-morrow. to-night you are tired.” he looked at roden as a doctor may look at a patient. “is it not so, fräulein?” he asked, turning to dorothy.
-“except one or two--which we may discuss now.”
-dorothy turned and glanced at him. he was looking at her, and their eyes met for a moment. he seemed to see something in her face that made him thoughtful, for he remained silent for some time, while he wiped the rain from his face with his pocket-handkerchief. it was a pale, determined face, which could hardly fail to impress those with whom he came in contact as the face of a strong man.
-“lord ferriby has been at the works to-day,” he said; and then, with a gesture of the hands and a shrug, he described lord ferriby as a nonentity. “he went through the works, and looked over your books. i wrote out a sort of certificate of his satisfaction with both, and--he signed it.”
-roden was leaning forward over the fire with a cigarette between his lips. he nodded shortly. “good,” he said.
-“yesterday,” continued von holzen, “i met an old acquaintance--a miss wade--one of the young ladies of a pensionnat at dresden, in which i taught at one time. she is a daughter of the banker wade, and told me, reluctantly, that she is at the hague with her father--a friend of cornish's. this morning i took a walk on the sands at scheveningen; there was a large fat man, among others, bathing at the northern bathing-station. it was major white. it is a regular gathering of the clans. i saw a german paper-maker--a big man in the trade--on the kursaal terrace this morning. it may be a mere chance, and it may not.”
-as he spoke he had withdrawn from his pocket a folded paper, which he was fingering thoughtfully. dorothy, who knew that she had by her looks unwittingly warned him, made no motion to go now. he would say nothing that he did not deliberately intend for her ears as much as for her brother's. von holzen opened the paper slowly, and looked at it as if every line of it was familiar. it was a sheet of ordinary foolscap covered with minute figures and writing.
-“it is the vorschrift, the--how do you say?--prescription for the malgamite, and there are several in the hague at this moment who want it, and some who would not be too scrupulous in their methods of procuring it. it is for this that they are gathering--here in the hague.”
-roden turned in his leisurely way, and looked over his shoulder towards the paper. von holzen glanced at dorothy. he had no desire to keep her in suspense, but he wished to know how much she knew. she looked into the fire, treating his conversation as directed towards her brother only.
-“i tried for ten years in vain to get this,” continued von holzen, “and at last a dying man dictated it to me. for years it lived in the brain of one man only--and he a maker of it himself. he might have died at any moment with that secret in his head. and i,”--he folded the paper slowly and shrugged his shoulders--“i watched him. and the last intelligible word he spoke on earth was the last word of this prescription. the man can have been no fool; for he was a man of little education. i never respected him so much as i do now when i have learnt it myself.” he rose and walked to the fire. “you permit me, fräulein,” he said, putting the logs together with his foot.
-they burnt up brightly, and he threw the paper upon them. in a moment it was reduced to ashes. he turned slowly upon his heel, and looked at his companions with the grave smile of one who had never known much mirth.
-“there,” he said, touching his forehead, with one finger; “it is in the brain of one man--once more.” he returned to the chair he had just vacated. “and whosoever wishes to stop the manufacture of malgamite will need to stop that brain,” he said, with a soft laugh. “of course there is a risk attached to burning that paper,” he continued, after a pause. “my brain may go--a little clot of blood no bigger than a pin's head, and the greatest brain on earth is so much pulp! it may be worth some one's while to kill me. it is so often worth some one's while to kill somebody else, even at a considerable risk--but the courage is nearly always lacking. however, we must run these risks.”
-he rose from his chair with a low and rather pleasant laugh, glancing at the clock as he did so. it was evidently his intention to take his leave. dorothy rose also, and they stood for a moment facing each other. he was a few inches above her stature, and he looked down at her with his slow, thoughtful eyes. he seemed always to be making a diagnosis of the souls of men.
-“i know, fräulein,” he said, “that you are one of those who dislike me, and seek to do me harm. i am sorry. it is long since i discarded a youthful belief that it was possible to get on in life without arousing ill feeling. believe me, it is impossible even to hold one's own in this world without making enemies. there are two sides to every question, fräulein--remember that.”
-he brought his heels together, bowed stiffly, from the waist, in his formal manner, and left the room. percy roden followed him, leaving the door open. dorothy heard the rustle of his dripping waterproof as he put it on, the click of the door, the sound of his firm retreating tread on the gravel. then her brother came back into the room. his rather weak face was flushed. his eyes were unsteady. dorothy saw this in a glance, and her own face hardened unresponsively. the situation was clearly enough defined in her own mind. von holzen had destroyed the prescription before her on purpose. it was only a move in that game of life which is always extending to a new deal, and of which women as onlookers necessarily see the most. von holzen wished cornish, and others concerned, to know that he had destroyed the prescription. it was a concession in disguise--a retrograde movement--perhaps pour mieux sauter.
-percy roden was one of those men who have a grudge against the world. the most hopeless ill-doer is he who excuses himself angrily. there are some who seem unconscious of their own failings, and for these there is hope. they may some day find out that it is better to be at peace with the world even at the cost of a little self-denial. but percy roden admitted that he was wrong, and always had that sort of excuse which seeks to lay the blame upon a whole class--upon other business men, upon those in authority, upon women.
-“it is excused in others, why not in me?”--the last cry of the ne'er-do-well.
-he glanced angrily at dorothy now. but he was always half afraid of her.
-“i wish we had never come to this place,” he said.
-“then let us go away from it,” answered dorothy, “before it is too late.”
-roden looked at her in surprise. did she expect him to go away now from mrs. vansittart? he knew, of course, that dorothy and the world always expected too much from him.
-“before it is too late. what do you mean?” he asked, still thinking of mrs. vansittart.
-“before the malgamite scheme is exposed,” replied dorothy, bluntly. and, to her surprise, he laughed.
-“i thought you meant something else,” he said. “the malgamite scheme can look after itself. von holzen is the cleverest man i know, and he knows what he is doing. i thought you meant mrs. vansittart--were thinking of her.”
-“no, i was not thinking of mrs. vansittart.”
-“not worth thinking about,” suggested roden, adhering to his method of laughing for fear of being laughed at, which is common enough in very young men; but roden should have outgrown it by this time.
-“what do you mean, dorothy?”
-“that i hope you do not think seriously of asking mrs. vansittart to marry you.”
-roden gave his rather unpleasant laugh again. “it happens that i do,” he replied. “and it happens that i know that mrs. vansittart never stays in the hague in summer when all the houses are empty and everybody is away, and the place is given up to tourists, and becomes a mere annex to scheveningen. this year she has stayed--why, i should like to know.”
-and he stroked his moustache as he looked into the fire. he had been indulging in the vain pleasure of putting two and two together. a young man's vanity--or indeed any man's vanity--is not to be trusted to work out that simple addition correctly. percy roden was still in a dangerously exalted frame of mind. there is no intoxication so dangerous as that of success, and none that leaves so bitter a taste behind it.
-“of course,” he said, “no girl ever thinks that her brother can succeed in such a case. i suppose you dislike mrs. vansittart?”
-“no; i like her, and i understand her, perhaps better than you do. i should like nothing better than that she should marry you, but----”
-“well, ask her,” replied dorothy--a woman's answer.
-“and then let us go away from here.”
-roden turned on her angrily. “why do you keep on repeating that?” he cried. “why do you want to go away from here?”
-“because,” replied dorothy, as angry as himself, “you know as well as i do that the malgamite scheme is not what it pretends to be. i suppose you are making a fortune and are dazzled, or else you are being deceived by herr von holzen, or else----”
-“or else----” echoed roden, with a pale face. “yes--go on.” but she bit her lip and was silent. “it is an open secret,” she went on after a pause. “everybody knows that it is a disgrace or worse--perhaps a crime. if you have made a fortune, be content with what you have made, and clear yourself of the whole affair.”
-“because i am going to make more. and i am going to marry mrs. vansittart. it is only a question of money. it always is with women. and not one in a hundred cares how the money is made.”
-which, of course, is not true; for no woman likes to see her husband's name on a biscuit or a jam-pot.
-“of course,” went on percy, in his anger. “i know which side you take, since you are talking of open secrets. at any rate, von holzen knows yours--if it is a secret--for he has hinted at it more than once. you think that it is i who have been deceived or who deceive myself. you are just as likely to be wrong. you place your whole faith in cornish. you think that cornish cannot do wrong.”
-dorothy turned and looked at him. her eyes were steady, but the color left her face, as if she were afraid of what she was about to say.
-“yes,” she said. “i do.”
-“and without a moment's hesitation,��� went on roden, hurriedly, “you would sacrifice everything for the sake of a man you had never seen six months ago?”
-“even your own brother?”
-“yes,” answered dorothy.
-“le plus grand, le plus fort et le plus adroit surtout, est celui qui sait attendre.”
-“if you think that herr von holzen is a philanthropist, my dear,” said marguerite wade, sententiously, “that is exactly where your toes turn in.”
-she addressed this remark to joan ferriby, whose eyes were certainly veiled by that cloak of charity which the kind-hearted are ever ready to throw over the sins of others. the two girls were sitting in the quiet old-world garden of the hotel, beneath the shade of tall trees, within the peaceful sound of the cooing doves on the tiled roof. major white was sitting within earshot, looking bulky and solemn in his light tweed suit and felt hat. the major had given up appearances long ago, but no man surpassed him in cleanliness and that well-groomed air which distinguishes men of his cloth. he was reading a newspaper, and from time to time glanced at his companions, more especially, perhaps, at joan.
-“major white,” said marguerite. “yes.”
-the greengages were on a table at the major's elbow, having been placed there at marguerite's command by the waiter who attended them at breakfast. white made ready to pass the dish.
-“fingers,” said marguerite. “heave one over.”
-white selected one with an air of solemn resignation. marguerite caught the greengage as neatly as it was thrown.
-“what do you think of herr von holzen?” she asked.
-“to think,” replied the major, “certain requisites are necessary.”
-“i do not know herr von holzen, and i have nothing to think with,” he explained gravely.
-“well, you soon will know him, and i dare say if you tried you would find that you are not so stupid as you pretend to be. you are going down to the works this morning with papa and tony cornish. i know that, because papa told me.”
-the major looked at her with his air of philosophic surprise. she held up her hand for a catch, and with resignation he threw her another greengage.
-“tony is going to call for you in a carriage at ten o'clock, and you three old gentlemen are going to drive in an open barouche with cigars, like a bean feast, to the malgamite works.”
-“the description is fairly accurate,” admitted major white, without looking up from his paper.
-“and i imagine you are going to raise--hail columbia!”
-he looked at her severely through his glass, and said nothing. she nodded in a friendly and encouraging manner, as if to intimate that he had her entire approval.
-“take my word for it,” she continued, turning to joan, “herr von holzen is a shady customer. i know a shady customer when i see him. i never thought much of the malgamite business, you know, but unfortunately nobody asked my opinion on the matter. i wonder----” she paused, looking thoughtfully at major white, who presently met her glance with a stolid stare. “of course!” she said, in a final voice. “i forgot. you never think. you can't. oh no!”
-“it is so easy to misjudge people,” pleaded joan, earnestly.
-major white rose and laid aside his paper. mr. wade was coming down the iron steps that led from the verandah to the garden. the banker was cutting a cigar, and wore a placid, comfortable look, as if he had breakfasted well. even as regards kidneys and bacon in a foreign hotel, where there is a will there is a way, and marguerite possessed tongues. “i'll turn this place inside out,” she had said, “to get the old thing what he wants.” then she attacked the waiter in fluent german.
-marguerite noted his approach with a protecting eye. “it's all solid common sense,” she said in an undertone to joan, referring, it would appear, to his bulk.
-in only one respect was she misinformed as to the arrangements for the morning. tony cornish was not coming to the hotel to fetch mr. wade and white, but was to meet them in the shadiest of all thoroughfares and green canals, the koninginne gracht, where at midday the shadows cast by the great trees are so deep that daylight scarcely penetrates, and the boats creep to and fro like shadows. this amendment had been made in view of the fact that lord ferriby was in the hotel, and was, indeed, at this moment partaking of a solemn breakfast in his private sitting-room overlooking the toornoifeld.
-his lordship did not, therefore, see these two solid pillars of the british constitution walk across the corner of the korte voorhout, cigar in lip, in a placid silence begotten, perhaps, of the knowledge that, should an emergency arise, they were of a material that would arise to meet it.
-cornish was awaiting them by the bank of the canal. he was watching a boat slowly work its way past him. it was one of the large boats built for traffic on the greater canals and the open waters of the scheldt estuary. it was laden from end to end with little square boxes bearing only a number and a port mark in black stencil. a pleasant odor of sealing-wax dominated the weedy smell of the canal.
-“wherever you turn you meet the stuff,” was cornish's greeting to the two englishmen.
-major white, with his delicate sense of smell, sniffed the breeze. mr. wade looked at the canal-boat with a nod. commercial enterprise, and, above all, commercial success, commanded his honest respect.
-they entered the carriage awaiting them beneath the trees. cornish was, as usual, quick and eager, a different type from his companions, who were not brilliant as he was, nor polished.
-they found the gates of the malgamite works shut, but the door-keeper, knowing cornish to be a person of authority, threw them open and directed the driver to wait outside till the gentlemen should return. the works were quiet and every door was closed.
-“is it mixing-day?” asked cornish.
-“every day is mixing-day now, mein herr, and there are some who work all night as well. if the gentlemen will wait a moment, i will seek herr roden.”
-and he left them standing beneath the brilliant sun in the open space between the gate and the cottage where von holzen lived. in a few moments he returned, accompanied by percy roden, who emerged from the office in his shirt-sleeves, pen in hand. he shook hands with cornish and white, glanced at mr. wade, and half bowed. he did not seem glad to see them.
-“we want to look at your books,” said cornish. “i suppose you will make no objection?” roden bit his moustache and looked at the point of his pen.
-“you and major white?” he suggested.
-“and this gentleman, who comes as our financial advisor.”
-roden raised his eyebrows rather insolently. “ah--may i ask who this gentleman is?” he said.
-“my name is wade,” answered the banker, characteristically for himself.
-roden's face changed, and he glanced at the great financier with a keen interest.
-“i have no objection,” he said after a moment's hesitation. “if von holzen will agree. i will go and ask him.”
-and they were left alone in the sunshine once more. mr. wade watched roden as he walked towards the factory.
-“not the sort of man i expected,” he commented. “but he has the right shaped head for figures. he is shrewd enough to know that he cannot refuse, so gives in with a good grace.”
-in a few minutes von holzen approached them, emerging from the factory alone. he bowed politely, but did not offer to shake hands. he had not seen cornish since the evening when he had offered to make malgamite before him, and the experiment had taken such a deadly turn. he looked at him now and found his glance returned by an illegible smile. the question flashed through his mind and showed itself on his face as to why roden had made such a mistake as to introduce a man like this into the malgamite scheme. von holzen invited the gentlemen into the office. “it is small, but it will accommodate us,” he said, with a smile.
-he drew forward chairs, and offered one to cornish in particular, with a grim deference. he seemed to have divined that their last meeting in this same office had been, by tacit understanding, kept a secret. there is for some men a certain satisfaction in antagonism, and a stern regard for a strong foe--which reached its culmination, perhaps, in that saxon knight who desired to be buried in the same chapel as his lifelong foe--between him, indeed, and the door--so that at the resurrection day they should not miss each other.
-von holzen seemed to have somewhat of this feeling for cornish. he offered him the best seat at the table. roden was taking his books from a safe--huge ledgers bound in green pigskin, slim cash-books, cloth-bound journals. he named them as he laid them on the table before mr. wade. major white looked at the great tomes with solemn and silent awe. mr. wade was already fingering his gold pencil-case. he eyed the closed books with an anticipatory gleam of pleasure in his face--as a commander may eye the arrayed squadrons of the foe.
-“it is, of course, understood that this audit is strictly in confidence?” said von holzen. “for your own satisfaction, and not in any sense for publication. it is a trade secret.”
-“of course,” answered cornish, to whom the question had been addressed. “we trust to the honor of these gentlemen.”
-cornish looked up and met the speaker's grave eyes. “yes,” he said.
-roden, having emptied the large safe, leant his shoulder against the iron mantelpiece and looked down at those seated at the table--especially at mr. wade. his hands were in his pockets; his face wore a careless smile. he had not resumed his coat, and the cleanliness of the books testified to the fact that he always worked in shirt-sleeves. it was a trick of the trade, which exonerated him from the necessity of apologizing.
-mr. wade took the great ledgers, opened them, fluttered the pages with his fingers, and set them aside one after the other. then roden seemed to recollect something. he went to a drawer and took from it a packet of neatly folded papers held together by elastic rings. the top one he unfolded and laid on the table before mr. wade.
-“trial balance-sheet of 31st of march,” he said.
-mr. wade glanced up and down the closely written columns, which were like copper-plate--an astounding mass of figures. the additions in the final column ran to six numerals. the banker folded the paper and laid it aside. then, he turned to the slim cash-books, which he glanced at casually. the journals he set aside without opening. he handled the books with a sort of skill showing that he knew how to lift them with the least exertion, how to open them and close them and turn their stiff pages. the enormous mass of figures did not seem to appal him; the maze was straight enough beneath such skillful eyes. finally, he turned to a small locked ledger, of which the key was attached to roden's watch-chain, who came forward and unlocked the book. mr. wade turned to the index at the beginning of the volume, found a certain account, and opened the book there. at the sight of the figures he raised his eyebrow and glanced up at roden.
-“it is a wonderful piece of single-handed bookkeeping,” he said to roden.
-cornish was studying the paper set before him by the banker. the proceedings seemed to have been prearranged, for no word was exchanged. there was no consultation on either side. finally, cornish folded the paper and tore it into a hundred pieces in scrupulous adherence to von holzen's conditions. mr. wade was sitting back in his chair thoughtfully amusing himself with his gold pencil-case. cornish looked at him for a moment, and then spoke, addressing von holzen.
-“we came here to make a final proposal to you,” he said; “to place before you, in fact, our ultimatum. we do not pretend to conceal from you the fact that we are anxious to avoid all publicity, all scandal. but if you drive us to it, we shall unhesitatingly face both in order to close these works. we do not want the malgamite scheme to be dragged as a charity in the mud, because it will inevitably drag other charities with it. there are certain names connected with the scheme which we should prefer; moreover, to keep from the clutches of the cheaper democratic newspapers. we know the weakness of our position.
-“and we know the strength of ours,” put in von holzen, quietly.
-“yes. we recognize that also. you have hitherto slipped in between international laws, and between the laws of men. legally, we should have difficulty in getting at you, but it can be done. financially----” he paused, and looked at mr. wade.
-“financially,” said the banker, without lifting his eyes from his pencil case, “we shall in the long run inevitably smash you--though the books are all right.”
-roden smiled, with his long white fingers at his moustache.
-“from the figures supplied to me by mr. wade,” continued cornish, “i see that there is an enormous profit lying idle--so large a profit that even between ourselves it is better not mentioned. there are, or there were yesterday, two hundred and ninety-two malgamite makers in active work.”
-von holzen made an involuntary movement, and cornish looked at him over the pile of books. “oh!” he said, “i know that. and i know the number of deaths. perhaps you have not kept count, but i have. from the figures supplied by mr. wade, i see, therefore, that we have sufficient to pension off these two hundred and ninety-two men and their families--giving each man one hundred and twenty pounds a year. we can also make provision for the widows and orphans out of the sum i propose to withdraw from the profits. there will then be left a sum representing two large fortunes--of say between three and four thousand a year each. will you and mr. roden accept this sum, dividing it as you think fit, and hand over the works to me? we ask, you to take it--no questions asked, and go.”
-“and lord ferriby?” suggested von holzen.
-major white made a sudden movement, but cornish laid his hand quickly upon the soldier's arm.
-“i will manage lord ferriby. what is your answer?”
-“no,” replied von holzen, instantly, as if he had long known what the ultimatum would be.
-cornish turned interrogatively to roden. his eyes urged roden to accept.
-“no,” was the reply.
-mr. wade took out his large gold watch and looked at it.
-“then there is no need,” he said composedly, “to detain these gentlemen any longer.”
-“the world will not believe a man repents. and this wise world of ours is mainly right.”
-“then you are of opinion, my dear white, that one cannot well refuse to meet these--er--persons?”
-“not,” replied major white to lord ferriby, whose hand rested on his stout arm as they walked with dignity in the shade of the trees that border the vyver--that quaint old fish-pond of the hague--“not without running the risk of being called a d----d swindler.”
-for the major was a lamentably plain-spoken man, who said but little, and said that little strong. lord ferriby's affectionate grasp of the soldier's arm relaxed imperceptibly. one must, he reflected, be prepared to meet unpleasantness in the good cause of charity--but there are words hardly applicable to the peerage, and major white had made use of one of these.
-“public opinion,” observed the major, after some minutes of deep thought, “is a difficult thing to deal with--'cos you cannot thump the public.”
-“it is notably hard,” said his lordship, firing off one of his pet platform platitudes, “to induce the public to form a correct estimate, or what one takes to be a correct estimate.”
-“especially of one's self,” added the major, looking across the water towards the binnenhof in his vacant way.
-then they turned and walked back again beneath the heavy shade of the trees. the conversation, and indeed this dignified promenade on the vyverberg, had been brought about by a letter which his lordship had received that same morning inviting him to attend a meeting of paper-makers and others interested in the malgamite trade to consider the position of the malgamite charity, and the advisability of taking legal proceedings to close the works on the dunes at scheveningen. the meeting was to be held at the hôtel des indes, at three in the afternoon, and the conveners hinted pretty plainly that the proceedings would be of a decisive nature. the letter left lord ferriby with a vague feeling of discomfort. his position was somewhat isolated. a coldness had for some time been in existence between himself and his nephew, tony cornish. of mr. wade, lord ferriby was slightly distrustful.
-“these commercial men,” he often said, “are apt to hold such narrow views.”
-and, indeed, to steer a straight course through life, one must not look to one side or the other.
-there remained major white, of whom lord ferriby had thought more highly since fortune had called this plain soldier to take a seat among the gods of the british public. for no man is proof against the satisfaction of being able to call a celebrated person by his christian name. the major had long admired joan, in his stupid way from, as one might say, the other side of the room. but neither lord nor lady ferriby had encouraged this silent suit. joan was theoretically one of those of whom it is said that “she might marry anybody,” and who, as the keen observer may see for himself, often finishes by failing to marry at all. she was pretty and popular, and had, moreover, the entrée to the best houses. white had been useful to lord ferriby ever since the inauguration of the malgamite scheme. he was not uncomfortably clever, like tony cornish. he was an excellent buffer at jarring periods. since the arrival of joan and her father at the hague, the major had been almost a necessity in their daily life, and now, quite suddenly, lord ferriby found that this was the only person to whom he could turn for advice or support.
-“one cannot suppose,” he said, in the full conviction that words will meet any emergency--“one cannot suppose that von holzen will act in direct opposition to the voice of the majority.”
-“von holzen,” replied the major, “plays a doocid good game.”
-after luncheon they walked across the toornoifeld to the hôtel des indes, and there, in a small salon, found a number of gentlemen seated round a table. mr. wade was conspicuous by his absence. they had, indeed, left him in the hotel garden, sitting at the consumption of an excellent cigar.
-“join the jocund dance?” the major had inquired, with a jerk of the head towards the hôtel des indes. but mr. wade was going for a drive with marguerite.
-tony cornish was, however, seated at the table, and the major recognized two paper-makers whom he had seen before. one was an aggressive, red-headed man, of square shoulders and a dogged appearance, who had “radical” written all over him. the other was a mild-mannered person, with a thin, ash-colored moustache. the major nodded affably. he distinctly remembered offering to fight these two gentlemen either together or one after the other on the landing of the little malgamite office in westminster. and there was a faint twinkle behind the major's eyeglass as he saluted them.
-“good morning, thompson,” he said. “how do, machewlett?” for he never forgot a face or a name.
-“a'hm thinking----” mr. machewlett was observing, but his thoughts died a natural death at the sight of a real lord, and he rose and bowed. mr. thompson remained seated and made that posture as aggressive and obvious as possible. the remainder of the company were of varied nationality and appearance, while one, a frenchman of keen dark eyes and a trim beard--seemed by tacit understanding to be the acknowledged leader. even the pushing mr. thompson silently deferred to him by a gesture that served at once to introduce lord ferriby and invite the frenchman to up and smite him.
-lord ferriby took the seat that had been left vacant for him at the head of the table. he looked around upon faces not too friendly. “we were saying, my lord,” said the frenchman, in perfect english and with that graceful tact which belongs to france alone, “that we have all been the victims of an unfortunate chain of misunderstandings. had the organizers of this great charity consulted a few paper-makers before inaugurating the works at scheveningen, much unpleasantness might have been averted, many lives might, alas, have been spared. but--well--such mundane persons as ourselves were probably unknown to you and unthought-of; the milk is spilt, is it not so? let us rather think of the future.”
-lord ferriby bowed graciously, and mr. thompson moved impatiently on his chair. the suave method had no attractions for him.
-“a'hm thinking,” began mr. machewlett, in his most plaintive voice, and commanded so sudden and universal an attention as to be obviously disconcerted, “his lordship'll need plainer speech than that,” he muttered hastily, and subsided, with an uneasy glance in the direction of that man of action, major white.
-“one misunderstanding has, however, been happily dispelled,” said the frenchman, “by our friend--if monsieur will permit the word--our friend, mr. cornish. from this gentleman we have learned that the executive of the malgamite charity are not by any means in harmony with the executive of the malgamite works at scheveningen; that, indeed, the charity repudiates the action of its servants in manufacturing malgamite by a dangerous process tacitly and humanely set aside by makers up to this time; that the administrators of the fund are no party to the 'corner' which has been established in the product; do not desire to secure a monopoly, and disapprove of the sale of malgamite at a price which has already closed one or two of the smaller mills, and is paralyzing the paper trade of the world.”
-the speaker finished with a bow towards cornish, and resumed his seat. all were watching lord ferriby's face, except major white, who examined a quill pen with short-sighted absorption. lord ferriby looked across the table at cornish.
-“lord ferriby,” said cornish, without rising from his seat, and meeting his uncle's glance steadily, “will now no doubt confirm all that monsieur creil has said.”
-lord ferriby had, in truth, come to the meeting with no such intention. he had, with all his vast experience, no knowledge of a purely commercial assembly such as this. his public had hitherto been a drawing-room public. he was accustomed to a flower-decked platform, from which to deliver his flowing periods to the emotional of both sexes. there were no flowers in this room at the hôtel des indes, and the men before him were not of the emotional school. they were, on the contrary, plain, hard-headed men of business, who had come from different parts of the world at cornish's bidding to meet a crisis in a plain, hard-headed way. they had only thoughts of their balance-sheets, and not of the fact that they held in the hollow of their hands the lives of hundreds, nay, of thousands, of men, women, and children. monsieur creil alone, the keen-eyed frenchman, had absolute control of over three thousand employees--married men with children--but he did not think of mentioning the fact. and it is a weight to carry about with one--to go to sleep with and to awake with in the morning--the charge of, say, nine thousand human lives.
-for a few moments lord ferriby was silent. cornish watched him across the table. he knew that his uncle was no fool, although his wisdom amounted to little more than the wisdom of the worldly. would lord ferriby recognize the situation in time? there was a wavering look in the great man's eye that made his nephew suddenly anxious. then lord ferriby rose slowly, to make the shortest speech that he had ever made in his life.
-“gentlemen,” he said, “i beg to confirm what has just been said.”
-as he sat down again, cornish gave a sharp sigh of relief. in a moment mr. thompson was on his feet, his red face alight with democratic anger.
-“this won't do,” he cried. “let's have done with palavering and talk. let's get to plain speaking.”
-and it was not lord ferriby, but tony cornish, who rose to meet the attack.
-“if you will sit down,” he said, “and keep your temper, you shall have plain speaking, and we can get to business. but if you do neither, i shall turn you out of the room.”
-“yes,” answered tony. and something which mr. thompson did not understand made him resume his seat in silence. the frenchman smiled, and took up his speech where he had left it.
-“mr. cornish,” he said, “speaks with authority. we are, gentlemen, in the hands of mr. cornish, and in good hands. he has this matter at the tips of his fingers. he has devoted himself to it for many months past, at considerable risk, as i suspect, to his own safety. we and the thousands of employees whom we represent cannot do better than entrust the situation to him, and give him a free hand. for once, capital and labour have a common interest----”
-he was again interrupted by mr. thompson, who spoke more quietly now.
-“it seems to me,” he said, “that we may well consider the past for a few minutes before passing on to the future. there's more than a million pounds profit, at the lowest reckoning, on the last few months' manufacture. question is, where is that profit? is this a charity, or is it not? mr. cornish is all very well in his way. but we're not fools. we're men of business, and as such can only presume that mr. cornish, like the rest of 'em, has had his share. question is, where are the profits?”
-major white rose slowly. he was seated beside mr. thompson, and, standing up, towered above him. he looked down at the irate red face with a calm and wondering eye.
-whereupon mr. thompson once more resumed his seat. he had the satisfaction, however, of perceiving that his shaft had reached its mark; for lord ferriby looked disconcerted and angry. the chairman of many charities looked, moreover, a little puzzled, as if the situation was beyond his comprehension. the frenchman's pleasant voice again broke in, soothingly and yet authoritatively.
-“mr. cornish and a certain number of us have, for some time, been in correspondence,” he said. “it is unnecessary for me to suggest to my present hearers that in dealing with a large industry--in handling, as it were, the lives of a number of persons--it is impossible to proceed too cautiously. one must look as far ahead as human foresight may perceive--one must give grave and serious thought to every possible outcome of action or inaction. gentlemen, we have done our best. we are now in a position to say to the administrators of the malgamite fund, close your works and we will do the rest. and this means that we shall provide for the survivors of this great commercial catastrophe, that we shall care for the widows and children of the victims, that we shall supply ourselves with malgamite of our own manufacture, produced only by a process which is known to be harmless, that we shall make it impossible that such a monopoly may again be declared. we have, so far as lies in our power, provided for every emergency. we have approached the two men who, from their retreat on the dunes of scheveningen, have swayed one of the large industries of the world. we have offered them a fortune. we have tried threats and money, but we have failed to close them but one alternative, and that is--war. we are prepared in every way. we can to-morrow take over the manufacture of malgamite for the whole world--but we must have the works on the dunes at scheveningen. we must have the absolute control of the malgamite fund and of the works. we propose, gentlemen, to seize this control, and invest the supreme command in the one man who is capable of exercising it--mr. anthony cornish.”
-the frenchman sat down, looked across the table, and shrugged his shoulders impatiently; for the irrepressible thompson was already on his feet. it must be remembered that mr. thompson worked on commission, and had been hard hit.
-“then,” he cried, pointing a shaking forefinger into lord ferriby's face, “that man has no business to be sitting there. we're honest here--if we're nothing else. we all know your history, my fine gentleman; we know that you cannot wipe out the past, so you're trying to whitewash it over with good works. that's an old trick, and it won't go down here. do you think we don't see through you and your palavering speeches? why have you refused to take action against roden and von holzen? because they've paid you. look at him, gentlemen! he has taken money from those men at scheveningen--blood money. he has had his share. i propose that lord ferriby explains his position.”
-mr. thompson banged his fist on the table, and at the same moment sat down with extreme precipitation, urged thereto by major white's hand on his collar.
-“this is not a vestry meeting,” said the major, sternly.
-all rose to their feet in confusion. major white seemed somehow to be quicker than the rest, and caught lord ferriby in his arms--but lord ferriby was dead.
-“some man holdeth his tongue, because he hath not to answer: and some keepeth silence, knowing his time.”
-those who live for themselves alone must at least have the consolatory thought that when they die the world will soon console itself. for it has been decreed that he who takes no heed of others shall himself be taken no heed of. we soon learn to do without those who are indifferent to us and useless to us. lord ferriby had so long and so carefully studied the culte of self that even those nearest to him had ceased to give him any thought, knowing that in his own he was in excellent hands--that he would always ask for what he wanted. it was lord ferriby's business to make the discovery (which all selfish people must sooner or later achieve) that the best things in this world are precisely those which may not be given on demand, and for which, indeed, one may in nowise ask.
-when major white and cornish were left alone in the private salon of the hôtel des indes--when the doctor had come and gone, when the blinds had been decently lowered, and the great man silently laid upon the sofa--they looked at each other without speaking. the grimmest silence is surely that which arises from the thought that of the dead one may only say what is good.
-“would you like me,” said cornish, “to go across and tell joan?���
-and major white, whose god was discipline, replied, “she's your cousin. it is for you to say.”
-“i shall be glad if you will go,” said cornish, “and leave me to make the other arrangements. take her home tomorrow, or tonight if she wants to, and leave us--me--to follow.”
-so major white quitted the hôtel des indes, and walked slowly down the length of the toornoifeld, leaving cornish alone with lord ferriby, whose death made his nephew suddenly a richer man.
-the wades had gone out for a drive in the wood. major white knew that he would find joan alone at the hotel. bad news has a strange trick of clearing the way before it. the major went to the salon on the ground floor overlooking the corner of the vyverberg. joan was writing a letter at the window.
-“ah!” she said, turning, pen in hand, “you are soon back. have you quarrelled?”
-white went stolidly across the room towards her. there was a chair by the writing-table, and here he sat down. joan was looking uneasily into his face. perhaps she saw more in that immovable countenance than the world was pleased to perceive.
-“your father was taken suddenly ill,” he said, “during the meeting.” joan half rose from her chair, but the major laid his protecting hand over hers. it was a large, quiet hand--like himself, somewhat suggestive of a buffer. and it may, after all, be no mean rôle to act as a buffer between one woman and the world all one's life.
-“you can do nothing,” said white. “tony is with him.”
-joan looked into his face in speechless inquiry.
-“yes,” he answered, “your father is dead.”
-then he sat there in a silence which may have been intensely stupid or very wise. for silence is usually cleverer than speech, and always more interesting. joan was dry-eyed. well may the children of the selfish arise and bless their parents for (albeit unwittingly) alleviating one of the necessary sorrows of life.
-after a silence, major white told joan how the calamity had occurred, in a curt military way, as of one who had rubbed shoulders with death before, who had gone out, moreover, to meet him with a quiet mind, and had told others of the dealings of the destroyer. for major white was deemed a lucky man by his comrades, who had a habit of giving him messages for their friends before they went into the field. perhaps, moreover, the major was of the opinion of those ancient writers who seemed to deem it more important to consider how a man lives than how he dies.
-“it was some heart trouble,” he concluded, “brought on by worry or sudden excitement.”
-“the malgamite,” answered joan. “it has always been a source of uneasiness to him. he never quite understood it.”
-“no,” answered the major, very deliberately, “he never quite understood it.” and he looked out of the window with a thoughtful noncommitting face.
-“neither do i--understand it,” said joan, doubtfully.
-and the major looked suddenly dense. he had, as usual, no explanation to offer.
-“was father deceived by some one?” joan asked, after a pause. “one hears such strange rumours about the malgamite fund. i suppose father was deceived?”
-she spoke of the dead man with that hushed voice which death, with a singular impartiality to race or creed, seems to demand of the survivors wheresoever he passes.
-white met her earnest gaze with a grave nod. “yes,” he answered. “he was deceived.”
-“he said before he went out that he did not want to go to the meeting at all,” went on joan, in a tone of tender reminiscence, “but that he had always made a point of sacrificing his inclination to his sense of duty. poor father!”
-“yes,” said the major, looking out of the window. and he bore joan's steady, searching glance like a man.
-“tell me,” she said suddenly. “were you and tony deceived also?”
-major white reflected for a moment. it is unwise to tell even the smallest lie in haste.
-“no,” he answered at length. “not so entirely as your father.”
-he uncrossed his legs, and made a feeble attempt to divert her thoughts.
-but joan was on the trail as it were of a half-formed idea in her own mind, and she would not have been a woman if she had relinquished the quest so easily.
-“but you were deceived at first?” she inquired, rather anxiously. “i know tony was. i am sure of it. perhaps he found out later; but you--”
-she drew her hand from under his rather hastily, having just found out that it was in that equivocal position.
-“you were never deceived,” she said, with a suspicion of resentment.
-“well--perhaps not,” admitted the major, reluctantly. and he looked regretfully at the hand she had withdrawn. “don't know much about charities,” he continued, after a pause. “don't quite look at them in the right light, perhaps. seems to me that you ought to be more business-like in charities than in anything else; and we're not business men--not even you.”
-he looked at her very solemnly and wisely, as if the thoughts in his mind would be of immense value if he could only express them; but he was without facilities in that direction. if one cannot be wise, the next best thing is to have a wise look. he rose, for he had caught sight of tony cornish crossing the toornoifeld in the shade of the trees. perhaps the major had forgotten for the moment that a great man was dead; that there were letters to be written and telegrams to be despatched; that the world must know of it, and the insatiable maw of the public be closed by a few scraps of news. for the public mind must have its daily food, and the wise are they who tell it only that which it is expedient for it to know.
-lord ferriby's life was, moreover, one that needed careful obituary treatment. everybody's life may for domestic purposes be described as a hash; but lord ferriby's was a hash which in the hands of a cheap democratic press might easily be served up so daintily as to be very savoury in the nostrils of the world. some of its component parts were indeed exceedingly ancient, and, so to speak, gamey, while the malgamite scheme alone might easily be magnified into a very passable scandal.
-tony came into the room, keen and capable. he did not show much feeling. perhaps joan and he understood each other without any such display. for they had known each other many years, and had understood other and more subtle matters without verbal explanation. for the world had been pleased to say that joan and tony must in the end inevitably marry. and they had never explained, never contradicted, and never married.
-while the three were still talking, a carriage rattled up to the door of the hotel, and then another. there began, in a word, that hushed confusion--that running to and fro as of ants upon a disturbed ant-hill--which follows hard upon the footsteps of the grim messenger, who himself is content to come so quietly and unobtrusively. roden arrived to make inquiries, and mrs. vansittart, and a messenger from more than one embassy. then the wades came, brought hurriedly back by a messenger sent after them by tony cornish.
-marguerite, with characteristic energy, came into the room first, slim and bright-eyed. she looked from one face to the other, and then crossed the room and stood beside joan without speaking. she was smiling--a little hard smile with close-set lips, showing the world a face that meant to take life open-eyed, as it is, and make the best of it.
-before long the two girls quitted the room, leaving the three men to their hushed discussion. tony had already provided himself with pen and paper. in twelve hours that which the world must know about lord ferriby should be in print. there was just time to cable it to the times and the news agencies. and in these hurried days it is the first word which, after all, goes farthest and carries most weight. a contradiction is at all times a poor expedient.
-“i have silenced the paper-makers,” said cornish, sitting down to write. “even that ass thompson, by striking while the iron was hot.”
-“and roden won't open his lips,” added mr. wade, who, as he drove up, had seen that brilliant financier uneasily strolling under the trees of the toornoifeld, looking towards the hotel, for lord ferriby's death was a link in the crooked malgamite chain which even von holzen had failed to foresee.
-indeed, lord ferriby must have been gratified could he have seen the posthumous pother that he made by dying at this juncture. for in life he had only been important in his own eyes, and the world had taken little heed of him. this same keen-sighted world would not regret him much now and would assuredly mete out to that miserly old screw, his widow, only as much sympathy as the occasion deserved. lady ferriby would, the world suspected, sell off his lordship's fancy waistcoats, and proceed to save money to her heart's content. even the thought of his club subscriptions, now necessarily to be discontinued, must have assuaged a large part of the widow's grief. such, at least, was the opinion of the clubs themselves, when the news was posted up among the weather reports and the latest tapes from the house that same evening.
-while lord ferriby's friends were comfortably endowing him with a few compensating virtues over their tea and hot buttered toast in pall mall and st. james's street, mr. wade, tony, and white dined together at the hotel of the old shooting gallery at the hague. the hour was an early one, and had never been countenanced by lord ferriby, but the three men in whose hands he had literally left his good name did not attach supreme importance to this matter. indeed, the banker thought kindly of six-thirty as an hour at which in earlier days he had been endowed with a better appetite than he ever possessed now at eight o'clock or later. while they were at table a telegram was handed to cornish. it was from lord ferriby's solicitor in london, and contained the advice that tony cornish had been appointed sole executor of his lordship's will.
-“thank god!” said tony, with a little laugh, as he read the message and handed it across to mr. wade, who looked at it gravely without comment. “and now,” said cornish, “not even joan need know.”
-for cornish, having perceived percy roden under the trees of the toornoifeld, had gone out there to speak to him, and in answer to a plain question had received a plain answer as to the price that lord ferriby had been paid for the use of his name in the malgamite fund transactions.
-joan had elected to remain in her own rooms, with marguerite to keep her company, until the evening, when, under white's escort, she was to set out for england. the major had in a minimum of words expressed himself ready to do anything at any time, provided that the service did not require an abnormal conversational effort.
-“and i'll thump them,” added the major, who indeed looked capable of rendering that practical service.
-they were favoured by a full moon and a perfect night for their passage from the hook of holland to harwich. joan expressed a desire to remain on deck, at all events, until the lights of the maas had been left behind. major white procured two deck chairs, and found a corner of the upper deck which was free alike from too much wind and too many people. there they sat in the shadow of a boat, and joan seemed fully occupied with her own thoughts, for she did not speak while the steamer ploughed steadily onwards through the smooth water.
-“i wonder if it is my duty to continue to take an active part in the malgamite fund,” she said at length.
-and the major, who had been permitted to smoke, looked attentively at the lighted end of his cigar, and said nothing.
-“i am afraid it must be,” continued joan, whose earnest endeavours to find out what was her duty, and do it, occupied the larger part of her time and attention.
-“why?” asked major white.
-“because i don't want to.”
-the major thought about the matter for a long time--almost half through a cigar. it was wonderful how so much thought could result in so few words, especially in these days, which are essentially days of many words and few thoughts. during this period of meditation, joan sat looking out to sea, and the moon shining down upon her face showed it to be puckered with anxiety. like many of her contemporaries, she was troubled by an intense desire to do her duty, coupled with an unfortunate lack of duties to perform.
-“i wish you would tell me what you think,” she said.
-“seems to me,” said white, “that your duty is clear enough.”
-“yes. drop the malgamiters and the haberdashers and all that, and--marry me.”
-but joan only shook her head sadly. “that cannot be my duty,” she said.
-“why? 'cos it isn't unpleasant enough?”
-“no,” answered joan, after a pause, in the deepest earnestness--“no--that's just it.”
-out of which ambiguous observation the major seemed to gather some meaning, for he looked up at the moon with one of his most vacant smiles.
-“whom the gods mean to destroy, they blind.”
-mrs. vansittart had passed the age of blind love. she had not the incentive of a healthy competition. she had not that more dangerous incentive of middle-aged vanity, which draws the finger of derision so often in the direction of widows. and yet she took a certain pleasure in playing a half-careless and wholly cynical juliet to percy roden's gauche romeo. she had no intention of marrying him, and yet she continued to encourage him even now that open war was declared between cornish and the malgamite makers. cornish had indeed thanked mrs. vansittart for her assistance in the past in such a manner as to convey to her that she could hardly be of use to him in the future. he had magnified her good offices, and had warned her to beware of arousing von holzen's anger. indeed, her use of percy roden was at an end, and yet she would not let him go. cornish was puzzled, and so was dorothy. percy roden was gratified, and read the riddle by the light of his own vanity. mrs. vansittart was not, perhaps, the first woman to puzzle her neighbours by refusing to relinquish that which she did not want. she was not the first, perhaps, to nurse a subtle desire to play some part in the world rather than be left idle in the wings. so she played the part that came first and easiest to her hand--a woman's natural part, of stirring up strife between men.
-she was, therefore, gratified when von holzen made his way slowly towards her through the crowd on the kursaal terrace one afternoon on the occasion of a thursday concert. she was sitting alone in a far corner of the terrace, protected by a glass screen from the wind which ever blows at scheveningen. she never mingled with the summer visitors at this popular dutch resort--indeed, knew none of them. von holzen seemed to be similarly situated; but mrs. vansittart knew that he did not seek her out on that account. he was not a man to do anything--much less be sociable--out of idleness. he only dealt with his fellow-beings when he had a use for them.
-she returned his grave bow with an almost imperceptible movement of the head, and for a moment they looked hard at each other.
-“madame still lingers at the hague,” he said.
-“as you see.”
-“and is the game worth the candle?”
-he laid his hand tentatively on a chair, and looked towards her with an interrogative glance. he would not, it appeared, sit down without her permission. and, womanlike, she gave it, with a shrug of one shoulder. a woman rarely refuses a challenge. “and is the game worth the candle?” he repeated.
-“one can only tell when it is played out,” was the reply; and herr von holzen glanced quickly at the lady who made it.
-he turned away and listened to the music. an occasional concert was the one diversion he allowed himself at this time from his most absorbing occupation of making a fortune. he had probably a real love of music, which is not by any means given to the good only, or the virtuous. indeed, it is the art most commonly allied to vice.
-“by the way,” said von holzen, after a pause, “that paper which it pleased madame's fantasy to possess at one time--is destroyed. its teaching exists only in my unworthy brain.”
-he turned and looked at her with his slow smile, his measuring eyes.
-“yes; so madame need give the question no more thought, and may turn her full attention to her new--fancy.”
-mrs. vansittart was studying her programme, and did not look up or display the slightest interest in what he was saying.
-“every event seems but to serve to strengthen our position,” went on von holzen, still half listening to the music. “even the untimely death of lord ferriby--which might at first have appeared a contretemps. cornish takes home the coffin by tonight's mail, i understand. men may come, madame, and men may go--but we go on for ever. we are still prosperous--despite our friends. and cornish is nonplussed. he does not know what to do next, and fate seems to be against him. he has no luck. we are manufacturing--day and night.”
-“you are interested in mr. cornish,” observed mrs. vansittart, coolly; and she saw a sudden gleam in von holzen's eyes.
-after all, the man had a passion over which his control was insecure--the last, the longest of the passions--hatred. he shrugged his shoulders.
-“he has forced himself upon our notice--unnecessarily as the result has proved--only to find out that there is no stopping us.”
-he could scarcely control his voice as he spoke of cornish, and looked away as if fearing to show the expression of his eyes.
-mrs. vansittart watched him with a cool little smile. von holzen had not come here to talk of cornish. he had come on purpose to say something which he had not succeeded in saying yet, and she was not ignorant of this. she was going to make it as difficult as possible for him, so that when he at last said what he had come to say, she should know it, and perhaps divine his motives.
-“even now,” he continued, “we have succeeded beyond our expectations. we are rich men, so that madame--need delay no longer.” he turned and looked her straight in the eyes.
-“i?” she inquired, with raised eyebrows. “need delay no longer--in what?”
-“in consummating the happiness of my partner, percy roden,” he was clever enough to say without being impertinent. “he--and his banking account--are really worth the attention of any lady.”
-mrs. vansittart laughed, and, before answering, acknowledged stiffly the stiff salutation of a passer.
-“then it is suggested that i am waiting for mr. roden to be rich enough in order to marry him?”
-“it is the talk of gossips and servants.”
-mrs. vansittart looked at him with an amused smile. did he really know so little of the world as to take his information from gossips and servants?
-“ah,” she said, and that was all. she rose and made a little signal with her parasol to her coachman, who was waiting in the shadow of the kursaal. as she drove home, she wondered why von holzen was afraid that she should marry percy roden, who, as it happened, was coming to tea in park straat that evening. mrs. vansittart had not exactly invited him--not, at all events, that he was aware of. he was under the impression that he had himself proposed the visit.
-she remembered that he was coming, but gave no further thought to him. all her mind was, indeed, absorbed with thoughts of von holzen, whom she hated with the dull and deadly hatred of the helpless. the sight of him, the sound of his voice, stirred something within her that vibrated for hours, so that she could think of nothing else--could not even give her attention to the little incidents of daily life. she pretended to herself that she sought retribution--that she wished on principle to check a scoundrel in his successful career. the heart, however, knows no principles; for these are created by and belong to the mind. which explains why many women seem to have no principles and many virtuous persons no heart.
-mrs. vansittart went home to make a careful toilet pending the arrival of percy roden. she came down to the drawing-room, and stood idly at the window.
-“the talk of gossips and servants,” she repeated bitterly to herself. one of von holzen's shafts had, at all events, gone home. and percy roden came into the room a few minutes afterwards. his manner had more assurance than when he had first made mrs. vansittart's acquaintance. he had, perhaps, a trifle less respect for the room and its occupant. mrs. vansittart had allowed him to come nearer to her; and when a woman allows a man of whom she has a low opinion to come near to her, she trifles with her own self-respect, and does harm which, perhaps, may never be repaired.
-“i was too busy to go to the concert this afternoon,” he said, sitting down in his loose-limbed way.
-his assumption that his absence had been noticed rather nettled his hearer.
-“ah! were you not there?” she inquired.
-he turned and looked at her with his curt laugh. “if i had been there you would have known it,” he said.
-it was just one of those remarks--delivered in the half-mocking voice assumed in self-protection--which mrs. vansittart had hitherto allowed to pass unchallenged. and now, quite suddenly, she resented the manner and the speech.
-“indeed,” she said, with a subtle inflection of tone which should have warned him.
-but he was engaged in drawing down his cuffs. many young men would know more of the world if they had no cuffs or collars to distract them.
-“yes,” answered roden; “if i had gone to the concert it would not have been for the music.”
-percy roden's method of making love was essentially modern. he threw to mrs. vansittart certain scraps of patronage and admiration, which she could pick up seriously and keep if she cared to. but he was not going to risk a wound to his vanity by taking the initiative too earnestly. mrs. vansittart, who was busy at the tea-table, set down a cup which she had in her hand and crossed the room towards him.
-“what do you mean, mr. roden?” she asked slowly.
-he looked up with wavering eyes, and visibly lost colour under her gaze.
-“what do i mean?”
-“yes. what do you mean when you say that, if you had gone to the concert, it would not have been for the music; that if you had been there, i should have known of your presence, and a hundred other--impertinences?”
-at first roden thought that the way was being made easy for him as it is in books, as, indeed, it sometimes is in life, when it happens to be a way that is not worth the treading; but the last word stung him like a lash--as it was meant to sting. it was, perhaps, that one word that made him rise from his chair.
-“if you meant to object to anything that i may say, you should have done so long ago,” he said. “who was the first to speak at the hotel when i came to the hague? which of us was it that kept the friendship up and cultivated it? i am not blind. i could hardly be anything else, if i had failed to see what you have meant all along.”
-“what have i meant all along?” she asked, with a strange little smile.
-“why, you have meant me to say such things as i have said, and perhaps more.”
-“more--what can you mean?”
-she looked at him still with a smile, which he did not understand. and, like many men, he allowed his vanity to explain things which his comprehension failed to elucidate.
-“well,” he said, after a moment's hesitation, “will you marry me? there!”
-“no, mr. roden, i will not,” she answered promptly; and then suddenly her eyes flashed, at some recollection, perhaps--at some thought connected with her happy past contrasted with this sordid, ignoble present.
-“you!” she cried. “marry you!”
-“why,” he asked, with a bitter little laugh, “what is there wrong with me?”
-“i do not know what there is wrong with you. and i am not interested to inquire. but, so far as i am concerned, there is nothing right.”
-a woman's answer after all, and one of those reasons which are no reasons, and yet rule the world.
-roden looked at her, completely puzzled. in a flash of thought he recalled dorothy's warning, and her incomprehensible foresight.
-“then,” he said, lapsing in his self-forgetfulness into the terse language of his everyday life and thought, “what on earth have you been driving at all along?”
-“i have been driving at herr von holzen and the malgamite scheme. i have been helping tony cornish,” she answered.
-so percy roden quitted the house at the corner of park straat a wiser man, and perhaps he left a wiser woman in it.
-“my dear,” said mrs. vansittart to marguerite wade, long afterwards, when a sort of friendship had sprung up and ripened between them--“my dear, never let a man ask you to marry him unless you mean to say yes. it will do neither of you any good.”
-and marguerite, who never allowed another the last word, gave a shrewd little nod before she answered--“i always say no--before they ask me.”
-on the queen's canal.
-“there's not a crime--but takes its proper change still out in crime if once rung on the counter of this world.”
-cornish went back to the hague immediately after lord ferriby's funeral because it has been decreed that for all men, this large world shall sooner or later narrow down to one city, perhaps, or one village, or a single house. for a man's life is always centred round a memory or a hope, and neither of those requires much space wherein to live. tony cornish's world had narrowed to the villa des dunes on the sandhills of scheveningen, and his mind's eye was always turned in that direction. his one thought at this time was to protect dorothy--to keep, if possible, the name she bore from harm and ill-fame. each day that passed meant death to the malgamite workers. he could not delay. he dared not hurry. he wrote again to percy roden from london, amid the hurried preparations for the funeral, and begged him to sever his connection with von holzen.
-“you will not have time,” he wrote, “to answer this before i leave for the hague. i shall stay on the toornoifeld as usual, and hope to arrive about nine o'clock to-morrow evening. i shall leave the hotel about a quarter-past nine and walk down the right-hand bank of the koninginne gracht, and should like to meet you by the canal, where we can have a talk. i have many reasons to submit to your consideration why it will be expedient for you to come over to my side in this difference now, which i cannot well set down on paper. and remember that between men of the world, such as i suppose we may take ourselves to be, there is no question of one of us judging the other. let me beg of you to consider your position in regard to the malgamite scheme--and meet me to-morrow night between the malie veld and the achter weg about half-past nine. i cannot see you at the works, and it would be better for you not to come to my hotel.”
-the letter was addressed to the villa des dunes, where roden received it the next morning. dorothy saw it, and guessed from whom it was, though she hardly knew her lover's writing. he had adhered firmly to his resolution to keep himself in the background until he had finished the work he had undertaken. he had not written to her; had scarcely seen her. roden read the letter, and put it in his pocket without a word. it had touched his vanity. he had had few dealings with men of the standing and position of cornish, and here was this peer's nephew and peer's grandson appealing to him as to a friend, classing him together with himself as a man of the world. no man has so little discretion as a vain man. it is almost impossible for him to keep silence when speech will make for his glorification. roden arrived at the works well pleased with himself, and found von holzen in their little office, put out, ill at ease, domineering. it was unfortunate, if you will. percy roden was always ready to perceive his own ill-fortune, and looked back later to this as one of his most untoward hours. life, however, should surely consist of seizing the fortunate and fighting through the ill moments--else why should men have heart and nerve?
-in such humours as they found themselves it did not take long for these two men to discover a question upon which to differ. it was a mere matter of detail connected with the money at that time passing through their hands.
-“of course,” said roden, in the course of a useless and trivial dispute--“of course you think you know best, but you know nothing of finance--remember that. everybody knows that it is i who have run that part of the business. ask old wade, or white--or cornish.”
-the argument had, in truth, been rather one-sided. for roden had done all the talking, while von holzen looked at him with a quiet eye and a silent contempt that made him talk all the more. von holzen did not answer now, though his eye lighted at the mention of cornish's name. he merely looked at roden with a smile, which conveyed as clearly as words von holzen's suggestion that none of the three men named would be prepared to give roden a very good character. “i had a letter, by the way, from cornish this morning,” said roden, lapsing into his grander manner, which von holzen knew how to turn to account.
-“ah--bah!” he exclaimed sceptically. and that lurking vanity of the inferior to lessen his own inferiority did the rest.
-“if you don't believe me, there you are,” said roden, throwing the letter upon the table--not ill-pleased, in the heat of the moment, to show that he was a more important person than his companion seemed to think.
-von holzen read the letter slowly and thoughtfully. the fact that it was evidently intended for roden's private eye did not seem to affect one or the other of these two men, who had travelled, with difficulty, along the road to fortune, only reaching their bourn at last with a light stock of scruples and a shattered code of honour. then he folded it, and handed it back. he was not likely to forget a word of it.
-“i suppose you will go,” he said. “it will be interesting to hear what he has to say. that letter is a confession of weakness.”
-in making which statement von holzen showed his own weak point. for, like many clever men, he utterly failed to give to women their place--the leading place--in the world's history, as in the little histories of our daily lives. he never detected dorothy between every line of cornish's letter, and thought that it had only been dictated by inability to meet the present situation.
-“i cannot very well refuse to go since the fellow asks me,” said roden, grandly. he might as well have displayed his grandeur to a statue. if love is blind, self-love is surely half-witted as well, for it never sees nor understands that the world is fooling it. roden failed to heed the significant fact that von holzen did not even ask him what line of conduct he intended to follow with regard to cornish, nor seek in his autocratic way to instruct him on that point; but turned instead to other matters and did not again refer to cornish or the letter he had written.
-so the day wore on while cornish impatiently walked the deck of the steamer, ploughing its way across the north sea, through showers and thunderstorms and those grey squalls that flit to and fro on the german ocean. and some tons of malgamite were made, while a manufacturer or two of the grim product laid aside his tools forever, while the money flowed in, and otto von holzen thought out his deep silent plans over his vats and tanks and crucibles. and all the while those who write in the book of fate had penned the last decree.
-cornish arrived punctually at the hague. he drove to the hotel, where he was known, where, indeed, he had never relinquished his room. there was no letter for him--no message from percy roden. but von holzen had unobtrusively noted his arrival at the station from the crowded retreat of the second-class waiting-room.
-the day had been a very hot one, and from canal and dyke arose that sedgy odour which comes with the cool of night in all holland. it is hardly disagreeable, and conveys no sense of unhealthiness.
-it seems merely to be the breath of still waters, and, in hot weather, suggests very pleasantly the relief of northern night. the hague has two dominant smells. in winter, when the canals are frozen, the reek of burning-peat is on the air and in the summer the odour of slow waters. cornish knew them both. he knew everything about this old-world city, where the turning-point of his life had been fixed. it was deserted now. the great houses, the theatre--the show-places--were closed. the toornoifeld was empty.
-the hotel porter, aroused by the advent of the traveller from an after-dinner nap in his little glass box, spread out his hands with a gesture of surprise.
-“the season is over,” he said. “we are empty. why you come to the hague now?”
-even the sentries at the end of the korte voorhout wore a holiday air of laxness, and swung their rifles idly. cornish noticed that only half of the lamps were lighted.
-the banks of the queen's canal are heavily shaded by trees, which, indeed, throw out their branches to meet above the weed-sown water. there is a broad thoroughfare on either side of the canal, though little traffic passes that way. these are two of the many streets of the hague which seem to speak of a bygone day, when holland played a greater part in the world's history than she does at present, for the houses are bigger than the occupants must need, and the streets are too wide for the traffic passing through them. in the middle the canal--a gloomy corridor beneath the trees--creeps noiselessly towards the sea. cornish was before the appointed hour, and walked leisurely by the pathway between the trees and the canal. soon the houses were left behind, and he passed the great open space called the malie veld. he had met no one since leaving the guard-house. it was a dark night, with no moon, but the stars were peeping through the riven clouds.
-“unless he stands under a lamp, i shall not see him,” he said to himself, and lighted a cigar to indicate his whereabouts to roden, should he elect to keep the appointment. when he had gone a few paces farther he saw someone coming towards him. there was a lamp halfway between them, and, as he approached the light, cornish recognized roden. there was no mistaking the long loose stride.
-“i wonder,” said cornish, “if this is going to the end?”
-and he went forward to meet the financier.
-“i was afraid you would not come,” he said, in a voice that was friendly enough, for he was a man of the world, and in that which is called society (with a capital letter) had rubbed elbows all his life with many who had no better reputation than percy roden, and some who deserved a worse.
-“oh, i don't mind coming,” answered roden, “because i did not want to keep you waiting here in the dark. but it is no good, i tell you that at the outset.”
-“and nothing i can say will alter your decision?”
-“nothing. a man does not get two such chances as this in his lifetime. i am not going to throw this one away for the sake of a sentiment.”
-“not a d--n,” answered roden. “i have been poor--you haven't. why, man! i have starved inside a good coat. you don't know what that means.”
-cornish looked at him, and said nothing. there was no mistaking the man's sincerity--nor the manner in which his voice suddenly broke when he spoke of hunger.
-“then there are only two things left for me to do,” said cornish, after a moment's reflection. “ask your sister to marry me first, and smash you up afterwards.”
-roden, who was smoking, threw his cigarette away. “you mean to do both these things?”
-roden looked at him. he opened his lips to speak, but suddenly leapt back.
-“look out!” he cried, and had barely time to point over cornish's shoulder.
-cornish swung round on his heel. he belonged to a school and generation which, with all its faults, has, at all events, the redeeming quality of courage. he had long learnt to say the right thing, which effectually teaches men to do the right thing also. he saw some one running towards him, noiselessly, in rubber shoes. he had no time to think, and scarce a moment in which to act, for the man was but two steps away with an upraised arm, and in the lamplight there flashed the gleam of steel.
-cornish concentrated his attention on the upraised arm, seizing it with both hands, and actually swinging his assailant off his legs. he knew in an instant who it was, without needing to recognize the smell of malgamite. this was otto von holzen, who had not hesitated to state his opinion--that it is often worth a man's while to kill another.
-while his feet were still off the ground, cornish let him go, and he staggered away into the darkness of the trees. cornish, who was lithe and quick, rather than of great physical force, recovered his balance in a moment, and turned to face the trees. he knew that von holzen would come back. he distinctly hoped that he would. for man is essentially the first of the “game” animals and beneath fine clothes there nearly always beats a heart ready, quite suddenly, to snatch the fearful joy of battle.
-von holzen did not disappoint him, but came flying on silent feet, like some beast of prey, from the darkness. cornish had played half-back for his school not so many years before. he collared von holzen low, and let him go, with a cruel skill, heavily on his head and shoulder. not a word had been spoken, and, in the stillness of the summer night, each could hear the other breathing.
-roden stood quite still. he could scarcely distinguish the antagonists. his own breath came whistling through his teeth. his white face was ghastly and twitching. his sleepy eyes were awake now, and staring.
-each charge had left cornish nearer to the canal. he was standing now quite at the edge. he could smell, but he could not see the water, and dared not turn his head to look. there is no railing here as there is nearer the town.
-in a moment, von holzen was on his feet again. in the dark, mere inches are much equalized between men--but von holzen had a knife. cornish, who held nothing in his hands, knew that he was at a fatal disadvantage.
-again, von holzen ran at him with his arm outstretched for a swinging stab. cornish, in a flash of thought, recognized that he could not meet this. he stepped neatly aside. von holzen attempted to stop stumbled, half recovered himself, and fell headlong into the canal.
-in a moment cornish and roden were at the edge, peering into the darkness. cornish gave a breathless laugh.
-“we shall have to fish him out,” he said.
-and he knelt down, ready to give a hand to von holzen. but the water, smooth again now, was not stirred by so much as a ripple.
-“suppose he can swim?” muttered roden, uneasily.
-and they waited in a breathless silence. there was something horrifying in the single splash, and then the stillness.
-“gad!” whispered cornish. “where is he?”
-roden struck a match, and held it inside his hat so as to form a sort of lantern, though the air was still enough. cornish did the same, and they held the lights out over the water, throwing the feeble rays right across the canal.
-“he cannot have swum away,” he said. “von holzen,” he cried out cautiously, after another pause--“von holzen--where are you?”
-but there was no answer.
-the surface of the canal was quite still and glassy in those parts that were not covered by the close-lying duck-weed. the water crept stealthily, slimily, towards the sea.
-the two men held their breath and waited. cornish was kneeling at the edge of the water, peering over.
-“where is he?” he repeated. “gad! roden, where is he?”
-and roden, in a hoarse voice, answered at length “he is in the mud at the bottom--head downwards.”
-at the corner.
-“l'homme s'agite et dieu le mêne.”
-the two men on the edge of the canal waited and listened again. it seemed still possible that von holzen had swum away in the darkness--had perhaps landed safely and unperceived on the other side.
-“this,” said cornish, at length, “is a police affair. will you wait here while i go and fetch them?”
-but roden made no answer, and in the sudden silence cornish heard the eerie sound of chattering teeth. percy roden had morally collapsed. his mind had long been t a great tension, and this shock had unstrung him. cornish seized him by the arm, and held him while he hook like a leaf and swayed heavily.
-“come, man,” said cornish, kindly--“come, pull yourself together.”
-he held him steadily and patiently until the shaking eased.
-“i'll go,” said roden, at length. “i couldn't stay ere alone.”
-and he staggered away towards the hague. it seemed hours before he came back. a carriage rattled past cornish while he waited there, and two foot-passengers paused for a moment to look at him with some suspicion.
-at last roden returned, accompanied by a police official--a phlegmatic dutchman, who listened to the story in silence. he shook his head at cornish's suggestion, made in halting dutch mingled with german, that von holzen had swum away in the darkness.
-“can you go home alone? are you all right now?” cornish asked roden, as he walked away with him towards the villa des dunes.
-“yes, i can go home alone,” he answered, and walked on by himself, unsteadily.
-cornish watched him, and, before he had gone twenty yards, roden stopped. “cornish!” he shouted.
-and they walked towards each other.
-“i did not know that von holzen was there. you will believe that?”
-“yes; i will believe that,” answered cornish.
-and they parted a second time. cornish walked slowly back to the hotel. he limped a little, for von holzen had in the struggle kicked him on the ankle. he suddenly felt very tired, but was not shaken. on the contrary, he felt relieved, as if that which he had been attempting so long had been suddenly taken from his hands and consummated by a higher power, with whom all responsibility rested. he went to bed with a mechanical deliberation, and slept instantly. the daylight was streaming into the window when he awoke. no one sleeps very heavily at the hague--no one knows why--and cornish awoke with all his senses about him at the opening of his bedroom door. roden had come in and was standing by the bedside. his eyes had a sleepless look. he looked, indeed, as if he had been up all night, and had just had a bath.
-while cornish was dressing, roden sat heavily down on a chair near the window.
-“hope you'll stick by me,” he said, and, pausing, stretched out his hand to the washing-stand to pour himself out a glass of water--“i hope you'll stick by me. i'm so confoundedly shaky. don't know what it is--look at my hand.” he held out his hand, which shook like a drunkard's.
-“that is only nerves,” said cornish, who was ever optimistic and cheerful. he was too wise to weigh carefully his reasons for looking at the best side of events. “that is nothing. you have not slept, i expect.”
-“no; i've been thinking. i say, cornish--you must stick by me--i have been thinking. what am i to do with the malgamiters? i cannot manage the devils as von holzen did. i'm--i'm a bit afraid of them, cornish.”
-“oh, that will be all right. why, we have wade, and can send for white if we want him. do not worry yourself about that. what you want is breakfast. have you had any?”
-“no. i left the house before dorothy was awake or the servants were down. she knows nothing. dorothy and i have not hit it off lately.”
-cornish made no answer. he was ringing the bell, and ordered coffee when the waiter came.
-“haven't met any incident in life yet,” he said cheerfully, “that seemed to justify missing out meals.”
-the incident that awaited them was not, however, a pleasant one, though the magistrate in attendance afforded a courteous assistance in the observance of necessary formalities. both men made a deposition before him.
-“i know something,” he said to cornish, “of this malgamite business. we have had our eye upon von holzen for some time--if only on account of the death-rate of the city.”
-they breathed more freely when they were out in the street. cornish made some unimportant remark, which the other did not answer. so they walked on in silence. presently, cornish glanced at his companion, and was startled at the sight of his face, which was grey, and glazed all over with perspiration, as an actor's face may sometimes be at the end of a great act. then he remembered that roden had not spoken for a long time.
-“what is the matter?” he asked.
-“didn't you see?” gasped roden.
-“the things they had laid on the table beside him. the things they found in his hands and his pockets.”
-“the knife, you mean,” said cornish, whose nerves were worthy of the blood that flowed in his veins, “and some letters?”
-“yes; the knife was mine. everybody knows it. it is an old dagger that has always lain on a table in the drawing room at the villa des dunes.”
-“i have never been in the drawing room at the villa des dunes, except once by lamplight,” said cornish, indifferently.
-roden turned and looked at him with eyes still dull with fear.
-“yes,” said roden, with a sudden laugh, which neither forgot to his dying day.
-they walked on in silence. for there are times in nearly every man's life when events seem suddenly to outpace thought, and we can only act as seems best at the moment; times when the babbler is still and the busybody at rest; times when the cleverest of us must recognize that the long and short of it all is that man agitates himself and god leads him. at the corner of the vyverberg they parted--cornish to return to his hotel, roden to go back to the works. his carriage was awaiting him in a shady corner of the binnenhof. for roden had his carriage now, and, like many possessing suddenly such a vehicle, spent much time and thought in getting his money's worth out of it.
-“if you want me, send for me, or come to the hotel,” were cornish's last words, as he shut the successful financier into his brougham.
-at the hotel, cornish found mr. wade and marguerite lingering over a late breakfast.
-“you look,” said marguerite, “as if you had been up to something.” she glanced at him shrewdly. “have you smashed roden's corner?” she asked.
-“yes,” answered cornish, turning to mr. wade; “and if you will come out into the garden, i will tell you how it has been done. monsieur creil said that the paper-makers could begin supplying themselves with malgamite at a day's notice. we must give them that notice this morning.”
-mr. wade, who was never hurried and never late, paused at the open window to light his cigar before following marguerite.
-“ah,” he said placidly, “then fortune must have favored you, or something has happened to von holzen.”
-cornish knew that it was useless to attempt to conceal anything whatsoever from the discerning marguerite, so--in the quiet garden of the hotel, where the doves murmur sleepily on the tiles, and the breeze only stirs the flowers and shrubs sufficiently to disseminate their scents--he told father and daughter the end of roden's corner.
-they were still in the garden, an hour later, writing letters and telegrams, and making arrangements to meet this new turn in events, when dorothy roden came down the iron steps from the verandah.
-she hurried towards them and shook hands, without explaining her sudden arrival.
-“is percy here?” she asked cornish. “have you seen him this morning?”
-“he is not here, but i parted from him a couple of hours ago on the vyverberg. he was going down to the works.”
-“then he never got there,” said dorothy. “i have had nearly all the malgamiters at the villa des dunes. they are in open rebellion, and if percy had been there they would have killed him. they have heard a report that herr von holzen is dead. is it true?” “yes. von holzen is dead.”
-“and they broke into the office. they got at the books. they found out the profits that have been made and they are perfectly wild with fury. they would have wrecked the villa des dunes, but----”
-“but they were afraid of you, my dear,” said mr. wade, filling in the blank that dorothy left.
-“yes,” she admitted.
-“well played,” muttered marguerite, with shining eyes.
-cornish had risen, and was folding away his papers. “i will go down to the works,” he said.
-“but you cannot go there alone,” put in dorothy, quickly.
-“he will not need to do that,” said mr. wade, throwing the end of his cigar into the bushes, and rising heavily from his chair.
-marguerite looked at her father with a little upward jerk of the head and a light in her eyes. it was quite evident that she approved of the old gentleman.
-“he's a game old thing,” she said, aside to dorothy, while her father collected his papers.
-dorothy looked at him, and said nothing. the world would be a simpler dwelling-place if those who, for one reason or another, cannot say exactly what they mean would but keep silence.
-cornish told her, hurriedly, what had happened twelve hours ago on the bank of the queen's canal; and the thought of the misspent, crooked life that had ended in the black waters of that sluggish tideway made them all silent for a while. for death is in itself dignified, and demands respect for all with whom he has dealings. many attain the distinction of vice in life, while more only reach the mere mediocrity of foolishness; but in death all are equally dignified. we may, indeed, assume that we shall, by dying, at last command the respect of even our nearest relations and dearest friend--for a week or two, until they forget us.
-“he was a clever man,” commented mr. wade, shutting up his gold pencil case and putting it in the pocket of his comfortable waistcoat. “but clever men are rarely happy----”
-“and clever women--never,” added marguerite--that shrewd seeker after the last word.
-while they were still speaking, percy roden came hurriedly down the steps. he was pale and tired, but his eye had a light of resolution in it. he held his head up, and looked at cornish with a steady glance. it seemed that the vague danger which he had anticipated so nervously had come at last, and that he stood like a man in the presence of it.
-“it is all up,” he said. “they have found the books; they have understood them; and they are wrecking the place.”
-“they are quite welcome to do that,” said cornish. mr. wade, who was always business-like, had reopened his writing-case when he saw roden, and now came forward to hand him a written paper.
-“that is a copy,” he said, “of the telegram we have sent to creil. he can come here and select what men he wants--the steady ones and the skilled workmen. with each man we will hand him a cheque in trust. the others can take their money--and go.”
-“and drink themselves to death as expeditiously as they think fit,” added cornish, the philanthropist--the fashionable drawing-room champion of the masses.
-“i got back here through the wood,” said percy roden, who was still breathless, as if he had been hurrying. “one of them, a swede, came to warn me. they are looking for me in the town--a hundred and twenty of them, and not one who cares that”--he paused, and gave a snap of the fingers--“for his life or the law. both railway stations are watched, and all the steam-boat stations on the canals; they will kill me if they catch me.”
-his eyes wavered, for there is nothing more terrifying than the avowed hostility of a mass of men, and no law grimmer than lynch-law. yet he held up his head with a sort of pride in his danger--some touch of that subtle sense of personal distinction which seems to reach the heart of the victim of an accident, or of a prisoner in the dock.
-he gave a laugh and threw back his head. his hearers looked at him, and mr. wade alone understood his thoughts. for the banker had dealt with money-makers all his life and knew that to many men, money is a god, and the mere possession of it dearer to them than life itself.
-“if you stay here, in my room upstairs,” said cornish, “i will go down to the works now. and this evening i will try and get you away from the hague--and from europe.”
-“and i will go to the villa des dunes again,” added dorothy, “and pack your things.”
-marguerite had risen also, and was moving towards the steps.
-“where are you going?” asked her father.
-“to the villa des dunes,” she replied; and, turning to dorothy, added, “i shall take some clothes and stay with you there until things straighten themselves out a bit.”
-“because i cannot let you go there alone.”
-“why not?” asked dorothy.
-“because--i am not that sort,” said marguerite; and, turning, she ascended the iron steps.
-round the corner.
-“les heureux ne rient pas; ils sourient.”
-soon after mr. wade and cornish had quitted their carriage, on that which is known as the new scheveningen road, and were walking across the dunes to the malgamite works, they met a policeman running towards them.
-“it is,” he answered breathlessly, to their inquiries--“it is the english chemical works on the dunes, which have caught fire. i am hurrying to the artillery station to telegraph for the fire-engines; but it will be useless. it will all be over in half an hour--by this wind and after so much dry weather; see the black smoke, excellencies.”
-and the man pointed towards a column of smoke, blown out over the sand-hills by the strong wind, characteristic of these flat coasts. then, with a hurried salutation, he ran on.
-cornish and mr. wade proceeded more leisurely on their way; for the banker was not of a build to hurry even to a fire. before they had gone far they perceived another man coming across the dunes towards the hague. as he approached, cornish recognized the man known as uncle ben. he was shambling along on unsteady legs, and carried his earthly belongings in a canvas sack of doubtful cleanliness. the recognition was apparently mutual; for uncle ben deviated from his path to come and speak to them.
-“it's me, mister,” he said to cornish, not disrespectfully. “and i don't mind tellin' yer that i'm makin' myself scarce. that place is gettin' a bit too hot for me. they're just pullin' it down and makin' a bonfire of it. and if you or mr. roden goes there, they'll just take and chuck yer on top of it--and that's god's truth. they're a rough lot some of them, and they don't distinguish 'tween you and mr. roden like as i do. soddim and gomorrer, i say. soddim and gomorrer! there won't be nothin' left of yer in half an hour.” and he turned and shook a dirty fist towards the rising smoke, which was all that remained of the malgamite works. he hurried on a few paces, then stopped and laid down his bag. he ran back, calling out “mister!” as he neared cornish and mr. wade. “i don't mind tellin' yer,” he said to cornish, with a ludicrous precautionary look round the deserted dunes to make sure that he would not be overheard; for he was sober, and consequently stupid--“i don't mind tellin' yer--seein' as i'm makin' myself scarce, and for the sake o' miss roden, who has always been a good friend to me--as there's a hundred and twenty of 'em looking for mr. roden at this minute, meanin' to twist his neck; and what's worse, there's others--men of dedication like myself--who has gone to the murder, or something. and they'll get it too, with the story they've got to tell, and them poor devils planted thick as taters in the cheap corner of the cemetery. i've warned yer, mister.” uncle ben expectorated with much emphasis, looked towards the malgamite works with a dubious shake of the head, and went on his way, muttering, “soddim and gomorrer.”
-his hearers walked on over the sand-hills towards the smoke, of which the pungent odour, still faintly suggestive of sealing-wax, reached their nostrils. at the top of a high dune, surmounted with considerable difficulty, mr. wade stopped. cornish stood beside him, and from that point of vantage they saw the last of the malgamite works. amid the flames and smoke the forms of men flitted hither and thither, adding fuel to the fire.
-“they are, at all events, doing the business thoroughly,” said the banker. “and there is nothing to be gained by our disturbing them at it--and a good deal to be lost--namely, our lives. they are not burning the cottages, i see; only the factory. there is nothing heroic about me, tony. let us go back.”
-but mr. wade returned to the hague alone; for cornish had matters of importance requiring his attention. it was now doubly necessary to get roden safely away from holland, and with the necessity increased the difficulty. for holland is a small country, well watched, highly civilized. cornish knew that it would be next to impossible for roden to leave the country by rail or road. there remained, therefore, the sea. cornish had, during his sojourn at the humble swan at scheveningen, made certain friends there. and it was to the old village under the dunes, little known to visitors, and a place apart from the fashionable bathing resort, that he went in his difficulty. he spent nearly the whole day in these narrow streets; indeed, he lunched at the swan in company of a seafaring gentleman clad in soft blue flannel, and addicted to the mediaeval coiffure still affected in certain parts of zeeland.
-from this quiet retreat cornish also wrote a note to dorothy at the villa des dunes, informing her of roden's new danger, and warning her not to attempt to communicate with her brother, or even send him his baggage. in the afternoon cornish made a few purchases, which he duly packed in a sailor's kit-bag, and at nightfall roden arrived on foot.
-the weather was squally, as it often is in august on these coasts; indeed, the summer seemed to have come to an end before its time.
-“it is raining like the deuce,” said roden, “and i am wet through, though i came under the trees of the oude weg.”
-he spoke with his usual suggestion of a grievance, which made cornish answer him rather curtly--“we shall be wetter before we get on board.”
-it was raining when they quitted the modest swan, and hurried through the sparsely lighted, winding streets. cornish had borrowed two oil-skin coats and caps, which at once disguised them and protected them from the rain. any passer-by would have taken them for a couple of fishermen going about their business. but there were few in the streets.
-“why are you doing all this for me?” asked roden, suddenly. “to avoid a scandal,” replied cornish, truthfully enough; for he had been brought up in a world where the longevity of scandal is fully understood.
-the wide stretch of sand was entirely deserted when they emerged from the narrow streets and gained the summit of the sea-wall. a thunderstorm was growling in the distance, and every moment a flash of thin summer lightning shimmered on the horizon. the wind was strong, as it nearly always is here, and shallow white surf stretched seaward across the flats. the sea roared continuously without that rise and fall of the breakers which marks a deeper coast, and from the face of the water there arose a filmy mist--part foam, part phosphorescence.
-as roden and cornish passed the little lighthouse, two policemen emerged from the shadow of the wall, and watched them, half suspiciously. “good evening,” said one of them.
-“good evening,” answered cornish, mimicking the sing-song accent of the scheveningen streets.
-they walked on in silence. “whew!” ejaculated roden, when the danger seemed to be past, and they could breathe again.
-they went down a flight of steps to the beach, and stumbled across the soft sand towards the sea. one or two boats were lying out in the surf--heavy dutch fishing-boats, known technically as “pinks,” flat-bottomed, round-prowed, keel less, heavy and ungainly vessels, but strong as wood and iron and workmanship could make them. some seemed to be afloat, others bumped heavily and continuously; while a few lay stolidly on the ground with the waves breaking right over them as over rocks.
-the noise of the sea was so great that cornish touched his companion's arm, and pointed, without speaking, to one of the vessels where a light twinkled feebly through the spray breaking over her. it seemed to be the only vessel preparing to go to sea on the high tide, and, in truth, the weather looked anything but encouraging.
-“how are we going to get on board?” shouted roden, amid the roar of the waves.
-“walk,” answered cornish, and he led the way into the sea.
-hampered as they were by their heavy oil skins, their progress was slow, although the water barely reached their knees. the three brothers was bumping when they reached her and clambered on board over the bluff sides, sticky with salt water and tar.
-“she'll be afloat in ten minutes,” said a man in oil-skins, who helped them over the low bulwarks. he spoke good english, and seemed to have learned some of the taciturnity of the seafaring portion of that nation with their language; for he went aft to the tiller without more words and took his station there.
-roden seated himself on the rail and looked back towards scheveningen. cornish stood beside him in silence. the spray broke over them continuously, and the boat rolled and bumped in such a manner that it was impossible to stand or even sit without holding on to the clumsy rigging.
-the lights of scheveningen were stretched out in a line before them; the lighthouse winked a glaring eye that seemed to stare over their heads far out to sea. the summer lightning showed the sands to be bare and deserted. there were no unusual lights on the sea wall. the kurhaus and the hotels were illuminated and gay. the shore took no heed of the sea tonight.
-“we've succeeded,” said roden, curtly, and quite suddenly he rolled over in a faint at cornish's feet.
-the next morning, dorothy received a letter at the villa des dunes, posted the evening before by cornish at scheveningen.
-“we hope to get away tonight,” he wrote, “in the 'pink,' the three brothers. our intention is to knock about the north sea until we find a suitable vessel--either a sailing ship trading between norway and spain on its way south, or a steamer going direct from hamburg to south america. when i have seen your brother safely on board one of these vessels, i shall return in the three brothers to scheveningen. she is a small boat, and has a large white patch of new canvas at the top of her mainsail. so if you see her coming in, or waiting for the tide, you may conclude that your brother is in safety.”
-later in the day, mr. wade called, having driven from the hague very comfortably in an open carriage.
-“the house,” he said placidly, “is still watched, but i have no doubt that tony has outwitted them all. creil arrived last night, and seems a capable man. he tells me that half of the malgamiters are in jail at the hague for intoxication and uproariousness last night. he is selecting those he wants, and the rest he will send to their homes. so we are balancing our affairs very comfortably; and if there is anything i can do for you, miss roden, i am at your command.”
-“oh, dorothy is all right,” said marguerite, rather hurriedly; and when her father took his leave, she slipped her hand within his solid arm, and walked with him across the sand towards the carriage. “haven't you seen,” she asked--“you old stupid!--that dorothy is all right? tony is in love with her.”
-“no,” replied the banker, rather humbly--“no, my dear. i am afraid i had not noticed it.”
-marguerite pressed his arm, not unkindly. “you can't help it,” she explained. “you are only a man, you know.”
-the following days were quiet enough at the villa des dunes, and it is in quiet days that a friendship ripens best. the two girls left there scarcely expected to hear of cornish's return for some days; but they fell into the habit of walking towards the sea whenever they went out-of-doors, and spent many afternoon hours on the dunes. during these hours dorothy had many confidential and lively conversations with her new-found friend. indeed, confidence and gaiety were so bewilderingly mingled that dorothy did not always understand her companion.
-one afternoon, three days after the departure of percy roden, when von holzen was buried, and the authorities had expressed themselves content with the verdict that he had come accidentally by his death, marguerite took occasion to congratulate herself, and all concerned, in the fact that what she vaguely called “things” were beginning to straighten themselves out.
-“we are round the corner,” she said decisively. “and now papa and i shall go home again, and miss williams will come back. miss williams--oh, lord! she is one of those women who have a stick inside them instead of a heart. and papa will trot out his young men--likely young men from the city. papa married the bank, you know. and he wants me to marry another bank and live gorgeously ever afterwards. poor old dear!”
-“i think he would rather you were happy than gorgeous,” said dorothy, with a laugh, who had seen some of the honest banker's perplexity with regard to this most delicate financial affair.
-“perhaps he would. at all events, he does his best--his very best. he has tried at least fifty of these gentle swains since i came back from dresden--red hair and a temper, black hair and an excellent opinion of one's self, fair hair and stupidity. but they wouldn't do--they wouldn't do, dorothy!”
-marguerite paused, and made a series of holes in the sand with her walking-stick.
-“there was only one,” she said quietly, at length. “i suppose there is always--only one--eh, dorothy?”
-“i suppose so,” answered dorothy, looking straight in front of her.
-marguerite was silent for a while, looking out to sea with a queer little twist of the lips that made her look older--almost a woman. one could imagine what she would be like when she was middle-aged, or quite old, perhaps.
-“he would have done,” she said. “quite easily. he was a million times cleverer than the rest--a million times--well, he was quite different, i don't know how. but he was paternal. he thought he was much too old, so he didn't try----”
-she broke off with a light laugh, and her confidential manner was gone in a flash. she stuck her stick firmly into the ground, and threw herself back on the soft sand.
-“so,” she cried gaily. “vogue la galère. it's all for the best. that is the right thing to say when it cannot be helped, and it obviously isn't for the best. but everybody says it, and it is always wise to pass in with the crowd, and be conventional--if you swing for it.”
-she broke off suddenly, looking at her companion's face. a few boats had been leisurely making for the shore all the afternoon before a light wind, and dorothy had been watching them. they were coming closer now.
-“dorothy, do you see the three brothers?”
-“that is the three brothers,” answered dorothy, pointing with her walking-stick.
-for a time they were silent, until, indeed, the boat with the patched sail had taken the ground gently, a few yards from the shore. a number of men landed from her, some of them carrying baskets of fish. one, walking apart, made for the dunes, in the direction of the new scheveningen road.
-“and that is tony,” said marguerite. “i should know his walk--if i saw him coming out of the ark, which, by the way, must have been rather like the three brothers to look at. he has taken your brother safely away, and now he is coming--to take you.”
-“he may remember that i am percy's sister,” suggested dorothy.
-“it doesn't matter whose sister you are,” was the decisive reply. “nothing matters”--marguerite rose slowly, and shook the sand from her dress--“nothing matters, except one thing, and that appears to be a matter of absolute chance.”
-she climbed slowly to the summit of the dune under which they had been sitting, and there, pausing, she looked back. she nodded gaily down at dorothy. then suddenly, she held out her hands before her, and cornish, looking up, saw her slim young form poised against the sky in a mock attitude of benediction.
-“bless you, my dears,” she cried, and with a short laugh turned and walked towards the villa des dunes.
-the widow o'callaghan's boys
-by gulielma zollinger
-can't i depind on ye, b'ys?
-it's your father's ways you have
-for every one carried something
-"cheer up, andy!" he said
-mrs. brady looked at the tall, slender boy
-pat donned his apron
-"i've good news for you, fannie," said the general
-the general makes the gravy
-pat doing the marketing
-pat and mike building the kitchen
-up on the roof sat mike with his knife
-barney and tommie a-takin' care of the geese
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